Hing's radio frequency echoed with a loud babble of mingled curses, frightened questions, and panicky exclamations. "Everyone stay calm," she commanded, her voice cutting through the cacophony. "These suits are shielded against radiation, remember? We're going to leave right away, but we're going to do it in an orderly fashion, as soon as the Professor is safe.
Remember your emergency drills! Now quiet down and keep this frequency clear!"
Blessed silence ensued.
Serge, put on your helmet! she urged him mentally, realizing that he was probably inhaling contaminated air with every breath. But if he did that, he'd no longer be able to communicate with the Simiu or the Heeyoon, still high above him. "Khuharkk', if you back down, I will guide you," he urged, his voice calm and steady. Putting up his hands, he began coaxing the alien backward. "Professor Greyshine," he repeated urgently, "come down!"
"But the star-shrine--" Hing could barely hear the archaeologist's protest.
Then, evidently deciding that he had no alternative, the alien instructor began crabbing sideways, trying to turn so he could begin his descent--
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--until his hand slipped!
Hing gasped in horror as the Heeyoon's heavy body lurched, then skidded.
An instant later the Professor was falling, slamming into Khuharkk', tumbling toward the humans. Hing screamed involuntarily as she threw herself to the side, grabbing at a flailing arm or leg. Her gloved hand skidded over the slick material of his spacesuit, finding no purchase, no hold . ..
The Heeyoon's frightened yelp rose above the still-wailing alarm and the computer's repetitious warning as he landed on the brink of the crevasse; then, with a final howl of agony, the Professor disappeared over the edge.
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CHAPTER 6
Over the Edge
Heather leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes, trying to relax. She was sitting in a study cubicle in the spacious StarBridge library, waiting for her tutor in alien telepathic techniques to arrive. The child was supposed to be meditating, clearing her mind, but her thoughts churned restlessly, images forming behind her closed eyes.
Images . . .
Khuharkk's yelping, gibbering form, trailing filth from his matted hair, bolting headlong down the hall, nearly knocking her over. Heather had barely begun to savor her victory before she'd been startled by the blare of the emergency alert. She'd wandered aimlessly until one of the seniors, a Chhhh-kk-tu, grabbed her and strapped her into one of the Mizari beltpaks, showing her how to activate her location transmitter.
Heather had never envisioned her prank causing such a furor. Students had milled anxiously in the corridors, whispering that the environmental systems were all tied in together, and that a problem with one might affect all the others. Her mouth dry and heart pounding, Heather wondered whether her meddling had caused additional systems to overload or short out. By the time the "all- clear" had been issued, she'd been so scared she was on the verge of confessing everything.
Images...
Rob Gable's well-drawn features replaced Khuharkk's draggled
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form in her memory. Heather had discovered the psychologist leaning against the wall near the entrance to her Advanced Mizari class the next day. When he'd spotted the girl, he'd beckoned her over. "Hi, Heather," he'd said, his usually warm smile noticeably absent. "How are you doing?"
The girl smiled uncertainly and shrugged. "Oh, fine, Dr. Ga-- uh, Dr. Rob.
How are you?"
Rob's dark eyes never left her face as he folded his arms across his chest.
"Not so good, Heather. I didn't sleep very well last night. I was worried about the environmental systems. One failure can lead to another, you know .. ."
He leaned forward, and for a second Heather tensed, thinking he was going to grab her shoulders and shake her. "You did know that, didn't you?"
Oh, shit, he knows I did it! Heather thought frantically, I don't know how, but he knows! She almost blurted out the whole story then and there, but fears of going back to Earth, of being returned to Uncle Fred, had stopped her. Biting the inside of her lip, she forced herself to say quietly, "Yeah, I know. I was really scared."
"I'll bet you were. So were a lot of other people," Rob said grimly.
"Do you have any idea how it happened?" Heather asked, wishing she dared to search his mind to find out what he knew. But she'd abandoned the idea of a telepathic probe the moment she'd noticed the jeweled earcuff he was wearing. The tiny thing was almost concealed by his hair, and so pretty that it might have been mere ornamentation, like the small ring of Rigellian opal Rob wore in his left earlobe--but Heather was willing to bet it was another of those damned distorts.
The psychologist hesitated for a long second before replying. "I hate to tell you this, Heather," he said finally, "but we're pretty sure the whole thing was due to sabotage. Computer sabotage."
The child's stomach lurched sickeningly. Calm down! her survivor-self ordered sharply. If he had any proof, he wouldn't be playing cat and mouse.
And you know you didn't leave any traces of tampering behind. "That's awful!" She managed to register an appropriate amount of shock. "Who could have done such a thing?"
Rob smiled coldly. "That's what I lay awake last night asking myself. It must have been someone who is awfully good with computers. I'm just hoping that the guilty party will come forward. Or at least have the sense not to tamper again. It would go hard with him, her, or seloz," he said. "Very hard." His dark eyes were so cold she had to repress a shiver.
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"I'll bet," Heather agreed fervently. "Uh, listen, Dr. Rob, I've got to get to class. If I hear anything, I'll let you know."
Rob bared his teeth in a smile that had nothing of good humor about it. "You do that, Heather. Thanks a million." As she'd stood watching him, he sauntered away. Just before he turned the corner, Rob reached up and pulled off his distort, and immediately Heather caught his thought--the thought he'd wanted her to catch. And I'm sure Khuharkk' would be highly interested in knowing, too . . .
Now, sitting in the library, Heather's throat tightened as she envisioned the Simiu, what he'd do to her if he ever found out who had caused his disgrace.
Heather swallowed, gulping back nausea, remembering Khuharkk's huge fangs and massive, sinewy hands. He'd rip me in two . . .
The day of Rob's not-so-veiled warning, Heather had been so upset that she'd cut class and practically run down the corridor in the opposite direction, her heart slamming painfully in her chest. It had taken two icecream sundaes at the Spiral Arm, StarBridge's student cafe and hangout, before she'd regained her equanimity.
Despite her fears, Rob hadn't pursued the issue, and within a few days, the sewage-reversal incident seemed to be mostly forgotten, except for a rash of scatological jokes a few humans took relish in repeating--always carefully out of Simiu earshot, of course.
But Heather didn't forget. Her life wouldn't be worth a kilo of comet dust if Khuharkk' ever found out who had sabotaged his John, and she never lost sight of that unpleasant fact. She needed money, money she could use to make a quick getaway, money to take her to another world, because, no matter what, Heather wasn't going to let them ship her back to Earth! Hell, no!
So, for the past few days, the girl had been working on a plan that would give her a tidy nest egg, hidden away in a place where no one could trace it.
Soon she'd be ready to put Phase Two of her scheme into effect, and then it wouldn't be long before she'd have enough for a ticket to one of the colony worlds, and plenty to live on until she could find work.
But I hope I don't have to leave, she thought wistfully, surprising herself. She liked it here at StarBridge. This school challenged her active mind. She actually found herself looking forward to some of her classes. Don't forget, there are other schools, she reminded herself, then she sighed aloud. Other schools, yeah, but only one Serge LaRoche. And only one Hing. The thought of never seeing them again made her bite
her lip and wish, for the first time, that she'd just let bygones be bygones with Khuharkk'.
Serge ... his handsome face filled her mind, and Heather smiled 91
dreamily. Serge, as she'd known from the first moment she saw him, was definitely a class act--a real gentleman. And she loved him, loved him as she had never loved anyone before.
Heather's feelings were so new, so strong, so intense that they scared her.
She would have died rather than admit them to anyone, and only in her innermost fantasies had she even dared to dream that Serge would ever love her in return. It was enough for the girl that he was nice to her, waved and smiled when he saw her, talked to her as though she were a grown-up, instead of patronizing her like most older boys. Heather knew, from cautiously probing his mind, that Serge genuinely liked her--and that was more than she'd ever believed possible.
She didn't even feel jealous of Hing--at least, not much. Heather was a realist, and didn't delude herself about the odds against Serge ever being attracted to her as a girlfriend. The difference in their ages--eleven whole years!--seemed a century to the child ... a gulf so great it could never be bridged.
Besides, she admired Hing. If Serge had to be in love with another woman, Heather concluded, Hing was the only person she'd met so far who came close to being worthy of him. She wasn't pretty enough, and her figure wasn't perfect, but she was smart and talented, and her cheerful friendliness was contagious. The Cambodian student was also genuinely interested in her younger roommate, and this was such a new experience that Heather found it impossible to resist. Hing really listened when the younger girl talked. If I could have had a big sister, she thought, leaning her head back and lazily twirling in her chair, I'd have wanted one like her.. .
Heather knew from her cautious peeks at Hing's thoughts (she hadn't dared to really probe; Hing was sensitive to mind-touches) that the older student saw her more realistically than anyone she could remember--and, wonder of wonders, Hing still liked her! Heather was warmed by that knowledge--it had proved a bulwark against her initial homesickness for Earth, her ever-present loneliness.
Yesterday she'd had her usual appointment with Rob, and Heather had been "as nervous as a harlot in church," to quote Uncle Fred, but Rob had not alluded to Khuharkk's "accident." Instead, he'd asked Heather about her earliest recollections, whether she remembered her mother and father at all.
The girl had been asked these same questions so many times that it was easy for her to give relatively truthful answers without letting what she was saying penetrate on any emotional level... though she'd quickly sensed 92
that Rob Gable wasn't going to be content to leave it there--and she'd been right.
He'd been particularly interested in her father. "Your father is telepathic, it says here. Did he ever communicate with you telepathically?"
"I don't remember." Heather shook her head, feeling suddenly uneasy. "It was so long ago. Six years, almost."
Rob had smiled ruefully. "Wait until you have to try and remember things that happened two or three decades ago, instead of a few years. Tell me, do you have any memories at all of him before your mom's death?" he prodded.
"Anything at all?"
Heather's cool detachment had faltered slightly as she'd answered honestly,
"I think--I think I remember him buying me an ice-cream cone one time. At the park."
'Tell me about it."
"I don't remember anything else. Just that it was an ice-cream cone, and that he bought it and handed it to me."
"What flavor?"
Heather had given him a look that mingled surprise and exasperation. "How the hell--I mean, how should I know?"
"You'd be surprised how many times tactile memories can trigger others."
"Well, I don't remember," Heather had said curtly.
But now, sitting in the library, remembering yesterday's session, she suddenly did remember. Peppermint. She could see the pink and white swirls. Peppermint. Her mind was suddenly full of the memory-taste, sharp, cloyingly sweet...
Daddy handed the cone to her, its sticky pinkness dripping down the white napkin; she'd clutched it so hard the cone had cracked, but she'd eaten it anyway, lick-lick-lick, yum, yes. Good. . .
Daddy smiled, smiled so wide. His teeth were white as he smiled at Heather, then he smiled at Mommy and Mommy smiled back. Mommy was so pretty, her red-gold hair curling softly, smelling like flowers, her blouse the color of the sky above the park. The park was green and smelled all growy like gardens. Flowers everywhere, and someone had a puppy, it wanted to lick Heather's ice cream and she was willing but Mommy said no, which was the word grown-ups knew best. . . lick-lick-lick, savor the taste, savor the moment, yum, yes, it was good to be here with Mommy and Daddy...
Mommy thought it was good, too, her mind was warm and sweet like the runnels of ice cream dripping off Heather's chubby fist. But Heather knew better than to touch Daddy's mind, because
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there was a bad spot inside, and she was scared of it. Daddy could talk without moving his mouth just like Heather could, and they used to talk together like that, and that was the most fun of all. But lately, Heather wanted only to mouth-talk with Daddy, because the last time they had mind-talked she had touched the bad spot and she never wanted to touch it again, no, no!
Touching the bad spot had been like the time she'd bitten into the pretty pale orange fruit Mommy called "ape-ri-cot" and there had been a black oozy place inside, smelly and soft and squooshy, yuck! And Mommy had said the fruit was sick inside, bruised, and had thrown it away.
So Heather was too scared to tell about the bad spot inside Daddy, because he was still her daddy and she loved him; she didn't want anyone to throw him away. But she couldn't help knowing sometimes that the bad spot was there, and it was growing. More and more of Daddy's mind was getting bruised; Daddy was always afraid of what was inside his head, but he didn't want anyone to know what was there, or how scared he was. Heather knew that Daddy sat alone at night, fighting the bad spot and the things it told him, the things it showed him--things Heather had glimpsed just that once and never wanted to see again.
Daddy was scared, so scared it made Heather want to cry, but she knew he loved her. . . he loved Mommy, too, even though sometimes they had fights, but today everything was good, the bad spot was far away, and the ice cream was--
A gentle, wordless greeting touched her mind. Heather jerked upright in her seat, her eyes snapping open to see her instructor before her. Correction--
instructors, plural. Shadgui were a symbiotic organism, and thought of themselves as "we."
The "Shad" portion of the symbiont was a large, hairy being with only vestigial depressions in his face that once, ages ago, had been his species'
eye sockets. More than two meters tall, the massive, slothlike creature dwarfed most humans, and especially Heather. Nestled on the Shad's huge shoulder and actually linked to the hairy creature's body by a complex biochemical bond was the "Gui" portion of the organism; a small, red-skinned toadlike being with bright button eyes that "saw" for both of them.
The Shad's mouth moved, and carefully articulated Mizari emerged. "Are you ready for our lesson, Heather?"
The girl nodded, then, knowing that Shadgui preferred telepathic
communication, expressed her assent mentally.
Approval flowed from Kaross as the Shadgui settled himself into the slinglike support his species used in lieu of seats. "We will work
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today on nonverbal communication, which is vital when making a First Contact. You expressed interest, we believe, in becoming an explorer?"
Yes, I did, Heather replied silently.
"Very well. Let us begin with identifying basic emotions shared by most of the species inhabiting the Fifteen Known Worlds. Are you ready?"
Heather expressed her agreement wordlessly, then tried to make her mind as blank as possible. A moment later she felt the muscles at the back of her neck tense, and
stiffened warily in response to the emotion brushing her mind. "Fear?" she said aloud.
"Not quite," the Shadgui said. "We were projecting caution. Fear is less reasoned, less intelligently alert. Are you again ready?"
Yes, Heather thought. Go ahead.
Almost immediately her mind felt a tendril touch of warmth, and she found herself smiling. Love? she guessed.
Close. We were projecting goodwill. Here is love.
The warmth intensified, fil ing her with a glow like sunshine on a warm spring day. She felt buoyed up with hope and happiness, until her throat tightened with the unaccustomed emotion.
Do you sense the difference?
Oh, yes! Heather looked over at Kaross gratefully, still filled with the intensity of the alien's emotion. I--
--Fear!
Sharp, panicky terror engulfed Heather's mind with the force of a mental hurricane. The contact lasted for only a moment, but that instant of profound rapport left the girl gasping and shaking. Heather leaped to her feet with a muffled cry. "Omigod! Oh, no!"
What is it? What is wrong? Kaross demanded, hoisting his bulk out of his sling with more alacrity than his lumbering appearance indicated.
"Oh, shit, something's wrong!" Heather was shivering with reaction.
"Esteemed Kaross, it's Hing, my roommate!"
"What is wrong? Where is Hing?"
"She's on a field trip out at the archaeological site this afternoon--and something's gone wrong out there!"
"She sent you a message?" The Shadgui was plainly skeptical. Heather couldn't blame the alien--most telepaths couldn't send or receive thoughts over distances of a hundred meters, let alone ten or twenty kilometers.
Heather fumbled for words. "Not a message, not words. Just a moment when I sensed what she was feeling, and she was terrified. She's in a closed-in place, surrounded by rock walls, and
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something terrible happened!" She concentrated, closing her eyes, reaching, groping ...
The alien's mind intruded. Can you still sense her?
"Yeah . .." Heather whispered slowly. "Yeah, I can . .. it's like a nagging headache back there. She's still scared. Something is wrong. She's in danger."
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