Author's Notes: Please read in order. Start with Midsummer followed by Patron Saint of Debauchery.

Psychic Refuge; Rural Kenya

Friday, September 20, 2019

Living at the refuge was so different than the Fellowship of Inner Peace. Although individuals had different roles, and more authority than others, everyone was considered equal. Except Aman Oliveira, the Prophet, but he never came out and said it. It was simply known he was in charge. The refuge openly had a caste system. It applied mostly to psychics. The type of ability, and how powerful it was, determined the psychic's place in the social hierarchy. Other criteria including time at the Refuge and duties affected one's standings.

Which made her standings very confusing. She was one of the newest psychics. Although her accomplishments were minimal, and she had little to no control, the founders and other powerful members viewed her among the strongest at the Refuge. No one would tell her why.

"Miriam," Keara said quietly. "I need to ask you something."

"Walk."

Keara hurried to keep up. "I had a vision. I saw an older version of myself. Except it wasn't me." She hesitated. "I don't know much about being a psychic. But I know I can't see myself in my visions. Not the random ones. Not while remote-viewing."

"What are you asking?"

"How can there be two me?"

"I don't know." Miriam's tone was changing. Nothing usually surprised her. "What did you see?"

"The Other me is manipulating multiple sides of the conflict. Torchwood, the cult and that horrible company."

"To what end?"

"She's trying to create a specific result." The idea of manipulating people like pieces on a chess board sickened Keara.

"Are we involved?" Miriam asked.

"I don't know."

"There are other psychics here. I will find someone who can help figure it out."

"Thank you."

The only upside to the situation was knowledge. If the other woman really was another version of herself, she had a similar ability. Keara would be able to learn control. It also explained why various members of the Refuge viewed her as powerful. Manipulating people, places and time was impressive.

Waiting gave her an excuse to walk. The land was beautiful and different from Nigeria. Leaving the Fellowship without an armed guide was a bad idea. The Refuge had a variety of members that secured the area in a variety of ways. She could safely walk without an escort.

Drystan, Miriam's adopted son, approached a couple hours later. The child always made her nervous. She'd unfortunately seen the werewolf boy video. Moss-Probert turned a child with a genetic disorder into an animal, in a lot of ways. Those responsible were monsters.

Unable to speak, the boy handed her a hand written note. "Meditate."

That wasn't helpful. "Thank you."

He nodded and took off.

Adopting him said a lot about Miriam. While she looked at Drystan and remembered the video, Miriam had seen first-hand what he was capable of and still wanted him. Keara wasn't that brave. Between the whispers, and Miriam's social standings, she suspected part of it had to do with Miriam's own capabilities. She was a soldier. A psychic capable of using her ability in combat and not losing her sanity.

Miriam wouldn't say much about how she met Thomas or Drystan. Apparently, it happened at a Moss-Probert research facility in Wales. The lab Drystan came from was publicized with the video. It had been destroyed by the unwilling residents. A list of bizarre and violent events followed exposing Moss-Probert. Which she suspected Miriam was responsible for. Which fit her being labeled a soldier.

Keara stopped under a large tree with a herd of elephants in the distance. If she wasn't positive the area was safe, she wouldn't risk an outdoor trance. Remote-viewing was the closest she knew to meditation. The results were almost immediate and unnerving. The woman she'd previously seen who looked so much like her was sitting at a chess board. The pieces were surreal, flickering like flames on a candle. The woman looked up and met her eyes. They were familiar but alien. She had no doubt the woman was another version of her.

"What are you doing?" Keara asked.

The Other didn't seem to understand at first. "Winning."

"Winning what?"

"The war."

"Tell me about it."

That confused her. The Other made Keara think of a documentary she'd once seen in school about a POW who'd survived horrible things and spent too much time alone.

"Aliens attack Earth through the Rift and time. They send dangerous technology, ships and evil. They corrupt worthless men to turn against their own."

"How long have you been fighting?"

The Other hesitated. "I don't know."

"There are people who will help."

"Who?"

"Torchwood." They had helped her.

"They fail."

Keara wondered if the Other had any concept of past/present/future. "They have or they will?"

"Yes."

"Has John Hart failed?"

"He has. He will."

"Why?" From what she knew of him, he could handle most situations.

"Hart's weak."

Perhaps her double didn't mean physically. "Can he win with help?"

"If he needs help, he's weak."

Keara also wondered if the Other had any idea what she was doing anymore. "What does winning mean?"

The Other's confusion grew.

"What will end the war?"

"The war does not end."

"Then how can you win?"

The answer took much longer than previously. "I don't know."

"Let me help you."

"No." The Other motioned at the board. "This is my burden."

"Why?"

"Anwen died." That obviously affected the Other. "I couldn't protect her."

"When?"

"Repeatedly."

Keara tried to wrap her mind around the possibility the Other was in some type of time loop. Rational and irrational blurred long before she had a conversation with herself in a trance.