Zero Factor

Armed and dangerous…

A Cybershock Story Born a psionic—a rare human prized by the government for her gifts—agridome worker Via Brede lives by two simple rules: slip into stealth mode whenever the cybernetic-enhanced militia is near. And never remove the gloves that block her psychic ability. During a routine delivery, a tear in her glove connects her with what should be her worst nightmare. A meched-out soldier with bulging muscles and a scarred face that makes her heart pound like a pneumatic drill. She also envisions his death in an attack that happens…now. Locke’s typically ho-hum mission goes sideways when the stunning, green-eyed bubble farmer plants a sensual kiss that sets fire to every one of his remaining man-nerves. He also sees her vision. His own commander is about to kill him. He needs Via to find out why. First step is to get her to Old Las Vegas without succumbing to a raw, sexual need that burns in him like fever. Getting there will be a snap. Getting out alive—and winning her trust—might be a little tougher.

Warning: This title contains mild violence, blow-your-mind Psionic sex, buns of steel (literally) and the usual hanky-panky at a bordello. Author is not responsible for side effects, including locked-and-loaded hunks taking your dreams by force.

eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work. This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental. Samhain Publishing, Ltd. 577 Mulberry Street, Suite 1520 Macon GA 31201 Zero Factor Copyright © 2011 by Stacy Gail ISBN: 978-1-60928-519-7 Edited by Sasha Knight Cover by Kanaxa All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: August 2011 www.samhainpublishing.com

Zero Factor Stacy Gail

Dedication

For Mom and Dad. Thanks for believing.

Chapter One

“Welcome,” Weddo Hu announced to his passengers, “to New Vegas.” Via Brede looked through the agridome transport’s plexi window, her stomach twisting into nervous knots at the sight of the mega-city’s skyline. She hadn’t seen its familiar spires for eight years. She would have been happy to never see them again. “Okay, kids, time to shut your mouths and open your ears.” At the transport’s helm, Weddo adjusted the satellite radio’s volume so he could be heard. “Militia types have a low tolerance for what I like to call dumbassery, so no screwing around on this delivery, yeah? Patricio, I’m looking at you.” Patricio smirked in a way that only a kid barely out of adolescence could. “How was I supposed to know spitting gum on the ground was an offense worthy of a firing squad?” “Everything’s worthy of a firing squad to the militia.” Weddo snorted. “But if you’re feeling like a big man today, you can run the off-loader, while Adelaide downloads the inventory. Via, you’re back in the transport’s payload lining up crates for the off-loader. Have you ever done that job before?” Via adjusted her work gloves and tried to look like she wasn’t about to throw up. “I usually grow this stuff, not deliver it.” “And I’m grateful you’re pitching in since I was short-handed today.” Weddo nodded, slowing the transport for a mob of people in the street. “It’s an easy enough job. Just move the cargo to the off-loader and let it do its thing. Got any questions?” She bit her lip to keep from asking what the hell she was doing there, and settled for shaking her head. But the question had merit. Of all people, what was she doing driving into a militia stronghold when her life’s goal had always been to stay off their radar? If the militia discovered her— Without warning, a gush of static from the sat-radio screamed out. Weddo jumped, and the slowmoving transport swerved drunkenly. “Dayum.” “Ooh, turn this up.” Pulled from the bored examination of her nails, Adelaide leaned forward. “It’s the Lady Pirate!” Via’s eyes narrowed before she turned to look out the plexi window. And she’d thought this day couldn’t get more stressful. She sighed. Usually the familiar voice of the Lady Pirate soothed her, but heading into New Vegas now—into a stronghold of the militia itself—it was one distraction she just didn’t need.

Zero Factor

“…interrupting your regularly scheduled programming to bring you that one thing the militias don’t want you to have—the truth,” came the familiar synthesized voice of the satellite hacker known only as the Lady Pirate. “Citizens take note—the New West Coast militias will be out in force this month to aggressively recruit any and all people found with psionic ability, no matter the age or power level.” With her mouth as dry as the desert around them, Via sank deeper into the transport’s lumpy seat. “As discussed many times on this program, individuals born with psionic abilities are deemed property of the United North American States government,” the Lady Pirate continued. “According to the Psionic Acquisition Imperative, or PAI Law, UNAS reserves the right to utilize the valuable resource our psionic population represents in any way it sees fit.” “Whatever that means,” Adelaide mumbled. Via closed her eyes. “Of course, legal experts worldwide denounce the PAI Law as inhumane by labeling people as property. UNAS officials, however, insist otherwise. And we know why our government does that, don’t we, ladies and gentlemen? The government clings to that wording so it can legally kidnap its own citizens.” “I’d hate to be a psi,” Adelaide said, shivering. “Once the militia finds you, you’re never heard from again.” “You’re just showing your ignorance,” Patricio scoffed. “The government doesn’t want us to be enslaved by those freaks. Their genes got jacked up by all the radiation the zealots unleashed when they bombed us. Now the psis are pissed off about it and want to take over the world.” “Who’d want to take over this mudball of a planet?” Weddo smacked the younger man in the back of the head. “Psis aren’t freaks, you asshat, and psychic abilities have been around since the dawn of man. Yeah, the radioactive pollutants probably accelerated those abilities, but they’ve always been there in our DNA. Before the Decade of Quakes, my granny was a famous medium in San Francisco. She was told by her spirit guide to vamoose before the Old West Coast disappeared into the ocean. Granny listened, and because of that I’m now sitting here having this stupid-ass conversation with you.” Patricio cringed back. “Are you…one of them?” “Stupid-ass conversation,” Weddo muttered. “No, but I wouldn’t mind if I were. In fact, I’d be proud. If I had an ability that could help people, I’d use it in whatever way possible.” Via nearly snorted. How in the world did Weddo think being a freak psionic was something to be proud of? No matter which way you looked at it, it was a kick in the teeth. Even without the constant fear of the militia to contend with, there was always that oh-so-fun potential twist of being held prisoner by one’s own uncontrolled abilities. But did Weddo think about that? Hells, no. Apparently the only thing he thought about was how epic it would be to put on a cape and save the day. If he only knew. Patricio made a disgruntled sound. “I still say psis aren’t like us.”

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“They’re just like you and me, kid.” “No way—” “Guys, I’m trying to listen to the Pirate,” Adelaide complained. “…no official explanation,” the Lady Pirate continued. “Finally, a point of concern amongst the citizens in Old Las Vegas’s second and third Sectors, formerly known as the Strip. Sources have confirmed seventeen young women have vanished without a trace over the past year. While on the surface these disappearances seem unrelated, local law enforcement confirms that all seventeen women reported missing were pregnant at the time of their disappearance.” “Via, Adelaide,” Weddo said as he maneuvered the transport through the crowds outside a warehouse complex surrounded by high Zapper fences. “I know New Vegas is twenty clicks from those old sectors, but I have to ask—anyone have a bun in the oven?” Via would have laughed if she hadn’t been shaking so much. That would be one for the record books. “I’m good.” “Me too.” Adelaide nodded. “Aren’t you worried about me, Weddo?” Patricio asked, and earned himself another smack in the head. “Mute it, you clown, and keep it that way from here on in, roger that? I want no screwups this time.” “We’ll all keep an eye on each other,” Via said between clenched teeth. It was the only way to keep them from chattering. “Let’s just do this and get out of here.” “That’s the kind of team spirit I want to hear.” Smiling, Weddo pulled up to a heavily fortified gate. “With a can-do attitude like that, this delivery’s going to go like clockwork.”

The New Vegas sun bounced off the mega-city’s concrete canyon walls, turning the world into a hellish blast furnace. As a uniformed patrol brought his strike-bike to a stop at the distribution center’s gate to check in, Lieutenant First-Class C. Locke stood on the edge of the loading dock and made note of the blistering heat only cursorily. His razor-edged attention was on the shuffling denizens of New Vegas just outside the fifteen-foot-high chain-link Zapper fence surrounding the Provisions Warehouse Complex, a distribution center that fed and clothed every militia on the New West Coast. As long as the citizens stayed on the public side of the fence, all was right with the world. But if anyone made a serious move to gain entry, he had no problem with putting his pulse rifle to good use. It was hard to believe the ragged mass of humanity outside the distribution center was capable of causing trouble, but Locke knew better than to relax his guard. Prices on basic staples like water, rice, dairy and corn products had risen to nose-bleed levels in the past months. That meant the people on the lowest rung of society’s ladder, the so-called no-goods, were growling as loud as their bellies. Vitamin-packed

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Zero Factor

MREs offered by the city’s overburdened shelters were just about the only option left to them, other than starving to death in the gutter. Considering he’d often been forced to live on those heinous packets of synth-nutrients some think-tank egghead had the gall to call food, he couldn’t blame the disenfranchised citizens for pacing along the fences like caged lions at feeding time. But sympathy was a zero factor when it came to the job. Order had to be maintained for the good of all—even if the all were frigging unappreciative of everything the militia did. “Locke, look alive. Transport’s here.” Colonel Francis Fynn stalked to where Locke stood at the edge of the open loading dock. The colonel’s badge as Commander of New Vegas’s Urban Militia on his desertcamo’s left arm declared who was in charge, and the small gold medallion gleaming at his neck marked him as a Lifer. A twin of that medallion hung around Locke’s neck, a near-sacred gift given to him by the colonel himself when the man had taken Locke out of the state orphanage. When Locke had caught his first glimpse of the colonel eighteen years ago while wasting away in that horrific human warehouse, he’d thought then that the colonel didn’t have the normal need to blink. After being recruited at the age of ten, outfitted with neurolinks, cyberoptics, military-grade biomechanical components, and trained to be one of Colonel Fynn’s elite Lifers, Locke’s opinion hadn’t changed. Colonel Francis Fynn wasn’t like everyone else. As far as Locke was concerned, that was as it should be. “Roger that.” As the agridome’s transport slid into the loading bay, Locke readied his pulse rifle, a weapon capable of destabilizing matter on a molecular level. A few bold citizens tried to rush the gate, but the guards were on them before the gate swung shut and the transport powered down. “Dayum, look at all those no-goods,” Colonel Fynn said, his steely gaze trained on the crowds. “Seem like more than usual to you?” “Yes, sir.” Locke’s cyberoptics also sifted through the crowd, the face-recognition software flashing negative for any known terrorist. All he saw were sunken, desperate faces. “They’re hungry, Colonel.” “Not our problem. Compassion is a zero factor. These provisions keep our troops strong so that we, in turn, are strong enough to keep the peace for the entirety of the New West Coast. One sign of weakness on our part and before you know it—boom. Everything we’ve fought for is gone. Remember what happened to us after the Decade of Quakes?” Locke’s expression hardened. “Yes, sir. Zealots bombed every North American city back to the Stone Age. What Mother Nature didn’t destroy, they did.” “Because we showed weakness, Locke. Weakness is how our enemies gain traction, whether they’re zealots or no-goods. We gonna let that happen again?” “No, sir.” “Outstanding, soldier. Keep it stone cold and remember—there is no sacrifice too great that a Lifer won’t make, yeah?”

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“That’s why you chose me, sir.” “Don’t you forget it.” The colonel turned and marched past the cargo transport just as its automated rear payload door rolled upward. Four people in agridome khakis piled out to unload their cargo, and out of habit Locke looked them over in a quick but thorough threat assessment. The driver was by far the oldest of the bunch. He was of Eurasian descent, balding at the crown and sporting an elaborate Fu Manchu moustache. He favored his left side, a nearly imperceptible limp that came from the hip and whispered of early-stage arthritis, but otherwise the old guy seemed downright spry. The younger man with his black hair tied back in a messy braid was so busy eyeing a generously endowed blonde that he seemed incapable of activating the transport’s magnetized off-loaders. As for the blonde, she stood off to one side, one booted foot tapping out an idle beat, striking a pose that best displayed her impressive curves while looking away from the work she should no doubt be doing. Civilians. It was a frigging wonder anything got done. Stifling a sigh, Locke glanced to the fourth agridome worker, a woman perhaps the same age as the blonde slacker. This one was a tall drink of water with mile-long legs draped in baggy khakis and a riot of blue-black corkscrew curls falling down her narrow back like a cloak. Unlike her self-absorbed female compatriot, this woman’s pale eyes swept the area with the practiced air of a veteran soldier digging out exits and hidey-holes. Then she moved over to the blonde to murmur something, and his optics narrowed even as the blonde pouted and shuffled into reluctant action. There was something…different…about that long-legged agridomer. Locke shifted into face-recognition mode without conscious thought, only to frown when nothing more malignant than an Agridome #4 I.D. popped up. Via Brede. Single. New Vegas native. No military background. No government-funded schooling or training. No criminal record. No high-risk registry. Nothing. Nothing that would explain why this long-legged bubble-farmer walked just like his martial-arts master. Leaving the blonde in her wake, the woman named Via Brede moved to the kid screwing with the offloader’s control panel. This time she didn’t speak, just stood over the noob with a look that promised a tooth-loosening beat down if he didn’t get his shyte together, double-quick. Despite his preoccupation, Locke almost snorted at how the kid’s eyes widened in alarm before he got serious about his job. After a couple fumbling moments, the transport’s magnetized off-loaders hummed to life and the first of the cargo slid smoothly on its tracks from the transport and into the offload bay, while the kid shot the woman covert looks of cock-of-the-walk resentment, mingled with the genuine fear of getting pulverized. So she was the hard-ass of the bunch, this Via Brede of Agridome #4. Locke could appreciate that. Nothing would ever get done if it weren’t for the hard-asses of the world. She would have done great in the military.

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The thought made Locke switch to x-ray mode just to double-check the data. With a subtle blink of his optics, he gave her a thorough once-over, looking for any sign of the dog-tag barcode embedded in a microchip at the nape of the neck that every UNAS soldier had, or perhaps the presence of biomech accessories. Nothing. Not even the cosmetic enhancements of breast implants or silicon stays in her pert little ass that he was used to seeing in the women who usually lined up to service the New Vegas Urban Militia at the Pleasure Palace. Via Brede’s firmly sculpted feminine curves were all natural. She was one hundred percent ordinary human. Only…she wasn’t. “Dayum, Patricio, a chimp could do better!” Locke blinked out of x-ray mode when he realized that the magnetic hum of the off-loaders had stopped halfway through the unloading process. The older man stalked over to the kid and snatched the control pad away while the blonde snorted with laughter. The dark-haired woman, Via Brede, simply sighed and began trying to push the cargo down the track, angling her shoulder against massive crates labeled “Fresh Fish”. “This is the last frigging time I take you on a run, boy,” the older man raged, jabbing at the touchscreen control panel so hard Locke was surprised he didn’t poke a stubby finger right through it. “Take a good look around, Patricio, it’s the last time you see the city.” “No, Weddo, I—” “I don’t want to hear it! You’re on compost duty until I’m dead, which should be a good fifty years from now. Go sit in the transport and do nothing, which is what you’re best at, while we— Via, don’t be stupid, you’ll kill yourself trying to muscle tons of cargo around. I’ll get this thing running, just be patient, yeah?” She ignored him by doubling her efforts. “Just…wanna get this…done.” Before he gave it a thought, Locke was on the move to help just as the furiously jabbing person named Weddo hit the right combination of buttons. The off-loaders hummed back to life, and the stack of heavy crates the woman had been putting all her weight into moving flew down the off-loader’s mag-tracks like unguided Venom missiles. With suddenly nothing there to hold her up, Via Brede slammed to the transport’s floor while the crates zoomed into the loading bay and crashed, but all Locke heard was the woman’s pained intake of breath. “Ah…dayum.” Winded from her face-plant, she pushed gingerly to a sitting position while the blonde and a couple militia members crowded around the tumbled crates. Locke held up a staying hand when some of his comrades turned their attention to the transport, his focus laser-locked on the woman on the floor now cradling her hand against her breasts. “Are you injured?”

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The sound of his voice seemed to startle Via Brede. Her gaze jerked to his, looking as skittish as a first-time guest at Madame Cedrine’s Pleasure Palace. His attention sharpened further when her expression filled with undiluted alarm the moment she had him in her sights. Her eyes were nature’s own work of art—heavily fringed with sooty black lashes, a little too large for her pale face, and greener than anything he had ever seen in his desert-dwelling life. In that heartbeat of time Locke realized his favorite color, hands down, was green. Green meant life, a fragile rarity in the irradiated, heat-blasted wastelands of the New West Coast. Green meant hope that life could never be as easily snuffed out as everyone seemed to believe. Green was beauty, and strength within that beauty. But with those eyes filling with fear as they took in his crisp militia camo uniform and automatic pulse rifle, green was also beginning to look a lot like trouble.

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Chapter Two

Via’s heart bounded like a frightened rabbit into her throat as she stared up at the militia member hovering over her, gun in hand. His appearance alone was the embodiment of her worst nightmare— hulking-huge and as invincible as death itself. He had broad shoulders and a muscular neck, and a squaredoff jaw that seemed to be perma-locked in do-or-die mode. His legs were thick as tree trunks, and his massive, scarred hands cradled a Widow-Maker pulse rifle as easily as someone else might cradle a baby. He sported the bristly jarhead buzz-cut his brethren favored, making it impossible to tell what color it might be beneath the crisp black beret he wore, and as his eyes didn’t reflect light as they should, she knew he’d traded out the eyes nature had gifted to him for the disgusting Hawkeye cyberoptics most cold-blooded snipers would sell a family member to possess. There was no way to sneak anything by a guy like this, Via decided, looking at those giveaway deadflat eyes. And that meant she was in a compost-load of trouble. I never should have left the bubble. With an economy of movement that still managed to keep his Widow-Maker in the forefront, the man hunkered down beside her, close enough to make her every nerve ending crawl as far away from this mechanized freak as possible. “I asked if you were injured, citizen.” He nodded his jarhead toward her hands, and she noted a jagged scar slicing up from across the bridge of his nose to bisect an eyebrow right down the middle. “I’m wellversed in dressing wounds of all kinds. If you’d let me—” “No.” Inside, Via cringed at the tremor in her voice. She didn’t have to have the polygraph/stress software he undoubtedly had onboard to hear her fear. If she wanted to get out of this unscathed, she’d have to do way better than this. “I, uh, just tore my glove on the crate as I fell. It’s nothing.” “To not treat an injury is irresponsible, to yourself and to the people who count on you to perform.” “Guess I’m not a good little soldier, then,” Via muttered, only to jerk back when he reached for her hand. “Hey—” “Let me see.” “No!” Panic speared through her like lightning, so fast she had no hope of checking the reflexive reaction. Her free hand grabbed his thumb and pushed hard back into the joint, while every nerve inside her screamed, Don’t touch me, don’t touch me, don’t touch me…

Stacy Gail

“What a nice move. Too bad for you it’s on my meched-out side.” Without warning his other hand came up to clamp like a shackle around her wrist, and her heart froze when the heat of his hand soaked through the cuff of her sleeve. He was so close, so very close, with nothing but the thinnest barrier keeping her shielded from physical contact. “Who are you?” “Via. Via Brede.” Terror made her throat lock up so completely she was shocked she could make any noise at all. “I…I’m a horticulturist.” “You’re more than that.” He gave her wrist a little shake, a vague threat of tremendous physical power held in titanium check. “You’re not what you seem.” What little ability she still possessed to breathe squeaked to a stop. He knew. “I-I don’t know what you mean…” “Who trained you, Via Brede?” “What?” Her panicked thoughts piled into each other like derailed cars in a Maglev train wreck, so much so she could only stare at him. “Wait, you…trained? I don’t—” “I’m not into games.” His fingers contracted, a calculated show of force that made her wince while her frantic pulse pounded against his fingers. “You’re no hick bubble-farmer.” “I am, I swear! That’s all I’ve been for years, my whole life—” “Not your whole life. Just some of it.” He leaned in close, close enough for Via to see his cyberoptics were almost perfect from an aesthetic point of view, with the exception of the flat-light lack of reflection. The iris lenses were a deep morning-glory blue, and in the part of her brain that was slipping into abject hysteria, she wondered if that had once been their natural color. “No hick bubble-farmer walks on the balls of their feet, or knows how to dislocate a thumb with that little quick-release move you just executed—not unless they’ve been trained to fight.” Shyte. “Agridome #4 is a lot rougher than you might think.” His expression tightened. “Huh. You must think I’m stupid—” “Locke, you are out of position!” A rail-thin man marched over to the transport’s open cargo door to glower down at them, and to Via he appeared so stiff she wouldn’t have been surprised if he took a daily dip in starch. A shiver touched her spine at the emptiness of the newcomer’s eyes—real eyes, and not the bionic things the soldier named Locke used to see with. She’d always believed the eyes were the windows to the soul, but if she had to hazard a guess, she’d bet this newcomer didn’t have one. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” “Colonel Fynn—” “Your job is out there, keeping those riot-hungry no-goods from dragging us by the short hairs into anarchy, do you read me?” Riot? Bewildered and alarmed anew, Via listened for sounds of chaos around the gates, but all she heard was the hum of the off-loaders and Weddo yelling for Patricio to come help restack the spilled cargo.

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Was there really a danger of a riot? If there was, no force on earth would stop her from stringing Weddo up by his toes for dragging her out of the dome. The soldier named Locke straightened away from her at last, and she wanted to cry in relief when he dropped her wrist. “Colonel, I believe this worker isn’t what she seems—” “You’re worried about one single woman with security clearance, when this whole place could be overrun by a mob of no-good anarchists at any moment? Your neuro-software must have a frigging glitch.” “Sir—” “You want to focus on a sweet piece of tail, you save it for the Pleasure Palace, soldier.” Via’s chin shot up, her fears of riots and being touched forgotten. “Excuse me?” “But if you can’t keep it together and be the professional I expect you to be, allow me to get the distraction out of your sight. You,” he barked at Via. “Pick your ass up from there and get into the transport’s cab, double-time.” “Uh, okay.” Flabbergasted at the turn of good luck, Via pushed off the floor, but apparently she didn’t move fast enough. Even as she found her feet, the man named Colonel Fynn grabbed her by the hand and yanked her toward the loading dock with all the careless contempt one would use to shove a wayward sheep down a chute. Via would have muttered a curse, but in that moment when Fynn’s hand grabbed hers, the tear in her work glove allowed her skin to touch against his for a fraction of a second. For someone like her, a fraction of a second was all it took to make the visions flood in. No, not now, please… As silent and unnoticed as a ghost, Via found herself in the loading dock beside Colonel Fynn. Surprise moved through her when she realized her vision had taken her only a few minutes from where she knew reality was. Just beyond the transport she could see that most of the spilled crates were now stacked back in their rightful place. Adelaide was flirting with one of the militia members instead of doing her job of downloading the inventory list into the warehouse’s computer. No more than a foot away from her, Weddo apologized to the starch-stiff Fynn, who waved Weddo away as if he were an irritating fly. Via wanted to mutter to the good colonel to loosen the hell up, but she couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. That was the way of it when she was plunged into these horrible visions. There was no choice, no eject button, no way she could call a time-out. All she could do was see a past, present or future that belonged to whatever—or whomever—she touched, and pray that no one noticed when she came out of it. Considering she was surrounded by militia, she didn’t like her chances for a clean escape this time around. The militia member decked out with cyberoptics—Locke—was once more standing near the mouth of the loading dock, pulse rifle in hand, attention trained on the crowds outside the gates as if his life

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depended on it. Via then saw just a glimpse of her other self, huddled in the transport’s cab, curled up and looking as though she wanted to disappear. Seeing herself through another’s viewpoint. Now that was a new one. “I assure you, Colonel, we’re almost out of your hair,” Weddo was saying, his kind face wreathed in a smile that both asked for forgiveness and invited understanding. Via could have told him it was wasted on the likes of Fynn. “If you could just sign off on receiving this delivery…” “Fubar delivery from a fubar crew,” Fynn grated, taking the touchpad from Weddo and scrawling the stylus across its surface. “You don’t seem to understand how tenuous things have become here in the city, bubble-farmer. Next time you decide to leave your safe little agridome to deliver to the militia, try to keep in mind that we’re this close to becoming a war zone, and this mishap could have been construed as a terrorist attack. You’re lucky I didn’t order my men to shoot your entire crew.” Weddo swallowed. “Yes, sir.” “I’m going to write an official report detailing your crew’s unmitigated incompetence,” Fynn went on, and shoved the touchpad at Weddo in a clear sign of dismissal. “My crew was distracted by your people, make no mistake, and in our business distraction kills. Now if you don’t mind, I’d like for you to get the hell out of here before I have a body count on my hands.” Weddo mumbled an indistinct farewell and did a quick fade back to the transport just as another militia member eased up next to the colonel. “Colonel Fynn, the no-goods seem to be dispersing.” “Oh?” The colonel’s sharp eyes looked out past the loading bay. Then he nodded once, as though coming to a decision. “Armstrong, I need you to try and hose down Kyloe. That little blonde whore has made him forget where he is. I’m counting on you to make him remember, in no uncertain terms.” “Yes, sir.” Jaw locked, Fynn headed toward the edge of the loading dock where Locke stood while Weddo tried to get a sullen Patricio into the transport a few feet away. Locked in the vision that was Fynn’s future, Via had no choice but to move along with him. “Locke.” Hands folded behind his back, Fynn gave the area a quick once-over. “Any problems to report?” “Sir. No, sir. It’s getting late, so most of this mob is probably headed back to the shelters for the night.” “I agree with that assessment.” Reaching into his pocket, the colonel offered the younger man what looked to be a cigar. Tobacco was one of the scarcest commodities on the planet, so Via could only stare at it, impressed in spite of herself at the unexpected gesture of apology from a man who epitomized the term hard-ass. “I just wanted to say I know you’d never shirk your duty, Locke. Duty to the citizens of this territory and, of course, your personal duty to me.”

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For his part, Locke kept it laser-locked on the people beyond the gate while he tucked the cigar into his breast pocket. “Damn straight, Colonel. There’s no sacrifice too great that a Lifer won’t make.” “You’ve always been one of my best Lifers, Locke—a good soldier through and through.” With that, Fynn turned abruptly away and moved with surprising alacrity to the end of the transport just as a huffylooking Adelaide bounced over to load into the transport. As Via glanced over her shoulder at Locke, the meched-out militia man’s cyberoptics narrowed. “Colonel, wait—” A blinding flash of white-yellow light dazzled her vision, and a deafening explosion a nanosecond later rocked the building. The heat of it washed over her like a blistering breath from Hell, while the concussive force threatened to turn the air molecules inside out. A flash of fire billowed outward, only to collapse as if swallowing itself whole in the very spot where Locke had been standing. Dust, smoke and shouts all around turned the scene into chaos, and for one surreal moment Via stared at where she knew the militia man had been, but now only a crater and a boot remained. A boot that still had…something…in it. Her gorge rose along with a mind-fracturing horror, and she turned blindly away, only to have her terrified eyes assaulted with something she could not comprehend. Weddo. She knew what he looked like as well as she knew herself. So why…why couldn’t she understand what he looked like now? Why couldn’t she see what was missing? Missing. Oh God, half of Weddo was missing. The need to vomit was overwhelming, but she couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. All she had was the merciless curse of seeing. Seeing Patricio lying in pieces and wedged halfway under the transport. Seeing Adelaide scream a never-ending scream while her burned face began to blister and slide off bone before she too fell to the ground. Seeing, as Colonel Fynn pushed to feet he’d been knocked off of, his hand on the smart-link strapped to his wrist before yelling, “It’s an insurgency! Fire at will! Fire at will, we’re under attack!” Seeing her other self—perfectly fine in that hellish nightmare—burst from the transport, her face green with shock, only to be grabbed by Colonel Fynn while his militia opened fire on the people outside the Zapper fence. “You saw what happened, didn’t you?” There was a ferocious light in his eyes while the screaming began and bodies started falling in the street. “I’ll need you to give a full account of what happened. You read me, girl? You owe me after I sent you into the transport and saved your pitiful life.” “I… Weddo… Those people…”

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“You know I saved you. You know you owe me.” He gave her a fierce shake. “The least you can do now is help me make sense of all the loss we suffered here today. I lost a good man, and of course my heart breaks for your loss. But we can avenge them. Today, we go to war!” War, Via thought, watching the hideous, blood-washed vision finally fade under the weight of blessed reality. How could such a terrible thing like a war be started so easily?

This was turning into one craptastic day, Locke thought on a short sigh. At least it couldn’t get any worse. Nothing could be worse than getting accused of falling down on his duty to protect the citizenry of the New West Coast. From the time he was ten years old, it had been drummed into his head that there was nothing more important to a Lifer than that. No sacrifice was too great that a Lifer won’t make for the citizens he protected. Everything else was a zero factor. His attention slid toward the woman who moved like a ninja, now sitting statue-still in the transport’s cab. Via Brede. For what it was worth, she looked like all sorts of hell. That alone made him even more convinced there was something about the lady that his cyberoptics couldn’t see. Only someone who had something to hide reacted the way she did when confronted with the militia. But she wasn’t wanted, nor did she have any kind of record. Maybe she’d gotten hold of some bad propaganda about the militia. Locke frowned as he scanned the thinning crowds beyond the gates. Now that was a possibility. Though no one liked to talk about it, back in the day when the world was an unstable cesspool filled with violence and anarchy, the beginnings of the militia had been little more than roving rape-gangs with self-proclaimed authority that came at the end of a gun. But it hadn’t been that way for decades now. Order had crawled out of that chaos, and basic humanity was something people had begun to remember. The militias of UNAS fought and lived and died to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves. Too bad Via Brede didn’t seem to know that. Despite his best efforts to keep his attention laser-locked on his duty, Locke glanced once more at the green-eyed woman, only to find her looking right at him with an expression that seemed to somehow scream in silence, and the intensity of it surprised him. Shyte, did she really fear him that much? Apparently. It didn’t matter, Locke told himself while an unnamed discomfort squirmed in his chest. The terror in her eyes wasn’t his frigging problem. What mattered was that she was safe in her little agridome bubble thanks to the militias. He sure as hell didn’t do his job so the likes of Via Brede would be appreciative of the peace he and others like him sacrificed so much to achieve. He did it because no one else would. So what if all he ever received from the citizenry was resentment and mistrust? So what if Via Brede looked at him as if he were a monster? What she thought of him didn’t matter.

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He just wished she’d stop looking at him like he ate babies for breakfast. Out of the corner of his vision he saw Colonel Fynn scowling at one of his men flirting with the buxom blonde agridomer, before he turned in Locke’s direction. Determined to make up for his earlier lapse, Locke trained his attention on the perimeter, though it was obvious the disheartened crowd was dispersing and off to look for greener pastures. No doubt many of them would wind up waiting in line at the shelters for MREs, he thought, idly listening to the male agridomers argue as they headed toward the transport. But as awful as those MREs were, at least it was better than starving to death. “Locke.” Colonel Fynn came to stand shoulder to shoulder with him, his all-seeing eyes giving the area an eagle-eyed sweep. “Any problems to report?” Glad of the normal tone, Locke stood at attention. “Sir. No, sir. It’s getting late, so most of this mob is probably headed back to the shelters for the night.” He wouldn’t speak of the raw-boned woman holding a baby who had collapsed near the southwest edge of the perimeter, or of a raggedy child who had cried out of sheer exhaustion and hunger, with no one in the mob sparing him so much as a glance. These observations, after all, were nothing more than zero factors. “I agree with that assessment.” The colonel nodded once before reaching into his pocket for a cigar. Surprise moved through Locke when his commander offered it to him. The colonel knew as well as anyone that smoking was prohibited amongst the Lifers. “I just wanted to say that I know you’d never shirk your duty, Locke. Duty to the citizens of this territory and, of course, your personal duty to me.” On automatic, Locke lifted his hand to accept the peace offering. “Damn straight, Colonel—” “Wait!” Both men turned as Via Brede launched herself out of the transport’s cab. Pushing her stunned male companions out of the way, she ran full-tilt toward Locke and the colonel, her eyes wide with unvarnished terror. Unsure if her intention was to attack, Locke gripped his pulse rifle as she leapt toward him, her arms wrapping around his neck while her unpainted, bow-shaped mouth slammed into his with a single-minded vengeance.

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Chapter Three

Via knew her life was over. If she were honest with herself, part of her had known it the moment she had left the safety of the agridome. People like her could never put themselves in a position where they would be within spitting distance of the militia, much less work hand in hand with them. To do so was akin to bathing in jet fuel, then playing with a lighter. And yet she had gone. Like a lamb to slaughter, she had gone. It was okay, though. As long as she could save the others, she could be at peace with what had to be done now. Not that she was some kind of freaky saint or anything. It was just that as she’d sat in the transport drowning in images of what was to come, she had reached a very basic conclusion—she would rather die than live with the knowledge that she could have done something, but didn’t. So she wasn’t a saint, and she sure as hell wasn’t even nodding acquaintances with that thing called bravery. If anything, she was too much of a coward to live with the guilt of surviving while everyone else got blown into unrecognizable bits. “Via? What the hell—?” She heard Weddo’s shocked voice, but it didn’t matter. What mattered was focusing on what she knew, what she saw, and pushing it with all her might into Locke. She wasn’t sure if she was doing it right. Hell, she didn’t even know if she was doing anything more than simply kissing a stranger and making a ginormous ass of herself. She had only done this sort of thing once before when she was fifteen, and it had been a total accident back then. By degrees, the frenzied panic boiling through her blood eased like a tight fist unfurling, and new, thoroughly unexpected sensations began to seep in through the smothering veil of fear. For just a heartbeat the universe seemed to pause, a collective holding of breath while even the sound of the bustling city’s daily life came to a gentle stop. For Via, there was only this fragile moment as her mouth molded to his, and a shocking thrill of pleasure bloomed like fireworks in her brain when his lips softened and returned the pressure with interest. Her booted feet barely touched the ground as she kept her arms wrapped tightly around his strong neck, and delight mingled with relief when his free arm curled about her waist to bring her fully against the rock-solid length of his battle-hardened warrior’s body. His breath was warm, his taste tantalizing. The seductive nuzzling of his silk-over-steel lips against hers invited her untutored mouth to explore deeper, and she saw no reason why she should resist when she knew they were living on borrowed time.

Zero Factor

A tremulous note of discord whispered from her psyche into his, a never-ending ricochet rippling noiselessly between them. The pleasure bounced back and forth as well, doubling and trebling as it went, but threaded through it was what the vision had shown her. But that was okay too. If this was to be her last moment of life, she was determined to pour every ounce of joy, vitality and pleasure she could into this kiss. If anything, she was happy for this final opportunity to go out with a bang. “Lieutenant Locke, attention!” It was the strangest thing, was all Via could think while her pulse pounded in her ears and in the lips that had become the most sensitive part of her body. It was as though she and this man—a militia man, for God’s sake—had discovered that with a kiss, they could create a magical little sphere where only they existed, and nothing of the gritty, desperate, dangerous place that was their world could encroach on their private slice of perfection. Then her lips drifted like a dream away from his, and the restless throb of the ever-bustling city once again filled her ears. But nothing felt the same. She wasn’t the same. As mad as it sounded, she felt changed from the inside out. Were kisses supposed to change the world? Via opened eyes she couldn’t remember closing, and gazed up in dazed confusion at the man she held with all the passionate fervor of a long-time lover. Where was the explosion? Had she interrupted the sequence of events? Was everyone safe? Everyone except her, of course. Her safe life was officially over now that she had revealed to a guntoting jarhead member of the militia that she was a psionic. Dayum. “What the hell are you hick farmers feeding your oversexed women?” Colonel Fynn raged at Weddo, who was staring at Via in horrified disbelief. Her eyes shimmering with the chaos churning her insides, she could only shake her head. There was no time to explain her behavior. There was no time for anything, except… Maybe there could be one last way out. When she looked back to Locke, his flat, not-really-human optics were still trained on her as if he didn’t know how to look away. “Kill me,” she whispered in a rush, and watched his cyberoptics widen in surprise. It was probably the stress that made her think there might have been an impossible flash of emotion there. “If you have even one ounce of compassion left in that meched-out body of yours, please kill me. You’ll be doing me a favor.” Slowly he shook his head while Fynn yelled at Weddo, “You’re a—” “Please.” She grabbed the muzzle of his pulse rifle and angled it under her chin with the surreal calm of one who had no other choice. “Do it.” A muscle jumped in his jaw. “You’re crazy.” “No one will blame you. I attacked you.”

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“Attacked?” His head continued to shake. “That’s not what I’d call it.” “Locke, you come to attention, you worthless bastard!” Fynn was all but frothing at the mouth while the rest of his troops closed in on the uncharacteristic knot of chaos in their midst, wary and confused. “What do you think you’re doing, soldier, falling for a classic diversionary tactic while the enemy closes in?” “The no-goods are dispersing, Colonel.” Locke’s voice was oddly remote, as though he was only halfaware of the words coming out of his mouth. And all the while he stared at Via as if the next beat of his heart depended on it. “Look around. Even an untrained eye can see there is no enemy out there.” Fynn turned an alarming shade of puce, making Via wonder if anyone had ever mustered up the cojones to contradict him. “The moment any soldier thinks that, they become worse than a liability. They become as bad as the enemy itself.” In sheer contempt, Fynn threw the cigar he still held at Locke’s feet. “Lifers, fall back double-time.” “Bomb!” Locke suddenly shouted and waved at Weddo and the others. “Get in the transport, now!” “Wait, I stopped—” Via’s protest was cut off as Locke’s free arm clamped around her waist like a vise, and she let out a strangled gasp when it felt like the lower half of her rib cage was crushed. Then, without warning, he leapt an easy fifteen feet off the raised loading dock in a mind-boggling show of inhuman strength, landing on the ground beside the dock so hard Via’s teeth clicked together. “Get down!” Locke’s roar was superfluous, for his massive warrior’s body crouched over hers like a smothering blanket until she was forced into a fetal position, her head pushed down so far her chin gouged into her chest. “But I stopped it—” Via’s strangled protest was interrupted once more by an explosion above them. A sickening, hellish wave of heat billowed out over their heads. The concussive force made her eardrums quake like aspen leaves as the air pressure heaved out, then sucked back into the loading dock, as if a mythical giant were pulling in a massive gulp of air and holding it. Then the world went strangely still, while her stunned brain rattled around in her cranium like a tiny marble caught in a washer’s spin cycle. What the hell…? “I…I don’t understand.” Her words sounded muffled, and in a dazed sort of way she realized her ears were ringing fit to beat the band. “I thought I stopped it.” A dangerous sound escaped Locke, a feral growl she didn’t know a human could make. “You delayed it, and for that I owe you. But it’s obvious there was no stopping him.” “Him?” Not sure she heard right, Via put a hand to her partially deaf ear. “Who? Oh my God— Weddo!” As her brain finally settled back into place, panic hit her like a punch to the gut, and she clambered to her feet. “Get down, you idiot!”

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Zero Factor

Via barely heard him as her stomach threatened to empty itself at the thought of seeing what was left of her coworkers. A fractured cry of relief escaped her when she saw them huddled in the transport, their expressions blank with shock as they looked out at the dissipating smoke and the crater where she and Locke had been standing only seconds before. Alive, she thought as tears of relief stung her eyes. They were all alive, all whole. Who gave a crap about anything else? “It’s an insurgency!” From deep in the loading dock, the frenzied yell of Colonel Fynn belted out like a gun report. “We are under attack, Lifers. Fire at—” “Belay that order,” Locke all but bellowed and shoved Via aside as if she were nothing more than an irritating piece of furniture that was in the way. “Our enemy is not out there in the streets. That bomb was C-10—the latest in Flash-Fire technology. You all must have felt it implode in on itself. C-10 is aboveclassified. No one even knows it exists outside the militia, much less has access to it. Our enemy is here.” To Via’s amazement, Locke pointed the Widow-Maker at his commander, while his brethren looked on in shock. “Colonel Francis Fynn, I am taking you into custody—” “If this is a joke, it isn’t funny, Locke,” a militia member said from his place beside their commander, and his own pulse rifle came up to level at Locke. “Colonel Fynn would never attack any of us. Shyte, he created the men we are today, have you forgotten? Stand down now, before this gets any more out of hand than it already has.” “Not just stand down,” Fynn breathed, and there was that same avid light in his otherwise dead eyes Via had seen in her vision. “Surrender yourself now, Lieutenant. You will be the one placed in my custody, for attempted mutiny, subversion and acts of high treason.” Another growl escaped Locke, and his fingers tightened on his weapon. “Treason? What are you talking about?” “You seem to have forgotten that I am the authority here in this region. To accuse me of wrongdoing is to accuse the entire Urban Militia in New Vegas. That’s where the treason lies, and that’s why you’re going to swing. Surrender now, or—” Via never got a chance to hear what the other option might be. Without warning, Locke released a short burst of suppression gunfire, then grabbed her once more and leapt toward the humming strike-bike at the gate. Via’s mouth was still hanging open when they zoomed away, and within seconds the comfort of the agridome’s rattletrap transport faded in the distance like a dream.

He’d thought the day couldn’t get any worse. How frigging shortsighted of him. The agony of inexplicable betrayal gnawed away at Locke’s insides until he wanted to double over. But he wouldn’t

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focus on it now; he didn’t have time. What he had to do was keep his sights trained on finding a way out of whatever mess this was. It sure as hell didn’t help that he suspected his traveling companion would bail off the back of the bike given half a chance. Jamming the chaos that raged inside him down into the darkest part of his soul, Locke let his training take over as he swept the area for movement larger than a tumbleweed. Other than a couple of scrawny, down-on-their-luck rats that showed on his infrared filter, all was as quiet as a grave. That was only to be expected. This was Sector 1, known as Downtown Las Vegas in the era before the Decade of Quakes, and a favorite target of the zealots in the wave of senseless attacks that followed. Skeletal remains of once-lively buildings sat silent in the falling dusk, their countless broken-out windows gaping like mouths mourning for a time gone by. Passing a turtled-over vehicle that was now nothing more than a lump of rusted metal, Locke turned down a narrower street, listening to the wind whistle to itself through the manmade canyons of broken glass and crumbling concrete. A jagged canopy stretched over this narrow slice of street and was now home to a massive colony of bats that were beginning to stir to greet the approaching night. But other than that, no sign of life popped onto the grid. It didn’t surprise him. If a person had a keen interest in living a long life, the last place they would set up housekeeping was Sector 1. There was no food, no water, barely a satellite signal, and radioactive hotspots. But this was exactly what Locke wanted now. Since this dead limb of Vegas didn’t possess too many prying eyes, it made for an excellent short-term hiding place. The raven-haired woman behind him inched farther back, and without glancing her way he reached around and tugged her flush against him, the warmth of her inner thighs fitting against him like a tailormade glove. He didn’t have time for this. A sense of urgency built inside him like a pressure cooker even as she tried to wriggle back yet again. Despite his precautions to cover his tracks, there was still a good chance of being pinpointed, and taking care of that problem was number one on his list of priorities, not babysitting a skittish civilian. He needed to go off-grid so he could get his legs back under him and form a plan of action. After disabling the satellite locater on the ultra-fast hover bike and the palm-print ident pads on the bike’s handles, he was halfway there. But to go completely dark, he needed help. Zipping past the canopy of waking bats and trying not to gag at the stench of guano, Locke maneuvered toward a low, two-story building with a sign that read Main Street Station. A massive hole directly beneath the sign yawned out onto the weed-cracked walkway out front, and with quick efficiency he drove right into the building, then checked his internal chronometer. He figured he had about twenty minutes to get things done.

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Zero Factor

“I’ve gone off-line, so on the upside they won’t be able to track me that way, but on the downside I’m now without any resource to keep track of militia movements,” he told his reluctant traveling companion as he powered down the strike-bike and dismounted. “We’ll just have to do it the old-fashioned way and keep one step ahead. In the meantime, I need your help in a little field surgery.” Via Brede didn’t move off the bike. Contrary to her earlier movements, she now seemed to have taken permanent root to the seat. “You took me,” she said in a small voice. “I can’t believe…you just took me. Why?” “Isn’t this better than having me blow your head off?” Since she seemed to have low motivation when it came to moving, Locke grabbed her by her khaki-covered arm and gave her a tug. She flinched violently at the touch, but he ignored her, pulling her toward the opening in the wall where the light was better. “You should be thanking me. If I had left you back there, your little secret would have been discovered by Colonel Fynn.” She flinched again. “You don’t know that—” “Yeah, I do. You suck at keeping secrets, and he excels at digging them out. Doesn’t take a genius to figure out who would have won that little battle of wills.” “Let go,” she muttered, twisting her arm in a futile effort to break his grip. “I don’t like being touched.” “I don’t care.” “Let me get this straight,” she went on, changing tactics while still trying to gain her freedom. “You’re saying you decided to take me into the dead center of the wastelands to save me, a complete stranger? Why? Did you do it out of the goodness of your mechanical heart?” “My heart’s as organic as yours, smartass, and I brought you along so you can help me figure out what the hell is going on while I try to clear my name.” “How am I supposed to do that? I grow lettuce and raise fish. Mystery solving is not my forte.” “You’re a psionic.” Her face closed up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “Lady,” he gritted out, going almost nose to nose with her as his very last thread of patience began to fray, “you don’t seem to understand the situation, so let me call up a high-res graphic for you. Colonel Francis Fynn, the commander for all the Urban Militias in the Las Vegas Territory, wants me dead, and I don’t know why. You are an unregistered psionic who was stupid enough to thwart him. If you want to keep off his radar and go back to raising lettuce, you will help me do the one thing I thought I’d never have to do—bring Colonel Fynn down.”

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Chapter Four

“I don’t know if I can do this.” “You have no choice.” Via gave the Bowie field knife in her gloved hand a dubious look, and once again wondered how things had gone so wrong, so fast. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll just cut your throat and leave you for dead?” “I think I can handle any dangerous moves a bubble-farmer might make, even if you do walk like a ninja,” Locke drawled, and bowed his head so his nape was fully exposed to her. “It’s just like I told you. I have a dog-tag microchip right below the hairline that tracks my position and physical condition. If we want to stay ahead of the colonel, it needs to come out. I can’t get to it. You can.” She bit her lip, looking for any way out. “I could accidentally hurt you—” “And they will kill me on purpose. You’re wasting time,” he snapped when she still hesitated. “They’ll be here any minute, and this time we won’t be so lucky in escaping. Just feel for the tiny bump under the skin, cut it out, then cauterize the wound with the surgical laser in the knife’s hilt. Once it’s out, we can get the hell out of here.” Feel for the bump, Via thought while she stared at the strong nape of his neck, which was adorned by a rugged gold chain holding a medallion. How easy he made it sound. Just take off her gloves, put her skin against his and feel for the horrible little thing that was leading certain annihilation straight to them even as she dithered like a deadhead about going skin to skin. Sure. No probs. Couldn’t she do this without making physical contact? Dayum, she really was a deadhead. After all, she had touched him once already and the world hadn’t mushroomed up. And she hadn’t just touched him. She’d kissed the frigging breath out of him, molded her body to him like an alley cat in heat while the juncture between her thighs had given her a new and startling definition of hot and ready— “Either you do this now, or I leave your skinny ass here to deal with Colonel Fynn’s tender mercies.” “I’m not skinny.” With a do-or-die huff, Via stripped off one glove and tried not to vomit when desert-dry air touched the exposed skin. “You’re going to talk to me while I do this.” “I don’t want you distracted.” And she didn’t want to be inundated by images she couldn’t help but see. “Too bad,” she said while her palms began to sweat. Her bared hand came to hover above his nape. With a horrified kind of fascination, she watched her fingers tremble as she stopped a fraction of an inch away. “You talk to me so I

Zero Factor

can think about something else, or this doesn’t get done. Why do you think it was Fynn who tried to kill you?” He made that growling sound of impatience. “You’re a psionic, you saw it as well as I did, yeah?” “I saw your commander praise you for never shirking your duty and reward you for it. Then there was this explosion and I saw…your boot. And Weddo—God, Weddo’s body…” “You seem pretty hooked on that guy Weddo. Isn’t he a little old for you to be knocking boots with?” “Knocking boots?” “Shyte, you’re such a noob, it hurts. Having sex, bubble-farmer.” “You know,” Via said when she was finally able to find her voice, “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone more heinous than you. Just my luck.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” “I’ve known Weddo since I was fifteen,” she all but shouted at him. “He’s a genuinely good guy, but I doubt you even know what that is.” “Maybe I don’t, now that you mention it.” He kept his back to her, and she shivered at the darkness crowding in on his tone. “You doing this or not?” “I’m on it, I’m on it.” Sucking in a breath as if she were about to dive headfirst into uncharted waters, Via placed the sensitive pads of her fingers against his nape…and saw. Saw a boy silently crying into a thin pillow in a dorm crowded with children crying out their abject loneliness. Saw an older boy plucked out of a playground fight by Colonel Fynn and instructed on how to break his opponent in a more efficient manner. Saw the colonel fasten a gold medallion around that boy’s neck, who accepted it with a stiff salute and proud lift of a squared-off chin. Saw the day he was told his eyes would be replaced by cyberoptics and to accept it like a good little soldier. Saw a teen running headlong into a mine that lost him a leg and scarred his face. For a moment that seemed like an eternity, all she saw was Locke. “Do you feel it?” Via barely heard him through the psychic noise. But if she could just keep him talking, she might not get lost in who he was. “I feel…” So much. So much of who he was. “I feel a bump, but it’s tiny.” “That’s the microchip. Cut along the ridge and dig it out.” “It’s going to hurt.” Obviously, but she felt it was only fair to say it. “Pain is a zero factor, citizen. Don’t worry, I won’t flinch.”

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He wouldn’t, Via thought as sensation after sensation washed over her, and with every wave her heart broke a little more for the lonely boy who had been made to become a living robot, desensitized to pain and alienated from any of the warmer emotions that made a man human. “So, this Fynn guy,” she managed, squinting in an effort to see past the cascading images in her head to where she laid the knife’s edge against his skin. “Why are you so convinced your commanding officer was the one behind the bombing today? Both in the vision and in real time he praised you, rewarded you. Then after the blast he yelled about insurgency, so I’m thinking the bomb somehow came from the outside—” “It was the cigar, detonated by his smart-link.” Via stilled for just a moment, until the surprise passed. Then she drew the blade across his skin with a cringing wince. “Sorry.” As promised, he didn’t move a muscle. “Don’t be. Just hurry.” “How can you be sure?” Via went on, now needing the distraction for another reason. The sight of his blood made her stomach want to run for the nearest exit. “Everything was so chaotic—” “I’m positive. What you saw today was an attempted TK.” “TK?” “Short for team-killing, or killing a member of your own team. I just don’t understand why Colonel Fynn would do such a thing,” he added, and the encroaching darkness in his tone returned, as deep and desolate as a bottomless pit. “This was a nothing mission, overseeing a delivery from bubble-farmers and keeping the no-goods under control. Our unit has performed this and countless other mundane tasks without mishap—the transfer of patients to medical facilities, acting as extra security for government dignitaries, rounding up psionics under the PAI Law—” “You mean you’ve kidnapped innocents who didn’t ask to be born, much less born all jacked up.” Steeling herself, she dug the point of the knife at the tiny bump under the skin and bore down when she spied a glimmer of metal embedded in the bloody subcutaneous flesh. “Tell me, do you have any idea what happens to those people after you hand them over?” The faintest grunt of pain escaped him as she dug. “That’s above my paygrade.” “What a convenient answer. FYI, soldier-boy, those innocents you’ve kidnapped get stripped of all clothing, then of all dignity, then of all sense of self, thanks to a deprogramming system involving highpowered psychotropic drugs and cerebral electrodes. Then, once these poor things no longer know who they are, they’re plugged into pods and exposed to so much information feeding in from global satellites, they usually die within a year—but not before they go insane. That’s why the government needs a constant influx of new psionics—they break them faster than they can use them.” “You don’t know that. That’s just the Lady Pirate’s propaganda—” “I do know it, because I’ve seen it.”

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“How?” “The same way I saw you get blown to pieces.” With a jerk, she ripped the tiny mechanized piece out of its resting place and quickly lasered the wound. Then she handed him both the knife and the chip, so disgusted and horrified she couldn’t stand the thought of touching him a moment longer. “To know you’ve delivered psionics to this fate when they did nothing more than be born… I’m just sorry I went to the trouble of saving the life of a monster.” Shaking from head to toe and wanting only to get away from him, Via turned and walked back to the bike, leaving silence in her wake.

A monster. Huddled at the base of a jagged needle of a tower that overlooked the ruins of Old Las Vegas, Locke scanned the area with the rifle cradled in his lap. He wouldn’t sleep tonight. Though they were miles from where he had left the microchip stuffed down the gullet of a rat he’d managed to catch, he knew too well the colonel wouldn’t be fooled by that little trick for long. Sooner or later, the militia would pour troops into the older sectors and not stop until he was found. But that wasn’t why he couldn’t sleep. Curled up in a tight ball in the dubious shelter of the bike, Via shivered in the cold desert night. Though her agridome khakis were long-sleeved and covered just about every inch of her, they were no match for the bone-jarring chill of the nighttime desert. Even in sleep she looked miserable, and though Locke told himself that only her survival, and not her misery, was his problem, the signs of strain about her eyes and the way her arms wrapped about her body for warmth and comfort bugged the crap out of him. Saving the life of a monster. If he were honest about it, Locke had to admit there had always been a bad taste that lingered whenever his unit had been ordered to sweep for psionics. At the time he’d told himself he was helping these special citizens do their duty for their country, that they should feel grateful they had a unique opportunity to use their highly prized gifts to make UNAS stronger. Now, all he could remember were their screams. Maybe Via was right. Maybe he was a monster. A small sound from Via brought his attention bouncing back to where she slept. On automatic he blinked into night vision, moving into Threat-Assessment mode, but it was unnecessary. Even if he couldn’t see her R.E.M and the twitching of her hands, the tense frown puckering her brow told him she was dreaming some seriously unhappy dreams. No surprise there.

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Another sound whispered from her, a whimper of fear, of pain. Locke was on his feet and crossing to her before he was conscious of moving. Keeping the pulse rifle within easy reach, he hunkered down behind her and curled his body against hers, spoon-fashion, and the delicious heat of her body soaked in through his fatigues like a longed-for dream. Then she jerked to full wakefulness, and in a nanosecond he had a wildcat on his hands. “Easy.” The heels of her boots kicked back against his shins so hard he suspected she would have broken bone had he not had his legs meched-out after losing one in battle at the beginning of his Lifer career. “Easy, Via Brede. It’s me, it’s Locke.” “I know!” She threw an elbow that just clipped his jaw. “Let…go!” “I’m not going to hurt you, you little hellion!” Holding on now because if he let go he was dead certain she’d run off into the night and get herself killed, Locke tangled his booted feet in hers and wrapped his arms around her fragile frame like a straitjacket. “You were having a bad dream and shivering, so I was trying to make you more comfortable, you read me?” “I don’t like being touched!” Especially if the one doing the touching was a monster. The words trembled on his lips, but since he couldn’t tell if the anger behind them was directed at her or himself, Locke remained silent, holding onto her until at last her struggles ran out of fuel. She lay in his arms as her hair tumbled over her face, exhausted and breathing hard as if they’d just had screaming, sweaty, scratches-down-the-back sex. Locke slammed down hard on the wayward thought. If it had been any other woman, that probably would have been appropriate, but this was Via Brede, the woman he’d kidnapped and the psionic who was sorry he still breathed. He’d be a stone-cold bastard to think this could turn into anything remotely intimate. But still… There really was something pleasurable about spooning with this resistant bundle of stubborn femininity. Maybe he did have a glitch in his system, but as her shoulder blades pressed into his chest, he discovered just wrapping himself around her was hotter than any overtly sensual delight he’d ever experienced at Madame Cedrine’s Pleasure Palace. If that made him a monster, then so be it. He’d cope with that reality, as long as he could go on holding Via in a way that fanned the flame igniting in his loins. Nearly a minute of silence stretched between them before she huffed out a short breath. “I’m fine now, soldier-boy. You can go.” He wasn’t fine. Much to his shock he found the longer he held her, the more addicted to the feel of her he became, though he made sure her little bottom didn’t come into contact with the hardening evidence of his desire. No need to let her know what a complete bastard he was. “I’m not going anywhere. Go to sleep, Via.” “I can’t sleep like this.” “Why not?”

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She wriggled against him, and he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from groaning out loud. “You’re touching me.” “I’m staving off hypothermia.” And torturing himself with the most erotic delight a man could have while still fully clothed, but she didn’t need to know that. “Sleep, Via. Now.” “I will if you’ll stop touching me.” “If you’re worried I’m going to rape you, don’t. You’re too skinny and mean for my taste.” First a monster, now a liar. Dayum. Apparently there was no level to which he wouldn’t stoop. Her spine stiffened. “Gee, so sorry I’m not the vapid piece of silicon-enhanced meat you’re obviously used to,” she snipped, saccharine sweet. “But that wasn’t what I meant. I mean I don’t like being touched, by anyone. Get it?” Because he was so fixated on the heaviness in his lower region, he honestly didn’t for a couple of seconds. Then the light went on. “Your powers work through touch?” “My curse, you mean. And yes, it only works through touch. It’s called psychometry; look it up when you have the time. But for right now, do us both a favor and get the hell off me.” “I’m not on you.” But he could imagine what it would be like to be on her, those long legs of hers bunched up, maybe over his shoulders as he plunged like a wild man into her in a mindless pursuit of a shattering release, and her cries would mingle with his as at last an explosion of pleasure rocked between them… Closing his eyes for a moment, Locke bit down on another moan. “I’m seriously not on you. Trust me.” She pulled at the unmoving arm clamped over her waist. “I just know I can’t sleep this way. I don’t want to…to get anything from you.” That made him feel vaguely dirty. “Excuse me?” “Just the merest brush of your commander’s hand through the rip in my glove showed me the vision of you going boom.” She held up her left hand, which was encased in the glove that was now wellventilated with a V-shaped tear. “When I touch things or people, I never know what I’m going to get—the past, present or future. I just know I don’t like it.” Locke stared at the glove and suspected she must always wear them, along with the baggy khakis. Even the curtain of her long hair shrouded all but the delicate oval of her face. “Have you always been so sensitive?” She nodded. “When I was younger, my parents tried wrapping me in bandages and telling everyone I had a skin condition, which I suppose is true. Anything that touches my skin has a profound effect on me.” Locke tried to wrap his gray matter around going through a lifetime of not being able to touch anything, or anyone. He couldn’t do it. “How is it possible you’ve managed to stay hidden all these years?” “I have a lot of loving people who were willing to help keep my curse on the down-low, while at the same time training me to protect myself should I ever have the need to.”

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“Aha,” he said, at last getting the answer to a nagging mystery. “I knew you’d been trained. Hand-tohand combat?” “I’m not too bad at it,” was the vague reply, which made him think she was one bubble-farmer he wouldn’t want to mess with. “My parents are smart people, Locke. Long before the PAI Law was enacted, they believed the continental government had plans to use its psionic citizens for its own purposes. Thanks to the foresight of my parents, I was taught how to take care of myself.” “You’re right. They were smart to do that.” “They couldn’t outmaneuver teen hormones, though,” she added with a sigh. “Everything almost came to an end the year I turned fifteen. That was the year the PAI Law was enacted, and the year I had my one and only crush.” He lifted a brow. “Fifteen, huh? Were you a late bloomer?” “No, just well-insulated from the world. His name was Ricardo, he lived two flights down from our penthouse apartment, and I thought there had never been a more beautiful human being to ever walk this planet.” A small laugh escaped her. “Stupid, huh?” “No. Normal.” By the age of fifteen, he’d been forced to get his first pair of cyberoptics. “Did Ricardo like you? He must have.” Unless, of course, Ricardo was a blithering idiot. Her shoulders moved in a little shrug. “I think so. We weren’t able to see a lot of each other, as my parents watched me like a hawk. But one day I managed to get free just long enough to get my very first kiss—and discover a terrible twist to my curse.” “What?” “You know better than anyone what it is,” came the flat reply. “For some reason, I can transfer what I see or feel to another person through a kiss. I’m sure you can imagine Ricardo’s shock, and my parents’ desperation in getting me hidden, double-quick. That’s how I wound up in Agridome #4, and that’s where I’ve lived with my curse ever since.” “Until today.” All too clearly, Locke remembered how his inner vision had been filled with his own death the instant Via’s mouth clamped over his. But just as easily he remembered how every other sense he possessed had been filled with the most exquisite sensation of shared pleasure he had ever known, almost as though the delight they’d both found in the kiss tangled together to become a well of ever-deepening pleasure. “You’re very gifted, Via.” “I’m cursed, and I swear I’ll find a way to kill myself before I allow you or any other militia dog to catch me. I’d rather die than be erased and made gaga-crazy.” “I won’t turn you in,” Locke said, and was surprised at the vehemence in his tone. But when it came right down to it, the prospect of Via Brede becoming a mindless, pitiable thing was something he flat-out refused to even think about. He was a soldier trained to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves, he

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thought, grim-faced. That was why he needed to protect her now. “I don’t want you to worry about that. The one thing you do have to worry about is that you’re out of your bubble now.” She shivered. “Roger that.” “Whether you like it or not, you are gifted,” he went on, pulling her closer to his chest so her shivering would stop. “And I need you to use your gifts to help uncover what the damage is with Colonel Fynn. You help me get him, and I’ll be sure you’re protected for the rest of your life.” She was quiet for so long he thought she wouldn’t respond. Then, “I’m not sure I can help you, Locke. I can’t direct what I see, not even past, present, or future…” “You’ve never tried before,” he corrected. “I have a feeling you’d be shocked at what you can do, but we’re going to need help in that department. And I think I know where we can find it.”

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Chapter Five

There was something both grim and glorious about the city hulking on the horizon some twenty clicks to the west that had built itself out of the ashes of Old Las Vegas. Taking root near Las Vegas Bay, an offshoot of Lake Mead, refugees from all over the West had found new hope in the desert. Even as the last of the zealots had blown the heart out of the old Sin City, a newer version of Vegas had sprouted up, as flawed and vibrant as the human spirit itself. With wide avenues filled with solar-powered people-movers and silent-running monorails, New Vegas was one of the greenest cities in all of UNAS. Rooftop gardens adorned every building that jutted into the vivid blue sky, from the lowest apartment complex to the tallest monoliths of industry. The gardens were a government edict as city planners fought to negate the deadly urban heat-island effect. Each one was maintained with the precious water carefully culled from the stillfunctioning Lake Mead reservoir, which glistened like a blue-gray mirage in the east. For Via, who had only glimpsed the city’s dirty, industrial tip the day before, seeing it in all its battlescarred glory after eight years brought tears to her eyes. Home. There was no time for nostalgia or for anything else since they’d awakened at dawn. Roughing it in Sector 1 was not her idea of fun, and forcing herself to swallow a synth-nutrient energy bar Locke had handed her from one of his many pockets and calling it breakfast didn’t sweeten her humor. But considering the situation they had somehow fallen into, she decided that complaining about the fare wasn’t an option. Not that it would do any good, anyway, she snorted. Her traveling companion didn’t seem to be a morning person, considering he chose to speak to her only once as they readied themselves, and that was to instruct her to get on the bike or get left behind. His tension was palpable, and as the sun rose in the east, she could feel it clenching Locke’s body as she clung to his back, the strike-bike zipping along the frictionless road with a speed that brought them to the city’s edge all too quickly. It was amazing how fast she had become accustomed to touching him, Via marveled, hiding behind his back to keep her eyes from drying out. Despite her many protests, Locke had kept her in his arms the entire night, and to her shock she had fallen asleep without even being aware of it. It had been a deep sleep too, something she’d assumed she could never experience while being in physical contact with another human being.

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Not that any part of her had actually touched him—a veil of clothing had kept her safe and separated from him at all times. But his warmth, his breath in her hair as he slept, had been the most delicious sensation she had ever known, and the weight of his leg when he’d slung it over her hip sometime during the night had been…extraordinary. It was as though every nerve in her body had a sudden and frenzied craving for that masculine weight lying on top of her, and as night had melted into dawn the desire to reject even the thin barrier of her clothing had eaten her alive. But before she could pluck up the courage to explore the possibility of wallowing in what it would be like to have her skin against his, Locke had awakened, soldier-boy alert and laser-locked on executing his plan. Now, in the harsh light of day, Via had assumed the restless hunger gnawing within her would fade away. But it only intensified as she held onto him, her legs straddled behind his in a perfect fit. And while she knew she should be focused on the danger of their situation, all she could think of was how tight and solidly round his butt was. How was it possible she’d gone her entire life without noticing the squeezability of a man’s bum? It was all she could do to stop herself from sliding her hands from his waist to cup each muscle-hard cheek and give it a nice, firm— “City limits, coming up. You ready to hoof it?” Via blinked and realized she’d been obsessing on Locke’s butt. Again. “Oh. Right. Roger that.” Her distracted response didn’t seem to inspire his confidence, because he shot her a look over his shoulder. “You remember the plan?” “Of course.” Now if only she could forget her fascination with his hindquarters, she’d be locked and loaded. Via knew Locke’s plan, or at least part of it, so when he ditched the strike-bike in a garbage-choked alleyway just inside the city limits, she wasn’t surprised. Nor was she surprised when he took a zigzagging route through more alleyways and even up on rooftops via fire escapes to avoid the security-camera-laden streets. But when he led her straight into the heart of the glitzy Gaming Quarter, the splashiest, neonpowered center of New Vegas, she couldn’t help but feel a little exposed. Sure, she might not rate a glance when 3D holograms of overblown virtual-reality sex kittens blazed from every casino opening, but the place was crawling with militia. Then when Locke led her straight to a garish version of one of those ancient, multi-columned antebellum mausoleums she’d seen in history class, she thought maybe he’d lost his mind. “Locke,” she hissed as he moved through an arch made by twin palm trees before he rounded to the side of the grandiose manor. “I thought you said you needed to meet up with someone who might be able to help us—” “Don’t talk, keep your head down, and whatever you do, don’t make eye contact with anyone,” Locke muttered even as he reached out to grab her hand. It was insurance she wouldn’t lag behind, she knew that. It didn’t stop her, however, from taking ridiculous delight in the solid strength of his hold.

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How pathetic she was, Via sighed. To be so starved for human contact that just a little thing like holding hands made her pulse do its best impersonation of a pulsar. “I knew this was going to be the hard part.” Locke’s cyberoptics were trained on a vacant side porch and simple-looking door as if it led to the secrets of the universe. “There’s no telling how many militia are in there now, but—” “Militia?” Her heart gave an unpleasant jolt, and she eased back against one of the palm trees as if trying to melt into it. “Why would any militia be in that house?” “There’s always militia in that house.” She shrank back even farther. “Yet you thought it would be a good idea to come here? At what point did you suffer your mental break?” “Via—” “Have you forgotten the commander of the Urban Militia in the Las Vegas Territory tried to blow you into microscopic bits yesterday?” “The person we need to see owns this house,” came the uncompromising reply. “What I really need to do is make a call to see if I can get this person to come out.” “Too bad you ditched your smart-link and my cell phone.” “Their tracer pings would have led the colonel right to us.” Via searched through their meager options. “Well, unless you feel comfortable with going right up and knocking on the front door, we should find a place around here where we can call to arrange a meeting. Do you have a number for this place?” “Everyone has a number for this place,” he drawled, staring at the door that was so close but may as well have been on Pluto. “I vote for option number three—slip in through the side and keep a low profile until we find our quarry. Sound like a plan?” “It sounds like suicide.” “Outstanding. Let’s move out.” Via wanted to point out she didn’t even know who their quarry was when he moved determinedly forward, dragging her along like a pull toy with a busted wheel. He had to be suffering a psychotic episode, she thought while her heart tried knocking her ribs out of place. Every UNAS Militia member from Calgary to Acapulco must have Locke’s digi-photo and data by now, as well as her own information since he had taken off with her. They had to be the most-wanted couple since that infamous duo from the last millennium, Bonnie and Clyde, and undoubtedly were going to wind up just as well-ventilated— An involuntary squeak escaped Via when the side door suddenly flew open. Locke stepped in front of her so fast she only got a glimpse of a tall, willowy figure swathed in a pink-sequined sheath, with a long stretch of leg showing through a mile-high slit. If that was a member of the militia, then Via was a normal citizen.

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“At last, this day has come,” came a warm, strangely deep voice that nevertheless bubbled over with happiness. “When the flash-news came that you’d gone rogue with a female hostage, Locke, I knew your destiny to deliver my delicate little sister into my loving embrace was finally at hand.” Via peeped over Locke’s shoulder, baffled. What the frickin’ hell…? “Uh, Madame Cedrine,” Locke began, and Via was relieved to hear he sounded as lost as she felt. “I’m…confused. You were expecting us?” “I’ve been expecting this joyous day from the first nanosecond I shook your hand all those years ago, darling boy. Now then, let’s get on with things, shall we? I simply must greet my little sister properly.” “Uh…” Locke’s mouth seemed to be stuck in neutral, which was pretty much Via’s state as the vision in sequined pink swayed toward them. Her inability to speak worsened as she got her first full view of Madame Cedrine. Rail thin with a pair of world-class legs highlighted by the dress’s seductive cut, Cedrine was a sight to behold. Café au lait complexion and exotic, Cleopatra-like features breathed of MiddleEastern descent, and the face that was looking down into hers was so artfully made-up Via thought she had never seen anyone more beautiful, woman or man. Which was fitting. Cedrine seemed to be both. “Um… Hi there.” Nonplussed that this extraordinary being was looking at her with such joy it bordered on love, Via held out a gloved hand. “I’m Via. Nice to meet you.” “Ah, my sweet little lovey-dove, people like us don’t greet each other like that.” With a melodic giggle, Cedrine playfully batted her hand away. “We greet each other like this.” Without warning, Cedrine framed Via’s face with manicured hands and covered her mouth in a passionate, lip-melting, tongue-caressing kiss.

There had been plenty of times when life had thrown him a screwball, Locke thought as he seated himself on a fussy chair situated in Cedrine’s private parlor buried in the depths of the famed Pleasure Palace. There was that time when a pregnant lady delivered her baby almost on his booted feet while en route to the medical facilities. And he wouldn’t soon forget a firefight with a drug cartel down in Phoenix being suddenly interrupted by a random streaker. But bar none, the sight of Madame Cedrine kissing Via until she went limp… Hells yeah. That definitely took the cake. Locke’s immediate reaction still had him jammed up inside, as if one of his internal apps had crashed and was now refusing to let him reboot. The moment Cedrine had locked lips with Via, an explosion of outrage had bloomed like a mushroom cloud in his chest, and instinct had him reaching out to yank Via away from the unexpected amorous ambush. Via could not be touched. Somewhere along the line, that had become Locke’s new mission in life. He absolutely would not allow anyone to touch her. She wasn’t safe with anyone else.

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No one touched Via but him. He had grabbed Via’s arm with every intention of saving her when Cedrine’s hand clamped over his with a grip that was in no way feminine, and it had shocked him further. With the exception of meeting Cedrine years ago when Locke had first been brought to the Pleasure Palace by Colonel Fynn, he’d had almost no contact with the famous Madame of the house, except an occasional nod or wave from across a crowded room. Not only was this because Locke’s personal tastes didn’t lean toward the exotic, but because it was an open secret Cedrine was a well-connected psionic whose touch could melt the will of even the strongest man. To a Lifer like Locke who needed his strength to survive, the whole idea of melting never held one iota of appeal. To have Cedrine touching him after all these years had made him slam all his defenses up hard as he braced for anything. But Cedrine had only lifted her head and smiled, while Via seemed to sink into a half faint. “It’s all right, Locke. The one person you don’t have to protect Via from is me.” Now, as they sat ensconced in the sumptuous safety of Cedrine’s personal living quarters, Locke couldn’t help but wonder if that was true. “Well, now.” Daintily crossing her legs, Cedrine poured thick, rich Turkish coffee into delicate filigree cups from a service set on a coffee table that looked like it was made out of real wood—a true treasure in a room full of treasures. “You two must be hungry, if you’ve been on the run since yesterday. Please help yourselves to this simple repast I’ve had prepared for you—finger sandwiches of prosciutto and mozzarella with a sun-dried tomato chutney, mini spinach quiches and strawberries Romanoff. And if you would like anything else, the Pleasure Palace’s chef is an absolute magician when it comes to satisfying even the pickiest epicurean’s craving.” For all his training, Locke was momentarily distracted by the red, juicy goodness arranged like jewels in individual goblets. “Strawberries?” Not quite believing his cyberoptics, he plucked one up and breathed it in. Heaven had to smell like this. “Real strawberries?” Cedrine’s smile was a masterpiece of delight. “I simply had to have them. They’re Via’s favorites, after all.” That snapped him back to reality like nothing else. Dropping the berry, Locke shot a covert glance at Via slumped in a chair next to him. She looked flushed, feverish and not quite sure where she was. Apparently there was some serious truth to the whispers regarding Cedrine’s abilities. “You seem to know a lot about Via, considering you just met.” Cedrine rolled her spectacularly made-up eyes. “Of course I do, silly! That’s why you brought her to me, right?” “I brought Via here because…” His attention again slid to Via, who had pulled off a glove to touch her mouth as though feeling for a sore spot. “Madame Cedrine, without going into any details, I’ve heard you have…certain gifts. While I know it would be impossible to ask you to use these gifts to help me, as

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this would put you in a precarious position with the very militia who allow you and the Pleasure Palace to function as you do, I thought it might be beneficial to bring Via to meet with you in order to better utilize her own set of…certain gifts.” “How careful you are to shield her, sweet Locke. For years I’ve adored you for it.” “I only met her yesterday.” “Darling, don’t confuse me with details,” Cedrine chided with a languid sweep of a hand. “In my mind, you and Via have been together forever.” There was no way he could get his gray matter around that. “And…you said you saw this—Via and myself—when you first met me?” “Absolutely, soldier-boy. You were so cute when you first walked through my front door,” Cedrine remembered with a little laugh. “Just a noob shave-tail, barely sixteen and still getting used to your new meched-out legs and arm. You very politely offered your hand, and like I do with everyone who comes to the Palace, I took a teeny peek just to make sure I wouldn’t have any trouble with you down the road. Imagine my surprise when I saw this very day unfold before my mind’s eye.” Locke thought back to that time and couldn’t remember any reaction in the madame to indicate something extra-sensory had occurred. “That was over a decade ago.” “So?” “So…” Agog, he shook his head. “It was over a decade ago. You can see that far into the future?” “Darling, I looked for anything in your future that involved me,” Cedrine said as if he should know this and was a thick brick for asking. “Psychometry is a funny thing—usually through a mere touch of a person or object, a psychometric might be able to glimpse the past, present or future of that person or object. How I use my gift is to look into the future lives of the people around me in order to see if they mean me harm at some point down the road. I call it target-viewing, because really, I just have no interest in any other subject.” “Can’t you just grab your own hand and view your own future that way?” “Sadly, it doesn’t work like that, for me or anyone else. Maybe it’s because we psychometrics are too close to the subject to get an objective read. Or maybe we’re just not meant to know.” Locke shook his head and wondered if he looked as out of his depth as he felt. “Yet through me, you saw…this. Today.” Cedrine’s smile rivaled the sun. “I’ve been preparing for it from the moment I let go of your hand. First, I found ways to make my particular psionic abilities known to you, so that when the time came you would bring Via to me. Wasn’t that brilliant of me?” “Yes. Brilliant.” Scary, but brilliant.

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“Contrary to what you seem to think, no one outside my regular clientele knows of my special abilities. The only reason I haven’t wound up a brain-dead husk like all the other pitiable psis is because I make it impossible for my well-connected clients to turn against me.” “How do you do that?” Her smile turned coy. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll figure it out in due time.” He tried another tactic. “You called Via your sister. Why?” “Because she is. My twin, to be precise.” Locke stared at the exotic being before him. “Forgive me if I don’t see the familial resemblance.” “Silly. You’re thinking outward appearances. I’m talking about abilities.” “So I was right. You are similar.” “No, darling, don’t you listen? We’re identical,” Cedrine stressed and beamed over at Via, who was now massaging her temples. “Isn’t that right, Via?” “I’m fried,” Via said, no louder than a breath. “Too much information, too fast a download. My circuits are blown.” “Find a way to cope,” Cedrine suggested brightly before beaming once more at him. “Tell me, Locke. What do you know about Via’s abilities?” “She’s like you. She can see the past, present or future of whatever she touches.” “But there’s a secondary ability lurking beneath that. She’s kissed you, yes?” His body heated at the memory. “Yes.” “How was it?” “I saw my death.” “That wasn’t what I asked you,” Cedrine chided him, wagging a long finger. “The kiss, darling. How was it?” In a flash, Locke was transported back to that fractured moment, the shock of Via’s out-of-the-blue kiss that melted almost instantly into a sweet, intoxicating heat that splintered through his senses. The pleasure of it seemed to bounce from his mouth to hers and back again, filling him. Engulfing him. The wild heat of it shuddered and swelled, gaining a momentum that promised a never-ending shower of blissful euphoria until it was all he knew, all he ever wanted to know… “Wow. That good, huh?” Locke looked up at Cedrine, realized he’d lost his laser-locked attention to daydream about Via’s kiss, and had to bite his tongue to stop from telling Cedrine what she could do with her smartass smirk. “Do you have a point?” “There are psychometrics, and there are empaths, soldier-boy—separately, they’re pretty much a dime a dozen in the underground psionic world, you’d be surprised. But an empathic psychometric who has the ability to bounce or share the sensations feeding into them is about as rare as you can get, and I’ve only

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heard of one who can completely accomplish this sharing through intimate touch. Moi. I thought I was utterly unique, until I shook your hand all those years ago and saw my sister, Via. The only difference between us is control.” Again Locke glanced at Via. “Can you teach her?” “Darling, I’ve already given her every drop of knowledge I possess—knowledge accumulated through all the years of my countless, shall we say, experiments utilizing this unique ability. I’ve done my job. The rest…” Cedrine smiled a smile full of sin-filled relish, “…is up to you.”

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Chapter Six

For Via, the conversation during the sumptuous feast Cedrine had provided slipped by like a dream. Same with the steaming-hot shower she took in an en suite bathroom that was as sybaritic as the rest of the ultramodern rooms Cedrine had given them to unwind in. Everything was a surrealistic blur, and all she wanted to do was fall into the nearest bed and sleep for a week. If only she could shut her brain down long enough to do it. After kissing Locke, Via had wondered if kisses were supposed to change lives. Now, after Cedrine’s kiss, she knew they did, if they were done right. Everything was different now. She was different. And for the first time, she was ashamed. In the twenty-three years she’d had on this planet, she hadn’t bothered to live. Never once had it occurred to her that she could. She’d always been so busy bemoaning her curse it never dawned on her that it didn’t have to be an obstacle. All she had to do was find the courage to face it head-on. Considering what she now knew about Cedrine, she felt like a spineless jellyfish. Originally born Cedric, Cedrine had had an unfortunate start in life, with a stepfather who had found the effeminate boy too tempting to resist, and a mother beside herself with jealousy. Because of the nature of his unique gifts, Cedric had learned early on how to turn it on and off so he would not be enslaved by the vagaries of being an empathic psychometric. Instead, with every intimate encounter he had—consensual or not—he made good use of the opportunity to learn how to become the one who did the enslaving. And cunning survivor that he was, Cedric got good at it. Turning off the psychic input from the physical world was something he’d learned to do out of necessity—it was either that, or go insane. Unlike Via, no parent was there for Cedric to wrap bandages over exposed skin and weave a web of lies about a skin condition. Cedric had had to learn to tune out the world’s psychic impressions, while Via had been hidden in an agridome bubble and buried in lettuce and fish. What a loser she was. On the upside, Via now had proof her curse could be controlled. Not just controlled, it could be used. If Via understood it correctly, tuning out the psychic noise around her was no big deal. All she had to do was expose herself to it and overlook it as easily as if she were tuning out a boring conversation. Focusing on the psychic noise was where she’d gone wrong. If she allowed herself to be distracted by it, she ran the risk of becoming lost in it.

Zero Factor

What was needed, of course, was practice. Her brain was still swimmy when she stepped out of the bathroom and into the luxurious bedroom complete with a California King bed situated on a black marble platform. In contrast, the sheets were a squint-worthy white, the wealth of pillows black satin, and there was a veil of fine chain mail like a crown overhead. Pacing in front of a matte steel see-through fireplace that opened onto a private patio placed beyond more chain-mail sheers and a privacy-glass-darkened door, Locke looked up at her entrance, his expression turbulent. “Are you injured?” he asked without preamble. “I swear, I never expected that. I mean…shyte, she kissed you without warning—” “I don’t think a warning would have prepared me any better.” Her voice sounded foreign to her ears— high-pitched, a little ethereal, as if she weren’t all there. Which was pretty much how she felt. “Some things just have to be dived into headfirst. Didn’t I leave my clothes on the bed?” She was wearing nothing but a massive bath towel—new, touched only by Cedrine, bless her. Locke’s scarred face hardened until it resembled granite. “She…” “Yes?” “Cedrine came in while you were showering and took them. Even the gloves.” Via sighed. “Of course she did.” “I tried to stop her. I even threatened to throw her across the room, but then she mentioned she has a house full of Lifers who would come to investigate—” “It’s all good, Locke.” Crossing to the bed, where now only a luxurious swathe of China red silk glimmered like a dream, Via reached out a pale hand toward it. She hesitated for just a moment before she plucked it up and tried to overlook the many times Cedrine had enjoyed slipping on the magnificent robe. “How nice of her to let me borrow her things.” “This was a bad idea,” Locke announced as if he’d been waiting to say those words. “I don’t know what I was thinking, bringing a psychometric to a bordello. We need to stay laser-locked on the problem at hand, and that’s Colonel Fynn, and not on…whatever it was that happened downstairs.” “I think I can help with the Colonel Fynn problem,” Via said in that same not-normal voice, but it didn’t matter. What mattered was that she began practicing, the sooner the better. “This wasn’t a mistake, Locke. Coming here might be the answer to everything.” “She kissed you,” he burst out as if that were the bottom line. “I don’t know what the hell that was all about, but she kissed you—” “It was necessary.” Turning her back on him in automatic modesty, Via slipped the robe on, then let the towel drop at her feet. Images of Cedrine seducing whomever she deemed important enough to enslave tried to seep into her mind’s eye, and for a moment Via wavered. “Locke, is there a sat-radio or vid-screen in the room? I need something, an anchor, to focus on.”

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“An anchor?” He looked around distractedly, then moved to the control panel set discreetly into a black marble bedside table. As soft as a murmur in the dark, the sultry moan of a saxophone sighed through the room’s surround sound. “Will this do?” “It’s perfect. I just need something to hold me to the reality of the moment. That’s the key to controlling this…this gift,” she explained, while the unwanted images faded as she focused on the sensual music murmuring through the room. When the images faded completely, she raised a wondering smile to Locke. “I’m so glad you brought me here, Locke. I’ll never be able to repay you for all you’ve done for me.” “Right. Kidnapping you out of your safe little bubble was a pure-win move.” “Maybe it was.” Tossing her discarded towel over the back of a nearby chair, Via sat gingerly on the edge of the bed. “Locke?” “Via?” “Do you trust me?” He looked as though she had asked him if he believed in unicorns. “I’m a Lifer. Trust is a zero factor in my world.” “Your world is changing, in case you haven’t noticed,” she drawled. “I’d like to see if I can pick up anything about Fynn and whatever he’s up to, but I need your permission to…well, to touch you.” There was no way to make that sound less awkward, so she didn’t even try. In an instant he sat beside her and offered his hand. “Whatever you need.” “You understand I’m going to look into your life?” “I understand you’ve already been bombarded by it since we’ve been in constant contact with each other from the moment we met,” came the unconcerned reply. “I have nothing to hide.” “Because you’re a good man, Lieutenant C. Locke.” Taking a deep breath, she held her hand just over his. “What does the C stand for anyway?” “Charles. Lame-ass name, yeah?” “No. It’s solid. Like you.” With one last fortifying breath, Via cupped both her hands around his. And saw.

By degrees, Via’s fingers tightened on Locke’s hand. Immune to any fleeting pain, he looked down at her hands—as pale as milk and as soft as a baby’s. Which wasn’t surprising. She’d kept them hidden her entire life, and the enormity of that task struck him anew. How crazy hard all this must be for her now, he thought, his brows drawing together. Though worry over how delicate Via was out in the real world should be nothing more than a zero factor for him, it was gnawing away at him from the inside out. Bottom-lining it, he was responsible for slamming into her sheltered life with all the force of a deep-space meteor. The

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weight of guilt sinking through him like a rock through murky water was all but suffocating him. If anything happened to her now— “Don’t.” Locke looked up, only to find her eyes closed, her lips parted. “What?” “I don’t need or want your guilt, and getting me out of the bubble was the best thing you could have done for me. Now help me focus and think of Fynn.” Locke swallowed a curse, but did as she asked. And here he was stressing over how delicate she was. When push came to shove, it was Via who was the better soldier, while he was little more than a fumblefisted noob. Gotta love the irony. “A baby?” A frown shadowed Via’s brow, and her tongue came out to moisten her lips. In a hungry fascination he couldn’t help, Locke watched the action, all but tasting the crushed-silk texture of her madefor-sin lips. “Dayum, Cedrine makes this target-viewing seem so easy, but it’s… I just don’t get it.” Distracted by the defined indentation of her upper lip, he wondered what Via would do if he traced it with his tongue. “Get what?” “Why I keep seeing a baby getting born almost at your feet.” She opened her eyes to search his face. “Are you thinking about that?” He nearly swore again when he realized his mind was nowhere near that scene or anywhere else that would be helpful. “No.” “Does the birth of that baby have anything to do with Colonel Fynn?” “Not that I know of. We were on an ordinary mission, I even mentioned it to you earlier—transporting people to a medical facility, remember? Colonel Fynn’s in charge of all our missions, but that’s the only tie-in I can think of to that particular instance.” “Maybe there’s something there and I’m just not seeing it. Or maybe I have no idea how to look for specific events like Cedrine can,” she said, letting his hand go with a preoccupied sigh. “I think it’s entirely possible I suck at this.” “What exactly did you see?” “It’d be easier just to show you what I saw. Maybe you can figure out if there’s any significance to it.” And with that, she leaned over and captured his mouth with her own. Locke went statue-still while his mind flooded with the memory of a woman in labor, of gripping her hand as she screamed at the peak of it, of Colonel Fynn looking at the new scrap of life with his usual expression of irritation and muttering about bad timing, of the happy tears shed by the new mother as she held her baby for the first time. That was what he saw. But what he felt…

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A luxurious sort of sinking drifted through him, a blissed-out drugging of every nerve in his body. A sudden surge of molten need in his loins tightened his sensitive flesh in a kind of exquisite near-pain, his arousal springing to life so fast it made his head swim. His pulse throbbed out an urgent rhythm in his lengthening manhood, a pleasurable pulse that nearly doubled him over. By dayum, she turned him inside out. The heady pleasure grew, doubling and trebling between them, and he yearned to settle himself into the silken cradle of her thighs and bury himself in her hot depths up to his hilt, lift himself almost completely free of her, only to plunge like a free-falling madman back into her— A fractured moan gasped from her mouth and into his, and shock sliced through him when her hand cupped the white-hot bulge straining against his zipper and squeezed. Blinding pleasure erupted in his every cell, and his incoherent cry mingled with hers as the pleasure flowed like an ever-tightening whirlpool between them, threatening to pull them under into an airless world of shattering insanity. And that was when reality hit him. His pleasure had become hers. The desire to give Via her own pleasure made his hands burn for the feel of her. Feverish and fumbling, Locke pushed away the sides of the borrowed robe to unveil Via’s pale, lean body, the dizzying scents of soap and sex wafting to him like a sensual enchantment he had no hope of resisting. Her breasts were exquisitely shaped, the pouting undersides made for the worshipping palms of his hands, while the mauve-tipped nipples begged for the devouring caress of his mouth. He bent his head, giving into their irresistible allure by rolling his tongue around the rock-hard tip before pulling the nipple into his mouth and suckling until she cried out. The other breast was teased by the merciless abrading of his thumb, and a ferocious thrill of need moved like wildfire through his veins when she arched and fell back against the mattress, only to gasp out loud. “This bed…this bed…” With speech apparently beyond her, she dragged him back to the pleasure chamber that was her mouth. In an instant, shattering pleasure swam through him, echoes of orgasmic heights left in the mattress on which they lay, and for a suspended second the madness of ecstasy was all he knew. Then the greater reality of the present absorbed the intoxicating sensation, and with the urgency of a man who needed to be inside the woman he craved, Locke divested himself of his clothing in record time. And as he did so, he glanced back to Via, and what he saw there was a vision he believed he would remember for the rest of his days, however the hell many they might be. She was gloriously naked, her dark, corkscrew hair wild and tousled across the bed. The brilliant splash of the red silk robe pooled about her, wide open and caught on her elbows, her vivid green eyes halflidded and lost in a psychic-pleasure-filled fog that brought arousing little purrs from her and lifted her hips in a rhythm as old as time.

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“So hot,” she whispered, her helpless gasps making her breasts heave in a way that made him nearly burst where he was. “Oh God, I don’t know… I need—” “I know what you need.” And it was a need they shared. His muscles were quivering with the force of it, when he could never remember shaking in his battle-scarred, godforsaken life. Cupping a hand under her knee, he drew his tongue along the silk-soft flesh of her inner thigh, coming to support his weight on the bed with his knees while his fingers delved into the small triangle of downy curls between her thighs. A helpless cry broke from her at his first touch, and when he found her to be more than ready for him, he felt only a shuddering relief that he didn’t have to wait. Pulling her other knee up beside him, he then cupped her bottom in his palms and brought her up hard to meet the surging thrust of his manhood. She was so tight, so hot, that the slick flesh gloving him nearly made him come right then. Sheer strength of will held him statue still, until he had a modicum of control. Until he was in charge. Until he knew he could make this unbearable heaven last. Then she moved her hips, and in a heartbeat the insanity of excruciating pleasure swamped him, engulfed him. Every sense he possessed exploded in the mindless ecstasy that fractured him all the way to his soul.

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Chapter Seven

Soft strains of something bluesy hummed through Via’s splintered consciousness, luring her inch by inch back to the world around her. So. That was sex. No wonder it was so popular. The psychic reverberations from the bed on which she lay had quieted, whether instinctively shut out by her overwhelmed psyche or drowned out by the enormity of the pleasure she’d experienced, she didn’t know. Nor did she care. At that moment, all she knew was that she had never felt better in her life. How was it possible to go back to ordinary day-to-day living after such an experience? It felt as though her bones had melted and her cells had been turned inside out. Voluntary movement at this juncture was in serious doubt, but that was nothing compared to the complete chaos of her emotions. In less than a two-day time frame, she had gone from being resigned to living out life alone and isolated from every human on the face of the planet, to awakening sensual appetites with a man who shouldn’t suit her at all, yet somehow fit her to perfection. How well he fit her, indeed. Via shivered as the embers of desire, banked but still glowing with need, flared once more. Never before had she understood what it was to want someone. Oh, she had heard the term countless times, certainly. She had even assumed she understood the concept. But logical comprehension and experiencing the gnawing, empty ache that needed to be filled by that one special man were definitely two different things. She craved Locke, and with that craving came the breathless anticipation of shared pleasure, the closeness of giving herself over to another in whom she had absolute trust, and the piercing joy of knowing he felt it too. That thought made her reach out for Locke, only to encounter nothing but acres of empty bed. Via opened heavy-lidded eyes to find the luxurious room vacant except for her, and awash in the rosy glow of sunset. Surprise had her looking around the room for a clock, only to find that was the one thing the room didn’t have, and she supposed that only made sense. Time was something that existed outside of these walls, but not here. At the Pleasure Palace, time was as meaningless as inhibitions. As Locke had embedded himself into her again and again as though his desire would never be satisfied, the tides of ebbing and peaking ecstasy had been the only thing she had been aware of for what may have been a small eternity. But now…

Zero Factor

The red robe had been thrown over her nakedness. With a yawn she pulled it on, noting soreness in certain places as she did so. But it only made her smile as she pushed off the bed to wander into the bathroom in search of Locke. Her smile vanished when she didn’t find him there either, but before she could do a decent job of plunging into all-out panic, the door quietly swung open to admit a fully dressed, somber-faced Locke. “There you are,” she blurted as the door closed behind him. Her relieved smile of welcome faltered when his cyberoptics swept over her as if she were no more than a vague acquaintance he wasn’t too excited about seeing. That was when it hit her that she didn’t know the first thing about post-sex etiquette. Was it supposed to be this awkward? “Um…I guess I fell asleep.” Wow. What snappy repartee. “Not surprising. We’ve got company,” Locke went on, and offered her an ice-cold water bottle he had obviously gone out to retrieve. “Cedrine informed me that, aside from these rooms and her own, the entirety of the Pleasure Palace has been rented out for the next week by a contingent of UNAS Continental government officials.” Via’s brows shot up, her discomfiture forgotten. “Dayum. I wonder why such heavy-duty VIPs are here in New Vegas.” “You don’t have to look far for the answer to that one,” he drawled, opening his own bottle and taking a swig. “According to Cedrine, they’re here ostensibly on a fact-finding mission, whatever that may be. But what they’re really here for is to do an in-depth investigation into that explosion at the distribution warehouse.” “Our explosion?” “Our explosion. You and I are going to have to keep a low profile for the time being while we let them dig into it, though I don’t have a lot of stone-cold hope of government officials being able to outstrategize the likes of Colonel Fynn.” Via tilted her head. “Did you tell Cedrine about the baby scene I picked up when I tried to target view?” He shook his head, his cyberoptics locked on the wall beyond her. “You can tell her all about it when we meet up with her later this evening. Cedrine said she hopes to have dinner with us before she has to get down to the business of entertaining her new clientele.” “That sounds good.” Something wasn’t right, and it wasn’t the unexpected arrival of government officials. Via watched Locke stalk to the patio door and told herself she was just imagining the way he avoided looking at her. “Maybe she can make some sense of what I saw.” Locke didn’t move, his face averted to a window filled with nothing but peaceful Pleasure Palace backyard. “Mmm.” Okay. Definitely not her imagination. “Locke—”

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A harsh gush of familiar static from the sat-radio cut her off, and her eyes widened in surprise. “Sounds like the Lady Pirate’s usual intro.” “That bitch,” he snarled with a violence that surprised her. “What the militia wouldn’t give to get their hands on that traitor.” “Traitor?” Via kept her expression calm while inside a flare of indignant outrage forked through her. “Bit harsh, yeah?” “Not harsh enough,” came the arctic reply. “Whenever this so-called Lady Pirate hacks into the satellites, all she does is stir up the citizenry with half-truths. There we are, putting our asses on the line as we try to protect the people of UNAS, only to have them take potshots at us because this pirate makes us out to be nothing more than a lawless bunch of storm troopers.” “There will always be a lunatic fringe taking potshots, whether there’s a Lady Pirate or not,” Via said, crossing her arms and wondering how they had gone from a world of bliss to a verbal knockdown, dragout. If she didn’t know better, she’d think this word-tussle had very little to do with the state of the world and more with the state of them. “The Lady Pirate puts a spotlight on the all-powerful authorities to make sure they don’t abuse that power. If she didn’t do that, they would operate with impunity.” “What’s wrong with that?” “Wasn’t it a militia man who tried to kill you?” He waved this away with an impatient sweep of his hand. “It’s dangerous to broadcast sensitive information to the enemy.” “What enemy would that be? Those poor people you’ve been trained to think of as no-goods, the same people Fynn wanted to open fire on because they made the unforgivable mistake of not having anything?” His face darkened, and for just a moment he looked like the dangerous militia man she had first met. “We’re trained to protect the people of this area. I’m proud of that, and of all that I’ve done. No matter who they are or where they come from, I’ll do everything I can to protect them.” “Which speaks to the type of man you are,” she said. “And if every person of authority took their job to heart as much as you, we wouldn’t be having this discussion. What’s more, I do appreciate what the militia does. There would be complete anarchy if they didn’t have a strong presence, and no one wants that. But there has to be a balance to their absolute power, an accounting for all the things that go on under the militia’s cloak of secrecy.” “Things?” Locke repeated with a mocking little scoff. “Give me something specific rather than spouting imagined conspiracies. What things are the militias hiding?” “The inhumane treatment of the psionic population,” she said, and the light in the room seemed to dim when he turned away. A rejection, she thought sadly, of what she was, in favor of all that he had been trained to believe in. She shouldn’t be surprised. “Not even you knew about that, if you’ll recall. And what

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about trying to TK your own man? The way I saw it, Fynn thought he could get away with vaporizing you, only to cover it up with a mass murder of the so-called no-goods and declaring war with them.” “That’s one man. Fynn doesn’t represent all the Militias of UNAS.” “Agreed.” She nodded again. “But if this one man—this one extremely powerful man—has no one to hold him accountable, then he could have literally gotten away with both your murder, and the horrific killing of all those people he had planned on gunning down outside the distribution center. If you look at it from that perspective, people like the Lady Pirate do their best to keep people like your Colonel Fynn in check.” “He’s not my Colonel Fynn. Not anymore.” Via’s heart clenched at his bleak tone. “In her own way, the Lady Pirate is trying to protect the citizenry just as much as you, Locke. But instead of using a pulse rifle, she uses knowledge. She shares knowledge that people in authority might otherwise want hidden because they know they’re doing wrong. She does this to protect both the ideals that we all try to hold ourselves to, as well as the community around her. In my book, that makes her just as brave as any soldier on the front lines.” Locke frowned and looked like he wanted to shoot off another volley, but at last the static cut off, and the sultry, synthesized tones of the Lady Pirate whispered through the room. “Sorry we made you wait, dear listeners, but most of the com satellites are jammed with heavy traffic. Not surprising, since all hell seems to be breaking loose after an explosion rocked a militia distribution center and an innocent agridome worker was abducted by New Vegas Urban Militia lieutenant, Charles Locke, a reported member of Colonel Francis Fynn’s elite Lifer unit.” “Wow, Lady Pirate even dug up your first name,” Via said, impressed. “Shh, I’m trying to listen.” “The initial incident report filed by Colonel Fynn stated that citizens bent on insurrection and the destabilization of peace in the Las Vegas Territory were responsible for the bombing that took place at the New Vegas Urban Militia’s distribution center. This report was disputed, however, by the agridome workers who witnessed the explosion. They claim the explosion emanated from within the compound itself, and that the citizens gathered at the distribution center’s gate were peacefully dispersing at the time of the blast. Their eyewitness testimony is further corroborated by a member of Colonel Fynn’s Lifers, Lieutenant Dinjin ‘DJ’ Kyloe, who has since been relieved of active duty from the Lifer unit by Colonel Fynn for unspecified reasons. Lieutenant Kyloe’s whereabouts are currently unknown.” “DJ,” Locke muttered, his scarred face as hard as granite. “You dumbass.” “The agridome witnesses have reported it was Lieutenant Locke who initially spotted the bomb, and gave them a warning which saved their lives. They also claim Lieutenant Locke then saved the life of the female agridome worker he later absconded with, by jumping out of the way of the blast nanoseconds before it went off. This eyewitness testimony directly contradicts Colonel Fynn’s revised incident report

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that it was a crazed and suicidal Lieutenant Locke who was responsible for the explosion. The colonel now claims his underling somehow managed to get his hands on a highly classified explosive compound by the name of C-10, which was supposed to be under the guard of Colonel Fynn himself. At this juncture, it should be noted that Colonel Fynn’s initial incident report claiming an attack by civilian insurrectionists has mysteriously vanished from the official record. The Lady Pirate, however, archived it and has only been too happy to email it around the world to various governmental watchdog agencies.” “That would explain the Continental government officials snooping around,” Locke said, as if to himself. “The global community’s not too comfortable with UNAS crawling back from the grave Mother Nature and the zealots tried to put it in. Everyone watches us like a hawk as we grow stronger by the day, so it’s understandable UNAS wants to make a good show of taking care of any internal problems that sprout up.” “Let’s just hope it isn’t merely a show they’re putting on. It would be nice to have results from this investigation, rather than a whitewash.” “As reports of what exactly happened at the distribution center conflict and contrast, the Lady Pirate’s efforts to get footage from the security cameras dotting that area have been fruitless. A source close to the Urban Militia has revealed that all digital footage from these cameras has been erased, a feat which could only have been accomplished from within the Urban Militia itself. If this footage has in fact been tampered with in any way, this would be an illegal act of epic proportions, breaking both Las Vegas Territory laws as well as UNAS Continental laws. UNAS Continental Justice Officials have come to New Vegas to investigate this incident.” “Dayum, things are heating up for the colonel,” Locke said through a rough sigh. “It’s hard for me to believe he’d break all the laws he taught us Lifers to uphold, but…” He shook his head. “The man’s really lost it.” Via opened her mouth to point out that it was the Lady Pirate’s information gathering that had brought much-needed scrutiny to Colonel Fynn’s actions, when the synthesized voice filled the room once more. “The Lady Pirate has a special message for a certain someone whom she hopes is listening now. Via, if you’re hearing this, call home. Mommy and Daddy are worried.” Locke glanced at her, apparently startled enough to forget he was trying to ignore her existence. “A personal message? From the Lady Pirate?” “I guess my parents found a way to get word to her.” Via shrugged, and it was her turn to avoid eye contact. “Personal messages happen from time to time.” Locke opened his mouth to question her further, but he was interrupted by a soft knock on the door before it swung open. In an instant he was a living barrier in front of her, Widow-Maker at the ready as Cedrine strolled in, pushing a food-laden cart ahead of her.

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“Well, wasn’t that a fun little broadcast?” Cedrine asked with a brilliant smile. “Just enough food for thought to whet the appetite for something more substantial, which means my timing is impeccable, as usual. Dinner is served, my darlings.”

Cloaking himself in silence, Locke tried to do justice to the three-course meal Cedrine and her chef had provided for them—roasted red pepper soup with crusty bread, duck a l’orange with sautéed squash, and chocolate mousse crepes. But as hard as he tried to choke it down, it sat in his gut like a decade-old MRE. Though he told himself he was still adjusting to the sting of betrayal from the colonel who had raised him to be the man he was today, Locke knew the true source of his nagging discomfort. Via. He was such a fraudulent bastard. He sure as hell talked a good game about being a conscientious protector of those who couldn’t protect themselves, but what he had done to Via—and done to her and done to her—was just as despicable as sexing up someone who was under the influence of an illegal substance. And son of a bitch that he was, all he could think about was doing it again. He hadn’t been able to stop, he recalled, while Via and Cedrine chatted over dinner. Then he cursed that pitiable defense. Not being able to stop was not a frigging option. Whether he was lured in by the insatiable desire Via had spawned in him from the get-go or blown away by her empathic abilities, the fact remained that as a trained soldier, he should never lose control. Not even when the woman he wanted more than his next breath was lost in psychic ecstasy and begging him to fill her. Locke swallowed a vicious curse, trying to focus on anything but the memory of taking Via like a sexcrazed madman stiffened up on a blue pill overdose. It was a wonder she didn’t hate his guts now. What she must think of him, bringing an empathic psychometric into a frigging bordello, where every inch of the place had to be writhing with orgasmic echoes from past patrons. Of course she had been influenced by the maddening pleasure, but that wasn’t who she really was. She sure as hell hadn’t lived a sexually active lifestyle out there in her little bubble world. For all he knew, she probably didn’t even want him the way he wanted her. And there it was, the real crux of his discontent. While he became as hard as a titanium rod just by spooning with her, Via hadn’t shown any signs of even noticing he was a man until they came to the Pleasure Palace. He was nothing but a scarred-up, meched-out Lifer who was a heinous monster to helpless psionics. Any hardened-up male would have done the job for her in the blissed-out condition she’d been in. Any thrust would have made her scream and writhe and weep in an agony of pleasure. When she’d begged for more, she hadn’t wanted more from him. She’d just wanted…more. And it wasn’t that he cared, or anything touchy-feely like that. Hells no. He simply hated feeling like a frigging rapist, that’s all.

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“How about it, Locke? Can you think of anything?” Locke looked up to see them regarding him with expectant faces. “Sorry, my mind was elsewhere.” Via shot him a worried look while Cedrine reached over and patted his hand. “Of course, you must have so much on your mind, poor dear. Via was telling me that her attempt to view anything pertaining to Colonel Fynn’s motivations uncovered the birth of that baby. My guess is that while this event does have something to do with whatever the colonel is up to, because it was seen through you, an intermediary, the full picture isn’t clear. That’s when I suggested getting something that belongs directly to Fynn so that the whole picture can be seen.” “I know it might seem impossible, but if there’s anything we can do to point the UNAS investigation in the right direction, we should try it,” Via added, still watching him with those lovely, worried eyes, before she glanced at Cedrine. “Can’t we just talk to the UNAS officials now and explain what happened?” Cedrine’s finely sculpted brows shot up. “You want to explain to them how you psychometrically saw the well-connected, extremely powerful Colonel Francis Fynn go on a murderous rampage for no apparent reason? We have no proof of what he’d intended to do.” “And you can’t expose your visions to government officials who voted the PAI Law into being,” Locke told Via, and though he wasn’t sure why, the thought of it made everything inside him turn to ice. “We need solid proof of Fynn’s duplicity while keeping you off-grid.” Via chewed on her lip. “They’re going to ask why you took me.” “That’s covered.” He shrugged, waving it aside. “As soldiers, we’re taught to think on our feet. To achieve the objective of escaping the distribution center intact, I took you as a hostage just in case I needed a potential bargaining chip. Hopefully once all is uncovered and I’ve cleared my name, I won’t get any more than a slap on the wrist.” Cedrine looked impressed. “Pretty slick.” “Which leads us back to getting to Fynn.” Via frowned over at Locke. “Can you think of anything that might belong to Fynn that we could get our hands on?” “Me,” he said before he could stop himself. Then he hurried to clarify when all he could see was Via’s hands caressing his body. “From the age of ten, Colonel Fynn pretty much owned me. But I take it that doesn’t count.” “’Fraid not, darling.” Cedrine sighed, pushing to her feet. “Maybe inspiration will hit with a good night’s sleep. And with that oh-so-graceful exiting line, I shall bid you both bon soir.” After kissing Via on the cheek, Cedrine moved to Locke to do the same. “Do both Via and yourself a favor, soldier-boy,” she whispered into his ear. “Don’t think too much, mmkay? Nighty-night.” Locke frowned after her, and it wasn’t until the door closed behind their hostess that he realized he was now destined to spend another night alone with Via. God help him.

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Chapter Eight

Via hadn’t realized just how much of a buffer Cedrine was until she was no longer there. As the silence descended upon the room like a smothering blanket, she slid Locke a covert glance, only to find he had already turned away from her. This was getting ridiculous. Via toyed with the idea of touching him, just to see if she could pick up anything that was in his mind, despite the fact that her psychometric abilities were far from telepathic. In the end, her hands remained at her sides. At that moment he seemed like the most unapproachable human being who had ever drawn breath, and she’d have better luck reaching for the moon than Locke. Besides, she didn’t want to invade his privacy. Not only did she fear discovering that he couldn’t stand to be around a psionic freak like her, she wanted to respect the privacy of his innermost thoughts, so— “I’ll be sleeping in the bathroom tonight.” Screw respect. Now was the time for blood. “If Fynn doesn’t wind up killing you, I think I’ll give it a shot,” she seethed, hopping to her feet while he turned to look at her in surprise. “You’re going to have to give me a clue as to what I did wrong, Locke. I’ve never sexed it up before, so as a noob I’m lost on the rituals that take place after the deed is done. Are we both supposed to act like flaming jackasses now? Because I think I can be pretty good at it. Not as good as you, you’re obviously a master at this sort of thing—” “You have my deepest apologies,” he said, his scarred face so stiff it looked like a lifeless mask. “For everything.” “I don’t want your apologies, I want to know why you seem so hell-bent on making me miserable. What did I do to offend you?” “You didn’t do— Wait.” He took a surging step toward her only to come to an abrupt halt, as though he’d gone nose-first into an invisible wall. “You’re miserable?” Seriously, the man did not know when his life was in danger. “Yes, I’m miserable, you asshat! That should make you happy, since you seem so intent on making the misery happen—” “Right. Hold that thought.” Taking her by the shoulders, he propelled her backward to the edge of the bed, then sat her down. What the hell…?

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“Okay, now touch it.” She stared at him. “Touch what?” Instead of answering, he took her by the robe’s sleeve to coax her hand to come into contact with the bed. “Well?” Anger morphed into bewilderment, edged with the first stirrings of alarm. What was his damage? “Well, what?” “Are you still miserable?” “I think misery is my lot in life, if I have to deal with you when you’re like this.” That seemed to catch him wrong-footed, as he did a little double take. “What do you mean?” “I mean you’re acting as gaga-loco as Fynn is trying to make you out to be. Maybe you should sit down.” “Colonel Fynn’s attempts at misinformation are nothing more than a zero factor, but sitting’s a good idea. That way I can take this to the next level.” The alarm was for real now as he settled next to her. Never once had Via imagined Locke would snap under pressure, but suddenly she wasn’t so sure. “Take what to the next level?” “My experiment.” Shyte. “What experiment?” “Are you still feeling miserable?” She stared at him. “If alarm and frustration along with a dash of fear fall into the category of miserable, then yes, I guess I am.” The smile that blazed across his face shocked her. “Good.” “Good?” “What about now?” He lifted a hand to brush over her hair, feather-light, before retreating. “Feel anything different?” “Locke—” “Or now?” His hand curled around her knee and slid in an agonizingly slow caress up her leg, the pads of his fingers hot on the flesh of her inner thigh through the thin veil of the robe, the only article of clothing Cedrine had left behind. Via’s pulse began to thump the moment Locke had touched her, something she had worried he would never do again. The thumping turned to frantic hammering as the unhurried pace of his hand moved centimeter by centimeter upward. A delicious heat coiled between her legs, an aching anticipation of the touch she’d come to crave like a drug. “Do you feel anything now, Via?” “Um, yes.” A shivery breath escaped her, loud in the still room. “I’m definitely feeling…something.” “Outstanding. How about this?” He leaned in, his face nuzzling aside her hair so his lips could slide along the column of her neck. Her eyes drifted closed when his mouth opened to allow his tongue to draw

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hungry whorls over her sensitized flesh. The edge of his hand brushed the juncture of her thighs, and she opened them in mute invitation for a more deliberate caress. “What are you feeling now?” “Hot,” she said, no louder than the shallow breaths shaking her body. “Wet.” “For me?” With his free hand he slid the backs of his fingers along the robe’s silken lapel, then palmed her breast through the veil of the robe. He sampled the weight and shape of it as though delighted with its feel, before gently squeezing the tightening tip between forefinger and thumb. “Oh…dayum.” A shudder bloomed deep within her belly, a small release of pleasure that was a bright promise of things to come. “Locke.” “You haven’t answered me.” With his wrist he parted the robe barely covering her lap, and at last he slid his hand all the way up her leg and touched her in a way that made her gasp. He moved, a slow, deliberate grinding against her pleasure center until he wrenched a broken moan from her. “You hot and wet for me, Via?” “Ah…” Spreading her legs wider, she couldn’t help but grab his hand and press it harder against the rocking of her hips. Sweet pleasure tightened with maddening torment, a lush delight she chased with a wanton desire that felt too right to shock her. “Yes, oh…yes…!” “I need to be sure of that.” His voice was rough, almost unrecognizable, and it shook with an emotion she couldn’t identify as he slid from the edge of the bed to his knees in front of her. “I don’t know why it’s so important to me, but I need you to feel me. Only me. I want to be the only one who makes you moan. I want to be the only one who makes you hot. I want to be the only one you’ll ever want inside you.” “You are,” she breathed while he caressed her thighs as though he couldn’t get enough of the feel of her. He settled himself between her knees and searched out her molten core once more. The rough pad of his thumb rubbed a merciless rhythm against her most vulnerable point until the mercurial pleasure his masterful touch ignited had her muscles clenching in helpless, involuntary motion. “Locke.” Via licked lips dried out by the shallow panting she couldn’t seem to stop, while his teeth gently bit the inside of her thigh. “What are you…doing to me…?” “What I should have done from the beginning.” His breath fanned along her overheated flesh, an intoxicating caress in itself. It only heightened the exquisite delight of the ever-quickening rhythm he set for her, a rhythm that made her stomach muscles coil in time with each maddening stroke. “I’m seducing you, Via.” She wanted to tell him he didn’t have to. She wanted to tell him she wanted him, just him. She wanted to tell him that at last she understood his strange behavior, and she could now control her psionic gifts at least to the point where she was no longer under its influence. She wanted to tell him not to worry, that he was the only person in her mind now. But at that moment, Locke placed his mouth where his hand had been and coherent speech became impossible.

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She could not endure this. No one could, surely. Her head fell back with the force of her cry, her arms barely able to brace her as her muscles quivered with the strain of overwhelming delight. It was as though her every nerve had become attached to that singular point framed by the oh-so-gentle grip of his lips and teeth while his tongue mercilessly abraded the nub. The pleasure bordered on a cruel torment, convulsions of mind-shattering bliss rippling deep inside her belly, growing with ever-increasing power until she could no longer control the fevered writhing of her body. She couldn’t take this. She couldn’t possibly take this… Via shuddered as mindless whimpers grew to cries of helplessness. Her throat grew raw as a tide of terrifying pleasure swelled out of the darkness, only to fold in on itself like a collapsing star. She gasped in near fright as the pressure of it threatened to crush her into nothingness. Then, before she was ready for it, that unbearable pressure at last released as though going supernova, unleashing spasm after endless spasm of a pleasure so pure it was excruciating to bear. So lost in the rage of pure sensation, Via didn’t immediately realize that Locke was moving, kicking aside his clothes and pulling her off the bed until her knees were straddling his lap. His manhood was rock hard and huge as he sat on the floor, pulsing and glistening with the force of his desire, and for a moment she worried she might not be able to take so much of him in. Then he slid into her still-convulsing depths, filling her with a force that shook her to her very soul. Heaven help her. Just when she thought it couldn’t get any better. “Don’t want the bed,” he breathed raggedly, gripping her hips with hungry, desperate hands. Helpless moans broke from her when he began to impale her again and again in a furious storm of sweet motion, her hips rocking in wild abandon as she helped him chase the pleasure. “What you feel, what makes you cry out now, should only come from me. Feel me, Via. Feel me, feel what you do to me…” He clamped his mouth down on hers, and she could feel him trying to force all the intoxicating sensations surging through him into that one kiss. An overwhelming gush of wild rapture exploded through her, an unending insanity so intense it nearly covered a flow of something much deeper, a rich ribbon of emotion that glowed with the warmth and happiness of belonging. But it was even more than that. Tears swam in her eyes as that ribbon wrapped around her heart, her soul. It was more than belonging, more than completion, even more than the pleasure of sex. It was love.

“What does zero factor mean?” Locke’s cyberoptics drifted open, lazily surprised they had closed without his permission. But he shouldn’t be surprised. According to his internal chronometer dawn was only a handful of hours away. While almost every room within the Pleasure Palace was soundproofed, the house still seemed to be cloaked in that special kind of exhausted silence that followed a long night of energetic revelry.

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Glad to see the UNAS government officials took their investigation seriously, he thought with a sleepy snort. But that was only to be expected. If everyone in the house felt half as content as he did now, it was little wonder the place was hushed in peace. Content. The hard line of his mouth softened as he drifted a hand down Via’s back. He’d heard the word, of course, but he’d never grasped it in any real way. Until now. This was what it was to be content. Somehow, Via filled every empty space he had inside, completing him in a way he had never dreamed possible. In a world gone mad, she was the only thing that made sense. “Zero factor,” Locke murmured, gathering just enough energy to pull her more completely on top of him. Sometime during the night she had assured him she had gained enough control of her psi powers to handle contact with the bed. After spending the night on every single inch of it, he was finally convinced. “It’s a concept we Lifers grow up with. Anything that doesn’t pertain to the mission at hand is considered a zero factor.” Her face nuzzled into the crook of his neck. “Like what?” “Like sympathy or compassion, happiness or contentment.” He smiled in the dark. “Contentment would definitely be a zero factor.” “What a barren existence.” A shiver moved through her, and his arms tightened around her in automatic comfort. “Do you…agree with all those things being a zero factor, Locke?” “While on the battlefield, yeah. It’s imperative to the life of your comrades and the success of your mission to stay laser-locked on defeating the enemy.” “What about when you’re not on the battlefield?” “What do you mean?” “Like now,” she said, and her voice seemed to be getting smaller. “Like…right now. Are there any zero factors now?” Locke hesitated while his chest did a funny little clenching, a moved sort of sensation he couldn’t name. “My mission now is all about you. Everything else is a zero factor.” He heard her swallow. “I thought your mission was Fynn.” “Other than clearing the danger he represents, he’s become a zero factor.” And that surprised the hell out of him. No longer was his focus on the man who raised him, who trained him, who betrayed him. His focus now was a mission as important as any he’d had. Protect Via. She snuggled closer. “We’ll get him, Locke,” she promised with an absurd conviction which nevertheless filled him with the weirdest feeling. A feeling that no matter what came down the pike, he wasn’t alone. Weirder still, he took comfort in that sense of solidarity. Great. First contentment, now comfort. Hell if he wasn’t turning into the world’s biggest creampuff. A strangled gasp from Via was the only warning he got before she jerked away.

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He grabbed for the pulse rifle. “Via…?” “That medallion around your neck.” Her words seemed to be jammed up in her throat, like they were all trying to get out at once. “Fynn gave it to you, yeah?” “Yeah, he…” The light went on. “And?” Her eyes glittered in the dark. “We don’t have much time.”

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Chapter Nine

The star-studded sky was just beginning to lighten in the east when Via slipped like a shadow onto the night-washed patio, leaving the door open behind her. She paused, letting the stillness settle over her like a blanket while her heart tried to beat her to death. This had to be the craziest thing she had ever done in her life. There was no guarantee their plan would work. There wasn’t even a guarantee her latest vision had been accurate. Despite holding onto Locke’s medallion and pushing hard enough to give herself a migraine, her abilities only went so far—a refusal to show her own fate, as Cedrine had once described. For all their last-minute maneuvering, everything could come to a sudden end, and there was nothing Via could do to stop it. Maybe they hadn’t cheated death by escaping the explosion at the distribution center, she thought while her stomach clenched itself into sick little knots. Maybe they had only postponed it. A breeze that held the breath of the desert whispered over her as she sat on the edge of a poly-resin chair simmed-out to look like genuine wood. In the predawn stillness, she gripped the agridome khakis Cedrine had at last given back to her. The legendary Madame’s psychic training may have been a little unorthodox, but it had worked far better than Via could have hoped. Removing the shield of her clothes may have left her more than a tad vulnerable within a bordello, but it had forced her brain to learn how to protect itself pretty dayum quick. Along with Cedrine’s guidance, Via had faced the ultimate sink-or-swim training, and come out a winner. Now all she had to do was get past the next hour without dying. There was no warning. One nanosecond Via was enjoying the soft predawn breeze sliding over her, the next she was jerked backward, her breath squeezing to a painful halt as a powerful arm folded around her neck like a living vise. Oh God, can’t breathe, can’t breathe… “I knew you’d be the weak link,” whispered Colonel Francis Fynn in her ear, even as she scrabbled uselessly at the arm around her neck. She could just see him out of the corner of her eye—dressed in allblack with a camo-painted face, no doubt covered in stealth-refracting technology. “Locke’s been trained not to stick his head out once he’s dug in, but you…” He gave her a little shake, like a dog with a rag. “I knew all I had to do was wait for the bubble-farmer to go stir-crazy for a breath of fresh air. You civvies are so predictable.”

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Dots began to dance like black sparkles in Via’s eyes. Panic bit into her with its jagged teeth, and wild instinct had her kicking out in hopes of knocking something over and making noise. Fynn, however, hauled her bodily away from the furniture she was trying to turn over. “Woo, a little fight in the bubble-farmer, yeah? Locke must be thrilled.” The leer in his voice was sickening, while the glittering darkness crowded her vision like the shadow of death itself. She tried to lash out again with her leg, this time with a back kick, a self-defense move she hated herself for not trying earlier, but it was lethargic. She was losing power, losing focus, losing… Life. “Dayum, what a handful you are.” Fynn’s wiry arms hauled her hard up against him, and he no longer sounded amused. “Farmer, you want to die, you’re going about it the right way. You want to live to see the sunrise, you dial it down. Roger?” The loosening of his chokehold was infinitesimal, but it was enough to trickle precious air into her oxygen-starved lungs. She sucked it in with whistling, greedy gulps, until he tightened up again. The pressure of it made the blood behind her eyes pound with the imminent threat of exploding. Sadist, she thought, the word drifting through her pounding head as he laughed in her ear. She should have known the bastard was a sadist. “Here’s what I need you to do,” he went on as though they were having a chat over Cedrine’s fancy coffee service. “Very softly, very quietly, I want you to call for Locke. You read me?” “I…” There was a growing buzz in her ears, so loud she couldn’t hear herself. “C-can’t…breathe…” “You can talk, you can breathe.” Too late, she remembered compassion was one of the infamous zero factors. Then he squeezed her throat once more, just for giggles. “This house is full of sensitive targets, so we don’t want to disturb them, now do we? Just call for Locke, and you get to live. But try alerting the whole house, and I snap your neck and vanish before your carcass hits the floor. Roger?” The chokehold eased up once more, and had he not been holding her, she would have fallen. “R-R…” Apparently that was good enough. Keeping his arm in place, Fynn pressed his mouth to her ear, so hot and livid it made her skin crawl. “Now…say ‘Locke, come out here. I need you.’ Quietly, farmer.” Her abused throat worked, trying to remember how to make noise after being so brutally crushed. “LLocke, come out here, I need you.” In the worst way, I need you now. Please… The croaking that passed for her voice was unrecognizable, and for a heartbeat of time that seemed to last an eternity she thought he hadn’t heard her. Then, ever so slowly, the black-matte muzzle of the Widow-Maker pulse rifle emerged from the slit in the chain mail draped over the open patio door. Pushing through the metal veil, fully dressed in his camo fatigues and rifle at the ready, Locke emerged onto the patio, looking as jarhead formidable as when Via had first laid eyes on him.

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His cyberoptics caught her gaze, and in that fleeting moment she tried to tell him with her eyes that she believed in him, that she was sorry it had come to this. That if this was the last minute of her life, she was glad he had yanked her from her bubble and out into the big bad world. She had no regrets, save one. As Locke turned to face his colonel squarely, Via was only sorry she hadn’t told him she’d fallen in love with him. “Well done, soldier.” Fynn’s thin smile was a vicious mockery before he nodded to Locke’s weapon. “Locked and loaded, just like I trained you, but this situation isn’t going down like that. We negotiate, or I annihilate.” To send his point home, he clamped his arm tight around Via’s neck once more, causing her breath to whistle to a painful halt. Locke took half a step forward as if he couldn’t help himself, but Fynn pulled her up so hard he almost lifted her off her feet. “Twitch again, soldier, and she gets snapped.” Locke froze. “Lose the weapon.” Watchful, Locke let the rifle clatter to the patio’s concrete floor. “Her lips are blue, Colonel. Let her breathe.” “I think blue looks good on her.” But the chokehold eased up a fraction, dulling the angry buzzing in her ears. “Looks like you got yourself pussy-whipped, boy. Didn’t even put up a fight.” Locke ignored him. “How did you find us? I thought I was off-grid.” “You did a great job on silent running, just like I taught you. But there was one thing you couldn’t guard against, and that was the unknown.” Fynn’s gaze dropped to the medallion, and another tight smile appeared. “UNAS insists on keeping its militia members tagged with a dog-tag microchip, yeah? I saw no reason why I shouldn’t keep my Lifers tagged in my own way with that medallion, after investing so much time in you maggots. It may be old GPS technology mothballed by the military years ago, but it gets the job done.” Locke tugged the medallion from his neck with a snap to stare at it as if it were a cockroach, before throwing it on the ground. “You stole obsolete technology from the military to use for your private purposes, an offense worthy of court-martial? Worse, you bugged your own people without their knowledge, in direct violation of the Freedom from Tyranny Act and countless other privacy laws—” “Don’t you preach to me, I am the law.” Fynn’s voice was glacier cold, and there was no denying that he spoke the absolute truth as far as he saw it. “Here’s the flash-news headline for you, dumbass—those laws are to keep the no-goods in line. They’re not meant for people like me. Or have you forgotten who I am?” “I haven’t forgotten, Colonel Fynn,” Locke said, and the bleak shadows in his tone closed in, becoming an impenetrable cloak of darkness that made Via’s heart break. “You’re the man who saved me from the state orphanage. You’re the man who gave me a purpose—protect the citizens of this region. And you’re the man who tried to TK me for no frigging reason.”

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“There was a reason.” Fynn shrugged, clearly unable to stop himself from correcting someone when they’d put a foot wrong. “There’s always a reason for the things I do.” “Then why did you try to blow me up? What did I do?” “Nothing at all, Locke. You were just going to take one for the team.” “Take one for the team?” “I needed a distraction,” came the irritated reply, as if he were exasperated over a field exercise that had run into a snag. “Thanks to that bitch Lady Pirate alarming everyone about all the so-called missing pregnant no-goods, heat’s been coming down on the Las Vegas Territory from Continental officials. The death of a well-trained, valuable Lifer at the hands of a crazed mob of rebellious insurrectionists would have been perfect. Not only would it have taken the heat off me, it also would have led to a nice cleansing period where we could have legally gone to war with anyone we wanted to and tightened our control over the population in this region. But somehow it didn’t shake out the way I’d planned. I’m still not sure why.” Via’s racing brain crashed to a halt when it came up against a vague memory. Something about pregnant women… Sources have confirmed that no less than seventeen young women have vanished without a trace over the past year. Locke was staring at the colonel in something like horror. “Missing pregnant no-goods…? Wait. Are you talking about the patient-transfers to medical facilities we Lifers were ordered to do? Our mission was to bring these indigent people out of potentially contaminated areas for the health and safety of their unborn children. Why would UNAS Continental officials have a problem with those orders? The directive came from them.” “The directive came from me,” Fynn snapped as though irked Locke hadn’t figured it out for himself. “The militia’s got a problem, Locke. It likes using our homegrown psionics to get the edge on the rest of the world—thanks to those damn zealots, we’re the only country that has psychic talent. But there’s a problem with them—they break. We only get about a year’s worth from them before they’re good for nothing other than spare parts.” “Oh God,” Via choked out, gorge rising. Fynn ignored her. “A think tank here in New Vegas thinks psionics break because they were once free citizens. From a psychological standpoint, they can’t take the captivity. But, if we can raise psionics from the womb, the theory is they’ll last a little longer.” “That’s…insane.” Locke was shaking his head, as if he wished he could un-hear the colonel’s words. “All of it is insane. And there’s no guarantee any of those babies would be born a psionic.” “The geeks in the think tank have several experiments on how to produce psionics in the lab, don’t ask me how.” Fynn shrugged again, clearly uncaring. “I think they’ve managed to get one out of the bunch we harvested for them so far.”

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“One,” Via croaked, tears stinging her eyes. “Lady Pirate said there were…seventeen…” A snarl rumbled from Locke. “What happened to the others?” “Not my department,” came the indifferent reply. “I do know that one woman who gave birth at your feet walked away. The geeks rejected her and I got zero payment—apparently they like the bun still in the oven.” “So you got paid for this…atrocity.” The word shot out of Locke’s mouth like it left a bad taste. “And you used us Lifers—soldiers sworn to protect the citizens of this region—to pull it off for you.” “You asshat, of course I got paid for it. Sure, it sounds good, trying to build up the militia’s covert psionics program out of patriotism, but at the end of the day I want to get paid like everyone else.” “You’ve had your last payday, Colonel Fynn,” Locke said, and the sudden, flat calm of his tone made Via shiver. “This stops now.” “You’re right about that,” Fynn agreed in poison-edged joviality. “Your insubordination ends here. I hunted you down because I have new orders, soldier—I need you to sing for the dumbass UNAS officials who dared to come to my New Vegas to investigate me. Tell them you got your hands on some C-10, and this was all a simple misunderstanding. Make it believable and everyone walks away from this.” Locke growled. “Like you’d ever let that happen.” “You owe me your life, Lieutenant.” “You owe so much more to the people of the Las Vegas Territory, Colonel, and it’s time you started paying. Your attempt to TK me is nothing compared to what you’ve done to the citizens you were supposed to protect.” “I’m going to pay?” Fynn repeated with a scathing snort. “Who’s going to make me pay, you? The useless keyboard jockeys UNAS sent down? The Lady Pirate? Who, exactly, can even touch me?” “All of the above, apparently.” It was almost comical the way Fynn froze, while light bloomed within the room. Cedrine slid through the chain-mail sheers, resplendent in a white satin robe and marabou slippers, her nose crinkled up as if she smelled something bad. “I was just coming to tell you, Locke, that your neurolinks and cyberoptics seem to have been hacked by the Lady Pirate. Everything you’ve seen and heard for the past ten minutes has been broadcast via the Internet and sat-radio around the globe, including every international governmental watchdog group on the planet. Isn’t that odd?” Fynn’s hold on Via loosened a fraction as his gaze bounced from Cedrine to Locke in dawning understanding. “You—” Having already missed one shot at escape, Via wasn’t about to let another one slide. Stepping back into Fynn’s space, she twisted in his hold while bending forward simultaneously to send the wiry Colonel

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flying over her back. Not the prettiest O Goshi judo throw ever executed, but it got the job done when it landed Fynn on his back at Locke’s feet. In a flash, Locke had the rifle up and trained on his former commander, who looked as though he couldn’t believe the world he’d always controlled had just gotten turned upside down. “Locke, you bastard, I order you—” “Enough, Colonel,” Locke snarled while the house began to come to life. “As of now, you are nothing but a zero factor.”

The questioning seemed to go on forever. Breakfast for Via was little more than a cup of coffee while a UNAS official raked her over the coals. Lunch came and went as well, and it wasn’t until she began to make noises that when it came to her basic human rights being violated UNAS was no better than Fynn, that things came to a close. She was released into Cedrine’s care and assured that by evening, a transport would arrive to carry her back to her quiet life in Agridome #4. As Cedrine led the way back to the room, Via couldn’t think of a worse fate. “I can’t remember when the Palace has been so busy.” Cedrine’s face was a study of displeasure as Via hungrily attacked a tray of tea sandwiches Cedrine had ordered up from the kitchens. “The stupid-ass kind of busy that doesn’t make me any money.” “It gives you contacts, though,” Via reminded her around a mouthful of chicken-salad sandwich. “Lots and lots of contacts.” “True, that.” Cedrine smirked. “In fact, the lead investigator interviewing Locke seems destined for great things. Needless to say, I’ve devoted every possible moment to making him insanely addicted to me.” Via’s breath caught. “Locke? How is he?” “Disillusioned, I’d say, but dealing.” “And Fynn?” “Ugh, that monster. His geeks were already trying to clean the evidence out of their mad-scientist lab when the authorities busted in. Unfortunately, many of the babies they were experimenting on may have long-term medical issues, but at least they’re alive. Neither the mothers nor the one psionic infant Fynn mentioned were found.” Via shivered. “I hope they weren’t used as spare parts.” “It’ll all come to light now, including what UNAS is really doing with the psionics,” Cedrine said, lips pursed. “Thanks to global concerns over human-rights violations, UNAS will repeal the PAI Law and admit to crimes against humanity, though Fynn and other militia heads will take the fall for that. This journey you and Locke had to go on has changed the world for the better, little sister.”

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Zero Factor

Via stared at her in dawning realization. “You knew all of this would happen, didn’t you? It wasn’t just me you saw when you shook Locke’s hand all those years ago. You saw this.” Cedrine’s perfect brows arched. “Darling, I told you—I always look for anything that affects me. The repeal of the PAI Law will make it safe to live out in the open, so that I may be worshipped as the goddess I am. Helping you was simply my way of getting what I wanted, so there’s no need to thank me.” Via wasn’t sure whether to snort or swear when the door suddenly opened to admit an irritatedlooking Locke. His disgruntled frown vanished the moment he spied Via. Ignoring Cedrine, he joined Via on the low-slung sofa and pulled her onto his lap. “Via.” With a long sigh, he nestled his face in the curve of her neck. “I was worried about you.” “Ah, your interview must be over.” Hopping to her feet, Cedrine made a beeline for the door. “Time to remind someone they can’t exist without me.” “I think Cedrine might be the most diabolical person I’ve ever met,” Via commented when the door swung shut behind their hostess. “And that includes Fynn. Are you okay?” “Outstanding, now.” Pressing his lips against her throat, Locke suddenly jerked back. Via looked at him, alarmed. “What?” “How do I know I’m not still hacked?” She relaxed enough to smile. “They wouldn’t do that.” “They’re your parents, of course they’d do that. Shyte, I can’t believe it,” he muttered, shaking his head. “My woman’s parents are the hackers known as the Lady Pirate.” “Mom is the voice and social conscience of the pair, and Daddy is the hacker,” she tried to explain yet again, when the first part of his statement sank in. “Whoa. Your woman?” “I wonder what they think of me.” Locke sighed and for just a moment he looked ancient. “Your parents must think I’m a monster, considering the role I played in Fynn’s scheme.” “You saved my life, kept my secret, then agreed to let them hack into your neurolinks in order to stop Fynn. You’re a hero, Charles Locke.” The sound of his full name seemed to surprise him out of his gloom. “Say that again.” She smiled into his cyberoptics. “You’re my hero, Charles Locke.” A corner of his mouth curled. “Charles Locke, huh? I’ve been a Lifer so long, I don’t even know who Charles Locke is.” “I do.” Enchanted, she kissed that curled corner. “You’re the man I trust to always do the right thing. You’re the man who wishes to protect those who can’t protect themselves. You’re the man I love.” “Love?” The word seemed to hit him like a sock full of rocks, and he stared at her as though he’d never seen her before. “You…love me?” She lifted a brow at his bewildered tone. “Is love a zero factor?” “No, it’s… I don’t really know what it is, Via.”

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Stacy Gail

“Ah. Well, let me show you.” And with that she kissed him again, opening the floodgates of joy and tenderness, of passion and everlasting devotion. Of belonging, of rightness, of friendship and loyalty. It was that simple, that complex. It was that perfect. When Via at last lifted her head, Locke’s face was filled with something akin to wonder. “Is that what love is?” he breathed, touching her lips with his fingers. “That overwhelming need to hold you, to cherish you as the precious treasure you are? To never want to leave you, and to suffer when you’re not by my side? That’s what this is?” He indicated his chest as if he’d run out of words to describe the enormity of what he felt. Joy overflowed in Via’s heart as she rested her forehead against his. “That’s what that is,” she whispered, kissing his fingers as the banked embers of desire flared to life once more. “The love I’ve found in you is the most important thing in my life. It could never be a zero factor.” “No more zero factors for me,” he vowed, slipping the buttons of her shirt free before smiling up at her. “From now on, you are the only mission in my life.”

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About the Author

Stacy Gail would love to announce that she is an accomplished concert pianist and can speak seven different languages. Unfortunately, she can’t. “Chopsticks” was the only piano tune she ever mastered, and her idea of speaking another language equates to talking with a funny accent. There are, however, a couple of things Stacy can do—figure skate and write romances. While skating competitively from the age of eight and learning that perseverance is the true key to success, she began to write stories in between skating events to pass the time. By the age of fourteen, she told her parents she was either going to be a figure skating coach who was also a published romance writer, or a romance writer who was also a skating pro. Amazingly enough, both dreams have now come true. For more news on Stacy Gail’s upcoming releases (or to uncover the latest trouble into which she’s landed herself), feel free to take a peek: Blog: http://stacygail.blogspot.com/ Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/home.php#!/profile.php?id=100002015699203&sk=wall Twitter: http://twitter.com/#!/Stacy_Gail_

Look for these titles by Stacy Gail

Coming Soon: Best Man, Worst Man

Rule number one: Run from the Shadows. Unless one knows the secret that will save you.

Ghost in the Machine © 2011 Barbara J. Hancock A Cybershock Story I live in a world of waifs and shadows. Live might be an overstatement. I scrounge and scramble and survive in an atmosphere made thick and gray by the ashes of the Fallen. And sometimes I dream of sunlight. My parents were taken, even though they followed all the rules. Never scavenge at night. Never talk to Shadows. Don’t fight the Sweepers. Run. Run. Run. Now that they’ve taken my little brother, Douglas, I’ve realized I’ve only been surviving for him. I have two choices: Follow him or lie down and die. I can’t just quit after years of struggle. I wouldn’t know how if I tried. Determination is all I have left. And then I meet him. He claims to be a rogue who can help me find my brother. It’s got to be a lie. But I don’t run. I stop. I listen. And I make a deal with a Shadow even though I know it will mean the death of me. Never talk to Shadows. But no one ever told me what would happen if I kissed one. Warning: May cause fantasies of forbidden kisses from dark heroes who balance on the edge of evil. Where shadows wait and ashes fall…

Enjoy the following excerpt for Ghost in the Machine: He looks so heroic treading with purpose through the ash, every bit as graceful as I am not. I remind myself the lean muscle that glides beneath his skin was turned to dust years ago, but the reminder doesn’t help. He has held me with those strong hands. He’s saved me with that lithe body. I no longer tingle where the spider’s venom dripped, but everywhere Gabriel touched me seems permanently sensitized. Heat rises in me as I acknowledge a different kind of tingle than I’ve known before. If talking to a Shadow is dangerous, surely desiring one will be deadly.

We walk forever. Past crumbled buildings and long-dead alleys. I try not to stare at him, but it’s a lot like trying not to breathe when a Shadow is passing—you can stop for awhile, but soon enough your lungs start to burn with the need for oxygen. My eyes need to soak up his mystery. For the first time, I see how ash doesn’t settle on him. Not on his hair or his clothes or his skin. He has a physical form. I’ve felt it. I blush with the urge to feel it again. But the ash doesn’t touch him. I’ve lived with Shadows always, but I’ve never noticed this about them. But his gleaming dark curls and shining armor, I notice.

In comparison, I’m filthy, covered in soot from head to toe. I try not to think about it. I’m doggedly following Douglas into the jaws of death. But as the dark night turns to gray day, the ash that coats me bothers me more and more. Just as when I fought the spider and after when I thought about an ashen grave, it seems a claiming and a giving up. Irrational. A fancy brought on by fear, exhaustion and hunger. Every third step is a stumble now. Each blink threatens to become a long sleep. And still I trudge on. It isn’t until my forward momentum stops that I realize I’ve collapsed. My head is so light it seems as if it might float to the gray-choked sky. I can see Shadows. They move behind windows of nearby buildings, up and down crumbling sidewalks, across a crosswalk and back again. They’re uninterested, stuck in mindless repetition. I see them almost as a whole entity. Like a shifting darkness that fills the outer edges of my world. But when might one or more unglitch and come for me? I try to rise, but my exhausted state betrays me. A bottle rolls away from my clumsy foot as I try to place it. The clinking of it sounds like the toll of a bell against the curb. Gabriel comes to stand by my side. Sidekick or sentry? I peruse the lean length of his leg as I freeze. The tactical uniform worn by soldiers of the First Wave had been custom fitted and molded to their skin. A leather-like body armor, it had been useless against an enemy that didn’t use projectile weapons. The SoulEater had taken them down and taken them in. It had created Shadows and Sweepers and who knew what other abominations. We wait. What will the other Shadows do? The one beside me had been a fine specimen of soldier when he’d been alive. It soothes me even though it hadn’t saved him. But then, not so much. They are coming. The sound of hundreds of heads turning our way is like a wave of whispers washing over me. I rise to my feet, swaying. My hand goes to the weapon at my belt. There isn’t enough charge. No way is there enough. The shifting darkness around us begins to coalesce into forms and shapes with deadly substance. Coming closer. Ten. Twenty. A hundred. More. Just as I raise my disruptor to fire for the hell of it and with no hope of taking out more than a few before we are overwhelmed, Gabriel’s angelic wings embrace me in a feathery cocoon. A staticky charge ripples and reaches to the heart of me. My nerve endings hum with it. In protest or pleasure? Borderline. Being touched by a Shadow from the top of my head to my feet definitely walks the line between pleasure and pain. “Shhhhhhhh,” Gabriel says.

Trapped in those magnificent wings, I’m as frightened of their protection as I am of the approaching horde. Because I want to hush. I want to accept his cool embrace and the way it makes me feel—saved, seduced, secondary. For once, I don’t have to fight. They are out there, eddying around us like leaves in a stream, but I’m hidden. Enclosed in Gabriel’s shadowy substance, I’ve disappeared to the others. I hide within the very thing I fear the most. His wings wind tighter. They pull me closer—he pulls me closer. My cheek presses to his solid chest. His scent is ozone-kissed. It envelopes me in an atmosphere not unlike an approaching storm, surprisingly pleasant. And then I feel it. The thud of a heartbeat against my face. How can a Shadow have a heartbeat? Like the swinging girl, it must be only an echo, a memory, a glitch. As I stand there, Shadows all around, the pace of his phantom heartbeat increases. I want to pull away. This is too close to his mystery. Panic rises, making my own heart thump. I would push him away. He shields me. He protects me. But I could more easily fight the Shadows around us than the beat of that heart against me. That sort of fight is much more familiar than the fight to resist his scent, his touch—the lie that he is human. A wavering whisper stops me when I would have pushed my way free. Very close, just outside my Shadow-wing hideaway, a child’s voice speaks in a singsong cadence that is at once horrifying and haunting. “Olly olly oxen freeeeeeeeeee…” The last syllable ends as if the lungs that force air over dormant vocal cords are too weak for volume. An all-out scream couldn’t have been worse. I start to shake. My imagination gives the voice a face, and it’s the face of the swinging girl, come all this way to find me and searching still. Of course, there are other Fallen children. Everywhere. But my shivers won’t be chided. It is her. She’s out there. And this time I can’t slip away. “Miss Mary Mack, Mack, Mack All dressed in black, black, black…” The nursery rhyme murmurs from Gabe’s lips, oddly eerie in its coaxing. Like a father encouraging his child to play, he sings the song, gentle and low. I recognize it for the suggestion it is and hold my breath, hoping. There. A slight sound of scuffling against the cluttered pavement. From hide-and-seek to double Dutch sans rope. In my mind’s eye, I watch the creepy Shadow hop away. Creepy but sad too. Forever

young. Forever lost. Missing the games she used to play but caught up in a much more horrible game for eternity. “Don’t speak,” Gabriel whispers against the top of my head. Strong arms come around me, more intimate than the wings. Gabriel scoops me up, still hidden, and begins to stride forward, a Shadow among Shadows. Nothing to see here. I hug my arms around my chest to keep them from clinging to him. And I wonder what game, if any, my angelic soldier is determined to play.

He finds love on the eve of a war he doesn’t plan on surviving.

Gridlock © 2011 Nathalie Gray A Cybershock Story Dante knows the price of rebellion. The Grid created him in its likeness, turning him into a killing machine—tested, modified and enhanced to be a “better citizen”. Years may have passed since he escaped that freak show, but the scars are still fresh. Without the mandatory implant, Steel scrapes by, living free of the Grid’s control. When a job goes bad, everyone around her dies, their minds crushed by the notorious Cardinal. But he doesn’t kill her. He takes her to a secret lair filled with fascinating, forbidden pre-Grid knowledge. Who is this man—ruthless murderer or eccentric loner? Bad-mannered as she is, Dante can’t bring himself to silence the abrasive, cigarette-addicted Steel. Something about her calls to him, though trusting her could be a mistake. Should she betray him, it would wipe out years of patient waiting. Waiting while the Grid hunts him for the priceless information he carries within his living data vault. Waiting while his dish of revenge turns ice cold. For Dante intends to go back. And this time, he intends to be the only one left standing. Warning: Contains violence, offensive language, a tattooed woman, a man who’s ready to light a few fuses, several variants of the F-word, machines behaving badly, thugs and PVC fashion. But no ninjas. That’s for the next book.

Enjoy the following excerpt for Gridlock: Forcing her gaze on his face was hard when he turned and displayed a fine network of lean muscles that knotted and played under the pale skin. She wasn’t fast enough to stop the gasp in time when she got a good look at his front. What the fuck? “Science,” he whispered, “can be a sharp instrument in the hand of the unsympathetic.” “Scientists did that?” Steel indicated with her chin the collection of scars crisscrossing Dante’s chest, snaking up his biceps, pock-marking his throat and slashing his belly in neat ten-centimeter partitions. As though someone had sliced him open, sewed him back up then did it again lower. She’d seen scars and what people could do to one another, but never something like this. Never this. “Up there, in the bunker? They did that?” “Scientific objectives, unfettered by humanity, yes.” He pointed to one thick scar that ran diagonally along his left pectoral. “How long does a man have without a functioning heart? Or how fast can a synthetic replica beat before the rest of the body begins to shut down? My heart will outlast the rest of me by a millennium.”

Steel hid the shiver with a shrug, unable to take her gaze from the awful mark. “That’s just demented. Who gives a shit?” She cursed, shook her head. “It needs to know everything about us. Information is the new gold.” “Who’s it?” “The new golden ratio, the alpha and omega, the all and the void. Gods used to fill this space. Even they were supplanted. The Grid took it all. And its thirst for knowledge is insatiable. It needs to know us to better control us. Everything, even the most sordid or inconsequential detail. We created it, and it has since then recreated us in its image. Men born of data.” “The Grid and its data can kiss my ass,” Steel blurted. She froze out of habit. No one in their right mind would talk that way. But he wasn’t anyone regular, was he. He’d already shared how he wanted to blow the thing up. Ordinarily, should a passerby or roving bot pick up such dangerous words, they’d be standing at the closest relay and alert security. She half-expected to have a squad of security responders descend on the room and take her in for evaluation. She’d tasted that sauce before and didn’t like it one bit. Pigs. But then again, there weren’t comms relays anywhere near, not visible ones anyway. They were completely off the waves in this place. No one would hear them. No one would hear her. Dante’s mouth quivered at one corner, as if he were unused to smiling. “A dangerous position to share with anyone. I could turn you in and reap a handsome reward.” “Says the guy who’s planning to drop a train on top of the bunker. Yeah, well…” She shoved her hands in her pockets. He drew near, which forced her to fight the urge to take a step back. As if she had proximity alerts built in, every nerve ending fired flight-or-fight responses. Maybe if she hit him hard enough, fast enough, she’d stand a chance. But then again, where the fuck could she go? She didn’t even know where the door was. Any door. By the time she stumbled onto one, he’d have caught her. Timing was, indeed, everything, and now wasn’t the time for silly heroics. She willed her body to relax. Almost succeeded. This Dante guy had killed people without touching them. She should keep that in mind instead of fantasizing about the fireworks his stunt would cause should it work. “Do you fear me?” he whispered. “Yes. I saw what you did.” His blond eyebrows shot straight up, as though he hadn’t expected the response. Or the honesty. “Have I not treated you with respect and the utmost civility?” “Is that before or after you shot me with my own gun then dragged me out of my home to keep me a prisoner in yours?”

This time, Dante smiled wide. “You are right, and I apologize for resorting to such drastic measures. I am usually more circumspect. And expedient.” “What do you mean?” She couldn’t focus much. He smelled of soap. She hadn’t had a soap-smelling man near her in…ever. He leaned closer. She stopped breathing. “I usually just kill people outright,” he whispered right into her ear. His words triggered another slew of instinctive reactions. Kick. Punch. Bite. Breathe in his clean scent. “Then why didn’t you, huh? Want to play with me first?”