Outcaste

by Fletcher DeLancey

  Up was down, down was up, and she didn’t know what she was. Lanaril would probably say that just meant she was ready to begin.

  Across the room, Andira stirred in their large bed, her blurry, scattered unconsciousness coalescing to awareness. Confusion colored their link before sorrow slid in, and she threw aside the covers.

  Salomen kept her gaze on the view, not yet ready to face that sympathy. Through the whisper of fabric, the soft pad of bare feet, and the muted thump of the cooling unit, she tracked Andira’s movements.

  The cushion dipped beside her. “This is becoming a habit,” Andira said, her own juice in hand.

  “I hope not.”

  Andira let the silence stand for a tick or two. “Do you know how to tell me now?”

  Words were more plentiful this morning than last night. A few in particular were pressing against her chest, wanting out.

  They were too painful. She pushed others out instead.

  “I don’t think I can share what she told us. She didn’t ask for confidentiality, but . . .”

  “But she hates me and would feel betrayed if I knew her deepest secrets.”

  “She doesn’t hate you now. She really believes you’re Fahla’s Chosen.”

  “Ah, an improvement. Between you and me, we put the divine in divine tyrees, don’t we?”

  Salomen turned to look at her for the first time, an unwilling smile on her face. “You’re terrible.”

  “I have to be. It’s part of my job.” Andira’s eyes crinkled in an answering smile before she returned to her perusal of the view.

  Her undemanding presence loosened the tightness in Salomen’s chest.

  “I wasn’t the first,” she whispered.

  “The first what?”

  “The first person to . . . violate her.”

  The air in the room seemed to grow thin, allowing even the quietest sounds of the sleeping building to magnify the silence between them.

  She closed her eyes against the heartsick weight filling their empathic link. “Yes, that’s how I feel, too. At least the first one only managed it for a few pipticks before she stopped him. But she couldn’t stop me.”

  “Oh, tyrina.” Andira reached out for her hand and interlaced their fingers. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Lanaril said I need counseling.” She let her head fall against Andira’s shoulder. “Right alongside Rahel. Who for some unfathomable reason isn’t afraid of me now. She was so terrified yesterday morning that she could hardly get up off the floor, but then she somehow decided that I would be her protector . . .”

  “Against what?” Andira asked when the pause grew too long.

  “Against . . .” She took a fortifying breath. “Another empathic violation. By Lanaril.”

  “Great Mother.”

  “I know. But she’s terrified of high empaths. For good reason.”

  “How did she stop the first one?”

  “I . . . don’t think I can tell you that.”

  “All right,” Andira said softly. “I understand. But while you’re busy punishing yourself, please don’t forget what she did to you.” She touched Salomen’s sleeve, just above the surgery scar.

  “Hard to forget when it aches every time I lift it. But that will go away in another day. The scar will be gone in half a moon. How long will her scars last?”

  “I mourn the pain in your heart,” Andira said after a moment. “I think it’s more than you deserve, much more. You did hurt her, but you have to remember that she put herself in that position. She created the situation.”

  No, Salomen thought, she created a different situation. I created that one.

  They were being treated so differently, not because of their crimes but because of their stations in life. It pricked at her like a splinter under a glove.

  The only way to get that splinter out was to take off the glove.

  “I need to tell you something,” she said. “That night you caught me probing you . . . you asked how I beat the testers, and I told you I didn’t know.”

  “I remember.”

  “I lied.”

  Andira’s shoulder twitched, her surprise edged with a subtle, stinging aftertaste. Salomen lifted her head.

  “You didn’t know me then,” Andira said. “You certainly didn’t trust me. Though I’m surprised I didn’t detect the lie.”

  “Thank you for not pointing out that I’ve trusted you for some time now.” Salomen finished her juice and set it aside. “It wasn’t a complete lie. I did know, but it was so impossible that I just . . . put it away, I suppose. I never heard of anything like it happening to someone else, so part of me decided it hadn’t happened to me, either. Until it happened again.”

  “When?”

  “Two days ago.”

  She explained it all, starting with what she remembered from her experience with the testers and ending with the moment she had found herself back in her physical body in Pollonius.

  Andira listened with the intense focus that made her a formidable opponent and a matchless ally. She asked no questions until Salomen stopped speaking.

  “Vellmar walked into them? And you’re certain they didn’t touch her?”

  “Positive.” She thought about it. “Now that you mention it, isn’t that odd? It made a sort of sense why they wouldn’t touch me. But I don’t know why they didn’t affect her. I wasn’t really there; she was. How could they go around a physical obstacle like that?”

  Andira’s sudden grin was joyous. “Because your instinct is protective. It’s very focused. With the testers, it only blocked the probes that it saw as threatening.”

  Salomen remembered that little black hole, sucking in a small percentage of the tendrils of light. “The ones that would have exposed my power.”

  “Exactly. And in Pollonius, it attacked the threat and no one else, even when it had to duck around an interfering body. You don’t have to worry about killing other people. It’s not in your nature. That instinct is part of your nature. It’s protective, not aggressive.”

  “It certainly looked aggressive to me. I couldn’t stop it.”

  “Because you haven’t learned to control it.”

  “And you think I can?”

  “I think you already made a start. You reached Sayana somehow. You told her to resist and she did, long enough for Vellmar to get there.”

  Salomen sat stunned. “I’m not a danger?”

  With a happy laugh, Andira swept her into a warmron. “You’re not a danger to anyone who isn’t a lethal threat.”

  Salomen stared unseeingly into the room, her chin resting on Andira’s shoulder. The realization seeped into her bones, warming her from the inside out and making her body limp. “I’m not a monster,” she whispered.

  “You never were, tyrina. You never were.”

  63

  INFECTED

  Two days after the attack in Pollonius, Tal appeared in her office resembling an irritated mountzar woken too early from its winter sleep. Her temper was short and her tongue sharp, and it didn’t take long for word to filter through the security staff and up to Micah.

  He arrived in her office to find her snarling at a report and questioning not just the intelligence of its author, but also his parentage and possible species.

  “We need a new law,” she growled when Micah sat in her guest chair. “Everyone on the Council should be required to pass an intelligence test. I’ve eaten fantens that were smarter than this.” She threw her reader card on the desk and glared at him. “I have to meet with this idiot in half a hantick. Do you think anyone would notice if I threw him out a window?”

  “Probably not. But you’re not meeting with him.”

  She brightened. “You’re doing it instead?”

  “I’d throw him out a higher window. No, I asked Aldirk to rearrange your schedule. You have a clear hantick, and Senshalon is waiting for you in the training room.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Are you managing me?”

  “Are you c
omplaining? Get changed and go beat up someone who can handle it.”

  She offered no more resistance. Ten ticks later, Micah stood on the wooden observation deck that overlooked the large training room while Tal strode out to the central mat. The room had been bustling with Guards upon her arrival, but they had given up their activities in favor of watching their Lancer square off against the largest Guard in her unit.

  Tal was shorter than all of her Guards, but Senshalon was a giant by any standards—and surprisingly fast despite his size. He was also the best in their unit at hand-to-hand combat. Tal was about to get her head torn off and handed to her, and she was already happy about it. Micah could see it in the way she walked and the quick smile she gave Senshalon as they touched palms.

  The two combatants backed away from each other and dropped into matching crouches as the bout began. Senshalon moved first, rushing Tal in an aggressive opening move. She sidestepped and tripped him, using her agility against his bulk.

  He rolled to his feet facing away from her, bent forward at the hip, and shot his leg back in a kick that would have made a dokker proud. Had it landed on her chest where he aimed it, she would be on her back sucking air.

  But she had anticipated him and successfully dodged. At the apex of his kick, when he was out of momentum and at the edge of his balance, she seized his leg and twisted, sending him off his feet once more. This time she landed on top of him and got in two good punches before he used his superior size and strength to pull her off-balance.

  Micah looked over as a new presence appeared next to him. Lanaril Satran leaned her forearms on the polished wooden rail, her gaze on the two fighters below. “If I weren’t watching with my own eyes, I’d never believe she could last five pipticks against someone that size,” she said.

  “I thought you were a woman of faith.”

  She smiled. “Some faith is learned, Colonel.”

  They were family now, having accompanied Tal on her bonding break and gone through the rituals of forming new family bonds. But Lanaril still called him by his rank or family name, because she had heard him say he was more comfortable with that. It was typical of her quiet consideration. She and Tal were polar opposites in temperament and jobs, but they had become fast friends.

  “I hear you have a new patient,” he commented, watching Tal launch a spin kick that made Senshalon stagger sideways.

  “Yes. One I wish I could have seen a cycle ago, before she started down this path. I came to give Andira my preliminary report. You have the file as well.”

  “Can you give me the highlights?”

  Instead of answering, she asked, “How do you feel about me counseling her?”

  “I don’t have any feelings about that.”

  In his peripheral vision, he saw the corner of her mouth curl up.

  “Then you’re probably the only person in this building who doesn’t. And I don’t believe you. You walked with a staff for half a moon because of her.”

  “I was . . . angry when Salomen told me this morning,” he admitted. “But she had a great deal to say.”

  A shout rose from the Guards. Senshalon had just sent Tal to the mat, but could not pursue his advantage. He was too busy dodging her leg sweep.

  “She’s astonishing, isn’t she?” Lanaril asked.

  “Tal? Or Salomen?”

  “Both.”

  “Yes,” he said. “To both.”

  They watched Tal dance away from a flying fist that would have stunned a full-grown fanten.

  “Rahel Sayana has trauma shock dating back to the Battle of Alsea,” Lanaril said. “Profound and untreated until now. If Andira prosecutes her for kidnapping and attempted murder, she’ll have to do it under the Reduced Capacity Directive.”

  Now he understood her roundabout approach. “I do not envy you telling her that.”

  “I’m not looking forward to it. She has the right to her anger. So do you.”

  “It’s so much worse for her. She felt it.”

  “I know. But she can feel the rest as well, can she not?”

  “Meaning?”

  She turned to face him. “Salomen and Rahel need each other.”

  That might have shocked him last night. Today, after listening to what Salomen had to say before she returned to the healing center, it did not.

  “What happened in Pollonius has tied them together,” Lanaril continued. “If Salomen’s sole motivation were guilt, she could have brought me in and left us, knowing Rahel would get the care she needs. She hasn’t left. And she’s supporting my recommendation that Rahel be transferred to the temple.”

  It was gentle phrasing, but Micah knew her recommendation was an order. Not even Tal could override Lanaril’s authority in these matters.

  Senshalon swept Tal’s legs out from under her and followed her down to the mat, trapping her arms beneath his knees. That was a bout-ending move, and Micah could read Tal’s lips as she said, I yield. She accepted Senshalon’s hand, grinning as he pulled her upright, then clapped him on the shoulder. She had burned off the anger that had infected her all day.

  Lanaril was about to reinfect her.

  “I’ll tell Senshalon he’d better stay close,” Micah said.

  Tal was furious about the transfer order, but calmed down once she read Lanaril’s preliminary report and spoke with Salomen. The next day, she was once again a prickly mountzar. The day after, she was worse. Micah did not understand it, and what was more unsettling was that Salomen didn’t, either.

  “She’s not angry about Rahel now,” Salomen told him that afternoon. “But she either cannot or will not tell me what this is.”

  After receiving a report that Tal had thrown a Councilor out of her office, Micah decided it was time to deploy Senshalon again. He arrived in Tal’s antechamber to find two uncomfortable-looking Guards and the muffled sound of shouting coming through the thick wooden doors. Someone was getting their skin flayed off.

  “Who’s inside?” he asked the nearest Guard.

  “Vellmar.”

  He shook his head and did what no one else in the State House would dare: opened the door uninvited and stepped through.

  Tal was facing off against her much taller Lead Guard, almost nose-to-chin and vibrating with anger. Her hands were fisted at her sides and she looked a breath away from exploding.

  Micah paused, shocked at the scene. Tal did not lose control. That was simply foreign to her nature.

  “She has powers no Alsean is supposed to have and she doesn’t know how to control them,” Vellmar said defensively. “If not wanting to die because Salomen gets angry makes me a coward, then so be it!”

  “Stop and think, you shekking grainbird!” Tal shouted. “When did she get angry?”

  Vellmar’s throat worked, but nothing came out.

  “I’m waiting for an answer!”

  Micah watched in disbelief as Tal planted both hands on Vellmar’s chest and shoved. Despite her greater mass, Vellmar stumbled back and landed awkwardly on a wide chair.

  “When did she get angry, Vellmar? Was it when she was taken hostage? No. Was it when she was shot and in so much pain that it knocked me over? No. When did it happen?”

  The last was a full-throated roar, and Vellmar shrank beneath her glare.

  “When you accepted the honor challenge,” she said in a shaky voice.

  “So you do have two brain cells. Good. Let’s take this apart, shall we? Salomen didn’t react violently to a threat to herself. She didn’t even react violently when she was treated violently. She took a stud through her arm and she still didn’t do anything. Those powers you’re so frightened of didn’t wake up until I was threatened. She reacted to protect me.” Tal crossed her arms over her chest. “What is your duty, Vellmar? What do you do all day, every day?”

  “I . . . protect you.”

  “You protect me. Which makes you the safest person on this shekking planet from those powers.”

  “Oh, Fahla,” Vellmar whispered. “I didn�
��t—”

  “You’ve made her feel like a monster. If that’s the kind of friend you are, she’s better off without you.”

  “Vellmar.” Micah had finally recovered from his shock and managed a calm voice. “I’d like to see you outside, please.” When Tal snapped her head around, clearly surprised, he realized that she had not sensed his arrival. That was nearly as worrisome as her loss of control.

  Vellmar leaped at the proffered escape, sliding past Tal and striding for the door. He opened it and followed her out, then led her to an empty salon down the corridor.

  She stood straight, her head held high despite the devastation written all over her face. He often wondered why high empaths were so convinced of their ability to hide emotions when at least half of the time, anyone could read it in their body language and facial expressions.

  “You need to deal with this,” he said. “It’s interfering with your duties.”

  “I know. I will.”

  “Good. I’m taking you off the roster tomorrow.”

  “Colonel—”

  “It’s not a punishment. You’ve worked nonstop since it happened. I recognize the signs of someone who doesn’t want to stop.” He softened his tone. “Use the time, Vellmar. Talk to your friends, your family, whoever you go to for wisdom.”

  She swallowed hard and nodded.

  With a sigh, he rubbed a hand over his short, bristly hair. “This has been difficult for everyone. She’s angry, but she still values your skills. Your position is not in jeopardy.”

  “With respect, Colonel Micah, you can’t guarantee that.”

  He thought he could. But he also knew she would only accept assurances from one person. “Go on,” he said. “Try not to worry.”

  She turned and left without another word.

  Back in the office, Tal was slouched on one of her comfortable couches, her boneless slump an eerie contrast to the vibrating intensity of her earlier rage.

  “I know,” she said as he sat next to her. “Completely inappropriate, I owe her an apology, I know it all. But Goddess above, I feel so much better.”