Chapter 44
TAKHISS
Icharge down the narrow corridor of the Aces High, rifles in hand, heart hammering like war drums. The corridors vibrate underfoot—power conduits humming, emergency lights slicing through the smoke.
My senses reel: the tang of hot metal, the acrid sting of burned circuitry, the soft drip of coolant from ruptured pipes overhead.
Spewey hovers at my boot—its grotesque little body spongy, glistening, dripping affectionate goo onto the plating. I don’t even flinch. It’s part of our madness now.
“Honeybear, quit bitching about the armor weight,” I mutter.
He grunts behind me, shoulder laboring under a duffel filled with extra packs, grenade belts, and medkits. “It’s heavy, boss.”
Clint’s voice crackles in my ear via comm link, calm but urgent. “Flame’s defenses are strong. We cut in through the hangar deck. Kalow will open the energy shields. Nefarious will loop comms. Ella leads the path to the holding bay—lockstep. Everyone knows their role?”
I swallow, tasting sweat and adrenaline. The corridors bend like a maze, but I don’t need maps—I know the bones of warships. I know how to move like a predator in the guts of them.
For Ella. For Vex.
“Yes,” I grit. “On me.”
We shift into approach formation as the Aces High docks against a hull port of the Flame of Ataxia. Magnetic clamps and energy nodes hiss as integration begins. The docking bay moans under pressure. The hum of shield generators fills the air, like a beast breathing.
Kalow’s voice rasps over comm: “Moment’s here. Stand by.”
I feel the shift in pressure, the subtle warp as the two hulls align.
Then a crash—shields ripple and collapse at one point.
Kalow’s form flickers, then swells; she shifts into Final Form in a pulse of green energy.
Sleeker, stronger, gravity-tuned, her scales gleam.
She cushions herself against the hull port and punches a hole—plasma crackling, metal shearing, the hull bursting inward like a wound.
We pour through.
A breath of vacuum warps the air. The hatch seals behind us with a snap.
Then the Flame’s countermeasures scream to life: blaster fire rakes the corridor, red lines dancing across steel walls. Explosions quake nearby as grenades roll, rupturing panels. Sparks cascade, metal buckles, the deck jumps under footfalls. Smoke roils and stings my eyes.
I roar a command, trigger my rifle, and return fire. Shots echo in the narrow walkway—searing, brutal. I see a guard stagger—my rounds hit true.
Ella’s voice, strained but steady, crackles in my ear. “I’m coming. Stay sharp.”
I run, boots pounding, adrenal glands on fire. The stench of ozone, burning circuit boards, and scorched flesh mingles in the air. My chest feels tight—every breath a struggle.
We round a junction. Blasterfire erupts again. A priest steps into view, robes gleaming under harsh lighting, a plasma staff crackling. I fire. The priest staggers backward, but more appear—at least three, four, sliding from side corridors. They chant as they charge, voices low and gravelly.
My blood roars. I throw one grenade ahead. It rolls, bounces, and explodes in the guard cluster. Walls buckle. Debris rains. The chanting collapses into screams.
I sprint forward, heedless of the bits of shrapnel bouncing off my armor.
Then I see him.
Vex.
His eyes are wet, fearful, small, and enormous all at once. His fists clench as though he wants to wrench loose, but the straps hold.
My ribs want to crack—not from the fight but from the shock. Relief and rage twist me inside out.
“VEX!” Ella screams, bursting into the chamber behind me.
Priests snap into defense. Weapons raise.
I don’t wait. I charge.
My boots collide with the cradle platform. My claws flash. I smash the energy lock panel with my bare fist. Sparks spray, sizzling against my skin.
“You don’t get him!” I roar.
A priest with a staff lunges. I deflect, spin, elbow him hard in the face. Glass shards crack. The staff skitters across the floor. Another priest slams a plasma dagger at me. I catch the arm, twist, break the wrist. The dagger falls.
Vex cries out—soft, terrified. “Papa!”
My heart stops. Then breaks.
I lean over, pry the straps free. They hiss, pop. The cradle’s hum fades. His body sags, limp—but alive.
He stares at me with those big eyes. I don’t have words. I just pull him in.
“Shhh,” I whisper into his ear, one arm under him, one cradling his head. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
Ella presses close, pressing a hand to my shoulder, trembling. “We have him. Oh god, we have him.”
I look up. Above us, on the observation deck, a hologram of Autrua flickers to life. She watches us with clinical disappointment.
Ella raises her pulse gun and fires. The bolt passes through the projection.
“Brave,” Autrua’s voice amplifies through the room. “And foolish. Run, little mother. My fleet is waking up.”
“Go!” I roar.
We flee the chamber, the hull shaking as the Aces High crew triggers diversion charges. Priests give chase. Bolts tear through walls. Fire blooms like venom.
I cover Vex with my body. Ella covers me with her gun.
“Extraction point ahead!” Clint shouts over the comms. “Ramp closing in three… two…”
We sprint forward through smoke and scarlet warning lights. Vex looks up from my arms, his eyes wide, locking onto Ella. “Mama...”
“I’m here, baby!” she shouts, grabbing his tiny hand as we run.
We cross the threshold into the hangar bay. The ramp of the Aces High is retracting. We have to jump.
I shoulder-block two priests aside. Ella stumbles as she enters the ramp threshold.
A bolt catches her back.
She cries out. Her legs buckle.
Time stops.
She drops.
“ELLA!”
I lurch forward, scooping her up with one arm while holding Vex tight in the other. We dive into the airlock just as the blast doors seal.
The ship lurches, engines screaming as we tear away from the Flame.
I slide down the wall of the airlock, gasping. Ella is pale, clutching her side, blood seeping between her fingers.
“I’m here,” I whisper, pressing pressure to the wound. “I have you.”
Vex is crying softly, burying his face in my neck.
We made it. But the smell of blood fills the airlock.