Guardians of Paradise (38 page)

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Authors: Jaine Fenn

BOOK: Guardians of Paradise
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By Olias Kahani, no doubt. From his tone, Pershalek considered Tawhira-
ngai
’s refusal to indulge him to be their loss. Kahani would have played on that sense of injustice. Marua decided to continue to indulge the scientist’s ego for the moment. ‘I assume you mean your theories regarding the effects of shiftspace transits on neural interface technology? Groundbreaking stuff, insofar as I can understand it.’
 
‘Yes, yes.’ He nodded as though his genius was a given. ‘But strictly theoretical - it’s not like they could give me access to shiftspace—’
 
‘But we can,’ said Marua.
 
He looked annoyed at being interrupted, then said dubiously, ‘So one of your people told me.’
 
Marua remained silent. She did not have to be his friend, she merely had to persuade him to do his job.
 
When he realised she was waiting for him to continue he added, ‘The fact is, I came here believing I would be continuing my own research with whatever facilities I required and a full team reporting to me.’
 
I’m sure you were, but that was a promise made by an inveterate liar.
‘You will be given adequate chances to pursue your work when not employed on the main project, and our facilities are the best of any
ngai
. However, given the sensitive nature of your work, I’m afraid we can allow you only one assistant.’ When they managed to find a replacement for Tikao.
 
‘If you don’t value me enough to assign me a team, then frankly I’m surprised you bothered to recruit me,’ he said, sitting back.
 
Marua wondered if the real problem was his discovery that his leftfield theories had already been explored and applied by someone else. ‘I’m sorry you feel that way,’ she conceded. ‘But you have to understand that the work you will be doing for us has to be carried out in the utmost secrecy. The fact that you will be working alone is a result of this constraint, and not a reflection of how important your unique skills are to us.’
 
‘Whilst obviously I
can
do the work, I must say I find what you are doing here to be . . .
ethically dubious
.’ He spoke the words as though trying them out. Which he probably was, if his profile was anything to go by. He obviously valued cold science over human concerns. ‘I hadn’t initially realised that the procedures you carry out use adolescent boys. Little more than children!’ The man was trying to work himself up into a state of moral indignation, but, not having well-developed morals, it was taking some effort.
 
‘The subjects are not exactly normal human boys: they do not perceive the world in the same way we do. However, I do understand that you might still be uncomfortable with the process.’ Actually she doubted it. Marua herself probably had more qualms, and she had long since accepted the price as worth paying. ‘But you need to understand
why
we are doing this. This facility is the
only
place transit-kernels are created. Without the work we do here, human interstellar culture is doomed.’
 
‘I have to say, that did surprise me when I read the briefing this morning,’ said Pershalek. ‘In fact, I find it a little hard to believe. Why here? Why
only
here?’
 
‘That is something I’ll explain later, once you’ve accepted the job.’
 
He seized on her refusal. ‘No, I need to know now. You can’t expect me to co-operate unless you tell me everything.’
 
Grigan’s Ascensionist views had provided her mother with a lever when she recruited him; Pershalek, amoral and egotistical, was turning out to be far harder work. Rather than acknowledge his defiance she said, ‘You do know that you can never leave this island.’
 
‘Is that a threat?’
 
‘No, merely a statement.’
 
‘Then put me on a different project. I’m sure I could be useful in other areas.’
 
‘I’m quite sure you could, but this is something that only you can do.’
Much as I wish otherwise.
It was somewhat ironic, given the trouble she’d been to, that the suppliers still hadn’t turned up. She wondered if they had ever been this late before. As had happened when her mother dealt with them twenty-five years ago, the buyers were still lurking in-system. Presumably they intended to liaise with the suppliers before the incoming Sidhe dropped off the stasis-units containing the next batch of boys. That was what had happened last time, according to Marua’s mother. Marua would have liked to know what was going on, but Lyrian hadn’t been in contact since she’d picked up the completed transit-kernels.
 
‘And if I refuse, what then? Will you kill me?’ Pershalek was scared, but he knew his worth; he was testing her.
 
‘Absolutely not. You are too useful to us.’
 
‘And to kill me when I’m your guest would be
tapu
, wouldn’t it?’ For the first time, Pershalek smiled. He obviously didn’t think highly of the world’s honour-code.
 
‘You’re right, it would,’ she said tightly. ‘However, depriving you of your freedom and the privileges that would otherwise be yours would not.’
 
‘I’m not exactly free now,’ complained Pershalek.
 
Marua looked round the pleasantly appointed room with its vases of flowers and colourful hangings. ‘Trust me, your situation could be a lot worse.’
 
He raised his chin in an almost childish gesture of defiance. ‘Then maybe we can discuss this again when and if it becomes so.’
 
 
Alone again, Nual considered Lyrian’s offer. It sounded almost reasonable: tell us everything we ask and you will be forgiven, your past wiped clean. You will be allowed to take your rightful place amongst your people.
 
Nual knew Lyrian had not coerced her - if she could do that, then she would be free to read her, rather than having to resort to the clumsy human method of communication. No, the attraction of Lyrian’s offer came down to simple logic, combined with Nual’s own feelings about her flight from her people. ‘We’re not looking for blame,’ Lyrian had said, ‘just explanations. We know the events on the mothership must have been traumatic for you.’
 
Lyrian was right about that. The memory of those few days, when her life changed for ever, still haunted her in her dreams, quite possibly influencing her decisions in ways she was not always able to identify. Nual wondered how much Lyrian already knew. When Jarek rescued her, the mothership had been dead in space, its transit-kernel burnt out. The Sidhe must have found it, presumably as a result of information extracted from Jarek’s mind. If the mothership’s comp had survived - and there was no reason to suspect it hadn’t - Lyrian would know of Nual’s rebellion and subsequent imprisonment. She wondered what else they’d found when they boarded the wreck. When Nual left, most of the others on board were already dead and she herself had barely escaped the influence of that strange, appalling contagion that had driven them to turn on each other. Even now she shied away from that memory.
 
Part of her wanted to tell Lyrian what little she knew, even though admitting her role in the downfall of the mothership might damn her in her sisters’ eyes. At least then she could start to deal with her terrible mistake.
 
It was Lyrian’s other questions that she was not willing to answer: what Nual had done since leaving her people, who she had had dealings with - by which Lyrian meant: who knew the Sidhe were still abroad and wielding power? Nual had no doubt that her people would hunt down and eliminate any threats to their secret hold over humanity. The Sidhe already knew about Jarek, and poor Elarn was dead now, thanks to her.
 
But Taro . . .
 
In some ways love complicated everything. But it made certain decisions effortlessly simple. She would die before she betrayed Taro.
 
She had tried to avoid thinking of her lover because to do so caused an almost physical pain. But now she wondered if her failure to communicate with him was down to nothing more sinister than simple timing. She had designated the current time ‘about midday’ in her head because she had been awake for several hours, but she had no idea what the true time was back on Kama Nui. Taro might well be in a receptive state again now; she should have another go at contacting him.
 
She lay on the bed and prepared to put herself into a trance. First she shut off the distracting signals from her raw throat and sour, shrunken stomach. Then she slowed her breathing and heart-rate. Though she was familiar with the use of trance she had never done anything quite like this: trying to enter an active dream-state whilst awake, and at the same time attempting to establish a link whose nature she barely understood.
 
She found her remaining physical sensations falling away.
 
This was a riskier proposition than true sleep. She sensed the unity, waiting on the edge of consciousness.
 
She braced herself, ready to withdraw, or fight.
 
The waiting presences did nothing. Perhaps they could not exploit this state after all. Either that or, for fear of her taint, they did not want to risk direct confrontation.
 
Because this was not a true dream, the contact would have to take a different form. She focused directly on Taro, homing in on him through the paths of her memory. She recalled his voice, his touch, the smell of him. The experience was sensual, almost erotic, and she was half tempted to lose herself in it, to escape her current situation in a happy daydream . . . but no, that would be no more than a temporary respite.
 
She honed her recollections, moving away from the physical to the less quantifiable: the feel of his mind, the flavour of his soul.
 
At first she thought she was merely slipping into a true, deep - and fruitless - sleep. Then she sensed him.
 
And she felt him sense her.
 
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
 
Jarek’s body-clock was still messed up after his transit marathon, and despite his late night he woke early.
 
He wondered how Bez was doing. No news was probably good news. She’d tell him when she’d cracked the core.
 
Thinking of her reminded him that he’d forgotten to check the decryption routine last night. The quietly pinging comp on the bridge indicated that Tawhira-
ngai
’s data had been unlocked, as he had hoped.
 
Jarek sat down and started to read. The files weren’t big, but there was a fair bit of corporate crap and scientific jargon to wade through, so it took him a while to work out why the
ngai
had wanted an Angel. When he did, he reread the relevant section to be sure, then breathed, ‘Holy shit,’ and jumped up.
 
Taro was still asleep, sprawled across the couch in wanton in-elegance. As Jarek approached he saw the boy’s eyes moving under their lids. He reached out and shook him, gently but firmly, at the same time calling his name.
 
For a moment Jarek thought Taro wasn’t going to wake up. Then he gasped, opened his eyes wide and tried to thrust Jarek away.
 
‘Easy!’ said Jarek, grabbing one of Taro’s hands. ‘It’s all right, you’re safe now.’
 
‘No!’ Taro blinked rapidly, batting at Jarek. ‘No, I have to—’
 
‘Have to what?’ Jarek realised Taro wasn’t properly conscious; his movements were jerky, his eyes unfocused.
 
‘Have to . . . gotta go back. She’s here.’ He looked at Jarek and his expression fell. ‘She’s gone,’ he said, his voice devastated.
 
‘“She” as in Nual?’
 
Taro nodded miserably. ‘I felt her, reaching out,’ he said woozily. ‘We were close, so close. But . . . gone now.’
 
‘Shit,’ said Jarek. ‘Sorry. I had no idea.’
 
For a moment neither of them said anything, then in a sad, mildly accusatory voice, Taro said, ‘Why’d you wake me anyway?’
 
‘I’ve decrypted the files we stole from Tawhira-
ngai
. I know what they wanted with you.’
 
Taro sat up groggily. ‘That’s more than I do,’ he said.
 
‘So you don’t know what zepgen is, then?’
 
Taro shook his head. ‘Never heard of it. Or them. Sounds a bit like one of them topside alt-metal bands back in Khesh.’
 
Jarek knew the boy was trying to lighten the mood - which made the conversation they needed to have even more difficult. ‘Listen, why don’t you get cleaned up and I’ll get the caf on. We can talk about it after you’ve had a chance to wake up properly.’
 
‘All right.’ Taro’s voice had some of that old sulkiness Jarek recalled from when they first met, but this time he couldn’t entirely blame the boy.

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