1.
Eris
Present day
It was harder to steal supplies when the whole fucking galaxy wanted Eris and her crew dead.
And she was really, really trying not to murder anyone.
The directive from Kyla came through Eris's Pathos, the minuscule device at the base of her skull that allowed her crew to communicate telepathically.
Their commander was with their primary ship, Zelus, still orbiting Victrix's atmosphere. It was easier to do supply runs in their smaller bullet craft without setting off the Empire's detection systems. Eris's absolute shitstain of a brother would be all too happy to know where they were. Every time she heard him referred to as Archon Damocles on the newscasts, she tasted bile on her new, bionic tongue.
The old military outstation was supposed to be in a deserted forest. When the ship's systems had pinged the coordinates, it said the reduced population of the mostly uninhabitable planet had kept the need for military presence small. It was too mountainous, the soil rugged, and rain fell less every year. Their outposts had been relegated to coastal areas as the forests began to dry out and lose resources; Victrix seemed the safest option for a quick supply run to one of the abandoned storehouses.
The ship's computers had lied.
Maybe not lied-but the systems hadn't been updated since before the Laguna Massacre. On the eve of a truce meant to end a war, Tholosians and Evolians alike had been slaughtered as a virus engineered by the Tholosian Empire swept through the ceremony. An act of war, if there ever was one. It had been a slaughter-a mass casualty event that killed thousands of revelers there to celebrate a new age of peace.
But, of course, no one blamed the Empire. Damocles' reputation had escaped as unblemished as the new, glittering crown he'd fashioned from his father's old one. The Oracle had done One's job-woven One's programming through citizens' minds to crush any whisper of doubt. Even if some niggling question of Damocles' involvement persisted, the Oracle's tendrils would chip away at that doubt day by day.
No, the responsibility for twenty-three thousand massacred people had fallen squarely on the shoulders of Eris, the other six members of their crew, and the remnants of the Novantae Rebellion. They were fugitives, wanted by Tholosians and Evoli alike. And every military outpost and settlement in bumblefuck dust towns in the veritable asshole of the galaxy was on high alert.
And Eris was-again-really, really trying not to kill anyone.
Really.
So, of course, there were bounty hunters camped at the outpost. Of fucking course. Bounty hunters and opportunists made it dangerous to stay in any place for too long.
She made a frustrated noise deep in her throat. They were running out of backup supplies fast. She'd wanted this to be simple.
Eris replied to Kyla, lifting a hand to signal Nyx and Clo.
They crouched next to her in the dense thicket of trees enclosing the old military base, their hovercart concealed under a camouflaged tarp behind them. The women wore dark armor stolen from a prior run. Good shit, Nyx had said with a low whistle when they'd found it. Eris's armor didn't quite fit-too big-but it covered the soft bits she didn't want to be scorched by a Mors bullet.
The easy solution would be to retreat. Return to the ship, find provisions elsewhere. But since the location of Novan headquarters was compromised, their small rebellion had been forced to flee and set up camp wherever they could find it: barely habitable planets, deserted outposts, dying moons. Certified shitholes. Worse: two months earlier, a military ambush on one of their makeshift camps had left the already-struggling resistance in tatters. Many were murdered. Others scattered across the galaxy to hide from the Tholosian Empire. They'd lost most of the tech at their base on Nova, and they still needed to buy or steal food, weapons, and medical equipment.
They didn't exactly have the option of picking and choosing where.
Even forgotten outposts like Victrix were risky. All it took was one brainwashed asshole spotting something out of the ordinary and reporting it to the Oracle. The Empire's near-omniscient AI had upgraded its systems over the last few months in its never-ending search for the rebellion's survivors.
came Kyla's suggestion.
Eris heard Clo's low snort, and they shared a look. Impossible to Infiltrate: Eris's specialty. "Is that a challenge, do you think?" Eris whispered.
"Cannae tell if she's challenging us or trying to get us all shot," Clo muttered.
"Mm." Over the Pathos, Eris asked,
A pause over the Pathos. The chirpy voice of the sixteen-year-old genius came through their network. Eris pictured Ariadne sitting at the monitors, tablet in hand, while she hacked the sensors to keep their team from being detected on the ground. Without her, they would have been burned the moment they set foot near the compound.
Eris didn't bother keeping the annoyance out of her voice.
have cables in your toolbelt, don't you? And the folding grappling hook!>
Nyx snorted.
said Clo, giving Eris a smug grin and holding out her artificial leg, turning it side to side proudly.
His answer came fast:
Cato was their second pilot assigned to Zelus. Clo had bristled at the idea of him flying the bullet craft during a quick getaway. Still, Cato started to complain about being relegated to medical duties after spending years as a Tholosian military pilot. In the end, Clo relented, but she'd still banned him from working on Zelus's engines.
Clo's grin widened, and she gave a celebratory gesture with her fist.
Nyx asked.
Clo replied.
Nyx countered.
Eris said.
Nyx looked suspicious.
Clo rolled her eyes. she challenged.
Kyla interjected.
Eris kept her voice lower than a breath when she spoke to Nyx again. "Get the medical supplies while I get the food. We'll meet back here. Clo, stay down. Don't move, but cover us."
"Sure thing, former potential sovereign," Clo said with a wry grin, hefting her Mors.
Nyx and Eris split, both women edging their way through the thicket of trees. The hovercart, linked to the tracking device in Eris's jumpsuit, followed her silently through the woods, its engine little more than a soft hum.
Eris moved swiftly, her footsteps silent in the crush of damp leaves, as she kept an eye on the camp of bounty hunters. It was early morning in Victrix's northeast hemisphere, near the Borean forests where they'd landed. The sun had barely peeked over the horizon, the sky just blushing orange to chase away the dark. The camp was quiet. The few hunters that were awake already had a fire going-a helpful little target that had tipped them off to the camp's presence when they landed in the first place.
Smart, most bounty hunters were not. Many were retired military, responsible for capturing rebels and readying them for prison transport for a fee. So, when Damocles-Eris would sooner cut her tongue out again than call him Archon-had declared a bounty on Novan rebels, many saw it as a chance to rise above their station. The take on a rebel's head was enough to make retirement a lot comfier than with a mere soldier's pension. And one of the Seven Devils? That score would set someone up for life. They'd probably get a commendation and some ugly gold medal they'd brag about for years.
Eris found a collapsed patch of the gate and sent the hovercart through. She followed, entering the compound nearest to the canteen. She sprinted to the wall of the building and pressed her back against it, listening hard. Birds in the trees, a slight rustling in the underbrush. An enemy or something else? She paused, uncertain. Should she double back and check?
Not now, she told herself. Get it the fuck together.
Ever since Laguna, doubt could make her go cold. Freeze her solid. So far, she had been lucky. Her pauses hadn't gotten anyone
killed.
So far.
Focus and climb-the self-directive came in her father's baritone. Haunting or taunting her? She was never sure.
Eris tried not to think about how often she recalled her father's specialized training, the painful attention he paid to her as his most likely heir. Or that the Archon was yet another soul she'd sacrificed to the God of Death. He'd asked her for mercy even as his dimming ochroid eyes had shone with disappointment and disdain.
And she'd granted it.
Clo's voice was a welcome distraction.
Eris gave her head a shake. After a few taps on her mech cuff, she sent the hovercart up to the roof.
With an exhale, Eris found her first handhold in the brick and began to climb. That was easier, a task that depended entirely on muscle memory and her body's strength. Eris benefited from being bred for combat, with nanites from birth that improved her physical stamina. Being genetically engineered into the Empire's cohort of royal children had a few advantages.
As she pulled herself up onto the roof, Clo's low voice came over the Pathos:
Eris gave a small smile as she kneeled beside the hatch. When Ariadne confirmed that the alarm was disabled, Eris set to work on the old security lock. After successfully conquering the Iona Galaxy, the Tholosians had abandoned most military bases; maintaining the grounds became a waste of energy, time, and resources. Some buildings were used for overflow storage, but they were protected and surveilled with electronics hundreds of years old that cracked like eggshells under current tech. There might be nothing inside but cobwebs and dust-but with any luck, they'd find something worth taking back to the ships. With a swift tug of the rusted hatch door, Eris sent the hovercart into the canteen and used her grappling hook to rappel down after it.
The canteen was practically ancient. Eris only identified some cooking appliances from her history books; others were as old and outdated as the defense systems. She thanked the gods that the bounty hunters, at least, could still rely on the Empire to look after their nutritional needs. Their programming wouldn't allow them to steal food from the Empire, even old military compounds. The rebels would have a hell of a lot less to eat if that weren't the case.
Eris seized whatever she could and tossed the items into the hovercart. Earlier Tholosians had modeled most supplies at those old bases on emergency rations from ancient generation ships; they could keep food fresh for hundreds of years. The food was bland as dirt, but it was better than starving.
Clo said,
Eris swept another armful of food containers into the hovercart.
Ariadne's distracted voice came through. She paused.
Eris disregarded that, having grown used to her friend's meandering trains of thought.
She shut the hovercart, then sent it speeding up to the roof and out to Cato's waiting bullet craft. She grabbed a bottle of vodka and pulled out the stopper with her teeth. With a thought spared for wasting a decent jug of spirits on a distraction, she stuffed a dusty, stained kitchen towel down the neck of the container and used the old cooking unit to set it on fire. Low-tech, sure, but Eris had none of Ariadne's fancy gadgets to spare. She tossed the bottle down the hall outside the canteen before hooking herself back up to the rappel line.
Hurry, hurry, hurry, she thought as she reeled back up to the roof and freed herself.
She spent precious seconds dithering at the roof, eyeing the distance to the bushes on the ground. There was no help for it; she was going to have to jump.
With a swear and a prayer, she leaped from the roof the moment before her makeshift bomb exploded.
Boom.
She landed hard in the bushes, rolling to the ground with a soft grunt. The branches had slashed through her jumpsuit sleeve, but she ignored it. Her father's voice pulsed through her skull, even now: Pain is a distraction; pain is a weakness. She ducked back into the brush as bounty hunters rushed toward the source of the commotion.
Clo said,
Eris bounced to her feet and dashed across the compound to the medical bay, staying low. She found Clo and Nyx crouched below the retaining wall near a passed-out bounty hunter. Clo's knuckles were bleeding. As one, the women ducked into the forest, moving fast.
Shouts came from somewhere in the distance. Eris heard Morsfire a moment before a sharp sting radiated from under the armor plate of her forearm where she'd already ripped it. Fuck. Just a graze, but it hurt like flames of the Avern.
she snapped at Clo and Nyx.
The women pushed themselves to run faster. Morsfire sprayed around them as they fled for the dense copse of trees. Eris, Clo, and Nyx spread out, each nabbing their own massive trunk to gather their breath.
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