“There’s only a handful of us,” said Chad.
“Eh,” said Nate. “A hundred and fifty isn’t a handful.”
“Against an entire alien race, it’s a rounding error.”
“It’s an important rounding error,” said Grace. “Because we can learn to fight. Beat them. Lead humans to victory. I know it’s different to order people to their deaths from the comfort of your executive lounge.” That might not have been fair — not all of them were assholes. A great many of them were here because they didn’t tow the party line of the Intelligencer leadership. They didn’t want to rule humans as mind-controlling overlords. Neither did they want to be hunted to extinction by their previous comrades who led the Republic. “So, I’ll teach you how to fight.” She nodded at Nate. “And he’s going to help.”
“I am?” said Nate, looking confused.
“Yes,” said Grace. “And after that—”
“You’ll sail off,” said the woman’s voice, “leaving us to the dying.”
Ah. That one. Grace managed to single the woman out. Blonde hair. Angular face, strong, used to giving orders, not taking them. Certainly not used to the possibility of dying that came with taking orders. Grace walked towards her, pushing through the rest of them. “You think I’m walking away?”
“You’ve got the ship,” said the woman, giving her hair a toss. “You’re going to leave us.”
“Yes,” said Grace.
“What?” said the woman.
“Because,” said Grace, “we’re going to find them.”
“You’re what?” said Chad.
Grace looked at Chad over her shoulder, then turned back to the blonde woman. “We’re going to find them,” said Grace. “In our ship. We’re going to find them, and then we’ll call for your help. And you must be ready.”
There was quiet. Total quiet.
“You’re going to go out there after them,” said Chad. “You. The one they’ve been so interested in.”
“Yes,” said Grace. “I don’t think I want to wait for them to come to me. And it’ll take some of the heat off of you. While you get ready.”
The blonde woman was watching her. Scrutinizing her, like she was a bug. Grace could imagine what was going through her mind. You’re not even a real esper or why should we do what you say or maybe they’ve already got to you. None of it mattered, because Grace was going. Nate and her had already talked about it. Step one. Build the Resistance up. Step two. Find the bugs. Step three. Fangs out.
Still no one talking, which was unusual. This crowd could have been talking mind-to-mind, but Grace didn’t think so. There was none of the usual noise she’d picked up, the metal whispering as people talked just outside her mental hearing. It was just another way she was different. Broken. Damaged.
Nate’s hand was on her arm, jerking her out of that little internal death spiral. She could smell him, the scent heady, familiar. Like the joy of being in sunlight outside. A reminder of how he made her feel when they were alone in his cabin. Someone who had her back. Together.
“So,” said Nate, his voice bright. “Who wants to get shot first?”
• • •
Grace stood in front of the Intelligencers, Nate and Chad behind her. Nate had a taser out, one he’d borrowed from Kohl. Or maybe Hope had made it for him. Not that it mattered. It would shoot its payload at Chad, and Chad would either dodge the shot or he wouldn’t. And that was all a part of the lesson. The crowd of Intelligencers was like many other crowds, noses keen from the smell of promised blood that hung in the air. They were eager to see what would happen. The great Nathan Chevell, captain of the starship that had led the Resistance to victory. Not just against the Ezeroc, but against the might of the Republic.
What they missed was that it was with not against the might of the Republic. A hard thing for Nate, who’d worn the Emperor’s Black back before the war. Nate, who’d fought against the corrupt Intelligencers, and lost. Who hated espers. Yet he had to work with them, and with the Republic they’d made, to fight insects that wanted to use humans as calories to power their ships. A more jaundiced, younger Grace would have given even odds that Nate would sell out his own species just to see the Intelligencers burn.
But that wasn’t what he was like. She wanted to kick herself, to shake herself, to scream into her own face, because there wasn’t time for this. No time for love, for her and Nate. Not now. Not with what was coming. She addressed the group. “Here’s what’ll happen,” she said. “Nate’s sword is … special. It was a gift. As long as he holds it, no one can see into his mind. Or control it.”
“A princely gift,” said the blonde woman. “Also, bullshit.”
“How do you figure that?” said Grace.
“No object can do that,” she said. “Our power is over minds, and the tech hasn’t been invented yet that will—” There was a zzzzzcrack and the woman gave a tight scream. She shook like she was taking on fifty thousand volts — which she was, the taser’s launched payload embedded in her shoulder — then toppled like a felled tree.
Grace turned to Nate. “What the hell,” she said. She saw he had his flesh hand on his sword’s hilt, the taser extended from his metal one.
He lowered the taser. “Huh,” he said, looking at the weapon. “I figured on it being a more effective demonstration this way.” He slipped another cartridge into the taser. “Who wants some of this?”
“I’ll take it,” said Chad. “This time, hand off the sword.”
Nate shrugged, let go of his sword, and readied the taser. He did a fast-draw — quick, like a cobra; if Grace hadn’t been looking for it, she would have missed the raise-and-fire of the weapon. Chad sidestepped, like he was just out for a stroll.
Grace turned back to the Intelligencers. “We’re working on getting more of these swords made,” she said. “Once we have them, the Ezeroc won’t be able to get in your minds. Other Intelligencers won’t be able to either. Any questions?”
The blonde woman was getting to her feet, looking terrible. Grace wanted to smile, pushed the feeling down, and waited. “You’ve only got one of those swords?” she said.
“For now,” said Nate, from behind them. “But we’re not training you for now. We’re training you for the future. Because fighting humans is one thing. But fighting the Ezeroc? They give nothing away. You’ll be just like me.”
“Hardly,” said Chad. “Half as handsome and twice as slow.”
Grace smiled. “Get your practice weapons,” she said. “It’s time to get to work.”
• • •
Nate held a practice sword between them, a simple piece of wood that would do nothing but bruise. He held it in his right hand, flesh and blood around the hilt like he was gripping a lifeline. “I hate this,” he said.
Grace circled him, slow and steady. Her feet barely left the surface of the practice mat. “You’ll thank me for it.”
“It’s unfair,” he said. “You can read my mind.”
“It’s not about fair,” she said, lashing out with her own weapon. He tried to get his sword up, gaining a partial success — Grace’s blow was diverted a little, but he still wore some of it on the side of his head. She wanted to wince, but kept a clamp on it. This wasn’t about her not hurting her lover. This was about her lover not dying when she wasn’t there. “It’s about you learning to use that hand to hold a sword.” Nate was left-handed, and he’d always held a sword on that side, at least until the fire had left him with metal on the stump of his arm. Even before that, he’d not been — by his own admission — the universe’s best swordsman. Gunslinger, sure. Swordsman, no.
He swung at her, an ugly motion with no finesse in it. She tilted her body out of the way, the wood humming past her with light years of space to spare. She sighed. “Chad?”
Chad came jogging over. “Sup.”
“Chad, I need you beat Nate. I mean, leave him bloody.”
“Hey,” said Nate.
“Because he’s pulling his swing
s with me, and that’s not okay.”
“It’s a little okay,” said Nate, “isn’t it?”
“It’d be my pleasure,” said Chad.
Grace smiled as she walked away, leaving them to it. She’d make Nate a swordsman again if it was the last thing she did. He’d probably be ready before her new sword was ready, anyway.
• • •
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