Who did Atlas talk to in this room, three times a day, every day? Why was he so eager that no one see? If it was just a transmission dock, why did he hide it?

Romy pushed the flashing blue button on the slanted desk and stood to one side of the screen. The receiver would only see the empty platform, but she wasn’t taking any chances.

The screen went red. Romy tensed on the balls of her feet.

And then the red flickered.

And a face filled the screen.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

The thing about new technology was that it often wasn’t compatible with old technology.

For instance, the orbitos possessed old technology, like this dock. The transmission docks even took up an entire room, just like this one.

But Earth used the newer tech.

The small brain transmission devices were useless for communication with space. It made sense that to talk to the oribitos, you would need to match their outdated technology.

“What is the reason behind this unscheduled call?”

She’d always admired the calm leadership in his voice.

The Orbito One commander looked the same; he had the same age lines on his forehead and around his mouth. Romy used to attribute these to stress because he was trying to save the lives of so many and bore the burden of hundreds. Liar. Crew cut, greying hair—not grey because he was exempted from the shorter life cycle to command. It must be stressful work, lying to hundreds of sacrificial soldiers each day.

Romy stood, physically hunched over from the hurt she felt as she stared at the person Atlas was betraying her to.

“Commander?” Cronus barked.

Commander! She nearly staggered in disbelief. Atlas wasn’t just a soldier, not just a betrayer—he . . . was in the Mandate's high command?

Her disbelief was quickly replaced by seething anger. She finally understood Deimos’s murderous promises. Face-to-face with the person responsible for the mass murder of thousands, a fury consumed her, burning through her body like acid.

She’d looked up to this man her whole life; respected him. Trusted him. Pitied him. Been thankful for his sacrifice. That he chose to bear the loneliness of retaining his memory longer than any soldier.

Liar!

The bodies of space soldiers strewn through the war zone flashed in front of her eyes. They didn’t wipe memories to be merciful—they did it to cover their damn tracks. Bile rose in her throat.

They did it so their little political game could continue on.

A soldier went into battle against the Critamal knowing every breath could be their last.

Fury wasn’t a strong enough word for what she felt. Unadulterated hatred squeezed out of her pores. And she knew, like Deimos, that if she could reach through the transmission screen and choke this man to death, she’d do so gladly.

Her stomach rolled at the disgusting sight of him, irritated and impatient in front of her.