Primary Inversion by Catherine Asaro

“Otherwise, I’ll annihilate you into oblivion.”
           He didn’t argue. It was a good thing, because my Jumbler was empty. I couldn’t annihilate a speck of dust. Even with only wimpons for fuel, a gun could only hold so much antimatter.
           A knock sounded outside.
           The Highton turned with a startled jerk. “Come.”
           From my hiding place I could see only the Aristo. I heard the door open.
           “We apologize for disturbing you, sir,” a voice said.
           The Aristo gave a perfect Highton scowl and waved his hand at the blaring console. “This is disturbing me far more. What is the problem? Who was that woman I saw outside? She looked like an Imperial Jagernaut.”
           “She is,” the guard said. “The Primary from the bar. She damaged the foyer and ran out again.”
           “Why?” The Aristo sounded genuinely curious.
           A second voice spoke. “We don’t know, sir. We’ll question her as soon as we catch her.” His anticipation made my stomach lurch. I “recognized” the feel of his mind even though I had never met him. He was the guard with the two providers.
           “I saw her run into the park across the street,” the Aristo said.
           “We’ll search it thoroughly,” the first guard told him.
           “Good. Now leave me to my privacy. And fix those alarms.”
           “We haven’t been able to isolate the virus causing the trouble,” the other guard said. “We may have to turn off the security system and restart it.”
           The Aristo raised his eyebrows. “With all the commotion, she could have climbed into this room without being detected.”
           The first guard spoke in a reassuring voice. “The trellis would throw her off, sir. And she was only on the grounds for a moment. She didn’t have time to get close to you.”
           The Aristo spoke dryly. “I’m glad you have such confidence. Now go find her.”
           “Yes, sir.” The guards must have bowed, because their clothes crackled with that irritating noise Trader uniforms made when someone bent at the waist. The door whispered shut and the pound of boots receded through the house.
           The Aristo came over to me. “What do you want?”
           I edged out, keeping my empty gun trained on him, and went to his console. Then I turned down the audio. Alarms continued to blare in the rest of the mansion but at least it was quieter in here.
           “Have a seat,” I said. “We’re going to talk.”
           He stayed put. “I have nothing to say to you.”
           “You didn’t feel that way in the bar.”
           Unexpectedly, he smiled. “No, I didn’t.”
           A law should have existed against an Aristo having such a beautiful smile. No, he couldn’t be an Aristo. Not with a smile like that. “I don’t believe you’re a Highton,” I said.
           “Why?”
           His surprise sounded genuine. If he was a fake, either he didn’t know it or else he was an astoundingly good actor. But I couldn’t be sure. At close range, I could pick up an Aristo’s emotions; their lack of empathy had no effect on how an empath perceived them. But I caught zilch from this one. Nothing. He was a blank wall.
           I moved to the balcony doors and nudged open the curtains. A man was patrolling the garden below. “Your guards are good.”
           “Apparently not good enough.”
           “None of this makes sense.” I let the curtain close. “You have eleven guards, at least one with a biomech web in his body.” I thought of the man with the providers. It wasn’t easy even for an Aristo to acquire psions, let alone a guard. “Another one of them is in favor with a powerful Highton, one with far more rank than you could have at your age. And few people, especially at your age, want or need to