Hidden Faults

By Ann Somerville

In a world where paranormals are persecuted, medical researcher Jodimai hon Belwin works to find a 'cure' for paranormality so 'paras' can lead normal lives again. His society is dominated by religious bigotry as much as paranoia over paranomal abilities, so he struggles to keep his homosexuality secret for the sake of his family and his career. But unbeknownst to him, he has another secret, and when that secret is suddenly uncovered, his comfortable life comes to a horrifying end. Now his fate rests with the much-hated paranormals, and in particular, a mysterious dark-eyed man with powers Jodi can barely comprehend, and many shocking secrets of his own.

Part of the 'Periter' universe, and in the same timeline as 'Walk a Lonesome Road' (which comes before), but stands alone. No previous knowledge assumed or needed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ann Somerville
• Release date: Jul 4, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465813275

Ann Somerville

Ann Somerville is white, Australian, heterosexual, cisgendered. She/her.

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Hidden Faults

Ann Somerville

‘Hidden Faults’ Copyright © 2011 by Ann Somerville

Cover image © Yazan Masa - Fotolia.com

All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

For more information please visit my website at http://logophilos.net

Smashwords Edition 1, July 2011

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Published by Ann Somerville

Chapter One

I walked up to the research wing, changing into a clean coat before going to the medical lab where I found Lamiw, my assistant, laying out the therapy inhalers ready for use.

I smiled at her. Are we ready?

Yes. Shall I?

I nodded, so she used the comm to contact security and have them bring up the first subject—a pyrokinetic, I noted from the chart.

A minute or so later, a tap came at the lab door, and then two security guards brought in our subject, one Neim hon Darzi, a man my father’s age, dressed in the nondescript grey overalls we issued to patients in our care. His tattooed hands hung loosely at his sides, and his expression held no purpose, his face weather-beaten and marred by broken capillaries. Life had not been kind to Mas Neim.

Thank you for coming, Mas Neim. I’m Arwe Jodimai, and I’m in charge of this testing phase.

He looked at me as if I’d spoken gibberish. I smiled reassuringly and gestured towards the treatment chair.

Please sit down, Mas Neim. I’m afraid you’ll need to be restrained for your safety.

The man shuffled over to the chair, where the guards secured him tightly and far from gently. Lamiw took no interest in the patient at all. She disliked paras and never made a secret of it. She was far from unusual in that.

I fitted the sensors. Mas Neim didn’t really seem to care what I did, rheumy blue eyes staring vacantly into space as if he was still on naksen. He wasn’t. He’d detoxed under supervision, and was doubtless as healthy and sober now as he’d been in years. It wasn’t just naksen that drove the will and health out of a man.

Once all the sensor pads were fitted, I waited as Lamiw took baseline readings. Mas Neim continued his empty stare, ignoring us both.

Finally she nodded at me. I cleared my throat and picked up a piece of paper from the desk.

Mas Neim, I know you signed our volunteer agreement, but I’d like to get verbal confirmation from you. Do you mind if I go over the form before we move on?

No. Do what you like. I don’t care.

Behind me, Lamiw made a small snort of derision. I ignored her.

Still, I need to be certain this is with your consent. It’s not risk-free. Were the risks and side-effects explained to you?

He made an aborted movement, as if he wanted to wipe his mouth or his face with his restrained hands, then sighed wearily. Said I’d get sick. A cold. Could get worse—maybe pneumonia. Don’t care. Anything’s better than this.

There’s also the gene therapy itself. If it takes, we’re not sure exactly what effects it might have—

I said I don’t care, doctor. I might be a para, but I’m no fool. His eyes were suddenly and briefly sharp. Stop treating me like one.

Mind your mouth, Lamiw snapped, but I held up my hand to quieten her.

"I apologise, sir. I wanted to be sure you were sure."

I am. Do it. He stared up at me again, this time pleadingly.

Very well.

I stepped back, waited for Lamiw to indicate the readings had settled down. When she nodded, I said, All right, sir. If you would please make a small fireball?

The guards pulled out their electroreeds and stun guns in readiness. Mas Neim ignored them.

Suddenly a tiny ball of white light popped into life right in front of my eyes, startling me. I jumped back, coughing in surprise, then yelled as the closer of two guards seemed ready to shoot the patient.

No! It’s fine! No harm—don’t!

The guard held the gun at the ready, but mercifully didn’t let off a shot. Mas Neim’s expression hadn’t changed.

Sir, if you wouldn’t mind?

The fireball disappeared.

Er...thank you. My heart still pounded from the fright but I did my best to appear untroubled, as much to stop the guards from overreacting as anything else.

Mas Neim looked up, the briefest twist of his mouth his only reaction. Sorry. Control’s a bit sticky after all this time.

Privately I doubted that, but if he wanted to risk an electroreed to the kidneys for the pleasure of getting a little payback on a normal, I couldn’t really blame him.

Fine. We’ll be asking you to do that again, but if you could make sure you don’t let it come near anyone, then we’ll all be happy.

He let out a harsh, humourless laugh. Anything you say, doctor.

The delivery of the viral agent was something of an anticlimax after that—the inhaler inoculated him very quickly, and before evening, he’d start to feel unwell. He’d be under strictly controlled conditions with constant care, but in a man of his age and not in good health, complications were always a concern. I asked him to display his talent once more. This time the fireball danced harmlessly in front of his own face.

As the guards uncuffed Mas Neim, he looked at me again. How long before it works?

You’ll be mildly ill for a week. If there’s no indication of any effect from the therapy two weeks after that, then you’ll be put back on the naksen.

Two weeks? Is that long enough? I mean...what if I’m just slow? I don’t mind being locked up if you just...don’t put me back on that stuff. Please.

He made to grab my hand, but the security guard yanked him back, almost off his feet.

You said you knew what you’d agreed to, Mas Neim, I said, infusing coldness into my voice to hide my pity for this wreck. It’s unlawful for you to be at liberty without the naksen. You know that.

Then put me in jail! He jerked in the guard’s grip. Please! That drug, that horrible drug...please, don’t make me go back onto it—

Calm down, Mas Neim. Getting like this won’t help.

He suddenly spat at me, a great gobbet hitting my arm. Heartless bastard. We’re animals to you.

I didn’t move to wipe his spittle from my sleeve. No, you’re not. Please, calm down. Take him out to the ward, and treat him with care, please, I said to the guards. Don’t blame him for this reaction.

I didn’t have much hope they wouldn’t take it out on him, but I had to try.

Come on, the older guard said, dragging the man around and forcing him to the door. All the fight had gone out of Mas Neim before he left the room.

I plucked a tissue from a box on the treatment table to wipe off my arm and wished we had a real alternative, rather than pie in the sky dreams of a complete cure for paranormality. Naksen’s brutal, overwhelming obliteration of paranormal ability, even at the price of obliterating the spirit too, was all that kept people like him from annihilation. But was death worse?

I dropped the soiled tissue into the hazardous waste bin. Lamiw curled her lips in disgust. Don’t they realise we’re trying to help them? I wonder why we bother.

If you don’t know, then why are you working here, Arwe Lamiw?

Her eyes widened in shock. I would normally never dream of speaking to any of my staff so sharply, but I’d grown tired of her attitude.

If you don’t believe in this project, I can easily transfer you to another where you’ll feel more committed.

I-I...I do. I believe...I just...the way he spoke to you. And to spit like that.

We ask a great deal of these people. They’re the foot soldiers in a war they may never see an end to. A little tolerance is a small price to pay for their cooperation. Sign off on those readings, please.

I turned away from her before I said something that would ruin our working relationship for good. I found myself facing the tall, imposing figure of my boss, Kregan hon Sersa, and my stomach tightened in reflex. Shitting hell.

I forced a polite smile. Sir? I wasn’t expecting you here during the therapy administration.

I wanted a word with you, Arwe Jodimai. Are you pressed for time?

I’d known him since before I’d graduated, had become something of a family friend, but in public, he always used my full name and title. This time it indicated his displeasure rather than his innate formality.

We’ve got four more subjects waiting, sir.

Five minutes, no more. Arwe Limiw, if you would excuse us for a moment or two?

She bobbed her head and fairly ran for the door, closing it behind her, her reaction pretty standard for anyone encountering Kregan. Part of that resulted from his appearance. His heterochromic eyes unnerved people, and his great height and luxuriant hair made him seem like some ancient god come to walk the earth.

He sat down at the desk. Now, Jodi. What was that all about?

What did you hear?

You threatening Arwe Limiw’s job. I don’t approve of that kind of behaviour. It’s not like you.

He could always make me feel twelve again, standing before my father for some childish prank. Keeping me standing while he sat, contributed to that feeling.

No, sir. I simply found her attitude frustrating. I know she doesn’t like paranormals, but if she doesn’t think there’s any point to our research, then why doesn’t she work on something else? She asked to be on this project, and yet I’ve seen no evidence she believes in what we’re doing.

He scrutinized me over the top of his glasses. Not everyone sees their work as a holy mission, Jodi. She’s young, and probably thinks this will look good on her résumé. Does it matter, so long as she does what you ask her to do?

No, sir. I lost my temper. I’ll apologise.

I’ll speak to her. If she managed to make you angry, she must be irritating indeed.

He gave me a brief, cool smile. I tried and failed to imagine him losing control of himself under any circumstances—even sex. A machine. Everyone said it—even joked about his wife having to oil his gears for him once a week. A mind like a steel trap to go with it, too. That he was head of this project and we had still failed, was the most depressing thing about it.

I was on my way down to ask if you were all set for tomorrow. A thankless job I’ve given you there.

I’m looking forward to it, actually. He raised a dark eyebrow at me. Not our presentation—the conference should be interesting, that’s all. Kanar’s speaking, and he’s always inspiring.

Oh yes. A bit of a rabble-rouser, but we need people like him to fire up enthusiasm in the hearts of our young scientists. He got to his feet. At twenty midecs, he towered over me and everyone else who worked for him. Nuela reminded me that you’ve not been to supper with us in ages. It’s your birthday next week, isn’t it?

Yes, sir, but I'm going out with a lady friend for dinner.

Kregan tsked. Then perhaps the week after?

Yes, sir. Thank you.

No need to thank me. Nuela enjoys your company. He lowered his voice a little. It’s important to remain objective, Jodi. Care about your work, believe in it, but remain detached.

I believe we should care about the patients too, sir. They don’t choose to be paranormal.

Very true, and I’ll point that out to your assistant. If she really doesn’t care, then I’ll reassign her myself. You’re a top class researcher, Jodi. You deserve top class assistance.

Thank you, I said, flushing at the praise.

Now I expect a report on the conference by the end of next week. Don’t be tempted to put a gloss on the reaction to your presentation. I’m aware how thin it is. This time next year, we’ll have something to amaze them.

Yes, we will, I said, answering his determined tone if not the hard facts, which were that we had no idea if we’d ever crack this problem.

Carry on, Jodi. And then he left.

I slumped, sighing, partly with relief and partly out of annoyance at myself for letting him see me lose control that way. Limiw was adequate at her job, and if she’d learn to keep her opinions to herself, I’d have no problem with her or anyone else on the staff. Neim had rattled me—struck at my physician’s pride. No doctor should force patients back into drug addiction that served no therapeutic purpose. But when the alternative was mass internment, or worse....

I forced myself to remember I wasn’t in fact Neim’s doctor, and he’d consented freely and with full information. He wasn’t the first to beg me for something I had no power to give, and he wouldn’t be the last. Not until we succeeded.

I shook myself, made sure I’d cleaned my coat thoroughly of Neim’s spittle, and then put a call down to security.

Arwe Jodimai here. Send the next subject on up, please.

Chapter Two

Further refreshments, sir?

One moshino, one khevai, I ordered, after glancing at Timo to confirm his usual. And then the bill, my dear.

Our waitress bowed low. Yes, sir. Immediately.

I smiled politely, and she rushed off to fill our order, ducking around her colleagues and the patrons. At this time of day the great and the good—the lawmakers and the judges and senior politicians in the government, even one or two familiar faces from skims—filled the restaurant. A respectable doctor and his engineer companion passed quite unnoticed in this company and in such elegant surroundings.

Timo called my attention back to him with a quiet tink-tink of his spoon on my water glass.

I’m surprised Kregan didn’t withdraw your slot at the conference, since the report’s so lacklustre.

Would have looked worse if he had. If our department can’t present a paper once a year at the leading forum specifically aimed at their own central research, it looks bad for him. This way, it looks bad for me. I shrugged at the sour face he pulled. Come on, don’t tell me you’ve never gone to a professional conference and done presentations which amount to ‘we can’t make it work and we still have no idea why, but hey, we’re still amazingly clever’?

Our waitress returned, setting Timo’s khevai down before him, and placing my moshino in front of me, her hands barely shaking at all. Impressive control, but then she wouldn’t have a job if she hadn’t had it.

The bill, sir?

To me—ah, ah, you paid last time, Timo, I said, fending off his grabbing hand. I looked up at the waitress. To me, please.

She put the metal salver down beside my cup, the heavy paranormal tattoo on her hand reflected in the silvered surface. I extracted my wallet. Ignoring Timo’s attempt to hand me some money, I placed three hundred down on the salver, then placed my hand over hers, pressing it down gently over the notes.

I looked up at her puzzled face. Keep the change, I said, keeping my voice low.

Sir—

Keep the change.

She kept her hand over the notes as she picked up the salver, fear mixed with her gratitude in her expression. Did she think it was some kind of trick? Tips weren’t illegal, not even of that size, not even for her kind.

Thank you, sir. M-Marra bless you, sir.

"Thank you."

Timo gave me a wry look as I turned back to him. You think that makes a difference?

I don’t want to talk about it, Timo. I hoped my research would lead to a world where no one needed to be marked out for their paranormality. Until then, donations such as this were all I could offer to salve the guilt of privilege.

We left not long afterwards. The elegant restaurant was in an elegant area, full of modern apartment blocks and expensive offices, but still we passed a dozen or more para beggars, all with the characteristic naksen shake, as we made our way out onto the cold, windy street, down towards the commercial veecle stands.

A smart red and white veecle for hire accepted our hail and pulled in, and I offered it to Timo. I shook hands with him, relishing, as always, the familiar strength of his arm, even if these days only as a friend.

Hana insists on you coming to dinner for your birthday, he said. The boys want to see their favourite uncle.

I'm sorry, but I'm going out.

Oh. She’ll be very disappointed.

I faked a long-suffering sigh. Oh, well, if she would mind so much.... Truthfully, a dinner with Timo and his family had far more charms for me than what I’d planned. I’ll cancel my other arrangement.

Timo raised a slim eyebrow at me in a knowing manner, but said nothing. My social life was a matter of survival, as well he knew. Marriage wasn’t an option as it had been for him.

He took the veecle and went back to his engineering firm’s headquarters in north Vizinken. As I waved him away, preparing to hail a veecle for myself, I saw a man across the lane, looking my way. He smiled, showing his teeth, his big dark eyes alight with secret mischief. I couldn’t help smiling back. He tipped his head as if acknowledging me, quickly and discreetly, then walked off, perhaps as conscious as I was how it looked. I admired the shape of his arse for a second or two, but then turned my eyes away, not wanting to be too obvious. No, marriage wasn’t an option for me—but the life I followed had a few pleasures I wasn’t yet ready to surrender.

I secured a veecle in a minute or so, and headed east to our labs. I came inside out of the cold wind, took off my coat, then ran my wrist chip over the door security sensor and walked into the foyer. Ajeile, our receptionist, gave me a bright smile.

Hi, Jodi. Nice lunch?

Yes, thanks. Pity there’s nowhere closer to eat—such a nuisance for entertaining people. She nodded politely. Speaking of which...you remember we were supposed to go out next Juine, on my birthday?

Her pretty face fell, anticipating rejection.

I’m sorry, but I’ve been asked to go to dinner with some very close friends. I’m sort of honorary uncle to their sons but.... I drew the little folder out of my inner coat pocket. If it’s an acceptable alternative, I’ve got two tickets the following night for the Kladi concert. Would you...?

I smiled to myself as her expression changed from disappointment to raw amazement. "Jodi, are you serious? Tickets? They’ve been sold out for months! How did you—"

A friend was disposing of them, and I thought I could find a use for them, I lied smoothly. Actually, I made a habit of picking up tickets to highly popular events to use in this way. Short notice, but I take it you’d—

She clasped her hands together in prayer. Please? Jodi, I’d do anything to go!

I gave her my most charming smile. All you have to do is make yourself ready for half six, and I’ll collect you.

She’d talk about it to all her friends until the concert, and doubtless long after, embellishing the details as she went. I’d have to go back to her place so she could show her gratitude, of course, but for the cost of the ticket, I would have my undoubted heterosexuality verified for at least a month, and that would take some pressure off me. The costs of my deceptions were high, but so were the risks of exposure. I wouldn’t allow my work and the potential benefits to be sidelined for the want of a few harmless dates with a person of the socially expected sex. The sacrifice was more than worth it.

~~~

Kanar’s talk was the last one at the conference, and provocative as always. More of a medical ethicist than pure researcher, hailing from the more liberal environment of Tsikeni in the south, his constant theme was whether we had a right to meddle with a genetic inheritance which had no debilitating consequences other than infertility and what society artificially created. That those with the gene, active or not, were protected against many common cancers and had a far stronger immune system, had been known for many years, of course. Were we as clinicians prepared to add the burden of increased illness on our citizens, for the benefit of an increased population and safety from paranormal crime?

The discussion that followed grew heated. Kanar loved it, smirking as the insults flew. It was what he lived for. I, who preferred a quieter existence, still admired his bravery in putting himself out as a target. His views on paranormality had attracted a good deal of attention, and he’d received serious death threats. It was widely accepted that he lived under constant security surveillance, and not just for his own protection. He dealt with that by being utterly transparent. He had nothing to hide. Lucky for him.

The conference ran over time, but that surprised no one. Since we were at the inn where the official drinks reception would be held, all we had to do was move from the auditorium to the ballroom, conversations barely interrupted by the change of venue.

After getting a drink and snatching up some snacks to stave off hunger pangs until supper, I found myself in a circle of scientists around Kanar, listening to him holding forth. I didn’t comment, but hung back like several others, old and wise enough not to fall for his bait, but young enough to be amused by those who did.

Distracted by the entertainment, I finished my wine rather too quickly, and wanted something non-alcoholic to chase it. The last thing I wanted was to end up drunk and incapable among my professional colleagues, and these events could be deadly that way. Not all of us could drink like Kanar, who could take alcohol in quantities that would fell an urtibes, and still sound coherent.

I spotted a waiter with a drink tray and caught his eye. He moved smoothly over and offered me the tray, but as my hand reached for a glass of juice, it nearly collided with another. I looked up and found a dark-featured man smiling at me.

Oops. You first, he said.

I took the glass, he collected his own, and the waiter turned away to serve other people. The newcomer didn’t seem inclined to move on, so I smiled at him.

Hi. I don’t remember seeing you earlier. I’m Jodimai hon Belwin.

He held out his hand. Tek.

I shook his hand, noted the casual introduction, the calloused palms, the somewhat badly fitting suit, and the aggressively short hair that looked like his mother had cut it for him. Someone from the regions, I surmised.

You’re not from Vizinken?

He jerked as if surprised, and I set his hand free. No...I’m a student. From Tsikeni.

I looked at him again. Slightly shorter than me, though taller than most, slim build, narrow features that were unremarkable except for the long-lashed brown eyes that wouldn’t have shamed a barchin. Possibly my age, but with the dark Pindoni looks that made it hard to tell.

No you’re not. Where’s your conference badge?

Dropped it? He flashed white teeth at me, as though his obvious lie was a wonderful joke, and I couldn’t help but grin back. Gonna report me?

His hand had lingered a tiny bit too long in mine, and his eyes now held something...knowing. My heart beat a little faster, the thrill rising in my blood. I guided him a little way from the knot of people around Kanar.

Here for free drinks?

Those long lashes dipped again. Not...entirely. He looked up. There’s free food too.

I held down a laugh with some difficulty. And afterwards?

Maybe a chance of something hot?

My face had certainly heated up, but I pretended a casualness I didn’t feel at all.

Could be. How were you planning to get a seat at the supper table?

It’s a buffet. Finger food. You sure you’re not gonna report me?

Make it worth my while?

He saluted me with his drink. I’d do that for free.

There was something a little dark in his half-smile, the way he looked so levelly at me, but I didn’t sense he was dangerous. Just someone addicted to thrills, perhaps, though a genetic research conference didn’t strike me as the best place to look for them. I wondered why he’d chosen this inn, but the thought drifted away. Didn’t do to question such bounty almost falling into my lap.

Oh, Marra, I’d not expected this tonight. I returned the salute with my own glass, and tried to keep my excitement out of my expression as I took him by the arm.

Come with me, and keep your mouth shut. Anyone asks, you’re a cousin of mine studying biology who’s thinking of switching to medical research.

I could be a real student. He’d have almost seemed affronted, if it weren’t for the twinkle in those lush, dark eyes.

And I could be the Queen of the Weadenal. Come along, I don’t need people to have a chance to look too closely at you and that horrible suit.

‘S a nice suit, he muttered, but he let me tow him along away, perfectly amenable. I liked that in a man.

~~~

The second I woke, I knew I wasn’t in my own bedroom. It took me a couple of seconds longer to work out why I was so sure. The light came from the wrong direction, filtered by dark red curtains, not pale green.

I sat up and groaned—Marra’s testicles, my head. And my backside and legs too. What the hell had I been doing last night to end up here?

Hello?

No reply. I looked around for signs of the room’s owner, and realised it wasn’t any ordinary bedroom, but an inn suite. A pad of paper sat near the light—I squinted at it. The ‘Dance of Indages’—the inn where the conference had been held. Had I gone to bed with one of the attendees? Had anyone seen me?

I moved to get up and yelped as my back muscles twinged. Cautiously I stretched, clenched my butt, and winced at the sting. I’d had sex—and as the receptive partner. But who in hell with?

I scrambled out of bed, ignoring the incriminating aches and stinging, and dragged my clothes on. No sign of anyone else’s—no sign that anyone else but me had slept in the bed, but someone must have. I sniffed. The room smelled faintly of semen and sweat. No artificial scent, no cologne, perfume, not even hair cleanser. I checked the bed—no damp spot, no hairs, nothing. I’d had sex with someone obsessively clean, apparently. I hoped I hadn’t been too drunk to insist on protection.

The last thing I remembered was...Kanar. Yes, Kanar holding forth and then...nothing until I woke up. Somewhere between then and now, I’d met someone. But who? Whose room was this? And how could I find out without drawing attention to my situation. I noticed the keycard on the writing desk. Why would the owner go out without taking it?

Well, I didn’t care. I needed to get out of here before anyone from the conference saw me slinking out of another man’s room. It was late—nine, so my timekeeper told me. Maybe my mystery host had gone to get breakfast.

I endeavoured to look nonchalant as I rode the lift down—already preparing my cover story that I’d had an early meeting with a colleague—but I encountered no one I knew. I walked to the reception area unchallenged, my shaking knees and clenching gut not obvious enough to attract attention.

The receptionist smiled at me as I approached, key in hand. Good morning, sir.

Uh...hi. Can I hand this back in?

He accepted the key from me. Will you be returning to the inn, sir?

No.

He nodded and tapped in something on his viewcom. Then that’s fine, Arwe Jodimai. We’ve got your account details, and there are no further charges. I hope you’ll consider our inn again should you require accommodation in our city.

After I pressed my wrist against the scanner for verification, he handed me a receipt. Check-in time had been half eight the previous night.

Uh...thanks. Er. Yes, I will. Can I ask you something? Rather, is there someone who was on duty last night I can ask?

He lifted his eyebrows in surprise, then clicked his fingers. A moment later, a young, red-haired porter appeared from behind me.

Disune, our guest needs to ask you a question.

Disune smiled as I thanked the receptionist, and then I drew him away from the desk.

How can I help you, sir?

Uh—look, this is a really stupid question, but did you see me check in last night?

Yes, sir, he said, nodding. I remember because you didn’t have any luggage with you.

Uh, right. Was I with anyone?

The lad frowned. No, sir. Not that I saw.

Are you sure?

It’d be on your bill, sir. We always note the number of guests.

I glanced down at the receipt. No. guests—1.

Ah. Was I...acting oddly at all?

"Not that I noticed, sir. You were very nice to me when I asked if you had any luggage—even gave me a little tip though I’d done no

Reviews for Hidden Faults

[gregandlarry · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Set is a world similar to ours except there is a gene which causes people to be paranormal. This is persecuted and being homosexual is frowned upon.Good story and plot. Interesting and complex characters.