Chains and Memory (17 page)

Four SIF agents were holding temporary shields on her; four of Cooper's own residents were constructing the framework of the deep shield. Cooper himself approached the wilder's shaking body. There were very few people in the world certified to do this work, and of them all, he considered only two his superiors. One was in Egypt, the other in India. There was no one else who could do this. He would have to be good enough.

Working methodically, Cooper crafted the matrix that would allow him access and protect him while he was inside. When that was done, he announced to the room, “Beginning the foundation stage now.”

Then he reached out, touched her forehead, and went inside her shields.

His nerves shrieked as he descended into her mind. Strength was partly a function of skill; no infant was ever this powerful. He could feel the young woman's rage and terror battering away at him, just barely held at bay by the matrix surrounding him. In decades of work as a psychic surgeon, he'd never felt anything like this — but he couldn't focus on that. Down, down, sinking through the whirlwind of her spirit, until he reached the deepest layer, the font of her power.

Gods, she
was
strong. He knew the number before he started, but embedding himself this deeply felt like standing in an inferno. Was it traces of that drug she'd been hit with? Kutty had assured him it was out of her system, but he suspected the man had lied in order to get the wilder in here as soon as possible. If so, and if that was to blame for this bad reaction, he would have Kutty suspended from duty before the week was out.

But he couldn't back away now. And it should still be possible to do what he'd come for.

He searched for and found the anchor-point. Every psychic surgeon learned to visualize the spirits they operated on; he thought of this point as a crystal of unbreakable adamantine, a foundation from which nothing could be torn free. Cooper spun strands of power and wove a net around that stone, sinking the threads in until they became
part
of the stone, too deeply embedded to be torn loose.

She was fighting him now, fighting the agents who held her restrained. Even drugged, she was a threat. A divination major, somebody had said; if that was true, she'd been taking other classes on the side. Cooper thanked all the gods this wasn't a born wilder, somebody who had been through the system of training that produced Guardians almost ready-made. If she had been, of course, he wouldn't have needed to do this, because she would have been shielded as an infant, the way she ought to have been. But if that impossible combination ever somehow happened . . . he wasn't sure he would be
able
to do this.

Where is that gods-damned shield?

His residents finished it just in time. He felt a distant sensation: a hand on his shoulder, a reminder that he had a body somewhere up above in the physical world. Cooper opened a conduit in the matrix, and the framework of the shield settled into his mental hands. Linking that to the foundation he'd built was the work of mere moments. It wasn't locked into place yet, but it was almost ready. He examined every point of the structure three times over, making sure there were no flaws. Of all the deep shields he'd put in, this one could
not
fail.

Cooper steadied himself, then opened the conduit once more. His residents fed him power in a smooth flow, fusing the elements of the shield together so they formed a seamless whole, barely distinguishable from anything around it. The last parts to take shape were the keys, the triggers that could bring this whole structure to life or send it dormant in an instant.

He activated the shield.

The fire vanished as if it had never been. The shock of it hit him like the recoil of a snapped wire; instead of surfacing gradually, Cooper jolted back into his own body, muscles jerking as if from an electric shock. His eyes stung with sweat, and for a moment he couldn't breathe.

The others were staring at him, concerned. Cooper drew in a deep, shuddering breath, and fumbled out a cloth to wipe his face dry. “All right,” he said, his voice unsteady. “Check your shields.”

Light shimmered around every person in the room as they reinforced their own shields to the point where the energy fluoresced briefly into the visible spectrum. The room itself could take the worst this wilder could do.

He looked at the four agents holding the temporary shields on her. “Drop them.”

The barriers around her faded.

Cooper wasn't the only one holding his breath. No one else, though, was keeping one psychic finger on the deep shield.

Not so much as a tremor. Perfect.

Everyone exhaled. Two of the agents exchanged high-fives. Tension flowed out of Cooper's body in a rush, leaving him as exhausted as he had ever been.

The wilder's body lay limp under the bonds. Tears leaked from her half-closed eyes to join the sweat on her face, but she appeared unharmed. Other doctors would check on her momentarily, to verify that she was still in good health.

But his job was done. She was safe now.

~

Everything was gone.

My eyes burned as I stared at the ceiling, because I kept forgetting to blink.
Nothing.
The word kept echoing in my mind.
Absolutely nothing.

I'd been shielded before, many times. When the SIF agents came to take me to the hospital. When the Unseelie took me prisoner. All the way back to when I was twelve and my mother would shield me at night so I could sleep without my gifts acting up in my dreams.

When I'd thought about it—which wasn't often—I'd imagined the deep shield would be like that: a wall blocking my gifts from touching the world.

I was wrong.

They weren't locked in. They were
gone
. I might as well have been a child again, pre-manifestation. I might as well have been a baseline.

It was like somebody had reached in and carved out the core of me, leaving a bleeding hollow behind.

Gutted.

“She's still a bit woozy.”

My head rolled to one side, and I blinked for the first time in what felt like years. The voice was coming from out in the hall. A moment later the door opened, and I saw they had granted my request, had brought me the only thing in the world that could begin to fill the void.

Some reflex in me tried to reach out to him, to touch his mind and receive the comfort of its warmth. But I had no arms to reach with.

Julian's face was white and drawn. He came forward swiftly and I knew, in the part of me that had learned to link my sixth sense with the other five, that his body language meant his shields were wavering, their integrity threatened by his distress. But I couldn't feel it. His barriers might have been down entirely, his mind completely open to the world, and I wouldn't have known it.

His hand found mine and took it in a crushing grip. From behind him, the nurse said, “I'm going to have to ask you not to do that. Not until she's recovered.”

Julian flinched. “Yes. I'm sorry.” But he didn't let go of my hand. I stared in confusion, then realized the nurse wasn't talking about the physical contact. He'd done something psychically, and my numb spirit had felt nothing.

He was fighting to keep his breathing steady, and failing. “Please,” he said, his voice rough with tension. “Can you give us a moment? I promise I—I won't touch her.”

The nurse frowned, considering, then went back out into the hall.

I rolled onto my side, facing him, my hand gripping his over mine. “Your parents are in the waiting room,” he said.

“I know,” I said. “They told me. I don't want to see them.”

Julian nodded. “Then you won't.”

My knees drew up toward my chest, curling around the absence inside. The blank numbness of the drugs was fading, and its retreat uncovered the worse numbness beneath. Hot fire tracked down my cheeks and soak into the pillow. “Oh gods, Julian,” I whispered, my words strangled. “It's gone. Everything's gone. I—I can't—”

And then I couldn't speak anymore, but I didn't have to. He already knew. Julian wrapped his arms around me and held me while I cried.

The shield had to stay up for at least two weeks, the doctors said, until they were sure I was healed. They didn't say they were guessing at that number, but I heard it anyway. Infants with the deep shield stayed under it until they were seven, sometimes older. Nobody really knew how long it would take me to recover.

The word was a terrible joke anyway. I
wouldn't
recover. Not until they gave me back my gifts.

The closest thing I had to a silver lining was that they weren't charging me with anything for the Crystal City disaster. What did they stand to gain? Lotze could probably get me off the hook with an argument of temporary insanity, and even if he didn't . . . they'd already gotten what they wanted.

I was on indefinite leave from work, and a SIF escort was waiting to take me back to my apartment once the hospital let me go—an “escort” that amounted to an armed guard who would watch over me for some unspecified amount of time. At least until I was deemed “healthy” again. I wondered which they were more worried about: somebody attacking me again, me killing myself in the aftermath, or me somehow slipping free of their shield.

Maybe they knew I had plans.

Leaving the hospital, I discovered that word of my release had gotten out. I no sooner walked out the door than there was a sudden rush of humanity in my direction, most of them armed with cameras, microphones, or both. Reporters shouted questions I couldn't make out; my brain shut down under the onslaught. Julian supported me with one arm around my waist and my SIF-appointed watchdog tried to open a path to the car. I held back, though, because one thought had suddenly come clear.

“I have something to say.”

My watchdog turned and tried to stop me, but by then the reporters were shutting up and shoving mikes in my general direction. He couldn't drag me away without it ending up on the evening news.

To the assembled crowd, I said, “The Division for Special Psychic Affairs just stole something from me. They reached into my mind and took away my gifts, using a law that's meant to protect children. But I am not a child. And neither are all the other wilders who have finished their training. The government keeps every last one of them on a leash, using the threat of this shield to keep them in line. Maybe you think that's a good idea. Maybe you're so uncomfortable around wilders that you don't care about their rights. But if you
do
care—if you think the United States government stealing the inborn gifts of its citizens makes a travesty of our laws—then you know this has to change.”

I picked one camera, looked right into it. “So this is my message to the Division, and to the entire federal Department of Psychic Affairs. Congratulations—you've gutted me. You've put me in chains alongside the others.
But I will be free.
Either you take this shield off me, or I do. Your choice.”

The reporters began shouting follow-up questions as soon as they realized I was done, but I ignored them. With Julian at my side and the SIF agent scowling like a thunderhead at me, I made my way to the waiting car, and went home to plot my jailbreak.

~

When they got home, Julian occupied himself for a few minutes with mundane tasks. Putting their shoes on the rack. Fetching two glasses of water from the kitchen. Anything to focus himself, to lead his thoughts away from the pit they kept trying to fall into.

When he came out of the kitchen, Kim was sprawled across the couch, utterly limp. “Sorry,” she said dully. “This has been your crusade a lot longer than it's been mine. I shouldn't have declared it like I was the first one to come up with the idea.”

She thought that was why he was upset? No, she knew him better than that. Kim sat up enough to let him claim part of the couch, then lay with her head in his lap. Julian said, “I don't mind. A lot of eyes are on you right now; that's a tool I've never had. If you making waves pushes people into doing something, so much the better.”

“Assuming that ‘something' isn't bad for us both.” Kim sighed and stared at the ceiling. Julian brushed her hair back from her face with careful fingers. “I kind of just declared war.”

Maybe it's time someone did.
Julian took care not to let any hint of that thought slip. Then his stomach cramped as he realized he didn't have to worry. Kim wouldn't hear anything he didn't say out loud.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Then she opened them again and said, “A legislative fix might happen, but not any time soon. So it's back to your original plan: break the shield.” She tilted her head so she could look into Julian's eyes. Her own were bloodshot around the golden irises, but bright with determination. “I don't want to waste time. Why don't we start with you telling me what you've already tried?”

Julian hesitated. Kim had a point, but— “I think it might be better if I didn't,” he said. “At least, not just yet. Yes, you're bound to duplicate some of my efforts. But if I tell you what I've already done, it'll shape your thinking, imprint you with my assumptions. I'd rather see you come at this fresh.”

“What good will that do? You know twenty times as much as I do about shielding.”

“But you have one thing I don't,” Julian said. “You remember what it felt like for the shield
not
to be there.”

With her head on his thigh, he could feel the shudder that ran through her. Directing her attention to the shield must be awful, when she'd just been gutted for the first time. Part of Julian wanted to spare her the necessity. But this was Kim; he could guess what she'd say to that. And this was her idea in the first place.

He assumed Kim was thinking it through, but when she spoke, it turned out her mind had gone in a different direction. “You told me once that you provoked them into gutting you a few times. So you could examine the shield from the inside.”