by Carysa Locke
“Your implants could cause interference with the bone knitting.” Doc’s voice held more annoyance than usual. “You’ll need to stay absolutely still until the process finishes.”
“I’m not going anywhere until I know Mercy is all right,” said Wolfgang. Doc muttered something under his breath in his own language, his tone acerbic.
“I said—” Mercy began.
“Iie! Enough!” Doc snapped, throwing his hand through the air in a sharp, decisive motion. Along the far wall, an assortment of vials and containers vibrated in warning. They stopped again almost immediately, but silence blanketed the room. Reaper couldn’t remember the last time Doc’s temper resulted in a loss of control over his Talent. As he watched, the doctor took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly.
“A few hours ago, someone nearly blasted a hole in the side of this ship with an explosive device that destroyed the lift to this infirmary,” Doc said stiffly. “They managed to nearly kill two people, one of them the new queen. If things had gone differently, it could have been much worse. All I ask, is for my patients to listen when I tell them what they need. Wakatta?”
After a tense moment, Mercy’s expression softened. She nodded. Some of the stiffness eased from Doc’s face, but his dark eyes still glittered when he looked at Nayla, motioning with his head for her to take over with Wolfgang.
“What are Mercy’s injuries?” Reaper asked, stepping fully into the room.
Doc glanced at him, one black brow raised in surprise, and Reaper stared back with a patience he did not feel. The other man frowned, turning back to Mercy and resolutely picking up his datapad again.
“A telekinetic shield safeguarded them from the worst of the blast—the explosion itself, fragments and shrapnel. She must have thrown one up in the last instant.” Doc glanced at Reaper as he said this, an unspoken question on his face.
“We’ve been working on her telepathy,” Reaper told him, shaking his head. “I haven’t even tested her telekinesis yet.”
“Well, sometimes instinct kicks in,” said Doc. “It saved them both from being burned, even killed instantly. But the blast energy was extreme. Captain Hades’ implants granted him a level of protection, hence the superficial nature of his injuries. Mercy, however, was not so fortunate. She suffered contusions to ears, stomach, and lungs. The most serious of these was the buildup of blood in her lungs that took Nayla several hours to correct.”
“But she is recovered.” Reaper wasn’t sure if it was a statement or a question, even as he said it.
“Yes, the worst of her injuries have been dealt with,” said Doc stiffly. “It was only when she woke that she became a difficult patient.” He gave Mercy a severe look. “Fortunately, the incident took place very close to the infirmary. We were able to get to her quickly.” He looked away from Mercy, who had the wisdom to stay silent, though a frown hovered at her mouth. “She is very lucky. We all are.”
“Are you sure this was an attack aimed at Mercy?” asked Wolfgang, wincing. Bone knitting was an uncomfortable process at best, Reaper knew from personal experience. Those with cybernetic implants often complained that discomfort upgraded to pain, as metal parts interfered with the organic healing of the body. Nayla was watching the process intently. Reaper assumed she was monitoring it with her Talent. The girl’s dark hair was tied back in a messy ponytail and her brow wrinkled as she concentrated on her task.
“The method points to it,” said Cannon. “Blowing up any part of a ship is dangerous at best. If something goes wrong with the charge or the blast radius, if a hull breach occurs—”
“Everyone on board is at risk,” Wolfgang mused. “Including the bomber.” He looked from Cannon to Reaper, and back again. “Then why do it? Surely, there are safer ways to kill someone.”
“To kill someone, yes,” said Cannon. “But not if the intended target was Mercy.”
Wolfgang frowned. “What am I missing?”
“Yeah, what are we missing?” asked Mercy.
“You are a Queen,” said Reaper. “Killing a Queen is a genetic impossibility for most of us.”
“Most of you?” Mercy asked. “What the hell does that mean?”
Reaper shrugged.
“It means a Killer like myself can probably get around the genetic imperative. We are designed for one thing: taking life, any life, in the most efficient way possible.”
Despite their conversation in the elevator earlier, Reaper expected her to recoil at his words. Instead, she stared at him for a heartbeat, then threw back her head and laughed. It was a light, genuinely amused sound, and Reaper found himself relaxing, though he hadn’t realized he was tense.
Cannon stared at Mercy like she was crazy. So did Doc.
She eventually stopped, but her smile was huge and her green eyes danced with mirth. “You’re telling me, the only man actually capable of killing me on this ship is you?”
“And my brother, Dem,” Reaper said cautiously. “He is also a Killer.”
“So you, and your brother.”
“Yes.”
Mercy shook her head. “You guys really should have led with that when I came on board.”
Doc looked at Cannon. “She should be a lot more worried. Shouldn't she?”
Cannon gave a laconic shrug. “Queens are a breed unto themselves, Doc. Never forget that.”
It was, Reaper, thought, a truer statement than Cannon knew. As Mercy, still amused, looked at him with a complete absence of fear, he felt something odd, a shift inside of him that he couldn’t explain. She trusted him. Every time something happened that made him expect that trust to waver or break, she surprised him. It drew upon him in a wholly unexpected way. He realized suddenly that he never wanted to disappoint her, and that made him begin to understand something else.
He no longer wondered how Lilith had inspired such loyalty in so many, despite her cruelty. If she looked at them with such absolute faith, how could they dare to let her down? It dawned on him that Mercy’s true power lay not in her Talent, but in her ability to inspire. He didn’t know for certain if this was a queen thing, or just something unique to Mercy herself.
“Reaper?” A faint frown furrowed her brow, and then her telepathic voice spoke softly to him. You’re staring at me. Is everything okay?
He hesitated.
I just killed the men who set the bomb. Not the architect who told them to do it, but those who actually handled the explosive.
She gave a little shrug. I’m not surprised to hear it.
I shot three of them. The other two, I crushed their minds to pulp with my Talent.
Mercy frowned. Normally I’d have expected some kind of incarceration and a trial, but given where we are…you’re certain they were involved?
Yes. Someone erased their memories, but they had more of the plas-charge, and attempted to use it again.
Mercy looked across the room to Cannon. Doc still buzzed around her with a datapad, muttering to himself, but he seemed satisfied enough with her healing because his anger had lessened. One could usually measure the seriousness of someone’s injuries by the shortness of Doc’s temper.
“What’s the process for handling attempted murder on this ship?” she asked. “You know, say, if someone tried to blow someone else up, what would the appropriate punishment be?”
Cannon raised an eyebrow. He looked from her, to Reaper, and back. Then he shook his head.
“I assume you’re asking due to recent events. They endangered more than ten thousand lives. Women and children among them. There is only one sentence for such a crime.”
Mercy looked back at Reaper. Then I don’t see a problem. Thank you for stopping them from blowing up the ship.
She was thanking him. For killing people.
She wasn’t scared. He’d told her the worst thing he’d done today, and she wasn’t afraid. He didn’t know how to assimilate that.
“Mercy,” Cannon leaned forward, steepling his hands in front him, his elbows propped on his knees. “Thi
s isn’t over. Reaper killed the perpetrators, yes, but whoever directed this to happen, whoever wiped their memories clean, that person is still somewhere aboard this ship.”
She sobered instantly, and Wolfgang shifted closer to her, though Nayla hissed in a breath and whispered an admonishment to hold still.
“They could try again.”
Cannon nodded gravely.
“The probability is strong. I’m not sure you understand the level of animosity Lilith left as her legacy. Everyone here living only has that experience by which to judge life ruled by a queen. Well…” He lifted a shoulder. “Everyone but Vashti, perhaps. Kiana, their mother, was queen before Lilith. She died when Lilith was only seventeen. There are very few still living who knew her well.”
Mercy digested this with a thoughtful look.
“Kiana, my great-grandmother. I should ask Vashti about her.”
Reaper moved away from the door a breath before Vashti stepped through it.
“Did I hear my name?” Mercy’s great-aunt hobbled into the room using her cane, flanked by her ever-present escorts, Cage and Griffin. When they would have followed her in, she lifted a hand and waved them back into the hallway. It’s crowded enough in here, she told them, not bothering to keep the thought contained.
Why are they always with her, Mercy asked Reaper privately.
Vashti likes to appear as old and fragile as possible. The cane isn’t necessary. She could easily use telekinesis to support any weak knees or arthritic joints, but that wouldn’t give people the visual impression she wants. Griffin and Cage act as her bodyguards for the same reason. Don’t let her harmless old-woman act fool you. She is the only one of her siblings to survive Lilith’s reign. She is brilliant, and dangerous.
Hmm, said Mercy thoughtfully. I saw that at the arena. Thanks for the heads up. Then she met Vashti’s warm smile with one of her own.
“I’m so glad you’re all right, dear,” said the old woman. “I would have been here sooner, but you understand with the lift not functioning, the emergency ladders are a challenge for me.”
Mercy met Reaper’s eyes over Vashti’s shoulder as her aunt came to stand beside her. “I understand,” she said.
There was genuine warmth in her gaze as Vashti patted Mercy’s shoulder. Whatever her machinations, Vashti at least admired her great-niece, and was perhaps even growing fond of her. It was hard for Reaper to judge; emotions were far from his specialty. He glanced over, and found Cannon watching them as he stroked a hand over his jaw, speculation in his eyes.
“I hear you heroically pushed Wolfgang to safety,” Vashti said, tilting her head close as though sharing a confidence. “I’m sure it was well-meant, my dear, but you should know his cybernetic implants give him much more durability to survive than you have.”
“I’ll keep that in mind the next time someone tries to blow me to pieces,” Mercy said with no sincerity at all.
Reaper had no doubt she’d sacrifice herself in an instant for those she loved. His brow furrowed at the thought. An unfamiliar tightness filled his chest. What the hell was wrong with him?
That would be worry, said Cannon.
Empathy, Reaper decided in that moment, was a particularly annoying Talent. Vashti was still talking to Mercy. He took advantage of the distraction to duck back out into the hall, taking a deep breath once he got there.
“That’s not something you see every day.”
He’d forgotten he wasn’t alone. Reaper sent a cold look to Griffin, but they’d grown up together. The other man wasn’t intimidated; he knew too well what Reaper’s eyes looked like in the grip of a killing mood. His younger brother, Cage, drew a bit further away.
“Look, Cage,” continued Griffin, nudging him with a shoulder. “Probably the only time we’ll ever see Reaper run from a room.”
He hadn’t been running. Just…taking a moment. Reaper’s eyes narrowed. He’d forgotten how irritating Griffin could be, always quick with a joke at someone else’s expense. Normally it didn’t bother him. Now, he found himself studying them both with a killer’s eyes. Mentally running through all of the most efficient ways to kill them calmed his nerves, and the annoyance faded. Reaper favored them with a cold smile. Griffin grinned back, an unperturbed as usual, but Cage’s complexion whitened.
The two of them stood in the hallway waiting for Vashti, as alike as brothers could be. They both sported the family line’s signature green eyes, nebula bright. Griffin was an inch taller, and slightly heavier, but Cage was the dangerous one. Griffin’s Talent was the more powerful, but he had a carefully strategic mind and was generally, annoyingly, good-natured. Cage was unpredictable, and he’d never recovered from the loss of their sister several years past. Although unsure around Reaper, the younger man was normally quick to anger. And he reacted with brutal, callous efficiency.
Reaper had once seen him beat a man to death in the arena. The insult had been slight, and the man’s skill poor. Cage could have knocked him unconscious and left it at that. Instead, he’d beaten him with a methodical, cold competence that had been as impressive as it was deliberate. Reaper marked the moment and never forgot.
“Griffin.” Reaper nodded in greeting. “Still dogging Vashti’s heels, I see.”
The insult wasn’t subtle. Griffin was a member of the Core, the ruling body that helped govern the pirates. Reaper knew Dem had offered Vashti her own set of dogs and she’d politely refused, saying she needed none with her nephews around. When Griffin wasn’t personally with her, his own dogs were, including his brother Cage. Reaper wondered how much of their protectiveness was in response to Vashti’s demands, and how much revolved around protecting the few women left in their immediate family.
Griffin just smiled, as Reaper had known he would.
“You know me, always looking to get out of meetings. Besides, she’s always where the really important action is.”
That was true enough. Vashti had her nose in everyone’s business, from Cannon to each member of the Core.
Sobering, Griffin said, “Someone must really want Mercy dead.”
“They must, yes.”
“She’s family,” said Cage with a frown.
“She is.” Griffin looked back at Reaper. “Anything we can do to help?”
Reaper debated for a moment, but Griffin was Core. He would know soon enough, whether Reaper was the one to tell him or not.
“Those who set the bomb are dead. The one who directed them to do it wiped their memories.”
Cage and Griffin exchanged a look.
“That’s a pretty crude way of covering his tracks.”
“But effective.” Reaper thought it interesting that Griffin assumed the perpetrator was a man. The population being what it was, chance weighed heavy in that direction, but there were women aboard Nemesis who were more than capable. He had certainly not discounted any of them, including Vashti.
“I thought she’d be here much sooner to see Mercy,” Reaper said, testing the waters.
“She went to check on the children first,” said Cage. “That explosion was felt six decks away. People were scared. Especially the little ones.”
“Cannon kept in touch,” Griffin commented. “We knew what was going on.”
Good enough for now. With the family history of back stabbing and assassination, Reaper wasn’t ready to cross them off the list yet, but truthfully, Vashti was low in the pool of suspects. He couldn’t see a real advantage to her in Mercy’s death, and the warmth in her eyes just now when she’d entered the infirmary had not been feigned.
“You should have left one of them alive,” said Griffin, leaning back against the wall with his hands at his belt. “I bet Treon could have pulled something from them, memory wipe or not.”
Possible. But a moot point, since they were all dead. Reaper almost scowled. No doubt he would hear about that later from Treon.
“Hey.”
All three of them turned to the door as Mercy stepped through it. The bruise was still
a livid mark against her temple, but her hair hid most of it now. It hung almost to her jaw in a disheveled wave that managed to flatter and highlight the slash of her cheekbones and narrow features. Nayla had definitely made it grow. Griffin straightened from the wall, his trademark grin in place.
“Glad to see you survived, cousin. But then, we’re hard to kill.”
If he was trying to win some kind of approval from Mercy, he failed miserably. As she always did with family, she eyed him warily, and stepped closer to Reaper as she navigated the hallway.
“Not from what I remember,” she disagreed in a mutter. Her eyes cut to Reaper and she lowered her voice. “Can we go somewhere and talk?”
Of course.
She winced. Damn it, I keep forgetting I can just talk in your mind.
It will take time to become second nature.
Yeah.
Oblivious to their mental conversation, Griffin was holding out his hand and trying to invite her to dinner. He really was charming, but Mercy did not appear swayed.
“No thanks,” she said, and brushed by him to move down the hall.
Reaper met Griffin’s eyes, and allowed himself a small smile as he followed her.
“So, we have to go the long way, right? And use emergency ladders?” Her voice floated back over her shoulder.
Indeed. I’ll show you how to glide down with telekinesis. Reaper didn’t examine too closely why he felt such a surge of…something, at Mercy’s indifference to Griffin.
Thankfully, Cannon didn’t sense it and tell him what it was. At this point, Reaper would rather not know.
“Great,” said Mercy with false enthusiasm. “That doesn’t sound dangerous at all. You know, I think I’ll just watch, and then climb down the old-fashioned way.”
If you like. Until whoever was behind this is caught, I’m going to assign one of my dogs to you. If I’m not with you, one of them will be.
Mercy didn’t answer him, but he caught her frown at they reached the end of the corridor. Reaper grabbed her arm, and she stopped and looked up at him. Her eyes were shadowed with unhappiness.
“All right?” he said softly, aloud. He didn’t want to force the issue, but he also wasn’t going to let it go. Mercy’s survival had somehow become extremely important in a very short time.
