“Sorry,” she said softly, suppressing an impulse to touch him, as if that could take away the pain she’d caused. She shoved her tingling fingers in the pockets of her vest.
“It’s okay,” he said. “It needed cleaning, regardless.”
“Want us to dry your tunic? It’s sopping.”
He started to shrug, but winced instead. “Dry would be nice.”
She carefully undid the rest of the tunic’s snaps and peeled it off his right shoulder, which turned out to have a nasty red welt, likely from whatever had caused the neck injury above it. Any number of things could have caused the scrape along his jaw and across his ear. She pushed the shirt down his arms, slowing when she heard him breathe in sharply. His skin was cool where her fingers brushed it, and she had the feeling his back and shoulders were stiffening up.
Despite the fact that she was annoyed with him for hiding things, Imara found part of her mind was memorizing every detail about Lièrén’s nicely shaped shoulders and chest, and the lean taper to his waist. Focus, she told herself sternly as she hung his wet tunic on a nearby cabinet handle.
A burn patch wouldn’t help the red welt. He was starting to shiver. She looked around the storeroom for something he could wear, but there was nothing.
“Stay,” she ordered, then stepped back into the bar and caught Derrit’s eye. He came to her immediately, with a serious expression.
“Is Agent Sòng hurt?” he asked. Derrit was unhappy when adults in his life were unwell.
“A little scuffed up. Right now, he’s cold. Bring him a cup of hot green tea, and ask Rayle to heat one of the orange knit tablecloths. Oh, and re-hang Agent Sòng’s coat so it dries faster.” That would give him something to do instead of worrying.
Derrit took off, and she went back to her patient.
Lièrén gave her a brief, tired smile. “Thank you for… this.”
She crossed her arms. “Want to tell me what happened?” she asked, unable to keep the annoyance out of her voice.
“Wrong place, wrong time,” he answered, meeting her gaze, then looking away.
She snorted. He was certainly the master of the true-but-unhelpful statement. Still, she’d take that over the zombie-like responses from a few minutes ago. Water was dripping from his wet hair onto his bare chest. She followed a rivulet down, fascinated, then looked away before he noticed. Transient, she told herself. Wandering star. CPS minder hotshot and way out of her spectrum.
A thought struck her, and she snapped her fingers. “Fluxback. You overused your talent. That’s why you were so dopey.” She caught herself reaching out to touch his temple and dropped her hand. “How’s your head?”
He took a few seconds to answer. “Not bad.” He sounded almost surprised. She noticed he didn’t deny her diagnosis.
At the sound of Derrit’s shuffling footsteps, she moved away from Lièrén. It was crazy, but she could still feel… something from him, like she was at the edge of his heat field. She shook her head. She’d been unsettled lately, distracted by phantom sensations like that. Lièrén wasn’t the first, but it was stronger with him right then. Crazy.
Derrit had smartly put the full mug on a little tray to catch spills, but he held it too close to his body, slowing his progress. Imara removed the bright orange tablecloth that he’d slung around his neck and draped it over Lièrén’s shoulders, hoping it was soft enough not to irritate his burn. She snagged a shelf hanger clip to secure the ends together as a makeshift cloak. Not pretty, but it would do.
“Thank you,” Lièrén said sincerely, taking the proffered mug and holding it near his chest for a moment before taking a sip.
“What happened to your neck?” asked Derrit, staring at the distinctive burn patch.
Against her better judgment, but because she knew Lièrén didn’t like to lie, she did it for him.
“Oh, just a little run-in with a cash-and-carry. He’ll be fine, binata.”
Derrit’s expression went from distressed to intrigued, but Imara headed off his questions. “Best thing you can do for him right now is help Rayle, so I can finish getting Agent Sòng patched up. You can escort him to his room in a few minutes. Here, take this to the solardry, with his coat.” She handed him the damp tunic.
Derrit chewed on his lip and looked at Lièrén once more, then left.
Lièrén was giving her an odd look, and started to speak, then looked down to the floor. “What’s a ‘cash-and-carry’?” he asked.
“Street thief.” She remembered the Mandarin word. “Fěi.”
He looked up at her sharply, and she felt a flare of something that she ignored. “You mean I was right? Oh, for Neptune’s sake, why didn’t you call the… oh.” If he’d used his minder talent on the thief, he was guaranteed a trip to the local police lockup, CPS agent or not. “Will the CPS healer keep it confidential?” She narrowed her eyes at him. “You are going to see a healer, aren’t you?”
He gave her the ghost of a smile. “Yes.”
She sighed, suspecting she wasn’t going to get any more out of him. And she needed to get out of his orbit, because she was having weird reactions around him, beyond the undeniable physical attraction. She took a step back as she pushed her hair back over her shoulder and re-tightened the elastic ribbon that corralled it. She’d get Rayle to help him.
“Have you ever heard of a minder polymath?” Lièrén asked suddenly.
She pulled the definition up out of her memory. “Full spectrum of talents. Rare, according to the CPS propa… uh, presentation.” He’d already admitted to three talents, and whatever he did for the CPS, it was patently more than just administrative work. “Are you a polymath?” she asked quietly.
The corner of Lièrén’s mouth twitched. “No, but you are.” Before she could react to that, he continued. “I’ve been distrusting what my talent has been telling me for weeks. First because of the accident, then because of changes in drug protocols. I felt all your talents when Derrit stopped shielding you, but I thought it was… my mistake.”
“You think I’m a polymath?” She shook her head. “You’re sun struck. Testing would have caught it.”
“Polymaths usually don’t develop their full range until they’re in their late twenties or early thirties. Your filer talent was strong, and that’s all the testers noticed. The others came later, I’d bet. They’re low-level, but they’re there. All classes.”
She gave him a sharp, skeptical look, but he seemed to be serious. “I see. And I didn’t notice all these wonderful extra talents because…” She trailed off, challenging him to explain that one.
“Because you were shielded by Derrit until four days ago, and your husband before that. Blocked.”
She thought a moment. “Nice theory, but Derrit would’ve had to have been shielding me since he was five.”
He shrugged, then winced, clearly regretting the movement. “You didn’t know to look for them.”
“Look, you’re hurt, I’ve got a long shift ahead of me, and the storeroom isn’t exactly private. We can talk about this later.” After you’ve seen the healer about your delusions. “Finish your tea, and I’ll send someone with your shirt.” She gave him a teasing smile. “That tablecloth would ruin your style cred forever.”
Actually, he could be wearing a space exosuit, and she’d still think he was plasma hot. Which is why she needed to keep her distance more than ever. She left the storeroom quickly and went to find her son.
There may have been a worse time for Lièrén to tell Imara about her polymath talents, but he couldn’t think of one off hand. She obviously thought he was addled, and he couldn’t blame her. Up until the attack and its aftermath, he’d still been distrusting his talents, clinging to what he thought he knew about them. He pulled the tablecloth up on his shoulders a little and finished the last of the tea.
He’d used all three of his talents simultaneously that evening, and the only consequence had been temporary exhaustion, the dopiness that Imara had noticed. No killer headac
he, no hypersensitivity to synaptic haze from other people, no light sensitivity. Even when contained, his sifter talent was detecting far more nuances and details, like the angular margins and strength of Derrit’s natural shields, or the soft and subtle texture variations of Imara’s multiple talents. Using his telepathy on the attacker had been comfortable, and the twist had been easy. It seemed unlikely that the physical and stress trauma of the accident had improved his minder talents, and the only other major change in his life was the drugs.
Contrary to all he’d been told, all he’d believed, it was glaringly obvious that the CPS minder drugs gave him control but interfered with his talents. Tonight had inadvertently proven the case. He’d forgotten to take his current drugs for the past two days, meaning his talent was unhindered by anything, and it was what saved him. Even if he could have used all his talents while on his old drugs, he’d have been huddled in a dark corner somewhere, riding out the after-effect agony.
He felt someone approach and knew without looking that it was Rayle, with the unique signature of his empath talent firing up as he walked in holding Lièrén’s dry but now wrinkled shirt.
“I’m fine,” Lièrén said, hoping to preempt any questioning. “Just a little worse for wear.” He made an effort to contain his roiling emotions. Rayle was close to a high-level empath, and if motivated, could find out anything from Lièrén if he wanted to.
Rayle raised an eyebrow. “And prickly, I see.” He held out the shirt.
“Thank you.” Lièrén didn’t have it in him to be more gracious than that. Most empaths where congenitally nosy because they wanted people to be happy, or at least calm. Lièrén didn’t have those in him, either.
He unclipped the hideously bright tablecloth and stood to pull on his mostly dry shirt. His boots, which had turned out to be more decorative than waterproof, made his feet feel like he was standing in a swamp.
Rayle gave him a searching look, then sighed. “Come on, then, hansamu. Prove to Imara and Derrit you’re functional so they’ll quit worrying.” He led the way out of the storeroom.
Lièrén followed, folding the tablecloth as he walked. He was uncomfortably aware of his chilly wet pant legs with every step.
Rayle was sidetracked by a customer, so Lièrén continued by himself around to the end of the bar where Imara stood. He offered the tablecloth to her with a brief bow.
“I am very grateful for your kindness,” he said, hoping she’d understand he was thanking her for both the first aid and her discretion. The bar’s ambient glowlights made her eyes sparkle and highlighted her beautifully intelligent face and wide mouth. Her expression softened as she met his gaze, and he wanted to kiss her senseless. He really had the worst timing.
“You’re welcome,” she said. Several of her talents—sifter, empath, and healer—stirred, like sudden sparks, then quieted. She’d probably think it was ordinary intuition. “If you don’t mind, I’ll send Derrit with you to your room. He needs to see you’re all right.” She hugged the tablecloth to her chest as she watched Derrit carefully take Lièrén’s coat off the hook near the door. “He’s had a disappointing day.”
Lièrén had completely forgotten the “inconclusive” test results, and what his data dive had discovered.
“Yes, of course,” he said, despair crashing into him. The CPS Testing Center had already set its hook in Derrit, and would reel him in, one way or another. And the Academy would make sure he stayed in the CPS fold, one way or another, as they’d done to Lièrén himself.
He looked away, fighting to keep from broadcasting his feelings or letting them show on his face. It was almost a relief when Derrit approached, carrying the still damp coat. His naturally strong shields dampened Imara’s sparking empathy. Lièrén desperately wanted to tell Imara what was coming, but he couldn’t prove any of it without destroying his career and getting himself blackholed, and the CPS would still have her son. He wasn’t a violent man, but he had a growing urge to kick something.
“I appreciate your assistance,” Lièrén told Derrit. “Shall we?”
Derrit led the way through the wide doorway that led to the hotel lobby, and Lièrén followed without a backward glance at Imara, unable to look at her without feeling guilty.
Derrit carried the coat so carefully that Lièrén felt like he was part of a procession of two as they traveled the halls to his first-floor room. He could have moved to a more desirable upper floor once he was no longer an invalid, but he’d enjoyed the illusion of stability that staying in the same suite had created.
Derrit turned around to face him while walking backward for a few steps. “If you tape something opaque on the shower door sensor, it’ll stay open, and you could put your coat on it so it’ll hang over the solardry.” Derrit turned back around, so Lièrén moved faster to catch up with him.
“I’ll try it. Did you come up with that?”
“Rayle. He comes in all stinky from rehearsals.” He lowered his voice. “Staff isn’t supposed to be in the guest rooms, but…”
“He probably heard about it from a guest,” Lièrén said firmly, to stop Derrit from saying anything more. Since the hotel was approved for CPS staff, Lièrén had no doubt that the premises had comprehensive security monitoring, beyond the obvious security eyes that littered the hotel public areas.
Derrit caught on right away. “Oh yeah, I’m sure that’s where he learned it,” he said, delighting in the small conspiracy. Lièrén nodded and winked, but couldn’t enjoy the moment for long. If the local CPS Testing Center ran true to form, Derrit would be on his way to the Academy at New Kulam inside of ten days. Lièrén doubted he had the clout, even as a covert agent, to be allowed to visit Derrit any more often than his mother would.
When they arrived at the door to his suite, he unsealed it and accepted the coat from Derrit. Though it felt like another small betrayal, he held out his hand for a handshake. “Thank you, Master Derrit, for your excellent care.”
Derrit shook hands with enthusiasm. “My pleasure, Agent Sòng.” He turned away, then turned back. “We’re synced for tomorrow night, right?”
Lièrén nodded and waved as Derrit skipped away.
In the suite, Lièrén found the shower door trick worked well, and ten minutes later, he hung the dry coat in the storage wall.
Although it was tempting to just dowse the lights and crawl in bed with the covers over his head, he pulled out his prepaid percomp and started a list. Tomorrow would probably be the last training session with Derrit, and he wanted to tell him as much as possible to help him fit in at the Academy faster than Lièrén had.
CHAPTER 13
* Planet: Concordance Prime * GDAT 3238.219 *
Lièrén stared at the deskcomp’s display without really seeing it. He’d been tinkering around the edges of the final Testing Center dataset, ostensibly to spot check normalization, but mostly as a cover for his spiraling thoughts. He should be hypercubing them all for transfer back to the Testing Center, but he was strongly averse to doing anything to make it easier for them to identify and target any other minder children.
He’d spent a sleepless night, trying and failing to come up with a way to prepare Imara and protect Derrit. Painstaking, anonymous searches of the net had brought a tangled jungle of opinions and a barren wasteland of facts. What few friends he’d had at the Minder Institute were ten years gone. He’d have once said Fiyon was his friend, which was painfully laughable in light of his betrayal. He had no relationships with the rest of his coworkers, in part, he suspected, because Fiyon had deliberately kept him isolated. His sister Nàiměi was too practical, and Rayle was too impractical. He’d be willing to put up with his great-grandfather’s disapproval to ask his advice, except with the CPS involved, Sòng Tiān Cì’s prejudices would get in the way.
And on top of everything else, Lièrén’s life was about to change again. At his morning checkup, after the healer had repaired his assault injuries from the night before, the coordinating medic announced he’d been
medically cleared for return to duty, and had notified the CPS. She’d told him he could eat, drink, or do anything his body would let him, and gave him a list of CPS-approved body shops that could remove the last of the scars. She even waived his final drug tests, saying his regular medic would set up a new schedule, and would most likely be adjusting his drug protocol yet again. The medic’s demeanor said she expected Lièrén to be happy, and he’d sincerely thanked her for the excellent care she and her staff had provided. Even three weeks ago, it would have been good news. Back when Lièrén was complacently ignorant of several unpleasant truths.
By the time he’d arrived at the office, he’d already received a formal memo from Talavara, the field unit’s acting supervisor, welcoming him back, but saying that because of the recent “staff transitions,” an appalling euphemism for four deaths, the unit’s next interim base of operations hadn’t yet been selected. Lièrén was instructed to stay in the hotel but be ready to leave at a moment’s notice. Talavara’s memo didn’t mention the Office of Internal Inquiry case, and he realized he hadn’t heard from them since they’d canceled the appointment scheduled for a few days ago.
He dutifully filed a report of the previous night’s robbery attempt and worded it to imply his escape had resulted more from the assailant’s incompetence and Lièrén’s physical skill than from his minder talents. He omitted his possibly paranoid and certainly unprovable suspicion that the assault might have been targeted at him, not random. Covert field agents were expected to take care of small matters themselves.
The walls of his tiny temporary office were closing in on him, and he was repeatedly distracted by his awareness of the synaptic activity of the staff in the main area. He was having to re-learn how to control and contain his talent without the drugs. It was a price worth paying if it made him safer because his talent wasn’t impaired. Making a snap decision, he locked the deskcomp and headed out of the building to a public comm center, planning to leave a message for Advocate Patwardan.
Minder Rising: Central Galactic Concordance Book 2 Page 13