Tuesday, August 22, 2017

I Love Dialogue from The Kahlea by Dellani

Dr. Stan has used a psychic connection on Captain Hank Connor. The effects should only last a few hours, but weeks later, they still can read one another's emotions and thoughts. It's disconcerting, to say the least.

"What are you thinking about?" Hank blurted out.
Stan looked guiltily at the major source of his annoyance, the man who was becoming a friend despite his personality glitches. "Nothing."
"Liar. You spent too much time in my mind, Doc. I can sometimes guess what you're thinking." Hank spoke harshly, tapping his temple adamantly. "Believe me, it's as disconcerting for me as it is for you."
Stan frowned, squinting at Hank to see if he might be kidding, one look in the man's eyes told Stan he wasn't.
"Tell me what I'm thinking now." Stan's blue eyes bored into Hank's, unblinking, penetrating, he concentrated all his telepathic energy on one thought.
Hank recoiled, blushing furiously, hanging his head. "That's not right, Stan. Damn low a blow." He refused to look at the doctor for several minutes, wondering how the hell he'd seen what had been in the other man's mind—a picture of himself copulating like a marionette with Marine precision, while some unseen hand pulled his strings.
"Is that what you really think of me?" The hurt refused to be contained, his tone was closer to a whine than he would've liked.
Despite his age and having been a Marine for so many years, he still cared what someone, whose opinion he valued, thought of him. Any other schmoe, he wouldn't have minded, but Stan was different. They were connected, that link they shared at Committee Home Base had never really gone away. There were plenty of times that Hank still felt Stan in his mind and was sure that his own touched Stan's from time to time. He couldn't explain the connection. According to Stan, the process wasn't supposed to last more than a few hours.
"No. No, I'm just frustrated. We're all feeling the tension of the last few weeks. I apologize, it was really unforgivable, but I had to be sure."
Hank continued to look hurt and dubious. "Be sure of what? That I know you think I'm some damn mechanical puppet? Thanks a whole hell of a lot, Dr. Savolopis. If I want to feel my manhood shrink to nothing again I'll be sure to call you."
Connor rose to leave the room, still thinking in old fashioned terms, he got to the door before Stan could stop him. With a thought, Stan kept the doors to the ready room shut. Hank smacked his face painfully on them.
Rubbing his nose, Hank stopped, turning around slowly. "Adding injury to your insult now. Thank you. I don't think you broke it for me."
Stan walked over, felt the bone of Hank's nose with long, strong, practiced fingers.
"No, but I think you've a deviated septum. One too many bar fights." Stan smirked as Hank knocked his hand away. "You saw that though, right? Did you hear it?"
"Hear myself clicking like a wooden man? Yes, thanks. Now that I've been humiliated, I'd like to go."
"Hank, come on. Would you just get over it and think about what this means!"
"It means you think I'm a mindless puppet."
"No, Henry, it means you have telepathic powers we didn't know you had."
Connor sat stiffly in the seat Hecate provided for him. "I'm not telepathic." He shook his head disbelievingly.
"What other proof do you need? You're a receiver, a strong one too, if I'm any judge. Helen could tell us better, but barring her expert diagnosis, you'll have to take my word."
"How does this in any way pertain to the conversation we were trying to have earlier?"
"It doesn't, but it's important just the same."
Hank shrugged. "Except for giving me a headache and making me feel about as important as a mote of dust, I can't think of what. Not," he held up a restraining palm, "that I care. Just—don't explain."
Stan's lips parted, he thought better of it and closed his mouth.
"That was wrong, Stan," Hank said quietly, still not looking at the doctor. "It was wrong in so many ways and on so many different levels."
"I know." Stan lit a cigar and smoked without speaking for some time. "We're driving one another crazy."
"Ya think?" Rubbing his scalp through his short hair, Hank leaned elbows on knees, eyeing Stan conjecturally. "Sometimes I don't know if I like you, Old Man."
"I know. On occasion you hate me, now for instance."
Hank's lip twitched upward, eyes twinkling. "Naw, I just don't know what to make of you. One second you're all friendly, the next you make me feel insignificant. Takes a special individual to do that."
Stan laughed loudly. "It's a gift! If being completely irritating could be inbred, it must have come from my dad."
© 2017 Dellani Oakes

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