Dreamspy. Jacqueline Lichtenberg
Idom commented, “That sounds awfully melodramatic.”
“Not really. Some people can afford to have what they want when they want it. It’s my business to be what such people want.” He raked Idom with a glance, then focused on Kyllikki. “I’m an entertainer.”
Elias didn’t seem to have any awe for Idom’s colorful and distinctive uniform, even now that it had been cleaned and renewed. The astrogator had shed the dark purple silk cape, but the white cassock and black robe underneath still showed not only the Guide Guild’s insignia with Prosperity’s blazons, but also the sigils of academic rank normally covered by the cloak. However, Idom didn’t need heraldic splendor to intimidate. He projected an air of understanding what was happening because of what he knew that others didn’t.
“Etha Ckam told me you were,” offered Kyllikki.
“When did you talk to Etha?” shot back Elias.
“We’d been exchanging traffic when she died.”
“Oh.” He looked stricken.
Ckam would have been wearing stripes identical to Kyllikki’s, but Elias hadn’t recognized them. Was he only now realizing Etha might have read his mind? “She said you were to entertain at a court function. What do you do?”
“Music. I sing, play instruments, dance a little.”
“That doesn’t sound very...exotic,” said Kyllikki.
“My instruments are unique, I compose my own music, and I use a phonic scale that’s...different. All my material is original. I’m told it appears exotic.”
“What have you recorded? Do you use your own name? I don’t think you ever told us your last name.”
“Kleef. Elias...Kleef,” he offered with an odd hesitation between the names. “No, I haven’t recorded anything yet. If I do, I won’t get any more rides on courier ships or yachts. The powerful don’t want popular; they want exclusive, high culture, and rare.”
What a position for a spy! Playing all the richest parties, the most exclusive clubs, court functions. If Zimor were to plant a spy, that’s how she’d do it.
“Apparently, there’s also danger in such a life these days,” observed Idom. “Perhaps you should record.”
“That’s a thought. But now all my instruments, my notebooks...everything was lost with Otroub. And since I won’t be getting paid because I won’t be showing up, I’m broke.”
“In that case,” said Idom, “you’ll be stuck on Barkyr, possibly as long as we will.” He looked at Kyllikki.
It was a speculative look she recognized. Idom knew as well as she did that the healer’s probe had given Elias’ genetic makeup as human except for four or five small quirks.
Dressed now in the pod’s brown coverall, Elias looked gorgeous. He had pale blond hair streaked with white, a coppery complexion that almost matched the coverall, sizzling blue eyes, sculpted lips, and a gauntness that emphasized his muscular shoulders; taut, trim buttocks; and long legs with bulging dancer’s calves. He couldn’t be much older than Kyllikki. Idom, who considered most of her problems due to her recent, sudden celibacy, was matchmaking again.
Elias had not missed Idom’s suggestive undertone, but he answered the older man’s words. “Then maybe I’ll have a chance to thank you both properly.”
He’d never touch a telepath, she thought, especially if he’s a spy, and if he’s Zimor’s Bonded Dreamer, he’s probably figured out who I am, might even be planning to capture or kill me for her. Capture, most likely. Shog.
But nothing he said or did for the rest of that night supported that theory, and by the time Idom woke her for her watch, she’d discarded it again.
“The drive is humming along smoothly,” he reported as he turned over the pilot’s chair, “but the air scrubbers and temperature regulators have been erratic. Watch them.”
She settled in place and eyed the indicators. “Don’t mention it to Elias,” she said. “It’s probably nothing.”
“It’s possible they’ve been doing that all along.”
“I’ll read up on it just in case. Get some sleep.”
But over the next day, the strange fluctuations increased. They alternately sweated or shivered, and occasionally panted as carbon dioxide collected.
Then Kyllikki regained contact with Lee. The flight of pods from Prosperity had nearly reached Barkyr, and every available craft was busy collecting the passengers. Every one of the pods had experienced an assortment of malfunctions ranging from serious to amusing, so nobody wanted to trust those pods to make a safe touchdown on an inhabited planet.
Lee told her, //There’s no way they can spare a ship to come out and get you. How bad is your situation? Will you need to go into stasis?//
//I doubt it. We can make it, but we could use a little technical assistance.// And she explained their problem.
Under directions from one of Prosperity’s mechanics, Kyllikki and Idom stabilized the temperature, but couldn’t do anything about the scrubbers.
Two more days went by, and they began using breathing masks when the carbon dioxide was high. Then they noticed a foul taste to the recycled water. They still had four days to go before they could expect pickup.
Idom and Kyllikki worked on the water recyclers all the next day, but had to reassemble them without much hope.
Over dinner, Idom said, “Even Zuchmul couldn’t do more.”
“I wish I could be more help,” offered Elias, who had, after much careful instruction, taken over the galley chores for them, “but I have no mechanical aptitude.”
“We noticed,” said Kyllikki, reaching for the hot shaid.
“Kyllikki! Elias, she didn’t mean that.”
She was framing a weary apology when a piercing whistle penetrated her shaky barriers. She jumped, sloshing hot shaid all over her hand. The two men leapt to her rescue, blotting up the mess, searching for ice to treat the burn, and demanding, “What happened?”
Shog! //Lee! Pods aren’t telepathically insulated like passenger liners! What’s the matter with you?//
//Sorry. I’ve been trying to get your attention. Barkyr is under attack. A fleet of Teleod ships is coming from the opposite side of Barkyr, the side away from Station Prime, but the first attack destroyed Barkyr Defense. So the Paitsmun are already offering surrender. They’ve pulled back all their orbital craft, leaving half our pods stranded. Barkyr doesn’t want to seem threatening to the Teleod fleet. If you have an option, change course. Don’t come here.//
She relayed to Idom and Elias.
Idom shoved away from the table, towering over Kyllikki. “Tell him we don’t have an option. We’re coming in. We’ll try a landing if we have to. I’m going to see what our screens are showing.”
As she relayed that to Lee, her mind dwelled on what would happen if some zealous Teleod officer recognized her. Within days, she’d be back in Zimor’s stronghold.
She shuddered. //I’ll let you know if Idom comes up with something. Right now I’ve got to go—//
//No, listen!// returned Lee. //I know this is a sore point with you, Kyllikki, but you’re the only one here who’d know. Is there any chance these ships have a communicator who can hear us like you heard that attack coordinator?//
He knows how I did that. She tried to think. //Lee, there’s a chance they might, but it’s a very, very small chance. My Metaji trainers told me I’m the only one trained in the Teleod who’s ever tried the Metaji’s com training and survived. I’ve never heard of any Metaji-trained telepath attempting the key images. You have