He’s some kind of specialist soldier fighting for the United Starways Coalition, she realized. Not Dominion, not a telepath hunter—but that didn’t make him safe.
She looked deeper.
Four-winged starfighters blazed across white clouds. Incoming missiles shrieked. Death from above, no escape—
Rex gritted her teeth.
Waking in a muddy trench, covered in soot and flames. So much pain. Look down. Body shredded, leg and arm ripped off—GONE—
Rex shuddered. The soldier’s pain surged through like a tsunami, eroding the tether back to herself.
All his comrades, dying, dead. All alone, pain capsizing—
(He’s inside you,) her subconscious screamed as icicles formed along her spine. Self-defense mechanisms kicked in: Cut off the pain.
(Sever neural connections—)
Cut off the soldier.
(Seize heart muscle, destroy cardiac tissue—)
(Kill him before he kills you—)
“Meow.” Something in the distance brushed across the top of her hand, lifting her from the inner vortex.
What’s happening?
She remembered the sim-stim coffin. The soldier, his cold hand. Trying to steal his starship codes and—
Herself, Falling.
A gentle paw picked at her fingers, until she loosened her grip on the soldier. The furry thing wedged between their palms, sealing the gaps.
Rex resubmerged back into the electric storm of pain. But in the midst, a soft glow, and a thrumming third heartbeat. New memories surfaced: Barred metal trap, sharp smells. Outside gone. Food in pellets, tastes funny. Can’t see well now, ears ringing. Curl up, tail over nose to try and stay warm in cold cage. Shivering, drowsy.
The kitcoon…
Rex tried to pull away, but the memories were too strong, too familiar to her own.
Stuck in a white-walled place with many awful smells. Yellow-gloved giants with masked faces reaching into cage. No energy to fight. Lights in eyes. Drowsy. Wake up, head hurts. Paws fuzzy. Everything wobbly. No more. Can’t go on.
Rex resisted, pulling back, but the kitcoon wiggled in her hand, stimulating her senses. More memories flooded in—
Explosions. Fire, soot. Shouting and gunfire. Throwing body against cage. Smoke—sirens—
A hand closed around her throat. Rex jarred back to reality to bloodshot eyes and a menacing growl. She shot up her hands to try and break the soldier’s grip around her neck, but he slammed her back against the wall, ripping the cords and lines that connected him to the sim/stim coffin, a rainbow intravenous fluids spraying everywhere.
Her senses screamed, terror and rage converging into madness, firing up her blood and kicking in her talent. The world split in two, allowing her to see the hallucinating soldier in front of him, and the electric panic driving the attack.
(Kill him before he kills you—)
Rex blasted herself through the nerves of his hands, up his arms, and into his brain. Nightmares bled into reality, and she couldn’t differentiate her own image from the attacking enemy that stole his life years ago.
“Meow!”
The kitcoon leapt from the coffin onto the soldier’s back, wrapping his tail around the man’s neck and gave another emphatic “Meow!” into his ear.
Another world intersected. The kitcoon’s memories spun across the chaos: Human arms, pressed into soft bosom, rushed away from the caged place. People chased. Booming, smoke. Frightened, but strong arms held fast.
The old woman that saved the kitcoon, Rex realized.
Soft voice, gentle touch. Rex saw the old woman’s smiling face as she lifted a flap of blanket off the swaddled kitcoon. “It’s going to be okay, sweet Kio.”
The memories fast-forward to a ship’s compartment. She saw the old woman petting the kitcoon, felt the kitcoon purring. No more hurts. Not all giants bad.
The soldier’s hands relaxed, enough to allow Rex a gulp of air.
The kitcoon’s memories continued to unfurclass="underline" Hand fed. Getting stronger. Sleeping curled against the old woman while traveling to new places. No more white walls. Warm, safe. No more cages. Belly always full. Always comforted. Protected. Trust again.
(Trust again.) The idea repeated in Rex’s head, and from the relaxing tension in the soldier’s grip, his too.
“Hold it right there!” someone shouted down the room.
Rex glanced sideways, to the back exit she’d used to access the basement coffins. Two Dominion soldiers locked the red laser sights of their rifles on Rex, advancing on her position.
Dark motes dotted Rex’s vision as she gasped for breath. The soldier had her at his mercy. The Dominion was coming—and so was the shock collar, the imprisonment, the torture—experiments!
Death.
“Do what you gotta do,” Chezzie’s voice echoed in her head. “It’s kill or be killed, baby.”
(Kill them all.)
The kitcoon crossed over the soldier’s arms and rested on her shoulder. The old woman’s voice surfaced from memory: “Find another way.”
“I’m not…going back…” she rasped.
Closing her eyes, she rerouted herself through the soldier, up his hands and arms and into his mind, but this time, as the same battle scene nightmare played out, she projected herself on the field next to him as he bled onto the soil.
“I’m not here to hurt you,” she said, kneeling beside him. Tears streamed down his pale face, his body racked with pain, terror, shivering.
“You’ve already survived this. You’re here now, with me, in the hotel,” she said, placing a hand on his chest. She sent cooling signals to his hyperactive nerves, calming the fires. The soldier relaxed, color returning to his face. He looked at her, his blue eyes focusing for the first time. “I’m not your enemy.”
The specialist released her, jerking his hands away, looking back and forth between her and the Dominion soldiers pointing their rifles at them. “What the—?”
“Take this kitcoon,” she said between coughs, prying the fuzzball off her shoulder and handing it to the soldier. She returned the blue chip and the multitool, too. “Get out while you can.”
“But you…?” he said, brow furrowed.
“Go!” she shouted.
“Hey, stop!” the Dominion soldier commanded as the specialist bolted, kitcoon tucked under his arm and howling.
Rex leapt into the walkway as one soldier broke off and went after the specialist.
Another way, she thought, closing her eyes.
Relaxing her mind, she spread her awareness over the soldiers, blanketing them in the few peaceful memories she had: Running through the wildflowers on Algar. Her grandmother’s loving hugs. The first feast of winter. Her father’s deep, rumbling voice.
The soldier tracking the USC specialist fired, but his aim drifted to the side, the plasma discharge hitting a wall.
“Get on the ground!” the second soldier shouted as the fire alarm sounded. Sprinklers shot out of the ceiling and doused them in cold water.
Rex tensed, but as she brought up her arm to shield her face, the second soldier stumbled and lowered his weapon.
This…worked? She marveled, stepping around them as they stood there, stunned.