by Carysa Locke
Mercy came back to the present with a gasp, old terror receding under the more immediate concerns of the present. It was an old memory, one she’d all but forgotten until he – or they – brought it back to the surface. The image of her mother was so sharp it cut. The feeling of love and safety, of knowing she would always be protected. Mercy had almost forgotten what that felt like. To experience it again so deeply, only to have it ripped away the next instant, left tears prickling behind her eyes.
She’d be damned before she cried in front of this bastard. She clenched her hands into fists. “What the hell do you want from me?”
Willem leaned forward so suddenly, she’d have backed away if she had anywhere to go. But she was already pressed against the wall of her cell.
“We want you to embrace your Talent, Mercy. Become who you were born to be.” He said it so intensely, it was obvious he meant every word.
It was so not what she was expecting to hear that it startled a laugh from her. Seriously, who talks like that?
“Who I was born to be? Is that a serious request? Because I think being a pilot smuggling agricultural goods to starving colonies is a pretty good job, really. People are always happy to see me, and they pay well. I don’t think I want to be anyone else.”
His eyes burned with more disappointment and anger. “Don’t be obtuse. A job isn’t who you are. You aren’t just a telepath, whatever your mother told you. Your Talent is far beyond that, and from what I can see, totally wasted on you.” His disappointment had settled into disgust. “It is unfortunate we didn’t find you as a child, when your mind was more malleable.”
Sure, thought Mercy, aware he’d hear it. When you could mold me into whatever obedient little slave you wanted. No, thanks.
He leaned back. “It doesn’t matter now. We must deal with what we have, and what we have, unfortunately, is you.”
“Hey, feel free to let me go anytime.”
He ignored her, but Mercy saw the flash of annoyance cross his face. She took satisfaction in knowing she could at least cause him some discomfort.
“What you have,” he said, “is a priceless gift. It is extremely rare. As you have guessed, we want you to use it on our behalf.”
“Who is this we you keep referring to? I’d like to know who my enemies are. Oh, and since you know everything about me, let’s talk about my mother.” Mercy decided there was something liberating in throwing caution aside and saying whatever she wanted. “You are the ones who took her away fifteen years ago, right? Is she still alive? Do you have her stashed away somewhere in a cell too?”
She couldn’t tell if that was a flicker of recognition in his eyes, or just more anger. His shields were like an Ivaldi ship’s hull, smooth and impenetrable. It was just one more thing to keep her anger simmering, that he could be inside her head seemingly at will, but she couldn’t see into his.
“You will use this gift,” he was saying, completely ignoring her question.
She shrugged. “Sure,” she said, smiling sweetly. “Just as soon as you tell me where my mother is.”
He met her smile with one of his own, and something in it twisted her stomach with foreboding. Now, she heard him think, and with another flick of his fingers, the wall behind him shimmered, the smooth gray of carbon plasteel giving way to the projected image of a cell just like the one Mercy was in. It, too, had a single bunk. On it lay a familiar blonde figure, curled underneath a thermal blanket, eyes closed in sleep. Mercy stared at Atrea. She watched closely until she could see the rise and fall of steady breathing.
A cascade of emotions tumbled through her. Relief that her friend was still alive, disappointment that she had been taken, fear at what they might do to her. Until this moment, Mercy hadn’t realized that some part of her still hoped Atrea had escaped. It was unlikely; they’d walked into that hostel on Yuan-Ki together, and been served the same drinks. Atrea would never have let someone take Mercy without a fight. It only made sense to take them both.
Despair filled her. She would do anything to keep her friend alive, and they knew it. He knew it. She tore her gaze away from Atrea and looked back at Willem. He was smirking. It made her hate him even more. She wrestled with the feeling until she had control of it, until she could trust herself to speak without screaming at him.
“What is it you want me to do?”
Chapter Two
“Your friend is a perfect test subject. You will use your ability to unlock her latent potential. She will become Talented.” He spoke the words in a calm, reasonable tone, as if he were asking for nothing more complicated than a routine jump to another star system.
She stared at him, struck mute. Surely she must have misheard? What he was saying just couldn’t be done. But Willem Frain gazed back at her with flat, cold eyes, and Mercy knew he was serious.
“That’s impossible,” she said finally. “She’s a null. Head blind. No Talent. You can’t unlock it, like a treasure chest.”
“You are correct that Atrea Hades is indeed a null, and as such she is useless to us.” He spread his hands in a gesture meant to appear helpless. “I’m afraid we do not keep useless things.”
Mercy hadn’t thought she could hate him any more than she already did. She was wrong. She spent a pleasant few moments visualizing herself stuffing him out the nearest airlock. Watching the pretend version of Will float out into the cold dark was one of the more satisfying things she’d indulged in lately. Even better, in those few seconds, than her fantasies of escape.
He gave her a look. She supposed it was meant to be intimidating. Unfortunately for him, he’d already violated her on such a deep level there was nothing left for her to fear. He’d invaded every corner of her mind, observed every private dream, every personal hope and desire. It was worse than being assaulted physically. Thinking about it made her head swim and her stomach heave, so instead, she imagined his death. It was self-indulgent, irritated him, and it made her smile.
Will leaned forward, and a sudden force slammed Mercy’s head into the wall. Bright spots danced in front of her eyes. Stinging pain radiated down the back of her neck as her muscles strained against the invisible grip that held her. He hadn’t touched her physically. This was something else. Something Mercy herself had hardly dared play with for fear of giving herself away. Telekinesis.
“You may think you have nothing to fear from me, Mercy. But use that imagination of yours to think about what I might do to your friend. I don’t particularly care if you succeed in my request. This is simply a test, to make sure you are what we believe. To prove, if you will, that you can do it. Atrea has no use to us beyond this, a fact you would do well to think on.”
“You’re insane. What am I supposed to do? And how?” She ground the words out between clenched teeth, since the grip he held her in effectively kept her jaw immobile.
Frain smiled coldly. “That is for you to figure out. I can tell you that we believe you have this ability. Think of it as another Talent. Like telepathy. Sadly, we have no one on hand to teach you to use it. This will be trial and error, I’m afraid.”
He held her like that, pressed uncomfortably hard against the smooth plasteel wall, until he’d picked up his chair and left her cell. Once the lock on her door clicked, the telekinetic grip released her. Mercy sagged forward, her eyes still on the opposite wall. He’d left the view of Atrea in place. He didn’t give her any further ultimatums, didn’t say another word, telepathic or otherwise. He didn’t need to. The message was clear. Buy into this irrational request, or Atrea would die.
Mercy supposed they were giving her time to think about that. To come to the realization that she really had no choice. She closed her eyes. The painful truth was, there was nothing she could do to save her friend. Agreeing to try what they asked was a foregone conclusion; of course she would, if it bought them more time. If it bought Atrea a few more hours, or days, or weeks to live. But what they wanted just wasn’t possible. It would fail, and then they would both die.
&nbs
p; Whoever or whatever else they might be, these people were insane.
Mercy curled up beneath her thermal blanket and watched Atrea sleep. Only one small kernel of hope remained, a miniscule chance of rescue that was unlikely to appear. She couldn’t help but hold on to it, nurturing it like a tiny flame about to be extinguished by a gust of wind. Wolfgang Hades would look for them once he realized they were missing. Atrea checked in with her father regularly, and the old Wolf was an ex-military man. Miss a check in, and he’d come looking. It had happened before.
Mercy smiled, remembering Windfall. Originally planned as some corporate head’s private space station, the place fell to private investors when the business ran into trouble. They turned it into a gambler’s paradise, outfitting the station with casinos, resorts, and private body enhancement clinics with the best tech and doctors that money could buy. They even ordered a batch of genetically perfect clones to work the tables, and provide more personal shows and services. That got the anti-cloning and clone rights activists up in arms, which pretty much guaranteed tons of free publicity. Windfall was one of the most popular just-this-side-of-legal getaway spots in the Commonwealth. As a privately owned space station, it didn’t have to follow the laws and rules new colonies were subject to. She and Atrea spent a few days there once, celebrating Atrea’s brilliant scores on the officer’s entrance exam to the Navy.
Unfortunately, when they’d woken in their room after three days of resort hopping, the old Wolf was sitting there, waiting. With Atrea’s new uniform in his hands. The uniform she hadn’t yet told him about. Mercy winced, remembering. Wolfgang Hades had a complicated history with the Navy. He didn’t ever talk about it, but Atrea warned Mercy he wouldn’t approve of her choice, despite the fact that he seemed to have an endless supply of friends and acquaintances from his own military days, happy to help them out whenever their small smuggling operations needed it.
The old Wolf held that uniform, his face looking chiseled from granite, heavy and gray with a scruff of unshaven beard. The fact that he hadn’t taken the time to shave when he’d come looking for them spoke volumes. He never took his eyes from Atrea where she sat with mussed blonde hair, bloodshot eyes, and her shoulders squared defiantly.
“Mercy, I’d like a private word with my daughter.” He didn’t raise his voice, but that was almost worse, somehow. She’d hesitated, not wanting to abandon her friend, especially when Atrea was doing this, at least in part, to help Mercy’s search for her mother. Captain Hades looked at her then, and the disappointment in his eyes had her sucking in a breath like he’d kicked her.
“Please,” he said softly, and Mercy couldn’t refuse.
She’d left them alone, and never did find out the details of their conversation. What Atrea did tell her, however, was how she’d forgotten to send her usual check-in via ansible a day into their celebration. Two days later, and the old Wolf had found them.
“How?” Mercy wanted to know. It wasn’t like they traveled by regular transport. Mercy had her own ship, equipped with a scrambler. Whatever ID it logged at docking wouldn’t be traceable. Atrea just smiled faintly.
“It’s Dad. Did you really think he’d give us a ship he couldn’t find?” She’d gone on to imply heavily that even without the ship, Wolfgang could track them down. Atrea wouldn’t specify how, just that he had “resources” and “contacts who can find anyone, anywhere.”
Mercy found it disturbing at the time, but right now, she would give anything for that to be true. Please find us.
No one is coming for you, Mercy. Willem Frain’s voice in her head was a stark reminder that her thoughts were never her own in this cold prison. She wanted to scream.
Stay the hell out of my head. You know I’m going to do what you want, so just leave me alone.
Maybe Frain wasn’t the kind to gloat, because to her surprise, he did leave. Even the weight of his presence in her mind disappeared, and for a brief time, she felt truly alone again. She welcomed the return to isolation, a feeling that had verged on driving her mad such a short time ago. Now, the dizzying rush of relief overwhelmed her. A silent tear slid down her cheek, and she made no move to stop it.
Mercy had learned a long time ago that sometimes emotions cut so hard and so deep, physical release was the only way to survive them. Survival was her only priority now. Long enough for the old Wolf to come for them, or for an opportunity at escape. Her jaw tightened. She would not give up.
She stared across the room at the image of her friend. Atrea, who had risked so much to help her. Defying her father, giving six years of her life to the Commonwealth Navy. Risking that very career by digging into records she had no business searching, hoping to find some hint that would lead them to Mercy’s mother.
It was a trail that had led them here. To this.
“Stupid,” Mercy whispered out loud, watching Atrea sleep. “I never should have let you keep that promise.”
She knew what Atrea would say, if she had the chance. Like you could stop me.
“I would try.” Knowing what she did now, Mercy would do whatever it took. As badly as she wanted answers, it wasn’t worth Atrea’s life. She smiled faintly. “Plus, the old Wolf will kill me when he finds us.”
She rolled over onto her back, unable to face looking at Atrea’s image any longer. She didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, but she doubted very much that either of them were going to like it.
Mercy didn’t mean to fall asleep. When she did, she didn’t expect to dream. Maybe it was the memory Frain and his friends had pulled to the surface, because for the first time in years, she dreamt of her mother.
“Tell me who we can trust, Mercy,” Pallas said. Mercy sat in a chair, her legs dangling over the edge, too short to reach the ground. Her mother stood behind her, running a comb through hair recently cut to shoulder length. The comb worked nanobots through the wet strands, changing the color from dark auburn to inky black. Mercy wanted a few blue strands as well, but Pallas didn’t allow anything that might call attention to them.
“No one,” said Mercy dutifully. She knew the answers expected of her.
“Why?” Every night, Pallas asked the same questions.
“Because the nulls are afraid of us.”
“And?”
“And Grandmother wants to hurt us.” Mercy felt sad at the words. She still didn’t understand why her grandmother hated them.
“And who else?”
“Other people like us want to hurt us, too.”
Finished, Pallas set the comb aside, and turned the chair so that Mercy was facing her. She knelt in front of her, taking both of Mercy’s hands between her own. She squeezed them tight enough to hurt, eyes bright with worry.
“I told you never to come looking for me. Why did you disobey me?”
“I…” Tears pricked Mercy’s eyes. Adult resentment and anger chased away her child self, and she was suddenly standing across from Pallas in a room much like her cell. “I had to find you.”
“No!” Pallas shook her head, pacing away from Mercy as far as the small space would allow, and then back again. Her petite, slight form radiated agitation and that constant energy that no amount of nanobots could disguise. “No. I told you if I ever disappeared, it would be too dangerous to look. Why didn’t you listen?”
“I can’t. I can’t leave you with people like this.” Angrily, Mercy swiped a hand across her eyes, wiping away the moisture. “I won’t!”
Even now, even if she escaped, she would never stop looking for her mother. She just wouldn’t endanger anyone else with the search, ever again. She would have to leave, forget Atrea and Wolfgang Hades, pretend she’d never known them.
Pallas stopped pacing and came to stand directly in front of her. Mercy stood half a head taller, but that didn’t stop her mother from taking her shoulders in an iron grip and giving her a shake.
“Stupid, stubborn child. I am lost. Leave me.”
“No. I am not a child anymore, mother.”
&nbs
p; Green eyes a mirror of her own searched Mercy’s. Pallas sighed, a sound as full of frustration as it was a capitulation. Her grip gentled, and she moved one hand to cup Mercy’s face.
“Things are different now. Everything has changed. Be careful who you trust, stubborn girl. I was wrong.” She hesitated, looking pensive. “Sometimes, we have no choice but to trust someone. Even family.”
It occurred to Mercy that her mother still looked young, as young as the day she’d vanished. But this was a dream, and who could explain dreams?
“I will find you, Momma.”
“Oh, Mercy.” Pallas smiled sadly. “I hope not.”
She woke with a jolt. Disoriented. Sad. Angry. Was the dream another trick, one of these bastards messing with her head, twisting her memories? No way to know. She glanced reflexively toward the wall that had shown her Atrea, but the picture of the other cell was gone, the plasteel back to unrelenting gray. Apparently they’d decided she no longer needed motivation. A thread of panic made her heart beat faster. Or they’d realized what they wanted wasn’t possible, and spaced Atrea.
Mercy sat up, debated reaching out with her telepathy. Decided there was no longer any point at all in trying to hide. They knew everything already; what more harm could she do? Stealing herself, she dropped her shields.
And immediately raised them again when the lock clicked on the door to her cell. It opened, letting in another rush of warm air and enough light that it dazzled her eyes. She blinked rapidly a few times, and it was no surprise to see Willem Frain standing in the doorway.
He smiled. She hated that cold, insufferable smile. Then he stepped aside, and two people she didn’t know moved into the cell. A man and a woman. Mercy eyed them warily. They looked as cold as Frain: expressionless, and locked down so tight she picked up nothing from them. They didn’t touch her, but she felt a vise-like grip wrap around her body, holding her arms pinned to her sides and chaining her legs so she couldn’t kick out with them. She was lifted, set on her feet between them, and walked out of her cell while she struggled futilely against the telekinetic grip.
