Kinsmen had imposed that loss of memory, as they had built the many shields that guarded his mind. It must have served some objective in his mission. Perhaps the false recollections of his past had been designed to convince the humans that he was exactly what he claimed and believed himself to be, the fugitive who hated all shaauri.
Surely his trainers had not expected him to regain his true memory so quickly. They had prepared him for the possibility of sexual liaison as a means of gathering information, but they had not reckoned on one such as Cynara D’Accorso.
He had been sexually drawn to her at first meeting, ignorant of the source of that compulsion. The subliminal drive to accomplish his assignment lay at the heart of all he felt, all he did. In the act of mating, minds were most vulnerable to intrusion.
He had regained memory, but his purpose had not altered. He must guard the changes in himself from everyone, Cynara most of all. As long as she was vulnerable to her desire for him, he would have opportunities to enter her mind as she had his.
“It does not trouble you,” he said to Kord, “that the captain favors me?”
‘The Little Mother is my sworn lady. Her enemies are mine. One who swears brotherhood to me serves her as I would.” His brown eyes held Ronan’s. “As you will.”
Ronan pretended interest in his piece of fish and glanced down the length of the table. Many of the crew members were finishing their meals and returning to duty, or gathering in small groups to talk. Ronan thought of his own cabin, Cynara’s only a few doors down the corridor. His body demanded more rest, but there was a higher priority.
“I’m on the bridge for the next watch,” Cynara said. “We’ll talk later, Ronan. In the meantime, you have the run of all decks except the bridge.”
Ronan stood to face her. “I may move freely, Aho’Va?”
“Everywhere but the restricted areas. You’ll recognize those by the red and yellow striping on the bulkhead and doors.”
He remembered. Such forbidden places were the very ones he must penetrate.
“Perhaps when Kord is off watch, he’ll take you on a tour,” she said. “Remember Doctor Zheng’s instructions, both of you.” She nodded farewell and strode toward the mess door.
Kord followed Ronan’s gaze. “Don’t mistake her ease of manner for weakness,” he said. ” ‘They are most dangerous who keep the blade sheathed.'”
Ronan smiled without humor. “Among shaauri it is said, ” ‘Who can know the mind of Will?'”
Or the mind of a traitor.
Ronan wandered the upper decks for several hours, casually bypassing the forbidden areas as if they held no interest for him. He observed the movements of men and women, noted how few held sidearms or seemed prepared to fight. He counted crew in each sector of the ship from mess to cargo hold. Though he could only guess at crew numbers in the engineering and life support sections, he estimated that three-quarters of the ship’s complement had been present in the mess.
Forty crew in all, a reasonable number for a ship of this size. Minimal security. Half of them would be on watch at any given moment.
After his first sweep, Ronan made a second at a more leisurely pace. The humans he encountered were, at worst, guarded, and at best seemed to welcome his presence. Most were curious about him and willing to discuss some element of their occupations, though none was foolish enough to offer essential details. Ronan shared minor anecdotes of shaauri life and left them satisfied that he was more to be pitied than feared.
When he passed the striped doors that led to engineering, he slowed his pace and smiled at the uniformed guards. These men were separate from the crew, in clothing and mien; they were true warriors, like Kord. Ronan took the risk of skimming their surface thoughts.
They knew very little of what lay beyond these doors, of the special engine that enabled the Pegasus to outrun shaauri strikers. They did not even have the means to unlock the doors, but they did know who among the crew had such access.