Primary Inversion (Saga of the Skolian Empire) Paperback (22 page)

I headed home, walking along the road, still drunk enough
for my brain to feel deadened. I didn’t want to think. I didn’t want to know
what had impelled me to point a primed Jumbler at my head. So instead I let my mind
stay blurred in a daze.

I must have walked for hours. Eventually the road widened
into a highway, which meant I was about five kilometers from Eos. Up on the
left, the subdued light of Soldier’s Green glowed in the night. The Green was a
huge park, mostly wide lawns interspersed with gardens and tiled pools. It was
beautiful. But its reason for existence wasn’t beauty. It was a memorial to the
ISC soldiers who had died in battle.

I stopped at the side of the highway and looked into the
Green. I had never visited it despite the many times I had been on Forshires. I
didn’t want to go now. But my feet took me anyway, walking down gravel paths
through garden after garden. I avoided the monuments and statues, the
sculptures and plaques and obelisks. I let myself see only the lawns and the
flowers.

But at the Dome, I stopped.

It wasn’t actually a dome. It was a circular structure,
about ten meters in diameter and as tall as a two-story building. The walls
were panels which reached almost, but not quite, to the domed roof. There were
twenty-nine panels, each a meter wide, connected to the roof by columns, each
with about a handspan of open space between it and the next. The thirtieth
panel was missing, leaving a wide entrance that I reached by climbing three steps.
The entire monument was made from smooth white stone. And that was all there
was to it.

Except for the names.

They were listed inside. Only about half of the panels were
full, but every year the unused space diminished. What would we do when the
final panel filled with names? How many more Domes would we need to list the Imperial
Jagernauts who had died in combat? Because that was the monument’s sole reason
for existence—to honor Imperial Skolia’s defunct biosynthetic marvels.

I walked up the steps and entered the monument. I didn’t
want to see the panels. I didn’t want to see the names. But I kept moving,
unable to stop. I went to the panel opposite the entrance and looked at the
engravings in the marble. The date of death carved next to each name was old,
decades old. But even so I recognized far too many of them.

I was starting to shake. It wasn’t cold, but my body shook
as if ice covered it. I walked around the perimeter of the Dome, looking at the
panels, seeing the dates become more recent, seeing more names become familiar.
So many.
So many.
Why did I have to know so many of them? I remembered
their faces, how they laughed, how they walked, how they spoke. Every name
cursed me, an accusation that I still lived when they had died.

I wanted to run out of that place, to hide, to bury my head
in the oblivion of alcohol, of forgetfulness, of death. But I couldn’t stop
reading, or walking, or remembering. I came closer and closer to the last
panel, inexorably, unable to keep away from it. I didn’t want to go near it but
I couldn’t stop.

And then I was there. The dates were from the past year. His
name was engraved at eye level, just a name, like all of the others.

Kelricson Garlin Valdoria Skolia, Jagernaut Tertiary.

Kelric. My baby brother.

He had been Kurj’s third heir. The only other person besides
Jaibriol Qox who had ever shared with me that miraculous joining of minds only
two Rhon psions could know.

I took off my gloves and touched the marble, scraping my fingers
along his name. Then, slowly, I slid to my knees, my hand dragging along the
stone, my fingernails rasping over each name in turn. I crumpled at the bottom
with my fists clenched and my head bowed. And I began to cry. I knelt there, my
shoulders heaving, and I cried until it hurt.

It was a long time before my tears eased. But finally I
turned to sit with my back against the panel. I pulled my knees up against my
chest and laid my head on them.

The caroling of a bird woke me up. I lifted my head,
confused. Why was I so stiff? I found myself looking across a stone floor to a
stone panel. Then I remembered.

Although the sun hadn’t risen yet, it was light enough to
tell me dawn was only a few minutes away. I put on my gloves, then got up and
walked stiffly out of the Dome, my mind waking with the rest of the morning.
The chill of dawn cut the air and dew covered my uniform. I felt as if I had
run a race all night.

I walked across a lawn to the highway, heading for Eos. Only
a few flycars hovered along the road this early, humming on air cushions above
the blue tiles. The people in them turned to stare as they whirred past, but
today I didn’t care. I didn’t have the energy to care. Nothing mattered except
completing this walk I had begun. I kept my mind numb, afraid that if I let it function
again I would never finish what I had started.

By the time I reached Eos the sun had risen. The road became
a wide boulevard that cut through the metropolitan center of the city. Although
trees lined the street, there were fewer of them here than where I lived. Broad
lawns of trimmed cloud-grass floated everywhere, stretching between government
buildings and around crescent shaped monuments. Hover traffic was allowed in
this part of the city, and flycars hummed by me on the road. Pedestrians strode
by on the walkway, some glancing at me warily, others absorbed in their own
thoughts.

I kept moving.

Finally I reached the Imperial embassy. I climbed the wide
steps and walked between the columns into a vaulted hall that arched high above
my head. Benches lined the walls and people were sitting on them, engrossed in
their own business: talking, reading, waiting. At the far end of the hall a
line of people waited to enter the embassy proper, to take care of whatever
business had brought them here. I went down the hall, my boots echoing on the
marble floor, and got in line.

I could have bypassed the line. I could have gone to the
front, or to another entrance, or even gone home and had someone from the
embassy pick me up after I slept. But instead I waited. If I deviated from my
walk now I would never finish it.

The line went up a flight of stairs to where a woman stood
at a podium. She gave each person directions on where to go and then sent them
through a security check into the embassy.

It only took a few minutes for me to reach the front of the
line. The woman smiled and spoke as if it were perfectly natural for a
Jagernaut Primary to show up at her station. “What can we do for you this
morning?”

I couldn’t go on. I had made it this far, but I couldn’t go any
farther.

She tried again. “Can I direct you to an office?”

“I want to see the heartbender,” I said.

The people behind me in the line stopped talking. Everyone
within earshot turned to look. Suddenly there wasn’t a sound anywhere.

Whoever had chosen the embassy officials chose well. The
woman didn’t even blink. This might have been the only time in her career she
had encountered the request, but she didn’t hesitate a moment. She touched a
small panel on her podium, then spoke to me. “An escort will take you to see
Tager.”

A wide hall stretched out behind her, its polished marble
walls reaching far back into the embassy. Four men appeared at the end of it,
striding toward us. They were big. I had no doubt they were also armed.

She motioned to the security check. “You can go on through,
Primary.”

The checkpoint was the usual arch monitored by guards. When
I stepped through it, lights blazed, horns shrilled, buzzers buzzed. I hadn’t
even thought to take off my Jumbler. The two guards at the checkpoint dropped
their hands to their guns, and the escorts coming to get me increased their
speed, striding faster down the hall. I just stood there, trying to stay numb.

No one spoke. No one asked me to give up my weapons. No one
said a word. The people in line stared, the woman at the podium stood quietly,
the guards watched. I felt their emotions like sandpaper on a raw wound. They
feared if they did the wrong thing it would set me off like an explosion. No
one understood the truth, that the risk was to me, not them. One wrong word,
one wrong look, one wrong move and I would beat it out of there so fast they
would hear the air whistle past my clothes.

Then the escort reached us, and the tallest man bowed. “Welcome.”
He motioned me toward the hall he had just come down, raising his arm as if I
were a guest at an embassy dinner and he my host. I knew perfectly well he was
one of the elite guards in the embassy security force. But no hint of his
status showed on his civilian clothes or in his gracious manner.

So I went with them. They took me through vaulted archways
and polished corridors until we reached an office. Its walls were glass, the
kind that looked dark and opaque on the outside. But I was sure whoever was
inside could see out.

A door in the glass slid open. A man stood in the center of
the room, looking out at us. When my escort stopped at the door, I glanced at
them, first right, then left. But they just stood there.

So I walked into the office by myself. It was a huge room,
with a white carpet so thick it covered the toes of my boots. The glass shelves
that lined the walls held delicate vases, glass statues, other knickknacks. The
paintings on the walls were just attractive enough to please the eye without
being distracting.

I walked over to the man. He was a normal-looking human being
with brown hair and a lean build.

“Are you the heartbender?” I asked. It wasn’t his true
title, of course. The official name for his position was Imperial Space Command
Class A6 Psychiatrist.

He nodded. “Yes. I’m Jak Tager.” He glanced at the escort
and lifted his hand. The door immediately slid shut, leaving me in private with
Jak Tager, Class A6 heartbender.

I walked to a shelf and looked at a glass vase on it. “You
have a lot of breakable stuff in here.”

He came over. “I guess I do.”

I glanced at him. He hardly looked like a world-class mental
health expert. The woman at the security check had just called him Tager. “Are
you a doctor?”

He nodded. “I have a medical degree and also a doctorate in
psychology.”

“How many patients do you have?”

He smiled slightly. “One.”

“Does that include me?”

“Yes.”

I snorted. “Then what do you do with all your time?”

“Research.” He seemed pleased by my interest. “I study the
psychological effects of biomechanical—human interfaces.”

Good Gods. He was
that
Tager. I had read his work
myself. The man was the undisputed expert on the effects of biomech systems on
the people who carried them in their bodies. I had never realized his actual
occupation was heartbender. It meant that in addition to his scientific
accomplishments he also had an ISC commission, most likely from JMI or the
Dieshan Military Academy.

I had no idea what to make of him. He looked so normal. Ten
years ago, when I went to the heartbender after the Tams incident, I asked her
how many patients she had seen in her entire career. She told me eight.
Eight.
Eight in twenty-five years, and that included me who saw her only twice.

I hadn’t wanted to see her. I had gone because I was forced.
Yes, my CO had chosen well. Had I had any inclination at all to accept help,
that heartbender could have given it. She was the one I wanted to talk to now.
But that was irrelevant. Tager was my only choice and for some stupid reason I
didn’t want to talk to a man. I didn’t know why. I just didn’t want to do it.

I exhaled. “Maybe I made a mistake coming here. I’m wasting
your time.”

He watched me. “What made you decide to come?”

I shrugged. “There isn’t really a problem.” After a moment I
added, “I’ve just done a few things lately that are—a little strange.”

“Strange in what way?”

“Last night I pointed a primed Jumbler at my own head.”

Tager spoke quietly. “Tell me about it.”

“I was talking to this singer in a pub. I was drunk. I put
the gun against my head without the safety on. My hand wasn’t steady.” I
stopped. I didn’t want to talk to this stranger, not about last night and not
about anything.

Except this time I had come of my own free will, looking for
something, I didn’t know what, but I wasn’t going to find it unless I at least
made an effort. I took a breath and tried again. “Two nights ago I almost
killed a man, an ordinary civilian, just because he pushed me up against the
wall. I don’t know why. Well, yes, I think he’s obnoxious. I don’t like him and
he doesn’t like me. But that’s all.”

Tager was still watching me with that look of his, like he
genuinely wanted to understand. Well, that was his job, after all. He had to
look that way.

“How did it happen?” he asked.

“I didn’t like how he touched me.” I was getting uncomfortable,
really uncomfortable, far more than what I was saying warranted. “I snapped. I
don’t know why.”

“What did you do?”

“I broke a glass and almost stabbed him.”

“Why didn’t you like the way he touched you?” Tager spoke
carefully, but not like the people at the security check who had been afraid
that if they made a wrong move I would explode. With Tager it was as if I was
someone he respected, which was absurd considering I had known him for all of
five minutes. Respect had to be earned and I had done nothing to earn his yet.

“He touched the strap of my dress.” Describing the incident
made me feel foolish. To say I had overreacted was an understatement. “Then he
put his hand between my breasts and pushed me up against the wall.”

Tager stared at me. “Did he know you were a Primary?”

“No. I had just met him in a hiking club.”

“Did he threaten you?”

“No.”

“You’re sure?”

“Of course I’m sure.”

“Why?”

I frowned at him. “What do you mean, why? Because I know.”

“How?”

Why did he keep asking me that? “I’m an empath, that’s how.”
I scowled. “He made some crack about me being a bitch. But he wouldn’t have
tried anything violent.”

“You’re sure of that?”

“Yes, I’m sure. You got a problem with it?”

“Your reflexes wouldn’t activate without a reason.”

Is this how he earned his probably stratospheric salary, by
stating the obvious to his one and only patient? “You’re the heartbender. You
tell me what the problem is.”

Tager exhaled. “You have to give me some help.”

“That what you learned from all those degrees? Have the patient
diagnose herself?”

He showed no irritation, just continued in his quiet and
respectful voice. “I need you to tell me more.”

There was something odd about the way he watched me. I had
seen that look before. For some reason it made my anger ease. “Like what?”

“Have you done anything else recently that is out of character?”

I finally recognized his expression. My mother got that look
when someone she cared about was in pain. And his concern felt genuine. He wasn’t
giving me a trained mask he wore for patients, however few of them he had. I mattered
to him. But why? Why should he feel compassion for me, a person he had never
even met before, a biosynthetic marvel of fake humanity?

“No,” I said. “I haven’t done anything else strange. I’m
only myself.” That was strange enough. “Maybe I should go home. I’m just tired,
that’s all. I walked a long way yesterday.”

He smiled. “With the hikers?”

Hikers? He must mean the rootberry drinkers. “No. I walked
back from JMI last night. Actually, I walked to Soldier’s Green. I slept there.”

“Why?”

I wished he would stop asking me that. “I was tired.”

He just stood there, looking at me, waiting.

“I took the underground to JMI,” I said. “But I didn’t like
being stared at. So I walked home.”

“You don’t have a flycar?”

“Yes, I do. But yesterday morning I couldn’t get into it.”

“Do you ride in them often?”

“All the time.”

“Did something happen to you in a flycar?”

“Of course not.”

“But yesterday you couldn’t get into yours.”

I suddenly wanted to shake him. “So what the hell is wrong
with that?”

“Primary—” He paused, obviously looking for a name. I regarded
him implacably. Finally he said, “Talking to me may make you uncomfortable. But
if I’m going to help, I need to ask questions.”

I suddenly felt crowded. Taking a breath, I turned and
walked away from him. When his desk blocked my retreat I stopped and rested my
hands on its edge.

After a moment I turned back to him. I spoke slowly, like a
diver checking the temperature of freezing water. “A man named Kryx Tarque took
me in his flycar once.”

Tager stayed where he was, not crowding me. “That’s a Highton
name.”

“He was a Highton man.” My hands felt cold. “He picked me up
off a street on Tams Station. I was working undercover there. I was—I—” I made
myself say it. “I was his provider for three weeks. Every night, for most of
the night. Sometimes during the day too.”

Tager was good at making appropriate responses. Very good.
The man could have faced an oncoming hovertrain and not flinched. But even he
couldn’t hide his reaction. He spoke in the same calm voice he had used since
we met, but underneath it I felt his shock. “How did you escape?”

My voice cracked. “I strangled him while he was fucking me.”

Tager came over to me. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“That you had to go through that.”

“It was my job.”

“That’s a hell of a job.”

“Look,” I said. “It happened ten years ago. I’ve been fine
for a long time. There’s no reason for it to make problems for me now.”

“The man you almost stabbed—does he look anything like
Tarque?”