by K. T. Hanna
If everything goes according to plan, it’ll be fine. Dom keeps telling himself so as he waits.
He tries desperately not to think about the glee he feels every time he squeezes the last drop of life out of someone, tries not to think about how it’d just be so much easier to eliminate every single human in the GNW building. After all, would that really be such a loss?
Somewhere, someone told him that killing innocents is what they aim to avoid in this conflict. Perhaps it was Sai.
Fighting the need to leave his post and go to her side is difficult, but he should have time to do both. It was easy to help her and be there for her when she was originally undertaking assignments as a member of the GNW. Bouncing between Central and Alpha has made being there for Sai so much more difficult.
The knowledge that she’s about to be in danger tugs at him, willing him to go and help.
An internal alarm goes off, reminding him he has exactly one minute before he needs to begin the diversion. Noise and flittering sensor readings should create enough of an uproar. It’s an unpredictable plan, but it’s the best they’ve got.
Dom is fully aware of how fast he can be and how lethal he is.
He closes his eyes and concentrates, feels the darkness tugging, and allows it but a sliver of intrusion before bringing all of his abilities into line. Then he waits for the alarm to sound in his head.
The second it goes off, he jumps from his hiding spot to the other side of the corridor, allowing his camouflage to drop briefly and reveling in the sound of sensors going off all around him. The guards’ stances change, on alert. Now, it’s going to be dangerous, with the aftershock of surprise still floating in the air.
He can sense Bastian behind the door, waiting, and obliges, this time allowing his camouflage to drop for a split second longer. Even if a crossbow hits him, it’s not like it’ll do any damage. It’s not the first time Dom’s enjoyed a feeling of superiority due to the structure of his body. One more thing he has to remember to thank Mathur for.
As the screeching sounds blare, he senses Bastian begin his dead run for the rear laboratory door. Dom launches himself into speed mode, flashing his camouflage on and off so fast he hears some of the sensors overload.
The old saying “now you see me now you don’t” flashes through his mind, almost making him laugh. But the situation is dire, and he manages to control himself.
The door closes behind Bastian and Dom stops, invisible again as he moves down the corridor, skillfully avoiding all of the Damascus guards and humans who’ve come tumbling out of their offices with terrified expressions.
Dom waits for it to calm down, just that little bit, knowing Bastian needs one more full-fledged attempt at a distraction. So far, so good, he thinks. And then he launches himself into a final onslaught to confuse sensors to the best of his abilities. There is nothing in this world that is capable of finding him if he doesn’t want to be found. The scattered sensory alarms scream.
He stops and walks twenty feet under full protection while the sensors finish their panic. Satisfied, he focuses inward and begins to take down his defenses.
The yowl of a different alarm fills his ears, startling him so much he almost releases his camo. He glances back through the laboratory door behind him, narrowly getting out of the way of the swarm of military who make their way through it, and barely has the presence of mind to follow them before it closes.
Lights flash and finally drop to red, the color of alert. Dom dims his eyes to better compensate for the red tint to everything in the laboratory.
He can make out the cells where the Damascus are being reengineered. He can make out the test tubes pushed to the back of the room that were used in the creation of himself and the other dominos.
But the thing that catches his eyes the most is Bastian, held between two very burly guards with a knife at his throat, while Zach circles him and laughs.
“I knew it would be you.”
Bastian doesn’t respond. There’s nothing he can say to make his situation better, only worse. Dom watches, knowing there is no way for him to take on the mass of guards in the room, as well as Damascus stationed in an open cube. He itches to help, the parasite nibbling away at his reserve. Maybe it’s not that aware of self-preservation after all.
“Deign was confident you wouldn’t do this, and so she eagerly agreed to plant the codes with you. You and Owen, actually, but it seems he was just too eager to play god with the Damascus. Really, Bastian, did you think you could fool me? I’ve always been stronger than you.”
At least they don’t know that. At least doping down with Shine will have served two purposes. They won’t have realized how truly strong Bastian is, and he may have developed a slight immunity to the drug as well.
It’s hard for Dom to watch the hopeless situation. To know that, in the end, it was never a question of how good the diversion was, just that the code Bastian would enter in order to disable the Damascus was going to give him away.
Zach appears to be annoyed by Bastian’s lack of cooperation, of his refusal to rise to the bait. “We know it’s been you.” He leans forward, a knife in his hand, balancing it under Bastian’s perfect chin. “We know that at heart you’re an Exiled, and we’ll find out what you know.”
“I don’t know anything.” Bastian’s words are flat, even flatter than Dom remembers him being while trying to bottle everything up. It’s like he’s already gone where no one can get at his mind. “I’m taking care of the Damascus before they kill us all, you idiot.”
“We’re taking care of the girl at this very moment. Both the girl and the source.”
At this moment. The words ring in Dom’s head, like a tolling bell. So much that he barely notices Bastian’s complete lack of response. They have Sai already? Or they’re about to catch her? Why won’t Zach say more? Why isn’t he telling them everything? There’d been no information that the GNW even knew where the main Mobile was located.
Panic starts to rise, feeding the parasite, but Dom is almost beyond caring that he barely keeps it at bay. There’s no time to wait. He can’t help Bastian, but there might be a chance for Sai. Dom flits forward and appears directly in front of Bastian for an instant, dropping his camo while still moving, not even enough to set off the sensors. He hopes it’s enough.
Out of the corner of his eyes, he thinks he sees Bastian’s lips curl into a slight smile before the frozen mask slips back into place. For now, that’ll have to do. Bastian isn’t the only one at stake. Right now he has to push Mele’s limits and hope to hell he gets to Sai in time.
Mason had to rest, so Cadet Darrien stands in his place, face pale, chest heaving, but an expression of pure determination in his eyes as he sights his beam rifle and fires. Out of the corner of her eye, Sai sees the light shatter through the chests of the two Hounds that were bounding toward him, ripping them apart and splattering remnants of their bodies far and wide. She can even hear some of it squelch on the belly of Iota above them.
Darrien stumbles slightly. A beam rifle requires psionic strength to focus it, and it looks like he might have tapped himself out. Sai concentrates on making sure the lieutenant at her feet is completely disabled and scans the horizon, trying to get a grip on the part of her that wants to panic. There is no time for panic.
It needs to become her new mantra. No more of this I will not be broken shit.
Iria stands, panting, over her soldier, her cheeks flushed red with exertion and probably the heat that’s fast approaching them. There’s a nasty gash down her side, dripping sluggishly into the sand below, even though Sai gave it a quick shot of healing power. Aishke crouches, one hand on the ground, her eyes a bit too bright as she visibly chokes down on the power waiting bundled in her mind. Her solider is obliterated, but her control seems shaken.
Sai glances to the right, knowing why.
She’s never seen a dissected domino before, but there, to the side, where two Hounds and a soldier converged, is the domino that acco
mpanied them in Dom’s place. The adrium leaks out as if it’s been boiled, odd tentacle-like slivers hanging out of the open wounds of each appendage, light-swallowingly black.
It gave its life so the surprise attack didn’t kill them all—yet. Sai can’t even remember its number. She shakes her head and bites down on her lip as pain rips through her shoulder. She exerts only a tendril of her power to help it heal because she can’t spare any more. She’s already down one uncontrolled shot. Her legs wobble just a bit as she motions for them all to take cover behind the barrels at the base of the loading ramp under the now partially decimated Mobile Iota.
Her mind races through all the possibilities. It was only supposed to be one patrol, which is why Mason thought they could handle it alone. But there’s more than one. While they’ve taken down the first attack, there are two or three more units out there.
The few people left in the Mobile are scared—Sai can sense it without her abilities—and they’re depending on her team, but Sai isn’t sure they can depend on themselves. They gotten far too cocky.
“Sai?” Iria’s tones are subdued, and there’s a slight red flush visible under her dark hues. Sai reaches out and squeezes her hand, feeling the tension release in her friend.
“Let me think. There has to be a way out of this.” She tries to smile, but all the scenarios playing out in her mind aren’t good ones. With at least two other patrols out there, narrowing in on their position, and maybe, at most, one more good shot in three of them? They’re all going to die.
Breathe. She has to remind herself to breathe, and she can’t say it out loud because the others can’t know she’s panicking. There has to be a way out because they’re not ready to give up yet. And hasn’t it been well over seven days, which is why Dom wasn’t there with them? Which is why domino Thirty-One—a wave of relief washes over Sai as she remembers its designation—was accompanying them? Something’s gone wrong. Something has gone horribly wrong.
In reality, their hiding is prolonging the inevitable and allowing the Damascus to narrow in on their location. Hoping the Damascus will shut down is a feeble plan.
She looks at the tired, dirty, and blood-streaked faces of her team. At the grim determination in the set of their jaws. At their torn armor concealing so many bruises she knows have to be beneath. No one is coming to save them. No one is coming to save Iota...because they’re the rescue team.
The barrels aren’t a solid place to be, just the only hiding place there was. There’s an odd squelch behind her, and Sai cringes, knowing without a doubt that something just stepped on the remnants of one of the Hounds Darrien blasted. It’s nightmarish, a sound of bones crushing and flesh being squished together.
Sai turns, and the world stops, slow motion, like far too much of her life recently.
She sees the red-orange flash of their eyes, their metallic parody of a human face. Decayed flesh hangs off the side of the thing. It holds a weapon, and an adrium-encased finger reaches up to the trigger. With a push, a phase that she hasn’t used since her accident, Sai launches herself and her friends away from the Damascus. She can feel the burn of the shot as it barely misses her.
She stands, panting, regaining her bearings, and hears Aishke scream. Sai turns but too slowly this time. They were lying in wait, surrounding them all. A flash of something hot rams into her side and throws her into the few feeble crates scattered around. Blood pumps in her ears, and for an instant, anger surges in her. Aishke screams again.
Sai scrambles up, realizing that the hot thing in her side is only a graze, because the shot went right through Iria who jumped in her way. She looks down at her friend, kneeling as she gasps for breath, her hand still outstretched to push Sai away even as blood pools around her body. There’s a grey pallor creeping under her sepia skin, and Sai takes a moment to brush the blood away from her cheek, willing a tendril of power into her. But it’s not enough. The wound is gaping, and her healing can’t recreate skin. There’s far too much damage to undo.
Tears run down Sai’s cheeks and she tries to tie off the wound, but there are too many shredded veins. Whatever it was had a shrapnel effect, and the blood leaves too fast for her to stop. Vaguely in the background she hears the blast rifle fire off and feels a psionic burst of power that has to be Aishke. But she can’t tear her eyes away from her fallen friend. Her friend who saved her at the cost of her own. The one person who brought sunshine into her life every day, even when she wasn’t feeling up to it herself.
“Iria,” she whispers, still trying to staunch the blood, still refusing to give up. “Stay with me. We can win this.”
Spittle forms on Iria’s lips, ruby red against the paling contrast. Her eyes focus on Sai. “No. You can win this.” The words bubble out of her mouth on a trail of blood that runs down her cheek. Iria’s eyes focus, just for a brief moment, and then start to mist over.
“No! No...” Sai shakes her, still tries to staunch the wound, close the veins, heal her lungs, but she can’t. The heart peters out. “No, no, no, no, no!”
The anger builds up, the floodgates slide down, and that little pool of power wells and starts to flow over, permeating every avenue of her psionic abilities. It forges new paths, and the parasite latches on and feeds. She can feel the glee and welcomes it. She can feel it rising, filling, blending with her, becoming one with her. The whole well of power, every flash of death she’s ever experienced, races through her mind inside a split second, building the rage, triggering her anger.
“Sai?” Aishke’s yell barely breaks through to her. Sai stands in one smooth motion and turns to face the scene. Aishke is limping, a dark halo of exhaustion surrounding her. Sai tugs her forward, sending the girl off-balance, and grips her hand hard. There’s power in her, deep down, seething with some twisted form of life. She smells Aishke’s hair, that strange mixture of gold and raspberries, the strength and sweetness.
“I need your strength, Ash.”
There’s an answering nod, a determination through a squeeze back of Sai’s hand. What the two of them can’t do alone... Grasping a tendril of power from Ash, Sai takes aim.
The almost careless blast catches Iria’s killer directly in the head, and its body crumbles with the force. Sai backs up with Aishke, barely able to stand, hands still clenched. They fall to their knees holding each other as the sheer number of Damascus surrounding them becomes clear. Seven of them. All looking at them, all wary.
She can’t see Darrien, but she clings to Aishke. “It’s only us, Ash. We have to help ourselves.”
“I know.”
The pain in Ash’s voice spikes another shot of adrenaline in Sai. She raises her lips to Aishke’s ear and whispers as she pulls her closer. “I’m sorry. This’ll hurt us both.” She reaches into both Aishke’s pool and her own and tugs. She digs deep, gripping her friend’s hands fiercely. There’s a scream from somewhere—might be Ash, could be Sai. She’s not sure where either of them end now.
Reaching out her left hand, she motions down, deeper than ever before, and shields the surrounding area with one thought, anchoring it to a surviving portion of Iota above them. She pulls from within and focuses their combined power.
All the loss, the pain, the anguish burns bright. Sai clutches Ash’s hand and reaches, pulling everyone she can feel—even Iria—into the reinforced circle of their shield. It has to be enough.
The rest of the power tears through her outstretched hand, arcing up and over in a blinding white light. She strains and pushes, feels it stain and decimate everything in its path. Even as she feels the last of it flow out of Aishke, even as the last drop of power drains from her own sphere to fuel what’s left of her shield, the tears don’t stop and the pain intensifies until she blacks out beneath the remnants of Iota.
A lot of people helped me shape this series, and bring it to where it is now.
First and foremost, I have to thank Jami Nord—her unwavering belief in me, her staunch constructive criticism, and her relentless perfectio
nism. Without it, none of my books would happen. And to Owen, for being picky enough to annoy me, and yet usually right.
To Trevor, for letting me pursue my dreams, and pushing me to give my all. To Kami, for being an amazing driving force, even though she never understands why I have to work when she goes to sleep.
To my papilie, for his ability to be constructively critical even though he has a father’s pride, and to mumskins, for giving me a love of reading from before I can remember.
To my beta readers: Kylie, Quentin, Jai, Heather R. and Andrew.
To my CPs who encourage gently, while critiquing ruthlessly, and supporting me all the way: Brenda, Andrew P. and Heather R. All three of you put up with so much from me. I couldn’t do this without you.
To Emmie, because there are some days you save my sanity.
To Caitlin for calming my fears about interior design and being an ear to listen. And to Suzanne for giving me a glimmer of light.
To my amazing cover artist, Sean, and his pure talent and ability to transfer my vision to the cover. To Becca, for being meticulous and amazing in her nitpicking of all the final details. And Amanda for that last quick read through.
To my lovely friend Kendra, because early morning panic sessions wouldn’t be nearly as fun without you.
And thank you to Julia E for your encouragement, Louise for your advice, Brianna, Carrie, and Bonnie for your support, and all of my street team, for your encouragement, help, and advice - and general ability to listen to me panic.
To those who’ve supported me in the real world - Heather C, Amanda, Kindra, Kea, Paul, Aimee, Andrew, Stacey, Julie, Emily, Deanie, Stephanie, Seti, Holly, Brian, Rebekah, Valerie—I love you all. And Pam—because you’re awesome.
Thank you to everyone who has cheered me on and helped me bring Sai, Domino, and Bastian into the world
