by Sharon Green
"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 the 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 fact 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 survival - 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."
"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 unusual 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 the tape is impressed on your mind it will act like a reference library, telling you how to deal with the people you meet. You'll know whether or not Bellna knows those people, 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 accomplish, and the tape 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 away from his eager expression. Telling myself that going home was the smarter move didn't help; I really wanted to work with Dameron's techniques and find out how they did. Against all that newness 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 minute, 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 commented, bringing my attention 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 said with a laugh, 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 back 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 yourself. 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 enemies 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 Dameron. "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 it 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.
"Women start out being attracted to Valdon, 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 commis
erated, 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 agreed, 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, then turned 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 said with a sigh, 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 Three
I awoke on the 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 before 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 through 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 sleep 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 out anything. 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 to touch 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 full-length 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 that the face you stared at wasn't your own and that it would take a while to get used to your new image?
My eyes found Bellna staring back at me, her face even more beautiful than the photo had shown it to be, her blue eyes sparkling with life and an impish delight, her bright red hair falling in thick cascades around her face and shoulders. My face and shoulders. I shook my head, trying to break away from the sense of unreality, finding myself even more confused when the image in the mirror did the same.
Okay, let's bring this back down to earth, I told myself firmly, straightening myself and the mirror image at the same time. That's what you look like now, and you'd better get used to it. Have you ever seen a complexion that flawless? Such perfectly arched eyebrows? Such real, true beauty? You know you haven't, and now it's yours; how about getting started on using it?
I let a smile come through and th
e mirror face glowed with warmth and invitation, so softly sensual that the smile suddenly disappeared and the wide blue eyes widened even farther. A smile on that face was a devastating weapon, one I'd be smart to take it easy with. I didn't want to spend my time on Tildor fighting off rape attempts, especially since Bellna's face went so well with my body and hers.
The girl and I were almost equally well-endowed, the only major changes intended having been to lighten my skin to a red-head's shade, and change all of my bodily hair to match hers. Luckily, Bellna was a big girl, only about two inches less than my own height, which meant it hadn't been necessary to shorten me. The clinicians had discussed the point at some length, and practical considerations had dictated their final decision.
My reflexes and sense of balance were adjusted to my body as it was; shortening me would throw off that adjustment, possibly fatally if I couldn't readjust before I had to defend myself from serious attack. It would be a lot simpler to put me in flat-heeled boots rather than the high-heeled ones Bellna wore, thereby adjusting the height difference painlessly.
I moved my body slowly in the mirror, glad it was more recognizable than my face even if it was covered by that ridiculous bodysuit. The pink of it went terribly with my hair, and I saw my new face frown as the thought came that the thing was much too revealing and immodest. Whoever had put me in it should have been whipped for the insult, to do such a thing to someone such as I! How dare they treat me so, as though I were a peasant girl or a slave! Who would dare!
"What's the matter, don't you like it?" a voice came suddenly from behind me, and I whirled around while blinking back clouds of highly incensed anger. Valdon stood just inside the door to the corridor, still too close to let it slide closed again behind him. He'd come in with no more announcement than I ever got, and I was tired of the intrusion.