Shield of Winter

  It shattered an unknown wall in him when they didn't hesitate. Turning to Ivy, Ella said, "If you have Vasic's trust, you have ours. What do you need from us?"

  Ivy blinked. "It's done." Laughing, she jumped into Vasic's arms.

  Amin's mind touched his. She truly is yours.

  Yes. He looked into two pairs of dark eyes. Life isn't only for other people. It was a reality it had taken him a long time to accept. We're permitted to exist, too.

  Neither Amin's nor Ella's expression altered, but he could read them as only a fellow squad member could, and he knew both were shaken. Releasing Ivy after drawing the scent of her into his lungs, he listened as she turned and laid out the facts for his fellow Arrows.

  "The connection," she said, "is through Vasic, which makes complete sense." I've also lost two others that I was linked to through Aden, so I must be maxed out on the number of people I can protect.

  That won't matter once the entire empathic network is in place, Vasic pointed out. There will be multiple failsafes.

  "Does this connection equate to a security vulnerability?" Ella asked.

  "I can't access your minds or your emotions if that's what you mean," Ivy said, "but I'll be honest--I have no idea how it may affect you. If this is meant to cure the Net, the connection to me could equal a change in your emotional equilibrium."

  "Understood." Amin was the one who spoke. "We're aware of what's been happening to Arrows linked to empaths. It's an acceptable risk."

  Ivy's face was suddenly stricken. You don't think I influenced you to be with me somehow? she asked Vasic. I swear I didn't do it consciously if I did.

  Vasic closed his hand over her nape, her curls warm against the back of his hand. All you did was haul me into the light. I could've walked away at any point. I chose to stay. I will always choose to stay.

  The knot in Ivy's throat was a huge, wet thing. Unable to speak, she just listened as he thanked the two Arrows for their patience. They turned to walk away, and as they did so, Rabbit raced up to them, tail wagging. The Arrows glanced down, then the male angled his head at Ivy. "What does he want?"

  "To play," she said. "You could throw a stick." She looked around, but Vasic had already found one in the undergrowth. "He likes chasing it."

  The Arrow took the stick from Vasic and threw it. The two began walking again, were soon out of sight, but from Rabbit's happy "woofs" for several minutes afterward, he'd found some new stick-throwing minions.

  "The connection's already having a subtle impact," Ivy whispered, thinking of how both Arrows had ignored Rabbit earlier.

  Vasic leaned down to tug the stick from Rabbit when he decided to come back to them, play fighting with the dog until Rabbit let go and raced off in preparation to catch it. "Our minds link to the PsyNet because we need the biofeedback to survive," he said. "Yet the biofeedback has undeniably been damaged in a subtle but fundamental way for an unknown period of time."

  Ivy's eyes grew wide. "The link to an empath might be acting as a filter to clean up the biofeedback." She thought again of the two Arrows who were now connected to her. "They trusted me because of you, but others will put their faith in an E out of desperation." It wasn't clean or tidy, but it might just work.

  Eyes of winter frost met hers. "We need more data, and we need it as fast as possible."

  Neither one of them slept for the next seventy-two hours, and neither did seven of the other empaths who'd been part of the original group at the compound. Isaiah was still in hospital and needed more rest, but he was alert when awake--and irritable. Ivy was delighted to see him on the road back to his normal self.

  The group ran multiple experiments--with complete strangers, with men and women who lived deep in zones of infection, with those who'd already begun to exhibit the erratic behavior that had come to be known as a precursor to an outbreak.

  Kaleb and Aden sealed up two severe Net breaches in the interim, while Sahara took the myriad reports that came in, crunched the data, and broke it down into bite-sized pieces that sleep-deprived Es and their Arrow partners could understand.

  What they discovered was extraordinary.

  Chapter 57

  And these are the men, women, and children Silent Voices and their like would have us erase from the gene pool.

  Editorial, PsyNet Beacon

  IT WOULD BECOME known as the Honeycomb Protocol.

  Rolled out across the entire PsyNet in the space of a single month, the fear that gripped the populace helping to spread the effect faster than initially predicted, its success was soon a matter of unimpeachable fact. Outbreaks dropped apace with the spread of the honeycomb, and people in comas began to wake up.

  None were yet who they'd once been, but the medical empaths were hopeful.

  Ivy Jane, Kaleb thought where he stood behind his desk at home, had been correct: desperation was a great motivator of trust.

  Of course, not everyone was happy with the situation.

  Kaleb looked down at the lists his people were sending in from around the world. "These individuals refuse to join in."

  Sitting curled up in the chair on the other side of his desk, Sahara frowned at a datapad of her own. She was keeping track of how many connections an E at a particular Gradient could make before maxing out, as well as any other factor that altered the reach of a cluster. It wasn't simple data collection and collation, but a record meant to ensure no E was placed under unnecessary stress, as well as a way to monitor the health of a very fluid network. The honeycomb altered constantly as new connections were made and others dropped.

  The fact Sahara was fluent in every language under the sun meant there was no chance an E's report would be mangled in translation. Her own lack of E abilities was considered an asset not a handicap.

  "We're too close to it," Ivy Jane had said when she asked Sahara to take up the task. "The torrent of emotion in the Net is consuming our attention--we need someone who can see patterns, and you saw this pattern before anyone else. Plus, you might not be an empath, but you're very empathic and able to handle dealing with us."

  Sahara had fallen to the task with relish. When Kaleb pointed out she was technically doing a type of math, she'd gasped and said he'd stabbed her through the heart. Then she'd hauled him down by his tie and made him apologize. Now, she chewed on the end of her laser pen and answered absently. "Forcing the holdouts into the honeycomb defeats the purpose. Coercion is what got the Net into this in the first place."

  "By staying unconnected," Kaleb said, "they give the infection room to thrive." An unacceptable risk.

  Sahara looked up, the charms on her bracelet making tiny sounds as they clinked against one another. "That'd be true if they were concentrated in one area--and if they were, we both know their chances of survival would be minimal at best." Sadness in her gaze, she rubbed at her forehead. "But I'm guessing they're scattered throughout the Net."

  Scanning the data, Kaleb nodded. "At this point at least."

  "So I'd say they're being balanced out by the connections around them." She bit at her pen again.

  Teleporting it out of her hand, he replaced it with a cookie. Her shoulders shook. "Funny." But she bit into the snack. "Anyway," she said after swallowing, "if they do start to congregate, then we can tell them the risks and ask the NetMind to quarantine their section." Her lips turned downward. "It's not the best option, but we can't justify allowing them to create a hothouse for the infection."

  "If it comes to that, I have a feeling the objectors will defect to create their own network." He met the eyes of the woman who knew every scarred, twisted corner of his soul and loved him anyway. "Since this dictatorship appears to be oddly lenient about rebellion, I won't stand in the way of their plan."

  Cookie finished, Sahara came around the desk to straighten his shirt collar. "I think you're becoming an incredible leader," she said, pride in her voice.

  No one but Sahara ever felt such emotions for him, saw such merit in him. "Nikita and Anthony are doing some
heavy lifting at the moment"--freeing Kaleb to deal with more urgent matters--"but it's all ad hoc. Long term, we need to come up with a political system to replace the Council."

  Kaleb knew he'd always be a power and that was how he wanted it. Never again was anyone going to hurt him or Sahara. But he also wanted time to dance with her, to live with her, and for that to happen, he needed to create an institution that wouldn't collapse if he stepped away--and that wouldn't eventually become rotten to the core, as had happened with the Council.

  Sahara ran her fingers over his nape. "It'll have to be a system that takes the specific strengths and weaknesses of our race into account, like the changeling pack structure does theirs."

  "Yes." Right now, however, it was about survival. "Is the rollout complete except for the objectors?" Kaleb himself didn't like the idea of being linked to anyone other than Sahara even on a basic level, but he'd been willing to accept it to ensure she was doubly protected. Both by his immunity and the relevant empath's.

  As it was, she'd made a natural connection to multiple Es and brought him in.

  "Yes," she said now. "I received reports from the final cities an hour ago."

  Opening his eyes on the PsyNet, Kaleb took in the honeycomb effect. It hadn't been visible to non-E eyes in the first week of the rollout, or in the second, but things had reached some kind of critical mass in the third. The entire network had blazed to life in an instant that had stunned disbelievers into faith and brought the hopeful to their knees.

  No more was the PsyNet a star-studded night; it was now an intricate tapestry.

  His bond with Sahara overlay the golden threads, obsidian strong in comparison to the delicate filigree of the links below. "The Es have created a new psychic foundation for our race."

  "Now," Sahara said, "we have to make sure we don't break it again."

  Chapter 58

  Please advise me of your response within the next seven days.

  Excerpted from a letter to Ivy Jane from the office of Kaleb Krychek

  "KALEB KRYCHEK IS making me another offer!"

  Vasic turned from where he stood between the rows of winter-dressed apple trees, playing stick slave for Rabbit, to find his empath tugging on her boots in the doorway to their cabin. Her face was flushed, her curls awry, and she'd pulled on his Arrow jacket like she always did now that they were home.

  "As a counselor?" he asked when she reached him, referring to the resurrection of a pre-Silence employment option for Es; such therapeutic help was needed at a critical level as millions of people struggled to cope with the staggering changes in their lives. Ivy was already training under and being supervised by a cadre of human specialists and changeling healers.

  But she shook her head, an unfolded letter in one hand. "He wants me to represent the empaths on the Ruling Coalition." Her eyes were huge, the copper brilliant and the gold shimmering under the North Dakota sun.

  "Not unexpected," he said, cupping her jaw with his gauntleted hand. "You came up with the Honeycomb Protocol, and you seem to know every empath in the world."

  "Ha ha." She poked his side. "I don't know why I've become one-third of E-Psy Central." The other two-thirds were Sahara Kyriakus and Sascha Duncan.

  Sahara handled data while Sascha was in charge of the education of Es. Ivy, on the other hand, had slowly become the port of call for any E who had a problem, psychic or otherwise. She'd already had multiple dealings with the Ruling Coalition in that role.

  "I do like it though," she said now, "keeping an eye on them all, making sure no one feels isolated or overwhelmed."

  Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, Vasic made sure she was warm as they walked the snowy paths, Rabbit racing imaginary opponents in front of them. "What else did the letter say?"

  Ivy made a face. "That I'd be paid by the rest of the ruling group."

  Vasic immediately saw the problem. "You wouldn't be an equal at the table."

  "Exactly." Ivy put the letter into a pocket of his jacket. "Any ideas?"

  "Politics is Aden's field of expertise. Let me ask him."

  His partner came back with an answer five minutes after Vasic 'pathed him, while Ivy was throwing a snowball at Vasic's head. Ducking it, he got her in the leg with his own snowball before hauling her laughing face close for a kiss.

  "Aden says you need to set up an E-Psy union," he said when they parted, both breathless. "Ask the membership to pay a small percentage of their income to belong. That would cover your salary, as well as giving designation E funds to use to fight another attack such as the one that almost wiped you out once."

  It was a solemn reminder. "We'd have to have a vote," Ivy said. "I don't want to just assume I'll be the leader of this union."

  "No one else," Vasic said, "will relish the idea of sitting across from Krychek, Nikita, and Anthony."

  "Neither do I." She'd do it though, because Vasic and Aden were right--designation E had to fight to make sure it was never again sidelined or buried. "Thank Aden for his idea. It's a good one--I'll talk to the others."

  Taking a trembling breath, she stroked her free hand down the gauntlet. It was covered by his jacket, but she could feel the hardness of the carapace. "How bad?" The question was a terrible one, but she had to ask it, had to know how much time they had together before he had to go under the surgeon's knife.

  His forehead touched hers. "Approximately seventy-two hours, maybe less if the power surges become more erratic."

  Ivy tried to stifle her sob, but she couldn't, not this time. Burying her face against his chest, she held on to him with all her strength, hands cupped desperately around the flickering hope inside her. Please, she said, not sure to whom she was speaking, please don't take him away from me.

  There was no answer.

  *

  VASIC hated seeing Ivy cry. She was so strong, his empath. Day by day, week by week, she'd pushed on, determined and relentless in her belief that fate wouldn't do this to them, wouldn't so maliciously destroy their love. Now he held her, rocked her, aware of Rabbit nudging at her with his head. And he knew what he was about to ask her to do would cause her even more pain, but his Ivy was strong . . . and he needed her with him as he made good on a promise.

  It had taken the elderly stonemason longer than he'd initially estimated to finish his commission, but he'd made it just in time. Vasic would never be able to wash the stain of his sins from his flesh, but at least he would go into the operating room as a man who'd accepted those sins and laid them bare.

  "Will you come somewhere with me?" he asked after Ivy's tears had gone quiet, her breathing raspy.

  Wiping her face on the sleeve of his jacket, she looked up with red-rimmed eyes. "You know I'd go anywhere with you."

  First they dropped Rabbit off with Ivy's parents. Then Vasic 'ported Ivy to a room at Central Command. She glanced around the spartan space with its single bed made up with military neatness, the only other piece of furniture a metal trunk at the end of the bed. "Is this your room?"

  "I slept here." Going to the trunk, he flipped it open to retrieve a piece of paper. He didn't really need that paper, with all the names branded on his brain and backed up on a secure computronic drive. But he'd started writing the names on this list the day he'd understood exactly how he'd been used, what he'd done, and now the yellowed sheet was both a talisman and a physical reminder of the debt he owed.

  Ivy put a hand on his shoulder where he crouched by the trunk. "What's that?"

  "A list of the people I was sent to erase." He looked up, held her gaze; never had he lied to her about who he was, the things he'd done. Today, he told her the worst of it, his heart a block of ice. "Some were murdered by those whose Silence had broken, others were 'accidents' at the hands of out-of-control anchors, still others were the victims of serial killers the Council couldn't afford to acknowledge.

  "I had to make them disappear, get rid of any trace of their deaths." He'd cleaned blood out of carpet, made bodies vanish into crematoriums, erased
betraying particles of DNA, destroyed any other physical evidence. "I wiped these people out of existence, stole the peace of a final good-bye from their families."

  Gentle fingers stroked through his hair. "You remember each name," she whispered. "That matters."

  "Not enough." He rose, the list in his hand. "Someone once said to me that I had no right to rest until I could give the lost their names, set the record straight. I don't want that kind of rest anymore," he said, rage in his blood at the idea of leaving her. "But I can't go forward without paying this debt."

  "I understand." Taking the list from him, she unfolded it. "What can I do to help?"

  Such a simple question. It threatened to break him. "Just be with me."

  Ivy nodded and slipped her hand into his. He took them first to a secure room that was the records hub when it came to births and deaths among the Psy. Using a password he'd been given by a fellow Arrow who'd had reason to have hacked the system, he logged in and uploaded the corrected files, ensured the changes were made across the entire system.

  If a member of a victim's family checked the records now, they'd find the truth, discover exactly how their family member had died. But that wasn't enough. No one might ever check. I considered sending an e-mail to each family unit with details of the updated information, he telepathed Ivy, but some have no families . . . and others will not care. I'll personally deliver the truth to the ones who will care, who've searched for that truth.

  He held the clear honesty of her gaze. It could take as long as twenty-four hours. One of the final precious days before he placed his life in the hands of a surgeon who'd given him an eight to ten percent chance of survival.

  Even if it takes seventy-two, Ivy replied, her expression both tender and fierce, we'll make sure we reach every single one of them.

  Vasic said nothing; there was nothing to say. His Ivy understood him.

  Upload complete, he teleported them to a remote location beside a brace of staggering mountains, home to a stonemason who worked with his hands. "Oh, there you are!" the white-haired man called out. "You got my message, I see! I sent it as soon as I finished."

  They followed the sturdy-limbed artisan down a pebbled pathway swept free of snow. He eventually stopped beside a simple obelisk about seven feet tall, the stone a smooth black with glittering minerals wound through the midnight. "It's lovely," Ivy whispered, a fist gripping her heart. She knew without asking that Vasic had chosen the stone, taken great care to create a memorial haunting in its beauty.