by K. M. Ruiz
Jason didn’t need to ask what it was. He knew, just as every Stryker knew, about the neurotracker one was implanted with upon joining the Stryker ranks. He also knew that removing it should have instantly killed him. Any tampering sent out an immediate signal to the government as a red alert. Standard operating procedure was to terminate. At the very least, the Strykers would know—should know—that he wasn’t wearing it anymore. Which meant—
Jason laughed, the sound desperate. “I thought you said you didn’t want to kill us, because you just did.”
The neurotracker lifted off the floor and was drawn upward by invisible telekinetic power, settling into Lucas’s hand. He crouched down in front of Jason, focusing on him. No apologies were to be found in his gaze.
“Its programming is active. The signal, while blocked right now, still functions. When the time comes, it will send through the government’s security grid, even if it’s no longer in your head,” Lucas said. “They’ll be implanted into some desperate bond worker attached to the skin trade. This procedure is one that my side has done before.”
Jason swallowed drily. “And when the government flips the switch, your chosen little carriers will be dead instead. Do they know that?”
“Of course not. They just think they were paid for a body transfer over international lines. You should really be happy about being taken off your leash, Jason. Most of you Strykers are when we pull you off the field before you’re terminated.”
Jason squinted up at him. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Nothing that matters at the moment, since I’m no longer a Warhound. I haven’t been for many years.”
“I doubt that.”
“Lucky for both of us I don’t care what you think, just what you can do.”
Lucas stood up and walked away. Jason had no other choice but to stay where he was, listening to a strange, rough voice mutter behind him as this doctor, whoever he was, grafted pieces of his skull back together and closed his skin inside the safety of the makeshift sterility field. Whatever drugs he’d been given were beginning to wear off quickly, and Jason could feel exactly what had been done to him. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to breathe through it all.
Eventually it was over. The operation complete, Lucas lifted the telekinetic hold he had on Jason. Able to move, Jason straightened up in the seat and immediately regretted it. Nausea came, swift and brutal, and he puked stomach acid onto the floor while Lucas kept him from falling over with a hand on his shoulder.
Jason lifted one hand to the back of his skull, feeling the small area of shaved hair there, the sealed skin, and the hardness of a quick-heal patch. His bones ached.
“I can give you more drugs,” Lucas said. “Except you know as well as I do that a psion’s metabolism will burn through them in less than thirty minutes. Still want them?”
“I’ll manage,” Jason rasped as he spat bile-coated saliva onto the floor.
“Better than most, I suspect. Come on. Your team captain seems to think I’m torturing you, even though I already proved that I wasn’t after putting Quinton and Kerr through the same procedure. She got to go first.”
“We aren’t a team. She’s not my captain.”
“I know. But it irritates her to be called that.”
Lucas hauled Jason to his feet, watching critically as the Stryker struggled to stay upright. The doctor shuffled around the operating area, and Jason nearly lost control of his stomach again after getting a good first look at the man’s face.
The doctor had no eyes and half his skull had been replaced by metal plating. In place of organic material was bioware designed to process images to the brain in microscopic layers that traditional human eyesight could never hope to attain. Glittering wires frayed out of the man’s eye sockets around tiny optics, twining back inside his body through his temples, feeding into his brain. Everything about the doctor’s appearance was illegal, and Jason felt contaminated just looking at him.
“Korman is one of the finest transplant surgeons on the black market,” Lucas said, sounding almost cheerful as he steered Jason out of the room. “The best part is that he did all of this for free.”
“Only because you altered his mind,” Threnody said as they stepped out into a cluttered living space, if one could call the mess livable. Her voice, Jason noticed, was slurred just a little.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
The faint sound of displaced air came from the makeshift operating room. Jason glanced over his shoulder, seeing that the doctor had disappeared. “Warhound?”
“No,” Lucas said calmly. “Mine. I teleported him somewhere else to finish the transfer.”
The three Strykers were sitting around a rickety table in various stages of recovery. Jason’s eyes settled on Kerr, and the telekinetic moved over to his partner as quickly as he could, sitting down heavily on the bench there.
“You’re bleeding through your shields,” Jason said, studying the familiar pain lines on Kerr’s face that weren’t all just because of the surgery. “Get behind mine.”
Kerr’s face twisted just a little. “Jays, you just got out of brain surgery. I can’t—”
“That wasn’t a goddamn request, Kerr. Just do it.”
Jason pretended that Lucas wasn’t watching them, that he didn’t have his telepathy anchored tightly in their thoughts, allowing what needed to be done only after Jason glared at him. Kerr burrowed through the bond that linked him to Jason, transferring as much of his power behind the thick natal shields that stood out in stark relief against Jason’s mind as he could. The pressure in Kerr’s own mind eased, leveled off, as Jason’s shields took up the task of protection that he was incapable of providing himself.
“Interesting.” Jason glanced over at Lucas, not liking the calculating look in those dark blue eyes. Lucas just smiled, the expression remote as he crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m sure all of you have questions.”
“You think?” Threnody’s voice was caustic. “You condemned us to rogue status.”
“I saved you,” Lucas corrected. “And if you want to know why, you’ll follow me outside.”
“Here’s not good enough?”
“These walls have eyes and ears that I don’t trust. Camden Market is safer.”
It wasn’t, not really, but Strykers thought differently from Warhounds. Threnody stared at Lucas, details clicking into place about what they now knew of the Serca Syndicate, and what they knew of the Warhounds. Camden Market was in London, and London was dominated by the Serca Syndicate as much as it was by the government.
“You brought us to the Warhounds’ home turf and you think this is safe?” she demanded.
“What better place to hide you than here in plain sight?” Lucas reached up and tapped the side of his head before sliding a pair of dark glasses over his eyes. “I’ve got you all off the mental grid under my power. You read as human, just like I do, and I can make all of you disappear completely if I need to.”
“How?” Kerr asked.
“Today’s not the day you learn that trick. Now let’s go.”
They left the back-alley surgery room for the pipe dreams and broken promises of Camden Market because they had no choice. Quinton kept a hand on Threnody and both eyes on Lucas, while Kerr helped Jason up the rickety stairs to the street. The silent looks the four shared were mirrored by the thoughts in their heads. If there was even a slim possibility at escape, could they take it?
You won’t get further than the thought of it, Lucas promised. So don’t bother trying.
Threnody stumbled on the way up, swearing as Quinton caught her before she hit the crumbling cement steps. Her arms and legs were shaking ever so slightly, and it wasn’t just because of the operation.
“Can you feel?” Quinton asked her as he took more of her weight.
“I’m not paralyzed,” Threnody said.
“That’s not what I asked.”
“There’s some numbness.” Threno
dy bit her bottom lip and struggled the rest of the way up. “I’ve lost some muscle control.”
“We need a real medical center with a biotank and nanites. The disconnect you’re experiencing is going to be lethal in another day or two if we don’t get you fixed up all the way.”
“I know.”
It was more than just knowing that she was dying from the inside out. Jin Li’s power had short-circuited her body just as it had in Johannesburg. Only back then, she’d been at her best. This time, she’d been patched. Her nervous system was breaking down, a slow, uncontrollable death that would eventually trickle down from the voluntary functions to the involuntary functions of her body. Quinton didn’t want to watch her drown with air in her lungs.
You’ll be all right, Lucas said into her mind alone as they reached a heavily secured door. He opened it telekinetically. Korman fixed what he could after pulling out the neurotracker. He’s done the same sort of operation on other Strykers over the years. Your power will do the rest on its own. Aisling said today isn’t your time to die. Neither is tomorrow. You’ll recover.
Who the hell is Aisling?
You’ll find out soon enough.
His promise wasn’t one Threnody would ever trust. Lucas just laughed off her fear as they stepped outside.
Camden Market shone with the glitter of hologrids against the evening sky, neon light edging their faces as they joined a crowd looking for an escape that would never be found in the gutters. Not here, not in the place that was the world’s entertainment and pleasure center, built on the back of the skin trade.
The streets teemed with people looking to sell, looking to buy, looking to forget, areas of London carved into territories by gangs who would never live longer than their next adrenaline rush if they were lucky. Whores sold themselves with a look, on their knees no matter their gender so long as the price was right. Addicts looked for their next fix, hands curved into the signs of their individual requests, begging for the next possible high. And all through the miscreants roamed the gray-uniformed quads of military soldiers, their pulse-rifles set to kill, never to stun. They were the only law down here, but it was anyone’s guess on who lined their pockets this hour—the government or those on the streets.
Lucas led the Strykers with telepathic and telekinetic chains that replaced the collars the eyeless doctor had cut away. His power guided them to an outside pub that was all counter and nothing else. Aside from the watered-down beer—the vidscreens behind the barkeep advertised a dozen different drafts, but only two ever poured out at any given time—the place also doled out protein meals. Plastic bowls full of GMO rice and cubes of colorless protein that had no flavor would never be their first choice, but it was calories, and they needed that almost as badly as they needed answers.
The Strykers practically fell on the bowls Lucas passed out to them at the far end of the long bar, space provided to them by a subtle telepathic nudge. The beer was stale and warm, but it was distilled enough that it didn’t taste too acidic. Lucas watched them eat over his own bowl, dark blue eyes still hidden behind his glasses.
“Does your entire family consist of psions?” Threnody asked around a mouthful of food, ignoring how much it hurt to chew while she watched a heavily armed quad walk past their position. She hunched her shoulders a little and turned her face away from the four soldiers.
“We can trace our lineage back to the Border Wars” was all Lucas said.
“Fuck,” Kerr muttered. “I’m going to take that as a yes.”
“Why didn’t you kill us?” Threnody wanted to know.
“I needed you alive,” Lucas said. “A rebellion can’t consist of just one person if everything is going to get accomplished.”
He was looking at Threnody when he said it, the twist of his lips almost a smile. A flash of bleached-out violet eyes flickered through her mind again. The memory wasn’t hers and it hurt after the operation she had just gone through. She reached up to press one hand against the side of her already aching head, as if she could press the pain way by sheer will alone.
“Stop it,” Threnody said.
“Thren?” Quinton said, glancing between her and Lucas. When Lucas ignored him, Quinton reached out and gripped his partner’s shoulder. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m making a point,” Lucas said.
Quinton glared at him. “Get out of her head.”
Threnody grabbed hold of Quinton and kept him in his seat by digging her fingernails into his skin. Quinton didn’t move. Lucas stayed in her mind.
“Aisling makes it difficult to believe in her.” Lucas took another bite. Always has, though the results are worth the effort.
His telepathy flared up in their minds, reminding them that he was, and would remain, there in the back of their thoughts until he chose to let them go. If he ever did.
“Who?” Kerr finally asked for all of them.
“Not who,” Lucas corrected. “What. She’s the reason why I’m doing this. She’s the reason why I need all of you.”
Kerr frowned. “When do we meet her?”
“You don’t.”
“So, if you’re not going to kill us, and we don’t get to meet some girl, when are you going to mindwipe us?” Jason said, mouth twisting with disgust. “Or have you done it already?”
“As of right now, I need you all with minds and personalities intact. Though I’ll have to find time to fix what your side never bothered to diagnose. You Strykers never cease to astound me with your stupidity. Two wrongly Classified psions active and in the field. You were both accidents waiting to happen.”
“What are you talking about?” Threnody said. “And can you do it more quietly? Someone will hear you.”
“Everyone’s ignoring us because I’m telling them to. They won’t remember a thing. What I’m talking about is the mess that are those two.” Lucas took another bite of food, chewed, swallowed it, then pointed his fork at Jason and Kerr. “Or didn’t you know both are dual psions and that Jason hasn’t reached his full potential yet?”
Jason and Kerr stared at Lucas as if he were absolutely crazy. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kerr said flatly.
“Fuck you,” Lucas said with a bark of laughter. “I’m a Class I triad psion. I know the human and not-so-human mind better than any Stryker ever will. I know what you are, Kerr, and I know what Jason should be.”
“I’m a Class II telepath.”
“Also a Class IX empath, something your side apparently missed when giving you your Class rank.”
The look in Kerr’s eyes was glacial. His tone was just as cold. “That’s impossible. A Class IX is a baseline human ranking and I think I know my own mind.”
“A Class IX still has traces of psion power. It’s the gradient Class, the one where people are either mostly human or mostly not,” Lucas explained in a tone one reserved for a small child. “Your telepathic strength overshadowed your secondary power by a huge margin, and there’s no one Classed higher than you in the Strykers Syndicate to ferret out that channel of empathic power. You might not have known your empathy was there, but your mind did. Over the years, it tried to compensate for it. The result is that you’re a fucking mess and your shields always fall because you can’t gear mental shields solely toward one power when you’ve got two.”
Lucas looked at Jason. “And you. A Class V telekinetic with natal shields that have never fallen. Didn’t it ever occur to anyone in your Syndicate that our first shields need to fall in order to release our powers, or haven’t you ever wondered about what your mind is still holding back?”
Jason recoiled from Lucas as if he’d been burned.
“Scientists can reverse engineer pretty much any technological equipment on the planet given enough approval from the government,” Lucas said. “I can reverse engineer the process of the human mind. You need access to all your power, Jason. I just need to figure out how to make that happen.”
“That’s impossible,” Jason said. “My sh
ields won’t break. People have tried.”
“Not hard enough. If the government can rebuild space shuttles for a launch into space, then I sure as hell can find a way to break your shields.”
“What are you talking about?” Threnody said sharply. “What launch?”
Lucas signaled the barkeep for another bowl of food. He had hardly touched his beer. “I suppose if I said that I wanted all of you to trust me, you wouldn’t believe me.”
“We’re Strykers,” Quinton said. “We don’t trust anyone.”
“Then you’ll have to believe in ulterior motives, and not just my own.” The barkeep placed the requested bowl in front of Lucas without really seeing him. Lucas mixed the food all together before starting in on it. “How good is your history?”
“Regarding what?” Kerr said.
“Everything. Specifically, what started the Border Wars.”
“A launch command” was Quinton’s sardonic answer as he took a swallow of his beer. “Several thousand of them.”
Lucas smiled humorlessly. “Yes, but over what?”
“Who knows? Resources, probably. Everyone back then was fighting over what their neighbors had, same as they are right now.”
“Depends on the neighbors. Countries blew each other up because no one could launch a nuke to Mars and hope it would hit the colony there.”
All four Strykers gave Lucas their undivided attention at that announcement, staring at him with a mixture of disbelief and confusion in their eyes.
“What are you talking about?” Threnody asked slowly.
“It’s not common knowledge. The government didn’t want it to be.” Lucas shrugged his opinion on that. “They couldn’t wipe out the fact that the Border Wars happened because we’re living with the aftermath still, but they were able to make people forget the reason why it all started. Everyone wanted an escape to Mars from a dying Earth, and in the end, no one got it. The world population was small enough after the war happened, and people were desperate enough, to accept the dictates of the World Court as the new government so long as they were saved. Funny how things haven’t really changed.”