by Mind Guest
I cut him off, sickened by the memory of how pleased I'd felt, more
ashamed by that than by the actual doing. Killing a man is sometimes
necessary, but it had always been something that had to be done, not
something to be enjoyed.
"That mind presence was too much for you," Dameron insisted, crouching
down to put a hand on my shoulder. "We've removed every trace of it we
could find, so you won't be bothered by it again. Your side has been
Healed, Valdon's wounds have been Healed, and you're both safely back
where you belong. Why don't you try forgetting about the rest of it?"
"Sure, forget," I agreed tonelessly, moving away from his hand to lie
flat again. The plain gold ceiling was projecting images, so I closed
my eyes and added, "There are some cartons of cigarettes among the
stores on my ship. I'd appreciate the favor of having one brought to
me."
Dameron sighed without saying anything, then I heard him straighten up
and leave the room. I just kept my eyes closed and fought for control.
The carton of cigarettes was brought by an amiable young thing who gave
me her best friendly smile along with the carton. I nodded my thanks in
a distracted way, unsealed the carton and one of the packs, then lit up
and took a deep drag. I like thinking with a cigarette in my hand, and
I'd done enough cussing at myself without a blue-gray cloud around to
emphasize the points. I was still in bed, still wearing the brief, onepiece
garment those medics kept supplying me with, but I'd shifted to a
cross-legged sitting position for better leverage on the ideas I'd been
tossing around. It was fairly obvious to anyone with a brain that I'd been a doubledamned
fool. I should have called a halt to the operation as soon as I
found out about my alter ego, but I was too damned stubborn to admit
I'd come up against something I might not be able to handle. I'd looked
at it as a challenge, a challenge, for Pete's sake!
When my life and a good number of other lives depended on my being
rational enough to handle a simple part. Twelve years in the business,
and I hadn't even had the sense to realize that it was Bellna growing
stronger and more in control and not me. She grew to the point of being
able to take over without my even noticing it, and the end result was a
murderous, conscienceless little monster with the specialized abilities
of a Federation Special Agent. Special Agent! I laughed bitterly.
Special idiot was more like it!
No matter how long I thought about it, I still couldn't understand why
I hadn't guessed who Fallan was. Looking back at it I could see one
clue after another, starting with the way Grigon had acted. If Fallan
had been a real Tildorani mercenary, Grigon would never have let him
get the last word in about not talking to me before we left. And that
comment Fallan had made in the woodsman's house, about Grigon having
been right. Grigon had probably urged him to tell me who he really was,
but he hadn't agreed until it was too late. The speed the big man had
showed, the unusual amount of patience, the times he hadn't been
insulted when he should have been-hint after hint after hint and none
of it had come through! I hadn't even asked where his Company was while
he was looking after me in the Paldovar Village or, more to the point,
why he was looking after me. Bellna wasn't bright enough to ask
questions like that and she'd been the one in control.
"Don't you ever believe in smiling?" a voice asked, and my head jerked
up to see Valdon standing in the doorway. I didn't know how long he'd
been standing there, and I stared at him for a minute without being
able to say anything, then cleared my throat.
"Don't you ever believe in knocking?" I tried, not at all sure what
else there was to say. He was back to wearing a blue uniform coverall
like Dameron's, and he was back to having black hair and eyes and a
ridiculously good too king face that looked nothing at all like
Fallan's, but there was something familiar about the way he stood and
moved and looked at me.
"Attack and counterattack," he grinned, moving out of the doorway and
closer toward my bed. "I think I recognize the pattern." Then he
noticed the cigarette in my hand and stopped short. "Now what are you
doing?" he asked, studying the pile of ashes I'd accumulated.
"I'm smoking," I supplied, taking a drag to prove the point before
putting the cigarette out. "And what are you doing out of bed?"
"You've got some catching up to do," he commented, still eyeing the
ashes and dead cigarette "I've been out of bed for days. Apparently
they found fixing my body easier than fixing your mind."
He was standing no more than four feet away from me, and I couldn't
keep my eyes on his face. I looked down into my lap at a pair of hands
that suddenly had nothing to do, discovering that my mind was as blank
of dialogue as the walls were blank of decoration. Apologizing is a
snap when you don't mean a word of what you say, but the real thing
tends to be somewhat awkward.
"What's wrong?" he asked, moving closer to the bed so he could sit down
at the foot of it. I would have been happier if he'd left the room, but
there was no getting out of it.
"Look," I blurted, bringing my eyes back up to his. "I don't really
know how to say this, but it's got to be said. I had no right doing what I did to you, and I apologize."
"Sincere and from the heart," he observed, leaning down on one elbow as
he shook his head. "If I hadn't gotten to know you so well, I might
have doubted your sincerity."
His sarcastic tone of voice might have begun eating away at my regret
if I hadn't remembered that he had the right to be sarcastic at the
very least. I decided it was time for another cigarette, and occupied
my hands and mouth that way.
"You're showing admirable restraint these days," he said, still
sarcastic. "They must have done a good job on you after all. Is that
all there is to it? You 'apologize'?"
I pulled the cigarette out of my mouth, exhaling a thick cloud, and
stared at him without much amusement.
"That's a good deal further than I usually go," I remarked. "Were you
looking for something written in blood?"
"That would be appropriate," he grinned, making himself more
comfortable, "but maybe we can think of something even better." His
eyes moved over me where I sat cross legged at the head of the bed, and
his grin grew lazy. "Have any suggestions?"
I wasn't sure I understood what he was getting at or maybe I didn't
want to understand it.
"I'm not feeling particularly swift today," I said, leaning back
against the wall. "Why don't you try being more specific?"
"There's not much to be specific about," he shrugged, keeping his eyes
on me. "If you've got something you'd like to apologize for, there are
more intimate and friendly-ways of doing it."
He just sat there watching me, that irritating grin faint but obvious,
his longish black hair falling over his forehead, patiently waiting for
a more
intimate apology. I studied him silently for another moment, my
thoughts not quite polite enough to describe, my breath filling the
space between us with light gray smoke.
"If that's your price, you've got it," I told him after the minute, the
decision coming out flat and emotionless, matching a reluctant
willingness to pay for my mistakes. I put the cigarette out with three
or four stabs at the shallow, square ceramic bowl I'd been given, then
got to my feet to remove the short body-suit. The mustard yellow color
of the thing was inexplicably annoying, but Valdon wasn't looking
annoyed. His eyes moved over me with a good deal of interest, and his
grin widened again when I lay down next to him.
"Very nice," he murmured, still absorbed in his inspection. "Very nice
indeed."
His approval was obvious, but he wasn't making any attempt to touch me.
I looked up at him from where I lay on the soft yellow cover, wondering
what he was waiting for. I wasn't enjoying the episode and wanted an
end to it as soon as possible, so I moved my hand toward him with the
intention of increasing his interest, but never got the chance. His
hand shot out to grab my wrist, stopping my arm in mid movement, and
the look in his black eyes sharpened.
"As I said, this is all very nice," he repeated, "but what do you
expect to gain by it? Do you think I can be bought off with the chance
to exercise a few muscles?"
"Bought off?" I choked, gaping at him incredulously. "What do I expect
to gain?" I was so mad I totally lost the ability to speak. He was the
one who had wanted more than words in apology, and now he was acting as
though I was the one who! I growled low in my throat, feeling the rage
surge through me, and struggled to get my wrist loose from his grip.
His fingers tightened around my wrist, improving his grip instead of loosening it, making me fight harder to get free.
"What's the matter?" he drawled, grinning that infuriating grin. "You
can't be thinking of giving up on the apologizing?"
"Apologizing!" I echoed in outrage, trying to calm down enough to
remember how to pull loose the right way. "I'll be damned if I'll stand
for this any longer! I may not have had the right to do what I did to
you, but I sure as hell had the provocation! You might as well get out
of here right now, because I have nothing to apologize for!"
As mad as I was, I was totally unprepared for his reaction to that. The
grin left him entirely, and his eyes became as serious as his
expression.
"That's right, you don't," he agreed, finally letting go of my wrist.
"As a matter of fact, you never did have what to apologize for."
I gaped at him again, mechanically rubbing at my wrist, and his grin
was back as suddenly as it had gone.
"You're one hard female to convince of something," he said, reaching
over to gently close my mouth. "Dameron told me that you refused to
understand about what had happened, so I thought I'd try my hand at
reaching you. But first I had to get you mad enough to forget about the
guilt you felt."
Well, he had gotten me mad, all right, but I could see he didn't
understand what was really involved. I sat up and ran my hands through
my hair, shaking my head at him.
"I don't feel guilty, but I do feel stupid," I explained. "Stupid and
incompetent. I appreciate your effort, but there's not much anyone can
do about it."
"I don't understand what you're talking about," he protested, beginning
to sound annoyed. "The way you acted was a direct result of the
impression, and couldn't possibly be considered your fault. Bellna's
presence was so strong and overpowering that I noticed it as soon as
you'd been impressed-that's why I insisted on being the one to take
Fallan's place. No one else noticed a damned thing, and wouldn't have
believed me if I'd tried warning them about it. It's also why I brought
in another 'decoy,' pretending it was all Grigon's idea. I wanted to be
prepared if anything went really wrong, and it gave me a good excuse
for shoving you out of the center of things, where Bellna would feel at
home and therefore be stronger. It wasn't anyone's fault but Clero's
that it didn't do much good."
"You're still looking at it backwards," I insisted, rolling over to
grab a cigarette. "The whole thing was my fault from beginning to end,
and I know it even if you don't."
I got the cigarette lit and was about to move farther away from him
with it, but his band on my arm rolled me back toward him.
"If you know so much, explain it to me," he invited, a stubborn look in
those dark black eyes. "Maybe there's something I'm missing."
His expression said he didn't think he was missing anything, but if
nothing else, he was entitled to an explanation. I shrugged inwardly as
I took a drag on the cigarette, then lay back to make myself
comfortable.
"When I first arrived here," I began, "I took great pains to keep you
and Dameron from finding out what I was really like. It turned out to
be a mistake, because if Dameron had had all the facts he probably
wouldn't have gotten involved with me.
"My full designation is, 'Special Agent of the Federation Council,' and
doesn't begin to explain the sort of person who carries such a
designation. When I first woke up here at the base, I was prepared to
kill any or all of you if I found you in my way. I have as small an amount of conscience as is humanly possible, a state which is a prime
requirement of my job. I know how to kill and have done so each time it
was required of me. I am trained in unarmed combat to an extent that
most people find terrifying. The only redeeming feature I possess is
judgment, a characteristic which allows me to function as an asset to
society rather than a blot on it. With all these things in mind,
knowing myself as no one here knows me, I let myself be put into a
position where a childish mind presence could impair that judgment and
did. I am a professional in my field, and as such my actions were
inexcusable-and stupid. Do you understand now?"
I turned my head to look at him, and saw that he bad been listening.
His head was down and his eyes were on the soft yellow c6ver, and he
seemed to be considering what I'd said. After a minute or two has eyes
came up to meet mine and he smiled gently.
"I see your point," he murmured, "but there's something you're not
taking into consideration. Dameron did know what he had in you,
otherwise he never would have sent you. He questioned you thoroughly
when we first found you, and when a crisis came up Dameron took
advantage of what he'd learned. But as far as I can see, neither one of
you is at fault because there was no way of anticipating what the
impression would do to you. Even Grigon has admitted that he let you
talk him into not reporting what he observed because there was no
alternative plan to substitute for what had to be done. Dameron knew
it, Grigon knew it, and you knew it. How could any of you be expected
to walk away from such a necessity on the
outside chance that something
might go wrong?"
The sincerity of his spiel was tempting, but single-mindedness is an
integral part of my character.
"Stupidity is stupidity," I muttered, taking another drag on the
cigarette. "Dameron and Grigon didn't know how hard I had to fight to
keep Bellna from taking over. I did. I just refused to admit it."
"If stubbornness was a power source, you could handle a city," Valdon
growled, narrowing his eyes and shaking his head at me. "A large city.
If you're that dead set on taking the blame, maybe getting punished for
it would ease your nonexistent conscience. Suppose I turn you bottom up
again and find out?"
He began reaching a hand out toward me, but I knocked it away with a
snort.
"That's not funny," I told him, remembering all too well the first time
he'd done it. "I'm used to coupling crime with escape, not with
punishment, so don't do me any favors. As a matter of fact, your
interesting manner of punishment was a prime motivation for what
happened later. Was that Fallan's way of doing things or yours?"
"Mine," he admitted with no backwardness or reget, but with a
broadening grin. "I'd worked pretty damned hard at pulling you out of
that fever, and I was in no mood to see you wandering around. Just
being out of bed so soon might have gotten you that whacking, but then
you started pulling some of your fancy tricks. I suddenly remembered
all the other things you'd done and that clinched it."
"That particular reminder came from Bellna rather than me," I told him
with a grimace. "She started the whole thing, then ran out and left me
holding the bag. The only bit of luck in this whole mess was the luck I
had when there was enough time to change you to look like Fallan. I
doubt if the real Fallan would have gone to the lengths you did to keep
me whole."
"The real Fallan would have disappeared as soon as he found out about
Clero's plans," Valdon said, but he was again frowning at me. "He liked to think of himself as a practical man. But let's return to what you
said about there being enough time to change me. Didn't Dameron tell
you that we got our hands on Fallan no more than three hours before he
was due to pick you up?"
"No, he didn't," I said, matching Valdon's frown. "But if that's true,
how did they manage to change you so fast?"
