by Mind Guest
innocence to draw me closer to the hidden barbs, but that wasn't my
first time at dickering. I glanced around, as though unconsciously
trying to check the time, a shadow of impatience to the movement, and
Dameron suddenly lost his drawl.
"Not all of our people have original Absari blood," he said. "Those who
do substitution work - or decoy work, if you'd like to put it like that
- and have to be changed here in the base, have the option of keeping
the features they've been given if they want them. Those team members
earn one point for each job, and it takes three points to buy the
option, but I won't ask the same price of you. Do this job for me and
Bellna's looks are yours to keep or give back, whichever way you want
it. She's the most attractive humanoid female I've ever seen; if she
weren't, I would not have brought the point up. You're pretty enough in
your own right, girl, but Bellna's one of those one-in-a-million
special cases. Can you sit there and tell me you're not tempted even a
little?"
I sat there and didn't tell him anything at all. Truthfully I was far
from unhappy with my own looks, notwithstanding the tact that no one
would ever consider me beautiful. How I looked was part of who I was to
me, and I was satisfied with the whole and not particularly anxious to
change it. The only thing that kept me from refusing outright was that
Dameron was right: Bellna was spectacularly beautiful, and I remembered
my earlier thoughts on the subject. If the change would benefit my job
and make life - and surviving - easier, saying no could be the
stupidest thing I'd ever done. I grappled with the pros and cons as I
brushed my lips with a strand of hair, then focused on Dameron again
with one of the more cogent cons.
"You're asking an impossibility," I said, not terribly unhappy with the
conclusion. "Your field people know all about what's going on, know the
people involved, the language, the terrain, friend from foe. I'd have
to be crazy to involve myself in a project with that many minuses on my
side, as crazy as you are for suggesting it. I don't mind improvising
when a situation calls for it, but I have to have something to
improvise with."
XXX "You have no idea how glad I am to hear that objection," Dameron said, his expression serious. "It means you're finally thinking about
the project as something to be thought about, not just something to
reject out of hand. But I'm equally as glad to say that your objection
is invalid. How do you think my field people learn what they need to
know? Do you think I can afford to have them waste desperately needed
working time cramming discs of information or groping around blind
until they learn what's what? They're given what they need to know just
the way you were given our language, quickly and painlessly. We even
have a tape of Bellna's persona for you."
"What do you mean, a 'tape' of her 'persona'?" I interrupted the flow,
trying to ignore the diminishing of my resolve. Dameron with his
fascinating new ways of doing things was doing a lot better job of
hooking me than the usual bonus he'd promised. When it comes to
curiosity, cats have nothing on me.
"We have a copy of Bellna's memories and personality," Dameron said,
really warming to his subject. "Once it's impressed on your mind it
will act like a reference library, telling you how to deal with the
people you meet, whether or not Bellna knows them, how she usually acts
with them if she does know them, and what would and would not be in
character for her. It does more than studying her for years would, and
was taken only recently, which means it's up to date. Any more
objections?"
"Give me a minute, and I'll think of something, I muttered, turning to
stare at his impassive face. I was curious - perhaps too much s0 - but
I was still reluctant. Telling myself that going home was the smarter
move didn't help; I wanted to work with Dameron's techniques and find
out how they did. Against that, a two-month trip filled with boredom
didn't have a chance, especially when I might get home to find that
someone else had settled Radman's hash in my absence. Something in the
back of my head was telling me I was putting my foot in it clear up to
the shoulder, but I've never been very good at taking advice to be
sensible, even when the advice is my own. My fingers drummed on the arm
of the lump chair with a monotonous sound, but Dameron didn't let it go
on for long.
"Your minute's up," he announced, no real push in his voice. "If you
need another one, by all means take it. I'd hate to have you think I'm
rushing you into anything."
"That sounds like a suitable epitaph," I nodded, bringing my eyes back
to him. "'At least she wasn't rushed.' How far would I have to restrain
my instincts for self-preservation?"
"Any time it's a choice between you or the other guy, I expect you to
give me the time to think up a better epitaph than the one you just
mentioned," he answered with a faint grin. "As long as you don't use
Tildor as a private hunting preserve, you have everyone's blessing in
staying alive. I'm still not trying to rush you, but my people will
need some time to check your Healing tolerance and calibrate their
doses and instrumentation. If we're going to move on this, we'll have
to do it soon."
His eyes were calm and his big body was relaxed in the squarish chair,
but two of his fingers rubbed against one another in a gesture I was
sure he was unaware of I stared at him another ten seconds, but only to
add to his inner turmoil; I was sure he knew I couldn't resist his
bait; that was why he'd dangled it.
"It really would never do to make your people do their calibration in a
hurry," I said at last, drawling the way he'd drawled earlier. Just
remember: if I get killed, I'll never speak to you again."
He let out a whoop of victory and bounced out of his chair, leaned down to grab my wrists, then hauled me to my feet.
"We'll get right over there," he grinned, pounding me on the back in a
happy, enthusiastic way. If I hadn't been in decent shape, his friendly
approval would have done a lot toward flattening me. "Let's just-"
His words cut off as his terminal signaled for attention. He turned
toward it and impatiently tapped a couple of keys, giving me the chance
to flex the muscles in my shoulder that he'd been playing pat-a-cake
on. Symbols appeared on the screen, and when Dameron saw them he
muttered under his breath, then tapped another couple of keys.
"Post 7 needs help of some sort," he said, turning hack to me and
rubbing his broad face in frustration. "I want you turned over to the
clinicians now, not after 7's endless explanations, but you can't go
yourselfa133 I'll have to send Valdon with you."
"Is that supposed to be reassurance or a threat?" I asked, letting
Dameron take my arm and steer us both toward the door. "It does help in
one way, I guess. With Valdon there, I won't have to look for any
enemnues among your clinicians."
"Valdon's not your enemy," Dameron said, a touch of annoyance in his
voice as the door slid open in front of us. "He was trying to help you,
and you made him look foolish. You can't blame him for being angry."
"Sure I can," I answered, looking up at him. "Before rushing in to help
someone, it's smart to find out whether or not they need your help, and
also whether or not they want it. Valdon strikes me as the sort who
never bothers asking those questions when a female's involved, and that
means he deserves whatever he gets. There are one or two of us who can
take care of ourselves."
"He wasn't raised to look at k like that," Dameron said, heading us
across the corridor, but more slowly. "He was taught to be courteous to
and considerate of women, and that's what he is. He wasn't trying to
insult you; he was just trying to keep you from being afraid of him.
For some reason, a good number of women are uncomfortable around him."
"It's that hunter's look in his eyes," I said, stopping a couple of
feet from the door Dameron was moving toward so that I could chuckle
softly. "I knew it was something that gave him trouble, but it's not a
trait he can change. So women run screaming from him, do they?"
"They don't run screaming from him," Dameron came back, trying to be
stern, but he couldn't hold the look and meet my grin at the same time.
he came up with his own chuckle and grin, then shook his head. "They
start out being attracted to him, but as soon as he tries to return
their interest, they suddenly remember appointments elsewhere. I didn't
believe it happened to him all the time at home until it happened once
out here. The field team girls don't usually react to him that way, but
they're not in the base much."
"Poor baby," I commiserated, still laughing softly. "He leads a rough
life. All right, I'll try not to be so hard on him. I'll give him as
much elbow room as he gives me."
"That sounds fair enough," Dameron grinned, then gestured toward the
door in front of us. "He ought to be in there."
We started toward the door again and it slid open, showing an office
just like Dameron's except for the presence of Valdon. The big man sat
in his own squarish chair staring down at a complex map projected on
his cube, but when he saw us he reached behind him to his terminal and
keyed the cube blank again.
"Valdon, we have our decoy Bellna," Dameron announced, leaving me a
couple of steps inside the doorway to walk closer to the other man
alone. "I was about to take her to the clinicians, but post 7 called
in, so you'll have to take her there for me. Tell them she's a native of a new associated world, so they need to calibrate her completely.
And I want everything given to her at once, as quickly as her system
can take it. We'll need all the time we can get for briefing and
planning sessions.
"And for laying in a supply of hankies for her tears," Valdon said,
barely glancing at me as he stood up. "Who would you like assigned to
the job of holding her hand and wiping her nose?"
"Make it someone interesting," I said before Dameron could vocalize the
annoyance on his face. "It would be a pleasant change to meet someone
interesting around here."
"That's enough out of both of you," Dameron growled, glaring first at
me and then at Valdon. "I don't have the time to referee the tiffs
between two small children. You both have jobs to do, and I expect to
see them done without bickering."
"I think you're making a mistake, but you're in charge." Valdon
shrugged, turning his head to look straight at me. "If I'm wrong I'll
apologize, but I don't think she can handle it. Odds are she's never
touched a sword in her life."
"Well, I may not be all that capable, but I'm willing to learn," I
purred, meeting his dark-eyed stare with a small smile. "Why don't you
find us a couple of weapons and give me some lessons?"
"If you did that, you'd be the biggest fool I know," Dameron said,
interrupting what would probably have been agreement from Valdon.
"Can't you see she'd never have made the offer if she wasn't pretty
damned good with a blade? You refused to give me a straight answer
before, girl, but I want one now. How much experience have you had with
swordplay?"
"Enough," I answered, looking at Dameron as I folded my arms. "If you
have any doubts, I won't feel insulted if you withdraw your offer.
There are other things I'd rather be doing."
"I'm not withdrawing anything," Dameron growled, annoyed at the way I'd
answered him - or not answered him. "As I said before, I don't have the
time for this. Valdon, get her over to the clinicians."
With that he stomped out of the room, barely giving the door time to
slide out of his way. He seemed to do a lot of that, playing chicken
with doors, and as sight of his back disappeared, I wondered what
happened when he lost.
"It seems I have my orders," Valdon's deep voice came, and I turned my
head back to see him staring at me. "You'd better be as good as you
think you are. Tildor is no place for beginners."
"No one's as good as they think they are," I came back, noticing again
how really attractive he was. He stood with wide arms crossed over a
broad chest, lean-hipped, longish black hair a perfect match to the
hunter's look in his unwavering, black-eyed stare. He was still annoyed
with me, and would probably go on being annoyed if he was waiting for
me to get flustered. It was too bad, really, but he just wasn't my
type.
"At least that's one point in your favor," he granted, moving closer to
look down at me with slightly less annoyance. "You're not a braggart.
Talkers don't live very long on Tildor, and this project is too
important to gamble on hot air."
"Approval at last," I sighed, folding my hands as I looked up at him
adoringly. "I think I'm in love."
"Very funny," he growled, turning me away from him by the shoulders and
pushing me toward the door. Valdon still didn't appreciate my sense of
humor, and that was it as far as friendly conversation between us went,
which was fine with me. I was a lot more interested in Dameron's procedures than in Valdon, and as the clinicians bustled me away from
him, the last glance I got of his expression said that he knew it.
Chapter 3
I awoke on the ftirTy couch-bed a second time, this time seeing a soft
light glowing in the room, and this time knowing exactly where I was. I
took a deep breath and found that I was braced for pain, but there was
none. No pain, no discomfort, just a feeling of health and vitality and
well-being. I hadn't expected the aftermath to be that easy, not after
seeing the array of equipment the clinicians had had. I'd been weighed
and measured and probed and scanned and practically turned inside out,
and then I'd been put to sleep. That last step had taken longer than it
should have, I was told, simply because my readings were different from
everyone else's, different in a way difficult to measure. They'd had to
do a lot of delicate recalibration befor
e they were ready to start on
me, and after all that build-up I'd missed the procedures themselves by
being unconscious. I wasn't awake long enough or fully enough to be
annoyed, but once I was I expected to be.
I sat up on the couch-bed and ran my fingers tilmugh my hair, wondering
if my last thought made any sense at all. Despite the feeling of
glowing good health I was also feeling faintly fuzzy around the edges,
as though I'd just been roused out of a very deep sleep. The room light
brightened to a point just short of eye-hurting, letting me look down
at myself and the delicate pink, slim-strapped body suit someone had
put on me. The clinicians must have thought my sense of modesty needed
protecting, but all the suit's presence did was increase my annoyance.
I never slept in anything, and if they'd had the good sense to ask
first - The argumentative train of thought was ended completely by the
appearance of a thick lock of hair falling over my left shoulder. It
wasn't as though that was the first time it had ever happened, but the
lock of hair was red! I grabbed more hair and brought it around to see
it, and it was red, too! The excitement rising in me said I may have
accepted Dameron's procedures intellectually, but emotionally I hadn't
believed they could do it. I put my hands to my face, trying to detect
differences, but didn't know my own features well enough that way to
make anything out. What I needed was a mirror.
I stood up fast and looked around, but all the salmon and green room
held was what it had held before: the couch-bed, the round thing next
to it, and a lump chair. I was about to go storming out into the
corridor yelling for Dameron, but the need to search the salmon-colored
panels for the one that was the door brought me up short. Dameron had
done so much with the wall panels that it would be stupid of me not to
try them first. I strode over and began touching them here and there,
finding absolutely nothing until my fingers slid over an invisible,
yielding patch. A door popped open to my left, allowing access to a
narrow space between the wall - and on the back of the door was a fulllength
mirror.
Looking into the mirror was something of a shock.
Have you ever had your hair cut or styled in a way totally different
from the way you usually wear it? Do you remember your first conviction