“Nothing, yet. Let me consider our options. But, as always, none of this will be documented.”
“Of course, sir. I will have the official version of the debrief ready for your review by the end of this cycle.”
“Good.” The brae tapped off his viewer and headed for the door. Urvo fell in step behind him. “Nice recovery, UrvoDii. Now, let’s go convince the Root that we need more supplies. And a new derit, since the Roe decided to give away two of mine.”
###
Sean sat brooding in his quarters. The quick glances at the display only served as a reminder that he should be asleep. Instead, with puffy eyes and a headache, he stared at his mug of warm milk. A pint is what he needed, not this rubbish. Why did it have to be him? For feck’s sake. A raging interstellar war was underway, and the Alliance decided to make a treaty by sending Sean out to find a bloody runaway.
He forced down another swallow. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as all that, but it sure wasn’t good. And a treaty with Drani, of all the places. Why Drani? Even as he thought it, Sean knew the answer. He watched the white liquid slosh as he swirled the cup.
Brakeal.
Drani had it. The Alliance needed it.
Of course, so did the Shreet.
Anyone with a brakeal-powered ship needed it, which amounted to just about everyone. He snatched the reader board off the couch and glared at his orders again. That monstrous communication station the Shreet were building would be needing a bleeding rake of it. Better that the Alliance get to Drani before the Shreet did, but he didn’t have to bloody well like it.
“Symbiotic, my ass,” he muttered, scanning the social construct analysis for the third time. Drani was a slave planet, no matter what excuses Earth made for it. “This society’s about as symbiotic as my last marriage!”
And if that wasn’t enough, he was picking up a new crew member to assist with negotiations. A telepath, no less. He tossed the board back onto the seat. “Perfect!” Tomorrow was going to be a bad day. That much he could tell already.
###
The warm milk turned out to be as useless as he predicted. Neither his mood nor his attitude had improved from lack of sleep, and he kept the viewer off to help mask his irritation when he answered his lieutenant’s com from his office.
“Sir, the personnel report you asked for just arrived.”
“And when is our new crew member expected to dock?”
“The shuttle just cleared the security protocol and is approaching the rendezvous point now.”
“Well, now. O’ course it is,” he mumbled. Why expect the report to arrive before the person? “Lieutenant, assign someone to conduct a standard debrief and orientation. Notify me when it’s done.”
“Yes, sir.”
Sean tapped off the com and pulled the file up onto his viewer. Lieutenant Ranealla Do-Calia Ha, from the now uninhabitable planet of Asheer. At least that much was familiar. Asheerians were scattered throughout the Alliance, so he was familiar with her species. Most struggled with verbal speech since, prior to the death of their sun, Asheer had been an exclusively telepathic society. However, they were an adaptable people, and had proven invaluable to the Alliance.
It didn’t look like Ranealla would be any different. She came with an exemplary file and a personal recommendation from an admiral. Of course, looking at her holo, Sean imagined that hadn’t been hard to come by. Ranealla was stunning. Hair as black as space fell down her back in a silken sheet, and equally black round eyes stared out from the image with alarming intensity. Long ears curved back into a delicate point that poked out from her dark hair, calling attention to her pale complexion. And even though the image stopped at her waist, it was enough to tell that the rest of her would be just as impressive.
“No good.” Sean swiped the holo away and turned back to the file. “This is no good at all. A lass going ’round looking like you oughtn’t be knowing what a man t’inks every time you walk yourself into the room. OBIS,” Sean called to the onboard computer system. “Pull up protocols and strategies for dealing with telepaths. Prioritize the information with non-telepath interactions first.”
“Compiling data.”
Sean sat back and kicked his feet up onto his desk as the viewer filled with far fewer titles than he had hoped. He had some reading to do.
When Ranealla walked into his office several hours later, he felt at least a little better prepared. Every time his traitorous mind tried to comment on how the holo had been a pale comparison, he blocked the thought instantly and, per the recommendation of one of the experts, thought about her exemplary personnel record instead.
“Lieutenant Ranealla, please sit. That is correct, is it not? ’Tis protocol for Asheerians to only be using their first name?”
“Yes, sir.” She settled into a chair across the desk from him and smiled. Sean glanced down at the desk viewer and mentally reviewed her previous assignments as she continued. “We use last names for genealogy only. You’ll find most telepathic societies follow a similar practice because our telepathy allows each name to refer to a unique individual.”
“Interesting.” She tended to over enunciate her words, but her speech was much better than other Asheerians he had heard. Sean shut that thought out and smiled back. “I suspect I’ll be saying that quite a bit here. Can’t say I know much about telepaths.”
“There aren’t an abundance of telepaths in the known galaxy, sir, so that is to be expected. I have details about our mission with Drani. Would you like that report now?”
“Yes. I’m assuming since they sent it through you, they’re looking to keep this off the com-grid.”
“That is correct, sir.” Ranealla pushed her hair back over her shoulder and scooted up in her chair. “Apparently the Drani head of state, who is called Prime Tanku Targer, has been in direct contact with the Alliance Chair regarding a trade agreement between the Alliance and Drani for brakeal. And as an act of good faith, while an agreement is worked out between the two leaders, Drani has asked for Alliance help in retrieving an individual of considerable importance to them and in providing planet security from space. It seems Drani’s space program is somewhat underdeveloped.”
“That’s a bit odd then, isn’t it, since their technology is so much more advanced than ours.” Sean rubbed his hand across his beard and pondered that before continuing. “I s’pose that goes a way to explain why I’m out here. I already know about their escapee. They just want her back, then? Simple as that? What is it that makes her so valuable?”
“Yes, sir. Targer wasn’t forthcoming with information, except to say that she would be a threat to their planet’s security if she were captured by the Shreet.” Ranealla leaned down, pulled a black triangular prism the size of a short pen from her boot, and handed it to Sean. “She apparently knows enough to hurt them, because this is tier three clearance and I was directed to give it to you only.”
Sean took the rod and frowned. “What’s on it?”
“I have no idea, sir.”
“You know somet’ing or they’d have sent someone with a bit more field experience, someone more expendable. What is it you know?”
Ranealla sat back in her chair again and folded her hands on her lap. Her back couldn’t have been straighter if it had been nailed to the wall. “About three of their months ago, nearly four of ours, during the Shreet raid on Drani, several hundred citizens were abducted from the planet…”
“I know about the raid. What I’m not knowing is why we’re here chasing down one single person from the hundreds that were taken. People are stolen by the Shreet every day. We don’t go fetching them back, now do we? Why this one?”
Ranealla smiled and continued. The fact that she had noted and then ignored his impatience bode well for their relationship. “Yes, sir. The citizen we are tasked with finding is Taymar, the only dual-talent Arlele on the planet. The oddity here is that, according to our sources, she was well outside the attack zone. In fact, that house was the only home outsi
de the central zone hit by the raid.”
“Hmm. What is it you know about Taymar? Dual-talent?”
“Yes, sir. She is both telepathic and telekinetic. Most Arleles on the planet are telekinetic. A very small minority are telepathic, but Taymar is the first Arlele on record to be both.”
“And the other race, the Dran, is it? They are all telepathic?”
“As far as we know, sir.”
“As far as we know. Which isn’t a bloody lot, given the fact we are about to become muckers.”
“Muckers, sir?”
Sean glanced over at the viewer, now dark. “Yes. Sorry. My Irish comes out at times. Mates. Pals. Friends.” Something wasn’t adding up. A lot of things weren’t adding up. An entire ship sent out to find one person? It didn’t make sense. “So, if I’m understanding this t’ing right, we’re to fetch back the missing Arlele and return her to Drani, at which point a treaty will be negotiated. I’m assuming then that the Alliance will be sending someone to manage the negotiation process?”
“Actually, sir, it’s my understanding that we will be joined by a representative of the Drani government, who will take responsibility for the prisoner once she is found. Unless that brief I gave you says otherwise, he or she has been authorized by the Alliance to enter into a temporary arrangement pending a formal declaration from our corresponding government bodies.”
“With me? No ambassador? Just me?”
Ranealla smiled. “I am your ambassador. I was fully briefed on my way here.”
“And where, exactly, is it that this brief came from?”
“Central.”
“O’ course. Didn’t bother telling you where this escapee was hiding, did they?”
“No, sir.”
“Well, no surprise there, then. No matter. I’ve already calculated out all possible trajectories from where she stole the shuttle, and for the record, I still can’t believe she stole a bloody shuttle. She can only be on one of three planets.”
“And we are simply assuming she is alive? That she landed somewhere and didn’t run out of air?”
Sean nodded. “Not a big assumption, that. Someone disabled the tilem relay. The tracker can be blocked from inside the shuttle, but the relay has to be removed from the outside. She landed the t’ing. Our people could have found her in time, had they been able to spare another shuttle.”
“That makes sense, sir.”
“I have my reservations about this mission. The explanation is dodgy at best. Truth told, I hate it. But, it’s our mission and we’ll be proceeding as ordered. We don’t have room on this ship for a passenger. Ambassador or not, you’ll be assigned a duty station in personnel. I’m t’inking your telepathy will be best used there.”
Ranealla nodded. “Of course, sir. It is best if the crew remains unaware of our plans.”
“’Tis indeed.” Sean focused his mind on the rod, hoping to hide his real thoughts from her telepathy. “Let’s just say we need to keep this close to the chest and leave it there.”
“Yes, sir.”
When Sean finally met those dark eyes again, he smiled. “And stay close to our Drani guests when they get here. This whole situation’s manky.”
“Of course, sir. Will there be anything else?”
“Yes. Relax with the sirs. You’re making me nervous enough already. And if you should hear somet’ing that comes out of my head and not my mouth, just keep it to yourself.”
At that, Ranealla chuckled—a guttural coughing sound that should have come from moving heavy equipment, not the delicate woman who made it. “I assure you, sir, I will.”
Sean nodded and sat back in his chair. “Well, then. Let’s get after it. Dismissed.”
With a nod, Ranealla rose and left the room.
Chapter 6 - Capture
Taymar watched the burnt orange dust from the path seek refuge on her protective boots and once again reveled in the sweat taste of freedom. Ahead, the vines covering the path struggled to get out of the way, their gentle scratching providing relief from Taymar’s chattering friend.
“Taymar. You make me laugh. You have saved the ISTC more money in the last six months than Phalad did in his entire career. The company would give you a nova in a box if you asked for it. But instead, we’re out looking for a sarokk.”
Taymar had to smile. Getting hauled to the planet’s surface by a private trade company instead of one of Daryus’s unstable government factions had proven monumentally lucky. “What’s wrong with a sarokk?”
“Nothing,” Rook admitted, sending her kicking stone back up the path. “But we should be looking for a new house. I cannot believe they would put a telepath in that cave of yours for even two weeks, let alone six months.”
“Rook, there’s nothing wrong with my house. I like it.”
Before Taymar finished her sentence, Rook was protesting. It was an old debate. “You’re a telepath, Taymar. A real telepath. Not a fake, like Phalad. You need to get what’s coming to you. And what’s coming to you is a house bigger than my greeting room. Where do you expect your new pet to live?”
“The sarokk will not be a pet! It will...”
Rook cut her off. “I know. She will be a housemate. The question remains. Where will the creature live? Your house is too small for more than one living thing at a time.”
Rook’s frustration radiated from her mind. Taymar could not understand why it was so important that she live in one of the monstrous homes Rook was talking about. After all, she was only one person. Her home was perfect.
Taymar returned her attention to the vines. As the two women walked, the vines pulled away, revealing the previously hidden path. Once the intruders passed, the plants would move back. Rook explained that the vines were repelled by their magnetic field, but Taymar liked to think it was the planet’s way of welcoming her. She had found a home on Daryus, and the vines were proof that she belonged here.
“You’re getting quiet on me. I know what that means.”
“You talk a lot.” Taymar snuck in a kick on Rook’s stone. One of these times the vines would pull it off the path. Of course, that was the game: seeing how long you could keep the rock going.
“And you don’t talk enough. You’d feel better if you would tell somebody who you are. People are starting to talk. They think you may have been formed under a pile of rindock dung.”
Rook’s reference to the mythical troublesome creature was not lost. “I am not a rindock. That much I can assure you.”
“Taymar, we’re friends. We’ve known each other for months now. What could be so bad that you can’t tell me about it?”
Dust sputtered into the air as Taymar sent a rock of her own skidding down the path. The smell of sunshine and life filled her nostrils. Rook was the first real friend Taymar had ever had, but was she ready for what Taymar had to tell her? Taymar glanced over at the Daryan woman. Like other Daryans, she was short and stocky. A rough ridge protruded over narrow parti-colored eyes, and she would rather work overtime than exercise. The woman’s lazy nature had taken longer to get used to than her lack of body hair and her nonstop talking.
“Where are you from, Taymar? How did you get here? We figure you must be a refugee from the war, but why here?”
Still, Taymar hesitated.
“I won’t tell if you don’t want me to. I won’t tell anyone. But if you’re in trouble, don’t worry about it. The ISTC would do anything to keep you here, believe me.”
“Like hide a stolen Alliance shuttle craft.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, they hid a stolen Alliance shuttle craft.”
Rook froze. The vines surrounding them shuffled in place, fighting the urge to return to the path. “You stole an Alliance ship?”
Taymar continued on her trek. The sight of Rook’s dangling jaw was making her lose her resolve. “I would have given it back, but I can’t. It’s not like I sold it. I just borrowed it for a while.”
Rook ran to catch up. “So you’re
one of the Shreet?”
“No. They captured me from my home planet.”
“Why didn’t you go back to your home, then? How did you get an Alliance shuttle? How did you get the ISTC to land that thing? Taymar! Would you please slow down?” Rook rasped. The woman was horribly out of shape.
Taymar forced herself into a slower pace. She reached for an overhanging branch but remembered one of Rook’s many warnings about the Daryan plant life, so she shoved her hands into her pockets and trudged forward instead. The air felt dry beneath the beating sun, and a bead of sweat trickled down her back. But it wasn’t the sweltering heat of the jungle, and she loved it. “I don’t want to go home. I don’t ever want to go home. Daryus is my home now. As far as how I got the shuttle goes…that is a very long and boring story.”
“Yeah. Right. Somehow I don’t think you went to your local ship shop and requisitioned it. Why don’t you want to go home?”
Rook’s question brought back the memories Taymar had been trying to keep hidden. Memories of the tests and the isolation...and of Nevvis. Memories that would haunt her for the rest of her life.
“Are you going to answer me?” Rook asked, stopping in front of Taymar.
“Do I have a choice?”
A smile was Rook’s only answer.
“Drani is a horrible place, Rook. I have hated it my entire life. I won’t go back—not alive, anyway.”
For the second time in as many minutes, Rook’s jaw fell open. “Drani? You’re from Drani?”
“What do you know of Drani?”
“Only that between the planet and its moons, Drani is rumored to be the most concentrated source of brakeal in this galaxy. I can’t believe you’re from Drani. I mean, it makes sense. That explains why you’re so much stronger and faster than us...with Drani’s increased gravity, and all...but I never would have guessed Drani. Is it true that there’s an entire species of crazy people living there? Drani keeps to itself so much that no one knows anything about it.”
Shield of Drani (World of Drani Book 1) Page 9
