With Amber Tears
by Jilly Paddock
This is the second in a series of novels using the same
character set. A friend of mine describes it as "cyber-
folk", which I feel really ought to be a whole new genre!
I'm going to put the first three chapters on the site to start
with - if you want more, you'll have to e-mail me and ask for
it.
What Happened in the First Book:
Anna-Marie Delany, once just a spoilt little rich kid, used to be a holo-actress until an aircar crash that damn near killed her. Suspecting that the accident had been set up deliberately, she took a job at the Delany Computer Corporation, the 'family firm', and met an apparently-sentient prototype computer, Zenith Alpha 4013. It tricked her into allowing it to link into her brain - the Zenith series computers were designed to mesh with a human partner; the resulting 'agent-pairs' are used by Earth Intelligence, a secret government presence on the Delany Corp site, for espionage and covert operations, and are able to wield psionics - artificial psi-talents. Anna gave the machine a dumb nick-name, Zenni, and stole it from EI, putting it in her spacecraft, Firebird, and leaving Earth and her former life far behind.
The pair believed that they'd escaped EI, but they were wrong. On the backwater planet, Angelus Three, they stumbled into the middle of a mission by a trainee agent, Paul, to rescue three kidnapped agent-pairs. Anna chose to help, saving Paul and two of the lost pairs, but she was identified by another EI agent in the system, Brand. Faced with capture, she and Zenni had to kill the man to keep their freedom.
Now read on...
'Here ends she her unechoing song!
With amber tears and odorous sighs,
Mourned by the desert where she dies.'
from ‘Nepenthe’, by George Darley
Needles of bright steel leapt out of a brick-red desert, networks of wire spun a web over rock and scrub while, above, great pivoted bowls collected scraps from the soup of space. Merope Observatory kept her constant, silent watch, the only feature of the empty plain, save for the distant mountains and the fragile link of the parchment-hued road.
Merope was one of many such stations, the ears of Earth, commonplace in the barren and neglected places. Most citizens knew of its stated function as one link in the communication net to the stars; some also recognised it as a centre of learning and scientific excellence, yet only a select few were privy its secret, the knowledge that carved into the bedrock beneath Merope was a fortress, the home of the Operations Section of Earth Intelligence. Under the smokescreen of the observatory lay the collection point of all the data gleaned from the hidden eyes and ears scattered across the galaxy, the hub of command that guided those agents and the nuts and bolts of perhaps the largest espionage organisation in the human sphere. Here EI sifted through its treasury of knowledge with invisible hands, sometimes reaching out to alter a parameter or eliminate a perceived threat. Here, deep within the rock, was the den of the serpent that kept Earth firmly at the head of her dominion over the known worlds, an empire in all but name.
At the very heart of the complex was an office wombed in armour-plate and sophisticated security systems, presently sealed off from the outside world and occupied by four people, three at the peak of EI's hierarchy and the last a new-fledged agent. He was speaking now, completing the report of his first solo mission, nervous under the intense scrutiny of his superiors.
"You know all this from the transcripts and tapes of my debriefing," the young man paused. In the six months since the end of his training he'd been encouraged to use so many names that he'd almost forgotten his own. El knew him as Paul. "I don't understand why you've called me here to go through it all over again."
That was as near to insolence as Paul dared to get in such elevated company. He'd been grounded here at Merope for two weeks, under what a civilian would have termed house arrest, suffering interminable tests and endless questions, ill at ease at the inactivity and afraid that his career might have come to a premature and ignoble end. The way he'd fouled up on such a simple mission he deserved to be drummed out of the ranks. Three of EI’s own had been struck off the long-term missing-in-action list, one recorded as dead and the others currently in rehab, alive but psychologically scarred. Little of the credit for that result was down to Paul; it had been the work of a wanted criminal, a thief.
"I'd rather hear the original, fresh and uncoloured by editor's or transcriber's whim," Jansen said briskly. Professor Erik Jansen presided over the Training Section of Earth Intelligence; a short, vital bull of a man, grizzle-haired and well on the upper side of fifty. According to protocol, Paul was under Jansen's control during his probationary year. He had listened to the young man's account with an avid, predatory expression, a sharp, chilling hunger in his pale eyes. "When did you suspect that this woman, this miraculously helpful stranger, wasn't who or what she claimed to be?"
"She didn't claim to be anything, sir. I assumed that she was one of us, although her behaviour was so unconventional that it was hard to credit she'd been trained by EI. All of the evidence, as I saw it, pointed to her being an Earth agent-pair. She was slick and confident, and her use of psionics suggested that she was a veteran field operative."
"That's the part that interests me," the speaker was the woman to Jansen's left. She had been introduced as Chandre Marteen; Paul knew that she was the new head of Operations, the replacement for the retired director, and that she ranked as highly in the organisation as did the Professor. The idea of that power was hard to reconcile with the look of her; tiny and slim, frail-seeming, with close-clipped red-brown hair curving around an open, child-woman face. Probably she was as old as Jansen although the pale-cream, freckled skin concealed her years all too well. His other questioner was Dr. Michael Collins, Jansen's mild and faceless assistant. Paul shifted in his seat, not wanting to admit to himself that he was overawed by the calibre of this interview panel. He decided that of the trio that faced him he felt least trepidation towards Ms. Marteen.
"When were you sure that this so-called 'Vikki Elice' was in fact Anna-Marie Delany and that the Zenith was the stolen 4013?" Jansen pressed.
"Not until the very end of the affair. She'd freed all of us from the stronghold in a faultless operation, timed and executed to the split-second. I asked her why she hadn't killed our captor, that madman Trenton - she'd had plenty of opportunity to do so. She replied that you could do your own dirty work, sir," Paul took a perverse delight in Jansen's spike of irritation. "As she was about to leave I confronted her and called her by her real name - only then did she drop her illusion-disguise."
"To be able to maintain that level of psionic illusion whilst doing all that you've reported... that shows exceptional skill," Chandre mused, to herself.
"Didn't you consider that challenging her was a stupid thing to do?" Collins asked. "Logic says that she should have eliminated the threat you posed to her survival. Why do you think she didn't kill you?"
"I watched her consider it, then reject the idea. She didn't seem to mind me carrying news of her back to Earth," besides, he added to himself, Anna had been unwilling to harm him and had risked her own life to rescue him. In spite of his abiding, conditioned loyalty to Earth Intelligence Paul nursed a liking for the enigmatic Delany woman, certain in his heart of hearts that she wasn't the menace that Jansen painted her.
"Very well, Paul. You've clarified all the points we were unsure of," Jansen attempted a cheery smile that clung awkwardly to the granite of his face. "You may believe that you performed badly on your first solo assignment, however, considering the complex situation you found on Angelus Three, you did well to return unscathed. Grab yourself a week's well-earned vacation and then report back to Lindsay for your next task. Call in at the medical section for a final clearance before you head for the hills, will you? Now, you may leave us."
Paul hid his joy at not being reprimanded with inadequate skill. "Yes, sir!"
The three of them waited in silence as the young man made his exit.
"He'll receive mindwipe, of course?" Chandre asked.
"Certain parts of his memory will be edited," Collins flashed his luke-warm grin. "We're getting very good at the technique - after all, we wouldn't want to damage one of our expensive psionic agent-pairs, would we?"
"Then why not leave their heads alone?"
Jansen sighed. "We've been over that, Ms Marteen. I know that you persist in holding your predecessor's jaundiced view of mindwipe but it is sensible practise, I can assure you. It's been proved that agent-pairs suffer less psychological trauma if we remove their memories of each mission. They're just ordinary people, after all, and the scope of their psionic power disturbs them. If we leave them to their own devices they are plagued by guilt and nightmare - why shouldn't we spare them that pain?"
"If I believed for one minute that the sole intention of your mindwipe programme was the well-being of our agents, I wouldn't have any qualms about it," Chandra said, her mild tone given the lie by the fierceness in her eyes. "On the contrary, just as Lune did, I think that you employ the technique to make the pairs easier to control... "
"There's no point in this argument," Jansen returned, wearily. "Paul will be processed, as all the others involved in this affair have been. We three are the only ones who know that Anna-Marie Delany is still alive and at liberty."
"How did she survive a direct missile hit that supposedly vaporised her vessel?" Collins demanded.
"How does she draw on psionics inside a shield designed to block such power?" Jansen countered. "And how does she still use the abilities when her complement computer is inert?"
"There is only one answer, or so my experts tell me," Chandre cut in. "She must possess true psi talent."
"There's no psi in the Delany family - believe me, we've been through their pedigree. Not a whisker of talent for a bare minimum of ten generations," Collins protested.
"Any suggestion that she isn't of pure Delany blood?" wondered Chandre.
"Ms Marteen, you have an unpleasant mind!" Jansen said, with a flicker of approval, the first he had ever expressed since her appointment. "I'm afraid that our little Anna isn't from the wrong side of the sheets - I thought of that too. Censcomp Genescan say that she's Lewis Delany's daughter; they have an acceptable gene-match with both parents to within ninety-six percent. That level of evidence would stand up in any court of law."
"Whatever Censcomp say, this lady has talent: real psi, not our tinned variety, which means that she's using 4013 as an amplifier rather than a source of power and if that's so, we have no means of estimating the limits of her abilities," Chandre frowned, notching her wide forehead. "She could outclass the best we've got."
"Can she really be a natural?" Collins was still unconvinced. "I accept that there are a few accredited telepaths and still fewer gifted individuals with other manifestations of psi, but how is it that Delany has such a range of skills? How was she missed in all the aptitude tests?"
"She wasn't missed," Jansen supplied. "We checked her files. She showed no measurable ability up until the aircar crash and after that there were no further tests."
"Could the crash have uncovered a latent, unsuspected talent?" Collins pulled at the mousy hairs of his moustache, unaware of the gesture as his mind churned in thought.
"The experts say maybe. It's not unknown for extreme stress or trauma to trigger occult psi ability. Before we had Zenith our research guys killed a substantial number of people trying to make their brains jump into psychic action; I believe that we had to abandon that field because the missing persons file was beginning to embarrass the government," Chandre surveyed her fingers as if she expected to find blood on them. "Maybe the crash kicked Anna's brain into the fast lane or more likely, combining with 4013 did the trick. We can only guess at the whys of it, but that’s not our present concern. What do we do about her?"
"We catch her," Jansen stated. "Then we kill her."
Collins laughed sharply and without humour. "First we have to track her down, then find a weakness in her defences we can exploit to eliminate her. If she's as good an agent-pair as Paul thinks she is neither of those will be easy. After all, we must assume that she was responsible for the loss of Brand."
"Do we have any more data on that?" Chandre asked. "Anything from his Zenith?"
"All that 3675 can tell us is that Brand boarded the woman's ship after Paul had established that she was Delany. There was a fight in which Brand understandably held the upper hand, then his link was inexplicably broken," Jansen poured a cup of water. "We haven't yet recovered Brand's body."
"She must have killed him," Chandre pursed her lips in appreciation of the feat. "Brand was tough, a martial artist born and trained on a high-gee world, as well as an experienced agent-pair - no pushover. Anyone who could better him would be a valuable addition to our staff. We spend a sizable chunk of our resources seeking out recruits with that kind of potential - destroying a natural talent would be a criminal waste. When we catch up with Anna - if we catch up with her - we ought to offer her a job."
"You're crazy to suggest such a thing, Marteen!" exploded Jansen. "She's far too dangerous! We have to neutralise her before she can damage us."
"You act as if she was an enemy," Chandre smiled slyly."All she did was steal one of your precious machines. We have no evidence that she's a traitor to Earth - all Paul told us is to the contrary."
"She did rescue two of our agents and extricate Paul from a tight spot," Collins admitted. "She and 4013 have the makings of a good unit. We could re-set the curb programs in the computer and mindwipe the girl... "
"No! We couldn't risk breaching the integrity of a mind like that!" Chandre's interruption was sharp. "We might wreck her talent. It would also be unwise to mess with 4013."
"We'd end up with a pair with no controls!" Jansen glared at her. "Ridiculous!"
"No, Professor. A challenge and a unique tool."
"She'd be useless to us," Jansen continued, as if he hadn't heard. "You're going soft, Chandre, or senile, or both. We have to rid ourselves of the girl permanently."
Chandre considered holding out; little use in the teeth of Jansen's fabled stubborness. "Very well, we'll do it your way. We have a contingency plan for this sort of situation - we foresaw the need to deal with a rogue agent-pair and the trap will work as efficiently on the Delany woman. I'll put a team onto it."
"Priority One?" the look in Jansen's eyes as he invoked prime emergency status for the operation would have shamed a beast at its kill.
"You're sure you want to push it that hard?" Chandre sighed. "I'm not sure that the High Council will sanction such dire measures."
"I'll convince the Council," Jansen assured.
Chandre laced long fingers together and shut her eyes in thought. She held the silence for as long as she dared, unwilling to face Jansen's piercing blue stare. When she'd accepted this post she'd known that the rest of her career would be one long battle with Erik Jansen, until the man had the decency to turn up his toes and die. The outcome of this little skirmish was never in question.
"Very well," she conceded. "Priority One."
Chandre noted that the man permitted himself a slight triumphant smile as he left her office and then only when he thought that she couldn't see it. Collins followed on his master's heels like a dull mongrel dog. When the room was empty and the door re-locked, Chandre rose from the desk and opened the concealed door in the wall behind her. Beyond was a cubbyhole rather than a room, swamped by a chair and a computer terminal and occupied by one man.
"Well?" Chandre faced him, one of the few who could be at ease with him despite knowing him for what he was. He appreciated her openness with him, she knew.
"Paul is sympathetic towards the woman," the telepath said. "Or at least, he will be until they 'wipe him. Collins, as usual, is on the fence."
"Jansen?"
"Such intense hatred!" the man shook his head, as if to dislodge the taint of the Professor's emotion. "What did our friend Anna-Marie do to him to conjure that, I wonder? I can't tell you - he keeps that too well screened."
"He knows nothing of you, Lyall. Why should he screen his thoughts?"
"Habit perhaps? This man is used to working with psionic talent - maybe he has things in his head that he doesn't want his juniors to know?"
Chandre perched on the arm of the chair and Lyall steadied her with a protective arm about her waist. "What are you watching?"
"This?" the telepath nodded towards the screen which was filled with the characteristic fuzz-edged image of a holo cramped into two dimensions. Two figures moved against the backdrop of a fashionably decorated bedroom, dancing within their ghost-blur cocoons and delivering their lines with a drama that was lost in the lack of sound. "Anna-Marie was an actress before that accident ruined her face. This is her last holo."
Chandre tilted her head to one side and studied the image as Lyall froze on a frame and tightened in on the woman's face. Caught in mid-word with her mouth open, the actress was a puppet turned to stone within a pale glowing nimbus of flattened solidity, with honey-blonde hair frozen into a sweeping bell and vivid blue eyes stretched wide, circled by white. "Not a flattering shot and I'll bet it doesn't do her justice, but she's pretty."
"The word is beautiful," Lyall corrected. "Last year she was voted onto one of those stupid lists - the top fifty Perfect Faces of the galaxy. Looks like that would make any other woman jealous and scare off most men. They always said she was a lousy actress though. Have you seen any of her holos?"
"None," Chandre's gaze never strayed from the screen.
"I've watched all of them, and a pretty eclectic collection of pretentious rubbish they are, ranging from horror flicks and a ghost story, to arty soft-porn. The plots and scripts are mediocre and I think that the directors worked with bags over their heads, but Anna's good - as good as they let her be. Without the accident's intervention she might have grown into a worthwhile actress... "
"It sounds as if you've taken a liking to her, sight unseen," Chandre pinched the telepath's arm. "Tired of me so soon?"
Lyall grinned fondly at her. "I'd not swop you for Anna, not if she's what your experts say she is. The very thought of neat talent like that scares all lust out of me! Why did you give in to Jansen over this mission's priority?"
"Jansen is too powerful to oppose for long. I'm the new girl round here and I don't have many friends in the Council, yet. Besides, I agreed because I want to find the woman quickly."
"But you have no intention of killing her?"
Her face in full smile was artless and more child-like than ever. "What Erik doesn't know won't keep him awake at nights. If Anna has natural multi-talent then her price is above rubies."
"Do you believe that she has?"
"Paul might have been mistaken and all she used was straight psionics but even so, according to his descriptions, she's on par with our top five. If she only has one natural psi ability I still want her. The truly gifted are as rare as hen's teeth - you know that."
"So you're going to spring Lysseya to trap her?"
"It seems a shame to use our masterwork but I don't think that anything less will catch her. You will lead the team, under one of your false identities. You I can trust, a thing I can't say for many within El. You'll have to liase with Jansen, I'm afraid."
"I can bear that."
"You'll have to take care - I want that delicious skin of yours back in one piece. Don't underestimate our little actress. She took out Brand."
"That over-muscled psycho? I have one advantage over that freak, Chandre - I have more than two brain cells to bang together!" Lyall grinned again. "You can trust me to land your fish, even if she does have fangs."
“She’s a fighter, that’s for sure. She had it all - looks, money and prestige - then an aircar tumbles out of the sky... “ there was horror in the woman’s hazel eyes as the images formed in her imagination. “In one nightmarish moment, she loses everything. Her body’s shattered, broken - she almost died.”
“What kind of inner resources does it take to crawl back from the brink of the abyss?” Lyall shook his head. “And why, when she’d almost returned to normal life, did she throw it all away again? Why did she steal the Zenith?”
“You haven’t worked with them for long but take it from me, they’re a strange breed, our agent-pairs. I suppose you have to be odd to cope with sharing your skull with a machine...” she shuddered at that thought. “They come in two flavours, rational and emotional. The rational ones use their Zeniths as tools, switching them on and off like a personal organiser; the human half of the pairing gives the orders, makes the decisions and the Zenith just delivers up the data or the right psi parlour-trick on demand, like a trained dog. The emotional pairs treat their computers as equals; they give them names and take their advice just as if the dumb machines were real people. The psych staff have cute terms for each approach - hard- and soft-wired - and, against all logic, the softies perform better in the field.”
“And our Anna’s soft-wired - so attached to her computer that she couldn’t bear to leave it behind?”
“I think she is, and that makes her even more valuable - if we can persuade her to play on the enemy team,” Chandre tapped a key and the picture burned out of the screen. "It may take us some time to find and catch them, but in the end, I trust that 4013 and Anna-Marie Delany will be ours."
© Gillian M Paddock 2001
Go on to Chapter Two or Back to the Kitchen .