JC TUGS LOOSE the end of each gloved finger in order to remove the restricting leather.

Forbidden—screams at her as she rolls her hand over to inspect her own skin. Touch allows for direct thought transfer, but a skilled telepath doesn’t need skin contact to read a mind.

The gloves create the illusion a telepath has control of her abilities. Next would be the low-cut revealing outfit, whose lack of material should be comfortable but pinches and binds, forcing my body into a desirable shape to attract most humanoid males. Given the opportunity to lead the Sisterhood, I would redesign the costume.

She makes fists with her toes in the carpet before plopping to the floor. Pulling her legs into a campfire stance, she glances at the framed holo-picture of the crew.

Weaving her finger around an imaginary sphere, she reaches toward the Hex Darmight image. Dormant, the orb blocks her thoughts. It needs brother pieces to remain strong and provide more information on how to deal with the Sandmen.

Channeling her thoughts through the azure crystal, JC pushes into the Hex Darmight.

Danger.

A warning shivers her entire body, raising gooseflesh until she tingles as if all her limbs have fallen asleep.

Sandman.

She stretches her thoughts further. Doug, Scott and the new cadet fluster each other in the cargo bay. JC’s never been able to read Australia’s mind, but the Nysaean’s presence radiates next to Scott. Wait. Reynard’s also in the cargo bay, but his mental signature—he no longer scans. This must be when it happened. Something changed inside, rejecting a telepathic touch. Fuzz lounges on the bridge couch. Joe slumbers deep as his body repairs in the medical bay. Michelle’s sedated sleep keeps her mind comatose.

She reaches to touch Amye.

JC flies back, impacting against the top edge of her bed. A purple mark forms from her deltoid to her kidney. Ignoring the pain, she picks up her headband, rubbing her thumb over the once smooth crystal. Her thumbnail picks at a minute fracture. Something in Amye’s brain rejected me. It had enough mental power to manifest the rejection physically. Too bad Reynard knew nothing about this.

She stretches out on her stomach, reaching to palpitate the darkening line on her center back. The force to instantly bruise her contains more energy than the telepath rating scale measures.

JC remains prone, closing her eyes. She approaches Amye’s mind, careful to avoid the radiating thoughts.

Trapped.

Desperation—

Need a drink.

Withdrawal overwhelms JC.

Her drinking masks her pain. JC pushes against the hurt. She reaches past Kymberlynn’s death. As JC probes deeper she discovers the trapped fourteen-year-old Amye. She reaches out to offer comfort to the girl in the cage.

Fingers tighten around JC’s throat, yanking her back into her own body. Pressure slams the air from her lungs. Throbbing pounds her brain. She crawls from the bed, touching the wall. A sink basin slides out. She sticks her cupped hand under the faucet and the water automatically flows. Splashing water in her face first before drinking the water, JC contemplates administering medication to stop her headache.

Using the basin for leverage, she pushes to her feet. The bruise grows around her from her back to cover her chest. Inside her closet, still draped in its plastic cover, hangs her Silver Dragon jacket. She wraps it around herself, sniffing the new leather. It hides her contusion, unlike her Eir Basilica uniform. Her limited clothing selection does have several pairs of fashionable pants.

••••••

AMYE STEPS FROM the medical bay as JC reaches for the door release.

“I’ve never seen you out of uniform, telepath,” Amye snaps.

“Are you sure you’re ready to get up, Amye?” JC ignores the remark. The sedation medication induces side effects.

“I’m stiff. You did already fix me. I want to sleep in my own bed.”

You mean find a drink. “You need quite a few more hours of rest.”

“How is Michelle?” Amye asks with no concern in her tone.

“I was returning to check, but she was recovering just fine.”

“Why aren’t you in uniform?” Amye demands.

“We don’t follow regulations on this ship, Amye.”

“You should at least keep your gloves on.” Amye raises her arm. Before she strikes JC, the telepath’s forearm blocks the blow, allowing the back of her hand where it meets the wrist to skip over Amye’s fist—an advanced fighting maneuver.

JC catches a mental flash.

Amye fired on Samantha on Guil III. The feline races off.

“Careful, Amye. You initiate contact when I’m not prepared, and I won’t be able to prevent what thoughts your mind releases.”

“I need more sleep.” She marches to her quarters.

JC steps inside the medical bay. She scoops the captured image from her short-term memory. She replays the flash. Samantha races away. Amye turns, but in the millisecond before the feline leaves her view, a Sandman appears.

The Sandmen did something to Samantha.

The feline leaps from the medical table, transforming into a Sandman as it slams her against the wall. The creature draws back its mask. JC unleashes a mental blast through the crystal, coating the monster in azure flames.

It howls, floating back. The ivory melts—deforming into a sacred mass.

JC slaps her commlink. “Reynard! Sandman!”

The creature hovers at a distance.

JC summons her thoughts, preparing another blast through the stone, but they both know the Sandman must move closer.

It floats toward Michelle.

JC, matching the distance, says, “You won’t touch her.”

Reynard bursts through the door, Calesvol in hand.

The hissing Sandman vanishes.

“It appeared as the cat. I blasted it.” She taps the opal. “These crystals harm them.”

“I encountered a sorceress who could do the same.”

“I hurt it. Your sword…it’s scared of it. Its presence is gone from medical.”

“What I wouldn’t give to find a way to scan for those things,” Reynard says.

“I felt its fear. Your sword harms them. The ones entering this reality have never had to face a weapon capable of harming them before.”

“I wish I was sure it was enough to keep them at bay.”

“It won’t return. It needs to heal. I didn’t concentrate the blast. If I do, it will destroy a Sandman,” JC says.

“Forgive me if I don’t want you to have more chances to practice.”