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The soldiers rush into the building. The way the helio is positioned, it’s hard to see how many come out. With the flash of black uniforms between the shimmering cloak of the helio and the door of the warehouse, maybe there are twenty or thirty, it’s hard to tell. The pilot has gotten them extraordinarily close. The crewmen are only visible for a fraction of a second, a black and gray blur. I focus the pervisculum on the building.
There’s exactly one gunshot from the humans inside. One muffled male cry for help. The weapons the Dorian use won’t make more than a whisper.
“We need to get in there now.” Castor steps off the curb, racing toward the building, but the giant clamps down on his shoulder and swings Castor back around to the wall.
“Negative,” the giant growls. “I want to save them as much as you do. But you’re my client, and I’m not letting you go in there.”
“I’m good,” Castor says.
“No.” The giant holds Castor with one word, pulling him behind the cover of an overflowing dumpster.
I’ve got my trident blaster out. It’s modified with smaller tines, making it look more like a standard human rifle. I hand one to Castor. Although the giant is right—Castor is a CEO—he knows how to fight. The giant has one eye on my equipment bag and the other on the building. But I know what’s going to happen.
The strike team is in and out, and as fast as the helio appeared, it’s gone. I didn’t see the women leave the building, but then my angle was off.
“We should check out the warehouse,” the giant says.
“No,” Castor and I say in unison. Dorian don’t leave evidence behind.
Now it’s me stopping the giant. “That’s definitely not something we should do.” A beat later, a Dorian rocket arcs through the sky, silently hitting the old building. I shouldn’t smile, but I do. It’s a well-aimed rocket, only one, and it will vanish. It won’t have any traces on human radar either, making the humans believe the implosion was caused by gas or something else. In the third story, a glowing fire rages.
“We need to get you away from here.” I grab Castor by the elbow.
The giant is on his phone, talking to the human authorities. “I called it in, anonymously. He’s right, let’s go.”
I pull the dirty blanket off my equipment bag and pull it from the cart.
“Hagen,” the giant says as we walk away. I strip off the worn jacket and run my hand through my hair. We round the corner and silently walk with quick steps for a block. Along the way, I remove the items of my disguise as a homeless man.
“Eros,” I state. My block vibrates with the pervisculum’s analysis of the building.
Castor’s scowl reminds me of my papa’s. He’s shaken by the Omicron attack. It dawns on me that he thinks they killed Sunshine’s cousin and aunt. I’ve let the two of them take point.
We’re following the giant through the city. Another block, and he ducks into a bar. Or rather, a coffee shop. He nods at the barista, and we head to the back and down a hallway to an elevator.
“How the hell—” Castor starts.
“Not here.” The giant punches a button, and we descend into a sub-basement. He scans his retina as the door opens into a brilliantly shining white space. A few heads turn, and some hands wave at him, but he ushers us into an office filled with mahogany and dark green leather.
“What the hell?” Castor turns to me while Hagen takes a seat behind a desk that fits him.
“They’re not dead.” I sit on the leather sofa, scrolling through the information filling my block.
“That looked like a security council hit to me.” Castor’s all but yelling.
“It wasn’t.” I’m having a bit too much fun with this, but my problem is only half solved. I still need to get my sister back. “It wasn’t the council.” I look from my block to Castor, my foot tapping on the green and brown Oriental rug.
“Then what was it?” Castor sits next to me.
“I have ideas, but why don’t you ask your brother? He’s on the Omicron, isn’t he? Let him confirm things.”
“Yes, but they’re in the Caribbean.” He frowns. Does he not want to talk to me about this in front of Hagen? The giant doesn’t appear to be a fool.
“Can I speak freely in front of Hagen?” I ask Castor. He’s already brought the giant into the matter. He has to know enough.
Castor gives a firm nod.
“That was a guided, cloaked missile. The only way you can do that is with a ship like the Omicron.” There’s no reason Castor would have the right level of military studies to know; he’s spent the last decade working at Glyden Mining. “If they had wanted the women dead, they wouldn’t have bothered with the extraction team.” I cock my head at him. “This solves some of my problems.”
