Chapter 42
“Idid not order the self-destruct!” Cache shouted, her hand slapping the table.
“It started on its own!” Callista shouted back. “I hit some sort of tripwire beneath the systems.”
“Can confirm,” Mouse interjected quickly, like he wanted to stop murder—which was possible. “It’s part of the virus they’ve planted and wasn’t deliberate.”
Cache pointed at Mouse, her features hard. “You. Return to unlocking those systems.” She pointed at Callista. “You. Fix what you did and turn the fucking thing off. If we all die, it’ll go on your report.”
Callista jerked, her brow furrowed in her confusion. “But won’t I be dead along with—?”
“Get to work!” Cache shouted.
Mace strode over to where Grey monitored the CORE techies. Hands on their heads, the scent of their fear and desperation wafted toward him. He pushed away his pity, and thoughts of Nia, of what she would want him to do in this situation, to ask, “Which one of you can turn off the self-destruct? Lie to me and die. Work with us and you’ll be treated with respect.”
Grey’s eyebrows lifted. Okay, so it sounded less threatening than the situation warranted, but it seemed to have the desired effect. While most of them continued to shake and blubber, one woman held up a tentative hand.
He stepped toward her. “You can turn it off?”
She shook her head frantically. “I heard General Duval say if the self-destruct was tripped, it would be unstoppable.” Her voice shook as she spoke, her Common accent different than Nia’s. She ended on a sob, her eyes sliding to where they’d stacked their dead commanding officers.
“No one here designed it?” Grey asked.
She shook her head again. “We’re all bridge crew from the Triomphe and arrived this morning.”
“Tais-toi,” the man beside her spat.
She turned to him, her face twisted in anger, and said in French, “We’re either going to die or become sex slaves, Reggie! I’d rather cooperate if it means some respect!”
A couple of the others nodded, two looked close to fainting, and one at the side reached for her left hand, her missing PALM, like he’d seen Nia do a hundred times. His chest panged.
He wasn’t going to get any more help here and returned to the holotable just as Newton poked his head out.
“They’ve done a lot of shit to this thing,” he said, running a hand over his face. “It’s going to take about a dozen teams a few days to fix everything. They weren’t intending to fly Orion out of here.”
“Are we going to be able to fly?” Cache asked, hands braced against the holotable.
“I think so?”
“That was a question?”
“Yes?”
Cache glared at him as he disappeared under the holotable, then met Mace’s eyes. He knew what she was thinking.
If they couldn’t get the station out of the sector, they were dead. More CORE would keep coming.
“Mouse?” she asked the techie near him.
“I’ve accessed most of the main systems,” Mouse replied, “but the same virus is slowing us down. I have re-established communications.”
“Can we contact the Phalanx?”
“Their comm is down.”
“Weapons?”
“Still working on it. I’m almost ready to clear the station. A couple more minutes.”
They stared at the viewer. The Phalanx could use their help right now. Transports left the hangars. They were evacuating. The Mercenary, Rebel, and the Tellusian fighters were offering as much cover fire as they could to the survivors.
“Callista?” Cache asked.
No reply, and when they looked at her, Mace noted the sweat beading her brow.
The clock continued.
22:34
22:33
22:32
Mouse perked up, a smile on his face. “I have control over the mines.”
Finally.Mace moved to tactical control on the left while letting out a measured breath.
“Aim at those Guardians,” Cache ordered.
The panel lit up beneath his fingers. Using targeting control, he activated the mines’ propulsion systems and sent a cluster of them toward the Guardian attacking the Phalanx.
They hit all at once, making its shields ripple. Something vented into space.
“Don’t stop,” Cache said, her voice hard. “The Phalanx is dying out there.”
“Sir!” Mouse shouted. “There’s a communication coming from a Condor. It has a Tellusian escort.”
“Let’s hear it.”
Mouse put the audio over the comm. When a hesitant voice echoed in the command center, Mace’s fingers stilled over the control, his stomach plunging.
“Orion. Mace. Commodore. Whoever! This is Nia in Condor Echo Two Six Two.”
He met Cache’s wide eyes. All the blood drained from his body at the sound of Nia’s voice.
“I can identify a traitor trying to gain access to Orion,” she went on, her voice edged in panic. “Please advise me where to land. Please. I’m really bad at this flying thing. Shit. Mace, why didn’t you show me how to use the weapons?” She finished in a near shout, then paused. “Did I already say please? Forget that part and tell me where to land.”
“Cache,” he whispered, praying his commanding officer and friend would know how to stop Nia from killing herself.
Focus. Focus.
Nia gripped the controls so hard her fingers ached. One of Orion’s arms cast a shadow across the canopy.
A silence followed her frantic declaration. Did her message even get through? She swallowed around the nausea climbing in her throat.
The comm crackled and a male voice said, “Condor Echo Two Six Two, land in docking bay A1. Be advised we still have hostiles in that part of the station. Out.”
“Awesome.” All the moisture left her mouth. “I was looking forward to some hostiles. Where the hell is docking bay A1?” Her nausea increased while she tapped at the screen in front of her, trying to find some control where it would say “schematics” or something.
“Okay,” she said when nothing obvious appeared. She had no more time to look since the station towered ahead of her. “A1 has to be near the top. Section C was at the bottom.” She aimed the fighter toward the apex of the station, hoping her guess was right.
Heart pounding, she circled the station twice before noticing an open bay door. “Here goes nothing,” she muttered, then lined up as best she could.
A guidance system materialized on her screen, directing her with an option for an “automated landing.” She pressed the icon, and the program took over.
A long breath left her, and she sat back a bit. “They’re just going to need to manage if this isn’t A1.”
She passed through Orion’s shielding and entered the wide bay. Her heart leaped into her throat. It was filled with defenders. She ducked out of sight. So far, they seemed to think she was a friendly because she was in a Condor. But rising panic made her breaths short. The fighter kept lowering. They’d find out she wasn’t a fellow soldier soon enough. If she landed, if the automated system opened the canopy and dropped shields, then she was dead.
Nia pressed the icon to turn off the automated landing, and the Condor nearly crashed. Sheer luck kept her in the air. But the defenders moved frantically to surround her and fired.
Stomach rolling, she watched her shields ripple, holding at eighty-one percent. She could take a lot from the defenders’ weapons, but the shield strength wouldn’t last forever.
The pressure in the bay changed so abruptly Nia almost let go of the controls. The defenders were firing at her one second, then flying out the bay’s doors the next, along with anything that wasn’t secured. Whap, whap, whap. Bodies hit the sides of the fighter. Nia winced, her shoulders up at her ears.
When the bay’s shielding returned, the Condor dropped. She yanked on the controls. Thwack. The landing gear slammed into the deck, the sound echoing inside her head.
Nia sat, staring at nothing, her heart rate slowly lowering. Blinking twice, she forced herself to let go of the controls one finger at a time, then shook out her arms.
Peeking through the viewer, she affirmed she was the only one left in the bay. She pressed the control for the canopy to retract. It whined, the vastness of the bay greedily sucking the sound away. When the strength returned to her arms, she pressed the control for the ladder, pushed herself over the edge of the fighter, and clumsily half-slid, half-slipped down the rungs.
Her feet hit the deck and she fell to her knees. Gasping for breath, she dry heaved. Twice. How had she survived her flight? She had no idea. Some celestial being must be watching out for her.
Silence pulsed, disturbing in such a large space. Legs shaking, she stood, and searched for an exit near the rear of the bay. Several lined the bulkhead along with lifts. Which one led to Mace?
She headed to the closest one, then stopped when the swishing sound of a door opening hushed farther along. Turning toward it, her heart jumped into her throat when Mace stepped through, his uniform splattered in blood, a gun in his hand, and Betel right behind him.
On a shout, she ran, and launched herself at him. Her body slammed into his and it felt like coming home. Disregarding everything else, she wrapped her arms and legs around him and heard his weapon thump to the ground a second before his arms encircled her. She buried her face in his throat and squeezed him tight, inhaling his minty scent entwined with the acrid smell of weapons discharge.
“Ah, Nia,” he said, hugging her close. “Izar.” His lips skimmed her ear. “I don’t think I can let you go again.”
Her heart squeezed at his words, and she held him tighter. “I don’t think I want to be let go.”
A tortured sound emerged from his chest as he returned her embrace and pressed his cheek to hers. She closed her eyes and let the moment wash over her. The disquiet she’d been feeling since their separation disappeared. She was safe, and protected, and had never felt more whole.
All too soon, Mace set her on her feet and held her at arm’s length with his hands on her shoulders, his expression severe and eyes haunted. “What the hell did you do? You were supposed to be far from here.”
She covered his hands with her own. “There was a man.” Beneath her fingers, Mace’s flexed. “He stopped me from getting on my transport, almost killed me because I saw him in the engine core the day Commander Foley threatened me. He was doing something inside the chamber.”
Throughout her explanation, Mace’s expression became more murderous.
“He was alone?” Betel asked from beside her, his voice gravelly.
She nodded, meeting his eyes.
“There aren’t supposed to be solo maintenance crews,” Mace said, the planes of his face hard. “Tell me more.”
She told him everything about what had happened on the Phalanx. “I think—” Nia finished, swallowing against the dryness in her throat. “I think he’s a CORE agent.”
Mace pulled her close and turned to Betel. “Do you know the status of those medical crews?”
“Still on stand-by as far as I know.”
Mace bent and grasped his weapon. “Come,” he said, his hand skimming her spine. “We need to get to the command center.”
Mace didn’t think his heart rate would ever return to normal. When he’d heard her voice over the comm, his heart had stopped dead. Thinking about her flying across a battlefield with nothing more than an hour of the most basic instruction…
He couldn’t stop touching her as they made their way out of the docking bay, needed affirmation she was safe—that she’d returned to him.
His hand on her spine, he focused ahead. Mouse may have been able to clear most of the station of defenders using the emergency environmental systems, but it didn’t mean he’d gotten everyone. There could be pockets where defenders survived.
With Betel taking point, they headed the way they’d come. Mace kept his senses alert. He wouldn’t be able to breathe easy until they’d returned to their defensible position. The empty corridors echoed with their footsteps.
A few of the lifts were working, courtesy of Mouse, and they returned to the one they’d taken to the docking bay. As Betel reached for the control panel, Mace’s instincts hummed, hair pricking on his nape, and he turned.
Laser fire erupted in his peripheral vision. In the next instant, he twisted, shielding Nia with his body and returning fire.
Blistering heat scalded his back. A shout erupted from his throat. He tried to protect Nia, cover her, as the haze of pain overtook his vision.