Nimbus Page 2

  “It’s likely,” Cara said.

  “Well, at least we know.” Odell’s face softened. “I owed him a beer. I guess I always hoped he’d found an escape pod.” He cleared his throat. “He was a good man.”

  “He was,” Ben said.

  “Do you need me for anything e—” Odell’s eyes grew wide. He staggered as if he’d forgotten how to use his feet. “No!” His pupils rolled upward and he fell to the floor as limp as a discarded child’s toy.

  Cara, still empathically linked, felt a mental presence she didn’t recognize. She snapped off all contact and jammed her shields down. She leaned heavily on Wenna’s desk, breathing as if she’d run a marathon. Ben knelt by Odell while Wenna called for a medic.

  Cara knew instantly what had caused Odell’s collapse. Ben wasn’t going to like it.

  No one was going to like it.

  Ben Benjamin saw Odell go down and Cara reel back. His first instinct was to help Cara—that would always be his default—but she wasn’t unconscious, and Odell was. He dropped to his knees and checked the obvious. Pulse: fast but present. Breathing: ragged. Pupils: reduced to pinpricks.

  He sent out a call for a medic at the same time as Wenna.

  Odell started to squirm without regaining consciousness. His head rocked from side to side. Ben rolled him into recovery position and steadied him so he didn’t hurt himself.

  “Coming through.” Ronan Wolfe arrived with two med-techs and a well-equipped gurney.

  Ben stepped away to give Ronan room, and turned to Cara. “Are you all right?”

  She stared at him, hollow-eyed.

  “What happened?” Ronan asked as he clipped a portable heart and blood pressure monitor onto the fallen psi-tech.

  “He simply keeled over,” Wenna said.

  “Uh-huh.” Cara shook her head. “I felt it happen. Someone got to him. The Trust—one of their Telepaths—found him and . . . and . . . switched off his implant. He’ll be going all kinds of crazy inside.”

  Ben saw realization dawn on Ronan’s face.

  “Oh, shit!”

  Any registered psi-tech could theoretically be traced by their implant. And if they could be traced, they could be damaged.

  “It would take a psi-tech equally qualified as a Telepath, a Finder, and an Empath to be able to do it at this distance,” Cara said. “And someone with those kind of qualifications—a triple-threat—is as rare as hen’s teeth. Why would any megacorporation, even the Trust, waste a triple-threat psi-tech on destroying a middle grade Finder?”

  “It’s always been a possibility they’d come after us,” Ben said.

  “Yes, but why now? It’s almost a year and a half since we defected. Is it worth the expense?”

  Ben rubbed his hand across his forehead and swallowed hard, trying to get rid of the knot in his throat. “If Crowder’s behind it, it means he’s back on his feet. He’ll find the budget from somewhere. It’s personal with him now.”

  The Trust’s psi-tech—Ben hoped there was only one—couldn’t get to either himself, Cara, Jussaro, or Max because they’d had new implants fitted on Crossways, but the rest of the Free Company was horribly vulnerable.

  Cara had turned pale. As Ronan floated Odell away on the gurney, she sank into a spare chair.

  “Can I get you anything?” Ben asked.

  “Brain bleach, please. That felt . . . awful.”

  “Did you get an impression of the Telepath on the other end?”

  “Not exactly, but I’d recognize them again. Him. I’d recognize him again. I’m pretty sure it was a man. Young, but not new to this kind of work. Bastard!” Her cheeks began to flush pink as Ben felt her anger bubbling around her shields.

  Wenna shoved a cup of water into Cara’s trembling hand, and she looked up. “Thanks. I haven’t felt anything like that since Donida McLellan.”

  McLellan was dead, but there could be others like her. It wasn’t only the skill they needed, but the will to use that skill to hurt other psi-techs. Cara shuddered and took a sip of water, then a deep breath. “Whoever it was used up a hell of a lot of energy. He’ll not be going after anyone else today. Maybe not even for the next week.”

  “But you think he might try again? Someone else?” Ben asked. “Or was it maybe a warning shot—something to keep us metaphorically looking over our shoulder.”

  She shrugged and shook her head.

  “Why Odell?” Wenna asked.

  “He was using his talent to the full,” Cara said. “It would have been a stronger signal for the psi-tech at the other end to follow.”

  “Random.” Ben thumped the flat of his hand down on Wenna’s desk. “It could be anyone. It could be you next, Wenna, and then where would the Free Company be?”

  “I don’t do anything that can’t be done by someone else.”

  “Yes, you do. You’re a prime target,” Ben said. “So are all of the original section heads from the Olyanda mission. They’ll be at the top of Crowder’s list.”

  “You’re sure it’s Crowder?” Wenna asked. “Just because you think it is doesn’t mean we can ignore other possibilities.”

  “Damping pins,” Cara said. “We should concentrate on protecting everyone. You should all be wearing damping pins.”

  “Stop using our implants and hide?” Now it was Wenna’s turn to shudder.

  “Only until we can find a solution.”

  The way Cara said it, Ben knew she had something in mind, and the fact she wasn’t sharing proved it would be something he wouldn’t like.

  “I need to see Jussaro,” she said.

  “Slow down. What are you planning?” Ben asked.

  “The Trust doesn’t like what it can’t control, and it can’t control us. We need a way to make ourselves safe. I think Jussaro might be able to help.”

  “You’re talking about Sanctuary, aren’t you?” Ben said.

  “Isn’t that a myth?” Wenna asked.

  “Not entirely.” Cara shook her head. “At least it did exist. I’m not sure how much of it still does.”

  “And Jussaro would know?” Ben asked.

  “If anyone knows, he does. He used to be part of the Sanctuary network. It’s what they nixed his implant for. There aren’t many who survive that kind of treatment—at least not and stay sane. He might even be able to help Odell.”

  “It’s worth a try,” Ben said. “In the meantime, I’ll organize some dampers for here and our people on Jamundi.”

  Chapter Two

  SEARCH

  CARA HAD FIRST ENCOUNTERED EMIL JUSSARO when she was on the run. He wasn’t officially a member of the Free Company, but they’d adopted him. He had an office on the far side of Blue Seven, tucked behind the storage bays. It was fitted with a switchable damper to prevent thought spillage in either direction, for when he gave classes and one-to-one refresher sessions. He’d been particularly successful in upgrading psionic skills. Four class three Telepaths had advanced to class two, and Laurie Gilmartin, previously a class two, was on the cusp of reaching class one status, which was a good thing since they only had Cara on Crossways and Saedi Sugrue on Jamundi with the settlers.

  No matter how good your use of an implant, there was always something more you could learn. Cara had acquired skills she didn’t particularly want, and Jussaro had helped her to rationalize them. Like any good therapist, he’d nudged her in the right direction although he hadn’t provided easy answers to hard questions. She hadn’t found all the answers yet, but at least she was asking the right questions now.

  She didn’t get as far as Jussaro’s office. He was hurrying toward her in the slightly uncoordinated way he had, as if everything that was going on in his head didn’t leave much room for the nuts and bolts of working his body.

  People tended to notice Jussaro. He was squat, with the scaly purple-black skin associated w
ith the genetically engineered inhabitants of the Hollands System, designed to survive in a high-radiation environment. Hollanders didn’t tend to travel much.

  “What’s happened, Carlinni? I felt something.”

  She gave him the rundown on Odell.

  “Bastards.” Jussaro’s monobrow creased into a frown. “Has Wolfe sedated him?”

  “I heard screaming. Then it stopped.”

  “Let’s take that as a yes. We need to be there when he wakes.”

  “Can you do anything?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Ronan’s small infirmary had a front office, a treatment room, a recovery room, and two wards. A young med-tech looked up as they entered, saw who it was, and nodded them through.

  Odell was still on the gurney, lying still and quiet, a fluid drip in his left arm.

  Ronan turned. “I’ve done all I can for now. I don’t know what will happen when he wakes. Either he’ll be all right, or he’ll be in a psych ward for the rest of his not-very-long life.” He glanced at Jussaro. “Do you think you can help?”

  “It depends on how much natural psi talent he had before they fitted his implant as to how much I have to work with. Do you have his files?”

  “Only what was on the records we brought with us to Olyanda. I don’t think they go as far back as pre-implant testing.”

  “When will he wake?”

  “Without another dose of sedative, about half an hour.”

  It was a long half hour. Ronan’s med-techs transferred Odell to a bed with safety rails and a full set of biomonitors. Jussaro and Cara sat on one side and Ronan on the other.

  “Why do people always look so young when they’re unconscious?” Cara asked.

  “It’s because they’re vulnerable.” Ronan leaned over and brushed a stray lock of ginger hair from Odell’s forehead. “It makes them look younger. And their expressions are blank. It smooths out wrinkles.”

  “How old is Odell?” Cara asked.

  “Forty-three, but he’s lost six years in cryo, so thirty-seven personal elapsed time.”

  “He looks about twenty. Family?”

  “None on his records.”

  “He’s like most of us,” Cara said. “The Free Company is his family.”

  “Isn’t that always the way of it?” Jussaro said. “Implants separate us from the people who share our DNA and link us to each other.”

  Odell’s eyelids fluttered. The biomonitor beeped. This was it.

  *Join with me,* Jussaro said. *We need to keep him calm, give him a sense that he’s still connected. Tell him it’s a temporary glitch.*

  Everyone knew Ben, Cara, and Jussaro had received second-chance implants. It was possible that it was temporary for Odell, though not everyone was suitable for reimplantation.

  *Here goes . . .* Jussaro said. *Gently, gently into his mind. A warm bath of reassurance rather than a cold squirt of reality.*

  They were all three Empaths, not the Free Company’s only Empaths, but probably the strongest. Cara locked on to the feelings coming from Odell as he surfaced from the sedative. She couldn’t hear individual thoughts, just a wash of emotion—mostly terror. She joined with Jussaro and Ronan, projecting reassurance, but it didn’t make any difference.

  Odell began to scream for his mother.

  Jussaro pulled away. *There’s nothing there,* he said. *Nothing to get hold of. Poor bastard. I’m sorry.*

  Ronan stepped forward to administer another sedative, but Odell began to flail his arms around. He yanked the tubes out of his arm, spraying an arc of blood droplets across the white wall.

  Two med-techs moved to secure him, but before Ronan could get a blast pack to the side of his neck. Odell went rigid, and then began to shake. His eyes rolled back.

  Cara and Jussaro stepped away to let the med-techs work. It didn’t look good, but Ronan was good at miracles. Knowing they weren’t needed, they escaped into the reception room where Ben and Wenna were waiting. Wenna wore a damping pin, which dulled her aura and left her mind unreachable.

  “I can’t do anything.” Jussaro’s voice broke. He pressed his lips together on whatever else he’d been going to say.

  Cara tried to look on the hopeful side, but her feelings were in limbo. On the Schrödinger’s Cat principle, until they heard otherwise, Odell was going to make it.

  “Call it,” they heard Ronan say.

  Damn. Damn. Damn. Cara felt as though her stomach had hit the floor.

  A few minutes later Ronan emerged from the room, his face set. “I’ll need to do an autopsy, but I’d say he’s had a massive brain hemorrhage.”

  Ben handed him a damper. Ronan looked at it. “I can’t work with this. Healing is what I do. I need my Empathy—all my skills.”

  “Take it off when you need to,” Ben said, “But you don’t need your implant when you’re eating lunch, or sleeping, or out dancing the night away with Jon.”

  “Jon . . .” Ronan said. “I never thought to check. Is everyone else all right?”

  “As far as we know. And hopefully with these pins they’ll stay that way, at least until we find a way to neutralize this threat.”

  “How the hell do we do that?” Ronan asked.

  “Sanctuary,” Cara said. She turned to Jussaro. “They had a way of protecting people, didn’t they? Otherwise, how could they ensure psi-techs got clean away?”

  Jussaro looked uncomfortable. “They did, but I never had that particular secret. All I know is there’s a way to change the programming of an implant so that it can’t be traced or accessed by anyone.”

  “How do we get hold of the information?” Ben asked.

  Jussaro shrugged. “When Alphacorp broke our cell, they did it pretty thoroughly. There may be some cells left, but I don’t know how to contact them. I may have a few leads, but it’s six years ago. I am pretty sure, however, that Zandra Hartwell escaped. If anyone has the codes, it’s her.”

  “Then we find Zandra Hartwell,” Cara said.

  “If we do,” Jussaro said. “If we get the unlock codes, does that mean we recreate Sanctuary on Crossways?”

  “One step at a time,” Ben said. “Find her first.”

  Chapter Three

  TRAVEL

  BEN HAD COUNTED EACH DAY WITHOUT Cara. She’d been away for a month, following leads around the inner systems with Jussaro, traveling by commercial transport links from hub to hub, hub to planet, and planet to hub. She contacted him whenever she could and gave him a rundown of the search so far, but it wasn’t a substitute for sleeping next to her at night or working with her during the day.

  He worried about her, but she’d been right. Jussaro’s contacts wouldn’t talk to him. She’d been the victim of one of Alphacorp’s best—or worst—mindbenders, and she could prove it to anyone who mattered. That was her ticket. Between them, Jussaro and Cara could go where he couldn’t. Mother Ramona had provided them both with a string of false identities, all of which kept them out of jail as they progressed from one lead to another.

  Meanwhile, hampered by damping pins, the Free Company was getting cranky. Some people were starting to take risks, switching off their dampers briefly for essential jobs. Without their implants, most of the Free Company psi-techs were unable to work, or at least unable to work effectively.

  So far, no one had run away screaming, but each person had to deal with the loss in their own way, some quietly determined, others angry. Ronan reported an increase in the use of antidepressants and mild sedatives. Tempers flared.

  No one knew whether there were attempted attacks on people protected by damping pins, but two more attacks had succeeded, though only one more death. One of Ada Levenson’s cooks had had a fatal accident with a fryer, and they discovered she’d not been wearing her damper. Since she’d begun to scream and tear at her head before she’d fallen into the hot
oil, the accident had probably been secondary to losing her implant. After that, everyone had started to take their pins much more seriously, resorting to using communicators while on station.

  The second attack had been on Jon Moon, Ronan’s partner, when the two of them had been in the bedroom. Most people who slept naked had taken to pinning the damper on their pillow, but that only worked while pillow and head were in close proximity. Luckily, Jon had felt the “handshake” from an unknown Telepath’s implant and had flung himself toward the pillow, nearly causing, according to Ronan, an interesting and unusual physical problem. Thereafter he recommended unclothed sleepers should wear their pins on a lightweight choker around their neck, even during sex.

  Jon, luckily, had suffered no more ill-effects than a raging migraine for three days, which Ronan had ministered to sympathetically, and with a certain amount of admitted guilt. While Ronan always displayed an even temper outwardly, he’d confided to Ben that the thought of losing Jon had almost paralyzed him with fear.

  Ben had told Cara and Jussaro what had happened. He hadn’t wanted to load any more pressure on them, but he was pretty sure that’s what he’d done.

  Cara called him most nights from wherever she was.

  *Hey.* Cara popped into Ben’s head as he was clearing his desk for the evening.

  *Hey, yourself. How are you? Where are you?*

  *Athabasca Terminus. We’re coming home.*

  *You found something?*

  *Not exactly, but we have a lead. We need a jumpship to get us to a planet called Dounreay. It’s an ex-prison planet, now colonized. It’s four months’ travel from the nearest jump gate, so we need a shortcut.*

  *I’ll take you.*

  She did the mental equivalent of a sigh. *I knew you’d offer, but I don’t know how long we’ll need to be there. We only have a slim lead, but it’s our last one, so we have to follow it.*

  *And you want the jumpship to be in orbit in case you need to make a fast getaway.*