I kicked out of my covers and ran for the basement door.
Neds were already running up from the basement—he must have decided to sleep on the cot down there tonight. He flicked the alarm off, but was breathing a little hard at the top of the stairs.
“It’s the Fesslers,” Right Ned said.
“What happened?”
Abraham was right behind me—still in his breeches—but barefoot and shirtless.
“This isn’t your concern,” Left Ned said, pulling on the door so Abraham couldn’t see behind him.
“What happened?” I asked again.
“They’ve sent air support. They’re being bombed.”
Oh, shit.“Are they running? Are they evacuating?”
“No.”
“Let me talk to them,” Abraham said.
“Step back,” Left Ned warned.
“Can you stop it?” I asked. “Can you call them off? Call off the bombing?”
“Yes.”
“Bullshit,” Right Ned said.
“Do it,” I said to Abraham.
“Matilda,” Left Ned warned.
“He’s doing it.”
Neds moved out of the way, and I ran down the stairs, Abraham then Neds behind me.
Abraham pulled up short at the bottom of the stairs. “Hell’s hooks. This is beautiful . . .”
“What do you need?” I stood between my workstation and Quinten’s, the screens and equipment stacked around and above me.
“Do you have a slip link?”
“Yes. Here.” I held the earpiece out for him.
He took half a second to scan the equipment we had rigged up, took the piece, slipped it over his ear, and tapped into the old keyboard, his fingers flying.
“Get me coordinates,” he said.
“Do it!” I called to Neds as I patched into every line I had for the Fessler compound. “Pick up, pick up, pick up,” I chanted through clenched teeth.
The monitors were locked on the compound, which was a mess of fire and smoke in the dark of night. I didn’t see anyone moving around down there, which didn’t mean they were dead, but didn’t mean they were alive either.
“This is Abraham Seventh of House Gray,” he said into the microphone, while keying in a string of codes I wished I had time to memorize. “You are to cease your activities immediately. This contract is canceled until further notice. Abort.”
The old cell line clicked to life and a voice picked up. “Matilda?” It was Braiden Fessler.
“Get out of there, Braiden. Now.”
