Milo

“She stabbed you?” Sam asked. “With a knife?”

Milo pushed the breakfast bowl aside. “Yeah. Nailed my hand right to the wooden table.”

Interesting, Sam reacted more strongly towards the actual knife stab and not the healing. Could it be because the man had more experience at doing violence and inflicting pain, rather than mending wounds? Also, magical healing had an abstract chime to it. Milo put his hand on the table, spread his fingers and gestured with his other hand. Simulating Rachel’s knife wielding hand coming down.

“Where are your burn scars?” Diego asked, sitting on the opposite side of the table.

How could he have missed it? Milo inspected his hands. The mess hall’s light was sharp and there could be no mistake, the burns had vanished without leaving any trace. He stared at his hands as if they were not his. Rachel had healed those, too.

“I didn’t notice before…,” Milo muttered.

He looked at his hands from different angles, trying his damndest to find faults. But could not. As if by magic. What more manifestations could be out there?

Diego leaned forward, grinning. “A bit fancier than electricity, would you not say?”

“Don’t patronize him!” Claire yelled and shoved a laughing Diego.

“Arse. What if I could do something like that? Healing broken soldiers by the touch of my hands? Mend spinal cords, regrow nerves and whatever else. Do you think she could raise a dead person?” Diego asked.

Milo frowned. “Didn’t get the chance to ask, doc. Sorry. The whole thing was a mess. I just didn’t know how to react. I left right away. Not the date I expected.”

It had been bizarre. The way the Commander and his wife had watched their daughter follow through. They enjoyed it. Milo shook. It had creeped him. The Commander had been transparent on how the whole knife incident had been a lesson. For him to show how a trained manifestee was able to remain focused while duressed, but also to test his suspicions on Milo’s hook.

“Apart from that. Who invites you home to their family on the first date?” Claire asked. “Didn’t the Commander invite you? It wasn’t even Rachel. You should stay away from her.”

Milo chuckled. “I intend nothing else. But the training will continue, I will just have to reject Commander Meyer’s invites.”

Sam finished his coffee. “Weird. I told you. I warned you, Blue. I will just have to stay close today, too. The same place, the police station?”

“Correct,” Milo said. “An hour or two, I should be back to do my rounds. But really, you don’t have to. If the Commander was after hurting me, he has had his chance to do so, and here I sit. Unharmed.”

“Just in case,” Sam mumbled.

Milo grabbed his empty bowl and dropped it to the washer. The thermos stood on the table, filled and ready to go.

“Just in case,” Sam said.

Milo grabbed it. “Of course. See you later. I will bring some tacos for lunch.”

-

Milo returned to the same police station as last time and went through the entry procedure. The Commander didn’t meet him in the lobby, so Milo went into the elevator and punched the floor as last time. He arrived at floor -5 and continued into the corridor, simply going through the same route as before. Commander Meyer stood outside the exercise field, leaning on the wall.

“Great! You made it,” the Commander said. “A little lesson, so to speak. This building is a maze. How many times did you need to ask your hand terminal for direction?”

Milo walked up to him and into the field through the door. “None.”

“I see,” Commander Meyer said. “I would be delighted for a cup of your coffee, if I may? You brought some today, too, which implies that you consider it better than ours. I want to know.”

Milo handed him the thermos. “Go nuts.”

The Commander unscrewed the lid and used it as a cup, which he filled with the hot liquid. Milo inhaled the coffee’s rich scent. Refreshing.

“So, this will be your third session. You reacted kind of dramatically during the dinner. But that was the whole point of the lesson and I am not surprised. I am glad it didn’t dismay you from coming today. Many react the same. It creates a baseline which we can improve upon,” Commander Jacob said, sipping from the cup. “Rich blend, the bitterness not too strong. Good coffee. Before continuing, we should try your real hook. That it is actually about your suffering and not empathy. I am pretty sure, but for the sake of the scientific method, let’s do it correctly. I don’t want to give you bad habits. Hook your manifestation, create tendrils in your palms.”

Milo widened his fees, held his palms forward and turned up, closed his eyes and slowed his breathing. The deposit of liquid hung distinct surrounded by an absolute darkness in his mind’s eye. He had seen vague contours of other deposits in the distance the last times he had hooked his manifestation, but not now. Why was that? He put the thought aside, promising to himself to think the matter through later. His own suffering, then.

“A memory. A bad break up. Your teddy bear got stolen when you were small. You failed a test. Your mother died. Something. Anything that had a painful emotional impact in your life,” Commander Meyer said. “It will feel uncomfortable in the beginning. Just get used to it. It will soon be like flipping a switch.”

He barely remembered mother. Dad had told him that she had been unhappy after he was born and showed little interest in taking care of him. Post pregnancy depression, they called it. Horrible, but he had been too young to remember that. It would not serve as his hook. Shortly after dad and he had settled in Europe13 they had found a wounded and homeless cat wandering around the apartment complex. Adopted and taken care for, that cat had put a smile on both of their faces. They had shared some hearty moments. But cats were short lived beings and after three years they went to sleep, the cat never awakened. Something clicked, everything made sense and the deposit of water became distinct as ever. He tore into it and the sweetness flooded him, the rush being stronger than ever before.

Milo opened his eyes. Electrical tendrils came to life from his palms. Crackled to life. It felt easy. Almost like that time he had absorbed power from the electrical hub, but only almost. The tendril snaked up his arms, some merging with each other and some racing like fairytale fairies.

“Try to cover your body,” Commander Meyer said. “Have you tried this before? To create an electrical barrier across your entire body.”

Milo nodded with dreamy eyes. “Yes, but...never like this.”

The tendrils tingled as they crowded to find open spaces on his body. And at the same time, crackling with a blue tint. It was a marvelous light show. His boots were covered, his legs, waist and torso. They snaked around him with such speeds! His arms, hands and shoulders. Finally, his head was encased with hasty electrical tendrils. His vision tinted blue as they crackled over his face and eyes. He relaxed and no more tendrils were birthed from his palms.

With a smile on his lips and watery eyes, he looked at the Commander. “Thank you. This is wonderful. We did it.”

“The things you will be able to achieve with the correct guidance and tools are astounding, I am certain. I have only been able to give you a little help, so far, but your progress shows clearly,” Commander Meyer said. “Some manifestees stagnate and their progress halts, some just keep growing capacity over time. We really don’t know why. You show promising signs.”

Milo watched the tendrils dance across his body. Would these be able to withstand real weapons? He recalled the calculations he and Sam had performed. Maybe he should ask him again.

“Extinguish,” the Commander said.

“What?” Milo asked.

“Make the sweetness go away. Shut down your manifestation,” Commander Meyer replied.

Right. He let go of his focus. The hook uncoupled, the sweetness retreated from his mouth and the tendrils faded away.

“Good. Your first successful barrier. But your capacity will need to grow in order for it to become effective. It has to be stable even during stressful situations. Which means more training,” the Commander said. “I will give you an exercise that you will have to repeat a hundred times every day. When that becomes too easy you will do it a thousand times every day. Your hook needs to become as easy as flipping a switch, otherwise you will never improve.”

Milo nodded in acknowledgement. “Yes, you said this before. Like flipping a switch. I get it.”

“No, you don’t. But you will. The exercise is simple. With closed fists held forward, then hook your manifestation. Open your hands and let the tendrils come alive. Extinguish and repeat. A hundred times. A thousand time. You understand?” Commander Meyer said.

“It sounds simple enough. But how will my body react to such strain? Liquids will be spent in every repetition. Will it not be dangerous?” Milo asked.

Commander Meyer frowned. “Yes. Have you never trained in any physical activity? That is why we start slow and careful. A hundred repetitions are not dangerous. Your body will build a tolerance, you will be able to use the liquids more effectively and the total amount your body can store will increase. You could draw a parallel between manifestation exercises and to the training of ordinary muscles.”

“Of course,” Milo said.

“Just drink a lot of fluids. Never forget that. And if you show signs of dehydration, slow down for a few days and drink more,” Commander Meyer said.

The Commander sounded sure about this. Then at least he should try to follow through with the exercises. If he experienced any discomfort he could just take a break. Commander Meyer was used to training manifestees, so this might be the normal approach. He decided to go for it.

“So what’s next? Today we have gone through more theory, but also a bit of practical activities concerning manifestations,” Milo said.

“You are eager. I like that. Let’s have a go at that barrier again,” Commander Meyer said. “List the barrier attribute’s characteristics.”

“External. Active,” Milo replied quickly.

“Good. Now, hook,” the Commander said.

-

An hour later Milo staggered back to the Final Sight. Tired? Yes. Headache? Yes. A strange itchy sensation crawled over the skin in his hands and fingers, as if his body expected electricity to move above and across. But at least he didn’t show any signs of being dehydrated. Maybe his body was adapting.

He arrived at the dock, Sam joined him from the side. The Captain held bags from their usual taco place. Oh no, he had forgotten. He had promised Diego to bring some back to lunch, but instead he had come straight home. Had Sam expected this, or watched him?

“Ha, I knew it!” Sam said. “You forgot. But I saved the day. You look worn, is the Commander pushing you too hard?”

Milo grunted. “Practise makes perfection.”

He closed a hand, sought out the pain of his cat dying and the rush of sweetness came as the liquids were made available for his manifestation. He opened his hand and electrical tendrils snaked around it.

“Fine work,” Sam said with proud eyes.

Milo extinguished, the sweetness retreated and the tendrils faded.

-

Days came and days passed. The grind, just a little different. Before the work day began, even before breakfast, he did his exercise. Hook, create tendrils, extinguish. A hundred times every morning. It drained him, but he was adamant to follow the instructions. After breakfast, he worked on the Final Sight’s electronics; upgrading hardware, checking the wellbeing of wiring, making sure integration points were functioning and doing some work on the ship’s software system. Then lunch and when it was devoured he walked over to the police station, where he met Commander Meyer and received training. For every session he experienced a tiny improvement, either in his ability to hook or the way he executed his attributes. But it was enough to keep him inspired to continue the grinding days. He stumbled home, sore and tired, on the verge of dehydration. But he was not giving up. During the days, he always carried a bottle of water with him and made certain to refill it at every chance he got. He would not fail because he forgot to drink. Days bled into each other. Same and same. He never saw Sam when he walked over to the police station, but the Captain made sure to tell him afterwards. Always a short speech about crew being a single organism or how they needed to have each other’s backs. Just another cog in the grinding wheel, the grind which kept on churning. But there were moments of joy, too. The crew enjoyed Milo’s home cooked meals. Devoured with pleasure. He smiled wide, feeling accomplished and happy. Everytime he made progress with his manifestation he was convinced to push harder. Growing stronger. Also, the regular visits to the marketplace delighted him and it was not the one with synthetics foodstuff, but instead Sam gave him enough money to buy from the pricey and authentic one. Why had he not taken the leap of change before? Without dad pushing and encouraging him, he would never have arrived at this state in his life. He should value dad’s wise words more. Regarding Dad, it had been a few days since he last had spent time with him.

Scents of a wide array of sources attacked Milo’s senses as he entered the marketplace. This was where rich men bought their foodstuff. Real ingredients, from real plants and real animals. Chilli. Curry. Something sugary boiled in a stall he passed. The market was crowded with well dressed and clean people. Stall merchants took pride in their work, quality over quantity. It felt like a dream. The market’s atmosphere was lively. Milo stopped at a small stall, plump mushrooms in different colors and shaped hung at head height. He recognized the white champions, the brownish shiitake and the light violet wood blewit. And of course the king of mushrooms: the golden colored chanterelle. Extra saliva produced inside his mouth in anticipation of its taste. Chanterelle on toast, chanterelle pizza, chanterelle lasagna… the list had no end. The sweet, juicy taste made this particular mushroom excellent and versatile in cooking.

Milo clicked and swiped across the screen of his hand terminal. When the payment was received the stall merchant nodded and handed over a bag of chanterelles. He left the stall and headed deeper into the market with a smile on his face. Sam and the crew would love the next dinner. Cheese would be key for the dish. The dairy stalls were easily located. Milo knew he was on the right path when the scent of aged cheese took over that of chilli and curry. Rows of stalls and merchants lined up with wheels of hard cheeses. His eyes widened. The scent, the sight, it was almost too good to be true. Mouth wetted with saliva, this would be a feast. Milo chose a stall and walked over to it. Cheddar. Yellowy wheels of cheddar hung from the stall and lay across its table. A warm, cozy sensation filled his gut. These cheeses could not be real, could they? The amount of them was staggering. He could not discern the telltale signs of them being printed cheese. All the wheels owned a genuine yellow and rough look. The scent! Cheddar galore.

Milo walked up. “Are all these cheeses real?”

The merchant replied with a British accent. “Of course. Real milk from real cows.”

“Amazing,” Milo said.

The merchant leaned forward and cupped a hand on the side of his mouth, whispering into Milo’s ear. “The dairy foundation has a patch of real cows inside the city. Their grass is still grown in hydroponic tanks. But the milk from those cows… it tastes just real Earth milk. Have you ever had Earth-produced milk? Or cheese?”

Milo shook his head.

“Heaven. Imagine heaven but in a liquid form,” the merchant said. “Buy a bottle of it before you leave the market. You seem so enthralled at being here that I will throw in a personal discount, just for you.”

Milo could not resist, he swiped the money to the merchant. “I will have half a kilo of cheddar and a bottle of milk.”

“Good man,” the merchant replied and handed over the plastic bag with the groceries.

Heading back to the Final Sight Milo felt good and wore a smile on his face. Happy. He entered the Navy docks, the guards scanned his access token and granted him entry. The corvette came in view. From the outside it looked stunning. A starship in its prime time. Its metal composite hull looked strong, its shape streamlined and sharp. The two giant cylindrical engines hung on either side of the ship. But its looks didn’t tell you about its tight, almost claustrophobic corridors.

He stepped around one of Final Sight’s docking clamps and someone shouldered into him. The groceries spilled out the bag as he lost his grip. He snarled towards the man, his fists closed, before he recognised him.

“Stop. It's me! Stop, son,” dad said and stepped back from him.

Milo saw the fear in his dad’s eyes. “What are you doing? Why are you here?”

Fists opened and he let his body’s tension wash away. Dad stepped forward again, but the old man kept a wary eye on him. Was he afraid of his own son?

“I needed to avoid Jacob’s minions. He is watching me,” dad said, his hair looked ruffled and unwashed, his beard dirty.

Milo shook his head. “Ridiculous.”

“This is no joke. You should not be training with Commander Meyer. I am warning you,” dad said. “Please listen to me.”

Milo stepped forward and hugged him. What has happened with him? The hug was warm and reassuring. Dad relaxed under his arms.

“Dad, I know a guy who can have a look at you. Maybe print you some drugs, to calm down your mind. What happened? I am worried about you,” Milo said.

“I feel how he prods inside my head!” Dad yelled. “I was the one with the power! He stole everything from me!”

“Dad this cannot be true. I know the man. Dined with his family. He is a little harsh, but his job requires that of him,” Milo said.

A darkness crept into dad’s face, his chin dipped. “You don’t know him like I do. I know what you are, what you can do. I SAVED you from his cruel facility. I worked with him. He twists the minds of people,” dad said. “I took you under my wing, cared for you like my own son. He never found us, until you saved his daughter. We have stayed hidden for thirty years!”

Milo stumbled backwards. Unbalanced. Something crept down his spine. Sweat prickled his forehead. Dad had gone mad. Completely, utterly mad.

“Your name is not even Milo, it is Jonathan,” dad said, stepping away from him.

Breathing became labored, vision blurred. “My life has been a lie? You are lying. You are delusional, dad. I will take you to Diego and he will sort you out.”

Dad made no sense. Doc could at least put dad to sleep, until they figured out what to do with him.

“No,” dad said. “I cannot trust anyone, except you. I know how you would behave without his influence. So I can tell if he is controlling you. Commander Meyer stole my power! I used to control other people’s minds, but now he has it! Everyone is enslaved by him!”

“I don’t know, dad,” Milo said. “You need to calm down. Let’s go inside the Final Sight and Diego will have a look at you. Please.”

Something had to be done. Milo inched forward. He could not let dad get lost in the city.

“No! Saif. My true name is Saif,” dad said. “We should speak later. Stay away from Jacob.”

Dad turned tail and left Milo behind the docking clamp.

“Dad, please! You need help. Let me help you,” Milo said. “Please!”

Milo rushed after him, still within sight, but the crowd of people grew denser. Rush hour at the docks. He shoved a big man aside, who returned an angry stare. How could dad move so fast through this heap of bodies? The distance grew, dad was lost from his sight during brief moments. Breathing turned into gasping. Maybe he should have done some cardio after all? Even his old man was in better shape. Dad turned a corner and disappeared. Milo struggled after and finally made it to the corner and came around it. But dad was gone. The corridor split into several branches. Where would he go? Home or work? Or into hiding? Even though dad was delirious, the fear in his voice had been real. His dad believed what he had said. He would not return home or to work. Into hiding, then. But where?

Milo rubbed his head and paced between the branches. “Goddamnit!”

“Blue, are you alright?” Sam asked, stepping up and putting a reassuring hand on him.

“Dad has gone mental, he said some very strange things. Very strange things. That I am adopted, that my name is Jonathan, that he used to have a manifestation and that Commander Meyer stole it from him,” Milo babbled. “I lost him. He moved too fast into the crowd. Where would he go?”

“It’s alright. If someone knew how to manage on their own, it would be Cane Marshal. You father will be fine,” Sam said. “He is tough.”

Milo stared at his friend. “How can you be so calm about it!? He sounded crazy. We need to find him.”

Sam pulled up his hand terminal. “I will put out a general search. But I think it will be difficult to locate him if he doesn’t want to be found. Have you not heard his war stories?”

“I know! But all these things he said. It worries me,” Milo said.

“He is of the old guard,” Sam said. “Navy Special forces, and this city provides unlimited opportunities for someone just like that to stay hidden. Days, weeks or months. We will find him when he wants to be found. Not before. Do not waste your time looking for him.”

Milo sighed. “Right, then. We should go back.”

“You know, if you had followed my advice and exercised this off,” Sam said and pinched his fat gut. “You might have had a chance to catch him.”

“Damn you! This is not the time for banter!” Milo replied.

“He will be fine, you will see,” Sam said.

Milo knew that his friend tried to reassure him, but waiting for dad to resurface felt wrong. These things he had said. They must be lies, surely. But if they were true. That would mean that dad was not even his real father, but instead a man named Saif who had rescued him from Jacob’s facility. But why would he then stay in this city, where Commander Meyer lives? Absurd. Something must have happened to him. Dad needed help, this had to be connected to his earlier claims of nightmares and sensations of weird thoughts. Stress could do strange things to you. He shuddered at the idea. No chance. Maybe he should ask Diego about the effect of stress on the human mind.

They walked back to the ship and picked up the spilled groceries. At least the chanterelles had not been harmed by the sudden fall to the ground. Even the bottle of milk had made it.