Back in the days of the Guard, they invited all psychics from every walk of life, of every creed, to join them on Mimir and later in its allied systems. Now, the colony at E-557 is the only haven left. It’s not much of a choice. But it’s a choice nonetheless.
— Padraig Danson, senior claims reviewer for the New Earth Commonwealth Colonial Office, interview by NewsWire, 20 Decem 5248
3 Decem, 5249 PD
Artificial wind lifted hair away from her face, worrying it free of the braid she’d pulled it into. The ship landing was silver, emblazoned with the white and orange of Mission Systems along its flanks, sleeker than the heavier cruisers that plied the trade lanes. It was clearly a ship meant for short hops at higher speeds than the usual craft built by Mission Systems. Lindsay took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly, glancing toward Marshal Aidan Church, a big, dark-skinned man, standing next to her and watching as the ship slowly settled down on the landing field at the air base at Nova Spexi.
“How many did they say there was going to be?” She asked quietly. She could feel a lot of people aboard the ship, feel the whispers of their minds, some dimmer than others. “Feels like a lot.”
Aidan shook his head slowly, dark eyes narrowing as the ship’s engines whined for a moment before they shut down. “Maybe forty. Maybe less, maybe more. Ship can’t hold that many and they haven’t been able to get an accurate count. They had to turn back twice because they caught more signals from survivors in the system.”
Lindsay took a deep breath and eased her mental shields down slightly, rocking back against her heels and gasping a little at the feelings of desperation and fear coupled with relief and trepidation all at once. “Oh,” she exhaled, squeezing her hands into fists.
The military commander touched her shoulder gently, voice softening. “Are you all right?”
She took a steadying breath and nodded, easing her shields back up. “I’m all right. They’re just so afraid. There’s so many of them, everyone’s thoughts and feelings are melting together.” She looked up at Aidan and smiled. “I didn’t pick up anyone that’s out to hurt anyone here.” Her smile faded. “But that doesn’t mean there isn’t one among them. There’s a lot of generalized fear in there.”
Aidan nodded slightly. “That’s why you’re one of the ones working with them.”
“I know,” Lindsay said softly. Lot of responsibility. But what else can I do? She wet her lips, crossing her arms. “I’ll let you and your people secure the ship. You’ll bring the refugees down to the community center?”
He nodded. “As always. Dr. Grace and Dr. Vilenauva standing by?”
“They should be, with some volunteers to do triage. Marshal Windsor wanted to speak with the Mission Systems personnel once the refugees are unloaded and the ship’s secure.” Lindsay didn’t turn toward the sound of familiar footsteps approaching her from behind. She’d grown so used to Alana’s tread she didn’t even need to look anymore, and Alana had learned a long time ago not to sneak up on her. “He said to bring them to him in conference three.”
“I’ll take care of that personally.” Aidan glanced away from Lindsay toward Alana, inclining his head. “Colonel Chase.”
“Marshal.” Alana stopped and stood behind Lindsay’s shoulder, adopting a parade rest stance, feet slightly spread and her shoulders straight, hands clasped behind her back. She was back in a fitted black shirt over baggy gray cargos and combat boots, her blonde hair pulled tightly out of her face. “I take it I’m not late to helping you secure the ship and its passengers?”
“Not late at all, no.” Aidan smirked. “Do what do I owe the honor of your assistance?”
Good question. Lindsay looked over her shoulder at Alana, arching a brow.
Alana’s shoulders rose and fell in a shrug. “I thought it would be a good use of my time. I have some capacity for being nonlethal when I put my mind to it.” She held up her metal-sheathed hand. “I’ve loaded sedatives, just in case. Some of these people may be more than a little panicked, unless I miss my guess.”
Lindsay’s brow creased, now. What’s gotten into you, Alana? Where are you getting all of this from? “Alana?”
Alana smiled at her faintly. “I’ve been reading, Lindsay. That’s all.”
She nodded mutely. I’m not sure what’s going on here. Maybe I’m having some sort of crazy nightmare. This isn’t like her.
Aidan arched a brow at Lindsay, then looked back at Alana. “I’m appreciative of the offer, Colonel. Wouldn’t dream of saying no, either. Go see Michaelson.”
Alana dipped her head in acknowledgement, smiled at Lindsay, then stepped away, heading over at a jog to the trim man with graying brown hair that was Major Curtis Michaelson, one of the higher ranking infantrymen on E-557. Lindsay frowned, watching her retreating back.
“Something wrong, Lindsay?”
“Maybe,” she murmured, crossing her arms. “Alana isn’t acting like herself.”
Aidan frowned a little, following her gaze for a moment, then shook his head. “Colonel Chase is an enigma, Lindsay. She always has been.” He crossed his arms as well. “But she’s as good a soldier as I’ve ever met and your aunt trusts her. You trust her.”
“I know I trust her,” Lindsay murmured. “I just feel like she’s been acting a little funny the past few days.” Maybe it has to do with whatever she and Dad talked about. I never did get answers on that. Or maybe it’s something about her arm. Maybe they’re connected. She blew out a breath through her teeth.
A clank echoed dully as the main hatch of the Mission Systems ship came open, a ramp slowly extending. The first man out wore a Mission Systems jacket as he climbed out and exchanged a few words with Michaelson. Even with her shields up, Lindsay could sense the man’s relief to finally be on E-557 safely. A few moments later, the man started walking toward Aidan and Lindsay as Michaelson and Alana headed up and into the ship.
He cleared his throat, a trace of nervousness in his voice. “Marshal Church?”
Aidan nodded. “Mr. Tapas, I presume.” He extended his hand. “Marshal Aidan Church. It’s a pleasure to meet you, though I wish it was under more pleasant circumstances.”
“So do I, Marshal.” Tapas glanced sidelong at Lindsay for a moment, dark eyes raking over her in a look that was curious more than appraising, then looked back at Aidan. “I take it that you’re going to be my point of contact for this?”
Aidan shook his head slightly. “Just for this initial phase. Marshal Windsor would like to see you and your crew at the command center once the refugees are unloaded and your craft has been secured.” He crossed his arms, looking past Tapas to the ship. “How many do you have?”
Tapas blew out a breath. “Fifteen crew. Thirty refugees, ten passengers.”
Passengers? Lindsay blinked. “I wasn’t aware Mission Systems was in the business of ferrying passengers, Mr. Tapas.”
He glanced at her again and smiled weakly. “We’re not, Miss…?”
“Consul Lindsay Farragut.” She extended one gloved hand to him, smiling faintly. The thin leather didn’t seem like much to separate them, but it was enough to kill all but the strongest of touch-based visions of the future. That sort of precognition had plagued her since she was a child. It was only recently that she’d been able to bring it under tighter control, but more recently it had started to slip here and there. She’d told herself it was due to the sheer weight of what was coming, of what was beginning to build around them. Perhaps it was true.
Tapas hesitated a moment at the glove and then shook her hand. “Are you any relation to the late Senator Farragut?”
“He was my grandfather, Mr. Tapas.” Whatever powers that be safekeep his soul. One of the first to die when Mimir fell. That’s part of why the Commonwealth even gave a damn. They’d lost one of their greatest reformers when he died. “I never knew him.”
“My father met him, once. Said he was a great man.” The smile Tapas gave her was genuine. “It’s good to know that his line hasn’t disappeared into the ether.”
“Thank you, Mr. Tapas,” Lindsay said, squeezing his hand slightly before she let go. “Now, about your passengers?”
Tapas nodded slightly. “Yes, the passengers. We’re not actually in the business, but we picked up a group of ten adrift just out of orbit in-system near the Whispers. They’d been inbound when everything happened. From New Earth.”
From New Earth? That’d be a first, I think. Lindsay’s brow furrowed.
“Interesting. I’m sure Consul Farragut would be very interested in speaking with them. Our current intelligence on the situation in the Commonwealth has been sketchy at best.” Aidan glanced at her for confirmation and Lindsay nodded slightly.
I’d be very glad to get information untainted by D’Arcy Morgause, yes.
Tapas nodded, smiling weakly. “I’ll have one of my crewmen bring them to you as soon as I can, then, Marshal, Consul.”
“That’d be appreciated. Do you have wounded?”
Tapas took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. “We do. One of my people was an EMT in a past life, so he’s been taking care of some of the worst of them. Couple we weren’t sure were going to make it, but they’ve made it this far and he said they’re stable. You have medics standing by?”
Aidan nodded. “Two of our best. Consul?”
Lindsay glanced at Aidan. “Marshal?”
“Ping Colonel Chase and have her get the wounded off-loaded ASAP, will you please? Ask her to escort them to Dr. Grace and Dr. Vilenauva immediately.”
Lindsay nodded and closed her eyes, though not so quickly that she didn’t see Tapas blink quickly, a look of shock crossing his face. She was aware of him speaking as she mentally extended a tendril, seeking Alana’s familiar mind.
“Dr. Grace? Dr. Ezra Grace?”
“You’ve heard of him?” Aidan faked surprise rather well, all things considered. That Tapas had heard of Ezra wasn’t surprising—Ezra Grace was well-known throughout human-controlled space. He was near the top of the short list of doctors specializing in decyberization and reconstruction: removing cybernetic and biomechanical components from men and women who’d had them installed, willingly or unwillingly, often for years, and then reconstructing their bodies in the wake of the removal. His advances in that field had won him a great deal of recognition. That he was well-known was of no surprise to most of the men and women who knew him on E-557—he was one of the brightest stars in the Foundation’s constellation of brilliant minds—but most men and women from off-world thought that the denizens of E-557 lived in some kind of bubble, cut off from the rest of humanity. It generally seemed safer not to disabuse anyone of that idea.
She felt Alana’s confusion and a sudden surge of concern at the touch. Lindsay cursed softly under her breath. ‘Lana, they want you to make sure to bring the wounded out first, and quickly. Marshal Church wants you to escort them directly to Ezra and Tiana. Personally. She felt Alana’s confusion recede, replaced by understanding. Lindsay withdrew back to herself with a slight shiver.
“Aye, I’ve heard of him. My cousin was on a team working on a study testing some of Dr. Grace’s theories on tissue cloning methodology.” Tapas looked a little abashed. “He’s famous in the medical community.”
“Alana knows what you need her to do, Marshal,” Lindsay murmured.
Tapas took a deep breath, looking between the pair for a moment. He focused on Lindsay fractionally longer and finally worked up the guts to ask his question. “Psychic?”
She inclined her head and smiled faintly. “A little. Guard stock.”
Tapas nodded slowly, seeming to take the answer as it came, then turned back to Aidan. Lindsay watched them but didn’t really listen, instead extending a thin tendril of her sixth sense toward Tapas, taking his measure gently, simply getting a feel for the man without reading his thoughts. His nerves were clearly apparent, though that seemed to come more from dealing with new faces and the situation at hand than anything untoward.
He’s used to dealing with Uncle Adam, I guess. Seeing me and Marshal Church unexpectedly is a shock, I suppose. Lindsay withdrew slightly, feeling that Tapas was honest, if rattled by circumstances and situation.
“Well, I’ll let you get back to getting your ship squared away, Mr. Tapas.”
“Thank you, Marshal.” He glanced toward Lindsay and inclined his head slightly. “Consul Farragut.”
She smiled and nodded to him. “Mr. Tapas.”
He withdrew toward his ship almost as Alana was following the first of the stretchers down the ship’s gangway. Lindsay swallowed.
Kara hugged Ezra, tightly, murmuring something to him. He laughed weakly, then turned to help with the stretcher Brendan was laying on, face pale, head bandaged, eyes sunken and ringed by strange colored bruises. She started to step forward but her uncle touched her arm.
“Let them at least get to the ground, Linny-pie,” he murmured.
She bit her lip but slowly tugged her arm away from him. “I promised him I’d be here the minute he got back. I want him to know that I was here.”
She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, watching the Mission Systems crewmen as the handed the stretchers over to elements of E-557’s small infantry force. There was no one here waiting for these wounded, no one they were coming home to here. Their families could be dead in the wake of the bombings. They might have no one left. It was a terrible thought made all the more terrible by the realization that this was only the beginning.
“Marshal, I think I’ll go with Colonel Chase and the wounded, if that’s all right.”
Aidan blinked, then nodded. “Of course, Consul. I’ll send Mr. Tapas’s passengers to you as soon as they disembark.”
“Thank you,” Lindsay said softly. She turned to follow Alana across the landing field to where Ezra and Dr. Vilenauva had set up shop.