“We’re too close to it,” Ivy Jane had said when she asked Sahara to take up the task. “The torrent of emotion in the Net is consuming our attention—we need someone who can see patterns, and you saw this pattern before anyone else. Plus, you might not be an empath, but you’re very empathic and able to handle dealing with us.”
Sahara had fallen to the task with relish. When Kaleb pointed out she was technically doing a type of math, she’d gasped and said he’d stabbed her through the heart. Then she’d hauled him down by his tie and made him apologize. Now, she chewed on the end of her laser pen and answered absently. “Forcing the holdouts into the honeycomb defeats the purpose. Coercion is what got the Net into this in the first place.”
“By staying unconnected,” Kaleb said, “they give the infection room to thrive.” An unacceptable risk.
Sahara looked up, the charms on her bracelet making tiny sounds as they clinked against one another. “That’d be true if they were concentrated in one area—and if they were, we both know their chances of survival would be minimal at best.” Sadness in her gaze, she rubbed at her forehead. “But I’m guessing they’re scattered throughout the Net.”
Scanning the data, Kaleb nodded. “At this point at least.”
“So I’d say they’re being balanced out by the connections around them.” She bit at her pen again.
Teleporting it out of her hand, he replaced it with a cookie. Her shoulders shook. “Funny.” But she bit into the snack. “Anyway,” she said after swallowing, “if they do start to congregate, then we can tell them the risks and ask the NetMind to quarantine their section.” Her lips turned downward. “It’s not the best option, but we can’t justify allowing them to create a hothouse for the infection.”
“If it comes to that, I have a feeling the objectors will defect to create their own network.” He met the eyes of the woman who knew every scarred, twisted corner of his soul and loved him anyway. “Since this dictatorship appears to be oddly lenient about rebellion, I won’t stand in the way of their plan.”
Cookie finished, Sahara came around the desk to straighten his shirt collar. “I think you’re becoming an incredible leader,” she said, pride in her voice.
No one but Sahara ever felt such emotions for him, saw such merit in him. “Nikita and Anthony are doing some heavy lifting at the moment”—freeing Kaleb to deal with more urgent matters—“but it’s all ad hoc. Long term, we need to come up with a political system to replace the Council.”
Kaleb knew he’d always be a power and that was how he wanted it. Never again was anyone going to hurt him or Sahara. But he also wanted time to dance with her, to live with her, and for that to happen, he needed to create an institution that wouldn’t collapse if he stepped away—and that wouldn’t eventually become rotten to the core, as had happened with the Council.
Sahara ran her fingers over his nape. “It’ll have to be a system that takes the specific strengths and weaknesses of our race into account, like the changeling pack structure does theirs.”
“Yes.” Right now, however, it was about survival. “Is the rollout complete except for the objectors?” Kaleb himself didn’t like the idea of being linked to anyone other than Sahara even on a basic level, but he’d been willing to accept it to ensure she was doubly protected. Both by his immunity and the relevant empath’s.
As it was, she’d made a natural connection to multiple Es and brought him in.
“Yes,” she said now. “I received reports from the final cities an hour ago.”
Opening his eyes on the PsyNet, Kaleb took in the honeycomb effect. It hadn’t been visible to non-E eyes in the first week of the rollout, or in the second, but things had reached some kind of critical mass in the third. The entire network had blazed to life in an instant that had stunned disbelievers into faith and brought the hopeful to their knees.
No more was the PsyNet a star-studded night; it was now an intricate tapestry.
His bond with Sahara overlay the golden threads, obsidian strong in comparison to the delicate filigree of the links below. “The Es have created a new psychic foundation for our race.”
“Now,” Sahara said, “we have to make sure we don’t break it again.”
Chapter 58
Please advise me of your response within the next seven days.
“KALEB KRYCHEK IS making me another offer!”
Vasic turned from where he stood between the rows of winter-dressed apple trees, playing stick slave for Rabbit, to find his empath tugging on her boots in the doorway to their cabin. Her face was flushed, her curls awry, and she’d pulled on his Arrow jacket like she always did now that they were home.
“As a counselor?” he asked when she reached him, referring to the resurrection of a pre-Silence employment option for Es; such therapeutic help was needed at a critical level as millions of people struggled to cope with the staggering changes in their lives. Ivy was already training under and being supervised by a cadre of human specialists and changeling healers.
But she shook her head, an unfolded letter in one hand. “He wants me to represent the empaths on the Ruling Coalition.” Her eyes were huge, the copper brilliant and the gold shimmering under the North Dakota sun.
“Not unexpected,” he said, cupping her jaw with his gauntleted hand. “You came up with the Honeycomb Protocol, and you seem to know every empath in the world.”
“Ha ha.” She poked his side. “I don’t know why I’ve become one-third of E-Psy Central.” The other two-thirds were Sahara Kyriakus and Sascha Duncan.
Sahara handled data while Sascha was in charge of the education of Es. Ivy, on the other hand, had slowly become the port of call for any E who had a problem, psychic or otherwise. She’d already had multiple dealings with the Ruling Coalition in that role.
“I do like it though,” she said now, “keeping an eye on them all, making sure no one feels isolated or overwhelmed.”
Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, Vasic made sure she was warm as they walked the snowy paths, Rabbit racing imaginary opponents in front of them. “What else did the letter say?”
Ivy made a face. “That I’d be paid by the rest of the ruling group.”
Vasic immediately saw the problem. “You wouldn’t be an equal at the table.”
“Exactly.” Ivy put the letter into a pocket of his jacket. “Any ideas?”
“Politics is Aden’s field of expertise. Let me ask him.”
His partner came back with an answer five minutes after Vasic ’pathed him, while Ivy was throwing a snowball at Vasic’s head. Ducking it, he got her in the leg with his own snowball before hauling her laughing face close for a kiss.
“Aden says you need to set up an E-Psy union,” he said when they parted, both breathless. “Ask the membership to pay a small percentage of their income to belong. That would cover your salary, as well as giving designation E funds to use to fight another attack such as the one that almost wiped you out once.”
It was a solemn reminder. “We’d have to have a vote,” Ivy said. “I don’t want to just assume I’ll be the leader of this union.”
“No one else,” Vasic said, “will relish the idea of sitting across from Krychek, Nikita, and Anthony.”
“Neither do I.” She’d do it though, because Vasic and Aden were right—designation E had to fight to make sure it was never again sidelined or buried. “Thank Aden for his idea. It’s a good one—I’ll talk to the others.”
Taking a trembling breath, she stroked her free hand down the gauntlet. It was covered by his jacket, but she could feel the hardness of the carapace. “How bad?” The question was a terrible one, but she had to ask it, had to know how much time they had together before he had to go under the surgeon’s knife.