“How did you come by it, Lysander?” Atlas asks me.
“Diomedes told me after he arrived at the Parting of the Shadow.”
“You were right. Raawaswith them on the Nixian Isles,” Rhone says.
I resist the urge to look toward the exit. Pytha can’t see into thehangar. No one can with the jamField. But she will let me know when the coast is clear with a green light over the hangar’s pulseField. That light is hardwired. I picture her in the sync, watching the Gorgons filing through the halls to the lifts and then riding them deeper into the ship, their minds occupied with fantasies of hot water, food, and warm flesh. Why is it taking so long? Are some of them lingering? Has Pytha been frozen out?
Stay the course. Trust your team.
I need more time, and I need to get rid of the six Grays behind me.
Even with Pytha’s green light, this will still get messy.
Atlas is about to leave.
“I saw Darrow,” I say.
Atlas stops and turns. That he did not know.
Rhone takes a half step forward. “You saw Darrow in person?”
I nod. “Diomedes took me to meet him.”
“Go on. Tell us,” Atlas says. It’s the first time I’ve gotten his full attention, and I’m worried I’ve turned on a machine that will gobble me up. Questions come at me with no logical order except to help Atlas form a private mental construct and to shake free information from me that I might not know is useful. It’s like being hit, pulled, and twirled by a wave.
“Was it just the three of you? Who left first, you or him? Did you get the impression he was staying? Was there a green tinge on his lips? Describe the tone of his voice. You said there was mud on his boots, describe it. Did it come from the cave? Was it dust then mud, or mud with dust? More on the heels or the toes? A steep incline then. He came from the east.”
His eyes snap to a Praetorian behind Drusilla. “My men are exhausted. Rhone, do you mind? Gratitude. Marcellus, rabbit to Flavius. Tell him to get Camillus and the Triad down to the surface. Darrow must have accessed the shrine through the granary three point one kilometers east-ish. If he’s there, do not engage. I will lead the team. If he’s not there, take samples of everything. Bring Janus too. Get him on all that grid’s cameras. All I need is a direction or a metal sample. No radios.” He flicks a hand and one more Praetorian is shed.
Five now. No green light. The anxiety is insane.
“They’ve sensed my involvement then?” Atlas asks me.
“They have. Diomedes and Darrow want an alliance with me against Atalantia. They sent me back here to kill you.”
“Lysander, this is very important. What did you say to their offer?”
“I said maybe.”
Rhone frowns. “And they let you leave? They didn’t take you hostage?”
“He did it right. They wouldn’t have believed you if you said yes, Lysander. And if you said no, we wouldn’t have them by the nose. But they are still engaged.” Atlas takes me by the shoulders. “Well done.” He lets me go, smiling. Then, casually, “Do they know about my mission to Orpheus? Do they know aboutEidmi?”
“Yes,” I lie, and let him see the lie so he thinks I’m still playing a tricky game, but the game is up. He felt the scarabSkin under my clothes.
No green light. Oh well.
Double down, all the same.
I drop my hips and reach for my razor. In all my life I have never seen someone move as fast as Rhone except for Atlas when he slaps the pulseShield generator on his belt and draws his own blade. Knowing Atlas is easily good enough to parry my first stroke, I choose not to waste it on him. I go after the Grays behind me.
At the same moment, forty meters away and ten off the ground, Cassius pops up from the cockpit of a war titan with no engine and opens fire on Atlas with a heavy pulseRifle.
I activate the aegis on my left forearm as I turn on the Grays. A meter-wide blue shield flares to life, covering my flank. It takes Atlas’s first stroke dead on. That first stroke is all he gets before Cassius’s fire literally slaps him off his feet.
My first stroke takes Markus just under his eyes and passes through his unprotected skull to kill Drusilla beside him in the same manner. The three Praetorians behind them are amongst the best Gray soldiers alive, but the unexpected speed and ferocity of my attack catches them off guard. I spring at them and two precise strokes remove the three remaining Praetorians from the equation. It costs me.
The impact of a rail slug into the back of my left thigh buckles the leg and sends me spinning. Two more hit me in the right leg, just above the kneecap. I sprawl onto the deck and reach for my sidearm. A roundfrom Rhone cuts the weapon almost in half. Only the scarabSkin and the low caliber of the pistol munitions keep the impact of his rounds from cutting my legs in half. Still, the pain is incredible. I’m on the ground a half breath before I push off amongst the ruins of the Praetorians. I glance up to see Atlas stumbling ten meters away, his shield crackling from Cassius’s fusillade.
