Crossways: A Psi-Tech Novel

by Jacey Bedford

  “I’ve seen them,” Ben said. Touched one, ridden it through foldspace. Looked into its eyes. “They tell us whatever we see is an illusion.”

  She shook her head. “There are illusions in foldspace, ghosts from your own past and the like, but if the void dragons are illusions why does everyone see the same thing?”

  “Do we see exactly the same thing? They don’t show up on any video recording.”

  She yanked open a tool chest drawer, causing the stack to wobble alarmingly, and pulled out a sheaf of plasfilms. “Recognize these?”

  “Oh, gods, yes.” Ben breathed out the words while he looked at sheet after sheet. Some of the drawings were outline sketches, others were detailed and lifelike. They all depicted the same thing: void dragons. He stopped at one of the drawings. It was his dragon, perfect in its detail. It even had the prehensile claws in its beard. And the eyes, even from the plasfilm, seemed to stare into his soul.

  “You know the big fella, huh? That’s Jules’ drawing. Good, wasn’t she? I told her she could make a living as an artist, but she could never bring herself to draw anything else but these.” Kennedy shrugged. “Last time I saw her she was heading for an air lock. Said it was the only way she could find any peace. For all I know she took a walk into the black. She never came back, anyhow. Sometimes there’s nothing you can do for folks who are determined to go.”

  Her voice choked off and she cleared her throat. “Jules said that nothing in foldspace is real—except these fellas—and at the same time everything’s real. You’re nowhere and everywhere all at the same time. You’d think that was obvious, but from what I understand they train it out of pilots early on. If my jump engines are going to be any use, you need flyers who know what one of these looks like.” She flicked the edge of the plasfilm in Ben’s hands. “Ones who are open-minded about what’s out there and what can be done with it.”

  “You aren’t psi-tech, are you?” Ben asked.

  “Nah. They offered me an implant.” Her mouth turned down at the corners. “Said I tested real strong. But I added up the credits and it made no sense. Figured I’d go my own way, and I have. And look where it got me.” She laughed. “The credits still don’t make sense, but at least I don’t have a debt the size of a small planet.”

  She gestured to the workbench with the single piece of equipment on it. “Going to be in the money soon, though. That there is a hundred percent, bona fide jump engine with retrofit capability, or it will be soon. And if I adjust the power ratio it won’t take one any bigger than that to take a battleship through the Folds. With the right pilot and the right ratios you could take this whole damn space station through foldspace. When I’ve got the engine. You give me someone to fly it.” She tapped the plasfilm. “It had better be someone who’s seen the big feller.”

  Ben went direct to Port 22 from Kennedy’s workshop clutching one of the rolled up drawings but avoiding looking at it. As he walked down the length of the dock, he could see a figure sitting at the top of Solar Wind’s ramp.

  “Were you planning on going without me?” Gen asked as he stopped halfway up the ramp, his eyes on a level with hers.

  “You already said to Cara—”

  “That was a different gig. You need a pilot, Cara didn’t. Besides, I’ve probably got more flight time on Solar Wind than you, thanks to the shuttle runs from Olyanda.” She didn’t quite meet his eyes.

  “You know, don’t you?”

  “That foldspace took a bite out of you? Yes. I guessed.” There was a world of understanding in her voice. “You’re not just talking about your wrist, are you?”

  Ben looked down at the smart-case wrapped around his broken wrist. He’d barely thought about the break. Apart from not being able to bend or flex his wrist he had full use of his fingers, and while the case was in place it didn’t hurt unless he gave it a real sharp knock.

  He shook his head and sat down on the top of the ramp next to her.

  “I’ve got your back.” Gen reached over and squeezed his arm. “How bad is it?”

  “We’ll find out soon.”

  “But you think it might be bad.”

  “Let’s put it this way, I’m not taking Solar Wind into the Folds unless there’s someone else on board who can get her out again.”

  “Have you . . . spoken to anyone about this?”

  Ben shook his head.

  “You know no one’s going to judge you for it, don’t you?” Gen said. “Anyone who’s ever flown a ship through foldspace knows that it could be them next.”

  “I know. Let’s see if there’s anything to it before we start to put my phobias through a meat grinder, shall we?”

  She nodded. “How about we go into foldspace via a gate? The effects are always . . .” She frowned. “. . . intensified in a jumpship. If we go in via a gate then find a new line to our exit point maybe we can minimize them. It should reduce the time differential, too.”

  “It’s worth a try. Thanks, Gen . . . for stepping up and for understanding.”

  “Yeah, well, it could happen to any one of us at any time. What’s that you’ve got?”

  He unrolled the plasfilm. “What do you make of this?”

  Gen’s sharp intake of breath said it all. “That’s come straight out of my head. Our hallucinations in foldspace are not supposed to be real. Is that exactly what you see?”

  “Scale for scale,” Ben said, “even down to the claws on the end of its beard.”

  “So if it’s an illusion, how come those of us who see this guy see the same thing?” Gen leaned over and traced the outline with one finger. “Where did you get this?”

  “It was drawn by a woman called Jules Charnock.”

  “A jumpship pilot?”

  Ben nodded. “Dido Kennedy’s theory is that only those pilot-Navigators who can see the void dragon stand a chance of being able to pilot a jumpship.”

  “Have you shown the drawing to Kitty?”

  “No. I’m betting she doesn’t recognize it, though.”

  Gen hauled herself to her feet a little awkwardly. “Wouldn’t it be interesting if you could identify potential jumpship pilots by whether they recognized the void dragon or not?”

  On the flight deck, Ben saw Max sitting in the bucket seat reserved for nonessential crew.

  *Oh, sorry, I should have said.* Gen aimed a private thought at Ben. *Max insists on coming. He says he’ll keep out of the way, but he’s not getting left behind.*

  Ben was saved from making a comment by the arrival of Toni Horta from Blue Seven Security, to operate tactical. She was somewhat shorter than the rest of Tengue’s mercs, but supposedly a first-class marksman. No sense of humor, Tengue had said, but an icy calm that could freeze the balls off a baboon. He was certainly right about the humor. Ben would just have to take the baboon’s balls on faith.

  It was a good team. Frankly, if anyone was going to mess up, it would be Ben. Every time he thought about the Folds his mind seized up in panic. The closer they came to departure, the more he felt immobilized by his own fear.

  They had almost completed pre-flight checks when there was a general *knock knock* broadcast ship-wide as Jussaro arrived.

  “You’re still intent on this?” Ben asked him.

  “I am. I don’t have much choice.”

  “Okay. Your decision.”

  Ben settled Jussaro into the other bucket seat next to Max and strapped him in. It would have been better if he could have been put in an empty cabin, but if he started to float through the walls Ben wanted someone to be able to pull him back. That someone was Max.

  “It’s all you have to do, Max. Stop him from leaving the flight deck by any means imaginable—or unimaginable.”

  “That’s not comforting.”

  “I’ll let Jussaro explain it to you. It’s all a bit . . . unorthodox. Watch him, but don’t do what
he does, understand?”

  “I think so.”

  “Right, everyone, stations, please. Let’s go. Two things you need to watch out for on this run. One is that Jussaro will be trying to think his own implant out of his skull—and no, neither he nor I know whether it can be done. The other thing you need to watch out for is me. This will be my first time since . . . well . . . you know what happened. I stared into the Folds and they stared back. But I want you to know I will not put you all in danger. Gen’s got my back and can get you home safely if I turn into a gibbering heap of jelly on the floor.”

  “Ewww, I hope that’s not literal,” Max said.

  Gen looked daggers at him, but it broke the moment.

  Ben laughed. Sure, it was a slightly hollow laugh almost bordering on hysterical, but it was a laugh. “Me, too, Max,” he said. “Me, too.”

  “I don’t like Wyndham,” Aggie said as she watched the man depart to check on his squad. “Does he have to hang around all the time?”

  Crowder sighed, trying not to let his irritation show. “I told you. It’s his job.”

  Aggie crossed her elegant legs and her skirt rode up her thighs. He’d loved those legs once. Dancer’s legs, shapely but strong. He tried not to remember how they’d felt when they were wrapped around his back. It was a long time ago. He hadn’t thought about sex for . . . how long? Not even with Mrs. Hand and her five daughters.

  “Jusquin and Danniri were lighter on their feet,” Aggie said. “Less intrusive somehow.”

  They hadn’t been light enough on their feet when they’d tried to take out Benjamin. The image of them both lying dead on his office floor burned in his memory. The blood . . .

  He forced a smile. “It was only because you were used to them.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Danniri’s sister is very like him. I’ll bring her next time I come to visit.”

  “Are you going to make a habit of this?”

  He thought about her legs again. “I don’t know. Am I welcome?”

  “You can please yourself. It is, after all, your house, as you keep reminding me.”

  “Then I might come again.”

  “Message ahead so I can find somewhere else to be.” She stood up and stared out of the window so that her skirt fell to knee level again. Damn.

  “What kind of trouble is it this time?” she asked.

  “I’m just being cautious. I always take precautions.”

  “I’ve known you a long time, Gabe. I may not be one of your psi-techs, but I can tell when you’re lying.”

  Crowder steepled both hands over his nose and breathed out into his sweaty palms, then he scrubbed his fingers over his lips. What to tell her that would keep her quiet, keep her on his side.

  “Remember Ari van Blaiden?”

  “How could I forget. Your protégé, your rising star. You brought him home to dinner three times. I once wondered whether you were swinging toward men.”

  “It was purely business. I had you. I was never, have never been, unfaithful to you, you know. Not then, not since.”

  “Maybe not with another warm-blooded being, but you’re married to the Trust. I didn’t know I was signing up for a threesome when we met. Even the girls learned very quickly that the Trust always comes first.”

  Crowder frowned. He couldn’t deny it. He hauled himself off the couch and went to stand beside her, placing both hands squarely on the windowsill and leaning heavily on them.

  “You were telling me about Ari van Blaiden,” she said.

  “When he defected to Alphacorp—that was my idea, you know, to get someone on the inside. When he went we kept up a working relationship, but after a few years it became obvious he was out of control.” No lies yet, Aggie, he thought. “Van Blaiden did something stupid and dragged me into it. People died. A lot of people. Not my fault—I’ll swear that on the lives of our daughters.”

  She glared at him. “Leave our daughters out of this.”

  He stood and spread his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Some of my own psi-techs died.”

  “Hera-3.You’re talking about Hera-3, aren’t you?”

  He didn’t deny it. “I picked up the pieces as well as I could.”

  “Very well indeed. The Trust ended up with a platinum planet.”

  “I can’t deny it, but there were a lot of unhappy people and . . .” He glossed over Olyanda completely. “Benjamin has gone rogue.” He touched his newly regrown ear. It still itched. “I’m here for a few days, until something is settled. Permanently.” He sighed. “I bought this place as an island retreat. We’ve got a few days to get to know each other again. I could make it up to you, Aggie.”

  “No you couldn’t. You’re in the guest room tonight.”

  He shrugged. It had been worth a try.

  “Trap? Of course it’s a trap. All we have to do is to figure out how to spring it from the outside.” Ben’s words stuck in Cara’s head as she made plans to break into Building 18 under the grapple arena. Ben had given each of them all the information he had on the building in a direct infodump. A Navigator’s spatial perspective was slightly alien to Cara, but she was getting used to it.

  Ronan and Archie had said little about how the information affected them, but Bronsen had developed a thousand-meter stare for a couple of hours and then come back into himself with a soundless, “Wow!”

  “It’s a bit like when I’m Finding something,” he said. “Now I have a grid overlaid with a mental map. Let’s hope I can pinpoint Ben’s Nan accurately on both the grid and the map.”

  Cara had only met Nan and Ricky once, so Ben had given Bronsen his memories of them to make them easier to locate.

  Ronan had managed to secure tickets for the grapple semifinal from a scalper, though it had cost a small fortune. The six tickets were all in different parts of the stadium. Hilde had hired a flyer big enough to take nine of them and was standing by. Tengue and Gwala were waiting patiently in the burn unit until it was time to move.

  “Are we ready?” Cara asked.

  “Ready,” Ronan, Archie and Bronsen answered together.

  “Ready to get out of this place.” Archie looked at the damp-stained walls of their hotel room and patted the bag of bots slung over his shoulder. “Even the boys aren’t used to this standard of accommodation.”

  They’d all reattached the Trust insignias to their buddysuits, hardly out of place here in Arkhad City.

  Cara contacted Nan one more time. *We’re on our way.*

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  GRAPPLING

  CARA REACHED BEN BEFORE SOLAR WIND hit the Folds.

  *Ben, Nan’s still okay. I’ve managed to talk to her again.*

  *How is she?*

  *Looking forward to getting out. We’re heading for the grapple arena now. We’ve got tickets for a game.*

  Cara let the link drop. Had she sensed some deep-seated worry behind Ben’s thoughts? She hoped not, but she had the feeling that something was going on that he wasn’t letting her in on.

  She linked her arm through Ronan’s as they waited in line at the gate to the grapple arena where once, before setting off for Olyanda, they’d played a friendly match of three-on-three with no audience.

  *Hard to imagine this was our playground, isn’t it?* Ronan kept the thought tight. *How carefree we all were.*

  *Speak for yourself. I was on the run from Ari van Blaiden. You were carefree.*

  *I love it, shooting hoops and loops. A freefall game of free-for-all where every way is up and no mayhem is out of bounds short of actual physical damage. I used to play semiprofessionally, while I was still at school.*

  *I know, Suzi told me. You played for Magna Colony and you took the Trust’s interdepartmental grapple championship three years in a row.*

  *It could have been four, but we lifted off for Olyanda
before the finals. I had to bail.*

  *Perhaps you’d like to skip this mission and stay and watch the match.*

  *No, it’s never as much fun watching as playing.*

  She gave him a light smack on the arm as the line began to move and they filtered into the arena and collected magnetic plates for their boots to anchor them to the inner surface of the spherical arena. No seats here, you just snagged your feet magnetically onto the plating and took up a position in whichever segment your ticket said. Gravity was already off and would remain off until the last member of the audience had left after the game. If it came on, the entire crowd of around five thousand would gently fall to the floor, a real public safety issue, not from the fall, because gravity would return slowly, but from the potential crush.

  They split up and headed for their allocated sectors, clunking on the floor plates as they walked up the walls and onto the ceiling, which, of course, was still the floor from their perspective.

  The hollow sphere was punctuated by a series of inward-protruding bars and platforms and the goals were loops of medonite, through which teams had to post hoops to score. Because this was a pro match there were five to each team.

  In such close quarters with everyone in a state of heightened excitement, Cara had to damp down her Empathy so as not to be overwhelmed.

  *Me, too,* Ronan said.

  Archie and Bronsen, who had been a few meters behind them in the lineup outside, had found their designated places, unaffected by the mental hubbub. The interval after the first set was when they were going to make their move. In the meantime, though he looked as if he was watching the match intently, Archie had released his bots, one at a time, from his bag. They were already scuttling for the arena’s control panels and wiring grid. Cara hoped Archie knew what he was doing. They needed to inflict very specific damage if they weren’t going to kill a few hundred innocent people.

  In the arena two teams were arrayed against each other, standing on ledges, holding on to handgrips. At the first beep a hoop sailed between them out into the center of the arena and all ten players pushed off to where they expected it to be. It was balletic sport, graceful, as bodies glided into the center of the sphere, bending and weaving in slow motion, trying to keep from being bounced into another trajectory while trying to knock their opponent off-course. In null-G the play wasn’t fast, but it was relentless and the cheering and catcalls from the whole crowd ratcheted up the tension.