“Gotta run. And I know what you're going to say. Don't bother."
“Do you really?” For a moment, there seemed to be a spark of fire in Uncle's eyes. It died away to laughter. “You're finally flying on your own, aren't you?"
“What is that supposed to mean?” I paused, reaching for my databoard and hip pouch.
“You're growing up, cheriya. I should have shanghaied you into something this big a long time ago. Take care."
That infuriating man broke contact before I could think of anything to say.
* * * *
“This is going to be my key and my answer.” Meruk held the torque in one hand, lightly stroking the color stripes with one finger. He looked up at his foster brother, smiling through the pain and resolve on his face. “I can't explain to you what's going on inside me right now. I don't think I can ever explain, except to someone who's going through it too."
I turned away from the Tri-V pit in the luxury suite the Network had leased for my team. The premiere of the show was turning out to be a gala event. In the background, Meruk still said his good-byes to his foster family, making his vows to search the world until he found more Hoveni, more people just like him, and brought them together as a nation once more.
The problem, I decided, was the juxtaposition between my dreams and the visual reality being transmitted to over ten million homes across the planet—according to the latest figures sent in during the commercial break. The story was new to me, even though I had written and re-written until I hated the sight of my writing screen. Seeing actual living people speaking and acting out what I had written made it strange and different. And exciting. And frightening. I wondered what was going through the minds of lost Hoveni that night, watching the program. What did they feel?
I knew I would dream of Meruk that night. For the first time, I didn't look forward to that. It frightened me how so much of my dream had become reality in Tri-V. There was something compelling about my dreams that I could not refuse to share with others. Putting them into stories I thought no one would ever read had always short-circuited that drive before. Now I knew there was no safety.
“Kendle?” Regina came over and sat down on the lounger next to me. “You're not satisfied with it?” she asked, tipping her head back towards the Tri-V pit. Everyone else sat there frozen, gazes fastened on the action.
“What if there really is a Meruk out there?” I whispered. A shiver ran up my back. I hated the tendency to speak before thinking—especially if the words were true. My great-grandmother had been a powerful visionary, and the last thing I needed right at that moment was to find out I had inherited her abilities.
“If there really is a Meruk, he'll come to us.” She smiled and squeezed my shoulders. “Come on, we're both too young to let this bother us. We should be celebrating. We've passed a marker point that only comes once in a lifetime."
“Thank goodness.” But I managed to laugh at her. The strangeness of the moment faded away. “Any riz-berry ice around here?"
“Don't ever change, Kendle,” she whispered as we stood up and moved over to join the others as the final credits began to spiral up the column. “Don't get all sophisticated and jaded and snooty."
“Uncle won't let me."
* * * *
The premier of Hoven Quest was a hit. By the end of the run, allowing for the time-zone changes, we had captured the king's share of the viewing audience that night. According to man-on-the-street interviews during the next lunar, a good thirty percent of our audience had been called by friends and relatives and told to turn on FAN and watch. That was good news for us. Even better were the calls the Network received, asking if there would be a re-run of the launch episode, and if a series was planned. At that time, Kel and our crew were finishing recording the third episode, which took place on the road, and getting ready to move on to Neversole, where eight episodes would take place.
My first attempt at writing for the Tri-V was a success. The Network higher-ups were already talking about the beta season, and the alpha hadn't even started. Whatever happened, I was guaranteed at least a year's worth of work, and my name was registered in the writer's union.
I had never been so miserable in my life, except for right after my parents died. Everybody loved Meruk, and he no longer belonged just to me.
* * * *
The network thought it would be a good idea to have a press conference in every city my team went to for scouting and script planning. The launch of the show was such a success, they wanted to capitalize on the interest. Which meant that everybody involved was expected to answer questions, go to press conferences, answer fan mail, ad infinitum. And of course, the hottest question being asked was who on Gemar thought up the idea in the first place?
Lucky me.
I barely escaped Neversole without stirring up interest. The next two towns we went to, as soon as someone mentioned we worked for FAN, we were besieged. As soon as people found out we were the writing and research team for Hoven Quest, there was no peace at all. Those of us on the traveling team who were Hoveni—three total—had an option of shifting shape to escape unnoticed, if we really wanted to. But we had to stick around and support the unlucky Humans who couldn't change appearance and shape.
The first press conference was a terror. Questions bombarded us from ten different people all at the same time. It was no help that sometimes they asked the same questions—never in complete chorus, of course. Some of the questions became rather personal, about Kel's tastes and preferences and habits, whether he was married or not, how old he was, etc. Most of those questions concerned small, personal, or important details already covered in the press kits the Network had circulated. I didn't mind the first time the question was asked, but by the fifth or sixth repetition, in the same hour, I was more than a little peeved. Did they think I was a liar, and they had to ask many times to trick me into telling the truth? Or were they all just deaf?
But when the questions started to focus on me, than I really got angry. People asked if I really believed Hoveni truly existed in history. What I would not have given to transform and show them just how much I believed. More than once, using almost the same words, those idiot reporters asked what kind of drugs I used to induce the visions that sparked the stories. Every time I denied any drugs, someone laughed.
Finally, I got angry enough to stand up and project into the microphone. I altered my vocal cords just enough to produce sonics that no one could hear, but that the equipment picked up and reproduced in the audible range. The feedback was wonderful.
“Do I have to take a physical to prove I'm telling the truth?” I asked, altering the sensitivity of my ears so that I was the only one in the hall who didn't cringe in pain.
The silence in the hall that followed the cacophony was almost as loud and piercing as the feedback. I counted to ten, waiting, staring at a point on the back wall that was just over everyone's heads, but which made it seem like I stared and glared at everyone at the same time. That was a trick Uncle taught me when I started doing required speeches and presentations at school.
Nobody spoke. A few people moved, either turning away or looking at the floor. Most of them at least lowered their eyes. A few, probably the newest members of the press corps, had the decency to look ashamed.
“As soon as the press corps can find some adults to ask intelligent questions,” I went on, after altering my vocal chords back to normal, “I'll be back. And don't bother trying to change things around in the story to make you look good and me look bad,” I added as I turned for the door at the back of the platform. “This has all been taped by FAN for an informative special on the program, some time in the future."
The silence grew deeper. I turned and headed for the door. My back itched, right between the shoulder blades, where eighteen pairs of eyes burned a hole right through me.
In the suite that Regina and I shared, I burst out laughing, and shaking, until I had to sit down or fall down. The look she gave me was
first confused amusement, then worry. It took a little while for her to find out what happened because she had been working on a schedule for meeting some of our hidden contacts in the city and had not attended the press conference.
“Call for you,” she said when I came out of the bathroom maybe ten minutes later, after washing my face with lots of cold water.
“Hard time?” Uncle said, before I could react to seeing his face on the screen, and sit down.
“Depends on what you call hard.” I studied his face a moment. He was a little too calm, like he had time to compose himself and prepare for this talk. I guessed that either he had been watching the press conference as it happened, or someone had called him right after I tried to burn out the equipment with my sonic trick. The honest truth was, I needed to unload on someone. I started at the beginning and wound my way through the ordeal. “So, did I handle it wrong?” I finished.
“It's not the most unique way of handling the situation.” Uncle Max looked at a point just below the screen for a moment. When he looked up again, he was smiling. “But I think they won't be so vicious next time. The tape just came through, by the way. You look very young, very serious, and somewhat victimized."
“Just wonderful,” I muttered.
“No, it's good for you, bad for the press corps. You can just bet that next time—yes, sorry, there will be another press conference,” he added with a soft chuckle. “Next time, the reporters will be much more civilized. Telling them you wanted to speak to adults, and you being so young, was a good touch."
“Purely instinctive reaction."
“The best kind.” He shook his head at someone out of the screen's line of sight and held up an index finger, signaling a moment more. “Cheriya, I have to go. But you did very well. If you don't want to go with Regina tonight, that's fine."
“No. I think I need it, more than anything. Some new, friendly faces would be a wonderful change.” I shrugged, managing a smile for him that didn't tremble.
“That's the spirit. How's the script coming along?"
“I know where Meruk comes into town, but what he does past that point is anybody's guess. It all depends on the geography."
There was a commotion at the door, and I turned enough to see Regina opening the door to room service. My stomach chose that moment to rumble.
“Sorry. Forgot about the time,” Uncle said. “Call and tell me how it goes tonight, will you?” He signed off before I could do more than nod.
* * *
Chapter Four
“You're that writer girl, aren't you?"
Coming out of the shadows as afternoon turned into evening, the raspy voice startled me. I made myself move slowly, standing up from where I had been crouching, taking still shots with the hand-held imager of the scenery where I wanted some action in the script to take place. The park, around the fountains and the amphitheater, was the perfect place for Meruk's first big confrontation with the Set'ri.
“Excuse me?” I said, finally turning to face the person who had spoken. Without even looking, I knew that everyone on the team had scattered far enough away to make me look like I was on my own.
The man was tall and good looking in a bony sort of way. I couldn't place his age. He had fair hair and pale blue eyes, set wide apart in a hawk-like face. Despite towering over me a good eight centimeters, which could make anyone appear threatening, there was an illusion of fragility about him.
“You're the one who blew up at the press conference.” He smiled at me, showing discolored, uneven teeth.
For a moment, one of my dreams came back to me. One of the many dreams that were always faded and unclear just after I woke up, but that stayed at the edges of my consciousness. I knew this man was one of the drifters; homeless, no job, no registration, no qualifications for medical care of any kind because he wouldn't even try to hold a job. It was the law on Gemar that everyone had opportunity for education and employment. The people who didn't work were the ones who refused. He was someone Meruk would meet while visiting this city, someone Meruk would try to help, but have to give up on.
“You were at the conference?” I took another look at his clothes. They were three years out of style and faded, with dark splotches of sweat and grease.
“Listening. Watching. I know a lot about Hoveni,” he added, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.
“Oh, is there something we got wrong?” My heart skipped a few beats, and I prayed that was all he wanted to talk to me about.
“No, no, everything was perfect. You know a lot about Hoveni too, don't you?” He stepped closer.
“I have to, in my job.” My voice cracked for a moment, as I altered my vocal cords for the second time that day and sent out a sonic call for Regina. Could this be a contact, a lost Hoven? Making contact was the real reason we were out in the park that afternoon. Scouting locations and dreaming up choreography and complications for the storyline was just a cover story.
“Not like that. You know a lot, inside, instinct, the really important things.” He stepped closer again. I had the choice of backing up to avoid his breath and odor, which were at least a lunar-quarter away from his last cleansing, or standing my ground and hoping he would be intimidated in turn.
“All right, what do you really want?” I said, spotting movement out of the corner of my eye. People movement, which meant I was no longer alone.
“Take me to them."
“What?” This time, I did back away. I shifted my grip on the imager so I could use it as a weapon.
“You know real Hoveni. Take me to them. I need to be with them.” He stepped closer, reaching out to grab my shoulders.
“Even if there were any Hoveni alive today—” I twisted out of his grasp just in time. I had a mental image of those bony fingers and sharp nails digging into my flesh and never letting go.
“There are! I'm a Hoven."
“No, you're not.” I knew he wasn't, because he hadn't heard me when I sent out the call to Regina. But I couldn't tell him that little detail, could I?
“I need to be with my own kind, and you can take me to them.” The desperation in his eyes was mesmerizing. This time he did manage to grab me, his hands strong despite their boniness, the grip sharp like pincers. I had this crazy image of him injecting some kind of drugs or disease into me, on those sharp nails.
“You're crazy!” I blurted.
Which was the absolutely wrong thing to say. His eyes got wide and wild, staring, unblinking. He shook me, tightening his grip so I knew I would have bruises the next morning.
“That's what the Set'ri said, when they landed. They said we were insane, that we were evil, that we had no souls. They said we were just animals, that we had no right to look like people or act like people or even pretend to be people."
His voice was low, urgent, perfectly intelligible, a strained whisper, and little flecks of spittle collected in the corners of his mouth. Like an idiot, all I could do was stare and listen. My silence only seemed to make him angrier. But what else could I do? I could have transformed, but the men racing across the park toward us, all members of the team, were all normal Humans. Regina was nowhere to be found.
“You have to help me!” he continued, his voice rising, the spittle turning to drool. “I need their help. I need to hide. The Set'ri will kill me. They'll kill you, if they find out you know Hoveni."
“I don't! And you're no Hoven."
“But I am! I am! I'm a Hoven.” His voice rose to a shriek, breaking off with a wail of trembling rage when the three men finally reached us.
It seemed like they had crawled across the park, and then at the last moment changed into bolts of lightning. I thought I would have my arms torn from their sockets as they tried to free my arms from the madman's grip. Then I was on the ground, with no memory of how I had gotten there, watching as the three men from my team fought to hold down the kicking, screaming derelict.
The Peace Forcers arrived next. Two of them. One was a woman. She to
ok one look at the situation and signaled for her partner to take care of the four still struggling on the ground, while she came over to me. She helped me to my feet and took off her uniform jacket, handing it to me without a word or a change of expression. That was when I noticed the sleeves had almost been torn off my shirt, taking a good chunk of the bodice with it. I shivered a little in the cooling air and thanked her with a nod as I put the jacket on.
The male officer had to give the lunatic a sedative. That was the only way my three rescuers could let go of him without the man trying for me again. When he calmed down enough to sit hunched over on the grass and whimper, they took a reading of his palm print and retina, and transmitted the information to Peacer Central. In moments, they had his identification.
His name was Timken Carsmith, and had made his most recent escape from the Rixlen Center for the Sociopathic half a lunar ago. Rather impressive, since Rixlen was halfway across the continent, about a lunar-quarter's journey by rail car. He had a history of claiming to be one mythical character or member of a lost alien race after another, always hurting himself severely when he tried to prove his claims. I wondered, just for a moment, how he intended to prove he was Hovenu.
Naturally, the press found out about the whole mess. Recorders for the Tri-V news stations were waiting when I stepped out of the station after making the report. I had more reason than ever to be glad the officer had loaned me her jacket. None of the people waiting outside, ready with imagers, had any reason to be friendly after my blow-up at the press conference. I could just see them turning it into some kind of scandal. Come to think of it, the whole thing was a scandal, of another kind. The news media must have had spies inside the station, because even before I could close the door behind me, they were all shouting questions about the lunatic who claimed to be a Hoven.
I escaped them all, with the helpful, muscular escort of the three men from my team. Thank goodness brains and brawn went together. Maybe Uncle had chosen them for my traveling team because he wanted someone who could physically defend me? They got me into the flitter the hotel sent, with minimal fuss and delay. Then I got to the suite and stared at the surprise waiting for me.
Hoven Quest Page 6
