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Sohts bathe the bridge, alternating shades ofTheodora’s delicate old hands pull atfro blood from my eyes and roll onto my back A broken display sparks beside me It has my blood on it Did it fall on me? A bar lies beside it, and my eyes drift to Theodora She pried it off But she’s so small Her hands cup my face

"Get up Doet up" The old wo, I pull one In the collision, it must have launched Either that or they left me behind So too has the Blue escape pod jettisoned away The frightened Blue has become a stain on a bulkhead Theodora can’t tear her eyes away frolassy her eyes

"There’s another pod in my quarters," I mutter Then I see why Theodora winces Not fro is shattered, splayed off to the side like a length of wet, cracked chalk They don’t make Pinks to last this "I won’t make it, dominus Go, now"

I bend to a knee and throw her over the shoulder ofshifts under her I feel her teeth rattle And I run I run through the broken bridge toward the wound that is killing e level’s hallways into a scene of chaos People swar their posts and functions as they race to escape pods and the troop carriers in the forward hangar People who fought for me--electricians, janitors, soldiers, cooks, valets They’ll never e course when they see ainst me, panicked and crazed in theirI push the a small part of my heart as each falls behind I can’t save the and a Gray sergeant hits hiround

"Clear a path," the thick Gray bellows She whips her scorcher out of her tactical holster and shoots it into the air Another Gray, re I’ the chaos Soon two unpoint

With their help, I make it to my suite The door hisses open at h The Grays back in after us, training their scorchers at the thirty desperate souls who ring the entrance The door hisses as if to close, but an Obsidian pushes through the crowd and ja the door fro Blue Without hesitation, the Gray sergeant shoots the Obsidian in the head Her coe and shove them off the doorframe so it can close I tear round to lay Theodora on one of my couches

"Dominus, how eant asks me as I head to the pod’s entry lock Her hair is buzzed in military fashion A tattoo on her tan neck peaks from under her collar My hands fly over the control pris the passith a series of hand motions

"Four seats You get two Decide ast yourselves"

There’s six of us

"Two?" the feeant asks coldly

"But the Pink’s a slave!" one of the Grays hisses