The Seventh Sense

Zadriel dipped into the Seeing Pool head-first, as she had been taught, to allow the microcosmic sensors to attach to her brain. From there, it was easy to awaken the senses that allowed her to reach out with her mind and contort the world around her. Recreationally, it was called Wakeful Dreaming, or Dreaming While Aware, depending on which classified circles you were frequenting. The first time, it had been eerie, to project outward her mind’s every sensation and synapse made real, but over time it had become as simple as blinking and being able to see everything around her. Such was the way of what the scientists called “the seventh sense” in their studies and the drafts of their articles.

The recent phase had been to see if this sense could be controlled and wielded outside of a Seeing Pool with its sensors. But today she was just dabbling, trying to see what could manifest from just a thought passing through her brain. She closed her eyes and pictured a sea with its crashing waves against a sandy shoreline that shimmered in the sun. It wasn’t that far of a stretch from the nature of the Pool, but it was textured enough—with its grains of sand and the concreteness of seashells—to allow for a challenge to her abilities in the realm of her sense.

When she opened her eyes wide, there stood an ocean oasis that had been plucked from the nature of her very thoughts. She walked forward, willing her dress to turn into a fashion fit for summer, and she could even feel the sunlight cascading off her skin, the heat comfortable instead of overbearing. It was just right, as she had willed it.

“Someone’s playing today,” came a voice, and she turned to see one of the familiar test subjects who were involved in the trials that she normally oversaw as part of her work. She frowned, blinking, and the images of the ocean, the beach, and the overarching sun rippled away until she was just in the empty Pool. She found herself caught off-guard because normally the subjects could not access another’s seventh sense so easily; the results thus far in the study hadn’t relayed that type of capability among the volunteers.

It seemed the data was off. Zadriel was not pleased to find this out.

With a gasp, she came out of the deep submerge into the Pool, the sensors retreating from her scalp. Now that she could focus clearly, she saw that the subject she recognized was a young woman with short hair and tanned skin—probably an athlete who was no stranger to the sun.

“Sorry,” the test subject said, shrugging her shoulders, but she did not look sorry at all. “I guess you’ll rat me out now?”

“I have to report data and—anomalies,” she said, uncertain. In these trial phases of the so-called seventh sense, she was just the one to compile the data into workable sheets of information. It was simply a bonus that she herself had access to the Seeing Pool, the only one in this part of the country. The nature of the Wakeful Dreaming in all its facets was still not available to the general public. And it did not bode well that a test subject was going rogue by meddling in others’ time in the Pool.

“Fine, report me,” the test subject said. “But could you do me a favor?”

Zadriel pursed her lips. She assumed this girl was a subject in the second phase of people in their late teens to early twenties. “I don’t think you’re in that position.”

The girl laughed. “Fair enough. But, really, you have to show me sometime how you get the details so rich when you project. I mean, I can try the same thing myself all day long, but I never get the sky so blue.”

There was hesitation on Zadriel’s part—what if this girl was actually an informant who was testing her oath to confidentiality in the study?—but finally she decided to hedge her bets a little. “It’s like painting—if you remember what that is, it’s an Old World technique—where I try to layer the details of what I’m seeing, one element at a time.”

“Oh,” the girl said, sounding appreciative. “I know painting. My mother used to dabble in it before it got too expensive to buy the paints and all the other materials.”

“Then you’re halfway to understanding,” Zadriel said.

The girl grinned, rocking back on her feet. “Thanks. I guess I should get going now. My appointment is soon.”

Before the girl could leave the Seeing Pool enclosure, Zadriel said, “Wait.”

The girl turned back, her look verging on curiosity. “Yeah?”

“I won’t report the indiscretion,” she said, avoiding looking into the girl’s eyes and seeing their expression. “I’ll leave you off with a warning.”

A grateful smile bloomed on the girl’s face. “Thanks so much. I appreciate it. And I’ll take your advice!”

Zadriel just nodded, turning back to the Seeing Pool until the footsteps died away.

But curiosity made her pull up one of the data screens with a pull of her fingertips. A luminescent sphere unfolded into all the files showing the pictures of all the current test subjects who were learning how to expand their senses and use the Seeing Pool in its fragmented state. But as she swiped through picture upon picture, she did not find the face of the girl who had just trespassed into her sense-sphere.

Why was she familiar? Zadriel thought, confused, as she tried to tabulate the potential reasons quickly through her mind. Unless…

Unless the girl had been practiced enough in Wakeful Dreaming to implant false memories in another person’s head.

Before she could second-guess herself, Zadriel pulled up another screen and tapped against the emergency protocol options. Over the communication system, she sent out a verbal alert, “There’s been a breach. I repeat, there’s been a breach.”

But somehow, before she even checked, Zadriel knew that even a lockdown situation would not deter the girl. All the security footage that was running live would likely find that there were no suspicious characters. She couldn’t believe she had been so lax even though everyone who came to the Seeing Pool needed a barcode scanned from their wrist before entry would be permitted.

It was pointless—there would be no trace, Zadriel had a feeling—but all the while she panicked in her thoughts. And, underlying the panic, she felt furious.

The Seeing Pool had been her sanctuary through her seventh sense, and someone had defiled it for reasons unknown. Soon, the notion of Wakeful Dreaming would probably not be the top secret project it had been planned to be from day one.

And there was not one thing anyone could do to stop the tide.