Page 133

I stare out the cramped bridge with doom squatting on my spine. The lights are dim. The pilot, a crack ripper Blue from Sefi’s allies, the Rho Sect, hunches like a Karachi player in concentration over his controls even though a mentally disenfranchised elephant could fly this tub. Behind him, Ozgard stands there stroking his braided beard and eating walnuts without a care in the world. He’s painted in his blue berry juice.

Idiot.

“You will not be ritually murdered or atomized,” Ozgard replies. “The breath of the Allmother herself will carry you to Valhalla.”

“Pass. I’ll take a nomadic island on Venus with limitless Pinks.”

He turns. Behind the annoyance in his eyes is a confidence that leaps far past the border of sanity. “Is that the depth of your soul?”

“Just the warm shallows.”

He sighs. “You will not die, tinman, because if you die, we have failed, and Sefi too will die. She cannot die.”

“Let me guess, you saw her fate in the firebones.”

“Be careful not to insult a shaman on the eve of battle.” He comes so close I can smell the eggs he had for breakfast in his beard. “You do not know what I have seen.”

“No offense, but I find your faith a little disturbing.”

“Bah.” He reels away. “I find your face disturbing. It is soft. Like goat cheese. But I do not complain. You prepared skuggi. You are good at what you do. So are they. To fret now is seed of angst.”

Prepared. Please. Like a few weeks’ instruction will ready them for this.

It would be so easy if Sefi didn’t want so many mines. We could fly the haulers into the mines’ loading docks and pump Obsidians out. An old Reaper favorite. Problem is, to do that, we’d have to land hundreds of haulers at the same time at mines across a thousand-kilometer theater before the mines go into lockdown. Quicksilver’s defense computers would quickly see the breach and eviscerate us. So a quarter of the mines will be taken that way. The rest require more creative infiltration by the skuggi. As for the hunterkiller defense robots? Well, there’s a reason the Obsidians are in full armor.

If they follow my instructions, the skuggi and Quicksilver-hating Reds will bypass the sensor grids in retired tunnels, infiltrate the exhaust ducts, access the power grid, and disable the anti-aircraft guns. Piece of pie.

But the skuggi aren’t even close to ready for this kind of coordinated infiltration. I hear the steady drip drip drip of the bloodbath filling up.

The Obsidians think I believe in Sefi enough to risk my life on this gambit for the mines. It’s gained me some respect from her bodyguard of Valkyrie, but not from Ozgard. He knows I’m full of shit, because I’ve long suspected he’s full of it too.

Ozgard sets his bag of walnuts on a gear box and leans toward the pilot to whisper something. I pull out my burners to settle my nerves and find the pack empty. I left my stash in Olympia. Damn. I grab one of his walnuts and busy myself trying to open it as I stare out the duroglass. The moon of Phobos and most of the remaining Republic defense fleet are on the opposite side of the planet now, along with Volga. Ozgard eases back from the pilot and nudges me.

“Have you seen a nightgaze upon the pole with your flesh eyes?” he asks.

“Never been to either pole. Restricted zones. Savage locals.”

“Nightgaze are the most tender of the Ice’s life. They grow only in darkness, but oh, the light they make of their own ichor…They are truly a gift from the gods.”

“Gift from the gods.” I roll my eyes. “We’re flying in a spaceship. Your ancestors were made in test tubes. The nightgaze by a drunk Violet. And you believe in gods? Hell, I get the racket. For a man you’ve done right fine by yourself with the matriarchs. But stop trying to con a conman.”

He shrugs, ignoring the insult.

“Human knowledge is small. Universe vast. Mystery infinite. My gods were true before they were stolen and used against us. They are still true. And will be true long after we are food for the—” He freezes as he sees the walnut shells around my feet. His eyes flare wide and he grabs me, manhandling his fingers down my throat. I fight against him until I sick up all over his chest. I shove him and push too hard with my new leg, flying backward into the wall. I hit my spine on something sharp and hard.

“What the hell!” I gasp.

“You ate from my bag.”

“I’ll buy you another walnut, asshole.” I spit the bile out and wipe it out of my goatee. “Jove on high. Who does that!”

“Walnut?” He squints at me. “What is walnut, jackass? These spirit berries from home. These for shaman only.”

I squint. “I thought spirit berries were berries…”

“No!”

“Oh, well…” I hiccup. “What’s spirit berries do?”