Thomas McCrady scooted his chair back and mentally recited this week’s mantra. Bored, bored, bored!

He stood, careful not to touch the plywood held up by rocks in each corner. The last time he’d jiggled the makeshift table, his partner had threatened to skewer him with the rusted gardening tools littering the Cordilians’ sacred garden.

“Don’t go too far.” Angela flipped the page she was reading to the back of the pile.

“I won’t,” he said mid-stretch.

Thomas walked along the one path that hadn’t been overrun by unruly plants. If the treaty negotiations were successful today, perhaps the gardener-priests could get busy without causing riots when one faction objected to the other’s idea of beautiful.

He reached the end of his path and admired a blue flower on a spiny shrub. Meiko would love one of those. The locals wouldn’t appreciate him plucking one, and these local blooms weren’t available in Haidar’s stores. He’d have to settle for the next best thing. His fiancée was overdue for her next installment of tulips.

Thomas took a deep breath to enjoy the vanilla and cherry scent before he turned around and paced back the other way.

Angela still sat in the garden’s center. Her long hair was drawn up into a tight bun on the back of her head. Her black suit and ruffled blouse were out of place among the flowers. She sat on a folding chair and reread the peace treaty for the five millionth time since they’d arrived this morning.

Angela’s thoughts touched his. “Thomas, time to begin.”

He nodded and walked back to the table. “What do you need me to do?”

She glanced up at him. “Sit and observe.”

“I really am capable of doing more than weighing this chair down.” He settled into the chair next to her.

“As I told Joy before we left, I don’t need your help.”

He rolled his eyes and kept his thoughts to himself. You could try humoring me and giving me something to do.

At one end of the garden, steel doors twice the height of an average man swung open with a cacophonous sound like a guitar out of tune. Was the mess of noise meant to be musical, or was it in dire need of adjustment like the rest of the garden?

The Cordilians slunk in on their multi-jointed legs. Each one looked like an odd cross between opaque glass tubes and half-meter tall centipedes. Although they moved slowly now, earlier in the week, when faced with a possible threat, they’d put racehorses to shame.

In the crowd outside the wall, Thomas sensed a flare of psionic power that resolved into a group of people. He narrowed his thoughts on the area. A Haidarian female’s signature stood out like an LED lightbulb among the almost two dozen human, male tealights.

What’s this about? He leaned closer to Angela. “Did you invite some—”

She glared at him. “Hush. I need to focus on the meeting.”

He turned to face her. “Look, someone just tele—”

“Be quiet, will you! When we’re done here, I’ll be more than happy to explain away your worries.”

Thomas sighed and left his warning unspoken. He reached out with his thoughts to identify the newcomer and hit a wall of psionic force.

A combat shield? He scowled.

No one from home with a legitimate reason to be here would come looking for a fight.

Readying his own mental protection, Thomas stayed still as he sought for other signs of danger. The crowd was full of searing anger and blunt-edged resentment. Were those the normal feelings of people who disagreed with the current plans? Were there violent protests in the works to stop the treaty before the delegates could make their marks?

He grabbed Angela’s arm. “Listen to me—”

“Thomas, quit!” She shrugged away from him.

Angela reeled back as if she had been kicked in the head. Thomas tried to catch her, but his fingers brushed past the sleeve of her shirt. She hit the ground hard and stayed still.

“Angela!”

The garden’s gate burst open a second later under the weight of several Cordilians. The first hit on his mental shield came a second after the gate fell. His protection wobbled but held. Gunshots echoed off the garden’s wall. Bits of rock from a planter struck his thigh.

He yelped and dove under the table, even though the thin wood would never stop a bullet or a blaster bolt. He clapped his hand over the wound. If he were lucky, the snipers wouldn’t see him.

Shrill screams split the air. The sense of pain and terror from the delegates sickened him. He could do nothing to help them directly, but if he could reach Angela, he could teleport them both home, get her to a doctor, and send back more experienced help for the delegations.

As he inched toward her, a female presence shoved against his shields. Thomas bolstered his defense and pushed her back.

The second attempt battered at his mental shield and bored through. Before he could reset his guard, his attacker thrust into his mind like a spear. Thomas clenched his eyes and focused inward.

You want a fight? You got one.

A dark, curvaceous image bearing a pair of fiery knives appeared in his mental perception. Her hand covered her mouth. “Ooo. That didn’t hurt, did it?”

Thomas mustered every scrap of power and focus he could pull together. “Not half as much as this will.”

His own personal image formed in the shape of a huge wolf. He launched himself at the shadow woman and tackled her, tearing into her with a mouth full of sharp teeth.

After he had scored a couple good hits on her, her psionic knife tore into his wolf’s chest causing a new surge of pain that convulsed his physical body. On the mental battlefield, the unknown warrior threw Thomas off, the knife still stuck in his ribs. He levered himself back onto his feet and growled at the shadow-woman. Foam boiled from her wounds. She staggered back but kept her footing.

Brandishing her remaining knife, she came closer. “You’re dead!”

How could she keep going? The considerable damage he’d done, combined with the added strain of battling on his turf should have taken her out. Whoever psycho-woman was, she had to be either impressively powerful or highly trained.