Council’s decision. They’re the ones who have to
decide what to do. I’m just the commander of the fleet.”
“You could stop
it,” Marcon said.
“It’s a ruse!
He’s a clever bastard!”
“What if it’s
not?”
“Shut up,
Marcon,” Tallyn said. “Whose side are you on?”
“The side of
life, not unending war. I believe him, sir. He’s sworn an oath, and
I reckon he’s going to keep it. It seems to be important to him.
He’s Antian, and you know what that means.”
Several
officers muttered and nodded, and Tallyn frowned at them.
“He can swear
all the oaths he wants, make threats and offer phony deals; it
won’t work. Even if he means it, she’s not going to die. How many
times must I say it?”
“Maybe until
you convince yourself.”
Chapter Three
Rayne stared at
the white ceiling, her mind drifting in a pleasant fog of
drug-induced detachment. An Atlantean woman had joined the team of
specialists assigned to tend to her. Instead of holding her down so
the telepath could clamp a hand to her brow and read her, they had
sedated her. A clutch of beeping machines monitored her vitals, and
the telepath looked distinctly worried.
The four had
been huddled in a muttering group for several minutes, but had
evidently reached a decision, for they approached her. The elderly
doctor smiled, his dark eyes gentle. She could no longer sense his
emotions; the drug had robbed her of her ability to do so without
touching him. He peered at her, then nodded at the telepath.
The younger man
came forward, wiping sweaty palms on his white suit. His
nervousness pleased her. It made up for his previous pomposity. At
least now he seemed to appreciate that he was dealing with someone
special. She tried to recall what they wanted and why she was here,
but she could not even remember where she was.
The telepath
sat on a chair beside her and laid a hand on her brow, casting her
a tense smile. She smiled back dreamily, sensing his nervousness
and unease. He had brown and blond hair, and his metallic skin had
a silvery sheen, more common than the golden or bronze varieties.
He was not of a high caste, yet he had acted quite superior before.
The three years she had spent living amongst Atlanteans had taught
her a great deal about their society and its quirks.
Perhaps being a
powerful telepath earned him privileges. A prickle of disquiet went
through her as she sensed the intrusion of his mind. It seeped into
hers like a thief sneaking into a dark house in search of the
family jewels. He was a thief, and the discovery of Tarke’s image
would lead to his downfall. They would hunt him until they caught
him, and then they would kill him.
Numbness
nibbled at the edges of her sanity. For so long, she had kept it at
bay, but that was because she had found something for which to
live. Even if he never showed her anything but friendship, it would
have been enough. Just to be with him, to own the unique privilege
of knowing the man behind the mask, would have been enough. She did
not call his image into her mind, for that would have given it away
to the prowling telepath who rifled through her memories.
Again the
blankness impinged, washing away a little of her reason. With what
was left, she realised that her only weapon lay within the
emptiness the Envoy had bestowed. Her only escape from the
telepath’s prying mind was to allow the howling void that had dwelt
within her for so long to swallow her, to throw open all the doors
and welcome its dark embrace. With it, however, she wanted one last
victory. She found the telepath’s oozing psyche in the bottom of
one of her memories, casting aside images of her childhood. Here
she had hidden Tarke’s face, and she thought she glimpsed his nose
on one of her childhood friends.
The telepath
would find it soon, and put it together with all the pieces he had
seen that did not fit where they were. She confronted him, and her
presence startled him, but he was not unduly
decide what to do. I’m just the commander of the fleet.”
“You could stop
it,” Marcon said.
“It’s a ruse!
He’s a clever bastard!”
“What if it’s
not?”
“Shut up,
Marcon,” Tallyn said. “Whose side are you on?”
“The side of
life, not unending war. I believe him, sir. He’s sworn an oath, and
I reckon he’s going to keep it. It seems to be important to him.
He’s Antian, and you know what that means.”
Several
officers muttered and nodded, and Tallyn frowned at them.
“He can swear
all the oaths he wants, make threats and offer phony deals; it
won’t work. Even if he means it, she’s not going to die. How many
times must I say it?”
“Maybe until
you convince yourself.”
Chapter Three
Rayne stared at
the white ceiling, her mind drifting in a pleasant fog of
drug-induced detachment. An Atlantean woman had joined the team of
specialists assigned to tend to her. Instead of holding her down so
the telepath could clamp a hand to her brow and read her, they had
sedated her. A clutch of beeping machines monitored her vitals, and
the telepath looked distinctly worried.
The four had
been huddled in a muttering group for several minutes, but had
evidently reached a decision, for they approached her. The elderly
doctor smiled, his dark eyes gentle. She could no longer sense his
emotions; the drug had robbed her of her ability to do so without
touching him. He peered at her, then nodded at the telepath.
The younger man
came forward, wiping sweaty palms on his white suit. His
nervousness pleased her. It made up for his previous pomposity. At
least now he seemed to appreciate that he was dealing with someone
special. She tried to recall what they wanted and why she was here,
but she could not even remember where she was.
The telepath
sat on a chair beside her and laid a hand on her brow, casting her
a tense smile. She smiled back dreamily, sensing his nervousness
and unease. He had brown and blond hair, and his metallic skin had
a silvery sheen, more common than the golden or bronze varieties.
He was not of a high caste, yet he had acted quite superior before.
The three years she had spent living amongst Atlanteans had taught
her a great deal about their society and its quirks.
Perhaps being a
powerful telepath earned him privileges. A prickle of disquiet went
through her as she sensed the intrusion of his mind. It seeped into
hers like a thief sneaking into a dark house in search of the
family jewels. He was a thief, and the discovery of Tarke’s image
would lead to his downfall. They would hunt him until they caught
him, and then they would kill him.
Numbness
nibbled at the edges of her sanity. For so long, she had kept it at
bay, but that was because she had found something for which to
live. Even if he never showed her anything but friendship, it would
have been enough. Just to be with him, to own the unique privilege
of knowing the man behind the mask, would have been enough. She did
not call his image into her mind, for that would have given it away
to the prowling telepath who rifled through her memories.
Again the
blankness impinged, washing away a little of her reason. With what
was left, she realised that her only weapon lay within the
emptiness the Envoy had bestowed. Her only escape from the
telepath’s prying mind was to allow the howling void that had dwelt
within her for so long to swallow her, to throw open all the doors
and welcome its dark embrace. With it, however, she wanted one last
victory. She found the telepath’s oozing psyche in the bottom of
one of her memories, casting aside images of her childhood. Here
she had hidden Tarke’s face, and she thought she glimpsed his nose
on one of her childhood friends.
The telepath
would find it soon, and put it together with all the pieces he had
seen that did not fit where they were. She confronted him, and her
presence startled him, but he was not unduly
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