Mississippi Sector, Midwest Station

He jolted awake ready for a fight, bolting up and balling his fists. He nearly took a swing at the first hazy figure he saw when he opened his eyes. The only thing that stopped him was the way her hair caught the light: an unmistakable blonde. “Cinderella,” he gasped. My daughter.

“Easy,” she reached out to steady him as he sat up. “You’ll reopen the wound.”

Right, the Jayhawker recalled. That was why his shoulder ached. It and his arm were both bound and immobilized in thick bandages that stank of antibacterial treatment. Anesthesia lowered the pain, but it still throbbed in time with his breaths. “Gives fucking shot me.” A renewed hatred boiled up. “That bastard will regret missing my head.”

“He didn’t miss.” The surgeon beside Cinderella pulled his mask down. “He shot you where it would hurt, but not kill you.” The injury was serious, and it would take time to heal, let alone build back any shoulder strength, but there was a low chance it ever would have been fatal. “He spared your life, Stationmaster.”

The Jayhawker curled his lip, but elected not to argue. The doctor he paid to keep on staff had the best qualifications available. Like it or not, whatever he said was accurate. Checking his surroundings, he could see that the medical bed, complete with a mobile set of sensors, had been wheeled into his office. The decorative lights hanging at different lengths above were soft and yellow. The blue, semicircular couch was behind him. His bed had been placed with a full view of the portholes. Outside, the stars and the orbs of the dark planets greeted him, but the starscape was empty. “He left?”

“Yes,” Cinderella confirmed. “He took the coordinates for Crimson Heart, but he and his men left without further incident.”

Immediately, the Jayhawker reached up to feel for the lanyard he kept around his neck, but it was gone, and the FTL key with it. Damn it. “The Singularity. Where did she go?”

Cinderella shook her head, blonde ringlets bobbing with the movement. “Into the dark planets. We lost track of her not long afterward. I didn’t want to risk sending a drone to follow them.” Defenseless as the station was, antagonizing a battleship would have been certain doom. A part of her was still very surprised Midwest Station had not been blown to pieces. Once he and his men had escaped, there had been nothing to prevent that destruction, but true to his legend, the Steel Prince acted unpredictably.

The stationmaster curled his free hand in frustration. How did he get away with it? His plan had been near perfect. He’d held all the cards. By the stars, he’d even managed to isolate Gives from the Singularity, a feat achieved by so very few. Victory had been in the Jayhawker’s grasp, and yet he only knew the sour taste of failure.

“Father,” Cinderella cut in softly, “What happened? I remember you dismissing your guards, but after that… I don’t remember…” Had they cut a deal to ensure Midwest Station’s safety?

The memory came to him as if from a haze, and he regretted Cinderella’s question the moment it emerged, for the icy barbs of fear began to climb up his spine, culminating in the pinch of knife-like claws cutting into his neck. He reached up to feel for those gouges in a panic, but he felt nothing – no cuts, no scars, no bandages, only skin that felt so unexpectedly smooth. “Get me a mirror!” he snapped to the surgeon.

The surgeon quickly handed over a plain, handheld mirror, a peculiar look of analysis in his expression, but the Jayhakwer ignored it. He held up the mirror to look at his neck, as his fingers continued to map it out. Still, he found nothing but unbroken skin, soft to the touch. There were no wounds to be had, not even bruises. “…But I felt it.” He had felt that thing dig in its claws.

“Might I inquire what you are looking for?” the surgeon asked, watching the Jayhawker twist this way and that to study his neck. “We found no injuries on your neck. Only slight abrasions on your wrists where you were bound, and the bullet wound.”

With a hiss of frustration, the Jayhawker lowered the mirror, clenching its flat plastic handle in his fist tight enough to hear it crack. “It was here.” He knew little else, but that had been real. He was certain of it. “The demon was going to take my head.”

Carefully extracting the mirror from her father’s grip before it broke, Cinderella pursed her red lips with worry. “You’re scaring me.”

The Jayhawker heaved in a breath, tasting the artificial woodland scent that perfumed his office. It was hardly calming now. It tasted faker than the memory of that monster. “The demon.” He reached up to cradle his head, feeling that his long hair had been put into a loose braid. “He summoned it to attack me. And I swear it was real. It was in this room.”

The surgeon furrowed his brow and picked his data pad up off of the tool cart beside the bed. He began reviewing the case notes he had taken. “Ah,” he said after a moment, “I see. I ran a neural check when they brought you to me. You had an abnormal amount of brain activity. Parts of your brain that weren’t active when we took your baseline readings were lit up.”

Cinderella took her father’s hand, attempting to calm him. “What can cause that?”

“Lots of things. I blamed it on the trauma of being shot, but the level of hallucination you’re describing-”

“It wasn’t a damned hallucination,” the Jayhawker snapped. “The fucking Prince could see it just as well as I could. It obeyed him. The rumor about him and the demon isn’t a rumor.” It sounded mad, he understood that, but he wasn’t a raving lunatic. That was the truth.

The surgeon studied the earnestness of his patient. “As I said, there are many possible explanations.” He set the data pad down. “A hallucination would have been the simplest, but I found no evidence of physical head trauma or foreign agents in your blood.” In that, the usual suspects had been ruled out. “I know little of the man you confronted, Stationmaster, but I heard the rumors as your other patrons fled.” There had been a great exodus from Midwest Station just before the Admiral arrived. “His reputation is …storied to say the least. And while demons may not be real, the symptoms of such curses very much are. As a people, humanity has long blamed what it does not understand upon the arcane. Populations have been burned at the stake for having extranormal capabilities – perceptions the majority of people could not fathom.”

“Your point?” the Jayhawker prompted him.

“The rumors of the demon merely need to be regarded in a scientific lens,” the surgeon said simply. “Your memory and perception seem to have been manipulated in such a way that you could not parse reality from illusion. Additionally, your brain showed abnormal activity. Would you say that this entity seemed to have a read on your intentions, even if they were not voiced?”

“Yes.”

“Then most likely, you were the victim of telepathic manipulation. It’s rare, extremely rare, but the central government has conducted research. Given that your adversary is the former Fleet Admiral, it would not be a stretch to assume that he may have access to Command’s resources, and thus to a telepath.”

A telepath. The concept was not completely foreign to the Jayhawker. Ruling governments would pay a hefty sum for people with even slight empathic abilities. Telepathy was something far rarer and even more valuable. A strong telepath was worth nearly as much as a battleship on the black market. Their capabilities were something like fantasy, utterly unfathomable to the average human. To think the Steel Prince was hiding a card like that… It made the Jayhawker resent the man all the more. “I should have shot him dead.” That was a threat the stationmaster had not been prepared to handle, but that same trick wouldn’t work twice. “How does one counter telepathic manipulation? Is there an implant that can filter out the effects?”

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

“Cyborgs have a level of resistance to telepathy, but they are not immune. In your line of work, an implant would offer more risk than protection.” All technology was open to corruption, and the Jayhawk’s safety depended on his ability to keep the underworld’s transactions secure. An implant would compromise that. “If you fear further interactions with the former Fleet Admiral, then I would suggest you acquire a telepath loyal to your cause. They would be able to detect and counter the manipulation of other telepaths.”

The Jayhawker nodded to his daughter. “Begin a search. I want to add a telepath to our staff at once.” He had been lax. Rumors of telepathic ability had seemed too otherworldly to concern himself with, but he had left Midwest Station vulnerable not only to the Steel Prince, but to anyone else wealthy enough to employ such rare talents.

The surgeon began to reorganize the cart of scanners and medical supplies he’d wheeled in. “Keep in mind that telepaths have a relatively short lifespan. Most will die before they hit thirty, and their capabilities are most stable between the ages of 8 and 18.”

The Jayhawker just smiled. “We will find a few candidates, and then ensure the loyalty of that which is most suitable.” The doctor need not concern himself further.

“Then what of the Singularity?” Cinderella asked. “We know where they’re going. We have a chance to exact revenge.”

The Jayhawker looked down at the layers of bandages on his shoulder. The scent of anti-septic treatment wafted from them, a bitter, bitter reminder. “We are in no condition to combat the Singularity.” They would need to rouse a great deal of support from the outlaw clans before making an attempt. And truly, in a battle, Gives had the advantage. Only subterfuge could offer a chance to seize the ship, but there were other ways to make such an enemy pay. “Give Crimson Heart a courtesy call. Warn them that an attack is imminent. It won’t save them, but it will make their resistance that much harder to break.”

A devious smile crept up on Cinderella’s face. “You want to help Crimson Heart invoke casualties on Gives’ crew.” In that, she supposed justice would be served. The very people Gives had risked himself to protect would be killed by Crimson Heart’s legion of pirates.

“Do not tell Crimson Heart who is attacking. I fear if we appear too knowledgeable, it will look like collusion.” In no universe would the Jayhawker ever cooperate with the Steel Prince, but he knew how it seemed. It looked like he had willingly sold the coordinates for an outlaw clan to a member of the allied fleet. Circumstances dictated that the clan had ostracized itself, and that the Singularity was no longer part of the allied fleet, but appearances were all that mattered in the underworld. As such, there was one more matter to tend to, “Fetch me Malibu Flower.”

Cinderella nodded once, and turned on her heel, vanishing from sight as she went to find the information broker. That left only the stationmaster and his surgeon. Truly, the Jayhawker hardly concerned himself with the surgeon’s presence. The good doctor was paid enough to keep his mouth shut, regardless of what dealings he overheard.

In that moment of peace, the stationmaster tried to center himself, and bury the memory of the monster that had attacked him. Still, he shivered at the memory of the claws that had run along his throat. He turned from the memory of that creature’s hot, rancid breath. Such a thing had felt so utterly inhuman. Could a human telepath truly be responsible?

In the end, the Jayhawker supposed it wouldn’t matter. If he was lucky, Gives’ telepath would be killed in the confrontation with Crimson Heart and never again interfere. Either way, once Midwest Station employed a telepath of its own, he would never be manipulated that way again. He had not built an empire out here to have it torn to bits by the Steel Prince of all people.

No, the cases of trophies and valuables were evidence of his exploits. The individually lit cases with shelves of precious gems and artefacts were tokens of his success. The antique weapons and alien relics he kept on those shelves were there to remind him and everyone else that he owned the underworld. These treasures had been gifted and purchased, utterly unique in all aspects. He mourned the loss of the FTL Key he had pilfered from the Singularity, but perhaps it was better not to be haunted by the memory of that ship, since it continued to elude his control.

By the time Cinderella returned with Malibu Flower in tow, the Jayhawker had already chosen a new favorite collectible: the war spear of a Hydrian Chieftain. It felt fitting, since the Hydra had once been the Singularity’s mortal enemy. Locked in its case, that spear was a thing of beauty. Its shaft was made from an alien composite that looked something like a lightly-colored wood, but was far stronger. It would have come from battlefield waste: the refined and repurposed corpses of both sides of the war, harvested from the front line where they’d died. The Hydra were masters of recycling. Nothing went to waste with them. There was no trash, no scrap too small to use. Tooth and sharpened bone formed a collar around the spearhead, and ribbons of skin and scale cascaded down, twisting around the shaft, both ornamental and protective.

The spear was a thing of beauty as the Jayhawker admired it now. Hydrian Chieftains had carried them as badges of honor, but still, they were nothing less than practical. The blade on the tip of the spear was a material as hard as diamond. With enough force, it could cut through all types of personnel armor, and it had piezoelectric properties. Upon impact, it imparted an electric charge. On a human, the smallest cut could damage their nerves, rendering them numb and helpless. On a machine, it began to overload and destabilize their systems.

Yes, it would be more than fitting as a new favorite trophy. Only a handful of such spears existed on the human side of the Neutral Zone. The Hydraian Armada had rarely left battlefield ruin unharvested – repurposing everything they could from metal to wood, including the bodies of the dead. By result, Hydrian artefacts of any variety were exceptionally rare. An intact specimen like that spear was quite befitting of the Jayhawker’s wealth and status. He would begin to train with it at once, and then next time he and the Steel Prince met, he’d run the bastard through the heart. Nothing could be more poetic than killing the commander of a Hydrian War-era battleship with a Hydrian spear.

The Jayhawker felt an eager, lopsided grin spread across his face. He didn’t care if he looked unhinged. Revenge would be his, and it would be a shame not to use all the resources at his disposal, so he turned to the information broker Cinderella had brought into his office.

Malibu Flower had a baby face, round cheeks with a natural blush and a little chin. It was framed by curtains of small bleach blond curls. Striking sapphire eyes and perfectly white teeth made it clear that his appearance had been corrected through various means, but the Jayhawker hardly cared. Malibu Flower was one of his most profitable and reliable information brokers. “Tell me about the your buyer. Who agreed to the deal for the Singularity’s coordinates?”

Flower straightened his bright pink suit. “I hesitate to break our confidentiality agreement, Stationmaster.” If word got out of who he had struck this deal with, the other brokers may seek to cut in on that relationship in the future.

Interesting. “Do you fear for your own safety, Flower?” Had he brokered a deal with someone forbidden? Had Command been involved after all?

“No,” the broker answered. “I well know what is permitted on this station.” The centralized government and its military were off-limits. No one on the station dealt with them. “I simply feel that my relationship with them is most profitable if kept private.” He did not want competition for this client.

“Then they are wealthy,” the Jayhawker realized.

“Excessively, Stationmaster.” They had not even attempted to negotiate a lower price for the deal. “Not to mention, they were quite easy to please.” Not many would have settled for a mere confirmation of the Singularity’s position, but his client had been satisfied with a visual sighting. “I suspect, if we have further information on the Singularity’s whereabouts, they would be quite interested.”

How very curious. “What are their intentions with the Singularity?” the stationmaster wondered. “Did you catch any sense of hostility?” Surely, if they wanted to sink the ship, a mere confirmation of its presence would not have sufficed?

“It was not my business to ask those questions,” Malibu Flower answered. Brokers who got too curious lost business. Most of his clients did not appreciate prying. They favored keeping the information business as simple as possible – a mere exchange with no questions asked.

“Then it is no matter,” the stationmaster decided. “If you believe this client can continue to be profitable, then let us work our way into their good graces. Forward them the coordinates for Crimson Heart free of charge. Inform them we cannot guarantee when the Singularity will arrive or depart, but we do know that, at some point, she will be there.”

Malibu Flower’s eyes gleamed with appreciation. This gesture would earn him the loyalty of his client for some time, and immense wealth with it. As always, the Jayhawker would earn a healthy cut. “My client will be most appreciative.” He was very certain of that.