by Tarah Benner
“Are you shitting me?” says Van de Graaf. But I don’t have time to answer.
Another explosion rocks the sector, and I yank Maggie down beside the wall. There’s nowhere to take cover — nowhere to hide. Everywhere I look the bots are beating back the Space Force, taking life after life after life.
Suddenly, I notice there are fewer humans than before. People are running for the exits, fleeing to neighboring sectors. I hear officers shouting, directing their squads, and I realize the Space Force is retreating.
“We have to get out of here,” I shout, my voice barely breaking through the din.
Maggie nods, looking terrified. She understands how bad this is.
“What are they doing?” asks Van de Graaf in alarm.
“Retreating,” I say, looking around.
“What’s wrong?” asks Maggie.
“Have you seen Jared?”
“Jared is here?”
My anxiety quickly morphs into panic. Jared isn’t a soldier. I never should have brought him here. But my runaway terror is interrupted by the sound of screams from down the hall.
I look just in time to see a wall of bots, hemming in the Space Force from the other end of the hallway.
“We have to go,” I say, grabbing Maggie by the arm.
“But —”
“No buts. You’re going. It isn’t safe.”
“What’s happening?” asks Van de Graaf.
“It’s an ambush,” I choke. “Mordecai’s boxing us in.”
I look around in desperation with no clue where to go. Mordecai, as always, is one step ahead. He sent in more bots to teach the Space Force a lesson.
I can hear the cries of terror echoing from every direction. It’s a trap — a massacre. They don’t stand a chance. I have to get Maggie out.
“Take the stairs,” I say. “I’ll be right behind you. Don’t stop. Just run. I have to find Jared.”
“I’m not —”
“Go!” I yell. “I’ll catch up.”
This time, Maggie knows I’m not fucking around. I can tell by her face that she’ll do what I say. Her eyes are wide and full of regret, but she turns to go, and Van de Graaf follows.
I shake my head to clear my mind and look around for Jared. I don’t see him anywhere — just dead men in blue and the Space Force retreating.
A bot lunges toward me, and I hold out the pipe. It sinks into the bot’s middle, and I yank it back out and whip it around.
I must not be moving as fast as I think, because the bot’s hand shoots out and catches the pipe. I struggle, but it’s no use. The bot is too strong.
For an instant I’m frozen right where I stand. The bot is going to kill me.
But then I see a blur of flesh streaming in from my periphery. Jared leaps out of nowhere and stuns the bot, and the thing collapses where it stood.
“Jesus,” I gasp, utterly amazed.
“It’s Jared, actually,” he says with a grin.
I meet his gaze, and he quirks an eyebrow. I have no idea how he’s still standing.
Dozens of operatives with years of training are lying dead all around. Jared was a glorified executive assistant, and yet he’s still alive.
“Come on,” I say. “We gotta get out of here. Mordecai is boxing us in.”
15
Jonah
Jared and I make a break for the stairwell, stopping every so often to clobber a bot. Jared must have used his last charge to save me, and all we have are crowbars and pipes to fight our way through the mayhem.
Then, suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I see movement on the ground. A young guy in Space Force blues is trying to get to his feet. It’s Davis.
Davis is tall and gangly, with red hair and thick orange freckles. It looks as though his leg is broken, and he’s struggling just to stand.
I run over to him as fast as I can, throwing out an elbow to stun a bot that stumbles into my path. Jared is still fighting off another humanoid, but he’s in better shape than Davis. Davis’s face has gone ghostly pale, and his hands are covered in blood.
Gathering all the strength I have left, I thread his arm around my neck and hoist him off the ground. His whole body seems to stiffen, and I sense his injury is serious.
“You don’t have to —”
“Shut up,” I huff, hauling him toward the stairwell. My mind is still back with Jared, but I can’t help him and carry Davis, so I focus all my effort on getting to the stairs.
I can hear sounds of anguish echoing from down the hallway, but I grit my teeth to block it out and focus on rescuing Davis.
I can’t save the others. I’ll be lucky if I can save him. I just hope Greaves sends in reinforcements.
Breathing hard with the effort of supporting Davis’s weight, I tug open the door to the stairwell and heave him onto the steps. I stick my head back out to look for Jared and see him sprinting through the maze of bodies.
The docking zone is a grenade-scorched mess. Acrid black smoke is still hovering in the air, and there are several burnt craters in the floor. The carpet and walls are smeared with blood. There are too many bodies to count. Most of the bots have dispersed to box in the remaining Space Force, but I can’t think about that now.
As soon as Jared rushes into the stairwell, I slam the door on their screams. I jam the piece of pipe I’m carrying between the floor and the handle to slow down any bots that might try to follow.
My stomach twists with guilt and anguish. Running feels like a cowardly move, but it’s my only option. There are more than a dozen bots and only one of me. I can’t help the Space Force by throwing myself into a suicide mission. I have to get to the defense sector and talk to Flaccid Greaves.
Colonel Sipps lied about her plans. Classified or not, she broke my trust. She used me as a diversion to blow a hole in the space station just as a show of force. I’m not sure what else Sipps might have lied about, but now all bets are off.
Jared, Davis, and I don’t speak as we climb the stairs to the middle deck. We need to get back to the defense sector, but we have to go up first to escape the bots. My back is screaming in protest by the time I drag Davis across to the mess hall and back down to Sector R.
The second we reach the lower deck, the moans of pain start to bleed through the walls. Jared throws open the stairwell door, and I’m hit by a wave of despair.
The hallway leading to the barracks is filled with the injured and dead. Some are propped against the wall. Others are lying motionless on their backs. Dr. Kline is already bent over one woman, resetting a broken arm.
The amount of damage the bots inflicted is absolutely staggering. A heavy darkness rises inside of me. We can’t win this war. Mordecai’s bots are built for destruction, and the US military is firing on Elderon.
The sounds of misery echoing down the narrow hallway are enough to send me into shock. I lower Davis to the ground and cast around for something I can use to make him a bit more comfortable. His leg is bent at an awkward angle. It looks like it broke clean through. But it’s the way he has his arm draped around his middle that worries me the most.
When I move his arm out of the way, I see that he’s losing a lot of blood.
“Shit.” I cast around for Dr. Kline — Van de Graaf’s personal chiropractor. He has no business treating these injuries, but he’s the only doctor we’ve got.
“Hey!” I shout. “We need help!”
“Get in line,” he calls, caught up in his work.
“We need supplies,” bellows Walker — another sergeant.
“We don’t have any,” growls Kline. “The infirmary is infested.”
By “infested,” I’m assuming he means the place is swarming with bots. That isn’t good news, but it’s unsurprising.
Frustrated, I shrug out of my shirt and wad it up in my hand. I need to stop the bleeding — even if it means using something that isn’t sterile.
“Lay down,” I order Davis.
Davis does as he’s told, and I drag a
deep breath in through my nostrils. Instantly I realize my mistake. The entire hallway reeks of death.
Gritting my teeth to keep from gagging, I peel back Davis’s uniform. The blood is stark against his skin. It’s a deep puncture wound, and it’s still gushing blood.
“Shit,” I say, holding back my disgust.
There’s only one thing I can do. He might get an infection, but it’s better than the alternative. If I do nothing, he’ll bleed out.
“This is gonna hurt,” I say, grinding my molars.
Davis seems to steel himself for the worst, and Jared watches me in woozy disgust.
Curling my tongue against my back teeth, I reach down and stuff the fabric into the wound. Davis yells, his face crumpled in agony, but I keep pushing it in until I reach the source of the bleeding.
I stuff the fabric into the wound, packing it as tight as I can. When it won’t go any farther, I wad up the excess and apply heavy pressure.
Davis screams.
“It’s this or bleed to death,” I growl. It isn’t pleasant, but it’s the truth.
Davis is in too much pain to speak. Tears are leaking out of his eyes, and his face has turned a milky white.
Suddenly I realize that I haven’t seen Maggie. I don’t see her or Van de Graaf anywhere.
“You seen Maggie?” I call to Jared, yelling over Davis’s moans.
Jared is staring up at the ceiling, looking as though he might be sick. “Nope.”
“How can you tell? You’re not even looking.”
“She isn’t here, mate.”
“Where the hell is she?”
“I . . . don’t know.”
I roll my eyes. Screw his weak stomach. I can’t sit here all day. “I need you to hold pressure,” I say, slapping the back of Jared’s calf.
He chances a glance down at the wound and instantly turns a little green. “I don’t think I —”
“You don’t have a choice. Get your ass down here.”
Jared hesitates but does as he’s told. He hunkers down, barely breathing, and I show him how to apply pressure.
“Don’t let up until someone takes over. He’s going to need surgery.”
Jared doesn’t say a word, but I know I can count on him not to leave Davis.
I tear back down the hallway in the direction we came and find the stairwell blocked by four men. All of them are officers, but we don’t know each other. Well, they probably know me, but I don’t know them.
“I need to leave,” I say in a rush. “One of my squad members is missing.”
“Get in line,” growls the biggest one. “A lot of our people are missing.”
“You don’t understand,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “She’s a private. She might be out there all alone.”
“Maybe you don’t understand, Sergeant. We’re on lockdown until further notice.”
Something about his tone nearly sends me over the edge. He’s acting as if I’m some lippy private — not a fellow officer. They’re all standing there shoulder to shoulder, looking ready to bulldoze anyone who disobeys orders.
I drag in a breath. I can’t lose my shit. I have to follow protocol.
“Please,” I say. “I just need five minutes.”
The officers exchange a look, but they aren’t going to yield.
“Five minutes,” I repeat, my voice full of desperation.
“No can do. We have orders to keep this area secure.”
I take another deep breath, studying the officers. I can’t let my panic derail my senses, but I’m this close to pulling my weapon.
“Is there a problem here, officers?” says a voice from behind me.
I stifle a moan. I know that voice.
I turn slowly on the spot and see Van de Graaf striding toward us. He’s got his head cocked to the side, mouth puckered in a pseudo-diplomatic expression. Maggie isn’t with him. He’s all alone.
“No problem here, sir,” says the big one — the one so quick to dismiss me.
Van de Graaf makes a noncommittal noise in his throat, and I want to strangle him. He looks cocky, smug, and completely at ease. Meanwhile Maggie is all alone.
“Where the hell is Maggie?” I ask, rounding on him.
“We got separated,” he says, looking genuinely concerned.
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
“I wish I was.”
“What do you mean you got separated?” I snap. “How does that even happen?”
Van de Graaf makes a face, and I can feel his animosity. “Do I have to spell it out for you? We were on our way here, and we ran into some bots. I told her to run. I barely escaped.”
“She ran?”
“She ran.”
“Well, where did she go?” I look around. “She isn’t here.”
“She probably went back to Maverick. That’s where Ping and Jade are right now.”
“And what if she’s not?”
“She is.”
I let out a growl. Maggie is still out there. I can feel it. “And who the hell is Jade?”
Van de Graaf glances once at the officers, who are still watching us with interest. “We can talk about that later.”
“What the hell aren’t you telling me?” I ask, forgetting my intention to remain calm. I know this isn’t Van de Graaf’s fault, but right now he’s a prime target for my frustration. “Maggie shouldn’t have even been there. She should have stayed on Earth.”
“She came back here to clear your name,” says Van de Graaf, fixing me with an accusing look.
I could deck him. He has to know that’s been eating me up, and he’s chosen this moment to remind me.
“Why didn’t you keep her in Maverick where she was safe? Maggie — isn’t — Space Force.”
I’ve gotten so close that our faces are only inches apart, but Van de Graaf isn’t backing down. He’s staring at me with infuriating smugness — like he knows something I don’t.
“You seem awfully concerned about Maggie,” he says. “Something happen while you were on Earth?”
“She’s my private,” I growl. “My responsibility.”
“Your responsibility?” Van de Graaf smirks. “Didn’t you just say that Maggie isn’t Space Force?”
I glare at him.
“Have you ever been able to tell Maggie anything? Can you imagine what would have happened if I’d tried?”
I swallow down the torrent of insults I long to throw at Van de Graaf. I hate the guy with every fiber of my being, but he’s right. Maggie is stubborn. It’s why she makes a fantastic journalist and a truly terrible soldier.
I stand there glaring at him, and my fury starts to dissipate. As much as I hate to admit it, I know it would be useless to tell Maggie to stay behind. If he says she’s back at Maverick, I have to believe him. Right now my top priority is Greaves.
“Stay here,” I say to no one in particular. Van de Graaf has no reason to listen, but having someone to order around puts my mind at ease.
Walking carefully around broken legs and supine men on the floor, I search the hall for Flaccid Greaves. He may be useless as a commander, but he’s in charge now that Callaghan’s dead.
I keep walking toward the war room and see one of Greaves’s minions. Sergeant Schaffer is guarding the door, and I offer him a salute. He mutters a quick “as you were,” and I raise my chin half an inch.
“I need to speak to First Lieutenant Greaves.”
“He’s in a meeting.”
“I have a message from Colonel Sipps of the air force. It’s extremely urgent.”
Schaffer blinks at me slowly, trying to weigh this against his orders.
“Lieutenant Greaves was crystal clear. He asked not to be disturbed.”
“You need to let us in, Sergeant,” comes an annoying voice.
I wheel around in a cloud of annoyance and come face to face with Van de Graaf.
“I told you to stay put,” I growl.
“Oh, sorry,” he says, making a face. “I
forgot I don’t take orders from you.” He turns to Schaffer with a winning smile. “As I said . . . the first lieutenant.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Van de Graaf. But I have direct orders —”
“He’s gonna want to hear what I have to say,” I snap. “Tell him it has to do with the missile that just blew a hole in the space station.”
Sergeant Schaffer blinks twice very fast. It’s as if he’s a bot that can’t deviate from orders. Finally, though, he relents. “Wait here.”
He opens the door and goes inside, leaving me and Van de Graaf standing there waiting. I can hear the rumble of voices behind the door — Schaffer’s stupid idiot voice. A moment later the door flies open and he’s beckoning me inside.
I get a shiver of nerves at the prospect of facing Greaves once again. He isn’t going to be happy that I disobeyed orders. He probably wishes that I’d stayed on Earth.
But I walk into the war room with my head held high, and Van de Graaf crowds in behind me. What did I do to deserve this trillion-dollar pain in the ass? Maybe I was a trust-fund brat in some other life.
Greaves is pacing the length of the room, looking like someone in over his head. My gaze automatically darts to the wall, where we found Callaghan bleeding to death.
“Wyatt,” says Greaves. He stops pacing to look me up and down. He clearly isn’t pleased. “Mr. Van de Graaf.”
Greaves looks slightly startled by Van de Graaf’s presence, but he quickly schools his expression. “I wasn’t expecting to see you again, Wyatt. What the hell were you thinking?”
“Sir, just listen —”
“No, you listen. Abandoning your post — disobeying direct orders — stealing an emergency medevac shuttle . . . Now I hear you blew up Maverick headquarters.”
“Yes, but I authorized that,” says Van de Graaf uncomfortably.
“You authorized him to destroy your own building, drug two on-duty officers, and escape from police custody?”
Van de Graaf’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Well, those last two —”
“Sir, this is important,” I break in, trying to keep my voice calm. Greaves can yell at me all he likes. I just need him to listen first.
“You’re suspended,” Greaves snaps. “Indefinitely. I’d discharge you, but I don’t have time for the paperwork. You’ll be lucky if I don’t end up extraditing you to Earth, you son-of-a —”
