"There isn't enough time for me to give you who you need from the Stryker ranks," Ciari said.

"That's your problem, not mine."

Everyone knew there were rogue psions. The Sercas had never been owned by the government, and most of the Warhounds they took in never had either. Psion children, when discovered, were either retrieved by the Strykers or the Warhounds, whoever managed to track them down first, or they were terminated. Usually the Strykers came out ahead, but whereas the Warhounds' numbers were equal to half the total psions in the Stryker ranks, they had more of the stronger psions. Some within the Warhound ranks, at least a sixth of their fighting force, were Strykers saved from government termination, but only those that the OIC of the Strykers Syndicate deemed worth saving and that the Serca family needed.

The Silence Law was a twofold rule. A small group of top officers in the Strykers Syndicate helped keep the Serca family's secrets, and those same few officers were the only Strykers who made sure that the willful, purposeful setup and escape of Strykers tagged for government termination was never discovered. The Sercas only took the best when they deigned to retrieve Strykers at all. Which was why Ciari had these conversations with Nathan on his terms. The survival of her people was worth the humiliation of begging.

Sometimes it simply wasn't enough.

"Give me a little more time to save my people," Ciari asked.

Nathan looked her straight in the eye. "You and your predecessors have had more than enough since the Border Wars. I am through being generous. Now leave. I've got a schedule to keep."

Ciari turned to look at Keiko. "Take us back to headquarters."

Keiko wrapped her telekinesis around the both of them, visualized the office they had left barely an hour ago, and stretched her power halfway across the planet. A long-distance teleport required more power than one that simply took a person across a city. She was traveling across continents. No one else in the Stryker ranks could bridge that distance in a single teleport, and Keiko only did it when it was necessary.

The world shifted in a way it wasn't meant to as they left Nathan's shuttle under psion power. Keiko's teleport brought them to Toronto, Canada, their sudden arrival in Ciari's spacious executive office met by two Strykers. Keiko sucked in a deep breath once her feet hit the floor, a pinched expression of pain crossing her face briefly. She'd need a few hours of downtime to settle her mind and recover from two straight teleports of such long distances. She didn't really want her brain to start hemorrhaging or her heart to burst anytime soon. Recovery was something all psions needed, it just wasn't something all psions got.

"Keiko?" Ciari asked.

"I'm fine. Just a bit of a headache."

"Looks like Erik had fun with you," Jael Dawson said, hazel eyes assessing their damage with a critical look. "What did you say to him this time?"

"Would it matter?" Ciari asked as she walked behind her desk and activated the biometric log-in. "I was breathing. What do you want?"

The Class III telepath and chief medical officer (CMO) set two thin hyposprays filled with painkillers on the desk as Ciari activated the office's jamming defenses. The government liked to listen in on their conversations, and the Strykers Syndicate officers had long ago learned to work around that intrusion for very short periods.

"One for each of you," Jael said as Keiko reached for the closest hypospray and put it to use. "Though you need something more than medication to fix what I can feel past your shields, Ciari."

Ciari ignored the hypospray for the moment, knowing her mind would eventually compensate for the trauma she had just experienced. "It can wait. The World Court is granting Nathan's request to retain the Serca Syndicate's anonymity, at least when it comes to the newest Act they got the government to pass. Which means no one is going to have any sort of clearance to see just who the hell they're choosing for the colony lists. The government won't share that information with us."

"They still don't know?" Jael's expression was one of disgust. "About the Serca Syndicate?"

"We're just as much to blame for their ignorance as they are. Our Silence Law still holds when it comes to the Warhounds."

"Nathan's as charming as always," Keiko added.

"You saw Nathan?" Jael pointed her finger warningly at Ciari. "You need a scan and psi surgery. No telling what that bastard did to you."

"He didn't do anything," Ciari said as she waved off that demand for the mental procedure that telepaths were uniquely capable of administering on wounded or subverted psions. Psi surgery had grown out of instinct and into a field of medicine that only psions were capable of using.

"You don't know that."

"Nathan isn't interested in breaking my mind, Jael. He's got other things to worry about."

"Hell." Jael bowed her head as she squeezed the bridge of her nose, the thin dreads of her black hair swinging to hide her dark face. "Times like this I wish we had a chance at stopping what the Sercas are planning."

"You don't think we do?"

"Being optimistic isn't in my job description. I put minds back together, not lives. That's your job."

"Then tell me we have some information on the target that's been holding steady on the West Coast."

Ciari was looking at the man standing next to Jael when she asked the question. Aidan Turner was the Strykers Syndicate's chief administrative officer (CAO), a Class IV telepath, and the last living member of a three-person team that hadn't made it to the age of thirty on the field. He had got past the bitterness and pain of survivor's guilt only by a severe application of psi surgery. Telepaths were the most numerous psions, but the majority were a Class V or lower. The Strykers Syndicate needed him, and it needed him sane.

It did not need the report he delivered.

"We lost contact with Threnody and Quinton in the field," Aidan said. "Jason and Kerr dropped off the mental grid as well."

Ciari's expression didn't change. "When?"

"There was a spike around the same time you left for The Hague. The psi signatures were that of Nathan's twins." Aidan hesitated a moment before continuing, "The target's psi signature changed into that of Lucas Serca's."

Those three were the best murderers on the planet aside from their father, psions that could read as human on the mental grid and you'd never know they were there until they were killing you. Only the OIC and her top supporting officers knew of the Sercas' true nature, a truth that complicated everything.

"Did you give the Warhounds our Strykers, Ciari?" Jael asked sharply.

"You know I didn't," Ciari said as she looked each of her officers in the eyes. "None of us granted those four a reprieve, and Lucas has never been assigned retrieval duty. He's been missing from the field for two years."

Keiko frowned, rubbing fingers over her left temple. "Which begs the question of why?"

Lucas Serca's absence in the media and by his father's side had been noted. Whatever game Nathan was playing, they were far behind on knowing his goal. There wasn't a chance in hell that Threnody and Quinton could be alive, not after the last two escapes. The third time was never the charm, not in this world. Kerr and Jason might have a chance, with Jason being a telekinetic and able to teleport, but Ciari doubted it.

Was it worth it? Ciari thought. She reflected on the government's decision, at her urging, to cut Threnody loose for a suicide run because the electrokinetic cared more than she should for the humans she had been indoctrinated to protect. Threnody had never been one to swallow propaganda whole without choking on it. All Strykers were like that, most were just better at hiding it.

"Get a team together," Ciari said, her face devoid of all emotion. "Bring back the bodies. The World Court always requires proof when Strykers die. It's so damn difficult to make them believe anything without a corpse."

[SIX].

JULY 2379.

LONDON, UNITED KINGDOM.

New York City had been a crater since the Border Wars, the remains swallowed by the Atlantic Ocean and worn down by acid rain. The world's financial center had been transplanted perforce to London once the fallout dust settled, because London still stood, thanks to the fanatical service of long-ago RAF pilots. The metal clock hands on Big Ben's face remained stuck at 3:27, a historical testament, a reminder, to the arrogance of the human race.

The main city towers that spanned both sides of the sluggish Thames River cast long shadows over the crowded city below. Downstream, the Thames Barrier stood like a silent sentinel, an engineering feat something that only the educated, registered humans understood and were allowed to operate. The streets themselves teemed with unregistered humans who would never find themselves removed from obscurity and written into the safety of the Registry. Their genetics hadn't passed muster when the time came to prove themselves clean of radiation taint and mutation. At least, not any mutation that was profitable. They would never join the ranks of the educated to better their lives save through illegal schools that would mean their death if found out. The government cracked down hard on those who disobeyed the directives that had separated society into what it was now.

Freedom, with all its various connotations, was one of the first casualties of survival.

Nathan was used to his sort of freedom and getting his way, even if the humans-registered and unregistered alike-weren't exactly aware of how he did it. The problem was that he hadn't been getting his way for two years and it had left him in a foul mood for just as long. Nathan was excellent at hiding his displeasure, though, especially in front of the cameras.

The pressroom of the Serca Syndicate was filled to capacity, everyone jostling for the clearest read on the man whose sheer presence up on the speaking stage was enough to capture everyone's attention. Nathan smiled at his audiences, both the one present and the one beyond the cameras, as he stepped behind the podium, and he meant the expression for what it was-a means to an end.

"Ladies, gentlemen, it's always a pleasure to have something to celebrate," Nathan began, his voice carrying through the room. He cut a striking figure behind the microphones, with the shine of a hologrid at his fingertips. All the reporters leaned forward, eager for what one of the most prominent figures in their society had to say.

"The government, in its righteous duty to further enable the survival of the human race, has a difficult balance to keep when it rules on issues that come before the World Court. My family, as you know, has had a unique relationship with the ruling politicians that seek to keep us alive in a world our ancestors made. Not everyone has or will agree with the Fifth Generation Act my predecessors campaigned and fought for, but it was necessary at the time. It remains necessary today, despite its detractors.

"This year marks the two hundred and fiftieth anniversary since the last bombs fell inside China, ending the Border Wars that held the world prisoner for five long and terrifying years. We nearly annihilated ourselves through shortsightedness and greed. The fallout of that time was so much more than radiation sickness and a ruined planet, so much more that we have had to live with and survive through over the past two and a half centuries.

"In 2179 we set a benchmark year to ensure our survival so that those who could prove five generations' worth of clean DNA would be allowed full rights as registered citizens when the time came. Was it a draconian law at the time? Of course it was, but it was needed. And when, one hundred and fifty years later, we reached that finalization point, there were those of us who had made efforts to keep the integrity of our DNA intact. My family never set down in stone how one should go about achieving that goal, just that one should."

Nathan offered up a faint smile, the pride in his family's accomplishments unmistakable. "The Border Wars gave us many and varied problems to deal with, not the least being the psions we seem unable to cleanse from the population. The government, thankfully, has the problem under control. Which is why I went about my proposal to the World Court the way I did. You see, I've come to the conclusion that psions will not be purged from our society anytime soon, if at all. Their genetics are too complex, and we still have yet to discover what the Border Wars changed in us to make them.

"The Serca Syndicate has pursued the Genome Privacy Act for the past few decades since the first clean generation was granted approval by the government to join the Registry in 2329. Those of us who have been lucky enough to remain free of mutation in any form have a duty to save the less fortunate. We must strive with everything we have to better the lives of those who still suffer from our past failures. To do that, we must first study where we went wrong, and the psions are the most prominent mistake that we have.

"The World Court ruled in favor of the Serca Syndicate today. They gave this company the approval to keep our work private for the sake of the average citizen. We all have our secrets, some more than most, and while we are a people now who uphold truth above all else, sometimes there is a need for secrecy. That is why this Act was granted, to allow those who never got the government's approval to join the Registry an answer to a most pertinent question. What, after all this time, taints their DNA, but not others? It is a question that everyone knows better than to ask, because some things are just too personal for public consumption."

Nathan leaned forward a little, the shine in his dark blue eyes that of reflective camera glare, not inspecs. "What's not personal, and which will be presented once we have solid findings, is our results. It may take ten years, twenty, another generation or even two, before we figure out how the psions are being born and why some people remain immune to the mutations brought about by the Border Wars and others do not. But rest assured, we will find out. To spare those the stigma that comes with being unregistered in our society, participation in this project will remain private. It has to if we are to have any chance of getting enough people to help us find the answers we are all looking for. Now, I will take some questions."

"Sir," a tall reporter called out as he stood up. "Where will you be getting the samples? Are you restricting your company to just one or two continents, or all of them?"

"There will be a broad representation of subjects pulled from every continent that carries survivors, both registered and unregistered," Nathan answered. "They won't just be from the livable areas. We'll send excursions into the areas around the deadzones as well."

"Sir," another reporter asked. "Where will the psions factor into this?"

"We're still coordinating with the government on that."

"What about the rumors that your eldest son doesn't approve of the direction you're taking the Serca Syndicate and that you've heavily restricted his access to all your current projects?"

Nathan's expression didn't change as he looked at the reporter who had asked that question, a slim Chinese woman of slight stature. "My family is off-limits."

"Lucas Serca hasn't been seen for two years."

"Contrary to rumor, my eldest is currently helping gather the samples we'll need to perform this research and has been for many months now. His appearance before your cameras is unnecessary. Next question."

The ten agreed-upon questions passed quickly, Nathan's answers memorized rhetoric. Once the last question was asked and answered, Nathan left the podium for the side door, ignoring the clamoring behind him for more of his attention. Coming out into a secured hallway, he was quickly joined by his bodyguards and last two functioning children.

Neither Samantha nor Gideon met his eyes as they fell into step behind Nathan. They had changed out of their BDUs into sharp designer attire for the press conference, even though they hadn't been allowed before the cameras. Appearances were everything, especially in the public domain.

I despise failure, Nathan said into all their minds, the incredible force of his Class I triad strength peeling apart their shields like rotten fruit. You know better than to return empty-handed.

Lucas has never been an easy target, Samantha said carefully as they were escorted down the hallway to the private lift. He knew we were coming.

I do not tolerate excuses, Samantha.

Sir.

Lucas left the Slums with Strykers, Gideon said as the door to the lift slid open and the group stepped onto the platform.

Nathan's face was impassive as he pressed his hand against the control panel. The computer read his biometrics and granted him access to the tower levels restricted to the Serca family alone and the people they owned. The lift began its ascent.

I'm beginning to think that Lucas doesn't want to live, Nathan said.

It was just the three of them and two Warhounds in the guise of bodyguards on the ride up. One of them was biting on an ever-present cigarette, the smoke curling up toward the ceiling. Areas of Jin Li's skin still carried bruises that looked like burns, imprints from someone else's power his body had barely been able to counteract. He hadn't gone through medical yet because they'd been ordered to attend Nathan immediately upon their arrival back in London.

"Do we finally have a kill order, boss?" Jin Li asked.

The lift came to a stop and Nathan's answer, while without words, was unmistakable. Already in their minds, Nathan drove his power deeper between one heartbeat and the next as he stepped off the lift.

The agony of the intrusion drove all three to the floor, the last bodyguard stepping out of the lift and standing at attention with a distant look on his face that every Warhound learned to master by his or her first year in the ranks. Punishment was handed out indiscriminately. Warhounds learned to ignore it when it happened to the person next to them and suffered through it silently when it was their turn. Protesting was considered a waste of breath. So was screaming.

Samantha felt her head hit the floor, the dull ache of it distant and irrelevant against the immediate presence of Nathan deep in her mind. Instinctively, she tried to gather her power into some semblance of defense, but Nathan broke her control with a single thought. Her mind caved beneath his, as it had so many times before. Samantha could do nothing but stare blankly at the open doors of the lift, feeling the coolness of the metal she was lying on seep into the skin of her face as Nathan took from all of them memories of the events he felt he needed.

She could feel the channels in her mind where her power flowed begin to bleed through where they shouldn't. She took in a shaky breath, tasting blood in the back of her throat. Beside her, writhing just as desperately, Gideon and Jin Li struggled to breathe.

Lucas will learn his place, Nathan said as he walked away. Unfortunately, I can't be the one to drag him back to his knees. I can't afford the damage it might cause to my health and to our political position. I expected more from all of you. It seems my faith in all my children was misplaced.

Oddly enough, Samantha felt shame; shame that she hadn't been enough, that she never could be, because she hadn't been born that way. She wasn't what Nathan needed; never would be. Lucas hadn't been his answer either, but he'd been close, and that's why they still hunted for him. Samantha was just an afterthought, and not a good one. She, Gideon, and Kristen still performed their duties because their being alive meant Nathan could delegate. It meant he could live just a little longer. One of these days, if Samantha was lucky, she was going to wake up and he would be gone, dead, mind burned away by his power and body broken. It was how all psions died, she just hoped she lived long enough to see it happen to him.

I see your filial piety is as touching as always, Samantha.

She felt it when Nathan exited her mind, like the shattering of glass. Only she knew she could put the pieces back together, given enough time. Pressing her hand against the side of her skull, she sniffed wetly, sucking up blood through her nasal passages. Carefully, she wiped it away on the sleeve of her crisply pressed gray blouse.

Get up.

They stumbled to their feet, staggering out of the lift and into the private space that belonged to the Serca family. Five levels of residential rooms and offices and five more above that no lift could reach, because those levels were accessible only by stairs.

The Serca family had always been a buffer between the rest of the world and the Warhounds, more so here in that psion group's unofficial headquarters than anywhere else. The Serca Syndicate was a human endeavor, founded and controlled by psions who masqueraded as human in the public eye because that's what everyone expected. A prestigious company owned by a family with a prominent place in history wouldn't dare harbor rogue psions. People who discovered or were offered the truth were simply mindwiped until they were useful, or killed.

Samantha and Gideon collapsed gingerly into the available seats in Nathan's office once they arrived. Jin Li, used to Nathan's lashing out viciously, propped himself up against the credenza. Nathan's desk terminal was keyed to his biometrics alone, and it snapped on at the first touch of his fingers as he sat down behind it. He said nothing, simply brought everything online, images and data drifting across the opaque console attached to ancient wood.

The door to his office slid open and a static, human mind pressed up against Samantha's shields. She swallowed her disgust and it tasted like blood. Samantha had never cared for the humans Nathan showed special interest in, especially the ones he fucked.

"You're late, Dalia," Nathan said.

"Apologies, sir," the brunette woman said as she crossed the office to take the last seat.

Dalia would never be described as pretty, but she was striking given the right identity to inhabit. Right now she was wearing the drab uniform of an Eastern European bond worker, someone who would take any job, so long as it paid. The stretch of surviving countries that once belonged to Russia weren't wanted by Western Europe and were shunned by what remained of their former mother country. Shantytowns outnumbered civilized city towers, and people survived in those places only through the skin trade, be it labor, sex, or the sale of body parts and organs. The deadzones there were nearly as bad as the ones the Middle East had become.

Dalia, however, was not a bond worker.