She had covered the mirror immediately.
It wasn’t vanity. It was just that now she was not merely different from everyone else; now she looked different. She did not care to be reminded of her recent experiences.
“Settle down, Elbrun,” ordered Darsen. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
Mora leaned back, still tense.
“I don’t enjoy talking to you. I know you don’t like talking with me. I will be blunt and quick.” He shifted his massive bulk slightly from foot to foot. “I’ve been thinking, Elbrun. You alone could not have hurt me like you did. I’ve been looking over your records. You have never exhibited such powers before, nor do any tests reveal them. Tin Woodman guided your hand, so to speak. Am I correct? Were you in contact with the alien?”
She did not answer immediately. Darsen took it as a refusal to talk.
“Well?” he demanded impatiently.
“I don’t know. I . . . I must have been, to have that power . . . and later .. yes, definitely later.” She looked away. Was she betraying Div?
“Very good, Mora. We are being honest with one another. Very good indeed.” The bastard was starting to sound cordial. “That final communication you speak of—that was from both Tin Woodman and Div Harlthor, wasn’t it? I know—because I think I felt it as well. Even though I was unconscious . . . perhaps we all felt it, at a subconscious level. Maybe it was merely the effect of his contact with you. Now, if your link with Div and Tin Woodman was strong and deep enough, it may very well be that you’ve received information from them of which you are consciously unaware—information buried in your subconscious mind, which can be useful to the Triunion.”
“What kind of information?”
The captain leaned forward. “Perhaps Tin Woodman’s intended destination . . . ?” Something about that tone of voice. Intense. Obsessed. It bothered Mora in a way she couldn’t put her finger on.
“That information is certainly not in my conscious mind. But all right. Suppose it’s somewhere below that. If it is, I certainly can’t get at it.”
“All I want you to do, Mora, all you need to do to become vital personnel once more—to be absolved of your sins, shall we say—is to assist in an experiment.”
“And if I don’t, I get sent back to the machines and the surgeons, right?” Mora said uneasily.
“Yes,” stated Darsen. “I would have no—”
“Spare me.” Despite her bitterness, Mora was tempted to accept the man’s proposal as it stood. Surely no harm could be done Div by aiding Darsen; the Pegasus could chase Tin Woodman halfway across the galaxy and never catch it. The pursuit would be given up long before then; Darsen was far too sensible to do otherwise.
Nevertheless, she couldn’t accept. Not without a stipulation.
“If I agree to your ‘experiment,’ it will only be under one condition. There’s something I want in exchange.”
“I’m practically giving you your life in exchange,” said Darsen. “You’re in no bargaining position.”
“No? You seem to want this information I’m supposed to have rather badly. All right then. I’ll co-operate if and only if you’ll release Ston Maurtan. I presume he’s in the brig.”
Darsen was indignant. “Out of the question. He’s committed mutinous acts—he must face the consequences.”
In response, Mora waved a hand over the access control panel by her bed. The cabin door opened. She politely motioned for Darsen to leave.
The captain’s voice became cold steel. “You can be forced.”
“If that’s true, why did you ask in the first place? You’d just as soon have me out of the way, wouldn’t you? I scare you, Captain.”
Darsen remained immobile a moment. The veins in the thick neck stood out. A swallow bobbed the Adam’s apple. Then he said, “Very well. We will compromise. I will offer Maurtan the chance to resign his commission. If he accepts, the charges against him will be dropped. I’ll free him, and he’ll be considered a passenger—subject to the customary passenger restrictions aboard the ship.”
Quietly, Mora said, “Thank you.”
“At 0800 hours you will report to MedSec,” Darsen said, ignoring the apology implicit in Mora’s voice. “You will co-operate fully with Dr. Kervatz and Lieutenant Tamner. And you will hold yourself available for further such experiments if they are deemed necessary. Understood?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” Without another word, Darsen spun on his heel and stalked out.
After shutting the door, Mora collapsed on her bed. Exhaustion overwhelmed her, bringing its usual attendant, depression. All of it had worn her down. The strain of the treatment. Her recovery. The escape. And now, the confrontation.
It was difficult to believe she’d done it: stood up to the captain. And won. But there was no feeling of satisfaction in her.
Sleep came suddenly and brought no dreams.
Ship’s time was adjusted to align with the day-night cycle shared by all the planets of the Triunion: 0800 hours fell in to the time slot immediately following “night.” So it was that when Mora, accompanied by the present pair of security officers posted at her door, walked to MedSec it was “morning” although no sun had risen, and the corridors were brightly lit as always.
They were all waiting for her. Kervatz, Tamner, Darsen. Quietly, Kervatz motioned her to a reclining chair. No clamps or restraining straps or other implements of confinement were administered. No anesthesia was given; a simple injection of tranquilizer was deemed sufficient to create the suggestible mood in the subject necessary for a hypnotic trance.
Hypnosis accomplished, Jin Tamner directed the placement of electrodes on her scalp and spine by the attendant nurse; these wires were in turn connected to a bank of recording equipment and computer terminals, modified toward this special procedure. Above Mora’s head, a device partly made of the MedSec acoustical holo-graph tank was set. Microtransmitters were attached to her ears. Once Tamner was satisfied that all was in readiness, he pressed the necessary controls.
Tiny whispers floated up from the attachments in her ears: questions. No verbal reply was requested. To the surrounding witnesses, they were meaningless; no more than sibilant nonsense.
But Tamner seemed pleased.
Watching the shifting patterns in the halo-tank, making minor adjustments to the recorders, he said, “This may take half an hour at most, Captain. But it might be several days before the computers can pick out and supply the information we want.”
“If indeed she has it to give,” commented Darsen, betraying worry despite himself.
“I thought you were convinced she did,” said Tamner. “I would say it’s there. Imagine that she has part of Harlthor’s—and hopefully Tin Woodman’s—mind, recorded in her memory. That’s what telepathy basically amounts to, after all, in its advanced stages: a sharing of consciousness. The minds involved retain images of one another afterward. Most of the memories remain unconscious ones, and some information is probably lost. But from papers I consulted in helping to perfect this process, I’d say this is pretty much the case.
“What we’re trying to get from her, though, is a very specific set of memories—the Null-R jump co-ordinates which Tin Woodman was preparing to use when Mora was in contact with Div. So they should be easily retrievable.”
“Yet we can hardly expect that Tin Woodman uses our co-ordinate system,” Darsen objected.
“True, but that’s not important. Mora’s mind-to-mind experience with the alien bypasses translation difficulties like that. If we were trying to re-create Tin Woodman’s whole mind, conflict, traumas, values, and the like, we’d encounter images and ideas which would not translate. But just as hydrogen is hydrogen by whatever name you call it, math is math.”
“Well, you don’t need me here,” said Darsen. “I’m going to see to Maurtan’s release, then to the bridge. R
eport to me when you’ve finished.”
“Yes, Captain.” Tamner seemed disturbed. “You’re really going to release Maurtan?”
“I said I would,” he replied, “and I certainly don’t wish to feed Elbrun’s illusions of persecution. You needn’t be concerned, though, that Maurtan might escape punishment, I’ve made certain arrangements concerning his release.” Darsen turned to Dr. Kervatz. “When our interrogator is through with Elbrun, give her a complete physical examination,” he ordered. “I want to make certain, for the record, that she hasn’t been harmed by the psychemicidian.”
“Very little chance of that, Captain,” replied Kervatz.
“Nevertheless, do it.” He glanced at the prone figure in the chair, her head freshly shaved to allow attachment of the electrodes. “And give her a hair-stim if she wants one.”
A while after they finally released her, Mora found Ston on the observation deck.
Security had told her that he’d been released. She checked both the civilian passenger directory and the old officer listing—he was registered on neither. She’d then searched every public area of the ship and found him at last.
He sat sprawled in a chair beneath a darkened archway. She noticed then the storage trunk, two suitcases, and the shoulder bag lying at his feet. “Ston—you all right?”
He lifted his head with difficulty, as though his neck were rubber.
“Yeah. Resigned my commish—commission.”
“I heard.” She looked for the bottle, saw it standing on the floor: a bulb-shaped green glass bottle, three-quarters empty.
“Yeah. When they booted me, I asked what you’d done to save my ass. They said something about an experiment and that ‘she’s not available today.’ So I thought I’d come up here, watch the stars—”
“And drink.”
“Yeah.” He lifted the bottle, thrust it unsteadily toward Mora.
“Want some?”
Well, if she had some, it was that much less that he’d drink. “Sure, why not?” She took the bottle. “Wine?”
“Uh-huh. Good wine, I think. I wouldn’t really know. Effective enough, anyway. Found it cleaning out my quarters. A gift . . .” Closing his eyes, he slipped down in his chair, breathing heavily.
Mora sipped the wine. A heavy, rather sweet taste. Amontillado, the label read. “This is sherry. God, how could you drink so much?”
“Easy.” He leaned forward and added in a confidential manner, “Don’t know any better. I don’t drink.” He straightened up in his chair, looking serious and apparently trying to will sobriety. “I know—I’m sloshed. Sorry, I couldn’t think of anything else to do. Why not? No one on this ship will talk to me anyway.”
“Why not?”
“’Cause I endangered the ship. Drilling holes in the walls around here is verboten, y’know. Mortal sin . . . bad manners, too. One might burn through the wrong wall . . .”
“The first thing you should have done,” Mora said pragmatically, “was to get another compartment, in the passenger section—”
“Got no money. Service took it all—”
“What?”
“Damage to the ship, Mora,” he explained, as if to a dense child. “Darsen billed me for it. Closed my account right out. All I have is what you see before you. Think there’s a good conduct medal in that suitcase there—” He stretched forward, reaching for one of the suitcases, and nearly fell on his face. Mora caught him and lifted him to his feet.
“Can you walk?” she asked, angry at Darsen—it would take a mind like his to conceive such a way of reneging on his promise. There wasn’t anything officially wrong with holding Ston responsible for damage he’d caused to the Pegasus. And the captain wouldn’t allow Ston to starve; Ston would simply be forced, after a few days, to let Darsen put him into a Henderson for the duration of the voyage, thus ridding the ship of at least one troublemaker.
Ston was capable of walking, but not in a particular direction. Placing one arm under his shoulders, letting him lean on her, Mora led him onto the lift platform. When they began to drop his face turned pale and Mora was afraid he would be sick.
“My things,” he mumbled. “Can’t leave them up there.”
“No one’s going to steal your luggage. I’ll go back for it later.” The lift halted on Mora’s deck, and she led Ston down the corridor to her quarters. When she let go of him to open the door, he staggered and fell against the bulkhead.
“I am wasted!” he announced almost gleefully, attempting without much success to stand up unassisted.
“Another of your old naval expressions? Here—your hand.” She pulled him up to his feet, directed him into her darkened quarters, letting him fall onto the bed. As she turned on the bedside light, he tried to raise himself on his elbows.
“I’ll sleep in a chair,” he said. “Can’t put you out of bed.”
“Don’t be silly. There’s room enough for me. You’ll feel lousy enough when you wake up.” She struggled to pull his vest off, noticing the darker, unworn patches of color where his insignia of rank had so recently been removed. After more struggling, she decided he’d have to sleep in the rest of his uniform.
“I’m not kidding about them not speaking to me, Addy—uh, Mora. Even my friends won’t. I’ve been ostra—osher—rejected.”
“They couldn’t have been very good friends.” With limited assistance from Ston, Mora managed to stretch him out in what looked like a comfortable position.
“Right. Trade ’em all for you any day.” His eyes closed.
“Thanks.” Staring down at him, a cold scream of fury rose in her mind. If he believed that, it was because he had to. She could feel how it hurt him to be an outcast.
Well, she had enough credits in her own account to provide for him. He wouldn’t wind up on sleeper deck—not while she could help him. And what could the captain do about it?
So much for Darsen’s dirty trick.
She looked down at Ston He lay motionless, breathing slowly, easily. Relaxed, his features were smooth in the dim wall light. The hair on his unlined, unshaved face was spare; too fine to be called stubble. So young . . .
In most ways, Div Harlthor had been older than Ston Maurtan. Div was like her; he’d learned the hard way how treacherous people could be toward the vulnerable.
Ston was just beginning to discover that.
He frowned in his sleep. She put a hand on his forehead. He was dreaming. The dream was a bad one. She could feel his disorientation, his fear, even with only the fraction of Talent that had returned.
She took her hand away. His dreams should be his own.
There was a tense, electric charge to the atmosphere on the bridge. Sitting stiffly at his command desk, Captain Edan Darsen knew that he was in the center of it.
All was silent save for the occasional whisper of activity among the crew and the ever-present quiet hum of the computers.
Any moment now, I’ll know, he thought, his eyes settled steadfastly upon the form of Lieutenant Tamner, leaning over the main terminal. Any second now the letter-perforated strip of plastic would click out of the mouth of that machine, tongue-like. That tape would either bear the vector co-ordinates of the Null-R jump that Tin Woodman had initiated and its destination, or the indication that no such information had been available in the mind of Mora Elbrun.
It would be a single point of time that would determine his destiny.
If there was no information to be had, pursuit of the alien was pointless. The Pegasus would continue on its appointed rounds, his life would settle back to its veritable jail sentence—and he would never be satisfied. Always, in the back of his mind, there would be, doubt . . .
But if the result of the mind-pick was positive, then this threat to normal humanity might be found and dealt with—and he could have what he wanted; his chase, his revenge, and his chance for re
demption and glory.
A red light on the computer console blipped. The tape began to spew.
He realized that he was standing, expectantly.
Tamner looked up from the tape with a satisfied glint in his eyes. “It’s all here, Captain. More than we’d hoped for. Much more.”
A thrill of triumph raced through him. “Very well, Mr. Tamner, All is in readiness. There is no time to be wasted.” He could feel the strength grow in his voice. “Order more copies of the information immediately and supply the astrogator, the pilots, and other necessary crewmen with those co-ordinates, if you please.”
Obediently, Tamner spun on his heel to implement the orders. As he punched in directions on the computer’s keyboard, Darsen found himself drifting over toward the lieutenant—no, he would make Tamner lieutenant commander now. He lifted the tape up and looked down on the symbols in something like wonder.
“Null-R engines activated, Captain.”
He was back behind the command desk now, infused with purpose. The Pegasus was in position. All that remained was to order the jump.
“Commence interlocking procedure,” he said.
A quick flutter of the hand of the pertinent pilot. “Set cycles at previously specified codes.”
“Cycles set,” responded a pilot.
“Start phasing jump,” he commanded, unable to exclude a note of excitement from his voice. “Erect Null-R field.”
“Field erected; jump phasing.”
Streamers of light began to vortex toward the flat screen from star-salted space. They coiled about the entire field of view, and they were swallowed up in flashing, dancing colors.
“Jump phasing complete, Null-R jump in progress. Speed, Captain?”
“Just short of maximum,” he said.
“Yes, Captain.”
And the Pegasus became a little fish, flashing through the sea of infinity.
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