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“All right, kids, listen up,” Pascao says as our train nears the bridges leading to the naval bases. He holds out his palms to show us a series of small, metal devices. “Remember, six per dock.” He points to a small red trigger in the center of each device. “We want clean, contained explosions, and the soldiers’ll point out the best spots for us to plant these things. If done right, we’ll be able to cripple any Colonies airship using our landing docks, and an airship with a messed-up landing bay is useless. Yeah?” He grins. “At the same time, let’s not screw up the landing docks too much. Six per dock.”
I look away and back out the window, where the first naval base draws near on the horizon. Enormous pyramid landing bases loom in a row, dark and imposing, and I instantly think of the first time I’d seen them in Vegas. My stomach twists uneasily. If this plan fails, if we’re unable to hold the Colonies back and the Antarcticans never come to our rescue, if June isn’t what we need for the cure—what will happen to us? What will happen when the Colonies finally get their hands on Anden, or June, or myself? I shake my head, forcing the images out of my mind. There’s no time to worry about that. It’ll either happen or it won’t. We’ve already chosen our course.
When we arrive at the first landing dock of Naval Base One, I can see enough of the inner city to notice the tiny, dark specks in the sky. Colonies troops—airships, jets, something—are hovering not far from the outskirts of Los Angeles, preparing to strike. A low, monotonous hum fills the air—guess we can already hear their ships’ steady approach. My eyes turn up toward the JumboTrons lining the streets. Anden’s announcement continues on, accompanied with a bright red Seek Cover warning running along the bottom of each screen.
Four Republic soldiers join up with us as we hurry out of the jeep and inside the pyramid base. I keep close to them as they usher us up the elevators toward the looming inner roof of the base, where airships take off and dock on. All around us is the deafening sound of soldiers’ boots on echoing floors, rushing to their stations and preparing to take off against the Colonies. I wonder how many troops Anden had been forced to send off to Denver or Vegas for reinforcement, and I can only hope that we have enough left behind to protect us.
This isn’t Vegas, I remind myself, trying not to think about the time when I’d let myself get arrested. But it doesn’t help. By the time we’ve ridden our way up to the top of the base and climbed a flight of stairs up to the open top of the pyramid, my heart’s pounding up a storm that’s not all because of the exercise. Well, if this doesn’t bring back memories of when I’d first started working for the Patriots. I can’t stop studying the metal beams crisscrossing the interior underbelly of the base, all the little interlocking parts that will bind with an airship once it lands. The dark suit I’m wearing feels as light as air. Time to plant some bombs.
“Do you see those beams?” one Republic captain says to Pascao and me, pointing up to the shadows of the ceiling at one, two, three crevices that look particularly difficult to reach. “Max damage to the ship, minimal damage to the base. We’ll have you two hit those three spots at each of the bases. We’d be able to get to them ourselves if we set up our cranes, but we don’t have time for that.” He pauses to give us a forced smile. Most of these goddy soldiers still don’t seem entirely comfortable working alongside us. “Well,” he says after an awkward pause, “does that look doable? Are you guys fast enough?”
I want to snap at the captain that he’s forgotten my reputation, but Pascao stops me by letting out one of his loud, sparkling laughs. “You don’t have enough faith in us, do you?” he says, nudging the captain playfully in the ribs and smirking at the indignant blush that he gets back.
“Good,” the captain replies stiffly before moving on with the other Patriots and his own patrol. “Hurry. We don’t have long.” He leaves us to our work, then starts dictating bomb-planting spots to the others.
Once he’s gone, Pascao drops his giant grin and concentrates on the crevices that the captain had pointed out. “Not easy to reach,” he mutters. “You sure you’re up for this? You strong enough, seeing as how you’re dying and all?”
I cast him a withering glare, then study each of the crevices in turn. I test my knees and elbows, trying to gauge how much strength I have. Pascao’s a bit taller than me—he’ll be able to handle the first two crevices best, but the third crevice is wedged in such a tight position that I know only I can get to it. I can also see right away why the captain pointed that spot out. Even if we didn’t plant six bombs along this side of the base, we’d probably disable any airship with a single bomb on that location. I point to it.
“I’ll take that one,” I say.
“You sure?” Pascao squints at it. “I don’t want to watch you fall to your death on our very first base.”
His words coax a sarcastic smile out of me. “Don’t you have any faith in me at all?”
Pascao smirks. “A little.”
We get to work. I take a flying leap from the stairs’ ledge to the closest crisscrossing beam, and then weave myself seamlessly into the maze of metal. What a feeling of déjà vu. The springs embedded in my suit’s joints take a little getting used to—but after a few jumps I grow into them. I’m fast. Really fast with their help. In the span of ten minutes, I’ve crossed a quarter of the base’s ceiling and am now within striking distance of that crevice. Thin trickles of sweat run down my neck, and my head pulses with familiar pain. Below, soldiers pause to watch us even as all of the base’s electronic tickers continue to run the surrender notice. They have no goddy clue what we’re doing.
