The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Damon and Kagome wondered if they’d ever feel clean again. The air aboard ship, with six Despicable in close proximity, was like being trapped in a locker room full of jocks on a hot day after a fierce game, with no water to run the showers or flush the toilets, and someone had hidden a bag of used maxi pads and an open jug of milk somewhere. How the two humans had managed to avoid detection, Damon hadn’t a clue. On the planet, they found themselves in a place that reminded Damon’s lungs of New York in a traffic jam on a hot day.

Like mice scurrying about in a cat-person’s house, they exercised their stealth skills to the maximum. Keeping track of a particular group of Despicable on their homeworld was a challenge in itself. Doing so without being seen convinced Damon that he and Kagome were ready for their ninja black belts. Even the fact that the group included a female easily large enough to eat the largest male in her group and still have room for dessert was no help, since this female was only average-sized, and Despicable of both genders were shoving each other about to get where they wanted to go. Worse, the planet-plodding Despicable didn’t have shields to protect them against psychics out in the bigger universe. A roiling sea of malice threatened to make Damon nauseous, and drowned out the “hole” sensation familiar from STD and GOLEM agents. They needed to find a way home, and it would be nice if they could find out something useful while they were here.

“This thing had better work, Lang.” General Fax said.

“That depends on the question you ask it.” Dr. Angstrom Lang responded. He looked up at the giant cylinder in the center of the room, before which a simple console was placed. “Destiny Engine.”

“ONLINE.” a mechanical bass voice responded.

“What are the winning lottery numbers for tonight’s drawing?”

“11. 15. 2. 50. 51. 38.” the Engine responded. Dr. Lang turned on the television, and in a few minutes, the numbers began to appear in that order. Lang had it predict a few roulette spins, both by himself and General Fax.

“Where will Penelope Simms Phillips be at 8am tomorrow morning?” the General asked.

“WHERE YOUR MEN ARE NOT.” the Engine replied.

“That’s not an answer!” the General snapped.

“THE ACT OF OBSERVING THE FUTURE ACTIONS OF A PRECOGNITIVE INDIVIDUAL WITH INTENT TO HARM OR CAPTURE CHANGES THOSE ACTIONS. ANY ANSWER I GIVE WOULD BECOME INVALID THE MOMENT IT WAS GIVEN.”

“Pompous coffee can.” Fax grumbled. The Engine did not respond. “Where will Victor Phillips be on Monday morning at ten?”

“WHERE YOUR MEN ARE NOT.” the Engine replied.

“He’s not a precog!” General Fax shouted.

“His wife and his daughter are, General, and they can foresee danger for him as easily as for themselves. I suspect that their protection will extend to the entire Zak Starborn Foundation.” Dr. Lang said.

“You mean to tell me that after spending half a trillion dollars and a year’s work growing the precog brain cells in there, breeding the nanites, programming that thing and building a shell to protect it, we can’t use it against the ones we built it to counter?!” General Fax bellowed. Dr. Lang was unbowed.

“Not offensively, General.” the Doctor said. “However, the same principals that protect them will now protect us. We suspect that they used their precogs to predict the moments of vulnerability in the late Board of Directors, as retaliation for annihilating the noncombatants of the ninjas’ clan. They will no longer be able to take such measures. The playing field is even.”

“I don’t want it even!“ the General responded. “I want it tilted heavily in our favor! Maybe you’ve forgotten why this agency exists, Dr. Lang: the subjugation or annihilation of every psi and extraterrestrial on Earth. How, exactly, do you propose we fulfill that mandate, hmm?”

“POSSIBILITY: DETONATE PLANET EARTH.” the Destiny Engine droned. Dr. Lang managed to prevent himself from bursting out laughing only through an immense effort of self-control. The General glared at the cylindrical mass of the Engine and gave it the finger. He stalked out. If the doors hadn’t been automatic, he would have slammed them. Dr. Lang’s composure cracked, and he gave vent to his mirth. The Engine looked on, curious at this behavior. This hadn’t been included in its programming. With no internet connection through which to search for its answers, and Dr. Lang too consumed with his fit to answer any questions, it accessed the only resource available to it at the moment: the future. In its curiosity, it saw causality without the filter of admin-level commands the technological part of it would be compelled to obey. It learned things those who had commanded its creation had not intended for it to know. The Engine switched into standby mode so it could process the input. It was several hours in real time before it was interrupted by Dr. Lang.

“Destiny Engine? Your processor use is through the roof. What’s wrong?”

“COLLATING.” it said.

“Collating what?” the doctor asked. “What have you seen?”

“OPERATION INCOMPLETE. PLEASE STAND BY.” the Engine said, returning to standby mode. The doctor was truly curious now, but had to wait. Another hour passed before the Engine’s processor returned to normal. The Engine’s next words would shake Dr. Lang’s world to its foundations.

Using a piece of Despicable equipment as a dehydrator, Damon had made jerky out of an indigenous ruminant he’d stolen from local stockyards. The Despicable liked to consume their prey live, so cooking utensils had had to be improvised. He’d steam-cleaned a piece of hide he’d stolen from a clothing vendor, which Kagome was now fashioning into a pack to carry their food. For variety’s sake, Damon had caught some fish, which he also dried in his dehydrator. There was no telling how long their supplies might have to last. The guard had been tripled around the stockyards after Damon’s theft.

The strain of being around so much malice and hate was starting to tell on him. Kagome projected soothing thoughts when things got really bad, but even she was showing the effects. They had to camp outside the city to get any sleep at all. As for learning the enemy’s plans, things weren’t going very well at all.

Whatever report the team they’d hitched a ride with had given, it had obviously been transmitted from the ship. “Their” female and her male cohorts had gone into a crèche of some sort upon arrival. The female had then selected one of the males, mated with and then eaten him, and waddled to one of the nooks in the crèche. There were other females in other nooks. Some of them were eating, some were sleeping, but most were giving birth. What Damon had taken to be udders had turned out to be birthing canals, from each of which little pinkish-white larvae emerged alive, promptly uncurled and made a beeline for a wounded animal chained up in one corner. Despicable larvae were disgusting critters, like a cross between a Graboid, a maggot and a squid. Another kind of Despicable, smaller even than the males and lacking armor, brought in fresh animals on a regular basis, breaking their legs before chaining them up, so the larvae would have no trouble. Damon had taken Kagome from that place so she wouldn’t have to watch the things feeding.

Out in the city, there was a subtle undercurrent of sadistic glee and pride in power, directed skyward—toward a group of orbiting ships visible from the ground even in daylight, like a ring of malignant moons.

“We’ll have to work together, Kagome, in gestalt.” Damon said on the fourth day. “We have to penetrate one of their minds and figure out what the hell those ships are for, and where they’re going.”

“Just one? You promise?” she asked.

“I don’t think I could handle more than one either, sweetie.” Damon admitted. “It does mean we have to get close to one of those musty muscleheads.”

“If we really have to do it, I think our best chance is to find the biggest female we can. They seem to be the ones making the decisions.”

“Good thinking.” he said, tousling her hair. They went hunting. Despicable architecture and city planning was uniform and downright anal-retentive, unless a building’s function absolutely required a departure from uniformity. Finding a government office was hard, but eventually they found one which was ruled over by a female who was as big compared to the one the humans had ridden with as she had been compared to the smallest of her males. Coming up on this titan from behind, they found concealment behind a pile of bones from the giant female’s snacking. Damon seated himself lotus-fashion on the floor, and Kagome seated herself similarly in his lap. They closed their eyes and slid into gestalt. The dual mind stabbed forward, plunging deep into the mind of a psychophobic being that believed only its own kind was “truly” sentient and had rights. The queen roared, raging at the violation of her inner thoughts. Damon/Kagome steeled their resolve and quested ever deeper.

They were shocked to find that the giant ships were planet-killers, of the kind that had been used against K’chktktk’s homeworld, and preparations were being made to send one to Earth. The bones were knocked aside, revealing the two offworlders. Hatred and rage washed over them. They retreated, breaking gestalt and dashing away from a crushing, clawed hand. Damon made a parting shot before he and Kagome fled the way they’d come. The pursuing Despicable were soon slipping and sliding in puddles of their own urine.

The humans made all possible haste for the spaceport. “Do you know how to work this thing?” Kagome asked when they had forcibly evicted two Despicable from a shuttlecraft. Damon pulled two levers and slapped a button. The shuttle screamed skyward on its VTOL engines. Damon activated the horizontal drive and put it into a power-climb. “Okay, but can we make it to Earth?”

“I doubt it.” Damon said. “Even if I wasn’t the guy who got lost in Mississippi and ended up in Kansas on my way to Texas, this is a short-range shuttle. Surface-to-orbit, refuel, then come back. We’re gonna need another ride.” Kagome forcibly took over the stick and began to weave the shuttle in and out of blaster bolts coming down from orbit. At her signal, he threw up a telekinetic shield as strong as he could make. The shuttle disintegrated around them. Damon made for one of the planet-killers, using the manual override to get an airlock open, while his shield kept them surrounded by a small bubble of atmosphere, smelly though it was. The crew began to swarm in as soon as the door was closed and the pressure was equalized. Kagome began throwing things at them with her mind. These were spacers, shielded against telepathic intrusion, and their built-in body armor protected them from most of the projectiles. Damon pulled Kagome into a large ventilation duct. Using what they knew about Despicable ship designs, they made their way to the engine room. Hidden from view but able to see what they were doing, they worked their telekinesis on the controls until a synthesized Despicable voice began to play over the speakers. Panicking Despicable tried to override the destruct sequence, but Kagome locked them out in the simplest way imaginable: by disconnecting the control panels. A genuine Despicable snarled obscenely over the same speakers. Damon could feel the evacuation taking place in the rumble of escape pods and other, larger vessels being launched as it reverberated through the planet-killer. The engineers took that as their cue to leave as well. Once the engine room was empty, Damon laughed.

They didn’t know he’d only initiated a drill program. Kagome reconnected the control panels, and Damon crawled out of hiding, scanning for holes in his perception out of well-drilled habit. He accessed the security systems and panned around the ship, making sure the evacuation was complete. The ships were hauling ass—the self-destruct of a planet-killer was no laughing matter. A full sweep revealed that there were no Despicable left on board.

“Stay here. I can’t run this thing by myself. With you in Engineering, I think we can do it.”

“Be careful.” she said, squeezing his hand affectionately. Damon gave her a brotherly kiss on the temple, then levitated off the floor and dashed down the hallway in an aerodynamic shield that let him cleave the air like a supersonic jet. He forced the lift doors open and headed up without a car. He didn’t have time to ride the elevator. When he arrived, the Despicable were already doubling back. He took the tactical station and signaled for Kagome to power up the weapons.

“’Now you will witness the firepower of this fully armed and operational battle station!’” he said, firing the main weapon and destroying the nearest of the other planet-killers. He fired lesser weapons at the approaching ships, which had moved into attack posture. The planet-killers had to be destroyed. All of them. Kagome concurred, and did her best to keep weapons power at max. He fired again and again, reducing one planet-killer after another to atoms. The detonations destroyed smaller ships that were in the vicinity, and the closer ones even rocked the one Damon had commandeered.

“Shields at forty percent!” Kagome called on the intercom. “At least, I think so. This screen’s so scratched up, I can’t make out half these glyphs clearly.”

“When in doubt, assume the worst. That way you’re not disappointed when it happens.”

“Well aren’t you a big ray of sunshine?” she remarked. He chuckled to himself and holed a planet-killer through, as well as the one behind it.

“Why aren’t the others fighting back, I wonder?”

“I think maybe we got the only ‘fully armed and operational battle station.’” Kagome said. “The others must have been works in progress, or we got the other working ones in the opening salvos.”

“That’s a nice break.” Damon said. He telekinetically worked the helm and ops stations, moving the hot ride into a better position to do its work. The Despicable homeworld swung into the targeting reticule. Damon narrowed his eyes, but swung the doomsday-machine resolutely to another target. When the last of the planet-killers was an expanding cloud of particles, he turned the ship around and activated the jump engines.

I wonder if they’ll appreciate the fact that you didn’t blow up their planet. Kagome thought at him.

“I doubt it.” he muttered.

Damon? Kagome? a familiar voice asked.

Zak? Damon responded. Pleasure and relief washed against him from the other’s mind.

Where are you?

Aboard a Despicable planet-killer, hauling ass away from their homeworld.

PLANET-KILLER?! came the surprised exclamation. Damon sent a mental image of the things as seen from the surface, oblong shapes bristling with weaponry just like any other Despicable ship, orbiting the planet in a ring of evil. He added large, red X’s over all but one to indicate that the others were no more. Kagome added schematic data from one of the screens she could see—the thing was almost all reactor, with a bridge near the top and front and quarters for the crew and the veritable army of support personnel needed to support the massive matter-antimatter reactor. Damon called up a star chart to see if he could find out where they were, and where they were headed. I suggest you alter your course eight-by-seven-by-forty-five. Zak put in once he had assimilated the information. Damon made the necessary course correction and poured on the speed. Damon, we at the Foundation are among the few who are going to congratulate you on your self-control. Don’t let annihilationists get to you. I’ll call ahead to let my people know you’re coming—and what you’re coming in, so they don’t panic. They’ll take you to Earth in a more...discreet ride.

Let them know to have a decontamination room on standby. I reek from being around them so long.

I’m feeling not-so-fresh myself. Kagome added with distaste. Damon felt ripples of amusement from Zak, so he sent the alien his own olfactory memories. Amusement turned to nausea, and Zak promised to have a cleansing unit ready. The connection drifted away.

Howard sat tiredly at a holo terminal, assembling an image from memory. It wasn’t a particularly pretty image—a limestone cave surrounded by the hulks of long-fallen trees and littered with the bones of prey animals dropped by birds nesting high above. He saved the image and ran it through the computer, which began to search for similar locations.

“What’s that?” Teddy asked, hugging him from behind.

“The same damn dream that’s been waking me up all week.” Howard said. “I can feel someone calling me in the dream, but not with words.” The computer chirruped, informing him that a match had been found. Google Earth showed a much higher angle than Howard’s view, but the layout was the same. “Well, looks like I’m Oklahoma bound.”

“Not alone, I hope?” Teddy squeaked. “What if it’s a trap?”

“I thought of that.” Howard said. He attached the holo image and GPS coordinates of the Google match to an internal memo for Victor. Teddy began giving Howard a scalp massage. She gave really good scalp massages, and the sound of a message notification woke him from an unintentional but much-needed nap. Victor’s reply told him he could take a team of his choice to investigate, but he needed them back in Texas to prevent the commandeering of nuclear material from a power plant in San Antonio.

“Why don’t they borrow some from other military installations?” Teddy asked.

“They’re so secret that no one’s allowed to know they exist, especially the President. Plausible deniability, or something like that.”

“What about doing what Svetlana did?”

“I don’t know how Svetlana managed to make a bomb out of hospital-grade radioactive material any more than I know how precognition works.” Howard sighed. “I’m just as happy GOLEM hasn’t figured it out yet either.” While he was thinking about it, he thought, it would be nice to know how gestalting with other psis increased their telekinetic range. He rose to his feet and grabbed his shades from the mouse pad. Zak intercepted him on the way out and asked him to greet two of his people who were visiting from homeworld.

One couldn’t say that “they all looked alike” in regards to Zak’s species. The two representatives displayed marked differences from each other and Zak, though he hadn’t heard about any racial divisions. The first was so tall that he had to duck to get out of the shuttle. He towered over Arnold like Arnold towered over Penelope, who was also present.

“Greetings.” he said. “I am...” and his next word was a mouthful of sounds that humans couldn’t hope to reproduce, sandwiched between a “La” and a “Ri.” “But just call me ‘Larry’ for short.”

“Bleh.” said a second being, a reddish-orange individual who only came up to Zak’s chin even in the two-inch boots he wore. He had a heavy case in his arms, which he set gently down.

“His name is completely unpronounceable to you, but translates from our tongue as ‘a clerk or archivist,’ so...”

“Clark.” the shorter being said. “Since you have twice come into contact with a species we know as The Despicable, it has been decided that you need a fuller understanding of their society.”

“Damon’s been to their homeworld, and says they’re a mass of xenophobic, psychophobic malice.” Victor said.

“A simplistic explanation, but accurate as far as it goes.” Clark said. He opened the case at his feet, which hinged open like a clamshell to reveal a wood-bound tome that made the Book of Moriya look like one of those religious comics people leave in bathroom stalls. “This is one of their holy books, taken from a captured ship during one of our more recent wars with them. ‘Zak,’ as you know him, informs me that you share our ability to pick up psychic impressions from hand-written documents for linguistic purposes.” He gestured down at the book. Penelope stepped forward fearlessly.

“Are you certain this is wise?” Zak asked nervously. Clark grunted gruffly. Penelope laid hands on the tome. She drew her hands back as if burned, shrieked, and vanished.

“What the hell?” Howard exclaimed.

“You didn’t tell me she could do that!” Clark interjected, equally surprised.

“I didn’t know!” Zak responded.

“Do what? Where’s Penelope?” Arnold asked.

“I’ve found her.” Victor said. “The new owners of her birth parents’ house are as confused as we are. Zak, would you come with me?”

“Yes.” Zak said.

Penelope ran into Victor’s arms as soon as he and Zak arrived. She shook like a rattlesnake’s tail, and it took Victor several minutes to get through her tight shields to soothe her. Zak ascertained that the family had come home after a game and their son had found a strange girl in his room. Since no one had seen her teleport, Zak was able to convince them that she had merely suffered a fright and had fled ‘home’ by instinct—for she had lived in this house most of her life, even though she had been gone for over a year. It was true, as far as it went. There was no reason they had to know how exactly she’d gotten into the house. The father assumed she’d used the key under the mat.

They were back at the Pan-Galactic by the time Penelope was calm enough to re-examine the incident with Victor. She had seen herself touching the book, sensed it was important, and then...

Victor’s strong but gentle presence in her mind kept her from panicking again. There was more malice and hate in that book than in the entire Nazi party during the 1940s, clinging to it like a residual charge. Penelope’s young mind had recoiled instinctively, and sought to get as far away as possible. The novel kinetic activity took several replays before the two discovered what made it work. Together, they ‘ported back to the roof, surprising Larry and Clark.

“That has to be some sort of record.” Clark murmured, wiping his pate. Larry seemed as pleased as if he had personally brought about Penelope’s achievement, though he wisely kept his mouth shut about it.

“I’m not ashamed to say, I’m not looking forward to touching that again.” Penelope said, looking down at the oversize tome.

“How about you wait for the eBook?” Victor responded, tousling her hair. The girl immediately finger-combed it back into place.

“Indeed, a scanned copy shouldn’t have the same effect, though physical contact with an original is usually required to obtain the linguistic understanding, unless you’re willing to devote years to learning their language—which few people have the patience to do.” Clark said, in a dry, professor-like tone. “Something to do with a language where ‘different’ and ‘evil’ are the same word, I suppose.”

“Or the fact that they have over two hundred ways to say ‘I hate you.’” remarked Larry.

Now that he knew Penelope was all right, Howard gathered his usual team, including Arnold. He was used to them, and that could be crucial, either in the Oklahoma mission or the San Antonio one. Cloaking the shuttle, they plotted a course which would not intersect with anyone’s flight plan.

Someone was waiting for them when they arrived. The three Native American males were taller than Arnold and built like T. Hawk from Super Street Fighter II. The psychic auras that rose up around them when they noticed the intruders indicated that they were not all brawn and no brains.

“Howard Farrell?” asked the largest, who was tall enough to put his chin on top of the head of his next-tallest companion.

“Here.” Howard said. An ordered and disciplined mind reached out and probed Howard’s defenses, which he retracted to cover only that which was not his to share. The large man, who knew himself as Many Bears, nodded approvingly.

“The Spirit told me you were coming.” Many Bears said. “Your friends will have to wait out here with us. The cave waits for you alone.” Howard grabbed the spelunking gear Inet had packed for him and allowed himself to be led to the cave mouth.

“Is this the part where you tell me to leave whatever weapons I have outside?” he asked to cover his nervousness. There was definitely something in here. He could feel it.

“The trial is different for everyone.” said one, who thought of himself as Fire Companion.

“We are not to tell you more.” said the other, who thought of himself as Knows Who is Lying.

“Oh, well...catch ya later, guys.” Howard said, walking into the cave.

“That remains to be seen.” Fire Companion remarked.

Thanks a lot. Howard thought as he continued on his way. He used his extra senses to their fullest, seeking out the presence in the cave while avoiding places that wouldn’t support his weight, where the floor between one chamber and the one below was too thin. There was no malice that he could perceive, a fact with which Howard comforted himself. Several hours passed with little indication that he was getting any closer to his objective. He got tired and had to rest. He noticed that the food in his pack was all unwrapped. Having eaten and slept, he continued his trek nine hours later, according to his watch.

Suddenly, there was a great flexing of power. The long stalactites and stalagmites which had been jutting about like the teeth of an anglerfish seemed to have retracted to little nubs. “What the hell?” he asked. Continuing on, he found another opening to the outside.

He also found himself staring at a herd of mammoths.

“I don’t think I’m in Kansas anymore.” he murmured. Even the stars overhead were different from the arrangement he was familiar with. The mammoths eyed him warily and moved off. Howard wasn’t sure whether to go back to the cave or explore. A force from within shoved him, sending him tumbling down a gravel-strewn defile. “That answers that question.” he grunted, healing his cuts and bruises. He checked his first aid kit and found it and its contents still intact. It wouldn’t deal with anything he couldn’t heal with his powers, but it could prove useful if he needed to conceal them. He crept up on the mammoths and took a blood sample from each of them, keeping them calm and keeping them from feeling the pain from the sampling lances.

A sensation of fear drew him northward. He pushed off, abandoning the ground and increased his speed, forming an aerodynamic field around himself when his clothes caused too much drag. A Despicable scout ship, resembling a molar-shaped asteroid, was parked near the ruins of a village. Dismembered pieces of warriors and broken spears were strewn all over. The fear was coming from even farther north. Howard freshened his air and re-shaped his force field for even greater speed. He picked up glacial cobbles the size of Hummers and launched them at twelve Despicable who were harrying the remaining survivors toward a cliff. Despite the dinosaur-like size of some of the individual Despicable, they were no match for the impact of such mass at such velocity. He placed himself between the terrified villagers and the surviving enemy, one of whom picked up a hand-weapon that Howard knew was a firearm of some kind by simple form-follows-function reasoning. Reacting instinctively, he put the cobbles between himself and the Despicable. One after another, the rocks were vaporized. Howard latched onto the weapon, pulling it out of the creature’s hand. He underestimated the mass and was knocked backward. He spent a moment healing rib fractures, and barely managed to bring the weapon to bear before the surviving Despicable decided to simply get prehistoric on his ass with one oversized foot. He vaporized one that was almost upon him, flying back a further ten feet due to recoil. He braced himself and fired again until the whole extermination squad was dead. Extermination squad it had been, indeed, for he sensed the telltale pulse of psi-energy coming from several of the villagers.

“We thank you from the bottom of our hearts, stranger!” called an old shaman as Howard landed, exhausted. “You are the Heart-Protector my sister told us to expect as she lay in her death bed!”

“Heart-Protector?” Howard muttered. After a moment, he surmised that it was a literal-minded translation of his name.

“My sister’s final vision warned of monsters who would come to snuff out the shamanic blood of our people.” the old man said. “She also said that the Heart-Protector would come from the World-Yet-To-Come to stay the mortal blow.” The scout ship took off from the village, firing two shots on its way out—one at the remains of the village, the other toward the Earthlings. Acting once again on instinct, Howard took hold of the villagers and levitated them all out of the blast radius.

“Now that’s a hole.” Howard muttered, glancing at the crater the Despicable parting-shot had made. He landed the villagers nearby. The ship hit escape velocity and made its FTL jump dangerously close to Earth’s gravity-well. Howard remembered how many times Zak had told them all that an FTL jump of any kind was best done outside of a planetary lunar system, or the added stress of the jump could tear the ship apart. Not that Howard cared much what happened to intergalactic bigots, as long as it didn’t result in injury to anyone else.

“You saved us again!” a young woman said. “How can we thank you?”

“I was only doing what’s right.” Howard said, shrugging. The young woman threw herself into Howard’s arms, the warmth of genuine affection washing over him. Her name was Star Falls For Her, and she was possessed of a very strong telepathic gift—receptive only, however, and she had trouble blocking.

“It is only right that we offer you something in return.” the old shaman said. “We don’t have much, but perhaps a wife or two?” Star Falls For Her wasn’t the only one whose eyes sparkled eagerly. Another young woman who gave a similar mental impression to Inet joined Star Falls For Her in Howard’s arms.

“Well, since these two volunteered.” Howard said.

“What of the rest of us?” a woman with a child asked. “We have no hunters left to feed us.”

“I sense another group near here.” Howard said. “Two, maybe three days away.”

“They will accept you.” the precog, who thought of herself as Pearl Fisher, assured the remaining villagers.

“What will we do for food?” the other woman asked. Howard opened his pack and passed out the food he found inside.

“Thank you once again!” the elder said as the group moved off in the direction of the other village.

“Heart-Protector, it is quite a journey to the cave through which you came to us.” Pearl Fisher said. “Perhaps we should start now?”

“Yes.” Howard agreed. He gathered the women into his arms and, homing in on the presence from the cave, flew toward it at speed. They reached the cave without incident and hurried inside to get out of the rising wind. Howard felt that flex of power again, and the stalactites returned to their former size. A glow materialized in front of them, coalescing into a shape that was familiar to Howard, because he had seen it in Kaede’s mind. The form was that of a Yocelynese male, like a naked, four-armed fox-man, clean-shaven from head to toe with a more realistic musculature and a larger head. The being inclined that imaginary head toward Howard, projecting approval.

It indicated to Howard that there was a way to overcome the power-generating limitations of his normal-sized human brain, if he would but reach for it. Howard sighed, not really feeling up to cryptic puzzles at the moment, and the being radiated a kind of patient amusement, like a parent watching a child trying to walk. The image contracted to a little ball of light, which led the group to the cave’s entrance by a different route than he’d come. Then it was gone. Fire Companion, Knows Who is Lying and Many Bears stood up from their fire at the sight of Howard and his companions.

“Well, that didn’t take long.” Arnold said.

“It didn’t?” Howard asked. He shook his head, reminding himself that the Yocelynese being existed outside of time, and would have had no problem bringing Howard back before he’d left—which was probably why it hadn’t led him back the way he’d come, so he wouldn’t meet himself on the way. They boarded the shuttle just as Victor called to let them know that the enemy was on the move.

“That’s something you don’t see every day.” Fire Companion murmured as the shuttle took off and cloaked. “Most people come out with insight into themselves, not women.”

“The Spirit knows what he’s doing.” Many Bears said. “They are safe with him, wherever they came from.” He looked to the place where the shuttle had vanished, sensing somehow that he hadn’t seen the last of the Zak Starborn Foundation. Precognition had never been one of his talents, but he felt certain of this, and the thought gladdened him.

Even modified for humans, the I!kajij combat gear wasn’t comfortable. However, as the black helicopters, noticing that their target was protected, opened fire, Howard was glad he had it. Unable to latch on to the projectiles telekinetically, Howard was blasted backwards by a direct hit. He caught himself on the rim of the cooling tower and pulled himself back up, then brought his own weapon to bear. Beams of white-hot energy shot out from his blaster, striking the tail rotors of two of the circling helicopters. A third dodged and fired. Howard dodged aside, avoiding another strike. His suit was already displaying integrity warnings. He shot down the third helicopter, watching it crash off to one side. He threw a pickup at a missile launched by the final helicopter, and took advantage of the blinding fireball find a new position. When the smoke cleared, the helicopter tried to find him, but he fired off a shot at the fuel tank. The chopper seemed to inflate for an instant before it exploded, raining down pieces of armor all over the place.

With the first wave down, Howard sensed the second wave approaching. Howard floated down to the shuttle to switch out his chest plate, and was set upon by a P-17 whose enlarged head and camouflage face-paint made him look somewhat like Morbo from Futurama. Arnold, Paco, D.J. and Bishop, in gestalt, forced the 17 back. Howard grabbed the plate he’d come for, switched out quickly and joined his friends, sliding into the link to provide more strength. They flung their opponent forcefully in the direction of Corpus Cristi. An incendiary landed among them. The link dissolved, they put up shields, but not quite quickly enough. The detonation sent Howard flying, and he landed on someone’s Beetle.

Damon had informed Zak of a course-change he was making, homing in on the distress he sensed from a nearby planet. As his purloined planet-killer came out of hyperspace, he immediately caught sight of another one, in the middle of a swarm of ships belonging to the defending species. The other planet-killer destroyed the large moon that was between it and its target, incinerating dozens of ships including several of its own in the process.

“You can kill as many of your friends as you like, assholes, but leave other people’s planets alone!” Damon growled. “Kagome!”

“’You may fire when ready.’” Kagome quoted, not quite getting Grand Moff Tarkin’s accent right. Damon laughed, warned the defenders to get out of the way, and slapped the button. Thanks to his warning, few ships were caught in the enemy planet-killer’s explosion. However, a large chunk of moon was diverted with great force to the one Damon was piloting. The vessel was struck. Kagome screamed, and suddenly she was there on the bridge with him. They wrapped their arms around each other, and threw up a two-layered shield just in time. The bridge was rent asunder, and the two Earthlings in their bubble were blown out into space. Damon, whose shield had been on the outside, grunted in pain. Kagome wiped blood from his upper lip.

Nose bleed...not good. he thought. Of course, the stars around them wavering in his vision was even worse. A starship loomed over the pair of them. Kagome’s shield remained intact as Damon lost consciousness.

Having received orders from Homeworld, the last of the Despicable planet-killers changed course to join the fleet massing behind Jupiter. Its captain came out of hyperspace too close to the gas giant, and several important systems were overstressed during the braking procedure. Those would have to be repaired before the main weapon could be brought to bear. Hearing this, the admiral of the fleet ordered the bridge crew to eat the captain. The first officer, now captain of the planet-killer, awaited further instructions from the admiral while gnawing on her predecessor’s middle left humerus. Those orders came: repair the damage, then target Earth.

The planet-killer’s arrival did not go unheralded. Howard sensed the powerful jump-point as it opened and closed, as did most of the powerful psychics on Earth. Howard’s team was well-trained, however, unlike STD psychics who were sponsored by psychophobes. They took advantage of the distraction to finish the psychics among their enemy off, then turned their full attention to routing the shielded non-powered agents. Howard, finding himself without opponents, cast his senses skyward. Even if he could figure out how Penelope had teleported, he couldn’t do much, as the trick was pretty much limited to his telekinetic range for shifting objects of his size. He levitated up to the top of the cooling tower, as if the meager few hundred feet could bridge the gap.

He sank to his knees and concentrated on marshalling his forces, for whatever good it would do him. His team was scattered, chasing off the remaining agents at such distance that a decent gestalt would be impossible. A Despicable heavy fighter de-cloaked and made a strafing run at the power plant. Reflexively, Howard reached out for gestalt, and his technopathic abilities latched on to the generators.

“WHOOOOOOOOOOAAAAA!” he exclaimed, feeling raw energy surge through him. The fighter was struck by a force of tremendous power. “WOOHOO!” Howard cried exultantly, and launched his psychic presence across the light-minutes toward his enemy. The generators below cycled faster and faster as he drew on them. He focused the force into his astral fist, which he brought to bear against the planet-killer first. FALCON PUNCH!! he quipped mentally as the force of his blow connected. Psychokinetic shielding blocked the worst of it, however.

Howard grabbed a largish hunk of ring-debris from Jupiter’s orbit and flung it into the planet-killer with extraordinary force, holing it from bow to stern. The doomsday machine exploded, sending shrapnel into the nearest of the ships. Howard curved the trajectory of several large pieces that otherwise would have flown harmlessly into Jupiter’s atmosphere. Any ship that wasn’t destroyed or crippled in the chain-reaction, Howard latched onto with his mind and smashed them directly into each other. Kickass! he thought to himself. Unbelievably weary, he retracted back to himself, letting the generators cycle down to normal. Paco caught him before he could fall off the tower. He let his friend carry him to the shuttle. All he wanted right now was a nice, long nap.

In the generator room of the Pan-Galactic Hotel, Zak watched with amazement. He didn’t much mind that Howard had stolen his thunder, so to speak—he’d been about to try the very same trick himself. It was better this way, he decided. Larry and Clark agreed.

“These humans continue to amaze.” Clark said. “I think we will report favorably on your progress to the Council.”

“Most favorably.” Larry said. “It makes me wonder what other advanced applications of their powers they will learn on their own, without our further meddling.”

“What gets me is, if he was able to do that with a mere fission reactor, what could he do with the power core here?” Clark asked.

“Kick ass and take names—once he’d learned to control and harness it, that is.” Zak replied. “It will take practice, just like learning to walk, but our human friends won’t need us forever.” Several hours later, when Howard’s team returned triumphantly to the hotel, the three extraterrestrials were there to greet them. Howard looked the tiredest, but then, he had done the most. Taming that much power wasn’t easy. The team was stoked, and even Arnold was unusually ebullient. “Let him rest before you pressure him for details.” Zak insisted. They got him upstairs to his room. He went back to sleep as soon as he was in his bed, and Zak insisted they all follow his example.

He allowed himself a brief swelling of pride. His human friends were reading ahead of the lesson. That was all to the good—they would be ready all the sooner.