by Mary Andrews
Laynald flashed his Gov badge. The two men stood their ground uncertainly.
Ira lifted his dark glasses. The laser-lit signs reflected wickedly from his eyes.
The big guys stepped aside.
With their admission no longer contested, the agents continued down the hallway.
“They telepathed our presence to upper management, didn't they?” Ira asked.
“Doesn't matter. Judging from this empty corridor, I'd say they were expecting us too."
Ira picked up his pace as Rael stepped into the main hall. “I don't like this,” he muttered.
Suddenly the captain stopped and turned to face one of the privacy booths that lined the main hall.
“He's not going to wait,” Ira said and broke into a run.
The shimmering curtain opened, and Rael stepped in without so much as a backward glance.
Laynald allowed himself to lag behind to study the main hall more closely. Intoxicants flowed freely, and the crowd reveled with a happy abandon. Customers in varying states of dress danced or lounged around the large stage in the far corner of the room. The Xanadoo PSI-Troop segued into another song. The feel of the room began to de-escalate. Laynald had no problem discerning employee from clientele. They're keeping everyone away from this area.
Ira released the glimmering curtain and slid it partially open. In the center of the silver-hued room, Rael stood, mesmerized by the woman.
Unlike the statuesque beauty Ira had seen through Rael's eyes earlier, she stood only five-feet tall at most. Her body was thinner, her face less exotic than he remembered. Likewise in place of the sensuously silken dress she wore a loose gray shift with no adornments.
Ira wondered how she could not have noticed when he stepped into the room with them. Instead, she gently entwined her fingers around Rael's and drew him across the room, away from Ira and the door. As she pulled back a fine tapestry. Ira caught the vague outline of a door.
Without further pause Ira crossed the room and, grabbing Rael's shoulder, spun him around to land a right cross to his jaw. The blow sent him sprawling across the room. The woman crumpled to the floor where she stood.
“Captain's not going to like that at all,” Laynald stated flatly from the doorway.
Ira shrugged, “Guess I'll be the one picking him up this time though, huh?"
Laynald glanced back through the curtain, then pointed to the woman on the floor. “She needs to stay asleep, doesn't she?"
Ira nodded. “Yes, but...."
Laynald pegged her with one of his many specially tinctured darts and crossed the room to retrieve it before magne-cuffing her hands and feet. “Glad I wore my gloves. This place is just chock full of PSIons."
Ira glared at him before moving to help Rael up from the floor.
“What the hell happened?” Rael asked, massaging his jaw.
“Kid hit you, Captain.” Laynald hefted the bound woman over his shoulder. “Let's go."
Rael rubbed his jaw tenderly. “You hit her too?"
Ira frowned, “You get the blow or the backlash ... next time I'll hit her.” Ira removed his dark glasses and started for the exit.
“That ought to take care of any trouble makers on the way back, huh?” Rael mumbled to Laynald.
“If there are any.” Laynald shifted the woman's weight a little to free up his right arm in case he needed to reach a second dart gun. They both fell in behind Ira.
Nobody got in their way, not once, all the way back to the ship.
* * *
CHAPTER 3
As a rule, Dark Ops ships never experienced delays. Though Tanivol's spaceport controllers did not appreciate the short notice, the Nemesis set course back to Space Station 15 immediately. It was a good rule.
Rael allowed himself to linger a little longer in the comfort of his ship's main control room. It had not really been necessary for him to be there. He could interface with his ship, and most any other electronic circuitry, from a hundred yards away. He had only wanted, no, needed, a moment of solitude to pull himself together, but it wasn't working. He could not quench the excitement of knowing she was so near any more than he could explain how he had let this happen. It had all been so fast, and now he could not pry her from his mind.
Forcing his eyes closed, he leaned back, allowing his body to sink even further into his command chair at the room's center. Ira swears that breathing is the best way to kick-start mental control, he told himself. He inhaled deeply. Her floral scent besieged him. He lurched forward sensing her presence. In fact, he half expected to see her standing there. She wasn't. “Damn!” He dragged himself from the seat and headed for the sickbay. May as well get this over with.
Standing outside the sickbay door, Rael struggled to conceal his anxiety. Her ‘call’ to him had raked across his mind, growing stronger with each step: a Siren's song ever luring, ever drawing him to her side. He steeled himself against it and, though he tried to appear unaffected when he entered the room, he avoided Ira's intense gaze. Of course, a Wall Master would see through his pretense, but he knew that as long as he could control himself, there would be no confrontation.
Laynald looked up from the table where she lay. “Just in time Rael. I've finished examining our prisoner here. I think you'll be interested in what I've found."
Rael froze. She seemed so small and fragile to him. He found himself wanting to be near her, to help her ... to serve her. He trembled at the inescapable reality. Even drugged and unconscious, she still controls me! He forced himself to look away from her and toward Laynald instead. “What do we have so far?” he asked.
Laynald waved him over and pointed toward the last scan readings on the wall. “You know, I still can't figure out where she's from. She's not that much different from us, physically, except that she doesn't have vocal chords. But look at this.” He motioned to the bio-scanner. “It looks like she's been surgically blinded, probably at an early age. See ... here and here,” he pointed, “see, those are the severing points, but if you look real close there are some wispy energy trails—like tendrils. I don't know what they do, but there is a lot of activity there. It could be a PSIonic trail of sorts ... hard to tell yet.” Laynald crossed his arms and frowned. He shook his head, “Whoever did this, did a masterful job. Her eyes look normal ... real pretty shade of green too ... but no vision. And on her left shoulder I found a slaver's mark lased into her skin.” He reached down and lifted the gown away from her shoulder to reveal a starburst shape. “Looks like she's seen a lot of abuse. I can't even begin to guess at her mental state.” He nodded toward Ira. “You're really going to have your hands full with this one."
Ira, listening from across the room, suppressed a horrible surge of sadness. “She is telepathic, Captain. During the Finding, she both spoke and saw telepathically."
Laynald turned away from the display. “How do you ‘see’ telepathically?"
“She saw only what her attacker was seeing,” Ira answered. “In fact, the first time I merged with her, everything went dark whenever she closed her eyes. I couldn't quite put it all together until now."
Rael moaned. “I don't think I like the way this is sounding. So how did she get inside my head, and more importantly, how do I keep her out? Why am I so susceptible to her control? She didn't affect either of you, did she?"
Ira resisted the temptation to reach out and calm his captain's mind. Rael was still terribly shaken from her mental assault. He would surely not welcome another intrusion now—not even a friendly one.
Ira sighed as Rael's fear and anger reverberated across him. As a telempath he both received and sent emotions, and as a Finder he could shift his senses so as to see and share the universe on a metaphysical level, to see his patient's patterns and essence and to be able merge with them so completely as to receive through their senses, but he could not read their minds. Their thoughts and secrets would eternally elude him, but he could feel their pain, their fear and their anger. He paused at the sudden realization that
nobody ever brought him pleasant emotions. All his life he'd been tethered to the needs of others like this. He could find no peace in the presence of extreme discord. Only distance or solitude helped, and nobody cared how bleed-over emotions affected him as long as their rights to freely emote them were upheld. These were dangerous grounds in any situation.
Ira stood up and joined the others at the side of the table. He examined the face of the unconscious woman for a long moment. Her hair was as jet black as his. Its tapered style, short in the front to long in the back, framed her face nicely as it fell and rose like a raven river across the tabletop. Sightless eyes the color of the sea, he thought to himself. Then turning to Laynald, he spoke up, “Nullify the drug, Doc, and then you both can leave. Lock us in here till either I call you, or you can't stand it any longer.” He glanced at Rael's frowning face. “And you, sir, should really get some rest. I will handle this for you."
“I'll need an ice pack for my jaw too. It still hurts like hell,” Rael grumbled, still struggling to remain composed as he forced himself to turn away to leave. “You got two hours, kid."
The healer tossed him a cold pack and waved him on. “I'll catch you after I finish up here.” Rael nodded and left. Laynald turned to Ira. “Take all the time you need; I'll take care of Rael, but first,” he pointed out newly installed switches near the table's edge, next to the door and along the scanner wall. “Any one of those will initiate a thirty second room-wide neural disruptor and set off an alarm ... just in case."
Ira shuddered at the thought but nodded. “It is good to have options."
Laynald turned back to the table and applied the hypo-spray to the woman's arm. As she started to stir, the healer turned and left the room. The security lock engaged with a sharp click.
Slipping off his gloves and stuffing them in his pocket, Ira returned to his seat across the room. He dimmed the lights to soften the ‘feel’ of the room. When everything seemed right, he leaned back and closed his eyes. Relaxing, he listened to the rhythmic rise and fall of her breathing until with a sudden gasp she surged into consciousness. Her confusion washed lightly across the room, first in anxious ripples, then waves of frustration, which eventually spiked with anger as she strained against her bonds. In a moment of resignation she paused, and amidst the silence, sensed his presence. Her fear flickered as she struggled to ward off an impending panic. You are back, silent friend.
Ira leaned his head back against the wall with his eyes still shut and spoke softly, “Relax. I am here to help you."
I need no help from you. She struggled against her restraints. Untie me, she demanded. I must finish what I was ordered to do! He will come. I'll call him to me now. You'll see, the Master has no need of your services.
Ira opened his eyes. She flinched at the sight of herself tightly bound to the examining table. “Things have changed,” he stated flatly. He crossed the room and stood over her for a moment. Her dark hair, her eyes—sea green—were just as Laynald had said. He reached down and gently brushed a strand of hair away from her face before touching her cheek. The flesh-to-flesh contact immersed him deeper into her turmoil ... CONFUSION ... ANGER ... FEAR.
“Things have changed,” he repeated. His thoughts and words entwined with hers, amplified by the telepathic connection. “You are onboard a ship now traveling far away from that planet.” He calmed and caressed her with his thoughts, siphoning away her fears and pain, lulling her into feeling secure ... safe ... obedient. “You are safe here."
She deliberately turned her sightless gaze toward him. Where is my master? What has happened?
“Things have changed,” he repeated, “You belong here now.” His quiet words echoed through her mind, filtering beneath her consciousness. “You have been relinquished to the service of this Gov-unit because of your previous master's abusive use of your powers. All legalities have been taken care of."
She frowned. No.
“Yes.” He pressed finality into the word as he mentally drew the room's lighting to a normal intensity. “You have a new master. His name is Rael Pointe, and you are now in his service.” He stroked her hair ever so gently, infusing his will onto hers. “Things have changed. Do you understand?"
She lay quietly before him for what seemed an eternity, then nodded slowly. I am his now.
Ira paused for a moment, shielding his hope that this would cause her to relinquish her hold over the captain ... and hoping that Rael could deal with becoming a slave owner.
“You are prepared to meet him now,” Ira finally told her. He released the restraints and helped her to sit up. “You are ready,” he told her.
I am ready, she repeated.
He stepped away allowing the physical contact to break, but kept attuned to her emotions as a monitor of sorts. “I'll call him now,” he said. “You will know what to do when you see him, but everything will be all right.” Ira walked over to the wall com unit, then with a pause, looked back at his handiwork. She sat motionless on the table's edge waiting, even wanting to submit to a new master—just as he had instructed her. All that Government training is really paying off, he told himself, and, ignoring that sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, he tapped the com. “Doc, we're ready now."
* * * *
With the bridge view-port shield down, a field of countless shining stars splayed across the main view screen. Rael, reclining in the command chair, searched the endless night for answers. This view had always soothed him when nothing else could, but today's events were unsettling way beyond rest. Though exhausted and weary, he found no solace in the stars this time. Knowing she was so near was making him crazier by the minute. He could not fight this power she had over him. Damn PSIons, he told himself. Even Ira made him nervous sometimes. And he liked the kid. What the hell am I going to do? I can't go on like this much longer.
Eventually the intercom roused him from his misery. Laynald's voice called from the wall. “Ira says it's time now. Are you ready for this?"
“I doubt it,” he mumbled and then raising his voice, answered, “I'm on my way.” Rael closed the port-shields and headed for the sick bay.
Laynald joined him in the corridor and, fortunately, stepped up to release the security bolt without seeming to noticing Rael's shaking hands. The door slid open. With the sound of his heart pounding in his ears, Rael stepped into the room and froze.
She sat on the edge of the examination table directly facing him, her raven hair and emerald eyes so alluring. Ira, standing behind her, motioned them to come closer as he raised his voice, “Slave, this is Team-Commander Rael Pointe. You are in his service now."
Terror filled her face as she recognized Rael. Dropping from the table, she threw herself at the captain's feet. Forgive me, Lord. I but followed my previous master's command. It will not happen again. I serve you, now. I will do only your bidding.
Rael felt her hold over him dissolve. He gasped at the unexpected realization that she had completely relinquished her control. Just like that, he was free again. He sighed with relief. “I'm impressed,” he stammered. “Your abilities are formidable."
I am yours to command, master, she insisted.
“Good.” Rael stared uncomfortably at the woman still groveling at his feet. “This won't do, though.” He looked to Ira quizzically. “Did she just call me ‘master'?"
Ira sheepishly shrugged back.
Laynald smiled as Rael motioned the woman to stand before him. “Most cultures do not allow their slaves any vestige of equality, Rael. What do you want her to call you?"
Rael glared back at them then shook his head, looked at her and sighed. Strange that he had not noticed how overly lean and small she was. She stood trembling before him, respectfully averting her eyes. “You will not call me master. Call me ... sir.” He shifted his attention to his teammates, “And, if you two continue to smirk, you may find yourselves calling me ‘sir’ too."
He turned back to her. “What is your name?"
She shook her head. Sir?
Laynald interrupted. “I believe it is for you to name her too, sir."
Rael sighed. “We don't have time for this. What were you called before?"
She lowered her eyes. He said I did not deserve a name, sir.
“He was a fool."
She cringed as if he had slapped her.
“I've always liked the name Tristen, or you can choose a better name for yourself. There, that's that. Now, I need to define your abilities, Tristen. I already know you can cast an image into a man's mind, that you can summon your victim to your side from great distances and that you can maintain a continuous link. What else can you do? Can you see images from another's mind as well?"
She nodded. Yes, but I cannot hear thoughts unless they are directed toward me, sir.
Rael envisioned the hapless Gov-agent writhing on the gurney at Star Station 15. You did this to him?
She nodded.
“And you can undo this?"
She nodded.
“From what proximity? Can you do it now, from here?"
I can call him to you from here, sir, but I cannot release him unless there is physical contact or he is, at least, within line-of-sight. If you want information from him first, that would take longer—depending on his condition. But I will get whatever you need from him, sir.
Rael looked at her again, her eagerness to please, her desperate need to serve, her dangerous and remorseless abilities. “Ira,” he said, “see that she is fed and dress her to look the part of a team member. Laynald, prepare quarters for her. The room next to Ira's would probably be best. Make suitable adjustments. Her door locks from the outside, for now.” He turned to face Tristen. “You will obey their orders as if they were mine. Do you understand?"
Yes, sir. She nodded anxiously.
“Also, you will remain confined to quarters unless escorted by one of us, and you will initiate no communications with anyone else unless instructed to do so. Do you understand?"
Yes, sir.
