He continued walking, paying no attention to where she was going. He had no idea whom she had been talking to, no idea why she had been talking to a warrior, no idea of anything at all.
He turned a corner and stopped, looking around. There was no sign of her. He took a step back and looked around again. Still nothing.
Where could she have gone? She had not been that far ahead of him. There was nowhere here to hide.
Maybe she had not walked down this street after all. He turned to retrace his steps, and as he did so a sharp blow struck his midriff and then another his back. He fell.
Looking up at the sky through dimmed eyes, he saw a fighting pike held several feet above his head. It looked a little smaller than those he had seen before, but maybe that was just his blurred vision.
There was a flicker of movement and a long, sharp metal blade shot out from the end of the pike. It came to a stop less than an inch from his neck. It glistened razor-sharp in the moonlight, and colours seemed to shimmer as the light touched it.
'Who are you?' said a voice in perfect Fik, the warrior caste dialect. 'Why are you following me?'
He did speak Fik, although his knowledge was largely limited to phrases necessary for use in war — understanding overheard enemy communications, interrogating captured warriors and the like. In his puzzled state it took him a while to translate, and it took him a little longer to recognise who was speaking to him.
Susan.
The absurdity of this ran him through to the core. She was carrying a weapon he had never seen before, but which looked a little like a fighting pike. She was speaking fluent Fik, without any trace of an accent. And she had just attacked him.
He did not know what to say in reply, what to say that would make any sense at all.
'Answer me,' she continued. 'Who are…?' Her eyes widened and the pattern of scars across her face danced. 'David!
'What are you doing here?'
'I was about to ask you the same question,' he replied, and then for no reason he could explain, he started laughing.
Talia could hear all their thoughts at the back of her mind, countless emotions, countless feelings. There was fear, there was concern, there was frantic planning. The crew of this ship, smugglers and criminals all, reacted in different ways to this new arrival, and all their thoughts were laid open to her, placed there for her to read.
The captain knew enough to prepare his papers and his cover story. The second as well. Many of the crew were old hands at avoiding detection. A few newcomers were worried, some even terrified.
But all of them knew one thing, one fact that had not slipped past Talia, and that knowledge added a hint of fear to every one of them.
They were not merely being intercepted by a local ship, not stopped at a border point, not facing down corrupt officials who could be bribed or bargained with.
This was a
Even here, Talia could hear the voice of the telepath trapped within the
The smugglers were preparing to be boarded. There was nothing else they could do, after all. Flight from a
And they would find her.
Breathing out slowly, she reached out with her mind, mentally prepared for the onslaught that would follow. The screams that came rushing at her when she lowered her blocks threw her back. Her head struck the wall behind her and she felt a dampness in her hair.
A voice….
The thoughts did not stop. They rushed out in a torrent of fear and anger and desperation. Talia ignored the throbbing pain at the back of her skull and concentrated, fighting to winnow down the terror, to find the core personality within.