by Sharon Green
"You're still looking at it backwards," I insisted, rolling over to grab a cigarette. "The whole thing was my fault from beginning to end, and I know it even if you don't."
I got the cigarette lit and was about to move farther away from him with it, but his hand on my arm rolled me back toward him.
"If you know so much, explain it to me," he invited, a stubborn look in those dark black eyes. "Maybe there's something I'm missing."
His expression said he didn't think he was missing anything, but if nothing else, he was entitled to an explanation. I shrugged inwardly as I took a drag on the cigarette, then lay back to make myself comfortable.
"When I first arrived here," I began, "I took great pains to keep you and Dameron from finding out what I was really like. It turned out to be a mistake, because if Dameron had had all the facts he probably wouldn't have gotten involved with me.
"My full designation is, 'Special Agent of the Federation Council,' and doesn't begin to explain the sort of person who carries such a designation. When I first woke up here at the base, I was prepared to kill any or all of you if I found you in my way. I have as small an amount of conscience as is humanly possible, a state which is a prime requirement of my job. I know how to kill and have done so each time it was required of me. I'm trained in unarmed combat to an extent that most people find terrifying.
"The only redeeming feature I possess is judgment, a characteristic which allows me to function as an asset to society rather than a blot on it. With all these things in mind, knowing myself as no one here knows me, I let myself be put into a position where a childish mind presence could impair that judgment - and did. I'm a professional in my field, and as such my actions were inexcusable - and stupid. Do you understand now?"
I turned my head to look at him, and saw that he had been listening. His own head was down and his eyes were on the soft yellow cover, and he seemed to be considering what I'd said. After a minute or two his eyes came up to meet mine and he smiled faintly.
"I see your point, but there's something you're not taking into consideration," he murmured. "Dameron did know what he had in you, otherwise he never would have sent you. He questioned you thoroughly when we first found you, and when a crisis came up Dameron took advantage of what he'd learned. But as far as I can see, neither one of you is at fault because there was no way of anticipating what the impression would do to you. Even Grigon has admitted that he let you talk him into not reporting what he observed because there was no alternative plan to substitute for what had to be done. Dameron knew it, Grigon knew it, and you knew it. How could any of you be expected to walk away from such a necessity on the outside chance that something might go wrong?"
The sincerity of his spiel was tempting, but single-mindedness is an integral part of my character.
"Stupidity is stupidity," I muttered, taking another drag on the cigarette. "Dameron and Grigon didn't know how hard I had to fight to keep Bellna from takin over. I did. I just refused to admit it."
"If stubbornness was a power source, you could handle a city," Valdon growled, narrowing his eyes and shaking his head at me. "A large city. If you're that dead set on taking the blame, maybe getting punished for it would ease your nonexistent conscience. Suppose I turn you bottom up again and find out?"
He began to reach a hand out toward me, but I knocked it away with a snort.
"That's not funny," I told him, remembering all too well the first time he'd done it. "I'm used to coupling crime with escape, not with punishment, so don't do me any favors. As a matter of fact, your … interesting manner of punishment was a prime motivation for what happened later. Was that Fallan's way of doing things or yours?"
"Mine," he admitted with no backwardness or regret, but with a broadening grin. "I'd worked pretty damned hard at pulling you out of that fever, and I was in no mood to see you wandering around. Just being out of bed so soon might have gotten you that whacking, but then you started to pull some of your fancy tricks. I suddenly remembered all the other things you'd done, and that clinched it."
"That particular reminder came from Bellna rather than me," I told him with a grimace. "She started the whole thing, then ran out and left me holding the bag. The only bit of luck in this whole mess was the luck I had when there was enough time to change you to look like Fallan. I doubt if the real Fallan would have gone to the lengths you did to keep me whole."
"The real Fallan would have disappeared as soon as he found out about Clero's plans," Valdon said, but he was frowning at me again. "Fallan liked to think of himself as a practical man. But let's go back to what you said about there being enough time to change me. Didn't Dameron tell you that we got our hands on Fallan no more than three hours before he was due to pick you up?"
"No, he didn't," I said, matching Valdon's frown. "But if that's true, how did they manage to change you so fast?"
"That's what I'm trying to tell you," he insisted, raising himself higher on his elbow. "The clinicians didn't change me. You may not realize it, but I have original Absari blood. I do my own changing."
It was a distinct temptation to call for the men in the white jackets, but instead I snorted again.
"Is that so?" I challenged, determined to show him how sick he was. "If you can change yourself without any help, prove it by showing me."
I was expecting a lot of hemming and hawing and excuse-making, but all he did was shrug.
"Sure," he answered agreeably, and then his features … blurred. Without moving a single muscle I could see, it was suddenly Fallan lying on the bed near me. Brown-haired, brown-eyed Fallan in all his arrogant glory, slightly smaller than Valdon but not by much. I heard Fallan's chuckle and saw his grin, and couldn't pull my stare away from the over-familiar face.
"This is the talent that makes our people such effective Watchers," Valdon told me in Fallan's voice. "It must have started as a simple defense mechanism, but we've learned to put it to good use. Don't you feel uncomfortable with your jaw hanging down like that?"
I closed my mouth with a snap, then almost let my jaw drop again when Valdon turned back to Valdon. Or Fallan turned back to Valdon. Or whatever the hell you want to call it. I'm not easy to shake, but I don't mind admitting that that quick-change act really got to me.
"How do you do that?" I finally managed to demand, looking at him from all angles to see if I could spot hinges or mirrors.
"Just talented, I guess," he answered with a grin, really amused by my reaction. "Want to see it again?"
"No, thanks!" I answered as fast as I could get the words out. "Once will do me for a while!"
Valdon was chuckling in his own voice, something that would normally have annoyed me, but my mind had begun to work too fast for anything as petty as annoyance to have a chance. If looking like Bellna would be an asset in my work, having someone who could look like anything he pleased would be ten times as valuable.
No worrying about makeup or false whiskers, no worrying that someone who knew the person who was being impersonated would come by and upset the whole plan. Partnering with someone like that would let me do just about anything I had to, and there was only one thing that might interfere with the plans I was making.
"Tell me something," I mused after taking a deep, satisfying drag on the cigarette. "It's fairly obvious that I shouldn't have been as trusting as I was with Dameron, but what sort of man is he basically? If he gives his word about something, is he likely to keep it?"
"Certainly," Valdon told me with a nod, looking somewhat puzzled. "Dameron only forgets about decency and fair play when the project is involved. What have you got in mind?"
"Oh, nothing much," I assured him with a shake of my head, then lay flat on my back to blow smoke rings at the ceiling. Dameron and I had some bargaining ahead of us, and it might be better if Valdon knew nothing about it until the proper moment. Interesting times were on their way back again, and it would be fun to see just how interesting they could get.
* * *
I
would have gone to see Dameron immediately, but the clinicians weren't as through with me as I'd thought. Valdon's visit was interrupted by the appearance of three of the medics, and the base's second-in-command was figuratively thrown out so I could be gone over. I was well rested and in a fairly good mood so I didn't make too much of a fuss, but I couldn't help wondering what would have happened if I'd been in the middle of apologizing to Valdon more intimately when they'd walked in unannounced.
The three clinicians were completely red-faced over my having taken off the body suit; if they'd found me comfortably in Valdon's arms as well, they'd probably have blown some fuses. I spent the time of the examination grinning at the thought, and when the clinicians were finished with their chore I sent them to Dameron with the message that I wanted to see him.
Word came back that Dameron would be waiting for me in his office, so I got into my original one-piece jumpsuit after finding it in the closet, brushed my hair a little, then went to keep my appointment. Dameron rose from his terminal seat when I walked in, and came forward to greet me.
"Well, you certainly look better than you did earlier," he said with relief-tinged joviality. "How are you feeling?"
"Not bad at all," I answered with a friendly smile. "A lot better than I thought I'd be feeling."
"You have no idea how pleased I am to hear that," he said with an easier grin, gesturing me toward my old lump chair while he went back to his blocky terminal seat. "I'd never have forgiven myself if something permanently harmful had happened to you."
"Oh, it's the permanently harmful you were worrying about." I nodded soberly as I made myself comfortable in the lump chair. "I'm glad to see you weren't worrying about the temporarily harmful - like being captured and slave-trained during a 'simple' decoy operation."
"That was something we couldn't have known about," Dameron protested, looking uncomfortable. "We thought Clero just wanted Bellna dead; we had no idea he wanted her for his collection."
"He wanted her for a pain slave," I corrected with all the brutality I could put into an otherwise neutral tone. "The slavers started to train me as a pain slave, and Clero was going to finish the job. Do you have any idea what's involved in that?"
"Now, yes," he answered, a deep inner illness showing in his eyes. "If you hadn't killed Clero I would have set a team on the job with orders to use whatever they had to. Even if I knew I'd be replaced here because of it."
"If I hadn't killed him, I'd volunteer to go back," I said, then made a deliberate effort to bury the memories. "But as it stands, I don't have to volunteer to go back. How are we doing in everything else that matters?"
"Well, Bellna's with her prince, Clero's oldest son is fighting to keep the princedom, we're all back under cover, and your ship is ready for course programming," Dameron summed up, forcing a smile to get rid of the bleakness that had held him. "Have you decided yet about keeping that face you're wearing?"
"Yes, and I've decided I will keep it," I said. "You can give me my own voice back, but I think I've earned face - and possibly a little something extra."
"Name it," Dameron pounced, leaning forward eagerly in his chair, his eyes lighting. "Some piece of Tildorian carving that caught your eye. Name the piece and where it can be found, and I'll have a field team after it before you can blink."
"That wasn't quite the souvenir I had in mind," I said, looking vaguely around his office. "It was something I stumbled across in the base, actually… "
"Oh, well, that doesn't matter," he said, perking up quickly after looking momentarily crestfallen. "If it belongs to someone else I'll buy it from them for you. No matter what it costs."
"I'd really hate to put you out," I demurred, still keeping my gaze generally away from him. "I'm not sure how right it would be, and I don't want to put you on a spot."
"You're not putting me on any spot," he said with a good deal of confidence and reassurance. "I want to do this for you. I give you my word that I want to do it. Anything you choose will be just fine."
"I'm glad you look at it like that," I said, finally bringing my eyes back to look straight at him. "The souvenir I want is Valdon."
"What?" he said, all the confidence and reassurance draining out of his broad face, confusion immediately replacing them. "What did you say?"
"I said I wanted Valdon," I repeated, keeping him pinned with my stare. "Didn't you say anything I chose would be just fine?"
"I was referring to inanimate objects," he said, confusion now fighting with anger in his eyes. "I'd have to check back with Valdon's home world to find out what price to pay for him."
"Then do it," I said with a shrug, giving him a faint grin. "I don't expect to be unfair about this."
"Unfair!" he echoed in outrage. "Now, you listen to me-!"
"Don't get wild, I was just kidding," I soothed him, waving a hand to cut off the tirade. "I don't want Valdon permanently, only for a standard year or so, and I have a fair price already ready."
"Just for the hell of it, I'm going to listen to what you consider a fair price," Dameron growled, his brows down low over his eyes. "This ought to be good."
"It is," I answered complacently. "For one standard year of his time, I offer one standard year of my own time. I understand you're in a position to appreciate just how good a price that is."
"People talk too much around this base," he muttered, but his heart wasn't in the complaint. He did understand what I was offering, and the horsetrader in him was hooked. I let him think about it in silence for a couple of minutes, and then I rose to my feet.
"I'm sure you'll find the right time to give Valdon the word," I said, turning toward the door. "Right after that we can all pay a visit to my course computer. I'm sure you'll understand if I don't spend too long a time in fond farewells."
"Hold it right there," he growled, stopping me before I took more than a step or two. "This isn't anywhere near as settled as you seem to think it is. You can't simply bargain for a year of a man's life."
"Sure I can," I said, then turned back to really have it out. I'd forced Dameron to the arguing stage, which meant the argument was already half won for me. The poor man didn't have just me to argue with; he was still feeling guilty over what had happened to me during the job he'd given me, and he also couldn't stop thinking about the trade I'd offered.
It finally came through to him that he was doing no more than giving Valdon an assignment for a year which, as Valdon's superior, he had every right to do. He still wasn't happy, especially when I refused his counteroffer to let me choose someone else with original Absari blood to save him the trouble of training a new second, but he had rationalized the decision to the point where he could accept it. When the last protest was swept under the terminal, I looked down at the mixed emotions on Dameron's face and smiled.
"Now that that's settled, I have one more question," I said. "Is Valdon completely healed, or does he need more looking after? I don't want to take him away before it's good for him."
"It's too bad you're not that concerned about me," he muttered, then got to his feet and straightened his shoulders. "Valdon is Healed all the way through, and doesn't need any looking after - at least as of this moment. What happens after he gets involved with you is another matter entirely."
"Such bitterness!" I laughed, patting his cheek in a comforting way. "Don't worry, Dameron, I'll look after your friend for you. If you like, I'll promise to never let him out of my sight."
"That's what I'm afraid of," he growled, knocking my hand away. "If you keep your eye on him I'll probably never see him again."
He was so upset that all I could do was laugh to myself and get out of his way. Valdon would do fine with me taking care of him, and I hummed a little as I walked back to the hospital section to collect my belongings.
I had just moved my very few things back to the room in the residential section that had originally been mine and was moving around putting them away, when the door slid open to admit Valdon. Dameron's second was not
looking pleased, so I assumed that Dameron had passed the word along. I watched my new associate stride across the room toward me, and the thunder in his black eyes was fascinating to behold.
"So that's what you were up to," he growled, stopping in front of me. "And I was feeling sorry for Dameron! Why the hell didn't you say something?"
"I hadn't completed the negotiations," I responded with a shrug, giving him a small, friendly smile. "If the deal hadn't gone through you would have been ruffled for nothing."
"And this way I'm ruffled for something," he concluded with a nod. "What if I refuse to go?"
"You're perfectly free to do so," I agreed, turning the smile a touch solemn. "But if you do, don't make any plans that require good health. Dameron wants this deal so bad he's talking to himself, and if you refuse on your end, all bets are off. I'll be leaving soon but he'll still be here, remembering what he missed out on because of you."
He growled low in his throat, a frustrated look on his face, and then his big hands were on my arms, pulling me closer to him.
"I don't like being blackmailed," he said, his voice dangerous as his fingers dug into my arms. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't say to hell with the whole thing."
His fingers were hurting me, but I could understand how he felt. It was time to mend a few fences if the deal wasn't to come apart like rotten cheesecloth. I didn't try to pull away from him, just looked up into those dark, angry eyes.
"I thought the matter over carefully and found that I needed you," I said, merely stating the reasoning behind my thinking that had made me start the whole thing to begin with. I thought about adding to what I'd said, telling him how useful he would be to me on the job, but the single sentence seemed to do the trick. The hardness left his eyes, his fingers loosened on my arms, and a smile touched his lips.
