I tried to contact Adams twelve more times, with zero success. But it’s the night before the busiest day in his life, so I can’t be angry, and I can’t just leave a chirpy message about the threat to his station and pray he gets it.
I thought about getting myself arrested by security, begging them to let me speak to command. I considered breaking into the officers’ hab section, or infiltrating the summit itself to make some dramatic speech about the Ra’haam threat while trying not to get shot. Thing is, I’ve got no real proof of its existence, and even if I did somehow convince the planetary leaders an ancient plant gestalt is manipulating them into a war of distraction, that’s still not going to stop the Ra’haam’s agents from blowing this station to pieces.
Lyrann Balkarri offered me crash space in his suite—clearly a guy willing to play the long game—but I got no sleep. The headache is constant now, the vision too: rainbow walls and that golden-haired Syldrathi girl, hands covered in my blood. The air crackles with midnight blue and bloodred, crystal shattering around me, and last, I see the academy blowing itself apart from the inside, the best hope left in the galaxy snuffed out like a candle and plunging us all into war.
… you can fix this, Tyler …
I’m not sure I can, honestly. But I can’t see any other way through. I’ve got a few pieces on my side, and I didn’t spend all that time playing chess on the academy team for nothing.
Yeah, I was in chess club. Terrible thing for a dashing space pirate to admit, I know. But when you don’t swear or drink or chase skirt, there’s not much else to do for fun at a military academy.
Be grateful I was such a no-lifer, okay? Because I can see my enemy’s next move, clear as glass.
There’s really only one reason Cat would be among the prime minister’s protection detail. One reason the Ra’haam would send her here specifically. She used to attend this academy, after all. She knows it inside out, better than almost anyone. Its secrets. Its safeguards. Its weaknesses.
I’ve seen before that although the Ra’haam seems to know everything that every one of its drones knows, there’s still something about the individuals… . There’s a reason it sent Auri’s dad to hunt her down, and I’m not convinced it was just the power of her seeing his face. There’s a reason Cat’s here now, in this place she knows as well as her own skin.
And I know what that reason is, sure as I know Queen’s Gambit or the Caro-Kann Defense.
She’s their triggerman.
Catherine “Zero” Brannock is the one who destroys Aurora Academy.
I’m just not sure how.
An hour before the summit begins, I finally scope her in the lobby of the hab section guest wing. The summit itself is being held in the Founders’ Enclave, where Academy command holds its general assembly. It’s a massive, multi-tiered amphitheater, capable of seating a few thousand people. Hundreds of delegates are already en route to the first day’s talks, and station security is out in force. But as I watch that charcoal suit and mirrormask slipping through the crowd, I understand why the Ra’haam has waited to make its move. Attendees were arriving until early this morning, and with the influx of guests, the SecTeams are now stretched thin.
All the better for a lone pawn to slip through the line unnoticed.
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.