Page 27 of Stars in Umbra (The Sable Riders #8)
The hidden nodule woke, and with it came both a spoken and written directive that flickered across his cerebral vision with unmitigated chilliness.
:: INITIATE PRIMARY DIRECTIVE. TARGET: SABLE. ELIMINATE RIDERS. DESTINATION: SECURE SUMMIT ROOM. PRIORITY: ABSOLUTE. ::
Mo rose and walked quickly from the room, keeping his face expressionless, nodding to a few colleagues, even as his pulse raced.
He slid into an abandoned corridor, and confident he was alone, he staggered, planting one hand against the ferrosteel wall.
His heart thundered. His exhale caught.
‘ Nada ,’ he hissed under his breath, the word lost in the hum of tactical chatter around him.
Still, the voice in his head didn’t stop.
It repeated itself, flat as metal, dead as space.
Then came the pain, needles made of fire driving through the base of his skull and out through his limbs.
His muscles locked, his jaw seized.
He clamped down on the command feed, forcing his mind to claw for control.
:: OVERRIDE MANUAL CODE 88, KILO-NOVA, EXECUTE A NEURAL FIREWALL :: he ordered with grit teeth.
:: DENIED. RESPONSE DEVIATION DETECTED. SYSTEM CORRECTION INITIATED. ::
The countermand failed.
With it came a new wave, data surging into his brain like a flood: combat simulations, movement analytics, limbic suppression, terminate directives. The node wasn’t just commanding him.
It was taking control, hijacking his motor function. Flooding his adrenal cortex. Rerouting blood flow to the arms and core. Preparing him for a kill strike.
:: RESIST AGAIN AND YOU DIE. brAIN RUPTURE WILL BE INSTANTANEOUS. OBEY. ::
His stomach turned. A thin sheen of sweat broke along his hairline.
They fokkin’ had him.
Whoever embedded this damn thing in him had just pulled the ultimate trigger.
:: QUIT THE HYSTERICS. YOU’VE DONE THIS MANY TIMES BEFORE. ::
For a second, he got a glimpse of past missions, of him, undertaking ruthless kill contracts, and a vision of his battle efficiency.
Fokk . He was a chattel assassin, and now they wanted him to murder the only people who’d ever treated him like a true brother.
His legs moved against his will, his body lurching forward as if guided by an invisible tether.
He reached for his twin laser firearms before catching himself, fingers twitching and grazing his weapons belt like they weren’t his own. He fought it back with every ounce of willpower he had left.
But the directive didn’t care.
:: ENTER THE SECURE VIP CHAMBER. ELIMINATE THEM ALL. BEGIN THE PURGE. ::
He rounded the last corner and almost collided with two shadows stepping out of the secure room.
Zane and Kainan Sable, his brothers-in-arms.
They stood tall in the corridor, their silhouettes haloed by the glowing lights behind them, data pads in hand, mid-debrief.
Their expressions relaxed at the sight of him.
‘ Kaka ,’ Kainan growled with a smile, nodding once. ‘How are you holding up?’
Mo tried to form words, but nothing left his lips.
The kill directive was roaring now, like a beast inside his skull, clawing to break through.
Blood thundered in his ears, his pupils dilated, and his fingers trembled.
Zane cocked his head, his psionic eyes lighting up.
Mo groaned, for Zane’s legendary psychic and telepathic powers were unmatched.
‘I perceive freakin’ lightning in your head, brother,’ he rasped. ‘Your senses are off the charts. Ko’sawa, kaka ?’
Mo attempted to reassure the man while simultaneously fighting to step back and away from completing the horrific command, but the node forced him forward.
His pulse was a hammer inside his chest as he lurched.
Zane’s gaze focused on him. ‘Mo, are you -?’
‘Tired,’ Mo interrupted, gritting his teeth as he managed to coerce sounds from his lips. ‘I didn’t sleep. I had a bitchin’ migraine.’
Zane didn’t believe him.
Mo sensed it in the tightening energy within his icy blue eyes, in the subtle pulse of psionic force beginning to swirl around him.
Zane reached out with a telepathic probe.
Mo reacted before he could think, throwing up an instinctive neural firewall.
His mind slammed shut with such force that Zane rocked back a step, his expression one of stunned surprise.
‘You just blocked me,’ Zane growled, voice tight with disbelief, brows arched. ‘Not many people can.’
Mo forced a shaky smirk. ‘I don’t like people in my head.’
Kainan’s gaze swept between them, golden eyes narrowing. ‘Didn’t know you had a psionic trigger, Mo.’
Mo shrugged. His muscles were twitching beneath his skin, trying to draw his weapons. He kept his arms folded instead, pretending to be at ease.
It was costing him everything.
‘It’s a neural shield I’ve been playing with,’ he muttered. ‘It works on pure reflex.’
Kainan’s jaw flexed. Zane tilted his head.
However, neither man pressed him, leaning into their trust in him.
‘I’ll catch you after the loop,’ Mo mumbled. ‘I need to check the upper corridor feeds. I caught a strange signal on the stairwell sensors.’
He turned on his heel, praying his legs would obey him.
‘Get yourself some pain meds,’ Zane called behind him, a note of dry warning in his tone. ‘You’re hella pale for an Iccythrian.’
Kainan grunted, amused, and pushed the war room doors open again, both Riders disappearing inside.
Mo rounded the corner.
The second he turned, he collapsed against the wall, inhaling like a man just pulled from a drowning.
His whole body shook. The neural shocks returned, searing, prolonged pulses that twisted his veins into live wires.
Still, he’d done it.
He prevailed in resisting the urge to kill his brothers.
He would never have done it, even if it cost him his life, even if his handlers burned his extremities and turned them into ash with him screaming in agony.
Fokk , the Riders had given him more than a purpose; they’d granted him a home and inducted him into their brotherhood.
He owed them his entire allegiance.
He had to stop this shitshow, and there was only one way to accomplish that.
He bolted down the next hallway, breath ragged, his limbs heavy.
He darted toward the mobile Sable armory, located just outside the security hub, and accessed it with a retinal scan.
The door hissed open.
He slipped inside, a neural command sealing it behind him.
The armory had been relocated to the venue to supply his crew with weapons, and he sprinted inside, ignoring the rows of guns and gear.
His movements were fast and urgent as he bypassed boxed drones, grappling hooks, and concussive rounds, his focus fixed on his goal.
He moved with a single-minded purpose, not stopping until he reached the back wall.
There, on a single shelf, he found what he was looking for: a case, magnetically sealed.
Inside it sat an experimental HUD helmet.
One Harlow had been designed for use in ultra-stealth missions.
He broke the seal and studied the headgear.
As waves of agony crashed over him, he made a decision.
First, he sent a delayed delivery message to Mirage and Kainan, scheduling it for at least ten hours in the future to give him enough time to disappear.
He then took a breath and tugged the HUD helmet on, locking it over his head.
The interior flared to life.
:: CALIbrATING, SIGNAL JAMMING ACTIVE, NEURAL INSULATION COMPLETE. ::
The moment the shield engaged, the pain stopped, and the whispers vanished.
The command chain was cut off.
Mo collapsed to one knee, a raw sound leaving his throat, a growl of sheer relief. His lungs drew full air for the first time in minutes.
However, it wouldn’t last.
Whoever activated the node would know it was now dark.
They’d know he was off-mission, a wraith in the ether.
He couldn’t stay, nor would he risk Sable’s systems being used to track him.
Also, he had no intention to let the Riders or, worse, Mirage, find out what he’d been commanded to do.
Not until he had a handle on shit.
He turned on the helmet’s cloaking module.
To the outside world, he was just another Sable Security officer.
However, he was certain Mirage’s all-seeing surveillance would catch on to him soon.
He only had a slim window in which to ghost out of Eden II.
He slipped out of the vault, down the emergency stairs, and past the sub-level hangars.
He didn’t stop, nor look back.
He just kept racing, moving hard and fast.
All he thought of was how the only way to protect the Riders now was to disappear before he became the blade that cut their throats.