No Such Thing (20 page)

When she was finished emptying her stomach, she washed her face with trembling fingers. Lifting her head, she caught sight of the deep blackness of her
eyes, contrasting sharply with her white skin, and turned away with a whimper of horror. She needed Declan. Needed his arms to support her, his touch to
sooth her, his words to bring sense to this lunacy. She was heading for the com unit to contact engineering when it announced an incoming transmission.

From the Institute.

Ryelle nearly threw up again. She’d forgotten that once they were clear of the nebula, the Institute would be back in contact with her. For most
telenetics, this would probably be a relief. A chance to reconnect with their peers, receive direction and support. For her, the Institute was oppression,
judgment, and criticism.

She wiped a hand across her mouth, reaching deep for the discipline to face them. Smoothing her hair and concentrating on her breathing until it was even,
she sat before the com viewer and activated the transmission.

Her main handler, Grieve, stared at her, his doughy face as expressionless as stone. "Ryelle. Why are you not wearing your headdress?"

Of course he would pick that issue to begin. "We’ve been in battle," she said, trying to keep the edge of resentment and anger out of her
tone. "I performed acceptably for Commander Task. I did destroy one enemy ship, which wasn’t to the letter of his order, but he is still
satisfied."

She’d succeeded in distracting him. His deep-set eyes narrowed the faintest bit. "What was his order?"

"That I perform as a level five telenetic, keeping the extent of my talent hidden for now. However, the ship was on an intercept with the
Odyssey.
I reacted with slightly too much force to deflect it and it broke apart."

"We will need your full report and data on the action for a thorough review. Commander Task’s alleged satisfaction not withstanding, you have
been trained to have better discipline, Telenetic Soliere."

His mouth had thinned and his pudgy cheeks took on a bit of color. For Grieve, this was an extravagant show of emotion. His displeasure would have sent her
into a panic a few days ago, but now she merely stared at him and wished the conversation to be over. She still needed Declan desperately.

"We have tried to access your headdress and retrieve data from the communications blackout, but there is no data stored on it. Why is that?"
His tone held a silky, taunting edge.

Resentment surged in her. He knew very well why—unless the snood had been damaged, there was only one other explanation. It was just like him to play
this kind of power game. She supposed he expected her to stammer and beg forgiveness. Instead, she gave him a direct stare and said, "I haven’t
worn it, Handler. There is no further need for it."

His eyes flared with emotion, but of what kind she couldn’t tell. "We decide when there is no further need for the headdress, Ryelle
Soliere," he said tightly. "You obviously still require careful watch. We’ve accessed the
Odyssey’s
logs for the past
several days, and from what we’ve seen, your behavior has been a disgrace to the Institute. We expect our telenetics to conduct themselves with
dignity and professionalism. Instead, you have been cavorting throughout the flagship of the Fleet with all the dignity of a crass, hormonal, low-class
nerc. And with a low ranking, backwater crewman, no less. Your actions reflect poorly on the Institute, Ryelle—"

"My actions with Crewman McCrae are private, Handler Grieve," she said in a tone very close to a snarl. "My personal life is none of your
business—"

"On the contrary, Telenetic," he retorted, sitting forward to glare at her. "Everything you do is our business. You are the
Institute’s representative on that ship and we will not have our image tarnished in this way. You will resume wearing the headdress, and you will end
this tawdry little relationship with that boy at once."

"No," Ryelle said on a rising tide of fury. "You won’t invade my privacy any further. Nor will you threaten me with that inducer
ever again. And there is nothing wrong with Declan. He is a better man than all of you people put together, so no. I won’t wear it and I won’t
stop seeing him."

Grieve actually bared his teeth at her. She’d never seen him so overtly furious, but she had also never been so overtly rebellious. His skin had
turned a ruddy shade from his neck all the way into his hairline. "You will on both counts or we will recall you. You are ours to control, Telenetic,
and you will obey our orders."

"Oh, really? You plan to stop the war just so I can return to the Institute?"

The red of his skin took on a dangerous, purple tint and his muddy eyes glinted wildly. "If you care for that boy of yours, you’ll do as I say,
girl. We’re transferring you off the
Odyssey
as of right now. Don’t you—"

"What do you mean, if I care for him?" Ryelle overrode him with a lurch of sick dread in her belly.

He sneered. "The people you love always seem to get hurt, don’t they, Ryelle?"

She stared at him in dawning horror. "Are you threatening him?" she whispered as a red haze consumed her vision.

He blinked, his face going blank for a second. Then he continued in a flat tone, "You are a danger to everyone around you. We only allowed you out of
the Institute because of the dire need on the frontlines. If you care for the people on that ship, you will obey orders and remove yourself from their
vicinity before you do them harm. Is that understood?"

For a moment she feared his prediction would come true. The rage flowing like hot sunfire through her veins required some form of release, destroying her
control to the point that the unsecured objects in the room began to jitter and lift from their resting places. The implication of what he’d said was
inescapable, never mind his attempt to cover it at the last.

They had caused her mother’s coma.

She’d read it in his face, in his sneer, in the gloating in his voice when he’d said the people she loved got hurt. Whether they’d meant
to kill her mother or if the coma had been their aim all along, they had managed to remove the only obstacle to controlling Ryelle utterly. The snood had
taught her discipline over her talent and fear of them. The grief of losing her mother had taught her submission. Somewhere deep down, she had known, had
suspected what they’d done, but she’d been so broken, emotionally and physically, that she’d lost her will to them. She’d found it
again, bit by bit, on the
Odyssey.

And now, they were threatening to do it again. To destroy her again by destroying someone she loved. The rage burned and howled in her, tearing her apart
and melting her into a new shape, a new creature. The objects in the room began to whirl around her as if she’d become a tornado, the violent center
of a storm. She dug her fingers so hard into the console that she broke nails, but wouldn’t feel it or see the blood until later.

She watched Grieve’s eyes widen with discernable fear and felt only hunger to see more. With a flick of her talent, she pulled open the receptacle
where her snood had rested for so many days. Then she brought it arrowing through the room until it spun to a halt in Grieve’s line of vision.
Without a word, eyes locked on his, she shredded it, the pieces flying apart in a little tinkling burst of metal.

"I will be returning to the Institute, Grieve, but God help you when I do, because I won’t be under your control any longer."

"You can’t threaten me," he wheezed, eyes bulging in his fat head. "The other telenetics will—"

It was her turn to sneer. "Please. They couldn’t touch me. And I don’t need to threaten you. You’re beneath me. I’m
transferring off the
Odyssey.
These people have been good to me and I know what an insufferable prick you can be when you don’t get your
way. But let’s not ruin the Institute’s image by antagonizing the next ship’s crew, hmm? And about the boy…" She paused and
the objects whirled faster, the speed of their passage making a low, ominous humming sound. "If I hear that he’s been harmed in any way, even a
rumor of ill health, I’m coming for you, Grieve."

Then she ended the transmission, threw back her head, and screamed.

Chapter 10

Ryelle managed not to destroy the commander’s office. She found strength she never knew she had and slowed the whirl of debris in the air, letting it
all settle on the floor and furniture. Breathing fast and rough, she pried her fingers off the console and contacted the commander, verbal only.

"Ryelle?"

"Commander, I need to see you in your office immediately." Her voice was ragged from screaming and from the effort to contain her fury.
Everything felt ragged and bleeding.

"On my way," he responded. She could tell by his clipped tone that he knew something was very wrong.

Rising on trembling limbs, she picked her way across the cluttered floor to her usual seat and perched on the edge. She tried not to think, but her mind
spun and twisted, her thoughts as sharp and cutting as broken glass.

"Good God! Ryelle, what happened?" The commander strode to her side, staring around at the ransacked office.

"Sit down, please, and listen," she said without looking at him, listening to the thin wail of despair deep inside.

He sat slowly, his intent pale eyes coming into her line of vision. "Is this about that GenTec ship?"

For a second she didn’t know what he was talking about. Then she remembered that she was a killer and began to laugh, little barks of hysterical
humor that made him blanch. For his sake, she clapped a hand across her mouth to stifle the sound, swallowing hard and dragging in a deep breath. When she
felt capable, she lowered her hand and said, "No. Not the ship. The Institute has been in contact. I have to transfer off the
Odyssey.
I’d like to transfer to the
Destiny,
if possible. But before I do, I have to know he’ll be safe."

"Ryelle, what the hell are you talking about? You’re not transferring anywh—"

"I can win this war for you. In exchange, I want you to promise me, on your life, that you’ll keep Declan safe."

"Ryelle." He leaned forward and clasped her hands in a grip hard enough to hurt. "You are scaring the hell out of me, little mims. Start
from when you left the deck looking normal and explain why you now look like a bloody goddamned wraith."

She gave him a word-for-word account of her conversation with Grieve in a toneless voice. Then she explained what hadn’t been said.

"He was too furious to watch his words. The people I love—he was referring to my mother. She’s in a coma, Commander. Has been for years.
I suspected, had my suspicions, but I never really believed it until now. They put her in that coma, because she kept them from controlling me. And
they’ll do the same or worse to Declan if they get the chance. They’ll do anything to keep control and they think Declan’s the reason
I’m suddenly resistant."

He stared at her for a moment, his long face stiff with restrained emotion. "Ryelle," he said in a careful voice. "You’re accusing
the Institute of a very serious crime on the basis of one man’s angry comment. Are you sure he wasn’t just—?"

"I have no proof, which is why I haven’t called in the civilian authorities. But I am sure, Commander." She studied him for a moment.
"You don’t believe me."

He frowned, glancing around at the mess she’d made of his office. He returned his gaze to her, eyes tracing the contours of her face. She could see
the doubt in him, the conflict. "Belief is hard when I’ve had honorable dealings with them before. But their treatment of you doesn’t
speak well for them. And I’ve learned to trust you, little mims. If what you say is true, though, you shouldn’t leave the
Odyssey.
I
can protect you—"

"No," she interrupted with a hard shake of her head. "I’m not the one who needs protecting. And you know the law—the
Institute has the final say in any telenetic transaction. You can’t keep me here if they say I must leave. I’ll go to the
Destiny.
You
can still command me from there. The further away I am from—from the people I care about, the safer you all will be."

He was shaking his head, a crease in his brow. "Ryelle, this is ludicrous. Even if they were serious in their threats, they couldn’t
possibly—"

"No? They have a whole army of telenetics, Commander. They have grateful, satisfied customers in all areas of society, commerce, and government. They
have a unique position and power. Do you truly believe they couldn’t possibly?" She said it tightly, trying to control the surge of helpless
rage under her skin.

He watched her with a troubled, darkened gaze and said nothing, his hands hard around hers.

"I need time. I need to be able to appease them and keep them from action until I can return to the Institute to deal with them. Commander, they
still have my mother. I have to get her away from them. She might—she might still…" She had to stop, close her eyes, and swallow hard.
When she continued, her voice was a whisper. "There’s a chance she could recover, if I can get her to different facilities. Others might also
be able to find proof of foul play. But I won’t be able to get anywhere near her if the Institute suspects what I’ve got planned. So I need to
do as they say, for now. I need to do my job."

She opened her eyes and looked at him, feeling the ache of grief and burn of fury all the way to her soul. "I need to transfer off the
Odyssey.
Then I need to get rid of this damned war so I can return to the Institute. But I have to know that Declan is safe when I do. You have to
promise me, Commander. Promise you’ll watch over him."

His eyebrows rose and for the first time a hint of humor crept into his expression. "Get rid of this damned war? I appreciate the sentiment, little
mims, but how do you propose to do that?"

"Promise," she hissed, squeezing his hands until her fingers hurt.

"You don’t have to ask," he snapped, light blue eyes flaring at her. "He’s one of mine and I protect what’s mine. That
includes you, little girl. I won’t let them transfer you without a fight."