“Well… we know what the detonator did.”
“Do we?” Our lights are still on. Kilo checks his drone, it’s still hovering in the stairwell, waiting for a command.
But Riann’s comm is completely dead. The lights don’t come back on—not even emergency systems—and the computers in front of us might as well be giant bricks.
“I didn’t feel an explosion,” Kilo looks up. “If it was an EMP, our stuff would have cut too… and this would come back on…”
I don’t care what happened in this moment. Ijustwant to get above ground and get a hold of Shock or Risk.
“Where does your tech come from?” Riann asks as we make our way out, but he seems to take the hint when neither Kilo nor I respond.
I have to remind myself again that he has a gun but he’s never used one. Let’s hope he doesn’t need to now, either.
The drone hums, waiting in the center of the stairwell for any kind of a command, and I hold Riann back as Kilo pulls the controller out and checks to ensure our route is clear.
While we wait, I pull the comm from my pocket, turn it over and hand it to Riann, manufacturer’s name up.
He stares at it for a long moment.Oh, fuck.
“What’s wrong?” I ask as quietly as I can.
“I always assumed you used the same stuff the fleet supplies. Our tech is their old cast offs.That’swhat the fleet wishes they had. The maker doesn’t give up his toys to just anyone.”
For the first time in decades, I think I feel cold. “What did you just say?”
“The guy who makes those…” I don’t hear whatever else he says.
“Are we clear?” I ask, and Kilo confirms.
“Good.” Taking the comm back from Riann, I tell him, “When we get up there, you are getting us back to the Zone as fast as possible. I don’t care what it takes.”
“What about who sent that guy after us?” Kilo asks.
“This is more important.”
Riann nods. “We’ll be out of here before anyone has the chance to ask why we’re leaving.”
An unreasonable dread settles deep in my gut.
SHOCK
Risk is patched up, Chrys and Kissu are curled up together in the cat tree, and I brush the snow off my legs as I come back upstairs.
“Where did you put them?” Risk glances at Chrys.
She needs the sleep, so neither of us even consider bothering her.
“About twenty centeks west.” Far enough away there’s no chance of damage, close enough I could move them without a helmet so no sensors mark my ID.
Risk nods and doesn’t ask any other questions.
The Maker is watching us, or listening… Risk isn’t clear on exactly how the Maker knew he’d be at the wreck, or what he’d be looking for, but the less we say, the better.
Risk winces at every movement. It’s been so long since he’s been injured, he’s not used to the ways the pain sneaks up on him.
A helicopter buzzes past the window, headed for the crash site and Chrys stirs, but it’s the tone of the incoming call that wakes her. She yawns as Kissu flops his massive head against her shoulder, but she doesn’t get up, just watches from where they’re tucked away, lids heavy.
Drift’s irritation seeps through the screen when I answer.
