Free Neptune's Tears by Susan Waggoner

of the rocks surrounding it. The transmission, of course, is imperfect, for the conscious mind communicates in words while the language of the subconscious is images
and feelings, sometimes even elements as illusive as touch and scent.’ At this point, Zee’s adviser came forward again. ‘We’re sorry about all the tests, Zee, and drawing
blood, but we had to eliminate all other possibilities. Now we have, and we’re certain that’s what happened to you today. You see, at exactly the time you had your, er, episode, shock
bombs went off in Dublin, Gdansk, Shanghai, Houston and Toronto.’
    ‘
What?
You’re telling me I
knew
about the bombs?’
    ‘No. You caught the thoughts of those who were there, and those thoughts manifested themselves in you as physical symptoms.’
    Zee’s hand felt ice cold on the bed’s guard rail. That storm of silent screams! The fire-hot pain at the base of her skull! The realisation that she’d caught the final thoughts
of hundreds of dead people spiralled into a tidal wave of nausea.
Be calm,
she told herself.
Focus. Stay logical.
She took a deep breath.
    ‘Okay. What do we do now? How do I stop this?’
    ‘That’s the thing,’ her adviser said. ‘There’s no real way to stop these incidents. In fact, each time this happens makes it more likely to happen again. The body
learns from itself.’
    ‘But I can’t live with this,’ Zee protested. ‘It’s too . . . too . . . big.’ Her voice saying ‘big’ sounded pathetically small. Neither of the
faces gazing down at her looked surprised at her alarm. A sudden thought struck her. ‘Is this because I’m an empath?’
    ‘Not directly, no.’
    ‘Not
directly
? What’s
that
supposed to mean?’
    ‘This isn’t the result of being an empath. Your training didn’t create this. But the traits that make you a good empath also make you a good receptor – and potentially
diviner. And both your training and your work made it more likely to happen.’
    Zee was suddenly furious. ‘Why didn’t you tell us this was a possibility when we were in training? Didn’t you think we had a right to know?’
    ‘In the early days of empathy we did,’ Dr Branning said. ‘I developed the protocol. But we discovered it triggered false episodes in a large number of trainees. We never saw a
real case. Apparently because the phenomenon is rare.’
    Dr Branning smiled as if he’d just given her a spectacular present.
Easy for him,
Zee thought.
    ‘What do I do now?’ she demanded.
    ‘There are three possible paths,’ her adviser explained. ‘First, you could give up being an empath. It wouldn’t guarantee anything, but it
would
decrease the odds
of this happening again.’
    ‘Or?’
    ‘Or you could continue as an empath and cope with the occasional episode. There’s no medication for this, but there are strategies, blunting techniques that would help block both the
physical and emotional pain.’
    ‘And the third or?’
    ‘You could accept it,’ Dr Branning said. ‘You could develop your talent and take control of it, own it.’
    Zee crossed her arms, a gesture of childish sullenness she hadn’t indulged in for years. ‘Why would I want to do that?’
    ‘Because you’re the one in ten million. The rare raindrop.’
    ‘No thanks.’
    ‘But you could do a great deal of good, Zee.’
    ‘Frederick!’ Zee’s adviser hissed. ‘She’s had enough for one day.’
    But Dr Branning would not be stopped. ‘A
great
deal of good in the world. Finding the missing. Harvesting the last thoughts of the dead at crime scenes. Even forestalling attacks
like the ones today. Of course, it takes a good deal of training, and total commitment but —’
    ‘Frederick!’ The adviser looked daggers at Dr Branning. ‘Please go now.’
    Zee waited until she heard the soft click of the door closing. ‘Is that true?’ she asked. ‘Are there people like me who could have stopped those bombings today? Could
I
have stopped those bombings