Part 31 (2/2)

”I can't leave just yet,” Nathan said.

”If I have to haul you onto that s.p.a.ce shuttle in cuffs, I'll do it. We need you alive, sir.”

”Yes, but that won't happen if those incoming shuttles aren't stopped. You have no clue who you're dealing with.”

The officer scowled and waved over a quad. ”I don't have time to listen to politicians. They're taking you to a s.h.i.+elded transport shuttle and putting your a.s.s on the next s.p.a.ce shuttle in the launch queue.”

The first soldier to lay a hand on Nathan got his arm broken, and the breaking didn't stop until the screaming man was a mutilated ma.s.s of pulpy flesh and shattered bone lying on the floor. It took only a minute for the man to die, but it seemed like eternity to those watching. Nathan stared disdainfully at the dead man and tugged his suit sleeve straight.

”Don't presume to tell me what to do,” Nathan said, raising his eyes to meet the officer's shocked and uncertain gaze. ”I don't take orders from humans. Not anymore.”

Words died on the man's lips as Nathan telekinetically broke his neck. Another body hit the floor and Nathan tossed it aside, clearing the way for him to take control of the command room. He could feel the rising panic in the large room, fear mes.h.i.+ng into a ragged mob mentality that would have left him short of needed people for the controls.

The Warhound telepaths and empaths that entered the command room took care of that for him, brutally mindwiping the humans of their fear and panic. The mindwipe kept the basic pattern of human thoughts intact, leaving them with the ability to still function and do their duty. They were essentially puppets now, with bodies going through directed motions, all except Dalia.

She rose from her seat and crossed the room to take the second-in-command position one terminal down from Nathan. ”Bringing up the visual you wanted, sir,” she said crisply, hands flying over the controls in front of her.

Nathan nodded, hands resting on the edge of the command terminal as his eyes flicked across the vidscreens and hologrid. The Warhounds settled themselves where they could, minds sliding into a pulsating merge that hovered near the back of Nathan's mind.

A visual finally came up, taken from a security feed two kilometers away. The remains of fighter jets burned in the broken streets of Paris, smoke curling black and ugly into the sky. Strykers were already on the ground, moving around the wreckage. Nathan licked sweat off his upper lip before merging with the waiting Warhounds, taking the apex position in that grouping of minds and power.

Don't let them near the launch area, he said. The order burned across the mental grid, reverberating and branding itself into every Warhound mind he could reach. Our priority is protecting the s.p.a.ce shuttles. We can't let them gain access to even a single one.

”Dalia,” Nathan said. He stared through the information scrolling across his terminal, feeling sweat sliding down the back of his neck, following the curve of his spine. ”Keep the launches going. I want-”

He broke off as a familiar mind spiked on the mental grid, the psi signature one he didn't think he'd ever feel on this planet again. Nathan jerked his head around, staring in anger and shock as Gideon leaned against the side of the command terminal, face calm.

”Nathan,” Gideon said.

”Why the h.e.l.l aren't you on the Ark?” Nathan demanded. ”I need you off this G.o.dd.a.m.n planet, Gideon.”

”I have what you need.”

Nathan stared at him in disbelief, noting the soft silver gleam that stained his son's dark blue eyes. ”Lucas nearly burned out your mind. You've got holes in your memory. You don't even know what to look for.”

”Lucas didn't destroy everything.” Gideon slid a hand through his hair and pulled, the action one of Kristen's habits. ”There's an echo in my head. Where Samantha used to be.”

Nathan didn't ask for permission before entering his son's mind, sifting carefully through broken thoughts for the scar that was left of the psi link Gideon once shared with his twin. Tangled through its raw layers were pieces of memory, transferred from Samantha in that moment when she saved Gideon at the Strykers Syndicate. Nathan saw it and carefully mapped out a large fragment of a psi signature that didn't belong to either of his children.

”How did I miss this?” Nathan said.

”We're twins. We can't remain apart forever.” Gideon smiled slowly, the curve of his mouth tight and forced. ”You always did fear insanity, but it's all that's left for you now.”

Nathan couldn't deny that fact. ”Suit up, Gideon. You're right. I'm going to need your help to stop Lucas.”

FORTY.

SEPTEMBER 2379.

PARIS, FRANCE.

The shuttles landed in the streets of Paris, between the remains of bombed-out buildings and away from the wastewater that flowed through the Seine. It was as close as the Strykers could get to the launch area without running up against Warhound telekinetic s.h.i.+elds. If the Strykers didn't land, they risked ending up like the military jets, blown to pieces after hitting a barrier their instruments couldn't pick up.

The rest of the fighting was taking place on the ground, in the middle of a deadzone with toxicity levels that were still dangerous, even to psions. The two-p.r.o.nged push came from the west and the north, both Stryker groups filled with telekinetics, pyrokinetics, and a few dozen telepaths not drafted into the Stryker merge.

They outnumbered the Warhounds by a decent margin, but that didn't mean anything. Most of the Warhounds were higher-Cla.s.sed psions than the Strykers, and all of them knew how to merge. The crus.h.i.+ng telekinetic blow that slammed into the Stryker ranks coming from the west tore through weaker s.h.i.+elds, throwing people to the ground with bone-breaking force.

Jason anch.o.r.ed his telekinetic s.h.i.+eld with all his Cla.s.s 0 strength against the Warhound merge. His s.h.i.+eld wavered beneath the heavy weight of foreign power, but didn't break. Swearing, Jason shoved his power forward at breakneck speed to clear the street ahead of them. Beside him, Quinton had a fireball formed, the crackling flame joined by dozens of others as pyrokinetics prepared to attack.

”Dropping s.h.i.+elds,” Jason shouted. ”Go!”

A firestorm ripped down the street, riding gas and burning through debris to add fuel to the fire. The pyrokinetics forced the fire to burn white-hot on its way to their targets. They came up short against telekinetic s.h.i.+elds, but the fire served as a needed distraction. The Strykers had numbers on their side, and the hundreds of mental strikes started to slowly bog down the merged Warhound telekinetics. Some s.h.i.+elds caved, sending Warhounds to their knees on the street, screaming from severe psionic overload in their minds.

The Strykers kept searching for weak spots, struggling to find a way into the center core of that power. They found some with Lucas's help, his guidance enabling them to shatter pieces of the merge and, with it, some of the Warhounds' concentration. The telekinetic s.h.i.+elds in their immediate area disappeared and the fire consumed Warhounds.

Screams echoed in the air, along with the stench of burning human flesh, but the Strykers ignored both on their push forward. Quinton looked over his shoulder to where Lucas ran, dark blue eyes like holes in his face behind the helmet of his skinsuit. Blood slid out of his nose in a thin trickle. He was skirting a line of mental damage far beyond psi shock by being here on the ground, but he had no choice. Lucas was commanding this battle, and if he was on the field, Nathan wouldn't be looking for an attack anywhere else.

”Can you handle this?” Quinton asked as he adjusted the grip on his pulse-rifle. The strap was slung across his chest; he'd let the rifle go in order to use his power.

”Don't question my judgment,” Lucas said.

”I'm not. You got us this far, but if you're dead, we're f.u.c.ked.”

Lucas waved at Quinton. ”We have to keep moving.”

Quinton took him at his word and lengthened his stride as Jason picked up the pace, pulse-rifle gripped in both hands. Everyone was loaded down with weapons for this fight, but half the Strykers on the field treated them as an afterthought. Telekinetics were guilty of that mind-set more than others, used to relying on the physical force of their power over the guns in their hands.

The sun beat down on them through a partially cloudy sky, smoke warping their line of sight. Telekinetics wrapped layered s.h.i.+elds around everyone as they double-timed it down the street. The mental grid was like a warzone beyond every Stryker and Warhound s.h.i.+eld, telepathic and empathic strikes ripping against hundreds of minds. The constant mental attacks wore down everyone's defenses, with s.h.i.+elds slipping beneath the weight of focused power. Once those s.h.i.+elds slipped, the minds behind them were torn to pieces. Lucas's merge of telepaths was holding off a good many Warhound strikes, but the distance between London and Paris put them at a disadvantage.

You should have let us onto the field, Samantha said through the psi link that tied her to Lucas. Here, catch the next layer.

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