Mourner

by Irene Radford

  “Don’t shout, Pammy. You think I’m capable of planting a double agent?” he asked, trying for innocent but with closed eyes and a smile that felt more like a grimace.

  “Who?” she demanded, but more quietly.

  “Why should I tell you?”

  “He’s compromised now. I’ll be on the lookout.” She stomped out, without telling him anything.

  “She instantly thought of Sam,” Martha whispered.

  “Who is Sam?” Sissy asked.

  Jake leaned deeper into the recline of his chair. “Arrogant agent, who should be confined to a desk.”

  Sissy came up beside him and began massaging his temples. Lovely cool hands that knew just how much pressure to apply and where.

  The last lingering remnants of pain fled. But he’d pretend they were still there, just to keep Sissy beside him.

  That was manipulative. He was getting to be as bad as Pammy. Just a few more minutes, then he’d get back to work.

  “Sam thinks he’s smarter than me and that he can pilot better than me.” With a frown he slid forward over his desk and slapped the icon that connected him to station operations. “Mara, shut down Pammy’s fliers.”

  “And how am I supposed to do that?” she asked sweetly. Her face on the screen appeared all wide-eyed innocent.

  “You know that thing you do to scramble every computer in the spy wing.”

  “Oh, that.” She reached for something out of view of his screen. “Done. Expecting an outraged call from the Admiral in three . . . two . . . Yes, Admiral what can I do for you?” She left her contact with Jake wide open so he could eavesdrop.

  “You can restore my computers!” Pammy sounded outraged.

  “Maybe you should visit Doc Halliday for some blood pressure control,” Jake said. Then he put on his official face. “I’m sorry, Admiral, there is a tachyon wave headed this way from the local sun. You must ground all of your pilots immediately or risk losing them to radiation poisoning.”

  Pammy discommed abruptly.

  A second screen on Jake’s desk opened, showing a blue blip headed toward the jump point. It veered right and left in a crazy spiral, never approaching the jump point close enough to leave normal space for hyperspace.

  “Standard evasive maneuvers,” Jake muttered. “Get you in trouble every time.”

  “Admiral Marella seems to have deployed her own tractor beam,” Mara said blandly.

  Damn! With Sissy in the room, he didn’t dare say it.

  “How’d she get one of those?”

  Mara shrugged.

  “Can you override and bring him in to a dock we control?”

  “Why waste the energy?” Sissy asked.

  “Because I want to question him before she does. I want my security people to search every crevice and seam of his shuttle. If he has the body, I want custody of it without Pammy’s interference.”

  “Tractor beam at your control,” Mara said as a new icon appeared on his desk.

  Jake followed Sam’s continued efforts to stay ahead of Pammy’s beam. Three times she shot the energy. Three times Sam veered away from the expanding web that showed as glistening blue fire on the screen. He watched the dance in space, fingers hovering over the control.

  “Right, left, left, up, down, right,” Jake said, watching the pattern develop. Without taking his gaze off the screen he slapped the icon.

  “Got him!” Mara chortled. “I’ll bet my tractor beam against Pammy’s any day.”

  “I’ll bet his stupidity and conformity over my observations any day,” Jake sighed, leaning back in his chair.

  “How?” Ever curious, Sissy bent across Jake to examine the screens on his desk.

  “I’ve got the entire station’s communication and power supply overpowering her single generator. And he flew by the book, never thinking outside the protocol.” He rested his head against his chair again. The adrenaline rush had sent new waves of pain, like a dozen miners chipping away against his brain with pick axes. Very large pick axes.

  The swelling could go down any time now. Doc Halliday’s magic medicine had its limits and really did need time to work.

  “You manoeuver outside protocol very well, Jake. I wish I’d had you beside me on Harmony.” Sissy continued watching the screen. Jake knew the images would show the blip of Sam’s shuttle moving backward, maybe wavering a bit as he struggled to break free. If he expected only Pammy’s system, he had a hope of freedom.

  “Mara, I want him in the brig, minimal heat and light, no food or water until I can question him. And your best forensics teams inside that shuttle before Pammy arrives.”

  “On their way to your private shuttle bay as we speak.”

  “Find a place in heavy grav in this wing to incarcerate him.” Jake wanted to laugh out loud. He had the entire wing for his own use. Pammy would have to go through his private quarters to get to that bay. “Might want to stop the lift and close the blast doors between levels to keep Admiral Marella out,” he reminded Mara.

  “When will you be ready to question the pilot?” Mara and Sissy asked at the same time.

  “Soon.” He wrapped an arm around Sissy and rested his head against her side. Just like he had a right to love her and hold her close.

  And then he felt an odd easing of pressure inside his skull. “What?” he whispered half asleep where he sat.

  “Just a little trick Ianus taught me. He uses it on his comrades when the mercury poisoning gets too strong,” Martha said quietly.

  “Mara, that reminds me. Is there any way to filter out the mercury in the dragon wing before they notice they aren’t breathing it anymore? A little bit at a time as it goes through the recycler. And up the humidity very slowly.”

  “Started doing that an hour ago.”

  “Good girl. Remind me to promote you.”

  “I’ll have the paperwork to you whenever you are ready. I like the sound of Lieutenant Colonel Mara. I’ll outrank Major Roderick—the second in command Harmony forced on you.”

  Jake could almost see her secretive smile.

  “By the way, when is Roddy the over-cautions coming back with Lord Lukan’s replacement?”

  “Unknown, sir. I’ve intercepted reports that suggest Lady Janelle needs a new wardrobe before departure.”

  “Are you sure you aren’t a telepath, Major Mara?” He had to remind her that the promotion hadn’t happened yet.

  “Will it make a difference in my pay grade?”

  “Don’t know. We’re dealing in an entirely new territory here.”

  “I’ll send you a memo on my thoughts.” She discommed.

  He heard water running somewhere in his quarters. Then Sissy draped a damp and cold cloth over his eyes.

  Soothing. His brain stopped bouncing around his skull and returned to normal. He could almost think.

  “Sleep now, my Jake,” she said as she kissed his cheek.

  His chair fully reclined into a narrow bed. My Jake. She’d laid claim to him, just as he wanted to make her his own.

  We can never be together. Not as long as she is HPs of Harmony. Never.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “Ianus, I only have a few minutes. I need your help,” Martha said, holding her temples with fingers pressed tightly against the onslaught of thoughts and sounds and . . . and everything. She sat on one of the rolling stools, elbows propped upon the side of his bed.

  “Telepathy is natural,” he said. “You looked much too troubled for a normal bodily function.” He caressed the back of her hand.

  “That’s just it, I don’t want to know about people’s constipation or the lists of things they need to do or anxiety over attracting a lover. Much too much of that going on around here. I feel like I’m invading their privacy.”

  “Privacy?”

  Instantly she understood his question. On board the Dragon ship he and his fellow telepaths lived so close together, lives and thoughts intertwined from birth, that blotting out one or the other never crossed his m
ind. The idea of secrets was alien to him.

  “But you do blot things out. Like when Janae and Timæus make love. How can you stand to eavesdrop on something so special and intimate?”

  “We share because it is so special and intimate, something unique to us. The Dragons mate to satisfy their lust, to exercise dominance, or to fertilize an egg. Humans make love, the love growing and expanding to include all of us.”

  Martha sat a little straighter. “Yes it is special, but we don’t advertise it to the world—a world with many tens of thousands of humans, not twenty-four. It is something meant to be kept between two people, and it makes lovemaking more special because it is only between two people and no one else.”

  “I think I see,” he said. His thoughts retreated while he mulled it over.

  “There, like that! You just retreated from me while you organized your thoughts.”

  “I . . . I don’t know how to advise you on that. I do not do it consciously.”

  “Sissy and Jake want me to eavesdrop on people and report to them. And I hate it,” she wailed. “I hate knowing that Sissy thinks in terms of rituals, Jake makes lists in his head, and Pammy is a tangled mess of circles within circles. She’s almost predictable in her chaos.”

  “When you walk through a group of people you do not want to listen to, perhaps if you concentrate on something else, like maths, something that is hard, you will not ‘hear’ the others,” he suggested. He sounded very uncertain.

  That sounded almost doable. Except she hated maths. Anything beyond simple arithmetic gave her a headache, and she got lost in her own anxiety that she’d done it wrong.

  “The aliens are more interesting.” She dropped her forehead onto the mattress. “At least with them I’m helping communication and understanding so that we can find peace.”

  “That is my entire purpose with the Dragons,” Ianus said quietly. “But Mag’s purpose is to exert power over other species and over his slaves. His communications often include degrees of pain.”

  Martha looked up at him, aghast that any sentient being would stoop to such measures. “Why?”

  “It gives him pleasure. So I show him a reaction to the pain, inwardly I have prepared for it with deep breathing and repeated gestures that remind me that the pain is temporary. That lessens the intensity and duration of it.”

  “Rituals. Sissy starts every ritual with measured breathing, and . . . and prayer. She gathers a special note to hum that vibrates with her inner being. Then she can approach the tasks with calm and respect.”

  “Rituals. Yes. That is your answer. Your life is filled with little rituals, like kissing your fingers and touching the symbol of Harmony. You must approach your task of listening with similar rituals. Think of it as a necessary chore to help Sissy and Jake find a peaceful path through life’s travails.”

  “Thank you, Ianus. Thank you so very much for giving me strength and courage and a way to find the path toward Harmony.” She kissed his brow as she stood up and left the sanctuary of Medbay.

  Ianus drifted above his body, barely aware that he was losing an attachment to himself by a long silvery umbilical that stretched thinner and thinner, elongating and more fragile with every strained heartbeat.

  He watched with idle curiosity, but little concern, as Patricius scooted himself up against the wall. He clutched his recording device and notes anxiously to his chest. Somewhere an alarm sounded, an annoying blast. Ianus wanted to shut it off but didn’t have enough will or energy to do anything about it.

  Nor could he find a joke in the mind-piercing wail of horns announcing trouble.

  Doc Halliday bustled into his line of sight, carrying multiple clear plastic bags containing red fluid. “I’ve got the synthesizer going full blast, and it’s still not going to be enough,” she said, sounding angry.

  Angry at Ianus?

  No, I’m angry at Death. Neither of us is ready to face him yet.

  “We’d better get all of those Dragon slaves in here S.T.A.T. Especially the children. By the time they all finish dialysis we should have enough synthetic blood to start transfusing the worst of them.”

  She hung one of the bags on a hooked stand and ran a line from it into the needle protruding from Ianus’ inner elbow. As the red fluid penetrated his body through that tube, warmth crept closer to his heart. The silver cord thickened and shortened.

  Interesting.

  Then the nurse who had tended him most diligently pricked his other arm and let old blood, an odd color of yellowish orange, flow outward into a catch basin.

  The warmth in his body increased until he realized for the first time in days he was comfortable. Warm, free of pain, and not hungry, though he still had no appetite.

  The silver cord jerked and dragged him back into his body. He took a moment to settle into his aching bones. Except those bones held only residual memories of ache, not the constant gnawing pain that consumed much of his thoughts and energy. He drew a long deep breath and coughed.

  And coughed.

  And coughed.

  “Pulse and respiration stabilizing,” the nurse said on a long exhale. “He’s back.”

  “Not completely,” Doc Halliday said. She kept her gaze on the red fluid and half a dozen monitors all at the same time. “Sorry to do this to you, sweetie, but we can’t wait any longer to replace all your blood with synthetic transfusions. It’s the only way to save you.”

  “Save me?” Ianus didn’t remember any crisis. Just one second he was dictating an ancient legend of Patricius’s namesake banishing symbolic serpents from his homeland, and the next he was a neutral observer from somewhere up . . . there. He looked toward the ceiling. The lights wavered. Something misty passed between his eyes and the white tiles. Was that a hint of his own ghost watching the proceedings?

  Sissy found a knitted blanket thrown across the foot of Jake’s bed, five rooms away from his office. Someone had made this for him with loving hands. A previous lover? No, Jake traveled light, keeping few remembrances from one assignment to the next. Perhaps his mother had made it for him. She could well imagine the woman tucking it into his luggage as she sent him off to the academy where he learned to be a soldier and a pilot.

  Sissy threw it over his sleeping form. Restlessly he sank deeper within its folds. She stroked his brow and settled the worn blanket around his shoulders. How many nights had he slept here at his desk rather than leave his work?

  “Should we meet the shuttle?” Martha asked her.

  “I think so. If Sam has Laud Gregor, we need to take custody of him immediately, to make sure nothing else happens to him.” Sissy sighed. “But first I need to say hello to Marsh and Ashel.” A knot of guilt grew in her belly. She’d been on the station for almost a full day and night, and had not yet found the time to hug her youngest brother and sister, the only members left of her once large and vibrant family.

  She’d let her concern for Jake and her duty keep her away.

  Knowing they were in Jake’s care and with Mistress Guillford, a refugee from the Maril Wars who truly loved children, eased her guilt.

  Still, nothing replaced personal visits and fierce hugs.

  She followed the flow of rooms around the circle: public conference room, private conference room, private sitting room, and private kitchen followed by a bedroom. Sanitation facilities of various sizes and completeness branched off each. Some of the rooms had exits into the circular lobby surrounding the lift. His bedroom did not, giving a degree of privacy. When she traveled almost the complete circle back to his assistant’s office, she found three more small bedrooms and a playroom-schoolroom combination.

  “Sissy!” Marsh, aged five, and Ashel, aged seven, screeched in unison at first sight of her.

  A plump middle-aged woman in ubiquitous gray overalls stood up from her crouch beside a gaming screen embedded in the floor. Circles of ever-changing colors and numbers flashed randomly, challenging the children to add, subtract, and find patterns. The woman planted herself
firmly between Sissy and the children. She grabbed both of the little ones by the collar as they tried to run past her.

  “Sissy!” This time the childish wail sounded more distressed than joyful.

  “Nanny Guilford, good to see you again. I hope you have found fulfillment in your new position.” Sissy bowed respectfully toward the caregiver.

  “Bless you, Laudae Sissy, High Priestess of Harmony. General Jake has helped me find a useful place and children to love and teach.” Nanny Guilford bowed as well and released her charges.

  Ashel and Marsh threw their arms around Sissy’s knees and hugged her tight.

  “Oh, my, you’ve both grown so much.” She dropped to her knees to draw them close.

  “Uncle Jake takes good care of us, and he makes sure we eat lots of good food on time and take naps and everything, that’s why we’re getting so big,” Ashel informed her.

  “We don’t ever want to leave Uncle Jake,” Marsh added. “I drew a picture of him. He gave me a screen and colors. And he helps me draw and learn my letters!”

  “You don’t want to go home?” Sissy asked. She raised her chin slightly to see if Nanny Guilford’s expression changed at all.

  The older woman wouldn’t meet her eye.

  “We don’t like Harmony,” Ashel whispered. “People die on Harmony.”

  Sissy had nothing to add to that.

  “We’ll talk about this later,” she assured them, not at all certain how she felt.

  “Time for your . . . your reading time, children,” the nanny said insistently. “Laudae Sissy has things to do. We mustn’t bother her until she has time for us.”

  Sissy hated the coldness of that statement. But she could not deny the truth of it. Laud Gregor had tried hard to separate her from her family with new duties, new lessons, rituals, and duty. Always duty, with no time for her Worker Caste family. He never quite understood why she didn’t embrace all of Temple Caste as her family and abandon the original—and to him useless—one.

  “We’ll see you for supper,” Ashel said, giving Sissy one last squeeze. “We know you are terribly busy and . . . stuff.” She kissed Sissy’s cheek and dashed off, dragging her younger brother with her.