Closing the Circle (Guardians of the Pattern, Book 6)

by Jaye McKenna

  More than that, he wanted to lose himself in Cam’s mind. Wanted to feel the beat of another heart in his own chest, the heat of Cam’s skin against his own, the indescribable feeling of being in two bodies at once…

  He wanted all of that and more.

  But he couldn’t have it. He and Cam had different paths to walk, and he couldn’t imagine a future in which those paths would ever cross again.

  His memories would have to be enough.

  Chapter Eleven

  Cam’s stomach was in knots as he guided his flyer through the brilliant, winter sunshine to the Central Command building in Iral. Iverson had been vague about the purpose of the meeting he’d asked for, but the timing was right for another investigator to have arrived from Earth.

  Eight days had passed since Sylvester had been shipped back to Earth. Eight days of too many tasks and too little sleep, with Anja and Rhys running two shuttles between the freighter and the surface, and Miko maintaining a constant vigil to keep them off everyone’s radar.

  Now, the majority of the Institute’s residents and all of the psions who’d been trickling in over the past few weeks were safely aboard the freighter. Most of them were already in cold-sleep; Anja’s techs and the Institute’s medical staff had been working around the clock to get everyone prepped.

  The campus was nearly deserted. Kyn and Pat were there, keeping up appearances, though with most of the department’s operations suspended, there wasn’t much for anyone to do. Eleni and a few other essential personnel were still there, but all in all, only two dozen people remained.

  Cam still didn’t know where Draven had gone to ground. Miko had found the flyer at one of the spaceport parking facilities, which made Cam wonder if Draven had gone off-world, or if that was just what Draven wanted him to think.

  Miko would know, but Cam hadn’t asked, figuring the less he knew, the less he could tell.

  Or be forced to tell.

  Now, sitting in the flyer on the roof of FedSec Aurora’s Central Command building, Cam steeled himself for what was coming. He hadn’t told Kyn where he was going; didn’t want to deal with the inevitable argument. Kyn would have insisted that he get his ass up to the Wanderlust, and there was no way Cam could justify pulling a disappearing act now. The last thing they needed was FedSec ordering a room-by-room search of the campus and finding it nearly empty.

  Cam took a few minutes to weave a false front of calm, professional efficiency to cover his apprehension. If they’d already called in a psionic interrogator, Cam wasn’t about to let them see him sweat.

  When he was as calm as he was likely to get, he crossed the roof to the lobby and took the elevator down to Iverson’s office. Dread curled quietly in his gut as he recalled his career-ending meeting with Drake Logan. Outside the office, Cam took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. Far more than his career depended on the outcome of this meeting.

  He pushed the door open, took two steps in, and stopped dead. The room was full of people he hadn’t sensed. Two large men dressed like executives stood on either side of the door, and a woman in a severe black suit stood next to Iverson’s desk. Two more men in suits stood on either side of the director. From Iverson himself, who was seated at the desk, came a disquieting mixture of anger and regret.

  The door shut behind him, and hands closed around his arms like bands of steel. His gut reaction was to jerk away, but he thought about the people he protected, the promises he’d made, and how much might be riding on his reactions. Instead of struggling to free himself, he looked his boss in the eye and said, “Neil? What the hell?”

  “This is Chief Investigator Isobel Wentworth,” Iverson said, gesturing to the woman. She was about forty, with dark hair and cool blue eyes. Behind that calculating gaze, she was probably already considering how to take him apart. “She was sent by the Federation Senate to investigate the disappearance of Investigator Sylvester.”

  The man on Cam’s left shoved Cam’s sleeve up and the other pressed an injector against his arm. Cam started to pull away, but found himself held fast.

  “What are you—”

  “Anarin,” the one on his right said. “Cooperate or you’ll end up stunned.”

  Chief Wentworth stepped around the desk and faced him. “Cameron Asada, you’re under arrest.”

  The bottom dropped out of his stomach, and his mind raced as she read him his rights. He’d been fully prepared to answer some questions; he hadn’t been prepared to be arrested.

  What had they found? Who had they talked to, and who else had been implicated?

  The adrenaline dump had him twitching with the need to move, but he managed to keep it under control. One of the men secured his hands behind his back, and then he was spun around and marched into the hall.

  The elevator ride was a blur. In the dimly lit underground parking ramp, he was pushed into the back of a car and driven to FedSec Central Processing. Instead of running him through the standard intake procedures the average citizen would have endured, he was taken straight to one of the interrogation rooms, where the binders he wore were secured to the back of a chair.

  Across a battered table from him, Chief Wentworth took a seat. She spent a few minutes tapping at her slate before setting it on the table and gazing at him with a cool, unruffled expression. The two men who had escorted him from the director’s office stood behind him, about a meter back, one on each side.

  “I’m not going to lie to you, Asada, you’re in a lot of trouble,” Chief Wentworth said in a cool voice. “Obstructing a Federation Senate investigation is the least of the charges you’re facing.”

  Calling on his years of undercover experience, he schooled his expression to a flat stare, similar to the one Draven used when he was trying to unnerve people. “What do you think you have on me?”

  “Kidnapping and assault, for a start.”

  “Of whom?”

  “Federation Investigator Jacob Sylvester.” Wentworth tapped the slate again. “Let’s see what you make of this.”

  “Did Asada send you after me?” It was a man’s voice. Sylvester’s? The audio quality wasn’t great — it never was with implants — but it was clear enough to damn him. Damn them all.

  Why hadn’t Draven used a sonic disruptor? He’d taken several of them with him. Cam had watched him slip them into his pockets.

  “No.”

  There was a long pause, during which Cam heard the sound of someone grunting and straining, as if fighting against ropes or binders.

  “What do you want?”

  “I want you to stop investigating Miko Asada. And I want to know what you think you know and how much of it you’ve reported to your superiors.”

  That voice made him go cold inside. It was Draven.

  “I’m not telling you a damn thing.”

  “Fine. Have it your way.”

  Wentworth stopped the recording and tapped her nails on the table. “Let me speculate. During the course of his investigation, Sylvester learned something about your protégé, Miko Asada. Something you didn’t want the Senate to know. So you arranged for someone — the owner of the other voice in this recording — to make sure Sylvester wouldn’t be able to reveal anything he’d learned to the Senate. Does any of that sound familiar?”

  The adrenaline dump had started the moment he’d recognized Draven’s voice, but his face remained a neutral mask, his voice calm and steady. “I want to talk to my attorney.”

  “Yes, I imagine you do,” she said. “Here’s where the game gets interesting, Asada. You’re a psion. As such, the Charter doesn’t grant you the same rights as it does the average citizen.”

  “I haven’t misused psi.”

  “No, but you ordered someone else to. I want to know who he is and where I can find him. And because you’re a psion, the Charter allows me to play fast and loose with the rules. Convenient for me, but a problem for you.”

  “You… can’t you run a voice-print?”

  “We’ve tried. The audi
o quality with implants is never that good to begin with, but even after scrubbing the signal, we couldn’t get a match on anything in the database.” She eyed him appraisingly. When he was silent, she continued, “We might be willing to cut a deal. You realize, of course, that if this goes to trial and we get a conviction, ordering the psionic manipulation of a Federation investigator is enough to get you mind-wiped.”

  But cutting a deal meant betraying people he’d sworn to protect. Miko was like his own son, and Draven… he still wasn’t sure what Draven was to him, but he wasn’t about to hand the man over to FedSec.

  Even if it cost him his life.

  Or his memories.

  An image flashed through his mind: Jacob Sylvester, lying on the basement floor of DeMira’s mountain retreat. Sylvester had survived mind-wiping and built a new life for himself.

  Cam could do the same if he had to. Couldn’t he?

  He kept his mouth shut and his expression neutral.

  * * *

  Miko stared down at the blue-and-white world outside the star-wall in the Wanderlust’s crew lounge. He’d lived on Aurora at the Institute for Psionic Research ever since Cameron had rescued him from DeMira, and it was the closest thing to a home he’d ever had. It wasn’t safe anymore, though. Not for any of them.

  Beside him, Tarrin’s cousin, Vaya, pressed his hands flat against the transparent surface, as if he feared he might suddenly fall out of the ship.

  “Will you be sorry to leave?” Tarrin’s voice came from behind him, and Miko felt his lover’s hand on his shoulder.

  Miko dipped into the mythe to speak directly into Tarrin’s mind. He slipped a hand into Tarrin’s and squeezed.

  The warm shades of love drifted from Tarrin’s mythe-shadow into his own, and Miko moved closer, pressing himself against Tarrin’s side. Tarrin dropped an arm over his shoulders.

  From Vaya’s other side, Nick murmured, “What do you think?”

  “It’s so big…” Vaya whispered. “I never dreamed I’d see anything like this.”

  “Didn’t you see it from the station?” Tarrin asked.

  “There was not enough time to look all I wanted.” Vaya’s brilliant amethyst eyes were shining when he turned from the window to face Tarrin. “When we were children, you told me about your father taking you up to the station. You said you could see all the lands of Aion spread out below you… I tried to picture it, but… not in my wildest imaginings could I have come up with anything so beautiful.”

  “You will see Aion this way, too, azhi, when we return from Hope.”

  “Will it be safe for you to come back with us?” Vaya asked. “What if your Senate decides that all psions must be drugged? Would you let them take your ability to touch the mythe if that was the only way you could serve the Ajhani?”

  Tarrin hesitated, and Miko shivered at the thought. If Tarrin allowed himself to be drugged, Miko might never touch him in the mythe again. “I would,” Tarrin whispered. “Though it would kill me to lose that connection to Miko.”

  “No, azhi,” Vaya said firmly. “I would not allow it. I would take your place as Aion’s representative before I would allow them to cripple you that way. Nick and I have already discussed it.” He reached for Nick’s hand and drew him close.

  “We did,” Nick said quietly. “We decided that if worse comes to worst, Vaya will represent Aion, and you and Miko will go to Hope. Vaya can’t touch the mythe anymore, and I’ve only been a psion for a short time. To be perfectly honest, it’s not anything I’d miss. I never use it. It’s really more of a nuisance than anything. If their psi-destroying drug is safe, I wouldn’t have any objections to taking it.”

  “What if the Federation decides that the Ajhani need to be drugged?” Tarrin asked.

  Nick looked alarmed, as if he hadn’t considered that possibility.

  “That vid-clip of Vaya destroying the base…” Tarrin shook his head. “It’s reached even the farthest corners of the Federation by now. And while they cannot identify Vaya personally, the secret is out. The Federation is now aware that some of our people can do so much more than even your strongest psions can. Will they try to force feed Ravanifen to the entire population? The Council of Chiefs would never allow that, but… I cannot see how they could stop it. The Ajhani are hardly equipped to fight off the Federation.”

  Miko studied the planet below him.

  Tarrin’s arm tightened around him. “In some ways, I’m glad you can’t. It must be a terrible burden, knowing that something terrible is coming, and knowing equally well that nothing you can do or say will prevent it. It’s easier to hope when you don’t know for certain.”

  “I really hope it doesn’t come to a fight,” Nick said softly.

  The very idea left Miko feeling sick and shaky; the Federation could destroy Aion and the Ajhani without ever landing a craft on the planet’s surface.

  “Don’t underestimate them, Nick,” Vaya said quietly. “The Dragon Speakers of Aion would be a formidable force if they were united in purpose.”

  Miko nodded agreement. He’d seen Tarrin’s mother, Ivaka, perform miracles with only a few mythe-weavers supporting her. The combined power of all the Dragon Speakers of all the clans would surely be a force to be reckoned with.

  Before Miko could put his thoughts into words, the door of the crew lounge slid open, and Kyn’s voice cut across the room: “Miko. We need you right now. Cam’s been arrested, and they’ve taken Eleni.”

  Miko stared up at Tarrin.

  * * *

  Cam sat on the hard bunk. Beyond the invisible force-wall that made up one whole side of the holding cell, the hallway was empty. It didn’t surprise him that he’d been sitting here for what felt like hours. It was, after all, a standard technique: leave him alone with his thoughts and let his own imagination start the process of breaking him.

  Did Wentworth know about his conditioning?

  FedSec certainly did, and he guessed that once they realized he wasn’t going to cooperate, they’d turn him over to a psionic interrogator.

  He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, then let it out slowly, willing all the tension and fear out with it. Instead of focusing on the situation, he turned his mind to his senses. The air was cool and sharp with the smell of disinfectant. The neon orange jumpsuit they’d given him was loose on him, made for a bigger, taller man, and the fabric was stiff against his skin. It, too, had a sharp, chemical smell. Industrial detergent. He tried not to think about never wearing civilian clothing again. Tried harder not to think about a future in which he had no past.

  The harsh, bright light in the cell was unchanging, making it impossible to mark the passage of time. That, too, was a technique designed to break him down. He could expect to be fed at irregular intervals and woken from sleep to endure whatever they thought would break him the fastest.

  Drugs?

  Torture?

  Whatever they tried, he could handle it. He’d have to. There was far more at stake than his career. If he told them about the psion colony, what would they do?

  Let them go?

  Or destroy the ship and all the psions it carried?

  Speculating wouldn’t help, so Cam forced his focus back to his breathing and tried not to think about anything.

  Eventually, two guards came for him. A light stun-field flashed through the cell. Not enough to knock him out, but enough to leave him dazed and unable to control his own limbs.

  He was dragged down the hall to the same interrogation room they’d used before. The two men waited in patient silence, one on each side, supporting him until the feeling came back into his legs and he could stand unaided. Then they pushed him down onto a chair, secured his hands behind his back, and left the room.

  The doo
r slammed shut, leaving him alone again.

  Cam tried to keep his attention on his breath, but he couldn’t stop thinking about what lay ahead. Pretend it’s another training sim, Asada. You’ve been through how many of those?

  Too many.

  Problem was, no matter how brutal the simulations had been, he’d known they weren’t real. The stakes hadn’t been nearly as high. Failing a training exercise didn’t hold a candle to betraying nearly a thousand people — families — children — in cold-sleep up on the Wanderlust.

  Footsteps in the hall outside brought him to attention, and a moment later, the door opened, and an older man with dark eyes and greying, dark brown hair came in. Shocked recognition made Cam’s mouth go dry and his gut clench tight.

  Vance Calloway.

  He’d been one of the instructors Cam had worked with during the conditioning phase of his training. If anyone would know the weak spots in Cam’s armor, it would be Calloway.

  The interrogator was dressed in street clothes rather than his dark blue uniform. He took the seat opposite Cam and gave him a long, appraising look. “Never expected to see you sitting on that side of the table, Asada.”

  “No, sir,” he murmured. “I didn’t, either.”

  “I’m going to suggest, not as your interrogator, but as your colleague and your friend, that you cooperate. It’ll be a lot easier on both of us if you do.”

  “I’m aware of that. Sorry, Vance, but if I was willing to cooperate, I would have done so already.”

  “Well, you’ve had the training, and you know what you’re in for. Just don’t make the mistake of thinking that because I trained you and I like you, I’ll go easy on you. The reality is, I’ve got a better shot at cracking you open than a stranger would. But you already know that, don’t you, son?”

  When Cam didn’t respond, Calloway got to his feet. “We’ll get down to the hard-core stuff a little later. For now, I’m going to leave you with something to think about and some time to consider how much you want to volunteer.” He opened the door and nodded to someone outside. A moment later, two guards entered with Eleni between them. She looked exhausted and scared. When her dark eyes lit on him, they widened, and her fear reached him even through the Anarin.