The Seer Read online

  Jolar didn’t answer and Arissa followed him out, the lights of the range powering down as they exited.

  Outside Jolar settled into the passenger side of the groundcar and gave her a meaningful look.

  Biting the inside of her cheek, Arissa took up her place on the driver’s side as the vehicle’s anti-grav field powered up. “Maybe we should try another couple runs around Bruscan’s property before I do this.”

  “It’s a short drive back to Bruscan’s,” he reminded. “And almost the whole drive is through residential areas.”

  Letting her breath out, she took the controls and scanned the area around them then started the vehicle forward, slowly.

  “You’re better at this than you think,” Jolar said. “You’re doing fine.”

  “I don’t feel like I’m doing fine,” Arissa said, adjusting the groundcar’s antigrav a little, then increased speed. “My hands shake the whole time.”

  Very glad the groundcar was equipped with multiple repulser fields around the body to prevent collision, Arissa increased speed. Navigation would keep her from getting lost even in the twisting streets of Tano, and it would be a simple matter to set the groundcar to autopilot and ride as another passenger but Jolar wouldn’t allow it.

  “Autopilot is fine when nothing goes wrong,” he’d argued. "The whole point of this is to prepare you because something has gone wrong.”

  Street after street showed nothing but high walls and intimidating security gates. “Not much of a walking city,” she murmured, tilting the yoke and slowing to make the turn navigation indicated—and bit her lip when as the groundcar swiveled more jerkily than she’d intended.

  “Not a safe one either,” Jolar returned. “If you’re on this side of those gates.”

  “Is the rest of the planet like this?”

  Another groundcar ahead, its driver far more confident took the next turn a great deal faster. Chewing her lip, Arissa didn’t slow the groundcar, this time making the turn smoothly.

  “Most of it. There’s too much money here, too much greed. It’s spoiled what beauty Sertar has.”

  Seeing no groundcars nearby—and this lane a reassuringly straight one—Arissa risked a quick smile at him. “But Zartan isn’t like that?”

  He gave a self-conscious laugh. “If Sertar has too much greed, I guess Zartan has too much pride.”

  “It’s natural to be proud of your homeworld.”

  “Is that how you feel about Apovia?”

  “Of course.” Arissa felt her shoulders start to relax. Talking was helping her nervousness. Talking and the very light groundcar traffic during mid-morning in a residential area.

  “It’s beautiful there,” Jolar said. “The meditation gardens, the museums. Your world has produced most of our greatest literature, our most important artworks. You have a lot to be proud of.”

  “My father said the Apovians uplifted others with their art, that we helped people bear the harsh realities of life. He believed we were on the cusp of a new golden age.” She gave a fond chuckle. “But he was a poet as well as a professor.”

  Jolar shook his head. “My father believed that Zartan’s golden age ended when the Tellaran royal family fell. A man born too late to ever be happy.”

  The pulse energy field of Bruscan’s reinforced security gate flashed once as it deactivated. A moment later the tarasteel gate itself retracted and Arissa engaged the forward drive again.

  “Too bad they never met. My father was a born optimist.” Arissa brought the groundcar to a stop and set it in standby mode, thrilled with her accomplishment. Maybe she could try her hand at piloting a shuttle soon. “Bruscan will be happy to see us back. I think he’s more nervous about me driving than I am.”

  “See?” Jolar said warmly. “You did great, just like airskating.”

  “‘Great’ because no one wound up at the medcenter?”

  Jolar laughed and she gave him a smile. He cupped her cheek in his broad palm, already bending in for a kiss. Instinctively she leaned toward him . . .

  Suddenly she jerked back and wrenched her face away.

  The pain she sensed slash through him left her gasping. Her fingers curled into fists to keep herself from reaching for him. From the corner of her eye she saw him pass his hand over his eyes.

  “We should go inside,” she managed, powering down the groundcar with quick, shaky movements.

  “Right,” he said hoarsely.

  Bruscan looked anything but relieved as he came out into the courtyard to meet them; the icicles of his tension stabbed at her mind.

  “We’re free for dinner tonight after all,” Bruscan said, his face tight. “Broc Attar is dead.”

  Jolar lifted Carlea’s hand from his thigh; grateful again he insisted this lunch take place at a public restaurant.

  But he’d blundered in letting her chose the establishment. Located in a respectable enough commercial zone, the restaurant’s design – dimly-lit and cozy semi-circular booths each obscured by frosted plexisteel and sharp corners – made it an ideal destination for those seeking to discreetly meet a paramour during work hours.

  Their spot at the leather-padded booth seemed tailor-made for an assignation. Their table faced a window with the particular tint of plexisteel treated to serve as a one-way window and a terrific view of Tano-Sertar’s skyline

  Extra insurance against any spy-cam toting hawkshaw hired by a suspicious spouse, Jolar thought dryly. He wondered if Carlea’s husband bothered to have her tailed. Of course, depending on the terms of Carlea’s trust fund, to have their marriage dissolved might not be in her husband’s financial best interest . . .

  Still, this table was as private a spot as clandestine lovers could hope for in a public place. Their booth had a control to signal for the waiter to come—even to refresh their drinks—so their server wouldn’t stumble upon them at an inopportune moment and the music level seemed loud enough to cover most sounds.

  Although, Jolar reflected wryly, if he were so inclined as to couple with Carlea, and in a restaurant for frack’s sake, with his height the confines of the booth might prove tricky.

  But the only witness to that copulation could possibly be the white, fluffy, blunt-nosed pet snuffer Carlea had brought along. She’d cooed over the thing all through lunch, feeding it bits from her plate, its enormous black eyes regarding her in simpleminded adoration, crumbs catching in the fur around it’s sharp-toothed mouth. Jolar couldn’t help but wonder how much it had cost Carlea in ‘consideration’ to be allowed to bring the creature in here. Its belly rounded out with the culinary achievements of an intersystem-ranked chef, the beast was now curled up asleep in its carrier, huffing snores out of its stubby nose.

  “I’m married,” he reminded as he moved Carlea’s hand off his leg—again— but he smiled when he said it.

  Carlea gave a careless shrug. “So am I.”

  “Oh,” Jolar said, feigning ignorance. “How long?”

  “Too long,” she purred.

  “Does he live on Sertar?”

  Carlea’s mouth tightened. Plainly the subject of her husband was not a welcome one. Jolar hoped it helped to cool her overtures long enough for him to get any useful information at all.

  He was uneasy at being separated from Arissa, even with Bruscan’s promise to stay with her until he returned. After Bruscan’s grim news that their most promising and eager suspect had been shot in a gambling establishment in Tano an hour before it had taken all his discipline to leave her at all. A disagreement over cards, Broc’s death had happened in front of dozens of witnesses, his killer—a Leman—had already paid a hefty fine and been freed by SerSec, only to vanish so well even Bruscan’s slicers couldn’t find him.

  Broc had been very anxious that they meet with him privately that evening and now had a blaster bolt through the heart.

  Larner and Danlen were positively chilly toward them.

  And all of it made the meeting with Carlea something he couldn’t afford to cancel.


  Carlea’s sexual innuendos showed her both experienced and adventurous but he struggled not to cringe away from her. Time spent with Carlea was anything but pleasant.

  And every moment stole from what little time he had left with Arissa.

  At the thought of her now, his chest tightened with longing.

  Since that night at the embassy she never touched him nor allowed him to touch her. She shied away whenever he got close. He had gotten very good at directing her when they went out without once putting his hand on her.

  Sharing a bed with her was hell. She kept her back to him, as far away as the mattress’ width would allow. Now there were no smiles, no shared laughter, no easy talk as they lay within each other’s embrace.

  She practiced her Seer skills with clear reluctance and knowing without being told what she feared, he choose things to think of at those times that were as devoid of emotion as he could make them. Pleasant images from childhood, the darshball playoffs with Tasan, Admiral Henlon’s speech when he was promoted to Commander’s rank.

  His casual suggestion yesterday that she might consider Zartan as a new home at the conclusion of their mission was met with stony silence, the message clear.

  He’d ruined everything between them. He could not even hope for the tepid position of friend.

  And when this was over he might never see her again.

  “Let’s not waste our lunch together chatting about spouses,” Carlea said with a toss of her glossy, dark hair. “I find the topic so dull.”

  “Have you considered the contract I showed you?” Jolar said, shifting to take a swallow from his wine glass. It allowed him to face her better and move further away at the same time.

  She gave a half-shrug, a smile playing at her lips. “Of course I’m interested in anything you want to show me.”

  “How interested?”

  She scooted closer to him, brushing her full breast against his arm as the snuffer gave a loud raspy snore from its carrier. “Very interested.”

  This is going nowhere and I’ve had enough for one day. Maybe Bruscan can come up with something.

  Jolar smiled blandly and put his glass down. “How long did you say you’re going to be on Sertar?”

  She blinked. “At least another two weeks.”

  “That’s excellent.” Deftly avoiding her jeweled and painted talon-like nails Jolar pressed a kiss to the back of her hand as he simultaneously pressed the control to summon their waiter. “When can we meet again?”

  Jolar’s legs gave out and he sank down on the wide, curtained bed in their suite at Bruscan’s house, the message on his coded data pad still displayed.

  Since leaving Carlea all he could smell on himself was the cloying fragrance of her perfume. He’d intended to take a shower and change before going in search of Arissa. But he’d had to check his messages first, and now—

  He sat trembling, the datapad clutched in his hand, longing to go to her, wanting to bury his face in the silky black ringlets of her hair. He wanted to inhale the scent of her, feel her softness, take comfort just in her presence . . .

  Arissa came in and closed the door behind her.

  Of course she knows. Probably sensed it as soon as I read the message.

  “What is it?” Arissa asked. “What’s happened?”

  “Dacel,” he said numbly. “My friend—the Zartani Councilor.” Just the words seemed wrong and it took such effort to get them out. “He’s dead.”

  Her face paled. “How?”

  “Shot. He was shot through the chest.” Jolar shook his head. “Dacel was a good friend, one of the best I ever had, Arissa. He was a good man. He worked for Zartan, for the Realm, for over thirty years and last night someone just walked into his house on Tellar—and blew a hole through him.”

  “I’m so sorry.” She gave a sharp headshake. “Oh, no. Jolar, no, this is not your fault.”

  “It’s not?” he demanded hoarsely. “Dacel trusted me to figure out what’s going on. I was the only one he felt he could trust and I failed him! He’s dead because I didn’t figure this out fast enough. I promised—I promised him—”

  She came closer but not close enough.

  Never close enough now.

  The desire to pull her down to the bed, to bury his face in her hair, bury himself in her arced through him.

  Jolar forced himself to look at the datapad gripped in his hand. “This message came from Rekan d’Barat, the new acting Zartani Councilor. He’s ordered me to contact him immediately on our status. I have to get him apprised of our situation here. I want to know if there’s—if they know who killed Dacel. The media hasn’t even started reporting it yet. I suppose it will come out sometime today.” His grip tightened on the datapad. “I’ve got to convince Rekan not to scrub the mission.”

  “Gods,” she whispered. “Jolar, if someone’s killed the Zartani Councilor then—”

  “I have to do this,” Jolar broke in roughly. “I promised Dacel. I have to keep my word. I have to.” He closed his eyes briefly. “Arissa, if you want to return to Tellar or—”

  “No,” she said quickly. “No, if you stay, I stay too.”

  He hesitated. “I’ll make sure Rekan keeps Dacel’s promise to you.”

  “No, I meant—We’re making progress.”

  Jolar shut his eyes for a moment. He could scarcely remember the last time he’d slept well. “Progress but no answers. And Danlen Mirat’s abruptly come around. I heard from him right before I got the message about—” Jolar swallowed. “Danlen has an estate in the western mountains of the southern continent and he’s invited us to be his guests there for a few days.”

  “His guests?”

  “Alarm bells ringing?” he asked wryly. “Yeah, mine too. Considering he’s been the least interested in having anything to do with us this turnaround is suspicious but Bruscan says Danlen has just spent a great deal of money. He may just need the income very badly.”

  “What did he spend it on?”

  “That we haven’t found out yet. I know it’s dangerous as hell but as friendly as he’s suddenly become, he won’t come here. Something about his wife being not able to travel and her wanting to meet us.”

  “Then we go to them,” Arissa agreed softly. “What happened with Carlea?”

  He sighed. “Nothing useful. Bruscan says her finances are solid. Too solid.”

  Arissa frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “She inherited her wealth and as near as Bruscan or I can tell she has advisors to run it all. She doesn’t seem to do anything but spend money and frack her latest interest. The problem is that everyone on this festering planet holds dummy corporations, puts ownerships in trusts, hides behind partnerships.” He gave a short, humorless laugh. “Well, not everyone. Larner seems to claim ownership of everything he has but maybe he’s just better at hiding it all.”

  “We need to have dinner with Carlea—her husband too, if you can manage it.” Arissa looked thoughtful. “That should give me enough time to give you some insight.”

  Jolar winced. “That’ll be a fun evening.”

  “It’s the only way I can—”

  He waved it off. “I know. It’s a good idea. I’ll send her a message after I speak to Rekan. I’ll tell her my wife’s getting suspicious and we need to show there’s nothing going on. She’ll probably like that.”

  Arissa hesitated. “While you were with Carlea, Bruscan and I managed to track Larner down. We ‘accidentally’ bumped into him as he was leaving a business meeting.”

  “And?”

  She tensed, wrapping her arms around herself. “And . . . he has the oddest mind. It’s like it’s put together differently than any other I’ve ever encountered. He wasn’t surprised to see us there.”

  She must have felt his alarm because she shook her head.

  “He wasn’t expecting us either. He wasn’t angry or unhappy or startled. He told me that he would have some suggestions of who might suit the contract soon. He said it as if that wer
e the sum total of all that needed to be said.” She shook her head again. “It’s like people are nothing but holoprojections to him.”

  “And dead or not Broc Attar isn’t off the list yet. Bruscan’s going to continue to work on his end to see what he can find.” Jolar looked at the datapad in his hand. “As long as I can convince Rekan.”

  “You don’t like him.”

  Rekan was Zartani Councilor now; he had to respect the office if not the man but still Jolar felt his lip curl. “Dacel was worth a thousand Rekan d’Barats.”

  She was silent for a moment. “Is there anything I can do?”

  “Other than turn your abilities up to full blast?” He let his breath out. “I guess while I contact Rekan you can start packing. In an hour we’ll be going to Danlen’s or soon headed back to Tellar.”

  Twenty-two

  The forest blurred below them as they travelled southwest, following the sun. Arissa knew her fear of flying still lingered, though she felt completely safe with Jolar piloting. A loan from Bruscan, this shuttle was a luxurious vehicle. She wasn’t sure she wanted to fly something this expensive on her first attempt but she began to wonder if the best way to finally conquer her fears were to get behind the controls herself.

  Other shuttlecraft became scarcer the further they travelled from the capital and Sertar’s northern continent. Now she spied other shuttles only rarely; she hadn’t considered just how isolated their destination might be when she agreed they should go.

  She glanced sidelong at Jolar. There was anguish beneath his determined expression but nothing she said seemed to ease his grief—or his self-recrimination.

  At the sight of a herd of tanalope racing across the savanna below, their hooves kicking up a half-kilometer of dust as they ran, Arissa exclaimed in wonder. She had never seen wild animals with her own eyes before, but Jolar couldn’t even seem to spare a flicker of interest for the herd.

  “We’re coming up on it,” Jolar said.

  It was the first time he’d spoken in an hour and the plains had long ago given way to the thickly forested mountainous regions. She could already feel him begin to sink back into his painful thoughts.