Heart of Iron (Heart of Iron #1)(55)

The couple in the bathroom, heavy breathing, moaning.

Close the door.

The door slid shut. The keypad gleamed red. Locked.

Sixteen men in the galley. Refrigerator door opened. Letting cool frost onto the floor. The pop of beer tops. The crack of bottles onto the floor. Laughter. Pork roast and potatoes. Chewing like pigs. He closed the refrigerator door, and one of the humans complained. Pushed the guy beside him.

Lights.

The orange glow of the neon turned dark. Bloodred. Men panicked. One of them tried to exit the galley.

Close.

It slammed shut. Almost took off a hand— “Hey!”

Someone pulled him away from the computer. The connection weakened, but it didn’t sever. He could still see. Still feel.

Lock the door. Turn out the lights. Cut off the ventilati— There was the distinct click of a pistol.

He blinked and refocused on the room. The heady power eased out of his programming and sank back into the computer. The naked couple in the bathroom, trousers around their ankles, banged their fists against the closed door, shouting for someone to let them out, but no one could hear them.

He did not realize what he had done until he pulled away. He had closed the doors. He had controlled the lights. It reminded him of the moment he had infiltrated the Tsarina’s corrupted intelligence. Being everywhere at once. Doing everything. Had his memory core absorbed that function? Or was it new?

He looked at his fingers, then back at the ports. What was he?

“Sorry . . . I—” He turned around, and Siege pressed the barrel of her pistol against his forehead.

Slowly, he raised his hands.

“Who. Are. You.” She enunciated each word, through clenched teeth.

“I—I do not know—”

“Bullshit.” She drew the hammer back. “I’ll give you to the count of three. One . . .”

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. This was not like him. He never had problems with words. He knew every word in the known language. He knew the Old Language. He knew Cercian. Solani. He knew synonyms and antonyms and a waterfall of adverbs and adjectives and—and— “Two.”

E0S beeped frantically, banging on the door outside the infirmary.

“Thr—”

“I could not let her die.”

The words slipped out, the only ones that came to mind. And they would not suffice. He squeezed his eyes tightly closed, waiting for the sound.

But Siege never pulled the trigger.

He cracked open an eye.

Her face went slack, eyebrows rising, hair shimmering with bright yellow strands. “What did you say?”

“I—I could not let her die. On the ship. The malware that infected the Tsarina wanted her. It wanted to kill her. So I . . . I destroyed it first.” I—I did not say good-bye. I did not know how to say good-bye.

She dropped her gun. “. . . D09?”

“I—I think?” he replied, searching for the right words. “I do not know. D09 was my serial number, but I am not in that body anymore, and I . . . I do not feel like D09. Because I . . . I can feel. I can feel and I believe I am ninety-three point seven-eight percent sure that I am scared and—”

Siege lurched forward and wrapped her arms around him, squeezing him tightly. He stiffened at the feeling, being embraced, her scratchy coat against his skin, until she let go and took his face in her hands, looking into his eyes. “How did you get in this body? Goddess, that face. When Robb brought this Metal over, I didn’t get a good look, but . . .”

“Is it offensive? I do not think I can change it—”

“No, no. It’s fine. Just reminds me of someone. Here, put this on.” She shrugged out of her red coat and handed it to him. It smelled like musty cigar smoke and gunpowder. Exactly how he thought Siege might smell. “Let’s go see where they put the crew, yeah?”

“The quarters, I think.”

“Then let’s look there, and go save Ana.”

Wrapping the coat around him, he followed the captain out of the infirmary and up the stairs, E0S trailing behind them, flying in happy circles.





Jax


He hated the darkness.

He tried to blink the dizziness out of his eyes and pressed his forehead against the side of the cell, the cool metal wall soothing against his hot skin. He didn’t remember much after they had dragged Ana away. Someone had cuffed him upside the head. He was lucky he stayed conscious—but he couldn’t even begin to guess what awful level of the Valerios’ ship he was on. Whichever it was, his cell could use a little more light. Solani never did live well in darkness. The sickness felt like a dry well that went into some deep part of him he couldn’t quench with water or food or air.

How the darkness crept closer and filled his lungs with shadows. How it made him frightened, calling upon old memories he hadn’t thought about in years.

It is never far away, the Dark and the decay, the children in his memory sang, sipping on hot cider, staring at the stars and not knowing what it meant until they were older. First it tastes, then it waits, and then it will consume.

He curled his fingers into his palms, feeling his gloves tighten. Not that his gloves had helped him when Robb had kissed him.

Goddess, he wanted to kick himself. If he hadn’t been so afraid of his gifts, maybe Ana wouldn’t be captured. Maybe he could’ve saved Wick. Barger. Maybe things didn’t have to end this way. But he knew, deep down, they did.