“Kovach, it’s Chief Atkins. That little thing you asked me about. Well, I may have an answer.” I acknowledged the call and stood up to leave; the machines resumed their own lonely vigil of keeping Deb alive.

  “Now it’s a party,” I heard walking up to the flight deck hatch.

  “The Ghost—legend of Banshee,” Priest said, smiling.

  “Shut-up, Bishop.”

  “So, what’s up, Boss?”

  Banshee numbered only the four of us now, not counting Sumo, who turned the corner just as I keyed the code to unlatch the entry for the secured area.

  “We have some decisions to make, and I have something to show you. Follow me.”

  The sound of footsteps echoed off the floors and walls. Compared to the rest of the Stone Mountain, this section was open and massive. It had to be to support the various craft that routinely landed or departed. Today it was quiet, or nearly so.

  My men followed me around the edge of the fragment of wreckage that was still on the deck. Then, the sight of both TriCraft in their docking berths. Packer had said the second was close to being flight-ready, but we had only one pilot. That was something we were going to need to fix.

  “What in the holy fuck!”

  Halo said it, but every one of them had similar reactions. And despite the standing team orders of no personal weapons on board other than for security patrols, each one suddenly had something in their hands to fight with.

  “Safety those firearms, gentlemen,” I said, walking up to the other massive machine occupying the space.

  “Tripp? What you got?”

  The rear hatch was open, and the old armorer slid out of the cramped space with grease on his face and part of his shirt sleeve ripped away. A trickle of blood leaked down that arm.

  “You brought a fucking Decimator on board, Captain?”

  “Halo gets a promotion to Captain… Captain Obvious.”

  Sumo and I moved between the Warbot and the men. “Relax, it’s housebroken.” I looked at Chief Atkins’ arm questioningly. “Well, mostly.”

  “Just a scratch, mere difference of opinion,” the AWO said.

  “I had the chief here run through some checks to see if there was any way that we could use this effectively. Chief Atkins, what did you find?”

  The man rubbed his arm and spat a ribbon of brown, something, toward the floor. “Well, gents, this has to be the most complicated fighting machine I’ve ever come across. It also has more raw strength, weaponry, and sheer power and versatility than any self-contained fighting system in history. The damn thing doesn’t even locomote like our other combat droids. No hydraulics or electro-mechanical servos. Instead, it uses a very flexible polymer with a tensile strength greater than carbon-fiber that contracts or expands based on an incoming micro electric signal.”

  “It has mechanical muscles,” Halo said.

  Tripp nodded. “Yes, that’s why it is almost infinitely configurable. We can outfit it in a lot of versions. This is the sentry mode, which I assume is how Kovach found it, but I got deep enough into the maintenance menu to see even this one has about twenty different configurations available.”

  “Can we use it, Chief? Is it safe?”

  “That’s just it, Captain. I don’t know. I mean, the main menus and stuff are standard military. I turned off the things that needed to be off like the EMP weapon!”

  “Yeah, I had insisted on that one first. Kill it or jettison it out the space doors, I’d told him.”

  “I erased all security settings that could have possibly set it off down here, but you’d apparently already figured a lot of that out. This bastard has ordinance for days. I mean, it could stay in nearly any fight with the racks of ammo, as if the thing itself wasn’t the single most deadly instrument of war I’ve personally ever seen. Only thing…the deeper I go, I keep running into some software that I just don’t understand, never seen before.”

  I thought about what Xero had said and the Virex-C code.

  “These things try to kill us, Boss. I do not want to fight alongside one,” Gi said nervously.

  “None of us do. This one nearly killed me down there, but we need help. Nothing we have can help us against the wave after wave of creatures down there.”

  “What about the witch?” Packer asked, looking at Gi.

  As part of his security duties, the Korean had access to the holding area. Apparently, Koog wasn’t the only one who couldn’t keep secrets. Spreading secrets between team members didn’t bother me nearly as much.

  “Ultimately, yes, I think the WitchWalkers are the key. I’ve now seen firsthand what power they seem to wield over the wildlife dirt-side. We need to understand that, but for now we must fight. Humankind is being driven to extinction, and those survivors left down there will turn on each other before long. Many probably have already. Banshee must be prepared to fight men, beast, and machine.”

  I pulled my team away from the warrant officer before continuing. “Banshee needs another member. Bayou is out, and even when she recovers, I need her running this ship.”

  “Prowler, I haven’t seen us recover an RDT puke yet. Nothing but Army and Marines.”

  “Halo is right, which is why I am suggesting we train one ourselves. Pick from the available soldiers on board. Ideally, I’d like more than one. Two more to stay with Bayou up here while we drop and can be a backup when needed.”

  “Who do you have in mind?” Gi asked.

  “Corporal Koog is my first and only suggestion.” I studied the men’s faces; they didn’t reveal much. “He’s solid, a bit of a risk-taker, but also experienced deploying with Tier-1 teams. As a plus, he’s a SARC. With Bayou out, the team needs a medic.”

  They all seemed good with asking the kid, so I shelved that for the moment. I just wanted to make sure I got to him before Hauk tried to volunteer him to join Red-7. We went back over to get all the details on what else the chief had found.

  I called Xero to come down as well. I had a feeling we were going to need her help taming this beast.

  CHAPTER

  SEVENTY-TWO

  She snuck down another corridor, confident that no one would notice. The ship’s systems were very comprehensive, and no one had taken the initiative to block the civilians out. Finding where they were holding the witch had been a piece of cake. Chelsea had no problem with most of the people aboard. In fact, she was quite fond of the Marine who’d been sharing her bed most nights. Still, the witch was one of those that filled her with a burning rage. It had been another one of those who’d cost her everything.

  The amber, general alert light began flashing again. She knew that meant to return to her quarters or seek cover away from the outer hull. In fact, it happened so often, people were starting to just ignore them. Most said the crew was just going through training drills. Her being aboard a spaceship still made her laugh. She, of all people, was the last one anyone would have expected to be up here…or to even have survived so long. Her long fingers traced the outline of the pendant beneath her top. Ryan would have loved being up here, being an astronaut.

  “Stop it!” she whispered. She didn’t have time for that. Not now, maybe not ever.

  As she neared another corridor, a sudden tremor shook the ship. She could feel something large moving in the decks beneath her. Were they firing at something? She thought that was the hangar deck, or maybe the other one where Koog and his team trained each day. She didn’t care, she was focused on getting to the prisoner. She needed answers before putting the bitch out of her misery.

  “All hands, this is the Captain. General Alert.”

  “Captain… ha!” He was another one of the assholes on her list. She knew he was just some kind of a sergeant. She hadn’t forgotten the bastard embarrassing her in front of everyone down in the mess hall. She’d get him back somehow, but that would take more time.

  The IAS Stone Mountain was normally crewed by thousands. Today, it was just a few hundred. Battle station assignments took precedent over everything. Corporal Isaac Randolph took his job seriously. His father had been a policeman and his grandfather a Marine drill instructor at Paris Island. He’d been honored when Captain Hauk had recommended him for the security detail. He missed the action dirt side but not the mud, cold, and monsters. He was glad for the change of pace, and the prisoner wasn’t hard to look at either, although she had never said anything to him… or anyone else. He wondered if today’s alert was just more drills or the real thing.

  He checked on her, retrieved his service weapon from the brig’s storage locker, and left the security wing heading to the armory where his alert station was. It took him a moment to get his bearings since he’d only been there once before. He consulted the flexible computer display wrapped around his lower arm just to make sure he was making the right turns. The blow hit him just below his eyebrow crushing the orbital socket and driving the small, zygomatic bone deep into his optical nerve just missing his brain. His body twitched slightly as Chelsea struggled to drag him into the empty bunkroom and removed his wrist computer. She dropped the piece of pipe she’d used to batter the man and took his weapons, slinging the rifle and holding the pistol. She grew up in Texas; she knew how to shoot even if she wasn’t fond of it.

  She told herself the man would be fine, but deep down she didn’t care. It wouldn’t bother her long. If he was dead, it was not like he was her first. The door marked ‘Brig’ slid aside with a wave of the man’s wrist ID. It was even less secure than breaking into other areas of the ship. Chelsea Adams didn’t like to be locked out; she had a need to know, to be informed. She thought it was one of her greatest strengths; her husband had mainly found it annoying.

  It took her longer than expected to find the access controls for the hatch leading to the holding cells. Finally, on her third try, the metal door clicked open. As she moved into the narrow corridor lined by several small but comfortable-looking cells, her excitement grew. She was going to get some answers, maybe even find out all the secrets all these WitchWalkers knew.

  The blonde woman stared at her through the armor glass wall. The prisoner was aware the thing was speaking, but like all the others who’d come, the words meant nothing. She was away from her…her, something. Her tribe? That didn’t seem right, but it was close. She was disconnected from her pack, really from the circle of all living things. That made her uncomfortable but not anxious or worried. Those emotions simply no longer existed in her. She was made up of purpose now, a need to be part of something larger. Several times over the last few days, she’d had images of another life, maybe her own, but it all lacked context. A woman making a meal with others that looked like her. Sitting in a classroom listening to a man speak. Having sex with a young man with long dark hair. If the flash of thoughts was hers, did she have a name? Was she someone else before the entity she was now?

  The disconnection was growing more pronounced. It felt like a lump of coldness in the core of her body. When she was with the plants and animals, it was that same spot within her that radiated warmth and fulfillment. It caused her to take actions that fed that warmth. Actions that apparently the thing in the window was angry about. If she focused hard, she could almost make out some words, even though she didn’t think she spoke the same language.

  “What happened to my children?” the woman screamed.

  What are children? the prisoner wondered.

  Visons of the myriad creatures that protected her flashed in her head. They were not the same as her, but they were all part of the same. Were they… her children? That didn’t seem right. But perhaps not all that far off the mark. I think I had a name, she thought as the woman pounded on the thick cell door. The woman was pointing something at her and screaming. Normally, this was when one of her friends would race in and remove the threat. Was it Liza, maybe Lesa? she thought.

  Chelsea was in a rage; the rifle wouldn’t fire. ‘Safety interlock active’ its small display read, so she threw it down. The pistol was a good old-fashioned mechanical version, though, it would fire. The witch still hadn’t moved, had barely even acknowledged her. She beat on the control panel to open the cell door.

  She hadn’t fully thought this out; she needed Koog. He could access everything here. She needed his access credentials. She ran from the room to the team’s ready room. One more place she wasn’t allowed, but she knew where it was. They had even hooked up down there one night as he was getting off shift. She had to get her hands on that bitch; she wanted the truth. Then, she wanted everyone on board to understand what a threat the witch was and what a fraud that damn captain was.

  She felt more than saw the ripple on a nearby wall, then was overcome with a sense of fear and dread. She immediately wanted to be anywhere other than here. She knew this had to be more tricks of the WitchWalker, but there was no way she could stay one second longer. She ran out of the security office in a blind panic.

  CHAPTER

  SEVENTY-THREE

  The calmness in the man’s voice nearly sent Nevis Carson over the edge. “How in the hell could you not realize who you had captured? Kovach was supposed to be one of ours. The last act of rebellion by that fucking doctor. Now he may be the biggest threat we have.”

  “I was told they had killed him,” Acevedo said.

  Nevis thought on that. He’d received the same intel. Video confirmation of it, in fact. The damn spy from the Sisterhood had put a bullet into the man even as he was lying on the ground near death. How had the drop trooper gotten back together with the woman? And more importantly, why were they suddenly allies against him?

  Like any good lawyer, he only enjoyed asking questions that he already knew the answers to. Today, he was in the unaccustomed spot of having none. “Where are you now?”

  Bertrand told him, and Nevis quickly rattled off a safe-house in an adjacent green zone. “Get your injuries taken care of, then report back to me on your progress in forty-eight hours. The clock is ticking on this one, Bertrand.”

  The tall man had never failed him before, but up against the Sisterhood and the SpecOps soldier, the odds were against him still… this Kovach fellow bothered him. He would have to be put down. There was no room in the plans for a glitch like him. No one in the Order could allow a potential hero to emerge, not this late in the game. The Sisterhood had been his to deal with and by extension, now the soldier as well. If Acevedo wasn’t the right tool to use, he had others.

  Reluctantly, Nevis tapped his comms unit to initiate another connection. Thank God the telecom satellites would be reliable for a few more years. They knew the orbits would degrade overtime, power supplies would fail, but there were always backups and redundancies. He was lost in considering the eventuality that calling someone might actually take effort once again when the voice answered.

  “We aren’t scheduled to speak, Carlson. That means you’ve fucked something up.” The woman’s icy tone was cold to the point of being Arctic.

  “You are, of course, correct,” he said, feigning subservience to the woman. “There may be a situation developing that I felt the directors should be aware of.”

  “Tell me.”

  Her tone was all business, the words offering no judgement nor any place to hide. Nevis Carlson told her of the success in Paris and the failure in Maine.

  “You are certain it was Master Sergeant Kovach?”

  “I’ve uploaded the holovids and the bioscans my man took before he broke free. They should be in the secure folders under my section.”

  “You realize this means Magnus’ treachery went deeper than we knew.”

  Magnus Reichert hadn’t been part of Carlson’s mission, and therefore, he bore none of the responsibilities for what the man had done. Still, he’d been roped into cleaning up more than one of the man’s messes. He’d heard even more troubling rumors concerning some of the assets from the facilities. The good doctor was full of surprises, it seemed, he thought.

  “Should we activate the Wildfire protocol?” Nevis asked.

  “For one man? Hardly. Don’t be an idiot, Carlson. Once we cross Line-X, it will no longer matter. If you can’t handle it…”

  He knew what she meant; she didn’t need to finish the thought.

  “I’ll review the files, and if it’s warranted, I’ll present them to the committee. If they need you, well…”

  The line went dead; the woman had ended the call. Were they still on track to cross Line-X? That was the tipping point when the momentum of change couldn’t be altered by anything other than nature running its course.

  Nevis considered his options. He was no one’s lackey, at least not in his mind, but admittedly, the committee would only see his failings. He sipped the outrageously expensive Domaine de la Romanee-Conti La Tache Grand Cru. It wasn’t as full-bodied as the 2017 he’d once had, but the 2048 vintage was still superb. Some losses from the old world would be harder to take than others. The stereo played a version of the lovely aria, Che Gelida Manina. The music, wine, and sunset view of the Mediterranean carried him away for a moment, but he knew there were decisions to be made, work to be done. After the cleansing was complete, he would have plenty of time to savor the pleasures once more. Then, he would deal with all those who had stood in his way, just like he had Magnus. He deserved to have a seat at that table, and one way or the other, he would make it so.

  CHAPTER

  SEVENTY-FOUR

  “I don’t think you’re supposed to be here.”

  Chelsea jerked as she looked up in surprise. “I… I was just waiting on my boyfriend.”

  “The big Marine. Yeah… don’t think so. They’re still down on the training deck.” His eyes roamed down her body, stopping on the ID card she held in her right hand. He smiled.