Empire of Dust

by Jacey Bedford

  It was the smell: antiseptic, ozone, and the gum they used for the electrodes. Victor Lorient grabbed the doorframe on the threshold of McLellan’s—what? Workroom? Surgery? Torture chamber? The room held something of all three, and the stink and the sight of the chair with its restraints plunged him straight back into that nightmare he’d tried to leave behind so many years ago.

  One of the mercs, a big black man with a face like a monument, shoved him from behind.

  He felt his knees give way as the chair loomed, but someone picked him up bodily and shoved him into it.

  He was back in the clinic, the same sticky feel of electrodes on his temples.

  “Hold him down.”

  Was that McLellan’s voice or Dr. Pargeter? Pargeter and Claire Chapel, his counselor, had both tried to persuade him to give the implant time to settle in, but he knew why they were doing it. A broadcast Empath was a valuable commodity. Valuable but dangerous. They’d never let him have a normal life. He’d be kept closely confined and brought out only when they needed him to sway a crowd or swing a vote.

  Sway a crowd or swing a vote.

  He was dangerous. A danger to himself and a danger to others. Dr. Pargeter obviously knew that. She wore a double damper to deal with him.

  “Take it out!” he ordered her. When that didn’t work, he pleaded, cajoled, reasoned, and finally—when all else failed—he began to scream his throat raw. “Take it out! Take it out!”

  He felt hands holding him down and a needle in his arm. Then there was only blessed blackness.

  He awoke to a voice, definitely McLellan’s this time, saying, “Well, that was a waste of time. Lock him up again.”

  • • •

  Still linked, Ben felt Ronan slip through the compound, dodging from shadow to shadow, past vehicles, and stacked crates, until he was level with the guard by Cara’s crate, a big man, massively broad though not fat.

  Ronan pulled his smart-dart pistol and took aim. Ben could feel his indecision. He should go for a safety shot, center body, but it was likely the guard’s buddysuit had armor built in. He needed to hit the man’s neck, but it was a tricky shot, even in daylight, let alone in the dark.

  *Ronan, let me,* Ben said. *Open up. Merge.*

  Ben took a deep breath, leaning back against the wall so his body was supported. He felt Ronan’s mind step back a pace and he flowed in. The two selves merged into one, and Ben was looking out through Ronan’s eyes, holding the smart-dart with Ronan’s hand. He knew just where the snout of the pistol was in relation to the man’s neck and the trajectory for the smart-dart.

  He brought the pistol into line and squeezed the trigger. Felt, rather than saw, the dart thunk home, but the man didn’t fall. Damn! The Ronan half of the partnership knew the man was big and that he should have increased the dose.

  No, it’s okay. The Ben half of the partnership saw the man had gone rigid. On soft-soled boots he ran out of the shadows and caught him as he fell, easing him into the shadow of the crate.

  *Cara?* Ben surged forward in Ronan’s mind.

  *Enough, Ben.* Ronan gently pushed him back and out, and Ben separated back into his own slumped body.

  Ronan had Cara free. That was what counted.

  A loud explosion shook the ore carrier. The camp’s warning klaxon screamed.

  The door started to slide open. Out in the compound the security lights flared to full brightness. Cara came over the threshold first, followed closely by Ronan.

  *Quick, here.* Ben turned his back and let Ronan slice through his bonds. He had sausage fingers, half-numbed and aching with cramp from the shackles. He couldn’t untie his own feet, so Ronan had to free them, too. Luckily, they were just stiff, but not as cramped as his arms.

  *What’s going on?* Cara asked.

  *I am.* Archie Tatum sounded proud of himself. *And Gupta is.*

  Ben stamped his feet to get rid of incipient pins and needles and ran through the door first with Cara and Ronan close behind. At the far end of the compound a troop of guards swarmed into action.

  *Move it.* Ben dragged Cara forward.

  The klaxon sounded again. One of the ore carriers on the landing pad erupted into a fireball. The blast knocked Ben off his feet and seared his face. He hit the ground at the same time as Ronan and saw Cara tuck herself into a protective position away from the heat. The roar of the explosion died down to be replaced by shouting and yelling as men ran all over the place. On the far side of the compound another explosion took out the engine port of a freighter. A second one ripped through a scout vessel, hurling ragged chunks of debris high into the air.

  *Steady, Arch!* Ben said.

  *That wasn’t me!* Tatum protested.

  *Sorry,* Gupta said. *A bit too close.*

  “Well, score a couple of points for the good guys, anyway.” Ronan sounded self-satisfied.

  They dropped back and found shelter behind a groundcar. Around them it rained fire. In the glow the running bodies merged into the background.

  “There!” Ben indicated the bolt gun in the hand of a fallen guard. It was a crude but effective weapon. “You take it, Cara.”

  “You trust me?”

  “Of course.”

  He knew that his numbed hands weren’t up to handling the delicate action of the trigger. Cara had no liking for the weapon, but he was confident she knew how to use it. It was vicious and unselective, offering spray-burn on its widest setting. On its finest setting it could punch an energy bolt more deadly than a projectile weapon and without the inconvenience of cartridges, but it needed precious seconds, three point two to be precise, to recharge before it was ready to fire a full bolt again.

  Ben pointed to a section of the perimeter which was now unguarded. Something whistled past his ear and exploded across the river behind them. They all doubled over to run low across the compound, keeping a light telepathic contact. Around the corner of one of the cabins they came face-to-face with a guard. Ben’s pace barely altered. Instead of ducking out, he ran straight ahead, and there was the soft smack of flesh on flesh as the guard went down. Ben grabbed his weapon, forcing his numb fingers round the grip, and hit the man a smart blow on the temple with it to keep him down, not too bothered if he didn’t get up again.

  Bent on reaching the edge of the compound, Ben wasn’t interested in detail. He watched for movement of guards, lights, and men, but regarded the grounded vehicles as obstacles or potential shelter.

  Cara faltered by his side.

  Ben pulled her along. *Run!*

  She ran.

  There was one open space between them and the dark edge of the compound. The alarm had subsided, but guards were still scouring the area. The three of them paused, half hidden among a fleet of groundcars. Cara leaned against the metal shell of a parked vehicle and sucked in air. Ben swapped his gun to the other hand and flexed his fingers. Feeling was returning, but slowly.

  *All right?* Ben turned to Ronan.

  Ronan just nodded and his hand shook slightly as he grasped the smart-dart gun.

  *Cara?*

  *Better once we’re out of here.*

  Ben checked the area and nodded for her to move.

  Noiselessly, they ran across the last strip between them and freedom. A bolt cracked past, so close that it sent all three of them diving for the ground. Craike came out of the darkness, straight at them, followed by at least ten armed men. Impossible odds. A bolt cracked again.

  Cara reacted and dropped the nearest guard with a clean shot. As she came to her feet, she brought her gun up level and aimed it directly at Craike, but she didn’t fire.

  Ben came out of a roll at an awkward angle, but his talent saved him and he landed upright, perfectly balanced, with his gun on a white-suited man.

  The guards dropped back. It was a standoff.

  The white buddysuited man raised his arm, drawing Ben’s aim. The man’s palms opened wide and empty; unarmed. He pulled off his face visor and smiled.

  “Ari.” Cara bre
athed his name.

  Ben heard the tone of her voice and his gut twisted, but he didn’t dare turn around to look at her.

  “Take it easy, sweetheart,” van Blaiden said. “Tell your gorilla to put his gun down.”

  Ben’s anger surged, but he held the gun steady.

  Cara was silent. If only he knew what was going on with her.

  He felt Ronan link with him, and just like he had shared his talent for targeting with Ronan, Ronan cut him in on his talent for Empathy.

  Cara’s feelings hit him like a rock. Ari. The man turned her knees to jelly. She wanted him more than anything in the world.

  Ben’s weapon never wavered from the center of van Blaiden’s forehead. He itched to squeeze the trigger.

  Cara swung away from Craike toward Ben. “No, Ben! Put the gun down.”

  “Fight it, Cara, fight it,” Ronan urged. “It’s the conditioning. Fight it.”

  Ben felt her sudden indecision. She began to swing her aim back to Craike, but her arms shook convulsively.

  The window of opportunity was barely ajar. Cara’s concentration was diverted for only a split-second, but it was all that Craike needed. Shit, the man was fast. He fired off two bolts with frightening precision. Ben got off one shot while in motion but knew it had gone wide.

  All options reduced to one, Ben hurled himself toward Cara, feeling the first bolt slice through the air where he’d been. The second exploded above them with awesome power as he drove her down to the ground beneath him, shielding her. I’m hit, he thought, feeling the impact, not as pain, but as a solid, heavy force. Then his world closed in and disappeared.

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  TAKEN

  *Ben. Come on, Ben. Come on.* Cara tried to search for some sign of returning consciousness, but there wasn’t a flicker. They should be dead by now, but they weren’t. Mercifully, the impersonal efficiency of Ari’s mercs had saved them. By the time Ari and Craike had pulled themselves together, Ben, Ronan, and Cara had been safely immobilized and placed under guard.

  They’d been thrown unceremoniously into an ore carrier. Cara counted her wounds, grazes and bruises mostly, found nothing life-threatening, and rolled to her knees wanting to retch.

  Ari would take his revenge. She was in no doubt about that. It had been his plan all along. She thought about everything that had happened since Ari—or rather McLellan had called her out of the forest, or at least the bits she could remember. There were still McLellan-shaped holes. Hell! She’d even had sex with Ari. Bastard! I’ll get you for that!

  Her head ached more than the rest of her. The black sickness had settled on her like a mantle. The block. She understood now. It had ensured her loyalty to Ari and though it was broken, it had been repaired recently enough so that residual tendrils of it still shot through her like quartz through granite. She’d already proved she could fight it . . . she had fought it . . . but could she fight McLellan again?

  “Ben!”

  “Let me see him.” Ronan pulled her aside gently and bent to check Ben. He had no med kit other than a couple of field dressings and emergency pain meds in his belt pouch. Ben had refused them, knowing they’d knock him out for hours, but Ronan had knocked him out anyway—a useful trick. If only it could be used at a distance. While Ben was out, Ronan did what he could, pouring energy toward Ben, stabilizing, revitalizing. There was a scorch mark across the back of Ben’s shoulder where the bolt had flashed too close for comfort. The buddysuit had given some protection, but through the charred fabric Cara could see blistered and angry-red flesh. She could also sense the healing process beginning to soothe the wound. Humbly, she drew back, offering to share what psi-strength she had left with Ronan.

  “Save it for yourself. I think you might need it.” Ronan kept his voice low.

  The doors of the ore carrier growled open slowly. Silhouetted against the light was the unmistakable figure of Victor Lorient, surrounded by guards. Ari van Blaiden stood to one side.

  Lorient stumbled unceremoniously over the threshold, propelled by a firm hand. As the door began to close, Ari looked through the gloom of the cargo bay directly at Cara. “I haven’t forgotten we still have unfinished business,” he said.

  “What did he mean by that?” Lorient asked.

  Cara ignored him. Ari would take his revenge, but first he would make her sweat. She suspected that he would also wait for Ben to regain consciousness. Revenge was much sweeter when your victim had leisure to anticipate it.

  *Is he any better?* she asked Ronan.

  *Let him be. He needs more time,* Ronan said. *Besides, if your ex-boyfriend is as good as his word, you’ve got trouble brewing. If Ben’s conscious, he’s just going to try and protect you and he’s in no fit state to take on either van Blaiden or Craike.*

  *You’re right.* She felt ashamed. She should have thought of that. *They’d kill him just to pay me back. Keep Ben unconscious if you can. Don’t try and look after me. It’s not your fight, and it’s one you’d lose.*

  They passed the remainder of the night cold, hungry, and uncomfortable.

  This is it, Cara thought, as the ore carrier door opened again. She felt strangely calm, knowing that she had no more choices to make. Two mercs loomed, backlit by the early morning sun.

  “You.” One of them pointed to Cara and beckoned.

  Ronan began to come to his feet between her and them.

  *Thanks, but remember what we said,* she told him. *Ari van Blaiden and I have some unfinished business. Tell Ben I . . . *

  *You can tell him yourself when you come back,* Ronan said.

  *Don’t jolly me along. We both know what the chances are.*

  *You’ll find a way. There’s no one I’d rather have on my side in a bust-up than you and Ben.*

  Cara couldn’t look at Ben in case her shell cracked. She needed to keep her mind clear of emotion if she was going to survive.

  *Take care of him for me. Tell him I love him.*

  *I think he knows that.*

  *Tell him I’m sorry for all the wasted time . . . *

  “Hurry. Mr. van Blaiden is waiting.” The taller of the two mercs, a slab-faced, dark-skinned man, noticed her hesitation, but caught nothing of her silent communication with Ronan.

  Cara stepped out onto the exit ramp. What did Ari want? Revenge? Certainly. The knowledge of what she’d done with his files? Yes, though Mrs. McLellan might have extracted that information already. If she was lucky, she’d just have to face Ari alone, but if she wasn’t, then McLellan and Craike would be with him.

  Ari and Craike were like two halves of the same being. Ari was the brains and the personality. Craike was the brawn with an underlying streak of pure nastiness. She shuddered, aware her palms were sweaty.

  • • •

  The guards weren’t Alphacorp, but they looked like a team that worked together regularly. Did Ari have his own fleet now or were they mercenary hirelings? They marched Cara across the dusty compound, still littered with debris. They pushed her up the ramp of the LV and through the doorway into the room in which she’d met Lorient.

  Cara’s eyes adjusted to the change of light. Ari stood still and quiet behind a slide-out table that was doing duty as a desk.

  He stepped out from behind the desk, his soft boots making no sound on the metallic floor. There was an almost overwhelming maleness about him. She would have backed away if there had been somewhere to go.

  “Ah, Cara, you know, I don’t suppose you’ll believe me, but . . .” He laughed—one sharp sound like a dry twig snapping. “I didn’t want it to be like this.”

  She felt him turn on the charm, playing with her emotions. If he was going to try and mess with her mind before he resorted to the heavy stuff, it would buy her some time, but she was determined not to be taken in by him again.

  “Tell that to Craike.”

  “You let me down. I don’t handle rejection too well.” Ari always had a flair for the melodramatic.

  “I owe you one for Donid
a McLellan, but I’m over you now, Ari.” She was bluffing. It was still hard to resist him.

  “But you still couldn’t let your ape shoot me, could you?”

  Suddenly his voice was low and passionate. “It’s not just a trick. You and I, we had such a good thing together, didn’t we?”

  She shuddered, whether with pleasure or revulsion was hard to tell, but she couldn’t deny it. “Too good.” Her voice betrayed her by breaking. She cleared her throat. “It’s a pity you spoiled it.”

  “Your betrayal spoiled it. That hurt.” He sounded as though he couldn’t quite believe it himself. “It’s embarrassingly corny, isn’t it? I let sentiment cloud my judgment. I should have listened to Robert. If I had, you would never have come out of cryo after Felcon.” He shrugged. “But I thought that with the help of Mrs. McLellan, I could have you back again. We were well-matched, you and I.”

  Ari was up so close that she could feel the heat from his body and smell his familiar scent.

  “Cara.” He pushed her up against the wall. His lips found the sensitive spot below her right ear and he kissed the side of her neck above her buddysuit collar. She felt the soft bump of adrenaline in her belly and the back of her knees began to tingle. Her response was automatic, instant and deep. She made as if to put her own arms around him and then froze. “Damn, you, Ari.”

  His hands lingered on her bottom and his fingers bit into her firm flesh as he pulled her pelvis tight against his. His sexuality was almost overpowering. Like a drowning swimmer she struck out for the surface. She pushed him away, knowing if she let herself go, she’d be lost. Damn McLellan’s programming.

  “You know, I could make you forget our differences.”

  “Don’t you mean Mrs. McLellan could?”

  He shrugged. “You’d never want for anything again, and besides, you’ve had time to consider the alternatives. You’ve still got a choice.”

  A choice. Ari, Craike, and Mrs. McLellan—or Ben. No contest. Ari’s face was kissing close. She didn’t back off. His lips found hers again, but she didn’t respond. He stepped back a pace, as if surprised that she hadn’t melted into his arms.

  “Don’t flatter yourself. It’s over.” She had to believe that. “So what now? Are you going to kill me?”