Whatever she lay on was thick and comfortable. Her arms lay by her sides. No bonds. And this was not a space ship, with its sterile, recycled atmosphere. The air smelled of some fragrance she didn’t know and it had more than a hint of moisture. She risked opening her eyes the merest crack. The ceiling soared above her head, ornate and decorated in vibrant colors with paintings of animals she’d never seen.
Half-formed memories jostled. Where was she? How was she brought here? And why? Well, that last question was the easy one, wasn’t it? Everybody wanted the Supertech, the bio-engineered alien who could work magic with their computer systems.
Blinking, Morgan sat up and swung her legs out of the bed, willing the woolly feeling between her ears to go away. Her body felt leaden, uncoordinated and her mouth felt like the bottom of a bog. A glass stood on the table by the bed. Water? Or some sort of drug? She picked it up and sniffed.
The door opened.
Her hand jerked. The liquid sloshed over the gown she wore, one of those shapeless, hospital shift things.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” The woman took a tentative step toward the bed. “How are you feeling?”
“Abused. Mistreated,” Morgan said. “Where am I, who are you and why have I been abducted?” She wished the words had been delivered with the force of the thoughts behind them but her voice sounded weak and raspy, even to her own ears.
“I’m a nurse, Suri.” The woman gestured at the glass. “The water will help.”
A nurse, thought Morgan, sipping tentatively. She looked like a nurse, smart in a dark green uniform, black hair tied back, yellow eyes concerned and caring. The woman leaned over her, some sort of device in her hand. Morgan pushed her away.
“It’s just a monitor. To collect your vital signs,” the nurse said, straightening up. “See?” She held out a slim metal rod with a flat disc on one end.
Morgan relaxed and allowed the nurse to press the disc on her neck while she scanned the room for data ports or sensors. Nothing. Well, you wouldn’t count the movement sensor that must have alerted the woman. Or the surveillance camera. This place must be old. It was certainly old-fashioned. Or maybe all manesan houses were like this one. The door had a handle, one of those push-down things she’d seen in historical dramas and the surveillance camera was obvious, fitted to a bracket high on the wall. She felt a prick to her neck and flinched.
“Just a pinprick to collect a blood sample.”
And insert a probe. Morgan felt the thing with her mind, the same sort of device they’d injected into her and Jones when they were interviewed on Vidhvansaka, to monitor their emotional response.
“Much better.” The nurse took the monitor away and let it dangle on a cord around her neck as she jotted notes on a data pad.
“How long have I been here?”
“Here? Three days.”
Three days. The last real thing Morgan recalled was the furious clouds of debris in downtown Electra, hands gripping, a close-up of the stone paving as it raced toward her face. And then fragments, snippets. An unfamiliar face, a jab in the neck, the soft rumble of a spaceship. Illness, a splitting headache, the acid stench of vomit. She’d been brought here, so three days plus the journey.
“Are you hungry?” the nurse asked.
“I’m hungry and I feel grubby. I bet I stink. Where’s the shower?” Steadying herself with her hands, Morgan pushed her feet into the carpet.
“Through there,” the woman said, jerking her head at a door. “Here, let me help you.”
“I’ll be fine.” Morgan’s legs trembled as she fought for balance.
A firm hand grasped her elbow. “Come on, I’ll help you. You’ll regain your strength quickly, now.”
Slowly, carefully, the nurse led Morgan to the washroom, helped her to undress, assisted her into the shower.
“I was drugged, wasn’t I?” Morgan asked as the blessed warm water flowed over her body.
“Yes.”
“And they overdid it?”
“Yes.” The slightest hint of a frown wrinkled the nurse’s brow.
She managed to walk back to the bed unaided and sat on the edge of the mattress while the woman pulled pants, a shirt, underwear, all in shades of blue, from the wardrobe and placed the garments in a pile beside her.
“I’ll bring you some food.” She closed the door behind her.
Morgan dressed. The clothes fit much better than those she’d been given on the warship. Tighter, less like a sack. That was an improvement.
Barefoot, she padded across the carpet and tried the door handle. It opened. But her surge of hope drained when she stepped into an over-furnished sitting room. A view screen hung on one wall; all the others were hung with pictures; landscapes and still-lifes in elaborate frames. The place was so ornate. Quite different from the elegant, simple furnishings in her state room on the ship.
Deep red drapes tied back with elaborate ropes hung on each side of a window over the top of a semi-transparent curtain. She peered down into a courtyard filled with potted plants. So this room was on the second floor. Beyond a high stone wall she glimpsed forest, serried ranks of red-green marching up into misty, blue-swathed hills, and beyond them snow-capped mountains.
For good measure, Morgan tried the door in the wall opposite the window. The handle went down, but the door didn’t budge. She was a prisoner. What a surprise. She settled onto one of the surprisingly comfortable chairs. The nurse would be back soon with food. Perhaps she could at least get a glimpse at whatever was on the other side of the door.
Where was she? She still didn’t know. This had to be Bunyada. What else could it possibly be? Ravindra would be furious. He would be searching for her, for sure. She was too valuable to his fleet for him not to be. He might even miss her a little. She felt a pang of contrition. She wouldn’t like to be in Hanestran’s shoes when the admiral heard the news of her disappearance.
A click, the handle went down and the door opened inwards. The nurse stood in the doorway with a tray. Behind her in a carpeted corridor loomed a figure in uniform. Not big enough to be a military Shuba trooper, but he carried a weapon on his belt. The nurse stepped inside and the guard shut the door.
“You’re looking better already,” the nurse said as she set the tray on the low table.
The smell of fresh-brewed charb filled the room. The nurse poured a cup for her and departed, leaving Morgan to select from a plate-full of small pastries, appetizing tidbits for a jaded palate. She ate hungrily. Must have been a while since she’d last eaten.
She was sipping on her second cup of charb when the door opened again. This time, her visitor was a man. Green pants, highly-polished knee-high boots, green and gold brocade jacket, blond hair hanging around his shoulders.
She leapt to her feet. “Jones.”
He beamed at her. “Hello, Selwood. Welcome to Krystor.”
She sagged back down into the chair. Dammit, her legs wouldn’t support her yet.
Jones took a step forward, hand out. “Are you okay?”
“As well as could be expected. I was drugged, you know.”
“Ah. They said you reacted rather badly. I’m sorry. We didn’t mean you any harm. In fact, we want your cooperation.” He sat in a chair opposite her and thrust out his legs.
“By ‘we’ I guess you mean Bunyada. If you wanted my cooperation, why not just ask me?”
“We couldn’t, could we? The way you were embedded with the military.”
Embedded. If he only knew. “Look, Jones, I’ve got to get back. Bunyada is one thing. This Yogina menace is something else again.”
He waved an airy hand. “No, no. None of that’s true. It’s a plot by the military to distract people.”
Lace danced at his cuffs. Lace. Good grief. He’d fitted right into this costume party. “No, it’s not. You’ve seen the ships.”
“They’re Mirka experimental craft.”
“Are they? What about the ones they blew away? Hiding the evide
nce?”
His face became grim. “I’ve listened to both sides of this. You haven’t. Believe me, the Mirka are manipulating everybody, using scare tactics to retain power. The Bunyada people showed me data they’d collected from the warship. And from the military headquarters. Those ships we encountered are a new form of fighter they’re developing, and the Yogina business is just a scare campaign, to keep everyone beholden to the military.”
“Oh yes. Remember the ship that put down a cable? Took us in tow?”
“Yes, but then it let go. It malfunctioned so it was destroyed.”
“I’ve seen the body of one of the pilots, Jones. They’re not manesa. And they’re not human. They look like horrible, ugly, malformed children.”
He pressed his hands into the armrests and leaned toward her. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe that’s what it was? An ugly, malformed child’s body? Designed to fool you?”
He couldn’t really believe this spiel, could he? “These things flattened a planet. I saw the evidence.”
He flicked a contemptuous hand. “You of all people know how easy it is to doctor evidence. Besides, this is exactly what we wanted when we tried to escape the first time. Get somewhere else, off that ship, make a different life for ourselves. Well, that’s happened. Here you are. They’ll pay you handsomely for anything you turn your mind to.” He laughed at his own joke.
Something about him had changed. He wasn’t listening, wasn’t prepared to believe anything else. Had he been drugged? Brainwashed? Somehow, she didn’t think so. He’d cast his lot with the Vesha.
“You can really do something to help these folk.” He stood and started to pace, the high boots gleaming. “The people here want to throw off the Mirka yoke and rule for themselves. The Governor is a despot, a tyrant who permits no opposition. People are suppressed. It’s wrong. The Mirka have no pre-ordained right to rule. All manesa come from the same stock.”
A speech. Somebody had a hand up his back. Still, in a way he was right. This was their original plan, all those weeks ago on Vidhvansaka. Get somewhere else, make a different life for themselves. Might as well listen. The only other option right now was Ravindra and that was too uncomfortable to contemplate. Besides, what if Jones was right about the military cover-up? She’d seen more than enough of that sort of thing back home, working for Makasa. Maybe she’d been fed an elaborate lie.
“Whatever. What is this place? This house? And look at you, all dressed up with nowhere to go.”
He dropped into a chair and threw one leg over the other. “This is how they dress here. The gentry, that is. And I’m one of them. You will be, too. This house belongs to one of the local Lords, Akbar Devagnam. Nice, isn’t it?”
How the gentry dressed; which meant it wasn’t how the ordinary people lived.
“A bit over-the-top for my taste. So you’ve fitted yourself into the Vesha hierarchy, have you?” Like he had with Sayvu. Well, good luck to him.
“Yes, I have. And you will, too.”
“You keep saying that.”
“All they want to do is rule themselves. Where’s the harm in that?”
“No harm. Just—I don’t give a shit. I don’t want to be part of anybody’s revolution.” She could bet it wasn’t going to involve the workers who enabled the upper classes to live like this. One rule for the rich, another for the poor. That was what Ravindra had said when he mentioned the ‘Vesha Princes’.
It would keep her away from Ravindra, though, and that had to be good; didn’t it? She could help him with the Yogina later. But at a distance, not trapped in a battle cruiser where she was just a distraction to him for as long as he could be bothered with her. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad thing. Really, why should she care? Perhaps she should be thinking about number one here.
“So exactly what do these people want from me, Jones?”
He leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head. “It’s not for me to say. They’ll tell you tomorrow.”
****
“Asbarthi, sit down, sit down.” Hai Sur Akbar Devagnam perched on the edge of his chair while Asbarthi settled himself in another. “Well? What do you think?”
Asbarthi glanced over Hai Sur Akbar’s shoulder to the tall young woman leaning, arms folded, against the wall beside the open doors to the patio. Lakshmi wasn’t happy. But then Lakshmi was often unhappy. He turned his attention back to her father.
“Jones says she’s tired but receptive. We just need to show her the evidence. You’ll meet her tomorrow. She’s resting, still recovering from the drugs.” He scowled at the memory. “Idiots. Over-zealous fools. They gave her too much. If she’d died . . .” They would have been begging for mercy before he killed them.
“I’d heard she was ill,” Hai Sur Akbar said. “What actually happened?”
“We were lucky. She went down to Electra with one of the teams and some of our people followed her. It seems a building collapsed at just the right time and they were able to steal her away. But then they filled her with sedatives. Stupid.”
Lakshmi tossed her head. Her elaborate earrings tinkled against her neck. “I still don’t see what you want her for. A woman who is part machine? You’re just believing what Jones tells you.”
Such a willful girl. Never mind, he could tame her when they were married. “Oh, a little more than that. It would seem Ravindra himself became involved. She spent most of her time with the technical teams but he put her into a state room on his flagship. Close to him. He would not do that without reason.”
“Huh. Maybe he lusts after her? He has a reputation with the women—and for being eccentric. They say he has a tattoo.” Her lips curled in distaste. “Imagine. A Darya with a tattoo. Maybe that’s why they’ve relegated him out to the Union’s back-blocks.”
Asbarthi chuckled. “You’ll have a chance to check that tattoo for yourself soon enough, Lakshmi. If the woman can do what Jones says she can, and we recruit her talents to our cause, Krystor will be just the beginning. The fleet will be unable to stand in our way.”
He stood, his fist clenched. Yes, just the beginning. He could be a king, an emperor ruling over a multitude of planets.
Had the floor moved? Asbarthi’s fingers gripped the arms of the chair he’d been sitting in, a brief rattle of ornaments still ringing in his ears. Lakshmi spun around and leapt through the doorway onto the patio.
Akbar rose to his feet, initial alarm fading to a smile. “Just a tremor.” He stepped out to join his daughter.
Asbarthi followed him, gazing over cultivated lands and forests to the snow-capped peaks, currently obscured in cloud. Much as he liked Krystor, he wouldn’t want to live here, always in the shadow of the next adjustment of the geology. “Strange that constantly snow-covered mountains can belch fire.”
“Oh, it’s not so bad. We haven’t had a major quake in decades. And the buildings can easily withstand these minor shakes.” Akbar turned and leaned against the stone balustrade. “Just one thing, Sitivan. I trust you will not allow your personal vendetta with Ravindra to interfere with the greater need? We really do not want the Fleet to intervene.”
Asbarthi met the other man’s eyes for just a moment. “Ravindra’s fleet has a brief scheduled stopover, that is all. He cannot intervene in planetary politics unless expressly invited by the local Government. And that, of course, will not happen. Hai Sur Sayvu is waiting on my call to join us. Ravindra will pay for the death of Sayvu’s daughter. And my son.”
Chapter Nineteen
It was, indeed, a magnificent hotel. Someone had managed to restrain the Vesha owners so that instead of the usual mismatched riot of color, the foyer almost merged into the forest. Beautiful murals in greens and browns adorned the walls and a fountain tinkled in the center of a tiled floor under a high, domed ceiling. Potted plants added to the illusion of a forest.
“Beautiful, Governor. I’m sure my officers will be more than comfortable,” Ravindra said.
“Yes. It’s a lovely spot. I’ve been he
re in happier times, walking the trails, admiring the waterfalls.” Fohrai sighed. “Maybe another time.” He summoned a waiter moving through the small crowd of officers and officials. “A drink?”
Ravindra took a silver-stemmed glass from a golden tray that glowed in the soft lighting. Selwood. His head filled with the scent of her, the feel of her skin, her body against his. Perhaps he could have brought her with him. No. He’d be back at the ship in a couple of hours at most.
His adjutant appeared suddenly at his elbow. “My apologies, Admiral. Senior Commander Prasad wishes to speak with you urgently.”
Ravindra handed his glass to Lindar and afforded the Governor a bow. “Forgive me, Governor.”
“Of course.”
He strode to the main entrance where Prasad waited just outside, his face expressionless. Hanestran was with him; he looked nervous, swaying slightly from foot to foot. Odd. Then again, maybe they’d found something important to nail down whoever had done this. He exchanged bows with the officers.
Prasad cleared his throat. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Srimana.” A moment’s hesitation. “Admiral, Suri Selwood is missing.”
Ice trickled down Ravindra’s spine. “What do you mean, she’s missing?”
Prasad stiffened even more. “We don’t know where she is, Srimana.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “She went down to Electra with Hanestran’s survey team.”
Ravindra swung around to Hanestran, anger simmering. “You took her down to the planet? On whose authority?”
Heads turned and just as quickly turned away. The fountain murmured in the background.
Hanestran worked moisture into his lips with his tongue. “She asked to come, Srimana. She said she’d asked you, that you’d approved.”
Asked. Asked to come. The anger blazed in Ravindra’s gut. He leaned toward the officer. “And you didn’t check?”
Hanestran’s mouth tightened, acknowledging Ravindra’s rebuke. “You had already left, Srimana. And I trusted her.”
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