Kinsman's Oath Page 19

  Madness, this nagging suspicion that Ronan might betray her and the Pegasus. She'd had ample proof on Bifrost that he could be trusted with the lives of her crew. Her heart, the one Dharman men would call weak, insisted that her decision had been right.

  But Ronan had learned how to wield his lost gift like a master, and even her Kinsman-built shields weren't meant to hold off prolonged, determined probing by an expert.

  Any chance, any chance at all, that she was wrong about Ronan meant the destruction of humanity's single, still-frail hope of victory. Even at the cost of his friendship, she had no right to take that risk.

  Friendship. She swallowed the bitter dregs of her kaffé and closed her eyes. Ronan had called her his mate.

  "If you're finished," Uncle Jesper said, "we should discuss the debriefing. Cynara, Ronan, if you'll join me in my study?"

  Cynara dropped her fork. Ronan had already left the table. She followed him to the study and took the chair farthest away.

  'To the best of my knowledge," Jesper said, "this will be a simple interrogation. I have been assured that no telepathic probing will be employed without due notification. However, since you are a telepath yourself, Ronan, I suggest that you focus on keeping your mind open to avoid giving the impression of any subterfuge. You may expect that they'll ask you very detailed questions about your background, your time among the shaauri, your reasons for escaping, etc. They will want to be sure that you harbor no lingering loyalty to your captors. The more you tell them, the more likely they'll be to see you as a potential ally."

  "That will be no difficulty," Ronan said.

  "I will also be there, and Cynara has been granted permission to remain with you during the debriefing. Her testimony of your actions aboard the Pegasus will naturally be a point in your favor, and her faith in you, as a fellow telepath, should speak for itself."

  "I am grateful."

  "I should also warn you that Janek will be present, but he has little actual power. There are several very reasonable men on the Council who will not judge you based upon your apparent origins. Cynara, have you anything to add?"

  "No, Uncle. I'll be there if Ronan needs me."

  "But I do caution you, Spitfire, not to communicate with him mentally, since it will only arouse suspicions."

  "Of course."

  Jesper turned back to Ronan and regaled him with some long-winded but useful advice about the Offworld Trade Council, its history and its members. Cynara listened with only half her attention. Ignoring Ronan was one of the hardest things she'd ever done.

  "Cynara, it's time we were off."

  Jesper squeezed her shoulder lightly and smiled in such a way that she knew he wasn't as oblivious as he'd seemed at breakfast. He'd always known what went on in his own house.

  He was dressed magnificently in a slashed velvet doublet of scarlet and an overrobe of silver, fur-trimmed satin, the traditional costume of Dharman elite that had scarcely changed since the coming of the Concordat. No one in the Council would doubt his loyalties, or his prosperity.

  There was nothing traditional about Cynara's uniform. It was the finest she owned, made up of the expensive fabrics the burgher-lords of Elsinore considered appropriate to one of her station, though the color was the conservative dark blue of a standard shipsuit. The braids alone cost a small fortune. She made no other concessions to Dharman sensibilities; the uniform included a sleek-fitting set of trousers that conformed perfectly to her body.

  At Jesper's recommendation, Ronan wore a plain shipsuit with no additional decoration. Oddly enough, the choice made him appear at once less threatening and more fascinating, as if the very simplicity of his clothing played up the slightly alien grace of his bearing.

  Cynara found herself staring and quickly looked away. Ronan pretended not to notice. He exchanged a few quiet words with Lizbet and answered Jesper's summons with a nod.

  "No matter what they ask you, my boy, answer as honestly as you can. Keep your mind open, as we discussed."

  Ronan accepted the reminders solemnly and turned for the front door.

  "Ronan."

  He looked at Cynara as if at a stranger. "Aho'Va."

  "Good luck."

  He nodded. She had never seen his eyes so blank of expression, even when he'd first come aboard the Pegasus.

  "Good luck indeed," Jesper said, and hurried off to the carport, where his driver stood ready to transport him to the Council chambers. They were located in the small business district of High Town, only a few kilometers' drive from his house. Cynara and Ronan were to follow in a second car.

  Cynara was acutely aware of Ronan's proximity when they settled in the passenger seat. She tested the mental void between them as if it were an aching tooth. His mind was sealed shut, but he appeared as relaxed as a hunting cat capable of snapping into killing mode at the tap of a dandy's heel.

  God forbid that any of the Council should provoke him beyond his control. She had already come very close.

  The ornate building that housed the Trade Council chambers had been constructed to celebrate the discovery of the slingshot drive and the subsequent launch of the Pegasus. The average Dharman had no idea that the Pegasus was anything more than one of the planet's tiny fleet of trade vessels, albeit an extraordinarily lucky one.

  Someday the slingshot drive would become public knowledge—once the Allied fleet was constructed and ready to confront the shaauri on a grand scale. Until then, the secret hid in plain sight, contained in a few minds and locked vaults.

  But no one had foreseen the possibility that a Kinsman agent might penetrate the Alliance disguised as a refugee. More than Ronan's future depended upon what the Council decided today. If the Council had any doubts about him, they would not only hold him captive but ground Cynara as well.

  Perhaps Ronan would have understood her position more clearly if she'd admitted how much she, too, had to lose. But pride and common sense forbade any such admission.

  And so they rode together in silence while Cynara clung to her composure by a cat's whisker. The driver let them out at the high, golden doors of the Council building, but an aide met them at a small side entrance and ushered them into the frescoed hall. As Cynara had expected, the entire building was all but deserted.

  A pair of discreetly armed guards accompanied Cynara and Ronan past murals representing the Nine Worlds and into the tiny waiting room reserved for the subjects of confidential debriefings. Cynara had come prepared for a wait, and she was not disappointed. She and Ronan were left to cool their heels, always in clear view of the uniformed guards.

  Ronan looked neither to the right nor left, as smooth as Tarsian glass. There was nothing more Cynara could tell him. Either he would pass this test and be set free, or he would prove her judgment as flawed as her soul.

  An hour passed, and then another. The guards began to look bored. It was only when Ronan turned his head toward the door that Cynara realized someone was approaching.

  The guards stepped out into the hall, and after a few minutes of hushed conversation Kord strode into the room, his face set in the unreadable expression that always meant trouble. He stopped and saluted without a glance at Ronan.

  "Captain," he said. "I was told I would find you here. I have an urgent message regarding the Pegasus."

  "Urgent" from Kord could never be taken lightly. If he had come all the way here to find her, the message must be important indeed. And most definitely not for other ears.

  Cynara glanced at the guards. They had no reason to suspect either her or Kord of anything remotely treasonous, but they'd undoubtedly been ordered to keep a very careful eye on Ronan.

  "Gentlemen," Cynara said, rising to face the guards. "My weapons officer and I have Fleet business to discuss. If you will allow us to step outside for a few moments, I'm sure it can be dispatched efficiently."

  The guards, men sophisticated enough to accept her rank with good grace, exchanged glances. The senior nodded. "Five minutes, Captain," he said. Ronan
made no attempt to follow when she and Kord left the room.

  "Your uncle sent me," Kord said as soon as they were alone. "He's with the Council now and couldn't approach you directly, but he managed to get a message to me at the ship. He said he'd delay them as long as possible. I wasn't sure I would make it before they called you in."

  "What is the message?"

  "The Council has taken Janek's advice to have Ronan deep-probed. They've convinced Magnus Vidar Larsen to do it."

  Cynara absorbed the information with amazement. Magnus Larsen was one of the few native Dharman telepaths who had been Kinsman-trained before the Second War. In those days the Kinsmen had actively recruited telepaths throughout the Concordat, and he had been among their most promising students. But though he had been offered a high place among them, he had preferred to remain on his homeworld.

  There was no more powerful telepath on Dharma, and few in the Alliance now that most Kinsmen had gone to the shaauri. Larsen was the man to whom Elsinore's aristocrats sent their young men for basic training in mental control.

  Damn you, Janek. Damn you to the deepest Anubian hell.

  "I don't understand the ways of mindwalkers, Little Mother," Kord said, "but even I know that a man's brain can be destroyed by that kind of examination."

  As Jesper knew. The procedure was all but forbidden on Persephone. No one on Elsinore had resorted to it for many years. Even if Ronan cooperated fully, the chances were great that he would suffer permanent damage. If he resisted, even by instinct, he could be stripped to the mental level of a fishflea.

  That was why Jesper had undermined the Council and offered this clandestine warning, leaving the rest up to Cynara's judgment.

  Her decision. Her choice whether to take the risk that Ronan was everything she assumed, or let him undergo the probe on the chance that he wasn't. Preserve one life, or preserve a secret that might save hundreds of thousands.

  One life that had become dearer to her than her own.

  The shock of that realization staggered her. Kord caught her arm.

  "Cynara?"

  "I'm all right. Thank you for getting this to me."

  "What will you do?"

  No matter what she decided, Kord would accept. But Ronan was his blood-brother. If she refused to save him, Kord would probably make the attempt, torn in two by conflicting loyalties.

  She was captain of the Pegasus. There should be no conflict for her. The decision should be as simple as that of choosing between fighting the shaauri or surrendering without a single weapon fired.

  Either way a betrayal. Either choice with potential consequences too terrible to imagine.

  Head and heart. Man and woman, as Dharman belief would have it—logic the male principle, chaotic emotion the female. She knew exactly what Tyr would do.

  She met Kord's gaze. 'The Thalassa's waiting?"

  "Basterra told me he wouldn't be ready to lift for several more hours."

  "If Ronan is what Janek obviously believes, we may be handing the Pegasus to the shaauri."

  "If he were what Janek believes, I would take his life myself."

  Nothing more needed to be said. Kord found concealment behind a potted plant in the hall, and Cynara returned to the waiting room. She gave Ronan a single significant glance.

  "Officer," she said, addressing the senior guard, "I have a message for the Council that cannot wait. Can you deliver it for me?"

  "Captain, our orders—"

  "This information will impact the debriefing. I can't understate its importance."

  The guard hesitated and gestured to his partner. "Brion, take the captain's message and return immediately."

  Cynara pulled a pad and stylus out of her pocket and dashed off a note with convincing gravity. She folded the paper and presented it to Brion.

  "See that this gets to Magnus Jesper Siannas without delay."

  Brion set off and his senior resumed his post near the door, very much on the alert. Soon afterward there was the sound of something heavy falling in the hall, and then resounding silence.

  It was enough to pull the guard's attention away for a few precious seconds. Cynara dived for his gun. Ronan moved at almost the same instant. Cynara kicked the guard's weapon from his hands and flung herself after it, while Ronan leaped like a cat and downed the guard with a chopping motion of his arm.

  Cynara rolled to her feet with the gun in hand. The guard was sprawled on the marble floor, apparently unconscious but showing no outward signs of injury.

  "Is he all right?" she asked Ronan.

  "He will be." Ronan cocked his head at her, a new brightness in his gaze. "Kord has taken the other?"

  "If we don't hear an alarm." She shifted her grip on the gun and glanced toward the door. "We have to leave."

  "Will you not suffer punishment for this action?"

  Trust Ronan to ask the most essential questions. "I'll worry about that later."

  Kord appeared in the doorway, breathing hard. "He's out."

  "Let's go."

  The three of them ran down the hall and took a smaller corridor to the side entrance. Once on the street, Cynara assumed a nonchalant demeanor and pocketed the gun. She led Kord and Ronan to the garage where the Council members often left their vehicles. Several cars were housed there, including Jesper's. Not a driver was in sight.

  The key to Jesper's car was still in the ignition. Kord pushed Ronan into the passenger compartment. "I'll see you at the ship," he said. "I have one more task to complete."

  "Go," she said, never doubting that Kord would be at the Thalassa in time for takeoff. "Be careful." She turned the key in the ignition and the motor hummed to life. "Bless you, Uncle."

  No one appeared to stop them as she pulled the car out of the garage and into the street, slipping easily into the light traffic. It was good to feel in control again, even if this vehicle was confined to lowly earth.

  "Do you know what happened?" she asked Ronan through the open partition.

  "Kord brought a warning."

  "From my uncle. The Council was planning to subject you to a deep-probe. It might have permanently damaged your mind."

  "Then I owe you great thanks."

  Spoken as sincerely as any diplomat could wish. "Save the thanks. We still may not get off Dharma."

  "You will find a way."

  "Your confidence inspires me." She clutched the wheel and turned onto Gate Street. Still no pursuit. "I take it that we're on speaking terms again?"

  "Are we not speaking now?"

  She laughed through her teeth. "We're going to be spending more time together, Ronan, so I hope we've reached an understanding. What I said before still obtains. I won't see you destroyed because of blind suspicion, but neither will I risk the welfare of my people."

  He was quiet all the way to Second Gate. "You will take me to the Concordat."

  There wasn't really any other choice. None of the other Nine Worlds had native telepaths who could handle Ronan if the worst should come to pass. Persephone's laws wouldn't allow the mental rape of even a convicted criminal, let alone a man who might—Poseidon, must—be innocent of any ulterior purpose.

  "I'll take you to Persephone," she said.

  "Will they accept you if Dharma does not?"

  Oh, he knew how much she risked in helping him. "I don't plan to abandon Dharma."

  "You will be challenged as First of the Pegasus."

  "I think what you mean by 'challenge' is not what the Council will have in mind," she said. "I wish it were that simple."

  "If Janek challenges you, you would win."

  "I'll take that as a compliment."

  The sense of camaraderie born on Bifrost had returned. She ached with the warmth of it, ached with the memory of last night and the miraculous, fleeting bond between two minds and hearts.

  Losing the Pegasus was not the worst thing that could happen.

  First Gate still stood open. Likely the alarm had been raised by now, but it hadn't reached Low To
wn. Cynara couldn't risk calling the shuttle, for there was a very real chance that the Council might intercept any communication. She accelerated past shacks and stubbled fields onto the highway toward the spaceport. Vehicles here were few and far between, but she and Ronan could still be stopped at the port.

  Incredibly, the guard at the sentry post waved her through as soon as he recognized her. She could feel Ronan relaxing, well aware that he had been preparing for a fight.

  "This is Va Jesper's doing," he remarked as Cynara sped across the field to the service area where the Thalassa was berthed. She swerved around a maintenance truck and set a straight course for the shuttle.

  Dockhands who had been loading the hold under Cargomaster Basterra's supervision turned to stare as Cynara pulled up fifty meters from the shuttle. Ronan was out of the car before it came to a stop.

  "Captain," Basterra called, striding toward her. "We didn't expect you back for two days. I have three pallets left for the Pegasus, and—"

  "I know, Cargomaster. I need to speak to you. Please come with me."

  Basterra glanced at Ronan with a frown. "Ser Janek—"

  Ronan moved up behind Basterra, who thought better of further argument. The three of them climbed the ramp into the shuttle. Cynara steered Basterra into the passenger compartment and glanced into the cockpit. The pilot for this run was not, unfortunately, Lizbet. Cynara could only hope that Jesper had thought of sending a message to her as well.

  "Something has come up, Cargomaster," she said. "Council's orders. I must return to the Pegasus immediately. The rest of the cargo can come later."

  "If you will show me the orders, Captain—"

  "Are you questioning my authority?" She smiled in Basterra's face. "There is at least one informant aboard the Pegasus, Basterra. I know you've got your own contacts in the Council, and dubious loyalty to me. Still, I wouldn't advise direct defiance."

  Basterra backed down with the usual bluster and bumped into Ronan, who also smiled. The expression looked uncomfortably alien on his face.

  "Ronan, please stay with the Cargomaster while I speak to the pilot." Don't be too late, Kord. She caught a final glimpse of Basterra's worried face before Ronan herded him into one of the seats.