AUGUST 2379.

TARRAGONA, SPAIN.

The wreckage of the maglev train was scattered over the surrounding area, tossed aside like the pieces of a child's broken toy. Oil was a slick sheen on the ground where it wasn't fuel for the fire burning through the remains of the train. The engine car was crumpled where it had been flung far from the rest of the cars, broken into pieces. The air was thick with smoke, making it hard to breathe.

There were no bodies to retrieve, no closure. A fire like that wouldn't even give up ashes at the end.

Ciari frowned behind the skinmask she wore, the filters sucking in near her mouth. Standing beside the intact maglev platform, she gazed at the mess and wondered how much this was going to cost them, in money and in blood.

"No one's going to be happy about this," Keiko said from where the telekinetic stood beside her, hands gripping the buckles of her flak jacket. Around them, working diligently to try to contain the fire and salvage what they could, were government soldiers grouped in quads and first responders from Tarragona. All of them gave the two Strykers a wide berth.

"Of course not," Ciari said calmly. "We had a contract. We failed in meeting the terms."

"Eleven Strykers are dead. Seven barely managed to teleport out, coming back with mental burnout. Jael had a mess on her hands in medical, dealing with all of them. You really think the World Court will ask for their termination?"

"Erik isn't that wasteful. He'll want compensation, but I don't think he'll kill them."

Keiko swore softly behind her skinmask. "We did what we could against Warhound interference. The humans have an unregistered shuttle on record out here for the hijack. Our surviving Strykers gave testimony as to who was on that shuttle."

Ciari gave Keiko a warning look. "Warhounds. Rogue psions."

Keiko's expression didn't change. "Of course."

They all-Strykers and Warhounds alike-still abided by the Silence Law, even after the past few centuries of slavery of psions by the human race. Incalculable damage could be done to society if word got out that some of the most powerful, free people in their history since the Border Wars were, in actuality, psions. Some secrets were meant to be kept at all costs, and it was the OIC's job to ensure that happened.

The World Court had enslaved psions since their initial discovery and trained them over their short generations to believe that humans were the only thing in the world worth worshipping, worth saving. That harsh indoctrination resulted in soldiers that the government loaned out for anything from protection to murder. Strykers turned a pretty profit when they weren't dying for humanity.

"No, I want answers!" a disgusted voice shouted in Spanish from behind them. "This train was supposed to make it to the transfer point. It didn't, and I want to know why. Rogue psions aren't a good enough fucking excuse. Not for this."

Telepathic implants for language translation allowed both Ciari and Keiko to understand what was being said and the ability to communicate. The two women shared a brief look before they turned to face the man who had just arrived. The shuttle that had ferried him out of Tarragona was powering down to standby mode while the man himself was a flurry of emotion. Fear and anger, yes; possibly something else. Ciari didn't actively try to read his emotions. He had a bioware net attached to his brain, as all high-ranking politicians did, but the mental grid surrounding his mind was saturated with his emotions and those she could read.

The president of Spain-a position monitored by the World Court to ensure its laws were enforced-was a short, stocky man with dark hair, dark eyes, and light brown skin that didn't see the sun all that often. Alfonso Rodriguez's lips were pulled back from his teeth in a furious scowl behind the clear skinmask that he wore. He wasn't thinking straight; Ciari could feel that through her empathy. When he lifted a hand to strike her, she wasn't surprised at all, nor was she surprised at Keiko's reaction.

Keiko slammed a telekinetic shield down between Alfonso and Ciari. The president walked straight into it and nearly fell to the ground. Only the quick actions of the quad assigned him saved him from making a total fool of himself.

"You have no right to attack," Alfonso said, the words coming out harshly.

Ciari just stared at him, the cold blankness on her face and in her eyes difficult for any of the humans to look at for long. "Mr. President, that wasn't an attack. It was simply a defensive reaction by my subordinate," Ciari said in the same language.

"Call her off."

"I think not, Mr. President."

"Your contract is with me, psion. You will do as I demand and pay for your failure."

"The contract you bought was negotiated through the World Court," Ciari reminded him. "If you have a problem with my Strykers dying for your shipment, then lodge a complaint with the government."

Keiko didn't drop her shield as the quad surrounding Alfonso reached for their guns. Neither did she ask for permission to interfere. She merely reached out with her power to keep their handguns firmly anchored in their hip holsters, finding it slightly amusing how long the soldiers struggled to remove their weapons before they realized what was going on.

"Get your fucking power off us," the man in charge of the quad demanded as he took a step toward them.

Keiko anchored the man's feet to the ground. "We don't take orders from you."

"Then you will take them from me," Alfonso said.

"Our orders come from the World Court," Ciari said. "They have already been informed of what happened here. What punishment, if any, is up to the judges."

"They will hear of this, psion." Alfonso spat between them. "If you dogs can't accomplish what you are paid to do, then you should be punished accordingly."

"Then ask to pull the trigger. That is the entire reason why you flew out here, isn't it?" Ciari gazed at him unblinkingly, brown eyes flat and cold. "To demand satisfaction?"

Alfonso went white, then red in the face. "Get out of my head."

"I'm not in it."

"Then tell the bitch beside you to get out of my head."

"It's a wonder that you people never take the time to figure out what you buy when you sign contracts with the Strykers Syndicate." Ciari reached up to tap the side of her head. "Empathic, Mr. President. I don't read thoughts, I read emotions. Keiko here is a telekinetic. She doesn't read minds at all. Check your baseline readings when you return to Tarragona. You'll find no interference."

"Fuck you."

Ciari's smile was pure politeness, her tone sweetly acid. "We don't contract out for sexual exploits, Mr. President. Please remember that."

The space between them was filled by the invisible strength of Keiko's telekinetic shield. Even without it, Alfonso and his people wouldn't have crossed that line to strike at them. Strykers were government property, despite their segregation, and an attack on them was an attack on the World Court itself.

Ciari turned her head so she could see the ongoing cleanup and not the furious expression of a man who wasn't as powerful as he thought he was.

"We'll need your records from the military base on the attack," Ciari said.

"No."

"That order comes directly from the World Court, Mr. President. If you do not give them to us, then you can make your excuses to the judges yourself. We'll gladly teleport you before the bench to save you the cost of a shuttle flight to The Hague."

The silence between them was heavy with hatred. Finally, Alfonso snapped out an order to one of the soldiers, who peeled away from the quad and headed back to the shuttle at a quick jog.

"We'll deliver the records to you," Alfonso said. "Encrypted."

Ciari shrugged her ambivalence to that petty decision and said nothing. Keiko kept her undivided attention on the group in front of them, keeping up a light telekinetic shield around herself and Ciari. Only after the soldier had returned with the data chip and handed it over did the group move away to confer with those in charge of the cleanup. Ciari rolled the tiny data chip between her fingers as she stared at the fire in the distance.

"Should we send for a psychometrist?" Keiko asked softly a few minutes later.

"No," Ciari said. "Anything that would have held any shred of memory is burning."

"We could try the tracks. Desperation and fear are strong enough emotions to embed in the maglev platform."

"Not worth the effort, Keiko."

The telekinetic sighed and reached up to knuckle one eye. "That's six tankers stolen, Ciari. Two burned. The Warhounds are no doubt going to ransom the oil back to the government."

"Typical."

"We still don't know why." Keiko pitched her voice lower, the expression on her face never changing. "They can't be planning a secondary launch with extra supplies. Can they?"

"No." Ciari blinked rapidly as the wind changed direction, blowing smoke and dust into their faces. She turned her head to the side to escape most of the grit. "They won't do that. It's not conducive to their plans. Nathan hasn't once gone after the shuttle fuel stored in Paris, which means he isn't interested in tampering with what will get them to Mars. He's more interested in what he can use on the colony once they arrive, hence the oil."

"Can you be sure?"

Ciari pressed a hand to her stomach, knowing that what she did now might not be enough to save what she carried. "Yes."

She wondered, when the time came, if anyone would ever forgive her.

"Should we report back?" Keiko said. "The military looks like they have this well under control, and no one has asked for Stryker assistance."

Ciari blinked and turned her attention back to Keiko. "At this point, they wouldn't. They'll blame us for this fiasco and the insurance company will cover their loss. Our job right now is to figure out what can be used in our favor to grovel appropriately before the World Court."

Keiko gnashed her teeth. "I hate begging."

"It keeps us breathing." Ciari pocketed the data chip. "Take us back to Toronto."

In the blink of an eye, they were gone. No one save the quad noticed the departure. The military was beginning to regroup, preparing to leave. They couldn't do anything more than they already had.

The fire would burn itself out, just like all the ones before.

[FIFTEEN].

AUGUST 2379.

BUFFALO, USA.

The first thing Quinton did when they made it to the tenement that Matron's scavengers called home, past the outskirts of Buffalo, was to shave.

He stripped, disposing of the filthy clothing he'd been wearing since the Slums and used the tiny bit of grudgingly rationed water to clean up. They didn't have razors here, but he had a knife, and the sharp scrape of the blade over his face and jaw was comforting. He bled a little, and the water stung in the cuts, but he didn't care.

He would have given anything for a shower, but he wasn't going to get one. He wasn't a Stryker anymore, he didn't have the government picking up his bill. Staring at himself in the small cracked mirror of his borrowed room, Quinton wondered why he didn't look different, feel different, without the collar still wired to his brain.

"Well, this looks less rat-infested than the room Kerr got," Jason said as he came inside without knocking and dropped his bag on the floor by the bed that had Quinton's gear spread out all over it. "Guess I'm taking the floor."

Quinton turned around. "What do you think you're doing?"

"There's not enough space in this building for everyone. People were doubled up before we got here. Lucas said he needs to work on Kerr's mind, so they're sharing a room." Jason's expression was viciously annoyed. "I didn't even get a say in that and Kerr's my partner. Fuck that shit. Matron gave Threnody a room to herself and told me to find you. We're sharing."

"I'll bunk with Threnody."

"Your partner has a room half this size. Two won't fit in that closet. Just don't step on me when you wake up."

Quinton watched through narrowed eyes as Jason stretched out on the floor by the bed, using the thin blanket roll he'd been given as a pillow. The telekinetic was lying on his side, hazel eyes closed, pain lines drawn tight over the skin of his face.

"You need any medication?" Quinton asked after a moment.

Jason wriggled his fingers in Quinton's direction. He didn't open his eyes. "You're cute when you pretend to be worried."

"Just about my own skin. I trust Strykers, not scavengers."

"We're not Strykers anymore, Quinton."

"I've been a Stryker for most of my life. That mentality isn't going to change just because we've gone rogue."

"Something tells me Lucas expects it to."

Quinton reached for his shirt and pulled it back on, not caring that it wasn't clean. He just wanted to get out of there. "I don't give a fuck what Lucas wants."

Jason huffed out a tired little laugh that held no humor. "Now you're just lying to yourself."

Quinton left the room without responding to that pointed remark. Letting the door close behind him, he went in search of Threnody. A scavenger sent him in the right direction and he knocked on the door to her room, waiting for her okay to enter.

"It's open."

The doors in this place were old, manual, with knobs that needed to be turned. Jason had been right, Quinton decided. The room Matron had given Threnody wasn't even big enough for the door to open all the way. He slid inside carefully, eyes focused on where Threnody lay on the small bed that was more a pallet than anything else. She didn't seem to care. He noticed, almost immediately, the way her arms and legs twitched, little spasms that rolled through the lines of the muscles he could see.

"Is it getting any better?" Quinton asked as he settled on the floor beside her. Reaching out with one hand, he smoothed her hair off her forehead, tucking it behind one ear.

Threnody barely stirred. "Getting there. Lucas was right. That doctor did enough that the rest of my system is building off of the surgery. The reboot kind of sucks, to be honest."