The Return: The After Trilogy
Author: Kelly St. Clare Narrated Byesther Wane
Date: 2018-11-20 00:00:00+00:00
Description: Three months ago, Romy emerged from the cultivation tanks after a year floating inside. Body intact. Mind broken. Memory gone. Now she undergoes regular testing as doctors work to find out...well, she's not exactly sure what. The tests must have something to do with the reason she can't remember her knot - the single lucid memory the other insane soldiers on Orbito Four still possess. Whatever the researchers are searching for, if it aids the soldiers in the deathly war against the lethal alien invaders — the Critamal — the excruciating pain is worth it. But a grey-eyed man has other plans. Bo
Publisher: Tantor Audio

THE RETURN

– The After Trilogy, Book II –

Kelly St. Clare

TABLE OF CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

GLOSSARY

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

BOOKS BY KELLY ST. CLARE

HAVE YOU ENJOYED THIS BOOK?

Copyright 2017 by Kelly St. Clare

First Published: 29th June 2017

Publisher: Kelly St. Clare

The right of Kelly St Clare to be identified as author of this Work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format.

All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

www.kellystclare.com

This is dedicated to all the amazing people who have accepted their inner crazy

The first genetically enhanced humans were cultivated, and the original four thousand left Earth in the year 2050, in what is historically known as

The Retreat.

In the 152 years that have since passed, the space soldiers have yearned daily to reinhabit their beloved homeland. So much so, they now refer to this future day as

The Return.

CHAPTER ONE

Romy didn’t feel insane. That was how she knew she must be.

The other space soldiers on Orbito Four didn’t think they were crazy either. . . . Romy eyed a tall man hugging himself, humming a wordless tune. Strange—she had no trouble seeing how the other occupants of Orbito Four were three planets short of a galaxy.

She straightened her shoulders further than they already were, and clasped her hands behind her back as she strode to a window. Black space, a lot of it, met her eyes at first. But inevitably, the only light in the blackness commandeered her attention.

Earth.

Their barren homeland, currently in the toxic throes of global warming—the reason the space soldiers were all the way up here, and not all the way down there.

“Soldier Rosemary.” The deep voice behind her rang with command.

She pivoted, snapping the heels of her standard-issue white boots together, and stood to attention. “Yes, sir.”

The man in the lab coat ignored her, consulting his nano. His pale eyes flicked up, checking her platinum hair and blue eyes against the picture on the screen. She wondered why he did this. The doctors collected her three times a week for observation, and this man had personally escorted her to the lab many times. But she shouldn’t question procedures. There was a reason for everything. Usually that reason was safety.

“Rosemary, formerly of Knot 27,” he read. “Follow me.”

Grief tore through her chest as she marched after the doctor down the stark white halls, and a familiar frustration began to simmer. Formerly of Knot 27. They tagged the words onto the end of her name like a title. It seemed cruel, though she knew they did it for the sake of efficiency. Couldn’t they say, “Formerly of Orbito One”, instead?

Like all the soldiers here, some or all of her knot were dead. Some of the teams had only lost one knot member before tumbling into insanity. Others, like Romy, survived as the sole remaining member of their team. Both had the same result. Batshit. The thing was, Romy couldn’t remember her knot at all. She couldn’t remember anything beyond automatic functions. She woke three months ago with a gaping hole in her chest and no idea why until the doctors filled her in; blown to smithereens during a battle with the Critamal, the commander told her. A battle Romy miraculously survived. She wished she hadn’t. Not like this. Not when she didn’t have her memories of them.

Romy did have their names, though—the doctors gave her that much. Elara, Phobos, Deimos, and Thrym. Four names to explain the emptiness inside. Sometimes Romy tried so hard to remember, she felt her brain might bleed. Maybe if the doctor’s explanation seemed real, she could accept her knot were gone. Maybe then she’d remember and the black hole inside her chest would be filled. But the frustration which bubbled every time the doctors said, “Formerly of Knot 27”, acted like a block. The more they said it, the harder it was for her to accept the truth.

The doctor stopped in front of the lab door. “Balbus reporting for screening with subject Rosemary, formerly of Knot 27.”

Romy clenched her teeth.

None of the other insane soldiers went to the clinic any more than once a week. She averaged three. Romy suspected the doctors tested her so much because she’d reacted differently to the loss of her knot. The year spent floating inside the cultivation tanks should have wiped away all of her memories, barring one—her knot.

Not in her case. No. In her case, every single thing was gone.

She hated it so much, but she understood why the doctors would want to research her difference. All space soldiers possessed a flaw. The loss of a member within a knot rendered the other members insane. Repairing this mental flaw would greatly reduce the number of soldiers the orbitos had to cultivate and harvest each month to keep their force at four thousand strong to fight the Critamal. This had to be why the doctors showed so much interest in her. Then again, what did she know? She was bonkers.

The white door retracted to the ceiling with a hiss of air and she entered the pristine lab.

“Disrobe,” the pale-eyed man said.

She clambered out of her white fatigues and settled onto the padded bed in her white underwear. Three more doctors entered the room and began to roll medi-tech into place around her. They slapped electrodes onto her chest, arms, and legs. Romy grimaced at the red spreading out from beneath the electrodes as her fair skin protested the doctors’ rough treatment.

“Nanos are fully operational,” stated a female doctor. Romy chanted the words at the same time. She could probably recite the whole script of this visit. Not like she had anything else to do on Orbito Four.

Insanity gets old, quick.

Her body wasn’t the problem. The nanotech inside of her repaired any physical damage. Romy just wished they’d give her a task. Anything to stop her agonising about things she didn’t know for five minutes. Apparently without a mind you weren’t capable of doing anything other than operating a treadmill.

Though she had found a way to help get through each dragging day. . .

. . . Thrym, she began. Her imagination drew up a picture of him as a doctor placed electrodes on her temples, catching the small hairs there. She’d created appearances, personalities, and traits for all of Knot 27.

Thrym: The joker of the group . . . blue eyes, olive skin. Whenever the rest of them were sad after losing comrades to the poachers, he’d break his back trying to cheer them up. She’d loved Thrym and the way his eyes danced, blue like Earth’s sky. Occasionally, he pushed the boundaries a bit much.

She winced as an electrical current ran through her head. Sweat broke out on her forehead at the pins and needles in both temples. An acrid smell reached her nostrils . . . was that from her hair? Romy returned to her daydream with renewed vigour.

Elara: Tall, dark and beautiful. The perfect soldier. Deimos was her best friend—together they were the stars of Knot 27, renowned throughout all eight stations for their heroic actions. Romy was so proud of them, she thought her heart might burst.

This left her and Phobos, the quieter members of the knot; identical in most ways—except he was smarter, and she, more reasonable. Romy smiled, ignoring that the pins and needles more closely resembled a stabbing sensation now. The burning hair smell grew steadily, overwhelming the clinical disinfectant in the room.

Dr Balbus frowned at the screen, tilting the monitor away as Romy tried to catch a peek. She pressed her lips together. The doctors never let her see the screen. Why was that?

Paranoia is a symptom of insanity, comet face.

. . . still. It would be nice to know what they’d found so far.

Just a hint. Maybe that would trigger her memories of them. A lump rose in her throat. If the Thrym of her daydreams were here, he’d probably make a joke to cheer her up.

She blew a strand of chin-length platinum hair off her cheek. Her job, in the limited capacity she could contribute after the battle, was to help, not hinder; to serve and protect. If the soldiers could hold Earth for another 848 years until global warming passed, they could return to their homeland. No more fighting back the black-shelled aliens trying to invade and colonise the planet. The orbitos would blow their yellow guts up for good, and retreat to their homeland oasis: Earth.

Sure, waiting another 848 years meant being recycled in the cultivation tanks every time the space soldiers reached thirty-five. Wiped, refreshed, updated. It was just a necessary part of it. No one could live for one thousand years.

Romy wondered if she used to care about going back to Earth. Without her knot, she couldn’t care less about The Return—as long as some of the space soldiers got there. The deaths of her knot had to mean something, after all. The pain had to be for a reason.

She whimpered as electricity burned a path through her spinal cord, but a bright red colour flaring across the white ceiling stole her attention.

The foreign colour saturated the pristine clinic. She blinked. Flashing lights. The silent alarm was going off. She lifted her head off the padded bed to peer at the doctors surrounding her. They’d paused in their work and stared at the red lights, too, appearing as confused as she.

The space station’s speakers crackled to life.

“Be—”

The sound cut off.

The looks of relief from the doctors ended with it.

Romy frowned. ‘Be’ what?

Only the beeping of the medi-tech disturbed the tense quiet that followed—the beep was her heartbeat. Faster than usual. Romy remained with her head off the bed, waiting. There had to be more. . . .

The red lights stopped flashing, and the walls of the lab returned to clinical, undisturbed white.

False alarm? She rested back, slightly perturbed. She didn’t envy the person who made that mistake. The commander would come down on the culprit harder than a meteor shower.

Dr Balbus shared a long glance with a female doctor—the one who liked to slap on electrodes extra hard—before turning to the two other doctors. “Flavia, Gallus, please report to the commanding deck and check our status.”

The two doctors nodded, abandoning their screens. They departed with the tell-tale hiss of the door.

Dr Balbus returned his attention to his own screen, resuming his tapping. Watery blue eyes reading with riveted intensity.

His gaze wrenched back to the front as a series of thuds sounded from the other side. A loud crash reverberated and a sound that reminded her of a finger rubbing on a wet mirror seemed to slide down the outside wall.

The sliding noise stopped.

Romy lifted her head again, looking past her bare feet to the door four metres from the foot of her bed.

“Stay still,” the woman snapped. She shoved Romy’s forehead down. The back of her skull hit the bed with a bruising thump.

Note to self: don’t lift head.

“Seal the door,” Dr Balbus directed. Romy wondered at the tightness in his voice. The alarm stopped . . . only the high command had the ability to do this. The Critamal sat three hundred kilometres farther from Earth than their ring of space stations. The aliens couldn’t have crossed the three hundred kilometre gap without the station detecting them. At least, they hadn’t before. . . . Ever.

The female threw Romy a withering glare to ensure she was keeping still and hustled to obey Dr Balbus’s command.

Romy strained for any other hint of disturbance.

An eerie calm filled the space. The electrodes and wires now felt like restraints—a barrier keeping her from being able to protect herself with a syringe or . . . something. She closed her eyes and attempted to regulate her breathing.

Everything is fine.

There was nothing to—

The space station rocked as a muted explosion emanated from the clinic door. Her stomach dropped, and she nearly sat before remembering Electrode Slapper’s order to stay still. Romy held herself immobile, flat, eyes darting side to side, senses stretched to maximum capacity. Was that smoke creeping along the ceiling? Not the normal smoke from her burning hair, real smoke. She was insane, yet Romy couldn’t help feeling fire on a space station was generally a bad thing to occur.

Unable to deny fear’s curiosity, she turned to stare at Dr Balbus, awaiting his order to evacuate. His attention was fixed on the door, the whites of his eyes showing his terror of something there. He scrambled from his seat, hands raised, stammering and babbling at nothing.

Not something. Someone.

Romy inhaled sharply as a dart appeared out of nowhere, sticking deep into the side of his neck. The doctor staggered and slowly keeled over beside the bed, sending a screen smashing to the ground as he did so. She jerked as his body rebounded off the ground before settling into unconsciousness.

The medi-tech beeped, high-pitched and urgent, snatching up her distress and telling the world about it. So much for playing dead.

She took stock, her mind racing. Frozen. At least five electrodes and their wires hung off each limb. Another ten on her torso and five more on her head. Extracting herself in a hurry wasn’t looking good.

Heavy footsteps approached the bed. Several sets of footsteps, she realised—maybe ten. Romy swallowed, palms sweating where they touched her bare thighs.

A large shadow fell across her body and dread settled heavy in her bones.

A man dressed in solid black blotted her view of the white ceiling. A soldier, but unlike any she’d seen in her three months. Why wasn’t he dressed in white? The man’s face was clean-shaven and as his scent reached her, she got the oddest sense of . . . another time.

She blinked into his soft grey eyes.

With careful movements, the man moved the gun he carried over his shoulder and slung it across his back. The weapon was small and sleek—the polar opposite to the huge laser guns fitted on the space station.

Who was this person?

The man reached for her, expression impassive, though she noted a slight tremor in his hands.

He spoke a single, hoarse word.

“Romy.”

CHAPTER TWO

Her insides squeezed.

Her voice failed her.

She stared at the man. Grey eyes. And wearing black. Only commanders wore black. But the gun was foreign and clearly not Critamal.

Romy listened as the people with him spread out through the lab. Screw it, getting into a space suit in the dark was looking pretty good right now. Romy threw herself away from the man, barely feeling five or so electrodes rip from her body. She rolled along the floor, the long white wires wrapping around her. She kicked, clambering for purchase with her hands. More of the electrodes tore away, their wires adding to the collection around her torso and legs. The wires slowly constricted her movements.

Until she was stuck.

With a last effort, she heaved onto her back and with a small huff, she stared up at the sleek man. He’d rounded the bed and stood above her trussed form. In her underwear. Romy frowned at the thought. Why did that matter?

“Romy,” he said again. He raised both hands as the doctor had done moments before—except his weren’t raised defensively. He was . . . soothing her? Her eyes flickered over his black camo pants and T-shirt. The sleeves seemed to be cutting into his biceps. The group with him made to move forward and he held a hand up to stop their approach.

He watched her warily.

Romy tested her self-made prison. Nope, not going anywhere. She huffed in irritation, asking, “Who are you?”

It was impossible to decipher his expression. But his stare went on and on.

“How did you get on board?” Romy twisted in her constraints.

“What is your name?” the man said softly.

Anger stomped through her. “You know it already.” He called me Romy . . . not Rosemary.

He held his breath. Romy eyed the other black-clad soldiers behind him.

“What knot are you from?” The words were so quiet she barely caught them.

She scowled at him. Just a small one. She was, after all, at their mercy. “Formerly of Knot 27.” Even Romy heard the bitterness in her voice. Poacher poop. Here she was worrying about whether the man’s sleeves were too tight when she should be making plans. She needed to get to the command deck and alert the other stations.

The man’s face relaxed. It hadn’t been obvious his expression was tight until he did so. A wide smile spread across his face, though she noticed he brushed his face against one shoulder, hiding it from the others.

He remained this way for several moments, just grinning—almost joyfully—in his own bubble. Then he reached slowly for the wires at her feet. Her body trembled as he unravelled the mess of electrodes. She squeezed her eyes shut against his nearness, turning her head to the side.

The man continued his work, reaching the wires at the top of her thighs. Her chest rose shallow and fast. Head still turned, she opened her eyes and stared in shock at Dr Balbus’s body on the other side. Just unconscious. His ribs expanded in laboured breaths.

With a last tug, Romy was free. The man reared back as she scrambled to a crouch against the wall.

He stayed where he was, hands raised again. “We have come to save you, Romy.” She ignored him. Were there more, or was it just this contingent of ten? More, she guessed. Ten people couldn’t overtake an entire orbito of five hundred crew—even a mostly insane crew.

“We can give you your memory back.”

Her body stilled as the words seemed to echo in her head. A desperate hope flooded her mind, so strong she feared it. Romy took several breaths and forced herself to reply. “How?”

“We have your memory chip,” he said. “Your old one.”

Questions gathered in her throat, bubbling up and about to explode. How was that possible? How did they have it? “This will give me back the memories of my knot?”

The man’s eyes took on a shimmering quality, and he cleared his throat twice. “Yes, Romy. You’ll remember your knot. You’ll remember everything.” The man with the eyes like the clouds held out his hand.

Romy stared at it, large, calloused. It was just a hand like any other. After months of feeling dead inside, could there be such a simple solution? Could this man give Romy back the memories of her knot? She didn’t want to trust him; she didn’t dare to hope. Yet . . . somehow, she did believe this person.

“Do you promise me I’ll remember?” she asked hoarsely.

“Commander Atlas,” whispered a man behind him. “The last of the shuttles are ready to deploy. Evacuation is nearly complete.”

Romy dropped her eyes, trying to hide her shock. They were evacuating the orbito? Who are these people, and where are they from? More importantly, where were they taking them?

Romy would have thought herself incapable of taking anything more in after the last twenty minutes, but as it turned out, she could.

The leader spoke again, his face firm and his eyes flinty.

“Romy,” he said. “Your knot is alive.”

* * *

My knot is dead.

As far as her insane brain knew, dead people couldn’t be undead-ed. This was her sole thought as the man led her through the white halls of the station, out to the docking station, into a foreign and sleek space ship. She wouldn’t believe it. She couldn’t bear it if Grey Eyes was lying—which he had to be. No. She wouldn’t believe him, but she would go and get her memories back. And if he was lying about that . . . Romy had no idea what she’d do. The man led her to a seat and swung a harness over her shoulders, clicking and tightening the straps until they secured her to the seat. At least she had clothes on now—her regular white fatigues. For some reason, talking to this man was easier with clothes on.

He crouched in front of her, staring. He’d done a lot of that in the walk here. Stomach flipping, she turned her face to the side, breaking his view of her. Moments passed before gentle fingertips touched the burnt skin at one temple.

She flinched.

“I’ll be back soon. Stay here,” he ordered.

He had her memories. She wasn’t going anywhere.

“Commander Atlas,” a female with a thick neck interrupted. “We need to leave.”

“The Orbito Four commander is in the transmission dock?” he asked no one in particular.

The female answered. “Yes, sir.”

He nodded, already striding away. “Five minutes. Get ready to launch.”

Romy craned her head to get a glimpse out the window of the vessel. The shuttle looked streamlined and powerful. Kind of like the man with the grey eyes. Had these invaders taken control of all the orbitos? She had no way of knowing. They had to be from another planet, though they looked surprisingly human. Probably a trick.

She froze as a terrifying thought occurred to her. The invaders could be sent by the Critamal; a new ploy to get past the stations and colonise Earth. The parasitic aliens spoke telepathically—who knew what mind voodoo they could do.

She scrunched her nose, thinking. The Critamal had beady yellow eyes. . . . Wouldn’t the man, Atlas, have yellow eyes if he were possessed by a Critamal? And the aliens had gross, bulbous brains. Their heads were literally three times the size of a human’s. How would you get a brain that size into a human skull? Romy was sure you couldn’t really stuff a brain into a small space without damaging the important stuff. Still. It was best to be prepared. She’d keep the theory on the back thruster.

The man returned, directing the pilots with a few terse words. The pilot gave him a curt nod. He crossed to the seat next to her, strapping himself in before turning to her without warning. She swallowed a squeal, jerking to face forward.

She shouldn’t look into his eyes. Understanding dawned on her. That’s why he stared at her so intensely. He was trying to take over her brain.

The pilots began to exchange commands, flicking switches.

The engines began to climb in response, and quiet settled in the craft as the pilots went through their final checks. With a nod, one of the pilots began to count down from ten.

. . . two, one. . .

With a metallic clunk, the vessel disengaged from the docking station and drifted away from the huge white cylinder that was Orbito Four. Romy rocked inside her harness as they floated fifty metres away from the white space station.

With a fire of the thrusters, the vessel rotated to face Earth.

. . . That’s odd.

With a second flare of the thrusters, the vessel propelled forward, slamming Romy back into her seat. They. . .

. . . they were losing altitude. Romy could see the gauge. She turned wide eyes on the man beside her despite her earlier theory.

He returned the look calmly.

These invaders couldn’t be going where she thought they were going. That was impossible. “Where are you taking me?” she croaked, mouth dry.

He tilted his head to the rotating sphere of blues, whites, and greens far, far below, and Romy fixed her gaze on the glowing orb.

“Down there,” he replied. “To Earth.”

CHAPTER THREE

A strong shudder vibrated through the vessel. They were landing.

Romy threw off the dregs of sleep and jerked upright. She winced at a crick in her neck, rubbing it before wiping at the drool on her cheek. . . . Funny. She didn’t remember falling asleep.

“We’re here,” said a gravelly voice.

She jumped. The man looked as fresh as he had when they left. He reached a hand across to unbuckle her and she slapped his hand away, ignoring his amused look.

Her eyes travelled over the scene through the window in front of her as the engines whirred to a stop. “I’m on Earth,” she mumbled, voice thick. More accurately, underground, judging by the rock walls. They were in a hangar, filled with a mixture of the orbito battlers, and other planes and vehicles.

But this planet wasn’t liveable. . . .

Had these people lived underground this whole time? One hundred and fifty-two years in a bunker? There was being prepared, and then there was that. She couldn’t even imagine how many onions they’d had to preserve.

. . . At least this meant the man wasn’t a Critamal demon.

Weak electric lights ran around the walls of the hangar, and lights hung from the ceiling as well. The space was huge. Romy strained forward, peering through the dull light to better see a line of her comrades from Orbito Four marching single-file through a set of double doors. Her breath hitched and she twisted to look behind her at the occupants of the craft she was on.

It was full of the people dressed in black. Why was she separate from the others? What was going on? It was something she should have noticed sooner.

“I can’t believe I fell asleep,” she said, amazed.

The man, Commander Atlas, rubbed the back of his head. “We had to inject you with a tranquiliser just after re-entry into the atmosphere. You started yelling about yellow eyes.”

“Oh.” Romy studiously avoided his gaze, silently groaning as her cheeks began to heat.

He pursed his lips.

“Atlas,” a clipped voice called from the back of the vessel. “Your mother—uh, Commander-general Gwenyth wishes for you and the, uh, soldier, s-space soldier, the, uh. . .” The man’s eyes bulged as Romy unbuckled her harness and stood stiffly.

“Rosemary,” Atlas supplied.

The man bobbed his head frantically. “. . .to meet her in the debrief room.” He continued to watch Romy as she stretched.

She stopped halfway through and looked between the two men. The awkward moment extended. Atlas cleared his throat and shifted to block her from view as he dismissed the man.

“Sorry,” Atlas said once he was gone. “You’ll find that you’re somewhat of a . . . myth come to life here.”

Did anything he said make sense? From his sardonic lift of a single brow as he took in her exasperated expression, she imagined not.

“Come with me,” he said.

Her legs almost refusing to work after so many hours, Romy marched down the ramp beside the man, Atlas. Atlas. The name seemed familiar. Had there been someone on Orbito Four with the name? She stared at the coarse grey surface underfoot. What was that stuff? Despite her eagerness to get her memories, she paused to examine the hangar. “We are actually underground, aren’t we?” she asked.

“Yes,” came the simple reply.

“Are we in a cave?” she asked, holding her breath.

Atlas nodded and watched her expectantly.

She glanced around in disinterest. “Huh.”

Romy didn’t miss the flicker of disappointment in his eyes at her reply. What other reply was she supposed to have?

“All this time?” she mused to herself.

His low voice broke her musings. “No. Not all this time. . . .”

He ran a hand through his jet-black hair.

Romy waited for him to go on. His expression tightened once again and her stomach dropped inexplicably as she sensed his hesitation. “You can’t really return my memories, can you.” Stupid, stupid Romy.

He frowned at her. “How did you get that?”

“Can you, or not?” she asked tersely.

“I said we can, and I meant it.”

Romy sagged with relief. “Then what are you talking about?”

“Just . . . there are a few things you don’t know,” he said. He sounded unaccountably sad, and her heart twisted in response. He continued. “The cultivation tanks wiped any memories you retained after we took your memory card out.”

“When could that have possibly happened? I’ve never seen you before.” He wasn’t the kind of person you’d forget—not with the way that shirt cut into his arms.

He glanced away, jaw clenching. “I’d hoped you’d retain some knowledge of before, but the orbito doctors scrubbed you clean in the tanks. Completely. Not just of your memories, but of some of your personality traits the doctors considered ‘less desirable’. They’ve brainwashed you.”

“They changed me?” she asked, picking the only thing that made some semblance of sense. “Are you sure?” It seemed far-fetched, but then she was insane.

“I’m sure.” He said it so quietly, she barely caught the words. “You would’ve been asking me a million questions about this place if they hadn’t. You’ll be fine once we get the memory card in. . . .” He trailed off, and Romy caught the flash of fury in his eyes before he masked it.

She was floundering. Not just ‘I’m insane’ floundering. She had absolutely no idea what was going on beyond the fact that up was up and down was down. “I’ll remember everything after you insert the memory card?” Romy gave him a beseeching look. “Are you sure I’ll remember my knot?” She didn’t give two hoots about the stupid cave house and preserved onions. Not when her memories were finally within her reach.

“After that, I hope everything will be returned to you,” he said. “You should be yourself again.”

Romy shrugged. She felt like herself already. Just incomplete, like she was sans two legs and an arm. Once Romy had her memories back and remembered her knot, she’d be fine—better than fine. “Will I still be insane?” she asked him.

He shoved through a set of double doors and didn’t answer.

The door had the words ‘Amach le éilliú’ slashed across them in red paint. “Arrmarch lee el-looo-eee-ooo,” she read, fumbling over the unusual words.

Atlas didn’t look back. “Amath leh EEL-yu,” he stated, almost angrily.

Romy bit her lip. Was there something wrong with the way she said it? Maybe it was a culture thing.

“Out with corruption,” he added with a sigh. “We call it ‘Amach’ for short.”

Out with corruption. Seemed an odd name for a house. Romy remained silent, not wanting to make the angry man angrier.

Exposed pipes lined the upper edges of the walls. The series of hallways they passed were dark—lit by the same dim electrical light as the hangar. The ground was the same grey surface, but wet in patches where water dripped from the pipes. She wrapped her arms around herself. It was cold underground. In fact, it felt similar to space. Funny, Romy always imagined Earth to be warm. Still, they were underground. The cold probably made sense.

The halls began to blur into a labyrinth.

They passed through a large room full of humans who fell mute at the sight of her.

Atlas increased his step, and she broke into a jog to keep up, unwilling to lose sight of the man who had her memory card.

The people they passed in the halls fell into whispers behind Romy’s back.

Finally, he halted before a door, heavy and metal, unmarked but for the number three painted on it. Atlas looked back at her.

“The Amach leader wants to debrief you. After that, we’ll get your memory card in. I swear it.”

“Is this a test or something?” she asked nervously. “Do I have to pass it to get my memories?”

Her answer seemed to irritate him even more. The door swung open with Atlas’s fist still raised in the air.

“Son,” a woman said in a stern voice. Her drawn expression loosened infinitesimally into what Romy assumed was a smile. The woman’s greying hair was pulled back into a tight twist. She wore coveralls, like Romy’s, but in navy blue with the word ‘Amach’ printed on the left pocket.

Atlas kissed her cheek. “Mother.”

A mother and a son. Romy observed their loving exchange with faint interest. There was no such thing as parents in space. The woman shifted her attention to her and Romy got the sense of a piece of meat too tough to chew. Even if she hadn’t overheard enough to gather this was the Amach’s leader, the military set of the woman’s shoulders and the air of expectation surrounding her would have tipped Romy to her status.

“Rosemary,” the woman said. “It’s nice to finally meet you. I am Commander-general Gwenyth. Welcome to Amach, the world headquarters for the anti-mandate movement.”

Romy blinked. Anti-mandate movement? Belatedly, Romy snapped her heels together and raised a hand in salute. “Commander-general, ma’am.”

Atlas cleared his throat. His mother eyed Romy with a veiled expression. “Take a seat, Rosemary. We better get started.”

Romy hastened into the room, squinting against the shock of the bright light inside.

Twenty people milled down the far end of a long table. Most were older. All held a degree of command in their posture, except for a few of the younger men and women. They turned to look at her, their conversation snapping off. Romy gulped and edged to the seat by Atlas, who sat with his legs outstretched and crossed. He pursed his lips as he watched the exchange.

“Why are they staring?” she whispered.

He rested his arms behind his head, and the curve of the muscles underneath caught her eye. Despite his relaxed posture, tension rolled from him in waves. “Something of a myth, remember?” Romy sighed her irritation and ignored the group, who didn’t attempt to hide their stares as they took seats at the table.

Her leg bounced up and down as she waited. Something was very wrong. Very, very wrong. These people knew her. How did they know her? Why did they have her memory card?

Was Atlas telling the truth about her knot? Romy hadn’t dared to hope before now, but if all these people were here, on Earth. . . . A heavy weight dropped in her stomach. Was it possible Knot 27 were alive? Her other leg joined the first in a bobbing rhythm. Was her knot in this room? Wouldn’t they have said hello? Thrym, Elara, Phobos, and Deimos, she repeated. Romy didn’t want to screw up their names if this was all really happening. Nerves bundled in her stomach. What if they didn’t like her?

Gwenyth strode to the front. There wasn’t much to the room aside from the long table. Down one end of the rectangular room sat a large screen, and a white board on a stand. Atlas’s mother clicked on a small remote at her side. “Operation Key was a success,” she stated.

Images filled the screen.

Multitudes of burning balls were bursting through Earth’s atmosphere high in the sky on the screen. There was a small cheer. Romy stared at the other people in bafflement.

“As expected, the Mandate has not aired any footage of the event. Some of the settlements and cities will have witnessed our rescue mission, but all in all,” Gwenyth smiled, “our meticulous planning paid off.”

Romy risked a glance at Atlas, but his expression was smooth. She glanced between the people in the room, hoping for an answer. Who were the Mandate?

She leaned closer to Atlas to ask.

“Tyson,” Gwenyth snapped, making Romy jump.

A young male midway up the table jumped, too, drawing a device from his pocket and scrutinising it. “We evacuated three hundred and seventy-nine insane,” he stuttered, glancing at Romy, “soldiers from Orbito Four.”

She appreciated he was trying to be polite, but Romy knew she was off the deep end. “Don’t worry, I know I’m crazy.”

Gwenyth looked to Atlas. “What?”

“Yes.” Atlas cast a brief look Romy’s way. “That. The Mandate didn’t just reset her memories. They’ve brainwashed her, too.”

Romy stayed mute. She wasn’t sure she agreed with him there.

“Will that affect the tests?” Gwenyth asked.

Atlas frowned, glancing away. The room regarded Romy solemnly.

She let out a slow breath and stared back.

“Tyson,” Gwenyth said. “Continue.”

He jerked back to life. “Sixty-one mentally intact soldiers were also evacuated. They are currently being put into deep freeze, also as per your instructions.”

Air lodged in her throat as a roaring sound filled her ears. A warm hand squeezed her thigh. “For their safety,” said Atlas in a low voice. “Later,” he said in response to her quizzical look.

Romy scrubbed at her face. “It would’ve been nice to stop and get that memory card first.”

Atlas didn’t give any sign of having heard her.

“. . . nine of the high command team from Orbito Four are,” Tyson spared another look for Romy, “being detained below.”

“Get on with it, Tyson,” Gwenyth barked.

He jumped again. “Yes, yes.” He blurted out the rest of his report and collapsed back into his chair with a relieved sigh.

“Soldier.”

Romy glanced at Gwenyth and saw the leader addressed her. She hurried to stand and held her hand to her forehead in salute. “Yes, commander-general, ma’am.”

A large hand gripped her wrist and tugged her back down. She frowned at Atlas. What was he up to? He wasn’t looking at her, but glaring at two giggling women in the back.

“This is not the world you have been led to believe,” Gwenyth said. “Global warming was largely over by the year 2065. We came through the other side with one-tenth of the human population and have lived on a stable Earth ever since.”

Romy froze.

That couldn’t be right. Earth couldn’t have been stable for that long. A few months, yes. Long enough for these people to emerge from their underground safehold and contact the space stations. Not 152 years.

“Since then, an organisation called the Mandate has ruled Earth. For over one hundred and fifty years, the Mandate has governed the settlements and cities of this world as well as the orbito stations you were saved from,” Gwenyth paused.

Saved. Romy dropped her eyes to the table, numb with shock. Earth had been liveable for one and a half centuries. “They kept us up there when they didn’t have to? Why?” The answer occurred to her. “Because the Critamal are still trying to invade and colonise Earth.”

Gwenyth shook her head. “The Mandate has possessed the weapons to end the space battle against the Critamal for as long as they’ve held power.”

“They leave us up there on purpose.” Romy blinked as the words spilled from her mouth. She lifted her head. “I don’t believe it. There’s no reason to do that.” Her head pounded.

Atlas’s low voice reached her. “They use the war against the aliens to control the Earth humans and ensure peace.”

“It’s not peace,” an older man at the front seethed. “It’s imprisonment. The people in the settlements and cities just don’t know it yet.” His outburst was met with loud agreement.

Romy barely heard, breathing thinly. For the last three months, she’d been under the impression her knot had died for a cause. For three months, she’d consoled herself that one day, the space soldiers would make it back to Earth, and all the pain and death would be worth it. “What is this place?” she hissed through clenched teeth, gesturing around her. She glanced at Atlas for the answer, finding him much closer than she thought. One of his hands was on the armrest of her seat.

“We are the Amach. We stand against the Mandate,” a woman answered.

Gwenyth gave the woman an approving look. “Tina’s right. We are a secret movement who work against the corruption of the Mandate,” she said. “We have existed from the beginning, and work to overthrow the Mandate with minimal bloodshed and install a fair ruling system—one not affected by corruption.”

Romy’s head gave a painful throb. She rubbed her temples again.

“Mother,” Atlas said quietly.

There was one thing bugging her more than anything else. “You only evacuated Orbito Four. Why?”

The two women giggled again. Their faces paled at Atlas’s snarl a moment later. Cheeks burning, Romy did her best to ignore them. Was the answer obvious?

Gwenyth surveyed her with something akin to displeasure. “Why did we evacuate Orbito Four?” she asked, rhetorically.

Romy leaned forward.

The leader raised both eyebrows. “Because you were on board.”

CHAPTER FOUR

“You all right?” Atlas said gruffly once they’d left the debrief room and began walking back through the labyrinth of the Amach.

Romy shrugged. “My head is pounding. It’s a lot to take in. . . .” She trailed off.

There was a global power, the Mandate, who ruled the settlements and cities of Earth. The Mandate had possessed the weapons to end the war between the space soldiers and aliens for over a century, but they’d chosen to keep four thousand soldiers up in space . . . to control the human population on land.

“It seems unbelievable, doesn’t it?” He led her down a passage. Their footsteps echoed through the dimly lit hall.

Blood throbbed at her temples again as she hurried to walk beside him. “I’m not quite sure I do believe it, yet.”

“You took the news a lot easier the first time,” he said quietly.

Romy glanced over to him in surprise, painful head forgotten.

“The first time?” she said in a shrill voice. “We have met before.” Was that why he made her feel so strange?

His grey eyes seemed to turn inward. “We have.”

A lump rose in her throat, and she weaved without warning, her shoulder scraping against an exposed pipe. “I can’t remember,” she said hoarsely.

He ran a hand through his hair. He seemed to do this when he was agitated. “You were caught by the Mandate—”

“When?” she interrupted.

“Fifteen months ago, in 2200,” he replied. “Your crew crash-landed in Australia after a battle with the Critamal. I found you and took your knot back to a settlement in Jimboomba. I was able to hold off the Mandate for a while, but eventually they grew suspicious and sent their forces to detain you. I got your knotmates to safety here, but you were taken.” He swallowed and stared ahead.

“That’s why I was by myself up there?” Romy blurted. Without my knot. Her heart beat faster. She so desperately wanted to believe he was telling the truth and they were alive.

“We received word from our infiltrate that you were harvested three months ago. We didn’t know what your mental state would be like if we ever managed to save you from Orbito Four. You were in bad shape when you were taken. You’d been struggling mentally for over a week.”

“If the Mandate captured me, why not just kill me?”

His gaze landed on her, heavy. “Because they wanted to study you. They suspected you may hold the answer to fixing the kind of . . . mental instabilities seen on Orbito Four.”

Romy blinked. “That’s what I thought they were doing, but I couldn’t figure out if it was all in my head.”

“Nothing is in your head, Romy,” Atlas said sharply.

Romy wrapped her arms around herself, hurrying to keep up as his stride lengthened. “I keep making you angry, and I’m not sure why.”

He slowed his pace, dragging a hand over his mouth. “I’m not mad at you. I’m fucking furious the Mandate have tampered with you. I thought once we had you back—” He cut off and then sighed. “I’m trying to keep it together because you have no idea what’s going on and you’re not ready. I’ve waited so long to get you back. I’m so relieved to see you, I can’t even feel that relief because I’m so terrified by everything you can’t remember.”

Romy blinked. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

He waved off her apology.

She swallowed. “So the Mandate didn’t kill me because they thought I might hold the answer to stop the space soldiers from going insane?”

Atlas nodded.

Her face fell. “Atlas. I hope that’s not why the Amach saved me. I am ins—”

“Stop, Romy.” Atlas spun, gripping her by the shoulders. “Please, stop saying that. You’re not insane. They’ve just told you that. God, you have no idea what hearing you say that does to me.” His eyes were furious.

“I’m sorry,” she said again.

“You’re sorry,” he repeated woodenly. “I’m the one who should be apologising. I’m so damn sorry I let them take you.” His voice cracked on the last word.

She looked up at him in confusion. “Will my memories help me understand what you’re saying?”

He dropped his hands. His hair was a dishevelled mess of jet-black curls. “I hope so, Romy. I really do.” He jerked his head down the passage. “Come on. We’re nearly there.”

Romy strode after him, her legs suddenly shaky. “Atlas, how many insane people have you seen?” She was afraid he’d get angry again, or sad.

He raised an eyebrow as he swung open a door with the number eight on it. “I used to be commander of Orbito Four.”

Her eyes rounded. “My orbito?”

“Correct.”

Romy chewed her lip. “Then I guess you would know. . . .” Could it be true? This whole conversation had given her nothing but a comet-sized headache.

“Already showing off, Atlas?” A dry voice echoed toward them.

Romy stared across the lab at the lanky man with glasses. The person’s brown hair was in disarray. Stains scattered the front of his lab coat. He was around thirty. He lowered his spectacles on his nose and looked her up and down with dark brown eyes. “Romy, Romy, Romy, might I say it is swell to see you.”

She cast an uncertain look at Atlas, who rolled his eyes and pushed her forward. “This is Dr Houston. He can give your memories back.”

Romy perked up and looked at Houston. “You can?”

The doctor threw his hands in the air. “Does a bear shit in the woods?” he asked gleefully.

She edged closer to Atlas.

“It’s just a matter of reinserting the old memory card we took out of your port fifteen months ago.” Houston added, “Whether you’ll want it back in is another matter. Last time we took it out because killing a person made you go semi-loco.”

Romy inhaled sharply. “What?”

“But,” Houston continued, oblivious, “here’s the plan. Put the memory chip in. Get the people you knew before in the room so you can make new associations with them. You remember a bunch of stuff, hopefully a lot, maybe enough to stop with the twenty-one questions. Then we whip the memory card out before you go all praying mantis on us.”

“What’s a praying mantis?”

“The female praying mantis eats the male after sex—that’s all you really need to know.”

Romy rubbed her face wearily. Atlas silenced Houston with a scowl and gripped her shoulder. “You’ll feel better once you remember.”

The doctor snickered. “She’s not the only one.”

Atlas didn’t laugh, but responded to the doctor’s comment seriously. “H, you’ll find me the first to admit the last fifteen months have been the worst of my life.”

The doctor’s expression sobered.

“I killed someone?” Romy whispered.

Atlas closed his eyes. “He deserved it.” He squeezed her shoulder gently. “If you hadn’t done it, I would’ve. So would any of your knotmates.”

“Are you sure this person is a doctor?” she asked Atlas under her breath.

Laughter boomed out of him, and she found herself grinning with him though clueless to what was so funny. “Houston is my best friend,” Atlas said. “I’ve known him for many years and he has never given me any reason to mistrust him. Yes, you will be safe in his hands.”

“All females are safe in my hands,” crowed Houston.

Atlas’s eyes regained their edge as he stared at the doctor.

The doctor edged away. “Calm down, big boy. There are enough contenders for the sweet alien without adding my name to the list.”

Romy looked between the two men.

“Besides,” Houston added, “I’d win, and I prefer a challenge. No offence, Rosemary.”

“I don’t like the name Rosemary,” Romy said hesitantly.

The words made Atlas grin, but Houston surveyed her closely. “Maybe there’s more of the old Romy in there than I thought.” He winked. “Be a darling, Atty boy, and fetch her knot. They’ll be back from mission soon.”

Romy’s heart thundered. Her knot. Would she see them soon? It didn’t seem possible.

Reaching forward, the doctor clamped a hand around Romy’s wrist and led her into the room. The space was a dingy replica of the lab on the space station. She scanned the space nervously, and touched a hand to her temple. The burns were already healed, but it didn’t take away her recollection of the pain. Get over it—he’s going to give you your memories back. Romy gritted her teeth and lay prone on the bed as Houston wheeled medi-tech into place around her.

She shivered as he applied a cold electrode over her heart. Or maybe she shivered because of how familiar this all felt to Orbito Four. You need to do this. You need to remember them. It was the only way to fill the black gaping hole where her heart used to be. Knot 27 were the missing puzzle piece, and Romy knew as soon as she remembered them, everything would make sense in the world.

Her chest squeezed to the point of pain. If Atlas was telling the truth, Knot 27 could be here when she woke up.

“Are you ready for the ride of your life?” Houston’s eyes shimmered above her as he swung a light overhead.

Her voice was firm. “Do it.”

“Your wish, little alien, is Uncle Houston’s command.”

* * *

“We’re losing altitude too quickly.”

Fire burned in front of her, so hot she thought her skin may melt off. The flames consumed her. Romy screamed, flinging out her hands.

When she dropped them, only smoke and a torn battler remained. Air brushed against her face. Earth. She stared around the clearing in wonder.

The ground under her feet changed to water and a monster burst from the depths up at her. Scrambling, scrambling, fear clawed in her throat and she threw herself back. Falling.

Grey eyes hung above her. Her heart beat fast. Atlas.

Straddling her.

She ran after him through dry bush, leaves and twigs scratching at her as she waved them away with heavy arms. The alluring scent of eucalyptus trailed in his wake.

A man with dark skin ran down the beach toward her and joy leaped in her chest. Thrym. The name echoed through her mind. Thrym. She smiled through blurry eyes.

Rain. Torrents. Splashes. Huddled in a car, uncomfortable and uncertain.

Elara, she realised. Phobos sat across from her.

Green eyes. Where was Deimos? They were so afraid for him. Where was her knotmate?

Time blurred forward and the word ‘Jimboomba’ flashed on a map under her eyes. Queensland, Australia. A settlement. Everything was utterly foreign. The people stared and their knot kept to themselves for a long time. But Deimos was in bed. Sick. Romy had never been so terrified.

The walls expanded into sparse bushland. An orange-haired girl and her friends shot at targets with guns. Nancy was her name. They were having fun. It was what Earth should be like. This felt right.

Shadows crept through the room and Romy shrank back, breath stalling in her throat. She shouted soundlessly as fear held her in its thrall.

Him, her mind whispered. Danger.

Danger. She sliced her arm across and the knife slid through the man’s throat. Blood. Red. Murderer.

Endless screams tore her throat, tore her mind. It hurt. It hurt so badly she wanted to die.

She thrashed her arms and legs, falling into the red blood.

Slippery, staining.

Romy landed on the ground, surrounded by endless black.

But she wasn’t alone.

She reared back as a woman threw herself against a glass wall in front of Romy.

The feral woman walked up to the glass and snarled savagely. Romy clawed to distance herself, but an invisible force pulled her closer and closer.

She screamed in terror as she was jerked to her feet and pushed against the glass. The insane woman came to stand directly in front of her and tapped at the area on top of her wrist. The area where a watch might sit.

Romy hardly noticed, unable to take her eyes off this feral person caged in the glass room.

The woman was her.

* * *

Romy sat bolt upright in bed. She groaned, clutching the sides of her face as light danced behind her closed eyelids. Why was her head so painful? The terror of her last memory hit her and she sucked great gulps of air into her lungs. The feral woman. She’d seemed so real. For a moment there, Romy thought she’d become her. Which was crazy, right? Romy swallowed back bile, shivering as she frantically felt her hair to see if it was in greasy strands like the woman in the glass room.

She squinted through blurry eyes to assess her clothing. Clean, untattered. Nothing like the nightmare she’d just had.

Why did that feel so real? That person in the glass room couldn’t actually exist, could she?

Her hands trembled. A plethora of beeping and murmuring broke through her lingering terror. Where was she?

Underground centre. The answer rose unbidden.

Dr Houston had put in her old memory card. Atlas brought her here.

“Take it easy, Ro. You’re okay,” a voice soothed.

“I would say she’s not, dear Thrym. But by all means, get a foot in the door,” a voice cackled.

Thrym! One of her knotmates. The other cackling voice belonged to the doctor. Dr Houston, Atlas’s best friend.

Was her knotmate really here? Romy cracked an eye open. Houston was assembling a row of test tubes filled with what she assumed was her blood. She didn’t care about that—she wanted to see her knot. Her vision blurred and her head swam dangerously as she moved.

“Slowly, Ro,” the voice said. Thrym. He was really here. “Slowly.”

She closed her eyes, listening to him more out of necessity than actually wanting to. Her mind felt like it was split in half right now, separated into the old Romy who’d been on Earth before, and the new Romy who’d arrived yesterday. Was this meant to happen?

“Is this supposed to be so painful?” she panted.

“Just before the Mandate caught you, we removed your old card because you were in excruciating pain. Now it’s back in. I’d say the excruciating pain will last until we remove it again.”

She whispered back, “The old memory card is still in?”

“Yes. You currently have both cards in—old and new,” Houston said cheerfully. “What do you remember?”

“I’m not sure. Some things. I feel like there are blank spaces everywhere, and it feels like there’s two of me in there.” This wasn’t meant to happen. It was supposed to make her feel better. The black hole in her chest was gone, but now she felt almost fractured inside.

“Probably because there is,” was his infuriating reply. “I imagine New Romy and Old Romy will need time to become reacquainted.”

“Is she going to be okay?” Thrym asked.

His voice was deep. Three month old Romy drew up an image of a tall man with blond hair, blue eyes, and olive skin; the joker of the group. The ringing in her ears rose to savage levels. The pain nearly overwhelmed her. She did her best to ignore it and cracked open her eyes, not budging from where she lay supine.

Thrym stood next to the beeping medi-tech machine: Blue eyes, dark-skinned, tall, serious face. The real Thrym. She remembered him while simultaneously thinking he looked nothing like she’d pictured, though the two halves of her agreed he looked exactly as a soldier should in his navy coveralls. Her heart sank. She’d been so wrong about his appearance.

. . . At least his smile was familiar as he gripped her hand in his—and she’d been right about his eye colour, sky blue.

“Thrym,” she said quietly, so as not to hurt her head.

He was hunched as if in pain himself, and choked on his words. “You’re here, Romy. You’re really here.” Tears ran down his face. Answering tears filled her eyes. She sniffed them back as he pulled her into his arms. “I think so,” she answered.

“Stop hogging her.”

Romy smiled at the sound of Deimos’s voice. “Deimos?” she asked. Another set of arms embraced her. “The one and only, honey.” He gave her a gentle squeeze. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.” Olive skin, dark curls, green eyes.

Her imagination hadn’t gotten them right at all. Old Romy was telling her Deimos was the joker of the group, and Thrym the serious one.

“We’ve missed you,” Phobos corrected Deimos, pulling Romy to the other side of the bed. “Please don’t ever save us again. The last fifteen months have been hell.” Green eyes, golden skin, blonde hair. Deimos’s best friend, not hers. Thrym was her best friend.

She gasped against a fresh assault of barbed pain.

A tiny hand whacked him hard. “It’s been hell, has it?”

Romy gave a small smile. “Elara,” she whispered.

The delicate-looking girl popped into view and launched herself at Romy.

“Careful.” Thrym frowned.

“I thought you were black,” Romy said to Elara, stupefied.

She hadn’t gotten any of them right. Her comment went unheard by all except Houston, who watched her with narrowed eyes.

“Never do that to us again,” Elara wailed. Phobos patted his knotmate’s back sympathetically, a solemn expression in place.

“Do what?” Romy asked, staring around the concrete lab.

The doctor popped up in front of her. Literally popped. She’d forgotten how strange he was. “You don’t remember?” Houston asked.

She paused to think. “I remember crashing, and snatches of Jimboomba. I remember—”

“Killing that officer, I hope. He tried to rape you,” Elara burst out, curling her hands into fists.

“I killed someone,” Romy stated numbly. The words rang out into the lab. It wasn’t a question this time. She remembered every small detail of it. Red. Ringing. Cracking glass. A scratching, snarling feral Romy confined in four glass walls, waiting to escape, an all-consuming terror.

Romy froze. Today wasn’t the first time she’d seen the feral Romy in the glass room. She had seen her before, after killing the officer back in Jimboomba.

Cold sweat broke out on her forehead. What did it mean?

“In self-defence.” Thrym took her hand.

The doctor turned and picked up his tray of things. “It’s a pretty good sign you’re not six short of a dozen. Very good, indeed. The new memory card the Mandate put in must be helping to stabilise you to some degree. We should leave it in. Especially because I have no idea what will happen if we take it out.”

This was stable? Someone had lit a fire in her skull.

“You put the old memory card in not knowing if she’d be okay?” Phobos said angrily.

“Keep your hair on, Phobinator,” the doctor retorted. “I suspected the new card would help her.”

Romy didn’t care about new cards and old cards. She cared about the feral woman in the glass room and whether she could escape, but she also knew how insane trying to explain all that would sound. Romy wanted her knot to like her.

She interrupted. “Why can’t I remember everything? Will all my memories come back?”

“Your brain is having to upload the memories of a lifetime right now. It will take time to remember all the details. It’s possible you won’t remember everything just from putting the memory card in once.”

If it came down to putting in the card again to get more memories back, Romy already knew her answer: not for anything. She had her knot back, and enough memories now that she was happy to discover the rest on her own. Instinctively, Romy knew putting in the card over and over again was a bad thing to do, judging by the splitting migraine and complete instability she felt.

Romy also knew with terrible certainty that if the card stayed in for too much longer, she was going to lose it. She was shaking from the assault of it already. Is that what Feral Romy meant when she was tapping on her watch? Is that what Romy would become if the card stayed in?

Romy choked on her rapid breaths, gasping for air.

The doctor grimaced. “Yikes. You look terrible. I’m not sure we should leave the old card in much longer.”

“Is she at risk?” Thrym asked tightly.

Houston shrugged. “How should I know?” The doctor disappeared into another room and kicked the door shut.

Phobos glared after him.

Four faces turned to her. Each face so very familiar, and each so heartbreakingly foreign. Fifteen months had passed, she reminded herself—or someone in her head did . . . she wasn’t 100 per cent sure who. Old memories and new memories. How would she separate what was real, and what had come from her imagination on the orbitos, or from the Mandate’s supposed brainwashing in the tanks?

. . . And if Houston took the old memory card out because Romy started to become unstable after Jimboomba, should she be trusting all of these old memories? Wouldn’t they be, well . . . crazy?

Her vision dotted.

Too much, too much, too much.

“Lean back, honey,” Deimos instructed, guiding her down.

She breathed thinly through her nose.

The black dots receded somewhat. “What happened after Jimboomba?” Romy asked into the silence to distract herself.

Elara perched on the bed beside her. “We ran from Jimboomba the night you killed the officer. We’d spent weeks accumulating supplies, so we could leave if the Mandate turned up. And that night, we thought they had.”

A memory surged to the fore. “I thought Atlas was behind it all,” Romy said. “I thought he was working with the Mandate.”

A shadow passed over Elara’s face. “We all did. We’ve had fifteen months to agonise over what we could have done differently that night. Believe me.”

Phobos moved to the foot of the bed. “Atlas and Houston caught up with us a few days after we left. They convinced us they were on our side, and we ran for a secret compound. You weren’t yourself after what happened with the officer. It did something to your head, though we didn’t understand what at the time.”

“I was going crazy. I remember that much,” Romy said through clenched teeth. Her knot exchanged looks, which she took as a solid ‘yes’.

“Fifteen months,” she whispered, a tear slipping down her cheek. “It doesn’t feel real.”

Thrym wiped the tear away. “Fifteen months,” he echoed.

An awkward silence filled the space. Part of her baulked at the thought that she could feel uncomfortable in the presence of her knot, but to New Romy these people were virtually strangers.

“We made it to the secret bunker, but the Mandate’s force surrounded us. We had to run for it again, but you went back, so we could all get out,” Phobos continued, jaw clenching beneath his cropped blond hair. He’d cut it—she thought, not sure whether she should trust the memory of him with hair almost to his shoulders. He looked neater now and less like Deimos’s counterpart. His own person. “Romy, why did you go back?” Pho said, meeting her eyes.

She glanced around her knotmates as snatches of that day came back to her. “I went back because I wanted to save you all,” she said slowly. “Houston had taken out my memory card. The rest of you still had yours in. The Mandate wouldn’t be able to find anything in my mind about Atlas and Houston. They wouldn’t discover where Atlas meant to take you.”

Elara’s voice shook. “You’d thought it all through.” She gave a loud sniff.

Romy’s face burned under their regard. She cleared her throat. “And Atlas brought you here?”

“Atlas had called for a ride. A craft brought us here,” Deimos said.

“Where is ‘here’?” she asked.

Deimos scratched at the light stubble on his olive face. “We’re in New Ireland. We’ve been here ever since the Mandate caught you.” His tone was bitter.

Romy pushed up as a fresh memory squeezed into her already overcrowded head; The Mandate; seven of them dressed in white, coldly condemning a cowering woman to death. She’d watched them convict the woman on a screen in Jimboomba. Those were the people who had done this to her? To her knot. To the space soldiers. Hatred churned in Romy’s stomach. Her head gave a savage twist and she rocked to the side, whimpering.

“Elara, go get Houston,” Deimos whispered.

“Go yourself,” she retorted.

Phobos spoke in a resigned voice. “I’ll go.”

Romy waited for the white lights to stop dancing. Houston arrived an age later, or so it felt.

“All right, looney-toon. Let’s whip that out,” he said.

Romy peered up at him and the black dots returned in force. She clutched the bedsheets. “What’s the verdict?” she gasped.

Houston focused on the screen before him, ignoring her question. “The rest of you, out,” Houston ordered. “You’ll see her tomorrow. I hope.”

He cackled at his own joke.

Thrym stayed where he was. “Will she remember us when the old card is taken out?”

Houston’s eyes narrowed. “Her new memory card will catalogue everything she’s remembered this time. She’ll need space to sort through the memories. Others may resurface from her subconscious, too, given a few days. Think of it as the two memory cards syncing.”

Why didn’t he answer my question? Romy pressed her lips together.

“And the gaps in her memory?” Thrym pressed.

Houston waggled a finger at him. “Are you sure you want her to remember everything?”

Romy looked between them, noting the deep red creeping up Thrym’s neck.

Houston rolled his eyes. “The more we insert the old card, the more she’ll recall.”

Romy inhaled sharply, eyes blurring. “I think I’ve got enough to go on now.”

The doctor patted her hand and made no answer.

“Out, Captain Kirk,” he said to Thrym, and winked at Romy again. “That’s from Star Trek,” he explained. “Okay, little alien. We’re going to take out your old memory card now. The new, stable memory card will stay in so you retain everything.”

She hardly heard, curling into a tight ball of pain and watching Thrym leave. He turned back from the doorway and gave Romy a small smile. “You’ll be fine, Ro. I’ll see you when you wake up.”

She gave him a grateful smile, reassured by the words.

Houston tapped at the screen in front of him, snickering. “Oh boy. I cannot wait to see what happens there.”

Before she could ask what he meant, pain flared beneath her right ear.

And all went dark.

CHAPTER FIVE

Romy waited for her vision to focus as she remembered the events of the day before.

Everything felt foreign. The coarse bedsheets twisted around her legs.

The memories from her two cards would take a few days to sync, Houston had said. Was that why she felt. . .torn into pieces?

Her new memory card was still in. The doctor said this card was stable. It would allow her to retain all the old memories.

If they ever came back.

Three days seemed like an eternity when she felt so completely at odds with herself. Simultaneously knowing who she was, what she liked and disliked, and what kind of place the world was . . . and not. She was in a strange place, and the people she should know felt strange. And the why of Romy’s presence here was escaping her as well.

Why did the Amach save her from Orbito Four?

Romy had thought having her memories back would’ve solved her confusion, but it was as though a hulking shadow had taken up residence in her head.

At least her body felt the same. Mostly. The blinding migraine she’d experienced with the old card in had receded to a dull throb at the base of her skull. From what she understood of Houston’s blasé explanation, as long as the old card was removed, she’d be okay.

Romy shivered, recalling the feral woman in the glass room. She wasn’t putting that card back in.

The metal door at the front of the clinic swung open with a weighty groan. Through it glided a neat woman in a lab coat. Her mousy-brown hair was pulled back into an elegant knot at the base of her skull. Her oval face was unblemished and smooth. She looked the same age as Romy.

“Rosemary,” she said, “I am Dr Charlee, an assistant to Dr Houston. Houston sent me to check up on you while he’s busy in the lab.”

“Just Romy, thank you.” Romy corrected her with a smile. “And I’m okay. Just a headache. Nothing compared to last night.”

Charlee’s dark eyes softened. “Let’s hope Dr Houston is able to find our answer with your blood samples.”

“What blood samples?”

Confusion flashed across her face. “The ones he took last night.”

Romy searched her recovered memories. Everything since leaving Orbito Four was a blur. She gave the female doctor a self-depreciating shrug. “Don’t worry. It’s probably just lost somewhere.”

Charlee gave her a sympathetic look and turned to the medi-tech. “Your readings are looking great.” She beamed at her and Romy tucked away a smile. This woman had an obvious passion for her job. “You have an extraordinary resting heart rate,” the doctor continued. “Even considering your genetic enhancement.”

“I like to run.”

“As do I.”

Charlee and Romy shared a quick grin.

The doctor folded her hands, watching Romy. ”Do you have any questions?”

Romy stalled. It was the first time someone had asked her that. She searched her mind and was quickly overwhelmed by everything she didn’t know. Three days, she reminded herself.

One thing was itching at her mind: Feral Romy. Romy couldn’t shake the terror of that memory. She was terrified of her. “Charlee, when both memory cards are in, I feel like I’m going mad.” She flushed as she spoke the words, but Charlee’s face only showed empathy.

“That must be horrible.”

More than you’ll ever know. Romy wasn’t telling anyone about the person she’d seen in the glass room, not when they thought she was sane—which Romy was still debating. “You’re sure there’s no way I’ll . . . catch the madness from the old card?” Old Romy seemed like she was a hair’s width from losing it. At least that’s how she felt when both cards were in.

“From what I understand of your case, once the old memory card is taken out, you will revert back to a stable state.”

Romy sighed in relief. She was caught up in knots about this feral Romy, but maybe it was just her mind playing tricks on her.

The doctor squeezed her hand. “If you think of anything else, I’m happy to answer what I can. But,” Charlee said cheerfully, “I have it on good authority that your knotmates are dying to show you around once I’ve shown you to your room.”

Romy gave Charlee a small smile. It faded when the doctor turned her back.

According to the doctors, her memories would sync in time.

Romy shivered, thinking of the glass room.

What about Old Romy and New Romy?

Would they sync, too?

* * *

Room 714 consisted of a bunk, built-in shelves, a mirror, and a sink. The showers and bathrooms were communal and located three doors down from her.

Her shower, twenty minutes before, had been cold—apparently, the only kind in the Amach. New Romy wasn’t complaining. Immersing her entire body under a stream of water was a complete novelty. In fact, Romy now had a tonne of questions about this place. She wondered if they had any books here. A map would be great, and she’d love to learn more about the local history.

She flung her wet hair back and tussled it into its normal position.

A booming knock came from the door.

Romy stared at the door. The knock came again. Taking a deep breath and shoving aside unreasonable anxiety about seeing her knot, she swung the entrance open.

All four of her knotmates stood there, grinning.

“Hi,” she said awkwardly.

Deimos stepped into the plain room. “Love what you’ve done with the place.”

Romy looked around the room in confusion. She hadn’t done anything to it.

“How’re you feeling?” Elara asked.

She rubbed the back of her head. The headache was still there. She hoped it wasn’t there for good. “Much better,” she said. Elara gave her a flat look.

Romy smiled sheepishly. “My head is only a little sore. It’s getting better.”

Thrym touched her elbow. “Gwenyth told me to pass on that she’ll be debriefing you on your orders once you’re settled in.”

“That would be great.” Romy blinked. “Really great. I hope she’ll let me join you—”

“Gives us a chance to show you around the place,” Phobos said.

“Oh,” Romy said, quickly recovering. “Yes. That would be grea—”

“We’re not showing her the lame places.” Elara rolled her eyes.

Thrym laughed. “According to your standards, Ellie, that would leave us with the Mess.”

“I like food. Get over it,” Elara snipped.

Romy hovered to the side. Deimos took her hand, drawing her out of room 714.

The group walked down the passage in silence. She cleared her throat. “What do you guys do here?”

“Pilot,” replied Elara. Romy raised an eyebrow. That made sense. She seemed to recall Elara did that back on Orbito One.

Thrym gave her a shy grin. “I’m a captain. I direct my own team.” Romy’s smile grew. She leaned over to grip his hand. “I’m so happy for you.” He’d always been the ambitious one.

His eyes grew glassy as he stared down at their hands. She frowned as another memory tried to rise. Something about Thrym. It was whisked away before she could make sense of it.

Romy dropped his hand. “Deimos?”

“I’m a mere, lowly troop,” he drawled. “On Captain Thrym’s team. I nearly die from the immense honour of it each day.”

Romy giggled. “And you, Phobos?” she asked.

“Phobos is one of the best trainers we have,” Elara said proudly.

Romy turned her head to look at Phobos, whose face was bright red. “What does he teach?” Phobos had never shown any interest in anything much before—aside from agriculture, and annoying Thrym and the rest of Orbito One by Deimos’s side.

“Combat. Hand-to-hand.”

She didn’t really know what that meant, but she could tell Phobos was proud of it. “Wow, Pho. That’s incredible.”

He flashed her a quick smile.

“You’re all in such different places now.” Her heart sank.

Thrym glanced her way, eyes sad. “Have you remembered anything else?”

She shrugged. “Honestly, I thought everything would make a bit more sense after having the memory card in. I guess it’ll come back soon. I hope so. I’m feeling a little lost.”

“You’ve always loved routine, Ro,” he answered. “You’ll feel better after the debrief with Gwenyth.”

She brightened. “You’re right. I’m being impatient.”

The group fell into silence again as they navigated the passages.

Elara spoke up eventually. “This place will take a bit of getting used to. It’s pretty much a maze.” She kicked a pipe on the wall in dislike.

“It’s a cave, right?” Romy looked at each of their faces. “How big are we talking? And are there any fossils?”

“What was Atlas on about?” Elara snorted. “You’re as geeky as ever.”

Thrym and Phobos laughed, but the comment made her pause. Now that Elara pointed it out, she did feel kind of . . . interested in everything today. Was she more like her ‘real’ self now?

“The Amach is big,” Deimos said.

“And safe,” Thrym added.

Elara nodded. “Yeah, listen to captain boy. He’s actually talking sense for once.”

Romy bit back her smile. Knot 27 still bickered as much as they always had.

Maybe a bit more.

The passage finally opened up into another room. It was huge. Long tables and bench chairs filled the space. Screens lined the walls at head height, and at least twenty passages led into the room. At one end was a queue for food. It was like the Mess on Jimboomba, but four times the size. “This,” Elara paused dramatically, “is the Mess, where we eat and hang out. Sometimes Gwenyth holds gatherings in here, too.”

Atlas’s mum.

Romy’s expression must have changed because Elara sniggered. “Yeah, that’s about my reaction to her as well. Worse for you, though, I bet, with the Atlas thing.”

Romy started. “What?”

Elara’s mouth formed an ‘O’.

“No. Way,” said Elara. “Nos. Ways. You don’t remember that?”

Romy’s eyes flickered between each of her four knotmates. Thrym was suddenly tense.

Elara fell onto an old faded couch with an orange flower pattern. “You were only all moon-eyed about him in Jimboomba. You guys were nearly a thing before, well . . . the Mandate took you. You should’ve seen him after that. I thought he was going to kill someone; it was scary. I gotta say, though, he has the mysterious, completely capable vibe going on.”

Phobos grunted. She blew a kiss at him. “Don’t worry, my love. There’s only you.”

What? Romy glanced between them.

Phobos and Elara were together? Her stomach suddenly felt like the protein jelly they sometimes got for dessert on the space station.

Whatever was happening between the pair, Deimos didn’t like it; his mouth was set and his eyes were an ugly shade of green, rather than their usual vibrant colour.

“. . . And you stayed in his bungalow. You bungal-ho,” Elara burst out, still speaking of Atlas. Romy glanced around, uneasy with the crowds of people within listening distance. Her knotmate continued, “Not to mention that time he carried you butt-naked back to the campsite after sneaking up on you washing under a waterfall. Serious street, you should’ve seen his eyes. They were all,” her voice turned gruff, “‘touch her and die’. And there were abs. His T-shirt was wet. I could see them.”

A reluctant smile curved Romy’s lips. She tempered it, however, noting that Deimos, Phobos, and Thrym didn’t seem amused by the recount.

Thrym took Romy by the elbow. “How about we get back to the tour? This is the centre of the Amach.”

“How many people in Amach?” Romy asked, trying to pronounce the word right.

“Nearly two thousand.”

Wow. No wonder the Mess was so large.

Romy ignored the stares of the other humans as Thrym guided her through the room. She guessed they were unused to seeing many new people.

. . . It would settle down in time, right?

“We’re on level five right now. There is a gym on level six. You’ve been to the hangar on level three and the debrief room on level four. Aside from that, the elevators are located at each end of all levels, and also in the middle. My room is number 552 on this level. Ellie and Pho are on level six in 634. And Dei is level seven, room 790—close to the clinic you stayed in.”

There was no way she’d remember all that.

“I thought you guys would live together,” Romy blurted. Actually, she’d planned to ask Knot 27 if she could move in with them.

Thrym shrugged uneasily. “It didn’t work out that way. Unfortunately,” he hurried to add.

Ellie and Phobos chatted to people as they passed. Deimos jogged up, handing her a sandwich and an apple. She smiled her thanks and took a mouthful of miscellaneous meat and a yellow sauce with chunks in it. Delicious.

She hoped it wasn’t mashed cockroaches.

“Nancy,” called Thrym down one of the tables. “Ro finally got here.”

He raised a brow at Romy that said he knew that was the understatement of the century. Romy grinned. She peered around him, eager to see the brash, violet-eyed teenager she remembered from Jimboomba. For a while there, Nancy and her rag-tag team were the only things that made sense.

Romy took a step forward, but pulled up short.

A threatening scowl screwed up Nancy’s face.

Romy cast an uncertain glance at Thrym, who looked just as surprised as she. This wasn’t the fun-loving girl she recalled . . . and Nancy’s scowl was aimed directly at her.

People at the tables close by hushed as the tension grew. Romy glanced back up and saw understanding dawn on Thrym’s face. What was she missing?

“Come on, Ro. Let’s show you the gym,” he said. His ever-gentle hands turned her away, but the word thrown at her back was unmistakable.

“Murderer.”

She stiffened in her knotmate’s grip. His face turned grim as he led her away from Nancy.

“What did that mean?” Romy asked.

Deimos held her other hand. “Just a whole lot of stupid, love.”

“She’s angry I killed the officer?” That didn’t seem right; Romy had a distinct memory of Nancy calling the man Mucus.

Deimos and Thrym shared a look before answering. “You remember Nancy’s group of friends?”

Romy passed into the opposite hallway without really seeing the piped walls. “I remember Eddie . . . and Freya.”

“There were five of them,” Deimos said. “All of them were captured, and one was shot.”

Romy gasped. “Who?”

“Hannah.”

Romy couldn’t remember her, and felt terrible because of it. She would have eaten, and talked, and laughed with this Hannah, one of Nancy’s closest friends. And the rest of her gang was in prison? Romy’s chest grew tight.

A memory rose of a criminal trial she’d watched back in Jimboomba; seven white-clad Mandate members ruthlessly condemning a starving woman.

Poor Nancy. “Why were Nancy’s friends taken?” she asked. Her sinking heart told her she might already know the answer.

Sighing, Thrym pushed the elevator button. “Because they helped us escape. The Mandate’s soldiers caught them—and Tina. Nancy escaped and went back to save them, but only managed to get Tina out. Eddie, Freya, and Fred were put on trial a year back—the Mandate aired it on their stupid screens. All of them were found guilty of something bogus.”

“Why does she blame me?” she asked. “Why not all of us?”

Thrym shrugged. “No idea. She’s fine with the rest of us.”

Elara twigged onto their conversation. “She was closest to you, Ro.”

Maybe.

Phobos and Elara caught up with them and the five squeezed into the elevator. With a ping, it began to descend. Ten levels. Were all the levels this big?

They trudged to the gym in silence, and Romy observed each of her knotmates through her lashes. She could sense how much she belonged to her knot, and they to her. Deimos passing her food, the shared glances with Thrym, and the banter. These were the things she remembered.

For the rest, she felt like a bystander listening to a group of friends who had a tonne of personal jokes. Maybe Thrym was right; once Gwenyth gave her a job at the debrief meeting, she’d feel better. Romy tucked her insecurities away and ducked through the door Phobos held open.

“Cool,” she said, taking in the gym.

“Kickass, huh?” he replied. “Everyone here is expected to train. We’ve been doing it for the last fifteen months.”

Elara popped up beside him. “You should see Phobos fight. So hot.”

Romy scrunched her nose. ‘Phobos’ and ‘hot’ shouldn’t be used in the same sentence. Phobos looked like one of the pre-global-warming surfers. Handsome, she guessed, but he was her brother.

Romy shrugged off the weirdness and stared around the matted floors where hundreds of humans wrestled. Archers fired their bows down the far end. Rhythmic bursts came from behind a wall to the right. Gunfire, she recognised. Her fingers moved against her palm as though holding a handgun. Excitement stirred. She’d enjoyed shooting. Loved it. She hadn’t shot a gun in a long, long time, but somehow Romy knew it would be as natural as breathing.

Off to the far left were rows of cardio and weight machines. Treadmills, she saw with delight. Old Romy and New Romy were in agreement about running, too. That was more than they’d agreed upon all morning, so she’d take it.

“Ew,” Elara said, eyeing her. “You are so happy to be here, it makes me sick. You are definitely back to normal.”

Romy slid her a sideways glance. “Still allergic to exercise?” Romy grinned at her recollection. Maybe Houston was right and her cards were syncing.

“Practically anaphylactic. I get enough exercise from Phobos, anyway.”

Deimos gave her a withering look. “Can you not.”

Elara sniffed and fell silent.

They turned away from each other and Romy looked between the tense pair.

“Guys.” Thrym jogged over to them from where he’d been speaking to a middle-aged man. “We’re needed in debrief.”

Romy straightened. “What, already?”

“Sorry, Ro. Us, not you. They’ll have another mission for us.” Thrym smiled.

His words crushed her. “Where are you going?” she asked weakly. Did they really need to leave? What was she supposed to do until her meeting with Gwenyth? She wanted to be with them.

Phobos shrugged. “Lately, it’s just been taking the new encryption codes to the satellite bases around Europe and Asia.”

Romy walked with them back to the door. “Can’t I come?”

Thrym smiled. “Not this time, Ro. You’re far too valuable to take along.” He pushed back through the doors they’d just entered.

Romy blinked.

Blue eyes neared hers and Romy needed to tell Thrym she didn’t think of him that way.

Her mouth formed the words too late. His lips touched hers.

She glared at him where they sat under orange lanterns.

“I had to do that. Just once,” he whispered.

Romy froze on the spot as the gym doors swung closed after him.

Her eyes rounded.

Thrym had kissed her in Jimboomba.

She closed her eyes and replayed the kiss again. Her stomach couldn’t decide whether to flip or upheave. Old Romy and New Romy were not in total agreement on the matter. She concentrated. The disgusted part was Old Romy; that was what she’d felt in Jimboomba. The sliver of interest she experienced as Thrym’s eyes burned into her a moment before was all New Romy.

Why did she feel differently about Thrym, and not Deimos and Phobos?

A low voice tickled her ear. “How long are you going to stare at those doors?” Romy whirled and glared at the base of a person’s neck. A bead of sweat trickled down the man’s throat and became lost in the neckline of a black singlet.

Breaking off her stare, she stepped back.

“Atlas,” she said.

He watched her with a half-grin that tugged at her. “Rosemary,” he teased, “are you okay?”

Her face began to burn. How long had she been standing like an idiot? “I’m lost,” she blurted. “Well, no. I’m in the gym, but, uh, I’m at a loss.” She crossed her arms and glanced up at him. “I’m at a loss,” she repeated.

Atlas pursed his lips before clearing his throat. “I take it you remember a few things about us?” His eyes roamed down over her frame. Were coveralls attractive? He seemed to think so.

“No, not really,” she said. He’d been lifting weights and a sheen of sweat covered his bare arms. Her eyes lingered a few seconds too long. Old and New Romy seemed to be in agreement over Atlas. “Elara . . . filled in some gaps.”

Atlas frowned. “She did?”

Romy pushed back her smile at his concern over what Elara might have said. She left his curiosity unsatisfied. Elara’s ‘bungal-ho’ explanation would never cross her lips.

“Currently, the only thing I can say with any certainty is I like to shoot and run,” Romy confessed. “Everything else seems different.”

Atlas’s eyes gleamed. He hummed low in his throat as he took a step closer. She dragged in a shocked breath as her body warmed in response.

He put his mouth close to her ear, speaking with a smile. “Do you think differently about me?” he asked.

Romy blinked, recalling the ‘bungal-ho’ part of Elara’s speech. Had she seriously been close enough to Atlas to sleep in the same bed with him? If she didn’t get that memory back, she was demanding a refund. “Houston said it could take a while to remember everything.”

He raised a brow. “I see. I’ll just have to help you then, won’t I?”

She stood, stunned to silence. Was he being . . . playful?

Both Romys were pulling a complete blank, which meant she’d never experienced this version of him. “I guess you could help,” she said in confusion.

“What are you doing now?” Atlas said, giving her space. “Where are your knot?”

Romy gave a dejected wave. “They were called on a mission.” Her gaze fell on her feet. They looked the same as everyone else’s now, black sneakers with an elastic top and rubber sole.

“I see,” came the soft reply.

He strode away, back to the weights.

That was . . . abrupt. Romy stared around the gym, realising she’d become a bit of a spectacle.

Leaving the gym immediately sounded like a great idea. She could get lost in the caves for a day. Or a week.

Romy reached the doors, but an arm stretched overhead and pushed it open. Atlas again. Black T-shirt pulled over his singlet. A towel slung around his neck.

His smell made her want to lean into the golden skin of his chest and never leave.

He put a hand in the pocket of his black shorts. “I’m free. Want me to show you around?” Ninety per cent confidence, 10 per cent uncertainty, and completely endearing.

A thrill shot through her. “Sure,” she said, moving down the passage.

“Wrong way,” he called lazily.

She pivoted and strode back to him. He laughed at her sheepish expression and leaned forward, taking her by the hand.

She stared at their interlocked fingers. It felt nice. . . . Their hands fit perfectly. Both Romys liked the slight rub of his callouses on their palms. Her palm. She shook her head.

He was watching her with a softened expression when she glanced back up.

She shifted on the spot, and he broke off his stare, checking the passageways for company.

The halls were empty.

Mischief lent a brightness to his eyes.

He arched a brow. “You ready for the unofficial Amach tour?”

CHAPTER SIX

Romy laughed as he pulled her along behind him. “Where are you dragging me to?”

He looked down at their hands and slowed his pace a bit. “My secret—”

“Commander Atlas, and . . . oh.” A young man stood in the middle of the hallway behind them. The one with the nano who had given a report last night.

The man stared at their hands and Romy untangled her fingers.

Atlas shot her a masked look as he replied to the soldier. “Yes, Tyson. How can I help you?”

Tyson. That was his name. The smart one.

Tyson fumbled under the annoyance in Atlas’s voice. “Sir, your mum . . . mother. Commander-general Gwenyth—”

Atlas sighed.

“—asked me to get you and the GE.”

“Rosemary,” Atlas cut in, sounding furious.

Tyson stumbled back. “Sorry, sir. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

GE. It stood for genetic enhancement. Why would she be offended by that? Romy gave Tyson a curious look. He wasn’t doing well under Atlas’s scrutiny.

“She summoned you and Rosemary to the debrief room. She,” he darted his eyes to Romy, “would like to give Rosemary orders sooner than initially planned.”

Romy gave him a genuine smile, but a low, menacing sound rumbled in Atlas’s chest. Romy glanced up in confusion.

“Message received,” Atlas said quietly.

Tyson hesitated, unsure of Atlas’s attendance from his answer.

Clearly deciding it wasn’t worth the trouble, Tyson shuffled away down the passage, nearly colliding with an opening door as he did so.

Romy waited until he was out of earshot. “Atlas?” she asked.

He didn’t answer. She lay a hand on his arm, feeling the coiled muscles underneath. “Atlas?”

He jerked at her touch and her eyes widened at the darkness in his flinty eyes. It reminded her of the man she’d met yesterday, not the playful one of today.

“Romy,” he sighed. He pulled her to him and enclosed her in his arms. “I hoped my mother would give you more time to settle in.”

“I’d actually prefer to be told what I’ll be doing here as soon as possible. Thrym thinks I’ll feel better for having a job and a routine.”

Atlas didn’t answer.

She breathed in his heady smell.

Where had she experienced that? She pressed her face into the base of his neck and inhaled again. A strong scent, but in a calming kind of way. All male. The smell reached at something inside of her.

“Are you about done?” His voice rumbled around laughter.

Romy covered her face, peeking up. “I’m so sorry. I was remembering,” you, “things.” Was it possible to bluff your way out of blatantly sniffing someone?

She dropped her hands, face bright red, no doubt. “Sorry.”

His lips were pursed. Hard. Romy narrowed her eyes. She had the sneaking suspicion he did that when he was trying not to laugh. She crossed her arms.

He grinned at her, flashing white teeth. “My body wash. You like it?”

She ignored his question. “Don’t we have a meeting to get to?”

Atlas shrugged, drawling. “Yep.” A dark look clouded his face for a moment.

Romy began to walk down the passageway after Tyson, marching past Atlas. He inhaled as she did so, and Romy’s steps slowed. Her memories flickered.

She sat on a wooden log on the beach, barely awake. Why had Atlas woken her so early?

They’d spent all day tramping through the bush to get to the beach.

She stared at the waves. Beautiful. Romy couldn’t wait to put her feet in the water. The water stretched up the shore as high as it could, trying to out-do itself with each new wave. Atlas said she had to wait, though.

Tired. Romy rested her head against his shoulder. Perfect height. Not bony. She sighed, completely comfortable, and as she did so a scent reached her nostrils.

She inhaled again.

Atlas smelled like the trees they’d passed day after day. Eucalyptus, she recalled. The scent cleared her head. She liked it.

A throat cleared. Romy peeked through her lashes.

Oops, caught in the act. “You smell like eucalyptus,” she explained. Or maybe it was an apology. Sniffing people was a little strange. She’d never done it before.

He stared down at her. The first rays of sun were spreading over his face.

Romy’s heart squeezed at the memory as she strode down the passageway in Amach. Atlas still smelled like eucalyptus.

“The ocean,” Atlas said at her back, so quietly she nearly missed it. “That’s what you smelled like that day.”

A slow warmth spread through her chest, and she couldn’t help her tiny smile.

He remembered.

* * *

“When I issue a summons, soldier, I expect you to obey it immediately.”

Romy’s insides quailed under the force of Gwenyth’s glare, simultaneously seeing the unfairness of the comment with Atlas walking in behind her. Romy pressed her lips together and remained silent. She would never question a high commander. Especially when that commander would decide if she could go join her knot on missions.

“I apologise for detaining Rosemary,” said Atlas. He grinned at Romy as she turned to find a seat. She ignored his humour. Judging by the two holes currently burning into her back, she didn’t think his grin helped matters any.

“Now we are all here.” Gwenyth’s nostrils thinned. “Rosemary, we thought it best to debrief you as soon as possible.”

She nodded, trying to look a little like the soldier she was supposed to be. The blank faces around her told her she wasn’t convincing anyone.

“. . . last year has seen the Mandate’s noose tighten further,” Gwenyth was saying. Romy grimaced and paid closer attention. “They have effectively restricted communication between all settlements and cities.”

“How?” Romy asked.

Gwenyth waved at Tyson.

“There are two modern ways of communicating, Rosemary. You are familiar with one—the transmission docks. . . .”

How could Romy forget? A circular platform facing a screen, or multiple screens. The locked room Atlas disappeared into for all those weeks while keeping his secrets had held a transmission dock.

Her gut twisted. She’d forgotten about Atlas’s secrets.

“Then we have brain transmission.”

“The small device I used to wear in my ear,” Atlas interrupted.

Tyson swallowed. “Er, yes. Both types of transmission are controlled by the Mandate. We can’t even decipher the Mandate’s messages. They encrypt all their messages. I’m talking AES-768 algorithms—” He cut off in the growing heavy silence. “Right. Well. The point is, we communicate with the other Amach bases via Morse code.”

Romy’s eyes widened. “Like they did in the twentieth century?”

“We do what we have to, soldier,” Gwenyth snapped.

Yikes.

Gwenyth continued. “Now that the Mandate has complete control over communications, they have begun to attack us in secret.”

Romy frowned. “Why in secret? I thought you said they had the weaponry to kill the Critamal. Why don’t they use that on you?”

Gwenyth’s steely gaze met hers as she leaned on the table with closed knuckles. “The Mandate cannot admit we exist. We are at an impasse of sorts. The Amach do not have the strength to go up against the Mandate, but the Mandate knows we hold the power to cause anarchy in the general populace with what we know. Though I loathe to admit it, this has been our saving glory. The Mandate doesn’t wish to acknowledge us. They wish to snuff us out without anyone the wiser. This levels the playing field.” Passion lit Gwenyth’s grey eyes as she spoke. “The human race is unaware of the Mandate’s deception. They believe the space soldiers willingly go into battle against the Critamal. They don’t know the soldiers are enslaved. They don’t know about the weaponry the Mandate possesses to end this war. That,” Gwenyth said, “is the control we have over the Mandate. If they acknowledge us, and openly attack, they know we won’t go quietly. If we go down fighting, the world will hear the truth. Everyone will hear of how the cities are far more affluent than the settlements, and resources are being distributed unevenly. They will hear the Mandate is imprisoning their neighbours and family because those few dared to disagree, not because of broken laws.” She breathed heavily. Romy hung on her every word, but a quick look around her showed not everyone seemed as convinced. Maybe they’d heard it a few times.

Romy dropped her chin in thought, and wet her lips before asking, “Why don’t you tell people now?”

Gwenyth’s brows slammed together at the question. The room hushed.

Romy glanced at Atlas in confusion, wondering what she’d said wrong.

He leaned forward and everyone fell quiet. “We have enough information to divide the population, Rosemary. We hack into the Mandate’s screens and show every settlement and city the truth.” A piece of jet-black hair fell across his forehead. She wasn’t the only female who noticed. An auburn-haired woman down the end gave him an appreciative once over.

Tina.

The name rose from smoke.

Atlas spoke again. “We want to take the Mandate down, yes, but in the right way, with minimal bloodshed. Finding the numbers to create a show of force is turning out to be harder than any of us thought, and so—as my mother said—we are stuck at an impasse.”

Did everyone agree on that? There seemed to be a lot of frowning faces around the table. Maybe that was why Gwenyth got so angry at Romy’s questions. Maybe there was some dissent within the Amach.

Gwenyth perched on her seat. “That’s where you come in, Rosemary. More importantly, your brain.”

Should Romy just leave the rest of herself behind?

“What about my brain?” Romy asked, uneasy. This wasn’t the simple ‘You’ll be emptying the rubbish bins with your knot’ meeting she’d envisioned.

Atlas took her hand. “Do you remember yesterday when I told you why the researchers on Orbito Four were so interested in testing you?”

“You said the researchers thought my brain might hold the answer to stopping space soldiers going insane when their knot members died.”

“That’s right. And we believe you hold this answer, too.”

Romy frowned. “I thought we established I wasn’t insane.”

Atlas answered, “You’re not.”

“Then their testing up there was pointless.”

“I’m afraid there are two ways a space soldier can go insane,” he said, heavily. “One way is through the death of a member in their knot. The other way is through killing another human.”

No one in the room missed Romy’s horrible flinch. The officer in Jimboomba. She shook her head. “So I am insane? Or am I not?”

Houston snorted.

Atlas glared at him. “You are not insane, Rosemary. But you should be.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It means that your brain could hold the answer to curing this insanity trigger within the space soldiers. They would no longer lose their minds when losing a knotmate, or killing another human.”

They thought her brain held some kind of preventative cure. Romy spoke slowly. “If you’re right, which seems . . . kind of crazy, I want to help the other space soldiers. That’s a given. I guess I just don’t understand why the Amach wants to help them.”

Gwenyth tilted her chin. “There are four thousand space soldiers up there,” she said. “Well, three and a half thousand, now that we have Orbito Four here. This number doesn’t include the soldiers currently growing in the cultivation tanks. Four thousand soldiers is an army. A convincing army that could make the Mandate stand down, especially when combined with our underground forces.”

Atlas nodded. “But the space soldiers cannot stand with us when their sanity depends on four other people staying alive, and not killing any humans. They are too vulnerable. And the Mandate would directly attack these vulnerabilities.”

Romy pressed a finger to her lips for a moment. “So you want to test my brain. Find some kind of cure that prevents the soldiers from going insane, so you can get them to fight for your cause.”

Gwenyth smiled for the first time. “We hope it doesn’t come to a fight. Killing needlessly is against our vision here in Amach, especially with the human population hit so hard in global warming. But yes, if it comes to a fight, we want the space soldiers by our side. Your brain is the key to making sure the space soldiers can fight with us without falling victim to the insanity trigger.”

“I beg to disagree with you all.” Houston side-stepped a hulking soldier in the back. “Her brain is amazing, yes, but the solution to finding the cure begins at the nano level.”

He slapped a folder down on the table and cracked his knuckles. “Soldiers don’t lose their marbles because of a design fault. In fact, it is the opposite. This insanity trigger is programmed into the nanotech of the space soldiers by the order of the Mandate.”

Shock glued her to the chair. “Why would they put that in us on purpose?” Romy said, horrified.

“Wouldn’t you want some security against four thousand space soldiers you’d been lying to for one hundred and fifty years?”

There were a few sniggers. Romy didn’t think it was funny at all. Neither did Atlas.

She didn’t think people here would either if they’d spent any time on Orbito Four.

Houston continued. “What the Mandate didn’t expect is that the insanity trigger would also be set off by the loss of a knot member. That is why they dedicate a whole orbito to researching space soldiers who have blown their lightbulbs. Each space soldier costs around three billion dollars to make, and they will save hundreds of billions if they can find a way to separate the response to killing a human, and the response to the killing of a soldier’s knot members.

“Why don’t they just get rid of the insanity trigger altogether?” Romy asked.

“That’s when we circle back to the fact they’d lied to four thousand people who can operate laser guns. The Mandate can’t risk not having the insanity trigger in place. What if the space soldiers up and attack?”

Romy’s cheeks warmed. Maybe that answer was a bit obvious.

“Dr Houston,” Gwenyth said calmly. “Please tell Rosemary more about what she’ll be doing here.”

Romy sat up straight. This is what she’d come for.

Houston gave a mocking salute and Gwenyth’s eyes flashed with anger. The room fell quiet, and Romy peeked around, wondering at the sudden change.

Houston cracked his neck. “We have a solid understanding of why and how the insanity in space soldiers is triggered. The problem is, when this insanity is triggered by the death of a knotmate or killing a human, it occurs within seconds. This makes testing difficult—unless we want a whole bunch of cray-crays.” He cackled.

What on Saturn’s third ring was a cray-cray?

“You are such a nerd, Houston,” the auburn-haired woman said down the end.

“There’s a name for you, too, Tina, love. But I shall refrain. My momma raised me right.” Houston clicked his fingers.

Atlas angled his chair toward her.

“Rosemary,” Atlas urged, “after the incident with the officer in Jimboomba, you displayed paranoia and other signs of mental instability, but nothing close to the normal reaction. We’ve never seen anything like it. Not ever. Houston believes he can replicate your response and eradicate the insanity trigger within space soldiers.”

Twenty sets of awed eyes swivelled her way.

“A hunch,” Houston said, humbly. “Just a hunch.”

A memory swam to the surface. “Didn’t you take some blood samples from me before the Mandate caught me fifteen months ago?”

“They didn’t work,” Houston said shortly. “Then we spent the next fifteen months trying to get you back from the Mandate. It’s been fun.”

“I hardly think that was her fault,” Atlas said drily.

Houston smirked. “Atty boy, you don’t think anything is her fault. Your reproductive organs won’t let you.” Atlas looked at the ceiling briefly and Houston’s grin grew.

Romy wondered if she could just slide under the table and disappear. “What do you need from me?” she blurted. “You just take blood samples from me?” She held out her arm. “Here, you can take some right now.”

Houston sighed. “Have you not been listening to a word I’ve said? Your old memory card needs to be in when we take the samples.” Atlas took pity at Romy’s utter confusion. “H, you didn’t say anything about that yet.”

“Well, I would’ve thought it obvious.”

The faces in the room were all blank now, Romy saw with relief.

Houston collapsed into a chair. “Sometimes it’s hard to be smarter than every single person in the room, all the time.”

Atlas groaned.

Romy stared at the table, her heart thumping.

Houston taking blood was one thing. Houston taking blood with the old memory card in was a different matter completely. The memory of Feral Romy in the glass room reared up so vividly Romy’s throat tightened in fear.

“Judging by the blood samples I took from you already, the card will need to be re-inserted several times,” Houston said, a deep crease forming between his brows.

Romy took shallow breaths. She’d been happy to put in the old card to get her memories back—but her instincts screamed at her not to put it in again. That to do so would bring her one slippery step closer to the woman in the glass room.

Atlas stiffened. “You took samples already?”

“Didn’t make sense not to, when the card was already in there. I’ve waited a long time to begin testing again.”

“We all have, H. Not just you. You were told explicitly that Rosemary wasn’t to be tested until we’d explained everything to her.” Atlas’s anger had everyone staring at the table with sudden interest.

Whoa, Atlas angry with Houston—she couldn’t remember seeing that before.

Romy spoke to him in low tones. “It’s okay. There was no reason to waste an opportunity.” If she went ahead with this, it meant inserting the card one less time.

“If her tissues don’t work now, why would they work with more insertions of the card?” Gwenyth asked.

Good point. Romy glanced up for the answer.

She sucked in a breath when she found Houston’s unblinking gaze fixed on her. He looked kind of lightbulb-less himself.

He stayed this way for a full minute and no one budged.

“There are hundreds upon thousands of combinations I need to test,” he declared. “I can only use the blood samples so many times before they are gone.”

Atlas stood, shaking his head. “The choice is Rosemary’s. Not ours. If we do not allow her this choice, we are no better than the Mandate.”

A few people gasped at his words. Houston’s face darkened, but he made no reply.

Romy’s entire being shouted no. The idea of putting in the card even once more filled her with terror. But Romy hesitated. This wasn’t just about her. It wasn’t as simple as yes or no.

Romy wanted to free the other space soldiers from this insanity trigger. She hated what the Mandate were doing to them. The Amach and this ‘cure’ was the best chance of saving the space soldiers and giving them the ability to protect themselves from those who wished them harm. Not only that, but her knot could be protected, too.

“You’re sure I need the old memory card in when you take blood samples?” she asked tentatively.

Houston nodded. “We need to capture the chemical response when your nanos are reacting to the killing memory on the old card.”

She closed her eyes. “If the tests are successful and this ‘insanity trigger’ is eradicated in the space soldiers . . . will they be given a choice to join the Amach, or do you plan to enslave them like the Mandate?”

Several affronted mutters reached her ears.

Gwenyth’s voice was cutting. “The truth is freeing, and we believe most will support us.”

Not an answer.

“Will they have a choice?” Romy asked Atlas this time. Romy may be an obedient soldier, but on this she would not bend. The soldiers would not be enslaved again. The endorsement of her knot went a long way toward her hoping the Amach had the best interest of the space soldiers in mind, but Romy didn’t know enough to fully trust them yet.

“Yes,” Atlas answered, his eyes lingering on her. “I swear it.”

Next, Romy turned to Houston. “Will having the old memory card in hurt as much as last time?”

The doctor’s expression was incredulous. “Why would the pain miraculously disappear?”

Her cheeks flushed. Right, another stupid question. Maybe she should just keep her mouth shut.

“H?” Atlas’s puzzled voice passed overhead.

Houston gathered up his papers and sighed. “I apologise. I haven’t slept much. In fifteen months. Yes, Romy, it will be painful, and I expect the more you are exposed to the old card, the worse the pain will become.”

Romy closed her eyes. Someone snorted derisively from the front and she clenched her jaw. They had no idea how terrifying it was; like standing on glass, two hundred metres above jagged rocks and hearing a cracking sound that spoke of your doom while one thousand screws were twisted into your head.

And Houston was saying the pain would get worse.

Romy was concerned pain would be the least of her worries.

She couldn’t look upon Feral Romy again.

Not now that she’d figured out Feral Romy represented her insanity.

“How many times will you need to put the old memory card in?” she whispered.

Houston’s answer was immediate.

“As many times as it takes.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Romy took her tray to the empty end of a long table and sat on the bench seat. The eyes of many were on her, yet again. Braving the Mess by herself wasn’t ideal, but the room numbers Thrym rattled off yesterday had frittered away into nothing and hunger had overridden patience.

She studiously ignored Nancy’s glares and those of her friends. One in particular looked like he could squeeze the life from Romy with a single large-knuckled fist.

Picking up her fork, she stabbed it into some eggs. Closing her eyes, she shoved the heaped fork into her mouth. These eggs were real.

Could you cry from eating amazing food? Suppressing a squeal of delight, she dug in.

“Why doesn’t she just shove her face in there,” called a snide voice. Muffled laughter followed.

Romy tuned them out. Nothing would ruin her eggs. They were the only good thing about her day so far.

“Hey.” Thrym slid into the seat opposite her.

She smiled around her eggs. “Hey, yourself.” Romy froze at her flirtatious tone. What was that? Thrym gave her a quizzical look.

Two sloppy kisses were planted on her cheeks.

“Hey, Ro,” the twins said in unison. Romy grinned at them, mostly in relief for the distraction.

She lowered her arm, and a second later a tongue dragged across her eye.

“Ellie!” she cried. “Yuck.”

Elara threw her head back in laughter. “I just licked your eye.”

“I noticed,” Romy said drily, wiping at her face.

Thrym’s eyes were alight with amusement. “That is sick.”

Elara put her arms around Romy. “I’m just so happy she’s here.”

Were they? She kept her thoughts to herself.

Thrym tossed a bit of bread crust at her. “What happened at the meeting?”

Romy played with her food. “This and that. They need to put my memory card back in over and over again. Houston will take blood samples to try and replicate my curious lack of insanity in the other space soldiers. Then the Amach will use the space soldiers to take down the Mandate.”

Silence fell over the group.

“End-of-the-world stuff,” Deimos said.

“Yup.”

Elara leaned in, face furious. “They’re putting the old memory card back in? But it hurts you.”

That was the least of Romy’s worries. The pain she could handle. The careening downhill toward her own insanity, less so.

A fist hit the table. “Not on my watch,” Phobos snarled.

Deimos’s hands curled into fists. Thrym’s eyes lifted and held her own. If Atlas’s eyes were storm clouds, Thrym’s were a clear blue sky. Her heart began to beat faster.

Down, New Romy. Down.

“They must have their reasons for it,” Thrym said finally.

The tiniest something panged within her. Didn’t he care that it hurt her? Thrym was always reasonable, she argued with herself. He didn’t mean it to sound that way. “They do. My blood changes when the old card is in. My nanos react to the killing memory.”

Elara squeezed her hand. “You’re special, Ro. If Houston can eliminate this insanity trigger, the space soldiers can help us beat the Mandate. That isn’t going to happen without harnessing the funky stuff in your head.”

Romy’s heart sank. “It doesn’t feel that way,” she confessed. “I’d rather be out on missions with you guys.”

“You’re too important to have out in the field,” Thrym said, warmth in his eyes. His eyes flickered to her lips and back.

Romy tried not to fidget.

Deimos checked his watch. “We have ten minutes to get to the hangar.”

“Another mission?” She couldn’t keep her face from falling. “Already?”

Elara untangled herself from where she was still wrapped around Romy. “Sorry, babe, Gwenyth is really turning up the heat now that you’re here.”

Three departed, leaving Phobos behind.

Romy stabbed at her eggs again and shoved them into her mouth. Cold. “Aren’t you going, too?”

“Nope. I have a dual role. I only go when they need all hands on deck. The rest of the time, I train new arrivals.”

Romy looked across the table. “Am I a new arrival?” she asked hopefully.

Phobos winked.

* * *

She swept her hair out of her eyes and drew her shaking arm back to deliver another cross-thingy. Romy had changed into navy shorts and a workout bra with a loose black singlet over the top. “You know I’m a space soldier, right?” She panted for another gulp of air before continuing, “Trained to fly spacecrafts and shoot laser guns? This is not on my list of skills.”

Phobos caught her weak punch on a padded bag and grinned. “It will be. Amach needs all the soldiers it can get. Everyone has to be trained and stay fit. You’ll get there.”

Her left arm was weaker. She drew back the limb and aimed at the bag. Phobos raised it in time to avoid being hit.

“Sorry.”

He stepped back and clicked a button on the stopwatch around his neck. “No problem. You have two minutes before the next set.”

Leaning forward to rest her palms on her knees, Romy peeked at her knotmate. If someone told her before all this mess that Phobos could be so serious over something not life and death . . . well, she would have cried with laughter. “How did you get into this?” she asked between breaths.

His shrug was self-conscious. “Dunno. Just good at it. I enjoy working with the young recruits.” He tilted his head to where a group of twenty ran on the spot. “Pick up those legs, you slack shits,” he bellowed.

Romy watched as a pimply teen startled and doubled his efforts, almost bringing his knees to his chin.

She snickered with Phobos. He would enjoy psyching out the new recruits. Evil man.

“I’m surprised Deimos isn’t here with you, is all,” she said. A scowl crossed his face, making her regret the remark. She made to apologise, but he waved it off.

“He isn’t the biggest fan of me and Ellie,” he said.

No kidding. “Yeah, I got that.”

He scuffed the ground with his black trainers, identical to Romy’s. “What about you?” he asked. “What do you think about us?”

She worried at her bottom lip. “I remember the pair of you bickering and fighting after we went through, uh, puberty in Jimboomba,” she wiped her face, “and then I get here and you’re together.”

The stopwatch beeped. “Up with you. We’re doing low kicks.” He twisted to the side to display the movement, kicking out his leg at the height of her knee. Romy copied, feeling about as graceful as a cow. What were the odds no one was watching? She’d bet on extremely unlikely, now that Romy understood the reason behind Atlas’s ‘myth’ comments. What did they expect to see when they looked at her? A skull the size of a poacher’s with a throbbing yellow brain inside?

She aimed for the bag when Phobos held it out.

He cleared his throat. “We were attracted to each other back then, but I mean, we’re knotmates; we were both confused about why we felt the way we did. The thought of us being more never crossed either of our minds. And then you were gone. We were all a mess. The only thing keeping us afloat was the thought you were still out there, waiting for us to find you. Seriously, Ro. Sometimes I didn’t know if we’d pull through until you were back.”

Romy kicked harder. She’d lost fifteen months of her life. With all the revelations of the last three days, she hadn’t had time to process how angry she was about that. She was deeply bitter she’d missed out. Everyone had moved forward while she’d taken a hundred steps back. They’d finished running the race, and she was still tying her sneakers.

He continued, adjusting the bag. “Deimos and Thrym stuck to themselves for a long time. Especially Thrym. Me and Ellie, well, we grew closer. One thing led to another, and one day she screamed at me in the Mess, and suddenly we were together.”

Romy let out a breathless giggle. That sounded like Elara.

“I love her, Ro.”

Romy stopped, not wiping at the sweat trickling down her temple this time. Her arms hurt too much.

Pho had grown up while she was gone; he’d changed. Not completely—she still saw his boyishness, his mischievous humour—but he had responsibility and he’d fallen in love.

She’d missed it all.

Romy gave him a serious look. “Did Ellie make you cut your hair?”

Phobos whacked her with the bag. “It gets in the way when I fight.”

“If that’s your story, I’ll go with it.” She grinned and resumed her kicking.

Nervous green eyes watched her. “So . . . what do you think about us?”

Romy kicked again. “Honestly, it weirded me out at first.” His face dropped. “But,” she hastened to add, “I think the fifteen-month leap is to blame for that. It’s hard for me to collate how things are now and how they used to be. I’ve missed out in a lot of ways, and I’m too busy floundering through everything to have really reflected on it yet.” She gave a shrug in response to the sorrow in his eyes. “If you love Ellie, who am I to stand in the way? I’ve only ever wanted the two of you to be happy. And if you’re happy together . . . go at it.”

He raised his brows.

She scrunched her nose. “You know what I meant, sicko.”

“Wish Deimos felt the same,” he said after a pause.

Romy tried for a sympathetic noise. It came out as a grunt. “He’ll come around.”

“I don’t know, Ro. It’s been over a year, remember. He’s not the same Deimos. Barely surviving the crash-landing changed him. When you were taken, he got worse.”

“I’m back now. Things will get better,” she soothed.

Phobos smiled at her softly. “I have no doubt. I really missed you, Ro.”

Romy drew back her leg. “I missed you—” Her foot wedged between his knees and Romy lost her balance, falling to the ground in a tangle. Phobos landed with a thud on top of her.

She wheezed as his elbow dug under her ribs.

“Shit, Ro— Sorry.” Phobos heaved himself to the side and rose onto his hands and knees.

Their eyes met.

A giggle burst from her lips. He snorted.

The dam broke and they rolled on the floor, laughing. She gasped for air between her peals of laughter.

“What’s going on here?” A sharp voice whipped through the gym.

Phobos wiped his face and reached down to pull Romy up. They turned to face the woman bearing down on them.

Tina.

“Pho, why am I scared of her?” Romy whispered frantically.

His shoulders shook. “Because she’s scary? And possibly because she was with Atlas before you stole him.”

Stole him?

Romy peered down at the tiny Tina. . . .

The Tina whose anger made her seem very . . . very tall.

“You,” Tina shoved a finger into Phobos’s chest, “are supposed to be training her.”

He held up his hands. “I was. We got tangled.” His shoulders shook again.

Tina turned her scowl on Romy. “I’m taking over. You’re too soft on her.” She cut off his outraged reply with a snap of her fingers. “Away,” she said to him. “Back to your recruits. They’re slacking.”

Romy looked over at the new recruits. They were laying on the ground fanning their faces.

Phobos sighed and walked off with an apologetic look aimed at Romy behind Tina’s back.

Romy forced back her trepidation. What could she remember about Tina? Tina had commanded the Jimboomba settlement. She was a soldier who could hold her own. Romy remembered being envious of how confident and put-together the smaller woman dressed in army fatigues always was. But she distinctly recalled the fact that Tina had never liked her. Was Phobos right about the Atlas thing?

“Rosemary, we meet again,” Tina started.

Why did she get the feeling sessions with Tina were something to be feared? “Hello, Tina. Nice to see you again,” Romy said politely.

Tina’s eyes narrowed, checking to see if there was a veiled insult in the words. Her lips curved into a smile. “I hope you enjoy pain. Because there’s gonna be a shit-tonne of it. Follow me.”

Romy trailed after her to the weights.

“Lie down. Push the bar up and down. Ten reps.”

She scurried to do as asked. The first three felt okay. With shaking arms, she made it to ten. Tina loaded more weight onto each side.

“Ten,” she said.

Romy got to seven and held the bar with straight arms, attempting to convince her arms to work.

“All the way down,” Tina snapped. “Elbows back.”

Romy frowned. What was Tina’s problem? She gritted her teeth and made it through the final three. Tina loaded more weights.

“Ten,” she said.

Romy’s arms fell to each side. “I’m not sure—”

Tina fell on the comment the same way Romy had fallen on her eggs earlier that day. “That’s just it, little Rosemary. You’re not sure. You don’t have a freakin’ clue.” Tina looked down her nose. “You know, if it’s possible, you’re even weaker than you were in Jimboomba.”

Forgetting the bar, Romy sat up. “Why are you being so . . . aggressive? What did I do to you?”

Tina patted her cheek and Romy had the urge to claw her eyes out. “That’s sweet. You think you’re the only one I treat like this. I’ve got to say, though, I don’t like the fate of our world being tied to someone who can barely stand up for herself.”

“I stand up for myself.” The words lacked conviction. After the debrief yesterday, Romy wasn’t so sure about that herself. Half of her questions were laughed at. She hadn’t even asked to go on missions with her knot.

Tina laughed harshly. “Sure you do. But hey, maybe it’s not that. Maybe it’s because the only worthwhile thing about you is your brain. I watched you with Phobos. Pathetic. My great-Aunt Betty could punch harder. These people have waited for you for fifteen damn months, and today, everyone in this room lost faith in you. Good job.”

Every word added another splinter to Romy’s fears. Her knotmates all had their roles. Phobos had two jobs. Everyone in the Amach knew their place and had their routine. Romy was just here to be a blood bag and try not to go crazy. Romy tried to temper her frustration. She didn’t want to become more of a spectacle. “This is my first day training. Why do you expect me to be an expert? I’m a space soldier. Give me a gun, I’ll shoot an alien. Ask me what I’d do if the Critamal battlers spread wide through the F5 sector. But don’t assume I know how to throw a punch because the word ‘soldier’ is in my job description.”

“You think Phobos and Elara couldn’t throw a punch? They could. Thrym, and Deimos, too.” Tina put her face in Romy’s. “You lack the killer instinct. You’d be as likely to roll over on the ground then kick at your enemy, and we got stuck with you. Jesus, what a let-down. These people expected strength from you, do you understand that?”

Romy tilted her chin. “You are making a huge number of assumptions about me.” Her voice trembled.

“I’ve trained five thousand recruits in the last fifteen months. They come here and go back to their bases as tough as I can make ‘em.” Tina looked Romy up and down. “I don’t make assumptions, little girl. You don’t have what it takes. And you just showed that to everyone here.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Romy waited in the Mess for her knot, still in her grimy gym clothes. Phobos said the others should be back for dinner. Really, she’d rather be back in her room right now. Possibly crying. But she desperately needed comfort. She needed her knot.

Tina’s catty words bounced around her skull.

Was it just Romy? Or had the stares around her changed from awe-filled to disappointed? Had she gone from myth to weakling?

Nancy’s hostile gathering seemed to have grown, if that was any indication.

Great.

The unfairness of it burned like bile. It wasn’t enough that Houston would be picking her brain apart on a regular basis. Romy was also expected to be a great fighter. On day one. Without any prior training.

Yet, each of Tina’s barbs held a spike of truth that caused the comments to replay over and over in Romy’s mind. Romy hadn’t felt like she’d allowed Gwenyth to walk all over her. Truthfully, she didn’t voice all her concerns, just the main ones. Maybe Atlas stuck up for her a few times. . . .

Romy remembered the sniggering women in the meeting. Maybe Tina was right. She rubbed her aching temples and pushed her food away with weary arms.

“Ro.” A hand rested on her shoulder. Thrym lowered himself onto the bench. He looked dusty and almost as sore as she felt.

Her eyes fell on a red stain on his coveralls. A pain like a white-hot knife shoved in behind her ear, and she gasped with the force of it. “Is that blood?” She blinked through the pain, anxiously checking her knotmate for the source.

Thrym glanced down at his tattered shirt. “Where? Oh, yeah. I guess it is.” He pulled up the bottom of the tight garment to his pecs. A long slash ran across his otherwise. . .

. . . perfectly. . .

. . . taut. . .

. . . stomach.

Knotmate, knotmate, knotmate, she chanted in her head. Old Romy was not impressed.

“My nanos will get it sorted in no time,” he said, lifting his eyes. He sucked in a breath. Alarmed, Romy masked her expression.

“Hard day, Ro?” a voice interrupted.

Romy turned, lips numb. “What did you say?”

Deimos looked between her and Thrym, and something dark stirred in his eyes. “I said, ‘Hard day’?”

Still frazzled, she responded with a nod. The crease between Deimos’s eyes deepened.

“Not as hard as yours by the looks of it,” she added, quickly. “You’re bleeding, too.” Her brain seriously hated the red, fiercely by the feel of it.

He sat down on her other side and let Romy check over the cuts and grazes on his arms. “Yeah, mission didn’t go quite to plan, did it, dear Thrym? Mandate’s men jumped us just out of Derry, and we had to do a runner for the craft.”

Romy frantically searched for Elara. “Is Ellie okay?”

Deimos shrugged. “We’re not insane, are we? She has to be.”

“Deimos,” she said sharply. “Is Ellie okay?” He squirmed on the bench before sighing. “Keep your coveralls on, she’s unharmed.”

Romy let out a shaking breath and pushed away her discomfort at his bitter tone. He had to be joking.

Elara dragged herself over to the table, just as bloodied and scratched as the other two. “I cannot stop, or I’ll never make it to our room.” A tray wobbled precariously in her grip. “Hi Ro, bye Ro. I need to sleep.”

Thrym leaned forward, his eyes searching before he planted a warm kiss on her cheek. “I’m off, too. Early start tomorrow.”

Bile rose in her throat—Old Romy. “Away again?” Romy asked, breathless—New Romy.

This was getting ridiculous.

He smiled, searching her face again. “That’s the way of it at the moment.”

Deimos stared after Elara and Thrym.

Romy rested a few fingers on his arm. He turned and stared at her, unseeing.

“You okay, Dei?”

He opened his mouth twice before shutting it in a grim line. Swiping at some dust, he avoided her scrutiny. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

Romy stood. “I’ll get you some food.” She trailed off as something caught Dei’s attention across the room.

Houston stood by the door in deep discussion with a group of people.

“Gotta go,” he said. Without another word, he hurried away.

A lump built hard and fast in her throat and she stared at her tray, willing the tears away. She was tired, too. That was it. It had been a crap day.

Sliding her tray from the table, she lurched in the direction of the bin.

“Watch it, GE.”

Romy looked into the eyes of one of Nancy’s friends. He was facing out from the bench, his legs stretched across the walkway. “Ugly giant.”

“What did you just call me?” His beady eyes narrowed.

Her eyes widened. Poacher poop.

The giant clambered to his feet.

Oddly, he was a little shorter than Romy at full height. She could tell he hated that fact. Honestly, he made up for the three centimetres in width.

Romy searched the group behind him.

Nancy avoided her gaze, looking over her right shoulder instead. The rest of the group was split between anticipation and evil smiles.

“Look,” Romy tried. “Let’s all calm down.”

“You called me ‘ugly giant’,” he sneered, stepping closer.

An unbidden giggle rose from her throat. She muffled it with a hand. “I did.” She smoothed her face, aiming for contrite. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to say that. Or laugh. I’m tired.”

It might have been okay if two of the people behind him didn’t snort.

“You need to learn your place around here, GE.”

“What did you say, soldier?” a voice boomed.

Ugly Giant jumped.

Atlas stood several metres away, hands behind his back, feet apart, relaxed and straight-backed. His flinty eyes rested on Nancy’s friend. “I must have been mistaken. You can’t have called Rosemary ‘GE’. Because that is specifically banned in the rules of Amach. We accept all humans.”

The giant clearly didn’t agree. But he was also just a boy, which Atlas was most certainly not.

“Sit down,” Atlas barked at him. Ugly Giant sat with a squeak.

Another giggle rose in her throat, and she clamped down on it. Just.

“You all understand this soldier is putting herself on the line for our cause, don’t you?” he said calmly.

“Yes, sir,” Ugly Giant stuttered.

Atlas leaned in. “Then start acting like it. Rosemary?”

She glanced over at Atlas; he held his hand out. Ignoring Tina’s words blaring in her ears, she crossed over to his side and took it. His warm hand enclosed hers, and he leaned down to speak in her ear. “I’ve had a day from hell, want to split?”

Curious, she asked, “Your secret place?” He never did tell her where they were off to before his mother sabotaged their plans.

He surveyed the Mess in mock alertness. “We shouldn’t talk about it here. This way.”

Romy rolled her eyes and followed, running to keep up.

He led them straight to one of the elevators Romy could never seem to find when she needed it. Four females rounded the corner and made to enter behind them.

“Sorry, ladies. This one’s full,” Atlas said sternly. He slid his eyes to Romy. “Official business.” They chittered in response and stepped back to allow the doors to close.

“Really?” Romy huffed. “That’s all I need. Everyone to think we—”

Atlas tilted his head to her, grey eyes sparkling with mischief. “Think what?”

Colour rose on her cheeks and she remained silent.

“Think what?” he pressed.

Was the elevator usually this small?

She peeked at him through her lashes.

“What could four women possibly think about a man and a beautiful woman riding together, alone, in an empty elevator?” His eyes were like bubbling metal, playful and serious at the same time.

“I . . .” Romy searched for something to say.

He took a step closer until she was backed against the elevator wall. “Would they think this?” He dipped his head down. Romy’s breath hitched in her tight throat.

The elevator pinged.

It reminded Romy where they were, though Atlas didn’t seem bothered that they’d stopped.

Crap, she was raised on her tiptoes. Slowly, so he wouldn’t notice, Romy lowered herself flat.

He grinned.

He’d noticed.

Romy turned her head away. “Where are we?” she asked.

“Level three—hangar,” he said, pushing away from the wall. “Come on. We’ve got to be sneaky from here.”

“Where are you taking me?” she asked again. He placed a finger to his lips and waved her behind a stack of crates.

Crouching, she followed him, eyes scanning for company.

They hopped from stack to stack, flattening their backs against the crates to look around corners. She supposed she should be worried, but Atlas wouldn’t hurt her. Not intentionally. And it was hilarious watching the six-foot-six man in front of her dodge and hide.

They reached the opposite side. He retrieved a key from around his neck and opened a heavy door. Another elevator ride—during which he remained on the opposite side for—and a flight of stairs later, they arrived at what Romy assumed to be the top of Amach. Atlas used the same key to open the heavy padlock. Spinning the grate free, he kicked open the door.

Freezing air blasted them. It clung to her bare legs and arms, and micro-shivers rippled over the skin there. Atlas watched her hugging herself, teeth chattering. The sight seemed to annoy him. “Didn’t think about that.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Hold on,” he said. He disappeared back the way they came and reappeared a few minutes later with coveralls for her and two heavy jackets.

She shrugged them on, grateful for the new warmth.

They stepped onto crunchy ground and Romy looked around her.

Nothing like Australia.

A layer, something similar to ice, but not quite, lay atop the green grass underfoot. Brambling bush sat around them, the trees just like the pictures from her nano up in space. In the distance a low rock wall wound through a field, and vines crept along its surface, taking the rock wall over one leaf at a time. Gorgeous.

“Ireland,” Atlas offered. He sealed the door behind them, locking it with the key. “In what used to be County Clare.”

“It’s beautiful,” she replied, taking a deep breath. This was the Earth she wanted to explore. One day, once the fight was over and she hopefully wasn’t crazy.

“It’s where I grew up.”

She glanced at him. “You’re Irish?”

He shrugged. “As much as anyone born in the Amach is, I guess. My parents came here from New Zealand.”

She smiled at the cold air on her cheeks. The air was almost sweet outside compared to the underground caves. It felt like another time. Like if the world wasn’t on the brink of war, they could step into a fairy tale. She liked fairy tales. “It’s so easy to imagine this in mediaeval times,” she murmured, mostly to herself. “Castles and knights and maidens in their dresses. I could be convinced a leprechaun could pop out with his pot of gold.”

“Leprechauns and pots of gold aren’t going to pop out of the ground,” Atlas said in her ear. She spun and caught the quirk of his lips.

“I’m not saying they are,” she said defensively. “Just that it feels that way. I know that’s a story.”

He squinted at the sky. “It’s not a blood moon. Leprechauns only come out then. And only if you find a four-leaf clover, are dressed head to toe in green, and chanting ‘póg mo thóin’ at the top of your lungs.”

Romy’s mouth dried. “How often does a blood moon occur?” Excitement squeezed her chest.

“I’ll look up the next one. Maybe a few weeks.” He glanced at his watch, face impassive.

That would be incredible. Earth really was a magical place.

She tapped her lips. “That reminds me, I need to find a map of this place. I’d like to get a sense of where we are in Ireland.”

A humming noise rose out of nowhere, and she tilted her head when she realised it came from Atlas. What did the sound mean? He seemed almost joyful.

“We’re on the west coast,” he said gruffly. “I have some old maps I could dig out.”

Romy raised her brows. “I’m surprised you don’t have one on you.”

Confusion lit his features. “Why’s that?” He cut off abruptly. “Right. Very funny.”

“What?”

“You were going to say, ‘Because you’re an Atlas’.”

A high-pitched noise escaped her lips. “No, I wasn’t.”

He cast her a disbelieving look.

Atlas looked at the sky as Romy took her time laughing at her punny joke. When she’d simmered down to giggles, he spoke. “This is something you would have found interesting before.”

His comment pulled her up short.

Her reply was thoughtful. “It’s true. Elara noticed the other day, too. Back on Orbito Four, I didn’t really care about Earth at all. I couldn’t think of anything but my missing memories and knot.”

“And now?”

She smiled. “Now, I’d like to explore the world for the rest of my life. Is that why you brought me here? To remind me of that?”

He waved for her to follow him into the trees. “No. But I’m happy to see you relaxed. It’s been a crazy few days for you. It’s this way.”

What? Romy trotted into the trees after him.

Maybe they’d get lucky and see a leprechaun anyway. “You’ve lived in Amach your whole life then?” she asked. That was no better than living on the orbitos.

He vaulted over a fallen log before turning to help her. Sighing again, because her body was currently falling apart from Phobos and Tina’s training and really did need his help, she took it.

“Until seventeen,” he said shortly.

“Then you went to the orbitos?” she asked.

He shrugged.

She narrowed her eyes and caught the slight regret in his expression.

Secrets.

Still?

Romy would’ve thought after everything they’d been through after leaving Jimboomba, he’d trust her, just a little. Apparently not.

“This way,” he said, ducking under a low branch.

She’d always felt so comfortable with him. Even now, it was instinctive to trust him. His natural confidence poured from him. But why was he so secretive? She hardly knew anything about him.

Atlas assessed their location and swung into the deep-green thicket, smiling over his shoulder. “Just up here.”

She hurried after him, sore muscles screaming a little less in her growing excitement. Atlas stopped up ahead and moved to one side.

She would’ve walked right past it on her own.

There was a tiny clearing, overgrown as though someone hadn’t spent time here in a while. Strings with sticks, rocks and cans hung between five of the surrounding trees. The thorny plants covering the ground had been cleared to expose dirt. A circle of stones rested there, the dirt in the middle blacker than the ground out of the ring, like a fire had been lit there many times.

A wide, flat board was wedged in a fork of the tree before them.

“I used to sneak up here with my father. I haven’t been here in years.”

Romy didn’t need to ask more. The fate of his father was obvious from the sadness in his voice.

“I’m sorry,” she said. Her breath fogged in the cold. Did Earth only do extremely, stinking hot, or ice-cold? What about a nice, comfortable temperature in the middle?

He lifted a shoulder. “Don’t be. You quickly learn that’s the hazard of this life. The people around you fall down like flies.”

Was that why he wouldn’t let her in?

“What’s that?” She eyed the board in the tree.

The tips of his ears went slightly red. “Uh, that’s my tree hut. We didn’t have much to work with.”

No kidding. She moved across and took a closer look. There was a box wedged in the fork of two branches. Stretching up, she managed to snag it with two fingers and slid it to the edge of the ‘tree hut’.

Atlas was a silent presence behind her as she worked at the rusted lid.

Prying it open, she stared at the contents before raising her eyes to meet his.

* * *

She sucked the last of the juice off her fingers. Atlas watched her from where he lay sprawled on the frosty ground next to her. Turns out he had a secret blueberry patch here, too. She didn’t mind this secret so much.

It was a little cold to be doing this, but Romy didn’t hesitate to lay down beside him on the frosty ground after the last of the juice was gone. She shivered as the cold reached her through the thick jacket.

“What?” she uttered defensively, noticing he watched her in obvious amusement.

His tone was dry. “I take it you like blueberries?”

“They’re okay.” Romy looked at the sky and ignored his rumbling laughter. “I guess some people lick juice off their fingers, and some people keep rock collections in trees.”

Atlas rubbed his face on his shoulder. She suppressed a grin at his embarrassment.

“I collected them for years,” he finally said.

“I can tell,” she said seriously. “It’s a very prestigious collection.”

He lifted an arm to pull her to his side, humming for a brief moment. She rested her head on his shoulder. Not too bony. Perfect.

“I want to talk about us. I want to know if you still feel the same,” he said.

Whoa. Change of subject. “Uh, what?” She bit her lip.

He tightened his hold on her. “Before. In Jimboomba. I like to think we were becoming something. My feelings are the same. I have neither been with anyone else since you, nor held any interest in another. I want you.” He delivered his words simply, with a confidence that made the two years between them glaringly obvious.

A reassurance nearly escaped her, but she snagged it as it made to escape her lips.

She needed to be honest. Completely. “I need time to analyse everything.”

Romy winced at his sudden stillness. “That didn’t sound right. What I mean is, there are two of me arguing over every little detail right now.” She shook her head. “That sounds bonkers, doesn’t it?”

“Actually, given your situation I’d say it’s pretty normal,” he said with his half smile.

“Old Romy and New Romy need time to get their stuffing together, and I’m not saying no to you. When I say I need time, I mean it. I don’t feel capable of making a decision about anything at the moment.”

He made to interrupt, and she raised herself on an elbow. “I’ve been here two days. And I understand you’ve waited a long time. That’s . . . more touching than you know.” She met his grey eyes briefly before glancing back down. That anyone would wait that long for her seemed incredible. “But there is too much new. It’s hard to know what I feel about anything, or anyone. Half the time, I don’t know what the real me thinks, or if it’s someone else. Or if there is a real me and I’m not insane, and this is all a joke.” And whether I’ll still be sane in a month, she added silently.

Atlas tilted his hooded head back to rest on the white-covered ground. “I hear you.” He sighed. “If it is time you need, I’ll do my best to give that to you. I’ve spent fifteen months staring up at the stars wanting you; I guess I can wait a little while longer.” He tightened his grip on her.

Romy sucked in a breath. How should she respond to that?

He chuckled low at her sudden quiet. “I don’t want you to be in any doubt of where I’m at, Rosemary . . . and these are no-strings-attached hugs. Nothing more.”

She huffed away her embarrassment and tucked her chin in to the top of her jacket. “What happened when the Mandate caught me after Jimboomba?” she asked.

He tensed. “We realised you’d run back to the control room about five minutes after you left. I’m not sure if you remember me running back for you? I don’t think I’ve ever been angrier at someone in my life.”

“I did it to save you all from the Mandate.”

“I know, you were protecting your knot.”

“No, Atlas.” She shook her head. “I was trying to protect you as well. And Houston.”

His jaw clenched. “I realised my best chance of saving you was to get outside and get rid of the Mandate soldiers, so you’d let me back into the bunker. I caught up to the others and helped fight off the soldiers in our tunnel, but Elara was shot. Thanks to your help in the bunker, we made it out and the Amach craft I’d organised to meet us was there. I made the pilot circle back twice, trying to get close to you. It was impossible; there were too many of the Mandate’s forces flooding the area.” His voice turned rough. “I could see the soldiers shoving you into a truck. You looked up at one point. Right at me. With those clear, blue eyes. You didn’t look terrified.” He clenched his jaw. “Why didn’t you look terrified?”

He took a deep breath. “That memory has tortured me.”

Romy squeezed her eyes shut at the pain in his voice.

“We came back here. My cover as commander of Orbito Four was blown. We had to bring all of our infiltrates back down to Earth for risk they’d be interrogated. It took us ten years to gain control of that orbito. A lot of the people in Amach were angry for a long time about what I’d done for your knot. They still are, even if they’re smart enough to hide it.”

He’d risked everything for Knot 27.

For her.

“And what do you do here? Why was yours a day from hell?” she teased in an attempt to lighten the mood. She shivered, and he brought his other arm to encircle her.

Ten seconds passed before he answered. “I coordinate all the missions of our various bases around the world, working directly under my mother,” he said grudgingly.

He sounded like she’d asked to keep his favourite rock.

She frowned. Did he not want to tell her about his work? It sure sounded like it. Jeez, she didn’t need to know anything ‘top secret’, just what he did all day long. She felt like an intruder for asking one simple question.

Romy fumed and debated pulling away from his side to stomp back to Amach. She opened her mouth to ask him another question. Something along the lines of, ‘Why are you keeping things from me, you big jerk?’.

But he wasn’t even paying attention to her.

Atlas squinted at the night sky, utter confusion in his features. His eyes slowly widened in shock, and Romy tilted her head to see.

Orange light.

A ball of it.

A fiery mass tore through the inky night, a screaming beacon.

“Something’s falling,” Atlas murmured in a puzzled voice.

Not just something. Something big.

Something huge.

Romy clambered to her feet, craning her neck. “What is it?”

The object smashed through the atmosphere. Smaller pieces flew off the main body and pelted into the distance. It was massive. She couldn’t think of anything that big, except—

Realisation struck. “Atlas. . . ” she croaked.

He met her distress, grim-faced. He’d guessed what the falling object was, too.

A low moan tumbled from her lips as the horrible truth finally worked past the horror lodged in her throat.

Her voice shook.

“It’s Orbito Four.”

CHAPTER NINE

Blinking sleep away, Romy opened her eyes and stared at the concrete ceiling of the clinic.

At least, she tried to. Four faces hovered over her.

She screamed.

“Give her space,” Charlee said sharply.

Her knotmates skittered away from the bed, leaving Romy to her mini heart attack.

The clinic came into focus—the dim, crackling lights. The two microscopes at the far side of the room, and the series of wires and screens near the head of the bed.

Blood samples, she remembered, shifting with a sigh. Houston had called her back to take more. She had a headache the size of Africa. Would Houston be needing more samples every few days? She breathed thinly through the throbbing pain behind her ears.

Did someone hit her with a wrench?

Holding back a groan, she pushed herself up and blinked at her knotmates. They crept back to the bed, eyes round and fixed on her.

Why were they acting like that?”

“Am I speaking with Romy?” Elara asked loudly.

Who else would it be? “Yes?” Romy said in complete bewilderment.

They let out a collective sigh of relief. It wasn’t just them; Charlee looked like she was about to faint with relief. The doctor quickly grabbed a torch, flashing it in Romy’s eyes. “We didn’t know if you’d make it back.”

Romy froze, and the woman in the glass room flashed in her mind. “What do you mean?”

“They called us in here a few hours ago,” Elara said. “You were. . .” She shared a look with the other three, and the group came to some kind of silent agreement. “. . . sleep talking,” she finished. “Sleep shouting, more accurately.”

“I don’t remember anything,” Romy said, searching and coming up blank.

“Ro,” Deimos said, expression solemn. “It was bad. You weren’t yourself. You were saying things I’ve never heard you say in my life. You were crazy. I’m talking really—”

Thrym whacked Deimos, giving him a pointed glance.

The medi-tech picked up Romy’s rapid heartbeat. Blood pounded in her ears. “Crazy?” she croaked. “How crazy?” She put her hands to her temples.

She couldn’t remember a thing after Charlee gave her the anaesthesia. Her chest rose with shallow breaths.

“Crazy-crazy,” Phobos answered softly.

Romy shoved off the blankets and pushed away their reaching hands. She grabbed Charlee’s arm. “Why did that happen? That didn’t happen last time.”

If what they were saying was true, Feral Romy got out of the glass room last night.

Charlee looked behind her, face still white. “Dr Houston would be able to answer that question better than me.”

“Dr Houston ran to his little lab as soon as he had the blood samples,” withered Phobos. Deimos shot him a glare.

Romy knew how she must look right now: hair sticking up, clinic gown on, electrodes stuck all over her. She didn’t care. She had to know how Feral Romy got out. “Charlee.”

The doctor took in Romy’s expression and gave a curt nod. “We knew your old memory card was unstable. Our error was thinking the new card would be enough to prevent the old card from further deteriorating while we take blood samples.”

“I wasn’t crazy after Jimboomba though,” Romy countered. “I wasn’t myself, but I wasn’t insane.” She knew these tests were a bad idea. She should have trusted her gut instinct not to put the old card back in again.

Deimos interrupted. “I think it’s fair to say your old card is bonkers now.”

“Unstable,” Charlee scolded. “And while we had you under anaesthetic the old memory card appeared to override your new card.”

“How?” Romy cracked. “How does that happen?”

Her heart stuttered as panic rose up in her chest.

Elara slid into the space on her other side. “Come on, Ro. Deep breaths. We know this is scary, but you need to take a chill pill.”

Scary? Learning you’d turned into a feral beast overnight wasn’t scary. It filled Romy with so much terror she couldn’t form a single word.

Charlee shifted to crouch before her. “As soon as you began shouting those . . . uh, obscenities, we removed the card. We were worried the old card might have done permanent damage to your new card.”

“But I’m okay now?” Romy asked. She looked down at where she still clutched Charlee. Crescent-shaped nail marks were embedded in the doctor’s skin. She let go. “I’m me again?”

“You’re you again,” Charlee said firmly. She frowned over her shoulder.

Thrym spoke behind them, reminding Romy the boys were there. “What will happen if the memory card needs to go in again?”

Desperation filled her. No. It couldn’t go in again.

The machines began to whine once more.

Charlee stood and turned the machine off. “Stronger anaesthesia may prevent her outbursts.”

“Will her new card hold up?” Phobos croaked.

Charlee met her eyes. “Let’s hope Dr Houston solves the riddle to the space soldiers’ insanity trigger soon and we don’t need to find out.”

* * *

“Have they found out what happened to Orbito Four yet?” Romy asked sleepily.

Her knotmates had come to visit her in the clinic again before their night mission.

“Nope,” Deimos said tightly. Phobos peered at him, but gave Romy a quick smile when he caught her looking.

“I didn’t even think about what would happen to it after we were evacuated,” Romy admitted. “I guess it was only a matter of time until the Critamal saw it was empty.”

Thrym’s blue eyes darkened. “I thought the orbito commanders would split the force evenly amongst the eight stations—at least until they’d harvested a few lots of cadets.”

“Doesn’t matter what we thought,” Deimos said. “Orbito Four is gone and there is a whopping hole in our defence against the poachers.”

Elara shivered. “I hope no one was on board when it crashed. I overheard Atlas saying he sent a party to check the ruins, but the Mandate were already there. He couldn’t get eyes on anything.”

“Atlas hasn’t been to see me yet,” Romy said quietly. “I mean, I know he’s been busy since the orbito went down. . . .” She trailed off.

Elara snorted. “That isn’t why.”

“What do you mean?” Romy glanced at the others. Thrym’s face was bright red. Deimos and Phobos looked torn between amusement and anger.

“Crazy Romy was very complimentary of Atlas last night.” Elara snickered. “In the end, Charlee asked him to leave to preserve the dignity of your un-crazy self.”

“You’re lying.” Romy’s stomach plummeted. “Please don’t joke around.”

“She’s not. You said things to the commander that made me want to lock you away until you’re ninety,” Phobos said, folding his muscled arms. “I’d also like to add that Crazy Romy wasn’t very kind to our fertile Captain Thrym.”

Deimos didn’t bother to conceal his grin.

Elara groaned. “You had hundreds of words to choose from, and you decided on ‘fertile’.”

Romy tuned out. She’d been out of it all day since hearing Feral Romy got out of the glass room. It didn’t help that the others referred to Feral Romy as Crazy Romy, like the monster in the glass room was some kind of cute old lady who occasionally acted out. She guessed it was Knot 27’s way of downplaying the incident to protect her feelings, but Romy needed to know for sure. “I need to speak to Ellie,” she said. “The rest of you, out.”

The others shared a look.

“As you command, mother hen.” Phobos broke the silence, saluting her.

They watched as Thrym all but sprinted for the door. Deimos followed, still grinning.

At least someone was happy. She scowled.

“We need to leave in ten minutes,” Phobos reminded Elara, pausing in the doorway. She made a shooing gesture and he blew her a kiss.

The door to the clinic swung shut.

“What happened?” Romy demanded, rolling on her side.

Elara already faced Romy on the bed. Five centimetres separated their noses. “I told you what happened.”

It was like being back on Orbito Four, unable to remember a thing. Feeling that black hole in her chest. Except this time, she didn’t know how to fill that hole. “I need to know how crazy I was, Ellie. It’s freaking me out.”

“Worse than yellow poacher brains?”

“Worse than yellow poacher brains,” Romy said solemnly.

“I was scared for you, Ro,” Elara said after a pause. “You were all sex one minute, all violence the next. And you had this unhinged smile on your face.”

A rushing sound filled Romy’s ears. Elara had just described Feral Romy perfectly.

The image of Feral Romy tapping at her watch and smiling rose up unbidden. The smile was definitely unhinged. Terror snaked up her spine.

Romy rolled onto her back and stared at the clinic ceiling.

Last night, she’d turned into Feral Romy and had no memory of it.

What if the card had to go in again?

What if she didn’t come back next time?

A tear ran from the corner of her eye to the pillow.

“Ellie,” she whispered hoarsely. “I think I’m losing my mind.”

* * *

“I’m getting the impression you’re happy to be leaving the clinic,” Charlee said from the door.

Romy looked around. She was already dressed in her navy coveralls, and the bed was neatly made. She’d been waiting for a doctor to discharge her for twenty minutes. “Maybe a little,” she admitted. “Too much time to think in here.”

Too much time to wonder if Feral Romy was going to take over for good.

Charlee’s expression softened. “I can understand that.”

Romy liked Charlee; she wondered if the Irish woman could be a friend. She’d never really needed friends with her knotmates around. But they were often away from Amach, and seeing as Houston was only interested in her blood, Atlas was trying to save the world, and the violet-eyed Nancy from Jimboomba hated her space guts, maybe it would be a good thing to try and make other friends. “Where are you from, Charlee?”

Her amber eyes sparkled. “Born and raised in Cork. Just transferred here in preparation for Orbito Four research. In preparation for you, actually.”

Romy shook her head faintly. “It’s strange to be wanted because your brain holds some miraculous cure for space soldier insanity. I feel like I should be able to fly or something.”

Charlee’s eyes grew serious. “You are unique, Romy. You’re like hen’s teeth. Don’t you forget that.”

“I’m like what?”

“Hen’s teeth.”

“Does a hen have teeth?”

Charlee gave her a strange look. “That’s what I’m saying. You’re rare.”

Was that an Irish thing? Oddly, Romy did feel a little better.

“Which is kind of ironic,” Charlee said. “Because you’re the mother hen in your knot.”

“Phobos called me that yesterday. What does it mean?”

Charlee looked surprised. “Why, it’s your knot composition.”

Charlee studied Romy’s nonplussed expression. “Not ringing a bell?”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Each knot is based on a particular model. The earliest models were based off a family. You, the peacemaker, are the mother hen. Thrym, the father, is the disciplinary presence. Deimos, Elara and Phobos are the children, in a sense. The researchers found this model formed strong links of loyalty within a knot.”

Horror filled her. “I’m not actually their mother, though?”

Charlee laughed again. “No, not genetically. That would make it hard for you guys to repopulate Earth when the time came.”

“Repopulate?” Romy said weakly.

“Yes. If humankind was destroyed, then you would fulfil the original mission and wait up in space until you could return. Upon landing, your hormone suppressors would be inactivated to trigger puberty.”

Romy winced.

“For lack of a politer way of saying this, you would all reproduce. In your older model, you would pair with Thrym, while Elara would pick from Phobos or Deimos. The remaining knot member would reproduce with a member of another knot, thus ensuring a level of randomness to the genetic pool.”

The words after ‘pair with Thrym’ faded into nothing. The words repeated like a chant in her head.

She stared at the cold, concrete floor of the clinic, her insides stirring uncomfortably. “That could explain a few things.”

“Such as?”

“Such as new feelings for Thrym that weren’t there last time I was on Earth.” Romy winced. “Old Romy sees Thrym as a brother, but New Romy is suddenly . . . noticing him.”

Charlee’s eyes rounded. “Ah. Right. That certainly explains the abuse you were hurling at Thrym when the old memory card was in.” Delicate lines appeared on her forehead. “I may have an explanation for that.”

Romy’s stomach twisted. “Please tell me it’s good news for a change.”

“You know we pulled your files from the medi-tech up on the orbitos?” She waited for Romy’s nod. “While you were in the cultivation tanks, the researchers did their best to . . . uh. . . .”

Romy took pity on her. “Atlas told me they tried to get rid of my ‘rebellious’ qualities.”

Charlee gave her an apologetic smile. “Well, yes. They did their best to reset you to what they deem an ‘ideal soldier’. Part of your ideal space soldier design is to reproduce with your intended partner.”

She gasped. “That’s why I’m suddenly noticing Thrym’s—” Abs. “—him?” Romy finished, coughing slightly.

Charlee squinted as she thought. “If you weren’t before,” she dipped her head, “then yes. I believe so.”

“Is the mummy-daddy thing why he liked me back in Jimboomba?”

“I’d say so. I mean, Elara and Phobos ended up together. We know you’re a little different from the others, and you don’t do everything your brain is told. It doesn’t surprise me you didn’t return his feelings before.”

Romy stared at her hands and felt something within herself relax. That made her feel a whole lot better about the Thrym thing. Now she knew not to give those feelings any space to grow. It was just more of the Mandate’s brainwashing. He was her brother. She’d just need to keep New Romy in check until she settled down.

“. . . There aren’t many of the older models left,” Charlee was saying whimsically. “Sad in a way. The newer models aren’t built on the same values.”

“How old are we?” Romy asked, interest piqued. She’d always wondered.

“You would’ve been harvested right at the start. We actually have your knot history. I can try to get it for you?”

“Thank you, I’d like that.”

The doctor stood and handed Romy a bottled water. “Your readings are stable. As soon as you’re up to it, you are fine to leave.” She grabbed her clipboard, leaving Romy alone once more.

Romy swung her feet down and guzzled the water.

She’d always harboured a feeling that she’d known her knot over and over through the ages. Warmth suffused through her chest. Knot 27 must have been recycled together at least five times. Knowing that was real and not another seed planted in her brain by the Mandate meant a lot.

Mother hen. Romy giggled. How ridiculous.

Bitch, you better believe it.

. . . Romy froze, searching the room. “Hello?” she called out.

No answer came. The room was empty.

Who said that?

Heart thumping, Romy sat stiffly on the bed.

And turned her attention inwards.

CHAPTER TEN

Sweat poured down her face.

Her body.

Could knees and elbows sweat? Because Romy’s were.

Tina’s padded hand caught her in the ear. Whack. Romy glared at her, but swung her arm back and attempted a punchy-thing—she couldn’t remember which one—at Tina’s face.

It didn’t make it.

Tina rolled her eyes. “Break.”

Romy collapsed to the ground, panting. Phobos edged in while the bundle of joy had her back turned.

“Can knees sweat?” Phobos asked, scanning Romy’s bare legs.

Romy gasped. “Apparently.”

“I’ve never seen Tina work someone so hard.”

“I get the feeling it’s personal.” Especially the constant blows to her throbbing head.

“How’s the head?” he asked, watching her face.

She shrugged and clambered to her feet. She’d barely slept since hearing the voice in the clinic.

“Bitch, you better believe it.”

There hadn’t been anyone else in the room at the time . . . but if that was the case, it would mean the voice came from her head. And if Romy admitted Feral Romy was speaking to her, she wouldn’t stop screaming.

If that voice came from her mind, it meant Feral Romy was breaking out of the glass room even when the old memory card was out.

It meant Feral Romy was here already.

Which was why Romy couldn’t admit it. She just had to keep on going and somehow shut the voice out.

. . . Maybe she’d chalk the whole bizarre occurrence to Elara’s constant schmack talk. It had to be rubbing off on her.

“Romy?” Phobos gave her a concerned look.

“I’m fine,” she forced out. “Just a headache.”

Tina’s stopwatch beeped, a sound Romy was already finely attuned to.

Phobos edged off the mat and back to his recruits as Tina approached, her arms raised.

“High kicks. Two minutes. Quick.”

Two minutes felt like ten minutes when Tina was involved.

Tina scowled at whatever she saw on Romy’s face. Bony-weary fatigue, if Romy had to guess.

“Unless, you’d rather give up?” Tina tilted her head at Romy. “It’s only a matter of time, after all.”

“Why do you say things like that?” Romy grunted. She kicked high—meant to, anyway. It got to the hip. Higher than a low kick. That had to mean something. Though Tina’s hips sat a lot closer to the ground than most.

“Because it’s true.”

“You think it’s true,” Romy puffed.

For once, Tina didn’t reply, though the woman’s pause wasn’t contemplative; it was more like Romy’s comment bounced off without registering, so concrete were her beliefs in Romy’s ineptitude.

The ho can get in line.

Romy gasped and lost her rhythm.

Tina’s pad hit her full force. She fell to one knee, blood rushing in her ears.

“What was that?” Tina demanded.

Romy’s gaze dropped to the ground.

It happened again. Feral Romy spoke.

Tina whacked her with the pad again.

Romy forced her attention upward. “What?” she said numbly.

“What was that?” the auburn-haired woman demanded again.

Romy took thin breaths and peeked to each side. There wasn’t anyone else around, and she was positive Tina hadn’t spoken. The words came from her mind. That was twice now.

She stared at her gloved hands and remembered Tina had spoken. “Sorry. Lost attention.”

Tina rolled her eyes. “Perfect. You really are crazy.”

It was the wrong thing to say, though Tina couldn’t possibly know that. “You know I’m undergoing tests with the doctors,” Romy snapped, pushing to her feet.

Tina’s eyebrows rose. “Sure, blame that. Doesn’t change the fact that if push comes to shove, you’ll have to fight as you are, distracted and all.”

The sparks ate at the fuse. “I understand that.”

“Do you? Because all I’m seeing is ‘poor me’.”

Poor me. Was she serious? Romy exploded. “Why do you hate me so much?” She stepped closer, towering over the woman.

“I don’t hate you.” Tina didn’t back down, but she did look surprised. “I hate your attitude. I hate that these people have waited for hope for so long, and all they get is someone with no backbone.”

Romy saw red. With a yell, she threw herself at the smaller woman. She grinned as her gloved fist connected with Tina’s face.

The grin was gone a moment later as Tina flipped her onto her back and drove a fist into her gut. Her green eyes flared, and she drew back her fist to return the favour to Romy’s face.

A hand caught her arm. “Not the head, Tina.”

Phobos stood to the side of the panting pair, holding Tina back. “Not the head,” he repeated.

Not the head? Romy sputtered. How about none of her?

Tina jerked her head, still straddling Romy. Her lips curved in disgust. “How sweet. Someone fighting your battles for you again.”

Blackness stormed within her and Romy collected it all and put it into the filthiest glare she could muster. Tina rolled to her feet in a graceful movement.

“It’s a shame, really. Crazy Romy was someone these people could’ve respected.”

Romy stared in confusion for a moment before horror dawned. “You saw me sleep talking, too?” But that didn’t seem right. No one could possibly want Feral Romy as a role model.

If that was what Tina was looking for from her, then the woman was right—Romy would never have the killer instinct. She’d never be a fighter.

Tina snorted. “Is that what they’re calling that? Little girl, that wasn’t sleep talking. I’ve never heard dirty talking like that in my life. I actually picked up a few things.”

Tina sauntered off, collecting various high fives as she went. Romy rubbed her stomach, still feeling the imprint of tiny knuckles there. “Phobos?”

Phobos surveyed the gathered crowd. “It’s more embarrassing Tina beat you because she’s half your size,” he mused.

He backtracked at Romy’s look. “Sorry, thinking out loud.”

“Who else was in the room when I was sleep talking?”

He ticked the names off on his fingers. “Atlas, Tina, our knot, and all the doctors. Gwenyth. Most of her command team. That’s pretty much it. Oh. And the kitchen staff. They were up starting brekkie.”

She groaned.

Phobos rubbed her back. “Don’t worry. Atlas took everyone out except our knot, Charlee and Houston when he left.”

That didn’t make it better at all. Romy scowled at her knotmate.

“Plus side,” he hurried on. “Your combat training looks to be over. Jump on the treadmill for ten kilometres, yeah?”

Romy accepted his hand up. “Yeah,” she muttered.

Phobos glanced around and spoke from the corner of his mouth. “Even though Tina beat you, I bet everyone is thinking you wear those shorts better.”

She rolled her eyes, a reluctant smile curving her lips.

“And that your hair is shinier,” he added in afterthought. “She probably has . . . split ends and stuff, and everyone can see them from a mile away.”

Romy laughed and shoved him, turning for the treadmill with a shake of her head.

* * *

“Yooohooo.”

Romy jumped, hitting her head on an exposed pipe in the passage. She whirled. “Comets, Houston. You scared me.” Her head was broken enough without adding concussion to the list.

“You’re in Ireland, little alien. The correct term would be ‘Jaysus, you put the heart crossways in me’.”

Damn him for saying something interesting. “Really?”

“Really, really.” He waggled his eyebrows, though she noticed dark smudges circled under each of his eyes. He seemed more unkempt than ever. It appeared as though he’d slept in his lab coat all week. His curly brown hair was in desperate need of shampoo.

Romy was on a search for a bear fossil Elara said was somewhere in the cave system of Amach. She’d started searching after training that morning, and so far, hadn’t had any luck.

It was possible Romy had no idea where she was in the Amach.

But she knew for sure she wasn’t close to the clinic, which meant Houston had purposely come to seek her out.

She waited for him to ask if she’d let them take more blood samples.

He glanced up and down the empty passage. “What are you doing?”

He was going to try to sweeten her up.

Her answer would be the same. She wasn’t going to let him put in the old memory card again. If the blood samples hadn’t worked the last two times, there wasn’t any reason to do it again. Obviously, Romy’s brain didn’t hold the answer to the insanity trigger. If the Amach wanted a bigger army, they’d need to find a different way to remove the insanity trigger from the space soldiers.

“Searching for the bear fossil,” Romy said shortly.

He pushed his glasses up his nose. “I see. Well, you are both on the wrong floor, and the wrong side of the Mess.”

She glared at him.

He sighed. “Romy, do you know why I chose the name Houston when I became a doctor?”

Curious, she said, “No. Why?”

“I did it so sick people could come up to me and say, ‘Houston, we have a problem’.”

Romy didn’t bat a lash. “That is a terrible, terrible joke.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“I laugh at everything. If I’m not laughing, it’s because the joke hasn’t got a speck of funny in it.” She scrunched her nose. “Was there even a point?”

“Strangely, yes. My point is that I became a doctor because I’m exceptionally intelligent and it seemed like a good thing as anything to do. I have now practised medicine for nearly fifteen years, yet the only true challenge to my intelligence rests in research. In discovery to answers to pathologies deemed incurable.”

She leaned back against the pipes, crossing her arms. “You’re smart. I get it.”

The doctor began to pace in front of her. “Yes. But I want you to understand that solving this insanity trigger is the biggest challenge I’ve faced, or will ever face. For ten years, I have studied it. I even went up to Orbito Four as an infiltrator two years after Atlas took over command there, just to learn more. During those seven years, I discovered cures to a number of genetic irregularities and auto-immune diseases, but the answer to this insanity cure has always eluded me.” He stopped in front of her. “I need to solve this.”

Romy noted the gleam in his eyes. “You can’t solve the puzzle and it annoys you.”

He looked taken aback by her response. “Unless I find this answer, the space soldiers will never be able to protect themselves against the Mandate. The Mandate will be able to shoot one member of each knot and within seconds the rest of the knot will go insane. The soldiers will never be able to fight back without losing their minds. Do you understand me?”

“Yes,” Romy said between gritted teeth. “But you don’t care about that. You just said you only care about solving the puzzle.”

“That’s not true. I want to help them.” His eyes shifted.

Romy didn’t answer. She didn’t believe him for a second. Houston wanted to leave a legacy.

In Jimboomba, she’d always been unsure of whether Houston was a good person or not. It was hard to see past his black humour sometimes and separate when he was joking and when he was simply being a callous jerk.

Houston had walked a grey line since she’d met him.

Turned out that grey line erred more on the side of black than white.

“I’m disappointed in you,” he said suddenly. “You’re being selfish.”

“And I think you’re just trying another angle because your first guilt trip didn’t work on me.” Romy waited and sighed when he stayed where he was. He wasn’t going to go away without a fight. “Houston,” she said plainly, “I’m losing my mind. I’m turning into a monster. Every time you put the old card in, I get a little closer to becoming that monster completely.”

He feigned surprise. “How do you know that?”

Romy shook her head in disgust. “Don’t give me that crud. You know it just as well as I do.”

At least he had the courtesy to look ashamed.

“After the last insertion, I’ve been hearing voices in my head. And the comments are crazy—nothing that would come from my mouth, usually. The monster is taking over me.”

He opened his mouth and Romy hushed him with a snap of her fingers. “Excuse me if I don’t feel like having the old card put in again for you to take more blood samples that aren’t working,” she snarled. “That’s right. That. Are. Not. Working.”

Houston laughed.

Whatever she’d expected, it wasn’t laughter.

He had a feverish edge to his eyes that made Romy want to turn tail and run. He wasn’t just interested in this, she suddenly realised. He was obsessed. When she looked again, his eyes were back to normal. She hesitated, wondering if she’d imagined it.

“I’m going to share a bit of top-secret stuff with you, little alien.”

That name was seriously starting to get old.

“The blood samples are working.”

She dropped her arms to her sides, mouth dry.

“You heard me right. They’re working.”

“Why haven’t you told anyone?” she stuttered.

He scoffed. “You think this place doesn’t have Mandate spies? We take in new recruits all the time. Only Gwenyth knows, and if you speak to her about this she’ll have my head for telling you. But seeing as you’re having a breakdown, you’ve forced my hand.”

Romy checked the passage again and stepped closer.

“You remember how I said when your old memory card is in, your nanos react to the killing memory?”

She nodded.

“Well, each time we put the old memory card in, your blood samples have changed. Your nanos are getting more effective at neutralising the insanity trigger each time.”

“I don’t understand.”

He pushed his glasses up again. “In a normal space soldier, the nanos rule the brain. In you, it is the opposite. Your brain is trying to tell your nanos what to do. That’s why, when you killed the officer in Jimboomba, you were able to stop the insanity trigger going off.”

She caught on. “Because the insanity is set off by the nanos.”

“Exactly. And your brain wasn’t having a bar of that, so it slammed on the brakes.”

Romy frowned. “But killing the officer still affected me.”

Houston began to pace again. “Your brain was battling to wrest control from your nanos. That is where it gets interesting. Each time I insert the old card, your brain overrides your nanos a little bit more, and a little bit more.” His voice rose in excitement.

She wasn’t so sure this boded well for her.

Romy guessed the more control her brain got over her nanos, the closer she was sliding toward insanity. “We want my brain to have complete control over my nanos then?” she asked.

He dipped his head once. Slowly. “I’m certain once this happens, we will have the cure to the insanity trigger. Already, the tests I’ve carried out with your blood samples from the last two card insertions are proving my theory.”

Romy closed her eyes as a wave of doom washed over her.

The closer Feral Romy became to controlling her, the more effective the insanity cure.

This whole thing had been a bad idea from the start.

A part of her knew she was right to fear Feral Romy, and now she understood why. “To get the cure, the old card has to completely override my new card, doesn’t it?”

Houston pushed up his glasses one final time.

“Yes,” he said.

“Am I going to lose my mind?”

“I suspect so.”

* * *

Houston whirled around the clinic like a hurricane. His team of younger doctors stood well out of his way, used to his flurry. Charlee, the closest of them to Romy’s position on the bed, gave her a reassuring smile.

She turned her head to Charlee. “You remember what I said?”

Charlee dodged Houston to stand at the foot of her bed. “Your knot leaves on mission in a few hours. I have instructed Commander Atlas he is to stay away from the clinic. No one is allowed in here except for Houston, myself, and two other assistant doctors.”

Houston cackled. “Should’ve seen Atlas’s face when she told him he had to stay away. Hilarious. Pretty sure he’s taking it out on everyone within reach.”

Her request was for two reasons. One, apparently she had a filthy mouth when Feral Romy was out and she didn’t want anyone to see her like that. Two, if Romy didn’t come back from the brink of insanity this time, she didn’t want anyone she cared about to see. She didn’t even want Charlee here, but there was no way to ask her to leave without raising suspicions.

Charlee smiled at Romy. “We will put you under a stronger anaesthesia this time. It might help with the . . . sleep talking.”

Houston snorted. Charlee glanced toward him and something akin to consternation passed over her face.

“Dr Houston will be taking the usual blood samples while the cards are in,” she explained. “We will leave the card in for several hours, and take a few samples throughout.”

It didn’t matter how long the card was in. Not now that Romy had decided to see this through. Before, when she thought Houston’s tests were failing, it was so easy to say no. But they were working. How could she turn away from saving thousands of lives? Feral Romy was already forcing herself through the glass walls anyway; the damage was partially done. Not only would doing this protect space soldiers on the orbitos from losing their minds, but it would make her knot less vulnerable, too.

Romy would always protect them.

She swallowed back her terror and tried to summon strength for what lay ahead. Houston gave her a look, and flicked off the sound button on the heart monitor.

Probably a good idea.

Charlee squeezed her hand. “You’re going to be fine, Romy. We’ll see you on the other side.”

Houston tapped at the screen behind her.

Immediately, Charlee’s outline became fuzzy, and Romy’s blinks became slower and heavier.

Until they weren’t blinks at all.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“We’re not supposed to leave her unattended while both memory cards are in,” a voice rang out nervously.

Someone clucked their tongue. “Houston wants these samples as soon as possible, and I can’t carry them all. Don’t be a wimp; Dr Houston leaves her in here all the time.”

“But Charlee said—”

“Charlee is an assistant just the same as us. If I were you, I’d worry about pissing off the top dog. Now, are you coming or not?”

With a grumble, the second person crossed to the door and the room fell silent.

Romy swung her legs off the bed and sat.

She wiped at her mouth with a grunt. Drooling in her sleep. Well, if anyone could pull that off, it’d be her.

Where were those stupid coveralls?

Romy ripped open the cupboard and saw them folded inside. That Charlee was a good bitch.

She picked up the coveralls and the black T-shirt for underneath, purring against the fabric as she thought of Atlas. That man had muscles for days. She slipped the tight black T-shirt over her head and pulled on the coveralls. Not all the way up—she tied the arms in a knot around her hips, leaving the T-shirt exposed.

Much better.

The shoes, she’d be leaving behind. Romy wouldn’t be caught dead in their elastic dorkiness. A heavy pair of black boots would be perfect. All the better to stomp the Mandate with.

Ripping off an electrode still sticking to her bicep, she padded to the clinic door, barefoot.

Romy made her way to the elevators, pulling faces at all she passed. A few of them didn’t want to play, and sneered at her. She gave them the middle-finger salute, chuckling at their shock. Served them right, snobby fuckers.

The little geek scurried toward her as she reached the elevator. What was his name? Romy searched her memory. Tim.

“Hey, Tim.”

“It’s Tyson,” he said, face flushing. He glanced down at his device. “Aren’t you supposed to be at the clinic?”

“Dr Legacy is all done.” She picked something from her teeth and eyed his screen. “What’s that you got there?”

He hurried to hide the screen. “Just some information on the Critamal. I like to research them in my spare time.”

With a snort, she pushed off the wall. “You’re cracked, Tim. Laters.”

The elevator doors dinged open. Full. She just couldn’t catch a break.

“Get out,” she called loudly. “Special insanity trigger business to attend to.” The people inside looked at each other.

Romy pushed into the elevator. “I’m contagious.”

Three seconds later, she pushed the number three and whistled as the now-empty elevator whirred to life. That worked.

The doors squeaked open and she skipped down the hall to the hangar. Romy bared her teeth in a grin. This was going to be fun. But she really wanted those black boots.

An office sat to her left. She entered it.

“Hey, Tim,” she called to the man there. “Got any spare boots?”

He jumped and wheeled about in his chair. “Tim?” he asked. “My name is Barry.”

Romy gave him a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry about that.”

“Right,” he said slowly. He lifted an arm. “Boots and supplies are on the other side.”

Romy gave him a double thumbs-up and jogged across the hangar, calling out greetings as she did. Her pleasantries went largely ignored, but she let the people off, seeing they were busy.

She squealed upon entering the supply room, swooping upon a pair of heavy, black boots. “I always dreamed of having boots like these,” she told another woman happily.

The woman skirted away. The manners in this establishment were shocking.

Cargo pants were folded in neat stacks on the other side. She reached for the pair on top. “Wrong size, wrong size.” She threw them over her shoulder until she got to the bottom. “Perfect.” Romy pulled them on and nabbed a heavy jacket hanging in a locker with the name ‘Tina’ on the front.

Her eyes alighted on the cabinets across from her. “Weapons,” she read, loudly. She bared her teeth again.

She pouted at the heavy padlock on it. Locked. Spying a fire extinguisher, Romy brought the red canister high above her head and crashed it down three times.

Open!

Her lips formed an ‘O’ at what was arranged in neat rows inside.

Guns. No. Way.

Nos ways.

She slung two belts of ammo in a cross over her torso and preened. They made her breasts look amazing. She hoped someone noticed.

She picked up a shotgun and a fancy-schmanchy rifle. AK-208, she read on the side. “AK-I don’t care as long as you fire,” she said to the empty room, cackling loudly. “Let’s hunt!”

A man stopped in his tracks as she strutted out. His mouth fell open at the sight of her. She looked him up and down. “Not bad,” she purred. “You free later?”

He bobbed his head.

She pursed her lips in mock thought. “Don’t suppose you know where the plane taking the missions to Dublin are?”

He darted his eyes to her ammunition-outlined chest. Knew they looked amazing.

He lifted an arm and pointed to the far side. “The Bays,” he whispered.

“Thanks. . . ?”

“Zane.”

She was already moving away. “Thanks, Tim.”

Romy swung the shotgun over her shoulder. Bay 7, Bay 6, Bay 5. . . .

She caught sight of her knot loading supplies into the back compartment of the craft in Bay 2. She waved her shotgun around in celebration.

The plane was a smaller craft than the one sexy Atlas saved her in, Romy noted. There were too many people around it. She’d have to go for the one next door. Romy waited until Thrym jogged after the others to get more supplies. Her brother tended to be a little uptight—probably best to avoid him.

Whistling, she strode to the craft in Bay 3. She twisted the handle to the co-pilot side of the cockpit and clambered onto the black leather seat.

Someone had just cleaned the cabin by the citrus smell of it. So clean. Romy kicked her boots on top of the controls.

More equipment was being loaded behind her. Romy ignored the fuss, checking over her shiny guns. Elara was ribbing Phobos about something. She chuckled quietly under her breath—those two were just the cutest.

The pilot door swung open.

Tina climbed in.

“Need a ladder?” Romy asked.

Tina’s head jerked up. Her eyes rounded as she took in Romy’s reclined position and the array of ammunition and guns on her lap.

A beat went by.

“You got a problem with all this goodness?” Romy asked in a hard voice, gesturing to her outfit. Did the pipsqueak think everyone could pull off this getup?

Tina glanced over her shoulder and back at Romy. Romy watched as her eyes changed from shock, to speculation. Her stare went on and on, until—with a curved smile, she said, “Well, this could be the perfect way to show Gwenyth what I mean.”

She tiled her head and regarded Romy. “Screw it. I’m going to do it. Wait here.”

Tina left the cockpit and returned a few minutes later, her fist clenched tightly around something.

“What do you have in your hand?” Romy asked.

“A camera,” Tina huffed, slipping her headset on. “I have big plans for this footage.”

Romy hummed, losing interest now that she knew the answer to the secret. “Sweet. Let’s go explode some Mandate heads.”

Tina snorted beside her. “I’m going to get in so much shit.”

Romy’s door opened, and a man reached for the handle to hoist himself in. He halted when he saw the seat was filled.

“Tim, be a darl and jump in the back,” Romy said.

Tina gurgled behind her. “Gerald, change of plans. I’m keeping this one up here with me. So . . . ‘be a darl and jump in the back’.”

Gerald squinted. “Isn’t that—?”

“Nope,” Tina said loudly. “In the back. You’re wasting my time.”

Romy repeated the words, cataloguing the phrase for later use.

Moments later, the back of the vessel was sealed and Tina began to flick switches. Romy shoved on her earmuffs and surveyed the controls above her. Airspeed tape, altitude, rate-of-climb—that was a new one.

Overall the craft was fairly similar to the battlers.

“Nose-wheel steering?” she asked Tina.

“Lets us taxi the craft.”

“Gotcha.” Romy flicked the switch and several others and checked the surrounding screens. Tina held the radio to her mouth. “Bay 3 to control, permission to depart?”

“Roger that, Bay 3,” came a crackled response.

Tina guided the craft through the middle of the hangar. Two planes already waited down the far end. Tina lined the craft on the other side of these. More crafts lined up behind them. From the far end, the crafts began their take-off, hurtling down the wide passage to a circle of light in the distance.

Tina pushed down on the throttle and Romy heard the answering roar of the engine.

Smiling to herself, Romy looked out the window at the craft next to them. Elara was flying it.

Romy waved frantically to her knotmate, just catching her eye before their craft began to hurtle down the runway. Romy giggled and faced the front. Ellie had looked totally surprised.

“How long to Dublin?” she asked.

Tina’s eyes slid to hers. “You realise you’re going to get in just as much shit as I am.”

Romy’s eyes widened innocently. “I am? But they put in the old memory card and Crazy Romy just took over. I couldn’t do anything about it.” Her cheeks puffed out. She tried holding her lips together. Nope. It was just too funny. Romy cracked into peals of laughter, clutching her belly.

Tina shouted over the roar of the engine. “Now that’s what I’m talking about.”

* * *

Romy pressed her face to the window as Tina landed the craft. The scenery whipped past. The same as where they’d come from: thick green bush—aside from the strip of cleared runway amidst the trees.

Finally.

The trip took a full twenty minutes. Romy had bounced in her seat for the last ten of it.

The engine wound down with a groan and Romy released her door, leaping down, a gun in each hand. “Wooo!” She propped her shotgun over her shoulder and followed Tina over to a larger group.

Tina began deploying the teams one by one, obviously in charge of the ground operation. Did she have orders from sexy Atlas?

Knot 27 sprinted toward her. N’aaaw.

“Hey,” she called out, waving her shotgun.

They skidded to a halt in front of her. Each seemed a little speechless.

“Romy?” Thrym asked. “What are you doing here?” He reached a hand to her face.

“Whoa, whoa,” Romy said. “That’s close enough, bro.”

“Bro?” he said quizzically.

He took a step closer, and Elara clamped a hand on his arm, her eyes round. “Oh-em-gee, I think it’s Crazy Romy,” she hushed. “She was calling you bro the other day, too.”

Comprehension dawned in Thrym’s eyes. He turned to her. “How did you get out?”

Romy slapped the barrel of her gun into her left hand, rifle slung across her back. “I got up and walked out.”

Thrym pushed past her. “No,” he said to Tina. “She’s not coming.”

Tina went head-to-head with Thrym—or her head to his navel. “She’s coming. That’s an order. It’s only a recon mission. It’ll be fine. We’ll keep an eye on her.”

Romy leaned around Thrym and held out her knuckles. Tina pumped her fist against them with a chuckle.

“It’s not safe for her to be here,” Thrym said angrily.

Tina’s eyes glittered. “Are you questioning orders, Captain?”

Thrym and the others exchanged long glances before Thrym forced himself to answer. “No, Vice-commander. But can I know why you’ve allowed her to come, considering she may be the answer to ending this war?”

“You can. And I’d say wait and see.” Tina jerked her head at Romy. ““Come on, you’re with me and team three.”

“No can do,” Romy replied. “I need to go with my knot.”

Their eyes met for a long time in a battle of wills. Romy won.

“Fine.” Tina chewed on the word and spat it out. She snapped orders behind her. “Captain Cecelia, you’re in charge of team three. I’m going with team two.” Tina eyed Thrym. “I’m in charge now.”

He acknowledged her superiority with a silent jerk of his head.

The teams who had arrived earlier were backing vehicles out of a shed just within the tree line.

Soon these teams were driving away from the airstrip.

The vehicles had huge wheels. Romy anticipated a bumpy ride.

. . . She wondered if Elara would let her drive.

The rest of her knot crowded around Tina and Romy hurried to do the same.

“You’ve already been debriefed,” the woman started. “We are entering the city. Recon only.” The last was directed at Deimos, who returned Tina’s glare with a defiant look. “A member of the Mandate will be arriving in the next few weeks—we suspect Saanvi, though our infiltrates in Egypt said the Mandate hasn’t disclosed information to anyone outside of themselves.”

“Why are they coming here?” Romy asked.

“That’s what we are hoping to find out. The seven Mandate members very rarely leave their headquarters in Cairo. They’ve mobilised in the last two weeks, since—”

“We evacuated Orbito Four,” Phobos supplied.

Tina dipped her head. “What concerns us is ten of our other bases have sent in reports of the same thing happening in their areas. Each of the cities being visited are close to our largest bases. Maybe coincidence, but probably not. We need to find out why they’re targeting these areas,” Tina finished.

She strode to the last remaining vehicle.

The others followed.

Tina forfeited the driver’s seat to Elara, taking the passenger seat. Romy took the back seat and Thrym jumped in beside her.

Romy piped up. “How do we find out, then? Get in and rough a few people up?” She grinned at Thrym. He didn’t seem impressed. Faintly disturbed, more like it. Buzzkill.

“Ten teams will surround and enter the city. We have agents posed as guards around the Dublin city perimeter. We get in, find out what we can, and we get out.”

“Doesn’t sound very exciting,” Romy grumbled.

Deimos spun to face her in the seat in front. “We’ve been doing the same thing for the last week and haven’t heard a thing. One of our teams went undercover to a ball held by the idiot mayor and couldn’t get anything either. Whatever is happening, they’re under strict orders.”

“Usually the mayor has lips as loose as Houston,” Phobos grumbled.

Deimos snorted. “Houston can keep a secret. Trust me.”

“You only think that because you’re so set on kissing his butt.”

“As opposed to being jealous about him flirting with your sister, who is also your girlfriend?” Deimos shot back.

Elara stiffened in the front seat. Phobos’s jaw tightened to the point of cracking and he turned to stare out the window.

Romy widened her eyes at Thrym, dramatically mouthing, “Awkward.”

His eyes crinkled in laughter, and Romy punched him in the arm.

The smile fell from his face.

“We’ll look after her,” Elara was whispering at the front. “But I don’t think Romy should have a gun.”

“Would you like to try and take it off me, sis?” Romy asked.

Phobos glared at her. She stuck her tongue out.

They went over a bump and Romy clutched her weapons. Elara didn’t think she should have a gun. Of all the ridiculous things. . . . She shook her head.

“. . . strictly recon only,” Tina was repeating.

Romy stared out the window toward the gleaming white city in the distance. Her lips curved in a smile.

Strictly recon.

Now that just didn’t seem like her style.

CHAPTER TWELVE

White clothes smacked Romy in the face. She bared her teeth at Elara, who took a quick step back. “You need to change into those now that we’re inside.”

Romy held up the white fur-lined garments.

And dropped them on the ground in the alley. “Nots my style. And why didn’t we change before coming in?”

“White gets dirty fast,” Deimos answered. He picked up her clothes, brushing the garments off and passed them to Romy. “Everyone wears white. We need to fit in.” He was already dressed in white trousers and a tunic that buttoned off to one side.

“You look stupid,” she said. “Did you know that?”

Deimos snickered quietly. “We are going into a place full of stupid.”

They’d walked for about an hour through thick trees after the Amach sentry let them through the walls. Romy eyed their surroundings in distaste. White, white, and more white. Unnatural. That’s what this place was; like someone was stroking her hair up instead of down.

White. White like the orbitos. The houses were white spheres. They stacked on top of each other high into the sky, like neighbouring columns of bubbles. Some kind of transportation system ran between the house bubbles—she watched as a white tram glided silently through circular arches far above her head.

All in all, the place could do with a splash of colour.

Romy craned her neck as an opening appeared in the wall of a bubble house above their heads. A person stepped out onto a shimmering grey disc.

Into one hundred metres of thin air.

That took some balls.

The shimmering disc carried the person to the waiting tram. Soon, the tram was gliding away again.

“Cool,” Romy said. “Gotta respect that shit.”

Elara muffled a laugh and Thrym shot her a glare. “What?” Elara said defensively. “Crazy Romy is funny.”

“Romy is funny,” Thrym said in annoyance, eyeing the person who he apparently didn’t consider to be Romy. “She is going to get us killed.”

The guy was family, but Romy was worried he might not have a brain. She better keep an extra eye out for him.

Romy drew her T-shirt overhead and dropped her cargos. She slid into the white monstrosities. The fur lining was a nice touch. She spoke without pausing in dressing. “You better find another place to look if you value your eyes, bro.”

From the corner of her eye, she watched Thrym spin away.

Elara darted her eyes between them. “This is better than movie night.”

Tina strode up and held out a bag. Romy pushed her gear into it, and went to sling the ammo over her chest again. “Nuh-uh. Can’t take that,” Tina said. “No one has weapons here. You should’ve brought a gun you could hide, like the rest of us.”

“You’re stripping away all my street cred,” Romy complained, passing over the weapons.

“Yeah, yeah.” The woman fished in her pocket and drew out a small, black device.

“Is that the camera you went and got?” Romy asked. Tina pinned it to Romy’s front. “Sure is,” she said. “And guess what? You get to wear it.” She smiled wolfishly.

“Wow, thanks,” Romy’s eyes widened. “This is finally getting cool.”

Tina smirked. “In the city, there isn’t such a thing as cool. Everyone shares; everyone has the same opportunity. Everyone is nice.”

“That’s what disturbs me most.” Phobos shivered. “The nice part.”

Deimos spat his words. “The whole fucking thing disturbs me. The city dwellers know what’s really happening. They know the settlements are out there and don’t get the same access to resources and education. The settlements work their asses off and the people here flitter from cooking class to yoga to pottery lessons without a thought in their airless brain. Wilfully blind, I’d call it.” He breathed heavily. “The cities cater to humankind’s biggest flaw.”

Romy looked around the others. They shifted, avoiding the splinters of self-righteous belief in Deimos’s green eyes. “What’s that?”

“Humans possess an inherent need to be better than those around them.” His voice was monotonic, as though reciting a speech he’d heard. “It is how we emerged from amongst the animal species to rule the world. It was the reason we killed that same world. It is why there will always be inequality amongst us—because there is something deep down that propels humans to compare and compete.”

He turned away from Romy, shoulders tense. “‘Humanity’ is the most ironic word in existence.”

Romy pursed her lips and thought about it. “I agree.”

“You do?” He turned hopeful eyes on her.

She nodded. “But it doesn’t do good to whine about it. All you can do is act the way you want others to.”

He leaned in, so the others couldn’t hear. “And do you? Think we’re doing something about it? Don’t you think we could be doing more?”

Romy whispered in his ear. “I’ve only been on the job for three hours. Give me a week.”

Deimos smirked and pulled back.

Tina reappeared, back from stashing their gear. “Let’s move. Stick to the buildings until we get closer to the city. No one really walks this far out of the centre. If we’re separated, rendezvous at this location in,” she studied her watch, “three hours. We need to be back at Amach before daybreak so it’s easier to evade the drones.”

Drones. Badass.

She fell into step behind Elara, hugging the bubble houses on the right side of the road.

The dirtiest part of the city was the ground, a smudged charcoal. Romy supposed the city dwellers didn’t have much cause to see it with the overhead tram taking them directly from their houses. Maybe if they came down here more often, they’d remember the world could be dirty, too.

Romy asked, “Where are we, anyway?”

“About five hundred metres from the city centre,” Elara answered.

“Our target is a sky bar,” Tina’s voice murmured. “Atlas gave me coordinates.”

That better be the only thing he gave her. “Why that place?” Romy asked.

“City dwellers love to gossip. When they drink, they gossip even more.” Tina checked her watch. “Next left.”

As the ground turned white and more city dwellers began to appear on the road, their group left the safety of the buildings and ambled casually down the middle of the street, mimicking everyone else.

It appealed to Romy, hiding in the open. Renegades. Not afraid to show it.

They stopped in front of a door and Phobos guided a card over a small panel.

“Annnnd, we’re drunk,” Tina instructed as they entered the building. “Posh city voices, everyone.” She giggled loudly and slapped Thrym on the chest. “My carbonara turned out just as creamy as yours.”

Thrym clutched his chest in mock hurt. He winked at a random man. “Do you think I should tell her it needed more oregano?”

Polite laughter rang toward them. A group of city dwellers stood in the middle of a shimmering cylinder down the far end of the hall.

Romy watched the others closely and copied them, stepping into the middle of the shimmer. It gave the slightest dip as she did so. It was like the disc she’d seen the person step onto earlier. A large one. Awesome.

As soon as Phobos stepped on, the grey disc began to move upward.

Up, up.

Romy tapped her foot as the climb became boring.

A woman frowned at her, staring with consternation at some black marks visible on the side of her white shoes from the grungy outlying roads.

“How dooo you doooo?” Romy asked her.

The woman blinked and faced forward.

Doors retracted in front of them to reveal a murmuring mass of the neatest people Romy had ever seen—and she’d been on the damn orbitos. Low, round tables were scattered throughout, and small groups of three to four city dwellers clustered on cushion seats around them. The convex windows of the sky bar displayed Dublin in 360 degrees.

A bar sat in the middle.

No one stood behind the bench taking orders and passing out drinks, unlike the food queues in Amach. Rather, the occupants of the room got up and poured the beverages themselves, carefully measuring out the liquid from clear bottles into cocktail glasses.

Their group split into pairs. Tina snagged Romy’s arm and pulled her along, whispering, “Stick with me. Don’t say anything stupid or I’ll cut up your boots.”

“I know where to find more.”

Tina’s eyes slid to her as they glided to the bar. “Fucking up in here will cost your knot their lives.”

“Keep your hair on, firelocks. I’ll be a good little Romy,” she said, then narrowed her eyes. “Who you don’t even like, can I just point out.”

The response was dry. “At least she behaves.”

They slid onto two tall seats surrounding the bar island, and Tina poured them drinks with practised hands.

Deimos leaned casually against the bar a minute later. “Seems we came on a good night.”

Tina pretended to take a sip of her drink. Romy reached forward and slurped hers back, wiping her mouth. She waved her fingers at a gawking man and turned away.

“There’s a city gathering at 7:30 p.m.”

Romy glanced at Tina’s white watch. 6:59 p.m.

“You think the Mandate is coming tonight?” Tina hissed. Deimos gave her a look that told her what an idiotic comment that was. “Can you think of any other reason for a city gathering?”

“I can’t,” Romy said helpfully. Tina rubbed her forehead.

The display on Tina’s watch flicked to 7:00 p.m.

The occupants of the room stood as one, Tina and Romy a beat behind everyone else. Deimos slowly straightened.

An excited buzz filled the room as the 360-degree convex windows began to open, retracting into the ceiling.

People were forming into lines around the—now windowless—perimeter of the sky bar.

Romy walked slowly to join a line, raising her eyebrows as the person at the front stepped out into thin air.

Not thin air, she corrected herself.

The queues filtered out onto the shimmering discs she’d seen earlier.

She craned to look around the sky bar. At least ten of the discs were whipping between the bar and a tram about fifty metres away from the bar, back and forth, carrying one person at a time.

Looked like everyone was loading onto the tram.

Romy tuned in to the people talking around her.

“It has to be a Mandate member,” someone whispered excitedly. “Why else would they call a city gathering?”

Somehow Romy didn’t think Deimos would appreciate how similar he’d sounded to the city dwellers.

Romy rounded her eyes and ducked her head to face the whispering pair. “Which one do you think it will be?”

One of the middle-aged women hesitated before the need to gossip overwhelmed her. “I hope it’s Tony,” she gushed. The older one—a blonde woman on the other side of youth—bobbed her head frantically. “He’s my favourite, too.”

“With a wife,” the other reminded her. The two gave dainty giggles that told Romy neither considered this a barrier.

The line before Romy was shortening.

She looked across to the next line a few metres to the right and saw Elara and Phobos in whispered conversation. Phobos’s face was chalk white as he approached the front of their queue. Romy whistled as she reached the front of her queue and studied the sheer drop. That was a whole heap of kasplat if she screwed up.

Emptied of its load, the shimmering disc zipped back from the tram and came to float by her feet.

It was about a metre by a metre.

Damn thing didn’t even have safety rails.

Romy sniffed and leaped from the sky bar with two feet.

She landed on the disc.

It had seemed weird that people weren’t thrown off the discs, but she understood their lack of fear as soon as she felt the sensation underfoot. The disc rocked beneath her, automatically counterbalancing every light twitch of her body.

“I gotta get one of these.”

The disc tilted and surged toward the tram. She was leaning forward, but in no danger of falling.

Awesome.

The ride ended too quickly.

Romy jumped into the tram and was joined by Tina thirty seconds later.

“That was insane,” Romy whispered harshly in her ear.

Phobos stumbled toward them in a green-faced daze, prodded by Elara.

Deimos was next, and Romy spotted Thrym’s dark frame ahead. He gave them a small nod and continued chatting to his neighbour. Probably about creamy carbonara with oregano.

The tram doors closed once the last of the sky bar city dwellers were inside, and they began gliding forward. Romy caught sight of other trams one hundred metres to each side. There were more in the distance, too. All were converging to a point.

“They’re taking us to the city centre,” Tina whispered.

“Didn’t we just come from there?” Romy asked.

Tina glared at her.

The tram began a controlled descent, and Romy studied the crowd swelling below through the window. With hardly a jar, the tram touched down.

“Stick together,” Tina whispered.

Their team weaved their way through the gathered audience. Thousands were here. More people than she’d seen in one place in her life. Easily ten times the population of Amach.

“To the back,” Tina ordered. Romy took the lead, noting the ground here was sparkling white, not the grubby black colour of the ground where they’d started. The illusion of perfection was maintained at the heart of the city. One hundred metres out, not so much—probably wasn’t in the city budget.

“This will do,” Tina said, stopping in the back third of the audience. “Keep alert, everyone.”

Ten minutes passed before a voice rippled across the sea of people. “Take less than you need.”

“Take less than you need,” the thousands murmured reverently.

“Take as much as you want,” Romy said pleasantly. An elbow dug into her side.

“We have an honoured guest amongst us tonight, dear city of Dublin.”

Romy assumed this was the mayor. He was just an indistinct human shape from back here. He sounded like he was talking with a mouth full of food.

Her eyes were drawn to a large screen, which magnified the mayor standing on stage. The man possessed a full head of grey hair. Not tired grey, but the luscious light grey of a person who seemed twenty years younger than they actually were.

“You are eager for Mandate Saavin to grace the stage, so I won’t delay any longer.” This elicited a chuckling response from the masses.

Mandate Saavin. The name meant nothing to her, but it clearly meant something to Deimos. His eyes narrowed on the screen.

A woman walked onto the stage with measured steps. Her posture was perfect, as were her hair and her outfit. The white she wore seemed whiter somehow, like she was purer than pure. The classically cut outfit gleamed against her brown skin and sleek black hair; the shining garment cut in severe lines and buttoned off to the left side of the Mandate’s torso.

“Dublin,” she started in a clipped voice.

That alone was enough to send the city’s occupants into a screaming mess. Romy eyed them askance. “Why are they so. . . ?” She gestured at two men who gripped each other’s forearms to remain upright.

“They’ve been brainwashed their whole lives. They believe wholeheartedly in the Mandate’s ability to keep humanity alive,” Thrym whispered in her ear. “And why wouldn’t you, if you’d lived in perfection and had never known anything else?” He gestured around them.

Romy pressed. “Can’t the people sense it?” She felt like clawing up the smooth metal walls in this place.

“Did you sense it when you were on the orbitos?”

Romy remained mute. Good point.

Thrym bent his head closer. “The Mandate cares about humankind’s survival. They are bent on it, and bent by it. In their minds, maintaining peace amongst the human population by enslaving four thousand space soldiers makes perfect sense. Space soldiers die every day in a war that the Mandate could end at any time, but because of this war nearly one billion humans live in harmony. The Mandate will justify any level of cruelty for what they deem the greater good.”

“You cannot deny their tactics are . . . efficient,” Deimos mused. “Maybe the Amach need to adopt a more aggressive approach, instead of this ‘we’ll make them listen’ bullshit.”

Thrym’s blue eyes settled on him, a perplexed wrinkle between his brows. “You sound like Houston.”

“So?”

“Commander-general Gwenyth has made her views on unnecessary violence abundantly clear to Houston. Many times. I thought you’d know better than to think you can get rid of one evil by becoming evil yourself.”

“I thought you hated the Mandate, Dei.” Romy wiped her nose on her white sleeve. “You told me you wanted to kill them all in Jimboomba.”

Thrym watched their green-eyed knotmate closely.

Deimos returned the look defiantly. His voice was cold. “I will.”

“Dublin,” Mandate Saavin repeated once the crowd had settled. “We, the strongest of humanity and of our kind, remain. The most powerful force in this galaxy attempted to wipe us from existence, and with the weakest of us, it succeeded. After one hundred and fifty-two years, we continue to show the sun we are in control of this planet.”

A man was wiping tears from his face.

“Yet a greater threat now faces us. A threat from within—”

“Wuh-oh,” Elara muttered.

“—the Critamal continue to place a daily threat on our survival.”

“Space soldiers,” some of the crowd were hushing to each other.

Mandate Saavin smiled tightly. “Our space soldiers put themselves on the line every second of the day to ensure your safety. All we can do is send our thoughts of hope, and work together in harmony, so that one day we attain our dearest wish: for the war to end. For our beloved soldiers to return to safety, into the peaceful and secure world we have built for them on Earth.”

What a crock of shit. Sounded nice ‘til you knew the ‘beloved’ soldiers were enslaved—kind of fell apart after that.

A hot weight began to unfurl in Romy’s stomach.

Deimos vibrated beside her. “Of all of them, I hate Saavin the most.”

She sent him a curious glance.

“For the first time in our history, we face a threat from within,” Saavin continued.

“She talkin’ about modern history? Because I’m pretty sure there’s been a few wars and rebellions over the years,” Elara said in a low voice. “I mean, we’re in Ireland.”

“A small group have risen from the rural settlements, sludge unfit for society. In recent weeks, they have mounted attacks on the peaceful settlements and even on our beloved soldiers in the sky.”

Elara muttered. “Nothing like a bit of propaganda.”

“Many of you were witness to the great meteor falling from the sky four nights ago. Since this time, the Mandate has been collecting information on the attack—”

Attack. The word spread through the crowd like wildfire, the sparks catching at the smallest hint of fear.

“—What we found tells us this small group are not as lacking in direction as we’d hoped. Four nights ago, a group called Amach shot Orbito Four out of the sky. And because of that, for the first time in one hundred and fifty-two years, the Critamal have an advantage.”

Their team’s collective gasp was lost amongst the gasps from the crowd. Both of them gasped in outrage, but for very different reasons.

“They’re blaming that on us?” Deimos hissed. Thrym gripped his arm and gave him a warning glare.

“Do they not realise a force large enough to blow up the station and aimed from Earth would send the orbito further into space?” Phobos said to no one in particular.

“We know it was the Critamal,” said Tina, tightly. “The report came through from one of our orbito agents just before we left. The poachers found the gap.”

“Shit,” swore Phobos. “The Mandate are lying again?”

Tina nodded. “What better way to turn one billion humans against the Amach?”

Now there was more than one person vibrating with fury. Romy didn’t look at anyone else, but her thoughts turned from annoyed to murderous in a split second.

The Mandate were masters of twisted trickery. Romy remembered Gwenyth’s words. “The Mandate wants to keep us hidden. That is our power over them.”

Well, the Mandate had called her bluff.

It was there—in Mandate Saavin’s eyes. Emptiness. Blackness.

How long had it taken for each Mandate member to gradually justify these unspeakable acts to preserve humankind? The Mandate treated these humans like a herd of cows. Ignorance wasn’t survival.

“I would now like to pass your attention over to Mandate Tony,” Saavin announced.

The huge screens either side of the stage flickered to life and a man with wavy hair and beady eyes came into view.

“Tony!”

The mindless admiration made her sick. A space station of their beloved soldiers had crashed and burned, and the city dwellers were fawning over this guy.

Yet, Romy could see how they might underestimate the threat of the black-shelled aliens. The Critamal mother ship sat seven hundred kilometres into space from here. On Earth, seven hundred kilometres was a foreign place with foreign people and foreign cultures. How could these people really know what the Critamal were like, and how could they feel the terror the aliens instilled daily in the space soldiers? It would be like Romy imagining the smell of trees and the feel of sand underfoot from space.

She knew one thing: if a Critamal were standing here right now, none of them would be screaming for ‘Tony’—they’d be screaming for their lives.

“I come to you, the last remainder of humankind, with bad tidings,” the man, Tony, said sorrowfully. His face minimised to a square in the top left corner. The rest of the screen filled with a close-up of a giant ball of writhing flames.

Romy gritted her teeth. It was footage of Orbito Four crashing.

Her eyes didn’t stray from the falling orbito. The roaring impact would have pulverised anyone on board. She owed it to those soldiers killed to watch as the space station collided with the ocean.

“Five hundred soldiers,” Mandate Tony said hoarsely.

She narrowed her eyes. That was a big, fat porkie. The Amach took five hundred of us from Orbito Four. There was no way there were five hundred on board when it went down.

“A minute of silence for our fallen protectors,” the man continued.

Oddly, Romy and the others obliged. Theirs were the only true thoughts of mourning in the entire city.

“Five hundred soldiers needlessly killed by the group that calls themselves Amach. They scuttle in the caving systems like vermin,” the man said flatly. “Their main headquarters is not far from New Limerick, in what used to be the Ailwee Caves.” He waited for the panicked cries to subside. “With the breach in our defences against the Critamal, we are at greater risk than ever of the aliens invading Earth than any other point in our history. Not only that, we now face a battle of our own on the ground.”

Romy watched the screen as the last pieces of the orbito sank below the ocean’s surface. Gone forever.

Mandate Tony’s face filled the screen once more.

“The Mandate and our forces have gathered what information they can since the tragic attack. We will be neutralising the Amach as quickly as possible. We urge you to report any suspicious activity immediately. More than that, we urge you to pull together. To help one another, and not let the few destroy the foundations we have worked for so long to erect.” He broke off as if with strong emotion.

Report your neighbour, but support your neighbour. Nice.

When he looked up, it was as if he stared directly into each person’s eyes. Which was impossible . . . right? But icy eyes met hers and held on as if they saw her secrets; her rebellious, murderous thoughts.

Romy was feeling decidedly violent. More than a little. Her foot shuffled forward of its own accord, inching in the direction of Mandate Saavin, who stood with her hands clasped paying dutiful attention to the mandate on the screen.

Snapping Saavin’s elegant neck would make Romy feel better. She fixed on the impassive woman as the screens clicked back to focus on the Dublin stage. One mandate less in the world would make their job a lot easier . . . around one-seventh easier by her calculations.

“Ro,” Thrym whispered, grabbing her arm. “Snap out of it.”

Shaking her arm to dislodge him, she slid another foot forward over the sparkling white ground. “Rosemary,” he said sharply.

Trance broken, Romy scowled at him. “Call me that again and I’ll knock your block off.”

Thrym gasped and let go.

Their exchange had gained some attention.

Her eyes locked with a young female. The female’s eyes widened for a moment before switching to look behind her. Turning, she followed the girl’s line of sight . . . all the way to a guard. Wonderful.

Romy watched the younger girl and saw the moment she decided to tell the guard about the crazy woman she’d just seen. Little biatch. “We’re about to be reported,” Romy whispered from the corner of her mouth.

Tina cursed savagely. “Great. Let’s just slip out of a crowd fixed on watching a screen. That won’t look suspicious at all.”

“Yes, it will.” Romy frowned.

Tina glared at her. “Time to go. Slowly does it.”

Phobos and Elara broke off first, pushing back through the crowd. Romy heard Elara giggle quietly. “I need the women’s facilities. I hope I don’t miss too much of Tony.” The city dwellers she was near to gave her sympathetic looks, and returned their attention to the front.

The rest of them began to step through the audience, pace sedate.

The young woman reached the guard and turned back to point at where their team had been. She frowned and scanned the crowd. The crowd of white, white, and more white. Suck on that, biatch!

Hours seemed to pass as their team side-stepped and stopped, focusing on the screen with a rapt expression until the people around them settled.

Side-step and stare.

Side-step and stare.

Finally, they reached Elara and Phobos at the back.

“Thrym, you first,” Tina muttered. “We’re only a few blocks from our gear.” She tilted her watch toward him, and he studied it briefly before consulting his own. “Got it,” he said. He waited until the crowd burst into applause and slipped away.

“Deimos, take Romy with you,” Tina muttered.

Romy scanned the area. A guard was moving down the side of the crowd, surveying the gathering, one hand on his rifle. She clamped down on Deimos’s wrist as he made to move. “Wait.”

They turned to the screen, faces dropping into suitably sloppy expressions.

The guard turned away.

“Let’s go,” Deimos whispered.

Romy stuck to the walls, focusing on the ground, which quickly turned from sparkling white to grey and then charcoal black.

Deimos pulled her into an alley.

She, Thrym, and Deimos crouched in silence for a few minutes before Elara and Phobos arrived, and then Tina. Tina disappeared to get their gear.

Romy snuck back to the corner and glanced back down to the city centre. “Hey guys, we really could’ve watched the show from here. Funny, huh?”

They ignored her. Everyone seemed a bit tense.

Romy strolled back and caught her Amach clothes from Tina. She tore off the white clothes and pulled on her cargos and black T-shirt.

They waited, some more patiently than others, as Elara finished changing.

Romy peeked around the corner again.

The crowd still stood captivated by the clipped words of Saavin. A menacing growl slipped between Romy’s teeth as she stared at the dot in the distance. What she’d give to have Saavin right in front of her.

“Did you just growl?” Deimos asked.

“Yup. Did I pull it off?” She remembered something. “Hey, why do you hate that particular mandate the most?”

Deimos passed along her rifle. Romy checked the rifle’s magazine and snapped it back into place—just in case someone had messed with her baby.

“Each of the mandates is in charge of a unit on Earth: Environment, Sustainability, Change, Scale, Place, Interconnection.”

“So?” Romy said, peeking around the corner again.

“Mandate Saavin is in charge of the seventh. She governs Space.”

Ice chilled Romy’s insides.

She could have reached inside and snapped the brittle icicles in half. The furious cold burned everywhere it touched, spreading to her fingertips, to the crown of her head, filling her with blistering, jagged rage.

A smile curved her lips an instant before she bared her teeth and raised the butt of her rifle to rest against her shoulder. She pointed the barrel toward the city centre, adjusting the magnifier slightly, then tilted her head to the right.

“Is that so?” she whispered.

And pulled the trigger.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Deimos jerked her back before she could see if her aim was true.

The others stared at her in horror.

Tina was the first to break the stupor. “Run!”

Romy clicked the safety on and slung the rifle over her shoulder, sprinting behind the others as Tina wove them between the blocks.

Sirens wailed. Panicked screams echoed from the city centre. Romy’s breath settled into a steady beat, rifle bumping on her back.

Drats! She’d left her shotgun behind.

“Romy, hurry,” panted Elara, terror etched in her hazel eyes.

Rosemary huffed and picked up her pace.

They re-entered the tree line after twenty minutes.

“We can’t go back through the same sentry point. They’ll know Pete is our guy,” Thrym said, legs pumping hard.

Tina gave him a nod, and glanced at her watch before altering their course.

Eventually, Tina gestured for them to slow.

Elara was panting up a storm.

“You really need to exercise more,” Romy said. Elara extended her middle finger in reply.

“Romy.” Tina jerked her head. “You want to do the honours, since you landed us in this shit-heap?”

Romy followed her gesture, peering up at a guard illuminated in the moonlight. He leaned over the balcony of the sentry tower looking out from Dublin City. Just a random man, showing up for work. Probably had a family.

“Nah,” she replied. “That wouldn’t be right.”

Tina gave her a murderous glare and drew her own gun.

Crack, she fired.

In slow motion, the guard toppled from his post.

“Served him right, working for the Mandate,” Deimos said loudly.

Ruthless.

Romy assessed her knotmate. Deimos seemed a little angry at life today. She needed to put in some solid time with him later.

“Quick,” Thrym hissed.

They surged forward to the high barrier. Romy grinned. It was really, really high. So much for going this way.

Tina threw off her weapons and grabbed four bowl-shaped objects from her pack. Fitting these to her hands and feet, she set off up the wall with a series of popping sounds.

Three minutes later, the barrier began to lift.

“That’s it?” Romy asked.

Elara shrugged. “Bit hard to justify heavy security when you’ve told the entire world they’re safe. Though I imagine that’s about to change.”

“Did I get Saavin?” she asked Deimos.

His eyes narrowed to slits. “I bloody hope so.”

Tina rejoined them, and the group set off.

“Why is no one after us?” Elara gasped.

“Oh, they are,” Tina said. She pointed up through the trees. Drones zipped overhead. “They know exactly where we are. The only advantage we have is that the drones can’t do anything about it, and their manpower—”

“—is occupied trying to control the panic of an entire city,” Thrym finished.

Romy smiled happily. “Then it all worked out.”

Deimos winked at her, but the others ignored her comment. Thrym was whispering to a furious Tina. She caught the end.

“. . . you’re the one who brought her.”

It took them longer to arrive back at the bulky, black vehicle, but less time to make it back to the airstrip with Elara’s foot planted on the accelerator.

Most of the teams were already there.

“Two teams are missing,” Tina muttered.

The captains approached her at a run, confused and pumped full of adrenaline. “Who shot Saavin?”

Tina cut them off. “Prepare for take-off immediately. The Mandate’s forces won’t be far behind. Did anyone touch base with teams six and nine?” she shouted.

“There’s one of them.” A soldier pointed. Dim lights bobbed in the distance, hurtling toward them.

“Thank god. All right. Move, people, move. I need all teams in the air in the next five minutes.” Tina dismissed the other captains.

The first of the crafts took off not long after.

The sole vehicle broke through the trees and screeched to a halt in front of them.

The team clambered out wearily.

“Team nine, did you see team six on your way here?” Tina asked tersely.

“No, ma’am.” The captain saluted.

“Park the vehicle and check the shed is clear of personnel before you take off. I’m blowing this joint. We’re not leaving anything behind for the Mandate.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Five minutes later team nine was airborne.

Only their group remained—and the missing team.

Engines roared in the distance through the trees. Not just one of them. Many.

“That’s the Mandate’s soldiers,” Elara whispered. Phobos pulled her close.

“Shit. We can’t wait for the last team,” Tina said. Her eyes fixed to Romy. “We have to get her back.”

“What if the other team is still out there?” Thrym turned in the direction of the city. His eyes didn’t leave the tree line for a moment, obviously hoping the missing team would spring from the forest like little leprechauns. Silly Thrym—it wasn’t a blood moon.

“Póg mo thóin,” Romy said experimentally. Nothing happened. Clearly, you needed the other things on Atlas’s list to make the leprechauns appear.

Tina tore her eyes from the trees as the engines grew louder. “Load up.”

“No.” Thrym whirled to face her.

Tina grabbed him by the scruff and pulled him down to her eye level. Romy chuckled at the sight of Thrym stooped and maintaining his best burning stare. “Now, soldier. Or you can consider your days as captain over. I’ve got no time for a hot-headed leader.”

Romy didn’t think Tina wanted someone she could walk all over either.

Elara and Phobos sprinted off to one of the two remaining crafts. Deimos ran to park their vehicle.

The craft whirred to life behind Romy.

With a frustrated yell at the distant trees where yellow lights were beginning to flicker, Thrym grabbed Romy’s hand and pulled her to the craft, which now taxied in the middle of the grass runway.

Thrym ran up the back ramp, and Romy ditched him, slipping around the side into the co-pilot seat. Elara didn’t acknowledge her, stabbing furiously at the controls.

Romy whirled to stare out the window as an explosion rocked through the air. The shed. She watched as a whole vehicle was propelled into the air along with hundreds of burning wood missiles.

“Go, go, go,” Tina shouted, diving into the back of the craft.

Romy turned to Elara. “Just like old times, huh?”

Elara didn’t reply, checking the screens and gauges before her. Romy shoved the headset on.

A bullet ricocheted off their side, whizzing away with a high-pitched whine.

“Ready for take-off?” Elara’s voice crackled.

A shouted “Just go” came from the cabin behind them.

“Best be off, I think,” Romy said.

Elara pushed down on the throttle and the craft hurtled down the tiny runway, shots pinging them from all sides.

Romy stared at the height of the trees at the end of the runway and then up at the altitude gauge above her head.

* * *

Elara guided their craft back through the wide tunnel and into Bay 3 without incident. Romy’s knotmate was a damn good pilot and she told Elara so.

“Oh look, a welcoming party,” Romy sang.

The other teams were there, plus Atlas and his mother. Even Houston and Charlee.

“You are in so much poop,” Elara muttered.

Romy scanned Gwenyth’s stormy face. “Looks like she stood in it.”

Elara snickered. “Don’t worry, Tina will take the heat for letting you go.”

The comment bothered Romy.

With a heavy sigh, Elara killed the engine.

Romy’s door swung open. She smiled cheerfully at the person on the other side.

“Hi Atlas,” she said brightly.

Black singlets and cargo pants had never looked so good. She was going to lick him when she got the chance.

“Out. Now.” He forced the words through clamped lips.

Elara leaned forward. “Uh, Atlas. You should probably know that—”

Atlas’s turbulent gaze snapped to her knotmate. “Your whole team is suspended until further notice.”

Romy slid out. “Whoa, slow down, sex-on-legs. None of my knot were in on it. They left from Bay 2, I left from Bay 3, so calm your farm.”

He scrutinised her closely as he stripped her of the rifle and ammo she stole. He passed these behind him to a minion without looking, and gripped her around the bicep.

His eyes dragged back to Elara.

“Yup,” Elara popped. “Now you got it.”

Atlas stared at Romy, thunderclouds in tow.

“I’m hungry.” She rubbed her stomach. “Got any chocolate cake?”

He led her around the craft. She shook free of him, slapping his hands away when he reached for her again. Atlas ran both hands through his hair and pulled the jet-black locks, cursing.

“I could do that for you.” She sidled next to him. “Pull your hair,” she clarified when he raised a brow.

Too angry to laugh. Tough crowd.

Houston stomped up to her next. His face was pale. Unwinding the stethoscope from his neck, he checked her vitals and her eyes. “Who am I speaking to?” he asked.

“The hottest piece of arse in Amach.”

There was a muffled giggle behind her.

“Nothing is funny about this, Elara,” Thrym said hotly. “A team is missing, and we nearly lost more.”

The giggling stopped.

Atlas lifted his head to Tina slowly. Dangerously. “What happened?”

Romy clicked her fingers in front of his face. “I hid in the back. Behind a box. They didn’t find me until Dublin. Firelocks had to take me then.”

Tina pushed her aside. “Good try,” she said drily. “I took her on mission.”

“I was already in the passenger seat,” Romy said with a roll of her eyes. “You hardly stole me. I walked here from the clinic. Got a couple of guns. Some new pants. Then I hopped into the craft in Bay 3. If you’re going to blame anyone, it should be the Tims I met on the way. They helped me.”

Atlas wasn’t listening to her. The muscles in his neck were tense, and incredulous disbelief was etched into every hard plane of his face as he looked at Tina. “You knew she was there? And you took her?” He breathed heavily, trying to compose himself.

And lost.

“Are you fucking insane?” he roared at Tina.

Romy raised a hand. “I am.”

His mother strode forward. She surveyed Romy with disgust.

“Hey, Gwen.” Romy moved her fingers in a tinkling wave.

The Amach leader ignored her. “Save it for the debrief room, Tina. You have royally screwed up. Captain Thrym, please join us. The rest of you. . . .” She studied the nine bedraggled teams crowded around. “Congratulations on making it back in one piece. You are dismissed.”

* * *

Romy threw herself into a chair and spun around in circles. When the chair slowed, she kicked her boots up on the table and placed her hands behind her head.

The room was tumultuous when she entered, but the noise tapered away to nothing as they stared at her. What? Did she have a booger on her face?

Atlas sat next to her, simmering. Tina and Thrym sat on her other side.

Romy’s eyes fell on Atlas’s mother. She was pretty pissed off from the looks of it—all pacey and crackly.

“Report,” Gwenyth snapped.

Tina stood, weary circles beneath each eye. “At 1700 hours, team three left with soldier Rosemary in tow.”

“You knew soldier Rosemary was there?”

“I did,” Tina replied coolly.

Atlas drew to his feet. “Why?”

“I believed it would be a simple recon mission. That morning I’d discussed the idea of shooting footage out in the field with you, Gwenyth. When I found Romy in the cockpit, I decided to use the opportunity. I believed doing so would help boost spirits in Amach.”

“You took our best chance of finding the cure to the space soldiers’ insanity into a walled city,” Houston said quietly. His lips were white with fury.

Huh. Romy wouldn’t have picked him as someone who got quiet when they were angry, and she knew Dr Legacy would be hopping mad right now.

He breathed through thin nostrils. “You took our only chance of winning this war into a walled city.” Angry was an understatement, perhaps. Houston was angrier than anyone else in the room.

Creepy.

Tina scoffed. “Not like you’ve found anything worth using, Doc. How many years have you worked on this thing? A decade?”

Houston’s faced twisted in a savage scowl. “You—”

Tina spoke over him. “I was thinking of the Amach when I took her on mission. The morale in here stinks worse than my gym socks.”

“You took Rosemary out against orders,” Atlas said, expression impassive. He stalked closer to Tina, nearly within strangling distance.

“I had no orders regarding Romy,” she replied calmly.

“Only an idiot would need that spelled out for them. Should I spell it out for you now, Tina?”

“Atlas,” Gwenyth said sharply.

He struggled for control, grey eyes snapping furiously. “I want her stripped of command.”

“Done,” she replied.

Tina shrugged. “It went balls-up, I admit, but you’ll be thanking me soon. Good luck finding someone who can do the job of vice-commander half as well as me.”

Romy chuckled. “That’s the spirit. You know your own worth.”

Gwenyth ground her teeth, audibly before saying, “Captain Thrym. Report.”

Thrym gave Tina a quick glance and stood. His recount was detailed and precise, recited in an impersonal tone.

Romy clapped at the end.

Gwenyth fisted her hands in agitation where she stood down the end of the long table. “Yes, but who shot Mandate Saavin?”

Romy leaned forward. “Did she die?”

The leader raised a brow. “Hard to recover from a bullet between the eyes.”

Romy rested back in satisfaction, smirking. What should she tell people to call her? One-shot Ro . . . Romy the crack shot. . . .

Thrym cleared his throat. “Rosemary killed her.”

“What?” Atlas shouted.

All eyes landed on her.

Romy glared at Thrym. “Don’t call me Rosemary, weirdo.”

Gwenyth stuttered. “She did it?”

Romy snorted. “Yes, Gwen,” she mocked. “I did. Don’t give me that ‘my steak isn’t cooked right’ shit.”

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

Romy placed her booted feet on the concrete floor and stood. “Killed one of the seven Mandate members? Did more in a few hours than you’ve done in twenty years?”

Gwenyth’s face paled. She marched around the table, her eyes shooting lasers.

Atlas was between them in an instant.

“Killing is not how we do things here, and if you don’t understand that—”

“Mum,” Atlas said in a low voice. “She’s not . . . herself.”

He stepped out from between them when his mother stopped clawing to get past. Romy observed her with pursed lips, hip cocked out. “You should try yoga, Gwenny-bear.”

Houston choked behind her. “Ah, if I may, Commander-general? My assistant, Dr Charlee, returned to the clinic to find Romy missing from her bed. Currently, both memory cards are still in.” He gestured to Romy, who curtsied.

There. A flicker of amusement in Atlas’s eyes at last.

“Her nanos burned off the sedative quicker than they should have and apparently the person we have coined Crazy Romy took it under her own steam to go on mission with her knot.”

“Damn straight.” Romy inspected her nails. “And just so you know, if my home-girl Tina had kicked up a fuss, I would’ve shot her in the kneecap and gone anyway.” She looked around the shocked room. “Just so ya know.”

Gwenyth spoke slowly. “Dr Houston. Please escort soldier Rosemary to the clinic and remove her old memory card. Next time, tie her down.”

Something snapped inside Romy. It passed unnoticed. She couldn’t have that. “The people in space took my memories away before,” Romy said, lifting her head to meet Gwenyth’s eyes. “I didn’t like that.”

The room quietened.

“No one ties me down.”

A thought occurred to her. “Unless it’s you.” She tilted her head to Atlas, who pursed his lips in response.

God, she loved when he did that.

Thrym’s voice was furious. “She’s not herself.”

Romy strutted to the door. “I’ll just show myself out. Tata! Good luck with the war. I’ll be in Vegas.” She wrenched open the door and made it five metres down the passage before the words ‘restrain her’ sounded at her back.

Five of them came after her at a run. No one she recognised.

Romy dodged two of them, punching the third in the gut, and ducked under the fourth’s arm to trip the fifth. She picked up the fifth’s face from the ground as he rolled onto his back and delivered a crushing blow to his jaw.

The fourth turned back and was on her in a second. Romy raised her arms, and a jab glanced off her forearm. Crouching, she swept the fourth’s legs from underneath him.

The first and second were back.

“Please don’t hurt me. I’m crazy,” she said in a wobbly voice.

They paused, and she laughed, shoving them into each other. She smashed the third’s head against an exposed pipe in the hall. He groaned and blinked up at her. Romy frowned and hit it against the pipe again. His eyes rolled back. She smiled.

The woman regained her feet and lunged. Romy kicked high right under the ribs. The woman’s face paled.

“Yes!” shouted Romy. These boots were the shit.

One more to take out, then she was grabbing her knot and sexy Atlas, and busting this joint. If Gwen couldn’t appreciate her, then she didn’t deserve all the goodness Romy had to offer.

Two forearms wrapped underneath her armpits from behind, strong hands interlocking at the base of her neck.

Romy huffed in annoyance and shifted with difficulty to catch a look of her attacker.

Atlas. Hmm, life could be worse.

She rotated her face to the closest forearm.

“Did you just lick me?” His voice rumbled with laughter.

Romy raised her eyebrows twice and wiggled her butt.

“You going to behave if I let you go?” he whispered in her ear. She turned her head and looked into his eyes; only warm breath separated them. Romy’s body tightened. “No promises.” She tilted her head back and strained to close the distance between them. She nipped his bottom lip.

He studied her for a long while. “Have it your way.” He released her, spinning her around and dipped to scoop her over his shoulder. Her butt barely cleared the ceiling.

Romy waved at the people who had their mouths wide open as Atlas hauled her down the passage.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Romy groaned. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth.

Ears ringing. Vision blurry.

If you left me in you wouldn’t feel like poop, biatch.

“Romy.” A soft voice rang in her ears, echoing around her.

Groaning again, she lifted her hands to cradle her head and shifted in increments to lie on her back.

The voice repeated her name, and this time Romy pinpointed the speaker’s location.

Two Charlees hovered over her, squeezing her hands. “You’re okay, Romy. Just keep still until you get your bearings.”

Romy squeezed her eyes shut and accepted a drink of water through a straw. She swallowed twice to unstick her tongue. “What happened?” she whispered faintly.

Another face appeared on the other side. Atlas.

“You escaped while you were under yesterday.”

Yesterday. “How long was I out?”

Charlee gave her another drink. “We put you under forty-five hours ago.”

Romy clutched her head and pushed hard into her temples. “Why was I out for so long?” She suddenly caught up with Atlas’s words. “I escaped?” She curled into a panting ball as pain rocketed through her.

Atlas and Charlee shared a look. Charlee gave a subtle nod, retreating behind some of the medi-tech before she began to type on the screen. Each click was a dagger in Romy’s eye.

Atlas shuffled her across to the other side of the bed and sat. He ran a hand through his hair. “You know how last time you were shouting stuff?” he asked.

Romy’s mouth dried. Did Feral Romy go and find Atlas? Horror enveloped her. Feral Romy could have hurt him.

“This time,” he said, “you escaped and stole away on a mission with your knot to Dublin City.”

She had not been expecting that. She gaped at him. “What?”

He scanned her face. “You don’t remember?”

She broke away from his stare and fixed her eyes on the concrete wall at the other side of the clinic. “No,” she whispered. The silence built as she searched back over her last memories. She remembered Charlee talking to her before the anaesthesia knocked her out. After that, nothing.

Yet . . . her body was telling a different story. Aside from the pain, which had ratcheted up again, her muscles were tight and sore. It felt like she’d run a marathon.

“What did I do?” Her voice cracked.

Atlas reached for her and drew her into his arms. He held her tightly, stroking her hair. “Nothing to be worried about. You were amazing. And everything is fine.”

Romy swallowed. If Feral Romy was out all night, she knew he was lying. What had she done when insanity took the driver’s seat?

What wasn’t Atlas telling her?

You need to chill; it wasn’t even that bad.

“Atlas,” she said slowly, ignoring the voice in her head. “I need you to tell me what . . . Crazy Romy did.” That’s what the others called her; she’d stick to that. “Please don’t hide the truth from me. It makes things worse. It makes me feel like I’m back on Orbito Four. I know she’s a monster. Just please . . . tell me.”

Confusion lit his eyes. “She’s not a monster. I mean, she plays by her own rules, but I wouldn’t say she’s a monster.”

Take that.

Romy tilted her head and held his gaze, waiting.

He stroked her hair again. “You shot Mandate Saavin.”

* * *

“Top of the morning to ya,” Houston sang, bursting in to the clinic.

He eyed Charlee, who sat studying the medi-tech. “I’d like to talk to Romy alone.”

Romy smiled as Charlee remained where she was, her eyes darting between Houston and Romy.

“It’s okay, Charlee,” Romy reassured her.

“I haven’t given you anything for the pain,” she argued.

Honestly, the medication didn’t do anything for the whipping pain reverberating in Romy’s skull.

But it sure has fun side effects.

She gritted her teeth against the voice.

She was hearing Feral Romy more and more now. It wouldn’t be long until she lost her mind completely—Feral Romy was becoming stronger. She just had to keep it together until then. After that . . . well, Romy didn’t think she’d be too worried about anything.

Romy drew in a shaking breath that did nothing to defrost her frozen core.

She’d killed a person and had no memory of it. What if Feral Romy had killed one of Knot 27? Or Atlas? Or some innocent person in Amach?

Next time, Romy would get the doctors to tie her down; her body wasn’t her own anymore.

Dramatic.

“Shut up,” she hissed.

A throat cleared. Romy jerked and scanned the room. Charlee was gone and Houston watched her, eating popcorn.

“Fascinating,” he remarked. “I can almost tell when she’s ‘in the house’.”

Romy scowled at him. “Did the blood samples work this time?”

“Nope, but your nanos are taking five times as long to incapacitate any foreign nanos. It won’t be long now.”

“Great,” she said drily.

This guy is suss.

For once Romy agreed with her feral self.

“Together, we’ll find the answer,” he said, his eyes shifting to her. “We could do a lot to help beat the Mandate together, you realise that.”

His words were a little off. Cryptic, almost. “Save it, Houston. Just find the damn cure and spare me the speech.”

Anger flashed in his eyes, so quickly Romy wondered if she’d seen it.

He shoved another fistful of popcorn into his mouth and chewed. Finally, he winked at her and made for the door. “You got it, little alien. I’ll see you both again soon.”

* * *

She swallowed the lump in her throat and stepped into the Mess.

The sudden hush unnerved her.

But the slow clapping that began and quickly gained in speed and volume was worse.

People shouted praise at her and threw their fists in the air. Doing her best to look unaffected, Romy strode through the masses.

People she’d never spoken to clapped her on the back. Someone she was sure had glared at her not three days prior, grabbed her hand and shook it.

The screens on the Mess walls were on.

Romy fixed on one just as a red dot appeared in the centre of a woman’s forehead. The woman’s eyes rounded in shock and in the space of a breath her eyes had rolled back and the life had left her face.

She hit the stage with a thud of the microphone she’d worn. Dead.

Good riddance.

Bells began to clamour in Romy’s head. The floor blurred underneath her, coupled with a high keening sound.

Hands guided her forward. She was flanked by Thrym on one side and Deimos on the other. They led her through the Mess and out to the elevator. Elara and Phobos were already there, holding the door open.

“Thank you,” Romy whispered once the elevator started descending.

“That was your freaking-out face,” Deimos said, tucking her under an arm. “How you holding up, honey?”

I’m losing myself. I’m going to hurt somebody I love.

Romy turned her face to his side and didn’t answer.

“Suffice to say everyone now loves you,” Deimos said. “I haven’t seen the place this cheerful since we arrived.”

“That woman on the screen in there,” Romy said, voice muffled. “That was Mandate Saavin?”

No one replied. They didn’t need to. Instinctively, she turned to Thrym for comfort.

He avoided her eyes.

“Thrym?” she asked, softly.

“Don’t worry about him,” Deimos drawled. “The stick is so far up his butt it’s stirring his brains.”

Sky-blue eyes rested on her. Disappointment. “That person wasn’t Romy,” Thrym said to Deimos. “Joking about it doesn’t help anyone.”

“You’re just pissed because Crazy Romy kept calling you ‘bro’ and you got a rap on the knuckles from Gwenyth,” Deimos burst out. “Poor goody-good Thrym can’t handle a stern word. Tina got the sack and you don’t see her acting like an arsewipe.”

Phobos and Elara shared a look and remained mute.

“She could have killed us last night, and a whole team is missing,” Thrym shouted.

Thrym was the first person to be honest about how dangerous Feral Romy was. “A team is missing?” Romy’s voice sounded far away.

Thrym ignored her.

“Ellie?” she asked.

Elara nodded silently. “When you shot the mandate, all teams had to run for it. One hasn’t been located.”

“The Mandate hasn’t got them,” Deimos said. “They’d be airing it across the world if they did.”

Romy couldn’t forget Thrym’s words. “Could I? Have killed you all?”

Phobos sighed and pushed off the elevator wall to hug her tight. “Not a chance, angel.”

Listen to that one. But tell him to call me dark angel.

“You don’t know that,” Thrym burst out. “She was a loose cannon.”

The others stared at him in shock.

Deimos crossed to stand directly in front of Thrym, hands curled into fists. “She shot the enemy and fought off five of our soldiers when they made to restrain her. Not once did I feel threatened by her. She was a little crazier, but she was there. She recognised us.”

Romy wavered on the spot, her eyes burning. She hated not having any memory of last night.

“Not once did she threaten us?” Thrym asked softly. “Not even when she fired her weapon while ten teams were within the city walls?”

Romy stared at the ground, tears falling onto her black elastic sneakers.

Elara got between Deimos and Thrym, hands outstretched. “Look at her, Thrym. Look what you’re doing to her,” she said in a low tone. “Get over yourself. She’s going through enough. If you can’t handle your jealousy, that’s fine. But go do some weights or something. Don’t take it out on her when she’s doing the best she can in a shitty situation.”

Thrym lifted his head and his expression fell at the sight of Romy’s tear-streaked face.

“For once, I agree with Elara,” Deimos said coolly, crossing his arms.

The elevator dinged. Romy rubbed the tears off her face. She didn’t want anyone to see her like this.

Phobos took her shaking hand gently. “Come on, Ro. You’re with me today.”

* * *

Tina swung over to them as soon as she and Phobos entered the gym.

Tina eyed Romy. “Got you back, do we? Or is Crazy Romy still in the house?”

Romy sighed and unfolded from the ground. Of course, Tina was there to witness Feral Romy again.

“Let’s do some real training,” Tina said with a sniff.

Ten minutes later, Romy poured with as much sweat as Thrym, who was throwing weights around. Elara was running through a ‘stretching regime’ to the side.

“Now we know your fighting ability is confined to your alter ego,” muttered Tina as Romy tripped over her feet.

“What?” Romy wiped at her forehead.

Tina raised a brow. “You took out five soldiers when you were Crazy Romy. That was someone I could train. She had killer instinct to spare.”

I like this bitch.

The Amach suddenly loved her. She’d killed a person. Murdered someone. And they all wanted to shake her hand? It baffled her. Didn’t they see how completely unhinged and violent Feral Romy was?

Romy clenched her jaw. “Sorry, you’re stuck with me.”

She kicked the bag Tina held ten times and then switched sides.

“That’s a shame. The woman who told Gwenyth where to go was the shit.” Tina smiled fondly.

“She did?” Romy stopped kicking.

Tina snorted. “It was pretty funny.”

Romy rolled her eyes and switched sides again.

“You could learn a thing or two from Crazy Romy about sticking up for yourself.”

Romy didn’t want to learn a single thing from the woman in the glass room. Not ever. “Thank you. I think I understand that everyone likes her much better. You can stop.” Romy took the gloves off and threw them at Tina’s feet, heading for the treadmill. She ignored the looks, tempted to bare her teeth in a feral scowl until the people working out ran screaming from the gym.

She set the treadmill speed high and began to move. Romy let her mind fade to the trees. This time empty of soldiers and devoid of all sounds but the sounds of birds and running water. She ran toward an orange and purple sunset, peeking through the leaves. Beautiful. Burnt. Warm. Happy.

Romy increased the speed to seventeen kilometres per hour.

Now she ran along the river, hopping from stone to stone beside the bubbling cool stream.

She increased her speed.

Over the beach, sand kicking up behind her, toes digging and twisting in the soft shore.

Romy increased her speed.

She ran and ran, emptying all thoughts from her head. Aware of her racing heart and the absence of pain, but nothing else as she escaped for the first time since arriving.

After finding some degree of calm, she came to, legs pumping in a blur. Her eyes flicked to the speed. Twenty kilometres per hour. Fast.

She came to a gradual stop as the treadmill slowed.

A bottle appeared to her right.

“Thanks,” she said to Charlee, accepting the bottle.

The doctor wasn’t dressed in a lab coat for once. Gleaming blonde-brown hair trailed to the tops of her shoulders. Charlee looked really pretty with her hair down.

Charlee eyed the display. “What’s the craic? Just a light run?”

Romy chuckled, stepping off with shaking legs, hand on her hip as she caught her breath. “I possibly got a little carried away,” she said, guzzling back water.

“Feel better?” Charlee asked.

Romy shrugged a shoulder. “I do tend to feel better when my heart rate’s high.”

“Well, that’s good because I wanted to ask you something.” The doctor looked nervous. She leaned to swipe up a towel and held it out.

“Yeah?” Romy asked, taking the towel.

“There’s a party tonight in the Mess, and I’m new here,” she explained. “I don’t have anyone to go with, but if you’re looking to keep your heart rate up. . . .”

“Are you saying there is a medical reason I should come to this party with you?” Romy’s lips quirked.

Charlee’s eyes sparkled. “Shut up.”

The run had replaced Romy’s anger and embarrassment with a recklessness she wasn’t accustomed to—and strongly suspected was originating from the presence in her mind.

She grinned at the doctor. “I’m game.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

A knock boomed.

Romy studied herself in the mirror. Only so much you could do with coveralls.

Tie the sleeves around your waist.

“I am not tying my sleeves around my waist,” Romy hissed.

At least her chin-length hair was shiny and sleek after her shower.

Romy swung open the door and gaped at Charlee. The doctor wore a tight dress that left most of her thigh bare.

“Where did you get that?” Romy demanded. Now she felt like stale bread.

Charlee held out her arms; a few garments swung from them. “Don’t worry, I brought supplies. We need to look hot to trot. I seriously need some action tonight. Long relationship went arseways before I transferred here. Still want him a little. You get me?”

No. “Yes.” Romy bobbed her head.

When Charlee checked off doctor duty, she really checked off duty. The plastic bottles swinging from her hand might have something to do with it. One of the bottles was half empty.

Half full.

“If you could kindly wiggle into one of these dresses, with your,” she eyed Romy, “perfect genetically enhanced body.”

Romy approached the dresses with wary steps. Charlee held up the half-empty bottle, a question in her eyes.

“Alcohol?” Romy asked. She couldn’t think of anything worse to do right now.

Boring.

“What is it?” Romy asked.

“Buckfast. It makes me do other things fast, too.”

“Like what?”

Charlee stared at her.

Romy’s eyes rounded. “Oh,” she said, glancing away. “Uhm. I’m good.”

“The doctor in me says that is very wise. Looks like I’m on the lash alone tonight. Sláinte!” Charlee held up her bottle and took another gulp.

Romy watched her. “Has anyone ever mentioned you get exponentially more Irish when you’re off duty? I have no idea what you’re saying.”

“It’s because I have to speak posh when I’m doctoring.”

Charlee put the bottle down and held up a dress.

Romy shook her head at the plunging neckline.

And again at the next ‘dress’.

She cringed at the third one: black and backless, except for a chain of silver loops running from nape to lower back. “I think it will have to be that one.” At least it covered the important parts—unlike dresses one and two.

Romy quickly changed, pulling on the dress.

Charlee gestured for her to spin and burst out laughing. “Christ on a bike, Romy. You are not wearing a sports bra under that dress.”

“Why not?” Romy said, stupefied.

“Because . . . that’s not the point.”

“What is the point?”

Charlee huffed. “The point is that Charlee gets laid and you’re my wingninja.”

Romy gave an uncertain laugh. “Will everyone else be dressed like this?” She didn’t think she could take any more sticking out.

“If the parties are anything like the ones in Cork? Yes. We don’t celebrate often, so we get wrecked when we get the chance. Better to spend your money like there’s no tomorrow, than to spend tonight like you’ve no money, right?”

So much yes to that.

“What are we celebrating?” Romy worked her way out of the sports bra. Her back felt naked. Not to mention she was taller than Charlee and the dress barely covered her butt.

Charlee spat liquid everywhere. “Are you serious? A mandate is dead.”

Romy froze.

The woman paused mid-swig. Charlee slowly lowered her bottle of Buckfast. “Romy. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

“They’re celebrating because I killed someone?”

“They’re celebrating because you’ve given them hope. I should have told you, I just . . . forgot.” She gave Romy a sheepish smile. “Sorry, I haven’t had a night off in a long time. I’m a little excited.”

Romy stared down at her pale legs. She didn’t really want to spend a night under the scrutiny of the Amach. Or have people congratulating her on doing something horrible she had no memory of doing.

“Please, Romy,” Charlee begged. “Please come.”

I vote we spend our money like there’s no tomorrow.

Why did that not surprise her? Plastering a smile on her face, Romy nodded, forcing the words out. “Of course, I’ll come.”

Suddenly, the night ahead didn’t seem so fun anymore.

* * *

The Mess was unrecognisable. The tables were pushed to the sides and the old, faded couches pulled to the fore. The Amach members lay strewn over them drinking the same Buckfast stuff as Charlee.

The large space in the middle was filled with chatting people.

Romy sagged in relief. At least everyone was dressed like them. The majority of girls were in dresses. Some were in jeans and sparkly tops. Most of the men wore shirts and trousers and polished shoes. Everyone clearly had nice clothes put aside for these occasions. It made the place seem . . . more human.

Her gaze landed on Atlas by the food. Shirt sleeves rolled up. Bulging forearms.

Looking our way, woohoo.

Romy wrapped an arm around Charlee and drew her in. “Atlas is watching me. What do I do?”

Charlee burst into laughter. Her eyes left Romy’s for a moment to look past her. “My advice would be to focus on dealing with your very angry knotmate, first.”

Romy spun. Deimos bore down on her from across the room.

He glared at the people surrounding her, who backed away.

Reaching her, he began to tug her dress down. A sound of dismay left him when he saw her bare back.

He began to unbutton his shirt.

Romy’s cheeks burned. “Dei, stop it.”

He didn’t.

“As much as I enjoy the flawless olive skin of a well-toned pectoral muscle,” Charlee said, “you can leave the shirt on and get over your protective tendencies.”

Deimos scowled at her and glanced at Romy. “Who’s this?”

“You might recognise Dr Charlee?” she said, folding her arms across her chest and glaring at her knotmate.

Deimos did a double take, scanning Charlee again. She cocked a hip out in her hugging blue dress.

He cleared his throat. “So it is.”

“She wants to get laid tonight,” Romy added. Charlee punched her in the boob.

“Ow!” Romy cried.

“You’re not supposed to tell guys that,” Charlee shot back.

Legit. That was poor form.

Romy rubbed her chest. “It’s just Deimos.” She wasn’t 100 per cent sure who she was replying to.

Deimos’s expression caught her eye. Her knotmate was interested in the doctor. Very much so. Romy leaned over to whisper in Charlee’s ear. “I believe I just did you a favour.”

Charlee tapped a finger against her cheek, giving her knotmate an up-and-down. “Yes, I believe you did.”

Rolling her eyes, Romy left the pair.

“Sorry about your boob,” Charlee yelled.

Romy grimaced as the people closest swivelled to look.

Pulling down on the dress, Romy scanned the room. Thrym stood to her left. She quickly turned right. Crap. Atlas still watched her. She spotted a couch against the far wall. Right in the middle. Perfect. Bee-lining for the couch, she perched on one of the armrests, not trusting her dress to cover the important parts if she sat down.

“Hey,” a warm voice said.

Three seconds she got, three measly seconds. Heart sinking, she raised her eyes. Thrym gestured to the empty couch. “Can I sit?”

“Depends,” Romy said. “Are you going to be a big ol’ jerkface?” The words flew from her lips and she blinked. She’d never spoken to Thrym like that in her life.

She hoped it was just a sign of how stressful the last days had been.

Thrym kicked at the ground. “I’m sorry about what I said in the elevator this morning. You’re just so different when the old card is in. You’re nothing like the Romy I know. But I shouldn’t take that out on you. I know it’s not your fault.”

Make him beg.

Romy ignored the voice and dipped her head. Thrym sat down with a thankful expression.

“I also want to talk to you,” Thrym stuttered. “Elara was right,” he said. “I’m jealous. Completely consumed by it. By how you watch Atlas. How you react when he speaks and moves. I’m even jealous of the way Crazy Romy wants him.”

Her stomach plummeted. She did not want to have this talk with Thrym.

I agree, but you need to rip the Band-Aid off.

It was a very bad sign that Feral Romy made sense.

“Atlas doesn’t deserve you,” he said with a self-conscious shrug.

Why did she come to this party again? “Thrym,” she said, slowly. “I don’t feel that way about you.”

“I’ve seen the way you look at me. When you’re . . . yourself.”

“I know I’ve been acting strangely toward you. But there is a good reason for that.”

“You’re attracted to me,” he said stubbornly.

Romy sighed. “I was. A part of me. . . .” She was screwing this up. “Look, Thrym, Dr Charlee told me something about our knot. You need to hear it.”

He tensed.

“Space soldiers are designed to repopulate Earth once puberty is triggered.”

His blue eyes danced.

She blurted the rest. “Not only that, but the people within a knot are paired—for the most part—in advance. Did you even wonder why Elara and Phobos are together?”

Thrym froze. “What are you saying?”

“That we were designed to be together, too. What you feel for me isn’t real. You are drawn to me because the Mandate put this drive in you, not because you actually care for me as more than a knotmate.”

He didn’t move for a long beat, a dumbfounded expression on his face.

“Thrym, think about it. You don’t even like half of me.”

“That’s not you,” he said bluntly. “Houston will fix you.”

No, he wouldn’t. No one could fix Romy. Not the way she was going.

It broke her heart to be concealing the truth from her knot, but she was doing this for them. If they found out she needed to go insane for the cure to be viable, Romy knew Houston wouldn’t get within ten metres of her.

“Thrym,” she said gently. “There’s no guarantee of where I’m heading. And even if there was, I don’t feel like that about you. You don’t really feel this way about me, either. Trust me.”

He blinked slowly. “I want you so bad, it’s almost blinding. You’re telling me none of that is real?”

She didn’t bat a lash. “None of it.”

“I hate the thought my feelings could be artificial,” he said softly.

“I knew you would.” Romy rested her head on his shoulder. “Just friends?”

There was a long pause. “Just friends. And I’m going to kick a Mandate member right in the balls for doing this.”

Romy straightened, smiling. “Do it twice for me, would you?”

Elara and Phobos arrived in a tangle of limbs. Both held bottles in their hands. “Come dance,” shouted Elara.

Romy glanced around. While they were in their tense bubble, someone had turned the music up. Groups and couples now danced in the space.

The beat was heavy, thrumming low in Romy’s stomach.

Elara pulled her to her feet.

“What the hell?” Phobos hissed. He surged forward to pull the bottom of her dress down. “Where are your pants?” he demanded.

Romy moaned. “It’s a dress.”

His gasp of dismay when he saw the back was so identical to Deimos’s she broke into giggles.

Thrym appeared before her, his familiar white smile beaming down at her. He held out a hand. “Want to dance?”

Romy took his hand and trailed after him into the crowd.

They danced as a group at first. Romy eyed Deimos and Charlee off to one side, dancing far too close for anyone to be in doubt of what was on their minds. Elara wiggled her butt in the air and Romy bobbed awkwardly next to her.

Phobos grabbed her and spun her around and around until she wobbled on the spot.

Hands steadied her, calloused and strong.

She knew who it was without looking.

“Sorry,” she gasped, righting herself and darting a look up at Atlas. Phobos appeared behind her and tugged down the bottom of her dress again. Mortification swept through her. “Phobos,” she hissed.

A voice rumbled in her ear. “Your brothers don’t trust me with you.”

She glanced over her shoulder. Phobos was giving Atlas the stink eye. Deimos had an eerie smile on his face. Thrym had his back to them while Elara had both of her thumbs up, beaming. Romy groaned. “They aren’t looking at us, I don’t think.”

“You sure?” Atlas pursed his lips as Phobos drew the back of his thumb over his throat.

Romy eyed Phobos. “If they are, you should be worried. Deimos and Phobos use public humiliation as their weapon of choice.”

“I’d be disappointed with anything less, but I’ll leave before one of them feels compelled to protect your virtue.” His eyes slanted to Deimos, who circled closer.

Romy opened her eyes innocently, “Oh? You don’t want to dance with me?”

Atlas’s eyes gleamed like metal in the dim lights. “I’d dance with you in coveralls in a heartbeat,” he replied. “With you in that dress, there was never a maybe about it.”

Deimos arrived at her elbow.

Atlas spoke so her knotmate could hear, not taking his eyes off Romy. “But the night is long, and I’m willing to wait until you’ve spent time with your knot.” His eyes dipped lower before he gave her a half-smile and moved off through the crowd.

“That was seriously hot,” Elara whispered in her other ear.

I second that.

Romy gave Elara a look of complete agreement and grabbed her hand to dance.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

She sat with Charlee, Deimos, and Thrym watching the swaying couples and listening to the last bursts of laughter as the party wound down. Phobos and Elara were intertwined on the couch, something Romy didn’t care to give much notice.

Atlas hadn’t approached her again.

Romy knew exactly where he was—she had her back to him. The skin there prickled at the thought he might be watching. Why hadn’t he asked her to dance?

“What are you thinking about?” Thrym asked.

“Uh, nothing.”

“Rosemary,” a low voice said in her ear. Finally. She turned with a smile. She couldn’t help it.

“Atlas.” She lifted her eyes to his beautiful greys.

A smile broke across his face “How about that dance?”

“Maybe I’m all danced out.”

His eyes moved down to her bare legs and she fidgeted. He raised a brow. “I’d make it worth your while.”

Romy stared. “How?”

“Blueberries. I went and got some yesterday.”

Damn, I thought he meant nookie.

Romy hesitated, glancing at Thrym. He wasn’t looking their way, though his shoulders were tensed. It would take him time to sort through everything she’d told him tonight, but Romy felt things were good between them. She wasn’t going to cater to his feelings anymore; it needed to be a clean cut.

She stood, tugging down her dress, and warmth enclosed her hand as Atlas led her to the middle of the room.

The song wasn’t slow, but he pulled her close, winding her arms around his neck before dropping his hands to her hips. The forefinger of his right hand rested on her bare skin. For a few moments, she couldn’t think of anything else.

“I’ve been waiting for this all night,” he admitted, guiding her in small circles on the dance floor.

“You kept me waiting, too,” she said.

His eyes lowered to her lips. “About that space you asked me for. . . .”

Is that why he’d left her alone until now? “I don’t need it anymore. I know what I want.” She rested her head against his chest to avoid his eyes as she replied. How did he delve into this kind of stuff with such confidence? It only heightened her attraction to him, but made her feel like she was all legs by comparison.

She smiled, ear against his chest as Atlas began to hum. Maybe she’d said the right thing, after all.

They didn’t speak for the rest of the song, holding each other close.

“What’s the craic with you then?” she asked.

Atlas’s lips quirked in the half-smile she loved so much. “Pick up the Irish slang already?”

“I need it to decipher Charlee.” Romy looked toward where she’d left her with Deimos just in time to see them heading for the door. She liked Charlee. But gross.

Atlas shifted and his middle finger joined the other finger on her bare skin. She sucked in a breath, her eyes flying up to his.

“Yes?” he asked, lips pursed.

Jump him.

“Nothing,” she mumbled, and rested her head back down.

His chest began to shake. He brought his mouth to her ear. “Are you sure? If you wanted to leave, you could’ve just said so. . . .”

She straightened. “What do you mean?”

“Your hands.”

Confused, she squeezed her hands and gasped. Her hands were on his butt! Horror rocked through her and she dropped them as though burnt with scalding water. “I’m so sorry,” Romy said, mortified. She hid her face.

Atlas pulled her arms away and lifted her chin.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do that,” she said, cheeks burning.

Yes, I did.

“You didn’t?” He pulled her back in and began to sway them in circles again. “I know I’ve often done that by accident, too—feeling someone’s butt.”

She glared at him. He was enjoying her discomfort way too much.

Atlas chuckled, leaning in to kiss the tops of her cheekbones. His lips were cool against the fire there. “You just beat me to it. Though, personally, this is really what I’ve wanted to do all night.”

He ran a burning finger down the chain of silver loops on the back of her dress.

All the way down.

Her heart galloped so hard she wondered if Atlas could hear it.

He put his lips to her ear again. “Do you know what else I’ve thought about all night?”

She shook her head. Why did he have to smell so good?

“What happens to the rest of your dress if I break this chain?” He crooked his forefinger around a loop, scraping gently against the skin of her back.

She sucked in a breath and he brought his face directly before hers. Bubbling metal. She wanted him to break the chain.

Fuck yes.

“We want you to break the chain,” she said.

His hand was gone in the next instant, and cold space extended between them.

“What did you just say?” he asked.

Good one.

She stared at him, frantically searching for something to say.

His brows drew together. “Romy? Is there something—”

He was interrupted by shouts from across the Mess.

Romy whirled away from Atlas, nearly drowning in relief at the distraction. She’d said ‘we’. How the hell did that slip out? She wanted to curl into a ball and die.

She scanned for the source of the ruckus, and spotted a group standing around a screen down the opposite end.

It wasn’t long before all the screens in the Mess were on.

Atlas and Romy moved to the closest screen.

There was a mandate on the screen.

“There wasn’t a screening scheduled tonight,” Atlas said in a low voice.

“Earth’s people,” the man on the screen began. “You know me.”

“Tony Debranc,” someone heckled. The shout was followed by a few drunken boos.

Romy gazed vacantly at the ground. Tony Debranc. That name was . . . familiar.

“Two nights ago, we lost a beloved and important figure in our community,” he said gravely. “We can now confirm Mandate Saavin was assassinated by the Amach.”

A cheer rose at this. Several faces turned to grin Romy’s way.

“You’re okay,” Atlas soothed. His voice flowed over her and she relaxed back into him with a sigh.

“Security will be heightened around each settlement and city,” the man vowed. “We have apprehended the guards responsible for letting the Amach inside the Dublin wall—all spies of the Amach.”

His face moved up into a square at the top left, and a row of ten beaten people—six women and four men—were shown. They knelt on a whitewashed courtyard. To one side was a raised platform with seats for the seven—now six—Mandate members, elevated this way so they could deliver their verdict like judges.

Romy couldn’t move.

“Those aren’t our people,” Atlas said in a low voice. “I don’t recognise any of them.”

His words were repeated through the Mess in a furious tirade.

“Who are they?”

“They aren’t ours.”

“More of their lies.”

Mandate Debranc’s face filled the screen once more as ten gunshots went off in the other picture. A woman’s scream cut off with sickening finality.

Romy stopped breathing, staring into the beady eyes of the mandate.

“To the Amach who are watching this: For every precious life you take, we will take ten of yours. You have forgotten what we strive for. What we must strive for—peace and survival. You have forgotten the terrors of our past. Here is our message to you on behalf of the human race.” The man paused. “Your terrorism will soon be at an end. We are coming for you.”

“We are coming for you.” The voice echoed again through the Mess as the screens went to static.

Silence reigned for a long beat.

Then, one by one, group by group, the people in the room turned toward her. Romy blinked back at them, and her frustration threatened to explode into rage.

Did she have the damn answer stamped on her forehead or something?

“Easy,” Atlas murmured in her ear.

A woman called out, “What do we do now?”

“They’re too strong,” someone cried.

Tina sidled up in a black leather dress and yanked Romy out of Atlas’s grip. “That was a bunch of dog shite,” she yelled for everyone to hear. “The Mandate is afraid. Of us! Why else would they bother to threaten us?”

A few of the heads lifted.

Romy tried to look stern and leader-ish in response to Tina’s painful squeeze.

“This is it,” Tina said fiercely. She gestured to Romy. “She is it. Houston?” she called.

The doctor stepped forward from where he’d had his head bent close to Deimos’s. “Tina?”

“Where are we with the cure?” she asked.

He surveyed the room. “It’s top secret. Does everyone promise not to tell?” Laughter rumbled through the room. He caught Romy’s eye. “I believe I’ve made a breakthrough.”

An excited murmur ran through the Mess, but Romy knew the truth.

Houston didn’t have the cure, yet—she was still mostly sane. Romy paused, though, wondering if anyone else knew how close Houston was to finding the solution to the space soldiers’ insanity. The space soldiers could be cured and fighting by the Amach’s side within weeks.

“We don’t measure ourselves by the Mandate’s words,” Tina’s voice boomed. “But by the words of our experts and comrades, with hard facts and steady progress. We measure them by our actions.” Tina turned to Romy, and she frowned at the gleam in her eyes.

“One mandate down,” she roared. “Six to go.”

The room shook with the force of stamping feet. Romy eyed the ceiling with apprehension, very aware they stood in a cave system.

Tina had two men drag a table into the middle of the room. She snapped her fingers and a young woman passed her a white box. Tina sat this on top of the table and set a small circle next to it.

“A projector,” Atlas mused.

The Amach watched Tina curiously, as did Romy. She glanced at Atlas, who shook his head, none the wiser.

An image burst into life on the far wall. It was Elara. She held a bundle of clothes. She chucked them to a person off the screen.

“Change into these,” she said.

A voice purred back, “Nots my style.”

Romy gasped.

That voice. . . .

Horror glued her to the spot.

. . . The voice.

It was hers.

* * *

Atlas’s expression was murderous as he bore down on Tina. “No.”

Romy stared at the projector screen. At her face. Except. . . .

Ammo crisscrossed over her chest in the picture, and she held two guns. She looked relaxed, confident, and . . . in control. Romy blinked.

That wasn’t Feral Romy. That wasn’t the woman caged in the four glass walls.

Wondered when you’d figure that out.

On the screen, Tina transferred the camera to the front of Romy’s chest. She’d set this up.

Couches were dragged in front of the projector screen as the people of Amach settled in to watch the recording. Of her.

Romy couldn’t break her gaze from the screen.

Who was that Romy? It wasn’t her, but it wasn’t her worst nightmare, either.

Disbelief rocked her system. This made no sense.

Atlas and Tina argued in furious whispers behind the projector. Romy slipped toward them, glancing around as people laughed at something she’d said on the screen.

“It’s going off. Now.” Atlas reached for the switch.

“You’re making a mistake,” Tina said calmly.

“Have you forgotten you’re playing with an actual person’s feelings?” he replied, calmer still.

Romy licked her lips, eyes darting back to the screen. All the comments about Crazy Romy being amazing. The way everyone seemed to love the person she was with the old card in. Had she completely misjudged the situation? Was there an in-between Romy? Were Elara, Deimos, Phobos, and, well, everyone but Thrym . . . right?

Romy needed to know if Crazy Romy was the woman from her worst nightmare, or not. She had to see this for herself.

“All you can do is act the way you want others to,” screen Romy said, “and do something about it.”

Deimos’s face bobbed into view. “And do you? Think we’re doing something about it?”

Screen Romy whispered in his ear. “I’ve only been on the job for three hours. Give me a week.”

The room exploded into laughter.

Leaning forward, Romy closed her fingers around Atlas’s wrist—half of the way, at least. “Wait,” she whispered. He gave her a disbelieving look, just visible in the dark room.

Tina’s face turned smug.

Glaring at the woman, Romy pulled Atlas to one side.

“I want to watch,” she said, avoiding his gaze. “I killed someone, Atlas. And I have no memory of it. I need to see this.” Half of the truth was better than none at all—she hoped.

He didn’t buy it. His guard was up from her crazy moment during their dance.

She sighed. “Please, Atlas.”

“I don’t like Tina using you like this,” he bit out.

“Everyone else is.” Romy blinked as the words left her mouth.

Atlas fixed grey eyes upon her. “Who else?” he said in a low voice.

She swallowed. “I don’t know where that came from,” she said, voice cracking. “Forget it. What I meant to say is, I think Tina really does care about boosting morale. . . . I can kind of see where she’s going with this.” And she really could. Even if that wasn’t her primary reason for letting the recording play.

“You want to watch in a room full of people?” Atlas asked, brushing her hair behind her ear. She shivered and a satisfied smile stretched across his face. “No one else has to see.”

Romy tilted her head to the nearest couch. The five men squished onto it had their eyes riveted on the screen. “You think they won’t watch it in secret?” she asked. “Tina will just leak the video. At least this way, they think I’m a willing participant.”

He ran both hands through his hair. “Fuck,” he swore, making her jump. “I hate that this is happening to you.” He rubbed his face and looked at her again, before sighing.

“Come on,” he said, gritting his teeth. “If you want to do this, you’re watching it next to me.”

He led her to a couch at the front.

The couch was full.

“You’ll all have to move,” he said. “Official business.”

The occupants didn’t even grumble as they moved away.

Romy lowered onto the couch, her eyes already fixed on the screen.

Screen Romy was in a bar of sorts, sitting on a stool next to Tina. Everyone was dressed in white, and she could see the gleaming white city through the 360-degree windows.

“Is that Dublin?” Romy asked.

“It is.”

The windows of the sky bar lifted, and as she watched, the Romy on the screen spoke to two city women. They spoke to her with hardly any encouragement. Clearly, they didn’t see anything wrong with the Romy there.

The longer she watched, the clearer it became that this Romy wasn’t the feral woman at all. The woman in the glass room was insane. She’d be spilling blood and hurting people, not engaging them in conversation. The Romy on screen wasn’t insane.

But she wasn’t her, either.

Screen Romy was somewhere in between.

Confusion swept through her. Had she been wrong this entire time? Was she so scared of losing her mind that she’d leaped to the worst scenario?

And if this person wasn’t Feral Romy, just a Romy who was a smidge crazy, did this mean she’d be okay with more insertions of the old memory card?

Hope sparked deep inside her. Could her mind survive this ordeal after all?

“You’re worrying me,” Atlas breathed in her ear. “You’re breathing really quickly.”

She turned to him, her smile at full blast. He blinked a few times, his mouth falling open. “Don’t worry about me,” she said. “I think everything may turn out okay after all.”

He frowned and she turned to the screen once more.

“That’s the thing, though,” Thrym was saying. “The Mandate does care about humankind’s survival. They are bent on it, and bent by it. In their mind, keeping millions alive by enslaving four thousand people is a no-brainer. . . .The Mandate will justify any level of cruelty for the ‘greater good’.”

The Amach murmured their approval behind her.

“You cannot deny their tactics are . . . efficient,” Deimos said.

“Thought you hated them?”

Romy stiffened at the sound of her voice through the speakers.

“You told me you wanted to kill them all back in Jimboomba,” she said.

“I will,” Deimos growled.

This comment got a roar of approval.

The person speaking looked like Deimos, but she’d never heard him speak with such anger. Watching him now, she could see why Phobos was concerned. That person was a stranger.

“Dublin.” The Mandate woman spoke now. “We, the strongest of humanity and of our kind, remain. The most powerful force in this galaxy attempted to wipe us from existence, and with the weakest of us, it succeeded. After one hundred and fifty-two years, we continue to show the sun we are in control of this planet.”

Romy killed this woman. The person speaking was gone. Watching her speak, knowing the end, it was the slowest kind of torture.

The room behind her shouted their disagreement at the mandate’s words.

The mandate smiled tightly. “Our space soldiers put themselves on the line every second of the day to ensure your safety. All we can do is send our thoughts of hope, and work together in harmony, so that one day we attain our dearest wish: for the war to end. For our beloved soldiers to return to safety, into the peaceful and secure world we have built for them.”

Romy shifted forward, hands fisting. That made her mad.

“A small group have risen from the settlements, sludge unfit for society. In recent weeks they have begun to mount attacks on the peaceful settlements . . . and even on our soldiers in the sky.”

“Guess we know what she’s here for,” Elara muttered. “Nothing like a bit of propaganda.”

The buzzing group at her back were in complete agreement. Romy wanted to growl her own abuse right alongside them.

“Four nights past, Amach shot Orbito Four out of the sky,” the mandate said.

The Amach exploded in outrage.

Romy focused on Crazy Romy on the screen. Her hands shook with fury in the picture.

The couch shifted and Atlas took one of her hands. She glanced down and saw it was shaking. Both of them were.

With fury.

The mandate from earlier appeared on a huge screen and whipped the Dublin crowd into a frenzy until the people were calling for Amach blood.

Right as he finished his speech, he seemed to look straight at the camera pinned on Romy’s chest. The Amach fell silent as the man’s icy eyes stared into their own.

Into hers.

She didn’t feel fear. In fact, she’d quite like to stab his corrupt eyes out. She’d never been a particularly bloodthirsty person. Yes, she’d killed the officer to protect herself, but she’d never actively sought to hurt a human in her normal state of mind.

. . . Looking into the cold, empty eyes of Tony Debranc, she decided it might be a good time to start.

“Rosemary,” Atlas said urgently. “You don’t need to watch this part. No one will think anything less of you, darling.”

The words passed in through one ear and out the other.

Romy turned to Deimos. “Hey, why do you hate that particular mandate the most?”

She took the rifle from him; the camera watched as she snapped the magazine back into place.

“Each of the mandates is in charge of a unit of Earth: Environment, Sustainability, Change, Scale, Place, Interconnection.”

“So?” Romy said, peeking around the corner again.

“Mandate Saavin is in charge of the seventh. She governs Space.”

Romy gasped. Saavin had been in charge of the orbitos?

She’d probably killed entire knots with the push of a button.

Had she done it while enjoying a perfectly cooked breakfast, amidst her luxuries and safety?

Hate churned in Romy’s chest. She rose to her feet and stared at the screen, wishing she could tear the woman apart.

“Is that so?” Crazy Romy’s lethal whisper echoed through the complete stillness in the Mess.

. . . Romy didn’t jerk as the gun fired.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Romy leaned against the wall, hands on her knees. She had no idea which flickering passage in the Amach she’d wandered down. She’d left after the trigger was pulled. She didn’t need to see the rest. What she did need to do was figure out how many Romys there were.

By her count, there were three.

Normal Romy: Though how long she’d be normal for she didn’t care to wager.

Crazy Romy: Who played by her own rules and took over when the old memory card was in. This was the second voice in her head.

And Feral Romy: The woman in the glass room who represented her insanity.

The question was, although Crazy Romy wasn’t anywhere as unhinged as the feral version of herself, could Romy really trust her? Sure, she felt the same anger as her when the trigger on the screen was pulled. But how stable was Crazy Romy?

“Hey,” called a voice. “Everyone’s looking for you.”

Tina.

Romy eyed her warily. “What do you want?”

Tina leaned against the wall beside her. “I wanted to say I’m sorry,” she said.

“You wanted to? Or Atlas is making you?”

She laughed. “Atlas is making me.”

Romy chuckled.

“I’m not sorry, per se,” Tina said decisively, looking up at the exposed pipes. “It’s more that I’m sorry it needs to be done at all.”

Romy said, after a moment, “Morale can’t be that bad. The Amach have survived this way for over a century. You guys are out on missions all the time. You’ve infiltrated Mandate organisations. I mean, it’s not like nothing is happening.”

“Yes,” she agreed, “but Gwenyth has become too complacent. I don’t really think her heart is in the fight. She wants to overthrow the Mandate, but she’s not willing to lose anything to achieve that goal. Without risk, she won’t win. The Amach is stagnant. The people in the Amach are too . . . content with their lives.”

“You’re not?”

“I’ve never been content to settle for what’s easy. I was going places, you know—before Atlas and Houston walked into Jimboomba. I was the youngest settlement leader ever.”

Romy watched her. “Really?”

“Really. Another ten years commanding Jimboomba and I would’ve been in line for a promotion to city leadership. I could’ve been a Mandate member one day. I’m a natural leader, an excellent fighter, my family is affluent, and I’m fluent in the three languages.”

“You speak another two languages?” Romy had always wanted to learn. “Say something.”

“Ni bi wo shou, tai bu gou yi si le.”

Romy’s eyes widened. “What does that mean?”

Tina smirked.

. . . That smirk didn’t bode well. “What made you change your mind about becoming a city leader?”

“Didn’t have a choice in the end,” Tina said heavily. “Your knot and the others ran off, and I had to split Jimboomba—guilty by association and all. I’d known about the Amach for a while. Atlas had told me about the Mandate’s agenda, but I didn’t truly understand how bad it was. Maybe I didn’t want to believe it.”

She stared at the passage ceiling. “Honestly . . . I can’t say what I would’ve chosen if push came to shove before the Mandate imprisoned me. I wanted that city real bad—and to be close to my family again.”

Romy’s heart sank. “I’m sorry. You’re not the only one who hates me for what happened back there.” Romy wondered if the nineteen-year-old girl with the violet eyes would ever forgive her. Things didn’t feel the same without Nancy’s brash remarks.

“She doesn’t really hate you. Nancy thinks she hates you because she hates herself and you are the person she’s decided to take it out on,” Tina said simply. “She feels guilty because she was desperate for her life to mean more back in Jimboomba, but didn’t understand the cost of chasing that dream. Now she looks back at her time in that camp and remembers how safe she and her friends were there, and how she ruined it all with one decision because she couldn’t be content with her life.”

Romy blinked.

“And she is in love with Thrym.”

Romy gave a short laugh. “No, she’s not.”

“Uh. Yeah. She is. I thought they were going to get together before we got the news you’d been harvested up on Orbito Four. Then Thrym broke everything off without warning.”

Oh, snap.

Thrym had kept awfully quiet about that. Romy thudded her head back against the wall. “Crap. No wonder she hates me. Maybe I should tell her there’s nothing going on between us.”

“For you, maybe that’s true. Thrym seems pretty hot for you, and he’s the one who’s got to tell her if he wants her.”

“We sorted all of that out tonight,” she replied. “We’re just friends.”

“Uh-huh,” Tina said derisively.

They fell into brief silence. With a sigh, Romy broke it. “You seem to believe in the Amach’s cause now? When did you decide you wanted to help overthrow the Mandate?”

The woman’s lips pressed together. “When the Mandate’s prison guards tortured me after Jimboomba. That’s when I understood the type of people they were. I’m ambitious; I know my faults as well as anyone else. But I know what’s right, and the Mandate? They’re not right. Not one bit.” Tina slanted her eyes toward Romy. “And after Nancy saved me, I didn’t really have another choice. It was kind of a one-way street from there.”

Laughter burst from Romy’s lips. “You really want to take the Mandate down, though?”

“I really do. I have a date with one of the mandates. Tell your crazy-ass self not to shoot Mandate Burkly. Ima cut him.” Her emerald eyes gleamed and Romy didn’t doubt her for a second. “To get the settlement and city dwellers on our side, we need passion within the Amach ranks. We need belief. That kind of thing is catching—like herpes.”

Romy gave her a curious look.

“Don’t ask.”

“How do we change their attitude then?” Romy asked. Tina had her convinced. If every person in Amach spoke the way Tina did, this war might be won already.

“Already changed.” Tina snorted. “You should’ve seen it.”

Romy looked at her. “They’re that worked up?” she asked.

Tina grinned.

With a sigh, Romy pushed off the wall. She tensed as the smaller woman grabbed her arm. In the training room, a punch usually followed.

Tina said, “If it’s worth anything, I’d happily switch places with you, if I could.”

A ghost of a smile curved Romy’s mouth. “You’d do a better job of it.”

“Naw. I think you’re getting the hang of it,” Tina said, taking Romy aback.

“Holy hippos, Tina. Is that a compliment?”

Tina snorted. “All I’m saying is the girl who first came to Earth, even the one I met in Jimboomba, wouldn’t have pulled that trigger.” Romy didn’t answer, kicking a pipe. The sound echoed down the passage.

“I hope you can make peace with it,” Tina said. “Because you’ve given us all hope.”

“The problem isn’t that I can’t make peace with it.”

Tina pushed off the wall. “What do you mean?”

Closing her eyes, Romy drew up the memory of the moment she’d pulled the trigger. Her toes curled in satisfaction, knowing her bullet hit its intended mark and Mandate Saavin was dead.

She’d finally found her killer instinct. But could she trust it, knowing this new Crazy Romy, albeit not totally insane like Feral Romy, may be causing these violent urges?

She opened her eyes and looked across at Tina. “The problem is I’d do exactly the same thing again.”

* * *

Abandoned couches littered the space, empty cups lay toppled on their sides, and random articles of clothing lay strewn over the sticky ground.

“I’m gonna leave you to it,” mumbled Tina at her side. The petite redhead had led her back through the Amach maze.

“To what?” Romy asked.

Tina tilted her head. “To that.”

Romy glanced up and noticed Atlas standing by the projector. His eyes didn’t leave her as the pair weaved their way between couches.

“About that,” Romy said uncertainly. “You and—”

“Me and Atlas are long over,” Tina finished for her. Romy exhaled slowly.

“Are you saying that because you feel bad about showing the video?” The words slipped out.

Tina rolled her eyes. “You wish, weakling. I’m woman enough to know when I’ve lost. He never looked at me the stalker-ish way he looks at you. That’s enough to tell me I better cast my net and find someone who appreciates all my sexiness the way he appreciates yours.”

Romy grimaced. “Not sure I’ve ever been described as sexy in my life.”

Excuse me?

“You just started puberty fifteen months ago; you have another five years until you feel good about the way you look,” Tina said.

“Please don’t say the ‘P’ word.”

Tina snorted and headed for the exit on the far side of the room, and Romy made her way to the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen.

Atlas broke the comfortable silence. “Are you—?”

Romy held up her hands. “I’m okay. Just trying to wrap my head around everything.”

“Do you need to talk about it?”

“Like you talk about everything with me?”

Atlas froze. “What?”

She rubbed her forehead, cursing Crazy Romy silently. “I’m sorry. I’m tired. It’s been a long day.”

“That doesn’t sound like something that just occurred to you. . . . Do you really think that way about me?” His jaw ticked.

Crud. This was happening. She just wanted to go back to the ‘breaking the chain’ part. “If you really want to know. . . .” She paused. “Then yes. I do. I think you purposely shut me out of nearly everything to do with yourself: your work, your past, your life here. What I can’t figure out is if it’s just me, or if you’re that way with everyone.”

Wow, you should vent more often.

His lips pressed together. He was pissed. “You know plenty about me.”

Romy scoffed. “I know that you’re Irish. I know your father is gone. I know you were the Orbito Four commander. You have a wry sense of humour, and you purse your lips when you’re trying not to smile. Even then, you tend to quirk into a half smile before you grin. You run your hands through your hair when you’re frustrated or upset. These are things I’ve picked up myself. Aside from your secret spot and blueberry patch, I don’t think you’ve ever willingly offered up one single aspect of yourself to me.”

He didn’t move.

“Atlas, you know everything about me,” she croaked.

He searched her face. “I didn’t realised this bothered you.”

“Yeah, well, neither did I. So what now?”

He shifted on the spot, a subtle sign of his discomfort. “Now, I ask you to be patient with me. I. . .” His eyes took on a dark edge she’d only seen a few times. “Rosemary, I’m—” He broke off.

She frowned at his flustered demeanour. Stepping forward, she took his hand. Sweaty and cold. “What is it, Atlas?”

He stopped and took a breath. “I know I do that.”

Romy looked at him in confusion.

“I know I do it, and I’m trying to work on it. It’s something I’ve been struggling with since leaving Orbito Four.”

“I don’t understand.”

He gritted his teeth, but Atlas didn’t seem angry at her. “I left for the orbitos at age seventeen. I was trained from five years old to take the position of commander. I spent nine years going between Earth and space, and eight of those years as a commander of Orbito Four. The things I’ve done—”

She hushed him, reaching a hand up to his face. He put a cold hand over hers.

“From a young age, I was told never to share anything about my life with anybody.” His eyes met hers and she nearly drowned in the troubled depths. “I’m ashamed of the things I’ve done. And I’m not sure I really know myself at all after being cultivated into a commander my entire life.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I had no idea.”

He shook his head. “I hoped you wouldn’t ever need to know.” He brought her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss there, lowering his voice. “I don’t want you to feel you don’t know me. I never want you to feel that way. But,” he licked his lips, “I don’t want you to think differently about me when you know everything I’ve done.”

Romy searched his expression. This was Atlas scared. She’d never seen him scared before. This was why he didn’t speak about himself? What had they made him do up there? “Atlas, you were playing a role on the orbitos. Whatever you did . . . that’s on the Amach, not you.”

He didn’t answer.

“I’ll give you all the time you need,” she said quietly. “You waited fifteen months for me. I think it’s only fair I give you time. And we don’t need to start with the big stuff. How about the smaller things? Like your favourite colour?”

Atlas brushed a thumb against her cheek. “Ivory.”

“You couldn’t go with the usual green, or blue?”

A laugh rumbled from his lips. “I’m deep like that.”

She arched a brow before remembering they were standing in the Mess in the middle of the night. “Why were you here, anyway?”

His expression cleared, and he straightened his shoulders until every trace of vulnerability was gone. His eyes hardened, his stance widened. In one second he’d reformed into a soldier.

After his confession, the sight broke her heart.

“I want to show you something.” He pressed the switch on the projector and drew her to a couch in the middle of the Mess. He sat and pulled her down with him.

Romy landed with a bounce. “What?”

“I was watching your face during the recording,” he said. “You’re afraid of the . . . other Romy.”

“You can call her Crazy Romy, if you like,” she offered.

Atlas’s jaw ticked, but he went on after a beat. “I wanted to show you what happened after other Romy got back to Amach.” He tilted his head to the screen.

Romy turned to face the front, and her mouth dropped open.

It was a recording of the passage outside the debrief room.

Five Amach personnel ran toward the camera, which she assumed was still pinned to the front of Crazy Romy’s chest.

Romy watched, hardly believing her eyes as Crazy Romy took down all of them. Every. Single. One.

“What. . . .” She trailed off as the clip ended with Atlas throwing her over his shoulder.

“I didn’t know I could do that,” she said weakly.

Biatch, I have totally got your back.

Romy peered across the couch. “Atlas, do you think I can trust her?”

“Well, she certainly plays by her own rules,” he said with a half smile. He frowned before adding, “She protected herself against anyone she deemed to be a threat, and her constant interest was the safety of her knot. There’s no way she would have done anything to hurt them.”

She blew out a breath. Crazy Romy wouldn’t harm Knot 27. Deep down, that’s what her worry had been.

A nervous giggle slipped out before she could stop it. “I’m sorry if I say anything weird when the old memory card is in. Crazy Romy has a mind—and vocabulary—of her own.”

Atlas shrugged, drawling a smile. “Honestly, I think she’s cute. And hot as hell.”

“And me?” Romy asked.

“Cute. And hot as hell.”

She fought against the smile trying to spread across her face. The smile won. “Why do you like me? I’m the craziest person I know—who isn’t in deep freeze,” she amended.

“’Like’ implies something much less permanent than what I feel for you.”

Romy froze.

“Now,” Atlas said, standing, “let’s put on a better movie.”

A movie? Romy looked after him doubtfully. The only movies she’d watched were about complicated space manoeuvres.

Atlas returned a minute later and pulled her into standing position. He stretched lengthways on the long couch, and bent his arm under his head. There was a space large enough for her in front of him. She’d be lying right against him.

His grey eyes were amused as she hovered uncertainly.

Don’t make me bitch-slap us. I’ll do it if you don’t get our perky arse down there.

Romy sniffed and slid in front of Atlas on the couch, facing the screen. She tensed as his arm wrapped around her stomach and pulled her tight to him.

“Now watch,” he said, breath tickling her ear.

“What is it?” she whispered back.

He smiled against her hair. “This is a movie I used to watch with my father: Hunt for the Wilderpeople.”

She relaxed into his warmth. “Your favourite movie?” She yawned.

“I’m not really sure,” he mused. “It’s one of the only movies I remember from my childhood.”

Sadness spread through her chest. “Why do you like it?”

Atlas answered her softly. “Because it’s about a simpler time. We’ve forgotten the simple things in life. But the way I see it, it’s the simple things that make our lives worthwhile.”

* * *

Romy nuzzled into the warm pillow under her head.

“Mum,” a voice said from behind her. Directly behind.

Atlas. She liked him.

“Son,” a voice replied tersely.

Romy stilled. Gwenyth. Overprotective mother.

Her surroundings came back to her; she was in the Mess. Spooning the commander-general’s son.

Romy kept her breath even, not daring to open her eyes. Especially not after hearing Gwenyth screech for the guards to restrain her on the video last night. She didn’t know what pre-empted that order, but felt safe in assuming Crazy Romy had pissed the leader off. A lot.

I maybe did some stuff.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Gwenyth said.

Romy felt Atlas’s eyes on her.

“I’ve never been more certain,” he answered.

“How could you know what you want after being on the orbitos all those years?” Gwenyth’s sniff didn’t sound as dismissive as she sought to make it.

“I spent nearly half of my time on Earth,” he responded drily. “I was hardly celibate.”

Romy scowled inside.

“Too much information. I don’t want to know all that.” Her voice choked with laughter.

Atlas chuckled softly. “And I’m not telling you. Just as I won’t be telling you about Rosemary and myself.”

A tiny thrill rose within her.

He can call us Rosemary any day.

“You had to grow up too fast.” She sighed. “I understand you’ve changed a lot during your time on the orbitos. I’ve had time to see how over the last fifteen months. I just wish I hadn’t missed those years with you.”

“I’m here now,” Atlas said gently.

Romy got the feeling it wasn’t the first time he’d had to reassure her.

The next sniff was definitely to hold back tears. “Yes. You are. Atlas?”

“Yeah?”

“We are both pledged to help this cause. We did what needed to be done, but I’ll never stop regretting that time I lost with you.”

She listened to Gwenyth’s marching steps recede and relaxed.

“You can open your eyes now,” Atlas said in a husky voice.

She gave up her pretence and peeked through her lashes.

As serious as she’d ever seen him, Atlas leaned down, touching his lips to hers. Romy melted into his mouth, twisting on the couch to face him. He pressed harder, sensing she wanted it just as much as he. His warm palms felt like they were burning handprints into the bare skin of her back as he pulled her tight against him.

He pressed a knee between hers and groaned into her mouth. Eucalyptus barraged her senses. She untangled a hand to wrap it through his jet-black hair. She sighed; the strands were just long enough to pull. He bit her bottom lip and Romy arched in response.

A throat cleared.

Atlas worked his way down her throat and Romy would be hard-pressed to recall if anything had ever felt so good.

A throat cleared. Romy frowned.

Atlas didn’t stop his ministrations.

A throat cleared and her eyes widened. She whacked his shoulder. “Atlas.”

He lifted his eyes to hers, gaze searing.

What was she going to say?

He raised his head. His shoulder tightened under her palm though his voice was mild as he spoke. “You might want to close your eyes again.”

* * *

Thrym wasn’t talking to her after Knot 27 had caught her on the couch with Atlas.

Now, Thrym threw weights around in the gym as fiercely as he had the day before.

He had no right to be acting this way. Romy knew his mind was telling him one thing, and his heart another. She knew exactly what that felt like, except she’d had her other memory card to show her how she truly felt. Thrym didn’t have that.

He only acted this way because he was hurt. She needed to be patient.

Snort.

Romy ignored Crazy Romy.

Last night, she’d seen glimpses of her and Thrym getting back to what they once were. Best friends. She wanted it more than he could possibly realise. She couldn’t lose him. But him sulking like this, making her feel bad for pursuing Atlas, made friendship seem as far away as ever.

“Time’s up,” Tina said, starting in. Romy caught sight of Elara pulling the thumbs-up at her from across the gym. She’d been doing it all morning. One person was on her side about Atlas. Only three knotmates left to convince.

Tina’s glove cuffed her jaw.

“Pay attention.”

Romy scowled at her trainer. It was possible Tina was worse than the Critamal.

Something caught her attention past Tina’s ear. Deimos. Walking toward Houston, who stood by the gym doors. Their heads were bent together in fierce conversation.

Another gloved fist caught her. Harder this time.

She gave Tina an apologetic look and focused on sparring. Romy felt like she was getting the hang of this punching business. Tina must’ve thought the same because she’d begun fighting with her, instead of making her hit the pad thingos.

The frustrating thing was Romy now knew she could fight. She’d seen Crazy Romy in action. Yet she was nowhere near as fast or powerful as Crazy Romy in that recording.

You are—you just don’t know it yet.

Tina pulled back. “Time.” She dropped her guard.

I’ll show you.

Romy swung an arm out and clipped Tina’s jaw.

Romy immediately backed away, horrified. “I’m so sorry!”

Tina’s eyes narrowed on her. “Did you do that on purpose?” Her eyes widened. “You did! You waited until I dropped my arms.”

Not as stupid as she looks.

“It was Crazy Romy’s fault,” she said weakly.

“Rosemary?”

She spun as someone called.

Tina’s fist drove into her gut.

Tina whispered in her ear. “I don’t buy that for a second. Your old memory card isn’t in.”

Crud. She shouldn’t have mentioned Crazy Romy. She didn’t want to raise Tina’s suspicions. “Sorry, it was an accident.” Romy wheezed.

Tina deliberated. She took off her gloves and liners. “Hmm, well I guess you just accidentally met Crazy Tina, too.”

Romy grinned around her cough and straightened, a hand to her stomach. She was starting to like Tina.

Atlas waited to one side with the two older men. He glanced between her and Tina, confused by Romy’s clear amusement.

“What’s up?” she said casually. He beckoned to her gloves, and she lifted them, still slightly hunched.

“Meeting,” he said, stripping off her gloves. “Houston called it.”

Romy’s eyes met his. “Why?”

He leaned in. “I’m hoping it’s the insanity cure.”

She didn’t like keeping the truth from him. She wondered how Gwenyth managed it.

Atlas maintained a professional distance as they walked to the debriefing room with the other two men. It didn’t stop him from looking, though. Romy tucked away a smile as he glanced her way for the third time.

They moved into the debriefing room. Everyone was already situated.

Houston sat, staring down at the table in front of him. What was this about?

“You’ve found the cure?” Atlas asked. Even he couldn’t conceal his excitement. “How long until we can evacuate the other orbitos and begin distributing it?”

An older man spoke up. “With the additional numbers, we could overthrow the Mandate by the end of the year.”

An excited buzz erupted.

Houston held up his hand, and eventually silence reigned again. “I’m no closer to finding the answer to the insanity trigger than I was on day one.”

The voices in the room clamoured over each other in a bid to be heard.

Romy frowned at him, and glanced at Gwenyth. Her face was an impassive mask. Why had the Amach leader and Houston decided to lie to the people in this room?

“I called this meeting to call into question whether we, as the leaders of Amach, are doing enough to bring down the Mandate.”

“H,” Atlas interjected. “This isn’t the time.”

Houston levelled a look across the table. “It never does seem to be the time to question your mother’s leadership, Atlas.”

“We’ve heard your arguments before,” the same older man said. “Several times.”

“I want to hear what Houston has to say,” a woman said.

She wasn’t the only one. At least four others in the room added their voices to hers.

Houston stood. “Your husband was a great man, Gwenyth. During his time as leader we infiltrated the orbitos, the Mandate headquarters, as well as most of the key cities around the world. We installed Atlas as a commander on Orbito Four, and our numbers swelled.”

“Houston,” Atlas growled.

Romy glanced between them. She knew she was gone fifteen months, but how had things changed so much between the two? She never saw them hanging out—not that they did this in Jimboomba, but they seemed so much closer there. Was it Houston’s obsession driving a wedge between the pair, or Atlas’s demons?

“Gwenyth, you’ve filled Royce’s shoes as much as you can in the last five years. But be honest—did you ever really want to lead the Amach?”

The leader looked vulnerable for the first time. “I believe I’ve always done my best for this cause. I’ve given up everything for the Amach.”

She could feel Atlas’s anger emanating from him in waves at his mother’s stricken face.

“Yes,” agreed Houston smoothly. “But we’ve stopped moving forward. This war will not be won without violence. Do you understand that?”

Atlas rose to his full six feet, six inches. “You are a series of contradictions, Houston. It was my father’s vision that the war be won through minimal bloodshed. Not my mother’s. You cannot praise him and then tear him down in the next breath.”

Shit, he’s gonna blow.

He and Houston stared at each other. No one moved a muscle, their eyes fixed on the showdown between the two men.

Houston’s face hardened. “I call for a vote on the leadership of the Amach,” he said loudly. “I would like to nominate myself as leader.”

“I second his nomination,” the same woman called.

“I third his nomination,” Tyson spoke up.

“Tyson?” Gwenyth said, clearly puzzled at his disloyalty.

He avoided her gaze, clutching his nano.

Houston and Atlas hadn’t moved their eyes from one another. Houston spoke again. “I also nominate Atlas for the position.”

Atlas blinked. “No.”

“I second that—” Tina started.

“No!” Atlas pounded both fists on the table. “I will not replace my mother as leader of the Amach. She has worked herself into the ground for you people. She gave up her son, and lost her husband, and days after, stepped up to lead because you were all floundering like fucking fish. Have you forgotten that?”

Romy got to her feet beside Atlas.

No one in the room could meet his eyes.

“Different times call for different leaders,” Houston interjected.

Atlas didn’t acknowledge the comment. “Have your vote. But count me out of it.”

He turned and met Romy’s eyes for a brief moment before leaving the room with the slam of the door.

Gwenyth gazed around the room, her heart in her grey eyes. “Those in favour of Houston leading the Amach?”

Five people raised their hands.

“Those in favour of me retaining my mantle,” she followed on. The remaining ten hands rose.

Gwenyth turned to Houston, her usual icy expression back in place. “I suggest you focus on getting us a cure before you start leaping around for other jobs, Dr Houston.” Her eyes ran over the five who had voted for him. “Clearly, the majority in this room are still loyal to me.” Her eyes lingered on Tyson.

Houston wasn’t even listening. He appeared deep in thought, his face full of something akin to regret. His expression smoothed before he glanced up.

“A clean win, Gwenyth. My congratulations. I just like to check these things now and again.” He cackled. “You won’t hear a peep from me on the subject again. Mum’s the word.” He winked.

No one in the room bought it.

Romy least of all.

No. She wasn’t buying his act for a second.

Something else was afoot.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“Hey, you guys want to hang after dinner?” Deimos asked, shoving a slice of bread in his mouth.

The Mess buzzed with the clattering of trays and cutlery and people conversing at the end of a long day.

Romy glanced at Elara next to her.

Usually, she’d glance at Thrym, but he still hadn’t uttered a word to her. It was starting to piss her off. It was like their ‘just friends’ conversation never happened.

Elara returned Romy’s questioning look with a shrug. They peered across the bench at Phobos.

Phobos sent them an imploring look. He wanted his twin back.

“Yeah, sure,” replied Romy, neutrally. This was what she’d wanted since her arrival, but it didn’t feel the same when all of them were squabbling.

“Sounds good,” Thrym said.

Did it? Why did Thrym want to spend time in her company? He wasn’t even speaking to her.

“It’ll be fun,” Elara said, forcing herself to swallow some of the beef stew.

“Great,” Deimos replied. Did he mean that? He’d made his feelings about Elara and Phobos very clear.

Phobos smiled uncertainly at Deimos. “Be like old times.”

Except it wasn’t.

Romy plastered a smile on her face and followed them to empty her tray. As she did so, there was a whir and a clunk, and an empty bin replaced the new. “Where does that go?” she asked Thrym. It’d been bugging her since she got here.

“Fusion steaming,” he answered before recalling his vow of silence.

Romy leaped on the words despite his frown. She could work with that. He used to be her best friend. She knew him. Most of the time.

“What’s fusion steaming?” she asked.

Thrym fixed his eyes away from her. At a table nearby, Nancy had stopped eating to watch him. Her eyes flickered to Romy once, hate-filled, before she returned her attention to her food. Romy sighed.

“Fusion steaming is how they get rid of waste here,” he explained. His manner relaxed as he became engrossed in his explanation. “They use nuclear fusion to power everything. In fusion steaming, they use the same concept of holding two reactive ions in close proximity to create energy, but as well as harnessing the energy, they use the steam the reaction gives off to break waste down, so the compounds can be re-used.”

Romy looked back at the bin. “That’s incredible. And the nuclear power plant is in Amach?”

Thrym smiled at her. “It is. It’s all extremely safe. Nothing like the rudimentary models we learned about on the orbitos. Now, people see nuclear energy the same way their ancestors saw, say . . . wind energy.”

Romy grinned back. “Once this is all over, I’m going to learn about new technology.”

“Why not now?” he asked.

She hesitated before responding. “My head is constantly hammering these days. Reading makes it worse. Charlee brought me a book on Irish history the other day and I couldn’t manage more than two pages.”

They began walking back to the others, who were waiting by the exit.

“I’m sorry. You were never without reading material back on Orbito One.” Thrym rested a hand on her arm and she stopped. He sighed heavily. “I haven’t been there for you, have I.”

She shrugged, ignoring the sudden burning behind her eyes.

His blue eyes dropped to the floor. “I’ve been acting like a prize A-hole. When you’re going through this.”

Yep.

It wasn’t really an apology. And Romy felt she deserved an apology after his silent treatment. She could understand his feelings were all over the place, but she liked to think she’d be able to put hers temporarily aside if their positions were reversed.

I say we hold our ground.

Romy agreed. She pressed her lips together, refusing to tell him it was okay as she usually would.

Knot 27 made their way to Deimos’s room in silence.

She’d visited Elara and Phobos’s room once, but none of the others. Unsurprisingly, when Deimos pushed open the door, the room looked identical to hers: sparsely decorated. Made for practicality and durability.

“Guess we’re all squeezing on the bed,” Elara said, leaping onto the lumpy mattress. Romy laughed and jumped on after her, bouncing up and down. They settled with their backs against the cold concrete behind them, legs outstretched and feet dangling over the edge.

Phobos and Thrym slid on beside them.

Deimos brought a metal stool over and reached under the bed, dragging out two bottles with a clink.

“What do you have there?” Phobos waggled his blond brows.

“What? This?” Deimos asked innocently. “Some moonshine from Tyson.”

Elara burst out laughing. “That dweeb makes moonshine?”

“What’s moonshine?” Romy asked.

“Alcohol that tastes like poacher piss and disintegrates your organs,” replied Thrym. “Don’t drink it.” The others booed him and Deimos passed the bottle around.

“Tyson made this?” Romy asked. Tyson was one of the people who voted for Houston instead of Gwenyth. He was turning out to be a dark horse, that one.

She passed when Elara offered her the bottle. “I already feel like my brain is disintegrating. No thanks.”

The others spluttered and coughed as they took a sip. After a few punches from Phobos, Thrym took a tiny sip as well and got a group cheer. Phobos wrapped an arm around him. “Our little Thrym, growing up so fast.”

Thrym rolled his eyes at Romy, who bit back a laugh.

“So, I mean, why the gathering?” Elara asked, studying her nails. Phobos aimed a glare at her. “What?” she asked. “We haven’t hung out in fifteen months. Why now?”

Deimos’s gaze fell on Elara. He’d masked the usual irritation she saw there. Masked it. The dislike still sat underneath. That’s what Romy couldn’t understand; how could you dislike a knotmate? It should go against every single blood cell. Even though Thrym was being a jerk, she would never dream of driving a wedge between them as Deimos had with Elara and Phobos.

“Do you guys know anything about our knot model?” Romy blurted out into the awkward silence.

“A little,” admitted Phobos.

Romy smiled and crossed her ankles. “We’re one of the oldest knots,” she said proudly.

Elara turned to her, mouth open. “No way!”

“Yes, way.”

They bumped knuckles.

“Dr Charlee told me we’re one of the oldest models and would’ve had our first lifespan in the first ten years after the Retreat,” Romy caught Thrym’s look and knew he was remembering what she’d told him the night before. She was determined this wouldn’t become about their issues. She soldiered on. “Our model forms the strongest bonds of loyalty.”

She couldn’t help sliding her eyes to Deimos. He fidgeted, but returned her look without wavering.

“We’ve been around from the start?” Thrym asked.

Romy nodded.

Phobos said, “I’ve always felt like I’ve known you guys forever.”

Elara’s voice filled with awe. “I’ve been with you guys for over a hundred years. Holy crap! We’re old as shit.”

And still looking fine.

Romy cracked a smile.

“What are you smiling at, Ro?” Deimos asked.

She flinched. “Oh, just because I’ve always had that feeling, too.”

A chorus of ‘me toos’ echoed from the others.

They each fell into their own thoughts for a few minutes—something she’d always appreciated about her knot, but hadn’t felt lately. Romy hoped the others were thinking about how pointless their squabbles were.

“Things were so uncomplicated before Earth and hormones.” Elara sighed. “Remember the orbitos? Sometimes I wonder if ignorance is bliss.”

Deimos gave her a baffled look. “You’d rather be up there? Listening to the same lies over and over?”

“Listened to them for over a hundred years with no problem,” she joked.

A storm drew in fast on Deimos’s face. He opened his mouth, and Romy interjected. “Life is a lot more complicated, that’s for sure. But I wouldn’t go back. Even when they wiped my memory, deep down I knew something wasn’t right, and I’ve recently learned that ignorance—when you know you’re ignorant—is not something I’d wish on anyone.”

“The Dublin thing?” Phobos asked.

“Yep, and before up on Orbito Four,” she replied. “You have no idea how glad I am that Tina pinned a damn camera to my chest.”

Thrym stared at the ceiling. “Life was simpler back then. Earth changes things, doesn’t it?”

That wasn’t where Romy wanted this conversation to go. “Are you going to pass the bottle around again?”

Deimos broke from his trance and passed the moonshine to Elara.

“What are you guys up to, uh, for the week?” Romy asked in the wake of silence.

The twins sniggered at her. Elara took pity. “They’re letting us back on mission tomorrow. Tina was reinstated as vice-commander.”

“Really?” Deimos asked.

Elara gave him a small smile. “Gwenyth decided she could be forgiven because the Amach are more pumped up than they’ve been in a long time—then the missing team showed up yesterday . . . and probably because Tina is really the only person capable of the job.”

“What?” Romy blurted. “The team was found?”

“Yesterday morning,” Thrym said apologetically. “Sorry, it slipped my mind.”

Probably because you weren’t talking to us.

“But how?” she asked, shuffling off the bed to give her tension space. Standing was better.

“They drove as far as they could from Dublin,” Elara explained. “Hiked the rest of the way. They got held up at the sentry point in Dublin and had to fight their way out. Most of them have injuries, but everyone survived.”

Relief swept through her. Romy pressed a hand to her chest.

“I should have told you,” Elara said, reaching forward to take Romy’s hand.

“No,” she said hoarsely. “It’s fine. I didn’t realise I felt so guilty about the missing team. It was only because of me they were caught.”

“Actually,” interrupted Deimos, “that’s not true.”

“What?” Thrym asked.

For a second, alarm crossed Deimos’s face. He continued after a pause. “The sentry caught the team on the way into Dublin. Romy’s disturbance at the Mandate’s rally gave them the opportunity to get away.”

“Where did you hear that?” Thrym asked, eyes narrowed. “The captains weren’t told.”

Deimos kicked his legs up onto the bed and crossed his arms. “I can’t tell you all my secrets, Thrymmy boy. You couldn’t handle them.”

Phobos snorted.

“No, seriously,” Thrym pressed. “Tell me how you knew.”

Deimos tensed and lowered his feet to the ground, taking another swig of the bottle. “I don’t see that it’s any of your business.”

“As a captain, I beg to differ.”

“Does it have something to do with Houston?” Phobos asked, wiping an imaginary spot off his cheek.

Deimos rolled his eyes. “What is it with you and Houston?”

Phobos stared at his hands for a long moment before looking across at Deimos. “I find it hard to like him when he took my best friend.”

She shared an alarmed look with Thrym. Elara looked torn between wanting to comfort Phobos and wanting to sink into the floor.

“He didn’t take me, Pho,” Deimos said heavily. The sentence seemed unfinished. You let me go. He shrugged. “Look, I don’t want to argue with you guys. I just wanted to spend time with you,” he said.

Again, Romy found herself waiting for the rest of the sentence.

“We should talk about all this, though,” Elara said. “That’s the problem—we don’t talk anymore.”

“You’re the problem,” Deimos muttered under his breath.

Elara froze on the bed. “What did you just say to me?” A delicate pink rose up her neck.

Deimos took another swig. “You heard me. You’re the problem.”

“Since when?” she demanded. “Since Phobos and I got together? Christ, Deimos. Your problem isn’t with me,” she withered. “Your problem is that you’re a selfish dick who can’t be happy for his best friend.”

“Ellie,” Phobos said quietly.

Elara bounced off the bed in a furious tirade. “Don’t you ‘Ellie’ me!” She slammed both hands on her hips and glared at him.

Romy wet her lips. “You’re both making Phobos choose. Don’t you see that?”

They turned on her.

“I didn’t start this!” Elara spat. “We’d all get along if Deimos wasn’t such a jerk!”

“You’ve changed him,” Deimos said with a scowl. “Always whining, always hanging around. You never give him time to be friends with anyone.” He turned back to Phobos. “That’s why I hang out with Houston. And you know what? We get on great. I should thank you, Pho, for leaving me in your dust for a bit of vagina.”

“Excuse me?” Elara said, high-pitched.

“Why does there need to be a choice in the first place?” Thrym spoke in response to Romy’s beseeching look.

“Why should I take advice from the person who is single-handedly driving Romy away from us?” Deimos withered.

“What?” Thrym spluttered.

Deimos stood over him on the bed. “She doesn’t want you. Get that through your thick, self-righteous head and get over her. You make it so awkward, I’m surprised she hangs with us at all.”

“Deimos,” Romy growled, “Thrym and I sorted that out last night.”

“Sure seems that way from how he’s been sulking the entire day,” Deimos said sarcastically.

Thrym fixed eyes on her. The icy depths shimmered slightly. His sky-blue eyes had never seemed so bright. “What if I’ve decided you’re wrong about that stuff?” he asked hoarsely. “What if I think my feelings are real?”

Romy’s mouth dried. He couldn’t seriously be doing this here.

No one else met her desperate eyes, not even Deimos, who’d damn well brought it up.

Her gut twisted, but anger loosened her tongue enough to speak. “If you feel that way, then we need to talk again and decide what we’re going to do,” she finally said. “You know I don’t feel the same. And I don’t believe you’ve given what I told you long enough to sink in.”

Thrym’s eyes went glassy. “I have.”

“What are you guys talking about?” Elara said.

Romy groaned silently.

“Romy thinks the Mandate designed us to pair up and repopulate Earth when we got back here. That’s why you and Phobos are together.”

“That’s not why they’re together,” Romy snapped.

He smiled without humour. “You can’t have it both ways. Either our feelings are artificial, or they’re not.”

“If you and Thrym are supposed to be together, and Elara and Phobos, where does that leave me?” Deimos said forlornly.

Knot 27 exploded and comments began to fly in the chaos.

“Get over yourself, Deimos.”

“Don’t speak about her that way!”

“You’re calling me that? When you’ve barely spoken to me in months.”

Thrym stared at Romy like a wounded animal, and heat began to build inside of her.

“Romy?” Thrym croaked. “Why won’t you give me a chance?”

Deimos kicked the stool back as Phobos stood, fists curled.

“Stop!” Elara was shouting.

They are being completely unreasonable.

“I know,” Romy replied to the voice.

The heat inside Romy reached boiling point.

It needed to get out.

I’ve had enough.

Romy picked up a bottle and threw it as hard as she could against the far wall, screaming so hard it tore at her throat. Glass smashed everywhere; liquid erupted.

The shocked quiet behind her was music to her ears.

Hands clenched, Romy turned back. “Sit down!” she yelled.

They obeyed her. Eyes wide.

“Shit is about to change.” She breathed heavily. “I cannot deal with this! If I ever truly needed my knot, it’s been the last few weeks, but you’re all so busy snapping at each other’s throats, or ignoring each other, or distancing yourselves—you don’t give a shit about anyone other than yourselves!” She stared at each one of them. “They took my memory. They sifted through my head and they took what they wanted and left behind all their bullshit. Do you understand that?”

She screamed again. It felt good.

“They told me your names when they harvested me, did you know? Told me you’d been blown up by the Critamal. Then,” her voice cracked, “Atlas came and told me you were alive. Somehow, I had another chance to be reunited with my knot. Then I get here,” she said flatly. “I even get most of my memories back, but I can’t figure out why things still don’t make sense. Until it hits me a few days later. You’re not the knot from my memories. You’re a weaker, diluted version.”

“Romy.” Phobos stood.

We’re not done yet.

“Not even close,” she agreed.

“Who is she talking to?” Elara whispered.

Romy picked up the other bottle. “Can any of you imagine how devastating that was? Or do you not give a single shit?” Before Phobos could reach her, Romy threw the second bottle against the wall, relishing the anarchy as it joined the shattered remains of the first bottle.

“Don’t touch me,” she cried as he neared her.

He held up his hands.

Deimos joined him, adopting the same posture. “Shh, honey. You’re okay.”

Her lip trembled. “Will it be okay, Dei?”

His eyes grew as glassy as her own for a second before he blinked several times. “It will be okay,” he said. Romy watched him carefully as he approached and wrapped his arms around her.

“It will be okay,” he hushed.

He’s lying to you.

She pressed her lips against his ear. “Then why are you lying to me?”

He jerked as a wailing siren went off overhead.

“All personnel gather at the Mess. This is not a drill. All personnel to the Mess.”

Her eyes narrowed on Deimos, but he looked as shocked as everyone else.

Thrym stood awkwardly, wiping at his face. He pulled a shaking Elara to her feet. “Come on,” he said quietly. “We’ve got to go.”

Phobos picked his way through the glass after them.

Romy waited for Deimos to say something.

When he didn’t, her eyes fell on the shattered glass surrounding them. It glinted in the dim light. The shards could be beautiful, if they didn’t possess the ability to cut her to shreds.

Without another look at him, she crunched across the glass after the others.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Gwenyth stood at the front of the Mess. A small raised platform had been rolled into position, and the leader looked over the gathering, expressionless. People crammed into every corner of the Mess, all two thousand Amach members in attendance.

“Your attention,” Gwenyth called.

There were expectant smiles on a few faces—they clearly thought this meeting was about Houston finding the insanity cure.

“One hour ago, Tyson and his team intercepted a message from the Mandate—unencrypted. Addressed to us.”

A murmur filled the room. Romy and Thrym’s eyes meet briefly. Nancy stood on his other side, violet eyes fixed on the leader.

“The message disappeared from all systems after it played,” Gwenyth continued solemnly, “taking all proof of the Mandate’s involvement.” She straightened her shoulders and glanced to the right.

Romy stood on tiptoes, spotting Atlas standing at the base of the podium, face hard, eyes cold.

Shit’s about to hit the fan.

Romy silently agreed.

“We have twenty-four hours before the Mandate uses their cannons to destroy the seven remaining orbito stations,” Gwenyth stated.

Romy stared, sure she’d misheard.

The surrounding noise grew steadily louder as people demanded more information. Phobos stood beside her, a hand under one of her elbows, his other arm around Elara.

“We can’t.” Romy’s voice cracked. “It can’t.” She didn’t make any sense, but she couldn’t put the tacky horror into words. Her hands crept up to cover her mouth.

Phobos squeezed her elbow. “We can’t let that happen. We won’t let them all die. Gwenyth and Atlas will have a plan.”

It took five minutes for the room to settle, despite Gwenyth’s raised hand.

Excitement had turned to terror with a single sentence. Without the space soldiers, the Amach could be down here for decades to come.

All Romy could think was that they had twenty-four hours to save three and half thousand innocent space soldiers.

Her body buzzed with denial.

Romy wavered on the spot. She looked down and saw the stable ground underneath her had disappeared. There seemed to be waves in it, like the ocean. Her stuttered inhale echoed in her ears.

Take deep breaths, biatch. Not yet. You gotta stay cool here.

“Do we have the insanity cure?” someone yelled.

“No,” Gwenyth answered. “This is still in progress. However, the Mandate has forced an ultimatum on us. We can no longer wait for an answer to the insanity trigger before saving the space soldiers. We need to save them now.”

“Nice to see she cares about their lives and not just their usefulness,” Deimos said in her ear.

Romy tilted her head back. “Where have you been?” she asked.

He lifted a shoulder and the action drew Romy’s attention past him—to the far wall. Houston stood there, arms crossed. Her eyes flashed back to Deimos. He avoided her gaze and moved to stand by Elara.

I’m worried about Deimos.

“So am I,” Romy whispered.

Thrym gave her a questioning look and she shook her head. His eyes remained on her for a long moment before turning to the front again.

“For the last hour, the commanding team has been making plans.” Gwenyth looked up, the set of her shoulders heavy. “For the next five hours, our commanding team and a select few soldiers will be finalising these plans.”

Shouting broke out from the back.

“Quiet,” yelled Atlas. He walked up the few steps to stand behind his mother on the podium.

“The Mandate had intimate knowledge of details within Amach. It is possible they’ve gleaned this information from interrogating prisoners,” Gwenyth said.

Romy caught Nancy’s sharp inhale. Her purple eyes filled with tears, though she attempted to blink them back. Thrym put an arm around her.

Gwenyth paused. “It is also possible they have an informant within the Amach.” A shocked gasp ran through the crowd.

“As such,” the leader continued, “we think it safest to keep the details of any plans within closed walls until the last moment. In the meantime, you will pack for survival; take provisions, warm clothing, tents, and weapons. We think it’s best if the Amach is prepared to evacuate, temporarily,” she raised her voice over the complaints, “to distribute amongst our other bases. The Mandate’s eye is fixed on us, and if all goes our way, they will be angry. Very, very angry. Do not be alarmed,” she said, scanning the gathering with furious eyes. “We will return to our home here. But what we won’t do is put anyone’s lives in danger, when it is entirely avoidable.”

This seemed to appease most.

Shadowed looks passed between several of the soldiers in front of Romy. She turned and saw Houston doing the same.

“You have five hours,” Atlas’s mother called out. “Everyone is to report back here at 2200 hours for further instruction.”

Romy watched as she stepped down from the podium and left the Mess, closely followed by Atlas.

Thrym’s watch beeped. “They want us in the command room,” he said to her under his breath.

That means we don’t need to gate-crash.

Romy nodded. “That means I don’t need to gate-crash.”

“Can we come?” Phobos asked. Elara looked up eagerly.

Deimos was already gone.

“Captains only. And Romy—I guess because she’s kind of—”

“Integral?” Elara asked with a small smile.

“Well, yeah,” Thrym said, shifting on the spot.

Romy leaned toward the others. “You guys know we’ll tell you everything, anyway.”

Phobos looked at Thrym over her shoulder.

“Of course we will,” Thrym said after a beat.

“Good to hear,” Phobos replied.

Maybe we can fix them after all, babe.

Romy nodded. Maybe they could.

* * *

Every seat in the debrief room was occupied, the room crammed as tightly as the Mess moments before.

Thrym went to stand against the far wall with the other captains. He fit in there.

They should put him on a poster, or something.

Romy snorted, and a woman gave her a curious glance.

Charlee beckoned her over from the front of the table. Romy smiled weakly at the staring woman and hurried over to the doctor. She squished to one side of her chair so Romy could slide in. “You okay?” Charlee asked.

“Just focusing on the next step,” Romy said quietly. “It can’t happen. Even the Mandate can’t be that . . . evil. That’s three and half thousand people.”

“I guess the Mandate can’t afford to let those soldiers fall into our hands. They know that will turn us from a moderate threat to a serious threat.”

“And they’ll probably pin the entire thing on the Amach again,” a woman on their left said.

“They’ve certainly blamed us for everything else,” Charlee replied.

Crap.

Crap, all right. Romy’s heart clamped for a full three seconds before it began to drum in staccato rhythm. She hadn’t stopped to think what might happen next. She held a hand to her temple. The solid wood of the table began to shift into waves and she swayed in her seat.

It was the second time in half an hour that the waves had happened. Why had that suddenly started?

Charlee threw her a concerned glance, but Romy avoided her probing eyes.

Gwenyth spoke. “Anything said in this room is strictly confidential. Now for full disclosure. The Mandate didn’t just threaten the orbitos. They also threatened the Amach. They gave us until 1700 tomorrow night to disband, or they will use force. I have already set up teams to remove all important research, resources, and machinery and disperse them amongst our smaller and lesser known bases.”

Thrym stepped forward, saluting. Gwenyth nodded at him. “Why did they warn us, Commander-general?” he asked.

“I have theories only.” Gwenyth looked tired. Red lines of weariness streaked her eyes. Grey hair glinted at her temples. Bits of hair had escaped her usually elegant twist. “The most likely is the Mandate wishes to record us fleeing like cockroaches from boiling water. We have other bases, of course, but this Amach is the largest and the loss of it would be a huge blow. The Mandate knows this. I also believe the Mandate hopes to lure us up to the orbitos. Then they would have proof we were at the orbitos before they were destroyed. They’ll also be able to destroy our rescue team alongside the space soldiers.”

That is one hell of an ultimatum.

The Amach had to make a move, but every path seemed impossible.

Romy breathed through the rock bouncing between her ears. The room blurred into two visions, and she blinked furiously until it returned to normal.

What was happening to her?

Atlas spoke up. “The Mandate will wring whatever they can from whatever happens next. What we need to discuss is our response. Tyson, any progress in recovering the recording they sent us?”

The pale-faced tech shook his head. “No, sir,” he forced out.

Gwenyth clicked a button on a control in her hand. A projection of a blueprint shone on the opposite wall a moment later, flickering slightly every few seconds.

“The Mandate’s headquarters,” she explained. “In Cairo, Egypt. Our informants believe the Mandate keeps the controls to their laser cannons here. If we can disable these high-powered cannons, the Mandate cannot destroy the orbitos, and they cannot destroy us.”

Must be some big-ass cannons.

“How sure are the informants?” Tina asked.

Atlas answered. “Sure. And I support their intel. I’ve been there several times myself.”

Romy tried to focus on the blueprint.

She squinted hard to rid herself of the double vision.

The headquarters was huge. Three times the size of the Amach—and it took Romy twenty minutes to walk from one end of the Amach to the other, let alone down all ten levels.

“We cannot stand by and do nothing,” Gwenyth said. “Our only options lay in countering the Mandate’s plans. We need to remove their power to destroy our bases and the orbitos.” She stared around the room. “The cannons have to be neutralised. For good.”

Romy closed her eyes against the glaring lights. It made sense, even though she wanted to point out the Amach couldn’t even recover a stupid recording from the Mandate.

I agree, but what choice do we have?

“There will be three teams,” Atlas said, folding his arms.

I love his black singlets.

“So hot,” Romy murmured.

Charlee turned to her. “What did you say?”

Romy’s face burned. “Sorry. Nothing.” She focused on Atlas, aware of Charlee’s lingering appraisal.

“Team one will coordinate the evacuation of any child under the age of fifteen. They will be removed to a temporary base,” Atlas said, surveying the room. “Team two will leave for Cairo immediately at the conclusion of this meeting. Their mission will be to neutralise the Mandate’s cannons, so the orbitos and this Amach cannot be destroyed.”

“What will team three be doing, sir?” a balding man asked from the back.

“Team three will be deployed to the orbitos to evacuate the space soldiers, and distribute them between our bases.”

Gwenyth moved to the head of the table. “I need you to understand what we face. And that if we don’t pull this off, there won’t be an Amach to come home to.”

She stared at the table for a long moment, letting her words sink in.

“We have four hours,” she said, lifting her head. “Four hours until we go up against the Mandate.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

Romy used the table in the debrief room to balance as she stood. The waves in the floor were back. That was twice today. Her vision still blurred and now dark spots had appeared in the corners of her eyes.

Charlee stood next to her. She was definitely hovering. The doctor knew something was up.

Put her off the scent.

“So you’re in team one?” Romy asked.

Charlee paused and replied, “Yes, with the children, and the sick.”

The doctor was underplaying her role. If Houston died while up in the orbitos on team three, she’d be expected to continue his work.

The command team had wasted half an hour arguing about Houston’s position on team three, but the doctor made it clear he was the only one familiar with the medical equipment aboard the orbitos. He could access the Mandate’s current research and gain insight on the missing puzzle piece to finding the insanity cure.

As soon as he said that, Romy knew he was lying.

There was another reason Houston wanted to be up there.

You should’ve said something.

“You say something,” Romy shot back.

Maybe I will.

“Rosemary.”

Romy jerked. Luckily, though Gwenyth spoke to Romy, her attention was riveted on the blueprint before her.

“Romy,” Charlee whispered. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

“Commander-general,” Romy replied tersely. She cut her fingernails into her palms until the black dots in her vision receded.

Gwenyth spared Romy half a glance. “You’ll be going to the temporary base with team one. It is too dangerous to risk you in the other two teams.”

Screw that.

Romy snorted. “If you can risk Houston on the orbitos, you can risk me, too.”

Gwenyth gave her a sharp look and glared at the stragglers in the room.

They hurried to leave, though Thrym lingered behind, glancing between the Amach leader and Romy.

Atlas was occupied answering questions of those leaving the room.

She picked her moment well.

Romy nodded.

“I need to go with my knot to the orbitos,” Romy said, a slight tremor in her voice.

If you can’t do this, I’ll do it myself.

Gwenyth snorted. “In team three? That is out of the question.”

Blood began to pound in thick surges to Romy’s temples. She took shallow breaths, trying to contain her . . . anger? Panic? A red-streaked, writhing mess was all she could make out.

Romy’s legs shook and she lowered herself back into the chair.

Don’t worry, biatch. I got this.

Romy leaned back in her chair, folding her hands behind her head. “Actually, Gwenny-bear,” she winked, “I’ll be going with team two—to Cairo. I’ll ensure we reach the code room, so team three on the orbitos makes it to safety.”

That’s where she needed to be to best protect her knot.

“Romy,” Charlee said. “Who—?”

Romy held a finger up and Charlee blinked. “I’ll tell you soon, gurlfran,” she said.

She inspected her nails. “Let me put this in terms you understand, Gwen. I’ll be going with team two, or you can consider me closed for business; no blood samples, no nothing. You won’t be getting the lint from between my toes. Your best troops are going with team two, but you’d prefer me—your only shot at a cure and likely a target of the Mandate’s—to go to a small base with the children and the sick. That’s putting a bull’s-eye right smack on top of them. You think the Mandate won’t be watching to see where I go with their little drones?”

Romy slapped her hand down on the table for emphasis. “Team two is your best shot at keeping both me and the innocents alive, so how about you pull your fist out of your—”

“Romy,” Thrym interrupted loudly. He stared at her, aghast.

She threw him an innocent expression. He looked kind of put out.

“—pocket,” Romy finished slowly. “And we can all be on our merry way.”

Yikes, Gwen did not wear purple well. Should Romy tell her? If she was walking around looking like that, she’d want someone to let her know.

Charlee rushed over to Thrym and they fell into whispered conversation.

They’re on to us!

“You’d prefer I let you march straight into their headquarters?” Gwenyth said derisively. “I may as well hand you to them on a silver platter.”

“Everything okay?” Atlas’s voice cut through the room. He glanced from his mother to Romy.

Romy pouted, standing. “Mummy wants to keep me at home.” She made for the door. The mother, she could convince, but Atlas . . . that wasn’t a certainty.

Time to bust this joint.

“Wait. Romy.” Atlas bent to look into her eyes. “Are you all right?”

Let me back in.

Why?

Because you’ll screw it up.

Right, yeah. You got it, biatch.

Romy’s shoulders slumped forward. She cleared her throat and focused on Atlas’s concerned face a few centimetres from her own. “Yes, I’m fine. But I need to be in team two, Atlas. I need to be protecting my knot.”

Charlee came to stand by her side, and Atlas looked over her head in Thrym’s direction.

“I’m a soldier,” she said firmly. “And I’m a target. I cannot be in team one.”

Atlas nodded slowly.

“Commander-general—” Thrym started.

Romy cut him off, turning quickly. “Thrym,” she said. He met her beseeching gaze and gradually closed his mouth. She let out a silent breath of relief.

“She’ll come with me,” Atlas said, surprising her. “On team two.”

Romy smiled in triumph, but Atlas didn’t return her look. He didn’t look at his mother, either. He, Thrym, and Charlee had some freaky telepathy conversation going on, and none of it boded well for Romy.

“Atlas, she’s not stable,” his mother hissed.

That’s our cue to bust this joint.

Romy slipped past Atlas, hearing Charlee following close behind.

Romy took a deep breath, striding down the hall. The blood stopped pounding. Romy gave a huge sigh, feeling her pulse slow.

“Feel better now?” Charlee asked, falling into step with her down the passage.

Romy nodded. “Much better. I’ll be able to keep my knot safe from a position on team two.”

You did well back there. . . .

Thanks.

That’s why I’m really sorry about this. Truly.

“Sorry about what?” Romy asked.

Charlee stumbled. “I didn’t say anything.”

It was always gonna happen. I’m just going to help it along. Knot 27 need us at our strongest.

Arms were shaking her.

“What are you doing?” Romy said in horror.

Hopefully I’ll see you on the other side.

A second later, pain lashed its whip in a furious stroke across her forehead. With a muted cry, Romy doubled over, panting, pushing Charlee away.

Head spinning, Romy stumbled away down the corridor, desperately trying to escape the agony. The glaring white lights threatened to blind her. It was as though someone was hitting her in the head with a piece of wood—one with crooked nails extending from the end.

“What are you doing?” she shouted.

An arm began pulling her urgently.

Romy clutched at her head, tripping over her feet. The floor blurred again, rippling into the waves as it had been doing on and off.

At first, she didn’t think anything of it. That is, until she saw the waves smooth and become something else.

For weeks, the feral Romy in the glass cage had plagued her every waking moment.

So as the concrete walls and dim lights on the passageway were replaced with glass, Romy knew what it meant.

Feral Romy was coming for her.

Her mind seized with terror. She had to get out of the passage. She ran forward, and choked back a scream. Cracks in the glass appeared with each step.

She reeled back, hitting the side of the tunnel. Cracks. More cracks.

Cracks everywhere. Romy clutched her head.

This was the sleep she wouldn’t wake from. Feral Romy.

The cracks couldn’t join.

“Charlee.” Romy pushed her lips to form the word.

No sound made it past the echoed buzzing in her ears. Her mind told her the noises she should hear. But no sound slipped past the dead silence in her ears. No smell reached her, nor any clear thought other than what would happen if she couldn’t tell Charlee what to do.

“Romy,” Charlee cried. “Hold on, Romy. We’re nearly at the clinic.”

“The cracks.” Romy’s mouth moved.

The woman dragged her inside, shouting at the others to leave.

“Romy,” the woman said in slow motion. “I need you to talk to me.”

Romy closed her eyes to focus on the words. “The glass,” she whispered. The keening was crashing against the sides of her skull.

She was coming.

Romy stared as a woman no one else could see walked up on the other side of the glass. The woman smiled at her through greasy strands of hair, and raised a single bloody finger to the glass.

And tapped.

The screech of glass shattering cut through every sense.

Romy held up her hands and saw they were coated in blood. A voice screamed at her.

It screamed two words. Over and over again.

She fell to the ground as the feral Romy walked up to her, raking both hands down her cheeks, leaving bleeding tracks behind.

A hand clutched hers.

Someone pleaded with her.

No longer in control, Romy’s head snapped to stare at the woman clutching her hand, unblinking. Then Crazy Romy spoke from her mouth.

Just two words.

Ones that might save her.

“Old card.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

“Romy.”

Ringing, pain, burning.

“Romy.”

A hand slapped her cheek.

That wasn’t nice.

The voice went away.

Icy cold water hit Romy in the face. She gasped, wrenching her eyes open. Charlee stood over her holding an empty beaker.

“Romy,” she cried out.

Romy pushed herself up to a sitting position. Charlee placed the beaker on a stool, and held her hands to either side of Romy’s face.

Romy took hold of the woman’s hands and held them under her chin, tight. She glanced around the room. The clinic. Romy said, “You got the old card in. Thank fuck for that.”

Charlee’s head fell forward onto Romy’s knees. “Oh my god,” she said, promptly bursting into tears. “You’re back. Oh my god. I’ve never been so scared in my life! I didn’t know if it would work.” A thought occurred to her. “Houston should be told,” she said abruptly. “He’ll have a plan.”

She made to stand, but Romy tightened her grip.

Red blood, scratching, clawing.

Charlee gave her a confused look.

“We’re not going to tell Houston,” Romy said.

“W-why?”

Romy shrugged. “I don’t trust him, Char.”

Charlee smiled. “Char. I like that.”

Romy faced Charlee. “Okay, so now we’ve decided that, here’s the dealio. You know Crazy Romy?”

The doctor dipped her head, clearly confused at the change of subject.

“Well, she’s pretty much here for good now. We’ve merged.”

Charlee’s mouth dropped open, but a flicker of understanding dawned in her eyes. “That explains what I found when I went to put your old memory card in.”

“What?”

“Your new memory card is fried and fused to your port. I couldn’t get it out. I had to shove your old memory card in beside it. I was scared I’d be damaging something by using so much force, but I didn’t know what else to do.”

Romy closed her eyes and recalled her last moments before she lost consciousness. “I’m fairly certain you just saved me from insanity herself by doing that. Thank you, Char.”

“I don’t think I’m ready for this conversation to move on from what you said about Crazy Romy being here for good,” Charlee said weakly.

“Funny story, that. I’ve been hearing Crazy Romy in my head for a while now.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Houston knew,” Romy said. “Anyway, Crazy began to show up more and more, sometimes taking over my body without me realising.” Romy remembered the way her hands had drifted to Atlas’s butt. “Things have been heading in this direction from the start. Each time the memory card went in, she got stronger. Tonight, just before the new card fried, Crazy Romy said she was going to help ‘it’ along.”

“Merging the two of you?”

“I’m guessing so.”

Romy wasn’t sure her crazier self realised Feral Romy would break out of the glass room, however. Then again . . . she had said, ‘Hopefully I’ll see you on the other side’.

Charlee looked horrified. “You’ve been dealing with this the entire time?”

“She’s not so bad, but it’s kind of nice to just have one voice in my head now.”

Screaming, biting, snapping.

. . . That wasn’t a good sign, though.

“Quick question, though,” Romy blurted. “If there was hypothetically another Romy that let’s call Feral Romy—for argument’s sake. And if this Feral Romy represented my insanity, and had been kept—by me—in a glass room for weeks. In my head. What would you say?”

The doctor’s expression went blank for a long time. “There’s a third Romy?” she finally asked.

“Yeah,” Romy said sheepishly.

“You call her Feral Romy, and she’s insane?”

“I only ask because, well, I’ve been seeing her this whole time, and she kind of got out of the glass room just before. She’s back in there now, but she is kind of taking a sledgehammer to the walls in there, and I’m not sure how long that glass will hold up.”

Red blood, knotted hair, screeching.

“You think she’s going to take over the way Crazy Romy did?” Charlee asked frantically.

“That’s what I’m asking you!”

Charlee held up a hand. “Okay, okay.” She took a deep breath. “Christ on a bike. Think, ya ruddy geebag eejit.” She tapped her forehead with a hand. “Okay. All right. Let’s think. What were the events leading up to your new card frying and fusing to the port?”

“My knot pissed me off earlier,” Romy said. “They were fighting, and then we went to the Mess and Gwenyth told us the space soldiers were going to be disintegrated in twenty-four hours. Then there was the meeting and she tried to stop me from protecting my knot. That made me really mad.”

Charlee paced. “Stress. That’s what tipped you over the edge, with Crazy Romy’s help, apparently.”

“So I need to stay relaxed. That might actually work. The pain seems to be gone. It’s just the overwhelming sense of doom, really. Oh damn, I forgot I’m going to Cairo. That’s going to be a little stressful.”

Charlee paled. “You can’t be contemplating still leaving with team two.”

“Char,” Romy said. “I can’t stay here while my knot is up on the orbitos. I just can’t.”

Snarling, kicking, wailing.

“Your new card is fried. When it happened, Feral Romy got out,” Charlee reminded her. “If your brain is overloaded again and the old card fries, too, what’s to stop Feral Romy getting out of the glass room for good?”

She held the doctor’s gaze. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

Charlee’s amber eyes widened.

She’d hoped to get out of the room before she had to explain this to the doctor. But maybe Charlee deserved to know the connection Romy had made in the last ten minutes. She spoke slowly. “I’m going to become Feral Romy no matter what now, Charlee. This is exactly like what happened with Crazy Romy before we merged. Whether today, or next week, I’m going to go insane. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Sooner rather than later, if you’re right about the stress factor.”

“No, you’re not—”

“I am,” Romy said. “There’s no point beating around the bush about it.” She stood from the bed and caught sight of her elastic shoes. Yuck. She needed to stop at the hangar and change into some boots.

She caught sight of Charlee’s stricken expression. “There’s nothing you can do about it, Char. The damage is done. I’ve known from the start that if I put the old memory card in too much, Feral Romy would become my reality.” Romy gave a sad smile. “I’m a ticking time-bomb, the glass is cracking, and if this is a one-way street, I’m going down helping my knot and the other space soldiers.”

Tears slipped down Charlee’s face.

The speaker system blared. “Team two, report to the hangar for departure. Team two, report to the hangar for departure.”

“Shit! That’s me. I need to get boots and my rifle.”

“Please, Ro,” Charlee begged. “You don’t need to go.”

Romy paused on her way to the door. She didn’t turn back to face her friend, but spoke over her shoulder. “Without my knot, I may as well smash that glass myself. But Charlee . . . could you promise me something?”

“Y-yes,” Charlee sobbed. “Anything.”

“When my mind is gone,” she said, swallowing hard, “could you have someone take me outside each day? I want to be amongst the trees. I don’t know how much I’ll register, and you’ll need to sedate me so I don’t attack anyone, but I think I’ll be happy out there. In nature.”

She blinked back the burning sensation in her eyes before adding softly, “I always did want to see Earth.”

* * *

Romy sprinted to the supply room in the hangar.

Spotting some heavy black boots and cargos, she ripped off her coveralls and pulled the new garments on. She selected a rifle, slinging two ammunition belts over her shoulder. A pack lay abandoned on a metal bench. A quick search through it told her it held rations, water, an emergency blanket, and a knife.

Jacket. Romy slung one off a peg and slipped it on.

She spotted a shotgun in the cabinet. Shaking her head, she reached for a Colt instead, plucking a holster from the cupboard above and securing it to her upper thigh. She grabbed a second knife and strapped it to her left calf under the cargos.

Guns were badass, but knifes were stealthy.

Sprinting for the bays, she threw the pack across her shoulders, tightening the straps. Romy skidded around a tall crate and came to a halt.

Gwenyth. Ugh.

“Soldier Rosemary,” Gwenyth said. “My son believes you should be allowed to go with team two. I, however, do not.” Gwenyth made to say more, but Romy rested a hand on her arm.

“My soul will be up on those orbitos,” Romy said, tilting her head to where her knot stood by the crafts. They’d come to say goodbye to her. “You understand what it’s like to watch as your soul flies away, don’t you, Gwenyth? I’ve seen the way you look at Atlas—as though you expect him to disappear at any second.”

Gwenyth’s eyes widened.

Romy let her arm drop. “Do not ask me to remain behind when I can help.”

“You’re a liability,” the leader said through gritted teeth, regaining her steel.

Romy stared into her eyes. The Amach leader was right, more than she realised. Romy lied without hesitation. “I was one of the best shooters on Orbito One. Two weeks ago, I shot someone between the eyes from five hundred metres. I will protect your son—”

“He doesn’t need your help,” she snapped.

Frustration pushed at Romy’s remaining patience. “Nevertheless, you can rest a bit easier, knowing one more person has your son’s back. Good luck, Gwenyth.” She nodded at the leader and strode to the craft.

Phobos waited at the edge of the knot. “You need any help?” he asked, looking past her to Gwenyth.

Romy snorted.

“Sorry, she scares the living daylights out of me,” he admitted with a sheepish grin.

Romy stared at her knot with wide eyes, willing the tears back. “You guys get those space soldiers to safety, you hear me? I want all of you back, too.” Her joke fell flat.

None of them were in the mood for laughing.

Clawing, bloody, slippery.

“How about you focus on sneaking into the Mandate’s headquarters with team two and make sure they don’t blow us up with their huge laser cannons?” Elara retorted weakly.

A tiny crack of glass sounded in Romy’s ears. She forced a smile. “You got it.”

One by one, she hugged her knotmates goodbye.

All of them had to make it. All of them. If even one knot member died, the others would be lost.

Screaming, blood, agony.

Romy’s knees buckled under the weight of her terror.

A low voice reached her over the sound of the craft’s engine. “You made it.”

Romy took her time turning to Atlas, squeezing Deimos a last time to cover her current meltdown. “I did.”

If she looked back at her knot, she wouldn’t have the strength to get on the craft. “I’ll see you guys soon,” she said over her shoulder.

Romy strode into the craft beside Atlas.

The rear door closed with a hiss. Romy slung the ammo belts over her chest in a crisscross and collapsed in her seat when Atlas turned his back. Her knot would be okay. She wouldn’t let anything happen to them.

She curled her fists tightly.

Atlas shouted to the front and their craft began to taxi.

He took the seat next to her. “Thought you may’ve changed your mind.” He held her rifle as she buckled herself in.

“Just sorting some stuff.” She looked up to find him searching her face.

He reached for her hand. “Where did you go? We couldn’t find you.”

Romy broke eye contact. “That’s a big, fat secret.”

He didn’t laugh. In fact, stormy Atlas gate-crashed the party in the next moment.

“I’m fine,” she pressed. “Please drop it. I won’t let this team, or you, down. I swear it.”

His expression softened, and he gave Romy her favourite half smile. That smile did things to her.

“Hey,” she remembered. “What’s the story between you and Houston? You guys don’t seem as close anymore.” It had been bugging her.

He lifted a shoulder. “I’m not sure. We’ve both been so busy since we got back to the Amach. He’s been working solidly on the insanity cure; I’ve been elbow-deep in orchestrating the missions and spies.”

“. . . And he’s making it hard for your mum, too,” she pressed.

Anger flashed in his eyes. “That too. He doesn’t have a clue how hard it is to lead people. You can’t always make the popular choices. The more he acts up like that, the more I feel I need to avoid him to show support for my mother.”

She took in the dejected set of his shoulders. “Still, it’s a shame you two have drifted apart. Maybe if you told Houston all this, and both of you made an effort to hang out a bit more, you could get back to how things were in Jimboomba.”

Atlas mulled this over for a long beat, and gave a frowning nod. “You’re right. We were best friends. When all this craziness dies down, I’ll talk to him.”

“You could go on some mandates.”

He snorted, replying in a dry voice, “I see what you did there.”

“Mandate, and man date.”

A wide grin spread on his face. “I got it, Rosemary. It’s a very nice pun.”

Grinning impishly, she closed the gap between them and pressed her lips against his. Just softly.

She made to move her head back and he brought up a hand to the base of her neck, crushing her mouth to his. Romy moaned. His lips were so smooth. His upper lip slightly smaller than the bottom. His tongue slid between her lips and she opened them, meeting his kiss with everything she had.

Complete perfection.

They separated after a few wolf-whistles from the other occupants of the craft.

Atlas watched her intensely. Both of them breathed heavy.

“Atlas?” she said.

“Yeah?” he asked, hoarsely.

“I hope you know how much you mean to me.” The words were simple. Romy hoped they comforted him when she no longer recognised him.

Atlas’s inhale was sharp. It contrasted with his expression, which was as happy as she’d ever seen it.

It broke her heart.

He took her hand, replying with equal simplicity, “There is no one in this world for me but you, Rosemary.”

* * *

The others jostled awake as the craft landed two hours later. Romy threw off her harness and stood. She hadn’t slept. No way. Who knew if that would allow Feral Romy out of the glass room.

The back of the craft hissed open and hot air slugged through the cabin.

Ugh, that was warm as shit. Romy shucked her heavy winter jacket, tying it around her waist.

“Secure the area.” Atlas’s voice cut through the craft.

Romy stood aside as half of the twenty or so soldiers in the craft passed her. They flipped a device over their left eye and sank low, fanning out.

Her jaw dropped as she peered outside. They were in a desert. A freaking desert. She never thought she’d get a chance to see Egypt one day. This was her third country.

Were there camels around, or were they extinct? Her eyes rounded. What if Atlas had organised camels to take them to the Mandate’s headquarters? Her heart beat fast. No, she wouldn’t get excited about it until Atlas made the announcement.

Three other crafts were landing around them with the rest of team two.

“Clear.”

“Clear.”

“Clear.”

Tina jogged back to Atlas. “Area secure, sir.”

“Why is there an extra craft landing?” Romy heard him ask Tina. “There are only meant to be two more.”

Romy watched as the three new crafts opened.

The pilot of one jogged over to them through the sand. “Change of orders, sir. The commander-general decided to send another team along.”

Romy gasped as she recognised one of the soldiers. “Thrym!”

She spun, spotting Elara, Phobos, and Deimos as well. Her knot was here.

No! She turned to Atlas. “They can’t be here!”

Grating, tapping, grinning.

Atlas shook his head, eyes dark. “What was she thinking? They’ll be a liability.”

Knot 27 crossed to her side.

“Looks like we’re with you,” Thrym said, nudging her. He had a gun.

“Why did she send you? You guys can’t kill humans.” Was this a sick joke? Her hands began to shake and Charlee’s warning about too much stress rang in her ears.

“Relax, Ro.” Thrym held her gaze. “Our guns only shoot tranquilisers. What do you think we take out on missions?”

That didn’t make up for the fact that if one of them was killed, the others go insane within seconds.

With them up on the orbitos, Romy had a chance at focusing on the job. With them here. . . . She immediately felt herself starting to slip.

Blood, burning, screams.

“Atlas, they can’t stay.”

Deimos pushed past Thrym. “That’s not your call. The commander-general gave us our orders. I’m not going against that.” He gave Thrym a pointed look. “Are you, Captain?”

Thrym frowned. “No, I won’t.” He looked at Atlas. “Do you think she sent the wrong team?”

“Tyson?” Atlas said curtly. “Can we get a message to my mother?”

The boy already had his nano out. His ears burned from Atlas’s attention. “No, sir. I’m afraid not.”

Atlas cursed and the boy paled.

Atlas turned to Romy. “They’ll have to come with us. It’s riskier to leave them here with the crafts.”

She shut her mouth with a click. The order in his voice was clear. Unfortunately, so was his logic.

“We’re rearranging the teams!” Atlas called out. He went through the group moving people around.

Knot 27 were put together. Tina came to hunker next to them. Romy wasn’t ecstatic when Nancy and her hunkering friend Ugly Giant split off to join them as well.

Ugly Giant leered at her, and Romy walked to him, staring into his beady eyes. “Are we going to have a problem?” she asked.

His smile grew as he stared at her. She smiled back.

The Ugly Giant looked down as a hand gripped his forearm. Nancy.

“Come on, Geoff. Not on this one. This is serious,” Nancy said. She glanced at Romy, and Romy braced for the inevitable hate. But it didn’t come.

“Attention,” called Atlas. “We are currently in 6th of October City. It is 0200 hours local time.”

Did Egypt name all their cities after dates, Romy wondered. And if they did, did they all go there on that day of the year?

Her fingers twitched, longing for a nano to check it out.

“We have five groups in this team. Our mission: to get to the code room within the Mandate’s headquarters and neutralise the cannons. This will allow team three to evacuate the space soldiers from the orbitos and return to safety.”

“Each group will enter the headquarters from a different gate. All teams need to be at their entry point at 0330 local time. The techie in my team, Tyson, will be deactivating a silent alarm just outside of the headquarter walls. As for what other security measures are in place now, we are largely unaware.”

Romy raised her brow. She’d never really seen Atlas in action before. Impressive. A bit sexy, too.

Deimos raised his hand. “How many personnel inside?”

“Ten thousand live within the walls. We expect all to be asleep on the way in, aside from the night sentries.”

Romy listened with half an ear. It wasn’t that she didn’t find Atlas’s words interesting, but she couldn’t help noticing the sand here was different to the Australian sand. She swooped down and scooped up a handful. Huh, it was cold. She let the tiny granules pour back to join the desert sand party below.

“. . . Rosemary?”

She jerked her head up and scanned the group, who had turned to stare.

“Sorry.” She straightened.

Atlas pursed his lips before continuing. “Keep your heads. The Amach needs us to pull this off. Team three is counting on us today. The lives of three and a half thousand soldiers, and the freedom of humankind, depends on us reaching that room.”

“Yes, sir!” the soldiers around her chorused.

Romy’s heart hammered. Anyone would think Atlas was a natural at this, but he’d been turned into this person. None of his ease with this role was natural at all.

He swept his eyes over them once more and nodded in approval at what he saw. “Let’s get to work. Captains, a word, please.”

Five captains approached, Thrym included.

“How are we getting to Cairo?” Romy asked Phobos.

He jerked his head to the craft. The ramp had lowered again and exposed a storage space underneath. The deep-bellied craft held more than engines.

Motorbikes, she recalled, watching as soldiers wheeled them onto the sand.

“No camels?” she said in disappointment.

Phobos snorted. “No camels today, Ro. We’ll need to buddy up with someone for the ride, though,” Phobos said, eyes tight as he searched for Elara.

Romy followed the line of soldiers into the craft and freed a bike from the floor locks, wheeling the awkward thing down the ramp.

Atlas had finished speaking to the captains.

Tina sidled up to her. “Who you going to ride with?”

She shifted her eyes to where two soldiers passed bikes to Atlas and Thrym.

Romy glanced between the two males. This might be the last memory Knot 27 had of her. She didn’t want to hurt Thrym’s feelings right now. “Uh . . . you?”

Tina scoffed. “Me?” Her eyes slanted. “I was thinking of riding behind Atlas, myself. Running my hands over those abs. You know he has abs, right. Like, two more than a person should have.”

Ugliness bubbled within her, but Romy smiled back, tilting her head. “Go for your life.” She jammed a helmet on over her short platinum hair.

Tina scowled. “You’re no fun.” She jammed the second helmet on her own head and swung a leg over the bike seat. “Fine, you can ride with me. But only because it’ll mess with Atlas. Can’t pass up an opportunity to screw with an ex.” She cackled again.

Romy studied the woman atop the motorbike. “Can your feet touch the ground?”

“Yes.” Tina bristled. She was propped on the very tip of her big toe.

Romy grinned and swung on behind her, taking the weight of the bike through her longer legs. She didn’t miss Tina’s mutterings of ‘Sasquatch’.

Nancy clambered on behind Thrym. He turned around and flashed her a smile. Romy was pleased to find herself completely unaffected by the gesture.

Tyson doubled up with Deimos.

Their motorbike purred to life. “Hold on,” Tina said. “But don’t feel me up, or hump me.”

Romy jerked as Tina’s voice crackled through a microphone in her helmet. “That’s cool. Can you hear me in your helmet, too?”

She heard Tina’s irritated sigh loud and clear and guessed the answer was yes. Romy bit back a laugh and wrapped her arms around Tina’s waist.

“Do you think we’ll see a pyramid while we’re here?” Romy asked.

Tina spoke. “It’s dark. And who cares.”

“You don’t want to see a bit of Egypt? What about a tomb? Or the Nile?”

“Are you here to sightsee, or save everyone you know?” Tina asked sarcastically.

“All I’m sayin’ is, two birds, one stone,” muttered Romy. “Sorry I asked.”

Tina twisted the throttle and with a jerk that had Romy tightening her grip, they were off.

All five groups split up after ten minutes to head to their various rendezvous points and Knot 27, Atlas, Tina, Nancy, and Ugly Giant were left travelling in single file through the dark night.

She squinted to see who rode with Atlas.

No one. He rode alone.

Well, that made her feel terrible.

She peered through the dark night either side of them as they cut through the hot wind on the motorbike. All Romy could make out was a sparse landscape and rolling dunes as they tore through the city outskirts.

“Imagine this place in ancient times,” Romy said after a few minutes. Tina didn’t answer.

“They buried all the rulers in underground tombs with all their treasure, you know,” she added. “And pulled your brains out through your nose when they buried you. Egyptians didn’t see death as actually dying. More like the next journey; like life is just a blip, and death is the real deal where the cool stuff happens.”

“Can you shut up?” Tina’s voice crackled in her ears.

Romy deflated. “You’re not interested?” she asked. “I find it all fascinating. . . .” Each grain of sand felt like a bit of ancient history. The endless desert was like a beacon to her.

“I see death as the ‘real deal’, in a whole different way from ancient Egyptians,” Tina replied. “So no, I don’t think I’m interested in a lesson right now.”

They rode in silence. Tina’s heart was thumping.

Romy finally gave up avoiding her current situation and replayed the conversation with Charlee.

Her new memory card was fried and fused to the port. If the same thing happened to her old memory card—currently shoved into her port as well—Feral Romy would finally break through for good.

Romy took a shaking breath. She just had to keep it together for as long as she could. She couldn’t help Knot 27 once she became that animal.

How could she protect them all? Her knot. Atlas. Nancy. Hell, there was even a stirring need to protect Tina the she-devil.

Snarling, raking, moaning.

Atlas slowed as he veered from the cracked road to weave between the trees that had appeared on each side of the road over the last five minutes.

The trees here were unlike anything Romy had ever seen. They had trunks so long and thin she was surprised they didn’t snap in half. And then right up at the top, long, flat leaves exploded outward from the middle like a bad haircut.

“Guess what, weirdo, we’re about to go over the Nile,” Tina said.

“What? Where!” Romy swivelled her head to each side.

The motorbike bounced twice over a small bridge.

Tina’s shoulders shook. “That was it.”

Romy’s jaw dropped. “That was crap!”

“A bit smaller after global warming.”

Okay. It probably made sense that the river in the desert was the first thing to dry up.

Tina groaned. “God, this track is no good for my lady parts.”

“Ew.”

“Don’t you judge me. You’ve got them, too. Genetically enhanced, no doubt. Maybe that’s why they all like you.”

“Because of my genetically enhanced vagina?”

Tina snorted.

Another fifteen minutes went by before Atlas slowed to a halt in the middle of a flat clearing surrounded by the towering bad-haircut trees.

Tina pulled to a halt behind him.

Thrym stopped on their left. Deimos on their right.

Atlas consulted his watch briefly before giving a self-satisfied nod. He climbed off his bike.

Romy held their bike up while Tina jumped off and kicked out the stand.

“Not a word,” the auburn-haired woman hissed.

Romy mimed zipping her lips and slid off her helmet, shaking her hair free from where it stuck to her forehead.

So damn hot. But if she had some of those big, puffy Egyptian pants, a magic carpet, and thick black kohl around her eyes, she’d take the heat, any day.

“Here.”

She turned just in time to catch a top from Atlas. “Why?” she asked.

“Your skin is ivory. It’ll be seen. You need long sleeves.”

A reasonable request. She shrugged on the black garment over her singlet.

“And this,” he said, passing her a night-vision screen.

Romy slid the hook over the back of her ear and adjusted the screen in front of her left eye.

Atlas reached to the side of the device and tapped. “One tap on, two taps off. Hold to take a photo.”

“Why would I want to take a photo?”

“Because you’re in Egypt, and you’re you.”

She cracked a smile and he tossed her pack from the bike. . . . The pack she’d completely forgotten to take off the craft.

He’d expected her to go with him. She squirmed with guilt.

Atlas clipped his pack around his waist before bending down to swipe up his rifle. He had two handguns strapped to his thighs. The pockets of his cargos bulged, probably with ammo considering she couldn’t see it elsewhere.

He shoved a cap over his jet-black locks. It pushed his ears out. It might have been the cutest thing she’d ever seen. Cuter than a pygmy hippo.

She ran her eyes over him. Atlas was every inch the soldier.

“Ready?” he asked, raising a brow.

Oops. She quickly followed suit with her own pack. “Where do we go next?” she asked.

She moved with him to join the rest of their group.

“Two kilometres to our rendezvous point. Then we wait until 0330 hours to enter,” he answered.

The group set off at a fast clip, Atlas at the fore.

Romy ran directly after him, using the night-vision lens to avoid the holes in the dirt road. They weaved through the sparse and spikey vegetation spattering the dusty ground. Sand glittered underfoot, mixed with the dirt and dust. It wasn’t long before the beads of sweat already on her forehead combined into rivulets trekking down her face.

Romy inhaled deeply. This place had no smell; it was strange. Or maybe it had a scent, but it was lost in the dryness of the terrain, in the same way that new rain eradicated all other scents.

Her heavy boots thudded in steady rhythm.

After fifteen minutes, Atlas slowed.

She followed suit, glancing behind to see that everyone was with them. Elara was puffing loudly, even more than Ugly Giant. But she was here.

Atlas waved them in, crouching low.

“It is 0319 hours,” he said. “The end of the tree line sits fifty metres east.” He gestured twice in the direction with two fingers, and Romy bit back a giggle.

“The first sentry point sits two hundred metres past this. Tyson, are you ready to trip the silent alarm?” he asked.

Tyson fumbled for his backpack and swung it round, extracting the nano device never far from his fingertips. “It’s all set up for 0330 hours. I’ll need two minutes to activate it.”

Atlas dipped his head. “Stay low once we leave the trees. Spread wide. We approach in a staggered line. Tyson will be putting their cameras on loop for twenty minutes while we cross, but that doesn’t account for any guards watching from the towers. Once we reach the sentry tower, Geoff, I’ll need you to do your thing.”

“Roger that, sir.” Geoff, a.k.a Ugly Giant, swung a crossbow into view.

Romy’s eyebrows rose. Ugly Giant just got a little cool.

“Let’s get in position,” Atlas ordered, his grey eyes shining in the dark as he focused on Romy.

She gave him a reassuring smile and the flintiness left his gaze.

Romy slipped from tree to skinny tree, tight behind Thrym.

Her left eye didn’t move from the night-vision screen, tuned in to any movement in the distance.

Everyone she cared about now marched into the heart of the enemy’s lair when they should be running, screaming in the other direction. A single bullet fired by the enemy had the ability to kill someone she loved more than life itself. More than her sanity.

If one of the five groups couldn’t get to the code room and neutralise those cannons, team three and the orbitos would be destroyed. All that would remain would be team one: the children, and those too sick to fight against the Mandate. How long could they possibly last?

Keening, buckling, splitting.

Tyson crouched down a few trees from the front and began tapping on his nano. The rest of them waited in tense stillness.

Her ears pricked for any sound of discovery, her eyes swept the plain, and her awareness extended further and focused more acutely than ever before in her life.

She felt like a mouse in a maze.

“Done,” Tyson whispered.

Romy peered at Thrym’s watch. 0328.

When she looked up, she found Thrym watching her, face serious—even for him. She reached forward and squeezed his hand. “We need to protect the others.”

His eyes slid from her to the others and back again before he nodded.

“No matter what, Thrym,” she pressed.

He shifted his pack, adjusting his position against the tree. “We’re getting out of this, Ro. All of us. We have to.”

Literally. She took deep breaths, steadying herself for Atlas’s command.

“I love you, Rosemary.”

She snapped her eyes back to Thrym’s face. He didn’t meet her gaze—didn’t take his eyes off what lay ahead.

“And it feels pretty real to me.” His words held so much pain, she began reaching for him before she stopped herself.

How was that possible, or fair? For one person to love without return. The worst thing was, she knew without looking what his sky-blue eyes would look like right now: tight with turmoil, glassy with sadness, and edged with defensiveness.

She didn’t feel that for him. But she felt.

She’d break the most fundamental of her beliefs and morals without remorse for her knotmate. She would give him the very air from her lungs. She loved him completely. Romy would rather die than watch him suffer.

Any of them.

And that was the problem. Them.

Thrym didn’t want a ‘them’. He wanted an ‘our’—an ‘us’. At least he thought he did. Given time, Romy hoped he’d see the truth as she had.

“I love you, too,” she replied. “I’ll always love you. You know that.”

His shoulders tightened and silence reigned. Not enough, the gesture said. Not the same. “Not like I love you,” he croaked.

Romy closed her eyes. She didn’t want their last lucid conversation to be about this. “You’re my brother, Thrym, nothing more. But that doesn’t mean you don’t mean the world to me. Once we get past this, I hope we’ll be best friends again.”

“Maybe you can’t have it both ways,” Thrym replied.

“I really hope it doesn’t need to be like that,” she whispered. He didn’t answer.

“We’re a go,” Atlas called in a low voice.

She adjusted her grip on her rifle. This was it.

Atlas left the safety of the trees first. Thrym pushed off the tree after him and made for the left flank.

With a deep breath, Romy crouched low and followed.

Immediately, her harsh rhythmic breaths overrode everything else—everything except her vision through the screen.

She scanned the barren land ahead.

Two hundred metres sat between them and the huge wall across the plain.

Romy stumbled over a twiggy bit of vegetation and put a hand down to right herself.

Her feet disturbed the dust, kicking it up. The contents of her bag rose and fell in time to her crouched jog. Her thighs burned, but she didn’t dare stand tall to relieve them.

Romy could sprint two hundred metres in less than a minute on the treadmill.

But time meant nothing when cold terror suffused through every pore.

The walls rose in front of them, showing bright green in her night vision.

A new colour joined it without warning. Red.

Red blood, snarling, crunching.

Romy halted, reaching a hand back to still her bag.

Human.

Guard.

She glanced to each side. The team had stopped and huddled low like her. Romy’s heart raced, and she tried to quiet her low panting.

The person in the middle began to creep forward. Atlas.

Sweat trickling down her back, Romy forced her feet into action again.

Were the other groups already at the first sentry point? Had they made it to their rendezvous points?

. . . The pace tortured. Creeping, creeping. Hunting her like an animal. Stalking forward. Closer and closer. Romy’s breath came fast.

Twang.

Romy jumped a foot in the air at the sound from her right. A panicked glance showed her Ugly Giant had his crossbow out. He’d fired an arrow.

Jaysus.

She searched the top of the wall.

The red form in the lens wavered and slumped out of sight.

Her team ran ahead of her, sprinting for the wall.

Spurring her muscles to life, Romy pushed off after them, relishing as her legs were released from their cramped bend.

Tyson already had his nano out, typing furiously.

The device emitted a low, depressive beep.

Swearing under his breath, the techie tried again. The same sound answered. “No go with the wall controls,” he said in undertones to Atlas.

“We expected that,” Atlas returned coolly. “Tina?”

“On it,” Tina replied, crouching.

Romy peered through her device as the woman fastened something to both boots and both hands. Without preamble, Tina shuffled to the wall and began to climb with faint popping noises.

“Suction?” Romy asked Elara in a hushed voice.

“Yep. She used them to get us out of Dublin, too.”

Romy frowned. “I remember.” She could recall shooting the other Mandate too. Not only from seeing the video of it—she could remember how it all felt, too.

Their group crouched by the white metal wall. Even in the night, it gleamed brightly and Romy worried they stood too close. Other guards from farther down the wall might see them.

The popping grew fainter, until they could no longer hear it.

Phobos let out a low groan.

“You’re not even the one climbing,” hissed Elara. “Suck it up.”

He shuddered violently. “It’s just so high.”

Atlas checked on Tina’s progress and whispered harshly. “Stand to either side of the wall. We don’t know what’s waiting for us.”

Their group split into two groups. Her knot congregated to the right. Atlas and the others moved to the other side.

Thrym took the front spot.

“You doing okay?” Deimos asked her.

“Fine,” Romy answered calmly. “You?”

“Eager to kick Mandate butt.”

She gave him a tight smile.

The walls groaned and began to recede.

Romy shrank back to the left side, in sync with the wall. She glanced at the other group, who moved in the opposite direction.

The noise of the wall moving grated at her nerves. Too loud. Someone would hear. It would all be over.

Bells, blood, glinting glass.

With a resounding boom, the two panels stopped.

Tina landed close by the group on the other side and shirked her suction pads. Romy hadn’t heard her climbing down over the din of the wall.

She missed some kind of signal from Atlas because he and Thrym pivoted around the entrance in unison without warning.

Phobos ran after Thrym, and Elara followed.

Deimos left next, and Romy last, her gun held high.

She mimicked Nancy’s movements on the other side and came to a stop at the front of her group.

Thrym approached from the back and took the lead of Knot 27. Atlas took the lead of his half of the group against the right side. Each half stuck close to the black shadows cast by the manicured garden of trees and shrubs extending either side of the otherwise barren road.

They began their silent creep toward the next sentry point.

She knew from the blueprints she’d seen that the headquarters was a gigantic circle.

Ten roads led to the heart of the circle like spokes on a wheel.

Large wedge-shaped gardens separated each of the ten roads leading inside.

She craned to look ahead from her stooped position.

The next sentry point sat one hundred metres in front. This sentry point consisted of a box-like building in the middle of the white road, and a barrier they could duck underneath, extending out on either side of the building. Seemed like the Mandate blew all their resources on the main wall.

A red form appeared on her night-vision device, and then another. There were two guards in the sentry box.

Thrym patted the air with his hand and Knot 27 crouched in a line in the shadows.

She stared across at the other group, seeing they did the same. They were barely visible. One of them had left the others behind and advanced on the sentry box alone.

She sucked in a breath. Atlas.

The person behind him had their weapon raised. Ugly Giant. Ready to fire.

Atlas closed the remaining twenty metres and left the safety of the shadows, sprinting, stooped, toward the wall of the sentry post.

Sobbing, rocking, scratching.

She dug her fingernails into her palms until Atlas reached cover again.

Twang.

Atlas rose in a spin and brought the butt of his rifle down on the side of the door. The arrow punctured through the glass of the sentry box and hit one of the guards in the chest.

Atlas burst inside, dropping his gun, and grappled with the person inside. She couldn’t tell which red form in her lens was him.

Clawing, blood, rage.

Romy surged forward, leaving the others behind.

Snap.

The sound split the air as easily as the twang of the crossbow had.

Romy slowed, panic ripping through her chest.

Atlas stepped back and the second sentry fell to the ground.

Neck broken.

* * *

“It’s unmanned,” whispered Phobos.

They crouched twenty metres from the third sentry point. To all outwardly appearances, the point appeared to be . . . empty.

“A trick?” Nancy asked. “Something new?”

“Tyson?” Tina asked tersely.

“I’m not picking anything up,” he said, scanning the area ahead with his device. Romy peeked at the screen and glimpsed five gauges on the dimmed screen.

Thrym shifted. “I’ll go.”

“No,” said Atlas. “We can’t risk you. The knot.”

Thrym sighed. “You’re right. I wasn’t thinking.”

Nancy piped up. “I’ll go.” At a nod from Atlas she rose and made for the sentry point, bent nearly in half.

Romy caught the time on Elara’s watch. 0356. Twenty-six minutes? It felt like hours had gone by since crossing the plain.

Elara gripped Romy’s arm, her nails digging in as Nancy reached the third sentry box and ducked under the barrier.

Nothing happened.

They waited another ten seconds. Still nothing.

Atlas waved them to push forward.

“Why isn’t it manned?” Romy asked Elara softly as they hustled after the group.

Fearful hazel eyes met her wary gaze. “I don’t know,” Elara whispered back. “Is that a bad thing?”

“No,” Romy lied smoothly. “Just a piece of luck. Finally.”

Her knotmate gave a relieved sigh and followed the others.

Romy ducked under the barrier last and looked back the way they’d come. Two hundred metres behind them, the outer wall gate still stood wide open.

Neck prickling, she tightened her grip on the rifle and spun to follow her knotmates.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

“Twenty minutes left until team three reaches the orbitos,” came Atlas’s low rumble.

They crouched alongside a row of white office buildings, panting after their sprint through the sprawling headquarters.

If all five groups slipped through unseen, they’d be crouching in the darkness somewhere close by. If the other groups hadn’t made it in, surely Romy and the others couldn’t have come this far?

Surely an alarm would have gone up?

“Romy,” Atlas said. “With me.”

She moved up beside him. “Yeah?”

“Gun out.”

She drew her Colt.

“Straight to that column, got it?”

The one right outside the front door of the Mandate’s headquarters? “Roger that.”

“The rest of you,” he said. “Gas masks on.”

He took off, Romy close on his heels. She didn’t look left or right. She didn’t crouch. Like the man before her, Romy pumped her arms back and forth and ran hard.

He dropped into a crouch by the column. She made it, just behind him.

Atlas reached into his pocket on the outside of his knee and passed her a circular object about the size of her palm.

“It’ll knock out anyone in the foyer,” he said. “Sleeping gas.”

Atlas swung his pack around and extracted two masks. He’d brought one for her.

Next time she’d ride on his motorbike.

She took a mask and fixed it over her mouth and nose. Her inhales rushed in her ears—just like wearing a space suit.

Atlas fitted his own mask and drew another canister of sleeping gas. “Signal two more,” his muffled voice directed.

Romy spun back to the others and held up two fingers before beckoning. Was there a fancy army way to get that across? If they got through this, she was demanding a refund on her training with Tina.

Deimos and Phobos joined them, breathless from the sprint.

Atlas spoke in a low voice. “You two kick open the doors; we’ll throw the canisters and shut the doors after.”

“Are the doors unlocked?” Deimos asked after a beat.

“Test the handle,” Phobos suggested.

Atlas sighed. “Any guards in there will see you testing the handle. You need to kick.”

“I’m just saying that the doors might be unlocked already,” Deimos said reasonably. “And if they are, kicking seems excessive. If not, how hard should I kick? How much is enough? What if it jars my knee?”

“Just do it,” Atlas bit.

The twins grinned at each other, and Romy hid her own smile.

With a sweeping look for company, they took up position in front of the doors. For a few seconds, all four of them stood in plain sight of anyone looking toward the entrance of the Mandate’s headquarters.

The front door? Whose plan was this? Shouldn’t they be going in by rope from the ceiling, or kicking in a window?

Her eyes fell on Atlas. His plan.

Atlas pulled the pin from his canister. “Now.”

Deimos and Phobos kicked in the doors.

Romy tore the pin from her canister and mimicked her counterpart, rolling the sleeping gas inside. She lunged for the door, already bouncing back, and pulled it shut with both hands and all her weight.

She blinked at the twins, who blinked back. Atlas was torn between scanning the area behind them and keeping track of his watch.

Footsteps sounded behind her.

Roaring, cracking, grating.

She whirled, drawing her gun.

Romy lowered her Colt from where it was trained on Ugly Giant’s face.

He glared at her. Couldn’t really blame him.

Atlas gazed down at his watch, counting.

With two fingers, he beckoned them forward. They threw open the doors and filed in, one after the other.

Five unconscious forms lay sprawled in the haze filling the room. The guards. The bottom of a stairwell was visible to each side and Romy got the sense of a high ceiling. The rest was a blur of white sleeping gas.

Atlas stalked to the left and they rushed after him into a hallway.

Deimos shut the door and after another ten metres everyone ripped off their masks.

“Thirteen minutes left,” Elara whispered.

Romy’s hands shook. With adrenaline, fear, dread—all of it mushed together.

Everyone pushed harder.

They passed through two doors and four halls before the floor started to slope down.

A ramp.

The signal from Atlas was unnecessary. They began a silent creep to what Romy assumed was the code room where they would neutralise the cannons.

They were so close.

Could they actually pull this off?

. . . Voices startled their procession to a halt.

For a drawn-out second, none of them moved, then Atlas reached down and held up a canister. In sync, the group pulled their masks back on.

The canister bounced off the far wall with a high-pitched plink.

The voices hushed.

Plink. It bounced again.

Plink. Plink.

Five seconds later, three loud thumps sounded.

Their group hurried down the ramp, guns raised.

Romy waved an arm in front of her to see through the haze. Three guards had guarded the code room door. Now they were unconscious on the ground.

Tina secured their hands and feet with plastic ties.

Romy’s eyes lifted to the sealed metal door blocking their way.

Tyson dropped to the ground, ripping out his device and several cords. Using a small knife, he jimmied the panel off a wall and reached in, tugging out a series of wires.

Nancy and Ugly Giant trained their weapons back up the ramp.

The rest watched with bated breath as Tyson worked. Thousands of lives depended on him opening this door. If he couldn’t, Romy was going to get all kinds of busy smashing the butt of her gun into those fancy wires. Still, she’d learned Tyson was full of surprises; he voted for Houston, and made moonshine in his spare time. Those weren’t the actions of someone scared of their own shadow, as the techie appeared to be at first glance.

The doors grated open.

This time Elara rolled a canister in. They waited a few seconds—nowhere near as long as they did in the foyer; the urgency to get into the code room was overwhelming.

No thumps sounded. The code room was empty.

Deimos wedged his body between in the gap and with a grunt, pushed the doors farther apart. Phobos laid his rifle down so the doors wouldn’t close.

Atlas clapped Tyson on the back as the group fanned inside to secure the area. “Now the real job begins.”

“Six minutes,” Nancy whispered.

Romy folded into the room after the others, closely followed by Nancy and Ugly Giant, who took up their sentry duty again inside of the doors. Tina joined them.

The code room.

Lights shone through the haze; reds, blues, greens—buttons on the numerous control panels and screens which lined the walls of the rectangular room.

Tyson darted from desk to desk, scanning the control boards with his nano, swinging out his free arm in agitation at the cloud of gas.

Knot 27 and Atlas focused on the techie intensely.

It didn’t escape Romy’s attention that the other groups weren’t here. What that meant, she didn’t care to dwell on. They had a job to do.

With a small sound of triumph, Tyson stopped at a desk just left of the centre.

Knot 27 and Atlas rushed to join him as he began to rip all manner of equipment from his pack.

. . . It would be a big red button.

The button was square, nondescript. Definitely not ornate enough considering it held the ability to kill so many. The dial underneath drew her attention. Six hours, thirty-seven minutes and twelve seconds.

“The bastards lied to us,” Deimos growled. “They said twenty-four hours. This is set for twelve.” Considering they’d made it here and got any warning at all, Romy didn’t think they should be complaining. Deimos paced behind Tyson.

The boy muttered under his breath, drawing a screwdriver from his bag. He pushed to his feet and began to unscrew the button from the control panel.

“Why do they need a button if they’ve already activated the codes?” Elara whispered.

“Instant override,” muttered Tyson.

He was so close to that button. It had a case over it and a fingerprint access on the top, but that didn’t make her any less nervous at his proximity to it.

Panting, dribbling, snarling.

“Look,” Phobos whispered. She walked to his side, sliding her Colt in its holster and swinging the rifle up into her hands.

“It’s the orbitos!” Elara said, heart in her hazel eyes.

Romy gasped at a picture on one of the eight screens which lined the walls. Eight screens for eight orbitos. One of the screens was black, now that Orbito Four was gone, she assumed.

More important was what the screens showed. Team three had made it to the space stations. Knot 27 watched as the people from Amach spilled into the halls of the orbitos.

“How’re they getting five hundred out of each one?” asked Phobos, echoing her next thought.

Thrym answered. “They’re not getting them out. They’re landing the orbitos.”

Romy blurted. “Is that safe?”

“Apparently.” He shrugged. “They didn’t really have a choice. Amach didn’t have the resources to rescue three and a half thousand soldiers at once. Atlas was adamant the vessels could be landed. Said the intention was always to do this . . . originally.”

“Originally,” Deimos repeated. “One hundred and fifty-two years ago.”

As one, they glanced at Atlas. He sat hunched next to Tyson, watching him work.

A low buzzing filled the air.

Knot 27 turned to each other in confusion.

Then came the two thuds. Romy met Thrym’s horror-filled eyes. They’d heard too many bodies hitting the ground recently to mistake the sound for anything else.

Romy spun to the door, raising her rifle, her body reacting to the perceived danger behind her.

Screaming, gurgling, splintering.

Nancy and Ugly Giant were on the ground, twitching.

Tina had her gun raised and fired two shots. Another buzzing sounded and wires embedded into Tina’s body. With a savage shudder, she relaxed into unconscious, twitching like the others.

“They’re coming,” Romy shouted. “Get ready.”

White-clad soldiers poured around the corner of the ramp and entered the code room.

The soldiers formed into four long lines extending the length of the rectangular space. Then, with a loud snap, they raised their weapons in unison.

Romy’s throat closed.

A firing squad sat three metres from her knot.

Three metres from Atlas.

Her head squeezed so tightly spots appeared in her vision. She shoved herself in front of her knot, rifle raised. From the corner of her eye, she saw Atlas mimic her position in front of Tyson.

“Don’t move,” she ordered her knot over her shoulder. “Not one inch.”

They had to stay behind her.

Dripping, slipping, blood.

An unemotional voice penetrated from behind the rows of soldiers, out of sight.

“I believe, for lack of an original turn of phrase, you are outgunned. Surrender your weapons.”

That voice.

She slid her eyes to Atlas.

His grey eyes flickered to Tyson and back to her.

She nodded. They needed to give Tyson time to work. Atlas’s expression didn’t change as he turned back to face four impassive rows of soldiers.

“Why should we?” she found herself replying to the voice. “You’ll kill us anyway.”

“That is where you are wrong. Why would we kill you when we’ve worked so very hard to make your journey into this room a success?”

She ignored the startled gasps from her knot and tightened her hold of her gun.

She’d known. Deep down.

It was too easy.

A quick glance to her right showed Atlas was unsurprised. He’d known, too. But what choice had there been but to keep going?

“You were expecting us,” Romy continued, assessing their situation. There wasn’t much space in this room; it would work in their favour. Maybe. Barely. Their group was severely outnumbered. But if they could get closer, the soldiers would find it hard to use their guns effectively.

“Even we did not expect it to be this easy.” The man gave a light chuckle.

A thought occurred to her. “Where are the other groups we came with?” Forty other Amach soldiers, unaccounted for.

“. . . Well, now. That is up to you.”

The eight screens on the walls flashed white. The evacuation attempts of the orbitos disappeared, and in their place rose a whitewashed courtyard she knew all too well.

Except now nearly forty people knelt inside, huddled—the other groups.

The courtyard was enclosed by a buzzing red wall that seemed to be tightening.

“That space they’re kneeling in will grow smaller and smaller,” the voice continued gleefully. “It will reduce them to a charring mess on contact. I wonder who the last person left will be.”

“They caught them,” Thrym whispered behind her.

Deimos cursed under his breath.

“Do I have the pleasure of speaking with Rosemary?” the voice asked.

She barely heard him through the din in her head. She wanted to clutch her head with both hands and scream, but showing weakness wasn’t an option.

No option. No option.

Elara tried to push beside her and Romy growled at her.

She shrank back and Romy resumed her protective stance.

“You do,” she replied shortly. “And you are? Not Mandate Saavin, I gather.”

Thrym hissed behind her.

The only sign of the person’s displeasure was his silence. “No,” he said. “You murdered Mandate Saavin, Rosemary. A hard-working and self-sacrificing citizen—”

“Tell me about it,” she interrupted. “I was one myself for quite some time. But then, you know all about that.”

A ripple of confusion swept through the white-clad soldiers before them.

Romy glanced down at the red lights dotted over her body.

Despite her efforts to keep them behind her, Phobos and Thrym had crept to her sides. Her heart pounded at the red dots covering them.

Blood, blood, blood.

The floor blurred, wavering. Romy’s eyes widened.

Shit.

“My name is Tony. Tony Debranc. Perhaps you have heard of me?” the voice continued.

The name took hold in her mind. A memory rose. A memory of a paper. A name. A permit.

“I have,” she said in consternation. “You and your wife lived in New Sydney.”

“Correct.” There was a pause. “How did you come across that information?”

Romy smiled. “I saw a permit with your name on it in Jimboomba. It was a denied request for a reproduction application.”

Thrym turned to her, but she ignored him. “Why didn’t they let you have a child, Tony? Too stupid? Too. . . ?” She trailed off, noting the agitation amongst the troops training their guns on her. It wasn’t much, just a shift—a subtle break in their otherwise uniform postures.

“I didn’t realise lies were another of your skills, Rosemary,” Tony replied smoothly. “I’m sure my son will be most confused when I tell him he doesn’t exist.”

She listened to Tyson tapping. The sound was partnered with Atlas’s low whisper. Atlas was up to something.

She had to keep Tony talking. “You had a child anyway,” Romy said, surprised. “I guess that’s why three soldiers stormed in while I was scanning the information onto the e-storage machine. They incinerated the evidence.” She gave a short laugh. “Perks of being a mandate, Tony? The rules don’t apply to you?”

Icicles dripped from his reply. “We have you and your knot surrounded. Even Commander Atlas himself—a person I am most desirous of becoming reacquainted with. We have a special prison cell with his name on it.”

Atlas didn’t respond, still breathing commands to Tyson.

“Here is what the Mandate proposes,” Tony called from behind the soldiers. “Drop your weapons, or we disintegrate the people in the courtyard in the next thirty seconds. The latest model even reduces teeth to ash—if you can believe that. The smell is atrocious, I’m told.”

Romy spared a quick glance at a screen. The laser ring surrounding the other group had nearly reached those on the outside.

Terror thudded in sporadic, stuttering rhythms, but all she could think about were her knot. Romy just couldn’t contemplate the safety of anyone else while they were at gunpoint.

She had to protect them.

Protect, protect, protect.

The waves in the floor smoothed, and panic tightened in her throat as the code room transformed into the glass she hated more than anything.

“Oh . . . and tell the boy behind the esteemed commander he’s wasting his time. Do you really think we’d leave a gigantic red button with the power to destroy the orbitos in plain sight? No,” the mandate spoke, “that button is a fake. We keep the control to the disintegrators on us at all times. Actually, I have it right here in my hand. How . . . convenient.”

Romy staggered forward as though a fist had punched her in the stomach.

The mandate laughed as a pained noise escaped her, thinking his words had hurt her.

Romy barely heard them as she stared at the glass underfoot. A single crack had appeared by her big toe. Her breath came short and quick.

“My gosh. How cruel. I can destroy them all with a push of a finger. Ten more minutes and they might have been past our reach, too,” he said sympathetically.

Romy answered in a daze, not taking her eyes from the floor. “You would kill your ‘beloved’ soldiers?”

She’d been hoping for a reaction from the soldiers, but they didn’t move a muscle.

“Our force is aware the space soldiers have betrayed us,” he said silkily. “How they have become a liability to humankind.”

The mandate’s force took a step forward.

From the corner of her eye she watched Tyson give three final taps on the device. He gave a small nod to Atlas, who caught her eye and held it as he placed his weapon on the floor.

What was happening?

Did Tyson neutralise the cannons after all? Were the orbitos safe?

How was that possible when the mandate held the device?

Something had to have happened. Atlas wouldn’t be putting his weapon down otherwise.

How would she protect her knot without a gun?

Wavering, falling, spinning.

Heart hammering, she bent and placed her rifle on the ground. The rest of Knot 27 did the same. Romy pulled the Colt free of its holster and slid it across the three-metre gap to the white soldiers.

White, enemy, kill.

Three soldiers broke away and collected their weapons, not bothering to frisk them. In the time it took for any of them to reach for a hidden weapon, the soldiers could fill them with bullets.

Her knife burned against her calf.

Finally, now that their weapons were gone, Mandate Debranc broke through the four rows of soldiers.

. . . He looked the same as he did on the screens, unsurprisingly; wavy hair, beady eyes. What she’d give to squeeze the life from him.

“That wasn’t so hard.” Tony smiled at her.

She bared her teeth, breathing thinly through her nose.

Cracks were appearing at random, all over the room.

She couldn’t lose it. Her knot needed her. She had to keep it together.

“Here is what happens next,” the mandate continued.

Ugly Giant groaned on the floor, rolling to one side on the ground. A shot rang out, and his body twitched violently and lay still.

Elara screamed and Romy clutched at her head, the sound wrenching at the very core of her.

Tearing, shattering, breaking.

“Ellie, stop screaming,” Phobos said urgently.

“A shame it had to come to that,” Tony said. He smiled to himself. “Where was I?” He paused. “Ah, yes. Rosemary, you will be transferred to our research facility. I highly doubt you’ll ever leave. Atlas, my dear Atlas. I did like you, too. Potential like that is a rarity.”

“All those times we played chess, Tony. How easy it was to string you along,” Atlas said silkily.

White rage twisted Tony’s face for a split second.

Romy’s breath came fast as she watched the glass. She should tell the others to stay still. They’d fall through, too.

Tony heaved a smile, smoothing the front of his white tunic. “I do profess myself still rather angry about that. As would you be in the face of such betrayal. But I will not yield to selfishness. You shall answer to the people in a public trial.”

Romy choked as her panic began to rise up her torso. They’d torture Atlas, just like they tortured Tina.

Drip, drip, drip.

A high-pitched whining began in the back of her mind.

Mandate Debranc clicked his fingers. “Get the boy.”

Five soldiers approached Tyson, dragging him away from the fake button. Another smashed his nano on the ground. Tyson struggled in their tight grip as they pushed him to his knees. Atlas’s expression hardened, but he gave no other sign of caring.

“I had been in favour of keeping your knotmates to kill one at a time, Rosemary—for research purposes, you understand.” He smiled. “However, our researchers do not believe keeping them would serve any real purpose. So, I’m afraid it’s the end of the road for them, so to speak.”

The soldiers raised their weapons to eye level.

A screaming whine took over her senses; the panic rose past her belly button, over her diaphragm. She breathed rapidly, but none of the shallow inhales served to fill her lungs.

Romy staggered and a deep booming fissure tore through her ears. The glass cracked faster than ever before. Like lava exploding from a volcano, the molten red pushed up through the bubbling ground as far as the eye could see.

“But first. . . .” The mandate’s voice echoed distantly in her ears, drowned out by the roar of blood.

He gestured to the screens behind them.

Romy didn’t care about the screens.

Her knot.

My knot.

Mine, mine, mine.

The cracks were joining, and Romy stood as if on the sidelines of a fight.

Her old memory card was about to fry. Just like the first.

Soon, a terror would be unleashed, and Romy was powerless to stop it.

She stared at the man’s face. It was contorted in rage as he stared at the screens. Something had gone wrong. Atlas laughed triumphantly, but the laughter cut off as the mandate held up a black device.

The man turned to the soldiers and their guns swung to Atlas. The red dots left her.

They left her knot.

Blinking through layered vision, Romy whirled and pushed Elara hard into the others. They tumbled to the ground in a tangle of limbs.

She sprinted at the soldiers.

They wanted her alive.

Alive. Her knot. Dead.

Romy threw herself on the closest soldier and rained blows on his face in a burst.

“Don’t shoot her!” a voice screamed.

Freeing the gun from the soldier’s unconscious grasp, barely aware fifty guns and their red dots were trained on her, she spun, putting the butt to her shoulder and, taking quick aim, she pulled the trigger.

Mandate Debranc screamed in agony, clutching his hand, dropping the black device.

Atlas dove for the device and Romy stared at the white-clad soldiers. Blood roared in her ears.

Her heart pumped with the finality of a booming drum. The beating came faster and faster. Her brain was vibrating, then shaking until, in a rippling wave, the glass gave one keening groan.

The groan spoke of her doom.

She knew this was the end with damning certainty.

She welcomed it.

She felt relief the struggle was over.

Romy smiled savagely at the ground that no one else could see.

Only a tiny square of smooth glass remained beneath her. The rest was just crushed ice floating in a drink.

Two cracks snaked their way under each of her feet and stopped just short of joining.

She lifted her foot, eyeing the gap between the two large cracks.

It was always going to end this way.

She stomped down.

The glass shattered.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

The room exploded into chaos.

The enemy clutched his hand in agony where her bullet caught him. Those closest were pulling him back through the rows of soldiers, but most of his team were yet to connect the dots he’d been shot.

All the easier to kill them.

She leaned down to extract her knife and shoved it under a nameless soldier’s chin, twisting with relish. She wrenched to free the weapon, enjoying the wet sound it made.

Shots fired from behind her and she whirled to another soldier, ignoring the shots. The people behind her were shooting and they weren’t a threat.

She knew this instinctively.

They wouldn’t hurt her.

But she had to protect them with her life.

She shoved her knife under an armpit with a cackling laugh and rolled to the next. And the next. And the next.

Red coated her arms, splashed in her face, sprayed from the wounds of dying soldiers. It covered her—slippery, thick, and she revelled in it.

More.

Her knife became jammed in an eye socket and she snagged a fallen gun.

She looked up and was disappointed to find only eight of the white-clad people remained. They had their hands in the air.

The rest of the soldiers were a tangled mess on the ground. Half had needles sticking out of their necks. Unconscious. The four people at her back had been busy.

She would finish the unconscious ones off soon. It was nice of the four people to help, but the enemy had to die. The people in white clothes wanted to kill them—the four people behind her.

That couldn’t happen.

She faced the eight soldiers, who had their arms up. What a stupid thing to do. It made shooting them much easier. She lifted her gun and shot in a line until all fell down.

Now for the unconscious ones.

Footsteps interrupted her. She bared her teeth and spun for the door.

A lot of footsteps.

They were pouring down the ramp to this room.

She discarded her gun and picked up another, slinging a second over her shoulder, and made her way back to the four people.

“Get down,” she said.

They hesitated, looking at each other.

“Now,” she screamed, pointing the gun at them.

The three males and female dropped to the ground. She turned back to the door, crouching.

Waiting.

She clicked off the safety on the new weapon. Automatic. Sleek. Made for her hands. She got immense pleasure from holding a gun so capable of killing.

The footsteps grew louder and she half-squeezed the trigger in readiness.

The first of the enemy force rounded the corner and slowed to a halt at the sight of the bodies in the doorway.

These people didn’t wear white like the other enemies. They wore the same clothes as the people huddling behind her.

She mulled this over.

Enemies, she decided, raising the gun again.

“No!” a voice roared.

A man threw himself in front of the intruders.

Grey eyes.

Like soft rock. Rock you could dive into.

In different circumstances, she’d like to lick him. Running her hands up what she strongly suspected was a firm chest would give her as much pleasure as holding this gun.

She lowered the tip and Grey Eyes stepped forward.

“Stop!” she growled, lifting it once more.

“Rosemary,” the man said softly. “It’s me. It’s Atlas.”

Atlas. She searched the dark and came up blank. “I don’t know an Atlas. I don’t know a Rosemary.”

He slipped a foot closer.

Did he think she couldn’t see? Three metres remained between them. More than enough space to blow his brains out.

“What about your knot, Rosemary?” he said slowly. “Do you recognise them?”

A trick. Her lip curled. She wasn’t going to look behind. “I must protect them.”

Another inching step forward. “But why do you protect them? For what reason?”

It was an interesting question. She let him take another step, training the red dot between his eyes. Why did she protect them? Should she stop?

No.

That wasn’t an option.

Protecting them was necessary because. . . .

She stared blankly at Grey Eyes. “It must be done. At all costs.”

“Yes,” he agreed in a low voice. “We must protect them, mustn’t we?”

She narrowed her eyes. Too close. “Stop there, or I pull the trigger,” she said.

“Romy,” a voice whispered behind her.

“Stay where you are,” she threw over her shoulder. “Or you can kiss your fucking kneecaps goodbye.”

A horrified gasp was the response.

“We need to protect them, darling,” the man with grey eyes hushed. “You and me. We will help them. They need our help.”

She repeated the words through numb lips. “They need help.”

He nodded, staying still. The red dot shone on his forehead. “Will you let me help you?”

She surveyed the pile of bodies on Grey Eyes’ side of the room. He’d done well. A soldier like her. He killed the enemy. He didn’t leave them unconscious.

She might need help to get past the others. “You can help me,” the words left her lips. “We need to kill the enemy. Everyone else.”

The man closed the distance between them, but stayed in front of her. The barrel of her gun wedged into his heart. “No, Rosemary. These people are helping us too. They wear the same clothes as us.”

Her head throbbed. “Same clothes,” she mumbled.

“That is how you know you can trust them. White is bad.”

She blinked back black dots. “White is the enemy.”

“Yes. That’s right.”

She dug the barrel into his chest as she wavered on the spot.

“You’re lying?” Her high voice broke as he began to blur.

“Not to you, my love,” he said, catching her as she stumbled. A tear tracked down his cheek. “Never to you.”

The gun slipped from her fingers, and she didn’t hear it land. “Protect them, Atlas,” she whispered brokenly, holding onto her consciousness with slippery fingers. “Please, protect them.”

Lips touched hers as her eyes closed.

“With my life.”

She drifted lower—lower, to the darkness.

To the bottom.

To the end.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

A rhythmic beeping lulled her in and out of consciousness. She knew, somehow, this was her heartbeat.

She was alive.

The reason she listened to her heartbeat, and the reason she should be contemplating her survival, escaped her.

The coarse scratch of a sheet pulled at her skin as she shifted. The blanket was a warm weight. Comforting—it tangled around her legs, though. If her legs weren’t tangled, she’d be in complete comfort.

She’d float back into blissful darkness.

With a moan, she kicked at the blankets.

Romy sighed, happy once her legs were free, nuzzling into the pillow.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

A clinic, her consciousness registered. That’s where she was.

Abandoning sleep with an irritated groan, Romy dragged her eyelids open.

Weak lights crackled around the room. She’d been right; she was in a clinic.

Most of the room was in shadows; night time. A medi-tech screen shone on her right side.

She frowned as she moved and felt something pull on the skin of her forearm. Electrodes. Wires. They covered her.

Cool air tickled her head. Romy reached both hands up and blinked as her fingers encountered bare skin. Her hair was gone.

What was going on?

More electrodes and wires were stuck to her head than anywhere else.

Beepbeepbeepbeep.

The door swung open without warning. Alarmed, Romy pushed into a sitting position. She sagged when she saw who it was.

“Charlee.” She sighed.

The doctor paled and dropped everything she was carrying.

Papers erupted from the ground. A glass of water smashed against the concrete. Romy screamed at the sound. The shadows by the door leaped into action.

Someone was sitting there the whole time!

The figure stumbled closer to the bed.

“Atlas,” she mouthed. But not Atlas. He had the makings of a beard. He looked. . . . “You look exhausted.” Romy frowned.

They gaped at her.

Romy rubbed her temples, but dropped her hands when she realised her temples weren’t actually sore. “Did you take blood samples?” she asked. “I . . . I don’t remember anything.”

She glanced around her. “What clinic are we in? Is this a different room?” It was half the size of the one she was usually placed in.

“Ro—” Charlee croaked. “Romy,” she tried again. “What do you remember?”

“Where are my knot?” Romy interrupted suddenly. Unexplained fear surged inside.

“All alive and well. They left your side to get some sleep an hour ago.”

Romy relaxed the grip she had on the sheets. “Why is my hair gone?”

Charlee remembered how to move. “I had to shave it off. We had to put more electrodes on than usual.”

Shaking her head, Romy assessed herself. She wore a hospital gown. Her arms were thin, pale. Her muscles were wrung out and weak. “Did I—?” She shook her head again. “I’m not sure—” Her mind struggled to grip onto a reason for being here. It was as fruitless as catching a cloud.

Charlee picked up her hand.

Atlas still stood in the same place, expression unreadable.

“Do you remember Egypt, Ro?” Charlee asked.

Romy smiled. “Char,” she recalled.

Charlee smiled back. “That’s right. You gave me that nickname before you left on a mission. Do you remember what that mission was for?”

“The Mandate made an ultimatum. I was on team two.”

“Yes,” Charlee pressed.

Romy closed her eyes, frowning. “I fried my new memory card before I left.” She checked Charlee’s face, only to find it green. The doctor darted her eyes to where Atlas stood.

Probably should’ve kept that one to herself. “We flew to Egypt. My knot showed up. Gwenyth changed their orders. We crept through trees.” Romy gasped as the rest came flooding back.

“Shh. Try to keep calm.”

Romy gulped large mouthfuls of air and focused on letting them out slowly. “We made it through the three sentry points to the code room. It was a trap.”

“And then?” Atlas spoke for the first time. Why did he look so angry? What did she do?

“I—” Romy frowned. “They’d lured us to the room. To catch me. To catch you.” Her eyes flew up to meet his, and she flinched at the hardness there. “And then. . . .”

Beepbeepbeepbeep.

She turned to Charlee. “The glass cracked.” Her eyes widened and couldn’t return to their normal size. Her fingers clawed, frozen in a clutching position. “Did it happen?”

“Yes, you fried your old memory card as expected,” Charlee said with a grim expression.

Romy took a stuttering breath. She felt normal. More normal than she had in a long time. “Did you put a new memory card in or something? I thought the new card was fused to the port.”

Charlee’s lips pressed together before she sighed. “Now they’re both fused to the port. Houston couldn’t get either out.”

Romy touched the area behind her left ear. Her fingertips ran over the gauze covering the ridged row of stitches beneath it. “Ever?” she asked the doctor.

Tears welled in Charlee’s eyes, but she battled them back with a shaking exhale. “It’s too risky to remove the cards. You could die.”

“Why do I feel normal, Char?” Romy asked. “I’m fine. More than fine. How is that possible?”

Charlee glanced up. “You feel fine?” the doctor asked.

Romy nodded.

Atlas swung toward her from where he’d been staring into nothing.

“No pain in my head. No ringing. I can’t sense . . . Feral Romy,” Romy said with furtive look at Atlas. “I thought I’d turn into Feral Romy when the old card fried and that would be the end.”

Charlee’s hand trembled. “Houston said to expect you’d be insane if you ever woke up.”

“Then why am I okay?” she asked, then frowned. “I kind of feel like I’ve fused with Crazy Romy.”

“There’s one way to find out,” Char said.

“There is?”

Charlee bent down and held up two pairs of shoes. One were the standard-issue black elastic shoes. The others were heavy black boots.

Romy pointed to the boots.

Charlee’s brows rose. “Yes, I think that persona is a permanent part of you now.”

“And what about Feral Romy?” Romy said. Her instincts told her Feral Romy was gone. She felt stable.

“Do you mind if I show you some blood?” Charlee asked hesitantly. “I know it usually makes you feel. . .”

“Like I’ll become Feral Romy at any second?” Romy asked.

Charlee nodded.

Atlas made a muffled noise in the background

“Do it,” Romy said firmly.

Charlee picked a scalpel from a row of surgeon’s tools close by and made a small cut on her forefinger.

Romy watched as the blood beaded and overflowed, dripping onto the floor.

“Well?” Charlee asked, wrapping it up in gauze.

“Nothing. It’s not making me feel unstable at all.” She looked up at the doctor. “It feels like. . .Feral Romy is gone. Is that possible?”

Charlee squeezed her tight. “We’ll need to put you through some stress tests to be sure, but yes, I think she’s gone for good. Your brain has finally overridden your nanos, and I believe you’ve stabilised permanently.”

Relief made her weak. Romy rested her head back. She really hadn’t thought she’d come back this time. “Where is Houston?” she asked, then gasped. “The orbitos!”

“All orbitos landed safely on Earth,” came Atlas’s gravelly voice.

Romy stared at him, too tired and overwhelmed to do anything with the information other than be completely and utterly grateful for it. Charlee’s arms wrapped around her shaking shoulders. Not the arms she wanted. Why was he avoiding her?

“Where are we?” Romy asked numbly.

“Split, Croatia,” Charlee supplied.

“Everyone’s safe? I don’t remember after. . . .”

Atlas cleared his throat. “The Mandate had the other four teams trapped in the courtyard and used them—and the weapons trained on the orbitos—to force our surrender.”

Romy remembered that.

“Tyson couldn’t access the cannons set on the space stations—the button was a fake. He disabled the lasers in the courtyard instead.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “When the lasers in the courtyard dropped, the other four teams made for the code room to help us. I managed to secure the device from Debranc when you shot his hand. He didn’t get a chance to set off the cannons. Most of the soldiers couldn’t shoot for risk of hitting you against Debranc’s order not to kill you. All in all, we got extremely lucky.”

Romy didn’t bother questioning him about shooting Mandate Debranc. “Who has the device now?”

He shrugged.

“Tyson,” Charlee said in the silence. “He directed the cannons to self-destruct. They’ve been destroyed.”

Romy let out a slow breath. “Well, at least the Mandate won’t have that over us anymore. . . . Then what happened?”

“We made for the crafts. Got there two hours past the intended time and left for Croatia immediately. We spent three hours evading drones, but we made it.”

“Casualties?” she asked.

“No idea,” he said.

Of course he knew. He was second highest in command.

“Seven members of team two didn’t make it,” Charlee answered for him again. “They were killed when the Mandate forced them into the courtyard. Ten were injured. Team one and team three made it here safe and sound.”

Romy heard the summary with half an ear. She was more interested in why Atlas hadn’t known any of that.

He faced the wall opposite her, his back to her.

“The space soldiers have received their explanation about the Mandate’s betrayal, and all seem willing to join our cause. Each orbito is being housed at a different base.”

Romy caught the doctor’s eyes. “Did Houston find the cure to the insanity trigger?” she whispered. According to his theory, he should have.

Charlee shook her head with a sad smile. “Houston ran some tests earlier. This morning I heard Houston saying maybe he was wrong and your nanos don’t hold the cure to the insanity trigger after all.”

“But—” she started. Sourness filled her mouth. She’d turned into the thing she most feared while Houston was playing around with her brain. All of that pain and terror. For nothing? “He said once my old card took over my nanos would stop attacking the foreign nanos,” she said.

Charlee froze. “What did you say?”

Romy lifted a shoulder. “That’s what he told me. I guess he was wrong.”

Charlee didn’t speak for a long time. She recovered and squeezed Romy’s hand. “We’ll get there. I swear it.”

“How do you know?”

“Because life can’t be so cruel after how far we have come. That’s how.” Charlee began to remove electrodes from Romy’s bald head.

The doctor was wrong. Life was cruel. It dangled hope like a carrot from a stick, and each time Romy leapt for the carrot, life snatched it out of reach. “I’m not sure you’re right,” Romy said, a tremor in her voice.

Charlee leaned over to kiss Romy’s cheek. “We survived, Ro. We survived when it seemed death was a certainty.” The doctor stripped off the rest of the electrodes and with a furtive glance at Atlas, she smiled at Romy. “I’m going to get a broom to sweep up that glass.”

Romy’s eyes flickered to a broom in the corner. “. . . Okay?”

Atlas didn’t turn, even when the door swung shut after Charlee.

His low voice closed the gap. “One of your memory cards fried before the mission. You knew, and you still went. You sat beside me on the way there and didn’t say a word. You kissed me like that and said those things because you were saying goodbye.”

They weren’t questions—he was stating facts, and judgement loaded every word.

“I did,” Romy replied. “It was only a matter of time until the old card fried, too. I chose to do my best to save my knot. To save you.”

“How long did you know the third Romy was there?”

She closed her eyes. “From the start.”

He punched the wall, and she jumped. He did it again. And again.

Blood spotted the wall before he dragged an arm over his face.

Atlas finally turned and looked at her.

She couldn’t tell if he shook with anger or frustration. Romy stared, and the seconds ticked by as she struggled to summon something to say.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t want to admit what was happening to myself, let alone you, or my knot.”

He didn’t move.

“Can’t you understand that?” she asked helplessly. “Or is there another reason you’re angry? Was it something I did in the room? Did Feral Romy do something?”

“Angry at her,” he whispered to himself. “She thinks I’m angry at her.”

Romy closed her eyes briefly and when she opened them, he was leaning over her. She choked on a scream. “Shh,” he said. He reached a trembling hand to her forehead.

“My hair is gone,” Romy said to him in a broken voice. “I was trying to grow it long.”

The one detail was too much.

Her breaths dragged in, one after the other, and wouldn’t leave. She wanted to scream, but held them in, and soon the screams, lacking an exit point, turned to uncontrollable tremors. Romy curled into a ball to hide, so deeply ashamed at her panic, but unable to stop. Thick, hot tears ran from the corners of both eyes.

The right arms wrapped around her, pulling her in close. Holding her tight to the point of pain. She didn’t care. He was here. He was real.

. . . Romy had no idea how long she stayed that way.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated. Sorry for being weak like this when she should be strong.

“Never apologise for that. Never. We all reach our breaking point eventually.”

Anger heated his voice.

Romy wormed her way closer to him and inhaled deeply.

“Atlas,” she whispered. “How long was I out?”

“Three days,” he said.

Three days. That was all? She felt ten years older.

A tear landed by her temple. She might have missed it if her hair was still there.

“You’re here,” he said hoarsely. “I’m having a bit of trouble believing you’re safe. I can’t seem to ever keep you safe.”

Romy freed her arms and wrapped them tight around him, wordlessly sending him comfort. “I’m here with you,” she said. “I’m okay now.”

He lifted her blankets with one arm and lay next to her, tucking the blankets up under her chin.

He made no comment, just drew her close—as close as humanly possible, and rested his warm cheek against hers.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Atlas spoke in a soft tone.

“Ten of us were selected at age five. I didn’t even know what we were chosen for back then. Two years later, I thought I understood, and I thought I wanted it. But seven-year-olds can’t really grasp consequences of that magnitude. They can’t imagine one hundred people dead, or even the despair a single gunshot can cause. It’s all games at that age. I wanted to be like my parents. Like my father, who was our leader, and like my mother, who was a commander like I am now. That was why I trained, at first. Later, I trained because I truly understood the cause. It took me one week aboard the orbitos to figure out there wasn’t any of the glory I’d imagined for my mission. Then I had nine years to understand what a stupid child I’d been.”

Romy rose to consciousness, careful not to move. How long had he been talking?

“It’s all I’ve known, since the age of five,” he said. “Command. Fighting. Lies. And now that that mission is over, I have no idea who I am. I don’t know what I like. I don’t know what I enjoy. I’m not sure where to start—even with nearly a year and a half gone by.”

Romy kept her breath even.

He stroked the bare skin of her head. “I killed hundreds of space soldiers. With a slight change in orders, I might have been sending you and your knot to your deaths. I might never have kissed your lips, or felt that goodness you emanate without effort. I was a horrible person for so long, I began to wonder if I was that person in truth.”

Warm lips kissed her lightly.

“I talk, but I do not share. I give enough, but never all.” He sighed and rested his head on hers. “You don’t deserve that.”

She gave up the guise of sleeping, pulling her head back to look at him.

He met her gaze calmly, though a faint red crept up his jaw.

“You blame yourself for things that were never your fault,” she said softly.

“I had choices.”

“That were part of a mission set for you by the Amach commanders.” Romy held his gaze when he made no answer. “One day, you’ll talk and I’ll listen,” she said.

He cracked a smile. “Yes, ma’am.”

His lips had never looked so tempting—smooth as velvet. The perfect size to meld against hers. She wanted him to make her forget and knew his mouth was up to the task; that his presence and his touch had this ability.

Atlas made everything bearable.

She pulled up short as his minty breath reached her. He’d left to clean up during the night. He’d shaved off the black stubble. The weariness had lifted from his face, leaving only red-rimmed eyes behind, which would disappear with more sleep.

She, on the other hand. . . .

His head dipped to hers, and she whipped up an arm, resting a finger against his lips. He bit it and she stared at where his teeth held the digit captive.

“I need a shower,” she said in a daze.

“Hmm?” he queried.

He freed her finger, and she pulled it back, still feeling where he’d bitten it.

He met her eyes, a thin layer of amusement spreading over the rawness in his expression. Romy reached the same hand to his cheek. “I’m really okay, Atlas. Please don’t worry anymore. I merged with Crazy Romy, but she’s really not that bad.”

He tensed. “When did that happen?”

“When my first card fused.”

“And she’s still here?”

Romy nodded. “For good.”

He kissed her nose. “I’m glad. I like her.”

Something relaxed deep inside of her.

Atlas covered her hand with his. “You know, the first moment I saw you, you were standing on a rock at the top of a hill, looking at the Australian bush.”

“Before the crocodile attacked?” she asked. “How long were you following me, you creep?”

He pursed his lips and didn’t answer, but his grey eyes bubbled. “Your ankle was injured. You were bloodied and scratched and tired. Yet you stayed on that rock for a full two minutes, staring at the sight. The sun was behind you, and made your hair shine.” He delivered the words without any trace of embarrassment. She loved how he did that. “You had the most captivating expression on your face. I could feel your wonder. I could see you. Right then on that spot, before I’d heard a single word from your mouth, I knew.”

Romy’s heart raced. “What?”

Grey eyes regarded her for an age. “That you were anything but normal. That there had never been, and would never be a person like you again. Not for me.”

* * *

Romy forced Atlas to return to his own bed, instead of sleeping on the bedside chair for what must be the fifth night in a row.

After a tearful reunion with her knot—and a glorious shower with the help of Elara—she’d sent them away, too.

She felt stronger after a day of rest. In her heart, she knew everything would be okay for her now. Feral Romy was gone for good. Her mind was her own for the first time.

They may not have the insanity cure, and the Mandate may be as strong as ever. But her family were safe. The Amach had escaped by the skin of their teeth.

Romy was grateful for all that.

She drifted into a sleep more peaceful than any she’d had in a year and a half.

* * *

. . . A rhythmic squeaking noise woke her some time later. It felt like she’d only just closed her eyes, but hours must have passed judging by the deep quiet.

The squeaking went on and on. Despite the irritating noise, she did her best to stay in the warm place of sleep.

She frowned. Her body rocked side to side in the bed. Odd.

Romy cracked open an eyelid and looked at the ceiling. The lights were moving.

Not the lights.

She was moving.

Someone was wheeling her bed.

“Moving her to the lab,” came a singsong voice. Houston.

“The cure?” came the excited response.

“Yes,” Houston answered.

“Congratulations, sir!”

The cure? She opened her eyes completely. . .

. . . and stared up at Deimos’s bright green eyes.

“Deimos?” she asked in confusion.

He flicked a look to Houston and swallowed. “Hey, honey.”

“What’s going on? Houston found the cure?”

Deimos nodded. Shadows crept over his face in the dim passage lights. Something wasn’t right. He was acting funny.

Breathing steadily, she glanced down the other end of the bed.

Houston looked back at her. Unfaltering. He didn’t make a joke.

He was quiet.

Unease unfurled in her gut. “Where are we going?” she asked casually. Something unspoken passed between the pair and they began to push the bed faster.

Romy had no idea where she was in the foreign Amach. Where were they taking her? Why was Deimos here and not Charlee?

The warnings going off in her head were tempered by Deimos’s presence, however. He was her knotmate.

Unwillingly, her mind drew up memories of Deimos’s whispered conversations with Houston. The shared looks. The unity between them. Deimos’s distance.

“Where are you taking me?” she demanded.

Deimos’s voice shook. “She’s not going to go quietly.”

Shocked, she gaped at him, not believing what she’d just heard.

His green eyes darkened and hardened against her. Against her.

Romy kicked off the blankets.

Batting away Deimos’s reaching arms, which attempted to pin her shoulders to the bed, she leapt to her feet. There had to be some kind of mistake. “Where are you taking me?” she said loudly.

There had to be a reason Deimos acted like this.

Houston rounded the bed, pulling a needle from his lab coat. She threw the blankets at him and hopped over to the other side of the bed.

Romy glanced around. The hangar.

They were in a hangar.

People milled around, and some even watched what Houston and Deimos were doing, but no one moved to help.

Betrayal coursed through her.

“Start moving out!” Houston roared. At his command, craft engines began to whir into life.

These people were leaving the base?

Romy spun to her advancing knotmate and snuck a peek toward the crafts. Men and women shifted large crates into the crafts. Romy’s mouth dried, her stomach threatening to heave as she read the side.

Orbito Four. Soldiers: 45–50

“The soldiers,” she gasped. They were loading the insane space soldiers still in deep freeze into the crafts.

Houston threw off the blankets and Deimos lunged for her. Romy drew back her arm and punched him as hard as she could in the jaw.

He staggered back and looked at her. Appalled.

He was appalled!

“What have you done, Deimos?” She stalked toward him.

He held up his hands. “Ro, I—”

“What have you done!” she screamed.

Houston circled behind her; she was trapped between them. “It’s time for things to change. Those who aren’t blinded have seen it for years. I’m sick of trying to convince Gwenyth otherwise. I tried to make you all see. I tried to do what was right.” His words were fevered. “Join us, Romy. Join us and be part of something great. Something real.”

Romy eyed his impassioned face. She didn’t miss Deimos’s quick step forward as she did so. “You lost the vote, Houston. You. Lost.”

“Then why are so many leaving with me, little alien?”

“You sound crazier than me at my worst,” she replied shortly.

Houston cackled. The sound used to make her laugh, in a different time. “That’s what made this all possible, though.”

Blood pounded in her head. Pure adrenaline.

Houston continued with glee. “Just as I predicted, you made the cure when your memory cards fused. The samples I took from you three days ago haven’t showed any sign of rejecting their host.”

She stared numbly at the folder he’d placed on the bed. “That’s why you’re taking the space soldiers. You want your own army. You disgust me.” She spat the words at him. “Dei, please tell me you haven’t been in on this the whole time?”

Deimos’s face paled. “The Amach doesn’t have what it takes to win.”

“You just want to kill the mandates,” she shouted at him. “That’s all you want. Don’t pretend you have some higher purpose.”

“I want to help them,” he roared back, pointing at the crates full of space soldiers.

She sent him a withering look, and he shrank from it. Her lips curved. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Dei.” He flinched at the nickname. She looked him up and down. “Who are you?”

Houston tried to jump her from behind and Romy spun, sinking a foot into his gut. He fell, and she grabbed the arm holding the needle. His grip was like death. Deimos sprinted for them. Romy extended Houston’s arm straight and kicked his elbow savagely.

A loud crack pierced the air.

Now the others in the hangar had decided to intervene, though not for her sake. Romy picked up the needle and shoved it into Deimos’s thigh, emptying the syringe.

“You bastard,” she said as his eyes dropped. “We will never forgive you for this.”

Pain lit his green eyes.

She’d loved him from her first memories. She’d known him across the ages.

Her eyes filled when his head lolled to one side, unconscious, and her heart ripped in two. Nothing, not even losing her mind, had ever hurt so much.

Agonised tears slipped over her cold, cold cheeks.

“Romy!” A shout rang out through the hangar.

She whipped to the sound.

Atlas.

Houston got to his feet; sweat dripped into his blinking eyes. He panted with pain as his right arm dangled uselessly by his side. He reached into the pocket of his lab coat with his left hand.

She had a very good idea of what might come out of it.

Jumping over Deimos, Romy sprinted for Atlas. He ran toward her, reaching into his holster.

His face showed his shock. He hadn’t gotten to the betrayal part yet.

He’d seen enough to lift his gun and point it at his best friend. Romy reached his side, and he shoved her behind him. “Are you okay?” he shot over his shoulder.

“I’m fine.” Could her words be further from the truth?

Four soldiers had a hold of Deimos and were shuffling him off in the direction of the crafts. The crafts were leaving.

Romy dragged her eyes back to Houston, and the gun he held trained on Atlas.

“Leave,” Atlas shouted over the noise in the hangar.

Houston darted his eyes to where Romy peeked over Atlas’s shoulder.

“Over my dead body, H. You aren’t taking her.”

‘H’. Houston didn’t flinch at the nickname. Not the way Deimos had.

“Leave,” Atlas repeated. “Leave. Or I swear I will put a bullet in your head, you traitorous piece of shit.”

I give enough, but never all, he’d said that morning. Yet the words weren’t true when it came to Houston. For years, they’d confided in each other when they could confide in no other. Things had crumbled between them in the last fifteen months, but once they had shared a heavy burden. Once they kept each other afloat.

Now, both aimed to kill.

For a long beat, Houston stared at them, mulling. Deciding.

He seemed to realise he wasn’t in the best shape, swaying with pain. The hand holding the gun trembled.

Houston nodded and dropped the gun. The hands of his supporters helped steady him as he edged toward a craft with the last of the deserters.

The hangar was half empty.

The roar of the craft filled the hangar, yet Atlas’s voice carried through the space with ease.

“You are a dead man, my friend,” he said. “Dead.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Atlas whisked her out of the hangar so fast the walls blurred.

He set her by the wall and swung his gun down either end of the passage, checking for company.

Romy listened to the roar of the last craft ebb, her whole body filled with bitter numbness.

“Are you hurt?” Atlas said, searching her with frantic hands.

She caught them in hers. “I’m okay. I promise.”

Deimos was gone.

“How did you find me?” she whispered.

He clicked the safety back on the gun after another search of the passage. “I was on the command deck, trying to catch up on everything. Do you remember when I went back into Orbito Four after saving you?”

“Vaguely.”

“I went back to send a message to another orbito commander. I told him the Mandate possessed the weaponry to end the war with the Critamal.”

“The other commanders don’t know?” Romy said.

Atlas shrugged. “I’ve had my suspicions they’ve been kept in the dark for a long time. Some of them truly care about ending the alien invasion. So I was watching the recordings of Orbito One, and right at the end, in walks Houston. He made straight for the control panel, put a device over his mouth, and spoke.”

A heavy weight dropped in her stomach. “What did he say?” she said urgently.

“He said, ‘We’ve held up our end of the bargain’.”

Romy’s mind raced. “What does that mean?”

Atlas pulled her to her feet. “I have no idea, but I doubt it’s anything good. We need to wake the command team, immediately.”

A low groan came from the shadows behind them.

Romy couldn’t help it. After the events of the last few weeks, she screamed.

“Shoot,” Atlas muttered. “Nearly forgot about him. Sorry,” he said to Romy.

He strode five metres down the hall and dragged a man into the light. She recognised him from the debrief room.

“Walter tried to stop me entering the hangar.” Atlas kicked the older man. “Didn’t you, Walter?”

Another groan was the reply.

“Now you’re going to be answering a few questions for us.” Atlas pulled the man to his feet without preamble, and began to march him down the passage.

The man staggered all the way to the elevators and down another passageway, wavering on the spot and in complete danger of falling on his face as Atlas stopped to pound on a door.

The door was ripped open. A gun pointed at them. “What?” Tina snapped.

Yikes. Her hair was everywhere.

“Houston has gone AWOL with the space soldiers and half our crafts,” Atlas replied shortly. “Get everyone to the debrief room in the next ten minutes. Something else is going to happen and we don’t know what.”

Tina didn’t waste time with words. She bolted from the doorway off down the hall in her undies.

They reached the debrief room and Atlas shoved the man, Walter, into a chair, wheeling it into a corner.

Romy took a seat at the front and stared at the man with unseeing eyes.

Deimos was gone.

He’d left them.

He’d tried to hurt her.

Gwenyth reached the room first. She made for Atlas. “Are you all right?” she asked, panting.

He kissed her cheek. “I’m fine. Did Tina tell you?”

Her face darkened. Her expression was answer enough.

In minutes, the room was full of tired and highly confused members of command. Tina hadn’t told anyone else what was going on.

Atlas didn’t waste time with greetings. “Tonight, Houston left with a sizeable chunk of the Amach, half of our crafts, and all of the Orbito Four space soldiers we’ve been keeping in deep freeze.”

No one spoke.

Romy didn’t know if they believed Atlas, half awake as they were. It was hard news to accept at the best of times.

Romy raised her head. “He took the insanity cure with him,” she said.

All eyes turned to her.

“What?” Atlas said in complete shock.

“He’s been lying to you all for a long time,” she admitted. “Weeks ago, he came to me and said my nanos were beginning to change and it was only a matter of time until the answer to the space soldiers’ insanity was found.”

“You didn’t think to tell anyone this?” Gwenyth seethed.

“I thought you knew,” Romy shot back. “The first time I suspected was when he asked to go up with team three to evacuate the orbitos. He said he wanted to find a missing puzzle piece, but I knew he’d already discovered the solution and it was merely a waiting game, but I kind of lost my mind after that and didn’t get a chance to. . . .” Romy trailed off as the surrounding faces went blank.

“He sent a message to someone while he was up there.” Atlas took over and Romy threw him a grateful look. “He said, ‘We’ve held up our end of the bargain’.”

“To who?” Gwenyth asked.

Everyone’s eyes shifted to the quiet and bloodied form of Walter in the corner.

“I mean to find out,” Atlas muttered darkly.

Walter laughed. He was missing his front teeth, courtesy of Atlas’s fist, no doubt. “Are you going to beat me, boy? I helped raise you. You’re not going to touch me. The Amach doesn’t believe in unnecessary violence, remember?”

Atlas’s face dropped into a smooth mask. “You don’t want to test me tonight, Walter. I don’t give a fuck who you are, or were. You can answer my questions now, or after I break your jaw.”

Atlas’s back was to the rest of them, but Romy could see Walter’s face. She saw the moment he looked into Atlas’s eyes and his laughter dropped into a pool on the ground.

“How long have you all planned this?” Atlas asked.

“A group of us started gathering a year ago.” Walter coughed. “It was after the first time Houston exploded at Gwenyth for not doing enough to fight the Mandate. There were many of us who supported him, and we approached him. That’s how we recruited. One or two of us would go to the other bases and raise hell about how things were done. Afterward, people would approach us. Our numbers grew. Of course, we only planned to put Houston in the top job at that point, but after the vote not long ago, it became clear we had to do something more drastic.”

“What does Houston plan to do?”

“You mean what he’s already done?”

Atlas didn’t rise to the bait, folding his arms, standing at ease in front of the traitor.

“One-third of the Amach are with us,” Walter hissed.

There were several gasps from those present.

“Our new faction are already in the process of taking over the New America bases. You don’t have any hope of warning them in time.”

“Tyson—” Gwenyth started, spinning to the table.

“Tyson!” Walter exploded into loud laughter. “He was one of the first to join our cause. We couldn’t have done any of this without his help.”

Gwenyth marched up to him, her lips white with fury. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Tyson is the one who rerouted the cannons, so we now have complete control of them.”

Romy’s ear buzzed. She rose to her feet. “I thought he destroyed them.”

“Well, that’s what we told you. Houston is now in possession of the black device.”

Tyson. Romy’s fist curled as anger shook her. Maker of moonshine, and back-stabber in his spare time.

Atlas loomed over the older man. “Houston spoke to someone when he was up on the orbitos. Who?”

Walter coughed.

“Who?” Atlas roared.

“You’re not going to hurt me.”

Crack.

Walter’s head rocked back, blood erupting from his nose.

“Atlas,” Gwenyth reprimanded. He ignored her.

“All right, all right. That was Tyson’s doing, too. He found a way for us to communicate with the Critamal,” Walter slurred, raising his hands defensively.

The entire room stilled.

“Critamal?” she croaked. She can’t have heard right.

Walter’s eyes gleamed. “That’s right. That’s how our faction will win. We’re using the Critamal. Unlike the Amach, we’re willing to use any kind of violence necessary to win.”

“Are you insane?” Romy cried.

“Of course we’re not,” he snapped. “We have the cannons, remember?”

Romy’s stomach churned. “What have you done?”

“Your knotmate was right in the middle of it, too, girl.”

Gwenyth’s eyes shifted to her again. “Is that true?”

Romy gritted her teeth, not taking her eyes off the smirking older man. “Yes.” She made another connection. “That’s why Knot 27 was rerouted to Cairo instead of going up to the orbitos, isn’t it? Deimos went to make sure Tyson got to the device,” she said in a stupor.

Walter grinned.

Romy held a hand to her forehead, nausea surging up her throat.

Deimos had been lying to her face for weeks, to the rest of Knot 27 for months. She tried to steady her breaths as hatred filled her.

“Did she say her knotmate betrayed her?” someone whispered. “I didn’t think that was even possible.”

Pain stabbed in her chest at the comment and Romy quickly turned to face the wall, a trembling hand covering her mouth. Not quick enough to miss the bewildered expressions on the faces of those in the room.

She knew exactly what they were thinking.

It was one thing for a person to betray a friend. But for a space soldier to betray his knot. It shouldn’t be genetically viable.

Then again, Knot 27 was all sorts of screwed up.

Clearly, Deimos inherited the traitorous bastard gene.

“They betrayed both of us,” Atlas said to the room. He continued talking behind her and Romy didn’t hear a word of it as she struggled to regain control of her broken soul.

And she felt the moment it happened.

The moment her love for Deimos turned to hate.

Romy hated her knotmate, and she would never forgive him.

“Commander-general,” Tina interrupted, “the Mandate has a scheduled update. It will be their response to our actions in Cairo.”

Shaking from her stupor, Gwenyth leaned across to the projector on the front of the table and clicked it on.

Static buzzed before a face filled the screen, unlined, but not young. White-clad. Not a single golden-blonde strand of hair out of place.

Romy hadn’t met this mandate yet.

“Four nights ago, the Mandate headquarters was savagely attacked by the Amach,” the woman stated, voice nasal.

She minimised to the top left corner, and the rest of the screen filled with chaotic footage; it showed the Amach storming the walls of the Mandate’s headquarters. Of their group sneaking up the wide, white road. There was a shot of Atlas snapping the sentry’s neck and of unconscious guards on the ground of the lobby of the headquarters.

Romy jerked as the code room came into view. It wasn’t the same as she remembered.

Only eight of the Mandate’s soldiers were left, though the bodies of many others covered the floor. The eight soldiers had their arms raised in surrender.

All of them stared at a snarling woman covered in blood.

The floor lurched under her feet.

It was Feral Romy; she was exactly as Romy had imagined her.

Someone in the debrief room screamed as Feral Romy shot the eight soldiers, one by one.

Romy bent over and dry-wretched. She was going to be sick. How many had she killed?

Atlas was beside her in an instant. “You’re okay, Rosemary. None of that was you. You know that. We all know that.”

She doubted that, judging by the horrified expressions around the room. Even Tina looked shocked.

“Breathe now. They’ve only shown one part.”

Eight people with their hands up in surrender and she’d shot them down. Romy didn’t think there was an honourable way out of that.

The mandate filled the screen again. Her black eyes seemed to condemn Romy, though she knew the mandate couldn’t actually see her.

“Murder. Cold-blooded,” the woman’s voice rang. “As the Amach attacked our headquarters, they sent a secondary force to the orbi—”

Romy shouted, covering her ears as a high squeal pierced the air.

She heard the cries of those around her, and cracked open an eye.

The screen was scrambling. Two pictures battled to be seen, and disjointed snatches of conversation blared through the room for thirty seconds.

She lowered her hands. What was happening?

Finally, one of the pictures won. The mandate disappeared, and in her place appeared someone they all recognised.

Houston. Looking the same as always, except for the sling supporting his right arm.

“Who broke his arm?” Gwenyth asked.

“Rosemary,” Atlas answered.

Gwenyth’s eyes fell on her. “Good,” she said, before turning back to the screen.

“People of Earth,” he greeted with a professional smile. “My name is Dr James Houston. Tonight, I would like to introduce myself as the leader of a new faction—one that will see equality restored on Earth by any measure of violence and force necessary.” He looked directly at the camera. He was still in the craft, but Romy couldn’t hear any engines. They must’ve landed to make the broadcast.

Walter said the new faction would set up in New America, but they couldn’t have reached the bases there, yet. They were in an underground bunker somewhere in-between.

“I worked as a doctor aboard the orbitos for seven years,” he said, a sad tinge entering his eyes. “Seven years ago, I witnessed something so horrible it is hard to speak of it. People of Earth, I want to be the first to tell you of a genocide that has extended for over a century. Soon you will see that the Mandate has been lying to you for one hundred and fifty-two years.”

The camera zoomed out. Houston gestured to a man on his left.

“Here with me is Julius, a space soldier from Orbito Two. Julius, which knot are you from?”

The soldier stood to attention. “Knot 56, sir!”

“And Julius, what is your mission?”

“To protect Earth until it is safe for rehabitation, sir!”

Houston looked at the camera. “Until it’s safe?”

Julius bobbed his head. “Global warming destroyed Earth in 2050. The last human contact was in 2060. We must stay in space until we can return, to ensure the survival of humankind.”

“Indeed! How long will that take?”

“There are 848 years left until Earth stabilises, sir!”

Houston didn’t break eye contact with the camera. “Is that so? Then, Julius? What do you make of the fact that you are currently standing on Earth, safe and sound?”

Julius lost his confident edge. “I don’t. . . . Why are we here? Is this a research trip? Where’s my knot? They’re okay, aren’t they?”

Romy’s feet took her closer to the screen, drawn with sickening empathy to the soldier’s distress.

“You’ve been lied to, Julius. Humankind survived. We controlled global warming in time, though it killed nine billion of us. Now, the Mandate keeps you in space as a means of controlling what remains of humanity.”

The soldier stiffened, eyes fixed on Houston. “That can’t be true.”

“Unfortunately, it is. Do you want to know something else, Julius?”

Romy wanted to place her hands over the soldier’s ears.

He didn’t know how badly he’d wish the next words were never spoken. His entire world would crumble.

She knew how that felt.

She’d felt it again tonight when Deimos looked into her eyes and betrayed her.

“The Mandate has possessed the technology to destroy the Critamal for over one hundred years.”

Julius gasped.

Houston nodded at the camera and it focused on him once more.

The sound of the soldier muttering his disbelief could be heard in the background.

“The Mandate has fooled us all, and they’ve fooled us well. Your beloved soldiers in the sky, unknowing prisoners. The cities live in luxury while the settlements do the dirty work and receive city scraps. The Mandate has taken our independence and our control over the way we wish to live our lives. They are so deeply rooted it will be impossible for humankind to rip them out.” Houston held up a black device. “But rip them out, we must.”

“The remote!” Gwenyth cried.

Romy muttered, “He really does have it.” This was not good.

Atlas looked like he was about to murder someone.

“This device I hold controls a weapon I like to call the disintegrator. The name gives you some idea of what the weapon does. These cannons can shoot a laser flash so powerful it is theorised one wave could destroy half of the Critamal’s force, and a second wave could destroy all trace of them from space.” Houston lowered the device. “We now have complete control of these cannons.”

“Not only do we control these cannons, but we also saved the space soldiers from the orbitos four days ago. You can consider these soldiers cured of the Mandate’s lies.”

No one but the Mandate and the Amach would understand what he meant by that.

It was the cherry on top for him. Houston had cured the space soldiers of the insanity trigger.

He’d taken all their hope.

He may not have as many of the Amach on his side, but he now had the space soldiers, the Critamal, the cannons, and the cure. He’d left the Amach with nothing.

Only a genius could have pulled this betrayal off, and Houston was certainly that. But she’d spent enough time with the doctor to know he’d started down the path of madness.

Genius and madness. A dangerous combination.

How many bloodied bodies would be strewn in his path?

Houston spoke. “Two things are about to happen. One: After this screening, the Mandate will give up any pretence of caring, and you will see, people of Earth, just how important you are to them. And finally,” he said cheerfully, “the Critamal will be landing on Earth, right. About. . . .” He paused for a few seconds. “Now.”

“No,” Atlas whispered.

Walter began to laugh, still sitting in the corner. “We’ve already won,” he said, tears of mirth streaming over the dried blood on his cheeks.

“Shut it,” Tina snarled.

He didn’t.

Atlas rounded on the older man, but Romy was a step in front. She swung her fist to the sweet spot on his jaw, and Walter slumped like a sack of shit.

She ignored Atlas’s stare.

“That’s my girl,” Tina said happily.

Houston wasn’t done. “To those listening, take your fate in hand. Join us, and end the Mandate’s tyranny by our side. Join us and survive.”

The image on the screen cut to black.

Silence reigned in the wake of it. The room was deadly still.

In that moment, Romy realised she’d never truly experienced silence before.

The air and the people inside the room were drained of emotion, of thought, of response.

They had nowhere to move.

Gwenyth swiped a nano from a woman at the table.

She swept her hand upward after a minute of furious tapping and looked expectantly at the screen where Houston had been seconds before.

In seconds, a grey and white image appeared on the front wall.

“Outside camera,” Atlas said under his voice.

The camera showed the night sky, outside what she assumed was this base. A dot appeared on the screen.

Atlas and Gwenyth cursed, though everyone stared at each other in confusion.

Romy sucked in a sharp breath as more dots appeared on the picture and she understood what she looked at. In the space of two minutes, thousands of dots filled the sky.

In the middle of the dots was a sight all space soldiers knew like the back of their hand.

The Critamal mothership had entered Earth’s atmosphere.

So many space soldiers died to prevent this invasion, and Houston had invited the poachers in with a cheery smile, clutching his black device like it could save the fucking world.

The Critamal were about to land on Earth.

Soon, the Critamal would be here.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Elara hadn’t stopped crying; she thought it was her fault.

Thrym was still trying to reason his way through Deimos’s actions in an attempt to understand how their knotmate could betray them.

The broken remains of Knot 27 sat outside. Split, Croatia, Atlas had told her. Split was right. Over the last month, Romy had been a little crazy, a lot crazy, completely insane, and then back again, but she didn’t even recognise the ugliness churning inside her.

The hate.

It filled her.

To her fingertips.

To the area on her shoulder where Deimos used to punch her on occasion.

To the right cheek where he would place a kiss now and again.

Her hatred seeped to all of those memories, and grabbed them in a tight fist, extinguishing the love and happiness Deimos once inspired.

The sun shone high in the sky. A bird chirped.

The world may as well have been black.

Ten hours ago, the Critamal landed in New America in the territory claimed by Houston’s new faction.

Romy knew she’d care about that later.

That the aliens had come, and a madman had control of high-powered laser cannons.

Right now, she just didn’t have space for anything but anger.

Phobos hadn’t spoken. Hadn’t moved. She’d watched as he caved in on himself like the curling edges of burning paper upon hearing what his twin had done.

“Do you think he was saying goodbye,” Elara sniffled, “the night he asked us to his room?”

Thrym began to pace again. “No, the Mandate had just made their ultimatum. He couldn’t know Houston was about to make his move.”

Romy gritted her teeth. “He and Houston have been whispering and plotting since I arrived.”

“He’s hated the Mandate ever since we crash-landed here. More than any of us,” Thrym added.

She’d known Deimos was struggling—with the Mandate, and with Phobos and Elara. But how could that be enough to turn on them? He’d shattered all of them into a million pieces.

“If I was there for him, he wouldn’t have fallen for Houston’s bullshit,” Phobos said hoarsely. The first words he’d spoken in hours.

Furious tears welled in her eyes. She pushed up from the dry ground. “No,” she hissed. “You will not blame yourself, Pho. I’m not having it. He left us. He chose them.” She choked as the tears spilled over her lashes. “He would’ve wheeled me onto that craft without waking me. I had to fight him to protect myself, Pho. He attacked me. He is not my knotmate anymore.”

The others said nothing.

“I hate him,” Romy said bitterly.

She put a hand over the ache in her chest and before she knew it, great body-wracking sobs seized her, so strong they physically hurt.

“I hate him so much,” she said, her voice thick with tears.

“Ro, don’t say that,” Thrym said hoarsely. He had tears on his cheeks, too.

“I hate him!” Romy said. She ran her hands over her prickly, bald head and lost it. “I hate him!” she screamed with as much force as she could. The sound tore through her throat, but did nothing to fix what Deimos had broken inside her.

Thrym encircled her in his arms and she screamed into his chest. She screamed, and she screamed. His betrayal ripped through her chest and hammered nails into her bones. The pain was like splinters under her nails.

Other arms joined Thrym’s to hold her—Elara’s. Then Phobos’s.

Romy continued to cry. Soon they all were in tears.

She had no idea how much time passed that way—the four remaining members of Knot 27 standing in each other’s arms, rocking slightly.

“No more fighting,” Elara said softly. “We need to stand together. I can’t take it anymore.”

Thrym sighed. “You got it, Ellie girl,” he said quietly.

Romy looked at him and he met her gaze. He gave her a nod. “Just friends,” he mouthed.

Fresh tears squeezed from her eyes, but Romy smiled tremulously. “Just friends,” she mouthed back.

The door swung open behind them, and the knot spun to face the person intruding on their privacy, each of them wiping their face.

It was Tina. “Romy. You need to come quick.”

Romy sniffed hard and nodded. “Come on,” she said to the others. They weren’t leaving her sight ever again.

“They found Charlee,” Tina huffed as they raced down the hall. “She was unconscious in Houston’s office.”

Dread unfurled in her stomach. “Where is she?” Romy urged.

“Clinic.”

Romy doubled her pace, leaving the others behind.

She burst into the clinic five minutes later. Atlas and his mother were already there.

Charlee lay in bed, head wrapped in thick bandages.

“Char.” Romy sprinted to her side.

The battered doctor gave her a weary smile. “I fell in the shuck.”

“What? You’re talking Irish again.”

“Houston caught her in his office,” Atlas explained. His eyes searched her, concerned. She gave him as much of a smile as she could muster.

He and the rest of command hadn’t slept a wink, either. They’d been assessing the damages to the Amach’s numbers and supplies.

Tina, Phobos, and Thrym burst into the room and spread around the bed.

Elara arrived thirty seconds later and did the same.

Gwenyth spoke. “Dr Charlee was caught in Houston’s office last night. She confronted him about items she’d found on his desk. Case notes of live trials he’d been preforming in Amach for the last two months.”

“Live trials,” Thrym said in horror.

“Yes,” Charlee whispered. “He was injecting Romy’s nanos into the Orbito Four soldiers. When it killed them, he simply put them back into deep freeze so no one would notice. When Romy mentioned what Houston said to her about the memory cards fusing, I couldn’t shake a feeling he was up to something, but I didn’t want to say anything without proof.” Her shoulders shook. “I should’ve said something. I’m so sorry.”

Romy took her hand as Char had taken hers so many times.

Elara balled her fists and rounded on Gwenyth. “He was doing whatever the hell he wanted the whole time. Why weren’t those soldiers being protected? Are you the leader of this place, or what?”

Even Thrym didn’t make a move to shut Elara up.

Knot 27 trusted the Amach with the lives of those space soldiers, and now many of them could be dead, victim to Dr Houston’s obsession with finding the insanity cure.

“You’re right. I failed those soldiers and I failed your knot,” Gwenyth said in a hoarse voice. “I’ve failed everyone completely.”

Atlas wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

“I switched the notes,” Charlee whispered, tilting her head to point at a file on the bedside table. “I heard Houston coming, and I switched the notes. He took the wrong file with him.”

Hope burst through Romy’s chest as she lifted her head. “We have the details of the insanity cure?”

Charlee nodded.

Elara whopped.

If Charlee hadn’t been in a hospital bed Romy might’ve spun the doctor around the room. “Can you replicate it, Char?”

“We don’t have the space soldiers anymore,” Tina said.

“No,” Romy agreed. “But Phobos, Thrym, and Elara can be made safe.”

Charlee’s mouth set in determination. “I have no idea, but I’ll try my absolute hardest to help.”

“It’s something,” Tina said heavily.

“It’s more than something,” Romy said in determination. “If we can get the space soldiers back from Houston’s faction, it could mean a whole lot.”

Gwenyth looked across at her. “You want to fight against our own people?”

“You want to do nothing?”

“We regroup,” Gwenyth said. “We rebuild. The Amach is the only peaceful power left on Earth. The Mandate, the Critamal, and Houston’s force will use whatever violence necessary. We are the safest by far, in comparison. Families will look to us for sanctuary.”

“We reach out to the settlements,” Atlas said, nodding. “This becomes our sole focus. We can rebuild our numbers from those who have been left to face the danger alone.”

Tina voiced her fear aloud. “But will that be enough?”

How on Earth would they rebuild the Amach again?

Where would they even start?

Yet as the hopeless quiet extended, something Charlee said the day before came back to her.

It did have to mean something, life’s cruelty.

It had to mean something—that Romy was alive after everything: the pain, the uncertainty, the lies, and the shattering loss.

Now Romy knew what that reason was.

Each of those things could have killed her, but they didn’t.

This Romy was strong enough for what lay ahead. She was a fighter who could hold her own.

This Romy had beaten the worst of herself and crawled out, bloodied, on the other side.

. . . It was a good thing, too, because sitting there, beckoning with a clawed finger, was a shit storm of epic proportions. And somehow—through possessing nothing more than a brain unique from those around her—Romy had landed smack-bang in the centre of this storm.

An entire alien species, three and a half thousand angry space soldiers, six white-clad Mandate members, and one billion terrified humans.

. . . It was a good thing life had been so cruel, Romy decided.

Now she wouldn’t hesitate when the time came to fight.

The End. . . .

GLOSSARY

Arseways – For something to be a complete mess, or to go wrong for you

Christ on a bike – Jesus Christ. Exclamation of shock

Hen’s teeth – Rare

In the shuck – I fell in the ditch (I got into trouble)

Jaysus – Jesus

Ni bi wo shou, tai bu gou yi si le – You're skinnier than me, you bitch

On the lash – going out drinking

Póg mo thóin – Kiss my arse

Ruddy geebag eejit – Bloody foolish idiot

Sláinte – Health (cheers)

Top of the morning to ya – A good morning to you

What’s the craic? – What’s happening?

You put the heart crossways in me – You gave me a fright

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

The Return is my seventh book! My love of bringing you the characters in my head continues to grow. In large part, this is due to the people I have met along the way.

To my wonderful family and friends.

To my beta readers: Barbara, Michelle, Hayley, Kayla, Jill, Chelsey, Kate, Ashlea, and Kelly.

To my manuscript team: Melissa Scott (editor), Robin Schroffel (copy editor), Patti Geesey (proofreader), and Jaye Cox (formatter).

To the lovely cover designer of this series, Tracey at Soxsational Cover Design.

To my advanced reader team.

To my husband, who believes Atlas is most likely based on him.

Very soon into the first draft of this novel, this story became less about Romy and more about how many different ways I could say crazy. To this day, I’m still not sure how many I managed.

I’ve got to say, Romy took me in a whole other direction to the series I’d initially planned. I know, I know, my characters do this all the time, but when she did start to play up, I knew The Return was not going to be the light-hearted, end-of-the-world sequel I’d envisioned (if that kind of thing exists), but a much darker novel.

Sure enough, several of the scenes in this book truly broke my heart.

Blame Rosemary for that stuff. Not me. I am definitely the innocent party in all of this.

Joking aside, though this book is about a futuristic, genetically enhanced space soldier who has a super brain which, alas, doesn’t make her super, super brainy, or allow her to fly, I believe the message behind the main plot can be applied to everyone. We all have a little weirdness and quirkiness about us that tends to stay hidden, more often than not. However, as Romy found, when we accept this side of ourselves (though she didn’t really have a choice), we are all the stronger for it, and sometimes when your mind does malfunction beyond your ability to cope, you even come out on the other side as a platinum-haired ninja!

I’m still waiting for that part. . . . The platinum hair, anyway.

Last, but never least, thank you to my readers all over the world. If you find yourself in desperate need of a long book chat after reading this story, come and join The Barracks and discuss the novel to your heart’s content (craziness allowed).

Happy Reading,

Kelly St. Clare

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

When Kelly is not reading or writing, she is lost in her latest reverie.

Books have always been magical and mysterious to her. One day she decided to start unravelling this mystery and began writing.

The Tainted Accords was her debut series. The After Trilogy is her latest work.

A New Zealander in origin and in heart, Kelly currently resides in Australia with her ginger-haired husband, a great group of friends, and some huntsman spiders who love to come inside when it rains. Their love is not returned.

Visit her online and subscribe at:

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THE REPRISAL

– The After Trilogy: Book III –

Coming 2018

BOOKS BY KELLY ST. CLARE

The Tainted Accords:

Fantasy of Frost

Fantasy of Flight

Fantasy of Fire

Fantasy of Freedom

The Tainted Accords Novellas:

Sin

Olandon (2017)

Rhone (2018)

Shard (2018)

The After Trilogy:

The Retreat

The Return

The Reprisal (2018)

Fantasy of Frost

(The Tainted Accords, #1)

I know many things. What I am capable of, what I will change, what I will become. But there is one thing I will never know.

The veil I’ve worn from birth carries with it a terrible loneliness; a suppression I cannot imagine ever being free of.

Some things never change…

My mother will always hate me. Her court will always shun me.

…Until they do. When the peace delegation arrives from the savage world of Glacium, my life is shoved wildly out of control by the handsome Prince Kedrick, who for unfathomable reasons shows her kindness.

And the harshest lessons are learned.

Sometimes it takes the world bringing you to your knees to find that spark you thought forever lost.

Sometimes it takes death to show you how to live.

COMPLETE SERIES NOW AVAILABLE

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