“There’s no way you can do this,” Mookie says.
I scoff, but the truth is, after all this time trying to tamp down on my power, some small part in the back of my head is worried I’ve lost it. “It’ll be fine,” I say.
Without anything else to do while he waited for me to get in touch, Waren drew up a dozen plans. He sent me heavily annotated orbital maps of Seward and Homan, long-range images of New Tangier analyzed and marked with points of interest, population centers, and garrisons. There were also pages of incomprehensible probability calculations that Waren was especially proud of.
I only had one question for him: Which plan kept the others safest?
“What do you need me to do?” Mookie asks.
“Just stay away from the window.”
On the outskirts of New Tangier, the two massive cannons slice into the sky—effigies to man’s lust for firepower. The towers are gunmetal gray, split into segments embossed with simple but striking designs; I guess if you’re going to mar the skyline with colossal weapons, you’ve at least got to make them visually appealing. According to Waren, they’re powerful enough to shatter any ship that approaches Homan; possibly they could destroy the Sphere itself.
I reach my hands out and breathe; my thoughts grow and swell, stretch out beyond the confines of my skull. I grab hold of the cannons and a quiet growl builds in the back of my throat as I start to tear the weapons down. The foundations crack, sharp thrum rising through steel—a vibration I can hear inside my head.
“Void-damn,” Mookie says in a near-whisper, voice reverent.
Dust and debris erupt around the base of each cannon as they begin their inexorable fall to earth. Gravity takes hold, and the cannons become lighter in my grip. I shift them, angling their long stretches of metal to block off the expansive starport at the north of the city. It’s empty now, but no doubt Hamid’s armada will fill the whole space when she arrives.
I let go and the towers fall in slow-motion, bending against the force before they strike the ground, smashing office towers, apartment blocks, and barracks. Bits of detritus tumble to the ground like meteors.
My mind sings, glows; this is how it’s supposed to be. I was made for this. I spent so many years fleeing systems of control when I was meant to be breaking them apart.
“I don’t believe it.”
I spin around and Phoenix is standing in the doorway. I grab her by the throat and yank her toward me, her feet off the floor as she crosses the room. I slam the door shut with my other hand and hold Phoenix in front of me.
“Mars, don’t do it,” Mookie says.
Phoenix groans, coughs. She croaks, “I want to help.”
I drop her to the ground and she doubles over to catch her breath. Mookie puts a hand on her back and holds her wrist gently. He looks to me, checking I’m not about to hurt her again.
“What do you mean, ‘help’?” I say.
“I’d been planning to break away from Hamid’s witch squad the first chance I got.” Phoenix wheezes. “I just figured I’d have to wait longer than this.”
“Go then,” I say, “this is your chance.”
“But I can help you,” she says again. Looking up at me, she could be the little sister I never had . . . if you replaced familial resemblance with a shared, fucked-up childhood, and manifest psychic abilities.
“You want to be free for once in your life?” I ask, and Phoenix nods. “Then go live whatever life you want for yourself.”
Phoenix puts a hand to her throat and, with help from Mookie, stands up straight. She walks to the door and pauses, but then leaves.
“We could have used her,” Mookie says.
“But could we trust her?”
“We trusted you,” he says, softly.
I step away from Mookie and open a comm-link to Squid. “The cannons are down.”
“I’m headed for Homan now,” Squid says.
“Cut through the air lock, but don’t leave the ship until you get word.”
“I remember,” they say: “autoturrets at the dock. Trix is coming for you in the shuttle. She’ll be there in approximately six minutes.”
“That’s not part of the plan,” I growl.
“Waren said the same thing. Good luck, Mars.”
“Thanks, Squid. Voidspeed,” I say, signing off. “Come on, let’s go.”
Mookie and I get out into the lounge area of the suite and the other space witches are standing at the window, watching parts of the city disappear in a cloud of detritus.
Ortega spins when she hears us. “This was you?” she asks, but her tone tells me she doesn’t believe it. “Kill her,” she says.
Ortega’s already lashing out with her mind, but before the other women can strike, I push her assault aside and hit them all with a telekinetic blast. It shatters the window behind them, and the four witches tumble out the opening in a storm of glinting glass shards.
I walk to the edge and smell the acrid air of the city as a warm breeze rustles my cloak. We’re too high up to see the ground, hidden by shadows, overpasses, and a drifting fog of dust. Already the women are little more than tiny dots falling out of sight toward the bustling streets below.
Mookie stands beside me with his hand closed above his sternum, looking down. He doesn’t speak.
“If they’re any good, they’ll be able to break their fall,” I say. I grab him by the arm to pull him back from the edge, but he shrugs my hand off.
I head for the exit, but it’s sealed tight. I snap it off its hinges with a hard jolt and the metal door flies into the wall opposite.
The guards in the hall have their weapons up, but shock blanks their faces and slows their reactions. I lash out and a spray of crimson joins the rich colors of the carpet.
I glance back and Mookie is still standing near the broken window. “Mookie!” I call out.
His hand shifts from his chest to his head, and he pitches forward. I grab him before he falls over the edge and pull him back from the opening.
I cross the room and Mookie drops to the floor. He sits with both hands on his head, rocking slightly.
“What is it?” I ask, but I already know.
“They’re in my head,” he says in a slow, low-pitched drone.
The Legion is coming.
“We need to get moving,” I say; “we need to stick to the plan.”
I help Mookie to his feet and his arm shakes and spasms in my grip as I steer him out of the suite.