Psychicians (a Hyllis family story #5)
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Psychicians
a Hyllis family story #5
Laurence E Dahners
Copyright 2019
Laurence E Dahners
Kindle Edition
This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.
Author’s Note
Though this book can “stand alone” it will be much easier to understand if read as part of the series including
“Telekinetic (a Hyllis family story #1),”
“Teleporter (a Hyllis family story #2),”
“Healers (a Hyllis family story #3),” and
“Telepath (a Hyllis family story #4)”
I have minimized repetition of explanations that would be redundant to the earlier books in order to provide a better reading experience for those of you who are reading the series.
Other Books and Series
by Laurence E Dahners
Series
The Ell Donsaii series
The Vaz series
The Bonesetter series
The Blindspot series
The Proton Field series
Single books (not in series)
The Transmuter’s Daughter
Six Bits
Shy Kids Can Make Friends Too
For the most up to date information go to
Laurence E Dahners website
Or the Amazon Author page
Table of Contents
Table of Contents
Table of Contents
Preprologue
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Epilogue
Author’s Afterword
Acknowledgments
Preprologue
Mouse 101 didn’t turn out to be a very good mouse anyway, getting sick and losing weight. Russ was frustrated; thinking he’d have to find another mouse to test the safety of the viral telekinesis vector. He took the mouse downstairs to sacrifice it. He’d intended to kill it early anyway since it needed to be excluded from Ameil’s work. As he picked it up to put it in the CO2 chamber, he took one last look at it. For a moment he wondered if it could be sick because of the DNA insertion rather than just coincidentally. Could he have made an error in one of the steps intended to be sure there was no viral DNA in the viral shells? Maybe the DNA I inserted combined with the viral DNA in some kind of…
The sick mouse sneezed…
***
The worldwide “super flu” pandemic has been traced back to a ‘case zero.’ Case zero was a Russell Phillips who worked as a research tech at the University of Pittsburgh. Although the laboratory where Phillips worked did use viral vectors for DNA insertion, Phillips apparently did not work in that part of the lab. It seems unlikely that anyone will ever determine whether Phillips might have associated with someone who actually did use viral vectors because the exceedingly high mortality of the super flu has resulted in the death of every last person who worked in that lab. Even the hospital at the University of Pittsburgh where Phillips first sought treatment is now an empty shell.
It seems a moot point as this efficient viral killer has spread extremely rapidly and, no matter where it blossoms, it seems to kill approximately 95% of its victims. Somehow the virus got loose in the CDC and decimated the scientists there before they even began working on a means to control it. Medical facilities around the world have collapsed as physicians and researchers die or flee for their own lives.
Experts predict that about half of any survivors of the virus will be killed in the oncoming collapse of civilization. If indeed the world’s population of 7 billion is reduced to 175,000,000, a population density not seen since about 1000 A.D., it seems unlikely that anyone will be interested in exactly who killed us all. They’ll just be trying to survive the end of civilization as we know it. Presumably, someday, if and when civilization reestablishes itself, someone may be interested in these words.
As I write this I’ve developed a headache and started to cough…
Prologue
As the big belligerent drunk lumbered to his feet, Daum sighed and looked around the room. Are any of the guardia here having a pint? he wondered, hoping they might control the man.
He didn’t see any.
The evening waitress, Denny Soh, danced out of the man’s reach.
Daum thought, I should’ve called Kazy when the guy first started acting like a jerk. It was too late now. Kazy’d stepped into the kitchen to prep for the breakfast rush in the morning. Daum lifted the bar’s gate. As he stepped out through the opening he grabbed a two-foot length of oak with his left hand. His right hand slipped over his shoulder and into the collar of his shirt so he could check the position of his throwing knives. Though, I surely don’t want to throw one of these knives this soon after moving into Clancy Vail. The last thing we need’s for the Hyllis Tavern to get a reputation for killing its clients. Oh man! he thought grimly as he got closer to the enormous man, better that reputation than one for dead bartenders.
“Get back here girl!” the giant bellowed angrily, reaching out with a meaty paw.
Denny adroitly dodged again.
The behemoth shambled after her.
A man trying to get out of the big guy’s way stood, knocking over his chair.
The chair fell into the drunk’s legs. The huge man stumbled over it, coming down like timber in the forest.
For a moment, Daum hoped he might stay down. The wish went unfulfilled. The huge guy clambered clumsily to his feet. Face beet-red with fury, he turned his anger on the little guy who’d upended the chair. “What the hell?!” he said, reaching out for the smaller man.
Looking frightened out of his wits, the little guy backed away.
Barking, “Hey!” in what he hoped was a commanding voice, Daum slapped the length of oak into his palm. As the big man turned toward him, Daum bellowed, “Settle down!”
When the giant finished turning toward Daum, wrath shone in his eyes.
Daum made the mistake of using his piece of oak to point at the big guy.
The big man snatched the club out of his hand.
Oh shit…! Daum thought, stepping back and reaching over his shoulder for a knife.
The man was lifting the club and stepping toward Daum when a crease appeared between his eyebrows. His left hand rose to his forehead and he staggered a little. Then he dropped the oak club and grabbed the back of one of the hastily abandoned chairs.
The big man teetered for a moment, then collapsed into the chair so suddenly Daum fully expected the sturdy chair to collapse.
The chair held.
Daum stared agog at the man, wondering what the hell had just happened.
Then he realized Kazy was right behind the big fellow.
She leaned up close behind the man, putting a hand on his shoulder for a minute.
For a second, the huge man looked almost placid, then he got an embarrassed look on his face. Focusing on Daum, he said, “Sorry. I had too much to drink and… lost my temper. I… I should stop drinking.”
Daum looked over the man’s shoulder at Kazy.
She winked back at him.
Daum focused back on the big guy, “Would you like some chamomile tea to calm your nerves?” he asked the guy, though he thought the man was the type who’d reject the offer out of hand.
Instead, the man nodded as if he’d won a prize. “That’d be nice.” He turned and looked around the room, saying, “Where’s that nice little waitress? I should apologize.” His eye lit on Denny,
standing nervously about three meters away. Shaking his head, he said, “I’m so sorry. I promise never to act that way again.”
Denny gave him a doubtful nod.
Daum looked around at the men sitting nearby, all of them flabbergasted. They’re gonna connect this guy’s change of heart to Kazy, he thought with dismay, glancing around for her.
She was gone. He looked around some more, but Kazy’d left without him noticing.
Daum stepped over and picked up his oaken club. Standing back up, he eyed the man, “Glad you’re feeling better. I’ll get you that tea.”
Back behind the bar, Daum turned to the little oil burner he used to heat water for tea. No one was watching, so rather than using an expensive match, he lit it with his telekinesis. Though it’d taken a few sessions with Tarc before he’d learned to focus his ability sharply enough that the heat he could generate would start a fire, now he quite enjoyed wielding this minor talent.
While he dipped water into the pot and set it on the burner, a couple of men arrived at the bar asking for beers. Once he’d served them, he checked the pot and headed for the kitchen.
Kazy was washing some pots when Daum stepped in. Without looking up, she said, “I can tell you’re worried.”
“Yeah, when word gets out about what you did, I think there could be… some trouble.”
“Oh,” she said, turning to look at Daum, “I’m pretty sure none of those guys even know I came in the room. I have to be really close to change anyone’s thoughts, but I’ve gotten pretty good at making people ignore me, even up to four or five meters.”
“Really? So, to them, you’re just kind of… invisible?”
“Well, not really invisible. They see me, they just don’t notice me.”
“So… is that why I didn’t see you come in the room?”
Kazy gave a reluctant nod.
Daum frowned, “Wait. But I did notice you. From less than three meters.”
Kazy bobbed another nod, “Yeah, you were looking kind of confused. So I… let you notice me so you’d understand what’d happened.”
“Oh,” Daum said, trying to come to grips. “Um, how’d you even know there was a problem? You were here in the kitchen when this happened, right?”
Kazy shrugged, “Frenzied emotions like he was having kind of light up my senses. I not only can sense those kinds of thoughts from pretty far away, but it’s as if I can’t ignore them. Like, for you, if someone started screaming.” After a momentary pause, she said, “I’ve even had them wake me up.”
“So,” Daum said ruminatively, “you’re kind of like our own guard dog?”
Kazy snorted, “No! Well, not a very good one. I’d only notice them if they were upset.” She shrugged, “Bad people, doing their usual bad stuff like stealing things. They don’t get wound up about it so I wouldn’t notice them. Well, if they were robbing a person rather than a tavern, I’d notice how upset the person was.”
“Well, thanks for dealing with that guy. I was just about to throw a knife at him. I’d rather people didn’t know about my knives.”
Kazy soberly nodded, “Me too.”
Daum was letting the door to the kitchen close when he had another thought. Leaning back in, he said, “Why were you holding the guy’s shoulder there at the end? You’d already calmed him down.”
Kazy scowled, “I’d gotten close enough to know what really goes on in his ugly little mind.” She shook her head, “Which was not pleasant. He beats his wife and kids and bullies some of the people he works with. So,” she shrugged, “I leaned in close to make an adjustment in the way he thinks… like we talked about. Though, I still feel uncomfortable about it.”
Daum’s eyes widened, remembering how the family had talked about the ethics of Kazy adjusting people’s minds and decided that it might be a moral thing to do in just this kind of situation. “Did it work?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” Kazy said uncertainly. “When I left him, his mind wasn’t such a disgusting trough of sexual urges, putrid notions, and racist beliefs anymore.” She shook her head sadly, “But I have no idea how long that’ll last.”
“Oh,” Daum said, unsettled by a fuller realization of the kind of thoughts Kazy had to be hearing day in and day out. “Hearing what people are thinking must be… disturbing?”
“I don’t hear people’s thoughts all the time. I have to be within three meters and focused on someone to really have any idea what they’re thinking—unless they’re excited enough to strongly broadcast. But, yeah,” she sighed, “I do pick up a lot of stuff that I’d really rather not know. In fact, I’ve recently realized that I had a little bit of ability way back when I was getting raped by the raiders. Even though my talent wasn’t very strong, those guys were really close and had a lot of intense thoughts… thoughts that made the whole thing even more horrible.”
Daum closed his eyes, “Oh God…” Shaking himself, he stepped toward Kazy and drew her into a hug. Then, as her head slipped under his chin, his eyes sprung open, Oh my God, she’s probably hearing my thoughts right now!
Confirming his fear, Kazy said, “Don’t worry about it. Your thoughts are almost always nice. And don’t start worrying about how you notice pretty women either. Seems like every guy does. I’ve pretty much gotten used to that.”
Daum’s eyes widened even further.
***
Tarc’s telekinesis, or ghirit, strained at the recalcitrant pin in the tumbler lock. Am I going to have to ask Daussie to come out and cut this one? he wondered.
At his request, Daussie had spent a good part of a day, systematically going around the underground complex, teleporting oil into the lock mechanisms of all the doors. It would’ve been easier for Daussie to cut the tumbler pins, or even the locking bolts, of all the doors that were stuck and she’d argued for such a strategy. However, Tarc wanted to keep the locks functional so that if someone managed to break into the facility sometime when none of the Hyllises were there, the steel doors would still keep them out of most of the rooms.
Daussie said she thought, since they didn’t have keys for most of the locks, he just wanted to be the only one who could get into the rooms.
Which was a little bit true.
Suddenly, the bound pin shifted. Tarc quickly lifted the others, aligning the breaks in the pins with the shear plane of the lock’s plug. He twisted the screwdriver he’d jammed into the key slot and the plug turned.
He pulled the door open. Another skeleton. This one lay curled on the floor, partly under the desk.
Tarc wondered why several of the people who’d died in the facility had locked themselves in rooms. Hoping to avoid the disease that was killing the others? Just wanting to die in peace? He swung the door open and shut several times to pump a little of the mustiness out of the room. He wondered once again about what’d happened in the big cluster of underground rooms. He felt fairly confident it’d been some kind of secret biomedical research facility. Secrecy being the reason it was underground. The underground complex had entrances on either end that came up into buildings that’d long ago collapsed.
Whether it was a military secret, or some kind of off the books research facility belonging to a private corporation, or a hidden government lab intended to survive and deal with just the kind of pandemic that’d actually destroyed the ancients’ civilization—none of that was clear.
From a few printed or handwritten notes here and there, Tarc had pieced together the confusing story of a group of people who’d survived the pandemic that wiped out the population, but not for very long. Some of them had wanted to leave and look for loved ones on the outside. Others had wanted to bring their loved ones into the facility. Even those who were stalwart on those issues had been worried about what they’d do when they ran out of food and other critical supplies.
It did seem that they’d been working desperately to isolate the causative organism of the pandemic and develop a cure or vaccine.
What’d happened to them wasn’t cle
ar.
Tarc pulled the door the rest of the way open and stepped inside.
As always, his eyes first went to the skeleton. It was dressed in nearly intact shoes and a complete shirt, both presumably been made from synthetic materials. Only a few moldering bits remained of the person’s cotton pants.
Tarc looked at the desk above the remains. There was a thin sheaf of papers, the kind that Tarc had come to understand the ancients could print on demand from miraculous machines attached to their computers. In bold print on the top sheet of the stack, a title said,
“Causes of the Super Flu Pandemic”
Tarc skimmed over that top page. In the stilted language of the past, it described the onset of the disease that had first broken out in a place called “Pennsylvania.”
Hoping to find a summary, Tarc carefully moved the rest of the pages so he could see the last page. At the top of the page it had two brief paragraphs of the elegant printing—
Experts predict that about half of any survivors of the virus will be killed in the oncoming collapse of civilization. If indeed the world’s population of 7 billion is reduced to 175,000,000, a population density not seen since about 1000 A.D., it seems unlikely that anyone will be interested in exactly who killed us all. They’ll just be trying to survive the end of civilization as we know it. Presumably, someday, if and when civilization reestablishes itself, someone may be interested in these words.
As I write this I’ve developed a headache and I’ve started to cough…
Then, beneath that, somebody—presumably the person under the desk—had written by hand:
Yeah, the super-flu has gotten loose in the facility. My cherished hope that my headache and cough were just an ordinary cold were just that, “cherished hopes.” We don’t know whether it got loose from the researchers studying it in the lab, or whether there was some breakdown in our air filtration system, or maybe it got in when Diane broke out to search for her husband. But it’s here. And it seems unlikely that a group as small as the one in our little chamber of horrors will have a survivor.