He was holding one of the newer Ayoka rifles, a variant on the standard-issue one. Abeje knew that variant was in development, but didn't think it was finished yet. Since Abeje was still unarmed, she didn't attack yet. She remembered her training: The only way an unknown foe becomes a known one is by gathering information.
"How does being operated on without your consent and then being rendered comatose in a tube make you 'free,' exactly?"
The man had a deep, throaty laugh—and, maddeningly, it just made him feel more familiar. "Here we go. 'The only way an unknown foe becomes a known foe is to be gatherin' intel.' You think I don't remember Hembadoon's little sayings, sweets? Don't worry, you'll know everything you need to once we reach Olokun Station."
"I told you not to call me sweets, buruku."
He moved briskly toward Abeje, and she immediately tensed. "I'm being rude. I keep forgetting that you don't remember me. Name's Oranmiyan." He extended his right hand, just as Abeje dove into a shoulder roll, and came up kicking at Oranmiyan's chest—
—or, rather, where Oranmiyan's chest had been when she started the roll. Oranmiyan had stepped aside and then wrapped one massive arm around Abeje's left leg, arresting her upward motion. She had intended to use the momentum from the kick to get back to her feet, but with the grab that wouldn't happen, and her head collided with the deck. The skull-jarring impact caused even more spots in her eyes than turning on the lights had.
"That was always your favorite trick during training, sweets. Face it, you are not going to surprise me. It'll all make sense once we get to Olokun. Then you'll be free."
"You keep saying that!" Abeje said from the floor. Oranmiyan was still gripping her leg, and she couldn't twist out of his grip. "I'm perfectly free right now, thanks."
Oranmiyan barked a laugh. "Doing whatever Isembi tells you to do, that's your idea of free? Not hardly, sweets. You're just a program that the Hegemony's writing. But with Shango-oti, you'll be free of that."
Abeje frowned wondering what a drink of Shango—one of the old gods, and also the name of what was now the third planet, the gas giant around which Oshun and Oya orbited—would be like.
Having apparently read her thoughts, Oranmiyan grinned. "You'll see."
He let go of her leg. As soon as he did, she flipped over backwards, rolling on her right shoulder and into a ready position.
She barely saw Oranmiyan's massive fist heading for her face.
Abeje struggled to rise to her feet. So prepared had she been for another psionic attack that the sheer brutality of a punch to the face had caught her completely off guard.
Her head swam worse than it had when she woke from her nightmares and whatever drugs Oranmiyan had pumped into her fogged her.
She put one palm flat on the deck, hoping that it would gain her enough purchase to push herself to her feet.
Oranmiyan was getting closer to her. Abeje braced herself for another punch.
Instead, she felt the prick of a needle in her arm.
Oh, mogbe, not again.
The room started to swirl about, Oranmiyan's features growing indistinct, the tubes against the bulkhead twisting and becoming malformed, and darkness overwhelming everything...
...and she found herself walking down a corridor that was intimately familiar to her even though she'd never seen it before...
...and then she was sitting in a dining hall. Oranmiyan was there, with shorter hair and no goatee, but it was definitely him, and there was an Orisha there in his white robes and two others, a boy and a girl, and they were laughing with each other...
...and then she was back in the corridor, and a door slid open...
...and then she and the others from the dining hall were in an open field being shot at...
...and then she entered the door and there was Oranmiyan lying in a bunk and she came to him and they kissed...
FOUR
L'owuro
Folami stared at the man in the L'owuro infirmary and tried to figure out why she knew who he was.
She'd come across a few Orisha in her time. Orisha were the ones who found and trained potential Ori-Inu, but they didn't interact with them much after that training was complete, so she hadn't met all that many.
Hembadoon was not one of them.
Doctor Modupe was running a scan on him. Folami noted that Hembadoon was still wearing the white robes of his station. That surprised her at first, that Modupe had left it on, but then she recalled that Orisha robes, like Ori-Inu body armor, came with built-in first aid. Also, Orisha were high-level agents of the Hegemony. These were not people that a mere shipboard medic could disrobe with impunity.
"How is he, Doctor?"
Modupe almost leapt a meter into the air. "Orioda, you scared me, Folami!"
"Sorry," she lied. "I just wanted to know how he was doing."
"Physically, he should be okay. His toga, or whatever it is, kept him from dying, and I was able to stitch up the rest of it. About an hour ago, he woke up, and he's all nice and coherent, but I had to sedate him again to keep him from leaping out of bed—the man needs to heal, not gad about like a madman. He's going to need a week of physical therapy, but that's not the problem." Modupe shoved a reader in her face.
Folami took it, even though it was full of colored indicators that didn't actually mean anything to her.
"See that?" Modupe inexplicably expected her to recognize something in particular.
"Doctor, I—"
He snatched it back quickly. "According to every scan L'owuro knows how to make, Orisha Hembadoon's telepathy is at fourth level."
Folami nodded. Fifth-level was the cutoff for telepaths. Second through fourth levels often came with some kind of sensitivity to psionics, which was a handy skill for an Orisha, and indeed most were in that range. Most humans, of course, were first-level, which meant no psionic ability or sensitivity whatsoever.
Then Modupe dropped the other glove. "I checked Hembadoon's file—he's a third-level. Has been all his life."
That brought Folami up short. "Seriously?"
"Yes!" Modupe's voice cracked. "This is completely insane! Telepathy level doesn't change!"
"Maybe his original reading was wrong?" Even as Folami said it, she didn't sound convinced.
Modupe was quite convinced, though, as he got even shriller. "He was tested before he joined the Orisha, again after he completed his training, and again during his last physical, and every time, third-level!" Then he whirled on Folami. "Hold still a second, will you?" Modupe rummaged around one of the drawers set into the bulkhead of the infirmary.
As he did so, Folami looked down at Hembadoon. Modupe had gotten rid of the blood and healed the burns on the Orisha's face. She definitely knew his face quite well, even though she'd never seen him before today. She recognized his brown eyes, his rounded face, that odd shape to his nose…
What is going on here?
"Here."
Turning around, Folami saw Modupe holding out two small squares, which she recognized as a pair of field telepathy index readers. Even as Folami took one square from the doctor, Modupe put the other on Hembadoon's sleeping forehead. Folami did likewise with hers; it adhered to her flesh instantly.
Modupe then entered a command into his handheld unit, and Folami felt a dozen or so tiny needles prick through her skin and hit the bone of her skull. His brow furrowed, the doctor scratched the thatch of hair on his left cheek while he waited.
After a second, the needles retracted. Even though Folami didn't reach for it, Modupe yelled, "Don't take it off, yet! It needs to stop the bleedi—"
"This isn't my first time using one of these," Folami said testily. "Well?"
"See for yourself." Modupe held up the unit display-out. Dark blue on a pale blue background provided the following: subject 1: 4. subject 2: 10.
"Assuming I was subject two," Folami said dryly, "it's accurate."
"Of course you were! I just don't understand it!"
Folami, however, was
having thoughts in that direction.
Before she could articulate them, the intercom sounded. "Ori-Inu, report to War Chief Tobi's cabin immediately."
Now she took the square off her forehead. The pinprick wounds in her head had healed over, and the blood wiped away (even minor head wounds bled profusely). Dropping it on the nearest table, she headed for the exit, ignoring Modupe's complaining about how she could have just handed it to him.
I'm starting to understand why nobody likes him.
She sauntered through the corridors of L'owuro. Everyone avoided getting too close to her, some going so far as to push themselves against the bulkheads.
Filthy buruku, (I bet it'd) I can't believe they let (be great with her.) her just walk (She's probably) the corridors (reading my mind) like that. I'm glad she's here, (right now!!!!) but does she (I hope) have to be (they have the) such a beautiful (meat loaf tonight.) girl? I (I love) don't want (the meat) a protector (loaf) I want (with bacon) to fuck.
It was the curse of being tenth-level. She didn't pry—even if it was legal, just the thought of it made her almost break out in hives—but she couldn't keep out the obvious strong emotional thoughts. The cavalry and support staff who walked the corridors of L'owuro right now had very emotional thoughts, and the only ones that weren't negative thoughts directed at her came from the one—one of the cavalry chiefs—with the meat-loaf-and-bacon fetish.
Turning a corridor led her to the cul-de-sac which ended with the war chief's cabin. Before even approaching the door, she sensed two minds inside, one of which was scared witless.
Definitely not Tobi, Folami thought with a smile. The war chief didn't do fear. Folami figured that would lead him to do something spectacularly stupid in the field one day. Tobi was generally good enough that his inability to let fear temper his reactions didn't matter all that much. But Folami figured it was only a matter of time.
I just have to hope he's got a different Ori-Inu assigned to him when it does happen.
The steel door to the cabin slid aside at her approach, which meant that the war chief had programmed the door to recognize her and let her in, something he'd never done before.
Tobi kept his desk facing the front door from a distance of only a couple of meters, so his face was the first thing you saw when you came into his cabin. Right now that face was scowling. He was in his dress uniform, which was also unusual, and might have been the reason for the scowl, since Tobi probably would have chosen to again go out in a dashiki with nothing under it than his dress reds.
The war chief sat behind his desk, his massive form framed by the dozens of weapons that hung on the wall behind him. Folami recognized all of them, various models by Ayoka and Bayo, as well as a few by Oledele, even though his designs weren't favored much these days.
Very little was on the desk itself: a standard terminal, two data readers, and nothing else.
The source of the fear she had felt outside was the young cavalryman standing next to Tobi. Based on Folami's surface read, the young man had never been summoned to Tobi's presence before, and he probably would have lived a much happier life if he'd gone through it without that particular experience. The cavalryman's hairline was receding, and his high forehead was glistening with sweat. His hands were clasped tensely behind his back in a largely futile attempt to hide his nervousness.
"Reporting as ordered," Folami said with a salute. Since they were outside the military rank structure—or above it, depending on who one asked—Ori-Inu weren't required to salute anyone, but Folami always did so anyhow.
If Tobi appreciated it, he had yet to show it. He simply returned the salute and said, "Cavalryman, report to the Ori-Inu."
The junior officer swallowed audibly. "Uhm, well, we completed the atmospheric analysis on the battle site. There was, ah, some kind of—of, well, gas that was released in the initial explosion that—that the computer didn't, uh, didn't recognize. Entirely."
Folami frowned. "That was a Kaduna refinery, wasn't it?"
"Yes, ma'am. And I, ah, I checked the scans against everything Kaduna has on—on record. Unfortunately, whatever this stuff is, it disperses pretty, uh—well, pretty quickly. From the time you and Rufiji hit dirt to when you did that thing with the Eso, the concentration went down from—from eighty parts per million to two parts per trillion. We don't even have a proper—proper sample. We re-ran the scans four times to be—to be sure, but the results were the same every time."
Tobi stared at Folami the entire time that the cavalryman spoke with what the war chief had probably hoped was a penetrating stare. It had yet to faze Folami.
"Thank you, Cavalryman, that'll be all."
"Thank you, sir." He practically ran past Folami to the door. A first-level could have detected his relief at being excused.
As soon as the door slid shut, Tobi activated the holoviewer on his desk, which then provided an image of Orisha Hembadoon, along with the abstract from a classified file. "This," the war chief said, "is your Orisha buddy's mission. He was investigating Ori-Inu who've been disappearing."
Folami's eyes widened. "I'm sorry?"
"Not only that, but it's a level-seven mission straight from the Oba."
Smiling, Folami said, "I was wondering why you were wearing the first-class uni."
"Yeah." In one drawn-out syllable, Tobi managed to pack a great deal of disdain for Oba Isembi's protocol that all line officers report to him in dress uniforms when practical. "That's why you're here. We need to report to Oba Isembi. As soon as the flight deck has the signal, they'll let us know."
Tobi rose to his feet, then, and moved toward the sideboard that was under the collection of weapons. He snatched a thick-bottomed glass from the lower shelf and poured an amber liquid from an etched glass carafe. Then the war chief turned to scowl at Folami, and she could read that thought loud and clear: Go ahead, buruku, wait for me to offer you a drink.
"War Chief," Folami said with a sigh, "if you want to intimidate me, I have a suggestion: make your skin chitinous, replace your hands and feet with claws, and take your orders from Oyo rebels. Otherwise, you're just wasting your energy."
Tobi had poured himself a sour mash from back home on Ife, and he slugged it down before responding. "Why would I try to intimidate you? That would be like trying to intimidate this glass of booze—or my pistol. You're just another tool, Ori-Inu. I'm thinking you need some help reading people. You're getting intimidation mixed up with contempt."
Folami's retort was interrupted by the voice of the Eji-shift communications officer. "Flight deck to War Chief Tobi."
Sitting back down at his desk, Tobi touched a control on his terminal. "Tobi."
"Oba Isembi is ready for his audience with you, War Chief."
Tobi, based on both his expression and surface thoughts, didn't think much of the protocol that forced the officer to refer to a communication from Ife in such a manner, either.
"Put him through, Cavalryman."
"Aye, sir."
The image projected by the holoviewer on the desk changed from that of Hembadoon to that of the Hegemony's monarch. Folami had long admired the man, and even met him a few times, and she never failed to be impressed by his presence. She often wondered how it was that Tobi managed to convince people to follow him into battle, but such questions had never occurred to her regarding the Oba.
Without preamble, Isembi asked, "Where's Orisha Hembadoon?"
"Still unconscious, my Oba," Folami said, her head inclined slightly out of respect.
"However," Tobi said, "the last report he filed on his ship indicated he was going to talk to someone named Kosoko, who was the last person the Ori-Inu he was looking for was seen talking to. The dead body we found nearest to the Orisha was identified as having that same name."
Isembi gritted his teeth. "I assume, War Chief, that you've read the Orisha's mission profile?"
"Just now, my Oba."
"Good, because as of now, you're attached to it. Folami, so are you. Until t
he Orisha regains consciousness, you are to take over his investigation. I want to find out where my Ori-Inu have gone."
"Sir, there's more," Folami said before Tobi could speak. She hadn't intended to overwrite him like that, but it was done. "The explosion that injured Orisha Hembadoon—and killed Kosoko, for that matter—released a gas into the atmosphere. The L'owuro lab couldn't identify it."
"What kind of— No, you said that your lab couldn't identify it."
"We do know that the gas has some kind of effect on telepathic ability, my Oba. According to the ship's doctor, Orisha Hembadoon's psionic level has gone up a full level."
Isembi's thick eyebrows raised at that. "Really?"
Folami nodded. "It also—I think it might have affected me as well."
"In what way?"
"Weird flashes of—of things I don't remember." The next sentence came out of Folami's mouth practically unbidden. "Probably hallucinations of some kind."
She managed to control her reaction to her own words. But she also lied to the Oba. For some reason, she thought it was critically important that Oba Isembi not know that she was regaining old memories. She knew that she'd been mindwiped upon completion of her training. She was permitted to remember that training, but not anything else that came before. Ori-Inu did the job better if they were unencumbered by their previous lives.
Folami was morally certain that the flashes she'd gotten in the field were from that erased past. If it came to that, that was probably how she knew Orisha Hembadoon—as like as not, he was the one who recruited and trained her.
So why don't I want Oba Isembi to know about it?
She shoved the question into the back of her mind, and finished her report. "The gas doesn't match anything currently being produced by the Kaduna facilities, nor is it a naturally occurring gas."
"I want to know what this gas is. I've already diverted all the Ori-Inu within a day's travel of Oshun to you—Folami, I hereby appoint you to be the senior in the field. Full interrogation methods are authorized."
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