"There's something out there." Dessy released his hand and turned outward, scanning the forest. "I can't hear it or smell it, but I sense it. One of those black cats is stalking us. We need to go back."
"Watching."
"What? What is it?" She looked up and around. "I don't see anything but trees."
"Not me. It's that panther I told you about yesterday." It had tracked him halfway across the planet. "It's not stalking us. It's watching. Guarding."
"Tas, you've been through a lot. You're overtired and overwrought, but I promise you, no animal talked to you. Not yesterday and not today."
"Dess, I didn't talk to it! It communicated, but not with speech. Like Joss. She can tell you in words, but also concepts. You know what she wants from you."
"Okay. Let's say for the sake of argument there's a big kitty cat out there and it's guarding us. Why? Is it guarding us from other cats so it can eat us itself?"
"Don't be absurd."
She gestured to herself. "I'm absurd? You're the one talking to cats."
"I am not--" He stopped, reining in the impatience his sister always fostered. He took a deep breath, let it out, did it again for good measure. "I'm not talking to cats and I'm not talking to you about talking to cats. Is that clear?"
"Fine." She cast a pleading look toward the heavens. "Let's agree the kitty cat's guarding us. Why are we out here in the forest?"
"If it's true that Father wanted us to be exiled, then there has to be a good reason. It's not the kind of thing he'd decide on a whim. When has he ever done anything without a plan?"
"I'll admit, never. Then what is he planning?"
"When native people sign a treaty and are driven from their land, they don't get a better deal. They get less. They get the discards no one wants. Vast grasslands with no cattle and no crops. Barren deserts. Endless mountains covered in eternal snow. Here we are, stuck on Sempervia, the last planet on the rim of the galaxy. Not even fully terraformed. They gave up on it. This is where they shunt the outcasts. Us. Sempervia's what we get in exchange for a treaty."
"Treaty? We didn't sign a treaty."
"You're right. We didn't."
Chapter Eleven
At a rustle of leaves, Joss set a hand on her knife.
Six, who'd been hunting, entered the clearing. Dirt smeared his face and fresh stains marked his ragged shirt, but he grinned, a hero returning from war.
Why couldn't she read him?
He held up a string of three rabbits. "Who wants lunch?"
"Good--" Armand began.
"--catch!" Philippe finished.
The twins helped clean the rabbits while Joss set about building a fire. Philippe stripped a sapling of its bark and leaves, creating a spit for the game. Six provided two metal Y-shaped sticks for the spit to rest upon. The twins asked what else he carried in his pack and soon had him revealing a cook set and utensils, several knives, and other survival gear. They exclaimed over various pieces and showed him their own knives.
Joss kept hers to herself.
While the rabbits roasted, Joss helped Six, Armand, and Philippe gather berries. They all nibbled while they picked. Philippe had woven a fine net with vines and padded it with leaves. It bulged with the results of their labor.
Working next to Six let her study the human up close. His dusky skin, dark hair and darker eyes gave him an earthy appeal. For a mortal, not unpleasant. A foot shorter than Pietas which made him ten inches shorter than she, but he had a certain air about him. Who couldn't love a man with a sense of humor? Plus, Pietas trusted him. That alone made him worth getting to know.
Yet his mind was blank. He wasn't blocking. He wasn't broadcasting. A person could not not think. Six was blank. She couldn't read a single thought. Was it because he was a ghost? Or was it that anti-emo chip? Perhaps some innate ability in his DNA.
Fascinating.
Her stomach growled at the savory scent of meat. Who would have thought she'd ever miss military rations? Having a can of peaches or a pouch of stew to open on a moment's notice--what luxury. Her mouth watered at the thought of those button-sized coated chocolate candies. They came in bright colors, dispensed by the handful from any vending machine. When this planet had some semblance of civilization, she was going to hunt for chocolate trees.
Or was chocolate a berry? All she knew about food was how to eat it. Perhaps the worker class would know.
Six pronounced the rabbits ready and the twins set about pulling them off the fire.
Should they wait for Pietas and Dessy? Where were they? If anything had happened to them, Helia would have her head. She sent out a kueshda, a telepathic quest. She lacked skill with trail signs, but this she could do, at least in places where she'd been.
In her mind, she stood where she'd last seen the brother-sister pair and looked about for aetheric signs of their passing. A small hint of their warmth remained. They'd reunited, an excellent sign. If she had been somewhere, she could recapture the location, re-see it in its present condition. A kind of remote viewing, but on a different plane. Genetic, not psychic.
A metallic snap pulled her out of the search.
Six had produced a small shovel from his pack and attached it to a telescoping handle. He stuck the shovel into the dirt and pressed it with one foot.
Armand brushed off their hands. "What are--"
"--you doing?"
"Burying the skins and entrails to keep predators away."
Armand stooped and examined the hole. "Good--"
"--idea." Philippe watched.
Joss was removing a rabbit from its spit when voices came from her right.
In walked Pietas and Dessy, making small talk, swinging their joined hands.
At once, Joss handed the rabbit to Six and hurried over to greet them. "I'm so glad to see you! I was starting to worry." She set the back of her fingers against the cheek of Pietas in a hand-kiss.
He returned it, his thought-emotions warm, an inviting cup of tea on a cold day.
Before she could turn to Dessy, the young woman hand-kissed her. "We're fine, Joss."
"You're sure?"
"Of course." Pietas and Dessy said together.
"They sound almost--"
"--like us." As one, the twins winked at them.
"Food's ready." Joss took Dessy's hand. "Are you hungry?"
"Starved." Pietas rubbed his stomach.
Dessy inhaled. "Yum! Rabbit."
"Six caught--"
"--them."
"And we have berries." Joss pointed to the full net. "There should be enough to ward off hunger if not assuage it. The rabbits are done. I was about to carve. Let's eat."
As they strolled toward the campfire, Joss squeezed Dessy's hand. "Were you able to talk?" She sent a targeted suggestion of her meaning.
The young woman gave a small shake of her head. "Everything important."
"Important?" The tightened grip on Joss's hand made her change direction. "It took you two a long time. It'll be dark soon and we still have to reach the camp."
"Yes, Joss. We'll eat fast." Pietas leaned down and kissed her cheek. "Or should I say, 'Yes, Mother?'"
"Oh, stop!" She linked arms between the two of them.
Why could Dessy not see the damage withholding the truth had already done? Pietas deserved the truth, even if it broke his heart. If he knew the truth, if others knew he was not what he'd been accused of being, it would change his life.
But would the truth make him a better man, or a worse one?
Chapter Twelve
As they finished eating, Joss once more turned her telepathic attention to Pietas and Dessy. She scanned Dessy first, found her calmer than she'd been earlier, but the moment she touched the mind of Pietas, he flinched and looked up at her as if she'd slugged him.
Delicate as she'd been, he'd felt her presence. Were it not for her own ethics, she could walk around inside anyone's mind as if it were her own house. Unseen and unheard, she could slam doors, clomp about and open
every cupboard without them being the wiser. Yet with Pietas, she'd landed on the windowsill with the might of a housefly and his consare, his recognition of telepathic scanning, activated.
He tossed bones onto the embers. "You have a question, Joss?"
"Not a question. A comment. I'm glad to see you and your sister getting along."
He looked at Dessy, who beamed at him. "We cleared up an old misunderstanding. I can't wait to see my father's reaction when we tell him."
He sent Joss an image with absolute clarity of Mahikos, writhing in agony.
The violence of it made her gasp.
Pietas regarded her, his gaze steady, his eyes as cold as the stone they resembled. Like turquoise with its inner matrix, they held hidden depths. His thoughts remained his own.
Her dear boy had mastered six of the thirty-one Ultra gifts. He was strong in seven and in another seven, passable. He lost no fights with humans and few among his own kind.
And now he'd added telepathy. How?
As she helped clean up the campsite, she pondered his change. What had happened to him? He was different in a fundamental way. Every Ultra was created with one or more abilities and then developed them over time. Practice, as they say, makes perfect. But no Ultra "picked up" a new ability. One was created with it or one was not.
You got what you got.
Pietas and Dessy were the exception, of course. Had been since the day they were conceived, rather than created.
After their birth, Mahikos, in his genius, enabled his twins with every genetic gift he had at his disposal. According to Helia, he'd experimented on them, seeking ways to impart additional adaptations. What few abilities Pietas didn't have, his father claimed no one needed.
This had insulted those who had them, caused a ruckus on warrior forums and almost started a riot at one work hall. It hadn't settled until Mahikos retracted the statement and apologized, surprising everyone.
His children's inability to gain any form of telepathy had thrown Mahikos into more than one fit of rage. Concerned, Helia had begun overseeing every change he made and guarding the twins during their various transitions. She remained with them during tests, interceded and when necessary, interfered.
In Joss's opinion, her friend ought to have done less interceding and more interfering.
Curious, she sent a tynkasha, a minor tendril of power, testing Dessy. As expected, she was not changing.
But Pietas was off the scale.
As usual, he hadn't revealed everything and he'd shielded his pain. "You're injured," she'd said. The man would not lie. Hated lies and liars. He'd said, "Don't worry about me."
The memory took her back to one of her fondest recollections of Pietas. She'd known him several years by then, had mentored him in the use of an array of weapons. Joss designed them, understood their every detail. Pietas tested them for her and longed to put them to good use.
Finding work among the unofficial unions among Ultra fighters frustrated him. He was an unknown. Outsider. Once others saw his talent, though, a few offered to train him. Combat smoothed his rough edges, taught him how to interact with and rely upon other fighters. Be part of a team.
He claimed he could perform a skill after seeing it demonstrated once. The more seasoned warriors accused him of cockiness. That is, until he proved it true. Within months, instead of hiring him to fight in their squads, cadres of Ultra warriors were clamoring to be hired into his. When you ooze raw talent, however, it doesn't take long to make enemies.
Six leaders among the Ultra squads confronted him with an accusation he was poaching their members. Pietas gave them the bare truth. "If you're not good enough to keep them, maybe you should quit."
And that, he told her, was when the fight started.
The ensuing battle with six against one ended when an alert interrupted, calling everyone to duty stations. The leaders hadn't won. Pietas hadn't lost. All had more respect for the other, but it was Pietas who realized he lacked a skill. He'd come to her that night, seeking to understand what had angered the experienced leaders.
"We've talked about this." She'd sat beside him and taken his hand. "Use your social skills. Stroke their egos. Make them comfortable before you try to correct them."
Pietas could not have been a day over twenty at the time. His smooth face showed no trace of age, though his eyes were those of an old, old man. He'd turned that bright turquoise gaze on her as if she'd bitten him.
"Stroke them? You mean make them feel better that they're incompetents who fire a weapon with no more skill than a rank newbie? At ten, my sister could shoot better than they do."
"Yes, but you can't tell them that."
"Why not?"
"Because-- Well, love, I'm sorry, but you can't."
Shaking his head, he stood and stormed out onto the balcony. When she joined him, he braced his hands on the railing and then bent and rested his forearms along it. "I hate this city."
She stood beside him, one hand on his back. "Why?"
"The reason it exists is to feed a lie."
"I'm sorry, love. I don't understand."
"Look." He swept a hand outward. Two stories below, workers bustled to and from duty. Street vendors hawked food, uniform items, weapons. "See that red-armed cyborg with the hover-cart over to the left? If you pay him enough, you can get blacklisted tech. That short Ultra across from him will sell you black market neuro-enhancers. The vendors all along the north end of the street can get you seats in illegal body-mod shops and tickets off the planet no matter what your flight-status. Others will sell you outlawed weapons and off-world contraband. Why? Because this is Ultratown. This isn't a residential enclave or a human city. It's a glorified dumping ground with street gangs and thieves and lawlessness. It's based on the lie that Ultras are free. We are not. We're slaves to human greed. We live and die and are reborn to feed human desires." He smacked his hands on the railing and then braced himself against it, arms straight. "I hate it. I hate this entire place."
The homesickness rippling off him made her want to hug him but an undercurrent of anger warned her away. Perhaps she could tease him out of his mood. "All this because I suggested using social skills instead of fists?"
He stood up straight. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be. You're entitled to your feelings." A lock of his silver-white hair always seemed to fall out of place. When he turned toward her, Joss tucked one finger beneath a strand and moved it aside.
A look of such pain crossed his face that at first, she wondered if she'd hurt him. "What is it?"
"I can't use 'social skills,' Joss. I can't use what I don't have. And I don't understand women."
She laughed. "Darling, even other women don't understand women." A breeze blew the lock of hair back in his eyes and she brushed it aside again.
He turned on that glorious smile of his.
She saw it rarely but treasured it when she did. Inside, part of her melted. How could he look so innocent yet be so seductive at the same time?
His smile widened. "I want you."
Her breath caught. She avoided his gaze. "I'm flattered, love, but--"
"Joss." He touched her cheek, drawing her gaze back to his. "Flattery is insincere or excessive praise. I'm sincere. I'm always comfortable with you. I'm confident and sure of my skills when I'm fighting but when I'm around women I'm all left feet and thumbs and my tongue sticks to my teeth. When I'm with you, it's like I put on my softest shirt and have the day to myself. I don't feel rushed or hurried. It's easy being around you. I want to make love to you."
She struggled to contain her rising desire. What would Helia think of such a thing? What would Mahikos do?
"Joss." Pietas hand-kissed her. "Whatever's causing your hesitation, cast it aside. Have sex with me. I've never been with a woman."
"You haven't?" She couldn't believe no one had seduced him yet. Lusty gazes trailed him everywhere, her own included. "Why not?"
"I want my first time to be with you."
&nb
sp; "Me?"
"There's no one else who interests me. You're a genius with weapons. Capable. Diligent. I can't imagine a more patient teacher. You've taught me how to handle guns. Now teach me how to handle a woman. Show me what to do in bed." He stroked the back of one finger down her cheek. "Teach me how to pleasure you."
She swallowed, hard. "I've heard the term brutally honest all my life, but I've never seen it in action the way it is with you."
"I'm always honest. You lie if you're afraid of the consequences. There's nothing in this galaxy that I fear. Nothing. Is it so wrong to tell you that when you touch me, it makes me want you?"
"Are you ready? Joss?" Fingers snapped. "Joss?"
"What?" She stiffened.
Dessy peered at her. They were in the clearing with the forest around them.
Joss's cheeks burned. For no reason would she look toward Pietas. No matter what her skill with shields, she couldn't have hidden her desire from him, or her embarrassment.
With both hands, she swept leaves and dust from her uniform. "Sorry. I...was thinking."
"About what?" Dessy nudged her. "You sure looked happy."
She coughed. "Pleasant memory."
The young woman winked. "I'll bet." Dessy indicated the clearing where the group had gathered and were waiting. "Pietas wants to arrive before dark."
"Of course. I'll lead. I want him to see the view before-- well, you know." Joss brushed past the group and led them deeper into the forest, picking her way through the brush. They were close to the overlook and she didn't want to miss the spot she'd discovered. He must not see what waited on the other side until he'd seen the size of the caldera and caught a glimpse of how much room they had. How many resources. He would know how to make the best of them.
If anyone could get them out of this dilemma, it was Pietas.
According to Helia, after Pietas had been born and Mahikos placed him in her arms, he looked her straight in the eye with such intensity she expected him to utter a demand. He wanted something. Needed it. But unable to communicate, he'd balled up his fists and cried. She'd bragged later, "Pietas was born a king."
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