Chapter 15
Ellie
Almost exactly twenty-four hours after Cullen sent the message, a deep rumble shook the cabin, rattling the windows and sending vibrations up through the floorboards beneath my feet. I exchanged a glance with Rickon, who was already moving toward the door.
"They're here." There was something in his voice that I couldn't quite place. Anticipation maybe, threaded through with an edge of wariness that made my pulse quicken.
Cullen shot me a glance, the look sharp and knowing, then rose to his feet, abandoning his freshly brewed cup of coffee to follow Rickon. I fell in behind them, my heart hammering against my ribs. I knew they were here to help us, but old wariness died hard.
Outside, the clearing behind the cabin looked empty at first. Just pines and snow and the late afternoon sun slanting through the frost-covered branches in pale golden bars.
But then I noticed the air shimmering in spots, like heat waves rising off concrete, distorting the treeline.
A faint, low thrumming filled the air, a sound I felt as much as heard, making my ears buzz and my teeth ache with the pressure of it.
For a long moment, nothing happened. The air continued to shimmer and pulse, that bone-deep thrumming building until I could feel it resonating in my chest. Then, just as I was beginning to wonder if the trembling I'd felt might be a small earthquake, the air rippled like water disturbed by an invisible stone, and suddenly there were two spaceships sitting in Cullen's backyard.
"Fuck!" Cullen hissed from between his teeth, eyes wide.
I didn't blame him.
The ships were sleek, dark things that seemed to drink in the light rather than reflect it.
The surfaces were so black they looked like tears in the fabric of reality itself.
I couldn't make out any seams or rivets, just smooth obsidian curves, as if the ships had been molded from a single piece of solid metal.
The hatches opened with a sharp release of pressurized air, revealing a shimmering darkness within that seemed to move and breathe.
The first figure that emerged was nearly seven feet tall, with long, dark hair that fell past his shoulders and broad shoulders that strained against what appeared to be tactical gear. He looked like a human man, just much, much bigger.
"Xabat," Rickon greeted him with a nod, his voice warm with genuine pleasure. "Good to see you." He stepped away from me to take the other man's arm, his hand grasping firmly near his elbow in what I recognized as some type of handshake.
Two more figures followed in Xabat's wake. One was shorter and slenderer than his comrades, moving with a fluid grace that reminded me of a dancer. The other was as big as Xabat, handsome, with honey-brown eyes and a long, flowing blonde mane that caught the sunlight.
"Cristox, Xytol," Rickon greeted each in turn, that same warmth threading through his voice.
Three more beings emerged from the second ship, each one as handsome as the last in their human disguises.
I tried not to stare, but I couldn't help it.
I knew what I was seeing was some kind of projection, but they were stunning.
It was like watching a parade of GQ's most beautiful men, if those men had been carved from marble by a sculptor who understood exactly what made the female heart race.
"Rickon," one of the taller, more handsome males with long blonde hair spoke. His deep blue gaze went skyward as he frowned. "We should get inside."
"Of course, Captain Adtovar," Rickon glanced at Cullen, who gave a nod of agreement, sweeping out a muscular arm to indicate the doorway.
Adtovar turned, and with a tap of a finger on what looked like an iWatch on steroids, the ships disappeared again.
We followed Cullen inside and down to the basement. There was perhaps less room than on the first floor, but it served as his tactical base.
The basement was a maze of computer equipment.
Monitors casting blue-white light across surfaces cluttered with keyboards, hard drives, and cables that snaked across the floor like electronic vines.
The only piece of furniture was a long table in the center of the room.
A DIY war room that looked like it had been assembled with equal parts military precision and desperate improvisation.
Each of us took a seat around the table.
I settled next to Rickon, pulling my chair closer to him than was perhaps professional.
The metal legs scraped against the concrete floor, and I felt the warmth of his body radiating toward me.
I wasn't nervous exactly. I trusted Rickon, and he trusted these men.
But it was more than a bit intimidating being the lone female in a sea of alien testosterone, even if I was the president.
Cullen settled himself at the head of the table, his posture ramrod straight, every inch the military commander. "My name is Admiral Cullen Blackwood, United States Navy."
The tall blonde alien nodded with respect, his movements fluid and graceful in a way that reminded me these weren't really men at all. "Captain Adtovar of the Alliance ship Historia. We appreciate your assistance in this matter."
Cullen's gaze shifted to me, his eyes dark and proud. I felt the weight of his regard like a physical thing. "My loyalty is to my country and my president."
"Captain," the slender alien, the one Rickon had called Xytol, raised his hand, his fingers long and elegant. "I have the Prime on comm."
The words tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them.
"Is that safe?" I blurted, leaning forward in my chair.
"We don't know what Declan's capabilities are.
He could be monitoring all off-planet transmissions.
" Right now, more than ever before, I worried big brother was watching, and I knew big brother watched.
Xytol's expression shifted, and he seemed insulted by my question, his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly. "My lady, I assure you, the comm with the Prime has over a hundred layers of encryption. Even if Hewes managed to intercept the message, he would hear only static."
Cullen snorted, but I could tell from the slight quirk of his eyebrow that he was impressed.
Xytol's long, elegant fingers danced across an iPad-like device, and suddenly a holographic image burst into existence in the air above it, shimmering with a pale green light.
My breath caught as the projection stabilized, and a face materialized on screen.
The Alliance Prime. Even rendered in flickering light, she was breathtaking, her features as luminous and perfect as they had been when I'd met her in person.
"Who's that?" Cullen asked beside me, his voice carrying an edge of wonder he probably didn't realize was there. I bit back a grin. The unflappable Admiral Cullen Blackwood was impressed, maybe even a little intimidated.
"The Alliance Prime," Xytol announced with obvious reverence. "She wanted to speak with you directly."
The Prime's luminous eyes swept across the room intently, her gaze lingering on each of us before finally settling on me. "President Bradford. I am relieved to see you alive and well."
I nodded, clasping my hands in front of me to keep them from trembling. "Thank you, Lady Prime. I wish I could say the circumstances were better."
"Xytol has briefed me on the situation," she said, her voice carrying that otherworldly quality that seemed to resonate through the holographic transmission. "But I would hear the full account from you directly, please."
I took a deep breath, steadying myself, and launched into it.
I told her how our carefully laid plan to capture Declan had gone to hell in spectacular fashion.
How he'd somehow known the reason for my acceptance of his dinner invitation and replaced my Secret Service agents with his minions, all except for Rickon.
How he'd tried to kill me. My voice wavered slightly at that part.
I felt Rickon shift closer beside me, a silent show of support.
"Hewes used a cuddwisg device to take the president's place," Rickon added, his voice tight.
The Prime's expression darkened, her features hardening, making her suddenly seem dangerous despite her beauty. "A cuddwisg. Those are highly restricted technologies, even within Alliance space. How did a human acquire one?"
"Not just one," I reminded her, unable to keep the frustration from my voice.
"To replace my security detail, he would need dozens.
He's infiltrated the White House. For the past week, he's been sitting in the Oval Office, making decisions, meeting with my staff, doing God only knows what kind of damage. And no one realizes it's not me."
"Until now. But I fear it may be too late." Cullen interjected, his voice hard as steel. He rose to his feet in one fluid motion, giving a curt bow toward the hologram. "Admiral Cullen Blackwood, Lady Prime."
The Prime's gaze shifted to him, and I watched something like respect flicker across her features as she returned his greeting with a nod. "Admiral. Why do you feel it is too late?"
Cullen moved to stand beside me. Even in civilian clothes of jeans and a plaid flannel shirt, his military bearing was unmistakable.
Shoulders squared, spine rigid, every movement deliberate and controlled.
"Hewes has developed an AI," he began, his voice carrying the weight of someone delivering a death sentence.
"We are hours away from his plan to upload it into our military and intelligence networks.
Once it's integrated, he'll have control over everything—nuclear codes, surveillance systems, drone strikes, you name it. "
"Jesus," I muttered under my breath. Hearing it laid out like that, so stark and clinical, made my stomach do a sickening flip. It sounded like something ripped from the pages of a bad sci-fi movie, except this wasn't fiction. It was real.