Devon cringed as the agent struck Seach across the face again. He could see blood rolling down the side of his father’s face and strained against the bindings shackling him to the metal chair. One of the hits split the skin just above Seach’s left eyebrow and his nose was bleeding – likely broken – but he still wouldn’t stop mouthing off. And Agent Malone, the vicious bastard, wouldn’t stop throwing punches.

“I’m getting impatient,” the agent said, panting a little from exertion.

Sweat glistened off his broad forehead, mingling with his slick dark hair, but he wasn’t slowing down. In fact, Devon thought the man looked like he was enjoying the moment, bloody knuckles and all. He’d read about men like this, men who thrived off hurting other people, he’d just never met one before and now that he had he wasn’t certain what emotion was more prevalent; anger or disgust.

Seach didn’t seem to care, which was the only thing keeping Devon from trying to escape on his own. Not that he had any idea what they would do if he could get free. There were two other agents in the hallway and this room only had the one exit.

Malone’s fist came down hard against Seach’s jaw, the sound of bone hitting bone echoing off the metal walls and Devon flinched again. Fury roiled in his gut, blinding him to everything but the smug smile on Seach’s face.

“One of you is going to give me the dock number.”

“I don’t know,” Seach said, pausing to spit blood at the agent’s boots. “You’ve hit me quite a lot. I think my brains are scrambled.”

Devon breathed an incredulous laugh, admiring his father’s goading grin. The smile only made the cut in his lip bleed more, but Seach either didn’t notice or didn’t care. Devon stared. Blood snaked its way down Seach’s chin and outlined his teeth in the eerie blue lighting. He looked grim and menacing and for a long moment Devon wondered who was really in control here.

He thought of Pluto, of the flash of light through Seach’s body just before he hit the cavern wall, and the article with his parents plastered to its photograph. If Seach really was Tapped, then Devon imagined Malone had never had any control at all.

“Sorry to hear you say that,” Malone said, turning to Devon. “Guess I’ll have to hit somewhere else.”

Devon’s heart lurched and he clenched his fists, straining against the bindings again. Malone’s angry brown eyes held his, promising that violence was on its way. Devon tried to prepare himself for it, tried to calm himself down and focus on something else. Whatever Seach was planning it obviously required that Malone feel confident.

His heart thundered in his ears and his fingers ached from clenching so hard, but he wouldn’t look away as Malone advanced on him. He might not be as snarky as Seach but he was his father’s son; Malone wasn’t going to break him.

Seach started to chuckle, startling Devon into looking away. A fierce, sharp expression had replaced Seach’s smile and for a disconcerting second Devon actually feared for Malone. The agent’s attention had moved back to Seach as well and the man looked unsettled.

“What’s your full name boy?” Seach asked.

Devon thought Malone looked about the same age as Seach, but there was still no question as to who he was addressing. Devon felt his mouth go dry and held still in his chair.

“Why? You ready to give me that dock number?” Malone asked.

“No,” Seach said. “But people are going to want to identify your body. I thought I might help them along.”

“I don’t think you fully appreciate your situation,” Malone said, turning from Devon in order to face Seach again.

“Oh, I know my situation,” Seach said. “Just like I know that if you lay so much as a finger on my son, you will die. I’ll probably do it myself, but who knows? Maybe his mother will get here first.”

Devon swallowed hard, hearing the gravity of truth in his father’s voice.

Mom, he thought; we’re waiting on Mom.

But there was no way Jorry could know where they were. They hadn’t been gone so long that she would start looking yet. He tried to calculate times and distances and Jorry’s paranoia level, but Malone stepped away from his chair, headed back to Seach, and Devon lost his concentration.

“You are eight different kinds of crazy, you know that?” Malone said.

An alarm blared into their little interrogation room, so loud it made Devon’s ears ache. His heart leapt at the thought of Jorry, what she must be doing to raise such an alarm. Beside him he saw Seach smile again, humorless and far more disturbing than anything else the man could have done. Malone scowled up at the flashing red light and turned to the open door where one of his subordinates stood, white-faced and clutching a small computer device in his hand.

“Sir,” he said. “Some kind of chemical agent has been released. We have men down.”

“What?” Malone asked, incredulous.

“The vents were shut down. Half the docking ring is out and the customs bay isn’t responding.”

“That would be his mother,” Seach said. “I’d unbind him before she gets here.”

Agent Malone gazed at Seach for a long minute, his lips curled back into a half-snarl as the gravity of the situation began to sink in. Devon tensed in his seat, his mind caught on the words “chemical agent” and he worried over what Jorry might have released on the unsuspecting public. It couldn’t be fatal, she would never do that. But he thought of the news article, the headline; “Six Hundred Dead in Hours.”

The truth was, he had no idea what his mother was capable of.

“Lock down the station,” Malone said at last. He stalked away from Seach, heading for a console in the corner of the small room. “Find out what kind of chemical …”

Two canisters clinked to the ground, rolling in through the door and Malone’s words trailed off. Yellow smoke billowed out of the little cylinders and for half a heartbeat agent Malone stood dumbstruck in the middle of his own interrogation room. An instant later a figure charged in through the door.

Had she not been wearing her uniform Devon wouldn’t have recognized her. A thin mask covered her face with tinted green Plexiglas eye shields and a small circular filtration device where her mouth should be. His eyes stung and he choked on the murky gas but he saw her drop to her knees, her momentum sliding her right past Malone and his subordinate. A second later her body was enveloped in gas and he lost sight of her until she collided with his chair. He felt the shock of her arrival reverberate through the armrests but she didn’t so much as grunt on impact.

“Seach!” She shouted, but her voice was muffled through the mask.

She shrugged off a bag and threw it in Seach’s direction, then placed both hands on Devon’s restraining bands. Devon coughed and tried very hard not to vomit, equal parts relieved to see her and terrified at their current circumstance.

She was breaking them out. Oh, God, she was literally breaking them out.

The bindings lost their power and he suddenly slouched in the seat. His throat felt like it was on fire, burning from the inside out. He choked and gagged, trying to dislodge the sensation but when he drew in another breath of murky gas it only got worse. His eyes stung and watered over, smearing his view of the room and he fell to his hands and knees, hacking. He heard someone else wretch nearby but didn’t bother trying to see who. His head felt light – too light – like he was going to pass out.

He didn’t know when Jorry had left him but he noticed she was gone. He tried to squint through the plume but that only made his eyes sting worse.

Why did she leave him? Where did she go?

A second later Seach grabbed him from his left and shoved a mask over his head. It was rough and had sharp edges, but if it helped him breathe he didn’t care how much of his skin it scraped off. He tried to help Seach put it on but his fingers felt fat and heavy, uncoordinated. Seach slapped his hands away and finished with the mask, pressing a button near his left temple that made the whole thing hum to life and suction onto his face.

Clean, cool air, slightly minty in scent, pushed into the mask and he breathed. Even inside the mask Devon could feel the tingling itch of the gas’s aftereffects but after two deep breaths he felt the lightheadedness fade and tried to focus on his father.

“Don’t throw up,” Seach said sternly. He was already wearing a mask of his own, but Devon could see the urgency in his father’s eyes through the green Plexiglas.

“Y-yes sir,” Devon managed to say.

Seach hauled him to his feet and threw a belt around him, buckling it closed and double-checking to make sure everything was secure. Devon stood there, too dazed to argue as Seach cinched the straps tight on Devon’s belt and started donning his own gear. Devon felt the hum of a portable generator pulse against his lower back and stared down at his chest.

Armor, he realized; this was military grade armor.

He watched his father jerk down on two straps, activating the energy pulse shielding in his own belt. The process took him all of twenty seconds and Devon knew in that moment that all his suspicions were correct. He’d known before, he’d seen the photographs of Tango Five. But seeing Seach in action, watching the competent, fluid motions of a practiced soldier solidified it all for Devon. He blinked twice, panting clean air through his mask and searched for something to say.

But there was no time. Seach grabbed him by the shoulder as soon as his armor was in place and ushered him out the door. Jorry met them in the corridor. She looked frighteningly capable in her armor and weirdly faceless with the mask and she nodded to them as she tucked a small device into the upper vest pocket of her uniform. They didn’t speak, at least not out loud. Jorry gave Seach a strange signal and turned to run down the corridor. Seach patted him on the shoulder and gestured for him to follow and for a confused second Devon thought his father winked at him.

Devon turned and hurried after Jorry. They ran through several curving corridors, each more confusing than the last. Older stations like this one were built in a spire shape, forcing the walkways to curve and divert in odd directions. Jorry seemed to know where she was going so he just followed, fighting back the realization that they were running from the Consulate.

The unquestionable, all-powerful Consulate, he thought.

Fear settled hard in his gut just as they breached the custom’s bay again. Gas was slowly fading from the air, showing him a plethora of people scattered on the floor. They lay in heaps, some huddled together, some half in their own vomit. For a dreadful moment he wondered if his mother really had killed them all.

Devon shook his head, refusing to believe that. Jorry would never kill a room full of haulers, not even to come to his rescue. He might not know their past but he knew his parents and every instinct he had trusted them.

They made it halfway through the custom’s bay when a dozen soldiers in masks came pouring through the station’s entrance. Devon glanced between the oncoming soldiers, their gear gleaming in the red, rotating alarm lights, and the terminal doors still several feet away. He felt his heart sink and his stomach clench as he recognized several galvanizers aimed their direction.

They would never make it. There were too many.

“Go!” Jorry yelled.

Seach grabbed his elbow, pulling him toward the half open terminal on the other side of the bay. Devon stumbled and ran, glancing back at where Jorry veered off to intercept the soldiers. He saw a galvanizer fire at her and his heart stuttered. He nearly stopped moving but Seach’s grip on him was firm, dragging him toward the terminal.

Devon found his voice and shouted a warning, trying to tell his father that Jorry was in trouble, but Seach ignored him and Devon was left with no choice but to move. He half-turned, dreading what he might see, imagining Jorry already dead, splayed out on the ground with the rest of the haulers. But she wasn’t dead.

Electricity speared toward his mother, zigzagging and crackling and she lifted her hand in defense. He tried to fight against Seach’s grip, but couldn’t get free. Devon watched as the bolts struck her open palm, disappearing into her skin. She shouted, pushed out with both her hands, and suddenly the bolts went flying back at the mass of soldiers. Men screamed in surprise and pain, several of them pushed off their feet by the impact.

Devon tripped and almost went over, too shocked to translate what had just happened. His father got him to the terminal and yanked him around, pulling a clamp out of the belt. Without acknowledging the spectacle behind him, Seach hooked him into a line that ran up the terminal tube. He glanced between his father, the line, and out at where his mother was fending off three attackers.

She’d pulled out two asps and was wielding them with startling grace. She broke one man’s mask, turned to duck the attack of another, snapped his elbow, then abandoned him to kick the first man into the path of an oncoming soldier. It was like watching a whirlwind. Her moves blurred, too fast for his eyes to track, giving him streaks of blonde hair as she worked her way through the men. Bodies soared away from her, landing several feet away in a display of inhuman strength.

Tapped, he thought numbly. So this was what it meant to be Tapped.

She’d just thrown one man across the room when Seach spoke; “Jo. Time to move.”

He didn’t shout it, which confused Devon a little, but his mother seemed to get the message. The lights dimmed in the bay, flickering as though on the verge of going out, and suddenly Jorry was there, hooking herself into the line behind Seach. She slapped Seach on the shoulder, apparently letting him know she was there, and suddenly Devon was tugged backward. His clamp zipped him up the terminal tube so quickly he didn’t have the time to yelp.

For a disoriented moment he had to concentrate on angling his body, turning to face the ascent. He’d gone snowboarding on Mount Olympus once and the strange angle of the line reminded him of the climb up the mountain’s slopes. For a long moment there was nothing but the zip of his clamp along the line and the sound of his own breath panting in the mask.

Seconds later he made it to the top of the terminal and pulled himself into the box-like structure. He could feel the reverberation of his parent’s ascent through the line and for a panicked second couldn’t figure out how to unhook from the clamp. He squinted down at the belt, spotted the button just to the side of his clamp line, and pressed it. The clamp flicked open and he detached from the line, taking a shaky step away from the open door. He could see down the tube at where Seach and Jorry were gliding up the line and took the moment to catch his breath.

Devon backed away from the opening as Seach reached the top. He almost tripped on a pair of haulers lying in the middle of the floor and paused. The enormity of what his mother had done slammed into him. In less than twenty minutes she had laid siege to Neptune station, taking out customs agents and consulate soldiers like they were lightweight fare. He stared at her as she reached the top and climbed into the terminal.

“So,” Devon said, his throat still raw from the gas. It made him sound pathetic but he had to say something. “Tapped, huh?”

Jorry glanced at Seach, who shrugged and moved to the hauler’s ring door. Seach looked out into the ring, probably checking for agents, but didn’t answer his question. They were both wary and tense, but he could tell Seach was leaving the decision to talk to Jo.

“Yes,” she said, her voice clipped. “But you knew that already.”

“No thanks to you,” Devon said, unaccountably angered by her curt response.

“Do you think we can do this when we’re safe on the ship?” She asked and moved to Seach’s side.

“Well, I don’t know,” Devon said, stepping over the bodies. “Do you think we’ll actually make it to the ship?”

“If you two are done,” Seach said quietly. “We have company coming. Three on the left. Two on the right.”

“Are you damaged?” Jorry asked Seach.

Seach shook his head, “The man hit like a girl.”

Jorry snorted a laugh and motioned for Devon to join them. Devon gaped at them for a moment, and then, because he couldn’t figure out what else to do, he moved to Jorry’s side. He wasn’t certain why he was angry. He’d wanted the truth from them and now he had it; in Technicolor. He’d just never imagined the great reveal being done while people were shooting at them.

“Zephyr is programmed to recognize your DNA,” Jorry said to him, forcing Devon to focus again. “She’ll scan you for fifteen seconds and then you can board.”

“Where will you be?” Devon asked. His mind was scrambling to keep up, to process.

How were they going to take off? They were attached to the station.

“We’ll be right behind you,” Jorry said. “Zephyr’s dock is the second door to the left. Run for it. Do not stop. Keep your head down and move fast.”

Devon watched as she checked something at her belt. She said nothing further, no reassuring comments or additional instruction and he had to fight to remember what she’d said.

Fifteen seconds. Second door to the left. Head down. Run fast.

His stomach knotted. Oh, God, what were they doing?

Jorry nodded to Seach and they both surged forward, leaving Devon blinking after them. A half a second later he realized he should be moving and launched himself out of the terminal. Two steps into the hauler’s forum he stumbled over some unconscious man and fell headlong to the ground. His shoulder and knee banged into the metal floor, sending spikes of pain through him.

The sound of combat echoed through the forum. A few feet down the ring Seach had one soldier pinned to the ground. Devon watched as Seach flicked open an asp and struck the man in the shoulder. Electricity curled around the asp, eerie blue and white light snaking its way down the length of metal before connecting with the soldier, who spasmed and cried out. Still lying on the ground Devon stared in horror at his father. That was beyond abnormal. That was impossible. His parents were just plain impossible.

A galvanizer bolt burst overhead and Devon realized he had to move. Scrambling to his feet again he sprinted for Zephyr’s bay, diving inside just as several more bolts struck the bay doors. Panting, he squashed himself against the closest wall and waited.

Fifteen seconds, he remembered.

Two mounted, gyrating weapons hung down from the Zephyr’s interior, pointing out into the station’s bay and Devon was quite certain he had never seen them before, not even on the ship’s schematics.

He waited twenty seconds just to be sure, and then took a hesitant step toward the ship’s loading plank. The two canon-like weapons remained fixated on the door. Devon relaxed and ran onto the plank. He made it into the loading bay and breathed in relief. The familiar sights and sounds of his home, even that cursed broken loader, managed to comfort him.

Seach ran into the bay first, followed closely by Jo. Devon straightened, watching his parents as they both snapped their weapons closed and tucked them into their belts. Jorry stopped by the bay doors long enough to close them and headed for the nearest ladder.

“Zephyr. Alert off.” She said, all business, and the fear growling in the pit of his stomach returned full-force.

How would they take off?

Where would they go?

What would the Consulate do to them for this?

“The gas is clear,” Jorry said, removing her mask. “Seach, check on the passengers. Zephyr, prepare for emergency disengage. Devon, you’re with me.”

Devon removed his mask and ran for the ladder, scrambling up behind his mother. He leapt onto the catwalk and sprinted for Zephyr’s interior. Jorry dropped her mask on the central table as they passed and Devon did the same. He spotted Seach running down the opposite corridor, heading for the passenger rooms and he had a stray thought about Kenzie.

What would the Consulate do to her if they were caught? What would they do to Zoe?

The ship rocked under three quick explosions just as Devon stumbled into the pilot’s nest. He grabbed onto the navigation chair to keep from falling, recognizing the peculiar tilt and sway of the ship. They weren’t attached to the station anymore.

“Captain, we are disengaged from the station,” Zephyr announced, confirming his thoughts.

Terror gripped him. “You blew up the station?”

“No, just the docking locks,” Jorry said, hurrying to a console. “The station is fine.”

He was almost relieved. “And all those people? What kind of gas was that?”

“C.S. 12,” Jorry kept her attention on the console, flying through commands with an urgency that would have alarmed him under any other circumstance. “They’ll have a headache but they’ll be alright.”

Devon took a deep, steadying breath. His nerves were too frayed to relax, but talking seemed to help. “Where’d you learn to fight like that?”

“82nd Space Soldier Program, and the Advanced Reconnaissance Program,” his mother answered and then cursed.

The parking shield slid away, revealing the star peppered vastness of space and for a disoriented moment Devon couldn’t figure out what was wrong. Then he spotted the jumper, its massive steel hoops slowly revolving several yards away from the ship. Its lights flashed red instead of green and renewed fear congealed in his chest.

“The jumper is down. I was hoping we could get out before they managed that,” Jorry said. “Seach, secure the passengers in the emergency bunker.”

She didn’t use the ships communication system and for a second he thought she might be talking to him. He nearly corrected her, reminding her that he was Devon, not Seach, but she spoke again, answering something he hadn’t heard.

“I know, Seach. Just do it. We’re out of options.”

How the hell were they talking to each other? Did Tapped soldiers have some kind of telekinesis?

Devon’s gaze caught on the out of commission jumper again and he forgot his parents and their strange communicating. Without the jumper they were trapped. Consulate soldiers would be on them any moment and they literally had nowhere to go. They could try hiding on one of Neptune’s moons – likely Triton – but in the end the Consulate could just wait them out. Even if they found a friendly colony, the odds were that the docking procedure would announce them to the galaxy anyway.

No, he thought. They were trapped.

“Oh, Mom,” he said, his heart breaking at the realization of what was coming. “You should have left us there. You and the others could have gotten away.”

Jorry turned from the console and grabbed him by the shoulder. “You listen to me, Devon Barlow,” she said fiercely. “There will never be a day when I won’t come for you.”

Her face shone with so much passion that for a dazed moment he felt hope flare in his chest. She had a plan. Of course she had a plan. This was Johanna Rorry, the most paranoid woman in the galaxy, she always had a plan. She turned from him, punched one more sequence of commands into the console, and a section of the flooring slid away near his feet. Devon squinted down at a ladder leading into the recesses of the ship and he suddenly remembered his blueprints.

This was the blacked out section of the ship.

“Follow me,” Jorry said and hurried down the ladder.

Devon hesitated for a fraction of a second and then followed, his heart suddenly hammering in his chest. This was it, he thought; the major secret, the big reveal. He reached the base of the ladder and turned around, confused by the cramped space. He wasn’t certain what he’d been expecting but this wasn’t it.

In the center of the room stood a sheet of metal slanted at a forty-five degree angle. The sheet had one belt dangling in the middle, and for reasons he could not explain that bothered him. At the eastern wall a safety harness was secured next to a small flashing console. It was the most bizarre set-up he had ever seen.

“Strap into the wall,” Jorry ordered.

Devon knew better than to ask questions now. He moved to do so, watching as his mother stripped off her jacket. Underneath she was wearing a white tank-top that hid very little. A serial number was tattooed into her upper right shoulder, signifying that she was, in fact, ex-military, and there were patches of sweat at her lower back and chest. But what really caught his attention were the silver discs embedded in her skin. They were two inches in diameter and ran up her arms, behind her shoulders, and down her spine.

So those were her taps, he thought. Well that explained why they never dressed down.

“There is a gauge to your right,” she said. “Do you see it?”

He looked to the console. Directly above it appeared to be some kind of pressure gauge, starting at zero and ending at 2000, but it did not express itself in watts. He finished strapping himself into the wall and found his voice.

“Yes,” he said.

“When the gauge reaches the red mark I need you to push the green button beside it.”

The red mark was at 1025 and the button was steady green just to the left.

“Only when it reaches 1025, do you understand?”

He glanced at her and nodded, uncomfortable with the grim look on her face. She nodded back and turned to strap herself into the metal sheet in the middle of the room. He heard each of her metal discs snap onto the sheet and suppressed a shudder. Whether or not those taps hurt now, they had to hurt having them put in. His skin crawled just thinking about it. Those cursed little things were everywhere. Why would anyone let the Consulate do that to them?

“Zephyr, open the secondary viewport.”

The hull opened, revealing a wide viewport as tall as the chamber they stood in. For a moment it was like they were standing in space, with no ship or station to protect them, but then he saw the glint of light across glass and he realized that this was the real pilot’s nest.

Jorry closed her eyes.

A heartbeat later the chamber pulsed with heat and light so oppressive Devon had to squint to see anything. The ship jerked into motion, propelled forward in a motion much like a jumper push. Devon tried to follow the line of light to its origin, tried to process what was happening. He spotted the energy source a moment later; a nearby star.

Somehow the stars energy, its light, was fueling the ship, accelerating them into cruising speed.

He glanced at his mother. Her body rattled against the metal sheet, those crazy little discs smacking into it in a rapid, chaotic rhythm. Her eyes were still closed and she was gritting her teeth as though in pain.

Devon’s attention snapped to the gauge; 797.

The engineer in him recognized what was happening. His mother was acting as a conduit for the stars energy. Energy was the key, he realized. That was what it meant to be Tapped, they could literally manipulate energy.

When the gauge passed 925, Jorry began to scream.

It was a berserker shout, a shrill and terrifying sound that cut him to the core. He almost pushed the button then.

“1025!” she shouted.

He held back.

The entire ship shook as the gauge passed 1000. He could feel the pressure of continued acceleration shove him against the wall. Devon stared intently at the gauge, forcing off a wave of giddiness as his mother’s voice suddenly stopped screaming. He looked back at her, but she was limp.

Panic seized him. Devon hit the green button, not caring that the gauge was set at 1010. The viewport snapped closed, light and heat instantly shut off, and Jorry flopped forward, caught by her belt.

“Mom!”

Devon fumbled with his safety harness, shoving it off so that he could reach her. Her body bent forward, held up by the belt strapping her to the table. Devon unfastened the belt, instinct telling him he had to get her away from the table. He wasn’t certain why. With the viewport closed the energy feed was cut off, but he still didn’t want her touching it anymore.

“Mom!” He said again. She was heavy and limp against him and he had to lower her to the floor.

He felt for a pulse and breathed when he found one. It was rapid and light, but she was alive. She was also, he began to notice, alarmingly hot to the touch and her hair smelled like ozone. Devon unbuckled her boots. The magnets in them would make it harder for him to get her to the medical bay. She could yell at him about it later, if she woke up. Devon swallowed that fear and tapped her cheek twice.

“Mom, wake up.”

“Incoming communi –“ Zephyr started but he cut her off.

“Just send him through!”

The communication line blipped open.

“Jo?” Seach’s voice came through and Devon breathed better.

“I can’t wake her up, Dad,” he said. He heard the panic in his own voice and tried to calm down. “She’s breathing and she has a pulse but …”

Seach was suddenly at the ladder. His face was determined and steady as he reached them. Devon scooted aside to allow his father room. He watched as a powerful emotion passed Seach’s face and bit down on his lower lip to keep quiet. Seach was worried, very worried, and Devon wondered how he’d ever thought there was no affection between his parents. That look alone told him the depth of his father’s feelings.

“Jo, you are such an idiot,” Seach muttered. Then he carefully lifted her and moved for the ladder.

Devon followed, unwilling to leave his mother’s side.