Pandora's Box: Part Six - The Sunset Path
August 2012
Meditation was no substitute for sleep, but it had seemed like a better option than staring at the bedroom ceiling for the rest of the night. In the light of day, he was sort of regretting that choice. He hadn't expected half a night's worth of insomnia to lead to a breakthrough--if that was what one called this. Grimacing, Nathan rubbed at his eyes, trying to banish the faint, blurred images that seemed to surround every person in the crowded mall. It was as if he was seeing echoes of different paths they could have taken through the crowd, but hadn't. He could feel the timestream shifting all around him, too; in retrospect, having it buzzing at the back of his mind hadn't been so bad.
Clare's hand tightened on his, and he looked down at her, managing a smile as he forced himself to focus. "Have you decided what kind of fish you want yet?" he asked, wondering why she didn't have the same clutter of images surrounding her. There was an uncanny sense of solidity to his daughter, something the rest of the people around them today didn't seem to have today.
"Like Fishface, but more colorful," Clare said, watching the crowd instead of him.
Since Fishface was still alive and Clare was still looking after the aquarium without having to be reminded, he and Dom had decided to let her add another fish or two to the tank. Dom was the one who was supposed to have taken Clare shopping for the new additions, but this assignment in London had come up at the last minute and he'd had to step in. Not that he minded, but he was a little out of sorts this morning, and being an unnaturally perceptive six year-old, Clare had of course noticed.
You're all fuzzy, Dad, she had said when she'd come down for breakfast. Clare was too young to have much of a grasp on the concepts she needed to explain what she sensed, so she tended to come out with these odd remarks on a regular basis. Nathan usually took them in stride, but that one had thrown him.
"Once we get your fish, we'll get some lunch," he said, trying for a more normal tone. He couldn't pretend to be feeling bright-eyed and bushy-tailed - she'd see through that in an instant - but he could at least try to avoid spacing out. "How does that sound?"
"Okay," Clare said after a moment, as if she'd had to think it over. "Could I have a sundae afterwards?"
"I suppose," Nathan said with a smile. Dom wasn't here to growl at him about encouraging bad eating habits, so Clare might as well enjoy herself.
"Then we could go home and you can have a nap," she suggested, giving him an innocent look. Her big gray eyes were utterly guileless, and Nathan couldn't help a laugh.
"You think I need a nap, do you?"
Clare rolled her eyes. "Yes," she said simply, in a tone that made it quite clear what a stupid question she thought that was.
Her mother's daughter, definitely. "You're probably right," Nathan admitted, squeezing her hand. She gave him a satisfied little smirk and then went back to people-watching. He could feel her reaching out and brushing curiously against the minds of random passers-by. She wasn't going any deeper than the surface level, or he'd have stopped her. As long as she wasn't actually probing anyone's thoughts, this was a relatively harmless way of exploring her telepathy, certainly better than some of the things Zara had done at Clare's age.
The pet store was a large one on the lower level of the mall, and was marginally less busy than most of the other stores seemed to be this morning. A significant proportion of the customers were children cooing over the puppies and kittens, and Nathan winced as the volume of the ambient telepathic noise increased sharply. Children, in general, were not good at keeping their thoughts to themselves. At least the afterimages weren't as bad in here, probably because the kids were so focused on all the furry little animals.
He led Clare to the aquariums at the back of the store before she could get any ideas. Once they were there she made a beeline right to the goldfish, and Nathan hung back a little, watching her with a certain amount of fascination. She moved from tank to tank, staring intently at the fish within. He could sense her projecting something, but it felt odd, almost subvocal.
"Him," Clare said suddenly, her voice decisively as she pointed at a mid-sized, lumpy-bodied fish whose scales were a startling shade of bronze. "I want him." She looked back over her shoulder at him, grinning so happily that he couldn't help smiling in return. "He'll get along with Fishface. And he's pretty."
And if it's a him, we won't have to worry about baby goldfish. Which would definitely be a plus. "Just him?" Nathan asked. Clare nodded, and he flagged down a passing employee, who bagged Clare's fish, wrote the price on the front of the bag, and bade them a hasty good day as she raced off to stop a group of children who were taunting the parrots.
Clare didn't show any interest in any of the other animals as they made their way up to the cash registers at the front of the store. Too entranced with her new friend, Nathan suspected. He certainly wasn't going to complain. He lived in fear of the day when Clare decided she wanted to branch out, pet-wise.
He paid for the fish and they left the store, heading for the food court. Clare wanted a taco, so he got a children's meal from the Mexican place for her and a sandwich and coffee for himself. They found an empty table under the skylights two levels above, and Clare rather fussily arranged her bag on the table--so that the fish could see what was going on, Nathan suspected.
"You're sure he and Fishface will get along?" he asked as she unwrapped her taco.
"I think so," Clare said cheerfully, and beamed at her new fish, which fluttered its tail at her as if basking in her attention. "He's pretty, isn't he?"
"I suppose. For a fish."
"You know what I mean, Dad." Clare doused her taco liberally in hot sauce, and then did the same to the side order of nachos. "Mom knows, you know," she said after a moment, sounding almost hesitant.
Surprised by the apparent non sequitur - he doubted she meant that Dom appreciated the aesthetic value of fish - Nathan gave his daughter an inquiring look. "What does your mother know?" he asked patiently.
"That you feel strange," Clare said, nibbling on a nacho and not looking at him. "She watches you."
Nathan hesitated for a moment, trying to decide what to say to that. "Your mother's always worrying about me," he said finally, as lightly as he could. "That doesn't mean you need to do the same." He picked at his sandwich, wondering why he'd bothered getting it. It didn't look very appealing.
Raising an eyebrow at him in a gesture that was uncannily reminiscent of her mother, Clare bit her into her taco without another word. Nathan, relieved that she seemed willing to let it go, sipped at his coffee. The afterimages were getting fainter, he reflected as he looked around. He didn't know whether to be relieved or not. Part of him wondered if he maybe shouldn't have told Clare they would do this later and spent some more time meditating, but damn it, he hadn't been much of a father lately. He knew he'd been distracted, distant, but he'd been spending so much time meditating, trying to undo this block Emma had found.
And that wasn't an excuse. Somewhere along the way, he'd forgotten how to balance life and work. He'd known, once, but that had been a very long time ago, come to think of it. *Lots of water under the bridge since then--* Far, far too many years when he hadn't had a life to speak of, just the mission. Maybe it was no wonder he was out of the habit of juggling the two.
#I love you, Dad,# Clare sent suddenly, her eyes bright and serious as she looked up at him. #Even if you are weird sometimes.#
She then spoiled her sudden air of maturity by slurping loudly at her drink, and Nathan smiled warmly at her, more touched than he'd ever have admitted aloud. #I love you too, mi'caehla,# he sent back with a telepathic caress, and her whole face lit up. "So," he said aloud, noticing that she'd made swift work of the taco. "What kind of sundae do you want?"
"Chocolate chocolate fudge," Clare said instantly. "With whipped cream."
"I'll go get your dessert while you're finishing your nachos, then," he said, hauling himself upright. The ice cream place was only steps away, but he kept a close eye on her as he hobbled over to order her sundae. The bored-looking young woman at the counter gave him a dubious look when he told her what he wanted and then skimped on the chocolate sauce, but Nathan decided not to call her on it. The sundae was a little extravagant-looking as it was.
He turned away from the counter, only to see Clare hurrying towards him, gripping her fish bag tightly. "Craving chocolate that badly, are we?" he asked teasingly, but lost any urge to continue joking as he sensed how tightly she was shielding. #What's wrong?# he sent sharply, but then heard it himself. It was just a whisper, unintelligible and all but lost in the general telepathic babble of the crowd, but there was a distinct edge of malice to it.
#I think we need to go, Dad,# Clare replied urgently, grabbing his hand with her free hand and edging closer to him, as if for shelter.
Nathan frowned and tried again to focus on the source of the hostility, but there was too much noise, too many minds in the vicinity. Still, Clare had caught something that made her think it was directed at them, and he wasn't going to take the chance that she was wrong. "Here," he said curtly, turning and setting the sundae back on the counter in front of the startled cashier. #Come on,# he said to Clare, spotting a hallway leading away from the food court to the public washrooms. He didn't want to teleport out in the open if he could help it--
The timestream gave a sudden, jolting quiver, and before Nathan quite knew what he was doing, he was wrapping himself and Clare in a TK shield. He had barely completed it when someone screamed, and he looked around to see what was happening just in time to see the attack coming. Blue-green plasma fire slammed into the shield, driving him to his knees, and Clare gave a little cry, clinging to him.
More screaming as panicked shoppers started to vacate the food court in a hurry, but the stream of plasma fire stayed focused on him. Gritting his teeth, Nathan pulled Clare closer, keeping as much of his own body as he could between her and the direction the blast was coming from. The floor beneath them was getting hot, and he couldn't hold this shield for much longer, not under this sort of pressure, when he'd taken a full dose of psi-suppressants less than two hours ago. He had to--maybe he could--
Straining, he reached out and brushed across the minds of the crowd, those who had frozen and those who were running alike, and used their eyes. Trying to piece it all together into a single image was dizzying, almost impossible, but he had to do it, had to see--there. The would-be assassin, a thin, dusky-skinned man in a trenchcoat, was on the upper level of the mall, overlooking the food court--a perfect sniper's position. Plasma fire was fountaining from his outstretched hands, and the expression on his face was one of fierce pleasure.
Nathan could spare only a flicker of telekinesis from the shield, but it was enough to yank the man forward, off-balance. The assassin toppled over the railing with a shriek loud enough to be heard over the noise of the crowd. With the pressure on the shield easing as the last of the plasma fire splashed against it and then faded, Nathan managed to reach out and break the man's fall several feet short of the floor.
The man started to flail in the air, cursing under his breath in what sounded like Arabic, and Nathan reached out and shut down his mind, not bothering to be particularly gentle about it, before he let him drop the rest of the way to the floor.
Clare was huddled against him, hiding her face against his shoulder and shivering. Nate swallowed hard, giving her a quick once-over to make absolutely sure she was all right. His shield had held together, he knew that, but he had to be sure. When he'd satisfied himself, he put his other arm around her, projecting all the soothing thoughts he could muster with his own nerves so raw.
#Can we go now, Daddy?# she sent to him almost tremulously, and he nearly lost it right then and there.
#Yes, we can,# he replied as steadily as he could. #I'm going to teleport us to the Tower now, so hold on.# Ignoring the way his head was pounding, he closed his eyes and concentrated, teleporting himself, Clare, and the unconscious assassin right to the middle of the Tower's main lobby. He would have preferred the main security office, but the lobby was bigger and he didn't have the energy left to be precise.
Tourists yelped and backed away as they appeared, but Nathan ignored them. He slumped sideways on the cool stone floor, wincing at the pain in his bad knee, and held onto his daughter. It took roughly five seconds for half a dozen security officers to arrive, converging on the scene from the guardposts set at intervals around the huge half-circle of the lobby.
"Holy shit!"
"--secure the exits, just in case--"
"Commander Summers! Are you all right?"
"What happened?"
"We're fine," Nathan said wearily, cutting off any further questions. "Take that--" he gestured briefly at the unconscious man, "into custody." Something struck him, then, and if Clare hadn't been right there, he would have cursed aloud. "Check him for tattoos like we found on the other cultists."
Three of the security officers jumped to carry out his orders. The others lingered, and Nathan hauled himself painfully to his feet, carrying Clare, as she didn't seem willing to let go. He had to brace himself with his telekinesis; he'd dropped his cane somewhere along the way.
"What do you say we go find a temporary bowl for your new friend?" he said softly. Somehow, despite everything, she had held onto the bag with her fish, and the creature appeared to be alive and well, if a little agitated. "We might be here for a while, and we probably don't want to leave him in that bag."
"All right," Clare said, her voice wavering as if she was trying to hold back tears.
Nathan closed his eyes for a moment, fighting back the overwhelming rage he could only let himself feel now that she was safe. I should have let him fall, he thought, and started to limp slowly and painfully towards the nearest elevator, barely registering it when the crowd parted before him.
***
Bishop charged through the infirmary doors as they opened in front of him, nearly running down a nurse in the process. "Sorry," he said curtly, reaching out to steady the slender young woman as she staggered. "Commander Summers?"
"Examining room three," she said, sounding flustered as she smoothed her uniform. Bishop supposed that it wasnāt every day that she was nearly trampled by her commanding officer. "Iām just getting some juice for his little girl."
Bishopās heart lurched in his chest. The report he had gotten from Security had said that Clare had been with Nathan, but in his rush to get down here, the implications of that hadnāt sunken in. "Is she all right?"
"Not a scratch, thankfully, but sheās understandably upset," the nurse said, making a face that made it clear what she thought of a child Clareās age being involved in such an incident. "If youāll just wait out here, sir, Iāll check with Doctor Reyes and--sir?"
Ignoring her, Bishop hurried towards the examining room she had indicated. If Cecilia didnāt want him in there, he was sure she would let him know. The door was open, and inside, Nathan was sitting on one of the biobeds as Cecilia passed a handheld scanner of some sort back and forth in front of his face. He had his arm around Clare, who was pale and red-eyed, as if sheād been crying. The sight of her made Bishop grimace. First the twins, now Clare. Why did the children always have to be caught up in these things? At least she, unlike Nick and Zara, hadnāt been physically hurt.
"That didnāt take long," Cecilia said a bit sardonically as she noticed him standing there. "Come in, Bishop. Donāt block the doorway."
Bishop moved out of the doorway, turning his attention to Nathan, who stared back at him coolly, saying nothing. He didnāt appear hurt, but Cecilia was frowning at her scanner. "Nathan," Bishop said cautiously, not at all trusting how composed he seemed. Nathan raised an eyebrow, undoubtedly picking up on his train of thought, and Bishop looked back at Cecilia. "Is he all right?"
Cecilia looked mildly irritated at the question, and for a moment Bishop thought that he was about to get another lecture on medical information and his rights or lack thereof to it in situations like this, but Nathan nodded at her, and she answered. "Somewhat overstimulated, neurochemically speaking, but yes. Heās fine." Bishop waited for her to elaborate, and she sighed. "Panic response," she explained. "His system had to compensate for the psi-suppressant in a hurry." She looked back at Nathan questioningly. "I could give you something for the headache?"
"Itās not that bad," he said, his voice flat and far too quiet.
Cecilia snorted. "Clare," she said dryly, "promise me you wonāt grow up to be a habitual liar like your father."
"Dad doesnāt lie," Clare said softly, rubbing her eyes. "Heās just stubborn." She looked up at Bishop, giving him an unsteady little smile. "Hi, Uncle Lucas. Did you see my fish?" Bishop blinked, taken aback by the question.
"Actually, chica, since Iām finished poking at your dad, why donāt we go check on your fish?" Cecilia suggested, her expression speculative as she looked back and forth between Bishop and Nathan. "I think these two need to talk about boring adult stuff for a few minutes."
Clare looked up at her father, whose expression softened. "If you want to," he said, kissing the top of her head and then murmuring something in Askani to her. She smiled more brightly and hugged him tightly before sliding down off the biobed and going with Cecilia.
The door slid shut behind them - Cecilia must have figured they needed some privacy - and Bishop turned to Nathan. "Iām glad the two of you are all right," he said. "Now, what exactly happ--" He froze, unable to help a grunt of pain as a rapid-fire series of images burned themselves into his brain. The mallās food court, Clare rushing towards him looking frightened, the sudden blazing stream of plasma fire--the whole assassination attempt, from start to finish. Bishop took a deep, shaky breath, trying to separate his own reactions from the fear and anger coloring Nathanās memories. "There are times when telling is actually preferable to showing, Nathan," he said harshly.
Nathan didnāt respond to the implicit rebuke. "I should have let the son of a bitch go splat," he said, his voice so cold that the temperature of the air should have plummeted. Bishop opened his mouth to say something to the effect of the assassin being more useful alive, but Nathan didnāt give him the opportunity. "Iām perfectly aware of that," he said, glaring, and all the heat that hadnāt been in his voice was there in his eyes. "That doesnāt change how I feel." He shook his head suddenly, his jaw clenching. "I donāt know whether to be glad Clare sensed him first or not. If she hadnāt, maybe she would have stayed at the table instead of coming running over to me--"
"She wasnāt hurt," Bishop said as soothingly as he dared.
"She could have been." Nathan gave a humorless laugh. "Trying to kill me is one thing. Iām used to it, and it alleviates boredom if nothing else. But that bastard crossed the line."
"I know." Bishop hesitated for a moment, choosing his words carefully before he went on. "Security didnāt call me until after theyād gotten him into a holding cell. By then theyād done as youād asked, and he does have the same tattoos as the prisoners from Tibet." Nathanās expression tightened, but Bishop went on. "Iāll have a security team assigned to you. Clare and Domino as well, of course. And speaking of Domino--"
"I havenāt contacted her yet," Nathan said. He didnāt look as though he were relishing the prospect, which Bishop could certainly understand. "Sheās far enough away that she wouldnāt have sensed anything on the links. Iāll track her down once I can see straight."
Bishop frowned at him. "I thought you said the headache wasnāt that bad."
"I lied."
The door slid open again, and Cecilia ushered Clare back in. The girl was carrying a large glass container of water, in which a large bronze-colored fish was swimming placidly. "He likes it," Clare said, and looked hopefully at her father. "Can we go home now?"
*I think it would be best if the security team swept your house first,* Bishop thought at Nathan before he could answer. *Just in case. And we do need to debrief you more thoroughly.*
"Not just yet," Nathan said gently, and Clareās face fell. "Soon, though. I just have to take care of a couple of things first."
Clare seemed to contemplate that for a moment. "Because of the evil fuck?" she finally asked, and beside her, Cecilia slapped a hand over her mouth, looking embarassed.
Nathan snorted. "Not watching what we think, Reyes?"
"Apparently not," Cecilia said, sounding a little strangled. She gave Clare a helpless grin, though, and Bishop couldnāt help but wonder exactly what everyone found so amusing about the girlās occasional lapse into profanity. Although he supposed that Clareās first word having been Īfuckā added to the Summers mythos in some perverse way. "Look, Nathan," Cecilia went on more seriously, "Iām going off-duty about now. If you like, I can keep her entertained until you get--um, things wrapped up."
Nathan looked at Clare, who shrugged. "I guess," she said, sounding less than enthusiastic. "Is Mom going to come home?"
"Yes, she is," Bishop said firmly. Dominoās second-in-command could handle things in London for a few days, since the situation there was stable. "Thatās one of the things your father and I are going to do. Call your mother."
"Sheāll be mad," Clare predicted gloomily, and then glanced up at Cecilia. "Can I bring my fish? Heās had a bad day and he doesnāt want to be alone."
Cecilia, to her credit in the face of such a statement, only smiled. "Sure," she said brightly, and Clare looked more cheerful. "The three of us will find something fun to do."
"The cafeteria probably serves some type of ice cream, Clare," Nathan suggested, his voice softer. "Since you never got your sundae."
"I could go for some ice cream myself," Cecilia said, winking at Clare. She reached into the pocket of her lab coat and came up with a hypospray, handing it to Nathan. "Take the damned analgesic," she tossed over her shoulder as she shepherded Clare back out of the room.
Bishop smiled faintly at Nathan. "Sounds like a good idea," he suggested. Nathan glowered at him, but injected himself with the hypospray.
"Letās go," he said, sliding rather awkwardly off the biobed. "I have to think of some way to break this gently to Dom."
Wondering what had happened to his cane, Bishop reached out to steady him. He found it mildly disturbing that Nathan didnāt move to pull away.
***
He endured Domās tossing and turning in silence for as long as he could. Eventually, though, the distress that was flowing up the link despite her attempts to shield was too much to ignore. Letting his breath out on a sigh, Nathan turned on his side and put a hand on her arm.
"Iām fine," she said. Her voice was level, but he was acutely aware of the turmoil her thoughts were in and knew it for a lie. Besides, she was glaring fiercely at the bedroom ceiling, which wasn't being particularly offensive as far as he could tell.
"You should try and get some sleep, Dom," he suggested quietly. He knew her too well to think that she had gotten much sleep over in London these last couple of weeks - Dom didnāt tend to sleep much when she was in the field - and coming back to this hadnāt done salutary things for her stress levels.
"Look whoās talking," she snapped, but immediately turned to face him, her expression softening. "Iām sorry," she sighed, laying her hand over his and squeezing gently. "Iām not angry with you."
"I know." Although he wouldnāt have blamed her if she had been, Nathan thought bitterly. After all, he was the one who had turned down a security detail back in June when the interrogations of the cultists captured in Tibet hadnāt turned up any evidence that they actually had a concrete plan to kill him. But hindsight was 20/20, as usual. "But sheās all right, Dom."
"If she has nightmares, I swear Iām going to--" Dom stopped, taking a deep breath. "Damn it," she muttered, pushing her hair back out of her eyes. "Idle threats are much less comforting than they used to be."
"Clare sensed him first, you know," Nathan said after a moment, wondering if he was insane for bringing this up right now.
Dom blinked at him, pushing herself up on an elbow. "She did?" she asked, sounding surprised--and more than a little wary.
The wariness was what he had expected, and why he had decided that he needed to wait until they were alone to tell her about this. Dom generally did well at masking her worries about Clare and the extent of her powers, but there was no sense in testing her ability to compartmentalize any more than was absolutely necessary.
"She picked up on his hostility and the fact that it was directed at us before I even sensed it," Nathan said, smiling faintly. He hadnāt really stopped to think about the implications of that yet. "I canāt help but wonder what sort of psi sheās going to be when she reaches her full strength."
Domino muttered something profane-sounding under her breath and laid back down, curling up beside him. "If youāre trying to distract me, itās working," she grumbled. "I really donāt have the energy tonight to worry about how precocious our daughter is."
"Then donāt," he said, putting an arm around her. "Go to sleep instead. Thereāll be plenty of time to wax pessimistic in the morning."
That actually got a laugh from her, but she soon settled down, as if the conversation had relieved at least some of her tension. Once she was relaxed enough, he managed to telepathically nudge her the rest of the way down into sleep, although narrowing his focus that far made his head start to throb again. He waited a few minutes, then got out of bed, fumbling for his cane. It was a spare, and a little heavier than he liked, but he hadnāt thought to ask the investigative team if they had by chance retrieved his other one from the mall.
Dressing in silence, he left the bedroom, closing the door carefully behind him. Next he checked on Clare, opening her bedroom door just a crack. She was sound asleep, curled up under the comforter. Nathan reached out and brushed her mind, relieved when he saw how peacefully she was sleeping. He had tried to do what he could telepathically to make sure she didnāt have nightmares - Dom wasnāt the only one whoād worried about that - but implanting that sort of suggestion was never a sure thing. Especially when you were trying to do it for another telepath, and especially when that telepath was as strong as his daughter.
Closing that door, he headed downstairs. The house was quiet, but he could sense the thoughts of the night-shift security team as they went about their business. One was in the kitchen--getting some coffee, Nathan realized, focusing on her for a moment. He was briefly tempted to get a cup for himself, but what he really needed was fresh air, not caffeine. He pulled on his shoes and went out the front door, startling the security officer on the porch.
"Sir?"
"Just going out for a bit of a walk," Nathan said, managing a thin smile.
The lieutenant commander - Nathan supposed he should be flattered that he and Dom and Clare rated a team of the most experienced security-and-protective officers available - nodded, showing no surprise at the idea that his protectee wanted to go for a midnight stroll. "Want some company, sir?"
Nathan raised an eyebrow, vaguely amused by how much that had sounded like an actual offer. "Go ahead and tail me, but Iām not actually looking for company," he said dryly. "No offense."
"None taken," the security officer said easily, and touched his headset. "This is Standish. The commanderās taking a walk--Iāll keep an eye on him."
Nathan waited for Standish to pick up his weapon before he limped down the steps. On a whim, he turned and headed for the shoreline. It was a beautiful night, comfortably warm and absolutely clear. The full moon was out over the water and looked huge, as if it was closer than it should be. The whole scene was very peaceful, he supposed.
He didnāt feel peaceful. It had taken a real effort to hold onto his facade today, to be what Clare and Dom had needed. There hadnāt been the luxury of dealing with his own feelings about what had happened. Now that he did have the opportunity, he was finding that he didnāt know what the hell he was feeling.
None of this made any sense. Why hadnāt he sensed that attack coming? If this was all tied up in the cult, in whatever they were planning, he should have felt that connection, or had a damned vision on the subject. Something--anything. Precognition was no good at all if it didnāt help him avoid such situations, if it didnāt help him protect what was most important--
Stopping at the edge of the lawn, he squeezed his eyes shut, blocking out the postcard-perfect image of the moon over the water. All he could see when he did that were Clareās eyes, full of tears, full of fear. Anger boiled up inside him, but he quashed it brutally. This wasnāt productive. If he had excess energy, he knew perfectly well what he should be doing with it.
Keeping his eyes closed, he withdrew into his mind, reconstructing the mindscape he had been using to work on the block Emma had found. The desert, still, but by now he had managed to bring the river that represented his awareness of the timestream up to the surface. It had been a slow, laborious process, and yet it was only a first step. When the river had first broken the surface, a wall had appeared, separating him from it: a symbol that his subconscious was using to portray the block, Emma had suggested. His frustration had gotten the better of him at first, but she had convinced him that it was a good sign, that he was closer to the block itself and could work on it more directly now.
And he had tried, but the wall seemed impenetrable. There was no going over it - it grew higher, every time he tried - and it stretched out into seeming infinity in both directions. I can't do anything by half measures, can I? He had well and truly inhibited himself, and despite how much he needed and wanted to get a better grip on what he was perceiving in the timestream, his subconscious was still stubbornly throwing obstacles in his way.
Not any more. He took all of his anger, all of his rage at what had almost happened, and formed it into a sledgehammer. Emma had warned him not to do this, that it was dangerous, but Emma hadnāt been there this morning. Emma hadnāt nearly gotten her daughter killed because she had been too slow, too willfully blind--
The wall trembled as he hit it. Trembled, but didnāt give, and something inside Nathan snapped. No more, he thought feverishly; no more waiting, no more vacillating, no more flonqing failures! He hit the wall again, putting everything he had into it, not caring what damage he might do to the structure of his mind. He was going to get through that wall if it was the last thing he did.
The mindscape was flickering around him, trying to dissolve. Each time he hit the block, feedback crashed back through him, waves of scorching pain that should have been enough to stop him right there. But heād let himself be beaten too often already, Nathan thought savagely. For someone who wasnāt supposed to admit defeat, he had been wallowing in it for months.
Enough--that's fucking enough-- He smashed at the block in a frenzy. Break, you flonqing thing--BREAK!
And something broke. It was a hairline crack at first, but then part of the wall was crumbling, seemingly in slow motion. Behind it was the light, that damned red-gold light that haunted so many of his visions. He froze, confused, and in that moment a lance-like beam of it shot through the gap and impaled his avatar-self through the chest.
The pain was excruciating, as bad as any heād ever experienced before, but even as the desert went to pieces around him, he saw. He understood, at last. The light wasnāt some manifestation of the block, it was the answer.
It was the future. Countless images of critical moments coalescing into one incandescent whole, coming at him all at once. Sensory overload. That was the problem: he had no mechanism to filter it, to see only what he needed to see.
Or maybe he did. The timestream was howling at the back of his mind and he could feel the disturbance in it like nausea roiling in the pit of his stomach. Fighting past the pain, he focused on that and that alone. Nothing else. The results were immediate. There was a sudden, seismic shift in the light, and with sudden, crystal clarity, he saw--
*Flicker.* A hallway stretching out before him, the walls techno-organic and stone. Heād walked this hallway before, he knew this place--
*Flicker.* The blanket from his very first vision. His own bloodstained hand unfolding it as light glinted on the embroidery--hieroglyphics, he realized with a shock.
*Flicker.* The desert, the sand rippling like water as the ground rumbled ominously. Something was about to break the surface, and he knew what it was, that it was something that had never been meant to see the light of the sun again--
*Flicker.* Sulven crumpling to a stone floor, the front of her armor drenched in blood, and he saw himself lash out telekinetically at the figure standing over her, smashing her attacker into a wall.
*Flicker.* The XSE command ship, the Phoenix, falling in flames towards the sand as plasma batteries on the ground fired continuously on it.
*Flicker.* The Tower exploding, with the city around it already in ruins.
*Flicker.* Childrenās bodies scattered like broken toys, and horror nearly overcame him as he realized that one was his daughter--
And a face behind it all, taking shape out of the light. A face that was everywhere he looked, echoing down through the years from a single nexus point of monstrous import.
Apocalypse.
#NO!# He tried to reject the image, to push it away, and lost that tenuous inner balance. The chain of events heād been watching melted back into the light, which slammed into him with a renewed fury, and Nathan screamed aloud as his shields disintegrated under the pressure.
Distantly, he felt his knees buckling, but the impact with the ground was barely noticeable, as if it had happened to someone else. For some indeterminate time, there was nothing, only darkness and silence, but then the voices were bringing him back, screaming inside his mind, demanding he listen. He opened his eyes, trying to focus on the closest of the voices, the one belonging to the blur hovering over him. Standish, he thought vaguely.
Then Dom was there, too, but even with the link, he couldnāt hear her, couldnāt pick her voice out of the roar. Her lips were moving, but he closed his eyes, too weak to try and respond. But all he could see in that not-so comforting darkness was Apocalypseās face.
Not just paranoia after all, was his last clear thought as the voices chased him back down into unconsciousness.
***
"Really, little brother," Sulven murmured in the battle language as she stood beside the biobed and stared down at Nathan's ashen face. Here in the shielded infirmary room, the silence she sensed in his mind was profoundly unnerving. "There are some impulses one just should not follow."
Even though she couldn't quite manage to access his memory, she could hazard a fairly good guess at what he'd done, just by the state of his shields and how deeply he had withdrawn into his mind. The psionic damage, which was thankfully less serious than she'd expected after sensing Nathan's little episode from afar, was unmistakably self-inflicted. Given the events of the day, she would be terribly surprised if he hadn't tried to smash through that block of his the hard way. Especially since she was sensing a definite temporal energy signature around him, much stronger than the residue of the Merge could account for.
How could he have been so foolish? she thought, frowning as she started to repair what she could of the psionic damage. He was entirely too emotional at times. From what she had been told, he had handled the assassin well enough. Neither he nor Clare had been injured, and the cultist was safely in custody.
But this wasn't the first time he had let what could have been drive him to act recklessly. In fact, he made quite a habit of it, and her tolerance was wearing rather thin. Once he was awake and alert, the two of them would have to have a conversation. Not that she held out much hope that words could alter this particular behavioural pattern of his, but fortunately, she had other methods at her disposal as well. If nothing else, she could use his own guilt against him. It was all well and good for him to obsess over failing to keep Clare out of a dangerous situation, but frying his own brain would only serve to prevent him from getting the chance to do better in future.
Examining her repairs critically, Sulven decided that she had done what she could for now. The rest would heal best with time, and she certainly wasn't going to try and rouse him. He would wake on his own, once the shock had faded. Any attempt on her part to interfere would likely do more harm than good. His shields were quite comprehensively demolished, but that would be up to him to rectify.
The temporal signature was thoroughly intriguing, though. If he regained consciousness and informed her that he now had full access to his precognition--well, perhaps she'd tone down the lecture a little. Idiotic risks could be justified if they were productive.
Though that was not liable to be an opinion shared by many, Sulven thought as she turned away from the biobed and gave the two women watching her through the glass an encouraging smile. Jean was not one of them, thankfully; if she hadn't been in Europe supervising the organization of several of the Academy's new exchange programs, she would have been here, and that might have been awkward. Too many explanations to make.
"He should be all right," she reported once she had joined Cecilia and Domino in the hall outside. Being outside the shields again was a relief; she had never liked that sort of artificial quiet. Nathan might consider it a respite, but to her it was just unsettling. "Although he should probably take a moment when he's awake to thank the Bright Lady that his mind's recuperative abilities increased along with his power levels. This could have been a lot worse than it is. His shields are certainly damaged, but he's rebuilt them from worse."
She had meant the words to be reassuring, but they didn't seem to have that effect. Domino only stared at her, her bleak expression unaltered, and Cecilia scowled thoughtfully.
"But what caused it?" the physician asked, clearly not willing to accept her lack of explanation. Sulven frowned at her, but Cecilia persisted. "His vitals might be stable now, but they sure as hell weren't when the medical team first got to him. Even if this is a psionic problem, it's having physical effects."
"Transitory physical effects," Sulven said firmly, and decided that a small white lie was in order. "He was under extraordinary stress today, that's all. I intend to recommend he take some time off once he has his shields in order." All right, so perhaps that was laying it on a little thick, she admitted to herself as Cecilia blinked at her and Domino gave her a flat look.
Cecilia very clearly had more to say, but Domino spoke up before she could continue. "Will it bother him to have me in there?" she asked, her voice expressionless.
Tact, Sulven reminded herself. "For now, no," she said. He was too deeply unconscious to be receiving anything more than minimal telepathic input, and it might help if Domino's presence on the link constituted most of that. It might help rouse him sooner, and the sooner he woke up, the sooner he could explain what had happened.
"Good," Domino said more quietly, and went into the room without another word. Sulven watched through the window as she pulled a chair up to the side of the bed and sat down, her back to the glass. She had been quite alarmingly subdued about all of this, Sulven thought warily. Very un-Domino-like. Perhaps the events of the day had been that draining, but even with Domino's more-than-exemplary ability to guard her thoughts, she could sense enough to make her think that the restraint was just a cover.
Beside her, Cecilia cleared her throat. "Sulven," she said firmly. "I really would appreciate more details."
Sulven gave her a sideways look. "I said it was stress, didn't I?" she asked sharply. She would tolerate a certain amount of questioning from those who stood above her in the hierarchy of this new clan she'd adopted, but Cecilia, pleasant as she was, was not one of those people. "He's not made that much progress that he can hold his shields when his mind is in turmoil. This has most likely been coming for a while, with everything that's been happening, but the incident today merely pushed him that little bit too far." Avoiding pointed questions was so much easier when you could do it by telling a half-truth or two.
There was a flash of something - unhappiness? - in Cecilia's dark eyes, and the physician gave another little grimace. "Then I think we've got to consider going beyond suggesting that he take a vacation," she said with a sigh. "If he's under enough stress that something like this could happen, he probably shouldn't be on duty at all."
Sulven raised an eyebrow. "Good luck," she said, more derisively than she'd intended.
Cecilia reddened, but didn't back down. "Look, Sulven, I know Nathan likes to pretend all of his health problems amount to an annoying limp and the occasional migraine, but that doesn't mean the rest of us need to wallow in denial with him." Cecilia stared through the glass for a long moment, and then shook her head. "This is stupid," she said more quietly. "I think I'll do the paperwork before I go home so it's waiting for Bishop in the morning. I'll recommend thirty days to start, but if Nathan's not in better shape by then--"
"Medical leave," Sulven drawled, although truthfully, she didn't find the idea so objectionable. There were many ways for Nathan to keep in touch with what was going on at the Tower, and if he wasn't filling his days with ridiculous administrative duties and coddling politicians, he would have more time to devote to what was truly important. "Oh, he'll just adore that idea."
***
He could feel the heat of the sand through his shoes. Once upon a time, he'd been at ease walking in the desert, but he couldn't manage it as easily anymore. His cane kept trying to slip sideways, and he was never quite sure of his footing. But Nathan did his best to ignore the pervasive sense of being slightly off-balance, and focused on the conversation.
"I don't feel any connection to this place," his companion said, his deep voice sounding troubled. "I wish I did."
"Why?" Nathan prodded gently.
"It might help me to understand who he was."
Nathan couldn't help a faint, sardonic smile. "Your mother would have a fit if she heard you say that," he pointed out.
"She's always wanted to protect me from--well, this." A small, telling pause, and Nathan could sense some of the turmoil in that vivid, powerful mind begin to resolve into something close to gratitude. "I know you feel the same way, but I'm glad you brought me here."
"It is your birthplace," Nathan said after a moment. They were walking a very fine line here, and he couldn't afford to be either too dismissive or too encouraging. "I just wish you wouldn't try to make any more of it than that."
A laugh, full of honest amusement. "Is this where I get the lecture about being my own person?"
Nathan felt a sudden surge of warm affection, and no small amount of relief. He's been brooding about this so much lately--it's nice to see that his sense of humor is still in working order. "Why, when you know it by heart?" he asked aloud, keeping his tone dry.
Another laugh, softer this time. "You haven't been harping on it that much, Dad. I just need to--make my peace with all of this, I suppose. It would make it much easier to move on and live my own life, I think."
"Have I mentioned lately that you're too young to be so wise?" Nathan said with a soft chuckle, and then stumbled as they came down the side of the dune. His companion immediately reached out to steady him.
"Be careful," was the warning, and Nathan, smiling, looked sideways, only to be struck by something, so forcefully that he couldn't look away. The XSE uniform clothing the arm that had reached out to support him was right, was familiar, but the tone of the skin--
--no, it couldn't be. A wave of dizziness swept over him and the desert spun away. He was somewhere else in an instant, standing in the midst of a vast stream of multicolored light. There was no sense of pressure, no force to it. It just flowed gently around him, singing softly in his mind, and for a moment, he felt almost at peace, as if he could have stayed here forever.
It didn't last. He reached out a hand, and felt a jolt of despair as part of the light redirected itself, bouncing away in a different direction entirely. The soft harmony at the back of his mind was edged with dissonance suddenly, and Nathan felt a mounting horror as he realized that he was changing things, disrupting things, just by being here.
"Of course you are," a voice said.
No, not 'a' voice. His voice. Nathan looked up sharply, shocked to see himself standing several feet away in the light, watching him. Some sort of reflection, he thought at first, but then he noticed differences. He was wearing an XSE uniform, while the other him was in civilian clothes--a suit, no less. The other looked markedly older, as well, a weight of knowledge in his eyes that Nathan didn't understand.
"Who--who are you?" he asked hesitantly.
"The wrong questions, as usual. I have to admit, I'd forgotten what a tortuous process this was." The other him shook his head, looking grim, and turned away.
"Wait--" Nathan started to say, reaching out, but the music at the back of his mind swelled into a roar, and the light blazed incandescently around him before everything went dark--
--"Nathan?" a familiar voice asked softly. He opened his eyes and recognized, despite the way his vision was blurring, what was unmistakably the infirmary ceiling. He had seen it enough, after all, for it to be pretty familiar.
His head was pounding, and he could feel the broken fragments of his shields digging into his mind like shards of glass. They must have pumped him full of psi-suppressants, though, because the noise was actually at a bearable level. Painkillers, too; the pain wasn't nearly as bad as it should be, with this much damage to his shields. No wonder he felt so fuzzy.
There was someone holding his hand. The same person who had called his name, of course. He blinked up at Domino, who smiled tiredly at him. "Idiot," she said quietly. "Although I suppose I don't have anything to yell at you about this time."
Memory came back slowly, and he felt a flash of urgency even through the drugged haze. "Where's--Clare?" he asked slowly, the words coming out slurred.
"At home. Hopefully being fed breakfast by her security team." The smile slipped off Domino's face and she stared down at him for a long moment, her eyes dark with worry. "What happened, Nathan?"
"It broke," he said, the words slipping out before he could help it.
She frowned. "Your shields?"
The timestream was moving, he could feel it. It felt--different, somehow. Nathan sighed and closed his eyes. Something had changed. He couldn't deal with it now, though. Shields first, if he could manage that much concentration.
***
September 2012
"They call themselves the Scions of the Morning Fire," Bishop said, and Scott noted the uneasy ripple that went through the auditorium. Of the nearly two hundred officers gathered here for what had to be the largest briefing in the XSE's history thus far, most had the background and experience to know just how ominous a choice of name that was. "We have that confirmed from prisoners involved in three separate incidents: the raid on the legacy site in Tibet, the assassination attempt against Commander Summers, and last week's assault on our tactical base in Yemen."
This Nur-cult was definitely operating on a global level now. Although maybe they always have been, and we're just playing catch-up. There were nearly a dozen separate incidents listed on the map being projected by the main holotank. Some had been connected to the cult via the evidence left behind, others by confessions from those who had been captured. All in all, Scott thought, it was adding up to a terrifying picture.
"We still don't know their motivations," Bishop went on. "They seem to have a shopping list, if you will, of technology and artifacts relating to En Sabah Nur. They are also clearly trying to undermine our tactical presence in the Middle East. Unfortunately, none of the cult members in custody could shed light on what they hope to accomplish. We are dealing with a very carefully organized group here, people, and they seem determined not to tip their hand."
Bishop's command of idiom was getting better, Scott thought, but let his attention drift as Bishop continued to outline the situation. None of this was news to him. The command officers had already been over the briefing material in detail this morning, and he doubted Bishop would be throwing in any curveballs.
He stole a look sideways at Nathan, who was sitting a few seats down from Bishop, looking completely indifferent to what was happening around him. This was only Nathan's second day back on duty, and although Cecilia had cleared him, he didn't really look all that much better than he had right after this most recent episode with his shields. Scott wasn't sure what precisely had happened, and was beginning to despair of getting a straight answer. Whatever it was had landed Nathan in the infirmary's most heavily shielded room for nearly a week as he rebuilt his shields again, apparently from almost nothing.
He was very definitely not himself, Scott thought, not for the first time. He'd shown the same lack of interest at the command staff briefing, and that didn't make any sense. Not when Nathan had been the one, all along, who'd been so sure that the cult was behind all of this, that they were planning something big, something dangerous. It had set off more of the same alarm bells that had been ringing in Scott's mind since hard evidence had started to bear out what had initially looked like paranoia on Nathan's part. Something very odd was going on with his son; this was just confirmation.
"--decided it's necessary to make another sweep of the legacy sites," Bishop was saying. "Our past difficulties with extracting techno-organic systemry aside, it's clear that the measures we've taken to safeguard these sites have been inadequate. S&T Division is already reevaluating our procedures for dealing with Nur's technology, and amassing data on possible uses for what's been taken. Our first concern, however, must be to cut off the supply."
They would have to go to Akkaba again, Scott thought suddenly, blinking. That hadn't occurred to him when they'd been discussing options at the meeting this morning. It was impossible to think of Akkaba as just another legacy site, but it was one of the most intact. After the accident that had knocked Alex out of this dimension, they hadn't dared to do much more there. The automatic defenses around the site were the best that was available--in fact, that last time anyone had been there was two years ago, to replace them. Akkaba was a no-go area in general, not just for civilians but for the XSE as well. No one really wanted to go there. The memories of the battle and all those who had been lost were still too fresh, even years later..
Bishop was taking questions now, and Scott forced himself to pay attention. The first person he called upon was a lieutenant commander from Combat Ops, a tall blonde woman Scott remembered vaguely from one of the Scandinavian network stations.
"What about the artifacts?" she asked. "Only a minority are or were found in the legacy sites. Many are elsewhere--shouldn't we be trying to secure them as well?"
Bishop paused a moment before replying and Scott thought he detected a little frustration in his voice as he answered. "Most of these artifacts are harmless, valuable only in a--religious sense. The cultists are welcome to them."
"Some aren't," the lieutenant commander persisted. She had that look in her eyes, Scott thought dryly, the one he'd learned to associate with the most fervent of the true believers from the network. "Several of these artifacts were part of Pandora's Box. Can we afford to allow any more of them to fall into the hands of this cult?"
Quite a few members of the audience were looking perplexed at this, and Bishop cleared his throat. "Pandora's Box, for those of you who aren't familiar with the term, was the name the Askani network gave to a list of elements - items, people and events - that were deemed critical to the timeline as it related to Nur. We will be attempting to locate the surviving items on the list." He gave a thin smile. "They may serve as bait, if nothing else." The lieutenant commander opened her mouth again, clearly not finished, but Bishop ignored her and nodded to Bereket Tsehaye, the commander of the rapid-reaction team that had just been permanently assigned to the rebuilt Cairo Base.
Tsehaye seemed to consider his question for a moment before he spoke. "I agree that preventing them from acquiring anything further of Nur's technology is important," he said carefully, "but there are other priorities as well. Do we have any information that could lead us to their command structure?"
Scott had expected this. The plan they had devised at the command briefing was a defensive one, in essence, and there were too many officers in the room who'd been conditioned to the Askani doctrine that the best defense was a good offense. Unfortunately, they simply didn't have the intelligence to support more aggressive action at this time. The 'hawks' would have to restrain themselves for now.
"Not as yet, but Intelligence has made this their highest priority," Bishop said firmly. "Intelligence's telepaths have been officially placed on special assignment. I have faith that they will have more information for us soon. When they do, we can begin to discuss taking action against the cult itself."
He had been a little leery about that, but then, it hadn't been his choice to make. Special assignment meant that the Intelligence telepaths wouldn't be subject to the usual rules regarding the use of their powers with the prisoners, or even with suspects, if they decided the circumstances warranted it. That sort of discretion came with a price, of course. As soon as the report on that made its way to the UN, Bishop would be getting a summons to appear before the Security Council and defend that choice.
"It's important to focus on doing what we can while further intelligence is being developed," Bishop finally said after taking a few more, minor questions. "You all have your assignments. Specific questions can be directed to your section leaders or divisional commanders." He hesitated, grimacing slightly, but then went on, sounding more than a little stiff. "This is not our first test, but it may prove to be our most critical, so far. This cult is the enemy, but we are also fighting a ghost. How we resolve this will do much to determine how we go forward from this crisis." He swept one assessing gaze over the audience and then nodded. "Dismissed."
As people got up and started to file out of the auditorium, Scott saw Nathan staring off into empty air, so clearly 'not here' that he just couldn't help himself any longer. He was beginning to think that getting actual answers out of Nathan was just a pipe dream he was still inexplicably cherishing, but that didn't mean he was going to stop trying. Getting up, he went over, noticing the wary way Domino, who was sitting next to Nathan, watched him as he came up behind their chairs.
"That went fairly well, I thought," he said leadingly. Domino shrugged, still eyeing him - suspiciously, he thought - and Scott turned his attention to Nathan. "Nathan?" he prompted. "Your opinion?"
"I think you need to stop worrying about what's going on in my head and focus on the job at hand," Nathan said in a light voice that sounded decidedly false. Bishop came over to join them, and Nathan gave him a faint, almost mocking smile. "That was a nice touch at the end there."
Bishop raised an eyebrow. "Should I thank you, or are you being sarcastic?"
"You want honesty? All right. I actually thought it was inane."
"Nathan," Domino said softly, laying a hand on his arm. "There's no need to be so hostile."
Nathan gave a brittle laugh and stood up. The officers on the stage had broken up, some into little groups, some down into the auditorium itself to talk to their subordinates. "It's not going to help," he said quietly, staring out at what was left of the crowd. "The sweep."
"Why not?" Scott asked slowly, wondering if they were about to be treated to another piece of Nathan's insight on the situation. He was certainly willing to play along, if so; they needed more information badly, whatever its source.
"They're past that." Nathan put a hand to his temple, that detached expression forming once again on his face. "There are legacy sites we don't know about, we've always known that. We need to be looking into reports of strange activity in remote areas of Asia and the Middle East."
"I'm not adverse to chasing the occasional rumor, Nathan," Bishop said, and Scott felt like snapping at him for the interruption, "but there's enough technology left in some of our known legacy sites that we have to do something about them first." Nathan didn't respond, and Bishop frowned. "Do you want these cultists recreating techno-organic weapons systems like we faced at Akkaba?"
"The artifacts are the key," Nathan said distantly, as if he hadn't heard Bishop at all. "Everything else is just the how. The artifacts are the why."
"I thought the why of any situation was secondary to the situation itself," Scott asked, and then wished he'd restrained himself when Nathan shot him a sudden, angry look.
An instant later, though, Nathan was smiling, if bitterly. "I walked right into that, didn't I?" he asked, and then sighed. "I think we all have work we should be doing," he said, turning away and swaying a little. Domino got up, taking his arm, and they left together.
"I would give a great deal to know what he isn't telling us," Bishop said quietly, after a moment.
Scott blinked at him. "You think so, too?"
Bishop's smile was humorless. "Well, it's getting rather blatant, wouldn't you say?"
to be continued...
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