As uncomfortable as Mercy’s cell was, it turned out things could always get worse. She was marched into a room that looked frighteningly like a medical lab. Cold, sterile, all gleaming steel surfaces and lights that shone too brightly. Her telekinetic bonds were not released until they’d maneuvered her into a chair and engaged a binding field to keep her there. The silent woman leaned forward and secured a generator to her chest, then stepped back and triggered it remotely. A gravitational field invisible to the naked eye snapped into place around her, the pressure keeping her anchored, unable to lift an arm, a leg, or sit forward.

Across from Mercy, Atrea sat in a duplicate chair, awake and straining uselessly against a duplicate field, her hair mussed even worse than before. She could see by the tightness of Atrea’s jaw, the paleness of her face and vivid gleam of her eyes that her friend was furious. But when she saw Mercy, she went still, and anger morphed into shock and concern, her eyes widening and her jaw loosening.

I must look even worse than I thought. Which, given the shaved head and lack of recent meals, was pretty bad.

It’s okay, I’m okay. Mercy sent her friend the reassurance automatically, reflexively, before stopping to consider that it might not be a good idea, given present company. Atrea couldn’t answer her as a telepath could, but her thoughts were loud and clear, not only to Mercy, but probably to every Talented person in the room. Which Mercy counted at six.

Okay? This is okay? What the hell have they done? Her hair! What are those discolored patches on her skin? Bastards. Fuck this. No one ever thinks of everything. They will make a mistake. We are getting out of here.

While Atrea was thinking all of this, Willem Frain was lowering a full body scanner around her chair. It cut her off from Mercy’s view, but that didn’t matter. The tone of her thoughts reassured Mercy better than anything else possibly could: her friend was as well as she could be, under the circumstances. She was still Atrea Hades, smuggler-born, military trained, and all-around badass. People underestimated her a lot because she was tiny and unassuming, with a pretty face and blue eyes she could make guileless whenever she wanted. That was their mistake.

It might be more difficult to fool these particular people, since they could read her thoughts. On the other hand, Frain seemed to believe anyone not Talented was useless. If Mercy warned her, they would hear it. But it was best to assume they already knew everything about both of them. In that case, nothing Mercy said, short of “this is the escape plan” would make a difference.

Atrea, they can hear everything you think. They’ve poked around in my head so much, they know things about me that I didn’t even remember. Assume the same is true for you.

Mercy couldn’t see her friend’s reaction, but she could hear it. It consisted of a lot of profanity. Growing up in and out of shady spaceports had given her a huge repertoire.

I hope a black hole opens up and eats them all, was her final thought on the matter. Followed quickly by, just not while we’re here with them.

The burst of amusement surprised Mercy. A laugh bubbled up, aborted by the rigid hold of the binding field that held her so securely. Atrea’s attitude brightened hers. A small, horribly selfish part of her was suddenly very glad her friend was here with her. Which only made her feel worse.

What the hell is this? Why are they scanning me?

Atrea’s thought, driven by uncertainty and fear, drove all of the good feelings away. It reminded Mercy of exactly why they were here.

“This isn’t going to work,” she told Frain, the words difficult to form within the field. She wanted to say them out loud, though. Both as an act of defiance, and so Atrea would hear. Hopefully Willem Frain would reply in kind.

He stepped within Mercy’s field of vision and lowered himself to kneel beside her chair. His eyes were just as cold as ever, the scar across his cheek stark under the too-bright lights of the room.

“It will,” he said, smiling. “Trust me. Let’s start, shall we?” He nodded to someone outside Mercy’s field of vision. She could feel them, though. All of them.

Their minds were like Frain’s – warm, familiar, and distinct. Six Talented people. Her mother’s mind had felt like this. She suddenly remembered the other time she’d felt it – when she was thirteen, trying to stow away on a ship at Verath 6. She forced her thoughts away before they could fully form and Frain picked up on them. Instead, she wondered why; why did Talented minds feel so different from nulls? They were like puzzle pieces she hadn’t known were missing, snapping into place and making her whole. She hated it. She didn’t want anything to do with these people, and definitely didn’t want to feel like she belonged with them in some way.

“But you do. You will come to see that, Mercy.” Frain stood up. “Pay attention to the difference. Our minds feel different to you, I can see it in your thoughts. Look at Atrea’s mind. Look as deeply as you can for any hint of that same feeling. It should be there, somewhere. Buried. Her mother was Talented, even if she is not. The ability is there, latent, dormant, genetically recessive.”

Mercy stiffened, shocked. The sting of betrayal bit at her, paranoia raising its ugly head. Why? Why wouldn’t Atrea tell her something like that, when Mercy had shared her own secrets? What else had she kept from her?

But she couldn’t trust anything these people said. Maybe they were lying.

Then Atrea’s thoughts registered, and she realized her friend was as shocked as she was. And just as skeptical. She didn’t believe what Willem Frain was saying, couldn’t believe her father never would have told her. Mercy wasn’t so sure. She’d always felt the old Wolf had his secrets.

She took as deep a breath as her restraints allowed. “Look, even if what you say is true, I still don’t know what you want from me. How do you expect me to do anything to a recessive gene?” It sounded crazy, especially when she said it out loud.

“I don’t know.” Willem gave her a long look. “But you have the gift to do so, and you will figure it out.”

Atrea’s panicked thoughts hit her like spikes, shouted so frantically Mercy winced and raised her shields unconsciously in defense. What the hell is this guy talking about? He’s crazy, right? He has to be insane, that’s the only possible explanation. Mercy, tell me he’s fucking insane. Tell me—

Out of the corner of her eye, Mercy saw Willem raise a pained hand to his head, wincing. Nobody shouted their thoughts louder than a null in emotional crisis. They usually didn’t even realize it, but it was one of the reasons Mercy always kept her shields up around other people. After a moment, Willem responded to Atrea himself.

“I assure you, Captain Hades, we are all quite sane. I’m sure, despite your unfortunate lack of actual Talent, that you have quite a developed sense of intuition. A sense when something just feels off, or when a deal is about go horribly wrong. A tremor down your spine when a particular man catches your eye at a spaceport, perhaps?”

It took Atrea a moment to answer.

“I—that’s not—”

“Oh, don’t bother denying it. I’ve been through your mind, seen every such incident for myself already.” Frain waved a dismissive hand. “The most recent occurrence was on Yuan-Ki, of course. The clone who served your drinks; you knew there was something off about him, but you kept it to yourself. You felt guilty, wondering if the fact that he was a clone was bothering you on some level. It was not. He was not a good actor, and I’m afraid he was nervous that you would somehow sense the drug he used to spike your drinks. Fortunately, your own guilt kept you from reacting to what your intuition was telling you.”

It took Atrea a moment to process what he was saying and respond.

“I really hate you,” she said at last. “Stay out of my head.” Her tone wasn’t menacing. It was flat and matter-of-fact. It was the tone Atrea used right before things went really bad and she started shooting people. She used to carry two metal throwers, antiquated weapons that fired metal projectiles that would rip through flesh and bone in a messy explosion of blood and gore. Since joining the Navy, she’d had to switch over to standard disruptors. They stunned their targets, jolting them with enough electricity to knock them down and out long enough to throw restraints on them. Of course, Atrea carried a backup piece she’d modified herself. It burned through flesh and organs and left nothing but charred tissue behind. Stunning people was all well and good, but she’d been raised never to leave a real enemy at your back. If she survived this, she’d hunt Willem Frain to the ends of the universe.

Mercy thought of all the times Atrea had stopped in the middle of something to change direction, or said it was time to go right before a brawl broke out, or somehow knew port security was nearby when they were supposed to be clear on the other side of the dock. What Willem Frain was saying made sense. For the first time, Mercy started to wonder if he wasn’t actually crazy. Fear skittered like ice through her veins, shuddered down her spine. If he wasn’t crazy, if everything he said was true, what the hell did that make her? What did it all mean?

“Now.” Willem turned toward Mercy. “If you would please drop your shields and do as I have instructed.” He paused. “If you refuse, Atrea will not be returning to her cell.”

The implied threat was clear enough, and unnecessary. Mercy remembered his threats without the reminder. She glared at him, but ultimately did as he asked.

She dropped her shields, and went into her friend’s mind. She stopped just inside the natural shields every null had. They weren’t like Talented shields, but built on instinct and the mind’s unconscious need to protect itself. Usually thin and full of weak places that allowed thoughts to be projected out easily, or a telepath a route in. Atrea’s were a little stronger than this, probably because she was aware of Mercy’s gifts, and that awareness had led to her strengthening her shields without being conscious that they even existed. Not that Mercy invaded her mind often. But sometimes they used her Talent as a way to communicate silently when they needed to. Atrea knew Mercy could read her thoughts, and deliberately directed them at her sometimes, and Mercy actively used her telepathy to tell Atrea things. But she’d never gone past this point, the place where she could read surface thoughts, the things Atrea was actively thinking. Even that could be confusing if she didn’t concentrate.

People really had no idea how chaotic and unorganized their thoughts could be, jumping like quicksilver from subject to subject, layered and overlapping. The mind moved at much greater speeds than the words someone stopped to consciously think to themselves. It could be overwhelming. But over the years, Mercy had developed her own technique for sorting them all out. She allowed the quicksilver thoughts to make just an impression, a flash of insight into what they were about, that quickly faded. She focused on the loudest, most present thoughts. It was a little like trying to focus on your friend’s voice in a crowd if the other people were all talking loudly and at once.

This is impossible. They can’t do this. Mercy can’t do this. I can’t be Talented. Atrea’s panic made the thoughts come fast and hard, one after the other.

Atrea, it’s me. Look, if I don’t try this, Willem says he’ll kill you. I know this isn’t going to work, but I can’t just do nothing.

There was jumble of too many thoughts at once before Atrea settled on one. I don’t want to die, but I don’t want this.

I know. Mercy hesitated, conscious of those who were listening. I don’t think it will work. I don’t see how it will work. But can you imagine me trying to explain to your father how I just did nothing and let them kill you?

Another chaotic reaction made Mercy wince. Sometimes, talking to Atrea like this gave her a killer headache. She could just imagine what that was going to be like in this place.

No. I don’t like it. What if you mess something up? What if you…break my brain?

There it was, the real reason Atrea was panicking. If she was honest, Mercy was worried about that, too. She’d never done anything like this before.

I’m going to be really careful. I have an idea of what he wants me to try. I probably won’t even find what he’s asking me to look for, so I doubt I’ll be doing anything at all. Just looking. Okay?

This time, the jumble of mixed up thoughts went on even longer. Finally, a single thought emerged. Okay. Just be really careful. This is the only brain I have, you know.

Normally, the joke would have elicited a smile from Mercy. But right now it just amplified her anxiety. I know.

She stayed where she was for a moment. She allowed her awareness to extend beyond Atrea, and felt the six Talented minds in the room once more. It was comforting, even if she didn’t want it to be. The brilliant warmth of their Talent melted away her fear and anxiety, each one a soft golden glow she could almost see.

Taking a deep breath, she plunged deeper into Atrea’s mind, looking for the same warmth, the same hint of light. The deeper she went, the more thoughts sped past her. Mercy tried to ignore them. She didn’t want to invade Atrea’s privacy like this, didn’t want to know her friend’s most private hopes and fears.

It was impossible not to hear them. Suddenly, she knew how much Atrea loved the order of the military, the black and white precision of it. She knew how much she missed her father and Mercy, the conflict she wrestled with trying to decide whether to sign on for another tour of service. She knew about the man in Atrea’s life she’d never mentioned, the one she’d spent the last four years in a relationship with until distance and secrets finally pulled it all apart. The loss and hurt were still fresh.

Memories started surfacing then, pulling Mercy even deeper into her mind. She understood, suddenly, why Atrea was so determined to help Mercy find her mother: because she’d never known her own, and the lack was this big empty hole her father would never talk about. She saw her friend’s pride when she was selected for a special unit in the Navy, how her scores in gunnery were the top of her class, the top of her unit. She saw the first time Atrea figured out that her new best friend was Talented. She saw her fears, her shame and embarrassment that Mercy would know every secret thought, that she might not like her anymore. She saw when Atrea realized her new military friends would never understand her smuggler upbringing, and the evasions and lies she told about her past.

She saw the conversation with her father, on Windfall. How he left the military to be with Atrea’s mother because it was too dangerous to stay in. He had to protect her, just as Atrea should be protecting Mercy by staying away from anything to do with the government. Family comes first. Don’t fool yourself into thinking you belong with them. Not every mission you’re given is black and white. Not everything they ask is for the good of the people. Don’t let yourself be used.

Everywhere Mercy looked, there were personal things she didn’t want to know about her friend. But nowhere did she see that hint of light and warmth she was looking for. She felt herself getting tired, starting to drift. It was becoming more difficult to separate Atrea’s thoughts from her own. If she stayed much longer, she risked losing herself or harming Atrea. She pulled back, and was surprised at how long it took, how many layers she had to move through to reach that place on the surface of Atrea’s mind again.

By the time she did, she became aware of a distant, pounding pain, a level of exhaustion that dragged at her thoughts and turned her sluggish. She struggled to leave Atrea’s mind altogether, was alarmed to realize she almost didn’t make it past her shields. Her awareness sank back into her own body, and the distant pain exploded into agony, radiating behind her eyes, through her jaw, her neck, her skull. Her stomach churned with it. The lights in the room seared across her vision. She had to close her eyes to block them out.

Disappointing, she heard Willem Frain say coldly. She felt him assessing her, couldn’t drum up the energy to care. Take her back to her cell. We will resume when she has recovered. This is what comes of not exercising one’s gift. This is what happens to Talented too afraid to use it. She could hear the sneering contempt in his words, had a distant desire to spit on him.

If only she could be sure her head wouldn’t explode from the movement.

“What’s wrong? What’s happening?” She heard Atrea’s voice as though from far away, echoing and faint. They must have removed the scanner. Mercy tried to make her mouth form words, because she knew she wouldn’t be able to use her Talent right now.

“I’ll be fine.” At least, that’s what she tried to say. She wasn’t sure what actually emerged, because the voices around her were rapidly growing fainter and harder to make out. She knew what this was. Burn out. Too much with her gift, too fast. Her body was shutting down to recover. She’d fall asleep and stay that way until her mind regrouped. It had never been this bad before, but she’d never gone so deeply into someone’s mind before, either. Never seen and assimilated so many thoughts and memories at once.

Dimly, she was aware of being lifted, carried for a time. It made her head spin and intensified the pain. She clenched her jaw and swallowed, trying desperately not to vomit. Not to spare whoever was carrying her, but because she really didn’t think throwing up would help her head feel any better. Finally, she felt the cold waft of air that meant her cell, felt the solid, uncomfortable surface of her bunk and its single blanket. Nothing had ever felt so wonderful.

She curled up, still keeping her eyes closed. Waiting for oblivion to take her, or the pain to recede. She might have cried, she couldn’t be sure. Then she felt the press of a capsulet against her neck, and didn’t care what they were injecting her with if it brought her peace. It was the last thing she was conscious of, before oblivion rushed up to claim her.

* * *

When Mercy woke, her eyes felt gritty and bruised, her head ached, and her stomach lurched in protest when she gingerly sat up. It felt exactly like that time she and Atrea got into her father’s private stash of Bennethan rum and drank the whole bottle between them. When he’d caught them, too late, the old Wolf took one look and said the morning would be punishment enough.

He wasn’t wrong.

She was surprised to find a tube of something other than water waiting for her, propped beside her bunk along with a nutritional bar. The liquid was translucent, green, and smelled faintly sweet. Since it was the only thing to drink, and choking down the dry, tasteless bar without some kind of liquid was practically impossible, she took a sip. It didn’t taste bad, and the residual headache and bruised feeling around her eyes faded instantly. Encouraged, she drank more.

Whatever the stuff was, it definitely helped her feel more human again. Even her stomach settled. She leaned back against the wall behind her and chewed mechanically, alternating between the bar and sipping the drink until both were gone. She remembered what had happened well enough. Worried, she reached out to Atrea. Her mental touch was tentative, unsure of her reception.

Atrea? You okay?

Mercy! I was so worried. I—

Abruptly the connection cut off, and Mercy could feel nothing of her friend, hear none of her thoughts. Alarmed, she sat up.

Atrea? Atrea!

None of that, now. Willem Frain’s mental voice was as distinct as the imprint of his mind. You must save your strength for our next session. It appears you have very little of it to spare. We have a lot of work ahead of us, but rest assured, Mercy. We will not stop until you succeed, or Captain Hades is no longer a viable subject.

That was exactly what Mercy feared most.