SILENCE OF THE MIND © 2002 M.D. KOFFIN THIS DRAFT IS FOR PREVIEWING PURPOSES ONLY. DO NOT COPY OR REDISTRIBUTE THIS MATERIAL WITHOUT THE AUTHOR'S EXPRESSED PERMISSION. As the Vermilion docked at station Indira, a tall girl stood rigidly on a lower deck of the space cruiser. Her mouth gaped open in naive awe at the view of the active spaceport that was presented by the wall-sized screen. From her vantagepoint on the Fiesta Deck where she chose to watch the spacedock, she could see only a tiny portion of the interconnected scaffolding of the immense station. The sickly atmosphere of Io churned below, dirty hues of yellowy red and brownish black that looked like an old bruise. Smaller passenger craft darted under the belly of the larger and slower cruiser, sometimes coming so perilously close that she almost ducked. She watched one light ship careen toward an extended branch of the port they were approaching. At the last possible moment the ship flipped 180 degrees and settled gently on a bare landing pad. She marveled as similar reckless antics were performed without incident, the landings and launchings carried out with amazing skill by the daredevil pilots. She watched the activity with the rapt attention of someone watching a stunt show, so engrossed in the maneuverings that she jumped when an impatient voice sounded at her elbow. “Can’t you hear me?” She turned to see the diminutive stateroom steward standing next to her with his hands on his hips and his lips bent in a frown of distaste at having to resort to oral communication. She lightly touched a label on her flight suit that visually marked her impairment. I’m sorry, she thought clearly at him. “Mhmm…” he cleared his throat in an appraising way that indicated he was taking in her entire appearance, not just the generic handicapped tag. Feeling self conscious under his prim gaze, she nervously touched a lock of hair at the base of her neck. Her dark hair had been luxuriously long until only a week ago, but was now cropped conservatively short. She followed his eyes as they wandered down over her spare frame, unflatteringly clad in a gray flight suit. Her last name, Marion, was embroidered in a neat script the regulation seventeen centimeters above her left breast. He waved his white-gloved hand in front of her face to catch her attention, at which she smiled wryly. She knew the type. He would now talk extra loud, assuming that since she could not hear his thoughts, she couldn’t hear him at all. “You – should – really – go – to – your – cabin.” He made a motion like he was hugging himself. “Strap – in.” Her lips pressed together involuntarily, but she managed to force a pleasant smile. He was not only the type that yelled, he also carefully over-enunciated every single syllable. His voice sounded scratchy from lack of practice. I’ll go in just a moment. Marion thought, resisting the urge to project in broken English in an imitation of the way he was talking to her. He was obviously aware of her disability, but that did not mean he had encountered anyone like her before. It was extremely rare to run into a human without psi talent. Maybe two percent of the human population was not gifted with telepathy, and of that percent most were also usually mentally incompetent, genetically retarded, or victims of head trauma. She had never even met anyone like herself. The steward paused uncertainly but then gave an exaggerated nod of his disproportionally large head and walked across to the double doors leading out of the grand room, his little shoes clicking on the pseudo-wood floor of the ballroom. She watched him go. He was completely dwarfed by her height at just a half-inch shy of six feet, but he managed to carry his nearly four feet with a dignity that diminished the difference between them. He was very compact like most frieghthands, though he probably would have been much insulted by that association. She realized that he might overhear her not necessarily complimentary observations of him, and she hastily turned back to the reason why she had begged another minute. Again she took in the incredible view of the manmade spaceport. This was not the first time Marion had left her home on the Titan outpost, she had been to Earth twice, but this would be her first time visiting a platform. Indira orbitted above the atmosphere of Jupiter’s moon of Io, safe from the toxic spumes of sulfur mixtures pouring from active volcanoes on the surface below. She could see the modules filled with residential, commercial, or industrial resources interspersed among the scaffolding with a seemingly half hazard scattering of solar panels. Portions had been added on as needed and it was impossible to tell where the original structure began. Unlike the planetary or lunar colonies in this system, the platform would have an abundance of alien life there, very few of them telepathic. She was looking forward to her brief excursion here before moving on to Red Hill Academy on the Mars outpost. Full of excited expectations, she finally managed to tear herself away from the wondrous spectacle and return to her cabin. SILENCE OF THE MIND © 2002 M.D. KOFFIN THIS DRAFT IS FOR PREVIEWING PURPOSES ONLY. DO NOT COPY OR REDISTRIBUTE THIS MATERIAL WITHOUT THE AUTHOR'S EXPRESSED PERMISSION.