with shared data, and initially that was the case. Over time, we have seen that access withdrawn without explanation.’
Data was being withheld, conclusions could not be drawn, action was risky or had been thwarted outright. No wonder she looked so depressed, unable to trust either home or host authorities.
‘We can only speculate why this is so,’ she continued, ‘but one thing is certain. People have disappeared.’
Another image derailed his train of thought. Many times he had pictured his vanished father with a new identity leading a quiet and utterly ordinary life in a mid-sized town on the fringes, working at some harmless occupation where his charm could not cause trouble for anyone, least of all himself. Now he thought of a room with no windows and thick walls, observers posted at the screens of hidden cameras, visitors made faceless by masks, eyeshades and caps – and the permanent resident and test subject seated within, isolated and bereft of companionship and hope.
His stomach soured and the taste of bile mixed with the broth. He could not believe in the uncanny clarity of that vision; he only knew that it had first appeared in his nightmares when he was made to wear the cap.
‘I don’t know what to do,’ he admitted.
Naraldi leaned closer and so did the Commander. ‘We have a suggestion,’ said the old pilot.
*
After a return journey that was far more leisurely, Rafi and Commander Nasiha found the main house lit up as brightly as if it were past midday rather than past midnight. Dllenahkh came to the door to meet them. He put a hand on the Commander’s shoulder with a brief look of concern and a nod. Her face relaxed just a bit and she nodded in reply, touching his hand with what could have been either reassurance or gratitude or both. She continued on to the dining room but Rafi did not go with her. He stood in front of his uncle and glared.
‘You could have told me I was going to get eaten by a mindship.’
Dllenahkh’s eyes went wide and his eyebrows rose up. ‘Is that what happened?’ He chuckled at Rafi’s indignation. ‘Don’t tell me the details. I am not meant to know, at least not yet. But I knew you’d be safe with Naraldi.’
There was so much more Dllenahkh could have said, so much that Rafi could have asked him, but all queries choked and died as Rafi’s mind chased the possibilities. Did Dllenahkh know about the psi studies? Was this another area of calculated ignorance to protect the homestead and the settlement from undue scrutiny? The worst of it was that he honestly could not tell whether Dllenahkh was joking or not, but he bit his lip to stop further argument and chose instead to follow the smell of food that was coming from the dining room and trust only in the promise of a hearty meal.
Chapter Five
‘ Varicella? ’ said Master Silyan. He was utterly confused, and he felt that he could ascribe only part of that confusion to the boy’s atrocious accent. He knew Ntenman as a gifted linguist and a clever manipulator of the ordinary, non-psi kind, which made this singing speech accompanied by a too-earnest look of sheer sincerity ring all kinds of alerts in Silyan’s brain. ‘Who gets varicella in this day and age?’
‘Well,’ Ntenman declared happily, as if Silyan had finally seen the point, ‘homesteaders . . . preserving old ways . . . old diseases . . . who knows?’
Silyan looked to the other occupant of his office for clues. Serendipity sat quietly, displaying nothing more than a small, worried frown and giving Ntenman an occasional opaque glance. There was no illumination to be found there. Silyan dropped his gaze to the handheld on the desk before him and the request for three weeks’ medical leave showing on the screen. The request had apparently come from Rafi’s slate, and that slate was now untraceable, its location function malfunctioning or disabled – a moot point, given that the public transit ticketing records showed Rafi’s clear and
Data was being withheld, conclusions could not be drawn, action was risky or had been thwarted outright. No wonder she looked so depressed, unable to trust either home or host authorities.
‘We can only speculate why this is so,’ she continued, ‘but one thing is certain. People have disappeared.’
Another image derailed his train of thought. Many times he had pictured his vanished father with a new identity leading a quiet and utterly ordinary life in a mid-sized town on the fringes, working at some harmless occupation where his charm could not cause trouble for anyone, least of all himself. Now he thought of a room with no windows and thick walls, observers posted at the screens of hidden cameras, visitors made faceless by masks, eyeshades and caps – and the permanent resident and test subject seated within, isolated and bereft of companionship and hope.
His stomach soured and the taste of bile mixed with the broth. He could not believe in the uncanny clarity of that vision; he only knew that it had first appeared in his nightmares when he was made to wear the cap.
‘I don’t know what to do,’ he admitted.
Naraldi leaned closer and so did the Commander. ‘We have a suggestion,’ said the old pilot.
*
After a return journey that was far more leisurely, Rafi and Commander Nasiha found the main house lit up as brightly as if it were past midday rather than past midnight. Dllenahkh came to the door to meet them. He put a hand on the Commander’s shoulder with a brief look of concern and a nod. Her face relaxed just a bit and she nodded in reply, touching his hand with what could have been either reassurance or gratitude or both. She continued on to the dining room but Rafi did not go with her. He stood in front of his uncle and glared.
‘You could have told me I was going to get eaten by a mindship.’
Dllenahkh’s eyes went wide and his eyebrows rose up. ‘Is that what happened?’ He chuckled at Rafi’s indignation. ‘Don’t tell me the details. I am not meant to know, at least not yet. But I knew you’d be safe with Naraldi.’
There was so much more Dllenahkh could have said, so much that Rafi could have asked him, but all queries choked and died as Rafi’s mind chased the possibilities. Did Dllenahkh know about the psi studies? Was this another area of calculated ignorance to protect the homestead and the settlement from undue scrutiny? The worst of it was that he honestly could not tell whether Dllenahkh was joking or not, but he bit his lip to stop further argument and chose instead to follow the smell of food that was coming from the dining room and trust only in the promise of a hearty meal.
Chapter Five
‘ Varicella? ’ said Master Silyan. He was utterly confused, and he felt that he could ascribe only part of that confusion to the boy’s atrocious accent. He knew Ntenman as a gifted linguist and a clever manipulator of the ordinary, non-psi kind, which made this singing speech accompanied by a too-earnest look of sheer sincerity ring all kinds of alerts in Silyan’s brain. ‘Who gets varicella in this day and age?’
‘Well,’ Ntenman declared happily, as if Silyan had finally seen the point, ‘homesteaders . . . preserving old ways . . . old diseases . . . who knows?’
Silyan looked to the other occupant of his office for clues. Serendipity sat quietly, displaying nothing more than a small, worried frown and giving Ntenman an occasional opaque glance. There was no illumination to be found there. Silyan dropped his gaze to the handheld on the desk before him and the request for three weeks’ medical leave showing on the screen. The request had apparently come from Rafi’s slate, and that slate was now untraceable, its location function malfunctioning or disabled – a moot point, given that the public transit ticketing records showed Rafi’s clear and
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