Jon. Once Jon failed to receive her next scheduled mark, he would immediately begin tracking her via the small transmitter surgically implanted in her thigh. Yes, her partner would come, but too late. It would be more than an hour until Dina could expect help from Jon, and the mine’s air, already below optimum standards, would not last that long. She had a small supply of oxygen in her hood, but the effects of the stun charge held her hands and arms in thrall, reducing them to traitorous minions that would refuse the orders of her mind until time released them. She had no way to position the small oxygen mask and open the valve.
She felt a bead of sweat glide down her temple, followed one upon another until they ran into the track of her tears and merged with the salty trail. The stifling heat of her trap invaded even her desert hood, reminding her that she was quickly running out of time. Her skimmer. It was parked outside the tunnel, and it was equipped with a distress beacon. What had Corporal Khilioi told her about activating it? She blinked her eyes, as if clearing her eyesight would clear her mind, but the small effort did help. The memory of the haughty voice arose. “‘. . . the beacon can be engaged manually, from your commband, or will activate automatically if the skimmer is damaged . . .’” Damn! The commband again. Without it she was without communication.
No. Her ability. She had her ability as a telepath. But Jon was not telepathic. Nor was anyone she knew on this small colony. Her eyes fluttered, and in the cloud of dust beyond her eyeshields a memory reached out to her. Minister Chandhel had said there may be telepathic dens on Exodus. If they had indeed infested this colony during the past administration, chances were good they were still here. A dens would be as impossible to capture as mist in a bottle. To say they were a cold, self-centered people would be kind . . . or naive. Even if one heard her, would he help? A dens, help? No.
She almost laughed. It was a ridiculous thought. A dens would never help her, and even if one did, she would not owe her life to such a creature. No. There had to be another way. But time pressed her. She couldn’t just wait and hope that her body sloughed off the stun gun paralysis before she consumed the remaining oxygen. Even if the stun did wear off in time, the sealed tunnel was like a coffin encasing her—no air, no water, no light, no hope.
She sucked in a long, slow breath, thankful for the small blessing of the hood’s nose filter which kept most of the dust out, and focused her mind on finding another option.
Ah, but I am an option, little girl.
The voice in her mind was as great and unpleasant a shock as she had ever had.
Shocked, are you? Well, imagine my shock to find a telepath on my doorstep, and a little spitfire at that.
Get out of my head, whoever you are! Sweat trickled down her spine and between her breasts, the uncomfortable sensation seeming to mock her inability to wipe the moisture away.
I can hear you, but I can’t understand you. You need to do two things. You need to calm down, and you need to focus your thoughts. Try it again.
Damn you, you can understand my meaning well enough. Get out!
Now, is that any way to talk to the man who’s going to save your life? Would you rather I left you to die?
No. She wouldn’t die. Her survival training overcame her pride. If you must do something, get help for me from Dheru Kel.
There isn’t time for that, so I’m afraid you’ll have to settle for my help. I need you to calm yourself, so I can pinpoint your location.
His response filled her mind, as if he were lying right beside her, but his presence felt more like an invasion than a comfort. Even so, she knew what she had to do to survive. Her visualization and relaxation exercises, practiced almost daily for as long as she could remember, were as second nature as the skills she had learned in the Academy. She did it now, without thinking about it.
In a heartbeat, she was no longer in the tunnel, but standing on the Road of Time, gazing at the Field of Forever. She saw the undulating ripples of golden grasses, stretching, peaceful and unbroken, to the horizon. The image was like a hand that wiped all else from her mind, and she suddenly felt a relaxation descend all around her, shutting out all her emotions, so that only a calmness remained. When next she projected her mind, it was with a certainty that he would understand her.
I’m in a closed tunnel on the north side of the Kewero Kel, number six, north.
I have it. I’ll be there soon. You must remain relaxed. It’s the most important thing you can do. It’ll conserve oxygen and make it easier for me to understand you. What’s your name?
Never mind my name. If you’re going to help, get on with it.
Your obstinacy is of little matter . . . Dina.
She shuddered in spite of the stifling heat. His Voice was a part of him inside her, and the simple sounding of her name touched her in a way she had never been touched. She had never interacted with another telepath before. She not only heard his Voice, but it was so tangible she felt it. The word was a drop of ice water that condensed behind her eyes, hung on, then slipped away like a cold-blooded creature slithering over sand, leaving a slimy trail in its wake. She fought to erase the imprint from her mind, but the diminishing oxygen stole command of her thoughts and provided the tranquilizer for her distress. She suddenly wanted to let go. She closed her eyes and curled, like a paper in a flame, against the rock wall of the tunnel.
Dina! Can you hear me? I need you to keep projecting. Not a lot, I need you to save your energy, but keep projecting. Tell me if you’re all right.
I’m all right . . . but . . . What was it she wanted? It was hard to remember.
RAYN WAS ALREADY on his skimmer. He estimated he was only three decbars from the north face of the mine, as many minutes away. I’m on the way. I should be there in less than five minutes.
Not enough oxygen for five minutes . . .
Yes, there is. Dina, you’re going to be all right.
He accelerated the skimmer as if a race had begun, but his only opponent was the passage of time, an unwanted passenger clinging to him. When Rayn saw the adit, long moments later, his chest felt tight, and he knew with a certainty more time had elapsed than he had estimated. A tumble of broken rock blocked the narrow opening.
Dina, I’m at the tunnel entrance. Keep projecting!
Hurry . . .
He rocked the skimmer to a halt and snatched a small survival kit from the cargo well. Get as far away as you can from the cave-in. Shield your face.
He marked the passing of a half-dozen heartbeats, but felt no response reach for him. He couldn’t afford to give time any more of an edge. He aimed a small silver resonance gun at the rocks that flowed like a frozen waterfall from the head of the entrance to his feet. Stepping back, he squeezed the trigger pad, holding his free arm in front of his hooded face. The rocks started to vibrate, then burst and spit stones and dust back at him. He fired twice more, praying that he wouldn’t start another cave-in, until a hole large enough for his body gaped at him.
Dina! Can you hear me?
No answer came to him. Rayn flicked the switch on his rez to the illuminator setting and flashed the powerful, narrow beam through the opening he’d made. He scuttled through, and the tight circle of light fell on a silent golden form huddled against the black rock. He quickly tore the front of her weather suit open and, placing one hand on her chest, felt a tenuous rise and fall. He yanked her hood off, opened the survival kit, snapped an oxygen mask out, and held it over her nose and mouth, opening the valve.
“Come on, Dina, breathe!” He uttered the words aloud at the same time he threw his mind to hers, delving far into the darkness of her unconsciousness to instill the commands her physical senses couldn’t register or transmit. Breathe! Dina, you must live. You must do as I say. Come on, Dina! His mind held hers, and his compelling telepathic voice injected the commands deeper and more forcefully into her.
Finally, in frustration, he withdrew his mind from hers and vocalized a long string of unrelated profanities, learned over many years on many worlds.
The body in his arms was still, then jerked like a puppet on a string. Her breathing deepened, and Rayn closed his eyes in thanks to whatever gods had been listening. But the gods had not prepared him for what was to come.
His silent litany was cut short by a fit of coughing accompanied by arms that lurched upward and hands that scrabbled at his. Awkward as she was from the lingering effects of the stun, he was amazed at the strength in the slender limbs that tried to rip the oxygen mask from her face. He caught her wrists and held her arms securely.
“Easy, Dina, you’re going to be all right. Come on, now, be a good little girl and stop fighting me.”
Mentally he commanded her to relax. He continued his hold on her arms, but he could feel the resistance drain away as her mind acquiesced to his. Her coughing subsided, her breathing steadied, and the steel in her arms melted into soft, pliant flesh. He shut the oxygen valve off, pulled the mask from her face, and in doing so, was hit by a more potent stun than that which had hit her.
His ethereal self had seen her, his mind had recreated her image in the dream sequence, and he had seen her in the marketplace with her sunshield on. But he had yet to see her this close in the flesh. By the light thrown from the rez’s illuminator, he saw that she had eyes like living, polished exodite set in a luminous face framed by hair the color of summer lightning. He stared, spellbound.
Dina’s eyes blinked and stared back at the man, but the faceless image that registered in her dazed mind reawakened her fear. She tried to push herself away from him, but the wall gave her no escape. She scooted sideways along the rough stone toward the tunnel opening, but the man turned, too fast for her, his arm a striking snake. Slender, tanned fingers protruded from white leather half-gloves and tightened on her wrist. Dim light from the opening at the tunnel entrance fell on half his face.
He squatted before her like a hooded bird of prey. A cowl of white hideskin covered his head, and slanted mirrored eye slits reflected her gaze back to her. A v-shaped faceplate over the man’s nose and mouth and a single white feather that hung low from the back of the hood tangled with his long hair and strengthened the illusion of a man-beast. A loose white tunic, pale tiger’s-eye brown trousers, and dark leather boots the color of old, polished wood, completed the man’s attire.
“Easy, little girl. It’s just a desert hood. I’m not going to hurt you.”
The spoken voice was so soft and rich that she almost wanted to believe the lie. The sound of it, tinged with the barest trace of an accent, somehow matched the Voice she had heard in her head. She went perfectly still. She was vaguely unsure whether it was because of his grasp on her arm, his voice, or a fear she was loathe to admit to.
“You’re a dens.”
“How keen you are.”
She felt the grip on her arm loosen. “I suppose I should thank you.”
“Don’t tax yourself.”
She tried to shake her arm to free herself, but all she managed was a small tug. It was enough. The man opened his hand and released her as one might let go of a wild animal.
Dina sat stock-still and waited, concentrating on her breathing and giving her scattered senses a moment to gather. Turning her face toward the tunnel entrance as far as she could without taking her eyes off the man, she drew deeply of the fresh air that teased the breach formed by the man’s rez gun. Hot dust still burned her throat, but she ignored it and savored the sweet oxygen instead. She picked up the threads of her thoughts and tried to lace them together.
The man, balanced on the balls of his feet, was as motionless before her as a predator, the glint from the mirrored eyes the only movement she caught.
She took a final deep breath and let it out slowly. “Thank you. Now, dens, who are you?” she asked, her voice sounding small, raspy, and hardly commanding. She hated feeling weak before this creature, but it was the best she could manage until more of her strength returned.
When he didn’t reply, Dina glanced down self-consciously at the front of her weather suit, ripped open to the waist. She wasn’t naked beneath the suit by any means, wearing a mesh cooling vest and cropped tank top, but sweat had glued the brief top to her like a second skin, and she felt her pale face flame as she tried to pull together the torn tunic.
The mask and the man beneath were utterly still. Finally, after an eternity of seconds, the man spoke.
“I had to make sure you were still breathing.” The voice was still soft, but there was a huskiness to it that even the mask couldn’t hide. Before Dina could reply, he continued. “Don’t try to talk just yet.”
Though the words and the voice were mild, they left no door open for argument. She was quiet while he removed a small flask from his belt and did a step-drag to bring himself closer to her. Though his position should have made the movement awkward, he moved with the ease of an animal born to sand and stone. As he closed the small gap between them, he went down on one knee, trapping her between the rock wall and his body, the leather of his left boot pressed along her right side, his right knee on the ground in front of her. She remained still, her knees drawn up to her chest, as he flipped the top open with the flick of one finger and offered the flask to her. Her eyes followed every move his hands made. Long white fringes from the fingerless glove swung back and forth in unison.
“Drink,” he commanded in the same soft tone.
Even in her weakened state her sense of caution battled with her desire to obey the honeyed voice. She struggled to shake her head and brush the flask aside, but he would have none of it. Pressing closer to her still, he held the back of her head with one hand and lifted the mouth of the flask to her lips.
Drink, but slowly now.
The words resounded lightly in her mind like a splash of cold water, and she felt them flow down the length of her spine to her core. She had no choice but to obey, drinking small mouthfuls of the warm liquid. Just like his voice, damn him, floated the languid thought, smooth, rich, but with a bite.
Taking her fill, she paused, aware suddenly that his hand, no longer needed, remained where it was. The span of the hand cradling her head was broad, the slender fingers long, and she sensed rather than felt the strength in the possessive touch. It was an intimate touch. Too intimate. She shuddered and shook her head, fighting an urge to spit the last mouthful back at him.
“Get your hand off me.”
His hand slipped from her head, but not before his fingertips feathered her hair to beyond her shoulders, and Dina had no trouble imagining a leer beneath the mask.
The man stood. “Come on, let’s get you out of here.” This time there was an edge of something harder around the liquid flow of sound that was his voice. He replaced the flask on his belt. When Dina didn’t move, his words coursed smoothly once again. “Are you injured? Can you walk?”
“No, and I don’t know. I was hit with a stun gun. And you didn’t answer my question. Who are you?” Her own voice, though louder this time, sounded strange to her, as if someone else were speaking the words. She guessed that her throat was still a little hoarse from gasping the mine’s hot, dusty air. What else could it be?
The man didn’t answer, but picked up his rez gun, holstered it on his belt, slung the survival kit over his right shoulder, and reaching down with his left arm, grabbed Dina under her armpit. He lifted her effortlessly to her feet. Though still feeling boneless as the dead, she was able to walk, albeit with his hand securely on her arm and her left hand clutching a fistful of his tunic. When she exited the tunnel, she immediately brought her free hand up to shade her face from the blinding fire of the desert sun.
“Can you stand?” The mirrored creature-eyes flashed sparks of silver at her.
“I can stand.” This time her voice sounde
d normal to her. Her strength and mobility were returning, but there was still the problem of the creature holding her. She would have to be very, very careful.
Rayn had no trouble hearing the defiance in her three words. Well, she would have to wait for the answer to her question of his identity. He wanted to savor her discovery. He released her arm and jogged to the skimmer cargo hold, where he deposited the survival kit and pulled out a hood. He felt the feather that hung on a thong from the nape of his neck twirl in the shimmer of the heat and wrap around his neck in the hot breeze. Unlike the hood he wore, the one he pulled from the skimmer was unadorned and strictly utilitarian. He turned, and in the oven of the Kewero Valley, felt as if his feet had frozen to the desert floor.
In the tunnel her unusual coloring had struck him. Here, in the spotlight of this forsaken stage, he was spellbound. She was a magnet for the sunlight, her hair drawing all the white-gold radiance to it and reflecting it back at him a hundredfold. As the hot breeze lifted stray blond tendrils off her shoulders and spun them around her head, he imagined they spun around him.
Gods, he thought, what have you done to me?
Inhaling a deep breath, he stepped back to where she stood and held out the hood. “Here. Yours was left in the tunnel. Put this on.”
She pulled the hood on, and he soon saw her chest expand with a deep breath of clean, filtered air. Rayn turned back to the skimmer, straddled the machine, and reached out his arm to her.
“Come on.”
Her head tilted, and he didn’t need to see her face to know that her mind was beginning to function again.
“No.”
“No?”
“I’m not going.”
Rayn dropped his arm. “You need fluids and to get out of this heat. Don’t argue.”
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