Terminal Point (19 page)

“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.”

“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?”

Jael closed her eyes briefly, expression twisting enough for Ciari to recognize the look for what it was. It was a struggle to define it, to know it, despite the long association with the other woman.

Pain.

It still didn't make sense to her. Which told her, more than anything else, that something was horribly wrong. She waited for the panic to come, the fear, but it never did.

“Do you remember what happened?” Jael asked, moving to drag a chair over to Ciari's bedside.

Ciari scratched at the IV line connected to the back of her left hand. “The World Court,” she said slowly as she pressed her hands flat to the bed and tried to sit up. Jael tapped a command into the controls of the bed, raising it so that Ciari wouldn't have to hold herself up. “Erik. I was—”

She remembered the feel of incandescent fire running through her body, scouring every square centimeter of her being. Ciari touched the back of her head, where the neurotracker was located, and realized that her hair was shaved completely off. The soft skin of her scalp felt smooth in areas, faint pricks of hair follicles snagging the edges of her nails in others. Occasionally, her fingers ran across tacky residue left behind by a quick-heal patch. Being bald didn't matter to her. Whatever damage came from it, physically at least, was mostly fixed. She remembered that Jael did good work.

“Erik meant to kill you,” Jael said. “According to Keiko, he kept his finger on the trigger of the kill switch for five minutes before Travis came to your defense. We had to cut out a piece of your skull to give your brain room to swell.”

Ciari flattened her hand against the back of her skull, let her fingers splay over the curve of skin and bone. “I remember it burned.”

Just facts, not emotions. It was all she could articulate.

“It—the damage to your nerves was easier to fix than the damage to your mind.”

“What's wrong?” Ciari said, looking over at the CMO. She let her hand drop back down to her lap, gripping the sheet that covered her.

“A lot of things.”

“Tell me.”

Jael grimaced, her gaze flicking away from Ciari's face. “I held your mind together as best I could, but in order to keep it from slipping away, I had you turn the pain off on your own. It was too difficult for me to try without risking your life. I don't have that sort of reach, not when a mind is almost dead. You turned off the pain, but it created a domino effect from that internal order. Once the pain turned off, everything else—every other emotion—was switched off as well. I can't—I can't fix that, Ciari. I can't undo what you did.”