REVENANT

  He's back. Silas, that is. He moves into view, standing between me and Artifice and the others. He crouches down, looking me in the face. "What the hell, man. I thought you had it handled, that you had all the answers. You gave a whole monologue about it and everything."

  I don't answer him. Why should I? Instead, I make another attempt at getting to my feet.

  Unfortunately, that steady current of electricity flowing into my side seems to be preventing me from moving at all. There must be a sharp spike at the end of the taser device, whatever it is, piercing my plating, bypassing my shield. Not that I could have stopped it anyway—taken by surprise as I was. Shield tech usually requires some kind of conscious effort, a diverting of resources, mental and physical. There's a reason why some Biodroids forego the use of shields altogether, opting to make use of their Nanobits in other ways.

  While I understand Silas’ frustration, I’m not sure how things could have gone much differently. I was ambushed by ghosts. Their camo tech obscured them completely. None of my imaging sensors had picked them up, and I hadn’t heard them either, thanks to the wind.

  Not that it matters now. All that matters at this point is that my options are running out. I have one ace up my sleeve, but I have to be particular about how I use it. The timing has to be perfect. And I don’t think it’s time yet.

  Meanwhile, in contrast to the plight of this situation, the wind seems to be tapering off in strength. The atmosphere is calm, serene. The ship hovers at a steady altitude, rotating slowly, ever so slowly, setting a course for the Cloister to the north. In the distance, the approaching Corsair ships loom, slowly increasing in size moment by moment as they make their approach.

  This moment of quietude is interrupted by the activity of Sand Beetles, however. All around, they begin making contact with the turrets. Payloads detonate. Balls of flame erupt. Big hunks of metal debris fly and spin, clattering as they slide off the edge of the roof. The force of each blast jostles the hair and clothing of the Corsairs, who are otherwise unflinching, unbothered by the explosions happening all around them.

  With each blast, there’s a sudden, intense odor of burnt metal and electronics, lingering briefly before being carried away by the wind. Flashes of heat permeate the otherwise frigid, high-altitude atmosphere. Tongues of flame from ruptured and burning anti-air turrets lick the air hungrily.

  "Do me a favor," Artifice says. "Tell me where Razor is. Give him up, and I'll let Echo live—for now, at least. I’m not letting that green-eyed underling slip through my grasp again, not this time. I have a promise to keep."

  I shake my head slowly. "No deals, Artifice. Not with you. Not with the Protectorate. You should know that, by now.”

  Artifice steps forward, drawing a plasma knife from her belt, the edge of the blade glowing with grayish-white energy. "I would consider making an exception if I were you. They told me to bring you back in one piece, but they didn’t say how big the piece needed to be."

  I shake my head again. "There’s no deal to make. Razor’s already dead. I killed him."

  Artifice blinks. She purses her lips, concentrating.

  "Yes,” she says, finally. “I do suppose that checks out."

  Behind her, Parallax’s whole body seems to twitch. Her grip on one of her staves loosens, and it slides downward in her hand before her knuckles tighten again.

  I can’t help but wonder what that’s about.

  "Well," Artifice says, putting away her dagger. "Not much else to talk about, then, is there?"

  One of the Corsairs, a female with long white hair, takes a step toward Artifice.

  "I’m picking up an electrostatic Nanobit signature from the Herald," she says. "It’s on the move."

  "Right on schedule," Artifice says, unfazed. "Parallax, if you would do the honors."

  Something’s going on with Parallax. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she’s intently focused on me. I stare at her mask as she faces me. I can only guess what’s going on underneath.

  “Parallax? Sometime today?”

  After a second or so, Parallax comes back to life, like an automaton being powered on. She twirls the staves in her hands, then rakes them across the roof of the ship, opening a gash in the hull. Corsairs begin filtering past her, sifting down into the hole and out of sight.

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  Artifice swipes a touchpad on her wrist, and I feel the electric current ebbing, ever so slightly.

  “I want to make you stay awake,” she says. “I want you conscious when we take the ship. I’m going to destroy everything you built, everything you sacrificed for. And you’re going to watch.”

  “You’re really just going to sit there, aren’t you?” Silas says, still crouched next to me. “You’re just gonna let them win. After all that.”

  I focus on Silas. Concentrating. Willing him away.

  He grimaces, clutching his arm, his entire being pulsing like a heart attack. I give one more mental push, and he disappears, going back to where he belongs, back where I used to be.

  It’s my time now.

  I dip into my latent abilities, all of the things Silas wouldn’t even think to use, let alone be to control.

  I find it. An auxiliary Protocol, one that I’ve managed to keep under wraps all these years. I’ve used it sparingly, and managed to keep it a complete secret from my enemies. Until now.

  “It’s almost anticlimactic, isn’t it?” Artifice says. She’s still at it. Bragging. Monologuing. “After all these years. Some camo tech and a taser to the side. It’s all rather pedestrian. And here I thought it might take an entire army to bring you down.”

  “It’s not over yet, Artifice. You’re too sure of yourself.”

  “Says the Golden Boy,” Artifice says, bending down to speak to me face-to-face, like a mother patronizing her child. “Father always loved you best. Never spoke ill of you. You were the chosen one. The answer to everything. No wonder you thought you could take on the Protectorate yourself. Why wouldn’t you?”

  “It’s not a matter of whether I can. It’s a matter of duty. I’m not like the rest of you. I can’t simply shrug off what happened. I have to make it right.”

  Artifice snorts, straightening her back to look down at me. “Not a superiority complex. A Messiah Complex. My mistake.”

  “I’ll be their Messiah,” I say. “I’ll be their God. I’ll be whatever I need to be. Whatever it takes for humanity to be free.”

  “The crazy thing is, I think you actually believe that. You know I’ve always said that father did a number on all of us, but you worst of all.”

  “It’s got nothing to do with him. It’s me. All me.”

  It’s my fault. All of this.

  It’s just one of the reasons why I have to be the one to fix it. Perhaps the foremost.

  “Like I said,” Artifice says. “It all stems from your personal neuroses. Mainly, your inability to acknowledge that what’s past is past. What happened, happened. Nothing you do now can change that. Don’t mistake your personal issues with pragmatism. Whatever’s going on in there, ‘saving the world’ isn’t going to fix that.”

  Bitch. She’s always like this. Talking down to me. Patronizing me. She knows what she’s doing. She’s trying to get a rise out of me. Make me small.

  “That’s about enough talk, I think,” I say.

  The timing is right. Most of the Corsairs are already gone, having dropped out of sight through the hole. There’s only seven left, plus Parallax and Artifice.

  I activate Surge Protocol.

  Nine thick tendrils of bright light burst from my chest, curving through the air toward my opponents.

  Parallax reacts the fastest, deflecting the tendril with her staff and dodging out of the way.

  Artifice only smiles. A tendril passes right through her. Her whole body phases in and out, then disappears, at which point a small projector module appears underneath where she used to be standing. A hologram.

  No matter.

  One of the other Corsairs, the one with the white hair, manages to get out of the way. Everyone else gets hit with the tendrils of light.

  And they writhe.

  And they scream.

  And they struggle against the spreading, sun-like glow across their bodies.

  But it’s too late for them.

  I am eating them. Eating them whole.

  I take in a deep breath, feeling the surge of energy flow into me.

  It’s not just their Nanobit reserves I’m stealing. I’m breaking down their bodies. Their souls. Assimilating them. Making them into the energy I need.

  They’re no longer people; if they ever were. They’re batteries. For me.

  As the bodies of my targets immolate, flashing out of existence, I call the tendrils back, a new wave of energy flowing into me. Not just filling me. Overflowing.

  I divert some of that energy, the pressure of it, into my side. The remote taser shoots out and away from my body like a bullet from a gun. I quickly Print new protective metal over the hole, patching it up. I get to my feet.

  My body, in its current form, can’t quite handle all this new energy. And that’s part of the point. My OS has gone into Overcharge. The energy is leaking out of me like steam, ruffling my hair, distorting the air around me. Both Parallax and Viper are in a ready stance, watching me. Waiting to see what I’m going to do.

  I take a few steps forward, drawing my sword, activating it. I spin it in my hand until the blade becomes a blur, humming like a lazer buzzsaw. Testing out my dexterity after being attacked and electrocuted.

  "You know," I say, focusing on Parallax. The Corsair is hardly a threat, far as I can tell. "I just remembered something. You and Razor...the rumors were true, weren’t they? You and him—talk about settling, am I right? Talk about a disaster waiting to happen.

  “It was bound to end like this, you know. There was never going to be any other outcome. But I suppose you already knew that."

  Parallax plants one of her staves in the chrome surface under her feet for a moment. She reaches up and takes off her mask. She just looks at me. And the look says everything. She’s going to kill me for what I did, but also for what I just said. In her eyes, I’ve sealed my fate.

  There’s a fierceness. A challenge. A dark promise. But then briefly, just before she puts the mask back on, I see it. A deep, unremitting grief.

  The mask fastens back into place. She picks up the other plasma staff, twirling both of them in her hands.

  I smile. I can’t help it. I was made for battle, after all. Honed for it. There’s nothing I love more.

  Nothing is certain, at this point. There’s no telling quite how this is going to end. And some part of me—a larger part than perhaps I’d like to admit—is going to enjoy every second of it.

  Off in the distance, somewhere near the horizon, there’s a twinkle, a flash of light. It’s the HERALD, on the move, coming straight for us. Who knows how long I have. But it’ll have to be enough.

  Facing Parallax, I brandish my sword, and I lunge forward.