Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The comm room was, as Delgado had predicted, in chaos.
Henderson leaned over Yoshitsugu Yoshio’s shoulder. The thin bespectacled Japanese man hunched over his keyboard, fingers flying. “See? Right here, the flux turns into a recognizable pattern.”
“Almost,” Brewster said absently, pushing sunglasses to the top of his bald head. “If you want to help, there’s plenty of work.”
“Don’t you go stealing my slave labor.” Cath wore an acid-green T-shirt and ripped jeans today. Her feet were encased in clodhopping boots. She was packing another computer in Styrofoam and a cardboard box.
They were all armed, except for Delgado—he hadn’t wanted to frighten Rowan—and they were a little too busy to pay attention. But Rowan’s entry into the room made Henderson straighten and glance around, and Catherine jerked, her eyes widening.
She feels like a thunderstorm. By now he was used to the prickling of Rowan’s power touching his skin. He wondered if it felt the same for any of them.
“Everyone,” he said into the thick silence, “this is Rowan Price. She’s had a rough couple of days, so play nice.
Rowan, the tall one over there with the white patch on is Daniel Henderson.
The one on the computer is Yoshitsugu Yoshio, Yoshi for short.
Miss Punk is Catherine White, that’s Deacon Brewster, and the human Mack truck is Ezekiel Summers, goes by Zeke.
There would be more of us, but we’re shorthanded right now.
” He stole a quick look at her face. She was so pale.
“Hello,” Rowan said, in her tear-ravaged husky voice. “Nice to meet you.”
Henderson crossed the room. He wore a casually elegant gray Armani suit, and his shoes were mirror-shined.
“Miss Price. Daniel Henderson.” He offered his hand; Delgado watched carefully.
“I suspect you must have many questions, all of which will be answered. For right now, let me say I am exceedingly sorry about your father. None of us wanted this to happen.”
Rowan took this in. Her luminous eyes rested on Henderson for a long moment, and her shoulders relaxed. “Thank you, sir,” she said, and Delgado heard the echo of a military father. “I’m glad to be here, I suppose. From what I hear, the alternative is…” She glanced at Delgado. “Very unpleasant.”
Henderson nodded sharply. “Is there anything I can do to help smooth this out for you?” He took his hand back, standing in what Delgado recognized was parade rest. “Delgado has agreed to be your mentor, unless you have an objection.”
“No,” she said, looking at Delgado again. Was she looking to him for reassurance? “No objections. He saved my life.”
Good God. His heart began to pound. She is. Damn.
Catherine made a small, choked sound. Her dark eyes were sparkling.
She was trying not to laugh. “Welcome to the Psion Parade, Price,” she said, setting the box on the table with a grunt.
The front of her green mohawk bobbed, and six silver hoops decked each ear.
Her nose was pierced once on either side, and she had a tongue-stud too. “I hear you’re off the charts.”
Rowan flinched. Brewster wiped his hands clean on a rag and approached cautiously, offering his hand too.
“It’s very nice to meet you.” His British accent turned the words into softly precise syllables.
His teeth were very white against the rest of his face.
“Don’t pay any attention to Catherine. She has a constitutional inability to be nice.
I’m Deacon Brewster. Nice to meet you. I’m a precog—I can sense danger. Just like Spiderman.”
Delgado didn’t think her eyes could get any rounder. “You just say it out loud?” She looked dazed. “Just like that?”
“Why not?” he replied. “We’re all psionic here, Miss Price. You’re probably the most powerful of all of us. No bloody fundies or deadheads here.”
“Fundies?” She let go of his hand. “Deadheads?”
“Fundies are fundamentalists—all those ‘don’t suffer a witch to live’ types.
I had real trouble with those. Deadheads are people without psi.
It’s just lingo.” Deke gave her a wide, white grin, and Delgado watched Rowan smile back tentatively.
Brew could engage just about anybody if he wanted to, with an easy smile and calm voice.
“Deadheads,” she repeated, and his grin widened.
“That’s right. You just stick with us, Miss. We’ll teach you.”
“All right.” She gave him another one of those precious smiles. Delgado watched this, leaning against the door, his arms crossed.
“Hi.” Zeke stuck out his massive hand. Rowan flinched slightly away from his size, but covered it well. Zeke was used to it and didn’t say anything. “Ezekiel Keaton Summers, ma’am. Pleased ta meetcha. Call me Zeke. I’m the Tank.”
“The tank?” Her hand was lost in his.
“Zeke’s impervious to psionic attack,” Delgado supplied. “The punk over there—Catherine—is telekinetic. Can move things with her mind.”
“I hate to interrupt,” Yoshi said, “but we might want to think about moving.”
“Sigs?” Henderson turned on his heel. Zeke took his hand back and stepped away with a glance at Delgado.
“Absolutely. They’re setting up search grids. We’ve got maybe four hours at most.” Yoshi, light from the monitors reflecting off his wire-rim glasses, shook his thick, straight black hair back.
“Yoshi’s our tech guy,” Delgado said again. “All business while we’re on a job.”
“All right, people, let’s move!” Henderson barked.
Rowan flinched. He swung back to her.
“Miss Price,” he said, not quite so harshly, “we have a situation. Some very bad people are looking for us, and we need to get out of this house and to a safe location. Are you capable of taking orders?”
Rowan’s chin lifted. “I am. At least, when the orders are reasonable.”
Good girl. Del felt suddenly, absurdly proud of her.
“Good,” Henderson said crisply. “Then I’m going to ask you to go with Delgado.
Listen to what he says, and we’ll meet you in two days at a safer location.
” He waited for her assent, then turned his laser-like gaze on Delgado.
“Del, find her some shoes. Take whatever car you need and take a few thousand from the petty and get her out of the city and to Headquarters. It’s imperative to get her away from Sigma.
She’s overloading the entire damping system. Got it?”
“Yes, sir. Did you get the telem rigs working?” Delgado straightened, his arms dropping to his sides.
“Yeah, we found the problem, but we’ve brought the whole damn house of cards down.” Henderson sighed. “It was the capacitors, of course. We finally had to cut the power in half, go node-by-node, and get it done that way—”
“General! Call from Central! It’s Kate.” Yoshi broke in. “Nice to meet you, Rowan,” he threw over his shoulder.
“Th-thank you.” Rowan’s eyes were wide. “Likewise.”
Henderson sighed. “Oh, Christ. Get going, Delgado. And take care of her. You hear that, Miss Price? Del will take care of you.”
She nodded, a few strands of rapidly-drying hair falling into her face. “Yes, sir,” she whispered.
Delgado sketched a lazy salute. “Headquarters it is, two days or less. Meet you there. Let’s find you some shoes, Rowan.”
He ushered her out the door and looked back over his shoulder.
Henderson, his steel-colored eyes cold, nodded.
He heaved a silent sigh of relief. The General had weighed Rowan and implicitly accepted her as part of the team—a novice, to be sure, but still part of the whole.
The reaction of the others had been favorable—even Catherine, who was the prickliest member of Henderson’s Brigade.
Rowan was rubbing at her arm.
“Hurts?” he asked.
“Yes.” She pushed the too-big sweater sleeve halfway up her upper arm. Delgado whistled out through his teeth when he saw the bruise. It was deep and nasty, clearly a handprint. “The man in the parking lot. At least you haven’t done anything like this to me.”
He wondered if her throat hurt. It was painful to hear her talk.
Delgado caught her wrist, his fingers closing on soft flesh.
The shock of touching her lanced through him, but he pushed her sleeve up with his other hand and examined the bruise.
“You’ve been carrying this around and haven’t said anything?
” His eyes met hers. The feel of her skin under his fingers did something strange to his head, made his heart thud behind his ribs, shortened his breath.
She stared at him, eyes round and dark. A flush crept up her pale cheeks.
He let go of her sleeve, his fingers seeming welded to her skin. He had to try twice to make his fingers loosen. “Sorry.” His tone sounded strange, even to himself.
“It’s okay.” She sounded breathless. “They all call you Del.”
If she was trying to change the subject, it only barely worked. Her wrist slid out of his fingers, and the strange drowning feeling went away. “Short for Delgado.”
“Oh. Okay.” She nodded. “Are all of them… like you?”
“Like me? Psionic?” He started to move down the hall, and she came, walking next to him now. “Yeah. In one way or another.”
She thought this over, biting her lip. “And you think I am.”
“I don’t think. It’s science, Rowan. We’re not table-tippers or crystal-crawlers. We know. We have empirical proof. You’re no more a freak than an Olympic athlete. You have lots of talent, and with training, you’ll be able to use that talent effectively.”
She was silent for a long time then, as he piloted them through the house. He finally swept a door open—his room—and she stepped inside.
I have her in my bedroom, he thought, and had to take a deep breath. “I’ve got to pack a few things. The rest will go with them. Have a look around; make yourself at home.”
She nodded and came delicately into the room like a stray cat, looking at everything. His was the least decorated room, as usual. He couldn’t stand all the frilly stuff.