MindRogue

by Connie Suttle

  Mae'Sandar Keel

  Le'Vestar tried to wake me from the stupor I suffered for days, before my brain came out of the fog placed by our captor. Until then, I'd been under the Prophet's influence, reacting to his instructions and those of his other trusted minions, while my brain struggled with its subjugation.

  Lev, how are we going to escape? I asked in mindspeech as we worked together to rehabilitate a retired transport ship. Our engineering skills had kept us alive and out of less savory assignments.

  Lev and I had already overheard that one such assignment had gone badly for nearly twenty of the Prophet's newest conscripts. The Prophet wasn't happy, we knew, as he'd missed an update on the progress Lev and I were making.

  Somewhere, too, I imagined that Miz'Sandar was going crazy looking for me. He wouldn't care whether Lev was rescued or not—his concern would be only for me.

  I cared that Lev survived. That's why I wanted more than anything to escape this trap, if only to stay together instead of being pulled apart. Miz and the Or'myr Council would see to it, if we survived.

  Escape would take time, however. Whatever the Prophet had done to both of us still held sway on parts of our brains—the parts that allowed us to transform and protect ourselves. For now, Lev and I were working to compartmentalize that dangerous lock on our shapeshifting abilities.

  Lev wanted the Prophet's death for what he'd done to us—and especially to me. I read his expression when he thought I wasn't looking; a determination to get us away, but not before making our captor pay for our kidnapping and suppression.

  Lev and I—we loved one another. Had for nearly a year. Miz and the Council wouldn't understand, either; they'd force me to marry another to continue the race. Someone they considered more acceptable.

  I cared not that Lev's grandfather had broken Or'myr law, shaming his family. Lev shouldn't be forced to pay for another's crime. At the moment it was moot, since Lev and I were captives and, if my guess were correct, nobody knew where we were. If they did, we'd have been rescued by now.

  The other trouble, too, was that there was some sort of shield in place at the Prophet's massive compound, which kept mindspeech from traveling outside it. My first, tentative sending to Miz had echoed inside my mind.

  Lev and I would only stay alive as long as the Prophet found us useful.

  Therefore, we would remain useful—until we found a way to escape.

  "Report?" Our supervisor, Yurik, arrived to ask us about our progress.

  "Here is the list of replacement parts, as requested." Lev spoke in a monotone, handing the comp-vid to Yurik.

  The comp-vid was useless as anything other than a recording device.

  "Are there accompanying images or specifications?" Yurik demanded.

  "Yes, Supervisor Yurik." He could have seen that for himself, if he'd bothered to look at the first screen. I had the idea that Yurik was out of his depth as far as engineering went.

  "Are these parts readily available?" Yurik went on.

  "Some may be more difficult to find—this freighter is nearly fifty turns old," Lev replied.

  "Suggestions?"

  "Look for scrapyards or ship recycling businesses," Lev answered. "Parts may be found there, perhaps, if new ones aren't available."

  "All right. I'll expect another report tomorrow morning." Lev and I watched as Yurik stalked toward the door. He had no idea how to obtain parts that he had no knowledge of until a few moments ago.

  The Prophet would be displeased if he failed. If Yurik failed and survived the Prophet's wrath, then Yurik would visit his displeasure upon us—we'd seen that sort of thing already, with other captives who'd been put to work.

  Failure wasn't looked kindly upon in the Prophet's world.

  Keep working, Lev turned my focus back to our task. Tonight, we'll concentrate on forming teeth and claws.

  Teeth and claws. With those, we could defend ourselves. The rest would come afterward, and we'd win our freedom with wings and scales.

  BlackWing XIII

  Randl

  I hadn't touched the soil samples, yet. Instead, I'd retrieved the small box containing the coin spelled by the Prophet, setting it beside the soil containers.

  I worried that my mother's images would appear again, and I'd receive more disturbing information.

  As for my father—I considered bringing him with me, but decided it was a bad idea. As much as I'd like his nearness and advice, I didn't want to place his life in danger again.

  I left him on Campiaa—he'd gone to work as Wyatt's assistant, to organize his personal and business schedules. Organizing things was one of Pap's many talents, and it was an upgrade in pay from his previous job.

  The Prophet thought him dead, and I preferred to keep it that way. Pap went by another name, now, courtesy of Teeg San Gerxon and Jett Riffler.

  "You rang?" Vik walked into my study.

  "That's an old one," I pointed a finger at him. Old Earth communicating devices rang with a bell at first, before more sophisticated alerts became commonplace.

  "Have you ever seen a rotary-dial telephone?" He grinned.

  "Have you?"

  "I saw images."

  "But not in person?"

  "No."

  "Then neither of us has actually seen one?"

  "I suppose that's true."

  "I'll bet Dave has seen one."

  "It isn't a contest," Vik rumbled.

  "Everything with you two is a contest."

  "You didn't call me to discuss rotary phones, did you?"

  "No. You brought it up."

  "We're literal today, aren't we?" He took a seat before my desk.

  "I'm just putting off the inevitable," I admitted. "I need somebody with me when I touch any of these things—in case something goes wrong." I swept a hand over the three containers on my desk.

  "You're saying something could go wrong? That only one of my kind might fix?" He understood faster than I'd expected.

  "Harmful power is nullified by your kind," I agreed. "I'm hoping that remains true if something's here that isn't right."

  "I can handle that part."

  "There's something else."

  "What's that?"

  "If I become—dangerous, I expect you to take care of things."

  "What?"

  "What I said. If I no longer have control over myself and become a danger to anyone else, except for the Prophet or another criminally-minded individual, then I expect you to eliminate the problem."

  "Damn, no pressure, man," Vik swore.

  "I don't think it'll come to that; I only wanted you to be aware."

  "Then consider me aware—and repulsed at the same time."

  "All right. Want to come to the lab with me, so I can stick my hands in this dirt?" I tapped the container of soil. "If I survive that, then I'll think about handling the coin, too."

  "Whatever you say, boss."

  "I have an ulterior motive in this, you know," I told him while rising from my seat. "If there are any hidden spells in this stuff, then you'll neutralize them while I'm getting my hands dirty."

  "Sounds like a plan," he grinned. "I'm right behind you."

  Vik never said anything during my hesitation to touch the soil, once the cover was removed. He and I stood in a sealed compartment, not far from the one that held the inert bodies of Akrinn and Lorvis.

  Jamming my left hand into the soil, I waited for it to tell me something.

  It wasn't long in coming.

  Vik

  I didn't know what to expect. First, his body stiffened, as if he were having a seizure. Then, an indrawn breath, that wasn't released for far too long. Once I determined that he hadn't taken a breath after minutes passed, I reached out to touch, only to watch him disappear.

  By the time I understood that he wasn't coming back, I realized the gold coin was missing, too.

  "Dori, you're in charge for now," Kooper said. We'd informed him, Travis and Trent of Randl's disappearance, and Kooper had de
manded a meeting aboard XIII. "Travis and Trent will follow protocol while we continue our search for the Prophet," Kooper continued. "Leads will be pursued whenever they are substantiated at headquarters."

  "This leaves us vulnerable, doesn't it?" Travis asked quietly.

  Dori, who sat next to me, appeared stunned. She and the rest of us had attempted mindspeech, to no avail. Wherever Randl was, and if he were still alive, he wasn't answering.

  I wished I'd seen what he'd seen; for now, the soil sample still lay on a table in the sealed section of the cargo hold.

  Kooper ordered it left there, in case it was required to get Randl back. I'd have been more concerned if Kooper hadn't reported that the other soil sample was being analyzed, with no other disappearances to its credit.

  That gave us some hope—that Randl had transported himself, rather than being pulled away by an unknown force.

  I was back to what he'd seen to precipitate his disappearance—without telling me or anyone else before he left.

  "If he's gone into split-time, that could account for the lack of communication," Trent pointed out during a short period of silence.

  "True, I suppose," Kooper agreed reluctantly. "I hope if that's the case, he isn't exhausting himself too much to return on his own."

  Randl

  The Prophet's minions crawled like ants over the enormous block of concrete. I saw the vision of it, without accompanying sound. He'd pulled it out of the ground, and now they were checking it over.

  When the transport lowered itself to the planet's surface, I watched as it loaded the concrete into its yawning mouth, using bots to do so.

  Who would go to this much trouble to collect the concrete, and why? No doubt it was filled with the bones of those they'd shoved into it to die a ghastly death. Even if they chose to recycle the concrete, which made no sense at all to me, they'd have to clear the bones out of it, and any other impurities, to meet Alliance specifications for its reuse—in both Alliances.

  Or did they?

  I imagine I cursed embarrassingly as I throttled back to the ship's lab, landing on hands and knees and sliding across the floor while scrabbling for something to grab onto. I found Kooper and half my crew waiting there, their mouths open in surprise.

  "Yes, I want the concrete analyzed. Grind it all down if you have to, to get a decent sample," Kooper growled at the face on his comp-vid. "Jett and I both want a report on your findings."

  The communication was ended before he turned back to me. I sat in my office, behind the behemoth desk, sipping water and attempting to push back growing fear. "We should have a full analysis in an hour," Kooper set the comp-vid on my desk with a sigh.

  He'd come to the same conclusion I had. If the Prophet's disease was in the victims' bones, and those bones were ground into recyclable concrete—or anything else, for that matter, then it could show up anywhere across both Alliances.

  "This goes back to Phorde Gaster," I said. "And WildTree Industries."

  "The imposter of Phorde, anyway," Kooper agreed. "We really need to look into their records, but it's possible we won't find everything we need on who they've sold recycled concrete to."

  "Especially if there are obsessions in play—or maybe just a healthy fear of being arrested," I said.

  "What about the Gant family, though? I don't recall concrete in any part of their kitchen." Kooper quirked his mouth into a half-frown.

  "What about the rest of the house? Failing that, they may have come in contact with it elsewhere."

  "I suppose that's possible, but we'd have to go through the entire house, and then retrace their steps as a family, prior to their attacking each other."

  "We should probably do that, then."

  "I know. I'll get people on it."

  CSD Headquarters, Campiaa City

  Jett Riffler

  She'd told me long ago that she'd known me in another life. I had no idea what life that was, or how we'd met. I didn't doubt her words, though. She'd asked for a meeting, and said she was bringing two that I should hire.

  I didn't know about the hiring, but I said I'd consider it once I met them.

  That's why I was more than surprised to see Zaria walking into my private office, with Nari and Tiri behind her.

  They'd made the news vids a few times, by retrieving relics others had spent centuries searching for.

  "Director Riffler, I'd like you to meet Nari and Tiri," Zaria introduced both. The twins were identical in every way except their choice of skirt colors. I gaped at them. Dark eyes, clear, dark skin, hair beautifully swept back and intricately braided; I drew in a breath and held it for several seconds.

  How was I to know they'd have this kind of impact on me?

  "We think we can help in your search for—the one on your most-wanted list," Nari spoke first, while a lovely smile lit her face.

  "I would welcome any help," I admitted, forcing myself to stop staring and behave in a more business-like manner.

  "We sometimes get a feeling for missing things," Tiri said, while her sister nodded in agreement. "If we can focus on something the Prophet has, or someone, even, then perhaps we'll be able to track him in that way."

  "It can't hurt to try," Zaria shrugged. "They're willing to give you a year, unless you find what you're looking for before then."

  "I'm ah, sure I can get the Founder to agree," I said. "Are you willing to travel with some of our, ah, agents?"

  "Of course," both dipped their chins in unison.

  I'd never been reduced to such a blubbering fool in all my life, I think.

  "I'll send you to a crew shortly, then. When will you be ready to go?"

  "They're prepared to go now, and I can deliver them," Zaria offered. I wasn't sure I was ready for them to leave just yet, but didn't say it.

  "May I have a word with you in private, Director?" Zaria asked.

  "Oh, of course."

  "Nari, Tiri, will you wait outside for me?" Zaria turned to the sisters.

  They left my office quietly, the fabric of colorful skirts swishing about their ankles. I hated to ask them to wear uniforms aboard ship, but they could be safer moving about, if it came to that.

  Once the door was closed behind them, I turned to Zaria.

  "I have a few gifts for you," she said.

  "What gifts?"

  "I assume you'd like mindspeech, and the ability to fold space, unless I'm badly mistaken." Her words were dry.

  Had I gaped before? I may have made a bigger fool of myself, this time. "I'll take that as a yes," Zaria smiled. The room filled with light. When it dissipated, I felt as if I were young again.

  "You are young again, although you won't look much different to most people; I've left that disguise in place. Those around you who are immortal will know what you look like, and that you've been granted the gift of immortality, too. Also, I have this." She floated a small box in my direction.

  A medallion, like the ones worn by Randl and his crew, nestled on silk inside the carved receptacle. "Don't take it off," she warned. "I've given medallions to Nari and Tiri, too. Just in case."

  "Thank you." I placed the medallion around my neck and slipped it beneath my shirt.

  You're welcome, she sent. And it's long overdue. Don't misuse the power, or it will be recalled.

  I understand, I returned.

  "There's nothing to prevent you from checking on BlackWings X and XIII, just let the Captains know you're coming aboard," Zaria said. "You know, for dinner and such."

  A world of possibilities opened before me, then, and I blinked in astonishment. I'd already made up my mind to see Nari and Tiri as often as I could while they were employed by the CSD. Folding space would make that so much easier.

  "I cannot repay this gift," I hung my head.

  "Do you know what a true gift is, Director?" Zaria said softly.

  She'd place emphasis on the word true.

  "I don't understand," I said, lifting my eyes to hers.

  "A true gift is one
that is given, with no thought of repayment. That is what this gift is. Use it wisely and to your advantage, Jett."

  I mulled her answer for a few moments. "What—was my name before?" I asked.

  "I won't give you the proper name," she smiled at me again. "I'll give you the nickname I called you, even though you hated it at first. When I last saw you in that life, you'd gotten used to it, even if you didn't appreciate it. I called you Auggie. That's all I feel comfortable giving you."

  "Auggie." I savored it on my tongue. "I don't dislike it," I said. "You may call me this anytime you want. I'll know it was a name given in affection, and that will matter more than anything else."

  "We were friends," she said. "Good friends. Auggie thought of me as the daughter he never had, and that meant a lot."

  "I find myself wishing to have a talk with this former self," I admitted. "Very much."

  "I wish I could talk to him again, too. I should take Nari and Tiri to BlackWing XIII—they have the most room for extra guests."

  "I'll prepare their hiring papers and catch up with them for signatures." I grinned at the realization that I could do that in person, rather than on a comp-vid.

  "I'd say you can do whatever you want, Auggie," Zaria laughed. As I watched while she walked out of my office, I realized I felt happier than I had in days.

  BlackWing XIII

  Randl

  I'm coming, and I'm bringing Quin and two new recruits for you, Zaria sent.

  "Zaria's coming," I told Dori, who was still fussing because I'd barely touched the food I'd been served at dinner.

  Kooper had left an hour earlier, after learning that humanoid bone detritus was scattered throughout the concrete used to form the loading dock at Huyer. Now, a carefully selected team had to research all recycled concrete used throughout the Alliances.

  I realized what a hopeless job that could turn out to be—it was law in both Alliances that concrete and other building materials had to be recycled instead of dumped somewhere. That meant that every new construction had some portion of their building comprised of recycled substances.

  "You really ought to eat your dinner—you don't look good," Quin said the moment she and Zaria arrived. With them were two other women. I blinked at them—their names were Nari and Tiri, and they were identical twins who had a talent for finding relics and such.