Terminal Point Part 31

"Against a city dead set on burning itself to the ground?" Samantha shook her head as they walked into a musty-smelling building. "No, we can't take any chances."

"The riots won't reach here. We won't let them."

Samantha still retained her uneasiness. Blinking her eyes to adjust to the bright interior, she took in the s.p.a.ce that was their safe house for the time being. Strykers wearing the white scrubs of doctors and psi surgeons milled around inside, handing out bunks for the telepaths a.s.signed to London. Samantha declined a bed or couch, not liking the looks of the ones she pa.s.sed, and instead took up position in the kitchen. She and Kristen claimed a small table with four chairs. Kristen immediately folded her arms over the tabletop and rested her head on them, body canted at a sharp angle.

She gave her sister a sharp smile before closing her eyes. "It'll be brilliant, Sammy-girl."

Samantha sat down under Jael's watchful eye, not protesting when a nurse started to hook her up to a monitoring machine. "Remember your orders, Kristen."

"Don't worry. Lucas won't feel a thing."

PART EIGHT.

Ascension.

SESSION DATE: 2128.02.17.

LOCATION: Inst.i.tute of Psionics Research.

CLEARANCE ID: Dr. Amy Bennett.

SUBJECT: 2581.

FILE NUMBER: 160.

"Should we fear you?" the doctor asks.

The child shrugs and picks at the lace on her white sock. She is kneeling on the chair and hooks a finger beneath the strap of one s.h.i.+ny black shoe as she stares around the room. "I think you already do."

"This is only a precaution. Do you consider yourself dangerous, Aisling?"

She wrinkles her nose at the doctor. "I'm four."

"You don't act it sometimes."

Aisling shrugs again and settles more comfortably on the chair, her feet swinging freely through the air after she s.h.i.+fts position. "I can't help that. I can't help what I see."

The woman settles a hand over her datapad, leans forward, and offers up a smile. It doesn't reach her eyes, barely curls her lips. "You're the first person we've found who has a one hundred percent accuracy rating. We need that. We need you."

Aisling tilts her head to the side, the way any inquisitive child would. "You don't need me, you need my dreams. But they aren't for you."

THIRTY-NINE.

SEPTEMBER 2379.

PARIS, FRANCE.

Nathan was in the launch command room, in the middle of a conversation with the head of operations, when the security grid around Paris pinged with numerous threats. The chatter in the command room picked up, growing louder with every second that pa.s.sed.

"Those aren't confirmed routes."

"Sir, no one is answering our hails."

"Someone get those jets scrambled!"

Nathan took one look at the targeted ma.s.s of dots drifting closer to the ruined city on the hologrid map before abruptly turning on his feet and leaving the room. The hallway that separated the command room from the rest of the boarding facilities of the building was filled only with scattered government employees. It wasn't private, but it was empty enough for what he needed to do.

The four Warhounds masquerading as soldiers in a quad followed him out and stood guard when Nathan put his back against the wall. He closed his eyes and sent his mind skimming across the mental grid, picking up Warhound telepaths and dragging them into a merge. Bolstered by external power, Nathan allowed himself to reach for the cl.u.s.ter of buzzing thoughts that were getting closer with every second that pa.s.sed. A mora.s.s of psi signatures. .h.i.t his leading mental s.h.i.+elds, and Nathan abruptly pulled back, retreating in a way that snapped pain through his head when he opened his eyes.

"Sir?" the Warhound to his left asked. "What's wrong?"

"Confirm the numbers we have on-site for Warhounds," Nathan said in a low voice.

"The last groups are still flying in. They number a little over one hundred. On-site? We've got two hundred Warhounds still waiting to board and about fifty already on their a.s.signed s.p.a.ce shuttles. Everyone else is already en route to the Ark or on board the colony s.h.i.+p."

Nathan calculated the odds. Three hundred of his Warhounds, half of them higher-Cla.s.sed psions, were already in s.p.a.ce and unavailable for this fight. Nathan had staggered the exits of Warhound teams, knowing that things would be going to h.e.l.l during such a shortened transfer time frame. He ground his teeth, exhaling sharply through his nose as he picked through his options.

"Get them off those s.p.a.ce shuttles and out of this building. I want them on the streets and ready to fight right now. That's Lucas flying in with Strykers and we need to be ready." Nathan gestured at the hallway they were in. "Send me all the Cla.s.s VI and higher telepaths and empaths we have on-site. Tell them to prepare for merging."

One of the Warhounds nodded sharply at the order, and Nathan headed for the command room. He pulled his suit jacket straight as he walked back into chaos. The grating static of human thoughts beat against his mental s.h.i.+elds as he took up his post next to the command terminal manned by the head of operations.

"Jets are confirming no response from those shuttles, sir," someone told the man in charge. "We're starting to lose uplinks with the jets as they approach the targets."

"What do you mean we're losing uplinks?" the government officer demanded.

"They're disappearing from the security grid."

"Do we have a visual?"

"Negative."

"Why the h.e.l.l not? Get me that G.o.dd.a.m.n visual!" The a.s.sistant ran off to obey and Nathan took his place. The officer didn't look up from his terminal. "You shouldn't be here, sir. Grab a quad and have them take you to the s.p.a.ce shuttle we're readying for launch. We need to get you off this planet."

"I can't leave just yet," Nathan said.

"If I have to haul you onto that s.p.a.ce shuttle in cuffs, I'll do it. We need you alive, sir."

"Yes, but that won't happen if those incoming shuttles aren't stopped. You have no clue who you're dealing with."

The officer scowled and waved over a quad. "I don't have time to listen to politicians. They're taking you to a s.h.i.+elded transport shuttle and putting your a.s.s on the next s.p.a.ce shuttle in the launch queue."

The first soldier to lay a hand on Nathan got his arm broken, and the breaking didn't stop until the screaming man was a mutilated ma.s.s of pulpy flesh and shattered bone lying on the floor. It took only a minute for the man to die, but it seemed like eternity to those watching. Nathan stared disdainfully at the dead man and tugged his suit sleeve straight.

"Don't presume to tell me what to do," Nathan said, raising his eyes to meet the officer's shocked and uncertain gaze. "I don't take orders from humans. Not anymore."

Words died on the man's lips as Nathan telekinetically broke his neck. Another body hit the floor and Nathan tossed it aside, clearing the way for him to take control of the command room. He could feel the rising panic in the large room, fear mes.h.i.+ng into a ragged mob mentality that would have left him short of needed people for the controls.

The Warhound telepaths and empaths that entered the command room took care of that for him, brutally mindwiping the humans of their fear and panic. The mindwipe kept the basic pattern of human thoughts intact, leaving them with the ability to still function and do their duty. They were essentially puppets now, with bodies going through directed motions, all except Dalia.

She rose from her seat and crossed the room to take the second-in-command position one terminal down from Nathan. "Bringing up the visual you wanted, sir," she said crisply, hands flying over the controls in front of her.

Nathan nodded, hands resting on the edge of the command terminal as his eyes flicked across the vidscreens and hologrid. The Warhounds settled themselves where they could, minds sliding into a pulsating merge that hovered near the back of Nathan's mind.

A visual finally came up, taken from a security feed two kilometers away. The remains of fighter jets burned in the broken streets of Paris, smoke curling black and ugly into the sky. Strykers were already on the ground, moving around the wreckage. Nathan licked sweat off his upper lip before merging with the waiting Warhounds, taking the apex position in that grouping of minds and power.

Don't let them near the launch area, he said. The order burned across the mental grid, reverberating and branding itself into every Warhound mind he could reach. Our priority is protecting the s.p.a.ce shuttles. We can't let them gain access to even a single one.

"Dalia," Nathan said. He stared through the information scrolling across his terminal, feeling sweat sliding down the back of his neck, following the curve of his spine. "Keep the launches going. I want-"

He broke off as a familiar mind spiked on the mental grid, the psi signature one he didn't think he'd ever feel on this planet again. Nathan jerked his head around, staring in anger and shock as Gideon leaned against the side of the command terminal, face calm.

"Nathan," Gideon said.

"Why the h.e.l.l aren't you on the Ark?" Nathan demanded. "I need you off this G.o.dd.a.m.n planet, Gideon."

"I have what you need."

Nathan stared at him in disbelief, noting the soft silver gleam that stained his son's dark blue eyes. "Lucas nearly burned out your mind. You've got holes in your memory. You don't even know what to look for."

"Lucas didn't destroy everything." Gideon slid a hand through his hair and pulled, the action one of Kristen's habits. "There's an echo in my head. Where Samantha used to be."

Nathan didn't ask for permission before entering his son's mind, sifting carefully through broken thoughts for the scar that was left of the psi link Gideon once shared with his twin. Tangled through its raw layers were pieces of memory, transferred from Samantha in that moment when she saved Gideon at the Strykers Syndicate. Nathan saw it and carefully mapped out a large fragment of a psi signature that didn't belong to either of his children.

"How did I miss this?" Nathan said.

"We're twins. We can't remain apart forever." Gideon smiled slowly, the curve of his mouth tight and forced. "You always did fear insanity, but it's all that's left for you now."

Nathan couldn't deny that fact. "Suit up, Gideon. You're right. I'm going to need your help to stop Lucas."

FORTY.

SEPTEMBER 2379.

PARIS, FRANCE.

The shuttles landed in the streets of Paris, between the remains of bombed-out buildings and away from the wastewater that flowed through the Seine. It was as close as the Strykers could get to the launch area without running up against Warhound telekinetic s.h.i.+elds. If the Strykers didn't land, they risked ending up like the military jets, blown to pieces after hitting a barrier their instruments couldn't pick up.

The rest of the fighting was taking place on the ground, in the middle of a deadzone with toxicity levels that were still dangerous, even to psions. The two-p.r.o.nged push came from the west and the north, both Stryker groups filled with telekinetics, pyrokinetics, and a few dozen telepaths not drafted into the Stryker merge.

They outnumbered the Warhounds by a decent margin, but that didn't mean anything. Most of the Warhounds were higher-Cla.s.sed psions than the Strykers, and all of them knew how to merge. The crus.h.i.+ng telekinetic blow that slammed into the Stryker ranks coming from the west tore through weaker s.h.i.+elds, throwing people to the ground with bone-breaking force.

Jason anch.o.r.ed his telekinetic s.h.i.+eld with all his Cla.s.s 0 strength against the Warhound merge. His s.h.i.+eld wavered beneath the heavy weight of foreign power, but didn't break. Swearing, Jason shoved his power forward at breakneck speed to clear the street ahead of them. Beside him, Quinton had a fireball formed, the crackling flame joined by dozens of others as pyrokinetics prepared to attack.

"Dropping s.h.i.+elds," Jason shouted. "Go!"

A firestorm ripped down the street, riding gas and burning through debris to add fuel to the fire. The pyrokinetics forced the fire to burn white-hot on its way to their targets. They came up short against telekinetic s.h.i.+elds, but the fire served as a needed distraction. The Strykers had numbers on their side, and the hundreds of mental strikes started to slowly bog down the merged Warhound telekinetics. Some s.h.i.+elds caved, sending Warhounds to their knees on the street, screaming from severe psionic overload in their minds.

The Strykers kept searching for weak spots, struggling to find a way into the center core of that power. They found some with Lucas's help, his guidance enabling them to shatter pieces of the merge and, with it, some of the Warhounds' concentration. The telekinetic s.h.i.+elds in their immediate area disappeared and the fire consumed Warhounds.

Screams echoed in the air, along with the stench of burning human flesh, but the Strykers ignored both on their push forward. Quinton looked over his shoulder to where Lucas ran, dark blue eyes like holes in his face behind the helmet of his skinsuit. Blood slid out of his nose in a thin trickle. He was skirting a line of mental damage far beyond psi shock by being here on the ground, but he had no choice. Lucas was commanding this battle, and if he was on the field, Nathan wouldn't be looking for an attack anywhere else.

"Can you handle this?" Quinton asked as he adjusted the grip on his pulse-rifle. The strap was slung across his chest; he'd let the rifle go in order to use his power.

"Don't question my judgment," Lucas said.

"I'm not. You got us this far, but if you're dead, we're f.u.c.ked."

Lucas waved at Quinton. "We have to keep moving."

Quinton took him at his word and lengthened his stride as Jason picked up the pace, pulse-rifle gripped in both hands. Everyone was loaded down with weapons for this fight, but half the Strykers on the field treated them as an afterthought. Telekinetics were guilty of that mind-set more than others, used to relying on the physical force of their power over the guns in their hands.

The sun beat down on them through a partially cloudy sky, smoke warping their line of sight. Telekinetics wrapped layered s.h.i.+elds around everyone as they double-timed it down the street. The mental grid was like a warzone beyond every Stryker and Warhound s.h.i.+eld, telepathic and empathic strikes ripping against hundreds of minds. The constant mental attacks wore down everyone's defenses, with s.h.i.+elds slipping beneath the weight of focused power. Once those s.h.i.+elds slipped, the minds behind them were torn to pieces. Lucas's merge of telepaths was holding off a good many Warhound strikes, but the distance between London and Paris put them at a disadvantage.

You should have let us onto the field, Samantha said through the psi link that tied her to Lucas. Here, catch the next layer.