by Jean Johnson
“Oh, clarity will be achieved soon,” Heddle murmured, smiling to himself. No doubt he was enjoying the irony of his words. Ia sighed and relaxed into the bedding. But only her body, not her mind.
Her bracelet shifted. The movement was subtle, a thinning of the thick, broad, glass-like substance. The edge nearest the outlet molded into a pseudopod, oozed into the socket, and brightened a little bit. She kept her wrist in the alcove, hoping the medic wouldn’t notice anything, and spooled out more of the bracelet, twisting it into a thin coil.
It had been a while since she had practiced this in any depth. Crysium was near-impossible to bend, break, or shatter. It shrugged off heat, ignored cold, and devoured electricity. But above all, it was still the equivalent of Feyori shakk. Energy-infused matter. Biocrystalline, not just crystalline. It wasn’t just a property of the crystalline structure that made it so impervious; it was the life force still lingering inside, the energy feeding it and keeping it whole.
Created from the residue of living energy manipulators, only those who could manipulate energy themselves could reshape it. Using electrokinesis to pull out the energy naturally stored in the bracelet meant softening and reducing that impermeability to the point of pliability. Telekinesis—or even plain old physical effort—could then be used to shape and mould the almost plexi-like result. But that was the trick; no one had thought of using psychic abilities on the seemingly impervious stuff. No one else would for another two centuries, either. Except Ia, of course.
While it was a truism that a psi never had just one gift, not all of those gifts were strong enough to be developed beyond the most basic levels of awareness. Of those that did have more than one strong, trainable ability, cross-channeling energy was still often difficult for the majority of them. For Ia, if she didn’t include her precognitive and postcognitive abilities, her ability to manipulate electricity was next-highest on the list; biokinesis, the ability to heal rapidly, consciously, was farther down. But she could transform and channel the energy from electricity down into her other gifts, empowering them.
She did so now. Not just into her biokinetic self-healing abilities, but into her pyrokinetic, heat-inducing ones. Literally burning out the drug he had injected into her.
“Is she asleep yet?” she heard Drek ask.
Heddle moved to the side of her bunk, crouching to lean into the alcove. She had her eyes closed, but she could feel his presence, and his voice was close at her side. “Meioa Ia, are you awake?” His fingers brushed against her cheek. “Odd. She feels feverish.”
“Well, she can’t come down with some sort of deadly plague. They won’t pay nearly as much for a dead gift. Fix her, Heddle. We jump again in twenty minutes. I want to be long gone from anywhere near that ship of hers.”
Ia heard Drek getting up from the other bed, and flicked out her mind. The cabin door did not hiss open. She heard him thump the controls with his fist, then jab the comm button a couple of times.
“What the . . . ?”
Heddle touched her face again. Ia seized his mind and dragged him down into the timestreams. She was not gentle about it, though she wasn’t nearly as brutal as she had been with the Lyebariko assassin. It wasn’t easy, balancing the needs of his sanity versus the purging of her system. Her heartbeat increased, racing uncomfortably, unsteadily if she focused too much on him instead of on her health. Heddle twitched a little, threatening to scream if she focused instead on the toxins in her bloodstream. An awkward balance, keeping herself alive and him silent.
“Heddle, open your comm link and . . . Heddle?” Drek briefly returned to the bed. “Holy . . . She looks very feverish— Drek to the crew!” He moved away again. “If you are monitoring us, why the hell did you lock us in here? Several of the rest of you handled her, in bringing us on board! If she’s infected, you are, too!”
There. The last of the drug was purged. Lifting her hand to capture Heddle’s fingers, keeping him on the timeplains, she sat up on the edge of the bed. Now her attention had to be split between the medic and his employer. Drek turned and looked at her.
“What . . . ?”
“I told you: if you ever betrayed me, I would be prepared.” She still felt feverish, but the flush of heat was something she was now free to channel into other areas. Tipping her head, Ia gave the pirate crimelord a small, cold smile. “I’ll admit the second drug you dumped into my system was low on my list of expected events. But it has now been dealt with, and I will be just fine. You, however . . . are perilously close to making me mad.”
Drek backed up, eyes widening. He glanced again at the kneeling medic. “Heddle?”
Heddle shuddered and sobbed. Ia eased her grip on his mind, gentling his suffering. The trembling man blinked and looked up at her, hazel eyes watering. Ia brushed her fingers over his scalp, stroking the smooth-shaved skin. “Will you serve me?” He nodded, too choked with emotion to speak. Ia nodded as well, giving the medic one more pat. “Then everything will be made right . . .”
She looked up at Drek, who was leaning back against the cabin door, trying to subtly pat down his clothes for a weapon. He fished out a small holdout laser pistol. Ia leveled him a look somewhere between patient and chiding.
“Do you really think a one-shot gun is going to stop me, Drek?” Leaving Heddle kneeling by the side of the bed, she rose . . . and found her wrist still tethered to the socket. Wincing in self-disgust, Ia snapped her wrist, flexing her powers. The pseudopod recoiled, absorbing back into her bracelet. Which used to be her sword, hilt and all.
“What the hell is that thing?” he asked, distracted.
The gun dipped a little in his distraction. Ia didn’t lunge for it. She didn’t even move, yet, other than to lower her arm at her side. “What it is, is none of your business. Your business was to carry out my business,” she chided him. “The only mistake you didn’t make was telling them that this was supposed to be a sting . . . but I suppose that was as much to save your own hide as anything. But as far as obeying me goes, you failed.”
He lifted his chin, and the pistol, aiming it again. “I don’t work for you!”
Now she moved, lifting her hand. His weapon jerked out of his fingers before he could fire, sailing across the two meters between them. She caught it deftly, no longer lethargic from the second set of soporifics, and studied her wide-eyed, would-be captor. “You know, I really need to figure out an easier way to do this . . . because I am only one woman. I cannot be everywhere at once.
“Unfortunately, though I know I do eventually figure it out, how is a big blank grey spot I cannot foresee. Yet. In the meantime,” she muttered, tossing the gun on the bed, “I guess I’ll have to do this the hard way. Don’t struggle. I out-muscle you, and I’d really rather not break anything I might need, soon.”
“Heddle—grab her!” Drek ordered. The medic, sniffing hard to clear his nose, pushed back to his feet.
“No.” He fixed his employer with a hard look. “I would rather help her. It’s the only way things can be made right.”
Drek looked between Ia and his formerly loyal crewmember. “What the hell did you do to him?”
Three steps brought her within easy reach. Lifting her hand, she cupped his face, following him as he tried to dodge. “Come find out why I need you on my side. Come see all the lives you are destroying.”
He froze, stiffening in shock as she plunged him, too, into the timestreams.
This really is getting tedious, she thought in a private corner of her mind, dragging him through the soul-shaking waters. I cannot personally take everyone into the timestreams over the next three hundred years. Even if they are stubborn, blind, self-centered fools . . .
He begged. He had more presence of mind than Heddle did, enough to think somewhat past what he was seeing. Ia had no mercy. By the time she was done, Drek was pale and sweating, as if he was the one recovering from an inexplicable fever.
“Now,” she stated softly as he wiped a trembling hand over his eyes. “You will
go to your crew, and tell them we’re not jumping for a few more minutes. Then you will send each one, one at a time, into this cabin. Make up the excuse that you want to give each of them a chance to mark me up a little or whatever while I’m unconscious. As soon as your bridge crew has seen me, then they will jump us to rendezvous with the Liu Ji . . . and the future will proceed exactly as I have planned and outlined to you.”
He bowed his head. “Yes . . . I’m sorry, Prophet. I didn’t understand.”
Ia patted his cheek lightly, just enough to sting a little. “Snap out of it. You are still Drek the Merciless. Recover that side of your nature. I need it. You will return to being every bit of the bastard budding crimelord and businessman as ever. You will just work for me now. Think of this as the biggest combination of con and heist of your entire career.”
“Yes, Prophet,” Drek murmured, breathing deeply.
“Drek . . . don’t call me Prophet,” Ia ordered, sighing roughly. “Particularly in front of anyone else. Call me Ia, call me bitch, call me a pain-in-the-asteroid or something like that, but not Prophet. Heddle, go with him and fetch that pilot of yours. We need to get back on schedule as soon as possible, and that means Kells has to be on the same page as the rest of us.”
“Yes, Proph—sorry,” Drek apologized. He started to turn toward the door, then looked back at her. “Ah . . . two things. First, did you lock this thing?”
“Of course.” A flick of her hand followed the flick of her mind, unlocking the electronic controls. “And the second thing?”
“If I hadn’t tried to betray you just now . . . for all the wrong reasons, I can see that, now . . . would you have ever considered dating me for real? Not just as a cover for our little business deals?”
Heddle glanced between the two of them, lifted his brows, and quickly turned to the counter by the door, blatantly focusing his attention on his tray of hyposprays and drug vials.
Ia shook her head. “I’m sorry, Drek. No matter how attractive a man may be, I literally do not have time for romance in my life.”
He nodded slowly, accepting that. Then lifted a brow. “But you do think I’m attractive?”
She twisted her mouth in a wry smile. “When you’re not being a selfish, self-centered, uncaring, murderous bastard . . . yes. But I wouldn’t have you any other way. So long as you obey my prophecies, that is. Now. Go fetch the pilot of this courier ship,” Ia ordered, dragging him back onto task. “We’re losing time I cannot waste, and I’d rather not have to dodge any awkward questions as to why we’re running late.”
“Of course, Pr . . . ah, Ia. I’ll get him here immediately.” Opening the door, he left. Heddle escaped in his wake. Once the door had slid shut again, Ia moved to rest against the counter, far enough from the opening that anyone entering the room would not immediately see her. That would give her time to strike.
I really have to find a better way to convince people to do everything I need. Words and the proof of my prophecies can only go so far. Particularly for all the times I myself will not be there.
TZL 11818 SYSTEM
“You’re late,” Captain Sudramara stated, the moment the courier ship’s airlock hissed open, revealing Ia, Drek, and his crew.
“We had engine troubles,” she dismissed. “Permission to come back aboard, Captain?”
“Granted. But I wasn’t born yesterday; I do realize ‘engine troubles’ is a common euphemism for groping your . . . boyfr . . .” Sudramara stopped midword. Stared. The sextet of men in the airlock were worth the interruption.
Drek, Heddle, the pilot Kells, the engineer, and two gunners had all switched from business suits and ship suit coveralls to their version of battle attire. From boots to gloves, pants to fitted jackets, it consisted of deep shades of purple and black plexleather studded with bits of metal. Some of the metal wasn’t even weaponry. They had also braided their hair, and in Heddle’s case his beard, donned several barbaric-looking piercings, and streaked dark war paint across the visible portions of their skin.
“. . . The hell?” the captain of the Liu Ji asked, glancing between them and Ia, who had moved onto the gantry the docking crew had extended to the cylindrical courier’s side. “These are corporate raiders?”
Drek smiled. His canine teeth looked pointed, thanks to false caps. “Sometimes we like to emphasize the ‘raider’ half. A large part of any successful business dealing lies in the establishment of an effective reputation, and a memorable corporate image. This is all just part of that image. It allows us to resume normal clothes and normal lives when we’re not on the clock, so to speak. Now. Permission for my crew and I to come aboard, Captain?”
Again, Sudramara looked between Drek and Ia, eyes wide. “Armed?”
“Captain, the deal includes the fact that they will behave themselves in a lawful and respectful manner while on board this ship,” Ia pointed out. “That does not, however, include disarming them.”
Drek placed one gloved hand on his chest and gave Captain Sudramara a half bow, smiling with a few too many teeth. “I would never do anything to upset my lady . . . but I never go into a business deal disarmed. We come aboard as we are . . . or we leave, and we take the information you need with us.”
Sudramara looked between them a third time, then pointed his finger at Ia. “If anything happens while they’re on board, it’s your head on the chopping block, Acting Lieutenant.”
“I take full responsibility for their actions while on board, sir,” she returned, unfazed.
“Permission, Captain?” Drek asked again, this time smiling with just his lips.
“Granted. Keep your ‘boyfriend’ on a short leash,” Sudramara ordered Ia.
“He knows how to behave, sir. As for the ‘engine troubles’ we had,” Ia added, pulling out and displaying a datachip from her shirt pocket, “it involved the conversion factors between his FTL ships and military vessels, and not some euphemism. I was having to work out a lot of this stuff from memory on just what shape the Liu Ji’s hull actually is, and where the warp panels are distributed around it. This datachip has specifications for field intensity variations, thruster adjustments, and energy requirements. You did fill up every single tank and spare water container on board while I was off getting kidnapped, correct?”
Sudramara took the chip from her and started up the gantry ramp. “We did. But that’s assuming this ship will still be intact enough to need all that fuel for a firefight at the far end of the hyperrift.”
“We will. You won’t get the Marines and anyone else we pick up along the way past the orbital defense grid without at least the threat of being able to knock it out. Drek’s engineers stole the specs straight from the Solaricans, and worked the conversions for his own little fleet. All the hard work has already been done for you,” she stated, following the captain.
Drek and his crew followed Ia. At the end of the ramp, two pairs of soldiers, one set Marines and the other set Navy, joined them, giving Drek and his men wary looks. She addressed Sudramara’s concerns as they headed for the lifts.
“We’ll have to be running at minimal internal power to save the hydrogenerators from strain, but Drek’s engineers know what they’re doing. I gave him specs that would err on the conservative side of caution.”
“I am uncomfortable with you giving criminals sensitive military information,” he growled.
“We already knew most of the needed specifications,” Drek stated, earning him a hard look. He shrugged. “Mostly for things like insystem speed, FTL capacity, and other general, public knowledge. Fuel capacity and total available energy output weren’t things we knew. Nor the placement of the field generators, since you disguise them so well on your hulls.”
“With good reason! I don’t like—”
“Captain,” Drek interrupted, catching Sudramara’s sleeve and halting them. He let go immediately, for which Ia was grateful, and spoke bluntly, directly. “I have never targeted the military. That is suicidal. Most of us are smart enough to
leave you alone. The meioas you hunt, however, are far more powerful, and far more arrogant than you realize. They believe they can withstand the might of the Terran military. This is something I believe is a big enough mistake, I am willing to help you correct it. A mistake that, if not corrected immediately, will spill over onto all of the rest of us. That is why I am here.”
“Well, maybe that’s a good thing,” Sudramara shot back. “Maybe it should wipe out the lot of your kind.”
“Captain.” This time it was Ia who cut him off. She met his frown with a cold stare. “You do not work for the Branch Special Forces. You do not have any training in the intricacies of covert operations . . . and it seems as if you have forgotten your Academy training on diplomacy at the moment. Your opinions on this matter are immaterial. The Navy flies fast, shoots hard, and carries others into and out of combat. That is your assignment. Carry it out.”
He stepped forward, tall enough to look down at her by five or six centimeters. “And you, Acting Lieutenant, forget your place! You don’t give orders on my ship!”
She didn’t back down. “And you forget your place, Ship’s Captain. You are in the Navy. You do not have the rank to give or alter the orders given to the Marine Corps. That includes me. I take my orders from my duly appointed superiors, up the chain of command in that Marine Corps, all the way to the Command Staff. Of which, General Sranna is a lawfully designated substitute superior. He has been given training in understanding the needs and requirements of covert ops. He has authorized the presence of these men on board the Liu Ji, because he has the authority to speak for operations across all four Branches.
“Shova the shakk all you want, Captain,” Ia stated, not quite poking him in the chest, “your orders are to cooperate in helping the Marine Corps rescue its missing soldiers. This is the fastest way to do so, in the manner least likely to get Captain Ferrar and the others killed the moment we try. Take some comfort in the fact that this is my mission, and therefore my head is on the block, if these ‘special agents’ get out of line. They are not the Navy’s problem; they are the Marine Corps’ problem, and most specifically mine.
