Hostage to Pleasure

But even if the sniper had kept his word, it was clear that something had gone wrong. All her theories to the contrary notwithstanding, it was highly probable that Keenan was dead. She dropped her hand and stared Ming in the face, letting her own go slack as if with fatigue. If Keenan was dead, then she no longer had anything to lose by putting this plan in motion.

“I’m sending a pickup team,” Ming said. “You’ll be taken to a specialist facility.”

“Not necessary.” Ashaya closed her hand over her organizer, the small computer device that held all her experimental and personal data. “One of my team can check me out-we’re all medically trained.”

“I want you fully evaluated by the clinicians at the Center.”

She wondered if he was threatening her even now. The Center was where defective Psy were sent to be rehabilitated. “Ming, if you believe me to be compromised, please have the courtesy to say so to my face. I’m not a child to run screaming.” Except of course, Psy children didn’t scream much beyond the first year of life. She wondered if Keenan had screamed at the end. Her hand tightened, the cool hardness of the organizer anchoring her to reality. Silence, she reminded herself, you are a being of perfect Silence. An ice-cold automaton without emotion or heart. It was the only thing she could be.

Ming’s expression didn’t change. “I’ll talk to you after the evaluation.” The screen went off.

She knew she had mere minutes, if that. Ming had access to airjets and teleportation-capable telekinetics. If he wanted her whisked out of here, she would be. She flipped over her organizer, slid down the cover and pulled out the one-square-centimeter chip that held every piece of data in the device. Not allowing herself second thoughts, she swallowed the chip, her movements calculated to appear innocuous to the watching cameras.

Next, she reached into her pocket, found a replacement chip with enough duplicate data to allay suspicion-as least for a few days-and slotted it in. Just in time. There was a flicker at the corner of her eye. She swiveled to find a male standing there. He was dressed in pure unrelieved black, but for the golden insignia on his left shoulder-two snakes locked in combat. Ming’s personal symbol.

“Ma’am, my name is Vasic. I’m to escort you to the Center.”

She nodded, rose. His eyes betrayed no movement as she slipped her organizer into the pocket of her lab coat, but she knew he’d noted its placement. Ming would have plenty of time to go through it while she was being analyzed. “I didn’t expect pickup by Tk.”

It wasn’t a question, so the other Psy didn’t answer.

“Do you require touch?” she asked, coming to stand beside him. Psy didn’t touch as a rule, but some powers were strengthened by contact.

“No,” he said, proving her suspicion that Ming had sent one of his strongest men. It mattered little that his eyes were gray rather than cardinal night-sky-exceptions such as Ming aside, cardinals were often too cerebral to be much good at the practical side of things. Like killing.

The male met her eyes. “If you would please lower your basic shields.”

She did so and a second later, her bones seemed to melt from the inside out. Part of her, the scientist, wondered if telekinetics felt the same loss of self, the same sense of their bodies liquefying into nothing. Then the sensation ended and she found herself facing a door that existed nowhere in her lab. “Thank you,” she said, reengaging her shields.

He nodded at the door. “Please go through.”

She knew he would stand guard, make sure she didn’t attempt an escape. It made her wonder why he’d teleported her outside, rather than inside, the room. Since, no matter what happened, this was her last day as the head M-Psy on the Implant team, she asked him.

His answer was unexpected. “I am not a team player.”

She understood but pretended not to. Was Ming testing her allegiance, trying to tempt her with the kinds of statements used by the rebels to communicate with one another? “I’m afraid I don’t follow. Perhaps you can explain it to me later.” Without waiting for an answer, she pushed through the door, already able to feel the tingling in the tips of her fingers and toes.

The chip she’d swallowed contained close to a terabyte of data, the result of years of research. But it also contained something else-a coating of pure, undiluted poison. She’d spent hours, when she should have been working on the implant, perfecting the unique properties of the poison for this one attempt.

The calculation was simple: Ashaya intended to escape the Implant lab.

With the heightened security, the only way to escape was to die.

So Ashaya would die.

CHAPTER 2

Amara felt something ripple inside her. Displeased at the interruption, she searched her mind for the source of the disturbance. It took her a few seconds to find it as the majority of her brain was occupied with the complicated task at hand.

The carrier was dead.