CHAPTER 17

  SECTOR BLACK

  No commander ever wishes to lose a soldier. But hard choices must be made in war.

  Varvatos Vex’s words still haunted Zadra. She had always looked up to her commander. Vex was the one who trained Zadra in combat. Who fought alongside Zadra at Xerexes’s Maelstrom. Who assigned Zadra to her most cherished post—safeguarding Aja and Krel.

  But Vex was also the one who conspired with Morando. Were Coranda and Fialkov just two more hard choices made by Vex in a time of war? Zadra once took her commander’s lesson as an immutable law that had to be obeyed. But now, it seemed like so much—

  “Klebso,” Zadra said out loud.

  She appraised the communications rig in the palace’s technology bay. Its outer casing was far too big to fit under Zadra’s sleeves. But a new plan of attack formed in Zadra’s mind . . .

  “What are you planning?” shouted a loyalist through his featureless faceplate. “What does the Resistance want with our comms systems? What do they know about OMEN?”

  Davaros refused to answer, even as another loyalist shoved her into a cylindrical chamber deep within Sector Black—a small room lined with onyx panels and various implements of torture. A third soldier tapped commands into a console, the red eye on his helmet never blinking. The chamber door closed, sealing Davaros into a transparent coffin.

  “Core extractor optimized and ready,” said the loyalist at the controls.

  The door to Sector Black opened behind the trio of loyalists. Their cyclopean helmets swiveled and saw a fourth loyalist, his tactical armor matching their own riot gear.

  “New orders from Morando,” the fourth figure said. “Stand down.”

  “What?” asked the loyalist at the controls. “I don’t see any order on my terminal to belay.”

  “Is that so?” asked the late arrival, who held a staff—a staff that transformed into a scythe. “Perhaps there’s something in your eye.”

  Several detachable blades flicked out of the weapon. The stilettos struck each of the true loyalists in their faceplates, the red eyes acting like targets. From inside the chamber Davaros watched Morando’s soldiers fall. The scythe-wielding warrior strode over to the core extractor and opened it. Davaros jumped out and hugged her savior, saying, “Thank you, Zadra.”

  Lieutenant Zadra removed the helmet, which she had “liberated” from the loyalists’ weapons locker. But the trio of downed loyalists began to stir around them. Zadra once again donned the headpiece and said, “Thank me if we make it out of this citadel.”

  “Those loyalists,” said Davaros as she and Zadra left the sector. “You didn’t kill them!”

  “I do show some restraint from time to time,” Zadra deadpanned.

  They took an ascensor to the top floor, then ran down a corridor. Multiple surveillance orbs lay inert on the floor. Davaros furrowed her brow and asked, “Did you do that?”

  “Not directly,” answered Zadra.

  “Halt!” cried a voice behind them.

  The three loyalists from Sector Black staggered out of another ascensor. They had removed their ruined helmets, revealing an assortment of angry alien faces.

  “They deactivated the surveillance orbs!” said Davaros, ducking their Serrator blasts. “But I would have thought they’d sound a capture alarm instead.”

  “And say what, exactly?” asked Zadra, flicking more scythe blades. “That there’s a traitor among their ranks? That three of Morando’s deadliest soldiers were outwitted by a small girl?”

  “Morando would send them to Sector Black!” Davaros realized.

  “Correct,” said Zadra. “For those three loyalists, their only chance of survival lies in apprehending you once again. At least, that’s what I’m counting on. . . .”

  The two rebels stole back into the communications sector, while the loyalists kept firing upon them. Unlike their last visit, Davaros noticed that the antechamber was empty.

  “Where are the Blanks?” she asked.

  “They’ve been recalled, following your ‘break-in,’ ” said Zadra. “All of them will be inspected and reconditioned—except for this one.”

  The technology bay door retracted, revealing a lone Blank unit standing in front of the comms rig. Its sleek white body reflected in the panoramic windows beyond the servers. Zadra lowered the door again, hearing Serrators strike against the other side. Zadra addressed the robot.

  “Blank unit, do you understand your new programming?” asked Zadra.

  “Affirmative,” said the robot.

  The loyalists wrenched open the bay door at last and opened fire. But the Blank stepped in front of Zadra and Davaros. Serrator blasts ricocheted off its back like a standing shield.

  Now covered by the Blank, Zadra struck her scythe against the glass wall behind them. The floor-to-ceiling window shattered outward. High-elevation winds howled into the room, and the loyalists stopped shooting so they could brace themselves. Zadra cinched Davaros’s arms around her own waist and ordered, “Hold on to me. And your fear!”

  She then took the Blank by the arm, and all three of them toppled out the broken window. The loyalists raced over and looked down. Zadra, Davaros, and the Blank fell together, plummeting rapidly toward lanes of swiftcycle traffic. Davaros shut her eyes, expecting to be struck by one of the flying vehicles—or to smash against the ground even farther below them.

  Zadra began twirling the scythe with her free arm. Faster and faster the weapon spun, its phosphorescent blades blurring. Davaros cracked open one eye, realizing that their drop had slowed. She then saw Zadra’s weapon circling over their heads like the rotors on a helicopter. Zadra gradually lowered them onto an idling swiftcycle, whose owner had stopped to watch the spectacle above him. The lieutenant pushed aside the dumbstruck driver, making room on his seat for herself, Davaros, and the Blank. She then slammed the swiftcycle’s engines into full throttle, just as explosions shook the air around them. The Blank’s free-floating head rotated and spotted the three loyalists jetting after them in a V-Stryker.

  “They’ll blow us out of the sky!” cried the Blank.

  “Keep your head on,” said Zadra. “While I get rid of mine.”

  She removed her stolen helmet and released it, letting the wind carry it directly into one of the V-Striker’s intake vents. Everyone heard a loud crunch, and black smoke billowed out of the wing’s exhaust port. The pursuit craft lost stability. With Zadra’s true identity now exposed to the panicking loyalists, Davaros tried to pull the cowl over her lieutenant’s face.

  “Thank you, Davaros, but don’t bother,” said Zadra. “There’s no turning back now.”

  She took the commandeered swiftcycle out of traffic and threaded between Akiridion-5’s shimmering towers. The V-Striker chugged after, firing more plasma charges that thunderclapped around them. Zadra drove past traces of the destruction caused by Morando’s coup—cratered streets and scorched buildings. But she also soared past signs of defiance, like glowing graffiti that said HOUSE TARRON LIVES!

  Even though the V-Striker was down an engine, it still gained on the overcrowded swiftcycle. Davaros watched Morando’s loyalists close the gap between them and said, “Should we off-load some unnecessary weight? Like the Blank or . . .”

  She then looked at the swiftcycle owner. His eyes bugged as he understood her meaning.

  “Definitely not the Blank,” said Zadra, which did little to comfort the owner.

  Another plasma charge went off under the swiftcycle, and its propulsion system failed. Zadra skidded the vehicle into a nearby neighborhood, then confirmed her fellow passengers were unharmed. A bright spotlight shone on the rebel party. Zadra shielded her eyes and looked up at the V-Striker looming above them, its rail guns deployed.

  “You almost got us all the way back to Adronis Quadrant, Zadra,” muttered Davaros.

  “Close enough,” said the lieutenant.

  The block lit up as Serrators fired from the shadows, strafing the V-Striker. Davaros, the Blank, and the swiftcycle owner watched as Izita’s Resistance fighters swarmed the enemy ship. Rebel soldiers cuffed the three loyalists in their cockpit before they could radio for reinforcements. Izita rushed over to Davaros and Zadra, saying, “You made it out alive. Praise Seklos.”

  “But without the comms array, Mother,” said Davaros. “We failed the Resistance.”

  “That is one fear you needn’t hold on to, Davaros,” said Zadra.

  The lieutenant elbowed the Blank unit beside her, knocking open its chest compartment—where the inner workings of Morando’s comms rig remained safely smuggled. Zadra saluted the Blank and said, “Congratulations on following your new programming, soldier.”

  The Blank responded with an enthusiastic, “Yes, ma’am!”

  Zadra then considered the swiftcycle owner, who had remained mute during their entire escape. With another salute she said, “Thank you for the use of your conveyance, citizen.”

  The Akiridion blinked, as if coming out of a state of shock, and said, “House Tarron lives!”

  Zadra half smiled at the owner, hoping he was right—hoping that Aja and Krel could survive long enough for the Resistance to reach them with its brand-new comms array. . . . This may turn out to be a great day after all, Zadra thought.

  CHAPTER 18

  UNCONVENTIONAL METHODS

  A peal of electrical feedback discharged from Aja the exact instant Foo-Foo’s dagger struck her. The current coursed into the bounty hunter’s suit, sending him flying. Krel ran over and held his motionless sister in his arms, residual electricity sparking between them.

  “Aja!” he cried.

  Luug trotted up to his owners. He released three Serrators and a hoverboard from his jaws, then whined when Aja wouldn’t get up. Vex hobbled over, his face grim. He never, ever wanted to contemplate losing another member of House Tarron. Yet as Vex beheld Aja’s still form, a smile broke across his face.

  “Glorious!” he shouted.

  Krel glowered, tears in his eyes, and said, “Vex! Can’t you see my sister is—”

  Aja’s eyes blinked open. Krel yelled in surprise and dropped Aja. The back of her head bonked against the floor.

  “Ow!” she groaned weakly. “Chill up, brother . . . or is it ‘chill out’?’ ”

  Vex and Krel burst into relieved laughter. Aja sat up and stared at the knife poking out of her chest. She tugged on the blade, and it came loose—with a skewered Pingpod stuck on the tip. It stabbed into, but not through, the ancient Akiridion accessory Aja had clipped to her shirt.

  “A Pingpod!” said Vex. “Varvatos has not seen one in parsons. The electric pulse must have been triggered when the dagger pierced it. Princess Aja was merely stunned! That means—”

  Vex cocked an eyebrow. He ambled over to the unmoving Foo-Foo, placed his ear against the smoking armor, and listened. A moment later he announced, “Varvatos Vex does not hear a heartbeat. The poor, darling, murderous creature. Varvatos will light a pyre and—”

  Foo-Foo willed his heart to beat again and jolted alive, and immediately began choking his former idol.

  “Glor-ack-ous!” rasped Vex.

  As he and Foo-Foo traded blows, the herd of Arcadia-Con attendees checked their phones and moved on. Most headed toward hall A, completely missing Aja’s now-flickering appearance. With a flurry of pixels, her human disguise wore off, revealing Aja’s Akiridion form. She covered herself with her four arms and exclaimed, “My transduction effect!”

  “It must have short-circuited from the Pingpod feedback,” Krel mused. “But it’s not like anyone here will care. They don’t even notice a geezer having a fistfight with a talking rabbit.”

  “But they will eventually,” said Aja, still feeling exposed. “As their pop culture has shown us, there is only so much suspension of disbelief humans can tolerate. They will see through our ruse soon enough and realize that we and Foo-Foo are fact, not fiction.”

  “Fine,” said Krel. “I suppose our ‘secret identities’ will be exposed the moment we use these in public.”

  “Actually, little brother,” Aja said with a sly smile. “I think I have a much better idea. . . .”

  Krel looked at his sister. “Well? I’m waiting!” he said.

  Most of Arcadia-Con’s attendees squeezed into the darkened hall A, which was already filled to capacity. Team Trollhunters watched their struggle from a corner, where Claire had discretely teleported them. The move left her feeling feverish, so she now leaned against Jim. Beside them, Toby reunited with Nana, who had unknowingly acted as the emotional anchor for Claire’s shadow-jump. They—along with Blinky, AAARRRGGHH!!!, and NotEnrique—all gazed in openmouthed awe at the Gun Robot panel, which was already in full swing.

  “And that is why we built a practical, fully functioning Gun Robot for our close-ups,” said the film’s director, a stout, bearded man with a thick Mexican accent. “And for our fans!”

  On cue, an animatronic Gun Robot walked onto the main stage, standing at an impressive thirty feet high. The hall erupted with claps, whistles, and camera flashes. Backstage, a team of special-effects artists manipulated Gun Robot’s movements with handheld remotes—right beside Steve and Eli. The Creepslayerz jumped up and down in their free XXL Gun Robot T-shirts and gave two thumbs-up to the stage. Superagent Muldoon returned the gesture from the celebrity panel, then fielded another question from the audience.

  “Why is it that Gun Robot fires upon the Laser Ninjas with his left hand in the latest trailer, when it’s clearly established in part four that Gun Robot is programmed to be a righty?” asked a pale and indignant fan. “I mean, don’t any of you care about your own mythology?”

  “First of all, thanks for loving our work enough to notice the little details,” said the actor. “Believe me, everybody up here cares. But we’re only human. Well, except for the big guy!”

  He jerked his thumb at the life-sized Gun Robot, which immediately stomped off the stage. The special-effects artists in the wings reacted with alarm, toggling levers on their unresponsive controls. Gun Robot smashed right through the nearest wall, plowing out of hall A and into the rest of the Convention Center. The audience applauded once more, even as the director yelled in Spanish at his baffled crew. At the back of the hall, Jim said, “Man, these promotional stunts are getting out of hand. Arcadia-Con’s really fun, but also exhausting.”

  “The old Troll adage is true,” added Blinky. “There can be too much of a good thing.”

  “I think I can make a shad—er, shortcut—to Nana’s car now,” said Claire.

  “Buckle up,” grumbled AAARRRGGHH!!!, dreading the drive home.

  “Here, Nana, let me clean your glasses,” Toby said, taking his grandmother’s spectacles.

  “Ooh, did someone turn out the lights?” Nana asked as Team Trollhunters escorted her into a brand-new black hole.

  Varvatos Vex cackled with manic glee and pinned Foo-Foo between the prongs of his walking cane. But the Destroyer spring-kicked Vex away, then reclaimed his dagger. He hopped over to the prone Vex and held the blade high, its edge burning, until a shadow eclipsed it. Foo-Foo craned his head around and saw a colossal robot reaching for him.

  “I am Gun Robot,” squawked a synthesized voice. “And you have been a bad bunny.”

  Several aisles over, Krel and his outsider classmates laughed aloud. Were they back in school, the shy students might never have interacted. But at Arcadia-Con those very same teens seemed to open up, chitchatting with others and smiling more. It was as if they had finally relaxed, feeling more at ease in their element, more connected to other like-minded individuals—individuals like Krel.

  They all huddled around his optimized cell phone, which streamed live video from Gun Robot’s eye-cameras. Krel tapped his touch screen furiously, directing the automaton to grab Foo-Foo.

  “Does everyone in your country have your hacking prowess?” asked one of the kids.

  “Er, no,” said Krel. “But I could not have assumed control of this Gun Robot without your collective knowledge of coding, short-wave frequencies, and dramatic entrance dialogue!”

  The band of amateur hackers gave another wheezy cheer—which turned into a groan as Foo-Foo amputated Gun Robot’s fingers with his hard-light dagger. Landing on his big feet, the bounty hunter bounced over to Vex, who still struggled to get up.

  “If you won’t choose to be my friend, I’ll force you to be my friend,” said Foo-Foo.

  He was about to press his neural control discs onto Varvatos’s neck, when a Serrator blast knocked off one of Foo-Foo’s metal ears. Recoiling in surprise, Foo-Foo turned his lopsided head skyward. A flying figure circled above him. Attendees started to take notice of the airborne individual—and the enormous Gun Robot lumbering through Arcadia-Con.

  “Look! Up in the rafters!”

  “It’s a girl!”

  “It’s a projection!”

  “No, it’s Sally-Go-Back!”

  Aja smiled under a clear spherical helmet as the attendees went wild over her Sally-Go-Back costume. The pink fabric covered most of her blue skin, and the two extra arms folded behind her back. She fired more shots at Foo-Foo with her Serrator—which kind of resembled Sally’s ray gun from a distance—and coasted along the ceiling on her hoverboard.

  “This! Is! So! LIVELY!” Aja shouted with abandon.

  “Sally” dive-bombed Foo-Foo, keeping him confined with another round of suppressive fire, then doubled back for another strike, skimming above the attendees’ heads. Aja’s electric blue eyes connected with the eyes of several young girls in the crowd, all of them wowed by the sight of their favorite adventurer in action. The princess felt her core swell with emotion. She realized that this pink-and-silver outfit was never intended to intimidate others. It was meant to inspire them to become their own heroes. Aja waved back to her fans, all too happy to act as a symbol for a whole new generation. And from the ground, a proud Varvatos Vex watched Aja take yet another step toward becoming her own warrior queen.

 

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