"What about you?" Quinton asked the scavenger. "You've been with us since Buffalo. Aren't you coming?"

"Been with Lucas longer than that and I ain't always with him when he goes running off," Matron said.

"You make it seem like I'm the reckless one," Lucas said as he tossed an apple from one hand to the other.

Matron shrugged, rubbing at one shoulder where the metal cybernetics of her arm attached to flesh and bone. The cold made the connecting points ache. "You've always been reckless with everyone else's life."

Lucas only smiled at her. Matron bared her metal teeth in a responding grin. It wasn't the first time that Matron wondered about the faith she was putting in him that wasn't going to her G.o.d, but she wasn't going to stop now. "I pray to G.o.d you're doing the right thing here, Lucas."

"Your G.o.d isn't why I'm doing this. Remember what I told you when I pulled you from the swamps of Chicago?"

Matron snorted. "You think I forgot that? You promised me a garden if I did your dirty work."

Lucas tossed her the apple. Matron caught it easily in one hand. "Keep sorting the seeds."

"I know how to do my job," Matron said, dark eyes wide and opaque, face full of a belief that wasn't for Lucas, but for what he had the chance to make. "Don't forget about us down here."

"Never," Lucas promised. He almost sounded as if he meant it.

Lucas wrapped his telekinesis tightly around his sisters and the other three. He kept the visual in his mind of a white room as he teleported them all across the world in a single 'port. Their feet hit the platform in the arrival room with a heavy sound. This time it was guarded, but Lucas wasn't concerned about that. Beside him, Samantha let out a soft gasp as she recognized a familiar presence that had been missing from her mind since Buffalo.

Lucas slammed his telepathy up through half a dozen levels filled with psions and humans alike, leaving a burning path of pain on the mental grid in his wake. He slid into a cracked mind that was no longer familiar and looked through Ciari's eyes.

TWENTY-SEVEN.

SEPTEMBER 2379.

TORONTO, CANADA.

Gideon stared out the window of the suite, squinting through the polluted haze that lingered over everything. He was in a private level that the Serca Syndicate owned in one of Toronto's city towers. It came with a perfect view of the city tower that housed the Strykers Syndicate, its top floors a government-owned prison on the outskirts of the main cl.u.s.ter. Beyond it, Lake Ontario was a dark swath of water against the landscape.

Toronto was nothing like Buffalo. The slums surrounding the city towers were mostly aboveground and sprawled over land that hadn't suffered as badly as other cities during the Border Wars. Buffalo existed mostly belowground, in sealed bunkers and tunnels. That city's towers were far fewer than the count here, limited in numbers because of the deadzone that took up most of New York State.

Gideon was glad for the differences. It made being in this part of the world bearable.

"Have you matched the psi signature yet?" he said. He could see the reflection in the plasgla.s.s of the three telepaths who were seated at the conference table, surrounded by datapads.

"No," Warrick said, rubbing at his temple. "We have nothing in our database on who that psion might be."

"There's no match with our target's records or the psi signature from Buffalo either," Mercedes said. "I'm still willing to say it's Jason Garret. It certainly wasn't Lucas, and the way it registered off the scale? Lucas is strong, but this power tops his strength in a very specific way."

One of the Warhound teams on surveillance duty in Toronto had tagged a strong, abnormal psi signature two days earlier on the mental grid. It originated from the Strykers Syndicate, and Gideon refused to believe it could be anyone else.

"I'm not hearing any answers," Gideon said.

"Because there aren't any, sir," Warrick said. "Not with the information we have. The Strykers would have more than we do, especially since that psion was in their Syndicate."

They should have initiated their visit yesterday, but Nathan had informed Gideon about the breach in the seed bank before they left for the Strykers Syndicate, which had delayed the visit by twenty-four hours. Gideon adjusted the tie knotted around his throat. He was wearing a suit for this endeavor. He would have preferred a field uniform.

"Feels like Kristen is in this city," James said.

Gideon turned to give the telepath a sharp look. "I doubt Lucas would make it that easy to find him again."

"It's not your sister, sir. It's her dysfunction that feels similar on the mental grid. Insanity has a particular spike to it."

"Strykers rarely keep dysfunctional psions. The government usually orders their termination at a young age. Most likely it's someone injured from the fight in Buffalo." Gideon walked over to the chair where his suit jacket was hanging and put it on. "Let's go."

They were doing this the human way, restricted from using Gideon's ability to teleport. He knew what the Strykers Syndicate looked like; specifically, their arrival rooms for psions, but Nathan wasn't quite at the point where he could risk their family's secret coming out.

They left the suite of rooms for a shuttle that was locked into one of the landing docks that stuck out like spokes down the side of the city tower, just one of many used by the registered elite. The walk there took them down to a public level, past brightly lit department stores and restaurants, the hologrids that lined every wall showing news streams and not the usual adverts. Residential routes cut away from the public s.p.a.ce, leading off to the lifts that would carry people to their homes.

The atmosphere was muted and tense. People walked by with their heads down, looking at no one as they went about their business. The group made it to their a.s.signed shuttle walkway and entered the short, enclosed tube that extended to the shuttle's hatch. Minutes after they strapped in, the pilot disengaged the anchor locks once given the all clear.

The flight to the other city tower and the Strykers Syndicate was short. Gideon had the pilot dock the shuttle on a lower level and the four disembarked, heading for a lift that would take them right to the top. A security system had already scanned their eyes and faces for ident.i.ties, so when the lift came to a stop and the doors opened onto a sleek lobby, Gideon was greeted by a familiar woman.

"Keiko," he said, stepping out of the lift and into the Strykers Syndicate.

"Sir," she said evenly. "This is unexpected."

"We have business to discuss."

Despite being surrounded by psions and humans, only four people in this Syndicate knew the truth about the Sercas. Keiko wasn't about to break the Silence Law. She didn't argue Gideon's order and simply led him to a lift farther inside that had access to the rest of the Strykers Syndicate's levels.

Keiko took him to the administrative level. She took him to Ciari.

Gideon was surprised to see the other woman conscious. Considering the trauma that Erik had inflicted on her at The Hague, Gideon expected her to be well on her way to dying. Instead, Ciari looked decently recovered. She had Aidan and Jael with her, and while those two acknowledged his arrival, Ciari continued watching a news stream.

The World Court was standing before the cameras again, on trial themselves before public opinion in the face of irrefutable evidence that they still categorically denied.

"This should be interesting," Jael said. It was anyone's guess if she meant the current company or the current news as Gideon crossed Ciari's office to take a seat before her desk.

"I've never cared for your interests," Keiko said.

On the vidscreen, Erik was arguing his case, backed by the other fourteen judges that made up the World Court. Between the judges and the reporters was a line of quads with pulse-rifles, which said more about the situation than anything else.

"We who have held the t.i.tle of judge on the World Court, all of the previous men and women who have presided here over the past two hundred and fifty years, have only had the world's best interests at heart," Erik said, his voice filling the office. "The Border Wars nearly destroyed Earth, making it impossible to live in all but the most desperate of places. Even now, we are a desperate people, but we have not lost the greatest part of our humanity. We have not lost our capacity to hope for a better life, for a better world.

"The Fifth Generation Act was just one of many plans implemented in order to help society distance itself from its horrific past. Five generations to cleanse our DNA, with the Registry securing the ident.i.ties of those who succeeded. It had to be done, if only to separate us from the psions that the Border Wars created. The psions threatened and still threaten our own existence to this day, their disease a reminder of what is still at stake-our survival as a people, as humans."

He paused for a moment before the cameras, taking in a deep breath. "Fewer of us are born every year with the ability to live healthy lives. Too many of us are born with genetic defects, caused from leftover radiation taint. Too many of us die young from disease. It is difficult, almost impossible, to heal everyone in the population. It takes time, but we have been trying."

Someone shouted a vicious dissent from offscreen, but Erik didn't react.

"Since the end of the Border Wars, the government has been trying to make this world a better place. It's a seemingly impossible task, but we have done the best job we could over the years. Yes, there have been draconian measures taken to ensure humanity's survival, but that's the cost we pay to live. We have come so far since the collapse of the old world and we aren't prepared to stop now. These lies that unregistered dissidents spread are abhorrent and insulting."

"Lies," Ciari echoed. "We could teach him something about that."

On-screen, the crowd of reporters was being jostled by a ruckus out of view of the cameras. More shouting ripped through the audio, and the quads leveled their guns at a crowd that was starting to get unruly. It was mere seconds from becoming a ma.s.sacre when everyone went suddenly quiet and still. People froze where they stood, the silence in the room difficult to comprehend after that sudden fit of fury.

"Empath," Jael said, arms crossed stiffly over her chest. "Who's on guard duty?"

"Three teams," Keiko said. "The World Court is protected. They authorized psionic interference if necessary."

"You seem to have everything under control," Gideon said. "It's a far cry from the government."

Ciari finally turned her head to look at him, and the deadness in her eyes was shocking. Gideon studied her face and noted the lack of expression.

"Our orders stand," Ciari said. "We've been tasked with protecting the registered elite in the city towers during their transfer to the Paris Basin. We have no choice."

"You always have a choice with us." Gideon offered her a careful smile. "Let's discuss those choices, shall we?"

"I was under the a.s.sumption that Nathan wasn't extending us help. As he pointed out, it's too late for retrievals."

"We said we'd take your high-Cla.s.sed psions and bring them with us into s.p.a.ce, but as of right now, we'll only do that if you give us the one we really want."

"We haven't been hiding Lucas from you."

"We don't want Lucas any way but dead." Gideon shrugged. "We want Jason Garret."

He didn't miss the way everyone but Ciari went tense at his demand. Gideon studied Ciari intently. He was not a 'path-oriented psion, but he'd lived eighteen years with one digging through his mind. Something was wrong with the Strykers' OIC.

"That's a bit of a problem, considering he defected," Ciari said slowly.

"He was here during the fight in Buffalo. The Warhounds in this city felt his presence. Don't lie to me."

"I'm not."

Gideon leaned back in his chair. "So you'll risk all your people for the sake of one psion?"

"We can't risk anyone when we don't have the person you're looking for," Jael said. "Jason Garret has been targeted for kill on sight by the World Court since he managed to escape. Do you think we could keep him here when we're scrutinized so closely?"

"The fact that we're having this conversation in your office proves you wrong."

"No, it simply proves we can circ.u.mvent the system, but not for long and not frequently," Aidan said. "With what's going on, the World Court has more important things to worry about than watching our every move so long as we obey orders."

"Considering how badly they need you for security right now, I doubt that."

Ciari tapped at the controls on her desk, turning off the vidscreen. "At some point, even we won't be enough. I'm sorry, Gideon. I can't accept your bargain. I don't have who you want."

Gideon looked her in the eye, searching for something he couldn't find, because all he saw was a faint glint of silver in brown depths. "Does Erik know you're awake?"

"Yes."

"Does he know you're going insane?"

The question hit home hard, none of the officers standing around Ciari's desk able to hide their surprise quick enough at his a.s.sessment of the situation. Ciari, on the other hand, couldn't care that he knew what was wrong with her.

"Is that a threat?" Ciari asked.

"Can you even tell?"

"d.a.m.n you," Jael said, slamming her hand down near the corner of Ciari's desk. "We can't give you what you want, Gideon."

"Prove it," Gideon said, still refusing to look away from Ciari. "Let Warrick here link me to you, Ciari. You can't lie mind to mind, not in the state you're in."

"Absolutely not."

"I wasn't talking to you, Jael."

Ciari slowly tilted her head to the side, studying Gideon. "You remind me so much of Nathan right now. He should have chosen you sooner."

Gideon had to fight back the scowl. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"And you don't know what you're asking for." Ciari flicked her fingers at him. "Do it."

She was still the OIC, even in the wrecked state she was in. Her officers couldn't counter her order, even though they wanted to. Warrick, telepathically merged with Mercedes and James, pulled Gideon into a psi link and reached for Ciari's damaged mind.

TWENTY-EIGHT.

SEPTEMBER 2379.

TORONTO, CANADA.