It takes a special kind of mind to be a Sensor.

Alone in the darktank, surrounded by the suspension fluid, we caress the sweet curves and contours of tau-space.  We pay a steep price for our perception; the mindbleems and tau-ghost hallucinations can drive one mad.

Twelve hours until they rip me from the womb and give me the mindworms that bring blessed forgetfulness.

There! A sparklybright heavyfast hyperplane of energy: Enemy Contact!

The command comes with a jolt to my spine, and the battledrugs outline my brain with fire.  Missile Away!

An alien mind, distant and afraid, reaches out to me; a tendril of sadness...and is suddenly extinguished.

They pull me out of the darktank, screaming.

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© J. Glenn Peterson.  Do not distribute.
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