“Our odds just improved.”

  “What now, Father?”

  Bonju gave way to a smile.

  17

  Sai-Por City

  R OYAL FELT THE SPLINTER slipping from his grasp. If he didn’t find it by morning, he never would. So, he made his most enthusiastic pitch to Breck, the resistance leader, without making it all about himself. A difficult feat, but Royal thought he prepared a convincing case.

  “Your biggest threat in the green zone is in this area,” he told Breck as they studied holos of the city grid. “You have a battalion of FGs patrolling four blocks, and they’re fanning out scalps to cover their flanks. It’s standard Swarm strategy, but this time they’re using civilians like a shield.”

  Breck nodded. “A cowardly tactic. The outer ring consists of unqualified fighters.”

  “It’s a test. They want to see if we’re willing to wipe out hundreds of brainwashed Hokkis to go after the real prize. I’m betting every civvie in the outer ring is wearing a radial bomb.”

  “I’ve heard of those but never seen one in action.”

  “Nasty shit. When they detonate, they spray a rosette of inch-long laser missiles over a twenty-meter radius. These things can pierce even Talon armor by breaking down the synaptic interface. If your people get caught up in it, they’ll be dead before they blink.”

  “It’s also a propaganda tool, Royal. If we do nothing, they’ll show images of the Converted defending their city against savages. If we attack, they’ll say we murdered innocent people protecting their homes. If those bombs take us out, the scalps will be honored as martyrs to the Church.”

  “It’s a no-win, Breck. My plan will help us both. With a dash of luck, you’ll have strong intel and I’ll have eyes on my Splinter. A win-win.”

  Royal highlighted a building within two blocks of the hothouses where he crash-landed. The three-story residential structure bordered the southeast edge of the city. It overlooked large, open fields where gardens of debris waited to be harvested by idle drone loaders. It also fell inside the “inner ring” patrolled by FGs.

  “This will be a good surveillance perch,” Royal continued. “We’ll be right up their assholes, which they won’t expect. We enter through the sewer and make our way up to the top floor like so.”

  “Scalps occupy a few of those flats. They’ll be vigilant and well-armed. If they or the FGs cut you off from retreat, you’re dead.”

  “They’ll have a better chance of hearing mice. I know how to do this shit. You have great surveillance tech. Your comm disrupters can get us inside their local command. If they’re planning to make a move, you’ll know about it.”

  “How do you propose to find your cube? You said it fits into the palm of a hand.”

  “Look, it’s a fucking longshot. I’ll be scanning for a magnetic energy that stands out from everything else in the spectrum. If the energy field is about yay-big,” he said, holding his hand wide open, “I’ll know where to find it. Your people make a beeline back here, and I’ll go for the Splinter.”

  “And then?”

  He preferred not to tell the truth.

  “I won’t be your problem.”

  “Your team will have to be small.”

  “I got two in mind.”

  When he said their names, Breck didn’t seem surprised but balked on the youngest.

  “Alvara makes sense. She’s Talon. She knows Swarm tactics. But Reaper? He can be too enthusiastic. This is not a combat mission.”

  “Reaper knows the sewers better than anyone. He’s lived down here most of his life. Plus, we got a lot in common. I’ll keep him in line.”

  Breck shaded his eyes and lowered his voice, though no one else was near; most fighters were asleep or on patrol duty.

  “Reaper is a great soldier. I don’t even think of him as a boy – except now.” He pointed to the holo, focusing on the building next to the target. “That’s where Reaper grew up. His parents owned several businesses in the neighborhood. After the invasion, they organized a local militia to link up with Talon forces. The FGs arrived before the Talons. The parents hid their children underground. The fight didn’t last long, and the parents never came for their kids.”

  “That was seven years ago, Breck.”

  “Seven years. Seven hours. Makes no difference to Reaper. If he even sniffs an enemy close by, he’ll go for the kill. Every time he sees a scalp, he sees a Hokki who betrayed our world. The same world his parents fought to defend.”

  “Got it. No fun for Reaper. I’ll make sure he gets the message.”

  Royal conveniently forgot to deliver it when he pulled the kid off patrol duty and gave him new orders. Earlier, Reaper said he wanted people to remember him – to “die the right way.” Royal couldn’t think of a better way to achieve those goals than to take one for an immortal who wasn’t fighting a lost cause. Reaper’s ear-to-ear grin when told of his new assignment validated the choice.

  Alvara wasn’t so keen. Royal drew her from a sound sleep.

  “You been here twelve hours, and you’re already calling the shots?”

  Royal winked. “I got a way with people. Let’s go hunt.”

  He explained the goals of the mission along the way. Reaper took point, as he knew the most efficient route to the green zone. Alvara trudged alongside Royal, questioning Breck’s decision.

  “You didn’t propose anything we don’t already do every week,” she said. “Intel ops always confirm what we know. FGs won’t come down here to meet us square on. They’ll bide their time until the Assimilation Sequence. FGs will pull out from the green zone in a week, give or take. Hand it back over to the scalps. What does Breck think we’ll learn that’s any different?”

  “He’s giving me leash because he wants to see what I can do.”

  “Yeah? And what happens if you detect your cube?”

  “I’m going for it. You take Reaper back home.”

  “You’ll abandon us? We saved your ass out there.”

  “I’m not supposed to be here. The resistance I fight for is a shitload bigger than fucking Sai-Por City.”

  “I think the only shit around here is your ego.”

  Royal chuckled. He liked Alvara’s sharp tongue.

  “You remind me of June Serrano. She was a Talon sister. Never shimmied around the truth. Damn good warrior, too.”

  “Where did she fall?”

  He heard variations on that question for six years. Talons valued honorable death. The manner of it wasn’t as important as where the final challenge was met.

  “Far away from here. You never heard of it.”

  “Try me.”

  “A planetoid called Y-14.”

  “You’re right. Never heard of it. What’s the star system?”

  “She’s gone. It’s done. Fuck, it wasn’t even an honorable death. Let’s just stay on mission.”

  That appeared to settle matters for a few minutes. Reaper looked back with a wry smile, as if waiting for more banter. Otherwise, he kept his focus on the hololens dangling over his left eye.

  Alvara broke the extended silence.

  “There’s not much honor in anything the Talons do.”

  “They give up their lives to save strangers. Ain’t that honor?”

  “If there was a grander purpose.”

  “Yeah, you said you weren’t a fan of the Orzed Confederation.”

  “I signed up nine years ago because I believed their propaganda. They recruited the poor neighborhoods like mine. ‘Unlimited travel, a pocketful of coin, and enough adventure for ten lifetimes. Save humanity from the Swarm menace!’”

  “It’s a good pitch. Would’ve gotten me off my ass.”

  “When you own next to nothing, it’s an easy sell.”

  “Nobody had to sell me. I walked into the middle of it. Fight or flight. I chose the first one. Never looked back.”

  “You were happy as a Talon?”

  “Most of it. Fuck yes. I love killing people. Got started way before the war. Once I put on the black and led with a Force Drum, I killed everything in sight. I’d still be out there with my unit if not for a new mission. I was their Colonel, but Orzed never gave me a promotion.”

  “How did …?”

  “I took the rank because I wanted it, and my unit loved me. You see, I’m infectious.”

  Reaper broke in with a fist pump.

  “Fuck yes!”

  “See what I mean? The kids love me.”

  She forced a theatrical cough.

  “You’ll excuse me for not buying into your shit. You’re playing your own game. You might’ve worn Talon armor, but you didn’t care about saving Hokkis. So, I doubt you’d care about how Orzed sends millions of people like me to our dust because it helps their bottom line.”

  “How do you figure?”

  “Eight military suppliers on the Protected Worlds control all production for Orzed. They make just enough ships, weapons, and armor to check the Swarm but not one more. The Swarm won’t be stopped until Orzed decides how they can make a profit from it.”

  Royal shrugged. It all seemed moot given the future.

  “I’m not big on accountants. Give me a rifle and a blade, and I’m a happy man. You don’t miss your Talon brothers and sisters?”

  “A few. Most were like you. More interested in body counts than making a difference. What I really miss is the armor. Best thing I got out of the deal when I signed on.”

  “Know what you mean. Felt like a second skin. You gave it up when you joined the resistance?”

  “It was the right thing to do. These people don’t have armor.”

  “That suit looked aces,” Reaper said. “Glad you didn’t toss it.”

  Royal and Alvara shared an awkward glance. She replied with a sheepish grin.

  “I’m saving it for a worst-case scenario.”

  Royal reached into his back pocket and tested the golden globule. It showed no sign of life.

  “I understand. It’s hard to fight freestyle when one asshole with a snub-nose and a lucky shot can cut you down.”

  Reaper halted his advance.

  “My first gun was a snub-nose. Damlyn Mark D2. Stole it off a kid after I gutted him. He weren’t fast on the draw, which was a good fucking thing for me. Otherwise, I’d be skull and bones under the Bataan Crossing.”

  Royal liked talking weapons; he enjoyed nostalgia.

  “I called my first snub-nose Good Boy. You still have yours?”

  “Nah. It was sweet for those quiet, up-close kills, but I fell in love with bigger toys.” He tapped his rifle. “Snub-nose only has four cartridges. But this monster? Fuck, I love it.”

  “He does indeed,” Alvara said. “I’ve seen him leave quite the mess in his wake.”

  “Now this is how you beat the Swarm. Have a hundred million Reapers go full-on killing machine when those assholes enter the system, and they’ll think twice. Natives, I’m talking about. If they’d fight for themselves instead of relying on the Talons …”

  Reaper came back with a high-five.

  “Fuck yes.”

  “Too late now, though. Maybe the next planet will have better luck. How close are we, Reaper?”

  “Two blocks. There’s only scalps above us right now, but we’ll come up on FGs in about a hundred meters.”

  “OK. It’s go time. If we run into surprises, let’s be quiet about our work. That means no rifles.”

  Reaper grabbed his ten-inch, serrated blade.

  “Let’s do this, Royal.”

  As they approached their entry point beneath the target building without opposition, Royal leaned over to Alvara and whispered. Reaper was twenty feet ahead.

  “Breck said the kid might get trigger-happy around here. We need to see this shit through without disruption. Got me?”

  “Wait. What are you saying?”

  “Hey, I like this kid. It’s like looking in a mirror. Maybe he’ll play nice. But if he goes off the farm, we need to take him out before he screws us both.”

  “You fucking asshole.”

  “Yeah? Tell me I’m wrong.”

  She didn’t.

  “That’s what I thought. Look, he served his purpose. He got us here. Keep him in line, and he might live through the night.”

  Royal committed himself to slitting the boy’s throat if Reaper drew unnecessary attention. It might not be “the right way to die,” but it would be fast and quiet. Nothing trumped finding the Splinter.

  Entering the building proved simple enough. When they reached the third level, Royal studied his tablet. He saw two flats occupied, with no movement inside.

  Sleepers. Nice and easy.

  He found an empty flat far from the residents and with a clear view of the southeastern fields.

  The flat was furnished but coated in dust, which was evident in the light of a glow stick. Royal found a good spot at a bank of windows, while Alvara set out the plate she had carried in a small bag and prepared a station to monitor Swarm comm frequencies.

  “I should patrol the halls,” Reaper said. “I’ll be able to warn you if anybody …”

  Royal cut him off.

  “No thank you. Let the scalps sleep.”

  “Scalps are just as dangerous as FGs. There are some on this floor, Royal.”

  “None of them know we’re here. Look, I’ll make you a deal. If we get everything we need, I’ll let you have one scalp on the way out, if it’s quick and quiet.”

  “Fuck yes. Don’t you worry. I’m an artist.”

  He twirled the blade like someone who practiced daily.

  “Good. Sit that artist’s ass by the door and keep your ears open.”

  Reaper took the order with a smile as he retreated.

  Royal didn’t care what Alvara was tracking or what she found – unless someone on the enemy happened to mention stumbling upon a translucent cube with a glow in the center.

  He had no idea whether this plan had a fighting chance. He might have been way off in his assumptions about where the Splinter landed, or if the magnetic shield was strong enough to be detected.

  He turned the tablet into a diagnostic of nearby energy waves. He hoped they’d all be identifiable but one.

  The analysis started slowly and did not gain momentum. Royal quickly realized how inadequate his skills were delineating energy signatures, even with the help of an AI. Amayas said the magnetic energy carried a low level of radiation, which Royal thought might help his cause. Yet he forgot what type of radiation Amayas called it. He tried a wide variety of filters.

  Alvara muted the sound on her comm disrupters and channeled data through an ear bead. She showed no discernible reaction.

  Twenty minutes into his analysis, Royal narrowed his filters to three miniscule signals, none of which might have amounted to squat. He pegged their sources, all within two kilometers, but their exact locations were non-specific. They seemed to bounce around like comm chatter. And then there was one that stopped moving about as soon as Royal silenced the other two.

  He instructed the program to triangulate the signal.

  Aces!

  A faint pulse, tiny at its origin, seemed to emanate seven hundred meters east, just inside the perimeter where Royal predicted the Splinter might have crashed. Yet the pulse faded as he moved the tablet even the slightest. He looked out the window and saw no shadows of a nearby patrol, so Royal took a chance. He pushed up the window and held out the tablet until the signal deepened.

  The program provided coordinates to within three meters.

  OK. Now for the fun part.

  Royal knew there was no guarantee. He might have homed into something unrelated. The Splinter – and hope of a return home – might be lost for good. Still, it was his best lead. Time to break the news to Alvara. She could continue to monitor comms if she wanted, but he had to recover the Splinter before dawn.

  He started toward her in the dim light, guided by the glow from her holo. Yet a different light caught his eye.

  The flat’s front door wasn’t closed. Light crept in through a crack.

  He wouldn’t dare. That fucking little lunatic …

  “Reaper?”

  Nothing.

  His glow stick sent a ghostly pall over the room, but it did not fall upon a psychotic child soldier.

  The glow caught Alvara’s attention. She swung about from her station and must have realized what Royal discovered. She tossed her ear bead and plate into her bag and slung it over her shoulder.

  “Where is he?” She said.

  “If I had to bet, I’d say hunting. I thought I could trust him.”

  “Yes, because all the kids love you. Listen to me, Royal. Do not hurt him. He hasn’t caused trouble yet. Maybe he’s just patrolling.”

  “Better hope so.”

  “Did you find what you were looking for?”

  “I think so, but getting there will be dicey. Look, I’ll go out first.”

  “If he’s not there, we split up. You go right. I’ll take left. We find him, get the hell out, you do your thing, we head home. Good?”

  “It’s a plan.”

  The corridor was empty. Royal’s stomach twisted as he advanced on cat-like feet. Every step, every minute, kept him from the tether. He really did like this kid, but all he had to do was keep walking. The stairwell cried out to him at the hallway’s end. He could be in those fields, following the tracker, leaving these people and their fruitless war behind. He longed for the rock-lined walls of The Hold.

  Royal made the mistake of seeing another cracked door: Flat 322.

  He knew what was happening inside. Seconds later, the story played out to its conclusion. The door slowly pulled back.

  Reaper stepped through the threshold in reverse, pulling the door shut with tender care, avoiding so much as a tiniest squeak. Royal eyed the bloody knife in the boy’s left hand.

  Though Royal killed people in diverse ways, he didn’t recall slaughtering any in their sleep.

  Reaper turned and gasped. Royal expected him to make an excuse or lie. Instead, Reaper held up the knife like a badge of honor. The twinkle in his mad eyes displayed pride in craftmanship.

  “Three scalps,” he said, just above a whisper. “I’m an artist.”