Pirate Nemesis (Telepathic Space Pirates Book 1) (6 page)

“How old is she?” asked Reaper. His voice sounded distant to his own ears. He was going to that cold, familiar place of quiet inside. The stillness before death.

“What?” Mateo was clearly startled by the question.

Reaper just looked at him. He knew his eyes had chilled to pale chips of white blue.

“Um, hard to say in her current condition,” Mateo said nervously. “I’d guess somewhere in her twenties, maybe early thirties.”

Young, then. Too young to be Lilith’s missing daughter. Not too young to be her granddaughter. A flash of memory hit Reaper, of standing on a spaceport dock staring at a young girl as she begged him to let her go. To this day, he didn’t know why he’d done it. He was a Killer, not one to be moved by emotional pleas. But she’d stared at him with green eyes wide with terror, and he’d been powerless to refuse her.

He’d asked himself countless times since, why? Why had he allowed her to leave? Why had he distracted his brother Dem, a Hunter on his first hunt, to give her time to escape? The only answer he could come up with chilled him to the bone. Because that girl was a queen. And her influence, even as a child, had been so great he’d been powerless to refuse her.

Now it was possible their paths had crossed once again. More than possible. Queens were the rarest of Talented, and Reaper had never seen or heard of another. For a small, frozen eternity, he considered killing her. Seriously weighed it. The pirates were doing all right with Cannon at the helm. Another queen was a risk; one he wasn’t sure he was willing to take.

Dispassionately, he looked at all the possibilities. And realized that a queen’s abilities were more than just about calming the populace. A queen, a true queen, like Lilith, could hold the key to their survival. Or she could finish what the virus had started eleven years ago and destroy what remained of them.

Part of him wanted to kill her, regardless. Lilith had targeted his family more than once. Tried to assassinate his mother. Arranged to have his father killed. If the virus hadn’t ended her, Reaper would have. But too much was at stake. When the virus swept through, moving from ship to ship and colony to colony, attacking female Talented minds young and old, it wiped out nearly half their population before they managed to get it under control. In the decade since, they had made little ground toward recovery.

Like it or not, they needed another queen and what her Talents could do for them. For now, they needed her. If she became another Lilith, Reaper would reevaluate. For a moment, that young girl in his memory looked at him with pleading eyes once again. Would he still be so susceptible to her now, as an adult? He pushed the thought aside. There would time to wonder about that later. Right now, they had a mission.

“That woman is now our primary,” he said finally.

Everyone stared at him. He felt the weight of their eyes, their questions. It said something about their training, or perhaps their fear of him in this moment, that no one voiced those questions out loud.

“We retrieve her at all costs. Alive.”

I
will kill her
. Willem Frain’s mental voice was cool and matter of fact. He thought the words with no inflection, his expression smooth and calm. Mercy believed him. She was also terrified that the only choices she had were to watch Atrea die, or damage her irrevocably in trying to prevent it.

Because she’d found it. That infinitesimal hint of Talent in Atrea’s mind. Barely visible, it was more of a feeling than anything, a suggestion of that familiar warmth so prevalent in the Talented minds around them. Mercy had stumbled across it while drifting without any sense of purpose or direction in Atrea’s mind, letting the thoughts and memories filter past her without paying attention to any of them.

Unfortunately, Willem knew she’d found it. He was, she realized, in her head, a phantom presence in the background, watching and patiently waiting for precisely this moment. Just so he would know, and could threaten Atrea one more time in a bid to force Mercy to do what he wanted. She was really getting tired of that. She fought the sudden, irrational urge to attack him in the only way she could, here in her own mind. The only thing that stopped her was what he might do to Atrea. Mercy was pretty certain that while she had no real notion of how to kill someone with her mind, Willem Frain was some kind of expert. He wasn’t holding a disrupter to Atrea’s head, but Mercy could sense something, a coiled tension to his presence that let her know he was prepared to do…something.

Mercy. Stop wasting time. Do it now.

Do what?
She wanted to scream the words at him. She had no idea what she was doing, didn’t he understand that? She didn’t want to damage her friend’s mind.

Instinct will lead you,
he told her implacably.
If you don’t take that hint of Talent and make it real and viable, she is useless. I will do more than damage her, and my patience is officially at an end. Do it now, or not at all.

If Atrea dies, I have no reason left to cooperate with you,
Mercy told him desperately.
You will have nothing to hold over me.

I see. Remember, Mercy, you chose this.
Before she could react, she felt the tension in his mind release. Something with the appearance of black smoke moved like quicksilver from his mind to Atrea’s. It left a miasma of oily sickness in its wake, hitting Mercy with waves of disorientation and nausea. She choked on it, struggling to hold onto her thoughts even as she screamed at him.

Stop! Atrea, Atrea!

Mercy…what’s happening? Something…
Atrea’s thoughts dissolved into incoherence. Nightmare images and gibberish words made a chaos of noise without sound. Mercy had to fight to keep them out, to separate her own mind enough to stay clear.

In a moment, the waves of turmoil and nausea lessened and stopped, and Mercy could think clearly again. Panic seized her as she saw the black smoke settling in the crevices of Atrea’s mind, sliding between thoughts and memories until it filled all of the spaces between.

What have you done?
She raged at Willem Frain.
I will kill you for this.

There is still a chance for your friend. Give her Talent, Mercy, and I will save her from the lethal poison I just unleashed inside her mind.

He’d given Atrea some kind of poison? How was that even possible?

She has little time, Mercy. Do it.

I don’t know how!
If she could have, Mercy would have pounded her fists against something in sheer frustration. Preferably against Willem Frain’s skull. Unfortunately, she sat immobilized to a chair by gravity bindings. She couldn’t move her fists beyond clenching the fingers more tightly together.

If you fail, she will be dead within the hour. An excruciating hour.

Desperate, Mercy scrambled back to where she’d felt that hint of warmth, searching through the chaos her friend’s mind had become, sliding past the nightmares and black smoke. She ignored images of Wolfgang Hades dying a horrible death in the cold of space, shut out the sound of Atrea screaming as she watched an image of Mercy being cut apart in some kind of lab. These were distractions, ghostly images trying to pull Atrea down into insanity. Mercy had no time to think about them now.

She found it then, burning more brightly in this new darkness. Without stopping to think it through, Mercy grabbed that hint of warmth and yanked on it as hard as she could, using the strength of her own mind to build it into something bigger, something more. It occurred to her that the glow seemed to be beating back the black smoke, and she redoubled her efforts, pouring her own energy into that speck of light until it grew, blinding in its brilliance. Just when she thought she’d run to the end of her own ability, when she had nothing left to give, it burst outward in a wash of spectacular colors: purple, blue, gold and green, a display as awe-inspiring as it was powerful. The shockwave threw Mercy out of Atrea’s mind, and Willem Frain out of hers.

Bright spots of light danced in front of her eyes, her own mind feeling heavy and distant. Her ears were ringing, and something warm and wet dripped from her nose and over her lips, tasting metallic and strange. Blood. Mercy tried to speak, and found she couldn’t make her lips move, couldn’t make her tongue obey her commands. For a moment, she was grateful for the gravitational field holding her bound to the chair. She was pretty sure it was the only thing keeping her upright.

Then the world lurched and came into focus. The ringing in her ears had either stopped or faded, because she could suddenly hear noise all around her. People were talking all at once, something about an airlock and a ship. A woman’s voice said she had the samples, asked Willem what he wanted to do. And Willem? He was laughing, sounding just a little bit drunk and a lot crazy. But over all of that, one sound had Mercy’s blood running cold, adrenaline chasing the last of the muddled feeling from her system.

Atrea was screaming. Screaming like someone in untold amounts of pain, like the sound was being ripped from her forcibly, raw and keening. Someone lifted the scanner away from her, and it just made the screaming louder. A man rushed in and jabbed a capsulet into her leg. Atrea slumped into her bonds, all the tension leaving her body at once.

“What are you doing? Help her!” Mercy found her voice, forced her mouth to shape the words. They came out much weaker than she intended, barely audible even to her own ears. She was afraid that using telepathy right now would send her spiraling into burn out, and she couldn’t afford that. She strained against her bonds, her vision still colored with spots, painting people as shadows outlined in light.

“Willem.” She focused on him, said his name louder. “Willem! Help her, damn you.”

He leaned against one of the tables, his expression a strange mixture of triumph and something like fear. A woman grabbed his arm, shouting at him. Three other people were running to the door, disrupters in hand. A man moved with them, no weapon in his hands, his body moving with a strange, stiff gait that looked unnatural. He was athletic, arms and back corded with muscle that he must have worked to build. More than anything, that identified him as some kind of soldier, one who didn’t rely purely on his Talent. He wore supple, armored clothing that wouldn’t do much more than slow down a knife blade. Then Mercy realized she could see a faint shimmer around him, a shield of some kind surrounding his body.

It occurred to her that something more was happening, that something beyond what she had just done to Atrea was behind this chaos. She didn’t care. Whatever it was didn’t matter right now. Only Atrea.

“Can you take them both, Octavia?” Mercy heard Willem ask the woman beside him. Focusing back on them, she was startled to realize the woman was no more than a young girl, maybe seventeen at most. Her eyes were wide and frightened. She shook her head.

“I can take the samples, and you. Unless you want to stay behind, sir.”

Willem’s eyes narrowed, his mouth tightening. Mercy had seen the expression often enough to recognize when an answer displeased him. So did the girl, apparently, because she flinched before she caught herself, the smooth pallor of her ebony skin taking on the ashen undertone of fear.

“I—I could try, but if I’m not strong enough, we will all be lost. Sir.”

Willem appeared to consider before shaking his head.

“No, that is too great a risk.” He cursed softly.

Over by the door, the man with the strange walk had stopped. The others moved to either side, waiting, but he stood directly in front of the hatch. A sudden blast of heat washed from him over Mercy, and she realized he was doing something with his Talent, something big. It built inside of him until he outshone everyone else in the room, a beacon that called to her and made gooseflesh raise along her arms at the same time. Then the pool of power burst out of him in a bubble she could see. It filled the doorway, a shimmering wall of telekinetics, giving a pearlescent sheen to the empty doorway. It was more than just a shield. Mercy could tell by the way those nearest edged away from it, fear etched onto their faces. The man smiled and stepped back, hands loose at his sides, an expectant bounce to his feet. He didn’t look afraid. He looked eager.

Mercy’s heart pounded as adrenaline hit her. Someone was here. Someone had found them. She looked over at Atrea’s unconscious form, and felt a rush of tears. Someone who was too damn late.

Willem Frain moved into her line of sight.

“We could have learned so much more,” he said. “It is a tragedy, but a possibility we prepared for.”

Mercy glared at him, saying nothing.

“I am truly sorry, Mercy,” he said. “I had hoped to continue our experiments for some time longer. I’m afraid that will no longer be possible.”

“You said you would help Atrea.” Mercy had never hated anyone as much as she did Willem Frain in this moment. “You fucking killed her.”

“Yes. I’m afraid she will die. You can take small comfort. She won’t live long enough to go mad from you’ve done to her.”

“What
you
have done.”

He favored her with a small smile, kneeling in front of her while the girl huddled behind him, casting anxious glances toward the door, and gripped a temperature-controlled travel case tightly.

“Yes, I suppose we are equally responsible. It is too bad that Octavia’s Talent is not stronger. I would have enjoyed watching you awaken Talent in someone again, Mercy.” Willem reached up a hand and wiped away the blood still dripping from her nose. “Although it does appear to take its toll on you to do so. Something else to note into the log, I suppose.”

“Fuck you,” she bit out.

His smile faded. “I will not miss your vocabulary, however.”

He reached up a hand and cupped her face, the action much like a lover’s, but the touch impersonal and cold. His mind touched hers, and Mercy was horrified to see that same coil of black smoke he’d unleashed on Atrea. It gathered like a storm, roiling and spinning in the cage of his mind as he poised to release it.

“I
am
sorry, Mercy,” he said. “It is an unspeakable loss to end your life. However. If we can’t have you, and all that.”

Mercy felt his shields open, and tried with everything she had to strengthen her own, already shredded and weakened as they were. She flinched away, waiting for the inevitable impact of sickness and turmoil to hit her mind with the black smoke.

Nothing happened. She stared at him, saw him narrow dark eyes that sparked with sudden irritation. His shields opened wider, and still the coils of smoke didn't move. She saw his jaw work with effort, his whole body tense. Something was wrong. The mental poison stayed where it was, deadly and waiting within his mind. Her shields were not keeping it out; it simply did not move toward her.

Mercy felt the sudden presence of more Talented minds at the same moment that one of Willem’s people by the door called out, “They’re here.”

With a curse, he stood. He pulled a disrupter free and pointed it at Mercy. He pressed it to her head, a lethal range for a weapon that normally stunned its targets. She stared at him while he stared back. She could feel the tension in his body, but by now was starting to realize that something was happening, something outside Willem’s control. His finger poised on the trigger, and didn’t move.

“Sir.” Octavia sounded nervous behind him. “Sir, we should go.”

Willem stared at Mercy, not moving. Dimly, she was aware of what was happening by the hatch. The man in the center took one step forward, and
pushed
with his mind. The telekinetic wall he’d built suddenly exploded outward, an iridescent tangle flying down the hallway like shrapnel, the shards like jagged knives of psychic energy. Mercy felt them hit some kind of wall, the impact jarring. Suddenly, the man was no longer smiling. A strange look crossed his face, and then his entire body went limp, and he collapsed into a boneless heap, a puppet with its strings cut. The light of his Talent snuffed out as suddenly as a candle flame in a gust of wind. Willem’s head whipped toward the movement, his eyes wide.

They have a Killer,
one of Frain’s people broadcast this news in a mental voice laced with pure panic.
They have—

The voice cut off abruptly, and another mind went dark.

“Sir!” Octavia’s voice had risen. She grabbed his arm, the one holding the disrupter. “We have to go
now
,
now, now!
Please!
”

Willem’s arm lowered. The two other minds by the door went dark, bodies falling bloodlessly to the floor.

“Do it,” he said grimly. In the next instant, he and Octavia disappeared in a flash of Talent that literally blinded Mercy.

When she blinked her eyes to clear them, people she didn’t know were moving into the room from the hallway, stepping over bodies with the precision and care of professional soldiers. They all wore armored clothing, and it looked like some kind of uniform. Black, with pale blue piping at the collar. Their minds glowed with the familiar warmth she had come to associate with Talent. Yet Willem had run from them.

She stared blankly at the bodies on the ground, men and women responsible for kidnapping and imprisoning her. Responsible, ultimately, for whatever fate had in store for Atrea. She couldn’t drum up an ounce of guilt or sympathy for their deaths. If she felt anything at all, it was regret that Willem Frain wasn’t among them. That somehow, he’d escaped.