He had already told them this. There were three components to the mission. First, a breach of the Komodo’s security system, which he’d handle alone. This would bring the patrol to them, setting up the takeover of the Dragonwing—the second step. Last, disguised as Guardians, they would enter the Komodo itself.
In the worst-case scenario, the security system breach would be discovered while they were inside extracting Cinder, but Soren predicted they would have two hours before that happened. If they followed the plan, they’d have plenty of time.
“We know, Soren,” Aria said. “If we’re going to intercept this patrol, we have to start now.”
He nodded, the color leaving his face. Aria watched his grip on the Smarteye ease. He brought the device to his face with visible effort and placed the clear patch over his left eye.
One second passed. Two. Three.
Soren tensed, his fingers digging into the armrests. “I’m in.” He sat up, his shoulders rolling with a small shudder, his knee still bouncing up and down. “Here we go. Where are you? Where am I? Where are you? Where am I?”
Soren’s chant stopped when an image appeared, floating in the air before the front windshield.
It was an avatar of him from the waist up, the image three-dimensional but translucent, the likeness complete down to the thin scar on his chin. Down, even, to an almost exact replica of the clothes he wore—the clothes they all wore: a pale gray Guardian flight suit with blue reflective stripes along the sleeves.
There was no context to the image. No room or cockpit. Soren’s avatar floated in midair like a ghost.
“Oh, come on,” Soren said, running a hand over his head. “My hair looks better than that. The approximation algorithms the military uses are really substandard,” he muttered as he entered a series of commands into the Belswan control panel.
Aria had never seen anyone so focused and manic at the same time. Perry watched in silence, but she wondered what he scented in Soren’s temper.
“Sorry you can’t stay, Soren,” said Soren, “but I’ll see you later, handsome.”
The three-dimensional avatar blurred and flattened like it had been pressed between glass. Another figure expanded and sharpened before them: Hess, lifeless, staring straight ahead.
Hess was fuller in build than Soren, with a chiseled face and sleek, combed-back hair. Only his eyes, dull and sunken, revealed the decades between him and his son.
Soren sat motionless in the pilot’s seat, staring at his father’s avatar. Hess had left him behind in Reverie. He had to be thinking about that now.
Aria licked her lips. Her stomach was already in knots and they’d just gotten started.
Perry caught her eye and gave her a slight nod, like he knew the words on the tip of her tongue.
“Keep going, Soren,” Aria said quietly. “You’re doing fine.”
Soren seemed to collect himself. “I know I am,” he said, though his voice lacked its usual bravado.
Hess’s avatar came to life. His shoulders lifted—the same small shiver Soren had done moments ago. Soren controlled it now. He would use the avatar like a puppet, directing it through the Smarteye.
“Always wanted to be just like you, Dad,” he said under his breath. “I’m linking into the Komodo’s system.”
His fingers glided over the Belswan’s controls, effortlessly controlling the avatar and the Hover’s instrumentation. This was his language, Aria thought, as surely as singing was hers.
In front of the windshield, a transparent screen flickered up, divided into three segments. Hess occupied the center. The screen on the right contained a combination of maps, coordinates, and scrolling flight plans, all lit in neon blue. The left-hand screen showed a cockpit like the Belswan’s, but smaller. It was the inside of the patrolling Dragonwing—the ship they intended to commandeer.
Four Guardians in flight suits and helmets sat in two rows.
Hess—or rather, Soren as Hess—spoke right away, the avatar suddenly brimming with an authoritativeness Aria knew well. “Patrol Alpha One Nine, this is Commander One, over.”
He paused, waiting for the information to make an impact.
And it did.
The Dragonwing crew exchanged worried looks. Commander One was Consul Hess. They were receiving a direct message from the very top.
The Guardian at the comm responded. “Alpha One Nine, copy. Over.”
They’d bought it. Aria let out her breath and sensed Perry relax beside her.
“Alpha One Nine,” said the Hess avatar, “we picked up a distress message from a downed Hover, three—no, make that four—minutes ago on your incoming. Does anyone want to tell me why you’re not responding?”
Soren played his father perfectly, uttering the words with simmering condescension and barely contained hostility.
“Negative on the message, sir. We didn’t receive it. Over.”
“Stand by, One Nine,” Hess said. Soren kept the transmission running, letting the Guardians observe Hess as he turned, bellowing to a control room that wasn’t there, that would be nothing more than a figment of everyone’s imagination. “Somebody get him the coordinates. Now, people. My son is on that ship!”
“Your son, sir?” said the Dragonwing pilot. Surely he knew that Soren had stayed behind in Reverie as it crumbled, but that didn’t mean Soren hadn’t survived—or that Hess wouldn’t welcome him back.
Hess turned to an imaginary underling and said, “Have his hearing checked when he gets back. And if those coordinates aren’t up in—”
The screen with the flight plans blinked. New information trickled down—maps, diagrams of the Belswan, coordinates—all running like fluorescent raindrops from top to bottom.
Hess leaned forward, looking into the camera eye. “Listen closely. I want everyone on that ship here in one hour. If you fail me, don’t bother coming back. Acknowledge, Alpha One Nine. Over.”
Aria barely heard “Affirm, sir” before the image of Hess disappeared.
Soren had cut off the comm. He rocked back against the pilot seat, breathing fast, his chest rising and falling. “My father is an orangutan’s ass,” he said after a moment.
No one disagreed. That seemed to deflate him, though the words had been his own. He pressed his eyes closed, wincing, before he returned to the controls, powering the Belswan down completely.
The darkness in the cockpit startled Aria, even though she had expected it. Small rivers of rainwater flowed down the windshield.
Aria clicked on a flashlight, the beam illuminating Soren’s face.
“See?” he said, through clenched teeth. “Easy.”
So far, Aria thought. It would only get more dangerous.
They left the cockpit and hurried to the bay doors. As she jogged outside, the rain slapped her shoulders and face and pounded against the ramp, raising a riotous clatter.
Beneath the back end of the Belswan, Brooke and Roar fed green branches to a fire partially covered by a field tent and hidden beneath the tail end of the Hover. The effect was convincing: billows of smoke curled around the tail of the Hover, obscuring it and giving the appearance of wreckage.
A thick waft drifted past, and Aria turned away, stifling a cough into her wet sleeve.
“I should be in front,” Soren said, jogging up beside her. One minute outside, and she was already soaked. “I should be the first contact point.”
Perry shook his head. “No. We stick to the plan.”
Soren wheeled around, facing Perry. “You saw how nervous the Guardians were. It’ll make it worse if they don’t see me right away.
“Wrong, Dweller. You’re the asset. They’ll expect your position to be protected, which is by the ramp like we planned.”
“He’s right, Soren,” Aria said.
They each had parts to play in the mission, based on their strengths. Perry, Roar, and Brooke knew how to stay calm in life-and-death standoffs, and their Senses would bring obvious advantages. They were best suited to engage the Guardians first.
“It’s a rescue,” Soren pressed. “They’re not going to expect—”
“Stay here!” Perry snapped, fury sparking in his eyes. “Don’t move from this spot, or I swear I’ll break your face again.”
He glanced at Aria, a quick flash of green, and then he jogged away, small eruptions of water punctuating every step. He was so tall—so noticeable—but in seconds he melted into the woods along the edge of the clearing. Brooke and Roar followed. All three disappeared into the rain-blurred shadows beneath the tree cover.
“Who does he think he is?” Soren said.
“He’s the blood ruler person,” Jupiter said.
“Quiet!” Aria said, scanning the hills in the distance. Her ears tuned to a sound through the hissing rain. A drone like bees. Through a scrim of smoke and rain, she spotted a luminous dot moving across the hills. A point, like a blue flare, streaked toward them.
The Dragonwing.
It cut through the air like a blade, the sound of its engine growing louder as it neared. Louder and louder, until she wanted to clamp her hands over her ears.
Wind and rain whipped into her face. Aria flinched and turned to the side to shield herself. She blinked, clearing her eyes, and the ship was suddenly there, floating in place just a hundred paces away.
Her gut twisted at the sight. Beside her, Jupiter took a step back and Soren cursed under his breath. Sleek and compact, gleaming like a drop of moonlight, the Dragonwing Hover looked like raw speed.
As she watched, landing gear hatched from the craft’s belly and then gracefully settled onto the rain-soaked grass.
The bay doors slid open, and three Guardians jumped to the ground, landing with a splash.
Only three. That meant one crew member had stayed inside.
She shifted on her feet, her pulse hammering. They’d practiced what to do in this scenario. It would increase the risk—for Perry especially—but they were ready. They could do this.
The Guardians wore lightweight suits and helmets with goggles, just like them. One of the men stayed by the craft, while the other two crossed the clearing toward Aria. They came forward cautiously, their guns sweeping the terrain for danger or any sign of threat.
When a red light moved across her chest, everything took on a faraway quality, distant and slow. The sound of the rain fading. The fat drops pelting her shoulders disappearing. Everything receded except the seed of pain inside her bicep.
“Hands up! Hands in the air!” yelled one of the men.
At her sides, Soren and Jupiter’s hands lifted. Aria glimpsed curled fingers in her peripheral vision and realized her hands were up too. She didn’t feel any pain in her bad arm. She hadn’t even realized she had that range of motion.
In the distance, Roar emerged from the woods and moved toward the Guardian posted by the Dragonwing, approaching from behind, as stealthy and purposeful as a panther.
She saw a blur of movement as he closed in, slamming into the Guardian with so much force that she jerked back and felt the wind rush out of her own lungs.
In an instant, Roar had the man on the ground. He jammed a knee into the Guardian’s spine, pressing a compact Dweller gun to his head.
