Justice Keepers Saga--Books 1-3, page 79
A man's face filled her vision, and though he was young and handsome, his crooked smile was colder than an arctic blizzard. She barely had time to think before she felt the sting of a needle pricking her arm.
HELP ME.
She was cold, hungry and desperate to escape. When images of the guards popped into her mind, Anna felt a hatred she would have never thought possible. A strong desire to inflict pain just for the satisfaction of seeing her victims cry for mercy. The guards… Anna would have expected them to take advantage of this woman, but none would dare. They were all too afraid of her.
The image shifted, rippling out of existence like a reflection in water that had been disturbed. When the swirling colours reformed into solid objects, she found herself back in the cramped little cell.
The door slid open to reveal a man in black pants and a long blue jacket with gold embroidery on the cuff of each sleeve. A handsome face with dark tilted eyes was framed by shoulder-length black hair. Anna would have gasped if she'd had any control over her body. She'd recognize that traitorous face anywhere.
Grecken Slade.
Everything went dark, and she was amazed to discover that she could once again move her arms and legs. Or rather, she could move the mental projections of her arms and legs. This place was a dreamworld; she knew that somehow. So far as she could tell, she was standing on nothing at all, smack dab in the middle of an endless void. Her first instinct was to wonder why she had been brought here. The answer became clear as soon as she turned around.
Another woman stood with her in the darkness: a tall, slim beauty in a sleeveless dress that exposed the smooth, dark skin of her arms and shoulders. Her round face was quite striking with eyes that smoldered when she looked at you, but her head was shaved. Somehow Anna didn't think that was a deliberate choice.
The woman stood on nothing at all and somehow walked across a floor that wasn't there. “Two-soul,” she said, nodding to Anna. “You must help me escape from this place. I have gone to great lengths to attract your attention.”
“Who are you?”
“My birth name was Keli Armana,” she said. “I have the gift of Communion. These men wish to study me.”
“Communion?”
Images flashed in Anna's mind, flickering into existence and disappearing before she could even identify them. She caught a glimpse of a home with a big tree in the front yard, a young man who looked very much like Keli. There were dozens more, but Anna couldn't track them all. She understood in just a few seconds. A telepath.
This woman was a telepath.
Anna shut her eyes, suddenly cognizant of a throbbing pain in her forehead. “You're a telepath,” she said, touching fingertips to her temples. “How did you get my attention? How did you contact me from down there?”
“There is no time for this,” she said. “You must come.”
“You're in the base on Ganymede.”
“Yes. Come.”
The void vanished, and she was back in the shuttle once again, snug and secure in the pilot's seat. Checking her instruments revealed that she had been out of it for a little over a minute. Her shuttle was still on course for its rendezvous with the Elandra. She breathed out a sigh of relief only to realize that things had just become infinitely more complicated.
How was she going to explain this to Jena?
“You're sure it was Slade?”
Jena sat on the edge of her desk in her long brown trenchcoat, resting her hands on her knees. “There's no way you could be mistaken?” she asked. “You're not just seeing what you want to see?”
Hugging herself and rubbing her upper arms, Anna approached the desk with her head down. “I know what I saw,” she answered. “Believe me, I know the face of the man who sent me after the missing symbiont.”
“Could it be a trick?”
Lifting her chin, Anna studied the other woman for a long moment. “Does it really matter?” she asked, arching an eyebrow. “We know there's a woman being held captive on that station. It's our duty to free her.”
Jena hopped off the desk.
She turned her back on Anna, making her way over to the huge window that looked out on a vast expanse of stars. “I'm forced to agree…” she muttered. “Call Jack and Ben and put your heads together. I want a mission plan on my desk by tomorrow morning.”
Anna couldn't hide the huge grin on her face. Sometimes, when you did things in the right way, you ended up with a good result. “Thank you, Jena,” she said. “You'll have that plan by tomorrow; I promise you.”
10
As house parties went, this one was pretty lame. Though today was the last day of school before Christmas vacation, and that meant her classmates were going to take any excuse to socialize, even if that meant sitting around someone's house and doing very little in the way of partying.
A dozen people were sprawled out on two couches that faced each other on either side of a coffee table. The TV in front of the large rectangular window displayed some kind of football video game; Melissa had never cared for sports games. Her boyfriend, on the other hand, was as focused as a lion on the hunt.
Aaron sat with the controller in hand, a look of concentration on his face. “Come on!” he said, sweat glistening on his forehead. “Come on! Oh yeah! You see that? Touchdown in the final ten seconds, baby!”
He got to his feet with a grunt.
Tall and slim with a nice body, Aaron wore a pair of jeans and a dark gray sweater. His face was handsome with high cheekbones and a pale complexion, his black hair cut so short it was little more than stubble. “Damn, fucker!” he shouted. “You just got pwned. Massively pwned!”
Mike Sanders, the boy who lived in this house, sat on the opposite couch with a big smile on his face. “Winning by one touchdown is not pwnage,” he said, shaking his head in dismay. “So shut the fuck up.”
“You hear that, babe?” Aaron asked.
Melissa sat in a chair with her hands on her knees, her eyes downcast. “Seems like you won to me,” she said with a shrug of her shoulders. Why did Aaron always feel the need to drag her into this?
Mike looked up at her, squinting as he sized her up. “Of course you'd say that,” he replied. “You're fucking him.”
Melissa felt intense heat in her cheeks and sweat on her brow. Her face twisted as she strained for a comeback. Why did everyone assume that just because they had been dating for three months that she was…
Nothing came to mind, of course. She wasn't the kind of girl who prided herself on winning verbal sparring matches. She could argue with her father and her sister, but when it came to her classmates, that was another story altogether. In truth, she would have been much happier if they had just left her out of this.
Aaron turned his back on her, crossing his arms as he loomed over Mike. “Yo, man, that was a dick move!” he shouted. “I think you owe my girlfriend an apology!”
“Fuck off.”
Melissa opted to leave instead of listening to more of this. It wouldn't go anywhere in any event; the two of them would just strut around, trying to prove which one of them had higher testosterone levels. She had seen it before, and she wasn't particularly inclined to see it again.
The living room connected with the kitchen through a large, wide opening, and on the other side, she saw a bunch of other kids leaning against the white cupboards that encircled the room. Sarah Larson – a tall girl in a black dress who kept her short blonde hair in a bob – was leaning over the counter and mixing orange pop into a drink she must have invented on her own.
Melissa squeezed her eyes shut, trembling with frustration. “I don't know why they keep doing this,” she said, pacing into the kitchen. “Every time we get together, it's the same damn thing!”
Sarah whirled around with a cup in each hand. The young woman wore a smile on her pretty face, her blue eyes sparkling. “That's what boys do, Miss,” she teased. “Come on. Take your mind off it.”
She offered a cup.
Melissa frowned, glancing down at the drink. “What'd you put in that?” she asked, thick creases stretching across her brow. “I've gotta go back home tonight, and my Dad will have a fit if I get-”
“You worry too much,” Sarah said before lifting her own cup and taking a drink. “See? Nothing crazy. Just a little Smirnoff and a little Orange Crush.”
Melissa cautiously accepted, and after just a few sips, she decided that Sarah was right; she needed to relax. Just a little. Two weeks of tests, term papers and her boyfriend dragging her out with his friends had left her feeling just a little on edge. She knew how to drink carefully. There was no chance of her getting trashed out of her mind.
“Mike's an idiot,” Aaron said, coming up behind her. “Sorry you had to hear that, sweetie. Next time I'll knock him upside the head.”
“Yeah, 'cause that's what she wants.”
A scowl twisted Sarah's features into something nasty as she stared into her cup. “Men,” she huffed. “Always solving problems with violence.”
“Sometimes it's the only thing that works.”
Melissa shut her eyes and touched three fingers to the bridge of her nose. “I need to get out of here,” she muttered. “The whole point of me coming out was to reduce stress.”
Her boyfriend stepped in front of her.
Aaron flashed that devilish smile that left butterflies in her stomach. “You feeling stressed, baby?” he asked. “Come here. I got something to help you relax.”
“I don't want it.”
He backed up with hands raised defensively, nearly stumbling into the kitchen counter. “Oh don't be like that,” he whined. “It took a lot of nagging to convince my guy to let me have a look at it.”
The “guy” he referred to was Chris Beltran, an employee at the local gas station who made a little extra cash by selling weed to high school students. Aaron's idea of a perfect Saturday night usually involved a bong and the latest version of Modern Warfare. “I don't want any weed,” she told him.
“It's not weed.”
He slipped a hand into his pants pocket, then pulled out a plastic bag with maybe half a dozen purple pills inside. “It's Leyrian stuff,” he went on. “It's supposed to loosen you up and make you feel more confident.”
Sarah perked up when she saw the bag, insisting that she'd like to try it. Melissa couldn't say that she was in any way surprised; if there was a new way to get high, Sarah would always be the first in line.
Her boyfriend gave her one of those puppy-dog stares that said he would be oh so happy if she just gave in on this issue. “I don't know…” Melissa mumbled. “I really don't want my dad catching me.”
Aaron stepped forward.
He offered a small, tight-lipped smile, then leaned in close so that his forehead was almost touching hers. “Come on, babe. I got this stuff for you.” He held the bag up in both hands, waving the purple pills in front of her face. “Just try it once.”
“Aaron-”
“Please.”
His tone of voice reminded her of a little boy begging to stay up just a little longer. That was the way with Aaron; he never threatened or cajoled. He never implied that you might lose his respect if you failed to go along with whatever he wanted. Instead, he just made it clear that saying yes would make him incredibly happy.
Everyone was looking at her, and she had to suppress the sudden urge to hunch up her shoulders and hide her face in her shirt. How was it that she could talk to her parents, her teachers – just about any adult, for that matter – with complete confidence but the instant she felt even a little scrutiny from her peers, she wanted to run and hide? Melissa didn't want to get high, but she wasn't that girl. The uptight girl who got all judgmental whenever her friends wanted to have fun. Whenever they looked at her, she could tell they were expecting her to see that girl.
“Fine,” she said, holding out her hand.
Aaron dropped a pill into her palm.
She popped it in her mouth.
Bright lights in the ceiling illuminated a large kitchen where an island sat in the middle of a white-tiled floor. Wooden cupboards formed a ring around the room, each one crowned with granite countertops.
Harry sat at the island in jeans and a gray sweater, frowning as he stared down at his plate of ravioli. “I think she's lost it,” he muttered. “She just crashed my meeting to present that outlandish plan.”
He looked up.
His host was a man in his late forties with deep creases in his forehead and thinning gray hair. “Aamani has been growing restless lately,” John Clark said. “If you ask me, I think she's feeling less and less relevant.”
Ten years ago, John had been an inspector with the RCMP, a position that brought him into regular contact with one of Ottawa's youngest detectives. As the years passed, the two of them had maintained their friendship, and Harry had never been more grateful to have an ally than he was right now.
Not long ago, he would have said that being a city cop was one of the most political jobs imaginable. The amount of cajoling, coercing and convincing necessary to make the Mounties willing to share even the tiniest speck of information was enough to leave him with the urge to pull his hair out. But as hard as that was, acting as the liaison to an alien police force was even worse. John was now a superintendent in the Ontario Division, a position that kept him well informed of the latest government nonsense.
Harry shut his eyes tight, pressing a fist to his forehead. “I think it goes pretty far beyond that,” he said, massaging away an ache. “I worked with Aamani back when the Leyrians made first contact.”
“I remember.”
Crossing his arms with a sigh, Harry turned his head. “She was always slow to trust,” he said with a shrug. “But now it's gotten even worse. I think she honestly expects the Leyrians to pull off their human masks to reveal lizards underneath.”
Lifting his wine glass by the stem, John took a moment to peer into the dark liquid. “I don't think it's as bad as all that,” he muttered. “But, Harry, have you ever considered the possibility that she might be right?”
“Of course I have.”
“Considered and dismissed it?”
Harry looked up at the ceiling, blinking slowly as he phrased his response, “Listen, we both know the Leyrians could pulverize us with very little effort,” he said. “If that was what they wanted, they would have done it.”
He stabbed a piece of ravioli with a fork and popped it in his mouth. One thing he could say about John: the man was an excellent cook. About five years back, he'd brought his family here for dinner and marveled at Della's praise of the chicken parmesan that John had served. His ex-wife was an incredibly picky eater.
Missy had spent most of that night mooning over John's eldest son, a boy four years her senior who barely noticed the eleven-year-old with the great big crush. Simpler times. Sometimes, Harry tried to remember what it was like back when Earth was the centre of the universe.
A scowl twisted John's face into something unrecognizable. The man shook his head with a soft sigh. “I lean toward your point of view on this,” he said. “But you have to understand, people are going to raise eyebrows at your willingness to jump into bed with the Leyrians so quickly.”
“What I do in my personal life-”
“I'm sorry,” John cut him off. “That wasn't what I meant.”
The man dabbed his mouth with a napkin, then heaved out a sigh of frustration. “It was just a figure of speech,” he went on. “But I guess that does answer my next question. You're really dating a Leyrian woman?”
“Yeah.”
“What's that like?”
Grinning with a burst of wheezing laughter, Harry closed his eyes. “It's quite the unique experience,” he admitted. “Jena's not like any woman I've ever met before. She's got a…a fire in her belly.”
Harry poured more wine into his glass, watching as the dark liquid swished about before finally settling. “She's got no tolerance for politics,” he said, grabbing the stem of his glass with two fingers. “But she prides herself on being able to play the game.”
“She sounds like my kind of woman,” Jon said, eyebrows rising. “And is it true that Justice Keepers in their forties still look like college students?”
“No comment.”
He was about to change the subject back to relations between the Mounties and the Keepers – for all his protests that he hated politics, Harry was all too willing to seize an opportunity – but his multi-tool chirped.
Rolling up his sleeve, Harry exposed the small rectangular screen attached to his gauntlet. The words “incoming call” kept flashing in bright green letters. He swiped a finger across the screen to answer.
A moment later, he was confronted with the image of a nurse in green scrubs who sat behind a desk. “Mr. Carlson?” Her brows drew together as she studied him. “Have I reached Harry Carlson?”
“You have.”
The nurse appraised him for a moment, then nodded when she was satisfied. “I'm calling about your daughter, sir,” she began. “One Melissa Carlson? She ingested some Leyrian medication. Her friends called 9-1-1 when she collapsed.”
Harry practically jumped out of his seat.
“She's on her way to the SlipGate terminal,” the nurse went on. “Protocol dictates that whenever we receive a patient who ingested Leyrian pharmaceuticals we turn them over to Leyrian physicians.”
“I'm on my way!” Harry shouted, ending the call.
Long, wide corridors with gray walls ran on for what felt like miles, following the slight curve of the station's ring. Down here in the medical wing, he saw nurses in white scrubs along with medical bots rolling through the hallways on treads.
Harry marched through the corridor in a big heavy coat, scowling down at himself. “I'm gonna kill her,” he growled through clenched teeth. “Dear Jesus, let her survive so I can kill her.”
He came to the doors to the med-bay.
They slid apart to reveal scuffed gray floor tiles stretching across a huge room with beds positioned up against the walls. The head doctor's office was marked by a door off to his left. For the most part, the place was empty.
