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We won’t be attending. And neither will the Olympic Knights.
As the battle plays in the background, I follow Colloway’s scrutiny of the Waste of Ladon. “Getting a ghost in the eastern Ladon. That’s our bird. Hermes-class corvette.”
“Wait for it to get into the debris field.” Sure enough, the corvette has no interest in the scrum over the western hemisphere. It pierces orbit over the eastern hemisphere and sprints for the debris belt. “Char, sick ’em.”
“Boom goes the ion.”
A thousand tons of high-grade engines and weaponry come alive in the hollow of the dead destroyer. Inertial dampeners throb as the Necromancer explodes out of its hiding place.
“Chin to collar.” I remind my Howlers as Colloway weaves through the graveyard toward our quarry. They haven’t spotted us yet in the debris. “I am the tip of the spear. Move at my pace. Kill all hostiles. Momentum is everything. We stop, we die.” There’s a shudder as our ship hits debris. I see an open line between Alex and Rhonna. I click in.
“Here’s hoping this one’s worth a wolfcloak,” Alexandar says.
“Bah, he’ll make us die puppies,” Rhonna replies. “Stay sharp, Princess.”
“And you, Ruster.”
I click out.
“Eyes on target,” Colloway drones. “Pricks and slits, guard your tenders, spit pending.” The ship rumbles as its cannons fire. They’ve spotted us. It’s a race now through the debris field toward their waiting armada. We spin like a top. Ordnance glancing off as the Blood Medusa returns fire. The seconds thicken. Each a test of patience. Three weeks I have waited. Three weeks in darkness. Three weeks in torment. Three weeks for this kill.
A magnetic charge builds behind me.
The lights go green.
Yellow.
Red.
Gravity says hello.
I launch from the spitTube.
Momentum and sunlight and spinning metal. Our quarry barrel-rolls through the shards of a torchShip, exchanging fire with the Necromancer. Colloway sticks to its tail like a wicked shadow.
The Howler signatures are lost in the debris. I take over my suit’s side thrusters and lock on to the corvette, trusting my team to follow. Five hundred meters out. Debris careens past. Globules of frozen blood and water from ship stores become blurs. The heartbeat monitors of my Howlers are jackhammering as they try to keep up.
“Match me,” I say. “Match me.”
In its desperation to escape the Necromancer, the Medusa nearly collides with the engine block of a destroyer. It hammers its starboard thrusters and turns at a right angle. Damn fine pilot. But the men inside will be slammed into walls if they’re not secure.
I seize the opportunity.
“Breach,” I say as I goose my gravBoots and leap forward. The Medusa’s hull grows larger. I aim for its centerline, directing Colloway to the breach point.
Systemic rage builds as I prepare for contact.
Atalantia thought she could steal my Imperator.
That her Fear Knight could keep my friend as a toy for torture.
That I would simply run back to Luna and let my men die.
That she could steal my son and there would be no consequences.
Well, here I am, you deviant bitch. Here I bloody am.
The motherfucking consequence.
