When they arrived, the starboard entrance stood wide open. Inside, fewer than half the overhead lights illuminated the large, empty operations deck, like some sleepy, after-hours, mirror-image version of the port hangar.
The blaring condition klaxons echoed off the walls, the endless din driving a piercing spike between Adequin’s temples.
She jogged to the front of the group, eyes locking straight across the deck onto the open launch bay, where a ship hoist sat clutching a gleaming white circular Hermes in its docking claw. The tension straining her every muscle slackened the smallest fraction.
Adequin took off across the large operations deck just as the decking shifted. She kept her footing but slid forward a few meters, bucked by another strange wave as if the metal had become rolling sand beneath her feet. She kept running, arriving right as the mooring claw released the ship.
Lace leapt from the raised seat of the ship hoist. “Rake—thank the void.”
“We need to take off ASAP,” Adequin said, her voice a dry croak. “We’ve got twenty-six; can we make it work?”
Lace’s brow lined deep. “Sure, probably—but they better get here fast.”
Adequin shook her head. “What?”
“If they’re not here soon, we can’t risk…” Lace went on, but the rest of her words faded away as Adequin spun to face the gathered pack of soldiers behind her.
But it wasn’t a pack, not anymore, not nearly. Puck, Mesa, and Erandus stood flanked by five others. Five.
“Puck…” she croaked. “Where’d they…”
His gaze swept over the others, his mouth opening and closing wordlessly. They could not have all been duplicates …
“No way,” Adequin said, stepping back toward the entrance.
Puck clasped her shoulder to stop her. “Rake—”
“It’s not good enough,” she growled.
“It has to be. Fuck—we tried.”
The Argus rocked again, the few remaining lights flickering on and off while the decking drifted beneath their feet, and they all tumbled to the deck. Adequin pushed herself up, then turned and helped Puck to his feet.
Lace groaned, cursing under her breath, leaning heavily on her knees as she stood. “Just about sick’a that,” she growled.
A soft wheezing drew Adequin’s eyes toward Mesa. The Savant drew herself to her feet, but stood hunched, sweat pouring down her temples, sucking in air in short rasps.
“Help her aboard,” Adequin instructed. “Get preflights done and get ready to take off.”
Puck, Erandus, and the five other remaining soldiers escorted Mesa toward the flimsy ladder that led up to the underside hatch. Puck lifted Mesa up to two waiting pairs of arms, which pulled her into the belly of the ship. Lace’s deckhands, maybe—that meant two more, at least. But that small solace did nothing to ease the acidic, bitter weight growing in the pit of her stomach.
Puck jogged back toward them. “Rake, we gotta go,” he said, voice terse. He breezed past her for the launch controls console.
“I’ll stay and man the controls,” Adequin said, following him over. “Jack’ll need someone on deck to give landing clearance.”
Lace’s brow furrowed. “What? North?”
“They went to Kharon,” Adequin answered.
“I know, but…” Lace’s confused disbelief swung to Puck.
Puck’s scowl tightened. “Joss—it’s giving an error. I can’t set a delayed launch.”
With a few quick strides, Lace joined him, then punched in a few short commands. “Shit. Problem’s with the exterior hatch.” She glowered at the screen, then mumbled, “Port-side control module needs to be repaired constantly—not surprising this one’s fucked too.”