“I believe, to put it in American terms, that ship has already sailed,” Jade said wryly. “I am here. I said I would help. If you need a distraction to reach your friends, I can provide one.”
“All right.” I nodded. “But I’ll need to take out the sniper before I can even think about getting to the front.” I peered around the corner again, searching the nearby buildings. A two-story warehouse directly across the road from the target building caught my attention, and I nodded grimly. If Tristan is here, that will be his spot. “Wait for my signal,” I told Jade, turning back. “Then see if you can draw the soldiers away from the entrance. They’ll probably call for backup, so be careful.” I shot a quick glance around the corner again, marking the soldier’s location, before ducking back again. “Once the soldiers are engaged,” I went on, “don’t worry about me or the rest of us, just get away from here. If you can make it to the car, drive back to the city and find a crowd. They won’t pursue you there.”
Jade blinked slowly. “And how will I know you’re not dead?” she asked, narrowing her eyes. “I am putting a lot of faith in you, mortal. I trust you are not going to rush in there, guns blazing, as you cowboys put it, and get yourself shot to pieces. And, if you do make it out, how will I know where to find you again? I don’t know this country at all. I would not know the first place to search.”
“Once we’re out and it’s safe, I’ll call you with our location.” She gave me a wary look and I held her gaze. “I promise.”
The dragon sighed. “I suppose I have no choice but to trust you,” she said. “You have proven yourself to be an honorable human so far, even for one who was part of the Order. I do hope this trend continues.” She gave a small nod and drew back a step, preparing to slip away. “I’ll wait for your signal, then. Good luck.”
I left the corner and circled around the buildings, moving as silently as I could, keeping the walls between myself and the Order. When I reached the back of the warehouse, I slid in through an open window and picked my way across the concrete until I found a flight of metal stairs leading to the second floor. Silently, I ascended the steps, muzzle of the M4 leading the way. The staircase took me to a hall and a row of ancient doors sitting across from each other. All closed tight...except for one.
I crept down the hall, praying the floorboards wouldn’t creak and give me away, and peered into the room. There was a soldier kneeling at a boarded-up window, the barrel of a sniper rifle poking through the cracks, his attention riveted on the building across from us.
My stomach knotted, but I took a steady breath and raised my gun, aiming for the back of his head. But as my finger tightened on the trigger, I shifted my weight and the boards under me let out a traitorous squeak. The sniper whirled from the window, hard gaze settling on me, and I was staring into a pair of familiar blue eyes.
Tristan.
DANTE
I stood on the mezzanine, gazing at the floor below, watching a pair of identical humans kick, punch and pummel each other relentlessly.
“They’re getting much better,” Dr. Olsen murmured beside me, sounding impressed. I didn’t answer, continuing to watch the fight. Or, “sparring,” as Mace called it. I wasn’t so sure. I’d seen sparring matches before, in boxing or the organized cage fights on television. Yes, they were fairly savage, with both opponents doing their best to beat or choke the other guy into unconsciousness. But there were rules and referees, and though I’d seen some pretty gruesome injuries, no one was in danger of actually dying. If one person conceded, tapped out or was knocked senseless, the other backed off and the fight was over. Everyone understood that.
The vessels, though, didn’t get that concept. They stopped only when Mace ordered them to stop. Usually this happened at a clear victory point, when one opponent took a vicious blow that left him reeling, or when the other had him in some kind of hold or lock he couldn’t get out of. But I’d never seen a vessel voluntarily back off, and that worried me. How far would they go to follow orders? I felt I had to know, but at the same time, I was afraid of the answer.
Fear is counterproductive, Dante. It’s your responsibility to know exactly what your projects are capable of, in every aspect.
Ms. Sutton, the lead programmer for the vessels’ behavioral conditioning, suddenly winced. One of the fighters had lashed out with a high roundhouse kick, catching the other in the temple. It staggered back, nearly insensible, and Mace stepped forward to stop the match.
“No!” I called. He looked at me sharply, and I held up a hand. “Let them continue,” I ordered. “We need to know how far they’ll go before they stop on their own.”