Fated Blades (Kinsmen)

She wasn’t sure she cared. That thought should have been disturbing, but Ramona simply couldn’t muster any energy to devote to it. The pressure she had felt building since she’d learned of Gabriel’s betrayal had reached a critical point. She had to vent it, or it would rip her apart.

“Anything I need to know about the senator? Any fun surprises?”

“Lyla Drewery has a combat implant.”

Matias had answered without any hesitation. Perhaps this temporary partnership would work out after all.

“I know,” she told him. “C-class.”

His eyebrows rose slightly.

“You’re our lifelong potential enemy, Baena. We keep an eye on your possible allies.”

“Then I have nothing to fear. Your surveillance is good, but your judgment is crap. The Drewerys have never been my allies.”

She rolled her eyes. “What about the senator himself? Any enhancements?”

“The standard senatorial implant. Combat implants don’t integrate well with the senatorial admin models. It’s one or the other. He was groomed for the Senate from the day he was born. If you gave him a firearm, he wouldn’t know from which end it would fire.”

The display flashed with gold. They’d crossed the property line. She could see the red cupola rising above the treetops a few kilometers out.

Two dark aerials shot into the air and hovered, flanking the residence. She zoomed in on them using her display to access the aerial’s camera. Not aerials. Gunships. Two short-range space fighters. They didn’t look like Planetary Defense.

“That arrogant bastard,” Matias growled. “He isn’t even trying.”

“The Vandals?”

“Yes.”

The house rushed at them.

On the display the gunships sprouted twin barrels tipped with calibration coils. A third cannon under the cockpit dropped into view. A kinetic projectile launcher.

“Weapons hot,” Ramona reported. “Two Vulcan cannons and a 20 mm KPL each.”

Matias whistled. “Expensive toys.”

The calibration coils on the muzzles of the Vulcan cannons spun, turning white. When ready, they would fire packets of ionized matter, supercharged with energy to deliver both kinetic impact and extreme heat.

“Calibration initiated,” she said, her voice clipped.

Matias showed no signs of altering their course.

They were outgunned. The 20 mm rounds from the KPLs would shred their aerial like a spiderweb. And if it missed, a direct hit from either of the Vulcan cannons would fry their electronics, melt their hull, and cook them alive.

Four turrets rose from the roof of the villa, expanding like mushrooms. Surface-to-air missile batteries. That couldn’t possibly be legal. Even for a senator.

“And four SAMs,” she added.

Matias smiled. “Such a warm welcome.”

“You are his favorite son-in-law.”

Her harness clicked, squeezing her into her seat. He’d activated the crash protocol.

“We should land and go in on foot. We’d have better odds,” she said.

No response.

The gunships shot toward them.

“Matias!”

The aerial surged upward, gravity mashing her into the seat as it inflated to compensate. The gunships fired, tilting their noses up. The aerial streaked up, avoiding the white-hot streams from the Vulcans, and plunged directly between the two SFR fighters.

Not enough space. They would plow straight into the Vandal gunships.

The world turned on its side in a dizzying somersault. The right gunship flashed by her, a dark shadow outside the window. He’d spun them sideways, squeezing into a narrow gap. The two gunships banked to the sides, trying to turn and retarget.

The nearest roof battery spat blue fire. The aerial dropped under it in a sharp hawk dive. Her stomach screamed in protest.

The azure water of the pool sparkled in front of them.

There is no way the pool is deep enough. We’re going to smash into the bottom, and even if he rights it, there isn’t enough length to stop in time. We’ll crash into the wall. If the impact doesn’t kill us, we’ll drown.

The aerial pulled up in an almost impossible curve and plummeted into the water at a sharp angle. They skimmed along the bottom of the pool, flying through the water on pure momentum. Walls closed in, boxing them into a tunnel. The proximity alarms wailed, warning that the wings had less than ten centimeters of clearance. She gripped her armrests.

Darkness rushed at them; they angled up, and surfaced. A tropical garden spread outside, separated from the blue water by a strip of sandy beach. High above them, a dome of transparent solar glass flooded the scene with sunshine.

Her seat deflated to normal size with a soft whisper.

The seco burst out of her left forearm almost on its own, stretching into a translucent narrow blade. She held it a centimeter from Matias’s throat.

“Did I forget to mention the tunnel?” he asked, his voice calm.

She moved the blade a millimeter closer.

“Did you really think I came all this way to suicide bomb my father-in-law’s mansion? The pool outside is connected to this one, inside the atrium. According to our illustrious federal senator, it was cheaper to have one giant pool than two slightly smaller separate pools. One filter system, one robotic cleaning station, and he has plans to turn the walls of the tunnel into an aquarium so you can enjoy the illusion of swimming with the fish.”