"What about the ships?" Jye asks.
"Shields will be up 100%," Fehr says. "They can't risk firing on the ships without bringing the whole cave down on us."
I tune them out for a few seconds and grab Cherian's face. "You look just like us," I breathe. Black hair, green eyes, and the smile I see reflected on my brother's face every day.
"I told you guys not to worry," he says, his eyes bright. "I'm sorry I couldn't tell you—"
"It's fine," I say, shaking my head. "We understand."
"You never told me you have brothers," one of the people I don't recognize says, and Cherian turns with a glare.
"It's personal information, Rowan," he says, and my eyebrows inch up at the sheer amount of bitterness there.
"Focus, people," Fehr says, and Cherian straightens. "When we get there, Temsha, you and Mikscn will lead. I'll take point after that with Jedn, and Tristen and Magnus will bring up the rear. I want the rest of you spread out and keep eyes on the prisoner." Rowan snorts.
"The compound will scan you and deactivate the security measures," Fehr continues, ignoring Rowan. "After that, we'll make our way to the database core. The Vrah'di military should be in the atmosphere right now."
"And if the Brudeah make it down before the Vrah'di?" Mikscn asks.
Fehr looks meaningfully down at the weapon in his hands. "We'll take care of it."
The elevator slows, then stops, and the doors open. It's a shock walking into pristine white halls from the decay above. Mikscn and I walk into the hallway cautiously. Sudden fear seizes me. What if they were wrong, and we're not the people they need and our entire race is doomed?
But there's a low whirring sound that seems to come from the walls, and then a rapid series of beeps and clicks. The rest of the group edges after us, and Mikscn and I approach the plain door at the end of the hall slowly.
"Good morning, Doctor En'sara." We all jump at the pleasant female voice. "You are cleared for an unspecified number of visitors. Please proceed into the sanctum."
"You two stay as guards," Fehr says to two of the men from the
Novasky
, and they nod curtly.
The door slides open when we get close and we walk into the next room with bated breath. It's a huge room, long and wide with a vaulted ceiling. It's shiny and white, all angles and sterility. There are tables everywhere, boards with writing scribbled on them, memos taped on every surface possible. It looks like the people who worked here have only left for a minute. The air isn't even stale.
"Bizarre, isn't it?" Instantly, the crew behind us has guns up and aimed at the man standing in front of us. He just smiles pleasantly.
"It's a hologram," I say.
He laughs. "Not just a hologram."
"An AI," Mikscn says, and he—it—he laughs again.
"Close. Although I'm not surprised that descendants of mine are very bright." He beckons us closer and we all shuffle forward. "I am the consciousness of Doctor Vance En'sara."
"You're real," I murmur, and he nods.
"We thought it would be easier for you—whomever you ended up being—if there was someone here to walk you through things." He sighs. "We didn't think it would take so long to get to this point. We didn't think the Brudeah would destroy us so completely."
"How long has it been?" Jye asks.
The man—Vance—looks down at his clasped hands for a second before lifting his chin. "Just over one thousand years."
I feel like I've been punched in the gut. Someone behind us curses. I knew it'd been a long time, knew it had to've been a long time, but a millennium?
"Our people are called the D'shnk'dta," Vance says. "We've shared our planet, Illisneya, with the Brudeah for as long as we can remember. But where they focused their efforts on warring with one another, we focused our efforts on utilizing the telepathic abilities most of our race are born with." He pauses. "My scans indicate that you two have an advanced degree of ability."
"Only with each other," Mikscn says.
Vance frowns. "Not with your third?"
We glance at Jye. "That's … not something any of us knows how to do," Jye says.
Vance looks disappointed. "Very well."
"What happened to us?" one of Bryn's gunners asks.
"The Brudeah," Vance says simply. "They unified under one banner and came for us. We had no way to repel them. We realized they were going to overwhelm us and retreated here. We gathered everything we could on their conquest, population statistics, pictures of their forces mobilizing, everything. We meant it to be a rallying point for the stragglers, but when the Brudeah joined the Alliance, we realized this could be our saving grace."
"Enslavement of a sovereign race is illegal," Fehr says, and Vance nods.
"Exactly."
"Who is 'we'?" I ask.
Vance looks shifty. "The remaining people who were our contacts with the outside world before they were either captured or killed, and myself and the other Director of the Project. He is wary of people."
I want to press, but don't. "So?"
"So the Project—Project Áed—truly came to be. It means fire, and we meant to burn away the Brudeah's hold on us."
Sharp laughter fills the air and I flinch despite myself. Jheghda, his personal guard, and Njande come striding into the room, dragging the guards Fehr set.
"You will never be free of us," Jheghda says. Gone are his silk robes and glistening jewelry, replaced by practical clothes and a long knife, his long hair bound in a braid. Njande immediately separates from the group to walk along the outer edge of the room. Magnus keeps a gun on him, but Njande just grins as the other assassins shove our men at us.
"We're going to prove we're a sovereign race," I say. "You can't stop us."
Jheghda scoffs. "We will raze this building before the Vrah'di get here. And you're in our way." One of his men raises a gun, and beside me, Fehr and Jedn lift theirs. I tense, unsure of which way to turn, and the guns click, loud in the still air.
"The fuck—"
"All weapons are automatically disabled upon entering the sanctum," Vance says. The silence is deafening for a heartbeat before everyone throws their guns and charges. I yank my spare knife out of its sheath just in time to catch Njande's sword as it comes down above me.
I grunt with the effort of pushing him away and he laughs as he darts back in. The strike I block rattles up my arm and I grit my teeth, twisting to avoid the kick Njande aims at my knee. I've been sparring with Njande for years, but it was never like this.
I trip over a body when I back pedal to try and get some room between us and have to scramble out of Fehr's way when he lunges at another of Jheghda's men. I crash into a table and scramble up and over it when Njande's sword comes slashing down. The clash of metal against metal is lost under the sounds of battle and I roll back under the table and lunge at his knees, tackling him to the ground.
He tries to sit up as I fumble with my knife, but we both slip in the blood coating the floor. He brings his knee up at my chin and my head snaps back, blood immediately filling my mouth. His sword flashes in the light and I shove wildly at his leg and wrap my free hand around his throat.
"No!"
"Line up, 14C-6."
My brothers and I fall into line behind the Overseer. There are men in the room, seated and chatting between themselves. The Overseer walks past us and we keep our heads respectfully lowered, our hands clasped together in front of us.
"These are the males from the 14C line," the Overseer says. "14C-6-1 through 7 are our sixth crop mean to better suit needs similar to yours."
"There are eight men here," one of the men says, his voice soft.
"6-8 here is a natural mutation. Normally, we sterilize mutations falling outside a certain tolerance of the genetic code, but every so often comes a mutation the geneticists want to cultivate."
"What's the mutation?"
I glance up even though I know I shouldn't, at the man with the honey-sweet voice, and catch his eyes.
"Oh," the man says. "Come here." His tone brooks no argument and I'm moving forward before I can tell myself to stop. There's a glass of dark wine in his hand, and his long black hair is bound in a braid over his shoulder. His eyes are completely, unrelentingly black. I've never seen eyes like that.
I drop to my knees in front of the man, close enough to touch. "What's your name?"
"We don't have names," I murmur.
"How old are you?"
"Seven standard years."
"This is a particularly fast-maturing line," the Overseer murmurs. "We expect a rapid turnaround with little cost to emotional stability and learning rate."
"You're trained," the man says after a brief pause.
"Nine kinds of martial art." I let my eyes flick down his body. "As well as other arts."
The Overseer hisses and I flinch at the sound of his voice. "I apologize, Eminence, this one gets mouthy. If the geneticists decide to cultivate the mutation, that will most assuredly be bred out."
"It is a remarkable mutation. What are the advantages?"
"Far superior night vision, and an ability to see in greater detail as well as a three-point increase in memory recall. We suspect an increase in intelligence as well, but further testing is required."
"Are you intelligent?" the man asks.
"Very," I say.
"You're mouthy and disrespectful?"
"Frequently." I let my pupils change, know they'll shift from slits to round, and surrounded by blue instead of green.
He pets my hair, scratching lightly at my scalp and I surprise myself by wriggling closer, so close I could rest my chin on his knee if I wanted to.
The Overseer clears his throat. "Eminence, 6-8 is not for sale. He is merely a demonstration of potential future offerings. As I said, this is a rapidly maturing line."
"We'll come to an agreement," the man says without looking up
"Jheghda, his price would be exorbitant," one of the men seated nearby says.
"Yes, Eminence, the potential breeding stock alone—"
"I do believe I don't give a damn." I rest my cheek on his knee so I can stare up into his eyes. My heart's beating heavily in my ears and my face feels hot, but I can't look away. "You're mine," he says, softer, and I nod. "Njande." His voice has the faintest hint of a question, but I know exactly what he's saying.
"Yes," I say, and my voice is hoarse. "Yours."
I come back into my own body with a nauseating wrench. Njande is gaping up at me, his pupils round and shocked. "You—"
"Njande!"
Njande and I jerk around; Jheghda is fighting with Fehr, but his eyes are on Njande and I realize he's
worried
. It must look like I have the advantage.
Njande tries to shove me off to get to his feet, but I slam my elbow into his gut and take his seconds of breathlessness to slam his head into the ground. I know I have to keep Njande away from Jheghda and we wrestle messily, him trying to escape and me just trying to get him to
stay
.
"Temsha—" I shove a knee in Njande's solar plexus, cutting him off. Blood from a cut above my eyebrow streams into my eyes, and I hesitate for a split second at the desperate tone in his voice. "He doesn't need to die," he pleads, his hand scrabbling helplessly at my shoulder. My grip on his hair slackens and he strikes, driving a knife into my shoulder. I let go with a shout and he shoves me away, struggling to get to his feet in the blood and bodies on the tile.
I rip the knife out of my shoulder reflexively, and try to go after Njande, ignoring the pain in my shoulder and the blood. I stand in time to see Fehr get under Jheghda's guard and drive his long knife up into Jheghda's chest.
Njande screams, the sound raw and desperate. I fall to my knees, my vision graying around the edges.
Mikscn appears next to me, his hands rough and shaking as he ties a bandage around my shoulder. I look numbly down and realize I don't know what's wrong with Mikscn, don't know why he's shaking, if he's injured or worried or both. The silence in my mind rings through my ears and I watch Njande cradle Jheghda's body, his low keening wail replacing the sounds of fighting as the last of Jheghda's men are either killed or surrender.
I stand when Njande collapses on Jheghda's chest and shouts echo down the corridor from the elevator. I pick up my knife, Mikscn supporting me when I nearly fall over, and make my way cautiously through the men and bodies between me and Njande. I don't make a sound when I stop by his side, but he looks up at me, his face covered in blood and tears.
"You—" a low growl tears out of his throat, thick and choked. "You know."
I nod, because I do, because I get it now.
"Please," he chokes out.
The Vrah'di are filtering into the room, calling to Rowan and Cherian. I step behind Njande, find the space between two vertebrae, and drive my knife in. Njande's body falls over Jheghda's and my knife slips from my fingers.
*~*~*
I wake up alone again and stare up at the ceiling, half-remembered snatches of dreams and
Njande
and
I love you
echoing through my mind. I shake myself out of it and roll out of bed, rubbing my aching shoulder.
I dress quickly and make my way to the bridge. Jye and Mikscn have been gone for two days and aren't due back for another three from the Cabal's capitol planet, Control. But when I come onto the bridge, Bastien is frowning at something Ruadh is telling him, and I know I won't be able to get his attention.
"No! Leave me alone!" I turn at the sound of Cherian's voice and accidentally catch his eye. He makes a beeline for me, Rowan on his heels, and I cringe.
"Eri—"
"No, I'm not going!"
"We don't have a choice! You broke the law when you kidnapped me—"
"I had to!"
I inch away from them, but Cherian steps with me and Rowan follows like he's caught in Cherian's orbit.
"You should have trusted me!"