Page 40 of Spark Transform

The man helped him down onto the rounded back of the cleaning bot. Hopefully, the man believed he was only concussed, not stunned by a recovered memory.

He’d thought his damaged mind had made up the nightmare images of Charrascos as the knife-wielding red angel of death. Except in that memory, she’d been the angel of life.

The pounding in his head synced with his heartbeat. He’d wanted more memories to surface, but not if it took blows to the head to get them. He had too few working brain cells as it was.

Most of the dizziness was gone by the time Kooga crouched before him. “Drink.” She opened a water pouch and thrust it at him.

“Thanks.” His stiffening neck protested as he took a couple of swallows. He climbed to his feet, aware of her scrutiny. “I’ll finish up now.”

“Go slow.” Kooga rose to look down at him from her two-plus-meter height. “Don’t eat your pain like a Jumper.” She tapped the side of her head with her metal fingertip. “Biometal beats bone.”

She turned and strode away toward her office. The others who’d helped had already drifted off.

Kooga was right about him only having ordinary bone instead of biometal reinforcements like Jumpers. Since he was already seeing Haseem in a few hours to pick up the inhib, maybe he’d ask him for a quick scan and non-neuro pain treatment.

The more important question was, if he told the red angel about his recovered memory, would she ever tell him the rest?

Chapter 15

Planet: Mabingion • GDAT 3242.200

Arco did not consider herself to be a persuadable person. And yet here she was, in a scan preview room of a body parlor on the Mabingion Space Station. Supposedly, in the next few hours, she’d get permanent minder shields, with sections of her memory gouged out as the price.

It was all Brenner’s fault. It had started five days ago with his insistence that she and the whole security team carry inhib jets and patches at all times. She’d agreed because it seemed like a harmless request.

Then he’d insisted she start wearing a full flexin armor layer under her clothes instead of just a camisole. She’d lost that argument because the rest of the team had been appalled to learn she wasn’t wearing it already. The combat version of the armor dispersed kinetic energy from projectiles and withstood low-res beamers and forceblades. The thinner version she now wore had less stopping power, but could make the difference in an attack.

Then yesterday at Soleil’s martial arts studio, with the rest of the team below, he’d taken her to the warehouse’s covered rooftop garden and launched his sales pitch.

“Are you immune to the telepath class?” he’d asked bluntly. “Twisters, cleaners, straight telepaths?”

“No, but I can distract them.” She’d stared at him in consternation. “Why?”

Maybe he was still stewing about the visit with Olavskaya. The CPS had denied any knowledge of the accident or the reported casualties. But the agency was also notorious for forcibly transferring any employee to wherever it damn well pleased, as it had for the Charisma project. From her research for the story on the astronomically high fatality rate for ex-CPS contractors, she believed the CPS hired out local crew to do the transferring. When she had time, she planned to research the criminal crews in Arazak.

“You need shields.” His expression was neutral, but his statement was a declaration, not a suggestion.

“Did Tapio say something to you? I know he swears by shielders, but I’m not hiring any more of them. Tōn Ko is enough. I’d need three just to keep constant coverage, and they intimidate the people I interview. That’s my livelihood.” The cool wind felt momentarily good on her sweaty chest. She pulled the edge of her knit tunic out. “I can’t afford them.”

He nodded as if he expected her answer. “I know how to get permanent shields as good as if you were a shielder yourself.”

That kind of teasing wasn’t his style, so she assumed he was serious, but the assertion was suspect. “How? Experimental implant?” She shook her head. “Not for me.”

“No, permanent minder shields. I don’t know how they work, just that they do.” He crossed his arms and shoved his hands under his armpits. “Davidro’s best telepaths couldn’t break them.” Satisfaction flitted across his face. “Torqued his jets past overload.”

She wished she had her tablet. “Give me a minute.”

After a long, centering breath, she delved into her own memories of everything she’d ever read or heard about shield talents and their limitations. She made ephemeral notes in her head on the few items that might support the claim. The best was a practical study on how long and under what conditions temporary shields could last when applied to others by top-level shielders.

She looked up and caught his eye. “Theoretical, but possible. First question. Why me? Millions of better candidates.”

“They didn’t hire me. You did.” His shoulder lifted slightly. “I’m telepath-immune. You’re not.”

Another gust of wind blew by. She wrapped her chilled hands in the hem of her tunic. “Fair enough. Second question. What’s the price — half my royalties forever? Cryptokeys to the Intergalactic Finance Exchange? Produce an epic campaign for them to win an Intergalactic Humanity Achievement award?”

He blew out a loud breath. “My connection says there’s no trade required, but that’s probably slugshit. I don’t know what they want.” He frowned. “I do know that if you go, they’ll clean your memory either way. If you go and turn them down, you won’t remember that, either.”

And that was why she valued Brenner so much. He didn’t lie to her about the important things. “Third question, and I can’t believe I’m even entertaining this. What kind of downtime for me? Weeks? Months?”