By Tommy J. Charles

Two children of more or less equal size hunched over a puddle, green-tinged water cascading through bone-flute fingers. Their hands shook in tandem. Casandra approached, watching the linked children with a mixture of loathing and fascination. The HUD within her large, insectoid helmet exploded with a flurry of activity. Purple tendrils snaked between the children’s skulls; blue energy sparked from temple to temple. They sat in silence, carefully negotiating the jagged crater in the cold metallic deck.

One nodded to the other, and they began to drink from the algae-laden pool greedily. Casandra caught herself reaching out, a warning threatening to escape her lips. There was little point, and there was no helping it. They were her prey.

Hefting her rifle, she sucked in her breath and drew a bead on the link. A well-aimed shot between the children would end it. The shock-wave would turn bone into jelly. Casandra relaxed her hands, allowing the servos that lined her arms to take over.

She delved into her meta-stream, a cascading torrent of thoughts, binary and organic in origin. A few threads glowed white-hot: fear, self-loathing, hatred, dread, guilt. Shame. Clutching the rifle tight until the shaking in her hands stopped, she acknowledged the meta-stream, and then disengaged from her personality. She would not fuel the fire of emotion. She could not. One way or another, the deed was done.

Naegleria fowleri, a spunky protozoa, entered through the nose and made short work of neurons. In Sol, the brain infection was extremely rare. Aboard the Collesto, the bug was a pestilence below-decks. Herding the children there had been elementary. The chances that they could escape her were negligible, but now the destruction of their link was assured.

Shame. Fear. Self-loathing.

She swayed, eyes closed, and collided with the bulkhead. The children exploded from the puddle like startled sparrows. The young girl fell, tumbling several feet, her thermal signature bright against the blue of the hull. Bucking mightily against the meta-stream, Casandra relaxed her arm. The rifle screamed and recoiled, and the link was destroyed.

Tommy J. Charles is a science fiction author and futurology enthusiast.

Image Credit: SciFi Chick by Darkcloud013 on deviantART