“Yes, of course,” Anastasia said. “His whole family.”
“Nothing less than everything,” Alice said, sounding impressed. “Are you that upset, or are you just trying to make a point?”
“My grief is boundless, I assure you,” Anastasia said. “Fortunately for Central, my anger, at very least, is restrained.”
Alice thought it over.
“Okay, fine,” Alice said. “Let’s get out of here.”
“A short interval of time is required for my servants to finish the assembly of a temporary apport station. A day, perhaps a little more.”
“You can do it that fast?” Hayley’s eyes were wide. “How?”
“We have already located the needed supplies, and the required staff is in route,” Mai said, consulting her phone. “The apport will be ready in roughly thirty hours, Mistress, assuming none of the flights are delayed.”
“Holy shit!” Hayley covered her mouth. “How is that even possible?”
“We are not building it from scratch, Miss Weathers,” Mai explained. “The sensitive components were stripped from another apport station and are being shipped to Las Vegas.”
“Lady Martynova, you must be aware that constructing unregistered apport points violates the Agreement.” Min-jun glanced around the room in confusion. “You must know that.”
“Yes,” Anastasia said. “I know.”
“But…we are Auditors!” Min-jun looked positively horrified. “Why would you admit such a thing to us?”
“My father is dead,” Anastasia said flatly. “What do I care for the Agreement? If the Assembly ever meets again, they can debate sanctions against the Black Sun. The Director can even call for an Audit, if she feels it merited. I am willing to risk that, and so much more, Auditor.”
Min-jun looked over at Alice for support. She just kept smiling.
“If it means avenging my father’s death, I will see this world reduced to ash,” Anastasia stated. “There is no length that I’m not willing to go to. It is for the best that you understand this.”
“Oh, we understand each other, Anastasia,” Alice said, grinning as she pushed Min-jun to the side. “Maybe for the first time.”
“You should not be so familiar with Lady Martynova, Chief Auditor,” Lord Gao said. “She is the head of the Black Sun and should be addressed according to her station.”
“Sure, big guy,” Alice said. “Whatever you say.”
The vampire met the Auditors stare with a placid expression.
“A couple nights in Vegas, then?” Alice smirked. “I can think of worse ways to spend my time. We’ve got a safe house by the airport, Anastasia. It’s a bit crude, and not that big, but if you need somewhere to lay up until morning, then…”
“We could do that,” Anastasia said, stifling a yawn. “Alternatively, I happen to have a relationship with a first-class hotel not too terribly far from here and have already reserved a number of exquisitely appointed suites.”
“Oh God,” Hayley said. “Yes, please.”
“Assuming the Chief Auditor approves, of course,” Anastasia said. “Perhaps you prefer more austere surroundings, Ms. Gallow? Something lacking in air conditioning and internal plumbing, perhaps?”
Alice laughed.
“I think we’ll take you up on the offer,” Alice said, putting her arms around Hayley and Min-jun’s shoulders. “Central is a mess, and it’s hot as hell. Given the circumstances, I’d prefer it to be somewhere with a bar.”
***
Maxim’s hands would not stop shaking.
The grip of his pistol was covered in a slick sheen of perspiration, Maxim’s hand straying to the gun, his unconscious mind reaching for an easy solution each time his thoughts drifted. His legs ached and his feet were sore, but Maxim could only lie down for bare moments before his anxious dithering had him back on his feet, pacing beside the camp stove and portable battery that marked the rough midpoint of their camp.
Gabby was curled up beneath his jacket on the other side of the camp, her sweater serving as a pillow. Her breathing was regular, and her eyes were closed, but Maxim could not make himself believe that she was asleep.
They had made great progress in the journey across Central, travelling without incident, guided by Gabby around patrols and minefields.
The woods above the Academy had been a popular destination for refugees and surviving Black Sun and North Cartel personnel, so the Thule Cartel blanketed the area with Operators and armed patrols. Their undetected progress was aided by the low caliber of the troops the overstretched Thule Cartel fielded, their combat corps required elsewhere in Central, but Maxim would have had a much more difficult time without Gabby’s assistance.
They kept moving until it was nearly dark, and then made camp in the wooded foothills adjacent to the Academy, deep among the old-growth groves and their profusion of broad-leafed ferns, the trees blocking the sunset and any view of Central, save for the plumes of brown smoke that dirtied the evening sky.
Maxim would not risk a fire, so they ate rehydrated field rations, a depressing slurry of processed meat and mashed potatoes, dotted with bits of carrots and peas, washed down with plastic-tasting water from Maxim’s canteen. Neither said much as the evening deepened, but Gabby insisted on helping with the various camp and meal tasks, and more than once, while cleaning dishes or arranging supplies, their hands brushed.
She lay down before sunset and fell asleep quickly, to all appearances, leaving Maxim to worry and pace the grove, leaving behind faint footsteps in the decaying leaves and soft loam between the tree roots. He had reluctantly loaned her his jacket to ward off the chill, and as the sun disappeared behind the hills, he started to shiver whenever he stopped pacing.
Gabriela Estanza-Thule, Maxim thought, his palm resting on the butt of his pistol. The telepathic briefing implanted before he apported to Central started to unreel in his brain automatically.
Adopted into the Thule family as a niece of Gaul and sister to Lóa, and an empath to boot. Her head was earmarked for the grave of Josef Martynova. She was one of the people he was meant to kill. Her death would be an immediate feather in his cap, and the first step toward winning the hand of Anastasia Martynova.
Which begged the question as to why he had taken her prisoner.
Assuming he was still in control of the situation, Maxim thought warily. Was Gabby really his prisoner? Could an empath even be taken prisoner, he wondered, unless they agreed to it? How could he be sure that they were performing his mission, and not a covert intention of her own?
They were headed straight for the Thule Cartel, but that would have been true regardless of whose purpose they were serving. Maxim felt clear-headed, but then again, how else would a clever empath have him feel?
Gabby was certainly clever. Was she clever enough to deceive him and Delphi?
Maxim licked his lips, his mouth deathly dry.
Was he in control of his actions? Or was she?
There was little need to keep her, the more Maxim thought about it. She had been helpful, assisting him in avoiding patrols and minefields, but he could have managed without that help, and was past the worst of that sort of hazard, in any case. She moved acceptably and without complaint, but he would have been faster and stealthier without the company. Her value as a guide was limited, her value as a hostage was negligible.
An interrogation might have been worthwhile, but Maxim did not have the stomach for it. That was Gabby’s eventual fate, though, if he brought her to the Black Sun intact. There was no avoiding it.
Her name was Gabriela. When had he started calling her Gabby?
No, that was wrong, Maxim reminded himself. Only one of her names mattered to him.
Thule.
The Mistress of Black Sun had asked for heads, not prisoners.
For what felt like the thousandth time, Maxim put his hand on his gun. He felt as if the grip should have been worn smooth by the friction of compulsive movement.
If he brought her head back with h
im, that would be a credit to him in a most important competition. Her death alone was not enough to put him by Anastasia’s side, at the head of the Black Sun, but Maxim felt he could safely assume that she would be grateful. If he brought Gabby – Gabriela – back as a prisoner, or a hostage, the reaction could be considerably worse. Arriving at muster with an empath in tow, hands unbound, would be badly misunderstood. The rest of the cartel would at least be suspicious that he had been compromised.
Could he truly argue with such suspicions, he wondered? Delphi tried to reassure him, but Delphi could do very little to protect him from a talented empath.
Maxim slid his gun out of the holster, moving with agonizing slowness, trying not to brush the nylon sling or rustle his clothes.
Had he already been compromised?
This could have been the Thule plan all along, Maxim reasoned. They could have sent out the promising young empath with instructions to subvert Black Sun Operators – or him specifically, depending on what manner of foreknowledge their precognitive pool had generated. Or, if that was a stretch, it was still possible that the Thule girl was improvising, making the best of a bad situation by trying to flip the agent who had captured her.
Stranger things had happened, Maxim thought, gently releasing the safety.
He found himself studying her head, the wild confusion of her chestnut hair and the rounded lines of her face, the spray of dark freckles that dusted her cheeks, a white line of scar tissue that created a slight notch in her chin.
She was an object, Maxim told himself, like a bearskin rug or a pinned butterfly, a remnant of something that had once lived, a valuable and rare artifact, and not part of a living, breathing human.
He chambered a round, wincing at the metallic click as the bullet found its place.
Gabriela Estanza-Thule was a dead woman, Maxim told himself. She had been doomed the moment her uncle had embarked on his insane war against the Martynova family.
She was already dead, Maxim thought, putting the pistol to her head. A bullet would not change a thing.
There was nothing to regret and no decision to make. Maxim was simply the consequence of her family’s actions. If Gabby – Gabriela – had no say in her role, then neither did Maxim. They were pieces in a larger game, fulfilling their roles to the best of their ability. Neither of them could change a thing about the situation. They had been heading inexorably toward their destinies for years.
Gabby toward death. Maxim toward putting a bullet in her head.
His finger tightened around the trigger.
Gabby’s eyes fluttered, and then opened.
She started to smile at him, and then noticed the gun, her eyes widening in concern.
“You really don’t want to do that,” Gabby said. “Do you?”
“This is not about what I want,” Maxim said, almost shouting. “I have orders.”
“I surrendered and cooperated,” Gabby said. “If your orders are to kill me anyway, then wouldn’t you say your orders are wrong?”
“That doesn’t matter,” Maxim said, wondering why he had not yet pulled the trigger. “I have pledged my loyalty. This is duty.”
“You are a good man, Maxim,” Gabby said, with uncanny assurance. “I can tell.”
“Don’t say that,” Maxim said, his voice hoarse and strained. “You don’t know me.”
“I know you enough to trust you,” Gabby said, rolling onto her side, so the muzzle of his gun brushed against her hair. “I know that you’ll do the right thing.”
Maxim held his pose until his arm shook and his finger ached, long after she had returned to what appeared to be untroubled sleep. He shook his head, smacked himself in the cheek, held his breath until his chest ached.
He holstered the gun, his shoulders slumped in defeat.
Ignoring practice and common sense, Maxim walked hurriedly away from their camp, not even bothering to gather his kit. The faint lights of Central were reflected by the constant cloud cover, providing a weak radiance that disappeared in the heavier foliage. Maxim tripped over tree roots and changes in the terrain, branches scratching his face and arms as he stumbled through the near-dark.
It was difficult to tell if he was making progress.
Was he running away? Had he been defeated?
The trees cleared and he reoriented himself by the distant radiance of Central. Maxim was not sure if he had moved away from the camp, or simply wandered in circles around it.
He plunged back into the woods, to be tripped and battered again in the evening gloom. He pushed forward until his foot caught in what was probably a large root that had burst from the ground, turning his ankle and falling to his hands and knees.
Maxim shouted and pounded the ground with his fists, pine needles poking his skin and lodging in his sleeves. The damp chill common to Central was at its worst, and without his jacket, Maxim shivered uncontrollably, his fatigues soaked through with dew.
“Damn it,” Maxim whispered. “What is happening?”
The dusk and the forest had no answers for him. Maxim’s thoughts went around in enraged circles.
He repeatedly visualized himself returning to the camp, putting the gun to the young woman’s head, and pulling the trigger. He imagined the crack of the discharge and the smells of cordite, scorched flesh, and burning hair, the splatter of fluids on the ground behind her body.
He tried to convince himself that it was something he wanted to do.
He was hardly aware of the disappearance of the last of the light, or the bruises and dirt on his hands, or the tremble of his body in the wet air.
His mind revolved like the Earth around the Sun, ceaseless and pointless circles.
Delphi howled, proximity alarms sounding in his mind.
Maxim drew his pistol and spun about, the boxy Glock hovering near Gabby’s forehead for the second time in an hour. She was wrapped in his jacket, her hair wild and her eyes filled with gentle calm. She looked right past the gun, as if it were inconsequential, and at him instead.
“Maxim? What are you doing out here?” Gabby took a step toward him, and he had to pull the gun back to avoid pressing it against her face. “What’s happening?”
She reached for him, and then pulled back when he recoiled from her touch. The chatter of his teeth and the percussion of his pulse washed away all other sound.
“Are you okay?” Gabby asked, pulling his jacket tighter around her. “It’s cold, Maxim. Why are you out here in the woods? Isn’t it dangerous to be in the open?”
“You are more dangerous than anything out here!” Maxim shouted, his face twisted into a snarl. “What are you doing to me?”
“I’m trying to survive,” Gabby said. “Just like you.”
Maxim put the gun against her head.
“What the fuck are you doing to me?”
“I’m not doing anything on purpose,” Gabby said serenely. “I’m an empath, Maxim. If I’m having an effect on you, then that’s to be expected.”
“You are manipulating me,” Maxim said darkly, his face reddening. “You are tampering with my emotions!”
“You are angry and afraid,” Gabby said sympathetically. “If I was using my protocol to control your emotions, why would I let you feel that way?”
“You’re lying! You must be. Why would I take you prisoner? It makes no sense for my mission. You made me do it.”
“You think I stopped you from killing me, but that’s not the way I see it,” Gabby said. “I don’t feel any desire to kill inside of you. I didn’t make you spare me. You did that all on your own.”
“You are Thule, by family and cartel! I came here to kill anyone with that name, or that allegiance.”
“That is what you were ordered to do, Maxim. Being told to kill and wanting to do so are very different things. My cousin Benji is eight, he’s just a little boy. Would you have killed him, if he was the first of us you met? I feel reluctance and confusion in you, not…”
“That confusion is you!” Maxi
m snapped. “You are the source of…”
“You are a telepath, aren’t you?”
“A combat telepath,” Maxim answered. “Not the sort who reads minds.”
“Can Delphi do a threat assessment for you, Maxim?”
“Yes,” Maxim admitted. “Your shielding, though, is too much for…”
Maxim flinched, hearing his private name for his protocol said by another. Gabby paid him no mind, holding up her hand and closing her eyes.
Maxim’s finger tightened around the trigger as Delphi roared to life, reinforcing defenses and analyzing target information and surrounding activity. He watched for the telltale signs of Etheric activity in her signature, ready to put a bullet in her brain before she could do him further harm, but instead of a surge of activity, the meters tracking Gabby’s protocol went flat.
“My shields are down,” Gabby said, opening her eyes and smiling. “I am entirely defenseless. I submit willingly to any probe or test. Have Delphi verify my intentions.”
“Delphi can’t…”
“She can’t tell you what I’m thinking, but she can tell you whether I’m a threat,” Gabby said calmly. “Delphi is a she, isn’t she?”
Delphi was, Maxim admitted internally, in the abstract way that a ship is female.
He still hated the way it sounded, coming from Gabby.
Delphi, go, he thought. Threat assessment, full spectrum.
Gabby winced as Delphi’s probes bulldozed into her mind. Maxim knew the process could have been gentler, but he made no attempt to blunt the impact. He did not feel any sort of charity toward the girl. His finger wrapped so tightly around the trigger that Maxim was privately amazed the gun had not yet gone off.
They stood there motionless, Gabby with her eyes closed while Maxim held a gun to her head and shivered. Invisible and omnipresent, Delphi ransacked Gabby’s mind for malice or deception, bowling everything over in a hunt for bad intentions.
The probe dissipated. The math took a fraction of a second.
No threat detected, Delphi informed him. Target does not register as hostile.
What are her intentions?
Survival and personal advantage.
The Church of Sleep (Central Series Book 5) Page 15
