The caroling of a bird pulled me awake. I lifted my head, confused. Why was I so stiff? I found myself looking across a stone floor to a stone panel. Then I remembered.
I was sitting with my back against a panel of the Dome and my knees pulled to my chest. Although the sun hadn't yet risen, dawn was probably only a few minutes away. I put on my gloves, then rose to my feet and walked stiffly out of the monument, my mind slowly waking with the rest of the morning. The dawn's chill cut the air, and dew covered my uniform. I felt exhausted, as if I had run a race all night.
I crossed a lawn to the highway, heading into Eos. Only a few flycars hovered along the road this early, sailing on air cushions above the blue tiles. Their passengers stared as they whirred past, but today I didn't care. I didn't have the energy. Nothing mattered except completing this walk. I kept my mind numb, afraid that if I let it function, I would never finish what I had started.
By the time I reached Eos, the sun had risen. The road became a wide boulevard that cut through the center of the city. Trees lined the street, though fewer than where I lived. Broad lawns of trimmed cloud-grass floated everywhere, stretching between government buildings and around ring shaped sculptures. Traffic hummed on the road, and pedestrians strode along the walkway, some glancing at me with wariness or curiosity, others absorbed in their own thoughts.
I kept going.
Eventually I reached the Imperial embassy. I climbed the wide steps, walked between the soaring columns, and entered a vaulted hall that arched high above my head. People sat on the benches lining the walls, engrossed in their own business: talking, reading, waiting. At the far end of the hall, a line of people waited to enter the embassy proper, to take care of whatever business had brought them here. I walked down the hall, my boots echoing on the marble floor, and joined the line.
I could have bypassed it. I could have gone to the front or to another entrance, or even gone home and had someone from the Embassy pick me up after I slept. Instead I waited. If I deviated from this walk, I would never finish it.
The line went up a flight of stairs to where a woman stood at a podium. She gave each person directions and then sent them through a security check into the embassy. When I reached the front of the line, the woman smiled and spoke as if it were perfectly natural for a Jagernaut Primary to show up at her station.
"What can we do for you this morning?" she asked.
I couldn't go on. I had made it this far, but I couldn't go any further.
She tried again. "Can I direct you to an office?"
I just looked at her. And then I said, "I want to see the heartbender."
The people behind me stopped talking. Everyone within earshot turned to look. The sudden silence jarred.
Whoever had chosen the embassy staff, chose well. The woman didn't even blink. This was probably the only time in her career she had encountered the request, but she showed no hesitation. She touched a button on her podium, then spoke to me. "An escort will take you to see Tager."
I looked past her to the wide marble hall that stretched far back into the embassy. Four men appeared at the end, striding toward us. They were big. I had no doubt they were also armed.
She motioned to the security gate. "You can go on through, Primary."
The gate was the usual arch monitored by guards. When I stepped through it, lights blazed, horns shrilled, buzzers buzzed. I hadn't even thought to take off my Jumbler. The two guards dropped their hands to their guns, and the escorts coming to get me increased their speed, coming faster down the hall. I just stood, trying to stay numb.
No one spoke. No one asked for my weapons. The people in line stared, the woman at the podium waited, the guards watched. I felt their emotions like sandpaper on a raw wound. They feared that if they did the wrong thing it would set me off like an explosion. No one understood the truth, that the risk was to me, not to them. One wrong word, one wrong look, one wrong move from anyone, and I would beat it out of there so fast, they would hear the air whistle past my clothes.
The escort reached us, and the tallest man bowed. "Welcome." He motioned toward the hall he had just come down, raising his arm as if I were a guest at an embassy dinner and he my host. He was undoubtedly one of the elite guards in their security force, but no sign hint of his status showed on his civilian clothes or in his gracious manner.
So I went with them. They took me through vaulted archways and polished corridors until we reached an office. Its walls were glass, dark and opaque on the outside, but I was sure whoever waited inside could see us.
A door in the glass slid open. Past it, a man stood in the center of the room regarding us. When my escort stopped at the door, I glanced at them, first right, then left. They just stood there. So I walked into the office alone. It was big, with a white carpet so thick it covered the toes of my boots. The glass shelves lining the walls held delicate vases, glass statues, other knick-knacks. The paintings on the walls were attractive enough to please the eye without being distracting.
I walked over to the man. He seemed a normal person with brown hair and a lean build.
"Are you the heartbender?" I asked. It wasn't his true title, of course. His official designation would be Imperial Space Command Class A6 Psychiatrist.
"Yes. I'm Jak Tager." He glanced at the escort and lifted his hand. The door immediately shut, leaving me in private with Jak Tager, Class A6 heartwrencher.
I went to a shelf and peered at a glass vase. "You have a lot of breakable stuff in here."
He came over to join me. "I guess I do."
He hardly looked like a world class mental health expert. The woman at the security check had just called him Tager. "Are you a doctor?"
He nodded. "I have a medical degree and also a doctorate in psychology."
"How many patients do you have?"
He smiled slightly. "One."
"Does that include me?"
"Yes."
I snorted. "Then what do you do with all your time?"
"Research." He seemed pleased by my interest. "I study the psychological effects of human-biomechanical interfaces."
Gods almighty. He was that Tager. I had read his work myself. The man was the undisputed expert on the effects of biomech on the people who carried them in their bodies. I had never realized his actual occupation was heartbender. It meant that in addition to his scientific accomplishments he also had an ISC commission, most likely from JMI or the Dieshan Military Academy.
I had no idea what to make of him. He looked so normal. Ten years ago, when I had gone to the heartbender after the Tams incident, I asked her how many patients she had seen in her career. She told me eight. Eight. In twenty-five years, and that included me who saw her only twice.
I hadn't wanted to see her. I had gone because I was forced. Yes, my CO had chosen well. Had I had any inclination to accept help, she could have given it. She was the one I wanted to talk to now. But that was irrelevant. Tager was my only choice, and for some stupid reason I didn't want to talk to a man. I didn't know why. I just didn't want to do it.
I exhaled. "Maybe I made a mistake coming here. I'm wasting your time."
"What made you decide to come?" he asked.
"No problem, really." After a moment I added, "I've just done a few things lately that are—a little strange."
"Strange in what way?"
"Last night I pointed a primed Jumbler at my head."
Tager spoke quietly. "Tell me about it."
"I was talking to this singer in a pub. I was drunk. I put the gun against my head without the safety on. My hand wasn't steady." I stopped. I didn't want to talk to this stranger, not about last night and not about anything.
Except this time I had come of my own free will, looking for something, I didn't know what, but I wouldn't find it unless I made an effort. I took a breath and tried again. "Two nights ago I almost killed a man, an ordinary civilian, just because he pushed me up against the wall. I don't know why. Well, yes, I think he's obnoxious. I don't like him and he doesn't like me. But that's all."
Tager was still watching me with that look of his, like he genuinely wanted to understand. Well, that was his job, after all. He had to look that way.
"How did it happen?" he asked.
"I didn't like how he touched me." I was getting uncomfortable, really uncomfortable, far more than what I was saying warranted. "I snapped. I don't know why."
"What did you do?"
"I broke a glass and almost stabbed him."
"Why didn't you like the way he touched you?" Tager spoke carefully, but not like the people at the security check who had been afraid I would explode. With Tager it was as if I was someone he respected, which was absurd considering I had known him less than five minutes. Respect had to be earned, and I had done nothing to earn his yet.
"He touched the strap of my dress." Relating the incident made me feel foolish. To say I had overreacted was an understatement. "Then he put his hand between my breasts and pushed me against the wall."
Tager didn't try to hide his surprise. "Did he know you were a Primary?"
"No. I had just met him in a hiking club."
"Did he threaten you?"
"No."
"You're sure?"
"Of course I'm sure."
"Why?" Tager asked.
I frowned at him. "What do you mean, why? Because I know."
"How?"
Why was he asking me that? "I'm an empath, that's how." I scowled. "He made some crack about me being a bitch. But he wouldn't have tried anything violent."
"And you sure?"
"Yes, I'm sure. You got a problem with that?"
"Your reflexes wouldn't activate without a reason."
Is this how he earned his probably stratospheric salary, by stating the obvious to his one and only patient? "You're the heartbender. You tell me what the problem is."
Tager exhaled. "You have to give me some help."
"That what you learned from all those degrees? Have the patient diagnose herself?"
He showed no irritation, just continued in his quiet voice. "I need you to tell me more."
Something was odd about the way he watched me. I had seen that look before. For some reason it eased my anger. "Like what?"
"Have you done anything else recently that is out of character?"
I finally recognized his expression. My mother got that look when someone she cared about was in pain. And his concern felt genuine. He wasn't giving me a trained mask he wore for patients, however few he had. I mattered to him. But why? Why should he feel compassion for me, a person he had never met before, a biosynthetic marvel of fake humanity?
"No," I said. "I haven't done anything else strange. I'm only myself." That was strange enough. "Maybe I should go home. I'm just tired, that's all. I walked a long way yesterday."
He smiled. "With the hikers?"
Hikers? He must mean the rootberry drinkers. "No. I walked back from JMI last night. Actually, I went to Soldier's Green. I slept there."
That definitely startled him. "Why?"
I wished he would stop asking that. "I was tired."
He stood there, waiting.
"I took the underground to JMI," I said. "But I didn't like being stared at. So I walked home."
"You don't have a flycar?"
"Yes, I do. But yesterday morning I couldn't get into it."
He spoke with care, probing. "Do you ride in them often?"
"All the time."
"Did something happen to you in a flycar?"
"Of course not."
"But yesterday you couldn't get into yours."
I suddenly wanted to shake him. "So what the hell is wrong with that?"
"Primary— " He paused, obviously looking for a name. I regarded him implacably. So he said, "Talking to me may make you uncomfortable. But if I'm going to help, I need you to answer."
I felt crowded. Taking a breath, I turned and walked away from him. When his desk blocked my retreat, I stopped and rested my hands on its edge.
After a moment I turned around. I spoke slowly, like a diver checking the temperature of freezing water. "A man named Kryx Tarque once took me in his flycar."
Tager stayed where he was, not crowding me. "That's a Highton name."
"He was a Highton man." My hands felt cold. "He picked me off a street on Tams Station. I was working undercover. I was—I—" I made myself say it. "I was his provider for three weeks. Every night, for most of the night. During the day too." Three weeks of unending torture.
Tager was good at making appropriate responses. Very good. The man could have faced an oncoming hovertrain with flinching. But even he couldn't hide his reaction. He spoke in the same even voice he had used since we met, but underneath it I felt his shock. "How did you escape?"
My voice cracked. "I strangled him while he was fucking me."
Tager came over to me. "I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"That you had to go through that."
"It was my job."
Incredulity tinged his voice. "That's a hell of a job."
"Look," I said. "It happened ten years ago. I've been fine for a long time. There's no reason for it to make problems for me now."
"The man you almost stabbed—does he look like Tarque?"
"No." That wasn't completely true. Hilt did have dark hair and a leanly muscular frame, like Tarque. He was tall too, like Tarque. And when he walked into my apartment that night, it had reminded me of the arrogance I had hated in Tarque, who had believed he had a right to do whatever he pleased to people he considered inferior. But it was only a surface reminder. Hilt was abrasive, yes, but even after knowing him only a few hours I could tell he was basically a decent human being.
"They aren't at all the same," I said.
"What about the singer in the cafe? Did he have any resemblance to Tarque?"
I snorted. "That man was the polar opposite of an Aristo. He had golden eyes and a golden voice. I doubt he would have hurt a shimmerfly."
Tager spoke gently. "You sound angry."
"Angry?" I stared at him. "Why should I be angry? I didn't want to hurt him. I wanted to make love to him."
"Tell me about him."
"I don't know anything about him."
Tager waited. I scowled and crossed my arms.
After a moment he tried a different tack. "Then you have no husband?"
Was it that obvious no one wanted me? "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
He let out a breath. "You strike me as someone who wouldn't consider a person as a potential lover if you were already committed to someone else."
"Oh." How had he known that? "So what? You expect me to be married?"
"Why does that anger you?"
"Stop being a heartbender and answer the damn question. You want me to be honest with you, then you be honest with me."
He spoke quietly. "Yes, I'm surprised you're not married."
I always got the same garbage: How could you be lonely? "Lose it, Tager."
"Why does that make you angry?"
"I'm not angry. Quit asking me that."
"You look furious."
"Sure. Right. Get that sexy Primary into bed. What a catch. Or else they want what Hilt wanted, to punish me with sex." My fist clenched at my side. "Maybe I should scar my face and wear rags and see if anyone wants me then."
He kept on in his maddening gentle voice. "Who is Hilt?"
I was furious at Tager, with his stupid questions. "Hilt is the bastard who shoved me up against the wall and called me an Old Money Ice Bitch."
"You're not."
I felt like a hovertrain that had just run into a brick wall. "What?"
In his gentle voice, he said, "The reason I'm surprised you're not married is because so few empaths with your sensitivity can bear to live alone."
"I have the sensitivity of a cement block."
He smiled. "An unusual block."
"I'm not making a joke."
"Neither am I."
I couldn't believe him. "What makes you think you know anything about me?"
Tager spread his hands. "I go on experience, training, gut level reactions. I'm also an empath."
"Oh." Of course. In his line of work he had to be an empath. "I don't think I want to talk any more." Telling him about myself was more exhausting than walking back from JMI. I just wanted to go home and sleep. "I don't know if I'll come back."
"I think you should," Tager said.
That stopped me cold. I had thought he would say what Kurj implied, that I was overworked, that I should go out and live a normal life. Relax. Rest. I had expected Tager to tell me, tactfully, that I didn't need to waste his time with my self-indulgent worries about my inability to relate to people.
Instead he wanted me to come back.
But talking to him took too much out of me. "I don't know if I have time."
"I don't think it would be wise for you to stop."
I stared at him. "Why?"
He had that look again, like my mother. "I need to see you more before I can understand why you're so angry. This much I can tell: if you don't deal with it, something is going to give."
I tensed. "You think I'm going to hurt someone?"
"It's possible."
I knew it. I had known it all along. I forced myself to say it. "You think I'm going to lose control and kill someone, don't you?"
"I don't believe you're capable of killing without provocation." Then, with no warning, he lifted my hand and pulled off my glove, revealing the bandages underneath. "How did you do this?"
How I had he guessed I was hurt? He was too empathic. I pulled away my hand. "I told you. I broke a glass."
"How?"
"None of your goddamned business." I wanted to shake him. "What does it matter how?"
He spoke with his unbearable kindness. "The person I fear you're going to hurt is yourself."
I was so mad my voice cracked. "That's the stupidest thing you've said yet."
"I can't force you to come back," Tager said. "Even if I could, it would do no good. I'm sure you can make me believe whatever you want about your mental state. But you wouldn't have come here if you didn't want help."
I spoke bitterly. "I'm a malfunctioning machine. I need an overhaul."
His expression softened. "You're no machine."
I pulled off my other glove and held out my hand, palm up, so he could see the socket in my wrist. "Machine."
"Your implants don't make you less human. They just extend the gifts you were born with."
"Gifts? Gifts?" I dropped my arm. "When someone I know hurts, I hurt. When someone wants to hurt me, I feel it. Often I don't even know where it comes from. Do you know what it's like to live that way?" The words escaped before I could stop them. "Do you have any idea what it's like to fly in a Jag squadron? What it's like to feel Aristos when you go into combat? They like to kill us. It's better than sex for them. Or else the pilot is a slave given his one chance for a better life. And I have to kill him." I couldn't stop my voice from shaking. "I feel every Trader I kill. I've died a thousand times and more out there. I can't do anything to myself that hasn't already been done."
"I can only know a part of it," Tager said. "But I've seen what it does to empaths to endure the life you live. That any of you survive is a miracle."
I didn't know what to say. I was tired. Tired. I couldn't talk any more. "I have to go."
"Will you come back?"
"I'll—think about it."
"I'm here every day. You can reach me any time. Day and night, any day."
I nodded. I didn't know what else to say. I didn't know if I could bear to come back.
It was mid-morning when I left the embassy. I walked home along the harbor, watching the ships in their docks. Sailors crowded the piers, strutting in their white pants and striped shirts, their blue caps pulled jauntily down to shade their eyes. Couples and families and singles strolled the beach, played in the water, or lay in golden sand under the golden sky with its shining span of rings. Children ran everywhere in bright clothes, waving puff-cube balloons, laughing and yelling and teasing the street musicians. The smells of food from concession stands mixed with the salty tang of the air. The place was alive, alive and thriving, human, booming and vibrant.
For a long time I stood by a wooden rail on the boardwalk watching the commotion. Gradually I became aware of an odd sensation.
Relief.
For some bizarre reason, knowing Tager thought I was in trouble gave me an incredible sense of relief. Why? Why should I be glad to know I was a mess?
Because if I was sick, I could be cured.
That was the crux of it. A problem could be fixed. If no problem existed, that would mean the way I had been feeling was normal, not something I could change. I didn't know if I could have lived with that.
Maybe, just maybe, I could go back to see Tager.
Eventually I started to walk again. I looked forward to getting out of my uniform and relaxing in the quiet of my apartment. The harbor was only a kilometer from the building where I lived, so it didn't take long to get home.
As I neared the building, I saw several people standing on the steps. It wasn't until I had almost reached them that their identities filtered past my preoccupation, and I understood why they were staring at me. It was Jarith and his friends, including Rebeka and Hilt. I had forgotten Jarith invited me to the beach.
I stopped in front of them, standing awkwardly. "I'm sorry I'm late. I hope you haven't been waiting long."
Jarith was staring at the bands on my jacket. "No, not long."
I pushed my hand through my hair. "I'm afraid I wouldn't be much company today. Perhaps you should all go without me."
They nodded. No one seemed to have any idea what to say. Jarith's embarrassment practically shouted at me; he felt like an utter fool, an idiot who had been lunatic enough to ask an Imperial Primary on a date.
This is no good, I thought. I smiled at him. "Would you like to come up?"
Jarith blinked. "To your apartment?"
"Yes."
He reddened. "Oh." Then he smiled. "Okay."
The others looked at him, then at me. Rebeka cleared her throat. "Well. We'll—um—see you later, Jar."
When he nodded, the others bowed slightly in my direction and left—all except Hilt, who was the one I most wanted to disappear.
"I'd like to talk to you," Hilt said. He glanced at Jarith, then back at me. "In private."
Given what I had almost done to him, I owed him that. "All right."
We walked to the other side of the steps and stood in the shade of a tree. "What is it?" I asked.
"Are you going to tab us?" Hilt asked.
Tab them? "What do you mean?"
"For the things we said. On the hike."
Then I understood. He wanted to know if I intended to report them. It was a legitimate question. I knew officers who would add their comments to their files.
"No," I said. "I'm not going to do anything."
"Why not?"
I shrugged. "You have a right to voice your opinions."
He spoke bitterly. "Do we?"
I wanted to say, "Of course you do." But it wouldn't come out. So instead I said, "You talked about things I needed to hear. None of it will go farther than me."
"Swear."
I frowned. "What does that mean?"
"You Jagernauts claim to live by a code of honor. Swear on that code you're telling the truth."
Who was he, to question my word? "The hell with you."
He snorted. "I figured as much."
Stop it, I told myself. "All right. I swear it on my honor as a Jagernaut."
He blinked. After a moment, he glanced at my hand. "How is it?"
"Fine."
"You could have killed me, couldn't you?"
"Yes."
"Why didn't you?"
I stared at him. "You must really think I'm a monster."
He shook his head. "Believe it or not, I respect people who are willing to fight for what they believe. But to me, you represent the worst of the oppressor. My parents spent ten years in prison when Ruth-2 was absorbed into the Imperialate. Their only crime was that they protested Imperial Space Command descending on us when we had done nothing but live productive, peaceful lives."
Ten years? No wonder he didn't like me. "I'm sorry."
"Sorry won't give back those years to them." He swallowed. "Or to me."
Something in his voice made my heart lurch. "How old were you when they took your parents?"
He spoke tightly. "Four."
Gods. I knew ISC dealt harshly with its critics, but what Hilt described was beyond reason. "You're right, I can't give you back those years. But I won't forget what you've told me."
"So what? What will that change?"
"Maybe more than you know."
He shrugged. "Maybe." He didn't sound convinced.
After Hilt left, I walked back to Jarith and tried to smile. For him, it even came naturally. We went inside the lobby, to a set of glass doors made from doubled panes. I took out my pass, a square card with my fingerprints etched on it, and slid it into a slot on the doors. A scanner whirred as it swept its laser over the card. Then the doors glided open.
We stepped into a glass-enclosed room. "Top floor," I said. The doors shut and the room lifted silently. The liquid crystal between the double panes rearranged in response to electric fields produced by the lift, changing the polarization of the glass so we could see through it. Below us the lobby spread out in an elegant view of plush carpets and gilded furniture. The lift rose through the roof and up the outside of the building, giving us a spectacular view of treetops and countryside.
Jarith and I stood in silence. His nervousness hung like mist in the air.
"How did your test go?" I asked.
"I got a pass plus." His face relaxed. "With high marks on music theory."
"Well. Good." I wasn't sure what to say. It had been over a quarter of a century since I had worried about tests.
The lift opened onto a corridor. Only one door showed in the hall, an old fashioned wooden one with a copper knob. When we reached it, I slid my card into a slot under the keyhole. The door swung inward with a click.
As we walked inside, Jarith's mouth fell open. "This is beautiful."
I smiled. The room no longer seemed dark. Amber sunlight and ringlight poured through the windows, and the giltwood shone.
"I like it." I closed the door and went to the bar. "Would you like a drink?"
He came to the other side of the counter. "Do you have rootberry juice?"
"Good gods, no. How can you drink that stuff?"
He laughed. "It's good."
My heart melted at his angel's smile. For him, I would have Pako order rootberry juice.
"How about mineral water?" Jarith asked.
"That I have." After I poured him a glass, I pulled out the whiskey for myself. Then I changed my mind and poured myself a glass of fizzy water instead.
We sat together on the sofa. I managed to keep my hands off of him until he finished his drink, but when he leaned forward to put his glass on the table, I trailed my fingers through his hair. He glanced around with a smile. Then he sat back and reached for me, sliding his arms around my waist. As I put my arms around his neck, he bent his head to mine. And that was when I found out how rootberry drinkers kiss. No wonder they all guzzled so much of that stuff.
After a while we paused and just sat hugging each other. I laid my head against his shoulder, filled with an incredible relief. Gods, I had been lonely.
Jarith murmured against my ear. "You don't feel like a Primary."
I nuzzled his neck. "How do I feel?"
"Good."
I sighed. "Ai, Hypron, it's been so long."
Jarith went rigid. After waiting for him to relax or say something, I leaned back in his arms. "What's wrong?"
He watched my face. "Why did you say that?"
I tried to recall what I had said: It's been so long. "I haven't had much company lately."
He studied my face as if he were searching for an answer. Then he reddened. "I guess I'm just nervous. I can't believe I'm here like this with you."
I touched his face. "I'm glad you are."
He took my hand, curling his fingers around mine, and drew me into another kiss. When we came up for air, I smiled. "I think this is where I ask if you want to see my etchings."
Jarith looked intrigued. "Ask away."
So I did. He didn't demur.
My bedroom was like an atrium, airy and full of plants. Arched windows graced the walls, with giltwood frames and copper fittings, and a skylight above let in more light. Lying on the bed among fluffy white pillows and blankets was like being enveloped in clouds.
Jarith and I curled together, bare skin against bare skin, and explored each other, taking our time in the afternoon light that slanted through the windows. He fit perfectly into me, his hips stroking my thighs and his hands stroking my skin. I moved with him, then slowed down, holding myself at the tantalizing edge, hanging there with him until we both gave in and surged to a crest that broke with gratifying intensity.
Afterwards we lay among the comforters, Jarith on his back with his eyes closed and I fitted into the curve of his arm.
"Soz?"
I stirred drowsily.
"Soz, wake up."
"Hmmm . . . ?"
"It's dinner time," he said.
I made a protesting noise. He nudged me, sliding his hands over my body. At first he was trying to wake me up, but his touch soon turned into caresses.
I sighed. "Ah, Hypron . . ."
His strokes stopped with an abruptness that jolted me awake. I opened my eyes, aware of the cool air against my side. Jarith was sitting up in bed, staring straight ahead.
I tugged his arm, trying to pull him back down. "What's wrong?"
He looked at me. "That's the second time you've done that."
"Done what?"
"Called me Hypron."
My pleasant drowsiness vanished. "I called you Hypron?" But yes, now that I thought about it, I had said Hypron. "I'm sorry."
He lay next to me and drew the comforter over us both. "Who is Hypron?"
Lying under the blankets, cradled in his arms, I felt safe, maybe safe enough to tell him what he wanted to know. I crept up to that hidden place in my mind as if I were edging open a drawer. A sun floated in there, dimmed and dark. I closed the drawer.
"Soz?" Jarith regarded me with an odd look, like a person who thought he had won a sweepstakes and then learned it had all been a mistake.
"Hypron was my husband," I said.
"Was?"
I spoke gently. "I wouldn't be here with you now if another man was in my life."
The tension in his arms eased. "Why did you leave him?"
"What makes you think I left him?"
"Who in his right mind would leave you?"
Wryly I said, "I'm glad someone in the universe feels that way."
"Soz—" His mind brushed mine. "Why do you hurt so much?"
"Hypron died three years ago." There. I had said it. The world hadn't ended. "It was less than a year after we married."
"I'm sorry."
I tried to shrug, which was my usual response, but it was hard to shrug with Jarith holding me so close. So instead I gave a far more honest reply. "So am I."
"May I ask what happened?"
It was a moment before I answered—but I did answer. "My squad was checking on a colony in T-Hea sector. He was an agriculturist there." Hypron. He had made me smile from the moment I saw him. And I hadn't been able to keep my hands off him. It wasn't that he was particularly handsome, though to me he had always looked irresistible with his mischievous grin. Something about him made me feel good, that deep down good that warms you everywhere.
"We married two weeks after we met," I said. "We didn't know—the colonists had lousy medical care, and the immune system treatments he received hadn't taken properly. By the time we realized what had happened, it was too late." My voice caught. "So he died."
"Ah, Soz, I'm sorry." He rested his head on mine, holding me under the blankets. And finally I opened that mental drawer with the dim sun inside. The memories were there, recollections of such joy and pain. But I could look at them. Today I could look at them.
After a while I said, "When I first met you, I thought you were an empath."
"I am. Actually, Empathic Healer is my designation in the Kyle registry."
I lay warm in his arms. "I thought so."
He spoke softly. "When other people hurt, emotionally, I can't bear it. I have to try to reach them, to sooth them. But I almost never know if I do any good."
I kissed him. "You do."
"You're all three."
"All three?"
"Empath, healer, telepath." He touched my hair. "I feel like I'm standing in a nova when you let down your barriers."
"I let down my barriers?"
"When we made love."
"Oh." I would have to watch that. Then again, maybe I shouldn't. A person should have a time in her life when she could relax her defenses.
A disembodied voice cut into our conversation. "Soz."
Jarith nearly jumped out of the bed. "Who is that?"
I laughed softly. "Just my mesh node." Raising my voice, I said, "Pako, not now."
Pako's voice came out of a comm discretely set in the wall across the room. "Qox is about to broadcast a speech."
For flaming sake. I had told Pako to let me know when news involving Qox came on. So of course the confounded Emperor had to give a speech when I was in bed with Jarith.
"All right," I grumbled. "Play it."
The holoscreen across the room came on, projecting an image of the puma crouched to attack. The Trader anthem began to play, its haunting strains filling the room. How such a hideous people create such a beautiful piece of music, I had no idea.
Jarith shuddered. "Why do you want to watch this?"
"I have to know what they have to say." It was true, however much I hated it.
"Every time I see them, I feel like I'm—" He paused, searching for a word. "Like I'm being—"
"Raped?"
He gave me a startled look. "Yes."
The puma reformed into an image of two people. But neither was Ur Qox. The man who stood on the left was Kryx Quaelen, the Highton Trade Minister.
The speaker, the man at the podium, was Jaibriol.
Jarith got out of bed and pulled on his pants. "I can't watch this. Not here. I'm sorry. I'll wait for you in the living room."
Why did Jaibriol have to trespass into my life again, just when I had a chance to forget him? I got up and went to the closet, grabbing the first thing I touched, a simple shift. "You don't have to go." I pulled the dress over my head. "I'll leave. You can stay here."
"Why don't we both go into the living room?"
I understood then. He didn't want the Hightons in the place where we had made love. "All right."
I sat on the sofa watching the holoscreen while Jarith made himself a drink. Jaibriol's speech had little substance, just the usual Trader business about how wonderful they all were. It didn't sound like him. That wasn't what chilled me, though. To someone who didn't know him, which meant most of the galaxy, he probably appeared like a normal Highton. But I had seen him from the inside, that night on Delos. The man giving that speech was drugged.
Jarith sat next to me, holding his drink. Whiskey. He took a long swallow, watching the screen like a man in a trance, unable to look away. But he hardly noticed Jaibriol. It was Quaelen who mesmerized him. What power did the Hightons have, that they could terrorize us even through a broadcast? Was it the language of their bodies, the cadence of their voices, the flexing of their hands? At some level, we recognized them. Seeing Quaelen chilled me. Why was he with Jaibriol?
A horrible thought came to me. Maybe Ur Qox put Jaibriol in Quaelen's care. The Emperor of Eube, the monstrous leader of the Traders, carried the recessive genes of an empath. He was half Rhon, inheriting the DNA only from his mother, so none of his traits manifested. But he had every gene unpaired. Did he feel some trace of empathy, enough to have compassion for his son? Perhaps he gave Jaibriol to Quaelen because he couldn't make himself to force his son into the role he had sired Jaibriol to play.
I didn't want to imagine Jaibriol's life with Kryx Quaelen as his "mentor." I could guess what happened; Jaibriol refused to give the speech and Quaelen drugged him into compliance, maybe using threats or physical force as well. The worst of it was that Quaelen didn't need drugs or threats. He could easily record enough data to create a convincing simulation of the Highton Heir that would give whatever speech Quaelen wanted—if it were only Jaibriol's words he desired to control.
Jarith sat next to me, his face ashen as he downed his drink. Finally I said, "Pako, turn off the broadcast."
As the screen darkened, Jarith glanced at me, relief washing out from his mind. "You have to watch every speech they give?"
I grimaced. "Unfortunately. 'Know your enemy' and all that."
"It was bad enough when Qox had no heir. At least we could hope he would be the last of his line. But with his son materializing out of nowhere—" Jarith shuddered. "I wonder if it will ever end."
I didn't see how it could. If Qox hadn't produced an heir, another Highton would have claimed the title. The new Emperor would be just as bad. The Hightons would never evolve into a gentler people. Aristos were genetically programmed to be Aristos. Nor would time dilute their gene pool. Their obsession with the purity of their bloodlines came from far more than arrogance. They truly were a pathological strain of life; when they reproduced in a way to expand their gene pool, having children with their providers, they bore offspring they were driven to destroy.
Now Jaibriol stood there, drugged and vulnerable, the one person in this star-spanning war of hatred who could end it, either by coming to the peace table—or by bringing Imperial Skolia to its knees.