HardFork: Can You See The Future? - My Entry.

“Close your eyes for a moment,” he said in a gentle, soothing tone. “Now, tell me what you remember when you walked down the street this morning.”

“What I remember? I told you, I don’t remember anything! Weren’t you listening?” Her eyes opened and blazed in confusion and frustration and the guy doing his best to calm her down shook his head in unruffled understanding.

“What’s that behind your back?” she asked.

“Nothing, look,” he said, showing her both his hands, front and back. “I’m sorry. That’s a habit of mine, I place one hand behind my back at times, so my clients don’t feel intimidated.” Even to his ears, the excuse sounded lame.

“Now, why don’t I believe you?” her voice took on a hard timbre and she sat up from the couch he’d invited her to lie on at the start of the session with him.

“You’re supposed to be an eminent psych-trainer and all I’m getting from you is…” she put her fingers to her forehead and squeezed her eyes closed. “No, don’t do that…”

She faced him with her eyes closed and yet he could see the orbs of her eyeballs behind the skin of her eyelids.

He couldn’t move. His muscles wouldn’t react to the signals from his brain. The syringe in his hand, filled with Tranq fell from his fingers but didn’t hit the floor. The syringe hovered six inches above the carpet and she held out her hand. The syringe lifted and placed itself into her hand and she held it like a pen – exactly the right way.

“All I’m getting from you is fear. You don’t fear me, do you?” she purred. Her velvet-smooth voice fondled his synapses and his brain thrummed at every syllable.

“No… yes. Fear. You’re one of those…” he mumbled.

“One of those?” she said. “One of what? Tell me all you know.”

He shook his head. Not as a way of refusing her, more as an attempt to shake her from his mind. Her mind wove itself into his like cerise tendrils insinuating through the passages of his memory, trying doors that should be locked against intrusion but opened at less than a finger’s touch.

One door, a heavy, sturdy, intimidating door caught the tendrils’ attention and they flashed across to it, caressing tenderly across the hard, impenetrable surface.

In a flick of the tendrils, the impenetrable door stood wide and she had unrestricted access to his deepest memories.

In his office, his body could hear her chirruping like an excited cat as she sifted and sorted through his neuro-transmitters.

“Oh, no… you’re… you’re…” he muttered in a voice that sounded much like a stroke-victim’s – a lop-sided mumble.

“Oh, here it is!” she said, clapping her hands. He could no longer see clearly, but he thought the syringe hovered above her hands as she clapped and then settled back into the palm where it had been.

“You’ve been a very naughty boy, haven’t you?” she said.

“Your patients can never remember their sessions with you and that in itself is nothing to be alarmed about of course,” she said as she hummed and tutted with each new find. “Brain-rape is a serious offence and we’ve been looking for you for a while.”

“No, I’m not… it’s not me,” he mumbled, unable to move much of his body, including half of his facial muscles.

“Now, what I’m doing here is copying the memories and sending them on to the mainframe. It may hurt…” she said. “Ah, who am I kidding? It WILL hurt, a LOT, but hey, you deserve it, don’t you?”

She closed down his vocal chords as he started screaming. She hated that part of the process.

“Since the sunspots five years ago, you lot have doubled in number. I really don’t get how that solar activity prompted such massive increases in your numbers, but you’ve become a problem. And because of the sunspots, my abilities increased a million-fold and I can cover much more ground than I could before. I can track and trace your species before you claim too many victims, usually. Although, I have to say, I’ve been looking for you for a while.”

“Oh, it looks like I hit the jackpot here! You’re an even better catch than I first thought. You’re not just a psych-squatter, you’re the daddy of them all, the psych-pimp!”

No wonder none of your species wanted to give you up, you’re the daddy - or technically, their mommy.

She shuddered as she hit the motherlode – the memories, files and folders of every brain that he had raped and every brain his off-shoots, his (her) children had plundered.

I’m afraid this is bad news – for you at least – I’m authorised to take all parapsyches out, to eradicate their stolen memories, return the brainwaves to their original owners, and destroy the host, but you are far too valuable to destroy. I’ll take you into custody for the reward and you’ll spend the rest of your life-cycle under the nanoscope being tested on.”

He managed to mutter past her psi-gag she’d placed on him – boy he was a strong one.

“Boundy-hunder!” he screamed.

“What?” she said. “Oh, Bounty Hunter? Yeah. I am at that and I’m doing the planet a service. I may be a lowly parapsyche-hunter, but you’re lowest of the low. Do you realise there’s a veto on the word parapsyche? It’s so offensive, the word has been banned. I can’t repeat what you are even at Control, but I can say it to you here. You’re a filthy parapsyche and I’ve caught you bang to rights. I’ll probably be able to retire on the reward.”

She fitted the syringe to the bogus psych-trainer’s neck and pressed the trigger.

The psych-trainer fell unconscious – probably a relief from the brain-probing she forced on him and it certainly made it easier for her to drag his body out to her vehicle.

She passed a holo-news stand and picked up an info-pod to catch up with the news. She didn't know what the news was today, but she knew it would be singing her praises tomorrow. Although she had no idea how they were going to phrase the news that the last of the parapsyches was in custody and under observation when they couldn't even use the word.

“Dirty fucking parapsyches. I really do hope this is the last of the miserable fuckers! They make my brain itch!”

This is my entry for the Hardfork Series competition Here

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