BUFFALO, USA.

Lucas knew the location of every Serca Syndicate branch, every Warhound hideout in the world. He knew how personnel were rotated through, how unregistered humans were recruited. He knew how his father operated everything because the company would have been his one day.

Funny how the demands of a single child could change so much.

Lucas walked through the front doors of a manufacturing warehouse in Buffalo with his face bare of synthskin and bioware, no iris peels in his dark blue eyes, and no dark glasses to filter out the security grid's probing identity searches. Lucas went in as himself and that was enough to incite war.

Fifteen unregistered humans died in the first three seconds, collateral damage to the telepathic strike Lucas sent out to deflect the attack coming from a Class IV telepath. The Warhound died instantly, mind fried from the burning strength Lucas carried with such ease.

An alarm sounded as Lucas dropped some of his shields, allowing his presence to register on the mental grid. The workers at the plant knew never to question the sharp sound that pierced their eardrums. Instinct had them racing for the exits, fleeing the warehouse in droves. Lucas let them live. He had more important things to deal with than escaping humans who would come back first thing in the morning for their next shift. A little unscheduled murder wouldn't be enough to make them give up their paychecks.

Lucas walked across the warehouse floor, his worn and scuffed boots taking him past the work area and packing machines. This warehouse only dealt in parts, not the finished product. The environ filters were finished only by registered humans in the city towers.

He focused his telepathy on the mental grid, counted out five, eight, ten Warhounds Classed from IV to III, a mix of 'path-oriented and 'kinetic-oriented psions. They weren't teleporting out. Lucas smiled as he confirmed that, the expression caught by a multitude of security-feed sensors embedded in the walls around him as he took the metal stairs up to the second level. He wasn't in a hurry, which didn't bode well for anyone's survival.

We have orders to kill you, one of the remaining Warhound telepaths said.

Oh, please try. I need the workout, Lucas replied on a wide public 'path.

Warhounds knew never to disobey the ruling Serca. That Lucas had, at one point, been their superior didn't stop the ten from trying to kill him. They knew the odds; dying by Lucas's hands would be quick. Nathan would kill them slowly, if he killed them at all.

The fire that exploded around Lucas's layered telekinetic shields was hot enough to suck out all the moisture in the air. Feeling sweat evaporate off his skin, Lucas teleported out of reach of that burning bubble. Appearing elsewhere, Lucas lashed out with his telekinetic strength, breaking the spine of the attacking pyrokinetic. The fire left behind began to expand, burning out of control.

The telepaths gathered in a merge, striking out at Lucas's mind. Telekinetic pressure bore down on his shields. Defending on two fronts took strength, which Lucas had but couldn't afford to deplete.

Lucas's shields-both telepathic and telekinetic-were solid walls that the Warhounds could not breach, smooth and without the chinks found in lower-Classed psions. The telepaths didn't have a chance, even with their power swelled by three minds. Lucas had been taught by his father, descended from a family who had produced more Class I triad psions in their short history than any other.

The telepaths survived the bright, novalike burnout Lucas inflicted on them. They did not survive sane.

The pair of telekinetics found their minds bent beneath the strength of Lucas's power until they broke, their control shattering to pieces.

If you're finished with this whole pathetic mess, I've got a message for you, Lucas telepathically sent to every remaining Warhound in the building.

You'll kill us, the psychometrist said.

I need some of you alive. You can be that percentage. Choose now.

The surviving telekinetic agreed first, followed by the remaining Warhounds. Lucas watched as they slowly came out of their positions, military-grade guns in the hands of the psychometrist and electrokinetics, the others with their powers held sharply at the ready in their minds.

Lucas rocked back slightly on his heels and smiled at them, the expression malicious and cold. "At least some of you are intelligent."

"We've got standing kill orders," the psychometrist said, her voice flat. "Start talking."

Lucas raised a finger and slammed her into the wall with his telekinesis. He stripped off her gloves with a thought, pressed her bare hands to that old metal structure, and broke her shields. He took away her control and left her with everything that her power could feel in the memories left behind in the warehouse. Her screams echoed long and loud as the memories in that wall overloaded her power in seconds, choking out a mind stripped of all defenses.

"I give the orders here," Lucas reminded them. "Anyone want to argue that?"

The Warhounds stayed silent and stayed where they were, long accustomed to obeying a Serca, no matter which one it was.

Lucas nodded his approval and let the psychometrist fall to the ground. She curled into the fetal position and pressed her hands to her chest, fingers digging into her body as her mind shut down, becoming catatonic.

"Your kill orders are useless without the right people," Lucas finally said, his eyes roving from face to face. "If Nathan wants me, he can come himself."

"You know he never will," an electrokinetic said with careful respect.

"I'm counting on it." Lucas sounded almost cheerful. "Tell my siblings I'll be waiting for them here in Buffalo. Three against one sounds like fair odds, don't you think? I'd even settle for two."

The Warhounds were silent in the face of his mockery, but their thoughts were crystal clear. He picked through their minds with ease, deducing their hierarchy of rank now that he'd killed a third of the integrated teams. With a thought, Lucas teleported into the personal space of the electrokinetic who hadn't yet spoken, the only Class III in the group. She was young, nineteen or so, reaching what psions considered middle age, and smart enough to show fear even as she held her ground.

Lucas let her live for that compliment.

"They have two days," Lucas said, searching her brown eyes with his own dark blue as he implanted the challenge and memory straight into her mind. She doubled over in pain from the transfer. "They won't pass it up."

The electrokinetic nodded, wiping at the blood that was leaking from her nose. "I'll report," she gasped out. "Sir."

Lucas let her go. "You do that."

He teleported out, arriving back in the place he'd left barely twenty minutes ago. It was a small, one-room building thirty kilometers outside Buffalo, built right up against a tall, derelict signal tower. The government had abandoned it years ago; scavengers took the leftovers.

Matron was sitting in front of the building's only control terminal, feet propped on the console, a knife in her hand carefully cutting a small green apple into pieces. She didn't look up at his arrival. "You finish whatever you needed to get done?"

"I wouldn't be here if I hadn't."

"Good. I'd hate to think you failed. I like your bribes too much." Matron popped a section of the expensive fruit into her mouth. The look of bliss that settled over her face stemmed from genuine pleasure. "This is why I believe in God. Or what passes for that negligent asshole."

Lucas huffed out a small laugh as he sprawled in the only other chair in the small control room of what Matron considered to be her property. She had built it up five years ago on Lucas's orders, piggy-backing off the government's official signals to retrieve weather data. It was rarely used by her scavengers, so its sporadic resurgence was never picked up by anyone in Buffalo. The government had other things to worry about than a broken weather station.

Lucas rested his head against the back of the chair and closed his eyes. A headache was creeping across the breadth of his skull, a warning he acknowledged, but couldn't heed. Finishing the mission came before his own health.

"Two days," he said. "If that."

Matron continued to eat her apple. "You're taking a risk, running everything up against that acid storm. Its spine is a derecho. It's gonna be the worst weather Buffalo has seen in a decade. Maybe two."

"This is how it goes."

Matron hummed her agreement; maybe her dissatisfaction. It was impossible to tell. "I have been all things unholy," she whispered as she licked the bright green peel and tasted the sweet tartness of dreams. "'And yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for thou art with me.'"

"Why is it you humans always look outside yourselves for answers?"

"Why is it you psions can't believe in anything but yourselves?"

Lucas stretched out his fingers, filled the space between them with his power until it was difficult for the both of them to breathe. Matron didn't flinch.

"We are your gods," Lucas reminded her. "You made us to save you."

"I didn't make shit." Matron looked up at the faint warning beep coming from the computer as the weather Doppler-radar grid shifted, moving from green to red somewhere over the Midwest. The projections that the computer spit out weren't pretty, bow echos and rain across the vidscreen, across the country; a radar line of storm clouds. "Do I call you Noah now?"

Lucas turned his head and opened his eyes to look at her, this woman he had saved years ago. "Two by fucking two, Matron. Two by fucking two."

Matron bit down on the core of her apple and chewed slowly. She spit the seeds out into her hand and tucked them into her pocket for safekeeping. Things like that should never be wasted.

Somewhere in the far distance, several states to the west, a storm was brewing, moving quickly in their direction. They watched it fill the screen, the only sound in the small weather station their quiet breathing and the crunch of an apple between Matron's metal teeth.

[NINETEEN].

AUGUST 2379.

LONDON, UNITED KINGDOM.

Nathan was in the Netherlands, securing his political relationships over the latest Act he had pushed through the World Court. Which meant it fell to Samantha to extract the memory from the electrokinetic who had been stationed in Buffalo.

Lucas never failed to piss her off.

Standing in her office, arms crossed over her chest, she glared furiously at the electrokinetic crouched at her feet, letting her older brother's challenge tumble over and over through her mind.

"We shouldn't give him what he wants," Gideon said from where he sat behind Samantha's desk.

"Of course not," Samantha spat out. "The only question is what the fuck does he really want? Us there or not there? It's a fifty-fifty chance, and no matter what we choose, you can fucking bet Lucas will compensate for it."

"He always asks for you." Gideon gestured at the Warhound on the floor, teleporting her out with the casual use of power that came as naturally as breathing. "Perhaps you should stay behind."

"You wouldn't be able to find him." Samantha shook her head. "I want him dead, Gideon."

"So does Nathan." Her twin shrugged. "Unless Nathan goes after Lucas, we'll never be able to bring him back. You know that, every Warhound knows that. It's death to believe otherwise. Nathan doesn't because he can't. Not and risk everything we're working toward."

"Then what the bloody hell are we doing?"

Gideon gave her a level look. "Obeying."

Samantha ground her teeth, tongue pressed hard against the roof of her mouth. Bending her head, she closed her eyes and easily drew her brother into a psi link that she sent skimming over a sea and a continent to where their father was.

Sir, they said together on the outskirts of Nathan's mind.

After a moment, Nathan dropped his shields and allowed them into his mind. His attention, while solid, was focused elsewhere. That didn't mean his power couldn't hurt them. Samantha steeled herself and dropped the report directly into Nathan's mind. His anger seeped through their thoughts.

An ultimatum? Nathan asked slowly. Does he never learn?

It's a trap, Gideon said. He wants us there.

Nathan's disgust was thick enough that it translated into an actual taste on Samantha's tongue. Of course he does. Lucas can't bargain without witnesses.

Your orders?

Nathan was silent for a long moment. We're too close to the launch date. We can't afford any interference.

Sir? Samantha this time; alone. Gideon was a silent presence in her mind that she resented with everything she had.

I want him dead, Nathan said, echoing his daughter's desire. I don't care about the cost. Our mission is Mars Colony. Lucas is a distraction that needs to be stopped. Do what needs to be done, Samantha. I'll leave the decision of how to go about killing him in your hands. I trust I won't have to tell you what will happen if you fail.

Samantha buried her anger deep, because it wouldn't help her here-only obedience would. Gideon was right. Sir.

Nathan pulled away, cutting the connection, needing all his attention on manipulating the humans. Samantha opened her eyes, raised her head, and found herself staring into her twin's face. Gideon's expression was calm, almost triumphant, as if this were all he'd ever been waiting for, this chance to prove himself to the few who mattered. Samantha was pretty damn certain that she didn't matter, not for this.

"I'll go," Gideon said. "You should stay here."

"No," Samantha said as she clenched her hands into fists.

"You failed to stop Lucas when he left London." Gideon reached out and wrapped his hand around her wrist, the look in his eyes disapproving. "You've failed all the times since when ordered after him."

She tried to twist out of his grip, but she couldn't break free of his telekinesis. "So did you, Gideon."

"I'm not the one who consistently comes up short. That's you." He gave her a little shake, some shred of emotion filtering across his face. It wasn't real, even if he believed it was. "Let me do this for you. For us. You know I can do this for us."

They were twins, born mere minutes apart, she with telepathy and he with telekinesis that was strong enough to incorporate teleportation. Neither of them were a triad psion that Nathan had hoped to control. Hell, they weren't even close to being what he really wanted. They were simply and only functional mistakes that he pitted against each other again and again because it amused him. Samantha didn't want the post that Nathan was making them fight for now that Lucas was gone. She didn't want what Gideon would bleed and scream and kill for, though neither her twin nor her father would ever truly believe her, even with her thoughts as proof, not after Lucas's escape.

She didn't want the Serca Syndicate.

She wanted Lucas.

Dead or alive, she wanted her older brother to pay.

"No," Samantha said, backing up her words with her telepathic strength. "Kristen and I will go. You're a telekinetic, Gideon. You'd need a dozen telepaths to help you find Lucas. I can find him by myself."

"Only if he lets you, which is something you can't count on," Gideon said. "When you find him, what will you do? How will you save yourself?"

"Kristen."

Gideon's contempt filtered through to her as he let her go. It was his arrogance, however, that annoyed her. Samantha peeled apart her shields, let her telepathy drag him into the psi link they'd shared since they were born.