Unforgettable (Talented Saga #6) (4 page)

“
To answer your question,
yes. The three Created are kids. The oldest is a boy of seventeen.
The two others are younger. Twelve and eleven, I think. One female
and one male. But the fourth person we apprehended is a full-grown
man,” Ray said.

“
Wait, what?” Talia asked,
wrinkling her forehead in confusion. “Is that the one that was
armed for the apocalypse?”

“
Yep,” Ray confirmed. “He
was unconscious and kind of battered when we got here. It appeared
as though the guy had been shot with a tranquilizer dart. Which was
only odd because the sole weapon of that kind was found was in the
guy’s hand.”

“
And he’s not one of ours?”
Talia guessed.

“
No, definitely not.
Biometrics don’t match any we have on file. The Brains are running
them against a wider database now to see if we can get a hit.
Otherwise, we’ll have to wait for him to wake up and see what you
can get out of him.”

Ray nodded in Talia’s direction. Rumor
had it that she was particularly skilled in psychic interrogation.
One look into her dark eyes told Ray that he never wanted to find
out firsthand.

“
You think the guy was
tracking the Created, too? Like for a different organization?” Erik
asked, all trace of irritation from earlier gone.

“
That’s my guess. He wasn’t
alone. I spotted two more fleeing down the fire escape, but they
got away.”

“
Any idea what this phantom
organization might be?” Talia asked.

Ray rubbed a hand over his short hair.
Yeah, he had an idea, alright. And if he was right, UNITED’s
troubles were a whole lot worse than they’d imagined.

“
Who?” Talia
demanded.

Ray blinked, startled. He was usually
pretty good at keeping a blank face. Then again, it wasn’t everyday
he encountered a Mind Manipulator with her power.

He blew out a long breath, hating to
give voice to his concern but knowing the tiny manipulator would
just pull the name from his head if he didn’t say it aloud
soon.

“
Poachers. They’re called
Poachers. And believe me, if they are after the Created, we have
a
really
big
problem.”

“
WITH
ALL DUE
respect, Sir, I—” Pint
began.

“
Excuses will not be
tolerated, Priya,” the Duke interrupted. “Only results.”

Libby’s father was one of the only
people who called Pint by her given name. Normally she didn’t mind,
but today the gesture irritated her.

“
How many did this last
raid yield?” the Duke asked, his voice just as snotty through the
plane’s comm system as it was in person.

Pint gritted her teeth and
ground out, “One,
Sir
.”

God she hated addressing him as Sir.
He didn’t deserve it. The only thing worse than giving the Duke
undeserved respect was calling his children Lord and Lady. But no,
she had to be born into the wrong branch of the family. The one
without any titles.

“
And what do we know about
the
one
you
managed to collect?” the Duke asked, his tone pure
condescension.

“
Her name is Francie Owen.
She is seventeen and definitely Created. Beyond that, I can’t know
until we get back to the Rock. She’s heavily sedated, same as the
others,” Pint said.

“
With the addition of Ms.
Owens, how many total?”

“
Sixteen, sir,” Pint
replied. “We are bringing back sixteen from the States.”

“
Very well. You know, it’s
a terrible shame to pull you all out without performing another
roundup. Though your carelessness does necessitate it, I suppose.”
He paused for effect, letting his words sink in.

Pint wasn’t stupid, the Duke was
reminding her that she’d screwed up by allowing herself and her
team to be seen by the agents from UNITED.

I’d like to see you do
better, your Grace,
Pint thought
bitterly.

Of course, Nigel Monroe would never
get his hands dirty. No, he left the grunt work to his underlings.
Wanker.

“
I have it on good
authority that a number of these Created are in Europe. I trust you
and your team will be able to help find them,” the Duke
continued.

“
Yes, sir. We did lose
Benson, though. It was unfortunate but unavoidable.”

Pint steeled herself for the rebuke
that was sure to come.

“
Ah, well, that is always a
risk, is it not? No matter. Benson knows to keep his mouth shut. I
am not concerned. How many did we lose in total?”

“
Benson makes five. The
others were killed, though.”

Pint’s throat tightened with the
admission. It wasn’t even that she cared much for her fallen
comrades, so much as she hated the idea that their lives were worth
less than the Chromes. Chromes were barely even human, and yet
people were willing to pay through the nose to own one.

“
Probably for the best. I
hear UNITED has a very powerful Manipulator working for them these
days. No telling what she can extract, even from the most unwilling
of minds.”

The Duke paused, lost in thought.
Almost to himself, he added, “I wonder how much she would garner on
the open market. Manipulators are rare these days, and so very
valuable. Hmm, something to think about, I suppose. I shall speak
with you further when you arrive, Priya. Tell my children I am
relieved to know they will be returning home.”

With that, the line went
dead.

“
Tell them yourself, you
bastard,” Pint muttered, slamming the end button on the
communicator.

EARLIER THIS
MORNING
, a group of Created—employees of
the defunct TOXIC organization who were injected with the illicit
Creation Drug and now possess a vast array of abnormally strong
Talents—stormed UNITED’s Manhattan facility. UNITED is the
world-wide governing body for Talented citizens. In a statement
released shortly after the siege began, the organization’s
spokeswoman, Victoria Walburton, denounced the unnatural offshoot
of the Talented species. The councilwoman is quoted as
saying:
“The safe release of the hostages
is this organization’s top priority, but UNITED will not negotiate
with terrorists.”

The ringleader was seventeen-year old
Alana Stillwater, one of many former students of the McDonough
School for the Talented who were called up to TOXIC prematurely and
injected with the controversial drug. Under the belief that the
only remaining vials of the drug were being housed at the Manhattan
facility, Stillwater demanded the confiscated vials of the Creation
Drug be turned over to her rogue group, in exchange for the lives
of the UNITED agents inside the same facility. The ransom demand
led to a nearly six hour standoff, with both sides refusing to
surrender. Sighting no better alternatives, Councilwoman Walburton
gave the order to take the building by force just after
midday.

In total, ten Created were taken into
custody. On behalf of UNITED, the councilwoman expressed sympathy
for the families of the hostages, several of whom sustained minor
injuries when the organization’s agents reclaimed the facility. As
for the fate of the Created detainees, Walburton said, “They will
be dealt with both swiftly and justly.”

Which begs the obvious question: Will
they really?

Since the emergence of the Created,
the most hotly debated topic has been the jurisdiction under which
they fall. UNITED continues to argue that, as Talented, even if not
natural-born, the Created are theirs to apprehend and discipline—a
task that many governments were initially glad to leave in their
hands. But the attack on UNITED’s own facility has caused those
same governments to question the wisdom of such a decision. Many
fear UNITED is incapable and ill-equipped to handle this
destructive problem, for which they are ultimately to be
blamed.

UNITED scientists developed,
researched, and tested the Creation Drug approximately one decade
ago. Ultimately, it was decided that the drug was too dangerous.
Since then, both the manufacturing and use of the drug have been
illegal. However, it is painfully apparent that they have neither
upheld nor enforced this decree. Because of this, countries are
appealing to the Joint Nations for the right to deal with any
Created in their territories as they see fit.

Thus far, UNITED has been able to
retain control of the exclusive right to arrest and penalize the
Created. But between attacks like the one today and the general
chaos the Created are causing, it is unlikely that this will be the
case for much longer.

Proven by their actions over the last
three weeks, the Created are a legitimate threat to humans.
Infection with the Creation Drug alters one’s moral compass,
establishing a gray area that blurs the line between right and
wrong. The infected individuals are no longer in control of their
mental faculties, a fact shown by UNITED’s own research with the
drug. This also calls into question the Talented, a species the
general public knows very little about, despite comingling with
them for nearly a century.

Are they, the Talented,
those born with abnormal abilities, any safer than the Created?
Have countries like the United States segregated the Talented for
their own protection, as they claim? Or is it for
our
protection? How much
do we, real humans, have to fear from the Talented? Are they just
like us? Or are they monsters, disguised as docile creatures? Has
the time finally come to separate our races for good?

These are the questions we all need to
ask ourselves now, when we are in a position to rid our world of
this dangerous breed of individual. The Coexistence Treaty, the
accord that affords the Talented the right to live among us as
equals, is up for renewal. Should the law be rejected, the Talented
will be forced to live in designated areas only. If you, like me
and so many others, want a future free of fear and chaos, contact
your Joint Nations representative and urge him or her to vote
against renewal of the Treaty.

—
Dana Duval

Senior Correspondent, World Broadcast
Frequency

THE LAST RAYS
of the day shone through the branches, shedding
just enough golden light on the dirt path to illuminate the divots
and tree roots. My sneakers pounded the earth just as my heart
pounded within my rib cage. If I concentrated hard enough, I could
trick my brain into believing that the sweet perfume of fresh
flowers and tree sap, the squeak of damp leaves, the chirp of birds
and buzz of mosquitos were all real. On my left, the lake shimmered
like a mirage in the setting sun, just barely visible through the
thick crop of forest.

This setting was my favorite, one I’d
personally programmed into the gym’s computer to remind me of
home.

Home.

As a child I’d never had a real home
in the traditional sense. At least, not the kind with walls and a
roof, no physical structure that housed my belongings. No bedroom
where I slept every night for years on end, no kitchen where my
mother cooked every meal, and no living room where we’d congregate
to watch the wallscreen before bed. Hotel rooms, guest quarters in
the homes of diplomats, and borrowed suites in government
facilities—those were where I’d spent my early years.