Sentiemce by Terry A. Adams

Author:Terry A. Adams [Adams, Terry A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781101635599
Publisher: Daw Books, Inc.
Published: 2018-04-06T16:00:00+00:00

“Hanna,” Ward said, raising her voice.

Hanna lifted her head slowly. Ward’s face dark as deeprock was attentive.

“Hanna?”

“Sorry…” Hanna rubbed her face. Her hands had shrunk. The fine planes of her face felt deformed.

“Melanie,” she said in panic.

“What is it?”

“Nothing.” She licked her lips. They felt almost like her lips.

Ward stared at her, and finally dropped her eyes to the surface of her desk. The characters and diagrams on it changed as she keyed in, one at a time, the morning’s test results. Hanna stood up and Ward said, “Where are you going?”

“Look out,” Hanna mumbled.

“What?”

“To look out. The window.”

“Oh,” Ward said, and returned to her study.

Polished metal round the window showed Hanna her face. It looked wrong. She put a hand to her throat and stared blindly at snow, waiting for the fit to pass. This morning was the worst yet; but it had been getting worse for days. She was horribly afraid. She put her forehead against the warm transparent window, trying to remember if Ward had stopped recording before the onset of this last break in reality.

She jumped as Ward said, “You’re all right. A couple of anomalies, nothing outside chance. I’ll see you again tomorrow.”

Hanna did not move. She said to the window, “Melanie, when can I go home?”

“Not just yet. You’ve been a very sick girl.”

“You just said I’m all right. Why can’t I go home, Melanie?”

There was a small sigh behind her. Ward said, “Hanna, you know you can’t.”

Hanna drew a fingertip across the window’s surface. She said, “I’m a prisoner.”

“You’re not a prisoner. You go wherever you please here, you can go outside, you can go into the city if you want to.”

“And risk being recognized and—never mind. That’s not what I mean. I want to go home. To D’neera.”

Ward said more gently than before, “Not just yet.”

Hanna turned around. Surely Melanie would notice something was wrong with her face; but nobody ever did. So there was nothing wrong with it. So she was going mad.

“Melanie. I don’t need you anymore. I need a mindhealer.” It took some effort to keep her voice steady.

“Why,” said Ward, looking up at her through dark lashes, “do you say that?”

Hanna did not answer. After a minute Ward said, “We could get Tharan back.”

“No.” Hanna’s hands were quivering. She put them behind her back. “Melanie, what’s your rank?”

“My—?”

“You’re not on the staff here. Somebody told me. You’re with Fleet.”

“Yes. Well.”

She looked disconcerted, almost guilty. Hanna did not know why it was supposed to be a secret and did not care. “Can you let me go?”

Ward shook her head.

“Who, then? Morisz?”

Ward hesitated, but decided, perhaps, she would save herself trouble by answering.

“I suppose he’d have to approve. But ultimately the decision would be Commissioner Jameson’s, I think.”

“Can you arrange for me to see him? I can’t,” said Hanna, desolate, “call him myself.”

There was another hesitation. But Ward said at last, “I’ll try. He’s on Heartworld, though.”

“When he gets back. As soon as he gets back.”

“I’ll try,” Ward said.

On the

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