Page 57 of Cage of Starlight
“This will do.” He tucks it back into the briefcase. “I’ll need to get this back to my scientists as soon as possible. Doctor, the promised shipment of prototypes will arrive soon. I’ll await your report.”
Grand General Vantaras strides away, leaving ruin in his wake: Kirlov stormy-faced, Helner pale and furious, and Sena half-slumped over the table, folding the sleeve of his shirt down to cover the still-dribbling needle wound.
Tory will kill that man. One day, he’ll look into Michal Vantaras’ eyes as he dies.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Tory finds anenvelope torn open and thrown on his bare mattress when he swings by his room after dinner. Gavin regards him with a predator’s smile, his card-playing buddies stone-faced beside him, as Tory skims the single page. Deployment orders, as promised.
CFR unit, of course.Corpse corps.
He has two days.
One of them snickers. “Not so special now, huh, Special Diet?”
Tory throws the papers down with numb fingers.
“Ready to bleed, Seedbait?” Gavin sing-songs.
Laughter follows him from the room and into the claustrophobic and ever-narrowing halls. Every short, sterile corridor looks like the next. It figures that when heneedsto find the garden, he gets lost around corners.
He could run, but he wouldn’t get far. They’d deactivate his Core. Vantaras’ words mock him:a lit fuse,he called it.
There’s got to be a way to take it out. Maybe Vantaras is misinformed. He’s the type to follow orders without question. He’ll bet another Reacher could do it. They may not be as rare as they’re said to be. Maybe notallof them work for the military.
Tory has survived so many things. He’ll survive this, too.
At last, he pulls the windowless gray door to the garden open.
His heart slows; his eyes stop roving. Life thrums through him.
He trades the acrid bite of chemicals in the hallway for a honey-sweet breeze that carries the smell of herbs and earth. Echoing stone shifts to irregular cobbles and springy, sun-warmed grass. His feet lead him to the tree with the gnarled trunk.
Sunset—fiery yellow and fading—sifts through the netted dome and sets the tree’s leaves aglow. Specks of greenish-gold swim over the grass with every whisper of wind.
In the Compound’s neglected garden, flowerbeds lie devastated, long since gone to seed and crowded out by weeds and wild things. Woody vines cling to every crack in the concrete, stubbornly blooming and straining toward the sky. Tory sits back against the massive trunk, yawns, and closes his eyes. The rustle of leaves and the distant calls of birds blend into a white-noise melody. His fingers, outstretched, trace roots that wind out of and back into the ground.
Tension slinks from his body like an unwelcome visitor, and he sighs as he drifts.
“Do you know the story of this tree?” The voice comes from his left, tearing him from his peaceful haze.
Vantaras.
Speaking of unwelcome visitors. Maybe he’ll go away if Tory doesn’t answer.
“You might like it.”
Or maybe not. “What, you’re stalking me now?”
“If you’re referring to the garden, I’ve been visiting since long before this place was graced by your presence, Worldseed.”
“You know you’re a hypocrite, right? You’re one of us.”
“You treat the word like it’s an insult.”
Tory cracks open an eye. “They made it one when they locked us in here.”
Silence.
