Fault lines

Tearing loose

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I feel… The solid floor beneath me. I’m on the ground. The air is moving. I hear rushing. Wind? Feet. It smells like boots and floor polish and… Someone is shaking me. My heart thumps in time.

“Logan, Logan for goodness’s sake open your eyes.” Luke’s voice is insistent, snapping me back to reality. His forehead is creased. He’s kneeling beside me. I can almost feel his, anxiety. Cold, on the edge of panic.

I want to throw up. My head!

“Feels like someone kicked my teeth in,” I mumble sitting up while little blinking stars spin round and round. Luke breathes a sigh, relieved. I look for Cathy. She’s by her dad, her back to me.

“What’s going on? What happened?” I ask, trying to slow the spinning.

“You let him get away,” the General growls, sending his chair flying with a vicious kick. Cathy barely reacts. The room is buzzing, soldiers checking the walls, the tank.

“What?” I start to shake my head and instantly regret it.

“You passed out,” the General says mockingly, while Luke shoots him a dagger-like glare. Tom huffs from the sidelines.

“He phased.” Luke says through clenched teeth as he pushes to his feet like an old man, “I warned the General.” He sways slightly. It must have been a tough break in the connection.

“Shouldn’t we be going after him?” Cathy’s foot taps against the floor. Her eyes are on the tank, impatient. I pick myself up. Tom watches, wary.

“Yes, you warned me!” The General cuts in, ignoring us, “but you did get something.”

“Yes,” Luke says, heavy, bitter. “I got something. I got that this was all a waste of time.”

“I’ll be the judge of that...” The General’s anger is a bright edge, but Luke cuts him off.

“It was a girl. Maggie. He’s in love with a girl. That’s it.”

“A girl?” Cathy bursts out in hysterical laughter while her father glares. Her impatience is boiling over. “Seriously? This legendary Ruby Observer, came here for a girl? Not some kind of scout for an invasion, or to warn us of impending doom. A girl? And now you ‘men’ want to argue over whose fault it is he got away?”

“Can we just talk about what happened for a second?” Tom says, coming closer. “He did something to my brother.”

“I’m fine.” I say, steadily, planting my feet, but no one seems to notice.

“No, actually—poor baby Logan, just overexerted himself and passed out.” Cathy chides, jutting her chin at Tom. He licks his lips, with a downward smile, and shakes his head. I know that gesture. Tom is very close to losing his temper. Luke looks like he can barely keep his feet, he won’t be able to help.

Tom takes another step forward and Cathy explodes, shouting wildly, accusing Tom of freezing, saying he could have grabbed the prisoner if he had tried, and Luke puts so much faith in me, even though I am obviously weaker than I look.

“Look girly,” Tom seethes, calling Cathy out on the manipulation he’s been hammering down my throat all summer.

“Excuse me?” She retorts, her sarcasm acid on Tom’s disdain.

“You think I’m blind?” He snaps, bringing it back to Elle as the air thickens even more.

“You mean your ‘cousin’?” Cathy’s voice cracks on the word, and her air quotes make it clear just how much Luke’s cover story is worth. Tom’s energy spikes and a muscle twitches in his jaw. His eyes burn. Cathy doesn’t budge, smiling. Tom shuffles, his fist balled. He’s going to— I step forward, placing myself between them, pushing him back.

“Tom, calm down.”

Cathy whirls around to point her finger at a wobbly Luke, “And you! Grand Master McKeen, best Telepath in the world! Wanna explain how he managed to overpower your control?”

Luke’s face contorts. He sways but remains silent.

The General watches amused, and then Tom pushes me aside to get to Cathy. She sparks angry, draws back to throw a punch. Tom, seething, grabs her wrist and holds it, hard.

The air is suffocating. Tom is on the verge of losing all control. Luke is so bone tired, I can feel it. Cathy’s pulse matches mine, racing. She’s afraid but there’s something else. Anticipation?

I call out to my brother. I have to do something, diffuse the situation somehow, but he only tightens his fingers on Cathy’s wrist. She quails in his iron grip and the General’s smile vanishes, as he realizes just how precarious this situation has become. He gestures to the surrounding soldiers, who quickly train their weapons. No one moves.

“McKeen.” The General says with a razor’s edge in his voice. Luke startles as if he had forgotten the General was even there. Everything seems frozen in place, then something shifts.

“Thomas,” Luke calls with an urgency that is felt more than heard, an irresistible pull. Tom freezes, his energy just shy of bursting forth. Luke’s eyes bore into my brother, exhaustion forgotten.

“Luke, don’t.” I plead, but then he rounds on me as Tom starts to shudder.

The air is charged. I can barely breathe, such a strangle hold Luke has on my body. I can’t move a muscle, not even to blink. Tom clears his throat and closes his eyes.

“Luke, please,” I beg, forcing myself to relax, resisting the instinct to fight him for my autonomy as the seconds tick by. He pulls back a touch, turns back to Tom, inhales deeply. Again. Tom mirrors, then slowly loosens his grip on Cathy’s wrist.

She wrenches her hand out of his grasp, and falls whimpering into her father’s arms. Tom’s presence subsides, and Luke releases his stranglehold and I flex my limbs as my control returns. Tom drops his hand, cocks his head, livid, while Luke wilts, depleted.

One second, he stands there looking, then leaves. Without looking back, Tom saunters out of the building, his black mood hanging like a cloud around him. I follow a few steps behind, as a medic rushes past us to check Luke out.

Tom ignores me until we reach the tarmac. He’s boiling. His anger and resentment are metallic, bitter, cutting as he rounds on me.

“And you say we have nothing to fear from him?” He sneers, gesturing towards Luke. I look behind me to find that the whole gathering has followed us. Tom looks at me, bitterness dripping off of him. His gaze flits back to the shuttle, then to the sky and I see his plan, sensing his energy rising once more. Our audience hangs back.

Tom snarls one last time. And then with no preamble whatsoever, shoots, straight up into the air leaving behind a cloud of dust and gravel—and a crater in the asphalt.

* * *

It’s an hour’s flight, from the base back to the manor. Luke sits in his seat turned away from me, silent while I pilot. It’s arctic in here. He won’t even let me put the radio on. I don’t know if he’s angry or disappointed or something else. I try not to sigh too much.

As soon as we enter the kitchen he can’t take it anymore, taps me on the shoulder. I turn to face him with a raised eyebrow.

“Well, I have some questions,” I state unapologetically, and turn roudn to put the kettle on, quietly bracing myself for whatever he’s about to throw at me.

“How did you do it?” He demands, grabbing my arm and I turn round to face him, my back against the edge of the breakfast bar. Our eyes are on the same level. Imagine that.

“What? Pass out?” I grin, trying to convince myself that he’s not really mad at me.

“Don’t get smart with me!” His voice is hard, “I know. I was in his head, remember?” Luke stares into my eyes, searching. He seems more worried than angry now. I am torn between confusion and frustration.

“I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about,” I slide past him to grab a couple of cups. Frustration won.

“Manorians don’t have psychic powers, so how in the universe did you get in his head?” He gushes.

“Luke, you’d better stop talking in circles,” I snap, feeling my own anger simmering. I take a deep breath, turn around to spoon out sugar and freeze-dried coffee, trying to focus. Luke’s confusion washes over me. I lose track of which mug is which.

“Can you tell me what happened?” He asks my back, gentler. I let my shoulders drop a little. I don’t need to look to see his concern cutting through the war of emotions.

I pause. It comes back to me in flashes. The gem, the man, his eyes. My energy felt so odd, like it had a will of its own.

“I’m not sure. I think I felt him, the Rubinan. He— he was so sad, he... did something.” I stumble, trying to recall the details.

“You connected with him, not his mind, his emotions.” Luke says earnestly, and I shake my head slowly, clutching the edge of the counter, still struggling to wrap my mind around it. The kettle clicks off.

“Nah, couldn’t have been,” I say lightheartedly, adding a little force to the head shake when I turn to look at him, but he keeps staring at me gravely. “You can’t be serious.” I laugh. “You said it yourself, Manorians don’t have psychic abilities!”

“I am not wrong, Logan. You’re an empath,” he says softly.

I sit down on the nearest stool, steaming cup in hand and let what this means run through my mind.

In all Manorian history, there has only been one known psychic of any kind. The Deity. My idol. I bugged Dad every night for another story about her. She was a warrior, unmatched in power, who could anticipate her enemies’ every move because she could feel their intent as it translated into action. No one could stand against her, but her incredible power came at a great cost. When she ended an enemy’s life, she shared their death. She experienced death so many times that it drove her mad. When she couldn’t take anymore, she fell on her own sword, smiling.

We are built to resist all psychic influences. It’s in our genes. Dad had Luke confirm it. It’s why I can sense him working when no one else has any clue. When Tom and I were little and our Dad was still around, Luke made his initial connection with all of us, so we could talk without talking. It seemed a simple thing, a private communication channel that turned out to be pretty convenient.

Luke deepened our connection to help us cope when we got the news Dad was KIA. It was a blessing then, a direct line that allows for a freer, two-way flow. At first, that’s all it was.

But once Tom and I hit puberty, with the hormones and impulse control issues, Luke started helping us “regulate” when the need arose through our mental link. He’s never taken it further or delved deeper into our minds without our consent. Never.

Tom was out of line today. He hadn’t thought through what he was doing, hadn’t considered the consequences. Luke had no choice but to step in. If he hadn’t, Tom would have lit up, and the General would have had him shot to protect his daughter, or worse.

Once he’s had time to calm down, he will see that. Luke saved both of us from making our power public. From a life of forced conscription and literal slavery to the PG. It also showed the General that Luke can still keep us in line. That maybe he’s the only one who can.

If Tom had really wanted to, he could have overpowered Luke and gone right ahead with whatever he planned. Luke’s influence over us isn’t total control like it is when he works. It doesn’t need to be. I could have broken it, Tom too.

The coffee is cold. I stare at the disappointing black liquid, gone matte, swirling it to inspect the brown ring on the lip of the mug, wondering how long we’ve just sat here in silence.

“It’s not true.” I say at last. Feeling the contradiction in my gut. It can’t be.

“I’m sorry, son.” Luke reaches out to me but I bat his hand away, disgusted.

“I am a Manorian. Not just any Manorian, my father was a nobleman. He hammered the bloodlines into us since we said our first words. If I have psychic abilities it means there’s some taint. It means he lied.”

“The Deity-” Luke begins but I cut him off.

“The Deity was an exception. The one and only in a hundred generations. She had no family, died before she had kids. There’s no bloodline.” I turn away, grabbing the coffee mugs to put them in the basin. I am too horrified to face him. I grab the dirty cups, rinse them out. Luke waits. Says nothing.

“You are accusing me of being impure. Making me question my Father and his, this could mean that everything I have been told for my entire life has been a lie.”

“I’m not saying that,” Luke says emphatically, “I would never say that.” I turn to face him, searching his level gaze for some kind of explanation. “All I want is for you to consider the possibility. It is a possibility. Maybe it’s my influence that caused a deviation. Maybe Dennis awakened an instinct that has been dormant. The only way we can know for sure is to look into it, right?”

I stare, mind racing. Long minutes pass. Luke looks at me, not influencing, just watching. This has raised so many questions. I can feel him holding back, resisting the urge. He’s not good at it.

I think about what happened. I’ve always been good at reading people, but… When I came to after the Observer escaped… it all felt so loud, my attention being pulled in every direction. I knew Tom was about to snap. I knew Luke was exhausted. I knew Morgan wasn’t even worried because any way that disaster of an interrogation went it worked in his favor. I felt it.

“Fine.” I sigh at last. “So how would it work? Talk me through the process.” Luke smiles his most proud smile, then launches into what feels like a prepared speech.

* * *

It is dark outside and I can hear the cold wind howling, but the lights are on in here. We sit across from one another at the breakfast bar, with fresh cups of coffee and our backs to the door. Luke straightens his back, palms open in his lap.

“Close your eyes, and open up. You know how this goes,” Luke says, his voice like silk.

The connection snaps into place as my lids shut, like a jolt of electricity. But it’s not like always. There’s a new texture, a sharpness, prickly. It feels like... Regret. Why? Oh, it’s how I feel his influence. He knows I don’t like it, regrets my discomfort.

“Hold the incident in your thoughts, try to remember every detail. Talk me through what you remember. Start wherever it feels comfortable.” His voice echoes, distorting slightly as it finds the balance between his ears and mine.

* * *

I look around the General’s office again. The window lets in too much light. There are stains on the wood, rings where a coaster should have been, scratches on the chairs, the navy blue cushions are worn at the corners. Just the kind of thing Luke would notice.

There are files, reports, in front of the picture of Cathy and her mom. Morgan’s hands hover near them and I sense a hint of influence directing the General’s thoughts away from his daughter’s reports on my power, a gentle nudge, nothing more. Another prompt allows him to accept Tom’s hesitance without question. Luke is so careful, but I understand why now. Morgan is vigilant, Luke is forced to be subtle. So the General can feel it too, explains a lot.

The interrogation room is a flurry of red flags. The window in the corner isn’t tempered glass, its too thin as well. The locks are electromagnetic, not mechanical, and so they might fail if there is a power dip. The wires along the ground, the sloppy electrical connections to the tank, and a dozen other small things that could impact the security of the containment. It’s a miracle they were able to hold him as long as they did.

Cathy’s eyes are on her father as she hugs me. Luke reads her while I’m distracted and it punches me in the gut. She’s acting. Her father approves of the display. I’ve been so blind.

Luke redirects my thoughts while he argues with the General. His fear is constant. Someone will find out the extent of our power. He won’t be able to stop us from being snatched up by the PG. He will be powerless to prevent the consequences. I feel Luke’s awe upon seeing Dennis, and his acceptance that the Observer will likely escape. He did it anyway.

Viewing this through the composite of our memories is a little jarring, but once I figure out how it all fits together, I roll with it and reach the part that I can’t remember.

Luke has the Observer in his grasp. Dennis’ eyes implore me to let him go. I feel the moment he realizes I won’t. Then he starts to struggle and things get muddled. Through Luke’s eyes, I see him move. He sort of shivers, a vibration runs through his body as he starts to phase. Luke’s iron will overpowers him but only just.

I keep tightening my grip. The energy cinches mercilessly in around Dennis, compressing his body like a giant snake, inexorably constricting, squeezing the breath out of him. Luke senses his pain and the cracks in his mind light up. Telepathic tendrils find their way in, searching for a source. Then the scene that materialized to me back then flashes before my eyes again with crystal clarity.

Two lovers are sitting under a mango tree on a hill, eating chocolate and strawberries under the stars. Their joy and affection are unmistakable. Luke pushes, further back, how he came here.

A giant ruby hangs above Earth Prime, observing. The shadow of a comet falls
across it. The crystal fractures without the light, its perception narrows, it becomes more. He starts to feel, and he sees Maggie, not for the first time. He’s been watching her.

There is a bonfire on the beach. She walks off to the restroom, and some brute jumps her and tries to force himself on her in the sand. She puts up a fight, he brings out a knife and Dennis intervenes. Smokes the bugger. He picks Maggie up, heals her bruises and cuts, restores her clothes, and tidies her hair, like magic. He searches her memories, then phases the two of them through space and sets Maggie on the couch in her dorm room tenderly, a wave of emotion surging through him, regretting her injuries, blossoming tenderness and love.

That’s when Dennis gets control of me. His mind springs into gear, like a tightly wound clockwork toy, set free. I feel him reach into my body. He pulls the energy there, outward. I start to heat up, the first tendrils of flame appearing on my hands where I am still touching the glass. He is drawing it out, not just my energy, my potential, something buried. My heart races in time with Luke’s as he realizes what’s happening.

Dennis’ hand is opposite mine, resembling a prison visitation booth. The General and Cathy both stare at me in expectation, they can’t wait to see what will happen. I feel him on the other side, our energy mingling, connecting us, my golden flames are growing more intense, spreading up my arm past my elbow. There is nothing I can do to stop it. The pull is maddening now, something tears loose. It was always there, now it’s awake. His sadness swells in my own chest, threatening to swallow me. My energy responds. I’m about to…

Luke latches onto me, snaps my consciousness so hard it quakes through my body. The bonds that had held Dennis in place, flicker and vanish and through Luke’s eyes, I see myself slump to the ground. Dennis glances at Luke with a look of pure hatred, snapping the telepathic connection as he shudders through the no longer shimmering glass and disappears through the far wall of the compound.

The Morgans look on as Luke falls forward, gasping. It feels like a hammer beating his skull in. Between strokes he crawls over to where I’m lying, checks my vitals, straightens me out. The atmosphere is somber, disappointment. Luke’s telepathy is like a raw wound now, uncontrolled. He catches random snippets. Cathy sees weakness. She wonders how much longer she will have to play at puppy love. The General is disappointed. I’m not as strong as he thought. Not worth his attention or that of his daughter. He gives the signal and Cathy sounds the alarm with her tab. The lights flick on and soldiers come running, weapons at the ready. Luke shuts down hard before it can overwhelm him. And then I sense my brother. He watched from the sidelines, he saw me go down, and he felt… Disgust? That’s not right.

The scene fades, and I’m looking at my hands in my lap, unsteady on the high stool at the breakfast bar. I’m breathing hard. The weight of the moment hangs heavily.

“Thomas!” Luke chimes cheerfully. Tom doesn’t answer. I look up, he is glaring at us from the door. There’s anger when I look at him, mixed with the same strange revulsion from a moment ago. It’s so intense I have to work to stay upright.

We’re twins, so in sync we’re like extensions of each other. I always assumed that’s why we understand each other so well. But maybe it’s just me.

Tom stands there, brooding silently. He saw.

No one speaks. The tension settles in my stomach, a boulder, immovable. His expression is cold, but I can feel the anger and disappointment seething beneath it. I can sense his bitter revulsion at seeing us here, concentrating, mirrored posture, knowing what it means. He’s adrift, cracked. This it hurt him.

I want to reach out, explain, make it right. But he won’t listen now. I can feel it. Nothing I can say will reach him. All he sees is that I let Luke in my head, to the depths. And Manorians don’t do that.

This is going to get complicated.

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