There was a lot more to Thomas than immaturity and emotion. But for the first time in what seemed like ages, the child in him was ascendant, and the various masterminds were buried. He was scared.

He had nothing to say. Radios crackled. Battle leaders reported mayhem and death.

He had nothing to see. It was dark inside the secret passageway. The frightened expressions of his companions were illuminated by glowing bricks and wristwatch displays.

Garrett leaned his forehead against the wall in a posture of defeat. His craggy face sagged with exhaustion. Without his powers, he looked as if he had aged by four or five decades.

Dust sifted off the ceiling as the passageway trembled. Torth were throwing grenades into the warren of scientific laboratories. Destructive bastards.

But they were not idiots.

That was a fact which Thomas should really should have kept at the forefront of his mind at all times.

“Can I ask you about their new gas?” Varktezo asked, his voice low.

The passageway was stuffed with frightened lab technicians and soldiers. Thomas had invited hundreds of people to join him in hiding, since the invaders were pumping telepathy gas everywhere and wreaking havoc upon anyone they encountered. Torth forces dominated every possible exit from the Academy.

“Was it…” Varktezo hesitated. Then he whispered his outlandish guess. “Telepathy gas?”

Nearby people fell silent.

The air in the passageway was stuffy from overcrowding. People pressed against the walls, against each other, and against Thomas’s hoverchair.

??? Varktezo sidled closer. He emitted cloyingly sharp curiosity.

“Yes,” Thomas admitted. “The Torth invented a telepathy gas.” His people would learn the truth one way or another, if they survived, so he might as well alleviate the overwhelming curiosity all around him. “It seems like some kind of desorption technique that amplifies brainwaves.”

Garrett sighed, depressed.

Varktezo’s beak fell open in delight.

Thomas wished he had time to theorize about how telepathy gas worked. It must utilize stochastic supersymmetry, but did it rely on a fermion matrix? Or antineutrinos? If only he could interrogate the inventor. It was disgustingly brilliant.

“I think it’s a matrix of dark energy,” Thomas went on, “created and spread by emitters. Anyone within an artificial telepathy zone will experience each other’s experiences, whether or not they can read minds.”

“Was that really what telepathy feels like?” One lab technician exchanged dubious glances with another.

“Yep,” Thomas said.

Another technician seemed to gather her courage, and she faced him directly. “Is it what you experience all the time? Like, right now?”

“It is,” Garrett said.

Thomas nodded.

“But why was it so confusing and disorienting?” another technician asked.

???

 ???

  ???

People practically held their breaths, driven mad with their eagerness for explanations. Dust sifted down. Curiosity pressed against Thomas, cornering him.

Garrett must likewise feel cornered by all the unspoken questions. “It’s not confusing for mind readers,” he explained.

“Right,” Thomas added. “Our brains are adapted to handle multiple viewpoints and inputs. You’re just not used to it.”

“It’s like,” Garrett said, “if a person who was blind from birth suddenly gained eyesight.”

Thomas nodded. “The formerly blind person would not yet be able to associate words with images. It would just be a jumble of new data.”

The listeners emanated dismay.

Except for Varktezo, who was ecstatic. His beak hung open with joy. “Are you saying that we can actually learn to read minds?”

Thomas did not want to falsely stoke that wistful passion. “It’s possible,” he admitted. “But it would take a lot of time. And practice.” He tapped his leg braces. “You’ve seen how long it’s taken me to learn to walk.”

Telepathy gas was, specifically, a guarantee against mind control. Thomas figured the Torth would only release it where he might be present. They would never allow non-telepaths to get used to it.

Because they feared a universe where they no longer had a power advantage.

Such a possibility must haunt their darkest nightmares.

Varktezo tapped his earpiece. “Try to confiscate any mysterious equipment the Torth leave lying around,” he told the garrison dispatcher. “Please. Look for…” He gave Thomas an inviting expression. “What do the emitters look like?”

“I have no idea.” Thomas had failed to soak up any extraneous mysteries while those Rosies had tried to murder him.

“Just any unknown boxes or cylinders,” Varktezo told the dispatcher. “If people experience confusion or double vision? There will be weird equipment nearby. Grab it. Switch it off, if you can, but keep it safe. We will need to study it.”

He ended the call and grinned at Thomas.

The passageway shook as another grenade went off. People drew closer together, scared.

Thomas wondered if any of them would survive long enough to reverse-engineer the weaponized telepathy gas. The Torth were going to blast their way into his hideout. It was inevitable. And then they would find Thomas as helpless as the weakest ummin.

His thermokinetic power was the rough equivalent of a blaster glove. It would not stop a bunch of Rosy Ranks.

He could create illusions, but any halfwit of a mind reader would see right through that sort of thing.

In fact, Thomas’s powers might actually be a liability right now. What if his life spark stood out? He might glow like a beacon to the most powerful invader. He should go dark.

Yet he could not bring himself to press a blaster glove against his skin and inject himself with inhibitor. Losing his Yeresunsa aura might be a smart gamble on staying hidden, but it might also entail his doom. He just didn’t know.

He hated guesswork.

The next bomb was closer. Walls quaked and people murmured with fear.

As Thomas imagined the passageway filling with telepathy gas, and all of these people bravely battling their own confusion … as he imagined Varktezo struggling to navigate as a fledgling telepath … he reconsidered the capabilities of his allies. Was he misjudging them?

The Torth certainly assumed that non-telepaths would bumble around like disabled children.

But disabled children could be surprising.

Thomas’s allies were armed with blaster gloves. They possessed as much determination and will to survive as Thomas had, himself. This was their city, too. To write them off as disabled children, ignorant and incapable … wasn’t that a mistake?

A mistake which the Torth Empire kept making, over and over and over again?

“There is a way we might survive,” Thomas said in the silence.

People regarded him, inquisitive or skeptical. Even Garrett looked at him with incredulity, but also with suppressed hope.

Stolen story; please report.

Thomas did his best to mentally erase the supposed power differential between himself and his allies. He was not better than them. They were not his inferiors.

It was difficult. It was a paradigm shift; a reevaluation of core beliefs that would not occur to most Torth, not even to Torth super-geniuses.

But it was necessary.

“I was wrong,” Thomas said. “About the obstacles you face, in learning telepathy … I can give everyone here a significant advantage.”

He manipulated light and vapor to project a holographic golden arrow. Motion was guaranteed to draw attention, so he made his arrow pulse with a liquid flow. It glowed against the darkness.

“I can project hyper-realistic objects or scenarios,” Thomas said.

He had used fiery arrows to train Azhdarchidae. This really wouldn’t be much different, in principle.

“Our enemies can’t do this,” Thomas explained. “Not spur-of-the-moment. They won’t be expecting me to guide you.”

Soldiers and lab assistants stared at the holographic arrow. The quick-witted ones gasped in understanding.

“The Torth will use telepathy gas whenever they think I’m around,” Thomas said. “So they’ll expect you to lose track of what’s real and whose perceptions you’re seeing. But—”

“You can give us beacons!” Varktezo brimmed with excitement.

“Exactly,” Thomas said.

“But,” someone said, “there are hundreds of us. How will you keep track of who is supposed to go where?”

“Trust me,” Varktezo put in. “The Teacher can track of all of us.”

Thomas remembered the way Varktezo had fallen backwards in shock and awe upon perceiving his mind. People already whispered rumors about him behind his back. How much worse would those rumors be, if hundreds of people gained an intimate and up-close view of his naked mind?

“It’s actually a good idea.” Garrett admitted that begrudgingly. “But the Torth have excellent imaginations. They’ll just copy Thomas’s arrows and make them point in the wrong direction. They’ll fool everyone.”

Soldiers groaned.

“I can counteract that.” Thomas projected customized arrows in front of each technician or soldier. He changed them, morphing each one to a new shape or a different color. “I’ll customize the icons, and make them individual for each soldier.”

Garrett’s bushy eyebrows raised in admiration. It seemed he had not expected Thomas to be able to multitask like this.

“He can track of hundreds of us?” A lab technician sounded skeptical. “And give us each custom-tailored information?”

“Yup,” Varktezo said with definitiveness.

Thomas avoided their stares. From now on, people would only see him as a freakish mental colossus. They would know that his brain was as far from normal as it was possible to be.

Or…

Not necessarily. Telepathy gas could spread far, but within its penumbra, only nearest neighbors caught intimate glimpses of each other’s minds. Everyone else was just a vague impression in the murk. Thomas figured he would hang back. He would orchestrate the battle from its furthest fringes, and project his neon guideposts visually. He would resort to mental tactics only if he had to.

Few people would see an up-close naked view of who he really was.

“I still don’t think this will work.” Garrett sounded strained, like he was fighting an uphill battle. “The Torth are masters of telepathy. They’ll band together and imagine super vivid but false scenarios. They can trick any soldier or lab technician!”

Normally, yes. But…

“They can try.” Thomas let his holographic icons fade. He replaced them with his own vividly imagined scenario, and he played it like a movie in midair. A holographic ummin soldier ran with determination, armed with a heavy-duty blaster glove.

In his projected scenario, the ground split apart. The holographic ummin skidded to a halt before she could careen over the apparent cliff.

“I promise,” Thomas said, “I won’t lead you astray.”

A neon arrow appeared in his holographic scene. The holographic ummin stared at the arrow, which pulsed, urging her to cross the apparent chasm.

She tentatively placed one foot over the edge of the abyss. Instead of plunging, her boot landed on invisible, yet solid, ground. The figure gained confidence and proceeded to run across what seemed to be thin air. As she ran, the truth was revealed. Her boots touched plaza flagstones instead of nothingness.

“That’s a leap of faith,” someone commented.

“It is,” Thomas admitted. “I’m not going to sugarcoat what we’re up against. The Torth are masters of telepathy. You have to be prepared to see disturbing things. You’ll encounter perceptions that aren’t yours, and hallucinations that someone else wants you to see. That’s on top of getting inundated with thoughts and ideas that don’t belong to you.”

He tried not to despair. Every one of the non-telepaths had a whole new obstacle course to run. For them, telepathy gas would be as deadly as a minefield and more difficult to traverse. And all because their minds were not adapted for navigating reality like a telepath.

The Torth were exploiting their lack of telepathy.

It was no different from a bunch of schoolyard bullies shoving disabled kids around, because those kids could not physically fight back.

Thomas firmed up his resolve. “The only reason you’ll have trouble,” he said, “is because you’re not used to it. That’s all. The Torth are counting on that.”

They listened. Varktezo, in particular, paid attention.

“One battle, or one day of telepathy gas, isn’t enough for your mind to adapt to a flood of alien perceptions,” Thomas said. That was an unavoidable truth. “But don’t let that discourage you.” He rapped his leg braces. “Five months ago, I couldn’t have stood up or walked.”

He gathered his courage. It seemed dangerous to reveal one of his secret hopes, but it might make his point. So he said, “I expect to walk unaided soon. Maybe in another two months.”

The soldiers exchanged looks.

Thomas tensed up. They probably thought his goal was pathetic. After all, most people could walk without any problems.

Instead of whispers of derision, they looked hopeful. Determined. A few soldiers actually gave Thomas glances of admiration.

Thomas sat up straighter in his hoverchair. “I’ll give everyone signs that are personal. They’ll be signs that you recognize, like a meaningful object, or some item that means something to you or your loved ones.”

He demonstrated.

The soldiers and technicians went silent. They contemplated their own uniquely personalized icons.

“And I’ll point out any Torth in the area,” Thomas added. “So you can kill them.” He projected neon dots shooting towards a neon target. His holographic soldier aimed her blaster glove to shoot the target. A Red Rank materialized in that spot, already keeling over, dead. The blast had exploded his helmeted head.

“I can’t predict how this day will turn out,” Thomas admitted. “Or what the Torth will do. But I do know that their invasion force is limited. Very few of their champions will have enough raw strength to teleport away from this planet within the next few hours. They used up a lot of power in getting here.”

The soldiers understood the implications. They had a window of opportunity in which to rid their city of the invaders.

“Won’t the Torth just send more Servants of All?” someone shouted.

“They don’t have an infinite number of teleporters.” Thomas raised his voice, clarifying the stakes. “Their commanding super-genius might want to keep throwing all of her resources at me, but if we kill or imprison enough of them? That will stir up objections within the top ranks of the Torth Empire. The Servants and Rosies themselves will refuse to be used continuously as expendable weapons.”

“He’s right.” Even Garrett stood straighter. “He’s absolutely right. We need to make this a dangerous environment for the Torth.”

The soldiers understood. Most of them had learned that the Torth Empire functioned by Majority vote.

“I see,” a nussian soldier rumbled. “Our goal is to create doubts among the Torth. We do not even have to kill all of the invaders. We just have to kill enough of them.”

“Exactly,” Thomas said.

His idea was catching on. He could see that they were afraid, but it was a ray of hope in an otherwise hopeless situation.

“The Torth Empire is trying to buy seven days for themselves,” Thomas said. “That’s how long it would take for a Torth armada to glide through ‘slow space’ and reach our planet, Reject-20. They want to destroy Freedomland before Ariock can recover and come back to us.”

Everyone grumbled with defiance.

“We can destroy the Torth here,” Thomas said. “And we can destroy their incoming armada, if we have to.”

His allies exchanged glances. All of these people had families, spouses, or networks of close friends. They would take risks to protect their loved ones.

“We should imprison a few Torth, if we can,” Varktezo suggested. “For later use.” He gestured at Thomas. “As zombies.”

That would work as a terror tactic. Thomas nodded in approval.

An official pushed his way up through the crowd. He was a self-important young ummin in an embroidered outfit, and Thomas recognized him as Gralet, the son of Councilor Deschuba.

“Let us say we defeat the invaders.” Gralet tugged on his lapels, straightening his outfit. “What about the millions of penitents? Are they not a threat? What is to stop them from turning against us?”

It was an unfortunately good point. Perhaps Thomas had seeded his own destruction by showing mercy to former Torth, who might now regain their positions as masters of the galaxy. Had he been too idealistic?

He thought of the Pink Screwdriver. He didn’t want to imagine her turning against his allies.

Another ummin bustled to the front of the crowd. “I am a lieutenant of Kessa the Wise.” She faced Gralet, and tapped her wristwatch. A holograph of Kessa glowed in the darkness. “I received this message from her.”

Thomas and others watched in amazement as the recording played.

Kessa’s image glowed in projected light. “I expected many penitents to join the invading Torth,” her recorded voice said. “And it seems a few of them have.”

Soldiers grumbled.

“But,” Kessa’s recording went on, “the vast majority of penitents are abstaining from combat. It is possible they wish to wait and see which way the battle goes.”

Thomas let out a breath, and realized that a tense part of him had expected to hear that the penitents were all a bunch of murderous traitors.

They were not allies.

But they were not enemies, either. That was something.

“I think it is notable that they are hesitant,” Kessa’s recording went on. “They are not rushing to rejoin their Torth brethren. Instead, they are remaining in their barracks and in the households of their sponsors.” She paused. “I want you to leave them alone unless they pose a threat. Anyone who kills a non-threatening, unarmed penitent will be punished.”

The recording ended. Kessa’s image vanished, and the lieutenant dimmed her wristwatch.

“Is Kessa safe?” Thomas asked anxiously.

The lieutenant faced him. “Last I heard, she is hidden. She has protectors.”

Thomas let out another breath. He wasn’t sure how much bad news he could handle, but if Kessa got hurt or killed … the very idea was devastating.

He hardened his jaw. He didn’t want to float into danger, but Kessa’s safety was worth taking risks for. “We need to get the Torth out of our city.”

Multiple people assessed him. They seemed to wonder if he could be counted on, even though he was not the most ideal leader in the galaxy.

Varktezo raised his voice. “Remember to shield the Teacher!” he shouted. “The Torth want to kill him more than anything. Without him, we are blind.”

And without these brave soldiers and technicians, Thomas was just a vulnerable target. He would be utterly reliant on these ummins, nussians, and govki, just as much as they would be relying on him. It was mutual. They would all be going into danger together.

But that was just.

Maybe that was a semblance of equality.

A grenade shook the walls. Thomas nodded to his people, showing them that he was ready for danger.

Soldiers checked their blaster gloves. They prepared to survive phantom sensations while following personalized holographic arrows.

And they would kill Torth.

“I am ready.” A nussian soldier snorted with determination. Other echoed the sentiment.

Thomas was glad that none of his people could read his mind right at this moment, because he was scared.