and Jamie, his touch potent and alive with electricity. The third hand pulls back. The startled intake of breath belongs to Benjamin. I picture the exchange of looks between them and know he’s sensed the link between Jamie and me.
“What the hell was that thing set to?” Jamie releases me to Miriam’s hold.
“Why?” Davis says. “You want some?”
“Give it a rest,” Benjamin says.
“I’m fine. It’s just all the signals.”
From the hall, I see them side-on, Tesla and the woman, two strangers sitting at the dining table. They rise to their feet and wait. Their signals are distinct, the notes behind them harder to read than Benjamin and Davis, but the addition to the clamour in the bandwidth overwhelms me and I lean heavily on Miriam’s arm as she leads me to the chair at the head of the table. Tesla’s gaze lingers on Miriam’s face with the same intense appraisal that unnerved me on the stairs, then he turns to me, his mouth a hard line. “What is this?” Tesla glares at the men over my shoulder. “She should be recovered by now. What was the baton set to?”
Davis clears his throat. “Maximum, sir.”
Miriam and Jamie produce noises of disgust and Benjamin sighs.
“Maximum,” Tesla says, his accent all sharp edges. “For a teenage girl half your weight?”
“She ran, sir. Maximum’s protocol for runners.”
“I’m okay.” I hold my head. “It’s the static. The signals.”
Tesla and the woman stare at me.
He fits the mould of a tall, chiselled Affinity agent. Not the pristine airbrushed look of Benjamin or Davis but a brooding, weathered, the-battles-I’ve-seen look. Dark hair, heavy stubble, sultry mouth, eyes almost black. Maybe fortyish – hot for an old guy. Dressed like Benjamin and Davis, his jacket and pants sport a complicated array of zippered pockets, epaulets and buckles. Multiple hiding places for high-tech weapons? His frown appears permanent.
The woman doesn’t fit the mould. Small, oval-faced, older than Tesla, pushing fifty? Softer in frame and features but with a pinched expression of scepticism and impatience about the eyes. She wears a woollen skirt, cream blouse and suede jacket, like a professional academic, elbow patches and all. She’s definitely the odd one out.
“You sense our signals?” the woman asks, searching, avid. “Beyond a basic awareness? Distinct signals?”
“Yes,” I say, unsure if that’s what she wants to hear. “But it’s hard to focus. I can’t think straight.”
Tesla lifts his hand. “Mr Nelson, Davis, wait in the van.”
“If she’s not coming in, then she will at least need to be Marked and Neutralised,” Benjamin says.
“I am aware of that, Mr Nelson, but the Executive has requested a prelim and it is preferable to do that while the Asset is conscious.”
“We’ll prep for procedure.” Benjamin pulls a small black object from his pocket. It looks like a marble cut in half. He places it on the table. “Insurance.”
“Right,” Jamie says, nodding at the black half-moon disc. “Nothing says trust like the threat of Neural Paralysis.”
Benjamin smiles. “Protocol, my friend.”
Marked. Neutralised. Neural Paralysis
.
I lean away from the disc.
The men walk to the front door. Davis mutters, “This is bullshit,” again and the door snaps shut.
The difference is immediate. The bandwidth quietens, pressure lifts from my head, constriction from my chest and I exhale.
“I am Tesla,” he begins, brusque and succinct as he takes his seat. “My colleague, Felicity Allen.” Jamie moves to the far end of the table, as though trying to keep as much distance between us as possible. Miriam takes a seat on my left, resting her hand on my arm.
“Under normal circumstances,” he says, “an Asset Liaison would explain that we are an organisation with an interest in your welfare. Generally, this would take place in the back of a van while muscle relaxants made you immobile, but this is not an Extraction and
“What the hell was that thing set to?” Jamie releases me to Miriam’s hold.
“Why?” Davis says. “You want some?”
“Give it a rest,” Benjamin says.
“I’m fine. It’s just all the signals.”
From the hall, I see them side-on, Tesla and the woman, two strangers sitting at the dining table. They rise to their feet and wait. Their signals are distinct, the notes behind them harder to read than Benjamin and Davis, but the addition to the clamour in the bandwidth overwhelms me and I lean heavily on Miriam’s arm as she leads me to the chair at the head of the table. Tesla’s gaze lingers on Miriam’s face with the same intense appraisal that unnerved me on the stairs, then he turns to me, his mouth a hard line. “What is this?” Tesla glares at the men over my shoulder. “She should be recovered by now. What was the baton set to?”
Davis clears his throat. “Maximum, sir.”
Miriam and Jamie produce noises of disgust and Benjamin sighs.
“Maximum,” Tesla says, his accent all sharp edges. “For a teenage girl half your weight?”
“She ran, sir. Maximum’s protocol for runners.”
“I’m okay.” I hold my head. “It’s the static. The signals.”
Tesla and the woman stare at me.
He fits the mould of a tall, chiselled Affinity agent. Not the pristine airbrushed look of Benjamin or Davis but a brooding, weathered, the-battles-I’ve-seen look. Dark hair, heavy stubble, sultry mouth, eyes almost black. Maybe fortyish – hot for an old guy. Dressed like Benjamin and Davis, his jacket and pants sport a complicated array of zippered pockets, epaulets and buckles. Multiple hiding places for high-tech weapons? His frown appears permanent.
The woman doesn’t fit the mould. Small, oval-faced, older than Tesla, pushing fifty? Softer in frame and features but with a pinched expression of scepticism and impatience about the eyes. She wears a woollen skirt, cream blouse and suede jacket, like a professional academic, elbow patches and all. She’s definitely the odd one out.
“You sense our signals?” the woman asks, searching, avid. “Beyond a basic awareness? Distinct signals?”
“Yes,” I say, unsure if that’s what she wants to hear. “But it’s hard to focus. I can’t think straight.”
Tesla lifts his hand. “Mr Nelson, Davis, wait in the van.”
“If she’s not coming in, then she will at least need to be Marked and Neutralised,” Benjamin says.
“I am aware of that, Mr Nelson, but the Executive has requested a prelim and it is preferable to do that while the Asset is conscious.”
“We’ll prep for procedure.” Benjamin pulls a small black object from his pocket. It looks like a marble cut in half. He places it on the table. “Insurance.”
“Right,” Jamie says, nodding at the black half-moon disc. “Nothing says trust like the threat of Neural Paralysis.”
Benjamin smiles. “Protocol, my friend.”
Marked. Neutralised. Neural Paralysis
.
I lean away from the disc.
The men walk to the front door. Davis mutters, “This is bullshit,” again and the door snaps shut.
The difference is immediate. The bandwidth quietens, pressure lifts from my head, constriction from my chest and I exhale.
“I am Tesla,” he begins, brusque and succinct as he takes his seat. “My colleague, Felicity Allen.” Jamie moves to the far end of the table, as though trying to keep as much distance between us as possible. Miriam takes a seat on my left, resting her hand on my arm.
“Under normal circumstances,” he says, “an Asset Liaison would explain that we are an organisation with an interest in your welfare. Generally, this would take place in the back of a van while muscle relaxants made you immobile, but this is not an Extraction and
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