Max’s rubbery legs prevented him from leaping forward and throwing an unwise punch at Ben. Unwise because he was an accountant and Ben was the stuff that hard-hitting heroes are made of. Max regretted that he hadn’t kept up with the fitness regime. He was going soft sitting on his arse in an office on Crossways.
Ben tapped himself on the chin with his own fist. “I don’t need you to sock me on the jaw to feel bad about it.”
Max grinned ruefully. “Was I that obvious?”
“Don’t worry. No one’s getting at Liv except through the entire ranks of the Free Company.”
Max felt a little better at that, and then his heart hit his boots. What the hell was he going to tell Gen?
Cara thought it was about time she showed sisterly solidarity and went to visit Gen while Max was hard at work cooking the books or whatever he did in the accounting office. She took two carry-out cartons of Blue Mountain coffee.
Gen and Max had snagged a new apartment at the far end of the block, a ground-floor one with a door into the communal garden. It had two bedrooms, one of the first family-friendly living units. It would be nice to see more.
“I brought coffee,” Cara said, holding out a cup of Blue Mountain.
“Oh, you shouldn’t have—”
“It wasn’t a problem.”
“No, I mean, literally. I’m still breastfeeding Liv . . . only at night to settle her down for bed . . . and . . . the caffeine . . . you know.”
Cara didn’t know, but she hoped she might find out one day if things ever settled down.
“It’s a lovely thought, but you’ll have to drink both of them.”
“I can do that, but now I feel mean.”
“No need. I have some decaff. It tastes almost like the real thing.” She laughed. “At least that’s what I keep telling myself.”
Gen waved Cara to a seat. Liv, who had been pushing a model tub cab around the central rug stood up and came to Cara’s knee.
“Cara,” she said quite clearly.
“Hello, Liv. What are you playing with?”
“Tub cab,” Liv said. “Ride ’round the station.”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Sometimes they bump.” She bent down and picked up a second tub cab, even more garish than the first. “Like this.” She crashed them together, laughing as she did it.
“Now you.” She pushed a tub cab into Cara’s hand and dropped in a small articulated person. Then she crashed her own cab into it so the person bounced out. “He fell.”
“Yes, he did,” Cara said. “But people don’t usually bounce out of tub cabs.”
Liv wrapped her arms around her chest in an imitation of a baby harness.
“Well, yes, they might if they don’t wear straps.”
Liv put the person in her own tub cab and crashed it once more into Cara’s, flinging the cab and its passenger onto the rug.
“How are you getting on?” Cara asked Gen as Liv bent to retrieve the figure and the cab. “We’ve hardly seen each other with you going down to Olyanda and then me going to find Zandra Hartwell. Since Wenna’s organized a pair of class twos to do a shift on comms, I’ve got a couple of hours. I thought we could catch up.”
“And you thought you’d come and check to see how I took the news that a void dragon is interested in my little girl.”
“I’d have come anyway, but . . . how are you taking it?”
“Probably better than Max.”
“Void dragon, Mummy. My friend.”
Cara looked at Gen and raised one eyebrow.
“I made her one out of cloth. It took a bit of doing to get the right proportions, but she loves it. Show Cara your dragon, sweetie.”
Liv dutifully dropped the tub cab and ran into the bedroom, returning with an exquisitely made soft toy with perfect proportions and finely stitched detail.
“Gen, I didn’t know you were so clever with your hands. That’s beautiful.”
“Issa void dragon,” Liv told Cara. “It came for my birthday. When I got borned.”
“It did,” Gen said. “Cara was there.”
*Does the dragon talk in your head, too?* Liv asked Cara, mind-to-mind.
*Gen!* Cara gasped.
“Ah, yes. I was going to tell you.” Gen’s gaze caught Cara’s briefly and then slid off. “She’s a natural. Probably should have mentioned it sooner, but . . . you know . . . Max already thinks she’s a freak. I didn’t want anyone measuring her for a Free Company buddysuit. She gets to make her own decisions when she’s old enough. I’d take her to Sanctuary before I’d let her be pushed into doing something she didn’t want to do.”
Cara blinked at Gen’s strength of feeling. “I guess that’s what being a mother is all about.”
Liv’s question kept hammering on the inside of Cara’s skull. Does the dragon talk in your head, too? It was one question beyond the child being naturally telepathic. She tried not to let the disquiet show on her face.
Gen chuckled. Maybe she hadn’t caught Liv’s question. This time she did look Cara in the eye. “It rearranges your hormones completely. You’ll see when it’s your turn. I used to think people were speaking figuratively when they said they’d kill for their children, but now I know it’s literal.”
All through the rest of the visit Cara kept returning to the twin ideas that Liv was already a telepath, and she had the void dragon in her head.
*Ben?*
*Cara, where are you?*
*Just back from visiting Gen. Where are you?*
*On my way from Garrick’s. You went to see Gen at last. That’s good.*
*Yeah. I feel guilty, but I’ve been avoiding her. I mean—she’s so mumsy and I have no experience of babies. When I offered to babysit and she refused me, I’m ashamed to say I was relieved.*
*Gen had no experience either until she developed a sudden yen to be a mother. You think we should talk about having babies?*
The question drove Cara’s thoughts about Liv and the void dragon right out of her head.
Babies!
Now that would be a commitment. She’d never allowed herself to think about having a family, but she’d never been against the concept. And if she was going to have children with anyone, Ben Benjamin was definitely the one. He’d make a great dad.
*Eventually,* she said. *When it’s safe. I’d like that. What about you?*
*Yes, probably. Like you say . . . when it’s safe. Phew, now we’ve got that out of the way . . .*
*Is it?*
*Didn’t we decide that eventually, when it was safe, we’d think about babies?*
*I think we did.*
*How do you feel about that?*
*Good, I think,* she said. *How about you?*
*Yes. Good.*
*Ben Benjamin, are you, y’know, smiling?*
*I might be.*
*Gen’s got her hands full. Did you know Liv’s a natural telepath?*
*Seriously?*
*Oh, yes, most definitely. And she thinks she can talk to a void dragon, too. No wonder Max was rattled by what Oliver Lopez said.* She told him about Liv’s natural telepathy and the void dragon. *Should we worry?*
The answer was a long time coming.
*I don’t think so, as long as we don’t let the kid anywhere near the Folds.*
It was impossible to lie mind-to-mind, but for a moment Cara felt a thought stirring in Ben’s mind that he squashed quickly. He had an idea that he didn’t want to share with her. She’d have to wait for the right time to ask what it was.
Chapter Thirty-One
BUTTERSTONE
BEN FELT GOOD. NOTHING HAD EXPLODED; no one had gone missing, and Jussaro was still down on Olyanda, keeping himself so busy that he wasn’t demanding Cara’s attention. She’d assured him that once they’d established Sanctuary, Jus
saro wouldn’t need her there permanently.
They’d taken time for not only a long night which, to be fair, included some periods of sleep, but a lazy morning and a meal together that was either late breakfast or early lunch.
Cara had relayed more details of Liv’s emerging talents. A child with an invisible friend wasn’t exactly an unheard-of phenomenon, but a void dragon . . . That was new. Combined with the idiosyncrasies of Liv’s birth, it presented a conundrum. Cara said Gen had made Liv a toy void dragon. Which came first, the toy or the invisible friend in the child’s head?
Did Liv think the void dragon was speaking to her from the Folds? Was that even likely? Telepathic communication between realspace and foldspace simply wasn’t possible, or, at least, to Ben’s knowledge it had never happened.
Maybe Jussaro would know more.
Cara had volunteered to take an extra turn in the comms chair in the afternoon to make up for leaving so much of the routine work to a bunch of class twos, while she searched for Hartwell. When Ben reached the office. Wenna was wearing a frown. Under normal circumstances, it took a lot for Wenna’s emotions to show on her face.
Ah, well, the peaceful day had probably been too good to last.
“Is something wrong?”
“I had a request from the president’s office on Butterstone last Tuesday. They have fifteen youngsters identified as potential psi-techs. We booked them in with Civility Jamieson to have implants fitted here, and then promised them some basic training.”
“Sounds reasonable.”
“I tried to contact them via their regular comms network to sort out details, but no one is answering. They have two long-range Telepaths that they hired in from Ramsay-Shorre, already trained, so someone should be on duty, but I can’t raise them.”
“Who did you use?” Ben was aware that their own long-range telepathic strength was limited since they’d lost Cas to the battle and Saedi Sugrue to Jamundi. It was one of the reasons he wished Cara wouldn’t tie herself up quite so much with Sanctuary.
“Lynda Munene and Chander Dalal in tandem.”
Either one of them should be able to contact Butterstone. Two should be overkill for a job like that.
“Ask Cara to try,” he said. “Keep me up to speed with your results.”
It didn’t take long for Cara to come into his office. “Butterstone,” she said. “Nothing.”
“Oh, shit. After New Canada, and those colonies that you said had gone dark . . .”
“I tried to follow the reports on New Canada, but there wasn’t much information. I suspect a news blackout, though I don’t know why.”
“Did you say that refugees were involved?”
“That was in one of the first reports from New Canada, but then it was redacted.”
“I’m going to Butterstone,” Ben said.
“I’m coming with you.”
Of course, it wasn’t as simple as taking Solar Wind and jumping off to Butterstone. They needed to prepare for whatever they might be likely to find. A colony going dark could be caused by anything from natural disasters, or plague, to a sudden attack by well-armed pirates chasing whatever the planet had most of. Ben had been on the receiving end of that kind of attack on Hera-3. But it was rare for something to happen so quickly that there was no time to get out a message or a cry for help.
“What do you think it might be?” Garrick asked when Ben commed him.
“I have no idea, but since this is a Crossways Protectorate planet, response should be official. Do I have your blessing to make it so?”
“Yes, of course. Do you need any extra assistance?”
“We’ve loaded disaster relief equipment, and I’m taking twenty psi-techs on Solar Wind. Jake’s standing by here with the Bellatkin. If we need anything extra—trained troops, medics, supplies—we’ll shout. You send them with Jake.”
“Yes, of course. I hope it’s simply a communications glitch.”
“So do I.”
But it wouldn’t be. There were too many psi-techs on Butterstone. With Cara’s telepathic reach, she should have been able to contact someone, even if something had happened to their long-range Telepaths.
Yan Gwenn was still refitting the Howling Wolf, which was taking longer than expected. Naomi Patel had taken his place on Solar Wind’s flight deck. She had flown a hornet during the Crossways battle, and had proved herself quite capable of handling a jumpship. One third of their team consisted of Psi-Mechs, their versatile bots being invaluable in an earthquake, flood, or landslide situation. Including Ronan, they had four doctors, ten med-techs, and six of Tengue’s mercs headed by Gwala and Hildstrom.
It was a good team for a tight situation. Ben was hoping this wasn’t going to be a tight situation, but he wasn’t taking chances. First rule of thumb: if there’s no response from air traffic control, scan as your descent through the atmosphere allows, then do an exploratory fly past. See what’s on the ground, see if anyone throws rocks, or worse.
“Nothing,” Cara said as she tried to contact someone, anyone, on Butterstone. “No telepathic chatter, no mechanical comms.”
“Naomi what can you get on the scanner?” Ben asked.
“From this distance, not much. The settlement is small and the farming areas look quiet.”
The farming areas, worked by robust agri bots, had a relatively small labor force. Butterstone was a promising colony, but still young. Most of the population was concentrated in a very limited area, little more than an outpost that hadn’t yet grown to its full potential. The real estate in the temperate zones suited humans and their animals well. Wheat and corn grew abundantly, and Butterstone looked as if it might become the breadbasket of the Onix System, supplying food crops to Ironhold, which, as its name suggested, was rich in minerals, but poor in land and slightly too far away from the system’s star to have a good growing climate. Even the equatorial region was barely a cool ten degrees at the height of summer. Ironhold specialized in heavy industry and the kind of high-tech infrastructure that supported it. With their plentiful supply of raw materials, they produced high-value, low-weight goods for export and had three thriving shipyards in orbit.
“Cara, anything from Ironhold?”
“They lost contact with Butterstone about the same time as we did.”
“Have they had any problems?”
“No, but they say they turned away a ship of refugees on account of the fact that they’re in the middle of their storm season. They suggested Butterstone, and Butterstone agreed to take them in.”
“Refugees.” Ben felt a cold knot in his belly. Coincidence? Probably not. “Just how many refugees on that ship?” Ben asked.
“Forty. Not enough to cause major trouble.”
“From where?”
“Apparently somewhere called Barra.”
Ben had never heard of a planet, or place on a planet called Barra.
“Boss, look at this.”
Naomi magnified the aerial scan of Rhyber, Butterstone’s only town. It was still a long way off, but there were shadowy marks on the streets. Ben felt goose bumps on his arms and the back of his neck prickled.
“Can you magnify it?”
“Trying now . . . There.”
“Those are bodies,” Cara said.
Ben took Solar Wind in a low, slow pass over Rhyber. No one shot. No one threw rocks. The only people visible were lying in the street, splayed in death, not comfortably sleeping.
“Check out the landing field,” he said.
“No movement,” Naomi said.
“What about the refugee ship?”
“No sign of it.”
Ben brought the Solar Wind in to land close to what passed for a spaceport. Butterstone’s main export was compressed flour blocks. A freighter sat empty waiting to be loaded, but there was no activity. The doors to the terminal b
uilding were wedged open by a woman who looked as though she’d collapsed.
Ben scowled. *Ronan, get your team ready.*
After a routine examination of the atmosphere for anything toxic, Ben cracked Solar Wind’s hatch and the mercs deployed with their usual efficiency, Gwala leading and Hilde at his back.
Ben followed their comms chatter.
“Spaceport clear,” Gwala said. “Fifteen bodies. We haven’t moved any of them, but there are no outward signs of violence. No blood, but their color isn’t normal. The doc will confirm it, but I’d say they’ve been poisoned. There’s no airborne toxin, however, at least not now.”
Ronan and his crew moved out of the ship and into the spaceport. Ben left Naomi in command of the flight deck and he and Cara followed cautiously. They were all fully buddysuited and helmed with breathing tubes at the ready in case of toxins.
An eerie scene greeted them in the spaceport. Apart from the woman who’d fallen between the doors and had died there, everyone else was behind the counters or in the office. It wasn’t a huge spaceport. It was possible that whatever had struck had done so at night as there were only a few members of staff present. One of them had died on the washroom floor, curled around her belly. Two had made it as far as the sick room and on to the narrow beds there. Five had died in the office and a sixth close by. They looked as if they’d been affected within a few minutes of each other. Number seven had fallen in the corridor, eight and nine on the stairs, and numbers ten to thirteen in the air traffic tower.
It was almost more than Ben wanted to take in. They looked like ordinary people who’d upped and died for no apparent reason. He’d been half-prepared for violence, man-made or natural, but to see the people of Butterstone casually dropped to the floor, unmarked in death, gave him the creeps more than dealing with the aftermath of a massacre. The dead didn’t scare him, but the manner of their passing disturbed him more than he wanted to let on.
Cara looked pale, too. Anyone who’d lived through the Battle for Crossways had seen their fair share of death, but the bodies had shown their reasons for dying: crushed skulls, bleeding wounds, burns, puncture injuries, and the blue-lipped victims of asphyxiation, but on Butterstone there was nothing to bandage.
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