Pirate Nemesis (Telepathic Space Pirates Book 1)

by Carysa Locke

  “And you better get back before Bruzer misses you. If he reports any delinquency to me…” Cannon left the threat unfinished, but clearly Max understood.

  “That’s why I was running.” He muttered the words under his breath, but stopped when Cannon narrowed his eyes.

  Mercy hid a smile as her cousin made the boy wait, watching as he fidgeted restlessly from foot to foot for an agonizing stretch of time. When Cannon finally lifted a hand in dismissal, Max darted away as quickly as he’d arrived.

  The savory aroma from her tray made Mercy’s mouth water, but she glanced at Cannon as she picked up her fork. “Secret project?”

  He flashed a quick grin. “If I told you, it wouldn’t be secret.”

  Mercy huffed a laugh, and focused her attention fully on her tray. To her surprise, it wasn’t a rehydrated s-meal, though even that would have been delicious at this point. A colorful array of fresh greens and chunks of some kind of fish filled the plate. They were covered in a dark sauce, the source of that savory scent, and so appetizing her stomach growled.

  It had been so long since she had real, actual food, she could have wept. Eagerly, she took a bite and then closed her eyes, relishing the savory, lightly herbed flavor that filled her mouth. She’d taken three bites before she could tear enough of her attention away from the food to speak.

  “Where,” she said, picking up the cup Cannon placed in front of her, “did you get real food?” She took a drink, and was shocked by the wash of refreshing, hoppy liquid across her tongue. She stared at the cup in amazement.

  Cannon looked amused. “We do have our own colonies, you know. Farms, and the like.” He grimaced. “Those deep space nutritional bars are enough to survive on, but who wants to just survive? We do, of course, stock a variety of s-meals to be rehydrated and eaten if the need arises, but we always stock our stores with fresh ingredients whenever we make port.”

  She took another drink, eyes closed. “I think this is the best meal I’ve eaten in my entire life.” For the moment, it was true. She tapped a finger on the rim of her cup as she set it down. “This beer, it tastes like Thalian ale.”

  It was arguably the most popular ale in the Commonwealth, with limited batches brewed each year via a secret recipe out of Thalia, a colony world that started out as just another mining operation. It quickly rose to much greater prominence for its beer.

  Cannon smiled. “Does it?”

  Mercy leaned forward. “It really does. What did you do, steal a shipment?”

  “Stole the recipe.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “Seriously?”

  Cannon shrugged. “We enjoy good things. Several years ago, one of the ships we took happened to be carrying one of their brewers as a passenger. He bartered the recipe and process in exchange for his freedom.”

  Thalia never produced enough beer to meet the demand. Mercy gestured to her cup again. “You could be selling this and making a nice profit.”

  “Who says we aren’t?”

  Mercy shook her head, returning her attention to her meal. “I’m getting the feeling that you people are a lot more than just pirates.”

  “Oh, make no mistake. We are pirates.” He eyed her. “How much do you know about our history?”

  She shrugged. “What everyone does, I guess. Talent started out as a military thing. Then, when the government united under the banner of the Commonwealth of Sovereign Planets, they didn’t need Talented people anymore.”

  “That is true, to a point. The reality is, Talent was engineered by scientists in a lab, nearly a century ago. They created telepaths, telekinetics, people with highly specialized gifts rooted in both. We were made to be soldiers, spies, and assassins, and yes, the government did decide they didn’t need us anymore. More to the point, they decided we were far too dangerous to keep around. They spread that idea among the populace with that Mori Shinjo farce.”

  “The Admiral who killed his entire crew, right? Mass suicide?” The images were still broadcast throughout the Commonwealth, some seventy-five years later. The Talented Admiral responsible for many of the victories that led to a united Commonwealth, a decorated war hero. He went mad and killed himself, his gift inspiring his entire crew of more than three hundred people to do the same thing, at the same moment. It was the catalyst the Commonwealth used to finally outlaw Talent and sweep up the Talented, to either imprison in some remote location or, more likely, execute.

  “Yes. But it wasn’t suicide so much as murder. Nothing like it has happened before or since, and the timing was extremely convenient for a government that wanted us all dead.” Cannon shrugged. “The way I understand it, the Commonwealth executed hundreds under the guise of preserving public safety. Talented people, realizing they were facing genocide, stole whatever ships they could get their hands on and escaped. The location – in fringe space, and thus outside the reach of the core worlds – was broadcast telepathically until enough of them had gathered to make some kind of life.”

  “And then they turned to piracy?”

  “It was the only way to survive. They needed supplies. Terraforming equipment, food, medicine, clothing.”

  Mercy could picture it all too clearly.

  “We still do. We may have colonies now – I grew up in one. But everything we have, we gained by taking from the Commonwealth, and then pooling our resources and building on them.” He smiled. “I’m sure it really pisses them off that we have not only survived, but thrived out here. Now, we take Commonwealth ships not just because we have to, but because it’s fun to remind them we’re still here.”

  Mercy looked down at her empty tray regretfully. She would have liked to ask for more, but at the same time, having gone so long without meant her stomach probably couldn’t take much more. She pushed the tray aside.

  “But the Commonwealth has a Navy. Surely they’ve tried to retaliate sometime in the last few decades.”

  “Oh, they’ve tried several times. Early on, before we were organized, they nearly succeeded. But they did create us to be the very best soldiers and assassins government money could make. Every time they’ve come against us, they’ve lost ships and people. We added to our fleet, and became stronger as a result. The media glamorized the conflict, so every loss became bad PR for the government. It became cost prohibitive for them a long time ago.”

  Mercy couldn’t imagine the Commonwealth giving up so easily. “Are you saying they’ve left you in relative peace?”

  Cannon’s easy smile faded, and a look came into his eyes, one that spoke of old pain and bitter anger.

  “No,” he said. “They turned to other, less direct methods.” He took a breath, let it out. She realized he was about to talk about something that was deeply, personally difficult for him.

  “Eleven years ago, they devised a way to deal with us that didn’t involve a messy war in the media headlines. They sent the trade ship Hermes on a shipping lane we’d hit before. She was a fat target – a heavy transport filled with medical supplies and, most irresistible of all, a group of Talented prisoners, rumored to be on their way to a scientific outpost for use as experimental subjects. We had to take it. It was armed and escorted, but we handled it with minimal losses. We took the ship, distributed the take among half our ships and colonies by the time we were done, and welcomed the newly-freed Talented among us.”

  He paused, looking down at his hands, fingers laced together.

  “We didn’t know those Talented people we freed had already been the subject of experimentation. They were carriers. According to our own doctors, the Commonwealth developed the Matera-D virus to attack the portion of our minds associated with Talent. It was quite effective. It spread quickly, invisibly, and killed indiscriminately. It yielded to none of our attempts to treat it. It should have meant our extinction, but something went wrong. It didn’t work quite as intended. Only our women died. Infants, children, mothers and grandmothers – it didn’t matter to the virus. We lost over eighty percent of our female population befor
e we got the victims effectively quarantined and sent the unaffected safely away. The death toll was in the tens of thousands.”

  Mercy felt the meal she’d just eaten congeal in her stomach. Eleven years ago…so this would have been well after she and her mother left. After they fled to the Commonwealth. If they hadn’t, if they’d still been here… Words failed her. She had no idea what to say in the face of such massive losses.

  “By the time the virus was done with us, our population was nearly cut in half. And when you get down to the level of basic survival, we had perhaps one woman to every eight men, and that figure is generous. We had to adapt to survive, again.”

  “I don’t…what does that mean?”

  A humorless smile ghosted across his face, there and then gone again.

  “It means women are precious to us. You could even say revered. And it means we don’t have enough of them.”

  Chapter Nine

  Mercy’s head spun with the implications of everything Cannon had shared. She couldn’t imagine what that must have been like, how helpless people must have felt watching loved ones sicken and die, knowing someone had created that sickness to do exactly that.

  “Is that what killed Lilith?”

  Cannon nodded, and there was something in his eyes, an echo of old pain and grief, but underscored with such an intense, cold fury that she could practically feel it radiating from him.

  “Yes. Lilith, my mother, my sister, cousins, nieces…too many others to count.” His voice was stiff, and Mercy realized he must not speak of this very often. That he was doing so now to share the experience with her because he felt strongly that she needed to understand it. But doing so dredged up memories that still hurt him on a profound level.

  “I’m sorry.” Slowly, she became aware of a hushed silence in the room, where before there had been the low hum of voices, private conversations filling the background as people chatted over their meals. Now, no one spoke. There was a quality to the silence, a reverence, and Mercy felt acutely that everyone was aware of the subject of their conversation, and responding to it. The emotions she saw in Cannon were not limited to him, but shared by all of the pirates. Everyone had lost someone. Everyone mourned.

  Cannon looked down at his drink.

  “A few years back, we found out something that made it even worse, if you can imagine that.”

  Mercy tried to imagine what could make it worse, and failed.

  “The people responsible for creating Matera-D and sending it to us, the people who tried to wipe out our existence, were not the Planetary Representatives and the monarchy as we know it.” He took a breath. “They were not nulls who hate or fear us. There is a group within the Commonwealth. A group of Talented, like us. Who, instead of fleeing the persecution, went underground. They disappeared within the core worlds, creating a network of Talented people who became very adept at hiding. We suspect very strongly that they have infiltrated the government. That, in fact, they are the power behind the monarchy, one that the nulls do not even suspect exists.”

  He looked at Mercy, his eyes flicking up to the mop of recently grown hair just brushing her ears. Something in her chilled.

  Willem Frain, she thought. “The people who held me. The people who hurt Atrea.” In her lap, her hands curled into fists. The people who took my mother. She was still making a big leap there, since she had no proof. But it was so easy to imagine Willem and his people being responsible.

  “Yes. Nulls may have driven us from civilized space, may have made us turn pirate to survive. But our own people tried to destroy us. Talented people.”

  “Why?”

  He gave her a bitter smile. “That’s the question, isn’t it? We found out this information because we have those among us who escaped this group and found their way here. Unfortunately, these people were not deep enough within the organization to understand all of their motives. I suspect that it’s a matter of power.” He shrugged. “Clearly, we represent some kind of threat to them, to what they’ve built. They have made an enormous effort to destroy us.” Remembered pain still lurked in his eyes when he said, “It is not an act we can allow to go unanswered.”

  “I understand,” Mercy said very softly.

  For a moment, the two of them stared at one another in perfect empathy. Mercy would never be able to ignore the disappearance or death of her mother. She imagined how much worse she would feel if she’d actually watched her mother die, murdered by a virus engineered to take her life. She could see the resolve in Cannon’s face, in his eyes and the tension of his body. He would never let this go, never forget what had been done, or who had done it.

  A loud crash sounded nearby. It startled them both, but Mercy jumped so badly she spilled half her beer onto the table. She didn’t realize she’d grabbed at the cutlery from her tray until the knife was fisted in her hand, her chair knocked to the floor because she stood up so fast. Adrenaline made her shake, her heart pounding as she took in food splattered over the floor a couple of tables away. Another chair was overturned, and two teenagers stood facing off over the dropped tray. Max, and another boy.

  The second boy was considerably larger, but it was Max who threw a punch. It hit the larger boy in the face with enough force to throw him back into another table and chairs. The occupants jumped up and out of the way with hurled curses, none moving to intervene. The boy landed with a crash that took out three chairs and rocked the table.

  Not just a punch then, but one backed by telekinesis. Mercy understood the principle, though she’d never had the time to practice her own Talent to perfect it. What she didn’t understand was why the larger boy had simply stood there and done nothing to defend himself. Two or three other boys hung back, grouped together in that way unique to packs of teenagers. One flashed a malevolent grin at Max, and Mercy’s eyes narrowed. Though he appeared to be the aggressor, it was clear to her that Max was somehow the victim.

  A touch on her arm brought her attention back to Cannon. He’d moved around the table to stand beside her, his eyes flicking down to the knife she held so firmly. She let out a breath. It was just two boys fighting. She forced her fingers to unlock and dropped the knife back onto the table.

  “Shouldn’t you do something?” Her voice came out with a faint tremble, and she blew out a frustrated breath. She didn’t like being this jumpy. The question was, was she just being paranoid because of her recent experience? Or did it go deeper, because she was finally back home, where it all began? Where she started running? Both, probably.

  “I could. But we have a plan.” Cannon inclined his head, and Mercy felt the familiar brush of his presence a breath before she turned and saw Reaper walking across the floor. Unlike Cannon, Reaper didn’t wear armored clothing. His shirt was thin gray cotton, the real stuff by the look of it, tucked into casual synth-cloth pants just like those Wolfgang and a thousand other spacers wore, self-mending, self-cleaning, and utilitarian black in color.

  He’d just entered the room, and he crossed over to the boys with a smooth, unhurried stride. The larger boy lay crumpled on the ground, moaning in apparent pain. Max stood with his fists clenched, hair hanging in his eyes, breathing heavily. A look was beginning to dawn on his face, one of horror that only increased when Reaper stepped into his line of sight. His face went dead white. He glanced around at the other people in the room, but no one moved to intervene. It was a little disturbing, actually, how no one had even stirred when the fight erupted.

  Reaper arched an eyebrow. He glanced back at the boy still moaning. When he spoke out loud, Mercy knew it was a deliberate choice, so everyone could hear. “Kator, shut up. If you were really hurt, I’d see it.”

  The boy stopped his moaning instantly. He sat up, and his face, too, had paled. His hair was cut close to his head, and he wore an old flight suit like Max’s. Mercy wondered if he hadn’t thought this whole event through, because there was no doubt in her mind that somehow, he’d set Max up. He looked around, but his friends had melted away fr
om Reaper’s presence, backing up like they meant to escape from the room. A couple of Reaper’s dogs blocked the doorway. Mercy recognized the shaggy haired one, Jaxon, and Zion with his too-charming smile. He didn’t look charming now, but crossed his arms and gave the boys a flat look. They edged away from the doorway, but made no move to go back and help their friend.

  Kator looked around, and Mercy glimpsed real fear on his face a second before he gathered himself and flung a hand toward his opponent. “Sir, Max attacked me!” He rubbed at a bruise and winced. “He hit me because I bumped into him.”

  Head bowed, Max stared at the ground. His fists were still clenched, and Mercy could see his jaw was tight as well. From the crowd, another voice spoke up.

  “It’s true. Kator knocked into him, spilled his tray. It looked like an accident. But Max here threw the first punch.” The tone of the speaker was reluctant, as though he didn’t like incriminating Max.

  Reaper’s face remained impassive. Mercy saw his dogs move into the room. They leaned casually against the far wall, but their eyes moved over the area, vigilant and watchful.

  “Max.”

  “Sir?” The boy’s eyes darted up to Reaper’s face, and dropped back down again. Like he couldn’t stand to look him in the eye.

  “You know what the law says about disagreements.”

  Max swallowed. “Yes, sir.” The words were spoken so softly, Mercy had to strain to hear them.

  “Unless the two of you can settle this now?”

  “He attacked me!” Kator’s voice was full of outrage. “Everyone saw. Sir.”

  Reaper turned his head and favored him with a cool look. He stared at him until Kator dropped his eyes. “I take it that an apology will not satisfy you?”

  Kator didn’t look up from the floor. “No, sir. I want my day in the arena.”

  Ah. So that was his game. Whatever this arena was. Mercy glanced at Cannon, but his face was as impassive as Reaper’s. Maybe some kind of tribunal? Over boys fighting?