by Cate Morgan
Three years later, Aika still hadn’t left. She’d hoped by joining the new city militia she’d find a way out, but so far she hadn’t had any luck. But she’d needed the money, and she had time to kill until she figured something out.
The problem was, she’d gotten good at her job, garnering a reputation of sorts for keeping her head in a crisis, no matter what she witnessed or encountered. She suspected there were bets going as to whether she could feel emotion at. Her fellow soldiers called her, affectionately but never to her face, either “Nerves of Steel” Lareto or, more recently, “Robo-Corp.”
Three years and grief still hadn’t come. She feared what would happen when it did. The harder she pushed herself, the stronger and faster she became. Then the tiny, diamond-bright pinprick of light deep within her would flash like lightning, sizzling in her blood, and somehow at the end she was still alive. Exhaustion would overtake her, and she’d sleep. And then the dreams would come.
Dreams of a woman of undefined beauty, whose appearance changed over and over again in a matter of seconds, a sword proffered with a sad but proud smile. A strange, familiar smile. One that reminded her of her mother.
She wondered why she hadn’t dreamed of Jamie, his beautiful blue eyes, his sweet little-boy smile. His drive to do the right thing, to drive others to do the same through his work.
She should have been able to dream about Jamie.
She was just afraid to.
The door opened, metal echoing against metal. A cold sweep of air brushed against the block of ice she’d encased herself in these last few years, raising goosebumps on her bare arms.
She hoisted a crooked smile onto her face. “Hello, Padre.”
The unit chaplain returned her smile, smoothing down his thinning, pale blond hair. “‘Bobby’ is fine.”
Aika sighed. This same dance had taken place intermittently over the years, usually just after a completed mission, or an especially hairy night on the streets. “Why am I here, Padre?”
He sat across the table from her, clearly uncomfortable. “Your superior officers are nervous. This last run was close.”
A flash of something like anger penetrated the ice. She forced herself to breathe. “I take the risks so my squad doesn’t,” she growled. “I keep them alive.”
“I know,” he said, quietly. “It’s part of what makes you so valuable.” He sat back, seeing more than she was willing to give. “But your recklessness is escalating. It’s as if you don’t actually feel fear.”
“What are you saying?” How to tell him she wasn’t actually sure she could die? The things she’d seen, these last few years…Seen, and fought.
Instead of answering her, he asked another question. “How have you been sleeping, Corporal?”
The lie came easy. “Well enough.”
He cocked his head. “And the dreams?”
She stared at him. This was a new step in the dance. “What do you know about my dreams?”
“Because your sleep is monitored, Corporal Lareto. The few hours you do sleep are erratic and without deep REM.” He gave her a kindly smile. “Is it your fiance?”
She shook her head. “It’s…a woman. She talks but I can’t understand what she’s saying. She tries to give me a sword.”
“You’re Irish. Is she speaking Gaelic?”
She raised her eyebrows at the odd question. “Possibly, but…it sounds wrong, somehow. Older. Like Gaelic before it was Gaelic.”
His eyes flashed with interest. “So you speak the language.”
“My Gran did. So did my Mum.” She hesitated. “How did you know about Jamie?”
“Background check. Your arrest came up.” He sighed. “I’m very sorry. He was an extraordinary journalist.”
She swallowed back the rising pain and anger. “Is there anything you people don’t know about my life?”
“We know less than you think.”
“So what happens now?”
“You rest. We’re putting you on mandatory R&R.”
She bolted to her feet. “You’re benching me?”
An hour later, and even the tape wrapped around her hands couldn’t spare them from the pummeling she launched upon a perfectly inoffensive sandbag. She hardly saw the stiff canvas before her. Every smack and thump echoed in the dark, empty training room. The light within her grew.
Anger burst through her barriers in a sudden rush. She spun and slammed her fist into the sandbag. The bag flew from its anchor and hit the floor with a resounding crash. The bag slid several feet before rolling to a stop.
Aika fell to her hands and knees, sweat pouring off her in droves. She realized she was boiling with sudden fever. She squeezed her eyes shut, her breath coming harsh. “What’s happening to me?”
“You’re changing.” A tall figure melted from the shadows, its hands folded behind its back. “Or should I say ‘evolving’?”
Aika pushed herself to her feet as ice encased her once more. “Who are you?”
His smile flashed in his dark face, his near colorless, diamond faceted eyes glittering even in the lack of light. She got the impression he wasn’t entirely human. “I’m an agent, Miss Lareto, for a military subcontractor established by Dreamtech.”
Aika began unwinding her tape. “Dreamtech?”
“A conglomerate, looking to establish the security of this city and its people. They have a very strict objective to that end I believe you can help us meet.”
She cocked a brow at him. “And what is it, exactly, you think I can do?”
“You have a reputation for resourcefulness, and risk-taking. Despite certain reckless tendencies, your people always come back alive and in one piece. With the Second Blitz still in effect…” He smiled. “Such combination of luck and skill is not to be underestimated.”
Aika wasn’t buying it. She started on the other hand, plucking the end of the tape and pulling it free. “And?”
In response he attacked, hands flying. Instinct took over, despite her shock. She blocked—barely—his initial assault, hand wrap trailing. She pivoted as she ducked and dodged and danced, letting him lead her until she perceived an opening. He pushed her faster, and harder.
Her unwrapped hand caught the trailing end of her remaining wrap. She turned parallel to him and stepped back, looping the tape around his neck. Then she pirouetted to cross the strands and dropped to one knee, taking him with her as she pulled tight. “What’s in it for me?” she panted.
His hands clutched at her makeshift garrote. “What have you got to lose?”
