by K. M. Ruiz
“You remember the Stryker with the natal shields that Lucas took with him out of the Slums?” Nathan said, his attention still riveted on the pirate stream.
“Jason Garret, yes. I’ve read his file.”
“We’re still pulling details from the fight in Buffalo out of everyone’s memories. I believe that Stryker is more than just a Class V telekinetic.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I fought him in the Slums. He was only a telekinetic, and not a very good one.”
It was questionable how Nathan would react to being argued with, but Gideon could no longer remain silent. He’d been third in line to this post, never expecting to hold it, not until Lucas walked away. Samantha, bare minutes older than he was, never seemed to want it, but would have taken the position if offered. If required. It was his now, as the last child Nathan had left, the last Serca that would follow Nathan into space. An heir to whatever Nathan would build out of Mars Colony and the unsuspecting humans who were seeking refuge there. Gideon was determined not to squander his chance.
“The mental grid buckled, for lack of a better description.” Nathan tapped his fingers against the hard shine of his desk, command windows popping up with each precise pressure against the touch-sensitive controls of the console. “Tracking him became impossible afterwards. Lucas must have shown him how to read as human on the mental grid.”
Gideon frowned. “The mental grid doesn’t buckle. It can’t.”
“It did.” Nathan coolly met Gideon’s gaze. “Whatever secondary power Jason might have, its strength is off the charts. He can’t be solely categorized as a Class V, or even a Class I.”
“A Class I has been the highest rank handed out to psions for decades. The only Class higher is a Class 0,” Gideon said. “And the only ones ever given that ranking are precognitives. You know how rare those psions are.”
“In our entire history, there have only been three precogs. None of them have been dual or triad psions, and all died before the age of five. It’s impossible that Jason is a precog.”
“Then what do you think he is?”
“What Lucas never was.”
Gideon opened his mouth, then closed it. He couldn’t hide his surprise, nor the brief spurt of jealousy. Everyone knew Lucas hadn’t turned out to be what Nathan needed, no matter the amount of gene splicing that helped form his genetics. Psion DNA was difficult to work with and the results were unpredictable. Lucas was born a triad psion instead of a microtelekinetic, and he’d been living with that failure all his life.
“Can you be certain?” Gideon asked. “How could Lucas have known about this? About any of it?”
“Only Lucas can answer that question. This”—Nathan gestured at the feed, which was repeating itself—“is Lucas’s doing. Everything from here on out will be Lucas’s doing, and countering it is going to be difficult. Some of the public will believe this information, and there are those who will not. Who cannot. Regardless, preparing for the launch just got more complicated.”
“What do you need from me?”
“I want Jason Garret,” Nathan said flatly. “I want his power for use on Mars Colony. You will track him down and retrieve him. Which means a visit to the Strykers Syndicate is in order, since Lucas has proven impossible to pin down. They’ll have better records than we do on their missing Strykers. Also, I want you to determine whether or not they are dealing under the table with Lucas.”
“If I do this for you, will you finally trust me?”
Nathan’s gaze cut into Gideon. “That has no bearing on what I require from you right now.”
“I think it does.”
“Considering the results I’ve wanted for the past two years, and which neither you nor your sister could provide, you aren’t in any position to demand anything from me. If Lucas was dead, things would most certainly be different, and you wouldn’t be living in his shadow.”
Gideon straightened in his seat. “Then perhaps you should have done it yourself.”
“You place a lot of faith in the idea that I won’t kill you,” Nathan said, sliding behind Gideon’s mental shields with a dexterity that belied his age.
“You need me,” Gideon said, flinching against the pain in his head, but he didn’t look away from his father’s face. “You’ve got no one else to succeed you. I’m all you have left.”
“You are not what I require.”
“None of us ever were. Now there’s a psion out in the world who is, and it’s your choice not to hunt him down directly. You want us to use back channels, and I don’t know if that will be enough.” Gideon lifted his chin, defiance in every line of his body. “I think you could find him, if you really wanted to. But it would cost you, wouldn’t it, Nathan? It would cost you in effort and in power and in years. You’re too close to your promised land to risk it, so you risk us instead.”
Nathan studied his third child, telepathy sliding through thoughts that Gideon didn’t bother to hide. “The arrogance of youth has always been annoying. You can’t kill me, Gideon.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Yet.” The look that settled on Nathan’s face could almost be described as pride. “I think you’re worth it after all.”
Gideon’s smile was all teeth. “Thank you.”
“Now show me you deserve it and bring back that Stryker.”
The pressure of Nathan in Gideon’s mind leveled off. “Will anyone in the Strykers Syndicate be expecting us?”
“No.”
“I’ll need a telepath,” Gideon said, wishing he didn’t. Working with someone who wasn’t his twin was going to be strange.
“Warrick is being briefed.”
“I need someone stronger than a Class IV.”
“He’ll have others in merge with him if things turn out messy.” Nathan glanced at the chrono ticking away on the vidscreen. “I have a meeting in two hours and need to prep for it. Keep me updated. You’re dismissed.”
Gideon left, teleporting to the private levels of the city tower that housed the Serca Syndicate. A faint twinge of pain blossomed in the back of his head at the use of his power, a reminder that he wasn’t completely healed yet. If he could have taken another few days to recuperate, he would have. Except Nathan needed him and that need came before Gideon’s health.
Gideon stepped off the arrival platform. He headed for a briefing room down the hall and found Warrick Sinclair finishing up with an operations officer. The Class IV telepath was with two other telepaths, Mercedes Vargas and James Olsen, Class VII and Class V respectively. Their lower rankings would bolster Warrick’s in the merge. When the operations officer left the room and Gideon stepped inside, Warrick and the other two stood.
“Sir,” Warrick said. “Good to have you back.”
Gideon nodded at the acknowledgment. “You know we’re switching targets. Looking for this Stryker is going to be as difficult as looking for Lucas. Maybe worse. Were you ever assigned to track Lucas?”
“Once. Nothing came of it.”
“I’ve got some defensive tricks we were both taught as high-Classed psions, and I know how Samantha looked for him during her missions. I’ll give them to you. We’re assuming Lucas shared them with the Strykers he’s allied with.”
“This Stryker we’re after. Is he the one who fucked up the mental grid?”
“That’s the working theory. Were you in Buffalo?”
“No, I stayed behind in Toronto until I got called back here. Mercedes was there.”
Gideon turned his attention on the slight young woman standing beside Warrick. “Do you have the target’s psi signature?”
“No, sir,” Mercedes said. “When that power hit the mental grid, it didn’t stay static. It changed and kept changing until it was cut off.”
“We’ve got his original psi signature in our files,” Gideon said. “And I’ve got memories of the feel of them from Samantha in my head. See if you can’t meld the two with the one that appeared after the fight in Buffalo
.”
Mercedes pressed her mind against Gideon’s shields, her power completely alien to the feel of Samantha’s telepathy. With vicious force, Gideon shoved his thoughts and memories of his twin to the back of his mind, compartmentalizing the loss. Regret had no room in war.
He had natal shields? Mercedes asked, surprised. Swiftly, she shared the information with the other two telepaths.
Gideon thought about what Nathan had said, why they’d been assigned this mission, and reached his own conclusion. Not anymore.
Warrick stayed linked with Mercedes. Combining the two will be difficult.
“We’ll have some time to work on that in Toronto before we drop in on the Strykers,” Gideon said as Warrick left Gideon’s mind. “Get your gear and meet back here in fifteen minutes.”
The three telepaths left. Gideon looked down at his hands and only then noticed that both were shaking. It took effort to make them stop.
Samantha was no longer there to remind him. He needed to remember to do it for himself.
[TWENTY]
SEPTEMBER 2379
LONDON, UNITED KINGDOM
The meeting of the Serca Syndicate’s subsidiaries started precisely at noon. The agenda, however, had changed. Sydney Athe, the patriarch of the Athe Syndicate and family, looked Nathan straight in the eye. Beyond him, the pirate stream played on the vidscreen embedded in the wall.
“Who leaked those shots?” Sydney demanded, not caring that he was nothing more than Nathan’s subordinate now and not someone to be wooed.
“It doesn’t matter,” Nathan said, voice cool. “They were given to the public. The fallout of this will be dealt with by the World Court. I’m sure Travis can handle it.”
Anger flashed over Sydney’s face at the mention of his son. “It will become our problem once people discover that it was my company which enabled our return to space.”
“Your company is owned by mine now. I’ll deal with the problem.” Nathan smiled tightly. “You’re here to be introduced as the newest member and to affirm the schedule that the World Court has laid down. Due to the unfortunate revelation of the Paris Basin, this meeting is now about protecting our investments.”
“You promised us berths on that colony ship,” a woman halfway down the long table said.
“And those berths remain. Unless, of course, the World Court’s requirements force me to pare down my lists.” Nathan shrugged. “The launch date currently stands at the end of September and running into October. It was moved up almost a month by order of the World Court. I would be surprised if they don’t move it again considering the latest development. Right now, authorized registered citizens are being moved to transport points.”
“Do they know why?” Sydney said. His gaze flickered over to the vidfeed of the stream in question.
“No, but they’ll figure it out. The average citizen can’t reach Paris. That entire country is a deadzone. Physical proof of what’s going on will be hard to come by, but it will be found. As much as we would like for the government to keep this and other information hidden, that won’t happen.”
Of those sitting at the table, only Sydney knew Nathan’s true genetic identity. He also knew that Nathan’s heir was no longer Lucas, something Nathan hadn’t yet publically confirmed. Right now, Nathan didn’t need his son to take center stage on any issue, and for all that he was a reluctant supporter of Nathan’s goals, Sydney knew better than to threaten with the truth.
“I want all of you to start winding down your individual companies immediately. Try to keep your efforts out of the media,” Nathan said, gaze sweeping across the table. He thought about how much easier it would be if he could simply mindwipe everyone into obedience. Unfortunately, all those seated at the conference table with him had a bioware net grafted to their brain, which meant it would take daylong individual meetings with each to perform the necessary psi surgery on them. That was time he no longer had.
“That’s going to be difficult given the current crisis,” someone said from the far end of the table.
“That is not my problem,” Nathan said. “I want it done. Make sure you remind the people cleared for the transport points that if they speak about the launch, they lose their place on the shuttles.”
“We’ll remind them,” Sydney said.
“Good. Let’s move on to the next issue.”
The meeting should have taken hours. It didn’t. They weren’t forty minutes into their agenda, the tea and coffee barely lukewarm, when a sharp knock on the conference room door interrupted the conversation.
“Sir,” Nathan’s secretary said as she stepped inside. “You have an uplink.”
“I’m busy,” Nathan said. “It can wait.”
“Sir, it’s from The Hague.”
Which could only mean one person. Nathan refused to let emotion show on his face as he excused himself from the proceedings.
“It’s a secure uplink on their end,” the woman said.
“I’ll take it in my office.”
It took roughly five minutes for him to make it to his private office, going by lift. He couldn’t teleport, not with so many people around. When Nathan finally arrived, he opened the uplink on his desk terminal and then Erik’s face was filling the vidscreen.
“To what do I owe this meeting?” Nathan asked.
“We have a problem,” Erik said flatly.
“Yes, I’ve seen the pirate stream. There is—”
“That’s not what I’m talking about. The quads up north missed their designated check-in two days ago.”
Nathan kept the annoyance out of his voice through long practice. “Why am I only being notified of this now?”
“The World Court doesn’t bow to you, Nathan,” Erik said, voice cold and vicious. “This didn’t become your problem until we had solid evidence that the seed bank was broken into. Half the supplies are gone. That is why I am calling you.”
For a second, Nathan couldn’t breathe. Surprise did not come naturally, as Nathan prided himself on knowing the world’s secrets. How he had missed seeing this, knowing this, was beyond him. His team of Warhounds situated in Longyearbyen should have warned him.
Lucas.
Every time his son had infiltrated Serca Syndicate branches and subsidiary companies over the past two years, stealing disparate amounts of information that never added up, Nathan had been left wondering why. Nathan mentally ripped through everything he knew about Lucas’s actions during his time on the run. Just a vast sleight of hand when the real goal was so much bigger—a psion with a coveted power and supplies to feed a world. If Lucas wanted to buy his way into power, that would be enough incentive to make anyone agree.
Lucas never had any intention of leaving Earth. He wasn’t planning an insurrection on Mars. Nathan could see that now, could see what his son was striving for. The release of evidence about the Paris Basin was merely a distraction. The World Court would have to deal with the fallout of that before pursuing the robbery of the one thing left in the world that was absolutely priceless. The seeds weren’t scheduled to be moved until the week of the actual launch to alleviate the risks of transfer from the environment they’d been stored in for so long.
“What do you want from me?” Nathan said after a few seconds of silence.
Erik let out a harsh laugh. “I’m going into closed session with the rest of the World Court to hammer out a new timeline for the launch. We’re pushing it up again and it’s going to be brutal. You are going to Spitsbergen to help Elion with the transfer of everything left up there. I’m sending a small contingent of Strykers as security.”
Nathan thought about how easy it would be to end Erik’s life. Unfortunately, murder wasn’t always the best course of action. Getting rid of Erik now would only bring more chaos, and Nathan had enough problems to deal with already. Later, he could weigh the risk of the president’s early death.
“When did you mobilize the Strykers?” Nathan said.
“An hour ago.”
&nb
sp; “I’m in the middle of a meeting that I can cut short, but the world press has been requesting a statement since the pirate stream showed up. I need to make one.”
“Don’t,” Erik said. “I’ve already ordered most Syndicates to keep silent on the matter. When the World Court finally comes to a decision on how to handle this fucked-up mess, you’ll get your orders.”
The uplink cut out, leaving Nathan no option but to play by human rules.
[TWENTY-ONE]
SEPTEMBER 2379
TORONTO, CANADA
The room was white.
For a long moment, Ciari thought she was dreaming, that the colorlessness of the place was due to her mind dying. Recognition came slowly to her, of where she was, who she was.
She couldn’t remember why that was important.
“You’re a mess,” a quiet voice said from nearby. “I can’t fix you this time around. I’m sorry.”
Ciari moved her head a little, just enough to see the person standing next to her bedside. The petite black woman wore white medical scrubs, thin dreads pulled back away from an angular face.
“Jael,” Ciari said, the name sliding through her thoughts. Her voice was rough, tongue dry, as if she hadn’t moved her mouth in days, which was probably the case.
“Yes,” Jael said as she stepped forward. She carried a tiny cup and proceeded to feed Ciari ice chips until the dryness of her throat faded. Eventually, Jael set the cup aside. “How do you feel?”
Ciari watched as Jael crossed her arms over her chest, fingers digging into her uniform. The skin over her knuckles was ashy and drawn, the expression on the other woman’s face ruthlessly neutral. Except—Ciari could see the tightness in her jaw, the way her mouth curved ever so slightly upward at one corner, the way her eyes were just a shade too wide. Tiny details that most people would miss, except Ciari had spent her entire life reading the emotionality of the human body.
Only now, she didn’t know what it meant.
“I don’t know,” Ciari said. “How should I feel?”