by Mary Andrews
No, Master, she replies as she picks herself up.
Well, seems like I have a little assignment from my new partner. He walks up to her and brushes her hair back, away from her face. Let's call it a night now. I'm suddenly feeling very tired. He looks at her for a long moment, then sighs, and they head back to his quarters.
Things change after that. He becomes more distant and cruel toward her. He moves her to another room, still close but separate from his own. Only silent attendants with food and clothing ever see her. She drifts in and out of a self-induced trance state between their visits.
One day Mallory appears again with a stranger. Mallory's thoughts pour warmly across her mind. She shields their thoughts and awaits his instructions. I'm sorry. She feels his sadness as he gives her a glimpse of the man beside him. This ruffian's name is Handler. He will be your new lord. You will obey his orders as you have mine. He steps up and removes her collar. Do not make him have to punish you. He will not be as ‘kind’ as I have been." He smiles and straightens her hair gently. Take care, he thinks to her one last time. “Obey him,” he says sternly, then turns and leaves the room.
Handler waits until he has left, then walks around her, inspecting his property. “I am your master now,” he begins.
She braces herself for what she knows will follow. The neural shock she receives knocks her off her feet.
“Do we understand each other now?” he asks.
Yes, Handler, she replies. She senses his revulsion at her mental response.
“Now that we've been introduced and understand each other, follow me.” He sets a quick pace out the door. She struggles to keep up with him, her body still shaking from its most recent abuse. He leads her down to the holding and disciplinary cells. Trying to block out the cries of pain and other horrible sights of this level, she concentrates on regulating her breathing. In ... out ... in ... out ... control ... slow breathing ... calm ... keep moving.
They stop at the hall's end and enter the last chamber. It is empty. Handler walks to a corner at the back of the room. From a secret compartment on the wall, he exposes a trigger for the hidden door. Down dimly lit stairs they continue. Mercifully, this area turns out to be soundproof, and the horrible cries behind them fall away with the closing of the stairwell door.
They reach a single corridor adjoined by four rooms. They pause before the first door, hearing only the sound of sliding bolts and disengaging locks, until it clicks and slides open. An enormous man with an exceptionally flat face motions them in. Across the cell, a frail man lies bound to a medical gurney. His head rolls from side to side as he struggles against the drug they have given him.
Handler turns to Tristen. “You will make him answer our questions."
He will need to be conscious, she tells him. The drugs will hinder his ability to answer.
Handler motions to his assistant who roughly injects the drugged man's arm.
Tristen watches through the little man's eyes. When his sight finally clears, she takes control. He is ready, she tells them.
Handler turns his attention to the prisoner. “List names and locations of all Spacial or high ranking Gov Operatives in this quadrant."
The little man begins listing a roster's worth of names.
“No, no, no,” Handler says, “Stop!"
The list stops.
“Hey this is really going to work,” the other guy says.
“Alright,” Handler begins anew. “Here's how we're going to do this. I want everything you've got on the highest ranking in transit Op that you can find. He needs to be in this quadrant, as close to this planet as possible. I need to know flight plans and all specifics for the top three. Remember highest rank of importance.” He looks to the other. “Surveillance equipment activated?"
“Since you guys walked in."
“Then start now.” He motions to Tristen.
“Ambassador Edward Dash; unscheduled emergency repair Salidaco station planet side. Aakeera class one-man transport, en route to Naltarany system planet Renata ... Route listing: 3772419—Katrina Zeldona, medical emergency en route to Holton I ... Route listing: 377351—Aztorye Azzrla, personal stop Trnarra 3. Route listing: 3769841.” The prisoner grows quiet.
“You know some pretty interesting things, little man. What is your job title?"
“Spacial traffic controller third class."
Handler bursts out laughing. “Brog, bring him a tablet.” He points to the entranced traffic controller. “This time you can just jot down that list of names and locations of all Spacial or high ranking Gov Operatives in this quadrant."
Tristen reaches down and releases the man's bonds. He pulls himself upright and sits dangling his legs over the side of the gurney. Brog hands him a pad. The man's bony fingers fly across the tiny keyboard. When he finishes, he hands it back to Handler and looks him in the eye. “What now, Handler?"
“Can you selectively wipe his memory?"
Tristen realizes that The Handler is more comfortable when she speaks indirectly to him. “Yes, Handler,” she continues speaking through the small man.
“Is it permanent?"
“I think so, Handler."
“Good. Completely erase his memory of us and of what we've done from his mind. Instead, let him remember having a great time at The Palace. He will want to return every time he's in the area. He will recommend the establishment to all his friends. And for now, he will feel compelled to return to his ship and sleep. You will release him. He will never suspect any of this has happened. Can you do this?"
The little man nods and replies, “When can he leave?"
Handler looks over to Brog. “Escort him to the main hall, then follow him to his ship. Keep in contact in case of any trouble. And have his ship communications monitored for excess activity.” He smiles wickedly as Brog and the little man leave. Then he turns to Tristen. “If this doesn't work, Mallory will be left to face the consequences. That will teach him to mess with Mr. H., and you'll get a chance to see how The Gov deals with a Rogue Talent. So I think we'll just keep you down here for now. Cell next door is empty.” He leads her to the cell and locks her in.
As he turns away, she fumbles for the tiny cot and drops onto it to sit alone in dark solitude again. Leaning back onto the cot, she drifts back into a trance until her next call.
For the longest time her door opens only to deliver meals and sometimes clothing until Handler at last returns with another assignment. This time he escorts her up the hidden stairway to the public business levels. As they enter The Pleasure Palace's main hall, the multidirectional sounds and visual mayhem assault her senses. In panic she freezes in mid-step unable to discern one viewpoint or voice from another.
Handler grabs her arm and forces her back into the quiet hallway. He slams her back against the wall and glares at her. “You will focus on me ... always on ME!” Her vision sharpens until she sees herself clearly again.
Yes, Handler, she gasps.
“That's better,” he hisses. “Alright, now focus on me. Hear only my voice. See only what I see. I'll direct you to where and what you need to be doing.” He releases her and starts again into the main hall. He leads her through the crowded room, between tables and amidst clusters of milling people.
At first, he allows her to cling to his arm until she becomes more stabilized. With practice, she finally becomes adept at navigating the crowds with or without an escort. She eventually proves that once she makes physical contact, she is able to summon her targets to where ever she wants them to go.
“Good enough,” Handler finally says. “I think you're ready for this now. So it is time to resume the business at hand. Follow me."
They travel the busy walkways along rush hour traffic. The lights, the sounds, the aromas from the cuisine venders, everything quickly coalesces into a manageable form, her focus sharpening and adapting so much faster than before.
Handler navigates her up and down the main walkway for good measure until they finally set out
for the Space Port. They stand by the main fairway amidst the ever-flowing galactic-class crowds anxious to let the parties begin. Handler pulls her roughly to his side. He slaps a Palace token into her hand. “You will make contact with the person I'm going to select. Place this in his hand as an excuse to approach him. Implant the summons quickly, and we will return to The Palace and wait for him. He is to come to you in privacy booth three, and after you secure him, you will deliver him to me in the interrogation cell. There is a passageway in the back left corner."
Handler searches the crowds until he sees the unsuspecting Ambassador Dash. He pushes Tristen toward him.
* * * *
Rael startled as the vision fell away. “Did everybody just see that?"
Everyone sat dumbfounded around the table.
Yes sir, Tristen answered.
Ira nodded.
Laynald stared at her wide-eyed, “I know I sure did. That was ... interesting."
He paused then spoke again. “Rael, can you verify Mallory Switt's location on this planet now? I suspect he'll be keeping a low profile about now."
Rael nodded, “Should be able to trace his correspondences—land lines, com links, surveillance cams—I can find him. Even his voice is easily recognized. Why? What's on your mind?"
Laynald grinned. “Let's see. Harbringer wants you. He used Tristen to punish Switt and to locate and/or retrieve you. Tristen's failure and our intervention leave Mallory Switt in the target zone. We take out Switt's organization for him, nice and clean. But that would give you a boost of confidence with Ops, so I think he was hoping to really capture you or at least discredit you. He pretty much had Switt under control already."
“Or he wants me to stay where I am,” Rael injected, “only under new management, maybe under his direct control."
“No chance he's looking for a family reunion, is there?” Ira asked.
“I hope so, because I want him dead!” Rael snapped.
Ira flinched at the captain's uncharacteristic burst of emotion.
“Wouldn't be the first wayward father to want to plead his case.” Laynald shrugged. “It must be hard to build an intergalactic empire without an heir apparent."
“Not funny,” Rael snarled.
“But marginally feasible all the same and definitely a factoring concern,” Laynald added.
Rael was starting to look perturbed. “All right, so where are you heading with this?"
Laynald smiled wryly. “What if we enlist Mallory Switt to help lure Harbringer to us? We clear the board in one stroke. We make political points for Lythia. We once more prove our value to Dark Ops, and we make Tristen's loyalty unquestionable. They won't be able to deny us anything. That's when we make her an official team member. There are probably going to be some ramifications from the Corporate Planets, but I'm sure he has made provisions for that. He seems very thorough."
Rael glanced at Tristen, then back to Laynald. “So, I locate Mallory Switt. Then what?"
“Well maybe Tristen should bind and bring him to us exactly the same way he intended to do to you? Then we infiltrate his operation, and maybe Harbringer's agents start to disappear and communiqués don't go through. Switt can even drop him a timely note that he is back in the saddle again, couldn't he? Hell, this could even be fun!” Laynald had that sinister look on his face again.
Rael tapped a finger on the tabletop. He turned to Tristen. “Can you do this?” he asked her. “Can you bind Switt to your will?"
Yes, sir, she answered, but her voice wavered.
Ira shook his head. “You are not certain."
She hesitated. I will follow your orders, sir.
Rael leaned forward. “He protected you, and now you owe him your loyalty. Right?"
She looked embarrassed. I'm not sure that I can really control him.
Rael nodded. “Tell you what I'm willing to do. You do your best, and if you are able to handle him, I will protect Mr. Switt from prosecution, from Harbringer, the works."
Laynald nodded his approval, but Ira said nothing.
“All right,” Rael concluded. “You all go prepare yourselves while I get on Mr. Switt's trail. We can fill in the gaps when I get specifics.” He got up and, starting for the door, realized he had not cleared his place from the table. He paused and looked back. Laynald waved him on. “Go on, I'll get it.” Rael shrugged and left.
Ira could've sworn he heard the healer humming as he cleared the table and put things up. Laynald loved a good challenge.
* * *
CHAPTER 10
Laynald's mind raced with the possibilities as he headed to his hydroponics lab on the lower deck. He tapped in his personal door code and anxiously waited. Exotic fragrances greeted him as it opened. He stepped in, and the door auto-clicked behind him. Rows and rows of plant-filled pods were secured to the walls and walkways. He took in the sight and smiled. “Missed me, my deadly beauties?"
The sleek silver plants in the back wall-pods seemed to shiver in response.
Laynald loosed a glide table from inside the door and guided it before him. This fine selection of plants was native to his home world. He had brought them with him in hopes that he would never have to return to that accursed place again—too many bad memories and a past that guaranteed his demise.
The Alanti plants shivered again as he drew closer. “Harvest time again, little ones ... Daddy's going hunting.” He readjusted the settings on the pod's misting unit, and a vaporous liquid showered over them. They froze in mid-motion. Laynald opened the pod and careful not to disrupt the plants, began removing from each plant the delicate splinters from which he would extract a powerful neuro-toxin for his darts. “See, didn't hurt at all,” he said as he closed the pod and reset the auto-mist to prismatic nutrients spray. The plants quivered happily.
* * * *
For the longest time Ira did not speak after Laynald's departure. Seeing Tristen's memories had bothered him. He had not realized how strongly she had bonded with Mallory Switt, and he found himself struggling with an irrational rush of anger and jealousy. That she could care for Mallory at all maddened him beyond reason.
Ira absently cradled his near empty cup. Watching the drink's swirling dregs, he considered this. It's just ridiculous, he told himself. Remaining isolated, always alone, always in control, all his life; these things had strengthened him. But now day-by-day, he found himself growing to need her more and more. She fortified him in another way—even beyond the mental bond that they were developing. He found himself craving her affection. He wanted her to need him. Enough of this, he finally told himself. He set the cup down and began to bleed away his useless passions. I control myself, he decided.
As his emotions dissipated, he became again aware of Tristen. She was still sitting quietly at his side. But her anxiety was bordering on fear. He turned to look at her. “What are you afraid of?” he asked sadly.
She nervously shifted in her seat before answering. You, sir. Are you angry with me?
He sighed, reminding himself again that he had perpetuated her slavery for the sake of a mission. What right did he have to expect more from her? “Sorry,” he told her. “I didn't mean to broadcast my emotions. No, I'm not angry with you. I'm angry with the people who have hurt you. It ... hurts me."
Tristen nodded, and he felt her confusion. It is as you told me before. We have become connected, you and I. I can no longer shield my feelings from you either, sir.
Ira pushed his seat away from the table. “This is how it was with Mallory too, wasn't it?"
Yes, she answered sadly, but he seldom cared for my input. He had to keep me distant for both of our sakes.
Ira nodded, not wanting to envision Mallory as anything but a villain. He looked directly into her eyes. “If I tell you to hurt him, what will you do?"
Tristen closed her eyes, not wanting to see herself as she answered. I will do whatever you order me to do, she stated flatly.
Ira was painfully aware of her sorrow at the thought.
He reached over and gently touched her face with his gloved hand. She opened her eyes again. “I will not ask you to harm him unless it is necessary. And Rael has already promised you that we will protect him. But this could get rough.” He dropped his hand and reached out for the coffee cups. “I'm getting more coffee; do you want some too?"
Yes, please. Tristen ventured a smile, and Ira realized with some satisfaction that she was actually trying to cheer him up and had forgotten to call him ‘sir'.
He cleared the table and refilled the cups, then returned to her side. “What do you think of Laynald's plan to capture Harbringer?"
Harbringer scares me, sir, she admitted.
Ira nodded, “He sounds formidable. Have you got any idea what he can do? We know he's telepathic, but what else?"
Mallory wanted me to appear unimportant, so I always shielded myself and awaited his instructions. But by the time he called for my help, it was too late. I never got the chance to probe or attack Harbringer, but I felt his power. It was immense, and he seemed aware of mine as well. No one else had ever recognized my talents before. Still, he relied on his bodyguards for both offense and defense, and they eventually had to resort to physical attacks. They could not break through my defenses, and he did not try.
Ira pensively drank from his cup. With coffee at just the right temperature, there was something to be said for savoring the moment. Tristen followed suit, mirroring his silence until they had both finished.
He gathered the cups again and crossing the room, set them side-by-side on the counter. “How did Handler direct your movements through the streets and great hall?” he asked. “Mallory is a telepath, but Handler seemed uncomfortable with your mind talk?"
It repulsed him, Tristen stated. He used basic communication devices—earphones, microphones. He said he could rely on technology.
“Strange attitude considering the line of work he was in.” Ira leaned against the counter and looked back toward Tristen. “Why did you allow any of this?” he asked. “You had been growing stronger by the day. You were able to stand up to Mallory that time by the dresser. But you submitted to his abuse. Why?"
