Between Burning Worlds (System Divine #2) - Jessica Brody Page 0,50

the image got closer but only slightly less blurry.

“How are you going to find them?” the Patriarche asked incredulously, echoing Marcellus’s own thoughts. “They could be anywhere!”

The general ignored him and continued dragging his fingertip across the screen of his TéléCom. The satellite imagery shifted around, showing what looked like nothing more than a quiet, sleeping prison.

Are the Vangarde even there? Marcellus wondered. Whatever was happening on that moon, the Vangarde were doing a stellar job of making it look like just another night on Bastille. But he supposed he should expect nothing less from a rebel group that had spent the past seventeen years in hiding.

“Arrival on Bastille in eleven minutes,” Moreau reported to the room.

Marcellus returned his attention to the large replica of the System Divine sitting on the table next to him, trying to imagine that fleet of combatteurs racing through the skies, getting closer and closer to Bastille with each passing second.

“The droids are currently searching the exterior of the main prison building, and multiple teams are en route to the zyttrium exploits,” the warden reported from his desk.

Marcellus was about to pull his gaze away from the model when something strange caught his eye. There was something off about it. He couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was, but the model looked different somehow. If he hadn’t spent countless hours over the years staring at that thing, wishing he were on any other planet but this one, he probably wouldn’t have noticed. But now he couldn’t un-notice.

Inconspicuously, he hunched down, trying to get a better look at the model. It wasn’t the alignment of the planets that was off. They all looked intact, all twelve of them hovering in perfect orbit around Sol 1 at the center, with Sols 2 and 3 dancing alone in the farthest reaches of the system. Laterre hung perfectly positioned between the ice-white planet of their ally Reichenstat and the marbled blue-and-green globe of their enemy, Albion. But it was the luminous, amber-colored moon suspended next to Laterre that seemed altered somehow.

Bastille.

“Still no progress on locating the source of the breach,” Rolland reported from her position in front of the open control panel. “I’ve tried rebooting the system and reconfiguring all connections, but nothing has worked. The Vangarde must somehow be overriding the signals from the outside.”

“How on Laterre are they doing that?” the warden asked.

“I do not know, sir,” replied Rolland. “But I’m working on it.”

Marcellus squinted at the glowing miniscule replica of Laterre’s moon. There was definitely something different about it. The color was off. It was just a tad too orange. And the size was just a touch too large. He reached out a finger and curiously pushed the tiny sphere around its orbit.

“What was that?” the Patriarche shouted, and Marcellus glanced up to see him staring at the center monitor, where Citizen Rousseau’s body still filled the screen.

“What was what?” the general asked impatiently.

“The footage from the morgue. It just … flickered.”

The general turned to Rolland. “Did you do that?”

Rolland’s circuitry flashed in concentration as her gaze darted between the monitor and the control panel. “I don’t believe so, sir.”

Marcellus glanced down at his hand which was still lingering near the replica of Bastille. A shiver ricocheted down his spine.

Could it be … ?

Careful to make sure everyone’s back was still turned to him, he reached out and touched the model again, this time, wrapping his entire hand around the tiny illuminated sphere of Bastille.

The center monitor filled with static. Everyone reacted at once. Marcellus released the replica as though it were hot to the touch and the screen instantly returned to normal.

“Damn the Sols!” the general swore. “Rolland, what is going on? We need those feeds fixed. We are completely blind here!”

Marcellus’s gaze darted suspiciously back to the model. He thought of those two women who had been caught breaking into this very office two weeks ago. Jacqui and Denise.

“We already checked the integrity of the security systems after the two Vangarde operatives were arrested. Nothing had been compromised.”

That’s what the warden had just said. And the general had told Marcellus something similar two weeks ago. Everyone was so certain the two operatives had failed in their mission.

But what if they hadn’t?

“Arrival on Bastille in nine minutes.”

The general stood up straighter. “Moreau, connect me to your cockpit cam.”

“Copy. Connecting.”

A second later, one of the monitors on the wall switched to the view from Capitaine Moreau’s combatteur.

And there it was. Embedded in a vast