Page 23 of Under the Iron Sky

She didn’t need to see Ma’varea’s face to know that he was smiling now. “Oh, she’s on top form tonight.” He stared down at her. Soraya refused to back away. “Your fighter jets,” he mused after a long moment, “how fast can they fly nowadays? I reckon you could do some real damage to our bases with them, considering how few dragons and stalkers we have left. Although, I suppose they’re useless if you don’t have any power. How are the old Light reserves holding up these days? Dry, I bet.”

Soraya took a deep breath, reminding herself not to shoot the only salvation they had. No matter how good it might feel. “What are you getting at?”

“The Towers are being restrung next week.”

Because of the vast amount of magic required to keep the Iron Sky in place, the Towers needed to be magically restrung. It didn’t happen often, twice a year if they were lucky, but when they did the Iron Sky weakened enough for ships to pass through it, and the Vordellians were always quick to jump on the opportunity.

“I assume you’re running low on power?” Ma’varea prodded.

They really were. Even if they could get only a few minutes of sunlight—Gods, the crops they could grow. The weapons they could power. A little could go a long way; they’d make sure of it.

“It’s happening Tuesday at midday,” Ma’varea said, “and they’ll be down for the usual half an hour, so it should be a simple in-and-out mission for you. Do you think you can manage that?”

Soraya’s answer was as cold as Aleena’s corpse. “What choice do we have?”

7

Five days later, Soraya stood in the base’s makeshift air hangar, staring out at the twenty faces before her that she’d hand-selected for this mission. Sixteen Sunrunners to man the eight ships carrying the giant Sunflowers and power banks, and four fighter pilots, each of them flying a jet similar to her own, should the enemy realize what they were doing and fight back.

Every single one of them knew the risks, that the chances of returning to these dark walls and empty halls they’d carved by their fingernails into a home were frighteningly low, but they’d agreed. All of them.

She kept her brief quick. Once the Towers were disabled, they had exactly thirty minutes before they were operating again. Their objective was to get above the clouds at precisely twelve o’clock, gather as much sunlight as possible, and get back down before the Towers were restored. Anyone who wasn’t quick enough would remain trapped on the other side of the Iron Sky and left to die.

In and out.

She hoped.

Across Vordell, near-identical teams were having the same debriefs in the other bases that remained—the ones that had the military equipment, that is, and weren’t just hovels to house the weak and young.

Four bases. Thirty-two sunbanks in total. If they were lucky—if they were very, very lucky—they’d hopefully gather enough Light to power the safe houses and weaponry for another six months until the Towers needed to be restrung again.

When Soraya finished every soldier nodded, all with grave expressions and tight jaws, and dispersed toward their own crafts in preparation for what everyone was anticipating was going to be a hard mission. All except one.

Theron was handsomer than most. A mountain of a man with deep brown skin, large muscular shoulders crafted from hours training and running missions, and the darkest black eyes she’d ever seen. Eyes she’d gotten lost in more times than she’d like to admit.

If things had been different, he’d have wanted for nothing. He could have done anything with a face like that, been anyone. But fate was not kind. And neither was war.

Something panged in her chest when she glanced at that face, the deep scar running across his nose and right cheek, sisters to the ones that started on the right side of his neck that she knew ran all the way down to the bottom of his rib cage.

His familiar, a spotted lynx he’d had since childhood, strode out of his shadow to run her smooth head against the back of Soraya’s thigh in greeting.

“Hello, Jinx.” Soraya scratched the back of Jinx’s rusting ears, the creature’s answering purr vibrating through the thick leather of her mission uniform.

She ran a hand over the back of Jinx’s head, thankful that Twiigs had taken a shine to Raina and had barely left her classroom since Soraya had introduced them. Jinx might’ve been well tempered for an old girl, but her hunting instincts were some of the best Soraya had ever seen, and ran so deep she had a habit of stalking familiars around the base that were smaller than her. Particularly those with feathers.

Theron playfully knocked the shoulder guard of his armored jacket against hers. “Alpha.” A smile tinged his deep, velvety voice.

“Beta,” was Soraya’s clipped reply.

“Thanks for letting Deimos on this mission,” Theron said when Soraya turned her attention back to her jet. He scratched the back of his head, his hair now cropped close to his skull. It suited him.

Don’t tell him. Don’t give him hope where there isn’t any.

“He’s so excited,” Theron was saying. “It’s his first time ever leaving the base, you know.” Oh, she knew all right, not only because she used to be close enough to the family to be privy to that sort of information, but because of the eagerness in his eyes. The smile on Deimos’s young face as he chatted with the other cadets. It killed Soraya that that smile likely wouldn’t be there when he returned. If he even did. “He’s been bugging me for months now about getting out of here.”

Soraya focused on the scanner on her wrist, confirming the jet’s systems were running smoothly. She’d already done this last night and again this morning, but she had a horrible feeling she knew where Theron was steering this conversation and she’d rather not look him in the eye while they had it.

Her theory was confirmed when Jinx suddenly decided the weapons rack on the south wall of the hangar needed a thorough sniff test. Traitor.