Free IGMS Issue 17 by IGMS Page B

rebuilding of the wasteland we need the information your Order has been collecting. Technology, Ms. Brown," he said, warming to his theme. "Technology that your Order has been unfairly hoarding inside your 'safe zone.'"
    "With respects, Tono --" the grim-faced man said.
    "
Daimyo,
" the young man whispered out of the corner of his mouth.
    The man grimaced in frustration. "
With respects,
she doesn't need to know this.
Take the information from her
."
    The Daimyo frowned, then nodded, licking his lips nervously.
    "It would be easier," he said to Jasmine, "if you would voluntarily think of the information we need. Then there'll be no need for . . . unpleasantness."
    "Torture, you mean," Jasmine said. The Daimyo winced. The grim-faced man shot her a look that said
if I was in charge, you'd already be on a rack
.
    "We want the plans to the safe zone's outer defenses," the Daimyo said.
    Luckily, Jasmine had experience dealing with telepaths. She quickly diverted her mind away from the Daimyo's question, forcing herself to concentrate on an earlier part of his speech.
    "What kind of technology do you think we have?" Even as she asked the question, Jasmine thought of the rows of tiny vials in the convent's "hot" laboratory, pestilence and plague swirling in frail glass tubes. Those, the convent wouldn't distribute. From the Daimyo's sudden change of expression, she knew she'd guessed right.
    "If you won't cooperate, we'll have no choice but to torture you," he said uncertainly. He turned away. "I'll give you an hour to think about it."
    The grim-faced man looked like he wanted to shove both Jasmine and the Daimyo's head through the wall, but he followed his leader out. The other guard shot Jasmine a murderous look as he exited.
    Jasmine sat down on the cold floor of the cave. Someone had left a gourd of water and a plate of food in the corner. She stared at it, then turned away. She couldn't risk being drugged.
    Telepaths,
she thought despairingly. How could she escape when her thoughts advertised her plans to whomever was listening? And she was sure there were telepaths listening. She wasn't sure of their numbers or their strength; it was quite possible that the Daimyo was the only psychic on the premises. Indeed, that would explain why he was nominally in charge.
    As far as she could tell, the Daimyo could only pick up on articulated thoughts. That helped. And he was most likely to pick up on her thoughts if he was listening for them, which he probably was.
    "Mary, Mother of God, pray for me,"
she whispered. "
Saint Jude, Patron of Lost Causes, pray for me
."
    And there, like a comforting hand on her shoulder, was her solution.
    The words of the prayer formed easily in her mind.
"O most holy apostle, St. Jude, faithful servant and friend of Jesus,"
Jasmine whispered as she crawled over to the bars.
"People honor and invoke you universally as the patron of hopeless cases, of things almost despaired of . . ."
She let the familiar words of the prayer fill her mind; she concentrated on them, and on the feel of the metal under her hands.
"Pray for me, for I am so helpless and alone"
-- her eyes saw the gaps between the metal and the cave wall --
"Please help to bring me visible and speedy assistance . . ."
    It took Jasmine a good forty minutes to jar the metal corner loose enough that she could worm through it. The fence left deep gouges down her back, and at one point her habit got caught on a bent wire. She had to tear the fabric to get free, focusing as she did so on the rhythm of Latin syllables in the
Oratio ad angelum custodem
. She hoped whatever telepath was listening in was thoroughly bored by this point.
    She scuttled down the carved stone passageway, mentally running through the
Ava Maria
as she did so. It was harder to focus on the prayers now that she needed to make decisions. She didn't have long before she screwed up, and then whoever was monitoring her -- she suspected it was the Daimyo -- would realize what she