Bob didn’t tell Felix he’d talked in his sleep. But, he did tell him he was his friend. Felix was surprised, but returned the sentiment later on a courtyard day; I must admit I share your friendship as well.
Both men were getting to be extremely frail, so when Bob saw Fjjar, the gigantic ghat heading towards them, he felt it might be the end. Indeed, he saw his four fists clenched in an all-too familiar, vicious fashion. Bob held up his hands pitifully once he was close enough. “Please, Fjjar. I can’t receive one more fist.”
Fjjar blocked the sun behind him, casting a massive shadow over the two. “One more? But I have four.” He paused and laughed, “Once you’re dead, we’ll be happy to use our mouths you hate so much to spit on your bodies.” He said it calmly in a clear tone, as if he was a doctor telling a patient his mortal diagnosis.
Fjjar raised a fist, aiming it at Bob. We can help you if you leave us alone. Felix said suddenly. This was the first time the telepath had tried to defend them in any way. Perhaps Bob’s hopefulness was rubbing off on him.
“Help me?” The ghat squinted his four eyes.
You know of my Galactic Reach. We’re planning on using my mutation to relay a message to our loved ones and friends. I know the location of this prison. If you leave us in peace, I will Reach out to someone you know as well.
Fjjar stopped. There was a glisten in his eyes as a thought flashed through his brain. Bob held his breath until he saw the ghat’s fists unfold. “How could I know you’d actually do that?”
Simple. As I use the Reach to send out messages, I’ll repeat your message to you at the same time… sort of like a receipt. The Telepath held his thin fingers together hopefully.
Fjjar looked over his shoulder at the two bullying telepath brothers, who stood on the opposite side of the courtyard. He then crossed his arms, anger leaving his face. “Can we get a few more people in on this? I have friends who need help, too.”
Bob flinched at the sudden turn of events. With a few sentences, Felix had turned the ghat to his side. Yes, that’s fine. I’m capable of speaking to millions at once. Get as many people as you’d like.
Fjjar was about to leave when Bob stepped forward, back into the sun. “Fjjar. In order to send these messages, we need to find a way to get Felix off his forced medication. They drop it in his eyes every morning. If you get any ideas, let us know.”
The ghat nodded and left. Bob saw Yiti and Yhor look at each other irritably. Felix came to stand next to the human. If we die before we get the messages out, at least I got to see those two squirm.
With Fjjar’s help, Felix and Bob began eating their meals again. Having a bulky ghat bodyguard made everyone think twice about approaching them.
Still, in spite of getting his nutrition back, Bob was thinner than he’d ever been—to the point he could easily feel individual ribs on his chest. His own appearance disturbed him when he caught a glimpse of himself in a reflection; his sunken eyes, bony cheeks and thinned hair made him unrecognizable to himself.
A week after their talk in the courtyard, Fjjar had signed up twenty people to have the location of the prison and a short message relayed to friends, family, cohorts and acquaintances. They lined up during cafeteria time, having him memorize a few sentences each—missives they knew would most likely be their last.
One of the former female protestors stepped forward at one such time, holding back tears as she spoke with the telepath. “I need a message sent to my son on the Sector 789 Station. His name is Ryan Green—tell him I love him, and that none of this is his fault.”
Felix committed the message easily into the memory of his telepathic brain. I will.
Bob could tell Felix was touched deeply by messages to children; it must have made him think of his own every time.
An alarm sounded and the cafeteria began to disperse into lines. For just a moment Bob lost sight of Felix as Fjjar stepped into a line a short distance away. But that was all the time Yiti and Yhor needed.
Bob--! Felix’s weak, scared voice entered Bob’s head like a knife. He was in pain. Without hesitation, Bob ran back into the crowd, looking for his friend. “Felix! Where are you?” Because the alien couldn’t speak audibly, it was impossible to know where he was without a voice to lead him.
Fjjar followed Bob the moment he heard him call for Felix. Finally, they saw commotion at the back of the crowd. A path cleared as Bob nearly bulldozed his way through. Yiti had one foot on Felix’s neck while Yhor was kicking him. He could only guess what curses and taunts the two were saying in the hapless alien’s head.
Bob tore into Yiti with a ferociousness he’d never known he was capable of. He pulled the thin alien off of Felix, who was dazed, and pinned him against a wall. Fjjar grabbed Yhor with a single massive hand, lifting him four feet from the ground.
Bob’s mind nearly went blank in his fury as he mustered all his strength to pummel Yiti with his free fist. The alien clawed back at him, almost helpless to his human strength—weakened though he was.
Stop! Bob heard in a moment of clarity. At first he thought it was Yiti, begging. But then he realized it was Felix. Don’t kill him. Don’t add to your sentence. You can make it out of here, Bob.
Bob’s vision cleared, and he realized he was shaking. He let go of Yiti, who was bloodied and bruised about the eyes. The telepath cowered before him for just a moment before running off into the crowd of onlookers.
Thank you. Felix said, relieved. Bob turned to face him. The telepath was slouching, holding his side with one long, thin arm. His neck was horribly bruised, and his right eye had turned red with a broken blood vessel.
As bad as Felix was, Yhor had fared far worse; his corpse lay at Fjjar’s feet.
Fjjar didn’t admit to the guards that he’d been the one to kill Yhor, and nobody would point fingers at the huge ghat. He got off scot-free, and the body, along with the body that had been rotting in the cafeteria since Bob had arrived, were both removed.
Felix was checked only briefly by the prison doctor before he was returned to his cell. His wounds looked far worse than they actually were, and mainly consisted of deep bruises. His right eye was still red, but was slowly returning to normal.
At their next meal together, Bob was surprised when Felix expressed remorse for Yhor’s death. The poor man. He was so young—maybe seventy years old. Telepaths were a long-lived species; Felix himself was about two hundred.
Felix rubbed his nutritional paste onto his yellow arms for absorption and sighed, looking about the overly crowded cafeteria. Bob… did anyone ever try to convince you not to be a criminal?
Bob thought for a moment, searching through his fifty years of life. “No… It was something I had to do. I couldn’t find work so I turned to crime to survive.”
I see. Felix said softly, his mind wandering out of Bob’s head. Something seemed to be bothering him.
“Did anyone ever try to convince you…?” Bob returned the question.
No. People were either for my ideas or they were against me. The people who were against me never returned my arguments with words. He paused and looked into Bob’s eyes, something the meek alien hardly ever did. Perhaps Telepaths are just as savage as those with mouths.
Bob was dumbfounded. This was Felix’s way of saying that his views against mouth-speakers might be wrong. Felix continued; I only wish someone like you had befriended me sooner.
“No worries, Felix. We’ll get out of here eventually.”
I have no intention of dying in prison. He said simply. After that, more prisoners began lining up with messages to loved ones. Yiti, whose wounds weren’t severe at all, stood far off, watching Felix with hate festering behind his eyes.
A few days later, a plan was finally formed to get Felix off the drugs. The idea came from one of the female protestors; the same one whose message was to her child on some far off space station. It was during dinner that she approached them.
She held out her tray to the Felix. “Look. I think I may have a solution. See the gooey film of slime that covers our meals? It’s nearly clear. We can lift it off gently like so…” she pinched the layer of clear gelatin and held it up. It reminded Bob of Jello. “Then… and I know this is gross,” she continued, “we simply apply a layer to your eyes.”
Felix shuddered a bit. He spoke in the heads of all present; That IS disgusting, but it’s a very good idea. A layer of paste like that should prevent the drugs from being absorbed into my body.
Fjjar was ecstatic. “Perfect. When should we do this?”
“As soon as possible.” Bob said, looking down at his weak body. “The sooner we send our messages, the sooner someone might help us.”
Some of us don’t deserve to be helped. Came a telepathic voice that wasn’t Felix’s, entering the minds of the four schemers. They looked about, and finally saw Yiti standing near the serving window—just close enough to hear the spoken parts of the conversation. He was staring cruelly with his blue eyes.
Fjjar crossed his four arms and called out to him; “If you disrupt us, you’ll be joining your brother in the morgue.”
Yiti’s next thoughts entered their heads quickly and passionately—if he was using a mouth he would have spat the words; You’re all disgusting. Should I list your crimes? Bob helped criminals escape to the uncharted territories; he saved the lives of outlaws guilty of crimes he didn’t bother to ask them about because he’s a coward.
Apparently, Yiti had been eavesdropping on more conversations than anyone had noticed. The jaded telepath continued; The woman is guilty of a string of assassinations. They called her The Huntress. She raised her son in a cesspool. When the Galactic Government tried to capture her, she took him and ran deeper into criminal territory where they were both nearly killed.
Fjjar broke the telepath’s line of thought; “And I’m guilty of murder too. So what? I’d do it again.”
You’re depraved. You’ll do it again once you’re out. Yiti said, his voice like a needle. By saving his life, you end others.
Bob looked at Fjjar, who was unshaken by the telepath’s words. No wonder the prisoners were so fearful of him.
And YOU. Yiti’s voice turned from needle-like to knife-like, twisting forcefully in their heads. Felix is a mass-murderer. His speeches—his very thoughts insight riots. Mouthed Telepaths have been killed en masse because of this racist rat. Mark my words. He will die in this prison.
Bob looked about at his comrades, considering each of them. While it may be true some of them deserved to be there, Bob only knew one thing; he had to be with his fiancé again, and if that involved giving his inmates an unwarranted second chance, then so be it.
“Get out of here, Yiti.” Fjjar said sternly, breaking Bob’s line of thought. “And don’t bother us again. If I see you listening in, I’ll snap that twig neck of yours.”
Yiti walked off, staying within eyesight of the guards, leaving the four with a lot to think about. Still, the plan had to continue.
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