Chapter XIII: Mindgames

Rick’s heart dropped. Jamie was on that ship. Images of her in bed, then the last time he saw her boarding the Vegan Queen on Jameson Three, flooded his mind. He sat down on the floor, and covered his face.

Blackcoat looked over at the young man. `Humans are so strange sometimes,’ he thought. ‘So he’s wanted for piracy too. Thought that ship of his looked strange. The SP’s never had anything like that before. Obviously, this kid sitting in front of him worked for another group, possibly the Syndicate, and was using the story of being an SP officer was a cover.’ Blackcoat scratched one of his ears. He’d better find out before he spaced the kid. Better the spy you know, than the one you don’t.

"Hey, Raygunn, or Silver, or whatever your name is. Listen," Rick looked up at Blackcoat. "I can use a sharp kid like yourself. If the Boss approves, whatdaya say that you sign on with us. I mean, your cover’s been blown, and we can help. In exchange, you can help us. Whatdaya say?"

Rick stared up at the Erscan, the offer slowly making it’s way past his grief over the loss of Jamie, and things started to click together in his mind. Blackcoat was offering to take him to meet his boss, and join the pirate crew. Maybe that’s what mom had in mind, and couldn’t tell him. This pirate story was the real cover for his mission. Rick stood up, and looked at Blackcoat, composing himself to act out the role of a pirate on the run. "Okay, Blackcoat. Since you foiled my own escape plans, it seems that I have to go with you now. Let’s go."

Wilma was on the Bridge of the SPS Feist when the order came in. The captain briefly glanced at her as he read the text of the message, then slowly crumpled the thin, reusable plastic sheet. He activated the intership intercom. "Attention, all crew. We have new orders. We are to delay our journey to sector seven. A full scale search has been ordered for this area of space. Rick Raygunn, former lieutenant, is wanted for piracy and murder of both SP officers and agents. He is considered armed and dangerous. Our orders are to," He paused briefly, refusing to make eye contact with any of the bridge officers. "We are to shoot on sight. That is all."

Wilma felt her stomachs tie themselves in knots. She shakily stood up and addressed the captain. "Captain Hemdael. Permission to leave the bridge." The captain nodded his permission before she finished. She rushed off, and into the turboshaft. She barely made it to her shared cabin and collapsed on her bunk, before the tears finally emerged in full force. "Why, Rick? Why did you do it?" she cried into her pillow.

After a few minutes, there was a knock at her door. She quickly dabbed her eyes dry and sat on the edge of her bunk. "Enter." Her voice cracked a little as she spoke, and a slight gasp escaped her lips as she recognized the robes of the visitor as he entered. "Psi-Corp."

A faint smile came to the shrouded face of the man. "Yes, psi-corp. You didn’t think that one of the largest ships in the fleet wouldn’t have a representative aboard, did you?"

Wilma stood up as her visitor entered her small cabin. "Uh, well, I really didn’t think about it. No one mentioned that there was one, so I kinda thought. . ." her voice petered out as the hooded figure raised a hand.

"Never mind. It’s not important. What is important is the matter of Raygunn. You were roommates with him at the academy, were you not?" Wilma was about to answer, but the figure smiled and spoke again. "Of course you were. And in all that time, you two never, how shall I say, got together?"

Wilma didn’t bother to reply. She thought she could sense the psi riffling through her memories and digging up the answer. She lowered her head as the man smiled at her thoughts.

"I’m sorry for the intrusion, lieutenant. Please let me explain, and it’s not going to be easy for you to hear, but you must understand. The man you know as Rick Raygunn isn’t real. Rick Raygunn died on the Tendarus Mission."

Wilma’s head snapped up. "Impossible. We were together. Nothing happened to us." She paused for a minute, and squirmed under the man’s gaze. "Well, not much. We got separated from the rest of the team when we fell through a sinkhole. But we were fine except for a few bruises."

The psi shook his head. "Rick Raygunn died in that fall. Something replaced him, and affected your memory of the incident."

"No. Impossible. I remember everything, like it happened yesterday. Nothing happened," protested Wilma.

"That’s what we all thought at first. We didn’t even suspect a switch took place until three months ago, when a survey team discovered his body. It was heavily decomposed, but the DNA test confirmed it. That’s when we first suspected mental tampering."

Wilma buried her face in her hands. "No, no. It can’t be."

The psi sat down on the bed next to Wilma, and draped an arm around her shaking shoulders. "I know this is not easy news for you to take. But if you will allow me, I shall free your mind of the delusion that has been placed on it, and allow you to remember what really happened three years ago on Tendarus."

Wilma glanced up at the psi, his face now visible from under the cloak hood. He was Commander Gernas, the third in command of the ship. She wiped the tears away from her face with the back of her hand, and nodded. "Okay. But if Rick’s been dead for three years, who or what has been my roommate?"

Gernas smiled a little. "We hoping that you’d be able to tell us. We avoided scanning you earlier, in case the impostor would be able to detect the scan, and we didn’t want to tip him off. You were given different assignments so that you could be examined. We were hoping to contain the doppleganger before it got away, but it must have sensed something, and took off." He gathered up her hands in his. "Now, this won’t hurt at all, but the memories might be disturbing. Just remember that they are just memories, and nothing will hurt you. Lie back and close your eyes."

Wilma laid down on her bunk as Gernas got up and sealed the cabin door. He pulled the chair over from the small wall desk, and positioned himself next to the head of the bed. "Ready?" When Wilma nodded and closed her eyes, he placed one hand on her forehead, and the other rested on her hands, lying folded on her stomach.

His touch was warm and soft, and Wilma felt a sensation of peacefulness coming from Gernas. Other than the standard psi test which she took when she entered the academy, she had no other contacts with psis. She was nervous, but quickly relaxed under the commander’s touch. She felt herself floating, and her vision changed from black to a soft gray as she fell under his trance.

Wilma was on Tendarus. The sophomore class of 2488 of the Space Academy had just arrived to do survival tests. The heat and humidity of the jungle planet made the uniforms stick to the skin, and the alien smells caused most of the class to complain. Wilma didn’t think it was so bad after the stink of Earth, but then, this was the first time most of the cadets had been off their home planet. It almost reminded her of her own homeworld. Nevertheless, the heat was oppressive, and many cadets had shed their uniform tops in favor of tank tops or bare skin.

Her top barely managed to cover her two pairs of breasts, and she didn’t need boots on her dercowian hoofs. Rick was standing next to her, also wearing a regulation tank top and boots, and she couldn’t help noticing how attractive he was with his top plastered to his athletically muscled chest. He took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, the smell of the planet apparently not bothering him.

Around them was the Tendarus space port, the only urbanized section of the whole planet. Most of the one million inhabitants lived in the star town that grew up next to the port, and the small remainder was scattered in small groups over the planet’s wild surface. The two suns cast multiple shadows of the starships resting on the huge tarmac, painted white to prevent the buildup of heat, but causing a tremendous amount of glare. The spaceport terminals were visible in the distance, the buildings dancing in the heat rays coming off the field. Surrounding the spaceport was thick jungle, with only a force fence separating the two. To the left of the terminal buildings was the main gate leading to Star Town and the planetary airport.

"Wow. This is great, Wilma. I love visiting new worlds. Do we have time to look around, or should we report in?"

Wilma glanced at her chronometer. "We don’t have to report in until 13:00. That gives us a couple of hours." She looked around, and noticed that Rick’s gaze was in the direction of Startown. "What did you have in mind?"

"Food. Native, and lots of it." He rubbed his washboard-rippled stomach.

Wilma giggled. In the year that she had gotten to know Rick, one of his greatest passions was food. He could eat tons, and it never seemed to fill him up or slow him down. She had to watch what she ate, because not all Terran food was suitable for her. The other cadets were marching towards the terminal building, all carrying their duffel bags. She picked up hers, and handed Rick his. "If we head into town now, we’ll miss getting a good room assignment."

Rick shrugged as he shouldered his bag. "Who cares? Most of our time is going to be spent out in the field anyway. Think of it as field research. We’ll get to find out what’s edible and how to prepare it before we have to figure it out by ourselves."

"Okay. I’m game." Wilma followed Rick toward the gate. The guard saluted them as they passed through, and they returned it. Once past the gate, they stopped to get their bearings.

They were surrounded by warehouses containing bales, crates, and barrels of medicinal herbs and extracts which was the principle export of Tendarus. Rick glanced around, sniffed the air for effect, and pointed in the direction opposite the main starport gate. "That way."

Within a couple of blocks, the warehouses gave way to shops, bars, inns, and housing structures. Travelers and merchants filled the streets, each intent on their own business. Rick passed several of the more flashy restaurants, and finally stopped in front of a shop with hand-lettered signs for the menu, and a door propped open by a rock. Rick nudged Wilma. "See, this is a good spot. Dad taught me that the quality of food is inversely proportional to the number of health regulations that are observed. ‘Greasy spoons’ he called them. Generally run by a small family that is concerned more about how the food tastes than the number of city ordinances followed." With that, Rick entered, Wilma following close behind.

"Then the food must be terrific here," said Wilma, following that with the thought that it had to be good if it smelled that bad. Her stomach was sturdier than most Terrans, but this place was causing it to turn over and play dead.

Rick noticed her expression and smiled. "C’mon, it’ll be great." He walked up to the counter, dropped his bag at his feet, sat on a stool, and started looking over the menu. Wilma sat next to him, looking the place over. The smell of grease was heavy in the air, and the several fryers in the back of the diner were the obvious culprits. The grease had a burnt-rubber odor to them, causing her stomach’s discomfort. There was a grill against the wall on the other side of the counter, and the Terran flipping something vaguely like a green hamburger over it didn’t appear to be suffering from malnutrition, but the condition of his apron indicated a lack of talent for hitting his target.

The portly cook glanced over at them and smiled. "Be right wicha."

"Take your time. Still looking over the menu," replied Rick. He glanced over at Wilma. "See anything you want to try?"

"Yeah. The diner two streets up," snapped Wilma.

Rick handed her the folded paper menu. "Naw, those places are for newbies. Serving prefab food. This is where the real stuff comes from. And you know, there’s never a line."

"Gee, I wonder why," replied Wilma. She glanced over the selections, and they all appeared equally unattractive. She handed the menu back to Rick. "Surprise me."

The portly cook finished flipping his burger, slid it on a plate, and set it aside, then wiped his hands on his grease-spotted apron. He turned to face Rick and Wilma. "What cin I git for you?"

Wilma opened her mouth, but Rick nudged her before she would say anything. "We’ll have two number three specials please," requested Rick.

The cook nodded and opened his mouth, the back wall where the fryers were suddenly flared up in flames, engulfing the back wall.

To Be Continued...