by Natalie Grey
“No, sir.” Looking somewhat heartened, the guard saluted and left.
The Warlord gave a bitter smile. Reinforcements out of reach by radio, 20,000 troops at his door, and Ellian in the palace itself, doing….
What was he doing? What game was he playing?
The Warlord shook his head and brought up a second computer that came up up out of the desk as leaves of polished wood slid out of it way. In all his years here, he had never expected that he would need to run, and some archaic, useless part of him—a remnant of his career in the Alliance Navy—told him to plant his feet and fight with honor.
Honor. He gave a snort and began the ignition sequence.
Something flashed on Tera’s screens and she looked away from the patchwork of other windows: banking systems, location traces … and the spaceport, where Julian was getting ready to leave in a small, self-piloted craft.
She had wanted to override those systems. He had weapons on board, and he could not be allowed to escape.
But the Warlord was a bigger target. He could not be allowed to escape.
Her eyes followed the commands being entered, and her mouth settled in a grim line as she went to work.
It wasn’t activating. The Warlord swallowed hard.
No. This wasn’t possible. No one could possibly be in his systems. They would have had to trace from one of his associates, and only Julian had—
“Julian.” He had opened a call without any conscious thought, and he cursed. He needed not to act on impulse—now, of all times.
“Yes, sir? I’m about to leave from Seneca.”
“Don’t come to Ymir.” The Warlord forced himself to keep his voice calm. “We’ll rendezvous on the Sonse.”
“…Yes, sir.” Julian knew better than to ask.
“Before you leave, I need you to undo the blocks on my ship.”
“Sir?”
“There is someone in my system—” the Warlord fought for calm “—keeping any of the automated launch sequences from going off. Fix it.”
“Yes, sir.” Julian ended the call.
The Warlord sat at his desk and shook.
This should not have been possible. None of it should be possible.
Where had he gone wrong?”
Another blip came up and Tera hissed her displeasure. Another override was settling into the system, commands reversing hers, and the source….
She followed the trace, jiggling her foot impatiently. Her eyes kept drifting to it, even though it was only going as fast as it could go.
She should focus on Julian’s ship in the meantime. It was still connected to the systems that would guide it through the satellites and air traffic of Seneca, and if she could get into his ship’s computers, she could alter anything she wanted: airlocks, heat … engine function.
Slowly, she began to tweak the burn of the engines. He couldn’t notice the change, not until it was too late. What was he waiting for?
It didn’t matter. It was just as well for her that he was staying put.
When the trace dinged, she looked over—and stared at the screen in disbelief.
He was trying to override her work.
It shouldn’t be a surprise, she decided. And, with a smile, she realized that it wasn’t even a bad thing. If she took him out, she would have control over the Warlord’s systems.
He was sweating as he typed, battling whoever the hell it was who’d gotten into the Warlord’s systems. How had they breached his protocols? How had they known who he was? They had gotten into his apartment, what else had they gotten?
A direct link into the Warlord’s computers, which meant—he wiped his forehead—that they knew he worked for the Warlord. And why, if they knew that, wasn’t his face plastered on every newsstand in Allied space?
It was far too hot. He adjusted the temperature settings absentmindedly and held his hands up to feel the rush of cool air. That was better. In a few minutes, it would be much more comfortable.
That was when he realized the heat was coming from behind him. Julian turned his head uselessly, looking at the back wall—and, with a sense of dread, stood up to open the door.
It wouldn’t open, and the door itself was far too hot.
Fire. Or the engines.
Panic suffused him, and he slammed himself back into his seat. They were in his systems now, and he had to stop them before they finished what they had started in his apartment.
Who the hell was this?
He only had a few seconds to contemplate it. There was the sound of a machine gone wrong, clanking metal and the hitch in the speed of the engine—and then fire burst through the cockpit and Julian’s last thought was of pain, pain consuming everything.
“Gotcha, you son of a bitch.” Tera switched off the engines hurriedly and gave a look of mild interest as fire alarms went off on the launch pad. It was really too bad that they’d feel like they failed when Julian turned up dead. They didn’t realize that he’d deserved to die.
In the meantime….
She smiled.
No one was fighting her commands in the Warlord’s system now.
“Julian. Julian.”
But there was no answer, and the locks on his ship had not released.
The manual overrides. The Warlord shoved himself back from his desk and crossed to a hidden panel on one of the bookshelves. He was just opening it when he had a thought, and opened a link on his comms.
“Harris. Set a guard outside my chambers. Ellian Pallas is planning something, and as a precaution….”
“Yes, sir.”
It was just as well that the man didn’t ask for clarification. He wouldn’t have liked the end of the sentence.
As a precaution, it would be best if he thought I was still here.
“Is he moving troops yet?” Kuznetsova sounded curious.
“Not yet,” Talon said grimly. “I think this is our window.”
“Godspeed. I—one sec.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Yes. I think so, anyway. I just got a very intriguing message. You remember when you said we should see if we could get the Kell mercenaries to stand down, and I asked you about money?”
“Yeah.”
“Looks like someone else had the same thought. They say they’ll pay me—well, the dude I killed—and every soldier triple wages for a year to abandon post and leave before … oh, that’s very good. Before the Alliance cruisers get here.”
“I like their bluff, whoever they are.” Talon grinned. “And see if you can’t get people to take them up on it.”
“That’s my plan. You go kill that bastard.”
“Will do.” Talon cut the call and nodded to Nyx. “We’re a go.”
30
“Move.” Talon waved his hand, ushering the resistance fighters down the long tunnel that led to the main city. “Go, go, go, go, Nyx will tell you what to do when you get there.” To Cade, he added, “We’re almost there.”
Cade only nodded. It had been a continual reminder. The walls were well known to be a nightmare to get across, and only a concentrated effort would open a breach. It was the one thing that kept him from sprinting ahead, and he was only barely keeping from doing so, anyway. He knew that the only thing waiting for him as a lone, unequipped fighter was a painful death—but there was no accounting for instinct. Aryn was in the palace, and he needed to get to her.
“Hanging in there?” Talon asked him. He sounded almost yearning, curious as he studied Cade’s face. He did not say the words, but they were there in his eyes: What’s it like? Feeling like this about someone?
It’s hell. Cade knew his expression said it well enough.
But when Talon looked back to the resistance fighters, something about the motion caught Cade’s attention. He studied the man carefully. Talon’s expression was perfectly blank, the absolute control he showed in combat, but Cade had learned over his time on Team 9 that Talon also went still whenever he was frustrated.
They had
been held back from the tunnel as soldiers swarmed around, looking for either a resistance fighter or a raccoon—no one seemed to be quite sure, but apparently there had been vermin chewing on alarm cables in Hanin the night before—and the group from Io was behind schedule.
Talon was now raging at the delay, troubled to be working with anything less than a squadron of Dragons, not liking that they were going in blind. Cade knew that the only thing Talon wanted now was to go in alone, ahead of everyone, and take out the Warlord in single combat. That he did not do so was a testament to a lifetime of self-control. A muscle was twitching in Talon’s jaw as he watched the last of the resistance fighters pour into the tunnel, and he slammed his hand a bit harder than he needed to against the button to close the doors.
They took off to bring up the rear, both men itching to run faster than the quick jog of the resistance fighters. They did not push, and they did not yell. Both of them knew they could not spur these people to go any faster. Half of them had come off a long shift only a few hours ago, and they were exhausted. They were filled with adrenaline, but they needed all of their strength to get over the walls and into the Warlord’s inner sanctum.
And they were going, likely, to their deaths. They all knew it. What surprised Cade, most of all, was the peace with which they faced it. They had been waiting all their lives for this chance—for someone to lead them and make the final strike. They had honed their bravery with little acts of rebellion every day, so that now they faced this mission with steadfast courage. A few of them had carved names onto the concrete walls of the bunker, whether their own or the names of their spouses and children, Cade did not know.
He had watched their goodbyes in silence, standing with Nyx and Talon, the three of them locked in silent misery. They were no strangers to dangerous missions. They had their own superstitions and rituals. They had grown used to settling old scores and saying last words before they headed out.
But when they went, it was knowing that the best of the best had their back. They had lost only two soldiers in Cade’s years with the Corps, and each death was a shock.
Now they faced the fact, with guilt, that they were likeliest to survive what happened next. They were the ones that needed to be preserved, to strike into the heart of the palace, because they were the only ones who were well trained enough to take out the Warlord’s bodyguards. And these men and women, miners with everything ahead of them, were fighting for a future they would never see themselves. It filled Cade with an unexpected pride. He had not wanted to come back here. But if he were to fight once more, he could not have chosen a finer cause, or braver companions.
“Say something,” Cade said to Talon now.
The man looked over at him curiously.
“Take my mind off…” Aryn. And all of this.
Talon understood. “There are two sets of tunnels leading out of the Warlord’s study. If you’re done before the fighting’s over, come find us there. He’ll at least be close, even if he doesn’t believe Ellian can take him out in an infantry battle.”
“What do you mean, if I’m done before the fighting’s over?”
“Williams, I’ve known you for five years. The second we get over those walls and you know the way to the study is clear, I know you’re going to go find her.”
Cade said nothing. There was nothing to say. He knew where his duty lay in this fight, and yet…
“She was right, you know.” Talon’s voice was unexpectedly gentle. “Someone needs to take command of Pallas’s troops before they get any farther. If the Warlord sends his out, we’ve got the people crushed between the two. If she takes him out…”
“You like her,” Cade said, a mock accusation.
“I told you at the start that I admired her,” Talon said, a half-smile tugging at his lips. “And, you know, I think she might actually have a shot.”
“At what?”
“Killing Pallas.”
“Don’t say that,” Cade said instantly.
“At this point, I think your odds of getting there first are slim.”
“I don’t need to get there first, I just need to get there before she does anything rash.”
“For Christ’s sake, Williams, she’s not a delicate flower.”
Cade looked over, and Talon raised his eyebrows.
“You tried to keep her from confronting Ellian, buying the weapons, joining the resistance—and now you want to make sure she doesn’t go get revenge. Has it occurred to you yet that every time, she’s done exactly what you would have done in her place?”
“It’s different!” Cade stopped running, rounding on him. “I was trained by you. I was selected into the Dragon Corps. She—”
“Watched her family and friends die from weapons Ellian gave the Warlord,” Talon said. “So listen up, Williams. I’m here for revenge. So is Nyx. We could call it something pretty, but it isn’t. I want that bastard to pray for death before he gets it. These people, though? They’re here because they want a new Ymir, even if they don’t get to live there. Aryn is one of them. You don’t get to tell her what’s right. You don’t get to tell her not to go just because she isn’t the best one for the job.”
“Then why aren’t you ordering me not to go after her?” Cade asked, an eyebrow raised.
“First of all, because you’d just tell me to fuck off. I know you, Williams. But more to the point…” Talon sighed, and gestured up the hall. As they started jogging again, he considered his words carefully. “Because she’s trying to do the same thing for you that you’re trying to do for her.”
Cade looked over. “What does that mean?”
“Exactly what she told you in the bunker: that Ellian has it out for you. I warned you about him. Anyone gets in his way, anyone takes what’s his, he makes sure the whole world knows they didn’t get away with it. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you did what you did. But she knows he’ll make an example of you … and that he’ll underestimate her.”
“So, what, then? You’ll let me go save her?”
“I’ll let you go help her,” Talon corrected. “Because you’re right, she isn’t exactly assassin material. And because you might just keep the two of you alive, and it turns out…” He gave a wondering half laugh. “It turns out I’m not as much of a cold-hearted bastard as I thought I was. She’ll have your back for the rest of your life, if you let her. She’ll fight for you as hard as she’s fighting for this. And I want someone to have your back like that. I’d feel better knowing that if it can’t be us, if it’s not Team 9 … well, I’ll like knowing you two have each other.”
Cade looked down with a half smile. Talon never left a teammate behind. Never.
“Williams.”
“What?”
“Go now. She’s bargaining that he’ll want to tell her the whole story, just like he told you. And she’s right. You’ve got time. But go. I’ll bring up the rear, you take out the guard tower with Nyx.”
“I owe you one.”
“Eh, I got you into this. Go.”
Cade took off down the corridor, feet pounding on the dirt, passing by the fighters easily. His chest opened and he gave into the call of his body, the call that had brought him to the Dragons: to run faster, hit harder, train until his frame held nothing soft, but only pure instinct and power and speed. He had been one of the best, known his place and his purpose completely, and he could no longer deny that he craved that. Something in him reveled at the simplicity of it. Take out the guard tower. Then on to the next objective.
He sank into a crouch behind Nyx, who lingered in the shadows by the door as she gave instructions to a huddled group of rebels, kneeling to look at a map. At their nods of assent, she shook their hands and stood, leaning close to Cade.
“We’ll be able to take out one strand of the electric fence. I’d go through the window, but it’s best if no one hears the glass break. Ellen, here, is coming with us to man the tower once we’ve taken out the guard.” A young woman bobbed her head nervously a
t Cade, blonde hair pulled back tightly in a braid. Young as she was, she held her weapon with an easy familiarity.
Cade’s heart squeezed, and his world shifted. For a moment, Ellen was no unknown. She was Aryn. She was Samara. She was Nura. He saw the woman before him as Aryn would, knowing this was another life lost to some maniac the world had let run wild. He nodded to her, and she gave him a lopsided smile.
“Let’s go,” he told Nyx quietly.
Their path to the wall was quick and quiet. They’d chosen a location well, a tower shielded on both sides by tall buildings. Nyx looked around herself carefully before uncoiling a makeshift ladder, a strip of handholds that adhered to brick and stone alike. She lifted her eyebrows at Cade in a silent question.
“You go first. I’ll come behind with Ellen.”
Nyx was gone the next minute, and Cade held out his hand for silence. Ellen would not hear what was coming, but he, with his augmented hearing, could: the slightest gasp and the faint sound of a body being lowered to the floor.
“Come right after me,” he told the woman. “You ready?”
“Yes.” Her voice was a whisper. Now that they were at the palace, fear was making her face pale, but she did not waver. She climbed after him quickly, muscles honed in the mines and her black-stained hands strong on the holds. She tumbled over the wall a scant second before the wires hummed back to life, and they piled into the guard tower on hands and knees while Nyx made a few adjustments to the board of controls.
“Ellen.” Her voice was a command. “This silences alarms. This controls the fences. I need you to listen for the Beta and Gamma groups. When they signal that they’re coming over, switch off their fence section for forty-five seconds, then flicker it a few times. That’ll look like an outage. If the alarms go off, silence them and say it must be raccoons again. Do you have that?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Williams—the quickest path across the gardens is easily watched. The Warlord’s brought in new mercenaries, though, so take this hat and I’ll call in that there was a disturbance and we’re sending someone to check it out. You’ll wind up in the eastern wing. As far as we know, Pallas’s rooms were at the far end of it.”
