“All Navigators?” Ben asked.
She’d been so locked inside her head that she’d never felt him put a supportive arm around her, but there he was.
She shook her head. “One Navigator, one Telepath and one Empath.”
“Can you put the Navigator out first?”
“I can try.” She shut herself off from her physical surroundings and concentrated on the mental plane where she saw other psi-techs in shades of color and shapes of light. She knew Ben was there, but he had a tight natural shield. Syke had powered down his receiving implant, as had Tengue’s mercs, including Fowler. Archie Tatum was shielding, though not as strongly as Ben. She took care not to accidentally hit him with the backlash as she went after the Navigator on the sealed ship. He wasn’t much above a class four, or maybe a three on a good day.
She couldn’t afford to wait. She found him, cracked his shield, invaded his mind, and pushed.
It took seconds.
She felt him realize what was happening and start to resist, but she had him. As he slipped into unconsciousness, she repressed a small surge of pleasure. She did it because she had to do it, not because she enjoyed it, she reminded herself. But she knew that, having been a victim once, she could very easily let herself revel in the power of knowing she’d never be a victim again.
Someone pushed back at her from the ship, a questing mind that was stronger than the Navigator’s had been. One of the women from the auction, she thought. They’d hardly attempt to purchase a natural without having someone who could assess her value. This was the Empath, certainly implant-enhanced and at least a class three. The mind searched. Cara clamped down her shields. Then there was another mind in there—the Telepath, she thought. Damn, they were sisters.
On another level, she heard Ben telling Archie Tatum to send in his drill bots and then she was aware she was on the floor, resting against Ben and drawing on his strength. She jabbed at the siblings, but they had locked tightly together in a double shield.
Her head felt as though it was swelling like an overripe peach, about to burst. She screwed her eyes tight as if to stop them popping out of their sockets. Shit, not siblings, but twins, with a natural bond. She felt them blocking her as she probed for a weakness, or a tiny crack that would let her in.
“Hear that?” Ben spoke to the ship. “That’s a drill bot cracking through your outer skin. And that? That’s another. And another. You can take off whenever you’re ready, but you’ll be sucking on vacuum.”
“And what about your girl, then?” The female voice sounded stressed, as well she might. Holding the shield was taking all her concentration, distracting her from what was happening in the physical world.
“Not a problem,” Ben said. “The bots you couldn’t hear have cracked your door seal.”
The hatch blew with a pop. Syke and Fowler were first through into the cruiser.
The commotion split the twins’ attention between the mental world and the physical. Cara found her crack. She reached into the Empath’s mind and did the psionic equivalent of punching her lights out. That left the Telepath who was reaching for some kind of weapon. The image of a handgun clarified in Cara’s mind and it was pointing at Efra.
Without hesitation, Cara dropped the Telepath where she stood. She yanked her mind out of the Telepathic link and then everything went gray.
“What’s happening?” Her voice sounded shaky inside her own head.
“Our guys are in,” Ben said. “No casualties, thanks to you.”
A few minutes later Efra ran out of the hatch and straight into Kennedy’s waiting arms, her wrists still manacled.
Cara sat on the floor, Ben supporting her. “I thought you were the one with White Knight Syndrome. How come you let Syke and Fowler take point?”
“You’re always telling me not to lead with my chin. Those guys had it covered and, besides, you needed me.”
She felt a faint flutter of surprise. “Bastard! I only needed you because you made me do something I never wanted to do again. Ever.”
“The girl’s safe.” Ben kissed the top of her head. “And you’re the strongest person I know. You’ll be all right.”
Easy for him to say. He didn’t have to live with the knowledge that she’d not found it at all distasteful. And she hated herself for that.
Ben dispatched Efra and Kennedy to Red One with a security detail for their protection, and then turned his attention to the crew of the Lian-X.
Syke did a difficult job competently. He would debrief and cross-examine the detainees, not only the ones who’d bought Efra, but all the others caught up in tonight’s operation. There were now twenty-nine individuals in the cells in the militia lock-up in Blue Two. Ben didn’t envy his task.
Ben and Cara went with Syke and gave their own personal statements. Cara volunteered a statement, but tried not to go into details of how she’d knocked out the three psi-techs on the crew. She didn’t even want to admit it to herself. She didn’t have to like what she’d done.
Syke’s best interrogators were Empaths, so he tended to get the truth, or at least the truth as the detainees knew it. Luckily, they were concentrating on the traffickers. The small groups had no links with each other. They’d come from various unconnected locations across the galaxy, seeking psionically gifted individuals for a variety of reasons. One to start a breeding program, another to root out those disloyal to a petty oligarch. At least two were traders who planned to sell their purchases on for a profit.
Ben would have liked to space the traders personally, but Garrick’s intention was to record and blacklist each individual, should they ever try to enter Crossways again, and then let them go.
Cara and Ben hung around Blue Two for an hour, sitting in a waiting area, sipping from a shared bottle of water. Eventually, with a nod from Syke, they slipped away.
“I’m surprised Garrick intends to let them go,” Cara said.
“They’re not station citizens.” Ben shrugged. “Since we don’t have a prison on Crossways, all we can do is space them or let them go. Crossways has always had a reputation for working outside the law. Garrick has to change that reputation, but spacing all its former customers is a bit too radical. He needs to let the criminal element know they’re not welcome here anymore.”
“What about the criminals on the station? Roxburgh’s not the only one.”
“No, but if Garrick takes down Roxburgh, then it sends the others a clear message. Clean up or get out.”
“Do you think he’ll do that?”
“Yes. Eventually. When he has a good reason.”
“The auction isn’t good enough?”
“Technically . . . probably not.”
Ben tugged at his shirt collar. His evening suit was crumpled, and Cara’s gorgeous dress was fit for nothing but the recycling chute. No wonder they rarely wore anything but practical buddysuits. They’d both discarded the armored vests.
“Let’s go home,” Ben said. “You look exhausted.”
“Forcing people into unconsciousness will do that every time.”
“I’m sorry about that. I had to do something quickly before the situation escalated and it was the best thing I could think of.” He took her elbow and steered her through the main entrance to where a tub cab waited in the pull-in.
“Not best for me.”
“I know, but you did it and did it well.”
“That’s because some part of me enjoyed doing it. That’s what I hate. If I ever turn into a sadist like Donida McLellan, I want you to shoot me.”
“You won’t.”
“How do you know that?”
“I know you. I trust you.”
The tub cab whirled them into the traffic lane, heading up five levels and then rimward. Ben took Cara’s hand and held it, knowing anything else would be too much and anything less would be too little.
He’d asked a lot of her, maybe stretched her more than he should have. Would she hold it against him? They were almost back at Blue Seven before he heard her sigh and felt her relax. That was a good sign on many levels. He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her fingertips, relieved to see her mouth turn up in a half smile.
As her lover, he wanted only what was best for her. As leader of the Free Company, he’d need her strength not her enmity.
There would be fallout from tonight. Garrick and Roxburgh were already at odds. Sooner or later, it would come to a showdown between them. When that happened, it would get messy. The Free Company would be in the thick of it. They owed their lives to Garrick and Mother Ramona. They wouldn’t forget. Ben wouldn’t forget.
Blue Seven was rarely still and quiet, but at this time of night activity was at a minimum.
“I hope they’re all still out enjoying themselves,” Cara said. “And that their parties didn’t come with added people rescuing. Wouldn’t it be nice for once not to be dropped into a crisis situation?”
“You’d get bored,” Ben said.
“No, I wouldn’t. Try me. Give me a month without a crisis or a panic of some kind. Hell, give me a week. . . .”
He swept his arm around her. “Will you settle for a night?”
She sighed. “You know I will.”
Chapter Eighteen
DREAMS
GARRICK FOUGHT HIS WAY OUT OF THE BEDCLOTHES and sat up, sweating.
“Whassup?” Mona’s voice slurred with tiredness.
He’d not intended to disturb her. “Nothing. Go to sleep. Sorry, too much champagne. Too much cheese late at night.”
He swung his legs out of the bed and sat, resting his hands on his knees.
He knew he’d had a dream again, but it was already fading. It was the Nimbus, of course, always the Nimbus. There were any number of other worrisome things—Roxburgh for instance—but Garrick’s dreams always returned to that suffocating blackness, and Kitty Keely stepping into it like it was a lover.
He needed to buffer himself against it or he’d have more nightmares before morning. He pulled open the nightstand drawer and took out a bulb. He snapped off the end and jabbed the fine needle into his stomach, squeezing until all the fluid had been absorbed.
That was better. He should be able to get some sleep now.
“What was that?” Mona leaned around him. “You said you’d given up using that stuff.”
“I only use it when I need it. Not all the time.”
“Yeah, right. You know there are side effects. Have you had your liver checked and your kidneys?”
“Of course.”
“When?”
“A short while ago.”
“When?”
“I can’t recall exactly.”
“Have you got the tremors?”
“No, I haven’t got the tremors. I’m not pissing blood and my skin isn’t turning yellow. I’m fine.”
“Show me. Hold out your hand.”
He felt the detanine beginning to take effect. He took a deep breath to steady himself and held out his right hand. It was passably shake free. Luckily, she didn’t ask him to hold out both hands.
“See the doc. Get something to help you quit. I don’t want to be a widow before I’ve had the chance to be a wife.”
“I will.”
But he knew he wouldn’t. Mona probably knew it, too.
Cara divested herself of the once beautiful dress and held it up to the light. “Do you think I could make a slinky evening top out of this if I chopped off what’s left of the skirt?”
Ben showed supreme disregard for discussions about clothing. He took the tatters out of her hand and dropped them on the floor.
“I like you much better without it.” He bent to kiss her shoulder. His warm breath tickled the side of her neck.
“I haven’t decided if I’ve forgiven you yet.”
“As long as you forgive yourself—”
She turned and put her finger on his lips. “Maybe we shouldn’t talk about it, not right now.”
“Suits me.”
“Hmm I was thinking about un-suiting you.” She tugged at his shirt collar.
“That suits me, too.”
Her dress and his suit ended up wrapped around each other in the semidarkness of their own bedroom floor.
Afterward they curled up together, the light extinguished, both on the verge of sleep, but though Ben’s breathing deepened, Cara remained wide awake.
“Do you think Garrick looked well tonight?” Cara asked.
“You’re thinking about Garrick?” Ben said, half into his pillow.
“I’ve been away. It’s the first time I’ve seen him in a while. Mother Ramona looked exactly the same, but Garrick—well—he was positively sparkling.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“Considering what he’s been through, maybe it is. Before I left, he was looking haggard—showing his age, and more. How old is he? Fifties?”
“That would be my guess.”
“Last time I saw him, I would have guessed seventy. Tonight, he looked forty. That’s a big change. Is he on something?”
She felt Ben shrug. “You’re the Empath. If you’re worried, I’m worried.”
“Maybe not worried exactly, but there’s something I can’t pin down. Let’s keep an eye on him.”
“If you say so.” Ben sounded drowsy.
Cara snuggled close, trying to sleep.
“Ben?”
No answer. She closed her eyes again.
The suffocating blackness is behind her, creeping inexorably forward. She reaches for Kitty Keely’s hand and they cling closely together, knowing this is the end. In the distance, the Solar Wind winks into existence. Thank all the stars! But it’s too far away, and too late. The blackness will suffocate them long before rescue. Then two figures are flying through foldspace toward the tiny, vulnerable shuttle. Yes! Yes! Come on, faster!
Friends in front, the blackness behind. It’s a race.
Kitty Keely tugs backward. “Can you hear it?” she asks. “It’s singing. Come and listen.”
“It’s a trap. Don’t listen.”
The two figures arrive outside the shuttle. What next? The hatch is to the rear. The black cloud has already enveloped it.
The figures step through the forward screen as if it’s not there.
“This way, come on.” Benjamin is holding out a hand.
But Keely lets go. She steps into the cloud and she’s gone.
Cara woke with a gasp, heart pounding.
“What?”
“Huh?”
She sat up, shivering, finding Ben also wide awake, sitting bolt upright on the edge of the bed.
“Bad dream,” she said.
“You, too?”
“The Nimbus. Garrick, Kitty Keely, me, and you.”
“That’s where my mind took me tonight. I wonder why we both dreamed the same thing.”
“The mind’s a strange thing. I haven’t had these dreams in all the time I’ve been away. Why should they start again now?”
“I hope I wasn’t projecting.”
She knelt and put an arm around Ben’s shoulder. “Have you had these dreams all along?”
“Most nights. Sometimes more vivid than others.”
“Hell, Ben, have you told anyone? You haven’t, have you?”
“What’s the point? They’ll fade in time.”
“It’s been well over a year.”
“Don’t fuss. I can cope.”
She sighed. “All right, this is me not fussing.” She drew him into bed and snuggled up close. She might not fuss, but it didn’t stop her worrying.
Ben dressed and took a detour past the kitchen where Ada Levenson’s staff kept the Free C
ompany fed—no mean feat in itself. Ada, a fearsome woman to see wielding a meat cleaver, waved at him from the preparation counter.
“Breakfast’s ready,” she called. “Help yourself.”
He tipped one finger to his forehead in acknowledgment, grabbed a carton of juice and a breakfast bun to go, then grabbed two more savory buns, one each for Wenna and Cara, and headed to the office.
“Report from Syke on your screen,” Wenna said.
Ben’s own office lay beyond Wenna’s, but since his door was nearly always open, it had become merely a continuation of the shared space. He wandered through and downloaded Syke’s files from his main machine to his handpad, then joined the two women in his life by Wenna’s desk.
“We missed three of the naturals.” Ben dropped into an empty chair planted next to Wenna’s desk. He read the report from last night. “Gwala stopped four if we include Cara’s water world man—”
“Lev Reznik,” Cara said. “He took off by himself. Looks capable enough. I told him to come here, but if he doesn’t, he’s his own problem.”
“Agreed,” Ben said. “Port security apprehended the twins at the passenger terminal, and we rescued Efra. That’s seven.”
“There was an elderly man, a woman in a Japanese costume, and a white-skinned man with tattoos, possibly in his early twenties,” Cara frowned. “The other two were easily forgettable: middle height; middle age; middle coloring; one male, one female; no distinguishing features. I probably couldn’t pick them out of a lineup.”
“Syke’s militia released the old man, but not the woman in the Japanese costume. She probably lost herself in the masked partygoers.” Ben looked down his list. “The tattooed man is missing and one of your middling people—the woman. They might still be on-station, but chances are they’ve slipped through the net and we have no way of tracking them or their purchasers.”
He realized he was squeezing his right hand into a fist and forced himself to relax his fingers. Yes, sure, he’d like to plant a punch in Roxburgh’s face, but the man was untouchable—for now. Old school Crossways, Garrick called him and the others like him who were reluctant to give up their criminal ways.
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