Jackin’s look faltered, then he cleared his throat. “We might need parts.”
“Things they’d have here?”
“Not likely.”
“Well,” Cavalon said, “the Argus has a whole sector full of comms that don’t work, right? We could pilfer that.”
“There’s no time to go back. We need to get them on the line, stat.”
“You know, you keep talking about this deadline,” Cavalon said. “Makes a guy a bit nervous—”
The piercing clang of an alarm drowned out Cavalon’s voice. The dim room instantly filled with sharp flashes of blue and red light.
“Shit.” Jackin slid out of the comms menu, then swept a video feed up onto the main viewscreen above the triangular platform. He activated the station’s hull lights, and a series of beaming spotlights fired out into the void.
Cavalon’s mouth dropped open as a vessel careened out of the darkness, the station’s lights illuminating the hull of a mangled, grisly cargo ship.
“That’s…” Cavalon began, but couldn’t continue, because all he could think was fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck …
Jackin swallowed. “Drudgers.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The fighting had already begun in earnest when the lift door slid open and Adequin stepped out. The tension binding her shoulders loosened somewhat. If they were focusing on beating one another up, then they weren’t focused on beating the door down.
Across the circular vestibule, more than sixty soldiers had gathered near the sealed bulkhead door of Octo Sector. Some merely argued, while others engaged in scuffles or tried to stop fights.
Adequin headed around the arcing corridor toward the commotion. Mesa followed just off her shoulder. They arrived on the outskirts of the pack, where a tall, brutish oculus clutched another in a headlock.
A young circitor, Walsh, stood nearby, furious. “Barrow, stand down!” she yelled. The man responded by wrenching his grip tighter. Walsh held up her wrist to indicate her nexus. “Don’t make me.”
“Oh,” Barrow mocked, glaring. “Don’t make me.”
But Walsh already had her nexus screen open, then Barrow’s face contorted and his knees buckled. He landed on all fours and his hostage tumbled to the ground as well.
Adequin picked up the discarded man by his shoulders. “To the mess,” she growled, pointing a harsh finger toward the lift.
“Yes, sir.” The oculus scrambled away.
Two other circitors stood among the commotion, fingers dancing across their nexus screens as they activated their oculi’s Imprints to discipline them into submission. However, not everyone’s CO was there, and they only had control over their direct subordinates.
Adequin turned to find Barrow up on his feet again. He grabbed another oculus by the front of his vest.
Walsh seethed. “Barrow, I thought I—” The circitor’s mouth opened helplessly as she glanced between the standing Barrow and the Barrow still writhing on the floor in pain from his activated Imprints.
It was then Adequin realized there were more like thirty soldiers, accompanied by a whole host of doppelg?ngers. They flashed in and out of existence, an unwelcome addition to the chaos. Even on a normal day, time ripples put them on edge. Exacerbated by seeing something unknown outward—seeing anything outward? No wonder they were getting worked up.
“Soldiers!” Adequin shouted, but her voice barely cut through the din. No one reacted.
Her Imprints buzzed across her shoulders as she walked into the ruckus, heading for a fight that’d just broken out between two scrawny men. On the way, an oculus crashed into her, then sprawled to the ground at her feet. She picked him up by the front of his vest and tossed him toward the wall, but he disappeared before he hit it. A half second later, the same man crashed into her and she repeated the throw, but this time he slammed into the wall. He turned and glared at her, then recognition dampened his ire.