To their right was an open door with something on the floor. Robinson bent down to pick it up, turning it over in his hands before raising it to his nose.
“What is it?” Friday whispered.
“Barley bread from Reg5. My favorite.”
He felt giddy and nervous as he entered the room, first checking behind the door as he’d been taught. It was a basic room, filled with one upturned desk in the corner and a series of large, metallic cabinets lining the walls. On the floor in front of the cabinets were a few wooden crates with “GRAIN – REG6, Township Shir’ton” stenciled on them.
Robinson realized someone from Isle Prime had been in this very room.
Friday signaled that she would wait outside while he looked around. Robinson waded through the open files that were strewn across the floor but could make nothing out. One cabinet stood open with a number of files removed. The file index read: Security Protocol: Omega 4 / FENIX 1.2.1. / Satellite Imagery [ASIA].
He didn’t understand what he was seeing but knew it was important.
“Friday? You’re not going to believe this, but someone from back home—”
He stepped out into the hallway only to find her gone.
“Friday?”
A wave of nerves crept up Robinson’s spine. He pulled out his tomahawks and scanned the hall. The metal doors to his left remained closed. To his right, the hallway plunged into darkness. He was about to call out again but knew Friday would disapprove. So he walked forward slowly instead, even as the smell of renders grew stronger. The first two rooms were empty. But at the end of the hall, he saw an open door with two rectangular, blacked out windows. He gave the door a wide berth before looking inside.
Friday was standing just within the threshold, deep in shadow. Her sword was out and ready, but she wasn’t moving. Something had spooked her and now it was spooking Robinson. He blew air through his teeth to get her attention. Her eyes flashed to him and then all hell broke loose.
The creature, a render of impossible size, sprang out of the shadows, roaring straight at Friday. She raised her sword but had no time to wield it. The beast howled as it swung its enormous arm, slamming into a bookcase that Friday had to dive to avoid. The bookcase hit the door a fraction of a second before Robinson did, slamming it closed. He rammed it as hard as he could, but it would not give.
The next mighty roar was followed by Friday’s call as she was batted into the rectangular windows, bringing their shades down. The render slapped the equipment on the center table and ripped a curtain covering the interior windows, giving the room a modicum of light. Robinson watched Friday drop hard to the floor, only to rise as the behemoth stormed her again.
He screamed her name at the top of his lungs as his tomahawks hit the door over and over. It failed to give. A security mesh ran inside the glass, so the windows couldn’t be broken either. Inside, Robinson saw Friday duck a blow and slice the render across the hamstring. It stumbled back. He thought that would give her the time she needed to finish him off. Then the second render appeared, boxing her in.
Chapter Thirty-Three
A Familiar Face
“BEHIND YOU!” Robinson screamed.
Friday spun just as the smaller render attacked. This one was quicker and Friday had to barrel roll across the center table to escape it. Robinson looked around for another entrance. He found one in an adjacent office, but the windowed door was also locked.
His heart was thundering in his chest. He knew Friday could handle a single render, even two, but not in such an enclosed space. When one of the creatures slammed a chair into the wall, dust and debris rained down from above. He looked up at the ceiling planks, which were chipped and cracked.
As the renders circled the table, Friday went on the attack. She went after the big one first. The creature raised its arm and her blade sunk into its flesh. Trouble was, when Friday tried to remove it, the creature yanked her around and slung her across the room. She slammed into the far wall and slid to the floor, dazed.
The smaller render was moving toward Friday when Robinson tumbled through the ceiling and landed on top of the big render, wrapping his arm around its throat. It gasped and the smaller render ran to its defense. Robinson reached for his tomahawk, but the big render slammed him back against the wall, pressing him until his chest felt like it would implode. It had him pinned and was waiting for his companion. Robinson felt the creature start to slacken and knew it was seconds away from passing out. But he didn’t have seconds. So he dug fingers into both its eyes. When the big render’s arms came up, Robinson slammed the pommel of Friday’s blade into its arms. It slid through the larger render’s forearm, straight into the brain of the smaller one.
The big render howled as its companion toppled to the floor, dead. It leaned forward to slam Robinson against the wall again, but he rolled off. The beast was blind, and it started thrashing everything in sight. Robinson was scrambling across the floor when Friday gasped for air.
The instant the creature’s head turned, Robinson knew Friday was in serious trouble. The beast had pinpointed an easy target. Just as it was about to rush her, Robinson screamed.
“No! It’s me you want! Me!”
The creature roared and they ran at the same time. It must have weighed four hundred pounds. When it leaped, it filled his vision. But Robinson was already sailing through the air, tomahawk raised high. They hit each other with a staggering impact. Robinson was blown back under its weight. He fell to the floor with the creature’s mass landing on top of him. Every molecule of air he had in him exploded from his chest and the room went completely dark.
Robinson felt something hot and sticky running down his chest and neck. He was about to die. It almost felt peaceful. Then the render’s body rolled off him and a shadow filled his vision. It slowly took shape and focus. It was smiling.
“Are you okay?” Robinson asked, reaching up for Friday’s face.
She nodded and then touched his wet chest.
“It’s not mine,” he said. He looked to the render and found his tomahawk buried in its brain. His nostrils flared a moment longer and then stopped.
“Did it infect you?”
Friday shook her head and asked after him. He shook his head too. He was so relieved his lip trembled. “I don’t know what I would have done without you.”
Her hand came up slowly and cuffed him gently on the cheek. He grinned.
“Sorry. It’s the adrenaline talking. Can you sit up?”
She nodded and he helped her up.
“We must go. Your people …”
“Will wait. That’s if they aren’t already coming. We made enough noise to raise the dead.”
“You mean your screaming like baby?”
“I could have sworn I heard you scream.”
“That was war cry,” she said. “There’s a difference.”
Robinson grinned and went to clear the door.
“Wait,” Friday said. “First, look.” She nodded to an upturned desk. Robinson cautiously walked around it. Writhing in a nest of fabric were two squirming heaps of flesh. He saw eyes, legs, hands, and feet, but they were not human. They were renders. Render infants.
“They breed,” he said, surprised.
Friday nodded. “It was thought to be.”
That led to a more sobering realization. They had killed their parents—parents who were only defending their young.
“What should we do?”
Her look said everything.
“Okay, I’ll handle it.”
Her next suggestion surprised him.
“Leave them. If Goddess wishes for them to live, they will live.”
The hallway grew brighter as they approached the courtyard. Friday rubbed the back of her head, but she appeared to be okay. Robinson was cleaning the blood from his tomahawks when they passed through the door and she winced.
“Your people will not enslave me?” she asked.
“We’re not like that. Plus my father ha
s a real affinity for strong women. Once he meets you, he might try and keep you all for himself.”
Her elbow easily found his liver.
The plant life in the courtyard was denser than Robinson had first thought, though they found a narrow path to wade through.
He imagined the reunion that would take place. First, a pilot or crewmember would see him and call out. Then his father would come running. They would meet in the middle and he would pull his son into an embrace and say something like, “I always knew you were alive.” Then Robinson would introduce him to Friday and he’d suggest bringing her home. Maybe their relationship could forge an accord between their people. Maybe the One People could supply the Aserra with the means to defend themselves and unify their tribe. Maybe Friday and he could—
Voices echoed across the courtyard. Robinson saw the flyer sitting on an empty patch of soil. Then some men emerged in familiar dress from across the park. He was about to call out when the sun reflected off something in one of their hands. His smile fell and he grabbed Friday and wrenched her behind some trees.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Iron Fists.”
He shook his head, confused. Could the Iron Fists be working for his father now? The only way that was possible was if he’d somehow become Regent. A glimmer of hope bloomed inside Robinson, when suddenly all hope was dashed. In between the Iron Fists emerged a group of men and women carrying boxes full of documents. And he knew each of these citizens. Their clothes were ragged, their faces dirty, but there was no mistaking them, even from afar. Byron Frostmore, Sienna Pillar, Vonus Cork, Quars Ulay, Fonel Keric, and Palos Moor—all friends of his father. All people who had walked the Red Road or had been marked for it.
They were alive and in chains.
Their executions had been faked and now they were slaves. Seeing each of them broken and weary was like a blow deep to Robinson’s soul, but none hurt as badly as the last prisoner to exit the building. Even bruised and battered, there was no mistaking the wizened features of Taskmaster Satu.
Chapter Thirty-Four
A Desperate Call
Satu looked thin and pale and bore bruises along one side of his skull. His beard, so long a fixture that had dominated his face, had been shorn clean and dark circles consumed his once proud eyes. This was not the teacher that Robinson knew. This man was broken. When one of the imprisoned Tiers fell in front of him, Taskmaster Satu set his box down to help him and was lashed across the back for it. He winced but didn’t cower or protest. He simply picked up his box and continued on.
Robinson’s blood was boiling, but Friday held him back. Anything he did would only end up getting them captured or killed.
His thoughts shifted to the Isle. The One People were being deceived. They had no clue the Eight Laws were being subverted to this degree. Crossing into forbidden continents? Salvaging dangerous contraband? Using those sentenced to Expiry as slave labor? What did they hope to gain here? And why was it so important that they needed former Tiers to do their bidding? It was this final point that stymied him. Could his father also be a captive? And which was worse, the image of him broken but alive, or knowing he had died fighting for what he believed in?
Weapon fire suddenly erupted, followed by a series of familiar shrieks. A pack of renders—numbering at least a dozen—flooded out of the western doorway, frothing and snarling under the light of the sun as they spread out in a coordinated attack. The Iron Fists moved efficiently, forming a two-line rank while calmly firing their weapons. Forgotten in the madness were the prisoners cowering between the two forces.
When one of the renders vaulted over the ranks and slashed an Iron Fist’s face, the rest of the squad scattered, giving the monsters a small window to launch a blistering attack. For a moment it was bedlam as two of the faster renders leaped into the fray. One tackled an Iron Fist who was reloading his weapon while the other tore into Fonel Keric. The former Tier of Water Resources opened like a spigot, spraying blood all over his companions before his attacker was shot through the mouth.
From the flyer, two more Iron Fists aided in the defense, laying down a covering fire that momentarily halted the render attack. While they pushed forward to reform the line, Robinson grabbed Friday and said, “I’ll be right back.”
As the bloody skirmish played out in front of the flyer, Robinson raced behind it. With the Iron Fists reforming a perimeter around the prisoners, he knew he had no chance of rescuing Taskmaster Satu. So he ran to the flyer instead.
The dashboard had undergone extensive changes, including the installation of a pad with a blinking hand icon that read: BIO AUTHENTICATION.
Instantly, a voice beckoned from the panel.
“Aerial One-One-Three, report. Has the attack been neutralized?”
Robinson stared dumbfounded at the screen. He had no idea if the voice on the other end was coming from the Isle or somewhere else.
“Aerial One-One-Three, report!”
Outside, two more renders fell, but others were using the foliage to mask their attack.
Robinson had no idea what he was doing when he hit the ACTIVE button and said, “Hello?”
After a brief silence, the voice returned. “One-One-Three. Identify yourself.”
“This is … Tier Keric. Fonel Keric. Uh … the Iron Fists have been overrun. The survivors have fallen back to the building. Are reinforcements available?”
There was a brief pause and then another voice sounded. “Reinforcements are en route but will take some time to arrive. Can you hold out?”
Robinson asked him how long and was told less than a quarter turn. That meant there was an outpost somewhere nearby.
“How many in your party are alive?” the voice asked.
Robinson’s mind was scrambling. “A few. We’ve fallen back to the ship, but there’s something wrong with the controls. The bloody thing won’t start! I need to speak with a repair person, now!”
“Calm down, Ser Keric. The flyer can only be operated by an authorized pilot.”
“No, no, no, listen! It’s not that. The bloody thing is dead. I need to speak with someone quickly. We have … two wounded Iron Fists here, including the commander—”
“Has he been infected?”
“What? No. No. He fell, but if we don’t get this flyer moving quickly, he’ll most certainly die! Isn’t there anyone I can speak to? Tier Crusoe, perhaps?”
His hands were slick. The silence was interminable.
“You know that’s not possible,” the voice said.
And then a third, huskier voice came on. “Ser, identify yourself.”
“I told you, this is Tier Fonel Keric, from Regen 1! We need help immediately!”
“I’m from Regen 1,” the voice said. “And I can tell a New London accent when I hear one. Now, who is this?”
Robinson cut the radio off. There was nothing more to do.
Outside, the Iron Fists took down another pair of renders with loud cracks. Most of the Tiers continued to cower, except for Taskmaster Satu, who was busy doing compressions on Fonel Keric despite knowing it was a lost cause.
As the weapon fire dwindled, Robinson looked around and saw an unattended bag on one of the seats and grabbed it before springing for the door. Just as he was exiting, he caught something flashing on the screen but had no time to process it.
The Iron Fists called out when the final render tumbled and the prisoners gathered together to lick their wounds. The Iron Fist who had been gored writhed on the ground. When the others gathered around him, he held out his hand for help. No one took it.
“I’m fine,” he said. “The bloody thing never touched me.”
But from Robinson’s vantage, it was obvious no one believed the man. When the commander nodded, the wounded soldier mouthed a protest, but it died when a bullet blew through his heart.
Robinson quickly made his way back to Friday, who was pulling her knife out of the chest of a small render.
“He came through
grass and met me by surprise.” She nodded to the bag. “Did you find what you seek?”
A voice echoed in Robinson’s head. You know that’s not possible.
“Yes,” he lied. “But we need to go. Once they reach the flyer, they’ll know for sure someone else was out here. Then we’ll be the hunted ones.”
Friday was leading them away when Robinson took one last look over his shoulder as Taskmaster Satu and the other prisoners were loaded into the bay. His former teacher paused and for a second, he thought he might have seen him. But the idea was ludicrous. How could he recognize Robinson when he couldn’t even recognize himself?
As suspected, the flyer didn’t immediately lift off. From the doorway of the Pentagon, Robinson saw one of the Iron Fists climb onto the flyer’s roof to scan the courtyard. His transmission had raised a red flag, but this crew was in no position to handle a search by themselves.
Nevertheless, he and Friday knew they had to get as far away as possible. They exited the building as quickly as they could. Just as their feet hit the freeway, they caught sight of two more flyers approaching from the east and they were forced to hide in the reeds along the riverbank.
They remained there for the afternoon as flyers circled overhead and Iron Fists searched both the interior of the Pentagon and the outside. Friday’s apprehension grew as the daylight turns burned. Only when dusk approached did the flyers rise in unison and return to base. Once they were gone, Robinson and Friday rose.
“Almost dark,” she said. “They will be coming soon.”
She didn’t have to elaborate on who they were.
“Any chance we can swim across? If we had to, we could stop on the pilings of that old bridge.”
“We will freeze before then. And there are worse things to fear in the water. No, we must run. Now.”
He knew better than to argue. They ran fast but cautiously. By the time they reached the Key Bridge, the sun had nearly disappeared. Already the city was pulsing with the cries of renders emerging to feed. Robinson looked to Friday and she nodded. It was time to leave caution behind.
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