Rivers of Orion

to make proper introductions. Don’t you think?” She glanced toward the others. “The one in the cockpit is Casey Cartwright, our captain. This is Shona Chelsea. She’s our medic, and one of our lifters. That’s Malmoradan Taig, our chief of security and our other lifter. Don’t worry about him; it’s his job to be a blowhard.”
“Hey,” he shot back. “My job is to keep people safe.”
“Of course, it is,” said April. Facing Orin, she looked deep into his eyes. “Forgive my bluntness, but what sort of binary are you?”
“I don’t know.” Orin clenched his jaw. “But you’re taking me to an assessment facility, so I guess you’ll know soon enough.”
“Perhaps,” said April.
His posture stiffened. “They’re going to kill me, aren’t they?”
“They’re not going to kill you,” said April. “Believe it or not, they have to follow the same laws as everyone else, and even rogue binaries get their due process. Of course, if the propaganda discourages binaries from going rogue, they’re not about to speak up.” She tucked her hair behind her ear.
“You really believe that,” said Orin.
“I really do,” said April.
“Then maybe you can tell me what does happen.”
For a moment, April looked at Shona and Malmoradan. Neither had anything to offer. “I don’t know,” said April. “It’s top secret, and none of us has that level of clearance.”
“So, they might kill me,” said Orin.
Primary thrusters stopped firing, countered by a lengthy reverse-thruster burn, and weightlessness took hold. Slowly, the shuttle pitched, and her underbelly thrusters fired again. Centrifugal gravity returned.
“I can promise you they won’t,” said April. “I believe you’re unprecedented, which would make you the first O-class binary anyone has ever seen outside of a eugenics simulation. They’ll certainly study you, but when they’re done, they won’t kill you. They’ll train you to use your powers. They’ll offer you a position in the agency, give you a silly callsign and a badge, and they’ll send you out on all sorts of adventures.”
Orin weighed her response. “Well, that doesn’t sound so bad.”
“It isn’t,” said April.
“And all it’ll cost you is your freedom,” said Malmoradan.
April shot him an angry look. “That’s not true!”
“Like you’d know,” said Malmoradan. “You’re lucky you were born psychic. All you had to do was register with the agency. Every other type of binary serves the agency for life unless they’re lucky enough to retire.”
“It’s paid, right?” asked Orin.
“Sure,” said Malmoradan. “Plus room and board, but you have to live on one of their stations, or else you’re considered a deserter. They’ll transfer you around a lot too, send you wherever you’re needed, but the only time you’ll get to go planet-side is if you’re on leave, or if you’re there as part of an agency action.”
Orin’s optimism persisted. “That still sounds pretty good. How do you know so much about this?”
“My best friend was a G-class electromagnetic,” said Malmoradan. “I doubt you’ve ever heard of him, but he went by Blitzspalter.”
“Went?” asked Orin.
“Yeah, went,” grumbled Malmoradan, and he turned away. “I ain’t telling you anything else about him, so don’t ask.”
Orin looked at the deck under his feet. “I won’t.”
Shona unhitched herself. She grabbed a first aid pack from under the bench and walked over to Orin. As she tended to his injuries, Orin drifted off to sleep.
◆◆◆
Something tickling his mind, and Orin awoke. Turning his attention to April, he asked, “Are you doing that?”
She laughed, as surprised as she was frustrated. “I am! You won’t let me poke around in there at all?”
“I’d rather you not lobotomize me, thanks.”
“And how would I do that, exactly?” she asked.
“You’re the psychic,” said Orin. “You tell me.”
April’s laughter was kind. “How about if I tell you a few things about binaries, and maybe you can figure out on your own why I can’t lobotomize you—or anyone else for that matter. Are you familiar with the nightmare?”
“Yeah, sure,” said Orin. “It’s how we travel to other planets.”
“Do you know how it works?” she asked.
“I’m majoring in philosophy, not astrophysics,” he replied.
“Astrophysics?” April shook her head. “It’s more in line with quantum mechanics, but I’m not an expert either. Still, I’ve been flying long enough to pick up a few things.
“A long time ago, scientists devised a way to transit the space between stars using something they called the superstring highway, now known as Asymmetrical Phase Transit space, or APT space for short. Most of us who use it just call it the nightmare.”
“Why do you call it that?” asked Orin. “And what’s it got to do with binaries?”
She held up a finger in response. “Patience. I’m getting there. When you’re traveling through the nightmare, you’re moving along a corridor that resonates with our own universe and its physical laws, but that tunnel also brushes up against every other possible reality in the multiverse. Even a single glimpse of some of those things can destroy a person’s mind. Hence, we call it the nightmare.”
“Got it,” said Orin. “The most terrifying thing you can ever imagine, times ten. Why would anyone ever look?”
April folded her hands together. “People have to look. You know how we are, so to counter that, most ships these days close up the viewports during transit.”
“Good idea,” said Orin.
“As to the matter of us binaries, we started appearing around the same time humans began transiting the nightmare. No one knows for sure, but most genetic historians believe it was our exposure to the multiverse that awakened the Higgs-Sawyer helix in people like us.”
Intrigued, Orin asked, “What’s the Higgs-Sawyer helix?”
“It’s a completely separate DNA chain,” April explained, “unique to humans and paired to our physical DNA, but it’s only ever in phase with the nightmare. Instead of the usual systems like kidneys, muscles, or eyes, the Higgs-Sawyer helix drives growth of its own kidneys, muscles and eyes, or any other organs and nerves it needs to support whatever extraordinary abilities it manifests. With the right instruments, a trained analyst can perfectly describe a binary’s full suite of abilities before they’re even born.”
“That’s creepy as hell,” said