Chapter 12
Fetch [ fech ] noun
The hereditary line of Talents able to move objects they are in contact with to any location they’ve physically been to within the scope of their ability. Denoted by a silver halo around their irises, these Talents are most suited to the fields of commerce and transportation.
– Excerpt from A Treatise on Talents , Third Edition
“By now, many of you will be sick of having it drummed into your heads that you need to find your equal. Why is this so? It’s quite simple. Talent calls to talent. When there is a balance, the sum of its parts becomes greater. With imbalance, ability falters by the degree of the disparity. Ignoring this tenet invariably leads to crippling one’s offspring’s ability to pull, weakening your House and line…”
– Lady Valtroy, Academy Headmistress ,
Glynfyls
Marcos arrived at Albanach’s tower and was ushered into an intimate dining room. A table had been set for two. Nora sat before a glass-paneled wall with a goblet of wine, gazing out over a cultivated pool, redolent of a fairy wonderland. The water steamed faintly, its flower-rimmed surface strategically lit with small balls of plaz. Tiny, winged bots flitted from lotus to lotus. Against the idyllic scene and the purpling snow-scape surrounding it, she looked a picture.
The Commandant was in no mood after the tongue lashing Laurellai had given him. Being her consort was never easy, and she was rabidly jealous at the mere mention of Nora’s name, albeit with good reason.
She turned to him. The cobalt gown picked up the highlights in her dark blue eyes, her halos luminescent, the modest gold jewelry she wore accenting them. Marcos noted with pleasure her only ring was the signet he’d returned. He sighed. Tonight, she was living up to her reputation as the most beautiful woman in the Source.
“I’m here strictly on business, Nora.”
She inclined her head as if she’d anticipated his reaction. “That’s fine, Commandant, but it’s the hour I usually take my repast. I didn’t want to be rude and eat in front of you.”
At some unseen signal, servants filed in and set the linen-spread table with a light soup and a fennel salad. The large platter proved to be candied duck over wild rice. Damn the woman. Thirty years later and she still remembered his favorites.
He sighed, knowing he’d been out maneuvered. The plush carpet ate his footsteps as he crossed to the table. The smile on her face bit at his heart. He sat across from her and started on the soup. It was superb, a coconut shrimp bisque.
“There was another set of surges farther north from the last ones. I sent a squad out to investigate,” he said once they were alone.
Nora brought a spoonful to her lips, blowing on it softly. He averted his eyes.
“Did Riegel find anything?”
Clever. “I can’t imagine so. Pax has command of the operation.”
She nodded, tilting the bowl to get the last spoonful.
“He did find a few anomalies. There was a massive surge, but the energy signature was corrupted,” Marcos mused, starting on his salad. The oranges offset the fennel perfectly. They must’ve been shifted in from the Deep South earlier today. Their pop of vibrancy was echoed in the floral arrangements strewn about the room. Nora had always been fond of coordinating the two.
She nibbled on the fruit, never having liked anything that tasted of anise. “How odd. Do you think the vector could’ve made an error? I hear they can be temperamental.”
He nodded but didn’t answer right away. Finishing his salad, he wiped up the last of the dressing with a frond. “My staff said much the same and redacted the data.”
She let out a soft breath.
He stood to grab the carving utensils. “But it’s my personal opinion that there was no mistake.”
“Oh?” Raising a hand to her throat, she took a sip of wine.
Marcos carved off a generous portion of duck for himself, then set the choicest cuts on her plate, sliced thinly. She reached forward to serve the rice and sauce.
How easily they fell back into old habits. She looked up, smiling softly at him, as if sharing the thought. He took a sip of wine. It was a southern pinot noir, another of his favorites.
All of this, too perfect.
“Shall we stop dancing, Nora? You do it beautifully, but I am sick to death of politics. There once was a time when I didn’t need them with you.”
She returned a forkful of duck to her plate, untasted. “It was my understanding that when you didn’t press to be removed as Laurellai’s consort, you had no desire, or were unable to return to what we once shared.”
Here was the crux of it.
“I filed the paperwork twice. Titus told me if I did so again, he’d have me culled.”
Nora closed her eyes for a moment, twisting the signet around her finger. He caught himself smiling at the tell. Not as frigid as she would have him believe. Her eyes opened and met his, a delicate blush spreading across her cheeks. Not by a long shot .
“Please, eat, Marcos. It’s your favorite. Allow yourself an hour of pleasure, you have so few.”
If that wasn’t the truth. He frowned, taking another bite. It really was superb. His plate was almost empty when he spoke. “That anomaly I mentioned. The surge beneath it bore a striking resemblance to the unsanctioned rejuvenation you performed three weeks ago. Tell me, what cause would Kara have to perform one of those Outside?”
Nora took a sip of wine, then placed the glass on the table, playing with its stem. “I don’t believe she would have any cause to perform a rejuvenation. A major healing on the other hand… Outside is a dangerous place.”
“As is Albanach’s tower?”
“If one was intent on self-harming, yes.”
He sat back in his chair, feeling ill. “That’s why you smuggled her out.”
“It was by luck I found her when I did, and almost too late. The next time it would’ve been, for all of us.” His eyes narrowed, and she bit her lip. “This agreement between Titus and Albanach. You know Kara was bred with a very specific outcome in mind, and that this perverse cross with Riegel is to ensure it becomes a reality, concentrating your genome with Beritram’s and mine.” She picked up her glass, a slight tremor in her hand. “What’s that old saying, Marcos… You don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone?”
His fork clattered to his plate. “Are you telling me that second halo’s not a breeding flaw?” If they’d succeeded in creating a new talent…
“I’m telling you, you need to let her go. All my actions have been, and continue to be, in the best interest of my people, and most importantly, my daughter. Look at what’s been done to the Breaker line, to all of us. I don’t care what contracts those first Talents signed. Our lives should be more than being rented out to the highest bidder, then bred into the grave.” She put a hand over his, the intimacy in her touch stealing his breath away. “We deserve more, Marcos. Tell me you’ve never imagined?—”
“You’re talking insurrection.”
“Would you prefer we dance? ”
He sat back, sliding his fingers from hers like a drowning man’s.
What was honorable?
“You’ve something red planned for dessert.”
Her lips tightened but she didn’t look displeased. “A berry trifle.”
The line of servants trailed in again. They cleared the table. Marcos watched the bots flit above the pool. All of her actions. Did warming Albanach’s bed constitute as one of those? The level of freedom he allowed her would suggest it. The possibility made Marcos’s gut burn. Had she become so callous?
“What’s bothering you, Marcos? You’ve those lines.”
Nora reached out to spoon up bowls of rich pudding and macerated fruit. The welcome scent of rum permeated the air. His hand went to his forehead, and he rubbed between his brows. The last servant closed the door, leaving them alone again.
“Albanach.”
By her pained expression, she understood the shades of meaning the name held for him. “He’s not… It’s not what you think. He offered me comfort when I was in a dark place. I’ve never been as strong as you. I took it and what joy I could. I care for him and believe it’s reciprocal…but passion is not.”
“I didn’t mean—” He had, and denying it would cheapen her admission. “Where does he figure into all this? Does he know what you’ve done? What Kara is?”
“I couldn’t say. Wheels within wheels, Marcos. I’ve never been privy to his true agenda. Thus far, it coincides with mine.”
That was of small comfort. Wheels had the unfortunate tendency to grind Talents beneath them when Patrons were driving. The Commandant grunted, going back to his trifle. He might as well have dessert before they did.
Riegel paced his blood-spattered dining room. The wreckage from his lapse had been cleared out days earlier, but the ruined ivory damask swathing the walls remained, thanks to the settlement of Nells’s wretched mother’s medical bills. They couldn’t be reunited in the hereafter soon enough, and Riegel would take great pleasure in speeding her on her way.
His boot-falls reverberated through the vacuous space. It was maddening. His lack of funds, the Commandant’s entrusting Kara’s return to Pax—Pax! Riegel threw a pitiful shower of sparks into the air, underscoring his impotency. Too invested in her welfare, was he? Why he’d ever attempted to garner sympathy?—
A communications orb sprang up in the far corner, its soft blue glow tinting the wall’s crimson stain purple. Riegel glowered at it.
Ielle.
All she reminded him of was his lack. Spinning on his heel, he threw talent at the orb. It disintegrated into a cloud of seared ions. He seethed, knowing he wasn’t doing anything to help his cause. No doubt Titus had him up on one of his holos, smirking over his bourbon. The thought of his threats being carried out made Riegel grind his teeth until his jaw ached.
He leaned against the large picture window, looking out over the city and envisioning it in flames. A smile tipped up his lips. That would be something satisfyingly rash indeed. Behind him, another orb popped into existence.
Damn her, she wasn’t going away. “If you insist.”
The six-paneled door across the room slid open. Ielle leaned against its frame, her nose scrunching as she scented the air. He must’ve been leaking more ’lust than he’d thought for her recessive Breaker genes to pick it up.
“You know, Rie, you really should bathe. Everything seems so much rosier when you’re clean.”
Rosier. How ironic her statement was when all he felt was beset by thorns. Even her appearance nettled him. She stood there, svelte in a grey gabardine sheath, examining her scarlet manicure, just a titch too smug. His eyes narrowed. She knew something.
“What’ve you found?”
Ielle batted her lashes at him. She was going to be coy about it then. Fine. It was time to play the game. He smoothed his hair, striding through the specter of his dining set to offer her his arm. “I’m sorry, darling, I’m sure you’re right. A bath sounds like just the thing. Won’t you join me? I’ve missed you.”
Ielle smiled beatifically, wrapping her arm around his bicep and strolling with him to the bath down the hall. The rest of his suite had escaped his temper, the curated selection of weapons and oddities adorning the walls usually putting him in a more temperate frame of mind. Not even the Lucite case of shrunken heads could bring a smile to his face today.
“I fear I must take you into my confidence. I’ve been in such a horrid mood because of that meeting with Titus. He’s placed a large onus upon me.”
Ielle tossed her raven hair over her shoulder and laughed. “Yes, and Kasham’s champing at the bit. She’s had your tag drawn up. ‘A strapping specimen, requiring a strong hand to tame his willful reluctance to submit.’ I hear she’s already got quite a list of clients penciled in. Oh, you can’t blame them, Rie. You are a treat.” She slapped his rear.
His teeth gnashed, unamused. “It’s irrelevant, unless I fail to breed Kara.” Ielle tensed, his dart hitting. Best not push her too far. He patted her hand. “When I do, he’ll be pleased. If I ask for your bond, I think he’d consider it. You know he has a fascination with twists.”
She looked up at him with an emotion Riegel had thought her incapable of. He averted his gaze, uncomfortable with it. When he glanced back, a much different one colored her visage. This one he ignored.
“I’d wager that Pax takes her for himself, just to spite you.”
Riegel choked down his anger at the vocalization of his fear. He held the door for her, wanting to rip out her vicious tongue. “He’ll do as Titus wills. He and the Commandant are nothing if not competent, and the hierarchy guarantees their obedience.”
Ielle pouted, entering the bathroom. She leaned against the long granite counter beside the sunken tub, playing with a towel from the basket of linens. “Perhaps to the letter of the law, but not the spirit, BrNC37. Pax hates you, and your sire’s always preferred your half-sibs to?—”
Riegel swung around, backhanding her. She went sprawling, striking her cheek against the counter. He crossed the room to the vanity before he damaged her further, breathing heavily through the blackness of his rage. Methodically removing his cuff links, he dropped them into the small bowl in front of the mirror. In its reflection, he watched her struggle to her knees. She groped at the blood running from her mouth. There was quite a bit of it. He probably shouldn’t have hit her so hard. That would get him written up.
“Run the water, won’t you, darling?” he asked woodenly.
She leaned over the tub’s edge, spewing a mouthful of gore. Something plinked off the porcelain. Riegel raised an eyebrow. Could a Binder regrow a tooth? She might want to save that. He folded his shirt over the back of the vanity chair and held out a hand to her. “Here, let me help you with your dress.”
Ielle’s face was cold beneath the bruise already purpling its side. She staggered to her feet. “It will always be about her.” She spat again, this time on the floor in front of him. Stumbling to the door, she gripped the towel to her lips. The blood bubbling past them was a shocking shade of red.
Damn her. She would choose now to be difficult.
“Darling, please,” he cajoled. “I’ve been under a great deal of stress, and you shouldn’t have antagonized me so. I’m sorry I lost my temper. You know how much I care for you.” He took her by the shoulders and steered her back into the room. She stiffened at his touch but lacked the strength to resist. Riegel kissed her temple. “Here now, have a seat, and let’s discuss this.”
Ielle dropped onto the chair. Her head lolled and she slumped over, vomiting. A sigh escaped him. He pushed her forward to retrieve his shirt, having come to the unsavory conclusion that he was going to have to summon a Binder to clean her up.
Titus glowered at the blue orb hovering in the center of his desk instead of his usual array of holos. His auburn curls were slicked back, and he’d dressed with care. Those waiting upon his pleasure had been dismissed, and the lights turned on, highlighting the priceless works of art the Merkels began acquiring after the Surge.
Every detail agonized over to portray an image of wealth and strength.
Not by him, but his people had been very busy.
With just cause, Albanach had finally gotten back to him via his secretary. She was attempting to patch him through, or had been five minutes ago.
The insipid tune filtering through the orb began to replay.
His gaze roamed over the hoarded art normally hidden by the gloom he preferred. Each was situated within its own alcove, shrines to the various masters of the Renaissance, with the exception of the Warhol, but Titus enjoyed the glibness of the can of soup beside Picasso’s “Blue Nude”. No doubt the jest would be lost upon Albanach.
If he ever picked up the damned call.
Titus gritted his teeth, moving to disconnect when the woman’s patronizing nasal rasp crackled over the line. “I am so sorry, Patron Titus! He’d just gone down for his nap, not realizing we’d scheduled this for today. I’ll put you right through.”
The orb blipped, and Titus was looking into a richly decorated study, a hazy grey quality making it difficult to pick out fine details. Were the visuals off? Before he could play with the resolution, Albanach resolved out of the fug, ghosting over to the leather-topped desk, chewing on one of those nasty little cigars of his. The man sat, blowing a stream of smoke across the orb, further clouding Titus’s view.
When it cleared, he suppressed a shudder.
The last time Albanach deigned to answer a call in person had been over three decades ago, and the man hadn’t changed a bit. That wasn’t to say he looked good, though he appeared hale. His bald head was as smooth as a peeled egg, lacking even eyebrows, and his crisp white shirt held more color than the scant flesh it rode upon. It chafed one’s sensibilities after being surrounded by physical perfection. Titus focused just past the man’s left ear, repulsed.
“All up to snuff? ”
Titus bristled, taking a sip of his bourbon to hide it. “Tell me what you’re doing about this missing Talent of yours. Our prospectus is dependent upon her contribution. The breeders are in a frenzy.”
The old man took a long drag, then exhaled slowly, studying his cigar through dark wire-rimmed lenses as he rolled it between his thumb and forefinger. “I’ve sent out some of my people to intercept her.”
“Have you informed the rest of the board?”
Albanach looked weary at the prospect. “Officially, no.”
“An unsanctioned operation Outside? The board’ll have kittens,” Titus sputtered.
The old man shrugged. As well he might. A breath away from becoming the Corporation’s majority shareholder, Albanach’s resources were limitless. He only needed one other member to side with him, and he could be very persuasive.
“It’s more important to get her where she belongs than to kowtow to a bunch of pampered little shits. I’ve invested too much into that girl to just let her run off, and I won’t let paperwork tie my hands. More than this contract’s riding on her, and if I don’t catch up with her first, I expect you to let me know the moment you have her.”
Titus felt himself nodding and scowled. “Yes, yes. Of course. She’s your property; I’m just trying to protect my breeding rights, especially after that clause you snuck in. It’s infuriating that none of Kasham’s Finders can locate the girl, and having a squad respond after the fact is inefficient at best. This security lapse has cost me weeks that Riegel could’ve been at her.”
The provincial old man grimaced, Titus’s choice in stud one of the many bones of contention between them. He couldn’t resist needling him about it.
“Why did you put in that clause? If you want to renegotiate, I would’ve considered taking offspring from Riegel and Nora.”
A cloud of smoke occluded the orb’s view and Titus smiled, sure he’d gotten a rise out of him. When it cleared, Albanach was calmly inspecting the tip of his cigar.
“Like hell you would. You know as well as I what’s riding on this, which is why I’ve never understood your insistence on Riegel studding, unless it’s solely to thumb your nose at me and damage my property in the process. Crossing her genes directly with Marcos’s makes far more sense. I doubt Riegel has sufficient talent to successfully breed any of my Binders. He’s what, thirty-seventh rung? Both females far surpass him, and considering how fickle breeding dualities can be, it’s a waste of an estrus cycle. That clause is to ensure Kara isn’t damaged any more than necessary.”
Titus acknowledged the point. Riegel did have a reputation that wasn’t unwarranted. As to his level of talent, what either of them had manifested was of no consequence. It was their condensed genetic code he’d been after. The research Titus’s late father had left convinced him that if the offspring of a duality had a strong enough concentration of Original House genes, a new line of talent would be created.
However, it had also indicated that either Kara or Riegel should’ve been that offspring.
Doubling down on the man’s suppositions had lost its savor beside the concrete opportunity to get his hands on a Shade’s get, but Albanach didn’t know what Albanach didn’t know. The man did, however, have an annoying habit of picking the winning horse with alarming regularity, and something about Riegel had niggled of late.
“Indeed. Well, things can change. If we don’t apprehend the girl, all of this will be moot, now, won’t it?”
Albanach leaned back in his chair, studying him. The dark, circular lenses were stark pits against the man’s skull. Titus was annoyed to feel the back of his neck dampen.
“I have it well in hand, but please, feel free to send out your boys. If nothing else, it’ll make them feel like they’re earning their supper. A man needs purpose, after all. Now, you’re keeping me from my nap. Was there anything else?”
Titus’s temper flared, but he pasted a smile onto his face. “No, nothing else. I appreciate you taking the time, Albanach. Pleasant dreams.”
The orb blinked out of existence and Titus’s glass flew through the space it had occupied, tearing into the Picasso before it shattered. For the love of—The man was intolerable, but he didn’t dare overtly cross him after the last time. Titus briefly considered informing the board of Albanach’s actions before quashing the idea. Damn him, but he was right. Retrieving the girl was the most important thing… After she’d been bred by that Shade.
Riegel’s fate was less certain. Titus pulled up several holos, bothered by what Albanach had said.
Here it was. Yes, thirty-seventh rung. His physicals were exemplary, but his talent was mediocre at best, and his temperament problematic. A sub placed another drink in Titus’s hand. He took a sip, considering. It was rather remarkable that Riegel had advanced as far as he had. He pulled up the boy’s trials. Initially they’d earned him a rung somewhere in the hundreds.
Titus’s brow furrowed, flicking the holo to the day Riegel had killed his valet. That was not an average use of talent, it’d been rather impressive, actually. Three times the magnitude of the trials’ show of ability. It made no sense. A Talent’s potency was set once their halos came in. He rubbed a finger across his lips, intrigued.
Early on, they’d done numerous studies to test that theory. The only exception cropped up in Talents with borderline metrics. There’d been several successful instances of creating splits by exposing them to increasingly stressful stimuli, but it was unpredictable and took an inordinate amount of time. After investing years in the procedure, the odds of burning out the Talent’s ability were more likely than not. Additionally, finding Talents that met the criteria had become impossible. Riegel certainly didn’t qualify.
Titus leaned back in his chair. Something was off about the entire situation. A pain developed behind his eyes. He scowled, pulling out a bottle of medication and tossing back two of the orange and yellow pills. His episodes had become more frequent since the Jester girl had gone missing. He rang for Otto to come and do whatever it was the Binder did to temporarily relieve the condition. As he waited for the oily little man, he sipped his drink, pulled several of the holos closer, and continued to read.
The Commandant stepped out of the transport with an eye on the dark clouds building above. On his order, Delta Squad had commandeered the operations center for the border’s northernmost checkpoint.
Impassible mountains cragged along the western shore of a great lake and dense forest ranged to the east. The southern shore was too distant to see, and could only be accessed by a causeway spanning several spits of rock before it made landfall. Considering the ice coating the damned thing, he’d have to assign one of the transports to keep it open. He needed bait, and this was easily the juiciest bite at hand.
Ryfsbane took up the postage stamp of real estate where the causeway ended and the interway continued on, snaking through the only viable route into the Northern Territories for klicks. It had been built into a sheer cliff face, and the wind was doing its damndest to drive him through it and drown him in the process. He turned his collar up against the spray of glacial water from the white-capped lake abutting the miserable post.
No wonder the commanding officer had left laughing, but with the curtains up, Kara, and whomever she was with, had to come through here. Hopefully, he could intercept her before she slipped their net completely. Or give that impression. He still wasn’t sure of his intentions, and that bothered him. Damn Nora’s ability to grey what should be black and white.
He toed an empty bottle of rotgut to join the half-dozen others littering the rip-rap. The isolated route’s lax monitoring wasn’t a secret, and entirely due to the build-up on the border and the recent aggression from the Sons. His forces were spread too thin. Marcos crunched an antacid between his molars. The lack of manpower in conjunction with the prevalence of regulated tech on the black market gave him a serious case of agita. Titus needed to recall troops from the Deep South before things got ugly.
The clouds churning above let loose with a barrage of semi-frozen buckshot. Marcos hurried through the cramped lot. With the transports jostling for space, it was claustrophobic. He fumbled for another antacid, entering the command center, and doffed his hat .
A crust of ice slid off and shattered across worn linoleum. Glory, the weather was nasty. Inside wasn’t any better. The place reeked like athlete’s foot and burnt coffee, the former cancelling out any appeal of the latter.
Delta squad stood, saluting. They were crammed in around a couple of card tables like size nine toes in a size seven boot. Steps at the back of the hewn-stone room presumably led to the bunk house. On paper it slept a dozen. Marcos would have to take their word for it. The passage was so damned narrow he wouldn’t fit through it going sideways. Jones had set up communications next to it in the corner. Looked like all he was getting was static.
“Checkpoint secured, Commandant, sir.”
Marcos’s lips pursed at Pax’s limp salute. He’d been distracted since the op at the garage. It wasn’t like the man, but Marcos didn’t have the time, nor the inclination, to baby him. If it became an issue, he’d deal with it then.
“At ease. Any observations other than Collins needing to change his socks?”
The men glanced at the Breaker. His scalp glowed red through his spiky blond hair. Guilty as charged.
Pax ignored the moment of levity. “There’s not much, sir. This is the only road in the vicinity, and the next exit’s ten klicks due north. The border itself is directly over the ridge behind us.” At his side, he worried his thumb against his forefinger, broadcasting his anxiety. Funny how certain ticks were inherited.
Haven’t you ever imagined? Damn Nora. He had a job to do.
“Opinion, Br3?”
Pax couldn’t meet his eyes. Marcos sighed, not in the mood to deal with personnel problems, but if he didn’t know better, he’d think the man had lost standing the way he was acting. That would have to be addressed.
“Strategically, all of us crammed in here doesn’t make a lot of sense, sir. A fugitive approaching from the south will be able to spot the equipment build-up from halfway across the lake.”
The Commandant nodded at the observation. Pax was a good soldier, but the man’s arrogance habitually got the better of him, leading him to make stupid mistakes. Typical Breaker behavior, but Pax had it in spades. Or did. Something had knocked his dick in the dirt.
“That’s why you’ll be mobilizing. I want three teams put together. Position the first at the border, acting as crumb-catcher. Under no circumstances are they to engage with the North’s troops. Another skirmish will ignite this whole region. Send the other team south to surveil the road half a klick from the far shore. Those spits the causeway passes through aren’t big enough to hide a fart, never mind a couple fugitives. That said, get drones up on the off-chance they’re stupid enough to try it. Same goes for the lake. I’ve been assured it’s unnavigable this time of year, but I want all bases covered. Last team holes up here to man the damn place. Dismissed.”
Pax saluted, eager to be on his way. The squad filed out, and Marcos went to look for that coffee. It was perking on a thermocoil by Jones. He saluted sharply again as Marcos approached.
“At ease, Br48. Any good news to report?”
The dark-skinned man laughed. “Out here, sir? No. I’m having trouble getting a clean signal. Between the mountains, weather, and lack of satellite coverage, it’s been challenging, sir.”
“Like trying to transmit out of your armpit, I’m gathering.”
“I would’ve chosen a deeper crevasse, sir.”
Marcos cracked a rare smile. “Do your best, son. I have complete faith in your abilities. Did you and Ryker manage to triangulate that Fetch activity?”
His mood soured at Jones’s pause. It wasn’t just Pax. There was something going on with the whole squad. Marcos needed to know what it was.
“I’ve just downloaded the data. The shifts terminate here.” Jones indicated a point on the holo. Looked like a whole lot of nothing. A real-time feed began to jerkily overlay the projection.
“We had the new vector take visuals as it was being repositioned. As you can see, it’s a densely wooded area.” Jones hit a few more keys and several groups of heat signatures popped up beneath the thick conifers.
Marcos took a sip of coffee, his lip curdling at the bitter brew. “Send an expedited requisition to HQ. I want a squad deployed for recon and possible extraction. Tell them to send in Lambda Zeta eta six, BrNC37.”
Riegel’s squad.
Marcos’s stomach burnt. The last of that order authorized an accident in the field. The boy had no honor, and Marcos had turned a blind eye to it for far too long, wanting to believe in Nora’s grey. Regardless of the outcome of this op, Riegel was an animal that needed to be put down.
Haven’t you ever imagined? Marcos had. For her. To both their detriment and Kara’s.
The world was cleaner in black and white.
“Now, you want to tell me why Pax is walking around like he’s dropped a rung, and the rest of you are on eggshells?”
The tek went very still. “No sir, I don’t think I do.”
Pax chose that moment to come back into the building. He glanced between them and spun on his heel.
“Hold right there, Br3. I want to know what’s going on with this squad. Should I still be addressing you as lead?”
Pax bristled, snapping around to face him with a crisp salute. “Sir, yes, sir!”
“Cut the shit.” Marcos walked over to pour another cup of mud. A muscle in Pax’s jaw jumped. Titus had him slated to begin breeding next year. Maybe that would mellow him out. Breaker females had been in shorter supply than usual, and the Olly only went so far. “Now, what’s going on?”
Pax glanced at Jones. “I gave my word, sir, unless I receive a direct order from you to disclose, I can’t say.”
Marcos blew on his coffee and took a sip, punishing himself. Nasty stuff. “I’d never force a man to break his word, so let me see if I can guess. Does it have anything to do with that joy ride the five of you took?”
Neither of them moved.
Marcos walked over, squaring up to Pax. “Which one of them kicked your ass?”
Pax’s jaw tensed again. That arrow had found its mark.
Marcos met the man’s eyes, taking another sip. “I’ve told you that chip on your shoulder would get you into trouble, Br3. Well, as unfortunate as that is, since it apparently didn’t happen, you’re still secure on your rung. Must be embarrassing that your men saw it though. Was it the girl, Jones?” Marcos smiled at the tek’s silence. Chuckling, he set his coffee down. “Really. I don’t envy you one bit.”
Pax’s expression was stony. Marcos slapped him, demeaning him further. The sound cracked through the room, followed by a wave of Marcos’s bloodlust, underscoring his rage at his subordinate’s presumption. Jones cowered to the floor. Pax’s knees buckled as he fought and failed to remain upright.
Marcos hauled him up by his shirtfront, glaring at him, nose-to-nose, Pax’s toes dangling.
“Next time you feel like challenging for my rung, do it like a man. You can cry about getting your ass kicked by a girl on your own time. We’ve got a job to do. Do it well, and maybe you can recoup some of the honor you lost playing fast and loose with the hierarchy. You get another bright idea, you run it by me first, understood, Br3?” He pushed him away and picked his mug back up, hands trembling with the need to injure the man as he forced his bloodlust to fade.
Honor. Self-control. Without them, a Breaker was just an animal.
Animals got put down.
Pax regained his footing, pale with anger, Marcos’s handprint brazen across his cheek.
But he wasn’t going to challenge.
Not yet.
“Sir, yes sir, Commandant, sir!”
“Dismissed, the both of you. I’ve got work to do.” They left, and he sat at one of the card tables. If Kara had beaten Pax, who else could she best? Marcos’s thumb worried at his forefinger as he looked out the room’s lone, grimy window.
Everything beyond it awash in greys.