Crossways (53 page)

Kitty felt awash with guilt. She could have found out about Barb Rehling and Etta Langham from the safety of her room on Crossways, but she'd never have been able to explain away her access to Alphacorp's central files. At least the trip to York had covered up where the information came from. Dammit, she could possibly flash her Alphacorp ID and walk into Sentier-4 any time she liked, but if she did that she'd definitely be switching sides, and there would be no going back from that. What would happen to her mother then?

Much as she hoped Ben and Cara could find the settlers and deliver them safely to Jamundi, she couldn't bring herself to sacrifice her mother's security to make life easy for them.

There was a chance they could pull this off without blowing her cover, so she had to let them take it. She could turn a blind eye for a few days, but she couldn't be a part of the operation. One camera in the wrong place and there would be tough questions to answer.

She'd answered honestly when Ben had asked what she
knew about Sentier-4. She'd never been there and said as much.

“You don't want anything to do with this, do you?” Ben asked her as their shuttle sped south from Hunslet toward Lakenheath.

“Is it that obvious?”

“I don't blame you. When we meet up with
Solar Wind
at the Dromgoole Hub, you head back to Crossways by the same route we came. No sense in putting you in danger, too.”

“I hope you find Etta.”

“Thanks.”

And she did, but not enough to put her mother on the line to help them achieve it.

B
EN FIGURED IT WAS THE WORST PLAN Anyone had ever come up with, but without bringing a private army in to do a full-scale raid, it was the only option they had.

By the time they caught the commercial flight from Lakenheath to Dromgoole Hub, and he and Cara watched Kitty head for the next flight, the
Solar Wind
had docked in the adjacent terminal, this time disguised as a private yacht belonging to a pan-African billionaire with interests all over the galaxy.

Ben had been tempted to ask Mother Ramona to supply an ident code for Malusi Duma. Now that he knew who his grandfather was he itched to meet the man, but it was a bad time to piss off a long-lost family member. One day, he promised himself. One day he would look up his grandfather.

They made their way to the private dock.
Solar Wind
's ramp dropped for long enough to take them on board and then rose behind them again. Within minutes they were disengaging from the dockside and nudging out into space under Gen's steady hand.

“Hold on to your hats,” Gen warned, and then eased into foldspace and almost immediately out again before Ben
had had time to more than clutch the arm of the copilot's seat he was strapped into.

“Where are we?” Cara asked.

“Nowhere, or as good as,” Gen said.

Ben nodded. “Fourteen light-years from the nearest inhabited system. As good a place to hang out as any.”

“Permission to enter the flight deck, Captain?” Max hovered in the entrance tube.

“Yes.” Gen and Ben spoke together, looked at each other and shrugged.

“Is this where we're supposed to say: Let's get this show on the road?” Max asked. “Because I am so not feeling optimistic about this.”

“Why did you come, then?” Cara asked.

“Until you find yourself a new pilot with clearance to fly this ship in and out of the Folds, you're calling on my sweetie and our unborn child to carry you into ever-riskier endeavors. She's not going without me. And besides, you might need a Finder. Jussaro says I'm training up nicely.” He flopped down into the spare bucket seat. “Ronan's in sick bay with Mrs. McLellan. He's still not happy with all this, but he says you can go down whenever Cara's ready.”

Ben glanced at Cara. Was it his imagination or was she paler than usual?

Ronan wasn't happy with the plan.

Cara wasn't happy with the plan.

He wasn't happy with the plan.

Oh, yes, this was going to be great.

Cara's insides churned.

Ben asked again. “Are you sure about this?” It must have been the tenth time. In truth, she wasn't, but it had to be done sooner or later. As they approached sick bay the corridor seemed to get longer, or she was slowing down, and then, with a rush they were in front of the door. Ben waved his hand across the panel and the door whooshed open.

Cara paused on the threshold.

Donida McLellan sat in a float chair, Ronan half in front of her as if protecting her. Maybe he was.

She's back on Olyanda. Harsh sunlight slants down onto
the temporary town they've all taken to calling Landing. Ari's mercs are standing around watchfully, all armed. Her memory doesn't acknowledge the fact that those same mercs have since become friends. Ari and Donida McLellan are a safe distance away, but McLellan is hovering on the edge of Cara's mind. Cara knows what she's supposed to do. It's Ari's special treat for her, make her kill her lover and one of her best friends. Her body's moving while her mind is screaming. No!

Ben and Ronan have been forced to their knees in the open space in front of the saucer-shaped landing vehicle and she's standing behind them with a knife. It's a good knife, a killing knife. She can see Ben's blistered flesh beneath the burn across his buddysuit shoulder. Ronan must have done a good job because Ben's awake, upright, and holding in his pain.

“How are you?” Ben asks her as though they've met during a walk in the park on a spring morning.

“I'm fine, now,” she murmurs, not daring to risk mind-to-mind contact. Donida McLellan is too close. “How are you?”

“I've been better.” Despite everything, his voice carries an implicit smile that's just for her. “But I'll hold together for a while longer.”

She raises the knife, holding it lightly in her right hand. “I'm supposed to use this.”

“I know. Do it quickly if you're going to.”

*Finish him!*
Donida McLellan is in her mind again. Cara feels her grip on the knife tighten, and she takes a pace forward involuntarily.

She glances back to Ari and McLellan. McLellan has one hand out. Ari's supporting her.

So McLellan isn't invincible after all.

A light switches on in Cara's head. McLellan has taught her some hard lessons, but she's always been a good student.

She turns back to Ben. He looks at her over his shoulder. She feels energy flow, feels Ronan in the mix. She seizes McLellan's last thought and turns it back toward her. McLellan drops to her knees, scrabbling at Ari's arm. He steps back, shaking her off like a street beggar, his face a mask of surprise and revulsion. She doesn't even look human anymore.

Cara took a deep breath. “Don't worry, Ronan, I'm not
going to kill her, though there are times when I've dreamed of it.”

“I'm sure you have. You understand why it's a bad idea?”

“Killing someone?”

“Killing her. Specifically, you killing her.”

“Because she'd be dead and we wouldn't be able to use her?”

“Apart from the obvious.”

“Because it would hurt her more than it would hurt me?” She kept her voice flippant, but something cold had lodged itself in her throat.

“Try that the other way around.”

She swallowed. “I've killed with my mind. I'm already a monster, but I'm a monster that's not going to let anyone hurt me again.”

It was the first time she'd said it out loud. She heard Ben draw breath behind her.

“That was an accident,” Ronan said quietly. “You only intended—”

“To knock him out, I know.”

“Cara,” Ben said softly. “You probably saved everyone. It gave me the chance to get a weapon, evened up the odds a bit. Don't beat yourself up over it. It's not who you are.”

“It's what I can do.”

“It's not all you can do.” Ben moved up close.

She nodded—an acknowledgment of sorts—and turned toward McLellan, her heart skipping a beat as she noticed something close to recognition in McLellan's eyes. It was gone as soon as she spotted it, but it made her gut flip over one more time.

“You're sure she's completely out of it, Ronan?” she asked.,

“If there's anything of McLellan left in there it's buried so deep I can't find it.”

“Okay.” She held on to Ben for support and reached for McLellan's mind.

The next thing she knew she was on the floor and Ben was on his knees next to her, his voice full of concern. “Cara. Cara!”

“Mm . . . All right. All ri . . . What just happened?”

“You tell me.”

She squinted up at him, then at Ronan, who was just
fixing McLellan's safety restraints on the float chair so he could leave her for a moment. She couldn't have been out long.

Ronan knelt too, and together he and Ben eased Cara upright. Her knees felt like jelly, and she was grateful to be able to sit on the end of Ronan's exam table. She held out her hands. They were shaking.

“Let's go over it,” Ronan said. “You tried to make a connection—and then what?”

“I thought she was fighting me.”

Ronan shook his head. “I don't see how she could be. Maybe it's your own hangups. She screwed you over pretty well, got inside your head, messed with your memories. There's residual McLellan in your own head. Perhaps—”

“Yes, that must be it. Give me a minute and I'll try again.”

“Take as long as you want.”

Was it just Cara's imagination that told her McLellan sniggered?

She took several deep breaths and centered herself. “All right. Take two.”

She thought of Donida McLellan as she had first seen her on Sentier-4 when Cara had been completely at her mercy. She walked ramrod stiff, never smiled, cocked her head slightly to the right when listening intently, had a voice that was hard and crisp—imperious. She expected to be obeyed.

And her mind . . . Cara was usually trying to avoid close contact with her mind, but McLellan had been too strong for her. Cara, on reisercaine, couldn't resist.

Well, she wasn't on reisercaine now.

She reached for McLellan's mind again.

Ben caught her as she teetered sideways. “That's enough, Cara. It was an idea worth trying but it's not working.”

“No, I can do it.”

The bitch was fighting her. Whether it was McLellan herself, or the echo of McLellan in her own mind, there was only one way to do this.

She didn't give herself the opportunity to wimp out. She reached again, this time pushed past any resistance and she was in.

The world slipped sideways, suddenly she was looking at
herself, propped up between Ben and Ronan, eyes glazed. “Is that me?” Her voice sounded sharp to her own ears. “I look like hell.”

She tried to stand, but the safety straps on her float chair kept her seated.

“Cara!” Ben was caught between her body and her consciousness, not knowing which one to take more notice of. She wanted to giggle, but McLellan would never giggle. She sat up straight. Held her head just so. “I can do this,” she said. “Let's go.”

Ben shook with relief when Gen brought
Solar Wind
in to land on the pad carved out of compacted ice. The creature in foldspace had come too close for comfort, ever more curious and demanding of his attention.
Soon,
he'd promised it.
We'll talk soon.
But he was lying. Did it know?

He'd barely even noticed Gen giving their ship ID—forged again—to Sentier-4's traffic control, and informing them that Mrs. McLellan was coming home.

He took a few deep breaths—
Pull yourself together, Benjamin!
—and nodded an acknowledgment to Gen. “Once we're in the tunnel, pull up the ramp and don't open it again for anyone except us.”

“I know the routine.”

“Good.”

“Boss—”

Ben turned.

“Don't let anything happen to Max. I'm not ready to be a widow yet.”

He wanted to reassure her that it wasn't going to be dangerous, but the platitudes dried in his throat. “I'll do my very best.”

“You always do.”

The first thing he saw at the top of the ramp was Mrs. McLellan, upright, walking and talking, but it was Cara who looked out at him through her eyes. Cara's body, dressed in nothing but a soft-suit, was slumped in the float chair, eyes glazed, drool glistening on the corner of her mouth. Ronan tightened the safety straps and wrapped a foil blanket around her. It was twenty below out there, a serene summer day on Sentier-4.

“She can't manage to operate both bodies at once,” Ronan said. “If you want McLellan walking and talking this is the best we can do.”

Ben nodded. Cara in a float chair. Oh, yes, this was going to be great.

Sentier-4 was little more than a rock, just on the far edge of the habitable zone of its star. The atmosphere, while not actively poisonous, was thin and unsustaining and all the surface water was frozen at the poles. The desolate South Pole was where Alphacorp had chosen to build its Neural Readjustment facility, a cube of Brutalist architecture on the surface with many levels carved into the rock beneath. Life on Sentier-4, such as it was, was confined to a few single-celled microorganisms and the inmates of the cube.

“How are you doing, Cara?” Ronan asked.