“How far can it take us?” she asked, skepticism playing across her face.
“Through the phase-point and beyond.” He’d been trained to navigate the extra-dimensional space of the phase-point transit system. There hadn’t been too many opportunities to use it, not with the training ship’s limited range, but he’d been allowed to explore the nearby systems on his own.
“Can the ship’s controls be overridden?”
He blinked his surprise. What a strange question. Perhaps it was part of some test. With just two days to go, he’d expected something, although he’d expected it to come from his flight instructor, or perhaps from the combat instructors. He’d imagined a test where they all came at him at once, them in armor, him bare-handed.
“Do you want me to disable the override system, Tante?”
“Yes. Disable it. And the transponder. I want us to disappear. Do you understand?”
Andret nodded and helped her into the fighter. She settled into the right seat, setting the containers atop her lap. Perhaps it was a test of loyalty, of his willingness to obey humans. Though it was hardly a good test. He’d have done anything for her, and not out of loyalty.
The ship recognized him and holographic controls appeared over the flight console. His hands danced over them, tapping out the startup sequence.
Tante Calyce let out a small gasp of surprise as her seat folded around her.
“Perhaps you should set those containers down. For your own safety, Tante.”
She shook her head. “Andret, promise me, if they chase us, you will fly like your life depends on it, because it does.”
He gave her a sharp look. “Tante, your body can’t handle those forces. Not even with the inertial compensators.”
“Like your life depends on it, Andret.”
“I cannot allow you to be harmed.” Was this part of the test? Tante despised mind games. Unlike the newer caretakers, she refused to play them.
“Please. For their sakes.” She tightened her arms around the containers.
Understanding knifed through him, reverberating through his body, making his muscles tense, his blood race. Trust and a cold calm chased away both questions and emotions. He turned back to the console and started the engines.
A minute later they were out over the flight range, overrides engaged, transponder off, the pull of the launch bay’s safety protocols defeated.
At two minutes they were flying straight up. Gravity tugged at his chest, a mild annoyance. Next to him, Tante Calyce struggled to breathe, the harsh sounds of her gasps clearly audible over the engine noise.
At three minutes, the scent of human blood reached his nose and his donai augmentations went into overdrive. Everything was sharper, clearer. His reflexes were faster. He bared his teeth as he sped toward the smallest of the system’s five jump-points so none of the larger, better-armed ships could follow them.
He hoped that the acceleration wouldn’t kill the human that had given him life.
* * *
—
Calyce slipped in and out of consciousness, catching glimpses of Andret’s determined face. Like all of the donai, his primary irises were amber. They circled gold pupils. In the angry lights strobing around them, she caught glimpses of the soldier he would become. It wasn’t the bared cuspids and their resemblance to fangs. It was the way he moved, the perfect way he performed every task as if he’d been born to it.
I made this.
Over the last few years, the council’s attitude toward the donai had changed. The donai were no longer held up as the heroes that gave their lives for humanity. Gestation orders had declined. So had the size of her staff. The governor in charge of the donai program had rotated out the caretakers like herself who’d served for decades, replacing them with new ones that resisted bonding with the children they’d been tasked to raise.
She should have seen it.
And now that she did, she knew what was next. There would be a self-destruct order. Either one sent directly to the donai ships or something subtler, something in their training, their conditioning. And when the council gave that order, they would be passing a death sentence