Page 85 of Under the Iron Sky

Theron couldn’t help but lift a brow. “You get your arse handed to you or …?” That would certainly explain why he’d needed to reschedule at the last minute. And some broken bones did make Theron feel a little less irritated at being messed around—not entirely though, apparently his pettiness ran deeper than he’d realized.

Ma’varea glanced over a scuffed shoulder plate. “Why? You gonna kiss it better?”

“Fuck you.”

“Now, now—is that any way to speak to your only chance of winning this war?” A pause, then, “And call off that bloody cat before I turn it into scrap.”

Oh, so this meeting was also a cock-measuring competition? Good to know.

Theron wasn’t usually one to back down, but the bite in Ma’varea’s voice had him calling Jinx to his side. She stepped forward, making sure the spy heard her gears grind in a predatory growl before sitting by his side. “How’s Soraya?”

“Still alive,” Ma’varea replied, though that sounded an awful lot like annoyance coloring his tone. Hearing it made Theron smile. She wasn’t making this easy on her capturers then. Good.

Before Theron could ask exactly what she was doing, Twiigs interjected, “We must thank you again for your help evacuating the Anabarian base. We received confirmation yesterday that the new site is fully operational. Your information saved hundreds.”

“Yeah …” Theron said. “Thanks.” Each word was a stone lodged in his throat, but he forced them out. Just about. Spy or not, it felt wrong to thank him given everything Ramapheal and the Dar’rak had done.

The spy nodded but said nothing. He seemed much tenser than at their last meeting, like a bow string that was being pulled just this side of its limit. Any more pressure and he was going to snap.

Theron let the seconds roll on, watching the spy work through whatever was going on in his head. He watched his hand curl around the railing, watched him stare up at the endless black sky above, tapping a song Theron didn’t know against the iron. A small part of Theron, the part that respected all this creature had done for them so far in this war, what he still stood to do for them if given the chance, wondered what he saw. If this was any different from the darkness he’d grown up in?

It was eight more taps before the spy spoke again. “There’s been a … development below.”

Nerves prickled across Theron’s veins, but he forced his voice to remain even. “What kind of development?”

“We’ve come across a graveyard of metal in our territory. We thought the weapons there were dead, but it turns out Light still burns in them.”

“How much Light?”

“A lot. Fighter jets, Sentinels, guns, bombs—those Link things you use to dampen our magic. It’s an entire battalion, even if only half of the machines are usable, the Light you could siphon from the rest would be enough to power your bases and weapons for a long time.”

Theron was suddenly standing a little straighter, heart beating a little faster, not from nerves now but pure adrenaline and potential. “How long has it been down there?”

“It’s from the early days.”

Again, Theron’s heart leaped a bit. “So it’s pure then, the Light?”

Pure Light, gathered right from the heat of all three suns from a time when their sunpanels weren’t the decayed and crumbling things they were now.

This war had done everything imaginable to beat Theron into a cynic. He didn’t want to believe what Ma’varea was saying, but if it was true …

Ma’varea turned his face, and as Theron stared into those depthless black eyeholes of his helmet, he swore the spy might’ve been a believer too.

“Purer than anything you’ve had in years,” Ma’varea said. “Pure enough that Ramapheal won’t risk having any of the machines broken down in case they explode.”

Fuck. This was big. Never mind Sunrunners and Towers being restrung, the potential these machines could give them, broken or not … The life all that death might be able to bring …

From his shoulder, Theron could feel Twiigs’s keen eyes absorbing each bit of information like a sponge. Because he spent most of his time with Raina, the little guy was quickly becoming an encyclopedia of everything Vordellian. They must not have covered this yet, though, considering how quickly his head was snapping between Theron and Ma’varea.

That was their conversation home covered, then.

“What’s the catch?” Theron asked. There had to be one; Ma’varea wouldn’t have been so tense otherwise.

“Ramapheal’s having the machines moved to one of the lower levels of Belvador to ensure they stay out of your reach.”

“So how do we get it?” Theron cut in. “We could intercept the shipment while it’s being moved. Where’s Ramapheal sending it?”

“Shut up and I’ll tell you,” Ma’varea snapped. “Fuckin’ hell, you’re a very impatient species, aren’t you?” He took a deep breath, as though it was the only thing that’d get him through this conversation without snapping Theron’s neck.