Prodigal (54 page)

Ghostrider
lumbered out of the hangar bay, spitting plumes from her control jets. Nathan barely cleared the ramp, thumping his gear against the leading edge before
Almacantar
peeled away from the canopy glass. Only when the dome of space enveloped him completely did Nathan allow himself to breathe again—though his heart still pounded hard, shaking off a stale adrenaline rush.

He parsed a tactical feed on the inflight monitor, plotting the distance between
Ghostrider
and the large vessel. Nathan waited until he had better than five kilometers before he even thought about trying the stick—a fly-by-wire implement that responded to the slightest touch. He rolled the ship several times before he got a feel for it, then leveled off on his original course. With some light rudder, Nathan managed to bring
Ghostrider
about—the lonely specter of
Almacantar
now directly ahead, her landing bay door closing.

Two minutes, seventeen seconds until jump.

Nathan closed in.

Applying power to the main engines, he laid on speed until
Almacantar
filled the entire cockpit window. Then he cut back, braking his approach with reverse thrusters—bleeding momentum so fast that he sent himself into a negative spin, nearly augering into the hull before he could flatten out.

“Son of a
bitch,
” Nathan cursed, jockeying the stick.

Nathan blinked several times to clear his senses, using the stars as a fixed-point reference to orient himself. Miraculously,
Ghostrider
avoided collision—but by the narrowest of margins. By the time Nathan matched
Almacantar
’s bearing and velocity, he floated a scant seven meters above main engineering.

“Okay”—he sighed—“now comes the hard part.”

He craned his head over the side, looking for a smooth spot to set down. He found it between two of the hybrid pods—a tiny area, not much bigger than
Ghostrider,
in a turbulent zone saturated with hot reactor gases. Nathan gazed into those propulsion streams, enough energy to push
Almacantar
’s bulk through deep space—and to fry him in an instant if he brushed against it.

The display, meanwhile, kept counting down.

Thirty-eight seconds until jump.

Nathan dived between the exhaust streams, waves of heat buffeting the ship. With the gear already down, he turned on the electromagnetic clamps—proximity alarms screaming mortal danger, the fuselage twisting from thermal shear. Looking out the window, Nathan fully expected to see the wings disintegrate in a fiery ball while the rest of the ship tore away piece by piece—but somehow, she held together.

“That’s it,” he urged. “That’s my girl.”

The altimeter raced the countdown clock, one meter at a time. Nathan balanced the thrusters against one another, his muscles crying out for relief as he held the stick in both hands, not daring to take his eyes off the horizon. Far ahead, the stars began to shimmer—blurring at first, but then streaking as
Almacantar
prepared to make her jump.

Five seconds.

Three more meters.

Two seconds.

One last meter.

A horrendous jolt rocked
Ghostrider
as her gear touched down.

Contact…

Nathan closed his eyes.

Lea stretched across the bunk in her tiny cell, staring at the ceiling. There wasn’t a square centimeter on her body that didn’t hurt, and being locked up had only given her time to ruminate on her pain—exactly as Trevor Bostic had intended. He never resorted to torture as a first option, not when there were more effective tools to work with. Bostic already knew that Lea would punish herself far more than he ever could, that she would look upon any suffering that he inflicted as just punishment—and so he allowed her to simmer, wondering what her fate might be while imagining the worst. Lea had to give him credit. It was a clever tactic.

She just didn’t give a damn.

Even when the door slid open and two uniformed guards came in, Lea could barely muster enough interest to roll off her bunk. The most she could manage was a tired sideways glance, followed by a bitter smile. The men Bostic sent for her were from T-Branch. She had to admire the irony.

“Major Prism,” one of them said. “Would you come with us, please.”

He didn’t phrase it as a question. His partner pulled a stun wand from his belt to make sure Lea understood.

She released an impatient sigh, cracking her bloody knuckles as they cuffed her, then ushered her down the hall. They followed her closely through the bowels of Corporate Special Services, deep into the basement levels—a place Lea had heard about, but had never seen. CSS had never even bothered to give the facility a name, though everybody knew what happened down here. In the unofficial lexicon, it was known simply as the Shaft—a long, dark tunnel to nowhere, reserved for prisoners of special importance.

And now me.

Lea walked through a maze of carbon-glass walls, tinted black so nobody could see into the cells beyond—cramped spaces like the one she had just left, which left her with the uneasy impression of a thousand eyes watching her from the other side. Even more disturbing was the utter
lack
of sound. Moans and screams would have been easier to take. At least it would have been something
real,
not the darkness of Lea’s imagination.

What difference does it make? They’ll never let you out of here anyway, so you better get used to it.

But when she saw Trevor Bostic waiting for her personally, she knew immediately that he had something else planned.

“Good afternoon, Lea,” he said brightly. He stood outside one of the cells, neatly attired in a silk suit and matching tie—the kind of ensemble a
real
gangster might wear. “Nice of you to join me. Sorry about the accommodations, but rules are rules.”

“You ought to know, Bostic,” Lea retorted. “You wrote the damned book.”

“Yes,” he acknowledged, then flashed her a knowing look. “Still, I think we can make an exception in your case.” He nodded at the guards, who unchained her, then left the two of them alone.

“Aren’t you afraid I might try to kill you?” Lea asked, rubbing her wrists. “It’s not like I have a lot left to lose.”

“I suppose you could look at it that way. On the other hand, you could look at it as an opportunity.”

Lea slumped against the glass.

“Enough with the head games, Bostic,” she said. “I’m not in the mood.”

“No, I imagine you’re not,” he agreed, studying her closely. “Not after all you’ve been through.”

“So why am I here?”

“To make you see what you couldn’t see before—that you can still trust me.”

She laughed. “Like I trusted Tiernan? That was a good one, Bostic—almost as good as your peace offering. I gotta admit, I never saw it coming.”

“That was
his
choice, Lea.”

“And you had nothing to do with that, did you?”

“I took advantage,” Bostic explained casually, “the way any businessman would. You’re an investment, Lea—and I protect all my investments.”

“I’m getting all warm and tingly inside.”

He smiled crookedly. Apparently, he never got tired of this.

“If only that were true,” he lamented. “Still, it beats the alternative. Special Services has a well-deserved reputation for ruthlessness, Lea. I wouldn’t treat that lightly if I were you.”

Lea folded her arms defiantly. “Save your threats, Bostic. I’m way past that.”

His eyes narrowed.

“
Are
you?” Bostic asked. “Are you really that sure?”

Subconsciously, she looked away from him for a split second. It was all the sign of weakness he needed.

“Let’s find out,” he said.

Bostic punched a key code next to the door where Lea stood. As she turned around, the opaque glass faded to transparency—fully revealing the horror within. Lea recognized the mosaic of video feeds plastered all over the cell, which floated on virtual mists that filled the entirety of the tiny space. They came from Osaka, uploaded from the Deathplay rip at the Kirin—the scene of the Goth massacre. In constant rotation, the victims died a hundred deaths, each time worse than the one before—projected with tec-fueled intensity at the lone occupant of the room, who twisted and writhed at the onslaught.

Avalon…

Stripped of her sensuit, she lay strapped to a bare table. Fiber protruded from her temples, carrying the Deathplay directly to her cerebral cortex. Her mouth opened wide in a guttural scream, muffled by the carbon glass—but Bostic wouldn’t let it go at that. He touched another button on the door panel and allowed Avalon to be heard, gradually increasing the volume until it filled Lea’s ears.

Shrieking like that you never forgot.

Shrieking like that you took to your grave.

“She’s really quite resilient,” Bostic observed. “Her condition prevents her from feeling the full impact of physical pain—which necessitated a more creative approach.”

Lea took a step back, unable to watch but unable to turn away.

“The Deathplay works wonders,” Bostic went on, “especially since she had personal involvement with the victims.” He glanced back at Lea. “Rather poetic justice, wouldn’t you say?”

“Turn it off, Bostic.”

“Don’t go soft on me, Lea,” he scoffed. “This is the woman you’ve been hunting down—the same woman who turned your life into a nightmare. Doesn’t she deserve punishment?”

“I said
turn it off
!”

Bostic seemed genuinely surprised. He waited long enough to be sure that Lea meant it, then killed the speaker. Avalon continued her suffering in silence, until the glass mercifully frosted over and faded to black.

“I see my point has been made,” he said, straightening his tie. “But I confess, I expected more of you, Lea.”

Lea burned in slow anger, clenching her fists.

“What are you going to do to her?”

“We’ll keep the pressure on until she talks.”

“She won’t.”

“Then there’s no harm in executing her, is there?” Bostic frowned at her questions, shaking his head incredulously. “Are you actually feeling
pity
for her? Have you completely forgotten what Avalon
is
?”

“Bad as she is, she’s got nothing on you.”

“Good,” Bostic said. “Then we understand each other.”

“Nothing’s changed, Bostic.”

“I don’t think so.” He walked over, driving Lea against the wall. Bostic took her by the chin, forcing her to look at him when he spoke. “That’s right,” he said coldly. “You still have a choice. One of them takes you back home. The other leads in
there,
” he finished, jerking a thumb toward Avalon’s cell. “Once you start heading down that path, there’s nothing I can do for you.”

Lea yanked herself away.

“Think about it,” he said, when his phone rang. He retrieved the device from his jacket pocket, his attention on Lea while he answered. “This is Bostic.”

Lea heard only murmurs on the other end—but the corporate counsel’s manner told her that something important had happened. Bostic turned away from her briefly, keeping his volume low as he continued the discussion in brief.

“How could that be?” he asked. “Were you expecting any traffic?” Bostic shifted nervously during the long pause that followed, tossing several glances back at Lea. “Very well. Bring the necessary resources to alert, but
quietly
—at least until we know what we’re dealing with. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

He snapped the phone shut.

“Who was that?” Lea asked.

To her shock, Bostic actually told her.

“General Tambor at JTOC. A situation has arisen.”

Bostic was distant, calculating—and downright scared.

Lea pressed further. “What is it?”

“We don’t know yet,” Bostic said, putting his phone away, “but we need to get up there right now.” He reached for her arm to take her along, but Lea recoiled.