Allegiance of Honor (37 page)

BOWEN KNIGHT, SECURITY
chief of the Human Alliance, was not having a good week. In the past forty-eight hours, someone in the Alliance had betrayed a possible ally to the Consortium. Yes, there was a minimal chance that the leak had come from BlackSea, but Miane Levèque didn’t think so and Bo agreed with her.

The timing pointed to an Alliance member.

Bo had realized from the first that there were apt to be Consortium stooges among the Alliance network—they had too many members and were too widely spread out for it to be otherwise—but having proof of it was a slap in the face to everything he wanted for his people.

That mess would’ve been bad enough, but almost on the heels of it had come a call from Ashaya Aleine that had dealt a catastrophic blow to the hopes he’d had that the human race could equalize the psychic playing field. “I’ve triple-checked every piece of data,” the scientist had said, the blue-gray of her eyes unusually dark. “There’s no mistake. The Alliance implants are beginning to degrade, with significant and likely fatal brain damage forecast as a secondary effect.”

Those implants were meant to block Psy from rifling through human minds at will and they
worked
. Since the day the implant went in, Bowen hadn’t had to worry about giving away secrets—private and of the Alliance—without realizing it. He hadn’t had a constant knot in his gut from never knowing when a telepath would reach in and violate his mind, possibly force him to act against his will. For almost a year, he’d been free
to be Bowen Knight, security chief of the Human Alliance and a man in charge of his own fucking destiny.

Now, the morning after he’d shared the devastating news with his senior people, all of whom had been implanted around the same time as Bo, he stood in the dawn-gilded splendor of Venice, on one of the sunken city’s iconic bridges, and looked at the canal water below. All the while, he was viscerally aware that inside his brain, things were going catastrophically wrong.

The Alliance’s internal medics and scientists had gone over Ashaya’s work, but even before they came back to Bo with confirmations, he’d known Ashaya wasn’t wrong. Ashaya Aleine wouldn’t have passed on the data unless she—and her equally brilliant twin—were certain beyond any doubt of their conclusions.

He’d been the first implanted but wasn’t yet showing any symptoms. One of the few Psy he trusted had confirmed the implant still functioned as intended, creating an impenetrable shield around his mind. As for the bad news, neither Ashaya nor the internal Alliance implant team knew when or if he—and the others from the first group—would begin to exhibit symptoms, whether it would be progressive or if it would go wrong all at once.

The one good thing was that because Bo and his senior people had been the first implanted and all but two were past the safe removal stage, they could act as the barometers. Everyone else who had the implant would be given the choice to keep it and risk death or brain damage, or have it removed and risk mental violation.

Hell of a choice.

Bo knew which one he would’ve made had he been offered it.

Irrespective of all that, he wasn’t about to give up, wasn’t about to accept that this was how it would end. He’d given Ashaya and the internal team carte blanche to run experiments, find a solution. If not in time for him, then in time for all those humans who’d make the choice to go to their deaths knowing they were safe from psychic rape.

Bo had authorized them to crack his skull and run whatever-the-fuck tests they wanted on his brain, should he die or even if he went into a vegetative state. But he refused to consider that future an inevitability.
He had countless more dreams to bring to fruition, the biggest and most important of which was to put the human race back on the political, social, and economic map. For centuries, they’d been thrust aside by the financial might of the Psy and the raw power of the changelings.

The changelings, at least, had never done it consciously. For the most part, they stayed within localized packs—but those packs were generally so cohesive that, despite their comparatively much smaller size and territorial focus, they were able to achieve things that disparate human families and individuals simply couldn’t.

The only groups that bucked the curve were human families who acted as a single unit. The bonds between their generations were tight, elders teaching youths and those in the prime of their life working for the good of the family rather than for individual glory or advancement.

That structure mirrored what Bo knew of changeling packs—and unexpectedly, it also appeared to be how the strongest Psy families held on to their power.

Bo had watched and learned and realized that for the wider human population to compete with the Psy and changelings on any level, he’d have to restructure human society itself, weave a widespread global population into groups of tight-knit “villages.” He also needed to find a way to overcome centuries of distrust and forge alliances with not just changelings, but with Psy, alliances his people would actually accept.

Signing the Trinity Accord had been a huge step on the road to his ultimate goal.

He didn’t want the power for itself.

He wanted it because it would keep his people safe.

One of those people came up to him at that instant, sliding her arm through his as she leaned against his side. “Our Venezia is such a beautiful lady in the morning,” his sister said, the evocative gray of her eyes on the glittering water through which a gondolier was slowly stroking his long, narrow craft.

Lily’s fingers were slender and pale against the brown of his skin; the exact shade had been described as “caramel” by a long-ago lover. If he
was caramel, Lily was warm cream mixed with sunshine, her birth parents both of Chinese descent where his had been Brazilian and Scottish. Her hair, too, was unlike his: slick straight and jet-black in contrast to the wave in the softer ebony of his when he let it grow out, and her body, it was so delicate that he had to stop his overprotective big brother response from going active any time he saw her with a man.

Their physical differences mattered nothing. They were blood by choice.

Soaking in her presence, he said, “Venice is Venice.” A waterlogged and elegant matriarch of a city that had hung on despite all predictions to the contrary. “What are you doing here? I thought you had a date.”

“I canceled it.” Her fingers tightened on his biceps.

“Lily.”
Easing away his arm, he put it around her shoulders and half turned to tug her against his chest. “I’m not going to disappear overnight, and you know I’ll fight to the bitter end. I’ve also got Ashaya and Amara Aleine onboard.” The two women had minds terrifyingly beautiful in their genius. Bo interacted only with Ashaya, and she seemed grounded, stable, emotionally healthy. However, he’d heard vague rumors that said her twin was anything but—the price of genius?

“Hey, talk to me,” he said to his own sister, the tiny girl his parents had brought home when she was a scared two-year-old orphan. According to his father, Bo had taken one look at her and loudly proclaimed he’d keep her safe. He’d done that, would continue to do it. Even if his implant went nova, what they found in his brain after death might finish what he’d begun.
“Lilybit.”

Lily’s hand clutched at the back of his T-shirt at the sound of the childhood nickname. “You should’ve let me have the implant at the same time, too.”

It had been a difficult decision for Bo to ask Lily to wait. He hadn’t wanted his sister vulnerable to unscrupulous Psy, but the risk of the implant had been significant enough to sway him. “You know we had to do it in stages, iron out the bugs.” So if the worst happened, the Alliance wouldn’t lose all of its strongest.

Lily had received her implant eight weeks after his, was still in the safe
removal zone should she choose to make that choice. He knew she wouldn’t, but he hoped Ashaya and the others would find an answer before it was too late for her. Not only because Lily was his baby sister, but because while his sister was formed of delicate lines, she had a steely spirit that would carry the Alliance through if he fell. But even steel bent under unbearable pressure, and today his sister crumpled into him, sobs shaking her body.

He just held her, rocked her. “Shh.” Stroking her hair when she finally went quiet, he said, “Tell me about this guy you canceled on. Will he pass the big brother test?”

Lily’s voice was thick with emotion when she spoke. “He has tattoos and piercings and he rides a jetcycle when on the mainland.”

Bo felt his eyebrows rise; steel will notwithstanding, Lily was about as ladylike as they came. She dated teachers and accountants and computronic techs. Men with soft hands and gentle voices. “You’re having a late teenage rebellion phase?”

She elbowed him, and that was good, that was his little sister. “He’s a doctor. A surgeon. He goes all over the world, wherever he’s needed—and he donates his time and skills for free as often as he can. He just likes body art and fast vehicles.”

Intrigued, Bo made a mental note to look up this tattooed doctor who’d put
that
tone in his sister’s voice. “Why don’t you call him? Reschedule your date?”

“I have a swollen nose and red eyes now.” She blew her nose on a tissue she’d pulled out of the pocket of her capri pants. “And I want to hang out with you.”

Tugging lightly at her hair when she went silent, he said, “You want to go on a gondola?”

“We’re not tourists.” A grumpy response.

“Who the hell says only tourists can play in the canals?” Snagging her hand to tug her down the bridge, he found them a gondola painted the standard sleek black and paid the gondolier extra to stay on shore while Bo took over his duties.

“Only for you, Bo,” the man said, tipping his iconic straw boater at
them. “I’m going to go have a coffee over there.” He nodded at a nearby café whose owner was just putting out his outdoor tables. “Come grab me when you’re done—and look after my lady. That’s my livelihood you’re borrowing.”

Saluting the other man in a silent promise, Bo pushed off.

Lily finally started to smile again ten minutes later, calling his attention to interesting buildings as they moved through the water. “It looks different from this angle,” she said from her seated position. “I love how quiet it is at this time of day and how you get to catch sight of things like that”—she pointed to a baker setting out wares hot from the oven—“see the city coming awake.”

Bo, upright in the traditional position to pole the oar through the water, was keeping an eye out as he always did—side effect of being security chief. And he saw what Lily missed. “Look to the left. Early morning tourist about to get his pocket picked.”

Putting two fingers to his lips, he whistled sharply. The would-be pickpocket’s head spun around, as did the tourist’s. Ignoring the latter, Bo met the eyes of the other. Shoulders slumping, the teenager glared at him . . . but turned and walked off in the direction he should’ve been heading. Toward school.

Lily chuckled. “Do you know everyone?”

“And their parents,” Bo answered dryly and continued on down the canal.

He was hoping to see a sleek form under the water, as he’d done a couple of times after BlackSea first made contact by doing the Alliance an intel favor, but that water remained empty. Even though Bo should’ve been worrying about his brain, now that the first shock had passed, he was back to being pissed off at the traitor or traitors who might’ve ended the Alliance’s chances of a friendship with the notoriously reclusive changeling group.

His muscles threatened to lock from the intensity of his reaction.

The fucking Consortium might be behind this, but each and every individual who’d signed up to join them bore his or her own responsibility. If Bo ever got his hands on them, they’d pay the price.

NIKITA READ THROUGH
the short and concise report Ivy Jane Zen had sent through to the Ruling Coalition about the serious deficiency in the Net.

Of humans.

No one, Nikita thought, had seen that coming, and not even the power and money at the disposal of the Ruling Council and their associates could fix it. Wanting to confirm that supposition, she contacted Sascha to ask if Psy could psychically coerce humans to bond with them.

The other Es would’ve been horrified and shocked at her question, but Nikita knew that while Sascha would be equally horrified, she wouldn’t be shocked. Her daughter knew how Nikita’s brain worked.

“No,” Sascha responded, her cardinal eyes flecked with sparks of color from whatever she’d been doing prior to Nikita’s call. “No one knows how humans are integrated into the Net without being an active part of it, but we do know coercion doesn’t work.” Her expression turned grim. “Otherwise, there would be other healthy sections.”

Sascha didn’t have to spell it out, not to Nikita: it was willful blindness to imagine that there weren’t at least a few Psy around the world controlling humans through a telepathic link at any given point in time. Personally, Nikita had always preferred to use other methods—not out of any ethical considerations, but because mind control was a waste of time and energy.

After the call to Sascha, she made one to Anthony, using every tool
at her disposal to keep the discussion strictly to Coalition business. It was more difficult than it should’ve been. Not only because Anthony had a razor-sharp intellect and a will as strong as her own, but because he’d somehow neutralized her defenses without doing a single aggressive act.

A man that powerful, that icily ruthless when the occasion called for it, who hadn’t eliminated her from the chessboard while she’d been wounded and defenseless? One who’d actually
protected
her?

It did not fit with Nikita’s worldview.

Neither did her reluctance to see his action as a weakness she could exploit.

Or her choice to call him when she could’ve sent an e-mail instead.

Ending the call before he saw too deep, as he had a habit of doing, she walked away from the wall-mounted comm to her desk and the black leather-synth of her executive chair. Since there was nothing she could do to assist the Es in their search for a solution to the human issue, she wouldn’t waste her time on it. When and if they needed her skills and connections, they would contact her.

As she’d already cleared all Coalition business for the day, she’d spend the second half of the morning going over the financial standing of an airjet company she intended to acquire for—

Pain lanced through her abdomen before she reached her seat.

A knife stabbing into her over and over again.

Gripping the back of her chair, she breathed in and out until it passed. The surgeons and M-Psy had done a stellar job, but she’d suffered a critical injury, and there were some types of healing that simply couldn’t be sped up.

Of course, according to certain parties, she was in this condition because of her impatience to get back to work.

Keeping a white-knuckled grip on the chair, she maneuvered around until she could take a seat. Tremors ran through her, disrupting her attempts to regulate her breathing. Weakness was not something she accepted in herself, but currently, she had no choice in the matter.

A knock on the door interrupted her only seconds later; it was
accompanied by a telepathic touch that identified the person on the other side as her senior aide, Sophia Russo.
Come in,
she telepathed since her breathing was still too irregular for speech.

Sophia was one of the few people Nikita trusted to see her in this condition—the former J-Psy and her ex-cop husband wouldn’t betray Nikita, so long as she didn’t cross the moral lines they’d lain down. Many Psy in her position would see it as a bad bargain on her part, but Nikita valued loyalty—to know she wouldn’t get a knife in the back was a priceless gift worth some readjustment of her methods and tactics.

Entering, Sophia crossed the carpet with a slim organizer in hand, but rather than speaking of work, she took one look at Nikita’s face and shook her head. Her charcoal-black hair was in a soft knot at the back of her head, her skin pure cream in the midmorning sunlight that poured through the new and significantly reinforced glass. “You need to rest.”

Nikita had her breath back. “I need to work.”

Sophia didn’t budge. Her body clad in a neat black skirt and sleeveless blue top, and her hands gloved in thin black material that protected her from accidentally sensing people’s lives, their secret horrors and dreams, the former J was no pushover. “You can send me instructions from your suite.”

Eyes of blue-violet took in the way Nikita’s hand was pressed flat on her desk in an effort to control the trembling. “Collapsing after overextending yourself is why you’re in such bad condition when you should’ve already been well on the way to a full recovery.”

Sometimes Nikita wondered why she kept Sophia in her employ. Of course, it was partly because the other woman told her the truth, no matter what. “There are people watching me. Duncan stocks will start falling again should anyone realize the state of my health.” It was why the medics always came to her, courtesy of a Tk in her employ. All were paid extremely well to keep their mouths shut. She’d also reminded them who she was and what she could do to their brains should they cross her.

Sophia’s eyes went to the glass of the walls behind and to Nikita’s left. “Even if someone is spying on your movements, they can’t know what
you’re doing if you step out. I’ll even make a note in your diary that you’re in an internal conference room in the unlikely scenario that someone is able to hack into our systems.”

The other woman placed her organizer on Nikita’s desk, her stance resolute . . . and concern in her gaze. The J had a softer heart than she liked to pretend. Nikita knew; she recognized the signs after raising a daughter with an even softer heart.

“You’ve made enough of an appearance today,” Sophia continued. “You also have a meeting at an external location tomorrow for which you need to be physically fit. I can juggle everything else so no one is the wiser about your health.”

Nikita’s abdomen was throbbing, but she couldn’t risk using the pain-control mechanisms she’d been taught as a child, lest she unknowingly ignore a bleed or a tear because she couldn’t feel it. “All right. I’ll read the airjet data package upstairs.” She’d get into bed first, try to sleep through the worst of the pain. “If the pain gets any worse, we’ll get an M-Psy in to run a scan.”

Sophia nodded. “I’ll send the package to your organizer.” The younger woman walked with Nikita to the door, stayed beside her as she got in the elevator.

Nikita didn’t tell Sophia not to accompany her upstairs. She was weaker than she could remember being for weeks—it was possible she might collapse.

She trusted Sophia to catch her.

It wasn’t until she’d changed into simple pajamas of navy blue and slipped into bed that she realized there was something she didn’t trust Sophia to do: keep her silence about Nikita’s condition when it came to two specific individuals.
Sophia
, she said telepathically.
Don’t contact my daughter or Anthony about the current status of my health.

I already did.

Nikita knew she should discipline her subordinate, but she simply didn’t have the energy.
We’ll discuss this after I rest.

The voice that came into her mind seconds later was a male one.
Sleep. I’ll make sure you’re safe.

I can keep myself safe,
Nikita said . . . or tried to say. Except her eyes were heavy from the exhaustion of maintaining her front as a ruthless woman undaunted by what could’ve been a fatal wound, and she’d become used to that male voice.

Anthony Kyriakus hadn’t yet let her down.

Sleep crashed over her in a black wave a heartbeat after that thought passed through her mind.