Mind Guest (Diana Santee Book 1)

by Sharon Green

  "Neither," Dameron came back, a sudden amusement in his dark eyes. "Narella will never be ruled by a queen simply because women aren't competent enough to rule. They're shallow, flighty, empty-headed, unknowledgeable, too easily flattered, and totally helpless. Women are made for bedrooms and kitchens, not throne rooms."

  "How would you like your arm broken in three places?" I asked mildly and pleasantly through a comfortable smile. "Afterward I can even give you the medical terminology for each of the breaks, which break came first, and a pretty good estimation of how long each will take to heal."

  "Why do I get the feeling you're not really joking?" Dameron asked, his grin coming full out. "If I didn't know better I'd think you were angry with me, but that couldn't be. All I was doing was quoting the way Narellan men see the thing. Which, of course, has nothing to do with my own views."

  "Oh, of course," I agreed with a sober nod. "Are they really all that backward?"

  "Backward isn't the word," Dameron snorted, still somewhat amused. "If their women step out of line they beat them, without hesitation and without regret. A woman with a smart mouth would get it twice as fast, just to be sure she didn't make the same mistake a second time. If there's one thing those women give their men, it's obedience and respect."

  "That's two things," I pointed out, giving him the ghost of a smile. "And there's a difference between respect and fear, a big difference. So Clero's daughter as a widowed queen would mean Clero as king, but you and your horde have a plan to stop him - if you can make it work right."

  "It damned well better work right," Dameron growled. "The only way we could counter his move was to find another candidate for bride-to-be, which we did. Havro is another prince governing under Naro, his lands lying here, to the west of Clero's."

  The dots ran around the most westerly section, the largest area after the king's, the one lying right next to Clero's, and then the map disappeared to show the face of a man. Obviously part of the age group shared by Naro and Clero, Prince Havro was a man with a broad, boyish face and bright red hair, blue eyes sharp with private amusement. He wasn't as distant as Naro or as handsome as Clero, but there was still something … involved-looking about him.

  "Havro is a competent man, reliable enough to guard the country's western border from barbarian invasion, and intelligent enough to take suggestions when they make sense," Dameron said. "He considers ruling a responsibility rather than a right, and he has a daughter who is perfect for our purposes. Bellna has no sisters, but in any contest between her and Clero's three eligible girls, she might as well be considered quintuplets. She's prettier than Clero's three, smarter than they are, quick to learn, and eager to become the eventual queen of Narella. We maneuvered Bellna and Remo into a meeting at the capital, right after Remo had had Clero's daughters presented to him. Our timing couldn't have been better."

  The repeater screen first showed three girls ranging in age from fourteen to seventeen years, standing near a dark-haired, dark-eyed, very handsome young male. The male looked as though he would have been happy to drop through the floor, but from boredom more than anything else. The youngest girl was still a boy, straight up and down and with no hint of femininity even in her face. The second girl was clearly feminine, but too sweetly female and very delicate looking. The third and oldest was pretty, but the stiffness in her stance and the forced smile on her face said that nothing in life was likely to please her. All three wore long, complicated party gowns, well fitted and well made, but none of them looked right in the clothing.

  And then the screen changed to a single girl standing near the boy, and I blinked at the extreme difference. This girl had lots of bright red hair and dancing blue eyes, a smile to make a man three days dead rise again, and a body that made all the previous three look like boys. The young male was grinning down at her, his eyes nearly a blur, his approval and interest so clear that anyone watching him would have to laugh softly. The girl returned his look with a cloaked arrogance and wordless challenge in her eyes that had probably made him quiver, and I laughed at that, too.

  "Bellna is no more than about fifteen, but Remo considers that perfect," Dameron said, a chuckle in his voice. "His bride has to be from one of the princely families, and Clero's daughters are about average among the rest. Remo spoke to his father about his decision, got Naro's approval, then made the engagement formal. He's bright and able to make even unpleasant decisions quickly, and should make a good king when he succeeds his father."

  "And his marrying Bellna should let him live long enough to reach that point," I said with a nod. "I'm assuming that if Bellna ends up a widowed queen with all the rest of Remo's family gone, Havro rather than Clero would be tapped as Regent. What I'm wondering is, wouldn't that simply put Havro in the same spot as Naro and the others? If Clero can scratch a king and his sons, what's to keep him from doing it to another prince like himself?"

  "That's a good question," Dameron said with a smile of approval. "You're right in all of your assumptions except for the one concerning worry about Havro. Havro and Clero are enemies of long standing, and while Havro isn't paranoid he also isn't foolish enough to let Clero or any of his friends or hirelings get anywhere near him. If we can keep Bellna safe until she marries Remo, Clero will be stopped cold until he can think of something else."

  "Which brings you right back to the big if," I said, leaning back in the lump chair. "You can decoy Clero away if you can find a stand-in for Bellna. None of the women I've seen in this base looks much like her, but I suppose padding, make-up and a wig would take care of that. Why don't you use one of the gals you have here?"

  "Because none of them are trained fighters," Dameron said, in a voice charged with frustration. "They've all had field experience to one degree or another, but whoever goes out as decoy has to expect to be the object of Clero's attempt at bloody murder. The Tildorani are still in the sword-swinging stage before gunpowder, but that only means that our decoy has to be able to handle a blade well enough so that she needn't depend on protection from someone else. Getting separated from outside protection can happen all too easily. Whoever does the decoy work not only has to look exactly like Bellna, she also has to be able to fight a whole lot better than that pretty little girl."

  The block to Dameron's right reverted to its original picturelessness as Dameron tapped keys on his terminal, but I sat and frowned at it a minute before shifting my eyes back to the man.

  "What do you mean, the decoy has to look exactly like Bellna?" I asked, watching him as he tapped at keys. "I can understand the need for fighting ability, but aren't you crowding your options a little by insisting on an exact look-alike? It could be years before you found anyone like that - if you ever did. I thought you said you had less than a week."

  "I don't have to find someone who looks exactly like Bellna," Dameron said with a snort of faint amusement, still paying attention to his terminal. "The changes in facial structure and all will require only minor Healing, nothing major involved. Less than a week gives us more than enough time for it - if we can find someone to change soon enough. If we didn't need that relationship with the barbarians so badly…"

  His voice trailed off as the symbols of his terminal took his attention again, and I didn't say anything more to distract him, being too busy with my own thoughts. If I understood him correctly - and I didn't see how I could be mistaken - Dameron's people were able to change anyone to look like anyone else as easily as my people shuttled back and forth from planets to orbital stations.

  The possibilities inherent in the process were endless and fascinating, especially in my line of work. If I could be changed to look like … that young girl Bellna, for instance, I could get away with almost anything I tried. Rather than depending on my brown hair and eyes to let me melt into a crowd as camouflage, I could let red hair and blue eyes distract any male to the point where I could stalk a target, reach him, and then walk away without ever being suspected of anything nasty. No one would believe that a fifteen
-year-old girl could be a Special Agent, and that would give me more of an edge than being female did. I crossed my legs as I watched pictures parading past my inner eye, in the process forgetting all about Dameron.

  At least until Dameron made a sound of pleased surprise and turned away from his terminal. His face was lit with hopeful excitement, and he bounced out of his chair as if he had just shed ten years of heavy worry.

  "The gods must be on our side in this one," he said through a grin as he headed for the door. "One of the gals from post nine is on her way in, and should be here any minute. You just relax where you are, girl. I won't be long."

  By that time the door was already sliding closed behind him, so there wasn't much sense in trying to argue. I was annoyed at being left there to sit and twiddle when I could have been a good number of parsecs on my way back home, but there wasn't anything I could do about it until Dameron got back. I leaned back in the lump chair again and began to sketch out a going-home campaign that would grab Dameron's attention by the throat and hold it long enough to get something done.

  I had developed a line of attack with enough variables to cover almost any contingency and was ready to start fleshing it out with carefully chosen detail, when the door to the room slid open again. I thought it was Dameron coming back, but the figure walking through the opening belonged to the one who had been called Valdon. He had dark black hair and dark black eyes, and although he wasn't quite as big as the junior giant named Leandor, he didn't miss by much. He moved as lightly and with as much confidence as the leader of the field team had, which was usually unexpected in such big men. He hesitated very briefly when he saw me, as though he hadn't expected to find me there, then headed straight for Dameron's chair.

  "Well, there you are again," he observed, sitting down and keying the terminal to life without taking his eyes off me. "I saw you earlier, with Dameron, in the communications room."

  "Yes, I remember that," I observed back, keeping the answer neutral and uncommitted. I didn't know where this Valdon stood in the base, but the fewer people who knew about my origins, the better. It might be necessary for Dameron and his second to have all the details, but as far as I was concerned that was still two too many. Either one of them could, at any time, come up with a dozen great reasons for keeping me around a while longer, and the more people who knew about me, the better the chance that some mental lightbulbs would glow. Leaving the base amid tearful good-byes was preferable to fighting my way out of it, so a low profile was definitely a high priority.

  The terminal beeped for attention, giving Valdon something else to stare at, but the distraction didn't last long. There were only three rows of symbols for him to glance at and respond to, and then his dark black eyes were on me again.

  "How do you like our facilities?" he asked, as though just making conversation to while away the time. "The base is pretty standard, but we like to think we have better optionals than any other outpost in the Confederacy."

  "I'm sure you do," I agreed in a sober way, leaving it to him to decide whether I was agreeing with his opinion or his conclusion. A faint shadow that might have been annoyance flickered in his eyes while he waited for me to add to my four word statement, and when I didn't he stirred in the squarish chair.

  "We don't often get visitors like you, and I'm curious about you," he admitted in a friendly, outgoing way. "I'm assuming you're lost and were heading somewhere else. Where were you going, and how long did it take you to get here?"

  He was playing it casual, asking his too-pointed questions and trying to keep his interested inspection of me from becoming overly obvious. He seemed to be a man who felt no discomfort from really looking at a woman, but one who had learned that many women flinched from that sort of hunter's interest. I couldn't remember a time when the thought of being hunted didn't amuse and interest me more than bother me, but the opportunity was too good to miss.

  "I - really don't remember," I answered only the last of his questions, swallowing hard as I looked down at my hands in my lap. I had quietly drawn my knees together and was sitting as stiffly and primly as the lump chair allowed. "How much longer do you think Dameron will be?"

  "Oh, I'm sure he'll be back any minute," Valdon's voice rushed to reassure me, his tone a shade too jolly. "How about something to drink while we're waiting?"

  "Drink?" I echoed as if I'd never heard the word before, and nearly panicked. I was letting it all fall apart at once, as though my previous coolness had been no more than a front I couldn't maintain any longer. Valdon was a very handsome man, with the sort of masculine features and mannerisms that too often flustered women right into hysterics. If the way he flinched meant anything, he'd had to face that particular problem before and shouldn't be too hard to divert from detectiving.

  "Yes, a drink," he repeated with a pleasant smile. "As a matter of fact, I'll be glad to join you. What would you like?"

  He started to get out of Dameron's chair, anxious to be doing something other than trying not to stare at me, but he'd asked another question that it wouldn't be safe to give a non-specific answer to. The man might be temporarily flustered, but he wasn't likely to be stupid; too many artful evasions would be bound to set him thinking.

  Instead of registering his question in any way I scrambled out of the lump chair and backed away from him in mute, wide-eyed fear, hoping I wasn't pushing the act too far. I fully expected to back out the door into the corridor, but found myself startled for real when the door didn't slide open behind me.

  I'd been wondering why Dameron had been so casual about leaving me unaccompanied and unwatched, and now I'd accidentally gotten the answer. Being locked in annoyed the hell out of me, but for the sake of the performance I was putting on for Valdon, I couldn't let the annoyance show.

  "This is ridiculous," Valdon muttered, straightening slowly out of the chair, seemingly annoyed. "You're acting as though I'm about to attack you, but my self-control is really a lot better than that. I haven't attacked a woman in months."

  He grinned a very attractive grin to show he was just kidding, but I couldn't afford to chuckle in answer the way I wanted to. I gave him a sickly smile to show I was trying, and put a shaky hand to my hair.

  "I know I'm being silly, but I can't help it," I said in a very small voice, sending him a pleading look. "The way you were looking at me, the way you talk… I'm just not used to it. Do you think you can go and see what's keeping Dameron?"

  To say I was trying to get rid of him was an understatement and I expected him to be more than happy to go, but things didn't work out that way. A deeply frustrated expression flashed briefly across his face, and then he was looking apologetic.

  "I already know what's keeping Dameron, and I'm afraid I have to stay here," he said, very sincere compassion clear in his tone. "I've got to keep an eye on the progress of certain of our projects until he gets back, and I've got to do it with this terminal. You don't mind sharing the room with me for that short a time, do you?"

  He brought the grin back and made it really warm, trying to jolly me out of my upset and interest me by turning on the charm. The only problem with that was that in another minute we'd be back to chummy conversation and more questions, the avoidance of which was my original reason for starting that nonsense. I needed him gone or neutralized, and if I couldn't have one I'd have to settle for the other. A definite plan had come to me, but it all depended on how gullible he was. I let my eyes begin filming over with tears, and plucked nervously at the one-piece suit I wore.

  "But I'm afraid of you," I whispered, making sure my voice came out ragged. "I've never been this close to someone like you before, someone who has actually worked among uncivilized barbarians. You keep looking at me the way one of them would… I'm going to cry hard, I just know I am!"

  I sniffled a little, finding it damned hard not to burst out laughing at the stricken look that replaced his well-practiced grin. Most men were sensible enough to ignore blackmail tears, but every now and then one wou
ld come along who turned to quivering jelly at the first choked sob and/or glisten of moisture. I was almost ashamed to go on taking advantage, but he'd had his chance to bail out and hadn't taken it. It was too bad, but business was business.

  "Now, now, you don't really want to cry," he said, looking as though he wanted to come closer and put his manly arms around me but didn't dare. "What if I promise not to look at you the way one of them would? That would make you feel better, wouldn't it?"

  "I don't know," I snuffled, sounding absolutely forlorn. "Maybe - maybe if you didn't look at me at all…"

  "That's a good idea," he agreed with enthusiasm, turning completely around to look at me over his shoulder. "This is better, isn't it?"

  "You're still looking at me," I pointed out with the same quiver in my voice. "And you're much too close. And you sound so … so … overawing."

  "All right, all right, I'll take care of it," he said, that close to growling. I wasn't sure there was such a word as overawing, but he was still trying to keep me from being overawed. He turned his head completely away from me, stalked up to the wall directly behind Dameron's block-chair-terminal arrangement, then spoke to the wall.

  "This had better do it for you," he said, making sure not to turn again. "I've never been very good at melting into polycrete."

  "Oh, that's perfect," I gushed with a slight grin. "If you can only stay like that until Dameron comes back, I'm sure I won't cry."

  "You have no idea how much those words mean to me," he muttered, folding his arms across his chest to signal an end to the conversation that frightened me so much. I laughed without sound as I eased myself over to the second lump chair and then into it, finally stretching out to prop my feet on the block Dameron had done so much with. I would have put Valdon into the room's corner if I hadn't thought that would be pushing it, but seeing him standing in front of the wall like a naughty little boy was almost as good. If he hadn't been considering me a helpless little flutterhead of a female he never would have gone along with my insistences, so he deserved whatever he got for that as well as for being too nosy.