Minder Rising: Central Galactic Concordance Book 2 Page 11

  “Oh, women are all right. I just like men a lot better.” He looked at her over his shoulder as he dampened a bar mop with cleaner. “Their naughty bits can do more fun things.”

  She couldn’t help but laugh. “Very self-sacrificing of you to make the offer.”

  He gave her an exaggerated bow, then twirled away to wipe down the tables he hadn’t gotten to earlier.

  A few minutes later, he passed by her and whispered, “I could bribe Iggy for Agent Flux-Hot’s room number. You could pretend you were just in the neighborhood.”

  Imara gave him an exasperated look. “You’re like a dog with a bone. I’m not going to have sex with the man.” She took a fresh bar towel from the stack. “It’ll be hard enough on Derrit when he loses Lièrén as a teacher. Derrit’s at an age where he needs to talk to trusted adult males about… male stuff.”

  Rayle laughed. “I’ll admit I’m not much help with hetero ‘male stuff,’ and Derrit feels solidly hetero.” Rayle’s impish look returned. “I think Lièrén might be a bit more, er, flexible, but I’ll wait to invite him to satisfy my lusty lust until after you’ve had your fun.”

  Imara shook her head. “Not happening. He’ll be long gone before any of that angsty drama can play out.” She ran the towel over the countertop where fizzy water had splashed.

  Rayle laughed and grabbed a tray. “You’re too practical for your own good. Live a little, woman!”

  “You’re sun struck. What is it with you and wanting everyone to be having sex?”

  “Someone around here should. It’d make the planet a happier place.” He tilted his head toward the couple seated at the table near the front doors, one wearing a torn redball jersey over cartoon-character sleep pants, looking morose, and the other like he’d rather be anywhere else. “You, my dear, could light up the room if you wanted to, and probably double your tips.”

  She snorted. “And double the hot-connect offers, too.”

  “My point exactly!” He quickly danced away with the tray, laughing as he barely avoided the snap of her wet bar towel.

  CHAPTER 10

  * Planet: Concordance Prime * GDAT 3238.218 *

  Although Imara knew it was an engineered illusion, the deep, rich bass of Chadd Sovereign, a platinum-list actor, almost seemed to come from the just behind her, as though he was close by and murmuring in her ear.

  “The education your child receives at the CPS Academy and the prestigious and elite CPS Minder Institute actualizes the social, intellectual, and innate mental talents of each child…. fostering new and empowering connections… helping students learn to approach adversity with strength and leadership. These are the qualities they’ll need to deal with the challenges to peace and prosperity throughout the galaxy.”

  She was glad she’d managed to snag a back seat in the darkened circular immersion room, because she was having a hard time not making rude noises at the slick, expensively produced multimedia presentation offered to parents who were waiting while their children were in minder testing. The presentation was filled with lush images and holos, stirring music, and interactive engagement sections designed to make parents feel as if their child being offered the chance to go to the CPS Academy was better than winning an interplanetary lottery. A younger Imara from a hick town might have bought it hook, line, and fish-finder, but years of bartending and listening to Prime politicians and lobbyists had given her a finely-honed bullshit detector, and the presentation was consistently pegging her detector’s red zone. And this was what I took the whole day off for, she thought disgustedly.

  It was no wonder the CPS was asking for more funding for its Testing Centers, if this one was anything to go by. She wouldn’t have recognized the presentation as being high-end if a production company hadn’t stayed at the hotel for twelve weeks last year, and the entire crew drank, chemmed, and inhaled like the sun was going nova tomorrow. She and Derrit both had gotten quite an education in the production business.

  The immersion room was high-end, too, with adjustable contour chairs and projection equipment that made it seem like each seat in the room had the best vantage point for the holo presentation. The decor and furniture in the rest of the Testing Center office was equally high-end, at least what she’d seen of it. Of course, this was Spires, capitol of the galaxy, not an oasis town on an out-of-the-way planet that embraced its backwater status.

  “The Academy steadfastly and unceasingly stresses the total development of each child selected for the program, tailoring remedial curricula to ensure a well-rounded education.”

  This time, the voice was that of a famous performance artist named Laoreana, known for her distinctive drawl and breathy tone that always made her sound like she was late for something. Imara was beginning to feel insulted by the multiple statements that implied Derrit’s schooling was inferior. Not only was this Con Prime, where education was as much a showcase as the city of Spires, but she worked two jobs so Derrit could have extra language, business, and technical classes.

  A more insidious undercurrent suggested that top-level talents needed the Academy to teach them morality and responsible behavior, as if those were known failings of minders. She surreptitiously watched the seven other parents in the room to see how they were reacting. Other than the man to the left of the door who was gently snoring, the rest of them ranged from mildly happy to practically worshipful. She decided to keep her opinions to herself.

  “…peace of mind knowing a CPS education instills and establishes values that will empower graduates to use their skills and character to help maintain peace and stability throughout the galaxy. Employment with the CPS ensures job security and an ideal working environment that fosters respect and service.”

  Imara snorted at that last part. If the CPS was such a great place to work, why wasn’t Lièrén Sòng happier about it? She’d only recently come to realize it, and he’d never said anything about it, but she’d bet good money that he disliked his job.

  A flood of rapid-fire images and sound snips signaled the end of the presentation. She glanced at her percomp to check the time and wasn’t sure whether it was good or bad that she’d wasted thirty minutes sitting through that drivel. On one hand, she was now permanently stuck with over-the-top propaganda in her memory, but it was better than sitting in the lobby trying to read trendlines on her near-comatose percomp or worrying about how Derrit was doing. Her own first-round testing twenty-five years ago had been perfunctory, once they realized she was just a filer. Derrit’s was taking a lot longer.

  Once back in the waiting room, Imara lucked into a plush chair by one of the expensive morphglass windows, farthest away from the front desk and the offices behind it. The whole facility had her feeling wary. The staff had been polite and personable to everyone, and solicitously offered a variety of refreshments, with enough food to make a light meal if need be. Somehow, it all felt like a veneer, like the professional smile she’d cultivated for dealing with the bar’s valued patrons when they were being obnoxious or lying. Of course, it could all just be nerves, because her son had been back there more than two hours doing only Neptune knew what.

  Remembering her own testing, she realized she didn’t know how it had been done. The testers had pointed instruments at her and placed sensors on her temples, then taken her through a series of confusingly random activities, but once they’d determined she wasn’t telekinetic or telepathic, they’d seemed to lose interest. She’d been in and out in thirty minutes. From what her sister Piera had said, who’d turned out to have inherited their dad’s considerable fixer talent, the CPS hadn’t been very interested in her, either. She wished she’d thought to ask Lièrén for details on high-level talent testing, since he’d been through it and was a CPS employee. Although now that she’d seen the presentation, she knew that Lièrén was in a different branch from the Testing Center, so he might not know much more than she did about talent testing for shielders and cleaners.

  When the sluggish wall clock ticked over at the top of t
he hour, she decided she’d waited long enough. As it was, dinner would be late, and growing boys grew cranky when they were hungry. She stood and strode toward the front desk. Either they produced her son, or they’d find out how loud someone used to yelling over road-repair racket could be. She checked herself as she approached, realizing that she’d likely get better results if she was pleasant. She took a deep breath, tamped down her irritation, mentally braced herself, and put on her professional smile.

  “Pardon the interruption, but I’m wondering about my son. It’s been longer than I expected.”

  The vapid young man at the front desk gave her an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, Madam Sesay, but we’re short-staffed today, so everything is taking longer than usual.” He checked something on his elegant desk display, then stood. “I’ll go back myself and see how Derrit is doing.” He left his seat and went through a door behind him. Being called “madam” made her feel as old as her grandmother. At least he’d remembered her name and which child was hers.

  To keep herself from drumming her fingers on the gold-flecked marble countertop, she mentally rearranged the cluttered mess of electronic devices, styluses, and visible papers on the desk. She was sidetracked into wondering what they used paper for, since the middle of Spires was about as far from a tech dead zone as one could get. The printing was too small for her to read from where she was standing.

  The vapid young man returned. “It’ll just be a few minutes more. Agent Ghisolfi would like to speak with you and Derrit in the conference room. I can take you there now, if it’s convenient.” He waved a hand to invite her to a narrow door partially hidden by a tall fern.

  “Yes, thank you,” she said. He met her professional smile with an equally professional one of his own, then led her through the door and into a long, branching hallway of closed sliding doors. Despite the warm colors and textures, it had a whiff of government office, and the conference room was no better. It was artificially lit and barely big enough for five friendly people. She sat when invited, stifling her inclination to stand and pace. When the door slid shut, the feeling she’d had of being monitored intensified. She didn’t like small, windowless rooms. She snorted to herself. It was a government office. Making visitors feel uncomfortable was probably intentional. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly to release her tension.

  A few minutes later, the door slid open, and an olive-skinned, dark-eyed man walked in, followed by Derrit. She stood up.

  “Have a seat, young man.” He turned to her and nodded his head respectfully. “I’m Agent Milo Ghisolfi.”

  She barely registered his professional smile and slight Italian accent as she watched her son sit. Derrit didn’t seem any worse for wear. Ghisolfi sat, so she did. Derrit slipped his hand into hers, and she had to forcibly contain her surprise. He only did that when he was feeling insecure, which was rare. She gave Derrit’s fingers a little squeeze, then focused on Ghisolfi, wondering what the hell they’d done to her son.

  “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me. I’ll get right to the point. As I’m sure you suspected, Derrit has two minder talents in the telepathic classification. He shows promise in both the shielder and erasure, popularly known as ‘cleaner,’ categories. What we don’t know yet is the level of his talents. The tests were inconclusive.”

  Something about Ghisolfi put her on guard. Imara let her eyebrows rise. “Inconclusive?”

  “Yes. I’m sure you appreciate that it’s important for Derrit’s sake to know how powerful his talents are. Some results were consistent with high-level talents, and others barely registered. Part of the problem is our fault, I believe, because the agent who specializes in testing one of Derrit’s categories is out with a family emergency. I’m sorry, but we need Derrit to come back in to be tested again. We’ll need you to bring him back in tomorrow.”

  She didn’t even have to think about it. “No, I can’t miss any more work this week, and Derrit has five classes. As it is, he’ll have catch-up work for today.”

  He pursed his lips. “How about we schedule it for the day after tomorrow, during Derrit’s day off?” Ghisolfi’s tone was everything that was reasonable, but Imara didn’t miss the slight hardening of his eyes before he smoothed his expression. Derrit must have told them his school schedule, because they hadn’t heard it from her.

  She shook her head. “I need at least two weeks’ notice to schedule time off.”

  “I’m sorry, Madam Sesay, but the law says we must retest him within five days. We’ve already transmitted the required rescheduling inconvenience fee to your account.” He leaned in a little, edging into her personal space, with a hint of aggression in his expression. “I’m sure someone else could bring him.”

  Apparently, she was supposed to be intimidated. Ghisolfi had obviously never worked a road crew with Rackkar Horis.

  “No,” she said flatly, considering her options. Maybe she’d get better results from Manager Klarxon, the woman whose holo was displayed in the lobby.

  He seemed to recognize her resolve and leaned back. He brought up something on the percomp he wore on the back of his hand. “It’s not our usual practice, but since it’s our fault Derrit has to come back, I could authorize a trackable secure cab to transport him at our expense. We have an account with the company the High Council uses.”

  She looked at Derrit to see how he was handling all this, but his expression wasn’t giving anything away. She suspected he was feeling overwhelmed.

  Unfortunately, it looked like she didn’t have a choice. Involving the manager might delay the retesting, but it would have to be done sooner or later. They were offering carrots now, but sticks were coming. “We’ll accept the secure cab option, to and from our apartment. You’ll send me the tracking ID and reservation numbers in advance?”

  “Of course,” agreed Ghisolfi. He fiddled with his percomp. “I’ve set the appointment for 1430 hours, so the cab will come by at 1330, just to be safe.” It was more than enough time, but considering their apartment was in the Rim and low-air traffic could be heavy, the early pickup was a reasonable precaution.

  “And should I expect it to take two and a half hours again?” she asked, letting sharpness color her tone.

  Ghisolfi’s expression slid into chagrin, but it didn’t match his body language. He was a practiced liar. If he’d been a valued patron at the bar, she’d have refused to serve him anything but water. “I hope not, but sometimes we get backed up. I should think he’ll be home by 1700.”

  He stood and waved the door open, then led them out to the lobby. Derrit clung to her hand the whole way and didn’t even acknowledge the vapid young man’s wish for them to have a pleasant afternoon. Her son’s closed-off expression made her splurge on a tourist autocab to take them home, rather than spend a couple of hours on the metro. They stepped up to the platform, and she entered the coordinates for their apartment. Five minutes later, a gaudily painted cab glided onto the landing strip, and she and Derrit slid into the open doors and onto the bench seat. The cabin smelled like popcorn and sweet melon, but the lifters sounded well-tuned, and the glass bubble was clear and clean.

  Derrit was quiet for a few minutes as the cab slipped into traffic, but Imara knew he’d tell her what was bothering him eventually. Finally, he let go of her hand and sat up a little straighter in the seat.

  “I thought I did really well, especially since Agent Sòng has been teaching me. But the lady testing me just kept messing around with some machine and moving the sensor things around on my head. She called in the other guy, Ghisolfi, and they had me do the same things all over again.” He slumped again. “I guess I’m never going to be as good as dad was.”

  “Camel shit.” Imara didn’t often swear around her son, and it shocked him out of his slumping mood, as she’d intended. “You heard Ghisolfi. The specialist in your talent area was out. It’d be like the hotel sending Rayle to work the front desk. It’d take days to clean up the mess.”

  Derrit smiled a little
at the image, then frowned. “Then how come the measuring divvie didn’t show anything? Ghisolfi and that lady just looked kind of… bored.”

  “I don’t know what their equipment does, but I do know that it’s usually operator error that causes problems. I tell you what, let’s ask Agent Sòng about it over… oh, hell. We’re going to have to move the dinner at Fermat’s.” It completely slipped her mind to check her schedule when setting the retest appointment for Derrit. If today was anything to go by, they couldn’t guarantee meeting Lièrén at the restaurant on time, or at all. “I’ll ping him right now.”

  As she worked her ancient percomp, describing to Lièrén what had happened, she seethed inside at Ghisolfi and whoever the other agent was. She’d like to introduce them to her good friend Rackkar and his favorite heavy wrench. How dare those CPS water-wasters be so rudely discouraging to an eleven-year-old boy who’d tried his best?

  CHAPTER 11

  * Planet: Concordance Prime * GDAT 3238.218 *

  Lièrén’s percomp signaled an incoming static ping from Imara. Glad of the distraction, he read it immediately. He was disappointed that his dinner with Imara and Derrit had to be cancelled, but he found himself more perturbed by the inconclusive test results for Derrit’s minder talents. Lièrén knew from personal experience that Derrit was very gifted. Lièrén was pretty sure some of his trained, adult coworkers, selected for field-unit service because of the quality of their talents, were lower level than pre-teen Derrit.

  He tried to remember his own testing at age twelve. He had the vague recollection of being at the Testing Center twice, but he had no idea why. He knew his parents had been thrilled when the CPS had sent the letter and contract for the full-ride scholarship plus family stipend for him to attend the CPS Academy. The rare chance to please his parents kept him at the Academy those first few hard months of bewildering, complex regimentation and no friends. The only plus had been his solid academic background, which saved him from having to play catch-up in that area. Of course, by staying, he’d also alienated his great-grandfather, who still resented Lièrén’s choices to this day.