She smiles softly. “I do.”
A lump forms in my throat. And there’s something wrong with my vision. Everything turns blurry as my nose fills up. I sniff as tears run and dampen my pillow.
She hops to her feet. “You’ve an hour before the meeting.” She wheels the chair over to the bed. “Come on, we’ll swing by our unit so you can change into your uniform.”
Wow. Mom helps me into the chair. “What about Dr. Edwards?”
“Oh please. Do you think he can stop the dragon?”
I choke, triggering a coughing fit. “Who…”
“Give your mother some credit,” she says. “Don’t worry, I’ve been called much worse. Who do you think you get your stubborn determination from?” Her hands are on her hips and I can imagine a pair of powerful scaled claws spreading out beside her. Chinese dragons don’t fly, they swim. “Someday, they’ll be calling you the dragon, too.” There’s a fire in her eyes. “Better than a mouse.”
I laugh. “There are advantages to being a mouse, Mom.”
“Like what?”
“Being underestimated. Being able to hide. Being clever.”
“I stand corrected. Come on, Qiángdà de shŭ, you don’t want to be late.”
“Qiángdà de shŭ?”
“It’s Chinese for mighty mouse.”
As I ease into the wheelchair, I say, “I don’t feel very mighty.”
“The best ones never do.” Mom pushes me out of my room and almost runs over Dr. Edwards.
He yelps and jumps out of the way. Instead of stopping, Mom yells something about bringing me back and increases her pace. By the time we reach our unit, we’re both laughing and gasping for breath.
Mom wheels me into security’s conference room. The buzz of conversation ceases for a second as everyone quickly hides their surprise. Beau and Elese pull their chairs apart so there’s room at the table for me. Mom sits in the empty seat next to my dad. Niall’s sitting across the table. He meets my gaze, but there’s no smile. The entire security team is here, which makes me wonder who is guarding detention and the pits.
“Our time is limited, so let’s get started,” Radcliff says from the far end of the table. The screen behind him shows a map of the base. Morgan is next to the terminal and is entangled in the Q-net. Perhaps monitoring the base’s camera feeds or handling the graphics for the meeting.
CORRECT.
Which one?
BOTH.
Radcliff takes us through the attack, explaining how the looters approached the base, gained entry, and fled. “We’ve twenty new prisoners to take care of. We estimated about fifty escaped and a dozen died.”
A dozen. I grip the edge of the table. A buzzing sounds in my ears as all the blood drains from my head. Radcliff keeps talking, but his words just bounce off me.
Elese leans close. “Breathe,” she whispers in my ear.
But the air has turned to sand. It clogs my nose, throat, my lungs. I imagine that’s how those looters felt, crushed under kilotons of sandstone and unable to draw in precious air.
“Breathe.” Elese digs her fingernails into my arm.
The sharp pain snaps me out of it and I suck in a huge gulp of air.
“A dozen of them instead of three hundred of us. I’d do it again,” Elese whispers.
So busy wallowing in self-pity, I’d forgotten Elese and Rance also shot those support pillars and might feel guilty, too. I tap her hand in thanks. She shoots me a smile before focusing on Radcliff. There are four half-moon indentations on my skin, turning red. I pull my sleeve down to cover them. But I’m glad for the burning on my arm. It keeps me centered.
I return my attention to the meeting. Radcliff is describing where the new prisoners will be housed, and the rotation of shifts to guard the various labs. The screen shows the labs.
Then Radcliff scans all the faces in the room. “The looters will attack again. That’s not up for debate. What is up for debate is if they’ll try another rescue attempt, or send a missile to kill us all. Thoughts?”
There’s a stunned silence after Radcliff’s question. Don’t get me wrong, we’ve all been thinking it, but for him to just lay it out there…it has more weight.
“We have eighty-eight of their people,” Tora says. “They won’t bomb the base.”
“They’re attacking Warrior planets every thirty days or so,” Beau says. “They have a tight schedule. The first of the Protector Class ships that were sent by DES is due to arrive at Suzhou in fifty-one days. They’ll need to have all the Warrior planets secured by then.”
“Why do they want the Warrior planets?” Zaim asks. “What are we missing?”
Radcliff looks at me. “I believe Junior Officer Lawrence has a theory.”
The entire room focuses on me. Thanks so much, Radcliff. “They’re using the Warriors to travel from planet to planet. The…what I’ve been calling, ‘Warrior Express’, isn’t affected by the time dilation.” I explain how the network works. Q helps out by showing diagrams on the screen. “The looters are using this network, but they’re not using it properly and there are consequences. The HoLFs.” I inform them of the shadow dimension and how the network was installed to protect us.
More stunned silence.
Then from Bendix, “The way you’re talking, this doesn’t sound like a theory. How do you know all this?”
My dad says, “From Dr. Lan Maddrey’s research and translations of the alien symbols.”
Beau adds, “And from seeing the portal form in Pit 21.”
Both Niall and Elese add they’d seen it too.
“I learned some of this from Jarren,” I say. “But Q helped with the rest.” I gesture to the screen, where there’s a diagram of tears between dimensions. Might as well be honest. They all know I’ve claimed Q is sentient.
They exchange looks and I press my lips together to keep from yelling at everyone that I’m not crazy.
“Q is actively helping us,” Beau says. “It spoke to me and aided us when we sabotaged the blockade around Planet Pingliang.”
Gratitude and pride spreads through me. That’s my partner. I refrain from high-fiving him. “And I also suspect that they’re trying to relocate the Warriors on the active planets to their own bases before the Protector ships arrive.” Which takes time as those suckers are heavy.
“Why isn’t Planet Suzhou the next in line to go silent?” Ho asks.
“I suspect the looters have already gained control of the base,” Radcliff says. “Either that or everyone on Suzhou is a willing participant, which I think would be difficult. Suzhou was probably the first to be taken, but the looters are keeping up appearances and sending reports so DES doesn’t suspect.”
“And they’re probably going to evacuate before the Protector ship arrives,” Morgan adds.
“If all this is true,” Tora says. “Then I change my opinion. The Warriors are more important than their people. They’ll want us all dead so they can get to the Warriors.”
“Is it true?” Vedann asks, glancing between me and Radcliff.
“It is,” Radcliff says.
Nice.
“This is bigger than we can handle. What can we do?” Rance asks.
INCOMING!
What? I glance at the screen. A new graphic shows a missile was just launched from the looters’ base. “Incoming!” I shout, pointing. “We have sixteen minutes!”
I guess that answers Radcliff’s question about the looters’ plans.
Eleven
2522:266
Everyone in the conference room is staring at the graphic of the missile’s path as it arcs over Yulin.
Radcliff curses and springs to his feet. “On the roof. Now!”
All the officers scramble, rushing from the conference room.
Niall pauses next to my chair. “Love you, Mouse,” he whispers in my ear. Then he’s gone.
My parents stare at me. Their faces drain of color. And while terror runs through my veins, I wonder, what the security
team can do against a missile? Why are they on the roof?
“Energy wave guns,” Dad says.
“What?” Mom asks.
“That’s why they’re armed with those guns. They’re going to try to destroy the missile before it hits the base.”
Oh. My. Stars. The missile needs to be close. If it works, the shrapnel and explosion will kill them all. The security team fully expects to die. Oh. My. Stars!
“We need to warn the rest of the base!” Mom runs to the terminal, but the siren sounds before she can entangle.
Q took action just from hearing my mother. And then it hits me. “Q warned me!”
Both parents look at me as if the stress has finally gotten to me.
“The missile must be connected to Q somehow.”
CORRECT.
How?
ONE SUBROUTINE IN THE GUIDANCE SYSTEM.
Perfect. We can change the coordinates for the target. But to where? I ask my parents.
“We need it to go off close to the base so the looters believe they’ve hit us,” Dad says. “That will give us enough time to evacuate before they figure it out and send another missile.”
“But not over the pits!” Mom says.
She’s right. We need the Warriors now more than ever. I ask Q to pick a new target close to the base, but not too close and not over any of the pits and not where it will come within range of the officers’ guns. Because they won’t know not to shoot at it.
HOW MUCH DAMAGE?
To the base?
YES.
As long as everyone lives, it doesn’t matter. Then I worm into the guidance system since I have to alter the program. It’s well protected, but I have Q highlight the important commands. The high-pitched whistle growing louder with every second doesn’t help my nerves. Sweat pours down my back and I’m clutching the arms of the chair in a death grip. Sorry, bad choice of words.
Finally, I find the coordinates and change them to the ones Q gives me. We’ve forty-three seconds left.
My father yanks me from my wheelchair and after a family hug and declarations of love, the three of us huddle under the table mouse-in-its-burrow style. That’s twice in one day. Good thing I’m jacked on adrenaline or I’d be in serious pain.
A deafening roar slams into the base. The world around us reacts as if a monster dog just grabbed the planet in its teeth and shook its head. Crashes, bangs, screeches—an entire dictionary of alarming noises—erupt. Something lands on the table with enough force to make the legs collapse. Then it bounces off as the table top smashes into my left shoulder. Without any conscious decision, I’d curled up on the opposite side. Perhaps in an attempt to protect my other injuries.
The world shudders once more then stills. A ringing in my ears is the only sound. My father is the first to uncurl. He pushes the conference table off of us and we crawl out from our burrows. I sit on the floor.
“Is everyone all right?” Dad asks in a muffled, distant voice, as if he’s speaking through a blanket.
We take stock and other than bruised shoulders and a few cuts, we’re fine. The room is a mess and there’s a large hole in the ceiling. We puzzle over that until a groan sounds from the other side of the room. Dad rushes over.
“Just lie still,” Dad says. “Where does it hurt?”
I crawl through the debris. Dad is crouched over Bendix. He’s bleeding from multiple cuts and looks dazed. He must have fallen through the ceiling, landed on the table, and rolled off.
“Where are the others?” I ask Bendix.
“Don’t know. Bloody missile jigged out of range as if it knew we were targeting it! Radcliff ordered us to get down. And…” He glances around. “I guess I got down.”
Mom’s pressing a hand to her shoulder. Blood stains her sleeve.
“It’s just a cut,” she says when I ask her about it. Then she glances around. “Should we report this to DES?”
It’s funny in a scary way that even a missile isn’t going to stop her dedication to her job. Except this time— “No! No messages to DES or anyone at all! The dead don’t send reports. The looters need to think we’re all dead.” Please block all communications, I say to Q.
ON IT.
Giggles bubble up my throat over Q using Morgan’s expression.
My mom swipes a hair from her face. “We need to start the evacuation and help with the wounded. Come on, Spencer.” She glances at me. “You’ll stay with security.” Her comment is a mix of a question and an order, as if she’s not sure.
“Yes.”
“Good.” But she can’t resist adding, “Stay off that ankle.”
I laugh. “Go. Organize. Give commands.” I shoo. “They’ll feel safer when they see the dragon in action.”
“And you?”
“Qiángdà de shŭ.”
Dad laughs. “Apt. I almost feel sorry for the looters. Almost.” He helps Mom to her feet and they head out.
I stand on wobbly legs and fetch the first aid kit. There’s one in every room in the base. My ankle protests each limping step as the rest of my bruises wake, but I ignore them. By the time I’m finished cleaning and bandaging Bendix’s cuts, he’s no longer dazed.
“Any broken bones? Headache?” I ask.
He moves his arms and legs. “No. I hit the table with my shoulders.” He rolls them. “Bruised, but not broken.”
We stand and dust off our uniforms.
“We better check detention; bring the first aid kit.” Then he pauses. “Do I need to carry you?”
“No!” It comes out as a squeak. I clear my throat. “I’m fine.”
He scans the mess, then bends down and rips off one of the table’s legs. “Here. You can use this as a cane.”
“Thanks.” It’s not perfect, but it works. I limp after Bendix.
We check on the ten prisoners in detention one at a time. Although shaken with some minor bruising, they’re otherwise fine. We leave Jarren for last. When Bendix opens his cell door, Jarren is lying on the floor in a heap as if he fell off his bunk.
He appears to be unconscious. Maybe he hit his head. Bendix goes inside to check his pulse. Just as he bends over, Jarren leaps up, knocking Bendix down. Jarren sprints toward me. My pulse gun jumps into my hand and shoots the murdering bastard. Jarren cries out and crumples at my feet.
“Nice work, Lawrence,” Bendix says as he tosses Jarren back into his cell. The action is far from gentle. Jarren lands with a satisfying thud. Bendix points to my hand still holding the magical pulse gun. “If you ever doubt that you’re supposed to be doing this job, think of that, Lawrence.”
“The gun?”
“The fact you drew that gun fast enough to get the bad guy.”
“I’ve no memory of doing it.”
He laughs. “Even better.”
“Are you two having a moment, or can I interrupt?” Radcliff asks in his gruff lion tone that means he’s worried. Standing in the doorway, Radcliff fills the space. His uniform is dirty, but otherwise he appears healthy and whole. I refrain from hugging him.
“Niall and the others?” I ask.
“The rest of the team are fine.”
So great is my relief, I need to lean against the wall.
Radcliff gives Bendix a pointed look. “We were most concerned about Officer Bendix.”
“I landed on the conference table.” He rubs his shoulder. “Could have been worse.”
“That’s ’cause there were three people under that table to break your fall.” I rub my shoulder.
“The prisoners?” Radcliff asks.
“All survived, although Jarren will be out of it for a while.”
Radcliff glances at my gun. “I see.” Then he gestures us to the hall outside detention and asks, “What happened to that missile?”
I explain.
“Will you be able to do it again?”
“I doubt they will make that mistake again.” I tell him about Q blocking all our communications. “Hopefully that will give us some time.”
>
“We still need to get everyone evacuated to the pits before they realize the missile missed,” Radcliff says.
“Do you know which pits?”
“Your mother picked them. Why?”
“Jarren and his goons could have looted them.”
“Why does it matter? That’ll just give us more room to spread out,” Bendix says.
“We need intact pits because we’re going to need to use those portals,” I say.
Radcliff doesn’t respond for a few heartbeats. “There’s bound to be another way out of this. We just haven’t thought of it yet.”
“Another genius move?”
“Exactly.”
“But if we don’t think of something brilliant, then escaping via the portals can be our Operation Desperation.”
“You’re not going to give up on that plan, are you?”
I smile sweetly at him.
“All right. Figure out the logistics, Lawrence. What do you need from me?”
“I need to talk to Jarren again, and then I’ll need Beau’s help.”
“It might be a while before that can happen. The evacuation comes first.”
“Are you evacuating the prisoners?”
“No.”
I’m not sure if I’m horrified, impressed, or nauseous. “And security?”
“We’ll continue to guard the prisoners using rotating shifts. We won’t be hiding in the pits. Can you cover detention, Lawrence?”
“Can I sit down while on watch?”
“Yes. Just keep your gun in hand.”
Radcliff turns to Bendix. “You’re with me.”
“Yes, sir.”
They leave and I return to detention. I spin in a slow circle. The space is about three meters wide and eight meters long. There are five doors along the left wall, and five on the right. Everything’s white. I confirm that all the cell doors are locked. I shine my flashlight through the grate into the duct to nowhere, checking for any hidden intruders. It’s empty. There’s a couple chairs and a table on the far end. The table is laying on its side.
I right the table and arrange the chairs so I can rest my right foot on one and sit on the other. See, Dr. Edwards? I’m keeping my weight off my ankle.
Defending the Galaxy: The Sentinels of the Galaxy Page 17
