The Raising (The Torch Keeper Book 3)

  Devlin positions one of Digory’s fingers between the pincers. “Where is Thorn’s enclave?”

  No response.

  “I figured that’s what you’d say.” Devlin squeezes the tool.

  Snap!

  Digory winces. I can tell he’s struggling not to cry out, as Devlin proceeds from one finger to the next.

  Snap. Snap. Snap.

  Devlin’s finally rewarded with a yelp. But still Digory refuses to tell him what he wants to know.

  A flash of anger cracks Devlin’s cold exterior. He packs up his tools, slamming each of them into his case. Then he’s lowering Digory from the platform, careful to keep his distance as it retracts and Digory drops to the floor. Devlin starts to leave, then turns to him one more time.

  “We’ve played out the bone breaking routine. Tomorrow we find out if your appendages actually grow back when they’re cut off. Same for your eyes when they’re ripped out of their sockets. Should be interesting.”

  Then he jabs at the control switch on the other side of the door. “I’m done here.”

  “That’s your cue,” Arrah says, hustling me into an equipment locker.

  I’m still trying to contain my own rage and pain as I hear the cell door open and Devlin march past Arrah and out into the corridor.

  She opens the locker door. “You look like Devlin’s taken a go at you, too.”

  “I’m going to kill him.” I push past her into the outer room and press my face against the cell’s glass. Digory’s laying there in a fetal position, manacled to the wall like a rabid canid. Regardless of his earlier composure, I can see the weariness through the rapid rise and fall of his chest. “In spite of his genetic enhancements, he’s not going to last much longer if Devlin starts cutting away."

  The door to the observation room slides open once again and I tense—but it’s Drusilla, clutching a small, silver box. “Sorry. Just me. Devlin looks pissed.” She flinches when she sees Digory through the glass. “Damn, they’ve really worked him over.”

  “Dru…,” Arrah cocks her head toward me.

  Drusilla clears her throat. “Sorry, Spark.”

  I glance at the object she’s carrying. “Is that it?”

  “Yep.” She opens the box and removes a small data drive. “Once I plug this into the system, it’ll create an audio-video loop on the feeds to Tycho’s cell. Anyone monitoring the system will only see him in there while you slip in and have your chat.” She strides over to the computer terminal and positions the drive into a slot before glancing my way. “I can only maintain the loop for a few minutes. If we keep it going too long, security will detect it and they’ll be able to trace it back to us.”

  She jams the drive in and the monitors flicker for just an instant. To the casual observer, it’ll appear to be a slight power glitch.

  I manage to crack a smile. “Good work, Dru. I’m not even going to ask how you managed it.”

  Arrah gives her a squeeze and a quick kiss. “My woman knows what she’s doing.”

  I head for the cell, then turn back to them at the last minute. “I appreciate the risk you guys are taking letting me do this. It really means a lot. Nobody here trusts Digory. Not that I blame them. If I get caught, I’ll take full responsibility.”

  “You’d do the same for your friends,” Arrah says. “Besides, if you believe in Tycho, that’s good enough for us.”

  Drusilla takes Arrah’s hand and kisses it. “All I know is if that were Arrah in there like that, there’s nothing that would keep me away from her. You go on and do what you need to do. We’ve always got your back.”

  I nod, grab a first aid kit, activate the cell door’s release mechanism, and slip inside.

  Digory’s still curled up in a fetal position. Despite the manacles, I approach with caution. After all, he did try to kill me before. The lacerations and bruises cut much deeper than my skin, and I doubt they’ll ever heal.

  I hunch down and reach out a tentative hand.

  “There’s no need for you to be afraid, Lucian.”

  His voice startles me more than if he’d grabbed me. I pause as he shifts about to face me with those strange gray eyes.

  “We’re not going to hurt you.” His voice is just as cold and emotionless as before.

  “I’ve got a few scrapes on my body that would say otherwise.” I move a little closer. “You did try to murder me back at the Cape, after all.”

  “We were trying to extract information from you about the rebel spy. Pain is usually a good inspiration for truth.”

  “Now that sounds like a Cassius-ism if I ever heard one.” I pull out one of the cloths from the first aid kit and begin to wipe away the blood from his skin. He doesn’t try to stop me. “You keep saying we. You mean you and Cassius?”

  He shakes his head. “We as in the Hive. We are as one.”

  I pause. “The Fleshers.”

  “We do not refer to ourselves so crudely. We are beings of order and reason.”

  “I suppose that bomb you had strapped to your body wasn’t meant to kill us all?”

  “When it became obvious you were not going to cooperate to end this destructive conflict, we activated a failsafe to prevent this vessel’s capture and interrogation.”

  The timbre of his voice is cavernous and empty. There’s no trace of the warmth that defined Digory.

  There was a possibility you would make it out of there before the detonation,” he drones on. “You were not the target. You were—”

  “Collateral damage,” I finish. “Another Cassius catchphrase. Not sure if that’s supposed to make me feel any better.”

  “It was not intended to make you feel anything.”

  “Doesn’t it bother you that Cassius was willing to sacrifice your life? That you’re nothing but a disposable tool to him, Digory?”

  He stares at me so intently that I have to look away. Now I realize what else is so unnerving about those eyes.

  They never blink.

  “We were following our orders. It is not up to us to question.”

  I let out a hollow laugh. “Right. Just following orders like a good little slave. Cassius really did succeed in creating the Ultra-Imposer. A perfect killing machine that heals itself and doesn’t have a moral compass.”

  “Morality is subjective.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “You did not think twice about breaking protocol and disobeying direct orders from your superiors just to satisfy your own selfish desires to visit with Digory Tycho’s former vessel one last time.”

  And in that moment, the full realization of what Cassius has done hits me like a concussion charge. If he can destroy all the good, all the compassion, all the love in a soul like Digory’s, then there’s truly nothing left to believe in.

  I grab one of his manacled hands trying to infuse my warmth into its stark coldness. “You once asked me to never forget you. Surely you must remember who you were? Who you still are?”

  “That person no longer exists, Lucian,” he says. “Any fragments of irrelevant data that remain should be flushed in this vessel’s next upgrade. We serve only the Thorn Republic now.”

  I let his hand slip through my fingers. “Then we have nothing to discuss, ever again.” I force myself to stand on unsteady legs, trying to avoid his eyes so I won’t lose it completely.

  “Actually, we do,” he says.

  “What’re you talking about?”

  Without using his hands to brace himself, he rises to his full height, not making a sound. “We know that our stay here is about to be terminated prematurely.”

  “There’s nothing I can do about that. If you tell them what they want to know, they may let you live. Please, Digory. It’s your only chance.”

  “We are afraid that is not possible. However, there is something you can do. We have something you want. If you help extract this vessel from here and provide us with the name of your spy, we will let you have it.”

  I shake my head. “I’ll
never do that.”

  “Not even if in exchange we will let you have your brother, Cole, back? Think about it.”

  I swipe at the hot tears threatening to betray me as I bolt from that cell.

  FIVE

  “There it is again.” Arrah points to a small blip on the spherical holographic map of the base’s perimeter, hovering above her data terminal.

  Jeptha and I lean over her shoulder to get a better look. The other dozen officers and personnel on duty in the communications hub crowd around us.

  The radar screen displays one more faint blip, which disappears as if it were never there.

  I turn to Arrah. “You say these unidentified bursts have been appearing in irregular cycles?”

  She nods. “At first I thought they were just randoms, ghost images of our own transmissions bouncing back. But the intervals between each ping are growing shorter and the signal itself is getting stronger.” She turns to Jeptha. “Sorry. I should have reported them sooner, Sir.”

  If she was trying to assuage her guilt, it has no effect on Jeptha’s rigid face.

  “When did you first become aware of this?” he finally asks. “Bring it up on the main console.”

  Arrah types in a few keys and a graph appears and hovers in the center of the room.

  “Seems like the first was shortly after the battle of the Cape.”

  Jeptha shoots me a look laced with concern. “When Tycho was captured.”

  I turn away. After that last conversation I had with Digory the implication is more than a little unsettling.

  “Someone’s got to go take a closer look.” I’m already on my way out. “I’m on recon patrol,” I call behind me.

  “Take Bledsoe with you,” Jeptha commands.

  ****

  The cockpit of the Manta is dark, except for the faint glow of blinking lights on the dash. Dahlia’s sitting in the co-pilot chair beside me, her face ensnared by a web of alternating shadows as she studies the instrument readouts.

  “This is Manta 5 to base,” she says into her com-unit. “We’re going radio silent, over.”

  “Copy, Manta 5,” a voice crackles on the speaker. Cage. “Let us know as soon as you have a visual. Over and out.”

  She flicks a switch on the console and turns to me. “Okay. Just what the hell’s been eating you, Spark?”

  “Don’t know what—”

  “Spare me the bullshit. It’s obvious you and Cage are pissed at each other. You barely mumble hello anymore.” She softens her gaze. “It’s got something to do with Tycho, doesn’t it?”

  She’s gotten to know me pretty well this last year. The tension between Cage and I has just gotten worse since he cast his vote to torture Digory. Not only don’t we speak, but I can barely stand to be in the same room with him. This coupled with Digory’s proposal is all I’ve been obsessing about. Sleeping and eating are overrated anyway.

  I toggle a few switches on my control panel. “I think we have a hell of a lot more important things to worry about right now.” Pausing, I look her in the eyes and try my best to smile. “Your concern is duly noted and greatly appreciated, though.”

  She winks at me. “Anything for my favorite Fifth Tier.” The smirk disappears from her face. “I’ll always be grateful to you for being there for me, Lucian …when I was assaulted…the procedure afterwards…everything.”

  We continue gliding through the black sea in silence, until one of the screens on the instrument panel begins to ping.

  Proximity Alert.

  “Looks like we’ve found it,” I say.

  Just outside the cockpit windows floats an oblong metallic cylinder. It’s about ten feet in length, slowly revolving end over end in eerie silence.

  Dahlia activates the com-unit. “Base 1, this is Manta 5. We’ve made contact. Are you reading this? Over.”

  “This is Base 1. Your signal’s…breaking up….interference…”

  I study the instruments. “The whole system’s gone screwy. Whatever this thing is, it must be putting out some kind of interference…jamming our coms…”

  “It looks like some type of beacon.”

  “Yeah. But is it a warning, or a guide?”

  “Time for a sweep.” Dahlia grips the control yoke and steers the Manta around the cylinder. “This is interesting.”

  Gazing out the cockpit window, I get a better look at what’s captured her attention. It seems the cylindrical device is hovering just at the edge of a dark trench that seems endless.

  “Any idea how deep?”

  She shakes her head. “Can’t get a strong signal because of the interference, but I’d say it’s at least several miles deep.”

  “Perfect place to hide something.”

  At that moment, the oblong shape emits a piercing sound that practically burns out the Manta’s speakers, accompanied by a blinding flash.

  “What the hell was that?” Dahlia rubs her temples as she attempts to make sense of the crazy readouts.

  In the gloom of the trench, dim silhouettes appear under the scant beams of the Manta’s lights. First one. Then a dozen, long, sleek metallic shapes.

  A fleet of Eels, the latest submersible warships of the Thorn Republic.

  They found us. But how did they know we were here? It couldn’t just be a coincidence.

  A sickening possibility hits me. This oblong cylinder isn’t a beacon. It’s a relay.

  The real beacon is lying manacled in a holding cell back at the base because I let him live.

  “Time to get out of here.”

  Grabbing the yoke, I bank the Manta hard to swerve out of the trench, just as the silent behemoths come to life and a thousand lights flood our cockpit with artificial day.

  Dahlia’s already on the horn. “Base 1 this is Manta Five. An attack fleet has located the base and is on its way. Repeat. An attack fleet—”

  A concussion rocks our tiny craft, jostling us about. Sparks fly from the instrument panel.

  “We’ve lost one of the stabilizers, but we’re still watertight,” I shout after a quick check of the Manta’s systems.

  I gun the craft toward the base with the enemy in hot pursuit.

  More blasts rock the Manta, increasing in power and frequency while I weave the tiny craft through the dark seas.

  “I still can’t get a signal to base!” Dahlia slams a fist against the control panel, as if that’ll somehow break through the frequency jam.

  Dozens of blips appear on my radar screen closing in around us way too fast. “They’re almost right on top of us.”

  The thought of flying the Manta up to the surface crosses my mind for a split second. No. If this armada has air support, as I suspect, they’ll shoot us out of the sky as easily as swatting a fly.

  Just ahead, the Manta’s lights pick up a silhouette of an undersea rock formation. The wreckage of ancient sea vessels that have formed a coral reef from the looks of it. I hit the throttle hard and drop the Manta into a cave-like opening, just as another series of blasts barely misses us. The combination of the near hits and the g-forces created by my sudden dive are almost too much for the Manta to handle. The console crackles, metal whines and creaks.

  The radar screen flickers and dies. Navigating on instinct now.

  Dahlia’s eyes grow wide. “Pull up!”

  I’m squeezing the yoke so tightly, I feel like I’m going to crush it in my sweaty grip. With only a limited amount of visibility ahead, I pull back on the stick and narrowly avoid crashing into a cluster of mangled metal and jagged coral as I veer the Manta upright again. The tail of the ship screeches and another screen fades to black.

  “We’ve lost the sensor array tail!”

  But Dahlia doesn’t respond as she continues to try and raise the base on the com.

  “Base One. This is Manta Five. Come in…”

  Cold sweat seeps from my pores. I maneuver the Manta through the seemingly endless maze of twists, drops, and climbs through the claustrophobic blackness, wondering each second i
f just one tiny miscalculation in my trajectory’s going to end with us joining the scattered debris.

  Just as it seems the ship’s about to tear apart, we burst out through the opening and back into open sea.

  Up ahead, I can just make out the familiar outline of the resistance base in the distance.

  “I see it,” Dahlia says before I can ask. Then she’s toggling more switches on the com. “Base One, this is Manta Five. Do you copy?”

  Now that we’re in such close proximity and with direct line of sight, maybe there’s a chance we’ll break through the Republic’s communications jam.

  A second of silence stretches into infinity. We shoot each other a panicked look.

  “…this is Base One…” a voice crackles. “What is….position?”

  As I continue to gun the ship toward home base, Dahlia activates the emergency beacon. “We’re under attack. Republic fleet is approaching the base. Activate defense shields and seal off the perimeter. Over!”

  Another explosion rocks the Manta, the worst one yet. The craft banks sharply, hurtling into a tail spin as we careen toward the base.

  “We’ve lost coms!” Dahlia shouts. “Better hope they got that last transmission!”

  Maybe it’s a blessing that we’ve lost radar and can’t see the crafts closing in. Judging from the number of blasts all around us, it’s like we’ve kicked a hornets’ nest.

  I’m barely able to maneuver the Manta. Smoke’s filling the cockpit, even as numerous leaks spring, spraying us with icy sea water. “Structural integrity’s down to twenty percent,” I mutter, just before that gauge sparks and dies, too.

  Dahlia points to a spot just outside the cracked cockpit window. “Looks like they heard us.”

  Before us, the lights of the defense grid are blinking from green to crimson. The shield doors leading into the hangar bay are already closing. In a few seconds we’ll be sealed outside. The way the Manta’s groaning, we’ll be done even before the Eels get to us.

  With what little ship’s power I have left, I channel all the remaining system functionality into the craft’s turbo boosters. The hangar doors continue to close.

  Another blast takes out the last of the Manta’s power reserves. The cockpit lights flicker and die.