“WE’RE ALL GONNA DIE.”

“Enough of that. What is it?” Bilgi strolls over to the diminutive woman stationed at the radio.

The room falls silent. Faruq raises his head, and Demitri stands from his chair. I take a step closer, shadowing my mentor.

“Go on.” Bilgi leans closer. “What is it?”

“The ...” She swallows and wets her lips, her hands shaking. Bilgi waits patiently, encouraging her to continue with a nod of his head.

“I picked up some chatter on the radio. The Creed are en route to intercept the target. I’m pretty sure they just gave our coordinates.”

Bilgi snaps his head around, his gaze fixed on me. I know what he’s thinking: the target is me. I’ve been iso’d. That doesn’t just go away.

Bilgi turns back to the radio operator. “How many are there?”

“One strike ship and a single squad of Creed, maybe five or six soldiers.”

“Enough to wipe us out if they trap us in here. How long do we have?”

“Six minutes. That was about a minute ago.”

Bilgi jerks into action. “Mos!”

“Defensive positions,” the Kahangan bellows. “Yuri, I need the doors at the front entrance welded shut. Giahi, I need bunkers erected in the main cavern. Everyone else, arm yourselves and assist where necessary. Make sure you have good fields of fire for when they breach the cavern. They’re machines, so we’ll have to shred their neural processors to stop them.”

“Where’s that?” I say, trying to catch up.

Mos taps the side of his skull. “Just like us. Aim for the head. They’ll be armored, and it won’t be easy.” He spins, clapping his hands. “Let’s go. Everybody find work to do.”

The room bursts into a frenzy of activity. Suddenly I’ve got wads of cotton in my mouth. “Bilgi, where do you need me?”

“With me, girl. Arm yourself and do your part to motivate everyone else.”

I grab my single-shot beanbag launcher from the desk. Breaking the tube open, I pull a heavy lead-shot-filled bag from my pocket and thrust it into the chamber, then snap the breach closed.

Demitri is standing by the wall, stiff as a statue.

“Demitri, you’re with me,” I call out.

“I don’t want to fight,” he says with a whimper.

“You don’t have to fight. Just do what you can to help.”

He nods, clearly terrified, and falls in step behind me as I exit the command center and move into the main chamber.

Yuri already has two men welding shut the steel doors to the cavern with blue-flamed torches and blinders. People run back and forth, piling sandbags or turning over furniture. Faruq helps to mount a long, fabricated weapon with a lengthy coiled hose leading to a metal cylinder. The fighter behind it lights a small burner at the nozzle and squeezes the lever on the handle, launching a stream of fire toward the door.

“Demitri, help them at the door.”

The Gracile nods and moves. The men at the door mutter among themselves as he arrives, but they quickly shut up when Demitri rolls a massive boulder against the door to brace it.

Mos continues rallying everyone as new fighters rush in. “Two lines of bunkers,” Mos yells. “We need positions to fall back to.” Desperate to seem important, Giahi shouts to the others building bunkers, instructing or scolding the fighters about their fortifications, a fixed look of anger on his face.

Denni trudges up, lugging the sunbeam weapon that dwarfs her. My mouth hangs open.

“What?” She flashes a defiant smile and shrugs. “I wanna test this baby out.”

A shuddering hum vibrates in the earth above us, followed by multiple concussive impacts. Screams echo down from the Forgotten Jewel above.

The Creed have arrived.

Bilgi struts into the main cavern, larger than life, wearing a faded leather duster that extends below his waist and toting a long rifle with shiny brass parts, like the kind I saw once in an old book about American cowboys.

The screams above grow louder, accompanied by the sickening thud of plasma rifles. Bilgi scans the room’s defensive setup. The hush is deafening as we all wait for him to speak.

But he doesn’t. He just looks to the welded and barricaded door. As if on cue, a pounding begins, rapid and violent. Screams accompany the banging. People are out there. Our people.

I take a step forward, but Bilgi stops me with a severe glance. He looks back to the reverberating door. “Yuri, Demitri, the rest of you, back away from that door.”

They cast questioning looks at each other.

“Back away from the door now. There’s nothing we can do for them.”

A series of thudding impacts cascades across the door, and the screams are silenced. Yuri, Demitri, and the others back away.

Bilgi straightens, working the brass lever on his rifle. “Honor our brothers and sisters with your ferocity.” The door shudders from an inhuman force slamming against it, dust swirling from the frame. “Our enemy is not human. They do not deserve our lives.” Another rippling concussion rattles the door as the weld separates and the bolts come loose. “We are free people. The elites do not control us!”

Our general’s words echo across the cold stone walls. Then the steel doors explode from their hinges, and the cavern screams to life with the sounds of war. I pinch my eyes and duck with my hands to my face. Open your eyes, Mila. Fight.

Through the smoking opening the Creed march. Their faces are expressionless behind the visors of their armored helmets, their bodies protected by bulky avalanche-patterned exoskeletons. Blue streaks like twisting bolts of lightning rocket from their plasma rifles, vaporizing resistance fighters with deadly precision. Before I can yell to the fighter manning the flamethrower, a plasma bolt strikes him in the chest, and he explodes in a puff of dust.

Sard.

“Fire!” Bilgi shouts.

The room bursts to life with a roar of deafening gunfire. The Creed armor is impervious to our small arms, and they stomp forward, death dealers only interested in our destruction. There are only five of them, but they’re going to kill us if we don’t outthink them.

I lock eyes with Denni, who’s crouched with her heavy weapon. “Denni, do it.”

Resolute, she cranks the throttle forward. A blinding ray streaks from the device like a bolt cast from the hands of Yeos Himself. The magnificent beam hits the face of the first Creed soldier, and its mouth pops open. The geminoid soldier spins, firing against a nearby wall. Mos collides with the disoriented Creed, draws Svetlana from his waistband, and presses the muzzle beneath the geminoid’s chin. There’s a resounding crack, and the Creed slumps to the ground. Denni shouts in triumph. One down.

“Denni, hit them again,” I scream.

Denni cranks the throttle open and sweeps another Creed with it. The soldier takes the laser directly in the eyes and fumbles blindly against the wall. Denni moves to hit another, but the beam flickers and goes out. Panicked, she yanks on the lever and fiddles with the switches and knobs. It’s no use.

“Denni, look out,” Demitri yells.

She drops the weapon and dives for cover, a plasma bolt slamming into the stone behind her.

“Bilgi.” I point to the blinded Creed, still stomping about uselessly. “Get ready.” The old man tracks my meaning and readies his rifle. Taking a knee, I set the beanbag launcher into my shoulder. Phoot. The bag sails lazily through the air, flying harmlessly over the Creed’s shoulder. Bilgi snaps a look at me.

Hold on, damnation. The tube breaks open, my fingers dropping another bag into the breach. Snapping the weapon closed, I shoulder it and fire again. The bag slams the Creed in the side of the helmet, jarring it loose. Bilgi is ready. With a precision shot, he fires his cowboy rifle, striking the lifeless soldier just below the ear. It crumples to the floor like a sack of stones.

Demitri whoops a victory cry, but it’s drowned out by Bilgi’s scream. His rifle clatters to the floor as he falls, clutching at the ashen stump where his left arm used to be.

Time slows. The Creed march forward, firing pulse after pulse. The resistance fighters stare in horror at the broken form of their felled leader. I spin, searching frantically for Mos or Yuri. Among the smoke and flashes of plasma rifles, the only one I can make out is Giahi—crouched down behind a rock, frozen in terror.

“Giahi,” I call out over the din.

“I ... I can’t ...,” he mumbles.

I’m not going to wait here to die. “Somebody cover me.”

In one swift move, I sling my launcher over my shoulder, vault the barricade, and grab Bilgi beneath the armpits. Plasma bolts streak past, narrowly missing us, as I struggle to drag my mentor out of danger. He’s too damn heavy. I trip over my own heels, and we crash to the rocky ground. Through a break in the smoke, Mos, Yuri, and Denni valiantly fire their small arms at the relentless Creed. Yeos save us.

Powerful hands clasp my shoulder.

“I’ve got him.”

I crane my neck to see the rogue Gracile behind us. “Demitri?”

He nods. “I can do this. Let me help.”

Demitri hoists Bilgi’s limp body over his shoulder with ease and makes for the back of the cavern.

“Fall back!” I scream, reloading my beanbag gun. “Everyone fall back now.” But we have nowhere left to go. This is our last stand.

The flamethrower turret squeals as someone turns the heavy weapon toward the Creed. What in the name of—

“Faruq.”

He stares at me, wide eyed, no idea what he’s doing.

“Do it, Faruq.” He pivots the flame cannon and squeezes the lever clamp on the handle. A jet of flame streams from the nozzle, dousing all three of the Creed in a liquid fire that clings to them, melting the rubbery flesh off their faces.

“Keep it on them,” I shout, slinging my rifle behind me and jumping for the scaffolding above. I swing up to the elevated platform, stretching my legs to reach the scaffold. A blast from a plasma rifle slams into the section behind me, but I’m already in midair, on my way to the next platform. I barely make it, pulling myself up and onto the metal plate.

“Destroy the target,” the Creed chant, their endoskeletons poking through melted rubber.

Below, Faruq hits them again. The Creed return fire, blasting apart the cannon just as Faruq dives from the fortified nest. The fuel canister erupts in a ball of fire that engulfs the screaming resistance fighters around it.

“Faruq!”

I fire a beanbag from my elevated position and strike one of the Creed, knocking it to the floor. The closest resistance fighters swarm it, knocking the rifle from its hands and removing its head with a few vigorous downward swipes of their blades.

“Hit them with everything you’ve got,” I shout at the top of my lungs, my ears ringing with the chaos of battle. The cavern roars to life once again. Rounds fly, and the last two Creed are staggered by the sheer volume of firepower poured out upon them. The breast armor of one comes loose, and it takes a barrage of bullets to its chest cavity. More resistance fighters swarm the downed robot.

I drop from the platform, ditch the beanbag gun, and break into a sprint. Launching from the top of a nearby set of storage crates, I sail through the air and kick the rifle from the hands of the final Creed. It assumes a defensive stance, its close-quarter combat protocols engaged.

“Come on then.”

The machine is clumsy, but extremely powerful. I slam my body against its lower axis, using my momentum to force the geminoid to the ground. Its ballistic helmet clangs against the floor and bounces free. Rolling forward, I draw a short combat knife and spear the lifeless abomination through the eye, but it intercepts my strike, crushing my hand in its viselike grip.

Bang.

My shoulders seize and my eyes pinch shut at the sound of the gunfire so close. The grip of the Creed soldier relaxes, and its arms flop to the ground. Over me, the long barrel of Bilgi’s cowboy rifle smokes. The old man groans and falters, dropping to one knee, driving the barrel of the rifle into the dirt for support.

The cavern is now silent, the smoke clearing, leaving only the stink of burning geminoid. We won. But there are no cheers for our victory. The Creed assault has left its mark. Our force is half of what it was. Friends are now nothing more than ashen heaps.

“Bilgi, your arm ...”

“I’m okay, Mila.” He winces. “I’ll live.” He looks over the smoldering husks of the defeated Creed soldiers and the scorch marks where his comrades died. The burden of leadership is heavy in his eyes. “We’re all alive because of you and your friends. We owe you our lives, Mila.”

My cheeks burn. “I can’t take credit for ...” Everyone is staring at me.

Faruq steps forward to stand alongside Demitri. They’re both blackened like coal miners, but otherwise unharmed. I can only give a grateful nod. My two most unlikely of friends.

Bilgi grunts in discomfort. “What’s next, my girl? You call it.”

Taking a deep breath, I try to slow the hammering of my heart. “We’re down some good people. We need treatment for the wounded—including you. They’re going to come again if we stay here.”

Bilgi raises his eyebrows. “Maybe. Maybe not. I think they expected you. I’m not sure they expected the fight we gave them. The Leader doesn’t have unlimited resources.”

“Even so, they could have transmitted intelligence to him, and the fact still remains if he activates that supercollider, we’re all doomed anyway. Stopping it is still priority number one.”

Bilgi nods. “Are you okay if Yuri takes a team and relocates the wounded to one of our safe houses?”

“On one condition: you go with them.”

“Not going to happen,” Bilgi says. “I’ll be going with you.”

“Support. You’re going with me as support.”

Bilgi inclines his head, acknowledging my stern look. “Very well, my dear.”

“Denni, that thing was effective against them.” I motion to her sunbeam weapon. “Can you get it up and running again?”

“Yep. Just a few kinks to sort out.”

“Make it happen. Everyone else, re-arm, grab some basic rations, and meet up at the mouth of the tunnel. We leave as soon as possible.” I wipe my brow, take a deep breath, and help Bilgi to his feet. “Go get yourself taken care of, old man.”

“Leave without me and I’ll shoot you myself.”

“I was afraid you’d say that.”

Yuri and Mos help him away. People scatter in all directions to initiate the directives I’ve given. Still not used to this leadership thing. I reholster my knife and sling my beanbag gun over my shoulder. Faruq and Demitri are staring at me.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Faruq shakes his head, innocently.

“No ... nothing,” Demitri repeats.

They glance at each other in amusement.

“Come on, you two, get going. We hit the tunnels in ten minutes.”