Deadly Relations: Bester Ascendant (7 page)

Yet - wouldn’t it be easier to catch them if you did understand them? He was starting to feel his second wind coming, and that was always nice. He shelved the internal discussion in favor of the view, as his trail reached the top of the hill.

He could see beyond the walls and wire that protected Teeptown to where the Rhone was leafed with sunset gold. A small smile on his face, he pushed himself into a sprint, felt like a galloping horse or a charging bull, invincible, immortal. Eventually he had to slow, but the feeling remained. And wedded to it, a pleasant - sounding name - Julia.

“Al! It’s good to see you. I’m glad you could make it.”

Brett’s smile was dazzling. Al smiled thinly and took the other boy’s glove in his own for a brief, firm handshake.

“I haven’t been hiking in a while,” he said.

“It sounded like fun.”

“Did Julia tell you where we’re going? Up near Mount Blanc. Ever been there?”

He paused.

“You did manage to get a pass, right?”

“Yes - to the pass. Not to Mont Blanc.”

“We aren’t actually going on Mont Blanc - but pretty near. You’ll like the hike. The place where we camp has a great view, and we might be able to catch a few fish.”

Al nodded, since that didn’t seem to require any other response.

Brett had grown in the bone - he was two heads taller than Al, with the sort of ruggedly handsome face one saw on Psi Corps recruitment posters. Al took note of the “we” and the past tense in Brett’s comment. These guys had made the hike before, maybe often. It wasn’t, as Julia said, a reunion. They were already unified; it was only Al Bester, the outsider, who was rejoining them.

But why? What did they want with him? The others - Mills, Azmun, Fkko - greeted him, but their enthusiasm was guarded, and this sharpened his suspicions, but Julia was all smiles. He allowed himself, reluctantly, to consider what he hoped to be the truth: that Julia liked him and had invited him on her own, even knowing that the others might not be all that happy about it.

“We’ll take the train up to Chamonix, and hike from there,” Brett was explaining, as they moved on line to purchase their tickets.

“When we come down, we can get another train back at St. Gervais.”

“Sounds good.”

“And, um - did you bring anything else to wear?”

Al glanced briefly at his standard issue brown outdoor pants, gold shirt, and light academy jacket.

“Sure, I have a change.”

“No, I mean - you know, not issue?”

“Why shouldn’t I wear issue?”

Al asked, noticing, suddenly, that none of the rest of them were.

“In case we run into Normals,” Milla said, very simply.

Al shrugged.

“What if we do? I’m not ashamed of the Corps.”

“It’s not that,” Brett said.

“It’s just better - I mean, you can never tell what Normals will do.”

“Hey,” Al said, with a rare burst of old pride.

“We’re Cadre Prime. Let them do their worst.”

The moment he said it, it rang wrong, awkward, and he was sorry he’d said it. But Brett’s eyes widened, and he said, “Well, yeah! Darn right! I forgot, we’ve got the winner of the Karges award with us. With you, we can handle anything.”

“Come on, Al, you sit by me,” Julia said as they went through the sliding door and onto the train.

The first leg of the hike was a breeze, though AI found he had to pace himself down so the others could keep up. As a result, he found himself springing up slopes, then waiting for the others. It was clear that, even physically, he trained harder than they did.

As the day wore on, a little of the awkwardness wore off. After all, they had grown up together, even if he hadn’t seen them a lot lately. They were cadre. They had faced the Grins together. He was used to them. The same couldn’t be said for the other academy students.

Oh, some were from the secundus or tertius cadres, but even they had grown up mostly as Normals or in the Basement. Most of them-almost all of those in his classes-were actually later, hadn’t gotten their psi until they were twelve or older. He hadn’t really tried to make friends with most of them; they thought he was weird, he could tell. Or were maybe even a little afraid of him. That was probably for the best - it left him more time to train, to better prepare himself for the Major Academy.

The hike was pleasant. Wildflowers spangled the sunlit meadows and upland pastures, and the forest was an evergreen cathedral. Al had rarely been in the woods - a few picnics and field trips when they had been kids, not once since entering the Minor Academy. It was something he kept meaning to do, but never quite felt he had the time for.

They were taking a rest against an old stone wall - for a moment silent, perhaps in appreciation of the day-when they heard voices coming up the trail behind them. Al could sense weak, undisciplined minds - Normals, of course. He started to shut them out, then out of curiosity he didn’t. He hadn’t had much contact with Normals. They came over the hill soon enough.

Five young men, maybe a few years older than he. Two were tall and lanky, enough alike that they might be brothers. One was no taller than Al, but a good deal thicker, almost bull-dog-like, with a single, long, black eyebrow. The other two were of middle build, a redhead and a blond. They were chattering cheerfully about something in French, and briefly acknowledged the telepaths with almost imperceptible nods as they passed.

All but one, Bulldog-boy, whose gaze, tracking with interest over the girls, suddenly fastened on Al.

“Q’est-ce que c’est que c,a?” he asked, rather abruptly.

He was pointing at Al’s academy clothing.

“Eh?”

He jabbed the finger as if spearing something.

“What’s the matter, you? Can’t read my mind in French?”

His friends had turned now.

“Viens, Antoine,” one of the lanky ones said.

“No, no,” Antoine snapped, waving them back.

“For so long I have wanted to meet one of these little prodigies. Are all of you mindscrewers, or do you just carry this one as a pet?” he asked Brett and the others.

Al tightened his lips and said nothing, but Brett answered him in French.

“Look, fellows, we’re just on a hike. We don’t want any trouble.”

“Trouble? Are you saying we’re trouble?”

“No. I didn’t say that.”

“Just go on your way,” AI advised.

“Oh, is that an order, Captain Mindscrewer?”

“It’s a suggestion,” Al said.

He noticed his knees felt funny. The whole scene had become a little unreal, as if the light had abruptly changed. His heart was beating faster. Almost without thinking, he flexed his knees.

“Oh, a suggestion. Well, I have a couple of those myself,” Bulldog-boy said. “I suggest that you stay in your kennels back in Geneva, and not wander up here where decent folk might have to see you. I suggest you stay out of my damned mind.”

“Psi Corps regulations forbid unauthorized scans,” Al pointed out.

He paused a beat, and then was surprised to hear himself continue.

“Besides, I wouldn’t read your mind any more than I would step in dogshit on purpose.”

Bulldog-boy-Antoine-grinned, revealing teeth like piano ivories.

“Aw, that’s cute. Psi-Ko made a joke.”

He pronounced the p. Julia attempted a smile.

“Come on, guys…”

“Hey, boys, the p-slut can talk. What else can you do, p-slut?”

Al gave the boy a curious look, reached out, and thumped him on the nose. What happened next was a blur. Al expected the boy to attack him-he had been working up to that anyway, that was clear. He had expected to know where the blow was coming from, like when he did a karate or fencing drill with a weaker teep.

But this wasn’t a drill, and Antoine didn’t think at all about what he did next - a javelin of pure rage speared Al in the brain, blinding his mind, and sledgehammer fists were just an instant behind, slamming into Al without focus, but with amazing violence.

He pulled his arms up reflexively, so his forearms took most of the percussion meant for his head, but he still reeled back, was still backpedaling when his opponent’s head butted into him and slammed him into a tree. Then Antoine was on top of him, battering down with those hamlike fists - And then he was off, howling and gasping for air. Al blinked his eyes open to see Brett standing by, fists balled, radiating a cold determination.

“Leave,” Brett said.

Bulldog-boy’s friends had him now.

“C’mon, Antoine,” one of the tall ones said. “He isn’t worth it. He’ll get you arrested, and then what?”

Antoine glowered and came slowly to his feet. Al managed to climb shakily to his own. His breath was choppy, and he tried to slow it, as he had been taught. Antoine grimaced a terrible. Smile like expression.

“Bet you don’t think you’re so hot now, do you, mindscrewer? If it hadn’t been for your friend, I’d have pounded you senseless, eh?”

Al reached out with his psi. He could feel the hot, stupid little mind. He could do almost anything with it. Push it any way he wanted. He could give Antoine a seizure, he could fill his mind with nightmare, he could rip his thoughts to… But no, that was against the rules - it would be betraying the Corps. So he had to watch as the boys hiked on, Antoine sneering back at him until they were out of sight. He could p-hear their coarse laughter well after he couldn’t hear it anymore.

Chapter 2

“Don’t let it get to you, Al,” Julia soothed.

Al watched new wood starting to scorch on the campfire, un-consoled. How could a normal have beaten him? In front of Julia, in front of everyone? If he had planned to humiliate himself, he couldn’t have done a better job.

“I felt his mind,” she went on.

“He was like an animal.”

“Yes,” Al replied, “he was a dumb animal. One I should have beaten.”

“Hey,” Brett interjected, “bullfighters have to be trained to fight bulls. We haven’t had much practice against Normals.”

“You beat him.”

“I blindsided him. And I wasn’t trying to beat him, just get him off of you. Come on, cheer up. You’ll know better next time.”

“I could have mind-blasted him in a second,” Milla grumbled.

“We could have taken them all. What’s the point of having superior brains if we can’t use them?”

“Because that would be selfish,” AI muttered.

“We’re supposed to protect and serve, not use our powers to satisfy our own needs.”

“You believe that?”

AI looked up at her, startled. Not so much that she had thought it, but that she had said it.

“Yes,” he replied. “We’re supposed to protect and serve guys like Antoine? Give me a break.”

“Look it up,” Al said.

“It’s in the handbook.”

“Normals wrote the handbook, Al.”

“The Corps wrote the handbook. The rules are good.”

I just screwed up, he thought. I could have taken him. Next time… He sighed. He had already replayed the fight in his head a hundred times. It wasn’t helping. What stayed with him was the sick feeling of fear, the awful realization that there was a real difference between facing someone on the dojo floor and facing someone who really wanted to hurt you. The physical blows hadn’t really damaged him - he doubted that he would even bruise. But the memory of his fear was like a dead star in his belly, and everything in him was falling into it. He looked up at Brett.

“Anyway, thank you.” He hated saying it.

“We have to hang together,” Brett said. “Cadre Prime.”

Al remembered his boast, earlier that day, about Cadre Prime being able to handle anything, and Brett’s remark about how they must be invincible if they had Al Bester, winner of the Karges award, along with them. The dead star ate another bite, and Al suddenly felt queasy.

“I’m going for a walk,” he murmured.

“I’ll be back soon.”

He wound his way up through the trees, skirting the edge of a twilight meadow, found a spot in the violet-brocaded field and lay on his back, watching a cloud skewered by twin contrails with dull eyes. It was vaguely heart-shaped, salmon bruised mauve by the shadow of the Earth crushing down upon it. For a moment he felt absolutely still, and there were no voices at all.

He experienced an unexpected, melancholy peace, watching the sky fade. His body felt heavy, as if he were becoming stone, and as he petrified he could sense the ponderous, slow wheeling of the Earth through space. He had lost track of time, somewhat hypnotized by the feeling, when he heard voices near, hushed ones, whispering. The sounds were too faint, but he knew from their surface thoughts that it was Brett and Julia. They were excited about something.

Looking for him? Worried?

He closed his eyes, trying to get them clearer, and suddenly - Warm lips, pressing against his, and arms reaching around. A body, prickly - warm, slim, a joy in the arms, breath tickling against his neck… He shut it out, blocked and locked, returning to a now artificial silence. Julia and Brett. Of course. The stars came out, and still he didn’t move or relax his blocks.

He did not want to feel, even for an instant, what he had just felt or what might follow. He waited until he was sure, as the air chilled, and his rock body lost even its Human warmth. Finally, tentatively, he opened again, blessedly to silence. Feeling sore and weary, he stood and made his way back toward camp. He stopped when he saw the firelight.

They were all there, their faces picked out in fine detail, even at this distance, like a faraway painting by a Dutch master. They were smiling and laughing, and he could sense something emanating from them. He tightened his control, and suddenly knew beauty. He could never explain it to a normal. He could barely explain it to himself. He could sense the signature of each individual, but there was something more, a tapestry of thought and feeling they wove together, impossibly intricate and familiar.

Like the mants they had done as kids, but infinitely more complex, more practiced, and yet at the same time more natural. They were different, each of them, but they were also one in the thing they created together. And in all of those weaving lines, in the subtle word-and-image play, in the shared secrets and emotion, there was not a single empty space. They were full, complete, a living organism.