Excerpts

DAW TRADEMARK REGISTERED U.S. PAT. AND TM. OFF. AND FOREIGN COUNTRIES --MARCA REGISTRADA HECHO EN U.S.A. Acknowledgments Chapter One WANTED IT WAS ALL IN THE PLANNING. Forcing people to go against their nature was almost impossible. The trick was to ascertain their true nature and allow them to indulge it--at the right time and in the right place. That was the art of the true puppet master. One of the problems with being so far from the action, however, was that once you set things in motion, you had to wait. And that was the hardest part. Gabrius Crowder glared at the deepening purple sky outside his window, high up in the Trust's administrative headquarters. Arkhad City glowed bright in the distance, artificial light overtaking the natural as Chenon's fifty-hour day slid into its long dusk. Down in the compound below, tiny figures scurried between warehouses and the immense packing station next to the shuttle port, some on foot, others with float carts. Unobscured by trees or buildings, a kilometer of manicured, pink vegetation rolled to the perimeter, where a glistening curtain of pure power, beautiful but deadly, kept out unwanted visitors. Crowder turned and gazed at the holographic galaxy hovering in the middle of his ops room. Tiny pinpoints of white light marked the Trust's colonies while the jump gate hubs blinked rhythmically in green. The platinum-producing planets glowed blue. Not enough of them. Never enough. The jump gate network devoured platinum as fast as the megacorporations could refine it. Platinum, or lack of it, was the curse of the interstellar age. He reached into the display and touched Olyanda, platinum rich and almost in the bag for the Trust. Almost. Soon. The puppets were in the theater, the show had begun. He put his hand to the dressing covering his ear. Itching was a good sign, wasn't it? He pressed gently with his palm, releasing a small dose of topical anesthetic until the fierce itch faded to a mild annoyance. If his plague had done its job, they'd all be dead by now: Benjamin, Carlinni, the psi-techs and settlers . . . even Ari van Blaiden. He squashed the flutter of guilt. He was a compassionate man, fond of cats and small children, but he couldn't afford to let sentiment get in the way of platinum. Getting rid of van Blaiden along with the rest would be a bonus. A dangerous enemy, an even more dangerous business partner, co-conspirator, frenemy--whatever. Crowder's relationship with van Blaiden had been complicated. He strode through to his office and dropped his ungainly bulk into the float chair which dipped and swayed before stabilizing beneath him. The backrest molded to his lumbar region and cradled his spine. He'd always thought of himself as a good man, a moral man. Had that changed? No. A general who sent troops to die in a war was not a murderer. Sometimes you had to do the expedient thing for the greater good. He was fighting a war on behalf of the Trust. An undeclared war, maybe, but a war all the same, not only against Alphacorp, the Trust's closest rival, but also against the other megacorporations, singly and together. The Trust was on top of the heap, but they couldn't afford to get complacent. His holo-screen showed a direct call waiting. It was Bibby, one of his insiders in Alphacorp. A man with expensive tastes in chemical relaxation. "Bibby, what have you got for me?" The first page of a report flashed up in front of him. He spotted the words Olyanda and van Blaiden before Bibby snatched it away again. "This is big news, Mr. Crowder. It's worth five thou." "Your grandmother isn't worth five thou." "Six thou. Every time you hesitate the price goes up. It's an eyes-only data package for . . ." He flicked his gaze upward to indicate it was for the very highest authority. "I could sell it to any one of the megacorps for double." "Not unless you want to spend the rest of your life--your much shortened life--on a penal colony." What had happened? Van Blaiden's name linked with Olyanda on a report intended for Alphacorp's CEO was a potential disaster. Crowder's considerable belly churned. "Has she seen it yet?" "I'm good, but I'm not that good. This is a copy." "Six thou, all right." "Seven." "Seven." He'd get back at the little shit later. For now, the report was what mattered. Bibby smiled and nodded. Crowder docked his handpad with the reader on his desk and his slush fund was instantly seven thousand credits lighter. The report appeared on his screen. Bibby's image shrank to a pinpoint and vanished. Crowder read, the hairs on the back of his neck standing to attention. He could almost feel his blood pressure rising. It was a fiasco--a fucking fiasco. Olyanda was lost. There were survivors. Any survivors were bad news. Benjamin and Carlinni--that was a disaster. He'd paid a million and a half for that plague. What in all-hell had gone wrong? He read on, sweating over what would happen first. Would the news break like a tsunami across the space-logs, or should he expect silence and a visit in the middle of the night? He was going to have to scramble to minimize the damage. At least Ari van Blaiden was dead, that was one blessing; a dangerous connection dissolved. He frowned. The report revealed that Alphacorp had been watching van Blaiden. How much did they suspect? How much did they know for sure? He checked the report's author, but the name Kitty Keely didn't mean anything to him. It was probably an alias anyway. No one was really called Kitty Keely. Despite the climate control in his office, a bead of sweat trickled down Crowder's face from forehead to jowls. If Alphacorp had proof of his involvement they'd use it not just against him, but against the Trust. That was a given. He swallowed hard to dislodge the lump in his throat. Hold steady, don't panic. It's a setback, it's not the end of the road. Some setback! The Trust had lost a prime platinum resource to the mobsters on Crossways. That was bad enough, but the psi-techs, once his own employees, now knew that he'd tried to wipe them out along with the settlers. It was only a matter of time before someone came after him. Crowder rubbed his hand over his ear, resisting the temptation to poke his finger through the dressing. They were still growing him a replacement, and the new eardrum graft was delicate. Benjamin could easily have killed him, probably would if they met again. That must never happen. He took a deep breath. First things first. Slap Benjamin and the psi-techs on the Monitors' most-wanted list. He knew one Monitor in particular who had a personal grudge against Benjamin. It was time to feed Alexandrov the relevant information. He attached an unsigned message to a transfer of funds. Benjamin heading for Chenon. Apprehend. That would be enough. Now for the second thing: so far the space-logs had been silent. Of course, it had only been a few days. There was still time. If Bibby's report was correct, most of the survivors had been evacuated to Crossways already and might be sending trouble his way at any time. The S-LOG network was slow between systems. Transmission of data packets through the jump gates was bound by the laws of physics. The tel-net was faster: short messages passed from Telepath to Telepath across space and then fed into local networks. Once a message hit the planetary net it could go viral in minutes, handpad to handpad. Crowder couldn't do anything about the tel-net, but he might be able to silence Crossways' direct chatter by pinching it off at the jump gates. "Stefan," he yelled for his secretary. "Put in a call to Legal." He hoped the tech guys could block a route as quickly as Crossways' hackers could open one. Crossways housed any number of resourceful criminal gangs. With van Blaiden dead, Crowder could probably shift blame and retain plausible deniability for himself and the Trust. He had a breathing space, but he needed to make full use of it. In his head he was already concocting a press release. A headline, something like: Olyanda Plague Survivors Break Quarantine , followed by a scare article. Threat level red. All planets should deny landing rights to colonists from Olyanda or vessels from Crossways, where plague carriers have taken refuge. That should do it. Quarantine notices and warrants wouldn't be enough, though. He needed to deal with Benjamin and Carlinni immediately and with extreme prejudice. Good thing he knew the right someone on Crossways. Ben Benjamin eased the Solar Wind into realspace with only a faint shimmer in the flight deck air. His version of reality resumed, though the dizziness took a few moments to subside, as usual. The transition was as smooth as it could be, which meant his connection with the ship was functioning damn near perfectly. And . . . relax . . . It was a good day. Ben counted the ways. One: Ari van Blaiden was dead. Two: Ben's psi-tech crew had survived the Olyanda mission and they were all individually rich, or would be as soon as the platinum mines on Olyanda started to produce, which admittedly might take some time yet. Three: they had allies on Crossways, home to some of the most talented criminals in the known universe. Four: the spaceship he'd stolen turned out to have teeth. And, best of all, five: Cara Carlinni, love of his life, had not tried to kill him today. Not yet, anyway. He took stock. Five of them on the flight deck, pilot, copilot, comms, systems, and tactical. One by one the other four nodded back to him. "Ship status?" he asked. Cara relayed his question telepathically and cut him in on the reassuring responses from the crew in medical and engineering as well as from those off-duty in their cabins. "Time?" He turned to Wenna at the systems monitoring station. Unflappable, dependable Wenna, his second during the Olyanda mission. "Subjective time in the Folds: three minutes fifteen seconds." She swiped her left hand across her hard-screen, favoring it above the biosynthetic right, despite having been right-handed when both her arms were her own flesh and bone. "Objective elapsed time in realspace: two hours forty-three minutes." Ben worked it out roughly in his head. Seventy seconds had passed in realspace for every one in foldspace--a much higher ratio than when transiting via jump gates. "Log it." Solar Wind was one of those rare vessels with her own jump drive, which made transiting foldspace simultaneously less restrictive and more dangerous. They were still trying to figure out her parameters. The time differential could be fluid. You couldn't predict, you just had to go with it, though the longer you stayed in the Folds the less likely you were to get out again. Ben subscribed to the theory, unpopular in Academy circles, that once you entered foldspace you ceased to be real in any accepted sense of the word. He glanced across to where Cara sat at the comms station. "How are you?" he asked her softly. "Holding up." Her short fair hair couldn't hide the thundercloud bruise radiating across her cheekbone, and she held herself stiffly. He guessed her rib was still sore despite the fancy bone regeneration equipment in Solar Wind 's sick bay. He flexed his shoulder, knowing that only the drugs from his buddysuit dulled the pain of his healing burn. Neither of them had come through their trials on Olyanda without injury, but they were both still alive and upright, and that was what counted. Cara's scars were more than physical, however. Broken bones and blistered skin healed faster than the deep mindfuck Ari van Blaiden had administered. But that was over now. He, Cara, and the rest of his crew were still flying. He turned to the newest member, still unproven, in the copilot's chair. She was supposed to be, like him, a psi-tech Navigator, but he'd felt her doubt herself during the foldspace transit. "Kitty?" "Sorry, sir, I froze." Kitty Keely combed her fair, shoulder-length hair off her face with her left hand and scrubbed at the back of her neck with hooked fingers to massage out the stiffness. She looked drained. Flying the Folds was tricky at best, deadly at worst. "It happens," Ben said, remembering his first time flying a jumpship. "We'll try it again another time. And I already told you, no need to sir me. We're not in the service now--unless you want to go back to Alphacorp. I can still arrange that if you do." "Uh, no thanks, si . . . er . . . Boss. I've had enough of big business." She shuddered. And enough of the likes of Ari van Blaiden, Ben guessed. Cara had never told him the worst of van Blaiden's excesses, but he'd seen enough. Young Ensign Keely had been sucked into van Blaiden's plans just as Cara had been. She was in an impossible situation. He was almost obliged to offer refuge. That Cara had eventually come out of it sane was almost a miracle in itself. He glanced sideways at Cara again. Well, at least she seemed sane. Cara noticed and gave him a half smile, her gray-blue eyes crinkling at the corners. Sane enough. He dragged his mind away from Cara's smile back to the job at hand. "You have the coordinates, Kitty?" "I do." "Okay, take us to Chenon." She nodded. "Estimated flight time eighteen hours." *You trust the rookie with your shiny new toy?* Cara asked mind-to-mind as Kitty linked to the ship's systems. *Ronan did a psych evaluation and gave her a clean bill of health. Whatever's wrong with Alphacorp, it isn't their flight training program. She's a sound Navigator and a good pilot--in realspace anyway--Ari van Blaiden was wasting her talents having her run errands just because he liked her ass.* *She's lucky she never needed to get on the wrong side of him.* *Like you did.* It was as close as he ever came to asking. *Yeah.* *About that . . . * *When I'm good and ready.* *Whatever you say.* She gave him another half-smile. "So . . . Chenon," Cara said aloud. "Security's pretty tight as I recall. How do you propose we get at Crowder?" "Quickly, before news of what happened on Olyanda breaks. I'm gambling that he'll still be holding his breath hoping everyone is dead as planned." "And if he isn't?" Cara frowned. "Well, I guess we'll have to improvise." Crowder was their best chance of locating the diverted ark, carrying thirty thousand missing settlers frozen in cryo. Ben had vowed to find them. "Ship ahead. Closing fast," Kitty said. "Identification?" "It's not broadcasting any." "Assessment." Ben turned to tactical where Vijay Gupta, grizzled veteran of many military campaigns prior to joining the Trust as a security specialist, was quietly checking out Solar Wind 's armaments. "No weapons lock at present, but she's running hot, torpedoes primed and ready. Do you want me to--" "Stand by until we see her intent." "Got it, Boss." "Cara?" "Trying to contact them now. Unidentified vessel, you are on a direct intercept course, please state your identity and purpose." No response. "Unidentified vessel, you are on--" " Solar Wind , this is the Monitor Ship Lomax . You are impounded by law. Please stand down and prepare to be boarded." Ben tried to control the adrenaline spike. The Monitors should be the good guys, independent law-keepers, but too often they were just the instrument of the megacorps. They relied on levies from the colonies to fill gaps where their fleet was thinly spread, which often put planetary interests over interstellar law. He'd been in the Monitors himself in what seemed like another life. He'd joined up to make a difference and found the law was not the way to go about it. *How in seven hells did they know we were coming?* Cara asked. *Maybe the mercs back on Olyanda have a long-range Telepath we don't know about.* *How doesn't matter,* Ben said. *They know, which means Crowder knows.* Gupta's hands twitched toward weapons control. "Stand down, Gupta." Ben held up a hand. "Once we fire on a Monitor ship we're beyond the point of no return. Cara, patch me in." He opened the vox channel on the collar of his buddysuit. Play the innocent for starters. "MS Lomax , what are your grounds? We're civilian vessel Solar Wind out of Xerxos heading for Chenon. Our course is filed with--" " Solar Wind , we know exactly who you are and what you are. There's a code red quarantine notice out for you, and in addition we have warrants for the arrest of Reska Benjamin, Cara Carlinni, and your crew. Three hundred persons in all." "Do we look big enough to carry a crew of three hundred?" "Transmit us a full crew list, Solar Wind , and stand by to be taken to the nearest quarantine station." "I want to see your warrant." "Transmitting now." "Got it," Cara said. An official-looking document flashed up on the screen, long and detailed, with mug shots. A quarantine notice followed it, saying that Solar Wind was transporting plague carriers from Olyanda. Ben switched off his vox while he skimmed the warrant. "Murder, terrorism, armed insurrection, hijacking, grand theft, and kidnapping." He raised one eyebrow. "Crowder must be getting desperate. Maybe I'll admit to grand theft." He patted the control pad. "Or does the acquisition of the Solar Wind come under hijacking? Personally I regard her as spoils of war." "This is serious!" Cara snapped at him. "And I'm taking it seriously, believe me, but let's find out exactly what we're up against. Patch me into Lomax , please." She did. He touched the vox again. "MS Lomax , the plague on Olyanda was a malicious false report." "You know I can't take that for an answer." "Okay, then, another question: who am I supposed to have kidnapped?" "Forty thousand Ecolibrian settlers. You don't know that, Benjamin?" It was a different voice on the comm now. It wasn't the words that bothered him. He muted his vox again. "Shit!" He looked at Cara and shook his head. "I know that voice." He hit transmit again without waiting for a response from her. "Sergei, when did they bring you back from the Rim? They must be getting desperate." "That's Prime Alexandrov to you, Benjamin. Why am I not surprised to see you on the wrong side of the law? It was only a matter of time." "You seem to forget which one of us was taking bribes back in the day." "Unproven. And I don't forget anything, including three months in rehab. You, however, broke every rule in the book." "I bent them a little, but only when they didn't make sense." Cara didn't interrupt with anything that might be overheard, but she quickly stood and moved to stand behind Ben, her hand on his good shoulder. *It's a commercial warrant,* she said on a tight telepathic band. *Alphacorp or the Trust?* There was a slight pause. *Trust,* she said. *At least it's not both. The day that Alphacorp and the Trust start talking to each other we're screwed.* "Their missile ports have opened," Gupta said, reaching for the weapons controls. Ben muted his vox again and shook his head. "Much as I'd like to fry Alexandrov, stand down. There are a hundred Monitors on that ship who are just doing their job. Kitty, bring the jump drive online. Quick as you can." Ben squeezed Cara's fingers and then he let her go to focus on the ship. "Everyone sit down and strap in." Cara slid back into her seat and broadcast telepathically to the crew to alert them to prepare for the jump to foldspace without giving away their intent to the Lomax . Though they had cabins for thirty they were running a skeleton crew on this trip. " Lomax , stand down your weapons, we will comply," Ben broadcast. *We will?* Cara asked. *Course not.* He closed down his vox. The Lomax fired an energy pulse. It went wide. "Is that the best they can do?" Kitty asked. "That was just a warning shot," Ben replied. "The next one won't go wide. Is the jump drive online yet?" "Thirty seconds," Kitty said. "We might not have thirty seconds." *Hold fire, Lomax. We're complying.* Cara sent out a verbal and a mental broadcast that hit every Telepath in the Monitor ship. Even if Alexandrov had a personal grudge against Ben, his crew should make sure he stuck to protocol. Or not. "Hard shell torpedo launched," Gupta said. "Twenty-five seconds to impact." "Twenty seconds," Kitty said without prompting. *Lomax, you're not playing by the book,* Ben broadcast via Cara's telepathic link. *Who's your Second?* *Second Officer Jessop, here, Ben.* *Jess? Is that you? That prime of yours is going to get you killed. Pull away now.* *Too late. Sorry, Ben.* *No, I'm sorry. Hold on to your hat, Jess. Bumpy ride coming up. Stay out of our wake. Give my best to your kid when you see her again.* Ben engaged the jump drive and felt the yawning pull of the Folds. Cara is used to transiting foldspace through gates. Does a jumpship access different regions of the Folds? The disorientation is worse and the visions more vivid on Solar Wind . She feels as if she's being turned inside out. First the ship is perfectly still and she's sucked into her own personal vortex, then the whole thing reverses and she's still while the ship whirls. She closes her eyes, realizes they are already closed, and forces them open. The flight deck looks normal except for the crew, all in various stages of trauma. Gupta has spun his chair around away from the weapons control, but the chair itself has turned two-seventy degrees, and now his hand is clawing for the board. Luckily he can't reach it. Ben has both of his hands clamped on the arms of his chair and he's pushing himself back, away from something only he can see. "Five seconds to impact," the onboard computer announces calmly. No. Surely they've left the torpedo behind them in realspace. They are deep inside the Folds now, safely away from the MS Lomax . "Four." Bloody hell, what's the matter with the system? Does it think they are still in realspace or . . . Cara freezes. It's theoretically possible that when the jump drive fired, it sucked in anything in close proximity. Oh fuck! They've pulled the torpedo into foldspace with them. "Three." She manages to turn toward Ben. "Two." He wrenches his head around to meet her eyes, nods and mouths, "It will be all right." His voice catches up with her ears a split second later. "One." The nose of a hard shell torpedo punches through the bulkhead silently and in slow motion, but there's no rending of metal and ceramics, no explosive decompression sucking the air out of the flight deck, no flash of light or searing heat. Instead the torpedo pierces the flight deck and shoots out of the far bulkhead like a ghost, leaving not a trace. Ben grins, white teeth contrasting against warm brown skin, a mixture of relief and smug I-told-you-so. "To Crossways," he says, his voice still half a second behind, like a badly synchronized vid. Where they should have been heading all along, Cara thinks. Ben's anxious to find the missing ark ship, but it has been lost for months already. The settlers are either dead or they'll wait a few more days. They need a little recovery time after the events on Olyanda. Hell, her rib is only half-healed and Ben's shoulder must be hurting more than he lets on. She glances across at him again, but he's focused on finding the right exit point from foldspace. Please let him do it before the ghost of Ari van Blaiden finds her again. She wonders what will happen to her and Ben now that Ari is dead. Can they reclaim their relationship? Maybe too much has happened. Ben's making light of it, but sooner or later it will come to a head. Cara shook off the last remnants of her foldspace visions. Her screen bleeped. "I've got a visual on Crossways," Kitty said. "Relay it ship-wide." Ben hit the internal comms. "Take a good look, people, it's going to be home for a while." Cara stared at the screen as the scale resolved itself in her brain. The vast man-made habitat hung in space, orbiting a yellow dwarf star, Amarelo, at a distance of two AU. It looked as if it had been slung together by a lunatic with a giant construction kit. Its central spindle supported a series of fat doughnuts perched on top of each other like a child's toy, probably the original station. From that had sprouted a huge outer assemblage of concentric rings which looked as though they had been made and remade several times over, expanding organically with encrustations and additions which owed little to long-term planning and much to immediate necessity. Massive cylindrical structures jutted from the outer rings, presenting weaponry always at the ready. White floods on the external docking cradles glinted off the solar collection tiles that covered almost every exposed surface. On opposing sides of the main station, two additional wheels, each big enough to be an independent station in its own right, pivoted on projecting arms. "I knew it was big, but . . . that's big," Cara said. She knew Crossways' history, its grab for independence, but she'd never quite appreciated its size before. Seeing huge liners dwarfed by its bulk brought it home. "The outer ring is ten klicks in diameter, with eight levels," Ben said. "And that's before the additions. You've got to admire a good engineering project. The station supports close to a million people, and she's armed to the teeth: pulse-cannon, torpedoes, lasers, and enough fighters and fighter drones to make even the Monitors wary of approaching without permission." The Olyanda survivors were here, somewhere, saved from the immediate double-threat of plague and hostile incursion. Mother Ramona and her lover, Norton Garrick, the station's head crimelord, had given assurances that they'd be safe, but how could any station, even one of this size, absorb ten thousand displaced persons? "See that section there"--Ben pointed--"the one that looks as though someone's taken a giant bite out of it . . ." "It looks like old damage," Cara said. "It's from Crossways' war for independence," Ben said. "But that's a century ago," Kitty butted in. "Couldn't they have fixed it by now?" "It doesn't look like they want to." Cara kept her eyes on the screen. "Sometimes keeping the damage visible is a good reminder not to let it happen again." She didn't even realize she'd said that out loud until Ben glanced over with a sharp, suspicious look before turning back to answer Kitty. "Crossways survived and prospered while the megacorp that tried to subdue it withered," he said. "That's a point of pride for the locals, some of whom are descendants of the original revolutionaries." "Not all criminals, then?" Kitty asked. "There are a lot of legal businesses, some legitimately occupied in supporting the illegal ones. In fact, unauthorized crime is dealt with just as quickly here as anywhere, perhaps even more harshly." "There's such a thing as authorized crime?" Ben shrugged. "Most of the organizations on Crossways have learned not to shit on their own doorstep. It operates in much the same way as any station, except with a wider range of services on offer, no questions asked." Cara had experienced Crossways only once before, and it had not been under the best of circumstances. She wondered whether she would ever be able to settle here. Chapter Two A NEW HOME BEN TURNED TO CARA. "FOR BETTER OR worse, Crossways is home, at least for a while," he said. "You once told me you didn't want to live the rest of your life on a space station." "I didn't. I don't. But we can't go back to either Chenon or Earth, can we?" She shrugged. "Your home? My home? They're all closed to us. We don't work for the Trust anymore." "I think Crowder trying to kill us makes a pretty good case for constructive dismissal," Ben said. "Besides, we're wanted criminals now." She sighed. "Well, we do seem to have stolen a spaceship. I guess that means we've descended to the criminal classes." "Ascended, I'd say," Ben said. He was relieved when she grinned back at him. The Solar Wind could give them a hell of an edge. He intended to keep her, since she wasn't ever going back to her original owner. They'd left van Blaiden's ashes scattered on Olyanda, and good riddance. A nastier individual would be hard to find. Having a fancy boat like this just might make a difference in the future. Whatever it took to keep the wolves away from the sheep. These days there were more and more wolves, and the sheep were spread out thinly among the stars without a shepherd. Ben felt the familiar buzz of Cara's implant handshaking with his own. *Mother Ramona,* she said. *Calling from Crossways.* *Okay, ready.* Ben was used to Cara's touch inside his head. It never seemed intrusive or abrupt. His own Psi-1 rating was in Navigation. He could barely throw a thought from here to the wall by himself, so he needed a strong Telepath like Cara to run comms for him. There was a slight internal lurch as the focus shifted and Mother Ramona herself arrived in Ben's mind, front and center, routed through Cara on Solar Wind and Ully on Crossways Station. Mother Ramona, a marble-skinned, genetically engineered exotic whose criminal activities included smuggling, identity manipulation, espionage, counterespionage, and network hacking, had stuck to every deal they'd made. Without her they'd never have extricated the settlers from Olyanda. *Benjamin, you took your time,* Mother Ramona said. *Your settlers are driving us crazy. If Garrick hadn't signed a contract to keep them safe I think he'd have spaced them by now.* *Sorry about that. Had some business to attend to. Turns out it wasn't as simple as I'd hoped. There's a warrant out for our arrest.* *I know. Even Crossways has received it, though I have no idea why.* She laughed. Even mentally her laugh was more like a cackle. It was the one thing that made her seem older than she was, or perhaps it gave away her true age, which otherwise she hid very well. *Good thing you have no extradition treaty with any of the megacorporations.* Ben didn't try to hide his own amusement at the thought. *If we did, half of Crossways' upstanding citizens would be in the chokey.* Mother Ramona's mental voice went from humor to worry. *They've pretty much thrown the book at you, though.* *We know. Had a bit of a brush with an old friend.* He frowned. *Not exactly a friend, to be honest. Long story.* *I look forward to hearing it sometime.* *Me too,* Cara echoed. He shot Cara a look and she pulled back out of the conversation. Mother Ramona continued, *While you've been tying up loose ends we've been trying to accommodate ten thousand pains in the ass who've never even seen a space station before. We've had to corral them in the stadium. It's not pretty in there. Your psi-techs have set up camp in the upper bleachers while the settlers are down on the pitch. Victor Lorient is . . . well let's just call him high maintenance. Even his wife won't talk to him anymore.* There was a reason for that which went beyond the current settler situation, but it wasn't up to Ben to divulge it. Lorient, the settlers' ultra psi-phobic leader, had been more than just a pain in the ass throughout their time on Olyanda. *I get it,* Ben said. *We'd better find the settlers a new planet soon, or else.* The audio comm buzzed into life and Crossways Control announced, " Solar Wind , you're cleared for docking. Proceed to Port 22, Green Sector." Ben saw Cara touch her vox. "Thank you, Crossways," she said. "On final approach." *Be with you, soon,* Ben told Mother Ramona. *Your flight controllers have cleared us for docking.* *Port 22 is Garrick's private dock,* Mother Ramona said. *I've vouched for you personally, so mind your manners.* *Will do,* Ben said. *Can you do us one more favor?* *How much is it going to cost me?* *Nothing. It will cost us in the long run,* Ben said. *Can you find us a space we can take over? I don't care how spartan it is. Even an empty warehouse will do. I'd like somewhere I can get my psi-techs away from the settlers.* *I'll see what I can do. I guess there's not much love lost.* *The settlers are a bunch of Ecolibrian fundies,* Ben said. *They're never going to like implant-enhanced psi-techs, no matter how many times we save their asses.* Mother Ramona gave the mental equivalent of a suppressed laugh. *I'll see what I can find.* Ben turned his attention to docking an unfamiliar ship in one of Crossways' internal docks. There was little room for error. "Harnesses," Ben broadcast ship-wide. "Safety lockdown for manual docking." *All battened down here,* Ronan Wolfe, their medic, responded privately to Ben. *How is your shoulder?* *Sore but holding.* *And Cara?* *Making light, but I've seen her try to ease her ribs when she thinks no one is watching.* Ben lined up Solar Wind with Port 22's blue access lights. The station filled the viewscreen, her pulse-cannon obvious from this distance, barrels sticking out like bristles on the side of a porker. Port 22 grew from a small dark rectangle on the bulbous end of one of Crossways' huge projecting caissons to a gaping maw that swallowed them whole. The screen view switched to a functional glideway with a run of central guide lights. Ben cut the power, feeling a slight bump as the grav buffers caught and the ship regained weight. Solar Wind settled gently into her landing gear and the clamps engaged. The air lock began to cycle. Home--for now, at least. As the rest of the crew left the flight deck, Cara sat back in Solar Wind 's comms chair. "Are you sure you don't mind?" Ben asked. "Of course I don't mind. I've been waiting for you to suggest it." She swiveled around to face him. "It won't tire you too much?" "Stop trying to give me an out. You need to talk to your Nan. Yes, it's a long way, yes it will be tiring, but it's what I'm trained for. Now do you want to do this or not?" He nodded. He'd hoped to be able to bring his family off Chenon, but Alexandrov had foiled that plan along with his attempt to get at Crowder. "Okay." Cara breathed deeply and closed her eyes, sitting perfectly poised. Bruise or no bruise, she looked beautiful, even in a severe black buddysuit that disguised the curves he knew were there. *Ready?* she asked. He followed Cara's mental link as her thoughts ranged out toward Chenon and Nan. Ben could feel her concentrate on seeking out his fierce and formidable grandmother, matriarch of the Benjamin family, or what was left of it: Ben's older brother, Rion, and Rion's two boys, Kai and Ricky. *Cara!* He felt the moment of contact as Nan recognized Cara's mental touch. *Is Reska all right?* Nan was the only one who ever used Ben's given name. He'd been Ben Benjamin since his first day in the Monitor Cadets, just as Jessop had become Jess. *Ben's fine,* Cara said. *Here, see for yourself.* She pulled back, leaving Ben and Nan to talk to each other through her link. *Reska. It's been too long--* *Sorry, there was a reason for that, Nan. Things went south very fast on Olyanda and I didn't want to put you in danger by giving you information others might want, but you need to know now.* *Tell me the worst of it.* Nan never wasted time on irrelevant explanations. *We found platinum on Olyanda and Crowder betrayed us to get it all for the Trust.* *And did he?* *Get it? No. I sold it to Crossways, but it was touch and go for a while. He tried to wipe out the colony with a plague.* *But you're all still there.* *Still alive, but not on Olyanda.* *What do you need us to do?* *Get the first shuttle off-planet to a neutral station. I'll meet you there.* There was a significant pause before she answered. *Not going to happen. Ricky would love a trip off-world, but you think I could possibly get Rion off this farm?* Ben fought down rising frustration. His older brother might as well have been welded to the land. *I'm worried Crowder will try to use you as a bargaining chip.* *You think we're in danger?* *I'd be happier if you all found a bolt-hole and kept your heads down in case someone comes calling. Can you find an excuse to bring Kai home? He's a sitting target in Arkhad. The university's too close to the city.* *Kai's on a field trip to one of the moon arcologies. He's safer than any of us.* *That's good. Warn him, but don't trust the house's regular comms links. Your line might be bugged already.* *Understood.* Ben saw Cara begin to sway sideways. The call had taken long enough. *That's it for now, Nan. We'll be in touch again as soon as we can. Love you.* *Love you, too, boy. Take care, both of you.* *We will.* He felt Cara close off the conversation and her eyes opened. "Thanks," he said. "You followed all that?" "I did. Will Nan be able to persuade Rion to leave the farm?" Ben thought of his brother. Stubbornness was his strength and his failing. "Probably not, but at least they're warned now." Kitty Keely pushed down panic. Had she overstepped her authority? Would she get a medal or a reprimand? Hell, she was so out of her depth her feet might never touch the bottom again. It had all started when Akiko Yamada, Alphacorp's director, had called her into her office in Sandnomore, Alphacorp's headquarters in the Saharan Rainforest, and personally instructed her to spy on Ari van Blaiden. She wanted to know all his dirty little secrets. "You're van Blaiden's type. You're ideally placed in his department. Get close to the man." "How? I mean . . ." Ms. Yamada had looked at her over her entirely unnecessary retro-fashion spectacles and said, "Use your initiative, Ms. Keely." She'd swallowed. "You want me to sleep with him?" "No, Ms. Keely, sleep is the last thing I had in mind. I want you to fuck him bowlegged if that's what it takes. I don't care how you do it, but win his confidence. My Telepath, Rufus, will contact you for a weekly report." "But you can't order me to--" "Your reluctance is noted. Perhaps I can sweeten this for you a little. You mother has recently been diagnosed with Ren-Parry Syndrome." Kitty swallowed and nodded numbly. It was curable, but the treatment was expensive and not available in Shield City. She'd applied for a loan--Damn, was that how Ms. Yamada knew? Weren't those things confidential? "Forty thousand credits," Ms. Yamada said. "That's the full cost of a course of treatment. Such a pity to lose a loved one for lack of a mere forty thousand credits." Forty thousand didn't seem mere to Kitty. "I've applied for a loan." "Which will be refused." "What?" "But I will personally make sure your mother receives the best of care at Alphacorp's clinic in Switzerland. Keep the reports coming and your mother's course of treatment will continue." "What if I can't get him interested?" "That would be a pity. I understand that unless the course is one hundred percent completed the treatment isn't effective at all." Kitty had left Ms. Yamada's office in shock. She'd taken the York flight from Sandnomore with her mind spinning in circles. She was the right size and shape and the right coloring to fall into the category of Mr. van Blaiden's type, and she was certainly in the right place--his office was just down the hall from where she'd been posted, fresh from flight school--but she was no spy. What did Ms. Yamada suspect him of? She so didn't want to get involved in anything clandestine. She'd been hoping for a proper posting in the far reaches of space. Getting involved with politics was going to screw her career. When she'd realized she was making her lip sore by biting it, she'd activated the sound baffle around her seat and picked up the comm only to find a message from her mother. The image wavered, but the sound was clear. "Kitty, sweetheart, I don't know what to say." Mom was smiling like Kitty remembered her doing when she was younger and healthier. "That nice Doctor Pinder came in person and explained everything. I'm booked on a flight to Switzerland first thing in the morning. She said not to worry, once the treatment is complete I should regain the sight in my left eye and the feeling in my feet and there won't be any further deterioration. And I have you to thank for it, my girl. You and Alphacorp." Her face clouded, just a little. "Can we really afford it? I mean, I know you're drawing full pay now, but . . ." She responded. "Don't worry, Mom. It's all taken care of." She really had no choice. "Just get well soon. I love you." She hit send. Ari van Blaiden, get ready, 'cause here I come. Damn and blast it! Getting close to Ari hadn't been as easy as that, of course. He'd seemed supremely disinterested until she'd mentioned the fact that she'd taken the advanced class in jumpship flying. Then all of a sudden he'd started sending her flowers, which quickly led to the bowlegged fucking thing, except it had been her on the receiving end. That man could go. Despite the fear of being found out, it had been fun at first, when he'd been in the wooing stage. After that--well--she'd rather forget what happened later. Ari had never suspected, though. She'd continued to report until the day he'd tried to use Carlinni to take down Benjamin and it had all gone horribly wrong. She'd reported van Blaiden's death and then asked the Telepath, "What happens to my mother? The treatment isn't complete. Tell Ms. Yamada I did my best." Rufus had simply shut off the conversation and hadn't been in touch since. So when Kitty had spotted the opportunity to attach herself to Benjamin's psi-techs she'd gone for it. Once again she had information worth something, and hopefully it would pay for her mother's continuing treatment. All she needed to do was to get a message to Ms. Yamada to restart those regular links. Of course, she needed to make sure she stayed on Benjamin's good side. She wasn't going to be able to get to him the same way she had van Blaiden, but he did need another jumpship pilot. That could be a way in. She needed to try harder next time. *Mother Ramona has found you a warehouse space.* Mother Ramona's personal Telepath, Ully, came through as Ben followed Cara down the tube to Solar Wind 's main deck. *She's arranged for a real estate agent to meet you at the dock and take you straight there. Her name's Bettina Mirakova.* Ben gathered his skeleton crew at the top of Solar Wind 's extended ramp. He noted they'd all removed the Trust's insignia from their buddysuits. This wasn't the place to show affiliation to any of the megacorps, especially since that affiliation had been irreparably broken. "Crossways isn't like most space stations," Ben said. "Despite what you may have heard, there are rules. Stay together. Don't get into trouble. Gupta and Jon Moon are on duty here to look after things, so the ship will be available if you need a bolt-hole. Cara and I are going to check out a potential home space. I'll let you know if we find somewhere we can all hang our hats. After that we all have decisions to make about where to go from here. If you have to get in touch with your families, limit what you tell them. Remember there's a warrant with your name on it. Don't give your family the responsibility of keeping your secrets if the Trust knocks on their door." "What about me?" Kitty Keely asked. "What about you?" Kitty was trim and fair, maybe a couple of centimeters shorter than Cara. It was easy to see how the two women fell into the broad category of Ari van Blaiden's type , yet Kitty didn't interest him at all. She was pretty enough in a superficial way, but his attraction to Cara wasn't all about beauty. "You didn't promise me anything more than Crossways, and I appreciate I didn't do so well with Solar Wind 's foldspace jump, but I'd really like to stick around. Do I lose myself here or am I joining the team?" "Good question. Until a few days ago you were on the side trying to kill us." "You know I wouldn't have signed up for that if I'd known what I was getting into." Ben glanced sideways at Cara. *She's telling her own truth as far as I can judge, but what do I know? I believed Ari, too. At first, anyway.* Cara was the first to admit that her Empathy skills were intermittent at best. Ben dipped his head fractionally in acknowledgment. "We'll decide how permanent it is later when we know our next move, Kitty. Stick with Gupta for now. He'll find you something to do." She gave him a tight little smile and turned back toward the ship as everyone dispersed, leaving Ben and Cara with Wenna and Ronan Wolfe, the dashing young doctor who had worked with Ben on several missions before Olyanda and was, along with Wenna, one of the survivors of the ill-fated Hera-3 debacle. "Aren't you two going exploring?" Ben asked. Ronan shrugged apologetically. "As your doctor I feel obliged to make sure you two follow my instructions to take it easy. Besides, Jon has drawn guard duty, so I find myself temporarily without a partner." "And since I never had a partner in the first place, you're stuck with me, too," Wenna said. "I'm too old for singles bars. Besides, I'll set off every scanner alarm I pass through until I register this with Station Security." She touched her right arm, prosthetic from the bicep down, with her good left hand, a self-conscious gesture that Ben still winced to see. She'd survived Hera-3, but not without injury. She was right about the scanners. Crossways was particular about security. With a population laced through with criminals, opportunists, misfits, mercenaries, and free-thinkers, it had to be. It was good to have the de facto president of Crossways on their side, though. The extra layer of protection was useful. Garrick owed them for the platinum deal, which would make him several million credits richer as soon as Olyanda started to produce, though that was still six months away. Only the Trust had lost out. And Ari van Blaiden, of course. They passed through the vast hangar lined with three ship-servicing gantries, two in use, one idle. The whole place was gray medonite, clean and workmanlike, but with touches of individuality: Mother Ramona's simple "R" logo and Norton Garrick's colors, dark green with a red flash. One of the ships in dock was Garrick's private yacht, cigar-shaped with a crystal observation deck topside, the other a guppy-shaped runabout, unmarked, that looked as though it had met with some trouble. Ben supposed trouble was an everyday thing for someone in Mother Ramona's line of business--the softer side of crime, but equally dangerous in its own way. Smart private guards, dressed in Garrick's livery, escorted them all to the door. Exiting past the security station, they emerged onto a utilitarian concourse divided by a sunken track for the auto-cabs that looked more like a fairground ride than a transport system but sped efficiently around Crossways' complex spiderweb of interconnecting routes. A tub-cab, garishly hand-painted yellow, red, and blue, pulled up. Serafin West stepped out, trim for seventy, but with a face wrinkled like a walnut. He had a satchel of small engineering bots slung over one shoulder, which he was able to connect to, mentally, via his implant. He called them his boys. "Hey, guys." He grinned at them. "Glad of an excuse to get out of the stadium for a while. It's good to see my fellow criminals looking so well. I hear you ran into trouble." Ben shrugged. "Had to change our plans about Chenon. Crowder outmaneuvered us. We'll get settled here first and try again." A second cab pulled up, equally bright. Gen Marling, nearly four months pregnant and just starting to show, leaned into the protective embrace of a tall settler with a brush of dark hair. Ex-settler, since Max Constant had thrown in his lot with the psi-techs, even going so far as to have an implant fitted, though he'd barely learned how to use it yet. His civilian suit set him apart. Maybe that's why Gen had elected to leave her buddysuit behind. She wore leggings topped by a lightweight tunic in blue with a spray of peacock colors emblazoned across the front that flattered her small bump and set off the golden undertones in her skin. "Will you two get a room?" Wenna said. "Got one," Max said. "The stadium's not the place for us to hang out. I may have been forgiven my romantic indiscretion . . ." He squeezed Gen's waist. "But having an implant fitted is one step too far for my former settler colleagues." "So we figured we'd come house-hunting with you," Gen said. "I want to make sure we get somewhere decent." She patted her belly. "We don't know how long we'll be here and I don't want to bring up baby in a dump." "How come you know where we're going?" Ben said. "I only asked Serafin to come and do a structural survey of the place." "Ah, my fault," Serafin said. "I may have mentioned it to a few people as I was getting the boys together." He patted his satchel. "All right." Ben sighed a mock sigh. "Come on." "Coffee, Mr. Jussaro?" Crowder pushed a lidded cup toward the squat, genetically engineered individual with a serious case of monobrow and unsettling nictitating third eyelids. His dark purple-black skin, slightly scaly, was designed to be impervious to the cancer-causing radiation that swamped planets in the Hollands System. Jussaro blinked his inner eye membrane sideways, like a reptile, and reached for the cup, hesitating just short of grasping the handle, as if he wasn't quite sure whether the offer would be snatched away. He glanced toward the clear panel on the interview room door to see if anyone was observing. Crowder opened his hand to indicate the coffee was his, free and clear. Jussaro nodded and drew the cup between his palms, holding it under his nose and breathing in the fragrant steam before sipping slowly. "Nice. Thanks." "You're welcome. No need to be uncivilized. I believe you've been Mr. van Blaiden's guest on Sentier-4." "You might say that." "He wanted to know the whereabouts of Cara Carlinni, I expect." Jussaro put the coffee on the table and sat back, eyes suspicious. "I've not seen van Blaiden for weeks . . . months . . ." He jerked his shoulders. More of a nervous twitch than a shrug. "Maybe longer. It's difficult to tell." He held up his left hand, showing a ridged scar on the back where his handpad had been ripped off. They'd cut him off from the world, removed his ID, isolated and dehumanized him. "Please." Crowder pushed the coffee back toward the little man. "So . . . Carlinni." Jussaro frowned and shook his head. "I don't need you to tell me where she is," Crowder said. "I already know." Jussaro didn't react, rising in Crowder's estimation. "You might also be interested to know that Mr. van Blaiden met with an unfortunate accident." "Fatal, I hope." "As it turns out, yes." "I see. Good." Still the poker face. "Did you know he used to work for me before he defected to Alphacorp? He was a great disappointment in so many ways. Mr. van Blaiden was not a friend to this department." "That might mean more to me if I knew which department we were in," Jussaro said. "Forgive me. You're safe with the Trust, now, Colony Division, Chenon." "Safe. Ha!" Jussaro's face twisted. His laugh was like a bark and contained no humor whatsoever. "The Trust, Alphacorp, Ramsay-Shorre, Arquavisa; you're all as bad as each other. Megacorporations are the curse of our time. You think a stranglehold on jump gate travel and ownership of the psi-techs gives you trading rights throughout the colonies." "Ownership?" "Well, what would you call it? They toe the line or they get decommissioned." He touched his own forehead. "Sure, they can move from one owner to another for a transfer fee, but they can't go independent unless they can buy out their own contracts--and how many of them ever have the resources to do that?" "We care for them, provide for them. They want for nothing." "You make sure you bill them for every damn implant checkup, their apartments, their uniforms, every last piece of equipment. That's how you tie them to you. It's economic slavery, only it's soft enough that most of them don't complain." "Still continuing the rant that got your implant decommissioned in the first place, Mr. Jussaro." "Damn right." "No matter." Crowder waved one hand to dismiss the past. "Doctor Zuma has finished conducting her tests. You have a very strong natural psi talent. One that has survived the termination of your implant. I've checked your records. Two periods of Neural Readjustment after being found guilty of encouraging psi-techs to go rogue." "If you call leaving their employers going rogue." "Do you know how much it costs to find kids with psi potential, fit neural implants into their skulls, and train them? We have contracts for a reason." "Yes, to keep them on a tight leash." "So you went rogue yourself. Formed a breakaway group of psi-techs. Sanctuary." "I didn't form it, but, yes, all that's a matter of record. I helped kids to get free of the megacorps and I paid for it. You nixed my implant." He fingered his forehead again where a faint scar still glistened. "There's nothing else you can do to me except kill me, and there are times I think that would be a mercy." "There is something we can do." Crowder tried to make his smile reach his eyes. "Not me personally, you understand, but Doctor Zuma tells me that you're a suitable subject. She can refit you with a new implant." Jussaro's face traveled through the whole spectrum from derision to hope via the realization that his principles were about to be sorely tested. After a moment of indecision, his eyes shone wet and his mouth formed an oh shape, but no sound escaped. Got him , Crowder thought. "What would you do to have your Psi-1 status restored, Mr. Jussaro? What would you do?" Chapter Three DAMAGE CARA STARED IN FASCINATION AT THE sunken roadway. It was alive with automated tubs whizzing past, each cab competing for the annual bad taste prize, all of them dipping into tube-like tunnels and emerging equally suddenly into stations and pull-ins. The real estate agent, Bettina Mirakova, hopped out of her tub to meet them. Cara had never taken too much notice of fashion--it was too hard to keep up when you spent chunks of time away, and every world had its own local styles--but she desperately hoped this look was not currently in vogue on Crossways. Mirakova almost outdid the tubs. She wore a spotless white lace top, a formal purple vest, and a plaid kilt in shades of purple and green with matching purple knee-length boots, flat heeled. Her dark hair was pulled back into a severe knot, emphasizing the planes of her face and her tightly sculpted curves. "I was only expecting two." Mirakova eyed the seven of them. Her tub would take no more than four. "I'll take Mr. Benjamin and Miss Carlinni and here's the address." She paused to scribble on the back of a business card and handed it to Ronan. "You five grab another tub and catch up with us." "There's room for a little one." Serafin waited until Ben and Cara had settled themselves in the tub with Mirakova and then muscled in. Mirakova shot him a dark look, then quickly replaced it with a bright smile. Their tub, the interior blissfully gray, whirled away into the traffic, leaving the other four on the concourse. Cara settled back into the seat, still feeling drained from the long-range talk with Nan. The whole tub experience was damned uncomfortable and a little dizzying, but efficient. Mirakova was all sales pitch. She talked too much and too quickly, obviously anxious to make the deal. That was real estate agents the galaxy over. They'd swear black was white if it secured a sale. "Of course, it needs some work," Mirakova said, "but I gather you've just come into some funds." "Not yet," Ben said. "But soon." *Needs some work . . .* Cara aimed a thought at Ben and Serafin. *That probably translates to near derelict and barely holds an atmosphere.* "We have excellent builders on Crossways," Mirakova babbled on, unaware of their shared thoughts. She was probably on commission from the builders, too. The tub popped up out of a tube and slowed to a halt in a private pull-in. Mirakova had been talking for the whole journey. Cara had zoned out. "Not sure that we'll be needing builders." Ben offered Mirakova his hand as she exited the tub. "Not even sure how long we'll need the place for. Things are still fluid." Cara hopped out unaided, followed by Serafin. The street, if street it could be called, was empty. It was just more gray medonite with a low ceiling and broad featureless walkways on either side of the transport pull-in. Cara could hear the whir of traffic along the main thoroughfare, but this branch remained deserted. There was no sign of the second tub. *Are you guys on your way?* she asked Ronan. *Took us a while to get a cab,* he replied. *Does it look okay?* *Only just arrived. The whole area looks a bit run down. No one around. You'd expect a station this densely populated not to have any deserted bits, but we seem to have found one.* Cara stared around the warehouse district and suppressed a shudder. Most of the units were vacant or shuttered. The overall impression was of locked doors and boarded windows. The ceiling, just a couple of meters above Cara's head, was low enough to be oppressive. "I thought this would be perfect for you," Mirakova said. "It doesn't look like much, yet, but this whole segment is about to be redesignated as a mixed residential and commercial zone. Pretty soon it will be awash with cafes, shops, and apartments, but right now the space is up for grabs. I believe you have a lot of people to accommodate." "Not sure how many yet," Ben said. Mirakova swiped her handpad across the doorplate. A quiet beep accepted the connection. The wide loading door grumbled back to reveal a cavernous interior full of crates stacked in blocks and bays. "I thought this was supposed to be available right away." Cara started counting the stacks and lost track where the shadows swallowed them up. "The previous tenant is clearing them later today. They're mostly empty." Mirakova skimmed her handpad over a control panel by the door and punched in a series of numbers on the keypad. Lights in the ceiling immediately above their heads sprang into wakefulness, obscuring the rest of the warehouse in shadowy gloom. Serafin reached into his bag and loosed a handful of mind-controlled mini-bots to scurry like demented spiders across the floor, up walls and along ceiling beams. Mirakova stared at them and Cara sensed extreme agitation, but maybe the woman was just not used to being around Psi-Mechs. Cara admitted that the little spider bots were uncomfortably insect-like. Serafin tossed another handful to the floor and they scuttled away, probing, calibrating, calculating, and sending information back to him on the structural integrity of the warehouse. This was an old station, never designed to be in service for centuries. Many parts had been renewed and strengthened, but sections could be prone to materials fatigue. "This way, quickly. Quickly." Mirakova led them deeper into the warehouse and away from the bots at a brisk pace. "Why the rush?" Serafin muttered, turning to check on the bots as Mirakova strode on. *We're here, where are you?* Ronan asked. *Inside.* Cara glanced toward the door. *Can't see your tub. You sure you're in the right place?* *Warehouse district. Looks quiet. Some workmen in the unit across the way. No open doors apart from theirs.* *Nope, definitely the wrong place.* *My sweetie says he thinks he knows where you are,* Gen butted in. *Be right there.* "Miss Carlinni, this way, please," Mirakova called. Cara turned to follow, feeling uneasy. Somewhere outside a tub clanged to a halt. "Sorry we're late," Wenna called from the doorway. "I think you gave us the wrong address, Miss Mirakova." "We'd never have found you," Gen said, "but it looks like Max is shaping up to be a Finder." "I just said it felt as though they were around the next corner." Max looked bewildered. He obviously didn't know what a big deal it was to show signs of a specialty this early after having an implant fitted. "That's the way it works, sweetie." Gen grabbed his hand and pulled him toward her, bumping her little round belly into him and giving him a swift kiss on the cheek. Mirakova glared at them as if kissing in public was against the law. Cara caught a wave of anxiety from her. Why should she be anxious? Did she have another appointment? Was she afraid of losing a good commission if she failed to sell them the warehouse? After all, the more of them there were, the less likely it was that there would be an instant and unanimous decision on the first viewing. Ronan strolled in behind Wenna. Ah, good, his Empathy rating was stronger than Cara's. Perhaps he could help pin down her feelings. As they moved further into the warehouse the sensor-lights lit their path and darkened behind them. Serafin's bots kept pace, but Mirakova strode ahead. *Ronan, there's something not right with Mirakova. Can you sense it?* Cara opened up a comms channel and brought them all into it, even Max, who still felt very green. She showed them what she felt: a sense of unease, maybe anticipation, emanating from Mirakova. Serafin sent his bots scuttling ahead. *There's someone else in here.* Ronan was staring into the shadows. *Four of them,* he said. *Concealed behind crates.* *Trap!* Cara blasted out a warning. A shadow moved behind the crates. *Take cover!* Cara shoved Max and Gen toward a gap between two stacks. She reached out for Mother Ramona's personal Telepath and snapped out a mayday call. Mirakova spun around and produced a pistol from beneath her kilt. Ben and Ronan each ran for a different gap. Separated from the others and caught out in the open when the first zap of a bolt gun rang out, Serafin fell, arms flung wide. He jerked once and lay still. Another shot clipped the corner of the packing case above Cara's head. *I called Mother Ramona. I sure hope these aren't her guys.* *I trust her,* Ben said. *You trusted Crowder.* She shouldn't have said that. It was a low blow. Cara's tiredness vanished under the adrenaline spike. She opened a mental link and drew them all into a gestalt, feeling Max's surprise as his world opened up to five other minds. Hell of a time for his first experience of hive-mind. A hail of bullets peppered the crates close to Ronan. *Shit, that was close!* he said. *Status,* Ben said. *Fine,* Gen and Max said together. *Ronan?* *Okay.* Serafin was an aching absence. *Where's Wenna?* Ben asked. *Here, Boss. Bastard shot my arm.* *Which one?* *The one that doesn't bleed, but it's hit the servo. Bloody useless unless I take it off and beat someone to death with it.* Cara released the lobstered helm from her buddysuit collar pocket. It unfolded and covered her ears and brow. She flicked an ultrathin face mask into place. She felt Ronan turn his concentration on Serafin, pouring willpower toward him to try to hold body and soul together. One of Serafin's bots scuttled along the ceiling. They'd be dead if he was. She felt relief prickle her scalp. The bot dropped suddenly and there was a yell from behind a crate. Those little devils were tiny, but they were equipped with drills and cutters big enough to go through a man's skull or into his eyeball. She ignored the wave of panic from the bot's victim and reached out with her mind to seek the other attackers. Her Empathy could at least tell her how many and where they were. *Three more plus Mirakova,* she broadcast. *One of them is psi.* A weak Psi-4 Telepath at best. Cara could do something about that one. *I can put him out if you all let me draw some whammy.* *Go for it,* Ben said. She felt Max begin to question what they wanted of him, but she figured he'd get it soon enough as she took over their combined power, channeled and aimed it at the man's implant. She wouldn't have been able to do this before experiencing what it was like to be at the mercy of Donida McLellan's ruthless mind manipulation, but now she used it without a qualm. See how easily the abused becomes the abuser. She kept that thought to herself, or hoped she had. As she bored into the mind of the assassin she learned that he was supposed to let someone know as soon as she and Ben were dead. This was a trap made for two and the assassins had been dismayed to find themselves five against seven. Five against six with Serafin down, and all of them weaponless. Damn, they were stupid for obeying Crossways' rule of not carrying sidearms in the street. She guessed Ben had his parrimer blade, but that was no good against a bolt gun and projectile weapons. She pressed on the Telepath's mind and choked off his ability to get a message out, then heard him gurgle, just off to her right, as she slammed him into unconsciousness. There was the sharp sound of a weapon clattering to the floor. *Ben, he's close to you,* she said. *To your left.* *Got it.* Cara relinquished the borrowed power, taking a few seconds extra to make sure Max hadn't been completely freaked out. *I'm okay,* Max said. *Good. Keep down and keep Gen down. You're the only two not wearing buddysuits. We don't want to lose anyone else.* She was aware that Ben was on the move. A moment later there was another grunt as a second attacker fell. *Two weapons, now,* Ben said. *All I have to do is pinpoint the bastards.* He fired off several rounds on a spray burst to cover Ronan, who was working his way over to Serafin. *Catch.* Ben slid the second gun skittering in Ronan's direction with an urgent shove. *Max, can you get a fix on Mirakova?* *There.* Max wriggled close to where Cara crouched behind a stack of packing crates and pointed. *Take this.* Cara detached the cuff-light from her left wrist. *Point the light, and then get down.* Max closed his eyes and directed the beam. It stabbed through the gloom and straight at Mirakova's eyes. Two of Serafin's bots dropped from the ceiling into her hair. She flailed at them, unable to quell the usual human reaction to bugs, and staggered forward. Ben moved and fired as she stepped into range. Mirakova gave a ragged shriek and dropped. Ronan, covering Serafin's body with his own, fired randomly in the direction of the other two attackers to keep them down. Cara ducked back behind her crate. Five combatants were now two. With Mirakova down the odds suddenly became much more favorable, but a fair fight was too much to hope for. There was a dull clunk and the sound of something rolling. *Grenade!* It didn't take Ben's warning to have Cara twisting away from the opening and pushing Gen and Max down even further, covering as much of them as she could with her body, hoping that the armor built into her buddysuit was enough to deflect the worst of the blast. But instead of a bang there was a hiss. *Gas!* she warned. She pulled out her breathing tube and pushed her facemask seal tight to her skin. It covered her eyes and nose, but not her mouth. She clamped her lips together. These guys were out to kill so this wasn't going to be a simple knockout gas. Gen and Max didn't have buddysuits. She had to get them out. *Cover us.* She rolled to her knees and shoved Max hard. *Get out now. Don't speak, don't breathe. Quick.* Gen was already on her feet crouched low over her belly. The three of them scuttled between obstacles while bolts splintered crates around them. She heard Ben and Ronan returning fire, but she couldn't stop to see what was going on. Max stumbled and Gen grabbed him by the arm. Cara heard his breath rasp. Oh shit. Hopefully the concentration of gas was less this far from the grenade or Max was a dead man. He coughed and doubled over. Cara grabbed his other arm and she and Gen hauled him bodily back toward the main doorway. Guards wearing Garrick's colors boiled out of two tubs as they reached the street. "Gas!" she yelled, and they pulled out breathers. Max dropped in a heap at her feet and Gen doubled over coughing. She must have caught some of the gas, too. "Medic!" Cara yelled, trying not to lick any residue from her lips. A woman wearing a full protective suit stepped forward, scanned them with a sensor and slapped a blast pack to the side of Gen's neck then to Max's. "Clothes," she snapped at all three of them. Cara knew the routine. There could be enough gas trapped in the folds and creases of her buddysuit to kill. Especially in the confines of a space station. She peeled off the suit and dropped it into a hazmat bag, shivering in her singlet and briefs. *Ben, help's coming.* A loud bang and flash from inside the warehouse ended the sound of bolt guns. Ben and Wenna ran from the warehouse and started stripping off their gas-coated suits. A medic jumped in to help Wenna when it became obvious that she only had the use of one hand. Garrick's guards emerged a few moments later, prodding along two of the would-be assassins at gunpoint. A gurney team, with Ronan in attendance, brought out Serafin, already hooked up to a drip. Not dead, then. Cara felt dizzy with relief. Garrick's medic waved Ronan back. "He's in good hands, Doc. Let us take care of you for a change." They whisked Serafin off in a tub with Gen and Max. Wrapped in foil blankets, Cara, Ben, Wenna, and Ronan piled into another tub and let themselves be given the antidote. "Taking you straight to Dockside Medical," an orderly said as he squeezed into the tub with them and punched the locator pad. "It's closest, and also the best." The tub whirled them toward the traffic lanes. "What was all that about?" Wenna asked, clutching the blanket about her with her good left hand. "Van Blaiden's dead. I thought we were in the clear." "But Alphacorp isn't dead," Cara said. "And neither is the Trust," Ben said. "That could have been either of them. And if it was both of them working together, gods preserve us." Cara suffered the indignity of thorough decontamination, every crack and crevice being cleaned and swabbed. Once out of the final head-to-toe dunk in something slightly more pleasant smelling than the previous three solutions, she gratefully accepted a robe and followed a young woman to a separate unit for an extensive checkup. It might have been any medical facility in any part of the known universe. They all smelled the same and looked the same, every corridor in the ubiquitous hospital green, only marginally better than plain gray medonite. The orderly left her with a polite instruction to wait and pointed her toward a sitting area dominated by a holographic mural depicting a beach scene on some planet with a red sun, yellow sky, and black sand. Ben and Ronan were already waiting, freshly scrubbed and gowned in white. "Efficient here, aren't they?" Cara said as Ronan moved along the bench to make a space for her next to Ben. "Very." Ronan wriggled in his seat and screwed up his face. "I'm usually not on the receiving end of this kind of treatment." Ben turned to Cara. "All right?" he asked her. "I think so. I feel all right, anyway. Is all this really necessary?" She nodded to the exam room. "Let them do your bloodwork again," Ronan said. "Make sure the gas is out of your system." "Cara . . ." Ben looked uncomfortable. "The Telepath you took out . . . he never woke up again." "I killed him? How is that even possible?" She turned to find both Ben and Ronan, the two men she trusted most in all the universe, looking at her as if she was a stranger. "No." Their silence said yes. "Perhaps he had a bad heart." Ronan shook his head. When she didn't speak for a few moments Ben asked again. "All right?" Was she? She'd killed a man with her mind for fuck's sake! It wasn't supposed to be possible. No one had ever warned . . . She took a deep breath. A man who'd been trying to kill her and her friends. She nodded. "I'll have to be." *Counseling?* Ronan asked on a tight band that bypassed Ben. She jerked her head once in a brief nod. The double doors opened and Wenna entered in a float chair, saving Cara from continuing the conversation, though it didn't stop her gut from churning. "Wenna?" Ben's voice held a hint of alarm. "It's okay, Boss. Not sure why they don't trust me to walk. It's my arm that's busted, not my legs." She waited for the float chair to settle and stood up, her right sleeve hanging loose. "Miss Phipps." A nurse in an antiseptic-looking ice-blue coverall came out of the treatment room and called Wenna in first. "No Gen or Max yet?" Cara asked, trying to sound normal. Ben shook his head. "Want me to find out how they're doing?" Without waiting for an answer she reached out to Gen. *You all right?* *Yeah, but Max is making such a fuss. They want to keep me in overnight for observation, just to make sure the baby's not been harmed. I feel fine, now, but I think we'd better stay.* *Good plan. Be safe.* Cara passed on the information. The beach mural changed to a mountain scene. This time it looked vaguely familiar. Matterhorn , Cara thought. She focused on it and tried to calm her thoughts. Every now and then I killed him with my mind surfaced, but she fought it down. The thought was abhorrent, but beneath it there was the strangest tickle of a thought: she'd never have to be afraid of another Telepath like McLellan again. As the Matterhorn cycled to a forest scene, the double doors opened and Mother Ramona wafted in on a cloud of expensive perfume, looking very different from the last time they'd seen her, kitted out in combats and body armor. Cara never washed up that well. She spent too much time in a buddysuit and boots to feel comfortable in high heels, but Mother Ramona's sure had an effect. Even Ronan--comfortably gay--seemed to appreciate the clingy black dress, which showed off her girlish figure. How old was she? Older than she looked, Cara thought. Her refined features and her smooth skin, delicately marbled in shades of blue and gray, showed no wrinkles, not even laugh lines. Her hair, a vibrant cerulean blue, had white highlights and was cut fashionably spiky. Maybe the clue lay in her crone-like cackle. Cara ran her hand through her own cropped mop wondering if she should make more of an attempt to look feminine and then realized what she was doing and self-consciously sat on her hand. Most exotics were genetically engineered to enable them to survive on a less than hospitable planet. Cara's friend Jussaro, from her time on Mirrimar-14, had purple-black skin, heavy brow ridges, and even nictitating eyelids, all to combat the high radiation in the Hollands System. Marta Mansoro, the supply officer on the Olyanda team, had scaly skin and gills that enabled her to function on the water planet of Aqua Neriffe. But Cara couldn't begin to guess where Mother Ramona came from or what her physiology might be adapted for, other than looking gorgeous. "Dreadful business. You kids look shattered. You need sleep." Mother Ramona pulled up Wenna's empty float chair and sat down opposite. Ben started to protest, but Mother Ramona cut him off. "Garrick sends his apologies, he has business to attend to, as do I, but you can go and rest up at my place. It's a bit less ostentatious than Garrick's Mansion House, but don't worry, it's perfectly safe. I don't spend much time there now. I'll send Syke with you, our captain of security." "My team . . ." Ben began. "Already recalled to the Solar Wind, and the dock's been secured." "That's where we should go." "If you prefer. Syke will provide protection. Here, wear Garrick's colors. It would be a very foolish person who interfered with one of his visitors. We should have issued you all with a band on arrival." She handed each one of them a green armband with Norton Garrick's distinctive red flash. "In case you're wondering, Mirakova was a fake. The real Mirakova will take you to the real warehouse tomorrow." "We should get off Crossways as soon as possible," Ben said. "We still have thirty thousand lost settlers to find." "And three hundred psi-techs who possibly all have different ideas of what they want to do with the rest of their lives," Cara said. "Their lives have been turned upside down, too. You--we--can't ignore them." "And you'll soon have a fortune in platinum stocks to manage," Mother Ramona added. "You cut your psi-techs in for a percentage, but money has to be earned and then it has to be managed. You're in business, Benjamin, whether you want to be or not." "Hardly," Ben said. Mother Ramona cackled. "Better get used to it. You're not rich yet, though I've arranged a line of credit against your expectations. In the meantime you have a debt and a stolen state-of-the-art jumpship to support. What are you going to do, sit back and sip cocktails all day? That's not your style. The Trust isn't paying your bills now. You need to make your money work for you, otherwise one day you'll turn around and it will all be gone. There are crooks on Crossways, you know." She winked at them. Cara watched the beach scene cycle back into view. How would it be to have nothing to think about except the next few hours in the sun, the drink by your elbow, and the book in your lap? It was a long time since she'd relaxed with a novel. I killed him with my mind. Shut up . . . But . . . Shut up! It was only thirteen days since the showdown with Ari. Even without the new revelation, she needed recovery time. Ronan's regeneration treatments had helped, but her ribs were still sore and her bruises still livid. She'd been hurt too much, and not just physically. Never again. She could kill with her mind. She wore that thought like armor. Never again. "Thirty thousand settlers." Ben's words cut into her thoughts. He was right, of course. Thirty thousand missing settlers trumped everything. "I'm looking for a lead on your settlers," Mother Ramona said. "My sources are tracking jump gate records. Give me a few days before you go shooting off. It's been months already, a little more time won't hurt." Cara could feel Ben's impatience, but he nodded agreement. The missing settlers could be anywhere: dumped on an inhospitable planet, left in cryo, running on automatics on an outbound trajectory to nowhere, fired into the heart of a star, or lost in the swirling black of foldspace. Ben had promised Victor Lorient that if they could be found he would find them. And he would, or die trying. That was Ben. Nothing if not true to his word. How could she love him and resent him for it at the same time? Life would never be easy with Ben. He'd never do the expedient thing, only the right one. She sighed inwardly. The settlers were innocent victims of Crowder's attempt to grab Olyanda's platinum for the Trust. Maybe the search was futile, but if the ark ship was still out there to be found, she'd give the search her best shot. She owed Ben that much at least. After that, she'd see. Chapter Four THE FREE COMPANY DRESSED IN ONLY A SKIMPY SINGLET AND shorts, Kitty Keely jogged the whole length of Port 22 for the fifth time, pivoted, and jogged back, ignoring the burn in her thigh muscles and the grab in her chest from the dry space station air. She was still questioning her sanity in joining Benjamin's crew. What if she'd done the wrong thing? Ms. Yamada was not, by all accounts, a forgiving person. She didn't even have a way of reporting securely until Ms. Yamada's Telepath, Rufus, contacted her, and as yet he hadn't. She was a respectable Psi-3, but she couldn't transmit across the galaxy. She needed to get a message to Alphacorp. They didn't even know she was here. Did anyone even care that she was missing? Ms. Yamada no doubt had bigger concerns than one missing pilot. What had happened to her mom's treatment? It was barely halfway done when she'd left Earth for Olyanda with Ari. Her mom had been cheerful throughout and had nothing but praise for the staff at the Swiss clinic. How cruel if Ms. Yamada withdrew treatment through no fault of Kitty's. What if Kitty had outlived her usefulness? Had Ms. Yamada cut her adrift? If so, there were worse places to end up than Crossways, but that didn't solve the problem of her mom. She briefly wondered whether she should make her way back home from here. Hell, Benjamin had offered to send her back. He seemed like a decent kind of guy. He wasn't working for the Trust anymore, so did that make him potentially useful to Alphacorp on the enemy-of-my-enemy principle? She hoped so. She needed to get a call through to Ms. Yamada. Not that she had a direct line, of course. She couldn't hope to do more than leave a cryptic message and hope Rufus would contact her. She increased her speed for the last lap, feet pounding the deck plates. Gupta was sitting at the top of Solar Wind 's ramp as she jogged past, smart-dart rifle cradled in the crook of his arm. He took his duties seriously even though the security team here was pretty tight. She didn't break her stride until she got to the guard post by the entrance where she stopped, head bent forward, hands on bare knees to catch her breath. That gave the nearest guard a good view down the front of her singlet. He was smirking as she stood up and pushed her hair out of her eyes. "What does a girl have to do to get offered a drink of water around here?" she asked. "This place is dryer than Orphena's twelve moons." "It's not so bad when you get used to it." The guard signaled to one of the others, who tossed him a bag of water. He caught it neatly and handed it to Kitty. She bit off the corner and took a deep drink, then began sipping the rest. "Kitty Keely," she said. "Orton, Wes Orton." He had even white teeth, dark brown skin and eyes that crinkled at the corners when he smiled. "Where were you before Crossways?" she asked. "You don't look like you grew up here." "There are a million people on Crossways ranging in height from here to here." He indicated low to high with both hands. "And every color from marble white to deepest black. I've even seen a few blue faces. How in the hell could you generalize about what someone born here might look like?" "Sorry, did I hit a nerve? I guess I expect people who've lived their whole lives on a space station to look a bit . . ." She shrugged. "I was going to say unhealthy, but I guess the hole is deep enough, so I'd better stop digging. You look outdoorsy and I didn't expect that." His expression softened a little. There, she'd done it, delivered a subtle compliment, given him an opening. Would he take it? "I did grow up here, mostly, but I was born on Sylvain. My folks crewed for a tramp freighter. Got killed in a decompression accident. The captain decided I was a bit of ballast he didn't need, so I got left behind on Crossways." "Harsh." "Not really. It's better than freighter life. Crossways is not all gray-walled corridors, you know. It has its own outdoors, kind of . . . Acres of farmland and a forest segment big enough to have its own weather." "Really? I guess I thought it all looked the same." She waved at the dock and at the broad sweep of the roadway outside. "I'm a bit new to all this, Wes. I could do with a tour guide." "That could be arranged." He grinned. "Where are you from?" "I'm a genuine Earth girl." She smiled back. "Really? I've never been. What's it like?" "Cold, or at least my part of it is. Shield City's almost on the Arctic Circle in the far north of the United States of Canada. Beautiful summers, fierce winters. My mom still lives there." Pause for two heartbeats and then let the smile fade. "She'll be real worried about me." Kitty put on her vulnerable face. She wasn't entirely lying. Shield City had been their home. For all she knew her mom might be back there already, if they'd cut her treatment short. Orton was interested. She widened her smile. "Say, I don't suppose you've got a secure comm booth anywhere close by, have you? Ben--Commander Benjamin--warned us about not contacting family yet, but Mom worries. It's not like she's going to pass information on to anyone." "I can show you where. Better still, I'll walk you down." "Thanks." She beamed a smile at him that lit up her face. She knew it did because she'd practiced it in front of a mirror when she'd been trying to get Ari to notice her. Ben sat in the waiting room at Dockside Medical, determined not to leave without some news of Serafin. Was it a good sign or a bad one that surgery was taking so long? "You look like hell." Suzi Ruka, psi-tech agronomist and Serafin's on-and-off lover for many years, came back from a trip to the washroom and flopped down in a chair. "It doesn't take two of us to wait here for news. I'll let you know as soon as the old man is out of surgery. They said it might take hours." "He's my friend." "I know that. He knows that." "I worked with him on my first mission for the Trust," Ben said. "He was talking about retiring then." "He's always talked about retiring. He was only forty when we met and even then . . ." Her voice cracked. "Ah, what the hell, maybe he'll have to retire now." "Ronan says this surgical team is the best," Ben said. "Garrick made a few calls as soon as he heard what happened. Crossways specializes in trauma medicine. I guess they have to. He'll be all right, Suzi. He's tough." "So why do you need to hang out here? I'll be okay. Honest. This place is heaven compared to the bleachers in the stadium. Go back to Solar Wind and leave me to get some sleep on that nice soft couch." "She's right." Cara hovered in the doorway. "Gen and Max are fine. Syke is waiting for us in the lobby. You can't do anything for Serafin if you stay, so you might as well get some rest and come back in the morning." Ben shrugged and stood up. "You're sure you'll be all right, Suzi?" "Sure I'm sure." He pecked her on the cheek. "Yell if you need anything." Ronan was waiting for them in the lobby. Captain Syke and four of Garrick's private guard conducted the three of them back to Solar Wind . Security had been stepped up considerably, not that Ben minded. He'd rather not have to think about defense right now. Mother Ramona and Suzi were both right, he was bone-tired and this thing with Cara was preying on his mind. As they walked side by side he could see her in his peripheral vision. She didn't look any different. What was going on inside? Solar Wind stood on the dock, turned around ready for takeoff, ramp up and hatches secured. From here she looked smooth as a pleasure yacht, her wings and fins drawn in tight against her side, armaments safely hidden. *Knock knock,* Cara broadcast. The ramp lowered. Gupta waited at the top, smart-dart rifle resting in the crook of his arm. Ben was grateful for Gupta. Nothing fazed him. He had spent thirty years in the Militaire before retiring from active service to run Trust security on colony planets. And now the fracas on Olyanda had turned him into a wanted man. Luckily he had no family waiting for him back home. Too many lives disrupted. Ben owed it to all his psi-techs to see that they were reunited with family, if possible, and resettled, if that's what they wanted. He was still worried about his own family. Jon Moon, formerly part of Wenna's mapping team, stood behind Gupta as backup, but when he saw Ronan he gave a strangled cry and rushed down the ramp. Ronan, rarely demonstrative in public, hugged Jon fiercely. Gupta sighed. "Off you go, Moon. There's only Wenna to wait for now and I can handle that alone." "Any trouble?" Ben asked as Ronan and Jon hurried off to the cabin they shared. Gupta shook his head. "Quiet as the grave. No one else had any problems. Looks like you were the only targets--today at least. Kitty looks to have hooked up with one of the gate guards, but she's back safe. Everyone is." "Good." "You look tired, Boss." "Why is everyone telling me that?" "Because it's true." Cara nudged him in the direction of the captain's cabin. "Shall I go and bunk down somewhere else?" It was a simple enough question, but loaded. Ben shook his head. If he pushed her away now she'd never come back. They'd be over. She seemed relieved. "Come on, then," she said. Was that an invitation? *Only to sleep.* She picked up his thought and responded. Gah! He must be tired if he'd let his shield down. He followed Cara to the cabin they'd been sharing during the journey--well, not exactly sharing, as she'd managed to take her sleep breaks when he was on duty. This was the first time they'd hit the bed together since . . . when? Since before van Blaiden. She was bound to be twitchy. More than twitchy. He'd tried to talk to her about it, but she wasn't ready to open up. He'd waited for some signal from her, let her make the first move, but though she'd touched him in public--a hand on his shoulder, a casual brushing together of elbows, the light slide of her fingers across his, briefly igniting fire in his belly--she'd been much more circumspect in private. It would take as long as it took, he understood that. They were working their way through everything that had happened, but she was still fragile--even more fragile after today--but he didn't know how he could help her to get over it, if indeed it was his help she needed. "I still feel like an intruder in here," Cara said, dropping down to sit on the wide berth. "Ari obviously had this built for himself. He never liked sleeping alone." "It's a bit excessive." Cara's former lover was always excessive. Ben was glad she'd never shared this particular cabin with van Blaiden. "Just say the word and we can tear it apart and rebuild it. Or we can let Ronan and Jon have the space and move to another cabin, or separate ones if you prefer." "Is that what you'd prefer?" "You know it's not." "You're going after Crowder again." It wasn't a question. "As soon as we've settled things here. He's the obvious starting point." "He tried to kill us all." Cara shuddered. "That's why he's the obvious starting point." "You think you can dodge the Monitors and get in and out of Chenon without anyone noticing? Even if you can, Crowder must be eyeball deep in his own security by now. He knows you. He'll be expecting you." "I'm working on it." "You're not planning anything . . . terminal . . . are you?" Ben opened the door to the fresher and activated the shower. "Ben? Answer me." He ignored Cara's question and jerked his head toward the shower. "Want to share?" He released the touch-and-close fastenings that held the top half of his buddysuit to the bottom, unclipped the shoulder catch and shrugged out of it, feeling the suit's sensors peel back from his skin. "Do you want me to?" she asked. He turned to look at her, saw her face suddenly serious, and stopped undressing. "I appreciate all you've done for me, Ben, but . . ." Snakes began to turn somersaults in his gut. "But thank you and good-bye. Is that it?" "I tried to kill you on Olyanda. Twice. I almost got you killed. Your shoulder--" "Almost as good as new." He flexed it, hiding the stab of pain from half-healed muscle. He'd looked at it once, using a mirror, soon after the dressing came off: a livid stripe, pink meat against brown skin. After that he'd avoided looking at it again. "Ronan says it won't even need a graft. It'll barely scar." "That doesn't make it right." "Cara . . ." Oh, gods, where to start? He sat next to her, carefully not touching. "I thought we'd worked all this out. I thought we were good. Olyanda was tough, but we survived. Together. What am I missing?" "Ari van Blaiden." "He messed with your mind. It wasn't you." "They couldn't make me believe all the things I believed if I hadn't had some lingering feelings for him." "What about us, Mrs. Benjamin?" He felt something slipping away that he'd let himself start to rely on. "Don't call me that. We lived a lie for a few months. It doesn't make it real." He'd wanted it to be real. "What do you want me to call you?" She didn't answer. "Cara . . ." "That'll do. Cara Carlinni. I need to find out who I am before I become someone else." "Are you saying you're leaving?" She shook her head. "Only if you want rid of me." "I don't." "Even though I tried to kill you and had sex with Ari? And, for fuck's sake, I killed someone with my mind!" There, she'd said it at last. "And I don't even feel sorry." "You can't go through what van Blaiden and McLellan did to you without it changing you." "For better or for worse?" "Not better, not worse, just different. I love you, Cara. I've never made any secret of that." "I know that, too." She smiled a small, sad smile. "I think you're nuts, though." "So sue me." He reached out and covered her left hand with his right. She froze for a moment and then turned her hand to grasp his. "Can we just take it slowly for now?" she said. "As slow as you like," he said. The snakes began to settle. Maybe there was hope. Cara and Ben lay in the generous bed, not touching. Aware of Ben at her back, his warmth prickling her skin, she thought she'd never sleep, but as soon as her eyes closed, she felt the blackness sucking her down into its warmth. With only a hazy impression of fast-fading dreams, she awoke to an empty cabin. Cautiously she opened her eyes, stretched and sniffed. Fresh bread and coffee, real coffee by the smell, not just caff or regular CFB, coffee-flavored beverage. On the table at the foot of the bed stood an insulated carafe and a copious breakfast cup, plus a basket of hot rolls and a selection of pots and jugs: cream, milk, fruit preserves, and honey. It looked like Mother Ramona had sent a care package. Ben's used cup stood still half-full, with cream congealed on the cooling surface. That man had no taste. He preferred caff to the real stuff. It probably came from being raised in the colonies. She showered and dressed quickly before Ben returned, then grabbed the coffee and rolls with real strawberry jam. Did Mother Ramona and Norton Garrick live like this all the time? Luxury goods were rare on a space station. Their lifestyle said a lot for their affluence, and the platinum deal was going to add to that considerably. She was halfway through her second cup when the door opened to reveal Ben with a carton of caff from the galley in one hand. "Good morning," he said. "Good news on Serafin. He's out of surgery and resting comfortably, though still on a respirator. Suzi's with him." "Are you going over?" "They've said no visitors yet. If you're ready, Mother Ramona has arranged for us to see the real warehouse this morning." She was grateful he didn't try and take the conversation back to where they'd left it last night. She could manage this level of normal. "Coming." She gulped down the last of her coffee, grabbed another roll from the basket and closed the neck catch on her buddysuit. Gen met them in the corridor. "Not so fast. We need to talk." Max stepped out of his cabin, dressed in a brand-new buddysuit. "New gear. Nice." Cara pretended to brush lint off his shoulder. "I went for basic black. Do I look the part?" Max twirled. "Combat ready," she said. "Do you know how to use that thing?" "Light here. Hood here. Facemask here. Breathing tube, emergency drugs, noise canceling earpieces, full spectrum eyepiece, cuddly toy, bottle opener, pack of cards, and . . ." He patted his pocket. "Somewhere I think I have a tool that takes stones out of a horse's hooves." Gen turned and gave him a light smack on the arm. "You promised not to be flippant." "Oww! I only said I'd try. This is all a bit new. Gimme a break." "The suit'll give you a break if we run into trouble." "She's right," Ben said. "Don't forget it has armor, too, and it's specially strengthened on the outer edges of the forearms if anyone comes at you with a knife." Max's eyes widened. "Is that likely?" "You can ask that after yesterday?" Cara said. "You're going to need some combat training." "I'm pretty good at duck and run." "Good, then all you need to learn is when to do that and when to hit back." "In the meantime, we have business." Wenna joined them. Cara was relieved to see she was back to normal, with the prosthetic arm completely indistinguishable from her biological one. "Who's we?" Ben asked. "This corridor is getting a touch crowded." Wenna stepped back and turned. "You'll see." She led the way to the Solar Wind 's mess, the biggest communal space on the ship. Cara tagged along. She'd only been part of this crew for one mission, and that all gone to hell, partly because of her. At the door Wenna paused and by a gesture waved Cara in with Ben. "Promise you'll listen," was all she said. Gen and Max crowded in behind them. There were probably fifty or sixty psi-techs crammed into a space designed for half that number, many of whom had been roughing it in the stadium billet: Ronan and Jon; Gupta; Marta Mansoro, gills covered by the high neck of her buddysuit; Cas Ritson, their other Psi-1 Telepath; Mel Hoffner from medical; Archie Tatum, Serafin's Psi-Mech second; Lewis Bronsen, a Finder; Yan Gwenn, pilot and ship's systems engineer; and even Kitty Keely. The hubbub of voices died away. Ben inclined his head and looked at the crowd. "Wenna says I have to listen. I'm listening." "We wanted to let you know we've decided to stick together," Gen said. "With you, that is. No one here intends to desert." "It's not about deserting," Ben said. "It's about family and commitments and about independent people deciding where they want to be. I'm not Commander Benjamin anymore. No one has to do what I say." Excerpted from Crossways: A Psi-Tech Novel by Jacey Bedford All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.