Ethan swore. “Jem, let’s roll behind them and take out their rear guns.”
“I am unable to comply.”
“Why the hell not?”
“The aft stabilizers have been damaged. We will not be able to pull out of the spin.”
“Our hyperstar cannon?”
“Functional,” Jem said. Their only remaining weapon would lead to countless casualties.
He closed his eyes, faced with a decision no commanding officer wanted to make. Could he trade the lives of the Shepard’s crew for theirs?
Gareth didn’t envy him for having to choose. “Sir, if you activate that weapon—”
An enormous ship appeared in a flash of blue and white starlight, coming out of hyperspeed with pinpoint accuracy. “Holy fuck!”
Her main gun had to be about as big as the Jemison, the remaining cannons too numerous to count. What the Lexar had gifted the UNE paled in comparison to the powerful battle frigates they reserved for their own race.
Their chances evaporated, and what little hope they’d had of surviving the conflict crumbled into dust. Ethan rose from his seat, staring. A hush fell over the bridge crew, but at least the barrage had stopped.
Norman groaned into one hand and made a sound that may have been a sob. “End of the road, boys. There’s nothing we can do against them.”
“We’re fucked,” Gareth murmured.
“Maybe we should turn the queen over. Stall though, hold off as long as we can. What good does it do if we all die?” their pilot continued.
Gareth rubbed his chin. “If they don’t get her and blast us to hell anyway.”
“I am Exarch Tal-Amun of the Exemplar. For what reason do you battle your brothers, Shepard?”
Ethan held his breath and waited, but he heard nothing from Captain Theroux.
“On open channel. We will discuss this together,” the Exarch ordered. “I will not ask my question a second time.”
“Exemplar, we are under orders from United Command. According to the Treaty of Elora, you have no right to intervene in our internal affairs of state.”
Gareth winced.
“I, too, am under orders,” the Exarch said in his smooth, impossibly calm voice, somehow sounding imperious and royal at the same time. “The Lexar-Human Embassy received a distress call only days ago from a citizen of our empire requesting aid. That makes this encounter a Lexar interest.”
A moment of silence followed. “There are no Lexar citizens aboard the Jemison,” Theroux said. “I fail to understand how this remains any business of your people.”
“Actually,” Ethan cut in. “We do have a Lexar among the crew. Exarch, this is Commodore Bishop. Both your citizen and Queen Catherine are aboard my ship, and she is in dire need of Lexar medical care.”
“You have no right!” Theroux argued. “The queen should be under the care of her royal physicians.”
“Yes. I can predict how much care she would have received had your assault on the Jemison continued,” the Exarch replied dryly. “What gain is there in destroying one’s monarch along with the enemy?”
“This is a military matter between—”
The Glenn appeared in another flash, pulling out of hyperdrive to the Jemison’s portside stern. Their cannons erupted against Jem’s failing shields and rocked the ship beneath a barrage of gunfire at maximum strength.
Gareth stumbled to the side, rocked from his seat. He struck his head on one of the panels. Before he could right himself, the next cannon burst from the Glenn obliterated what remained of their shields, shaking him to the other direction. He almost fell across Norman’s lap in the pilot seat.
Then the world beyond the viewport turned from the star-speckled curtain of space to an approximate resemblance to daylight, a wave of plasma red-orange igniting the cosmos. He closed his eyes and prepared for death.
And waited.
Beside him, Ethan sucked in a breath. “I don’t believe it.”
“Huh?” Gareth blinked his eyes open to the sight of the smoldering Glenn. One of its cannons floated in space, completely detached from the vessel, which meant the Exemplar had stripped its shields in one fucking blow. If they had aimed it at the Jemison, they would all have no doubt disintegrated into metal shards and bloody mist.
“Did you not find it necessary to warn your colleagues, Captain Theroux?”
“I—”
Exarch Tal-Amun snorted. “Glenn, as I said to your compatriot, this discussion will occur on open channel.”
“I, uh… This is C-Captain Burton.” The man cleared his throat and got his shaking voice under control. Not that Gareth could blame him. “Why was our ship attacked?”
“You did the attacking. The Jemison is now under my protection until this affair is sorted to an amicable conclusion. We of the Nova Force do not needlessly fight our brothers and sisters.”
A moment of silence passed. Gareth had the feeling that Theroux had sent a hurried explanation to the other ship. He grinned, wishing he was a fly on the wall, loving the radio silence and trying to picture the two panicked captains pointing fingers at each other.
“Bet Burton shit himself,” Norman muttered. “Fucking sanctimonious prick. Piloted his ship ten years before I came to the Jemison, and lemme tell you, later on when I’m not at risk of pissing my own self, I’m going to fucking laugh to death over this.”
Gareth mopped the blood on his temple and glanced out the viewport again. The Exemplar had deployed multiple repair shuttles, their number divided among the three UNE vessels. “Looks like they’re going to fix—”
“Commodore,” Theroux said suddenly, a hint of desperation in his voice, “we have received a ceasefire order from Admiral Palmer: authorization code alpha one tango zulu nine indigo.”
Gareth ran the code through the terminal and sagged in his seat. “It’s legit, sir. All military ships have been ordered to stand down. The Shepard and the Glenn are assigned to escort us safely to Albion.”
Ethan sank into the co-pilot chair and tilted his head back. For a moment, he said nothing at all. “Why the change?” he finally asked after a thick swallow.
In response, Jem turned on the forward screen to reveal an alert from the Galactic Emergency Broadcasting System.
The video revealed a boardroom seating several suit-and-tie businessmen and Admiral Scarot at the head of the table. The thin woman gave a calculating smile. “Then it’s settled. We shall deploy X91 from our Breteyne operation to execute the two troublemakers. Chen, I’ll leave that in your capable hands.”
“Who’s that guy?” Ethan asked.
“Not sure… I don’t recognize any of these guys. Wait, no. I know her. CEO of a big cybernetics firm. Xander’s raved about her equipment for months.”
“And the other issue? Catherine has no heirs, but she must be dead for DuValle to claim the throne. You said you were going to take care of her before the Lexar arrived. Now they’re here, poking their enormous noses in our business,” a man in the recording said.
“That’s Lieutenant Commander Joaquin Estrada,” Thandie said. “I recognize him. He was present with the queen when she promoted Xander and me. He shook my hand.”
“But refusing to interfere, as they’re honor bound to remain out of our military business until aid is requested. As far as I’m concerned,” Joaquin said, “the assassination was a success. If Catherine had died, we wouldn’t have this opportunity to take down the Jemison.”
Jem shrank the video and played the footage alongside a dozen feeds reporting the breaking news from planets across the UNE.
“Moments ago, the Galactic Emergency Broadcast System played a video implicating several corporate heads as well as an admiral in the Royal Navy. One man claims credit for this revealing disclosure.”
“I am Senior Chief Kaiden Lockhart. You’ve seen my name on the news and claims that I’m a traitor. I’m not. Days ago, Admiral Scarot of the Royal Navy and Agent Joaquin Estrada attempted to assassinate our queen. And she w
ould be dead right now if not for the heroic act of bravery from the HMS Jemison. This is not a hoax, and broadcasting this message to you has placed my life and the safety of many others in jeopardy.”
“It’s over,” Gareth whispered. He jumped up, clapping a hand to Ethan’s shoulder. “He did it.”
“We’re not out of this yet.” The commodore’s face remained grim. “Captain Theroux, as grateful as we would be to have your escort home, I think we’ll have to decline. Exarch Tal-Amun, would you take the honors?”
“Gladly. Are there any injuries among your crews?”
“No, sir,” Theroux replied.
“Nothing major reported yet,” Burton said.
Ethan grunted. “Negative. Our medical team can handle our injuries. I’m more concerned about the crew of the Glenn.”
A message blipped across Gareth’s feed. “I’ve got an incoming transmission from Admiral Palmer.”
“Good. Put him on speaker, Lockhart, ship wide. Everyone’s earned the right to know what’s going on.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Got it,” Kaiden whispered as the world drifted into focus again. Each of his senses came alive, a gradual return of one sensation then the next. He saw the plain, smooth white of the satellite tower, he smelled the evening air and the promise of rain. Then he heard Nisrine’s shriek below him. Feeling returned to his fingers and legs, allowing him to whirl and look at the ground in time to see Nisrine at the mercy of a creature.
Kaiden saw the being as Xander and the others must have viewed him in the moments after his rescue. Bald, scarred, and lost. He knew her face from photographs and her name from whispers of “traitor” in the Jemison’s halls.
In a strange twist of karma, the woman who had stolen five years of his life had been served the same fate.
Nisrine hit the ground near Ranulf. Scanning the mercenary’s vitals and picking up a pulse reassured Kaiden the man would survive if he didn’t bleed out, but a glance at Nisrine wasn’t as comforting. All the while he stared at her, frozen with fear and waiting for the rhythmic blip of her pulse across his vision, he saw only cardiac arrest.
Kaiden vaulted the safety rail and dropped through the air. The cement cracked beneath his weight as his boots hit the ground, nanofiber-reinforced legs absorbing the shock.
Saskia pulled the sword from her body and charged him, slashing down with Nisrine’s weapon. The blade sliced across his torso, drawing blood and sparking against his shielded ribcage. He backpedaled, dropped down, and swept her feet out from beneath her.
With inhuman flexibility, Saskia bowed back, twisted, and flipped aside. She rushed in again and they slammed into one another, each grappling for the upper hand. Blue crackles of electricity arced between them. The electroshock pulses developed by her splicing hurt but were diffused by the synthetic skin on his arms without causing damage. Unless she landed a direct strike on his motor chip, she couldn’t hurt him.
He couldn’t allow her to disable him. He had to focus. He had to be strong, or else Ranulf would bleed out and Nisrine would…
He swept his terror aside and forced his mind to go blank until he was distracted by nothing and attuned only to the heat of battle. They traded blows, but she had speed he lacked, each of her strikes faster than snake bites. Hands augmented by her squid DNA and further improved by her cybernetic strength cut like razors against his face.
With his hand on her wrist, anchoring her in place with his greater strength, Kaiden reached into her thoughts and felt the fragile hint of human existence that remained. Somewhere deep in there, there was a fragment of Saskia that was now both machine and human.
And it was afraid. Not afraid of him, not afraid of dying at his hands, but terrified of living.
He felt her life support systems and wrapped his will around them. With all of his psychic might, he focused on maintaining consciousness in the real world while fighting against the built-in protections programmed into her cybernetics.
Saskia rammed her knee into his leg, once, twice, then a third time. He disabled the pain sensors and tightened his grip. Then her wrist opened and a combat knife emerged, a last defense in close combat situations. She stabbed him in the gut, and for the first time in the two years since his awakening, he was glad half of his insides were missing.
The chip powering her heart flickered.
When Saskia shuddered and stumbled, he struck the knife from her grip and seized her around the neck, slamming her up against one of the metal beams supporting the large radio dish.
All at once, he barreled through her internal firewalls like a locomotive and deactivated the life support system. They’d taken away her lungs and replaced them with a small device that infused oxygenated micro-particles directly into her bloodstream. Her creators saw the perfect cybernetic being; he saw a flawed attempt at circumventing natural life.
She gasped and struggled to breathe, basic survival instinct forcing human habit to resurface.
Enduring the pain of her nails against his skin, he held on until no life remained.
A tiny voice, though it was so fragile, so faint, it could have been his imagination, said thank you.
Unable to do anything else for Saskia, Kaiden let her slide to the concrete. The moment she was out of his grip, he lurched forward toward Nisrine and rolled her supine on the ground to begin compressions, terrified by her motionless form and quiet heart.
How long had passed since she fell? How long had she been deprived of oxygen?
The fight with Saskia hadn’t been more than forty seconds, but it’d felt like minutes. Her stealthsuit notified him of an incoming shock, its life support systems activating the internal defibrillator.
“Shock administered,” a synthetic voice announced. “Resume compressions.”
Heavier suits favored by marines performed both compressions and defibrillation, newer models equipped with enhanced lifesaving measures to provide pain relief and adrenaline during intense, high-stress situations.
The same wasn’t true of the lightweight, adaptable suit issued to undercover operatives. Its greatest strength lay in the powerful, bullet-resistant fibers and its ability to cloak the wearer by bending rays of light. But it had weaknesses, and Saskia had found one of them.
“Silver Gryphon, we need help. Ranulf is down and Nisrine’s not breathing. We’ve got one casualty. Your big guy’s gone.”
“Help is on the way, Kaiden,” Morna responded. “Just hold on.”
Hold on for how long? As he tilted Nisrine’s chin up and provided her air, the worst outcome flashed before his eyes.
“You’re supposed to be returning to the Jemison with me, Nissie.”
Her chest rose and fell with his provided breath, but her vitals remained lifeless. He pressed down on her chest again, willing her heart to beat, because he couldn’t imagine a world where Nisrine wasn’t there to chastise him for not sleeping. Because he didn’t want to be in a world where she wasn’t his partner in every way.
“Nissie, c’mon!” Tears burned in his eyes as he faced the unthinkable. Winning the fight only to lose her made it hollow and stole the value from a victory that should have been theirs.
Then a normal pulse blipped across his senses, accompanied by an almost imperceptible rise of Nisrine’s chest. She’d breathed on her own, and what began as a faint rhythm soon became steady and strong.
As sirens announced the imminent arrival of the Royal Military Police, Kaiden clumsily wiped his wrist against his cheek.
He’d made it in time.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chancellor DuValle reached Scarot’s office within moments of the video going live over hundreds of networks. “What do we do?” Sweat beaded the man’s brow, his chubby face flushed.
She ignored him while he twisted his hands together. While a million thoughts and plans ran through her head, she moved with the cool and detached movement of a military leader. She refused to allow fear to guide her hand.
“Admiral,
did you hear me? What are we going to do? They know everything!”
“Not everything.” Her nails clicked against the clear glass desktop each time her fingers tapped across the holographic keys of her terminal. She copied the files to a small data drive then entered a command to destroy her workstation. The irreversible countdown began.
The very technology used to prevent their intelligence from landing in enemy hands in the event of an invasion would be used against the UNE. Within thirty seconds, a powerful bomb would annihilate all traces of her office, rendering all data unrecoverable.
She smiled at the thought and strode with purpose from the room.
“Where are you going?” DuValle demanded.
The pitiful man hurried behind her into the narrow corridor concealed behind an ancient oil painting of Queen Elizabeth. Priceless, irreplaceable, and no longer valuable to Scarot. There would be more relics of the past of equal monetary value soon.
“I am leaving before United Command issues the order for my arrest. I suggest you do the same.”
Boom.
The expected explosion rocked the building behind them. Alarms across the Ministry of Defense blared to life.
“They’ll never let us leave,” DuValle fretted. “We’ll be locked in the tower and tried for treason.”
His whining grated at her nerves, but she didn’t slow her steps or bother trying to reassure him.
At the end of a brief upward incline, she emerged on the rooftop to the facility’s private landing pad, where a shuttle awaited her. A small squad of soldiers loyal to her cause emerged from the craft, each one armed and prepared to give his life in her name. For days they’d awaited her orders, aware of everything at stake and the real possibility of D829 blowing her cover.
An armored marine offered her a hand into the spacecraft. When DuValle scurried forward, the grim-faced guard aimed his gun at the disgraced chancellor and even held a finger on the trigger. DuValle stumbled back and toppled onto his ass.
“Scarot, what are you doing? Take me with you!”
“Sorry, Chancellor,” she called down as the shuttle lifted off the roof, “but you’re on your own.”
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