Seeking. He avoided the guarded mind of the single Persephonean marine who watched the door to engineering and envisioned another face he had seen only once: the close-cropped hair, the tall and sturdy body, the ease of manner he had observed in the mess.
Charis. Charis Antoniou.
She did not answer, for she did not truly hear. Yet he found her, caught a glimpse of her surroundings through eyes not his own. Numerous consoles, screens alight with complex graphics and scrolling numbers, were attended by crew in shipsuits marked with the designation of their post.
In Charis’s thoughts was the contentment of one engaged in a true Path: concentration, devotion to her work, and benevolent feelings toward her fellows. She had no telepathic abilities whatsoever, and did not sense Ronan’s presence. So much was simple enough.
But almost the moment Ronan touched Charis’s mind, he felt the shield. This female who ruled engineering, who knew the ship’s secrets as well as the captain herself, must also be protected from the very trespass Ronan attempted.
That was why Cynara had considered it enough to confine Ronan to his cabin during the voyage to Persephone. Her own shield had given way only when she and Ronan had engaged in sex, but she did not realize how much. If Ronan could not reach Charis, the engineer must be safe.
Ronan floated on the edge of Charis’s mind, forcing nothing, allowing her to concentrate on her work without venturing to interpret it. Gradually he inserted a thought into the flow of ceaseless mental chatter, so delicately that her shield was not disturbed.
Go see Ronan, the thought suggested. He did not try to produce a reason that might seem implausible to one he did not know, and who did not know him. He let it take gentle hold and work its way deeper until it became fully a part of her consciousness.
Go see Ronan. He felt her mind trip on the notion, move away, and return to it until it became a nagging buzz she could no longer ignore. He saw through her eyes again as she left her console, exchanged a few words with one of her assistants, and walked toward the door.
She did not speak to the guard as she entered the corridor. Ronan clung to the fringes of her consciousness, allowing the compulsion to carry her to him.
Time was measured in heartbeats. Charis’s presence grew nearer. He heard footsteps on the deck outside the cabin, and then a scrape on the door. It slid open.
Ronan was already on his feet, light-headed with the effort of influencing Charis’s mind and controlling his own. The engineer stood in the entrance, her passcard in one raised hand. Her eyes held the blankness of surprise.
“An Charis,” he said, bowing his head. “I am pleased to see you again.”
* * *
Chapter 16
« ^ »
Claris blinked. “Ser Ronan. I—” She glanced around the cabin. “I had to see you. But I seem… I seem to have forgotten—”
“Will you sit?” he asked. “I have little to offer, but I have kept this cake from the morning meal. You have not eaten today.”
“As a matter of fact, I—” She sat down heavily, legs sprawled, and dropped the passcard onto the bunk. “Captain said the Dharmans tried to do something to your mind and we had to get you away. You all right?”
“Very well, thank you.” He unwrapped the cake in its napkin and presented it. “I wished to express my admiration for your extraordinary skill in maintaining such a vessel.”
“Thanks.” She took a bite of the cake with obvious pleasure. “This isn’t bad. They’re always nagging me to eat down in engineering, but I forget—” Her brow wrinkled, and she pinched the bridge of her nose. “I had something important to tell you, but damned if it hasn’t slipped my mind.”
“Perhaps when we reach Persephone,” he said, “you can tell me more of your world.”
“Be glad to. Goddess knows I’m happy to help anyone who’s been through what you have.” She finished the cake and dusted her fingers on her shipsuit. “Well, I have to apologize. My memory just isn’t what it used to be when I was younger—but it’s enough to get this bucket of bolts around, I guess.” She stood, and her hand felt for the passcard.