Minder Rising: Central Galactic Concordance Book 2

by Carol Van Natta

  “Yes,” agreed Lièrén. There had been no vague haze of discord behind their words that would have meant they hadn’t believed what they were saying.

  Rayle pulled out a tray and set it on the prep counter. “We’re lucky we’re not on a frontier planet. I’ve heard it’s a lot worse. No CPS or laws to protect us outside the Concordance.”

  Imara snorted. “No laws to protect us in the Concordance, either. The Minder Rights law didn’t make it out of review. Again.” She filled the tray with a mix of liquids and chems and sent Rayle off with it to the large booth near the entryway that led to the hotel lobby. “Luckily, the bill about making it illegal to deliberately fail minder testing died. How the hell would they prove that? And who would they detain—the parents or the kid?”

  Imara leaned her hip against the counter near Lièrén and glanced toward her son. Lièrén followed her gaze. The boy was still working on the portable comp, but his body language no longer exuded resentment.

  “Thank Neptune those children left,” said Imara, reaching for her half-empty glass of kelasa. “If they’d had a kitten or a ferret with them, I’d have had to zip-tie him to the chair.”

  “He’s a good kid. Better than I was at his age. I was rather… indulged.” He twitched a smile at her.

  She laughed. “Spoiled, huh?”

  He shrugged and smiled. “I was my parents’ last and much younger child. My first year at the Academy was… an eye-opening experience.”

  “We all have to grow up sometime. I loved my husband dearly, but I let him keep me in a cocoon. When he died, it was either go back to Marmar Coklat or learn to stand on my own two feet so Derrit could have opportunities.” Lièrén knew from previous conversations that she had no family on Con Prime, and he couldn’t imagine being a single parent in a city like Spires. He admired her courage.

  A new customer slid onto one of the empty barstools, and Imara went to serve him. Lièrén’s attention was caught by the music, a three-four beat and a tune that sounded familiar, but he couldn’t think why until Rayle waltzed into view. “Come show Imara what you learned today in dance class!” He grabbed Lièrén’s hand to pull him off the stool. Lièrén gently removed his hand from Rayle’s and sat back down.

  “No, thank you. I still haven’t recovered.” He flexed his ankles to relieve the tightness in his sore calves. He’d be lucky if he could walk tomorrow.

  “Oh, you’re no fun. Imara, come, my dearest darling, and show Lièrén how easy it is.” She laughed as he pulled her from behind the bar and into his arms for a dozen steps before she gracefully spun out of his arms and back to the safety of the bar. Lièrén felt a wave of longing and sting of envy at Rayle for his comfortable closeness with Imara, but he squelched it. Lièrén would be gone soon, and he didn’t want to be a bad memory for her.

  Rayle continued the waltz by himself, holding his arms up for an imaginary partner. “So, Agent Sòng, are you now medically cleared for sex?”

  Lièrén only just managed to stop from rolling his eyes. Damn the man. “Yes, Server Leviso. Perhaps you could re-broadcast to the general public your concern about my private health. I’m not sure the people in the lobby heard you.” He released containment of his irritation for a moment, trusting Rayle’s empathic talent would notice.

  If Rayle caught it, he was unrepentant. “Good, just want to make sure, in case some opportunity presents herself.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively at Imara, whose expression was half amusement, half annoyance.

  Lièrén couldn’t explain the incident in dance class without further embarrassing himself and her, which seemed to be Rayle’s intent. He settled for turning away and ignoring him.

  “Jackass,” said Imara to Rayle. “Go meddle somewhere else.”

  Rayle seemed to recognize the steel in her pleasant tone and danced gracefully away.

  Imara sighed. “Sorry about that.” She glanced at the clock, then gave a little whistle to get Derrit’s attention. “Dinner,” she said.

  Derrit bounded up out of the chair toward her as if spring-loaded. “I’m starving. Can I make toad-in-the-hole? Want some, Agent Sòng?”

  Lièrén’s puzzlement must have been obvious. “It’s a fried egg in the center of toast with cheese,” she said.

  Lièrén ducked his head. “Thank you. I’m afraid my culinary skills are limited to self-heating pouches and reading menus.”

  “I could teach you,” offered Derrit, with pride. Lièrén hesitated, then nodded. It would be good for Derrit to be the teacher instead of always the student. And it would take Lièrén out of Imara’s orbit for a while, so he’d quit being tempted by her.

  Imara eyed Lièrén up and down, then smiled at Derrit. “Okay, but don’t let the kitchen manager see him.”

  Derrit put his hand in Lièrén’s and pulled him toward the kitchen. Lièrén trailed obediently behind him, smiling at Derrit’s enthusiasm.

  As they entered the large industrial kitchen, Lièrén asked, “Why shouldn’t the kitchen manager see me?”

  “You don’t dress like staff,” he said, dragging out a stool and placing it in front of a cook surface. “Customers aren’t allowed.”

  Lièrén glanced down at his dark green cut-and-slash pants and multi-pocket, metallic silver tunic with electroluminescent green piping. He’d grown rather fond of the high style of his new wardrobe, but Derrit was right, it couldn’t even pass for trendy corporate wear. When he went back to the field unit, he’d have to order a new, more staid wardrobe for the unit’s official, boring cover story.

  He watched, bemused, as Derrit scampered all over the kitchen, clearly at home and comfortable with the dizzying array equipment. Lièrén gathered the employees brought in and stored their own food, so as not to impact the restaurant’s inventory. Toad-in-the-hole was as simple as Imara had described it, but Lièrén hadn’t exaggerated his lack of experience.

  “You really never learned to cook?” Derrit asked, his astonishment evident. “Anything?”

  Lièrén thought a moment. “I can prepare and serve Oriental tea.”

  Derrit patted Lièrén’s arm in a consoling gesture. “That’s okay. Nanay said my dad couldn’t boil water when she met him. If you stay in Spires, she could teach you.”

  Although Derrit had tried to be casual, it was hard to miss his latest attempt to put Lièrén and his mother together. It wouldn’t be good for Derrit to get his hopes up. “I’ll be ready for full duty soon, and my job requires constant traveling. I’d never be here for lessons.”

  It would be irresponsible of him to get any more entangled with Imara and Derrit than he already was, for a whole host of reasons. The cold logic made his chest feel hollow.

  CHAPTER 9

  * Planet: Concordance Prime * GDAT 3238.214 *

  Imara was bemused, watching her son.

  “Here’s more water, Agent Sòng.” He placed the opaque glass down in front of Lièrén before sliding back into the booth. He’d just finished clearing the dinner plates and silverware without having to be asked, and had taken the initiative to keep Lièrén hydrated.

  Derrit was blossoming, and she knew it was from Lièrén’s influence. Derrit had never been rude, but he had been… oblivious, rather like most of her road crew. Lièrén led by example rather than words, and Derrit had picked up a new awareness of the needs of others. Lièrén had mentioned that his latest drug protocol made him feel dehydrated, and Derrit had made it his goal to keep Lièrén always supplied with water ready to hand.

  “Thank you,” said Lièrén. He took a sip, then cleared his throat. “While you’re both here, I’d like to discuss rules and customs for telepaths, since both of Derrit’s talents fall in that class. Some of it you probably already know from Torin, but Derrit’s cleaner talent brings some added considerations.”

  He focused on Derrit. “First, it’s generally better to disclose your tested talents up front, rather than be accused of it later. Not, ‘hello, I’m a shielder and cleaner,’ but don’t hide them a
nd don’t let people assume you have none. Some people will always be afraid of you, regardless, and fear leads to anger and aggression.”

  Imara appreciated Lièrén’s tact. Derrit would run into bigotry soon enough, and she’d help him deal with it, but she didn’t want him wearing a chip on his shoulder, either.

  “Second, for the most part, we’re not allowed in casinos or bluff game competitions, although I’ve heard of a few telepath-only hyperion tournaments. In the patterner class, forecasters and finders are sometimes prohibited from outcome betting because of the perceived advantage.” Imara rolled her eyes. Study after study proved that finders and forecasters did no better than chance, the same as everyone else, but the rumors persisted.

  Derrit frowned. “But my dad was in the telepath class, and he worked for a casino. That’s how he met mom and saved her from the pirate clan.”

  Imara smiled at the memory of how Torin had created a tall tale of thrilling intrigue and fated romance out of a chance meeting in the alleyway behind the themed casino on Marmar Coklat where he’d worked at the time. It had been Derrit’s favorite bedtime story for years.

  “Straight shielders are the exception. As a matter of fact, they’re highly valued in security work. Because you’re a cleaner, too, you’ll likely be encouraged to go into law enforcement.”

  Derrit frowned, and Imara slipped her arm around Derrit’s shoulders. “You have other options, you know.” Torin hadn’t had much respect for the police, owing to run-ins during his youth, and it colored Derrit’s opinions. In Imara’s experience with the Spires police, they were just people, good and bad, the same as every other profession.

  “Are people scared of you, Agent Sòng?” asked Derrit.

  Lièrén sighed. “Yes. Ask your mother what she first thought when I told her I’m a twister.”

  Derrit’s eyes widened, and he looked to her. She now regretted her reaction at the time, but she wouldn’t lie to her son. “Twisting is a scary talent, binata. Undetectable if the minder is good enough.” She looked up to squarely meet Lièrén’s gaze. “I trust Agent Sòng to do the right thing.” His talent would tell him she wasn’t lying.

  Emotions she couldn’t read rippled across his normally serene expression. She could almost feel him reasserting his control.

  He ducked his head once. “You honor me.” He took another sip of water. He glanced at her again, then focused on Derrit.

  “You’re still shielding your mother.” It was a statement of fact.

  “Yeah,” he said, then looked at Imara. When Lièrén had first mentioned it a week ago, Imara had asked Derrit to stop, but apparently, he hadn’t listened. It was so like what Torin would have done that she couldn’t blame Derrit for his nature, but he’d told her he would, and that hurt. She withdrew her arm from his shoulders and frowned to let him know she wasn’t happy.

  Derrit fidgeted, then finally said, “But I promised Dad…” There was a half defiant, half beseeching quality to his tone. He looked pleadingly to Lièrén for support.

  To Imara’s relief, Lièrén shook his head. “This is one of those responsibilities we talked about. It’s good that you want to protect her, but it must be her choice, and you must abide by her wishes. Your talent bottles up hers. You dislike it when people treat you like a baby and decide things for you.” She gave Lièrén a tiny nod to thank him, then turned back to Derrit.

  She kept an unyielding look on her face and waited while her son thought about it. She’d sometimes found that silence worked better with him than arguing. Finally, Derrit’s shoulders slumped.

  “Okay,” he said in a small voice. She resisted the urge to comfort him, because he’d have thought she’d changed her mind. If someone as powerful as Lièrén Sòng thought she could stand on her own, she wanted to live up to that expectation.

  She waited, but didn’t know how to tell if Derrit had dropped the shield or not.

  Lièrén did, though. He touched the back of Derrit’s hand. “You don’t have to unshield yourself, too.”

  It took a few tries for Derrit to find the balance. He’d been shielding her for so long that he had a hard time feeling the difference, and Lièrén couldn’t show him how, he could only make suggestions and report success or failure.

  Imara tried to detect the difference herself, but it was like trying to listen for a song she’d never heard. She was half tempted to ask Lièrén to teach her to feel it, but firmly cut that thought off. It might require a telepathic connection, like she’d only had with the man she’d married, and it’d be one more reason to miss Lièrén when he left for good. Judging from his steadily improving health, his last day would be soon.

  She ruffled Derrit’s hair. “Thank you, binata.” She stole a quick glance at Rayle, who was serving a small glass of something blue to a new customer. “I need to get back to the bar before Rayle gives away too many free samples.” Rayle, empath that he was and compassionate by nature, liked happy customers. Hotel management liked paying customers.

  Derrit started to move, but Lièrén interrupted.

  “Would you both do me the honor of allowing me to host you for dinner at Fermat’s Last Repast, in celebration of Derrit’s twelfth birthday?”

  Imara couldn’t contain her astonishment at the invitation or choice of restaurant, which was famous galaxy-wide.

  “Thank you, but…” she began, intending to turn him down, as she did all invitations from transients, but she hesitated when she saw Derrit’s hopeful expression. On her tight budget, they could only eat at a decent restaurant once a year, in the height of the rainy season, when rates were low. Fermat’s cheapest appetizer would probably wipe out her solstice day gift savings. “It’s a generous offer, but I’ve heard it takes months to get reservations. Perhaps someplace less… exclusive?”

  Lièrén smiled. “My second cousin and his husband own it. He’s been pinging me almost daily, so you’ll be saving me from the barrage.”

  She hesitated a moment longer, then gave in for Derrit’s sake, despite her own misgivings. “Then yes, we’ll accept.” Derrit gave her a big grin as she visualized her calendar in her mind. “How about a week from tomorrow?”

  Lièrén smiled ruefully as he opened his percomp’s display. “I truly envy your filer talent. Would six o’clock be acceptable?”

  “Yes,” she said, then added, “We’ll meet you there.” She didn’t want him paying for an autocab, too. He was probably on half-pay while he was on medical leave.

  “Excellent. I’ll ping Chiu now, before he sends his nightly ‘gentle reminder for persons with feeble minds.’”

  She chuckled. “Having a good memory is handy, but it also means remembering the bad things with equal clarity.” She sighed. “I can think of a few memories I’d prefer to have twisted into something nicer or erased altogether.”

  Lièrén shook his head, suddenly serious. “No, it would hurt you. Only top-level talents can find all the interconnected threads in a good filer’s mind. Otherwise, you’d feel it forever. It’d be like…” He hesitated, then pointed to the travel poster on the wall. “…like that crooked Albion Prime display that drives you crazy. You know it’s wrong, but you can’t fix it because it’s built in.” He folded his percomp and put it in his upper chest pocket.

  She’d never thought about it like that, but it made sense. “Thank you. I don’t know what the CPS has you doing for trade delegations, but I hope it’s helping people as much as you’ve helped Derrit.” She thought he flinched, though she couldn’t have said why she thought so, because his expression didn’t change. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… embarrass you.” She nudged Derrit. “Scoot, kiddo.”

  Derrit scrambled out of the booth to let her out, then sat back down as Imara headed for the bar.

  She kept herself busy while Derrit had his lesson, but she caught herself glancing their direction more than once. Finally, Lièrén and Derrit stood up. Surprisingly, Derrit gave a slight, if awkward, bow to Lièrén, who returned it with more grac
e. Then Derrit galloped off like a horse toward the fresher.

  Imara gave up on doing anything else as she watched Lièrén leave. It would be much easier to ignore him if he weren’t so nice. And sexy, even from the back. She resolutely turned away, only to narrowly miss colliding with Rayle.

  “You really need a hot-connect with that man. You’re practically drooling.”

  Farkin’ A, but she’d like to have a little privacy once in a while. She sighed.

  He followed her back behind the bar and winked at her. “I’d hot-connect with him in a nanosecond, in his favorite booth if he likes an audience, but he only has eyes for you.”

  “Sure, while he’s in the bar,” she scoffed. “I’m just a geosynced satellite he’s passing by. He’s a transient.” She eyed the drink supplies and decided she needed more tangelo peel twists. “It’s just asking for broken hearts all around.”

  He raised his eyebrows in exaggerated surprise. “Oh, so you’re seriously attracted to him.”

  Rayle knew her too well. “He’s plasma hot, I’ll grant you, and I’d like to spend some close-up time with him, but it’s not going to happen. It’s not my heart that would be broken.”

  They were interrupted by a couple of customer orders, but Imara knew Rayle wasn’t going to let it go.

  As he loaded a few glasses in the quicksan, he said, “If not Agent Flux-Hot, then take your pick. There’s eight million people in Spires, and half of them are men.” He winked salaciously at her.

  Imara snorted. “Oh, right, because men throw themselves in front of me every day and hope I’ll trip and land on their poles.”

  He gave her a devilish smile. “More than you notice, bella. I’d be willing to assume the position if you asked nicely. I’m of similar build to Lièrén. I’ll get my hair and eyes done like his and dress like all my clothes came from a skimmer race crew, and you can pretend.”

  Imara crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. “I thought you weren’t attracted to women.”