“Yes.”
The lift clanged to a stop, and the doors opened wide to another red-eyed Metal.
“Hello, brother,” it greeted them.
Ana brought her boot up and connected with the android’s center, knocking it off balance. Then she took her Metroid and shot three rounds into its head.
Di gave her a slow look.
“We’re in a hurry, right?” she asked, holstering her gun again, and they continued down another corridor lined with tarnished silver doors. And at the end of the hall was the entrance to the bridge, painted with the peeling crest of a nine-tentacled octopus.
The red keypads to the doors clicked green as they passed.
Di put a hand on Ana’s back. “Do not look back,” he said.
“Lemme guess, there are Metals coming out of those doors?”
He looked back. “I suggest we run.”
They did. The hum of Metroids filled the hallway. A bullet pinged off Rasovant’s crest, leaving a smoldering black hole. Another bit at her heel. Ten feet—five—
The door to the bridge slid open and they hurried inside. She spun around and slammed her hand on the keypad again.
The door clamped shut with a vicious snap.
She let out a breath. “Goddess’s spark, that was close. Let’s find the off switch to this killer ship and—”
Di spun her around.
There were no charts or navigational systems. There wasn’t a pilot chair or consoles, as there were in older models like the Dossier. This ship ran on holographic maps and input coordinates. The outer wall was a glass shield that looked out onto the darkened surface of Palavar. There was a tone—a long beep—and the bridge awoke. A sharp whiteness rose across the shield like a sunrise. Ana winced, shielding her eyes with a hand, as the light illuminated the bridge, casting their shadows long against the floor.
Then a voice came from everywhere and nowhere—from the air itself.
“Hello, Ana.”
Robb
This was how the captain would kill him. Not by her own hand, but by dragging an injured Ironblood onto a murder ship to be shot full of bullets. It was an ingenious plan. So much so he doubted she’d thought that far ahead, or maybe to the captain he was a replaceable fill-in for Ana, who’d luckily stayed back on the ship.
When they had traveled across the starbridge—a thick cord with a zip line machine—tethered from the Dossier to the cargo bay air lock on the Tsarina, Riggs had deactivated all the alarms. They hadn’t tripped anything. Everything was going according to plan, the crew boarded, and then—
Well, then half a dozen red-eyed Metals showed up and started handing them their collective asses.
Now he and the crew of the Dossier were sitting ducks behind stacks of cargo crates.
Beside him, Riggs murmured a prayer to the Goddess and kissed the silver locket around his neck. His mechanical leg hummed loudly. “Didn’t come to the stars to die for this,” Riggs said. “Didn’t come to die this way.”
“What, not up for a little firefight in the morning?” Robb asked, and the old man gave him a long, wide-eyed look.
“Goddess save us, I’m gonna die beside a smart-ass.”
On the other side of Robb sat the Cercian, Wick, muttering to himself in his native tongue as he checked his bullets. The words were sharp like knives. When he caught Robb staring, he kissed the tip of his gun.
“I live for this,” he said, spun, and shot over the top of the crate.
Nailed a Metal square in the chest—bull’s-eye.
He whooped, but the Metal simply shook off the gunshot and fired back. Wick dropped back again. “Cecous!” he cursed.
The Metal should’ve dropped like a rock. But it kept going.
“It doesn’t have a memory core,” Robb realized. Metals without cores? So they weren’t sentient at all. Something must be controlling them. He shouted to the crew, “Aim for the head!”
“The head?” asked Wick.
“Just do it!” He turned to Siege, shielded by a crate on the other side of the cargo hold. “Captain, aim for its head!”
Captain Siege nodded, rose from cover, and finished off the wounded android. Its face crumpled in with a bullet, and it slumped to the ground, red eyes dying. But another one came through the door to replace it.
Cursing, she reloaded her gun. “Goddess’s blasted spark, where’re they all coming from? It’s getting back up!”
Robb glanced over the side of the crate to see for himself.
The headless android twitched and began to rise. If he believed in the Moon Goddess, he’d be praying right now. He’d be praying really, really hard.
And he’d be praying something like, Merciful Goddess, if you exist, please hand my ass to me some other day. I don’t want to die. I haven’t kissed Jax yet.
That last revelation sent a cold chill down his spine.
He wanted to kiss Jax. He wanted to taste the starlight on his skin and press his lips against the cool curve of his collarbone—
“Screw this!” Barger shouted, and abandoned cover. He turned tail and ran back into the air lock where they’d boarded. He reached to press the button to open the hatch—and the override to open the outer air lock.
The captain roared at him to stop—he’d kill them all, suck them out into space.
Barger didn’t care. He reached for the button.
Robb pulled his gun—Goddess damn him later—when a bullet pierced Barger’s chest. A flower of blood bloomed on the grease-stained back of his space suit. He began to reach for the wound, confused, before melting to the floor.
It was the first time Robb had ever seen anyone die. Even at the Academy, when Aran Umbal let go from the window, Robb hadn’t been able to watch—but now he couldn’t look away. Barger was staring at him, mouth half open, as the light dimmed from his eyes until they were nothing but marbles.
Finally, Robb pulled his eyes away, wanting to vomit. The captain lowered her smoking gun and gave him a dangerous look. She had . . . she had killed one of her own crew. If he hadn’t seen it firsthand, he would have thought it was a stray bullet—but it was her.
Captain Siege had saved them by killing one of her own.
Robb didn’t want to die, too, so he definitely wouldn’t tell.
He cocked his Metroid and glanced over the steel crates. A bullet bit into the steel inches from his face. He ducked for cover again.
“We need to retreat, sir!” Riggs shouted. “This ain’t worth—”
“You can’t.” Jax’s voice came through the comm-link. “Ana’s onboard.”
“What?” the captain snapped.
“I told her and Di to use the emergency air lock, and then I lost connection with them. I can’t get a signal through. The ship’s going haywire and I can’t do anything because the Dossier’s losing solar power on the dark side—I’m sorry.”
The captain sent out another string of expletives, checking the ammunition in her gun again. “What d’you propose we do?”
“We need to shut down this ship’s solar core. We cut that, we likely cut the power to the ship and whatever’s controlling these androids—but you’re gonna run into those Metals. They’re everywhere. It’d be suicide.”
Robb watched Siege debate, as another bullet slammed against the top of the cargo she huddled behind. They were all going to die. Including him.
But not before he found his father.
Robb swallowed his fear. “Captain, I’ll go. Take the rest of the crew back.”
“Not a chance,” Siege snapped. “We stick together.”
“We’re dead if someone doesn’t shut down the power,” he argued, and the captain pressed her red lips together because she knew he was right. He pressed the comm-link. “Jax, can you lead me?”
“It’s suicide—”
“Can you lead me?” he asked again, this time sternly.
The Solani didn’t reply for a moment, and then, “Yes. I have the layout in front of me.”
&nb
sp; “Okay, I’m going.” Robb hated to gamble his life on the hope that cutting the power source would likely disconnect these murderous Metals. Not that he had much of a choice. If he wanted to find out what had happened to his father, he had to play the game.
He turned and began to move around to the other end of the crates, closer to the wall where there was more cargo to hide behind.
“Robb,” the captain called, and he looked back to her. She gave a serious nod. “Be careful. We’ll cover you.”
In agreement, the crew gave an “Aye!”
That actually makes me feel better, he thought in surprise. He’d never imagined outlaws would have his back.
His hands shaking, he checked to see how many bullets he had left in his gun. Four. Great, four. After that, he’d have to improvise.
If he ran into any more resistance.
Knowing his luck? It was a given.
“Now!” the captain roared. The crew opened heavy fire.
Robb launched himself over the first crate as the door to the interior of the ship slid open and a Metal stepped out, flashing a hefty Messier-grade blaster. It turned its gleaming red eyes to him. He cursed and dropped like a rock behind the nearest crate. A bullet snagged the corner, pinging away with a sharp crack.
Pretend you’re at the Academy. This is just a drill, he thought. He always made better marks than the other Ironbloods. It was part of being a Valerio—you had to excel in everything. Like not dying.
He peeked over the top of the crate to see if the Metal had moved into the cargo bay. Nope. It stood, like a sentry, right in the Goddess-spitting doorway.
“Didn’t you always complain the exams were too easy?” he muttered to himself. “Might as well earn your marks now—when else will you? You’ll either die here or on that damn pirate ship.”
“Do you always talk to yourself?”
Robb jumped at the sound of Jax’s voice. “Goddess! Don’t. Do. That.”
“Sorry.” Although Jax didn’t sound sorry at all. “I created a separate comm-link for us so we won’t distract the crew. Okay, there’s a door in front of you—”
“With a Metal standing guard.”
“Let me finish,” the navigator hissed. “Now, to your left is a ventilation duct. Or there should be. Do you see it?”
Robb glanced to his left. There was a wall of steel crates—but between them there was a horizontally slatted grate, like the ones he used to crawl through on his mother’s ship when he was little. “You think I can fit through that?”
“Don’t make me crack a short joke.”
“Fine,” he grumbled, steeling his courage. His side was throbbing, but if he didn’t pull himself together he’d be worse—dead. No. He could do this. He was a Valerio, for Goddess’s sake! Valerios never died in firefights.
Holstering his gun, he unsheathed his lightsword, the hilt loose in his grip, and spun out from cover, watching where the android aimed. He deflected the bullet and leaped for the vent, tucking into a roll. A bullet pinged off the armor on his borrowed space suit, leaving a stinging hiss against his shoulder blade.
“Surrender,” the android ordered, moving out of the doorway, toward him. Its footsteps clomped on the steel floor, closer and closer.
Stabbing the grate through with his blade, Robb cut a square hole and kicked it in, then sheathed his sword. He scrambled into the vent, but the android grabbed him by the foot to drag him back out. Yelping, he slammed his other foot into its face and kept kicking. It didn’t let go.
Twisting around, he reached for his pistol in its holster, took it out, and blasted three bullets into the android. It let go and he clawed farther into the vent shaft. The robot couldn’t follow; it was too large and too heavy. It peered inside, its red eyes glowing.
It couldn’t reach in, but—in a wave of pure terror—he realized it could still shoot at him.
“Blasted festering useless Great Dark–sodding hunk of—” He rattled off a string of curses as he rolled onto his knees and shimmied around the first sharp turn in the shaft. He waited a breath. Then two.
But the android never shot.
After a moment, it turned away from the grate and clomped away.
He let out a sigh, trying to not think about his aching body. Push through it, he told himself, absently massaging the burning chip in his wrist. It had not stopped burning since dinner, and had begun to make holding a gun painful. Just moving his fingers hurt.
“Okay, Jax, I’m in the damn thing. Now where?”
“It took you long enough.”
“Shut it. Where do I go?”
“You should be able to head straight for the engineering room.”
Robb began to do as directed, then paused. “Should?”
Jax hesitated. “Well, these are supposed to be the Tsarina’s scans, but some things don’t . . . add up.”
“So what you’re saying is they’re not accurate,” he deadpanned.
“Well, that’s why it’s called an adventure.”
“Remind me to kick your ass the next time I see you.”
“A kiss’ll do.”
For a brief moment, he was glad he was in a dusty, stale ventilation shaft being followed by a bloodthirsty Metal if only so Jax couldn’t see him blush.
Stop it, you can’t kiss him if you die thinking about kissing him, he chided himself, crawling through the ventilation shaft.
“Do you think anyone could survive out here for seven years?” asked Jax, but Robb was thinking it, too. “With these murder-bots?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think these androids have been activated for long. Maybe they were triggered when we came onto the ship. Some sort of defense mechanism?”
“I . . . don’t know. The Dossier got a weird ping before the ship lit up like a firework. It had a weird code, weird permissions.”
Robb paused to rest for a moment, holding his side painfully. It wasn’t bleeding yet, but if he didn’t pull another stitch crawling through these vent shafts, it would be a miracle. “So you think someone woke these androids up and is now controlling them? Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“We don’t have that kind of tech— I’m here.”
Through the slats in the grate, he could see a warmly lit room. There was a small glowing orange ball in the center of the room, clamped into place by four prongs on the ceiling and floor.
A solar engine. Fusion-based. Rare, and high-tech. He’d read schematics on them at the Academy, but he’d never thought he would see one in person. At its full power, if the ship was not hidden behind Palavar, the core would’ve shone as bright as the sun.
He squinted as he looked through the slats at the rest of the room, but it seemed to be empty.
I want it to stay that way, he thought, and quietly kicked the vent cover out. It clattered to the ground and he slid out, landing on his feet.
Pain shot up his side again, making him grit his teeth.
“We have to turn off the power,” said Jax through the comm-link. “There should be a few wires coming out of the engine.”
“Here we go with the should again,” he muttered, rounding the solar core—when he noticed a person sitting at the engineering console.
Quickly, he drew his sword.
“Don’t move,” he called, “or I’ll kill you.”
“What? Who are you talking to?”
The shadow in the chair did not make a move to reply. In fact, the person did not move at all.
Robb flicked his eyes over to the screens above the console. An emergency notification blinked with the status of the escape pods. For a ship this size there were two, but only one was accessible on the screen. The other was outlined in red: EJECTED.
“Valerio? You still there? Robb?”
Ignoring Jax, Robb crept up to the engine console and jabbed the corner of the chair to turn it around. It rotated, slowly, but the body didn’t move. He fell back a step. A dead man slumped in the chair, his face so mummified Robb couldn�
�t recognize it, skin dried to the bones, with what was left of a beard and short-cropped dark hair.
The dead man still held a hand to his stomach, where the suit was black with dried blood. Robb checked the breast pocket for some sort of identification. A holo-pad with an ID, or an Ironblood insignia—
The corpse’s clothes were stiff like cardboard from where the man had bled out. It was a slow death, it seemed. Robb checked the man’s cuffs, his other pockets, and finally his lapel.
It was discolored, as if a pin should have been there. A broken circle to anyone who didn’t know what the missing pin looked like.
But he knew.
The Valerio family crest, a snake eating its own tail. An ouroboros. There were only four in existence, passed down through the family line. One belonging to his late aunt, his mother, his brother, and . . . his father.
Robb took an involuntary step back.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. The ship was supposed to be abandoned. He’d have to follow clues to the next place and find his father alive and well, living happily in a small town on Iliad—
“Robb? You really need to turn off that power!”
He pried his fingers under the communicator on his space suit and ripped it off. He didn’t want to hear any more. He didn’t want to answer.
Grief coiled inside him like a snake, squeezing his insides. All these years, he’d known his father was dead. He’d known, deep down, but he’d never wanted to believe it. His mother had told him. His brother had insisted. But Robb held on to the sliver of hope that maybe—maybe . . .
Yet here his father sat, abandoned on the Tsarina, his casket empty in the Valerio cemetery.
All because—because what? He’d decided to die here instead of fifty years from now, at home on the Valerio estate? Abandoning his family, his wife, his sons—him?
All those years, his mother had been right. Mercer Valerio was dead. He was dead because he went to the Iron Palace on the wrong night and got swept away in the Rebellion.
Deep down there was the little boy who thought his father was invincible. The boy who remembered sword training in the floating garden on Nevaeh, long weekends learning how to pilot a skysailer. The faces his father made behind his mother’s back when she scolded Robb. His father’s wide shoulders, and the way he hugged with all of his body, and the laugh that rolled and rolled like mountains—
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