I SIT IN A WINDOWLESS GRAY ROOM with an untouched cup of coffee on the table in front of me. The shiny black lens of a camera watches me from the wall. The checkpoint Wardens who confiscated Philippe’s pistol were incredulous when they heard my story. Rightfully so. They say it ain’t on the news. They haven’t gotten a dispatch from central. All they got is the words that tumble out my gob in a chattering mess.
I’ve not seen anyone since they left.
I’m half asleep when the door slams open and a soldier fills the frame. She’s a stocky Gray with exhausted, narrow eyes, wearing black combat armor etched with a pegasus in flight over the Roman numeral VII. A drenched animal pelt hangs from her left shoulder. I stare at it in fear as I remember colliding with her chest in the hallway at the Telemanus estate. She smells like oil and wet dog. Two soldiers with roaring gold lions on their chest armor come in after her, one an Obsidian, the other a Gold, but she’s clearly in charge. “Lyria of Lagalos.” The words are a demand, not a question.
I nod, frightened by the hard-looking group. Their faces look carved of cracked city concrete. The stocky Gray is a Howler. One of the Reaper’s own. And the other men have sworn their lives to the Sovereign. To them, I’m a terrorist.
“I hear you’ve been spinning quite a tale.”
“Who are you?” I manage.
“My name is Holiday ti Nakamura, special envoy of the Sovereign. Muzzle her.” The men come around the table. I push backward instinctively. They grab me. One slams a fist into the side of my neck. My legs turn into a puddle. Black throbs in my vision. Something metal is shoved against my face. The fingers of the device crawl around my head, pulling taut even as a rubber appendage pushes into my mouth and expands till my tongue is pinned to the floor of my mouth. I hyperventilate. “Through the nose,” the Gray woman says. She snaps her fingers in front of my face. “Breathe through your nose, girl, or you’ll pass out. Breathe.”
I listen to her and suck oxygen down through my nose. “Shell her.”
One of the men pulls a plastic vest down over my head. My vision is still spotty as my head emerges out the top of it. He pushes my arms together in front of me and I groan in pain from the pressure on the dislocated shoulder, then the vest inflates, wrapping around my body, pinning my arms to my chest. Once it’s inflated, armor hardens on the outside as the polymer darkens.
“For your protection,” Holiday says. She leads me roughly by my muzzle out the door. A dozen heavily armed Lionguards with the red planet globe on their left shoulders, Martians all, wait in the rain in front of a warship bristling with guns and blazing with lights. Their rifles are up, their mechanized helmets scanning the buildings around. Several shadowy figures circle overhead. The local checkpoint Watchmen eye the Lionguards with awe and glance out the windows at the shadows in the sky. The Watchmen are under guard by more Lionguards and have had their weapons taken away. A Red Watchman with a Vox pyramid sewn onto his uniform nurses a split lip and sits handcuffed. A shattered datapad lies on the ground beside him. Holiday addresses the Watchmen.
“The information you heard tonight is classified. Divulging even a word of it will earn you charges of treason against the Republic. A second shuttle is on its way to collect you for debriefing.” She looks at the bloodied Vox Red. “You ever wanna do anything more than sort trash in Deepgrave, I suggest you comply.” She turns back to me. “When I say run, you close your eyes and run. Understand?”
I nod.
“Package ready for boarding,” Holiday says into her mouthpiece. “Blackfire? Ocelot?” There’s a murmur from the com clipped to her ear. She looks at me and slings her rifle from her shoulder and primes the charge. “Three. Two. One. Run.”
Three strobe lights sizzle white-hot light from the top of the ship, blinding out my vision before I clench shut my eyes. They pull me along at a run. I feel rain, the concrete, then the metal deck of a ship under my shoes. My vision returns, stained green by the shuttle lights as the soldiers funnel into the back with me. The shuttle jumps upward, the back ramp still open. When we’re a hundred meters from the ground, more of the Martians float up on gravBoots and land inside the craft. Only then does the ramp close.
The warship’s engines roar and they shove me into a seat. The men don’t set their weapons down. The Gold and the Obsidian both touch razors on their forearms. Out the cockpit windows I see the shadowy figures are still escorting us. I glimpse inky-black helmets shaped like the stuff of deepmine nightmares and thick black armor as they fly through the rain.
“Company yet?” Holiday asks the helmeted Blue pilot.
“Sky’s clear, ma’am. Civi traffic diverted. We’ll be in gov alt in ten seconds.” My ears pop. Then it’s silent except for the engines. Everyone is edgy. Are they worried about another attack from the kidnappers? How far could their reach possibly extend?
“Distance to Citadel?”
“Fifty klicks.”
Something beeps in the cockpit. “Incoming bogies. Atmospheric rippers,” the pilot says. “Descending from a skyhook. Barca markings.”
“How many?”
“Fourteen rippers. Two gunboats. Shall I call SkyLord support?”
“That damn woman,” Holiday mutters. “No. Alert the Citadel but tell SkyLord to hold. I was ordered to keep this quiet; a dogfight over the city ain’t exactly whispering.”
The Blue carries out her commands as the co-pilot speaks into his headset. “Attention Barca aircraft, this is the HAF Pride Seven, you are in violation of Republic Government space and a Sovereign’s warrant. Deviate your course immediately to civilian altitudes. You have ten seconds to comply.”
They’re not deviating. I see them now through the cockpit. Little black dots small as flies in the distance, hovering in a line to prevent us from reaching the Citadel.
“Incoming transmission.”
“Nakamura,” a woman’s deep voice growls over the com. “Should have known she’d send you. Cut your engines and deliver me the Red terrorist.”
A Blue hands Holiday a remote com. “Victra, the witness is under arrest. Do not interfere with Republic jurisdiction. I’ve been authorized by the Sovereign to deliver her using any and all means at my disposal. You don’t want this trouble.”
“Darling, I am the trouble.”
Two streaks of light rip across the darkness from her ships, missing the cockpit by bare meters. “They took my daughter. My daughter.” I shiver as I realize who is on the other side of the line.
“You want the whole damn Republic knowing about this?” Holiday snarls. “They’ll make the Sovereign step down. Divert your ships. The witness is being taken in for questioning so we can get your daughter back. You’re wasting time.”
“Questioning?” Victra laughs. “More of Virginia’s half measures. Look what that has given us. It’s my turn.”
“If you fire again on this ship, you risk killing the only lead we have. She came to us. We’re going to the Citadel.”
“You idiots lost my child. I will get her back. With words, or with iron. Your choice. Give me the Red, or I will come and cut her out of the belly of your ship. You have ten seconds to comply. Victra out.”
Holiday is worried. “Was that broadcast coming from the ships?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Pilot, full speed straight down their throats.” She turns to her men. “Weapons hot. Return fire only. She’s not in the gunships. She’s airborne.” She swings out her rifle. “Expect Gold boarders.” The men hop to their feet and point their guns back at the closed ramp. Something slams into the ship. Then three more collisions against the hull. Our ship roars through the air toward the wall of ripWings, closer, closer. Warning shots across our bow. “Faster,” Holiday says. The ceiling sparks and glows as someone drills in through the outside. The Lionguards cluster around the sparks, guns pointed up. “Faster!”
We punch through the line of ripWings. They bank to follow us. I see the Citadel glowing in the distance. The ship cracks as it breaks the sound barrier. The sparks rain down from the ceiling on me. More Augustus vessels rise up from Citadel landing pads to greet us. With them ascend dozens of men in armor, at their head a huge figure in pale blue fox armor. Niobe au Telemanus has come to war.