Empire of Dust

by Jacey Bedford

  Max went through the motions. The horses were in a cooperative mood; perhaps their psi-tech handler had suggested that they make every effort to help the callow newcomers. Max left the harnessing to the brothers.

  He screwed his eyes closed, finding his chest heavy and breath in short supply. He had that awful feeling that once he left with the wagon train, he’d be lost. He wasn’t cut out for carpentry.

  He was slipping into oblivion.

  Chapter Seventeen

  TRUST

  Ben was right. Cara winced at her aching muscles. She’d been everything from site manager to stevedore, juggling comms while she manhandled cryo units into place with Gen in the med-center. It didn’t matter how many antigrav grippers you had, there were never enough to go around. What would she give for a whirly bath—but at least she’d managed to get a private shower now that Serafin’s crew had installed more plumbing.

  “What did you want to tell me, earlier?” Ben asked as they finished up their evening meal.

  “Tell you?”

  “You said something about asking you later. Very enigmatic.”

  “I said that?”

  She rubbed her temples. “I don’t know. Whatever it was, it’s gone out of my head now.” She shrugged. As he went to take the empty containers to the recycling, she fished the stone out of her pocket and jammed it between her fingers again. It was warm now, but still grit-sharp.

  “What did Ronan say?”

  “Ronan?”

  “You were going to see him this afternoon. For goodness sake, Cara, what’s wrong with you? I’m grounding you until you’ve seen him, and I’ll tell him so myself.”

  • • •

  Max excused himself from the Einbackers’ company and walked quickly in the direction of the latrines, then dodged around the corner and away.

  Director Lorient had returned to Timbertown, but Jack Mario was still in the compound. Max made his way to the settler admin office and walked in confidently, as if he owned the place. He was in luck. Jack Mario was alone in the office, no secretaries or assistants to get past.

  For a moment Max was distracted by a whole wall full of books crammed on tightly packed shelves.

  “Can I help you?”

  “Mr. Mario.”

  “Yes.” Jack Mario had that do-I-know-you look in his eyes.

  “I’ve come about the job.”

  “What job?”

  “You needed an assistant.”

  Jack Mario looked puzzled for a moment, then his face creased into a smile.

  “Nice try, Mr. . . . er?”

  “Constant. Max Constant.”

  “Yes, very nice try, Max, but I’ve got an assistant already.”

  “Perhaps your assistant needs an assistant?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Maybe you need a librarian.” His eyes strayed to the books again. “I’m happy to do anything. I can push paper, crunch numbers, or punch buttons.”

  “Sorry. These books are a precious resource. They’re going with the colonists, and they’re cataloged and indexed already.”

  “Pity, but I can be very useful. I’ve got good admin qualifications and I’m a lousy carpenter. You don’t want square pegs in round holes. I’ll do anything.”

  “Anything except take a covered wagon across Olyanda, is that it?”

  “Something like that.”

  Mario shook his head.

  Max was disappointed, but it had been worth a try. He turned to go.

  “Wait. Can you pilot a flitter?”

  Max perked up. “A domestic one. Yes.”

  “Got basic survival training?”

  “Did the course like everyone else.”

  “How do you feel about working with psi-techs?”

  “I don’t have any problems with it. Worked with a lot back home.”

  “Got any qualifications in survey work, geology, geomorphology, or associated sciences?”

  “Only a degree in economics and administration. Will that do?” Max’s voice slumped and then picked up again. “But I’m a fast learner. Have you got something specific in mind?”

  “We’re looking for volunteers to do temporary duty with the psi-techs, in their mapping section. Interested?”

  “Am I just!”

  “Go and see Morwenna Phipps. Her office is in the landing vehicle. If she says you’re in, you’re in.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You might not thank me. They aren’t looking forward to their settler volunteers. Just remember to stay out of trouble, or I’ll have you working on a pig farm for the rest of your life.”

  “You betcha.”

  Max felt elated. It was the best he could hope for. He wondered how the psi-phobic thugs would take this. The order had come down from Lorient, so no one could argue. Mapping sounded infinitely more interesting than sitting on a wagon watching the rumps of two Clevelands plodding into the sunset. Then he felt guilty. Byram and his brothers had accepted him into their family.

  He almost ran back down to the stables and looked for the Angel. She was in the schooling field, cantering circles on a sturdy pony who tossed his head around and looked ready to rebel until she gently, but firmly, changed his mind.

  Max waved.

  “You again. More marriage proposals?”

  “No, but if you ever change your mind, I’ll be in Mapping.” Max grinned. “This morning the man who gave us the horses said something about a sheep dog. Where can I get one and how much will it cost?”

  “Over the way at the small livestock sheds.” She thought for a moment. “You can buy a puppy for about eighty credits.”

  “Eighty? Just for a puppy?”

  “That’s cheap. A fully trained dog will cost you nearer two hundred.”

  She must have seen the disappointment on his face. “Ask for Ryga. Tell him Kattia sent you for the runt he needed a good home for. Offer him sixty. Don’t be fooled. The puppy’s small now, but with the right care she’ll grow just fine.”

  “You’re an angel. Do you know that?” Max heard her laughter on the air as he headed toward the small livestock sheds.

  Less than an hour later he found Byram with the horses.

  “I’m not coming with you,” he said. “Thanks for everything, but I’m joining Mapping.”

  Byram started to ask a question, but Max stopped him. “Here. A leaving present.” He pushed a little bundle of fur into Byram’s arms. “Her name’s Kattia. You need to be nice to the psi-techs. They’re good people.”

  • • •

  Ronan caught up with Cara the following morning after breakfast. “Ben said you wanted to see me.”

  “He did?”

  “He also said you might act all coy. Come and take a walk with me.”

  She followed Ronan into the weak winter sunlight. “Let me refresh your memory. From what Ben tells me, on the night before we shipped out, you collapsed and then said you’d forgotten it happened. Day before yesterday in the shower you collapsed again, and promised Ben you’d come and see me. Yesterday you acted as if nothing had happened. So what’s up?”

  Despite the sun and her buddysuit, Cara felt icy chills in her spine. She fingered the pebble in her pocket. Her head began to ache.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Ronan, honestly. Is it Ben? Is he . . . all right?”

  She perched on a packing crate opposite the med-center.

  “Welcome to my consulting room, Cara.”

  “You’re serious? You want to talk to me about my health? Honestly, Ronan. There’s nothing wrong with me.”

  “That’s the second time you’ve said ‘honestly’ and it doesn’t sound convincing.”

  Ronan put down his bag and sat beside her. “So you’ve collapsed twice. Anything before or since?”

  What was it with Ben and Ronan? She’d know if there was anything wrong. She took the pebble out of her pocket and fiddled with it. Ronan just watched, not hurrying, not commenting. She tossed the pebble
in the air and caught it. Did it again, and then once more. On the next flip Ronan’s hand shot out and grabbed it. Without thinking, she cried out and clawed at his fist, suddenly desperate to get it back.

  He opened his hand and let the pebble drop to the floor. She dropped to her knees and scrabbled about for it frantically, grasping it and pushing it into the gap between her index and second fingers It was just too big to be comfortable. She stared at it. It was supposed to remind her of something, but what?

  Oh, fuck!

  Her head spun. “I think I . . .”

  She began to feel woozy. It was a little like the stage between being dead drunk and passing out. Now that she knew what she was looking for, it was horribly obvious. Shit. What had happened in the weeks that she’d been in the facility on Sentier-4? She tried to recall, but her memories were of nothing but being in her cell, cold, hungry, and lonely.

  “I was . . .” The blood pounded through her ears, and she felt as though she’d been spinning round and round to make herself dizzy, and her stomach churned as if she was going to lose her breakfast.

  She sucked in air through her teeth and screwed up her eyes.

  “Got it again?” Ronan asked.

  She sat on the crate again and let her head sag forward.

  “Hold on, don’t try to talk. I’m going to scan you. Is that all right?” Ronan took hold of her wrist, ignoring the readout on her suit in favor of feeling for her pulse with his fingertips. The human contact steadied Cara’s rising panic.

  “Breathe,” he said.

  She concentrated on breathing, and the nausea began to die away.

  “Have you ever had Neural Readjustment?”

  “Me? No. No way—and I don’t like it when you talk dirty. Why do you ask?”

  The words just popped out of her mouth and she remembered both Jussaro and Ben asking the same question and getting exactly the same answer, word for word.

  “You can tell me, you know, I won’t pass it on.”

  “Quit pushing. I’ve never done Neural, right? Never. Ever. Do I seem like a nut?” She heard her own voice, sharp and firm. Again. The same words, but they weren’t hers. She wanted to tell Ronan, but her free will had been taken away. She stared at him, unable to believe that she was a Psi-1, a certified and trained Telepath, and she couldn’t communicate.

  All the time, he never let go of her wrist. His eyes looked steadily into hers and he said quietly, “Breathe.”

  “Ben. Where’s Ben?” She suddenly needed to see Ben very badly. She stared at her hand again. The stone was still there, jammed between her fingers.

  “Ask me . . . that . . . again . . . later . . .” Every word was an effort to squeeze out.

  “We’ll get Ben.” Ronan stood up. “Come on. He’ll meet us at the LV.”

  • • •

  Ben arrived first and climbed the ladder to the LV’s now-redundant flight deck where he had made himself an unofficial getaway. He hadn’t been there more than a few minutes when he heard Cara and Ronan below. Ronan had sounded serious, worried even.

  Cara climbed in silence, her face pale and strained. What if she was really sick? What if it was something they couldn’t cope with on Olyanda? She might die because he’d let himself be persuaded that some terrible syndrome was indigestion and . . . what had she called it? A mammoth case of nerves.

  “You wanted to see me.”

  She nodded and held out her hand with the stone wedged between her first and second fingers.

  “A stone. You wanted to tell me about a stone.” He remembered; she’d had it in her hand the other day.

  She nodded.

  “Are we playing charades?”

  “I think we are.” Ronan came through the hatch behind her. “This is something to do with memory, right?”

  She nodded.

  “So now do we get twenty questions?” Ben asked. He felt out of his depth.

  Ronan brushed his fingers across pursed lips and then nodded. “She can’t tell us anything, but she’s trying to tell us that there’s something to tell, only we have to find out what it is. The stone is a memory trick. She’s remembering something that someone wants her to forget.”

  Ben looked at Cara. A look of panic came over her face. She took the stone out from between her fingers and dropped it onto the floor.

  “Hey,” Ben said.

  She stared at him blankly, hardly seeing.

  He reached out for her, and she stood passively while he held her arms.

  “There’s a war going on inside her head. Sometimes she’s on top and sometimes she’s sinking,” Ronan said.

  “Cara?” Ben shook her gently.

  “Ben? I . . . What . . .”

  Ben reached down and picked up the stone and put it between her fingers.

  “You wanted to tell us about this?”

  She looked at it and shrugged. “Did I? I’ve never seen it before.”

  Damn.

  Ben felt something sliding away.

  “No, wait,” Ronan said and turned to her. “Have you ever had Neural Readjustment.”

  “Me? No. No way—and I don’t like it when you talk dirty.”

  “It’s the same words.” Ronan sounded as though he’d proved a point. He turned to Cara. “You can tell me, you know.”

  “Quit pushing. I’ve never done Neural, right? Never. Ever. Do I seem like a nut?”

  “Yes!” Ronan was excited now. “Sorry, Cara, not yes to your question, but, yes I’ve just sussed it out.”

  He looked at Ben. “Cara has had Neural Readjustment, or at least someone started it, but I don’t think they ever finished. And I think someone has tried to reinforce a botched job—probably recently—and then tried to make her forget again.” He turned to Cara. “That stone was to remind you that you’d forgotten something.”

  “Ronan, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Cara said quite calmly and sat down on the edge of one of the passenger couches.

  “You don’t remember the bouts of sickness, fainting, dizziness?”

  She shook her head.

  “Or Ben telling you to come and see me about them?”

  “No.”

  “Or coming here to talk about it to Ben?”

  Ben sat next to her and touched her hand. The stone was still in place.

  “Tell me who’s after you.”

  “You really don’t want to know.”

  “Ah, but I do, and you wanted to tell me, but someone won’t let you.”

  Ben felt her hand tremble beneath his. She pulled it away, looked at the stone, and screwed her eyes up as if to try and prize the memory clear.

  “May I?” Ronan asked.

  She nodded and he came to stand in front of her.

  “Hold her, Ben, she might fall.”

  Ben moved behind Cara and wrapped his arms about her.

  *And you, too.* He brought Ben into the link he had with Cara.

  If a mind was a series of rooms within rooms, there was a door locked. Ben saw it. It wasn’t only locked, but it was bright and new, bolted and barred. Then it was as if Cara stood with them, looking at the door from the outside. She acknowledged it, but made no attempt to open it.

  “Now we know what the problem is,” Ronan said.

  Cara slumped against Ben, and then gradually opened her eyes.

  “I saw it,” she said, her voice cracking. “You were right. I’m sorry.”

  “And you can’t tell us who did this?” Ben asked.

  “No. There’s a part of me that doesn’t even want to anymore.”

  “Do you remember undergoing Neural?”

  She shook her head. “Me? No. No way—and I don’t like it when you talk dirty. Why do you ask? Oh, shit! I . . . I . . . I’m sorry.”

  Ben squeezed her. “Don’t be sorry. It’s not your fault. We’ll get to the bottom of this. Give it time.” He took the stone, pushed it into her sleeve pocket, and sealed it.

  • • •

  The following day at
least Cara remembered she was supposed to be seeing Ronan. They met up by the bridge and picked up where they’d left off the day before. Both Ronan and Ben agreed there was no point in grounding her since she wasn’t ill.

  “I’ll ignore what you say and take your answers in nods and shakes,” Ronan said. “Let’s walk.”

  She got up and followed him along the riverbank. He held out his hand and she took it.

  “People will talk, Dr. Wolfe.”

  “As long as it doesn’t get back to Jon Moon, I don’t mind. I wouldn’t want him to get the wrong idea.”

  “You’re a couple? It’s official?”

  “We’re not rushing into things.” He smiled. “But we have an understanding.”

  “Good for you.”

  They kept the conversation light while they walked past the bulk of the tank farm.

  “Now, I’m going to keep hold of you and start asking questions,” Ronan said. “If you’d undergone voluntary NR, you’d know about it. If you’d undergone legal treatment, you’d not only know about it, but you’d have a full set of notes on your handpad.” Ronan squeezed her fingers reassuringly. “Neural Readjustment is very expensive, not something you can buy on any street corner. Forgive me, but if you’d just crossed some petty crook, you’d be dead, not mindwiped. It’s possible you’ve been involved with something that’s either bigtime illegal or covert.”

  “That’s not a fair . . .”

  He didn’t give her time to protest.

  “Have you ever spent any time in a recovery facility, say after a tough mission?”

  “My first mission.” That had been before Ari. She didn’t seem to have any problem with telling it. “Rydal—my lover at the time—was killed in a border dispute. I had reconstructive surgery on my left knee, and post trauma counseling, but nothing more.”

  And then there was Sentier-4. Her mind slid off Sentier-4. She stiffened and pulled away from Ronan altogether.

  “Relax. Take a minute or two.”

  She nodded and turned toward the slow, silver river, watching its deceptively untroubled progress toward some distant sea. Her mind felt like that, calm on the surface but with a cruel undertow.

  “Ready again?” Ronan put down his bag and took her right hand in his. “What is it you’re not talking about?”