Threnody dug her fingers into the durable synthfabric of her black BDUs. "What's on that island, Lucas?"

"Machines," Lucas answered after a moment. "Machines and the Svalbard Global Seed and Gene Bank. You don't really think the government is willing to leave without the supplies that feed us, do you?"

Threnody could feel her heart beating against her ribs, the blood rushing in her ears.

"Aisling wants us to save the world, Threnody. It's a little more complicated than simply inciting rebellion."

"I-" Threnody swallowed thickly, her mouth gone suddenly dry. "I'm beginning to understand that."

"Reasoning. Better than a mindwipe any day of the week." Lucas headed for the door. "I'm done with Kerr. His shields will stay up now."

"And Jason? Are you going to work on him?"

"I've been in his head and tested his shields."

"Meaning?"

"I'm going to need a little help breaking them open and Kerr isn't going to be enough."

"So who's going to help you?" Threnody said, suspicion creeping into her voice.

Lucas didn't answer, and then he was gone. Threnody wasn't surprised at his silence. Sighing, she turned her attention back to Kerr's unconscious form, half her thoughts on Lucas's words.

PART FIVE.

SUB ROSA.

SESSION DATE: 2128.03.15.

LOCATION: Institute of Psionics Research CLEARANCE ID: Dr. Amy Bennett SUBJECT: 2581.

FILE NUMBER: 249.

"She thinks there's another way," Aisling says as she peers into the camera, her image larger than usual due to her proximity to the camera. The glue that keeps the electrodes attached to her skull has left her skin red and raw in places. "There are, you know. Lots of them. They just don't work."

Aisling pushes away from the camera and wanders back to her seat and sits down. She is alone in the room, a bright spot of yellow in the whiteness. The machines she is connected to hum with results that are off every reliable scale. The fingers of one hand curve over one knobby knee and tap out a rhythm that matches the pulse of her heartbeat.

"It's so hard to find the right one." Aisling tangles one small hand in her hair and the wires there, gently yanking at both. She squeezes her eyes shut. "You wanted a better half-life. You wanted a better future for everyone."

Aisling tilts her head to the side as if she is listening to something no one else can hear. "You always say that. Every time you get this far and fail, you blame me."

The little girl sighs and opens her eyes. She stares at the camera and peels an electrode off her forehead. "What's wrong, Ciari? Don't you like your present?"

[SEVENTEEN].

AUGUST 2379.

THE HAGUE, THE NETHERLANDS.

The old doors to the Deliberation Room closed with a quiet click, the jamming technology that was activated at the start of each session coming online. The fifteen robed men and women surrounding the long, rectangular conference table knew their privacy was assured. Those whose job it was to man those programs knew if they failed at their position, death would be a hoped-for punishment, not necessarily one they would ultimately receive.

"I call this Court into session," Erik said as he struck the gavel he held in one hand on a small tablet of old, lacquered wood. The antiquated gesture had been repeated thousands upon thousands of times before this. He would give it up if he could, but it was tradition. Some things even the World Court couldn't be rid of. "We have work to do, Justices."

The fourteen other men and women nodded, their voices ringing from deep bass to high soprano as they stated agreement. They were different in age and nationality and gender; the one solid thing they had in common was clean DNA.

"The launch date has been moved up to the end of September. We're beginning to prep registered citizens for swift transfer to the Paris Basin. Where do we stand on those totals?" Erik said.

Travis Athe, in his late fifties, tapped decisively at the screen of his datapad. "We have solid readiness from the United Kingdom, the European Union, the East Coast of America, the Canadian Territories, the South American Coalition, Japan, China, and the Southeastern Asian Territories. The numbers are sufficient so far."

"Registered dissidents?" Anchali asked, looking down the table at the president. The elderly woman who was Thai in name only and culturally Chinese was the oldest serving member of the World Court. She was also Erik's strongest conservative supporter as the vice president. That didn't mean they always saw eye to eye.

Erik gestured expansively with one hand. "We've quietly tagged those we believe to be a problem through the security grid. Quads are monitoring their movements. They will be rounded up at the slightest hint of defiance and contained well before the launch date."

"What of the hijacking in Spain?" Cherise Molyneux said. "Those tankers were en route to the Paris Basin when they were stolen and the rest destroyed."

"While we don't know where those rogue psions retreated to, we have enough oil to supply our endeavors once we arrive at the colony. They've never targeted the shuttle fuel transports, and the shuttles on the launchpads remain fully operational. That shipment was simply a precaution."

"I'm more worried about rogue psions knowing our plans." Cherise leaned forward, the beautiful Frenchwoman glaring at Erik. She was the youngest judge on the World Court, with aspirations that would get her killed, sooner or later, if she continued antagonizing him. Erik rather hoped she did. Her dissenting opinions over the past few years had been quite annoying.

Erik leaned back in his cushioned leather chair and stared at Cherise. "Are you questioning our position, Justice? I can assure you that this has been decades in the making and we have been vigilant in keeping it secret. Unless you doubt your own work?"

A faint hint of red stained Cherise's face, but faded in moments. She lifted her chin slightly in defiance. "I don't doubt our accomplishments, Erik. I'm stating a fact that all of us here worry about. The Strykers and these Warhounds have been fighting for what seems like forever. The rogue psions are not leashed as they should be. What if they know?"

"Do you doubt the protection that our dogs provide us?" Erik said, brown eyes steady as he looked at her.

"Through what constitutes slavery," Travis said from down the table. "Which is never a guarantee."

"Since when has that bothered you and yours?" Erik arched an eyebrow. "When our ancestors hunted down psions after the Border Wars, we saw their uses and hobbled the threat. They obey us because they know little else, we make sure of that. For every generation we humans live through, psions go through two. If they reach thirty or beyond, it's a miracle. Genetics play as much a role in keeping them in check as we do. In the grand scheme of things, psions are useful up to a point, but they're an evolutionary dead end."

"The fact that they are slaves doesn't bother me," Travis said slowly. "What concerns me is that they are more dangerous than the average slave, and for all that we control the Strykers, we don't control all the psions in the world."

"Would you rather have all of them free to use their powers against us rather than just some? The Strykers Syndicate was created for a reason. The Strykers live to obey and serve humanity. They have their orders. These Warhounds will not have access to the Paris Basin, nor to the shuttles that wait there. No psion will follow us into space. That directive still stands, and the OIC knows to keep that fact classified until it's time to inform the rank-and-file Strykers about the launch."

"For how long?" Travis gestured sharply at nothing. "If we kill them all before we launch, we lose our protection against the Warhounds. If the Strykers live right up to the launch, we risk them realizing that they have no seats on those shuttles, no berth waiting for them in the colony ship. Their retaliation might be quick enough to damage enough of the shuttles that they will not launch and too many of the needed gene pool will die."

"We need the Strykers," Erik agreed. "We need them to continue to believe that they need us. They are the wall that will stand between us and everyone else when we launch. The OIC will inform the rest of the Strykers when the time arrives for them to do their duty. If only half are alive to do it? It's a shame, but they'll still get the job done."

"And the Warhounds?" Anchali asked coolly. "Surely they won't take our leaving so easily."

Erik's smile pulled thinly at his mouth. "We integrate loyalty into the training of our dogs, and their loyalty is tied to us. The Strykers will be more than enough to hold back the Warhounds when we launch. The Warhounds number less than the Strykers after all. A great many less."

"You sound certain of that fact."

"You don't."

Anchali shook her graying head and reached for her water glass. "I have never trusted in the people whose leashes we hold. They are not human, Erik. They do not think the same way we do, they do not feel as we do. Their loyalty is a fabrication built up through indoctrination. Such programming can be undone. There have been instances in the past of Strykers escaping termination to join with the Warhounds. Where do you think the Warhounds came from?"

"We have become adept at putting down rabid dogs."

"Being proficient in killing psions is beside the point. I think it's fair to question if the Warhounds know."

Faint nods of agreement came from around half of the table, an admission that irritated Erik. He didn't let it show on his face or in his voice. "If we stayed rooted in the fear of the unknown and refused to take a chance, then this launch wouldn't be happening. We will be gone from this planet in a month's time. The preparation team is already on the Ark, working to bring the colony ship fully online. We are in the final hours of this countdown after decades of waiting. We shouldn't be looking at the past. We need to be focusing on the future."

"Considering that our past begot this future, I think it's imperative we remember how we arrived here," Cherise argued. "Too many cultures, too many nations, are nothing but deadzones because of our ancestors' actions during the Border Wars. We are effectively doing the same to this world by leaving it behind. We are responsible for the survival of the human race. How can we know for certain that the psions will remain on Earth?"

"The same way that we knew the Fifth Generation Act would work. If we apply the rules to everyone, then no one can claim favoritism. The psions are a product of the Border Wars. Their mutation is a direct block to them being registered. Their duty is to serve and protect. Their final act of loyalty will be to die. Who here does not approve of that?"

Erik's gaze swept the length of the table, meeting every set of eyes looking his way. One by one, the judges dropped their gazes in silent agreement to the president's demand. Fifteen strong personalities, each with his or her own set of people to protect, meant that disagreement was a way of life. Compromise was what they fought for.

The World Court collectively owned the Strykers Syndicate in equal shares, but the president alone had the right to give the Strykers their orders. That right only came from unanimous agreement. Killing them only took a single vote.

"I believe we are in agreement," Anchali finally said in her rough voice.

Erik reached for his gavel. "All in favor of continuing on this present course of action?"

"Aye," fourteen voices said without hesitation.

Erik hit the wooden tablet with his gavel once again. "It is so ordered."

Chairs pushed back from the table and everyone stood, gathering up datapads. The judges left in groups of twos or threes, with only Travis and Erik remaining behind.

"A word, Erik," Travis asked, as the doors clicked shut.

Erik gestured with one hand, studying several new messages on his datapad. "Yes, what is it?"

"The Warhounds won't be left behind so easily." Travis paused, studying Erik's profile. "Will the Strykers really be enough?"

"They've been enough since we collared the first one. They will be enough until we kill the last." Erik glanced up at the other man. "You've used them before, you know what they're capable of."

"I know. That doesn't stop me from worrying."

Erik shrugged as he locked his datapad and tucked it into the inner pocket of his dress robes. "It's a little late for you and your Syndicate to second-guess your actions."

Travis frowned. "My family made this possible for everyone. I trust in the science that we rebuilt. I simply don't trust psions."

"No one in their right mind does." Erik offered him a slight smile as he guided Travis out. "Walk with me. I need to give these court minutes to my assistant before we can break for lunch."

They left and the technicians responsible for monitoring the judges turned off the jamming sequence in the Deliberation Room, breathing soft sighs of relief. For all the machines that were built to protect the World Court's privacy, there was no blocking the signal that the bioware nets gave off.

All the judges' baseline readings never deviated, even with Nathan listening in through Travis's mind.

When he managed to extract himself from the delicate, incredibly light psi link that was implanted in Travis's mind, Nathan lifted his head and blinked his office in The Hague back into sight. Even for a Class I triad psion, it took effort to work through a human's mind beneath the bioware net without damaging the human or triggering an alert on the baseline readings. It was complicated enough, and the risks were high enough, that Nathan rarely initiated such a link. Nathan was determined, he simply wasn't stupid, which was one of the reasons he had lived so long.

"Sir?" Dalia said from where she sat in front of his desk, the human woman wearing the identity of an executive assistant this time instead of a bond worker. It suited her better.

Nathan focused his gaze on her. "What is it?"

"We're nearly finished rounding up the bond workers you ordered to be terminated. We're keeping the scientists alive, unless you want them killed as well. Gideon thought you might want to keep them. He thinks they might be useful for the next step, but that's up to you."

"When I said get rid of them, I meant it." Nathan offered her an irritated look. "Gideon's suggestions are useless for my timetable. There are government scientists on our payroll who know how to use what we've created. I want everyone else dead. I hate repeating myself, Dalia."

The human flinched against the threatening presence of Nathan in her mind. "My apologies, sir," she said quickly. "I was only thinking of what might help you."

"I don't pay you to think." Nathan pointed at the door to his office. "Get out."

Dalia got to her feet and left, quick strides taking her out of his office. The door slid shut behind her and Nathan grimaced. Finding good help was getting harder and harder. It was getting to the point where he couldn't even rely on his own family, which was unacceptable. He might not love his children, but they were extremely useful at helping him stay alive by doing nearly all the needed psionic work.

Perhaps that was why Lucas had fled. Dying for other people wasn't nearly as satisfying as dying for oneself.

[EIGHTEEN].

AUGUST 2379.