No Such Thing

No Such Thing
By
Michelle O’Leary

© Copyright 2013 Michelle O’Leary

All rights reserved. No part of this story may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying,
recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the author.

Author's Homepage, Fertile Ground:
http://www.michelle-oleary.com

Cover photo courtesy of NASA

Prologue

"Mem Soliere, we must have her under control."

Ryelle stared at the Director of the Telenetic Institute and gripped her mother’s hand tighter. To her young eyes, he seemed impossibly old, with
gray streaking his hair and stern lines framing his unsmiling mouth. But his murky eyes were alive and seething with things she didn’t understand,
things that made primitive fear crawl up her spine. He didn’t look at her, but she still felt his regard like ice on her skin.

In contrast, her mother was a beacon of warmth and strength. Aceline Soliere stared at the Director, slim back straight, chin up, dark eyes snapping with
anger and resolve. "She is not yours to control. You are here to train her in the use of her telenetic abilities, not enslave her with some cruel
contraption."

"You are being melodramatic, Mem Soliere. No one wants to enslave your daughter, but her telenetic ability continues to grow and the danger she poses
to herself and everyone around her grows with it. Do you not recall her catastrophic introduction to the Institute? She destroyed every building on the
campus, injured numerous people, and very nearly killed several—"

"She was five years old. She had never been apart from me and she was terrified. You separated us and treated her like a lab rat. What did you
expect?"

"Most telenetic children are separated from their families at first—"

"Just because it is common practice doesn’t make it right. The courts agreed with me, which is why you’ve been burdened with me these
past seven years."

Ryelle didn’t understand the hard and bitter edge to her mother’s voice and studied her grim features with a knot of sick tension in her belly.

"You’re not a burden. You’ve been most welcome as an invaluable assistant in training Ryelle and on your own merit as well. But you must
see how dangerous it has become for her to be without any kind of controls in place."

"She controls herself just fine. She doesn’t need some horrible pain inducer to—"

"There have been numerous incidents over the years, destructive and costly. The most recent incident injured her trainer quite badly."

"That was an accident."

"An accident that was almost fatal. How many injuries will it take for you to see reason? How many deaths?"

Aceline stiffened, her grip tightening to the point of pain. Ryelle went still, fear causing the hair to stand up on her arms. The Director had a point.
She
was
dangerous. Her telenetic ability
was
monstrous and sometimes uncontrollable. She hadn’t meant to hurt her trainer and felt
sick about it, but it had happened anyway. Even now, her power unraveled around her in an invisible wave, fear loosening her hold on it. The furniture
shivered, the items on the Director’s desk vibrating a low and menacing warning. Her mother had never faltered in her belief that Ryelle would learn
to use and moderate her talent like she’d learned to use any other appendage. But now, with the Director’s words thickening like poison in the
air, would she change her mind?

Aceline took a deep breath. Then another. She didn’t seem to notice the items dancing on the Director’s desk. When she spoke, her voice was
crisp and final. "While I am her guardian, she will
never
wear that vile piece of torture you like to call a training tool. The courts have
given me full access and final say to what happens with my daughter, and I’m telling you right now, if I hear one more word about pain inducers, we
walk. I will take Ryelle far away from here and to hell with your Institute." She surged to her feet, tugging Ryelle upright. Giddy with a glorious
burst of relief, Ryelle nearly staggered. She wanted to cry out to her mother,
Yes! Let’s leave now! Let’s go far, far away…

"Mem Soliere, please," the Director said with utter calm and scary eyes, holding up a hand to forestall their departure. "Let’s not
be hasty. Had I known you felt this adamantly against the training method, I would never have distressed you with it. Please, sit. I understand a
mother’s need to protect her child. Taking her far away may indeed reduce the risk to those around her, but might put you both in even greater peril.
News of the GenTec’s encroachment into our space grows more distressing by the day."

Aceline stared at him for a moment, her face still. Then, to Ryelle’s dismay, she slowly eased back down to perch at the chair’s edge.

"Mom," Ryelle whispered through stiff lips. She wanted to scream,
Don’t trust him!
Can’t you see his eyes?
But she
had no voice.

Aceline’s gaze turned to her, warming into such boundless love and reassurance that Ryelle felt her chest ease and muscles relax. When Aceline patted
her hand and tipped her graceful head at the spot next to her, Ryelle sat without further hesitation. Her mother would know what to do. She always did.

Aceline faced the Director again. "You know Ryelle is more than capable of protecting herself. That’s why you want her—to be your shield
against the GenTec."

"Without proper training, she may not be able to shield even herself. But she has enormous potential. She could save so many lives in this war.
Isn’t that worth the minor aggravation of staying with us?" He smiled with a gentle warmth that didn’t reach his eyes.

"It’s not worth my daughter’s pain and suffering."

His smile faded into something similar to shock. "Of course not. If you are referring to the pain inducer, please consider that matter closed. You
still seem distressed—will you have some hot tea? I find it helps to soothe the frayed edges of the day." He rose and stepped over to a small
counter, gathering a little tea pot and cups onto a tray. "Perhaps we may discuss alternative avenues of harnessing your daughter’s amazing
talents."

Aceline watched him, a crease between her brows. Ryelle didn’t like the silky tone of his voice either, but she could find no reason to protest. When
he returned to the desk and served out measures of hot liquid into three cups, she minded her manners and thanked him as graciously as she could.

Sitting behind the desk again, the Director cradled his cup and leaned back in his chair, smiling blandly at them as he expounded on the different training
techniques used with other telenetics her age. Ryelle sipped politely at her tea but couldn’t understand what they were still doing there. Why
couldn’t the man get to the point? Why didn’t her mother just get up and go? Why did adults have to talk everything to death? As far as she was
concerned, the reason for the meeting was over—her mother had won and she wouldn’t be wearing that horrible headdress. So why—?

A sharp movement caught her attention. She looked over in time to see her mother toss the teacup violently away. At first, Ryelle thought it was on purpose
and gaped at the rudeness. But then Aceline jerked in her chair, body arching in a bow, head flinging back while her eyes bugged in their sockets.

"Mom!" Ryelle cried, catching hold of her mother’s arm. It twitched and squirmed in her grip with a gruesome sort of animation, but she
didn’t let go. "Mama, what’s wrong?" She heard the Director calling for medical care, his voice urgent and steady, and felt a small
spark of relief in a sea of horror. Something was very, very wrong with her mama, but they would fix it. Someone would fix it.

"Mama," she sobbed, still holding on as her mother convulsed out of the chair and onto the floor. Ryelle knelt next to her and Aceline’s
eyes met hers, wild and fierce, her throat working as if she would speak, but the only sounds she made were awful gurglings and retching gasps. "Help
her, help her," Ryelle moaned, rocking over her mother and hugging her arm to her chest while her tears blurred her vision. Her world rocked around
her, thrown into chaos by the loss of the only secure thing in her life.

"Ryelle! Stop!" someone shouted, but she didn’t understand, moaning in abject terror as her mother’s eyes rolled back in her head.
Then an explosion of pain cracked across her cheek, rocking her on her knees. She gasped, feeling the heat and sting in her skin. Lifting her head, she
stared at the Director and realized with numb shock that he’d struck her. No one but her mother had come within touching distance of her since
she’d demolished the Institute, and now her first contact from another person was a slap across the face.

The Director’s face was grim and hard, eyes bright with something she couldn’t understand. Triumph? Pleasure? Paper fluttered between them,
catching her eye, and Ryelle saw for the first time the cyclone of objects strewn around her, the shattered furniture, the cracks in the walls.
Oh, no. What have I done?

"Ryelle, you must let the medical team help your mother."

They were standing in the doorway, staring at her with wide eyes and pale faces.

"Please," she whispered to them. "Please. Help her. There’s something very wrong…" The arm she clutched to her chest
went limp. Her mother’s eyes had closed and her face was slack. Ryelle moaned in helpless horror.

"Stand back, Ryelle. Let them through."

Chapter 1

Five Years Later

Declan gritted his teeth and willed his fingers steady as he separated the delicate filaments and tried to apply the splicer again. It slipped again. He
hissed a curse, shifting in the confining space of the service shaft and working to get a better angle. Whoever designed this ship must have thought midget
monkeys would service it. Why else would they make the shafts so narrow and put the service panels in such awkward places?

He wiped his forehead and replaced sweat with slimy conductor fluid without noticing, steeling himself for another try. Working his hands into the narrow
space and bracing the splicer against the edge of the panel, he held his breath and tried again. This time, the delicate filaments parted and then fused
according to plan, until remote voices impinged on his concentration.

The splicer stuttered in his hold.

Declan muttered the same curse but without as much heat. With more speed than grace, he replaced the service panel and shoved his tools into their case,
straining to hear the conversation echoing into the shaft. He recognized the voices but couldn’t catch the words over the sound of the engines. With
a grimace of frustration, he squirmed backwards along the shaft, heading for freedom.

The Chief Engineer was gone by the time he emerged and Declan thought that he’d missed Bagera, too. Then he saw the sailor twisting up under the
proton stream to check the intake valves again. The man complained endlessly about the quality of those valves, but Declan knew he just liked the rush of
energy pulsing off the clear stream tubes.

"Hey, Bags!" he called over the deep-throated hum of the engines in the cavernous area below them.

The man jerked, banging his head, then straightened with a scowl on his beefy, red face. "What you tryin’ to do, kill me?"

Declan grinned, unrepentant. "So? You were there, right? You saw the new telenetic?"

"Yeah, I saw the netter," Bags muttered, eyeing Declan balefully as he rubbed the sore spot on his stubbled scalp with blunt fingers.

"So hack it up already!" Declan gave the older man a punch to the shoulder that made Bags wince. "What was he like?"

"Sarkin’ rockhead! Ain’t gettin’ squat, you keep punchin’ me up." Then Bags ran a thoughtful gaze over Declan’s
broad shoulders. "Hey, you filled out since I metcha, Dec. Not so much like that snot-nosed, braincase kid came on board few months ago." The
sailor gave him a sly grin.

Declan rolled his eyes, having heard roughly a million times Bags’ repertoire of insults and snide remarks about his age. "Stop stalling
or I’ll give you a real punch, old-timer."

Bags scowled again and rubbed his shoulder, but he stopped stalling. "Ain’t a he," he grumbled.

"The telenetic’s a woman? What’d she look like?"

Bags snorted. "Not no woman neither, though she’s a sweet-lookin’ little thing."

Declan frowned in confusion. "What do you mean, she’s not a woman?"

"Netter’s a girl," Bags explained with an irritable grimace as he moved across the engine room. "Younger’n you I
‘spect. Pretty as a picture with a powerhouse body, but
fwhee,"
he whistled through his teeth with a shake of his head.
"Colder’n the black heart a’space. Freeze yer dick off just lookin’ at ‘er."

Unable to resist the opening, Declan said with a cheerful grin, "Not that you could get it up anyway, old guy like you."