Part 2 (1/2)

Rowan moved forward smoothly and took Lew's arm. He was thin, with black-rimmed retro gla.s.ses and an indifferent haircut. He wore a pair of khakis and a blue T-s.h.i.+rt. Today was casual day at work, and Rowan had counseled him to wear something he could move in. A pair of high-end, obviously new Nikes decorated his feet. He was a precognitive, and if Sigma got their hands on him he'd be full of Zed and working for the black sector of the government in no time.

Not while I'm around, Rowan thought fiercely.

His watery brown eyes blinked behind his gla.s.ses. ”Rowan,” he said under the sudden chaos of alarms and people starting to move for the exits. ”Something's wrong.”

Gee, you think so? ”I know,” she soothed, as his eyes found the gun in her hand. ”You're with me, Lew.

It's gonna be okay. Come on.”

I wonder if Justin ever felt this frightened while he was moving me around.

They joined the ma.s.s of deadheads crowding for the exits. Give me a mark on where they are, Yosh,she said, her stomach suddenly full of bile. They must be moving in. Bra.s.s spikes of pain jabbed at her temples, driving into her brain. She took a deep breath, bringing her heartbeat down a little. She didn't need to start exhausting herself with terror.

Moving in. But the deadheads ... Sudden sharp jolt, like a fist slamming into her solar plexus. She almost doubled over, the shock was so intense-Yos.h.i.+'s fear becoming hers through the mental link between them for a dizzying moment before she could block it out. G.o.ddammit, Rowan, they've locked on you. They've got a visual! Move!

A visual meant they were in the building. And then, to cap off the entire d.a.m.n situation, gunfire popped and zinged. Rowan lunged forward, dragging Lew with her as gla.s.s shattered. The Sigs were aiming high to spook the crowd instead of kill. If Lew hadn't been right next to her the Sigs might have been able to scoop him up separately in the confusion. Where are they? Give me some help here, dammit!

A flood of information in reply. It was too late, because she felt the glow of other psions and saw the long flapping tan trench coats. So they'd changed their fas.h.i.+on sense-the other Sigs she'd seen had worn black. Maybe it's Sig summer wear, she thought privately, squas.h.i.+ng the lunatic urge to laugh. The hot new fas.h.i.+on in government weirdoes.

They were coming down the escalators and stairs, shoving through the crowd, firing from the mezzanine to drive the ma.s.s of frightened humanity out through the doors and spill enough terror into the air to slow her down. Rowan could either stay and be caught, or get out on the street and run straight out into the Sig search net.

Lew made a high whining sound. She didn't blame him-getting shot at had that affect on a person.

”Come on!” she yelled, shoving aside a blonde with a briefcase and clacking high heels. Lew mercifully obeyed, running with her. They bowled through the crowd at an angle, heading for the other exit. She was going to have to get creative really soon.

Rowan reached, blurring the other psions' perceptions of her as well. The number of hands she had free to juggle mental eggs was rapidly decreasing. Her heart pounded. She didn't have any energy left over to regulate her pulse. Her body knew she was being shot at, and her mind couldn't convince her body that it wasn't an emergency that deserved a racing pulse.

The other stream of people heading for the secondary exit-out onto the street on the other side of the block-swallowed them. Rowan deliberately didn't return fire, though she ached to pick off a few of the Sigs. Her primary objective was to get Lew out, not work a little hurt on them. More gunfire, more gla.s.s shattering, they were going to start aiming for real soon. They must be desperate to risk this kind of open attack. Generally Sigs didn't like public shootouts in which the cops could get involved. They could cover up just about anything, but that took time and resources, and the less government agencies involved the more chance everyone could keep their mouth shut.

Ro, Ro, come on. The net's almost at the building. You don't have a lot of lag. Move out of there, can you? Yos.h.i.+'s voice held the deep purple shade of tightly controlled excitement, shot through with brittle crystal lattices of professionalism.

Rowan pushed Lew in front of her and did the single riskiest thing she could-she pointed her gun straight up and fired twice. With screams and gasps, the crowd exploded away from her, people diving for cover or panicking. The swirling flood of emotional energy acted as ”static,” blurring her even further to the other psions' perceptions and giving her a short-term boost in energy. One she'd pay for later, but nothing was perfect. She tapped in and triggered the mood of the crowd, directing the frightened people with deft mental pressure. Some of them found themselves blindly pelting for the stairs, keeping the Sigsback with a crush of bodies, others spilled out irresistibly onto the street, providing her and Lew with cover.

And for my next trick, she thought with grim amus.e.m.e.nt, I'm going to disappear. Watch this.

The sudden crush pushed Lew and Rowan out through the door, the heat like oil bursting against her skin. She shoved Lew in one direction-up the block, where Henderson would be waiting until it got too hot to stay around here with a van full of comm equipment and psions, no matter if they were s.h.i.+elded.

”Run!” she yelled, and Lew took off, not waiting to argue.

Thank G.o.d. At least he has some sense.

Then Rowan dropped a few layers of mental defenses, sending out a very public wave of fear and pain.

To the Sigs, it would feel like she'd gotten shot and made her first mistake.

Crystal cold clarity fell over her, the adrenaline freeze Justin had told her about. Everything seemed etched into memory, every fleck of glittering mica in the pavement and the sound of the sirens approaching, the screams and horrified yells of the people behind her, whooping fire alarms and braying sirens. Her own breathing, harsh and desperate as she flashed along the sidewalk.

I'm drawing them off, she said, and broke the link with Yos.h.i.+. She would need all her strength for eluding the net that now turned on itself, pivoting as the Sigma-trained psions moved their flank to encircle her. Now Henderson had a clear field to extricate himself from the critical zone and swing around to pick her up-once she got through the G.o.dd.a.m.n net, that was.

Pounding feet on the pavement, her boots flying. She had their locations now-the net was thick and tight, three deep. Rowan strained her memory for the layout of the city block Lew's office building was on. There was an alley-but that was a dead end.

It was punch through the net or nothing.

Rowan dashed out into the middle of the street, narrowly avoiding being hit by a silver BMW. Horns began to blare. She was deliberately making a lot of G.o.dd.a.m.n psychic noise.

And then ... contact, another mind sliding against hers, through every lock and defense. Brus.h.i.+ng past all the walls Rowan had painstakingly built to keep herself sane, keep everyone else out. There was no denying this touch. She catalogued it out of habit, though her entire body knew it, a wave of new strength flooding her bones. She grabbed for him the way a drowning woman would grab for floating debris.

Who the h.e.l.l are you? The voice was clear, familiar. Male, with a touch of bitterness over a deep well of reined anger. Rowan gasped and kept running up the yellow line, relief giving her feet fresh speed. The bafflement in the voice was a little worrying, but she didn't have time to think about that right now.

It's me! She sent a wordless flood of grat.i.tude as she saw two Sigs on the sidewalk. Cars were honking, and the two women in tan trench coats-one with close-cropped stubble, and the other with longer, jet-black hair framing a dead-eyed face-stared at her. Then the dead-eyed one jostled the shaved one, whose eyes swung down Rowan's body.

Rowan felt the psychic attack like thunderstorm p.r.i.c.kles along her upper arms and shunted it aside. She didn't even break stride-but the new voice inside her head suddenly reached, full of furious, frustrated pain. He flooded her like the sea inside a channel, using her as the equivalent of a booster station to increase his range and actually force his own psionic talent through her.She had only intended to knock the Sigma psion's attack away from her, spending its energy uselessly.

Instead, the girl with the shaved head stiffened, her head thrown back. Blood burst from her nose and she howled, a sound that cut through crowd noise, screams, sirens, and the horns of traffic now snarling from the mess down the block at Lew's building.

What are you doing? Rowan's mental voice hit a pitch of anguish that drove steel-tipped spikes through her brain. Justin, no!

If you're going to get out of there, was his imperturbable reply, you'd better move. Who the h.e.l.l are you, and why are you in my head?

She didn't have time to answer, having run out of mental hands to juggle with. The collective psionic pressure increased, trying to snag her, slow her down. Every step was a physical battle no less than a mental one. Gasping, her side on fire, Rowan ran. Everything now depended on speed.

She used to love running. Still did, even though she had to run on a treadmill instead of a track.

It's me, she thought, desperately reaching for understanding, for the rea.s.surance he had never denied her before. Don't you remember me?

I don't know what the h.e.l.l you're talking about. Get off the G.o.dd.a.m.n street. Justin's voice was as cold as a gun barrel pressed against her temple. She smelled cordite, bullets zinged past her. Cut left at the next intersection. Do it!

She saw the intersection up ahead. Almost lost the battle of keeping the collective pressure of Sigma away. Pain exploded in her chest, in her side. How many other psions was she fighting? Ten? Fifteen?

Where did they house them?

It doesn't matter. Move. He sounded utterly calm, but there was an undercurrent of something else-what was it?

The voice was familiar, but he sounded like a complete stranger. As if he didn't know her. A complex stew of bafflement, rage, and incomprehension tinted his mental voice, added to a deep wash of disbelief.

Rowan bolted through cars brought to a standstill by the chaos behind her. She zigged left at the intersection, gasping for breath, car exhaust and heat burning her eyes. The smell of fried food from the teriyaki joint with its doors propped open hit the back of her throat, she bowled into a man in a business suit and sent him flying. More zinging sounds-snipers.

Great. Her breath tore in her throat, a sudden st.i.tch grabbing her side.

They were trying to shoot her now, probably just to slow her down. The sound of shattering gla.s.s tinkled sweetly, a bright note in the song of exhaustion her body had become. The st.i.tch bloomed in her side, gripping along her ribs almost all the way up to her armpit.

It didn't matter.

Justin! Where are you? She reached for him frantically. He was here. She'd heard him, and she knew he was here. Heat simmered up from the pavement, and she was sweating, but goose b.u.mps thrilled across her skin as if she was cold.

Bam!