Overload Flux

by Carol Van Natta

  Luka’s head snapped back with the force of another slap. The bald merc was already moving away by the time Luka looked up. He felt blood trickle from his nose and the side of his mouth.

  “I told you not to do that again,” said the telepath. Her voice was definitely shaky.

  “Farðu í rassgat,” he thought to her. Go fuck yourself. He switched to standard English to speak. “It was your question,” he said, then spat out blood onto the stained carpet. “I can’t help it if you didn’t like the answer.”

  He tried to project confidence, but he knew he couldn’t hold out indefinitely. Eating up their time was all he could hope for. He was risking losing control over the memories, and maybe sending himself into a fugue state, leaving the telepath free to slip in and browse through his mind at will.

  Why do you remember murderers like that? She asked the question in his mind.

  I don’t, he thought back with vehemence. I remember the victims.

  He felt a wave of revulsion in her mind and body, though she tried to hide it. Her fingers were turning to ice on the back of his neck. Then she shored up her shields and with that, her resolve.

  “If you do that again, I’ll have Mr. Brown break something,” she said with a steely tone.

  “Then pick another subject,” said Luka. “You saw what they did to her.” Ice was freezing his blood and bones.

  She was silent a moment. “Very well. What do you know about Loyduk Pharma?”

  “Það framleiðir og dreifir lyfjum.” The telepath made his mind translate to English. “They make and distribute pharmaceuticals.” He was quoting from an article he’d read the day before. He visualized each sentence and focused on translating them into Icelandic. She used it as a hook into other related memories, including the lab’s report on the squibs. He tried to avoid the memory of the warehouse, but he was losing control and the horror started to saturate his thoughts. The telepath thought he was doing it on purpose and it made her mad.

  “I warned you,” she said with tight anger. “Mr. Brown, if you please. Something painful.” Luka felt her take control of his whole body again as the bald merc stepped close. He lifted Luka’s left hand and casually forced all four of Luka’s fingers back until they cracked. The pain was overwhelming, and the telepath didn’t allow him the outlet of vocalizing or even gritting his teeth. His eyes watered involuntarily and his breathing came in shallow gasps.

  “What was in the lab report?” she asked, and probed deep again. Control on his body eased, and he thought maybe she couldn’t both physically compel and deep probe at the same time. Luka let the throbbing pain radiating from his left hand fill his mind. He couldn’t stop her from rooting around, but he could make her pay for it.

  “What did Leo Balkovsky find out about Loyduk?” He felt her trace the connection in his mind and triggered the nauseating memory of Leo’s lifeless body curled around the forceblade that had killed him. His gut roiled as he tried to think of something else, anything else. But not of Mairwen who had anchored him, who might be hurt, or might have sent for the cavalry. He could feel the telepath tracing his mental thread, getting closer. He pressed his broken fingers to the chair arm and gasped as the overload of pain fluxed through him, obliterating all coherent thought.

  As the pain subsided, the scar-faced merc in blue watching at the window spoke. “Problem outside.” His right hand hovered near a thigh holster, but Luka couldn’t see what was in it.

  “Company?” asked Brown.

  “Street fight.” Something hit the thick security window with a loud thump. “They’re throwing rocks. Fucking fog. Can’t see shit.”

  It sounded to Luka like a riot might be brewing, one of the unfortunately more regular things Etonver was known for. And with Etonver’s open-carry policies…

  “Weapons will be next,” said Brown, proving he was well aware of the pattern. His accent sounded Russian. He looked above Luka’s head to where the telepath was presumably standing. “We must move. Are you done here?”

  “Soon. I need five more minutes,” said the telepath. She sounded angry and nervous.

  Two quick, loud thuds hit the window. Luka would have twitched if his body hadn’t been locked down.

  “Too dangerous,” said Brown. “We must take him somewhere else.” He crossed to Luka and used his large combat knife to cut through the tape. The telepath’s touch kept Luka immobile, then compelled him to stand. Brown stood nearby. “Left or right?” he asked, presumably asking which direction they’d be taking once they got outside.

  “Right,” said the scar-faced merc. He crossed to the door, checked that Brown and the telepath were ready, then opened it.

  All hell broke loose.

  The scar-faced merc staggered back as the door slammed into the wall and bounced into him, but he was already falling, his face a bloody mass as his nose sprayed blood like a burst water balloon. Someone streaked into the room and out of Luka’s view, but Brown was slowed by having to drop his combat knife before reaching for the beamer in his holster. The overhead lights went out.

  Luka felt the telepath’s unshielded panic as she lost control of him. He dove to the floor, then almost passed out from the pain when he landed on his broken left hand. He rolled onto his back and was bombarded by a shadowy kaleidoscope of images and sounds. Brown’s leg extending in a high kick and someone’s grunt of pain. A brilliant flash of light and a roar from outside the door. Brown’s body spinning as he pointed the beamer. A glimpse of pale blonde hair. A crash of security coilglass. A flash, and a woman’s high-pitched scream abruptly cut off. A sickening thump, and Brown’s body dropping like a sandbag on top of Luka, smashing his broken hand between them and sending him into deep twilight.

  When the darkness receded, the roaring chaos had subsided and all he heard was heavy, unsteady breathing in the room and the rumble of the riot outside, moving away.

  Someone called his name, and he recognized the voice.

  “Mairwen?” he croaked. He couldn’t imagine how she came to be there.

  It took him a couple of tries to one-handedly shove Brown’s unconscious but still breathing body off of him. The pain from his left hand was blindingly intense. He cradled it against his chest as he sat up. The supposedly unbreakable window was shattered. The scar-faced merc’s body was lying in the doorway, covered in some of the coilglass shards.

  Next to the overturned chair was the body of a beefy, dark-skinned woman, presumably the telepath. She was dead, her shoulder and neck fried, likely unintentionally, by the beamer that was still in Brown’s hand. Luka was grateful that the excruciating pain of his hand kept his talent dark for the moment.

  Mairwen, who had been looking out the window, moved to crouch next to him. Her strong features were softened by shadows.

  “It’s not safe here,” she said. “Can you walk?”

  It took him a moment to understand her English words. Her tone was remarkably even and calm for someone who had just taken out two professional mercs in a matter of seconds. She wasn’t even breathing hard, so the harsh lung sounds must be coming from him.

  He nodded and got to his feet awkwardly. She rose as he did, unclipped the tech suppressor from his shirt and pocketed it, grabbed his jacket and percomp from the bed, and glided to the doorway. She stepped over scar-faced merc’s body to look outside. To Luka’s relief, the merc was still alive.

  “Let’s go,” she said, and watched him closely as he crossed to her. Apparently satisfied he wasn’t going to collapse, she led him outside.

  The central mass of the riot had moved on or broken apart, he couldn’t tell which, leaving the street deserted except for the scattered debris, some of it burning. It was quite surreal in the fog and smoke.

  He didn’t remember much about walking away from the hostel or the taxi ride that took them to her apartment building, except the bitter, subzero cold in his veins. He knew he should be worried about shock, but he couldn’t make his pain-soaked brain think of what to do about it. It wa
s doubtless a sign of stress trauma that he felt safer with Mairwen than he would have with a phalanx of bodyguards, especially after she told him she’d neutralized two other mercs in the park before finding him.

  She had him sit on a stool at the breakfast bar in her tiny, spartan, sixth-floor apartment. She gently wrapped a flexible freeze pack around his swollen and rapidly bruising left hand, apologizing for not having any painkillers. The fog in his head had begun to clear by the time she put a warm mug of herbal tea in front of him and wrapped his good hand around it. He was still miserably cold.

  “Drink,” she said. “You need to decide who to ping and where to get medical treatment.”

  He sipped gingerly and found it was too sweet but not too hot, so he took several swallows, paying no mind to its hay-like flavor of dried ryegrass. He knew sugar didn’t work that fast, but he felt better almost immediately.

  “Zheer first,” he said. She nodded and put his percomp on the counter in front of him.

  He lucked into connecting live and encrypted almost immediately, which meant Zheer was still at the office despite the late hour.

  He set the percomp to speaker only and told Zheer what had happened. He glossed over parts he didn’t want to discuss in detail, such as how he’d distracted the telepath, and how Mairwen had taken down three armed kidnappers in only seconds. They both had secrets to keep. He hoped Zheer would infer the riot had been the main reason he’d escaped.

  “I think it’s a bad idea for me to report this to the police, at least for now. Being involved in a second violent death case in as many days is liable to get me iced for a week.”

  There was a pause. “Only the telepath is dead?”

  He looked at Mairwen, who nodded slightly. “As far as we know. The mercs were still alive when we left.”

  “As you wish, then. Nothing in Etonver law says you have to report being assaulted, and I doubt the mercs will file charges.”

  Her dry tone drew a brief snort out of him.

  “I’d like to visit the company’s contract healer. I could go to the nearest urgent care center, but planetary law makes it too helvítis easy for the police and other interested parties to see the records.”

  “Of course. I’m sending the authcodes now. Is Morganthur still with you?”

  “Yes, she can hear you.” Luka pushed the percomp toward her. His broken hand was aching from the freeze pack, but he kept it on.

  “How did you get separated from Foxe on the trail?” Zheer’s tone was chillier than it had been.

  Mairwen’s expression was completely closed down. “Two other mercs attacked from behind us on the trail. They delayed me.”

  “I see. Then how did you find Foxe so fast? Or at all, for that matter?”

  “The mercs walked him to the hostel room. I found witnesses.”

  “Lucky for you both, then.” A thread of skepticism in her voice suggested she thought there was more their story. “Luka, any idea on motive?”

  “Not really. They went to the trouble and expense of separating me from Morganthur and interrogating me, instead of just disabling or killing one or both of us. Some of the questions were… unexpected, like a new player late to the game, catching up.”

  “Interesting. I was inclined to disregard your rather fanciful idea of a hybrid planet, but after this evening’s adventure, I’m rethinking that. In the meantime, can Morganthur stay with you and get you to the healer? Where are you, anyway? We’ll need to get you to a safehouse.”

  Mairwen spoke up, which surprised him. “He can stay in my apartment tonight. It’s subleased, and would be difficult to trace. I’ll get him to the healer.”

  Zheer approved, promising expense reimbursement and to send secure transport for them both in the morning.

  Mairwen used her own cumbersome percomp to call and persuade the healer to treat him that evening. He was content to sit and listen. He liked watching her. She had an indefinable presence and grace that always caught his attention, even when he was exhausted and hurting.

  It finally came to him that she hadn’t come away from the evening’s excitement unscathed. Her gait was off, and she was avoiding using her right arm. He was ashamed he hadn’t noticed sooner.

  “You need the healer, too,” he told her.

  “I’m fine,” she said as she placed a hot bowl of beef and rice soup and a spoon in front of him. It tasted good for being from a pouch, and it felt better in his stomach than the overly sweet tea had. She put her bowl on the counter and ate quickly and efficiently.

  “Sure, if by ‘fine’ you mean a posterior dislocation of the right shoulder, a stiff left knee, and a boot-print bruise on your collarbone and neck. You got them in the line of duty, so the company will pay, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t refuse, either. She looked as tired as he’d ever seen her. Another thought occurred to him. “Were you responsible for the riot?”

  “No,” she said, then gave him a slight smile. “But I may have nudged it in your direction.”

  The taxi trips to and from the healer’s office took twice as long as the treatments themselves. They could have taken the free metro transit and gotten there just as fast. The healer spent most of the time repairing Luka’s broken fingers. He warned him the whole left hand would likely be weak for a few days, and gave him some pain patches.

  Luka didn’t see Mairwen’s treatment, but she refused pain meds, saying she was allergic. He suspected it was because she considered herself still on duty, but he counted himself lucky that he’d gotten her to submit to healing at all, and didn’t push it. However much he might instinctively want to look after her, she probably wouldn’t let him.

  Mairwen’s apartment was barely furnished except for a monstrously large platform bed in the only bedroom, which she said had come with the place. Luka could see why. It could easily accommodate four or five adults, and removing it would require demolishing a wall or two.

  With no windows, and only a closeable solar diffuser on the ceiling, the apartment was ideal for someone who worked the night shift. She had nothing personal like artwork, holos, or any sense of décor. It could have been quarters in a hostel, except for an older-model, force-isolation exerciser in one corner, and one far wall covered in extra-thick, dark cork. The exerciser hadn’t become a clothes rack or collected dust, so it was likely she actually used it.

  He was again sitting at the breakfast bar, watching her clean up the nook that passed for a kitchen. She’d showered and changed out of the slightly bloody running clothes and into loose, wide-legged pants and a long-sleeved loose tank. The drapey, faded black fabric outlined her slim but muscled form as she moved. Thanks to the healer, the bruise on her neck was fading, though it would take time for it to vanish completely.

  For once, she wasn’t wearing her wrist knives. He flattened both his hands on the counter to keep them still, grateful for the distraction of the residual pain. He’d been alone with her often in the past ten days, so he didn’t know why being in her apartment now felt intimate and charged. He wanted physical contact with her—a need that left him almost breathless.

  “Luka, I owe you an apology.” She stood next to him at the counter. He hadn’t felt her approach, and her voice was quiet.

  “What for?” How was it she took him by surprise so often?

  “I should have anticipated they’d exploit your routine.” There was vulnerability on her face that he’d never seen before, and she wasn’t skittering away from him like she usually did. His intuition started to stir, and he let his talent guide his question.

  “How did you really find me so fast?”

  She looked at him consideringly, then seemed to come to a decision.

  “I followed your scent. It carried in the fog all along the route they took you. I was afraid they’d kill you if I breached the door, so I had to lure them out.” She gently covered his recently healed left hand with hers and lightly caressed his still swollen and
bruised fingers with her thumb. “It gave them time to hurt you.”

  His intuition flared arc-white as he made the connections. Her extraordinary hearing and reflexes, her familiarity with death, hidden depths, legends and memes, improbable truths... “If hybrid planets can be real, then so can you. Are you a death tracker?”

  * * * * *

  He really was amazingly brilliant, Mairwen thought. The dawning wonder in his expression made her cautious brain scream at her to get away, but the rest of her wanted to get closer. She kept her hand on his.

  “Yes.”

  “Invisible, unstoppable military assassins with amazing supernatural powers, the force of stellar energy at their fingertips?” His gentle teasing eased some of the tension in her. “So mysterious that even the military’s covert ops division knows nothing about them?”

  “The Citizen Protection Service knows everything about us,” she said with a touch of acid. “They created us.”

  “Created? Like cyberneuro implants, skulljacks, enhancement drugs?” He named the commonly known modifications the CPS gave its Jumpers and minders.

  “No.” She wondered what to tell him so he’d understand.

  “The CPS discovered a treatment and procedure that only works on a very few people. They can’t tell in advance who it will or won’t work on, so they secretly test as many people as they can get away with. Nothing happens if you fail, but if you’re the one in a billion that passes, you become CPS property. They tell your family and friends you died, they mask your DNA, and a CPS telepath cleans you of as many of your childhood memories as they can and still leave you functional.”

  She touched her fingertips to his mistreated knuckles. “We’re hunters, but we don’t always kill.” She gave him a brief, wry smile. “Sometimes we leave the killing to others.”