Then he closed the door behind him, trapping himself outside in the punishing, intolerable cold.

For a moment, he stood there, horrified by what he’d done, trapping himself outside, condemning himself. His skin began to freeze as the wind knifed his skull, drove spikes into his eardrums. His neural processor advised him to seek shelter, but Tom knew he would never surrender to the census device if he stayed out there.

His neural processor connected with the roaming server as wind stung tears out of his eyes and froze them on his cheeks, and his ears became pokers burning into his head. A nightmare of the past reared back to life under the pitiless sky cut with vivid stars and a green veil of solar winds as Tom waited to die.

And then something made the stars swim in the sky, and the distortion grew larger and larger above him. For a moment, Tom wasn’t sure what he was seeing, and then a wave of displaced air knocked him backward onto the hard snow, humming throbbing his eardrums as a full Centurion-class drone retracted its camouflaging above his head.

I saw your note, Mordred, Medusa net-sent him. I thought I’d come tell you: not a good idea.

Tom gaped up at Medusa’s drone, too shocked to feel cold for a moment, and he shouted into the wind, “My friends are still trapped inside!”

Immediately, the Centurion swung around, and its weapons flashed at the side of the warehouse, ripping a gaping hole into it. Through the sudden blast of heat, Tom made out Wyatt and Vik on the floor. He saw Vik grab her and they ducked as the drone roared over their heads across the warehouse.

That’s when swarms of Praetorians blasted the wall and poured through the opening. Medusa’s Centurion began firing at them, and Tom charged forward until he reached Vik and Wyatt, his lungs alternately stabbed by heat and cold, and he helped haul them upright and jerked them with him as the lasers of the Praetorians spliced through the night, Medusa’s drone spinning in the air as it fired back. And then Vik and Wyatt were crowding against him, a wall of warmth reaching them as fire consumed the warehouse. Snow and sparks swirled around them as Praetorian after Praetorian was blasted apart.

“T-T-Tom . . . how . . .” Vik said, shivering violently.

And then behind them, another optically camouflaged ship lowered itself onto the snow, passenger compartment popping open, as close as it could get to them without danger.

Vik and Wyatt were frozen in place, but Tom snapped into motion and urged them toward it, knowing their only safety lay inside. They clambered up the steps and stuffed themselves into the crowded little cabin, meant for a crew of two, at most. The windowed compartment sealed up over them.