The Space Disk

Peter Pidgeons was up in a rocket ship before he had the chance to recover from his post-enhancement headache. “Jagesic needs you up in the space station now,” Jessica Bangs had told him. “It’s all he told me. Whatever it is, it’s highly confidential.” Peter had objected. He was still feeling wildly bizarre after the procedure—picking up emotions left and right, detecting the subtlest of nuances, catching whiffs of the most secret repressions—suffice to say, Jessica was now the only one who would speak to him at the Military Recovery Facility, and she was also the only one from whom Peter could detect no emotions whatsoever.

And so Peter was sent on a rocket ship to the Foggistani Space Station, also known as the Sky Disk, without being allowed so much as a call to Latvia. “I’ll let her know you’re OK,” said Jessica. “Don’t worry. Up in the Sky Disk you’ll receive all the training and treatment you need.” Then she looked him in the eye and said, “Trust me. You’ll be grateful for your enhancement. Now you’re truly gifted.” What bothered Peter was that he detected neither sincerity nor deceit in her voice.

Upon arrival at the Sky Disk, Peter was led to his solitary pod and told to await orders from Jagesic himself. Rather than eat at the common hall, food was brought to him directly. Whatever was going on, Jagesic wanted him to interact with as few people as possible. So Peter waited in his pod, reading Picking Up the Pieces, or What We Know of the Breckinridge Exodus on his digital FlipScreen, when without warning his pod door slid open and in came General Jagesic, unaccompanied.

Peter jumped into his military stance. “Admiral.”

“Evening, Captain Pidgeons.” Jagesic scanned the room with his infamous scrutinizing eye for a few seconds, then gave Peter a curt nod. “You’re tidy, Peter.”

Peter nodded. “Just arrived, sir.”

“I know.” Jagesic began pacing the tiny room, presumably thinking of what he was about to say. He began, “I presume you’re wondering why I’ve brought you here on such short notice.”

“I assume it has something to do with my enhancement, sir.”

“You remember I mentioned starting with you, in the Helo-Fleet, before moving on to enhancing our Psychics?”

“Yes sir.”

“How’re you feeling?”

“Well, normal right now.”

“So you’re not picking anything up from me?” Jagesic had a way of turning questions into assertions.

“No sir.”

Jagesic frowned. It was the first facial expression he made, and from it Peter sensed it was more a theatrical custom of Jagesic’s upon hearing negative news rather than an actual, genuine expression. “And that frown, sir, was not real.”

“Oh?” Jagesic’s eyes quivered ever so slightly as he suddenly stared hard at Peter. And the quiver said it all: Jagesic felt a hint of discomfort at the thought of Peter being able to read him.

“And my reading you perturbs you. Makes you feel invaded, sir.”

Jagesic’s discomfort then turned into surprise, almost delight, and he delivered a grave, hearty laugh. “Son, that enhancement sure is something, isn’t it.”

“It is something…” said Peter, “Though I’m not quite sure what.”

“How so?”

“Well, with you, I don’t feel overwhelmed. You’re very inexpressive, sir. But at the Recovery Facility… and depending on who I spoke with… I would sometimes feel overwhelmed. Like I was drowning in someone else’s emotions.”

Jagesic nodded. “You’ll learn to manage them, in due time. It’s why I’ve asked that you be kept isolated. Ms. Bangs has informed me of the risks of your enhancement, especially during this early stage. You’ll be treated and kept under strict observation while here. There’s nothing to worry about.”

Peter nodded. “So why did you summon me so suddenly to the Sky Disk, sir?”

“Why, because Maia Dameon is here, and she is the Psychic most suitable to observe and treat you.”

Jagesic was lying, and Peter felt it. “Excuse my forthrightness, sir, but I know you’re being disingenuous.”

Jagesic smiled. “Something tells me you’re going to be a double-edged sword, Peter. I admit it, I am not being perfectly honest at the moment, but I ask that you accept that, for now.”

“But I can’t help but wonder, sir… why else you’ve brought me up here?”

“Listen Peter. There’s only so much I consider wise to tell you.”

“I’ll take what I can get.”

Jagesic nodded. “Very well then.” He pulled the stainless steel seat from Peter’s desk and sat. “Remember I told you Maia Dameon could make no contact with the surface of Styx?” Peter nodded. “And how we think Styx is somehow blocking our communications with LusciousLocks?” Peter nodded again. “Well then, whatever their jamming technology is, it’s powerful. Not even our highest technology can overcome Psychic communication. These guys can.”

“These guys…?”

“We don’t know for sure who ‘these guys’ are. But they’ve invaded our moon and attacked our planet.”

“So any natural phenomena are completely off the table?”

“Our official stance, at least before the people of Foggistan and Coralende, is that it is a natural phenomenon. But anyone who knows better knows that that’s not true. Some sort of advanced technology there is causing this whole mess. We have reason to believe it might be AssMachenstan.”

“For real? Like, AssMachenstan of legend AssMachenstan?”

“Oh, they’d like you to think they’re nothing but a legend. But they’re real. Very real. And if they’re on Styx, we have much to be concerned about.” Jagesic’s expression darkened. Peter sensed he was remembering something. Something painful. But just as quickly as the memory came, it left, and Jagesic continued. “I’ll tell you everything I can tell you, in due time. For the time being, focus on training your enhanced abilities. Maia Dameon will guide you every step of the way.” And with that, Jagesic was done.

Peter frowned. He still didn’t understand why he was taken to the Space Disk so abruptly. He didn’t understand why he was not allowed contact with Latvia. But his biggest question was: where was the quilaire?

“Good night Peter,” said Jagesic. And with a nod, he left Peter’s pod. Peter looked at the gray carpet, feeling incomplete. Miffed. Like he’d only heard 10% of what he was supposed to hear. And he still had more questions than answers.

He sat on his bed, crossed his hands behind his head dropped onto his pillow. “Wall setting, transparent,” he said. The walls of his pod slowly shifted from cool chrome to transparent, leaving Peter on a floating bed in space, the stars gently swirling around him as the Space Disk rotated on its axis. The moon of Attica drifted above him, and drifted away. Then Styx came into sight, its mysterious black band growing wider, longer, every day resembling the slit-like pupil of a massive red eye.

Peter felt he’d be walking its surface soon. Sooner than expected.

Little did he know he was right.