Chapter 8: Low Boil

Chris Ennings made a mental note to himself, as he inspected the ship Parson and Gizmo had acquired, to re-bestow upon himself the title of “Captain” as he once again had a ship to command. She was small, much smaller than the Perse, smaller than the three ships he'd had before that, with the exception of his old Larsa freighter. He'd not yet had much of a chance to look around this new ship, as he and Philo had been tied up at the cargo door offloading the hovertruck.

Parson and Gizmo were still sequestered on the bridge, Gizmo undoubtedly having dismantled half the cockpit in the course of doing something that anyone else would accomplish by flipping three switches and Parson was left to fly with whatever controls Gizmo had left him. Captain Christopher Ennings surrounded himself with associates that he could trust to do what needed to be done and not give him any surprises to deal with. The manner with which they did what they needed to do, now that was another matter.

Ennings paused at the entrance to the galley. It was uncommonly large for a corvette and well equipped. He wondered if this ship had been rigged as a large pleasure craft sometime during its storied history. At any rate, there was certainly room in the freezer for a few deep dish pizzas and space on the counter for a halfway decent cappuccino machine, if he could find a way to keep Gizmo from turning it into a Portable Dimensional Closet or another poofy android. He could hear Philo whistling some Crab Nebula shanty as he finished lashing down the cases of Moonbeer in the cargo hold.

In a way, it was just like old times, back before he got the Perse and hired on that crew of mostly useless space barnacles. With any luck, the only thing he'd have to deal with is naming this new ship. She was old, sure, but solid. A well-made ship like this would-

Ennings' thoughts were interrupted by the sight of a dark-haired young woman staggering drunkenly through the door opposing his on the far side of the galley. She gripped the counter surfaces for support as she lurched over to the dispenser. “Water,” she mumbled as she fidgeted with the device, trying to make it work. Ennings quietly reached past her, thumbed the dispenser's power to ON, and pressed the cycle button. The young woman eagerly grabbed the materialized mug and took a deep drink.

And choked. She coughed up most of the water, drenching Ennings' shirt and spilling the rest of the water down his pants as she slumped forward. Ennings' arms extended and caught her as she collapsed against his chest. His left eyebrow twitched slightly.

Parson entered through the same door as the girl had. “Jen, your brain is still recovering from the Tiara, You need to stay- Oh, hello Chris!” Parson's eyes locked on the damp Ennings and the unconscious Jenny. Parson ran his hands through his hair, as Ennings knew him to do whenever he expected trouble.

“John,” Ennings' voice was calm. “A quantum heroin addict is stowing away on my ship. Where is the closest airlock?”

“Come on now, Chris. You're not going to just throw an unconscious girl out of the airlock.”

“Of course not.” Ennings replied. “First you are going to tell me why you know her name. And then, depending upon what you tell me, I will adapt my plan to the situation like any good captain. I may throw Jen here out of the airlock, or I might throw you out, or hell, Parson, after the day I have had I may put on this tiara you mentioned and pirouette out of the comet-choked thing myself. So there is no 'just' here, Parson. Rest assured there will be deliberation on many aspects of this airlock-throwing before it happens.” Ennings paused, and looked down and Jenny's vulnerable form for a long moment.

“Parson?”

“Yes, Chris?”

“Parson, I am almost completely certain that Jen here has began to drool on me. Let's continue this discussion at the airlock. Call Philo and tell him to dig out some napkins.”

“Chris, you're not throwing anyone out the airlock because its atmospheric sensor isn't working and therefore the door will not open. It's a safety feature.”

“Get Gizmo on that, but tell him not to, you know, turn it into anything. There's not much joy in being a pirate if you can't make people walk the plank. Now grab her ankles and let's get her to a bunk. I need some dry clothes and for you to tell me what's going on here.” Ennings sighed. “And in that order.”

One costume change later, the remnants of the once mighty Perse sat gathered around the galley table, watching Gizmo slide a disk labled “DARK SECRETS OF THE GALAXY vol 4.” into a projector. It cast a flickering glow upon the far wall, and a soothing voice began in a voice that can only be described as gloriously expository:

“There was a time, many generations ago, when human science had shocked the world by learning that mental powers such as ESP, telekinesis, and telepathy were in fact real and measurable. Those so gifted were known as Espers. However, the combinations of genetics that gave rise to Espers were so improbable that the population of humanity was nearing a trillion before more than one was being born in a generation, and even then it took the most powerful computer ever used by humanity to find them. A computer, some might say, that rivaled even the Espers themselves in power.

At the time that Espers were discovered, The Galactic Average Corporation had established its first Brainframe Cluster, a collection of two hundred million human brains, all suspended in nutrient gel jars and networked through a quantum computing matrix. One of the first jobs assigned to it was to sort, catalog, store, and maintain a listing of every Galactic Average citizen, to be later used as the world's largest marketing database. All of their purchasing habits, daily movements, entertainment choices, and a full genetic workup were logged, cross-referenced, indexed, tagged and numbered in the biggest bio-computing project in human history.

And when dealing with such a wide variety of statistical data on such a vast number of people, whole new vistas of realization were unveiled. Asimovian Psychohistory became possible, though used only to predict upcoming consumer trends, which were then exploited to such an astonishing degree that underground movements were being commercialized before they could develop. This resulted in a critical irony shortage, which had a dire affect on the secondhand book and album economy of Mecha-Cambridge. The Brainframe made quintillions of logical connections and correlations every GA second. In the human genome, the long-elusive genetic traits responsible for Alzheimer's Disease, Down's Syndrome, and Shoe Collecting were discovered and quickly patented, sometimes with royalty invoices going out to the afflicted within a Galactic Average Week.

And then anomalies AMB415-0016 and AMB626-1987 were discovered.

AMB415-0016 was strongly linked to incidents of sudden and inexplicable changes in plans or behavior, most of which spared the subject from imminent death or harm, displays of great charisma or persuasion, and several of the more intense varieties of psychotic mental illness that could not be explained by any known cause or trigger.

AMB626-1987 had strong correlations with strong, unexplained cyclical mood disorders, extreme reclusivity, unusually successful diplomats and otherwise unexplainable neurological conditions such as migraines.

Psionics and Empathy, respectively. Espers.

These genetic codes were swiftly patented. The mutations were hard to produce and harder to manipulate, so the Galactic Average employed a program of eugenics and child abductions to breed stronger, more exploitable espers. Stable zygotes were implanted into willing, unwilling, and even unknowing hosts. Espers were soon bred with the mental abilities to move objects, read minds, and even interface with sophisticated neurotronic computer systems, leading to the development of the Geller ships, designed to be operated by Espers, that saw high profile use in the Trade and Secession Wars.

But Galactic Average had reached too far, too soon. The few viable genetic lines they had available were crossbred and rebred rapidly, looking for stronger psionic traits, and mutations were overlooked. Empathy became mutually exclusive to the other, more financially exploitable abilities, and fell into disuse. The new crops of children became immune to the devices and drugs used to train and control them. In the span of a generation Espers went from heroes and celebrities to brutal villains as they became uncontrollable sociopaths, monsters trapped in the bodies of children.

The Galactic Average frantically searched for ways to eradicate the unfeeling gods they had created, resorting to banned nanoweapons to assassinate the most powerful ones, some of whom had since dominated entire systems through careful manipulation. New strains of Espers were created in an attempt to make them more controllable, but with no success. The last Esper Farm was lost to a patient uprising fifteen solar years ago, destroyed by the GA via induced meteoric deorbit. It was the only way Galactic Average could be sure none of the Espers escaped.”

Gizmo flicked the lights back on.

Parson and Philo sat in silence, astonished by none of what they had seen. Ennings raised his hand.

“Yes, Chris?” Gizmo asked.

“I have two questions. First, what does that have to do with me not being able to space Jen?”

Gizmo sighed. “Because this is a Geller ship and the only Galactic Valet we have is both blank and entirely devoted to figuring out why it's broken, which bars me from trying to fix it without damaging it. Basically we can't use the local Interstate, and the fusion drive was only added as an afterthought so non-Espers could get on and off world, so it'll take us around” Gizmo contorted his face into a mask of concentration as he did a furious amount of math in his brain- “Fifty-four thousand solar years to get anywhere habitable. So Jenny's ability to both power and control the Psionic Drive is our only chance to get anyplace before we all die.”

“So I can't space the freeloader because she's a psychic battery with a sob story.”

“We're technically the freeloaders here. This is Jen's ship, and we're volunteering as crew to get passage off of Bochco.” Gizmo corrected.

“I am still pretending that is not the case.” Ennings replied. “My second question is why the omnipotent emotionless space-god hasn't killed or mindwiped us or something. Or, for that matter, the whole planet of Bochco. She didn't look terribly murder-inclined when I ran into her.” He paused. “Just thirsty.”

“I don't know.” Gizmo answered. “She's not acting like an Esper.”

“Because she is not just a psionicist.” Parson said. “She's also an empath.”

“That's impossible!” Gizmo interjected. “No one ever got the Pionic and Emapth genestrains to breed back together.”

“On the contrary, it happened all the time.” Philo commented.

“Wait, really?” Gizmo asked.

“The information about them being sundered originated in a propaganda film designed to misinform the population about the precise nature of Galactic Average's problems with Espers. The director later admitted to inventing the whole thing.” Philo scratched his nose. “The film's commentary is really interesting, if nothing else.”

“I'm getting really sick of being the only one at this table that doesn't have an encyclopedic knowledge of whatever the Hell is going on here.” Ennings kicked his still-muddy boots up on the table and leaned back. “Parson, how sure are you on this empath thing?”

“Absolutely.” He replied.

“Sweet, I consider the matter settled, then. So, this begs us a very important question.” Ennings leaned forward. “Gizmo, where did you dig up that old documentary?”

Gizmo shrugged. “Where else? Starbay.”

Ennings clapped his hands. “Okay, let's crew this ship. The conference room is now once again the mess hall. Gizmo, go fix the, uh, inside things. Philo, go to the bridge and keep an eye on any outside things. Once that's all square, get ready to take us to that brain-bank so we can get this Greg thing all squared away. I'm going to see what I can make us to eat with what food things have survived from Perse. Now go.”

“Stay seated, Parson.” Ennings added as Gizmo and Philo departed. The galley door closed.

“Chris, I-”

“Not that.” Ennings shook his head. “Jen. This not how we operate. It's not even how you operate. But I know you have your reasons so I'm backing you up on this 'promise to keep her safe' thing. But you got us into this, so she is your problem. Keep her out of my hair and take care of her so she doesn't end up in the mass driver or something. We're her crew but she's our engine.” Ennings paused and rubbed his forehead. “Now get out of here. I need to to cook and think.”

Parson left without a word.

Ennings headed for the hold. He needed food, pots, and his ablative apron. Everything else may be going to Hell but at least he could still make an oven do what he wanted.

Before Gizmo gets his hands on it.