Mindseeker

Chapter 1: Psychord

I find the boy at a table by the window. His face is covered by a thick mop of rich brown hair caught somewhere between curly and straight. He seems tired and bored, tapping absently on his phone, shoulders slumped forward.

I feel the Tether immediately, identifying this boy as the one I have come for, the one I am sent for. It takes all of my discipline not to stare at him, my brain seeking involuntarily to sear his image into my mind. 

I manage to pass his table with only a glance, nothing overly long or creepy, as I wait for the pumpkin spice latte I've ordered. The thrum of the Tether in my mind is so distracting that I can hardly focus on the bar as more drink orders are called out. I sneak a few more glances at the boy, still tapping away, oblivious to the effect he is having on me.

"Kota!" the harried barista calls out.

The boy stands, making his way through the maze of tables, chairs, and waiting customers with a slow, exhausted shuffle.

That's how I learn his name. Kota is my Psychord.

He comes to within two feet of me. I could reach out and tap him on the shoulder. The thrum of the Tether rises to a sort of warm buzz like alcoholic intoxication, not that I would know much about that. Incarna are not supposed to ever consume alcohol. It disrupts our connection to the Synthnet. 

I catch a sideways view of his face, small nose, sharp chin, and smooth cheeks. His skin is a soft golden brown a shade darker than honey. He takes his drink wordlessly and ambles toward the door. His baggy jeans seem as tired and heavy as the rest of him.

The growing distance between us seems to pull on the Tether. It makes me sad for no reason. I feel a pang of remorse for the boy that goes beyond the Tether. He hasn't made it to school yet—probably on account of the coffee shop taking twice as long as usual to get out orders. It is a given that he will be tardy, but that doesn't seem to inspire any haste in his steps. 

I wonder if his exhaustion is the typical teenager-up-until-two-in-the-morning-playing-videogames or if it is something deeper, more serious. I don't need the Synthnet to tell me there is a weight on him that doesn't belong there.

I wait for my coffee. There is no need to follow him out right away. That would be suspicious and creepy, even in this body. I hope he is going to school across the street, but even if he ditches, I will be able to find him. The Tether will let me find him anywhere and at any time.

"Dacien!" the barista finally calls.

I close my hand around the blessed paper cup, and I take my first sip of the divine elixir that makes life in this century bearable. I'm sure all of my past Incarna have been addicted to coffee, at least as far back as it was invented and introduced to Europe. I assert that it didn't reach its full potential until the invention of the espresso machine and the milk steamer. That was the birth of the latte, the single greatest achievement of mankind.

I would know, I've been around for most of those achievements.

The truth about me is in my name, literally. Dacien means "person from Dacia." You'd have to really be paying attention in history class to know that Dacia was a land in ancient Roman times, approximately where Romania is today. That's where I'm from—no not Romania, Dacia, ancient Dacia.

No, I'm not a time traveler. The short version is that during my first life, when I was just a young boy in ancient Dacia, I was discovered by some creatures called the Yul'Nari. They're aliens, for lack of a better word, and they're not the little green man or flying saucer types you might be thinking. The Yul'Nari don't even have physical bodies, at least not anymore. That's one of several reasons they need people like me, but I'll get to that.