The Omcri Matrix

by Deborah Chester

  Ezbell wanted to retort by saying that there had been no note sent for the Kublai, but he could not bring himself to that boldness. He sighed.

  “What then, Commander, is suggested? As a parent, the—”

  “Yes, I know. Wob will simply have to make an attempt to be calm.” Janal stood up. “Off the record, I have notified the Fleet of her disappearance.”

  “Then you do think it is an abduct—”

  “No. But I know my job. And with all the trouble here I have to consider the possibility of a move of retaliation from Drugh.”

  “Indeed.” Ezbell slumped in his chair and groped for a tablet. “But—”

  “I personally do not believe this is so. Nonetheless, I came today to tell you the Fleet will explore it. They have several special teams which deal with this sort of thing. In the meantime, we shall continue to keep an eye out here on Playworld. Since she has not been found, I think we should assume that she is still, er, healthy.”

  “But outside forces! The Fleet! Special teams!” Ezbell’s voice failed him; he fumbled in his desk for an emergency beaker and gulped down the liquid contents. “Dear me, Commander. I fear this will bring on the very scandal Mr. Nogales wishes to avoid.”

  “You want her found, don’t you?” Janal’s jaw clenched. “See here, Ezbell. Wob is a friend of mine. I understand his sensitivity to scandals regarding his daughter. Results are what we want here, however, not delicacy. I have a major interplanetary incident on my hands, not to mention the unexplained destruction of the Kanta Archives on the middle continent, and a subsequent Ishut uprising.”

  “Our workers…yes.”

  “Quite. If these larger—yes, larger—problems continue to escalate, the Directors will no longer be able to maintain the current hush. Tourism will fall off, perhaps forever. That affects all of us.”

  “I understand,” said Ezbell unhappily, not eager to explain to Wob that the search for Jillian had been assigned to outsiders. “At least, I am trying to. Playworld policy has never been—”

  “Look, Ezbell. I don’t want a crew of shin-nicked Fleeters in here on my planet any more than you do. The Directors are appalled at the prospect. But we all agree that it is better to seek outside help for finding Jillian than for the Kublai. At least for now. Once we submit control of our internal policing to the Fleet or, Moii help us, the Rangers, we’ll never be able to get them out.”

  “Yes. Unfortunately I see your point, Commander. Thank you. I shall relate this to—”

  “And tell him to stop hounding my office. I understand Wob’s concern. Blast it, I am concerned, too! But when I have anything for him, I’ll let him know. Tell him.” With an abrupt nod, Janal left the office.

  Ezbell hastily dug into his desk and brought out a small sprayer to mist himself until his moisture balance was restored. A chime sounded on his desk.

  “Yes?”

  “There is an unscheduled visitor waiting to see you, sir. His business is unspecified.”

  “Oh?” Ezbell closed his eyes, wondering how he could successfully pass on Janal’s unencouraging message without bringing down Wob’s wrath upon himself. “I don’t believe I—”

  “Forgive, sir. He is Ecletian and said that—”

  “No,” said Ezbell firmly. “Absolutely not. I will see no one of my race. Not today.”

  “Sir—”

  “Put him off. Schedule him for another time. Tell him I am engaged in a day-long conference and do not say when I shall be free.”

  “Acknowledged.”

  Ezbell slumped back in his chair, trembling. The last thing he needed was for another of his race to see him dried out and emotionally shredded. Ecletians told each other everything; he would be discussed all over his homeworld. Ezbell shuddered. No, he could not possibly face anyone at this time. Humans were insular beings, self-contained, resilient. They noticed little around them and certainly had no concern for the difficulties of other races in adjusting to their company. How fortunate they were!

  He leaned forward. “Reception.”

  “Sir?”

  “Summon my lytcar to the side entrance. I’m going home and I want complete privacy. No calls, no messages, no interruptions. Tell no one where I am. Not even Mr. Nogales. I shall prepare a message for transmission to him.”

  “Acknowledged.”

  Ezbell dictated briefly, then fled with a sense of overwhelming relief, eager to go home to darkness and water immersion where there was only peace and emptiness and no decisions to be made. At least in this way he could be sure Wob’s anger would have time to cool down before he had to face his employer again.

  His sanctuary nestled in the corner of a small cooperative compound divided into seven luxurious apartments on Stratum Four. As a rule, non-citizens of his occupation and standing had no chance of acquiring living quarters in this exclusive district, but Wob Nogales had intervened on his behalf. Ezbell supposed he was grateful for his employer’s generosity, but his fellow residents shunned him as an odd creature likely to lower their property values. He had no friends and no companionship.

  At this hour of the morning, no one stirred along the avenue leading to his compound. His drone pilot landed the lytcar with impeccable smoothness, and Ezbell stepped through the sheltered privacy entrance into the polished agate coolness of his home. He paused to gratefully inhale the humid air which enclosed him and condensed on his face in soft warm beads of moisture. Delicate nyacc plants nurtured by him as a hobby turned enormous shield-shaped leaves away from the polarized window toward him. He moved carefully so as not to wilt them, reveling in the dim, slightly green light and dusky pools of shadow spread throughout the small rooms.

  Only the bathing area was large. He headed for it, removing his clothes and dumping them into the recycler. Already the home monitoring computer had registered his arrival and was switching on steam jets and water. Ezbell half closed his eyes and walked through the fountains, holding his arms outstretched as the water swirled and deepened around his legs. His limbs grew fluid with the water, and slowly he sank beneath the surface of the pool until only the top of his skull was exposed. Breathing regularly through the delicate parietal membrane, he folded himself together and prepared for meditation.

  The attack came suddenly, without warning, and speared his mind with a white-hot lance of pain.

  “No!” He ejected himself frantically to the surface. “No!”

  The alien mind stabbed again, exploding his skull with its power and brutality. He screamed loudly, flailing the water. Beneath his agony staggered immense disbelief. This could not happen here; Playworld had laws against telepathy; as an Ecletian he could live on no other kind of planet.

  “Stop! Stop!” he pleaded, clutching his skull.

  Suddenly the attack did stop, and he fell into the water with a groan of relief. Floating there limply, he dimly saw the nyaccs wilting, collapsing with stately grace around the edges of the pool. He blinked at the figure which loomed over him from the side. The broad-featured, hairless skull looked very similar to his, but he squinted nearsightedly into those blazing dark eyes and realized through his daze that this was no member of his race. Water bubbled in and out through his mouth, and his hands fluttered weakly. Already he knew that if he stayed in the pool he had perhaps an hour of life left.

  A strong hand of bone and sinew grasped his shoulder and pulled him partway from the water.

  Ezbell moaned. “Why?” he whispered in a voice that jerked and faded. “Mental invasion is…equivalent to breaking the spinal c-cord of…humans. Why?”

  His attacker stared at him in silence, then gently allowed him to slide back into the water. Ezbell sighed in relief, knowing he would barely have enough time to prepare himself in meditation for the death throes, then screamed as that strong hand clamped firmly over the top of his skull, closing off his breathing membrane as it pushed him beneath the surface. He flailed once, his weak eyes bulging, then sank down to the shadowy bottom of the pool to move no more.
>
  Xixit drew in a deep breath, shuddering, and stood up, his hunter’s face hardening once again with the purpose sworn upon him. He knew exactly now where to find the Blessed One, and when he reached that place he would throw himself down for the Sacred Slipper to be set upon his neck and the Golden Dagger to be drawn through his throat. Only with the blood completely drained from his body could it be pure again and permitted the burial of a believer. Now that he had invaded the mind of a base thing, one not Drughan, one not even human, the Hope of All Ending was forever beyond his reach. Water bubbled up from the fountains, and the excessive humidity plastered his clothes to his body. For a moment he stared down into the depths of the pool at the wavering outlines of the pale, naked Ecletian. His body tensed, and he spat. Then turning on his heel, he left the silent, damp rooms to steal the lytcar from its storage hangar.

  Chapter Eight

  Haufren stood up as soon as Costa was out of sight. He studied the terrain, squinting against the sunshine which had finally broken free of an overcast sky, and did not find it to his liking. There was too much open ground and not enough cover. He turned back toward the village, walking with a sure, easy stride. With the right training the girl would make a good Ranger, but right now she was too emotional and impetuous. He had no intention of waiting around for her friends. He doubted they could be of any real help; the last thing he needed was to be slowed down by more amateurs. The girl, however, was important. As soon as he had finished his transmission, he would come back for her.

  On the central street of the village, he was approached at once by a frowning ceep.

  “Forgive me, sir, but have you been in an accident? Do you require assistance?”

  Haufren, who had been trying to decide the quickest way to exchange his filthy uniform for cleaner, more nondescript clothing, quickly seized the man’s arm. “Yes, a boat capsized—”

  “A what, sir?”

  “Skimmer,” said Haufren, amending his story. “I was flipped out just before it crashed in the rocks. It was rented. It should have been in proper working order.”

  The ceep’s broad face looked more bewildered. “But, sir, skimmers are not rented out to…I’ll have to verify this if you don’t mind.”

  “Mind? Why should I? Where can I send a message?” As he spoke, Haufren started walking, and the ceep absently fell into step beside him.

  “Yes, sir. This way. But I don’t understand. Where did you, uh, rent this skimmer?”

  Haufren lifted his hand impatiently. “I have no idea. Everything was arranged for me.”

  “Oh, of course. Your guide—”

  “Back there.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder in a vague direction. “In the crash. With the others.”

  The ceep looked alarmed. “How many, sir? I’d better call this in.”

  Haufren nodded, rubbing his face wearily with his hands. “Yes, you’d better. I must send a message. You understand, don’t you?” He saw a squat, utilitarian building ahead of them. It looked slightly out of place amidst the rest of the village’s fantasy-inspired architecture. “Is this the communications center? Can I send a message from here?”

  “Yes, sir. But perhaps we’d better have a medic see to you first.”

  “Why?” asked Haufren too sharply.

  The ceep pointed at his tunic. “Isn’t that dried blood?”

  “Not mine.” Haufren’s eyes shifted as the ceep beckoned to another patroller stepping out of the building. The man ambled over. Haufren sized him up with one look, noting the interlocking Ps on one sleeve, then began studying the shape of the building and its probable internal layout.

  “There’s been a crash, Puce,” said the ceep. “Can you be pulled on duty? Who else is on call besides Rana?”

  The man named Puce shook his head. “Not her. Called out to search for a missing child. Duval’s here.” He was a tall, lanky individual, very pale skinned beneath what looked like a perpetual sunburn. He wore small, tight-fitting goggles to protect his eyes. Haufren started at the mention of Duval, and Puce caught it at once. “You know him?”

  “What?” said Haufren, feigning confusion. “I must send a message. It took so long to get here—”

  “We’d better take him off the street,” said the ceep, placing a steadying hand on Haufren’s arm. “Why don’t you start a roundup of anyone you can get on call, and I’ll settle him inside.”

  “Better go to the medical center,” said Puce.

  “He says he isn’t injured.”

  But Puce was frowning at Haufren, who was beginning to dislike the man’s sharp attention to detail. “That blood is old. When did the accident occur?”

  Haufren lifted his hand. “I got lost. I tried to go around the beach, but there’s a barrier past the rocks. I couldn’t get through. So I had to come back over the top, but that was blocked, too. I thought this was an unrestricted island, but I guess I was wrong.” He blinked and let himself sway against the ceep. “Could I have something to drink? I’ve been walking for hours.”

  “Rocks?” Puce exchanged frowns with the ceep. “Think he means the northeast side? What were you doing there, sir?”

  Haufren shrugged. “The guide promised us we could get in without being seen. Permits…all that bother.” He tried a wan smile which bounced off the suspicious faces of the two men. “I shoot scenic videos for the Home Entertainment Network on—”

  “So that’s it,” said the ceep. “And your skimmer got tossed up in the wind currents. Who was the guide?”

  “I don’t know. It was all arranged when I arrived on Playworld.” Haufren coughed. “Please, may I go inside now? I have to call my editor.”

  Puce looked disgusted. “I’ll get started. Take him inside. And find out how many were in the crash.”

  “Three,” said Haufren.

  “This way, sir,” said the ceep, taking his arm firmly and escorting him into the cool, stone-lined interior of the center. “If you’ll wait in this reception area, one of the drones will take charge of your transmission soon. I hope you realize, sir, that you’ve infracted several regulations. There’ll be a fine and—”

  “Oh, don’t worry,” said Haufren, trying to sound meek but his impatience came through. “I’ve learned my lesson. I just hope you can find the others. They weren’t in very good shape.”

  “We’ll find them, sir,” said the ceep coolly and walked out.

  At once Haufren moved to the counter and signaled for attention. When a drone came over, he broke into its instructions on how to fill out a transmission form.

  “Please. First I need to visit a privacy room.”

  The drone chimed a moment as though searching its memory for the correct response. “There are public facilities located conveniently throughout the village.”

  Haufren grimaced in annoyance. “I’m not well. I can’t go outside and search. Are there no human workers in this building? Would they object? I’m very clean.”

  “There are public facilities located conveniently throughout the village.”

  Haufren drummed his fingers rapidly on the counter for a moment, then rephrased himself. “I need to send two short-range messages to Beros and one long-range message to Drugh.” That should throw the people who would come looking for him later sufficiently off the trail, he thought. “Do you have the necessary transmission capabilities?”

  “Affirmative.”

  “Location of transmission control?”

  “Room seven, corridor two,” responded the drone automatically, then chimed, “Public access not permitted.”

  Haufren sighed. He couldn’t pass himself off as a patroller on this overly organized planet because he lacked an ID grid implant. While the drone indicated forms, he turned and frowned at the double glass doors. A young woman stood outside in the street, arguing with two small children. An idea came to him. He squinted and collected his thoughts to give a slight mental push. The youngest child’s head snapped up and around. They stared at each other for a moment, then the
child darted inside toward Haufren, ignoring the woman’s call after him.

  He planted himself directly in front of Haufren, sent him an accusing glare, and said loudly and firmly, “I need preecy!”

  “Oh, dear,” said the young woman, coming in with her other youngster gripped by the hand. “There’s a privacy room down the street.”

  The child hopped. “Now!”

  “Public facilities are conveniently located—”

  “Can that!” snapped Haufren to the drone. “You surely have an override on that instruction for the needs of small children. If you don’t you should be reprogrammed.”

  The drone scanned momentarily, leaving both Haufren and the child gripped with impatience. “Acknowledged. Location is door two, corridor two.”

  Haufren smiled inwardly and took the child’s hot, sticky hand before the woman could reach for it. “Permit me,” he said at his most courteous. “You look as though you could use a rest for a moment. Those chairs are comfortable.”

  For an instant her eyes regarded him warily, widening as they took in his disheveled appearance. “No, I don’t think—”

  “I know I look rough,” he said, making himself smile. “I was just in an accident and came in to report it. Frankly I could use the privacy room myself, providing the drone will let me pass.”

  “How dreadful,” she said, hesitated again while Haufren mentally cursed her for being such a properly suspicious guardian, then gave the older boy a slight push toward them. “You go, too. Bene will be trouble for this man.”

  “Now!” said Bene, wriggling, and the three of them trooped off.

  As soon as they were past the solid door marked NO ACCESS, Haufren pointed at the second door.

  “You go first,” he said. “I’ll wait.”

  The narrow door swiped shut behind the children. He heard a brief giggle, then he was striding rapidly down the corridor. Minutes later he knelt in front of a large, slightly obsolete control bank pulsing in purposeful patterns. Through a partition he could hear low communications chatter as a drone manually worked data traffic. He nodded, aware that it was nearly time for Costa to be back at the gate, and started opening the repair access panels. What he saw inside made him frown. The circuit patterns were outdated and not easily altered. Abruptly changing his mind, he sprang up and silently hurried over to the partition. He listened a moment to make sure no human was monitoring the work, then slipped inside.