by Jaleta Clegg
I closed my eyes, breathing slowly. He was only adding to the list of questions. He knew what was going on, he knew Mart, and still he wouldn't tell me.
"Lowell," I said through clenched teeth, "I don't know what you're talking about. Explain it all, now, before I have to hit you." I glared at him, only a few inches taller than I was, I still had to tilt my head.
He stared intently at me. "How long have you known?"
"Known what? That I want to hit you?"
"That you're one of the Lost Ones."
I stared blankly at him.
He sighed. "This is going to take a while. Get comfortable."
I wanted to ignore him, to go to Mart. The pull between us was that strong. I couldn't ignore his anguish. I had to. I made myself sit at the table, across from Beryn, facing the bathroom door, brushing past Lowell to get there. Lowell stayed standing, frowning thoughtfully at the locked door.
"About four hundred years ago," Lowell began, "the Emperor Shimatsu decided he wanted to further human development, specifically psychic powers. So he recruited volunteers willing to undergo genetic alteration in an attempt to increase psychic powers, both in strength and in the percentage of the population who possessed latent abilities. Shimatsu wanted an Empire of telepaths and empaths. He wanted ways to communicate across space without the delay of sending a capsule. He thought stronger telepaths would find space no barrier. He was wrong. On many counts."
I stayed quiet. Lowell wanted to tell stories, historical myths that might or might not be true. But the one thing they would be was relevant to our situation. I just had to be patient. Lowell settled on the bunk, shifting the pillow behind him so he could lean against one end facing me.
"Shimatsu's experiments were a failure. The news of what he was doing leaked out. Public outcry against creating a super race of humans was so great, Shimatsu was dethroned and branded a criminal of the worst kind. He was executed. That was the end of his experiments. Or so people believed. No one realized his geneticists had actually performed successful manipulations of the genome.
"Several years later, the volunteers, mostly the geneticists's families, chartered three colony ships. They claimed they were religiously persecuted and sought somewhere to freely practice their religion. Their real problem was that their children were manifesting extremely powerful psychic talents. It was only a matter of time before someone connected them with Shimatsu's experiments.
"The ships were attacked by pirates. Several lifepods were jettisoned. The records of what happened to those people on the pods were lost. The colony ships managed to limp away. They founded a colony, a retreat, they named Jericho.
"For a hundred years, they stayed isolated. The mutations worked their way through the children. Some were born crippled physically, but mentally able to perform astounding feats. No," he smiled briefly, "they never did achieve teleportation but some of them could move tiny objects, telekinesis on the smallest scale. But their other mind powers were staggering. They developed their own culture. They called themselves Hrissia'noru, ancient Lindese meaning the changed ones. The spirit and mind of a person were called their zhria. One could tell, by tasting zhria, what powers that person had as well as a host of other things. I believe Lady Rina would have called it their aura. The Gypsies have much in common with the Hrissia'noru."
Beryn listened intently to Lowell, twisted around sideways in the chair to face him and nodding now and then. His cards lay forgotten on the table. Lowell was talking to himself, as if we no longer existed, as if he were reciting a history lesson.
"The mutations took three basic forms, giving rise to three distinct races within the Hrissia'noru. The shrua'zhri were the most changed. Their children were the most affected. Many did not survive birth. Many more died as small children. Those few who survived to adulthood had enormous powers of telepathy. As time passed, they married only within their subgroup. Within a few generations, the mutations had stabilized. The shrua'zhri were the most numerous, but as they had more children, they noticed not all of them were gifted. At least a fourth had only normal strength talents. They were still cherished, as carriers of the genes.
"The inoru'zhri were empaths. They could not only read the emotions of others, they could broadcast their own emotions. Some grew so skillful that no one could tell if an emotion was planted or internal. Their talent seemed to be more stable. Almost all of their children were empaths, each generation gaining strength. But the mutation affected their fertility. Their children were few despite every medical attempt to intervene.
"The last race, the notu'zhri," he said.
I sat up straighter, my attention riveted by the name, Myriassima had called me that. He noticed my attention and smiled wryly.
"As I was saying, the notu'zhri were the ones that at first seemed to be failures. Each generation lost power, until by the third generation, they had no psychic powers that anyone could detect. But the lack of talent provided a shield against the power of the others, the inoru'zhri and the shrua'zhri. The notu'zhri proved, again, to be less fertile than human norms.
"After two centuries of isolation and strict attention to genetic matches, the Hrissia'noru were growing weak. They had to find a way to keep the mutations but not lose their viability as a people. So they introduced the rite of zhrianotui, a joining between two different races that resulted in stronger children physically although many talents were diluted by the mixing. Zhrianotui was the only way they could live together. It was a binding of mind and heart that nothing could break. Sometimes it would happen spontaneously, that was where they first got the idea for the rite."
I clenched my hands into fists. That explained a lot. It was also not something I wanted or even chose.
"Two centuries after Jericho was founded," Lowell said, "a trading ship happened by. The Hrissia'noru established contact again and began to spread through the Empire. Now, one hundred and twenty three years later, they are a force to be reckoned with, though few know they exist. They keep it that way deliberately.
"As you may have guessed, Martin is inoru'zhri, a talented empath who seems to have blocked his talent along with his memories. From what I have been able to learn, Martin allowed himself to be deceived. Jericho was destroyed a year ago in a raid that couldn't have happened without inside information. Some escaped. The Hrissia'noru have been searching for Martin ever since. Along with others who want to use him for purposes of their own. He was recognized three months ago. He's been running ever since. I was hoping he would cross your path."
"What do you want with him?" I said, staring at my fists on the table. Mart's pain was ripping me apart. I didn't know if I could do anything to help.
"Jericho was my home until I was ten. They sent me out to foster with a family, then to the Academy. I hold the position I do partly to help shield them from being found."
"What did Mart do?" I had to know. I had to understand how someone as gentle as Mart could betray his own people.
"He trusted when he shouldn't. He broke the first rule of Jericho. Never tell an outsider about it."
"You're telling me now," Beryn pointed out.
"Jericho no longer exists," Lowell said. "And I doubt you'd sell us out, Beryn. Lady Rina would haunt you for eternity if you did. She knew about me, and about Jericho. Although neither of us suspected Dace."
"Suspected me of what?" My eyes felt raw and swollen, as if I'd been crying. Or maybe it was Mart that felt that way.
"Some of the escape pods from the original ships landed safely. Sometimes we find traces of the mutations. The most obvious physical sign is eye color, of course. But only for the shrua'zhri."
"Are you saying I'm one of you?" I asked.
"Myriassima called you notu'zhri," Beryn said.
"Not a full blood, of course," Lowell said. "Diluted and changed, but enough of the genes match up. I should have realized the first time I saw your file."
"Because I score point zero zero three on the psychic rating scale?"
"It also raises more questions," Lowell said. "How did you manage to contact the Eggstone?"
"I don't know," I said.
"And how did you bond with Mart? You're tied to him now."
"I don't know how it happened. I felt it the first time I met him. Larella tried to break it. Myriassima healed it. It's worse than ever now. I can feel his heart beating."
"You can't fight it," Lowell said. "Only death breaks the bond. And usually the partner dies from the shock. I wasn't expecting this to happen. I'm sorry, Dace."
"You mean I'm stuck with him for life?" The implications were beginning to sink in.
"He's also stuck with you," Lowell said and tried to grin.
I felt sick. What about my choice? What about my life? What about Tayvis? That last thought threatened to break my heart. I know Mart felt it and it only added to his burden. He hadn't chosen it either. It had just happened.
"So, who are we running from?" Beryn asked, cutting past the emotional tangle I was stuck in.
"Right now? Pretty much everyone," Lowell said. "Someone in the government found out about Jericho and wants to continue Shimatsu's experiment, only he's looking for tools to use. He wants to be Emperor."
"Who?"
"I don't know. That's what I hope to learn on Drometheus. That's what I hoped the information I left on Shamustel would help us find out."
"I thought things were weird before," Beryn said. "You're trying to tell me that the four of us are going to stop an Imperial coup attempt?"
"And save an entire people no one knows exist," I said.
"Your Family, Dace," Beryn said solemnly.
"What if I don't want them?" I looked at Lowell. He looked pretty grim. "Am I a Lost One?"
"Probably," he shrugged. "It would take an in-depth genetic study to tell for certain. I think you got it from your mother. Darus is about as ordinary a human as you can get. Which explains why I like him so much."
"You get along great, do you?" I fingered the necklace Darus had sent me. I missed Ghost. I needed a warm furry lump who didn't care what genes I carried as long as I scratched under her chin.
"Didn't he tell you? He works for me, as of a month ago. He transferred from the Avenger."
I felt the bottom really drop out of my world. My father worked for Lowell and I was some kind of alien freak tied heart and soul to someone other than Tayvis and we were being chased across the galaxy by pretty much everyone and worst of all, I was shut in a twelve by six foot ship with three men that weren't Tayvis. And I had no idea where my ship and my friends were. How much worse could things get? What had I done to deserve this? Had I cursed myself by laughing at Lady Rina and her cards? I was grasping at straws trying to explain how I'd come to find myself in my own personal version of hell.
Chapter 22
The landing field at Ophir held exactly three ships. The Phoenix had her choice of any of the other dozen available spots. The landing field was just a flat pan of plascrete several acres square. Clark and Jerimon set her in a spot not too far from the port buildings. Authorization consisted of a verbal contract with the port control to pay a minimal fee. They would have to contract refueling through one of the two companies that serviced ships at the port. Prices would be steep.
Jerimon shut down the engines. "What now?"
"I'll cook dinner," Clark offered. "You're still doing dishes," he added, slapping Jerimon on the shoulder.
"I still say all three of you cheated," Jerimon complained.
"Prove it," Jasyn said.
"I'm the only one Scholar knows," Jerimon said. "He won't let any of the rest of you within ten miles. Dishes will have to wait, unless we're going later?" It was late afternoon on Ophir, prime time to find Scholar in his den.
"We can go now," Clark said. "And find out why Dace sent us here."
"We've got a few days before she catches up," Jasyn said. "Jerimon and I will go see Scholar and talk to him. You and Larella see what you can make of the data you sorted out. Maybe Ophir has a datanet with updated information." She sounded doubtful.
"Take a com and check in," Clark said.
"You don't trust Scholar and Doggo?" Jerimon asked.
"I don't trust anyone anymore," Clark said.
Jasyn made sure her com was in a pocket. "We'll be back by dark," she promised and kissed Clark on her way out of the ship.
The streets of Ophir's main port were not busy by any planet's standard. Freight haulers crawled between the warehouses. There were few personal ground cars. Pedestrians were even sparser. The heat of the day was intense.
"Population of Ophir is only about a hundred thousand," Jerimon said, noticing her uneasy looks. "Which makes the population of the port about twenty thousand. It was like this before, maybe not as empty, but it wasn't as hot, either."
He led the way down the streets. It was very hot, more so as they turned into the warehouse district. The heat reflected off the plascrete surface of the street, baking the litter that collected in corners and doorways.
Jerimon stopped in front of a beaten down warehouse that looked like it was in the last stages before demolition. "This is it," he said with a grin.
Jasyn looked skeptical. She started for the door, which looked as if it hadn't opened in years. The trash in front of it was at least a foot deep.
"Through here," Jerimon said, pointing at a sagging board that barely covered a hole in the wall. He bent down and ducked through the hole. Jasyn reluctantly followed.
They were met on the other side by a slight youth with acne on his face and several pounds of metal chains hanging from his jacket. He didn't seem to care that the temperature in the room was high enough to cook eggs. He glared.
"What you want, spacer?" he tried to growl. His voice was too high to make it effective.
"We're here to see Scholar," Jerimon said. "Tell him Jerimon's here."
"Scholar won't see you. Go away."
A head poked through a doorway that leaned several degrees to one side. It had shaggy hair streaked blue and green and a wide grin. "Jerimon? You bring Spacer Chick with you?"
"Not this time, Doggo," Jerimon said. "Brought my sister instead."
The rest of Doggo came through the doorway. He wore a black leather vest over a dirty white shirt. He had chains attached to his pants that swung and clanked with every movement. He swept Jasyn into a hug. "Good to see you," he said. He let her go. "Scholar's inside. He'll be happy to see you. Never mind Marko, there. He don't know anything." He smacked the younger boy on the head.
"I didn't know they was Scholar's friends," Marko whined.
Doggo ignored him, leading the way through the crooked doorway and into the room beyond. They pushed through a set of dusty black curtains.
The interior was much as Jerimon remembered. Large piles of cushions dotted the floor. Most of them looked quite new. Quite a few hand comps were in evidence, lined up neatly on a table that was also new. It still had a tag attached to one leg. Scholar sat on a pile of cushions, his hands darting through a ball of colored light floating in front of him. Two other teenagers, male and female, sat on either side of him, watching intently. The girl flicked a glance at them then ignored them.
Doggo swaggered across the floor and dropped onto a pile of cushions near Scholar. Jerimon followed him. Jasyn picked her way slowly over to them. She chose to stay standing after watching dust billow up from the cushion her brother sat on. The room was quiet enough they could hear a fan creaking above them. The air was surprisingly cool in the darkened warehouse.
The colors in the ball swirled and changed rapidly as Scholar's hands twisted and tugged. He made a final gesture and the ball turned solid blue. It shrank and flattened, becoming just an ordinary computer interface. Scholar tapped a spot and the screen flickered out of existence. The two teens sitting on either side of him relaxed.
"That's how you do it," Scholar said. He looked over at Jerimon and grinned. He was only a few years older than the teens surrounding him and for
once, he looked his age. "What brings you all the way out here?"
"Lowell sent us," Jerimon answered.
Scholar's eyebrows rose fractionally. "Dace in trouble again?"
"You could say that," Jerimon said.
Scholar's eyes swept over Jasyn. She wore a green shipsuit, match to Jerimon's. His eyes came back to her face, studying her. She saw the intelligence in his face and was reassured. Dace and Lowell knew Scholar, knew what he could do. He just looked so young.
"My sister, Jasyn," Jerimon introduced her.
Scholar grinned more broadly and gave her a half bow, a strange sight since he was still seated on a dusty cushion. "Charmed, I'm sure," he murmured in imitation of court manners and accent. He was good, as good as the actors in the vids. She had to return his grin. "What can I help you with? Tell me what trouble you need rescued from this time."
"That's half the problem," Jerimon said. "We don't know."
"Then let's start with what you do know," Scholar said.
"You ever heard of Jericho?" Jerimon answered, leaning back and giving every appearance of being at ease. Jasyn could read the tension in his face, well hidden unless you knew what to look for.
"Can't say that I have," Scholar said.
"Then I doubt you can help us," Jasyn said.
"The lady misjudges me," Scholar murmured. His hands touched a thin control pad on the floor in front of his cushion. The glowing screen jumped to life, hanging in the air in front of him. His hands deftly twisted into the code, pulling and stretching the screen into a new configuration. The blue of the screen ran and dripped into molten purple and violent red. Scholar tugged and squeezed the colored light. A single thread of yellow snaked across the screen. Scholar caught it and pulled. The screen snapped flat again. A single block of text glowed fixedly on a background of angry purple.
Scholar's grin faded away. He scanned the text quickly then gave them a puzzled look through the purple light. "High encryption. Someone does not want this found."
