Mutant Space People: Finale

Epilogue:

Recently promoted Lieutenant Commander Richard Simkins stood at attention in front of the members of Chief Command. He had never been so nervous. Well, except for the time when the lives of an entire space cruiser depended on his random visions. But aside from that, this was one of the most terrifying experiences of his life.

Chief Command was comprised entirely of men who had risen to the rank of Fleet Admiral. Most of them were fairly old, and all of them intimidating. Simkins briefly thought that this place would perfectly suit Fleet Admiral Carson when the time came.

He turned his attention back to the council as they read, for the dozenth time, a list of his qualifications before decorating him. He was grateful that his vision had saved everyone, but the parade was a little much, and the medals were just plain overkill. But, he supposed, it was better than ‘dead end map boy’.

“Now, Lieutenant Commander, I should like to see you privately for a moment, if you don’t mind.” The Head Councilman on Chief Command stood and beckoned toward an empty room.

Simkins took a moment to regain control of his feet, and then followed the old Admiral. They entered a small room with a few chairs and a hologram projector. Simkins stayed at attention as the councilman closed the door behind them.

“Oh, for crying out loud, sit boy. You’ve had enough parading around for one day, I’d wager.”

“Thank you, sir.” Simkins replied, taking the nearest chair. Though he sat, he wasn’t very relaxed. What in the universe could the head councilman need from him?

“Now, we’ll get to the point. We’ve been making a lot of noise about your great rescue, but I don’t imagine that anyone has bothered to explain anything to you.”

“No, sir.” Simkins answered, now somewhat curious.

“It hasn’t happened in a hundred years, at least, but I think I can explain these visions of yours.”

“Really, sir?”

“Oh, I think so. You have the empathy talent, I understand.”

“Yes.”

“Good, good. Well, according to military record, there was once a young man, not unlike yourself, who had this same talent. Many do, in fact. It’s not so uncommon. But this particular young man had it to an exceptionally high level. So high that some thought of categorizing it in a completely separate area. An area known as “scrying”. Are you familiar with this term?”

“No, sir.”

“I thought not. Most aren’t. The scrying ability is exceedingly rare. As I said, more than a hundred years have passed since it was seen last. With empathy you can get to the truth of things. Feel intentions, sense lines of influence, etc. Scrying is merely another level. A level in which your sense of sight becomes involved. When you saw the scythe ship, you saw what the scanners could not. This also explains your uncanny knack for mapping. Am I making sense?”

“I think so, sir. So I can reach out with my mind and see things?”

“Yes.”

“Just anything, or do I have to be looking for it?”

“That is what we have yet to determine. Our last subject of study was a century ago. And I should be grateful if you would consent to a few tests every so often, simply for scientific advancement and record.”

“Of course, sir. I have one question, though. Why did it take this long to show up? The scrying, I mean. I’ve been in the service for almost seven years now, since I was a cadet.”

“Potential, boy. Most people have a lot more of it than they ever reach. Dead end jobs are the most common killer of potential. Sometimes you just need a catalyst. You reach a critical moment. You have a great deal of potential. A great deal. I think you reached that point where you just couldn’t contain it any longer. It was a case of blooming or dying. And fortunately for all of us, you bloomed.”

“But, sir, I wasn’t much without my new talent. No one takes empathy seriously. I was pretty well stuck where I was. Without this scrying thing, I don’t have any potential at all. Not like you and the other council members.”

“I don’t believe that for a moment.” The old Admiral muttered as he stood to leave the room.

“Sir?” Simkins asked, just before the councilman left. “What’s your talent?”

“Empathy.” He said with a smirk.