Lights flickered around Ashaya, but she saw Dorian make a "keep going" gesture. It steadied her enough to continue. And why a cat who disliked her so openly should have that effect on her was not something she had the luxury to consider at this moment.
"As for my proof - in terms of the inequalities in Protocol I, that proof consists of thousands of bytes of data, including copies of orders bearing the Council seal. Some of that information is being streamed along with this feed - information that makes it clear the implants were to be made to different specifications. You, the masses, were destined to be nothing more than insects in a hive."
Those who still had the ability attempted to grab the data packets.
"As for the aims of the Omega Project, you have only my word, the word of a scientist with an unblemished record. If successfully manufactured, the virus would be a weapon, one intended to be used against us by our own Council. Now consider its potential as a weapon in the hands of those who hate the Psy."
She paused to let that sink in.
"Though Omega has never come close to completion, the scientists who worked on it over the years created a rich archive of data, data that may have included the genesis of a viral recipe. That data is now gone. I destroyed every byte of it in the weeks before I defected. The Omega Project is dead." Ashaya told the most dangerous lie of all with every ounce of cold conviction she could gather. "I don't ask that you believe every word I say. I don't even ask that you consider me anything but a traitor to our race. All I ask is that you think for yourself... and question your Council."
She stepped away from the microphone and toward the soft darkness that surrounded the cameras, and - even if she couldn't admit it anywhere but inside the walls of her mind - toward the dangerous safety of the man who stood there. Her bones felt oddly hollow, breakable. She wasn't certain she wouldn't fracture like so much glass.
Suddenly, there was an arm around her shoulders, leading her toward a door, almost carrying her up a flight of steps and out onto a tiny balcony hardly big enough for two people. The piercing brightness of daylight stabbed into her irises with the ferocity of a thousand sharp knives.
"That was one hell of a surprise." He pressed her face to his chest, rubbing her back with a firm hand.
She should have pulled away, but she didn't. She knew herself, knew her weaknesses, knew that at this moment, she was incapable of standing without assistance. She also knew that she liked Dorian's heat around her. "It had to be done." For her people, for her son... and, despite everything, for Amara.
Dorian pulled out his cell phone with his free hand. "Nothing. They must've done something to the cell transmitters."
"I apologize - I knew the backlash would be severe, but I didn't think they'd be able to move so fast." Breaking away from him, she leaned back, her hands closing around the cold iron of the railing. Over his shoulder, she could see only a thick wall of green foliage. To her left was a closed door that led down into a basement she didn't yet have the strength to reenter - it had taken all her willpower the first time around. "They shut down power?"
He nodded.
"Hospitals," she began.
"Generators," he told her. "I'm guessing most of the power and comm lines are going to be back up in the next few minutes anyway - Psy businesses would lose too much revenue otherwise, and without their support, the Council falls."
She nodded. "Do you think my broadcast got through to any appreciable extent?"
His nod was immediate. "We had backup satellites ready to go."
"Oh?"
"We like to be prepared." Raising his hand, he traced the curve of her cheekbone.
She stood absolutely motionless. Though she had trained herself to appear exactly like her brethren, she wasn't averse to touch. And out here, no one would punish her for taking strength from this most simple of human contact. What held her frozen was that she didn't know the rules of touch in changeling society. In her time with them so far, she'd seen them touch easily... but only each other.
Except Dorian's touch was hot against her, as if every stroke left a permanent imprint.
"Sascha and Faith say Psy like to mix it up genetically," he commented, his fingers sliding down and off.
She didn't say anything, waiting, expectant.
"I can see why." He leaned against the railing opposite her, his arms folded. "So what's next for the infamous Ashaya Aleine?"
She wanted to move but there was nowhere to go. A single step and they would touch again. She could still feel the heat of his skin against hers, an impossibility that was somehow real. "The first part of my plan is complete." What a joke. She had no plan beyond getting both herself and Keenan out from under twenty-four-hour Council surveillance.
All it would've taken was one slipup, and she'd never have seen her son again. The ironic thing was that by holding him hostage, the Council had unknowingly protected him from another danger. However, that protection had come at a cost. They'd kept her baby like a rat in a cage, until she could see his very soul beginning to shrivel.
Now, he was free... and vulnerable to the pitiless menace that had stalked him his entire life.
"Hopefully," she said, trying not to crumble under the wrenching force of the need to hold her son, "I'm now too famous to die a quiet death." More importantly, too famous for Keenan to be made a target without severe political repercussions.
"Phase two?"
She started to make something up, but knew it would be a waste. He'd see right through it. "I don't know." Logic, sense, reason, it all told her to run, to draw the danger away from Keenan, but rational thought collided with raw maternal need and came away the loser. She couldn't leave him behind.