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Seven Devils

Page 44

by Laura Lam


  Clo’s smile vanished and she made a face. “No. No, no, no. The last time we used smoke bombs in the simulation session—”

  “I know. You were picking pink sparkles out of your hair for months. But sometimes, simplest is best.” Kyla shrugged. “They’re pretty, distracting, and will work just long enough for the others to make their move.”

  “That salted glitter was why I re-buzzed my hair,” Clo muttered. At Kyla’s eyeroll, she added, “Dinnae give me that look. You’re going to make me crawl through more vents, aren’t you?”

  “And I’ll come with you.” Kyla pointed to the walled square that made up the palace gardens. “I know a bit about Laguna from our intel, and the carrion lilies on the grounds apparently have a bloom so large, you can sit inside them, but their pollen causes allergic reactions in most Evoli. On bad days, they seal the buildings from outside air and circulate purified air through large, roomy vents. You and I will set off the smoke bombs from above the ballroom while Sher grabs Eris in the melee.”

  Nyx crossed her arms. “And what about the weapon Damocles got from Eris? He’ll use it to frame her. Like Rhea said.”

  Ariadne gave a cough and everyone turned toward the youngest. “I’ll find it,” she said. “The problem is I’d have to access the Tholosian mainframe through one of the royal fleet. The blaster won’t be labeled in the mainframe, but it has internal coding for the sequencer that requires access to the Tholosian system. If Damocles brought it to Laguna, I’ll know where.” She swallowed. Nyx felt a surge of protectiveness. The kid was putting on a good front, but she was scared shitless.

  “That I think can also help with,” Rhea said with a smile, wiggling her fingers. She’d felled Cato with a touch, but he’d been injured and sick from infection. They all had to hope it worked on Oracle-coded soldiers who were at full health.

  “Once we’re in the system, it shouldn’t take long,” Ariadne said, clearly aiming for more confidence than she felt. “Hopefully.”

  “Good,” Kyla said. “Because looking at the manifest of ships coming to Laguna, this seems a likely candidate for storing the blaster and the ichor.” She drew up schematics of Eleuther. “It’s the fueling craft coming in with Damocles’s fleet, and it’s one of the biggest ships coming in to dock. You can access the nearest mainframe computer through the east storage bay. I’ll send you and Rhea the layout.”

  “What if despite all of this, the plague is still released?” Rhea asked.

  Clo let out a breath. “Me and Ariadne talked about that.” She held up small devices—metal circles the size of her palm.

  Sher raised his eyebrows. “You stole my spharias?”

  Nyx was damn impressed. Spharias were dead handy and hard to get ahold of. Nyx had used them before when her quadrant needed to take refuge somewhere uninhabitable. Set up in a circle, they created a mini atmosphere for a few hours. Useful when people needed to do work on a planet or moon with thin or no oxygen but didn’t want a bulky suit. How in the flames had the Novantae managed to get ahold of these?

  “I borrowed your spharias,” Clo corrected. “We can make a perimeter around the area to lock in the epidemic. Hopefully, it won’t come to that, but it means the rest of Laguna might survive.”

  “Remind me to give you a raise,” Sher said.

  “In that case, why don’t we start with a new ship?” Clo said, pocketing her spharias. “Ariadne blasted mine and then it jumped down a wormhole.”

  Ariadne turned from her computer and gave a sheepish smile. “You did give me permission. Anyway, from the monitors, it looked like Asteria was already pretty beaten up.”

  Clo looked offended.

  “Nyx and Cato,” Sher said, thankfully before Clo could start ranting about her beloved blasted Asteria again. “You take the spharias and create the perimeter, then go into the palace for backup duty. If Ariadne warns us the weapon is in the ceremonial ballroom, steal it, cause a scene, I don’t care. Just prevent the ichor from being released. Clear?”

  Nyx nodded, already deciding which weapons she might be able to sneak in under her delegate silks. She had a few things the scans wouldn’t pick up.

  A beep sounded from the computers.

  Ariadne hurried over to the screens. “The shifters are all set!” She held up the devices. “Who’s going first?”

  * * *

  —

  Their ship was hailed easily into Laguna.

  Spacecrafts had gathered from all over the galaxy to celebrate the truce, and each one was carefully scanned and searched for weapons. The only difference between those ships and this was the kind treatment given to the delegates’ stolen faces.

  Clo let out a soft whistle as she navigated them toward the Laguna palace’s hangar. “Look at that.”

  Light drones glittered across the night sky and formed the shapes and patterns of birds in flight—symbols of freedom and peace. They lit up the thousands upon thousands of revelers, their burning torches casting a smoky, orange glow across the landscape. This was not to be a formal, somber setting for a truce. It was a celebration on such a massive scale that Nyx could barely see the ground through the throng of people. As they flew in, the beat of drums and ecstatic song grew loud enough to penetrate the metal of the ship.

  “All these people,” Rhea whispered. Nyx knew her unspoken words: if they failed, so many of them would die.

  “Focus.” Nyx was glad the word sounded confident. She tried to project certainty rather than her fear and unease.

  Clo landed Lysicrates inside the hangar and expelled a breath. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

  Outside, the crush of people felt as thick as the throes of battle. If Nyx were carrying guns at her belt and the heavy military coat around her shoulders, she would have felt more at ease. But her clothes were the flimsy, formal silks of the upper class. Too light, odd against her skin. She hated how easily air flowed through when she moved.

  The crowds around them whooped with glee, thousands of voices rising up in a song she didn’t recognize. She was overwhelmed by the bright colors of Evoli clothing, by the flashes of bronzed skin, the streams of lights overhead that lit up the walkway to the palace. Paper lanterns burned bright in the sky as they rose up to the triple moons that felt aligned for this very occasion.

  Apparently, the Evoli viewed the sign of alignment as a symbol of great changes to come. To the Tholosians, it was an omen of terrible things. The God of Death would be seeking satisfaction tonight.

  “Well, I’ve never been in a crowd before, and now I can definitively say that I do. Not. Like. Them,” Ariadne said.

  Her delegate was a woman a decade older than Ariadne, and the kid pitched her voice slightly deeper in an effort to sound older. Her disguise wouldn’t mask her age to anyone who cared to look closely enough.

  “Neither do I,” Kyla added.

  Sher seemed nonchalant. “Feels a lot safer than a battle.” He leaned closer to Ariadne. “I don’t like crowds either.”

  Nyx guessed that being wanted on hundreds of planets for crimes could definitely make a person feel uneasy among too many people. Her priority was Ariadne, the girl who had lived her entire life sequestered in the Temple with only artificial intelligence for company.

  Nyx said.

  Nyx watched Ariadne as they inched down the walkway. The crowd grew thicker as people cleared different checkpoints. They would have to split up soon, but not before the worst hit.

  Ariadne took a deep, deep breath and exhaled, just like Nyx had instructed. Nyx said.

  Ariadne’s hand found hers and squeezed. Nyx wasn’t someone who comforted. No one came to her if they wanted to feel less afraid. She was thorny and prickly and not . . . good. Or kind. Not like the ot
hers. Not like Rhea.

  But godsdamn it, when that kid looked up at her with a grateful smile and said, “Thank you,” Nyx understood why people did shit for each other. For comfort. For that look. For trust.

  “Rhea, you make sure to take care of her,” Nyx said.

  A pat on her back. A flow of comfort. “With my life. And she’ll take care of me.”

  Nyx didn’t respond. She knew that Rhea would do what she could, but Rhea wasn’t a soldier. That mind manipulation might work for an untrained guard, but anyone who had gone through a round of mental resistance techniques might be able to block it.

  Nyx shook her head. Focus, soldier.

  They were nearing the crowd coming in from the docking bay, which meant they were about to split up.

  Clo’s voice sounded through the Pathos.

  Nyx let out a breath.

  Kyla added dryly.

  Sher said.

  Clo said.

  Nyx said.

  Rhea asked.

 

  Like Nyx, Clo seemed at ease with the people around them, the crush of the throng. Ariadne still held Nyx’s hand, so overly focused on her breathing that Nyx wondered if she heard them speaking at all.

  Clo said to Nyx,

  Nyx nodded and turned to Ariadne. “Okay, kid. Time to go.”

  Ariadne’s hand tightened in hers and she swallowed. “All right.” Her voice was faint.

  “Hey.” Nyx reluctantly released Ariadne’s hand. “Rhea’s got you. Stop shaking. Be brave.” She wished she had better words than that, things that didn’t sound like commands.

  Rhea smiled down at Ariadne, as serene as ever. Nyx envied that, how even when Rhea was worried, she managed to comfort those around her so easily. Nyx was all thorns and instinct.

  Nyx told Kyla and Clo.

  Goodbyes were too much for her. Without waiting for a response, Nyx turned on her heel and merged with the rest of the crowd. She didn’t bother pausing to see if Sher or that annoying pilot were following.

  Cato caught up with her. “That was almost maternal for you.”

  She didn’t look at him. “Shut up.”

  Sher hesitated before he separated from them. “Finish the spharia perimeter. I’m going to see if I can grab Eris and stop Damocles from getting anywhere near that dais. If I can’t, wait for my signal in the ballroom.”

  Nyx nodded and let out a breath. “Let’s do this.”

  50.

  ARIADNE

  Present day

  Ariadne felt like she was crawling out of her skin. In contrast, Rhea was as cool and composed as a statue. Sensing her agitation, Rhea reached out and took her hand, squeezing once before she released it. The touch soothed the itching beneath Ariadne’s skin like a balm. The fear was still there, but she could choose to ignore it.

  “I wish I could do this myself,” Ariadne whispered. “It must be nice not to feel afraid all the time.”

  “The rest of us put up a good performance,” Rhea said, with a new tension lurking in her eyes, “but we’re afraid too. There’s no shame in asking for help.”

  They were quiet as Ariadne turned Rhea’s words over in her mind, trying to block out the roar of the crowd around them. Then she squeezed Rhea’s hand. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

  Rhea nodded once with a small smile. “Come on, now. Chin up. Pretend you belong.”

  Ariadne’s delegate had been three inches taller, so there were lifts in her shoes—the mods could only do so much. It was strange to be that tall, to have mods alter her body. She wasn’t certain she liked the fit.

  Ariadne hoped that no one recognized their stolen faces as they made their way down the path to where the Tholosian military ships would be parked. A safe-enough distance from the palace. Completely unarmed ships, or so the Tholosians pretended.

  The uniforms they wore reminded Ariadne too much of her own wardrobe in the Temple. She could almost taste the sludge the Oracle gave her for every meal. Ariadne tried to breathe through it, like Nyx had taught her, but the filters in her nose itched. The one in her throat was tight and scratchy. She wasn’t fully convinced these would protect them against the ichor’s spores, but since they didn’t even know where to start trying to develop an antidote, Cato said they were their best shot.

  As they drew closer to the security checkpoints, Rhea and Ariadne fell into their role: they walked with immaculate poise, hands clasped behind their backs. Perfect, professional delegates.

  They passed through several security scans, and Ariadne’s manufactured identity cards worked each time. She still held her breath, certain that they’d see right through her. She’d never been a soldier. She’d just been another tool for the Oracle to use. Each checkpoint brought them closer to her tormentor.

  Ariadne knew she’d have to challenge the Oracle. Face her maker.

  She was still reeling from the team’s panicked escape from Macella. Gods, she thought she’d grown so strong. But the short glimmer of One’s presence on the screens around the framework had turned Ariadne into a small child again, cowering at the commands of an AI who acted as the only mother she had ever known. Rhea’s touch had given her courage, but Ariadne knew One would not risk losing again.

  The Oracle would be planning One’s next move.

  Watching, waiting for the opportunity.

  Rhea subtly nudged her; Ariadne’s posture had wilted. With effort, she forced herself upright again and made eye contact with the soldiers, offering that imperceptible nod they gave each other.

  She’d made these soldiers, just as surely as the Oracle had. How many of them would recognize her voice without its disguise? It had been her voice over the comm on every ship, in every home. It had been her voice crooning in their minds as they slept, urging them to lie back, close their eyes, clear their minds, just before One ripped through their neurons and made them perfect killers.

  The Oracle hadn’t wanted a distinct voice, even when Ariadne suggested it. No, One had learned Ariadne’s own voice—her inflections, her tics, even the rhythm of her breathing—and kept it as One’s own. Stolen it and turned it cold.

  Ariadne fought to keep her expression even.

  Rhea must have noticed, because she brushed her shoulder against Ariadne’s. “I don’t know about you,” she said casually, “but after this, I’m planning another dance party.”

  Ariadne choked back a laugh. “You mean where you make out with Clo the whole time?”

  “We didn’t make out. We—”

  “Gazed deeply into each other’s eyes?”

  Rhea smiled slowly. “She does have lovely eyes, doesn’t she?”

  “You should see the way she looks at you when she thinks you’re not paying attention. All worshipful-like. I love it.”

  “I love it too.” Rhea sighed. “I’m gone for her.”

  “I know,” Ariadne said. They were both quiet as they continued through the ships, and Ariadne felt her anxiety mounting again. “Thank you. For trying to distract me.”

  “We’ll get through this,” Rhea said, voice barely above a whisper. “We’ll stop it.”

  They neared their quarry: Eleuther. The ship carrying the fuel for the military fleet. Aria
dne had designed the sleep programming on all the soldiers who boarded any ship dispatched to military zones. She knew its system and how the Oracle appeared on the interface.

  There were only skeleton crews guarding the ships. Most Tholosians were closer to the palace, unarmed but still around to lend help if anything went wrong. With luck, nothing would. In and out, galaxy crisis averted.

  The soldier guarding the ship snapped to attention as they approached. “Delegates aren’t supposed to be back here,” he said, studying their uniforms.

  Rhea gave a perfect Tholosian salute. “We’re extra security sent from Commander Octavia,” she said. Ariadne wondered if Rhea had purposely used the name of Talley’s partner on Ismara.

  He frowned. “I don’t have any orders.”

  “It’s above your clearance,” Rhea said, then before he could respond, she reached out and pressed a pressure point at his wrist. “Relax, soldier. You look tired.”

  “I am,” he murmured, his eyes never leaving hers.

  “Of course you are,” Rhea crooned. “They work you so hard here, don’t they? You’ve been scanning ships, organizing security . . .”

  “Yes. No rest.”

  Rhea made a sympathetic noise. “Avern, you poor thing. You must want to lie down and sleep.”

  He shook his head, fighting her influence. “But—”

  “Sleep.” Ariadne watched as Rhea pressed her fingers harder, her eyes narrowing. “Sleep.” The soldier collapsed against Rhea and she grunted. “Gods, he’s heavy. Help me with him.”

  Ariadne scanned her tag and helped Rhea drag him into one of the docking bay’s supply closets; together, they bound his hands and feet, and gagged him with an old oil rag.

  “That was close,” Ariadne said as she fitted her scrambler on the door of Eleuther’s storage hull. They had to be quiet. There would be other soldiers on board, and Rhea couldn’t make them all fall asleep.

  “He was trained,” Rhea whispered, “so he won’t stay unconscious long. We have to hurry.”

 

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