Emily Rainer threw open the door to University President Carol Johnston's office and strode across the carpet to her desk, with a nervous secretary hot on her heels.
"Get her out of here," Emily hissed.
President Johnston nodded her steel-gray head at the secretary, who left, and closed the door behind her.
"Not her," Emily said. "Dr. Addams."
She leaned back and pressed her hands together on her lap. "What's wrong, Professor Rainer?" she asked.
"What's wrong? Oh, what could possibly be wrong?" She leaned her hands onto the sleek and clean surface of the president's desk. "You know what's wrong. You've got to stop this. Get that woman out of here."
"Emily, please—"
"Look," she said, "I've been playing it your way. Watching the students, diverting attention from him, but it's getting out of hand. Do you have any idea what she is, and what she can do?"
"Stop it," President Johnston snapped. "Shut your mouth now."
Emily drew back and stood staring, eyes glittering sharply. The president regained her calm demeanor, her deeply lined face drawing itself into an expression of confident authority. "It's true that you've given good service up until now, and that will be remembered in your tenure process, in spite of your limited publications. But you must not be speaking of these matters to me or to anyone. Do you understand?"
"Do you know what she is?" Emily repeated. "And do you know what he's doing?"
"I know she's a qualified professor, and her presence is an important part of our progress in some crucial matters. There's nothing else I need to know."
Emily looked at her as if she was lower than a flea on a bloodsucker. "Never mind," she said. "I'll take care of it myself. She won't hang around long if she knows she's just a rat in your lab."
She turned on her heels and left, banging the door shut behind her. President Johnston picked up her telecom and punched in a code.
The face that appeared on the other side belonged to Matt Durk. "We've got trouble," Carol said. "Emily Rainer."
"Tell me," Durk said, and Carol did.
"She's buckling, Matt. I think he's doing something to her. Her eyes—they look like those other girls. It's something he does to them and he does too much of it."
He said only, "I'll report it."
She hesitated. "What will he do?"
Durk shrugged. "What he thinks is best."
"You don't have control over any of this anymore, do you?"
"I have what I need," Durk said.
"And your ass isn't hanging out naked over the line. How about getting me what I need?"
"Your funding source is secure."
President Johnston clucked at him petulantly. "I recommended against letting her know any of this in the first place. She was not my choice."
"She was the best choice because she's got the most at stake," Durk reminded her. "And she's been doing her part just fine—until lately. If you ask me, she's jealous."
"Jealous? Now, there's a sexist mind at work."
He shrugged. "I know what I'm talking about, and I know what I'm doing."
"I just wish," Carol said, "you'd let someone else in on the secret now and then."
Planetoid Three, Toronto Replica
Alex looked around the new equipment the Ivory Tower people had brought in and estimated its cost. Three new Teachers and another shuttle were his results. Between the Pentagon and the University, they were doing okay. He turned a tight grin toward Rich.
"Where do we start?" he asked.
"We'll do the standard interview then move on to some of the physiological stuff," he said.
"I'd bet the omega wave scan is first," Alex noted, running a finger across the smooth laminate of the lab table and enjoying the sensation.
"You got it," Rich agreed.
"So," Alex said, "what if I fail it?"
It was then Rich's turn to grin. "We'll probably kill you, and then ask for our money back. In that order."
"That's what I thought," Alex said.
The omega wave scan was the most accurate detector of lies that either the army or the criminal justice system possessed. It could spot a misplaced word within a sentence, if that word created a lie of the whole, based on a scan of the waves that the amygdala, organic keeper of fear, produced as the lie was told. He knew he'd have to take this test, and he knew he'd fail it utterly. It might, he thought, prove to be a problem.
When Rich returned to the Planetoid, they met for lunch and Alex told him he was looking to get out of Planetoid work and into something new. He'd gone on to express an interest in returning to the army. Rich looked at first shocked at Alex's knowledge, then relieved that he wasn't going to blow the whistle on him, then pleased that Alex was in.
"We'd make it worth your while, Alex," he said.
The army, he thought, always showed its appreciation. He'd grant them that.
"So let's start," he said to Rich. "Might as well, right?"
"Might as well."
Rich led Alex to a computer and called up the standard interview and life-history-information form, which Alex began to fill out. Rich said it would take him about half an hour to finish it, and then they'd start hooking up the machines. That didn't give him much time, especially since he wasn't sure what he was going to do.
"You hang around and watch?" Alex asked as he began keying in codes.
"That's my job," Rich admitted.
"Dull," Alex said.
"It shouldn't take too long."
Rich went to his desk and sat while Alex continued his task and tried to think through his next set of moves. He couldn't decide anything ahead of time, because he had no idea what the setup would be until he saw it. And now here he was. He assumed that Rich, who worked directly with a variety of psi areas, wouldn't be particularly susceptible to empathic tricks, and would probably spot any attempt pretty quickly. A convenient emergency phone call would be nice, but he had no way of arranging for that now.
He looked down and considered his hands. There was that. And, he supposed he could implant an empathic suggestion during unconsciousness. He sighed, stood, and stretched.
"Hey, Rich," he said, "got anything like coffee around? I had a late night."
Rich looked up from his desk and indicated the pot tucked in the corner behind him. "Help yourself."
"Thanks. I will."
Alex walked to the pot, poured into a mug, added sugar, and stirred.
"Sorry," Alex said. "Don't mean to bother you, but—milk?"
Rich straightened, turned toward him, and reached toward a small refrigerator unit under the pot.
"Perfect," Alex said, put out a hand, and grasped the appropriate nerve at the base of the skull. "Many people," he said as Rich's eyes rolled back, "prefer the nerve that runs through the shoulder, but this one that I'm utilizing has the advantage of a longer period of unconsciousness. In fact," he added as Rich went down, "it should last at least half an hour."
Alex propped his friend over his desk and went through his pockets for clearance keys. He found two. One for this room and another that was unlabeled. He let it rest in his hand, giving himself time to sense the relationship between it and the doors within this building. Giving himself time to see the web that wove itself around this item.
"All right," he said after a while. "I'll give that a shot. And one more thing."
He did something empaths are particularly warned against doing. He dove into Rich's memory banks, stole a bit of information, and exited. The entry code for the program he wanted. Later Rich would develop a fierce headache, but he'd recover, so Alex wasted no guilt on that.
He left the room and turned left, found a set of stairs, and took them up two flights. At the top of the stairs was a door, and the clearance key slid into it easily, with no click announcing that someone had arrived. Rich's office.
He made for the desk and went through the drawers until he found Rich's personal computer. Then he went to work. First he had to sh
ift the scanner's mix so it responded to his face and voice, since it was keyed only for Rich. Fortunately he'd spent enough years in the army to know how to adjust volume and visual codes for a temporary fix. Then he asked the computer for information on Peltier, who turned up listed as deactivated for at least twenty years.
Okay, he thought. That says something, anyway. He checked his time. Not too much of it, and he had many directions he could go in.
"Shit," he said. "Let's try the main problem."
He collated university and army to a third element. Jaguar.
The computer flashed at him. Information unavailable.
He typed in the code requesting reason for the unavailability, fully expecting to be told the information was classified. Code Blue if there was no current activity on her. Red if there was. He knew how to access both.
But the answer came: Unrecognized element. Jaguar Addams unrecognized.
Unrecognzied. Jaguar? The Pentagon had a file on her as thick as a brick. For her name to come up as unrecognized, she'd have to have been wiped out of their banks completely.
"That's not right," he mumbled. He ran the program again. Waited. It came up the same. And every move he tried to make gave him the same results.
As far as the system was concerned, she didn't exist. He stilled a moment of panic as the implications became clear.
"Shit. She's in Blackout code," he said. That was the Pentagon's deepest cover, for work that literally did not exist in any recorded fashion because it was too dangerous to record it.
He stilled a moment of inexplicable panic. She was right in the middle of an operation they weren't even running as far as any records would ever tell. And he couldn't break a Blackout code because there was nothing to break. No information available. She no longer existed, and that meant they could do anything they wanted to her.
He had to let her know.
He rose and exited without anyone taking note, made it back to the office, and regarded Rich's form. Before waking him, he went over to the files he was supposed to be filling out and made use of the send command.
The clerical staff might wonder at receiving a blank form, but it would take them a while to get to that point, and they'd never know it was his.
He returned to Rich, placing two fingers on his forehead. There might be more information here than in any computer, and aside from a headache, there's be no long-range harm done from scanning his mental files.
At the surface, he found meandering thoughts of lunch. A woman dressed in tight blue pants. A television show. He pressed in deeper, looking specifically for information on Jaguar.
Not much. Something about a fight with Durk. Matthew Durk. Alex knew about him. Durk wanted—what?
Don't think it's a good idea, sir. She's got a reputation for being difficult. I think our specialist bit off more than he can chew.
Then, a different presence. Different voice.
Leave it to me. You know nothing, and you'll continue to know nothing.
Alex pressed in deeper. Something here. Something.
Then, nothing. Like the information on the computer. Blackout. That same circling static that he found around Jaguar.
"What the hell?" he asked, and pulled his hand back, stared at it as if it had an answer for him. "Army got some new tricks?" he asked. No answer.
All right, then, he thought, keep it simple. He brought his fingers back to Rich's forehead and spoke into him.
You sure were tired, he said to the inside of Rich's brain. So tired. You really needed to lie back and recharge your batteries. It was a good idea. Now you feel so refreshed, and Alex is done with his work, so you can move on to the next step.
Good idea, that nap. Hope Alex didn't see it.
When Rich opened his eyes, Alex was sitting at his computer with his back turned. "Finished," he said, "and sent." He swiveled his chair around. "Now what?"
Rich rubbed his face, blinked twice, and stared at Alex, who sat kicking one leg against the leg of his chair.
"Oh. Done? That was quick—wasn't it?"
"I'm fast, Rich. You remember that about me."
"Right Omega test is next," Rich said, and pushed himself to standing.
Alex, knowing what was coming, allowed himself a very broad grin. It would take them twenty-four hours to get the results, and he would be laughing all that time, thinking of the expression on Rich's face when he discovered he'd been played for a fool.
HE SENT HIS THOUGHTS TOWARD THE ASHTRAY, and it flew across the room, shattering against the wall.
A pointless exercise, but it felt good.
It expressed some of what he was feeling, though what he really wished was that he could take the damn army fools who attacked her and fling them against this wall. Take them, and then send a few other people after. Emily Rainer, for one.
She seemed to be going over the edge in a determined way. He lifted his hands to the light and looked at them. Maybe he'd created some long-term damage in the delicate unbalance of her mind. Molecular dispersion could have subtle results that took a while to show. There was something about the glitter in her eyes, and something about a similar look in Katia's, that he didn't like. Maybe it was time for her to go away altogether. Maybe that would help send his cause forward, because things seemed to be stalled pretty effectively.
Dzarny wasn't moving, and he should be. What kept him? Durk's idiots were acting like—like idiots. Emily was losing all control. She was terrified just because some boy from the Planetoid showed up in her office wanting contacts. It meant nothing, he told her, but even if it did, didn't she realize how easily he could take care of it? But she was panicked.
And now Jaguar was walking in her power, dangerous and beautiful.
A shudder ran through him, starting at the lowest vertebral neural synapse and spreading outward, upward. He blinked hard and reached out a hand. Felt for the source of the energy, which seemed to swim in the air around her. Elusive. Unique. Beautiful and hers.
"She is walking in her power," he muttered to himself. "She is walking."
He could feel it, pulsing through his hand, but he couldn't touch it, couldn't wrap himself around it the way he wanted to. Patience, he reminded himself. Walk slow and walk soft. This is all new. If he moved slowly into understanding, the pleasure of that could all be his.
If she didn't eat him first.
In her power, she might be capable of that. It was so hard to find out what a chant-shaper could actually do. They were so rare, and kept themselves so hidden.
He would like to feel her living body dance with his. Perhaps he could sing to her. There were many songs he knew that might work. Or, he could simply explore her with his own art. Touch her in places she hadn't been touched.
She would bring him what he wanted even more than he wanted her. Though he had to admit that the more he knew her, the more his desire for her grew. The means had become an end in itself, and he anticipated a great deal of enjoyment in achieving his goal.
His hand, aching for her, dropped back down onto the table. He'd have to consider what to do about Emily first. And perhaps it would be best to remove the boy who came to see her. He had a few ideas about that already.
11
"SHIT," JAGUAR MUTTERED WITH FEELING as she simultaneously caught the toe of her brown suede boot on a loose piece of tile and let slip a pile of papers from her hand.
She stooped down to pull the heel from the floor and retrieve the papers, stood, and straightened herself. Did a visual scan of her clothing. She was having a hard time keeping track of her mundane self. Her clothes. Her work. Did the students notice she looked distracted? Did she have her sweater on inside out? Did she have her sweater on?
She knew she was walking at night, because she woke in the morning disheveled and exhausted. Or she came to in odd pockets of the tunnels that she didn't recognize. At a faculty meeting, she'd felt the energy surge that presaged the moment, and had to excuse herself quickly.
She'd gone t
o her office, laid her head on her desk, and waited to see if it would pass, or lead her on.
Whispers spoke in her, thick as night. The information accumulated during night walks translated itself slowly into waking words. She was gathering information, some of it available to her waking self, and some of it not.
Katia needed to be watched. There is a soul thief waiting nearby. Make no contact.
But that was all.
Her people were riding her hard. It left her confused and liable to fall and hurt herself. She straightened herself, took a step forward, then stopped.
Slow darkness moved through her, then was still.
The strident sound of an angry female voice was coming from one of the offices. She heard it with preternatural clarity, as if it was next to her left ear.
She concentrated, locating the sound two doors down, and walked carefully toward it, minding that her heels didn't click as she went.
Then she stood very still and listened.
"...chances are slim? How can you base anything on odds like that? I told you he's asking questions."
Both the office and the voice belonged to Emily Rainer.
"You might trust him, but I don't. And that girl's not stable."
Then a low rumbling male voice. She couldn't distinguish either the words or the person who spoke them. She moved closer, and found that it did no good. Emily's voice rang clear as a bell. The male voice was distorted, rumbling thunder that made no words.
"Let her go," Emily said, "That's what I suggest. You don't need her, even if you do want her—"
The male voice, interjecting.
She lifted a hand and put it out in front of her, trying to hear with her hand, then, just as quickly, she pulled her hand back and rubbed it.
No contact. Don't make any contact.
In her hand she felt a tingling, as if she had touched a humming wire, and nothing else. Somewhere on the other side of that door was someone who was using the arts, and setting up a cloaking that she had never encountered before.
The sound of Emily's laughter, and again her voice, this time quite loud. "I have nothing to lose by talking. Not anymore. You just remember that."
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