The author Marion Zimmer Bradley (MZB)
wrote a series of science fiction/fantasy novels telling the tales of the
inhabitants of the world of Darkover. These novels
cover millennia of history: from the crash landing of a Terran
colony ship; the rise of the ruling feudal, telepathic class known as ‘The Comyn’; the rediscovery of the planet by the Terran and beyond. To give you a breakdown of the stories
of Darkover would be doing the author, MZB, a
disservice. I heartily recommend her stories to all those who enjoy fan
fiction. This story is intended as a tribute, and not in anyway disrespectful,
to MZB who wrote of class inadequacies, feminism, homophobia, bigotry and
intolerance before P.C. and zero tolerance legislation. I learned so much from
her stories.
I have deliberately not included any of MZB’s characters other than in passing reference.
The Sentinel, as we know, is a fun series,
a concept in which I have been playing happily for a few years. It tells of
watchmen who use their preternatural enhanced senses of sight, smell, hearing,
touch and taste, and, perhaps, senses beyond those five to protect and guard
their chosen clans.
Wendy was kind enough to beta this story
Comments/feedback would be really nice.
Email: sealie@trickster.org
or sealie1@hotmail.com
The Sentinel of Darkover
By Sealie
The day that James Ellison arrived on the
Protected Planet of Cottman IV, the Terran Federation ended. The massive bureaucracy that ruled
hundreds of thousands of planets collapsed as he stepped onto the tarmac of the
spaceport. The space cruiser that had carried him from a space station that
hung on the edge of the Orion Nebula to the planet of Cottman
IV took off seconds after the last passenger disembarked. Blasting away to life
– Captain Ellison suspected – as a pirate ship on the outer rim.
In another lifetime he would have taken out
the captain of the vessel and then continued on his mission, yet his
instructions were clear: head to Cottman IV with all
alacrity and allow for no distractions.
A pale, pale worm of a man ran up to the
ranger and gibbered aimlessly, pointing at the red sky above and then the exhaust
fumes spiralling around their feet.
“They left. They left. I spoke to the
captain. He said I could travel with him.”
“He lied.” Captain Ellison dismissed the
man, leaving him kneeling on the tarmac. He strode across the spaceport field.
The area was barren, devoid of the normal engineers and storage transportation
teams that should be scurrying around suites of vessels cycling through the
busy spaceport. Ahead the spaceport was dark. The installation was empty.
Scowling, Ellison passed through the building.
The security teams were absent and customs were non-existent at the
abandoned colony – or so he thought.
As he stepped from Federation, white, clean
territory and into the red-tinged, organic world of Cottman
IV, a curiously accented voice demanded, “Your blaster,”
Ellison looked at the man from tip to toe.
He was a strange figure, but Jim was well travelled and had seen stranger
species in his time. It was the human’s clothes that drew his eye. Quaint was
perhaps the nicest way to put it. Rather than the utilitarian synthetic tunic
and form fitting trousers of the Federation, the man wore rich, jewel-tones:
blue jacket, sapphire vest and a silken shirt. Layers to
protect against the biting cold.
He even wore a cape with a fur lining, for Gods’ sake. The embroidery at
its neck and cuffs was intricate. The blue of his clothes and the deep dark red
of his hair against the glowering burgundy backdrop of the evening sky made
Jim’s eyes water. He blinked and concentrated
on the man’s aquiline features.
“What?”
“No distant weapons.”
“You want me to hand over my blaster?”
The red head sighed tiredly. “Here on Darkover,” he said as if talking to a child, “we have
something called the Compact which forbids the use of weapons which reach
farther than the length of your arm.”
Ellison scowled at the man, somehow blaming
him for the inadequacy of his superior’s coded message. It wasn’t like Simon
Banks to leave out something so fundamental.
“No.” His weapon was his best friend.
“Return to the compound.” The man gestured
with a long hand back to the echoingly empty building from which Jim had just
emerged.
“There’s nothing there.”
“No distant… distance,” he corrected,
“weapons are allowed on Darkover.”
Jim had barely been on the planet half an
hour and he was already at a disadvantage. He ground his teeth together.
Belatedly, he registered that a cohort of men all dressed alike in dark blue
tunics and trousers stood behind the long-limbed red head. Some sort of police
force?
There was little choice. He either handed over his weapon of choice and continued his
mission or he returned to the Federation. Reluctantly, Jim unholstered
his bulky, high energy, armour piercing blaster and set it on the rickety
wooden table before the standing man.
“And the other one,” the officer demanded,
his slate grey eyes were piercing and Jim had the strangest sensation that the
man was laughing at him. Jim squatted down and withdrew his snapper from its
ankle holster.
The man sighed tiredly. “And
the third one.”
Jim shook his energy wand out of his sleeve
and set it next to the other weapons. “That’s all.”
The officer nodded, “Are you claiming
asylum?”
“I have no need for asylum.”
“Why then have you come to Darkover… Cottman
IV?” the man seemed interested in his answer.
“I wish to speak to someone in authority.”
Once again, Jim knew that the man was
laughing at him. “I am ‘someone in authority’.”
“Not the gatekeeper,” Jim said
disparagingly, “the head security.”
The red head did not react but the cadre of
guards, in their blue and silver tunics and capes, glared as one.
“I am Alaric Lanart-Alar, I am the head of
security.”
“Really? And you’re watching the door? Haven’t you
got anything better to do?”
This time the man smiled. “Where better to
watch to ensure that Federation undesirables do not come to our planet?”
“Well, I’m here ‘cause
you’ve got one already, and he probably came through this spaceport.”
“Not on my watch, Ranger Ellison.”
Jim sighed inwardly. “Is there somewhere
more private where we can discuss it rather than out in the open?”
“This way.” Alaric gestured expansively. Jim moved to
fall in behind the man, but was promptly displaced by two of the guards and the
other four moved to bracket him in between them. Jim might not have his weapons
but that did not mean that he was defenceless. Alaric looked back over his
shoulder and smiled. “We’re just going to my offices where we can talk in
relative security, there’s nothing to worry about.”
“I’m not concerned.”
He had had little time to read up on the
history of Cottman IV, known to the inhabitants as Darkover, preferring to study the language tapes that Simon
had seen fit to include in his briefing package. The capital city was called Thendara, but that was the limit of his knowledge. The
buildings were constructed of stone, bricks and mortar rather than plast-steel and extruded plastics. It was like moving back
in time. He had only seen cities like this in medieval vid
dramas. But vids had not illustrated the wind
chilling cold that chapped his skin and invigorated his senses. The streets
twisted around, heading upwards to the immense, white citadel that dominated
the horizon. The buildings were changing as they walked. The windows were
bigger with more clear planes, instead of small, murky sugar glass panes. The buildings’
stone work was well tended and painted. There was a clear class divide in the
city.
Alaric led him to a large mansion outside
the wall of the citadel. Jim paused at the entrance, looking up at the towering
citadel above.
“That is
“The Comyn are
the rulers of this world.”
“Yes, the Terranan
call us a,” Alaric hunted for the word, “theocracy?”
“Monarchy. Monarch as in King,” Jim supplied.
“Theocracy is something different, has to do with churches.”
“We have a council of representatives of
the Seven Domains.”
“They are formed entirely of the Comyn aristocrats.”
Alaric’s brow furrowed as he translated the
Terran Standard words. “Yes,” he said slowly, “they
rule. It is complicated, but it works for Darkover.”
Jim shrugged phlegmatically. The Federation
government was falling to pieces around its proverbial ears. Maybe the Darkovian aristocracy would be better? He doubted it,
preferring democracy. But this wasn’t his world. Their government
organisational structure was not his concern. Prior to the debacle which was
currently engulfing the Federation democracy, the planet of Darkover
had been given Protected Status, and had been classified as vulnerable to
cultural exposure. For all intents and purposes the Darkovian
government and its people had been allowed to progress without the overt
exposure to the influence of the Terran way of life.
Eventually the benefits of Terran medicine, culture,
arts, democracy would have overrun the existing government -- Jim had seen it
happen too often not to know that -- and Darkover
would have joined the Federation. But the very democracy of the Federation had
defeated itself. The government had been overrun and was collapsing.
Alaric directed him in to a small office. A
warm brazier sat in the corner and Jim welcomed the heat.
“So what brings you here?” Alaric asked
without any preamble. “You wear the black garb of a Terranan
Ranger. What brings a ranger to Darkover? You have
no--” he paused searching for the word, “--legislation?”
“Jurisdiction.”
“You have no jurisdiction, Ranger Ellison.”
“Obviously my superior Colonel Banks
contacted you, otherwise you wouldn’t know my name.
Why don’t you cut to the chase?”
Alaric smiled secretively. “I have only the
barest details. You play your ‘cards close to your chest’, you are very closed.”
Jim’s brow furrowed trying to understand
the words; Alaric’s standard was very good, but his words had been a little
convoluted. “I am in pursuit of a fugitive.”
Alaric settled behind his desk and planted
his feet on the wooden table. “And?”
“He has a number of pseudonyms: Adam Trilys, Karad inal
--he’s a psychopath, thief, slaver and murderer. His last co-ordinates set him
in the vicinity of this planet two standard months ago. His vessel was in
distress, and a mayday was picked up.”
“The Terrans left
at the spaceport have reported no emergency landings.”
Jim scratched his jaw line. “He could have
used an escape pod and landed anywhere. This is the only viable planet in the
system.”
“So this psychopath may not even be on Darkover?”
“My superior believes that he is.”
Alaric shifted, his feet dropped with a
thud to the floor, he leaned over the desk and his grey eyes were piercing.
“Why come here?
“My boss sent me to find this murderer.”
“Ah, so duty drives you?” Alaric said.
“Your Federation is dying; you might never be able to leave our planet. To what
authority will you give this psychopath?”
“I’ll hand Adam Trilys
over to you if I can’t return him to Ranger Central. You don’t want this guy on
your soil.”
“Tell me of your Banks -- why didn’t he
release you from service to an authority that no longer exists and send you
home?”
“Adam Trilys is a
criminal and a murderer,” Jim repeated.
Alaric smiled wolfishly. Jim found himself
stepping backwards and folding his arms over his chest defensively.
“Where will you find this man?” Alaric
asked.
Jim had read Adam’s file backwards and
forwards. The reasons for the man’s presence on Darkover
made little or no sense. He was a technology-thief selling to the highest
bidder when he was not selling his skills as an assassin. Adam Trilys did not fit on the world of Darkover.
If the Federation was truly going to fall into the Dark Ages he should have
fled to criminal underworld of Kurltwurld or Chril not the medieval
backwater of Cottman IV.
“This is the capital, he’ll gravitate
here.”
“Hmmm, you need a guide.”
“A guide?” Jim snarled, off kilter and mystified.
Alaric had added an inflection to the word, giving it a lilt which made it more
than the Terran Standard word for a tour guide
through Thendara. Jim could almost suspect that the
red head was talking of a sentinel’s guide.
“Yes, but one that knows
both the Terranan ways and the criminal side of Thendara.
None of my subordinates have good command of your tongue.”
“Banks gave me language tapes. I have a
rudimentary grasp of your Casta.”
“Casta? Curious. I would
have given you tapes of the Common Trade tongue.”
Jim shrugged. Alaric seemed to be looking
for angles where there were none. Banks had probably given him access to the
only tapes that he could find.
“I think that you should go to your home
and leave this Adam Trilys to me. Go home before the
infrastructure of your Terranan Federation collapses
and there are no more spaceships for two-three or more generations coming to my
planet.”
Jim laughed hollowly. The ultimatum was
plainly placed: why are you here when the Federation is going to Hell in a Handbasket? “I don’t
have a home planet - I am a Ranger.”
“You are either a man of great integrity, a
man who has no home or a man with a vendetta. Or perhaps a man who believes
that he has nothing to lose?”
Jim did not comment.
“Perhaps,” Alaric continued, “You are all
four. No, perhaps three.”
Jim ignored the strange meanderings. “Do I
have your permission to pursue this criminal?”
The man just sat,
his grey eyes opaque. Jim bristled. He didn’t need the man’s permission. What
were they going to do, lock him up in a practically abandoned spaceport? He
would be over the wall and in the city of
“Yes,” Alaric enunciated sharply. “Go find
your Adam. Perhaps you will find him before your spaceport is abandoned in a tenday.”
“You have a date?” Jim was surprised -
under the current chaos of the collapsing Federation he was suspicious of any schedule.
“I have some of the donas of the Aldaran.
One of your Big Ships will arrive on the morning of the ninth day of your
arrival and all Terranan who wish to, will leave on
the morning of the tenth day since your arrival.”
“Fine,” Jim said shortly, ignoring that
which he did not understand. “So I’m on a tight schedule. Give me your guide
and I’ll get on with it. How much to hire one?”
Alaric rubbed his chin is such a blatantly
false manner that Jim was immediately suspicious. “Maybe there’s another way?”
“What?” This was getting boring. The
officer was playing stupid games. Simon Banks had obviously been in touch with
the Thendaran head of security otherwise they
wouldn’t be pussyfooting about and Alaric would be interrogating him.
“I have seen your ‘deputies’ in your
western vids in the
“And what does that entail?”
“You make an oath to the Hastur to uphold the law and obey the Comyn.”
“I can’t do that,” Jim said simply. “I
don’t know what the Hastur is and I don’t know the Comyn yet.”
Alaric laughed showing a crooked set of
teeth. “Ah, if you had said yes, I would
have been suspicious. I will give you, Ranger James Ellison, a provisional
status and assign you a guide. When you find your
criminal, and your way, bring him to me and we will talk again.”
“What’s the catch?”
Alaric continued laughing. “There is ‘no
catch’. This is in my best interests. Discover my planet and let my planet
discover you.” Still laughing, Alaric patted a tiny bell on his table. It rang
sharp and piercingly. Jim winced.
The door opened. “Yes, vai dom?”
“Send in Rafe, I
have a job for him.”
~Cottman IV~
~Cottman IV~
The boarding house was clean and well
furnished in wood which would have bought an entire city block on Terra. Rafe, a quiet young man, had led him to the three storey
house and introduced him to the landlady, a short, swarthy woman with a shock
of black hair and a ready laugh and not a single word of Terran
Standard. Rafe had jabbered quickly at the woman. Jim
only following one word in ten had realised that this was going to his home for
the next nine days.
Rafe had bowed, made a faltering apology and
then left. Jim was left standing with the landlady as his so-called guide
escaped.
“Where did he go?” Jim said in Terran Standard and received a blank look from his new
landlady. Jim thought hard of his language tapes and tried again.
She smiled. “My sister, his mother, needs
him. His little sister, my niece, has arrived.”
“Ah, family run
business?” Jim said
sarcastically, the sarcasm was lost on the older woman. It had been
significantly easier to talk to the Head of the City Guard, in a melange of Terran Standard and Casta, than Rafe’s aunt.
“My room?” He could dump his bags and get into the
city. Without Rafe helping him it would be a little
difficult, but he would find his way.
He only devoted on small part of his
attention on the woman as she showed him a well appointed room dominated by a
bed big enough for a family of four. Jim dumped his single carry-on on the
floor and made an about face. There were valuable items in the bag, but nothing
of real significance. The woman was welcome to search his clean underwear,
reader and information cubes -- he doubted that she would get anything out of
the experience.
“What’s the rate?” His question was met by
blank incomprehension. “Money for the room?” Jim
tried.
“City guard pay one tenday.”
She smiled. “After that you pay me.”
“Whatever.” He would need his credits to
book passage on the ship that Alaric was convinced would arrive.
“If Rafe comes
back, tell him I’ve gone in to the city.”
“Like that.” She gestured at his clothes.
“They are perfectly functional.”
Auntie Rafe
shrugged dramatically and said something that Jim did not catch. Ignoring the
woman, he pulled out his data pad and called up the Terran
local guide to the city of
He had credits, but given the current state
of the Federation, he wanted to keep all his money plus he doubted that the
inhabitants would put much store on credits. One piece of valuable information
that Simon Banks had deemed to tell him was that the people of Darkover were metal poor and valued copper over gold. He
had had crafted a small horde of tiny ingots of copper with a selection of
other metals including silver and platinum. He just needed to find the criminal
sector -- funnily enough it wasn’t painted in bright colours on his map.
“Dom Ellison?”
Jim stopped and looked at the woman. She
pointed to his data pad and shook her head.
“Feck.” Remembering some fairly stringent in the
local laws about the importation of restricted technology he looked at a
valuable piece of equipment. “Citizen Alaric, the vai
dom, didn’t take it off
me. It’s allowed.” He still placed the equipment in its assigned pocket in his
vest.
The wind bit his skin and it seemed as if
his uniform offered no protection from the elements. The Bloody Sun was setting
and the temperature seemed to be dropping exponentially. His last post had been
the desert world of Kaakis.
This was going to be a long search.
~Cottman IV~
Jim cradled a ceramic mug between his
chilled hands trying to will some feeling back into his fingertips. The hot
chocolate-like drink had a serious caffeine kick and it was welcome. Hard ice
shimmered on the cobbles, threatening to catch the unwary. Hoarfrost
crystallised on his breath. The market place which he was observing was
bustling with activity despite the late hour and the iciness. Jim got the
impression that there was some kind of local festival going on, relating to the
conjunction of four moons in the sky. Banks’ language tapes were proving to be
a pile of excrement.
A young woman, practically bare chested despite the temperature, oozed up to him and he didn’t
need any phrase book to understand the message in her eyes. Jim shook his head.
His old partner Buck would have been after her like a tick on a warm body.
Sighing, she moved on. Jim grimaced, he didn’t have
time to set up contacts if he was going to get that last ship. He shook his
head. Like it really mattered, where was he going to go?
Whatever. Get Trilys.
Banks had painted a picture of a man who
was beyond dangerous -- a man without ethics and without morals. A man who got off on pain. But a man who
had no reason to be on Darkover. Jim moved
back into the shadows of the booth. Still sipping the drink, he surreptitiously
pulled out his data pad and called up his orders again, looking for any other
clues. The instructions were clear: find and detain Adam Trilys.
After that the orders were vague: return
to Central if possible, otherwise deal with Trilys
and assess options at that point. He pulled up Trilys’
mortality specs. The bastard had a strange penchant for accepting contracts on
young people and the younger the better. Kid killer.
That was reason enough to take him down.
The market square sat on the border of the
trade city that was frequented by Terrans and the
slum city which housed many of the people who serviced the spaceport. Slum was
something of a misnomer. Jim had seen much more dilapidated shanty towns, which
typically grew up around Federation installations, on other planets. But
compared to the other districts he had seen in the city it contained a
dissolute set of buildings with peeling paint alongside narrow alleys. Jim
pushed away from the wall and slipped between the people wending and weaving
their way towards putting away a serious amount of the locally brewed alcohol.
It seemed even colder in the narrow alleys.
Jim kept alert as he passed raggedly dressed people making their way to the
market square. He spotted a few likely pickpockets in the steady stream of
people walking in the opposite direction. The skin on the back of his neck
crawled and Jim knew that he was being watched. He would have been surprised if
he hadn’t been under surveillance. Jim was looking for someone in particular --
someone would be observing and assessing the crowd. Someone
who would likely have a minion at his side. A
controller or boss type character.
Stopping, he turned on his heel hoping to
catch his watcher, but it was like spotting a grain of rice in a bowl of chung yong
fat. Soon some vagrant would offer his services. Jim continued prowling. The
watcher was good, almost ephemeral. Jim mentally noted that two youngish,
scraggly boys were dogging him, waiting for him to beckon them over.
The screech took him by surprise, despite
the fact that he had taken his sense-depressing hypnodryol
before starting his search. The yell pieced his bones. Jim reached for his
blaster, forgetting for a moment that it had been confiscated. He came up with
his foot long k-bar knife. He fixed in on the yell. His irises dilated, turning
night into day, as sight ranged forth guided by hearing. The warren of alleys
and narrow streets seemed to engulf him. The buildings threatened to reach down
and gobble him up. Noises ricocheted around. The sensory confusion was familiar
and unwelcome. Jim slammed his fist against the corner of a low brick wall,
breaking skin. Pain honed his senses.
A small figure was back up against a wall,
his hands outstretched. Jim smelled blood. Three behemoths ringed him. One
laughed.
Jim moved.
“Give me some, you little catamite.” The
hand that reached out to entangle the kid’s clothes was dirty and grimy. There
was an acrid, loathsome scent of arousal on the air. Jim’s senses were suddenly
honed as thought he had never taken a single dose of hypnodryol
in his life.
“You’re mistaken.” The voice was deeper,
not high like a child.
Jim hit the first rapist with the pommel of
his knife, cracking his temple and sending him into unconsciousness. The second
man’s eyes widened with surprise. Jim didn’t give him time to take a breath,
smacking him into next week. The third man, the man holding the boy, had the
most warning. Jim saw him yank the boy against his chest, holding his head as
if he was going to break his neck. Jim punched him straight in his nose,
shattering the man’s nasal septum and driving it up into his brain. Hideously
wounded, the attacker’s eyes rolled back in his head as his higher brain
functions ceased. He collapsed releasing the boy. Jim yanked the kid out of
harm’s reach, setting him behind him as the rapist died on the gritty
street.
“Zandru’s Forge,”
the kid swore and Jim heard and smelled vomit splattering.
“What’s going on here?” Jim spun to face a
short, swarthy man picking his way up the alley. The man saw the bodies,
blanched and turned and ran.
A small crowd had collected at the end of
the alley, watching silently.
“Get the City Guard,” Jim ordered, but they
all simply scattered.
The kid retched again and Jim smelled blood
anew.
“Come on, Kid -- let’s get out of here.” He
caught the figure by the arm and pulled him along. “I need to find the guard.”
“You got a whistle?” the kid asked in that
surprisingly deep voice.
“Yeah.” He had stuff in his copious vest pockets
that he had forgotten ever existed.
“Three blows and pause and then three
blows. The guard will come.”
Jim got them out of the noisome alley. He
propped the kid against a wall and found his plastic whistle. Dialling down his
hearing, he blew three sharp notes and then three more.
“You hurt bad,
Kid?” He kept a hold of the victim, but continued to scan the street warily.
“No. It’s just bleeding a bit.”
The kid didn’t seem too distressed. Heavy
boots clattered somewhere ahead of them. Jim blew three more notes and waited
for the City Guard. Three blue clad guards, short swords drawn, jogged
forwards.
“What’s happening here?” the oldest
demanded.
“Muggers,” Jim said in pure Terran Standard. “Maybe more.” His
fingers released their death grip on the kid’s bicep, but they didn’t let go.
He felt warm sticky blood trickling over his fingers. Jim focused on the kid,
taking in the big green-blue eyes peeking out from under a large wool cap.
Neo-sentinel senses raked over the scrawny body. The fabric over his left
breast over to his shoulder was rent, and through the gape Jim could see parted
flesh and welling blood. His sleeve was saturated.
“Sit,” Jim directed, and pulled the kid
down to sit on the grimy cobbles. He plucked off the wool hat, freeing a
cascade of coppery red curls and pressed it against to wound. “What kind of
medical facilities do you have on this planet?”
“Vai dom, what happened here?”
Jim turned to answer and felt the sharp
edge of a blade against the delicate skin of his throat. The stocky, barrel chested guard was speaking to the kid.
“MacClean
thinking that I was someone else dragged me into the alley.” The kid jerked a
thumb shakily over his uninjured shoulder.
“Who hurt you, via dom?”
The k-bar knife was plucked from Jim’s fingers.
“MacClean was
intent on taking everything including my clothes.” The kid shuddered, his skin
waxen in the dark red light of late evening.
With a jerk of his head, the guard directed
his two compatriots up the alley. “Who are you?” he asked Ellison.
“Captain James Ellison, your superior
Alaric Lanart-Alar knows who I am: Federation Ranger
in pursuit of a criminal.”
“I will confirm that, of course.” The
officer spoke to the curly headed kid, “Vai
dom, I will call a
carriage to convey you to the castle.”
“Isn’t there anywhere closer?” Jim asked.
He didn’t like the grey sheen to the kid’s skin and the beads of perspiration
on his top lip. The kid was going into shock.
“The leroni will
help him there.”
“It will take too long.” Jim weighed his
options. Hauling the kid over his shoulder would put undue pressure on the
wound.
“The City Guards have a doctor,” the kid
whispered.
The kid was a light weight. Jim scooped him
up, arms under his knees and shoulders. “There has to be a closer medic.”
“My name’s not ‘kid’ it’s Blair.”
~Cottman IV~
~Cottman IV~
Jim stood behind the kid as a harridan
carefully peeled back Blair’s leather jerkin and split the shirt beneath rather
than manipulate the shoulder. The knife cut spanned from a thumb width below
the join of his collar bones, across the top of his left breast and bit deeply
into the ball of his shoulder joint. Jim could see fine golden hair, epidermis,
a mere millimetre of fat then muscle and severed blood vessels.
“Vai dom, it will be easier to heal
if the flesh is joined.”
The kid nodded and bit his full bottom lip
as the woman rifled in a knapsack for a needle and thread.
“Use this.” Jim offered his sterile medical
kit.
“I have some,” the woman snapped, and
pulled out a waxed envelope and a curved needle.
“This is sterile.”
“This is clean.”
“It’s not sterile, though. Clean doesn’t
cut it.”
“This is as clean as clean can be.” She
held the needle before his eyes and it began to glow a dull red. Jim could feel
the heat emanating and then like a switch being thrown it cooled.
“How?” There were no wires, no heating unit --
how had that happened?
“Laran,” the kid
supplied.
“Laran?” Jim asked, but the woman was wiping the
wound with a sopping rag. Blair hissed, going rigid.
“Relax, chiyu,
you know how.”
Laran? He slipped back, turning away slightly he
pulled out his data pad accessed the dictionary. Laran,
it supplied was psychic phenomenon: telepathy, telekinesis, psychokinesis,
pyrokinesis and their ilk. Jim stared at the woman. His senses were more
apt to go pear shaped since Buck had died but he had taken his hypnodryol today so his senses were under control. He
hadn’t hallucinated -- that needle had radiated heat. A hiss broke his
meandering. The kid sagged on the chair as the needle bit. Jim watched the deft
operation. He could appreciate excellent work since he wasn’t as skilled. He
lost himself in the dip and pull, learning a new way to tie off the ends of a
stitch without pinching the skin. His focus was disturbed when she covered the
wound with a bandage.
“There you are, chiyu,
you can heal now.” She gently patted his shoulder.
“Thank you, little
mother.”
Alaric stepped out of the shadows of the
infirmary. “Can you talk now, Blair? What were you doing in the quarter?”
“Kinsman.” He started to shrug and stopped. “I was
fulfilling my duties. I was cold, I wore a hat -- I forgot to take it off. It
happened too fast.”
“You should have spent time in the cadets;
then you would have been able to defend yourself.”
“I… maybe. I didn’t want to kill them.” He hung his
head. Alaric carefully rested a hand on the top of Blair’s copper curls.
“Next time, do not wear your hat and take a
guard!”
Blair’s head shot up. “That defeats the objective.
How can I get people to trust me if I have a guard with me? If I wear no hat
the donas of the Comyn
will protect me.”
“You were very lucky tonight.”
“I know--” Blair craned his head over his
shoulder, “--without the help of this Terranan, I
might be dead or worse.”
Jim nodded once. “Yup.”
“I am in your debt…”
“Ellison, Jim Ellison.”
“Ellison, Jim Ellison, I am in your….”
“No, just Jim Ellison,” Jim said and then
saw the impish grin. The kid was teasing him. He must have seen the old vid dramas. “And you are?”
“Blair Ridenow.”
“Pleased to meet you.”
“And I am very pleased to meet you. You did
not have to help me.”
Jim Ellison did not let little kids be
raped and murdered. He shrugged.
“I
am a man, I am over fifteen. I have trained at Arilinn
since I was eleven. I am an accomplished Laranzu,” Blair said indignantly. “Terranan,” it
was almost an insult.
Jim resisted the temptation to ruffle his
corkscrew curls. He was almost thirty; he was twice the age of this brat.
The kid’s eyes widened. “Well, Grandfather
Ellison, I am in your debt. If you have any problems, you may call on the House
of Ridenow or myself while I
fulfil my term as assistant to the city’s leroni within Thendara.”
Cheeky little snip. But it occurred to him
that the brat spoke almost perfect standard and he was living in the city.
“Hey, you want a job as a guide?” Jim
laughed inwardly at his wording. “I can pay.”
Alaric bristled, literally bristled. Jim
saw his follicles quiver. His body temperature rose incrementally with anger.
The kid shot a dark look at his fellow red
head. Belatedly, Jim realised that they were probably related. Alaric coughed.
“A ‘job’?” Blair said.
“Yeah, I’m new. You seem familiar with the
darker side of the city. I need someone to show me around.”
“I have my duties, but not all the day. I
can help you if that will assuage my debt.”
“Assuage away, Kid.”
“My name is Blair.”
“I just want someone to show me around.
Tomorrow,” Jim clarified, not forgetting that the kid had a nasty slash across
his chest. “During the day, not at night. Just for a couple of hours.” He just wanted to get a feel
for the city. If the kid was working in the dark quarter, he could help him
find a sneak to field him information.
“I assigned Rafe
to you,” Alaric interrupted.
“Yeah, his sister arrived.”
“The babe wasn’t due until the equinox.”
“Where are you staying?” Blair interrupted
the side track.
“Rafe’s Aunt’s
boarding house.”
“I know it,” Blair said shortly. “I will
find you after you have had your Terranan breakfast. Mestra Mackenzie is a good cook.”
~Cottman IV~
Jim was enjoying a sense enticing
breakfast. After the Big Ship’s nutrient broth and ranger MREs
a true cooked breakfast was a thing of beauty.
If he was capable he would have cried.
The butter melted into the warm homemade
bread and it was divine.
“I’ve never known of anyone who could
worship at the altar of bread.” Blair slipped on the seat beside him and
snagged a roll.
“The poorest Darkovan
is a wealthy as a prince in the eyes of an average Terran.”
“Really?” Blair smeared a thick glob of creamy
butter on his bread. “But you seem so proud of the Terranan
ways.”
Jim chewed on a piece of crispy bacon
before answering. Lovely salty happiness.
“Terra is only one planet in the
Federation,” he corrected. “There is a Federation of thousands of planets. The
tendency to standardise is driven by political correctness, to not to offend,
to find a common denominator in food and clothing and other things.”
“I don’t understand.”
“So we get bland food and form concealing
clothing. There’s an efficiency aspect as well. New personnel on a planet don’t
spend weeks getting used to strange food. If you eat native food you can get
gut rot for a fortnight. Eventually anything other than Federation standard
culture becomes anathema.”
“And that is your pride?”
“Pride of a sort.”
“Yet you prefer our bacon.”
Jim laughed a speared another piece.
“People want luxury. Butter is a luxury. I bet you’ve never tried margarine.”
“What’s margarine?” Blair asked obediently
Jim snorted.
“So…,” Blair began, “if our food is bad for
you – why are you’re indulging?”
Jim waited a beat and said with false
gravitas, ”I am a ranger.”
Blair grinned.
“So how’s the knife cut?”
“Almost better.” Blair rotated his shoulder.
Jim smiled hollowly at the bravado of
youth. “That healer yesterday sterilized the needle with psychokinesis.”
He had pulled up his Darkovan history files after
returning from another fruitless meander through the trade city after leaving
the city guard offices for a second time. Darkovans
were human within the 99th percentile but according to Federation
research incidences of psychic phenomenon had been reported in a few select
instances.
Blair paused
mid-chew considering his words carefully. “Psychokinesis, yes? That is one of the words that
you use to describe laran?”
“Laran
being psychic ability?”
Blair nodded. “Mestra
Lara is an accomplished physician. The tiny lives which cause illness died. It
is a neat trick. I think that she does it to show off.”
Jim fingered his data pad. The data on
telepathy, kinesis and precognitive ability had been interesting, but a bit too
speculative for his taste. The Federation had for the most part discounted the
abilities of the psychics of Darkover citing them as
minor.
“So you have some psychics on Darkover?”
Blair placed his bread roll on the table
cloth. He stared directly at the ranger. “No, not in the way
that you think.”
Jim rocked back on his seat. “And how am I
thinking?”
“You think that it’s a game. It’s not a
game. It’s real and it can be quantified by your Federation science.”
Jim pursed his lips rather than chortle in
the kid’s face.
“But if you Terranan
wish to discount our matrix technology, I have no problem with that.” Blair
leaned forward eagerly. “You want to see Thendara?”
Ah, to be that young again. “Yes, if you’re
up to it.”
Blair followed his line of sight to his
shoulder.
“Oh, it’s fine.” He raised his arm above
his head.
“What sort of painkillers are you using?”
“Topical numbweed.”
“Don’t use too much,” Jim chastised,
guessing that he had taken a lot if that wound was numbed.
“Alaric told me that you’re looking for a
criminal,” Blair said ingenuously ignoring the ranger’s instructions.
Jim rolled his eyes heavenward. “What is
it? Don’t you people understand the need for security and protocols?”
“Oh, we understand. But it is better that I
know what you’re up to.”
“Don’t you have a proper police force?” Jim
demanded.
“Yes,” Blair said, suddenly unaccountably
serious. “They are busy. The Terranan in Thendara think that they cannot be held accountable for
their actions as your Federation falls apart. There are fights and riots
nightly. There have been murders. People have gone missing. Alaric is busy
beyond belief. Your people are cruel and without honour.”
Jim carefully set aside his knife and fork
and gave the kid his full attention. He said clearly, “If they are breaking the
law, they should be punished.”
Blair sat preternaturally still, even his vibrant curls were at rest. “You would,
wouldn’t you?”
Jim snagged a piece of bread -- “Yes.”-- and proceeded to dismember it.
“You are more Darkovan
than Terranan.”
“Darkovans are
not the sole keepers of honour,” Jim said levelly.
Blair raised his hands accepting the point.
“I apologise. It just that Thendara has been unsettled
of late and the Federation is at the heart of it.”
Jim pitied the kid. Unsettled was a quaint
way for putting it. The infrastructure of the civilised universe was falling
apart.
“We’re civilised,” Blair stated.
“Are you reading my mind, Kid?” Jim snapped.
“I don’t need to read your mind, you’re
transmitting. Are you a telepath?” he asked baldly.
Jim concentrated on the kid’s heartbeat,
the rate was constant. There was no telltale increase in rate with the
anticipation of a lie or well told joke.
Blair rolled his eyes. He leaned over the
table and flicked his finger tips against the data pad lying on the table by
Jim’s elbow. “This tells you that there are people with laran.
I mean psychic gifts. If I wished I could read your mind. But I don’t need to. You
broadcast. Your thoughts are unexpectedly clear.”
“There’s nothing in the info service that
says that your people have this degree of ability. It’s
myth and legend. Psychic phenomenon is simple tricks and slight of hand. People
say Guides are empathic, but there’s nothing that’s been quantifiable or demonstratable like this… Buck wasn’t an empath.”
“Buck?” Blair asked.
“Telekinesis,” Jim stated, “has only been
demonstrated as strong enough to move a grain of rice.”
“Really?” Blair looked perplexed. “There was a
research programme several years ago called Project Telepath which was formed
of Terranan and Darkovans.
I thought that laran had been studied thoroughly.”
“Project Telepath?”
“Yes. It only ran for several months. One
of my teachers, David, was involved.”
“That’s where you learnt Terran Standard.”
Blair looked perplexed for a heartbeat and
then laughed brightly all teeth and gums. “I’m not speaking Terran.
I’m speaking Casta.”
“No, you’re not.”
::I am. You’re
reading my intent::
Jim felt his stomach drop as if
experiencing zero-g for the first time.
“Do that again.”
::Speak like
this?::
“Mother’s furry tits!” Jim swore. A real god damned psychic like
the Systran of Telos V. It
was a damn good thing that Project Telepath had fallen apart before the
Federation had got their hands on a telepath with this degree of control.
“Why?“ Blair
asked.
“Stop reading my mind.”
“Sorry, but I’m not really.” Blair’s finger
jerked pointing at him to emphasise his words. “You’re projecting. You do know
that a wild telepath is a danger to all,” he said seriously.
“I’m not a telepath,” Jim refuted.
::Can you hear
this?::
“Yes!” Jim jerked back away from the red
headed demon.
“I’m not a demon,” Blair said indignantly.
“It’s a figure of speech, Chief.”
“Chief,” Blair tasted the unfamiliar word.
“You heard me, although I have the Alton Gift and I can make almost anyone hear
me. I think you should be tested by a leroni.”
“Yes, I heard you. I’ve heard telepaths
before. There are some borderline sentients on Telos V with empathy. They’re pretty alien and
communication is…” Jim chose his words diplomatically, “rudimentary.”
“It has been postulated that empathy
developed to aid communication between alien species,” Blair offered.
“It don’t work,“
Jim said with the voice of experience. Typical student: all theory and no
practical experience. “And how do you explain telepathy?”
“Aid communication
between human species, of course.
It allows us to talk.”
Jim shook his head and resisted the
temptation to bat his ear with the palm of his hand. Now that he was
concentrating on the kid’s spoken words there was a weird stereo effect of two
different sets of voices in the same deep baritone voice.
“How many of you are there?” Jim asked.
“Telepaths?”
Jim nodded.
“I don’t know. I’ve never counted. The leroni of the Towers number between fifty and seventy
people…. The Comyn many.”
“The aristocrats are telepaths.”
Blair scrunched his face up and leaned back
to rock precariously on his chair. “No, the Comyn and
the scions of the Comyn have laran.
Laran has many forms, often telepathy, yes. But not
all Comyn have laran and
there are people with laran who are not Comyn.”
“But a lot of the people in charge are
telepaths.” Mind readers in charge -- the thought was
making his balls freeze.
Blair weighed his words as if copper before
speaking. “Yes, that annoys you, why?”
“Stop reading my mind, Chief.”
Blair rolled his eyes. “Stop broadcasting,”
he retorted. “The Comyn rule and the Comyn serve.”
“Aristocracy,” Jim grated. Hereditary
rulers usually went hand in glove with abuse of power in his experience. At
least a true bureaucracy had stops in it power.
Blair once more followed his thought.
“There is a council…” Then he stopped placating, throwing his hands in the air.
“The Comyn rule and the Comyn
serve. This has been our way since before the formation of the Seven Domains.
It works for Darkover and its people. Your Federation
is corrupt and materialistic.”
“Hey, hey, Chief. I’m sorry if I’m insulting you. It’s just
wrapping your head around a telepath ruling class over a non-telepathic
population takes some takes some getting used to.” He took in the mop of
burnished copper curls, curiously delicate brows, sea green eyes, pug nose and
large mobile lips. The kid looked like a demented angel. “You’re related to
Alaric, you’re a telepath, you’re a member of the Comyn.”
Blair nodded, a tad condescendingly at his
slowness. “Yes and your thoughts are unflattering. Why do you think telepaths
are just a temptation away from being corrupt, morally bereft monsters?”
“It’s just that…”
“Which is quite funny
given that you’ve got donas practically
leaking out of your ears.”
“Donas
means gifts,” Jim checked.
Blair nodded, curls bouncing. “I told you, we
should get you tested. You are a telepath, and--” Blair rocked his chair
forward, bringing it to earth with a crack, “--something, I don’t know what.
The leroni will know.”
Jim scowled. Banks was a twisted bastard of
the first order.
“Who is Banks?”
“Kid! Hell’s Bells, how do I get you to stop
doing that?”
“You have to stop broadcasting. A wild
telepath is a danger to himself and others,” Blair
said with the air of an oft repeated axiom. He stood. “Come. We need to take
you to the City’s leroni. Celeste, my mentor, will
know what to do. Come.” He turned, used to being obeyed.
Jim stayed in his seat. The pre-sentients of Telos V had creeped him out. The small arachnoidal
beings had been drawn to him, nuzzling against him until his skin bled it
crawled so much. The rudimentary communication they had shared had not been
enough to illuminate why the Systran had been
attracted to him. He had got a transfer
post-haste and never looked back.
“Are you coming?” Blair asked from the
doorway.
“To see your Celeste?” Jim didn’t move a fraction of an inch.
“Yes, it’s necessary.”
“I’m here to track and take down Adam Trilys. Not investigate psychic phenomenon.”
“But you’re a wild telepath.”
“No, I’m not. I hired you to take me around
the city.”
“But you have to.”
“If you’re not going to help me, Chief,
I’ll find someone else.” Jim patted his lips with a napkin and set it aside
with great deliberation.
Blair huffed a
sigh. “I am a laranzu of Arilinn,
apprentice to the City Keeper for this term. Part of my duties is to find
untrained telepaths and help them get the training that they need. You are an
untrained telepath and you need my help.”
“No, I’m a ranger in pursuit of a criminal.
I’m twenty eight years old. I think that I would know if I were a telepath.”
“Not necessarily--” Blair moved back into
the room, “--if I’m the first human telepath that you’ve spent time with.”
“I thought telepathy meant mind to mind
contact with anyone.”
“It can. It depends on the nature of the
gift.” Blair spread his arms wide. “I possess the Alton Gift so I can make
anyone hear me. You maybe can only talk with other telepaths? I don’t know the
nature of your other gifts. It leaves you open somehow.” His broad brow
furrowed in concentration. The kid was bottled enthusiasm in human form.
“Chief, I know what I am. I’m a sentinel.”
“What’s a sentinel?”
“I have hypersenses.
I have better than average hearing, sight, smell, touch and taste.”
“So you’re psychically increasing your
senses?” Blair’s pupils widened. “Fascinating. A new type of laran.”
“That’s as good an explanation as any
other, I suppose.”
“But no telepathy?”
“Not until I met you, Chief.” Jim pressed
his hands on the table and stood. “Are you going to show me around the city?”
“If I do, will you agree to meet Celeste?”
“After we… I take down Trilys,
if I have enough time. I just want you to show me the city.”
~Cottman IV~
Jim shook his head in amazement as Blair
bounced out of the lodge. The kid had the energy of a much younger man. He knew
that the path of Cottman IV around the red sun was
longer that the standard Terran year. Blair said that
he was over fifteen years old so that made him closer to seventeen by Terran calculations. Jim squinted, focussing on the tightly
curling hair of Blair’s sideburns and there, closely shaved, he could see
actual facial hair. Bright ginger, practically fluorescent, hair sat in well
defined follicles. Jim didn’t blame the kid for shaving,
a ginger beard against the true, dark red of his hair would look fairly
ridiculous. Mentally, he re-evaluated Blair’s age to eighteen or twenty at a
push. Still a kid although verging on adult.
“You can’t expect to go into the low quarter
in those clothes. If you’re trying to find your criminal wouldn’t it be
sensible to not broadcast that you’re coming?”
“You’re just showing me around the city,
you‘re not helping me find my target.”
“You need my help.” Blair patted his chest.
“I know lots of people. As one of the leroni assigned
to the
For what felt like the hundredth time since
he had first met the kid, Jim rolled his eyes heavenward. But the kid had a
point.
“Don’t call me kid.”
“Quit reading my mind.”
Blair snorted, swallowing a laugh. “Stop broadcasting then.”
“So what do you suggest, Chief?”
“Retainer? Bodyguard?” Blair
offered and then shook his head. He breathed out deliberately allowing his warm
breath to crystallise on the morning air. “Bodyguard doesn’t really work if you
don’t know how to use a sword.”
“I’m a ranger, Chief.”
“Yes, I know that,” Blair said with a
shading of exasperation.
Jim shook his head. “Kid, I just want to
get a handle on the city.”
Blair slipped on the icy cobbles, Jim
reached out to steady him, but he merely laughed and found his feet with the
ease of practise.
“I suppose we can’t get you Darkovan clothes, you don’t know how to use a sword.”
“Who says I can’t?”
“You can?” Blair said disbelief rife in his
tone.
“Okay, I had some training. There isn’t
much call for swords in the Federation. I’m better at kendo-dso.”
“What’s that?”
“Sword-come-staff work. Why can’t I wear
your Darkovan clothes if I can’t use a sword?”
“A man carries a sword.”
Jim snorted. “So how come you don’t?”
Blair’s hackles rose then dropped as he
read his teasing with ease. He lowered his feathery brows, and stated, “I don’t
need a sword.”
“Really?”
Blair patted his chest. “Really,” he
drawled.
“This more of your laran
stuff?” Jim ventured.
“Stuff?”
Blair echoed and Jim felt an electric prickle tighten the skin stretched
across his forehead. “Yes, laran ‘stuff’.”
“What will you do, cast a hex on them?”
“Hex?”
“Spell.”
Blair shook his head vigorously, corkscrew
curls bobbing his eyes. “My Keeper would not approve.”
“I’m glad that you’ve got a keeper, Kid.”
“You are very irreverent,” Blair noted. He
tucked his hands in his cloak and scuffed his feet on the cobbles breaking up
ice. “Do not ridicule the Keepers. It is a matter a great seriousness and
respect. While the role of the leroni and Towers are to
change, and our command has waned, to speak of the Keepers in that tone will
not be countenanced.”
“Sorry, Kid.”
The electric tickle wandered across his
mind again. Jim followed its track, firing from synapse to synapse, triggering
some and switching off others. The sensations cascaded through his cerebellum
and he saw pictures.
“Ranger Ellison?” A gentle finger tip traced the line of his
jaw.
Jim blinked. Shit, a zone under hypnodryol. Frig! He was coming fully on line. Swallowing
uneasily, he finally opened his eyes. Blair was in his face, eyes impossibly
big and blue and green, pain creasing his broad brow in empathy.
“What happened?” Blair demanded.
“It’s called a zone, Chief.” Jim felt a
hand cup his elbow and guide him out the hustle and bustle of the Thendaran city street. Blair spoke, but it wasn’t directed
at him, so he didn’t understand. Footsteps ran away from him. The world
whispered away. Moments later he felt a warm ceramic mug pushed in his hand.
“Tell me,” Blair ordered.
“My senses. I get lost in them. Sounds, tastes… I’m
not used to can blindside me.”
“Psychic overload?”
“No.” Jim rubbed his face. ”It’s a result
of a mass random synaptic firing – similar to an epileptic event.”
Blair looked blank. The Terran
words obviously had no Darkovan homologue. Doggedly,
Jim pictured a net work of neurons firing randomly. Blair blinked and cocked his head to the
side.
“No, that’s not what happened. You--” He
waved his hand over Jim’s torso, “--went away to the Overworld.
It was different, though.”
“Overworld?”
“This is not the place to demonstrate the Overworld.” Blair cast a glance over his shoulder.
“I guess.” Jim assessed the people passing
by. Most were concentrating on their daily tasks, yet he was catching the
attention of more than one person.
“It is not.”
“If I dress up as a retainer,” Jim said
changing the subject, “does that mean that I have to serve you, Chief?”
“Look on your brightside,
Ranger Ellison, at least you’ll be warm.”
~Cottman IV~
The kid was as bright as his hair. They had
stopped in one clothes shop where he had shucked off his ranger leathers and
pulled on rough, homespun linen and leathers. Then they had come to what Jim
could tell was an upmarket haberdashery. Following the kid’s curious telepathic
mishmash of Terran Standard and Casta,
he found that he had recently arrived from the Ridenow
Estates to watch over the kid during his term with the City Leroni.
His bag had been mislaid on the journey and he needed a new suit of clothes. As
a cover it was rather poor, but he had left his Ranger personae behind at the
first clothes shop.
Blair leaned back against a counter and
watched as a man took his measurements. “It’s a pity about your hair. It’s a bit too short. You
look strange.” He routed in a bin and pulled out a cap and tossed it over. Jim
snatched it out of the air. It was a dark blue leather cap lined with silky
fur. Gently, he ran his fingers over it, following the grain.
“Vai dom,” the storekeeper rattled
away at the young Comyn lord offering up a series of
leather jerkins for his inspection. Casting a sideways look at the sentinel,
Blair picked a dark blue jerkin lined at the collar with similar fur to the
cap.
“He’ll wear one of this style.
Make up four shirts, no five, two of silk and three of fine linen. His old
bones--” Blair grinned, “--feel the cold.”
Jim caught one word in the storekeeper’s
rapid fire response: embroidery. Why embroidery he didn’t know. It hadn’t been
a word on Banks’ teach-tapes. He seemed to be randomly picking up translations from
Blair. He shuddered; once again remembering the eerie Systran.
As they had touched him he had been assailed by images so vibrant he thought
that he could touch them. He had not
enjoyed the experience. But he was a ranger; he would deal and do his duty.
“Hey, Kid.”
“Yes, old man?”
Jim glared balefully. “I’m not wearing any
fancy kit like Alaric. I’m a soldier not a ponce.”
“If I knew what a ponce
was I could comment. As it is, I’ll just guess. We’ll find you something not
too ostentatious.”
Jim reached to pull out some copper chips
from his ranger vest hidden under the threadbare maroon cloak they had
purchased from the first shop.
Blair held up a warding hand. “It’s not
necessary; the House of Ridenow has frequented this
establishment for a millennia.”
Jim subsided, not wanting to be more
memorable than he had already been.
“
The little princeling
has an arrogant streak, Jim noted
“What’s a princeling?”
“Quite reading my mind,
Chief.”
“Stop broadcasting,” he retorted.
“It’s a young prince.”
Blair recoiled slightly. “I’m not a prince.
My father is the younger brother of Lord Ridenow.” He
leaned forwards and whispered, “You Terran are
strange.”
“And telepaths aren’t?”
“You’re a telepath.”
“Aren’t”
“Are.”
“Ar…” Jim
subsided. The kid got under his skin like his younger brothers Patrick and
Stephen. “How old are you?”
“Older than you think.” The storekeeper laid a pair of blue
trousers next to a pair of leather trousers for Blair’s perusal. The princeling
nodded, regally accepting the selection. “You can get changed now.”
Jim picked up one of each garment. Shaking
his head, he followed the wizened storekeeper to the changing suite at the back
of the tailors. What had he set himself up for by taking a bossy little Comyn princeling as a guide to
the streets of Thendara? He stumbled as he caught a
flash of Alaric, arms crossed, looking down at him, expression anxious.
“Jim?” Blair asked as he stumbled.
“It’s okay,
Chief.”
The clothes were warmer than his ranger
leathers and of a better quality that the homespun garments from the first
shop. He ran a quick body check as he shucked out of the wool jerkin. A circle
of angry, red skin broken by small fluid filled vesicles had risen on his
forearms where the coarse wool had touched his bare skin. Scowling, Jim downed
an antihistamine. He had a month’s supply, what would happen when the drugs ran
out?
He pulled down the sleeves of his under
suit to protect his skin from the natural Darkovan
fibres. The clothes were warm, but he missed his ranger leathers.
“Shall we go?” Blair called.
Jim huffed a
semi-aggrieved sigh and quit the changing room. “So where are you showing me,
Chief?”
“I thought that we would start in the
market square and then work our way through the trade city.”
Jim followed Blair out of the door. Am I
supposed to walk four steps behind you or something? he
wondered.
“Seven steps.”
This is going to take some getting used to.
::shrug::
Jim skidded to a halt on the slippery
cobbles. That was intensely weird, he had felt the
meaning of the word in his own body. He had shrugged involuntarily.
Blair neatly turned on his heel. “You don’t
have to walk seven steps behind me. I was making a joke. We’ll buy something
and you can carry it for me.”
Jim pointed at the people on the streets
going about their daily hustle and bustle. “Can you hear everyone?”
“No,” Blair said easily, tucking his cape
around him in a warding gesture. “You’re just yelling.”
“Tell the truth and shame the devil,” Jim
said piercingly.
Blair’s top lip curled in a self-mocking
smile. “It’s true that I could hear them if I tried, but for the most part I
can ignore them. There are methods of shielding oneself.
You are, however, doing the equivalent of yelling in my ear.”
“That must be… annoying.”
“I think that disconcerting is a better
word.” Blair suddenly grinned. “It’s not only you. It never really stops unless
I take precautions. Your broadcasting is intermittent. I think that it would be
fairly easy for you to learn to control it.”
“Later. Let’s get this tour done.” Jim
managed a few steps before stopping. Does the underworld have telepaths?
Blair continued walking and looked up at
the blood red sky. ::There are matrix technicians of
dubious morals. For the most part those that are in the employ of criminals are
not well trained. To be well trained you work in the Towers and you cannot be
trained without taking an oath. A Keeper will not train matrix technician who
would not be true to their word::
“Matrix technicians?”
::If we are to
have this conversation, I would prefer to do it in this manner::
Blair turned a corner. Jim up moved to walk
at his side. They were on a steep, slippery footpath, working down to the
market square that Jim had cased the night before. Unlike at night, the centre
of the square was now a mass of colours. Jim blinked and the scene resolved
into a patchwork of canvas roofs of individual stalls. “Go on, Chief.”
::A matrix is used
to hone and control laran. A matrix technician is one
who has learnt to work with a matrix::
An artificial method of
controlling your laran? The ramifications were enormous.
::Not control. A
magnifier…:: A brush of cool air tickled his senses. ::A lens, so to speak::
Fecking turds, have you
any idea how lucrative that would be to the criminal element?
Blair stepped off the pavement and onto the
street, darting between two laden carts and into the centre of square and the
forest of tented stalls.
::Those without
any talent can only use the lesser matrix and only for the smallest things,
like locking a safe:: Blair snagged two paper bags from a vendor heating nuts
over a bed of glowing coals. ::Even if the untrained
had a matrix worthy of a Keeper their skill would not allow them to use it::
Where do you get these matrixes from?
Blair proffered a bag. Jim felt rather than
saw the heat emanating. Wincing, he dialled down his sense of touch.
::They come from Darkover::
Jim untwisted the bag, inside were small,
thumbnail sized nuts with a green charred skin. They smelled divine.
Do you have a matrix?
Blair’s hand rose to his throat. ::Yes::
“Can I see?”
“Jim,” Blair said, falsely coy.
Jim snorted. The kid was a card.
“I will to show it to you later, Jim.”
Blair’s gaze encompassed the entire market. “Not here.”
“So you worked in a ‘Tower’ and now you’re
working here.”
Blair was munching on his nuts, so he telepathed, ::I
trained in Arillinn since threshold sickness::
“So what are you doing in the city if it so
loud and noisy for you?”
::It’s complex.
The Comyn and the leroni
decided to make themselves more visible to the--:: and
Jim felt Blair hunt through his mind for the most appropriate word ::general
public::
“Will you stop doing that, Chief?”
“Doing what?”
“Rummaging around my mind,” Jim said
levelly, while inwardly vacillating somewhere between amusement and annoyance.
Blair blushed as red as his hair. “I
apologise. I… I didn’t mean… I… your surface thoughts are as clear as a bell.
Your thought processes are anticipatory. You look and think for opportunity and
action. You read and watch the area around you. You broadcast thought and deed.
Whether you like it or not, you are a telepath and I treated you as a member of
my caste and family. I apologise.”
“Hey, Chief, it’s
okay. Just… I dunno. It’s…
creepy.”
Blair shrugged. “I have the discipline. We
will talk.”
Somehow Jim doubted it. As an intensively
private man, he knew that he should be more angry. The
Systran had made him angry. The kid aggravated him,
but didn’t anger him. “Can you manipulate emotions?”
Blair shot him a leery
glance. “Yes, but I would contravene my oath, if I did so.”
A picture of a tall, lithe woman draped in
scarlet, haughty and arrogant scrolled across Jim’s mind. “I guess you’d get in
trouble.”
“Yes. Oh yes. Indeed.” Just the thought of
it turned the Comyn pale.
Jim rubbed his shaved jaw, pondering.
Blair’s temperature and blood pressure had dropped a degree at the mere though
of punishment.
“Just try and keep back a little bit,
Chief. Come on let’s walk. Show me your city.”
The market was a riot to his senses but he
held them in the palm of his hand. Colours, bright and
shadowed, harsh and soft. His world was normally a monotone grey, but
something about the bloody sun over head illuminated the world in a plethora of
colours. Darker than a yellow sun, he did not need to control his sight on such
a tight rein. Cottman IV was a world on the edge of
human habitation. It would never have been chosen as a colony world if anyone
had had a choice. Yet, he liked it.
“The market runs every tenday
throughout the year. But this is busier than normal as people have come for the
festival.” Blair’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Many people walk the market.”
“Yeah?”
::Looking for
opportunity.::
Jim smiled as Blair weaved his way between
the shoppers. Yet he noticed the occasional second glance as men, women and
children noticed his bright hair. They would then make a slight obeisance. The princeling’s clothes were of a better cut, his hair was
shiny and glossy and his skin was clear. He was obviously a cut above the
throng, but why the genuflection? Blair smiled at all those he passed, and
nodded at all who bobbed. Pragmatically, Jim knew that having a guide who was
an aristocrat was probably a hindrance. And how strange that
an aristocrat prowled the low quarter late at night?
“What do you do in the
“I have many duties. But my main one is to
find and succour those in threshold and bring them to the Tower.”
“Which means?”
“I teach.” And Blair smiled brightly and
dazzlingly.
“So you go out and find telepaths?”
“Yes.”
“What exactly is threshold?”
“Puberty brings laran.
It is a time of great upheaval.” Blair looked sombre. ::Many
die::
“What were you doing last night?”
“There is a man with a daughter,” Blair
said guilelessly. “I suspect that she is a telepath. I wished to speak to them
both, but he hates and fears the Comyn.”
“Any idea why?”
Blair shrugged. “I can think of a thousand
and one reasons. I thought if I didn’t go as a member of the Comyn he would listen.”
“Can you save her?”
“Save?” he asked, perplexed. “Threshold is
not always fatal, but if we can help. And…”
“And…”
“It’s hard being a telepath in a world of
the mind-dead. As you well know.”
“I’m not a telepath, Chief.”
“So you say.” Blair glanced deliberately to
a knife kiosk. ::The man on the desk is Raymond – he
is a potential contact::
Never slow on the uptake, Jim said, “I lost
my knife during the attack, milord.”
Blair snorted inwardly and Jim felt it
reverberate through his mind. ::You’re quick::
Don’t sound so surprised, Chief.
A wealth of blades lay on the front table.
To Jim’s trained eye they looked well forged and functional. The blade of one
lying in the far right corner glowed with a burnished blue lustre. The handle
appeared formed of bone or antler, and was carved to sit in a man’s hand.
::Do you like
it?::
I’d have to handle it.
Jim reached for the blade.
::Hold. Are you
right handed or left handed?::
Right.
::Pick it up with
your left hand::
Gauchely, Jim switched hands. The knife
felt off balance.
“I think,” Blair said loudly, “it has been crafted
for a man who uses his right hand.”
Obediently, Jim swapped it to his right
hand where it sat perfectly. Moving the blue toned blade back and forth under
the red light of Darkover it reflected a myriad of
colours. All together it was beautiful thing.
Seeing genuine interest, Raymond turned to
them. “It is a blade honed by a master craftsman,”
Looking at him Jim was reminded of skinny
rabbit with thinning short hair.
“Perhaps,” Blair said, “but the blade will
have to be reset in a different handle.”
“Your man seems to be able to handle the
blade with both hands.”
“He is a man of many skills,” Blair said
with a dark cast to his words. “James, this is the worth of the blade, see if
he will accept it. If he doesn’t we will find another knife.” With that he
dropped a pouch in Jim’s outstretched hand and sauntered off.
::I’m going to get
more warm nuts::
Mutely, Jim proffered the money pouch.
“A man of few words, I like that,” Raymond
said, but he didn’t take the pouch.
Jim shrugged.
”Are you mute?”
“No.”
“What do you do for the Comyn?”
::A bit of this
and a bit of that::
“A bit of this and a bit of that,” Jim
repeated dutifully.
“Oh, aye. You good with a knife?”
Jim held out the bag.
Sighing dramatically, Raymond the Rabbit
took the pouch. Jim deftly flipped the blade in his hand and fired it at the
target at the back of the booth. It hit dead centre.
“Better than most.”
“Ever killed a man?”
“Yes.” Jim held out his hand for his new
knife.
Raymond yanked it out of the board and
handed it over. Jim gazed at the man levelly and then took the blade into his
possession.
“See you later,” Raymond said as Jim walked
back to Blair’s side.
::Well?:: Blair
asked.
What happened there?
::He thinks that
you’re a mercenary-assassin. The cut of your clothes is new and you’re not
acting like a retainer, so the inference is: bodyguard. Some bodyguards can be
for hire::
“You’re good, Chief.”
Blair bowed mockingly and then stuffed a
handful of nuts in his wide mouth. ::I guess we buy
you a scabbard for your throwing knife.:: He pointed to a leatherworks booth.
“What’s with the bunch of left handed
hilts? Are most people left handed here?”
Blair held up his left hand. “Aye.”
Jim noticed for the first time that his
guide had six fingers. The narrow hand was well formed. The sixth finger looked
perfectly well articulated. He knew that it was a possible mutation, but he
hadn’t seen it before.
::As I understand
it from our man-at-arms most assassins are trained to use both hands::
So I’ve announced myself as for hire?
::You wanted an
avenue into the underworld::
Jim inhaled deeply enjoying the scent of
well tanned leather.
“I think that…”
Jim started as his comm. hidden in his vest
vibrated. Nerves jangled at the subliminal sound.
“What’s the problem?” Blair laid a gentle
hand on his arm.
Jim lowered his head and spoke into a small
ear. “I just got a message from my boss.”
“How?” Blair looked around.
“My communicator.”
“What?”
Jim patted his breast pocket.
“You’re not supposed to bring proscribed
equipment out of the Terran Zone.”
“Oops,” Jim said insincerely.
Blair scowled. “I suppose that you want to
speak to your ‘boss’.”
“It’s probably a good idea.”
“You can’t do it here,
you’ll have to go back to your rooms. Go – but you must hand over your
equipment to Alaric at the first opportunity.” Bristling like a cat with its
fur rubbed against the grain, Blair stalked off.
~Cottman IV~
“Alaric.” Blair slipped into his kinsman’s
office.
The commander looked up from the reports
which he was perusing and set them aside with a happy sigh. Blair read his
kinsman’s gratification at the interruption with ease. The man hated the need
to keep an eye on the Terranan by tracking their
paperwork. The people were insane, they lived by their bureaucracy. They
deserved to rot in Zandru’s Seventh Hell.
“What’s the matter?” Blair asked.
“I will celebrate for a tenday
when the Terranan leave.”
“What’s happened?”
“Murder, mayhem and
disappearances. Two
matrix technicians were killed in the low quarter along with five others.”
“Who?”
“Gabriel Quaid and Mestra Pogue. Do you know them?”
Blair knew most to the denizens of the low
quarter. Quaid was a less than skilled technician
peddling lock crystals while Mestra Pogue had a
roaring trade in, of all things, love potions. The woman was actually a font of
information of the comings and goings in the quarter, and had been a useful
contact.
“I know Mestra
Pogue. She helped me on occasion when I needed to talk to parents of those
approaching threshold. I didn’t know
that she knew Quaid.”
“How well did you know Quaid?”
“Not very. I didn’t like the man. What happened?”
“Eric the Red knifed a Terranan
and to cover his tracks set a fire in the Hovels. Quaid
had rooms in the house. Pogue was visiting. A family of five died in the
attic.”
“Zandru’s
Hells. But I don’t
think that it was the Terranan’s fault that the fire
was set.”
“True. But I will be glad when they leave.”
“Perhaps,” Blair said, thinking of one Terranan.
“And how is your assignment going,
kinsman?” Alaric asked perceptively.
Blair huffed disgustedly. “The man is both
irritating and interesting and he’d old beyond his years.”
“He has laran?”
“You know that he does.” Blair dropped onto
the rickety chair opposite his kinsman and peered over the piles of paper. “He
calls himself a sentinel.”
“Sentinel?” Alaric scrabbled though a pile on his left
and pulled out a sheaf of flimsy extruded plastic. Blair leaned over and tried
to read the upside down script. He wasn’t adept at reading Terran
Standard right side up.
“What does it say?”
“Here.” Alaric ran his finger along a line.
“’Jim is a sentinel; he needs a guide’.”
“Is that why you wanted me to show him
around Thendara?”
“Partly. Banks said that he is a distant man, but
he interacts with younger people. That he likes to take them under his wing.”
Alaric dropped the sheet on the desk. “I thought that a sentinel was a scout
and watchman.”
“No.” Blair snatched up the paper. ”He says
that his senses are heightened. I think that they’re enhanced psychically.”
Alaric,
It’s
happening as I suspected. And I’m dispersing my people. James Ellison is a good
man although hard work at times. He’s best with younger people. He likes to
play the big brother. Give him a chance and he’ll serve you with
honour and loyalty. Jim is a sentinel; he needs a guide. I hope that he finds
one on Darkover.
Simon
“Who’s Simon?”
“Simon Banks is head of the Ranger unit out
of Shiba Unit Two. He was based on Darkover for a term. But the man has skin as dark as night
and couldn’t even walk the streets without gathering a crowd. He hated the role
of just administrating his unit and managed to get reassigned to a more active
position.”
“He has set his people free?” Blair read
the second sentence again trying to discern the unknown man’s meaning.
“Banks is a good man and a good friend.
When he started I was new to the role of ‘security.’ I had served in the guard,
but I knew nothing of the insane politics of the Terranan.
Banks knew this, but took no advantage and took the opportunity to alert me of
a few ‘things’. He told me that he believed that the Federation was a diseased
lumbering elephant vulnerable to hyenas.”
“What’s an elephant?” Blair couldn’t help
but ask. He shook his head and waved asking his kinsman to continue.
“Confusing analogies aside, he said that
the government would fall.”
“So he sent Jim here, away from the Terranan to protect him?”
Alaric shrugged. “Who understands the Terranan? I know that Banks would lay down his life to
protect his men.” He pulled out a sheaf of paper and drew a swirl. “We are
here--” he jabbed the paper pointing at the lower end of the swirl, ”--well away from the hub of the Terranan
government. Banks has sent James Ellison as far away from ‘them’ as possible. To protect? Why, I don’t know.”
“He sent a person with laran
to a place where laran is understood and accepted.”
“Uhm,” Alaric
grumbled.
Blair sat up straight. “What?”
“If Ellison can find Adam Trilys before the Big Ship leaves he will be honour bound
to leave and take the man into custody.”
“Banks knew this?”
“Banks knows everything.”
Blair laughed loudly. “Is Adam Trilys even here?”
Alaric smiled a predator’s smile. “Now that I can see Simon Banks doing.”
“What I can’t see is James Ellison falling
for it.”
~Cottman IV~
Blair darted into the
“And what is today’s excuse?” A swirl of
dark velvet heralded the appearance of his mentor. Her mental presence swept
across his mind, reading and cataloguing his surface thoughts. Blair resisted
the temptation to blow a mental blurt.
“I needed to talk to Lord Alaric, Celeste.”
“You have your duty to the people of Thendara,” the slender, aristocratic woman said soberly.
“I know.”
The Comyn Council
had determined that the ruling overclass needed to
interact with the people more closely. The Lady Marguerida
Alton, wife of the Lord Mikhail of the House of Hastur,
the leader of the Comyn Council, had instigated
something that she called a ‘programme’ to ‘familiarise the common people with laran, to identify and assist those members of the public
with laran previously unidentified’. Blair thought
that the Lady Marguerida Alton had spent too much
time living with the Terran before coming to live on Darkover. As he understood it, they were helping people.
The untrained often lost their senses under the onslaught of laran. He also knew from his mentor that the Comyn benefited. They were aloof, respected and feared by
the common people and this ‘programme’ helped people see them as caring
leaders.
“You have a lot of growing up to do Blair
Sandier of the House of Ridenow, but your heart is
compassionate.” Celeste extended her fore- and index finger and lightly brushed
his smooth cheek. The touch was so transient he barely knew its physical
presence. “What has your kinsman involved you in now?”
Blair obediently followed the Keeper into
her inner sanctum. The room was draped with silks insulating her and the matrix
crystals that she worked with from the hustle and bustle of humanity outside
the tiny office. It wasn’t ideal. He knew that Celeste would have been happier
under the protective blanket of a Tower surrounded by her peers and kinsmen,
furlongs away from the omnipresent thoughts and feelings of people. But she
believed in Lady Marguerida Alton’s ‘programme’.
“So how were you hurt?” Celeste held her
finger a hairsbreadth over his tunic and traced the line of the healing wound
on his shoulder
“Oh, well, I was following the sentinel.”
~Cottman IV~
Jim lay on his bed drumming his fingers
against the hard plastic sides of his data pad. The time delayed message on his
pad was very illuminating. And the contents of his message warranted more than
a moment’s consideration. Revenue cuts had hit the rangers hard, downsizing
their missions. Yet Banks had initiated a massive push just before Jim had been
sent here. Banks’ unit and the units which Jim knew that Banks was a personal
friend of their commanders had launched a mass offensive. Regardless of law and
legislation they had attacked suspected strongholds, drug labs, slavery rings
and child pornography clusters. All the dens of iniquity that rules and
regulations had previously only allowed them to observe until they had
sufficient evidence to warrant the expense of prosecution had been attacked.
Banks and his cronies had scattered them to the corners of the known universe,
breaking the spines of their networks.
Banks was in serious trouble.
Suddenly Jim laughed. Banks had basically
retired from the service, after probably damaging most of the behind-the-scene funders of the Expansionists that were taking over the
Federation. But more than that, he had directed considerable resources to
targeting murderers of all ilk. Then he had scattered
his personnel sending them like hunting dogs after them.
“Fuck, the man’s a genius.” Jim shook his
head in fond amazement. He dropped the data pad on the embroidered quilt and
slouched back on his bed. There was no unit to go back to. He had been sent out
of the reach of the Expansionist government’s long arm. He hoped that Banks had
got away safely, and had not stayed behind too long ensuring his people’s
futures. “Where did you go, Simon? Did you make it home? I hope you did.”
Jim snatched the data pad back up. “What
next?” Rapidly, he reviewed the data on Trilys along
with the new files opened up by Banks’ time delayed message. The kid killer had
been one of Bank’s sheep. The man had been deliberately herded in this
direction by Henri, who had pursued the man with canny ability stopping him
from heading to the darker underworlds of Kurltwurld
or Chril. Henri had then been reassigned and sent to
the world of Housten-Alki on the edge of the beta arm
of the spiral nebula. Housten-Alki was Henri’s own homeworld.
“Banks, you’re a clever bastard,” Jim
repeated. “Why me, and why Trilys – assuming he
survived crash landing on the planet? Why did you herd Trilys
to Darkover?” He rolled off the bed and stared out of
the window at the medieval backwater. “Or was Trilys
the only criminal of the ones you sent fleeing that came in this direction? You
wanted me on Darkover?”
He breathed the clean air, only detecting
base odours of wood fires and bustling humanity. The spaceport loomed in the
distance, the high spires seeming to face off against the turrets of
But what next? His family were merchants, owning massive
interstellar ships. The ships would be important to trade regardless of the
type of government in charge. He was not enthusiastic about renewing
acquaintances with his brothers and uncles. It was, however, one avenue of
escape.
He would play Banks’ hand of cards, and see
what the game brought him. His commander was a canny man,
obviously he thought that there was something here for him.
~Cottman IV~
Blair ran up the stairs to Jim’s room.
Before he was halfway up the stairs, the door ahead opened. Jim stepped out
onto the landing a foot long, viciously serrated knife in his hand. Blair
froze.
“Is that for me?”
The knife disappeared as if sent through a
matrix screen.
“Hey, Kid, what do you expect running up
the stairs like the Hounds of Hell are on your heels.”
“I had a thought after talking with my
Keeper. Would you have a portrait of your Adam?”
“He’s not my Adam, but yeah, sure.”
“Can I see it?”
“’Course.” Jim waved for Blair to precede him into
his room.
The room was as neat as if Jim had only
just arrived. Blair expected little less of the man he had only just met. He
held himself in restraint as if a wild horse tightly reined. In truth he was
not a comfortable man to be around. He needed to learn how to relax. Training
in a Tower would help him.
Jim snatched up a device on the dresser
beside his bed and passed it over. Gently, Blair took it and looked at the
bright picture. Adam Trilys was a handsome man with a
square jaw, straight nose and deep set eyes framed by blond hair. The golden
hair would make him stand out amongst the darker Thendarans.
Blair turned the box over in his hands.
“Can I get the picture out?”
“You mean a hard copy?”
“Hard Copy? I don’t know. But this won’t work.” Blair
shook the box.
“What are you trying to do?”
“Do you have anything that belongs to him?”
Blair asked ignoring the question.
“No, I’ve never met the man.”
“So what drives you to pursue him?” Blair
asked flabbergasted.
Jim huffed out an exasperated sigh. “Duty.”
Blair stared fixedly at the picture in the
box. Gingerly, he mentally probed the device. Metal rich lines carried dancing
electrons. Tracing the pathways of energy led to a surging bank of cells hidden
at the back of the box. Taking another route led to a crystal, similar but
different to the matrix at his throat, which held stack upon stack of thoughts,
messages, words and tales.
“Blair?”
He ignored the insistent voice, taking
another route to through the maze. Liquid pictures flowed through his mind,
scorching. Tales of travesty and hatred. Had Jim ever
met a decent man? Blair turned, which way was out? He stood on a copper road as
wide as he was high. It stretched into the far distance disappearing over an
impossible horizon. The sky above was a uniform slate grey but there was no
sense of ceiling. Tentatively, he reached up. A pulse of light passed overhead.
Blair threw himself to the ground just before another almost took off his head.
He was inside Jim’s box.
“Zandru’s
Forge!” Was this was
why the Terranans’ science was forbidden? Which way
was out?
“Celeste!” He called searching for his
mentor. Celeste often journeyed mentally within the matrix screens when working
in the Tower. Was this device analogous with the constructed screens that the
Tower dwellers used to communicate with each other? But Celeste had a ring of
matrix technicians and fellow telepaths to aid and support
her in her work.
A dark blue block rose up from the floor
and loomed over him. Blair froze, waiting for a clue. The block surged forward
and he barely threw himself out of the way. It broke the line and Blair
struggled to find his balance as energy flowed around him.
This was dangerous.
Skating over the copper road, he made his
way to the edge. The land beyond was dotted with blackened scorch marks.
Crouching down, Blair touched the earth with a fingertip. It had a sodden,
nasty feel and Blair felt his guts freeze and clench in pain.
“Jim!”
~Cottman IV~
Jim watched as Blair froze, blue eyes
drifting into vague aimlessness rather than sparkling with intelligence and
reason. Was this what he looked like when he zoned?
“Chief?” Tentatively, he laid a hand on the kid’s
shoulder. At the touch, Blair’s eyes rolled back in the head and he folded. Jim
moved with Blair, lowering him to the floor. The data pad fell away and
skittered under the bed. Practiced, Jim rolled him into the recovery position,
and brushing copper curls from Blair’s face he ensured that his airway was
clear. The kid’s heartbeat rattled in his ears, the pattern was becoming
arrhythmic.
A chill settled over Jim’s guts, freezing
him to the core. “Blair?”
He held the kid’s head in his hands hunting
for any sign. The world that the Comyn inhabited was
beyond the mundane. He had looked intently at the pad then he had gone blank.
Had Blair been trying something psychic?
Concentrating, he thought,
::Blair!::
The body surged beneath him. Blair’s eyes
shot open and he drew in an almighty breath. “Thank the Gods,” he exclaimed and
then began coughing.
Jim drew him to a sitting position, holding
him tightly. Blair coughed and retched, once, twice and then sank loosely
against him.
“Thank you,” Blair repeated.
“What happened?”
“I… tried to memorise the picture, to gain
an impression of the man. That thing took me.”
“The data pad?” Jim glanced at it under the
bed.
“It was like being in the Overworld, but filled with metal and sharp angles.”
“What were you trying to do?”
Blair shifted and Jim released him. He
rolled onto his knees, shook his head and then found his feet. Staggering a
little he began to pace, hands knotted in his hair.
“Stupid. Stupid.
That hurt.”
“Kid.” Jim was at his side in an instant.
Blair pushed him away. “Celeste told me
that we may be able to find Trilys using the matrix,
but I needed a portrait or an item that belonged to him first.”
“Well, don’t try it again.”
“It could have worked,” Blair snapped.
“Your heart wasn’t beating right,” Jim
breathed out a harsh, angry sigh. “It’s not worth it.”
Blair’s hands dropped to rest over his
chest. “It’s dangerous to leave your body without a watcher.”
“I noticed,” Jim said dryly.
“I was just trying to help.” Blair sulked.
“I’ll find him the old fashioned way.” Jim
crossed his arms. “I’m going to meet with Raymond later this evening. You’ve
done your duty, Kid. Leave it up to me – go back to your Tower.”
Blair’s mouth dropped open, aghast. “I
won’t.”
“Hey, Chief, I don’t want you getting
hurt.”
“You can’t stop me. I’ve only introduced
you to Raymond. I haven’t even begun to help you.”
“Trilys will be
in the vicinity of the spaceport trying to get off world. It’s his only way off
the planet. I will simply lay in wait.”
“How do you know that?”
“I got a message from my boss.”
“And?” Blair asked piercingly.
“Trilys never
meant to come here. There’s no illicit reason for him to stay on the planet. No
technology. No assassin’s contract.
He’ll just be trying to get off planet.”
“So you don’t need Raymond?” Blair’s
shoulders slumped.
Jim smiled hollowly, the kid looked so
unhappy that his great idea had fallen flat. “I will need him. Trilys will be looking for money, a con, a way off the
planet. But I doubt the guy can speak the lingo, he’ll be seriously disadvantaged.
It’s just a matter of time and then I’ll get him.”
“In less than eight days?”
“In less than eight days,” Jim confirmed.
“And then what? Go back to your
non-existent Federation?”
“I will cross that bridge when I get to
it.”
“What bridge?” Blair’s brow furrowed.
“It’s a metaphor. “
“You don’t have to leave. Simon sent you
here, to Darkover, for a reason. You can stay.”
“Simon sent me here for a reason?” Jim said
instantly.
A blush touched Blair’s high cheekbones. “Uhm, Alaric knows your boss. He told him that you were
coming.”
The dragon of anger grumbled in Jim’s guts.
He was no one’s puppet. Yet Simon Banks was manipulating him with ease, using
his loyalty to the man against him.
“You’re a telepath, Jim. What better place
for you to be than Darkover?”
“And Simon set Trilys
on your planet to get me here. I know he had his reasons, Chief, but you don’t
need people like Trilys on your planet. Anyone that
he kills is on my head.”
“No it’s not!” Blair moved directly into
his space, standing on tiptoes in a vain attempt to get closer. “It’s Banks’
fault.”
Jim stepped back, spinning to the window.
Control, he beseeched, setting his hands palm down on the sun warmed sill.
Deliberately he reined in his wildness, concentrating on the goal, ignoring the
here and now. Simon’s machinations were irrelevant. Finding Trilys,
murder of children and profiteer, and bringing him to justice was his purpose.
“I’m going to talk to Raymond.” He moved
from the window. “Stay here, Chief.”
~Cottman IV~
“Pah.” Blair
raced after him, thundering after the man that darted lightly down the stairs.
“You need me. You need me to translate the words.”
Jim spun on the bottom landing. “I am not
going to be responsible for another person’s death.”
“Another person’s?” Blair echoed.
“You almost died up there. I heard your
heart labouring.”
Blair sidled down a step. “Whose heart died
as you listened?” he asked softly.
Bright eyes speared him. “Buck,” he grated.
Blair drifted closer, one hand
outstretched. “Buck?” he whispered and the image of a man, tall, dark, with an
ample moustache to rival that of any Darkovan,
laughed in his mind.
“Buck helped you, didn’t he? Helped you
with the maelstrom of your senses?”
“A sentinel needs a guide.” Jim laughed
raucously, and Blair winced at the pain. “Buck would have probably been my
guide if my senses had broken out fully. They didn’t. The Ellison Sentinels are
known to be late bloomers. I’ve had sporadic sentinel senses my entire life.
Buck helped me with the migraines and episodes when even my clothes hurt, but
they’ve only recently become--” he gritted his teeth, and growled, “--permanently
annoying.”
“What happened to your friend?”
“We we’re taking down a perp.
My senses flared up,” Jim said, his sentences short and sharp. “I froze. Buck got between me and the bastard trying to
take me out.”
Blair felt the weight of Buck in Jim’s
arms, and knew of his memory as he drifted away. The man had been euphoric,
beyond pain as he realised that he had saved his one true friend.
“You lost a good friend that day. I share
your grief. And will honour his memory,” Blair intoned.
Jim blinked at him.
“It is a Darkovan
thing.” Blair tried a smile and failed. “He must have been the best of
friends.”
“He was.”
“This sentinel gift means that you need
help. You cannot go out there alone. There is a wealth of scents, smells both
pleasant and rank that you have never faced before. Sounds that have never
assaulted your ears and could flay the unprepared.”
“My senses got one man killed. I’m not
going to let them kill a kid.”
“You persist in the thought that I am a
child. I am an adult.” Blair squashed the urge to pout. “Unlike your friend, I
am not going to throw myself in front of you. I am a Comyn
of Darkover, I can protect myself and you.”
“Never again, Chief. You’re not coming.”
“You can’t stop me,” Blair said simply.
Jim chortled and Blair bristled with
indignation; the arrogance of the Terranan knew no
bounds.
“Oh, I can.”
“How? Oh--” Something punched him in the centre
of his chest, “--that’s strange.” Curiously unperturbed, Blair looked at the
tiny arrow poking him through his jerkin. With every breath it rose and fell,
moving with his skin. His body was going to sleep. Blair raised his heavy head
and looked at the sentinel who was reaching for him. Deftly, the man plucked
the dart free.
“Night, night, Chief.”
~Cottman IV~
Jim caught the body as it lolled against
him. The kid was out for the count. The dosage was for the average adult male,
so the smaller Darkovan was hit hard and fast. Limp, holding him was like trying to handle a
bag of water. Jim ducked down allowing the slight body to fall over his
shoulder. Before the housekeeper could come to investigate the argument in the
hall, he ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Blair didn’t utter a
peep.
Jim dumped him on the feather mattress.
Blair bounced once. Jim caught his shoulder and rolled him on to his side.
Allergic reactions and nausea had not been reported with the sedative, but
Blair was somewhat unusual and he wasn’t taking any chances. Jim tucked a
pillow behind his back to prevent him from rolling over and then covered him
with a blanket.
“See you later, Kid.”
~Cottman IV~
Raymond jerked his head indicating behind
the booth as Jim approached. Slipping into the dark environs, Jim smelled oil
and whetstone and tasted iron fillings on the air. Raymond didn’t forge his knives in the booth,
but he obviously sharpened and looked after the blades. It was likely that the
man was a dab hand with his weapons of choice. Jim pulled out new acquisition
and let it dance over his fingers.
“You’re good,” Raymond said.
“I imagine that you’re better.”
“I am.” Raymond took up his own blade and
balanced it on a fingertip. “You’re looking after the Comyn
brat.”
“He needs a keeper.”
Raymond laughed outright. “That’s a good
one. I’ll have to remember that.”
Jim didn’t waste time with small talk. “I
was attacked on the journey to Thendara. They took my
knives and my favourite shirt. I want them back.”
“Who was it?”
“Tall man, my height. As fair as a Dry Towner.”
Jim stopped abruptly, where had that comparison come from? ::Blair?::
There was no sense of the young man. Yet
somehow they were communicating.
“Where were you?”
“That’s not important. Do you know him?”
“Fair?” Raymond scratched his chin. “He
would be as obvious as a forest fire at
“Ask.”
“What’s in it for me?”
“Consider it a favour.”
“And in exchange?”
Jim flicked the knife in the air. It lazily
flipped over before it reached the apex of its arch and then fell to
earth. As it fell, Jim laid his hand on
the wooden table top and the knife pierced the wood between his outstretched
finger and thumb.
Raymond lowered his head in a tight nod,
acknowledging the skill.
“I’ll remember your skill.”
Jim took the knife and slipped it away into
the folds of his cape, secreting it between his silken under suit and the
scratchy woollen jerkin. One contact, he
noted, was one contact closer to Trilys. The sentinel
prowled out the booth.
There were fewer booths as the sun set, the
proprietors packing up at the chill of evening approached. Jim grabbed some
deep fried pastries dusted with sugar. Nibbling them he passed by the people.
His goal was the spaceport. Trilys should have
investigated the opportunity to leave the city.
~Cottman IV~
The spaceport had the air of being gutted
from the inside out. Jim stalked down empty corridors. A few comm. units had
been pulled from the walls and the wiring stripped out. Jim suspected that a
few Terrans had taken the opportunity to go over the
wall, so to speak, and were using the metal rich wires for collateral. Terran spaceports were built pretty much on the same lines
and Jim had no problem heading in the general direction of the communication
tower. As he entered the tower, the solitary young female at the telemetry
consol spun around, her jet black braid whipping around her throat.
“Captain Ellison, Ranger out of Shiba Unit Two. I am in pursuit of a criminal.”
Her dark eyes widened in fear, and
unconsciously her fingers rose to her mouth. “Zhou, Ireene,
ensign, communications, sir.” Remembering herself, she stiffened and saluted.
Jim returned the salute. “At
ease.”
She dropped into parade rest. “How may I
assist you, sir?”
“Where’s your commanding officer?”
“He took a ship out three weeks ago, sir.”
“He abandoned his post?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And yourself?”
“I’m sorry, sir? I don’t understand.”
“Why didn’t you leave?”
“I haven’t been relieved, sir.” Then she
said candidly, “It was heading into the Opal Nebula, my folks live on Calt-it. It was just taking me further away, sir.”
“Better the devil you know, than the devil
you don’t, eh Kid?”
She sagged miserably. “Yes,
sir.”
“There’s another boat coming through in
eight days, maybe that one can take you home.”
“Really? How do you know, sir?”
“I just do.”
“Yes, sir.” She looked at him like the sun shone out
of his ass.
Jim’s top lip curled in a slight smile; oh
to be that young again. “Anyone been here looking for a way off planet?”
“Everyone, sir. Everyone wants to go home, apart from
those that have gone over the wall. They’re at home, so to speak.”
“How many have gone over the wall?”
Her gaze dropped to the floor. “More than a few, sir. They’re good people. If I wasn’t
concerned about my ma and pa, I’d probably stay. Hey, I might have to.”
Jim heaved a sigh. “I understand. You know
most of the personnel here at the spaceport, don’t you?”
She hesitated a moment then said, “Yes,
sir? Maybe not by name, but by sight.”
“And the planet’s protected so there’s not a lot of non-Federation personnel here?”
She nodded, waiting for the real question.
“Any tall blond guys who
you haven’t seen before, asking about passage off Darkover?”
She nodded again vigorously. “Yes, sir. Mr. Dire.”
“Dire? Describe him.”
“Tall as you. Maybe taller. His
hair’s longer than yours, though, especially at the back and it’s wavy. He’s
got green eyes.”
“Anything else?”
“He was smarmy, bit of a creep. He was only
being nice to me ‘cause he needed info. If anyone else
had of been here he would have spoke to them.”
“Did he say where he was staying?”
“He’s in the compound, sir.”
“The compound.”
Ensign Zhou nodded. “He wanted to be close
in case a ship arrived. I offered him a comm. unit so I could contact him in
the city but he said he didn’t speak the lingo and wanted to stay with--” she
rolled her eyes heavenward, “--humans.”
“Ensign, stay here.”
“Yes, sir. Sir.” She
saluted.
“Continue with your duties.” Jim waited
until she returned to her post, and then accessed the spaceport’s database.
Dire was on compound in an officer’s abandoned suite. Information was scant, no
pictures or gene type had been uploaded. Jim had to admire the gall of the man.
Federation criminal walking into a Federation run spaceport and taking over a
Major’s quarters like he owned the place.
Noting the building and room number, Jim
continued his hunt.
~Cottman IV~
Blair idly roamed through the Overworld. Disassociated and disconnected from his body, he
had memory of how he had come to the open plains of the Overworld.
In the far distance where the roiling clouds of an imaginary sky met
non-existent land he thought that there was a beckoning light. Indolently, he
drifted to the impossible horizon.
“Young un.”
“Oh.” Blair swung around, arms wind
milling. “Who are you?”
“My name is not important, Kid.”
“You’re wearing feathers.” Blair blinked
furiously trying to clear his vision. The blurred stranger was half naked,
wearing far too few clothes for even a balmy Darkover
evening. A red line masked his dark brown eyes. “Where are you from? Why do you
have paint on your face?”
“Oh, I get to do this. I’ve been promoted
in the demon hierarchy.”
“Eh?”
The man twirled his ample moustache. “Jim,
the twit, has -- out of the kindness of his heart -- drugged you. But the thing
is, Kid, he didn’t know that you are at best only lightly tied to your body. He
has put you and himself in serious danger. You need to wake up, young un.”
“But?” Blair pointed at the enticing
will-o’-the-wisp.
“Don’t look that way. It’s actually pretty
boring down there, no girls. Take my hand.” The man extended his arm and Blair
took his hand marvelling at the contrast of his pale, fair skin and the rich,
olive tones of the stranger’s skin. “Come with me.”
Docilely, Blair followed the man, drifting
away from the blue hued Overworld to the vibrant
reality of the mundane existence. He saw himself curled on his side lying on a
patchwork quilt and blanket wrapped around his feet.
“That’s me.”
“Yup. Join your body.”
A hand touched the small of his back, and
Blair was pushed and he spiralled downwards. Everything was suddenly concrete
and real. Confused, he tried to sit up, his arm refused to take his weight and
he flopped onto his face.
::Move::
Blair drew his knees up trying to crawl. He
planted his palms down on the quilt, miscalculated and went over the edge,
slithering face first onto the cold wooden floor. He lay
there, one eye open staring at a splinter on the polished floor, the other
mashed closed.
::Find Jim, he is
walking into a trap::
“Jim?”
::Yes, the
sentinel, dim guy with hyper senses, doesn’t listen to anyone::
“Jim. The sentinel?”
::Get up, you
twit!::
Galvanised, Blair got up. That voice
brooked no argument. Even the arms master at
“Buck?”
But the voice was now silent.
“Jim? Trap. He said that he was going to
see the knife seller.” Blair shook his head again. “Who am I talking to?”
The data unit lay abandoned under the bed.
Blair snatched it up – he was going to need the picture to find the man.
Blair staggered out of the room. He bounced
off the banister and rebounded off more than one wall as he staggered down the
stairs. Rafe’s Aunt came out of her rooms. Blair
blinked owlishly at the woman and then rolled out of the door and onto the
street. It was dark, but surprisingly clear. The light of one moon – Blair
couldn’t remember which one it was – illuminated the street. Extending a
finger, Blair pointed it in the direction of the fair and then followed it all
the way.
~Cottman IV~
“Vai
dom?”
Blair poked Raymond in the centre of his
chest. “Where is the sentinel?”
Raymond looked down at the finger. “Who, vai dom?”
“Jim, my bodyguard.”
“He was here. Looking for
a Dry Towner. He left.”
“Where did he go?” The
“Vai
dom!”
Fear coloured the man’s voice.
Abruptly, Blair reigned in. He had almost
stripped the man to the core. The world was tinged with a blue cast and Blair
was sure that lightning arched from his finger tips.
“Get me some water,” Blair ordered. He
planted his hands on the counter before him and let his head hang low as he
strove to find control.
::Jim:: he tried
and failed. His thoughts were chaotic, his focus non-existent. Blindly, he
gripped the matrix at his throat. It refused to kindle. He was mind-dead,
trapped within his own thoughts. ::Celeste::
The hairs on the back of his neck rose and
Blair wondered if he had managed to contact the sensitive Keeper.
“Vai
dom.”
Blair smelled the heady aroma of chocolate,
one of the few Terranan imports that passed through
customs. Standing straight, Blair took the mug. The contents were hot, warming
his chilled guts. He was going to ream Jim limb from limb when he caught up
with the man. The stimulant and the sugar bolstered him, fighting the lingering
effects of the drug.
“Where did my bodyguard go?”
“I don’t know. I swear, I do not know. He
left.”
Blair saw the truth in his words. “Do you
know the man that he hunts? He is Federation.”
“There are many Terranan.”
“And?”
Raymond shifted uneasily. “There are many Terranan,” he repeated.
“This man is new to the city. He is an
assassin and--” Blair spoke of the dark thoughts in Jim’s mind, “--I think a
molester of children.”
“Children?” Raymond growled darkly.
Belatedly, Blair remembered the data pad.
The screen still showed Jim’s target. “This is the man.”
Raymond leaned forward, nostrils flaring,
to scrutinise the picture. He shook his head.
“He is close,” Blair said. “Jim is hunting
him. My man is in danger.”
“McArran,”
Raymond called. Across from the knife stall, an urchin peeled away from a gang
gathered by a booth decked with braziers cooking hot food for the evening entertainments.
“Eh, Ray?”
“Any new Terranan at Madam Pierre’s?”
Blair showed the small child the picture.
The urchin squinted at it through a veil of sooty black hair. “Dunno, could show it to
Blair followed the urchin to the gang. As
one they regarded him levelly. Blair felt the weight of their hatred, awe and
love, he shivered with the dichotomy. The people’s perception of the Comyn was rarely as blatant.
“I am looking for my sworn man. He searches
for this gran-zu.”
Two of the youngest, grimiest, peered at
the picture. Blair could tell that they really didn’t understand what they were
looking at.
“Who is
A lanky boy tucked close to the brazier
craned his head in the direction of the unit. Blair held it so he could see.
Finally he said, “I know him.”
“Where can I find him?”
“He’s staying at the Terranan
compound. He took Connor there.”
“At the spaceport?”
“Yeah.”
“I am going to deal with this man. He will
not be troubling anyone again,” Blair promised. “I need someone to go to the
City Guard.”
“Me.” McArran
held up his hand. “Me.”
“Go to Lord Alaric. Tell him that his
cousin Blair is going to the Terranan compound and
that Adam Trilys is there.”
The scrap repeated the message.
“Tell Alaric that Blair said that you
should be compensated for your service.”
“Aye, vai
dom.” With a blindingly white smile, McArran ran off.
~Cottman IV~
Crouched down on his haunches Jim watched Trilys’ appropriated quarters. From his perch in one of the
wall turrets overlooking the inner compound, his sporadic sentinel senses told
him little. He only knew that the man was not in his room. It was better to lie
in wait rather than keep searching through the sprawling city.
Where could the man be so late at night?
Mentally, Jim chastised himself for not asking the young ensign how long Trilys had been on the planet. But if he didn’t speak the
lingo and apparently didn’t have any desire to learn, what was the man doing in
the city?
Changing his mind, Jim stood. He slid down
the ladder with his feet on either side of the runs controlling his descent. He
rubbed the sting of the burn from his palms. He crossed the gardens moving from
moonlight shadow from shadow. The officers’ compound stood at four storeys with
the standard balcony. Jim was familiar with the internal architecture of all
official Federation structures. Testing the infrastructure of the wall with his
fingertips he began to free climb. The computer lock on the balcony windows
yielded to his electronic lockpick.
Trilys’ rooms smelled strange. A light floral
scent made loins ache. Jim dialled down
his sense of smell to nothing. He drifted forward mentally cataloguing the
layout of the room. The room was as neat as a scrub’s first day at Ranger camp.
Trilys was known as a control freak and the room was
supernaturally tidy. Sentinel senses barely picked up the dust. The smell was
annoying though. All officers’ wardrobes had safes as standard. If Trilys had picked up some contraband he would be keeping it
in there. Jim knelt by the safe. He had always been pretty good at this,
unsurprisingly. Sensitive fingertips coupled with better than average ears even
when his sentinel senses were as sporadic as sunspots meant that he was an
accomplished safecracker and lockpicker. Buck would
have been proud of him as he detected the buttons on the keypad which had been
pressed most often. Three buttons, one of which had been
pressed more. Assuming that it was the standard four pattern
there were only eight permutations.
Jim hit the right combination on the third
try and the door popped open. The lower tier was filled to capacity with
credits. A wooden box sat on the top tier. Carefully, Jim opened it. Three blue
sapphires sat on a bedding of black silk. Picking up one, Jim manipulated it
letting it capture the moons’ light. Flecks seemed to glow in the crystalline
matrix.
“Wow.” Jim’s mouth fell open and he slipped
into a pure zone.
~Cottman IV~
“Mister? Mister Terranan?”
Jim gagged deep in his throat, but he felt
so weird that it was half-hearted at best. The voice was annoyingly high
pitched like a little kid.
Kid? Jim’s eyes shot open. The resultant flash
of light speared him right through his brain and staked him to the ground. His
gorge rose. Vomit pooled in his throat. Gagging, he knew he was going to
aspirate and die. Impossibly, he was turned and as he retched vomit flowed out
of his mouth. Again and again he retched until there was nothing else and he
was hollow.
“Mister Terranan?”
He tried to bring his hand up to wipe his
face, but his hands were caught behind his back. Rapidly, Jim took stock. Cold floor. Cold wet floor. Nasty, cold,
wet floor. Small room. His heart beat reverberated off the walls. A
tiny room then, with dense sound engulfing walls. His jerked his hands and
heard a chink. He was manacled.
“Fuck.”
“Mister Terranan?”
Jim opened his eyes and rolled away from
the diced carrots on the floor. A nail thin boy was crouched at his side,
skinny arms wrapped around his legs, his elbows jutting out like angular bat
wings. Jim saw blue eyes watching him warily from under shaggy, light brown
hair.
“What’s your name--” Jim coughed and spat,
“--Kid?”
“I’m called Connor,” he said in passable Terran Standard.
Using his stomach muscles, Jim sat up. He
twisted his neck and wiped his chin on his shoulder. His gorge rose, but he
clamped down on the reaction.
“I’m Jim,” he said eventually. ”How come
you knew I was Terranan?”
Connor waved a narrow hand at his chest.
Jim looked down. He was only wearing his long johns. Terran issue long johns.
Damn, his cover was broken by his
underwear.
“What are you doing here, Kid? Where are
we?”
Connor shuffled backwards.
“Kid?”
“Dire says that he’s gonna
sell me to the highest bidder. Guess he’s gonna sell
you too.”
“Unlikely. I’m too old for him.” Jim
twisted his legs under him, and struggled to his feet. He staggered around the boundary of the cell.
Connor shot to his feet moving out of his way, always keeping as far away as
possible.
“That ain’t what
he’s selling us for.”
Jim froze. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve got laran.
That’s what he’s gonna sell.”
“What?”
“You were in his room. You were trapped by
the matrix. That means that you got laran.”
“And you’ve got laran.”
“Yeah.” Connor stood up straight pushing his
narrow shoulders back. “Ma said I was six-father got, but one of them was
dressed like a prince. I know now that he was Comyn
and he was my da.”
“Because you’ve got laran?”
“I got laran.”
Connor raised his hands and cold blue flames flickered across his fingertips.
“I can call fire.”
“Pyrokinetic,”
Jim breathed.
“Pyro…
pyrokinetic?” Connor tried. “Is that what it’s called? Didn’t
know there was a word for it.”
“You got it under control?”
Connor shrugged. “It’s only little. Good
for starting the hearth fire.”
The little scrap was lighter than a bag of
Red Cross relief flour. There was no way on god’s earth that Jim was going to
let Trilys take him.
“Don’t worry, Kid, I’ll get us out of
here.”
“How?” Connor asked pointing at the slate grey
featureless walls.
Jim studied the ceiling. “I think we’re in
a transport compartment. It’s a storage unit that goes on transport vessels.”
“Are we going on a Big Ship?”
“Eventually,” Jim said shortly. “He can’t
keep us in here, we’ll suffocate before we die of
thirst.” Realising that his words were less than tactful he looked at the kid.
Flames wreathed his tousled locks dancing a hairsbreadth away from his hair but
they neither burnt nor smouldered.
“You want to turn down the flames? You’re
using up air.”
“I cannae.
I’s...”
“Scared,” Jim supplied.
Connor bristled, annoyed.
“Look, Kid, it’s
okay. “ Jim dropped down on one knee before Connor. “I’m not too happy to be
here either. My laran kind of takes me by surprise at
times.”
“What’s yours like?”
“I can hear really well and see really
well. I can smell everything. Sometimes when I touch stuff it makes me break
out in hives ‘cause I’m so sensitive.”
“That doesn’t sound very nice.”
“It can be nice. I can lose myself in the
finest wines. I love bacon sandwiches.”
The flames were ebbing apart from the
occasional sparkle. Jim canted his head to the side listening closely. Someone
was moving beyond the opaque plexi wall. By the
change in vibrations he knew that they were coming closer. The wall slid
upwards and Jim saw Trilys for the first time.
Trilys lifted his chin high but he didn’t enter
the transport cabinet. “So who have ah caught? Your equipment says ranger.”
“Consider yourself under arrest.”
Trilys laughed. “You find yourself at a
disadvantage, sir. Ah am the one that has the upper
hand.”
Connor moved behind Jim, tucking himself
out of view. Jim stared glacially at the pervert. He had never previously thought
that he was a telepath or spent a millisecond considering that empathy was
real, but Trilys genuinely made his skin crawl.
Spending less than three days on Darkover allowed him
to believe that he could sense it.
Connor twisted his hands in the back of
Jim’s t-shirt. He could feel the child shivering. “What are you going to do?”
Jim asked.
Trilys laughed displaying a platinum molar. “This
silly planet is a gold mine, ah can’t believe it. Real telepaths, by ma sainted
mother, do you know what you people are worth?”
“I’m no telepath.”
Trilys shrugged. “I know, Mr. Ranger,
that you are. You got ensnared by that there matrix. Having a sure and
sure method of identifying a telepath is going to net me a veritable fortune.”
“Where did you get the matrix from?”
“He killed Mestra
Pogue,” Connor said clearly.
“That I did,” Trilys
admitted. “It’s really rather entertaining. If you touch one of these
telepath’s matrixes they seize and if you hold on to it long enough,
eventually, die. Ah thought that this godforsaken backwater would be the end,
but it is indeed a beginning to a whole new career.”
“You mean slavery.”
“Oh, it’s a great family tradition and has
been since the dawn of time.”
“You do know that telepaths need training,”
Jim said conversationally.
“Of a sort.” Trilys shrugged.
“There’s a building abutting the damn castle which is reputed to be a school.”
Trilys’ plan seemed pretty clear. He would raid
the Tower before he escaped. Blair had seemed pretty sure that he could protect
himself, cocky in fact. What could a trained telepath do to protect himself?
What could an entire Tower do?
“The Federation is collapsing in on itself.
Darkover’s on the edge of the known universe. No
ships are coming here. Where the Hell are you going to sell the slaves?”
Trilys smirked. “Funny that Ensign Zhou just told
me that a ship is coming. What did you say? Eight days.“
“Zhou,” Jim said flatly.
“Yes, she wants to go home really badly.”
“You’ll take over the Big Ship she told you
about to ensure that it goes where you want it to go. She made a deal for you
to take her to Calt-it. But you’ll have an extra
acquisition.”
“Yes, she is a bonny piece of meat. She’ll
be worth a lot of money on Kurltwurld, not as much as
you.”
“You’ll find trying to make me a slave
impossible.”
“Oh,” Trilys said
offhandedly, “you’re too old to train, unlike little Connor. You’ll be used as
genetic material. I guess that the surgeons on Kurltwurld
will enjoy figuring out what makes a telepath tick.” He flicked his wrist and a
t-derringer extended from its hidden arm holster. He stepped back from the
door, waving Jim and Connor to precede him.
Scowling, Jim exited. But he was really
pleased to be away from the stench of the vomit. Connor moved to his side
keeping away from Trilys. The corridor was narrow and
was in fact a path way between stacks of containers.
“Halt.” Trilys
palmed another container entry panel and the door retracted. Two small boys
were huddled in the corner. The odour of urine and faeces made Jim step back. A
man with dark red hair stepped out of the container patting down his Darkovan jerkin, smoothing non-existent creases in the fine
satin.
“Damien, stop playing with the goods.”
Delicately, Jim inhaled, he didn’t smell
sperm. The Comyn looked directly at him and Jim felt
his balls retract into his body. Ephemeral nails grated down the nape of his
neck. Jim jerked as excruciating fire arched down his spine. He stood within
the pain knowing only agony.
As the pain eased he heard the low,
sensuous laughing. Jim realised that he was on his knees. Connor wrapped bony
fingers around his bicep. His hands barely spanned the breath.
The Comyn stood
over Jim. “Telepath,” the Comyn judged. “Empath. Some other gifts I can’t
classify.”
“Sadist,” Jim returned.
The container door clanged shut locking the
two boys back in their prison.
“So what about the ship? When’s it coming? Who’s it assigned to?” Trilys asked the Comyn.
“He’s got shields as strong as any headblind idiot. We’ll need some kirian
before I can go rummaging properly around.”
Jim laughed inwardly. They thought that he
had information about the last ship. The Comyn strode
down the pathway.
“Bring him to the security office. I’m not
doing it here,” he called over his shoulder.
Trilys bristled at the perfunctory order and Jim
wondered who thought who was in charge.
“Come on, ranger.”
Jim stared at the slaver insolently.
Trilys pointed his t-derringer at Connor. “If you
don’t obey, I’ll hurt Connor.”
“He’s worth more to you unharmed.”
“I’ll just be breaking in a slave early.”
Jim twisted, shifting from the kneeling
position. Connor tried to help, his meagre weight not lending him the strength
to lift. Regally, Jim stood. Trilys was unmoved and
simply pointed the gun at the child.
~Cottman IV~
Blair bent forward and short sightedly contemplated the map embossed on the wall.
Tracing a line with his finger, he thought of Jim, picturing the man with his
honour, duty and innate sadness surrounding him like a mantle. Unerringly, his
finger moved to the red sector in the top left hand corner stopping over a
rectangular block. Blair squinted at the script.
“Security,” he breathed.
He set off as fast a trot as he could, accommodating his throbbing head.
~Cottman IV~
Trilys pushed Jim against the back of the
security chief’s plush recliner forcing his head back. Jim clenched his teeth
together. He didn’t know what was in the tiny glass vial Trilys
held, but he was damn sure that he wasn’t going to try it.
Trilys leaned back and then smacked him in the
mouth with the stapler from the desk. Jim spat blood and teeth in Trilys’ face. The second swing made him see stars. As he
lolled, Trilys upended the vial between his broken
teeth. The liquor burned. He felt it trickle down his gullet, evaporating. The
fumes curled up, feather like touches stroked the back of his throat and filled
his sinuses.
“That was kirian,
another lucrative product of Darkover. I think I’ll
call it Golden.” Trilys held the vial before Jim’s
eyes. The contents sparkled prettily to his rapidly strobing
vision. “They’re going to like it out in the Federation. If you mix it right
it’s an aphrodisiac and a hallucinogen.”
“It’ll take more than a’
aphrodisiac to let you in my pants.” Jim coughed bloodily.
“Ah, well, you see it has different effects
on telepaths.” Trilys stroked a finger along Jim’s
jaw. Jim held firm, not moving an inch, not giving the man the pleasure.
Trilys continued, “Makes you drop those barriers
and lets Dom Damien rummage around that thick skull.”
“Mind rape,” Jim realised. A cold sweat
broke out on the back of his neck. Jim grated his broken teeth together as he
realised that it was Damien’s cold, clammy hand on his neck.
“So what you want to know, Dire?” the Comyn asked lazily.
“Ship. When’s it coming? Who’s on it? Whether we
need a takeover or a bribe?”
Jim laughed inwardly. They were not going
to have much luck finding answers to those questions. Blearily, he looked
around, trying to find Connor. The reason for his semi-good behaviour was
tucked in the corner closest to the door. His arms were wrapped around his
scrawny chest. Jim thought that he saw flickers of fire. Jim tried to tell the
kid to make his escape, get to the door, run.
Connor’s brow furrowed. He cocked his head
to the side, light brown hair falling over his eyes.
“Lock the door, Dire, before the goods
escape,” the Comyn directed.
Trilys hit the recessed panel on the chief’s
desk. “So who is he?” Trilys asked.
“Ellison, Ranger out of Shiba
Unit Two.”
“What about the ship?”
Jim could have sworn that he could feel
Damien crawling through his mind. He grated his broken teeth together, white
hot agony lanced through his face.
“Aldones’
mistress!” Damien
stepped back shaking his head. “Give him some more kirian.”
“He’s had half a dose.”
“It’s not having an effect. He’s locked
down tighter than a barrel of wine in Dom Darren’s cellar.”
Jim smirked. Once again his sentinel driven
anomalous drug reactions were working in his favour. He tried to hold the kirian in his mouth and not swallow but it simply
evaporated. Jim was reminded of elder flowers, light and sensuous. It was the
same scent the he had felt in Trilys’ room. His guts
quivered and he felt a strange lassitude settle in his balls.
Damn, it’s working.
Dom Damien crawled through his head picking
and disturbing his inner thoughts. Desperately, Jim focussed on a fragment of
gleaming bloody tooth on the tiled floor deliberately triggering a zone.
~Cottman IV~
Blair felt the pain. He tasted the blood in
his mouth as he ran to the security office. He stumbled as mental talons raked
across a protected mind, scrabbling off a steel barrier formed from years of
living with the noisy head blind.
Blair ran, galvanised by the fight ahead of
him. He could feel the pure terror emanating from a nearby child. The fear was
escalating and Blair could feel a hungry dragon preparing to unleash a
maelstrom of fire.
Blair called energies to him. Fear fuelled
his own response. He hit the door of the security office transforming mental
effort into physical force. It smashed open swinging back on its hinges and
embedding in the wall. Blair took in the small, skinny child crouched tensely
in the corner. A Comyn, distinct in demeanour and
presence, stood over a lax Jim Ellison. The man of many names – Jim’s target –
jerked to his feet, an illegal blaster in his hands. Both men were equally
dangerous in their own right. The Terranan was the
unknown. Blair felt the energies rise in the weapon that he held. He moved to
duck under the arching laser, but realised that the child was directly behind
him. Jerking as he aborted the movement he jumped at the man. Hands
outstretched, he focussed his innate telekinetic abilities, coiling the
energies of the weapon back on themselves. Heat rose
as he clamped his hands on the barrel. The blaster backfired, explosively. Trilys was jolted backwards. Hands seared, Blair spun to
face the Comyn.
“Blair Sandier of the House of Ridenow,” the unknown observed.
Reacting without conscious thought, Blair
raised his left arm protectively. The Comyn’s thrown knife
embedded deeply in his forearm. Concentration broken, Blair faltered,
stumbling. Pain rippled as he moved. The blade grated between bones. Teeth
gritted, he pulled the knife from his body. He held it clumsily; a bad shot
with his right hand. The Comyn’s slate grey eyes
didn’t flicker as he lowered his knife throwing hand. He released the sentinel,
letting him slither to the floor and skirted around the edge of the table.
“And you are?” Blair knew most people, if
not by sight, then he knew them by feel as he journeyed
mentally through the Tower relays. An inner sense told him that he did not want
to touch this one’s psyche.
“Scion of the House of Elhalyn.”
Blair winced. The sons and daughters of Elhalyn were not known for their soundness of mind. The man
had a matrix at his throat -- so likely this Comyn
had had some Tower training, had been found wanting and then been released from
the Tower.
Perversion frittered at the edges of
Blair’s being, and he closed himself off to it. “You do no honour your
forefathers. What were you doing with the Terranan? With this child?”
“
A high pitched voice shrieked and Blair saw
a small figure dive on the man. Arms
outstretched, hands splayed, blue fire dancing between his fingers, the child
planted his hands on Elhalyn’s gut.
“No!!” the Comyn
screamed.
The fire was cold blue at the heart, but at
the edges it burned as red as Dah’gl’s fiendish eyes.
The flames ran and the Comyn erupted like a tinder
dry mountain pine hit by lightning. Flames scorched the roof of the office as Elhalyn screamed. The sweet cloying smell of burning meat
filled the room. The child fell back from the inferno, rolling until he stopped
by the wall. His tunic was burnt to a crisp.
“No!” Blair moved to grab the child.
Energies shocked him. He felt his heart stutter as lightning ran over his skin.
Juddering, he stood, unable to move as the lightening ripped through him. Then
inevitably, he pivoted on one foot. Slowly, unerringly, he felt himself
descending to the floor. As he slowly turned, Trilys
rotated into view. Then the floor was cold against his cheek. A boot filled his
vision and the lightning arched again.
~Cottman IV~
“Kid?” A voice said brightly.
Blair blinked as Jim’s strange feather
covered friend emerged from lush vegetation. The blue tones told him that once
again he had ventured into the Overworld, but this
was unlike any other version of the Overworld he had
walked through.
“What is this place?”
“This is Jim’s sanctuary. He finds guidance
here and succour from the spirit guides.”
“Succour? Where is he?”
“Lost.” Buck’s natural ebullience flagged.
Blair scowled as he looked at the heavy
green-blue trees and bushy undergrowth edging the small clearing. The air was
warm and heavy and difficult to breathe. He coughed. The weight of the moist
air was unpleasant.
“Within that?” Blair pointed at the dense undergrowth.
“Yes. You have to find him.”
“Are you not his spirit guide?”
“You have to guide him back to the realm of
the physical world. I can’t walk or… make love there anymore. You know, I’m
dead.”
Blair nodded. It was easy to forget. Buck
was slightly more present than the majority of the shades that he had met
journeying. Blair carefully touched his own chest, he felt strange. What had Trilys done to him?
“Look, Kid, Jim needs help and he’d be the
last one to admit it. But he’s not getting out of this one on his own.”
Blair scowled at the unfamiliar terrain. “Which way?”
“The way that you’re
looking.”
“Convenient.” Blair hummed under his
breath. The way of the spirit world was couched in imagery and metaphor to
assist the one who walked to determine their own way.
The easy answer was rarely given. Blair knew the vagaries Overworld.
Jim was as likely to be standing next to him as a ways into the undergrowth.
The trick was to find him.
Settling on the blue-green grass, he folded
his legs. His heart beat resoundingly in his ears. He relaxed into the beat
allowing the rhythm to give him focus. One step in his training had been to
understand and map the patterns of a body and he used that knowledge to relax.
::Jim::
A mishmash of confused images swamped him.
At its heart was a figure swathed in golden fire screaming. The man was thrown
back and forth as if caught in a storm tide. Blair caught the screaming man and
fell to the earth holding him against his chest.
Jim’s back arched as he seized. The Overworld shifted easing into familiar pastures: the grey
plain spreading as far as the eye could see.
“We’re in my world now.”
The earth under Jim glowed and in the
brightness, fragile flowers with delicate blue bells bloomed.
“Kireseth
blooms?” Blair plucked a blossom. “Kirian?
You’ve been dosed with Kireseth distillate?”
The Comyn planted
his hand palm down on the sentinel’s chest. His senses mapped the flow of blood
in his veins, the singing of his heart. He saw the golden vines throughout his
body entwining his nerves, throttling them.
::Jim? Can you
hear me?::
::Chief? I can’t
see anything:: Terror threatened to overwhelm him.
“Ssshhh,” Blair
soothed. “Relax. The kirian affects your senses.”
::It hurts!::
::Focus on my
heartbeat. Hear its rhythm. Its beat guides you.”
The seizure ebbed and Jim slumped. Blair
felt Jim’s senses locking on to him and their bodies balancing as heartbeats,
breathing and flow of blood matched.
Blair snagged the thorny, ropey vines
teasing them away. Each golden thread yielded to his touch until Jim lay
quiescent beneath him.
“Kid?” Jim croaked.
“Hey, Old Man.”
Groaning, Jim rolled onto his side and
curled into a ball. “I feel like reconstituted shit.”
“That does not sound pleasant.”
Jim gagged fruitlessly. “What happened?”
“You were dosed with kirian.
It’s a drug to lower the barriers of telepaths. You were overdosed. It sent you
into the Overworld – the spirit world.”
Muttering under his breath, Jim sat up. He
swayed like a sapling in a summer’s breeze. “Where’s the jungle?”
Blair rocked back on his haunches. “This is
my domain.”
Jim shot him a dark and leery glance,
before firing to his feet. “How did we get here?”
Slowly, Blair rose to join him. “We’ve left
our bodies.”
“I’ve zoned?” he growled.
“I think that’s what you call it. The Comyn of Elhalyn gave you too
much kirian and you journeyed here.”
“That’s not exactly what happened.” Jim
turned in a slow circle taking in the featureless landscape. ”Right, you said
we left our bodies, where are they?”
“In the security office.”
“The security office
where Trilys and that Comyn
bastard was?” Jim asked
tightly.
Blair nodded reading an imminent explosion
in the ether.
“How do we get back?” Jim demanded. “Our
bodies are just laying where that sick creep is.”
“Yes.”
“Fuck! Get us back there now, Chief.”
“There’s a slight problem with that.”
“What problem?” Jim asked intently.
Blair took in a deep breath. “I think I
might be dead.”
“What!” Jim paled.
Blair gingerly patted his chest. There was
no wound but he could still feel the residual tingling of Trilys’
blaster.
“Trilys shot me
in the back.”
Jim breathed in once, twice, heavily. The
battle as he strove for control was evident as he ground his jaw and the pulse
at his temple beat triple time. He failed.
“No!” He screamed his denial at the heavens
above.
Awed, Blair stepped backwards.
“I will not lose another….” Jim grabbed
him, clutching his biceps and gave him a good shake. “You are not dead, do you
hear? You are not dead.”
Blair’s teeth clicked in his head at the
force of the shaking.
“I’m going to kill that fucking bastard.
I’m going to skin him alive.” Jim cocked his head to the side. “I can hear him.
I can smell him. I’m going to kill him.”
Blair was released as Jim faded away,
following the siren call of revenge.
~Cottman IV~
Jim opened his eyes. He was lying on his
stomach, hands cuffed behind him. There was an unholy stench in the air which
threatened to send him back to the Overworld. A
charred, crispy hunk of meat lay beside him steaming. Jim gagged and rolled
onto his side away from the remains. He bumped against something that was cool.
Craning his head over his shoulder he saw Blair lax at his side.
“Blair,” Jim tried to say, and pain awoke
in his mouth as his broken teeth grated together. The pain was excruciating,
blindsiding his senses.
“You’re awake.” Trilys
followed up his words by kicking him in the side. “That was enough kirian to fell a mother boar. Tell me when the boat’s
coming.”
“Go to Hell, Trilys.”
Trilys kicked him half-heartedly. The man
scrabbled at his fine hair. “Ah don’t believe it. Why in the name of all the
Gods that are Holy, did Ah get involved with psychics? Fire-calling
psychics? Brat, are you awake?”
Connor was curled against the floorboard.
He remained still. Trilys grabbed another vial of kirian from the table and crossed to his side.
“Kid, you just stay in Never Never Land.” Trilys gingerly
caught a bony shoulder and pulled, jumping slightly as skinny figure flopped
loosely onto his back.
“Don’t give him that crap,” Jim screamed.
“The brat killed Damien.” He flicked the
cap off the vial. “I want him unconscious until he gets to Kurltwurld.”
“Don’t do it, Trilys.”
Jim started as he felt the cuffs slip open.
Blair had opened the lock.
He wasn’t dead
Jim erupted to his feet and launched
himself at Trilys. He hit the man low and smashed him
into the wall. There was no delicacy in the attack, merely force. Bones cracked
and Jim felt and heard Trilys’ shoulder pop out of
its socket with a satisfyingly wet crunch. Jim pulled him up away from the
child and his guide and threw him bodily out of the room. Trilys
scrabbled down the corridor on hand and knees, trying to get away. Jim reached
down and pulled the man to his feet. Revelling in the delicious anger, he drew
back his arm to deliver a round house punch.
“Ranger Ellison--” Alaric appeared at the
end of the corridor, “--stop!”
Jim didn’t even pause as he punched Trilys once again, sending him into unconsciousness. He
held onto the man for a moment before letting him slump on the cold tiles.
“You took your time. Deal with this
garbage,” he said before turning back to the office.
Blair had made his way painfully over to
Connor and had pulled the scrappy child into his arms. Jim crouched down next
to them. There was blood on Blair’s sleeve, but he appeared quite bright for
someone who had been shot in the back.
“You’re not dead, Chief.”
Blair grimaced ghoulishly. “No, just feel
like ‘reconstituted shit’.”
“Chief, where are you
hurt?” He tried to see
around Connor for the wound.
Blair gazed at him blearily. “I have a cut
on my arm. But I just feel… like I’ve been looking in a matrix for too long.”
Jim laid a gentle hand on his clammy
forehead and he could feel minute tremors. “I think you were just stunned, Chief. Trilys wouldn’t have wanted
to damage his merchandise.”
“Oh,” Blair said and smiled weakly. “I’m so
happy.”
Jim snorted. “How’s Connor?” He reached out
and brushed back the shaggy hair. Connor didn’t utter a peep. There was a neat
bruise at the child’s temple. Gently, he pulled back the charred jerkin. The
skin beneath was unhurt.
“He’s one of mine.” Blair smiled. “He’s a
telepath.”
“I know that, Chief, but how is he?”
Blair shifted him, freeing a hand so he
could rest it on Connor’s head. “He’s overstretched his gift. He needs to rest
and heal.”
“He’ll heal?”
“Oh, yes. He’ll heal and then I can teach
him.”
Jim slumped and sat on the cold floor.
“You’re good at the teaching gig?”
“I’m better at teaching than I am at being
a member of the guard.”
“I guess I’ll have to stay around and show
you a few pointers then.”
Blair smiled brilliantly.
Epilogue
The Big Ship blasted into the stratosphere,
its fire trail slowly dissipating. Jim gazed at it, his hawk like eyesight
following it well out of normal view. Beside him Blair rocked back and forth on
the balls of his feet.
“Can you still see it?”
“Yup.”
“That’s amazing.”
Jim folded his arms under his cape, pulling
the warm folds around him. He could have gone and hooked up with the Ellison
Clan shipping on the outer nebula track, but when push came to shove, he liked Darkover. There were few, if any, industrial chemicals being pumped into the atmosphere to derail his
senses. The wool garments made him break out in hives, but the local silk
effectively protected his skin. The water tasted sweet and the honey ale was
divine.
And the people understood psychic
phenomenon like no one else in the unknown universe. They had a technology
which was unique. And for the most part they seemed completely unaware of their
uniqueness. The new government would not be constrained by the morals and
bureaucracy of the old Federation. Darkover would be
a jewel to plunder. The planet’s isolation might free it from immediate
pillaging but they needed someone to teach them how to fight a guerrilla war to
prepare for the Expansionists’ return.
“Return?” Blair queried.
“Yeah, when they come
back.”
“Have you seen it?”
“No.”
“Alaric possesses the donas
of the Aldaran –- foresight -- and he says that it
may be many decades, if not longer, before the Big Ships return.”
“Hmmmm.” Jim watched the final vapour trail bleed
into the red tinged clouds overhead. “Doesn’t hurt to be
prepared.” He slung a heavy arm over Blair’s shoulders being careful of
his wounded forearm. The kid elbowed him briefly but didn’t shift.
“How’s Connor?”
“He has taken to Tower life as if he was
born to it. He is being spoilt within an inch of his life.”
“Good. The kid was too skinny; he needed
feeding up.”
“So are you coming to the Tower to meet
Celeste?”
“Your Keeper?”
“Yes. You’ve been putting it off for days.
You said that once we had caught Trilys that you
would come to the Tower. A wild telepath…”
“Is a danger to all,” Jim finished,
squeezing his arm around Blair’s neck.
Impossible to gag, Blair telepathed,
::You need training::
“Come on then, Chief, I’ll tell you
everything that you need to know about sentinels. You know we’ve been around
for millennia. We used to be known as watchmen…”
finis