Mindlink (7 page)

“This is a job on Earth?” His disdainful tone bristled the hair
on the back of her neck.

“Yeah. A good one,” she said defensively, because now that
she’d verbalized it, it did sound stupid. Not something this solid, upright
alien would respect. “Lots of people would like to be me. My job is very
glamorous. I have a big house, cars, clothes. People recognize me wherever I go
and I always skip the line.”

A shadow of confusion passed over his face. “Why are these
things desirable?”

That set her back. What kind of place was this planet if the
aliens didn’t aspire to fame and fortune? For that matter, who would she be on
such a world? “Let’s talk about something else.”

“What is the topic?” He crossed his arms and cocked his head,
looking remarkably like Hugh when he was about to be a smart aleck.

“How you’re going to help us escape.”

Chapter Four

“Escape?”
One
repeated,
unable to keep his incredulity in check.

The Mora Tuwa spoke so rapidly it took all of his mental acuity
to remain coherent, let alone follow the conversation. All his internal systems
operated like a handheld on a low charge—useless and inefficient.

His temples throbbed. The workers had treated him brutally,
blinding him, tossing him around with little regard for his position and worth,
as if they expected an altercation. Worse, the Festival of the Ancestors had
surely started by now. He’d never missed the festival, never been so completely
idle. This sparse cell represented and solidified his sudden lack of purpose.
The beginning of his end.

He’d lost so much more than just a promotion.

“Yeah, escape,” she said. “Don’t you want to get out of here?
Seriously, all that talk about serving your sentence was a front, right? I mean,
you seem like the stoic type. Afraid to let anyone see you’re afraid, lonely,
whatever. But it’s okay if you don’t want to die. We can help each other.”

Yes. They could help each other, provided he managed to entice
the incredibly verbose human to be silent for five minutes, allowing him to
extract information from her about the plot against the king. Then he might earn
a second chance and be removed from this stark environment. Perhaps be rid of
the hollowness inside which he could not shake and almost couldn’t bear.

But this...human called The Redhead spun him in circles.
Nonconcentric circles if such a mathematic principle actually existed. And it
did not. She was nothing like he’d assumed. Unapologetic and unafraid.
Unsettling. Yet he couldn’t stop speaking to her. Looking at her.

He must focus and determine if she had useful
information—useful enough to save his life. If he led her to believe he desired
to escape as well, he might gain her trust. “How would you propose to help each
other?”

“You must know how these doorways work. Help me figure out how
to shut it off. I can’t get close to it. Can you?” She craned her neck to meet
his eyes.

He shifted his gaze, disconcerted by the way she looked him
full in the face. Only the Telhada allowed that and she was not of that class.
“It emits a frequency which transmits through the implant and causes pain. If
you pass through it, your brain activity will cease. I cannot bypass it
either.”

He could, but not without his handheld, and he’d been stripped
of it.

“The octopus has a name?”

She spoke in such an odd fashion, using random terms and ideas
in no particular order. It was fascinating. “Octopus? Are you referring to the
implant?”

“That thing one of your buddies shoved into my head. The
octopus. It’s an implant?” She moved closer to the doorway and winced. “How do I
get it out?”

This Mora Tuwa had no compunction about saying whatever came to
mind and acting in whatever way she chose. It was both shocking and unexpected.
“You cannot. It fuses to the brain and if removed, will halt your brain
activity.”

“Everything halts brain activity with you guys. What does it
do?”

She crossed her arms, drawing his attention unwittingly from
her face to her body. Bruises marred her light skin, especially around her torso
area. He never saw subjects again after processing and often wondered what
happened once they left his care.

This one had been hurt. He shifted and wrested his gaze from
the splotchy bruises, fixating on the wall of his own cell.

“The implant is primarily designed to interpret memories and
thoughts, track citizens and to execute disciplinary action. It also performs
many other functions, but I have not been trained on the full breadth of its
use.” She had twisted the conversation around again to where he answered
questions instead of asking them. No one of his acquaintance behaved in such a
way.

It was frustrating. Yet invigorating. He had to be sharp. She
caused him to think, searching for answers to concepts and ideas citizens
learned from birth and never questioned.

“Why do they give them to prisoners? Especially if they’re
going to turn around and kill us. Makes no sense.”

Without realizing it, he’d met her animated eyes again. He
frowned. “Everyone has an implant, not solely prisoners. Citizens receive it at
birth. Mora Tuwa receive it during processing so we may harvest their
knowledge.”

“Hmm.” Her gaze darted several places in rapid succession as if
searching for answers. “So if everyone has one, the guards can be zapped as
well. Where’s the control panel for the frequency thingy blocking the doorways?
Is it in a sealed room only accessible through security codes which are changed
every few hours?”

How did she imagine such complexity? Her mind darted from idea
to idea so swiftly. “All entries and exits are controlled via the implant.
Scanners read your identity and open if you have access.”

“Hey,” she said with a lift of her chin. “It’s bogus your own
people stuck you in jail. But I’m glad you’re here. It would be practically
impossible to get out without you.”

Perhaps explaining the Telhada’s technology wasn’t the best
course, but she had this way of compelling his tongue to move of its own accord.
He rarely spoke to anyone for this length of time and never about such haphazard
subjects. Her vibrancy drew him in. Entranced him and caused him to forget she
was human.

Something stirred inside, deep down. Emotions with no names
because they were so alien.

He pushed away the unwelcome turmoil but it was more difficult
than usual. Clearly he had underestimated the Mora Tuwa yet again, a weakness he
could ill afford. Neither could he forget she held partial responsibility for
his sentence. She owed him information. “All the Mora Tuwa are scientists, but
you are not. How did you come to be on the spacebarge?”

Her eyebrows lifted. “Spacebarge? Is that what you call the
flying chameleon?”

His patience unraveled. He disliked being unbalanced and not in
command. This human shoved him right up to the brink of a yawning abyss and the
view caused his stomach to clench. “A chameleon cannot exit a planet’s
atmosphere under its own volition and has nothing to do with the spacebarge.
Neither did you answer why you were on it.”

“Geez. Are you always this uptight? I’m not a scientist but I
play one on TV.” She threw up a hand as if warding him off. “Sorry, lame joke.
Hopefully my career hasn’t sunk low enough yet for me to take TV projects.” She
shuddered. “I’m not sure if you could appreciate the story of how I ended up on
the ship. Why is it so important? You’re about to come out of your skin over
there.”

“Curiosity,” he said as casually as possible. His placement
tests had slotted him into Acquisitions for a reason—interrogation was not his
forte and mounting frustration did little to assist. “The Telhada sent Earth a
list of specifications and surely your leaders gave due respect to the
importance of finding the correct candidates. Why were you sent instead of a
scientist?”

She raised a shoulder this time and a breast jiggled. Her state
of undress reminded him she was a Mora Tuwa and beneath him. No better than a
stray particle of dirt. The concept seemed erroneous all of a sudden and infused
the atmosphere with an odd heaviness.

“I have a shot at an important movie and the producer asked me
to come on this joyride so he could capitalize on the publicity. I agreed. Looks
like for nothing.”

The language was English but the words were a confusing jumble
of ideas. Perhaps she’d been correct in saying he might not be able to
appreciate her story, but if she had devised a plot against the king and he
could discern it prior to
UBA’s
arrival in the
morning, his loyalty to the Telhada would be proven many times over.

“Someone asked you to come in the place of a scientist.” That
much seemed straightforward. “You agreed because he has something you want. An
exchange of services.”

Uncertainty flitted across her face. “I guess so. I never
thought about it like that. So yeah, I paid the real scientist to disappear, and
voila, here I am. Dr. Rocket Scientist owes me big time for getting her out of
this,” she muttered.

This Mora Tuwa had lied about being an astronautics engineer
and she could be lying now. How could he determine? His irritation increased.
“So your motives were selfish.”

“Sure.” She grinned. “Whose aren’t?”

“What about the others who came with you? Are their motives
selfish as well?”

With a scowl, she looked away. “You’d have to ask them. We
didn’t, like, hang out and swap life stories over a beer.”

The system dimmed the overhead lights for the night, albeit
much earlier than they did in his residence in the Acquisitions quadrant. It
took a moment for his eyes to adjust in the reduced glow. He blinked and
refocused on her softened features..

“What’s happening?” she asked.

Nothing frightened her, and her curiosity knew no bounds. How
utterly...fascinating. “It is time to sleep.”

This would be the first night he spent outside of his assigned
residence. Had someone explained to his three roommates about his sentence or
were they left wondering why he hadn’t returned?

Her brow wrinkled. “I’m going to die soon unless you help me,
and I don’t want to spend my last night sleeping. Do you?”

Fatigue, confusion and sheer frustration had been threatening
to cause a major crash but he would fight it as long as he had to in order to
get the information he needed. “I do not. However, citizens follow rules.”

“Even after you’ve been left to die in jail?” Disbelief twisted
her features.

One
considered explaining how the
Telhada operated when footsteps echoed down the hall. The guards were returning,
presumably transferring the additional Mora Tuwa his team had finished
processing. They must be working extraordinarily late to make up for his
mistakes and subsequent absence.

His
former
team. He clenched his
jaw and willed away the sting behind his eyes. The guards came into view,
empty-handed.
One
frowned. Perhaps they intended to
ensure the prisoners were sleeping.

Two workers—broader across the shoulders and taller than
average citizens—stopped before the Mora Tuwa’s cell. The Telhada promoted
conformity to maintain order and these workers were far from the norm. Their
unexplained presence in the cellblock tensed
One’s
muscles inexplicably.

The first worker began taunting the Mora Tuwa. Why would he
speak to her in their native language? She would understand none of the guard’s
words. The uneasy feeling in his abdomen grew.

In a growl, the guard repeated, “You’re nothing. I can do
whatever I want to you and you can’t do anything about it. That’s the way, show
me your fear. You’re trapped and you know it.”

The Mora Tuwa leaped into a crouch against the back wall,
facing sideways. The legs of the two guards framed her bottom half. She leaned
over something and he strained to catch a glimpse of what, without moving too
closely to the doorway.

The other guard spoke. “It’s been too long since we’ve had
playthings. Make it slow. Don’t ruin the fun.”

His stark laughter crept across
One’s
skin. What was this about? The Telhada did not allow citizens
to behave in such a way.

The first worker tapped on his handheld and entered the cell.
The other reengaged the field and settled a safe distance away to watch the
interior.

Now what? The second worker blocked his view of the cell and he
only had his hearing to assist. Thumps and a squeal. The worker spewed a
blasphemy against the Ancestors, which Citizens were not permitted to utter. Who
were these guards?

More thumps and cries. The final cry ended on a sob, slicing
through him as it echoed. His stomach swayed as he connected the sounds to
arrive at an unpleasant conclusion. The guards were
harming
the Mora Tuwa.

The second guard tapped on his handheld and rushed into the
cell. Another female Mora Tuwa shared the cell with the talkative one and she
lay on the ground in an unnatural heap, one leg twisted underneath her.

The first worker had The Redhead in his grip, both arms
manacled around her waist. She challenged him valiantly. The second worker
feigned left, then right, unable to draw closer as her feet continually lashed
out.
One
flinched as her heel smashed into the
guard’s chin, reeling him backward. The first guard cuffed her across the
ear.

The violence disturbed him. Deeply. Citizens did not strike
each other. He couldn’t watch.

He couldn’t turn away.

She threw her head down and sank her teeth into the guard’s
arm. He yelped and released her. She spun, long hair flying in a shiny arc.
Then, she kicked out so quickly,
One
only registered
she’d connected with the worker when he fell to one knee.

He’d never seen anything like it.

The other weaved to his feet and advanced, striking the Mora
Tuwa in the back of the skull. She whirled and smacked the guard, flat-handed,
in the face. The small Mora Tuwa was fighting off the bigger guards. Fighting
them off. Unbelievable.

Much to his bewilderment, he found himself silently encouraging
her. She was so delicate and stood a full head shorter than the workers. Female
citizens, though more slender, matched males in height. The Redhead defied
comparison, both physically and mentally, to anything he’d ever come in contact
with. Even the space she occupied seemed unlike that surrounding others.

Both guards regained their faculties and redoubled their
efforts, cruel snarls on their faces. Like the Telhada, these workers seemed to
feel free to act in whatever way they chose. It was incomprehensible. The first
one bound her flailing arms while the other—smartly dodging her feet this
time—began beating her relentlessly.