Mind Guest (43 page)

“Don’t you ever believe in smiling?” a voice asked, and my head jerked up to see Valdon standing in the doorway. I didn’t know how long he’d been standing there, and I stared at him for a minute without being able to say anything, then cleared my throat.

“Don’t you ever believe in knocking?” I tried, not at all sure what else there was to say. He was back to wearing a blue uniform coverall like Dameron’s, and he was back to having black hair and eyes and a ridiculously good too king face that looked nothing at all like Fallan’s, but there was something familiar about the way he stood and moved and looked at me.

“Attack and counterattack,” he grinned, moving out of the doorway and closer toward my bed. “I think I recognize the pattern.” Then he noticed the cigarette in my hand and stopped short. “Now what are you doing?” he asked, studying the pile of ashes I’d accumulated.

“I’m smoking,” I supplied, taking a drag to prove the point before putting the cigarette out. “And what are you doing out of bed?”

“You’ve got some catching up to do,” he commented, still eyeing the ashes and dead cigarette “I’ve been out of bed for days. Apparently they found fixing my body easier than fixing your mind.”

He was standing no more than four feet away from me, and I couldn’t keep my eyes on his face. I looked down into my lap at a pair of hands that suddenly had nothing to do, discovering that my mind was as blank of dialogue as the walls were blank of decoration.

Apologizing is a snap when you don’t mean a word of what you say, but the real thing tends to be somewhat awkward.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, moving closer to the bed so he could sit down at the foot of it. I would have been happier if he’d left the room, but there was no getting out of it.

“Look,” I blurted, bringing my eyes back up to his. “I don’t really know how to say this, but it’s got to be said. I had no right doing what I did to you, and I apologize.”

“Sincere and from the heart,” he observed, leaning down on one elbow as he shook his head. “If I hadn’t gotten to know you so well, I might have doubted your sincerity.”

His sarcastic tone of voice might have begun eating away at my regret if I hadn’t remembered that he had the right to be sarcastic at the very least. I decided it was time for another cigarette, and occupied my hands and mouth that way.

“You’re showing admirable restraint these days,” he said, still sarcastic. “They must have done a good job on you after all. Is that all there is to it? You ‘apologize’?”

I pulled the cigarette out of my mouth, exhaling a thick cloud, and stared at him without much amusement.

“That’s a good deal further than I usually go,” I remarked. “Were you looking for something written in blood?”

“That would be appropriate,” he grinned, making himself more comfortable, “but maybe we can think of something even better.” His eyes moved over me where I sat cross legged at the head of the bed, and his grin grew lazy. “Have any suggestions?”

I wasn’t sure I understood what he was getting at or maybe I didn’t want to understand it.

“I’m not feeling particularly swift today,” I said, leaning back against the wall. “Why don’t you try being more specific?”

“There’s not much to be specific about,” he shrugged, keeping his eyes on me. “If you’ve got something you’d like to apologize for, there are more intimate and friendly-ways of doing it.”

He just sat there watching me, that irritating grin faint but obvious, his longish black hair falling over his forehead, patiently waiting for a more intimate apology. I studied him silently for another moment, my thoughts not quite polite enough to describe, my breath filling the space between us with light gray smoke.

“If that’s your price, you’ve got it,” I told him after the minute, the decision coming out flat and emotionless, matching a reluctant willingness to pay for my mistakes. I put the cigarette out with three or four stabs at the shallow, square ceramic bowl I’d been given, then got to my feet to remove the short body-suit. The mustard yellow color of the thing was inexplicably annoying, but Valdon wasn’t looking annoyed. His eyes moved over me with a good deal of interest, and his grin widened again when I lay down next to him.

“Very nice,” he murmured, still absorbed in his inspection. “Very nice indeed.”

His approval was obvious, but he wasn’t making any attempt to touch me. I looked up at him from where I lay on the soft yellow cover, wondering what he was waiting for. I wasn’t enjoying the episode and wanted an end to it as soon as possible, so I moved my hand toward him with the intention of increasing his interest, but never got the chance. His hand shot out to grab my wrist, stopping my arm in mid movement, and the look in his black eyes sharpened.

“As I said, this is all very nice,” he repeated, “but what do you expect to gain by it? Do you think I can be bought off with the chance to exercise a few muscles?”

“Bought off?” I choked, gaping at him incredulously. “What do I expect to gain?” I was so mad I totally lost the ability to speak. He was the one who had wanted more than words in apology, and now he was acting as though I was the one who! I growled low in my throat, feeling the rage surge through me, and struggled to get my wrist loose from his grip. His fingers tightened around my wrist, improving his grip instead of loosening it, making me fight harder to get free.

“What’s the matter?” he drawled, grinning that infuriating grin. “You can’t be thinking of giving up on the apologizing?”

“Apologizing!” I echoed in outrage, trying to calm down enough to remember how to pull loose the right way. “I’ll be damned if I’ll stand for this any longer! I may not have had the right to do what I did to you, but I sure as hell had the provocation! You might as well get out of here right now, because I have nothing to apologize for!”

As mad as I was, I was totally unprepared for his reaction to that.

The grin left him entirely, and his eyes became as serious as his expression.

“That’s right, you don’t,” he agreed, finally letting go of my wrist.

“As a matter of fact, you never did have what to apologize for.”

I gaped at him again, mechanically rubbing at my wrist, and his grin was back as suddenly as it had gone.

“You’re one hard female to convince of something,” he said, reaching over to gently close my mouth. “Dameron told me that you refused to understand about what had happened, so I thought I’d try my hand at reaching you. But first I had to get you mad enough to forget about the guilt you felt.”

Well, he had gotten me mad, all right, but I could see he didn’t understand what was really involved. I sat up and ran my hands through my hair, shaking my head at him.

“I don’t feel guilty, but I do feel stupid,” I explained. “Stupid and incompetent. I appreciate your effort, but there’s not much anyone can do about it.”

“I don’t understand what you’re talking about,” he protested, beginning to sound annoyed. “The way you acted was a direct result of the impression, and couldn’t possibly be considered your fault.

Bellna’s presence was so strong and overpowering that I noticed it as soon as you’d been impressed-that’s why I insisted on being the one to take Fallan’s place. No one else noticed a damned thing, and wouldn’t have believed me if I’d tried warning them about it. It’s also why I brought in another ‘decoy,’ pretending it was all Grigon’s idea. I wanted to be prepared if anything went really wrong, and it gave me a good excuse for shoving you out of the center of things, where Bellna would feel at home and therefore be stronger. It wasn’t anyone’s fault but Clero’s that it didn’t do much good.”

“You’re still looking at it backwards,” I insisted, rolling over to grab a cigarette. “The whole thing was my fault from beginning to end, and I know it even if you don’t.”

I got the cigarette lit and was about to move farther away from him with it, but his band on my arm rolled me back toward him.

“If you know so much, explain it to me,” he invited, a stubborn look in those dark black eyes. “Maybe there’s something I’m missing.”

His expression said he didn’t think he was missing anything, but if nothing else, he was entitled to an explanation. I shrugged inwardly as I took a drag on the cigarette, then lay back to make myself comfortable.

“When I first arrived here,” I began, “I took great pains to keep you and Dameron from finding out what I was really like. It turned out to be a mistake, because if Dameron had had all the facts he probably wouldn’t have gotten involved with me.

“My full designation is, ‘Special Agent of the Federation Council,’

and doesn’t begin to explain the sort of person who carries such a designation. When I first woke up here at the base, I was prepared to kill any or all of you if I found you in my way. I have as small an amount of conscience as is humanly possible, a state which is a prime requirement of my job. I know how to kill and have done so each time it was required of me. I am trained in unarmed combat to an extent that most people find terrifying. The only redeeming feature I possess is judgment, a characteristic which allows me to function as an asset to society rather than a blot on it. With all these things in mind, knowing myself as no one here knows me, I let myself be put into a position where a childish mind presence could impair that judgment and did. I am a professional in my field, and as such my actions were inexcusable-and stupid. Do you understand now?”

I turned my head to look at him, and saw that he bad been listening.

His head was down and his eyes were on the soft yellow cover, and he seemed to be considering what I’d said. After a minute or two has eyes came up to meet mine and he smiled gently.

“I see your point,” he murmured, “but there’s something you’re not taking into consideration. Dameron did know what he had in you, otherwise he never would have sent you. He questioned you thoroughly when we first found you, and when a crisis came up Dameron took advantage of what he’d learned. But as far as I can see, neither one of you is at fault because there was no way of anticipating what the impression would do to you. Even Grigon has admitted that he let you talk him into not reporting what he observed because there was no alternative plan to substitute for what had to be done. Dameron knew it, Grigon knew it, and you knew it. How could any of you be expected to walk away from such a necessity on the outside chance that something might go wrong?”

The sincerity of his spiel was tempting, but single-mindedness is an integral part of my character.

“Stupidity is stupidity,” I muttered, taking another drag on the cigarette. “Dameron and Grigon didn’t know how hard I had to fight to keep Bellna from taking over. I did. I just refused to admit it.”

“If stubbornness was a power source, you could handle a city,” Valdon growled, narrowing his eyes and shaking his head at me. “A large city. If you’re that dead set on taking the blame, maybe getting punished for it would ease your nonexistent conscience. Suppose I turn you bottom up again and find out?”

He began reaching a hand out toward me, but I knocked it away with a snort.

“That’s not funny,” I told him, remembering all too well the first time he’d done it. “I’m used to coupling crime with escape, not with punishment, so don’t do me any favors. As a matter of fact, your interesting manner of punishment was a prime motivation for what happened later. Was that Fallan’s way of doing things or yours?”

“Mine,” he admitted with no backwardness or reget, but with a broadening grin. “I’d worked pretty damned hard at pulling you out of that fever, and I was in no mood to see you wandering around. Just being out of bed so soon might have gotten you that whacking, but then you started pulling some of your fancy tricks. I suddenly remembered all the other things you’d done and that clinched it.”

“That particular reminder came from Bellna rather than me,” I told him with a grimace. “She started the whole thing, then ran out and left me holding the bag. The only bit of luck in this whole mess was the luck I had when there was enough time to change you to look like Fallan. I doubt if the real Fallan would have gone to the lengths you did to keep me whole.”

“The real Fallan would have disappeared as soon as he found out about Clero’s plans,” Valdon said, but he was again frowning at me. “He liked to think of himself as a practical man. But let’s return to what you said about there being enough time to change me. Didn’t Dameron tell you that we got our hands on Fallan no more than three hours before he was due to pick you up?”

“No, he didn’t,” I said, matching Valdon’s frown. “But if that’s true, how did they manage to change you so fast?”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” he insisted, raising himself higher on his elbow. “The clinicians didn’t change me. You may not realize it, but I have original Absari blood. I do my own changing.”

It was a distinct temptation to call for the men in the white jackets, but instead I snorted again.

“Is that so?” I challenged, determined to show him how sick he was.

“If you can change yourself without any help, prove it by showing me.”

I was expecting a lot of hemming and hawing and excuse-making, but all he did was shrug.

“Sure,” he answered agreeably, and then his features-blurred. Without moving a single muscle I could see, it was suddenly Fallan lying on the bed near me. Brown-haired, brown-eyed Fallan in all his arrogant glory, slightly smaller than Valdon but not much. I heard Fallan’s chuckle and saw his grin, and couldn’t pull my eyes away from the over-familiar face.

“This is the talent that makes our people such effective Watchers,”

Valdon told me in Fallan’s voice. “It must have started as a simple defense mechanism, but we’ve learned to put it to good use. Don’t you feel uncomfortable with your jaw hanging down like that?”

I closed my mouth with a snap, then controlled the urge to gape again when Valdon turned back to Valdon. Or Fallan turned back to Valdon.

Or whatever the hell you want to call it. I’m not easy to shake, but I don’t mind admitting that that quick-change act really got to me.

“How do you do that?” I finally managed to demand, looking at him from all angles to see if I could spot hinges or mirrors.