Beatty, NV.

They were gone. All of them. Even the foster.

With a stomach full of swallowed fear, Sage ran one finger down the kitchen counter, past a tall black coffee maker, a dish rack full of clean dishes, and a sink full of dirty ones, likely from breakfast. He could smell chilies and spices, and there were stray dull yellow splotches of dried egg yolk on the plates. Four plates. They ate as a family.

When he’d gotten the initial news that the Moon and foster were not immediately found around the crash site or their home, he knew he had to go there to see it in person. There were too many questions, even outside of the obvious and pressing issue of where.

Had the Icarus harmed them? Was he telepathically controlling them? How did he manage to overcome the Retrieval team? The Moon in general was unremarkably ranked, nothing special beyond the Icarus’ above average telepathy score. No reprimands, no conflict reports, no commendations.

What confounded him even more was the Icarus’ crime. The telepath had been preventing Sol-ordered hits.

Six mission reports filed by the team were singled out as suspect, according to Investigation. Casper had said the Icarus had meticulously faked mission reports and doctored the sites of the hit in case Cleanup did a sweep. In each one, the target’s body had been conveniently collected by law enforcement before Cleanup arrived. He even went as far as to provide copies of falsified police reports showing that it was determined to be a death from natural causes. They were sparse police reports with nothing to back them up in the law enforcement database—good enough to pass a quick review, but not a hard look from Investigation once they were prompted to dig into it. That was the brand of offense they were dealing with. Nothing about him suggested he was violent.

His eyes scanned the kitchen with its table and chairs. It was lived-in, but not untidy. Cabinets were shut. There were little notes pinned to the refrigerator. “Don’t forget chips!!!” “Oil change @ 2:30 on Thursday.” The living room was much the same: average. He tried to picture the four of them sitting there. He’d studied their photos while waiting for a teleporter to fetch him. There were drinks sitting on a coffee table and a throw pillow on the floor. They’d left in a rush, but that had been the point. If the Icarus was messing with missions, they couldn’t give him any notice at all. Hence the urgent mission assignment.

With the exception of interfering with missions, the telepath seemed to have done every single other thing to the letter of the law, likely in an effort to avoid scrutiny. Sage never imagined he’d break protocol and bring their foster along unauthorized. He would have to live with that call now, and he didn’t imagine he’d be sleeping until they had the boy back. His mind filled with should-haves. He should have been more on top of Will after giving him the order. He should have pulled the foster first, before the Icarus order. No, that would have tipped the Icarus off, and a 2.5 telepath wasn’t someone you could rest on a simple ambush with, even for agents trained to defend against telepathy. You had to go in hard and fast and not give him a chance to use it. I made the best call I could, Sage told himself again. It didn’t help.

He walked down the hallway and into the first bedroom, which had belonged to 37A. It was neat, orderly. The bed was made. Any other time, that would have been a positive thing. But now it felt strangely sinister. The only thing out of place was the corner of a rug flipped up near the bed. He set the toe of one shoe against a glass jar the leg of the bed frame was set into. What have you done?

He moved on. The second bedroom was clearly the foster’s. 45C. It felt strange to take his name like that when his people were on a rescue mission, but the foster was AWOL and that’s what the C designation was for.

The room was in disarray, more so than a typical seventeen-year-old’s room. Bureau drawers were left open, the closet had been roughly gone through. He glanced around the room, eyes running over the bookshelf stacked with textbooks, comics, and brightly colored figurines. There was a pride flag above the bed and a set of bulky blue headphones on the nightstand. Sage eyed a sticker-covered laptop on the desk that he made a mental note to have Casper go through.

There was clothing scattered around the bed that had a rumpled quality to it that said it had been there for a while. A bright orange shirt peeked out from under the bed, partially covering a pile of worn notebooks. Sage thought of his time in the Academy and his roommate’s annoying habit of stuffing his laundry under the bed instead of washing it. He could picture that gesture so clearly, superimposing the image of this Icarus onto it in his mind’s eye. It only compounded the heavy reality of the thing. He looked back at the closet–the clothing that had fallen from the hangers wasn’t wrinkled. It had fallen recently, in the process of hurriedly packing. He’d been lost to Sol once, for fourteen years, and now they’d lost him again. He had lost him, Sage feared.

Perhaps it has been a mistake to order a scan before erasing 37A, but Sage had needed to know why. What in the world had compelled 37A to subvert Sol orders like that? What did he have to gain from it? Entropy was always on the back of Sage’s mind, and he couldn’t rule out that 37A was doing their bidding. He had an ex-Entropy teammate, after all. If that was the case, they could have a wider problem on their hands.

He thought again of the initial Retrieval report that was sent to Will the night of the capture, and the thought of it made his blood boil all over again. Will had lied to him when he said he’d read the report. He couldn’t have read it or the foster would have set this rescue in motion twenty hours earlier.

Downstairs, 18B’s room was similarly torn through, with her wardrobe pulled open and things strewn about the floor. Her mission reports for the six in question, upon inspection, read slightly differently than other reports, suggesting she hadn’t written them. It was the same for 38A, whose room was next door and in the same state of disarray.

Someone had gone through these rooms in a hurry. It gave Sage a sinking feeling in his chest. He understood grabbing things to go on the run, whether the team itself had defected or 37A had telepathically made them quickly pack a bag. That wasn’t what was making him uneasy. It was that 37A’s room was methodically clean. There was no rushed packing job there.

“Sir?” came a surprised voice from the door. Casper, his fourth, was standing in the hall. His nose was already looking a little sunburned and his shirt was damp around the collar from sweat.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” Casper went on.

“I needed to do a walkthrough,” he said, voice surprisingly steady. “Catch me up to speed.”

Casper took a breath. “My people in Investigation are still working, but we did a sweep of this place, the site of the 34, and the Retrieval safehouse. Other than the phone that belonged to 37A, which was found with the Retrieval team, all their phones have been disabled. We’ll go through the laptops we found with a fine-toothed comb, but none were from the Icarus’ room, so I’m not sure how much we’ll get out of it.”

His mind was churning through it all. The rooms, the four years of tampering. (Four years!) He was trained to think like an Icarus and he was good at it, so he let himself sink into that.

“But that’s not the bad news.” Casper's voice was low.

“What is it?” He readied himself for a blow.

“Penn’s teams are handling the remains now, but I got a look at the scene. The two Retrieval agents found inside the safehouse…well, it was brutal. One massive blunt trauma and the other was shot. The two who were found away from the safehouse were shot and going from the entry and exit wounds, the shooter was at an elevated position.”

Sage closed his eyes. “And 18B has sniper training.”

“Yeah. And none of them were taken out with telepathy.”

This was bad. All of it was so bad, but it was getting worse by the second. “37A didn’t break himself out of custody.”

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

“No, sir, I don’t think so.”

They shouldn’t have been alone. There should have been a team to help them after the Neptune intervention. Sage nodded and started up the stairs, sparing a look into a room with training mats. He saw the foster in his mind there, practicing, and let it settle his nerves into sharp focus.

“Do you think they’re being telepathically controlled?”

“I don’t know,” Casper answered behind him.

“Just your instinct.”

“I honestly don’t know. To do what they did to that agent’s face in the safehouse? Maybe. But there was an ex-Entropy agent in the mix so…”

He was well aware. It hadn’t been an easy call to label him an A or B, given that a telepath was involved and he couldn’t say for sure if the man was acting on his own accord, but in the end, with so many agents dead, he wasn’t willing to give the ex-Entropy agent a second chance.

An agent in Blacks was waiting for them in the kitchen, her hood pulled off in the heat. That would be Retrieval, who had no one to report to but him now. He needed to do something about that.

“Sir, their second car is still in the garage. I’d like to disseminate photos of any cars reported stolen in Las Vegas since yesterday and have teams spread out to cover all major and minor roadways that lead out of the state.”

Sage frowned and looked at Casper. “How far behind are we, judging from the bodies?”

“Two to four hours?”

Sage turned back to the Retrieval agent. “Wait on that.” He weathered Casper’s askance look. “Casey, right? You’re a teleporter?” The agent nodded. “Bring Casper and I to the nearest airstrip.”

As the agent hurriedly looked up a photo to target, Casper clicked his tongue, something he did when he was mulling things through.

Sage met his eyes. “37A was ready for us. He didn’t rush to grab his things because he had a go-bag already packed. The fact that the others packed in a hurry speaks well for their character, but makes me worry for their safety more.”

“We gathered he was ready from the house, but the airstrip?”

“He was bookish. Clean, methodical. He’s been betraying us for years and getting away with it. Made targets disappear. Sank money into it. It only follows that he’s been planning this for years, and would have invested in his own way to disappear. If I were him, I’d know I’d never make it by car in this area, where there are something like three roads in and out.”

The Retrieval agent stepped forward. “Sir?”

Sage swallowed and let himself be teleported. It was dreadful every time, but it wasn’t worse than seeing an abandoned car just inside the gate.

Muttering a curse they both jogged to the car. There was blood on the steering wheel and on the floor.

Casper was raking at his hair with a pained look.

Sage merely nodded. “Skip the roadblocks. We’re going to need every agent we’ve got casting a net through major cities in all directions and fanning outwards. They’re in the air. Go.”

---

Side of the Road. Chihuahua, Mexico.

Reeve woke to sun on his face. Eyes closed, he took several breaths, focusing on the feeling of his chest rising and falling, the sharp burn in his ribs. Alex was scared and angry. Reeve could feel his mind and other familiar thought-streams nearby. He felt a certain calmness fill the shell of him that the sedatives had emptied out. He opened his eyes. The right was nearly swollen shut and he was lying in the backseat of a van. It was parked on the side of the road somewhere and it was uncomfortably stuffy inside. He sat up slowly, mindful of his injuries. Shvedov was in the passenger seat, reclined and fast asleep. He didn’t seem to be shot or even have a black eye, and Reeve made a mental note to thank Gareth for that.

Reeve eased the door open and set his feet on the hard packed dirt, steadying himself on the door. The horizon was hard, empty desert, and for a moment he worried they were still in Nevada.

“Good morning.” Hannah was leaning against the back of the van, peeking her head around the side. She pushed herself upright and walked over to him. She was striped with cuts and bruises, a lump high against her hairline.

“Morning.”

Giving him a sad smile, Hannah cupped his cheek with one hand and ran her thumb lightly over the painful knot under his eye. Reeve smiled back. He raised a hand to touch her but held it just inches above her hair. “Is this all from the car or Neptune?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Is this really what you think we’re going to be talking about?”

Reeve sighed and dropped his hand. “No, I guess not.” He felt Alex’s shock of surprise like a hopeful jump in his chest and turned.

“Reeve!”

Alex was walking down the side of the road, carrying a plastic shopping bag in one hand, the other bound up in a sling. Gareth was beside him, carrying a couple gallon water jugs and wearing an unassuming plain shirt and baseball cap. He looked as average as a man built like a concrete wall could. Alex jogged to him and Reeve could tell it hurt, the muscles of his shoulder were all twisted and torn. He plodded to a halt. There was an avalanche of emotion in Reeve, finally seeing them up close. He didn’t want this for Alex.

“You okay?” Alex asked rather louder than Reeve felt he needed to.

Reeve could see Shvedov was awake now and watching him. His mouth was a grim, tight line, waiting.

“Yeah. I’m foggy but okay. Your arm—”

“Then what the hell were you thinking?” Alex yelled. “What the hell were you doing?”

Reeve shut his eyes for a second, a rest from the dry sun and from the expression on Alex’s face.

“I was trying—”

“No, shut up!” Alex burst out again. He shook the plastic bag in his hand. “Do you know what this is? This is supplies from a gas station up the road. Protein bars and shit. Because your Russian exit strategy only involved enough food for two people! Not five, two!”

Reeve tried to keep his voice steady. “I needed to keep you all safe.”

“Safe!” Alex gestured wildly with one arm, “This is not safe, Reeve!”

“Exactly! Most Icarus…” Reeve bit his tongue on the thought. “This isn’t a safe life. I didn’t want this for you. I didn’t mean to endanger—”

“Endanger us how? What exactly did you do?”

Reeve grabbed a fist of his own hair and let out a long breath. “Okay.” He looked up at the sky, bright and clear. “Okay, listen. When we were sent missions, I did my own research and I found out that some of the targets were innocent people.” He swallowed. “I didn’t kill them. I hid the targets and faked the mission reports.” He dragged his gaze from the sky and looked around at them, feeling their pain and fear. “That’s my crime against the Corp. I kept you all in the dark because I didn’t want this to happen.” He motioned to the lot of them.

Alex gave up and dropped the bag he was carrying. His eyes were focused on the horizon and was shaking his head. “So you always knew this was going to happen, that’d you’d get caught. That’s why you kept your getaway car next door. Were you just going to leave us behind and go live in a hut somewhere to weave baskets for the rest of your life?”

“I thought if you didn’t know what I was doing, they would leave you alone because you’re loyal to Sol. Only take me.”

“That’s what they did. And you figured we’d just let them take you? That we’d, I don’t know, go home without you and say, ‘oh well, I guess we’ll just have to make our own huevos rancheros from now on?’”

“Alex…” Reeve took a step toward him. He didn’t have the right words for this and just wanted to gather them all up.

Alex hopped a step back. “Well, fuck you. You clearly make shitty decisions and you don’t get to make this choice. We’re loyal to you. It wasn’t even a question, you asshole.”

Hannah put a hand on Reeve’s arm. “Why did you do it?” she asked.

Reeve’s shoulders sagged. “I said—if you weren’t involved you were safer.”

“Not that. Why didn’t you just carry out the missions?” The gash by her temple was angry, pulling when her brow furrowed. “I mean, why did you fact check them in the first place?”

Reeve dug the heels of his palms into his eyes. “I couldn’t... I didn’t trust Sol not to lie. I hoped I was wrong and I wouldn't find anything off-color, but I did. This is what I was taught. I was brought up to try to change things from the inside.” He looked away.

Hannah dropped her hand from his arm. “What?”

But Alex’s voice ran over hers. “So you went rogue and you didn’t think this was worth a, ‘Hey guys, I plan on leaving you forever! Oh, but please do continue to work for the people I totally don’t trust and are definitely gonna kill me!’?”

Reeve’s head snapped up, stung. “I didn’t want this life for any of you!” He raised his voice to match. Behind Alex, he could see Shvedov watching with sad eyes and Gareth standing further back, his face blank.

“Well, great fucking job!” Alex yelled. “You’ve kept us very safe here somewhere in Mexico on the side of the road with numbers instead of names! And I was just getting used to mine. You’ve really outdone yourself this time. Your accomplice even packed some clothes for me! I feel really taken care of!”

Reeve took a deep breath and lowered his voice. “I was trying to do what I thought was right.”

Lines appeared on the sides of Alex’s nose, as if he was fighting back a snarl. “Yeah, and now I’m back on the road with only a backpack and a shit load of people who’d like us dead. I’m so glad you came and rescued me from this same exact fate with Rick!”

“Alex!” Hannah barked. “Easy.”

He cocked his head at her, “Oh, I’m sorry, did I overstep?” Alex looked back at Reeve. “I’m a little out of it. I must have hit my head in the car crash!”

Reeve swallowed. “I’m sorry. Is that what you want to hear? Because I am. I’m sorry.”

“Get out.” Alex picked up the bag and pushed past him into the van. Sitting down, he looked at Reeve and his face was cold.

“Out?” Reeve asked, confused.

“Get out of my head. I don’t want you in here.”

Reeve felt like he was in the car crash all over again. He withdrew the threads of his mind that he kept seated and at home in Alex’s head. Hannah brushed past him to sit next to Alex. Her eyes were hard but she thought to Reeve, I’ve got him.

Then, it was just him and Gareth outside. Reeve waited, bracing himself for Gareth to unleash the hornet’s nest of his thoughts. He didn’t. He turned around and lugged the jugs of water around the front of the van toward the driver’s side.

“Gareth,” Reeve called. His stomach felt like it was full of broken glass.

“Later,” Gareth spat.

Reeve stood for a moment, stunned and alone in the desert wind, before silently climbing up to sit beside Hannah. Alex, eyes glassy, was pointedly not looking at him.

***