![Cosmopath - [Bengal Station 03]](/res/aob/book1.jpg)
indicating the loner, “who’s that?”
He looked. “Oh, the telepath. Jeff Vaughan. Come on, I’ll introduce you.”
“No,” she said, surprised by her vehemence. The encounter with Singh had troubled her more than she’d first thought. There was something self-contained and coolly calculating about Vaughan. In her experience, male telepaths were arrogant, and she could do without another dose of macho posturing right now.
“No, but I’d like to scan him, if that’s okay?”
Rab smiled. “Be my guest.” He said, watching her with obvious curiosity.
She touched her handset. She was instantly aware of many points of mind-shield static in the room around her. She filtered them out and concentrated on Vaughan.
He was shielded, of course, and with an efficient system. She concentrated, but her probes slid uselessly around the static enclosing his mind.
Rab said, “Well?”
She shook her head. “He has a damned good shield.”
He looked disappointed. “So you can’t...?”
She smiled. “There is always a way, Rab.” She gestured to a waiter bearing a tray of drinks; at the same time she touched her handset. She felt an almost imperceptible tickle travel from her metacarpal hardware to her fingertips.
The waiter stopped before her. She touched the bottle of Blue Mountain beer on the tray, and the tickle ceased. “Would you take the beer across to Mr Vaughan,” she told the waiter, “and say that Mr Chandrasakar sent it?”
The waiter snapped a bow and hurried over to Vaughan.
“What was all that about?” Rab asked, nonplussed.
“A virus,” she explained. “You’d be surprised at the number of aliens who use shields, even though we can’t read their thoughts, as such.”
She glanced at him. He nodded, oblivious of her lie.
Vaughan listened to the waiter, took the beer, and lofted it at Chandrasakar with what looked to Parveen like a sardonic salute.
The telepath tipped the beer into his mouth and resumed his inspection of the tarmac.
Rab murmured, “But won’t his system alert him to the breach?”
“It doesn’t cause catastrophic failure; just enough to let me through.”
She tried another probe, and a minute later she broke through his compromised defences.
She closed her eyes, leaned against the rail, and was swamped by his psyche.
She was rocked by the strength of his personality, by the love he felt for his wife, Sukara, a small, plain Thai woman... except to Vaughan she wasn’t plain at all, but radiant... Parveen accessed his memories, the person he was years ago, before Sukara, and she experienced pain at the despair he’d felt then, his nihilism, as the world he inhabited was a world without hope, and his job as a telepath brought him into contact with the worst that world had to offer... And then, over the course of a few weeks, as Sukara saved his life literally, he got to know her, to love her, and she saved his life again... only this time she’d saved his soul.
And then Parveen read about his sick daughter Li, and the pain he was feeling at having to leave behind Sukara and the girls, and his anxiety, despite all his reassurances to Sukara that everything would be okay... And she read his suspicion of Chandrasakar, and his fear at what lay ahead, at having to read the dead mind of the engineer - and that brought forth another slew of deeper, more unpleasant memories of when he’d read dead and dying minds more than twenty-five years ago for the Toronto Homicide department...
She withdrew quickly, pulled out her probe and shut down the program. She leaned against the rail, breathing hard and sweating.
Rab was all concern. He touched her hand. “Parveen-?”
“I’m fine. It’s... I’m always like this when I’ve read...”
Except, she told herself, she...wasn’t... Some people had the kind of personality that... swept you away; there was no other
He looked. “Oh, the telepath. Jeff Vaughan. Come on, I’ll introduce you.”
“No,” she said, surprised by her vehemence. The encounter with Singh had troubled her more than she’d first thought. There was something self-contained and coolly calculating about Vaughan. In her experience, male telepaths were arrogant, and she could do without another dose of macho posturing right now.
“No, but I’d like to scan him, if that’s okay?”
Rab smiled. “Be my guest.” He said, watching her with obvious curiosity.
She touched her handset. She was instantly aware of many points of mind-shield static in the room around her. She filtered them out and concentrated on Vaughan.
He was shielded, of course, and with an efficient system. She concentrated, but her probes slid uselessly around the static enclosing his mind.
Rab said, “Well?”
She shook her head. “He has a damned good shield.”
He looked disappointed. “So you can’t...?”
She smiled. “There is always a way, Rab.” She gestured to a waiter bearing a tray of drinks; at the same time she touched her handset. She felt an almost imperceptible tickle travel from her metacarpal hardware to her fingertips.
The waiter stopped before her. She touched the bottle of Blue Mountain beer on the tray, and the tickle ceased. “Would you take the beer across to Mr Vaughan,” she told the waiter, “and say that Mr Chandrasakar sent it?”
The waiter snapped a bow and hurried over to Vaughan.
“What was all that about?” Rab asked, nonplussed.
“A virus,” she explained. “You’d be surprised at the number of aliens who use shields, even though we can’t read their thoughts, as such.”
She glanced at him. He nodded, oblivious of her lie.
Vaughan listened to the waiter, took the beer, and lofted it at Chandrasakar with what looked to Parveen like a sardonic salute.
The telepath tipped the beer into his mouth and resumed his inspection of the tarmac.
Rab murmured, “But won’t his system alert him to the breach?”
“It doesn’t cause catastrophic failure; just enough to let me through.”
She tried another probe, and a minute later she broke through his compromised defences.
She closed her eyes, leaned against the rail, and was swamped by his psyche.
She was rocked by the strength of his personality, by the love he felt for his wife, Sukara, a small, plain Thai woman... except to Vaughan she wasn’t plain at all, but radiant... Parveen accessed his memories, the person he was years ago, before Sukara, and she experienced pain at the despair he’d felt then, his nihilism, as the world he inhabited was a world without hope, and his job as a telepath brought him into contact with the worst that world had to offer... And then, over the course of a few weeks, as Sukara saved his life literally, he got to know her, to love her, and she saved his life again... only this time she’d saved his soul.
And then Parveen read about his sick daughter Li, and the pain he was feeling at having to leave behind Sukara and the girls, and his anxiety, despite all his reassurances to Sukara that everything would be okay... And she read his suspicion of Chandrasakar, and his fear at what lay ahead, at having to read the dead mind of the engineer - and that brought forth another slew of deeper, more unpleasant memories of when he’d read dead and dying minds more than twenty-five years ago for the Toronto Homicide department...
She withdrew quickly, pulled out her probe and shut down the program. She leaned against the rail, breathing hard and sweating.
Rab was all concern. He touched her hand. “Parveen-?”
“I’m fine. It’s... I’m always like this when I’ve read...”
Except, she told herself, she...wasn’t... Some people had the kind of personality that... swept you away; there was no other
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