Rebel Born (Secondborn #3)(38)

Something expels from my palm—a fiery, invisible energy that singes my fingertips. I fall to my knees while the goatish fiend rockets off his feet and flies backward into the stone wall. His bones shatter, and he slides to the ground and slouches into a heap. Blood streams from his nose.

Is this real?

Hacking pants judder from between my lips. My hand tingles as if from the horrific recoil of a high-caliber weapon. Weak, and on my hands and knees, I crawl past the broken body of Agent Crow’s henchman. My aching heart bashes my chest from fear that the creature will somehow awaken. The door of my cell opens, and Black-Os swell over the threshold. One of them, a beautiful young woman, smiles at me. Her silver eye glows brighter as she says in Agent Crow’s voice, “My, you’re stronger than I thought, Roselle. But not strong enough.”

Kipson reaches toward me with her delicate hand. I eavesdrop on the frequency they’re dialed into and decode the garbled stream driven by Kipson’s orders. With my mind I push Crow’s consciousness out of her. His energy rages all around us like a dark, menacing storm. I smell him in the ether. Quickly, I interrupt the Spectrum negotiations between the remaining Black-Os and drive one of my own thoughts into the stream of consciousness: Help me up.

The soldier beside me hesitates. A sharp pain attacks my mind as Kipson rebels against my hostile takeover of his drones, but I mentally fend him off. He’s weaker than I am when it comes to the soldiers in the cell. Maybe his signal isn’t as strong as mine? Proximity must matter.

The female soldier clutches my elbow, helping me to my feet. She holds me erect. The other soldiers converge on us in full-on pounce mode. I close my eyes and concentrate on sending them a task.

Bring me Ransom Winterstrom.

I hold my breath. Everyone stops, turns, and stomps away. Following them, I limp out into the wide containment area. The walls are dull metal, and transparent security walls divide other cells. A monitoring station with holographic displays occupies the center of the room.

All the cells in this area are filled with Sword diplomats and firstborns. Some I recognize. Others are unrecognizable, tortured to bloody pulps. I hobble to the command center. The station has hundreds of individual cells in its monitoring grid. Touching an image enlarges the hologram and brings it to the center. I scan through hundreds of them, using my fingers to enlarge and then swipe them away, sending them back into the grid. It takes me several minutes to locate Cherno. His smoldering golden eyes catch my attention. He’s in the corner of his cell, his scaly flesh blending with his surroundings. I unlock the door to his cage. It opens.

“Cherno,” I speak into the communicator, “we gotta go!”

I trip the emergency release, triggering all the cell doors to open at once. The prisoners who can walk emerge from their chambers on shaky legs. Cherno’s among them. He wastes no time joining me. The others scatter, scuttling to the exits at the far end of the detention center.

“Finally.” Cherno takes my arm with the familiarity of someone who’s known me for years. “Which way?” he growls, scanning the detention center. Blood seeps from slashing knife wounds on his arms and chest. Some are scabbed over, but some appear fresh. He’s been tortured, too. Bruises mar his jaw and cheeks. Those are harder to see on his rough skin, but they’re there. He drags me in the direction of an exit.

“Wait.” I resist. “We need to wait!”

My desperation makes him pause. “Why?” he growls.

“Because I can’t leave without my friend.”

“You have a friend?” His eyebrows rise, as if this is the most shocking news of the millennia.

“He’s a Census technician. He—”

“Technicians are not friends. They’re hideous monsters who will steal your soul.” Cherno latches on to my forearm again and tugs. My toes curl under and drag across the stone floor as he hauls me toward the open door that leads into an underground corridor.

“Wait! He’s not a normal technician. He’s special. He gave me a tactical neural implant that allows me to—”

“To what?” Cherno pauses, glancing back at me.

I wrench my arm from his grasp. “To hack their systems. Eavesdrop on their frequencies. Seize control of their soldiers—” Movement at one of the entrances has me diving to the floor and towing Cherno with me. We crouch and watch.

Spectrum soldiers converge at the entrance, led by a towering cyborg with arm-mounted cannons. The creature, who’s covered in black body armor, has nearly lidless eyes, and its neck and skull have a transparent layer of skin. A visorless helmet encases its head.

The skeletal head opens its mouth and speaks. “Roselle.” Agent Crow’s voice emanates from the gigantic soldier. The vocal chords vibrate visibly. This creature is a genetic mutation of Crow. “Did you really think you could get away?”

From the opposite end of the detention center, the horde of Spectrum soldiers I’d sent out earlier troops in, carrying the unconscious body of Ransom Winterstrom.

A sigh of hope issues from me. I stand up and reveal myself, to distract Crow’s attention from Ransom. Cherno stands as well. “I didn’t really think I’d get away”—I turn to face Crow—“until now.”

The cybernetic Crow clone lumbers toward me. I lift my hand and thrust it in his direction. The creature roars. A shuddering crack of energy releases through my fingertips and palm. It slams into the cyborg, crushing the ebony casement of his armor. Blood and flesh squirt out of the armor’s crevasses like dough squeezed in a fist.