"Well, we certainly have been busy, haven't we?" said Garavenah. "You know, Timon, that whatever I have here is at your disposal, but I'm not exactly sure what we can do to help. You know the nature of the operation here. It's not exactly set up to do the sort of things I think we need."
"No Gara, that's not what we need from you," said Pellis. "Basically, we need a place to lie low and out of the picture for a while so we can give time for them, and we know who they are, to put the wheels in motion. Hopefully the Sirona don't know, but with the appearance of The Dark Falcon back on New Helvetica, we can't be sure. We acted quickly enough when we got there, but we can't be certain. At least we can make ourselves a little bit useful while things are getting ready and stay effectively low profile while we do so. What do you say, Gara?"
"No doubt about it, I could use a few more capable hands at the moment, and ones that I can trust. Not that I suppose I have any real choice in the matter anyway, hey Timon?" She smiled reprovingly at him.
"Well, no, I don't suppose you do," he replied with a sheepish smile. "And nor, really, do I."
֍
It wasn't hard to adapt to the lifestyle on Belshore. There were just three major rules to watch out for, eyes, ears, and lips. It was a bit of a slogan amongst the small group at Garavenah's. You always kept your eyes and ears open and you said nothing. That way you survived. There were two other lesser rules. You never went out unless you were armed, and you never went anywhere alone. These latter two didn't faze Mahra at all. The trio from The Dark Falcon were a natural grouping anyway, and she always went armed in one way or another. Not only did she have her blade, but now that she had Chutzpah back, she was regaining some of her confidence, driven away with the shock of her realisations. He too, was still a weapon in his own right.
They had to get used to always keeping an eye out for dusters. The problem with the dusters was they were simply unpredictable. One moment they could be walking unassumingly down a crowded street, the next, some crazy-eyed individual would leap upon the nearest passer-by and start pounding his or her head into the ground. Nobody could plan for something like that, so they stayed alert. The problem seemed to be growing daily.
Mahra quickly developed a deep respect for Garavenah. The short, no-nonsense leader of the group had an unenviable task keeping things together in the adverse conditions provided by Belshore. The world was a haven in many respects, but probably the most violent and dangerous haven ever known. Garavenah had lost many friends and colleagues during her time there, but through all of it she made do. Mahra felt empathy with everything she had been through. The thing was, she did it by choice. Mahra had to admire her toughness and dedication.
Garavenah was hard, and yet there was something about her that was almost maternal. Mahra had little trouble understanding what Pellis liked about her. There was clearly some sort of history going back between the pair, but Mahra didn't think it was necessary to question what. If there was any need for her to know she was sure she'd have been told. She liked the woman for what she was and that was enough. In some ways, she reminded her of Pina so many years ago, full of stout resilience.
Shortly after they arrived, they set about changing their appearance as much as possible. There was not much they could do about Sind, but both Timon and Mahra were able to make some changes. They both suffered short crops, Mahra losing her hair and Pellis his long dark curls. Despite the howls of protest, the famous moustache also went. Pellis turned out to be quite good looking and respectable without the masses of curls dangling around his ears and the growth curling to either side of his mouth. The shock of white in his hair became even more striking, accenting a simply good-looking face, and making it into something more. He also reluctantly dispensed with the famous red boots.
The transformation was a source of great amusement to Garavenah. She chuckled and shook her head every time he reached out of habit to stroke the now non-existent moustache.
Mahra took to wearing shades day and night, though there was not much call to go out by day. Belshore was well and truly a night world. That was when everything happened and when all business of any significance was transacted.
As the weeks wore on, they begin to feel more at home with Garavenah and her crew. They were a tough lot, but disciplined with it and they each afforded Garavenah the respect she was due. Garavenah was in charge. There was no doubt about that. For the moment, Pellis's instructions were to sit put, and that was what they were doing, though Timon had his share of complaints. Wheels had been set in motion and it was going to take time for everything to be put in place.
Inside, Mahra ached with the need to do something, to act somehow to exact a price for what had been done to her and her people. The dreams went on, waking her in the night and making her tired and irritable. She worked hard with her blade, trying to maintain her form, but it was difficult.
Meanwhile, the CoCee plans took shape. Vast cargo ships travelled into Belshore space carrying consignments of machinery and equipment. Small packages were delivered and stowed in various locations around the city. Mahra herself was visited by a procession of medical techs who prodded and poked and probed her until she felt she could stand it no longer. She felt as if there wasn't a single orifice that hadn't been subjected to scrutiny. Chutz was not exempt from the process either, though he suffered it with a little less understanding. Even though she explained to them that he had no neural implants, that he was just what he was, they went ahead anyway. There was more than one bleeding finger by the time they'd finished with him.
Gradually, Mahra watched the CoCee plan solidify. Whether she liked it or not, Mahra had become a weapon in a conflict that she knew little about before the sequence of events that brought them here. She wasn't at all happy about the analysis and attention, but she remembered why she was here. She remembered and she knew it was right.
Although she realised they needed time to get everything ready, along with her frustration, she was becoming bored. Belshore kept her on her toes, but she didn't like waiting for things to happen. Chutzpah was picking up her frustration and he too was becoming tense and irritable. Sind was happy enough. He was involved in the supervision of the project taking place inside various large warehouses around Belshore. It was a different story for Timon. He too felt the claustrophobia and restriction.
It was as much to keep themselves entertained as anything else that Mahra and Pellis began to spend more and more time together. She found that underneath the theatre and bravado was more theatre and bravado, but it was somehow different. It was stuff borne of idealism and the dreams of youth unquelled. He could find spirit and adventure in things where she'd hesitate to look, and, somehow, it had remained untarnished. Without the trappings of his hair and moustache, it was as if he had become more open to her. She knew there was no sense in it but that was the way it felt. The traces of a bond were starting to take shape.
Finally, the CoCee started shipping in trainee pilots and Mahra had something to do. They had found volunteer pilots who were willing to undergo the operation grafting the neural material linking their brain hemispheres in preparation. It seemed that all the prodding and probing was going to come to something after all. Mahra started teaching them about what she knew of jump space and the feelings that accompanied it. There was only so much she could do, because there was no real way to describe it without experiencing it.
She developed a program of daily exercises, similar to those she learnt as a child and drilled the pilots in them. She wasn't sure how much of the routine was essential to the jump ability, but she had to cover every option. Every day she asked Timon to request a ship for her. The only way to train these people was to take them up and show them, she was convinced. She wasn't sure whether proximity to an active jump drive had any part in triggering her own ability, but she had to explore that as a possibility as well.
After much badgering, the CoCee gave in and a ship arrived, fitted for her purpose. It was only a small training vesse
l, but it was fitted with the drive, and that was what counted. Timon looked the ship over and thought it was good enough for what she wanted, so Mahra arranged to take a couple of the new trainees up the next day. They took off, and when Mahra judged they're far enough out from Belshore to avoid detection, she palmed the drive.
Her senses washed with the patterns and the field outside the ship was covered in streaming flickering grey. She took a few moments to adjust and then turned to her trainees.
"So," she said, "do you see them?"
"See what?" said the pilot called Karnak. He was looking from the holo displays, to the view out of the front port, and back at the displays again, a slight frown on his face.
Mahra shifted their heading to face into a corridor. She sensed the end-point and the start point of that line and she could see the rings clearly pulsing down its length.
"Now?" she asked.
"Uh-uh," said Karnak, looking at her curiously. "What are we supposed to see?"
"Come on. You've both been through the simulations. You know as well as I do what you're supposed to see. Are you sure? Both of you, concentrate. Still your minds as I've showed you. Seek that sharpness inside yourselves."
Mahra waited, watching their faces, and chewing at her bottom lip. After a time, Karnak shrugged and shook his head.
"Stinson ... what about you?"
The woman shook her head.
"Fire!" muttered Mahra from between closed teeth. After all this, was it to come to nothing? There had to be something she was missing. It couldn't be just these two.
"Okay," she said. "I'm taking you back."
The two looked at each other blankly and Karnak shrugged. Well, let them think she was a fool. She didn't care. She'd try it with another pair and then another after that until she worked out what was wrong. And if that didn't work she'd try again. Perhaps the implants needed more time to take. She just didn't know.
Three more times she left Belshore with another set of trainees and each time she returned disappointed. With every attempt, her frustrations grew. She was starting to give up hope.
֍
One night, after dinner and a few too many drinks with Timon, events conspired to make something happen.
They were returning to the warehouse glowing in the pleasure of food, drink and each other's company and feeling a little unsteady as a result of their indulgence. They walked arm in arm, enjoying the contact. Chutz was making his disapproval and jealousy felt, but Mahra was ignoring him. At that moment, she just couldn't care less. It was probably because of this that she ignored the first signs of trouble. She felt Chutzpah tense and stiffen at her shoulder but dismissed it. She noticed the low growl growing in his throat, but told him to shut up. By the time she realised there was something wrong, it was too late. The duster was upon them.
The duster had to have been standing hidden in the shadows of one of the small alleys leading from the street they walked, because he appeared suddenly in front of them without a hint of warning. Screaming with full voice, he launched himself at Mahra knocking her back with the weight of his body. Still screaming he grabbed her head with both hands and slammed it against the wall behind her. Then again. Her vision exploded with white light and pain.
The screaming in her ears and the sickly sweetness of his breath were the last things she remembered until Timon's face swam into view, his eyes filled with concern as he gently stroked her forehead.
"Mahra, can you hear me? Are you okay? Mahra?"
"Hmmm," she murmured.
The relief on his face was evident as he leaned down and kissed her forehead.
Suddenly her mind was filled with other images in the semi-dark, and the pain and fear that went with them. Another man was leaning over, reaching for her, fumbling at his leathers.
"No!" she cried, scrambling backward, and pressing herself against the wall.
"Mahra, what is it?" Timon said, reaching for her.
"No!" she cried. "Stay away. Just stay back." She huddled against the wall, her head pounding and her insides gone cold. Her breath caught in her throat, and she had to force herself to take another, then another. She was pressed back against the wall, but slowly she realised that it was a brick wall, not one made of metal. She was crouched back against a wall on a street on Belshore, nowhere else.
"Mahra ... " Timon was standing back now, looking at her pleadingly. "What is it? Tell me?" It was Timon. It was his voice, not someone else's.
Mahra tried desperately to force the sensation of panic from her. Chutz was not helping matters. He stood between her legs, bristling, daring Timon to come any closer.
Mahra reached out a hand to settle him. It was not Timon's fault, she knew, though her heart was pounding in her chest. But Chutzpah didn't.
"Chutz, no," she said with a groan. "It's not his fault. Oh, no ... " Her heart was still pounding in her ears, making the pain in her head worse.
She bit her lip and looked up at him. "Come on, Timon. My head hurts. Let's get out of here," Mahra said with another groan.
"But what was that? What's wrong?"
"I-I can't explain now. Can it wait until we get back? Timon, p-please. We need to get away from here."
Timon spread his hands wide. "Yes, you're right," he said. "We should make ourselves scarce." He pointed over to a crumpled form lying against the wall. "Too many questions."
Mahra staggered to her feet. Timon put his arm out to steady her, but she cringed away. Frowning, he withdrew it.
She didn't want to treat him like that, but something inside her shrank away from his touch. Somehow, when he had been leaning over her, with her head pounding, the pain and violence still with her, it reminded her. It reminded her of other semi-darkness, of faces looming over hers, of a tiny cabin on a transport ship on its way to a mining world. She tried to push the memory away, but it kept coming back to her, making her shrink, small and cold inside herself.
She looked over at Timon as they walked and saw the concern in his eyes. He saw her looking and reached out his arm again, but she shrank away from it, and he pressed his lips together, pulled it away and turned to face the way they were walking.
Later, back at the warehouse, Timon saw her to her quarters and fussed about getting something to relieve the pain in her head. Mahra knew she had to give him an explanation. She owed him that much.
As soon as the painkiller had started to take effect, she lifted Chutzpah and placed him gently outside the door, then closed it behind him. She went and sat on the bunk, then deliberately held out a hand.
"Timon, come here. I need to explain something to you."
After a moment of doubt, he took her proffered hand and she drew him down to sit beside her. She held on to his hand, looked him straight in the eyes, and taking a deep breath, began to talk.
"There are things that happened to me a long time ago, that I need to tell you," she began.
Timon tried to stop her, but she insisted. He sat mutely as she talked, his expression changing from sympathy, to anger, to horror, and back, as she filled in the details of her early life, and beyond. When she had finished, he sat looking at her in silence.
Finally, he looked away. "Mahra, I had no — "
"It doesn't matter," she said. "What's done is done. But there are things that are not easy for me sometimes. I just need you to understand."
He nodded slowly. Somehow, the telling had made her feel better, as if a weight had been lifted from her. She sat back on the bunk, leaned her head back and closed her eyes.
Timon made to withdraw his hand, but she held it tight.
Sometime later, they were sitting together in silence and she relaxed her grip. Gently, the back of his fingers traced her thigh as his hand slid down to the bunk.
"Mahra," he said, quietly.
"Hm-hmm?"
"I'm sorry."
"No Timon, I'm sorry. There's no way you could have known. There are things inside me that go back a long way. Some of them are never going to re
ally go away. It's what I am. I'm different and I have to deal with those differences."
"How are you different?"
"Oh Timon, in so many ways. Look at me. Think about it. What about these things I carry in my head? What about my training? What about my childhood. Why is it that I seem to have this ability and nobody else does? I am different."
"We all carry things around with us Mahra, that doesn't make you different."
Something about what Pellis said suddenly struck a chord. She looked down at where his hand lay on her leg.
"Say that again, Timon," she said.
"What? We all carry things around with us and that doesn't make you different."
Mahra sat bolt upright and stared at him.
"Oh, but it does," she said. "That's it! That's what was missing!" She reached forward with both hands, and threw her arms around him.
"What? What have I said?" said Timon. "Mahra, I can't work you out. First one minute you behave like you don't want me near you, and, oh, I'm sorry ... "
"No, no. That's not important now. Listen. You know the problem we've been having with the trainees. Not one has been able to see the same things I have in jump. They've had the operations with the neural implants, I've been training them, but nothing. Don't you see? Yes, the neural implants are necessary. Yes, the training is necessary, but there's always been something missing from the pattern. Somehow, I knew all the pieces weren't there. When you said we all carry things around with us....”
Timon sat back looking confused.
"I don't see — "
"Think about it. Carry. What did I carry? When Jayeer removed the package from my leg, he noticed that it had been damaged."
"Yes and ... ah, I see. Mahra, we've got to let them know!" He leapt to his feet, hesitated for just a moment, then gripped her by the shoulders. "This could be it."
Without a further word, he rushed out to set things in motion. Chutzpah slipped back inside before the door closed and looked around the room. He sat, just inside the door, his tail bristling as he tasted the air.
The Jump Point Page 25
