Dr. Luka slides to the floor, dead before he can say a word. He sprawls below me, eyes wide, mouth slack, a trail of blood oozing from the hole between his eyes. The tabletka he was holding lies beside him, the screen cracked.
I stare at him in horror, feeling my stomach roll. That was no ordinary Prismic bolt, which sounds like a hiss when fired; Volkov’s gun is the ancient kind, loaded not with energy but with a metal bullet.
All I can think of is Mara, losing her dad twice. While I just sat here uselessly.
“So, you’re awake,” Volkov says, his tone cruelly casual. He doesn’t even look at the dead doctor lying at his feet. “Tell me, how does it feel to finally be who you were meant to be?”
I blink hard, tearing my eyes from Dr. Luka and meeting the direktor’s gaze. My head is still reeling from all the things Danica told me, and it takes a moment for my perspective of Alexei Volkov to shift. It’s like he’s finally come into focus. I see him as I haven’t before. I understand why he killed the Committee and why he’s killed so many other people. I know how close he is to achieving his great purpose, and I understand why he thinks he must do it.
I understand him fully, but I don’t hate him any less.
“You know.” I stare at him flatly. “You know what the Prismata is.”
His eyebrows lift. “You mean that it’s a living entity, an alien mind whose living energy pumps through every inch of our society? Yes, I know, Anya. I know it controlled the Leonovs, poisoning their minds and turning them into tyrants. And I know it’s the most dangerous threat our race has ever faced.”
“No. You know nothing. The Prismata isn’t a monster. It’s—”
“I know that if it wished, it could turn on us at any moment. It could wipe out humanity. How do we know what it wants? How do we know what it thinks? If the truth was revealed, there would be chaos. People would do just as I have done: everything in their power to stop it. Or worse, they might worship it and make it into some sort of god. And we know what sort of evil people can do in the names of their gods. Look at your own family: The Leonovs, in their greed for power, harnessed all humanity to this thing. It was not their right. And now I must set us free.”
“If you destroy it, what happens to all the Prismic energy? If it dies, we die.” The machine next to me is monitoring my pulse; now it beeps in alarm as my heart begins to pound faster. “Millions of people, in ships and orbital stations like this one.”
Volkov nods. He’s thought of this. He’s thought of everything. The galaxy has always been his Triangulum board. “And if I don’t destroy it, it could wipe us all out. We have survived against all odds, Anya. We survived when our first world died. We survived voyages into the stars in little more than metal cans with rockets strapped to them. We survived harsh new planets, tamed them and made them ours. Are we to end at last so that we could have more power to fuel our tabletkas?”
“Warp travel won’t be possible. The system will fall apart, back into isolation.”
“We learned how to warp once. We will do it again, a better way. These are the hard choices, Anya. You understand that now. That’s why the Firebird awoke in you.”
“You’re the one who doesn’t understand! The Firebird didn’t activate because I played your stupid game—it activated because I chose not to!”
He shrugs, waving a hand in dismissal. “It doesn’t matter. What does matter is that after sixteen years I’m finally ready to finish this. The Prismata cannot be allowed to rule us.”
My hands curl into fists.
“I can’t let you do that,” I say quietly.
“You don’t have much choice, dear.” Volkov smiles pityingly. “The galaxy will thank you, Anya Leonova, the last of your name. Your contribution to the security of the Belt will not go unremembered.”
He raises the gun.
Before he can shoot, I lurch off the table, ripping free of the wires suctioned to my skin. They release with small pops, tentacles unsticking, the pain sharp but fleeting. Little red circles march down my arms and across my chest like a rash.
Volkov fires, and the bullet zings past my ear. I dive behind a table before he can get another shot off.
“Stop her!” he shouts, throwing open a door to the corridor.
Three vityazes who must have been on guard outside move toward me. I stumble across the lab, knocking over equipment and blinking hard as the holos blind my eyes. There’s nowhere to go but the one door, and they’re blocking it. I back away, breathing hard, then kick the table in front of me. It crashes over, spilling glass vials and tabletkas and wires. The vityazes jump back and I jump forward, but I’m too slow. One of them steps in my way, thrusting his shock staff. I gasp as it prods my stomach, electricity surging down its length.
But nothing happens.
The energy sizzles across my body, sinks into my skin.
Hits my brain like a bolt of lightning.
I gasp, my eyes opening wide, as a sensation more powerful than anything I’ve ever felt takes hold of me. Instead of passing out or feeling pain, I seem to absorb the charge. Of course—the staff is fueled with Prismic energy. My heart races, my ears crackle with static, and all across my body, golden triangles begin to glow beneath my skin, like subcutaneous armor made of light. For a moment, my entire body shines.
All this happens in a heartbeat. Then my eyes meet the vityaze’s. He looks stunned, hands locked on the rubber grip, still sending the crackling current into me. Behind him, I glimpse Volkov watching, his expression hard but unsurprised.
“Your weapons are useless!” he says. “Get out of the way!
He’s raising his ancient gun again, and now I realize why he has it—it’s meant for me. Prismic bolts can’t stop me, but a metal bullet sure could.
The vityaze is slow to move, blocking Volkov’s shot. I grip the bare staff with my hands and focus on the energy humming inside me. With a thought, I push it back.
The current reverses. It races up the staff, and as I shove it toward the vityaze, driving it into his chest, the charge leaps on him like a spider with lightning legs. He seizes and drops, blue charges still rippling over his body.
Volkov fires, but I’ve already rolled aside. Still, I feel the bullet whiz just inches above my head. The sound of the shot makes my ears ring. Volkov pushes forward, trying to get clear aim again.
Spotting a power dock in the wall, I raise the staff, twirl it, and slam it in, sending a current of electricity into the system. The lights around us swell brighter and brighter, until I’m blinded by the glow.
Then, with a pop and a shower of sparks, the power shuts off.
Volkov curses. “Catch her! Now!”
The vityazes flick on the lights fixed to their guns, but by the time they train them on the sparking staff jutting from the power dock, I’m already gone.
I slip around them and toward the door, figuring the power outage is only localized. It’ll take just minutes for the system to reconfigure, rerouting power to this sector of the palace. When the lights come back, I need to be gone.
Through the door and down the corridor I go, shining my multicuff’s flashlight ahead. Glancing back, I see the vityazes spilling out, heading my way. Volkov takes another shot; it bites into the wall over my shoulder, and bits of plaster explode into my face. I yelp and scramble onward, wondering how many bullets he has in that little gun.
Panting, I slide through a security door and slap my hand against the lock mechanism, but there’s no power. Swearing under my breath, I fumble with my multicuff, popping open a panel in the wall and jamming my hand inside. Normally, I’d expect to be shocked into senselessness, even with the power down, but with a little thrill, I realize I don’t have to worry about things like that anymore.
Volkov and the soldiers have almost caught up. He fires again, trying to hit me through the window in the door, but though the glass splinters, it doesn’t break. I have a few more seconds.
I pull wires out of the wall until I see it—the manu
al door override, a little lever that probably hasn’t been touched since it was installed. I yank it now and feel a rush of relief when I hear the heavy metal bolts in the doorway slide in place. The door is locked tight. It won’t open until the power’s back on, buying me a few precious minutes.
Even so, when Volkov slams into the other side, I freeze for a moment, terrified it will open for him. But when he scans his palm over the unresponsive lockpad, the door holds fast.
Our eyes connect through the fractured glass window. He looks distorted through the cracks, more like the madman he is.
“You’re too late,” he says, his voice muffled by the door. “I’ve got what I need. Nothing will stop me now, Anya.”
Swallowing hard, I back away from his crazed stare, only to bump into someone.
I whirl, automatically going into the fighter’s crouch my dad taught me, but then I see my fists are pointless.
The person standing in front of me is Natalya Ayedi.
She catches my wrist, and when I try to pull away, she tessellates. The grating sound drowns out my cry of pain as she increases the gravity around me, pulling me to the floor. I land on my hands and knees, struggling to stay upright. Natalya watches in silence, her eyes empty.
“Please …” I cough as breathing becomes harder. She is impassive, cut off. It’s like she can’t even hear me for the brainjacking in her head.
Behind me, Volkov shouts through the door, “Kill her!”
My hand finds Natalya’s ankle. I grasp it hard, reaching out with the only instinct I have left—the Firebird. At first, nothing seems to happen.
Then I sense it: the chip in her skull, the only part of her where Prism energy pulses. It’s faint and small, like seeing a distant candle’s flame in the midst of a storm. With a cry, I focus on that little pulsing spot, willing it to power down, hoping I’m not killing her in the process. When Dr. Luka tried the jack on me, he was able to power it down remotely. Can I do the same?
It seems not, because she tessellates even harder, and the air is pressed from my lungs in a raspy exhalation. My cheek grinds into the floor, and I can feel my ribs compressing. The pain is like nothing I’ve ever felt; it’s as if a ship has landed atop me. An image of Riyan crumpling Pol’s gun flashes through my mind, and I can see myself going the same way—being crushed into a little cube of matter, small enough to fit in Natalya’s pocket.
I try to cry out, but I have no breath left in my body. My mind starts to dim, the pain swallowing me whole.
Then, suddenly, Natalya gasps and stumbles backward, releasing me. The cracks in the air vanish and I throw myself forward, awkwardly tackling her ankles, my limbs stiff and clumsy with pain. Her head strikes the floor, and my hands find her wrists, pinning them to the ground.
I suck down air, releasing a sob of relief. I’m trembling, my muscles are on fire, and my bones ache, but at least I have control of my own body again.
Behind me, Volkov pounds on the door in a rage. I can still ignore him, though not for long—the power will come back on any minute.
Natalya’s eyes are wide, glancing around in confusion. She doesn’t fight my grip. Her chest rises and falls, as if she’s filling with panic. “Who are you?” she moans. “Where am I?”
Stars above. It actually worked. The chip must have shorted out.
“There’s no time!” I stumble upright and pull her to her feet. “We have to get out of here.”
She groans, hands going to her head. I have no idea what she’s aware of or what she remembers, but I can’t leave her here like this. I can only hope the brainjacking is permanently shut down, and that it won’t reactivate and turn her against me.
I pull her along. She resists at first, but when she sees vityazes trying to break through the door behind us, she lurches into motion. Her bewilderment is clear, but at least she recognizes trouble when she sees it.
“Who are those men?” she asks. “Why are they chasing us? Oh stars, my head aches …”
“Are you okay?” I ask as we sprint for the lift tubes. My gait is uneven, my bones still aching from her attack.
“I— It’s all foggy. I think …” Her eyes widen and she skids to a halt, jerking her hand away. “I saw Riyan. Oh stars, oh skies, I attacked my brother—”
“Natalya!” I pull her onward. “We can deal with that later!”
We reach the lifts, but without power in this sector, they’re not operating, stuck several floors above. No one has caught up to us yet—it seems the only vityazes on this floor were guarding the lab—but I know we don’t have much time.
“Honestly!” I shout, kicking the door. “Why are the lifts never working when I need them?”
Yanking off my multicuff again, I use a wrench to wedge open the door, then shove it the rest of the way, cursing all the while. A dark chute opens at my feet, stretching the height of the Rezidencia.
“Can you lower us down?” I ask Natalya.
She blinks, eyes dazed, and sways on her feet.
Hearing voices, I glance back to see incoming vityazes. They must have finally broken through the door, probably by knocking out the window. Volkov will be right behind them with his metal bullets. “Natalya, hurry! I need you to focus!”
She nods, then says, “Go. I’ll be above you.”
There is no time for second thoughts.
I jump.
I can’t help the scream that bursts from my throat as I drop down the tube. It must be several hundred feet to the bottom, and if Natalya doesn’t come through, I’ve just leaped to my death.
Deeper and deeper I fall, until I’m sure the bottom must be inches away, that any second now I’ll be smashed. At least it’ll be a quick death. I scream the entire way down. My voice echoes off the close walls, amplified until it stings my ears.
Then, without warning, I jerk to a halt and nearly choke on my own scream. The stop is so sudden it gives me whiplash, and for a moment, I dangle in midair, a few inches from the floor.
Then I drop, landing hard on my stomach and feeling the wind rush from my lungs.
Natalya descends lightly beside me. “Sorry,” she says. “My timing’s a little off. This headache—”
“We made it,” I growl, shoving open the door. We stumble out into one of the tubes that branch away from the Rezidencia, leading us to the docks. There are metal tracks running the length of the floor, where the lift would usually run. We race over them. On either side, glass walls open to the palace’s enclosed atmosphere. The white length of the Rezidencia stretches above. I can only imagine the frantic activity going on inside there, as Volkov and the vityazes scramble to find out where Natalya and I went. It won’t take them long. We probably have less than a minute to get out of here.
Instead of an open hangar, the ships are anchored to a long, narrow chamber like leaves attached to a stem. Dozens of dock portals line the walls. I can hear voices—mechanics trying to get the power back on. The outage stretched farther than I’d thought, but I can’t hope it will last much longer. On the other hand, without power, we can’t even access a getaway ship. It’ll take more than my multicuff to open one of those hermetically sealed dock doors. I need just enough power to activate their controls.
“Keep an eye on those mechanics,” I tell Natalya, as I pick up a drill from a tool bench by the wall. I have no idea if this will work, but if it doesn’t, we’re screwed. The mechanics haven’t noticed us; they’re totally absorbed in their own tasks.
I pop open a panel on the drill and remove the battery inside. A light gauge on the top indicates it’s half charged, thank the stars. Drawing a deep breath, I cradle the battery in my hand and then pull on it, activating that new sixth sense that lets me tap into Prismic energy.
At once, power flows out of the battery and into me; I feel its sizzles in my veins. The hairs on my arms rise as it passes through me and flows out my other hand, which I have pressed onto a control panel in the wall.
At once the screen and buttons on the panel li
ght up, startling me; I can’t get used to how the energy simply reacts to my thoughts. I put down the drained battery and crack my knuckles. A shiver of static electricity ripples over my hands. I can feel my roots prickling all over my scalp, and when I run my hand through it, golden sparks dance in my hair.
“Whoa,” says Natalya, staring at me. “Who the hell are you, anyway? And … what are you?”
“A friend of your brother’s.” Frantically, I search the log of docked ships, pausing at the last one with a grin. I press a button, opening a dock door farther down the chamber. “This way.”
We race down the chamber to the last portal. The mechanics finally notice us and begin shouting, but they aren’t soldiers, and they don’t try to get in our way. The door I unlocked waits for us, opening to the familiar air lock of the Valentina.
“My father’s ship,” Natalya breathes. “How did you—”
“Later. Let’s go!” I unceremoniously push her inside, then sprint through the bridge to the upper control deck. There I pause, blinking at the array of controls, unsure where to start. I’ve never flown anything this complicated before. At least I don’t have to worry about power; the Prism is spinning beautifully in its case on the board. I give it an uneasy smile, knowing now that it’s as conscious of me as I am of it.
“Hey, you,” I murmur to the Prism. “Want to give me some pointers on how to fly this thing?”
“We’ve got company!” calls Natalya from below. She’s locked and sealed the door, and is peering through its circular window.
I pull up a rear camera to see vityazes storming the portal. They’ve got some sort of explosive device that they’re attempting to fix onto the door of the Valentina.
With a deep breath, I press my hand to the control board and stare at the Prism spinning atop it. I reach the way I did with the drill battery, trying to connect with the crystal.
“Let’s go,” I whisper. “C’mon, Val, old girl. We’re in a bit of a hurry.”
The Valentina responds as easily as if I were speaking directly to her. I suppose I am, in a way. The dock clamps release and we sail away from the Rezidencia, leaving the vityazes to scramble to shut the dock door before they tumble out into the palace’s artificial atmo.
Last of Her Name Page 29