by Clayton, Jo;
“What?”
“Two compound fractures in the right leg. Simple fracture of the right arm. And no other injuries. None!”
“So? What does it matter? Patch her up so she’s fit to be questioned.”
The doctor’s round, meaty face grew a sudden sheen of sweat. He swallowed, his prominent eyes bulging even further as he shifted his gaze nervously from the woman to the engineer. “Questioned?” His voice was hoarse with an odd tremolo that plucked at Aleytys’ already taut nerves. There was a subtle wrongness about the man, like a false image laid over the true, an evil shadow on a basically decent man. She looked further and saw a metal socket set into the bone behind his ear and felt sick. Phorx addict. The part-vegetable, part-animal thing that indulged its hosts with bouts of exquisite happiness. And ate away at his brain.
“The Director is sending a psychprobe, if that’s any of your business. Have her ready.” He turned to go.
The doctor’s jowls shook. His hand groped helplessly in the unresponsive air, then he staggered to his feet and plucked at the engineer’s sleeve. “Isn’t that illegal? The Singh-Catal-Manachay Convention …”
The director jerked his arm free. His nostrils flared with anger and contempt. “You should know the Wei-Chu-Hsien triad were not signatories to that bit of nonsense, or you’d be in Rehab long since. Instead, we support that little pet of yours.”
The doctor winced, his brows drawn down in a painful grimace. “A psychprobe destroys the mind as it works. They’ll be vegetables.” Oily sweat flooded his face; he was trembling so badly he could barely stand.
“You think the Director plans to let them live? You’d better go on with your work, doctor, while you’re still capable. Isn’t the phorx due for feeding soon? Would you like it to go hungry?”
The doctor shuddered. Without another word he knelt beside Aleytys and opened his case.
Chapter XIII
Chu Manhanu smoothed his thumb over the ratrail moustaches that marked careful parentheses around the narrow line of his mouth. Lips pursed in fastidious distaste, he examined the cludair briefly, glanced at Gwynnor, then moved to stand over Aleytys. His flat black eyes slid over the casts that weighed her leg and arm flat to the floor. “You’re the only one injured.”
Unable to lift her hands because of the tangleweb’s clinging resistance, Aleytys shrugged. “I fell out of a tree.”
“You know who I am?”
“No.” She let the cool tone of her voice tell him how little she cared.
“I am Company Director, woman. What happens to you depends on me.”
“My, how terrified I am.”
“That’s the point, isn’t it? Why aren’t you afraid?”
“Of you?” She laughed and he winced.
“Your hair is very red.”
“A birth gift from my mother.”
“McNeis or Mctany?”
“I haven’t the vaguest notion what you’re talking about?”
He dusted the palms of his hands together lightly. “No matter, the probe will answer for you.” He moved on and settled into the revolving chair by the console. “Doctor.”
The bulky man stepped through the door uncertainly, sweat still gushing from his pores. There was a blank, glazed look to his eyes. “Yes, Illustrious?” His voice was thick and halting.
“I expected to see the engineer in this room.”
“I … I don’t believe he was expecting you, Illustrious.”
“No doubt. Where is he?”
Lips moving shapelessly, the doctor worried over the question, then mumbled, “He went out to burn the villages as you told him, Illustrious.”
“Hmm. Is the woman in shape for questioning?”
“She fell twenty meters on knotted roots.”
“I think you exaggerate.”
“At least five times her height,” the doctor amended hastily.
“You still haven’t answered my question, doctor.” Chu Manhanu’s voice was gentle, almost apologetic, but sweat again gushed from the doctor’s coarse pores and ran in lazy runnels down his jerking cheeks.
“The only injuries she has are breaks in her arm and leg.”
“How delightful. Very good. A terse, exact answer, doctor. Perhaps you will continue to answer as succinctly. Which is the leader of that group?”
The doctor hesitated briefly, then pointed at Tipylexne.
“I wonder why you changed your mind.” The Director ran his thumbnail over the soft oiled hairs of his moustache.
“Changed my mind?” The doctor sputtered under the chill impact of the Director’s gaze. “What man would take orders from a woman?”
“Who are you trying to convince?”
The doctor shrank in on himself. “It has to be the forest male,” he muttered. “The others are cubs, though the woman might be dangerous. I don’t know.”
“Your sexual preference blinds you to the obvious. Who was in the tree?”
“The woman.”
“Who, then, was the prime mover?”
“You want me to say the woman. But wouldn’t the leader be on the ground directing the efforts of the others?”
“You’d be on the ground, I’m sure. Power, doctor. Information, doctor. Direct and immediate.” He rested a hand precisely on his knee, then positioned the other over it. “Have the natives given trouble before?”
“Why ask me?” the doctor burst out, forgetting caution. “You know the answer.”
“Petulance, doctor?” With calm precision he moved his hands, placing the bottom hand on top this time. For a moment he contemplated the new arrangement, moving his fingers fractionally to achieve the most graceful pose. “Was the tree searched?”
The doctor stared blankly.
“Was the tree the woman fell out of searched for the instrumentation she used to cause the damage?” Manhanu said with terrible patience.
“I … I think so. Engineer Han …”
“Is not here. Does the woman have any internal injuries?”
“None.”
“And you don’t find that odd?”
Stubby fingers caressing his throat, the doctor muttered, “Odd things happen.”
Chu Manhanu held up his hands and examined the backs with satisfaction. “Remove the casts.”
“What?”
“Remove her casts.” Manhanu said patiently. His voice sank to a whisper but the doctor quivered while the muscles in his face twitched out of control.
Sinking heavily beside Aleytys, he rummaged in the case he had left against the wall and pulled out his vibrosnips. Setting the blade at one centimeter, he dug runnels in the stiff plastic. Then he took a small hammer and beat it sharply against the casts along the lines of cleavage. The casts fell off neatly.
“Remove those.” A finger moved gracefully at the bandages underneath the cast.
The doctor stared with disbelief as the bindings fell away, revealing pinkish skin with swiftly fading marks where the torn skin had been. He probed the flesh with shaking hands, not caring if he hurt her. Then he dug his thumb into her arm. “Gone!” he shrilled. He jumped to his feet, shaking all over. “She was injured, I swear it.”
The Director’s nostrils twitched with distaste. “Calm down, doctor. Of course she was injured. Here.” He flipped a small black box to the goggling man. “Put this on her.”
“Psi freak,” the doctor mumbled as he fumbled the box open. “A damn psi freak.” Inside the box he found a chain-mail collar with a massive, clumsy locklatch and a flat black disc with the Company sigil incised on the front. “What’s this?”
“Put it on her. Around her neck.”
The doctor stared at the Director’s smiling mask and crawled hastily toward Aleytys’ head. Ignoring her angry glare, he shoved her chin up, swearing as the metal collar slid through clumsy fingers. Finally he fumbled the end through the lock slot and pulled it taut.
Aleytys gasped and began to choke.
“Not so tight, fool. She has to talk.”
>
Breath shrilling through his teeth, the doctor adjusted the collar. He started to clamber to his feet.
“Not yet. Stay there. Here.” The director tossed a small hexagonal rod to the kneeling man. “Touch the red end to the lock. Good. Now touch it to the character on the disc. Ah! Now, bring the rod to me.” The doctor staggered to his feet and shuffled to Manhanu, holding the small rod in a shaking hand. Manhanu shoved it up one of his wide sleeves. “Now. Stand over by the door and keep your mouth shut.” He lifted one of his long slim hands in a graceful gesture, pointing at the wall beside the door.
The doctor glanced longingly at the door. Then his shoulders slumped and he shambled across the room to stand, leaning heavily against the metal wall.
Chu Manhanu replaced his hand and smiled with quiet mockery at Aleytys. “The good doctor called you a psi freak, madam. While I deplore his choice of words, I fear he is right about you. I’m quite certain there were no esoteric in-instruments in or around that tree. We had the harvester shielded, as I’m sure you know, yet you had no trouble breaching the shield. Remarkable.”
Aleytys frowned. She felt too much at a disadvantage lying on her back so far below his eye level. Ignoring him, she flexed her body and contorted herself into a sitting position. Then she inched back until she was sitting with her back braced against the wall. “You knew before you came.”
“Intelligent, also. Madam, the collar you wear contains an inhibitor that will prevent your making use of your talents.”
Having felt the too familiar disorientation from the inhibitor, Aleytys didn’t bother answering him. She lowered her chin and felt along the smooth line of the mail and realized there was no way she could break it.
Chu Manhanu watched with infuriating superiority, the corners of his mouth curving into a chill smile. He took the rod from his sleeve and began smoothing his thumb over its hexagonal surface. “A small thing.” He fitted it between dumb and forefinger, holding it up so she could see it. “The only hope you have left. You may have noticed that the clasp is clumsy and out of proportion. Aesthetically revolting but necessary, madam. If anyone tampers with the lock, your lovely head will be blown off your shoulders.” His mouth curled farther as he savored the consternation he read in her face. Then he turned away. “Enough chatting. Doctor.”
The sudden, sharp demand jerked the doughy body away from the wall and brought the doctor shambling into the center of the room, a nervous tic distorting the shape of his mouth. “Illustrious?” he muttered.
“Bring the technician and the probe.”
The doctor stood without moving, eyes fixed on the Director’s face as the smile gradually soured. Then he stumbled with stiff reluctance from the room.
Aleytys closed her eyes. “Harskari?”
There was a faint amber glow and a feeling of effort, of thrusting struggle. A feeling of wait, wait, wait … sighing, she opened her eyes. “What do you want?”
“As soon as that dolt of a doctor returns, we psychprobe you to find out who and what you are.”
Aleytys swallowed, fear bitter in her throat. She sucked in a deep breath and tried to calm herself. “The doctor said a psychprobe destroys the mind.”
“A sad loss.” His eyes ran over her body and rested on her hair. “Han had some interesting speculations about you.”
“I heard. Stupidity. McNeis? Scota Company? I’ve never run across either.”
“You want to tell me who you are?”
“No. It’s none of your business.” She closed her eyes, turned her head away. “Harskari,” she whispered. “Hurry. Please. All of you. Please.” The tangleweb held her body passive or she would have been thrashing about, dropping into a total panic. As it was, she wanted the reassurance of the mother figure Harskari, like a child terrified by a nightmare made real.
A faint yellow glow and a feeling of struggle. A tinge of purple, outlined in black. They were fighting …
The director leaned back watching her tense her muscles against the restraint of the web, a slight smile of enjoyment on his face.
Gwynnor tugged at his hands, hot anger alternating with the chill of despair. He had grown accustomed to seeing Aleytys dealing calmly with all sorts of problems. The peithwyr and the machine, even his own hurt and anger. There was an assurance about her that had annoyed and comforted him. Now … now he watched her whisper and moan. He felt ashamed for her.
A low rumble drew his eyes to the door. A silent, composed man in the green tunic of a technician pushed a humming machine in on a small dolly. At a gesture from the Director, he wheeled the machine to Aleytys and knelt beside her. Ignoring her struggles, she clipped electrodes onto her head and neck, then slipped a helmet down and snapped restraining straps in place. Then he stood again and moved behind the machine, looking down on its reading face. Gwynnor shivered, sensing a heavy danger. He hadn’t understood anything that had passed between Aleytys and the Director, but he knew Aleytys was terrified and the Director was evil.
Fury beat hotter in him. Hatred for the starman who had stolen her dignity. Without thought for his own danger he called out sharply, “Aleytys!”
She responded instantly, eyes snapping open, head jerking up. He saw intelligence return to her face. After a brief smile, she turned away, closing her eyes again, her face ugly under the tight pull of her intense concentration. He didn’t know what she was trying but watched expectantly, ignoring the lazy triumph on the face of Manhanu.
A light chime sounded through the thick silence. For an instant she thought it was the diadem and began to relax.
The technician spoke. “The probe’s ready, Illustrious.”
Aleytys felt a sick helplessness. Her mind worked stiffly without its usual gathering of haloed concepts, kept rigidly to one line of thinking by the straitjacket of the machine humming above her. “Harskari,” she shrieked, not caring this time who heard her. “Shadith! Swardheld! Help me …”
Ignoring the noise the Director said, “Ask her who she is.”
The words punched into her brain and her mind went totally rigid. Pain … oh god … pain … “Aleytys!” she screamed. “My name is Aleytys.”
“More.”
“Raqsidani…… of.… of.… Jaydugar.…”
“That’s no use. What is her ancestry? Her father? Her mother? Is she related to the McNeis?”
“No … oh … oh … oh … Mardha … Raqsidani … Azdar, father … Madar … mother … mother … no … mother … Vryhh …”
“What!” Dimly through the searing, burning pain she saw him leaning forward, eyes glittering. “Mother!”
“Sh … shareem … a … a Tennathan … of Vrithian … Shareem … Shareem … Shar …”
“Enough. Where is Vrithian?”
“No … no … I … I … don’t … know … I don’t know …”
He turned to the technician. “More force.”
The technician protested. “I don’t advise it, Illustrious.”
“Nonsense! That bitch can take it. Do what I tell you.”
Shrugging, he twisted the rheostat, sending an additional surge of power through the electrodes.
A light chime sounded through the humming of the machine. On Aleytys’ head threads of light nickered in and out of visibility, then partially solidified into a circlet of delicate blossoms curving around the dull metal of the helmet.
The diadem chimed again, the sounds matching the on-off flickering of the jeweled centers belonging to the thread flowers.
Aleytys felt/heard a roaring in her ears. Though she found it hard to think, she gathered her anger and threw it into the fight, feeling a building pressure of rage looking for an outlet.
Things like slimy translucent worms wound in multiple turns around her arms and legs. The rage in her came out in bloody flames that licked along her flesh and seared the worms into black dust. She moved her legs and felt a little better. Shaking her body to throw off the dust she stood up and glared at the staring Director. Behind her, the stra
ining probe made small crackling noises and stopped its machine hum. Small threads of blue stinking smoke began creeping out of the polished carapace.
The diadem chimed again and everything froze. But memory came flooding back to Aleytys. The killing rage flowed away as the realization of her escape filtered through the noise and pain in her head. She jerked off the helmet and electrodes and threw them at the floor. The diadem settled into the red gold strands of her hair, having passed like a ghost crown through the metal and wiring of the helmet.
She felt her three friends driving with her own will to fight the influence of the inhibitor, and with that feeling, a warning that she’d better hurry, a warning rendered doubly urgent by the shaking in her knees.
Wading with difficulty against the gelatinous thickness of the air, she swam toward the Director, watching his eyes open open open open until whiteness ringed the staring black pupils and dark-brown iris. Watching his mouth open open open in a soundless cry. Watching his hands slowly slowly rise helplessly, rise futilely rise to fend her off. She forced her hand into his sleeve.
The fabric was stiff, resisting the probing of her fingers. She was getting dangerously weak. Ignoring the increasing pressure of Manhanu’s clinging hand, she forced her fingers into the sleeve pocket and closed them around the hexagonal rod.
It felt impossibly massive. Sweat trickled down her straining face as she brought her other hand into the sleeve, caught the rod between her palms and tore it free. She pushed herself back from the Director, stumbling haphazardly, recklessly backward until she crashed into the wall.
She brought her hands up slowly, fighting the massive inertia of the metal rod.
The diadem chimed, the sound breaking uncertainly then rippling through the five separate notes of the heart stones. As the stiffness melted from the air, Aleytys’ breathing grew shallow while her heart boomed in her chest and the blood roared in her ears. With a last tremendous effort, she touched the white end of the rod to the disk on the collar.
She crashed to her knees, her hands flying outward as the immediate pressure inside her head exploded in a great expanding roar.
