Nyxia Uprising, page 7
“Let’s start at the beginning.” I point to the sky. “See those two moons? In twelve days, they’re going to collide….”
It takes about five minutes to catch them up. Beatty’s smirk vanishes. Each new revelation strikes like lightning. I take great care to point all the anger and blame in Babel’s direction. If we’re going to fight our way back into space, we need them to know who the real enemy is.
“We’re going home,” I say firmly. “Shoulder to shoulder. Fathom?”
The three of them stare back. Gio raises an eyebrow. “Fathom? What’s that?”
“It’s—you’ll figure it out. Get some sleep. We’ll introduce you in the morning.”
As they file past, Parvin catches my eye. She lowers her voice to less than a whisper.
“We need to make sure we don’t promise them anything we can’t give them.”
I frown. “Meaning what?”
“They didn’t get Gripped, but there was still a punishment. Feoria isn’t extending them the same priority status as us. They’ll be treated like the non-Remnant Imago survivors.”
The truth shakes through me. “Seriously? There are hundreds of us, Parvin. Launch Bay 2 has only sixty seats. We can’t leave them to die down here.”
“I did my best,” Parvin replies. “Their names will go into the lottery with the rest. What would you have said that I didn’t? Genesis 13 tried to kill the Imago—and us—just a few weeks ago. They’re lucky the Imago spared them at all.”
“Lucky.” I repeat the word, unbelieving. “It’s a delayed death sentence.”
“You keep forgetting we’re in a partnership. The Imago built the spaceships. They’re our way home. We don’t have any right to force their hand on this, and you know it. Without them, we’d just be stuck down here. Besides, are you going to give up your spot? Emmett’s?”
I’m surprised how deep the question cuts. It just about knocks the breath from my lungs.
“Didn’t think so,” she whispers. “So why should they sacrifice a cousin or a brother or a queen for one of the Genesis 13 survivors? The best we can do is hope they’re chosen in the lottery.”
Both of us watch as the former prisoners join our camp. They hover at the outskirts like nervous freshmen at a new school. Anger still hums through me. “It’s not fair.”
“It never is.”
“I bet Genesis 13 thinks they’re just the last ones who get to launch. They don’t know there are limited seats at Launch Bay 2.”
“And they need to keep thinking that,” Parvin replies. “Tell them the truth and we have no idea how they will react. Desperate people do desperate things.”
I shake my head. “It makes me feel horrible.”
Parvin surprises me by taking a step closer. She sets both hands on my shoulders and locks eyes with me. “It should. I’d be worried if this was easy. It means you’re still in there. That big heart that’s always had room for all of us in it. Get some sleep. We march at dawn.”
She joins the others. They’re kind words, but I’m having a hard time making them feel true. I stand there and think about Emmett. About the hell we’re both going to survive in the coming days. He’s out there somewhere. I know he’s doing everything in his power to reach Launch Bay 2. I remind myself that that is the only goal that really matters.
Get to the launch station. Keep everyone alive. Go home.
“Meet you in the middle,” I whisper. “Be safe, Emmett.”
In the sky, the two moons keep their distance for now. It almost looks like they’re giving us a little extra time. Just a few more days or hours or seconds.
Enough time to find our way home.
We take our places before the massive black walls. It’s hard not to smile.
It’s just such a divine moment. I’ve stood here before. This is where we learned about the Genesis 11. Babel carved out such a dramatic moment for us. Requin and Defoe exchanged their smiles. It was such a fun little secret for them. A planned surprise that they knew would break us one more time. But now? Now I’m the wizard behind the curtain.
Aguilar stands on my right. I’m still not sure how we would have done any of this without her. I could have unleashed Erone on the command deck and bloodied up the place, sure, but Aguilar is the one who allowed us to take control of the ship without taking heads from shoulders.
She designed a false flaw in the outgoing encryption software to handle most of the heavy lifting. Instead of allowing messages to the incoming Genesis 14 or down to the Babel command centers on-planet, her program rerouted all backdoor communications to her own private server. It’s all beyond me, but from there, Aguilar traced the breaches back and ferreted out two treasonous techies. The only failure on our record is the disappearance of Bilal and Roathy. All the relief I felt when I found out Bilal was alive vanished the second Aguilar told me prison units had been emptied before we took control of the bridge. She’s 99 percent certain they’re down on Magnia.
I’m afraid we lost them again.
At least we control the station. For the past few weeks, I’ve approved all messages between ships. Aguilar edits them to sound like Babel’s space communication protocol. For a while, I was questioning why she was so dedicated, but she explained her situation clearly enough.
“Thirteen years,” Aguilar said. “I signed up for three, but once they had me out here, that didn’t matter. Not really. Some of the techies come and go, but the good ones haven’t seen home in a decade. If you push back, they offer you more money. If you say no to the cash, they threaten your family. If you don’t have any family to threaten, they kill you. I’m ready to go home and I’ve got a better chance with you in charge.”
Aguilar’s story is sad. So is mine. But our stories fall short of what Babel did to Erone. The Adamite stands on my left. He’s been training down in the Rabbit Room. Running, fighting, manipulating. A few weeks and he’s a spectacle again. Muscles layered over muscles, a head and a half taller than me, with the deadly broadsword strapped to his back. For all his physical restoration, it’s clear to me that Erone will not recover.
Over the past few days, he’s slipped deeper into madness. He talks to shadows. He cries out in the night. His moods shift unpredictably. But I need him. He’s a threat Babel understands. As we prepare to meet new enemies, I have to risk having him at my side. The black walls rumble. It sounds like the engine of a plane, revolving until the ground vibrates beneath their power.
“Remember that they have been lied to, Erone,” I warn him. “Like us. They were tricked like us. We have no idea what Babel told them. Killing anyone is a last resort.”
Erone lets out a breath. “As you say.”
The walls separate enough to walk forward. I lead the two of them across the fifteen meters that divide the Tower Space Station from the freshly docked Genesis 14. Aguilar has been feeding them standard update messages for weeks. They have no idea Requin is dead. Their leader—Katherine Ford—thinks he’s coming to greet the new crew.
It’s a pleasure to flash my nastiest smile in his place.
The crew is lined up the way Genesis 11 was. Ten teenagers front the group.
A dark-skinned girl with an almost golden ’fro. Two boys on her left sport matching topknots—though one is Japanese and the other looks Baltic. One pair stands side by side, and I do a double take. They’re identical twins. A quick scan shows similar features in sets across the room. God in heaven. Seriously? Did Babel really recruit siblings for this mission? The group looks like we did: broad-shouldered and half-broken. Babel’s games have carved them into more, skinned them into less. I can see hope in every eye. That’s how we must have looked too.
No one’s scraped through the first layer of Babel’s promises.
Time to help them with the fine print.
The medics wait behind them. I see looks of surprise. The contestants had no idea what to expect, no idea what waited behind the wall. The medics all know an Adamite shouldn’t be strolling into the room. Aguilar might look normal, but I’m a surprise too. Near the back of the room, two marines start forward. I spy their leader standing dramatically off to the right. I’m guessing she just gave a booming speech about the future and what’s next and manifest destiny. Katherine Ford is recognizable. The red hair, the sharp glare.
She figures it out first. “Breach. We have an Adamite out of containment. Breach.”
Too bad her warning doesn’t make it past Aguilar’s headset. The marines are halfway to us when Erone makes his own move. His sword is off his back and at Ford’s neck in a breath. I’m honestly stunned when the blade stops. It’s an unusual display of restraint for him.
The marines pause, guns raised, uncertain now. Ford is a cold stone. Like all the Babel commanders. She stares back defiantly, and I can’t help but grin as I hold out both arms in welcome.
“You finally made it. Welcome! You’ve arrived at the Tower Space Station. I’m sure Ms. Ford here has informed you that this is Babel’s base of operations for missions on Magnia.”
“Former base of operations,” Aguilar corrects.
“Former.” I repeat the word and nod. “That’s true. Their former base of operations. Erone and I had some issues with Babel’s old chain of command. We’re in charge now. So if you don’t want to be floated out and fossilized in space, set all your weapons and nyxia on the ground, now.”
Awkward silence follows. Some of the contestants look back to their medics for guidance. A few look pissed off, like they’re seeing the grand prizes that Babel offered them slip down the river.
Sighing, I nod to Ford. “Instruct your trainees to comply with my order. Otherwise, it will be Erone’s distinct privilege to remove that intelligent head from your shoulders.”
Ford eyes the room. I know she’s calculating every angle. What are the odds they can take us? Her own death is a mathematical certainty in every scenario, but she’s not cut from the same cloth as Requin or Defoe. None of this was ever about her. I’ve read her file. It’s about the advancement of a legacy. It’s about reaching across the universe and accomplishing the impossible. She’s not above sacrificing herself, but I’m hoping she sees it would be a waste. They’re not prepared for a battle. Erone would rip through their ranks in minutes.
After a second, Ford gambles on staying alive.
“You heard him,” she says. “Remove your nyxia. Guns too.”
I spy a range of reactions—stubborn, curious, fearful—as the room bends to obey her command. The Japanese kid with the topknot grins at me before sliding some nasty little knives onto the ground. I like him already. Most of them store their nyxia the way we did—as rings or bracelets or necklaces. A little pile gathers by their feet. I slide it all back toward Aguilar and start the obligatory second round. If any of them are like me, I know they’ll try to keep something.
“Hands up,” I order. “No one moves, no one talks.”
Pockets and ankles and belts. I find little goodies on just about everyone. The Japanese kid grins again when I pull three more knives from all the places I’d have hidden them. One of the identical twins had a coin hidden behind one ear like a full-flung magician. When I reach the girl with the ’fro, she purses her lips and raises both eyebrows like this is the most boring part of her day.
And then she snakes forward.
I twist to the right, but she’s lightning. One arm slides under my own. An opposite hand locks the hold around my shoulder and neck. She squeezes tight, and a noise chokes out of me. I catch a flash of Aguilar’s panicked face. Erone tilts his head like a curious cat.
I’m freaking out, because I know the Imago is about two seconds away from bringing a storm down on all of them. The girl’s technique is flawless. Legs braced, grip tightening. It’s so precise, but well-trained fighters never expect someone to play dirty. Her height makes the move a little easier. I stomp down, plant both feet, and launch my head back into her chin.
Light explodes across my vision. The pain is staggering, but she lets me go. I put three steps between us and have a dagger raised by the time the room blinks back into view. No one moves. The girl has a bloody lip and an angry glare waiting for me, but the rest of the crew stares over my shoulder. It takes a second to figure out they’re looking at Erone.
He strides away from Katherine Ford. The woman’s lips are parted in a strangled sigh. Her eyes stare strangely past us. Erone’s bulk doesn’t hide the sight of blood gushing down her suit. He readies his sword for the next offender, but surrender comes immediately. Damn it, Erone.
Hands go up. Some of them beg for mercy. The whole group scrambles to get rid of their nyxia, as if it’s made of poison. Erone’s chest rises and falls, rises and falls. He lifts his sword.
“Erone.” My voice is sharp. “It’s done. No more.”
He glances over like hearing his own name has called him out of some other world. Slowly, he lowers the sword. The room takes a collective breath. Only the brave girl with the ’fro can’t calm down. She’s hyperventilating—both hands trembling. No one moves to help her. They’re afraid to be associated with her now. She’s the one who brought the angel of death to life.
I watch as the shock sets in. Of course. They’ve been fighting in simulations this whole time. No real blood. No real deaths. The only consequences so far have been how far they move up and down the scoreboard. This is their first taste of war, and it’s breaking them.
Sighing, I make the order. “Babel personnel to the right. Recruits to the left.”
A glance shows Ford has gone still. Erone made a mistake. He disobeyed the one order I gave him, but his stunt makes the rest of it easy. We order the remaining marines and astronauts out of the bowels of Genesis 14. Some of them round the corner ready for a gunfight.
But then they see Ford’s body, our captives. It snuffs out the rebellion pretty quickly. Each of them sets down weapons and files into place. Aguilar matches the numbers to the ship’s digital manifest. Once the count is right, we escort them into the Tower Space Station.
Three separate rooms. One for the marines, one for the medics, and another for the contestants. Aguilar’s programmed the cells. They’ll have food and water, but their only possible escape is through the bone-thick windows and out into space. None of them are that desperate.
Eventually, Erone leaves. Bored or restless, he heads back to the command center. Aguilar sends orders to follow the refueling protocol. Our skeleton crew is still working on Genesis 13, so it will take time to have the fourth ship readied. But when they finish, we’ll have four ways home.
I start back through the ship’s ghostly hallways with Aguilar at my side.
“Erone is becoming an issue,” she notes.
“I’m working on it. We still need him.”
And we do need him. Some of Vandemeer’s recruits are loyal to us. But fear keeps the rest of our current techies and astronauts from rebelling. Erone is like a fire. We need enough of him to keep things warm, but not so much of him that everything goes up in flames.
“Any luck contacting Morning?” I ask.
Aguilar shakes her head. “Without a proper link, it’s almost impossible. She would have to be in one of Babel’s bases to make it work. Until then, there’s no chance of contact.”
Our unsolvable riddle. We control space. The ships belong to us, but no one on our side actually knows we’re winning. It’s also been hard to interpret the satellite data we’ve been getting. There are only a few things we know with 100 percent certainty. Babel attacked Sevenset. I’ve seen the footage. A single report came back suggesting the kill count was very low. Erone confirmed the Imago plan to abandon Sevenset and launch into space. We were shocked.
After that, we know the Genesis crews escaped the city and we know Babel attacked them at the exit points. And that’s about the point where we took control. A few reports came back suggesting Defoe might be dead, but I didn’t buy those for a second. Ever since then, the reports from the ground have been a mess. Aguilar suspects they’ve figured us out, but it’s hard to say for sure.
Our options are limited too. We have a handful of escape pods left. Do we risk sending someone down to Magnia? Aguilar’s suggested a few potential locations, but there’s no guarantee that the person we send down would ever find the Genesis crews. And who do we send down?
Erone can’t be trusted. Aguilar refuses. I thought about going, but it’s not hard to see the consequences of that. Aguilar has been invaluable, but I get the feeling that she’d head home in a heartbeat if she could. And she’s brilliant, so I know it wouldn’t be hard for her to organize a crew on one of the ships and fly back to Earth. Entire worlds depend on my decisions.
There’s a truth to choke on.
“Let’s keep working on it,” I say. “I’m going to check on Erone.”
Aguilar nods once before taking the opposite tunnel. She wisely moved the command center out of the central hub and to a backup console. She explained it was the best way to track the activity of the less trustworthy techies, said it was like monitoring a small town versus analyzing an entire continent. While Aguilar rules over the techies, Erone broods. He always sits in the old command center, staring down at his home planet. I’d rather have him there than prowling the rooms we use as prison cells, picking unlucky victims to be put to the sword for random reasons.
“Anton.” The voice comes from an adjacent hall. “Hey, Anton!”
Vandemeer. The Dutchman looks healthy, even if he’s short a few fingers. Babel figured out his role after I broke Erone free. I found him locked away, half-starving. We went there looking for Bilal, but Vandemeer could only confirm they’d been taken away days before. Since then, he’s been in charge of organizing crews for our eventual escape.
“How are we looking, Vandemeer?”
