“This was not like an attack against the Citadel, their enemy. This was an attack on the population. Panic will ensue... riots. Cutting their power will slow them down.”

Typing furiously across the Command Room’s console, another soldier interjected, “Sir, I cannot shut down the communications network. The fallback order has not been sent.”

“What is preventing it?”

Frustration was palpable in the man’s voice. “Someone has taken control of the system.”

A message began to roll across the screen: People of Thólos, the rebel forces are in possession of the virus. Storm the Citadel, destroy our enemy.

There was a blended murmur of curses offered up once the soldier read the lie. It was brilliant and also painfully devious. Svana had openly just betrayed every last Follower who had sworn an oath to install her as queen of Greth Dome.

Shepherd didn’t have time to roar out his anger. Not now. “Get the first wave of transports ready to launch. Ship 7 must remain until Svana has been captured and stowed onboard. Have our men build a fire around it to keep it warm.”

A young man who had survived the torment of the Undercroft thanks to Shepherd, looked to his commander and acknowledged that he could not carry out the order. “They need another hour, sir.”

Shepherd impatiently detailed the outcome should they not get those ships in the air. “If the transport ships’ engines freeze, they will seize. Successful launch will be impossible. Svana is attempting to cut off our exit.” He had more orders to give. “Bridges linking the Citadel to the city must be destroyed. That will remove at least seven access points to our gates. That leaves only the promenade before the steps. We will funnel the citizens into that arena, and kill them before they can storm our walls.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I will return in an hour.” Shepherd looked to his COMspecialist and barked, “By that time, I expect you’ll have regained control of the communications network and disrupted the rebel’s message.”

“Yes, sir.”

Shepherd looked to leadership gathered in the Control Center and said what they were all thinking. “We fight for our brothers now. If we can hold the rabble back for twelve hours, if we can keep the Citadel and the transport pad intact, they will live the life we’ve dreamed of.”

There was a cheer, a lack of desolation. Every man in that room was more than willing to die for his brother.

Shepherd left them to carry out their orders, the expression of detachment and ruthless focus he had maintained for his men falling away the instant he was running to his mate through the underground catacombs.