Fallen Earth's latest official fiction revolves around a Lightbearer telepathic cult. It's a long and rewarding read, so dig in:

A hulking soldier encased in leather and metal looms over a pair of bald, clean-shaven men in soft robes and hoods. The two men kneel in prayer. The soldier shifts his weight from foot to foot, rearranges his rifle grip, and stares down at them through the bullet-proof visor of his helmet.

"C'mon, Just do something. He's not worth all this hand-wringing."

It's dark... they're in a basement in an abandoned farmhouse near the battlefield. Someone tried to fix it up at some point after The Fall, but whoever they were, they're not here now. A single diffuse shaft of light from a grimy window lights the whole room.

The older of the two men, Enoch Rameel, opens his eyes and looks up at the soldier. "Quiet. We need to concentrate."

More impatient than ever, the soldier stretches his neck to relieve tension. One of the privates guarding the door furrows his brow.

" We need to get the location out of this *******. Now!"

"Brother Keeley," the older man says patiently. "You asked for the Lightbearers' help. Let us do as you requested." He closes his eyes and continues his soft, low, nearly inaudible chant.

"You're wasting valuable time and--"

"We told you, when we agreed to help, that we must prepare ourselves. Meditation is how we prepare. Have you ever tried to touch another person's mind with yours? No? Well then... Either leave or calm yourself, lieutenant. Those are your only choices."

Keeley's face burns and builds to a fierce red. And then as if a valve has been turned, he exhales and motions his men to the door. The two soldiers snap to attention and leave the room, the lieutenant following close behind. Just beyond the threshold, he stops and turns back to the two Lightbearers.

"The people that kid was with...we don't know them. We don't know anything about them. They just showed up, all these freaks in gray. Smashed us flat, dragged off half our men, and never said a damn word. You better know what you're doing, Enoch. Dozens of lives depend on it."

The door shakes the frame as it closes.

The elder Seeker pauses to look at the younger initiate at his left, who returns the knowing glance. They don't need to say anything.

Together they kneel at the side of a man: he's breathing heavily, tied to the ground, staring up at them. A boy, really, but covered in the scars and grime of a veteran, a small trickle of blood running down his left temple over his pale blond, almost-white hair. He's naked except for a filthy loin cloth, and a pile of blood-soiled gray clothes lies in the corner.

After several long moments of murmured chants, the two men lift their heads and stop.

"The time for exercise and training is over, David," the older man says. "You came to us with strong gifts, and through our methods we have strengthened them and turned them into skills. Are you ready to begin your first field study?"

"Me? You think I'm ready?"

"Without a doubt."

"I've only tried it a few times. Practice only, and on people I know well. Do you think this is wise? Especially with lives at stake?"

"This dying warrior needs to tell us something, and we need to hear it. You don't need me to hold your hand any longer. I've already used my gifts to soothe him... you just need to open your mind and persuade him to cooperate before he dies. Tell his mind that you're his friend. Follow your training. And if you do get into trouble, I'll be here. Watching."

David stares into the deep, cold eyes of the silent boy on the ground, breathing slowly. He lifts his hands, palms toward his target, using the physical act to help him focus his mental energies.

"David, you'll do fine."

"Thank you, father."

And he opens his mind to the stranger.

----

David sees nothing, but the air tastes hot. The heat of a nearby fire and the smell of burnt flesh press in at him from all sides. Screams buzz around him like a swarm of angry bees.

He hears rapid thumping overhead, and someone shouting for others to remain calm. David starts to see small flashes of light in the darkness.

"Everything will be okay. Remember your training," says the voice of a calm, reassuring old man amid the screams.

Father?

The vision clears further, starts to become rough forms, light and darkness.
Nothing like this ever happened before. During training, using his gift of persuasion felt more like solving the riddle of another person's mind. There was no vision. Everything was abstract. This is something entirely new.

"You're connected very deeply, more deeply than you've ever experienced. You will be uncomfortable and scared, but don't worry. I'm guiding you. You know what you have to find, so find it."

David concentrates all of his energies, pulling on the strands of his new-found confidence and courage. His mind sharpens and pushes forward toward the memories of the day's battles.

When his eyes open, he sees a new scene, full and clear, more vivid than his own memories of hours ago. Tables covered with the dishes of a recent but sparse meal. A bulletin board displays dozens of children's drawings. A once-cozy rug, now soot-covered, claims the middle of the room. Around the center of the rug, several children have their faces buried in the chests of their caretakers' grimy blouses. They are all dressed humbly, but not in a manner that David recognizes, and the place looks like no building in the area. Smoke billows around him towards the children. One of them looks up in his direction, eyes pleading for escape.

Flames lick at his heels and engulf the walls of the room, surrounding the children and their caretakers. A sudden pang of instinct forces him to jump out of the way, avoiding the perception of flame.

"There is no need to fear. Though we are apart, we are one, and you with each other."

David closes his mind's eye.

I'm not really here. This has to be some kind of projection, or construction. I must be in too deep.

Gunshots. Men's screams. His eyes open again, and they're greeted by the intense brilliance of daylight.

He's on a ridge overlooking a vast plain filled with tall grass and grains, with only a few burned-out, ruined buildings breaking the monotony. A company of soldiers outfitted with Enforcer gear break down a field operations camp, unaware of the hundreds of gray-clad armed men and women standing at David's side above them. Without a single word spoken as an order, the silent group of warriors begins moving down the slope into the valley towards the soldiers, and he peers into the scene through the eyes of one of them.

/i/ How is this happening?[/i]

Ahead of them, the Enforcers realize their mistake and begin organizing a defense. David can see his own arms go up, raising a rifle to fire. One Enforcer down. Another follows. The scene boils and twists with flying debris, weapons, and the blood of young warriors, but there's a lyrical quality to the movement. The unnamed attackers move and fire with what appears to be a highly-organized and well-trained choreography, trumping every attempt the Enforcers make to improve their position.

Without warning, David's vision goes out of focus. The shapes of soldiers, guns, ground, and sky swirl about like multiple exposures simultaneously playing in front of his eyes. The confusing images overload his senses, and even in this out-of-body state, he can feel his heart thudding in his chest.

A foul chemical stench fills his nostrils. Gas grenades...?

Amid the swirling images, David again hears the calming voice. "Don't panic. There's no need for fear. Your connections are weak. Keep your inner eye open and concentrate."

And he does. After a few moments of wading through the muddled vision, David discovers the pattern, the static shapes behind the swirling kaleidoscope. Like listening for a single voice in a crowded room, he's able to pick out the images he wants to view, and all becomes clear. David shifts from view to view, watching the battlefield from hundreds of perspectives. At one point he looks to his left, and sees the same pale blond warrior dying in the old farmhouse, now slinging his rifle over his shoulder and advancing on the overwhelmed Enforcer position.

This can't be!

One of the soldiers, out of ammo and screaming in panic at the advancing mob, desperately rushes toward them, wielding his empty rifle as a high-tech club. Within striking distance, he brings it down on the side of the blond warrior's head.

The vision goes dark.

No!

-----

"Lieutenant! Come quickly!"

Keely bursts into the basement to see David slumped over in his father's arms. Next to them, the young warrior's eyes roll around, following a target that only he sees, while his body twitches.

"David tried to use a minor telepathic gift on the boy," Brother Enoch says, his face stretched in horror, "Just a touch of persuasion, nothing more, and they both ended up like this! I've tried and tried to bring him back, but he's not responding."

"What can I do?"

"Summon a medic, and then send someone to Reflection. We'll need more than bandages to help him."

------

Eyes closed, David strains to regain his connection. I have to find a new vector. He thinks of the fire, the building with the children and the gunshots, the feeling of raw terror. The smell of smoke in his nostrils, he opens his virtual eyes to a scene both familiar and critically different. It's a room similar to the daycare he witnessed earlier, with huge glass windows and stacks of chairs lining the walls. The screams and gunshots are more distant, though the smoke hangs in the air even here. Two dozen men and women, dressed in robes of gray, sit in a circle. Each has their hands on the temples of the people sitting to the right and left of them.

In the center of the group, a middle-aged man with a long, matted beard stands, slowly rotating, arms outstretched towards the circle like the antenna of a satellite dish. On the wall behind them, a banner reads "Desert Star Retreat."

Desert Star? That sounds familiar... no... that was over 40 years ago. The boy can't be more than sixteen. ...

The voice returns.

"Don't fret. You see the things you see for a reason. It will all lead you to our goal. Find your bearings, and reach out."

A bright flash from outside disrupts the thought. David runs toward the window and sees another wing of this building belching fire, a plume of hot gas erupting from the hole in the wall and roof. Other, smaller buildings form a modest compound in the desert. Just beyond the edge of the compound, hundreds of soldiers hold a line, dug in with sandbags and barbed wire. When the rain of artillery ceases, the soldiers mobilize. A few muzzles flash from the windows to slow the advance.

The whole scene reminds him of a story from his history texts.

The Desert Star Massacre.

Dozens of families, living together in the desert. Suspicions, stories, rumors of cult-like religious rituals...allegations of drug running...the mobilization of a company of Enforcers.

Enforcers who were only supposed to investigate...

...but instead attacked the compound with tear gas, and bullets, and a final, hellish fire. Upward of a hundred men, women, and children died horribly, screaming in agony.

And no evidence of drugs was ever found, no matter how thoroughly the Enforcers' Tech compatriots combed through the blackened wreckage.

Desert Star...

"You know this process is unreliable," the voice says softly. "We need to strengthen it. Use your confusion. Use your fear. It can only help you."

This time, the voice seems closer than before. As if it's both inside his head and physically behind him. David turns around and sees the bearded man, arms still outstretched toward the meditative ones.

The man meets David's eyes.

To David's growing horror, his father's voice and the voice of the bearded man begin blending together.

"Use your terror. Use the fear of your dying children, your hatred and desire for revenge. It is our fuel. We will succeed this time. It is our destiny."

The glass window shatters and a gas grenade clacks onto the floor and bounces to the far wall. With a hiss, greenish gas pours out. The bearded man's words stay steady.

"All my friends, listen. Those of you defending our retreat, put down your arms, and those few of you remaining hidden at the Sanctuary, concentrate. Join us. We'll succeed, and you should be a part of that glory. Those hounds will never understand what we're doing here! Even if they destroy us, we shall live beyond our destruction."

Plunging headlong into a memory from forty years earlier, a memory he shouldn't have access to in any way, David circles the group. The bearded man watches him. The gas begins to overtake a few members of the circle. They collapse, breaking the hand-to-head chain of the group. The remaining members stir in their seats.

"Never mind the physical link! Never mind your physical bodies! We're already connected by a stronger force. We only need to make it stronger! Concentrate! If you feel overwhelmed, if you feel in trouble, remember, I'm still here to guide you."

David hears loud crashes just outside the room. Soldiers bash in the door, and several of them rush in, wearing gas masks. The leader of the circle whirls to face the intruders. At his sudden movement, a soldier panics and fires, ripping holes in the bearded man. The rest open fire on the circle.

Hundreds of screams flow through David's mind like a river of razor blades. Everything goes black, and all is silent, cold, and still.

"This is the moment we become one. Once we were profane, all physical. All body. ...Now we become all mind."

"And if you do get into trouble, I'll be here. Watching."

The single cold thread of moonlight from the basement window highlights David's crumpled form, cradled in the arms of his father. Two more Lightbearers pray over the body of the blond boy, whose eyes are open and fixed. Enoch slaps at his son's cheeks.

"David, wake up! The boy's dead now! You need to wake up!"

The door to the room opens, and Lt. Keeley, less imposing without his armor, comes in carrying a glass of water. He kneels next to Enoch, who takes the water from him.

"Is there any chance...?" Keeley's question trails off.

"We've had people die during a deep mental connection before, but nothing like this has ever happened. It was just a simple persuasion technique!"

Keeley clears his throat. "What happened?"

The elder Seeker shakes his head. "I don't know. Something I've never felt before. Something...huge. A single mind with...with multiple voices...young and old together, reaching out, I...I'm not sure."

Putting his finger under David's chin and lifting his head back, the elder gently pours the water into his son's open mouth. After a moment, David chokes on the water and coughs violently. His eyes flutter open, his chest heaving.

"Good boy...relax. You did very well. Just lie back."

Eventually David's breathing becomes more regular, and he sits up a little.

Keeley leans forward. "Do you mind if I ask him?"

"Go ahead."

"David. You've been through quite an ordeal, from what I understand. But I need to know.... We'll need to mount a rescue as soon as possible. Did you find out where my missing men are?"

David sits up straight and looks back and forth between Keeley and his father. As if struggling to find his words, he opens his mouth hesitantly to speak, and closes it before saying a word.

From outside the room, a sudden burst of gunfire and screams crashes forth, but cuts off abruptly.

David smiles at the sounds, and speaks with a voice not his own.

"Don't worry, Lieutenant. Your men are Ours now. One with the All-Mind. And they'll be seeing you again, very soon."

END