Hidden Faults (5 page)

I bit my lip, too horrified to make a comment. He stared at me for a moment or two, then slumped back.

“On the naksen, it doesn’t hurt so much,” he whispered. “Sometimes I can’t even remember her name. Makes me all fuzzy, useless. I just wish...while I’m not on it, I could see him. Find out if he’s...you know. Okay.”

I knew what he asked of me, and yes, it was in my power. But I lied for his sake and my own. “I don’t have that kind of access, Mas Neim. I wish I did.”

He reached out for my hand. “Please...for mercy’s sake. I just want to know if he’s alive.”

“I can’t. I don’t have access. I could be imprisoned for even trying. Mas Neim...I wish...I wish this hadn’t happened to you. But there’s nothing I can do, not now. Can’t you believe me?”

His eyes, so much older than his real age, welled with tears. “I’m sorry to ask. I...I just thought maybe there was a chance you could. I shouldn’t....” He rubbed at his eyes. “I’m sorry. Not fair to put you on the spot like that.”

And I was a despicable coward. “Is there anything else I can do? Anything at all?”

“Keep me off that drug? As long as you can?”

“That I can do.” Here I was on firmer ground. “I’ll find out if there are any trials going on that need someone like you. We’re always short of volunteers. The only problem is that you’ve started this therapy, but I can ask.”

“That’s something.” His fingers tightened on my wrist. “Glad my boy can’t see me like this.”

“I wish you didn’t have to feel that way. It’s my dream, you know. To help you all live normal lives again.”

“They won’t let you succeed, doctor. None of us believe that.”

“You’re wrong, and I hope I can prove that to you one day.” I patted his hand, then gently removed it from my own. “Get some rest. I’ll come by tomorrow. Is there anything you’d like? Books? Skims? You can have any skim you like, just ask.”

“Never been much for those things. A good book. Anything. Something that’s not real.”

“I’ll get on that.” I stood. “You’ll feel better in a couple of days, I promise.”

He gave me a thin, sceptical smile and I left, unable to stand my own lies and his desperation a moment longer.

One of the guards gave me a funny look, so I made the effort to smile. I didn’t want him hurting Mas Neim because he imagined the man had harmed me. No, I’d harmed myself. I was a coward and I would continue to be cowardly because I hadn’t lied about one thing. If they caught me looking up that man’s son on the central adoption register, questions would be asked, and then I’d be downgraded. In my line of work, that was as good as being made unemployable. Being poor and under suspicion in Pindone was as bad as being a para. I couldn’t help anyone by being chucked out of a job.

I made my way to the canteen, where people were beginning to wander in for their lunch. I chose a salad and fish in sauce, but it all tasted like ashes to me. I forced myself to eat anyway, just as I’d chosen my usual table near the window rather than a more secluded corner position. If I started to act strangely after the oddness of a personal visit to a para, people would talk—and I didn’t want that kind of attention.

I couldn’t get the man’s face out of my mind or the sound of his desperation. We, the people of Pindone, the honest
normal
citizens, had done this to him. Broken his family, broken his pride, and all because of a theoretical threat from a group which was, for the most part, completely harmless and always had been. Yes, a major TK had attacked a president, and plenty of evidence proved the Spiritists acted as a front for terrorism, but the average paranormal hadn’t been involved in any of that.

Saying that out loud would get me questioned by the Nats, but they couldn’t read my thoughts. Just as well, I thought gloomily, poking a bit of fish. Fortunately, National Security would never hire a telepath, or there’d be a lot of people in this city in deep, deep shit.

“Jodi? Are you all right?”

I jerked upright and found Ajeile staring at me.

“Uh...I’m fine. I overdid it on the weekend, and it’s catching up with me.” She had a tray in her hand. “Do you want to join me?” I’d nearly finished, but I could spin things out with a mug of khevai. That was what I would normally do, so I did it.

She smiled, and I was off the hook. By the time she’d finished eating, and I’d regaled her with a couple of funny stories about my days at the Academy, she’d forgotten my moodiness. I was relieved when I could finally announce I had to get back to work.

The search button on the viewcom at my desk mocked me. I had the access, but I had no excuse. Every employee’s access was logged, and not just as a formality either. If I gave in to temptation, I wouldn’t be helping Neim. I’d only feed his grief. Then I’d lose my job and not be able to do a damn thing for him or any other para.

I took the papers off my desk and walked over to the comfortable chair by the window, the one we kept for when Kregan dropped in on us. I had to stop thinking about this. The facts were clear, the tragedy was old. I did my best for his kind, and that was all that counted. I wouldn’t throw that away like Lenai.

I struggled with my thoughts and my conscience until the normal end of working hours—early for me to leave but I could plead a headache which was fast becoming the truth. I was glad to escape to the privacy of my house, but between Mas Neim and Lenai, I couldn’t settle down to think. I needed a distraction, some release. I hadn’t made it to the Low Town over the weekend, and I wasn’t prepared to risk it now. But I had other options. I dressed in my running clothes and headed out.

The autumn wind had a definite bite to it, and to stand still in it was unpleasant. In another month, when the snows started, I wouldn’t be able to do this at all. I’d have to get my exercise another way. For now, I could run through Herbiun, the fashionable outer suburb where I’d lived for the last five years, down the gentle slopes to the river park where there was a long running track and facilities. During the day, particularly on the weekend, it was the popular place for families—too far from the city for any of the poor to hang around for handouts or drug dealers to ply their trade, close enough that even veecle hire was inexpensive. In the winter when the shallow pools and lakes froze over, there’d be skaters at any hour, day or night, braving the cold to show off their skills. But now a different kind of sport was being played out.

I had to be careful. Some areas were far too obvious—men standing around, making no pretense at being there for anything other than what they were, out under the public lighting, even carrying their own portable lamps. Homosexuality wasn’t a crime—but prostitution was, and the security officers were most likely to pounce in this area. Even if they made a mistake, a reputation could be lost in an instant.

A little further along the river, anyone running was as likely to be out for evening exercise as anything else, and the risk of getting it wrong—and the public humiliation and possible press exposure—was too high. I had to run more than a temidec before I spotted someone I guessed needed as much discretion as I did—a dark-haired man, wearing rather grotty running shoes and pants, pacing himself along the river’s edge.

He had a runner’s build, and he moved like he wasn’t faking it, but as I caught up with him, he turned and gave me a look from under long lashes that couldn’t be misinterpreted. He said nothing as I matched step with him for another half demidec.
Nice
, I thought wistfully. I hadn’t had a running partner since Timo got married. For those brief minutes, I let myself imagine that I was a carefree student again, Timo at my side, with the world at our feet. But when my companion turned towards a dark, dense planting of low trees and shrubs, I followed.

The light was bad—I could barely make out his teeth in the gloom—but that didn’t slow him down. I found myself edged against a tree.

“Blow me,” he whispered, his voice rough and a little common sounding. I sank to my knees, his hands guiding me down, not shoving me, and though he quickly got his pants open and his cock out, he waited until I was ready.

“Condom?” I could take no risks.

“Sure.” He fumbled at his pocket, and his teeth flashed again as he tore the packet open. He went to roll it on. I took it from his hand. “Okay.” I heard the smile in his voice.

His cock felt hot and hard and perfect in my hand, and I regretted I had to cover it, but I did. He sucked in a breath as I took him in, but he still held back, almost like he was scared to hurt me by thrusting. I shoved my hand up between his legs and squeezed carefully as I sucked. He bucked into my grip and into my mouth, and I sucked harder. I wanted a reaction. I wanted to make a difference to someone in a good way at least once on this shitty day.

He kept stroking my cheeks as I blew him, which was weird but nice. Most guys wouldn’t touch me at all. His hands were calloused and hard, but gentle too. When he came, I kept my mouth on him, letting him caress me like we were really lovers, but only for a second or two. Then I let him go and stood up. He could do the clean up, which he did, the condom tied and into a handkerchief with a speed that told me he’d done that more than a couple of times. He shoved it into an outer pocket, and then put his hands on my shoulders, pushing me back against the tree.

For a moment, a gut-knotting rush of intense fear took hold of me—I thought he was about to beat me up, but he only wanted to look me in the eye. Then, to my utter shock, he hugged me. Too astonished to protest or push him off, I let him...to be honest, it made me tear up, which horrified me. Was I that starved of intimacy that a hug from a complete stranger affected me like this?

“Stop it.” I shoved him back—not hard, just enough to let him know I was serious. “My turn.”

He grinned, the distant light catching on teeth and moistened lips, his dark eyes a flicker of reflection. “I know. I was just being—”

“I don’t want that.”

“Yeah, right.” His hand snaked inside the waist of my pants, got a grip on my cock with perfect skill. “But you want this, don’t you?”

“Sh-shut up.” I thrust into his rough, horn-skinned hand as he squeezed and stroked me into a depressingly quick orgasm, less intense than I could have given myself at home, but here I had the heat of a male body hard up against mine, and the masculine scent of sweat and semen and his own natural odour. I half wanted to rub myself against him, to get that aroma on me, so I could smell it all the way home until I showered, but I didn’t.

He shoved my pants down and without asking, took my own handkerchief from my pocket to wipe his hand. I accepted it from him with a slight grimace, though I minded less than I ought to, and put it back in my pocket. He dragged my pants back up, patted me to make sure I was ‘sitting’ right, and then put his hands on my shoulders again.

“Thanks,” he whispered. That shocked me too. No one had said that to me before. “You feel better now, don’t you?”

I stared. “What do you mean by that?” This guy was really weird, talking so much. I started to feel a little threatened.

He grinned. “You mean you don’t? Man, I’m doing something wrong.”

I relaxed. His idea of a joke. “No, it was fine. Could you let me go now?”

He stepped back, wiping his hands on his pants, completely casual. He probably didn’t care too much if he got caught. I did.

I turned and ran back to the path, and up it. The wet handkerchief in my pocket against my thigh wasn’t pleasant, but I didn’t care. After a few seconds, I heard the sound of running feet. When I glanced back, it was him, apparently intent on finishing his run. He caught up with me easily, even though I had longer legs. I tensed up, expecting some comment, but he said nothing. We ran in silence all along the riverbank, two runners out for their exercise.

When he parted from me as the path began to rise towards the suburbs, all I could remember was his red hair, and how soft his hands had felt on me.

~~~

That night, fire filled my dreams, and so did dead children. I woke with tears running down my face. I had no idea where the imagery had come from, but even awake, I could still see it. Almost smell it.

Though dawn hadn’t yet broken, I got up, shivering from the memory of my nightmares. I made khevai, my stomach rebelling at the thought of food, and indulged myself in some anger towards Mas Neim for his manipulation. So obvious now, what his motive for volunteering had been, and had he encountered Lenai, the man might have possibly got his wish, which would have damned both of them.

But after the first flash of antagonism, I knew I was being unfair. I’d never been in his situation—forcibly drugged and marked, unemployed, unemployable, not only him but those under his care treated like second class citizens and penalised for it. I’d never lost a child, and would never know what that was like. In fact, he’d taken a hell of a risk asking me. If I’d reported him, he’d have been whisked off to prison with very little process. There never was with paras, the legal system in no hurry to free even those wrongly jailed. He’d put himself in danger, endured the misery of naksen withdrawal and our gene therapy trial, all on the slimmest chance of finding a sympathetic doctor with the right access. And when he had...I’d still turned him down.

Guilt took me to my viewcom and a book company. I placed an enormous order, paid extra for half of it to be delivered today, the rest later in the week, and hoped that Mas Neim, having tried and failed in his desperate plan, might now concentrate on looking after himself. I’d have to see what I could do for him in that line—I could justify it by his usefulness to our research. Willing pyrokinetics were always worth having on call.