#fledge writes

He smirked. “That stuck, huh?”

She shrugged. The little hexagon where the tiles met remained interesting.

He shook his head at his clipboard.

“General Drakon is so cavalier about that sort of thing. I wouldn’t be surprised if everyone thought that was your actual name if he was the one to introduce you. Still though, surviving this long?” He let out a little laugh. “That’s a lifelong nickname now, I’m sure.” 

He looked at her as if he were going to wait for acknowledgement, but then continued. 

“I’m not much of the nickname sort myself but, hey, I think I’m willing to make an exception for you.” He scratched something onto the clipboard.

“Okay.”

He tucked the clipboard back under his side and lopped himself down on the office stool. Its momentum gently wheeled him into the range of Fledge’s downturned line of sight.

“Do you remember me?” he asked.

She let him slide his way into her vision and then quickly found another spot on the floor to look at. She shook her head.

“That’s fine.” He waved a hand. “I’m Dr. Alcess Alaska. I conducted your entry psionic evaluation a few sweeps ago. Couldn’t have been more than an hour or two.”

Fledge nodded.

“I’m here with you today to talk about a project proposal.”

Fledge nodded.

“So, you’re aware how even though you’re stationed here, you’re actually a member of the Imperial Psionic Corps, yes?”

Fledge nodded.

“I’m aware you’ve had some training, but do you know much about what they do?”

“A little.”

“What do you know?” he asked, in an attempt to coax a more-than-two-word response from her.

“They’re…” it felt exhausting for Fledge to even think of saying a full sentence. She breathed out. “They’re all psionics, and they do stuff for the fleet.”

“That’s the jist of it, yes.” 

“But,” he raised a finger, “They’re all very specialized psionics, not helmsmen or telekinetics or simple mind-readers. They receive individual training for their abilities.”

She knew that, of course. It was the whole reason she was a part of it. Still, she nodded.

“There’s a standard timeline for progression through the IPC’s induction, but after doing your entry evaluation I found that there’s a lot of potential with your abilities that I think deserve more unique attention.”

He started to say something else, but then cut himself off. He studied her floorlocked gaze, how her fingers crushed the paper between them.

“Fledge, do you know much about psionics? Your psionics? How they work, I mean.”

Fledge shook her head.

He drummed his fingers on the clipboard for a moment before scooting across the room to grab his bag from the counter. He opened it on his lap and set a couple things on the counter as he rooted through it, then wheeled back over to Fledge. He then reached back in and pulled out a colorful plastic brain and a small container containing a few plastic lobes. He removed the lid from the container and set it on the examination table next to Fledge, then set the bag on the floor and lifted the brain from his lap.

“Alright, so, stop me if I say anything you already know. Okay?” He waited for her acknowledgement this time, a barely perceptible nod, and then removed a blue lobe from the back of the brain, that Fledge could now see was held on with a magnet.

“This is the cucular lobe. All trolls have one, but in psionics, it’s a little larger. The shape and the other lobes it has contact with can affect the sort of abilities a psionic has and how they might control them.” Fledge watched keenly as he set the small, normal lobe on the table, and picked up a larger piece of the same color from beside her. “This one is more like yours.” The strong magnet clicked the lobe into place at the rear of the brain.

“See how it curls up past this,” his finger dragged along the brain, along marigold yellow and crimson red plastic; “the occipital lobe, and over to this one? The parietal? This is why your abilities are affected by touch, why you can ‘feel’ electromagnetic energy the way you do.” He offered her the brain. She let him pass it to her and immediately began picking off the other lobes and letting them snap back into place.

“You have what we call a material-responsive M-Type ability,” he continued, watching her play idly. “You can manipulate, but your abilities are moreso characterized by their sensitivity, your extrasensory perception, rather than their ability to make drastic physical changes. More typical of ceruleans, but yours have a certain versatility, and there’s a lot of potential I believe could be accessed through some implants and, of course, appropriate training.”

He took another piece from the container, a long, thin, curved, grey piece. He held it up.

“This is a type of foci. There’s several different kinds; you may have seen other IPC members with the foci behind their ears; those are the most common. This one is an implant and mostly invisible once installed. They allow for the observation of lobe activity, enable additional cerebral pathways, and can be used to enhance psionic ability in a number of ways.” 

He gestured for the brain. She held it out to him and he snapped on the piece, which curled from the front left of the organ back and over the cucular lobe. He withdrew his hands.

“I believe that, by using enhancements to magnify your psychic perception of electromagnetic energy, you can better control the ability. Instead of blowing up televisions and feeling static, you could…. turn the lights on and off, you could…”

---

A shot fired through the skull of the troll in front of her, spattering green viscera across the dry ground at Fledge’s feet.

She hadn’t been paying attention when the olive stepped forward and raised her weapon. Some fleet officer had been talking to whoever these trolls were about whatever they were doing-- a mutiny, maybe? -- whatever. It wasn’t Fledge’s turn. Fledge knew what the signal was, she knew how aggressive these trolls were allowed to get, and she knew what she was meant to do when either of those conditions were met. She just hadn’t done it without her gloves before. The thought had distracted her. Her hands dropped from rubbing at the nodes embedded in her wrist as the body thwapped to the ground. She didn’t need to look to know the sniper's barrel was already shoved down into the dirt, the more experienced soldier berating them— Stop, that’s what she’s for.

C’mon fledgling. Pay attention. Be here.

One pulse. Forward, 170 degree arc. This will dispel incoming psionics and ballistics, but will dissipate after about three metres.

A strong enough magnetic field through the brain is enough to disrupt regular synapse operation and cause seizures. One at the door, two on the balcony. Close the circuit, an invisible spherical tie around their head, and then release. Her fingers twitched about in front of her. It was a shot of air through her nerves, crawling down behind her eyes and across her body like a cool drink of water. Her eyes hunted around for another to show themselves. When none did, her fingers ground into her palms, deaf to her surroundings until a hand met her shoulder.

“That was good. Quicker on the pickup next time, maybe,” the officer quipped while she examined the damage, then started walking, letting her hand slip from Fledge’s shoulder. “Let’s see if whoever is inside is more reasonable,” she hummed.

Fledge followed as the others behind her dealt the finishing blow to the incapacitated troll near the door, another that fell from the balcony. Her mind began to warm again. She lifted the edge of her jacket, touching the bit of green flecked onto the edges. Would that wash out?

---

Alaska waved a hand as if to catch an answer from the air “...move ferromagnetic material. Just… apply magnetic fields and induce current more deliberately, precisely.”

She turned the brain gently in her hands, her thumb ran over the implant. A piece of metal in her head?

“We wouldn’t start with the foci, since your brain is still developing, but it would definitely be a part of this at some point. For now, I think it’d be best to do more research first. Like, where and how exactly do you feel electromagnetic energy?”

He raised a hand as her mouth opened. Ah, one of those not-question questions.

“I’m sure it’s hard to explain,” he continued, “but we can observe it. Before we can enhance, we would get you some peripherals, external gear to gauge what we can.” He gestured over his arms, his clipboard now set beside her on the table. “That will allow us to finely examine the activity of your culural lobe and its relationship to your movements and nerves. I theorize that down the line it might end up being beneficial to install internal receivers in other places too, since your perception is very likely beyond what’s processed by your CL, but that can wait.”

“I have some reading for you here…” he bent down from the stool and pulled out a packet from the side of the bag. She set the brain in her lap to take it from him. “One of the documents goes over the details of this specific project, but I also included some information on focii and some articles on other MRM psionics.”

“And this—” he reached over and tapped the corner of the packet, where a small, stiff card was paper-clipped to the front. “—is my contact information, so you can message me for any follow-up questions you might have.” He smiled and his hands returned to his lap.

“Of course, if you have any questions for me now I’d be more than happy to answer them.”

She nodded slowly as she thumbed through the pages. Diagrams of brains, titles containing words she knew, others she didn’t. She had questions, she was sure, but she didn’t know what they were or how to ask them.

“None right now?”

She shook her head, not looking up from the packet in her hands.

“Alright, well if anything comes to mind, you reach out, okay? Then, when I’m back next perigee, we can go over everything again, and make a decision.”

“I’ll do it.” It seemed so obvious to her. This was why she was here. Whatever doubt she had could be addressed later.

“I like the enthusiasm,” he chuckled, “but I won’t have time to start until next perigee anyways. I’ll be ready then if you’re still on board, okay?”

“Okay.”

“You can keep the brain, if you want. I have another.” She didn’t know if she wanted it or not, but he decided for her as he lifted his bag from the floor and wheeled his chair over to the counter to put the rest of his things away.

She followed suit with her new belongings and clicked the lid back onto the container of spare lobes. The clear box fit nicely into her jacket pocket, and she tucked the packet under her arm as Alaska had done with his clipboard. The brain stayed in her hands.

She hopped off of the examination table. Her thumb ran over the implant that curled around the organ. A fleeting thought, or maybe one of those questions she didn’t know how to verbalize, tried to etch its way to the surface, to piece itself together in her mouth, but got cut off by the doctor’s voice as he opened the door for her.

Well, two jackets made sense. It certainly wasn’t beyond the fleet’s resources to have more in circulation in case there was ever a lapse in schedule, or even to sew on a new patch each time if they so wished, but the infallible nature of the laundry made her doubt it was necessary.

Still, this she had thought about, and it bothered her. So, at one point she resolved to make a small tear in the right internal pocket of her jacket, and one in the left pocket of the other the following week. The damage was inconsequential enough not to warrant notice or repair, but enough for her to roll her thumb over and confirm it was hers. Surely enough, the next week, and the week after that, she would find that tear, oscillating back and forth between the pockets. It brought her a certain comfort she never analyzed further.

Only once was a jacket replaced. During a mission the left-torn jacket was stained a deep green, and the laundry apparently determined it unsalvageable, or perhaps simply not worth the effort to clean. The replacement was made without notice. After this, Fledge did not let another jacket become stained. She would wash out small imperfections in her bathroom to mitigate any doubt of its return.

The one she had brought with her had the tear in the right pocket. Fledge had accumulated a semblance of a wardrobe since her and Arunae’s arrival on Parable, and had learned to do her own laundry. There was something different about washing her own clothes, setting a temperature, a time, a cycle speed. Arunae would throw all her clothes in a single load, dump in a “looks like enough” amount of detergent, and slam the door shut. Fledge’s mind did not offer her this luxury. She would separate colors (admittedly her wardrobe was mostly “darks”) and obey each little tag’s every symbol. It was kind, she thought, of Arunae to never mention it.

This history ran through Fledge’s mind like she was a mother outside of a hospital ward. Two nights prior, Arunae laughed a little too hard and the potently dyed fruit-something drink she had been holding spilled over the front of Fledge’s jacket. She quickly offered to clean it amidst a flurry of apologies, already starting to peel it off Fledge’s shoulders. Fledge declined and wordlessly sped to their apartment to rinse it in the sink, to little avail. Arunae waited the hour with her while it made its solo-trip through the wash and mourned with Fledge when it came out still red. It was at that point Arunae suggested dry-cleaning. There was a small shop on Parable that had a solid reputation in treating flight-suits. At the moment the perky oliveblood manning the counter was retrieving the jacket from the back.

“So,” she approached the front with the plastic-wrapped jacket and raised it to pass it over the counter without touching the surface. “We were able to get that red stain out. We also found a little tear in one of the internal pockets and took care of that. No additional charge, of course.” 

“Oh, that’s awesome!” Arunae cooed. She received the jacket from the oliveblood and held it up to Fledge, smoothing her hand over the clear plastic.

“Aaaand…” the oliveblood continued, poking through some baskets beneath the counter. “We found this in one of the other pockets. Not sure what it is, but figured you might want it.” She popped up and held out a plastic bag containing a blackish, mint-tin sized object to Fledge.

Fledge’s eyes shot over from the jacket and she gently took the bag.

“What’s that?” Arunae craned over the shoulder of the jacket.

“I’m not sure,” Fledge lied. It didn’t feel good, but it was what she said.

Arunae shrugged and handed off the jacket to Fledge so she could pay. Fledge turned the object in her hand. Its presence seemed unbelievable. How many sweeps had it been in there?

She jolted a bit when Arunae threw an affectionate arm around her and gave her a squeeze. “Hey, how about that? Looks brand spankin’ new.” 

“Mhmm,” Fledge offered Arunae a little smile. She could undo the repair easily enough.

- - -

While Arunae showered, Fledge pulled her bag out from under her peracoon for the first time since they arrived on the station. She was trying not to get too stirred up; it wasn’t unlikely what she was looking for hadn’t made its way with them. She certainly didn’t remember packing it, though she knew it had at least followed her to her bunk within The Conquest’s ship. Fledge wasn’t one to throw things out, after all, merely leave things behind, and her bunks were often packed for her during transfers.

Captain Ovisca's research mission was once again interrupted; this time, by a band of space pirates. They were here to steal the captain's supplies, because they couldn't find a planet with any, and they decided to steal from the captain's ship because research vehicles seemed easier to steal from. Of course, they didn't know who they were messing with. They are rude and demanding. They are brute and uncaring. They want to take everything Captain Ovisca has, even her research, just to spite her. What ship could house such a merciless bunch?

She bit into the pencap.

The Sunbeam! A perfect name for a villain's vessel, hot and fast and dangerous and quick to kill. And then, the crew would be Jades, since they could withstand sunlight. Fledge thought herself quite clever as she filled the next page and a half with the ink describing the pirates, and, of course, the ship. She pulled from books and wikipedia pages to describe its mechanics in detail.

The vessel shot out connectors to catch the outer hull of Ovisca's explorer without breaching its airlock. It then yanked the little ship towards its opening maw, which latched over the ships main door like a leech on skin. They used overrides to unlock the ships doors from the inside and pried it open, against the grip of the emergency failsafe. Ovisca stood around the corner, quietly, ready, as several of the jades jumped through the door and landed - Thunk - against the floor of the lock.

Ovisca waited around the corner for them to proceed.

She would restrain one quickly, a knife to their throat.

“Who are you? What do you want with this ship?” she would demand. She hoped the pirate captain would not notice how her hands shook.

The haughty pirate captain would laugh and throw her head back. “I am--”

Ugh.

“I am--”

Agh! Names were always so hard. Troll names were even harder than ships. She cocked her head to the side and propped it on her free hand. The other moved quickly back to feeding her the pencap. The soft red light of a transmission station tower beat in the distance over the hill. She closed her eyes and let the hum of it blend into the tracing of grass across her arms, the wind through her hair. She lost her train of thought.

That’s alright. She opened her eyes and bracketed the name. [Name]. That’s what the writing guides she found online suggested; if you couldn’t think of a word, a name, a number, or even a sentence, bracket it and come back to it later when you have the mind for it, so as not to interrupt your flow. She would find something eventually.

Captain Ovisca would pilot her explorer and toss the tethered vessel towards a black hole; they would be forced to evacuate. One of the crew would realize their flaws, and be inspired by how smart and determined Captain Ovisca was. That jade would come back later; Captain Ovisca would find her ditched by her crew on the comet that she would land on to repair her hull in the next chapter. They would bond over the repairs, and the jadeblood would have some knowledge to help Ovisca move forward with her research, moving her one step closer to discovering the secret at the center of this galaxy.