“You look like shit, Paul.”

“Gee, thanks Mike.”

Mike sat down on the opposite stool at Paul’s table in the mess hall. The seating area was small, and had a wrap-around wall surrounding it, with only one entry point. It was the only private spot in the entire room, as the rest of the crew had open space to sit and eat with each other. For the most part, his section was largely ignored, knowing full-well whom it was specifically designed for.

Mike placed his loaded tray of food down carefully, as the white table was barely able to fit both, his and Paul’s. Mike was a friend, the only one of the flight crew that actually dared to speak to him (or sit with, for that matter), and not treat the man like the plague. They calmly sat across one another, toying with their meals as the tried to determine if it was at all worth eating.

“No, seriously,” Mike gestured with is fork. “Did you even sleep a wink this time?”

“Not as much as I would have liked.” Paul shrugged. He kept his gazed down to the tray, still moving the questionable pale looking bits of meat about, while glumly resting his right elbow on the table with his fist supporting his cheek. “It’s not easy for a guy like me, but, I don’t want to bore you with my lowly Mindskipper, gripes. I’m sure you’ve heard me bitch on and on about it repeatedly before...”

“Yeah,” Mike nodded, taking the risk of eating the bit he managed to scoop up from the tray. “I won’t lie, it’s a daily song that you keep singing about. But,” He paused for a second, realizing the taste wasn’t as bad as he thought, and continued on. “Mm, getting better… sorry, what I was going to say was, I don’t mind you venting to me about it, heck, that’s what friends are for. Besides, ya can’t always keep that bottled up. Trust me, I’ve got loads of bitching to do in the coming months.”

Paul took the time to eat some of the food as his friend rambled on.

“The captain, if you can call him that,” Mike snickered. “Is asking for volunteers to do other non-bridge assignments. Since we’re not as necessary in piloting the ship, he wants us to start some custodial work and make the place look polished for any sudden visitors. Shit man, can you believe it? Me? Swabbin’ the deck? That’s not the job I signed up for. And what about the poor custodial robots, huh?”

He motioned to the small floor sweeping-bot casually floating by, the curtain of air below pushing the bits of dust and debris in front as it tended to the smooth white metallic floor.

“You think they want some worthless human stealing their workload? Pfft! Please! I’n not about to yank that pleasure from the likes of them.”

Paul said nothing and continued to casually eat his food. Mike was right, it was getting better, you could actually taste the chicken flavour this time. He wanted to tell him, but Mike was still too busy yammering on about the unfairness of the upperclass management, instead he just continued nod as if he was listening, and strayed into his own internal thoughts.

“I wonder if being out this far into space has somehow augmented my range. I’ve never heard it happening to any other before… especially with such tactile clarity. I mean, fuck, that was real water on my skin…”

Mike tapped on Paul’s head, breaking the man’s concentration.

“Hello? Mister Mindskipper, you hearing me okay?”

“Huh? Oh, sorry, Mike… what were you saying?”

Mike let out a quick exhale and folded his hands together, resting his chin on them. “Oh, nothing, just venting my problems to you, but, since you’re so riveted by it, why not just give me more of yours. What’s up? Something on your mind?”

“That’s the problem,” Paul snickered. “There’s nothing but the mind to worry about…”

“Oh, don’t give me that lame crap, Paul. Something’s bothering you—come on, man, give already…”

Paul eyed him carefully, trying his best not to read his friend’s mind in doing so. Last time that happened, he had a mental image of a woman in various sexual positions, and that of the other man they had join in. Mike was very good looking, a perfect mix of charm, personality and genes. He liked informing his dates about the benefits of being of mixed descent; One quarter black, two-thirds asian, and just a hint of whiteness within.

Yeah, he was a cad, a moocher, and the last person you’d trust on a double date, seeing how they’d probably ditch you for him in a heartbeat. But, he was loyal, when sober, anyway. Paul let out a frustrated sigh and confided in him.

“Remember I was telling you about those directed dreams of mine, you know,” Paul leaned in closer to whisper. “About places I’ve never been and how real they felt.”

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

“Uh-huh…”

“Well, I had another one, one this time, it was a little too real.”

“God, I envy you.” Mike smirked. “I wish I could do that in a few certain quarters, if you know what I mean.” He waggled his brows.

Paul ignored his comment and held out his arm one the table, exposing the bare skin underneath the sleeve.

“I was on the planet below, Mike. My arm felt wet… no, not felt, it was wet, from the waterfall I was standing near. Do you get what I’m saying?”

“I’m sure it was very detailed, but…”

“No, not detailed!” Paul stressed, shoving the arm out more. “That was physical. I was really there, standing on grass, feeling the breeze on my face and… and… goddamned drops of water that were still there after I envisioned the place.”

Mike gave a confused glare. He slowly started eating his food again as if to mull over the situation. Before he answered back, he took a long gulp from the cup of water on the tray, and placed it back directly, as he nodded.

“Huh…”

“Huh, what?” Paul glared at him.

“Huh, as in, huh, that’s odd,’

“That’s all you’ve got to say?” Paul gave wry stare and leaned back. “I just told you I was physically standing on the planet—while dreaming, no less.”

“Well, what am I supposed to say to something like that, Paul? You’re a Mindskipper, I thought you guys had bizarre shit like this happen all the time. I mean, you literally use your minds to bend space and time… or something to that effect, I guess. I’m no psychoanalyst on the matter, hell, I’m just a lowly ranking bridge officer that may, or may not, be having to dust the consoles on regular intervals.”

Paul dismissed his attitude and looked away in anger. Mike tried to quell that action by stating the obvious.

“Look, this is something you should be discussing with Doctor Yumi, okay. I wish I could understand, but, quite frankly, I just can’t. I’m limited on what advice I could offer to you.”

Paul scoffed at him, even as he continued to explain.

“I’m just a common friend, a null-brain, as some of you Mindskippers call us. Why don’t you tell her all this?”

“Because I know what she’ll say…”

“Which is what—exactly?”

“That I’m slipping into madness.” Paul said, pounding his fist to the table, causing the trays to fall. “That I’m having some type of schism, or mental breakdown. She’ll have me sent to the Correction Chamber on Earth and tinker with my brain.”

“Really? They do that sort of thing?”

“Yes,” He shouted back. “They reach in with their advanced AI surgical robotic probes, cut into the lobe that looks damaged to them, and then rip it out, replace it with artificial tissue, and start retraining our minds from ground zero again. You got that? They fuck with our brains, Mike!”

Mike gave a look of shock, he stood up slightly, peering over the wall, as others in the room turned to look. He quickly gave them all a wry smile and motioned to his friend, mouthing—he’s having a bad day.

“I can hear that you know!” Paul stood up and started walking away in anger.

Mike pursued after him. He managed to stop his friend before exiting the mess hall.

“Paul, wait… I’m sorry, man, okay? I’ve never seen you so frazzled like this. What’s really bugging you? It can’t be just about you suddenly mentally projecting onto a planet.” He patted Paul’s shoulder and tried to look him in the eye. “You’ve had realistic visions before, maybe not as detailed, but… this one really has you spooked. So? What is it?”

Paul couldn’t look up. He still didn’t want to create that connection, if they locked eyes, he’d be sure to download all his friend’s actual thoughts in an instant. It was a burden having such abilities. Which is why having friends wasn’t really possible, for him, anyway. Paul acknowledged Mike’s concern by gripping his hand, still lightly pressed on his shoulder.

“I can’t explain it, not in terms you’d understand. I’m sorry.” He gently moved Mike’s hand away and exhaled. “It’s just, Mindskipper stuff, ya know? But, thanks anyway,” He paused for a second and let go of his friend’s hand. “I’ll talk with you again later.”

Paul stepped around his friend and briskly darted down the corridor as he left the mess hall. Mike stood helplessly as he watched on with a concerned glare. He briefly glanced at his hand, then back at Paul as he fled beyond his sight.

“Yeah, sure…” He finally stated, as if Paul was still within earshot. “You know where to find me, buddy.”

* * *

It was a shit thing to do to a friend, Paul was regretting the action, even as he fled in a panic. But, how could he even begin to describe the whole scenario to a non-Mindskipper? It’s just a feeling, a powerful one, well more than any norm like his friend could fathom. To see, touch, and feel being on a planet you just arrived to, knowing you’re still on board a starship—and then, the presence of a voice from out of nowhere? Maybe Mike was correct, maybe he should be explaining this to Yumi.

He had to concede that it could very well be stress from the mission. Other Mindsweepers succumbed to it, eventually, just as he explained to Mike, and lobotomization was always the end result.

“No, not me, never…” He vowed. “I’ll never end up as one of them.”

He glanced up for a second, and decided to head for Doctor Yumi’s office. It was in this moment that he took notice that he’d mistakingly chose the wrong corridor. Instead of by-passing the crew, he was in the thick of them. It was too late to try to find the next available exit to the shielded parallel corridor, he would have to press on, and to try his best to avoid the other crewmen and personnel. Not an easy thing to do in this narrow space. He would have to avoid making contact with them, by not looking directly into their eyes and keeping his head down.

He had to focus his thoughts. Concentration was key to keeping from hearing them all. He’d become so sensitive from jumping through space, using his mental energy, that it augmented his range and gave him unusual heightened telepathy. An odd side effect that few Mindskippers cared to share with any one other than their own. It could last for hours, days, sometimes weeks at a time. The bigger the jump, with deep mental projections they pushed themselves into, the longer-lasting these heightened abilities could last.

Doctor Yumi might be the only one who could possibly help him. After all, she is the medical professional, a qualified specialist in field of psychology, and someone with a sympathetic ear. Sure, they’ve had previous history together, in a way. There was always a bit of flirtation going on, but nothing more than that. But, could he really trust her? Especially about something as major as this? She could very well report him. He’d have to take that risk.