I trail her through the crowd, outfitted in my new dark suit, the press credentials that Lyrann Balkarri gave me around my neck. The ID will only hold up to a cursory examination, but like the Ra’haam, I’m hoping security will be too pressed to focus elsewhere. I’m also hoping Balkarri can live up to his end of the bargain. I offered him the scoop of a lifetime, and he is a fan of the dimples. But there’s a lot riding on my gamble.
Only delegates, personal security, and press are allowed into the summit itself—the entourages and hangers-on, academy staff and legionnaires are all gathered in the caff joints and eateries beneath the statues of the Founders. Adams and de Stoy’s promise of a special address has curiosities piqued, and the promenade is packed.
I lose Cat three times, heart hammering in my chest as I search the mob. But I eventually find her again, cutting like a knife through the crowd, headed back in the direction of the docks.
Makes sense.
It’s the place she, and therefore the Ra’haam, knows best.
Cat rides a turbolift to the lower levels. I sprint down the stairs, earning a few strange looks from a maint crew. Is she headed for the fuel dumps, maybe? The munition stores? Lotta explosives down there …
Cat walks casually through the security patrols, flashing her GIA credentials; I do my best to skirt around them. It feels like I’m in a contest of cat and mouse, but I’m not sure who is who, and it strikes me as strange—that this whole game might be decided by two tiny pieces on this massive board, a million years and billions of lives in the making.
We’re down on Theta Deck when she gives me the slip. I have to pause in a stairwell to let a sec patrol roll past, and when I emerge into the corridor, I realize Cat’s just … gone.
I scan the deck, dash to the level below, eyes wide.
Where did she … ?
I retrace my steps, desperation growing, pulse and headache hammering. The image of the academy’s end flaring again in my mind.
Nononono …
The thing about chess is, you’re not really playing the game—you’re playing your opponent. Trying to scope what they’ll do before they do it.
And I think I just got outplayed.
I look around me, growing frantic now. Glancing at my stolen uniglass, I see it’s 08:27 Station Time—only thirty-three minutes until Adams and de Stoy are scheduled to speak. If the Ra’haam is concerned like I am, if it spotted that inflection as de Stoy talked about shadows and growing like I did …
And then I see it. A tiny glowing sign above a nondescript door.
RESTROOM.
I dash inside, bumping into a thin young Betraskan in academy livery, smiling an apology as we brush past each other. I scan the room, butterflies surging as I spot the ventilation duct.
Fresh scratches in the paint around the grille.
I walk toward it, pulled up short by the voice behind me.
“Holy chakk …”
Glancing over my shoulder at the cadet, I see him lingering in the restroom doorway. He’s staring at me, big black eyes gone even wider.
“Tyler Jones,” he whispers.
I recognize him at last.
“Jonii de Münn,” I murmur.
Champion of last year’s Aurora Academy chess tournament.
“Jonii, wait, I can explain… .”
I lunge for the pulse pistol inside my jacket. He lunges for the exit. The stun blast strikes the space he stood a second before, my second shot knocks the door off its hinges. But he’s running now, out the exit and down the corridor, fumbling for his uniglass, yelling for station security.
Game over.
I dash into the cubicle, wrench off the grille, and drag myself up into the vent, fastening the cover behind me. It won’t buy me much time, sure. But it’s going to be a minute at most before Aurora Legion security is notified that one of the galaxy’s most wanted terrorists, Alpha gone rogue, mass murderer, and space pirate (yarrrr) Tyler Jones is loose on the station.
So now this game is on the clock in a whole new way.
I crawl into the vent, using my uni to light my way. These ducts are a maze, and normally I’d be hopelessly lost a few junctions in. But like I said, they really should run the sweeper drones through here more often.
Ahead of me, I can see—clear as I can see the firing squad waiting if security catches me—the handprints and knee tracks of my best friend, scuffed on the grubby metal surface.
And so I crawl.
Like the life of every sentient being in the galaxy depends on it, I crawl.
The clock on my uni ticks down. I’m jacked into the station network, glancing occasionally at the summit feed. Delegates are gathering in the Founders’ Enclave, a myriad of races and costumes taking their place in the concentric rings. In the center of the stage, a podium is picked out by a bright spotlight, a holo of the Aurora Legion sigil spinning in the air above it.
I realize I’m getting into restricted areas of the station now. I pass an automated security checkpoint in the vents, but the motion sensor and laser screen have been bypassed by a tiny jamming device pressed against the wall—no doubt courtesy of the GIA’s spec-ops division. I slide down a chute into wider vents, following Cat’s trail. I’m sweating in my suit now, temperature slowly rising. Passing another three security checkpoints, I see they’re all disabled.
I’d wondered if there might have been a bomb on the Terran delegation shuttle, or some device in the landing bay that might cause the station’s destruction. If Cat would hit the ammo stores or refuel supply. There’s any number of ways a saboteur could put this station on its heels with the right knowledge and enough time. But I know where she’s headed now. The most strategic choice. The most reliable place to kick off an explosion that’d wipe out the entire academy, no fuss, no survivors.
The reactor core.
Cat’s trail ends at another grille, and I pop it loose, slip free. I’m sweating so hard my jacket feels soaked through. Jonii will definitely have alerted station security to my presence by now, though they haven’t sounded any audible alarms—probably don’t want to disrupt the summit. Dropping to the metal floor, I see I’m in the reactor core itself, the dark metal walls stained vaguely blue by the overhead lighting.
This section is absolutely off-limits for cadet staff, and I admit I don’t know it too well. But I can still tell where Cat’s gone, even without a scuff trail to follow. Four security staffers are laid out on the floor ahead of me.
Kneeling beside them, I check pulses, but I already know they’re dead. The hatchway has been disabled, and through it, I find three techs and two more security team members, all gone. Glancing at the sec system, I see the cameras are offline, no doubt knocked out by another GIA jammer.
These bodies, this tech …
I shake my head. Understanding the planning and skill it takes to pull a job like this. How much of an edge the Ra’haam has, with the combined knowledge of every person it’s ever absorbed at its beck and call. I can see now how many moves ahead it has been this whole time.
The clock ticks down.
“Esteemed representatives,” comes a voice in my earbud.
I glance to my uniglass, realizing the opening address has begun. It’s being transmitted across the entire station network, and the voice of Admiral Adams rings on the walls as I steal on through steam-filled corridors, past more bodies, the heat stifling, the air thick and wet in my lungs.