Outside the Salbari estate, a hot, damp wind swept the plains. Based in hastily constructed Quonsets along the airstrip’s runway, Antar’s remaining Outwatch troops guarded the strip and estate.
At the Y-shaped table indoors, Filip perspired despite his loosely woven white tunic. Other Concord leaders looked weighted down by fifty days of crisis. After another four-day break to allow communication to return, there was much to catch up on.
Filip had opened the morning session with a review of recent events. A report from Admiral Gehretz Lalande at Ilzar had arrived by Gate relay shortly after the previous Conclave session. Concord forces had established a beachhead and closed Ilzar Gate.
On the other hand, in all six settled systems, new e-net dramas were feeding a horror of Chaethe infestation—from whatever source, perhaps a rumored Tdegan agent on Antar. Karine Torfinn also continued to badger him regarding her translated fragment from Nuris University’s archive. It pointed unequivocally to Sunsis.
He’d done what he could to preserve peace and calm. A travel ban might keep any localized infestation from spreading. Still, no one could stop information, nor its hangers-on: misinformation and panic.
A representative of Teemay Engineering’s research department appeared in hologram over the Y table’s center. Electronically facing all directions, he explained Chaethe parasitism in as much detail as Antaran research could support, as well as what could be done to prevent or at least detect it. “An adaptation of available technology could produce a scanner capable of detecting infested individuals,” he claimed, “based on the spore sheath’s metal content. As soon as you authorize funding, we will develop the project.”
“Discussion?” Filip asked.
His colleagues merely sat looking stiff.
Very well. “Is there a motion?”
Sal Megred of Crux, leader of the military reactionists, stood and glared with black-almond eyes. “I move we fund production. I also wish to requisition fifty such scanners for Crux.”
Filip seconded the motion, heading off wholesale requests. It passed unanimously. The Teemay rep’s image vanished.
Filip sat down and exhaled heavily. “Do any of you want to break at this point?”
Sal Megred spoke without formalities. “We’ve had plenty of time to stretch and wait and talk things over. As Salbari said, Sunsis could harbor a Chaethe infestation in advanced stages. If it spreads, this could end human civilization in the Concord region. Again. What are we going to do about it?”
“We must discuss that now,” Filip said. “We will not follow point of order unless the discussion becomes unruly.” He glanced at Megred.
Dio Liion of Unukalhai opened the discussion. A velvety green gown set off her ornate hair this morning. “Can we send reinforcements to Ilzar?”
“Not quickly enough to help Admiral Lalande,” Boaden Salbari answered, stroking his jowls, “so he didn’t ask for any, as you’ll note. He knows we have to defend Antar.”
“Have we sent any ships to Sunsis?”
“No.” Boaden glared at Filip.
Sal Megred nodded. “The obvious solution is one I don’t like, but it must be suggested. Thanks to our old enemies, we know how to sterilize a planet.”
That idea must be quashed. Filip spoke quickly. “Sunsis A has no ocean anymore.”
Sal Megred pushed away from the table. He folded his arms. “I meant Tdega, of course.”
Filip straightened involuntarily.
“Not Tdega,” Favia murmured. “It’s the closest thing in the Concord to a truly habitable world. That would be a terrible crime.”
She was correct. This Conclave was at war with a few Tdegan individuals, not with their whole world’s web of life. “Sending a force to Sunsis with scanners and impounding only the infested individuals would make more sense. Surely the non-infested Sunsisans would be glad for help.”
“True,” Favia said. “Surely they don’t want to be consumed.”
“Unless they all are.” Boaden pushed back from the table. “Already. Also, if that mission failed, the aliens would find out what we’re doing. They could declare war on the Concord. Could we fight two enemies at once?”
“Maybe we already are,” said Sal Megred.
Several other options were proposed and discussed. Finally Filip spoke into a gloomy silence. “We might try communicating with the Chaethe.”
Boaden snorted. “You empaths would suggest that.”
He tried not to sound irked. “Yes, we would. Maybe the Chaethe don’t know how their actions appear. They could think in truly alien ways. Is it right to try wiping out any intelligent species? That would be an act worthy of the Devastators.” Even the Chaethe were children of the Creator, although they might not know it.
But this was no time to point that out.
“Do we have time to talk with them?” Megred cried. “It would take three weeks simply to get there. And why? We know what they want. They want to eat us alive. Understanding the enemy doesn’t mean sitting down to tea with him! If we have to wage war, we should strike quickly.” He pounded one hand with the other. “Decisively.”
Boaden waved Megred back down into his seat. “This situation will require all our intelligence and courage,” Boaden said. “We must make quick decisions and demand immediate obedience. And may I add, no popular assembly can wisely direct a war.”
Filip eyed his uncle. Boaden stood halfway between Filip’s caution and Megred’s vengefulness. Too much caution could slow down the Concord enough to defeat it.
A path seemed to open before him. A way forward.
Gladwyn looked uncomfortable in the heat, with her child three days overdue. “You could send an attack force one week behind the diplomatic delegation,” she said. “Surely we could wait one week to open another front of this war.”
Boaden rubbed his chin. “Filip’s suggestion bears consideration,” he grumbled. “I move that this Conclave conscript a team of empaths and send it to Sunsis A to try negotiating with these aliens, if that’s what we’re really facing. Then we should send a strike force five days behind it. Better to lose a week and sacrifice a few … individuals,” he said, charitably—perhaps—avoiding his usual term mutants, “than to incinerate a habitable world. Even a marginally habitable one. We must try to communicate first—with Tdega, at least.” He rested his hand on the table. “If that fails, we blast Sunsis.”
“Why conscript the empaths?” called a Kocaban delegate. “Conscripting an unwilling human is too much like destroying a habitable world. Especially since this appears to be a suicide mission. Put out a call for volunteers.”
Suicide mission. The words made Filip hesitate. Was there really no hope of success? He pondered as other voices took sides. Asking for volunteers would bring in a dedicated group, many of them with small children. He would not orphan those youngsters if any other choice existed. Volunteers would also offer an unrealistically homogeneous idealism. They would not fairly represent humankind if talks were established. Finally, if humanity must communicate with an alien race, the effort must be made by the most skilled communicators, not the most unselfish.
He could create teams of three empaths. In each team, one member must be strong in the nexus skill that allowed linkage and influence. Another member must have the strongest synch gift he could find, to hear any frequencies used by the Chaethe. The third should know as much as possible about organisms such as Chaethe parasites, particularly any known linguistic patterns, in order to translate. Three empaths had done such research: Bord Marlon, himself, and Karine Torfinn.
Abruptly, he realized he was ignoring Concord issues to concentrate on Order business. He must stop procrastinating. It was time to walk that way forward, to trust others and the Creator. Finally, he knew which post to resign. At the next lull, he spoke. “On this issue, I side with Boaden.”
Alcotte shot him a sharp look.
“A conscripted group, balanced to offer all of our skills and resources, would serve the Concord better than a mismatched band of well-meaning volunteers.”
Boaden grimaced. “Easy for you to say. It’s a fair guess you won’t be chosen.”
Something else occurred to him, a thought that confirmed his decision: a different Head Regent should be in place, ready to take charge, if he did not return from Sunsis.
Dio Liion sprang up.
Filip silenced her by standing too. “I would not ask anyone to undertake a mission I was not willing to undertake myself. I will volunteer.”
Sal Megred rocked his chair. “You just said you wouldn’t allow volunteers. Are you so certain you would be one of the best?”
“You’re resigning as Head Regent?” Alcotte asked. Sarcasm hazed his voice.
Alcotte should know him better. Filip cleared his throat and said, simply, “Yes.”
The mid-table sonic ridges picked up and amplified the softly spoken word. All heads turned toward him.
“Respectfully and with apologies,” Filip said, “I do resign the Head Regency of Nuris University. I nominate Boaden Salbari to serve in my place. He will be exactly the leader we need in this crisis.”
Boaden tilted his head, looking as stunned as Alcotte. He flattened both hands on the table. “I move that this Conclave discuss whether to allow Filip to resign in order to go to Sunsis. As for you—” He pointed up the table at Filip. “You are excused for the moment, of course. Submit this plan to the head of your Order.”
“All right,” Filip said, silently laughing. He wondered whether Boaden would figure that out before Filip told him. As Head Regent, Boaden would need to know. It amazed Filip that seventy-plus trained empaths had been able to keep his double leadership secret. “I will spend the next hour on the c-net.”
Favia fidgeted. He knew she was afraid for his sake. Still, she had always said she respected his judgment.
He walked down the steps, away from the table, one part of him deeply relieved and another part wrenched with regret.
But still wholly certain.
Isolated in his office, he murmured a prayer of thanks for the assurance that he’d made the right choice. This mission would call for his strengths. Defending the Concord against invaders, if Filip failed, would require Boaden’s different talents.
He stared at his terminal, set to c-net but sorting information instead of sending it. Each triad must defend itself against psychological takeover by alien-influenced human carriers. There must also be physical defenses. The sparse old reports had it that Chaethe parasites could penetrate a human skull. That suggested the notion of helmets.
“Helmets,” he said aloud. “Consult Teemay Engineering.” The voice-to-text circuit recorded a note on his reader.
There were only a few other things that empaths could do for defense. Their mission would demand candor and vulnerability.
He asked his computer to rank all trained empaths by synch skills, nexus ratings, and counsel or persuasion grades. Those were re-measured every five years. It produced four lists, ranking all seventy-eight trained empaths in order of all four abilities.
From those lists, he had it eliminate all younger than thirty and any who had children under eighteen. Bord Marlon, unmarried, and Karine, whose son was attending University, fortunately qualified—as did Filip, whose scores were median across the board.
He’d found his three translators. But the synch list had shrunk to one name—fortunately the best, Vananda Hadley. The nexus “list” was only seventy-two-year-old Joao Pallaton, the late Athis’s younger brother.
Filip frowned. He asked the terminal to add empaths whose children were no younger than fifteen or who were older than twenty-five and unmarried.
That added one name to each list. Still not enough. He secured full teams only when he allowed parents of children over twelve. He hated to conscript a twelve-year-old girl’s mother. Still, Lyova Waverly had excellent synch gifts, and with the fate of human-settled space potentially at stake, he must fill the position.
He asked the computer to formulate the three most compatible triads if he added the six skilled individuals to his Chaethe-knowledgeable core of three. He also keyed for strong counsel and persuasion scores, distributed evenly among the triads.
A list appeared. He stared at it. He must ask eight other people to sacrifice their freedom and probably their lives. This looked like one of Nuris city’s casualty lists.
What happened to a soul if a Chaethe entered its body?
“File,” he said, and the list vanished. In less than a month, the Concord looked likely to tear itself apart. If the Chaethe aliens had sparked Tdega’s secession, then in the hope of averting wholesale warfare, he would gladly spend his own life. Surely the others would, too.
He fingered one of his collar garnets.
Karine blinked. Hadn’t she turned off the light when she bedded down?
Two men and a woman stood at the foot of her bed. All wore Outwatch blue-gray. “We’re sorry to wake you, Medic Torfinn,” said the man in the middle. “The head of your Order has issued a formal summons. Please pack quickly and come with us.”
A formal come-along? Had Filip decided to call her before a board of evaluation now? She shouldn’t have been rude to Herva Metyline.
On second thought, he would not send the Outwatch for a counseling offense. Rubbing her face, she swung her legs over the side of the bed. This must have something to do with the war. That, or—
Had something happened to Llyn? Maybe Filip had decided to mount a rescue effort. “How many days should I pack for?”
“Only your personal essentials,” the woman said. “The Order will take care of anything you need.”
Then this was a genuine conscription, and nothing to do with the call block she’d installed last week. Herva Metyline had repeatedly suggested that Karine was stuck in an inappropriate stage of grieving—had been stuck, in fact, since Namron’s death eight years ago. There was no answering that. Herva would label any answer “denial.” Karine had blocked the connection, preventing Herva Metyline from trying to counsel her any further.
Actually, this probably concerned Llyn.
Karine stuffed a duffel with the barest necessities. If the Concord meant to send her to Tdega, it would clothe her there. She held her head high as the group passed Director Graybill, who stood at the entrance offering a handclasp. “Good luck, Karine. Whatever it is.”
She brushed Graybill’s fingertips with her own and strode out the door.
At Rift’s small airfield less than a kilometer outside the city dome, a twenty-seat jet waited. Karine climbed on board. To her surprise, three people already sat aboard, all empaths. Dropping her duffel in a locker, Karine sat down beside Vananda Hadley. “What’s up?” she asked, buckling in.
“Nobody’s telling. I tried listening,” Vananda added, “and either the crew hasn’t been told or they’ve been warned not to think of it.”
If Vananda Hadley, Filip’s sister-in-law, didn’t know why they were being conscripted, nobody did. Across the aisle, a dark-skinned man with intelligent eyes—wasn’t that Bord Marlon?—leaned forward. “We’re assuming something to do with the war, but I wrote my thesis on theories of alien civilization years ago. That could be a factor.”
Karine preferred to avoid that topic. “Could they be sending us to Tdega?”
Vananda pressed her palms together as the jet taxied forward. “I don’t know whether to hope so or not,” she said. She, too, must have been awakened unexpectedly, since her brown curls pointed every which way. “If I went to Tdega, I would want to check on Jahn, and I mustn’t.”
Of all the young empaths Filip Salbari could have sent to Tdega, he’d chosen the coattail rider. Karine should have known months ago that Salbari’s judgment did not match his reputation.
The craft accelerated for takeoff.
Vananda kept staring. She was going to ask. She wouldn’t be able to resist. Here it came: “Didn’t I hear that it turned out Llyn was—”
“Gamal Casimir’s daughter.” No use pretending otherwise.
“Perhaps she learned not to be a Casimir while she lived with you.” Vananda positively oozed sympathy, with slumped shoulders and wide eyes.
“Llyn was rebellious.” Karine answered firmly, keeping her tone businesslike. “Very strong-willed. But not untrainable. I miss her.”
“Has anyone explained why she was found on an artificial-reality machine?”
“No.” Karine had long stopped wondering. Perhaps that was a mistake.
“Or if that had anything to do with Tdega declaring war?” Bord Marlon asked from across the aisle.
“People will always conjecture.” And conjecture was cheap. Karine clutched her armrests. “No one knows.”
“Then maybe,” Vananda said, “something has finally come up. Maybe we’re going to check on Llyn.”
“I hope so.” The words were out before Karine could stop them.
They flew in darkness under the clouds. The plane landed next at the manufacturing city of Elhem, on the North River between Nuris and the Salbari estate. The Outwatchers debarked again, leaving Karine and the others to hypothesize connections between Chaethe and Tdega.
The Outwatchers had been gone less than an hour when a blast of pain struck Karine. Vananda doubled up, pressing her chest to her knees. Bord Marlon’s seatmate Joao Pallaton unbuckled and stood up, light on his feet for a man past seventy. “What was that?” he cried.
Bord palmed sweat off his high, dark forehead. “The last time I felt something like that was the day Tdega hit Nuris.”
“This was closer.” Vananda straightened, passing a hand over her eyes.
Karine cocked an eyebrow. She hadn’t gotten that much meaning out of the blast, only pain.
Abruptly a voice spoke. “Prepare for takeoff.” The jet taxied forward in darkness.
Karine exchanged startled looks with Vananda. Joao sat down. The Outwatchers who obviously debarked to pick up another empath hadn’t returned.
The atmosphere on board became subtly fearful. With four empaths in a small space, they reinforced each others’ feelings, just as—earlier—they had reinforced each other’s excitement without knowing it.
Interesting.
“We’re all short on sleep,” Vananda said quietly. “We’ll find out what’s happening when we arrive. I’d like to nap.”
If they were headed for the Salbari estate, there wouldn’t be much napping time left. Elhem was close to that northerly enclave. Karine didn’t care if she never saw Filip Salbari again, but it looked unavoidable.
Perhaps Llyn had been locked away. Perhaps she had vanished and Salbari was sending empaths to retrieve her.
Yet Salbari had warned that after Llyn left Antar, he could not answer for her safety. Karine could have struck him for saying that.
Vananda opened one eye.
“Sorry.” Karine mustn’t think about Salbari—or Llyn—just now. She slumped in her seat, shut her eyes, and tried to rest. The jet engine lulled her into a fitful doze.
Karine had been to the estate several times, assisting with Order business. This time, the complex was almost silent. It was several hours past midnight. Filip Salbari met them in the private office adjoining his family suite.
She took the seat farthest from Salbari’s narrow desk. Eight people fit comfortably into this carpeted sanctum, with room for several more. Its single small window looked out over the inner lawn, orchard, and flower gardens, all artificially lit.
How nice for Salbari that he never had lived in a prison compound.
The fruit trees, which looked dull by lamplight, reminded Karine of teaching Llyn to pick apples without destroying fruit spurs. She wondered if she had finally won and they were going to retrieve Llyn after all. Llyn would have become extremely undisciplined after living without supervision all these weeks.
Salbari solemnly swiveled his chair away from the wall-mounted desk and made it part of the group’s circle. He laced his fingers in his lap. He cleared his throat. His hair had gone gray at the roots in less than two months.
“This isn’t easy,” he said.
He was not a strong leader. He never had been. Karine glanced left. Vananda sat staring into Salbari as if she could see his synapses firing.
“We have received another transmission from Jahn Emlin, warning of counterstrokes planned against Ilzar and Antar. The situation is worse than we had thought. Yesterday afternoon, the Conclave asked the Empath Order to do a dangerous job. If it fails, there is a chance of death or worse.”
Worse? Karine mocked him in her mind.
“You are being conscripted, rather than being asked to volunteer—partly to keep you from deliberating with fears that might not let you volunteer, and partly because you are the most talented individuals in areas where we need strength.”
He paused and returned Vananda’s stare. His wife’s sister dipped her head in a slight, solemn nod. She would have looked much more dignified if her curls hadn’t stuck out in all directions.
Next, he glanced at Bord Marlon and the aging Joao Pallaton, holding each man’s eyes for only a moment. He skipped Karine, which surprised her, moving instead to Qu Yung, one of Antar’s rare citizens of almost unmixed ethnic heritage and a descendant of Antar’s pre-Devastator Regents. Lyova Waverly, bone-china fair without even a freckle, had studied under Karine several years ago. Karine remembered her as easily distracted by the boys. Kenji Emlin, a blond young man with a broad, perpetual smile, was a recent trainee.
Finally, he looked at Karine.
She cocked an eyebrow and let her feelings spill over her strong inner boundaries. He meant to send her on a potentially fatal mission? She did not like the idea. She would rather volunteer, and she still did not believe that the “mission” existed. How did this relate to Llyn?
Salbari faced the middle of the circle. “There is suspicion,” he said, “that Sunsis A harbors a Chaethe infestation in advanced stages. Karine, you have known that for some time.”
She crossed her arms. “It’s a theory.”
“This team, plus representatives from the other remaining Concord systems, will travel there. We will attempt to talk with the aliens if they are there, and if they can be persuaded to communicate. If they occupy human hosts, surely they can speak our language.”
Karine’s throat constricted. Communicate … with alien parasites?
“Talk?” Bord Marlon spoke before she could object. “What should we tell them? Get out of our space—that’s simple. Why send us?”
“Even if they can communicate with us, they could be so culturally different that they can’t comprehend human values. They might not understand how heinous their actions appear to us.”
“Or maybe they don’t care,” Qu Yung said. Karine remembered him from Nuris University. She’d studied one year behind him. He’d seemed sensible, with good grades and no social life.
“Or they don’t call us intelligent beings as they define intelligent,” Vananda suggested.
Irked, Karine leaned forward. “This entire idea is not intelligent. Who proposed this trip? Why are we cooperating?”
Vananda pulled her chair away from Karine and turned back to Salbari. “Personally, we stand to lose everything. But I am honored to be chosen. Thank you.”
Salbari rubbed one of his cheekbones, temporarily smoothing the dark circle under that eye. “Thank you, Vananda. The Conclave will speak with all of us in two hours.”
“You say, ‘us’?” Qu Yung stared at Salbari. “Are you coming?”
“I don’t want to either. But I will.”
Karine crossed her arms. It was only appropriate that Filip risk his life if the rest of them must do so. That did not make her like him any better.
“What about the Concord?” Lyova Waverly asked. Abruptly, Karine remembered that Lyova had a twelve-year-old daughter. Surely Salbari didn’t mean to send her on a hazardous mission.
It was easy to believe he would draft Karine, though. He obviously despised her.
He folded his hands. “This has not been publicly announced,” he said, “but I resigned the Head Regency yesterday afternoon.”
Karine glared. The man had cracked. She wondered what actually happened yesterday afternoon. Was he forced out of office?
“This means that the Conclave’s balance has slipped,” he said. “The war party is stronger now. We, here, will represent the last hope of peace. We can hope to succeed and return, though. We will form three triads …” Salbari talked for several minutes about listeners, linkers, translators, and the balance of counsel and persuasion that he hoped to achieve.
Now she understood why she had been chosen. She knew more about Chaethe speech than any other empath, except possibly Bord Marlon, and she had taken a double major from Athis Pallaton himself in counsel and persuasion.
Resigned? Salbari? She doubted it.
“What happened while we waited at Elhem?” Joao asked, shaking his head.
“We aren’t sure.” Salbari shifted in his seat. “The Outwatch agents went to pick up Tam Vandam, an excellent nexus specialist. One of them activated his distress beacon inside the Vandam home. A local police officer answered the beacon. She found all three agents and Gen Vandam dead without a mark.”
“A wild talent,” Karine muttered. The empath mutation was comparatively new, and no one fully understood its capabilities. Unexplained phenomena did crop up. The Order needed stronger leadership if it hoped to control them. Salbari was doing the right thing, volunteering for a suicide mission.
Who would succeed him, with the Concord and with the Order?
“We felt terrible fear,” Vananda murmured.
“It’s been thought that empaths could die if they felt others’ final terror,” Salbari said slowly, stroking his chin. “And the Outwatch agents did know why they were calling on all of you. But that does not explain what killed them.”
“Perhaps he panicked,” Karine suggested. “The nets are full of Chaethe rumors.” She had seen to that. The public needed to know what was at stake.
Vananda raised an eyebrow. “Projected emotional anguish? If Tam did discover what the conscription was about, could he unwittingly have drawn the Outwatch people into nexus and disrupted all their inner frequencies to the point of … stopping them?”
“It’s a terrible theory. I don’t think we would care to have others hear it.” Salbari looked suitably somber. “At any rate, our plan to balance three perfect teams has already gone awry. We won’t have Tam Vandam at one nexus.”
“Are we canceling, then?” Lyova sounded hopeful. A wisp of light brown hair curled toward her thin eyebrows.
“No.”
Karine listened hard. An undercurrent of panic was rising in the room. Evidently, Salbari finally picked it up. “We will find another nexus. As conscripts,” he added, “you are entitled to every consideration. But meanwhile, can each of you give me a pledge of cooperation?”
If they wouldn’t, Karine imagined him locking them up.
She nodded reluctantly.
He lowered his voice. “Karine, I had thought that this mission might be a blessing for you. Only something this urgent would take your mind off losing Llyn.”
I would not have lost her if you hadn’t interfered, Salbari.
Vananda winced.
Salbari dismissed the others to sleeping rooms but asked Karine to stay. He claimed he wanted to talk with her privately. She sat stiffly with her hands in her lap.
Once the door slid shut, he tipped his desk chair and looked sad. “Obviously, you still blame me for allowing Llyn to leave you.”
Obviously. “It was a mistake.”
He seemed to be waiting for her to speak again. She could outwait him. She was glad to see him ousted from the Head Regency. As soon as he dismissed her from this room, she would speak with the other empaths about replacing him in the Order, too.
“There was additional information in Jahn Emlin’s report,” he said after almost a minute. “Llyn had passed Tdega Gate, and a Tdegan medic had repeated the gene test that identified her. A suite in Casimir family quarters had been set aside for her, but when he sent that transmission, he hadn’t yet seen her.”
Karine hated depending on Vananda’s son for news of Llyn. She refused to soften.
“I kept you here to make an offer,” he said. “Eventually, you must appear before an inquiry board. Assuming we will go to Sunsis, I thought you might wish to face that board before we leave. You seem confident that your record will be cleared—”
“You think I’d rather die on Sunsis with a clean record than under suspicion?” She laughed. “Why should I care? The whole inquiry board idea is ridiculous.”
“If you feel that confident, we should—”
“It can wait.”
He stared at her for several seconds, resting an elbow on his desk. “Karine, you need help. There are half a dozen people at this estate who can—”
“You’ve lost your balance.” No clinician could help someone who didn’t want help. Somehow Filip still thought he was fine.
“We need your help on this mission.”
He’d been synching. She refused to open up in return. “I will do what I can for the good of humanity. But I’ll do it for my own reasons, not yours.”
His eyes narrowed. “Very well. Tonight. Here. A board of inquiry will decide whether you should be charged with any offense regarding your treatment of Llyn. I will nominate two empaths. You may nominate two others. You’ll have to choose from those who are here, but that gives you several options.”
Two of the others had seemed reluctant to accept this mission. “Bord,” she said without hesitating. “And Qu.”
“Very well,” he said. “I will call them—and you—to come back here this evening at seven.”
Filip closed up his office and headed for the Conclave. Karine’s attitude could poison others. Did he dare to take her to Sunsis? Was her knowledge worth the risk, or should he choose another?
Who? Had any non-empaths studied Chaethe language or culture? There was too little knowledge to draw from, and he had no authority to conscript someone outside the Order.
Maybe a board inquiry would shock her out of complacency. Now that he felt free to concentrate on the Order, he realized he should have done this weeks ago.
He caught up with Boaden halfway across the atrium’s outer lawn. “We need to talk for a moment.” There’d been no chance yesterday evening.
“We certainly do.” Boaden stepped off the direct path and walked several steps toward the atrium wall, farther from the delegates arriving for an early morning session. “I would appreciate a little more warning next time you plan to drop a bomb.”
Filip shrugged. “Waging war calls for quick decisions and immediate obedience,” he quoted. “When I realized that the Concord needs you and not me, I acted.”
Boaden backed against the stone wall. “I hope you decide that history justifies your actions.”
“One other thing,” Filip said.
Boaden raised an eyebrow. “Is this your next bomb?”
“I did not have to contact the head of our Order yesterday. I am the head.”
The skin around Boaden’s eyes crinkled. “I’m not entirely surprised.”
“I didn’t think you would be. As Head Regent, you need to know for certain.”
“Are you still sure you should go to Sunsis?”
“More certain than ever.”
“I think so, too. Whoever heads that mission will have to be extremely sensitive and a creative communicator.”
That was high praise, coming from Boaden. “Thank you.”
Boaden eyed the table. “Were they all willing?”
“Some more, some less. One is marginal.”
“That’s why you conscripted.” Boaden stepped out. “It’s time.”
Filip took his place as Boaden opened the early session. Early? It already feels like afternoon. Listening around the table, Filip detected urgent undercurrents that had been missing before. Everyone seemed to have focused.
“Report, Filip.” Boaden clasped his hands on the table.
Filip stood. “We found only eight empaths. The ninth nominee has died. We must enlist one more who is extremely strong in nexus linkage if we are to put together one more triad.” He glanced beyond Gladwyn toward the end of the Y table. Karine and the other conscripts had joined the session.
“Thank you all,” Boaden said. “On behalf of the Concord—of millions of other people—I wish you success and offer our full support.”
Alcotte and Gladwyn had been communicating via keyboard. Alcotte cleared his throat. Boaden tapped the tabletop and raised an eyebrow at Filip.
“No,” Filip said firmly, eyeing Alcotte. “Gladwyn is about to deliver, and she just lost most of her birth family. You may not go.”
Gladwyn stared at the tabletop. “If it means sending the strongest team possible, Alcotte and I have agreed that he would volunteer. You need another nexus, don’t you?”
“Would the Conclave accept my offer?” Alcotte asked.
“Just a minute,” a young voice called. Between Gladwyn and the other empaths, Gladwyn and Alcotte’s twenty-year-old daughter Rena had sprung up. Her cropped red hair shimmered eerily, but she wore a conservative white tunic and culottes. “My nexus scores are almost as high as Father’s,” she said. “I have no children. I know you wanted older and wiser people, but I’m qualified. Send me.”
Gladwyn’s cheeks lost their high color. “Sit down,” Alcotte said gently. “You’re too young.”
Rena shook her head. “I’ll fight and die here, if the war comes to Antar. You’re sending representatives of all Concord systems. Let me represent its young people.”
“You’re honestly willing?” Sal Megred stroked his chin, studying Rena.
“I am.”
Filip eyed Rena, too. It was tragic when young people died, but they did not cling to life like their elders. Young people understood themselves as immortal. By middle age, many lost that faith.
Rena might be right. If the mission failed, Alcotte and Gladwyn would not be left childless. Gladwyn’s fourth child—a daughter, who also carried the empath mutation—could arrive momentarily. Every solution to this problem demanded risking someone’s life.
“I suggest a secret vote,” Boaden said. “Shall we send Alcotte or Rena?”
“I second,” called Alcotte. He and Gladwyn reached for their keyboards. Other Conclave members took longer about deciding.
Filip prayed that he might remain sensitive to wisdom’s leaning. Then he voted for Rena.
After another minute, Boaden stood. “The vote is for Rena. Three votes to two.”
“Good,” Rena said boldly. “Thank you.”
Gladwyn lurched forward, burying her head in her hands. Alcotte pulled her close to his chest. Vananda sprang up from her place at the table’s end and threw her arms around them both.
Boaden offered Rena his hand.
Close to eleven o’clock that evening, Filip withdrew from Joao Pallaton’s nexus. Qu and Vananda, the best synch listeners in residence at the estate, had probed Karine’s memories, intentions, and desires for nearly four hours. He took a few seconds to study his fellow empaths’ faces. Bord was dark and straight-nosed, and Qu retained the epicanthic eye-fold of his ancestors, while Vananda’s genetic heritage couldn’t be guessed—but all of their faces reflected the concern that showed on Joao’s forehead as four dark, parallel lines.
Karine pivoted and sat up, facing sideways out of the deeply reclined chair where she had endured her ordeal. She shot Filip a look hot enough to boil water. He understood her pain. Board inquiry was a devastating invasion of privacy.
Joao Pallaton rubbed his lined face. Normally proud and straight-backed, he looked ashen. “Are you all right?” Filip asked him.
“Yes,” Joao said. “It’s been a while.”
Bord Marlon crossed one leg over his knee and clasped his hands around it. “Thank you, Karine.”
She stalked out of the room.
Filip sat in his desk chair, facing the circle. He looked around at the other empaths. “Discussion?”
Qu reached out a hand. “This was plainly an attempted enmeshment. She had begun to subjoin the girl. But Llyn has been removed. What would be the point of disciplining Karine?”
Vananda shook her head. “Before we consider any consequences, we must evaluate the situation.”
“Karine may also need treatment,” Filip said. “If she does, we must try to help her.”
“There is little else to say.” Bord uncrossed his legs. “Karine has become unable to function without controlling other individuals. She cannot trust them or herself to interact in a healthy manner. This is a tragic loss of a fine clinician.”
Filip folded his hands. “Evaluation, then. Attempted enmeshment?”
They all nodded.
“Attempt to subjoin, with intention?” If this board agreed unanimously, Karine would be charged and tried. Her clinic might be taken away, as well as her place in the Order.
“Absolutely,” Vananda whispered.
“Yes,” said Joao.
Qu folded his hands and leaned forward. “With some justification.”
“Justified or not, the subjoining was attempted,” Bord said.
Filip nodded. “I agree. Can we take her with us to Sunsis once she has been formally charged?”
“What better place for her?” Vananda spread her hands. “We may be the only people who can help her see what she has become, and why, and the danger she poses to everyone she cares about.”
Filip nodded. If Karine submitted to treatment before going to trial, any judge might be more lenient.
Karine strode through the door wearing a confident smile, but once past the threshold, she hesitated. Her eyes widened. “No,” she whispered. “You can’t think—”
Joao stood. Coming from Athis Pallaton’s brother, the words might sting less. “Karine, you were closely controlled as a young woman. You gained mastery of your own situation, but Namron’s death wounded you more deeply than you realized. You tried to counsel yourself instead of seeking the help you needed, and somehow that heightened your terrible fear of being abandoned again.
“You tried to subjoin Llyn instead of gradually relinquishing control over her. That is the unanimous charge of this board. But you may begin treatment immediately. Come with us to Sunsis. We are not clinicians, but we can help you.”
“Do I have a choice?” Her hands trembled.
Joao glanced at Filip.
This had been another difficult decision. He nodded.
Joao eyed Karine again. “You may choose,” he said. “When an individual is free, she will take damages—but so will slaves, and they have no choice in the matter. You may remain here, confined at the estate. If we do not return, you will be tried by the Order’s new head. If we come back, Filip will judge your case.”
Filip felt her anger seethe and then slowly crumble. She must have felt certain Bord and Qu would not recommend charging her. She clenched her hands. “You feel I acted wrongly?”
Joao stepped forward. “You did try to do what was right. But you must develop a sense of grace, a trust in the Creator and in other people. There is a time to relinquish control. Filip set a fine example yesterday.”
She scowled.
“We would like to see you offer recompense to Llyn, if the opportunity ever comes. But first, you must relearn the source of your own significance. Your freedom and Llyn’s are both of utmost importance.” Joao spread his hands. “That is one of the great mysteries.”
Karine covered her face. She stood still for several seconds. Synching, Filip felt if-then pairs tumble through her mind. They slowed and settled.
“I’ll come with you,” she muttered, but he sensed that she barely accepted the idea of treatment.
It would take twenty-two days to reach Sunsis A. By then, she might change her mind.
In any direction.