Silver Shark (Kinsmen, #2)

by Ilona Andrews

Both conglomerates began rapid exploitation of natural resources in an effort to achieve industrial and military superiority. Every industry on either continent was designed to serve the arms race. Forty years before she was born, the hostilities exploded into an open conflict: Melko against Brodwyn, Native against Invader. She was a Brodwyn retainer, an "evil invader," if the propaganda of the Melko group was to be believed. She could've just as well have been born a "greedy native" on the opposite side of the planet. It would have made absolutely no difference to her life. The war had dragged on for so long, with both sides claiming they were winning and trying to demoralize the other, that whatever personal victories she had achieved seemed completely meaningless.

:(

To end one's own life was the most unnatural urge, but standing there by the window, she couldn't really muster any anxiety about it. She simply didn't care one way or the other. "You have fifteen minutes until scheduled departure..." "Dismissed." Claire stripped and stepped into the shower. The lukewarm water washed over her. She pushed the knob all the way to HOT, but the water remained mildly warm. Heat, like all other resources, had to be conserved. They were at war. They had been at war for the last sixty-eight years. War everlasting.

:(

"At ease." They sat as she took her usual spot. Nobody smiled. They were at war, after all, and extreme expression of emotion was frowned on, as was bright color, loud noise, and leisure. If they did smile, someone would come up and ask, "Why are you smiling? Don't you know we're at war?"

gah ... you can totally see it happening IRL

Claire envied her. Of the five of them, Liz was the youngest, barely seventeen. She still had some impulse, some spark of life. She'd joined the unit last year, and since then keeping her alive during the missions had proven to be a full-time job. It was a job the rest of them shared, but Claire shouldered the lion's share of it.

:(

"It will be confiscated," Claire responded. "Why?" "Because a plant requires nutrients, light, and water. It will be tagged as inappropriate expenditure of resources." The younger woman recoiled. "I'm sorry," Claire told her aloud.

:(

"Your latest psychological evaluation showed abnormalities." Courtney said. "We are no longer confident that you are giving your all to the war effort." "Has my performance been lacking?" she asked. "No. Your performance is exemplary. That's why we're having this conversation." Claire saw it in his mind: Courtney believed she should be decommissioned, but she was too valuable. Kinsmen like her, with psychic power, came along about one in every six million, and the decision to keep her breathing was made above his pay grade. She could crush his mind like a bug, psych blocker or no. Claire leaned back, putting one leg over another. "When we're done here," she said, not sure what possessed her to continue speaking, "you will return to your office where you will read reports and push pseudo paper. It's your job. I will go to my job, where I'll have to murder people." Courtney studied her. "They are the enemy." "These people I kill, they have children, loved ones, parents. Each of them exists within a network of human emotion. They love, they are loved, they worry. When I sear their minds, all of that ends. They have no choice about engaging in a fight with me, just as I have no choice in being here. For doing this, I am praised and rewarded." "Your point?" "There is something wrong with a system that glorifies a person for the killing of other human beings." "They will kill you if you don't kill them first. They won't hesitate." She sighed. "What are we fighting for, Major?" "...

point

She had gone too far to care about a threat. "I was taken from my mother when I was fourteen years old," she told him. "She was sick when I left. I wasn't allowed to look after her. The Building Association had to take care of her." "That's what the Building Associations are for," Courtney said. "They're there to shoulder the responsibility for the residents of the building, so people like us can fight. Everyone must do their part." "My mother died when I was twenty-two. In those eight years I was permitted to see her three times. There is a child sitting at the psycher table now, Major. She was taken away from her family when she was twelve. It's getting worse. When will it end?" "When Melko surrenders."

><

The human brain couldn't cope with the tremendous influx of information, and it deluded itself by turning code and synthetic neurosignals into a dream, interpreting the streaming data as a familiar environment, knitted from the individual psycher's memories and imagination. Every psycher perceived the bionet differently. For Nicholas it was hell with molten lava and fire-belching dragons; for Liz it was a mountain pass strewn with snow, where avalanches and snow creatures waited at every turn. Claire saw a forest. Code became trees, secure data turned into fortified castles, and enemy psychers turned into monsters. If it looked scary, it was a threat.

cool

The shock punched her. Claire shot out of the bionet and out of her chair, her vision still a blur. A blink and she saw the room: gun-grey walls, a long console, five chairs by it, one empty - hers, and four others supporting prone bodies, her teammates, her soldiers, each with a gaping hole in the back of the head. In a split second she saw it all: the jagged edges of the head wounds, the red blood dripping on the floor from Liz's blond hair, and Major Courtney Rome, a smoking gun in his fingers, his pale grey Intelligence uniform splattered with crimson spray and brain matter. Courtney's face was slack. His mouth drooped down. His eyes stared at her, hollow. She grasped his mind in a steel fist, ripping through the feeble protection of the psych blocker like it was tissue paper. He cried out and dropped the gun. She forced his brain to haul him upright, every muscle painfully rigid, his body barely balanced on his toes. They were dead. This morning all of them had eaten a spare breakfast in the commissary. They shared coffee. Liz hid her new nails. Now they were dead. She had protected them for so long and he'd put a gun to their heads and murdered them one by one. "Why?" she snarled. "The war is over," Courtney whispered. "We lost."

asshole

She pushed a key, letting the audio feed filter into the room. Gunfire punched the silence. Massive shredders whined, crunching electronics and slicing pseudopaper into atomic dust. Chaos reigned. The war was over. Her heart hammered in her chest. Her pulse pounded through her head, too loud in her ears. Claire stared at the four corpses in their chairs. She wanted to hug Liz and cry. She couldn't give in to panic and shock. She had to think. She was a Type A Psycher. An imminent threat. If Melko Corporation found her, she would be killed immediately. When you lost a war, you didn't get to keep your guns. She was infinitely more dangerous than a loaded gun.

oO

Three weeks ago she had escaped the Intelligence building and returned to her mother's apartment. It was vacant, like many others, and during her last foray into the Brodwyn bionet, Claire had assigned it to herself. She had resurrected her mother's data and took on her identity, keeping only her name and her date of birth intact. Only her neighbors could have betrayed her. This morning she was arrested with the rest of the residents of the building and marched down to this depot. Nobody spoke out against her.

:(

"The city is divided into territories between kinsmen families," the officer continued. "A lot of kinsmen keep private security forces, and a lot of these private soldiers have combat implants. The dominant kinsmen families have vast commercial interests and they often clash, sometimes violently, in an attempt to expand their influence. Duels and assassination attempts are not uncommon. If you see something like that in progress, try to step to the side, out of their way." "Your people kill each other in the streets?" Unthinkable. How could this be allowed? "Sometimes. Most kinsmen are so enhanced, the fights rarely last for longer than thirty seconds. Don't worry. They almost never injure bystanders. It would be very rude." "Rude?" This whole planet was insane. "Of course. With all of the targeting implants and inborn abilities, they are so fast, you would have to actively work to get in their way. Killing a civilian would be sloppy and the height of bad manners. Our crime rate is low compared to equivalent cities from other planets, and aside from kinsmen

oO ... that's good ... I guess?

"So they aren't really recommendations, are they?" Claire asked. "No. They are not." "I see." "If you fail to obtain a job after five recommendations, you will be downgraded to Class B and recommendations will no longer be provided to you. If you fail to obtain employment within your three-month probation period, you will be deported. If you engage in any criminal activity during your probation period, you will be..." "...Deported?" Deportation would mean death. Melko Corporation would kill her if she returned. They made it abundantly clear before she boarded the spacecraft.

Do they know or care?

Claire crossed the lobby to the glass elevator, her heels making quiet clicks on the pale granite floor. The presence stayed with her, hovering in the background, scanning her mind, lightly but attentively. Standard practice. People tended to guard themselves during live encounters, such as being questioned by a receptionist. Once past a check point, the body and mind relaxed, and hidden thoughts strayed to the surface. If she was guilty of anything, her relief at having made it this far would be apparent. She had to appear normal. Most people would be slightly nervous before a job interview and Claire allowed herself some mild anxiety. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Oo

Shaped like an elongated flower bud, the Guardian Building contained an inner core of offices and working spaces, up the side of which the elevator now climbed. This inner core sat within an outer shell of twisting steel beams forming a diagonal grid, the outer surface of the bud. Solar glass panels sheathed the diagonal spaces between the twisting beams, flooding the inside of the building with a warm golden light that set the polished granite floor of the enormous lobby aglow. The diagrid must've been enormously heavy, but bathed in the sunlight, it seemed ethereal, almost weightless. It was so beautiful, it felt magic. Her memory served up the recollection of her home world, spare boxes of skyscrapers, canyon streets, her grey apartment, the steel and worn plastic of the spartan spaceship she'd boarded two weeks ago...

Immense culture shock, sounds wonderful though

The other two women were looking at her. One wore a slick silvery business suit, the other a vivid red and orange dress. Their minds betrayed their reactions: pity tinged with superiority. They felt prettier. They were bright dahlia blossoms, and she was a drab mouse. They dismissed her. It hurt. It hurt and stung her pride. The emotions boiled inside and bounced off her inner shields. Her face, reflected in the polished wall, was calm. The outer surface of her mind was collected. Nothing showed except for mild anxiety, typical to any job applicant. She had too much discipline to let any emotion seep through. She shouldn't have been this unsettled. First the anxiety from the landing, then tests, the echoes of PPP still humming through her skull, and now the realization that she stood out after a lifetime of being told how important it was to perfectly fit in. She attracted too much attention. All those factors shredded her normal poise to tatters. It's the sensory overload, she told herself. It will be fine. She had over eight hundred combat missions behind her. This was just one more.

:(

Venturo frowned. She scrutinized her answer, wishing she could touch his mind and try to figure out what she had done wrong. It was the obvious answer. She could think of no alternative. Venturo leaned back, frowning. A focused thought dashed from him toward Lienne, and Claire caught it. His mind was like the beam of a lighthouse. "Opinion?" "She would make a terrible admin," Lienne answered. "Her thought patterns are consistent with that of an executive. She accepts personal responsibility for every issue. Her answers to the questionnaire demonstrate the same thing." Inwardly Claire clenched. She'd stumbled. The military conditioning finally betrayed her.

oO

"You're looking at the product of a seventy-year war," Venturo's mind said. "She evaluates her environment for threats and defuses them. It's a useful quality." Lienne sighed mentally. "Oh no. Ven, please don't tell me you found another lost puppy?" Claire studied her hands. Lost puppy... "What if the next firm she goes to rejects her as well? Eventually she will be deported. Have you seen the images of that place? It's hell." "I've read the coverage, too. Chemical warfare, casualties in thousands, and everyone with a drop of kinsmen blood turned into a killer. We have no way of verifying who she is or what she is capable of besides what Immigration tells us. This is a terrible idea." "No kinsman would have made it through the immigration screening. Her mind is completely inert. What harm can she do? Look at it as a good deed for the day." In her mind Lienne smiled. "Are you sure you're hiring her because you're buying her hard luck story and not because she looks at you as if you're made of gold?" They knew. They both realized her reaction to him. It must've been so apparent, a blind man could've seen it. How embarrassing.

:(

She looks like a beggar. That hair... The woman obviously has never been inside a salon in her entire life..." Deep inside her shell, Claire pictured slapping Lienne's mind. The older woman was powerful, but not powerful enough. One slap and Lienne would wake up on the floor an hour or so later, unsure how she got there.

:->

Claire slumped on the seat. A lost puppy. She was Venturo Escana's rescued mongrel. The handsome golden man felt sorry for her. He knew that he stunned her and he felt pity for her. Her pride didn't just sting, it twisted in contortions. She wanted to crack her shell open, show him the full power of her mind, and scream, "Look at me!" They would throw her off planet so fast, she wouldn't have a chance to blink. Fatigue flowed over her in a heavy wave. She had a job. She had an apartment. No matter how bad it was, it had to be better than the concrete box on Uley.

:(

She lived across from her mother's apartment. Tonya saw her and halted, awkward. The look of worry in the woman's eyes stabbed at Claire. She'd seen this reaction before: she was a psycher, an officer, and a killer and Tonya was afraid. "Are you here for the fruit?" Claire asked, forcing a smile. "Yes. No. I was just looking." Claire took the satchel from the vendor's hand and pulled out a pear. "Would you like to try one?" Tonya looked at the pear. "I got carried away and bought a whole bag," Claire said. "She did," the vendor confirmed. Tonya swallowed. "I can't possibly eat it all by myself. It would be a waste." She'd said the magic word. Tonya reached out for the pear and took it. "Thank you."

those poor people :(

What was her husband's name... "How's Mark?" "Mark died," Tonya said. "Killed on the front line two years ago." "I'm so sorry." "That's alright. It was nice to see you." "Nice to see you as well. I live in that building over there." Claire nodded at the apartment. "Fourth floor. If you need anything..." "I'm down the street. I better go. Thank you for talking to me." "Thank you." Tonya turned, took a few hurried steps, turned and came closer. She licked her lips, unsure, leaned closer and said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Your hair is too bright." She ducked her head and hurried on, the pear in her hand. "What was that all about?" the vendor asked. "It's a kindness," Claire said. "She was trying to save me from embarrassment, because my hair draws attention." "Don't listen to her. I like your hair," the vendor said. "It's sunny."

What that corporation did to them :(

He seemed to show no preference. The only common ground between his dates consisted of expensive tastes, beauty, and superior grooming. Studying New Delphi's movers and shakers proved highly educational. There was no color too bright or inappropriate for clothes or hair. She ended up laughing at the ridiculous dresses and insane shoes. It was the best time she'd had in the last decade.

:)

Claire studied Renata out of the corner of her eye. Her mannerisms were so... carefree. Not exactly childlike but completely devoid of the somber poise common to Uley. If you dropped Renata, the big smile, wide eyes, and purple dress, in the middle of an Uley skyscraper, people would pretend she wasn't there. They'd just refuse to see her. Maybe some well-meaning soul would walk up to her and confidentially inform her that her hair was too bright and she was making a fool of herself...

:(

"What is he wearing?" Claire murmured. "A bionet suit. When psychers log into the net, their bodies don't move at all. A human body isn't designed to be completely immobile unless it floats," Renata said. "The suits start pulsing after a while, exercising the muscles and making sure lymph keeps moving." A bionet suit. Claire recalled waking up cramped up after hours in the bionet and wincing as the medic massaged her limbs back into life.

oO

"If they catch hackers on the bionet, they kill them." Renata leaned closer. "Venturo's death count is in the dozens. You can't keep doing that sort of work and not be affected." You don't say. "He looks delicious and golden, but his head is a dark place. He was attacked in front of our building once - four people - and he drove each of them to impale themselves on an iron fence, one by one. You don't need to tangle with that kind of mind. Trust me on this." "I understand," Claire said.

Oo ... he must have been angry to do it the slow way? Or to prove a point to lessen later attempts?

When she made it to the lift, her hands were full. No matter how well Venturo treated his employees and how ethical he was in keeping his mind to himself, the non-psychers never could get rid of a nagging suspicion that he might be scanning their thoughts. She'd been on the receiving end of these suspicions before: people who went out of their way to avoid her, never discourteous but always cautious. It made her isolated. Psychers stuck together, because the rest of the world was rarely welcoming.

:(

"What are you doing?" he asked. "I'm coming with you." "Why?" "Because you shouldn't go alone." He peered at her, incredulous. "And you're planning to come as my bodyguard?" "I am." It would take her at least three minutes to break through the shell over her mind, bringing her to combat readiness. It would be an eternity in a psycher fight, where death was instant. Still, she couldn't let him go alone and she didn't need to listen to his mind to realize he wouldn't take anyone he considered capable of delivering damage to watch his back. Venturo Escana, arrogant beast that he was, would consider backup beneath him. "Just out of purely academic curiosity, how exactly are you planning to defend me?" Ven asked. "You have no weapons, no combat enhancements, and your mind is inert. Are you planning on beating Sangori's assassins off with that tablet or were you thinking of a more theoretical approach? Should I look forward to you giving me a detailed analysis of a knife sticking out of my back? If I happen to die, will you deliver a slide point presentation describing my valor at my funeral?" "Are you finished?"

oO

"Attacking a civilian is a new low for you," he said, his voice calm, almost conversational. "Shall I tell your parents about it?" She trembled, rage shivering in the curl of her upper lip. "Kill him!" The older man slowly picked himself up off the floor. His nose, mouth, and eyes bled. The lean psycher stared at Ven. "Kill him!" "They can't, dear," Ven told her, his lips a few centimeters from her ear. "You can't fight me with your mind. We've tried that, remember? If your cousins attack me, they'll have to spend time breaking through my outer shield. My blade will end your life in half a second. And then I'll kill both of them, and if I don't, your father will." Castilla growled, a purely animal sound suffused with helpless fury. "So sweet and refined," Ven said. "As always, a true blossom of the Provinces." "Fuck you!" "Perhaps later, if I decide to go slumming."

Oo

He was trying to check if she'd suffered any mind lesions. Claire smiled. "I'm fine." Ven opened the bottle and poured shimmering pink liquid into two glasses. "I'm sorry. I should have never put you into that position." Ven would have never attacked a civilian. In his mind, that sort of action was filed under It's Just Not Done. His mind-shields were down - probably so he could scan her mind at the first sign of trouble - and his emotions leaked out. He was intensely worried about her well-being. Claire smiled. "Am I funny?" "No." "Then why are you smiling?" "I find your customs - Dahlia customs - antiquated. Charming, but antiquated." "We're a very violent society," he said, turning the skewers. "We have to have customs and ceremonies, otherwise we'd constantly offend each other and soon none of us would be left. Some things are not done. Attacking a civilian is one of them." "Were you worried?" She sipped the pink drink. It was sweet, tart, and refreshing, with a trace of alcohol. She realized it must be wine. "Yes," Ven said. "I was worried. I didn't want you to be hurt because I was caught off-guard." "I wasn't worried," she told him. "I noticed. You handled the whole situation with the poise of a seasoned kinsman." He laughed. "A violent psycher paralyzes your mind, and when he lets you go, you calmly ask if you should alert the authorities. You kill me, Claire." Kill. A dangerous word. "I considered screaming in blind panic, but I didn't want to break your concentra...

;)

There was only one city on each continent and they looked exactly the same: picture a hive of uniform rectangular buildings about a half-kilometer tall. The buildings were so large, each one was like a village run by a Building Association. You would be born, live, work, and die in the same building sometimes." "It sounds bleak." "It was. On most worlds when a war breaks out, both sides have access to prior culture, to art, to pre-war luxuries such as gardens, clothes, entertainment.

:(

She could tell him. He wouldn't betray her. She could... "I feel at ease with you," he said. "Your mind is so calm. Every day I deal with people whose minds are a source of constant noise. When we work together, I can finally relax." She almost screamed in frustration.

Oo

They are the greatest danger. You will know them because they may look very frightening or appear out of place. For example, if you perceive the bionet as a grassy plain and you see a medium-size predator running at you, it's likely an AI defense. If you see a bovine the size of a house that's sprouting tentacles and tusks, it's likely a psycher."

Oo

"Why are we so tired?" Charles-Bull breathed. "All this, it doesn't exist. We didn't really run..." "You've forced your brain to make connections at maximum speed," Claire said. "The mind can't do this indefinitely. It becomes fatigued

Hmm

A narrow path led to the bridge. Claire stepped onto it and padded forward on silent paws. A moment and she emerged onto the bridge. The grey stone seemed ancient, cracked and weathered. It was only a mind trick, indicating old frayed code. She pictured the stone fracturing under her weight and wished she hadn't.

Oo

Sure, she would have to find a new job, and her probation period had shrunk to a mere six weeks instead of twelve, but it might be worth it. It would be worth it to be free of Ven. To be free of the fantasy that would never come to pass. She was too proud to spend the entirety of her life as his silent shadow, while he imagined her beating off the prospective assassins with her tablet.

Oo

You should've seen him. He was bouncing about sniffing flowers. His eyes were this big." She opened her hands wide and held them by her eyes. "It was all, 'Kosta! Don't touch that, it will eat you. No, don't touch that either. Don't pet that giant monster... Like trying to walk a kitten on a leash."

;)

"I almost did, up in the roof garden. And then you went on about how I had a nice quiet mind." He groaned. "I was trying to pay you a compliment." She mimicked him. "'You have such a quiet mind, Claire. I deal all day with people whose brains are noisy.' Was I supposed to come back with, by the way, I can kill you with my brain and I indulge in dirty fantasies about you in my spare time?"

Oo