Crossways (5 page)

“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?”

C
ARA 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.