Terminal Point (22 page)

Sharra tucked a stray strand of blond hair behind her ear before beckoning to Lillian. “Come here, sweetheart.”

The little girl hopped off the trunk and walked over to her mother. She didn't protest when Sharra pulled her into her arms, giving Lillian a hug that almost hurt.

“You know how important your father is,” Sharra said, stroking Lillian's dark hair. “Sometimes important people need to make very hard decisions, and that's what I'm helping your father with.”

“But all our stuff is going away.”

“Yes, well. Your father has been working extrahard to make sure you have a wonderful new home. Not everyone is special enough to live there, and we didn't want to make people jealous, so it was a secret. Unfortunately, that secret got out and now we're going to be moving a little earlier than your father thought.”

“What about school?”

In that regard, Lillian was her father's child. Sharra had been illiterate until the age of nine, when she found her way into an illegally run school in London. She could read and write, do basic arithmetic, but any sort of desire for education that Lillian had did not come from Sharra.

“There will still be school where we're going,” Sharra promised her.

“And my friends?”

“You'll still have your friends. Don't worry, honey. Everything's going to be okay. Right now, I need you to go to your room and pick out only your most favorite toys. Can you do that for me?”

“Why can't I take them all?” Lillian asked, pouting. In this, she was most definitely Sharra's child.

“Because I said so.” She gave Lillian another hug before gently pushing her toward the door. “Now go. Do what I say and there might be cake for dessert tonight.”

Whatever anger Lillian might have had, it faded in the face of every child's favorite meal. “Chocolate?”

“Perhaps. You won't know until you begin to sort out your room.”

“I'll do it, I promise!”

Lillian raced out of the bedroom. Sharra pressed the side of her hand against her mouth, biting down carefully on the skin there to hold back the sick feeling in her stomach. What she wouldn't give for a glass of wine, but even she knew there came a time for sobriety. For her daughter, she would learn it.

Sharra spent the next few hours mindlessly filling the trunks in her room with what would fit from her life, tearing apart a place that had been home for so many years. If she dropped a vase or two because her hands were shaking, no one said a word, and the mess was ignored. It was pointless cleaning a place they were never going to see again.

Sharra was in the middle of closing another trunk when Lillian came skipping back into the room. “Daddy's home!”

Sharra got to her feet and smoothed out the wrinkles in her pale blue dress. She hadn't thought that Erik would be back so soon. “Come along,” Sharra said, reaching for her daughter's outstretched hand. “Let's go say hello to your father.”

They found Erik in his office, the first place Sharra knew to check whenever he was home. It was of moderate size, lived-in, with antiques cluttering up the corners and holopics of his family on the wall that she hadn't got to packing yet. Sharra had decorated it for him years ago, and nothing within those four walls had ever changed. Erik never really cared about what surrounded him, only who. His desire for power was similar to Sharra's desire for safety, and they were losing both.

“Daddy!” Lillian shrieked, letting go of her mother's hand to fling herself at her father.

Erik embraced her easily enough, but most of his attention was on the vidscreen embedded in the wall. It was separated into four different news streams, and the latest update wasn't pretty.

Sharra came to stand beside her husband, glancing from him to the vidscreen. “What are they saying?”

Erik shook his head, the tight look on his face evidence enough of his answer. If it had been less of a problem, he wouldn't look so exhausted.

“Nothing good,” he said, smoothing back Lillian's hair. “I had to sign off on payment for stolen oil with a terrorist group earlier this week, oil which we need on Mars Colony, and some hacker found the trail of funds. That's just the latest bit of proof the media is using to rip us to shreds.”

“Hasn't anyone argued on the government's behalf?”

“People have, but no one's listening to our side of the story. Everyone's only interested in what the pirate streams can dig up. Thank God no one has found out about the seed bank yet, but I doubt that ignorance will last. We've already lost half that inventory to a breach.”

That news sent a cold chill running down Sharra's spine. She placed a hand on her husband's arm, holding on to him. “Erik?”

“The Strykers couldn't pull anything from the location. A Stryker died doing recon and they think it's the same rogue psion that orchestrated the mess in Buffalo. I don't have any confirmation, but it's the only logical suggestion offered up so far. Nathan Serca is overseeing the transportation of the remaining inventory to his Syndicate's tower for safety reasons before transferring it to Paris. It's going up on the first wave of shuttles.”

Sharra swallowed thickly. “Is London safe enough to house the seeds?”

“Nowhere on this planet is safe right now.” Erik pressed a kiss to Lillian's cheek and hugged her a little tighter. “I want you to finish packing within the hour, Sharra. I've got to give a press conference soon to try to buy us a little more time. We're moving up the launch to this week.”

Erik went quiet, his eyes locked on the vidscreen and the satellite readout of the
Ark
's design. “We only wanted to save humanity,” he said. “We just can't save everyone.”

Only the strongest could survive. Sharra knew that rule more intimately than Erik ever would. Sharra let go of her husband's arm and turned to leave. “I'll finish packing.”

The bunker still had furniture and art cramming its walls. Wineglasses were still in the kitchen sink, unopened bottles scattered around the suite. She was trying to be prudent with the packing, only taking what they absolutely couldn't leave behind—holopics of their life here, her collection of jewelry, Lillian's handful of stuffed animals.

Their lives would fit into a dozen cargo trunks, and that was all they would take with them into space. Sharra tried not to think about what they were leaving behind.

 

TWENTY-SIX

SEPTEMBER 2379
AMUNDSEN-SCOTT SOUTH POLE STATION, ANTARCTICA

“That's a lot of hyposprays,” Quinton said. “Are you sure it's going to be enough for everyone?”

Rows of silver hyposprays stretched out down the long table, each calibrated to give twenty doses of the virus-carrying nanites before needing to be discarded. Quinton picked one up, holding the thin object in his hand. It didn't weigh much, didn't look as if it had the power to change a person's life, but that's exactly what Lucas had created. Korman didn't care to see the value in something that would save psions, not at the expense of the human bondworkers he had tested it on. Quinton didn't let himself dwell on the process, just the results. As horrendous as the process was, it was still saving people.

“It'll be enough,” Lucas said without looking up as he packed them into carrying cases. “Your job is going to make sure you use them all.”

“I thought we were just dropping them off and breaking Threnody out?” Kerr said.

“I would bet my Syndicate's entire bottom line that Erik is pushing up the launch, which means we need to work on convincing your Strykers that they need our help.”

“You ask for the impossible a lot of the time,” Samantha said as she closed one carrying case and reached for another. “It's very annoying.”

“You want to know what I find annoying?” Matron said, glaring at Lucas. “The way you keep killing off my scavengers. Fahad'd been around a long-ass time. He deserved to see the end.”

“He wasn't
your
scavenger and he wasn't as loyal as you think. You're lucky it wasn't me who killed him. Kristen was actually quick for once,” Lucas said. “Her version of nice.”

Matron opened her mouth. Lucas shut it for her, telekinesis wrapped around skin and metal. He stared at her across the worktable in silence. Matron closed her eyes, hunched her shoulders, and got back to work. One packed carrying case later, Lucas retracted his power.

Jason came into the crowded workroom five minutes later, dragging Kristen behind him telekinetically. The younger girl knew better than to fight his hold, but the second he freed her, she invaded his space again.

“You want me to fix your daughter?” Jason snapped at Lucas. “Keep your sister out of my fucking head.”

Lucas rolled a hypospray between his fingers, staring at them. “I sent you to get the rest of the hyposprays, Kris. Not to touch things that aren't yours.”

“Little, itty-bitty thing is a Serca,” Kristen said. “I just wanted to say hello.”

Whatever else Kristen might have said, Lucas cut her off before the thought was even half-formed in her mind. The empath's head snapped back from his telepathic blow, mind cracking a little beneath her brother's strength. Lucas let his telepathy drift through the growing stain of insanity that was creeping back into his youngest sister's mind, familiar holes that were beginning to open all over again. He could sense the places that Jason's stolen pattern had once filled and which were slowly dissolving. Kristen's mind wasn't meant to hold sanity.

She couldn't be fixed; he had always known that.

I never blamed you,
Kristen said, her voice soft and achingly sweet in the maelstrom that was beginning to churn once again through her mind.

It wouldn't have mattered if she did.

“Keep a closer watch on her,” Lucas said to Samantha.

“She seemed fine” was Samantha's irritated reply, not looking up from her current task.

“That's never a guarantee.”

Scowling, Samantha left her spot and went to drag Kristen to the far side of the table.

Jason watched them get settled with the last of the hyposprays that needed to be packed and shook his head. “Please tell me she's not coming with us.”

“I'm not leaving my sisters here.”

“Take Samantha. Leave Kristen. She's insane.”

“Everyone always underestimates her because of that.” Lucas looked over at him. “You did, remember?”

Jason didn't bother to argue that fact. “Korman doesn't have any hyposprays left. He didn't trust Kristen to tell you that this is everything we've got to do the job.”

All of which could be counted up in carrying cases full of a virus and the hope that they wouldn't get shot on sight when they teleported to the Strykers Syndicate. Lucas pushed away from the table, taking in everyone's attire. “Change out of your skinsuits. If things go badly, I don't want them to have a hint of where we've been.”

“If things go badly, we're all fucked,” Quinton said, leaving the room.

Jason left with Kerr, the two heading for the room on the far end of the station they'd been sharing since their arrival. The pair stripped out of their insulated skinsuits and dragged on a set of mismatched street clothes that left them shivering a bit in the low warmth of the station. Power was gained by way of three old generators, only two of which Matron's scavengers had managed to get up and running. They had heat; it just wasn't enough without skinsuits to stay warm continuously.

“Think Threnody's still alive?” Jason said as he yanked on a shirt.

“Lucas isn't worried,” Kerr replied as he laced up a pair of boots. “Which means she can't be dead.”

“I'd hate to be in Quinton's shoes right now.”

“You hate what we're doing anyway.”

“Can you blame me?” Jason looked over at Kerr as he grabbed the jacket hanging off the chair. “I don't care if Lucas thinks he's going to save everyone. I don't trust his methods.”

Kerr leaned forward on the bed where he was sitting, resting his elbows on his knees. “Maybe you should try. He's got a way to save us, Jays.”

“At too high of a price.” Jason tapped the side of his head. “You're not in my head anymore. Feels fucking weird.”

“It's worth it. You know that.”

Worth it to not have his shields skidding out from beneath his control, to not be at risk of an insanity driven by a storm of the world's thoughts. Telepaths were born to read minds, but they craved a silence they would never get. Kerr had only ever found silence behind Jason's natal shields, and now those, too, were gone. Both of them were exactly what they were supposed to be, but that didn't make their lives any easier.

“All the times when you were in my mind, did you ever know what I really was?” Jason asked.

“No,” Kerr said with a shake of his head. “I couldn't get very far past your shields. I only got far enough to readjust my own and hold them to the pattern that you had. I never knew you were a microtelekinetic, the same way I never knew I had an empathic power. Hell, I never knew your kind of power even existed.”

“You and me both.”

The two looked at each other, separated now by so much more than the space between them. The severing of their bond was still a wound in both their minds. For Kerr, it was the constant reach for something that was no longer there. For Jason, it was the emptiness in the back of his mind that used to be filled with the hum of someone else's thoughts. He never felt that anymore unless Kerr produced a psi link, but the connection would never again be the same.

“I never said thank you,” Kerr said, looking Jason in the eye. “For how you kept me safe and sane.”

“Yeah, you did.” Jason gave him a faint, bittersweet smile. “Too many times to count.”

“Sometimes I never meant it.”