Hidden Faults (3 page)

There was something a little dark in his half-smile, the way he looked so levelly at me, but I didn’t sense he was dangerous. Just someone addicted to thrills, perhaps, though a genetic research conference didn’t strike me as the best place to look for them. I wondered why he’d chosen this inn, but the thought drifted away. Didn’t do to question such bounty almost falling into my lap.

Oh, Marra, I’d not expected this tonight. I returned the salute with my own glass, and tried to keep my excitement out of my expression as I took him by the arm.

“Come with me, and keep your mouth shut. Anyone asks, you’re a cousin of mine studying biology who’s thinking of switching to medical research.”

“I could be a real student.” He’d have almost seemed affronted, if it weren’t for the twinkle in those lush, dark eyes.

“And I could be the Queen of the Weadenal. Come along, I don’t need people to have a chance to look too closely at you and that horrible suit.”

“‘S a nice suit,” he muttered, but he let me tow him along away, perfectly amenable. I liked that in a man.

~~~

The second I woke, I knew I wasn’t in my own bedroom. It took me a couple of seconds longer to work out why I was so sure. The light came from the wrong direction, filtered by dark red curtains, not pale green.

I sat up and groaned—Marra’s testicles, my head. And my backside and legs too. What the hell had I been doing last night to end up here?

“Hello?”

No reply. I looked around for signs of the room’s owner, and realised it wasn’t any ordinary bedroom, but an inn suite. A pad of paper sat near the light—I squinted at it. The ‘Dance of Indages’—the inn where the conference had been held. Had I gone to bed with one of the attendees? Had anyone seen me?

I moved to get up and yelped as my back muscles twinged. Cautiously I stretched, clenched my butt, and winced at the sting. I’d had sex—and as the receptive partner. But who in hell with?

I scrambled out of bed, ignoring the incriminating aches and stinging, and dragged my clothes on. No sign of anyone else’s—no sign that anyone else but me had slept in the bed, but someone must have. I sniffed. The room smelled faintly of semen and sweat. No artificial scent, no cologne, perfume, not even hair cleanser. I checked the bed—no damp spot, no hairs, nothing. I’d had sex with someone obsessively clean, apparently. I hoped I hadn’t been too drunk to insist on protection.

The last thing I remembered was...Kanar. Yes, Kanar holding forth and then...nothing until I woke up. Somewhere between then and now, I’d met someone. But who? Whose room was this? And how could I find out without drawing attention to my situation. I noticed the keycard on the writing desk. Why would the owner go out without taking it?

Well, I didn’t care. I needed to get out of here before anyone from the conference saw me slinking out of another man’s room. It was late—nine, so my timekeeper told me. Maybe my mystery host had gone to get breakfast.

I endeavoured to look nonchalant as I rode the lift down—already preparing my cover story that I’d had an early meeting with a colleague—but I encountered no one I knew. I walked to the reception area unchallenged, my shaking knees and clenching gut not obvious enough to attract attention.

The receptionist smiled at me as I approached, key in hand. “Good morning, sir.”

“Uh...hi. Can I hand this back in?”

He accepted the key from me. “Will you be returning to the inn, sir?”

“No.”

He nodded and tapped in something on his viewcom. “Then that’s fine, Arwe Jodimai. We’ve got your account details, and there are no further charges. I hope you’ll consider our inn again should you require accommodation in our city.”

After I pressed my wrist against the scanner for verification, he handed me a receipt. Check-in time had been half eight the previous night.

“Uh...thanks. Er. Yes, I will. Can I ask you something? Rather, is there someone who was on duty last night I can ask?”

He lifted his eyebrows in surprise, then clicked his fingers. A moment later, a young, red-haired porter appeared from behind me.

“Disune, our guest needs to ask you a question.”

Disune smiled as I thanked the receptionist, and then I drew him away from the desk.

“How can I help you, sir?”

“Uh—look, this is a really stupid question, but did you see me check in last night?”

“Yes, sir,” he said, nodding. “I remember because you didn’t have any luggage with you.”

“Uh, right. Was I with anyone?”

The lad frowned. “No, sir. Not that I saw.”

“Are you sure?”

“It’d be on your bill, sir. We always note the number of guests.”

I glanced down at the receipt.
No. guests—1.

“Ah. Was I...acting oddly at all?”

“Not that I noticed, sir. You were very nice to me when I asked if you had any luggage—even gave me a little tip though I’d done no work.”

“Oh.” I pulled out my wallet, first picked the ten and then changed my mind. I handed him a twenty. “Then this is for your trouble. Thank you for answering my questions—uh...this is embarrassing, you understand.”

He took the note from me and tilted his chin. “I don’t talk about our guests, sir.”

“Good lad. Thank you.”

He smiled and wandered off, no doubt as confused by my idiocy as I was—or maybe he’d seen it all before.

The doorman hailed me a veecle, and I made my escape, trying hard to ignore my sore backside. An alcoholic blackout? But though I had a headache, it wasn’t a hangover proper. It felt more like I hadn’t had enough sleep. Some kind of stroke? I’d never heard of one that specific in effect before. Drugs? But how to explain my apparently normal, rational behaviour in front of the hotel staff?

I stared out at the windblown streets as the veecle whisked me along in heated comfort, insulated from the weather, though the veecle’s warmth didn’t touch the chill inside me. Memory loss was a symptom of many things, almost none of them benign, but to seek treatment, or even a diagnosis, would mean revealing how I knew I’d missed time—and I couldn’t. Being revealed as a homosexual would ruin me—and my employers
would
see my medical records. It was one of the conditions of working for National Security. On paper, discriminating against me because of my sexuality was illegal. In reality, I’d never get another promotion or research project again. Kregan was more open-minded than many employers—but I didn’t only work with him.

I panicked when I realised I’d walked into the house without consciously remembering paying the veecle driver, but calmed down a little when I backtracked and recalled my arrival and being told the fare. Nothing like that worked for the hotel room or sex. It was a complete blank, as if I’d been unconscious. Had I been raped? I rushed to my bathroom and checked myself in the long mirror—no bruising, grazes, nothing other than a stinging anus and some sore muscles to indicate that I’d had sex of any kind. None of those symptoms were inconsistent with a consensual encounter. In any event, I couldn’t report I’d been raped to the defs. Once I explained how I recognised the evidence of sexual activity, I knew too well how I’d be treated. I’d seen too many men ruined by mere rumours.

I sat gingerly on an armchair and hugged myself. Nothing in my life had prepared me for this. Sure, I knew about secret lives and hidden desires—but I’d always been completely aware of what I was doing and who with, even if I rarely knew names. The only person I could talk to about this would be Timo, but Timo wasn’t a doctor. He could do nothing more than offer sympathy and what I could do myself—speculate without any real information.

I needed a shower. As I stood under the stream, I started to shake so hard, I had to hang onto the rail to stay upright. Finally my stomach rebelled too. I vomited, bringing up nothing but bile—so whatever else I’d done, I hadn’t eaten in some time. I stared at the water washing away what I’d thrown up. If I’d been fucked without a condom, then the consequences of last night wouldn’t be so easily disposed of. But any testing—any positive result—and my secret would be out.

I had some analgesic cream which eased the discomfort in my arse, and not being reminded over and over of what must have happened, helped slightly. I wrapped up in my warmest indoor clothes and turned the heating way up, even though the weather was still too mild to justify using it at all.

I couldn’t get warm, and the sense of violation grew stronger with every passing second. Had it been another conference attendee? Might it even be someone I saw regularly in Vizinken? About half the people there were locals. Had anyone
seen
me with another man?

I couldn’t stop trembling, on the verge of hysteria. Giving in to that would make it all so much worse and invite curiosity from my neighbours. I had to calm down, even if it meant drugs. But the only sedative I had access to without leaving the house was alcohol, so I poured a big glass of temlido and forced myself to drink it. By the time I’d finished, my hands weren’t shaking any more, but I still felt...raped. Maybe I should talk to Timo after all. But would he even understand what this felt like? I’d treated rape victims and my reaction still surprised me.

The temlido made me feel a bit number, and not so close to screaming. I decided a second glass would be even more effective. By the time I poured out the third, I was dimly aware this was probably not very sensible, but I wasn’t shaking or sick any more, and the terror of being ill or infected had receded to a manageable problem.

My head snapped up as the door alarm sounded again.

“What?”

No one answered me. I eventually remembered that I needed to actually
open
the door. I staggered across the room and into the hall, glass still in hand. Maybe my visitor would like to join me in a drink....

~~~

My head was
killing
me. The sun through the curtains stabbed like a knife blade right in my eye so I shut it again. What the hell has possessed me to sit up drinking with Kanar and his cronies? And what kind of fool had I made of myself in the process?

I huddled under the covers but in very little time found I was actually much too hot. Throwing back the bedclothes, I realised the heating was on—and on high. Marra’s tits, I must have turned it on in my drunken state when I got home. The timekeeper on the dresser read one—half the day gone, and I was still useless. At least Kanar had been paying.

I stumbled around, turning the heating off and opening a window, and then downing as much water as I could bear. I put the kettle on and while it boiled, took a double dose of painkiller. Heavily sweetened khevai finally helped me feel almost normal. I hadn’t got that plastered since my student days—normally I was far too cautious. I hoped I hadn’t blabbed anything embarrassing to Kanar or his friends.

My backside hurt—stung, in fact. My own stupid fault for showering while drunk and putting careless fingers where they shouldn’t go without proper preparation. I needed to get laid if my subconscious made me do stuff like that under the influence. Visiting a place I knew in Low Town might help, after I got the headache under control, and the sun set. Hadn’t been there in a while, trying to keep a discreet profile. It had been two months since my last visit. If I had to resort to putting my fingers up my bottom in intoxicated frustration, then it was more than time for another.

~~~

I had a burst of inspiration that weekend about what might be frustrating our efforts to switch off the paranormal gene, and spent Parne furiously writing up my ideas, sending them off to Kregan for his thoughts late that evening. On Gifir, he called me in to discuss them and the conference. It occasionally occurred to me that I was the only less senior researcher who had this kind of relationship with him, but since I’d known him before I’d started work here, it felt natural. I won no favours on the back of it. He was as strict with me as anyone else, and if I screwed up, then I received the same ticking off as the others.

He picked several holes in my ideas, but seized on two crucial points, the importance of which I’d overlooked. When he’d finished explaining, he looked up from the notes I’d given him.

“I’ll put someone on a literature search this morning. Limiw, in fact. I’ve decided to reassign her,” he explained as I raised my eyebrows in surprise. “You were right. Her attitude isn’t appropriate for your project. She has religious objections to paranormals that she isn’t able to set aside, unfortunately.”

I couldn’t help but be relieved, though I didn’t want another researcher’s career damaged because of my temper. “She’s an excellent scientist, sir.”

“Yes, indeed.” Kregan’s expression was unreadable. “However, her talents don’t lie in work with patients. I’ve assigned Darno to you.”

“Actually, I thought Arwe Lenai might benefit....” My voice trailed off as his expression darkened. “What’s wrong, sir?”

“Arwe Lenai won’t be working here any more, Jodi. He’s been associating with Spiritists. His security grading dropped below acceptable levels for our department.”

I jerked in shock. “No! Has he been arrested? Charged?”