no weapons, no combat enhancements, and your mind is inert. Are you planning on beating Sangori's assassins off with that tablet or were you thinking of a more theoretical approach? Should I look forward to you giving me a detailed analysis of a knife sticking out of my back? If I happen to die, will you deliver a slide point presentation describing my valor at my funeral?"
"Are you finished?"
"Possibly."
"Very well." She raised her chin. "I'm ready when you are."
"You do realize that this is foolish?"
She simply looked at him, loading her gaze with as much scorn and sarcasm as she could manage.
As they were walking down the hallway, Ven leaned to her. "Thank you."
"You're welcome. I hope you don't get us killed."
"They wouldn't dare touch you," he said. "You're a noncombatant."
They stepped into the elevator.
"Can you kill outside of the bionet?" she asked.
"If the Sangori are smart, you will never have to find out," he said.
Ven marched into the lobby of Sangori Investments. Claire followed him, a step behind. Inside, white columns rose up, five stories tall and lit from the inside with a warm yellow light. An ornate lacy relief of vines and flowers sheathed the columns, blocking the illumination, so the spaces between leaves and flowers glowed with white. Delicate golden chairs sat in groups by ornate tables, so airy they might have been spun by spiders. People occupying the chairs chatted in quiet voices.
In the back of the lobby, a reception area waited, flanked by shorter columns that supported white statues of men on some sort of mounts. Bright green silk draped the reception counter, spilling from it in pleated waves.
She had never seen so much opulence in her entire life.
Ven strode to the reception area across the polished floor inlaid with a green and gold mosaic. A man with a practiced smile greeted him.
"Venturo Escana to see Savien Sangori," Ven said. "I'll show myself up."
Heads turned. Suddenly they were the focus of attention.
She felt the sharp points of psycher minds approaching from the left, where a gilded elevator slowly descended along the wall. Ven had felt them too, and moved to stand in front of her.
The elevator doors opened and Castilla de Solis walked out onto the floor. Her mind blazed like a luminescent supernova. In a split second, Claire assessed it. Castilla had power. The question was, did she have the skill to go along with it?
Behind her two men stepped out, one tall, older, with a square jaw, a walking brick. His mind glowed, not as bright as Castilla's, but strong enough. The man on his left was a leaner, faster, younger version of him, his blue-black hair falling in a long waterfall down his shoulders. His mind rivaled Castilla's, but there was an odd brittle edge to it.
"Venturo," Castilla's eyes opened wide in mock surprise.
"Did you enjoy yourself?" Scorn dripped from Venturo's voice.
The lean psycher's gaze met Claire's. The irises of his eyes were so light, they nearly glowed.
"Yes. Yes, I did."
"Was it worth starting a war?"
"Are we at war, Venturo?" Castilla raised her eyebrows.
"We are now."
"Then I'll start with your pretty little drone."
The lean psycher's mind caught Claire's in a fiery hot grip. Her body locked, her spine bending in an unnatural angle. Her throat constricted, cutting the oxygen flow to a mere trickle, letting in just enough air to retain consciousness. She began to dismantle the shell from within.
The lean psycher's eyes widened, puzzled.
"She isn't screaming." Castilla blinked, feigning surprise. "Do you restrain your drone often, Ven? Perhaps she likes it?"
Venturo moved. The force of his mind shot out like a blow of an enormous club. The older man went flying across the lobby, his heavy body knocking the golden chairs into the air. Venturo spun, too fast, and then Castilla was locked in the cage of his arms, her back to his chest, his hand holding a red monomolecule blade a millimeter away from her jugular.
"Attacking a civilian is a new low for you," he said, his voice calm, almost conversational. "Shall I tell your parents about it?"
She trembled, rage shivering in the curl of her upper lip. "Kill him!"
The older man slowly picked himself up off the floor. His nose, mouth, and eyes bled. The lean psycher stared at Ven.
"Kill him!"
"They can't, dear," Ven told her, his lips a few centimeters from her ear. "You can't fight me with your mind. We've tried that, remember? If your cousins attack me, they'll have to spend time breaking through my outer