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I’d never felt so helpless in my entire life.
My kingdom for a hovercraft! My kingdom for Tempest’s life.
I paced, my body shifting between armor and civilian stasis, fluctuating with my anxiety. I raked my hands through my hair. Fuck! Even if an RTC miraculously appeared, it was ludicrous to hope I could reach her in time.
Stephanie would be hundreds of miles away by the time I got a hovercraft. And once I did, I had no idea where to begin to search. She’d headed west, but that didn’t mean she’d continued that direction.
Dammit!
If it took the rest of my life, I’d hunt her down. She might have covered her tracks by eliminating the RTC’s signature, but that wouldn’t be enough to save her. There weren’t enough places to hide on Sajave. There weren’t enough places in the universe. C-Force was searching for her. They wouldn’t rest, and neither would I.
I messaged Quint. Stephanie will attempt to leave Sajave as soon as possible.
I’ve already grounded all departures and stationed cyborgs at all spaceports.
I was telling my commander how to do his job, but I couldn’t help it. My hands were tied, and I had to do something! That Stephanie eventually would be brought to justice offered scant consolation.
But if she succeeded in killing Tempest, she’d wish she only faced the wrath of Kathryn Jodane.
Jodane would be going down, too.
As if I’d conjured the president from the depths of hell, she pinged me. Sajave authorities contacted me. Congratulations on a job well done. I assume you’ll be returning to Earth soon?
She knew I hadn’t killed Tempest but feigned ignorance to lure me to Earth so she could sic another enforcer on me.
No worries. You’ll be seeing me one way or another, I thought. Posthaste, I replied.
Good.
And then she pinged Tempest—probably to ascertain if Stephanie had completed the assignment. Trust was a scarce commodity. Of course, Jodane had no way of knowing the ping would be transmitted to my processor because I’d rerouted the messages...and placed a tracker on the comm device.
“Son of a bitch!” The tracker! Tempest’s comm device had been in her bag, which I’d stowed in the RTC. I couldn’t follow the hovercraft, but I could follow the comm device.
Got it. Got it. Oh my god. There she is. She was a mere fifty miles from the way station and currently stationary.
I shot the coordinates to Quint. This is where they are.
Redirecting now. Then came another of Quint’s significant pauses. ETA is an hour and forty-five minutes.
I was closer than the team.
But I had no way to get there. Goddammit! A sweeper bot swerved around me, pushing another load of aliens out of the gate. I bellowed in frustration and fear. I was stranded at a way station with nothing but sweeper bots...and a couple of desk clerks. Who had to have transportation! They had to have a vehicle on site!
Fuck me. I charged for the way station entrance.
And an RTC flew through the open gates and set down in one of the cleared spaces.
I reversed and ran for the vehicle.
The hatch opened.
I reached in and hauled out the passenger.
“What the hell? What are you doing?” the man yelled.
“I’m taking this vehicle.”
“You can’t take my RTC!” He lunged at me.
I shoved him into a sand dune. “Actually, I can. Sorry.”
I hopped in and shut the hatch.
Shouting and cursing, the man pounded on the side window.
Ignoring standard operating procedures requiring wheels-to-ground in occupied areas, I lifted off. Spewing sand, the RTC shot out of the compound.
I’m coming, Tempest. I’m coming. Hang on, babe.
