“Some of them, some very potent ones, here on Earth. But until the past several years, we were able to keep his activities to a minimum because windows to Earth, as well as to other places, are not frequent. Many times I was able to prevent his translating to this space and time. In doing so, we managed to keep his illegal imports to a minimum.”
“And then?” she prompted when he did not go on. He looked at her blankly. “You said ‘until the past several years.’ Obviously, something changed.”
Jon’s face aged with grief even as she watched. “He stole my sister—and a device she and Minton had developed to allow translations from one world to another without having to use a full Octad. It gives them the ability to translate through narrower, less stable windows, of which there are many—such as the one I brought my Octad through, with such disastrous results. With this device, the amplifier, he has been keeping a steady stream of the essence of an exotic botanical known locally, I believe, as sallell and—”
“Sallell?” she echoed.
“The illustrations I have seen show an elongated oval leaf, somewhat leathery, growing on very crooked stems. It comes in shades from pale, golden green to dark and shiny. I believe its color depends on the age of the leaf. But beyond that—”
She broke in. “Salal! Surely you don’t mean ‘salal’?” She corrected his mispronunciation with an uncontrollable burst of laughter. “Salal isn’t an exotic botanical, for heaven’s sake! It’s a weed! It has roots that go all the way to China. Anyone who’s ever tried to clear land for a garden within ten klicks of the coast in this part of the world has to battle it constantly. It grows along the edges of clearings, even infiltrates deep into the coastal forests. It fills any open space it can find, sending its roots even into crevices in bare rock. It crowds from the forest edge right out to high-tide mark. Everywhere it can put down a root, there’s another tenacious salal plant! Though thousands of people cut it and sell its leaves to florists to add greenery to their arrangements, they’ve never made a noticeable dent in its population. Your Rankin is welcome to it.”
“To many peoples it is the source of a highly addictive, dangerous drug.” His tone held reproof. “Rankin and his ilk have kept a steady, if slow, trickle of it flowing into the veins of addicts of several different races. He must be stopped, but if he knows I’m here, he will kill Zenna.”
She sucked in a sharp breath. “Kill her?” But of course. Even inter-galactic drug lords would have as few morals, as little respect for life as the local ones. Why should it be any different elsewhere? But...salal? That was like considering dandelions as a narcotic!
“Yes,” Jon replied. “He will not allow her to go free. Unless I—we—rescue her, her death is inevitable. You see, he may kill her anyway, at any time, if she manages to perfect the device, which is, in Minton’s view, dangerously unstable. Rankin is forcing her, somehow, to keep it tuned.”
He squeezed his eyes tightly shut. His lips compressed. His fists clenched. Then he met her gaze. “Our other great concern is that in simply using the amplifier, translating with it, she might die. It could fail at any time. If my sister dies, half of me is gone, too. These years of being unable to link with her have been...torture.”
“Jon...” As difficult as her life had been at times, she had never been subjected to the knowledge that someone near and dear to her might be in the cross-hairs of some trigger-fingered killer. But then, who, other than Caroline, was really near and dear to her?
He squared his shoulders. “But I will prevail. I am leader of my Octad and it is my task, my profession, to track down and stop wrong-doers.”
Now, she shut her eyes. “Oh, my god! First, an inter-galactic drug-lord, now and inter-galactic cop?” She looked at him, wishing desperately he’d just dematerialize again. “What next?”
“Next, with your help, I will gather the others and find Zenna.” He stroked the horse’s neck. “Mystery, will you carry us to Lenore’s home?”
The horse arched his neck and turned his head, looking more alert and intelligent than Lenore had ever thought possible. Mystery had never been a particularly brilliant horse, much more of a nag than anything else. But Caroline liked him. Actually, so did Lenore. To her mystification, the old nag appeared to nod, as if in response to the question, and Jon patted him again. Mystery bared his long yellow teeth in what could only be a grin. Lenore held her breath, waiting for him to start speaking or singing, or informing the world that his real name was Mr. Ed, and that a “horse was a horse, of course, of course...”
Oh, yes, she’d spent far too much of her lonely leisure time with the Fiction Classics. From here on, she’d make a point of avoiding them as she did Nancy Worth’s tabloids, and sticking with History holos and vids.
Right. And learn more about handsome, fascinating, dangerous men such as the Ted Bundy whose looks had so entranced her—as they had other women—few of whom lived to tell the tale.
Jon left the horse’s side, crouched and leaned over the spring where it bubbled from between two slabs of rock. She thought he intended to drink, but he only tilted his head to one side, offered her a sweet, warming smile, and said, “Your world makes intriguing music. I could hear this when we were in the cavern, but it sounds much more complex now I’m close. I wish I had come to Earth long ago. I had no idea how charming a place it could be. It’s almost like Aazonia in its beauty.” He shrugged. “Though I was told, I didn’t truly believe it.”
“You think you’ve got problems,” she muttered. “I don’t believe any of this.”
Though even as she said it, Lenore suppressed a sigh. Unfortunately, she did believe it. At least, she found herself more than willing to go along with it—with him—when he slipped his right glove off and took her hand in his, holding it warmly, securely, comfortingly. There might be something to say for madness, after all. Since she had already gotten there, she no longer had to worry about going crazy.
She laughed again.
“Something amuses you?”
“Life amuses me,” she said. “I think, for far too long, I’ve taken it much too seriously.”
“That is very likely true,” he agreed. “This seriousness of yours has been making you unhappy, has it not?”
At once, she was on the defensive. “What makes you say that?”
“What I saw. What I learned of you. Before.”
“Before?”
“Before you forbade me entrance to your thoughts.”
“And now?” She couldn’t keep the challenge from her tone, almost daring him to reveal more of her deepest secrets—or to admit he hadn’t meant his promise to stay out. How could she possibly trust a promise like that? If he could read her mind, he could also make damn good and sure she didn’t know he was doing it.
He didn’t admit any such thing, or give any indication he knew what she was thinking.
“Now what?”
“What do you think now?”
“Now, hearing your laughter make the same kind of music as does the water among the stones, I think you are more happy.”
Her laughter sounded like a mountain stream? Did he have any idea what a rare compliment he’d just paid her, what a romantic notion he had conveyed? She gave her head a quick shake to settle her brains back into their safe, comfortable rut. “Sure,” she said. “Just as happy as if I were in my right mind.”
“Lenore, your mind appeared to me to be very right. Merely...confused, weary, and deeply, desperately lonely.”
She swallowed a sudden wave of distress that threatened to overpower her as strongly as the vision of the avalanche. She fought that as she had fought every other battle in her life—with strength and determination.
Ignoring emotional pain, subduing it, came naturally to her. “All right. Mount up, Alien, and let’s get out of these woods before another storm decides to swamp us.”
He mounted the horse as if he had been riding bareback all his life, which he likely had, she supposed. Or if he hadn’t, he’d s
imply reached into a nearby, unsuspecting mind for instructions. Or...had he levitated? It had all happened so fast she couldn’t be sure.
To her surprise, since she was not a small, delicate woman, he reached down from his seat and lifted her to sit sideways in front of him.
“Mystery can’t carry us both on this rocky trail,” she protested, but he leaned around her, patted the horse’s neck, and assured her Mystery was happy to do it.
“As happy as if he were in his right mind?”
He chuckled as they moved forward, the horse obeying no command she had seen or felt Jon give. “Wrong minds are not allowed to remain untreated in Aazonia,” he told her. “In people or in beasts.”
She took that as a direct stab at her own uncertain sanity, despite his having said he thought her mind was sound. “I had treatment!” She turned her head and glared at him. “I saw a doctor. She recommended rest. And look what that got me.” Unable to stand the power of his gaze, she quickly faced the front again, sitting stiffly erect, keeping her body from touching his.
He didn’t let her get away with that but curved an arm around her, pulling her close, his shoulder cradling the side of her face. He felt disturbingly...real and, even more disturbingly, as if there were no layers of clothing between them. She shivered and lifted her cheek from his shoulder, which her imagination had told her was covered by nothing but warm, bare skin. Her eyes told her otherwise. She wasn’t sure which to believe.
“What did it get you?” he asked, his voice a low rumble of amusement in her ear, his breath tickling as he drew her close again.
She glanced at him, feeling helpless against the sexual pull he exerted. “It got me you,” Then, in an attempt to focus on something other than the weird sensation that a man, fully clothed, could feel so naked to her, she added, “But I suppose a sexy alien is a slight improvement over a frantic, frightened woman searching for help, crying out into the night for someone, anyone to answer.”
Jon reeled with shock. As Lenore had spoken, he’d caught an unexpected glimpse of Zenna’s face “When?” he demanded, clamping his hands on her shoulders, half-turning her toward him. “What woman? Where is she?” He lifted one knee to support her as she almost slid from the horse’s back. He saw sudden fear in her eyes, fear as swift and as real as that of Zenna’s he had sensed in the instant he captured Lenore’s unintentional projection of his sister’s image.
Deliberately, he forced himself to relax, so as not to further alarm Lenore. There was so much he had to know, so much that would require her willing cooperation. Had it been Zenna who’d opened Lenore’s mind to Aazoni communications?
Could she be near? But if she was, she must sense him. The two of them had been inextricably linked since the moment of conception. Why was she damped? Was it for her own safety? It must be so! Yet the question remained, though Jon refused to allow it room in his own mind, why did Zenna continue to keep the device operational for Rankin and B’tar?
Minton had evidence that Zenna had translated back to Aazonia, fully cloaked with the assistance of the amplifier, and taken materials from the lab they had shared, materials to keep the device operational. Why, during one of those trips home, had she not sought help? What hold did Rankin have over her? Threats against her family, against Minton? Did she not know how much power the two families, united, could muster? She had to know that! Even with the amplifier in his hands, they could beat Rankin on their home territory if they knew when he would be there. They could set a trap. Here, it might be more difficult, but they would do it.
Unless, Jon speculated, Minton was wrong. It was possible the prototype amplifier that had disappeared with his sister was far more serviceable than suspected, possible it worked without Zenna’s assistance. If that were the case, why did Zenna still live?
Yet, if Minton was right, and Zenna was maintaining the invention, that she was doing so seemed ample proof to both Jon and Minton that Zenna was being coerced. So, of course, fearing for her life, for theirs, she would have to remain in apparent ignorance of the presence of a rescue party.
Gently, quietly, dampening his own burning need for answers, Jon asked Lenore again, “What of the woman who has been disturbing your dreams? Who is she?”
“No one, really,” she said. “My doctor says she’s probably just a manifestation of a troubled part of my own psyche, memories of the lost child within me, or the baby I’d like to have.”
She stabbed him with a brief, bitter stare. “Not that I have to tell you about that desire.”
He longed for the right to ease the mental anguish he had caused by entering her mind uninvited. “No,” he replied. “You do not need to tell me about that. I know it intimately.” And I share it with you.
The last thought, unspoken, startled him. No! He had no desire to procreate. If he were to do so, it would mean giving up his life as an officer of the law. The best he could do for Lenore, to make good his promise to fulfill her desires in repayment for her assistance, was to show her that the right bond-mate for her did exist, and that with Aazoni help, she would find him.
“But why,” he asked, before she could speak again, “do you think your dreams of this woman in some way manifest your need for a child?”
“Because in some of the dreams, there is a child, too, a little girl. She and the woman, not together, but somehow...connected. Those were the phantoms who took turns peopling my dreams until you came along and knocked them out of first place.”
Jon almost forgot his promise. How hard it was not to dip into the memories she mentioned, dreams, she called them. Why, oh why had he promised her he would not? Why, oh why did the very notion of his entering her mind frighten her so?
Because it was alien to her, completely outside the realm of her experience. He knew that, but it was hard to understand her fear of something that, to him, was a natural function.
In other races he had encountered, most welcomed the enhanced abilities he and his kind were able to provide them, if they had the basic, if undeveloped, gift for them. In many, of course, there were no such latent talents, and therefore no way for an Aazoni to assist in advancing them. But with Lenore...The natural capacity was so strong, so close to the surface, so ready to be exploited, it was all but impossible to keep from slipping inside to learn what he must learn, to teach her what she needed to know to be a whole person. He was sure he could do it without her knowing, especially if he waited until she was asleep. But he had promised. A promise was not something he could break, not and maintain his honor.
Without honor, an Aazoni was nothing.
But...that dream woman? He was very close to certain, given the swift image that had escaped Lenore’s mind at her first mention of her, the woman must be Zenna. Then what of the child? That, too, must be his sister, in earlier times.
If he could persuade Lenore to open her mind to him again, to trust him, would he find in her subconscious the answers he sought?
Had she been the medium through which he had, for that, brief, precious moment during his harrowing descent from the translation gone wrong, contacted the essence that was Zenna? Had Zenna also been probing for Lenore during that instant?
He cast his mind out in a narrow, cautious beam, scanning, but finding nothing that spoke of his sister, nor of Minton attempting again to reach Lenore, no traces, no signatures. If they were there, hunting for her mentation, they were doing so in a manner that she could not feel, was not frightened by, and hence was not projecting. That left him blocked off from any outflow access by his promise to Lenore.
The others, though...they had made no such promise. The thought came to him in a flash as the horse under them crossed over a stream, splashing through. If he could but find one of them...Lenore, he knew, was not unwilling.
She’d become unwilling only when she knew it was he who had been in her mind. Because of the passion their mental joining had generated? The intensity of that connection concerned him, too, in a way, but in another way, he welcomed it. It
had not been something he’d ever found, though he knew from others that kind of union could exist.
Baloka, it was called. It was, he realized, something he’d like to explore fully, to create from that experience an Aleea to keep and return to whenever he felt the not unnatural need of a male for a female. He had such Aleeas, of course, from other encounters, but the one with Lenore would be somehow...special. Would it be true baloka?
Patán! He sneered at his own foolishness. An Aazoni could not achieve baloka with a non-Aazoni. Whatever he felt for Lenore had more to do with gratitude than anything else. But like each of the other memories he carried, it would be...unique. He looked at her, at the confused innocence in her eyes. It would be...special.
“Tell me of the child in your dreams,” he said to distract himself from that line of thinking. “Lenore, I must know.”
“Why?”
“Because I suspect, I hope, the child in your dreams might be the child my sister was.”
She stared at him in clear disbelief. “Why would I dream about your sister, for heaven’s sake? I don’t even know her. And especially, why would I dream of her as a child?”
“An endangered Aazoni can retreat to childhood, hide there,” he explained. “In childhood is safety, where adult uncertainties, adult dangers cannot be perceived. If that is where Zenna is hiding, back in her own, secure childhood, peeking out only rarely, and somehow making contact with you, I might be able reach her there when no one else could. I shared that childhood, know it as well as I know my own.”
He stroked his necklace, touching first one bead then another, searching the memories shared by himself and his sister, gliding over them, through them, into them, but finding no hint she might be in them now and near enough to read.
“Lenore, please share with me the substance of your dreams.”
Jon could see the refusal in her face before she spoke it aloud. “I’d prefer to leave my dreams to be forgotten. They haven’t always been...pleasant. And I haven’t dreamed of either of the woman or the child since I came to the mountains.”
Whispers on the Wind Page 11
