Mind Over Psyche by Karina L. Fabian Page A

No wonder I had such a tough time explaining mortar to them. Would you try to make a daisy chain with cement? Look, we’ve kind of put a wrinkle in their plans, so I think we need to just lay low and follow Tasmae’s lead. There are mostly warriors here, with some support staff, and some of them are having problems believing I’m the Ydrel. And nobody knows what to think of you. Hey, you don’t look so good.”
    The headache had him full in its grip. “Caffeine deprivation, probably. Dehydration. Hunger. Stress. What I wouldn’t give f or a D.C.”
    â€œNo Diet Cokes here, I’m afraid, but let’s see what we can do about the rest.”
    Joshua didn’t even bother to argue or nod, just stood—slowly, as the vise around his head tightened at the change in altitude—and fol lowed him.
    The door, which resembled a violet petal but had proved sturdy enough when he’d been banging his fists against it, folded up and out of the way, and they passed through to the smooth light brown corridors that he vaguely remembered going through two days before. Deryl walked with complete confidence, and Joshua followed. After the third turn, however, his curiosity got the better of him. “Do you know where we’ re going?”
    â€œO bviously.”
    â€œAnd you’ve been awake and ab out for…?”
    â€œAn hour or so.” The corridors forked, and Deryl took the left one.
    â€œSo how do you know?”
    â€œTasmae. I guess you could say she, uh, ‘flashed’ into my mind a map of the outpost.” Deryl looked at his friend thoughtfully. “Well, not a map, exactly. Everybody here communicates telepathically. I think you’ve figured that much out, right? So she didn’t tell me or even show me—she shared her understanding of the outpost.”
    â€œSo you know everything she knows about it?”
    â€œEverything she wanted to share with me. Psychic communication is like verbal communication; when you communicate telepathically, you can usually share just what you want the other person to know. Does that make a ny sense?”
    â€œNo. But maybe it will when my head stops pounding. In the meantime, we ought to come up with a name for telepathic talk. It’s awfully awkward saying ‘psychic communication’ or ‘communicating telepathically.’ And let’s not even get into Tasmae ‘flash ing’ you.”
    Deryl snorted. “You can’t be too sick, if you can make puns. Not illness sick, anyway. A ny ideas?”
    â€œAsk me after the local equivalent of ibuprofen kicks in.” Joshu a groaned.
    â€œHang on, we’re almo st there.”
    They passed through another, sturdier door. At first, Joshua thought Deryl must have made a wrong turn and ended up in a dormitory. It held none of the usual things he associated with an infirmary—no equipment, no charts hanging on the beds, not even privacy curtains. Just two men in green tunics and slacks sitting beside one bed, leaning in concentration over the leg of a young woman dressed in the same thick, skin-tight red outfit that passed for uniforms here. Sweat beaded on her pale face, and when one healer shifted slightly, Joshua saw why. A huge gash cut through her calf so that a meaty flap of skin and muscle hung loosely. The sight of it, combined with his headache, brought bile to his throat, and he quickly sat down on the nearest bed with his head in his hands, trying not to gag. He felt the bed give slightly as Deryl sat b eside him.
    Then he felt…something. He couldn’t define it, but it teased at him through the pain of his headache, and he tried to concentrate on it instead. It was almost sound, almost touch, and it suggested comfort, like a soft pillow and low peaceful music did whenever he was sick with the flu. But just like when his mother turned the music too low, he strained to make out wh at it was.
    Deryl nudged him, and