by Jade Kerrion
“Exactly,” Xin agreed. She pushed up from her chair to pace the length of the room gracefully. The suite was both spacious and comfortable, decorated in warm earth tones and furnished in rustic style, but Xin seemed oblivious to her surroundings.
Miriya reflected ironically that Xin would probably be happy anywhere as long as she had a power source and secure, high-bandwidth network access. Miriya cleared her throat. “He asked where I’d been.”
“Oh?” Xin paused and looked up, her expression quizzical. The illusion of innocent curiosity was dispelled by the shrewd gleam in her brown eyes, though.
Miriya met Xin’s gaze. “He really needed me, Xin. I felt like a first-class bastard when he told me he missed me. We’re talking about Danyael, the one whose standard reply to everything is ‘I’ll be all right.’ Do you know how bad he had to feel to confess that he missed me?”
“And not being there drove him into the general’s arms, exactly as we’d planned.”
“Exactly as you planned.” Miriya shook her head. “I don’t understand how someone can be so right and so wrong at the same time.”
Xin shrugged. “It’s a gift.”
What bothered Miriya most was the fact that Xin did not seem in the least bit offended. “Do you understand that Danyael is a real person? You’re putting him through hell, in order to nail the general for…what exactly? Playing around with things created in a lab? For God’s sake, you were created in a lab.”
“Do you know what an arms race is, Miriya?”
Miriya tilted her head, startled by the unexpected change in topic.
Xin did not wait for Miriya to answer. She sat in a chair, her back straight and stiff. “Professor Ehimaya Sadgati is a warmonger. She is selling her super soldier program to nations that have nuclear weapons pointed at each other across their border crossings. What do you think other countries are going to do when they find out that the United States and Chinese militaries are building super soldier programs? They’ll build their own armies too.”
“You’re exaggerating.”
“I’m not.” Xin flipped open the cover of her tablet, pulled up the relevant information, and handed the tablet to Miriya. “That is a list of countries that have enrolled in Sadgati’s super soldier program. The graph at the bottom shows the estimated count of super soldiers around the world. The numbers are growing exponentially.”
“But weapons are a deterrence.”
“Weapons controlled by intelligent, thinking humans can be a deterrence, but the information I hacked directly from Sadgati’s laboratories confirms that the super soldiers are impossible to control. Even alpha telepaths are struggling to direct them. Sadgati isn’t interested in providing a solution. She’s interested in making a profit. The product she’s delivering is unfit for its role, but because of its perceived effectiveness, it will escalate an arms race as governments all around the world build armies of super soldiers. What do you think will happen when both sides field armies of super soldiers?”
Miriya bit down her lower lip. “It’s going to be bad, isn’t it?”
“‘Bad’ doesn’t describe the situation. It will be a disaster. That disaster is precisely what I’m trying to prevent, Miriya. The United States cannot embark on this path. If we do, others will blindly follow us. The world cannot afford a super soldier program—at least not the one proposed by Sadgati.”
“So you’re going to use Danyael to bring it down?”
“I’m using Danyael to confirm its existence. Until five minutes ago, all I had was a hypothesis. As soon as I have a solid case against the general, the National Security Agency can nail him and shut down the program.”
“How much longer is that going to take?” Miriya asked.
“Not long,” Xin assured her. “Just another month or two, and then we can pull Danyael out and bring him home.”
“I hope so, because I don’t know how long I can do this.”
“You have to.” Xin held Miriya’s cold hands in hers. “Danyael is critical, and so are you. You are the reason Danyael survived his year at ADX. I don’t know why you held on to the psychic hook in his mind, but I’m glad you did. You need to hold Danyael close now, keep him strong. Remind him of who he is, who he really is. He’ll need friends to anchor him, and right now, as far as he knows, you’re the only friend he’s got.”
“I don’t think he considers me a friend.”
“He said he missed you.” Xin stared down at their joined hands and then looked up into Miriya’s eyes. “Please, Miriya.” The clone’s face was earnest, serious. “Be strong, for yourself and for Danyael. Leave the national security issues to me. You just focus on Danyael. Be what Lucien was to him. It’s the only way you’ll be able to save him.”
~*~
Miriya did not vault out of bed the next morning, but neither did she linger as she usually did, huddled in the warm sheets, unable to muster the energy to start her day. She wondered what made the difference. Was it Xin’s impassioned plea, or the fact that her mind had lingered in close contact with Danyael’s through the night, silently comforting and being comforted by his presence? How much of her improved outlook on life could be attributed to the mood-altering capabilities of an alpha empath, and how much to the knowledge that she too had the power to make a difference in his life?
She luxuriated in the bath for an hour and then spent nearly as long combing out the tangles in her blond hair. Her hair had grown out over the previous year into a shapeless mop. Miriya frowned at her reflection in the mirror; it was time for a change.
At noon, her hair once again coiffed into a sassy bob, Miriya stood at Lucien’s doorstep and rang the doorbell. A stern-faced butler escorted her to one of the libraries. “I will inform Master Winter that you are here.”
“Thank you—” Miriya scanned his mind for a name. “Mr. Smith.”
His footsteps faded down the corridor. Miriya paced the length and breadth of the room, gliding fingertips along smooth leather furniture and bookshelves handmade from oak. The library was easily thrice the size of her suite at the Mutant Affairs Council headquarters. Even so, she knew the room was one of the smaller ones in the house, a “cozy” affair designed to receive visitors. She stared down at her fingers; she could not find a single speck of dust.
Miriya sensed Lucien’s mind long before she heard his footsteps approach. She was ready for him when he entered the library. He was, to put it mildly, furious, yet his demeanor bore no immediate evidence of it. Lucien, Miriya recalled, was too civilized to go on a rampage. He was always polite, and after the conversation was over, he would put his money to work with lethal intent.
“Hello, Miriya.” Lucien said, his voice a polished bass.
She clasped her hands behind her back and turned to face him. “Hi, Lucien. I’m sorry I ruined your Aspen vacation three months ago.”
“You led the council enforcers to my house?”
“I was just following Danyael.” Miriya tapped the side of her head. “His psychic signal led to your house.”
Lucien’s cool distance gave way to confusion. “You held on to the psychic hook in his mind through his year in prison? Why?”
Miriya lifted her shoulders. “I thought maybe he’d need me someday.”
Lucien snorted. “I’d be careful. Danyael’s needs can be overwhelming.”
“So can his problems.”
“Why are you here?”
“I had a couple of questions for you, about Danyael.”
Lucien raked his hand through his dark hair. “I don’t want to talk about Danyael.”
“Please. I’m just trying to understand him better.”
“Your mind is linked to his. You’ve practically cornered the market on understanding him.”
Miriya made a face. “Not entirely. He keeps large swaths of his mind shielded from me. On the other hand, you were his best friend for sixteen years. No one knows him better.”
Lucien hesitated for several moments. Just when Miriya
was about to give up, he gestured to a chair and waited for Miriya to take her seat before he sat across from her. “What do you want to know?”
“How can I win his trust?”
Lucien’s answer was immediate. “Be kind.”
“Too vague. I need something tangible that I can do.”
“There is nothing tangible, nothing specific. Do you see why it’s so frustrating being Danyael’s friend? He needs everything yet asks for nothing.”
“The only thing he needs is friends, or more specifically a friend. Just one.”
Lucien looked away stiffly. “I am not who I used to be.
“I know,” Miriya said. “Do you want to be?”
Lucien shot to his feet and strode to a window. He stared out, his hands pressed against the glass panes. “Don’t you think I’ve tried, Miriya? I remember everything. I remember everything I was to Danyael, everything he was to me. But now, when I think of him, the thought sickens me. The disgust and contempt I feel for him…I don’t even know where the feelings come from, only that they won’t go away, no matter how much I try to talk myself out of them.”
“You can’t. Emotions are so much stronger than logic.”
“They shouldn’t be.” Lucien laughed, the sound bitter. “Humans are supposed to be capable of higher cognitive functions, but as it turns out, we’re all little more than animals.”
“Did you try to get the mental block removed?”
“All the telepaths I’ve spoken to tell me it can’t be done. The mental block is tightly integrated and no one is willing to take that risk with my mind.”
Miriya swallowed hard. Was she ready? She was not certain, but she had to try. “Do you trust me to do it?”
Lucien spun around. “Will you?”
“If you want, I will try. I’ll do my best, Lucien. I can’t promise you any more than that.”
“I know, but your offer is more than anyone has promised me. Can you remove it now?”
Miriya shook her head. “No, it’s going to take a while; weeks, maybe even months. I’ll need a detailed plan on exactly what I intend to do once I get into your head. I’ll talk to the telepaths at the council too. They may not be willing to help directly, but they’ll make sure I don’t miss anything critical.”
“Is it dangerous?”
Miriya considered briefly. “Yup, probably. But if you’re willing to take the risk for Danyael—”
“To hell with Danyael. Someone is manipulating me, controlling the way I think and feel. That’s intolerable. You have to get the mental block out of my head, all of it.”
Miriya’s brow furrowed, and she stifled a sigh. The mental block was more entrenched than she had anticipated. No question about it; she had her work cut out for her.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
June 28—International Celebrity Watch: If our gossip columns have seemed a little thin in the past week, it’s because we’re behind on the latest news of Galahad’s social life and amorous conquests. Even the perfect human being must long for occasional peace and quiet. Our intrepid reporters (the rest of you know them as “celebrity hounds”) have tracked Galahad to the idyllic island resort of Mustique, where he has taken up residence in Lucien Winter’s beach villa. Unfortunately Mustique is a private island, and we hear that Lucien’s security guards are not the welcoming sort. That said, the good news is that Galahad is expected back in the United States within the week. Our summer vacation’s over, folks. Get ready for a full column on Galahad’s exploits next week.
Xin’s face was impassive as she struck through another name on the list. Number twenty-three, Clive Baptiste, was a wealthy old gentleman who lived year-round in his beach bungalow on Mustique. He had been found on his sailboat, dead from a heart attack. Xin closed the file. And the list of Galahad’s living donors grows shorter…
~*~
Danyael pushed up slowly from the crudely hewn bench in a corner of the barracks and reached for his crutch. His left leg never took well to long periods of inactivity, and that day, he had overstayed. He had not intended to do so, but the super soldiers had brought him a scuffed-up football, and he had spent the afternoon throwing it to them. The ensuing scramble for the ball was violent, but the soldiers seemed to be having fun, even if it did result in two broken limbs, both of which Danyael healed.
Two months had passed since Danyael first stepped into the super soldier barracks. He spent hours every day in each of the five barracks, watching the young soldiers and interacting with them, if they initiated the contact. More frequently than not, they did, such as they had that day with the football. They seemed to understand his physical limitations, but found ways to involve him regardless.
“I’ll see you all tomorrow,” he said, turning to the door.
One of the super soldiers made a hooting sound, which Danyael recognized as agreement. It was the soldier Danyael had nicknamed Scar; his acceptance of Danyael had paved the way for the others to follow. In the final count, winning their trust had not been difficult; all he had needed was time.
The general was waiting outside the barracks when the steel doors sealed behind Danyael. “How was the session today?”
“You’ve got a great football team in the making. They’ll trounce the opposing team, if they don’t kill each other first.”
The general’s faint smile did not reach his eyes. “Do you think they’ll be ready to go into the arena tomorrow?”
The question, Danyael realized, was less about whether the super soldiers were ready and more about whether he was ready to go with them into the arena. “Yes. We’ll have to do it at some point, and tomorrow’s as good a day as any.”
“And you are certain you have absolute control over them?”
Danyael did not answer the question directly. Instead, he said, “They trust me.”
“All right then. Tomorrow, fourteen hundred hours. We’ll see how you and Major Chandler handle the full team of super soldiers. Make sure you rest well tonight. Oh, Reyes came by, looking for you when you missed dinner.”
“I’ll catch up with him at breakfast.”
The general nodded. “Good night, Danyael.” He turned and walked away, leaving Danyael alone in the corridor.
Fighting exhaustion, Danyael limped back to his suite. The path he had traversed so many times before seemed longer and harder. I’m just tired, he realized as he let himself into his suite. The cleaning crew had come through that day; the suite was immaculately clean and utterly impersonal, except for the tablet Danyael had left charging on the kitchen counter.
He leaned against the door, shutting it, and closed his eyes. The sterile emptiness in his apartment bothered him, more than usual. I must be more tired than I thought if I can’t even brush this off.
A heavy sigh escaped him. Slowly he stripped off his clothes and stood outside the shower while water sprayed over his fingertips. Danyael shuddered. He closed his eyes, counted to ten, and then stepped into the shower. The first shock of contact with water caused him to shiver, but when pain did not follow, he relaxed just enough to get through his quick shower.
Danyael stepped out of the shower, toweling his hair dry. Drops of water ran down the length of his legs, tracing the sunken paths carved by atrophic scars. His left leg always hurt, though some days less than others. Just then, the pain was a persistent but mercifully dull throb. With luck, he would be able to fall asleep without too much effort.
He hobbled into his bedroom, sat on the bed, and wrapped athletic tape around the injuries to provide additional stability and strength. His physical recovery had plateaued. The knife wounds from Lucien’s attack had torn through too much muscle and flesh, and scar tissue had invaded the wounds. With Carson and Jana’s help, he had made as much progress as he could have hoped for without access to surgery. He had survived without infection and without amputation, both miracles. The gut-wrenching pain from muscle cramps that dogged his day and haunted his nights was a small price to pay for keeping his leg.
&nb
sp; It’s enough. I have enough to keep going.
Miriya’s psychic voice whispered through his mind. Are you talking to yourself again?
Danyael relaxed into a smile. You’ve refined eavesdropping to an art form. How are you doing?
Good. Are you angry with me?
No. Should I be?
We just don’t talk much anymore. Some days, I don’t even think you reach out to me.
Danyael sighed. She had noticed. I’m just—
Trying to wean yourself off me? Her voice was tart. Is it me in particular or friendships in general that you’re trying to get rid of?
I have a new life here.
One that doesn’t include me?
You got me through ADX, but I need to move on. I can’t stay in my past.
It’s natural to hurt when you lose something that means a lot to you. It’s okay, really, it is.
Not for an alpha empath. Not when my emotions can kill others. Every time I get hurt, I’m that much further from being normal. My psychic shields have to be stronger, my control more precise, and even so, the chances of someone surviving any unshielded contact with me drifts closer to zero. Danyael sank back among the pillows and closed his eyes. He laced his fingers together to keep them from trembling.
So it’s goodbye to Lucien, Zara, and me. Is that it?
We said our goodbyes a long time ago, and I have a new life now. It’s not what I thought it would be, but I have a lot to be grateful for. Three square meals a day, a clean bed—
Danyael, you’re still a prisoner. All you’ve done is change the location of your prison.
He released his breath in a shaky sigh. It’s a vast improvement over ADX. I can’t walk out the front door, not unless I want to end back in ADX, but the general has been good to me. He’s treated me well and kept me safe. And I have friends now.
Really?
Yes, I’m all right, really, I am. If anyone feels guilty, there’s no need.
Did you sneak that statement in for me?
Danyael smiled. Yes, I did. A deeply entrenched psychic hook goes both ways. You know what I’m thinking; I know what you’re feeling. Don’t feel bad for me. I’m fine.