Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 138217 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138217 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
Pax had waited, curious to hear what another E had to say about the condition that he could feel devouring pieces of him day after day. Theo had asked him to tell Mercant about it, so that Mercant wouldn’t be unsettled by any instability he picked up in Pax’s psyche, and for reasons of good faith: “He won’t share the knowledge, Pax. Arwen takes empathic ethics dead seriously.”
Because he trusted Theo more than any other being in this world, Pax had shared the information—even though Arwen Mercant was a member of a family who were the most dangerous information brokers in the PsyNet.
That day, on the balcony in San Francisco, Mercant had said, “I didn’t believe you when you initially told me the date of onset. Your psychic signature is too unwavering.”
“But?” Pax had been too long in the game not to hear the unspoken coda.
“But, now that I’ve been around you for longer . . . yes, I sense it.” Instead of revulsion, however, his voice had held intrigue. “Not enough, though. You simply shouldn’t be this mentally competent anymore.”
A frank glance. “Your psychic presence is acute, clear for the vast majority of the time. That your E is a genius, that much is unquestionable, but . . . Theo. It has to be your bond with Theo.”
Pax’s shoulders had stiffened. “I don’t want to pull her into this. I’ve done everything in my power to block the connection so that the volatility of my mind doesn’t seep into hers.”
“It doesn’t work that way with love,” Arwen had said softly. “She’ll fight for you whether you like it or not.” He’d stared out at the waters of the bay in the distance, the blue glittering steel. “I wonder . . .” A frown. “I’d like to speak to your E, if you’re comfortable with that?”
“I’ll pass on the request to her.” Pax had no hope of a miracle cure, but saw no harm in allowing Arwen to consult with Memory. If nothing else, their collaboration could result in findings that might better the life of another Scarab down the line.
Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping.
Pax scowled. The idiots who’d been annoying him had gone quiet for a period, only to restart again earlier today. Busy with the lunch, followed by the work required for an upcoming acquisition, he’d ignored the irritation, but enough was enough.
He stepped out into the PsyNet, his mind in hunting mode.
No evidence of any trespassers close to him. As expected. And no impediment to the hunt. He’d kept mental track of the signatures attached to the pings, and now released psychic search bots designed to zero in on those signatures. Because the people behind this weren’t exactly the cleverest in the bunch and had done nothing to obfuscate their unique psychic DNA—as was second nature to Pax.
The only reason they’d gotten away with it this long was that he’d been too busy to deal with them. Theo was right—it had to be teenagers. Well, they were about to get a fright. And he’d get some peace.
He found the first mind twenty-five minutes later, sent his own ping.
He expected to be ignored, the child scared off by actual contact. But he got an immediate response: Hello? Can you help me? She’s gone. I don’t know what to do. Please help me.
The telepathic words were curiously . . . warped.
As if fed through a blender that had mangled the shape of them.
Frowning on the physical plane, he questioned his earlier belief of this being a juvenile game. It was possible he’d simply become the inadvertent target of a mentally fragile individual who required assistance.
What do you need? he asked.
I don’t know what to do, the mind repeated, a sobbing panic to it now. She was the Mother. She told us what to do. Now she’s gone and my head hurts so much and I c-c-can’t focus and I just broke a table into pieces because I was angry and I’m a teacher and only a Gradient 3 but I smashed the table with my mind and I—
An ice-cold sensation in the pit of Pax’s stomach. Have you been assessed for Scarab Syndrome?
She said I was one of her chosen ones, that I didn’t have to let the doctors drug me into compliance. That she would take care of me. But she’s gone now. I’m so scared.
The ice spread in a frigid tide. Where are you? Pax slid out his phone. Your physical address.
The other mind gave it to him without hesitation, and he saw that it was only two hours out of San Francisco. Pax could ask Octavio to teleport him home, then drive out. Or, if the mind in contact with his sent him a visual for the Tk to lock onto, they could ’port directly to the location.