Some of the red receded. “You’re sure?”
He ran a hand through his jet-black hair. “No, but I mean to find out.” He leaned over and pushed a buzzer. “Josie, Rory, take three others with you and bring Commander Cronus in from exit three as per usual procedure. I’ll see him in meeting room one.”
“Roger that, commander-general, sir.”
Romy spoke. “What do we do?”
His eyes glinted as he looked up, showing why he was the person in charge. This situation tied her in knots, but Atlas looked forward to this the way she looked forward to loading her gun. He smirked. “We get answers out of one of the Mandate’s commanders, that’s what.”
He pulled a handgun from a drawer in the desk and inspected it before handing the weapon to her. “Want to shoot him in the kneecap if he gets violent?”
“It would be my pleasure.”
Atlas pressed a hand against Romy’s lower back as they walked out of his office. The adjoining general command space was full of screens and beeping. Messages crackled through various speakers around the large room. Eight or nine of the people there joined them, and Tina gave a distracted wave from where she was hunched over a map with a large team. Romy expected taking Atlas’s old job would keep the woman busier than usual.
Their group filed into the meeting room a few minutes later, and Romy selected a seat in the front right corner of the room, assuming the chair pulled into the middle front was for Cronus. Perfect kneecap angle. The other members of the command took seats around the rectangular table, Gwenyth included. Romy smiled at her and got a blank look in return.
She’d take blank from Gwenyth any day. Atlas’s mother made no secret of the fact she thought Romy’s crazy self was no good for her beloved son.
Gwenyth shared a look with Atlas at that moment, and they both pursed their lips. Ugh, they were both excited about this meeting. That was why Romy couldn’t dislike Gwenyth in peace. There was so much of Atlas in her face and actions, but on Atlas the traits were irresistible. On Gwenyth . . . not so much.
Commander Cronus marched into the meeting room a few minutes later, and Romy tensed, trying to control her breathing. One member of his supposed security escort party was carrying his suitcase. The others looked like they’d been hung upside-down and shaken. Cronus already had them dancing to his tune, it appeared. Just like he’d done to countless space soldiers. She gritted her teeth.
“Cronus,” Atlas said, not budging from the front of the room.
“Julius,” the commander greeted.
Huh?
It didn’t register to anyone else as odd.
“My name is Atlas,” he corrected the commander.
That was his orbito name? Julius. Julius seemed so foreign.
Cronus took the middle front seat without prompt, owning the role of potential foe. “You’re wondering why I’m here.”
Atlas rested against the front of the table. “You didn’t know.”
“No.”
“You want them gone.”
“Yes.”
Atlas studied the older man for a long while, then gave a jerk of his head. “I’d welcome your expertise on the command team.”
Several jaws fell open.
“What happened to me kneecapping him?” Romy blurted, bursting to her feet. She’d come in here to fight.
Cronus’s eyes came to rest on her. “Rosemary, Knot 27,” he said softly.
She didn’t reply, seething. Her fingers twitched where they were wrapped around the butt of the gun.
“Knot 27 were my pride and glory for many years, until. . . .” He trailed off.
Romy rolled her eyes and took the bait. “Until what?”
He glanced around at the listening ears. “Remind me, and I’ll tell you sometime.” The commander slapped his hands down on his thighs and gave the room an assessing look, pausing on Gwenyth for a moment. “How long until I can eradicate every trace of those soulless Critamal from the planet?”
* * *
“Weird,” stated Elara.
“Weird,” Romy agreed, sipping her water as Phobos dealt the cards.
Phobos whistled. “Weird.”
Charlee peered around the group. “Should I say weird as well?”
None of them were sure what to think about Cronus’s presence here. As a cadet, Romy looked up to the commander. She’d taken comfort from his solid presence aboard Orbito One and the sacrifice he made, staying alive year after year while the rest of them were recycled. Since crash-landing here, he’d become one of the faces that represented everything she detested about the governing world powers: the lies, their brutality, the fact they felt they could decide who should live and die.
“So, he didn’t know the Mandate had the cannons to get rid of the aliens?” Charlee asked.
“Apparently not. But he did know humankind survived. He knew the Mandate was lying to everyone to keep us up there.” She wasn’t sure if that was forgivable, but Romy knew now that choices weren’t always easy.
Charlee, the Irish doctor, leaned back against the concrete, shivering at the cold. “That’s a tough one, to be sure.”
Phobos placed the rest of the cards on the ground and they picked up their small stacks. “I can’t like the man, but if what he says is true, he wants rid of the Critamal as much as we do—enough to lie on the Mandate’s behalf for all that time to get rid of them. We could use his expertise.” He sighed heavily.
“You all right, Pho?” Romy asked. She glanced at her cards and inhaled sharply. Her hand sucked. But she wouldn’t crumple the cards; that was poor sportsmanship.
He forced a smile. “Yes, mother hen. I’m fine.”
Heat flushed her cheeks. “Don’t call me mother hen.”
Elara made some chicken noises. “But you are a mother hen. Charlee said it’s our knot model.”
Wisely, Charlee remained silent.
“Don’t,” Romy said, curling her fists.
“Mother hen.”
“Stop it!”
“Mother hen.”
Atlas stepped into the room. “Who’s a mother hen?”
“Romy,” Elara said, poking out her tongue.
She waited until Atlas wasn’t looking and returned the gesture. Phobos continued staring at his cards. Something was totally up with him.
“What do you think about Cronus being here?” Phobos asked Atlas.
Atlas went to the sink and did his washing-the-face routine. Romy watched him with a small smile, ignoring Charlee and Elara’s sniggers.
Atlas dried his face and took a seat on the floor next to Romy, saying, “He has intel on the Mandate unlike anything we have. We’ll protect ourselves, regardless, in case he’s a double agent. But I trust him. In fact,” he licked his lips, glancing at Romy. “I’ve made him my direct assistant.”
She gave him a look. “Atlas, I was joking about becoming your assistant. I’d much rather go out on mission.”
His brow cleared, and the right side of his mouth tugged up in a half smile. He pulled her to his side.
Elara pouted at Phobos, who gave her a secret smile and drew her into his side, too.
Charlee looked between the two couples. “Jaysus, I gotta get me some.”
Someone shouted down the hall, and clanging echoed toward them.
“Next time it will be your head hitting the pipes!” a woman roared.
This was followed by several screams and the frantic patter of running footsteps.
Romy grinned. “Tina’s coming.”
There were more screams before the small woman strode into the room and grabbed a handful of jerky from the middle of their circle, stuffing it into her mouth. “Shit day.”
She spotted Atlas and stopped chewing. “What’s he doing here?”
“This is my room,” he answered, lips pursed.
Her face screwed up. “Not sure how I feel about him being here.” She chewed a little more. “Jerky tastes good.” Her swallow was audible. “I think I’m okay.�
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She took a seat as Thrym and Nancy entered the room. Thrym led the young Australian woman to a spot across the room, smiling at something she said.
Shoot. Romy reached for some food to sprinkle over herself, but then remembered Atlas.
“Ro,” Phobos said in undertones, “don’t bother. That thing you’ve been doing doesn’t work, trust me.”
“What? I’m not doing anything?” She was burningly aware of Atlas listening. His head was tilted.
“You’re not doing your best to make yourself unattractive when Thrym is around?” Phobos asked quietly, brows raised.
Her cheeks burned.
Phobos tucked away his grin. Mostly. “When you like a girl, Ro, anything she does is cute. It. Is. Not. Working.”
Face falling, she asked, “Really?”
“I’m afraid so, sis.”
“Poacher poop.” She let the crackers she’d grabbed fall back on the plate and resumed her spot snuggled into Atlas’s side. Honestly, Romy had the suspicion she may not need to do the cracker thing for much longer anyway—not with the way Thrym was looking at Nancy.
“You’ve really been doing that?” Atlas’s chest rumbled with supressed laughter.
“Shh.” Romy reached up and pushed a finger against his lips.
“What kind of—”
“I can’t believe you gave my assistant job away,” she said. Peeking up, she saw alarm cross his face a second before his gaze narrowed. He gave her a suspicious look and she bit her lip.
Thrym and Nancy took a seat near the door. Nancy smiled at everyone in the room, even Romy, though it was noticeably tighter.
“Tell her you like her hair,” Tina whispered with an encouraging look.
“Don’t do that, Ro,” Charlee blurted. “Maybe just offer her a bit of jerky.”
“Quit whispering,” Romy whispered. Louder, she said, “Hey, Nancy, want some jerky?” She got up and took the younger girl the plate.
“Sure.” Nancy picked some up with careful fingers and Romy returned to her seat.
Awkward.
Atlas kissed her temple. “What is this game, anyway?”
Romy relaxed as the tension in the room dissipated.
“Poker,” Elara answered. “You can’t tell me you haven’t played poker before.”
The large man shrugged, and Romy’s stomach twisted. In many ways, Atlas was getting to know himself as much as Knot 27. Except he didn’t have the excuse of being cultivated in space. Everyone expected him to know what he was doing, and to be in control, and to be confident. But he’d never really had a childhood, or time to explore hobbies. Having been groomed to infiltrate the orbitos from a young age, Atlas had missed out on a lot.
Romy sniffed. “He’s never played these card games before.” The words came out a mite more ferocious than intended.
The occupants of the room stared and she gritted her teeth, temper rising.
“No, I haven’t,” Atlas said, calmly, taking her hand. “Maybe you could all show me?”
Romy kicked the cards towards Phobos. “You heard him, Phobos. Deal.” She glared at everyone, spending extra time on Elara, who looked like she was going to make a comment.
Romy settled back beside Atlas again, and gave him a large smile, patting his hand. “You just wait. You’re going to love this game.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Romy came slowly awake, smiling. Extending a hand back, she searched the bed, but Atlas had managed to slip off without waking her. She’d have to get better at waking when he did. Whether he liked it or not, every day Romy wasn’t on mission, she’d be spending getting to know the side of him he was determined to keep hidden. He’d probably thought it best to sneak out after he won every single poker game last night. Romy had lost her temper a little.
The metal door crashed against the concrete wall. Romy tried to sit upright, but got tangled in the sheets and fell back onto the bed.
She lifted her head, body trapped, to peer at the doorway. Elara’s face was awash with tears, and her eyes were huge with panic.
“Romy,” she choked, crumbling half on the bed, half on her.
“Ellie,” Romy said, frantically trying to untangle herself. “What’s the matter? What’s happened? Where’s Phobos?”
She’d witnessed this woman fly battlers into the midst of fights with the poachers. What on earth had happened? Elara tried to talk, her chest heaving in stuttering gasps. Her words were incoherent through her sobs, but she thrust a piece of paper at Romy, who’d managed to free herself.
The note was written in Pho’s hand, and Romy’s world fell away as she read the four words there.
I’m going after him.
“He’s gone after D-d-d—” A wail rose up in Elara’s chest, blocking the rest of her words.
Romy took her knotmate into her arms. “Shh, Ellie. Deep breaths. Come on, let’s settle down so we can talk about this.” Not for a second did Romy think Phobos agreed with Houston’s violent ideals. His motive in leaving was as simple as the four words on the note.
He was going after him.
Phobos thought Deimos needed him, more so than the other three needed him right now. He loved Deimos. The bond between them was different from the bond between the rest of the knot. In many ways, they were the same person split in two. They’d always been referred to as twins for that reason, though they looked nothing alike—aside from their green eyes. Romy may have thought Phobos was a fool, that Deimos wasn’t worth wasting his time over, but she knew his heart was in the right place . . . and it was broken. That was why he’d done this.
Romy rocked her knotmate, shushing her at intervals, and after several minutes Ellie calmed enough to pull away.
“Ro,” she whispered.
“He’ll be okay.” If anyone harmed Phobos, she’d hunt them across the galaxy and choke them with her bare hands.
“Ro,” Elara said again. “I’m pregnant.”
Romy froze.
“I’m pregnant,” her knotmate repeated. “With a baby.”
Forcing her lips to move, Romy said, “You’re pregnant.”
“Oh no, I shouldn’t have said anything,” Elara fretted.
Romy blinked and a fierce heat swept through her. “You’re pregnant? With a baby! You’re going to have a baby?” She covered her mouth with a closed fist.
Large tears squeezed from Elara’s hazel eyes.
Romy shoved down the ‘I’m going to be an aunt’ and the ‘I’ll kill anyone who looks at this baby wrong’ thoughts and gripped Elara’s upper arms, saying, “Phobos wouldn’t have left if he had known.”
“Y-yes he would. He doesn’t even like me.” Elara flopped back onto the bed and threw her arms over her face.
That seemed . . . irrational. “Of course he does.”
“No, he doesn’t! Don’t tell me what I know.”
Yikes. “Okay,” Romy drew out. “Right now, we need to get you stuff.” She paused with a frown. “Do you know what you need?”
Elara lowered her arms and they exchanged a baffled look.
“I’ll get Charlee,” Romy decided.
“No.” Elara clutched her arm in a death grip. “Earth humans aren’t allowed to have children. They’ll make me get rid of him.”
Him? A nephew? Love swelled in her chest as she wondered how Elara knew the gender—a mother thing, most likely. Romy stood and marched to the mirror. She fogged up the mirror and then wrote words with her forefinger, eliciting a loud squeak from the mirror as she did so.
Elara shuffled up beside her and read the words aloud, “I, Romy of Knot 27, say Elara can have a baby.” She crumpled onto the floor, wailing again. “Th-th-s-so-n-nice.”
Her mirror contract wasn’t nice, Romy thought, stiffening. It was a promise. Over her dead body would anyone ever hurt Elara and their baby. She’d make what Feral Romy did to that room of people look like a Christmas lunch. Romy had an inherent protective streak—she assumed because of the whole ‘mother hen’ part of her
genetic makeup. But this? This was a whole new level of ‘look at that baby wrong and I’ll end you’.
“Ellie,” Romy said, crouching. “I’m going to get Phobos back for you. Just let me figure out how. But we need to go see Char right now. You know we can trust her. I don’t know what pregnant humans need. What if you’re supposed to be in an incubator right now?”
“I didn’t think about that.”
They exchanged a serious look.
“You worry about keeping my nephew healthy,” Romy said. “And let me worry about getting the father back.”
Elara kicked the wall. “I’m going to kill him when he gets back.” She began to cry again. “I’ll kiss him first, though.”
* * *
The clinic door cracked open. “Romy,” Thrym hissed from outside.
She glanced toward where Elara spoke in hushed tones with Charlee. “Be back in a second.”
“Don’t tell Thrym yet,” Elara whispered low.
“You got it, Ellie,” she replied. Romy pushed the door fully open, slipping through before shutting it, and for the second time that day, words failed her.
Thrym’s face was as crumpled as his usually pristine uniform.
“Ro,” he croaked.
This day had only just begun, apparently. Romy checked her watch. There was around one hour until they were supposed to leave on mission. Elara wasn’t going in her half-hysterical state. Which meant Romy had to talk to Atlas before they went.
“What’s wrong, Thrym?” Romy scanned him for injury. She’d never seen him like this, ever. Thrym didn’t . . . do this. He looked nothing like the professional, tidy soldier he was.
“She’s gone,” he whispered with a furtive look down the passages each side of the clinic. “I’ve covered for her all day, but she hasn’t come back. I think she’s serious.”
“Who? Let’s start there.”
“Sorry,” he said. His hands clenched. God, he was completely losing it.
“Nancy,” he breathed. “She’s gone to the Renegades.”
Nancy too? “Crap.” Phobos’s disappearing act after the meeting in the Mess to ‘go check on Nancy’ suddenly made sense.
The Reprisal Page 3