by Jade Kerrion
Dr. Seth Copper looked up from the tablet into which he was inscribing Danyael’s medical notes.
Without so much as a hello, Miriya blasted a psychic bolt into Danyael’s brain with surgical precision, jerking him awake.
Danyael gasped as sleep ripped from him. An instinctive gasp of terror bubbled up in his throat, arrested only when he saw Miriya’s face.
“Get moving,” she ordered, sending him a rush of telepathic images to bring him quickly up to speed on what was happening.
He inhaled sharply at the images that blasted through his mind. Damn. Danyael nodded and swallowed hard as he tasted bile in his throat. Nausea and weakness dragged him down, but he clenched his teeth and tried to rise. His physical limitations barely skimmed the surface of the sum of his problems. The emotions he had absorbed from his father and brother tangled in with his own emotions, creating a cacophony of self-doubt and self-hatred that ricocheted through an already fragile psyche.
“He’s too weak to move,” Seth Copper insisted, moving to Danyael’s side and supporting him. “He had a class three hemorrhage; I estimate he lost close to forty percent of the blood in his body. I’ve transfused two pints, but he could really use a third.”
“He’s out of time,” Miriya said. “Get those IVs out.” She eyed the discarded pile of bloodstained clothes in a corner of the room and left the room, only to return a minute later with clean clothes in Danyael’s size.
As quickly as his limited strength would allow, Danyael dressed, grabbed his black leather jacket off the floor, and reached for his personal belongings, which had been placed in a tray by the bedside. He tested his physical strength while desperately trying to block out the crippling heartache, the emotional bleeding.
Just one step at a time. Segment. Separate. Your own pain doesn’t matter. Not right now. Perhaps never. Don’t think, just move. Don’t stop moving or the pain will catch up with you.
The crisis made it easier to focus on something other than the swirling chaos of his emotions and the emotions he had absorbed. He struggled to keep pace with Miriya as she raced down hidden corridors and brightly lit underground tunnels to a building two streets south that ostensibly belonged to a package delivery company. His lungs burned from the effort. Green and black dancing circles tinted his vision as his head throbbed. Light headed. Not enough blood. And low blood glucose levels. The sum total of his meals over the prior sixty hours had consisted of two meager breakfasts and nutrient-enhanced fluids pumped through the IV. Need to take better care of myself, or I’ll die of simple negligence before my enemies can kill me.
Miriya chuckled. “You just don’t know when to quit, and that’s a good thing sometimes. This way.” She led the way up the stairs, which opened into a small office tucked into the back of the store. “I need car keys.”
The middle-aged man seated at the desk seemed to be expecting her. He shook his head and instead tossed her and Danyael each a set of keys, nodding in approval as Danyael snatched it out of the air. “Take the two bikes.”
Miriya’s eyes narrowed as she bent down to pick up the keys that hit her in the chest before falling onto the carpet. “Danyael can barely stand. He can’t ride his own bike.”
“Never argue with a pre-cog.” The man smiled thinly. “Get moving.”
“How good are you with a bike?” Miriya asked as she led the way to the garage.
“Good enough,” Danyael said, swinging a leg over the seat of a black Ducati Superbike, and pulled a helmet over his head. He exuded enough easy, unconscious confidence to assuage Miriya’s primary concerns that Danyael would crash and burn on a fast speed machine. Miriya climbed onto a red Ducati, pulled on a matching helmet, and then accelerated out of the garage, ducking beneath the slowly rising garage door.
Danyael was right behind her, the powerful machine perfectly under control as they raced down the back alley and then shot out onto the main thoroughfare. He heard Miriya’s voice through the microphone in his helmet. “You holding up okay, Danyael?”
“I’ll be all right.”
“I hate it when you use the future tense. I want to know that you’re okay right now.”
Danyael laughed softly. “I won’t pass out on you.” I hope.
I heard that.
“Where is Luke?” Roland Rakehell asked.
Alex Saunders looked up, assessing the four men who stood in the doorway of his office. “Welcome to the council headquarters, Mr. Rakehell,” he said. “I hadn’t expected to see you again after this morning.”
Roland’s lower lip twisted into a sneer. “You’ll find I’m a lot harder to discount, dismiss, or dispose of than you would like, Saunders. Where is he?”
Alex ignored the question as his gaze shifted to the thin, anxious-looking man in military fatigues standing beside Roland. “Tim, it’s good to see you again, though I wish it wasn’t under these circumstances.”
“Good to see you too, Mr. Saunders, sir,” Tim Brown responded, the quickness of his speech betraying his nervousness. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing noticeably when Roland scowled, obviously disapproving of the small courtesy he paid to the director general of the Mutant Affairs Council.
Alex looked back at Roland. “Danyael’s resting. I’d be happy to show you to his room when he wakes. I’m sure he’d like to see his father.”
“I’m not here for a goddamned reunion, Saunders. Luke has been classified a national security risk, and I have a code-red authorization to take him into custody.” He slammed a thin tablet down on the table.
Alex picked up the tablet, reviewed the information displayed on the screen, and nodded once, thoughtfully. “What is the interest of the military in this matter?”
“It’s none of your business.”
Alex stood up. “Anything and everything that involves a mutant—especially an alpha mutant—is my business.” His voice was calm, but firm. “You may very well have the authorization to take Danyael into custody, but let me remind you that you are not an employee of the US government; hence, you are not protected by its privacy laws. Your mind may be shielded, but that temporary inconvenience is quickly rectified. We have several alpha telepaths in this building. It’s no hardship for me to summon them to smash through those shields to painfully extract the answers I want. Your choice, Rakehell. We can do this the easy way or the hard way.” He paused to let his words sink in. “Once again, I ask, what is the interest of the military in this matter?”
Tim answered after casting a nervous glance at Roland Rakehell. “Sir, the Galahad project is funded by DARPA.”
Alex’s eyes narrowed. “That explains quite a great deal, Tim. Thank you,” he said. “But that doesn’t explain DARPA’s interest in Danyael.”
“He’s a national security risk,” Roland said. “That’s all you need to know.”
Alex tilted his head to one side and gazed thoughtfully at Roland. “That branch of the military has no interest in Danyael, but you obviously consider him a risk to your reputation, to your career, perhaps? Before you take Danyael into custody, you should know that Danyael has enough pride and strength to walk away without looking back, if you told him that you want nothing to do with him.”
“Luke is an alpha empath. He needs love, craves attention—”
“He just wants to be left alone,” Alex corrected firmly. “You didn’t know him, even when he lived under your roof. It’s been a quarter of a century or more since he ‘left’ home. Please grant that you may not know everything there is to know about him.”
“I want him gone forever. I want to be sure that he’ll never come begging at my door, demanding compensation or recognition.”
“On his behalf, I will make you that promise. There is no need for you to take Danyael into custody.”
“We won’t keep him for long, just long enough to wipe his memory and make sure he’ll never be able to speak of what happened in the past few days.”
“You’re going to wipe his memory?” Alex’s c
alm composure slipped. His brown eyes widened with alarm. “You can’t do that.”
“Of course we can.” Roland tapped on the tablet. “We have the authority right here.”
Alex shook his head sharply. “Danyael has just absorbed a host of extremely negative emotions from you and your son. He will need those memories to give context to what he feels; otherwise there’s no telling how he’ll process them. He typically demonstrates exquisite control over his powers, but we need to be circumspect about the emotional demands placed on an alpha empath. It’s always safer to err on the side of less rather than more. Anything that potentially jeopardizes his ability to maintain the internal shields that control the full extent of his pain must be avoided. Anything that adds to the pain should also be avoided, although I’d be the first to concede that it’s a little late for that warning. Our only line of defense is his emotional shields; people die when those shields come down.”
Roland laughed out loud. “You’re good at weaving fairy tales to protect your mutants, Saunders. Save them for children who still believe in trolls under their beds.”
“Fairy tales? You obviously have no idea how close you were to dying this morning.”
“Enough of this bullshit, Saunders. We have the authorization to take him into custody. And as you said before, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. Where is Luke?”
Alex pushed to his feet, a hard, cold light in his eyes. “This way.” He led the way down the corridors to the second floor sanatorium, pushing open the door to the room that Danyael had occupied. He stepped in, allowing Roland, Tim, and the other two soldiers to enter behind him.
“Where is Luke?” Roland demanded of the man dressed in a white doctor’s coat who was powering down the equipment in the room.
“You just missed him,” the doctor said calmly.
Roland turned on Alex with a snarl of contempt. “Nice try, but not good enough. We’ll find him. Turn on that tracker. Hunt him down.” He nodded toward the scanner-shaped gadget that one of the soldiers held. It was the latest in anti-mutant technology—a portable super-sensor capable of picking up trace power signatures, especially those of alpha mutants, even when they were not actively exercising their mutant capabilities. The machine activated with a low hum. Two red dots blinked briefly in the center of the screen, and then suddenly, the small screen exploded into a furious scatter of bright colors—mostly reds, oranges, and yellows.
“Having trouble pinpointing Danyael’s power signature?” Alex inquired politely.
“It’ll clear up once we leave the building,” the soldier assured Roland. “It’s picking up on too many mutants in here.”
Roland’s jaw tensed, but he turned and strode away without another word. Tim and the two soldiers kept pace with him.
Alex shook his head. “He’s a piece of work.”
“Indeed. What will you do now?” Seth asked.
“Give Lucien a quick debrief, and then I need to talk to the head of DARPA—remind him pointedly where his jurisdiction ends and mine begins.” Alex turned away, but paused at the door and looked over his shoulder, “Seth, if I may, a favor please?”
“Certainly.”
“Make that two favors. First, we’ve got lots of mutants camping out in here since we ordered the lockdown. Tell them they’re free to go, and send them in the approximate direction of Leesburg. Let’s dump as much interference as we possibly can on that sensor.”
Seth grinned. “Happy to do that. What’s the next favor?”
“You were the doctor assigned to Danyael when he first came to us here at the council, weren’t you?”
He nodded. “That was a good while ago. Fifteen years? Sixteen?”
“Would you be willing to provide care for him? Regardless of how this fiasco with his father turns out, I suspect Danyael will need a fair degree of attention to recover physically, and I’d rather place him with someone he already trusts.”
“I’d be happy to help in any way I can.”
“Thank you, Seth.” Alex smiled, relieved. “I’ll keep you informed on his whereabouts, once I figure it out myself.” He turned and left the room, relieved that Danyael would be in safe hands. Returning to the third floor, he stopped by one of the guest suites and tapped softly on the door. Lucien opened it immediately. “May I come in?” Alex asked.
Lucien stepped aside. “Of course. What happened?”
Alex walked into the room and inclined his head to Xin who was seated at the desk, her two tablets connected to the mainframe. “It was his father. Apparently the Galahad project is sponsored by the military, specifically DARPA, and somehow Roland has convinced them that Danyael is a national security risk.”
“That makes no sense. That would make all of us national security risks. Danyael doesn’t know any more than any of us do.”
“But in concept, Danyael has more to gain.”
Lucien stared at Alex in bewilderment. “Exactly what does he have to gain?”
“Money, perhaps?”
“Danyael doesn’t want money. I can’t get him to take a penny from me.”
“Or a family?”
“Roland and Jason?” Lucien almost laughed out loud. He sat in one of the comfortable leather chairs by the window and looked up at Alex, amusement glittering in his eyes. “Danyael would slit his wrists before going back to them.”
“Will he?” Alex did not agree immediately with Lucien. “We know that he cares, deeply, what happens to them.” He sat down on the edge of the queen-sized bed, his expression thoughtful, contemplative. “What he did back at the lab, for them…those were not the actions of a man who doesn’t care. Danyael, like most of us, needs love. He’s learned to avoid it, or at least he’s learned to avoid attention, and apparently prefers to live without it, but I cannot believe he has stopped craving it.”
“What’s your point, Alex?”
“My point is that we can’t easily disentangle Danyael from his family. He would walk away, never return, if that’s what they told him to do, but he’d never stop hurting from their rejection.”
“Danyael has survived hell. What his family is doing to him right now is nothing compared to what he endured as a child.”
“You’re underestimating the impact his family has on him and the extremity of the emotions he’s just absorbed from them. You need to be prepared for the possibility that what happened to Danyael will permanently scar his psyche.” He paused briefly, searching for the right words, and then realized, regretfully, that there were none. “Roland has secured sufficient authorization to take Danyael into custody. He wants Danyael’s memory wiped.”
“What?” Lucien shot to his feet. His blue eyes flashed. “That’s crazy! He can’t do that to Danyael!”
“That was my original instinct too,” Alex confirmed, his tone measured and calm. “Danyael needs memories to understand and separate out what he absorbed from his own emotions. But that’s in the short term. In the long term though, it may actually be more merciful to allow Danyael to forget that his family rejected him for the second time.”
“Spit it out, Alex. You’re hedging, and I hate that. What are you really trying to say?”
“We’re doing everything we can to keep Danyael out of his father’s grasp, but should the worst happen, and if Danyael is taken and his memory is erased, I strongly urge you to respect that and leave him be. Don’t try to fill the gaps. It may just give the military another excuse to take Danyael away permanently or subject him to another memory wipe. The process, by the way, is excruciating. And, as I said, in the long run, it may be more merciful to allow him to forget what his family has done to him.”
Lucien’s eyes narrowed into dangerous sapphire slits. “That’s bullshit.”
“Yes,” Alex agreed without hesitation, “but it’s with Danyael’s best interest at heart. The Mutant Assault Group, a branch of the military, has been eyeing Danyael for the longest time. They believe that an alpha empath on the front lines can alter morale meaningf
ully enough to change the outcome of an entire battle. I’m not going to give them any excuse to take him permanently into their custody, so if it means we have to play along with them, we do so for now.”
“Where is he now?”
“With Miriya. She’ll take good care of him. As soon as they come safely to ground, I’ll send Dr. Seth Copper out to them, to keep an eye on Danyael. He’ll know what to do for him. Meanwhile, I’m going to talk to General John Hayes, the head of that branch of DARPA, and point out that he knows too little about the capabilities of individual mutants to make good decisions about them. With some luck, we can get him to withdraw his support from Roland.”
“And what do we do?” Xin asked, speaking up for the first time.
Alex looked over at her and shrugged. “Just wait, hope, and pray.”
19
Zara glanced up at the rearview mirror, releasing her breath in a quiet sigh of relief when it was apparent that she and Galahad were not followed. She had been checking every few seconds, slowly counting down the miles to Leesburg. They were at least fifteen minutes away from Leesburg, and their luck was holding so far, though it was too early to get complacent. She would not be able to relax until they were out of American airspace.
She looked over at Galahad. He was gazing out the window, his expression distracted. “How are you doing?” she asked.
“I’m fine,” Galahad said. He looked back toward her. A faint smile curved his lips, but did not light his dark eyes. “Just thinking.”
“What about?”
“Danyael.”
“Why?”
He looked puzzled. “Why not?
She could think of so many reasons why not, not the least of which was the fact that the merest thought of Danyael turned her stomach. There were so many reasons. His cowardice. His unwillingness to face up to his past, never mind the present or even the future. His inability to contribute anything meaningful to a conversation, let alone a fight. His failure to come through for Carlos when his mutant powers had been most desperately needed to make a difference between life and death, which had been unforgivable.
