He avoided the closer comm center that catered to noisy tourists, choosing instead to walk a few blocks farther to a less crowded corporate center. He took advantage of its premium service offerings and paid for a silenced booth with real-time secure-link vid capabilities and sent the ping. Just as he was composing a message in his head, Patwardan unexpectedly answered in person. The high-quality holo made her look and sound almost real.
“I thought you might be in touch, though not quite so soon,” she said. “I got a copy of the return-to-duty notice.” The slight disarray of her short hair and shirt suggested she was in low-G, probably on her ship.
He thanked her for taking the call, then told her about the internal memo from Talavara, and the lack of anything at all from the OII.
“It’s probably good news,” she said. “Your supervisor wouldn’t take you back if the OII wasn’t satisfied.”
Lièrén wasn’t so sure about that, considering Talavara’s antipathy toward the OII. “Is there some way to be assured of official closure?”
“Yes, and no,” said Patwardan, her distinctive Hindi accent giving her a lilting tone. “Policy requires the OII to issue a determination of findings, which is supposed to mean they’re done with you, but unofficially, they’ll probably keep an eye on you for as long as they feel like. Any more deaths in your unit?”
“No,” he said, then twitched the corner of his mouth. “But the day’s not over.”
She grinned. “You’re an unexpectedly funny man, Field Agent Sòng.” Her hand lifted into view holding a coffee cup, and she took a sip. “You need to be thinking about what else you want to do in the CPS, in case you can’t return to your field unit.”
He took a sharp, shallow breath. “Have you heard something about my case?” He tried to keep his face calm.
She shook her head. “No, it’s something I tell all my clients. The CPS can be like a two-story megatank rolling down your path. You’ll have to get out of the way, regardless, so it’s better to plan the direction of your new path, rather than jump and hope for the best.”
He nodded, marginally relieved. “Wise advice. I’ll give it some thought.”
“Anything else?”
He was strongly tempted to ask her if she knew anything about the CPS’s use of the emergency conscription clause for minder children, but he remembered her pointed comment about telepaths illegally fishing in her head if the CPS was sufficiently motivated. He didn’t want anything on record, and he didn’t want Patwardan to be vulnerable because of him. It was his dilemma to deal with.
“No, but thank you for your time,” he said. After promising to send a copy of Talavara’s memo, he signed off.
He took the long way to walk back to the office, since it was good practice in containing his talents, while he considered alternative career options. He’d once imagined he’d be offered an Academy instructor position, but his twist talent had sent him into field work. If he’d just been a high-level sifter, he might have ended up at one of the thousands of minder clinics throughout the galaxy, or perhaps been assigned to the Kameleon program, about which he’d heard more rumor than fact. He was overqualified to work in a Testing Center, but even if he could miraculously swing a transfer to that division, he wouldn’t be able to save Derrit.
And if he couldn’t do that, it didn’t really matter where the CPS sent him.
The wind picked up, a harbinger of more rain. Lièrén pulled his light jacket closed and hurried along the walkway toward the field office’s nondescript front door. Wherever they sent him, he wouldn’t miss the rain.
Back in his temporary office, which hadn’t become more spacious in his absence, he was surprised to receive yet another memo. After six weeks of no contact, he’d suddenly become quite popular.
The Minder Corps division chief directed him to report to the High Spires CPS office in three days to meet with a regional CPS supervisor named Jane Pennington-Smythe regarding a “routine audit” of Fiyon Machimata’s records. Since “audit” was the OII’s code word for investigation, it looked like the OII had finally discovered Machimata’s corruption. The memo didn’t say whether or not Talavara would be there.
If it wasn’t a formal OII action, he couldn’t request Patwardan’s presence, but he sent her a copy, anyway. He spent some time researching “Jane PS,” as she’d informally been referred to in the memo. Her official record and unofficial rumors in the employee back channels said she was a powerful CPS manager with an insistence on correct procedure and a reputation for seeing justice done. He wanted to believe she’d do the same for the victims of Fiyon Machimata, but Lièrén’s faith in the CPS had been shaken.
For his own protection, he needed to know if the field unit had been working on any of his and Machimata’s cases since the accident. He activated his CPS-issued secure percomp to access the covert field-unit files, only to discover his permissions had finally been revoked in all but a few administrative areas. Fortunately, when he used his prepaid percomp to try, he discovered they’d once again overlooked the auditor account.
Not wasting any time, he made an innocuous-looking package of the unit’s current case notes, manually encrypted it, then hid it deep in one of the administrative areas his regular account was allowed to be in. To cover his tracks, he copied the package into the administrative areas of random employees. Lièrén altered the audit account credentials before signing off. The account could eventually be recovered, but he hoped the transactions would be discounted as routine audit tests. He used his CPS percomp to sign back in as himself and downloaded all data he was allowed. From there, he transferred the files to his prepaid percomp, with its better security and data divers, and applied a second encryption scheme that would require his cooperation to unlock.
There were dozens of other covert field units across the galaxy, but he was of the growing conviction that the CPS wouldn’t be putting him in any of them. He couldn’t admit, even to his advocate, that he’d been manipulated and assaulted by his partner, unless he wanted to fatally compromise his credibility. No one would believe he was blameless, even if he permitted a parade of telepaths to rummage through his mind at will. With Fiyon dead, Lièrén would probably never get the full story. The CPS probably wouldn’t, either.
The old adage that where there was gravity, there was mass, was as true as ever. There would always be people who would suspect Lièrén’s chief ability was being too clever to be caught. About the best he could hope for would be to take Patwardan’s advice and influence his place of exile. After Spires, a desert planet might be an improvement.
What made it all so galling was that he still believed in the mission of the CPS Minder Corps, to deploy minder talents to help keep the galactic peace, where planetary governments had no jurisdiction and the brute force of the military was counterproductive. With the twelve years left on his present contract, he could either endure, or he could use the time to look for opportunities to improve the CPS from within.
All things considered, he wasn’t sure he’d want another field-unit post, if he had the choice. The loss of the excitement and seeing the galaxy would be replaced by a regular schedule, a real home base, and actually helping people who needed it.
Which brought his carousel of thoughts back to Derrit and Imara. He was dreading the session with Derrit, because he’d have to be very careful to hide his knowledge and worries from the boy. Not to mention from Imara, with her flaring multiple talents, several of which would detect his turmoil right away. He abhorred the thought of having to lie to her, even by omission, but telling her everything would change nothing.
He was selfish enough to want to keep her good opinion of him, even if he would never see her again after tonight.
* * * * *
Imara glanced toward the bar’s netcomps, where Derrit was collaborating via the net with two classmates on a school project. He was animated and happy, making her glad he’d taken after his father in enjoying working with people. Some of Torin’s shielde
r friends had been one step up from sand lizards as far as social interaction skills.
Derrit’s tutoring session was usually around eight, and Lièrén had requested her presence for part of it. She wondered if he was going to offer to teach her, too, considering he claimed she was a minder polymath. After thinking about it for a day, she was cautiously ready to entertain the possibility that he might be right. It would explain the weird sensations she’d been noticing, like feeling a foggy heat wave when Rackkar Horis, her volatile road-crew chief, lost his temper, or the comfortable coolness of Derrit’s natural shields. The effects were distracting. Most likely, her extra talents would end up being about as useful as screen windows on an interstellar transport.
From her vantage point behind the bar, Imara covertly watched Lièrén as he nursed a chilled barleywine, the first kicker she’d ever seen him indulge in. He was wearing all black, though the back-cinched grey tunic with its wing shoulders and high collar saved him from looking like an off-duty gunnin from CGC Military Command. He’d arrived at his usual time and spent a few minutes chatting with her and Rayle before snagging a big booth near the outside door, the only one available. He never sat at tables, she’d noticed, even when plenty were available. He’d said all that was polite, and laughed at one of the odd music selections that slipped in via the bar’s overly-broad music selection algorithm. For all that, something was off about him, and it wasn’t just her supposed talents telling her so. She was annoyed to catch herself watching him again, and sternly told herself to look somewhere else.
Rayle brought a tray around to the large sink and gave it a quick spray. “All anyone wants to talk about is the Mabingion Purge thing.” He shook the tray to get the water off, then stored it in its slot. “That, or the TSAC march.”
“Tell me about it,” said Imara, feelingly. “But you have to give that news magazine credit for putting it together.” She admired the stubborn persistence it must have taken to track down the facts on so many planets.
Rayle leaned against the end of the bar, where he could see any patron who might need him. “Yeah, no way the CPS can get away with saying it was just coincidence that thirty some-odd planets had riots that just happened to kill a few hundred Minder Corps veterans in each one.”
Imara nodded. “At least it wasn’t thousands killed, like on Mabingion. ‘Isolated procedure failure,’ my ass.” Imara finished loading the quicksan with glassware and started it. “I’ve heard Ridderth is a city-planning nightmare and rotten with corruption, so I might have believed that one, but thirty-eight ‘riots’ in a two-year period isn’t a procedure failure, it’s institutional policy.”
“I bet the Spires journos are fluxed.” He gave her a sharp smile. “Nothing like an exploding newstrend to get politicians to improvise on planet-wide broadcast. Like that High Command general this morning who said the dead were all part of a terrorist minder uprising.”
Imara snorted. “Oh, I hadn’t heard that one.” She put the paring knife back in its slot. “I don’t know if it was luck or planning that put the TSAC march on the one-year anniversary of the Spires’ riots, but they’re genius at exploiting newstrend bandwidth.”
She noticed Lièrén stand and head their way. She signaled Rayle with a quick glance. He turned and smiled. “Hey, hansamu, what can I get you?”
A corporate-suited, dark-haired man at the bar who’d been following their conversation chimed in. “I’ll tell you who’s a genius. That dobber who wrote that book on the Collectors. He’s been selling billions.” His distinct Scots accent sounded exactly like the singers of the some of the piped-in music.
“Water with lime, please,” said Lièrén quietly.
“Is that the book from last year with all those grisly pictures and vids?” asked Rayle with distaste, as he efficiently filled a glass with ice, then water, and added two lime twists, the way Lièrén liked.
The fit-looking corporate man took another pull from his canab inhaler. “No, it’s recent. The author’s gliding the trend, same as the TSAC. Claims the CPS knew about those pedophile wankers for years and did nothing, and even let one of those putrid pugs escape. You know, the one that nearly killed that military detective.”
Imara nodded. “We met the man—Foxe, the investigator that got stabbed. He stayed here at the hotel when he was presenting findings in High Court. He was healed by then, of course, but he still seemed… fragile.”
“If even half of what that book said is true,” said corporate man, “then I’m thinkin’ the frellin’ CPS needs a freighter’s worth of frontier justice visited on their heads.”
Imara felt a sudden wave of emotion, maybe distress, coming from Lièrén. Rayle glanced at him curiously but said nothing. She hadn’t thought Lièrén was so sensitive about his employer. She glanced at the clock and saw it was nearly time for the tutoring session.
“I’ll send Derrit now and be there in a few minutes, if that’s all right.”
“Yes, of course.” Lièrén nodded to her, then gave Rayle murmured thanks for the water and headed back to his booth. The wave of feeling was gone as if it had never existed. Her talents were ruled by chaos, because they certainly weren’t ruled by her. She had no idea how to use her empath talent, or any of the others Lièrén had mentioned. She hadn’t told Derrit or Rayle yet about being a polymath, in part because she still only half believed it herself.
She went around to the net terminals where Derrit still sat and put a hand on his shoulder. “Agent Sòng is waiting for you.” She pointed to the big booth next to the street door, in case he hadn’t noticed where Lièrén was sitting.
Derrit grinned up at her as he pulled off the earwires and stuffed them in his pocket. “Maybe he’ll show me how to do better on the test tomorrow.”
“I bet you’ll do well, even without his help.” She ruffled the pointed locks of his determinedly springy hair. “I’ll be over soon.”
She went back to the bar to get a mixed fruit juice blend for the young girl at Table C-2 and to tell Rayle she was taking her break.
The corporate man stood. He was taller than she’d thought, and had a willowy build. “It’s a nice place you have here,” he said to Rayle as he settled his tab. “The restaurant still open?”
Rayle angled himself away from the security camera. “Yes, until eleven,” he said, but subtly shook his head and drew his hand across his throat. Imara had a hard time keeping her face straight.
The corporate man gave Rayle a sly grin and a wink. “Thank you, laddie.” He cocked an eyebrow suggestively and rested a thumb on his belt with his fingers pointed downward, drawing subtle attention to his crotch. “I think I’ll have a short lie-down first. Care to help me find my room? I might get lost.”
Rayle smiled regretfully. “I’d get just as lost, I’m afraid, and management wouldn’t be happy. How about a token for the Red Blossom just up the walk?”
“No, that’s too far. Another time, then,” said the man with a wink.
Rayle sighed dramatically as he watched the attractive man leave. “Just how I like them, too. Comfortable in their own skin.” He took the glass of fruit juice from her and waved toward Lièrén’s booth. “Go see what Agent Flux-Hot wants. Find out what’s got him upset and fix it.”
He often teased her about her penchant for problem-solving. She didn’t mind. It was better than wailing and moaning or hoping someone else would do it.
She poured herself a glass of spicy tomato juice to tide her over until she got a chance to eat. “Don’t give away the store,” she said, smiling. He curled his tongue at her in exasperation as he walked away.
CHAPTER 14
* Planet: Concordance Prime * GDAT 3238.219 *
Lièrén watched Imara approach and did his level best to keep his emotions contained and his attention focused. Serenity wasn’t in his repertoire that evening. Neither was enjoyment in what he needed to tell her.
“I’d like to talk to you about the CPS Academy, in case Derrit is offered a scholarship.
” He should have eased them into the subject, but he only had that evening. His plan, if it could be called that, was to convince Imara that she had to give up everything and go to wherever Derrit was sent, without admitting the other choices were worse.
Derrit’s eyes rounded in surprise. “But I failed…” He glanced at his mother. “The tests were inconclusive.”
“I had to go back a second time, too,” Lièrén said. “Perhaps it’s common with high-level talents.”
Imara looked thoughtful and attentive. He activated his sifter talent so he’d know if her talents flared. He couldn’t hide his turbulent emotions from an experienced empath like Rayle, and good sifters would notice the vague haze of discord about him, but he was hoping Imara hadn’t worked out how to use her talents yet.
The downside was that it opened him to feeling the presence of everyone in the bar, and the unique signatures of the three people in the booth behind him, in addition to Imara and Derrit. Not to mention the brushes of all the latent talents in the room. It was almost like being back in school, struggling to control his untamed talents.
“The Academy will offer a contract. I remember my parents negotiating, so the CPS can be flexible.”
She tilted her head slightly. “What’s not negotiable?”
As usual, she’d jumped right to the heart of the matter. He needed to pick his path carefully, because she was smart and quick. “Derrit will have to live on campus with the other students for the first three years.”
Derrit frowned, looking at his mother. Lièrén guessed he was remembering his promise to look after her, which would be impossible if he was in the Academy. She was quiet for a long moment, then gave Lièrén a considering look. “How often did you see your family?”
“Twice a year. My closest relatives were three interstellar days away.”
Minder Rising: Central Galactic Concordance Book 2 Page 14
