“The eastern scouts just returned,” he reported. “A big enforcer column is approaching from Northaven, at least fifty walkers plus ground troops. Their route suggests they’ve located this base.”

  This announcement cut through the ongoing debate, all attention shifting to the immediate tactical threat. Svensson immediately began issuing evacuation orders, prioritizing equipment and personnel movement toward pre-established fallback positions.

  As the command center erupted into organized chaos, Kelda pulled me toward a quieter corner, her expression intense. “We need to talk. Not here.”

  She led the way through secondary passages I hadn’t explored during my brief time in the rebel base, eventually emerging into a small chamber that appeared to serve as a planning room for smaller operations. Maps covered one wall, communications equipment occupied a corner workspace, and a narrow table dominated the center space.

  “This is madness,” she stated once we were alone, pacing the limited floor space with agitated energy. “The rebels aren’t equipped for direct confrontation with the Tyrant’s forces. The outer settlements have courage but not much else.”

  “Agreed,” I replied, studying the wall maps to better understand the distribution of settlements involved in the uprising. “But events have developed on their own. We’re going to have to fight.”

  Kelda stopped pacing, her violet gaze fixing on me with penetrating intensity. “Not now, not against the army the Tyrant has deployed. This will end with massacres across every settlement that has shown resistance.”

  Her worries were well-founded. The enemy firepower and organization made conventional victory impossible. Yet something in her tone suggested she had more to offer than mere fatalistic observation.

  “You got a better idea?” I prompted.

  She hesitated. Then, she made a sudden decision: “Let’s leave. Now. Together.”

  “Whoa…”

  “We’ll head for the high northern ranges,” she continued, words emerging with increasing conviction. “There’s a network of caves my grandfather mapped decades ago. Thermal vents make them habitable even in deep winter. We could survive there until the worst of this passes.”

  “Abandoning the rebellion we helped catalyze?” I asked.

  “Surviving to fight more effectively later,” she said. “This isn’t abandonment—it’s survival.”

  Her logic made sense. Guerilla wars often required strategic disengagement, allowing superior forces to exhaust resources and attention before reengaging on more favorable terms.

  Yet her proposal contained personal dimensions that complicated the situation. The cave sanctuary she described represented not just a hiding place, but it sounded like a love-nest for the two of us.

  Hmm…

  “Are we doing it, or not?” she pressed me.

  “The rebels need leadership now more than ever.”

  “They have leadership—Svensson, Thorne, the others who’ve been planning resistance for years.”

  She stepped close, then. Intensity was radiating from her slender frame. “What they don’t have is patience. They’ll throw themselves against the Tyrant’s forces, wasting lives and resources that could be preserved for later.”

  Again, her thinking wasn’t wrong.

  “Let’s say we huddle in these northern caves for a month. What then?”

  Kelda’s expression softened slightly. “We gather information, establish communication with surviving rebels, and come up with a better scheme. Better than charging against the Tyrant head-on.”

  “You’re talking about the ship,” I suggested, recalling her earlier comment. “Finding a way up there?”

  “Exactly. The ship has always been the key. If we fight him on the ground, we’ll always be outmatched. But we can find a way to mess up his control of the ship...”

  I nodded, and I pulled her up to me, pressing my lips to hers. “Listen,” I said. “I know you don’t want to die. I don’t think you want me to die, either.”

  “But…?”

  “But sometimes, a man has to fight. This is one of those times.”

  I let her down gently.

  “What are you going to do, then?” she asked. “What does that even mean?”

  “Halverson and the rest are going to the mine to gather explosives,” I said, repeating back the plan we’d come up with the night before.

  “Great. What about you?”

  I sucked in a breath and released it. “I could stay here and fight the good fight with the rest of you. Maybe Halverson can blow up the passes and stop the enforcers—maybe not. Maybe you’ll kill them all. I don’t know.”

  While I spoke, I layered on every piece of gear I had. She watched this with growing concern. “What about you?” she insisted.

  “I’m going on another mission. One that you suggested, actually.”

  It was a mistake to tell her, and I knew it. But I kind of felt I could trust her by now, and I thought I owed her an answer. A real answer, even if it was just a hint.

  She looked confused for a moment, but then, her face fell, and her mouth sagged open. I reached out a single finger and closed it for her. She didn’t even seem to notice this.

  “You mean… you can’t mean the ship? You’re going to try to go for him? No one can get up there, Dane. No one. Others have tried for years. Don’t do it!”

  I smiled and winced a little. She’d figured it out very quickly. She was a smart girl.

  “Don’t worry. Just do what you can for the rebels.”

  Kelda was stunned. She followed me to the exit.

  “Dane, listen,” she said. “If anyone offers you a shot at the Tyrant—it’s a trap. Remember that.”

  Nodding, I thanked her for her advice, and I left the rebel encampment. Kelda didn’t follow, although I sensed she wanted to.

  I left her there, and if she cried or cursed me, I didn’t know about it, because I didn’t look back.

  Chapter 21

  The sounds of battle intensified for the first day of my long march through the wilderness. There were explosions, flashes in the dark, and lurid red fires in the frozen forests.

  All this activity suggested the enforcer units and the rebels were going at it. I silently rooted for the rebels, and I pushed myself to move faster as people were out there dying in the dark behind me.

  Stealing a walker from an enforcer who’d chosen a bad time to go off on his own and take a long piss in the dark, I left him in a pool of his own freezing blood.

  I made better time after that—outpacing the approaching army. I circled around them to the southeast, the route gradually narrowing. The elevation was lower now, and it was warmer.

  Finally, the path narrowed to a natural fissure barely wide enough for my walker to squeeze through. The rough stone scratched against both metal flanks at times. This would be a terrible place to encounter the enemy coming the other way—so I was on high alert.

  After approximately two miles of difficult movement, the path widened a little and a faint glow appeared ahead—natural light filtering through what appeared to be dense vegetation covering the exit point. I approached cautiously, alert for potential enforcer detection systems monitoring potential escape routes.

  The fissure terminated in a narrow opening concealed behind a waterfall of hanging vine-like growth native to Jarl. Through this living curtain, I could observe the outer terrain without immediately revealing my position.

  The surrounding landscape showed no immediate signs of enforcer presence—no walker tracks in the mud, no movement suggesting patrol activity.

  After finding what passed for a road on Jarl, I rejoiced. I was now behind the enforcer army and still making good time. An hour later, perhaps four miles eastward, heavy explosives went off in a chain of crashing roars.

  Could that be the diversionary action Svensson had arranged? Setting off explosives from the mines to block the enforcers? I hoped it was that, and not the heavy cannons mounted on walkers blasting the rebel stronghold.

  Whatever the sound was, it goaded me to forget about fatigue and press onward. After a cold day spent curled in the roots of a tree, I made my way down to where I could see the outskirts of Northaven.

  Beyond the immediate terrain, I could see the distinctive silhouette of the colony hub itself—a collection of buildings and infrastructure noticeably more advanced than the frontier construction of outlying settlements. And above it all, hanging in Jarl’s crimson sky, the massive colony ship maintained its orbital presence—the physical manifestation of the Tyrant’s control strategy and my primary target.

  There was only one man at the gates. He was drunk and snoring, so I let him live. Everyone else, apparently, had marched against the rebels.

  I slipped through Northaven’s darkened streets like a ghost. A single moon hung low and cold in the night sky tonight, casting long shadows across the settlement’s ramshackle buildings. It was perfect cover for a man who didn’t want to be seen.

  A night patrol did pass by once, their electric lashes dangling from their belts. These were the usual goons I’d tangled with in the village. They didn’t seem to notice me. They were whispering together about the battles up on the mountain peaks above the town.

  The Frozen Axe tavern sat on the settlement’s east end. It was a low stone building with a smoking chimney and yellow light spilling from dirt-streaked windows.

  Hunching my shoulders, I pulled up the collar of my stolen enforcer jacket and walked toward the tavern’s side entrance. The place was practically empty, as I imagined most men in uniform were on the march.

  I played the part of a leftover guard. Just another off-duty enforcer looking for a drink. My stolen jacket smelled like sweat and gun oil, but it had gotten me this far.

  To my surprise, there was a single person in the place I easily recognized.

  Ingrid Dahl. It had to be her.

  Her dark hair was pulled back in a severe braid, and she wore the plain homespun clothes of a tavern worker. But I knew better. The psionic skullweb hummed just below her scalp, hidden beneath her hair. I’d worked with enough psi-ops to recognize the subtle signs—the slightly too-focused gaze, the way she tilted her head when someone spoke.

  She hadn’t seen me yet.

  I made my way to the bar, keeping my face turned away from the main room. The barkeep, a burly man with a permanent scowl, eyed me suspiciously.

  “What’ll you have?”

  “Whatever’s strongest,” I said, sliding a coin across the counter.

  He grunted and poured something clear and dangerous-looking into a chipped mug. I took a sip and nearly choked. It tasted like fuel and burned all the way down.

  I watched Ingrid in the reflection of a dusty mirror behind the bar. She was good—moving through the crowd, listening, observing. Classic XCU fieldwork.

  When she disappeared into the back room with a tray of empty mugs, I waited a few seconds, then followed.

  The storage area was dimly lit by a single oil lamp. Shelves lined the walls, stacked with bottles and supplies. Ingrid stood with her back to the door, arranging clean mugs on a tray.

  “Ingrid?” I said softly.

  She spun around, a knife appearing in her hand from nowhere. Her eyes widened in recognition, but the knife didn’t waver.

  “Tanner? Holy shit… What the hell are you doing here?” She spoke barely above a whisper, throat tight with anger.

  “Nice to see you, too,” I replied. “I heard you requested backup.”

  She lowered the knife but didn’t put it away. “Yes—weeks ago. Wait a minute, that was you who stirred up a full-blown civil war, wasn’t it? Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

  I leaned against the doorframe. “Sure. I saved a village from being slaughtered.”

  “And started a full-scale rebellion that’s going to get hundreds more killed.” She set the knife down on a shelf but kept it within reach. “I’ve been undercover here for three years, working my way into the Tyrant’s operation. Three years of careful work that you’ve completely fucked up in what—a week and a half?”

  “I didn’t have much choice. The enforcers were going to execute those people.”

  Ingrid ran a hand over her face. “Those people don’t matter. XCU’s orders matter. We need to find out what the Tyrant is doing with the colony ship’s technology. Earth is concerned he’s developing weapons.”

  “Well, I’m concerned about the people being abused right now,” I said. “Funny how people’s priorities vary.”

  Her eyes flashed. “Don’t you dare take the moral high ground with me, Tanner.”

  I thought of the orbiting colony ship, visible like a star in the night sky. It should have been dismantled to build the colony. Instead, it hung above them like a threatening sword.

  “So, what’s the plan now?” I asked.

  “The plan is fucked. It was supposed to involve infiltration, not revolution,” she hissed. “I need to get on that ship. I’ve been working my way up through the ranks, gaining trust. In another month, I’d have been there.”

  “And now?”

  “Now, thanks to you, security’s been doubled. The Tyrant is paranoid, executing people he suspects of sympathizing with the rebels.” She jabbed a finger into my chest. “Your rebels.”

  “They’re not my rebels. They’re just people who got tired of being pushed around.”

  Ingrid opened her mouth to respond but froze suddenly. Her head tilted slightly—the telltale sign of a psionic using their skills.

  “Someone’s listening,” she whispered, her hand moving to her temple. The skullweb would be activating, extending her awareness beyond the room’s walls.

  “Where?” I asked, reaching for the axe at my belt.

  “Outside the window. West wall.”

  I moved silently toward the small window at the back of the storage room. It was barely large enough for a man to climb through, covered with a thin cloth that served as a curtain.

  In one fluid motion, I tore the cloth aside and lunged through the opening, tackling a shadowy figure to the ground. We hit the frozen earth hard, rolling in the narrow alley behind the tavern.

  The enforcer was fast—too fast. He drove a knee into my gut and slashed with a knife. I felt the hot sting as the blade sliced through my jacket and into my shoulder.

  I grunted, grabbing his wrist before he could pull the knife back for another strike. We struggled in the dirt, neither gaining the advantage.

  “A little help here!” I called through gritted teeth.

  Ingrid slipped through the window like water. She moved with the predatory grace of a trained psionic operative. The enforcer’s eyes widened as he saw her. He tried to call out, but Ingrid was already on him.

  Her fingers found his throat with surgical precision. There was a sharp, wet sound, and the enforcer went limp.

  “You’re getting sloppy, Tanner,” she said, wiping her hands on her apron. “That should have been a clean takedown.”

  I pressed a hand to my bleeding shoulder. “I’ll try to do better next time.”

  She knelt beside the dead enforcer, searching his pockets. “We need to move the body. If they find him here, they’ll lock down the entire settlement.”

  “Behind the tavern,” I suggested. “There’s a waste pit.”

  She nodded. “Help me with him.”

  I grabbed the enforcer’s shoulders while Ingrid took his boots. We had just started dragging him when floodlights blazed to life, illuminating the alley with harsh white light.

  “Don’t move!” a woman commanded.

  Six enforcers stood at the end of the alley, weapons trained on us. A seventh figure stepped forward. Captain Jern herself, her silver-streaked hair pulled back in a tight bun. Her uniform was immaculate, the insignia of Northaven Security gleaming on her collar.

  “Well, well,” she said, her eyes fixed on me. “The mysterious stranger from the north road? I knew you’d turn up again eventually.”

  I raised my hands slowly, mind racing through options. Ingrid stood beside me, her face unreadable.

  “Put down your weapons,” Jern ordered. “Both of you.”

  I placed the axe on the ground. Ingrid set her knife beside it.

  Jern nodded to her enforcers. “Secure them.”

  As two enforcers approached with restraints and grappled my arms, Ingrid took a small step forward.

  “I told you he’d come,” she said to Jern, suddenly cool and professional. “Just like we planned.”

  My head snapped toward her. “What?”

  Jern’s smile was predatory. “Thank you, Agent Dahl. Your cooperation has been noted.”

  I stared at Ingrid, disbelief turning quickly to rage. “You set me up? You called them?”

  She wouldn’t meet my eyes. “You see? Even now, he’s trying to deflect from his crimes.”

  “You can kiss your XCU pension goodbye, Ingrid.”

  “More lies,” she said, talking to Jern, not me. “Don’t listen to him—no matter what he says.”

  “I don’t intend to.”

  An enforcer yanked my arms behind my back, securing them with metal cuffs that bit into my wrists. The pain in my shoulder flared.

  “Take him to holding,” Jern ordered. “Our leader will want to speak with this one personally.”

  They marched me through the streets of Northaven, past curious onlookers and frightened colonists. My shoulder throbbed, blood seeping through my jacket. Kelda and her village had trusted me. And now I was headed for the Tyrant’s tender mercies.

  As they shoved me into the back of a transport vehicle, I caught a last glimpse of Ingrid standing beside Jern in the receding light of the tavern.

  I’d been betrayed by one of my own. Again.

  Some things never changed.

  Chapter 22

  I was left in a holding pen for hours. And when I say pen, I mean one fit for an animal—crowded, no place to sit, feet squelching in vomit and piss.

  Eventually, someone sent for me. The enforcers weren’t gentle. They dragged me through Northaven’s administrative building, my boots scraping against polished wooden floors. Blood from my shoulder wound left a trail behind us. One particularly enthusiastic guard landed a kidney punch when I stumbled. This ticked me off, but I didn’t react—yet.