Crossways: A Psi-Tech Novel

by Jacey Bedford

  What if Kitty had outlived her usefulness? Had Ms. Yamada cut her adrift? If so, there were worse places to end up than Crossways, but that didn’t solve the problem of her mom.

  She briefly wondered whether she should make her way back home from here. Hell, Benjamin had offered to send her back. He seemed like a decent kind of guy. He wasn’t working for the Trust anymore, so did that make him potentially useful to Alphacorp on the enemy-of-my-enemy principle? She hoped so.

  She needed to get a call through to Ms. Yamada. Not that she had a direct line, of course. She couldn’t hope to do more than leave a cryptic message and hope Rufus would contact her.

  She increased her speed for the last lap, feet pounding the deck plates.

  Gupta was sitting at the top of Solar Wind’s ramp as she jogged past, smart-dart rifle cradled in the crook of his arm. He took his duties seriously even though the security team here was pretty tight. She didn’t break her stride until she got to the guard post by the entrance where she stopped, head bent forward, hands on bare knees to catch her breath. That gave the nearest guard a good view down the front of her singlet.

  He was smirking as she stood up and pushed her hair out of her eyes. “What does a girl have to do to get offered a drink of water around here?” she asked. “This place is dryer than Orphena’s twelve moons.”

  “It’s not so bad when you get used to it.” The guard signaled to one of the others, who tossed him a bag of water. He caught it neatly and handed it to Kitty.

  She bit off the corner and took a deep drink, then began sipping the rest. “Kitty Keely,” she said.

  “Orton, Wes Orton.”

  He had even white teeth, dark brown skin and eyes that crinkled at the corners when he smiled.

  “Where were you before Crossways?” she asked. “You don’t look like you grew up here.”

  “There are a million people on Crossways ranging in height from here to here.” He indicated low to high with both hands. “And every color from marble white to deepest black. I’ve even seen a few blue faces. How in the hell could you generalize about what someone born here might look like?”

  “Sorry, did I hit a nerve? I guess I expect people who’ve lived their whole lives on a space station to look a bit . . .” She shrugged. “I was going to say unhealthy, but I guess the hole is deep enough, so I’d better stop digging. You look outdoorsy and I didn’t expect that.”

  His expression softened a little. There, she’d done it, delivered a subtle compliment, given him an opening. Would he take it?

  “I did grow up here, mostly, but I was born on Sylvain. My folks crewed for a tramp freighter. Got killed in a decompression accident. The captain decided I was a bit of ballast he didn’t need, so I got left behind on Crossways.”

  “Harsh.”

  “Not really. It’s better than freighter life. Crossways is not all gray-walled corridors, you know. It has its own outdoors, kind of . . . Acres of farmland and a forest segment big enough to have its own weather.”

  “Really? I guess I thought it all looked the same.” She waved at the dock and at the broad sweep of the roadway outside. “I’m a bit new to all this, Wes. I could do with a tour guide.”

  “That could be arranged.” He grinned. “Where are you from?”

  “I’m a genuine Earth girl.” She smiled back.

  “Really? I’ve never been. What’s it like?”

  “Cold, or at least my part of it is. Shield City’s almost on the Arctic Circle in the far north of the United States of Canada. Beautiful summers, fierce winters. My mom still lives there.” Pause for two heartbeats and then let the smile fade. “She’ll be real worried about me.” Kitty put on her vulnerable face. She wasn’t entirely lying. Shield City had been their home. For all she knew her mom might be back there already, if they’d cut her treatment short.

  Orton was interested. She widened her smile. “Say, I don’t suppose you’ve got a secure comm booth anywhere close by, have you? Ben—Commander Benjamin—warned us about not contacting family yet, but Mom worries. It’s not like she’s going to pass information on to anyone.”

  “I can show you where. Better still, I’ll walk you down.”

  “Thanks.”

  She beamed a smile at him that lit up her face. She knew it did because she’d practiced it in front of a mirror when she’d been trying to get Ari to notice her.

  Ben sat in the waiting room at Dockside Medical, determined not to leave without some news of Serafin. Was it a good sign or a bad one that surgery was taking so long?

  “You look like hell.” Suzi Ruka, psi-tech agronomist and Serafin’s on-and-off lover for many years, came back from a trip to the washroom and flopped down in a chair. “It doesn’t take two of us to wait here for news. I’ll let you know as soon as the old man is out of surgery. They said it might take hours.”

  “He’s my friend.”

  “I know that. He knows that.”

  “I worked with him on my first mission for the Trust,” Ben said. “He was talking about retiring then.”

  “He’s always talked about retiring. He was only forty when we met and even then . . .” Her voice cracked. “Ah, what the hell, maybe he’ll have to retire now.”

  “Ronan says this surgical team is the best,” Ben said. “Garrick made a few calls as soon as he heard what happened. Crossways specializes in trauma medicine. I guess they have to. He’ll be all right, Suzi. He’s tough.”

  “So why do you need to hang out here? I’ll be okay. Honest. This place is heaven compared to the bleachers in the stadium. Go back to Solar Wind and leave me to get some sleep on that nice soft couch.”

  “She’s right.” Cara hovered in the doorway. “Gen and Max are fine. Syke is waiting for us in the lobby. You can’t do anything for Serafin if you stay, so you might as well get some rest and come back in the morning.”

  Ben shrugged and stood up. “You’re sure you’ll be all right, Suzi?”

  “Sure I’m sure.”

  He pecked her on the cheek. “Yell if you need anything.”

  Ronan was waiting for them in the lobby. Captain Syke and four of Garrick’s private guard conducted the three of them back to Solar Wind. Security had been stepped up considerably, not that Ben minded. He’d rather not have to think about defense right now. Mother Ramona and Suzi were both right, he was bone-tired and this thing with Cara was preying on his mind.

  As they walked side by side he could see her in his peripheral vision. She didn’t look any different. What was going on inside?

  Solar Wind stood on the dock, turned around ready for takeoff, ramp up and hatches secured. From here she looked smooth as a pleasure yacht, her wings and fins drawn in tight against her side, armaments safely hidden.

  *Knock knock,* Cara broadcast.

  The ramp lowered. Gupta waited at the top, smart-dart rifle resting in the crook of his arm. Ben was grateful for Gupta. Nothing fazed him. He had spent thirty years in the Militaire before retiring from active service to run Trust security on colony planets. And now the fracas on Olyanda had turned him into a wanted man. Luckily he had no family waiting for him back home.

  Too many lives disrupted.

  Ben owed it to all his psi-techs to see that they were reunited with family, if possible, and resettled, if that’s what they wanted. He was still worried about his own family.

  Jon Moon, formerly part of Wenna’s mapping team, stood behind Gupta as backup, but when he saw Ronan he gave a strangled cry and rushed down the ramp. Ronan, rarely demonstrative in public, hugged Jon fiercely.

  Gupta sighed. “Off you go, Moon. There’s only Wenna to wait for now and I can handle that alone.”

  “Any trouble?” Ben asked as Ronan and Jon hurried off to the cabin they shared.

  Gupta shook his head. “Quiet as the grave. No one else had any problems. Looks like you were th
e only targets—today at least. Kitty looks to have hooked up with one of the gate guards, but she’s back safe. Everyone is.”

  “Good.”

  “You look tired, Boss.”

  “Why is everyone telling me that?”

  “Because it’s true.” Cara nudged him in the direction of the captain’s cabin. “Shall I go and bunk down somewhere else?”

  It was a simple enough question, but loaded.

  Ben shook his head. If he pushed her away now she’d never come back. They’d be over.

  She seemed relieved. “Come on, then,” she said.

  Was that an invitation?

  *Only to sleep.* She picked up his thought and responded.

  Gah! He must be tired if he’d let his shield down.

  He followed Cara to the cabin they’d been sharing during the journey—well, not exactly sharing, as she’d managed to take her sleep breaks when he was on duty. This was the first time they’d hit the bed together since . . . when? Since before van Blaiden.

  She was bound to be twitchy. More than twitchy. He’d tried to talk to her about it, but she wasn’t ready to open up. He’d waited for some signal from her, let her make the first move, but though she’d touched him in public—a hand on his shoulder, a casual brushing together of elbows, the light slide of her fingers across his, briefly igniting fire in his belly—she’d been much more circumspect in private. It would take as long as it took, he understood that. They were working their way through everything that had happened, but she was still fragile—even more fragile after today—but he didn’t know how he could help her to get over it, if indeed it was his help she needed.

  “I still feel like an intruder in here,” Cara said, dropping down to sit on the wide berth. “Ari obviously had this built for himself. He never liked sleeping alone.”

  “It’s a bit excessive.” Cara’s former lover was always excessive. Ben was glad she’d never shared this particular cabin with van Blaiden. “Just say the word and we can tear it apart and rebuild it. Or we can let Ronan and Jon have the space and move to another cabin, or separate ones if you prefer.”

  “Is that what you’d prefer?”

  “You know it’s not.”

  “You’re going after Crowder again.” It wasn’t a question.

  “As soon as we’ve settled things here. He’s the obvious starting point.”

  “He tried to kill us all.” Cara shuddered.

  “That’s why he’s the obvious starting point.”

  “You think you can dodge the Monitors and get in and out of Chenon without anyone noticing? Even if you can, Crowder must be eyeball deep in his own security by now. He knows you. He’ll be expecting you.”

  “I’m working on it.”

  “You’re not planning anything . . . terminal . . . are you?”

  Ben opened the door to the fresher and activated the shower.

  “Ben? Answer me.”

  He ignored Cara’s question and jerked his head toward the shower. “Want to share?” He released the touch-and-close fastenings that held the top half of his buddysuit to the bottom, unclipped the shoulder catch and shrugged out of it, feeling the suit’s sensors peel back from his skin.

  “Do you want me to?” she asked.

  He turned to look at her, saw her face suddenly serious, and stopped undressing.

  “I appreciate all you’ve done for me, Ben, but . . .”

  Snakes began to turn somersaults in his gut. “But thank you and good-bye. Is that it?”

  “I tried to kill you on Olyanda. Twice. I almost got you killed. Your shoulder—”

  “Almost as good as new.” He flexed it, hiding the stab of pain from half-healed muscle. He’d looked at it once, using a mirror, soon after the dressing came off: a livid stripe, pink meat against brown skin. After that he’d avoided looking at it again. “Ronan says it won’t even need a graft. It’ll barely scar.”

  “That doesn’t make it right.”

  “Cara . . .” Oh, gods, where to start? He sat next to her, carefully not touching. “I thought we’d worked all this out. I thought we were good. Olyanda was tough, but we survived. Together. What am I missing?”

  “Ari van Blaiden.”

  “He messed with your mind. It wasn’t you.”

  “They couldn’t make me believe all the things I believed if I hadn’t had some lingering feelings for him.”

  “What about us, Mrs. Benjamin?” He felt something slipping away that he’d let himself start to rely on.

  “Don’t call me that. We lived a lie for a few months. It doesn’t make it real.”

  He’d wanted it to be real. “What do you want me to call you?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Cara . . .”

  “That’ll do. Cara Carlinni. I need to find out who I am before I become someone else.”

  “Are you saying you’re leaving?”

  She shook her head. “Only if you want rid of me.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Even though I tried to kill you and had sex with Ari? And, for fuck’s sake, I killed someone with my mind!” There, she’d said it at last. “And I don’t even feel sorry.”

  “You can’t go through what van Blaiden and McLellan did to you without it changing you.”

  “For better or for worse?”

  “Not better, not worse, just different. I love you, Cara. I’ve never made any secret of that.”

  “I know that, too.” She smiled a small, sad smile. “I think you’re nuts, though.”

  “So sue me.” He reached out and covered her left hand with his right. She froze for a moment and then turned her hand to grasp his.

  “Can we just take it slowly for now?” she said.

  “As slow as you like,” he said. The snakes began to settle. Maybe there was hope.

  Cara and Ben lay in the generous bed, not touching. Aware of Ben at her back, his warmth prickling her skin, she thought she’d never sleep, but as soon as her eyes closed, she felt the blackness sucking her down into its warmth.

  With only a hazy impression of fast-fading dreams, she awoke to an empty cabin.

  Cautiously she opened her eyes, stretched and sniffed. Fresh bread and coffee, real coffee by the smell, not just caff or regular CFB, coffee-flavored beverage. On the table at the foot of the bed stood an insulated carafe and a copious breakfast cup, plus a basket of hot rolls and a selection of pots and jugs: cream, milk, fruit preserves, and honey. It looked like Mother Ramona had sent a care package.

  Ben’s used cup stood still half-full, with cream congealed on the cooling surface. That man had no taste. He preferred caff to the real stuff. It probably came from being raised in the colonies.

  She showered and dressed quickly before Ben returned, then grabbed the coffee and rolls with real strawberry jam. Did Mother Ramona and Norton Garrick live like this all the time? Luxury goods were rare on a space station. Their lifestyle said a lot for their affluence, and the platinum deal was going to add to that considerably.

  She was halfway through her second cup when the door opened to reveal Ben with a carton of caff from the galley in one hand.

  “Good morning,” he said. “Good news on Serafin. He’s out of surgery and resting comfortably, though still on a respirator. Suzi’s with him.”

  “Are you going over?”

  “They’ve said no visitors yet. If you’re ready, Mother Ramona has arranged for us to see the real warehouse this morning.”

  She was grateful he didn’t try and take the conversation back to where they’d left it last night. She could manage this level of normal.

  “Coming.” She gulped down the last of her coffee, grabbed another roll from the basket and closed the neck catch on her buddysuit.

  Gen met them in the corridor. “Not so fast. We need to talk.”
>
  Max stepped out of his cabin, dressed in a brand-new buddysuit.

  “New gear. Nice.” Cara pretended to brush lint off his shoulder.

  “I went for basic black. Do I look the part?” Max twirled.

  “Combat ready,” she said. “Do you know how to use that thing?”

  “Light here. Hood here. Facemask here. Breathing tube, emergency drugs, noise canceling earpieces, full spectrum eyepiece, cuddly toy, bottle opener, pack of cards, and . . .” He patted his pocket. “Somewhere I think I have a tool that takes stones out of a horse’s hooves.”

  Gen turned and gave him a light smack on the arm. “You promised not to be flippant.”

  “Oww! I only said I’d try. This is all a bit new. Gimme a break.”

  “The suit’ll give you a break if we run into trouble.”

  “She’s right,” Ben said. “Don’t forget it has armor, too, and it’s specially strengthened on the outer edges of the forearms if anyone comes at you with a knife.”

  Max’s eyes widened. “Is that likely?”

  “You can ask that after yesterday?” Cara said. “You’re going to need some combat training.”

  “I’m pretty good at duck and run.”

  “Good, then all you need to learn is when to do that and when to hit back.”

  “In the meantime, we have business.” Wenna joined them.

  Cara was relieved to see she was back to normal, with the prosthetic arm completely indistinguishable from her biological one.

  “Who’s we?” Ben asked. “This corridor is getting a touch crowded.”

  Wenna stepped back and turned. “You’ll see.”

  She led the way to the Solar Wind’s mess, the biggest communal space on the ship. Cara tagged along. She’d only been part of this crew for one mission, and that all gone to hell, partly because of her.

  At the door Wenna paused and by a gesture waved Cara in with Ben. “Promise you’ll listen,” was all she said.

  Gen and Max crowded in behind them. There were probably fifty or sixty psi-techs crammed into a space designed for half that number, many of whom had been roughing it in the stadium billet: Ronan and Jon; Gupta; Marta Mansoro, gills covered by the high neck of her buddysuit; Cas Ritson, their other Psi-1 Telepath; Mel Hoffner from medical; Archie Tatum, Serafin’s Psi-Mech second; Lewis Bronsen, a Finder; Yan Gwenn, pilot and ship’s systems engineer; and even Kitty Keely. The hubbub of voices died away.