With a hand around his wrist, Iax assisted him to his feet. Arms clasped, they stared at each other, their purposes coiling. Shay understood what needed to be done and why. It took only a moment, a half breath, and their minds aligned.
More. They needed more Calypsons to help with the cause. More coalescing.
They turned in sync to face the defenders shouting and firing at them nonstop. Orders came through Shay’s comm, and Iax heard them too, alerting them to the crew’s next plan of attack. The soldier also knew this ship well, and could guess what General Cazin’s next orders might be even before they came through the comm.
Together, they charged forward and took hold of the closest defenders. Weapons knocked to the deck, clattering. Shouts became screams.
Two became four. Then four became eight. Eight became sixteen. Slowly, the chaotic cacophony ebbed into quiet, and Calypsons filled the hangar. An entire squad worth.
And as the last of the defenders joined them, Iax finally learned the information he had been searching for.
Wynn. She was being held captive on deck seven, under heavy guard.
Then that is where we will go.
They all agreed.
Chapter thirty-four
Turned out, he wasn’t a smart man after all.
The silent alert continued to pulse down the corridor. Defenders ran in both directions, heading to battle stations. Sawyer had taken a quick trip to the regeneration baths and found a spare on-duty uniform, but no weapon. Helmet engaged, he kept urgency in his steps like everyone else.
When a lone defender headed down the corridor toward him, Sawyer’s mind calculated the risks, the outcomes, in the space of a few seconds. The odds of success weren’t in his favor with the security on this ship as it was, even with the distraction of the Calypson, but a growing part of him didn’t care. He would deal with the scribe feeds later.
The moment the defender passed his peripheral vision, he grabbed hold of their nape and slammed them face first into the bulkhead.
There was a moment of confusion, of struggle, before Sawyer threw them to the deck. One more slam, and the person stopped moving.
Sawyer looked up and down the corridor. When it remained empty, he disengaged the defender’s helmet. A pale man with blond hair lay prone beneath him, his jaw slack and eyes closed. Sawyer took off the man’s PALM and swapped it with his own. He needed to know what was going on—direct orders from the bridge.
Sawyer slid the man’s AL-22 free of its thigh holster and popped open the side panel. With a quick adjustment, he coded it to his own biometrics.
Standing, Sawyer initiated his helmet’s interface. Information streamed in front of his eyes and across his PALM. A target infiltrated the ship, their location unknown. Conflicting reports rose side by side, along with mentions of where the Calypson traveled, and that he had help. The feed flickered, went out, then reappeared with new information.
In short, everything was fucked, and the Calypson had already taken out the scribes across the ship.Lovely.
Sawyer left the unconscious defender where he lay and jogged to the nearest lift. It opened immediately, and he stepped inside. Red lights pulsed around him as the lift rose upward and seconds ticked away.
Getting off the ship should be his number one priority, but Sawyer’s mind raced with possibilities, circling back to the same thing over again: the only reason the Calypson would board theCorvuswas to retrieve the good doctor.
And he didn’t know why he cared when he’d completed his mission.
He halted the lift with a swipe of his PALM. Another swipe, and he accessed the lift’s on-board terminal to hack into the ship’s schematics.
It took him a minute, but he found a void where crew quarters and ship’s systems should be, listed as unnamed rooms of undetermined sizes. Labs, he guessed.
The secrets the CORE tried to hide always screamed the loudest to be found.
The lift resumed for a few heartbeats, then the door opened. Sawyer stepped out onto deck seven and paused. A different feel existed on this level, the air expectant. The height and width of the doors were more like a hospital than a Guardian.
Sawyer skulked forward, down the hallway toward the lab with the strongest shielding. Red lights pulsed through the corridor, the deck itself eerily free of defenders. He passed one closed door, then another.
He paused at a corner, turned his head to the right, then froze.
A group of defenders blocked his path. Sawyer’s steady breaths jammed in his throat.
“Fuck me,” he breathed.
