Part 30 (2/2)
But Aiken would not know, being, as he was, a natural talent, inexperienced in metapsychic a.n.a.lysis. And even though he was by far the greatest coercer in Europe, she did not dare ask him to a.s.sist her in the child's redaction. Aiken was too badly damaged himself, too near dissolution.
She slumped back in the chair, brooding, and felt a welcome cool breeze brush her bare shoulders. If only the wretched hot weather would break and an honest thunderstorm recharge the atmosphere with negative ions. Then she might be able to make sense of it. Not only solve the problem of the black-torc babies but the greater question as well, her own mountain of challenge, erected by Brede.
The wind intensified and she let herself luxuriate in it, reaching back to lift her hair. ”Oh, that's wonderful,” she murmured.
”I'm glad you like it. I wish I could manage the storm for you, but the range is too extreme.”
She whirled about, galvanized by astonishment, then froze to see Marc Remillard watching her from just outside the open window. This time, the cross-sectional halo effect of the mindenhancing equipment was reduced to an indistinct s.h.i.+mmer and his body, suspended in midair, seemed completely material. She could see the play of muscle beneath the tight black pressuresuit as he lifted his right hand, palm forward, in the familiar Milieu metapsychic greeting that invited physical as well as mental touch.
No! she cried in instinctive revulsion, leaping from the chair and backing away.
A fresh wave of chill air emanated from him. He smiled sadly, one side of his mouth lifted slightly higher than the other. The hand dropped slowly to his side.
”You're really here,” she stated, rather than asked.
”As you see, Grand Master.”
”It's a genuine hyperspatial translation? By mind-power alone?”
”The cerebroenergetic enhancer a.s.sists me in generating the upsilon field, but I do the actual d-jump-and the return, of course-under my own steam.”
”I presume you learned the program from Felice. Did she injure you seriously in the process?”
Instead of replying, he demanded, ”Where is she? I've been unable to fa.r.s.ense her aura, even with the CE rig augmenting my search faculties to the maximum.”
Elizabeth showed him the site of the girl's tomb alongside the Rio Genii, the impervious globe of the room without doors buried deep in the rockfall. ”Felice is beyond your reach, Marc.
You'll have to look for another partner.”
The shadowed eyes seemed to twinkle. ”You've left yourself vulnerable, Grand Master.”
She stood straight. ”Why don't you come inside and do your worst? We've learned a few things in the Milieu since your d.a.m.ned Rebellion! All metas learn self-defensive manoeuvres to forestall the kind of coercive manipulation you and your confederates used. And for Grand Masters, there's a last recourse against mind violation that I'd almost welcome using at this point.”
”Perhaps I'd better stay where I am. For both our sakes. The CE rig persists in following me through hypers.p.a.ce like Mary's little lamb. Unless your chalet has reinforced floors, I might prove a perilous guest in more ways than one.”
Fascinated in spite of herself, she asked, ”Do you mean that the machine will stay behind, once the translation program is properly edited?”
”Oh, yes. And the coverall, too, if I wished.” He made a Gallic gesture. ”However, I'll retain it to spare you the sight of my scars.”
”What do you want?” she asked, tiring of the verbal fencing.
He nodded at the sleeping baby. ”His problem interests me.
It's not unlike certain matters that once occupied me ... au temps perdu.”
”I'm sure Brother Anatoly would agree.”
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