My feet take me straight back to the port room, without even realizing where I’m going. It’s like I wake up sitting on one of the cracked vinyl chairs. Old habits die hard.
And I’m not alone. Killing the hours here or at the farm, any port room was once easy, pleasant, and unthinking. The port room isn’t the safe haven it used to be. Not now we’re in the middle of a war.
A blond looks at me all doe-eyed from the other side of the room, her long hair falling about her face. Not very practical for someone who might be called out any minute. She nudges her friend, a short Asian girl, in the side. Be damned if I can remember their names. Monisha . . . Sari . . . Hannah. No idea.
“Hi,” the blond says.
I pass her a tight-lipped smile. It’s all I’ve got.
“Jax, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.”
“You on this shift?”
“Something like that.”
“Sorry about your base. Beau’s farm was nice.”
“Mm . . .”
I pull my clarinium weapon out of the inside pocket of my leathers. Flick it open and swipe the flat edge of the hilt along my pants, careful not to let the six inches of razor-sharp metal touch the fabric. Being clarinium it never needs cleaning or sharpening, but I need to look busy or this small talk won’t stop.
At least there are only two of them.
The door whooshes open and the telltale zip of someone porting sounds to my left.
I frickin’ cursed myself.
A couple of people come through the door at the same time as three more port in, Evan amongst them. I just want to get out alone. Slash a few agents, intercept an attack. Deal with this damn issue.
The blond is still looking my way.
“Jax. How’re you doing?” Evan’s quiet voice comes from right beside me. His translucent eyes regard me from behind tinted glasses, and he pushes his white-blond hair away from his face.
“All right.” He’s been through worse, lost his best pal. He looks at me for a beat too long, like he’s weighing up what to say. If I don’t fill the gap he’ll try to talk about feelings or some crap like that.
“Where’ve you just been?”
“Clean up job. It was a tech activation . . . there’s been more of that lately.” He leaves the rest unsaid ’cause we both get it. More since the attacks started, because of more Collective activity outside their compounds.
“Thought you were on the B-shift,” he says.
“I am.”
Wailing sirens cut our conversation, a series of sharp squeals slicing the air. The port room erupts, but I don’t have bands so I move to stand on the mat and wait for someone who does.
Of course, it’s the blond chick who, smiling, rushes to stand by me on the red center, holding her hand out. I snatch it and in three, two—we’re porting.
My feet thud onto hard ground, long grass brushing knees.
I tug my hand out of hers and draw my blade, spinning around, as do the others, looking for the dark uniform of Collective agents. Be nice to see someone I can take down—like Nik. But the place is empty. Not even a tree, just long grass moving in the breeze.
I stalk through it, parting the way with my blade. Still nothing.
“Anyone here?” the girl calls softly, like she’s afraid it’s Collective and they’ll nab her.
No one answers.
No Collective, no innocents. Not even a sign of tech activation. Where the hell are they? It hits me like a ten-ton truck and I twist to face the girls. “This is a set up. They’re setting frickin’ false alarms! Let’s go.”
I thrust my hand out toward the girl, Hannah. That’s her name. And she takes it gently in hers as if she thinks I’ll hurt her. She doesn’t move for a second, just eyes me while her friend shakes her head.
We port.
Upon landing back at the safe house, the port room is empty, which is odd. It’s never empty, not since they established the shift system. So then, who’s on duty and where are the other three-quarters of this shift?
I draw in a steadying breath to calm the pulse pounding in my ears. “It was a decoy.”
“Noooo . . .” Hannah draws the word out, like lengthening it will make it false.
Retracting my blade, I shove it into my jacket, and ball my hands into my pockets while anger pounds through me. I cross to the computer; not the main one, the newer laptop set up for the third and fourth set of port bands. A glimpse of the last location is enough knowledge to set our bands for the same coordinates.
The girls exchange a guarded look, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to wait around for them to question me. Instead, I grab Hannah’s arm and tap the band on her wrist.
We port.
Again.
My feet hit the ground to the sound of agent’s weapons clashing against resistance. We’re outnumbered; I can see that already. But it doesn’t matter, we’ll best them, and this is what I need.
A few feet away Evan’s swamped; battling against three agents each with two full stars on their sleeves. My blade clicks out in a flash and I jump at the one about to strike Evan across the shoulders. Cutting him off from the side with a boot to the hip, I push him away. Evan doesn’t turn, although he must see me out of his peripheral vision.
The agent rebalances and swings at me, his nose and mouth scrunched into a vicious sneer that says even though I don’t know him, he knows me. Doesn’t change a damn thing. He’s part of the mass-murdering of innocents movement. I raise the blade, and double-handed bring it around in line with his torso, his heart. As it connects his eyes widen, but he doesn’t make a sound just grabs me, his grip deathly tight. His legs buckle, and his torso becomes a dead weight hanging off my arm. I lower it—him—slowly to the ground, his face set in a death mask of shock. I didn’t mean for the clarinium to slice right through him, but all it takes is a touch.
“Fall out. Fall out.” Sam’s voice cuts through the battle. I didn’t realize he was here; the whole shift must be. Makes sense, since the port room was abandoned.
Someone claps my shoulder and I’m porting before I can turn and see who it is. We land on the bull’s-eye with a soft thud and my focus swings to Evan whose hand is still on me. He shakes his head like he’s angry as we both step out of the way and two more groups port in, the two girls supporting a battered middle-aged woman.
Sam’s the last to flick into the room. He too clutches a civilian’s hand—a man, maybe in his early twenties, his eyes flitting dangerously around the room. He doesn’t look hurt but my bet is he’s about to flip out. Sometimes it’s too much for them to take in, but we can’t leave them there to have their minds altered or worse just because they saw.
Silence falls over the room while the A-shift shuffle around tending to each other’s wounds and slumping into seats to await the next call. Hannah brings the woman to Sam and they exchange muffled words. Then she leaves the port room with both civilians in tow.
Sam’s attention catches on me and he frowns. “What are you doing here?”
I shrug. Like he cares, an extra set of hands should be welcome.
“You’re B-shift.”
“Yeah, and the Collective are setting off decoy calls to split our team.”
His whole stance changes; he twists his head to the side and looks at me from the corner of his eye.
“Ha!” He laughs too loudly, his expression a challenge. “They’re not that switched on.” He holds my stare a few moments longer, like he’s trying to send me a silent message then glances away, sweeping the room quickly. “You guys keep this running for another hour then the next shift’s on. Should be quiet for a bit I’d guess.”
Sam looks back to me and shifts his gaze toward the door like he expects me to follow, so I step out of the room a few seconds after he leaves. Rounding the doorway to his bulky frame filling in the corridor, the sight sends a strange pang through my chest. His stance oozes Garrett—buff arms barely covered with a singlet crossed over his barrel chest. Sam just kind of stepped in to fill Garrett’s shoes, and he’s doing a damn fine job.
“You can’t just go jumping into a shift, Jax. It’s not like before.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“I need to keep the shifts balanced. Frank wants Beau to send people up north, but . . . we need everyone here. We don’t have enough hands; we can’t even spare one less on shift. You have to stay put, man.”
“Frank?”
“Look, if you want . . .” He glances in the direction of the door. “Let’s walk.”
I fall in beside him, my stomach clenching ridiculously. We make it to the end of the hall silently and this is why I like Sam. He’s not ranting like Beau, or brooding like Garrett did because I didn’t follow the plan. He’s just pleasantly quiet. We swing round the corner and into one of the many tiny rooms in this base. Sam pulls the door behind us and doesn’t look me square in the eye when he talks.
“I’ve been waiting for you to request a move . . .”
“I . . .” There’s nothing to say, nothing I want to say.
“Look, you know how the roster works, three main shifts. Duty, sleep, duty, sleep. It’s a constant loop. While one shift’s on, the other two are catching some Zs. You can’t jump on shift, back to back, or you’ll be sleeping on your feet. No use to yourself, your buddies, or me. You’ll get someone killed, Jax.”
A sigh pushes itself from the pit of my lungs all the way up and out. Pocketing my hands should hide their constant clenching and unclenching. Aiming for I-don’t-give-a-shit, I lean against the window.
“I know it’s hard, man,” he says.
“I can’t just stand around waiting . . . you know. It’s not like . . .” Mae chose me.
“I know.”
“He’s my father, I feel like—” He stole her from me. I sigh.
Sam raises an eyebrow. He doesn’t call me out on the lie—half-truth, whatever—just plays along. “Maybe you need to get out, clear your head. Get back into the fight.”
I find myself nodding. That’s what I need, a break. For me and for her. She needs time, and I can give it. Switching shifts would be easy. “I don’t know.”
“Come on, man. You always said you were the best.” He gives my bicep a punch. “Now’s your chance to prove it.”
“I need to stop him.”
“Sure, if that’s what you’ve got to do. Do it.”
“You’re right, I need a change.” She needs a change.
“I can do that, and look, if you want to keep a bit busier, I can help you out there too.”
He knows it’s her, not Manvyke. Clenching my jaw, I nod. This is the right choice. All of us being together is too hard on her.
“That’d be great,” I tell Sam. “Swap me.”
What I don’t tell him is that I intend to figure out how to put an end to this disaster that my father is behind.