Green, Sharon - Mind Guest.htm

by Mind Guest

  again or say a word, just to keep her from fainting or throwing a

  crying fit."

  "Hysterics," Dameron repeated in a flat voice. "Fainting and crying.

  Are we talking about the same female?"

  I turned my head to Dameron to see that although his unfriendly stare

  was aimed at me, his faint air of ridicule was directed at Valdon. The

  big man's handsome face had darkened in response to Dameron's scoffing,

  but he hadn't added anything. "I had to find something amusing to pass the time," I told Dameron's

  accusing stare in a hurt tone designed to let him know how unjust his

  accusation was. "It wasn't my idea to be left here unoccupied and

  ignored while you went trotting off to have fun. And I don't know what

  you're complaining about - no one got hurt, did they?"

  I made my question as pointed as possible without being deliberately

  offensive; Dameron showed he got the point by straightening where he

  stood and sobering. I hadn't strung Valdon just for the fun of it, but

  if Dameron understood that the interlude could have been destructive

  rather than embarrassing, we didn't have to go into anything else. I

  wanted Dameron to see how much better off his base would be with me

  gone from it, and if his expression was anything to judge by, I wasn't

  far from getting what I wanted. Dameron opened his mouth, probably to

  agree to my suggestion of a walk, but the big hand suddenly wrapping

  around my right arm stopped any words from being said.

  "So making me look like a fool was nothing more than an amusement for

  you," Valdon growled, tightening his grip to match the anger in his

  eyes. "You needed some entertainment to stave off boredom, and I was

  it. Did you find all the fun you were looking for? You weren't

  disappointed?"

  "If you don't like being conned, try being less nosy," I told him,

  meeting his anger calmly. "Not everyone considers exchanging life

  histories the best of conversational topics. And don't feel too raw

  over being taken in. You aren't the first to fall for some line I

  happened to come up with, and you won't be the last. The best thing you

  can do right now is forget it-and let go of my arm."

  "Or you'll cry?" he asked, still staring down at me. "Maybe a few tears

  would be the best thing that could happen to you after all - to see to

  it that I am the last one to fall for some line of yours. You had your

  fun; it would only be fair if I took my turn."

  "Valdon," Dameron rumbled warningly from behind my left shoulder, but

  those deep black eyes gave no indication that the warning had been

  heard. They were locked to my face, watching for a reaction to the

  threat he'd made, waiting for the fainthearted regret he expected to

  set in. It was too bad I wouldn't be leaving there without trouble

  after all, but that's the way things went sometimes.

  "You're entitled to make a stab at taking your turn," I agreed, then

  shot my arm forward and sideways fast against his fingers, which broke

  his hold on my arm. "Only don't expect me to stand here like a statue

  while you do. I don't expect to lose, but if I do the turn is all

  yours."

  I set myself without being obvious about it, curious as to how good he

  was. The way he moved said he wasn't likely to be clumsy or awkward,

  and his size, handled as easily as he handled it, was a definite asset

  for him. If he didn't have a weak middle or a glass jaw I would have my

  hands full, and shortly thereafter the rest of me would match, with

  bruises if nothing else. Killing him was out, of course, for many

  reasons even beyond the one that said he had a right to try getting

  even. I usually followed the adage that counseled, "Never make enemies

  by accident, only on purpose," but that time I'd missed. If a few

  bruises were the price for reclaiming the slip, I'd pay the price and

  count myself lucky, there had been times when it had been higher. I

  watched the man in front of me carefully, waiting for his first move,

  but for some reason it didn't come. He just stood and frowned down at

  me, finally shaking his head.

  "If you're expecting me to start a fist fight with you, you can forget

  it," he said, his tone flat and final. "Despite your generous offer, I don't make a habit of fist-fighting with women - even when they deserve

  a good swatting at the very least. All you can expect from me is the

  swatting, but I'll choose my own time and place, thanks. I'm used to

  setting up my own schedules."

  I watched him walk between Dameron and me and head for the door, and

  once it had closed behind him I couldn't help shaking my head the way

  he had.

  "What in the name of the deep endless dark was he talking about?" I

  asked no one in particular, then looked at Dameron. "And what's a

  swatting?"

  "He was trying to tell you that he doesn't beat up on women even when

  they're expecting him to," Dameron answered, leaning back against the

  wall by the door with folded arms. "How did all that happen to get

  started?"

  "He came in and immediately began asking me all sorts of questions," I

  explained, still feeling the urge to shake my head. "I decided that it

  was enough for you and your second to know about me, and we didn't need

  baby to make three. I had the choice of telling him what to do with his

  questions and thereby starting a fight, or conning him and keeping it

  peaceful. Believe it or not, I decided to keep it peaceful."

  "Do all of your people use the same definition of peaceful?" Dameron

  asked with a snort of amusement. "If they do, I can't wait until we're

  in full contact with them. And for your information, Valdon is my

  second in command. He wasn't there when I was questioning you - a small

  crisis had come up that needed seeing to - and he was probably trying

  to find out what he'd missed. Looks like he got more than he bargained

  for."

  "He should have told me who he was," I said with a shrug, ready to

  dismiss the whole thing. "I usually use restraint when dealing with an

  ally. And speaking about dealing, now that your urgent errand is seen

  to, let's take that walk and do a little dealing of our own. I think I

  can safely say you owe it to your people to get me out of here as soon

  as possible."

  "You may be right about that." he nodded, still sticking to his piece

  of wall. "But when you talk about my urgent errand having been seen to,

  don't start assuming it was seen to successfully. Flantoril, the post 9

  fighter who just came in, can't do the job I need her for. The only

  reason she's back here is to be treated for the wounds she took in a

  recent fight; if she hadn't been brought back, she would have died.

  Healing will keep her alive, but only if she doesn't have to go through

  a second session of Healing to change her into Bellna. Rumanoids from

  her home sector don't react well to too much. Healing. Did you really

  intend trying to defend yourself against Valdon?"

  "Why not?" I asked, surprised by the sudden, out-of-context question.

  "A small, harmless-looking man like him ought to be a cinch to take.

  What has that got to do w
ith our visit to my course computer?"

  "It has a lot to do with it," he said, finally coming away from the

  wall to stand himself in front of me. "When I saw you calmly accepting

  the possibility of a fight with a man most men would try to appease, it

  came to me to wonder how well you can handle a sword."

  "No, you don't!" I said with an immediate headshake, holding one hand

  up toward him while the other turned into an automatic, unconscious

  fist. "As far as you're concerned, I don't even know what the word

  sword means. Your problems in Narella are none of my business, and I

  intend keeping it that way. If you'll just show me the blinking red

  sign reading 'Exit' I'll get out of your way and take care of my course

  computer myself." "Without specific coordinate and quadrant data?" he asked very mildly,

  the dark eyes looking down at me faintly amused. "I'll bet you can

  handle a sword at least as well as one of my team girls."

  "The couple of times I tried, I nearly cut my own foot off," I said,

  feeling absolutely no guilt over the lie as I met his gaze. "And as far

  as coordinates and quadrant data go, I'll take my chances without them.

  The same luck that got me here just might get me home again."

  "That would be more miracle than luck," he snorted, still looking at me

  with those piercing eyes. "And don't you think you owe us more than a

  brisk 'thanks!' and a farewell wave? If not for us you'd be a stiff,

  blue corpse, riding an airless hulk into eternity."

  "Very poetic," I applauded with a nod. "Not to mention graphic. Now,

  out of pure, soul-deep gratitude, I'm supposed to put my neck on the

  chopping block with an eager smile? What's the difference between dying

  in space and dying on a planet I have no business going near?"

  "The more I talk to you and think about you, the more convinced I

  become that if anyone can survive, you're the one," he said. "It may

  have taken me awhile to put the whole picture together, but now that I

  have, you can't deny it."

  "How about if I deny your sanity?" I came back, putting my fingers on

  my hips. "I don't know what you're thinking about, and I doubt very

  much if you do."

  "I know exactly what I'm talking about," he chuckled, suddenly moving

  past me to his blocky chair. He sat, tapped a few keys on his terminal,

  got half a dozen symbols in answer, then turned all the way back to me.

  "I don't know why I didn't think of the question sooner, but it finally

  came to me to ask why you were put in a crippled ship and headed into

  the deep black."

  He beamed at me with a possessiveness I'd noticed earlier, looking as

  though he'd made his point and was just waiting for me to acknowledge

  it. I have often found myself with my head in a noose, but I can

  honestly say I never helped put it there.

  "You see a big secret in that?" I came back immediately, throwing in a

  shrug for good measure. "All I see is the caution of a man who knows

  what's good for him. My people knew what I was doing and who I was

  involved with; if they decided to bring Radman in and put him to the

  Question, he'd have to be able to say that the last time he saw me I

  was alive and healthy, and was still in that condition as far as he

  knew. That's why he made sure I had everything I needed to be

  comfortable."

  "Very logical and neat," Dameron conceded, but his nod and smile showed

  nothing of concession. The man did it to protect himself. But you did

  say he was a slaver, didn't you? Couldn't he just have added you to his

  inventory and been able to say the same thing? I can't imagine his

  having any trouble selling a woman with your - ah - obvious attributes,

  and I'm sure your Federation has too many planets for him to be afraid

  that your people might stumble across you. If he didn't arrange a set

  of chains and a private auction for you, there must have been a reason.

  He paused again, still wearing that "gotcha" expression, clearly

  waiting for me to comment; being compassionate, I saw no reason to

  disappoint him.

  "Yes?" I prompted, looking faintly interested. "And the reason was?"

  "That he thought you had too good a chance to get yourself out of any

  arrangement like that," he growled, suddenly annoyed that I was

  ignoring the way he was pinning me to the wail. "If an enemy who knew

  you went to such lengths to be safely rid of you, then you have to be

  more than just average at what you do. Now go ahead and make your denials."

  "I have no denials to make," I shrugged, turning away from his darkeyed

  stare to go and reclaim my old lump-chair. I slid into it and made

  myself comfortable, then looked at him again. "I see no reason to

  either confirm or deny anything you say. Just let me know when you get

  to the end of your lecture series and the testing is about to start.

  That's when I'd like to leave."

  "Damn it, you can't refuse to do this job for me!" he snapped, leaning

  forward toward me to emphasize his words. "You needed rescuing and I

  need a decoy; you got what you needed, and now it's my turn!"

  "I only got half of what I needed," I pointed out, resting my elbow on

  my thigh and my chin in my palm. "When it came time to discuss C & Q

  data, you were much too busy. If the kind of help that buys you is what

  you're looking for, I'll be glad to supply it. If not, you've got a

  problem."

  "How would you like to spend the rest of this crisis time in irons?" he

  asked, growling again. "I promised to reprogram your course computer as

  soon as I find the time, and I will. I saved your life, and I'll see to

  it that you don't have to go searching for where you came from. What

  more do you want?"

  "What more do you have?" I muttered, playing smart to cover the tiny,

  tingling doubts I was beginning to feel. I'd pushed Dameron as hard as

  I'd been able, expecting to see the iron fist flash out of the velvet

  glove, ready to do some fisting myself on my way out of there, but it

  hadn't happened. Instead of threatening me

  Dameron was pleading, and not a word about holding back the information

  I needed! I leaned all the way back in the lump chair, silently cursing

  the roll of the dice. Coersion I can understand and cope with; frantic

  requests for help are harder to ignore.

  "I think I can understand how you feel," I heard after a long minute,

  looking up to see softer, more compassionate eyes on me. "You're a long

  way from home and want to start back, without any twisting, dangerous

  side trips. In your place I'd feel the same, but Diana-I can't afford

  to put myself in your place. Too many lives are hanging in the balance,

  and I have no one else to turn to."

  "I see you've finally remembered my name," I commented, despite his

  sober expression. "What if I still say no?"

  "You mean, what will I do to get even?" he asked, looking straight at

  me for another five seconds before raising his eyes to the blue ceiling

  and folding his hands behind his head. "I could always string you up by

  the thumbs, but I'd have to wait until an overhead hook became

  available. Putting in new hooks always loses
us some air. Once you're

  strung up I could light a fire under your bare feet, but the automatic

  extinguishers don't like open fires. Skinning you alive might do the

  trick, but. . ."

  "Okay, okay, enough," I interrupted, showing my palm to admit surrender

  before his list got to be 'phone book length. "If you were trying to

  tell me you're beyond that sort of thing, I got the point. The only

  thing I still don't know is what you're not beyond."

  "I'm not beyond dickering, if that's 'what you meant," he answered,

  back to looking at me. "Motivation is important when it comes to

  survival, and saving your favorite neck isn't always enough. I've

  always found bonuses helpful."

  "I don't expect to hang around long enough to spend a bonus," I

  snorted, dismissing the suggestion with a wave of my hand. "And

  survival has always been a good enough motivation for me on its own."

  "Then you are experienced in handling dangerous situations," he said softly, a grin spreading across his face. I suppose something in my

  expression showed what I thought of his methods of data-gathering; he

  wiped the grin fast and leaned forward in his chair. "I wasn't digging

  for that, but I'm glad to have the reassurance - since you're not

  admitting or denying anything. What I meant to say was, the bonuses I

  offer aren't in the form of legal tender. I try to offer things that

  would not normally be for sale at any price."

  "Like what?" I asked, more curious than hooked. I still couldn't

  generate much enthusiasm for the idea of working for him. I had things

  at home waiting to be done - like a recently scheduled second meeting

  with Radman the slaver.

  "Oh, items like certain souvenirs," Dameron drawled, his grin back

  again. "The Tildorani have turned carving into a high art, but they

  aren't in a position to do any exporting. Some of my people are

  collectors, and wouldn't be able to pick, choose and carry off any of

  the better items without field team help. And then there are those who

  do more-personal-collecting, for any of a variety of reasons. Even if

  the reason happens to be vanity, all they have to do is collect the

  necessary number of points."

  I could feel the hook being dangled more enticingly in front of me, but

  I couldn't make out the nature of the bait. I could see I was supposed

  to ask what points and what they bought, allowing ignorance and