dead,” Nor said flatly.
“But it’s possible he shared the information with someone else,” Darai told her gently. “His body was never found, after all.”
“His wounds were fatal,” she snapped. “Valen gave me his word.”
Darai inclined his head. “I have no doubt that his aim was true, Majesty. Nevertheless, if he somehow made it off-planet before he died... Perhaps he managed to send a message.”
“Then we will send Arachnid a message of our own.”
“Nor,” Zahn started, his voice pleading. “Not another speech? There have been a great many deaths since your reign began. The Unaffecteds are revolting. Rising up. Just imagine, if there were a band of them on this very planet, following the orders of Arachnid, in hopes that you would respond with a speech the moment his video overtook the feeds... They could be just waiting to attack.”
“I am surrounded by believers,” Nor said, though Zahn’s words rattled her very core. “Any of them would lay down their lives to see my plan succeed.” She reached out to cup his cheek. “But you need not fear, my love. Arachnid needs a demonstration of our power that’s far grander than any speech I could give.”
Nor turned back to the map, still illuminating the large office. She could practically feel the heat thrumming through her veins as she studied the projection of Sora and imagined what was soon to come.
For on Cyprian’s old desk, beside the holoscreen, was a scanner keyed to Arcardius’s leader, kept covered by a sheet of impenetrable varillium so that it was not engaged accidentally. Nor slid the covering open, placing her palm across the scanner to activate it. She typed in the access codes the late general’s team had given her, her body almost buzzing with delight as she entered the coordinates for Sora.
“We’ll see how the spider survives this,” Nor said as she typed in the final code to access the top secret arsenal carefully hidden on Arcardius. Every capital planet had one—a massive array of nuclear weapons that were created toward the end of the Cataclysm, ready to be sent out across the stars should the threat of another war ever resurface.
Somewhere across Arcardius, one of those enormous missiles would respond, angling toward Sora, ready to blast it from the sky.
“A test fire of sorts?” Darai asked from across the office.
Nor nodded. “The moon is small enough that just one missile should be able to handle it.”
A triumphant smile was just broadening across her rouged lips when a beep sounded from the scanner. Nor blinked down at it as two words suddenly appeared, glowing red.
ACCESS DENIED
“That can’t be,” she said. Zahn and Darai joined her on either side, looking down at the screen with twin frowns on their faces.
Nor typed in the code again.
But the same message flashed back at her.
“The code must be wrong,” Zahn said, reaching up to access the com behind his ear. “Perhaps we already have some Unaffecteds beneath our noses.”
“They’re loyal,” Nor argued, shaking her head, her crown suddenly too heavy. “Everyone on this estate is being compelled. Valen is certain of it.”
Zahn mumbled something into his com. Moments later, the doors to the office opened as a team of tech droids and their analysts arrived, shuffling inside with portable holoscreens clutched in their arms. Nor stood aside, watching as they tried to override the system, to no avail. The same response came up every time, that hideous message in bold, bloody red.
“What’s the problem?” Nor demanded. She was pacing now, the long train of her gown tangling beneath her spiked heels. The head analyst stepped forward, a beautiful woman from off-planet, her orange eyes downcast as she studied the curved screen in her hands. “Well?” Nor snarled. “Speak!”
The analyst looked up, terror written across her face. Her Adhiran accent made her voice sound calmer than the words should have. “I’m so sorry, Majesty. But it seems...it seems there was a fail-safe set in place.”
“What fail-safe?” Darai asked, stepping up beside Nor.
The office suddenly felt too stuffy, as if too many warm bodies were packed inside at once. The analyst blinked slowly, seemingly trying to decide what to say. “It seems that when General Cortas died, this fail-safe was activated.”
“Speak plainly,” Nor growled, her patience growing thinner by the second. “Explain what that means.”
“It sickens me to say this, Majesty,” the analyst began, “and I beg that you please take no offense at my words, for the fault is not mine.”
“Go on,” Zahn encouraged gently. The analyst nodded, likely reassured by the calmness of his voice. Zahn was the only one holding it together right now, still steady and true as the day continued to fall apart around them, and Nor felt another wave of gratitude for his support.
The analyst turned her holoscreen, so that Nor could see numbers running across it, symbols and shapes she didn’t know how to decipher. Beside the analyst, a small red tech droid beeped sadly, its clawed hand drawing away from the screen on Nor’s desk to retract back into its torso. Apparently even the droid had given up.
Nor took a deep breath and faced the analyst as the woman tried to explain.
“According to the system...it says here that you, Majesty, are technically not the General of Arcardius. I’m ashamed to admit that we had no reason to know this before now, but in any case, when you tried to access the nuclear arsenal, the fail-safe responded, revealing itself for the first time. So I’m afraid that, even with the correct codes, you will not be able to activate those weapons.”
“Cyprian Cortas is dead,” Nor snapped. Her hands were curled into fists now, so tight that her nails nearly broke through the skin. “He was executed when I arrived here, and I took his place. Therefore, I am the rightful General of Arcardius. I am queen of this entire galaxy.”
The analyst swallowed hard, taking a subtle step backward. “I’m afraid the fail-safe does not see reason. It only understands numbers and coding. And the coding, Majesty, has told the fail-safe that though you are my queen, and everyone else’s in this room, long may you reign...”
Polished words.
Words spoken out of fear, even through the compulsion.
Nor’s teeth ground together as the analyst finished her thought. “Therefore, you will not have access to the arsenal until you are the rightful General of Arcardius—until the system deems it so.”
The room was so silent, Nor swore the others could hear her heartbeat pounding from within her chest. She stared at the screen on her desk, wishing she could compel it to obey her. But her compulsion, and Valen’s, only worked on the living.
“The other planets,” Zahn suggested suddenly, his voice still level despite the unease spreading like a poison through the office. “We can use their weapons instead. We have the codes for them, as well.”
The analyst’s words were barely a whisper when she spoke, her little droid
