Brown Robe attacks with a new level of vigor, perhaps acknowledging his dying comrade. Black Robe positions himself to block my easiest retreat. Dead or alive, Red is a split second from falling on top of me. A grunt from Ranger 799 ratchets my urgency higher. Red's weapon will only retain its charge for a heartbeat once he releases it. But if I can reach it in time...

A pulse rushes outward from the palm star BDM fission reactor in my chest as I steal seconds of my future for my present. Call it a hack if you must, I call it survival. Templar Central has labeled it negligible divergence.

Before Brown Robe's attack can reach home, I reshape my weapon into a squat dagger, thrust it into his stomach and release its full charge at a speed faster than his eyes can transfer signals to his mind. Before he's aware of his death, the rising water released into his stomach rips his body upward with no more sound than the fluttering of his robes.

As sure as Brown Robe rises, Red Robe falls.

Weaponless, I've got two options: go for Red's or recharge my own. I decide to attempt both. The moment I reach upward I feel the wash of time retaking me—my cheat having run its course. Slogging back into realtime is always hell. But doing so in the midst of such a delicate procedure...

My hand slams into Red's just as it releases the hilt of his water dagger. A quarter of the water discharges before I manage a full grip. Simultaneously, I stab my fully discharged hilt into the nearby river curtain and shed Red's limp body off my back.

Black Robe seizes the opportunity. I barely fend off his driving downstroke by forming Red's dagger into a round shield. My own weapon needs another second to charge from the rising water.

Black Robe's Katana lurches to life and wraps around my round shield in a manner I've never witnessed—as if it were sentient rather than an extension of the zealot's own movements. With a tug, the water serpent wrests Red's weapon from my grip. The hilt clacks to the stone pavement as its water whisks skyward. Twice, Black Robe's water serpent lunges for my eyes.

Fully charged or not, I jerk my dagger from the curtain and unleash a sail in time to lift me over Black Robe's furious attack. The wind from his assault chases me as I flick my sail to sword and hit the pavement running. My attention now shifts from Black Robe to my Ranger partner.

In the nearly thirty seconds we've engaged the enemy he's felled only one of his three attackers. The two remaining are both robed in brown and are simultaneously attacking from forward and rear.

"Ranger." I hail him on the run.

"I made a mistake."

"We both did." Catching the rear attacker off balance with a bull rush, I knock him from his feet and slide to a stop with my knee in his chest, his weapon in my grip, and my water dagger in his throat. His hood falls open to reveal one green eye, one brown—the Chromium.

That's when I notice that 799 is trailing a crimson thread across the stones. He's injured.

Recklessly, Black Robe caroms into the fray with too much emotion. I slash the blades of my twin water daggers together, discharging a small amount of water like razor-sharp flak. The spray slashes across Black Robe's face, knocking his attack off course and momentarily stilling his assault.

"How bad is it?" I ask my partner.

"Bad enough." 799 coughs and a spurt of blood fans across the pavement at his side. "But I can finish."

"It's done." I close the distance until we're back to back. "I've terminated the Chrome."

"They're all Chromes." He growls through clenched teeth. "And I'll warrant there's more. We've gotta kill every last one."

I'm surprised I hadn't considered the possibility that all the attackers where Chromes, except that we've never engaged such a coordinated resistance. And the report mentioned only one. "But in your state."

"I'm dead meat." He covers his side before coughing again.

Most likely, it's true. On the surface of an HC we're limited to the same healing arts as the slaves we protect. And in his condition, 799 would never survive the elevator back to his orbiting Razor.

"I've lived forty-eight of my fifty. All that's left is to finish."

I observe the remaining zealots. Black Robe is the more talented assassin, but his movements are tentative in the presence of the remaining brown robe. Brown is in command. Both of them seem to be waiting for 799 to die. I face Brown Robe and mask my voice. "I've already terminated three of your assassins, and disfigured your best."

Black Robe gargles in disgust.

Brown Robe whistles a single tone through his teeth. It's the Krazlin equivalent of "mind your place."

I'm proficient enough in the assassin language to whistle my response. "A trade. My man for yours."

Brown Robe whistles. "One for one?"

"You must die," I whistle while nodding.

Brown whistles his command to Black. "Flee unashamed." He follows it up with an imperative and an expletive for good measure.

"What the hell you two going on about?" 799 grunts.

Brown Robe lowers his weapon and steps forward.

"Just kill that one quickly."

Without hesitation, 799 dispatches Brown Robe with a clean stroke through the midsection, but he's forced to take a knee in the process.

By the time I turn, Black Robe is gone without a trace.

"Get the last one. I'll hold on long enough to make sure no one discovers me." Droplets of blood have formed on his forehead and neck. He's already begun the process of shutting down his most volatile augmentations before they destabilize. "Go!"

Without a word, I leave my partner slumped against a stone column to pursue the remaining Chrome zealot.