Change of Plans

By Liz Sawyer

Ian stood in the shadows of the alley and watched two people die.

The first death came with a spin and kick that caught the chest, thrust the body against the building. As the figure slid down, a foot came up and the head snapped back. The killer whirled, and the person moving in from behind retreated.

Ian considered assisting, but which one? He glanced around, saw a second body on the pavement. Two down, but on whose side? He looked at the two still standing.

The killer stepped sideways, into and out of a shaft of light from the brightest of Tarn’s two moons. A female. Her opponent followed. The knife in his hand glittered.

She moved warily, slightly crouched, empty hands open. They circled, feinted, drew back. She moved in, forced a retreat, took another step and slipped. Her right arm flailed and the knife slashed. But he lunged too far, and her left fist slammed against his temple. She followed him to the ground, grabbed his knife and buried it in his heart.

Ian watched her rise, right arm cradled to her chest. He was an empath and, despite tight shields, felt her pain. He instinctively stepped forward, and she pivoted to face him. He stopped, hands open at his side.

"That needs tending." The words were spoken before he knew he would say them.

"I’ll find...." Her shoulders sagged. "Oh, hell…." Her knees buckled.

Ian strode forward, hands grabbing her shoulders to keep her upright.

Both froze as a torrent of strength poured through his hands into her.

Ian barely had time to wonder what was happening before it stopped. He looked down, surprised to see the top of her head no higher than his chest. She had seemed much taller, but now he realized she couldn’t be more than 5’4" to his 6’2".

She stepped away, head rising, eyes meeting his.

"Thanks. I can manage now."

Her voice was stronger, but Ian saw the darkness on her forearm.

"Still bleeding." He told himself not to get involved even as he pulled out the bandanna he’d stuffed into his jacket pocket earlier that evening for no reason other than it felt right. He frowned when he saw a faint tremor in his hand. Saw that her hand also shook slightly as she took the cloth and wrapped it around her arm. Blood loss, he told himself. Which didn’t apply to him. So what the hell had happened? Damnit, he didn’t need this! He had come to Tarn for information, not get involved in a private fight. Then he recalled the emotions his empathy had sensed earlier. Desperation, anger and fear had pulled him from the table inside Bluebeard’s Bar down the back hall past the john—his excuse if anyone asked—to a door that opened onto the alley. Now those emotions were edged with pain.

"C’mon," he ordered, silently calling himself an idiot.

***

It was a typical spaceport hotel room, small, and sparsely furnished. Still, it was clean, and even had its own bath. Ian checked the hot water temperature gauge in the bathroom, lowered it to 90◦F, and passed his hand in front of the faucet’s infra-red sensor. As the stopper in the basin closed and water flowed, he removed a first-aid kit from the cabinet underneath. When the basin was half full, another hand pass stopped the water, and he stepped aside.

She increased the pain control as she unwrapped the bandanna, but couldn’t stop the curses as her forearm entered the water. The words died to a mutter as she grabbed soap, used it, and the bandanna to clean the gash.

He walked into the bedroom, sat at the table, and began looking through the med-kit. Wondered if the two years since his face had been splashed in vids throughout the Orion Spur had been long enough to allow his return to anonymity. He’d grown a mustache and closely shaven full beard, and had more gray at the temples of his black hair. Was it enough to erase the memory of the Terran Fleet Captain responsible for the rescue of nearly 200 women, and children about to massacred during the Daveriddean Revolt, then forced to retire in lieu of court-martial? He knew once she recognized him, she’d realize why he was here, and—His empathy sensed the change in her thoughts, the wondering if she had made a mistake. He wondered that himself.

She crossed to the table, slipped onto the chair opposite him, laid her forearm on the table, flipped open the towel wrapped around it.

The shallow slash ran from her elbow almost to her wrist.

Ian donned protective gloves, picked up a small tube, and squeezed antibiotic cream onto the oozing wound, then gently smoothed it in.

"Thought you’d already earned your merit badge in rescue." She kept her eyes on her arm, but a smile touched her mouth.

So much for being forgotten ran through his mind.

She flushed, and looked away, almost as if she’d heard.

Suddenly uneasy, Ian applied binding tape, slid the covering bandage over it all, and peeled off the gloves.

"Should hold til you get to a Regen Center." The words were brusque as he repacked the kit and tossed the gloves into the wastebasket.

She touched the bandage, looked at him. "Thank you. I’d better be going."

Ian leaned back in his chair, eyes locked with hers. The color reminded him of emeralds, but the contrast with her black hair didn’t fit. His eyes narrowed. Were those freckles on her cheekbones?

She abruptly pushed her chair back and stood, then leaned against the table, face going white.

Ian cursed as he moved to grab her just as she fainted. He picked her up, carried her to the bed, and laid her on it. Then he removed her shoes, and drew a blanket up to her waist.

Tensed as his wristband vibrated with an incoming call.

Making sure the privacy mode was on, he stepped away from the bed. "Makanda."

"Gonna haffta put the meeting on hold." It was Tadsen, through whom he’d requested the meeting with Marov, the drug lord who ran Tarn. "Something’s come up."

Ian knew. He recalled the efficient way she’d killed two men, at least one of them armed. Add in Marov’s being a notorious drug dealer who considered Tarn his personal fiefdom, and she had to be undercover Terran Security. Ian told himself the information Marov could give him was worth more than any goddamned Security agent. He pushed away the memory of her pain and desperation.

"… call you when—"

"That something wouldn’t happen to be female, about 5’4", black hair, green eyes, black tee shirt, jeans?" When Tadsen didn’t answer, Ian added, "Three bodies in the alley behind Bluebeard’s Bar."

Twenty minutes later Tadsen and another man arrived at Ian’s room. He watched as Tadsen swaggered over to the bed, placed his laser pistol against the woman’s neck. Watched her stir, then freeze as she woke up and understood.

"Roll onto your stomach," Tadsen ordered. "Do anything else, and more’n your arm’ll be hurtin’. Tie her up," he ordered the other man.

Ian heard a faint moan as her injured right arm was pulled behind her, tied tightly to her left, another as the man grabbed the same arm to pull her out of bed and onto her feet. He knew her closed eyes and clenched jaw were an attempt to control the pain he had felt before he increased his shields.

She turned her head, opened her eyes, and looked at Ian for a long moment before shifting her gaze to Tadsen. "My shoes?"

"Won’t need ‘em. Move!"

Tadsen shoved her forward, into Ian. Instinctively his hands raised, caught her shoulders. Strength again surged from him to her. She gave him a tiny smile, then shrugged off his hands, squared her shoulders and raised her chin just a bit.

"I’d hoped those stories about your obsession were exaggerated." Her eyes locked with Ian’s. "Did you get a good price?"

"Adequate."

"I should’ve killed you, too."

Ian let one side of his mouth twitch. "Could’ve tried."

She eyed him a moment longer, turned, walked to the door, stopped, and looked over her shoulder. "Would one of you pretend to be a gentleman, and open the door?"

Ian admired the way she led them downstairs, through the lobby, and out to the street, where she stopped, standing by a skimmer as if waiting for a doorman.

Once inside, he sat opposite her, watched as she tried to get comfortable, finally leaning back and closing her eyes. The driver took them up to the airlanes, and, with the windows blacked out, Ian decided he might as well follow her example.

Instead, he found himself remembering her words.

Obsession? What did she know? She hadn’t been part of the Fifth Terran Fleet sent to put down an insurrection led by a man named Thompson against the Daveriddean government. She hadn’t seen what Thompson and his fanatics had done, the women and children they had massacred! She hadn’t devised a plan to capture Thompson, a plan that would’ve worked—if Thompson hadn’t found out about it and set up his own ambush. Thirty-three Fleet pilots died in that ambush. He had been Wing Commander, had led those pilots into that ambush.

Terran Security had done nothing when he accused Fleet Admiral Marquez of assisting Thompson in his insurrection, informing him of the plan to capture him and helping him escape from the planet. Security had said he had no proof, focusing only on the feelings he had gotten through his empathy. They had cited the Telepathic Law, which prohibited accusations against anyone made solely on the basis of any extra-sensory ability. Security ignored the fact that only he and Marquez knew the details of the plan.

So he’d acted on his own, sabotaging the computer aboard Marquez’s personal skimmer. The next trip the Admiral made had been his last: the skimmer entered hyperspace and didn’t come out.

Ian had been very careful to leave no proof of his actions, but, again, Security didn’t care. He was, however, given a choice. Because of his past record and his actions at Daveriddea, he was allowed to retire instead of being court-martialed for murder.

He then set out on what some called his obsession: to find Thompson, bring him to justice, and prove to Terran Security he had been right about Marquez. He had spent two years searching, following even the slightest hint of a trace, like the one that had brought him to Tarn. He had the money and the time, and to hell with her! She could get out of her own screw-up!

Ian tightened his mental shields against the faint touch of pain which tried to penetrate. He wasn’t quite so successful with the guilt.

***

His ears popped as the skimmer dropped in altitude.

Ian opened his eyes and looked straight into hers.

A faint smile played over her mouth as she inclined her head the merest fraction.

Just like a Security agent, he told himself. Arrogant as hell.

Once they landed, Ian had time to see only a landing field behind a large house before they were inside the house, down a hall, and approaching a closed door.

"Wait here," Tadsen ordered his subordinate as he opened the door.

The man seated behind the desk raised his head as Tadsen pushed the woman in. Ian stayed back as Tadsen shoved her closer to the man who had to be Marov. The look he gave the woman as he rose from the chair was one Ian was very familiar with—controlled murderous rage.

"One of the men you killed was my son."

"Your son was no man," she sneered.

Marov’s jaw tightened as he walked around the desk, stopped just to her left.

"I want to know who helped you. I suggest you tell me now, and save yourself from the unpleasant side effects of some of my... merchandise."

She cocked her head to one side, smiled slightly. "Pretty sure of yourself."

"I can afford to be."

"That’s what your son thought. Should’ve taught him to use a knife better. Enjoyed taking him out. Sort of like... squishing a cockroach."

The rage nearly slipped. Ian watched as Marov’s jaw clenched, then, after a long moment, loosened. He spoke in an almost normal tone.

"I’ve never questioned a Security agent before. I’ve heard you receive intense conditioning against drugs. I hope that’s true. My med tech is quite curious as to the effects of various combinations of drugs. He’s assured me none are immediately fatal, although he’s not sure about the cumulative effects."

She just looked at him.

After a long moment, Marov turned, and walked back to his chair. "Take her to Barnes. He's expecting her."

Tadsen grabbed her arm—the right one—jerked her around, and began walking toward the doorway.

Ian turned slightly, watched them turn right and disappear. Saw that the bandage was dirty, and knew it wasn’t dirt.

"Now, what do I do about you?" came in a much more pleasant voice.

Ian faced Marov, but said nothing. It might not have been wise to keep quiet, but he’d built a reputation on doing exactly that.

Marov sat, waving a hand towards the couch. "I ran a check when I initially received your request for a personal meeting, and you came up clean. But, because of the rather, ah, ‘convenient’ way you found her, I’ve ordered another. I’m sure you understand." Marov studied Ian a few moments. "I assume something connected to Thompson brought you here."

Settling onto the couch, Ian realized he had two years worth of variations on that statement. He also realized it was becoming irritating.

"An anonymous message said he was seen here a few weeks ago."

"Details?"

Ian shook his head. "Hoped you’d have some."

"If I’d known, he’d have been arrested. I may sell drugs, but I do not murder women and children in cold blood. That man would not find Tarn a safe haven. If anybody here gave him one, they will answer to me."

Ian had insisted on a face-to-face meeting because he could sometimes sense the truth in a person’s words if he was close enough, and it was important enough. He sensed it now. Marov didn’t know anything about the message. But he would, Ian knew, before too much longer.

"It will be investigated," Marov added firmly. "In the meantime, I’ll have to request that you remain here."

Ian nodded, understanding it was not a request.

"I’ll show you to a room and have your belongings brought over. We’ll talk more tomorrow."

It was a mini-suite, with a bar dividing the room into sitting and bed areas. Ian eyed the bottle and glass placed on the bar, then went into the bathroom. There he found silk pajamas and bath accessories just as luxurious. The Jacuzzi-tub offered a way to get rid of the tension, make him too tired to care. He let the heat envelop him, relax his body. His mind, however....

The half-exasperated, all-female thought in his mind caused Ian, for just a nanosecond, to lose his so-very-tightly-kept mental control.

Knew what? What’re you talking about? Ian found himself thinking the words, instinctively knowing not to speak aloud. Then wondered how he was ‘speaking’ at all.

More than some. And telepathic with it, she assured him. Untrained, but your shields are impressive. And that transfer of strength. Not many can do that. It requires a high degree of empathy, which is why you came into the alley in the first place. You were picking up on the emotions I was too busy to control.

For the first time in his life, Ian felt a giggle. It tickled.

Why—oh. I promise to close my eyes, she teased.

No.

Five minutes.

She was gone, or so Ian assumed, as something was suddenly missing from his mind. He dried off, donned pajamas, and made it as far as the bed before he had to sit down. The emotions under her words demanded his attention.

Regret, not so much over the killings, but over the necessity for them. Done in an attempt to avoid the exact situation she was in. That he had put her in. The image of the dirty bandage flashed into his mind. Pain being controlled, bleeding ….

Will you stop that? This thought was all exasperation. I knew the risks; it’s my job. Just one question. Why?

She meant his handing her over to Marov. Instead of answering, Ian pushed himself off the bed, walked over to the bar, picked up the bottle and poured two fingers of the amber liquid into the glass. He crossed to the recliner and tried to make himself comfortable. I don’t know. It was the reason that was uncomfortable. It just.... He recalled her words. Felt right.

Really? She recalled them as well, and a few seconds of silence followed. Not prescience, more intuition. I can’t say I’m crazy about where it landed me, but I’m willing to trust it. For now.

Ian wasn’t sure how to take her calm acceptance of the situation. Maybe I can get word to your partner.

Tammus. Her thoughts hardened. We got an anonymous message that he’s found a faster way to process the dust without blowing things up. Doubled his output last year. And I’m Oseeah, not Security, although this is a joint operation.

Ian understood. Just a sniff of pure tammus dust could kill, and the refined product was extremely addictive. The dust was also rare, as it was highly explosive prior to processing, and had to be handled very carefully during. If Marov had found a faster process, he had to be stopped. For that, Ian would help even Terran Security. Except, he wouldn’t have to.

Oseeah was what Outworlders called OSIA, the Outworld Security and Intelligence Agency. The Treaty put it under the jurisdiction of Terran Security, but most Outworlders considered it an independent agency. Ian was most definitely an Outworlder.

I made several contingency plans. The thought was smug. A couple might still work, with some, you should pardon the expression, refining.

Ian sipped, savored the scotch, then asked, What happened?

His son had a rep. I used it. I didn’t count on a very possessive ex-girlfriend. She surprised me, set off an alarm before I could stop her. I was on my way to a contact when they caught me. And no, I don’t like killing. But if it’s my life, or someone else’s….

Doesn’t work that way. Telepaths can’t just read someone’s mind by looking at a person. First you have to drop your shields, which also leaves you open to other, maybe not so friendly, telepaths. Not that there are any others here. Aside from the fact that I’m not sure any would work for him, Marov’s not comfortable with any form of ESP. I knew you were telepathic when we got to your room and I lowered my shields. Add in the strength sharing and there’s no doubt.

Never? Her surprise surprised Ian.

That is odd. For such a strong empath, but, no training and that control, still, could’ve been instinct…. Her thoughts were more musing than directed at Ian. There were a few moments of silence, then, Well, however it works, I’m just glad it did.

Maybe we’d better call this a night. You need your rest.

Right. Her thoughts changed, a touch of mischievousness appearing. Name’s Ti. You’re right, I do have freckles. I’m a natural redhead. And I am not arrogant. Just very confident. ’Night.

There was no feeling of missing something this time. Instead, he felt a sense of... peacefulness.

Ian swallowed the rest of the Scotch, along with the knowledge that he was going to help her, and, just maybe, help himself, as well.

***

When Ian woke the next morning, he discovered Marov had some very silent servants, as he found his belongings had been transferred from the hotel and neatly put away in his room. After breakfast, he used Marov’s superbly appointed gym for an extended workout followed by a long swim in the rooftop pool. Then, exploring the rest of the house, Ian found the library. The wall-to-wall bookcases, filled with real books, surprised him, as he hadn’t thought Marov one to indulge in such rarities. Finding an old favorite, Ian settled into a leather chair, and began reading.

It was much later when a sense of uneasiness made him look up just as Marov entered the room.

"Hate to disturb you, but I figured you’d want to know right away." Marov walked over, sat in the chair next to Ian. "My people can’t find anyone who knows anything about that message you received, or Thompson’s being here."

"Disappointing, but…." Ian shrugged, having felt the truth in Marov’s words. But he still felt the uneasiness. "Not the first false tip, won’t be the last." He closed the book. "I’ll get my things, head back to my ship."

"What’s your hurry? That message came from somewhere. Let me dig some more."

"I appreciate the offer, but why waste your time?"

"I don’t like people using me, and that’s what whoever sent that message did." Marov flashed him a cold smile. "Give me a few days, I might find something."

Ian realized it wasn’t uneasiness he sensed, but nervousness, and for a man like Marov to be nervous.... "In return for what?"

Marov held Ian’s gaze for several seconds. "How long do you think she’ll hold out?"

"Depends." Ian felt his casual answer irritate Marov. "I don’t know anything more than rumors about Security training. It’s tough, and it’s thorough. Figures that conditioning against drugs, or at least training on how to counter their effects, would be part of it. She looked tough, and determined. Could be a few days, could be forever."

"Barnes says a couple days without food will make the drugs work that much faster."

Now he had it. Marov needed to know Ti’s contact. Which made no sense, because Marov could take all the time he wanted to find out. Unless he couldn’t. He needed the information now and Ian wondered why.

"She’s stubborn. I’d say three, four days at least."

"What about two?"

"Maybe. If she were drugged to the max. Thing is, the max is different for everyone. Barnes saying it’ll work doesn’t mean squat. Who’s he used for practice? Wasn’t someone like her. He’ll have to start small, work up, otherwise she’ll OD. I’m a history buff. Twentieth century." He paused, watched impatience dance over Marov’s face at the non sequitur. "Wonder if anyone today’s heard of sodium pentothal? Used to be called truth serum. It isn’t, no drug is, but it’s closer than most. If you ask the right questions."

Marov smiled. "I have some associates arriving tomorrow night. I would like answers by then."

There was the reason for Marov’s nervousness. Those associates were probably not very happy about Security’s penetration so deep inside the operation. Marov had better have some very good answers.

"Depends on how fast your lab can produce the stuff, and how resistant she is."

"She might respond to you. You did rescue her."

"And turned her over to you. I don’t think she’d find my voice one to confide in."

"But she might." Marov leaned forward. "Weakened, drugged …"

Ian shrugged. "Maybe. Best shot would be after her resistance is already lowered."

"So, say she’s on bread and water and then we add…."

Ian returned to his room after lunch, having been wined, dined, and bought. He hoped a nap would get rid of the throbbing in his head, but lying down just made it worse.

So make it stop. Exasperation colored Ti’s mental words.

I mean it, Ti told him. Use your mental energies.

What mental energies? He winced. The thought had hurt.

Ian wondered about the uneasiness he sensed in her thoughts. So show me.

Okay. A little hungry, but I expected to be. A day or two without food oughtta really lower my resistance. Soft sarcasm tinged the last sentence.

Two. Some of Marov’s associates arrive tomorrow night. He wants answers by then. If he doesn’t get them, I’ve agreed to act as a friendly voice to persuade you to talk. Ian stressed his words to be sure Ti understood. Can you hold out?

His associates. Her thoughts chilled. I suppose he just happened to mention that over cigars and brandy.

Not exactly. He told her about the message, Marov’s lack of success, and the ensuing discussion.

But not immediately. Which gives us a chance. How did you plan to take him? Ian felt her hesitation, knew he had to give her something. Here’s what I convinced him to do. He explained about the sodium pentothal.

Your faith in my resistance is touching.

Not faith. Confidence, he shot back.

The laughter pealed in his mind. Oh, I needed that. Teach me to watch my words. All right. Have to get him off-planet, since we can’t arrest anyone without agreement from the local authorities and we won’t get that here. So…. Ti explained.

Not bad. Simple, unexpected, forces him to react and he can only do so one way. Just one question. How are you going to get free to set it off? He had caught a glimpse in her mind of the day’s questioning. She had been strapped to a metal table.

The immediate acceptance astounded him.

Why? So Security screwed you. I’m not Security. And I trust you. Tell you why after we get out of here. Besides, any codes I give you are for this op only. How’d you know about the ship? The last was a sharp demand.

The silenced stretched, then, You’re good.

Laughter again rang in his mind. This time, Ian smiled.

They worked on the plan for several more minutes, until the throbbing in his head became too intense.

Okay, Ian sighed. Get rid of the headache.

The feel of Ti’s thoughts changed, deepened, focused. Get comfortable. Relax.

Ian realized he already was.

His thoughts stilled. He drifted, felt a sensation of green, and all the peacefulness that color brought. He felt himself becoming lost in a calmness he had never experienced. So relaxed, so quiet, so ….

Rest well, whispered in his mind.

He did, waking three hours later, refreshed and without a headache. Ian lay still a few more minutes, mentally reviewing what he planned, then thought about locking his door. No, he hadn’t locked it last night, and doing so now would definitely raise suspicions.

Ian rose and went to the computer. It was one of the retro systems that had come into vogue the last few years, a 3-D touchscreen with the processing unit built in, holo-keyboard and, of course, no AI. Ian hadn’t been surprised that a demand for a complete ban on AI technology had been opposed by very few. There was just something about a machine anticipating a request or answering a question before it was asked that made more than a few people nervous.

Besides, he had always preferred using his own hands and mind.

After confirming he could access only the local system, he flipped through various programs, pausing occasionally to read articles, then went to the game center. Just killing time. Or so it should appear to anyone monitoring the computer.

Two hours later, after losing yet another round of poker, Ian told himself if anyone was still monitoring him, he deserved to get caught. He hit several keys, apparently at random, actually a program he had devised several years earlier. If anyone was monitoring, it would appear as if the computer had been shut down. It took only thirty minutes to access Marov’s house system, and input Ti’s plan, with an addition of his own. Then he really turned off the computer.

***

Marov told Ian at supper that the sodium pentothal had been made, and the questioning begun. She was proving exceptionally resistant.

Ti hadn’t contacted him by the time he was ready for bed.

Ian poured himself a drink, carried it to the recliner, then let it sit on the table next to the chair while he tried to get comfortable. Tried not to think about Ti’s not being comfortable, what with little to eat, her arm untreated. What could he, an untrained telepath, do? Emotions he knew, had spent years blocking them until she slid around them. He closed his eyes, concentrated on her. Just relax, think of her face, those eyes, so … relax, remember that feeling of peacefulness, the … eyes ….

Ti?

Silence.

Focus on the face, the whole face, see it, see the way she looked when … the whole face, the feeling of her, the sense of her. There was a bond between them, use it to find her.

Something. Maybe. More of a twitch than—Idiot! That was probably all she was capable of, and he didn’t know how to make it stronger—Strong. She needed strength, and that he could give her. Throw strength out, she’ll grab it! Ian firmly suppressed the thought that she might not be able to.

He took a few seconds to relax, to get it just right, then, Ti! accompanied the mental picture of throwing out a lifeline. A very long, very strong, line.

The pain nearly ruptured the link. He concentrated, sent more strength, felt it being sucked up as if by a vacuum. But it was not empty space on the other end, and he needed to hear her, needed to know she was all right. Which she wasn’t, or she wouldn’t need so much. The pull finally slowed.

Sorry, came through weakly. Didn’t mean … to be so greedy.

Take all you need. The flow somehow increased.

Her thoughts did feel firmer, the pain a dim glow.

Besides, she added, I have to have something to start tomorrow’s session with. Wouldn’t do to look too healthy. Don’t worry, I only gave enough to make him think the drugs are slowly overcoming my resistance. I can last.

Ian felt the control Ti was using on herself. He sent more strength, and she refused it.

Ian hastily raised his shields, but he wasn’t fast enough, and his anger that Security hadn’t arranged on-planet back-up, that Oseeah had let her walk into this alone, slipped through.

My idea. You know how Marov has this place sewn up. Three others tried. I was the only one to get as far as I did. He felt her yawn. Sorry, but—see you tomorrow.

***

The shuttle landed early the next evening.

Marov made introductions, then led the way to the medical section. The last in, Ian’s height allowed him to see Ti lying on a table, wrists, and ankles immobilized by metal cuffs. As Marov and his associates walked to the head of the table and the technician standing there, Ian moved to the foot.

He saw that not only was the bandage dirtier, so were her tee shirt and jeans. The right sleeve had been ripped off the shirt. Drops of blood dotted her upper arm. They looked like the marks of syringes.

He doubted if any of Marov’s associates were telepathic, given the man’s dislike, but why chance it? He would keep the transfer of strength to a slow trickle and be as close to her as he could get. A touch would be pushing it, so he casually rested one hand on the table near her bare left foot, and recalled the prior sensations of the transfers, hoped that that would work because he still wasn’t sure how he had done it before.

Ti’s toes twitched.

So did Ian’s mouth, as he wondered if she was ticklish. Then he concentrated on what the technician was telling Marov.

"… effective combination. Diluted tammus combined with pentothal. I used it earlier, got past most of her conditioning, but that’s all. She won’t talk, and I’ve increased the amount to where more could kill her."

Marov frowned, but before he could speak, Ian cleared his throat. When everyone looked at him, he jerked his head toward the far corner of the room, walked over to it. The others followed.

"How long since the last dose?" Ian, his voice low, asked the tech.

"’Bout an hour."

"She’s coming out of it?"

"A little. I can give her more—" He broke off when Ian shook his head.

"Guess it’s time to try your idea," Ian told Marov.

"Go ahead," Marov agreed.

Ian turned to the gurney, then back. "What’s her name?" He looked at Marov. "We never were introduced."

"Maria," Marov told him.

Ian nodded. He grabbed a stool, and rolled it over to the gurney as the others joined him. Sitting down, he reached out, and touched Ti’s shoulder.

She jerked, and tried to pull away.

"Maria." Ian leaned forward, his mouth near her ear. "Listen to me. I’ve only got a minute. Can you hear me?"

She moaned slightly.

Ian put urgency into his voice. "I can get you out of here, but where do I take you? Who’s your contact?"

"No," she groaned, shaking her head. "No, you … betrayed …"

"I didn’t know who you were. Do you understand? I didn’t know."

"Stupid," she whispered. "Shouldda …" She licked her lips. "… known better … hurt."

Ian could feel the truth of that last word. He wanted to give her more strength, but didn’t know how to do that and talk at the same time. "Let me get you out of here, and you won’t."

Ti shook her head, again licked her lips. Ian looked at the tech, mouthed the word ‘water’, and had a cup in his hand almost instantly. He dipped a finger in the water, and gently rubbed the wetness across her lips. This time he dared a trickle of strength with it. He did both again, then asked, "Who, Maria? I can’t do it alone."

"Shouldn’t."

Ian ran a wet finger across her lips, strength flowing stronger this time.

"Always did … like blue eyes … beards too …"

For a moment Ian thought she was talking about him, then he understood. "Bluebeard’s Bar? Your contact’s there?"

"Um."

"Who, Maria? The bartender, one of the waitresses? Hurry, the tech’s coming back any minute." More water, and more strength, accompanied the words.

"Assistant … Tell him … okay …."

"That’s all, just okay? Maria?"

But Ti did not respond.

Ian looked up at Marov. "I think that’s all you’ll get."

"It’s all I need." Marov looked at the tech. "No more drugs. I want her fully aware when I kill her. Good work, Ian." He looked at his associates. "Come, gentlemen, dinner’s waiting."

Ian stood, and took a last look at Ti. He told himself that her face looked a little less pale, her breathing seemed a little more regular. Then he followed Marov out of the room.

While Marov’s associates were being shown to their rooms, Ian went to his own, turned on the computer, and clicked on the time. Waited five seconds, clicked again, and closed out.

Then he joined Marov, and the others in the den for drinks, followed by dinner. Soup, salad, plates cleared, the main course served. Ian had no idea what he ate. He didn’t dare touch his wristband to check the time, there were no clocks in the room, but surely enough time had passed. Ti couldn’t hold out much longer, and it had to’ve been at least an hour ….

The fire alarm went off.

The lights went out.

The emergency generator came on.

"What the—"

"The alarm system’s tied into the city?" Ian cut into Marov’s surprise.

"Of course, but—"

"They’ll respond. Have to. Can’t risk even a spark getting to the tammus. That happens, a chain reaction starts, and half the city’s gone." Ian pushed back his chair, speaking as he rose. "Even if everyone keeps their mouths shut, the fewer strangers around, the better. Get to the shuttle, I’ll get Maria."

"What d’you—" Marov began.

"Getting airborne’s your safest bet. You have to tell the shuttle pilot to prep for departure. He won’t take orders from me." Ian hoped that his taking charge, combined with the urgency of the fire alarm, would override any suspicions.

Marov nodded. "Do it."

He followed them to the back door, watched as they hurried to the shuttle parking area several hundred yards away, then went back inside the house. He used the manual override to take the elevator down two levels.

There weren’t many personnel around at this time of night, and those who were, were rapidly departing. The alarm was still shrieking, and no one wanted to be anywhere near tammus dust and fire.

He found the room, stopped just inside the doorway. Ti had freed herself, was standing next to the table, gripping it like a lifeline. Ian sent strength as he crossed the room, felt her breathing steady. But she still leaned against the table.

Thanks seems so inadequate came faintly to his mind. "Told you," followed in a hoarse whisper a few seconds later, "you might have to carry me outta here. Even with this extra strength, I don’t think I could fight a marshmallow."

Ian reached out, touched her shoulder, and the strength increased.

"How do you feel about rats?"

She nodded, straightened slightly. "Never did like vermin." Her voice was stronger, not quite as hoarse.

He couldn’t help wondering if she would last through the rest of it. He knew the strength was helping, but there was no telling what might happen in the next few minutes. If they ran into something he couldn’t handle alone—

"My feet are freezing."

Her non sequitur caught Ian totally off-guard. He looked down, saw her still-bare feet, toes curling against the tile.

"Don’t worry, they’re tougher than they look."

Ian saw the smile on her face. He understood and let one side of his mouth twitch up.

"Oseeah." He turned and walked back to the door, muttering just loud enough to be heard. "Had to be Oseeah." He turned, glared at her.

They went upstairs together.

As they approached the back door, Ti’s hand on Ian’s arm stopped him.

"Someone’s coming up the walk. Guard, I think," she whispered. "Give me a minute, I can … distract him, let you …."

"Un-un." Ian heard the strain in her words. He didn’t know what she intended, but knew it would be too much. "Just tell me when." He stepped to one side of the door, and waited.

Ian yanked the door open, stepped forward, his left fist shooting out, slamming into the surprised guard’s face. He grabbed the man’s rifle from suddenly relaxed fingers, flipped it, brought the butt end up against the man’s head.

Ti had already dashed past, was crouched in the shrubbery at the end of the path, all senses alert for whoever might be waiting.

"Can’t sense anyone between here, and the ship," she told Ian when he joined her.

Ian handed her a pistol. "Guard had two. Ready?"

"Have I got a choice?" She tucked the pistol into the waistband of her pants, drew her shirt over it.

"Always have a choice."

As they rose, Ian hesitated, but Ti had already put her arms behind her back. Ian grasped them, appeared to manhandle Ti up the shuttle’s ramp, forcing Tadsen, standing guard at the top, to move inside. Ian’s hand slammed down on the hatch’s quick-release as he entered the shuttle, then he shoved Ti into a seat in the back before moving to the front.

"I’m flying," he stated.

The pilot looked at Marov, received a nod, and moved to the right-hand seat.

Ian scanned the control panel, and increased power to the engines. He moved so quickly, so decisively, that they were several miles up before anyone thought of protesting.

"Let’s circle—" Marov began.

"Can’t." Ian’s hands were flying over the controls, a distraction as his left used the holo-board to activate his addition to Ti’s plan. "Something’s wrong with the altitude control. We can’t go anywhere but up."

"What do you mean we can’t—"

Marov stopped as Ian swiveled the seat around, a laser pistol in his hand.

"I mean there’s been a change of plans."

He saw the pilot move his hand, caught Tadsen’s movement from the corner of his eye. Too far apart to take them both. In that split second, he knew.

His shot took out the pilot.

Ti’s took care of Tadsen.

Told you, she sent to Ian as he secured the prisoners. Just very confident.

Oseeah! he grumbled, knowing his own plans had also just changed. Should’ve left you in that alley!

Ti caught the approval under the feigned exasperation. And missed all the fun?