Children of Evolution (The Gateway Series Book 2) (47 page)

"Complete the shape—" Corso drew another line off the first, turning Impact's sled into the twin of the teardrop. "And you get your lift."

Impact studied the drawings for a second like he was trying to see through them, then he shook his head, disappointment and doubt clear in his eyes. "The field won't continue to build if I reverse the whole thing. I won't have any thrust. I won't be able to push myself forward."

"You get the shape right," Corso responded with a slow shake of his head, "and extend it out as far as you can to either side, and you'll maintain that ground-effect flight longer than you think, with a lot less effort—no additional thrust needed—especially if you grow a pair and practice over solid land instead of water."

Nikki cleared her throat and gave him a look, which Corso acknowledged with a nod. Impact didn't seem to notice the dig though.

"I don't want to do more of the same," Impact said, his gaze fixed on the drawings. "I want to do more."

Corso's answering smile made his eyes practically dance. "Then learn to work the system. Aeronautics is give and take, just like anything else, mate."

"Be helpful," Nikki said.

"Nothing but," Corso replied without looking at her. "You master this shape and how to angle it," he said to Impact, "and you can make the system work for you. Dive to build speed and that charge of yours, then trade the speed you have for the tude you want."
 

"Did you just say 'tude'?" Nikki asked.

"Not your kind, love," Corso laughed. "Altitude."
 

He looked back at Impact. "Build speed when you dive, then burn it to climb. Repeat as needed. Add thermals to the mix and you could stay up as long as you want. In theory," he added with a wink for Nikki.

Impact nodded as Corso fell silent. He continued to stare at the drawings, his doubtful mask in place, but Nikki could tell a mask was all it was. She could see the spark in his eye and the slight turn to the corner of his mouth. For him that was practically an ear-to-ear grin.
 

"Can you do that?" Nikki asked, pointing at the shapes.
 

Impact nodded immediately. "Reversing the whole field is easy—much easier than what I've been practicing. Getting the shape right will take work," he went on, standing up. "But I can do it."

Corso and Nikki stood as well, and Impact must have realized he'd almost sounded positive for a minute. He frowned and shot a look at Corso. "It will work, if what he says is true."

It is,
Michael said.
Corso is trying to help.
He didn't sound overly thrilled to be telling her as much, probably because of the bargain she and Corso had struck for his help.

She already knew Corso wasn't trying to lead Impact astray though. Corso had gotten too caught up in the theory to play a trick. He'd gotten too into it. Nikki had seen the interest in his eyes. She also knew he wanted to collect on their bargain too much to jeopardize his payoff.

"Thank you," Impact said, keeping his eyes firmly on the drawings.

Nikki was stunned, almost as much as Corso seemed to be. Corso didn't let it show for long though. When Impact raised his eyes, Corso nodded back to him solemnly. "Don't mention it, mate. Least I can do for the way you saved our girl."

Our girl?
Nikki thought. "Excuse me?"

Corso laughed, but Impact seemed oblivious as to why.
 

"I'll lead you back, if you're ready," Impact said.

It was Nikki's turn to look at him like he was the crazy one.
 

"Are you kidding?" She laughed. "I know you're dying to practice this." She waved at the scratches in the dirt. "Go jump off some cliffs. Corso will lead me."

"Will I then?" Corso said with a grin.

Nikki punched him again, but this time he didn't budge. He did smirk and nod though. "Go on, mate. I'll get her back safely."

Impact didn't waste any more time pretending he wasn't about to burst. He turned and raced for the trail without another word.
 

Kate

I hear what I hear
, Kate repeated in her mind.
Nothing more.

She tilted her bowl and wielded her spoon with surgical precision to capture the last few pebbles of granola hiding under the milk. She noted the clink of the spoon against the bowl, the faint scrape of the bowl against the table. She noted the creak of her chair, the rasp of knife on plate from Mos at the next table. She noted every sound around her. Every real sound.
 

With conscious effort and deliberate focus, she kept her thoughts centered on everything going on around her instead of what was happening within.

I hear what I hear. I hear only what I hear.

This wasn't her usual breakfast mantra. She wasn't that crazy. Not anymore. Today was a special day though. Today she was being tested. Today her mind was under constant assault.
 

I hear only what I want to hear.

Her mantra was helping, but it wasn't entirely true. Kate could still hear the music. She was simply pushing it to the background, which wasn't as easy as it sounded.
 

One of the first things Max taught her was that she couldn't turn off the voices. Her brain had become an open receiver, essentially. She couldn't stop it from picking up signals unless she turned it off entirely, which seemed like a bad idea. She could, however, choose the channel she wanted to listen to. By focusing on one channel, one group of sounds, she could lower the volume on the others.
 

It was a simple matter of bandwidth. Her brain could only focus on so many signals at any one time. Picking and choosing what deserved the bulk of the bandwidth was the trick. Performing said trick required intense concentration, but that had never been a problem for Kate. For once her obsessive tendencies were paying off. In a matter of days she'd made remarkable progress.

She still had a long way to go though. Zeroing in on a single channel when she was sitting around doing nothing was one thing. Keeping up that same concentration while going about her everyday tasks was quite another.
 

The simple act of ignoring something had an inherent pitfall, one her active mind stumbled into way too easily when it got distracted. Thinking about the fact that she was ignoring something inevitably made her think of that something. The second she thought about it, back it came to the forefront, loud as ever. Focusing on ignoring a constant annoyance was like trying not to think of a white elephant after someone says, "Don't think of a white elephant." No mean feat.

Max's music grew louder as she stood to take her bowl to the galley sink. Thinking about how well she was ignoring it had cost her. He was playing something aggressive and powerful in his mind now, something that reminded her of Thresh, one of her favorites from her Slav metal obsession days in college. Again she wondered how much of his "distraction" was pulled from her own memories.
 

His control was unbelievable. Max could fan a person's thoughts out in front of his mind like a deck of cards and choose the one he wanted without getting overwhelmed by the others. His mind was simply…breathtaking.
 

Kate focused on the scrape of her chair as she slid it back under the table, the sound of her shoes on the polished floor tiles, her own breathing. The music faded back to a more manageable level.

She rinsed her bowl and left her dishes on the dirty rack. Coop had the duty today. She usually washed her own dishes anyway—her hands twitched to do so now—but she had a more pressing task, one she'd avoided long enough.
 

Today's test wasn't just about blocking out a distraction. It was about multi-tasking. Today she wasn't on defense only. Today she was both hunter and hunted.

I hear only what I want to hear,
she said to herself.

Kate walked back across the room to Mos's table and pulled out the chair across from him.
Only what I want to hear.
 

Mos watched her sit, one of his eyebrows lifting into a sharp angle. When he finished his bite, he set his knife and fork down and eased back in his chair.

She'd always thought of Mos's face as kind, a fatherly or sweet uncle sort of face. Other people found his shaved head, carved physique, and strong features intimidating, but Kate never had. Until now.

"We doing this?" he asked, carefully crossing his arms across his chest. His shirt was tight and smooth across his abdomen under his arms—no bandage bulge anymore—but the wound was still bothering him. Kate could read the pain in the tightness around his eyes, in the clench of his jaw when he moved.
 

Kate nodded and started to shift her focus. Still ignoring the music, she opened herself to the other sounds, both external and internal. She followed Max's instructions to the syllable, stepping through the procedure exactly as he'd described it, exactly as he'd demonstrated.
 

One by one she cycled through the sounds, considering and rejecting each one, shifting her focus from one to the next in her search.

I hear what I want to hear.

Mos was thinking of a color. Kate knew not because she could hear what he was thinking. She knew because Ace had assigned one to him. She'd assigned a color to everyone at the base. To pass this test, Kate had to pick the colors out of their thoughts. Unfortunately, she was having a shaky start.

She couldn't hear anything from Mos. Not a thing. She'd eliminated every other sound in the room along with every stray thought in her head, but she was left with nothing. She must have missed something.

Back to the beginning,
she told herself.
Just like debugging code. Take it line by line until you find the problem.

Kate took a deep breath and relaxed her mind, opening herself up to everything. A mishmash of sound and sensation flooded her brain, the thunderous racing beat and grinding guitar of her favorite Thresh track rising above the rest.

Nice try, Max
, she thought, feeling a smile pulling at her lips.
But you won't stop this girl. I never met I firewall I couldn't penetrate. This is no different.

She focused on the next loudest sound and the music faded to the background. She worked the sounds one at a time, taking her time on each to make sure she knew exactly what it was and where it was coming from.
 

This time she found two bugs in the code, two sounds that weren't coming from the room. But they weren't coming from Mos's mind either. Max again. He was running through dialogue for his next project, using character voices that weren't his. The voices were nothing alike—one boyish and gushing with angst, the other older and infinitely more monotonous as it ran through complex formulas and calculations. She knew both had to be Max though. The voices didn't feel like Mos.
 

She was getting better at this. Much better. But not good enough, clearly. Mos's mind might as well have been a blank wall.

Mos had gotten bored and gone back to eating at some point during Kate's failed assault. He glanced up at her as he scraped up the last of the runny yolk with his last hunk of steak. His high protein meals looked disgusting to Kate, this one especially, but Mos swore they were key to a fast recovery. Kate couldn't argue with his results.
 

"Having trouble?" Mos asked.
 

"I can do this," Kate said, more to herself than Mos. That didn't stop him from answering.

"Damn right you can. Get in there, girl." He leaned back in his chair as he chewed his last bite, looking relaxed and content to sit there as long as it took.
 

Kate felt a flush of gratitude climb her neck. She wanted to jump up and hug him, but she kept her seat and prepared to start again.

Red.

She blinked. It couldn't have been that easy.

His color was red,
Max repeated, his voice clear and strong in her mind.
You weren't going to get it. Go to the hangar.

Blunt as usual. That was Max. Kate didn't mind though. She found his brutal honesty refreshing, even a little appealing. There were no games with Max—no guessing what he was thinking or feeling. His open nature was part of his charm.

"Thanks, Mos, but Max says I blew it," she said, pushing back her chair. "Wish me luck with my next victim."

"You don't need luck, Kate." Mos stood and picked up his plate. Then he met her gaze and held it. He didn't need to say anything else. His eyes said he believed she could do anything, as did the smile he gave her before he turned to take his plate to the sink.

"I don't know about that," she said, turning toward the door. "I think I have to go into Coop's mind next."
 

Mos laughed loudly behind her. "God help you."

Kate smiled to herself as she stepped into the hall and headed for the hangar. She wasn't upset at her failure with Mos. Maybe she should have been, but her positivity was hard to shake at the moment. The last few days had brought too much hope back into her life for a minor setback to get her down. She and Nikki were talking again; she wasn't losing her mind, like she'd feared for so long; the rest of the team was back to treating her like her old self; and, most important, Michael wasn't gone after all, not completely.

Kate doubted anything could get her down.

She spent the walk to the hangar listening to Max's music. He switched to classical as she walked, filling her brain with something full of triumphant horns backed by dancing strings and percussion that sounded an awful lot like explosions. She let herself enjoy the rise and fall of the music until the hangar door came into view.
 

By the time she crossed the threshold and stopped at the top of the steps, she'd pushed the music to the background again and was already starting to pick through and disregard the mundane sounds echoing in the large bay.
 

Coop and Gram were working on the new assault shuttle—the stolen assault shuttle. It was a pretty piece of equipment, a second generation PAK SU AG-60, Russia's best answer to the smaller and more affordable Chinese-built Q-17 suppressors. The AG-60 didn't have the agility of the Q-17, but it was a fair match for speed and could carry twice the personnel and ordinance. If you believed Corso, maneuverability all depended on the pilot anyway, so the AG-60 was a major score, if they could get away with using it.