Chapter 7 - The True Heir
The explosion at the top of the stairs blew the secret panel into shards, sending a shockwave through the subterranean tunnel. Dust and pulverized limestone rained down, coating Clara’s hair and shoulders as she crawled toward the iron bulkhead.
""Find her! Don't let her activate the vault!"" a voice shouted from the top landing. Heavy boots began clattering down the stone steps.
Clara reached the center of the massive door. Carved into the iron was the relief of a swan with outstretched wings—the Cygnus crest. In the center of the bird’s chest lay a depression matching the teardrop shape of her pendant.
Her hands shook violently. Her water had broken on the stairs, and the pressure in her pelvis was unbearable. She jammed the pendant into the slot.
A low, mechanical hum instantly reverberated through the rock. The edges of the pendant flared with brilliant cyan light. A digital voice, crisp and eerily identical to Clara’s own mother’s voice, resonated from the steel.
“Biometric signature detected. DNA match: 99.9%. State access phrase.”
Clara gripped the rim of the locking wheel, gasping for breath. ""Aletheia!"" she cried out.
“Access granted, Sovereign Clara.”
The massive iron locking bolts withdrew with a deafening hydraulic hiss. The door swung open inward, revealing a brilliantly lit, state-of-the-art medical and command facility buried deep beneath the earth. Air scrubbers hummed softly, and automated surgical monitors sprang to life.
Clara dragged herself across the threshold. ""Door! Close the door!"" she screamed.
“Intruder proximity alert. Sealing threshold.”
The heavy door began to glide shut. Just as the gap narrowed to six inches, a gloved combat boot jammed into the opening, halting the pneumatic seal. A gloved hand forced the crack wider, and the cold, scarred face of the lead mercenary peered through the gap, a combat knife glinting in his teeth.
""You're not going anywhere, little bird,"" the mercenary snarled, his shoulder muscling against the heavy steel.
Clara, lying on her back on the sterile floor, saw the emergency control terminal beside the door. Marked in red was a single switch: OVERRIDE PNEUMATICS.
She kicked out with her scuffed wedding heel, slamming her foot against the red lever.
The hydraulic pressure spiked with a terrifying roar. The door slammed shut with thousands of pounds of force, severing the mercenary’s arm at the elbow with a sickening crunch. A muffled shriek died out behind four inches of reinforced tungsten steel.
Clara lay flat on the floor, breathing in the sterile air, completely spent.
Then, the monitor beside her chimed softly, displaying a live feed of global financial networks flashing green, alongside an alert on the central console:
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“Cygnus Protocol Engaged. Total asset transfer initiated. Welcome, Commander.”
A sharp cry escaped Clara's lips as the final contraction seized her, demanding all of her focus.
