"Oh yes. Just quick background. There are seven great Houses. The Ilkazam, the Vayawand, the Alaa, the Ss'ang, the Tandeh, the Jeban, and the Rodaleh. Then fifteen or so modest Houses, and finally a few tiny holdings. About thirty total, though the numbers can fluctuate due to war or treaty.
"Once you pass through the walls of my family compound -- or any compound, for that matter -- you will be living between the covers of a flamboyant novel. While it is true that we rule the mind-blind -- sometimes with a ferocity that's appalling -- we are also the primary consumers of the luxuries and services produced by the Tarhiji. We're their primary source of entertainment too. Perhaps that's one of the reasons we strut through life with the bombastic quality of performers in an Italian opera." Tachyon frowned and considered the human's nondescript face. "In order to succeed in Takisian society, it is essential that you possess elan. In your case, Jay, it is unfortunate that you look so ordinary, but your smart mouth will offset that liability."
"Gee, sorry, if I'd known, I'd have had a nose job."
Tach shot back. "It would require an entire body sculpt."
"Walked right into it," groused Jay.
"Mark carries a similar burden, he's not at all handsome, but his great height will make him unique -- assuming they don't view him as a freak and deformed."
"This is kind of disturbing. Is your entire society this shallow?" asked Mark.
It stung, and a flush blossomed in her cheeks, but there was enough truth in the accusation and enough innate honesty in Tachyon to give her pause. She sighed. "Yes, and no. Yes, because your breeding is in your face and your form, and we do breed for beauty. No, because the Takisians can be very astute and see past mere appearances." Tach stopped, considered. "But that's an oversimplification too. You see, on Takis appearances are everything. A false appearance of power, of virtu, can make a man a king as easily as a true one."
"That's not astute, that's gullible," said Jay.
"No, cautious," Tach corrected. "The man who struts and preens may be a bombastic buffoon, or he may be every bit as dangerous and powerful as he claims. You don't attack until you're certain. That's why you must hide your powers, Jay, but at the same time flaunt them. Drop mysterious hints about the nature of those powers, leave the impression that they are awesome, terrifying, and probably mental in nature."
"Trips may be able to pull that off. He can reveal a few of his friends and even suggest that there are a lot more waiting in the wings, but that's going to do fuck-all for me. They'll have my head open in a second, and then they'll know I'm no mind-powered ace."
"Are you listening to me?" snapped Tach. "They won't risk that until they are certain of your powers, and your allies."
"So far as I can tell, our only allies are sitting in this room."
"As recent as five years ago my uncle Taj was still loyal to my line. There may be others."
Jay continued to argue. "And just how will you prove that you are who you say you are?"
"Open my mind."
"Great," said Jay bitterly. "That's really hiding the football."
"Jay, if I suddenly started telling you my life story -- as quickly as I could, and in no logical order -- how much would you actually absorb?" The ace considered that, tugging on a shaggy bit of hair that was just brushing his collar. "Memory, in both humans and Takisians, is laid down in chemical codes on various synapses with a great deal of repetition, and no particular order." She swiveled to face Mark. "Do you remember when I had to force open Rabdan's mind?" Mark shuddered. "I had to peel his mind layer by layer, laying bare the memories, and destroying his mind in the process. And this wasn't accomplished in a minute."
"It took you seven hours," said Mark. "And you were almost unconscious by the end."
"So when you read a mind, what are you getting?" asked Jay.
"First, just the surface thoughts, and it's very confused, a constant running babble. We're trained to break it out, enforce grammatical order so it's understandable. Deeper memories are harder, you have to dig a little. It's like searching through an encyclopedia for the proper reference. Let's say I'm searching your mind to determine how you cowed Digger Downs. I might have to turn over a whole series of buried memories -- stealing a dime from the little girl in first grade, striking out with your date at the senior prom --"
"Hey!" Jay exploded. Mark chuckled.
"So telepathy is not as simple as it seems. And it becomes more difficult when you're dealing with a trained mentat. They'll have alarms to warn them of interlopers, and if they're powerful enough, traps to destroy the weak or unwary."
"Zabb twigged to you pretty fast," said Mark.
"That's because he knows me very well. There is a signature, a taste, if you will, to each mind. Each is unique."
"So old friends or close relations will believe you instantly," said Jay.
"And if by some dismal chance none of those happy few remain, I'll have to convince related strangers with a dazzling display of knowledge that no impostor could possibly possess."
"And then?" asked Jay.
"And then we find Blaise and recover my body."
"It sounds so simple," Mark said.
"It won't be," said Jay. "How the hell do we find two people when they have an entire planet to hide in?"
Trips contemplated his dealings with Blaise -- dealings that had left one woman dead and almost cost Mark his daughter. He sighed and said, "If Blaise is on Takis, I'm sure he's, like, made his presence felt."
Chapter Twelve
Back home in Oklahoma they'd had a cat. A lanky orange critter with a crooked tail -- legacy of a fight with a neighbor's Labrador -- and haunted, feral gold eyes. For six years it had slunk about the house, grabbing at food when it was set before it, but otherwise ignored and despised. That was Kelly's status in House Vayawand.
Sometimes he wondered if Takisians possessed invisibility as well as telepathy. He had certainly become transparent. A few times he'd forced the issue -- placed himself like a small stone in the midst of a rushing stream, greeted someone as they broke and eddied past. But he'd gotten this look, which sent him folding in on himself like the leaf of a touch-me-not, and been whirled away by the rushing currents of people. He then lowered his sights. Obviously the lords and ladies of House Vayawand thought he had cooties. Okay, he'd try servants. It made no difference. Even the servants were snotty.
So here he was sliding through the door of a... mess hall? family cafeteria?... ready to make another snatch-and-run food raid. He picked an empty table near the door to the kitchens. It was noisy with servants hurrying past, and smoky each time the doors swung open. It was not elegant dining. Which was why it was deserted. No self-respecting Takisian would sit in such an inferior position.
Only a very inferior bogus Takisian, thought Kelly sadly as a plate of soup was slid very carefully and very quietly under his nose.
The servants might look at him as if he were dirt, but their behavior was always excruciatingly polite. Because he had the face -- borrowed though it was. He might be an impostor, but the face bestowed power and an aura of danger. Not that there was a lot of physical difference between the mind-blind majority of the planet and their telepathic overlords. They were all fair -- the darkest hair color Kelly'd seen was a sort of mink brown -- on the small side, but the Tarhiji tended to plumpness, whereas the carefully inbred psi lords possessed a refinement, and an almost tooth-aching beauty, which combined with their ancient eyes into a terrifying presence. And each time those eyes were turned on Kelly, he felt as if his bones had been replaced with ice.
I share so much with you, Kelly cried inwardly to the bowed head of the young man who served him. I'm as terrified of them as you are. Talk to me!