The main group of elites is still advancing, shields overlapping, moving with painful caution. They’ve learned. They’ve adapted. And they outnumber us badly.
“We need to thin them out,” I mutter, scanning for any advantage, any edge we can exploit. “Zip, what else can you control from your position?”
ENVIRONMENTAL SYSTEMS. LIGHTING. DOOR LOCKS. THE AUTOMATED DEFENSE GRID I MENTIONED, THOUGH IT APPEARS TO BE IN STAND-BY MODE AND WILL REQUIRE SEVERAL MINUTES TO FULLY ACTIVATE. OH, AND THERE IS A KITCHEN SOMEWHERE ON THIS LEVEL WITH WHAT APPEARS TO BE A FULLY STOCKED WINE CELLAR. NOT IMMEDIATELY RELEVANT, BUT NOTED FOR FUTURE REFERENCE.”
“The defense grid—start that activation now. We might need it. What about atmospheric controls?”
“I CAN ADJUST TEMPERATURE, HUMIDITY, OXYGEN LEVELS, AND PRESSURE. WHAT DID YOU HAVE IN MIND?”
An idea forms. It’s risky. Possibly insane. But we’re running out of options.
“Their armor is sealed, right? Independent life support?”
“CORRECT. MERIDIAN ELITE TACTICAL SUITS ARE RATED FOR VACUUM OPERATIONS.”
“What if we give them vacuum to operate in?”
Suki looks at me. “You want to vent the War Room?”
“Just the entrance corridor. Drop the pressure fast enough, and it’ll create a wind shear that’ll knock them off their feet. Then we seal it, restore pressure, and deal with whoever’s left standing.”
“That is either brilliant or completely insane.”
“Can’t it be both?”
“CAPTAIN,” Zip says, and I swear he sounds approving, “YOUR TACTICAL CREATIVITY CONTINUES TO BOTH CONCERN AND DELIGHT ME. HOWEVER, I MUST NOTE THAT VENTING ATMOSPHERE WILL TRIGGER MULTIPLE SAFETY PROTOCOLS AND ALERT EVERY SECURITY SYSTEM IN THE FORTRESS.”
“Can you override the alerts?”
“I CAN MAKE THEM BELIEVE IT’S A CONTROLLED MAINTENANCE CYCLE. THE FORTRESS AI IS REMARKABLY TRUSTING ONCE YOU PROVIDE PROPER AUTHENTICATION CODES.”
“Which you have?”
“WHICH I BORROWED FROM THE WARLORD’S PERSONAL TERMINAL DURING MY INITIAL NETWORK PENETRATION. I AM CONFIDENT HE WILL NOT MIND.”
Suki grins. “Do it.”
“Vex’ra,” I call to the Zaterran warrior, who’s been providing covering fire from her position near the Relay. “Seal your helmet. Things are about to get breezy.”
She nods, her violet eyes gleaming with something that might be approval, and activates her armor’s environmental seals. The crystalline plates flow together seamlessly, and I hear the hiss of her internal air supply kicking in.
“On my mark,” I say, watching the elites advance. They’re almost in position. Just a little closer. “Zip, how fast can you vent the corridor?”
“THREE SECONDS TO FULL DECOMPRESSION IF I OPEN ALL ACCESS VENTS SIMULTANEOUSLY.”
“Do it. Mark!”
“VENTING NOW. PLEASE NOTE THIS IS AGAINST SEVENTEEN FORTRESS SAFETY REGULATIONS. RUSTY WILL BE VERY DISPLEASED ABOUT THE PAPERWORK.”
The blast doors at the far end of the corridor slam open.
For a heartbeat, nothing happens.
Then physics takes over.
The atmosphere in the corridor doesn’t vent—itexplodesoutward, a violent roar of escaping air that hits the advancing elites like a freight train. Their careful formation shatters instantly. Bodies tumble, weapons spin away, limbs flail for purchase on surfaces suddenly too far away to reach.
They’re screaming, but in vacuum, no one can hear them.
