Dirty Mirror

by R S Penney

  “Why didn't you?”

  “It's my sad attempt to assimilate.”

  She stepped aside to allow him into her apartment, and he took a deep breath before venturing through the door. A telepath of average strength could cause him trouble with very little effort, and he had no doubt that Keli could kill with a thought. In fact, he had seen her do just that.

  Hardwood floors stretched across a living room where a window along the back wall allowed golden sunlight to illuminate a white couch. A vase full of red roses was positioned in the centre of a glass coffee table. Simple décor, but Ben liked it. Though he was surprised to find the place so sparsely decorated.

  Antaurans usually preferred to use furniture as a symbol of social status. The more elaborate the setting, the better. Sometimes people with a very low station tried to make themselves look more important by acquiring the best of everything. He wondered if Keli was the sort of woman to do that.

  “I spent most of my life in a prison cell,” she said, answering his unasked question. “I care nothing for social status.”

  Ben winced, touching two fingers to his forehead. “I keep forgetting that you can do that,” he said, spinning around to face her. “I really wish you would resist the urge to poke around in my head.”

  Keli leaned against the wall next to the front door, her pretty face twisted in a scowl that revealed her contempt. “You normals,” she muttered. “Verbal communication is slow and imprecise, but you still insist on it.”

  “It's how we function.”

  “Why are you here, Tanaben?”

  Clenching his teeth, Ben gave his head a shake. “Blunt and to the point,” he said, striding forward. “I guess that's how it works when every single thought in your head is laid bare for all the world to see.”

  “My question?”

  He stopped a few feet away from her, slipping his hands into his back pockets and bowing his head to her. “I want your help,” he said simply. “The other day, you suggested using your abilities to determine if a suspect was lying.”

  Pressing her lips into a thin line, Keli shut her eyes. She took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “And you have decided to follow that suggestion,” she said. “It's about time one of you displayed some sense.”

  “This isn't about Melissa's investigation.”

  “Then what-”

  She squinted at him as if she were trying to read fine print at the bottom of a page, and suddenly, Ben felt pressure on his mind. Pressure that vanished before he could truly get a sense of it, but he knew she had read his thoughts.

  “You want me to help you find rogue Justice Keepers,” Keli said. “And you think my abilities can help you subdue the ones we do find.”

  Red-faced and fuming, Ben let out a feral growl. “I told you not to poke around in my head!” he shouted. “You can't just do that whenever you lose patience with this slow, imprecise form of communication.”

  “And yet you would have me violate the minds of Justice Keepers that you suspect of having betrayed their oaths.” Embarrassment overwhelmed the anger he was feeling. He was hoping she wouldn't notice that contradiction. “A tidy little arrangement, isn't it? My abilities are abhorrent until the moment you need them.”

  “Keepers are different.”

  “How?”

  Ben turned his back on her, throwing his hands up. “Because they're powerful!” he growled, marching over to the window. Outside, he saw a gorgeous park full of blooming maple trees across the street. Children were playing there, chasing each other in a game of hide and seek.

  He loved his world, loved its people and all that they had accomplished. But Leyria owed much of what it had to the Justice Keepers, and if the Justice Keepers had turned against them…It wasn't something he wanted to think about.

  “Does Larani Tal know about this?” Keli asked. Before he could answer, she took the words out of his mouth. “No, she doesn't, does she?”

  He was about to chastise her for reading his thoughts.

  The woman just leaned against the white wall with her arms folded, smiling down at herself. “I didn't have to read your mind, Tanaben,” she mocked. “I am well aware of the Leyrian tendency to fall back on sanctimonious platitudes about rights. Larani would never sanction something like this.”

  She moved forward at a slow, even pace, shaking her head with a soft sigh. “Which means you're breaking the law again,” she went on. “Haven't you endured more than your fair share of punishment already?”

  “Larani wants us to stop the rogue Keepers.”

  “But not to violate their rights?” It was a question that hung in the air for a few moments until Keli decided that it had been answered without either of them speaking a word. “Leyrians…Always hesitating to do what's necessary.”

  “If that were the case,” Ben countered. “Would I be here?”

  “How do you plan to do it?”

  Ben stood there with fists balled at his sides, hissing and shaking his head. “Larani gave me access to the prisoners we brought in,” he began. “Calissa Narin and presumably the one Jack arrested yesterday.”

  He looked up to fix a steely gaze upon her, then stiffened as a shiver ran down his spine. “I'm going to interrogate Calissa again,” he said simply. “And you're going to be there with me.”

  Musical laughter was Keli's response as she threw her head back. “Don't you think the guards might have something to say about that?” she asked. “You showing up with a strange woman they don't know.”

  “I can fabricate you an ID,” Ben said. “And credentials to go along with it. You'll be a therapist.”

  “You really are eager to break the law.”

  “I am eager to protect my world,” he said, marching forward. “If there are traitors hiding among the Keepers, I want them exposed.”

  Her eyes tried to draw him in, each burning with the heat of a thousand suns as she held his gaze without flinching. Finally, she nodded. “All right,” she said. “I'd be lying if I said I wasn't itching for a chance to use my abilities. I'll do it.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Oh, don't thank me; I have a feeling we're both going to regret this.”

  Clack, clack, clack!

  “Again!”

  The field behind the Denabrian Keeper office was fenced in on all sides and dotted with a few elm trees with leaves that fluttered in the afternoon breeze. The air was warm and sweet, filled with the promise of an approaching summer.

  Not far away, the cylindrical skyscraper loomed over them with windows on each of its fifteen stories, windows that reflected the bright blue sky. When she looked up, she saw a shuttle – a sleek little craft with curving wings – rise up from the rooftop and speed off toward the ocean.

  Melissa stood in the grass in a pair of white shorts and a black tank-top, the wooden practice sword held horizontally over her head. “You're too fast!” she panted. “I just can't keep up.”

  Jack wore a simple pair of gray track pants and a matching tank-top, his blade held in a ready stance with the tip pointed at her. His face was glistening, his damp hair matted to his forehead. “You can,” he replied. “Your Nassai will reinforce everything you learn until it becomes second nature. Trust your instincts!”

  Melissa swung at his stomach.

  In response, Jack hopped back and the tip of her blade passed within inches of his shirt. Using her momentum, she spun and back-kicked to prevent him from moving in for the kill. Her foot hit nothing.

  He had backed away.

  Melissa charged at him, lifting her blade over her head and swinging it down in a sharp vertical slash.

  Jack turned his shoulder toward her, raising the blade horizontally to intercept hers with a clack. “Good!” he shouted. “Press the attack. Keep me on the defensive.”

  Melissa lunged at him, trying to spear him through the stomach with her sword. His only response was a quick downward slash that ripped the weapon from her grip and left it lying in the grass.
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  Then his blade was touching the side of her neck.

  Closing her eyes, Melissa shuddered as she tried to regain her composure. “It's no good,” she said, shaking her head. “I'll never be as good as Jena was. Sometimes, I don't know why the symbiont picked me.”

  Jack's face was flushed, his expression stern. Fat droplets of sweat rolled over his forehead. “Melissa, you've made enormous progress,” he said. “And may I point out that baseless self-loathing is my thing?”

  She giggled.

  “Come on,” he said. “Again.”

  Melissa bent over and picked up the sword, doing her best to ignore her growing sense of inadequacy. Sure, Jack had told her over and over that he had needed practice too when he first started, but she had a hard time imagining him struggling this much. A part of her wanted to slip off to the sidelines and let the important people have the spotlight, but Keepers weren't afforded that luxury.

  It didn't help that her father was standing in the shade of an elm tree with his arms folded, watching the whole thing with one of those unreadable expressions he'd learned after so many years on the force. The last thing she wanted was to screw up in front of him. But she could already hear her dad insisting that the only way to do that would be to give up.

  She lifted the blade up in front of her nose, squinting at him. “All right,” she said, nodding once. “Let's do it.”

  Jack didn't rush at her like some angry street tough. No, he just advanced with all the inevitability of an approaching tidal wave. His sword came at her in a sweeping cut aimed at her neck.

  Melissa ducked, allowing the blade to pass over her head. She thrust her own sword forward, trying to skewer Jack through his mid-section.

  At the last second, he moved aside and turned so that she saw him in profile. Then he brought his sword down on hers, tearing the weapon from her hands. It landed in the grass once again. Not this time!

  Melissa dove, somersaulting across the ground beneath a cut that would have sliced through her chest if she had remained still. She came up on one knee, and she didn't even bother to reach for her sword.

  Instead, she Bent gravity.

  Her body was propelled upward, and then she tucked her knees into her chest to back-flip over Jack's head. Moments later, she dropped to the ground, raising both fists up in a fighting stance.

  Jack rounded on her.

  Melissa kicked him in the stomach, forcing him to double over and back off. That gave her the few seconds she needed to recover her weapon. Sliding one foot under the sword's blade, she kicked it up and caught the hilt.

  Jack was already coming at her, spinning like a whirlwind with a blade that lashed out in a blurring horizontal arc.

  Melissa turned her blade over her shoulder, parrying the cut before he could make contact. Wood met wood with an ear-splitting crack that resonated through the yard, and she was forced to stumble sideways.

  Her opponent faced her with a great big smile on his face, his blue eyes sparkling in the sunlight. “Not bad, kid,” he panted. “You know how to improvise, but I still have you on the defensive.”

  Darting in on nimble feet, Melissa performed a quick cut that would leave a nasty gash in his upper arm if it made contact. Jack practically bent over backward, her blade passing over his chest.

  With a casual flick of his wrist, he brought his own sword up to intercept hers and tear the weapon from her hand again. “Damn it!” Melissa shrieked as she backed away from him. “How do you keep doing that?”

  “We're not finished yet,” Jack said.

  He was flowing toward her with that predator's grace, lifting his blade up vertically in front of his face. “Keep your head in the game, kid.” He drew back his sword and tried to stab Melissa right through the chest.

  Melissa dropped to her knees before him, reaching up to catch his blade between clapped palms. She gave a tug and pulled the weapon from his grip, tossing it aside. “See how you like it!”

  Jack spun for a hook-kick, one foot whirling around…and stopping just before his heel made contact with her chin.

  Melissa squeezed her eyes shut, a single tear rolling over her cheek. “I screwed up again, didn't I?” It came out as a squeak. “God damn it! No matter what I do, you always find a way to beat me!”

  Jack stood over her with fists on his hips, shaking his head slowly. “It was a clever trick,” he said, “pulling the sword out of my hand the way you did. But in falling to your knees, you sacrificed mobility.”

  Rubbing her mouth with the back of her hand, Melissa winced. “Yeah…I can see that now,” she muttered. “I won't make that mistake again.”

  “No, you misunderstand,” Jack clarified. “Giving up your mobility doesn't make what you did the wrong move. But you have to be ready to counter whatever I throw at you next. If you had leaned back and caught my ankle, for instance, you could have held me pinned or thrown me to the ground.”

  He extended a hand to her.

  Melissa took it and allowed him to pull her to her feet. Standing up with a grunt, she gave her head a shake. “But how…” It took a moment to gather her thoughts. “When I first started training, I often hesitated, trying to decide what to do. Now, I've learned how to react on instinct, but I seem to make the wrong choices.”

  “Practice,” Jack said.

  “That's it?”

  His face was glistening as he hunched over and scraped a knuckle across his brow. “Learning to think outside the box takes time,” Jack explained. “For instance, when you back-flipped over me and kicked me in the stomach.”

  “Yeah?”

  “By doing something unexpected, you gave yourself an opening. You should have pressed your attack. Instead, you went for the sword. You were so focused on regaining the sword – on recovering what I'd taken away from you – that you missed opportunities to win. I was off balance. You could have followed it up with a kick to my face or a quick palm-strike. But all you could think about was the sword.

  “A weapon is just a tool, Melissa; it's the Keeper's mind that makes the difference between victory and defeat. If I take one tool away from you, use others. Don't rely on a plan; adapt to each situation as it presents itself.”

  “I don't know how to do that.”

  “Yes, you do,” Jack said. “You did it several times today.”

  He turned away from her, marching to the edge of their little practice area where his gym bag was sitting in the grass. Dropping to one knee, he retrieved a towel and cleaned the sweat off his face. “You did good, kid.”

  Melissa didn't feel very good about herself – it felt as if she had just played a game of Chess in which her opponent had been one step ahead of her with every move – but as the adrenaline rush faded, she noticed something. The symbiont within her. It wanted her attention, and it wanted it badly.

  Her Nassai was like a third-grader with his arm in the air, begging for the teacher to call on him next. What could possibly be so urgent?

  She had learned to commune with the symbiont after a few weeks of carrying it. At first, it had been difficult to focus – especially after the pain of losing Jena – but now, she could put her mind into a relaxed state at almost any time.

  Melissa closed her eyes and let her cares drift away, focusing on the emotions that came from her Nassai. The world seemed to drift away, and she was floating. Floating in an endless expanse of nothing until her mind gave it form.

  Ground sprang up before her: a gently sloping hill of lush green grass that curved around a river where waters babbled. Instead of filling in the sky with a standard blue, she left it dark but added millions of tiny stars. Not content with that, she added a bright pink nebula near the western horizon and a band of light across the sky that would be the nearest spiral arm of the galaxy.

  Green grass as bright as if the noonday sun shone overhead under a starry night sky. She enjoyed the contradiction.

  Melissa gave herself form, rippling into existence in a pair of black slacks and a matching
blouse with short sleeves, her hair tied back in a bun. “You need to talk?” she asked, spinning around.

  Further up the hillside, a woman in a white dress stood over her, and Melissa nearly jumped back in surprise. This was no ordinary woman. The newcomer had a pretty face of pale skin, short auburn hair that she wore parted in the middle and fierce brown eyes. The eyes of a leopard on the hunt.

  It was Jena.

  “That's not a form you should imitate,” Melissa said. “Some people would be offended.”

  The Nassai frowned and bowed her head. “I'm sorry,” she said, striding forward. “I did not mean to offend – I grieve for Jena as well – but I thought this might help me make my point.”

  “And what point is that?”

  The other woman looked up at her with eyes as hard as cement. “I know everything that Jena knew,” she explained. “All of her experiences remain with me. I know what she would have done in response to each of Jack's maneuvers, and I can share that knowledge with you. It will take time to build the necessary neural pathways, but I can do it.”

  “So I'd fight like Jena?”

  “Yes.”

  Melissa closed her eyes, a single tear rolling over her cheek. “No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “I appreciate the offer – I really do – but I want to succeed on my own terms, and it's hard enough to let Jena go without feeling like part of her personality has been grafted onto my own.”

  “I understand,” the Nassai said.

  She turned to go, marching up the hillside, then froze in place after a moment. “One last thing,” she said. “You wanted to give me a name.”

  “I did.”

  The other woman turned around and stood with her hands clasped before herself, her head bowed respectfully. “Ilia,” she suggested. “It was Jena's mother's name. I think she would like that.”

  “Ilia,” Melissa said, testing the name. “Thank you.”

  Watching his daughter practice against Jack left Harry feeling a swell of pride that was almost enough to make him start crying. Almost. He had felt pride in his girls many times – when Melissa took first prize in her seventh-grade science fair, when he sat in the audience of Claire's first dance recital – but this was stronger somehow.