Allegiance of Honor (11 page)

TWO HOURS AFTER
Ivy’s investigation of the strange and deadly weakness in the Net, Aden Kai, leader of the Arrow Squad, stood in an office awash in the sunshine present on this side of the world, and listened to her report, then offered any assistance he or the squad could provide. Even as he spoke, he knew there was little the Arrows could do except protect the Es and attempt to rapidly patch up any tears in the psychic fabric that kept millions alive.

This was a battlefield for which they simply did not have the right weapons.

As he ended the call with Ivy, he considered the other items on his agenda. The Trinity Accord was at the top, the Ming situation a serious issue that could cause real-world violence if not handled correctly. There was also the case of Leila Savea, one of BlackSea’s vanished members.

Miane Levèque had updated Zaira directly on the message from the kidnapped marine biologist; Aden’s commander and the BlackSea alpha were fledgling friends, both women as dangerous as one another. The fact that Zaira and Vasic had brought three of Miane’s lost people home also had the BlackSea alpha far more apt to trust the squad.

“You understand what it is to treasure a child’s life,” she’d said to Aden once, her eyes as black as night rather than the clear hazel he was used to seeing. “It gives us common ground on which to stand.”

While Aden was already calculating how the squad could help in the retrieval of the BlackSea woman, it wasn’t because Leila Savea was an
innocent. Aden couldn’t think with his heart; he had to think first of the well-being of his Arrows, his strategy a long-term one. The squad needed to continue building relationships with other strong groups. Such relationships would keep their vulnerable alive should the world ever turn against the most dangerous predators in their midst.

That thought in mind, he sent an updated alert on the BlackSea situation to his men and women, then made a comm call to Lucas Hunter. “Lucas,” he said when the alpha answered on what appeared to be a small-screen device, the view beyond him of smoothly polished wooden logs.

The sunlight made it difficult to see Lucas’s face.

“I received your note.” In it, the leopard alpha had suggested they send out a simple vote on the Ming situation to all those who had already signed the accord.

The result could well decide the future of Trinity.

“You agree?” Lucas’s shoulders moved under the black of his T-shirt as he shifted to a more shaded spot. The clawlike markings on the right side of his face came into sudden, sharp focus.

“Yes,” Aden said in reply to the alpha’s question. “We can’t move forward while Ming’s trying to poison Trinity.”

“I’ll take care of getting the vote out.” The leopard male’s eyes glittered a green so feral, Aden knew he was no longer looking at the human part of Lucas, no matter the skin he wore. “Your people pick up anything else about Naya?”

“No, but it’s possible some data I just received is related,” Aden said. “An unnamed party was searching for a mercenary team five weeks to a month ago. The action was or is supposed to be in San Francisco.”

Lucas snarled but managed to keep his voice civil as he said, “Thank you, Aden.”

“I’ll update you immediately if we discover who took up the offer.”

Clearly coldly furious at the implications of the information Aden’s people had discovered, the DarkRiver alpha signed off with a nod.

Alone in his office again, Aden considered Trinity. It had been his idea, and while he still believed deeply in the agreement, it was becoming
obvious the divisions in the world ran far too deep for this to ever be a smooth journey.

You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink. Even if it’s dying of thirst. Not when it would rather fight the zebra on the other side.

Zaira had heard the human saying while she was posted in Venice, muttered it to Aden one night, and added her own pithy coda. Yet, despite her disdain for those who were causing problems, she remained his staunchest supporter. “You’ll do it, Aden,” she’d told him two nights earlier, the midnight dark of her eyes looking down into his as she rose up beside him on her elbow. “You always do what you put your mind to—even if it takes years.”

A sudden, narrow-eyed smile from his most lethal commander, the lamplight throwing a warm glow on smooth skin a shade somewhere between cream and sun-kissed brown, the color beautifully changeable; it all depended on the season and the strength of the sun. “Look at me. Took you decades, but now here I am, naked in your bed. Anyone who bets against Aden Kai is as big an idiot as those horses.”

His cheeks creasing at the memory of her acerbic words, Aden left his office and walked out into the sunlit landscape beyond. The Valley, as the squad had taken to calling this isolated piece of land cradled between the craggy peaks of two sets of mountains, was no longer as barren or as spartan as it had once been. Newly built cabins stood in small groupings, while pathways curved gently in and around those homes and across the Valley.

But though the newly planted gardens were blooming and the sun brilliant, he heard no childish voices, saw no young Arrows in the play area. A glance at his watch confirmed they were currently in afternoon classes.

Outsiders would see the Arrow teaching structure and declare it far too restrictive with too little room for innovation, but those outsiders didn’t understand that when a child could explode another’s mind with a simple passing tantrum, he or she
needed
walls,
wanted
safety and predictability.

Paradoxical as it was, such boundaries made the child feel more free.

The restrictions would be eased as each child became increasingly self-sufficient in terms of controlling his or her abilities. That step had already been authorized and implemented for the teenagers he saw studying in an outside green area when he walked around the corner. Because while structure was important, so was the ability to make independent decisions and the capacity to think creatively.

These children wouldn’t be forced into a path as Aden and his brethren had been, but many would end up working in the blood-soaked shadows nonetheless.

It was a dark truth for children born with violent psychic power.

Silence or not, so long as those of the Psy race were defined by their minds, the PsyNet would need the hunters, the ones who kept the innocents safe. Like all power, psychic power had a flip side. Changelings could turn feral. Psy could turn murderously insane.

What was no longer inevitable was being a lone hunter in the darkness.
Every
Arrow had a home here, had family. Even their most broken.

“Aden.”

Stopping to speak to the teens when they hesitantly called his name, Aden listened to their feedback on cooperative learning as the sun heated his back through the black of the T-shirt he wore in place of his Arrow uniform. “I’ll leave you to your work,” he said after ten minutes. “Don’t forget that your year group is supervising the under fives this afternoon.”

It had been Remi, alpha of the RainFire leopards, who’d suggested Aden utilize the teens to look after the youngest in the squad. It was how changeling packs worked, older children often in charge of younger ones—the arrangement built bonds across age lines, blurring the boundaries that had so often kept Arrows siloed in defined boxes.

The same applied to contact between children and elders.

Aden’s parents were technically elders, but he couldn’t see either Marjorie Kai or Naoshi Ayze interacting with the young without causing irreparable harm to their soft hearts. Yuri, though he was a number of years younger at forty-seven, was proving a better mentor in that respect.
Aden hadn’t expected it of the remote Arrow who’d lived more than four decades in Silence, but Yuri had proven to have endless patience when teaching a child.

And perhaps, just perhaps, those children were teaching Yuri, too.

The truth was that after Edward’s suicide, Aden worried about many of the senior Arrows, including the man who was one of Zaira’s most trusted people. He knew Yuri had struggled with the fall of Silence, unsure where he fit in this new world. Yesterday, however, Aden had happened upon an unexpected sight: Yuri seated at an outdoor table with Carolina standing on the bench beside him, the six-year-old’s hand on his shoulder and her pale blonde hair tied back as she peered intently at the organizer he was repairing.

Her concentration had been fierce, her forehead scrunched up. “I can do it, Yuri,” she’d said. “I can. Please, can I try?”

It was impossible for such a scenario to have taken place prior to the fall of Silence, but if it had, Yuri would’ve acted on his training and shut down the child’s request for the logical reason that Carolina didn’t yet have the manual dexterity to complete the delicate repair. But yesterday, Yuri had given the six-year-old the tiny laser tool, then held her soft hand steady with his scarred and leathery one as “she” made the repairs.

His expression had never altered, but the fact that he’d stayed there in the sunshine, nurturing a small child’s confidence . . . it spoke volumes.

A single act of kindness can change a life.

Zaira had said that to more than one Arrow, and it had slowly become an unofficial motto among the adults. When an Arrow who’d never experienced parental affection—the vast majority of the squad—didn’t know what to do or how to react to a child’s need, they defaulted to whatever seemed the kindest response, even if that response went against their training. Aden didn’t think Zaira realized the staggering impact of her words—adult Arrows liked structure, too, especially in this strange new territory they were attempting to navigate, this family they were building.

Music whispered on the wind, carried to him through the open windows of a classroom, art of any kind a gift that had returned to the Psy
after over a hundred years. The century of Silence meant they had no teachers. Humans and changelings did, but the squad would never permit anyone into the Valley they didn’t know inside out.

So the children learned from recorded lessons.

From the sounds Aden could hear, at present, they were enthusiastic if not in tune. Smile deepening, he went looking for Vasic and Zaira. The most important people in his life were both in the Valley this morning, and he wasn’t surprised to find them together. His mate and his best friend hadn’t always been friends themselves, but these days they often ganged up on Aden when they believed he needed a break.

Today, however, they were discussing a troubled telekinetic teenager who needed help of a kind only one adult Tk was qualified to provide. “Stefan,” Zaira said to Aden when he came to stand with his body touching hers. “Do you think he has the time to take on a trainee?”

“I haven’t spoken to him in over two weeks,” Aden said, in agreement with their choice of mentor. Stefan might’ve been termed “defective” during training and transferred out of the squad, but the Arrows considered him one of their own. “Vasic? Will Stefan’s current workload on Alaris allow him time to handle a trainee?” Last he’d heard, the deep-sea station was in the midst of a refit.

Vasic flexed the fingers of his newest prosthetic arm as if testing it, the skin of the unit a gleaming obsidian that meshed flawlessly with his Arrow uniform. “I’m not sure, but I’m seeing him later this week for a telekinetic sparring session. I’ll ask.”

A born teleporter, Vasic could go to the deep-sea station without problem. To him, it was no different than teleporting to another country. There was no issue with a change in air pressure, either, since the pressure inside Alaris was identical to that on the surface. Not that it would’ve bothered Vasic regardless.

Unlike everyone on the planet but those capable of teleportation across that vast a distance, he’d suffer no ill effects from a sudden change in air pressure. Researchers had been grappling with that little quirk since the
first time a teleporter figured out what he could do, courtesy of a scuba diving emergency.

“See if you can judge his mental state,” Aden said. “He might not be alone, but he’s still stuck under tons of water on a daily basis.” He’d always considered Stefan’s choice of work an odd one, given the psychological “flaw” that had gotten the other man kicked out of the squad’s training program.

“You know he’s as stable as a rock, has been for years.” Vasic’s smile was more suggestion than form. “At least he can finally openly share the reason why.”

Aden couldn’t argue with any part of Vasic’s statement. “Check anyway, ask if he’s happy to remain on Alaris.” The fall of Silence had changed everything; there was no reason for Stefan to stay underwater if he didn’t want to be there.

“I will.”

Nodding at his friend’s prosthetic, Aden said, “I could swear I saw you wearing a prosthetic with a metallic finish yesterday.”

“I was,” Vasic confirmed. “But that’s the piece Samuel uses to assess various components. This”—he flexed the obsidian hand again—“is his newest creation.”

“Any more effective than his previous one?” The gifted scientist had gone into a deep funk when the last prosthetic had shorted out in sparks, the wrist falling away from the forearm.

“Oh, it’s very
effective
,” Zaira said, a biting amusement in her tone. “Show him, Vasic.”

Vasic glanced around before walking over to pick up a branch.

His hand clamped around it. Dust drifted into the air.

“See, very effective.” Zaira’s comment was dead serious on the surface. “But not so useful if Vasic wants to stroke Ivy’s hair or hold her close—or pick up a glass to take a drink.”

Vasic closed his prosthetic hand around a rock. It came to the same dusty end as the branch. “I think I’ve proven this grasp has only one setting: ‘crush everything dead.’”

His friend was amused, too, Aden realized. “Rain will be disappointed,” he said as Vasic began to remove the prosthetic.

Floating it neatly to the ground using his Tk, the teleporter pinned up the sleeve of his shirt with his free hand. “Samuel won’t give up until he either dies or gets it right. Last time a prototype failed, he pulled at his hair until it stuck out in all directions, then declared he was Ahab and my prosthetic was his whale.”