Rebel Born (Secondborn #3)(74)

After a little while, it’s as if I tap into their symphony. I read it like notes on a page, predicting the next several movements, and I become a virtuoso, the maestro to their opus. Their weapons wend and twirl. I bend and whirl and send the curl of a fusionmag pulse back at them. Movement behind me distracts me. I feel Clifton and another powerful male approaching me. Their presence is unmistakable.

Because my mind is on them, the heat of a glowing fusionmag pulse from the winking eye of the silver drill instructor skims over my cheek. The sting of it has me hissing. Something manifests in my mind—a singular focus. It reaches out and captures the steely silver device by directing a different kind of energy at it, one that I draw from subatomic particles. I disrupt the silver bot’s algorithm, and the whirling device calms and hovers at eye level, unable to break my spell, like a snake before a charmer. The blue one beside it twists and throws a fusionmag pulse at me. I squint at the silver drill instructor, and it moves to block the shots from the blue one.

My mind takes over the silver one completely, and now instead of fighting the other two drill instructors physically, I fight them mentally, using the silver drill instructor as my weapon. In a few breaths, I attack the red one with several lethal-level fusionmag pulses from the silver one. The red drill instructor emits dark roils of smoke and crashes to the lawn in a fiery pile of melting metal. Mentally infiltrating the blue drill instructor, I pit it against the silver one in a battle to the death. Within seconds, it’s over. Lumps of metal spark on the lawn.

“It would appear you need better drill instructors,” Clifton says from behind me.

I turn and find him leaning against the trunk of a cherry tree, his arms crossed over his chest. Pink petals have fallen on his head and shoulders, like floral confetti anointing a hero returning from battle. Beside him, Valdi Kingfisher stares at me with an approving smirk. I extinguish the fusionblades in my hands and sheath them in holsters on my thighs. I’m sweaty and dirty. The glow of the setting sun rests behind me.

“If I’m not mistaken, Roselle,” Valdi says, his deep voice permeating the air, “you controlled those drones with your mind rather than with voice commands.” The red scar on his cheek seems darker in this light.

“They’re not programmed to attack each other, Valdi,” Clifton replies with a satisfied grin. “In fact, they’re programmed to avoid striking one another.”

I ignore their elation. “I need something else, Clifton. Something more difficult to control. Do you have anything like that?”

“You could always take over Ransom’s mind and make him spar with you,” Clifton jests. He isn’t serious, but he makes a good point. Ransom has a device in his head. I need to be able to infiltrate Spectrum devices and control them at will. Too bad Ransom’s isn’t a VPMD.

“Clifton, can you capture someone with a VPMD implant and bring her here?”

His amused look lingers. “We have some Numbers and zeroborns here already, Roselle. We’ve been taking hostages for testing. It’s cruel, but necessary. We’re studying them, trying to find a way to dislodge the implants without killing them.”

“Why is that cruel?” I ask.

“We don’t give them a choice. They’re awake down here, Roselle, at this depth. They know who they are—what’s happening to them.”

“They’re conscious?”

“Yes, but they still have implants, so we can’t trust them. We keep them incarcerated.”

“You trust me, and I have an implant. Why don’t you incarcerate me?”

“You’re a goddess,” he replies simply.

His logic is flawed.

“What do you plan to do with an implanted subject?” Valdi, the thuggish god, asks.

“I plan to re-create a small, regulated version of Spectrum—one I control.”

“How will you do that?” Valdi asks.

“I may not have upgraded Spectrum’s protocols and technology into my mind, but that doesn’t mean the rest of them haven’t. They’ll have pieces of it hidden inside them. I plan to interface with them, find those pieces, and create my own gateway into Spectrum.”

“This doesn’t sound like the Roselle I know,” Clifton says proudly. “The one who’s always giving me lessons in ethics.” He likes me ruthless.

I walk to my bag, lift it to my shoulder, and sling it over. “I plan to be ethical about it. I’m going to ask for volunteers among the implanted hostages you provide.”

“Why would they volunteer?” Clifton asks.

“Because I’d wager that all of us would rather die than go back. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get ready for this evening.”

“I’ll accompany you, Roselle,” Clifton offers.

“No, you have a guest, and I know the way.” I turn to leave.

“Whatever you need, Roselle, you’ll have it,” Valdi says. “Check your wrist communicator. The Rose Garden Society has extended funds to you.”

I touch my wrist, fondling the gold band Reykin gave me. “What do I need money for, Valdi? I earned more working for Clifton than I can spend. Anyway, the world’s ending. It’s all meaningless now.”

“It has ended before,” Valdi replies. “It will rise again.”

“You’re a god, right?” I ask. “I mean, the bird names were code for gods, right?”