“Well, I couldn’t have done it without you,” she told him and opened the door.
John blocked the autocannon’s fire with another shield as Amaratne slid three scramblers along the corridor floor. The mobile explosives skittered close to the auto-cannon and wrapped themselves around its base.
As the weapon exploded, John’s shield wavered. He growled in frustration and effort, and the shield strengthened.
“John?”
“Not now, Ives.”
“Door!” Amaratne commanded. “Tell me what you see.”
His instructions made her focus, and she cycled the comms room door and sent them the images as she did.
“I have the left,” Remy declared as the admiral said, “I’ll take right.”
“I’m almost out of eMU,” John stated, and Ivy’s heart sank.
“Can you empty what you have left and use nMU?”
“Why?”
“Well, that Teloran has to be charging himself from somewhere.”
“Have I told you how much I love you?”
“Tell me when you get back,” she snapped, and the sharpness of her tone failed to disguise her concern.
“Monitor the comms,” Amaratne ordered. “Make sure they don’t get a distress call out. Those fighters had to come from somewhere.”
He was right. Even as John fed the last of his MU into a shield, the Teloran waited, and black lightning laced his form with dark fire. As soon as he felt the shield start to waver, John ducked behind a console and began to pull the energy from the world around him.
It was all dark and made his feelings boil with anger, resentment, and grief. Why had he fought the Regime? Look at what it had cost him. Look at what she had cost him.
The enemy chuckled. “Are you rethinking your allegiance?” he whispered as Amaratne and Remy fired into the pirates. “You’d do better to walk on our side. It’s better to burn your world than be burned with it.”
“No!” the young mage roared, stepped out from behind the console, and found a new target for his anger. The nMU worked exactly as the eMU, but its effects were harder to control.
It was as if the magic wanted to destroy—and not only the thing it was meant to. It wanted to destroy everything.
John forced himself to focus on the mage and to keep his Talent from straying into the equipment they’d been sent there to secure.
“Admiral!” he shouted. “Get the comms!”
As if his voice was a signal, Remy chuckled.
“Get the comms, Admiral. I’ve got the rest.”
He did, too. Ivy’s eyes widened as the AI fired impossibly fast and with terrifying accuracy. She’d have thought he’d be the one to take control of the systems, but having him around was like having their own walking, talking auto-cannon—one you could rely on to destroy the enemy without automatically targeting your friends.
As she watched Remy annihilate the Dreth before they’d raised their blasters and then the Meligornian before he could throw anything at John, another of Ivy’s alerts beeped.
“Hurry up and get the mage, John. You’re about to have company!”
“What kind of company?”
“The overwhelming pirate kind.”
“And you?” John asked. “Are you secure?”
“I’m not the one making all the noise,” she retorted. “They probably think they can take us once they have you three locked down.”
“Can’t you do something?”
“Transmit the data, Ivy. Make sure it gets off-world. In case—” Amaratne didn’t finish, but she understood immediately.
“Will do,” she told them and set up the broadcast.
Once she was sure the data was going where she needed it to go, she turned her attention to regaining control of the doors.
It took forever for the reinforcements to come.
David pounded his fist onto his desk. The resulting crack sent a satisfying network of breaks through the glass covering its surface but he resisted the urge to do it a second time.
With the same force of will, he resisted the surge of Talent that threatened to surround his body in a halo of power.
“Why can’t they simply admit they lost the base?” he roared.
Admiral Deverey gave him a wide-eyed stare and hid his fear behind a stony mask. There wasn’t a single thing he could think of to say that might not get him killed.
Fortunately, the CIO didn’t appear to need an answer.
“They’re faking it. They have to be!” He balled his fist again but forced his hand down to his side.
“We merely need to find a way to prove it,” he suggested tentatively and flinched when David stared at him. For a moment, it was as if the man’s eyes burned, and Deverey swallowed. “We don’t have any reason to have a ship in that area, but I’m sure we’ll come up with something.”
The CIO’s gaze pinned him for a moment longer, and his mouth went dry. The look wasn’t murderous, but it made him feel like he was already dead.
“It’s only a matter of time.” David growled with annoyance and impatience and seated himself behind his desk.
The fleet admiral resisted the urge to breathe a sigh of relief and reminded himself that he wasn’t out of the woods yet. He glanced at the screen and recalled that the plan had been to have the ore carrier report the outpost’s loss.
Those communications could have been believably intercepted and the loss reported. But the ore carrier hadn’t reported the loss, and there’d been no communications to intercept. As far as they could tell, the ship had made orbit, loaded, and returned to Dreth as if everything was normal.
Only it isn’t, Deverey thought and wondered why the vessel hadn’t flagged it.
“What about a supply ship?” he asked, and the CIO looked up from the desk. Under the Regime leader’s gimlet stare, he hastened to continue. “After all, there are humans on that rock. It’s only logical that we’d want to send them supplies—or maybe provide communiqués from home?”
To his relief, David smiled. It wasn’t a particularly pleasant smile, but it was better than what had gone before, so he simply waited.
“Yes,” the CIO continued. “We’ll activate the Regime Care Package initiative—a bi-annual gift for all humans located on distant worlds with credits and something small to remind them of home.” He paused. “Letters from relatives if we can find them, Earth foods that can’t be sourced easily.” He gave Deverey a sharp glance. “Will a week be long enough?”
“To organize it, sir?”
David nodded. “It’s either that or we pretend we’ve received an emergency call from the planet but that it’s taken this long for one of our ships to intercept it.”
The admiral responded with a carefully neutral shrug. “Either one will work, sir.”
“Yeees. I like it,” the leader mused. “We can use this to our advantage. Their failure to report it, followed by their deliberate deception of the Regime regarding the fate of its people, can only mean they are planning something to our detriment—and that is something we can’t ignore. Instead of a peaceful occupation to assist them, we will be forced to subjugate them instead. Such treachery cannot be ignored.”
“How long do you wish to let them believe their deception has worked, sir?” Deverey asked, glad to see the man’s attention was now fully focused on the Dreth.
“Ask me in two days’ time,” David instructed. “I need to look at the implications of this deception and work out how to get the most of this most unexpected opportunity.”
“Yes, sir!”
He leaned back behind his desk and flicked his hand at the admiral in absent dismissal.
“Go. I need to think.”
Chapter Fourteen
“Pull it apart again and polish every part,” Andorres instructed. “I don’t want the slightest trace of dirt in there. Nothing that might make this weapon weaker.”
Crewman Tippet stared at him, then nodded and answered crisply, “Gotcha.”
&nbs
p; Andorres watched the young crewman go about his task and noted the slight frown that creased his brow. “What is it, Tippet?” The younger man paused and regarded him uncertainly. “Spit it out.”
Tippet looked around at where the rest of the crew was working. The section gleamed, but the crew still labored to make it shine more brightly or went over the equipment again.
Some were stocking more supplies in each gun crew’s private storage compartment. Others were trying to work out how to optimize an already optimal feed chain.
The young man included them all with a short swipe of his cleaning cloth. “I don’t understand, boss.”
Andorres followed the sweep of his hand. “Understand what? Hard work?”
He blushed and shook his head. “No, boss. No way I wouldn’t understand that with you riding shotgun, but this place is spotless. We’ve scrubbed it within an inch of its life. No disrespect, but Tempe won’t like it if we polish a hole in her decking.”
Understanding dawned and his boss spoke. “Are you asking why we’re working so hard to get a ship ready that’s already at her peak?” Tippet lowered his head somewhat sheepishly.
“Well…uh, yeah.” He looked anxious as if worried his question had caused offense, but Andorres got it. “I get that it’s because of her, but I…I’ve never met her, and I simply don’t understand why.”
The older man moved to a wall and gestured to him to follow. When they arrived, he settled against it.
“Look, son, it’s like this. When you watch a woman become a goddess and still be willing to die to save your world and those of others, you realize that your efforts represent your belief in her more than mere words, chants, or slogans.” He sighed and pushed away from the wall. “That piece you’re holding, for example. Take a good look at it.”
Tippet obeyed.
“Do you know what I see?” Andorres asked, and the crewman shook his head.
“I see a piece vital to the gun that’ll protect her, and I want it to have nothing on it that’ll make it snag, stutter, or slow the rate of fire. I want it to run smooth and cool and like silk. I don’t want it to fail and cause me to fail to keep that woman safe.”
He pointed to where two techs were sweating and swearing over the feeder. “They’re trying to increase her rate of fire so our guns don’t overheat and explode like they did in the last battle, and them—” He turned to where two more of the team had finished polishing an area on the floor next to the gun and were welding several D-shackles to the deck. “They’re making sure we have somewhere to tether ourselves if this section gets opened up to the stars.”
Tippet stared at him. “You’re kidding…right?”
Andorres shook his head, and his face grew somber with a distant memory. “We lost good people in that battle. This time, we want something better than tape to keep us secure.”
The older hand waited and let the crewman absorb what he’d been told.
“Look,” he continued, “all of this tells you and these people around us that there’s a new expectation, a new ‘best,’ if you like.” He shrugged and surveyed the space again, gauging the efforts of his team before he turned to his teammate.
“I doubt Stephanie would notice you until you perform, but you will be asked to perform, and if you want to succeed, make sure the area you work in is beyond top-notch. When she is willing to die to save this ship, you’ll find that you will be willing to die to keep it together as well.”
Tippet gaped at him. “You make her sound like she’s a god among us.”
His teammate chuckled and returned to the gun.
“She doesn’t look like one,” he admitted as he knelt beside the cover. “She’s not very tall and not very muscular unless things have changed.” He frowned and inspected the parts inside as he spread a clean cloth on the decking in front of him. “I suppose she’s a little older, but who knows what she looks like now? She’s a witch.” He shrugged. “They might look young for eternity.”
He fell silent, and Tippet joined him and knelt on the opposite side of the cloth as Andorres began to pull the gun apart and lay the pieces in front of them.
“And yet you call her Stephanie, not even Ms. Morgana,” he noted, and the older man glanced at him.
“Oh, you will know when the Morgana has come out, but pray she isn’t focused on you when it happens. I never believed in the old gods, but there isn’t anyone or anything I know of that’s closer to the incarnation of death than the Morgana.”
Tippet frowned. “Then why follow her?”
Andorres smiled. “Because it’s invariably love that causes the Morgana to come out.”
The young crewman set his piece down in the correct order with the rest. “I’m so confused,” he admitted.
“You won’t be,” his teammate assured him. “Have Tempestarii bring up a few scenes of when Stephanie changed. You’ll see.”
Far from the Tempestarii, John, Ivy, and Amaratne had gathered in the compound foyer. Ted faced them and looked overdressed in a well-tailored suit that combined in strange harmony with the cowboy boots on his feet.
He set his hat on his head and pulled the brim down to cover the “R” on his forehead.
“I’ve sent the message,” he told the admiral and gave his friend a worried look. “Are you sure this is wise?”
Amaratne looked past him and into the wasteland beyond, then looked back.
“We need foot soldiers,” he admitted. “With the information you’ve gathered on the Regime’s plans for Dreth, having something to screw up their plans during the battle or sooner would be helpful.”
Ted frowned. “We don’t have much time.”
He sighed. “I know, but we’ll do what we can. I doubt we have anything that will slow the battle but perhaps post-battle, if it doesn’t go too far in the Regime’s favor, we might help.”
He paused, and concern darkened his expression as he sighed. “It’s what we can do.”
The AI nodded and glanced at the door and the hostile world beyond. “I’ll get going. The sooner I arrive, the sooner we can start.”
Amaratne stepped forward, extended one hand to be shaken, and clapped him on the shoulder with the other. “Good luck, old friend.”
John and Ivy moved forward too. The boy said farewell the same way Amaratne had, and Ivy extended a long-strapped satchel.
“Don’t forget your man-bag,” she told Ted, and he returned her smile, seeing beyond it to the worry in her eyes.
“Thank you,” he replied, rested a hand on her arm, and ignored the flinch she didn’t quite manage to suppress. To his surprise, she returned the gesture as he took the satchel and slung it over his shoulder.
Goodbyes, he thought and noticed the moment when she started to chew on her lower lip. They are still not your strong point.
He didn’t say it, though, but turned and walked quietly out the foyer door and onto the walkway. When he reached the gate, he looked back and found it strangely comforting to see the three of them gathered at the window.
They waved in a final farewell as he moved through, and this time, he didn’t look back.
“Well, that was interesting.” Remy’s voice made him start and search his surroundings.
“Oh, yes?” he asked and relaxed when he remembered why he carried the bag and the components inside.
“Yes. She’s improving,” the younger AI observed, and Ted chuckled.
“Well, she didn’t burst into tears.”
“Not until after you’d left,” he informed him. “John didn’t quite know what to do.”
“Didn’t he?”
“Not when she couldn’t explain why she was sad because—and I quote—‘it’s stupid.’ Amaratne suggested chocolate.”
“Oh? And what did Roma say?”
“She already had it waiting,” Remy confirmed. “She has come a long way when it comes to humans. I think she’s been doing extra research.”
“Good,” his uncle said approvingly, “because we’ll nee
d her if things go according to plan.” He patted the bag. “Our first step is to get you out of there.”
“You haven’t told them, have you?” Remy asked, and Ted patted the bag again.
“No, I have not, but they have met you in the Virtual World, and Roma can verify you when you arrive.”
“You merely want to see if Ivy shoots me—or Amaratne,” he concluded morosely, and Ted laughed out loud.
“No, they’ve both learned their lesson. If anyone blasts you, it’ll be John.”
“And that is so much more comforting,” he snarked.
“We need to know if you pass as a human,” his uncle reassured him. “Their reaction will show that.”
Remy uttered a very disgruntled and very human sigh.
“And what will you do if they decide to damage this new body we intend to find?”
“It won’t happen,” Ted told him. “We need you as a physical part of the team too much for me to jeopardize that.”
“Well, that’s good to know.” He didn’t sound comforted, but his uncle didn’t give him time to dwell on it.
He sent the AI a map. “This will be our first stop.”
Blonde, bobbed, and beastly was how Aurora Delahunty’s colleagues described her, but she’d risen where they’d failed and held one of the most envied positions in the Regime—that of PR.
She’d admired Ava, but she didn’t think much of the woman now. The files she currently worked through were a mess!
With a sigh, she took another from the pile stacked haphazardly on the woman’s desk, glanced over it, and put it in the “Transfer” pile. Honestly, the job wasn’t that hard.
You transferred the semi-viable ones, terminated the non-viable ones, and marked the promising ones for further testing to ensure their understanding of their place in the human hierarchy—at the bottom.
Talents weren’t people.
She couldn’t fathom what these files were doing in the “to-be-decided” basket and couldn’t be bothered to sift through her predecessor’s overly copious notes to do so.
Picking up the next one, she glanced at it and paused.
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