Page 35 of Fated in A Time of War
A spark jumps. She flinches, mutters something under her breath—maybe a prayer, maybe a curse—and then the droid’s limp head drops to the floor. Disabled for good.
I glance back at her. “Where’d you learn that?”
She wipes soot from her fingers, voice flat. “Kids in the underlevels played with worse for scraps.”
It’s not an answer. Not one I want to think about, anyway.
Inside, the station is a tomb. Walls blackened by fire, ceiling half-collapsed. Ash crunches under my boots. The smell clings—burnt protein packs, plastic, maybe bodies. I ignore it. My gaze finds the terminal: a blackened slab tucked behind a half-melted barricade. Still upright. Still whole.
I sling the rifle, haul myself over debris, and drop to my knees in front of it. Fingers move on instinct, clawing open ascorched panel. Circuits still intact. Power feed salvageable. My heart kicks harder than I’d like.
Behind me, I hear Alice moving. No wasted steps. She’s stringing tripwire lines across the entry, laying charges from scavenged fusion cores. Efficient. Too efficient.
I press the boot-sequence. The machine groans awake, static crawling the screen, numbers bleeding across cracked glass. My claws hover. I input my code. Old Alliance encryption. Familiar.
Then the hum shifts.
A pulse shivers through the floor.
Silent alarm.
My gut sinks. The system’s compromised, maybe decades ago. Or maybe someone’s been waiting. Doesn’t matter. The signal’s gone out. Weak, faint—but traceable.
“Damn it,” I hiss.
Alice looks over, face pale in the dim blue glow. She doesn’t need me to explain. She knows.
I kill the screen, rip the connection, but it’s too late. Already, my visor feed picks up a ripple of motion on the edge of range. Multiple heat signatures. Closing fast.
I grab the rifle, chamber a round. The sound is too loud in the dead station.
“They’re coming,” I growl.
She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even blink. Instead, she crouches, pulling a compact blade from her boot—a slim crescent of steel worn smooth with use. Her grip is steady, her eyes clear. Not fear. Not even defiance. Something harder.
I scowl. “Stay behind me.”
She shakes her head, the smallest motion. “No.”
The word’s soft, but it slices sharper than her knife.
“You’ll get killed,” I snap, stepping in front of her, rifle angled toward the shattered doorway.
She doesn’t move back. Doesn’t cower. Just sets her jaw, calm as ever.
“Then watch my back.”
The words hit like a slug to the chest. My breath stalls. For half a heartbeat, the world narrows to her face in the flickering glow—the calm fire in her eyes, the way she says it like trust isn’t something she had to think about.
It jolts me harder than the alarm. Harder than the danger bearing down.
I force the air from my lungs in a growl, snapping my rifle up to cover the breach.
“Fine,” I mutter. “But don’t slow me down.”
Her lips twitch—not a smile, not exactly. Just something that says she’s already decided.
The station shakes as footsteps hammer closer. Boots. Heavy. More than one squad.
