by K. M. Ruiz
“It will stand for now,” Lucas said as he squinted into the dawn. The city tower he once called home was backlit by the rising sun. “Nathan still needs it as a launching point to Paris for his Warhounds. He’s not going to risk losing them because of the riots.”
All of them wore specialized skinsuits capable of shielding against radiation, with hard helmets instead of skinmasks coverings their heads. The places they needed to go weren’t kind to survivors. Samantha adjusted the strap on her shoulder, the metal carrying case also shielded against radiation. It held extra supplies they couldn’t risk getting contaminated, items she would need when they got to Paris.
Kristen wandered to the edge of the roof, crouching down beside the crumbling safety wall. “They’re all so angry,” she said, smiling through the words. She turned her head to glance back at her siblings, the sunlight skating over her gleaming dark blue eyes, turning them silver for an instant. “Are we going to keep it?”
“Don’t concern yourself with London, Kris. It’s not your problem.”
Lucas lifted a hand and gestured at Kristen, telekinetically pulling her back from the ledge. She was deposited back beside Samantha, the older girl looking disdainfully down at her sister.
“I wish you would take her with you,” Samantha said, pointing at Kristen. “I can handle Paris on my own.”
“Perhaps, but Kris will keep you honest.”
Samantha’s mouth curled up contemptuously. “Don’t trust me?”
They were all three of them Sercas, with complicated blood ties and psi links that bound them together to an impossible degree. Lucas was supposed to one day own their family’s Syndicate, and the rest were simply supposed to fall in line and obey. He had learned—eventually—that blind obedience was never useful.
“I trust you more than you could possibly imagine,” Lucas said, surprising Samantha with that confession. Then he telekinetically yanked her to his side, Samantha’s body cutting through the air until she was eye to eye with him, feet centimeters above the ground. “But don’t mistake your freedom for something it isn’t.”
Samantha stabbed her telepathy into his mind, holding it against his shields, knowing better than to attack any further. That Lucas let her get that far had more to do with his twisted sense of generosity than her skill. Something deep in his mind resonated in her own, and it sparked pain throughout her head.
She closed her eyes for a second or two. “What did you do to me?”
“What had to be done.”
He shoved her away, retracting his telekinesis. Samantha couldn’t keep her balance and fell, skidding against the grit and old debris on the rooftop. Her teeth bit through the inside of her cheek at the impact. Swearing, she got to her feet, swallowing blood and saliva.
“If this is what having siblings is like, I think I’m glad I never knew mine,” Kerr said.
Samantha shot him a dirty look. “A field partner is nothing like a family.”
Kerr gave her a pitying look. “Yeah, but I never have to watch my back around them.”
Kristen closed the distance between herself and Samantha, wrapping her arms around the other girl’s waist and resting her head on Samantha’s shoulder. Kristen only had eyes for Lucas. “It hurts here. Can we stay?”
“No,” Lucas told her. “We can’t.”
Samantha extracted herself from Kristen’s grip. “She’s unstable, Lucas. She’s going to make this mission difficult. You really should have left her behind.”
“She’ll be all right.” Lucas glanced in the direction of the city towers before saying, “Hold on everyone.”
The next teleport was shorter than the last, taking them to Paris. They arrived on a dilapidated street braced by the gutted remains of buildings survived only by their foundations. Some streets were collapsed into the subways, quarries, and sewers that existed beneath the old city. They could make out a few scraggly trees and bushes nearby, none of which looked healthy.
What they could see of the city around them consisted of hard, discolored dirt in craters that broke up ancient asphalt, and stunted vegetation that crawled over the surrounding ruins. In the distance, a rusted and broken Eiffel Tower clawed for prominence in a sky that was eclipsed by launch platforms built over the dead city. Sunlight was a bit brighter here; they’d lost an hour in that split-second teleport.
Threnody walked a few meters away from the group, slowly turning to take in a rotting city that had been one of the greatest capitals on earth. “Hard to believe millions once lived here. I wonder what it was like?”
“Loud, cramped, and noisy, I would guess,” Kerr said. “Like a bunker city, but with sky over your head instead of a metal roof and dirt beyond it.”
Samantha looked across the distance that separated them from the launch platforms. Even as they watched, a space shuttle was barreling down the long, curved launch ramp, hurtling itself into the sky. The smoke trails of previous launches left a haze in the air. The hard helmets they wore made it impossible for them to smell the exhaust and stagnant pollution.
Warhounds are scattered all over those platforms, Samantha said at the edge of Lucas’s mind. She went to pull Kristen away from a crumbling set of ruins that had caught her attention.
Nathan might be holding them back, Lucas replied. Probably to coordinate the transfer of their people. I doubt they’ll need to get rid of any extraneous registered humans anytime soon. There’s plenty of seats right now for them to take over.
We need to get inside.
I know. I’m looking for the right pair of eyes. Lucas had his own closed in concentration.
Once we have what you need, what then?
I’ll bring you back and we stand our ground, so to speak.
Samantha glanced over at him. You’re serious about the Strykers, aren’t you?
Yes. We need them just like we need the humans that are being left behind. More so, since they’re going to be our source of power.
You really think they’ll bow to you? After so many years dying for the humans, do you honestly think once they’ve tasted freedom, the Strykers will accept you holding them down again?
I’m the one who made their freedom possible. You’d be surprised what sort of loyalty that can buy.
Samantha’s hand tightened on Kristen’s shoulder, an involuntary protest to the knowledge that her loyalty hadn’t been bought, but forcibly imposed on her.
“Found her,” Lucas said, opening his eyes.
“Found who?” Kerr asked.
“Dalia.”
Kristen perked up at the name and let out a gleeful little chuckle. “Nathan isn’t going to be happy you’ve touched his toy.”
“I’m not going to use her mind. The fact that she’s still here means Nathan hasn’t arrived yet. She’s coordinating shuttle routes.”
Lucas didn’t use Dalia to get a visual. Instead, he skimmed through the static human minds showing up on the mental grid, dipping in and out of dozens until he found the one he needed. The scientist in question knew the layout of the Command Center, knew the restricted areas that people left vacant for hours. Lucas pried from the man’s memory the image of a dimly lit room belowground, surrounded by metal and machines.
It wasn’t the best thing to draw from—human memory was so easily broken—but he managed to piece the room together through other people’s memories once he knew what to look for. When he finalized the visual, Lucas teleported them into a cramped generator room. They dropped down onto a metal floor, all five of them appearing in the small aisle between machines.
Kerr moved and bumped his shoulder against a safety railing as machines thrummed loudly around them. “Shit, Lucas. Cutting it a little close, aren’t you?”
“I know the space I ’port into,” Lucas said.
Threnody craned her head around, taking in the loud machinery. “Where are we?” she asked, raising her voice in order to be heard.
“One of the support columns that holds up the Command Center.”
> “We’re surrounded by wastewater? Bloody hell,” Samantha said as she undid the helmet of her skinsuit and pulled it off. She scratched around the bioware lining her face to hide her identity. “Is using Dalia an option at all, Lucas?”
He shook his head. “Nathan’s been in near constant contact with her. Don’t try it.”
“She’d be the best source of information on security.”
“Which has all been severely altered due to the move-up of the launch. I don’t want to gamble on Nathan discovering our presence.”
“All right.” Samantha dropped her case to the floor. Kneeling, she dug through it for the clothes she and Kristen would wear to disguise themselves and the dark glasses that would hide their distinctive eyes. “Kristen and I will get you what you need. I’ll contact you when we’re finished for an extraction.”
“Don’t get caught,” Threnody said.
“I know how to do my job,” Samantha said without looking up.
Lucas didn’t say good luck or good-bye before teleporting out. Samantha didn’t expect him to. Their family didn’t believe in something as flimsy as luck. Blackmail, torture, and political maneuverings, yes—but not luck.
[THIRTY-TWO]
SEPTEMBER 2379
THE HAGUE, THE NETHERLANDS
“The drug cartels have overridden the barriers around the city towers in Sapporo, sir,” an aide said, looking at a point over Erik’s shoulder. “Reports coming in state that four of the thirteen city towers have been destroyed by dissident bombings.”
Erik half rose from his desk, hands pressed flat against it. “What?”
The aide drew in a shaky breath, sparing a glance down at the datapad he held in his hand. “That’s all we have at the moment. We’re still trying to get numbers on casualties.”
“There shouldn’t be any goddamn casualties!” Erik snarled. “Where were the Strykers when this happened?”
“In the field, sir. The security grid showed that some died during the collapse.”
“They died during a collapse that shouldn’t have happened. Where was the military? Where were the rest of the Strykers dispatched to protect registered humans?”
The aide swallowed, glancing over his shoulder at the door he’d come through. “The, ah, the OIC of the Strykers Syndicate is here to address that.”
Erik froze where he stood, body going tense. His eyes narrowed at that announcement, fury momentarily twisting his face into something ugly. “Bring her in.”
The aide scurried out; Ciari let herself inside. Erik studied the bald woman as she approached his desk, her steps careful. Her punishment had left marks etched into her skin. Erik couldn’t recall anyone wearing a more empty expression than Ciari wore on her face right now. It was like seeing a dead soldier walking and it should have brought some measure of comfort to him, but it didn’t.
“My aide informed me that we lost city towers in Japan,” Erik said through clenched teeth. “Explain yourself.”
“The Strykers weren’t holding the line” was Ciari’s simple, easy answer.
“Come again?” Erik said after a moment, disbelief in his voice.
Rather than repeat herself, Ciari stepped closer and offered up the datapad she carried. Erik took it with surprisingly steady hands, the information on the screen making cold sweat creep down his back. He swiped his thumb over the screen, scrolling through the report, some distant hint of panic rising inside him as he studied the changed placement of Strykers.
“Has this been verified?”
“In Japan and elsewhere, but not across the board.” Ciari tilted her head to the side, staring at him with unblinking eyes. The weight of her attention made his skin crawl. “We can’t reach some of the teams from our end back in Canada. I came to see if perhaps you were giving out orders I didn’t know about. I can’t do my job, Erik, if you don’t let me.”
With a sudden, vicious motion, Erik hurled the datapad at the far wall, a wordless shout ripping from his lungs. His atypical reaction didn’t seem to faze Ciari.
“You can’t do your job?” Erik shouted. “Is that why you’re here? Because you can’t do your fucking job and you want a reprieve?”
“If I begged, would it make a difference?”
“The Strykers aren’t doing their job and people are dying, Ciari. Good people. Their lives are worth a hundred times as much as you psion dogs.”
Erik stalked out of his office. Black spots danced across his vision as he hurried down the halls of the Peace Palace. The building was mostly empty, the mass evacuation of the world capital and the bunker city beneath it having been well under way for hours. Staying longer was beginning to seem like a fool’s choice.
He turned a corner blindly and nearly ran into Anchali, the much smaller and older woman catching her balance between her cane and the wall as she pulled up short. “Erik?” Anchali asked, taking in the fury on his face. Her attention jumped from him to the psion who followed obediently at his heels.
“Anchali,” Erik said, hands clenching and unclenching near his thighs. “I’m sorry. If you’ll excuse me?”
She caught him by the arm before he could walk past, her wrinkled face tilting up to look at him. “No, I will not. What is going on, Erik?”
He didn’t turn to look at Ciari, but he could sense her presence. Erik was struck, rather viscerally, by how useless the layers of security that surrounded the Peace Palace were in the face of losing the upper hand. The military wouldn’t be enough against Strykers who might have slipped their leash.
“I’m heading for the command information center.” He was so careful to keep the fear out of his voice, to look only at Anchali. “Come with me.”
Anchali didn’t like what she saw in his face, but she wasn’t going to leave him. She followed him to the center of the Peace Palace and the lift that would take them below to the barricaded and burrowed heart of the world’s military.
Once there in those steel corridors, Erik headed for the area that handled communications with the Strykers Syndicate, to the officers whose sole job was to monitor and control the psions through technology. The Strykers Syndicate in Toronto was saturated with spyware and monitoring equipment, as well as formal programs for government communications. Through the world’s security grid, the military could monitor every single Stryker baseline and their location through the neurotrackers in their brains.
“Show me Japan,” Erik ordered as he strode into the operations hub.
Soldiers rushed to obey. Despite the world’s fracturing, it was nice to know that military discipline was still intact. The vidscreens that circled the walls and terminals soon showcased the pulsing dots of nearly a hundred Strykers scattered across the map of the only inhabited island of Japan. The unique neural pattern of a psion’s brain was fed through nerves into bioware, which then translated the information into a signal. The output of that signal was fed into the security grid by the neurotrackers. It was those signals that cut across the screens, solid placement of psion baselines pinpointing locations through satellite connections and bioscans in the security grid.
“Bring up the locations of all Strykers on a world map,” Erik said, voice carrying through the buzz of conversation. “Priority given to my order.”
His order was executed immediately, the data scrolling across the main command screen.
“Erik,” Anchali said in a low voice, “what are you doing?”
“Laying to rest a problem.”
It took five minutes to bring up and verify all Stryker positions across the globe, the government’s security grid showing up in tiny patches across too-empty continents.
“Positions confirmed,” a woman said.
Erik stepped to the nearest terminal, hand hovering over the controls. He turned, just enough that he could see Ciari and the blank expression on her face, but he couldn’t find any emotion in her eyes.
“Will you beg now?” he asked, biting out the words. Her silence was answer enough, and Erik pressed his h
and down against the sensor. “Initiate full termination sequence.”
The soldiers overseeing the security grid obeyed instantly, activating the kill switch in every neurotracker the system was linked to. Anchali watched the vidscreens and the data while Erik refused to look away from Ciari.
“You’re wiping them all out,” Anchali said, her gaze sweeping across the storm of red that ripped across the map. Solid confirmation of roughly twelve hundred lives snuffed out in an instant.
Only the Stryker with them was still breathing and the signals on the screen were still showing up as active.
Erik staggered against the terminal, legs gone suddenly weak. He pressed his hand against the sensor a second, third, fourth time, but the results didn’t change.
Ciari still lived.
“You—,” Erik choked out.
Anchali heard fear in his voice for the first time in her life. She turned to see what could cause the president of the World Court to sound like that.
Erik knew that Ciari was only an empath. He had preferred dealing with that kind of psion over one who could read his thoughts. He had never felt that he constantly needed his hand on the kill switch when facing down an empath over contract issues and Stryker transgressions through the years. It struck him suddenly that he only knew the names of maybe a dozen psions in the entire Strykers Syndicate. The rest had always been nameless numbers on the company’s bottom line.
They were never people to him. Never human. Erik had trusted blindly in the chains that science had built to contain the disease psions lived with, but technology could always be subverted. Diseases could evolve.
“We were informed of the World Court’s decision regarding Strykers and the launch,” Ciari said into the sudden silence. “We couldn’t fight the orders when you told us to protect you.”
The quads scattered throughout the room sensed the threat and moved, aiming their weapons at the enemy. They put themselves between the government and the lone woman who was still perfectly cognizant and alive in the face of people who had only ever used her kind.
Erik stared past the quads at her, voice coming out ragged and harsh. “And now?”