He had already told them this. There were three components to the mission. First, a breach of the Komodo’s security system, which he’d handle alone. This would bring the patrol to them, setting up the takeover of the Dragonwing—the second step. Last, disguised as Guardians, they would enter the Komodo itself.
In the worst-case scenario, the security system breach would be discovered while they were inside extracting Cinder, but Soren predicted they would have two hours before that happened. If they followed the plan, they’d have plenty of time.
“We know, Soren,” Aria said. “If we’re going to intercept this patrol, we have to start now.”
He nodded, the color leaving his face. Aria watched his grip on the Smarteye ease. He brought the device to his face with visible effort and placed the clear patch over his left eye.
One second passed. Two. Three.
Soren tensed, his fingers digging into the armrests. “I’m in.” He sat up, his shoulders rolling with a small shudder, his knee still bouncing up and down. “Here we go. Where are you? Where am I? Where are you? Where am I?”
Soren’s chant stopped when an image appeared, floating in the air before the front windshield.
It was an avatar of him from the waist up, the image three-dimensional but translucent, the likeness complete down to the thin scar on his chin. Down, even, to an almost exact replica of the clothes he wore—the clothes they all wore: a pale gray Guardian flight suit with blue reflective stripes along the sleeves.
There was no context to the image. No room or cockpit. Soren’s avatar floated in midair like a ghost.
“Oh, come on,” Soren said, running a hand over his head. “My hair looks better than that. The approximation algorithms the military uses are really substandard,” he muttered as he entered a series of commands into the Belswan control panel.
Aria had never seen anyone so focused and manic at the same time. Perry watched in silence, but she wondered what he scented in Soren’s temper.
“Sorry you can’t stay, Soren,” said Soren, “but I’ll see you later, handsome.”
The three-dimensional avatar blurred and flattened like it had been pressed between glass. Another figure expanded and sharpened before them: Hess, lifeless, staring straight ahead.
Hess was fuller in build than Soren, with a chiseled face and sleek, combed-back hair. Only his eyes, dull and sunken, revealed the decades between him and his son.
Soren sat motionless in the pilot’s seat, staring at his father’s avatar. Hess had left him behind in Reverie. He had to be thinking about that now.
Aria licked her lips. Her stomach was already in knots and they’d just gotten started.
Perry caught her eye and gave her a slight nod, like he knew the words on the tip of her tongue.
“Keep going, Soren,” Aria said quietly. “You’re doing fine.”
Soren seemed to collect himself. “I know I am,” he said, though his voice lacked its usual bravado.
Hess’s avatar came to life. His shoulders lifted—the same small shiver Soren had done moments ago. Soren controlled it now. He would use the avatar like a puppet, directing it through the Smarteye.
“Always wanted to be just like you, Dad,” he said under his breath. “I’m linking into the Komodo’s system.”
His fingers glided over the Belswan’s controls, effortlessly controlling the avatar and the Hover’s instrumentation. This was his language, Aria thought, as surely as singing was hers.
In front of the windshield, a transparent screen flickered up, divided into three segments. Hess occupied the center. The screen on the right contained a combination of maps, coordinates, and scrolling flight plans, all lit in neon blue. The left-hand screen showed a cockpit like the Belswan’s, but smaller. It was the inside of the patrolling Dragonwing—the ship they intended to commandeer.
Four Guardians in flight suits and helmets sat in two rows.
Hess—or rather, Soren as Hess—spoke right away, the avatar suddenly brimming with an authoritativeness Aria knew well. “Patrol Alpha One Nine, this is Commander One, over.”
He paused, waiting for the information to make an impact.
And it did.
The Dragonwing crew exchanged worried looks. Commander One was Consul Hess. They were receiving a direct message from the very top.
The Guardian at the comm responded. “Alpha One Nine, copy. Over.”
They’d bought it. Aria let out her breath and sensed Perry relax beside her.
“Alpha One Nine,” said the Hess avatar, “we picked up a distress message from a downed Hover, three—no, make that four—minutes ago on your incoming. Does anyone want to tell me why you’re not responding?”
Soren played his father perfectly, uttering the words with simmering condescension and barely contained hostility.
“Negative on the message, sir. We didn’t receive it. Over.”
“Stand by, One Nine,” Hess said. Soren kept the transmission running, letting the Guardians observe Hess as he turned, bellowing to a control room that wasn’t there, that would be nothing more than a figment of everyone’s imagination. “Somebody get him the coordinates. Now, people. My son is on that ship!”
“Your son, sir?” said the Dragonwing pilot. Surely he knew that Soren had stayed behind in Reverie as it crumbled, but that didn’t mean Soren hadn’t survived—or that Hess wouldn’t welcome him back.
Hess turned to an imaginary underling and said, “Have his hearing checked when he gets back. And if those coordinates aren’t up in—”