Chapter 8: Hope

Alisha removed the seat of my cockpit and cut and connected some wires.

“I think that my inability to establish psychokinesis on you is more a matter of the authentication device than my aptitude. I think the reason you are not responding is because you are fixated on Dostoyev-san. So I am going to try to reduce the degree of fixation just a little bit. Just a little more than Dostoyev-san knows.”

She put the seat back in place and nervously gripped the control lever.

I was also nervous.

I wonder what would happen if someone other than Dostoyev moved it.

I hear a drop of water trickle down from somewhere on the hanger.

The roaring of the snowstorm outside reached my ears faintly.

Nothing happened.

Alisha’s mind is racing, but I can’t feel her, and I can’t move a single pinky finger.

Alisha let go of the controls.

“It’s hopeless.” She looked up to the sky.

That was when it happened.

My finger moved.

Pinky finger.

I was able to make it twitch, but only by a fraction of an inch or so.

Alisha didn’t notice anything, and with a disappointed look on her face, she turned off the light in the hanger and headed home.

Immersed in a warm pool, I gave myself up to a faint hope.