"Last known employer of Dhareel sen Bikstra."
"Hojjasta Vikram sen Attines, House Attines, Nemeal."
"Position?"
"Define parameters of inquiry."
"Last known employment of Dhareel sen Bikstra."
"Personal assistant to Hojjasta Vikram sen Attines."
Jhyoti remained silent for so long that the computer went into dormant mode. Finally, she spoke again.
"Search media and Guard reports for missing persons, cross-reference House Attines."
After a minute, the computer reported. “There are no reports of missing persons cross-referenced with House Attines."
Jhyoti asked a few more questions, to be certain, then sat back to think. No one had reported Dhareel sen Bikstra missing. How could a valued servant end up beaten, dead and abandoned in a bashravi without anyone calling attention to her disappearance?
Her eyes burned from lack of sleep. It was the middle of the night—she would have to wait until morning to pursue. She lay down, fully clothed, to snatch a few hours of sleep. As consciousness fled, a thought floated across her awareness. It was not the woman's death she needed to understand. It was her life.
* * * *
The next morning, before breakfast, Jhyoti jogged through the main exercise quadrangle, ran up the steps of Headquarters and removed her beret before entering the building. Admiral Dilan had summoned her.
Five minutes later, she was standing at attention, staring at the top of the Admiral's head, practising control. He was seated at his desk, head bowed over a palm reader. The windows had polarized to shut out the glare of the Nemeal afternoon. Though this kept the heat out, it also kept out much of the natural daylight. Walking in from the bright anteroom placed the visitor at a disadvantage.
A petty trick.
The Dilan clan had argued fiercely against allowing bhoto into the Academy, only to be overruled by the Alliance. Despite the ruling, no bhoto had ever met the Academy entrance criteria until she came along—and she was half-caste. Perhaps her admittance into the Academy was only half a failure for the Dilan clan.
The mahti saw her as a mongrel. The bhoto saw her as the thin wedge.
And she saw herself sailing the stars.
"Sit down, cadet."
For a moment, she stood still, her mind temporarily blank. In all the years she had come to this cave, she had never been invited to sit. What was the devil planning to say, that she needed to be seated to hear it?
He glanced up from his palm reader, frowning that fierce white frown of his. Jhyoti sat down, carefully folding her hands on her lap so as not to touch the chair. She wanted no sensory echoes from other hapless cadets who had sat there before her. She had forgotten to don her gloves and it was too late to fish them out.
The Admiral was a tall, trim man who looked good in the Alliance uniform. Still, a man of his age should not indulge in affectations such as a moustache, especially when he was cursed with the Dilan nose.
In these five years that felt like ten, Admiral Dilan had taken every opportunity to make her life miserable. He particularly delighted in assigning her to work with the base engineers on the new Davidovich drive.
She had fetched; she had carried. She had cleaned the exhaust manifold of the drive, taken apart command consoles for maintenance and worse, put them back together. Five years of these extra-curricular chores. All because she was half-caste.
She had loathed the engineering assignments, and he knew it. And so she had done them well, to spite him. She had applied herself with diligence and intelligence, until all the engineers knew her by name. Eventually, she reached a level of comfort and even competence with the Davidovich Drive. The engineers now welcomed her—if not as a peer, then as a talented apprentice.
Still, understanding the Davidovich Drive had nothing to do with becoming an exoanth.
The Admiral turned the full force of his attention on her.
"You have done well, Cadet Chandar."
She could not help herself. Her eyebrows tried to climb off her face. She was suddenly glad to be seated.
"Thank you, Admiral."
He swept a big hand out, brushing aside her thanks. “It will not matter, however. If you fail this final assignment, you will not graduate."
Jhyoti's stomach clenched. “Yes, sir."
Her report was ready. It was due at the end of the day. It would startle the experts. All theories to date assumed that the inner bashravi was a holy temple where yisils conducted traditional religious ceremonies. Instead it was a morgue set up to examine bodies before washing them and returning them to the families for burial. Her report would advance the body of knowledge. It would assure her of graduating.
"That is why it surprised me to hear that you were investigating members of my family instead of working on your assignment."
Jhyoti swallowed hard. “Your family, sir?"
Admiral Dilan's face was expressionless. “The House Attines. Hojjasta sen Attines is my cousin. Her security office flagged the search you did."
Jhyoti waited, giving away nothing.
"And I have been informed that you took a sampler from the equipment room without authorization."
"It has been returned."
The Admiral frowned. Five years ago, that frown had made her quail. Now it stiffened her resolve. She was close to an answer. This mahti would not stop her.
He stared at her for a long time, as if to strip the truth from her. “Why did you need the sampler?"
"For my assignment, sir."
The tightening of his lips told her he knew she was lying. He could do nothing about it until she turned her report in.
If she turned it in.
"And does the House Attines have to do with your assignment, as well?"
"Only indirectly, sir. A loose end to tie up my report."
"Tread carefully, Cadet,” he said softly. “Mahti families do not care to be the subject of such curiosity."
* * * *
"Yes?"
Jhyoti smiled tentatively at the man on the screen. “I have come to apply for the position."
The man's eyebrows rose. At his temple, she could see the telltale tattoo. Tiny amrit loops lined both his ears. “Position?"
"Personal Assistant to Hojjasta sen Attines."
The side gate slid open and Jhyoti stepped in, hoping she would be able to leave as easily. It was a risk she was willing to take for a chance at learning something of Dhareel sen Bikstra's life in House Attines.
She had no illusions. Moments after her departure, the Admiral would be alerted to her deception. But perhaps by then she would know the truth about what had happened to Dhareel.
She walked through a lush kitchen garden to where the man from the screen awaited her at the door.
"My name is Salmalin. Come.” He led the way into a small room with a desk and two chairs. A window in an inner wall looked onto a kitchen where servants were busy preparing the midday meal.
"What makes you think there is an opening?” He waved her to a seat and took the one behind the desk.
Jhyoti carefully arranged her robe, making sure he saw her gloves. “One hears things..."
"What kind of things?” said a woman's sharp voice from behind her. Jhyoti twisted in her seat and caught her breath in dismay. Hojjasta sen Attines.
Jhyoti quickly rose to face the woman, not wanting her at her back. “Mistress Attines—"
Hojjasta sen cut her off with a sharp movement of her hand. “Where did you hear that there was a position?” She was a big woman, taller even than Jhyoti and was cursed with the Dilan nose. It gave her a predatory look.
Before Jhyoti could remember what she had planned to say, Hojjasta sen's glance fell on her hands. The look on her face went from baleful to calculating.
"You are an empath.” Her lips pursed slowly as her gaze travelled the length and breadth of Jhyoti's form.
"I am, mistress.” She struggled to keep the fear from her voice, then decided to
use it. “But it does not prevent me from working well."
Hojjasta sen waved away Jhyoti's explanation. “Nonsense. I like having an empath around.” She smiled sweetly, showing small teeth.
"Mistress,” said Salmalin, startling Jhyoti. She had forgotten his presence.
"Come with me,” said the woman, ignoring the servant. “Take the gloves off."
Jhyoti was swept down a hallway to the front of the house in the wake of the mistress of House Attines. Part of her wished she had never come. The other part wished she could find out where Dhareel sen Bikstra's quarters were.
She removed her gloves as she walked, feeling naked without them. Then Hojjasta sen stopped and Jhyoti found herself in a small study complete with an antique wood desk and chairs, a replica of an ancient Earth sisal carpet and a huge wall monitor that displayed a garden scene.
"Sit down.” Hojjasta indicated an upholstered chair.
Jhyoti's trepidation dissipated in her irritation at the woman's tone of voice. This one was accustomed to being obeyed.
She sat down, brushing her fingers against the fabric as she did.
A wash of old lust, mingled with amusement. Overlaying all: anger.
When she could focus again, Jhyoti found herself pinned to the chair by Hojjasta's amused gaze. The woman had deliberately chosen a chair on which she had made love. Disgust drove Jhyoti to her feet.
"I must leave now."
"So soon?” Hojjasta's mouth pursed in disappointment, but her gaze sharpened. “You have not yet told me how you knew there was a position open in my house."
"I did not,” replied Jhyoti shortly, “until you confirmed it."
She headed for the door, pulling her gloves on, but Hojjasta was faster.
"Wait!” She grabbed Jhyoti by the arm. The intimacy shocked Jhyoti more than the residual sexual energy in the chair. To touch a known empath, uninvited!
What kind of hell had Dhareel sen Bikstra lived through in this monster's employ?
She yanked her arm free, allowing her outrage to show on her face. Far from being abashed, however, Hojjasta sen Attines threw her head back and laughed. On her neck, usually hidden by the collar of her robe, were three deep scratches.
I have you, thought Jhyoti.
And at the same time, she realized how vulnerable she was. Should she disappear, Suri sen and the Admiral could probably guess where she had gone. But one would be unable to help her; the other, unwilling.
"You leave so quickly!” mocked Hojjasta sen Attines. “You did not even tell me your name."
Jhyoti knew it was unwise, but at that moment she wanted nothing more than to erase the smirk from the other woman's face.
"You may call me Suri,” she said.
Hojjasta sen Attines's face grew pale and she stumbled back a step.
Oh yes, thought Jhyoti. I have you.
She left House Attines before Hojjasta sen Attines could recover.
* * * *
Jhyoti returned to the Academy for the sampler before going to the bashravi. She used the street entrance, standing before the ident plate for a long minute while the sun beat down on her head before an acolyte let her in.
"What is it?” said Suri sen once she had been informed of Jhyoti's arrival. Her sleeves were rolled up and she was drying her hands on a clean cloth.
"I need a sample of what is under her fingernails."
Suri sen stared at her. “Why?"
Jhyoti noticed for the first time the tiny pinprick scars along the outer edges of the yighsilchi's ears. She glanced at the old woman's temple, but there was no tattoo.
"I need to take the sample myself."
Suri sen remained silent for a long time. “What have you done?” she finally whispered.
And so Jhyoti told the yighsilchi about Dhareel sen Bikstra. When she finished, hope bloomed in Suri sen's eyes.
"There were scratches on Hojjasta's neck,” said Jhyoti. “Dhareel may have fought her before she was killed. If we find Hojjasta's DNA under Dhareel's nails, we will have proof."
Suri sen sighed deeply, as if a long-pent up breath were finally being released.
"Very well,” she said and led the way into the inner courtyard. Yisils looked up in surprise to see a stranger in their midst. Jhyoti tried not to look, but could not help herself. Four of the stations were occupied, the yisils pausing with sonic cleaners in their hands to watch her. She dragged her gaze back and kept it centred on the yighsilchi's back.
Suri sen placed her palm on the indent in the wall and once again the table slid out, bringing with it a gust of cold air.
"Has anyone else touched her?"
Suri sen shook her head. “This slot is keyed to my palm print. No one else can access it."
"Good. Do not allow anyone to see or touch her.” Jhyoti removed the small envelope, the sheet of paper and the sterilized scraper from her pocket. With one gloved hand, she picked up Dhareel's hand and held the thumb out. With her other hand, she scraped under the thumbnail. She did the same for the other fingers. When she was done with Dhareel's left hand, she sealed and labelled the envelope, then proceeded to the right hand.
"Child..."
Jhyoti looked up. “Yes, Suri sen?"
"I am sorry for involving you in this."
Jhyoti was too tired for tact. “It is too late for regrets."
The yighsilchi looked away. “You will pay a price..."
Jhyoti sighed. “This is my choice."
"Can you still turn in your assignment?"
Jhyoti stared at the yighsilchi in amazement. The old woman knew that her report, if turned in, would reveal the mundane secrets of the bashravi. It would diminish the influence and dignity of the yisils.
"You should not concern yourself with me, Suri sen,” she said with finality. Then she turned back to Dhareel and with a deep breath, stripped off her gloves.
"Jhyoti, there is no need...” Suri sen reached out to stop Jhyoti, but it was too late. Jhyoti placed her hand on Dhareel's cold forehead.
It was not as overwhelming as the first time. Dhareel had been dead long enough and her cells were degraded enough to take the sharp edge off the residual emotions. Pain, lust and shame dominated. Dhareel had loved her tormentor, at least for a while. The pain had been both physical and emotional. Ghost feelings flitted by like remnants of a spent sand storm before the moon. Overlaying them all was rage, a rage so strong it had survived death.
Jhyoti opened her mouth to breathe. Her legs trembled and she shut everything out but the woman before her. The rage tasted familiar. She had sensed it before, in House Attines.
Finally she broke the contact, swaying. The yighsilchi's strong arm wrapped around her waist, supporting her. The old woman closed and sealed the shelf and helped Jhyoti back to her office.
Ten minutes and a cup of tea later, Jhyoti stood up. “I must go, Suri sen."
The yighsilchi stood up, too. “What will you do?"
Jhyoti looked down at the old woman, her heart heavy. “I will finish what we started. You understand that you may be required to testify?"
Suri sen's green eyes turned cold. “I will testify. You understand that she is the sister of the Guards Captain?"
Jhyoti nodded. “And the daughter of the provincial governor. Nevertheless."
The yighsilchi gaze roved over Jhyoti's face as if memorizing it. “No matter what happens, child, my thanks for trying."
Jhyoti nodded. She wanted to scream at the yighsilchi for not trying harder to stop the murders, for not shouting Hojjasta sen Attines's guilt from the roof tops. Instead, she pulled her palm reader from her belt and handed it to Suri sen.
"It contains the only copy of my report on what I saw in the bashravi. I will not turn it in."
The gratitude in the yighsilchi's eyes warred with guilt. It was too much to bear. Jhyoti turned away. The yighsilchi's soft voice called her back before she could leave.
"I was recently widowed, with no means of earning a living. Hojjasta sen Attine
s offered me the position of personal assistant. I thought myself fortunate.” Bitterness turned her voice harsh. “She was a monster. At first she only toyed with me, but when she learned that I was an empath, her attentions grew ... vile."
Jhyoti wanted to stop her. She did not wish to hear what Hojjasta had done. But she kept silent. She had laid the responsibility for her abandoned dreams squarely on Suri sen's shoulders by handing her that report. The least she could do was listen as Suri sen broke her fifteen-year silence.
"She beat me, but always kept a hand on me so that I would feel her joy. Then one day, she raped me."
Jhyoti closed her eyes, remembering the chair in the study. Rape for an empath was the cruellest crime of all. To be forced to share the rapist's enjoyment...
"It took a long time to sort out what I felt from what she felt for me. The night I did, I left. I took nothing but the clothes I was wearing. I ran until I could run no more. A yisil found me and took me here. I have been here ever since."
"You hid your identity."
Suri sen nodded. “The yighsilchi had contacts. She helped me disappear. I was reborn as Suri Manoki sen Jerrod."
"Yet Hojjasta found you."
"Yes, but there was nothing she could do to me here. Or so I thought."
Jhyoti looked away while the yighsilchi struggled to regain her composure.
"A few weeks after I arrived here, we found the first body. I did not pay much attention, as I had been told that this sometimes happened. The moment I touched her, however, I knew.” She shuddered at the memory, her arms wrapped around herself. “I stopped bleeding a few years later and so was spared when the second and third were discovered. I grew to dread the anniversary of my arrival here."
"Why five year intervals?” asked Jhyoti.
Suri sen looked at her bleakly. “Four years, ten months and twenty-two days. That is how long I stayed with her."
Jhyoti waited but the yighsilchi had finished. She sat on her chair, head bowed, lost in memories of a terrible time.
Jhyoti quietly left and took a grav car back to the Academy.
Three hours later, it was done. She had sent the reports of her findings to the Alliance representative on Kallista, the commander of the Academy, the Guards Captain, the provincial governor, the Security Directorate, Admiral Dilan and every news agency she could find. Then, she had posted the report on the Net, with her findings and her proof.
Challenging Destiny #25 Page 15
