Ruins of the Galaxy
Date: 2019-07-27 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Science Fiction; Fantasy; Military Fiction; Science Fiction Fantasy; Fiction; Space; Aliens
Description: The mission is simple. Escort an emissary to an intergalactic peace summit. Try not to get in the way.Lt. Magnus and his 79th Recon Team have certainly handled worse, after all.But when an explosion rocks the tower and sends everyone into a panic, Magnus and his asset find themselves cut off from the rest of the team.Worse still, a dying alien chieftain gives them a priceless drive of intel, marking them for death.The mission has officially changed.With enemies on all sides, Magnus must do everything in his power to protect the emissary and escape the tower. There is no back up. There is no ch
Publisher: Variant Publications

RUINS OF THE GALAXY BOX SET

BOOKS 1-9

J.N. CHANEY

CHRISTOPHER HOPPER

Copyrighted Material

Ruins of the Galaxy Copyright © 2019 by Variant Publications, Hopper Creative Group

Book design and layout copyright © 2019 by JN Chaney

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living, dead, or undead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved

No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing.

Version 2.0

1st Edition

CONTENTS

Don’t Miss Out

Ruins of the Galaxy

Book 1 in the Ruins of the Galaxy Series

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

The Night of Fire

A Ruins of the Galaxy Short

The Night of Fire

Galactic Breach

Book 2 in the Ruins of the Galaxy Series

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Demons at War

A Ruins of the Galaxy Novella

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Epilogue

Gateway to War

Book 3 in the Ruins of the Galaxy Series

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Void Horizon

Book 4 in the Ruins of the Galaxy Series

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Epilogue

Black Labyrinth

Book 5 in the Ruins of the Galaxy Series

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Imminent Failure

Book 6 in the Ruins of the Galaxy Series

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Epilogue

Terminal Fallout

Book 7 in the Ruins of the Galaxy Series

Prologue

Part I

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Part II

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Part III

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Quantum Assault

Book 8 in the Ruins of the Galaxy Series

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Epilogue

Rise of the Gladias

Book 9 in the Ruins of the Galaxy Series

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Epilogue

List of Main Characters

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RUINS OF THE GALAXY

BOOK 1 IN THE RUINS OF THE GALAXY SERIES

1

“I know you wanna bust out your bikini, Flow, but mind telling me if you see any hostiles yet?” Magnus asked over a private channel on TACNET.

“Negative, LT,” Flow replied. “A city of fifteen million Jujari, and we ain’t seen splick.”

“Your mama raise you to talk like that, Sergeant? Or are you just pissed you can’t go swimming?”

“I’m pissed I can’t see anything to shoot yet.”

“Copy that.” Magnus touched his MAR30’s safety out of habit.

Magnus and his Charlie Platoon of fifteen operators had set security on what was one of the worst danger areas he’d ever been assigned to. The landing platform they stood on was forty stories up the side of a composite sandstone skyscraper in the center of Oosafar, and it jutted out like a waiter’s silver platter. The sun’s heat was punishing, pushing their armor-cooling capabilities to the limit and threatening to cook the men before any objectives were reached. While his platoon controlled the perimeter of the pad, a sea of buildings surrounded them, each rife with potential sniper nests or heavy blaster emplacements. Magnus couldn’t shake the feeling that his unit was being served up as some Jujari chief’s main course. They were, to put it in Marine speak, hanging out like dogs’ balls.

“You don’t really think this is about peacekeeping, do you, LT?” Flow asked.

“Not any more than you do. Since when has Recon been tasked with security? Plus, these dogs have alliances with five other systems and a fleet to match. No way they asked the Repub here to surrender all that after three hundred years of resisting us. Something smells off.”

“Copy that,” Flow said with a sniff.

The higher-ups had tried to assure Magnus that this mission was critical to Republic progress. And maybe it was. But Magnus and his platoon were stuck babysitting sycophants in a chemical reaction of politics and cults waiting to go nova. It was just a matter of time before one of his Marines got killed in the name of progress, and that was not what he’d signed up for.

“You know, I hear they bleed their prisoners for weeks,” Flow said. “Some ancient ritual sacrifice or some splick. ‘Living blood’ they call it. You think that’s true?”

“Don’t know, don’t care, Flow.” Magnus looked over the platform’s edge. It was a long way down. “If we don’t accomplish the objective, we’re dead anyway.”

“How’s that?”

“The Jujari drain us of our blood or the major drains us of our stripes. Either way, we’re done. But I’ll take my chances with the hyenas.”

“Copy that, LT,” Flow replied with a chuckle.

“Just own the field and keep your eyes peeled for our bird.”

A gust of wind blew up from within the city and buffeted Magnus’s men. He turned to see them covering their respective fields of fire with their MAR30s. The sooner they could get off this platform the better.

“Heads up, LT,” Flow said. “I’m picking up an inbound Regent-class cruiser.”

Magnus looked skyward and flicked his eyes through menus in his heads-up display. A blue targeting reticle latched onto a square of empty sky and showed Repub designations fed from the orbital convoy overhead, including the shuttle’s code name, Falcon One. He let his eyes focus on the marker until his helmet’s artificial intelligence zoomed in. The AI’s neural-sensor suite was responding quicker than before. Nice update. Magnus reminded himself to thank the battalion’s coders when he got back.

The sky expanded in his HUD, filling his field of view with a static-laden image of a diplomatic shuttle. Even from this distance, Magnus could make out the Order of the Luma’s insignia on the ship’s large vertical stabilizer: a single maroon flame within an unbroken circle. Magnus cringed. Blasted peacemongers.

“Those are our assets,” Magnus said, wondering if Flow could hear the disdain in his voice.

“Roger that,” Flow replied. “Don’t act too happy about it, LT.”

Magnus switched off the private channel with Flow and opened a direct line to Alpha Platoon’s leader and CO for the op.

“Go ahead, Lieutenant,” came Captain Wainwright’s baritone voice.

“We’ve got eyes on Falcon One, Captain.”

There was a pause. Magnus knew Wainwright was reviewing the HUD data. The captain was a legend in the Recon and one Magnus was proud to serve under. Alpha Platoon was charged with security for the Republic ambassador and his envoy, while Charlie was tasked with the Luma emissary. According to the mission plan, Wainwright was fifteen minutes ahead of Magnus’s platoon and already topside at the meeting location.

“Copy that,” said the captain. “You’re all green.”

“Roger, Captain.” Magnus signed out. He surveyed the landing platform again and brought up a unit channel. “Look alive, Hunters. Shuttle inbound, ETA is three.” Magnus watched his HUD as each platoon member confirmed unit readiness with green affirmation icons.

The private channel chirped. Flow was calling again.

“Go, Flow,” Magnus ordered.

“LT, I don’t wanna beat this to death, but this is splick. We’re three-sixtied. Hell, they’re probably covering our undercarriage too, and we can’t do a damn thing about it. The way I see it, the only thing good about this place is that we don’t have the squirts like we did in Caledonia.”

“Wait, you mean that time we were crapping our brains out in a honeymooner’s paradise?” Magnus replied. “Nah, don’t remember anything about that.”

Jokes aside, Magnus was just as frustrated as Flow. Their position was begging for an ambush. Oosafar’s urban environment was perfectly suited for veiled attacks from nearly every angle. Where any other world would have had solid windows in its buildings, the Jujari hung white curtains and had a low-level force field to keep out the elements. The fabric billowed in the late-afternoon wind, moving like ghosts in and out of a thousand cave entrances, and the constant motion provided the ideal concealment for an enemy on the move.

“Which desk jockey you think approved this op without reading the fine print?” Flow asked. “Feels like they’re playing Terberian roulette with us, ya know? The problem is—”

“The house always wins,” Magnus finished.

“Yeah, exactly. Only this house wants to kill us.”

Flow was just talking splick. It was how they all processed the tension before a fight. But there was some truth to his words too.

“A neutral planet certainly would have been a smarter choice,” Magnus said. “But no one expects jockeys to have street smarts.”

“Copy that, LT.” Flow looked at his MS900 sniper blaster. “So, that request for overwatch never went through?”

Magnus knew Flow would much rather be in a perch somewhere, picking out targets with his weapon. Command had asked for overwatch positions but was refused access since the Jujari would not permit outsiders to tread in ceremonially clean parts of the city. As a compromise, they provided “unrestricted access” to building files, which, as it turned out, were a joke. They have every known descendant of the first mwadim inked in blood on tanned gorangi skin, Magnus thought wryly, but they can’t keep track of how many floors are in their structures. Perfect.

“Negative,” Magnus said. “Brass said the Jujari wouldn’t allow us access. Something about us desecrating sacred ground with our unclean feet.”

“I’ll have you know that I wash my feet daily, LT,” Flow said.

“And that’s exactly what I told Colonel Caldwell.” The idiom telling Colonel Caldwell had become a joke around the unit, inspired by Magnus’s familial and combat connections with the famed commander. It was Colonel Caldwell who’d gotten Magnus and his three best noncommissioned officers, dubbed the Fearsome Four, a shot at Recon Indoctrination School. “Clean feet, I said. None cleaner. Pretty sure that’s the only reason he let you attend RIP with me.”

“And what were Cheeks’s and Mouth’s excuses?”

“Good looks and muscle,” Magnus replied. “The Four have to stay well-rounded, but don’t tell them I said that.”

“And what does that make you, LT?”

“I’m the brains, Flow. Always the brains.”

Magnus’s pulse quickened as his armor’s cooling system suddenly increased power consumption. It was fighting to keep its occupant comfortable under the sun’s oppressive heat. Magnus was sweating enough to fill his reclamation bladders every few minutes. He could even feel his short beard soaking up sweat. He’d maintained a beard since he graduated from RIP, taking full advantage of the elite unit’s more permissive grooming allowances, but now it was annoying him. If it hadn’t been for his helmet’s air-treatment capabilities, he wasn’t sure which would smell worse, his body or the capital city.

While the men in his unit continued to scan every building with their helmets’ thermal imaging, tagging occupants with yellow indicators, Magnus cycled through the icons, checking floors and rooms against shoddy city records gifted to the Republic because of the “momentous exchange.”

“Let’s just keep the emissary safe, let all the jockeys have their fun, and then get off this desert rock. Keep your eyes open and call it in. Own the mission, own the field.”

“OTF. Copy that, LT.”

Magnus closed the channel and turned from observing the buildings to see the Luma shuttle on final approach, matte gray and resembling a ferret—its slender crew module the animal’s neck and the command bridge cantilevering up and away like a head. The shuttle had a single vertical stabilizer in the aft and a narrow bridge window above the nose. Its engines vectored toward them to bleed off speed in a hotter-than-usual landing. Apparently, the pilots were as apprehensive as the Hunters.

“SITREP,” Magnus called over TACNET to his team leads, asking for a situation report.

“Good here,” Mouth said.

“You know,” Corporal Miguel Chico said, “normally, I’m good for rolling in the sheets, but I don’t care if I ever see another set again.”

“Can it, Cheeks,” Flow ordered.

“Copy.”

As one, the Marines braced themselves against the sand that blasted their helmets. The stuff had found its way into every crease in their armor, and they’d been on planet fewer than thirty minutes. The armor’s mag boots engaged, sensing slippage, as the shuttle’s thrust threatened to push each Marine off the platform. Magnus’s body vibrated, absorbing the ship’s ferocious energy. As soon as the landing gear touched down, however, the pilots killed the engines. It felt as though someone had shut off a midsummer Dustoovian cyclone just by flicking a switch.

The Hunters in the platoon scanned their respective fields of fire with their MAR30s. This was the time for an ambush. Magnus looked to the ship’s hydraulic ramp as it lowered to the platform, awash in a swirl of white steam. The blue-uniformed flight steward came down the walkway at somewhere between a run and a walk, betraying just how nervous he was. He spotted Magnus, tapped the top of his head, then waited for the reply.

“We good, Flow?” Magnus asked.

“Still green, LT.”

“Copy. Bringing out the assets. Eyes up, Hunters.” Magnus took a deep breath. Professional. Be professional. For as much as the Jujari repulsed him and as much as the Republic’s bureaucracy annoyed him, neither compared to how much he loathed the emissaries about to walk down this ramp. They’d cost him lives, lives of Marines who’d never be able to argue their case against the Luma’s methods. Careless leadership.

Magnus motioned to the shuttle’s steward with a knife-edge hand chop in the air. The steward signaled up the ramp, and a figure emerged in the white mist.

“Splick. That’s your asset, LT?” Cheeks said over TACNET. “Wanna trade?”

2

Awen hated atmospheric entry about as much as she hated raw Paglothian sorlakk; both made her vomit. The only difference was that she didn’t have to eat sorlakk on a weekly basis. Her hands scrambled for the small bag stowed in the seatback in front of her, but it was missing.

“I got it,” Matteo said, reaching for his seat’s bag and handing it to her. Just in time too. Awen had purposely skipped lunch for that very reason, and there was still plenty of—whatever breakfast was—to fill the sack.

“Thanks,” she said, wiping her mouth with the enclosed napkin. “Have I ever mentioned—”

“How much you appreciate me?”

“How much I hate entry,” Awen said.

“Only every time we fly. But you could stand to mention the other a little more often.”

Awen pursed her lips and gave him a nod. “Noted.” She stowed the sealed bag, sat back, and took a deep breath, grateful the light civilian cruiser was in calm air again. The passenger cabin was smaller than she liked, which made her motion sickness all the worse. She preferred the larger starships since they had better dampeners. Still, the compartment’s glossy-white walls and ceiling and comfortable chairs were in pristine condition, which she credited to the Luma’s fastidious standards.

Matteo stared out the starboard window, and Awen followed his gaze to the vast expanse of sand below. It reached to the curved horizon, light yellow contrasting with the deep blue of the sky. She’d waited her entire adult life to come to this system, which wasn’t that long, considering she was only twenty-four years common. Still, Jujari culture had been her major at the academy—or was it an obsession?—and she’d become more knowledgeable in the history and affairs of the hyena-like species than any Luma before her.

Far below, the capital city of Oosafar rose like a gleaming white obelisk in the late-afternoon light. It stood in stark contrast to the rust-colored dunes and low-slung mountains that surrounded it. While elegant, the city’s presence also felt defiant, as if the buildings stood as a bulwark against the seductive power of the Republic. Awen’s spirit couldn’t help feeling a strange kinship with the Jujari, though their cultures were light-years apart—physically and metaphorically. Still, she admired their ability to resist countless attempts to bring them into the Republic. Awen was drawn to their insistence that joining the Republic would compromise their heritage and that they would rather fend for themselves than eat lavishly from the Republic’s table.

That said, she knew that the Jujari people suffered at the hands of their leaders. They were a violent species, prone to devouring their own as quickly as any unwelcome visitors—or even welcome visitors, for that matter.

“Feels like we’re coming in pretty fast,” Matteo noted.

Awen leaned over his seat arm. She absentmindedly clutched the Luma medallion around her neck—a flame carved inside a golden oblong disk at the end of a leather cord—and squeezed it between her fingers. “New pilot, maybe?”

“Nah. I just think no one wants to spend more time in this system than they have to.”

Awen let go of the medallion. “Attitudes like that have delayed meetings like this for centuries. You do understand that, right?”

“Sure, sure, and the universe is all black and white, and everything can be solved if we talk it through. I get it. I get it.”

Awen backed away from his seat and crossed her arms. “You know, Matteo, sometimes I wonder why you even joined the Luma.”

He feigned a pain in his chest by clutching his heart. “That hurts, Awen.”

“I’m just saying, if we keep going into these situations looking for a confrontation, then that’s all we’re ever going to find.”

“Then you don’t think it’s the least bit strange that suddenly, after hundreds of years, the Jujari want peace talks? Come on.”

Awen took in and let out a deep breath. “I admit it’s unusual, yes. However, if we don’t give them the benefit of the doubt, then who will?”

Matteo shrugged.

“Precisely,” she said, poking his arm. “This is our job. We can’t expect to find a blaster fight across every peace talk.”

“What if that’s all these outliers want us to find?”

Awen turned away from him, mumbling that he was an ignorant fool.

Matteo pulled his attention from the window and looked at her. “What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“Come on. You know you want to say it.”

Awen shot him a wicked glance and raised her chin ever so slightly. Her words were slow and dripping with sarcasm. “I said that you sound just like an ignorant fool, and I have a Repub blaster for you in my overnight kit.”

Matteo laughed and rubbed his hands together. “I knew you’d come around to my way of seeing things,” he said. He looked out the window again and pointed to something. “Hey, look at that.”

“What?”

“You have excellent timing,” Matteo said. Awen followed his finger to see a handful of troopers lining the perimeter of the approaching landing pad. “There’s my fire team now. Hand me my blaster.”

* * *

The landing was harder than usual. Awen smoothed her maroon and black robes as the engines cut off, hoping her stomach would settle down just as fast. But she wasn’t sure what was airsickness and what was adrenaline. She was finally here. She had dreamed of this moment for the last six years and never really thought she would get the chance to visit Oorajee.

She ordered herself to stay calm. Savor the experience. Every sight, every sound. Take it all in.

Through the window, Awen heard muted footfalls and loud orders then the whine of hydraulics as the ramp went down. The flight attendant typed on a wall-mounted keypad then descended out of view in a swirl of white mist. That was when Awen smelled it: her first deep breath of the Jujari home world. It was a strange mixture of curry, sour milk, lavender, and burnt fecal matter. She wrinkled her nose but still savored the fact that she was finally here. She’d made it.

“You’ve been waiting for this for a while,” Matteo said. “Bet it feels surreal.”

“It does,” Awen replied, unfastening her harness. “Doesn’t smell like I thought it would, though.”

“Pretty sure no place in the galaxy smells like this.”

Awen chuckled then stood up. It felt good to stretch. She turned around to see the rest of the entourage unbuckle and gain their feet. Some of the elders took longer than she would have liked, but this wasn’t a day to rush anything. Slow and steady.

“Madame Emissary,” said the flight attendant in his deep-blue flight uniform. “They’re ready for you.”

“Thank you,” she replied. Awen glanced at Matteo and the others then back at the flight attendant. “We’re ready.”

The man nodded and gestured down the ramp. Awen took the lead and emerged from the shuttle’s shadow into the full force of the sun’s glare, a sensation that felt akin to plopping an ice cube on a hot frying pan. Her skin prickled, and the smells intensified as she got her bearings.

“It’s even more incredible than I imagined,” Awen whispered to Matteo. She felt overwhelmed by the sight of the linens that hung in hundreds of windows. “The inook shrouds are stunning. Did you know their thread count correlates with the number of generations in each owner’s lineage? Some range into the thousands.”

“That’s wonderful, Awen. Can we go inside?”

Just then a gruff voice blasted her name from an exterior speaker. The person talking was the trooper closest to her, whose helmet looked like a bat head with a muzzled lion’s mouth. His armor was black and gray, and he held a large blaster at the ready.

“Emissary dau Lothlinium,” the trooper repeated.

Awen nodded toward whatever eyes lay behind the glossy black visor.

“We need to get you inside. This way.”

Awen gestured for the trooper to lead the way but could not bring herself to actually thank the bulky hulk. The trooper turned and walked across the platform toward the building’s entrance. He escorted her to a tall archway, stepped through the fabric, and held it aside for her to enter. A moment later, Awen was inside a large receiving room lined floor to ceiling with the white linens that made up the walls. Awen’s fellow Luma began to file in while the trooper remained at the entrance.

“That’s better.” Matteo brushed sand from his robes and wiped the sweat from his forehead.

Awen, too, was immediately grateful for the temperature change. The separation from the outside world was dramatic. She noted just how thick the fabric was. A wide bolt of it streamed down from the center of the room and draped around a bowl of fladaria. She approached the table and felt the heavy fabric between her fingers then looked at the bloodred fruit.

“What is it?” Matteo continued to dab his forehead with his sleeve and puffed out his cheeks.

“It’s fruit, and a good sign for us,” she said softly, noting how the room swallowed her words. It felt as though she’d been cut off from the exterior world. “It’s the ceremonial food of welcome.”

“So, what do they put out when they don’t want you around—bad eggs?”

“No,” she whispered, “a severed head from that day’s public executions.”

Matteo instinctively reached a hand to his throat. “Nice species. Say, where are they?”

“They’re finishing prayers.” Awen had yet to see her first Jujari in the flesh and could hardly wait. “They won’t entertain us beyond this room until they are sure of their god’s will for the meeting.”

“Heck of a time to figure that out.”

Awen rolled her eyes at him then reached for the bowl. She took one of the oblong fruits and bit into it, a small red stream of juice flowing from the corner of her mouth. She knew that “bleeding” when eating was customary among all Jujari tribes, though the fruit was so juicy that she hardly did it on purpose.

“It’s okay,” she said to the rest of her team as they continued to file in. She motioned toward the bowl. “You’ll like it. It’s sweet.”

Matteo grabbed one of the fruits and tried it, a smile creeping across his wet red lips. Everyone else took a fruit and ate. As the juice was still streaming down the team’s faces, all sixteen troopers who’d been outside threw open the fabric doorway and entered with a blast of light and heat.

“Excuse me, what are you doing?” Awen asked. “No military presence is required here.”

“We have our orders, Emissary dau Lothlinium,” said the trooper who’d addressed her outside.

She noted for the first time how dusty his armor was. It was also devoid of any of the traditional military markings she’d seen, save for a small yellow insignia on the shoulder in the shape of a crescent moon cradling a combat knife. He had a pistol in his chest plate as well as several grenades, and he looked utterly ferocious in the dim light.

“I don’t think you understand,” Awen insisted, planting her feet, though no one could see them through her thick robes. “The Jujari won’t allow this, and quite frankly, neither will I.”

“Emissary, our orders are to escort you to and from your ship for the duration of your stay.”

“And you’ve done that marvelously,” she conceded with no attempt to hide her condescension. “You may stand down now until we’re done.”

“Negative.”

“Excuse me?” Awen was sure her eyebrows had just hit an all-time high.

“Negative. Our orders are—”

“Listen, trooper,” she said, her face mere centimeters from his chest plate. “I don’t care what your orders are. You cannot be in here right now, and you certainly will not follow us in there.” She pointed to the far wall, which, she expected, opened to a corridor that led up to the mwadim’s council tent.

“Our orders,” the trooper continued, “are never to let you leave our sight.”

“Who has ordered this?”

“A joint task force chaired by Admiral Isaacson and your own Master So-Elku.”

Awen could feel the blood rising in her face as she clenched her jaw. So-Elku would never have agreed to such a breach of cultural protocol.

All the troopers started to nudge each other as if laughing about something—probably a joke made over their comms. She’d met her share of soldiers to know the type. Their helmets kept the joke unheard by outsiders.

Fine, she thought. Let’s play.

“Awen,” Matteo pleaded. “Don’t. Please.”

She cast him a dark look, one he’d learned not to cross. Awen took a calming breath and closed her eyes. She lifted her chin and began to separate her consciousness from the room, from those around her, and then from her mortal self. There, in the Unity of all things, she reached toward the energy that was already racing away from this place. She could see ripples, long strands of color and undulating shapes, flitting off to take their place in the infinite beyond. But she was faster than they were—not as fast as her masters, but quick enough.

She caught up to the first ripples, the trailing edges of laughter. Then she reached the next waves, full-bodied chuckles. She could pick out each man’s voice, each nuance. She saw where the laughter began, and then, like a bloodhound on a fresh scent, she zeroed in on the speaker and his careless words. He was making a vulgar conjecture that she would not repeat. But she would toy with him.

Awen left the Unity of all things and opened her eyes. She was back in the present. “Too bad you’ll never be man enough to find out, Corporal Chico.”

The trooper winced in his armor and took a step back. Helmets pivoted back and forth as the troopers looked between themselves. Perfect. Awen guessed they’d be more cautious to say anything inappropriate over their “secure” comms from then on.

“You’ll have to forgive them,” the lead trooper said. “Most have never met a Luma before.”

“And you have?” Awen asked.

“Enough to know not to do anything stupid around you.”

“But following me into the inner sanctum of your Republic’s longest unconquerable adversary doesn’t sound at least a little bit stupid to you?”

“No, ma’am. That’s just doing our job. Stupid is what the corporal did.”

Fair enough. At least this one isn’t a total reprobate. She took a deep breath and turned to Matteo. “How come I wasn’t informed about this?”

Matteo shrugged.

Then the most senior Luma, Elder Toochu, approached her. “Awen,” he said in his frail yet confident voice. He took her hand like a doting grandfather. The elder had a liver-spotted baldpate and white wisps of hair over his ears to match. “Master So-Elku trusts you wholly, as do we all. Know this.” He leaned close to her ear. “However, he does not trust the Jujari. Therefore, he perceived that it was in all of our best interests to concede to the Republic’s wish to provide you with a security detail. Surely, no harm can come from their protection.”

But harm would come. Her mind raced through a hundred history lessons about moments when projected hostility was met with violence and, in the end, death. Worse still, these troopers had to know that they posed little threat to the Jujari. They would be sliced and devoured before a blaster shot even crossed the room. Okay, maybe that’s an exaggeration. But it won’t end well.

“Fine,” Awen said, turning to the trooper. “I permit you to escort us. However, you will keep well apart from us, and for the love of all the mystics, keep those blasters down. We don’t need a war on our hands, and they won’t do you much good anyway.”

“We’ll keep our weapons in low ready position, Madame Emissary,” the trooper said.

“A compromise. Also, I need a name or rank or something.”

“I’m SR-2133, Commanding Officer of Charlie Platoon with the Seventy-Ninth Reconnaissance Battalion, Marine Special Units—”

Awen interrupted him with a wave of her hand. “I don’t do your numbers and units.”

The trooper stared at her. Awen couldn’t tell if he was considering how to bite her head off or trying to remember his birth name apart from his indoctrination. His brainwashing.

“Lieutenant Adonis Olin Magnus.”

“Lieutenant.” Moving onto her tiptoes to as close to the trooper’s face as she could reach, Awen whispered, “Just so you know, I don’t need an escort.”

“And just so you know,” Magnus replied, the output volume of his helmet lowered to match hers, “I don’t need to protect you.”

“Then we have an understanding.”

“It seems we do.”

3

When the first Jujari emerged from behind the linen wall, his voice sounded like the bottom of a Gull-class freighter grinding against a shoal in the Meridian Outskirts. His words seemed to tear a hole in the hull of Awen’s soul, and she could sense the troopers bristling at the Jujari.

The hyena-like warrior stood half a meter taller than the troopers and twice as wide. Though they still preferred to run on all fours, the Jujari had evolved to stand on their hind legs and use their forearms as humanoids did, making them a dramatic though terrifying amalgamation of canine and human characteristics. This one wore a crimson sash across his tawny chest and a wide leather belt around his waist; on it hung a holstered blaster and the ceremonial curved keeltari long sword. The fur on his shoulders was matted down by a thick red fluid. An uneducated observer would assume it was paint, but Awen knew it was blood from the day’s executions.

Awen realized that this was a blood wolf, a member of the mwadim’s inner pack. She really wanted to interview him, but she had a job to do. That, and the warrior would most likely slaughter her the moment they were alone, no matter how much of the mother tongue she spoke.

“The mwadim’s elect invites that you search your kyat and then to ingest the sharsh should you merit audience,” the Jujari said. His words barely seemed to escape his maw of bared teeth as his tongue labored to articulate Republic common. Still, Awen was impressed that this warrior had mastered so much of the galactic tongue.

“Thank you,” Awen said in the beast’s native language, returning the favor and lowering her head to one side in submission.

The effort clearly surprised him, as evidenced by the way his ears perked up. “One among you speaks the mother tongue,” he snarled. “You have been blessed by the Alpha.”

Awen bowed again but noticed that the warrior refused to acknowledge her with his eyes. Apparently, the sexist assumptions were true, even for guests.

“Uh, Awen, what does any of that mean?” Matteo whispered. The corner of his mouth twitched. She wouldn’t be surprised if he’d soiled himself.

“Right,” she said, turning to face her group. “The mwadim’s sorgil is inviting us to the next chamber, where we are expected to search our souls as to whether our motives are pure.”

“How do we do that?” one of the troopers asked over an external speaker.

The rest of the unit turned to glare at him. That was most likely out of line.

Awen took pity on him. “Fair question. But we don’t have time for a lesson in the finer points of Jujari etiquette, so you’ll just need to follow my lead. The good news is that our security guards are exempt, as long as they don’t intend to do any talking.” She knew the “security guard” jab would land somewhere on the lieutenant’s thick head.

* * *

Magnus had never seen a Jujari in the flesh before or imagined he’d get this close to one. No wonder the Republic had kept their distance for so many centuries: the beast seemed to embody a level of pent-up violence he would hate to meet without his MAR30. He decided to give this red-shouldered Jujari warrior the name Chief. The dog wasn’t the mwadim, but judging by the blood on his shoulders, he wasn’t a noob either.

The line of Luma followed Chief into the next room and down a long corridor. Magnus followed as tightly as he could without inviting Awen’s scorn. He didn’t like how close she was to Chief, but if he got close enough to protect her, she’d just chew him out again. That would look bad on the after-action review. But so would her headless corpse.

It didn’t take Magnus long to realize that Awen was going to be much more of a pain in the ass than he’d bargained for. It was one thing to have to babysit the Luma; it was another thing to get assigned Miss Jujari Scholar herself. Great, just great.

His private channel chirped. It was the rest of the Fearsome Four.

“What do you got, boys?” he asked.

“Man, LT, I gotta say, she’s quite the asset.”

“Easy, Deeks,” Magnus replied, using Sergeant Michael “Flow” Deeks’s real last name to get his point across.

“You afraid she’s listening to us right now?” Mouth asked.

“Negative,” Flow said. “She’s too focused on minding her manners so she won’t get eaten. She might be the Luma’s dog whisperer, but she’s just as tasty as any of the rest of us.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Cheeks added.

“Can it, Cheeks,” Magnus ordered.

“Sorry, LT. Just saying she ain’t hard to look at, you know? Especially for a Luma.”

“Eyes up, and keep the chatter down,” Magnus ordered and closed the channel.

His boys weren’t wrong. Awen was beautiful, surprisingly so. Her willowy features and pointed ears were unmistakably Elonian—Magnus had known his share of that humanoid species. She wore her black hair in a tight braid, revealing much of her pale skin and mesmerizingly purple eyes. He’d almost stumbled over his first words when she looked at him out on the platform. But Elonian or not, she was a Luma, and he didn’t trust them.

Magnus’s platoon followed the entourage to a spiral ramp that accessed the floors above and below. He pinged Wainwright again. “We’re at waypoint bravo two, Captain.”

“Copy that,” Wainwright said. “Ascend to bravo three. No sudden moves, Lieutenant. Orbital is reporting no unnecessary traffic and only a handful of Jujari battleships in stand-down. So we’re still green all around. Waiting for you up top.”

“Copy that, Captain.” The channel closed.

Magnus pulled a little on his MAR30 to feel the pressure of the sling against his shoulder. He knew he could get the weapon up fast enough but didn’t like that he couldn’t scan the room along the barrel. As any Marine knew, your blaster was your third appendage. It started in basic training and went with you to the grave, so going soft with it was just… unnatural.

As the group began ascending the ramp, he felt his nerves start to twitch. Easy, Magnus. One step at a time.

This whole setup reminded him way too much of the Caledonian Wars. Good Marines had died because of bone-headed decisions made by people behind desks a million lightyears from the nearest blaster bolts. Magnus had hoped that things would be different in the Recon. But they weren’t. Same old splick, just a new planet to dump it on.

In the end, it was all about kowtowing to this culture’s needs or that people’s wants, and good people got killed because of it. The Repub didn’t have a navy and Marines so that they could have tea parties with their adversaries, and he felt they’d forgotten that somewhere along the way.

Just thinking about the changes in the Republic made Magnus’s blood begin to boil. But at the same time, hadn’t he made compromises too?

I’ve got just as much blood on my hands. But he wouldn’t if the Republic weren’t so corrupt.

A loud bark came from one of two guards stationed at the top of the ramp. Magnus exerted all his will not to level his MAR30 at the beasts. Ahead, Chief conferred with the guards then indicated Awen and her male companion. There was a lot of growling back and forth. And head dipping, like dogs did when meeting alpha males.

“Anybody got ears on that?” Magnus asked over TACNET.

“Negative,” all the leads answered as they double-checked with their fire teams. Magnus’s own sensors were having trouble establishing the line-of-sight connection to the asset. He’d done a full body scan in the first room while they’d been talking, but without a tracker on the emissary, the dynamic data only flowed when he had a sight line established.

“How’s our rear?” he asked.

“Looking fine,” Cheeks said. “Mmm.”

“Tighten it up,” Magnus ordered.

Just then, the two Jujari guards stepped aside, and the Luma began walking again. The group filed past the sentries in single file until it was the platoon’s turn.

“It’s a choke point,” Flow said.

“Man, I don’t like this one bit,” Cheeks said. “Anyone else feel the sudden urge to MAR these dogs?”

“Shut it down, Recon,” Magnus interjected, not wanting anyone to answer Corporal Chico’s question. The Luma were halfway through, and Magnus knew he wasn’t the only one scanning the space with his entire sensor suite. “I don’t want any sudden moves. Eyes forward, and do not look them in the eyes. I don’t care that they can’t see past our visors. They’ll feel it.” His HUD pinged with everyone’s acknowledgment icons.

Magnus was in the lead, following close behind the last Luma. He had to set the tone, or this was going to go sideways in a hurry. While he couldn’t smell the guards, he could feel their violent energy. Thick bands of tightly knit muscles wound over their bodies like ropes, each ready to unwind in a flurry of tearing and snapping.

Magnus came even with the guards, knowing they were probably using all their restraint not to end his life. At least it’s mutual. He saw one of the beasts sneer at him. His MAR30 felt a hundred klicks away. Don’t do it, Magnus. He willed himself to let out a slow breath, targeting eight breaths per minute. And then, just like that, he was past the guards.

“Clear,” Magnus said over TACNET. “Keep it together, Hunters. Own the field.”

OTF acknowledgment icons lit up on his HUD. He knew the men were wound tight. But they’d make it through because they were Marines, they were Recon, they were the Midnight Hunters.

Magnus followed the Luma through a low-ceilinged corridor and into a wide anteroom with a basin and pedestal in the middle. Lamps lit each corner.

“Now, what’s this splick?” Flow asked.

“Guessing it’s another formality,” Magnus said.

Sure enough, the asset approached the basin at Chief’s insistence and lapped a mouthful of water. She tilted her head back and took a gulp of air to show the water had been swallowed.

“Awww, hell no,” Flow said. “We ain’t doing that splick. No way, no how.”

“I don’t think we have to,” Magnus said, hoping he was right. “We’re not the ones speaking here. We didn’t eat the fruit, and they still allowed us in. Checking with command. Stand by.”

Magnus pinged the captain.

“Go ahead, Lieutenant,” Wainwright said.

“Captain, please tell me we don’t need to take off our buckets for this bowl ceremony.”

“That’s a negative, Lieutenant. They seemed fine with letting us pass without drinking it.”

Magnus let out a sigh. “Thanks, Captain. Just checking. Had some nervous boys here.”

“Understood. And don’t make any sudden moves in the long hallway either.”

“Captain?”

“It’s another choke point.”

“Copy that.” Magnus closed the channel.

Each Luma followed the asset as the Jujari led her into a narrow linen-lined passage wide enough for another single-file line. Magnus’s HUD lit up with warning indicators, and he switched to thermal imaging.

“You seeing this, LT?” Deeks asked, his voice tight.

“Affirmative.” Magnus’s pulse quickened. Thermal showed at least two dozen Jujari warriors along the other side of both corridor walls, each holding a long spear. Their heads were bowed. Magnus couldn’t be sure, but it almost seemed like their eyes were closed too. Then he noticed the asset: she was at the front of the line with her head back and arms splayed to her sides. His helmet’s AI brought up an audio feed: she was humming something, and then she sang something in Jujari.

“LT, what in the—”

“I don’t know, Flow,” Magnus replied. “Just play along. We’re almost there.”

“Copy.”

But Magnus could tell from Flow’s voice that he didn’t copy. None of them did.

Magnus entered the corridor after the last Luma and kept his head forward. He noticed that the Jujari with the spears were swaying back and forth. Are they in some sort of trance maybe? He passed pair after pair, bracing for an attack, waiting for something to happen. But nothing did.

Curtains parted at the end of the hallway, and the asset stepped through. The remaining Luma followed her and then the Marines. Magnus’s eyes widened as his platoon emerged into a massive ballroom nearly as tall as it was wide and covered in white linens. Translucent fabric of various colors looped from chandelier to chandelier and was tethered to wooden beams, then it plunged twenty-five meters to the floor where it pooled on lush rugs.

Lampstands dotted the perimeter of the room, as did a host of Jujari sentries—except for the far wall, which appeared to be a solid curtain of gold fabric. More translucent fabric acted as side windows to the massive cityscape beyond. From this height, the group looked down on every other building in the metropolis.

In the center of the room sat at least fifty ornate cushions, more than half of them occupied by Republican delegates and even a few key heads of state. The rest of the pillows remained vacant, presumably for the Luma. Between the pack of cushions and the outer guards stood Wainwright’s platoon.

“You made it through the drowsy pack of hyenas, I see,” Wainwright said, overriding Magnus’s need to accept the incoming audio.

“Yeah. I didn’t feel like waking anyone up from their beauty sleep.”

“Smart. They obviously need more than they’re getting.”

Magnus couldn’t be certain, but he was pretty sure his CO smiled. Wainwright had become famous during the Caledonian Wars and was someone Magnus admired. The fact that they were able to serve together again—now in the Midnight Hunters—was a career highlight.

“Our assets have been sitting here for over twenty minutes,” Wainwright added. “No one’s moved. Get your assets seated and see if we can’t get this circus going. I haven’t eaten since breakfast, and I have a holo date with my wife scheduled for twenty-three hundred.”

“Copy that, sir.” Magnus sincerely hoped the captain would make that date, but he wouldn’t bet on it.

4

Piper didn’t know what was wrong with her parents, but she knew it was bad. Her dad had been coming home late for several weeks, and her mom was spending more time in her room than usual. Piper didn’t need any help concluding that something terrible was going to happen.

At first, the little girl thought maybe the marriage was in trouble. Plenty of her friends’ parents at school had split up. She knew the essential ingredients of fights and affairs, though the motives still didn’t make sense. But this was neither an affair nor a fight because whenever her parents saw each other, they were attentive and affectionate.

Eventually, Piper started to wonder if she was the reason for their stress. She’d done plenty of things wrong in her nine years of life. Both parents had yelled at her for messes she’d made, things she’d broken, and attitudes she’d displayed. Again, however, their love hadn’t waned toward her. If anything, they’d been more loving in the past few weeks.

She sat balled up on her bed, playing a game on her holo-pad with a stuffed animal wedged against her chest. Her wispy blond hair danced around the edges of her freckled face, illuminated by the holo-pad’s glow. Despite their spacious apartment in the capital district of Capriana, Piper had preferred the close confines of her room these last few days. In here, she felt safe. The egg-shaped windows looked out on a rain-soaked evening, lights appearing like blotches in one of her watercolor paintings.

Piper heard the front door chime. “I got it!” she yelled, tossing aside the holo-pad but keeping the stuffed animal. Her mom was just stepping out of her own bedroom by the time Piper checked the view screen and swiped open the front door.

“Piper! Wait for me,” her mother scolded.

“Oh, hello.” A senate courier stood at the door, clearly not expecting a child to answer it. He was dressed in a white uniform and wearing a beret, both trimmed in light blue. “Is your father or—”

“Yes, yes, I’m here,” Valerie said, stepping around her daughter. “How can I help you?”

“I have a delivery for”—the man hesitated as he looked at Piper’s mother—“your husband.”

“A delivery? Couldn’t it be sent over—”

“Certified ahead of him. From the senate door. I mean floor, Mrs. Stone,” the courier replied while extending a tablet. Piper had seen many men trip over their words because of her mother’s beauty. “I assume you’re able to accept delivery?”

“Yes, of course.” Valerie pushed strands of blond hair behind her ears then hovered her hand over the screen and waited for the confirmation chime. When the screen floated an acceptance icon in midair, Valerie pulled her hand back and took the small orb from the courier.

“It’s coded to him,” the man informed her, smiling.

“I understand,” Valerie said while rolling the data drive around in her hand. “Thank you.”

“Have a good night, Mrs. Stone.”

“You too.”

Valerie stepped away and held the orb in her hands, staring at it. Piper swiped the door closed and looked at the orb too. “Mama?”

“Yes, my love?”

“What do you think it says?”

Valerie’s eyes moved from the orb to Piper then back to the orb. “It’s important news for our family.”

“Is it good news?”

Valerie hesitated again—too long for Piper.

“Mama, is it good news?”

“Yes. It’s good news,” she said. But for some reason, Piper didn’t believe her.

* * *

Darin, her dad, missed both dinner and her bedtime. But Piper wasn’t asleep when he finally came home. She wanted to get up and hug him but thought better of it. One more reason for him to be upset wasn’t what he needed at the moment. Still, she wanted to know what was on the drive, and she knew that her parents would be discussing it at any second.

Piper slipped out of bed, careful not to make a sound, and let a sliver of light stream through her door. She looked across the sunken living room to the kitchen, where a lamp hung over the center island. Her parents sat on either side, holding hands across the counter. They looked so perfect together. They couldn’t get divorced; they just couldn’t. Her mother was so radiantly beautiful. Piper knew she’d never grow up to be as lovely. And her father was so handsome; she was convinced her mother had found the only prince in all the land.

Piper’s father reached out and activated the drive. The orb started to glow a soft orange and then message contents displayed over the counter. Piper’s eyes widened as a pale-blue planet spun between her parents. Below it blinked a departure date and three passenger icons with “D. STONE, V. STONE, P. STONE” in bold letters.

Piper closed the door and grabbed the holo-pad from her desk. The motion caused the main menu to light up, and there, floating inches above her hand, were the date and time. Her heart froze. Wherever that planet was, they were leaving for it the next day.

5

Awen sat on a plush poovla in front of the pack. The rest of the Luma were seated on the cushions behind her, except for Matteo, who reclined to her right. The head delegate from the Republic sat to her left, and beyond him sat a cohort of other notables. The seating arrangement was a more “civilized” version of the canine pack gathering, a nod to when the Jujari freely roamed the open deserts. Impromptu rallies around rock escarpments or under locust trees had been replaced with this, the mwadim’s jaree-jah. Awen sat with her legs crossed, attentively focused on the golden wall of fabric ten meters in front of her.

“To be honest, I’m a little surprised they sent you,” said Gerald Bosworth III, the Republic’s ambassador to the Jujari and every other outlying world not currently in the fold.

Awen knew not to look at him. Not only would it be a sign to the ever-watchful Jujari that foreign representation was impure, but more importantly, she loathed the man. She’d watched him betray the wishes of more than one civilization upon entering the Galactic Republic’s care, hanging their needs out to dry the moment they were committed. As far as she was concerned, Bosworth, with his fat jowls and bushy unibrow, was the incarnation of all that was wrong with the Republic—and the beastly ethos she was called to stand against.

Sensing that Awen wasn’t going to reply and that she needed help in interpreting his meaning, he finished his quip. “Since we both know that the Jujari do not tend to talk to women of any outside species, I’m unsure why the Luma are so content to fold their hand this quickly.”

“I could say the same about you and the Republic,” she said without moving her head.

“How so?”

“The Jujari can smell a traitor by his pheromones.”

“Now, now, Awen, there’s no need for name-calling.” His voice was slick and condescending, like she was a small child to be reprimanded on the playground.

“It’s not name-calling when it’s your reputation, Ambassador. That, and I felt you should have fair warning.”

“Of what?”

“They’re going to disembowel you when I tell them to review your history of position changes,” she said with a smirk.

The ambassador laughed but with the faintest trace of apprehension. Sensing he was about to object, Awen reached into the fold of her robe and produced a microdrive. “Funny how grievances that get lost in bureaucracy still manage to find their way into the light.” She didn’t have to see his eyes to know that she’d rattled him. The tone of his next words traded superiority for authority.

“Your efforts—what are they, Awen? They’re futile. You and I both know that there is nothing—nothing—on that drive that will hold up against the Republic’s records.”

“That’s the interesting thing in all this, Ambassador. It doesn’t have to hold up to the Republic.”

“I don’t follow,” the ambassador said.

“It has to hold up to the Jujari. And that’s what you always seem to miss.”

His fists clenched. “Oh, be serious,” Bosworth seethed, spittle flying past the edges of her vision. “These savages are going to get the best deal in the galaxy. Their people will stop being murdered by their government and dying from backwater diseases. And they’ll be able to export goods for the first time in three millennia to worlds that have real wealth. Get off your high horse, Madame Emissary of the Order. You’re not ready to play with the big boys.”

Awen fought to keep Bosworth’s intimidation at bay. He was a worm—just an arrogant little worm. But despite the evidence she had, her mastery of Jujari culture, and her power in the Unity, the man made her feel small. And she scorned him for it.

Awen made to say something, but the torches around the room blew out, and a low hum emanated from somewhere behind the golden wall. It was the desert shofaree. Horns of the deep. Awen had watched the instrument played on many holo-vids smuggled off-system, but never in person. No race had the lung power or physical features to play it save the Jujari, and holo-footage didn’t do the instruments justice. Not by a long shot.

Originally used to shake their enemies—literally—before battles, the shofaree made the floor tremble. Awen looked down to see her clothing vibrate. Her body was consumed by the sound waves, her soul lifted into a dual state of wonder and fear. When the horns finally went silent, the blood wolf stepped in front of the curtain and turned his back to the gathered audience.

Awen’s heart raced. This was it.

* * *

“I’m picking up multiple frequencies,” Flow yelled over TACNET. “Ranging from four hundred hertz down to subsonic.”

“It’s gotta be ceremonial,” Magnus replied, unsure if his mic was working. He could hardly make out Flow’s voice amidst the noise. Magnus’s helmet rattled against his head, and he steadied it with a hand as he surveyed the room. The lamps and chandeliers had gone out, and only a muted version of the early-evening light filtered through the curtains. Then, as quickly as it had come on, the sound stopped.

“And here I was starting to get down to that,” Cheeks whispered, betraying the faintest hint of a tremor in his voice.

“It still doesn’t make your dance moves any better,” Mouth replied. Corporal Allan “Mouth” Franklin got his nickname because of his tendency to spout off whatever popped into his head—which usually just embarrassed the unit but occasionally made everyone laugh.

“Hey, I know we’re all hoping to score with Cheeks later tonight, but let’s keep it down until then,” Magnus reminded them. “We’ve got a job to do.” The Midnight Hunters joked when they were nervous. It was the easiest way to let off steam without literally blowing something up. Regular people wouldn’t get that—using humor when killing seemed sadistic, even maniacal. But the Hunters weren’t regular people, and for us it was just business. Still, now was not the time.

Magnus watched as Chief took center stage and faced the wide curtain. He barked and whined in a loud voice, chomping through a bunch of words in their native tongue. Magnus watched the time in his HUD, counting the seconds. After nearly a minute of rambling, Chief spread his arms, threw his head back, and cackled. All around Magnus, the rest of the Jujari warriors lifted their voices in a terrifying frenzy of demon laughter.

“Easy, Recon,” Wainwright said over general TACNET. “Easy.”

Magnus was grateful for the order because, truthfully, he wanted to shoot something. He’d been in a lot of tense situations, but this was one for the history books. His chest was tight in anticipation of a fight.

“It’s all for show. All for show,” Wainwright assured.

The golden curtains slowly parted to reveal a single Jujari seated in an oversized cushion on a marble dais. Brightly colored fabrics spooled down from a counterpoint above him, spreading to the floor in a half circle.

“That has got to be the fattest damn dog I’ve ever seen,” Flow said over the platoon channel. The mwadim wore no sash or belt and lounged unapologetically with his belly up.

All at once, the Jujari lowered their heads and rolled them to one side in an act of deference. Interestingly, so did the Luma. Magnus shook his helmet. Why don’t you just roll over and let them maul you while you’re at it?

The mwadim nodded to the presenter, who then turned to address the pack of visitors. “The Jujari mwadim, blessed be he, welcomes you to his den,” Chief said, chewing the words as they escaped from between his fangs. “As he has gifted you with his presence on this day, what gifts do you, pack leaders of the Republic, bring of infinitely lesser worth?”

Several advisors motioned to the Republic ambassador, Bosworth. The fat man labored to lift himself from the cushion, smoothed his uniform, and approached Chief. “If it pleases the mwadim,” the ambassador said, offering a rolled parchment, “the Republic wishes to—”

Chief, dwarfing the man by half despite the ambassador’s considerable girth, snatched the scroll between two clawed digits and snarled.

Bosworth recoiled. “Uh, yes. Please accept it with… with our sincerest hopes that it procures a long and mutually beneficial relationship with the Galactic Republic.”

“He’s got to be pissing himself right now,” Cheeks said.

“I’m pissing myself for him,” Mouth replied. The two shared a nervous laugh.

“I’m moving to the left flank for a better view,” Magnus said. “The emissary’s probably up next, and I don’t have a clear view of the exchange from back here.”

“Copy that,” the Fearsome Four answered.

Slowly, very slowly, Magnus began a delicate chassé toward the left side of the room, careful not to stray too far from the platoons. He looked at Awen and then back at the ambassador, who fidgeted with his hands behind his back. If the Jujari were hungry, the man would be more than just a snack—he’d be a whole meal. Magnus smiled to himself.

Chief unrolled the scroll and reviewed its contents. Then, moving up the dais, he knelt beside the mwadim and whispered in his ear. The mwadim sat expressionlessly. If Magnus hadn’t known any better, he’d have said the Jujari leader was dead and stuffed like nothing more than a ceremonial trophy. Finally, the mwadim huffed. That was all it took. Chief turned, descended, and held the scroll aloft.

“To the Republic’s initial gesture of ten common cycles of no taxation, one trillion credits of trade stimulus, and an outfitted Pride-class battleship”—Chief paused for effect—“the mwadim accepts.”

Whatever good cheer had spread among the Republic representatives was quickly overshadowed by the bloodcurdling cackles of the Jujari around the room. Faces blanched, and shoulders hunched. Magnus chuckled as he completed his quarter-circle route to the edge. Once there, he had a perfect side view of the platform, just in time for Chief to speak again.

“And you, Luma pack leaders—what gifts do you bring of infinitely lesser worth?”

Magnus looked to Awen. She held something small in her left hand and had begun to stand when the ambassador caught her arm. Magnus took a step forward and instantly felt movement from the Jujari around him. This was unexpected. The ambassador jerked her toward him, brushing her ear with his bloated lips.

“Looks like he’s making out with her ear,” Cheeks remarked.

“Pig,” Mouth added. “What’s going on?”

“Can’t tell,” Magnus replied, trying to decide whether to intervene. This isn’t good. But rushing the ambassador wouldn’t be a better alternative. Finally, after what seemed an interminably long time, the fat man let go. Magnus could tell Awen was spooked, frozen in a half-standing position. She swallowed, refusing to look at the ambassador.

“The Luma will not keep the mwadim waiting!” Chief barked. The room answered him with cackles that made the hair on Magnus’s neck stand up.

Finally, Awen straightened and moved toward the Jujari. Good. Keep going, little lady. Magnus didn’t care for any of the Luma’s politics, but he had to admire this woman’s bravery. Magnus wouldn’t have been caught dead in her position without his MAR30 and armor. He laughed to himself. Well, I probably would be “caught dead.”

Chief stood like a statue with his chin turned up and away, apparently unwilling to look at Awen. Still, she stood before him with something clenched in her fist. Neither party moved.

“Somebody pissed in his gravy,” Flow said over comms.

“Or maybe he just doesn’t play nice with females,” Magnus said.

Awen and Chief remained frozen. Suddenly, Awen’s companion stood up. Matteo, Magnus thought she’d called him. Again, Magnus felt the Jujari warriors shift on their feet, eager for a melee. These beasties are wound tight.

Matteo moved forward with his head bowed and stood slightly behind and to the side of Awen. Then he reached for whatever was in her hand. To Magnus’s surprise—and to Matteo’s, judging by his reaction—Awen kept her fingers clenched. Whatever it was, she was not letting it go.

The situation grew tenser as Magnus saw the mwadim lean forward. His eyes narrowed as he glared at the two Luma. A new round of cackles rose, and Chief still couldn’t bring himself to look down at either Awen or Matteo.

Matteo was urgently pleading with Awen now, and the room was growing frenetic.

“Magnus,” Wainwright called over TACNET. “What’s wrong with your asset?”

Magnus never had time to respond. A bloodcurdling howl emanated from the dais as the mwadim lurched forward and lifted his snout to the air. Magnus’s helmet’s audio sensors clamped down on the signal, but still, the sound pained his ears. Everyone in the room ducked—from Marine to Jujari, from Republican to Luma. Magnus winced and closed his eyes, hoping the display of bravado was almost over.

When the howl finally stopped, the mwadim was on all fours, facing the audience. Like the rest of his men, Magnus had just assumed the Jujari pack leader was rotund. Instead, the beast was nearly twice as large as any of the other Jujari, massive in every way.

“Let her come to Rawmut,” he growled. Matteo backed away, as did Chief.

Magnus couldn’t believe the scene in front of him. There was Awen, slender and unarmed, standing alone before the giant mwadim of the Jujari. The fragile peacekeeper of the galaxy was going toe to toe with the leader of the most violent species the galaxy had ever known.

To her credit, Awen appeared to have conquered whatever she had been wrestling with internally—whatever the ambassador had said to her. She brought the item forward and held it in the cup of her open palms. Then she ascended the dais and stopped a meter from the massive Jujari, whose fangs were as tall as her head.

“This,” she said, “is for you.”

Just then, Magnus noticed that the ambassador was seething on his cushion and pounding his thighs with his fists. Magnus pinged Wainwright. “We might have a situation here.”

“SITREP,” Wainwright demanded.

“It’s the ambassador. He’s agitated.”

“Can you get to him?”

“Doubtful,” Magnus said.

“We abide by your wisdom,” Awen continued, “as your will is perfect. However, I cannot in good conscience remain silent. I speak for your sake, Great Mwadim, no matter the cost to me.”

The ambassador was repeating something to himself, his face turning red.

“I want options, Lieutenant,” Wainwright ordered.

Magnus glanced over to see the captain step out of formation. “I’m not sure I have any, Captain. The ambassador’s going manic. Talking to himself.” Magnus looked back at Awen. Amazingly, she was still talking to the mwadim, despite the fat man’s misbehavior. But what she said next pulled the pin from the ambassador’s emotional grenade.

“Oh, Great Mwadim, this drive contains all the reasons you should be wary of the Republic’s proposed alliance.”

“Sabotage!” spat the ambassador, struggling to his feet. “Sabotage, I say! Stop her!”

Chief stepped in front of the disgruntled man. It was probably the only thing that saved Awen’s life in the end, for the ambassador had barely stood up when the first explosion detonated, and everything went sideways.

6

Awen hurtled into the mwadim’s chest then cartwheeled into a cluster of decorative urns. Her body felt like it was on fire, and she couldn’t catch her breath due to the pain. Blinking, she tried to focus on the ceiling. Her ears rang. Blood pooled in one side in her mouth, and the sharp smell of thermite bit her nose.

She heard blaster fire and screaming—so much screaming. The floor shook underneath her. From an explosion.

Explosions. We’re under attack. She had to tell the lieutenant. She tried to prop herself up, but the pain was overwhelming.

Another wave of sound and heat shoved her farther back. Small objects peppered her skin, and more pain racked her body. She was crying—she was sure of it—and she felt embarrassed. She felt exposed.

Something clutched her hand. Something big. A deep voice and hot breath rushed against her head, then the scent of burning hair.

“Guard it,” the voice said in Jujari. A warm paw pressed a cylindrical item into her hand, and another jab of pain pierced her palm. Awen heard a short confirmation trill from the item. “Never let them find it. Never let him.”

Awen smashed her eyes closed again and willed them back open. Focus. Come on, Awen! On the ground beside her lay the large face of the mwadim. A portion of his muzzle was missing, and his eyes and ears leaked blood. She could make out wet, labored breathing over the sounds of the assault.

“Swear it,” he hissed then coughed a spray of red over her. “Swear!”

“I swear it.” She wasn’t sure if it was her voice talking. Her throat burned, and it felt like someone was standing on her chest. “I swear it,” she said more confidently, but the mwadim had stopped listening.

* * *

Magnus’s first thought as he shook off the blast and moved to one knee was not for his platoon or even himself—it was for Awen. She was, after all, his mission; failing to execute his objective was not an option. What surprised him, however, was that he felt some measure of genuine concern for her despite his disdain for the Luma. Though, by the looks of his environment, there wouldn’t be many Luma left to aggravate him.

Focus, he commanded himself. OTF.

He brought his MAR30 to ready-up position as his instincts went through the OODA loop.

Observe. TACNET was a frenzy of activity, and his helmet’s AI did its best to arrange the communications according to chain of command. Distinguishing between orders and the screams of the dying was nearly impossible. Yellow icons for wounded and red icons for killed in action lined the side of his HUD. But there was no indicator for Awen.

Men and women twirled about in the death dance, their arms flapping in a desperate effort to extinguish the fire on their skin. Even Jujari raced around, clawing, mauling, and biting, their coats alight with flames. Magnus thought to open fire on several Jujari who attacked the Luma—one of the victims had to be Awen—but he realized it was a waste of firepower since both groups of combatants were doomed. The only people he could logically defend were those who had a chance of survival: his men. Recon armor was a decent defense for this kind of incendiary assault, though it still seemed like the platoon had suffered more casualties than he could count. Awen, of course, wore only robes.

Orient. The once-ornate ballroom had become a hellhole in the blink of an eye. Fire licked every strand of fabric, which made Magnus feel as though he were standing inside the sun. Wind from outside fed the inferno until everything that could burn did burn. To his right, primary exfil looked accessible, but he didn’t have the best view. To his left was the stage and, most likely, Awen.

Decide. The warrior ethos taught that the last order was always the standing order until the objective was completed. For Magnus, that order was, Escort Emissary Awen dau Lothlinium to and from her meeting with the mwadim and protect her with prejudice. So he would find her and stay with her until she was safe or until he could no longer protect her.

Action. It was time to move, time to look for—

A second explosion tore a hole in the floor not ten meters from his position. He flew backward and slammed into a sandstone pylon, narrowly missing the open window. Several Marines weren’t as fortunate, however, and sailed past him. Their bodies ripped the translucent fabric from its moorings and shot over the city like comets trailing atmospheric entry flames. The Hunters’ screams spiked the team channels as they fell to their deaths, their armor’s thrusters failing to engage.

Magnus’s power level flashed. One of his cells had been crushed in the impact, leaving him with just over half power. Several other icons blinked at him, indicating damage assessments. The only two indicators that really mattered at present were his oxygen level and his weapons system: both nominal.

“Get up, Adonis,” he said to himself. He climbed to his feet and saw a flame-covered Jujari thundering toward him. The fated creature swung its keeltari at his head, but Magnus ducked. He raised his MAR30 and drilled the beast with a blaster bolt to its skull. The Jujari toppled, and Magnus stepped over it. A second canine warrior lunged at his flank, but his armor’s proximity sensors registered the motion in time for him to dodge the attack. The Jujari swung a clawed paw with such effort that it spun itself over in midair. The warrior’s back elbow hammered Magnus between the shoulder blades, but his armor absorbed the impact. Magnus pivoted and landed a blaster bolt in the beast’s burning midsection and another to the side of its head. It was dead before it hit the floor.

A man in Republican attire, or what was left of it, threw himself at Magnus. Bloodied arms slid down his armor, which was bathed in flickering orange light. Magnus begrudgingly pushed the man away, torn about whether to end his misery, and moved toward the dais.

Burning bodies littered the platform; several still moved. Magnus’s AI raced to identify non-Jujari life-forms, but the brutality of the ordnance was so indiscriminate that it made the computer’s job next to impossible. Against the back wall lay the mwadim with most of his backside blown out. Magnus’s helmet’s AI suddenly tagged a body between the mwadim and the wall with “high probability.”

“Awen!” he yelled through his speakers and bounded over the Jujari carcass. Her robes were burned, and she was bloody, but she was alive. A quick bio scan showed high concentrations of adrenaline, high heart rate, low blood pressure, the onset of shock, and maybe a few broken ribs, but—amazingly—nothing fatal.

She clutched her hands to her chest, mumbling something over and over. “I won’t let them have it. Won’t let them.”

“Awen, can you hear me?” Magnus said.

“I won’t.”

“Awen! It’s me, Adonis—it’s the lieutenant. We’re getting you out of here. Hold on.”

She screamed as Magnus picked her up in one arm. His servo-assisted armor made the task effortless even though Awen hardly weighed a thing. However, Magnus was more concerned about not causing her any more pain than with the amount of energy he had to expend to carry her.

“Asset secure,” he said over TACNET to no one in particular. He wasn’t even sure who had comms left. When no response came, he decided to ping the shuttle. “Falcon One, do you copy?” He waited a beat then repeated himself.

Nothing. More yellow icons switched to red as the seconds ticked by.

Finally, a static-riddled voice came over TACNET. “This… right. All hands… exfil… Zulu Niner.” It was Wainwright. Magnus’s HUD couldn’t pinpoint his signal, but the captain was alive, and now he knew the revised exfil location.

Most of the humanoids had succumbed to the smoke and flames in the ballroom. Meanwhile, a small battle raged between the Jujari and the Marines, most of it in CQB—close-quarters battle. Even though the canines were on fire, they did not go down easily. It seemed like the only sure way to take them down without a blaster was a blade to the carotid or femoral artery or a skull penetration—all while avoiding their razor-sharp teeth and claws.

Magnus took out three of the stronger enemies from his place on the dais while his AI simultaneously laid a course to the exfil coordinates. His HUD projected an illuminated path that ran through the center of the ballroom and back to the main entrance. Magnus jumped off the dais and moved to the right, retracing his earlier steps along the room’s perimeter but careful to shield Awen from any burning fabric. As he shifted right, new cackles filled the air.

Magnus saw movement at the entrance, and dozens of Jujari reinforcements stepped into the room. “Perfect.” Over general TACNET, he asked, “Anyone got eyes on a secondary egress?” But the channel was still flooded with screams and shouts as men fought for their lives.

Blaster fire streaked at him from across the room, and Magnus ducked behind a pedestal. One shot glanced off his shoulder, deflected by his armor’s resonant defense generator. He cursed, knowing Awen’s head was there, but when he looked down, he saw that she’d repositioned to his center mass. He had to get her out of there.

The thought had no sooner passed through his brain when a third explosion detonated. The force threw him and Awen backward, only this time, there was no sandstone pylon. Magnus felt the lurch of free fall. He still clung to Awen as she screamed and grabbed at the air. The pair rolled away from the building and plunged toward the city street, but not before Magnus saw a fire spout erupt from the window, the space above their heads filling with debris.

Stabilization measures deployed, his HUD flashed.

A series of powerful rocket bursts jerked Magnus upright and worked against their descent. But the effort was short-lived as the low power warning sent the jump system into fail-safe. Gravity stole them back, and Magnus’s stomach lurched. He detached his sling’s quick-release clip and threw his MAR30 over his head. The mag lock pulled it between his shoulder blades. Then he selected his grappling hook and aimed his forearm at the building opposite him.

Shoulder and elbow servos whined as the tip launched from his wrist in a concussive burst. Microfiber filament trailed the projectile as it buried itself in concrete and then snapped taut. Razor-sharp hooks deployed in a puff of dust, and Magnus saw the instantaneous secure indicator in his HUD.

“Hold on,” he yelled to Awen over externals. He wasn’t even sure if she was conscious. He hoped she wasn’t, for her sake.

His armor’s servos had strained to absorb their fall’s kinetic energy when the filament snapped taut, more precious power draining from his remaining fuel cell. Their fall suddenly redirected to a lateral pendulum swing, and Magnus extended his legs toward the oncoming building. Both feet crashed into a concrete pylon, the fabric on either side blowing away from the concussion.

Magnus initiated the rappel command. He backpedaled the building face like a spaceball player in spring training, the soles of his boots thumping rhythmically down the side. He cast a quick look over his shoulder to see a street filled with curious Jujari. Fortunately, they seemed distracted by the ball of fire atop the building and not the figures coming down in the debris—at least, not the living ones.

Magnus armed the variable-output detonator on his hip, selected smoke and ring pattern, and let the grenade self-deploy from his torso. The VOD fell the remaining twenty meters to street level and deployed a ring of thick white smoke wide enough for them to land in. His filament reserves had more than enough to get them there, but he wouldn’t need it. At ten meters, Magnus severed the line and sailed the rest of the way down. He used both arms to cradle Awen and slammed into the ground.

They’d made it but with little time to celebrate. The words proximity warning flashed brightly in his HUD. Magnus did a quick visual scan, but no collision was imminent. Then he looked up. A burning chunk of debris the size of a speeder had broken free of the mwadim’s building and was hurtling toward them. Magnus’s brain was faster than his helmet’s AI as he concluded, You’re not getting clear.

7

Awen knew they were falling. Her stomach lurched just like it did during shuttle entry. She felt the urge to reach for the small bag in the seat back as the image of a bowl of sorlakk spun in front of her. All she really wanted, however, was a soft bed. Vomit and sleep, she told herself, feeling like a small child with the flu. Just throw up, and then you can go to bed.

A loud pop startled her. Then the feeling of a thousand knives stabbing her rib cage replaced the nausea and fatigue. She tried screaming, but a jarring change of direction took her breath away. Her head slammed against… a trooper’s chest plate. And then she was swinging sideways toward a building. No, they were swinging sideways, she and the cranky lieutenant in the black-and-gray armor.

The trooper’s feet extended and crashed into a vertical support. Awen noticed the shrouds ripple away from her as if someone had dropped a large stone in a pond. Then she felt herself descending again, a fast-paced thunk-thunk-thunk churning beneath her. More stabbing in her sides. And then free fall.

When is this going to stop?

Awen was wide awake when the trooper hit the ground. Somehow, by a miracle, they’d made it out of the building. The explosion. The mwadim. She couldn’t think straight, but she knew they were safely on street level. The trooper had saved her.

As that thought registered, she felt something deep—deeper than nausea, deeper than the stabbing pain in her ribs, deeper than the headache that threatened to crush her temples together. In the fabric of all things, a disturbance cried to her. It was the tremor of something important. No, something dangerous. And it was racing toward her like a comet.

Awen saw it then, a wave pushed by another wave pushed by another wave. From behind the waves, a force full of dark energy hurtled at her and at the trooper. It threatened to silence them. To silence her. It had the power to shatter her life into a thousand shards, to end all the breaths that were so painful to take.

So she stopped it from coming.

* * *

Magnus covered Awen with his body and braced for impact. He was reasonably sure that this was the end, and he was only sorry that he couldn’t preserve her life any longer. In fact, the thought of protecting her filled him with a strange emotion, a sense of purpose beyond his duty—perhaps even a sense of a calling.

And then he grieved. For the briefest of moments, he mourned not being able to see this last mission through to a successful end. He thanked his warrior ethos, which had seen him through so much. It could not see him past this. It wasn’t strong enough. He wasn’t strong enough.

But more, he grieved for Awen. He believed she had more to see. More to do. Despite her insufferable love for this degenerate species, she was worth something. Worth more than him. It was just ironic that she’d die while trying to save a species that wouldn’t think twice about killing her.

Then Magnus got tired of grieving. It was exhausting. And he was pissed off. Couldn’t death get on with the business of killing him already? Apparently, “hurry up and wait” was not only the unspoken motto of the Galactic Marines but of death too. It was infuriating.

He opened his eyes. Proximity alert still flashed in his HUD. The whole “life flashing before your eyes” thing felt overrated.

Proximity alert.

He looked at the clock and watched two interminably long seconds tick by. He chanced a glance at the falling debris.

Like a shooting star suspended in flight, the concrete slab hovered a meter above them.

Proximity alert.

“What in all the cosmos?” he said aloud. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry or shout. He’d gone mad. Or maybe he was dead, and this was the afterlife: one continuous image of your last moment. But he felt himself breathing. He felt Awen in his arms.

Awen. The Order of the Luma. But they couldn’t achieve this sort of manipulation… could they?

Suddenly, the mammoth block started shaking. Time to move, thought Magnus. He pulled Awen in and rolled out from under the concrete. Whatever power had held it aloft vanished, and the thing crashed into the street, not as if it had only fallen a meter or two but as if it had dropped from the top of the skyscraper with all that kinetic energy stored up inside like a capacitor set to discharge. The force threw him forward. He rolled again, careful to keep Awen close. Bits of debris peppered his armor, scattering around them.

Then Magnus heard her raspy voice. “I’m not completely helpless, trooper.”

“No,” Magnus replied, suddenly fearful of the woman he held. “No, you’re not.”

Low-power mode initiated, read his HUD. That meant environmental systems, servo assist, comms, armor defense resonance, navigation, targeting, and weapons systems had all gone offline. The AI would also hibernate. He’d have basic visuals, audio, air filtration, and whatever natural structural resistance his plating could provide. Not awesome. Definitely not awesome.

They needed to get off the street, and judging from the cackles rising throughout the city, they didn’t have much time.

* * *

“We need to find cover,” Magnus said. His voice sounded softer than before, but that could have been from the ringing in her ears. “Can you stand?”

Awen hadn’t thought of standing. But thinking about it made her tired. So tired. And she was hot. The air seemed to burn her skin in a thousand places. She touched her forehead and brushed aside rivulets of sweat, noticing then that she was clutching something in her other hand. She looked down at her blood- and dust-caked fist. She wanted to open her fingers to see what was inside, but they ached too much to move. The mwadim. He’d given her something just before…

Before what? What happened to him—and to the meeting? An image flashed in her mind: a misshapen maw and bloodshot eyes.

The mwadim is dead.

No. He can’t be. If the mwadim is dead, then that means…

The word—the one that terrified her more than any other—filled her mind. She had committed her life to reversing, to preventing, to eliminating it. War.

“I can stand,” she said, suddenly finding renewed strength.

“Good.” Magnus pointed through the wall of white smoke surrounding them. “That direction, there’s an alley. I’ll be right behind you.”

She nodded and felt him prop her up. Her legs ached, her back ached—everything ached. She was pretty sure something in her left leg was broken. Despite the agony, however, it felt right to stand. The pain meant that she was alive, which meant she was a survivor. War hadn’t won, at least not yet.

Awen took one step then another. She found her stride and then stumbled into a disjointed run. Her one slippered foot took the lead while the other bare foot crunched painfully through the rubble. As she ran, pieces of the falling sky bit into her flesh, the blackened remains still aflame. The smell of smoke seemed to smother her like a blanket, as did the horrific odor of burning bodies. She wondered if some of the ash was from… from whom?

Awen passed through the white wall, blinked several times, and saw the gap between buildings. She also saw Jujari, but they were all looking skyward. She ducked into the alley and found stacks of small freight containers, each marked with shipping script and connected by brightly colored graffiti. The stacks funneled her in a zigzag pattern and spat her out in an intersection. She stayed in the shadows and turned around to see the trooper running toward her, blaster extended, head on a swivel.

“We haven’t been seen,” Magnus said. “That’s the good news.”

“I assume there’s bad news, then?”

“Yeah. The mwadim’s building is swarming with Jujari, so our primary exfil is compromised.”

“So we can’t get back to the shuttle, then.”

“The fact is,” Magnus said, his black visor centered on her face, “I doubt the shuttle is intact anymore.”

Awen swallowed. “Okay, so what’s the plan?”

“The plan is to head to Zulu Niner, our secondary exfil. It’s three klicks north of the city. But without navigation, it’s going to be slow going, and without comms, I have no way of knowing where the rest of the platoon is. The mwadim’s building is too hot for us to go searching for anyone, so it looks like we’re on our own for the moment.”

“That all sounds bad.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not great,” Magnus said, poking his head into the intersection. He looked right and left then seemed to check the fading sun before reviewing the layout of the buildings.

“So, which way’s north?” Awen asked. Breaths were getting harder to take, and the heat was stifling.

“Best I can tell, that way.” He signaled straight through the intersection with the flat of his hand. “But we’ve gotta move fast.”

Curious, Awen looked at him then stole a glance down the right-hand alley. Packs of Jujari running on all fours raced across the far end, headed straight for the mwadim’s building. The left-hand alley was the same.

“Ready?” Magnus asked, and she nodded. “Let’s go.”

The two of them slipped from the shadows and through the intersection, Magnus keeping a hand on her back while he swept the area with his weapon.

“We’re clear,” he said.

The next alley had more of the same freight containers interspersed with what Awen could only imagine was food waste and excrement. She moved carefully, taking care not to knock anything over for fear of discovery. The pair of them moved to the next intersection where, again, the left- and right-hand passages opened to streets filled with Jujari. They paused long enough to catch their breath and then crossed to the third block.

Once safely across, Awen stopped in front of another freight box, this one highly reflective despite some scattered graffiti. She stopped when she noticed her reflection: torn robes, much of the fabric charred or missing, and her skin bruised, bloodied, and blackened. It dawned on her, however, that much of the blood came from cuts not her own. From other people, she realized. From the Luma and the Republicans. And Matteo.

The full weight of the incident in the ballroom hit her then, knocking her to the ground like a rogue wave at the beach. “They’re dead.” She convulsed, knuckles and knees trembling in the dirt. Then her stomach heaved, and she threw up. “Oh God,” she said, wiping her mouth. “They’re all dead, then, aren’t they?”

“I don’t know,” Magnus said, crouching beside her. She felt his hand on her back again. “But a lot of people died, yes.”

Awen felt hot tears running down her cheeks. What happened? The ambassador had threatened her, then the mwadim ordered her to the dais, and then… something had hit her, and she was lying beside the mwadim.

She felt the cylinder in her hand. He’d given it to her. He’d told her to… what? She couldn’t remember. Something important.

Awen suddenly felt sad. Her mission had failed—after six years of training, her first representation for the Luma had ended in ruins. Maybe her father had been right after all when he said, “Stop chasing the stars, Awen.”

So, this is what the void feels like. She pushed the tears from her eyes with her palms. Maybe… maybe this had been a mistake. Her thoughts moved back to Elonia, to the comfort of her house and her own bed. She wanted to slide into the dust and take a nap. Just a little sleep; that was all. Then she’d be able to run some more.

“SPLICK!” Magnus shouted. Awen looked up and saw him turn to face three Jujari stalking down the alley on all fours.

* * *

Magnus watched as the three warriors stood up on their hind legs and drew their swords. The good news was that there weren’t four. The bad news was that he highly doubted he’d be able to beat three at once without his primary weapon—he didn’t want his MAR30’s report attracting any more contact. He lowered its output, deployed the spring-loaded bayonet below the muzzle, and pulled his serrated combat blade from behind his chest plate.

“Awen,” Magnus yelled, “I want you to run.”

“Run? Put your gun down, Lieutenant. Let me try talking to them—”

“You’re in no shape to negotiate,” Magnus said. “And they’re in no mood to talk.”

“Lieutenant, I really think—”

“I said run!”

The Jujari charged. The narrow alley kept them grouped together, which Magnus used to his advantage. He fired three low-energy rounds, each bolt slamming a target in the chest. The charge wasn’t enough to kill them, but it went a long way in disorienting the targets and giving him enough time to strike first.

He ran forward and jabbed the first confused Jujari under the chin with his bayonet. The blade plunged through the jaw’s soft flesh and into the roof of the mouth. The warrior gave out a muffled howl, the air from his lungs forcing spurts of blood between clenched teeth. The Jujari batted at the weapon, snapping off the blade, and sent Magnus to the ground with his MAR30 still in hand.

The second Jujari blinked at the first, his hackles rising at the sight of his brother’s spilt blood. He looked at Magnus and raised his sword, sidestepping the first warrior. Magnus rolled away from the blade’s sweep and then used his knife to cut at the warrior’s rear tendon above the hock. He heard a faint snap as the sinew gave way, and the Jujari toppled over, cackling.

Magnus didn’t have time to terminate either of the first two assailants as the third bounded over them and dove at him. The Marine brought his MAR30 up and swung it like a club, the butt meeting the Jujari on the side of the head. The action, however, did little to faze the warrior. He snapped at Magnus, jaws clamping down on his shoulder like a vise. Pressed into the dirt, Magnus felt teeth pierce his armor and slide into his flesh. He yelled and thrust his knife between the creature’s ribs.

The other two Jujari joined in, despite their injuries, and fought to grab ahold of Magnus. He was going to have to use his rifle, but he knew the sound would mean summoning more warriors than he could handle. Frankly, he was surprised that more hadn’t found them already. A claw scratched at his thigh and punctured one of his reclamation bladders. Another mouth full of teeth snapped at his boot, paws threatening to shred his armor from his leg.

At that moment, each assailant’s head snapped back with a small burst of blood, and before Magnus realized what had happened, the fight was over. He crab walked out from under the carcasses and scrambled to his feet, MAR30 and duradex knife still in hand. He spun around to see Awen, bound and unconscious, held between two men clad in a patchwork of armor. A third and fourth man stood closer to Magnus and leveled blasters at him.

“Don’t do it,” one man said to him from under an old Repub helmet that was missing the visor.

Magnus only needed to raise his MAR30’s muzzle half a meter to draw a bead on him. But based on the assailant’s posture, he suspected he wouldn’t win the standoff. Still, he had to try. They had Awen, after all. And Midnight Hunters never went down without a fight. Never.

Here goes nothing.

8

Piper held her mother’s and father’s hands as they were escorted to the front of a security checkpoint. She felt people watching from the long lines, casting menacing looks at her. But I’ve done nothing to hurt them. Still, their hard faces made her feel embarrassed. Even the air felt angry at her, filled with murmuring.

“Right this way, Senator.” An armed security liaison led Darin into a narrow black-glassed corridor.

Piper looked between the panes of glass, wondering who watched from behind them. But she had nothing to hide. She stepped into the hall and walked with her chest out, Valerie two steps behind her. Piper wore her extra-puffy coat, a sweater, leggings, and oversized winter boots. Jammed inside her coat was Talisman, her stuffed corgachirp, and in her backpack were her holo-pad, an overnight kit her mother had prepared, and some snacks. “Everything else,” her parents had said, “is packed and will be waiting for us on Avolo Four.”

Which means what? she wondered as she exited the hall. It means we’re moving.

Her mind had been racing all morning, thinking of all the things a normal nine-year-old should be doing in this situation: hugging her friends, writing goodbye cards, having one more sleepover, saying thank you to teachers. But none of it was going to happen. The kids of other families who’d moved away got to do those things—military families, defense contractors, star system representatives. But Piper had barely been given the time to brush her teeth before leaving for the spaceport!

“Watch your step, sir,” the lead liaison said. “Watch your step, miss.” The uniformed man took her hand and helped her on board a hover skiff. Piper looked around. No one else in the terminal had one of these. Even the transport shuttle that had picked them up from their apartment had been fancy. That was because her daddy was important. And he was on an important mission. But what, exactly, she had no idea.

People stepped back as the driver pulsed the klaxon button. Piper wanted to try pushing it, but she knew someone would yell at her. She reached for the button anyway. Her long press startled the driver. He glanced down and followed Piper’s hand to her face, and she smiled at him.

“Piper!” Valerie yelled, pulling her back into her seat, but Piper caught the faintest hint of a smile on her mother’s face.

The skiff turned from the main terminal and diverted into a smaller corridor. Piper looked behind them to see the tiers of the big blast doors contract like an iris. “Where are we going?”

“A starship,” Valerie said through a tight smile, having fielded this question a hundred times already. “We’re heading to a starship.”

“Is it a big one?”

Valerie puffed her cheeks and looked at Darin, who just grinned. “You’ll see.”

“Dad,” she said, drawing out the word. “Why do you keep saying that?”

“You’ll see!”

The skiff passed by a series of long rectangular windows that looked out on a massive launchpad. It was the size of a small city. There, in the distance, serviced by what must have been thousands of busy ant vehicles and even smaller ant people, sat at least ten, maybe twenty, dark-gray starships. Their slender shapes and sweeping blue accent lines terminated in V-tailed fins and big engine cones. Each ship seemed like it was on a hospital bed connected to pipes and metal arms and bundles of string.

“Is it one of those, Daddy?”

“You’ll see!” Darin said, laughing.

By the time the skiff stopped, Piper had pulled Talisman from her coat and was showing him everything she saw, especially the big ships. The liaisons escorted the family into a private waiting room with a large window that looked down on a single vessel. Piper ran to the window and read the name printed in white letters near the ship’s cockpit windows. “Destiny’s Carriage,” she said softly. Her mind went to one of the many old stories she loved, back when speeders had wheels and were pulled by animals. “Is that ours, Daddy?”

“That’s the one we’re taking, yes, sweetheart,” Darin replied. Piper felt him stroke the top of her head. His hands were big and warm.

“It’s smaller than the others,” she said.

“And faster,” he added.

“But why smaller?”

“Because we’ll be the only ones on it.”

“The only ones?”

“That’s right.” Darin squatted beside her, looking out the window. “Just you, your mom, me, and the flight crew.”

Piper wrinkled her brow. “But what about all those other people we saw?”

“They’ll get on their own ships.”

“Any of them going to where we’re going?”

“Not that I know of, Pinky,” he said, using her favorite color as a pet name. “They’ll still find their way to wherever it is they’re going.” But for some reason, Piper didn’t think her dad was convinced of that.

* * *

The bridge of the Black Labyrinth was spacious, spartan, and dimly lit. Officers sat at their terminals and performed systems checks, incoming data dumps, and resource-allocation movement. The hum of the ship’s drive core became like a security blanket for the crew: were it ever to go silent, they would know the end was near. Barely audible above it were the incessant finger taps and hushed whispers of techs and the subtle whoosh of air venting.

The room looked out upon the remainder of the ship, an impossibly wide and imposing Goliath-class super dreadnought. The admiral stood alone at the observation window, hands pressed against the floor-to-ceiling glass. The crew noted that he hadn’t moved in almost thirty minutes; some even took bets on whether he was sleeping. It wasn’t until the executive officer summoned him that the lone figure twitched.

“Admiral Kane, I think we have something,” the XO said.

“Actionable?”

“Yes, sir. I believe so. It’s video captured from the negotiation meeting.”

The figure at the window lowered his arms and turned. His bald head was dimpled with scar tissue, and he had one pale pink eye, the other a shade of brown so deep it appeared black. He wore an officer’s dress uniform, black from neck to toe but devoid of rank and insignias. Aside from his pale eye, the man’s only other outstanding feature was a gold ring, capped with a red stone, on his right pinky.

“Let’s have it,” he said, stopping in the middle of the bridge.

“Sir,” acknowledged the XO.

A holo-projection hovered in front of the admiral, displaying a camera feed from inside the mwadim’s pack tent. The view moved subtly from right to left, positioned about ten meters above and to the rear of the room. A woman approached the mwadim, then a Jujari alpha moved to intercept a portly Republic official, presumably the ambassador. Right then, bright light oversaturated the camera, returning a second later to the developing aftermath of an explosion. The admiral’s eyes darted around the image. He raised his hands and started to manipulate the recorded view, shifting it to see better. A second explosion lit the room.

“Sir, if you’ll look—”

“I see it,” the admiral interrupted, using his hands to zoom all the way to the dais. Amongst several other bodies, the mwadim lay at the back of the alcove along with a woman. The admiral rotated his hand, and the camera spun in to look down on the pair of bodies, the giant hyena dwarfing the woman at least five to one. He noticed an exchange between them, their hands meeting in the chaos.

“I want to know who she is and where she is,” the admiral said. “Nothing else matters.”

“But, sir, what about the fleet?”

The admiral froze the image and centered on the woman’s face. “The fleet,” he spat, “will do what the fleet has been ordered to do. She is all that matters now. Find her.”

9

When Awen came to, her eyelids felt like they weighed a hundred kilos each. Her sheer force of will finally got them to open wide enough for her to see blurry shapes moving in the distance. She felt like a thick blanket had been stuffed inside her head, slowing her ability to remember… to remember what?

She blinked. The shapes turned into lines, and the lines turned into bars, and the bars turned into trees. Where am I? She tried to raise her head, but the attempt brought on a wave of vertigo. What’s happening to me?

She tried reaching out to the world around her, feeling with her hands, stretching with her legs. But her limbs weren’t responding to her instructions. So she leaned toward the Unity of all things, willing her soul to move beyond the bounds of her… of my what? She was having trouble seeing herself—or seeing anything. It was as if her entire existence was wrapped in a shroud… like the fabric walls of Oosafar.

Oosafar. The mwadim!

Awen’s heartbeat quickened. There’d been an explosion. Then falling. She pictured running through alleyways and dodging heads. No, not heads. She laughed to herself. Containers. There was more running, and then… the Jujari found us. No. She tried to shake her head. That’s not right. Jujari attacked us; someone else found us. They had weapons and candy and then…

And then what? But she felt too giddy to keep trying to sort things out, as if all of those jumbled-up memories were funny and she could start laughing at any moment. Maybe she was laughing already.

Her body felt light as if she were floating on a cloud. Clouds. Clouds made her happy, and happiness made her want to fall back asleep.

She heard her name being whispered by a chipmunk. Not a chipmunk. A monkey face. A naked monkey face, or maybe a naked monkey butt. Like baboons have. So disgusting. And that made her laugh even more because the disembodied thing was talking to her.

“Hi, naked monkey butt,” she replied. “What’s your name?”

* * *

Magnus swung from a metal beam with his hands bound above his head, his feet half a meter from a concrete floor. He blinked himself fully awake to see his helmet on the ground. While his armor had taken the brunt of being strung up, his body still ached. His shoulder was on fire, and he noticed bite marks in his armor, claw marks on his thigh, and more punctures on his foot. Dried blood caked the plating. His lips tingled… from being stunned. He suddenly remembered the alley and the four men. He looked up and searched the room to find Awen hanging two meters away on the same beam. She was mumbling something, her head drooped.

“Awen!” Magnus said.

She didn’t reply.

“Awen, can you hear me?”

Her head swayed a little, and then her eyes met his—sort of. She blinked a lot then said, “Hi, naked monkey butt.”

“Uh, what?” Magnus replied, eyebrows raised.

“You’re attractive for a monkey butt.”

“Awen. Awen, listen, I think you’ve been drugged.”

They must have known she was a Luma. They were suppressing her, and that meant the enemy was informed. Her last feat of magic, saving them from the falling concrete block, must have been draining, and that was what let the enemy get the drop on her. The upside was that she probably wasn’t in any pain. He knew she had to have plenty of injuries.

“Okay, NMB,” Awen replied.

“NMB?”

“I’m making acronyms,” she said with a giggle. “You know, for your name. All you military guys love your acronyms.”

Magnus couldn’t help but chuckle, despite the circumstances. She did have a point.

“Listen, Awen. We need to get you out of here.” Magnus searched the rest of the room. They were in an unfurnished cell with a single barred gate, no windows. Sheet metal made up the walls, and the air smelled like grease. The only light came from work lights in what looked to be a big warehouse on the other side of the bars. There he saw his MAR30, his MZ25, his duradex knife, and his two remaining grenades sitting on a table.

“I don’t understand, though,” Awen said with a slur.

“Understand what?” Magnus worked at the chains around his wrists.

“How’s an NMB going to get us out of here, anyway? You’re just a butt.”

Magnus rolled his eyes. “Remind me never to take you out drinking with the boys.”

“You got it.”

Just then, a male voice spoke in a whiny soprano from somewhere in the warehouse. “Look who’s awake.”

“Yum-yum,” another voice said, this one low.

“Somebody get the boss,” the first one said.

Magnus saw silhouettes move in front of the work lights as a few figures approached the cell. They unlocked the door and swung it open on squeaky hinges.

Four figures entered the room, each wearing leather, fabric, and mismatched armor plates from any number of star systems—just like the men from the alley. Only these weren’t warriors.

“Careful, now,” the squeaky-voiced male said. “Don’t get too close to that one. He’s gonna be a fighter.” Magnus decided to call him Weasel, thinking that two could play Awen’s nonsensical game. “But this one here”—Weasel turned to Awen—“is going to fight in different ways.” He removed a knife and scraped the edge along his stubble.

“Look!” Awen gasped in delight. “More butts!”

“What’d she call us?” the low-voiced captor said, his armor unable to cover his bulbous midsection. Magnus pictured a talking turtle head poking out of a geometric shell. And I’ll name you Turtle. He chuckled to himself.

“How should I know what she called us?” Weasel replied. “She’s piped up on drip, idiot.” He pointed the knife at Awen. “Now, let’s see if she wants to play.”

“I really wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Magnus said.

Weasel turned, noticeably uneasy with the way Magnus stared at him.

“Or what?” Weasel said, stepping toward Magnus.

That’s right, Magnus coaxed him, stay focused on me. Any movement away from Awen was all he wanted until he had time to formulate more effective goals.

“Or I’m going to adjust the composition of your face forcefully. Most will think it’s an improvement.”

Weasel let out a long whistle, but Magnus detected the faintest waver in it. This warehouse rat was no trained warrior, just someone’s hired scum ball picked off the street and handed a blaster and a regular plate of scrap.

“With what?” Weasel said. “How you gettin’ down from your tree, monkey man?”

Awen laughed. “Monkey man!”

Weasel turned toward her. Magnus had to keep his attention away from Awen. “Hey, Weasel, can you help me out here?”

Weasel’s head whipped around. “What’d you call me, buckethead?”

Struck a nerve, Magnus thought. “Weasel. Wait, that’s not your name? ’Cause your boys have been calling you that behind your back ever since I woke up.”

Weasel shot the big one a glance. “Uh-uh,” Turtle said, waving him off. “I swears I didn’t call you nothing. Swears!”

Weasel looked back at Magnus and took a step toward him. “Nice try, buckethead. I see what you’re trying to do.”

“And what’s that, Weasel?”

“Stop calling me that!”

One more step.

“Weird,” Magnus noted as if talking to himself. “Maybe his mother’s name is Weasel.”

That was all it took. Weasel raised a blaster and took another step. Magnus swung his legs out, twisted the blaster out of the man’s fingers with his boots, and scissor clamped the man between his knees. His body’s weight reversed directions and pulled Weasel off his feet. The man expelled a gasp of air as Magnus’s thighs squeezed his body like a vise. Magnus heard his armor’s servos kick in, and more pressure was added, snapping a rib. Weasel yelped.

“I’m going to crush you now,” Magnus said.

“No, you are not,” came a booming voice from outside the cell. The man’s presence was so commanding that Weasel stopped fighting for his life and strained to look at the imposing figure at the door and the dozen or more armed men who accompanied him.

“And you would be…?” Magnus asked, still squeezing Weasel.

“The name is Abimbola,” the man said, taking a stride into the cell, followed by a few of his entourage. “And I own this establishment. Which means no one crushes anyone here unless I approve of it.”

Magnus was instantly impressed with Abimbola’s presence. Unlike the prison rats, this man was an impressive hulk of muscle and bone. Magnus guessed he was Miblimbian, since he was almost as big as a Jujari. Bright-blue eyes contrasted with his black-skinned head, and a cliché scar ran the length of the right side of his face from neck to temple. He wore a similar patchwork of discarded plate armor as the other men but chose to keep his tattooed arms bare to the shoulder. A bandolier of frag grenades wrapped his chest, and an old bowie knife in its worn-out sheath was strapped to his thigh.

He was a warrior—one with a code. That was something Magnus always respected, even if the person was on the other side of the battlefield. He despised people who fought merely for fighting’s sake. Theirs was a desperate need for validation and identity manifested in a power trip—usually a reckless one. War never told people who they were, only what they were capable of. In contrast, Marines who understood the warrior ethos, regardless of their creed, knew what it meant to fight sacrificially. They took lives so others could go on living their own. That was who true warriors were.

“And do you approve?” Magnus asked, nodding at Weasel.

“Normally, yes,” said Abimbola. “But today is the twenty-first day in the cycle, and that is a lucky number for me. So if you crush him, I will have to crush you.” Abimbola clucked his tongue and shrugged his shoulders. “Shame.”

“Hmm. Getting crushed wasn’t on my to-do list this morning. Fair enough.” Magnus let Weasel fall to the ground, and the little man gasped for breath as he scrambled along the concrete.

Abimbola nodded. “Thank you. Now, to what do we owe the honor of finding a Repub Marine and a Luma in our fair city?”

“Your city?”

“I have adopted it,” Abimbola replied, snapping his fingers.

Turtle leaned outside, grabbed a chair, and placed it behind his leader.

Abimbola sat, elbows on his knees, fingers interlaced, the chair audibly straining under his weight. “My own city was… dismantled. I have relocated for a time.”

So Abimbola is either a refugee or a convict. Sensing he shouldn’t press the matter, Magnus decided to offer some information, since Abimbola had revealed a sliver of his own. “Well, I was going to say that the Republic wanted to purchase some large plots of real estate to turn into resorts, but we both know that would sound slightly suspicious,” he said, eliciting a half smile from Abimbola. “Instead, this lady here got herself on the wrong side of a negotiation, and the Corps asked if I’d look in on her.” Magnus looked at Awen, but she’d passed out.

“I see,” Abimbola said. “And that has nothing to do with the mwadim’s doghouse going up in flames, does it?”

“I told them not to play with fire.”

“Yes.” Abimbola nodded. “One’s tendency is to get burned.” He pursed his large lips and sat back. “And her? What was she doing all the way out here on Oorajee? I didn’t realize the Luma were in the market for vacation properties.”

Before Magnus could reply, Weasel pulled something from his pocket. “She had this on her, boss.” He handed him a silver metal cylinder marred with soot and dried blood.

“A Jujari stardrive?” Abimbola said, flipping the object in the air and catching it. “Expensive little thing. And”—he glanced at the indicators—“locked up tight too.”

“It’s not going to be your shade of lipstick, I’m afraid,” Magnus said.

“Open it, sir! Let’s see what’s on it,” Weasel said gleefully.

Abimbola looked at Weasel and shook his head. “It is a stardrive. The only person who’s opening this,” he said, tipping his chin at Awen, “is her.”

Despite their aggressive nature and often backward culture, the Jujari still managed to give the galaxy several technological achievements, the stardrive being one of the most significant. The cylindrical devices were not only imprinted with the owner’s DNA, but a small neural program in them required a brainwave match. This meant that in order to unlock the device, the owner had to recall the memory of when he or she had been imprinted. The neural software could also detect coercion, so there was no forcing anyone to open one. It was one of the few things in the galaxy that was truly tamperproof, which made it the preferred choice of smugglers, traders, and elitists for high-end data storage.

“You do not happen to know how she got this or what’s on it, do you?” asked Abimbola.

“It might be unsightly holo-vids of Weasel here,” Magnus replied, trying to be helpful, “but I heard those were banned in most parts of the sector.” That produced a small smile from Abimbola and a loud expletive from Weasel.

“Well, judging by the look of her, she is not going to remember how she got this anytime soon.” Abimbola sighed and placed the stardrive in his pocket. Then he locked eyes with Magnus.

Magnus couldn’t tell if the man was waiting for him to offer more information, deciding whether to let them go, or choosing how to kill them.

“Well,” the giant of a man finally said, clapping his hands together and rising, “if that is all, I will let the boys kill you now.”

Kill us? Perfect.

Abimbola must have seen Magnus look over at Awen, because he added, “Oh, not you as in both of you—just you.” He pointed at Magnus. “She is coming with me.”

“The last one run out on you?” Magnus quipped.

Abimbola smiled. “This one is going to be worth a lot of credits to somebody. Stardrives do not just hitch rides on nobodies.”

“Monkeys!” Awen suddenly yelled out, startling herself awake.

Abimbola’s eyes went wide. “I thought you said she was brain-dead?” Abimbola said to Weasel. “What is this? This is not brain-dead.”

“We drugged her, boss,” Weasel said. “Just like you told us to do with Luma. Got her necklace for you too. She’s Luma all right.” He handed Abimbola the leather cord and gold medallion.

“You’re all so cute!” Awen exclaimed. “I want to take you home.”

“See,” Weasel continued. “I meant she’s brain-dead, like, her brain is broken. You know, crazy. She’s talking all crazy and stuff.”

Abimbola looked from Weasel back to Awen. “How much did you give her?”

“Twice what you said. Figured this one was probably dangerous, with a soldier like that protecting her and being way out—”

“Got it,” Abimbola said, raising a hand. He walked over to Awen.

“You’re not going to want to touch her,” Magnus said. “She’s highly allergic to people touching her.”

Abimbola paused. “So protective for a Marine. If only you all were.” The man turned to Awen. “What is your name?”

“That’s not a hard question,” she slurred. “My name’s Awen. Next question.”

“Where did you get this?” He held up the stardrive.

“I didn’t know monkeys wore lipstick!”

“Told you it wasn’t your shade,” Magnus said.

Abimbola shook his head. “This is going nowhere.” He produced a small syringe from a compartment in his pants, removed the cap, and stuck Awen in the side of the neck.

“You just made a big mistake, buddy,” Magnus said, jerking the chains around his wrists.

“Easy, Marine. Stand down. This is just something to bring her back.”

Awen winced then took several deep breaths. “Wait… where am I?”

* * *

Awen’s head hurt. Come to think of it, her entire body hurt. And it was getting worse by the second. She blinked several times and noticed an enormous warrior standing in front of her, holding a syringe. She panicked and tried to move away, realizing immediately that her hands were bound overhead. Her attempt at movement brought on a new wave of pain in her wrists and shoulders.

“Where am I?” she said for the second or third time—she couldn’t be sure. Awen glanced over and saw the lieutenant hanging about two meters away. “Lieutenant! What—”

“Welcome back,” the large man in front of her said. “You have been out for some time.”

Awen blinked at him, faint memories of trees and monkeys swirling in her aching head. “Who are you? Why are you doing this?”

“It is temporary, I can assure you, miss…?”

“Temporary because you’re planning on killing us or temporary because you’re ready to let us go now?” She reached out to the Unity. It was time to get out of here. “Because I can assure you that by the time you—” Awen broke the sentence off as a wave of pain severed her concentration from the cosmos.

The warrior wiggled the syringe. “Interesting stuff, isn’t it? Brings you back from oblivion but makes it very hard to stay focused. Which, for a woman of your talents, means it is harder for you to do all those marvelous things you do.”

“So,” Awen said, squinting, “what’s next? Torture? Isolation? Interrogation?”

“A woman who likes to get straight to the point. I like that. First, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Abimbola.”

“His city got blown up,” Magnus added. “That and a bad hair day make him a special brand of pissed off.”

Abimbola tilted his head, raised an eyebrow, and nodded. “That is not too far from the truth. As for you”—he stepped closer to Awen—“I plan on collecting the ransom on your head.”

“There’s a ransom for me?”

“Not yet, but once I let the proper channels know you are alive and have escaped that ugly scene at the mwadim’s tent, I suspect more than a few parties will pay a lot of credits for you.”

“And him?” Awen asked, indicating Magnus.

“Him?” Abimbola looked to the Marine. “Why do you even care about him? Isn’t he just the Republic’s hired gun who is supposed to watch your back while you are… what was it again?”

“Browsing for a vacation home,” Magnus offered.

Abimbola smiled. “How charming.” He looked back at Awen. “Trouble is, I really do not have the fondest feelings for Republic gunslingers. Something about them just makes me feel—oh, I don’t know… like I was stabbed in the back. No, no. That metaphor is too subtle. Perhaps stabbed in the face.” Abimbola indicated his facial scar, making a grand gesture of tracing the entire length with a fingertip. “So when I say I really do not have the fondest feelings, I do mean really.”

“Then, you’re going to kill him.”

Abimbola clucked, nodding as if remorseful. “That is about the measure of it, yes.”

“I see.” Awen tried again to reach to the Unity but gasped as a fresh wave of pain crashed against her head.

“I suppose you do have at least a little power in this situation, however,” he added, “though it probably does not seem very enabling.”

“How’s that?”

“I am going to let you decide how this buckethead dies. Blaster bolt to the head,” he said, making a pistol out of his fingers and placing it beside his own temple, “or something slower. And before you answer, I feel obligated to tell you that bucketheads killed a lot of the people I loved, so when I say that I can kill him slowly, I do mean that I have perfected ways to draw out suffering over several years.”

“Ooo, he has! He has!” Turtle boomed. “Show her the room.”

“Perhaps later,” Abimbola said. “Let us give her a choice first.”

“And what if I don’t want to play your game?” Awen asked.

“Then I will play one of my own.” The giant discarded the syringe and produced a poker chip from his pocket. “We will flip for it. Credit symbol, I kill him quickly. But house side up? Your friend will wish you had chosen for him.”

Awen swallowed. She considered the man’s poker chip and the possibility that maybe, if he was a gambling man, he was bluffing. He might want something else. “So, what do you want from me?” She dreaded the answer that awaited her. She knew what happened to women who got lost on these off-world hellholes.

“Clever girl.” Abimbola pulled a small cylinder from behind his back. Awen’s head hurt, but she recognized it from the mwadim. “You see, I really want to know what is on this stardrive. And I mean really. Unfortunately for me, however, you are the only person who can access it. So—”

“So I open it for you, and you kill him quickly.”

“That is correct.”

“Here’s my counter,” Awen said. “I open it for you, and you let him go, then you collect the bounty on me.”

“Awen, no!” Magnus yelled.

“Strange,” Abimbola said. “And unnecessarily reckless, nearsighted, and stupid. Though I am not sure that—”

“You’re not sure which you want more: to quench your insatiable curiosity about just what’s on that stardrive or to extract a little more blood from one more buckethead because you have a deep-seated vengeance complex, probably from when you were a boy. Am I right?”

Abimbola stared at her. Awen noticed the faintest tic in the corner of his mouth. Gotcha, she thought.

“And what if I refuse your counter? I feel you are a little short on leverage.”

“You can refuse, of course,” Awen said. “And in that case, I’ll have no other option than to use my remaining power to kill both the buckethead and myself. No amount of your little medication can prevent me from suicide.”

“Suicide that also kills him?” Abimbola laughed.

Awen looked at him deadpan. “You’ve never seen a Luma go nova, have you.”

“Ha! No. And I do not believe it. You are bluffing.”

Awen took a deep breath and then forced all her energy into her next few words, knowing they could very well be her last. “Abimbola, I swear on the graves of my descendants that I, Awen dau Lothlinium of the Order of the Luma, will sever my connection with this realm of the cosmos and take every one of you with me. You messed with the wrong woman today.”

Abimbola blanched and took a step back, the poker chip clattering to the floor. He looked as if he’d just seen a ghost. “What did… what did you say your name is?”

10

Magnus and Awen sat in a dune skiff behind Abimbola and Berouth—Abimbola’s driver and second in charge—as the vehicle raced away from the outskirts of Oosafar. The skiff’s headlights rose and fell along rippling ridges of sand like searchlights sweeping ocean waves for wreckage. Cold desert air whipped at Awen’s hair as she sat wrapped in a traditional cooshra, while Magnus enjoyed the peace of his helmet and MAR30 again—they were the only sure bets he had at the moment.

The way Magnus saw it, he was a lone Repub Marine on a hostile planet, cut off from his unit and any chance of being rescued, and surrounded by Jujari intent on killing him for the assassination of their mwadim. That, and he still had a mission to complete.

Great. Just great.

“We are almost there,” Abimbola yelled over his shoulder. He tapped the nav screen that glowed on the dash. “Another four klicks.”

Magnus could hardly believe the turn of events that had led to this moment. One minute they were strung up, Awen bargaining for their lives, and the next, they were being escorted to a rendezvous point by the warlord himself. She saved us, Magnus thought with a growing sense of irony and… What? his gut asked him. Admiration?

He remained on high alert as they careened over the dunes, but the undulating movement combined with the skiff’s low hum lulled him into a reflective state. Not for the first time, he wondered who’d planted the explosives in the mwadim’s tent. The Jujari could have had a hand in it; factions within the dogs’ political structure were just as likely as with any other species. Maybe more, given their ruthless pack mentality. Still, something this calculated didn’t fit their MO, or what little he knew of it. The attack was brazen, yes. But it was also pristine. Maniacal was a better word, a study in controlled slaughter.

The first explosion was disruptive, shocking the room into chaos, killing as many stationary targets as possible. It sent the message that security had been breached and put everyone in a panic. The second explosion, caused by ordnance that wasn’t set off by the first blast, was meant to insult—if you weren’t dead yet, that was your chance to die. But the third was pure evil. For anyone left who was stumbling or crawling their way to an escape—and Magnus had seen more than a few nonmilitary victims crawling toward the windows—the third blast was meant to maim, shatter, and humiliate. It said, We’ve been expecting you; we’ve been watching you. You’re not safe, and no one is getting out alive. Magnus wondered if the Republic was behind it, then scolded himself for even considering that.

But you’re nothing if not thorough, right, Magnus? Always have to go digging.

Again, his mind tried to bring up images from the Caledonian Wars, but this was still not the time to wrestle those demons to the ground.

And when will that time come?

The Republic had had its eye on Oorajee long before his time. It was the unconquerable prize, and the Republic loved a challenge. But to forfeit such a gain on the eve of acquisition seemed downright stupid. There was no way they’d risk so much after so long. The Republic had nothing to gain from such a move—unless they wanted the conflict. Magnus remembered Awen’s words from when they met: “We don’t need a war on our hands.” But by the looks of it, that was precisely what they were about to get.

Magnus wasn’t so naive as to ignore the benefits of the military-industrial complex. He knew that expansion fueled more than just egos—it really did create peace in the galaxy, at least to a point. Splick, I have a career because of it. He was one of the few who could do evil things to evil people and still sleep at night. He’d also be the last to spit on his family’s sacrifices and their tradition of military service. However, the Republic seemed to be taking an unnecessary risk on Oorajee. It was one thing to contend for peace where it was probable—even sustainable. But war with the Jujari was… his mind searched for the right word. Suicidal.

The Luma weren’t without their motives either. He’d seen what they were capable of, seen their dark arts wielded in Caledonia. And he knew they hated the Republic. Awen was no doubt the embodiment of that bias. Okay, maybe not the full embodiment—she’d clearly stood up for him. She genuinely seemed to want to make the negotiations work, though she was probably more concerned with the Jujari side of things—the Luma were all about preserving the cultures they represented, even if those cultures’ ethics were at odds with the Republic’s. Still, those bombs were not Awen’s work.

So that left a fourth party, one he couldn’t draw a bead on. It had the brutality of the Jujari, the precision of the Republic, and the stealth of the Luma. For what? The only logical conclusion was, For all of it. Magnus figured this party wanted to take down the Jujari, the Republic, and the Luma in one move. But such an idea was crazy, and he felt embarrassed for daydreaming about it. Someone would yell at him any second—like his father. Maybe his CO. Definitely his brother. Thinking outside the box—daring to overstep convention—was what got him in trouble.

Isn’t that what they called it? Conventional?

They’d said it was what everybody had “always” done—those horrible things he’d seen on Caledonia.

So why’d you try to stop them? Why not join them?

Because he’d wanted nothing to do with those things they did—nothing to do with them. With him. The images came back now, forcing themselves in like a cold winter wind through the cracks of an old windowsill. Magnus stretched out his arms and braced himself against the cold, willing it back.

Stay away! Stay away from her!

“Stop!”

* * *

When Abimbola had heard Awen’s name, something in the man froze. He leaned in and asked her to repeat herself then asked for her parents’ and grandparent’s names. It seemed a strange thing to ask a captive for, and Awen seemed reluctant to give the names up, but the situation wasn’t exactly normal. When Awen finally shared their names, Abimbola had knelt.

He knelt, Magnus recalled in astonishment. There, on the concrete floor, the warlord had laid a fist to his chest and bowed in reverence, and Magnus realized the petite Luma emissary had held her own before two violent leaders in less than a day.

When Abimbola ordered that Awen be taken down, she refused to move until Magnus had been freed and his safety guaranteed. Magnus protested, but Abimbola’s security detail let Magnus down faster than he could form an argument. A little too fast, he thought as he recalled how hard he’d hit the floor.

“And his weapons,” Awen insisted. Abimbola nodded, and the guards returned Magnus’s armaments without hesitation.

They fear their leader more than an armed Repub Marine, Magnus noted. Copy that.

He stowed his kit and placed his helmet back on his head, firing up the AI and checking systems. That’s strange. Comms were down. He expertly double-checked the relay connection by bashing the side of his bucket with the heel of his hand. Still nothing.

The two of them were escorted across the warehouse and given brief access to private bathrooms. Awen was given the cooshra to cover her maimed robes and given bandages for the worst of her cuts, though Magnus knew she still needed proper medical attention. When they reconvened in what looked to be Abimbola’s war room—an upper-level apartment with holo-screens perched around a large central table—the warlord ordered tea and inclined his head to the open seats.

“Please,” he said. “Be seated.” The idea of tea hung in sardonic contrast to the rear wall made entirely of Republic trooper helmets. No less than a hundred, Magnus calculated, each charred, dented, broken, or cleaved. Stranger still, Abimbola offered Magnus a universal power cable to recharge his suit and his helmet.

“May I ask why you’re doing this?” Awen asked as she sat.

Abimbola settled into his oversized chair and played with a poker chip as he considered her question. “Your presence is fortuitous, a sign from the gods. And if time were not of the essence, I would give you the history that the question deserves. However”—his eyes darted to one of the monitors, which displayed the orbital positions of a growing number of ships—“it seems I will not have the opportunity. Suffice to say, I owe your family a great debt, one I will never be able to repay.”

“Well, I… I don’t know what to say,” Awen replied, blinking several times. “I’m afraid that without more backstory, I really can’t comment other than to offer thanks for your sudden kindness to us.”

“One day, we will speak of my home—the home of all Miblimbians,” Abimbola said.

Which explains his size, Magnus noted, confirming his earlier assumption.

“And I will tell you of Limbia Centralla and those who died, those who survived, and those who betrayed us.” Abimbola’s eyes shifted to Magnus and held his face in an overly long stare. The trills and chirps of incoming status updates filled the background, punctuated by the sudden tapping of a poker chip on the table.

“Yes. Well, then,” Awen said, obviously trying to relieve Magnus of the intense eye lock. “I look forward to the next time we meet.”

Just then, two women in silk robes and head coverings entered the room, placing trays in front of Abimbola. They poured three cups of tea then served them.

“Clearly, the gods are at work above us too,” Abimbola added, sipping his drink. The teacup in his large hand looked more like a miniature child’s toy than an adult cup. “They are about to rain down fire as quickly as they have given me the blessing of your company.” Abimbola gestured to the orbital display, which showed both Republic and Jujari designations appearing over the planet.

That’s not good, Magnus thought.

“So, it appears that as quickly as you have come into my life, you must depart. Oorajee is not a place I would recommend staying.”

“Can you help us get back to the fleet?” Magnus asked.

Abimbola’s eyes hung on Awen’s face before snapping to Magnus, clearly put off by the sudden intrusion. “I could no sooner get you back to the fleet than betray all of my men. And were I to send you on your own, I fear you would not survive more than a few minutes, so I would fail to honor the blood of Awen’s ancestors. Also, I saw you bang on your bucket back there. I am guessing you tried to reach your unit? It is no use, as you no doubt discovered. All comms will be down indefinitely.”

“Yeah…” Magnus said slowly. “Jamming tech?”

Abimbola nodded. “Nothing is getting on or off planet unless the Jujari want it to. That, and you happen to be in the middle of the biggest scum hole this side of the Saffron system. The Jujari might not like outsiders, but at least they tolerate non-Repub types, so long as we stay out of their way. ’Round here, you have yourself a bona fide collection of every species imaginable, especially those who have threatened, avoided, or plotted against the Repub. That means that every signal junkie in the Dregs sniffed your boot-up signature before you even blinked at your AI.”

“The Dregs?” Awen asked.

“What we call our fair city. Or the inhabitants. Either one. Were you not safe inside Abimbola’s care, I would say the Jujari would be the least of your problems.”

“So we’re stuck,” Awen offered.

“You are never stuck,” Abimbola said. “Not when I have an Ezo.”

“An Ezo?”

“He will get you off planet and wherever you wish to go. He owes me… several favors.”

“But we can’t leave yet,” Awen protested. “We need to look for my team.”

Abimbola’s eyes dropped to his hands and then back up. “Miss dau Lothlinium,” he said somberly, “I suspect you are the only survivor, no small thanks to your man here.”

Magnus watched Awen’s face. She knows she’s the only survivor by now… right?

“No, there must be others,” Awen said, panic creeping into her voice.

Nope, guess not. Magnus felt genuine pity for her. He’d felt the same thing before but under very different circumstances.

“Listen,” Abimbola said, “my marauders have been scouting the area since the first blast. That is why they found you. But based on what they are reporting, there is not much left—of anything. And even if there were survivors, getting close enough to secure them will be impossible. Chances are the Jujari have already—”

Magnus waved the warlord off without Awen seeing. Abimbola registered the movement and, surprisingly, took it to heart.

“They have already tried to rescue those they can. It is best for you to leave, go back to your order, and regroup. In truth,” Abimbola said, leaning across the table, “I would take you myself. However, by the looks of things, I am going to be busy here for a long time. As you can see”—he turned to regard his trophy wall—“I never give up a chance to collect buckets.”

“But as you yourself said,” Awen interjected, “my man is the one helping me survive today, so I’d appreciate you exercising self-restraint in your habits.”

Abimbola regarded Awen then Magnus. “Then this little encounter of ours may be the first exception to my rule.”

“Your rule?” Magnus asked.

“Keep the can, kick the head.”

“Can’t say I’m not grateful,” Magnus said, raising his cup of tea. “Here’s to never meeting again.”

* * *

“Magnus!” Awen called.

He looked over to see her staring at him. He’d been daydreaming again. Dammit.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“I’m fine,” he said through his external speaker, hoping the system hid the emotion in his voice.

“You weren’t responding,” Awen added. “I just… anyway, we’re here.” She pointed ahead as the dune skiff slid to a halt and powered down beside a small tent village. Only a few lamps burned, indicating the main entrance to the compound. Magnus scanned for life-forms but, to his surprise, found none.

“He should be along any moment,” Abimbola said.

“Seems rather quiet.” Magnus squeezed his MAR30. Had they just driven into an ambush? Because now is the perfect time. “You sure we’re at the right place?”

“Abimbola never gets the wrong place, buckethead,” Berouth said from the driver’s seat.

Magnus’s AI picked up motion to the right. “Awen, I’m getting non-bio movement over there.” He trained his MAR30 on a gap in some of the tent fabric.

“That is going to be his bot,” Abimbola said, vaulting out of the skiff and stretching his back. “Funny bugger, that one.”

Magnus slid out of the skiff, MAR30 still pointed at the incoming object. It finally materialized in his HUD, his AI comparing the image against its database of known entries. The list of possible matches began with late-model navigator bots, but scans remained inconclusive. “What in the world?”

“Told you,” Abimbola said.

The bot shuffled toward the skiff while its round head and two bulbous eyes surveyed each member of the party. It seemed as if someone had taken an old nav bot—generally known for being well articulated so it could squeeze into the copilot seats of most starships—and welded on a wild variety of very lethal, very out-of-place armaments. One forearm boasted a cluster of microrockets while the other housed the upper receiver of an XM31 Type-R blaster. Twin gauss cannons were inconspicuously housed on both shoulders, served with what Magnus imagined was ferromagnetic ammunition provided by feed belts that disappeared into the bot’s backplate. Much of the torso was covered with matte-gray-weave duradex plate armor, and a custom-molded translucent blast shield acted as a visor over its face. Magnus had no doubt that, given what they could see, there was even more under the armor that they couldn’t see.

“Hello,” the bot said in a chipper tone. “I am TO-96. Welcome”—his head turned toward the warlord—“Abimbola and guests. My master owes you precisely—”

“He owes me a vacation to the Meridian Palladium and his left testicle,” Abimbola said. “And if he does not get his sorry ass out here in—”

“Well, hello there, my finely tanned friend!” an overly benevolent voice said. A man emerged from a tent—stepping out from behind some sophisticated shielding—and walked as if floating toward them. He was dressed in a long gray leather coat, the tails of which nearly touched the sand. Beneath it, he wore a white knit turtleneck, black pants, and glossy black boots. A holstered SUPRA 945 pistol clung to his thigh, and a small data pad was stowed in his belt. His dark hair was swept meticulously to one side, like an ocean wave curling at midnight, and he stared at them with thin eyes and a wide smile.

Magnus didn’t like the guy. He was too pretty. But Ezo was also their only ride off this rock, and getting Awen to wherever she wanted to go meant he would be one step closer to rejoining his unit—or what was left of it. There was something else about Ezo, though—something familiar. Magnus couldn’t place it, but he had the strange feeling that he’d met the man before. And he hated that he couldn’t remember. It made him uneasy.

“I am here to cash in a fraction of your debt to me,” Abimbola said, squaring up with Ezo.

“What, no hello? No time for tea? Ezo’s hurt, Bimbo.”

Abimbola bristled at the nickname and had his own reply—the bowie knife sprang from his thigh as if drawn by the darkness itself and was laid across Ezo’s fluffy collar in the space of a single step. Berouth also had a blaster drawn on the bot, and the bot had its XM31 trained on Abimbola.

“Okay, okay. No time for tea,” Ezo said, palms up in surrender. “Next time, next time.”

Abimbola withdrew the blade and motioned to Berouth to stand down. “You are going to escort these two wherever they want to go.”

Ezo looked to Awen. “Well, well, well. Who do we have here?” He strode toward her and reached for her hand, but not before Magnus had leveled his MAR30 at the interloper.

“Watch it,” Magnus warned.

“Easy, easy, big bucket man! Ezo’s not going to hurt her; he just wants to become acquainted. Sheesh.”

Magnus flicked off his MAR30’s safety. “There won’t be any—”

“It’s all right, Lieutenant,” Awen said, offering her hand to Ezo. “He’s just being courteous. Plus, he owes our patron his left testicle, which means if he does anything stupid, you can have his right one.”

Ezo froze with his lips a few centimeters from Awen’s hand. Magnus noted for at least the second time that day how much he was beginning to like her.

11

Geronimo Nine, as Ezo dubbed her, was the most substantial portion of Ezo’s makeshift village in the desert. Disguised to look like a city block’s worth of tents, the ship was only hibernating under rags, waiting for someone to summon her drive core to life. Once alive, the Katana-class freighter’s thrusters blew apart the pseudo town and launched skyward in a crimson streak.

The red hull’s inverted crescent shape drove its way through the atmosphere and then into the silence of the void. From the cockpit, located in the center of the concave sweep, the pilot and copilot could see only the tips of the primary NR220 blaster cannons that jutted forward. The rest of the hull swept aft and terminated in a wide bank of ion-propulsion ports that glowed a brilliant blue.

The Katanas were powerful ships to begin with, each one manufactured with more thrust than it needed even with its modular cargo bay filled. Ezo had taken advantage of this power-to-mass ratio and added military-grade armament, which included not only the twin cannons but also upgraded shield generators, plate armor, and three banks of quantum warhead-tipped K91 torpedoes. Just one could take out a heavy armored transport or even a small destroyer. Ezo assured his two new guests that Geronimo was not only one of the fastest private starships in the quadrant but one of the deadliest as well, thanks to his modifications. She was, by all accounts, a prized ship, and Ezo treated her as the gem that she was.

Awen, since boarding Geronimo Nine, had disposed of her tattered clothes in the ship’s incinerator and then let TO-96 tend her wounds in sick bay. The bot had wanted to talk, apparently eager for company, but she was not in the mood and asked him to go silent. When TO-96 had finally cleared her, Awen traded the sick-bay gown for one of Ezo’s knit turtlenecks, a pair of leggings, and some leather boots Ezo had picked from a stash in the unusually spotless cargo bay. Then she gave the captain a course to lay and made her way to the main lounge to get comfortable.

For a smuggler or bounty hunter or whatever he was, Ezo had done remarkably well with keeping the ship in top condition, which included interior cleanliness—something Awen was all too grateful for. While her work with the Luma often took her to worlds with much different standards from her own, Awen always appreciated returning to the order and predictability of Plumeria. Similarly, Ezo’s ship was tidy and surprisingly comfortable, much different from what she’d imagined a bounty hunter’s vessel to be. It even smelled fresh. Glowing white floors rounded up to polished metal walls and handrails, while the ceiling was regularly spaced with clusters of pin lights. Awen looked around, concluding that this is what illegal money and contraband can buy.

She sat with her knees to her chest, back resting against the wall of a recessed couch. The nano-meds were doing their work, easing the pain and mending the frayed ends of whatever had come undone inside. The steady hum of the ship made Awen feel safe even though she knew the void was only a meter behind her.

The void. She heard her father saying, “All you’re going to find is the void,” warning her not to join the Luma, to stay on Elonia. But she hadn’t listened.

She pinched the bridge of her nose as her mind wandered back, replaying the explosions in the mwadim’s tent—or at least what she could remember of the incident. She’d sensed the blast soon enough to cover herself and the mwadim with a partial shield but not fast enough to help anyone else. It had all happened so quickly. And now Matteo, Elder Toochu, and the rest were…

Awen swallowed. Her mouth was dry. They were dead, and she hadn’t done enough to try to save them.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She had worked so hard, and for what? For some idiots to rig the meeting and blow the prospect of peace into a thousand pieces? It felt so futile. The galaxy’s last great divide was about to be mended, the Jujari and the Republic finally at some sort of agreement. It had been in her grasp. My father would have understood me. He would have seen what was possible. He would have understood that I was right to leave.

Awen wanted to cry, and she wanted to sleep. But her exhaustion was more than fatigue. It was a sudden urge to stop being a Luma, to go back home and do something other than whatever all this was—to try to forget everything that had just happened. And at the same time, she knew she couldn’t forget. She sensed that the faces of the dead would be with her for a lifetime.

Awen was lost in her thoughts, head on her knees, when Magnus appeared with a steaming cup of something to drink. “Made you this,” he said, handing the metal cup to her. He had stowed his helmet and gloves and removed several of the bulkier elements of his armor, making him almost normal sized. He’s still too tall. She guessed it had something to do with his boots.

“Thanks.” She savored the small warmth the cup provided.

“I see the bot got you squared away.” He sat in an acceleration couch across from her. “Nothing too serious?”

“Nothing too serious,” she confirmed. “Nanos doing their work. Just need to rest.”

Magnus nodded. “Looks like you were able to salvage your necklace.”

Awen instinctively reached for it. “Yeah, it’s the only thing I didn’t have to throw out.”

“Not that you had a whole lot on to begin with.” Magnus’s face froze. “I mean, it’s just that you—”

“Lieutenant.” Awen laughed then winced from the pain it caused her.

At Awen’s interruption, the trooper sat back and rubbed his forehead, looking relieved. She noted that he wasn’t the hardest man to look at… for a buckethead.

“Listen, about back there,” she started. “I wanted to thank you for saving my life.”

“It’s nothing.” Magnus waved. “Just doing my job.”

“Well, it may have been nothing to you, but it was something to me.” She dipped her head, trying to catch his eye. “So thank you.”

Magnus looked up. “You’re welcome.” He glanced into his cup. “You know, I can say the same about you too. That concrete block and the way you threatened Abimbola.” He paused. “Can you really blow yourself up?”

Awen laughed again. “Yeah. But it’s not the sort of thing you want to do more than once a day.”

Magnus looked up, surprised for a split second. “Oh, splick, you’re kidding,” he said, suddenly smiling. “Sorry. Language.”

“I don’t expect soldiers to be saints.”

“Good, ’cause we’re not soldiers—we’re Recon,” Magnus said. “Anyway, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Awen took a sip of her drink, trying to think of something else to say. “Good tea.”

“Yeah, it’s all Ezo seems to have. That and Svoltin single malt whiskey.” Magnus paused. “I mean, I could get you—”

“No,” she said with a smile and waved him off. “The tea is just fine.”

“Good. No one should ever see you drunk.”

Awen raised her eyebrows and then realized he must have been talking about her being drugged. She didn’t remember much, but she guessed it was bad. “Abimbola’s?”

Magnus nodded. “Abimbola’s.”

“Mind if we keep whatever I said between us?”

“You said something?” He winked.

He was kind of cute; his baby face and deep-green eyes saw to that. She took another sip of tea and noticed the damage to his armor. “I’m so sorry. How are you?”

Magnus glanced at his body. “Looks way worse than it is,” he replied. “This suit can take a beating.”

“Even though you were leaking back there.”

“Leaking?”

“When we were tied up at Abimbola’s, I noticed the ground beneath you. Did you—did you wet yourself?”

“Did I wet myself? No, I”—a look of surprise dawned on his face, then he pointed to his thigh—“the Jujari punctured one of my reclamation bladders.”

“Reclamation bladders?”

“Yeah, it’s how we—”

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell,” she said.

“What? No, I don’t think you understand.”

“I get it, Lieutenant. Even the big boys get scared.” She winked. “How about the blood on you?”

Magnus paused then appeared to give up on trying to justify his leak. “Jujari. Maybe some of my own. But the armor’s good at clotting. I’ll get treatment when I get back to my unit.”

“TO-96 can check you out.”

“I’m sure he can, but I’d rather wait.”

“Suit yourself, Lieutenant.” Good-looking but still a naked monkey butt. Wait, where did that come from?

“You can just call me Magnus,” he said.

“I think we really should stick with—”

“After what you and I just saw, I’d rather not stick with the protocol. Magnus, please.”

“Magnus,” she replied. She found his assertiveness appealing even though it had to do with bending the rules. Maybe he wasn’t a dimwitted drone after all. “And you can call me Awen.”

“Awen,” he replied.

Hearing him say her name had more of an effect on her than she cared to admit. Did it show? She was suddenly extremely self-conscious and hid her face in the cup. You’re an idiot, Awen, and you have no time for this.

“So, any ideas on who’d want to blow up a room of Jujari, Luma, and Republic officials?”

“That is the big question, isn’t it?” Magnus sipped his tea. “Someone who didn’t want the alliance to happen. Or…”

“Or what?”

“Someone who didn’t want the mwadim giving you that,” he said, indicating the stardrive on the table. Its slender form and elegant lines looked otherworldly, a soft blue light emanating from slits in its cylindrical housing.

“That would imply that someone knew he had it and that he wanted to give it up,” she said.

“Didn’t he, though?”

“I don’t see how I could—”

“Listen, Awen. I have my own opinions about the Luma. You have yours about the Republic. But if there’s ever been a Luma who truly believes in her work—I mean, who embodies the ethos of what the Luma stand for—it’s got to be you. The Jujari may be a bunch of—”

“Easy,” Awen interrupted.

“A bunch of dangerous galactic pack hunters.”

“That works.”

“But they’re not stupid. And the mwadim was their alpha. Which means he knew who you were—he knew who was coming to help his planet. I’d wager a thousand credits on the fact that he was going to hand you that stardrive with or without a bomb blast. Because he trusted you.”

“But why give it to me at all?” she asked.

“And that’s the other big question. I don’t know. But I’m guessing you’re going to make sure his death isn’t in vain.”

Awen felt her face flush. Why his sudden confidence in me? Did he—

“Hey, mind if I ask you what the ambassador said to you?”

“The ambassador?” Awen’s mind raced. “Oh, when he grabbed my arm, you mean? Sure. He threatened me.”

“Threatened you?”

“He was upset that I was about to hand the mwadim a microdrive of the broken promises he’d made with other civilizations.”

“I don’t follow. You’re saying the ambassador—”

“Is a two-timing lowlife who only cares about his comfy credit account and where his next fatty mondollon steak is coming from. He only closes so many negotiations because he tells the incorporating worlds that they’ll get whatever they ask for. By the time leaders realize they’ve gotten the short end of the deal, it’s too late. And who’s going to stand up to the Republic when they send guys like you in as muscle?”

“Listen, we just—”

“I know,” she said. “You’re just the hired help. You don’t do any of the dirty work.”

“That’s not what I was going to say. Our hands are plenty dirty. I was going to say that we don’t support evil when it’s exposed.”

Awen believed him—not that she thought every trooper resisted evil, but she was sure that at least Magnus did. “You might be the exception, then,” she replied, chin raised.

“There are way more good Marines than bad.”

She didn’t know how to reply to that, so she didn’t.

“We’re called in to do evil things to evil people. Not everyone gets that, and I don’t expect them to. But it’s my job, and I do it well.” Magnus looked down at his tea for a second then back at her. “Your records on the ambassador’s betrayal… they are legit?”

“Yes,” she replied.

“Then I could see how he might be pretty upset. And I see how you’d mistrust the Republic.”

Awen looked at him, genuinely surprised. “Thank you.”

“Plus, the upside to this is you’ll never have to worry about Ambassador Bosworth again.” Magnus made the sound of a small explosion and spread his hands apart. “So, where are we headed?”

“I told Ezo I need to get to Worru.”

“Headed back to the Order,” Magnus concluded correctly. The Order of the Luma had its origin in the ancient city of Plumeria, now the capital of Worru and the galactic center for cultural learning.

“I still wished we could have searched for survivors,” Awen said, looking into her tea.

“I get that. But you have to remember the big picture in moments like this.”

“And what’s that?”

“There’s a reason you survived.”

“And a reason they died?” she asked.

Magnus pursed his lips. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Listen, the big picture is that you’re still alive and you have something important in your possession.”

“I’m alive because I had a split second to do something about it, and it still wasn’t enough to save them too.”

“You… you did something back there? When the first explosion happened?”

Awen nodded.

“More magic?”

“Not magic. It’s just that some of us… are different. We’re able to sense things before they happen.”

“The concrete,” Magnus said.

“Yeah, like the concrete. We can’t see everything before it happens. It can be… fuzzy. But I felt something in time enough to get a partial field around me and most of the mwadim.”

“Yeah, but not his head,” Magnus said with a sniff, remembering the giant dog’s mutilated muzzle.

“Like I said, a partial field. It was all I could do.”

“Well, it probably saved your life.”

“And it didn’t save theirs,” she said, feeling a sudden wave of bitterness.

“Awen, listen. Blaming yourself isn’t—”

“Isn’t going to solve anything?” She shook her head, agitated. “For all the mystics! I’ve heard that speech so many times. When will we learn that it doesn’t make people feel any less guilty?”

Magnus swirled his tea then took another sip. “I think we say it because we don’t know what else to say. And it’s what I keep telling myself.”

Awen searched his face. She suddenly realized, to her shame, that Magnus had lost people too. Sure, they were troopers, and they’d expected to die. They were paid to go into those kinds of situations. But that didn’t make it any less painful.

“Magnus… I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head. “I didn’t even—”

“Bottom line is, you’re alive, and now you need to make it count.”

Make it count. Awen considered the wisps of steam that appeared above her cup and then vanished. “And what if I don’t?”

“What do you mean?”

Awen fought back a sudden urge to cry. She bit her lower lip and closed her eyes. This work might be about as meaningless as a wisp of steam—here one second and gone the next. The years of mounting tension with her parents, her tireless work for the Luma, the Jujari, and then it had all been snuffed out in a matter of minutes. Lives had been snuffed out.

“What if I just want to go back home and be done with all of this?” she asked then cleared her throat. “You know, I was just seventeen when I was asked to attend observances.”

Magnus looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

“Sorry. It’s six years of monastic training in the Luma’s academy. Anyway, I was seventeen. I had top scores in school, was civic minded, and wanted to make a difference. So, when I got the letter, I was beside myself. I thought, you know, this is it. This is my chance to change the galaxy. I loved what the Luma stood for, preserving galactic cultures and keeping them from—”

“From getting swallowed up by the Republic. Yeah, I get it.”

“It’s just a different way of making progress, that’s all.”

Magnus didn’t look convinced, but it didn’t matter. This was her story, not his. “Anyway, my parents fought me on it for months. Said it was a mistake.” She wiped a tear from her eye. “But I knew it wasn’t. After my first year, my tests revealed that I was a true blood.”

“A what?” he asked.

“A true blood. It’s believed that everyone can learn to move in the Unity of all things, but true bloods can move through it more powerfully.”

“That’s what you meant by ‘some of us’ earlier? About sensing things before they happen?”

“Yes.” She nodded and pushed a strand of hair over her ear. “So I thought, that was it. It would prove to my parents that I was destined to be a Luma—that I’d chosen well for myself.”

“But they didn’t take it that way, I’m guessing.”

“No. No, they didn’t.” She sipped her tea. “The gap widened, and I threw myself into my studies.”

“The Jujari?”

“And quantum mechanics,” she added with a smile.

“Huh. Overachieve much?”

Awen smiled. “Yeah, well… I excelled in school. No surprise there, I guess. And by the time I graduated and became an elder, I knew more about the Jujari than even my masters. So when the Order received word from the mwadim that they wanted us to serve as council for negotiations with the Republic, I was asked to lead the diplomatic mission.”

“That’s quite the honor for someone so young,” Magnus said then hesitated. “I don’t mean any disrespect.”

“None taken. And I agree. At twenty-four years common, I’m the youngest emissary to lead a mission in the Luma’s multimillennial history.”

“Whoa, I had no idea. That’s impressive.”

“You’d assume my parents would think so too. But now that everything’s fallen apart, maybe this was all just a big mistake. Maybe my parents were right.”

“Maybe they were,” Magnus agreed, “and maybe they weren’t. But as far as I can tell, they’re not the ones writing your destiny, Awen. You are.” He set his tea down on the mess table beside him. “Back on Caledonia, during my first deployment, our platoon had been pinned down on a beachhead, and our CO was trying to come up with options. I noticed a stand of palms to one side and offered to take my fire team to flank the enemy. It was risky. There was no cover between our position and those trees. But I felt that if we had a shot at catching our enemy off guard, this was it. My CO said I was an idiot, called me a bunch of names not worth repeating here. But in the end, he let me go. Said it was my call.”

“What happened?”

“I ran my fire team across the beach, took up firing positions in the palms, and surprised the enemy emplacement. My idea worked. CO said it saved the platoon. Bottom line is, my CO wasn’t writing my destiny, and neither was my enemy. I was.”

Awen caught herself staring into his green eyes longer than she’d intended. She looked down and sipped her tea some more.

“Listen, Awen. I get feeling like you’re not in control. Like, other people think you’re crazy for doing what you do. And I get wanting to give up. I do. And you know what? You can. No one is stopping you. But I’m not sure you realize what’s about to happen—what has happened.”

“And what’s that?”

“We’re at war. I don’t mean a clash with some small-sector rebels; I mean all-out war. A war that I’m not sure we’re going to be able to win. You and I both know that the Jujari lead the largest non-Repub alliance in the galaxy. So, whatever’s on that stardrive, and whatever the mwadim saw in you, you’d better make it count, because that may be the only play you have left. You’re in charge of your own destiny, so live it before someone else kills it.”

12

Abimbola knew something was wrong as soon as he saw the orange glow hanging over the Dregs. Berouth slowed the skiff as it crested a bluff so they could survey the scene below. Flames and billowing smoke rose from the center of the city and stretched into the night sky like the torrent of some violent funeral pyre. Abimbola lifted himself out of his seat to hear klaxons blaring and the cries of a city in upheaval.

“What happened?” Berouth asked.

“They are after her,” Abimbola replied, more to himself than to his second-in-command. “Come on, let us go.”

* * *

The skiff entered the city limits and fought against a rush of pedestrians and vehicles flowing in the opposite direction. Berouth did his best to point the skiff to the city center, as Abimbola was increasingly confident that the fire had begun in his warehouse.

The streets became less crowded with the living and more populated with the dead as Abimbola and Berouth neared the epicenter. Abimbola saw badly burned bodies, some missing limbs, others torn in two. This hadn’t been a fire; this had been a detonation, and the flames were just the aftermath. More explosives, he thought, his mind connecting this violence to that in the mwadim’s tent.

Whoever had terrorized the mwadim’s meeting had done this too—Abimbola was sure of it. But was the girl worth so much devastation? Perhaps. He thought of all the women whose lovers had decimated entire worlds for their sake. But maybe they weren’t after the girl. Maybe they were after the stardrive and believed that whatever was on it was worth killing innocent lives for.

Abimbola thought of his men, most of whom, he feared, were now lost. And if any of them had survived, they wouldn’t be alive for much longer. Still, he wouldn’t be the one to abandon them. He wouldn’t be the one to go back on his pledge to protect them.

“Let us go on foot from here.” Abimbola leaped from the skiff as it slowed. He drew his bowie knife and headed down a side street to avoid the worst of the heat. The roar of the flames moving through the tops of the buildings sounded like a stampede of Limbian granthers on their way to a new watering hole.

Despite the likelihood that the bombers were long gone, Abimbola kept his head on a swivel, eyes searching for prey. The last thing he wanted was to be picked off by some low-rate sniper, all because he had been too hasty to return to his men. He’d seen too many good warriors lost that way. He hadn’t survived this long by luck alone.

Abimbola and Berouth made two more turns before they approached the remains of the hideout. The building now resembled the charred skeleton of a defeated behemoth, its metal spine and ribs twisted from the force of a blast, the corrugated flesh chewed away by flames. Abimbola felt the ruins’ pulsing heat against his skin, the blackened metal glowing a dark red near the worst of the tears.

“Look for survivors,” he said. “But do not expect to find any. Meet back here once you have done what you can. And be careful.”

“Yes, my lord,” Berouth said.

They moved into the derelict building, picking their way through the wreckage. Abimbola used his knife to move debris aside and pry apart sheet metal. Fortunately, the worst of the fire had already consumed most of what was available to burn, but the heat and burnt rubble made searching difficult.

Twice, his boots stepped on humanoid corpses. At first, he thought they were merely the contents of a supply room or blown-up refrigeration unit. He cursed, kneeling to identify the remains he’d desecrated, but it was no use. The bodies were so damaged that as far as he could tell, they could have been one of the game carcasses from the hunting grounds of his youth. He closed his eyes, made the sign of blessing, and moved on.

It wasn’t until he neared the former holding cell where Awen and Magnus had been kept that he heard the first scratching sound of a survivor. He moved toward the toppled metal wall of the cell and started ripping at it with his knife. Abimbola pried away a corrugated plate to reveal the ash-covered face of his prison guard, the one Magnus had called Weasel.

“Hey, boss,” the man said in a daze, squinting in the orange glow. “Is that… really you?”

“Yes, yes,” Abimbola replied. “Hold on, let me—”

“I don’t want to die, boss.” The man started crying. Tears created fresh pink lines on his blackened face. “Splick, I don’t want to die.”

“I know you don’t,” Abimbola said, trying his best to comfort the man but not wanting to lie to him either. He’d seen too many well-meaning people tell those doomed to death that they were going to be all right. He never understood how lying to someone in their last moments of life was honorable. “Did you see who did this to you?” Abimbola hoped to help the man get his mind off the inevitable and provide something useful.

“They were… were…” Weasel coughed globular clumps of red from his mouth, then his eyes went wide in terror as if looking as some demonic apparition.

“Were what? What were they?”

“Ruthless. I was so afraid.”

“Who were?”

“Blasters. Anyone they didn’t kill, they…” The guard coughed again, wincing in pain. “Interrogated. Wanted to know where the Luma was. Stardrive.”

“What did they look like?”

“Said if we didn’t tell them, they’d torch the city.”

“What did they look like?” Abimbola asked again. “What can you tell me?”

“But I didn’t tell them, boss. I didn’t crack. So they cracked my ribs. Spine.”

Abimbola lowered his head, knowing the guard was moments from death. In truth, he couldn’t believe the man had survived at all. “Well done,” Abimbola said. “I am proud of you. Any idea who sent them?”

“Darkness. They were darkness.”

“Darkness?”

“And black armor,” the guard said, his voice fading. “White lines.” He started choking, head tossing, eyelids flitting in a spasm. “Please! I don’t want to die.”

Then the man’s face froze in place, suspended in a state of fear. Abimbola reached out and closed the corpse’s eyes and made the sign of blessing for the departing soul.

Black armor with three white stripes on the shoulder—Abimbola knew that look. He had seen it before, as if in a dream. He’d been a boy then, hoisted into an air ventilation shaft and told to stay put and not come out until two sunrises after he heard the last blaster shot ring out. The caring people, the ones who resembled Awen, spoke to him and tried to reassure him that everything was going to be okay, that nothing was going to happen to him. But he sensed their fear. He knew they were all going to die. They’re coming, he heard them whisper to each other. Try not to make any sound.

* * *

“I believe they left the system on a highly modified light freighter.” The trooper in the holo-projection wore a sleek helmet that looked more like the nose of a racing sled than a Marine bucket. The black full-face shield reflected a spotlight from the hoverbot that transmitted the video link.

Admiral Wendell Kane inclined his chin, insisting the report go on.

“Katana class,” added the trooper. “Most likely headed to Worru.”

Kane nodded. “Plumeria.”

“That would be my guess, sir.”

“Good work.”

“Thank you, Admiral.”

“Any witnesses?” Kane asked.

“All loose ends have been taken care of.”

“Good. Level the warehouse, and then get back to the ship. Your work there is complete.”

“Right away, sir.”

Kane swiped the channel closed and looked to his XO. “Ready the Peregrine and her crew, then prepare a course for Worru. I’ll depart the moment Captain Nos Kil and his platoon return and are aboard the Peregrine.”

“Aye, sir,” the XO said, but then he hesitated.

“What is it?” Kane asked.

“You plan to go after them without any assets on Worru, sir?”

Kane smiled at the man but without any genuine mirth. “Who said I didn’t have assets on Worru?”

The XO stared for a moment then nodded and walked away.

Kane turned to face the observation windows, his gloves squeaking as he made fists behind his back. “We’ll have the coordinates soon enough. Soon enough. And then the long slumber will be over.”

13

The Stones had been aboard Destiny’s Carriage for exactly two days when Piper started to have the visions. The ship sailed through subspace, bound for an obscure water-covered moon in the outskirts of the Theophanies system, and without a playmate, Piper soon found she was terribly bored. She was curled up in the crash couch in her quarters, drawing on her holo-pad, with Talisman acting as half companion, half pillow.

The picture Piper drew consisted of three people standing on a mountain, looking over a picturesque valley. To one side of the green expanse lay a vast ocean, and to the opposite was a forest. Her mind had begun to wander when suddenly, the drawing came to life. It was not that the lines were animated, as all art programs could do, but that the lines became real. Piper was no longer looking at a little girl who held the hands of her parents; she was the little girl. Immersed in the image, she was aware of the wind playing with her hair, the warm sunlight dancing across her skin, and her mother and father holding her hands in theirs. She couldn’t see their faces, but she knew they were there, were real, and that they loved her.

Far below them, stretching to the horizon, lay the valley. Wild horses raced through it while sea creatures splashed in the ocean and birds flocked in twisting swirls over the forest. The moment felt as real as any she’d ever had—perhaps more real.

Then the sunlight dimmed, and a cold breeze pricked Piper’s skin. She shivered, drawing herself close to her parents. She watched as the sea creatures disappeared, the birds dove into the trees, and the horses made for cover. Something evil was coming.

She felt her parents pulling her, their hands yanking on hers—only they weren’t pulling her forward or backward. They were tearing her apart. Piper yelled to them, wondering if in their panic they didn’t realize what they were doing to her. Quickly, however, the forces working at her hands became painful, so painful that she screamed. It was as if the darkness grew fangs and bit at the middle of her heart. Her parents were literally tearing her apart.

She screamed again, the pain filling her with fear, until she realized that she could no longer hear her own voice. It was as if her mouth were covered with a muzzle: no matter how hard she thrashed her head about, she couldn’t shake it free.

She felt powerless, at the mercy of the two people she loved and trusted more than any in the cosmos, at the mercy of their warring hands and lack of concern for her torment.

Stop! Stop! she cried over and over. You’re hurting me! You’re killing me! But they could not hear her any more than she could hear herself.

It was then that fear swallowed her like a gaping maw that formed in the ground beneath her feet as if the mountain wanted to swallow her whole. No, it was swallowing her whole, pulling her through its gullet, into a stomach devoid of light and beauty. She grasped at the stones around her, fingers digging into the throat of rock that gave way to the shadowy depths below. There was only darkness and fear—the fear of being alone and never being discovered again.

Lost. I’m really, truly lost and alone.

* * *

“Piper? What’s wrong, sweetie? Baby, you have to wake up. Piper!”

Piper jolted awake. She sat on her acceleration couch, Talisman under her head, holo-pad clenched in her hands. She looked up at her mother. “Mama?”

“Piper, baby! You were dreaming.”

“It was… it was horrible.”

“A nightmare, love,” Valerie said, smoothing back Piper’s hair with the warm flat of her hand. “But you’re okay now. I got you.”

“It was real.”

“No, baby. Those dreams aren’t real.”

Piper became indignant and sat up a little. “No, Mama. It was real. I felt it.” She shook her head. “I was there.”

“Baby, you just—”

“Mama!” Piper sat upright. “You don’t understand! I was there.”

Valerie looked at her daughter and took a deep breath. “Okay, my love. You were there, but now you’re here, see? Wherever it was you were, that place is gone, and now you’re here with me. With Talisman. Look,” she said, grabbing the stuffed animal and placing it in Piper’s arms. “He’s with you. And everything’s okay, my heart. I’ve got you.” Valerie wrapped her arms around Piper and squeezed.

Piper could feel her heart pounding in her chest, sweat beading on her forehead. No matter how much her mother insisted otherwise, she had been there, wherever there had been. On that mountain, looking over that valley and sinking into that mountain. She envisioned herself falling down, down, down within the throat of that terrible mountain beast, hands grasping at the stone walls, hoping for something to hold on to. But it all broke away, and she fell into the darkness.

Then she felt something in her hands beneath the holo-pad. Something loose and wet. She wasn’t there anymore. She was definitely here with her mother, with Talisman between her arms. Piper pulled the holo-pad away and looked in her palms, letting Talisman drop to the side. There were bits of rock and dust mixed with blood from her fingertips.

14

“The captain would like to inform you that we are nearly there,” TO-96 said from the lounge doorway.

“Thank you, Ninety-Six,” Awen replied, looking up from her conversation with Magnus. The bot hesitated and started to turn back. She wondered if she had been too hard on him in sick bay. “Hey, listen. Do you want to come sit with us?”

“Why, Madame Luma dau Lothlinium, I would be delighted.” He shuffled toward them, and Magnus gestured toward the open bench seat beside him.

“I don’t suppose you want any tea?” Magnus asked with a smirk.

“Ha, ha, ha,” came TO-96’s mechanical laugh. “That’s a good one, Lieutenant Magnus.” The bot looked back at Awen. “I must say, it is truly a joy to have you both on board. It’s not often we get guests. In fact, the last time we had guests was precisely one hundred four days, sixteen hours, twenty-three minutes, and forty-eight point six two nine seven seven—”

“We get it,” Awen and Magnus said at the same time. They looked at each other in surprise.

“My apologies,” TO-96 said. “Ezo often grows weary of my accuracy as well. Anyway, I’m afraid the trip did not end well for those clients.”

“And why’s that?” Magnus asked.

“It turns out our clients were wanted in three systems.”

“Sounds like your boss didn’t do his homework, then.”

“No, no, he did. Our clients had done a masterful job at recoding their records. In truth, I had missed it myself until I discovered a modular algorithm variation in the compression codec.”

“A what?” Magnus asked.

“A pattern,” Awen explained.

“That’s correct!” TO-96 exclaimed, pointing at her. “Well done, Madame Luma dau Lothlinium.”

“That’s such a mouthful, Ninety-Six. Do you mind calling me Awen?”

“Very well, Awen it is.”

“So, what happened to these clients of yours?” Magnus asked. “You turned them in?”

“Turned them in? Why, no, Lieutenant. That would break the third universal rule of bounty hunting.”

Magnus jerked back, eyeing the bot with something between skepticism and incredulity. “There are rules for bounty hunting?” He looked to Awen. “You know about this?”

Awen laughed. “Nope. Now I’m curious.”

“The third rule states that under no circumstances shall a bounty hunter ever go back on his, her, or its word for the initially stated intent of the contract, regardless of any provisos that may otherwise place the contractor in financial, corporal, or mortal peril.”

Magnus laughed out loud. “So you’re telling me that bounty hunters have a code?” He shook his head. “And here I thought they were just out for themselves.”

“Oh, some are, Lieutenant. That is quite true. But they are untrustworthy.”

“This is fantastic,” Magnus said, clearly entertained.

“I’m not sure I understand your conclusion, sir. These types of bounty hunters have the lowest earning potential and are, more often than not, wanted by governing agencies, former clients, and other bounty hunters. Moreover, their life expectancy is minimal. Therefore, fantastic is not an accurate descriptor.”

Awen laughed at the exchange, delighted by the unexpected levity. She liked this bot if for nothing more than making Magnus laugh. Seeing a battle-hardened Marine interact with a high-functioning android unit was pure poetry—awkward poetry, but poetry nonetheless.

“We’re going to have to agree to disagree, bot,” Magnus replied. “I’m sticking with fantastic.”

“Very well,” TO-96 said. “The fantastic clients were deposited on their planet of choice, which ended rather poorly for them.”

“But not for you,” Magnus concluded.

“That’s correct, sir. We were paid before delivering them, and we escaped without taking too much damage to our ship.”

“Too much damage?”

“Geronimo Nine is equipped with an impressive array of armaments. You’ve also no doubt noticed that my master has modified me with state-of-the-art weaponry.”

“I see that, yes,” Magnus said.

TO-96 lifted his forearm in front of Magnus. “Would you like to touch my missiles?”

“Would I like to touch your—what? No!”

Awen burst out laughing, tears welling in the corners of her eyes. “Don’t worry,” she said between fits. “He asked me the same thing.”

“Keep your missiles to yourself, bot.” Magnus shoved TO-96’s arm away.

“Very well, sir.”

Awen was still doubled over, laughing so hard that her injuries pained her. “I have not laughed this hard in a long time.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “It hurts.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.”

When Awen finally caught her breath and composed herself, Magnus looked back at TO-96. “So, aside from your armaments, what else has your master done to you?”

TO-96 hesitated. Awen realized he was filtering his answer.

“The armaments are all, sir,” TO-96 said.

“He’s lying,” Ezo said from the doorway. “Just following orders, though.” Heads turned to watch the captain stroll over and take a seat next to Awen. “His AI has expandable architecture. Clients almost never notice. Which is a shame, as TO-96 is Ezo’s crowning achievement.”

“Expandable architecture?” Magnus asked. “As in, his AI is giving itself new directives besides the ones you programed it to have?”

“That’s pretty much the sum of it, yes. Not bad.”

“You did this?” Awen asked.

Ezo nodded. “It’s taken nearly ten common years and every extra credit Ezo could siphon. But yeah, Ezo did this. Well, we did this,” he amended, indicating TO-96.

“Thank you, sir.”

“A true unrestricted AI,” Magnus mumbled. “In a single bot. That’s—”

“Illegal?” Ezo asked. “Quite so. The only thing scarier to the Republic than an autonomous android is a bot with an infinitely learning AI.”

“Then how’s it not considered sentient?” Magnus asked. “I mean, it’s not—he’s not—sentient, right?” He glanced at TO-96.

“You’d have to ask him that,” Ezo replied with a smirk.

“That means he’s banned throughout the galaxy,” Awen remarked.

Magnus nodded. “Which makes him—”

“One of a kind, sir,” TO-96 said. “As are you both, I might add.”

“He’s even self-deprecating,” Awen said with a smile. She studied the bot for a moment. “Do you feel lonely, then?”

TO-96 tilted his head. “I’m not sure I understand the question.”

“Does being the only one of your kind in the galaxy, maybe even in the universe, make you feel lonely?”

“I suppose I’ve never thought of that, Awen. I find Ezo’s companionship quite acceptable.”

“Thank you, Ninety-Six.” Ezo gave the bot a pat on its shoulder.

“Though, now that you mention it, meeting others of my kind could be rather… stimulating.”

“Hey,” Ezo said with mock outrage.

“I do apologize, Captain,” TO-96 said. “I meant no ill will. Protecting your ass, as you call it, is certainly thrilling. But if there were others like me, I would surely enjoy meeting them.”

“Remind me to build you a girlfriend,” Ezo replied.

“Duly noted, sir.”

Ezo addressed Awen and Magnus. “Ninety-Six here is Ezo’s insurance and guardian angel. Been through plenty of hell together. You can’t be too careful in this line of business. In any case, you’re both very perceptive. You work together a lot?”

Magnus laughed and looked at Awen. “Yeah… no.”

“You should consider it,” Ezo said. “You make a good team, it seems. Anyway, Ezo would appreciate it if you kept your observations to yourself. Best not to let the Repub know, as none of their engineers would be able to sleep at night.”

“Copy that,” Magnus said. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to either.”

“Thank you for your discretion, sir,” TO-96 added.

“No problem.”

“And in exchange,” Ezo said to Awen, “Ezo won’t tell anyone that you’re carrying a stardrive.”

Awen didn’t even flinch. “What stardrive?”

Ezo winked at her.

“Sir,” the bot said, “I believe that—”

“Yeah, yeah—we’re about to jump out of subspace.” Ezo turned to Awen and Magnus. “Did I mention that hyperintelligent companions with advanced powers can also be—”

“A royal pain in the ass?” Magnus said, eyeing Awen. “I know the feeling.”

* * *

“We know each other, don’t we?” Magnus said to Ezo. He rarely played a card in his hand without being assured that he knew what he was doing. Seeing as how he would most likely never see the bounty hunter again, however, he had to ask. They stood alone on Geronimo Nine’s bridge. They would be orbiting Worru for several more minutes.

“Know each other? Ezo and the lieutenant?”

Magnus waited for the captain to finish his own question. It was an awkward tactic but effective.

Ezo shook his head, seeing that Magnus wasn’t going to jump in. “I think Ezo would remember a trigger-happy trooper.”

“Trigger-happy?”

“You did almost blow Ezo away over a simple handshake.”

“You wanted to do a little more than shake it, as I recall.”

“So you remember that but not if you’ve met Ezo?”

“Never mind,” Magnus said, waving a hand. “Listen, I’m leaving, but I want you to do me a favor.”

“A favor? More than take you halfway across the galaxy on Ezo’s own credits? Ezo doesn’t—”

“They were Abimbola’s credits. And I can always tell him that you did a lousy job.”

“No, no.” Ezo waved his hands. “That’s fine. What’s the favor?”

“Hang out in Plumeria for one more day.”

“Come again?”

“Check in on old friends, rustle up a new job, you know—bounty-hunter stuff. Whatever.”

“Bounty-hunter stuff? That’s not a thing.”

“It is now. Just hang out for one more day in case she needs you. Got it?”

Ezo placed a hand on his chest, a smile growing on his face. “Needs me? You think she might need me?”

“Careful. I’m trigger happy, remember?”

Ezo’s smile disappeared. “What’s in it for Ezo?”

Magnus had been afraid he might ask that. Ezo was a glorified fence, after all. No one gets past this sort without a fee. “Let’s just say I’ll owe you one.”

“As in, a favor?”

Magnus closed his eyes and shook his head. “Something like that, yes.”

“Ezo can hang out one more day. Plus, Plumeria is lovely this time of year.”

“That it is,” Magnus said, knowing that the weather on Plumeria never changed. It was beautiful every time of year. He eyed the man. “Thank you, Ezo.”

“Happy to help.”

* * *

“You thinking of opening it before you leave?” Magnus asked her. They stood in the cargo bay, preparing to disembark, while Ezo and TO-96 conducted their postflight checklist.

The landing on Worru had been uneventful, aside from Awen’s ritual of taking a purloined vomit bag from TO-96 and filling it. She and Magnus had joined Ezo on the bridge as they touched down, admiring the city’s blend of ancient and modern architecture. The result, Awen always noted, was a city birthed from antiquity but formed by the future. Hand-cut sandstone ribbed high-density pyraglass towers like sail battens, while granite arches supported iridescent plastigon domes that filled the city with color. Whenever Awen left Worru, she felt homesick, and whenever she returned, the world was right again. Worru felt like home.

Like Elonia? she asked herself. No. Elonia never felt like home.

She waited a beat, giving the voice in her head a chance to argue. But it didn’t. And why should it? Worru had been her home for the last six years—the best six years of her life, when she’d learned so much and had been permitted to dive into her research and form her own worldview on justice and the preservation of galactic cultures. Not only that, but she had thrived and become… What? An asset to the Order? Awen could only hope as much. But more than that, she wanted to be an asset to the cultures she was called to serve. But had she really served the Jujari? Or had she just been part of beginning their genocide?

That wasn’t my fault. That’s not how the pursuit of galactic peace is supposed to work out.

“Awen?”

Her eyes snapped up to Magnus’s. He stood beside her, holding his helmet and blaster.

“You all right?” he asked.

“Yeah, I was just…” She shook her head.

“So, are you going to open it?”

“No, the Order’s rules don’t permit me to.” She finished securing the stardrive in a small leather satchel that Ezo had given her. “It was entrusted to me by way of my occupation as a Luma. That is sacred and eclipses whatever individual interests I may have.”

“I can respect that. Although, it is a stardrive. When will you ever see one again?”

“All the more reason to get this back to the Order. It’s well above my pay grade”—she tapped a finger on his armor—“and yours, trooper, if I’m not mistaken.”

Magnus sighed. “Fair enough.”

Awen put the strap over her head and patted the satchel on her hip. “So, you headed back, then?”

“To Oorajee? Probably. I’ll report to the sector chief here, then they’ll contact my battalion commander. He’ll decide what to do with me from there. But I’m guessing I’ll rejoin my unit over Oorajee—or what’s left of it, anyway.”

“What’s left of your unit or what’s left of Oorajee?”

“Both,” Magnus said. A look of anger and sorrow washed over his face.

“I’m sorry for those you’ve lost,” she said, lowering her voice.

“And I for yours,” Magnus replied, looking into her eyes with something like…

What? Genuine care? Or is it desire? she thought then scolded herself. Don’t be foolish. Why would you want that, anyway?

“Chances are, we’ll be seeing action around that system for years to come,” Magnus added.

“Years?” Awen snapped out of her thoughts. “Really?”

“Really.”

The two of them looked at each other for a moment, then Awen turned her head. Why does he keep looking at me? “They’re expecting me. So I guess this is goodbye.”

“Yup.”

“Yup. And I just wanted to say thanks again for, you know, all of the protecting. You can tell your commanding officers that you did well.”

“We don’t really self-report that kind of thing, but I still appreciate it,” Magnus said.

“Yeah, well, maybe I’ll put in a good word for you with… whoever it is I have to put in a good word with.”

“You do that, Awen. And thank you for saving me too.”

“You’re welcome. Just be careful telling your troopers that a Luma kept you alive. That might not go over too well.”

“I think I’ll keep that to myself.”

Awen extended her hand. “Take care of yourself,” she said, chin raised.

Magnus looked at her hand and paused.

Why isn’t he shaking it? Her mind raced through a myriad of cultural protocols. Wasn’t shaking hands still an accepted form of professional interaction in humanoid relationships? Yes, yes. Of course it is.

Finally, Magnus removed his glove and took her hand. His eyes lit up as she placed a small piece of paper between their palms. Awen liked that she had surprised him by using the Marines’ military tradition of exchanging challenge coins in a handshake.

“Take care,” she repeated.

“Take care,” he replied as the ramp door cracked open and let in the Worruvian sun’s warm light. He palmed the paper and replaced his glove. Awen watched as he walked out of the ship and passed two Luma escorts who waited on the landing pad. He tipped his head to both, replaced his helmet, and disappeared around the side of the ship.

15

The two Luma escorts bowed to Awen and informed her that Master So-Elku requested an audience with her at once. She thanked them and asked them to wait. “I need to settle things with the captain.” They nodded and walked back to the transport skiff. Awen returned up the loading ramp and found TO-96 stowing crates in the cargo bay. “Have you seen Ezo?”

“He will be down shortly, Awen. It’s time for you to leave, I take it.”

“That it is.”

“I see.” He stood upright and walked toward her, extending his hand. “Please accept my warmest regards. It has been inspirational making your acquaintance.”

“Inspirational,” she repeated with a chuckle, reaching to shake his hand. “I need to meet more people like you.”

“More people, Awen? I think you have me confused with a sentient.”

“The way I see it, Ninety-Six, if we could all learn to be a little more thoughtful like you, the galaxy would be a better place. And for your sake, I hope you find others like you out there in the cosmos.”

The bot recoiled, head turning side to side, then looked back at Awen. “Why, I don’t even know what to say, Awen. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, smiling. She could have sworn she saw the bot blush.

“Leaving so soon?” came Ezo’s voice from up a side stairwell. He let his hands slide down the rails and took the steps three at a time. “What a shame to bid farewell to our prettiest client in—what would you say, Ninety-Six? A year common?”

“Based on your promiscuous activity with that Dellophinian last week, I’d say it was more like—”

“And that’s enough of that.” Out of the corner of his mouth, Ezo whispered, “It was a rhetorical question, you wire brain.”

“In any case,” Awen said, stifling a laugh, “I wanted to thank you for your hospitality and the use of your ship.” She looked down at her clothes. “Should I get these back to you?”

“Please keep them. And think of Ezo fondly,” he said with a wink.

“Charming.” Awen suddenly savored the thought of getting into new robes and burning Ezo’s clothes. “Will business keep you on Worru for any length of time?”

“Just long enough to refuel and take on some minor supplies. Maybe secure a job worth paying for this jaunt, you know. Just the usual bounty-hunting stuff.” Ezo seemed oddly anxious.

“Bounty-hunting stuff? That’s a thing?”

“It is now.”

“Well, I hope you find compensation. And please be sure to relay my thanks to Abimbola the next time you see him.”

“Ezo most certainly will.”

“But, sir,” TO-96 interrupted, “I thought you said you never wanted to see the warlord again.”

“Rhetorical,” Ezo seethed between clenched teeth.

“Safe travels, then,” Awen replied. “May you find the desires of your heart in the unity of all things.” She waved her hand over them in the sign of the Luma and bowed.

Ezo tried to mimic the gesture, but the effort was clumsy. As Awen walked away, he said, “And may you find your unity in unifying your desires by—”

“You don’t need to say anything back, sir,” TO-96 whispered.

“Splick. Thank you. That was awkward.”

* * *

Sunlight flashed between sandstone colonnades as the skiff moved quickly through the interconnected plazas. Luma crisscrossed the open squares en route to any number of destinations, from lecture halls to practice chambers. Others walked along cloisters and moved in and out of their cells.

Awen drew in a deep breath of the flower-scented air and savored the sweet smell. It felt good to be home. It was almost as if she’d never even left, such was the pleasant pace of life here. Only now Plumeria is missing some of her most beautiful souls. Awen saw the second-story windows of the classroom where Elder Toochu taught first years the fundamentals of meditation. That was where she’d first met Matteo. She imagined him sitting beside the fountain where they spent evenings discussing particle physics—one of her favorite pastimes when not immersed in all things Jujari. He was one of the few people who never laughed at her for geeking out over string theory or advanced quantum dynamics. I’ll never have that again. Her heart ached.

The skiff turned into a wide circular thoroughfare that led up to the Grand Arielina, the structure that the Luma had esteemed as their core sanctuary since antiquity. Bordered by colorful gardens and flowing streams, the building seemed as though it were hewn from a single block of sandstone stretching several hundred meters into the azure sky. Moreover, unlike other buildings, which betrayed the angular manipulations of cutting torch and diamond blade, the Arielina looked as though it had grown up from the ground itself.

The foundation undulated like the base of massive trees, rising to gentle archways and porticos. The structure continued skyward, providing cover for increasingly smaller verandas before morphing into spires made of twisted stone branches. Brilliant iridescent orbs punctuated the spires and could be seen from almost any point in the city, while a single waterfall cascaded down from among the orbs, redirected at various landings, and finally splashed into a massive pool below the building’s main steps.

The two escorts climbed out of the skiff and helped Awen stand. They walked beside her, moving up the grand steps to the sounds of splashing water. How Awen wished she could jump in and rinse herself of the memories of the last days.

At the top of the steps, the escorts bowed and left her in the care of Elder Willowood. The old woman wore Luma robes, but that was where her similarity to other elders ended. She donned a dozen bangles on each wrist and just as many necklaces, each abounding with gold and colorful stones. As attractive as the baubles were, her aging blue eyes radiated even more brilliantly. And capping it all was a mass of wiry gray hair that made her look as if she’d been unwittingly charged by an energy pack.

“Awen,” Willowood said, moving to embrace her. “What a joy it is to see—”

Awen cut her off, fell into the elderly woman’s arms, and began to weep. She hadn’t expected to break down here in the open, but when she saw Willowood, it was like a dam that had grown too fatigued from having to hold back a body of water had finally given way. One minute, the structure looked sound; the next it had broken apart and let through a flood of tears.

Willowood was safe. Not that any of the other elders weren’t, but the two of them had formed a special bond the first day they’d met. And in a place as overwhelmingly cerebral and intellectually diverse as Plumeria, connecting meaningfully with others was important. It kept the soul grounded to the beauty of personal relationship when it could easily be lost in the chaos of galactic cosmology. In fact, given the rift that had developed between Awen and her mother, Willowood had become like a surrogate mother. Awen had often wondered if the elder didn’t get her more than anyone else in the galaxy—maybe even more than she got herself. All the emotions Awen had kept bottled up poured out onto Willowood, tears turning the elder’s robes deeper shades of maroon and black.

“There, there,” Willowood said, rubbing her old hands along Awen’s back. “You’re safe now.”

“But Matteo,” Awen whimpered. She wanted to crawl into a hole and die. The pain stood on her chest like a pillar of granite. “He’s gone.”

“Yet he lives in the Unity of all things,” Willowood replied. “From one form to another, and you will see him again. But what’s done is done, and Matteo’s part is over.” She pushed Awen’s shoulders up, held her biceps with aged hands, and looked her in the eye. “Your part, however, is just beginning.”

“But I don’t want to do this anymore,” Awen confessed. “It’s too much. It wasn’t supposed to go like that, and I don’t want the chance for anything like that to happen again. It’s got to be over for me. It’s over.”

“That is a choice you can make, dear, yes. And no one would blame you for it.” Willowood let go of Awen. “The time has come for you to stand on your own two feet and make your mark on the galaxy, Awen. You cannot control what is done to you, just like you could not stop those people from dying.”

“But—”

Willowood silenced her with a raised finger. “The only thing you get to control is your today. You choose, and the universe responds. The Unity can no more control you than you can control it. In the end, all you can control is yourself, and that is enough business for several lifetimes.”

“But those poor people didn’t even get to live out one lifetime.” Awen wiped the knit turtleneck’s sleeve across her face. “It was terrible. It wasn’t supposed to go like that.”

Willowood sighed, holding Awen’s arms again. “No, it wasn’t supposed to go like that at all. We saw the holo-feed the Republic forwarded.” The old woman grimaced. “I’m so sorry, dear.”

“All their bodies, and the fire, it… did the report say if anyone—”

“There will be time for grieving the dead, Awen. But not now.”

“Wait. You’re saying no one survived?” She felt torn apart by the look of immense sadness in Willowood’s graying eyes. Awen searched them for some sort of reprieve, some sort of reassurance, but found none.

“I’m so very sorry,” her mentor said.

Awen swallowed the lump in her throat. “So am I.”

“Listen,” Willowood said, brushing Awen’s sleeves with her hands. “You need to compose yourself. You need to finish your mission and make a final statement. Meet with Master So-Elku. Then we can mourn together and figure out the future.”

“I would like that,” Awen said, trying her best to rein in her emotions. Her eyes felt puffy, and her ribs ached. “I would like that very much.”

“Good. Now, then, let’s get you to Elder’s Hall. So-Elku arranged a private audience.”

“Alone?”

“He figured it would be too much for you to address everyone. I agreed. Although, So-Elku…”

But Willowood never finished her thought.

“So-Elku what?” Awen asked.

“It’s nothing.” The old woman waved her hand. “He’s been under a lot of stress lately, that’s all.”

“Well, it’s kind of him to grant me an audience without all the other elders,” Awen said. “I don’t think I could handle that many people right now.”

“And so it is. Come, let’s walk.”

Awen was grateful for Willowood’s arm. Still, Awen couldn’t shake the feeling that something was bothering her mentor. The two of them strode through the central hall as birds chirped in the upper arches. The calls tried to lift Awen’s soul away from the shadows that plagued her. But she was pulled back down, the sound of her boots clumping along the marble floor—boots in the mwadim’s palace—reminding her of death. It was as if clinging to Willowood’s arm somehow kept her from falling back to Oorajee.

“Do you think I can change my clothes first?”

“Change? You do look rather fetching in street clothes, you know.” Willowood cast her a wry smile. Awen laughed and felt her mood lift ever so slightly. “Never mind me. To answer your question, yes, we’ll get you to the hospital as soon as So-Elku is finished with you, and I’ll prepare new robes and slippers for you.”

“After So-Elku, though? Must it wait?”

“I’m afraid so, dear.”

“Very well,” Awen replied.

* * *

“Thank you, Elder Willowood.” So-Elku bowed to the woman, his green-and-black robes brushing the floor. He offered Awen his arm as Willowood backed away. The massive wooden doors started to move. Awen felt them close behind her with a deep whoomph.

Awen found herself in the vaulted room of Elder’s Hall, a spartan circular space whose perimeter was lined with hundreds of seat cushions and whose domed ceiling was a holo-projection of the entire galaxy. Each cushion on the floor was reserved for an elder who had achieved Seventh Level and served a star system. Awen hoped she would be permitted such an honor one day. Until then, she only had access to this hall when she was being assessed or in certain cases, such as when she’d been commissioned to lead the Jujari mission.

It felt very strange to be back. The last time she’d been here, the hall had been alive with anticipation and… something else. Her mind raced. Hope. Being selected from amongst the Order’s very best candidates for what was surely the most important mission in hundreds of years had been the highlight of her life. Now, however, the hall was eerily still with only So-Elku’s and her footfalls echoing throughout the cavernous space.

So-Elku walked her to the far side of the room, a curved wall lined with large windowed cutouts. The portals opened to a vibrant garden lined with paths and streams and covered by the broad bows of seratathia trees. Several dozen butterflies danced across the foliage, flitting from one perfect flower to the next. Awen took a deep breath of the moist air and let her shoulders relax. The scene offered to wipe away everything that had happened if she could only stay here, surrounded by the beauty of this place. But she knew such a reprieve was not meant to be.

“That’s it,” So-Elku said. “You’re safe now.” He released her arm and turned to look down at her. He had a bald pate but still wore some dark hair tight to the sides and back of his head. The wraparound connected to a thin line of facial hair that rose over his top lip in sharp angles and then ran along his jaw, missing his chin completely. He had dark, penetrating eyes and wrinkles that reinforced the years of intellectual and mystical mastery of the Luma traditions. As the grand master of the Luma, he was the embodiment of their legacy and the director of their future.

“So, you have returned from the other side of the galaxy, young Awen dau Lothlinium. Dare I ask how you are?”

“Right now, I’m tired, Master So-Elku. But I’m happy to be home.”

“I’ll have you on your way in moments, I promise.”

“Thank you.” Awen took a deep breath. “I’m sure you have many questions for me, and I still have plenty of my own. While I can only thank you for selecting me for such an important mission, I fear that I’ve failed you and the Order in ways I can only begin to count.”

“My child, please. You have no need to thank us. It is we who need to honor you.”

“But the mission was—”

“Attempted. Sometimes, that is all we can do—attempt the improbable and hope for the impossible. You, I would argue, have succeeded at both.”

“Success is not exactly the word I was thinking of, master. If you had sent someone else, maybe things would have turned out differently.”

“If we had sent someone else?” So-Elku let out a small laugh. “I fear the team would have lost their heads long before gaining access to the mwadim’s palace. No, Awen,” he said, taking her hands, “it is because of you that we got as far as we did. No one, and I mean no one, could have done it more skillfully. That is why we sent you, child. Do not think for an instant that we were doing you a favor. We are not so foolish as you may believe.”

“I don’t believe you’re foolish.”

“Then trust me when I say that we were doing what was best for the mission.”

“Thank you, master.” She took another deep breath and rolled her neck, trying to release the tension she felt. “Don’t you think someone with more sensitivity than me would have sensed the explosion?”

“A worthy question. But do you so soon forget that you were not alone? I can think of fewer more sensitive elders than Toochu. It was hard to make everything out in the holo-feed that we received, but I didn’t see any of your team react as you did. It seems you placed a shield around you and the mwadim? The helmet holo-cam cut out after the detonation.”

“Yes,” she said, “but it wasn’t strong enough to save him. It barely saved me.”

“It’s a wonder you survived at all, then.”

“I wouldn’t have, had it not been for a certain Marine.” Her thoughts flitted back to Magnus like a butterfly seeing a flower it liked. She had trouble remembering the details of how he’d done it, but she knew he’d saved her and made sure she got out alive when all the others hadn’t. “I couldn’t save them,” she added. “I couldn’t even save myself.”

“That may be the case, but you were the right emissary, and you had the right team. Nothing more, Awen. Some things are just out of our control.”

“Like the war forming over Oorajee,” she said, shaking her head in frustration. She could feel the fatigue betraying her emotions, which were coming to the surface more quickly now.

“Yes,” So-Elku said, lowering his head. “That is unfortunate. I fear that we may never…” The master lost himself in thought. Awen wasn’t sure if she should interrupt him. Suddenly, his eyes snapped back to her face. “Forgive me, child. Sometimes I lose myself in the Unity.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” she said, putting her hands on a smooth sandstone ledge. The two of them stood, observing the flowers and butterflies under the shade of the seratathia trees. Awen soaked it all in, looking forward to a long night’s sleep after her medical review. She was so tired.

“I did notice Ambassador Bosworth speaking with you before the mwadim called you to his dais.”

“That’s correct, yes.”

“May I ask what he said?”

“You may ask anything you wish, master, of course. He threatened me.”

“Threatened you?”

“Yes. He said he would hunt me down if I gave the mwadim the microdrive with my research.”

“No one likes their secrets used against them,” So-Elku said. “Best never to keep any.”

“As you’ve said.” Awen yawned, excused herself, and covered her mouth with her sleeve. Am I really this tired, or is there something in the air? Her body yearned for a bed. Any bed. “Master So-Elku, is there anything further you need from me? I don’t mean to be rude, but I would like to get checked out, and then I just want to sleep for a while. May we reconvene tomorrow? Perhaps even later today?”

“Of course, my child.” He turned, took her other arm, and began walking with her back toward the entrance.

“Thank you, master,” Awen said, hoping she didn’t sound too enthusiastic about the reprieve.

“Awen, I nearly forgot.” So-Elku paused to face her in the middle of the hall. “Would you mind telling me what happened to the stardrive?”

Awen looked at him, curious. “The stardrive?” She had nearly forgotten herself. Of course! How could I have been so inept? But the fatigue was dulling her senses, and she could hardly blame herself because of how sleepy she felt.

“Yes, the stardrive from Oorajee,” So-Elku clarified. “Where is it?”

Awen was about to reach into the satchel when something odd occurred to her. “I never mentioned any stardrive, master.” She looked into his eyes and noticed the smallest tic in the corner of his mouth.

“Of course, you didn’t, child. We saw the mwadim hand it to you.”

“Ah, forgive me, master.” She reached down to the satchel, opened the flap, and removed the cylinder. So-Elku’s eyes darted to the device as Awen offered it to him.

“We both know it’s no good to me,” he said, palms raised.

Despite his words, Awen felt that he desperately wanted to take it. But it was hard to think, and she yawned a second time. “Should I open it now or wait for the others?”

“You may open it now,” he replied.

“Very well.” Awen closed her hand around the cylinder and prepared to press the activation button. It contained a small needle that would extract a droplet of blood from under her skin. The device would become inert if it determined a mismatch between her brainwaves and its record of encoding, so she let her thoughts drift back to Oorajee, to Oosafar, and then to the mwadim’s palace.

Awen winced as the memory of the explosion sent her sprawling into the mwadim. Her ears rang, and she tasted blood in her mouth. Fire lit up the room like the inside of the sun. She saw the mwadim’s face, or what was left of it, and felt the prick in her hand. Then Awen placed her thumb on the stardrive’s button, and—

Something was wrong. Not wrong with her memories, but wrong with this moment, here with So-Elku.

“What is it, my child?” the master said.

“I’m… I’m having trouble remembering.” Awen opened her eyes and saw a trail of sweat on So-Elku’s temple.

“Keep going,” he replied. “You’ll find it. I know it’s difficult.”

Awen closed her eyes again as she fought against the mounting fatigue. It was impairing her ability to think. Suddenly, she realized her mind wasn’t drawing her attention to the events in the mwadim’s palace but to something far more recent. Think, Awen. Think!

She remembered what the master had said—that it was “hard to make everything out in the holo-feed.”

No, that wasn’t it. Something else. Why is it so hard to think? She was getting tired of feeling like this. “I feel strange,” she said, placing a hand to her head.

“You’re just tired, my child. You can rest in a moment once you’ve opened the drive.”

“No,” she said. “I’m not tired. I’m… I’m…” She looked at him in surprise. “You’re manipulating me!”

“Awen, I think you just need some rest. Finish accessing the—”

“You said that the holo-feed cut out when the bomb detonated. But the mwadim didn’t give me the stardrive until after the explosion.”

“What I meant was—”

“No. You said what you meant to say.” Awen was furious, and she let the emotion rise from within her. She withdrew to her center and used the fury to push against the walls that seemed to be constricting her soul. Someone had put them there without her permission.

Awen summoned her strength and felt the Unity swirl within her like a waterspout. Then she pressed her inner world away, causing a blast of energy to surge from her spirit, through her body, and into the room. Her eyes flew open. The wave of power blew against So-Elku’s robes and made him step back.

Now Awen was alert—still tired, but alert. She could see again, and she knew that So-Elku was not safe.

16

“Why?” Awen asked, her face twisted in disbelief.

So-Elku straightened his arms with a quick snap then stiffened his neck. “These are things beyond your control, Awen. That stardrive is the property of the Luma. Do you think you really could keep it a secret from me?”

“A secret? I wasn’t keeping a secret from you. You were dimming my senses! I could feel your mind at work.”

“I was assisting you.”

“Assisting me?” A wave of self-doubt washed over her. This was, after all, Master So-Elku. And she was standing face to face with him, in private, accusing him of lying to her and actively manipulating her mind. Maybe she was out of line.

“No.” She shook her head, deciding on her course. “If you came to know about the stardrive through honest means, and it was that important to you, all you would have needed to do was ask.”

“My child, I wanted to make sure you were all right first,” he pleaded.

Awen locked eyes with him. “Who told you about it?”

So-Elku took a step toward her and held out his hand. “Give it to me.”

“Who told you about it?”

“Awen, I need you to hand me the stardrive now.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“Then I hold you in contempt of the Order.”

“You do that,” she said, turning away from him. She’d only taken a step toward the doors when her movement was arrested. She couldn’t move her legs or arms. It was as if someone had placed her in a pool of water and flash frozen it around her limbs.

Awen watched So-Elku out of the corner of her eye as he walked around her. “I’m sorry your career has to end with imprisonment,” he said with a sudden air of superiority that seemed unlike what she knew of him. “You always were our most promising and inquisitive student, Awen. There’s no doubt that you would have become a great elder in your time, perhaps even our greatest.”

Was it really ending like this? Did she really just brave all the hostilities of Oorajee only to be imprisoned back on Worru at the hands of a traitor to the Order? No, this can’t be the end. But she was no match for the master—she knew that. She tried to break his grip on her, but So-Elku’s powers were too strong.

“You still have one problem,” Awen said.

“Do I?”

“You and I both know you can’t coerce me to open the stardrive.”

So-Elku coughed out a laugh, shaking his head. “My child, my child. When I’m done with you, neither you nor the drive will have any idea that you didn’t open it on your own account.” He walked over and removed the device from her satchel.

“No! Don’t you touch that!” Awen struggled against his invisible grip but still couldn’t move. “That’s not yours!”

“It became Luma property the moment the mwadim passed it to you.”

How does he know the mwadim handed it to me? The whole thing didn’t make sense. No one knew of the drive except a handful of off-world vagabonds. And the only person who knew that the mwadim passed it to her personally was Magnus. Even though she disdained Magnus’s choice of occupation, she couldn’t picture him being a snitch. Plus, he lacked motive, nor did he have access to the order’s grand master. None of it made any sense to her.

“You’re no Luma,” Awen spat.

“Easy, my child.”

“Stop calling me that!”

“Now, now. You need to rest.” So-Elku lowered his head. “After all, you’ve had a long trip.” Awen suddenly felt dizzy, a wave of vertigo disorienting her senses.

“No,” she mumbled, squinting against a sudden urge to vomit. “Stop this.” She felt something press against her hand—the stardrive—and her thumb moving atop the button. This can’t be happening. Awen wished Willowood would rush through the door and rescue her. She tried to center herself, to gather her strength to reach the elder. But it was no use. She was too tired.

“There you are,” So-Elku said, “lying beside the mwadim at the back of the dais. The second explosion detonates, and his body slides closer to you. You’re barely conscious. Then he places something in your hand…”

The images flashed in front of Awen’s eyes as if she were experiencing the episode all over again, only this time, she wasn’t lying on the ground but hovering a few meters above the scene. A true out-of-body experience. She didn’t want to relive this, yet the images were being forced upon her. Then she noticed that something about the memories didn’t feel right. This wasn’t her spirit watching her body. It was too sterile. Too clinical. Too…

Too robotic, like a hover-bot with a holo-cam. Awen realized she was watching a feed of the events in the mwadim’s palace from a drone. These were not her memories of the encounter; these were what So-Elku had seen. But who would have been recording her? And why would So-Elku and the Order send a hover-bot? It meant that they expected this.

Awen’s head ached, and the pain was growing more intense by the second. She wished Willowood was here now more than ever, and her heart began to despair as she realized the master’s power was too strong for hers. Awen tried to reassert her will against So-Elku’s, but doing so only made her head hurt worse. Still, she had to resist. She would rather die than lose like this.

“Don’t fight it,” So-Elku coaxed her. “You see yourself, don’t you? Remember. Remember.”

“I… won’t… yield.”

“Remember!” he yelled at her.

“I won’t… yield!”

“Remember!”

“I WON’T YIELD!”

From across the room came an elderly woman’s voice. “Awen? Master So-Elku, what’s going on?”

Awen instantly felt the shackles on her body fall away, and the images vanished. She fell to the ground in a heap, gasping for breath. Willowood had sensed her need after all!

“Leave us!” So-Elku yelled at the woman.

Awen blinked, regaining a sense of her surroundings. The cold marble floor felt good on her palm. Her other hand held the stardrive. She swallowed, suddenly aware of blood dripping from her nose, and looked up to see Elder Willowood standing at the open doors. If Awen was going to have a chance of survival, this was it. “Help me,” she mouthed to Willowood.

That was all it took for the elderly woman to spring into action. Defying her aged appearance, Willowood raced forward, dipping her head toward So-Elku in concentration. A wave of power rippled through the air and slammed into the man. It hit him hard enough to make him stumble backward. Willowood kept running and reached a hand toward Awen, who grabbed it and tried to stand, but her legs were too weak.

“Come on, dear. You’ve got to move.”

“I don’t—”

Awen and Willowood were sent sprawling, sliding across the smooth floor. Awen felt herself slam into the wooden doors, and a shock of pain wracked her body.

“What do you think you’re doing, Willowood?” So-Elku said.

“I’m stopping you from whatever you’re doing.” The woman climbed to her feet. Blood trickled from her forehead.

Willowood looked skyward and tore away a section of the domed ceiling. It fell toward So-Elku, who glanced up, sending the sandstone to one side. That was all the time the old woman needed. Awen watched as So-Elku became constricted as if an invisible vise had pinned his arms to his sides.

“You’ve got to move,” Willowood said to Awen. “That won’t hold him for long. Come on.”

Willowood helped Awen through the massive doors while So-Elku seethed behind them. The man spewed profanity that stung Awen’s ears as if some demon had replaced the spirit of the legendary master’s soul. Willowood drew the doors shut and waved her hand to seal them.

“Are you okay?” Willowood asked as she tried to get Awen to run down the main hall.

“I think so. He was, he was—”

“He was hurting you. That’s all I need to know.”

Awen struggled to keep up with the woman, but each step brought renewed strength. Willowood held her hand as they gained speed, heading back toward the Arielina’s entrance. Several passing elders tried to inquire of Willowood, but she ignored them.

“I don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself involved with, dear, but we’d better get you out of here,” Willowood said.

“It has to do with—”

“Not now. Listen, whatever So-Elku wants, he’s probably not working alone. Do you trust that pilot who brought you here?”

“Captain Ezo? I don’t really think—”

“Enough to get you someplace safe?”

“I—suppose.” Awen felt Willowood tug her down the steps and into the afternoon sun.

“Good. We’re getting you back on that ship.”

* * *

“So, we have a deal, then?” Ezo asked, his boots crossed atop the cantina table.

“You make a delivery of our shipment to Sorrelle, three days, no questions,” confirmed the Faddamo trader, the large gills on his neck rhythmically slurping air. “Two thousand now, three thousand upon completion.”

“Sounds like a standard contract. And a pretty good one at that.” Ezo stuck his hand out to shake and noticed someone across the cantina looking at him with recognition. Ezo knew he had to wrap things up fast. He also wished he’d not told TO-96 to stay with the ship. “I’ll receive your cargo, platform thirty-nine. But can we move the time line up? Ezo just realized that—”

“Idris splicking Ezo,” came a gruff voice from the bar. “Why, if it isn’t the bounty hunter who swindled me out of fifty thousand credits over Fiad Six.”

“Gormar, how nice to see you.” Ezo kept his right hand extended toward his nearly closed client and placed his other on his blaster for insurance. The gray-skinned gargantuan Diim rose from his seat at the bar—his two seats at the bar—and lumbered toward Ezo’s table.

“Wait, fifty thousand credits?” the Faddamo asked.

“Thought he was dead,” Ezo replied then turned to Gormar. “Thought you were dead.”

“I almost was, thanks to you alerting those Republican troopers.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Ezo said to the Faddamo, waving his hand and removing his feet from the table. “It was resolved months ago. This fellow has just had one too many whiskeys.”

“I haven’t even started drinking,” Gormar insisted, getting closer.

Ezo looked back to the Faddamo, desperate for the trader to shake his hand. “So, we have a deal?”

The Faddamo looked between the Diim and Ezo then back again. “I think we’ll take our business—”

“Perfect!” Ezo said, slapping the aquatic humanoid’s hand. The next instant, Gormar drew his weapon and fired a bolt. Ezo jumped back, knocking his chair over as the blast of energy shredded the table.

Wood fragments peppered Ezo’s pants, and the astringent smell of ionized air made his heart race. He always loved a good firefight, and it had been a while since his last one. Too long, he mused. Ezo’s SUPRA 945 was up and aimed faster than most humanoids could think. He squeezed the trigger, and a white bolt grazed the Diim’s shoulder. Ezo didn’t want to kill the beastie, after all; there was no need for unnecessary violence. Plus, he never knew when an older client, even a vengefully malicious one hell-bent on tearing his arms off, might be a repeat customer if the circumstances were right. He just wanted to make sure the giant thought twice before interrupting negotiations with a client—should there ever be a next time.

“What’d you do that for?” Gormar shouted, dropping his blaster and grabbing the wound. Patrons screamed as they rushed for the exits, glasses and furniture toppling over. Ezo ignored the Diim and looked to the fish-man.

“Platform thirty-nine! Don’t forget!” Ezo yelled.

Gormar grabbed his blaster off the ground and leveled it at him. Another blast tore through Ezo’s toppled chair, splinters spraying the floor.

“Thirty-nine!” Ezo exited the cantina and squinted against the sunlight.

“Sir,” a voice said in his earpiece, “are you enjoying your jaunt to rustle up some new business?”

“Fire up Geronimo, Ninety-Six! I’m coming in hot. Three minutes.”

“Marvelous, sir. Hold on, sir.” There was some commotion in the background. “I say, we have quite enough fuel already. And don’t touch that!”

“Ninety-Six! What’s going on?”

“I’m sorry, sir. Bawee technicians are putting their filthy hands all over the ship during refueling. Though I hesitate to classify them as technicians. They’re more like—”

“Confirm my last transmission!” A blaster bolt zipped over Ezo’s shoulder and smacked into a glass storefront across the street. People shrieked and dove to the ground. While there was no such thing as a seedy part of town in Plumeria, Ezo always managed to find the watering holes where the most disreputable residents congregated. He thought it ironic that the street looked like any upscale thoroughfare in the galaxy even though the cantina was rife with riffraff. Even the fastest skiff still finds flies, he mused. “Get the ship ready. We’re leaving hot.”

“I was just going to suggest the same thing, sir.”

Ezo hesitated and fired a shot over his shoulder. “Wait—why?”

“Do you remember the very attractive Luma emissary?”

“Yeah?” Ezo dodged another of Gormar’s blaster bolts as more people screamed.

“She’s back.”

17

“Lieutenant?” the man in the holo-vid said, an urgent tone in his voice.

“Go ahead, Colonel Caldwell,” Magnus replied.

Magnus sat in the comm officer’s seat of a Sparrow-class LAT—light armored transport—trying to ignore the gawks of the two private first-class Marines. They stood abnormally close to the bridge door, acting as if there was some important business with the keypad or magnetic door sliders. He didn’t blame them—not for the gawking part but the being bored part. On such a small craft, there wasn’t much to do. These old ships were used as a last resort for moving small units around quickly. The Sparrows—which resembled a slender bird’s beak with split-V tail stabilizers—were fast but lacked anything in the way of comfort. It was no wonder that this was one of the only military transports left for the sector chief’s disposal.

“Seems someone else needs your help more than the seventy-ninth,” Caldwell said.

Magnus’s heart sank. “Colonel, sir. You just—”

“Listen,” Caldwell said with a raised hand. “We both know you don’t want to be headed anywhere else but Oorajee right now, but this is direct from Brigadier General Lovell. Change of plans, son.”

This week can’t get any stranger. Magnus nodded at the two privates in the entrance.

* * *

After saying goodbye to Awen and stepping off Geronimo, Magnus pulled up Plumeria’s map in his HUD and left the starport. It had been a while since he’d wandered any city alone, much less a thoroughfare in a veritable paradise. He wondered if there would ever be a day when he enjoyed a place this beautiful while not in Mark VII armor. He realized, then, how truly out of place he felt—a Republic Marine in full kit walking through a city of diplomats, academics, and students with large endowments. If Plumeria had a nice beach, which reports said it did, he might be back. One day. But not as a Marine. He suspected that moment would be a long time from now—if he even survived the next decade.

Magnus finally arrived at the substation headquarters and reported to the sector chief.

“Well, look who we have here!” The gray-haired officer rose to his feet, clenching the stub of a cigar in his teeth.

“Colonel Caldwell, sir?” Magnus could hardly believe his eyes.

“In the flesh, Lieutenant.”

The two men strode across the room and clasped forearms, the more personal greeting of Marines who’d seen battle together.

“I’m—I’m surprised to see you here,” Magnus said.

“Really, son?”

“Well, it’s just that—”

“You never saw me as a desk jockey? Well, neither did I. Which means you probably don’t ever see yourself in an office like this either. All I can say is get ready.”

“Copy that, sir.”

“Let me look at you,” Caldwell said, stepping back to size up Magnus. “You look like splick, son.”

“And you look like the medals got too heavy, sir.” Caldwell’s Repub uniform was unusually spartan, given all the accolades Magnus knew the man could have displayed on his chest. But the colonel was among an ever-shrinking minority who consistently placed unit above career. Less fanfare, more warrior. Which was why this office didn’t fit what Magnus knew of the man.

“Come on, have a seat.” Caldwell gestured to one of two leather seats and took the other himself. “And let’s dispense with protocol, Magnus. We’re both sirs here.”

“Copy that. When did you take the promotion to sector chief?”

“They promoted me after Caledonia. I knew my time outside the wire was done, and I was offered any sector I wanted.”

“As you should have been. But I gotta ask… Worru?”

Caldwell chuckled and blew out a plume of smoke. “I know what you’re thinking, Magnus. Repping the Marines for the Luma isn’t where any cold-blooded Midnight Hunter sees himself retiring, right? But I’m playing a hunch.”

Magnus raised his eyebrows. “A hunch?”

“Even the biggest bull loses its way after dark and needs light to get it home.”

“How poetic.” Magnus grinned, but for the life of him, he couldn’t tell whether the colonel was comparing the Luma or the Republic to the bull. This was not what he would have imagined from the war hero.

“Poetic? I live in Plumeria. What do you expect?”

“Fair enough,” Magnus replied.

“Enough about me. When they announced you, I nearly fell over.”

“It has been a long time.”

“There’s that, yes. But we all thought you were dead, son.”

“So, you’ve heard about Oorajee?” Magnus asked.

“Heard about Oorajee? Splick, son! Someone went and organized themselves a war, and the Fearsome Four was handed the first grenade. The whole galaxy has heard about Oorajee!”

“So, it’s bad.”

Caldwell forced a blast of air out of his nostrils. “Bad doesn’t even begin to describe it, son. Everyone’s scrambling from here to Pellu, when who walks through my door but the lone survivor of the attack!”

“Excuse me,” Magnus said, his stomach tightening. “Lone survivor?”

Caldwell’s mouth froze agape. Magnus had visited this particular darkness several times before. Too many times. His mind went to Flow, Cheeks, Mouth, and the others, a few of whom he’d only met before the mission brief. The uncertainty he’d felt when talking with Awen now threatened to spawn into a demon that was nearly impossible to tame. He’d become an expert at avoiding it. The beast haunted him at night and stalked him during the day. Its claws hunted with anger, its mouth dripped with guilt, and its feet slogged forward with grief. Keeping it at bay took everything Magnus could throw at it.

“Damn, son. I’m sorry. You must’ve got comm’d out then.”

“Lost contact after the attack,” Magnus said with a nod, his eyes distant. “TACNET went down. Guessing the Jujari jammed all comms but their own. We were lucky enough to get out of the city in one piece. Then I found a way to get my asset off planet and back here. You’re my first debrief, Colonel.”

“You were assigned the Luma contingent, then?”

“Yeah.” Magnus nodded, his mind bringing up an image of Awen. “Wainwright had the Repub ambassador, I had the Luma emissary.” Then his mind went to Wainwright. “Are you telling me that not even the captain made it out?”

Caldwell took a deep breath. “That’s what the intel coming out of the system suggests. I’m sorry, son. Granted, we have only visual and thermal scans at this point, but they’re not picking up any non-Jujari movement from the mwadim’s tower.”

“Any word of a search-and-rescue team going in?”

“I’m afraid not. Orbital bombardment is being considered, but right now, there’s a multi-fleet standoff.”

Magnus’s eyes snapped to Caldwell’s. “Did you say a multi-fleet standoff?”

“Republic and Jujari-allied ships are jumping into the system. Second Fleet has joined Third, and there’s even talk that First will be called up from Capriana Prime if the Jujari continue to amass ships.”

“But, sir,” Magnus said with squinted eyes, “you’re talking over half of the Republic’s warships.”

“So you understand how big this is.”

“But that’s… that’s…” It was even worse than he’d projected to Awen.

“It means the Republic is looking at a doomsday scenario. It’s beyond conceivable, maybe even suicidal. I agree.” Then the colonel turned thoughtful again. “Maybe we’re finally paying the price for turning the helm over to bureaucrats and not warriors.”

“Says the man who’s put up shop with the Luma.” Magnus suddenly remembered his place. “I’m sorry, Colonel. That was out of line.”

“I said bureaucrats, not mystics,” Caldwell replied, waving Magnus off. “The way I see it, the only way back from this is with something we haven’t tried.”

Magnus wanted to argue that they had tried it the Luma’s way… and it had cost lives.

“The truth is,” Caldwell continued, “we may not get the chance to try anything at all. Granted, no one’s fired the first shot yet. But if you ask me, we’re sitting on a good old-fashioned powder keg.”

Both men stared at the floor, lost in thought. Finally, Caldwell said, “I’m sorry about your platoon, Magnus. It’s times like this when I wish I hadn’t given you and your boys a shot at RIP.” Caldwell took a drag on his cigar. “I know it must bring up memories of Caledonia. I’m sorry, son.”

Magnus pursed his lips. He didn’t know what to say. Admitting that the colonel was right would give the demon ground, and he didn’t want to concede more than he had already. But denying Caldwell meant lying to himself, and he was tired of that. Either way, I’m screwed and inviting the demon a little closer.

“Thank you, Colonel. I’ll be okay.”

“Will you, though? I suppose the pain is what makes us who we are. It’s what makes or breaks all of us who’ve worn that armor. It’s what made your grandfather great.”

“Copy that.” Magnus nodded, meeting the colonel’s eye. “What are my orders, then, sir?”

“As much as I wish you could stay, you’re heading back to Oorajee. Brigadier General Lovell’s orders. But I see that you need medical attention.”

“Nothing shipboard sick bay can’t attend to.”

Caldwell raised an eyebrow as he surveyed Magnus’s armor. “I know the Mark VII can take a beating, but you gave it a run for its credits, son. You sure you don’t want to visit the infirmary?”

“Let me get back to my unit, sir.” Magnus realized his error. His unit was most likely gone. “My battalion.”

“There’s a Sparrow leaving in five.”

“I’ll be ready in four.” Just have to work out an issue with my bladders. He looked at his thigh. He could almost hear Awen laughing at him.

“One more thing,” Caldwell said as they stood. “With most units on their way to Oorajee already, your shuttle crew is made up of a corporal escorting two PFCs back to the front lines, piloted by a navy chief warrant officer and an NCO. So, play nice.”

“Fabulous.”

* * *

“We’ve received a distress transmission from a light civilian cruiser in the Kar-Kadesh system,” Caldwell said in the holo-vid. “Night Wing class.”

Magnus let out a short whistle. “Someone’s got nice taste, Colonel.”

“That’s because it belongs to a senator.”

“A senator? If you don’t mind me asking, what’s a senator doing all the way out there?”

“We’d like to know the same thing,” the colonel replied. “Seems it was a last-minute flight. But the order, flight log, and manifest all cleared. Our guess is they dropped out of subspace due to a drive-core failure.”

“So you want me to check it out,” Magnus said with no attempt to veil his lack of enthusiasm.

“That’s correct. As much as I want you back with your company, you’re our closest asset. Investigate, lend aid, and if your crew can’t get them on their way, transport them to the closest sector station.”

Magnus rubbed his face. “I’m not questioning your judgment here, Colonel, but there’s got to be—”

“Lieutenant, I don’t think you understand what’s happening over Oorajee. We can’t spare anyone, and this order comes at the personal request of Brigadier General Lovell himself. It has a need-to-know designation, and apparently, the general doesn’t trust anyone else. Once he heard you were topside, he contacted me directly. I don’t think I need to explain the uniqueness of that to you.”

“No, Colonel, you don’t.”

“Good. It seems this senator”—Caldwell looked off-screen at a data pad—“Senator Stone has two family members and a small crew on board as well. Sending you the roster now. Make sure they’re okay, get them on their way, and then get to the front.”

“Copy that, Colonel.” Magnus glanced down at the dashboard, eyes unfocused on the myriad of blinking lights, their colors blending together in a kaleidoscope of shapes. All he really wanted was to be back with the Recon, prepping for whatever ground assault the fleet commander had in mind. Instead, he was going on a mission that he knew was a distraction, and he felt powerless to do anything about it.

“Colonel, if you would just hear me out—”

“Magnus, please don’t make this harder for me than it already is.”

“They’re my men, sir. What would you do in a situation like this?”

Caldwell sighed. “I’d be wondering why my CO was ordering my ass to some no-good senator’s busted-up party barge when I should be looking for my brothers in hostile territory.”

“Thank you, Colonel.”

“However, Lieutenant,” Caldwell said, emphasizing Magnus’s rank as if to remind him of his duty, “your orders stand.”

Magnus worked his jaw. If the holo-vid had been steel, his eyes would have burned crimson holes right through it. He turned his head away and swallowed. This was the difference between Recon and civilians. Civilians faced hard choices, but Recon were paid to wrestle hard choices to the ground and slit their throats.

He looked back at the colonel and replied in a smooth, even tone, “Yes, sir.”

Magnus closed the connection and rocked back in the comm officer’s chair, rubbing his face. He knew the mission was a total waste of time, and if anything embodied Colonel Caldwell’s suspicions that the Republic was going soft, this was it. The fact was, the Marines were attending to bureaucrats when they should have been saving those who were saving everyone else. The Republic was eroding. No, it had been eroding for a long time. They should never have been on Oorajee, and Magnus shouldn’t be going to—Where is it again?—Kar-Kadesh.

“You got all that?” he asked the pilot.

“Laying in a course for the cruiser now, sir.”

“Good. I’ll ready a boarding party.”

“We’re ready to go, Lieutenant!” came an excited voice from the bridge’s entrance. Two PFCs stood at attention, eyes locked straight ahead.

Magnus raised an eyebrow and took a deep breath. “You most certainly are, Privates. You most certainly are.”

18

Piper clutched Talisman in her arms as she fell asleep in her stateroom aboard Destiny’s Carriage. Her fingers had been treated in sick bay earlier that day and were healed within the hour. She tried to explain the dream to her mother—tried to explain that she had really been falling within the mountain—but Valerie insisted that Piper had scuffed her fingertips on the wall. No matter how hard Piper tried to argue, her mother found one excuse or another to explain it away.

Now Piper dreamed again, only this time, she was in her home on Capriana Prime. She was back in her bedroom, Talisman in one hand, her holo-pad in the other. Warm sunlight tapped on her bedroom window like a next-door neighbor asking her to come out and play. She smiled at the sun and swiped open her door, only to discover that she was alone in the apartment. She didn’t remember her parents saying they’d be gone.

Despite explicit instructions to the contrary, Piper decided to venture outside by herself. Well, I do have Talisman. He’ll protect me. She opened the front door and walked onto the veranda, the sunlight playing peekaboo through serpentine arches overhead. The rays of sunlight kissed her face and dispelled any sense that this was a dangerous thing to do. She took in a deep breath of the lavender flowers that grew beside the apartment’s front door, then she walked toward the fountain. Beyond it lay the elevator, which invited her down.

Ground floor. I should go to the ground floor. To venture so far away from her family’s apartment was wrong, though. She was never allowed to do that without supervision. One of her security guards was always beside her when she went outside. Still, in her dream, it seemed all right. Plus, there weren’t any other people around that she could see, and she still had Talisman.

Piper called the elevator to her floor. The translucent blue doors slid apart, and the glass bubble invited her inside. The city’s buildings glistened like jewels against the backdrop of the great ocean, which was a shimmering blue carpet that stretched to the horizon. Everything is so perfect, she thought. Just the way it ought to be.

Piper felt like a storybook fairy floating over the city as the pod descended one hundred flights to ground level. She had never been afraid of heights. If anything, her mother had to keep her from getting too close to edges for fear that her “impetuous daughter might take to the sky like a falcon.” Piper didn’t know what the word impetuous meant, but if it was wanting to jump into the air and fly like a bird, then she agreed.

The elevator chimed, and the doors parted. Piper stepped into the lobby and noticed that everything was in perfect order. The carpets were vacuumed, the wood floors glistened, and fresh flowers blushed from countless planters spread around the room. Water caressed three tiers of marble landings and splashed down into an emerald pool. The only thing missing was any sign of people.

Clusters of chairs sat without bodies in them. The recreation area to the far end was empty. All the other doorways and elevators were closed. How strange. Piper wondered where everyone had run off to.

Piper clutched Talisman in her arm and hunkered down inside her coat as a chill tickled the back of her neck. She walked across the lobby to the main doors, where the three sets of glass partitions separated before her with hushed whispers. As Piper walked between panes of glass, the sunlight flickered, casting prismatic flares across her face.

Once on the street, she looked left and right, hoping to finally see where all the people had gone. Perhaps an important person has come to the city. Maybe there is a parade. Or even a ball! Her heart thrilled at the thought of a real ball with music and dancing and food. The costumes would be extravagant, and all the attendees would be so handsome.

Piper walked toward the setting sun—a warm orb on the horizon, peeking between buildings and reflecting off the great ocean. Suddenly, she thought the city’s inhabitants might be near the shore. Her excitement mounting, Piper began to run, Talisman jostling from under her elbow. She felt her fingers slipping on her holo-pad. But the thought of seeing where all the people had gone excited her. She just had to know!

Her boots pounded down the pavement, and Piper felt her lungs burning like they did when she’d exerted herself too hard on the playground. She should probably stop and rest, maybe take a drink from the water fountain. But no, the people waited. She wanted to know where they’d gone off to and what had captured their attention. It had to be marvelous if everyone in the city was there!

Her mother would be there. And her father too, surely. They’d most likely saved her a seat, so she didn’t need to wait in line. She didn’t want to miss a minute of whatever they were looking at. Piper stared at the setting sun. It was so bright. But unlike every other sunset she’d ever witnessed, it was getting brighter. And brighter. Until finally, she had to shield her eyes.

She tasted something salty in her mouth. Her hair began to dance. The wind whipped, and she covered her face with Talisman. The sun had become so bright that she could hardly look at it, stealing only the smallest glance to see that the horizon had turned white. As white as the sun.

Piper became afraid then. The sun was no longer friendly, and the wind no longer smelled of lavender. Talisman hid her eyes as the bright white encroached from every side, gusts nipping at her coat and her boots. A sense of panic rose in her stomach. There was nothing she could do, nowhere she could run. All around her, the white consumed everything. Not even Talisman or her holo-pad was distinguishable anymore. Power surged through her like a lightning bolt splitting a tree. The sound was deafening. She shrieked in pain, feeling as though her soul had been torn from her body at the hands of a merciless giant.

Then all at once, it was over. Piper could hear herself breathing in short panicked breaths but heard nothing else. She was alive, or at least she thought she was. So she chanced a look from between tight eyes and clenched fists.

Piper stood alone in a completely different place than the one she had stood in moments before. The white was gone, replaced by gloomy blackness. The wind was also gone, as were the buildings. In their absence stood ruins, gnarled hands of steel and concrete reaching angry fingers toward a murky sky.

But this isn’t a different place. It’s the same place, just a different time.

Piper looked behind her and noticed her apartment building surrounded by all the other once-beautiful buildings of the capital district, now shadows of their former selves. Where there had been gleaming spires in a pastel sky, ashen ghosts now stood, torn apart by an evil spirit. Their contents lay on the streets like bodies whose entrails had spilled out on the execution floor.

Piper felt herself crying, tears streaming down her cheeks. She looked at her holo-pad on the ground. It was cracked. Talisman had been burned beyond recognition. And she had the distinct sensation that her parents were nowhere to be found.

I am alone. Truly alone.

She reached down and picked up Talisman’s remains, weeping for her dear friend. Then she heard something—heavy footsteps clomping through the rubble. She looked up and mashed the tears from her eyes with a dirty palm.

There! She spotted a mound of debris near the place where the sun had exploded on the horizon. A figure rose from the heap, walking up the back side and looking toward her. Piper squinted, trying to make out details. This was, after all, the first person she’d seen since arriving here. She was curious, but she was also afraid. Very afraid.

“Hello?” she called out, wiping another tear from her vision. “Who’re you?” But the figure kept walking toward her, boots mashing the metal and dust.

Piper could finally make out the outline of a suit of armor, not like in her storybooks. No, like… the Republic troopers. But this armor was darker and scarier. It was as if any remaining light around her was sucked into this warrior, like a black hole on the edge of the cosmos. Nothing escaped him, and Piper knew right then that she could not escape him either. She would never escape him.

“Stay away from me,” she said then repeated it with more confidence. “Stay away from me!”

But the trooper kept walking toward her, one foot after another. Piper turned around and started running toward her apartment building, hoping she might find a passage back inside. She’d be safe there. But when she looked down, her feet weren’t gaining any ground.

“Just let me get home!” she yelled. It was so frustrating. Infuriating! She had to get away!

Piper stole a glance over her shoulder. The trooper was upon her now, able to reach out and snag her if he wanted. His armor was huge, and she knew he could crush her in one hand. She tried to run harder but still failed to make even a meter of progress.

“It’s all right,” the trooper said, his voice coming through a speaker. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

Piper froze, shocked at how soft the words felt despite the warrior’s evil appearance. She turned around, clutching Talisman’s burnt corpse to her chest with both arms. “Who—who are you?”

The trooper reached up, unlocked his terrifying helmet, and pulled it over his head. Piper stared at his face, studying it. Memorizing it. And then woke up to a warning klaxon blaring in the ship.

19

Admiral Kane sat alone in his quarters while his flight crew brought the Peregrine into orbit over Worru. The Stiletto-class corvette loomed over the lush green-and-blue planet like a hungry raptor searching for prey. Made to be both visually and functionally aggressive, the Peregrine’s fuselage was flat on the bottom and sides. The rounded top, however, swept from bow to stern in an arc. Large twin stabilizers raked forward like the ears of a prowling predator, and small port and starboard wings supported oversized weapon pods.

“What do you mean you let them get away?” Kane hissed over the holo-vid.

“I didn’t let them get away, Kane,” So-Elku retorted. “I only said that they escaped.”

“There’s a difference?” Kane waited for the Luma to say something meaningful but realized it was a waste of time. “And I suppose you failed to open the stardrive as well?”

“I did,” So-Elku said. “The woman still has it.”

Kane was growing impatient. The only thing he despised more than failed plans was an inept leader. “So she’s on the run with the stardrive, and we have nothing.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say nothing.” So-Elku lifted a small device and wiggled it between his fingers. Kane’s interest was piqued.

“You planted a tracker?”

“A maintenance crew had access to the vessel that brought her. Those Bawee can be bought for next to nothing. Regardless of whether she fled, I wanted to know who’d helped her and tie up any loose ends.”

Kane hated that the mystic had left so much to chance. The man was not as reliable as he’d assumed, even though he’d managed to salvage the situation by planting the tracking device. “Forward the identification codes. We’ll send you destination coordinates once we know where she’s going.”

“I want reassurances on our deal,” the Luma leader said.

“Reassurances?” Kane was beside himself, but he couldn’t let his emotions show. The wolf pack would circle for the kill at the slightest sign of weakness. This is the reason partnerships fail. Because no partner is ever your equal.

“This escapade has cost me many students,” So-Elku said. “I need to know it was not in vain.”

“Then you should have counted the cost before you agreed to this escapade, Luma Master.”

So-Elku cleared his throat. “I want sole access to the temple library.”

“As I said, I have no interest in your metaphysical dealings.”

“I want the woman too.”

Kane’s eyes studied the man. He had no use for the Luma, let alone their female “expert” on the Jujari. But further negotiations always meant more opportunities for gain. “Additions to the agreement are not in your best interests, So-Elku.”

“Do you have any use for her?”

“No. But ensuring her survival will cost me. Discretion in violence is expensive.”

“I’m not sure I have anything more to offer,” So-Elku said.

It was unfortunate that he was so honest. The admiral laced his fingers together and leaned forward. “You will, Luma Master. You will.”

* * *

Kane returned to the bridge and lost himself in thought as he stared over Worru, hands behind his back. While things hadn’t gone exactly according to plan, So-Elku’s placement of the tracking transponder had probably saved the Luma master from an inconvenient assassination.

“Captain, sensors are picking up a Republic distress transmission,” the comm officer said. “Looks to be heavily coded.”

“Log it, and keep scanning,” replied the captain. “Navigation, how much longer before we achieve synchronization with the—”

“Wait,” Kane said, raising a hand. “What’s that distress signal coming from?” He turned and walked to the comm station.

“Seems to be a civilian transport, sir. A light cruiser. Looks like it’s in the Kar-Kadesh system.”

“Captain, we have synced with the transponder,” the navigation officer said.

“Good. Set course and prepare to jump.”

“Belay that order,” Kane said. “I’m curious about this transmission.”

“Sir, there’s no reason that we can’t—”

Kane silenced the captain with an upraised hand then leaned closer to the comm officer’s station. “Can you decode the message?”

“Working on it, Admiral.” The officer’s fingers tapped the black dashboard, working with the ship’s AI. Kane waited but had a sense it couldn’t be cracked. Finally, the officer let out a sigh. “I’m sorry, sir, but they used a variable quantum algorithm that—”

“It’s not breakable?” Kane asked.

“I’m sorry, no. All I have is basic intel. The ship’s ident, basic data on the flight log—”

“Bring it up.”

The officer swiped up on the dashboard’s surface and sent the field into the holo-feed. Kane scanned the text and then froze on something. He leaned in even closer. “It can’t be,” he whispered. Under the flight’s log order was a name he had not seen in a very long time. He double-checked the date. It was only three days old. She’s alive.

“Admiral, sir. Do you want us—”

“She’s alive,” he whispered.

“Who, sir?”

Kane turned toward the captain and stared at him, aflame with dark fascination, like a Venetian mawslip observing a squirming rabbit pinned under its talons. “What an unexpected turn of events,” he said, wringing his hands.

“Sir?”

The admiral paced a few steps, holding up a finger to silence the overeager captain. Kane looked again at the holo-feed, trying to see his way through the ether, but there wasn’t enough light to outline the shapes. He needed more of the picture before anything would come into focus. However, he could at least make sure no one stole the parts of the scene he already possessed.

He looked up from his scheming and eyed the captain. “Order a Bull Wraith to that cruiser’s position. I want the whole ship, and I want the passengers and crew alive. If anyone kills them, they forfeit their lives as payment.”

The captain nodded, confused but agreeable. “Yes, sir. And Geronimo Nine?”

“We follow her. Proceed with the jump.”

20

“Destiny’s Carriage, Destiny’s Carriage, this is the pilot in command of Republic light armored transport Sparrow Two Seven One.” Silence filled the bridge as Chief Warrant Officer Nolan waited for a reply. Magnus stood over Nolan’s shoulder and studied the light cruiser through the cockpit window.

“All scans show the ship’s systems nominal,” said Petty Officer Rawlson, the sensors officer. “No hull breaches, no exterior damage.”

“Understood.” Nolan gestured to the comms officer to open the channel again. “Destiny’s Carriage, Destiny’s Carriage, this is the PIC of Republic light armored transport Sparrow Two Seven One. Do you copy?”

More silence followed Nolan’s second hail attempt. He ran a pale hand through his auburn hair. “I don’t like this,” he said to no one in particular.

Magnus felt that sensation in his gut, the one that prepared him to deal with bad situations—like finding a ship full of lifeless bodies. But I thought you didn’t care about a senator and his family. Magnus knew he could not win the battle of wits with his inner self. People in distress were people in distress, and he was a Marine who was called to defend the weak.

But are all Marines also traitors, Magnus? Or are you only a traitor if you get caught?

“Hail them again,” Magnus ordered.

“Destiny’s Carriage, Destiny’s Carriage, this is—”

“Sparrow Two Seven One, this is Destiny’s Carriage. We read you, Captain.”

Magnus hit Nolan’s shoulder with a fist—perhaps a little too hard. Nolan shrank away from the blow.

Don’t care too much, Magnus. It’s just a senator.

“What’s your status, Destiny?” Nolan asked, rotating his shoulder.

“Boy, are we glad to see you. Drive-core failure knocked us out of subspace.”

“How many souls aboard?”

“Six souls, including myself. All accounted for, no injuries.”

“Copy that, Captain. Good to hear. Is there any known reason we should not attempt to dock with you for boarding and situation assessment?”

“Negative. Core is contained, all systems nominal.”

“Permission to dock to starboard?”

“Permission granted.”

“See you shortly.” Nolan closed the channel and turned to Magnus. “We’ll have a lock in ninety seconds, Lieutenant.”

“Copy,” Magnus replied. “We’ll take it from here.”

Magnus left the bridge and walked into the cargo bay to address the three privates. The flight engineer and medic were each nose down in two rucksacks while the corporal was checking an MX13 subcompact blaster.

“Expecting heavy resistance from the senator, Corporal?” Magnus asked.

The young woman looked at him with a measure of surprise and perhaps a little embarrassment. Her flight uniform name tag read Dutch, followed by her designation number. She was small in stature and wore her dark hair cut just below her ears, parted to one side with a few strands falling over her face. She had intelligent brown eyes and seemed reluctant to give up the weapon.

“You can never be too sure, Lieutenant,” Dutch replied.

“No, you can’t, Corporal. I like that. Never know what uninvited guests we might encounter.” Magnus tapped the receiver of his MAR30 and smiled.

“Uninvited guests, Lieutenant?” Gilder, the flight engineer, asked.

“In this part of the void, you never know what sort of things can find their way into a disabled starship.” Magnus could hear Caldwell rebuking him. Go easy on them, Magnus. He tossed them each a handheld comm. “Since you’re not in armor, we’ll use these. Channel’s preset. One click up will get you the bridge if needed, but only I should be talking to them. Copy?”

“Yes, Lieutenant,” they replied, catching the radios one at a time.

“You ever see anything like that, Lieutenant?” Haney asked. “You know, like really out of the ordinary?”

Magnus tried his hardest not to smile at the medic’s question. He knew the holo-vids these boys were raised on. Heck, he’d been raised on them too, and he’d seen enough of the real world since then to know that the movies were fake. The real stuff was way worse.

“Yeah,” Dutch said. “We heard stories about you on Caledonia.”

“Stories? What kind of stories?” Magnus was genuinely intrigued.

Gilder stood up, lifted his chin, and pushed out his rather large chest as if he was about to recite the Republic pledge in front of a review board. “Some said you took on twenty ’kudas at once with your bare hands. Then, after that, their ghosts came after you and tried cooking you inside your armor. But you MAR’d them all, held the position for days until reinforcements arrived.”

Magnus raised an eyebrow, trying to figure out what crazy version of reality this boy was talking about. Top Shelf Pass. He nodded, connecting the dots—the real dots. It was three ’kudas, not twenty. He’d stabbed two of them and shot the third with his sidearm. Then he recovered his MC90—that was long before the MAR30 came into being—and cooked their spawn for about ten minutes before his platoon realized what hellhole he had fallen into. It had been a total accident, one that led to finding a back door into the enemy’s main fortification. But no use breaking these Marines’ hearts.

“Well,” Magnus said, charging his MAR30, “then I guess it’s a good thing for you that I’m taking point.” The privates spoke their assent and stacked up behind Dutch. “If I duck, just make sure you’re not standing.”

“Copy that, Lieutenant,” Gilder said. “I’ll stay hidden underneath you and let you take the fire.” He winced. “I mean—”

“Stow it,” Magnus said.

“Copy.”

“Thirty seconds, Lieutenant,” Nolan yelled from the cockpit.

“Roger that,” Magnus replied then turned to his makeshift away team. “Lock it up, Marines. There’s no reason this should be anything but rudimentary, but you never know. In the Recon, we say OTF—own the field.”

“OTF,” they replied as one.

For Magnus, the next thirty seconds were a strange mixture of boredom and anxiety. Boredom because… well, he wasn’t expecting any action, and this was the last place in the cosmos he wanted to be. And anxiety because he had a sudden urge to find out how Awen had fared with her debriefing. Sure, she was a prude. Altruistic? Check. Naive? Double check. Still, there was something about her that he couldn’t put his finger on—something that he hadn’t felt toward a woman in a long time. Not since…

He shook the thoughts from his head. This wasn’t the time to go there.

So when will it be time, Magnus?

It was then that he remembered the piece of paper that Awen had handed to him when they’d said goodbye.

“Ten seconds!” Nolan yelled.

The proximity alarm began to wail as a red light warned against opening the hatch into vacuum. Magnus held the stock of his MAR30 with his left hand and reached into his small chest compartment with his right. He removed the paper and unfolded it with his gloved fingers.

“Five seconds!”

Magnus looked down. On that scrap of paper were three large letters handwritten in old-fashioned black ink: NMB. The ship jostled, and the paper slipped out of his fingers.

“We have a lock!”

* * *

“Lieutenant?” the senator asked.

“Adonis Olin Magnus, sir. Seventy-Ninth Recon Battalion, Marine Special Units.” The two men shook hands, Magnus holding his helmet under his arm and allowing his MAR30 to hang from its sling.

“Senator Darin Stone. Thank you for coming.”

“Our pleasure, Senator. I have orders from Brigadier General Lovell to assess your ship’s condition and then make necessary arrangements based on the situation.”

“Remind me to recommend a promotion for you when I get back to Capriana.”

“Thank you, sir,” Magnus replied, but inwardly, he rejected the comment, recognizing it as snarky political jargon. No Marine worth their boots wanted a promotion just because they showed up to a broken-down starship on the side of subspace. But Magnus had to hand it to the senator—the man had come to greet them himself. Most men of his status, at least in Magnus’s experience, never spoke to anyone below their station, especially troopers.

Magnus and his team stood on a beige carpet inside Destiny’s vestibule. Off-white walls with baby-blue trim emitted a soft glow, exuding all the credits spent on a shipwide mood-lighting package. Polished wood rails ran along the corridors on either side, crystal-clear directional signs with frosted letters pointed toward the ship’s many destinations, and the vessel smelled like vanilla and jasmine. The scent of more credits than you’ll ever see, Magnus noted with some measure of jealousy.

The man in front of him wore an impossibly white smile, manicured blond hair, and a luxuriant tan. Those features, combined with his radiant blue eyes, made Magnus wonder if the man was even real. The senator’s appearance was so perfect that he transcended age. Magnus couldn’t tell if he was old but spent a fortune to turn back the years or young but spent the same fortune to appear statelier.

Magnus suddenly felt out of place. He still hadn’t let the medic look at his injuries. Moreover, he hadn’t even wiped his armor down. The senator could probably smell the Jujari saliva on his boots.

Just then, a woman emerged in the corridor from around the corner. “Darling, who is it?”

There were times in life when something so unexpected happened that it left an imprint on a person’s soul. Magnus had plenty of those—so many, in fact, that he often wondered if there was any substance left to mark. Most of his imprints, however, were of the sort he’d rather forget than remember. They’d come to him in the heat of battle or in the nightmares that followed. What happened when Lady Stone extended her hand to meet him was of another sort entirely.

“My love, this is Lieutenant Magnus of the Galactic Republic Marines,” the senator said. “He and his Marines have come to rescue us.”

“Rescue us?” she said with a wide smile. “How wonderful.” She continued holding her hand out until Magnus finally had enough sense to remove his glove and shake it.

“Ma’am,” he said, instantly self-conscious about his voice—and his appearance, noting that if he’d felt out of place in front of the senator, he felt like a Jellataun snout fish on a frying pan in front of Lady Stone.

“Please,” she said, “call me Valerie.”

Magnus was pretty sure he forgot how to speak at that moment. Poetry replaced prose, and he cursed himself for what he was sure would be a failure to construct a coherent sentence in her presence.

Valerie’s hair was the color of sunlight, and her eyes sparkled like the sea at high noon. Her skin was so smooth that Magnus suddenly wanted to know what it felt like. The white gown she wore was draped around a body that Magnus swore was some lost temple covered by a thin blanket of powdery snow.

“I’m—here to take you,” Magnus said.

Valerie smirked. The senator held his smile but cocked his head in question. And Magnus was almost sure he could hear the privates’ thoughts behind him: You tell her, Lieutenant! That’s how it’s done!

Magnus cringed. “I’m here to take you all to the nearest Republic substation if we’re unable to get you underway again.”

“See there, my love?” the senator said.

“Yes, dear,” Valerie replied, withdrawing her hand. “We are most grateful for your assistance, Lieutenant.”

“There are six souls on board?” Haney asked, stepping to the side.

“Yes,” the senator said. “My wife, our daughter, and myself. Then our ship’s captain, our chief engineer, and our steward.”

“Do any of them require medical attention?” Haney asked, apparently eager to ply his trade for what Magnus could only assume was the first time in the field.

“All of them seem to be in good health,” the senator replied. “I will introduce you to them nonetheless, and you may judge for yourself.”

“And the engine room?” Gilder asked.

“Yes, of course,” the senator said. “I’ll introduce you to our engineer, and he’ll take you personally.”

“Thank you, Senator,” Magnus replied. “And this is Corporal Dutch, our ranking NCO and weapons specialist.”

Dutch nodded to the senator and his wife.

“Is this everyone, then?” Valerie asked.

“We have three more crew on the bridge of our ship, but they’ll remain in place,” Magnus replied.

“Very well,” Valerie said. “Let’s move to the lounge and get everyone acquainted. I’ll have some refreshments brought as well.”

Magnus tipped his head and gestured forward with his hand, hoping he wouldn’t have to use more words with Lady Stone. Yet for some unknown reason, as he followed behind her, he said, “Acquainting is great,” and cursed himself for even opening his mouth.

* * *

Senator Stone introduced his crew to Magnus’s troops, and the steward offered the troopers beverages and a light snack. Gilder declined and insisted that he head straight for the engine room with the ship’s engineer. He was young and enthusiastic, but that counted for something in moments like this.

As much as the whole situation had taken a peculiar turn for the best, Magnus still wanted to get off the cruiser as fast as possible. She’s married, for galaxy’s sake!

The senator invited the others to sit, but the troopers waved him off, Magnus insisting that their armor would mar their furniture.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” the senator replied. “Please make yourselves at home.”

“You said you had a daughter on board?” Haney asked, taking a seat.

“Yes, yes. She’s sleeping,” Valerie replied. “I’ll fetch her right away. She will absolutely love meeting some real-life Marines.”

Magnus watched, perhaps a little too long, as Lady Stone exited the lounge and walked down a hallway that led to the staterooms.

“So, Lieutenant…” the senator said, handing him a cup of tea.

What was it with everyone serving him tea lately? At least this guy didn’t have a wall of buckets.

“Where did our distress signal summon you from?” continued the senator.

“We were on Worru, sir, making for Oorajee.”

“Oorajee?” The senator’s eyes lit up, lips held a few centimeters from the edge of his cup. “I hear that’s become quite the hot spot in recent days.”

“You could say that,” Magnus replied.

“I’m eager to hear how the negotiations went.”

Magnus lowered his cup and held the man’s eyes, suddenly unsure if he should say anything. Didn’t he know? “Senator Stone, if you would permit me, when was the last time you were in touch with the Republic?”

“Just before we jumped into subspace three days ago. Whatever disabled our drive core also took out our long-range sensors. It was all we could do to send a subspace distress communiqué.” The senator placed his cup on his saucer and set them both down on the table. “Why? I sense you have something to tell me.”

“Senator…” Magnus hesitated. “The negotiations were…” His mind flashed back to the explosion in the mwadim’s palace. He saw the bodies flying, heard the screams, saw the flames.

“Say it straight, trooper. You’re talking to a Republic senator.”

“Someone sabotaged them.”

“They what?”

“Someone bombed the mwadim’s palace just as the meeting got underway.”

The senator looked bewildered, blinking as he processed the information. “You’re absolutely sure of this?”

“Sir, I was there.”

“You were there?”

“Yes, sir,” Magnus said. “As far as I know, I’m one of two survivors. Right now, my entire platoon is MIA. That’s who I was headed back to help find before… before I—”

“Before you were tasked with helping some nobody senator and his family on a broken-down yacht who have enough environment and food to last them months while your men remain unaccounted for on a hostile world.”

Magnus froze, staring at the man. He resisted the urge to say, You’re damn right, yet he honored the senator’s attempt at straight talk. It was refreshing.

“It’s all right, Lieutenant. I said it, so you don’t have to. And if it were me, I’d be thinking the same thing.”

“Thank you, Senator.”

“We’re not all power-hungry buffoons on Capriana, you know. Some of us are almost tolerable. You, on the other hand”—the senator reached over and placed a hand on Magnus’s shoulder—“are the spearpoint of all our decisions. And if I wasn’t aware of that before, I certainly am now. I’m sorry for your losses, Lieutenant.”

Magnus knew a player when he met one. But as much as he wanted to hate this man for his perfect face—and even more for marrying the most beautiful woman Magnus had ever met—he simply couldn’t bring himself to mistrust this senator’s words. Which made Magnus hate himself, of all people. I’ve already been hating myself for so long; it can’t make much difference if I keep it up a little longer.

“Thank you, sir,” Magnus replied. “But until I personally confirm their status, I haven’t lost a soul.”

“As you’ve said.” The senator raised his cup to salute Magnus.

Just then, Lady Stone reappeared, holding hands with a small blond girl. Everyone stood and watched as the tiny waif entered the lounge. Her eyes were puffy from being awakened long before it was time, and the girl squeezed a small stuffed animal against her pajamas. Lady Stone brought the girl to stand in the circle of adults and introduced her.

“Everyone, this is Piper.” Valerie held the little girl’s shoulders. “Piper, this is—”

“Him,” Piper said suddenly, pointing a finger at Magnus. “It’s him.”

21

“Buckle in!” Ezo yelled as he and TO-96 raced through Geronimo’s startup sequence. Awen took a seat behind the two command chairs and fumbled with the harness buckles. Her hands shook due to equal parts nerves and fatigue. The cockpit hummed with activity as switches flipped, screens glowed, and systems cycled on.

“Geronimo Nine, Geronimo Nine, this is Plumeria Tower. We’re reading drive-core initiation on platform thirty-nine. You do not have clearance for startup sequence or takeoff.”

TO-96 looked at Ezo. “What would you like to do, sir?”

“Put me through.”

The bot touched the dashboard. “You’re good to go, sir.”

“Tower, this is Geronimo Nine. Not sure what you’re reading. Systems here are nominal.”

“Negative, Geronimo. Sensors clearly indicate that—”

“Sorry, come again?” interrupted Ezo.

The tower comms operator let out an exasperated sigh. “I said, our sensors—”

“Still can’t read you, Tower. This must be really irritating.” Ezo glanced at TO-96. “How we doing, Ninety-Six?”

“Thirty-seconds, sir.”

The tower operator’s voice was hard now. “Geronimo, we are sending a control crew to board your vessel and initiate the suspension of your credentials until such time as the—”

“Suspend my credentials?” Ezo said in mock surprise. “But then, how can Ezo fly his ship?” He waited as the tower operator hesitated.

“You… He. No one will be able to fly the ship. That is the whole point of suspension!”

“Can you explain that to Ezo’s wife, then? She is not gonna be happy when she hears this.”

“Actually sir,” TO-96 said, muting the comm. “My records show that—”

Ezo cast him a mirthless smirk. “Not now, Ninety-Six.”

The bot looked away then back at Ezo. “Ah. I see. You are attempting to engage in witty banter with the tower operator through the use of sarcastic falsities in order to delay their confiscation of our ship. However—”

“Sometimes, your brilliance amazes even me.”

“Why, thank you, sir,” the bot said as Awen chuckled. “But—"

“Don’t mention it. Time?” Ezo asked.

“All systems are ready for takeoff, sir,” TO-96 said.

“Open the line again.”

TO-96 unmuted the link just in time for them to hear the tower operator spitting orders into the microphone, seasoned with enough vulgarities to make him unprofessional but not enough to get him dismissed from his post.

“Tower, your attempts to threaten us are truly appreciated. It’s exemplary. However, we are leaving nonetheless and wish you the very best. Oh, and please give our regards to”—Ezo leaned back to Awen—“what was his name again?”

“Master So-Elku,” she answered, cringing as she spoke the traitor’s name.

“Master Su-Echo,” Ezo said. “Geronimo Nine, out.” He turned to his copilot. “Take her up.”

“Aye, sir.”

Awen felt the ship lift off and bank sharply to the left. She reached out to steady herself, leaning against the turn.

“You expecting any pursuers, Star Queen?” Ezo asked over his shoulder.

“No, I—wait. Star Queen?”

“Sure. You probably still have that stardrive on you, right?”

Awen instinctively placed a hand on the satchel. “Maybe.”

“That’s a yes. Which means you didn’t give it to your big boss man, which means he’s pissed at you. That means you’re a big somebody now—a big somebody with information about something in the ’verse that people want. Big somebodies with stuff other people want are royalty. So you’re the Star Queen.”

“Sir, sensors show energy-disruption cannons powering up. They’re going to fire on us,” TO-96 said.

“Power to the rear shields.”

“Right away.” The bot tapped faster than Awen could see. “Power redirected.” Just then, two blasts of energy slammed against the hull, shoving the ship forward. Awen’s head hit the back of her seat.

“They’re pulling out the big guns for you, Star Queen,” Ezo said.

“They’re—they’re shooting at us?” Awen asked, bewildered.

“Like Ezo already said, you pissed somebody off. Fortunately, they want what you have, and they want you alive.”

“Those were energy-disruption pulses,” TO-96 added, his head rotating to look at her. “They are meant to disable us while simultaneously opening our command interface to an extra-local takeover. They are powerful, but they will not kill you, Awen.”

“Thank you for the reassurance,” she said, eyes wide.

“This also means you haven’t opened the stardrive yet,” Ezo concluded.

“Maybe,” she said less confidently. “Where are we going?”

“Deep space. Ninety-Six, course laid in?”

“Affirmative, sir. However, I might remind you that jumping while in atmosphere not only poses significant risks to the local population but lessens our jump success to seventy-one percent, given Worru’s substantial gravity well.”

“And what are the chances that those cannons disrupt our shields before we reach a safe distance?”

“I calculate a forty-three percent chance, sir.”

As if on cue, another pair of disruption pulses struck the aft shields. This time, the cockpit lights went out.

“And now?” Ezo asked.

“One-hundred percent, sir,” the bot replied in a forlorn tone.

“Punch it, ’Six!”

Awen watched as the sky outside the ship stretched away from them as if pulled by elastic bands. Then it snapped the ship forward into a sea of elongated starlight.

* * *

Awen had excused herself from the bridge and gone to her quarters to wash her hands and face. She was on the edge of exhaustion and knew that if she didn’t get sleep right away, she was going to cause harm to her body. Yet she wondered if she’d be able to sleep, given all that had happened.

Awen felt as though her life had gone from normal to light speed, just like the ship. Acting as the emissary to the Jujari had been enough excitement for one lifetime. But being captured by a warlord, transported by a bounty hunter, betrayed by her master, and then surviving a desperate escape from Plumeria… she’d hardly had time to take a breath let alone process it all.

The worst of it, however, was that she felt alone. Her parents were light-years away, the Order was no longer safe, and she was on some random trading vessel with a narcissistic bounty hunter and his improvised robot. All at once, she found herself wishing Magnus hadn’t gone back to his unit. Maybe there was a way he could have stayed. But that’s just silly.

Awen’s door chimed, and the speaker emitted a thin voice. “It’s Ezo.”

Awen sighed, reached for the towel, and pressed the open button with her elbow.

“How you feeling?” he asked.

“I’d rather not answer that right now, Ezo. But thank you for asking.”

“Fair enough, fair enough. So, where do you want to go, Star Queen?”

Awen massaged her eyelids, wishing someone else would answer the question for her. The truth was, she had no idea. And somehow, she felt Magnus might know where to go next.

“I really just want to go to bed,” she said, to which Ezo raised an eyebrow. “By myself.” She wasn’t sure how much more of this character she could take. I know where I want to go: as far away from him as possible. But seeing that Ezo was her only viable means of transportation, ditching him didn’t seem like the most prudent option.

Awen took a deep breath and threw the towel into the sink. “You said we’re headed to deep space, right? So let’s start there.”

“The farthest sector of the Omodon quadrant,” Ezo said. “There shouldn’t be any traffic to speak of, so we’ll be able to spot a tail if anyone is following us.”

“You think someone is following us?”

“No, but we try to take precautions.”

Awen nodded. “Smart. And if someone is following us?”

“Well, outer Omodon is home to some fairly unsavory systems that may or may not be easily stirred up if a reputable bounty hunter were to advertise that a certain vessel had a very high price on its hull.”

“That’s convenient,” she replied. “Too bad we don’t know any reputable bounty hunters.”

“Hey, you don’t know Ezo,” the man said, pressing a hand to his chest. “You just give him a bad rap because he got mixed in with the likes of Abimbola over a bad poker-chip flip. Ezo’s a really nice guy, though.”

“I’m sure he is,” Awen said. “And let’s just keep it at that. Nice Guy Ezo.”

“Yeah, Nice Guy Ezo. That’s me.” He brushed a hand through his hair. “So, you ever going to open that stardrive?”

That was the question that everyone seemed to have in common. And the truth was, Awen wanted to know what was on it, too—now more than ever. Who knew what So-Elku would have done to her if she’d resisted him further. Or what he would have done after she opened it. Awen shuddered to think of that. She only hoped that Willowood was all right. The elder had risked her reputation to save Awen without needing any explanation. Perhaps she even risked her life.

More questions tugged at Awen’s mind, and she knew her fatigue wasn’t going to produce cogent answers. There was still the matter of the bombs themselves. Who’d set them, and what did they hope to accomplish with so much destruction? And then there was the hover bot that had recorded the mwadim handing her the stardrive. It seemed as if someone had expected the handoff—and as if an informant had ratted on the mwadim.

More than anything, Awen wanted to know why she had been the one whom the Jujari leader had entrusted with whatever was on the drive. Was it a matter of mere convenience? If someone else had landed next to him, would he have handed it to them just as easily? Maybe there was something unique about her, perhaps because she was a Luma. But if that was the case, why not dispense with negotiations and set up a private meeting? The Luma would have jumped at the chance to entertain a private meeting with the distinguished, though violent, Jujari leader.

The questions were too much for her to handle, at least at the moment. She was tired of thinking, tired of trying to figure out how all the puzzle pieces went together. It felt like playing chess in the dark without hands.

Still, somewhere in the back of her mind, Awen felt like the mwadim had chosen her, intentionally singling her out as the one to inherit the stardrive. “Guard it,” he’d charged her with his dying breath. “Never let them find it.” There had been something earnest in the way he spoke to her, as if they were old confidants sharing a secret. He’d wanted to speak to her and no one else.

But then Awen found herself asking another question. When the mwadim charged me with guarding the device, did he mean the stardrive or what was on the stardrive? If it had been about keeping the device hidden, that secret was out. But if it was about what was on that drive, then… she couldn’t know how to protect it unless she knew what it was.

She needed to open the stardrive, and sooner rather than later. If So-Elku and others were coming for her, as they most likely were, then she could only protect the contents of the drive in one of two ways: either she learned about what she was guarding before they could, or she died. Of course, there was always a third alternative—So-Elku could force her to reveal the contents and then kill her.

I’ll give him neither option. “I’m going to open the stardrive,” she said.

Ezo’s eyes went wide, and he clapped his hands. “Yes! Yes, you are! Let’s do this!” He spun around. “Ninety-Six, where are you?”

“Wait, what are you doing?” Awen asked.

“TO-96 is a navigation bot. Did you forget already?”

“No, I—”

“Whatever that thing shows you, whatever intel or coordinates—Ninety-Six! Get out here!—whatever reward in the labyrinth awaits you, he’ll know how to get you there.”

“I suppose that is helpful.”

“Of course it is! Ninety-Six!”

“Coming, sir,” the bot said as his footfalls shuffled down the corridor moments before he appeared. “I was simply making sure that—”

“Never mind that. Awen’s going to open the stardrive.”

“The stardrive? How exciting for her.”

“For her?” Ezo asked, shooting the bot a surprised look. “Yes—quite so.” The bounty hunter walked over to the table in the middle of the room and cleared it for Awen. “Please, take a seat.”

Awen approached the table while reaching for the stardrive in the satchel. She sat to one side while Ezo sat across from her, and TO-96 stood between them.

“Ninety-Six, please lower the lights,” Ezo said.

“As you wish, sir.” Instantly, the lights dimmed, and only the floors emitted their constant white glow.

Awen held the gray cylinder in her right hand, examining it. Its irregular surface and many indentations held dried blood that was now brown and flaking. It was heavier than it looked, something she hadn’t noticed before. Or maybe her hand was just tired; it was shaking a little, after all.

In a strange way, she wished the mwadim was here to open this with her, to explain why he’d given it to her and what was so important about it. It would be like a professor leading a student through an assignment or a cherished text. Then she thought of her parents, who would marvel that their daughter would be entrusted with such a prized possession from a world leader. But they have no use for other worlds. She thought of Willowood and what her wise guidance might mean in a moment like this. And finally, she thought of Magnus. She missed his… His what? His strength? His ability to protect me? But she was able to protect herself even more than he was, and she was stronger than even his Republic armor. Still, she wished Magnus was present for reasons she could not explain.

In the end, however, she was alone. Yes, Ezo and TO-96 were with her, but this was not their burden to carry or their battle to fight. Awen was alone, and no one else had been entrusted with this device but her.

Awen placed her thumb on top of the button. She let her mind move back to the dais once again, the horrible memories flooding her senses. The smell of smoke, of burning flesh. The ringing in her ears, the muted screams of the dying. The taste of blood in her mouth, the excruciating pain in her body. And the mwadim.

“Here goes nothing.” Awen pressed down on the button, and the micro-needle punctured her skin.

22

Awen placed the stardrive on the table and sucked the blood from her thumb. The device started to glow and then separated with a metallic click, splitting lengthwise. From a bright central core, the drive emitted a blue holo-projection above the table, a scene that swirled about like a flurry of light snow. Eventually, thousands of blue pinpoints of light resolved into a three-segmented symbol.

Awen, Ezo, and TO-96 leaned in. “What is it, Ninety-Six?” Ezo asked.

“Searching,” the bot replied, his head tilting back and forth as he scanned the three-dimensional image.

Awen found the symbol fascinating. Two opened-ended arches connected at the apexes like chain links, their four ends tapering to points. Bisecting the horizontal plane was a ring that seemed to lock the arches in place. The collection of three shapes slowly rotated over the table, casting blue light on everyone’s faces.

“I’ve never seen it before,” Awen said, wondering at the symbol’s meaning.

“Neither has Ezo,” the smuggler said.

“And neither have I,” TO-96 said. “In fact, this symbol is not listed on any of the Galactic Republic’s records and does not match symbology for any known sentient species.”

“Seriously?” Ezo asked. “I thought you knew everything about everything.”

“Everything is a relative word, sir.”

“Really? Because the way I use it, it’s not.”

Awen looked at the bot. “Wait, so you’re saying it’s not from our galaxy, then?”

“Not conclusively, Awen. The galaxy is, after all, a very big place.”

“Or maybe it’s a secret order or something,” Ezo added. TO-96 looked at him. “You know, like a conspiracy group, an off-the-books Repub hit squad, something like that.”

TO-96 tilted his head. “I don’t think so, sir.”

Suddenly indignant, Ezo placed his hands on his hips. “And why not?”

“For one, I already have a record of all known galactic conspiracy groups and kill teams, known or supposed.”

“Wait—you do?” Ezo asked.

“Secondly, those groups don’t go around placing their locations on stardrives. We already know where most of their headquarters are.”

“Wait, wait—you know that too? How am I just now discovering this? How is Ezo just now discovering this?” Ezo looked at Awen, who shrugged. “Ninety-Six, it’s like we don’t even know each other anymore.”

“What can I say, sir? Like a woman, I’m a mystery you’ll never fully unravel.”

Awen beamed. “Well said, Ninety-Six.”

“Thank you, Awen.”

Ezo was incredulous, his mouth hanging open.

Awen returned to the symbol in front of them, studying it carefully.

“What does it do next?” Ezo asked.

“I’m not sure, sir,” TO-96 replied. “My sensors are not showing any activation functions beyond what Awen has already initiated.”

“So that’s it, then? It’s just some random symbol?”

“It’s not a symbol,” Awen offered. “Well, not just a symbol. Symbols imply a shared meaning between two parties. But I’m assuming whoever coded this drive didn’t expect anyone to receive it who knew them already.”

“Why do you say that?” Ezo asked.

“Because not even TO-96 here knows this symbol. Which means this little drive is either a long way from home or—”

“Whoever made it wanted it to get into someone else’s hands,” Ezo concluded.

“Exactly.”

“So, any ideas about what it might be?”

“Maybe,” she said, reaching for the three components. “I wonder if it’s a puzzle. A key of some sort.” She grasped the circle, her hands closing around the light, and twisted it slightly like someone might loosen a stick caught between rocks. Then she maneuvered the arches individually so that they slid out from one another. As soon as the three elements were separated, the arches rotated and embraced the circle with their apexes to the far left and right sides of the new shape, resembling a planet with a ringed debris field. Then a swirl of small lights emerged in the center of the circle, forming a tiny cluster.

“It’s a star system,” Ezo said. The three of them watched as the system of little lights grew so large that it overtook the symbol.

“And one there’s no record for,” TO-96 concluded.

“Wait,” Ezo said. “You seriously haven’t seen this one before?”

“Sir,” the bot said, his eyes scanning the swirl of lights, “I am ninety-nine percent sure that no one has a record of this.”

Awen studied the cluster of lights, looking closely at each planet. “Someone clearly coded this drive with great care. The detail is incredible.” She moved her body left and right, up and down. “You’re documenting this, right, Ninety-Six?”

“Every millisecond, yes, Awen.”

“Good, because—hold on. There,” she said, pointing to the fourth planet. “It looks habitable.” Her finger no sooner touched the sphere than it expanded to fill the holo-projection. The planet looked like a perfect terrestrial class-four world, capable of propagating carbon-based life. Continents of green floated in large bodies of blue, and two white caps adorned the poles.

Suddenly, the second symbol appeared on the planet’s surface, its diamond and two arches centering on a coast near the equatorial line.

“A capital, perhaps,” TO-96 offered.

“That’s what I was thinking,” Awen said.

“Let’s get this straight,” Ezo interjected. “You’re saying that a star system that no one knows about has a habitable planet with a capital city that just so happens to be marked on this stardrive. And that’s because…”

“Because someone wants us to find it,” Awen answered.

“Haven’t you seen the holo-movies?” Ezo said with his hands in the air. “These types of stories never end well. It’s why we pay lots of credits to watch them—because seeing someone else get vaporized is much more rewarding than seeing Ezo get vaporized.”

“Well,” Awen said, “think of it this way. If the Order wants this stardrive, and we have to assume the Republic wants this star drive, then whatever it leads to must be pretty important.”

“Important enough to stay away from,” Ezo added.

“Important enough to be very expensive,” Awen corrected. “Making whoever finds it very, very rich.”

Ezo’s mouth froze open, and the two of them stared at each other. Gotcha.

“You know,” Ezo said, crossing his arms and stroking his chin, “Ezo’s having second thoughts about this planet. It might just be worth visiting. Ninety-Six can help Ezo avoid being vaporized. Plus, who knows? Maybe there’s a new race of pretty aliens who think Ezo’s exotic.”

“Here we go again,” TO-96 said.

“There’s just one problem,” Ezo said. “How do we get to a system no one has charted?”

“That’s a good question,” Awen answered. “And I fear that’s where we may not have enough information.”

“May I interject something?”

“Of course, TO-96,” Awen said.

The bot pointed to a small cluster of three inward-facing triangles floating beneath the planet. As soon as his finger touched them, the planet disappeared, and the stardrive began to pulse.

“What’d you do, ’Six?” Ezo asked.

“I’m not entirely sure, sir. I was hoping that the shape was a data-entry field.” The bot leaned back as the space above the table suddenly filled with text that flowed down in vertical streams. TO-96’s servos chattered as his head twitched to keep up with the code.

To Awen, the lines of data looked like a waterfall that cascaded down from a source far above them, one rivulet overlapping with others behind it. Even if the characters had meant something to her individually—which they didn’t, as the characters were completely foreign to her—she could no more tell what the message said than read a message on a holo-pad as it was tossed across a room.

“You getting this?” Ezo asked with excitement.

TO-96 did not respond, his head still stuttering in the cascading blue light.

“It’s not a rhetorical question, ’Six!”

Still not responding, the bot jiggled, his whole body shaking in the effort. The data stream was flowing more quickly now, the characters running together in long lines.

“Ninety-Six!”

Suddenly, the blue streams of light disappeared. TO-96 froze and fell forward, catching himself on the table, Ezo holding the bot’s chest in his arms. The bot looked down at the stardrive as it returned to a steady soft glow.

“What in all the cosmos was that about?” Ezo asked, pushing the bot upright. “Are you okay, Ninety-Six?”

TO-96 looked up. “I know where it is.”

Then a new item appeared over the table. It spun slowly, taking the form of a funnel with a coordinate designation hovering beside it, written in Galactic common.

“What’d you do?” Ezo asked. “Wait, was that whole thing some sort of download or something?”

“It seems I have received a sizable amount of data, yes. Including precise coordinates.”

“To a system outside our galaxy?” Ezo asked.

“To a system outside our universe,” the bot corrected.

Ezo and Awen were stunned, looking from the holo-projection to TO-96 and back. “But… how is that possible?” Ezo asked.

“The multiverse,” Awen whispered.

“The what?” Ezo threw his hands up in the air. “Just great! Ezo’s got a bot who’s missing a piece of his head and a mystic who’s lost hers entirely.”

“Sir,” TO-96 said, “assertions about theoretical quantum states do suggest that multiple universes are not only plausible but probable.”

“Yeah, I know, I know,” Ezo said, waving the bot off. “But did you hear what you just said? Theory. None of it’s real enough for us to see what this stardrive is proposing.”

“But we’ve seen it,” Awen added.

Ezo was not entertained. He raised one eyebrow and placed his hands on the table. “You’ve seen it,” he said without enthusiasm. “You’ve got to be kidding me, Star Queen.”

“We’ve seen it,” Awen repeated, crossing her arms. “The Luma engage with these dynamics all the time. In the Unity of all things. There are more states of being than any one mind can fathom.”

“Superpositions,” TO-96 added.

“Superstitions is more like it,” Ezo said.

“That’s the technical term, yes. Superpositions, that is.” Awen glared at Ezo. “For us, however, it is more like layers of reality rippling outward from a single point of action. Each wave represents an alternative state that extends itself into new ways of being. Think of it like a tree that grows limbs, then branches, then twigs, then leaves and seeds. In autumn, seeds make their way into the ground, some of which become new trees over time. One tree can produce an entire forest if the conditions are right.”

“Can someone tell Ezo how we suddenly moved from cosmology to botany?” Ezo asked.

“It is a quaint analogy,” TO-96 said.

“I don’t care about quaint!” Ezo exclaimed. “I care about a star system hovering over my table that no one’s ever mapped in another universe!”

“Well, sir—”

“No, ’Six! Don’t answer. That was rhetorical.”

“Very good, sir.”

Awen squinted at the new object in the holo-projection. “So, is that a wormhole?”

“No, though I believe it may behave much the same way as a wormhole.”

“I’m confused,” Awen replied.

“So is Ezo,” the smuggler said.

“Without making it too complicated for you,” TO-96 said, taking on the air of a professor, “wormholes are essentially gateways that connect two points in the same space-time. Unlike a black hole, however, they contain no event horizon. A black hole’s event horizon is known as a singularity.”

“Where all things become one,” Awen offered.

“Precisely,” TO-96 said, jabbing a finger at her. “The problem with a singularity is that it’s fairly problematic for anything that needs to stay atomically stable in order to survive.”

“You mean, like people,” Awen said.

“Like people, yes. Or planets. Anything as you know it will not retain its present form as it is drawn into the gravity well of a black hole.”

“But you’re saying it’s not like either a wormhole or a black hole?” Awen asked.

“As far as I can tell, yes. This cosmic feature has the singularity of a black hole but the portal properties of a wormhole. It appears to make use of something called quantum tunneling.”

“So it’s like a black hole and a wormhole, but it’s not either of them,” Ezo summarized.

“Correct, especially since neither term is used by the Novia Minoosh.”

“The Novia who?” Awen moved toward the bot, her eyes alight with wonder.

“The Novia Minoosh. They are the race who formed the gate and whose star system we observed.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Ezo exclaimed. “They formed that quantum-gate thingy?”

“As I said, the Novia Minoosh don’t call it—”

“You actually know their name?” Awen asked, leaning over toward TO-96.

“Why, yes. That is what they listed in the data provided to me in the—”

“It’s a new civilization!” Awen yelled, completely abandoning decorum. “In the multiverse! I can’t believe this!” She started pacing back and forth, her hands fluttering beside her cheeks. Ezo and TO-96 stared. Ezo was surprised by her sudden outburst. This version of Awen wasn’t anything like the well-mannered emissary they’d known up to this point. “The implications are…” Awen paused, searching for the words. “Oh, mystics—this is groundbreaking! This is extraordinary! I mean, the academy always postulated that quantum displacement would populate latticed anomalies, but this! It’s…”

Awen was out of breath, glancing back and forth between them. Then she suddenly remembered herself. She stopped pacing, straightened her back, and cleared her throat. “Forgive me,” she said, having regained her composure. “This is a—an important breakthrough, which—”

“It’s okay, Star Queen. You can freak out.”

Awen threw her hands in the air. “Right? It’s unbelievable!”

“I do share Awen’s enthusiasm,” TO-96 said, “though in slightly less demonstrative expressions. It would appear that this quantum tunnel, as I think we should take to calling it, is positioned in the outer reaches of the Troja quadrant.” TO-96, now apparently connected to the stardrive, caused it to zoom out without using his hands until the quantum tunnel appeared as a small blip in a larger collection of star systems. “There.”

“I’ve never been that far,” Awen said.

“I don’t think anyone’s been that far,” Ezo added. “We’d have to, have to…” He trailed off as though lost in calculations.

“We’d have to take on a second drive core,” TO-96 said.

“A second drive core?” Awen repeated. “You can do that?”

“Quite easily, yes,” the bot replied. “Or a drive-core modulator if we want to get there more quickly.”

“A modulator for higher levels of subspace travel,” Awen said. “They increase speed over time, depending on what levels a ship is outfitted to achieve.”

“Precisely, Awen.”

“A few Luma ships have them, but I thought they were expensive. As in, sell-the-ship-to-buy-the-modulator type of expensive.”

“Once again, you are very perceptive,” the bot said. “In fact, both a second drive core or a modulator currently exceed the balance of Captain Ezo’s credit account, which presently rests at—”

“Hey, hey,” Ezo said. “Don’t you know it’s not polite to share our financial status with guests?”

“I was merely trying—”

“You were trying to lessen the Star Queen’s hopes of making it to the quantum tunnel,” Ezo said, moving around the bot to place a hand on Awen. “And that is no way to treat such a lovely—and respectable—guest.” He looked at TO-96. “Don’t you see how badly she wants to meet these Novia Nims, Mini, Moosh—”

“Minoosh, sir.”

“Nooshes? Awen, I promise you”—Ezo looked her straight in the eyes—“we are going to get you there, or my name isn’t Idris Ezo.”

“But, sir, your real name is—”

“Shut it, ’Six!”

23

The little girl let go of her mother’s hand and approached Magnus. He wasn’t sure what to make of the child’s identification of him, as he was quite sure he’d never met her before. He would have remembered her or her parents—well, at least her mother.

“Calm down,” she said, motioning him with her little fingers.

“Piper, don’t be rude, darling,” Valerie said.

“It’s not a problem,” Magnus replied, though inwardly, he always got a little nervous around kids. He’d only had one sibling—a younger brother—and no cousins.

Magnus knelt and placed his helmet on the floor. “I’m Adonis,” he said, guessing they should start on a first-name basis. He didn’t want to be “Mr. Magnus” to her—that was his father.

“I know.”

“Piper!” Valerie scolded. “Mind your manners.”

“I’m Piper,” she said, holding out her hand.

“It’s nice to meet you, Piper.”

“Pleased to meet you,” she replied, shaking one of Magnus’s fingers. Then, in one quick motion, she let go of his hand, dropped her stuffed animal to the floor, and placed both her palms against Magnus’s cheeks. Magnus almost recoiled; the gesture was so intimate, and he was a stranger after all. But her face held curiosity and delight, and he felt that pulling away might disappoint her. She smiled at him, her hands pressing harder against the sides of his face as his lips smushed together. Magnus looked up to see that Valerie was aghast.

“I was right,” Piper said. “It is you.”

“It’s me?” Magnus asked, looking back at Piper.

“Yes. Of course. You remember, right?” Piper stepped back.

“Remember? I’m sorry, Piper, I don’t—”

“After the explosion. You walked up to me. You looked very scary at first. I thought you were a bad guy. I thought you were going to hurt me. But then you told me everything was going to be okay and took off your helmet.”

“I’m so sorry, Piper. I don’t think I know what you’re talking about.” Magnus was disturbed by her use of the word explosion and even more disturbed by how utterly convinced she was that whatever she was describing had really happened. She spoke as if she believed it—as if she knew it.

“Of course you do,” she replied, withdrawing her hands. “You and I were just there together. You’re so silly.”

“You’ll have to forgive her,” Valerie said, kneeling next to the girl and holding her shoulders. “She’s been having very intense dreams.”

“It wasn’t a dream, Mama. I keep telling you, but you don’t believe me.”

“Sure I do, darling.”

“No,” Piper said wrestling from her mother’s grip and moving beside Magnus. “You don’t believe me. But Adonis does.” She looked into his face, wispy strands of blond hair falling over her blue eyes and freckled nose. “Don’t you, Adonis?”

Magnus hesitated. For some reason, he felt himself wishing Awen was with them. She would know what to say. He looked from Valerie to Darin and back to Piper. “I, uh—”

“But, Adonis,” Piper pleaded, “we were just there. You—you rescued me.”

“I’m sorry, Piper, but I don’t—”

“No one believes me.” Piper reached down for her stuffed animal, spun away from Magnus, and ran around the couches.

“Piper! Come back!” Her mother moved to follow her, but the senator caught her arm. The girl ran down the corridor, her soft footfalls fading away to nothing.

“I’m very sorry for that, Magnus,” the senator said, inviting him to sit back down.

“Yes, she’s been having very vivid dreams as of late,” Valerie added. “We’re not sure why or what they mean. All scans show normal brain activity, but there seems to be…”

Magnus watched as the senator reached for Valerie’s forearm. Not the most loving point of connection when trying to comfort someone. Are they hiding something? Because that sure looks like a reminder not to say too much.

“Seems to be what?” Magnus asked.

“Nothing,” Valerie said, waving him off and placing her hand over her husband’s. “It’s nothing.”

Magnus looked between them. Clearly, she’d been about to share more—wanted to share more. But her husband was stopping her. “If there’s something else going on, you need to tell us. Maybe we can help.”

The senator took a deep breath and looked at his wife then back at Magnus. “Her dreams are… there have been some… manifestations.”

“Manifestations?” Magnus asked, furrowing his brow. “Can you explain?”

“It seems that when she dreams, things happen,” Valerie said. “I woke her up from a dream where she said she was falling into a mountain, reaching for the sides of a bottomless pit. When I woke her up, her fingers were… were…”

“Her fingers were bloody, Lieutenant,” the senator finished. “As if she had just run them across rough granite.”

“And the dream of the explosion she just told you about…” Valerie’s eyes filled with tears. “That was last night.”

“You don’t think it had something to do with your drive-core failure, do you?” Magnus asked, suddenly concerned that maybe these people had lost their minds. Maybe the air was going stale, or there was a containment leak. He knew crazy things could happen in the void.

“We’re not sure, of course,” the senator said. “This is far too speculative to be conclusive. However, our engineer hasn’t been able to assign a cause for the sudden failure.”

Just then, Gilder called over the handheld comm.

“Go ahead, Private,” Magnus said.

“She’s dead, Lieutenant.”

“Excuse me?”

“She’s dead, sir. The drive core, I mean. I know I’m new to my job and all, but even I can tell you that this core is down for the count. Sucked dry.”

“That’s what our engineer said, too, Lieutenant,” the senator said. “I can confirm his findings.”

Magnus spoke back into the radio. “You absolutely sure about that, Private?”

“Sure that it’s never gonna push an electron again, sir,” replied Gilder. “Whatever hit this thing, it isn’t like anything I’ve ever seen. I don’t think I ever even saw a completely depleted core at school. Yet the life support and systems generators are completely intact.”

“Copy that. Come on back.” Magnus looked at the senator. “Looks like you’ve got yourself a floating house without a motor.”

“So it seems.”

“Listen, Senator. I can’t say I know anything about your daughter. That’s above my pay grade. But I do know we can get you to the closest substation, and you’re on your own from there. Is that acceptable with you?”

“Quite so, Lieutenant.” The senator stood and extended his hand. “Thank you.”

“Our pleasure, sir,” Magnus said, shaking it.

“Lieutenant?” came a voice over the handheld comm’s secondary channel. It was the warrant officer.

“Go ahead, Nolan.”

“A ship just jumped out of subspace. Bull Wraith. And it’s got a lock on our position.”

“Republic?” Magnus asked.

“Sir, I—”

“Is it a Republic vessel?”

“I can’t tell, sir.”

“What do you mean, you can’t tell?”

“It’s not broadcasting any designation classifiers and won’t reply to hails. Closing quickly. AI puts it at ninety-eight seconds.”

Splick. This isn’t good. No Republic ship was that hard to get ahold of. The whole thing felt off to him, which meant it was time to leave. And fast.

“Prepare to depart, Nolan. We’ll be there in sixty.”

“What’s happening?” Valerie asked.

“Grab your daughter, and leave everything else,” Magnus ordered. Then he broadcast on the primary channel, “Time to jump, team. Exfil on the double.”

* * *

“All souls accounted for,” Dutch yelled to the bridge.

“Detach,” Nolan ordered Rawlson.

“Detaching.” There was a momentary pause, and the ship shuddered. “Ship away, ship away,” Rawlson said.

“Well, would you look at that,” the senator said, peeking his head inside the bridge. Out the starboard window loomed one of the most foreboding heavy armored transports in the galaxy. Bull Wraiths, while not destroyers, still packed a serious punch for any ship unlucky enough to tangle with one. The black hulk looked more like a battering ram than a starship and boasted two mega-gauss cannons on either side of its nose-forward bridge. Several Titan missile-defense batteries were clustered above and below the hull, while T300 blaster turrets covered the sides.

Beyond weapons capabilities, the ship also had an advanced cargo and rapid delivery system, or ACARD. It was able to stow and deploy everything from munitions and troops to armament and small cruisers faster than most ships could run a startup sequence. It deployed its cargo from four cavities, including one under the bridge, which Magnus always thought looked like a giant maw ready to chomp down on prey. It was commonly said that if the Bull Wraith didn’t scare you, whatever was in it should.

“You gotta give us something, Nolan,” Magnus said.

“Almost ready, sir.”

“That’s not good enough.” He watched the warrant officer finish the start-up sequence, port the two main engine ventricles, and slide his fingers up the dashboard for full engine burn.

“There she is,” Nolan said. “Everyone hold on! Engines ahead, full!”

Magnus and the senator grabbed seat backs as the ship lurched forward. The cockpit rattled, and a loud roar filled the air. While the Sparrow didn’t meet anyone’s definition of comfortable, it was fast, and that was all that mattered at the moment.

“How soon until we can jump?” Magnus asked, yelling above the engines.

“Coordinates almost calculated!” Rawlson replied.

“Jump core standing by!” Gilder added.

“Lock in those coordinates,” Nolan ordered. “We need to be gone yesterday!”

The roar would have been deafening had it lasted any longer. Magnus glanced at Rawlson’s displays and saw that they were pulling away from the Bull Wraith. A small wave of relief filled his chest. But he’d seen far too much action to know that nothing was over until you’d had at least one good meal to commemorate your survival.

“Locked!” Rawlson yelled.

“Jumping!” Nolan exclaimed and slid the secondary throttle fields to full. But nothing happened. No space-time bend, no light stretch—nothing. To make things worse, the engines suddenly started to wind down.

“I need to know what’s going on here, Nolan,” Magnus ordered.

“I don’t know, sir.”

“That’s unacceptable!”

“Jump core off-line,” Rawlson yelled. “Propulsion off-line. Navigation off-line!”

Nolan spun around. “How’s this happening?”

“It’s the other ship, isn’t it, Lieutenant?” the senator said.

Magnus was afraid of this. While the Republic placed certain limitations on its weapons capabilities, particularly hostile long-range ship-to-ship interfacing, non-Republic fleets did not feel the need to be so ethical. No doubt a Luma stipulation or some political jockey who wanted to make everyone feel better about having the deadliest navy in the galaxy. But they weren’t the deadliest navy, at least not anymore. That was the irony of it all. To make the public feel like you were less of a monster, you had to reduce your battle readiness, which always made you more of a target. It was a brutal cycle.

“Well, I think it’s safe to say she ain’t Repub,” Magnus said.

“Sir,” Rawlson said, “we’re being towed in.”

“Can’t throw it off?” Nolan asked.

“Negative, sir.”

“She’s got us right where she wants us.” Magnus turned to the senator. “Sir, I want you and your family in the captain’s quarters. It will be the safest place for you until we have a plan.”

“But, Lieutenant—”

“Sir, your safety is my mission objective. End of story.”

“I understand.”

“Dutch,” Magnus said.

“Yes, Lieutenant.”

“You seem to like that armory.”

“Yes, sir,” she replied.

“Outfit everyone with a blaster then help me fortify the cargo bay for optimal cover.”

“Copy that.”

“All hands,” Magnus said in a full voice, “prepare to be boarded.”

24

For the first time since the attack on the mwadim’s palace, hope had returned to Awen—not enough to dissuade her from leaving the Order but enough to make her see this last thing through. After all, no one in three generations had discovered a new race. And beyond that, she didn’t know of anyone discovering life in another universe.

Awen had her doubts, of course. The whole thing could be a scheme, someone’s idea of a grand joke. But based on how many people had died for this stardrive and the lengths her master—the traitor—had gone to for its acquisition, she very much doubted this was a joke.

A new world in a new universe. She tried to drift off to sleep for the first time in days. Suddenly, all the pain she’d endured felt worth something. It was not all in vain if it meant making the cultural discovery of the century. Maybe even the cultural discovery of the millennium.

She began to wonder what this new planet looked like, what color its star was. Then she wondered if the other universe’s model of physics even behaved like her universe’s. For all she knew, Geronimo Nine would cease to exist the moment it crossed the quantum tunnel’s event horizon.

But that didn’t seem likely. Why go to so much trouble to contact another universe only to invite visitors to their instant deatomization? She opened her eyes in the darkness. A hostile species might do that. Plus, no one would ever survive long enough to report back, so it would be effective. Diabolical, but effective.

“No,” she said out loud and readjusted her pillow. “That’s not going to happen.” At least she hoped it wasn’t. A race advanced enough to communicate beyond the limitations of space-time surely wouldn’t be hell-bent on annihilating extra-local species without even meeting them. Plus, TO-96 seemed to have the physics worked out in that strange head of his—at least in theory.

Awen suddenly felt a wave of guilt that she was not sharing this news with anyone else. The galaxy should know, after all. But who could she contact? Not the Luma, as all communication channels were probably compromised. She wished she could at least speak to Willowood, ask her for advice, maybe even get her to come along. But Awen had already put the elder’s life in grave danger—she wasn’t about to jeopardize her further.

Next, she thought about her parents. She wanted to contact them. But any efforts to do so would probably only put their lives in danger, she concluded with a growing sense of remorse. If she survived this—if they all survived this—Awen would tell her father that pursuing peace beyond Elonia was possible. And necessary.

Awen also wished she could contact Magnus. He would be good to have along on this expedition. As a professional—a trooper—of course. One I can trust. One who I…

She couldn’t bring herself to finish that thought, at a loss for words that would express her feelings about him.

And what do you feel, Awen?

“Gratitude,” she said out loud. “That’s all.” But she knew she was lying to herself.

Awen felt herself sinking deeper into the bed, the covers pulled tight around her chin. Just as the last wave of consciousness overtook her, she wondered if Magnus had read her handwritten note yet. She smiled.

* * *

Geronimo Nine entered the Psylon system and made port on Ki Nar Four without incident—Awen’s vomiting aside. Being on the far side of the Omodon quadrant in the Khimere sector, the back-world planet was a longtime haven for the galaxy’s most notorious criminals. Unlike the Dregs, where setting up shop close to the Jujari offered some semblance of protection, Ki Nar Four was for those who truly wanted to disappear from watchful Republic and non-Republic eyes alike. The downside to this, of course, was that Ki Nar Four had its own set of rules and, therefore, its own sets of eyes.

The planet itself was a constantly rupturing sphere of molten lava and charred tectonic plates. Seismic shifts would have shattered anything built on the crust, so the first pioneers established small floating cities a few kilometers above the surface. What the class-two terrestrial planet lacked in the more obvious natural resources essential to sustaining life—such as water and biofuel, which had to be imported—it made up for in raw power. The constant release of elemental gases and heat made ideal commodities that not only supported the energy needed to keep large cities hovering in atmosphere but also served as revenue streams for whoever exported them to the rest of the quadrant. The person who controlled the elements controlled the credits. And that was just who Ezo was headed to see.

“You should stay with the ship,” Ezo said to Awen as he checked his pistol in the cargo bay.

“Nice try,” Awen replied, moving past him toward the open ramp.

“Whoa, where do you think you’re going? You can’t be seen walking out there.”

“And why not?”

“You’re a Luma. Of all planets in the galaxy, this one hates your kind the most.”

“Do I look like a Luma to you?” Awen said, sweeping her hand over her outfit.

Ezo placed the barrel of his pistol under her necklace and held up the medallion. Awen snatched it away and stuffed it inside her turtleneck.

“It’s still best if you stay here, Awen.”

“I have to admit he’s right,” TO-96 said.

“See?” Ezo raised his palms. “Told you.”

“This is no place for a lady,” the bot continued. “You’ll only draw unnecessary attention to us… well, to Ezo, anyway.”

“To the both of us,” Ezo corrected, looking at the bot. “Why just me?”

“Sir, no one of her caliber has stayed with you for more than a night. I’m afraid that will only serve to—”

“And that’s enough of that,” Ezo said, glaring at the bot. He holstered his pistol and smoothed his leather jacket.

“You might need me,” Awen said.

Ezo laughed. “Need you? If you haven’t noticed, Ezo has gotten along fine without you until now. You may be overestimating your importance, Star Queen. Remember, it was you who needed us back on Worru.”

“Sir,” TO-96 said, “by my calculations, Awen’s presence does increase your odds of survivability by thirty-eight percent should you encounter violent resistance here.”

“Our odds, Ninety-Six. Our odds of survival.”

“Not true. Mine remain well over ninety percent.”

“Since when did I ask you about any of this?”

“You always seem to be in favor of things that increase the likelihood that you will survive any given situation. I simply didn’t see a reason for that to change.”

“Huh, would you look at that,” Awen said, returning to the ramp. “Seems we’re a trio.”

“Hey!” Ezo said, lifting a dark-brown cloak toward her. “At least put this on!”

* * *

Awen followed behind Ezo and TO-96, making sure to keep her face hidden within the cloak’s hood. Even the bot donned a cloak to keep wayward eyes from resting on his gleaming metal parts. At least I won’t be the only one kidnapped.

The concrete labyrinth of Gangil, the largest of Ki Nar Four’s floating cities, writhed in dark-green light, busy with all manner of life, both sentient and pest. The sulfur from the planet’s surface, mixed with decaying life from the pavement, formed a stench Awen had never experienced before and hoped never to encounter again.

The three guests crisscrossed through the grim city streets, boots splashing through black puddles and sidestepping bodies that were sleeping or dead—Awen couldn’t determine which. She wished for a flashlight to help pick her way through the refuse but then thought better of it. Sometimes, it was best not to know.

Awen noticed the population increase as they moved farther from the starport and toward the city’s center. Beings of every species jostled against her, many marring her cloak with their wet exterior biology. She was suddenly very thankful that Ezo had insisted she wear it.

They passed by eateries that Awen couldn’t believe remained in business and walked under red lights that invited pedestrians to gaze through glass windows at things Awen was embarrassed to admit she’d glimpsed. She wiped the sweat from her forehead, noting just how hot the air was even so far above the surface. Several aliens whistled at Ezo, some even calling him by name.

Awen glanced at the scantily clad humanoids then back at Ezo. Really?

Ezo wasn’t the easiest person for her to like as it was, but seeing how he confidently moved on what was easily the seediest planet she’d ever seen made her question his moral compass even more. She realized—much to her shame—that she’d placed her trust in Ezo because Abimbola had arranged their meeting. Abimbola, a warlord from the Dregs of Oorajee.

All at once, Awen wondered if she wasn’t a total idiot for opening the stardrive in front of Ezo and agreeing to let him help her. But I convinced him to help me. I practically bribed him with a payout!

Oh, how she wanted to gag her inner monologue. But what else should I expect when moving from the halls of Plumeria to the stalls of Gangil?

Finding Sootriman’s den wasn’t difficult. It sat in the very center of the floating city like a massive bronze cooking pot complete with rounded lid and torrents of steam. It took up at least ten city blocks, by Awen’s estimate, and was detailed with all manner of suspended walkways, grates, circular tube vents, and hatches. The green residue she’d seen everywhere else in the city bled from its rusted holes and exhaust ports. Tattered rags spanned oddly placed decks, and ladders climbed the twenty-story building like skeletons standing on one another’s shoulders, each hoping in vain to make it to the summit and achieve some fabled resurrection.

“Let Ezo do all the talking,” Ezo said as they approached two massive metal doors. He used the butt of his pistol to pound on the right door. Awen expected the strikes to produce a resounding echo. Instead, the sound was a dull thud, thud, thud, betraying just how thick the doors were.

A metal plate slid open above their heads, and a single reptilian eye appeared. It darted around and then looked down, settling on Ezo, then TO-96, then Awen. She winced and lowered her head under the hood.

“Ezo to see Sootriman.”

“You’re not expected,” a lizard-like voice said.

Awen felt a chill travel up her spine. Maybe staying with the ship would have been a better idea after all. But I wanted this, and now I have it and will have to deal with it.

“That’s true,” Ezo agreed. “But when does anyone ever expect their debt holders to come knocking?”

The lizard hissed, moved the eye to all three figures again, then slid the panel shut.

“We’re in,” Ezo said. The right door unlatched with a clank and began a mechanically driven move inward. Ezo turned to Awen. “Don’t look around, and don’t let anything touch you.”

“Understood.” She followed TO-96 into the darkness with Ezo leading the way.

Inside the den, light emitted from small ports on either side of the floor every five meters. It was barely enough for Awen to see her steps by and not nearly enough to make out anything at head level. She wondered where the gatekeeper had gone and almost chanced a look behind her. She thought better of it, however, given Ezo’s advice, and reined in her impulses.

Instead of exploring the world around her, Awen moved inward to her spirit, finding herself centered in the Unity. She took several deep breaths to calm her nerves. Then, slowly, she pressed her senses outward, seeing first her body, then TO-96’s energy, then Ezo’s body. She moved with the ripples of energy that reverberated off every element in the hallway—the floor, the domed ceiling, and the side corridors. Then she felt bodies that lay slumped in passages, rodents that scurried through refuse drains, and several guards who absentmindedly monitored the progress of three unexpected guests through drug-laden eyes. She also sensed something growing along the walls—something with a soul. Something aggressive. Something reaching for her.

In the Unity, everything could become more vivid if enough concentration was employed, including smells. Alien blood mixed with excrement and bodily fluids that she couldn’t place. Rotting flesh signaled someone’s fate and someone else’s meal. And permeating it all was the horrendous stench of sulfur, which was somehow concentrated in these hallways. But at least in the Unity, she could purposely dim certain elements of her surroundings—smells being her first choice here.

Ezo led them up a wide staircase, across some sort of courtyard, and down another hallway. More and more manner of life-forms appeared the deeper they moved, and Awen felt content to remain in the Unity as long as she could. It was safer there.

Finally, Ezo stopped at a second set of doors, this set even taller and wider than the first. Several guards stood up as the trio approached. Awen examined them from within the Unity. They were a form of reptilian sentient she’d never encountered, standing on their hind legs head and shoulders above Ezo. Their tails slapped back and forth on the wet concrete, apparently excited for the newcomers. Black metal plates covered any exposed flesh not already protected by the lizards’ thick scales, and they clasped long energy rods in their claws.

As she examined them, Awen picked up a rather forbidding detail: bits of rotting flesh between their teeth. At least I know what happens to guests Sootriman doesn’t care to see again.

The foremost lizard flicked its forked tongue and let out a blast of air from its nostrils. “What’s this doing back here?” it hissed to no one in particular. “Idris Ezo.”

“Ezo’s come to settle a debt with Sootriman,” Ezo replied.

“Sootriman owes Ezo no debts,” replied the guard.

“Ezo begs to differ,” Ezo said with easy confidence. Awen honestly couldn’t tell if the man was lying or telling the truth.

“How about we just taste you instead.” The other lizards started flicking their tongues too, an action that fluttered the realm of the Unity with small vibrations of energy. The beasts were more powerful than Awen had imagined. She sensed the strength of their long, lean, muscled bodies.

“You could,” Ezo said. “Nimprinth is not that bad on the palate. Throw in a little wantim glaze, and you’d each be in lizard ecstasy.” Ezo’s words produced a dramatic hissing response from the guards, so much so that Awen was worried they’d leap on him that instant.

“However,” Ezo added, raising his index finger, “if word gets out that Sootriman didn’t make good on a debt, all because you ate the claimant, Ezo can’t imagine what that might do to the reputation of this house. Imagine how upset Sootriman would be.” Ezo shook his head in mock wonderment.

“Silence, human!” the main guard said. “You speak simply to tempt us to our own graves.” The flicking of their tongues slowed down. “We are not so easily led astray.”

“Ezo can see now that you are both clever and cunning,” Ezo said with a sigh, his words dripping with disappointment. “And here Ezo thought he’d get you to bite him.”

“We may later, if our master decides your claim is not legitimate.”

“Looking forward to that.”

“As do we,” hissed the guard. Then it turned and snapped an order to its underlings. The doors began an arduous sweep toward them, pushing aside small carcasses. Ezo stepped back, along with TO-96 and Awen.

“That was fairly impressive,” Awen whispered to him.

“Eh, fight-or-flight instinct is pretty easy to sideline, if you know what you’re doing,” Ezo whispered back.

“And if you don’t know what you’re doing?” Awen asked.

“When you’re dealing with Reptalons? Well, you never live to tell about it, so it all works out in the end. The bright side is you don’t make the same mistake twice.”

“Right,” Awen said. “That’s a great bright side.”

“You ready to meet Sootriman?”

“Uh, I guess?”

“Just remember, Ezo told you to stay with the ship.”

25

Magnus crouched beneath a freight container with his index finger on his MAR30’s safety. He’d taken point, insisting that everyone else find defensive positions farther back. Dutch had armed everyone else with MX13 subcompact blasters, ideal for close-quarters combat and limited-range fire. When the ramp went down, if the boarding party was anything but fawning over them in friendliness, Magnus hoped to unleash enough hell that his crew could exfil and find additional cover. They’d regroup and improvise from there. It wasn’t a good plan. In fact, it was a terrible plan. But given their current resources, it was the best he had.

Magnus waited, forcing himself to slow his heart rate. Adrenaline did stupid things to your judgment. Sure, it could help in certain situations, but those were few and far between. It was always best to stay cool and pace oneself.

The crew had gone to ground three minutes before, and the ship had touched down inside the Bull Wraith five minutes before. The supposed enemy force had already passed the standard breach-and-entry time line that Republic Marines trained on. What are they waiting for?

“Any movement, Lieutenant?” Nolan asked over comms. Magnus had coded the handheld comms into his helmet’s TACNET.

“Negative, Cap. They haven’t so much as knocked on the front door.”

“I know I’m only the pilot here, but doesn’t that seem off to you?”

“Affirmative. Either these are the laziest pirates in the galaxy or—”

Or what? Why would anyone capture a ship but not breach it? “Or they don’t care about the ships and they want the hostages alive,” Magnus said.

“The senator,” Nolan offered.

“That’s what I’m thinking.” Magnus looked over the container at the ramp. “Splick, these bogies aren’t coming in. They’re just as happy to keep us—” He felt his stomach lurch and a brief wave of vertigo. “We just jumped into subspace,” he said to Nolan.

“I felt it too, sir.”

“Dammit.” Magnus didn’t like this. The more known variables, the better, and one more just got knocked off his list. Now they didn’t know who had them, why they had them, or where they were headed. However, Magnus was not completely in the dark. As he began to shape the mental battlefield to his will, intel started to reveal itself, even if it was incomplete.

Whoever had captured them was more brazen and calculated than he’d given them credit for. Magnus realized that every act had been highly intentional—swift arrival, no communication, no boarding. And that worried him. Someone was following strict orders. Their situation was growing more desperate by the minute, and a single plan—a desperate plan—started to take shape in Magnus’s head.

“Have everyone assemble here in the cargo bay,” he ordered. “New strategy.”

* * *

The senator and Valerie stood beside a small container with Piper sitting on top of it. Their flight crew stood next to them. Nolan and his flight crew took up the middle, flanked by Dutch, Haney, and Gilder to form the rest of a half circle.

“I’m not sure how much time we have,” Magnus said from the center, “so I’m going to make this quick. The most important thing is that none of us lose our cool. We stay calm, and we all have a better shot of making it out of this without getting our”—he hesitated, looking at the kid—“without a scratch. Copy?”

Various affirmations went up from among the group. Magnus smiled at Piper. “That means you and Mr. Cuddles there—”

“Talisman,” Piper corrected, squeezing the stuffed animal tighter.

Kind of a creepy name for a kid to use. “You and Talisman gotta do your best to help everyone stay calm too. You got it?”

“We got it,” Piper replied.

“Now, we could be in subspace for hours or even days,” he continued, looking around at everyone. “It means once you get to where I tell you, you stay there. You stay hydrated, but you don’t move. I don’t care if you have to piss your pants—no one moves. Copy?”

The group in front of him nodded and gave their verbal assent.

“Good. Now the hard part. Without eyes and ears on the enemy ship’s bridge, we won’t know our destination port. There are elements of risk with every plan, and this is probably our biggest. Chances are, however, that we’ll be within emergency-pod distance of a Republic relay or habitat planet.”

“Emergency-pod distance?” the senator asked. “Wait, do you mean to tell me that your plan is—”

“To jettison every last one of us in the Bull Wraith’s escape capsules, yes.”

The senator was clearly not excited about the plan. “Excuse me, Lieutenant,” he said, taking a step forward. “I don’t mean to discount your military experience here, but there has to be another way besides inadvertently flinging us into deep space or an uninhabitable planet. Plus, who’s to say that the enemy doesn’t circle back and pick us up?”

“Senator, they’d more likely use us for target practice than pick us up.”

The senator blanched. “Lieutenant, I’m not sure I’m following any of your logic here.”

“Okay, first of all, they’re not going to shoot us down.”

“But you just said—”

“Under normal circumstances, yes, I said target practice. But whoever they want, their orders have been to take us alive.”

“How can you be so sure?” the senator asked.

“Because otherwise, they would have boarded us already. Someone wants at least one of us alive, and my credits are on you, Senator. But that’s beside the point. They won’t risk firing on any of the escape capsules for that very reason.”

“So we’re back to them picking us up.”

“Which they might do, but not all of us. They won’t have time.”

“I don’t follow,” the senator said.

“Assuming that this Bull Wraith was once a Republic heavy-armored transport, which it has to be since no other space dock in the galaxy that we know of is capable of making them, one of the very last things to get recoded are emergency pods.”

“Their homing beacons are on proprietary Republic channels,” Dutch offered.

“That’s right. And since every last one has to be recoded manually, they’re way down on the commander’s to-do list. As long as we all depart from the ship in different directions—”

“The cavalry is bound to show up before most of us are recovered,” Nolan concluded.

Magnus nodded. “And if we’re near a habitat planet, even better. They won’t risk an atmosphere reentry recovery. Far too dangerous.”

“There’s only one problem, Lieutenant,” the senator said. “I’m not leaving my family.”

Magnus had been afraid of that. Marines took orders and knew what it meant to sacrifice for the greater good. It was part of their warrior ethos. But the family man, senator or not, was hard to reason with when it came to something he wasn’t willing to lose.

That’s why you’ve never kept anything that close, isn’t it, Magnus?

“Senator Stone, I understand that you—”

“You understand nothing, Lieutenant, if you think for one second that I’m putting my wife and my daughter in two separate pods and placing ourselves at the mercy of the void.”

“Sir, I—”

“Darin, my love,” Valerie said, approaching him from the side.

“No!” the senator exclaimed, pulling away from her hands. “No, Valerie. This is not the best way. I can reason with whoever is helming this ship.”

“You don’t know that,” Magnus replied.

“I’m a member of the Galactic Senate, Lieutenant. And these people will listen to reason when the weight of the entire Republic is leveraged against them.”

“Sir—”

“Stop trying to reason with me, Lieutenant. There are other alternatives besides this foolhardy errand of yours. We reason with them, find a compromise, and no one gets hurt.”

“Or everyone dies,” Magnus replied, “because you severely underestimated an enemy who is able to track down a disabled starship, get to it as fast as the nearest Repub rescue team, and then brazenly abduct the entire ship and its crew without so much as cracking a comm or breaching the ship. Whoever these people are, Mr. Senator, they are not going to reason with anyone, because they are playing by their own rules. They’re not afraid of you or me and certainly not afraid of the Republic.”

He took a step toward the senator. He did not want to embarrass the man in front of his family or his staff, but he also didn’t want anyone to die needlessly, not on his watch. Magnus lowered his voice. “So trust me when I say, Senator, I’ve thought this through, and this is the best chance of survival that you and your family will ever have in a moment like this.”

Senator Stone eyed Magnus hard. Magnus had the distinct impression that he was toe to toe with a man who’d stood up to the most pompous, sniveling bureaucrats in the galaxy and won. Stone was not a pushover. But neither was Magnus. Had the roles been reversed and they’d been in some political mess on Capriana Prime, Magnus felt he would back off and let the senator get them out of harm’s way. He only hoped the senator was thinking the same thing, because the alternative was knocking the man out cold and jettisoning him into the void against his will and without the ability to input course corrections. But Magnus would do it, if he had to, for the sake of everyone else’s lives.

“Very well, Lieutenant.”

Magnus felt his muscles relax and resisted the urge to take a deep breath. “Thank you, Senator. I will do my very best to ensure that you and your family are as close together as possible.”

“I believe you,” he replied.

Magnus looked at the others, knelt, and placed a holo-pad on the floor. “All right, team, here’s the plan.”

* * *

“That’s the last of them,” Gilder said as he dangled upside down in the vertical shaft. He handed the drill and bolts up to Dutch, who set them aside.

“You good, Gilder?” Magnus asked down the tube.

“Roger that,” the engineer said.

“Okay, easy does it,” Magnus said as Haney and Nolan eased Gilder’s legs lower. They continued to lower the engineer down the tube until his boots were almost below the decking.

“That’s good,” Gilder whispered. He let go of the hatch, which sat on the Bull Wraith’s cargo bay floor, slowly slid it to the side, and motioned to be hauled up. Once he was next to them again, Gilder pushed himself onto all fours, face red as a cherry and sweating profusely. He wiped his brow. “I almost passed out.”

“So did we,” Haney said, stretching his arms. “If you make it through this, I’m suggesting a diet.”

“A diet? If I make it through this, I’m eating everything I want!”

“Have that discussion later.” Magnus looked at Dutch. “You ready?”

She double-checked her MX13, modified with a suppressor and an extended energy mag, then nodded. “Locked and loaded, LT.” No one had called him that since… since Flow. Magnus felt his heart sink just a little.

You gonna get her killed too, Magnus?

“No, I’m not,” Magnus said.

“Come again, LT?” Dutch asked.

“Nothing. It’s go time.” He put on his helmet and started the countdown. “Sixty seconds. Go, go, go.”

Dutch slid down the ladder and landed on the cargo-bay floor without so much as a click. Rawlson followed her, and the two of them disappeared.

Magnus pulled up Dutch’s badge cam in his HUD and watched as the two Marines leapfrogged beneath the ship’s belly. Then they made a short dash to a control panel against the bay’s nearest wall.

“They made it,” Magnus said through his external speaker. The room was full of the remaining crew and the senator and his family, all of whom breathed a sigh of relief for this first step of the plan.

After several glances out the bridge windows, Magnus realized that the Bull Wraith’s crew had made a critical mistake. In their effort to remain anonymous, they’d exchanged physical patrols for systems monitoring. While their suppression dampers kept a captured ship from powering up and attempting to escape, it did nothing to keep the crew from slipping away unnoticed—at least, to a point. Magnus hoped to exploit that opportunity as far as he could.

Dutch and Rawlson were typing furiously on the access panel when Magnus heard panels unlock and slide apart in the cargo-bay floor beneath the ship.

“That’s it,” Gilder said, going back down the tube, this time right side up. He crouched under the ship and then gave Magnus a thumbs-up.

“Grates open,” Magnus said. “Everyone down, one at a time.” They each lined up and prepared to climb down the ladder. Magnus helped Nolan down first, followed by the comm officer, then Haney. Next, he called the senator and Valerie, followed by Piper. Then came the senator’s crew. Magnus double-checked to see Dutch and Rawlson return below the ship—his cue to climb down. Magnus had no sooner grabbed the first ladder rung when he felt a sudden wave of vertigo touch him.

“Nolan, confirm you felt that,” Magnus said over comms.

“Affirmative. We’ve jumped out of subspace.”

Splick, Magnus thought. “Accelerating the time line, people. Let’s move it.”

Once underneath the bird, Magnus saw Gilder helping each person slip between the cargo-bay drainage grates that Dutch and Rawlson had opened. So far, so good. Keep it nice and smooth.

Dutch had disappeared into the drain shaft when Magnus heard someone order them to stop. He looked across the immense cargo bay and saw a Marine—no, just a trooper—in black Mark VI armor. The only noticeable insignia were three white stripes on his shoulder plate. Republic armor… on a Republic ship. The trooper brought an MX21 to bear on Magnus… with a Republic blaster!

“Honeymoon’s over!” Magnus yelled at Gilder and Rawlson and flicked off his safety. “Get in!”

The very first blaster bolt caught Rawlson in the throat, gouging a hole straight through the man’s neck. His body fell into Gilder and knocked the bigger man sideways.

Magnus selected high-frequency modulation on his MAR30. He aimed—aided by his helmet’s AI—squeezed, and sent a deafening staccato burst of blue light across the cargo bay. His weapon recoiled against his shoulder as wisps of stray static dissipated. The bolts riddled the assaulting trooper with a tight grouping to the chest. The enemy trooper didn’t have time to register that the ultra-intensity bolts hadn’t even slowed as they passed through his armor and emerged from the back of his chest. He simply slumped to his knees and toppled over—a corpse—before his helmet smacked the floor.

“Get in the hole!” Magnus yelled at Gilder as the engineer crawled out from under Rawlson’s body. An emergency klaxon filled the air. “Come on, Marine! Move that fat ass!”

Startled, Gilder dove headfirst between the grates and disappeared. Then Magnus lowered himself in and scanned the area. Everyone but Rawlson had made it below the grates and down the chute.

“Dutch, you copy?”

“Loud and clear, LT.”

“Blow it.”

“With pleasure.”

Magnus hugged his MAR30 to his chest and jumped down the chute as the control console across from the Sparrow detonated into a fireball.

26

Kane had paced in his quarters for nearly an hour. He massaged his head, trying to ease the chronic pain that had been with him since… too long. Since the war. The pressure had become more acute, however, the moment he’d seen her name. He hadn’t seen it spelled out like that in a long, long time. And the letters had more of an effect on him than he cared to admit.

Is she alive? Or is this someone else using her credentials to their advantage? His thoughts were restless, and he was torn between pursuing the ship signed out in her name and pursuing the ship that was headed toward the object of his desire.

She was once the object of your desire, said that strange voice inside him. It always spoke so calmly, so assuredly. He hated it.

“Yes. I admit that. But things have changed,” he replied, knowing that he was only going to goad the interrogator. But maybe this time he would win. “And that was a long time ago.”

So time is what changed your love? the voice asked.

Kane bristled. “No, things changed over time.”

What things?

Kane massaged his head more. He was already irritated by the pain, the memories, and the deep sense of loss. None of it ever left him alone.

“We had different desires. We didn’t mean for it to happen. It just… happened.”

I see, the voice said, but Kane knew it was condescending to him.

He didn’t need to justify himself here. After all, it was he who’d done all the living—all the dying—not this counterfeit voice in his head.

But you both had the same desires once, the voice retorted.

“We did, yes.”

So time changed those as well?

“They changed over time too, yes.”

You’re mincing words, Kane. You’re not answering the question.

This was infuriating. He’d retreated to his quarters often on every ship he’d ever been assigned to, but even more after he’d become an admiral. Their pet project, he reminded himself. And then he’d gone off the grid. But in all this solitude, he only ever succeeded in getting berated by himself. No, he corrected. By the voice.

Answer the question.

Kane knew what it was getting at—what it was trying to extract from him. But he hated to let it be right. He walked over to the sink and mirror on the far wall. He let the water run hot and then splashed several handfuls on his face, hoping his skin might feel it. He shut the faucet off and gripped the metal sink with both hands. Water dripped from his face as he glared at himself in the mirror—glared at it.

You could have left this fool’s errand and gone after that ship yourself, the voice said.

“I know I could have.”

Then why didn’t you?

“That’s what I have a fleet for.”

But she never wanted your fleet.

Kane pounded a fist on the sink. “That was her problem. She didn’t want to serve the galaxy either.”

Serve the galaxy? the voice said in bewilderment, as if it had just heard something for the first time. Kane knew it was mocking him, as it always did when they sparred about this subject. He glared at it in the mirror, seeing its eyes flick back and forth. Yet she went to serve the galaxy with them.

“She was selfish,” Kane spat. “All she wanted were the old things. She wasn’t open to the possibilities—to what we could have done together.”

Or what you wanted to do.

“She had a choice!” Kane noticed spittle running down the mirror. He wondered where it had come from. His hands ached as he squeezed the metal harder. “She had a choice,” he repeated.

So did you.

“Is that what this is about?” Kane seethed. “You just want me to admit that I made a choice? That it wasn’t time that did it, or distance?”

Yes. That’s exactly what I want.

“Fine!” Kane yelled. “I chose! I chose to pursue the greater good instead of her. Are you happy now?”

I don’t know, Kane. Are you happy now?

“Damn you!” His arms tried to wrest the sink from the wall, saliva bubbling from the corners of his mouth and a small trickle of blood coming from his nose. “Damn you to hell!”

* * *

“Admiral,” came a voice over the private channel to his quarters.

“Go ahead, Captain.” Kane wiped his face with a towel. He noticed blood on it.

“The target ship has made port on Ki Nar Four.”

Kane smirked. He folded the towel and laid it over the edge of the sink. “They’re most likely refueling, taking on supplies.” He paused, brushing the towel’s tiny filaments in the same direction. His hands were getting old, the skin thinning. “We wait. Keep our distance. When they jump again, watch for subspace variations.”

“Understood, Admiral.”

So, you’re going after them, concluded the voice.

“Yes,” Kane replied.

“Excuse me, Admiral?”

Kane had forgotten to close out the channel. His men couldn’t hear him talking to the voice—that would be too much for them. “Nothing, Captain. Carry on.”

“Very good, sir.”

Then Kane slammed his fist down to disconnect. The voice waited. Kane hated the pauses. The pauses were the worst.

You could have seen her again, you know, it finally said.

“Seen who?” Kane asked, genuinely unsure which her the voice was referring to.

Why, your daughter, of course.

Kane’s heart leaped, a feeling he had not had in longer than he could remember. “She’s on that ship?” How long has it been? Fifteen years? “How can you be sure?”

I’m always right. You just don’t like to trust me. But you will. Soon.

“You’re right,” Kane agreed, “I don’t trust you.”

Yet you’re becoming more and more like me.

“No, I’m not. Now you’re just toying with me. I’m going after the stardrive.”

Which is exactly what I would do.

“STOP IT! No, you wouldn’t.”

You could have seen your daughter.

“You already said that.”

You could have met your granddaughter too. But you chose, Kane. You always choose.

27

Awen felt like she had stepped into another world, transported as if by magic from a realm of decay to a kingdom filled with wonder. The juxtaposition so startled her that she left the Unity and glanced over her shoulder just to make sure that the Reptalons weren’t apparitions. They hissed at her as they closed the doors.

Yup. They’re real.

Sootriman’s inner sanctum vibrated with all the color and noise of a fancy town square. The enormous glass-ceilinged room was crisscrossed by red-and-gold fabric stretched between tall pillars. Spread under it were clusters of guests, some reclining on lush pillows, some seated at small tables, and others betting on suckow matches played on patches of bare marble floor.

Unlike the hallway, the air in here was filled with the fragrant smells of perfume and spiced meat grilled over open coals. Awen swallowed her saliva as she suddenly became hungry. The air was also alive with music, though Awen couldn’t place the style. She noticed colorfully dressed minstrels playing drums, lyres, and tambourines in the far corner.

Like the musicians, every person in the opulent space was beautifully dressed—so much so that Awen felt out of place in her borrowed knit turtleneck, leggings, mechanic’s boots, and cloak. There had to be a hundred or more guests, and all were enjoying themselves immensely. The lifestyle of these people was as far from those she’d witnessed during her walk through the city as she could imagine.

A few of the guests looked up at her as Ezo led the way to the opposite side of the room. Awen instinctively hid her face in her cloak, fearing they might notice she was a Luma and hate her like Ezo said they would. By the time she was halfway across the room, murmurs had replaced the music, and the air had grown still.

Awen looked ahead to see perhaps the most surprising sight yet. Atop a dais not unlike the mwadim’s sat a gold throne decorated with red fabric. More than a dozen young women sat or lay across the stairs leading up to it, and in the oversized chair sat a rotund woman. Her almond eyes were set in a tanned olive-colored face, and her dark-brown hair cascaded over her shoulders in waves onto a red-and-gold dress made of exquisitely fine linen. She wore gold rings on her fingers and toes, and gold bracelets on her wrists and ankles. If Awen had to guess, the woman on the throne was almost a meter taller than Awen was.

By the time Ezo had reached the bottom of the dais, the room had gone silent. The woman on the throne watched them with her dark eyes. She hadn’t moved a muscle upon Ezo’s approach. As the three of them stood there in total silence for several seconds, Awen glanced around the room, expecting Sootriman to appear. But he never did.

For the love of all the mystics, it’s her.

As if on cue, Sootriman blinked and started shaking her head. “What possible reason do you have to come crawling back here knowing I’m just going to kill you, Idris Ezo?”

Maybe I should have stayed with the ship, Awen thought, realizing this might have been a mistake. A very big mistake.

“Sootriman, darling, it’s good to see you again too,” Ezo said. “You look as extravagant as ever.”

Sootriman sniffed the air, winced, and flicked her wrists. “Not today, Idris.” As if summoned by the sound of the bracelets jingling on her large arms, two dozen armed guards emerged from the shadows behind the pillars and moved toward Awen. Unlike the Reptalons, these were human men, each clothed in a simple white tunic and brandishing a plasma spear, which they activated as they walked. The thrumming sound of free energy sent a tingle up her spine.

Awen looked left and right as the guards moved in—presumably to dispatch her, the bot, and Ezo with a few swipes of the golden spears, the magenta-colored blades ablaze with heat. Awen pushed herself into the Unity and prepared to resist the guards. She had not come this far to get hacked apart on some seedy back world.

“Is this how you expected it to go?” Awen whispered to Ezo.

“Totally. This is normal.”

“This is normal?” Awen asked, her incredulity threatening to overcome her hushed tone. “She normally tries to kill you when you show up?”

“Yeah, but she won’t.”

“How do you figure?”

“She might be my ex-wife, but she still loves Ezo.”

“Your ex-wife?” Awen looked between Ezo and Sootriman, her mouth hanging open. “Are you kidding me right now?”

“He’s not,” Sootriman said, rolling her eyes.

“Actually, sir,” TO-96 said, “there is one minor detail regarding that outstanding matter.”

“What detail?” Ezo asked, snapping his head toward the bot.

“And what do you mean outstanding, Tee-Oh?” Sootriman added.

“Well, sir, if you remember your snarky comments to the tower operator when we left Plumeria—I was attempting to tell you about the status of your divorce filing. And if you remember, she asked you to file the final notice, sir.”

“And I did,” Ezo said.

“You attempted to—correct, sir. However, as you might recall, you also owed and still owe several months of back shipping taxes to the Republic.”

“Oh, Ezo, you didn’t,” Sootriman said.

“I don’t like where this is going, Ninety-Six,” Ezo said.

“Civil Code number GR 27-2.4 clause 12—”

“I don’t care about the code,” Ezo hissed, motioning for TO-96 to get on with it.

The bot paused, tilting his head. “Interesting. That is precisely what you told me the last time, sir. Your petition for divorce cannot be processed until those taxes are paid in full.”

“So,” Sootriman said as coolly as a Frondothian minx in the shade of an ever-palm, “you’re saying we’re still married.”

“That is correct, Madame.”

“Son of a—”

“You’re still married?” Awen said, running a hand down her face. “To her?”

“Well, this will be remedied shortly,” Sootriman said. “I believe I get to collect some sort of death benefit too—that is, if it’s not taken in lieu of taxes. Any last words before you die, Idris? Or maybe that monstrosity of yours has something more to add?”

“I have nothing more to share, your ladyship,” TO-96 said. “Thank you for asking, though.”

Sootriman rolled her eyes. “Kill them.”

“Wait!” Ezo said in protest, raising his hands. “You can have the ship.”

Sootriman raised her hand. The guards froze, their spears’ plasma heads a meter away.

“The ship?” Awen asked.

“The ship?” Sootriman echoed.

“Sure. We both know you always wanted it. And Ezo feels wrong about having kept it from you.”

“You feel wrong about keeping it from me and you want me to have the ship?”

“Is there an echo in here?” Ezo glanced at TO-96. “Is there an echo in here?”

“A small one, yes,” the bot said.

“You can’t give her the ship, Ezo,” Awen stated, suddenly aware that he was about to double-cross her—no, he’d lied, and he was double-crossing her. There was no favor to call in. If anything, he owed Sootriman!

Awen cursed herself for getting involved in some lovers’ quarrel. She felt betrayed, and she hadn’t even seen it coming. How could I have been so stupid? I should have stayed home. She felt as though she was living in her parents’ house again, with her father talking down to her or her mother scolding her.

Sootriman was on her feet now, descending the steps one at a time as the younger women moved aside. Curse those legs. Now she’s getting the ship too.

The woman approached Ezo, and Awen realized for the first time that she was easily a head taller than him. “What’s your angle, Idris?” she said, striding to within a few inches of his face. “We both know you have one. You always have an angle.”

“Let Ezo use it for one last job.”

“Ha!” Sootriman blurted. “You can’t even come up with enough money to pay for the divorce filing but you’re willing to barter your ship away for one last job? How did I not see this coming?”

“Ezo was hard up for credits,” he replied like a room fan trying to plead its case before a tornado. “You can’t even compare this to back then.”

“You’re right, Ezo. You’re far more pitiful now. At least back then, you knew when you’d been beaten. But now, well, now you’re just groveling. And it’s a really bad look on you.” Sootriman held a sultry hand to her forehead and took a deep breath. “Bartering for your ship. That means you want something else from me too. It means you can’t do your next job without something only I can provide, and you can’t pay for it without pawning your ship to me. That’s it, isn’t it?”

Oh, she’s good—intelligent and beautiful. Awen was suddenly not as jealous of Sootriman’s legs as before. “No wonder she tried to leave you,” she said in Ezo’s ear.

“Ezo left her!” Ezo protested over his shoulder.

“Please, Idris. Your girlfriend—”

“Not girlfriend,” Awen interrupted, and Sootriman raised her eyebrows. “Not girlfriend. Nothing’s going on here.”

“Nothing?”

“Zero,” Awen replied.

“Huh,” Sootriman said with a look of genuine surprise on her face. “I’m impressed, Idris. Maybe you’re maturing after all.”

“Ezo can mature, yes,” he said.

“But—you’re still referring to yourself in the third person.” Sootriman sniffed the air again and tilted her head. She started to walk around the trio like a prowling tigress deciding how best to eviscerate her prey. “So, what is it you need from me? It can’t be more torpedoes. You can get those elsewhere, and they’re not worth the ship. And clearly all your navionics work, or else you wouldn’t be in the system.” She rounded the other side and tapped her plush lips with a finger. “So it’s got to be really, really expensive. Like—like a drive core.”

Awen saw Ezo raise one shoulder. Sootriman saw it too. The tigress was getting closer to feasting.

“There we go. Ezo needs another drive core. But”—she tapped her lips some more—“that’s not what you really want, is it? Unless you’ve blown your current one, which means you wouldn’t be standing in front of me. No, you need a second one for a long trip, one that would best benefit from… oh, Ezo,” Sootriman said with genuine pity, hands going to her hips, her head shaking back and forth. “You want a modulator.”

If TO-96’s sudden head turn hadn’t given it away, Ezo’s double-shoulder raise certainly would have.

“You really think I’m going to just hand over a modulator to you in exchange for a ship I’ll never see again because I let you skip to the farthest reaches of the galaxy?” Sootriman turned to Awen. “Listen, girl. I’m not sure how you got involved with this Bludervian dimdish over here, but my best advice is to run. Run as far away as you can. He won’t kill you.” She glared at Ezo. “He doesn’t have the nerve.” She looked back to Awen. “But everyone else who’s trying to liquidate him will. And you seem too nice to be liquidated.”

“You’ll get it back,” Ezo said.

Sootriman snapped her head at him. “I’ll get it back?”

“You have Ezo’s word.”

Sootriman literally looked as if her eyes—pretty as they were—were going to pop out of her head. “I have your what?”

“My word,” Ezo replied, squaring his shoulders and pushing out his chest. “You have it.”

Sootriman started laughing—deeply. It was a laugh that said, I may be going insane, and if you were worried about your life before, you should be terrified about it now.

Ezo looked at TO-96 then over his shoulder at Awen. “This is normal.”

Fast, like a jungle cat leaping on some unsuspecting quarry, Sootriman withdrew a curved blade from somewhere behind her back and laid it across Ezo’s neck. Awen hadn’t even felt the warning ripples in the Unity. “I need more than your word, husband,” Sootriman said, her lips mere centimeters from the man’s ear.

It wasn’t until the blade nicked Ezo’s flesh and a drop of blood appeared that Awen realized the woman wasn’t playing. She was going to kill him—and Awen wasn’t sure if she blamed her, as morally wrong as that felt. Maybe I’m becoming like one of them. That scared her.

“Here,” Ezo said, lifting something in his hand. “Take this.”

Sootriman glanced down at the offered object, and Awen did too. It was—

The stardrive?

“Ezo, what are you doing?” How could he? Awen was shocked. No, she was furious. She patted her clothing but realized she’d intentionally left the drive… on the ship.

“What’s this?” Sootriman asked, removing the blade, her curiosity clearly piqued.

“You can’t!” Awen protested. “How did you… you’re a coward.”

“She’s not wrong, darling.” Sootriman took the stardrive and examined it. “It’s not every day you come across a find like this. But,” she added, looking at Ezo with a sad face, “Jujari stardrives aren’t any good without—”

“It’s already unlocked,” he said.

Then something came out of Awen’s mouth that she never thought she’d say. “I swear to all the mystics, Ezo, I will kill you.”

Awen could hardly believe she’d said it. Worse, she meant it. She wanted to kill him, and that frightened her. This place, these people—all of it was getting to her, corrupting her from the inside out. But none of that changed the fact that she wanted Ezo to die for his treachery. In fact, if she’d thought she could outmaneuver two dozen armed guards plus Sootriman and TO-96 and then the Reptalons outside, Awen would have ended him right there. She knew how too. She could stop human molecules from vibrating in the Unity. Sure, it was never ever taught at the academy, but she’d figured it out. She could easily stop every cell in a person’s body from moving the same way she’d stopped a block of concrete from falling. Having the nerve to pull it off in cold blood, though—well, that was something else entirely. And that was what scared her: she had the nerve.

“This means something to you, does it?” Sootriman asked Awen, snapping the Luma out of her obsessive stare into the back of Ezo’s skull. “You’d really kill him, for this.” She lightly waved the stardrive in the air.

“I—it’s because—”

“You don’t have to answer that, dear. Hearing yourself say it will only scare you more. I can see it in your eyes anyway. You’re wise to restrain yourself, however, as I would just as quickly kill you, and then where would either of you be?”

“Give Ezo the modulator,” Ezo stated as he wiped the blood from his neck. “You get the ship when we’re done, and now you know exactly where we’re going.”

“New deal. I keep the ship, starting now,” Sootriman countered. “I lend you another ship that already has a modulator on board, and I know where you’re going.”

Ezo cocked his head. “No, no, you don’t understand. Ezo doesn’t want to fly another ship where we’re going. Ezo needs Geronimo.”

“Well, it seems your options are running out, husband,” Sootriman said as she started back up the steps.

Just then, one of her entourage stepped toward her and whispered in her ear. The young woman was barefoot and clad in a flowing silk dress that hung off one shoulder. Contrasting this, however, was a comms set in one ear beset with several small lights. She also concealed a holo-pad in the crook of one arm.

“Are you sure?” Sootriman asked.

The messenger nodded and showed her superior the holo-pad.

Sootriman thanked her and turned back to face Ezo. “It seems you’ve attracted some followers, Ezo.”

“Oh?”

“A corvette just entered the system. Stiletto class. No designators, and it’s trying very hard not to be seen. That doesn’t bother us, of course, but it does say a lot about whomever they’re tailing. You must have really pissed someone off with this.” She shook the stardrive.

“We got away clean.” Ezo turned to Awen as if expecting her to weigh in.

“What are you looking at me for?” she asked, still furious with him. “We don’t fly gunships.”

“Yeah,” he whispered, “but whoever your boss is working with might.”

“I got away clean,” she insisted. “This one’s on you.”

“She’s right, sir,” TO-96 said. “The likelihood that an adversary placed a tracking device on Geronimo is well above fifty percent. It would have been easy for any number of spies to gain access to the ship while—” The bot suddenly froze. “Oh my.”

“What is it, Ninety-Six?” Ezo asked.

“I now recall that some of the Bawee were taking an unusually long time in the cargo hold during refueling.”

“You now recall?” Ezo said with his arms out. “How are you just now recalling this?”

“Given the cultural context and mission parameters of our stop on Worru, I was—”

“It’s a rhetorical question, Ninety-Six!”

“Quite sorry, sir.”

“Ru-Do,” Sootriman said, summoning the foremost guard, “sweep my new ship for tracking devices, and dispose of them. I want it clean before anyone comes poking around.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” the guard replied with a crisp bow.

“Hold on,” Ezo protested, “it’s not your new ship.”

“Negotiations are over.” Sootriman ascended the stairs without bothering to turn around.

“Over? But Ezo—”

“Oh, and Ru-Do, if you see any of these three snooping around, kill them on sight.”

“With pleasure, Your Majesty,” the guard said.

“Or… negotiations are over,” Ezo conceded.

“Glad you agree,” Sootriman said as she sat back down. “You may borrow the ship currently in port at docking bay twenty-one. I believe she’s fueled and ready for departure. Plus, the way I see it, the Indomitable is ready to go. It would take at least one week to get a modulator on Geronimo. Given the Stiletto that’s about to make port, I’d say you have less than one hour. So once again, Ezo, my idea is your best idea.”

Ezo let out a sigh. “We’ll take the deal. Plus, the Indomitable sounds like a good name for a strong ship.”

Awen got the distinct impression that this was how most negotiations went between Ezo and his wife. If Sootriman hadn’t been so bent on thwarting their progress, killing them, or becoming the proud owner of some of the most important information ever to reach the known universe, Awen could see herself liking the woman. But for everyone’s sake, Awen hoped this was the only time they’d ever meet.

“Have fun exploring the galaxy, Ezo,” Sootriman said. “The mystics know you were never talented at exploring anything else.”

28

Magnus slid down the steep metal chute, slowing as the incline leveled out. His feet had contacted the first of a series of chute-wide filters meant to separate debris from fluids when he noticed that the large access panel to his left was propped open. He switched his HUD to infrared imaging and saw the team making their way along the gantry.

“Nolan,” Magnus said over comms, “SITREP.”

“Ten souls, myself included. Everyone but Rawlson is accounted for, sir,” Chief Warrant Officer Nolan replied. “Making our way to subsection bravo.”

“Roger that. I’m on your six o’clock.”

“Copy.”

Magnus looked up just as bits of ash and shrapnel landed on his armor from above. He sidestepped into the hatch and started to run. Letting his sling catch his MAR30, Magnus drew his Z from his chest holster and held it in low-ready position. He toggled the weapon to single-round mode and thumbed off the safety, scanning for targets. He caught up with the slower-moving group, checking his retreat every five paces, expecting their position to be compromised any second.

So far, so good. Magnus didn’t like how slowly they were moving. He toggled his HUD back to visual and was struck by how dark the passage was. Other than a few small red emergency lights, the maintenance shaft was black. He went back to IR.

“Any way you can light our progress, Nolan?” Magnus asked over comms.

“Negative,” the warrant officer replied. The methodical blare of the ship-wide klaxon sounded in the background over the mic. “It’s pretty slow going.”

“Copy that,” Magnus replied, sweeping his Z from end to end.

“Map says we only have another seventy meters.”

Just then, Magnus noticed a new heat signature climbing into the tunnel two positions ahead. “Contact.” He pointed his Z, bypassing the two team members in front of him and zeroing in on the enemy combatant.

The hostile jerked in surprise, probably at having so many options to target, and raised his weapon. Magnus squeezed off two bolts that flashed white in his HUD and caught the trooper in the shoulder and bicep. A weapon clattered to the gantry, and Magnus sent a third bolt into the base of the enemy’s neck, severing the spine.

Magnus made out Dutch’s slender figure as she backed away from the dead trooper and raised her ML10 to cover the new entry point. A second combatant started to climb through, but Dutch ended the attempt with two point-blank shots to the trooper’s helmet. The body was pulled back, and a small ball rolled onto the decking.

“Stun grenade!” Magnus yelled. By this point, however, he had run even with the new entry hatch and batted the grenade back through the hole with his hand. He managed two more steps, hoping his body would block as much of the blowback as possible. But he knew that plenty of the grenade’s disruption blast would get past him, affecting those ahead.

The grenade detonated in the hall with a high-pitched whine followed by an air-sucking whump. He watched ahead as the line of people stumbled to their knees, some falling on their hands. He couldn’t make out the girl’s status, but he hoped the adult bodies had shielded her from the worst of it.

“Come on, Gilder!” Magnus shouted through his speaker. “On your feet, Private! Move, move, move!” The line started forward again, and as soon as they’d managed another five meters, Magnus returned the enemy’s gesture with a frag grenade of his own.

“Cover your ears,” Magnus yelled up the line. He pulled the frag from his hip, pressed the three-second timer with his thumb, and tossed the ordnance through the hatch. “Fire in the hole!” He turned to catch up as the grenade barked in his helmet.

The pace slowed. Within a few seconds, however, the line was underway again, and Magnus covered their retreat. Nothing more emerged from the hatch.

The access tunnel ended in a T, and Magnus watched the group turn left—a good sign, as it meant that his schematic was still current—and followed them toward the main access hatch at the end of the corridor. Preparing to exit into a larger corridor ahead, he holstered his Z and brought his MAR30 back up, walking backward to cover their six.

“We’re at the end of the tunnel,” Nolan called over comms.

“Egress,” Magnus ordered, “but stay alert. Stay smooth.”

“Copy.” Nolan said. Magnus heard the warrant officer muscling the corkscrewed lock mechanism. “Opening.” A small squeak accompanied Nolan’s words.

There was a moment’s silence as Magnus held his breath. If there was anyone on the other side of that hatch, they were most likely—

“Clear,” Nolan said.

Magnus let out the breath. “You should see a bank of emergency pods along the left wall. Confirm.”

“Affirmative. Everything looks good, Lieutenant.”

He gave another sigh of relief, though he knew they still had a long way to go. Victory is made up of one small gain after another. Even hell can be conquered if you do it a step at a time. Without that mantra, it was easy to get distracted, and distracted Marines were dead Marines. “Load them up, Warrant Officer.”

“Copy that.”

Magnus was just about to check how much farther he had to go when he noticed enemy troopers come around a bend back in the tunnel. “Contact,” he said and raised his MAR30. His AI presented three targeting reticles, and Magnus waited for them to overlap. The moment they did, he fired another staccato burst. The blaster bolts lit up tunnel walls with a strobe effect. All three combatants fell into one another, their armor clattering together.

Magnus turned and kicked Gilder the last meter through the hatch, then he grabbed the overhead bar and swung himself through, landing outside in a crouch. Dutch closed the hatch behind him and spun the lock shut.

Magnus toggled back to visual and looked down the wide subsection corridor. Red emergency lights flashed in time with the klaxon while banks of standard yellowing work lights illuminated painted lines on the floor indicating foot and equipment paths. A seemingly endless supply of crates, carts, and forklifts was perfectly ordered along one wall. Along the other were the entry hatches for the ship’s emergency-escape vehicles.

Nolan had secured Valerie and Piper and was seeing to the senator, who was visibly upset. He helped the man enter the tube feetfirst and guided him down. “Watch your head, sir,” Nolan said as the senator turned in the vertical pod and rested his back against the padded backboard. The senator buckled the harness around his chest then followed Nolan’s instructions to cross his arms.

The senator’s remaining three crew members were secure inside pods while Haney, Gilder, and Dutch got squared away. Nolan sealed the senator’s canopy and pressed the button marked “Ready/Away,” which closed the glass blast doors. Then he asked Stone for a thumbs-up. When the senator gave him the sign, Nolan jogged with Magnus to the next two available pods.

“Any problems?” Magnus asked.

“The senator’s a good man,” the warrant officer replied. “Cares for his family. But he should definitely stick with politics.”

“Copy that. And the nav link?”

“The family’s nav computers are slaved to yours, with mine and their captain’s as redundant backups.”

“Good work,” Magnus replied. “Get yourself situated.”

Magnus doubled back to make sure that each member of the team was set. He gave and expected a thumbs-up at every set of glass doors. One by one, each crew member replied until Magnus got to the Stones. The senator looked rattled. Valerie seemed calm, all things considered, and still looked stunning, her face illuminated in the pod’s halo of white light. She smiled at Magnus and lifted a thumb.

When Magnus got to Piper’s pod, he knelt and removed his helmet—not the best tactical move, but he didn’t want to frighten the girl in what might be her last moments of life. After all, the whole plan was a long shot. The fact that they’d gotten as far as they had amazed him.

“You okay?” he mouthed.

Piper nodded, forcing a smile. Her blond wisps of hair barely came up to the bottom of the glass doors.

“Everything’s going to—”

A blaster bolt exploded into a thousand sparks as it struck the metal wall over Magnus’s shoulder. He ducked and covered his head with his helmet, swearing at himself. He looked down the corridor to see it filling with combatants. Several more shots struck the wall, peppering his armor with molten metal.

Magnus’s AI had selected the closest targets, and his MAR30 was aimed. His first three bursts took out three targets, forcing the advancing enemy to cover. The action bought him enough time to do the same as he darted to the opposite side of the corridor and ducked behind a forklift. He looked across at the row of escape pods and saw Piper’s blue eyes peeking over the lip of her hatch. Blaster fire streaked beside him, the walls showering him with bright gouts of orange and yellow sparks. He wanted to look at Valerie’s face, too, but he couldn’t look away from Piper.

At that moment, seeing her eyes filled with fear, time slowed down. Magnus had a sudden overwhelming urge to protect Piper’s little life at all costs—to live for her as long as possible. The emotion was visceral, flowing from a formerly unknown part of his soul, one he could not entirely explain. It was different from any other instinct he’d ever felt before, enough that Magnus wondered if he was about to die—or maybe he had already been shot, but his body was in shock. All that mattered was that small face, illuminated by explosions of light. She looked to him for protection. For reassurance. For hope. And he wanted to give it all to her, to see her grow into the woman she was destined to be.

Real time hit Magnus in the chest as he suddenly realized that the next available escape pod was across the corridor and at least twenty meters toward the enemy. Heavy blaster fire had him pinned down. He pointed his MAR30 around the forklift and brought its visual sensor up in his HUD. The other end of the hallway was stacked with troopers.

Magnus selected wide displacement and heard his weapon’s barrel aperture expand. He squeezed the trigger. The weapon hesitated, building the desired charge in its capacitors, and then released a broad burst of energy down the corridor. Magnus rocked backward. A blue light swept down the subsection and slammed into the enemy. Bodies not behind cover were flung backward. He heard troopers scream even under their helmets, their bodies slamming into and sliding across the deck.

This was his chance. He stepped into the open. But before he could take a second step, more blaster fire struck the ground and forklift. He reversed momentum and dove for cover again.

Dammit. There were simply too many troopers. They’d filled the end of the corridor faster than he’d anticipated. He looked back at Piper. Whatever strange dreams he had of protecting her into adulthood were now gone, obliterated like the blaster bolts exploding in sparks around him. The truth was that he wouldn’t live long enough to see her past this moment. But he would save her at least this once. He would make sure she had a chance to go on growing, to become the beautiful, strong woman he somehow knew she’d be.

“Jettison the pods, Nolan!” Magnus ordered over the comm.

“But, Lieutenant, we have better odds of survival if—”

“This is about survival!”

29

Awen sat in the third seat on the Indomitable’s bridge and seriously considered asking Ezo to turn the freighter around. In fact, were it not for the mystery ship that had tracked them to Ki Nar Four and the fact that Sootriman didn’t appear to be the most hospitable patron, Awen would have insisted he do so. All things considered, however, she was forced to make do with the circumstances, even though she was quite sure the ship wouldn’t hold together for more than a few hours in subspace.

Ezo’s grand assumptions about the name Indomitable were wrong. Whatever Geronimo had been with regard to beauty, aesthetics, cleanliness, and condition, the Indomitable was the opposite. Built as a commercial Longo-class light freighter long before Awen’s parents or even grandparents were born, the ship’s hull seemed like it was cobbled together from pieces of a hundred other failed vessels. The fact that any intelligent manufacturer had intentionally designed such a pockmarked walrus was a sin punishable by a thousand deaths. No one in good conscience should ever have let such a bloated hulk see the light of day.

The Indomitable’s disklike shape rattled as it left Ki Nar Four’s orbit. TO-96 was careful to stay hidden in the shadow of the planet, opposite the strange ship’s position from the coordinates Sootriman had provided. At least we have that going for us, Awen thought. But by leaving them without weapons and with only the most minimal of shields, Sootriman may have already doomed them all to an early grave anyway.

“Hull integrity is holding, sir,” TO-96 said.

“Why, Ninety-Six, you sound surprised.” Ezo increased the throttle.

“That’s because I am, sir. I very much and truly am surprised. In fact, I think it’s a miracle that—”

“I got it, wire brain. You don’t have to explain it all to me.”

“Understood, sir.”

Awen clamped her jaw shut to keep her teeth from rattling. Despite the odds, they were back on a ship and preparing to make for the wormhole. She hated Ezo for it—for everything—but had to admit that it didn’t matter much what ship they were aboard. Geronimo was certainly far more comfortable and safe. And clean. And—there were a thousand other things she liked about it. But at the end of the day, a ship was a ship. To her, the discovery was what mattered the most. That, and being able to get there first, to represent the Luma to a new civilization. She wanted to preserve the Luma’s way of life from whatever Republic invasion would inevitably attempt to swallow it whole. Awen was still a Luma, after all, and would be as long as she was wanted. Suddenly, she wondered about Willowood’s fate. Had So-Elku reprimanded her—or worse—for interrupting a private meeting? No, Willowood had fought So-Elku in the Unity! Such things—well, they never happened. So, would she be disciplined? Or had she gathered other Lumanarias loyal to the Order and confronted the master?

“Willowood will know what to do,” Awen said under her breath and suddenly longed to see the old woman again. She wished Willowood was with her, traveling across the galaxy to the wormhole.

Once the Indomitable was clear of Ki Nar Four’s gravity well, TO-96 confirmed the course calculations and made the jump to subspace. “I still don’t understand why your wife would ever waste a perfectly good modulator on a ship such as this, sir.”

“That’s because you have a good conscience,” Ezo replied.

“Pardon me?”

“You think the best about everyone. And while it’s a naive thing, it’s a good thing in a galaxy that’s falling apart like ours.”

“So you’re saying I’m socially shallow but morally superior.”

“Something like that. Can we just see if the blasted thing works?” Ezo asked. “If not, Ezo’s going to give Sootriman a piece of his mind.”

“If not, we’ll all be obliterated, our atoms spread across the quadrant for a billion years.”

“Yes, and then Ezo will give her a piece of his mind.” Ezo turned back to Awen. “You may want to hold on to something.”

“Like your neck?” Awen asked, chin up.

Ezo rolled his eyes. “Punch it, Ninety-Six.”

“Very good, sir. Modulating to factor two—in three… two… one…”

Awen saw the cockpit stretch out in front of her. She felt like she was going to throw up and realized she hadn’t located a vomit bag ahead of time. She’d been too nervous leaving the planet to be sick—a real first for her. Now, however, the sense of vertigo that swirled in her head was overwhelming. The sounds of the cockpit felt as if they were muffled by a pillow. Then she felt like her spirit was trying to separate from her body, as if she’d become careless with the Unity or had attempted a new exercise without proper training.

Awen saw herself sitting in her seat, harness fixed over her shoulders, braid floating in the air. She could see each tiny strand of her hair and marveled at the complexity of such a simple feature—the way each fiber interlaced with others, having chosen a seemingly random course through the interwoven locks. Yet the sum of the individual strands was bound in a larger well-ordered composition. It was poetry. It spoke of space-time, of chaos theory, of superpositions, and of the multiverse. It spoke of many destinies, many choices, but all of them leading to one conclusion that, from a distance, seemed as simple and intentional as a braid of hair.

Suddenly, the cockpit snapped back, and Awen vomited a piece of toast and maribliss jam on Ezo. She felt bad… but then, considering what he’d done to her, she didn’t feel bad at all.

“Whoops,” she said in a dry tone and wiped her mouth with her sleeve.

“We’ve successfully arrived in subspace level epsilon,” TO-96 noted. “Hull integrity at ninety-four percent, core levels nominal, and modulator reactor well within limits.”

“Fabulous,” Ezo said, wincing in disgust as something slimy trailed down the back of his neck. “Let’s try factor three.”

“Very good, sir. Modulating to factor three—in three… two… one…”

Once again, the cockpit moved away from Awen. Her stomach lurched, and her head thrummed. This time, however, the pain in her head was more intense. She felt… like she was dying. The sensation was horrible. She wanted to breathe but couldn’t, wanted to scream but didn’t have the strength. As before, she noticed her body sitting in its chair, but this time, everything shook in a violent blur. It was awful. She winced, or at least she thought she winced, trying to rationalize what was happening. It was as if everything was starting to separate, reality coming undone like the fibers of her braid, frayed at the edges.

Then everything slammed to a halt. When her senses came back, they did so with a loud pop in her ears. Her stomach lurched, and she dry heaved onto Ezo’s back. This time, she genuinely felt bad.

“I’m sorry,” she said, gasping for air.

“We’ve successfully arrived in subspace level zeta. Hull integrity at eighty-seven percent, core levels in the yellow, and modulator reactor showing signs of stress, but nothing out of the ordinary, sir.”

Ezo had shrugged his shoulders such that his neck had retreated inside his leather jacket. “Let’s keep it here. I’m going to my quarters, and I’ll be back after I’ve showered. You have the bridge, Ninety-Six.”

“Very good, sir.”

Ezo unbuckled and didn’t even look at Awen as he walked by. That was probably for the best.

* * *

Awen lay in a bunk, taking advantage of yet another peaceful opportunity to catch up on some much-needed sleep. She’d claimed the first open berth she could find and closed the door. Aside from the bed, the room had a sink, mirror, toilet, narrow closet, and a desk with a foldout wall seat. The room was bland, painted a dingy greenish gray, and a yellowing ceiling light did anything but convey hospitality. A blanket lay folded on the bed, and she found a second one stowed in the closet. She fluffed the pillow, smelling it to make sure it was relatively fresh, and settled herself in.

Even at the ship’s current rate, she felt like her spirit was still, as calm as a leaf sitting atop a pond in autumn. The Unity always seemed closer here in subspace, as if her very essence was a single breath away from being one with all things. She felt the same way when she was in or near water. Both places gave her the sense that a veil had been drawn between her and the Unity. She could not see it, but she knew it was there. And in certain thin places, the veil was so gossamer fine that she was sure she could reach right through it and step across to the other side, body and soul.

Awen wondered what would become of the Luma now—what would become of Willowood, of the other elders, of the students and the school. She worried about them in ways that surprised her, as if she wanted to gather everyone who might have been hurt by her strange departure and explain it all to them. She wanted to tell them that everything was going to be okay, even though she wasn’t convinced of that herself. But most of all, she wanted to tell them what So-Elku had tried to do to her.

Awen’s thoughts turned to her master—her former master. She wondered whether So-Elku’s plans had captured any other Luma minds as well or if he was acting alone. Perhaps Willowood was right to suspect that he had accomplices. If not, why were guns firing on Geronimo Nine? That couldn’t be the protocol for some miscreant ship, could it? The more Awen thought about it, the more she feared the worst.

The questions loomed over her like dark storm clouds rolling in from the sea. For the life of her, Awen couldn’t figure out what So-Elku wanted with the stardrive. Did he even know what was on it? And if so, why not celebrate its discovery? Instead, he’d acted like some malevolent traitor, unable to explain himself truthfully and willing to use the Unity against her and against Willowood.

Worse still, there remained the unanswered questions surrounding the bombing in Oosafar and who, exactly, had given the master information about her taking possession of the stardrive. I have to stop calling him that. He would never be her master again. He would only ever be So-Elku, traitor to the Order and despiser of the Luma.

Awen saw his face. She was back in Elder’s Hall, and So-Elku was demanding that she open the stardrive. He held her eyes, locked in a battle of wills that threatened to tear her mind into a thousand pieces. But she fought him, resisted him. She would not give in. It had been Willowood who’d truly saved her, however. Awen didn’t know how long she could have lasted against him.

But in this version of the memory, Willowood didn’t appear. Awen could see So-Elku’s face, eyes boring into her soul. She remained frozen, gripped by fear and by the Luma’s power within the Unity. She held the stardrive in her hand, her thumb putting pressure on the button. He was pushing her hard, demanding that she conform, that she obey. Awen kept expecting Willowood to burst through the doors and rescue her. But Awen couldn’t look away from So-Elku. He was watching her, searching her very soul.

Her thumb pressed down. The needle punctured her skin. Awen’s eyes went wide, and she tried to scream, but there was no air in her lungs. She couldn’t breathe, and she’d failed to resist him.

No! It can’t be! It’s not what happened!

And it wasn’t what had happened back at Elder’s Hall. That was not how the events had occurred. But it is what’s happening now. The contents spilled out of the stardrive like water from a broken vessel onto a floor of black marble. The shapes, the star map, the name of the Novia Minoosh, and TO-96’s data file—all of it was spread out on the floor for So-Elku to see. Awen wanted to try to put the vase together and scoop handfuls of the liquid back inside, but she could not pull herself from So-Elku’s gaze. His pupils were on fire, his brow furrowed, his lips snarling. And then she heard him speak.

I see you.

* * *

Two common days had passed before TO-96 stepped the Indomitable down from three tiers of subspace. It was the farthest any of them had ever traveled. In fact, TO-96 calculated that it was farther than their collective journeys combined—not because he had detailed records of their travels but simply because there was no way any of them could have previously accomplished such distances, given their respective lines of work. These kinds of jumps were for explorers with death wishes, not weekend warriors hoping to visit some interesting sectors on their bucket lists.

“Do we have a visual on the quantum tunnel yet?” Awen asked, and TO-96 looked back at her. “What?”

“Awen,” the bot said as tenderly as she’d ever heard him, “I’m sorry to inform you, but you cannot see a quantum tunnel. They are, by very definition, unseeable—at least in so far as a quantum tunnel resembles a black hole with an event horizon—since not even light can escape its gravitational pull.”

Awen had learned that in school and now felt rather sheepish. “Right. Thank you for the reminder, Ninety-Six.”

“My pleasure.”

“Coming up on it,” Ezo said. “Looks like five minutes at our current speed before its gravity takes us.”

“Affirmative, sir.”

“Okay,” Ezo said, making a few adjustments on the console. Then he turned to face Awen and the bot. “Now, before we do this, Ezo wants to make sure we’re all good here.”

“What an interesting concept,” Awen said through thin lips. “If you mean still livid with someone for selling us out, then, no, we’re not all good here.”

“Listen, Awen,” Ezo said, lifting his palms. “She’s not going to come after us. It’s not her style. That little charade was just her means of satisfying her curiosity.”

“Charade?”

“And secondly, she doesn’t have a bot capable of doing what Ninety-Six here can do.”

“Actually, sir—”

“Can it, ’Six!”

“Seriously?” Awen said, looking between the two of them. “For the love of all the mystics, you’re seriously going to lie to me right now, Ezo?”

“In his defense,” TO-96 said, “he might not remember that he gave Sootriman a navigation bot as an engagement present.”

Awen closed her eyes and pressed her fingers to her temples.

“Hey, hey, what are you doing?” Ezo asked. “Don’t go all Luma on Ezo now, okay? You can trust Ezo. Sootriman isn’t going to—”

Awen opened her eyes and lowered her hand. “I’m not going to do anything to you, Ezo. I just need some time to process…” She paused. “All of you.”

“Ah, okay. Good to know.” He cleared his throat and smoothed his turtleneck. “Well, then, can we get back to the part about possibly getting crushed in a quantum event horizon again?” When Awen and TO-96 nodded, he continued. “So, as Ezo was saying, let’s just make sure we’re all agreed with what we’re about to do. Since there doesn’t seem to be another quantum tunnel next to this one to spit us back out, we may be looking at a one-way trip if we survive.”

“I’m not sure I understand, sir,” TO-96 said. “I’ve already informed you that all systems are—”

“I understand,” Awen replied. “He’s making sure that we’re ready to stop existing as we know it.”

“Ah,” the bot said. “A fine question to posit.”

“Because, well,” Ezo said, licking his lips, “Ezo’s never done this. Splick, no one has ever done this that Ezo knows of, and Ezo knows of a lot of shady characters.”

“He really does,” TO-96 said to Awen.

“So this is it, I guess,” Ezo concluded. “Ezo just, you know, wanted to double-check. It’s kind of a big deal.”

Awen felt she should say something. “The way I see it, there are some despicable people willing to kill innocent people to get to where we are right now. More than we can probably count. I burned my bridge to the Luma, and you’ve used up your last favor with your ex-wife.”

“Still wife,” TO-96 corrected.

“Right, still wife.” Awen stifled a smile. “There’s no way we can fight anyone in this rust bucket, and the mystics know I want to meet this new race. With regard to a return trip, I have to trust that these Novia Minoosh already have that worked out. Call it faith if you need to. So it seems that the only way out of this is to move forward. We get there before anyone else does and hope it’s the right call. I vote yes. Let’s do it.”

“I vote yes as well,” TO-96 said. “Let’s do it.”

Ezo looked between them. “You both know that we’re the craziest three beings in the galaxy, don’t you?” They nodded. Ezo clicked his tongue. “Let’s do this, then.” He accelerated the Indomitable toward the quantum tunnel’s gravity well.

“Oh, Awen?” Ezo turned back toward her with a sudden softness in his eyes as if he might cry.

The look almost overwhelmed her. Here, in their last moments together, Awen would catch a glimpse of the bounty hunter’s true self. “Yes, Ezo?”

“There’s a vomit bag under your seat.”

30

“Dammit, Nolan! Jettison the pods!” Magnus yelled over TACNET. He toggled his MAR30 to high frequency and reached around the forklift. He squeezed off several more bursts in a desperate effort to give Nolan time to launch the pods. Magnus pulled his weapon back and pressed himself behind cover. He looked across at Piper.

The little girl, still barely able to look over the lip of the viewing port, stared at him in panic. He could make out tears in those big blue eyes. Why wasn’t Nolan following orders? He was furious. Now this poor child would watch him be cut down by blaster fire and possibly not get away in time. Or worse still, he would watch her be captured or killed while he bled out, helpless to do anything about it.

Magnus would have walked across the corridor himself and pressed every launch button were it not for the fact that he’d be vaporized before getting halfway across. “Nolan! Do you copy?”

“I’m trying, Lieutenant!” Nolan sounded frustrated.

“What do you mean you’re trying?”

“The system’s not responding, sir.”

You’ve got to be kidding me. “They locked you out?” Magnus asked.

“Negative, sir. I’ve got access, it’s just not—I don’t know, sir.”

Magnus looked down and saw that his MAR30 was ready for another wide-displacement discharge. “Listen, Nolan, I’m going to create a window and then come across. I’ll hit as many of the launch buttons as I can, starting with the civilians. Whatever I don’t get—well, just keep trying.”

“Sir, no. I’ll figure this out.”

“I sure hope you do, for your sake, Nolan. Because if you don’t, I’m going to fill your head with plasma myself.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Here goes nothing.” Magnus toggled his MAR30’s fire-modes switch. As his arm brought the weapon around, Magnus caught sight of Piper again. He feared this would be the last glimpse he’d ever get of her. He hated that she looked afraid—that was no way to remember a child. But then again, he wouldn’t be living long enough to revisit any memories. Then he noticed her eyes. They were no longer panicked—they were filled with rage.

Magnus was so startled by Piper’s expression that he yanked his weapon back to his chest. She didn’t look like a child who was upset with an unreasonable parent or a school bully. No, she looked like she was a lioness about to maul an invading pack of hyenas who’d just taken her cubs. Her brow was furrowed, eyes bloodshot, and he was sure that if he could see her mouth, she would have been baring her teeth. It was, perhaps, the most arresting face he’d ever seen on a child. And it scared the living splick out of him.

A burst of brilliant-white energy exploded from Piper’s capsule as if someone had detonated a quantum warhead on the surface of a planet. The shock wave came at him so fast he didn’t even have time to flinch. His body was flung backward, colliding with the wall as searing light filled his helmet. The action was followed by a subsonic blast of energy that compressed his chest and squeezed his temples. Even squinting, all Magnus could see was white.

What in all the cosmos was that?

Everything went silent. Well, except for the ringing in his ears. Magnus’s HUD was off-line. In fact, his entire system seemed dead, rendering the helmet inoperable. Given the low light, he couldn’t see a thing through his visor besides streaks of blaster fire. He pulled off the helmet and blinked several times.

The very first thing Magnus saw when his vision stabilized was Piper’s face, eyes staring across the hallway at him. Her look of anger relaxed the moment she noticed Magnus was moving.

Did she just… did she just do that? Magnus was utterly beside himself. He realized he’d been holding his breath and took in a deep lungful of air. Then he looked at the other capsules and saw most of the people slumped to the sides of their pods, each trying to find their bearings. Valerie seemed the most alert of them all, rubbing one of her temples and looking across at Magnus in surprise. The senator looked the worst. In fact, with the amount of blood coming out of his nose and mouth, Magnus was quite sure he was dead. What in the hell had happened to him? Magnus didn’t remember him getting shot.

Magnus rolled onto his hands and knees, pulled his MAR30 up from its sling, and carefully leaned around the forklift. To his utter astonishment, every enemy trooper at the opposite end of the corridor was laid out cold. Whether stunned or dead, he did not know.

He heard a fist pounding on glass and looked to where Nolan was slamming his pod’s cockpit window. He was mouthing the words “good to go” and raising his thumbs.

Magnus didn’t need any more prompting. He scrambled to his feet, bolted to the next open emergency capsule, and slid in. He jammed his MAR30 along his right leg and felt it maglock against his thigh. Then he wedged his helmet over his shoulder, buckled his harness, and punched the ready button. A moment later, all the pods launched from the Bull Wraith on Nolan’s command, and Magnus was thrown against the straps.

The scream of the pod’s main engine rattled above Magnus’s head as he shot away from the Bull Wraith. He was instantly immersed in the void, swallowed by a sea of stars—a sea of stars and a planet below his feet.

We’ve got a planet! Hope kindled in him. This was the best possible scenario, the one he’d hoped for but just assumed he wouldn’t be granted because… well, because that was just the way the universe acted. But apparently, not that day. Their luck seemed to continue, Magnus noted, as he strained to look over his shoulder, wondering if the Bull Wraith’s turrets would attempt to pick them off. It had been several seconds already, and no shots had been fired.

Magnus took a deep breath and leaned forward to see if he could identify the planet. Beneath the refracted pale blue of the bending horizon lay an endless sea of tan illuminated by the system’s star. No notable bodies of water, no polar caps, and very few mountain ranges as far as Magnus could tell. It looked just like…

Oosafar. Ho-ly splick. Magnus started scanning the orbits, his head swiveling wildly. His eyes caught dozens of dots orbiting roughly four hundred meters above the planet’s surface. Then another cluster. And another.

“The orbital blockade,” he said to no one in particular. It was Oosafar.

Magnus was called back to his pod’s limited flight controls when red warning lights started flashing at him. He flicked up on the small dashboard to see the atmospheric-entry indicator blinking. His capsule was plummeting toward Oosafar, and he needed to input some commands. He pressed the option to confirm entry—the alternative being a full reverse thrust that would send the pod back into the void—and felt the flight computer adjust the capsule’s angle of attack relative to the planet’s surface.

If Nolan had slaved the Stones’ capsules properly, they should be following the same command sequence. Magnus looked over his shoulder to see if he could spot them. Sure enough, three white pods trailed to his left, maybe three hundred meters of separation between each. He couldn’t tell who occupied which pod, but all three were executing a similar course change.

“Good job, Nolan,” Magnus said then made a mental note to buy the man a drink if they ever made it through this.

Already, the crimson sheet of fire was wrapping itself around Magnus’s pod. The small vehicle shook violently, so much so that Magnus was pretty sure it was going to split apart at any second. That, or it was just going to scramble his body to a pulp. His unsecured helmet smashed into his head several times, making him see stars and drawing blood. He fought to grab it and press it against his shoulder. If he’d had more room, he would have put the helmet back on, but the cramped confines of the pod didn’t allow for it. Forgetting to put it on before entering would have been a rookie mistake if it hadn’t been dead. It was also the first time he’d ever seen a nine-year-old girl do—whatever it was she’d done. Go nova, Awen might say. So he cut himself some slack.

Though the beating lasted for less than two minutes, Magnus felt like he’d endured a one-sided boxing match at the academy for an hour. All at once, the capsule sailed into thin air; only the sound of the wind whistled over the glass. The vehicle’s systems looked green, and so far as Magnus could tell, the Bull Wraith had made no attempt to hijack them. He glanced over his shoulder again and saw that the Stones’ pods had all survived as well. He searched as much of the rest of the sky as possible but couldn’t make out any other pods.

The flight computer’s limited sensors presented three different landing sites that fit its optimal profile. Without any reference to where they were on the planet, Magnus selected the first one and hoped the Stones’ pods would continue to adopt the same input. The small winglets on Magnus’s capsule rotated and sent the vehicle on a trajectory toward a flat expanse bordered by a low-lying mountain range to the west and a shallow canyon to the east.

He sailed through the upper atmosphere for a few more minutes as the wind noise became louder and louder. The computer displayed a definitive altitude, rapidly descending from ten thousand meters. He could also see the temperature rising, owing to the desert planet’s blistering daytime conditions—conditions Magnus couldn’t believe he was about to be subjected to again so soon after leaving.

Thermals buffeted his pod, knocking his helmet from his grasp. He noticed smears of red blood on the sides and visor. He secured the helmet yet again and touched his forehead, his lip, and his ear. Damn. He was going to need laser sutures after this.

Once he reached one thousand meters, the pod gave a single sonic and visual warning before deploying the parachute, which pitched the vehicle’s nose toward the sky. Magnus hadn’t been ready for the violent toss and, once again, banged his head on his helmet.

Magnus stood vertically now, staring out his pod’s cockpit window. He did his best to memorize as much of the geography as possible, knowing this might be his only topographical glimpse of their surroundings. He could see a sizable settlement in the east toward the canyon and another in the foothills of the mountain range to the west. He also noticed scorch marks—dozens of smaller ones and a few big ones. Orbital strikes. They had to be. Small black-ringed impact craters dotted the settlements, but two larger ones indicated where towns had once stood—now decimated by Republic LO9D cannon hits. Magnus wondered if maybe there had been a friendlier landing site on the list; he’d just assumed that the first one meant it was the best one. If this was the best, he didn’t want to know what the others looked like.

Suddenly, he realized only the Stones’ pods were slaved to his—at least, that was what he assumed from Nolan’s description. He wondered if the rest of the team’s vehicles had presented them with the same options. Magnus went from not expecting to make it out of the Bull Wraith to feeling wholly responsible for everyone’s survival. He had, after all, come up with this crazy plan. But the plan—good or bad—had gotten everyone off a hostile ship regardless of where it placed them on the planet. Well, almost everyone. He thought of Rawlson and the senator then looked to his left, wondering if the senator was even alive to see this. While Oosafar was deadly down below, it was lovely from above.

Back on the dashboard, large numbers counted down from ten as the altitude indicator flashed the last two hundred meters. He held his helmet tight and braced for impact.

* * *

Magnus popped the canopy off his pod and pushed himself up. The hull still smoked from extreme heat, hissing and creaking as it settled. He slung his MAR30 and cradled his helmet as he ran toward the first capsule about three hundred meters away. When he got closer, he saw Valerie trying to push up her canopy.

“I gotcha, I gotcha,” he said, putting his helmet and weapon down and pulling the glass away.

“Piper.”

“I think she’s next,” he said, offering his hands. Valerie took them, and Magnus pulled her up. It seemed so surreal, lifting a gorgeous woman in a gown from a smoking escape pod in a desert. The woman was so light that Magnus thought he might break her.

No sooner had Valerie’s feet touched the ground than she began to run to the next pod. Magnus retrieved his helmet and weapon and caught up to her. To his relief, Piper was sitting upright, eyes focused on them as they ran toward her. Her face was red and smeared with tears. No matter how brave she’d been up until that point, her true age fully emerged as she saw her mother running toward her. As Magnus wrested the canopy from its mounts, he uncovered a child in anguish, sobbing as she reached for the safest place in the galaxy: her mother’s arms.

They rocked together, sitting in the sand in a dress and a nightgown. Valerie held Piper’s head with one hand and her torso with the other, comforting her with gentle words. Magnus felt out of place, as if he was intruding on some holy moment, desecrating it with his voyeuristic glances and bloodstained armor.

He looked over at the last remaining pod then back at Valerie. He raised a hand to her and mouthed, “Wait here.” She nodded and continued to console Piper.

With boots sending up sprays of sand, Magnus double-timed it to the senator’s escape pod. The closer he got, the more certain he became that it was the senator’s coffin. Red blood splattered the inside of the canopy. As he glanced inside, Magnus saw the senator’s unmoving body, the head twisted to the right at an unnatural angle. He unlocked the glass, pulling the canopy from the pod. The familiar smell of death hit his nostrils.

“Splick,” Magnus said, reaching to feel for the man’s pulse. But the way the corpse’s glazed eyes looked unblinking into another realm told him all he needed to know. What scared Magnus the most was that the man had been alive when he climbed into this pod but had died before he even left the Bull Wraith. Magnus turned back and looked at Piper as a chill went up his spine.

31

Kane stood at the entrance to the den. A filthy hellhole.

You should fit in just fine, then. It was the other voice. But he’d stopped calling it that.

Kane waved a trooper forward. The man knocked on the thick doors with the butt of his blaster. When the Reptalon’s eye appeared, Kane leaned in and said, “Admiral Kane to see the master of this house.”

The guard’s green eye widened, presumably from seeing the platoon of troopers that Captain Nos Kil led behind Kane. “I’m sorry,” it hissed. “Sootriman’s not accepting visitors.”

“Sootriman?” So that’s his name.

“No visitors. Leave.”

“That’s a shame.”

The Reptalon’s eye blinked. “What?”

“I said, that’s a shame.”

In a single fluid motion, Kane raised his sidearm—an old MRG compact railgun pistol—and fired a lead projectile into the lizard’s eye. The railgun was a relic from the previous century, made obsolete by the newer gauss cannons. Never, however, had the weapon been refit as a handgun platform—until the MRG. The result was an incredibly loud, incredibly destructive kinetic weapon that discharged enough recoil to snap a wrist. The firearm had never left the prototype phase, however, and those pieces that remained were rare. The explosion of green fluid and gore that erupted from the small slit in the door blew back onto Kane’s face and chest. The admiral didn’t so much as blink but turned aside, moving past the door’s hinges, and looked at Nos Kil.

“Blow it,” Kane ordered.

The captain nodded and signaled his men. They stacked up on each side as a two-man team dropped an explosive charge into the ooze-dripping slit. The pair rolled away from the door and took cover, one tapping the other twice on the shoulder. Kane holstered his MRG and covered his ears.

A thunderous blast shook the ground as the doors blew off the building. Bluish-white light bathed the surrounding structures like a high-noon sun, peppering their surfaces with shrapnel and a shower of dust.

When Kane turned back to the opening, he didn’t even pause to survey the damage; he simply walked over the flaming debris. His boots sank into several masses of formerly living things that were now smoldering clumps of tissue. They’re happier now. He looked around the putrid squalor of the den’s interior. This was no way to live. The passage smelled of cat urine and mold.

“Lights,” Kane said from the head of the line that snaked its way through the corridor. Two troopers fired flares from lower canister extensions on their MX21s, each projectile sounding a hollow kuh-thunk as it was lobbed ahead. The flares exploded in a dazzling splash of red light and illuminated several Reptalons, who were still dazed from the breaching explosion. Kane pointed to each target as if his fingers had the power to release blaster bolts. Nos Kil’s troopers fired single shots at the reptilian brains, dropping the guards cold.

Kane noticed a strange growth moving along the walls, something serpentine but still fauna. Its gangrenous surface rippled from floor to ceiling and back again. Kane had the distinct feeling that it was going to lunge at them, a beast lurking under the gelatinous membrane.

He spoke over his shoulder at Nos Kil. “Torch it.”

“Yes, sir,” came the trooper’s amplified voice. Nos Kil pointed at a trooper to his right and flicked two fingers toward the mass slithering along the walls. An MF11 flamethrower burst to life and shot a stream of fire at the side of that corridor and then the other. The trooper swept his weapon back and forth, filling the hallway with more and more destruction. Bright-orange light washed the cavity, and Kane wanted to feel the heat prick his pockmarked skin just as it had so many years before. But he couldn’t. Whatever the creature was, however, it was not immune to fire and screeched as the molten liquid devoured its moldy flesh.

Several more Reptalons arrived down the corridor, summoned by the commotion. They took no more than a step into Kane’s field of view before their lives ended, blaster bolts searing through their scaly heads.

Kane and his men moved past the fire and up the central stairwell, stepping over bodies, before arriving at a set of inner doors. Most of the guards must have already met their end racing toward Kane, as only one lizard remained vigilant, pointing his spear at the invaders. Faithful or afraid? Let’s find out.

Why do you keep calling yourself that?

Keep calling myself what?

Kane.

It’s my name.

Is it?

The last Reptalon guard hissed, “Stop where you are.”

“Why didn’t you leave your post and assault with your brothers?” Kane asked, still moving across the landing.

The lizard hesitated. “I said, stop where you are!”

“They raced out to meet us, but you stayed here. Why?” Kane tilted his head, examining the beast. Faithful or afraid? He wanted to know before he dispatched the monster.

“I am the sworn protector of Sootriman! Don’t take another step.”

Kane stopped. Faithful. That’s honorable, deserving of a painless death. “Open the door,” he ordered.

“Never!”

Kane raised his MRG and fired another lead projectile. The Reptalon’s head exploded like a green pumpkin, showering the walls with brain and bone. The lizard’s body continued to stand, its legs and tail staggering to keep balance without a central nervous system. Kane walked toward it, pushed the spear aside, and shoved the headless body to the ground.

The admiral walked to the doors and pounded on them with a gloved fist. “Sootriman!” The heel of his hand came alive with pain. He banged again, an act that caused microfractures in his bones. “Sootriman,” he seethed, feeling possessed by the sudden rage he held toward this molten planet’s strangely named ruler. He struck the doors a third time, the pain searing up his arm and flaring in his mind.

But you can take it, he—it—said. The pain makes you come alive, makes you thrive.

“Sootriman, open your gates, or I will.”

A moment later, a mechanism shuddered and began to splay the doors apart. Kane rolled his chin as the den’s light caught him in the eyes. The place was filled with otherworldly sights and sounds far different from the ones he’d just passed through.

How flagrantly inconsistent. Inconsistency was not to be tolerated. It was the enemy of order. Without law, there was only chaos. Chaos consumed all until there was nothing left to feed upon.

That’s what it’s done to you, Kane, hasn’t it? The inconsistency took everything from you, everything you held dear. It gorged its bottomless stomach on what you loved until there was nothing left to love.

Kane moved into the room, his troopers fanning out behind him. They targeted anything that moved but stayed their trigger fingers, awaiting his command. A woman sat atop a dais at the far side of the room. Kane noted that she was exceedingly beautiful even from this distance. Sootriman’s wife? Or Sootriman herself?

The woman waved off several guards who seemed eager to approach the intruders. A wise move. Their plasma spears were charming and a truly violent weapon—something Kane could appreciate. However, every weapon had optimal engagement scenarios, and plasma spears were no match for advanced blasters. Unless they had some concealed secondary weapons, a confrontation would be no contest, and he was sure the woman knew that.

The admiral arrived at the base of the dais as his troopers took up defensive positions throughout the room. He didn’t even need to see them to know they had blocked the exits and held the most likely hostile threats at gunpoint. Always keen for an opponent to show their hand, Kane waited for the woman to speak first. So much could be gleaned from the initial tremors of someone’s voice in a moment of anxiety. Often, the effect rattled the speaker more than the listener. Likewise, an absence of anxiety could signal that the potential adversary was so hungry with rage or power that they ignored healthy fear. Or alternatively, they could just be as confident as they projected.

Kane stood with his chest out, MRG holstered on his hip, hands folded behind his back. He waited, wringing his hands in his glossy black gloves. The squeak satisfied him. Patiently, he stared up at the woman. Sootriman. But she was unflinching.

The admiral tried to decide which type of victim she would be—someone who did not respect how easily he could dispatch her or someone who was truly a worthy adversary, as consistent in the face of death as she’d been while building this floating empire over the least likely of planets. He hoped she was the latter. He would interrogate her, if so, and see how far she could go before breaking.

“I am Admiral Kane of the Paragon,” he said in a low voice, finally deciding to go first.

Are you?

Kane hesitated. You can’t be talking to me. Not now. Stop it. “I am Admiral Kane,” he said again. He winced in frustration, face contorting. “Of the Paragon.”

The woman watched him with odd fascination. She was studying him like a hunter studies its prey.

But she’s in no place to have any advantage, Kane. Take her now.

“I am Sootriman, tamer of Ki Nar Four’s tempests. What brings you to my domain, Admiral Kane of the Paragon?”

She’s not using your real name. And neither are you. Be consistent, or be nothing at all.

“I’ve come in search of a ship,” Kane answered.

“A ship? Well, you’ve come to the right place. Though I fear that whatever deal we strike will involve far more than you may be willing to pay, given how many of my pets you’ve slain and the dents you’ve put in my den.”

“A modified Katana-class light freighter. She sought port here. We—”

We? Who do you mean, Kane? You and me? Or is this still about you and your men?

“We’ve been—”

Which is it? Answer me.

“Yes?” Sootriman prompted.

Kane wrung his hands tighter behind his back. This was not the time to be having a conversation with himself. But it was happening more often, and the pain was getting stronger.

Focus. Focus!

But he couldn’t focus, not with the voice constantly interrupting him. That, of course, was the trouble with it all—he was tired of the lack of consistency in himself. He was always torn between one thing and another—between abandoning his men or taking them with him, between leaving the Republic in peace or slitting its throat to end its misery, between going after his family or pursuing the fortunes the stardrive offered. For every decision he made, the other presence was there to protest. And he could never appease it, never satisfy its insatiable need to demand from him what ought to be done—who he ought to become.

But you know what you ought to do; you’re just too afraid to do it.

“Shut up,” Kane said.

“Excuse me?” Sootriman asked, her eyebrows raised.

Shut up? That’s no way to talk to yourself.

“I said, shut up.”

Please, old man. I can no more cease talking to you than you can leave your body. I’m simply waiting for you to come to the same conclusion that I have.

“Now, you listen here…” Sootriman said.

“STOP TALKING!” Kane roared. He whipped the MRG from its holster and squeezed the trigger. The weapon barked and blew off the top of Sootriman’s throne. Splinters rained down on her hair and shoulders. Her guards made to lunge, but Nos Kil threatened them with his MX21.

“I want to know where the Luma went,” Kane said, moving his pistol to the first civilian his eye caught. “She has something I want.”

“I believe you have come to the wrong place,” Sootriman said, raising her chin.

Do it.

It’s a civilian.

I know.

But I… I’ve never killed civilians in cold blood.

But you were fine with blowing up dignitaries and diplomats?

That was different.

How?

Kane hesitated. Maybe it wasn’t any different. Maybe this was all just part of saving the Republic from itself—from saving the galaxy from the darkness that he knew the Republic was summoning. The work was dire, but it had to be done. And he knew in his heart of hearts that he was the one to do it.

Do it. Do it now.

Kane’s hand shook.

DO IT!

Kane squeezed the trigger. Several people screamed. Sootriman looked at Kane, horrified.

“I want to know where the Luma went,” Kane said again. Only he was no longer Kane. He was someone else entirely, and he pointed his weapon at the next civilian he saw.

32

The mood on the Indomitable’s bridge was somber as the ship approached the coordinates for the quantum tunnel. The cockpit lights were dim, which allowed Awen a clear view of the vast array of stars beyond the window. Expanding in the center, however, was a black spot that looked like an oil spill on a canopy. No, it isn’t like something has blotted out the stars; it is more like something has removed them completely—as if nothing was there at all.

Ezo was laser focused on helming the vessel, his eyes constantly checking for increases in speed and changes in attitude relative to the event horizon. TO-96’s normally chatty self was surprisingly withdrawn, and he was all business as he monitored the ship’s systems. Blips, pings, and chimes went off in steady succession as the sensors fed more data to TO-96.

Awen felt completely useless. She sat, strapped into her chair, fidgeting. If she’d been a mechanic, maybe she’d be in the aft, taking care of the drive core. If she’d been a trooper, she thought maybe she’d be in a gunner’s seat, but then she remembered that the Indomitable didn’t have any weapons systems. Okay, so no gunner’s seat. What can I do?

You’re a Luma, Awen.

Scolding herself for not thinking of it sooner, Awen closed her eyes and settled her center. Here, in the core of who she was, lay the beginning point of her existence as well as its end, the place where her life flowed from and where it would cease when she died. This center was her truest self, the one whose thoughts and feelings she trusted more than any of her personality’s many layers. If she listened carefully enough, she could hear the true narrative of her life, not the dozens of false ones she told herself—and certainly not the ones that others spoke over her. But spending too much time in the core was uncomfortable if not dangerous for the uninitiated.

“It is possible to see too much of one’s self too soon,” Willowood had said during an early lecture at the academy. “Unless you know yourself well, it may seem like you’re meeting a stranger at first. Therefore, it is best to make introductions slowly and treat yourself gently.”

She didn’t know why she was recalling all of this as the ship neared the quantum tunnel. It seemed an inopportune time to wade into the existential dynamics of the Unity of all things and the role of the true self. Best to keep moving,  lest I meet too much of myself. She ignored the sudden desire to linger and stretched out her senses in the Unity.

Awen saw Ezo and TO-96, both of them faithfully attending to their various control surfaces. She saw herself and the bridge and then the whole ship. Outside in the void, she could see beautiful ripples expanding away from the Indomitable as if the ship was a stone skipping along a lake’s still surface at sunset. The stars in the distance hummed, resonating like fireflies on a summer night. And there—directly in front of her—was a light brighter than any sun she’d ever laid eyes on. The quantum tunnel.

Had this epicenter been as bright in the natural realm, and her vision optical, Awen was sure she would have covered her face with her hands and still been able to see the brightness in her mind. The tunnel’s light in the Unity was that all-consuming, that all-embracing. For a brief moment, she thought her flesh and bones would melt at the light’s intensity, but then the feeling was gone.

In the Unity of all things, however, Awen could make out not just luminescence but coloration as well. The light was not white but a coalescence of many colors—some she had never even seen before. In fact, the closer to the center she looked, the more densely packed the colors became.

Awen kept looking for the point at which the quantum tunnel began, like the center of a target. She moved forward in the Unity, sure she would make it out at any moment. But the farther her senses stretched into the beyond, the more the beyond invited her in, swallowing her vision. Rather than finding a point on a map, Awen found a direction on a horizon, a continual summons that she could not see the end of. The quantum tunnel’s gravity was pulling her presence in the Unity from her physical body. Farther and farther it stretched, going so far that she feared journeying into it might separate her from her body. Forever.

The thought startled her, and she recoiled, snapping back into her mortal body. She gasped and noticed that her body was shaking.

“You okay, Star Queen?” Ezo said over his shoulder, his voice rising above a commotion on the bridge.

Awen realized she wasn’t shaking from her fear alone but from a very physical quaking of the ship as well. “I’m fine,” she said, gripping the arms of her chair.

“Getting rough,” Ezo said, stating the obvious.

“The tunnel’s gravity also seems to be employing a compression scheme that will most likely have an adverse effect on our physiology,” TO-96 stated.

“You mean our physiology,” Ezo corrected, indicating Awen and himself.

“Quite so, sir. My apologies. Though I do not think I will be without effect either, nor will the ship,” the bot said, looking around.

With each passing second, the ship shook more rapidly, as if someone was turning up the oscillation pattern on an audio device. The pitch rose higher and higher, and Awen noticed an acute pain in the middle of her head. “Does anyone else feel that?” she yelled.

“And here Ezo thought it was just his hangover,” Ezo replied, squinting through a forced smile.

“I am not clear on what you are referring to,” TO-96 said, “but I am aware of the quantum tunnel’s density now beginning to approach terminal levels for matter in our universe.”

“Terminal, as in lethal?” Ezo asked.

“Correct, s-s-sir,” the bot stuttered. The lights in his eye sockets flickered.

Awen’s vision began to diminish, and it seemed like the entire cabin was shrinking. A wave of vertigo struck her so hard she knew she was nanoseconds away from vomiting. Strangely, she felt guilty that she would not have time to grab the bag that Ezo had placed under her seat.

* * *

At first, the voice sounded like it was underwater. Awen tried to focus her blurry vision, but a combination of searing pain near her temples and a strong urge to pass out kept her from making out anything beyond fuzzy shapes. The voice continued to speak until Awen finally heard her name.

“Awen… hear me?”

She blinked several times and noticed an arm. Then she saw a hand. She moved the fingers. It was her hand. The shapes in her field of view started to clarify.

“Awen? Can you hear me?”

She tried to speak, but no words came out. A face was getting closer to hers. Its eyes were enormous. It was terrifying!

“Awen?”

And then her stomach lurched. She was so tired of throwing up. Awen wiped spittle from her lips, using the hand. She could smell bile in her nostrils.

“I got you,” it said. She knew that voice. It was—a friend. No, it was just…

“Ezo?” she asked.

“Phew! Star Queen, you had us worried there for a moment.”

“Worried?” Awen repeated, finally getting her bearings. She was on the bridge of the Indomitable. They’d been headed toward something important—toward a hole in space. The stardrive. The Novia Minoosh. The quantum tunnel.

“Did we make it?” she asked.

Ezo smiled. “We sure did, Star Queen.”

Awen returned his smile and tried to stand up.

“Easy there,” he coached, insisting she stay seated. “You’ve been out for several minutes. The jump hit you hardest of all, it seems.”

“Her vitals are stabilizing,” TO-96 said.

“But we really did make it, yes?”

“Indeed, Awen,” the bot replied. “Just as Ezo said. And the jump seems to have been almost instantaneous. By my calculations, one point eight attoseconds. That is a billionth of a billionth—”

“Don’t think she cares right now, ’Six.”

“Ah, yes. My apologies.” TO-96 knelt on her other side and offered his hand to her. Awen grasped his and Ezo’s hands and stood. It took a moment more for her to get her balance. Then she stared out the bridge window, her eyes widening, mouth agape.

TO-96 leaned in and whispered, “Welcome to metaspace, Awen.”

Instead of brilliant white, the stars here were various shades of purple set against the same infinitely black background. A fine pink-hued cloud connected the millions of lights like a spiderweb that looked as if it had been blown about at the hands of an ancient wind. Other smaller gems twinkled in the distance, flickers of green and blue and gold. The entire scene seemed to pulse with otherworldly energy the likes of which she’d never encountered before.

“It’s… magnificent,” Awen said, spellbound by the sight. She felt a surge of emotion so strong that tears welled in her eyes. Almost a minute passed before she finally found words again. “I… I can’t believe I’m seeing this.”

“Nor can we,” TO-96 said.

“I’m just glad you made it through,” Ezo said. “We were worried about you there.”

“Thank you,” she said, turning toward them. “I’m fine. Really, I am.” She smoothed her turtleneck and noticed the puke stain. It smelled terrible.

“Let’s get you some new clothes,” Ezo said.

“Thank you. But what about the planet?”

Ezo smiled at TO-96. “Go on,” he prompted.

“Ithnor Ithelia is right where they said it would be,” TO-96 replied, naming the planet for the first time. Awen mouthed the words back at him in wonder. Then the bot input a few commands, and the ship began a slow turn to starboard. The stars pitched across the window until a brilliant purple star flooded the bridge with light. The ship’s sensors adjusted the window’s transparency to reduce glare. As the Indomitable continued its rolling arc, a new object began to fill the field of view.

Appearing from the lower right was a massive planet whose greens and blues were nearly iridescent in the purple sun’s light. Countless flecks of white and gold sparkled on the planet’s surface. The world looked like nothing Awen had ever witnessed, nothing she’d ever imagined. She’d felt overwhelmed before, but now she was overcome with emotions so strong that she wept openly. One hand covered her mouth, and the other pushed back tears and loose strands of hair. This was the single most beautiful thing she’d ever seen in all her life.

“Ithnor Ithelia,” she whispered. “You are breathtaking.”

* * *

For the first time in her life, Awen didn’t vomit during atmospheric entry. She was too excited to be sick, though she doubted there was anything left in her stomach to throw up. She was also too excited to be mad at Ezo—at least for a little while. She pressed herself up against her harness like a little kid trying to look out the family skiff’s front windshield from the back seat. Purple-blue light saturated the landscape—what little of it she could see—and continued to bathe the cockpit in the otherworldly glow.

Once the ship’s rate of speed had decreased and the vibrations subsided, TO-96 began conveying sensor data to Ezo and Awen. “The atmosphere is… surprisingly conducive to biological life as we know it. Trace amounts of other compounds but nothing that should impede your ability to breathe normally.”

“So you’re saying you’re pretty sure we won’t die?” Ezo asked.

“I calculate that there is less than a three percent chance that one of the trace elements is lethal, correct, sir.”

“That’s good enough for me.”

“Me too,” Awen said. “How long before we can touch down? I don’t even know what the protocol is for something exploratory like this.”

Ezo looked at her and raised his shoulders. “Me neither, Star Queen. But it is your expedition, technically speaking. Your op.”

“Awen,” TO-96 said, “might I suggest reviewing data from the preliminary sensor scans to aid in your decision-making?”

“That sounds like a wonderful idea,” Awen said. “I’m assuming I can unbuckle now?”

“Aside from thermal sheering or atmospheric anomalies, both of which the ship’s dampeners can account for, I would say everything will be smooth from here.”

Awen undid her harness and climbed out of her seat. “How soon before the scans are finished?”

“Well, we will need several more hours to complete a full planetary rotation. However, I’m bringing up the preliminary scans now.” TO-96’s head twitched back and forth as he worked with the Indomitable’s AI to present query results. Three holo-projections displayed across the dashboard, indicating…

What? Awen wondered, moving between Ezo and TO-96 for a better look. All she saw were jungle-covered mountains, none of which looked like good candidates for landing a starship, let alone being hubs for an advanced sentient species to congregate in.

“These represent the three largest cities detected on this hemisphere,” TO-96 said, “one of which happens to be the one indicated on the stardrive—here.” He pointed to the center image and started it rotating.

“I don’t understand,” Awen replied. All she saw was a pyramid-like mountain with countless protrusions on its surface, all of which were covered in foliage. The city looked more like a spiny mass in a dense jungle than the shining metropolis she expected. “Are they—are the inhabitants jungle primates or something?” She looked at Ezo and then at TO-96, wondering if they were as confused as she was.

“Ah, I think I understand your assumptions. This is a visual scan only. Here,” TO-96 said, looking down at the dashboard. He eliminated the two peripheral projections and expanded the center one of the city until it nearly filled the bridge. “This should help you.”

All the green vanished to reveal one of the most stunning cities Awen had ever seen—it even rivaled the architecture and grandeur of Capriana. Delicate spires towered over latticework skyscrapers, serpentine sky bridges wove between monolithic domes, and countless causeways and canals formed a footprint so mathematically perfect that Awen wondered who could have designed and written such a beautiful algorithm.

“It’s spectacular,” she whispered.

“You can say that again,” Ezo said.

“But I still don’t understand it,” Awen said. “Why the foliage? Are we saying… this city’s been reclaimed by the planet? That would mean—”

“It’s abandoned,” Ezo concluded.

Awen’s heart sank. To come so far, to risk so much, to witness so many people’s death’s, all for a lost civilization? She knew the discovery would not be a total loss, of course. Such a find would merit decades of excavation and cultural findings to last centuries of analysis by the Luma. But still—she was hoping to discover the most important find of all: life.

“Ninety-Six, what about life signs?” she asked.

“I’m sorry, Awen, but besides basic and complex organisms one might find in any jungle throughout our galaxy, there is nothing notable—nothing that I’m sure you’re looking for.”

Awen lowered her head. “Keep scanning, Ninety-Six. But let’s look for a place to land.”

“As you wish, Awen.”

33

Magnus dragged Valerie and Piper across the desert in a makeshift sled as the sun baked them raw. They were headed east toward the canyon and the closer of the two settlements he’d seen from the air. With any luck, they’d arrive by nightfall.

Magnus had taken one of the glass canopies, flipped it over, adhered several pads from the downed capsules to it, and covered it with fabric from the parachutes to act as a shade. Then he repurposed a few meters of his grappling-hook line, tied it around his waist, and connected it to the sled.

Valerie and Piper sat quietly under the white shade as Magnus hauled them eastward. The little girl had even managed to hang on to her stuffed animal, which was looking less stuffed and more animal. A rabid animal.

He knew the females were grieving the loss of the husband and father now buried in a shallow grave. Magnus had wanted to bury the man properly, but there wasn’t time for anything like that. Death by exposure and discovery were both very real possibilities if he didn’t get the mother and daughter to safety soon. Magnus had dug a pit for the late senator using his helmet then laid his body to rest. The man deserved a Republic funeral, but if the senator were to speak from beyond the grave, he would insist that Magnus get them to safety. At least, that was what Magnus would have said had the roles been reversed. Valerie and Piper had wept as Magnus finally covered the man’s face, forever concealing him in the dust of Oorajee.

After constructing the sled, Magnus cut vents in his helmet using his duradex knife. Both the helmet’s main battery and its backup battery were completely depleted. He was sure the AI’s processor was destroyed, too, given the charred components that had failed to survive Piper’s strange energy explosion. The helmet’s only uses now were as a sunshade, as eye protection, and—he’d most recently discovered—as a shovel. It reminded him of when the old Mark IV helmets had crapped out on his unit during the Caledonian Wars. As had been the case back then, he wished the helmet could seal his suit from the sand, but the granules found their way into everything. He swore as a handful of the stuff rubbed against his groin.

For once, Magnus wished his armor was any color but black. Without the suit’s cooling system online, the armor felt like an old convection oven, but he knew he’d need it for its protective abilities should they encounter resistance. And they would encounter resistance.

He squeezed his MAR30 between his hands. Fortunately, Piper’s devastating power surge hadn’t knocked his primary weapon out of commission. His Z and his remaining frag grenade were still online as well. At least he had those.

He wanted to ask Valerie about the girl’s powers, but it was a conversation he simply didn’t know how to start, at least not in front of Piper. Plus, what would he say? So, your daughter shoots energy from her mind and kills people. How does that work? Magnus shook the thoughts away more than once and contented himself in merely being the Marine that would see them to safety. Leave the other stuff for people smarter than you, Magnus.

He stopped every half an hour to provide his passengers a small drink from his limited water supply. The truth was, Magnus needed it more than they did, given his exertion, but he preferred to help them to his own detriment. And anyway, he’d pushed himself through worse. One more meter, one more kilometer. OTF. Just make it to your next meal, Magnus.

As the sun began its descent behind them, Magnus could make out hints of white on the horizon coming from a series of low buildings. The sight worried him, however, as the white, while it could have been paint or ceramics, was most likely linen. A Jujari village. He’d been hoping for another Dregs settlement or something. He placed his index finger on his MAR30’s safety as if to make sure it was still there and hadn’t melted from the excessive heat.

Magnus’s mind flashed back to the mwadim’s palace, where he’d terminated several Jujari warriors before finding Awen’s helpless body behind the dais. Then he and Awen had escaped down the street as he wrestled three strays in the dusty alley. If he could place a wager, he’d put money on having to kill more Jujari before the night was out. Once again, Magnus was protecting innocent lives from certain death by sheer will and, when the time called for it, violence of action—the kind of violence only the Recon was trained to dispense. He thought of his brothers, the ones he’d lost. No, the ones you’ll find. The heat was messing with his head.

The faces of his men flashed before him one at a time. He saw them amidst specific memories from the past, each laughing, smiling, or doing something stupid. Just a few days before this last mission, they’d spent the night at one of their favorite watering holes on the outskirts of Capriana. Flow looked up from one too many Klindish ales and let out a belch that would have rivaled an elephant’s trunk blast.

Flow could drink, Magnus mused as he shook his head, reminded once again of how the black-skinned warrior had gotten his nickname. ’Cause ale never stopped flowing—so much so that Flow had been unaware that he wasn’t wearing any pants that night. Some of the other Recon guys had removed them hours before, but Flow didn’t care. “Doesn’t change the taste of the beer,” he yelled and called for another round.

Corporal Miguel “Cheeks” Chico, on the other hand, had two arms around two different alien girls at the bar. He was completely unaware that they were “anatomically incompatible” to him, as the doctor had later said. Cheeks told the story with pride the next afternoon in the barracks as he showed off bandages that were wrapped around his abdomen and buttocks. He’d more than lived up to his nickname.

Mouth was the storyteller. Magnus had no idea if anything Corporal Allan Franklin said was true, but he didn’t care. Mouth could get guys laughing around a table faster and louder than anyone Magnus had ever met, and it had earned him the strange but appropriate moniker.

The memories, mostly of the Fearsome Four, kept Magnus company as he trudged through the sand. He realized more and more how much he cared for his men—how much he missed them and hoped they were still alive. If any of his brothers were still on this cursed planet, he would find them, dead or alive. Fate had delivered him right back to where he’d started, which couldn’t have been an accident. He was here for a reason. No comms, no food, almost no water, and limited weapons—which was really pissing him off—but he never backed away from a challenge. The Recon never quit, never gave up, and never gave in to anything but mission success. If his men needed rescuing, he would get it done, and if their bodies needed burial, he would see to it. On any other planet but this one.

Suddenly, an image of Awen hung in his mind. She was sitting on Ezo’s ship, her knees tucked up to her chin as Magnus handed her a cup of tea. The herbal smell warmed him somehow, as did her face. Despite being a prude, she was…

What was she, Magnus? He fought with himself as his feet stomped through the sand. She was beautiful. Her purple eyes—and something about the way she smiled at him—haunted him. Awen was also feisty, and he liked that. Most people just took orders from Magnus, or else he had them detained or thrown in the brig. Plus, most women he’d ever been around had seemed too easily enamored with his uniform or his commanding presence. But not Awen. From the very start, she’d defied him. It had irritated him, for sure. But it also had an endearing quality. He liked that she wasn’t a pushover. She was petite, but she was a fierce one.

Magnus felt empathy for Awen. She’d lost people in her team, and that was never something a person forgot. The nightmares, the guilt, the second-guessing—all of it was very real and very dangerous. Magnus had known good men who, after being subjected to similar scenarios, had lost their minds and were never able to reenter civilian life after being medically discharged from the Marines.

He wondered how Awen was doing and if she’d returned to normal life on Worru. He recognized that normal was a relative word given all the things she’d seen. Still, he wondered how her after-action review had gone—if that was even what the Luma called it—and if she’d endured any negative fallout. Probably not. She survived a nightmare, and her COs surely understood that. He felt the urge to check in on her, to send an external call over TACNET.

And say what, Magnus? “Hi? How are you doing at being a Luma, Awen? Learn any new spells lately?”

The more he thought about it, the more he realized he sounded like a complete idiot over TACNET in his imagination. Good thing comms are down, a-hole.

* * *

Night approached as Magnus reached the settlement. He was grateful for the fading light, certain that he’d been spotted earlier in the day. Only a completely inept sentry could have missed his black armor trudging toward them across the desert in the daytime. But war had taught him that the cover of night could often erase many daylight missteps. Magnus expected he would have an easier time of gaining access to shelter in the village’s outskirts as the sky darkened; he only wished that his thermal imaging was online to give him a tactical advantage. The Jujari might be a superior biological force, but his night vision would have leveled the playing field. Instead, his helmet now accompanied the ladies, as the visor was too dark for the fading light.

“Are we almost there, Mr. Lieutenant Magnus, sir?” Piper asked from the sled. The steady swoosh of sand under the glass became more noticeable as the night air grew still. Magnus could feel the temperature dropping, too, as the sun’s glow faded from the sky.

“Yes, Piper,” he replied, licking his cracked lips. “We’re almost there.”

“And what will we find?”

“Piper,” her mother reprimanded. “That’s enough.”

“But I want to know what we’ll find, Mother.”

“We’re going to look for water, something to eat, and a safe place to sleep,” Magnus replied, not minding the little girl’s questions nearly as much as he might have. Hearing her speak reminded him who he worked for and who he would fight to protect. Life, this life, was precious and worth dying for. And I will die for you, Piper Stone, if I must.

The faint glow of fires began to appear throughout the village—some on rooftops in braziers, others from within the linen walls of sandstone buildings and standalone tents. Smaller fires burned atop lamp stands, while dozens of wall-mounted torches illuminated streets and archways.

Magnus pulled the sled behind the skeleton of a blown-out skiff that lay on its side. So far, he had not attracted any attention, at least none that had warranted inspection from the village’s inhabitants. For that much, he was grateful. With any luck, this town would be sympathetic to the Republic cause and welcome them with open arms.

Were you born yesterday, Marine? You’re so naïve sometimes.

No, I’m optimistic. But he knew his true self was right. He hated when that guy was right.

“Pardon me, Mr. Lieutenant Magnus, sir,” Piper said, her teeth chattering, “but I don’t see any food or water yet. I don’t see a bed either.”

“Piper, be patient,” Valerie chided.

“It’s okay,” Magnus said, catching the glint of Valerie’s eyes in the distant torchlight. Despite the wind- and sunburn, the woman’s face still looked like fine porcelain. “She’s right to question me.” He looked down at Piper. “I haven’t found any of those things yet, but I will. For now, I need you to wrap yourself in the parachute and stay close to your mother, okay?”

Piper nodded.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes. No sound, no movement, copy?”

“Copy?”

“When I say ‘copy,’ you say ‘copy’ back to confirm that you understand me.”

“Copy back,” Piper said in a tiny voice.

Magnus smiled. “Right.”

Suddenly, the little girl reached out to him. Magnus wasn’t sure what to do. Seeing her little hand, he realized just how different it was from everything else he knew—from war, from violence, from death. Take it, you idiot. He slipped off a glove and placed a finger in her palm. Her fingers wrapped around it.

“You always save me, Mr. Magnus. You always do.”

Great. No pressure. But the truth was, he wanted to save her more than anything else. He would too—at least, he would try his best. Someday, he might fail her. No one was perfect. But not that day. That day, he would be the warrior in her dreams.

* * *

Growls and barking came from deeper in the village as Magnus left the skiff’s cover, eyes scanning for motion. He ran forward to a heap of metal. As he took cover, he realized he was at the bottom of a shallow, blackened bowl. An orbital strike. Not from one of the big LO9D cannons, as there wouldn’t be a village left standing if that had happened. No, this was a smaller laser strike but still nothing to mess with. The metal he hid behind was charred and gnarled, and even in the moonlight, he could make out the telltale blast ring around the impact crater only a few meters away. This village had been assaulted sometime over the past few days.

Along with the distinct scent of laser fire, Magnus could smell campfires and cooking meat on the wind—something pungent and oily. The inhabitants here were the survivors of the strike or squatters who’d taken advantage of the aftermath.

Magnus’s MAR30 was in low-ready position, giving him the ability to freely sweep the shadows and still bring the weapon to bear faster than most humanoids could blink. Without his helmet’s AI to call out targets, he activated the weapon’s holo-sight display, which hovered over the rail and extended down the barrel. The information-rich HSD projection was only visible from the operator’s perspective and emanated in relation to ambient light so as not to light blind the operator.

Magnus maneuvered to the opposite edge of some debris, stole another glance downrange, and moved out. He headed for a low-walled well and sank below its sandstone blocks. He noted its position and hoped it had potable water at its bottom.

Again and again, Magnus picked his waypoints, scanned for the enemy, and moved. Slow is smooth, and smooth is deadly, he reminded himself, mentally reciting one of the many unofficial mantras of the Recon.

He was ten meters from the village’s outermost structures and wished his helmet were functional. With a working helmet, he would have been able to see and tag every living thing without them ever knowing. Instead, he used his senses to try to guess where potential threats might be hiding.

A large broken portion of the village wall was visible to his right. Through it, he could see several tents with no internal lights on. The structures were made of sandstone pillars with linen walls and canopies. Magnus figured that either the inhabitants were asleep or these were unused, maybe even supply tents—wishful thinking. Only idiots would keep food, water, or weapons caches along the perimeter of any enclave.

Magnus left his MAR30 to the care of its sling and withdrew his duradex knife while moving to the first tent. He pressed his back against the nearest sandstone pillar and listened for movement. No breathing, no rustling. Odds were, the tent was unoccupied. He squatted and turned, cutting a vertical slit in the linen. The blade made silent work of the task, and Magnus peeked inside.

Once through the slit, he found only the remnants of a former occupant’s sleeping quarters. The Jujari equivalent of a cot—a nested litter of straw covered by a blanket—was strewn with windblown sand and refuse. And it stank. He pushed his toe through the shards of a broken clay vessel and flipped open a small box that turned up nothing.

Magnus turned his knife on the inner wall that bordered the next tent and slit his way through. Once again, he found sand-blown litters and smashed containers. The third tent yielded more of the same. These tents are going to be dead ends for resources, but at least they would serve as cover for the night if he couldn’t find anything else.

Magnus chanced a glance out the main entrance, keeping himself within the linen folds. A hard-packed street ran to his right and left, bending in a concave shape around the perimeter of the village. Torches lit the lane every fifty meters, casting orange light between long swaths of shadow. Judging by the lack of tent lights here and the noise beyond, he guessed that most of the settlement’s inhabitants had congregated near the village center.

Magnus stepped into the street and crossed to the closest unlit tent. He entered with his knife at the ready only to find another old litter. Feeling more confident, he checked several more tents and found stale bedding, refuse, and the remains of various containers.

Now it was time to see if the tents with lights on were occupied. Magnus maintained strict noise discipline as he rolled his boots into and out of each step. He stalked to the nearest glowing linen tent and double-checked his six, listening for any signs of life. He could hear heavy breathing from within. Ever so gently, Magnus used the tip of his blade to crack the folds of the tent’s entrance. Unless the occupant was staring directly at the spot where he placed his knife, they would be none the wiser.

A small oil lantern sat on the floor, wick flickering with the last drops of fuel in the glass bowl. And there, curled up like a massive lapdog, lay a Jujari warrior, fast asleep. A sniper blaster rested against one of the sandstone pillars, as did a pair of binoculars and the warrior’s keeltari long sword. The warrior had no other possessions, which meant he was traveling light. A sentry, Magnus concluded, realizing he and the women had just stumbled into the best possible scenario.

While the village had no doubt been a bustling hub of Jujari sectarian life in its former years, it was now being used as a military outpost. And a poorly run one, at that. Where barking families and wild commerce had probably once filled its streets, warriors used the town as a safe haven. But from where? Magnus figured they’d been displaced from another village or city.

Between the orbital-strike craters that he’d seen from the air and the one he’d stood in on the outskirts of the village, there was plenty of evidence that the Republic had already begun its assault on the planet. But judging from this pack’s lack of vigilance, as exemplified by this slumbering mongrel, they weren’t expecting enemies on foot. Which meant the Republic hadn’t sent a ground-assault force yet.

He left the Jujari unharmed, figuring a dead body would raise the alarm sooner rather than later. At the moment, he needed as much time as he could to get the women hydrated and to cover. Still, he needed to know what size force he was up against. Magnus found a gap between tents that served as an alley, and he sidestepped his way down it toward the center of town. The light ahead grew brighter. He was careful not to catch his armor on the linen walls, moving like a shadow. A shadow that slays. A Midnight Hunter.

The alley broke to another hard-packed lane lined with torches, only these were closer together than the others. The circumference of the village’s circular shape was also constricting. He was nearing the center. He crossed to the opposite side of the street, hidden in darkness, and entered a similar gap between tents.

Up ahead, he could hear the snarling, garbled speech of the Jujari. Then, as he approached the end of the alley, he saw firelight dancing off the side of the remaining meter of tent fabric. He slowed, edging forward.

Magnus peered out from the shadows to see at least three dozen Jujari warriors gathered around a sizable fire pit. An oily carcass rotated on a spit, flames leaping every time black fluid dripped onto the coals. The beasts collectively lapped from metal buckets as the smell of something fermented wafted into Magnus’s nostrils. The scene was like that of any of a thousand warrior tribes across the galaxy: the calm after or before a storm when the fighters reveled in the fleeting breaths of their short lives. Brothers drank beside brothers, commiserating in their shared fate as those who would die for the society they prized above all else.

Magnus realized that not only were these warriors not expecting a ground assault, they weren’t expecting any kind of assault. Which means we’ve not been seen. It wasn’t much, but it was something. And Magnus knew that every advantage, no matter how small, could be capitalized on to bring him one step closer to mission completion.

For the moment, he needed to return to the women, get some fluids in them, and find a place to sleep for the night. With any luck, this troop might vacate at first light—or after their communal hangover wore off. Magnus withdrew into the shadows. As he sidestepped the way he’d come, he heard Piper scream in the distance.

34

Awen descended the Indomitable’s ramp with all the wide-eyed wonder of a child who’d just discovered chocolate cake. She could hardly contain her excitement as she took her first step onto the alien planet. Her boots pressed into the thick grass of the clearing TO-96 had landed in. Lush stands of trees lined every side, and just a few hundred meters beyond, Awen saw the city’s first foliage-covered structures.

The urban sprawl rose toward the purplish sky like a mountain range covered in a green blanket, and Awen thought it was magnificent. She was most struck, however, by the metropolis’s size.

No, it should be classified as a megalopolis, at least by our standards. The shipboard holo-projections hadn’t conveyed its scale to her.

The air itself was warm and filled with fragrant smells. The scent of blossoming flowers mixed with the full-bodied earthiness of a forest’s underbrush, one alive with sprouting flora and decomposing matter. Insects buzzed, and strange calls trilled and blatted from within the trees.

“Are you capturing all of this, TO-96?” Awen asked, unable to pull her eyes from her surroundings.

“I am indeed, Awen.”

“Good,” Awen responded, still not looking back at them. “Keep logging everything you see. This place is… it’s fantastic.” She took several more steps forward.

“Star Queen, hold on,” Ezo said, pulling yet another blaster sling over his head. He already wore a backpack filled with supplies, two canteens, his holstered SUPRA 945 pistol, and a blaster rifle slung over each shoulder. “We need to proceed carefully. We have no idea what’s out there.” He grabbed several more energy magazines and tucked them into open battery slots on his belt and inside his coat.

“It’s not like we’re going to war or something, Ezo,” she replied, wincing at just how many weapons he’d been able to drape on his person.

“I feel I must side with Ezo here, Awen. Since this planet is completely uncharted, it would be wise to take extra precautions for personal self-defense.”

“I get it,” Awen said. “But how many weapons do you really need, Ezo? Doesn’t Ninety-Six have enough to defend us from a small Republic invasion force?”

“I admit that my armaments are—”

“Rhetorical question!” Awen and Ezo said in unison. They smiled at one another and gave a laugh. The mood was light, which Awen thought was a good sign. They were, after all, the first people in their galaxy to step foot on this alien world—perhaps even the first in their universe.

“Well, come on, already!” Awen protested. The two bounty hunters walked down the ramp and into the grassy field with her. TO-96 activated the motors, and the giant vertical door whined shut behind them.

“The first main buildings are due north, eight hundred meters,” TO-96 reported. “The capital city’s name is simply listed as Itheliana.”

“Itheliana,” Awen repeated, “capital of Ithnor Ithelia.”

“That’s correct,” the bot replied. “We’re presently standing in what appears to be the remains of an old plaza surrounded by residential structures just inside the woods. I suggest we stay within the main thoroughfare.”

Looking in the direction the bot indicated, Awen saw only a wall of green. “Why don’t you lead the way,” she replied, gesturing with her hand.

“As you wish, Awen.”

TO-96 took the lead as the trio moved across the open area and into the first group of trees. The light didn’t diminish so much as it changed. Awen looked up. At first, she thought the leaves were translucent, allowing the sun’s light to pass through them and kiss the jungle floor. But as she passed some leaves near a low-lying branch, she realized the foliage was not translucent but luminescent.

“The leaves are glowing,” she said in amazement. “How is that even possible?”

“They appear to be bioluminescent,” TO-96 answered. “Much like some forms of algae in our universe. According to my initial scans, the light is a surplus of what each leaf consumes, perhaps supplying it for layers of flora beneath it.”

“Fascinating,” Awen said, noting the complex symbiotic relationship the trees had with the low-level species beneath them. She reached out to touch some of the leaves.

“Ezo wouldn’t do that if he were you, Star Queen,” Ezo said.

TO-96 stopped and turned around. Seeing Awen’s extended hand, he added, “I must agree with Ezo on that point. We don’t yet know the chemical composition and biological compatibility of the planet’s life with your own.”

Awen pulled her hand away. “Fair point.”

The trio continued through the forest before arriving at a pair of buildings connected by an arch about ten meters over the jungle floor. Awen could make out dozens of glass windows, an elevated portico, and several awnings that extended into the surrounding tree limbs. All of it, however, was smothered by tree limbs, creeping vines, and vegetation, which sprouted from every crevice and crack.

“Maybe it was some sort of gatehouse,” Ezo offered.

“Correct, sir,” TO-96 said. “Records show this was one of the city’s many entrances. The term gatehouse would be a misnomer, however, as defensive fortifications appear to be nonexistent.”

“So you’re saying the city wasn’t defended?” Awen asked.

“That appears to be the case, Awen. Both during the period of its initial construction all the way to its last use, it seems that the Novia Minoosh were never preoccupied with the threat of invasion. Here, let me show you.”

TO-96 squared up to the buildings and suddenly emitted a wide beam of light. The holo-projection filled the foreground with an overlay of the city. As it once was. “This is what it looked like?” she asked in wonder.

“Correct, at least insofar as the data provided to me conveys.”

“It’s… it’s—”

“It’s beautiful,” Ezo said.

“Yes.” Awen nodded, biting her index finger.

The holo-projection seemed to melt away the overgrowth, revealing gleaming surfaces and delicate architecture. Windows spiraled out to meet sweeping walkways suspended over intricate sidewalks. Planters dotted open plazas while arches rose and fell across them like the waves of an ocean swell. In the center stood the largest arch, bearing a script that Awen had never encountered before. Its elegant lines looked like they overlapped one another in three dimensions even though the text was clearly engraved on a two-dimensional surface.

“What does it say?” Awen asked.

“The translation, at least as far as I can manage, says, ‘Welcome to all those who wander and wonder. Find direction in darkness, find meaning as one.’”

“Clumsy, but poetic,” Ezo replied. “So, you can read their language?”

“I would say I am learning to,” TO-96 said. “They provided what they want us to know. I am parsing the rest.”

Awen blinked at TO-96’s holo-projection. Her imagination was lost in what it must have been like to wander these city streets when this civilization was at its height. What did the people look like? What clothes did they wear, what songs did they sing, what food did they eat? How were their family units structured, and what form of government did they employ? The reality was, however, that she’d never know. Judging by the amount of growth around the ruins, it had been hundreds if not thousands of years since any living thing had occupied this place.

Awen felt a sudden sadness like she was mourning the loss of an old friend who’d passed away years before. The initial sting of death was long gone. In its place was the festering absence that bred a lifelong sorrow. It was an emotion that held on like a stiff joint or a bruised bone.

Yet… She stood there, looking past the holo-projection into the rest of the city.

Yet it feels like we’re not alone. Like they’re still here. She couldn’t tell Ezo or TO-96 how she knew they were being watched, but she was convinced they were—convinced that this civilization was not completely lost. The notion defied her sense of logic, of course, but so did most of what was to be found in the Unity.

Awen closed her eyes and withdrew to her inner self once more. If there was something to be found, she knew it could be seen in the Unity of all things. She stretched out with her senses, observing herself, Ezo, and TO-96 as mere blips amid a planet fully awake. The impression of vitality was so overwhelming that Awen was nearly pushed from the Unity. She held on, forcing herself to stare at the cascading ripples of life that emanated from each place she focused on with her inner eyes. Each tree, each plant, each flying, swinging, and crawling creature radiated a life force more intense than anything she had seen before. But how? How could one planet’s life be so vibrant, so intense?

“Are you okay, Awen?” Ezo asked from inside the natural realm. Her inner senses felt the words before her ears heard them.

“Yes,” she replied, first from inside the Unity and then with her physical mouth. “This planet is incredible. I’ve never seen something so… alive.”

Then Awen shifted her focus toward the urban structures, eager to see what treasures they might hold. Her inner eyes searched the first ones and then froze. Aside from seeing the buildings in wonderful detail—far more than TO-96’s holo-projection could have rendered—Awen noticed that a strong life current raced through the walls like bundled conduits of energy. The pipelines glowed green with a corona that faded from pink to white.

“The buildings,” Awen said aloud. “They’re inhabited.”

TO-96 raised his forearm with the XM31 Type-R blaster affixed to it. As if someone had threatened a beehive by swatting it with a stick, the nearest building’s colors shifted to an angry red and sent out high-frequency ripples in the Unity.

“Wait.” Awen extended her inner hand, placed it over the bot’s arm, and gently pushed it down. TO-96 jerked away, as she thought he might since her physical hand was nowhere near his arm. “They’re not hostile, at least not as far as I can tell.”

“Wait—they?” Ezo asked. “As in, the buildings?”

“No, not the buildings, exactly. It’s more like something that makes up the buildings. Or is flowing in the buildings.”

“And you can tell they’re not hostile?”

“They didn’t like TO-96 raising his blaster,” Awen replied, noting that the red had turned back to the greenish, pink, and white glow from before.

“They didn’t like it?” Ezo asked in disbelief. “How can you—”

“Relax, Ezo,” Awen said, placing her inner hand on his shoulder for emphasis.

Ezo winced and let out a yell, trying to brush the unseen touch from his body. “Splick! Was that you?”

“Yes, Ezo.”

“Don’t scare Ezo like that,” he said, placing his hands on his knees and trying to catch his breath.

“More exists on the other side of the seen universe than you can imagine,” she added. “You’ll just have to take my word for it.”

Ezo placed a hand on his chest and stood upright again. “Okay. So, you don’t think they’re hostile.” He looked to TO-96. “Any ideas where they want us to go, Ninety-Six?”

“The only destination indicated on the stardrive is Itheliana as a whole.”

“The whole city?” Ezo said.

“That’s correct, sir. By my estimation, their invitation was simply to arrive and to explore.”

“Explore?” Ezo asked, clearly stunned by such an idea. “The whole city? But it would take an entire lifetime!”

“Based on square kilometers, you may not be far from the truth.”

“I might have something,” Awen interjected. “There’s some sort of pulsing, moving inward. It seems to have a definitive direction. Like… it wants us to follow.”

“It wants us to follow it?” Ezo asked. “Ezo’s not sure—”

“I told you to trust me, didn’t I?”

Ezo cleared his throat. “Yes. Yes, you did. Just please don’t touch Ezo again like that. It’s… it’s weird.”

“I won’t have to if you keep up with my instructions. This is my expedition after all, isn’t it, Captain?” She could tell he wasn’t sure how to respond to her when her eyes were closed. Ezo raised a hand and waved it over her face. “Yes, I see you just fine, Ezo. Relax.”

“So weird,” Ezo mumbled, lowering his hand. “Okay, lead on, Star Queen.”

* * *

The trio walked for over an hour, every street revealing a breathtaking view, inspiring architecture, and ingenious engineering. TO-96 kept his holo-projection displayed for Ezo’s sake while Awen remained inside the Unity. The trio stopped only for Awen and Ezo to rest their legs and take long drinks of water from their canteens.

Not only did the buildings get taller as they moved toward the city’s center, but the streets and sidewalks moved upward as well. Some spiraled over themselves, while others leaped skyward with ramps, bridges, or elevated corridors. And while the jungle continued to retake the structures, it did so with less ferocity as the city moved up and away from the planet’s surface.

Whatever beings had once lived here, they certainly seemed to have had the stature and preferences of humanoids in Awen’s universe—only larger. The doorways leading into buildings allowed her nearly twice as much clearance as she needed. She imagined the streets bustling with shoppers, enterprisers, and families, all flowing past one another on their various errands. Transportation lanes supported elegant vehicles that whisked people from one point in the city to the next. All around her, life swelled, rising and falling like the troughs and peaks of ocean waves.

In the present, however, there was nothing but the sounds and smells of the forest. Awen wondered just how old Itheliana was and how long it had taken for the jungle to retake the land. She also wondered if she was the first to tread here since… since whatever happened to this species happened. Had others discovered it before her, perhaps others in this universe? TO-96 had called it “metaspace.” Perhaps these people had been conquered by a superior race in their own galaxy, though the city entirely lacked signs of war. Maybe a plague had wiped them out.

Whatever it was, it had not taken them out completely. Something still lived in the walls and floors and ceilings. Something moved in the pavement and the concrete. As sure as Awen was of her own life force in the Unity of all things, she was convinced that this place contained some remains of sentient life even if it was a shadow of its former glory.

They walked on for another hour, following Awen’s direction as she followed the rhythmic pulses that summoned her forward. Even though Ezo couldn’t see what she could, he often intuitively chose the correct turn in a street or fork in the sidewalk. She wondered if the life force rippling through the city also summoned him in unseen ways.

As they rose in altitude, the buildings grew increasingly massive and more elaborate. The structural interconnectivity produced an emotion in Awen—a sense of confidence, interdependence, and reliance on every other thing around her. It was as if these people had embedded the ethos of their culture within the walls of their buildings.

By the third hour, the trio had summited the city’s uppermost echelon. Here, one building stood out. Its multitiered construction eventually formed a tall spire that seemed to struggle against the creeping vines in a desperate effort to launch itself into the void. Yet the sinuous fibers wrapped around it, forcing the spire to stay grounded, forever bound to the prison of its foundation.

“In there,” Awen said, pointing to the structure’s large main doors. She could sense they led into a long hallway that proceeded to serve countless rooms, corridors, and plazas. The building was truly immense and felt all-consuming, as if it had an appetite for sentient minds to explore its many secrets. Yet the structure wasn’t a hungry creation that threatened to swallow them. Rather, it was already well-fed—satiated from the nourishment of a thousand generations—and, in fact, offered something to those who wished to partake.

“It’s a library of some sort,” Awen said.

“A library?” Ezo asked, taking a moment to look around. “A library is fitting.” He ran a hand through his hair. “We’d need a mountain of books to uncover everything there is to know about this magical place.”

“And that’s precisely what I think it wants to share with us.”

For the first time in over three hours, she opened her eyes and stepped out of the Unity. The transition was a shock, as she knew it would be. Remaining in the Unity for that long was difficult, dangerous, and—when you finally reemerged—disappointing, for nothing ever looked as vibrant and rich in the seen realm as it did in the unseen. Still, she was, like all other Luma, a mortal being in a corporal body. She was not meant to stay in the Unity—no more than a mammal was meant to stay submerged underwater beyond its capacity to hold its breath.

Awen blinked, stretched her neck and arms, and looked around at the green jungle that covered every surface. Gone were the details of the city streets, buildings, and windows. Gone were the doorways, facades, and meandering hallways. Instead, they were standing in the ruins of some ancient temple square, surrounded by monolithic shrines to cosmic gods.

The three of them had traveled as high as was possible in Itheliana. The far horizon, which she could see between gaps in the buildings, showed alternating patches of blues and greens, signaling vast oceans and wide stretches of lush terrain. All of it was set beneath the now-fading light of a purple sky. She had to admit that even outside of the Unity, this place was spellbinding.

As Awen turned back to examine the grand entrance of the library, she noticed TO-96’s holo-projection displaying another inscription across a broad arch. “More text?” Awen asked, pointing toward the Novian script.

“Yes, Awen. It reads, ‘The temple of all we’ve gained, and the cost of all we’ve left behind.’”

Ezo let out a grunt. “Seems a little ominous if you ask Ezo.”

“Anything that involves a cost is ominous-sounding to you, sir.”

Ezo snorted. “You cost me a lot, Ninety-Six. Maybe I’ll trade you in after this.”

The bot pulled back. “I would like to think that I have more than made up for my compositional expenses, sir.”

“Some days, I wonder.”

Awen almost laughed at the exchange, but the weight of the moment kept her focused. “Shall we go in, gentlemen?” She tried to step toward the front doors, but her feet suddenly held fast to the moss-covered ground. She looked down, thinking a vine had ensnared her, but her boots were clear. It was as if something had welded her feet to the ground. She tried budging them again but to no avail.

Awen glanced at Ezo. To her surprise, he was looking down at his feet too. “Ezo can’t move his legs,” he said, his voice rising in panic.

“Neither can I,” Awen replied.

TO-96 looked between them. “I see nothing which would indicate our immobilization,” he offered, pointing to his own legs, “but I am stuck as well.”

Awen’s stomach caught in her throat. “That’s because it’s not something physical.”

An all-too-familiar male voice boomed from across the plaza behind them. “Well deduced, young Luma.”

Awen twisted around. “No!” she blurted.

So-Elku stood with his head bowed and his eyes closed. Beside him were two other senior elders, their hands tucked in the sleeves of their red-and-black robes. So-Elku slowly raised his head and opened his eyes.

“No!” Awen said again as her chest tightened. “How are you here? That’s—it’s not possible!”

“Nothing’s impossible, Awen,” the Luma master replied. “Not in the Unity. You of all people should know that.”

“I am sorry to interrupt, Awen, but does this man pose an imminent threat to you?” TO-96 asked.

“Yes!” Awen yelled more loudly than she intended. She could see Ezo struggling to bring up one of the blasters draped over his shoulders. “Very much, yes, Ninety-Six!”

“Very well.” The bot spun his torso one hundred eighty degrees, and he raised his arm. Before Awen could blink from the blasts, a cluster of microrockets leaped from behind his wrist. The munitions crossed the square and exploded in a sharp burst of red-and-orange fire. Ezo was also able to fire several bursts of blue blaster bolts in the same direction. The concussion blew Awen’s braid off her shoulder and peppered her skin with debris. She lowered her arm from over her eyes to see the smoke clear. So-Elku was still standing, unmoved.

“Well, that was highly ineffective,” TO-96 said as he examined his forearm.

“It’s not your fault,” Awen said.

She was incredulous now. So-Elku must have been the one tracking Geronimo since Plumeria. But they’d switched ships.

“How did you find us?” she asked the traitor.

“Yes,” a voice said from another corner of the square. “How did you find them, So-Elku?”

Awen turned to see an older bald man, dressed in black, stepping into the open. He was flanked on both sides by two dozen troopers in black armor, blasters raised.

“Kane,” So-Elku spat. “How nice of you to provide those coordinates you promised.”

“Well, it seems you didn’t need them after all,” the man in black said, motioning for his troopers to fan out.

Wait, so… So-Elku wasn’t tracking us, but this man was? Or, maybe they’ve been working together.

Suddenly, Awen felt So-Elku’s grip loosen around her feet. She closed her eyes and entered the Unity. Sure enough, the Luma master had diverted his attention to this new man. This new threat. The man called Kane.

“I thought we had a deal,” So-Elku replied. “But I’m beginning to wonder if that was ever your intent.”

“Perhaps if you had been more patient, you—”

“You would have looted the place yourself and left me with nothing,” the Luma master spat.

“Conjecture,” Kane said with a flick of his hand.

“And in exchange for what?” So-Elku demanded. “My betrayal of the entire order?”

“Come now, I think you did that a long time ago, So-Elku,” Kane replied.

Awen opened her eyes and noticed Kane’s troopers spreading around the perimeter. She looked at Ezo and then TO-96. “Hey,” she whispered. “Let’s make a break for it. Inside the library. You ready?”

“Ezo still can’t move his feet,” Ezo said.

“You will.” Awen closed her eyes and reached for Ezo’s legs. She gently moved So-Elku’s power aside. She did the same for TO-96 and then herself. The master was clearly focused on Kane and his men. Awen noticed that the entire plaza’s life force had changed from peaceful green, pink, and white to angry red and white hues. Whatever was about to happen wasn’t good.

“Now!” Awen shouted.

At that moment, the first barrage of blaster fire lit up the square like a fireworks display.

35

Magnus was off and running before he had time to see what the Jujari would do. Hopefully, their drunken stupor would lessen their reaction time, and with any luck, Magnus could get to Piper first. Why the girl had screamed he didn’t know, but he feared the obvious: they’d been discovered. Or worse.

With his MAR30 back in his hand, Magnus pumped his legs, brushing past fabric walls and beating a line toward the skiff on the outskirts of town. He could hear the Jujari barking orders and saw several new torchlights flicker to life around the tents. Magnus sprinted across the first street and was about to cross the next when he slammed into a Jujari warrior coming out of a tent. Magnus toppled over the mutt, and both rolled to a stop in the dust.

It was the sleeping sentry from earlier. Magnus noted the sniper blaster in his paw and the binoculars around his neck. The beast seemed just as surprised as Magnus. His eyes widened in disbelief and then suddenly narrowed to those of a hunter. But before the warrior could even raise his blaster, Magnus fired a short burst of blaster bolts under the Jujari’s chin from his MAR30. The point-blank rounds severed the brainstem and produced a shower of gore that sprayed onto the tent fabric nearest them. But it also gave away Magnus’s position. If the revelers weren’t roused from their campout at that point, they didn’t deserve to be among the Jujari’s warrior class.

Back on his feet, Magnus bounded out of the settlement’s last row of tents and through the gap in the wall. He skirted the well, dashed behind the metal in the orbital-strike crater, and neared the overturned skiff where he’d left Valerie and Piper. He prayed to whatever deity was left in the galaxy, hoping the women were still there—or at least still alive if they’d been captured. He would find them, and he would save Piper.

Magnus slowed to half pace, flicked off his safety, and stalked around the obstruction with his MAR30 pointed on target. His halo-sights were ready to acquire whatever beast stood behind this obstacle and send them back to hell. As he rounded, he saw a pair of upraised hands. Human hands. Then another and another.

“Don’t shoot!” whispered a familiar voice. “It’s just us.”

Magnus lowered his weapon to see Dutch, Haney, Gilder, and Nolan hunkered behind the skiff along with Valerie and Piper.

“Is that why you screamed?” Magnus asked Piper, running to join them.

The little girl nodded sheepishly. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Lieutenant Magnus, sir. It was an accident. They startled me.”

He wanted to tell her off, tell her she’d just alerted the Jujari, but he knew it was pointless. Anything short of a grasshopper would have made the poor kid scream in these conditions. He could dress down the other Marines instead, but their approach had probably been as careful as they could make it. The most important thing was that more of his people had survived the Bull Wraith, and now they needed to prepare for a fight.

“Do you have weapons, and can you move?” he asked the newly assembled team.

“Affirmative, LT,” Dutch said, holding up her MX13. “Thirsty, some heat exhaustion, but otherwise ready to kick some Jujari ass.”

“Copy that,” Magnus said. “We’re looking at a bad stack-up, maybe six to one, and we’ve lost the element of surprise.” As if to reinforce his point, a few bloodcurdling howls went up from the village. The Jujari were mustering. “You’re each going to have a field of fire. Dutch, I want you here in the center with the Stones. Nothing gets to these civilians, copy?”

“Copy.”

“Gilder and Haney.” Magnus pointed to their far left. “I want you behind that boulder to cover any attempts to flank us. Nolan, I want you to the right, behind that half wall, same thing.” Each of them assented and prepared to break. “I’m on point behind that obstruction,” he added, indicating the metal heap in the shallow crater. “Nobody—and I mean nobody—shoot me, copy?”

“We won’t let you down, sir,” Dutch said.

“What about me, Lieutenant?” Valerie asked.

Magnus eyed her. “Can you shoot, Mrs. Stone?”

“I know my way around that MZ25 in your chest plate well enough.”

She seemed confident, and Magnus didn’t have time to argue. If they were all going to die, each of them deserved to go out with some measure of dignity. He pulled his Z from its holster, flipped it around, and handed it to her. Valerie grabbed it and pulled her dress off her leg as she assumed a shooting stance. She checked the magazine and charged the weapon. Then she selected the single-shot mode with her thumb, pressed the Z out from her chest with a nearly perfect two-handed grip, and aimed at something in the distance.

Satisfied, she returned the weapon to low-ready position, double-checked that the safety was still on, and looked at Magnus. “I’ll make these Jujari work for every meter they want to gain on us.”

If Magnus had had the time, he would have left his jaw on the sand. Instead, he closed his mouth and charged his weapon. “Listen up, everyone. This is about to become a danger area. You wait for me to fire the first round. Then pick your targets. Squeeze, don’t jerk. Stay in your assigned fields of fire. And for the love of the galaxy, don’t shoot your point man. OTF.”

“OTF,” the Marines replied.

The cobbled-together fire team broke for their respective positions, and Magnus raced out to the front of the line. He didn’t like the odds, not one bit. But the fight’s not over till you’re dead, and you have a lot of blaster bolts to burn before then.

The Jujari snarls grew louder until Magnus was aware that the warriors had started filing out from the walls and into the open. He selected wide displacement on his MAR30, knowing he’d only get one chance to use it to the greatest effect, and brought the weapon to bear around the edge of his cover. He flicked off the safety. No less than eight Jujari warriors with blasters extended moved toward him, completely unaware of what was about to happen. He’d hoped for more, but eight was what the dealer dealt.

Magnus squeezed the trigger and absorbed the recoil. A wide blast of blue light swept across the sand, lighting up the wall and tents beyond like a bolt of lightning. Jujari bodies flew back, their blasters and swords blown out of their hands. The report was deafening and succeeded in disorienting the rest of the enemy.

All at once, the night air was on fire with blaster bolts, the first volley coming from over Magnus’s shoulders as Dutch and Valerie unloaded on three Jujari who were just outside the blast radius of Magnus’s first shot. Next came bursts from Nolan on the right, followed by Gilder and Haney on the far left.

Magnus selected the MAR30’s high-frequency setting and used his holo-sights to zero in on two Jujari who’d taken cover behind the small well. He squeezed off two bursts and watched as the dogs fell backward, one spinning from a strike to the shoulder. Their hulking bodies were ill covered and exposed, making them easy targets.

Nolan picked off one more Jujari who was ducking for cover. The blaster bolt from the warrant officer’s weapon caught the enemy in the soft tissue beneath his chin, snapping the beast’s head backward, feet thrown toward the sky. Nolan might have been a sailor, but the man could shoot.

So far, by Magnus’s count, they’d taken down no more than sixteen enemy combatants in the first few seconds of the fight. As good as that was, he knew the enemy had walked into this fight blind and would regroup quickly. Magnus’s fire team’s positions were no longer secret, and the Jujari were natural hunters.

The enemy returned fire as they found cover, some mutts dashing back into the safety of the village. Blaster rounds seared the air above and beside Magnus; he could see his other team members being pinned down behind cover as well. This was a textbook return assault. The next step was for the enemy to flank their positions under suppressive fire. Which was exactly why Magnus wanted to be forward of their line.

He looked right and left to see which side would send scouts first. He spotted two enemies to the left. Gilder and Haney were pinned down and would be easy targets if they didn’t spot the enemy. Magnus sighted in the beasts and fired four bursts. The staccato groupings peppered the Jujari, striking legs and arms and catching the far one in the head. The bodies tumbled and sent up a plume of sand and blood. Magnus looked over his shoulder in time to see another warrior advancing along the right flank. He swung his weapon around, sighted in the Jujari headed toward Nolan, and squeezed. The burst formed a tight grouping on the combatant’s bicep and drilled sideways out the other shoulder, searing both the lungs and heart.

Magnus pressed his back up against his cover and paused long enough to see the energy indicator on his MAR30 replenish, ready for another big draw. That was when he felt something bump against the other side of the metal heap. The enemy. He could hear Jujari cackling to one another. They were going to try to jump him.

He selected Distortion on his weapon and heard the side mag plates spring outward. The helmet’s AI made this sort of shot so much easier; without it, Magnus was only using the holo-sights along with his best guess. Still, a good guess is better than the shot you never take. He stepped away from the metal heap, turned toward it, and squeezed the trigger.

The distortion field the MAR30 produced was not visible to the naked eye. Instead, it reached through the inanimate metal and found the Jujari’s living matter on the other side. In less than a second, the wave was separating molecules, bursting blood vessels, severing nerves, and disrupting tissue. Magnus heard the Jujari howling as their bodies disintegrated in what was arguably the most painful death possible.

When the round was spent, Magnus turned back to cover and toggled the weapon to High Frequency. He noticed that Dutch’s skiff had absorbed so much blaster fire that it was glowing orange from the heat. Likewise, Gilder and Haney’s boulder was red and getting chewed apart. Nolan’s cover wasn’t much better.

Magnus realized that if the Jujari couldn’t outflank them, they were going to try to flush them into the open by concentrating fire on their protection. It was a brutal strategy and a costly one in terms of munitions but effective nonetheless. If Magnus’s team didn’t have cover, it didn’t matter how destructive his MAR30 was; there was no way he could protect them all.

Magnus chanced two more glances downrange toward the tents, but the blaster fire was growing so steady that he risked being picked off. The angles of attack were also changing, which meant the enemy was taking cover in the town and spreading out. Magnus cursed and cursed again. There were too many, and they were outmaneuvering Magnus’s unit.

Someone screamed. Magnus looked over and saw Gilder drop to the ground. Haney was on him instantly. Nothing like getting shot next to a medic. Gilder was still in the fight, however, because he was swearing at Haney to get off him and tried to raise his MX13 around the boulder. That’s how we take it. OTF. Magnus peeked around the corner of his emplacement to pick off an enemy.

Magnus noticed three warriors trying to advance toward Nolan again. The warrant officer was lying on his belly now, trying to stay as low as possible under the withering assault. Magnus suddenly wondered if maybe he should have taken the right flank instead; it had the weakest cover. Consciously putting Marines in harm’s way was the worst part of being a commanding officer. It was the part of the job no one ever told you about, recruiters never warned you about, and your family never asked you about. It was also something you tried to forget but couldn’t.

Magnus removed his remaining frag, pressed the one-second timer with his thumb, and pitched the ordnance at the advancing Jujaris’ heads. As soon as the grenade left his hand, Magnus dropped to the ground. A beat later, the frag exploded, drilling down on the enemies with a barrage of superheated metal and razor-edged ceramics. The beasts were thrown to the ground from the blast as their bones shattered under the impact.

Magnus realized he was out of grenades and sent another burst of blaster fire into some tents. Jujari returned fire, and sand sprayed over Magnus’s body. He wiggled back to cover and sat up. His amount of safe area was shrinking. He was getting pinned down. This is it. His makeshift fire team had put up a good fight, but the adrenaline was wearing off, and soon they’d all feel the brunt of the day’s dehydration. When that happened, there would be no way to stay up with the number of enemies that would rush their flanks.

As he thought about how it might end, Magnus realized how stupid the whole operation had been. Maybe if they’d stayed in the Bull Wraith, they could have reasoned their way out of the situation like the senator had proposed. Maybe if they’d chosen the other settlement toward the mountains, they would have found inhabitants friendly to the Republic cause. And maybe if Magnus had stayed with Piper, she wouldn’t have screamed when the latecomers approached. Maybe, maybe, maybe, Magnus said to himself, mocking his ego. But this is what you chose, so time to pay the piper.

Piper.

Magnus’s eyes went wide. Maybe she could do that explosion-blast thing again. He looked her way but only saw Dutch taking blind shots over her shoulder. Even if he could reach her, what would he say? Hey, Piper, you know that thing you did that killed your dad? Yeah, can you do that again? No, it wasn’t something a person could just turn on and off. The girl’s freakish abilities were just that—freakish and, therefore, unreliable. And even if they had been reliable, he couldn’t ask her to do it on command. Congratulations on weaponizing a child, Magnus. He felt dirty even for thinking it.

Maybe she would ultimately blast them all to hell at least to get herself free. But Magnus knew he wouldn’t live to see it. He’d gotten her as far as he could—it was up to her to do the rest.

Magnus changed the MAR30’s rate subsetting from burst to full auto, took a deep breath, and looked skyward. Here goes nothing. Then he leaned around the corner and squeezed the trigger. He saw the first blaster bolts land on a Jujari’s head and then—

The whole scene went nova. Magnus was thrown off his feet. He flipped end over end as an immense blast threatened to pop him from his armor. The concussion was so fierce and the heat so searing that Magnus thought he’d left this life for the next. He sailed backward and lost his grip on his weapon.

When he finally slammed to the ground, sand and stones pelted his head like crowd-control shotgun rounds. The blast of whatever berated him was unrelenting. His MAR30 whipped around at the end of the sling, slapping his legs. He fought to keep his eyes shut, but the wind and the heat were sure to fold back his eyelids and stab his brain.

Then all at once, it was over. The light, the heat, the wind, it was just… gone. Magnus coughed. His ears were ringing, pulse racing, and nose sniffing as he inhaled the smell of burnt ozone, burnt hair, and burnt flesh. His eyes were full of sand, and he imagined plunging his head into the sea just to flush the gravel from his face—and to soothe the pain of his melting skin.

His body screamed at him as if someone had tried to cook him alive inside his armor. Even though the flames were out, the oven was still hot. He wanted to peel his suit away like an orange rind, but he lacked the energy. He was simply too spent. It seemed like the blast had flushed all the adrenaline from his veins. Plus, he worried that maybe his armor was the only thing holding him together—that if it was peeled off, it would take his skin with it.

He coughed again and heard himself laughing. Faintly. It is me, isn’t it? Yes—he was laughing—laughing at the planet, at the Republic, at the galaxy. He’d just survived—he just lived through an orbital strike from an LO9D cannon at close range. Close range? It was damn near on top of my head! Any closer, and there wouldn’t have been anything left of him.

Left of us. Magnus suddenly remembered his team—he remembered Piper and Valerie. Splick, they’d been behind the skiff, no armor, pinned down by blaster fire.

Magnus tried to raise his face off the sand, but the attempt brought more pain to his neck and back. He tried to blink, but that only made his nerve endings shriek. He couldn’t see and could barely hear, and any effort to move was met with the worst agony he’d ever felt.

A tremor traveled through his body, and his stomach convulsed. Dammit. He hated throwing up. But this would be worse. Every nerve in his body screamed as he vomited on the sand next to his head. Only a small mouthful of bile came out, but the pain was so intense that it knocked him out.

* * *

Another tremor awakened Magnus, which led to another dry heave. He cursed his body for the involuntary reflex function. There’s nothing left to purge! But he knew reasoning with his soon-to-be corpse was a pointless exercise. He heaved and blacked out again from the pain.

* * *

When Magnus came to again, he felt more tremors. He prepared for yet another wave of nausea, another episode of convulsing and passing out. He supposed it was his body’s way of coping with the trauma—of helping him pass into the afterlife to join the Recon warriors before him, to join his grandfather and maybe his brother.

No, my brother’s in hell. But isn’t that the same place you’re going, Magnus?

He couldn’t bring himself to answer the question.

The tremor was getting stronger, and Magnus braced himself. He urged his body to make this the last time around, as he simply couldn’t handle the pain. It was too terrible. He’d heard of people—mostly torture victims—begging for death. Well, he was there. He wanted death. He would even taunt it if he had the energy to.

The tremor came as a low sound in the desert and traveled into his prostrate body. He still couldn’t hear and wondered what was left to make noise after that explosion anyway. His ears still rang but not as loudly. Time had passed, and he felt himself nearing death. He couldn’t see and couldn’t bring himself to move.

The tremor stopped. Then he felt small thumps that were like… footsteps. Someone was walking toward him. Several someones, in fact. He wished he could turn his head, open his eyes, and at least give himself the dignity of defending himself against the death blow.

“There he is! That’s him!” a small voice said from far away. It had to be an angel, maybe even one of those chubby cherubs in one of the old paintings. Maybe it would decide his fate, blessing him with heaven or damning him to hell.

The footsteps fell closer, and someone touched him. Pain shot down his nerve endings.

“Get him out,” another voice said, this one deeper—much deeper.

“Please be careful with him,” the little voice said. He knew that voice—knew her.

“Piper?” Magnus tried to say but was worried his lips hadn’t made the sound he’d wanted them to. He tried again, but the word hadn’t sounded any better to his muffled hearing.

“Don’t talk, Mr. Lieutenant Magnus, sir. You’re hurt really bad, it looks like.”

It looks like? What do I look like? He wanted to open his eyes, but it felt impossible. The pain was far too intense. It felt like he’d been raped in the face by a gravel pit. He tried to say something back to her, tried to ask her if she was okay, but his mouth wouldn’t cooperate. Nothing in his body would. He wanted to shout—tried to shout—but nothing but garbled sounds came from his throat.

“Easy there, buckethead,” the other voice said. Buckethead. He’d been called that before. The memory was familiar but too far away to catch, like a faded dream or a scene in an old holo-movie that had grown blurry over the years. The man’s name was on the tip of his tongue. “You’d better hang on, or else you’re gonna have one really disappointed little girl on your hands. Plus, I’d be forced to add your helmet to my collection, and we both know how much that would piss you off.”

36

The plaza lit up as Kane’s troopers started firing on So-Elku and his two elders. Awen ducked instinctively and closed her eyes, forming a one-way barrier between the assault and her team.

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend,” TO-96 said poetically, “but is that still the case here?”

“I don’t think so!” Awen screamed.

“Shoot someone!” Ezo yelled at the bot.

“Very well, sir.”

Ezo grabbed Awen’s arm and darted for the library doors as TO-96 unleashed a barrage of fire at both forces. His microrockets targeted multiple troopers as his XM31 directed a constant bead of laser fire onto So-Elku’s shields. Awen covered her ears as gauss cannons on the bot’s shoulders fired twin projectiles that zipped across the plaza in rippling sonic waves. The crack made her wince, almost knocking her over, as the kinetic missiles vaporized the torsos of two black-armored troopers. Their heads launched ten meters before bouncing across the moss-covered stone.

Kane noticed the bot and redirected some of his men to fire on it. Fortunately, Awen’s barrier held up against the first several blaster bolts. The energy slammed into the invisible shield and spread out over it like liquid slapping into a boulder.

“Let’s move, Ninety-Six!” Ezo called over his shoulder. “Inside, now!”

TO-96 continued to cover their retreat into the building as Ezo flicked on a flashlight at the end of one of his blasters. Ezo let go of Awen’s arm. She ducked behind a large column and released the barrier she’d formed outside.

“Come on!” Ezo yelled as he darted down the hallway.

Awen took a breath and followed him, glancing back to see TO-96 bring up the rear. The hallway was enormous, far larger than Awen had imagined. Dozens of wide columns ran down either side, supporting a ceiling nearly thirty meters above them. She also noticed that there was less foliage in here. Within a few seconds, her boots were clumping along dusty marble floors.

“She sold me out!” Ezo yelled as they ran. “I can’t believe she actually sold me out!”

“Sold you out?” Awen replied, her anger burning red hot. She’d figured it was best to overlook his treachery, as it hadn’t really harmed their mission. Until now, that is. “You sold me out, you traitor!”

“Hey, I was just trying to get us here, okay?”

“Which led to everyone getting here!” Awen yelled.

“So it didn’t work out like Ezo thought it would. So shoot me.”

“Maybe I will!”

“If I may, sir,” TO-96 interjected, “do you think that your wife is simply upset that she is still your wife?”

“There is that, yes,” Ezo said.

“You’re infuriating, Ezo,” Awen said, keenly aware of the firefight that grew behind them. “We’ll discuss this later. For now, we need to find somewhere to hide and make a plan.”

“Can do, Star Queen,” Ezo said. “Ninety-Six, what do we have for layout?”

TO-96 brought up the holo-projection again, this time minimizing its luminosity to better conceal their position. But it was enough light for Awen to see by. Suddenly, a doorway ahead of them glowed red.

“There,” the bot said. “This door leads deeper into the temple.”

“Perfect,” Ezo said. “Hold on—did you say temple?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I thought you said it was a library, Awen.”

“I did. That’s what it felt like. I don’t know their actual names for things yet!”

“Wait,” Ezo said, holding up a hand. “Do you hear that?”

“It would appear the firefight has ceased, sir.”

“Exactly,” Ezo said.

As if on cue, several blaster bolts flew down the hallway and exploded in showers over their heads. Ezo yelped, ducked, and then returned fire with one of his blasters. He squeezed the trigger on full auto, illuminating the expanse with a lightning storm of rapid fire. “Go, go, go!” he yelled.

Awen dashed through the doorway as TO-96 joined Ezo in laying down covering fire. Then Ezo ducked inside, followed by the bot, as more blaster bolts struck the walls around them.

Once inside, TO-96 resumed the projection and indicated several more doors. “All of these provide access to corridors both above and below us with the least likelihood of entrapment.”

“Let’s go up,” Ezo said.

“Up?” Awen asked in surprise. “Why up?”

“Because we can regain access to the exterior faster and scale down. Get back to the ship. Maybe even sabotage their ships if we’re lucky.”

“We go down,” Awen countered. “We have more city to hide ourselves in, less exposure. Plus, we don’t have to worry about falling off anything.”

“But, Star Queen—”

“My op, Ezo. Mine.”

Ezo grunted. As if to emphasize her point, a blaster bolt found its way into their chamber and lit the place up in a shower of sparks. “Fine, we go down.”

“For what it’s worth, Awen,” TO-96 added, “I heartily agree with your logic.” Another blaster shot glanced off a pillar and nearly took off the bot’s head.

“Come on!” Awen yelled, pulling the bot’s arm toward the first door TO-96 indicated that went down.

They stepped onto a wide landing and started descending a spiral ramp. It hugged a wall on one side and had a hexagonal latticed handrailing on the other. The floor was covered in a thick layer of dust, but there was no foliage to speak of. It now seemed that the jungle dared not enter this far inside the temple.

Around and around they went, descending farther into the building. Blaster bolts slapped the railing, spraying Awen’s clothing with molten metal. She brushed the slag off as Ezo leaned out and returned fire straight up.

“They are gaining on us,” TO-96 noted matter-of-factly.

“Thanks, Captain Obvious,” Ezo shouted as he dodged some incoming blaster fire. “Hadn’t noticed.” Ezo fired several more bursts as they ran. “Can’t you do something, ’Six?”

“Like what, sir?”

“You know, something cool. Something to delay them.”

“Certainly, sir.” TO-96 activated a hatch under his chest to reveal what Awen thought were bombs or grenades or something. Three slid out, and the bot selected each and threw them at intervals up the spiral ramp. The devices clung to the ramp’s underside and blinked with a bright red light.

“You should cover your ears, Awen,” TO-96 said as they ran.

“What about me?” Ezo protested, putting his hands up.

“Not your op,” the bot replied.

The trio had run down another story when TO-96 detonated the uppermost device. Even though the blast was at least three stories above them, Awen could feel the concussive force push her into the sidewall. She almost tripped head over heels. Then large chunks of the ramp sailed by, some colliding with the railing beside Awen, showering her with rubble.

The blaster fire stopped momentarily as the troopers above them hesitated. Awen could hear their footfalls falter even as the debris impacted with the floor somewhere below them with a thunderous noise.

“Don’t slow down,” Ezo said, pushing Awen gently with his elbows, his hands still over his ears.

“Second detonation,” the bot warned.

The next blast was closer than the first and caught Awen off guard. The sound rattled her head and made her ears ring even with her hands covering them. But the explosion caught at least two troopers off guard, too, as they whizzed by in midair. One slammed against the railing next to her, his scream audible when his helmet was ripped from his head and his body was sent cartwheeling. The trooper was silenced a beat later when his skull struck the next level down with a wet crack.

Awen wasn’t stopping now. More rubble careened off the ramp and exploded on the floor far below. She ran for all she was worth, legs pumping, chest burning. She barely heard TO-96 call for the final detonation, then it filled the space above her with fiery light. She stumbled into the wall, tearing her sleeve and scraping her arm. Another trooper sailed beside her and landed somewhere below.

“Almost there. Keep running.” With the bot directing them, the trio descended farther and farther as blaster shots ricocheted off the railing. They finally neared the bottom level, and TO-96 said, “In there,” pointing to an archway in the wall.

Ezo and Awen nodded, wiping dust and debris from their faces. Once through the doorway, Ezo swung his flashlight around. TO-96 followed a moment later and lit the remainder of the room with his holo-projection. They were in another cavernous space, this one a rotunda lined with seven doorways. Light filtered down from a panorama of stained glass.

“Which way?” Awen shouted, her ears still ringing. She’d no sooner spoken than the ramp outside began to shake. She, Ezo, and TO-96 turned in time to see the ramp collapse. Massive blocks caved in and spilled through the opening as a plume of dust shot into the rotunda. Awen covered her face and coughed. It sounded like a mountain had cleaved in two as massive blocks sheared against one another and landed in heaps. The mangled bodies of Kane’s men were mixed among the wreckage, a few of them moaning as death finally overtook them.

When the cacophony finally dissipated, Awen wiped her eyes and examined the former opening, now sealed shut with broken stone.

“Well, that solves our pursuer problem,” Ezo said.

“Unless they have heavier ordnance, I agree,” TO-96 said.

“Why do you always have to be such a downer, Ninety-Six?”

“A downer? I am unfamiliar with that term, sir.”

“Everybody be quiet,” Awen ordered, raising her hand. “I hear someone out there.”

“There’s no way anyone survived that, Star Queen,” Ezo said.

She waved him off and addressed the bot. “TO-96, are you sure there are no other ways into this rotunda from out there?”

“Checking,” the bot replied. “Yes, I am sure. The entrance we are looking at is the only way into this rotunda from the upper section.”

“Eeezo…” called a muffled voice from the other side of the rubble. The small hairs on the back of Awen’s neck stood up. “Eeezo… I have something for you,” the singsong voice called.

“Did you hear that?” Ezo asked, suddenly looking pale in TO-96’s holo-projection.

“Yes, I heard it,” Awen admitted. The voice was so creepy that she hated to acknowledge she’d heard it.

“Who… who is that?” he asked.

“Let me check.” Awen closed her eyes and reached out in the Unity. She moved past the rubble and examined the vertical shaft. The walls pulsed an angry red color as if the living energy within them was upset with the destruction. It looked as though a bomb had gone off in the space, ripping the ramp from the walls and bringing down half the structure along with it. Then she reminded herself that a bomb had gone off in it. Three of them, to be exact. She looked around in the Unity and noticed a life-form descending a thin string like a spider crawling down a single strand of webbing. Another chill climbed up her neck.

“I see someone.” Awen narrowed her focus and looked more carefully, pulse racing. “Wait, no. I see two people.”

“Who are they?” Ezo asked.

Awen moved in, trying to clarify the face of the person who spoke to them. “It’s—I think it’s Kane. The bald man from the plaza.” Awen breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps this meant that So-Elku had been killed. Then Awen scolded herself for feeling relieved at the prospect of another person’s death. But he did just try to kill me. She’d be justified in hastening his death, wouldn’t she?

“Eeezo… come out, come out, wherever you are.”

It was Kane, and he was grinning a horrible, murderous, treacherous grin. Who is he? She grew more terrified with each passing moment. He dangled from two rappelling lines anchored high above them. Then Awen noticed a second form hanging beside him in another harness.

“There’s someone else, but I can’t make them out,” Awen said.

Ezo coughed.

“Is that you, Eeezo?” Kane asked.

“What do you want?” Ezo yelled through the stone.

“What do I want?” Kane replied. “Why, nothing at all. I already have everything I want. Well, most everything I want. Do you? Yes, I do, and stop talking. We’re not alone yet. Yes, we are. You ordered the men back to the ship. That’s right, I did.”

Ezo looked at TO-96 and then to Awen. “Who’s he talking to?” Ezo asked quietly. “Is there someone else out there?”

“Yes,” Awen replied. “But the person looks to be unconscious, dangling beside him. They’ve rappelled down together.”

“Is he crazy?” Ezo asked her.

“Maybe,” she said, lifting her hands. “How should I know?” But then Awen noticed something about the man’s face. His image in the Unity seemed turbulent, like two faces sliding in and out of one another. It startled her so much that she gasped. Fear like she’d never felt before clamped down on her chest. One face looked human, but the other looked… What?

Awen stumbled into Ezo.

“You okay?” Ezo asked.

She managed to stay in the Unity and back away from Kane, her spine tingling. “Something’s very wrong with that man.”

“Ezo’s picking that up too.” Ezo looked to the blocked entrance and raised his voice again. “We would love to negotiate with you, Captain Crazy, but unfortunately we’re late for a dinner reservation at this great new meta-restaurant we found.”

“Negotiate?” Kane laughed. “I don’t want to negotiate. I just want you to have what rightfully belongs to you.”

“Rightfully belongs—sorry, what? What do you mean, Kane?” Ezo looked to TO-96. “That’s his name, isn’t it?”

“Yes, I believe so, sir,” replied the bot replied.

“You don’t have anything that belongs to Ezo,” the smuggler continued.

“Uh, actually,” Awen said, “he kind of does.”

Kane had awakened the prisoner next to him with a stab of a contact syringe.

“Say hello to your husband,” Kane said to the woman coming awake beside him.

“Ezo?” Sootriman said in her unmistakable voice.

“Love Sauce?” Ezo yelled, his voice tense.

“Love Sauce?” Awen asked.

“It is a truly irritating pet name, to be sure,” TO-96 agreed.

But Ezo wasn’t paying attention. He’d raced forward and was moving rocks by hand. “What have you done to her, Kane?”

“Oh, nothing. Not yet, anyway. But you will. Yes, of course, I will. Now? No, but soon.”

“Who is he talking to?” Ezo asked, looking over his shoulder at Awen.

“No one else is out there but her,” Awen insisted, but she knew what she’d seen.

“He’s crazy,” Sootriman cried. “Ezo, he’s completely mad!”

“I’m not completely mad,” replied Kane. “Well, half of you is sane, at least. That’s true, but the other half? Not so much.”

“He’s attached a bomb to my line, Ezo!” Sootriman yelled.

“What?” Ezo asked in shock. “What do you mean?”

Awen steered clear of Kane and whatever haunted him then moved up the second rappelling rope. She saw a device with a blinking light much like the ones TO-96 had used to blow up the ramp, only this one was larger—much larger.

“You might recognize this device, Awen.” Kane laughed. “Might she? You think so?”

Awen noticed the second face conversing with the human face in a disjointed spasm. It was truly terrifying. “I don’t recognize it, Kane. Now, let the woman go.”

“You don’t?” Kane shrieked. “How utterly ironic! You’re looking at it right now, aren’t you?”

“He’s going to kill me, Ezo!” Sootriman yelled.

“Baby, hang on! We’ll get you out of there. We’ll figure something out.” Ezo turned to TO-96. “Can you blow this?” he asked, pointing to the rubble that blocked the entrance.

“Not without placing your wife in significant peril,” the bot replied.

“It’s the very same kind I used in Oosafar,” Kane continued. “In the mwadim’s palace. Yes, just like the palace.”

“Wait—what?” Awen asked.

Kane hesitated. “Do you mean to tell me…? She never saw it! You never saw it, Awen? What a pity. Genius is always wasted, as is irony.”

“You are the one who sabotaged the meeting?” Awen roared, her anger threatening to pull her from the Unity.

Kane laughed, throwing his head back and spinning around at the end of his rope like a drunken spider. Awen felt tugged toward her mortal body, but she wanted to see Kane’s face up close, to memorize it, to emblazon it on her mind’s eye for all time.

I see you, she thought.

Kane’s face bubbled and morphed as the other face tried to emerge again.

And I will never forget you.

“I see you too,” Kane said. But it wasn’t Kane; it was someone else—something else. The second face started to emerge, eyes black as pitch, teeth pointed. Its features bunched up in a snarl. Then faster than Awen could react, the apparition leapt at her.

Awen screamed and fell out of the Unity, panting. She grabbed her chest with both hands. A burning sensation moved up her neck and flooded her face. Dread and… something worse. Emotions boiled in her chest that she’d never felt before. Her mind felt co-opted by thoughts she’d never imagined, sudden visions of slaying Kane in ways that made her want to vomit.

Focus, Awen! She shook her head and looked at Ezo. “Kane’s got a bomb on her line ten, maybe fifteen meters up. I think it’s on a countdown, maybe a remote switch. I can’t be sure.”

“Sir,” TO-96 said, “if the blast itself does not kill her, the fall will.”

“I got it, Ninety-Six.” Ezo placed a dusty hand on the bot’s arm.

“Wait,” Awen added. Something about Kane’s words bothered her. “I think there are more.”

“What do you mean, more?” Ezo asked.

“Kane just said that this is ‘just like the palace.’ There were three explosions in the mwadim’s palace, not one. So if I’m right, yes, the first blast will kill her. But the second and third blasts will kill us. We have to get out of this rotunda if we want to survive—as in, right now.”

Ezo swallowed and looked at her. “Awen, can you do something?”

Awen returned his gaze, unsure what he meant, at least at first. “Do something? No, I can only…” But then she understood what he meant. He means, “Can you kill him?”

“Awen,” Ezo pleaded. “Do something.” He reached for her hands.

But she pulled away. Can I kill Kane right now? In cold blood? But it isn’t cold blood. He’s threatening a woman’s life. Plus, he’s already killed scores of others on Oorajee and who knows where else. Was this her true self suddenly arguing in favor of murder? Awen resisted another lunge from Ezo’s hands. Then she grabbed her head. Can I do it? Can I stop the man’s body cold?

You can, yes.

Where was Magnus when she needed him? This was his domain—doing evil things to evil people. She wasn’t trained to kill other people, to end someone’s life. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t—that she wouldn’t. The visions of slaying Kane seeped into her mind’s eye again.

“Yes, Ezo,” she said, trembling. “I can.”

“Thank you,” he whispered, gripping her hands.

“You must let go of me,” she said.

Ezo jerked away. “Sorry, yes. Of course. Whatever you need.”

Awen closed her eyes. In an instant, she was in the central shaft, searching for Kane, but he was gone. She looked up in the Unity and saw the fleeting ripples of his presence as he left the chamber. Then she spotted two more explosive devices farther up Sootriman’s rope, attached at intervals.

“They hoisted him out,” she said. “I can’t, I—”

“Can’t what?” Ezo asked.

“I can’t kill him,” Awen said in defeat. “He’s too far away.” She expected Ezo to yell at her, to hit her body and rip her out of the Unity. But no blows came—no scolding, no dark words.

Instead, Ezo asked, “Kill him? I just want you to save her!”

Ezo had never asked her to kill Kane. That was all you, Awen. Ezo only wants his wife back safe and sound. She shuddered as the emotions washed over her, wave after wave. She’d almost put another life in danger, all because of an obsession with… With what?

“Can you save her?” Ezo shouted, enunciating each word mere centimeters from Awen’s face. The sound rippled out through the Unity like a clarion call on a winter’s morning.

“Yes,” Awen replied with tears streaming down her face.

What had possessed her with this growing obsession to kill, to murder—first Ezo, and then Kane? Kane. Images of his other face flashed in her mind’s eye. That thing had pulled on her soul. Perhaps it had tried to corrupt hers, too. She shuddered. How long had it been afflicting her, preying upon her more base instincts? Had it begun in the mwadim’s palace?

Awen looked up at the bombs and then down at Sootriman’s helpless body. “I can save her, and I will. I will save us all.”

Finding Sootriman’s body, she focused her attention on the air around the woman then the gravity pulling her downward. Awen had never attempted anything like this before, but without it, Sootriman was as good as dead. They all were.

Awen forced the air molecules to condense, bonding together in a bubble that surrounded the woman. At the same time, Awen tried to ease gravity’s pull. Sootriman let out a small scream as she felt herself become weightless; she was levitating inside of a translucent sphere twenty meters above the ground.

“Is anything happening?” Ezo asked.

“Not now,” Awen said between clenched teeth. She knew that any sudden move might shift her focus and inadvertently reverse Sootriman’s molecular structure. Confident that she could hold the woman, Awen forced the air molecules to condense further, an act that severed the rope.

“Uh, I’m free of the rope,” Sootriman said.

“Hold on, what’d you say?” Ezo yelled. He looked at TO-96. “What’d she say?”

“I believe she said she is free of the rope, sir.”

Awen began lowering Sootriman as carefully as she might lower a child in a basket from a burning building: swiftly, but not hastily. Inside the Unity, ripples of color emanated from Sootriman’s bubble and reverberated up the shaft. Awen glanced at the bombs and wondered how much time she had left.

“I’m descending,” Sootriman yelled. “I don’t know how, but I’m descending.”

“Just hang on,” Ezo replied. “We’ll get you out of there.” He looked at Awen. “We’re gonna get her out of there, right?”

“Ezo! Not now!” Awen was starting to lose her grip on Sootriman. The pressure was getting to her. She guessed she had another ten meters to go, but gravity was fighting hard to reclaim its hold. Awen exerted more energy, giving of her own soul to keep Sootriman aloft. But the effort required was more than she could bear, and the woman started to pick up speed. Sootriman yelped.

“Sootriman?” Ezo asked, running toward the rubble at the entrance.

Awen let out a gasp and fell to her hands and knees. She’d been forced from the Unity like a wet bar of soap squeezed from a clenched fist.

“Are you okay, Awen?” TO-96 asked.

“I’m fine, Ninety-Six,” she replied, panting. “Thank you.”

“Sootriman? Love Sauce?”

“I’m fine, Ezo,” she replied through the rubble. “I’m down.”

Ezo clapped his hands and gave a shout. “Ha! You did it!” He took Awen by the shoulders and hugged her.

“Not yet,” she countered. “Now we have to get her out. Then we make a run for it. Tell Sootriman to stand on the far side of the space and to get behind some cover.”

Ezo turned back to the entrance and shouted through the wall of stones. “Make sure you’re at the back of the room, baby. Find something to hide behind. Can you do that?”

“Yes, I can do that,” Sootriman replied. “There’s a lot of debris, but I can get there.”

“Good. Just be careful.”

“Tell her to do it quickly,” Awen added.

“And move quickly!”

Awen began crawling then, headed away from the entrance. “We need to move away.”

Ezo bent down to help her stand.

“Thanks,” she said. “We don’t have a moment to spare.”

TO-96 moved to Awen’s other side and put an arm under her. They crossed the rotunda’s floor and headed to the far side.

“Lay me down right there behind that pillar,” she instructed. They did so, easing her head to the dusty marble floor. “Okay, leave me. And get yourselves to cover.”

Ezo hesitated, looking like he was about to protest.

“Now!” she ordered.

The bot and Ezo dashed to the next pillar and took cover. Awen closed her eyes and was back in the Unity, moving into the shaft again. She saw Sootriman climbing over the ramp remains and heading to the far side. Then Awen focused on the pile of rubble that blocked the entrance to the rotunda. There was more debris than she’d realized, a fact that reinforced her assumption that she would not have the strength and endurance to move the rubble as a mass or the time to move the components individually. There was only one way—one impossible way—but she had to try.

From deep inside her spirit, Awen summoned the remains of her energy and willed it forward into the blocks. It flowed from her ethereal body and moved into the stonework like a purple fluid as rich as the Ithelianan sky. It meandered between crevices, filling cracks and soaking into rough edges. Awen sensed the grain of the stones, noting temperature, composition, and consistency. It was as if she existed, in that moment, within the form of every block, stone, and pebble.

Awen sorted through the rubble and found the largest blocks, the ones that seemed most likely to prevent someone from passing through. She focused on these, her purple life force penetrating deep into the stone. Then she checked on Sootriman one more time to make sure she was hidden. Awen had never attempted anything like this before, and she didn’t want to harm the woman if she could help it. She didn’t want to harm any of them.

Awen took a long, deep breath and pushed with all of her might. This was not like leaning against a broken-down skiff, trying to get it to move, or even slamming up against a locked door, hoping it would budge. No, this was more like finding herself crouched in the center of a very tight space and attempting to stand—and attempting to expand her entire self-presence into immovable surroundings.

In this tight space, Awen felt as though she was buried in the center of a planet. She fought claustrophobia. She fought fear. She fought the sudden urge to retreat from the endeavor and cocoon herself away from everything—from this place and from Ezo and from TO-96. From Kane and So-Elku. From the Luma and the Republic. From Magnus. From her parents.

Here in the Unity of all things, Awen could go anywhere. She could leave her mortal body and traverse the universe—the multiverse, now that she knew it existed. She could be anywhere she wanted, free of the pain, the fatigue, the frustration. Awen wanted to hide and never be found.

She wanted to. So badly, she wanted to. But she chose against it. She chose to stay and finish what she’d started.

Awen felt as if she was resisting the gravity of a planet that bore down on her soul and threatened to pulverize her. But she wouldn’t allow it. Resisting it would cost her everything, maybe even kill her. But she would not be dust that day. She would be the incinerator. She would turn everything else to dust.

Awen’s body—both ethereal and mortal—shook. A violent sound filled her ears like the roar of a waterfall. She smelled earth and dust and smoke. The purple fluid ebbed and flowed around her, pulsing with light as she expanded within the epicenter of each block and large stone. In their molecular structure, Awen existed as a force, a presence of such power that not even atoms could deny her access to their bonds. There was a sudden silence.

And then Awen exploded. Power let loose from her soul like a clap of lightning. Every lick of purple fluid that was interwoven between molecules and atoms suddenly tore through the material world like incendiary fuel. The violent explosion began at a subatomic level, ripping at bonds, and ended in the rotunda as the blocks blew apart—not as smaller debris but as fine dust.

Awen was free, released from the confines that had threatened to crush her. She felt herself snap back to her corporal body and gasp. The air rushed into her lungs so deeply she thought they might burst. Thunder echoed off the rotunda walls but soon faded like the tinkling of wind chimes.

“Are you all right, Awen?” A firm hand touched her shoulder.

Awen opened her eyes, blinking. Fine purple mist danced all around TO-96’s head, glinting as if caught by sunlight through a morning window. At first, she thought she was still in the Unity, seeing the remains of her work rippling through the ether. But then she realized this dust was real, not a construct within the Unity. From what? Not the rocks I decimated. That dust would have been the fine gray of stone. Instead, this was… purple, like part of her soul.

Awen shuddered as a chill raced down her spine. She tried to get up, but she was spent. “Ninety-Six,” she said softly, “we need to get out of here. But I can’t. I don’t think I can move.”

“I will take care of you, Awen.” The bot leaned over and scooped her up in his arms.

She looked into his face and tried to smile. “Thank you, Ninety-Six,” Awen said, barely able to hear her own voice. She was as tired as she’d ever been. Then she looked back toward the entrance. Covered in a glowing mist of sparkling purple, Ezo and Sootriman emerged from the archway, running toward Awen and TO-96.

“We are ready to leave now,” TO-96 offered.

“Yes,” Awen whispered. “I think we are too.” She felt the bot turn toward an exit on the far side of the rotunda. She felt Ezo and Sootriman appear beside her and run alongside TO-96. And just before the deep darkness pulled her into oblivion, she felt the heat of a thousand suns erupt behind them and the presence of a black-eyed monster chase them into the void.

37

“Mr. Lieutenant Magnus, sir?” a small voice said as Magnus neared consciousness. Someone’s hot breath filled his ear. He wanted to see who’d spoken but couldn’t get his vision to cooperate.

“Piper?” Magnus asked. “Is that you?”

“Yes! Yes, it is, Mr. Lieutenant Magnus, sir!”

Piper, the strange little girl he had rescued from the Bull Wraith, was safe. He couldn’t believe it. There had been a firefight. At the village. The Jujari outnumbered them. And then… what?

Magnus tried to open his eyes, but the effort was painful. He squinted, which caused even more pain. He heard himself swear then remembered that a child was next to him. His voice was hoarse.

“Mama, he’s awake! Come quickly!”

Magnus reached a hand to his face. He felt gauze over his eyes and traced it around his head with his fingertips. He wasn’t wearing his helmet or his armor. Where is my MAR30? He panicked. Suddenly, he remembered the flash of light and the end of the world. An orbital strike. He’d survived a danger-close orbital strike!

Magnus tried to sit up, but his body constricted in pain. His lungs and throat were tight. He let out a loud moan.

“Don’t try to move by yourself, Mr. Lieutenant Magnus, sir. Mother will help.”

Footsteps padded across the floor as someone neared. “Lieutenant Magnus?”

Magnus instinctively turned his head toward the new voice even though he couldn’t see. Only a dim light flittered through the gauze and his closed eyelids. “Yes,” he replied then cleared his throat. He tried to sit up again.

“Easy, Lieutenant.” It was a woman’s voice, one he knew. “This is Valerie. I’m going to help you sit up. Is that okay?”

“Yes,” Magnus said, suddenly feeling vulnerable. Needing help just to sit up was… demeaning. But somehow, her asking him allowed him to retain some level of dignity. “Thank you.”

“No problem. Now, let’s see here,” she said, moving closer. Magnus could feel her warmth and smell her hair. The scent was like sinnowilt blossoms on a warm spring morning. “The good news is that doctor says everything is healing well.” She reached behind his head. Her fingers were thin but confident as if this wasn’t her first time attending to the sick.

“What’s the bad news?” Magnus asked.

“That you have me as a nurse.”

He could hear her smile.

“Oh, I’m not so sure that’s such a bad thing,” Magnus said. The words had no sooner left his mouth than a shooting pain charged up his spine and seared the base of his skull. He winced but managed to keep from letting out a childish yelp.

“Easy, easy,” she said, helping him sit up.

“Thank you,” he replied as she stuffed some pillows around his tender body.

“The doctor says we can remove the bandage over your eyes, but it will still be a few more days before the nanobots have finished their magic. You want to try to remove it?”

Magnus nodded. “Thanks.” He felt Valerie begin to unfasten something and then gently unspool the gauze. He tried to help by moving his head opposite her tugs. With every pass, he noticed more light behind his eyelids.

“It’s really a miracle you’re even alive, you know.”

“The orbital strike?” Magnus asked.

She nodded. “It struck just in front of your position.”

Magnus replayed the last moments in his mind. He’d been fighting the Jujari four to one—maybe five to one. He couldn’t remember exactly. All he knew was that they were moving in on his fire team’s positions, and he was running out of options. His mind stretched to remember their names. Corporal Dutch had taken the rearmost position with Valerie and Piper. Private First Class Gilder and Haney took the left flank while Chief Warrant Officer Nolan, the navy pilot, took the right. Magnus was on point. He’d been leaning out to fire when everything went white.

“You weren’t hurt?” Magnus asked as the final gauze strip peeled away from his scabby eyes, yanking against his eyelids.

“No. I had a little angel with me.”

Magnus guessed she meant Piper, but he had no clue about what to infer tactically from the remark.

“You can try opening your eyes, Lieutenant, but if it hurts too bad, don’t force them.”

Magnus’s eyelids fluttered as he attempted to open them. They felt glued shut, like he’d slept all night with a bad cold and had them crust over.

“Hold on.” She sounded like she was rummaging through a drawer. She moved back to him, and he felt the heel of her hand press against his cheekbone. It was warm. “A few eye drops. This won’t hurt.”

Fluid filled the inside corner of his eyes and spread along the lashes and against his corneas. It was cool but didn’t hurt, just as she’d said.

“Try that.”

Magnus’s eyes flickered open. He saw only hazy light and generic shapes, but he could make out Valerie’s head and long flowing golden hair. He didn’t need to remind himself how stunning she was. He wished he could focus on her more clearly.

“Mr. Lieutenant Magnus, sir? Anything?” Piper asked.

“Piper,” Valerie said with a chiding tone. “No questions.”

“But, Mama!”

“Just shapes,” Magnus answered. “Everything’s pretty blurry, though.”

“That’s about what the doctor said to expect. Pretty blurry is totally normal with how badly your eyes were damaged.” She paused, and Magnus sensed she wanted to say more but restrained herself.

“How badly were they damaged?”

Valerie lowered her head.

“What’s—what’s wrong, Mrs. Stone?” he asked.

“Valerie, please,” she said, placing a hand on his forearm. It was the first time he’d been touched by a woman like that in… How long has it been, Magnus?

“Your face was badly burned. But the skin reconstruction was fairly straightforward. Your eyes, however, were much worse.”

“They’re totally bioteknia now,” Piper said.

“Piper!”

Magnus swallowed. “What?”

“They’ll just be blurry until they take,” Piper continued.

“Young lady, back to your quarters right this instant!”

“Yes, Mama.” Her voice was sullen. “Goodbye, Mr. Lieutenant Magnus, sir.”

Magnus tried to speak, but he was too stunned by this news—assuming it was true, of course. No sense getting worked up over a misunderstanding. He listened as Piper’s footfalls faded away.

As far as Magnus could tell, he and Valerie were alone in what appeared to be some sort of makeshift recovery room. He heard people talking somewhere else in whatever building they were in, and the strange smells of medical cleaning solution and skiff fuel mixed in his nostrils.

“You’ll have to pardon her. She’s—”

“Is she right?” He swallowed. “Did they go bioteknia on me? For my eyes, I mean? Is she right?”

“Yes, Lieutenant,” Valerie said without hesitating.

Magnus looked down. Blood rushed to his head, his pulse quickening. Adrenaline, something he’d spent years learning to subdue, punched into his system unabated.

“Lieutenant, I understand that—”

“No, you don’t understand, Mrs. Stone.”

“I understand that you will never be allowed back in the service, Lieutenant.”

Magnus looked up at her. She did understand. “I’m sorry,” he replied.

“So am I.”

Magnus felt his breaths coming in short bursts, like the staccato blaster fire of his MAR30 on high frequency. He was having trouble staying in control. This was the end. Not of his life, of course. He supposed he would eventually be grateful for that. To never serve in the Republic Marines again, however, was just as bad as being dead, at least as far as he was concerned.

It didn’t feel real. None of it did. Maybe he was still dreaming, still shaken from the orbital. He’d wake up soon. This was all just a bad dream.

“Lieutenant? You, okay?”

Magnus looked up. Her features were still a mess of fuzzy shapes. “I just need a second.”

Her hand moved along his arm, rubbing it gently. It felt good, comforting. Loving.

Get a grip, Magnus. You have to pull yourself together, Hunter. Own the field… but only Recon Marines truly OTF. Now that I’m not Recon, what will I own?

This was all splick. He’d talk to Colonel Caldwell and get a release to go back downrange. He shouldn’t be panicking like this. He wasn’t some noob—he was a Midnight Hunter with the 79th Reconnaissance Battalion.

But he knew the regs. Human tissue couldn’t be hacked, but bioteknia could. No one had ever done it, but it didn’t mean that some alien species wouldn’t jeopardize an entire battalion of modified Marines and win a major victory all because they had superior code splicers. There were no exceptions to the regulations. Ever.

“Who made the call?” Magnus asked.

“I did,” Valerie replied without hesitation.

Magnus blinked several times, tears welling in his eyes. From the pain. She knew what it meant for him, yet she’d still made the call. This woman he’d only just met. She had forever altered the course of his life without even consulting him. That was what the rich did, wasn’t it? They controlled whatever they wanted to and made all the decisions, no matter how or whom their decisions affected. He’d seen it play out a thousand times in worlds all over the galaxy. He’d just never thought it would happen to him. Though it seems fitting payback for your past sins, doesn’t it, Magnus?

“Neural cohesion to the optic nerve was deteriorating in both eyes,” Valerie said.

“I don’t want to hear about it,” he replied, waving her off. He couldn’t take her reasoning. There was nothing she could say that would explain it away.

“The cellular tissue was dying, Lieutenant. Faster than we could regenerate it.”

“No.” Magnus shook his head.

“It was bioteknia or—”

“No!”

“Or you would be blind forever.”

“You had no right to choose for me!”

Silence fell in the room like a heavy snowfall. Magnus’s heartbeat thumped in his ears. His skin was hot, sweat beading on his forehead. But you know all about choosing for others, don’t you, Magnus?

“You had no right to choose for me,” he repeated, softer now.

“You’re right.”

“Huh?” Magnus looked up at her. Was she wiping away tears?

“You’re right. I didn’t have the right to choose for you. But I had a responsibility to fight for you.” She pinched her nose then wiped it with the back of her hand. “Fighting is… well, it’s—”

“It’s ugly.”

Valerie huffed. “Yeah. It’s ugly. And you’re just making the best call you can with the information you have. Either I let a Marine go blind for the rest of his life, or I give him a shot at seeing again. Either way, you were out. I just chose to give you a chance to stay downrange somewhere else in some other way.”

Valerie took a deep breath, and Magnus could see her shoulders sag. She moved away from him and sat down on a stool. The woman was shaken up.

Magnus sniffed and shoved his upper lip beneath his nose, fighting back tears. He looked down at his hands folded in his lap, bandages wrapping select fingers, knuckles, and both wrists. He flexed his hands, balled them into fists, then opened them again.

He wanted to be mad at her, whoever she really was. Valerie clearly knew what she was talking about medically. And based on the way she’d handled his MZ25 outside the village, she had military training too. This couldn’t be easy for her, and he’d been too hard on her. Were he in the same position, he would have picked the same course of action. And she would probably be just as pissed as he was if she were a career Marine.

The proverbial snowfall in the room continued to swallow all the sound save her soft sniffs.

“Thank you,” Magnus finally said.

Valerie looked up. “What?”

“Thank you. For choosing for me to see again.”

She stood up and walked over to him, her hands reaching down for his. “You’re welcome. And thank you for saving our lives.”

“You’re welcome. I only wish that I could’ve saved your—”

“There was nothing you could have done,” Valerie said.

Magnus’s mind flashed back to Piper and the burst of energy that had exploded from her pod on the Bull Wraith. Then he remembered pulling back the blood-splattered canopy on her father’s capsule and burying his body in the wastes of Oorajee.

“Your daughter… is she…?”

“Not now,” Valerie whispered. “Another time. When it’s safer.”

Heavy footsteps fell in the corridor outside the recovery room, and Valerie pulled her hands from Magnus’s. A large shadow filled the room, and Magnus was aware that a man stood over Valerie.

“The gods smile favorably on you, buckethead,” said the deep-bass voice that Magnus remembered from his last stop on the desert planet.

“Abimbola,” Magnus said, squinting.

“He has not lost his memory, I see,” Abimbola said.

“No, he has not.” Valerie pulled a data pad from a countertop. “All vitals look stable, brain activity normal. The bioteknia eyes are taking and should be fully integrated within the next few hours.”

“Just in time, then.”

“In time for what?” Magnus asked.

Abimbola waved a hand, ignoring the question. “Can you believe how our paths have crossed again, and so soon? First, I save you from the Jujari and bombs, and now, I save you from more Jujari and an orbital strike from your own Republic. The gods either want you dead or want me to protect you.”

“Let’s hope it’s the latter,” Magnus said.

“Yet you continue to surround yourself with beautiful women.” Abimbola gestured at Valerie. “Where do you find them? What could you possibly possess that makes them fawn after you?”

“There’s no fawning going on here,” Valerie protested.

“First, the Luma princess of Elonia, and now this epiphany from Capriana.” The black giant of a man leaned away and regarded Valerie. Then he waved a heavy finger at Magnus and stepped closer to him. Magnus could smell the metal from the grenades in the bandolier Abimbola wore across his chest. He could also make out a long facial scar that ran to the giant black man’s collarbone. “You know, I second-guessed my decision not to kill you,” he said, flipping something—one of his poker chips—in the air and catching it. “My wall needed one more bucket. But I have never seen a man fail so miserably yet attract so many females as you. I think you are a marvel worth permitting to live, at least for a little while longer until I figure you out. I would do it for the fair dau Lothlinium alone.”

The mention of Awen brought a sudden pang to Magnus’s heart. Since waking, he hadn’t thought of her once, yet only a few short days before, she was all he’d been concerned with. Her delicate face and violet eyes evoked a longing that made him—uncomfortable. She represented everything he was not. He knew she didn’t understand why he pulled his trigger, and he certainly couldn’t understand why she put so much faith in seeking peace with killers. Still, he felt something for her, perhaps more than he cared to admit.

“What am I in time for?” Magnus asked, hoping to redirect the conversation.

“Sharp, this one,” Abimbola said to Valerie. “You were most likely right to save him and let him see again.”

“In time for…?” Magnus prompted a third time.

“Your friends are alive,” Abimbola said. “Well, at least some of them, we think.”

Magnus blinked, hope rising. “Dutch?” His mind raced to remember the others again—things were still a little foggy. He looked at Valerie for confirmation. “Gilder, Haney, and Nolan?”

“Ha!” Abimbola clapped. The sound made Magnus see stars. “No, they are resting already. Seems they will make full recoveries. I do not mean those friends.”

“I don’t understand,” Magnus replied, trying to will his new eyes to focus on the warlord.

“Of course you don’t. Your friends—your fellow bucketheads. My Marauders think some of them survived the ambush in the mwadim’s palace.”

“Wait. You’re saying my Hunters are alive?”

38

“Where am I?” In a panic, Awen tried to sit up.

“Easy, love. Easy,” a woman’s voice said.

Awen felt a hand on her shoulder and another behind her head. She looked up and saw Sootriman’s tan face and consoling eyes. “Sootriman?”

“Yes, love. It’s me.”

“You’re—you’re alive.”

“No small thanks to you,” Sootriman said, stroking the top of Awen’s head.

Awen let out a sigh. “The last thing I remember was…”

They’d been in the rotunda, separated from Sootriman and a man. Kane… and the other being. A chill ran down Awen’s spine. The memory summoned a sense of fear she’d never known before.

She fought to distance herself from the dark face while trying to piece together the events in the rotunda. Awen had rescued Sootriman and blown apart the rocks blocking the archway. She’d done something in the Unity that she’d never attempted before. It had spent her. And it had scared her. He’d scared her.

Then Awen remembered TO-96 picking her up. He carried her away from the light of a thousand suns and from the black-eyed monster.

“The rotunda—it exploded.”

“It did, yes,” Sootriman said. “But we managed to get clear. Something shielded us from the blast until we could find shelter.”

“Shielded us?”

“We thought maybe you had something to do with it.”

“No, I…” Awen thought back. She didn’t remember putting up a wall. She’d been too exhausted. Maybe the memory was slow in coming, however. Or maybe it was… a reflex. “I don’t know.”

“No need to worry, love. We’re all safe now, including you, and that’s what counts.”

“Ezo and TO-96 too?”

“Ezo and Tee-Oh too,” Sootriman replied. Her smile was warm and her eyes friendly, in stark contrast to the ruthless though beautiful warlord Awen had met on Ki Nar Four.

“I’m so thirsty. Can I sit up?”

“Slowly, yes.” Sootriman helped Awen sit up.

She looked around the room. Along two sides of the room, large windows lunged away from the dusty floor and connected with the ceiling at an angle farther out. Purplish early-morning—or maybe evening—light poured through, giving way to a panoramic view of the jungle-covered city below.

Awen felt like she was in a large corner office in some exotic administrative building. It smelled musty. Spiral floral designs covered the marble-like floors, and the ceiling was a patchwork of recessed honeycombs that had probably once housed lights. Strange-looking furniture was arranged along the walls, faded and dusty from ages of neglect. Awen was lying on some sort of cushions stacked on a desk in a makeshift bed. Her blanket and pillow looked like they were from the Indomitable—the ship that had brought them to the metaverse. She wore an oversized captain’s jacket, a tattered T-shirt, and green cargo pants, all surely holdovers from the Indomitable. Suddenly, Awen reached for the necklace around her throat, fearing it was gone.

“It’s still there,” Sootriman said. “Don’t worry.”

Awen breathed a sigh of relief. The Luma medallion offered her some sense of assuredness to this otherwise chaotic existence. “Where are we?”

“Tee-Oh eventually found a way out of the rotunda’s tunnels and got us situated in this space. Ezo and I thought it would be more comfortable for you as you slept. Here,” Sootriman said, offering Awen a canteen of water. “Drink this.”

“Thanks.” Awen sipped slowly. The canteen looked like it was from the Indomitable too. “How long have I been sleeping, then?”

Sootriman took the canteen and capped it. “About a week.”

“A week?”

“Tee-Oh will have the exact duration, of course. The days are about nine hours longer here, so that takes some getting used to. We’re still trying to use common time so we don’t hurt our bodies.”

“A week?” Awen repeated, looking at her surroundings again.

“Seems you expended a lot of energy to do what you did for me.”

Awen blinked at Sootriman. Was the effort to save Sootriman’s life really so costly to my body and soul? Did I hurt myself somehow?

Sootriman reached out and held Awen’s hand with her own warm, strong one. “Thank you, Awen. Thank you for saving my life. Thank you for saving all of our lives.”

Awen looked up at the woman, whose wavy brown hair glistened in the lavender sunlight. “You’re welcome.” She swallowed. “So, where are they now—Ezo and Ninety-Six? And why didn’t you just take me back to the ship if it’s been a week?”

Sootriman pulled a tall stool over and sat, finding the appropriate piece of furniture for her generous figure. She’d ditched the red-and-gold dress Awen remembered from Ki Nar Four, but she still opted to keep her legs bare. Now she wore a pair of green shorts cut from military pants, a black shirt that she’d pulled the sleeves from, and a pair of black trek boots—all items that seemed to have been pulled from the Indomitable.

Sootriman brushed strands of hair over her ear and took Awen’s hand again. “The Indomitable was disabled.”

“Disabled?”

“The boys salvaged what they could, but we couldn’t go back.”

“Who? Who would have…?” Awen’s mind filled in the blanks. “Kane.”

“That’s what the recovered holo-footage showed.”

“You said Ezo and Ninety-Six were able to salvage some things,” Awen said. “Why didn’t they just blow it up?”

“If it were me?” Sootriman put a hand to her chest. “I would have done it to insult my victims.”

Awen stared at her for a beat. “Remind me never to cross you.”

Sootriman nodded and winked. “You’re beautiful and smart. My kind of woman.”

She thinks I’m beautiful? Awen thought, astonished. Sootriman wasn’t exactly the type of person to dole out compliments haphazardly, so that was high praise coming from the likes of her. That, or Sootriman felt sorry for her.

Either way, I’ll take it right now, Awen thought. Then the deeper implications of the Indomitable’s condition hit her. “Wait a second. That means we’re stranded.”

“It does.” Sootriman took a deep breath. “That it does.”

“Do they—do we—have a plan, then?”

“Not yet. The boys are out exploring the city for that very reason. Hoping to find solutions. They had to wait a little bit at first. Seems that Kane and his troopers were wandering the city, too, looking for who knows what. But after a few days, we watched their dropships leave, and then their starships left the system—most likely went back to our universe.”

“So they didn’t suspect we survived the explosions in the rotunda?”

“It’s doubtful. TO-96 said that madman put enough trinitex in that tunnel to punch a small hole in a Goliath-class destroyer. Even if we survived, they probably figured we wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon without the Indomitable and would live out our days here.”

“We’ll get back,” Awen said, clenching her fists. “We have to get back.” She thought of Willowood and the rest of the Luma, wondering how many had remained loyal to the order and how many had been seduced by So-Elku. Then she thought of Kane and shivered. There was no telling what that man was capable of. Clearly, he was looking for something here in Itheliana that he needed—that he wanted for some destructive purpose. He knew about this place, but how?

Awen’s thoughts turned to the Jujari. She wondered if they had not inadvertently provoked the violence in the mwadim’s palace. Did Kane approach the mwadim about the stardrive earlier, and did the mwadim see through him and resist? Perhaps the ambush had been Kane’s way of forcing the mwadim’s hand and getting what he wanted.

All this speculation still didn’t help Awen answer the biggest question: why give up the stardrive at all? She didn’t understand why the mwadim would do such a thing, given its clear significance to every sentient life-form in the galaxy. The fact that Kane knew the answer to this question and she didn’t made her nervous. Who knew what that madman, as Sootriman had called him, was capable of.

Awen’s thoughts turned to her parents. The prospect of never seeing them again put a lump in her throat. They’d fought for months before she left to attend observances on Worru. They’d never see eye to eye on the Luma and on what the “proper way” to serve the galaxy was—that much they’d made clear. Truthfully, when she left, she didn’t care if she ever saw them again. But that had just been the sentiments of impulsive youth. Confirming the reality of never seeing them again forever, she was sad—perhaps even afraid. This wasn’t like getting stuck on the other side of a quadrant for a year or two. At least in that scenario, you could send transmissions and share some semblance of life’s happenings. The planet of Itheliana was as removed as two people could be this side of death.

Then she thought of the person she was least expecting to think of: Lieutenant Adonis Olin Magnus. Admittedly, she’d been pretty rude to him when they first met. But her experience with the Galactic Republic’s Marines in the past hadn’t exactly filled her with confidence about their humanity. “Blaster fire and funeral pyres” went the old adage among the Luma, and that about summed it up as far as Awen was concerned. But Magnus had shown more concern than she expected. His kindness had caught her off guard. As did those green eyes and that bearded baby face, she thought. He had, she also reminded herself, saved her life. Though that was a mutually shared gift. She recalled the falling concrete slab and Abimbola’s jail. We’re probably even, she concluded.

Despite her speechless delight at being the first Luma to ever journey to Ithnor Ithelia—and discovering the metaverse!—she had a visceral desire to get back to her native universe as soon as she could. She would return to explore this spectacular new world. Hopefully, the quantum tunnel would remain open for several more years. But discovery paled in comparison to survival, and she had to get back to save her people—and to save the galaxy from whatever So-Elku and Kane were planning.

“We just have to get back,” Awen whispered.

“It’s not looking great for that, love.”

“What do you mean?” Awen looked up.

“Well, it’s safe to assume that Kane was looking for alien tech, probably starships. He’s an admiral, after all.”

He’s an admiral, of course! Why didn’t I think of that sooner?

“No ships, then?” Awen asked.

“Plenty of ships,” Sootriman corrected. “Thousands of ships, actually. Quantity is not the problem, however.”

“It’s quality,” Awen concluded.

“Exactly. As far as Tee-Oh can tell, this entire civilization has lain dormant for more than a thousand years. Maybe much more.”

“They’ve been extinct for over a thousand years?” Awen asked, wondering who else knew about this race. Were we the first to explore the city? Her mind swam with the implications. “So that means the Jujari have had that stardrive in their possession for… for…”

“For a very long time, unless they got it from another species, of course. Either way, it’s safe to say that it was in circulation long before the Galactic Republic, the Sentient Species Alliances, or even the Star Faring Council.”

“So we’re late to the date.” The large room suddenly took on a melancholy air. This place would not yield the discoveries Awen had hoped for—namely, life. There would be no encounters with any sentient species here. No one was coming back to greet them. Awen knew, of course, that there was no price to be put on what they might take away from future archeological expeditions. But in terms of finding sentient life, that hope was gone. “Maybe TO-96 can cobble together something,” Awen said, trying to cheer herself up.

“That’s the hope, yes. But, Awen, you have to remember, a thousand years. The fact that these buildings are still standing is a testament to the Novia Minoosh’s ingenuity.”

“And maybe it will be that way for the starships they find too.”

Sootriman looked out the windows. The white purplish light from the sun was growing stronger, marking the beginning of the alien day. “I hope you’re right,” she finally said. “I really do. But a thousand years is a long time for anything to sit dormant and deteriorate, love. I think you need to prepare yourself for what we’ve already accepted.”

“And that is…?” But Awen already knew the answer.

“We’re going to be here for a very long time.”

* * *

Read on for a bonus short story, THE NIGHT OF FIRE.

THE NIGHT OF FIRE

A RUINS OF THE GALAXY SHORT

THE NIGHT OF FIRE

A RUINS OF THE GALAXY SHORT

Magnus should have been more concerned with the blaster bolts flying over his head than he was with what his drill sergeant had called “the weaknesses of the flesh.” But he wasn’t.

Incoming blaster fire was still a problem. A big one. The enemy was holed up in a small mountain in the center of the island. Routing them out was going to take all night. But right then, Magnus’s body was complaining more about an entirely different enemy. No, it wasn’t the sand and salt that had managed to find their way into every crevice in his armor; parts of him that he didn’t know could go raw were chafing. He was tired, sore, hungry, and done with being shot at. But none of those were as bad as the enemy currently wreaking havoc in his gut. No amount of discipline, armor, or team readiness had prepared him—or any of them—for the squirts.

When the waterborne virus first started hitting the Marines, Magnus had been concerned with manners. They all had. His unit had dug small latrines and tried giving one another some privacy. But as the days turned into weeks and the infection spread, they’d abandoned all sense of decorum. Now the Marines went whenever they had to, most going right in their armor if they were in a firefight. Like they were right now.

“Splick! There I go again,” Chico yelled over their TACNET fire team channel. “Dammit!”

Private Miguel Chico was stacked up behind Magnus, along with two other members of his newly formed fire team: Private Michael Deeks and Private Allan Franklin. The four of them had taken cover behind the remains of a bamboo hut on the south side of the island.

Magnus had been given command of the fire team after Sergeant Cartin took a high-energy blaster round clean through the helmet the night before. Magnus could still see the wisps of smoke around the hole floating up through his memory. Cartin had been one hell of a Marine, taking out his share of ’kuda before meeting his end, even saving several lives in the process. As a corporal, it was Magnus’s job not to get blasted in the head—and to try to keep his guys safe while staying on the mission objectives.

“Wash it out when the sun comes up, Private,” Magnus replied.

“Yeah, but just don’t do it upwind of me again, would ya?” Deeks asked. “You nasty, boy.”

Chico punched Deeks in the shoulder. “Not as nasty as what your mom said to me last night.”

“I swear to all the mystics, if you talk about my momma one more time, Chico…”

“You’re gonna do what?”

Magnus had to break it up; he knew where it would go. That was part of why he was growing to love these guys so much. They were fast becoming like brothers to him. And he didn’t need to lose any more of those in this war.

“Who’s ready to make a run with me, boys?” Magnus asked.

That got their attention. Almost.

“Chico doesn’t need to,” Franklin replied. “He’s already got plenty of runs of his own.”

Chico stiffened. “I swear to all the mystics, Franklin…”

“Tighten it up, boys,” Magnus said, muting their respective TACNET channels. If these three guys weren’t the most aggressive fighters he’d seen in Bravo Company yet, he would have asked to be reassigned. As it was, they were crass smack-talkers who had terrible comms discipline, which verged on being belligerent. But they could fight; that was for damn sure. Magnus had already watched them put down more ’kudas individually than most fire teams were doing collectively. And that was just the kind of fire team he wanted to lead.

“We have orders to get this island cleared by sunup, and I don’t want to disappoint First Lieutenant Vanderbilt when he comes walking down the northside beach head.”

Magnus saw a comms request icon in his HUD coming from Deeks. He opened the channel.

“With all due respect, Corporal, but ain’t no way I’m interested in impressing the LT,” Deeks replied.

Magnus had a mischievous tone in his voice. “I know that, Deeks. And you know that. But Chico and Franklin are still hoping he’ll ask their mommas out on a date.”

“Corporal Magnus for the win!” Deeks said, punching Chico in the side of the arm.

“Punch me one more time, Deeks. Go ahead.”

“Let’s stay focused,” Magnus said, smiling through the sand, salt, sweat, and splick filling his helmet. “We have a job to do.”

* * *

The jabs at Lieutenant Vanderbilt weren’t completely misguided, though they certainly would have been met with severe consequences had anyone been listening over comms. Vanderbilt had made some seriously boneheaded decisions over the past several weeks, at least as far as Magnus was concerned. The officer had ordered Marines into some downright asinine scenarios that could have easily been avoided. The one they were in right now was a great example.

The small island of Mo’a Ot’a had a small mountain summit in the center, leftover from some ancient volcano. All approaches to the summit consisted of a gentle rise through a lush jungle. That was, of course, except for a ravine carved by a mountain stream that ran down the south side. As was to be expected from the lieutenant, he had ordered Magnus’s team to move up that very ravine. Magnus had tried to protest—respectfully—but Vanderbilt had “no time for the backassward opinions of grunts.”

Magnus swore that if he was ever promoted to the position of an officer, he would treat the Marines under his command differently. He wouldn’t play with their lives over some vain attempt to impress his commanding officers.

The worst part, at least as far as Magnus and the others were concerned, was that none of the islands could be strafed by fighters until after they’d been cleared. A lot of good that does us, he’d thought when he heard the news.

Apparently, islanders were reported to be dug into the hills in an attempt to wait out the fighting. And since sensors were having a hard time distinguishing between friend and foe, the Marines had to sort the good from the bad. This meant liberating survivors and dominating the enemy. But so far, in over six weeks of intense fighting, Magnus hadn’t found a single islander—at least none who were alive.

“Three ’kudas moving along our left flank!” Deeks yelled.

“And I got two more converging on our right,” Chico said.

The battle was getting hot. They’d made plenty of progress, bounding from boulder to boulder, fighting a true uphill battle with every step. But the ravine’s steep walls gave the enemy a clear tactical advantage. The best Magnus and his fire team could do was to catch the ’kudas before they flanked his team from above.

Magnus’s helmet AI identified the targets with compass-heading indicators and distances. He used his eyes to select the next nearest one behind Deeks’s target and sighted in along the barrel of his MC90 blaster. The Repub had promised that a new neural interface was coming down the pipeline for their helmets. The tech claimed to rid operators of the optic command protocols that they’d mastered in basic training.

Wouldn’t that be nice, Magnus thought. The Marines on the ground had yet to see anything in the field, but he looked forward to the day that the new interface was a mainstay in the Corps.

Thirty-eight degrees up and to his left, Magnus zeroed in on a ’kuda taking cover behind a palm tree. His helmet’s red-hued thermal-imaging system was working like a charm, showing the enemy combatant as a white blotch resting its back against the trunk. The ’kuda seemed to be fiddling with the battery pack for its main weapon. Magnus put the reticle in the dead center of the tree trunk and squeeze his trigger.

A single blaster round flashed in his HUD as the bolt streaked up the ravine. It split the trunk in two, shooting splinters in all directions. Magnus ducked under return fire from other elements but managed to watch the combatant he’d hit slump on the far side of the tree. It collapsed in a heap with its weapon and battery falling from two scaly hands.

“Scratch another one for me,” Magnus said, recharging his MC90 and sighting in the next target. The MC90 wasn’t the latest or greatest in the Repub arsenal, but it was standard Marine issue for a reason. Magnus had grown to appreciate its ruggedness and subsequent reliability. Other blasters promised to offer better fire superiority and more features, like the prototype MAR30 that the spec ops Marines were said to be getting in a few years, but that was a long way off. And as far as Magnus was concerned, the MC90 did just fine at killing ’kudas.

The Akuda were a native species of Caledonia—just not the ones that lived on land. While the planet’s islands’ inhabitants consisted mostly of humans and other humanoid species, its underwater citizens were what the Marines called “fish with an attitude problem.”

The attitude-ridden aquaticans preferred to live underwater, but they were able to extract needed respiratory gases from both water and air. This, combined with powerful hind legs that had evolved over the millennia, allowed them to move on land when the need arose. And, apparently, the need had arisen when the Akuda decided they wanted to be the only species to inhabit Caledonia.

Because it was a member of the Galactic Republic, the planet’s civil war required the Repub military to be called in. At first, every Marine had relished the idea of deploying on the paradisiacal planet. The elite came to Caledonia to bask in endless sunsets and get drunk on fifty-credit cocktails. But any dreams of sunbathing and frolicking in the surf had disappeared when the Marines realized just how badly the ’kuda wanted their genocide.

Magnus squeezed his trigger again, taking out the third fish Deeks had spotted. Chico and Franklin cleared the right side, then Magnus gave the order to leapfrog farther up the stream. Each Marine took a turn advancing, dodging incoming enemy fire, then hanging back to cover the others.

Their boots—standard issue for Mark IV armor—did little to help them along the wet rocks. They slipped constantly, bashing their knees and wrists on the rounded rocks. The ’kuda, on the other hand, moved at a dizzying pace, gliding across the rocks with the ease of Tanglothian banshee lizards.

“Incoming!” Franklin was on point and leveled his MC90 on a pair of ’kudas that leaped off a short waterfall at him. Despite their speed, the fish lacked fire discipline, and their blaster bolts went wide. But what Franklin lacked in agility, he more than made up for in blaster superiority. Magnus watched him aim, squeeze, and follow through. The Marine turned to the next target—still in midair—and repeated the pattern. In less than a second, two scaly bodies crashed in the shallows beside Franklin and rolled to a stop.

“No time to take pictures, boys,” Magnus said over TACNET. “Let’s get over that waterfall.”

The four Marines helped one another over the rock ledge and onto the next landing. More boulders provided cover while the sides of the ravine grew taller and steeper.

“Gettin’ pretty tight through here, Corporal,” Deeks said. “Did brass give you exfil coordinates yet?”

Magnus shook his head. “Not yet. Trust me, you’ll be the first to know when I do.”

Chico spoke up next. “It’s just we’re getting pretty deep up here. Grid shows…” Magnus could tell the private was checking the TACNET map. He knew it didn’t look good. “Splick, it shows us pretty much out here on our own. The other fire teams are well to the west and east of our position.”

“Copy that,” Magnus replied. “I see it too.”

“No backup then,” Franklin concluded.

Aren’t you just Captain Obvious today, Magnus thought, holding his tongue. Best to save insulting these noobs for after they survived this. “No backup,” Magnus repeated. “Which means we gotta own the field, Privates. You copy?”

“OTF!” they repeated as one.

Magnus tapped the side of his helmet. Five more targets flickered to life on sensors, way too close for comfort. Apparently, his rig needed a tune-up.

“Contact!” Magnus barked. “Five, coming right down the stream!”

His Marines took cover, leaning around boulders with their MC90s charged and at high ready position. Approaching like blue wisps of water vapor, the ’kuda materialized ten meters ahead, weapons blasting water and rocks on full auto. Magnus pulled back, narrowly avoiding a blaster bolt to the head. Then he leaned out again and targeted the nearest fish. His blaster bucked against his shoulder as the bolt sizzled through the damp air and struck the enemy in the throat, flipping it backward. The ’kuda corpse splashed into the stream and flopped around in death throes.

Deeks took out two ’kuda that tried running up the side of the near-vertical ravine. They made it high enough to turn and point their weapons at Deeks. But that was all they got to do. The Marine fired a short burst of full auto, stitching the side of the rock wall and tearing both fish in two.

Chico and Franklin, meanwhile, took out the remaining two fish, firing from a cluster of boulders along the bank. They poked their MC90 between gaps in the rocks, striking the enemy before they even had a chance to spot the Marines.

With the wave of enemies put down, Magnus walked up to the fish he’d hit. It was still thrashing. He fired a second round into its head, and the churning water went still. “Clear.”

Magnus examined its bulbous eyes and long teeth glistening in the moonlight. Scaly blue skin covered its blaster-riddled flesh. “Ugly as hell,” he whispered.

“What was that, Corporal?”

Magnus waved Deeks off. “Next level, boys. Up and over.”

The four of them scampered up another small waterfall, but Magnus could tell the incline was getting steeper. The topo map confirmed it, showing that the tallest waterfalls were just ahead. There was no way they were climbing those in the dark. He cursed Vanderbilt under his breath. This was a stupid line to take.

Chico started waving an arm. “Corporal,” he said, tension rising in his voice.

“What is it?”

“We’ve got…”

But Magnus saw it too. Apparently, the fish knew the Marines were climbing into a dead end.

“We’ve got six coming down the ravine, eight to the west, another eight to the east—no, wait… Make that ten to the east—”

“And we got five more on our six!” Deeks yelled. “I don’t know how they crept up on us, but they did!”

This is bad, Magnus realized. This is real bad.

“TACNET’s reading contact in forty-five seconds. Let’s take cover against that waterfall.” Magnus pointed twenty meters ahead to the next feature in the stream. The Marines followed Magnus as he slid across the boulders and stumbled over the round stones.

“I count six more to the south,” Chico said over comms.

Dammit. The Akuda smelled blood in the water; that was for damn sure.

Magnus jumped around the last boulder and found himself wading into a pool up to his knees. The waterfall above him was easily ten meters high—the tallest yet. It would at least provide cover from the ’kuda approaching from above. His fire team would also get a clear line of sight on the ones approaching from the south. The only combatants that really worried Magnus were those flanking them from the ravine edges.

“Corporal Magnus, you sure this is a good—”

“There’s no good position for this one, Franklin. The Corps doesn’t pay you to be sure; they pay you to fire.”

“Copy that.”

Magnus double-checked the TACNET map. “Contact in ten seconds. Rack a charge, boys.”

Magnus heard the energy whine of the MC90s and watched as his men took a knee in the shallows, water splashing hard at their backs. If it was to be their last stand, Magnus was proud of them. They had looked fear in the eyes and stared it down, shoving their blaster barrels in its mouth and pulling the trigger all the way to the grave. He doubted history would remember their names—hell, he doubted the Corps would even find their bodies after the ’kuda had feasted—but he would at least die knowing they’d done their best to follow orders and own the field.

“OTF, boys.”

“OTF!” they replied as one.

Magnus watched in his HUD as the red dots converged in their location, forming a solid ring around his team. Magnus’s thermal sensors showed the first ’kuda as it leaped high into the air, vaulting over the lower falls and into the rock bed twenty meters downstream. It fired wildly. Blaster bolts splattered into the waterfall behind Magnus. He squeezed two rounds and struck it center mass.

A second ’kuda jumped over the ledge and took the first’s place. This fish’s aim was far better, and Magnus narrowly missed being shot in the helmet. He returned fire with another two-round salvo and dropped it. But in that time, five more fish had climbed up and moved toward the waterfall.

Deeks, Chico, and Franklin were busy covering the flanks, firing on anything that moved. And plenty of things moved. The sides of the ravine seemed alive with otherworldly objects. Fins, sinewy arms and legs, glimmering teeth, iridescent eyes—it all scrambled down the steep sides in a slide of mud and rocks. Blaster fire lit up the narrow ravine, flashing off shiny scales and plate armor. Bodies careened through the air and splashed into the pool at the Marines’ feet. Some of the bodies still moved, the claws on their webbed hands grasping for the Marines’ legs. Magnus fired several shots into the growing piles of bodies, keeping the groping limbs at bay.

Despite their best efforts, however, Magnus knew they wouldn’t walk away from this fight. His HUD showed more reinforcements filling in from all corners. Even if his fire team had enough energy magazines and accuracy to take down the current wave, there was no way they would have enough to fight off the second.

“Don’t let up!” It was all Magnus could think to say. That and: “OTF!”

Deeks and Chico mumbled a response between shots, but Franklin didn’t answer at all. Bodies were falling down on top of them, and their MC90 barrels glowed white in his HUD.

This is it, Magnus realized. This is our last stand. Damn ’kudas.

Magnus fired on several more that crept up the center stream. His energy mag went flat. He reached for a new one on his hip and slammed it home, then he unloaded on two ’kudas crossing the pool. He drilled both of them. But it was the third and fourth that he didn’t have time to shoot. They flew through the air, claws and teeth bared in the moonlight.

A blast of water erupted behind Magnus and pushed him forward. He would have slammed into the oncoming ’kudas were it not for the fact that they, too, had been thrown away from the waterfall. His HUD went bright white as several trails of light and smoke propelled enemy bodies a dozen meters over the stream before consuming them in a massive explosion.

Magnus pushed himself off the pile of corpses and strained to look behind him. He was blinded again, however, when a sputtering strobe of blaster fire spewed from the waterfall and raked no fewer than eight ’kudas. Magnus watched in awe as limbs flailed, heads snapped, and teeth shattered. Finally, a projectile so massive it could only have been fired from a Gauss cannon blew out from behind the waterfall and struck the streambed. The sound spiked his audio sensors; even with them temporarily muted, the thunderclap still made Magnus’s ears ring. The concussion decimated ’kuda bodies, flinging dozens of them skyward while Magnus and his Marines were thrown into the waterfall.

Magnus felt a hand grab his shoulder and wrench him down. His body hit something hard—the ground, he was pretty sure. His HUD flickered from the impact, and he could feel his armor’s servos dim.

What in the hell was going on?

Whatever hand had grabbed him let him go. Magnus rolled over and looked up. There, standing over him, was a… Is it a teenage boy? Magnus blinked then activated his external speakers.

“Kid, what are you… what are you doing here?” Even asking such a thing felt surreal. To be talking to a teen. In a cave. Behind a waterfall. Holding a…

What the hell are those?

In his hands, the teen was holding what looked to be arms. Robot arms. With weapons on them. Magnus saw micro rockets, along with the guts and barrel of what looked to be a prototype XM31 blaster.

Magnus blinked several more times. How bad was I hit? He couldn’t be sure. Maybe this was just some weird version of the afterlife.

“You’ve got to get up,” the young man said. He looked maybe seventeen or eighteen. Small. An islander with narrow eyes. Maybe a Nimprinth? He was wearing a backpack overflowing with odd metal parts. “That won’t keep them away for long. You’ve got to move, soldiers.”

Magnus grabbed his MC90 and gained his feet. His helmet bumped into the low ceiling. Deeks, Chico, and Franklin had been blown into the cave entrance too, but each of them was standing.

“What the hell is going on, Corporal?” Deeks asked, his voice sounding as bewildered as Magnus’s had. “What’s this splick about?”

“Seems we found our first survivor, Deeks.”

The other men looked at the teen; Magnus could practically guess the expressions on their faces as they took in the thin young man and his assortment of robot parts and black-market weapons.

“What the—”

“Come on!” the kid said, motioning them toward a small tunnel. “This way!”

“Fine by me,” Chico said. He darted after the kid, followed by Franklin and a still-dazed Deeks.

“Keep on him,” Magnus said over TACNET. “Seems to know his way around here.”

“And around an XM31,” Chico added. “I like this kid.”

Magnus switched to optical sensors and turned on his armor’s exterior shoulder lights. The rounded tunnel looked as though it had been carved by hand. Magnus followed Deeks’s rear end, hunched over, boots plodding through ten centimeters of water. The tunnel meandered deeper into the mountainside until it opened into a vaulted room. As soon as Magnus had stepped in and straightened his back, a door slammed shut behind him.

“This way,” the young man said, continuing to motion Magnus’s fire team forward.

Magnus marveled at what he saw. Aside from a small bed mat and cooking area that doubled as the young man’s heat source, the rest of the room was littered with racks and work benches. Every square centimeter of space seemed overtaken with wires, cables, tools, and parts. How the young man had acquired so much stuff Magnus had no idea. That he’d gathered it in this peculiar place was astounding. The kid must have been a genius—a savant. That is, of course, assuming he’d built something notable. But if the display of firepower at the waterfall was any indicator—he had.

“Hurry! You have to keep moving!” The kid stood at the far end of his hovel, pointing toward an exit tunnel.

“What about you, kid?” Magnus asked.

“I’ll be right behind you.”

“I’d really feel better if you lead the way.”

“No, no. I have to do something here. This tunnel is easy to follow. I’ll be right behind you.”

“You promise?”

“I promise. Now, go!”

Magnus nodded at Chico, who then ducked into the tunnel, followed by Franklin and Deeks. Their shoulder lights waved back as they ran in a crouch. The ground was dry, and Magnus felt the cave begin to head downhill. Whoever had carved it—presumably the kid—had done a masterful job. And it had probably taken a very long time, even with the right equipment.

The tunnel snaked through what Magnus figured was the north side of the mountain. His TACNET link had gone offline when he entered the cave, and nothing but local sensors were feeding data to his helmet’s AI. Audio sensors continued to feed the clip-clop of their boots and the scuffing of their armor against the tight walls and low ceiling.

After several minutes of back-breaking running, Chico finally said, “I think I see something up ahead. Looks like… like ferns or something.”

The tunnel expanded little by little as the path leveled out. Finally, the tunnel opened up into a dense jungle covered in ferns and palm fronds. A TACNET link was established, and with it came several incoming messages from command.

“Looks like Vanderbilt’s been worried about us after all,” Chico said.

“Nah.” Deeks shook his head. “He was worried about the scourge he’d take for sending four Marines on the dumbest mission of his short career.”

“Copy that,” Franklin said.

“Listen, we’re not going anywhere until that kid comes back.”

“Copy that, Corporal,” Deeks replied. “He saved our asses back there.”

“And we’re gonna make sure we save his by getting him off this pile of splick.”

As if summoned by their talk, the young man was yelling something from down the tunnel. Magnus boosted his audio sensors and leaned his head back into the cave. He looked and saw the boy swinging a flashlight wildly.

“What’s he saying, Corporal?”

“He’s saying ‘run.’”

“You think those ’kudas broke through?”

“Dunno, Deeks. But I’m guessing we’re in for another firefight. OTF, boys.”

“OTF!” they replied, racking charges in their MC90s.

Magnus watched as the kid closed the distance, still carrying the robot arms and a backpack full of parts. “He’s coming in hot. Stand back.”

The young man blew from the cave like a blaster bolt, tearing into the ferns without breaking his stride. He was placing some sort of device in his mouth… maybe a rebreather? Magnus and the others knelt to point their weapons down the tunnel, their high shoulder lights cranked to high intensity, piercing the darkness.

They waited for the ’kudas to round the far corner. And waited. And still waited. But nothing came.

“I told you—run, Marines!” came the kid’s voice from farther in the jungle.

Magnus turned to see him waving his rebreather in the air.

“Run! Get to the water!”

“Anybody else get the feeling this isn’t about no ’kudas?” Deeks asked.

Then an idea struck Magnus. If this kid was some sort of tech savant, why else would he hang back in his mountain fortress then make a run for the ocean?

The kid shouted something that snapped Magnus from his thoughts.

“Binary bomb!”

“What’d he just say?” Deeks asked.

“Ah, splick! It’s the ocean!” Magnus exclaimed. “He’s heading for cover! Let’s get out of here!” Without another word, Magnus was on his feet and chasing after the boy. His fire team followed. They charged through the ferns like a pack of Boresian taursars, high-kicking all the way down the hill. They gained so much momentum that Magnus feared his legs wouldn’t be able to keep up. But whether by adrenaline or sheer force of will, he managed to keep his feet beneath him.

Magnus opened an emergency channel to Lieutenant Vanderbilt over TACNET. “This is Corporal Adonis Magnus”—he double-checked the topo grid in his HUD—“on the island’s north side, with a credible ABSB threat.”

He could hardly breathe. He double-checked the IFF markers—identify friend or foe—to see just how many Marines might be in whatever blast radius the kid’s ordnance might envelop.

“Corporal Magnus, I need threat confirmation. Are you actually seeing…”

Magnus heard the disbelief in the LT’s voice. Not that he blamed him. But for all the mystics, there isn’t time to explain!

“An antimatter binary sini-trex bomb?” Also affectionately known as “a big splickin’ bomb” off the record. The weapon’s modulated antimatter was one half of the explosion, and the sini-trex was the other. When combined, the two created one hell of an explosion. And as simple as it seemed, the safest place to avoid the initial blast and the subsequent fallout was under water.

How this kid had gotten his hands on such a device, Magnus had no clue. But he also didn’t have a clue as to how he’d survived for what must’ve been a year or more, on his own, in a hole under a mountain.

“Yes, Lieutenant. Found a survivor, and we have reason to believe—” He couldn’t gulp air fast enough, even with his suit working overtime to hyperoxygenate his blood. His feet pounded ferns into the soft soil, his leg armor breaking small branches in two. “We have reason to believe he’s booby trapped the mountain.”

“Booby trapped?”

“Affirmative.”

“Ah, splick.”

Magnus hoped the LT was taking him seriously. Seriously enough to expedite his intel. Lives depended on it. There wasn’t time to argue. He prayed to the mystics that his superior would do the right thing.

What was taking so long?

Up ahead, Magnus could see the glimmer of moonlight on countless waves stretching to the horizon.

Finally, an all-comm channel opened, filled with Vanderbilt’s voice. “Attention, all units in the AO of Lima Kilo Niner. Exfil to the closest-point ocean entry. Credible ABSB threat confirmed. I repeat: Get off the island and submerge for cover. ABSB detonation imminent.”

Maybe the LT’s not that bad, after all, Magnus thought.

If the kid had planted an explosive, it was going to be big—at least if his display back at the waterfall was any harbinger. Magnus looked at the grid again and started to notice Marine icons moving toward the island’s perimeter. There you go! Come on! Keep going!

Magnus and his fire team had made it to the sand. The surf was another twenty-five meters ahead. The kid had already disappeared into the black water. They were going to make it.

For whatever reason, Magnus looked over his shoulder. Maybe to make a visual inspection of their retreat, or maybe out of habit to not leave anyone behind. He didn’t know. But in that moment, a light as bright as the sun flashed in his HUD. For a split second, there was no sound. Just pure white energy. But when that split second was up, a sound as loud as a starship colliding with a planet blew into Magnus and sent him flying.

A fissure ran across Magnus’s HUD as the concussion of the binary explosion sent him hurtling a hundred meters out to sea. It felt as if his head, arms, legs had been ripped from his body. He slammed against the water like a child’s toy skipping across concrete.

When the energy finally decided to let him go, Magnus felt his limp body melt into the waves, swaying gently into the cool embrace of the ocean. He blinked as water trickled through the crack in his visor. It tasted salty, like the sweat covering his face. But it was cool, cool enough that all Magnus wished for was to take a long bath in it.

Farther and farther he sank, wishing to shed his armor and just swim. He stared up at a strange light that shimmered over him, far above the water’s surface. It reminded him of the military parades back home on Capriana Prime. Of fireworks. Of weapons displays. Of fighter flyovers. He could smell the festival foods, the late-night campfires, and the scent of perfume and alcohol. He heard music and people laughing. It was as if he could simply step into that world. If he could only climb up to it… But it was just too far away to reach.

“Emergency flotation devices deployed,” said a voice in his head. No, not in his head. It was around his head. Someone was talking to him very close.

Magnus blinked. Something popped then jerked him upright. His legs swung down beneath him, and his head tipped forward. He was ascending. He was floating. Toward the surface of…

Magnus blinked again, trying to put the pieces back together. Trying to suppress the sharp pain in his head and the ringing in his ears. Suddenly, his head burst through the water’s surface, and his eyes filled with the sight of a small mushroom cloud climbing into the sky.

“Great mystics…” Magnus said softly. Everything came back to him. The firefight in the stream, their rescue at the waterfall, the kid and his cave—and him telling them to run.

He torched the island. He actually torched the entire island. Son of a bitch…

Magnus’s HUD began its reboot sequence. As soon as it was active, more warning indicators than he could count started racing down the left side of his display. “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Magnus said aloud. “You don’t like a binary bomb blast. I get it.” But thanks to the Repub engineers, and some hefty fund reallocations by old Marines who had decided to take up politics after they’d retired, Mark IV armor was made to withstand such blasts—at least to a certain degree proportional to distance from ground zero. Unlike a blaster bolt, whose force was concentrated, broadly dispersed energy was easier for the suit to handle. Well, at least that was what the manual claimed. Until a few minutes ago, Magnus had doubted that claim. But not anymore.

Amazingly, no bones felt broken. And other than a massive headache, he couldn’t sense anything else the matter with him. He would need a few days in a gene-therapy tank, no doubt. But that was a paid vacation as far as he was concerned. With any luck, he might even get a cute nurse. Who knows?

“Corporal Magnus,” a voice said over the comms. At least those are still working. “You copy?”

“That you, Deeks? Tag idents aren’t registering.”

“Ha, sure as hell is.”

“You in one piece?”

“I think so. My testicles seem a little farther up than usual. That normal?”

Magnus chuckled. “Listen, you got eyes on Chico or Franklin?”

“Chico looks like he’s doing laps on a rooftop pool, and I’m pretty sure Franklin’s taking a piss.”

“I’ve been holding it for hours, Deeks. And we’re Marines, aren’t we? After so much time in the void, we finally get to play in the water again. So sue me.”

“I’m not judging you, Franklin. Just telling the NCO how it is.”

Magnus laughed. He’d just survived a binary explosion and being blasted a hundred meters out to sea, and his fire team was busting each other’s balls.

This is the life, Magnus. This is where you belong.

He loved his job. Loved the service. And for the first time since joining, Magnus had been thinking about doing more with his career, like moving out of the enlisted ranks altogether. But not for the reasons of evading scenarios like this. In fact, it was just the opposite.

Colonel Caldwell, who was like an uncle to him, had told him to attend the academy from the beginning. But Magnus had refused. For one thing, he wanted to know what it was like to fight on the ground with a blaster in his hands. He just couldn’t see himself as an administrator who killed the enemy from a distance.

But for another thing, Magnus wanted to forge his own way through the service. His brother, Argus, had felt the same way. They had both picked similar paths, ones that put them on Caledonia in this gritty war instead of behind a holo-desk somewhere. If either of them went to the academy, like their grandfather had, they would just be dogged every day by their grandfather’s broad shadow. Magnus knew things would be handed to him. Any promotions he received wouldn’t be his promotions—they would be his grandfather’s.

But with two months of heavy combat under his belt, Magnus was beginning to see a potential bright side to becoming an officer. He’d endured several missions with terrible orders from officers who had never seen ’kuda offal dry on their armor. But he had. Perhaps he would lead differently because he knew what it meant to lead from the front. And while Magnus hadn’t seen his younger brother in several weeks, he wondered if Argus might have had similar thoughts about the COs and the need for better leadership. Or would he? His brother always had insisted on doing things his own way. But those memories were still so painful to think about. Time would heal it, though, wouldn’t it?

Caldwell had extended the invitation to attend officer training school once again, not three months ago. Magnus did have enough education under his belt to make the move if he wanted. And having the last name Magnus had its upsides too: he could do just about anything he wanted.

The more he thought about the colonel’s offer, and the more time he spent sloshing up mountain ravines in the middle of the night, the more he wondered if it wasn’t the right call to make. Maybe up there at the top, he could effect some change and keep dumbass officers from doing stupid splick to good men. Like these guys. Hell, I’d take these guys with me to the end of the galaxy and back.

There, floating in the ocean, armor cracked and his cells mutating with antimatter fallout, Magnus decided what kind of officer he wanted to be. A fighting one. A sacrificing one. One who never gave up on his man because he knew he would always have men who never gave up on him.

“Corporal Magnus, this is Falcon Nine-Nine-One-Zero-Four. Do you copy?”

The audio was cutting in and out, but Magnus made it out clearly the second time the pilot hailed him. His eyes lit up. “Falcon Nine-Nine-One-Zero-Four, this is Corporal Magnus. I read you loud and clear.”

“Roger that, Corporal. We have your IFF marker on grid. Hang tight, inbound in thirty seconds.”

“Copy that, Falcon. We’ll be…” Magnus smiled. “We’ll just be sitting here, pissin’ in our armor.”

The four Marines laughed. It even sounded like the pilots were in on it too.

Deeks’s voice broke Magnus’s revelry. “Hey, anyone see that kid?”

“Negative,” Chico and Franklin said.

Magnus looked around, but neither his eyes nor TACNET sensors had any reading on an extra body nearby. “Think he’s gone, fellas. Damn shame too. I would’ve liked to get his name. Buy him a beer.”

“Buy him two,” Deeks said. “Next time.”

* * *

T’ai Hau survived alone at sea for five days. But he wasn’t really alone, of course. He had his robot.

The bot had been his sole companion as war and disease wiped out the only life he’d ever known. Somehow, though, T’ai had survived. He’d built a life for himself with his robot, biding his time and preparing for the day that he would be rescued.

The evacuation had gone pretty much how he’d expected it to. Though, now that he’d thought about it, he had underestimated the bomb’s mass. The explosion had been much larger than he had intended. In the end, however, it got the job done. He just hoped the Marines had survived in their armored suits.

Eventually, T’ai floated toward a large luxury ship. A true pleasure yacht. He’d seen them pass by his island plenty of times in his childhood. They never stopped to talk. They just circled once or twice, taking pictures with their long-range cameras.

This vessel had several decks and looked like it could sleep thirty or forty people very comfortably. He hauled himself onboard, pulling his backpack behind him, and rested on the aft deck for at least an hour while the sun dried his clothes and warmed his skin. When he was rested, T’ai stood and began looking around the ship.

Everything he saw was opulent. The dark-stained wooden decks, the white leather furniture, and the dark windows—all of it said that whoever owned this boat was wealthy beyond reason. The owner was also hanging off the bowsprit, along with the remains of several other people who’d been onboard. Apparently, the Akuda weren’t fond of this captain or his friends. But the fish had no use for ships, and so they’d left it adrift.

By the looks of it, that had been several weeks ago, maybe more. That meant no one was coming for this ship. So T’ai had it all to himself, and that suited him just fine.

After propping up his half-built robot in a comfy couch, T’ai went about taking stock of supplies on the ship, beginning with food and potable water. Survival was one part luck and another part proper planning. In order to build a life beyond the ruins of his home, he would need both fortune and strategy.

Next, T’ai began by repairing the dead ship. It was a lot of work, but it wasn’t difficult work. All the tools he needed were onboard, and he had plenty of time. In fact, he quite enjoyed the new environment. It was a nice change of pace from his cave.

Within a few days, T’ai had the drive cores operational again. The ship hummed beneath his feet, surging forward under his command like the massive bull whales in the southern hemisphere.

He labored with every light fixture, pipe, strip of carpet, and wooden panel. He willed the giant boat back to life one day at a time, just as he’d willed his robot to life. Weeks turned into months before T’ai realized he wanted to leave. Not leave the boat. Leave Caledonia. This place… was no longer his home. It had been once. And he loved it. Rather, he loved what it had been. But he did not love it anymore. He thought, perhaps, that the yacht might have changed his heart and given him something more to love. Some reason to stay. But in the end, it was empty, like his cave. Like his island.

He looked at his robot, which was nearing completion, and wondered if they should try to journey into the void together. He wanted to get away from here, away from the cursed planet. But he couldn’t do that, not yet anyway. Not without at least talking to her. And to do that, T’ai knew he would need more than just a robot and a boat. He needed a new identity. There was no way her parents would ever allow him to speak to her, unless… he wasn’t himself. He had to become someone different.

T’ai moved below decks into the captain’s quarters. It was where he kept all of the personal belongings of the former crew. Their watches, jewelry, wallets, and purses. He pulled out identification cards of two men he found the most handsome, then he laid them out on the captain’s dining table side by side.

The men’s faces smiled pleasantly, as if the pictures had been taken when they were in the middle of a long vacation to some exotic destination. Their skin was deeply tanned, like his, and their eyes were almost the same shape. Aren’t they? Or perhaps not. Perhaps T’ai would also need to change that about himself to be accepted by her parents.

He returned to their wallets and pulled out small card drives, each displaying softly glowing numeric values followed by the republic C icon for credits. The numbers were in hundreds of thousands, some in the millions. Hacking the accounts would take less than a day of code slicing. T’ai suddenly realized he was rich. He would have enough money to buy himself a new identity, one that would let him speak with her. To ask her if she wanted to go with him to the stars.

T’ai returned to the two pictures of the handsome men on the table. They smiled at him. So he smiled back. Then he did what seemed like the most logical thing to do. He decided to give himself a new name. It would be the first step of many in his new life. The first name of the man’s card on the left was unique. T’ai had never heard it before. While the last name of the man on the right was an island name from another chain far to the north. Combined, the two made a new name with a nice ring to it.

Yes, T’ai thought. That will work well. He could see her liking it too. Maybe even her parents would like it.

T’ai found an old writing utensil and a pad of the beautiful white paper that he’d seen tourists use. There, at the captain’s table, he wrote his name for the very first time.

Idris Ezo.

* * *

Continue reading for book two of Ruins of the Galaxy, GALACTIC BREACH.

GALACTIC BREACH

BOOK 2 IN THE RUINS OF THE GALAXY SERIES

1

Admiral Kane was surprised at how well the Bull Wraith’s captain handled being flushed from an airlock. Captain Pace stood at ease, hands behind her back, chin up, as Kane went through the list of her failures. Failure to confine the prisoners to their ship. Failure to prevent the prisoners from escaping. Failure to track the prisoners. Failure to recapture the prisoners. It was too much for Kane to overlook, as much as he hated to punish an otherwise worthy officer.

But if you don’t, Kane, you’ll be just as guilty as them, the familiar voice said. Inconsistent, soft, weak. Those kinds of failings were why the Republic was crumbling, a shadow of its former self. He knew the voice was right.

Immediately upon returning from the metaverse and the odd events that had transpired there, Kane learned of Captain Pace’s actions to capture Senator Stone and his family. It seemed that the captain had also taken on board a small contingent of Marines and navy personnel who, no doubt, assisted the Stones in killing several troopers and fleeing the Bull Wraith in the escape pods. Kane’s instructions not to harm the senator’s family had been explicit. Still, the captain had ordered her Marines to open fire on the escapees. At least she hadn’t targeted the escape pods, though Kane assumed that was more a stroke of coding luck than any wise decision on Captain Pace’s part.

Still, even if the senator’s family had survived the descent to Oorajee, the planet’s inhabitants would have seen to their demise by now. Kane felt a strange taste in his mouth as he thought of his past dealings with the hyena-like beasts. “Savages,” he noted to himself as he stared at Captain Pace behind the airlock glass.

Like you.

“Not like me,” Kane replied. “I am not ruthless.”

“But, sir,” Captain Pace protested. “I have served you faithfully for fifteen years without failure. If you would only—”

“I am not ruthless!”

The voice in his head laughed at that. He would have argued with it, but the voice was always right. It was cunning. It even had a name now, but Kane dared not say it.

Kane’s rage boiled over as he thought of the Jujari slaying his daughter and devouring her flesh. More pain gripped his chest as he imagined what they would do to the granddaughter he’d never met.

Then Kane wondered what she would think of all this.

Why does that matter?

“Because she’s the reason.”

“She, Admiral?” Pace did nothing to hide the confusion on her face. “The reason for what? Are you speaking about me, sir?”

“She’s the one who forced this to happen.”

She is?

“Yes,” Kane hissed. “If she had stayed with me, if she had resisted the Republic with me, none of this would be happening.”

But I thought we went over this, Kane. You told me that you chose.

“I did choose. I chose to move forward when she could not.”

Then what she thinks about their deaths does not matter, does it?

Kane thought for a moment, licking his lips. He looked out at Captain Pace. The woman looked so resolute—so confident—as she met her end.

“Admiral Kane, if you are not ruthless, then you are at least mad.”

That’s exactly what she said about you, too, isn’t it? Ignore her.

“And I… I have nothing left to say, sir.” Pace straightened her uniform and raised her chin.

Precisely how she will look in the end. When she defies you unto death.

“Perhaps.” Kane looked down. “No, I… I can’t do it.” He gripped his head. The stabs of pain between his temples were coming more frequently. “I can’t.” He looked back up. In place of Captain Pace’s face was another face—her face. “I won’t.”

Then I will.

His fist swung up and pounded the blinking “Open” button beside the airlock’s frame. Captain Pace screamed as her body was yanked into the void, but no one heard her.

* * *

“I don’t care about his infernal dark arts,” Admiral Kane roared at the man in the holo-vid. He sat alone in his quarters, lights dimmed, his teeth bared, fists clenched on his desk.

“Perhaps you should,” the man said. “Never underestimate your enemy, Kane.”

Kane had grown tired of the implicit insults and blatant condescension. This senator—who was he, anyway? He wasn’t much older than Kane. He’d never seen combat, never led men and women into battle, never escorted them to the gates of hades and left them to rot.

Not like you have, Kane, the voice said. His power is so shallow. So political. Yours, however, is real power, the power to hold someone’s life over the edge of eternity—something he’s never known aside from ordering back-door executions. Why do you still tolerate him?

“I don’t know,” Kane replied.

“Don’t know? You should have ended him while you had the chance, Admiral. You’re getting sloppy.”

“Terminating the Luma emissary was of greater importance,” Kane replied, still seething. He wanted to strangle the senator and watch his eyes bulge beneath his manicured gray hair. The picture of doing it gave him a strange satisfaction. “She obviously knew the location of the quantum tunnel, as did her crew. We couldn’t allow them to live.”

“Be that as it may, you must now dispose of the Luma master. Since you don’t know what’s in the book he took from the temple, he’s a liability. If you hadn’t been busy tying up irrelevant loose ends, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation right now.”

Are you going to let him order you around like this? When are you going to put a stop to it?

“When the time is right,” Kane muttered.

“What was that?”

He is, after all, a part of the system that stole them from you—that stole all of it from you—isn’t he?

Kane’s eyes snapped back to the senator. “I said, I will strike when the time is right, Senator.”

The gray-haired man sat back and stroked his chin, considering Kane. “You forget your place, Admiral. You belong to us. Everything you have is because of us—because of me.”

“Everything you have?” Kane, you cannot let him demean all of your work, all of your sacrifice. You belong to no one. Let me talk to him. I will make things right.

“No, no,” Kane said with a wave of his hand.

“What was that?” The man leaned forward, his face filling the holo-vid.

“I mean, no, you’re right. I forget my place.”

Do not betray yourself, Kane!

“Very well. Consider yourself reminded.” The senator relaxed a little. “I want So-Elku dead and the book he took recovered.” The senator tented his fingers and sat back. “Now, what else have you brought us from beyond the void?”

Kane cleared his throat as the other voice tried to punch through his will. Don’t tell him, Kane! Don’t you dare.

“I found no ships worth salvaging.”

“No ships,” the senator repeated, unimpressed.

“Our scans indicated thousands of vessels docked throughout the city, but all of them were in severe disrepair.”

“Disrepair? Did, did, did you at least explore them?” the senator stammered. “Did you—did you glean from their technology as discussed?”

You see how he second-guesses you at every point? He doesn’t trust you—he doesn’t want what’s best for you. Let me speak, Kane. Please let me speak.

“No!” Kane said far more forcefully than he intended to. “I mean, yes, we explored them. But what we found was…”

“Yes? What did you find, Kane? Get on with it already.”

Don’t say anything, Kane.

“It was old. So old.” He could feel himself trail off into the memories of that other world lost to time. “Consumed by the jungle and swallowed by age.”

The senator waited for more. He stroked his chin again. “And?”

Kane’s eyes snapped back up. “We were thorough, but there was simply nothing to obtain. It’s not what we had hoped for.”

“‘Not what we had hoped for?’ I see.” The senator picked up a data pad and flicked through a few screens. “You couldn’t have explored for very long, then. The log says here that you were only gone for… this can’t be right.” He glared at Kane. “Less than four hours?”

Don’t you say a word, Kane. He doesn’t need to know—doesn’t deserve to know. Lie.

“That’s incorrect, Senator. That should read less than four days.”

“You’re saying the navigation computers are wrong?”

“I’m saying I need to have a talk with my XO. It will be taken care of.”

“Human error, then,” the senator stated, unconvinced. “We have redundancy for this sort of thing. Why are you leaving AI calculations to humans?”

“It will be taken care of.”

“Even still, three and a half days, Kane? We press the Jujari into a corner, spend countless lives, years, and resources to do so, and all you give me is four days?”

I told you he doesn’t trust you! Why do you put up with this?

“It’s just a matter of time,” Kane said.

“I don’t follow,” the senator replied.

“Time. However long ago—thousands of years maybe?—the Jujari received that stardrive, and the civilization withered to nothing. It would be like searching the ruins of Goroboro for blaster technology. It’s just not there to be found anymore.”

“I don’t believe you,” the senator said.

He confesses! You see? Let me put him in his place, Kane. Just once.

“I will forward you the data files we captured,” Kane said.

“That’s not enough. I want you to go back.”

“Back?”

“Yes. Now. Leave So-Elku to me. You cannot come back empty-handed like this.”

“But, Senator—”

“There are no buts, Admiral. I order you—”

“The quantum tunnel is closed,” Kane said.

The senator’s face froze. It was several moments before he even blinked. “What did you say?”

“When we returned from the metaverse, the tunnel was nowhere to be found.”

“Impossible.”

“There were no guarantees that it was going—”

“That’s impossible,” the senator said, raising his voice and leaning into the screen.

“I’m only reporting what happened.”

“Like reporting your missing three and a half days?”

“I will forward the sensor scans, sir,” Kane said. “It’s gone. There’s no going back.”

The senator wiped his face with a hand and sat all the way back. Kane heard the chair’s leather squeak beneath the man.

Very good, Kane. Very, very good.

“I will take care of So-Elku,” Kane said. “Then we move forward with our plans without the Novia tech. We have enough without it.”

“Do we?”

“Yes, sir. We do.”

“I’m not so sure anymore,” the senator said, his voice lowered. “Await my orders, Kane. I must confer with the others on this. You are clearly unstable.”

The fool. This is why he can never be a part of the future. He lacks imagination. Let the dead awaken, Kane. And let the living go down to die. It’s time to set things right. It’s time that you release me.

“As you wish,” Kane said, looking at his clenched fists. “As you wish.” He opened his hands.

* * *

The admiral stood in his quarters, pacing with short steps and quick turns. He caught glimpses of his bald head and puckered flesh in the mirror. Then he stopped and stared at his eyes. His pink eye grew dark like the other. Then both began to enlarge until new black irises pushed the white sclera to the edges.

The space felt cramped. He never understood why the most important person on a ship this size was relegated to such a small room. He would need to change that. He would need to change a lot of things.

The air felt stale, and his head ached. There was a growing throb in his forehead, and his nose felt dry. He needed to get out. Kane waved the doors open, stepped into the corridor, and turned toward the main elevator at the end of the hall. His boots clipped along the glossy black floors as he pulled his uniform taut.

Crew members saluted Kane as they passed. He nodded. They seemed more afraid of him than usual. As some of them looked away in disgust, he felt something running out of his nose.

Kane touched his black-gloved fingers to his nose and brought them away. Blood covered the tips. He pulled a white handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his nostrils. By the time the bleeding stopped, crimson blood soaked the fabric. Kane folded the damp cloth and pushed it into his pocket.

The elevator gave a soft chime as the doors parted. Two crew members emerged and looked away from the admiral’s face as soon as they’d saluted. That often happened when people first saw his one pink eye and one dark brown eye. But Kane also imagined that his nose and lips were not up to cleanliness standards. At that moment, however, he didn’t care.

“Rear observation deck,” he said.

“Rear observation deck, confirmed. Thank you, Admiral Kane,” the synthesized voice said.

Kane felt the elevator slide backward and then ascend toward the aft of the Goliath-class Corvette—his Corvette, the Black Labyrinth, did not belong to the Republic, as much as someone like Senator Blackman might insist that it did. In fact, none of the ships in his fleet did. Weren’t Blackman and his ilk the very ones to make him disavow the Republic? Wasn’t the entire charade contingent upon severing allegiances?

Only when it suited them, apparently. If anyone were to be caught, there would be no record of backroom agreements with senators, just a rogue admiral gone mad. How convenient.

In the end, it was always about convenience. Anything could be categorized under that heading. His marriage, for example, could have been forged or terminated using convenience as a catalyst. Forgoing a relationship with his daughter had been predicated upon convenience. His life was always a matter of someone else’s convenience.

But no more. From now on, he would do what was convenient for him and no one else. His wife was gone—she’d chosen them over him. His daughter was gone too—as was his love for the Republic. All of it was lost.

Something warm flowed from his nose again. More blood, he supposed. The pain in his head told him so. The handkerchief was already saturated, so he decided not to bother wiping.

“Arrived, rear observation deck. Thank you, Admiral Kane.”

The elevator doors swooshed open with a chime. He stepped into an immense room the size of a small cargo bay. The entire ceiling was an intricate latticework of windows and girders, while the far wall boasted a spectacular view of a desert planet. The only better view of the Jujari’s home world of Oorajee would be in a void suit. This was as good as any ship could provide.

Several crew were scattered throughout the popular space, enjoying their breaks or an off-duty picnic with friends. One at a time, conversations turned to hushed whispers as the crew noticed the admiral. Several covered their mouths while others put their food down.

One brave soul approached the commander. “Admiral Kane, do you need assistance?”

Kane ignored him. There was no time for this. “Everyone out,” he seethed, noting that his voice sounded different.

The room began to empty, people rushing as one toward the elevator without a word. Once Kane was alone, he stepped closer to the wide window on the far side. The view was truly spectacular, the planet’s curvature taking up the entire breadth of the window. Other ships in the fleet—his fleet—shot short bursts of light to the planet. Puffs of sand-colored smoke erupted hundreds of kilometers below. Everything looked so small from up here.

He turned and looked at the ceiling filled with stars and ships. Small bursts of light exploded against defense shields as the Jujari and Republic fleets sparred. These were just small slaps, but the real fighting would begin soon enough.

He activated the holo-screen on his wrist computer and opened a private channel. “Captain Nos Kil.”

“Yes, Admiral.”

“I want you in the rear observation deck.”

“Right away, Admiral.”

Kane closed the connection and turned back to the wide window to wait. Everything had gone according to plan. Well, mostly. The discovery that the Novia’s ships were, in fact, derelicts was not fortuitous. But he knew there was more. The hidden halls of that forgotten place held more than any of them could imagine. The place called to him to wake it from its long slumber. And he would do just that.

After all this time, it was finally his turn to choose—his turn to tell the traitors what to do. He was not their lapdog or their errand boy. And they would not be able to steal power from him. Of course, he would not be inconsistent like them either. He would keep power free of the stains of compromise. He would not dilute the goals of the Republic with the whims of manipulators.

No, he must not call it the Republic anymore. It was too far gone. Its day was done. Instead, there would be a new name, a new dawn. The long slumber would be over soon, and the essence of perfect power, the paragon of rule, would take its place.

He heard the soft patter of blood smacking the black floor.

The Republic had taken enough. They’d taken his wife, his daughter, and now his granddaughter. They’d taken his career. He’d sacrificed his body in the temple of their bloodlust. And then they tried to play it all off as “the price of devotion.” Isn’t that what they called it? What a terrible price it had been. But no more. Now it was they who would pay a dear price.

“Admiral, sir,” a voice said from across the room. Kane raised a hand to summon the captain, and footsteps followed as Nos Kil’s armored boots thumped across the floor. “You summoned me, Admiral?”

“I’m not that anymore,” Kane replied.

There was a pause. Kane knew the captain might need a minute.

“Pardon me, Admiral?”

“I’m not that—Admiral. Stop calling me that.”

“Yes—sir.” The captain paused. “How would you like me to address you, then?”

The blood had started to ebb, and the pain was beginning to subside. The voice—the other voice—had stopped talking to him as well. It didn’t need to. It felt good to finally be a single soul.

He turned and faced his captain. The trooper stood, helmet under his arm, blaster maglocked to his thigh, clad in his black armor, three white lines on his chest and shoulder. Eyes wide, the Marine took a step back.

“I need you to do something very special for me, Captain Nos Kil.”

Nos Kil pointed. “Sir, your—”

“Did you not hear me?”

The captain cleared his throat and lowered his hand. “What are your orders?”

“I need you to go back.”

“Back, sir?” Nos Kil asked.

“To Ithnor Ithelia.”

The captain hesitated, staring to the side rather than at Kane’s mouth—bloodstained surely—and black eyes. “As you command. You don’t wish me here, then?”

“I will not be staying long over Oorajee. I will give the fleet its orders. I have other business to attend to—with the Luma.”

“Yes, Ad—”

“The admiral, he is no more.”

“Sir, your eyes and your voice are—”

Yes, his eyes and voice had changed. For the better. “From now on, you will address me as…”

Could he really say it out loud? Saying it out loud would make it real—something he could never take back. But it was true. He had changed. Something inside him had changed, and he would never go back.

So he could say it.

He had to say it.

“You will address me as Moldark.”

2

Awen’s strength returned after four more days of recovery, each marked by oddly placed sunrises and sunsets. She had remained confined to her makeshift bed in the large office, watching the alien world through the large floor-to-ceiling windows along two walls. When she did sleep, however, it was anything but restful. Her mind was filled with images of Kane and that thing that resided inside of him. She thought of her parents and their safety. And she wondered—with more interest than she cared to admit—how Magnus had fared in finding his men. As her strength returned, she was eager to leave her restless dreams and help her new friends find a way to return to the protoverse.

Ezo and TO-96 returned at regular intervals to report on their findings, and Awen was happy to see them. They were like the old pioneers on planets in the Meridian Outskirts, playing out the stories her parents had read to her when she was a child. Ezo and his faithful bot would set out on an expedition to map some new part of the city, only to return to camp, eager to share their findings with everyone else—in this case, just her and Sootriman.

On her first morning of feeling fully recovered, Awen sat with Sootriman in the far side of the makeshift recovery room, treating the meeting nook like a small headquarters. It provided a good view of the city, safety from whatever beasts roamed the forest, and quick access to street level. The building’s top floor had a better 360-degree view of the entire city, but none of them wanted to climb a hundred flights of stairs to get there. Ezo had done it once and said it wasn’t worth it until they could find some way to recondition the elevators.

Awen sat with her elbows on her knees. Sootriman had washed her old clothes, and Ezo had provided a new set from the Indomitable’s holds. Like Sootriman, Awen wore green cargo pants, and tore the sleeves of her black shirt too. It was too hot for long sleeves. She also chose to keep her old boots since they were already breaking in—no sense starting over. She’d rebraided her hair and still wore her Luma medallion.

“You and Ezo seem to have worked things out,” Awen said. They had some time to kill before Ezo and TO-96 arrived.

Sootriman blushed. “You know, being stranded on an alien planet in another universe has a way of forcing you to talk things through. That, or make you kill each other.”

“Didn’t you want to, though? Kill him, I mean.”

“What makes you think I still don’t?” Sootriman winked.

Just then, Ezo and TO-96 entered the room and glanced at the two women. “What?” Ezo asked, looking as though he’d missed the punch line to a good joke. “What’d Ezo miss? What were you talking about?”

“Oh, nothing,” Sootriman said. “Just catching up.”

“That’s not true. According to my long-range audio sensors, you just said that you’d like to—”

“Shut it, Tee-Oh,” Sootriman ordered, shaking her head. “You always were a lurker around the den.”

“A ‘lurker’?” TO-96 asked Ezo. “But you said I was—”

“Never mind what I said, Tee-Oh! That was years ago.”

“Everyone is insisting I stop speaking,” TO-96 said to no one in particular. “I was simply trying to help.”

Awen laughed. She’d grown to love this bot.

TO-96 sat down in the headquarters while Ezo walked to the windows. Over the preceding days, the pair had brought reports of the city’s infrastructure and how the planet’s ecosystem had reclaimed it. The foundations and innermost sections of each building, however, had held up surprisingly well, a fact that they told with ample enthusiasm. Apparently, the Novia Minoosh had been a vibrant and dynamic culture right up until its inhabitants all disappeared.

“So, still no ideas why they’re gone?” Awen asked TO-96.

“I am sorry, Awen, no. Not at this time.” The bot’s glowing round eyes stared at her through his clear face shield, almost managing to convey remorse. “We still have too little evidence to formulate any substantial hypothesis, let alone generate reliable conclusions. To put it in laypeople’s terms, we are coming up short. We are unable to secure a suitable dance partner even though the band has begun playing. We are at the head of an inland waterway without a hand-propulsion tool.”

“We’ve got it, Ninety-Six,” Awen said with a laugh. “I think you need to work on your metaphors.”

The bot tilted his head. “You don’t find them applicable?”

“No, I do. But the wording is… you know what? Never mind. They’re perfect.”

“Very well. Furthermore, as far as we can tell, there are no signs of war or mass pestilence—a biological pandemic, for example. For either of those, we would have found bodily remains. And in the instance of war, we would have seen the structural damage and disarray emblematic of said activities.”

“And you haven’t found those,” Awen concluded.

“No.”

“It’s almost like they vanished,” Ezo said, stepping toward the angled floor-to-ceiling window. “Then there’s the outstanding question of why it seems like no one else has been here.”

“So, we’re the first?” Awen asked.

“At least as far as we can tell.”

“If other species have explored this place,” the bot said, “then they covered their tracks well. There are no traces of vandalism, and all Novia belongings—personal or corporate—seem meticulously stored. As far as we can tell, these beings were bipedal vertebrates, taller than the known humanoids of our race and significantly stronger, at least by my calculations.”

The thought of seeing what these beings looked like and finding their possessions delighted Awen, but that would probably need to wait for later trips. “Seems there will be much to discover when we can return,” she said, still lamenting the fact that they’d never actually meet the Novia Minoosh. She rubbed her hands together. “So, where do you suggest we scout today?”

She was eager to lend her efforts to the cause of finding transportation home. Also, she’d been bedridden during her recovery—following Doctor TO-96’s orders—and she was sick of it. Sootriman had chosen to remain behind and care for Awen, further decreasing the team’s effectiveness. The way Awen saw it, she and Sootriman had a lot of catching up to do.

TO-96 looked at the large coffee table in the middle of their oversized seats and projected a holo-map of the city as seen from their initial scans while in orbit days earlier. The metropolis pressed against a purplish-blue ocean to the south and a deep-green mountain ridge to the north. The larger peninsula was connected to a landmass farther north, one that stretched out of view. TO-96 zoomed in to Itheliana and changed the satellite view to one presented in white with gray lines for buildings, borders, and roads. He zoomed in even farther until a green dot blinked inside a square tower surrounded by several other buildings.

“This is where we are now,” the bot said, indicating the dot. “We’re in some sort of administrative building, as far as I can tell. Since we know nothing of their system of governance or enterprise, it is hard to know what type of administering they were doing here.”

“We get it, Ninety-Six,” Ezo said, returning from his long gaze out the window. “There’s going to be more questions than answers for several—”

Ezo stopped abruptly, and Awen wondered what he was going to say. Months? Years?

“We’re not going to have a lot of details filled in, so just stick to big picture stuff,” Ezo said. “Got it?”

“Very good, sir. As I was saying, this is us, here.” Then the bot zoomed out a little. “Over the last nine days, Captain Ezo and I have been able to chart the sections you see here, overlaid in blue.” Colored patches emerged, indicating each day’s scouting. They primarily emanated from the region immediately surrounding the admin building, with some small sections toward the eastern border.

“Is that where the Indomitable is?” Awen asked, pointing to the east side.

“Was,” Ezo corrected with no attempt to hide his anger. “They tossed grenades into engineering and the bridge. It’s a mess.”

“To quote Captain Ezo from earlier,” TO-96 added, “‘If you thought she was a pretty piece of splick before, she’s an ass-ugly piece of splick now.’”

“Thanks for that reminder, ’Six.” Ezo rolled his eyes.

“My pleasure, sir.”

“Have you explored the temple more?” Awen asked.

All three of them looked at her. “The temple, Star Queen?” Ezo asked.

“Yes. You know, the library in the plaza, ‘the temple of all we’ve gained and the cost of all we’ve left behind,’” she said, reciting the inscription over the building’s entrance.

“We remember,” Ezo said, running a hand over his face. “It’s just that—well, no one feels like going back there.”

“I was fine with going back there,” TO-96 interjected.

“And I wasn’t with you,” Sootriman added.

“Okay, okay,” Ezo said, hands up in protest. “So Ezo didn’t feel like going back there. Okay?”

“It’s okay, baby,” Sootriman said, reaching up and placing a hand on his forearm. Ezo didn’t acknowledge the hand, but he didn’t pull away either. “I almost died in there. I get it. No reason to go back.”

Ezo stepped away and moved to the window. “No, Ezo almost died in there. Holy mystics, you always think everything is about you, Sootriman.”

Sootriman winked at Awen. “That’s because it is,” she mouthed.

Awen smiled. “Well, if anyone would like to join me, I’d like to explore the temple,” she said. “If I were the Novia Minoosh, I’d seek wisdom there. And I suspect it will be a very different experience now that we’re not being chased by a madman intent on blowing us up.”

“Sounds good to me,” Sootriman said.

“Count me in, Awen,” TO-96 said.

The three of them looked to Ezo.

“Fine,” he said. “But Ezo doubts we’ll find anything that’s survived the trinitex.”

* * *

The entrance to the temple building looked different from the way it had during the firefight. The lighting was different perhaps. Or am I just more relaxed this time? Maybe a little of both, Awen thought. The inscription spanned the archway as before, and the blown-out doors invited them inside. This place felt familiar—perhaps because she’d been here once already. But it was more than that. Something piqued her interest. The feeling was deeper than she could articulate, like something on the edge of her vision that she knew was there but couldn’t focus on.

Awen wanted to enter into the Unity, but she hadn’t attempted it since leaving the temple nearly eleven days before. For the first time since she’d been a teenager at the academy, she was afraid to do so. The events surrounding Sootriman’s rescue plagued her. Or worse—maybe they’d broken her. Still, with each step down the main hall, Awen knew she was getting closer to stepping across the Unity’s threshold in order to see the temple from its truest angle. But could she? Would she?

As before, columns lined each side of the main hallway and supported an arched ceiling nearly thirty meters above. The late-morning light filtered down from high windows, revealing lavender beams cutting through air thick with dust particles. Awen had visited many religious monuments and cathedrals in her day, and this space reminded her of those if nothing more than for the echo her footfalls made in the long chamber.

The farther they walked, the less vegetation clung to the floor and walls. Before long, the jungle had lost its grip, and the air began to change.

“Look,” Sootriman said, pointing to the right side of the hall. Rubble poured from the collapsed wall like a cold lava flow, black and scabbed. Two of the pillars lay toppled, and sections of the windows had blown out. “That was the doorway to the ramp.”

Awen felt a shiver go up her spine. They’d almost died down there in the rotunda. Even after surviving the explosions, it had almost been their tomb. Were it not for TO-96 digging a way out of the rotunda and into an adjacent building, they would have been trapped forever.

The seven doors, which Awen remembered seeing before, had led to dead ends. TO-96 said they terminated in small foyers. The rooms boasted massive doors, but each set was sealed even beyond Ninety-Six’s ability to punch through. His sensors could not read past them either. Whatever knowledge the Novia had stored behind those doors, they wanted it locked there forever.

“Let’s just keep going.” Awen suppressed a desire to run, and instead, she led the team to the left, picking her way through the debris. Once past the largest fragments left over from the explosion, she noticed a set of doors at the end of the hall. “Look, up ahead,” she said, pointing.

The four explorers arrived at a large set of doors nearly ten meters tall. Splotchy ghosts of their former selves, they were made from silver that had tarnished over the centuries. As with the building’s entrance, another inscription was carved, this time toward the top of the doors themselves.

“‘Ninety-Six?”

“At your service, Awen,” the bot said, projecting the translated text onto the surface.

Awen read it allowed: “When we are one, we are whole. At the center, we find the fish.” She winced. “Fish?”

“Oh, I am sorry,” TO-96 said, the holo-display flickering. “My apologies. I am still learning their language. There.”

“We find the beginning.”

“That’s better,” Sootriman said.

“Ezo could go for some fish right about now,” Ezo replied.

“Would you do the honors?” Awen asked TO-96, indicating the doors.

“My pleasure, Awen.” The bot strode forward, examined the doors, and pushed. At first, the doors resisted the bot, protesting with a groan. TO-96’s servos whined a bit louder. All at once, the sound of a latch coming undone gave way to a sliver of space appearing between the silver doors. The bot took a step forward and spread the doors farther.

Awen followed the bot as he stepped onto a balcony that looked over a room so wide and so deep that the ends of it faded into blackness. Light poured down from a vast array of inverted pyramids built from some sort of glowing glass, their windowed shapes stacked upon one another, moving higher and higher toward the room’s many-storied apex.

Awen thought of the expression, “It takes your breath away.” This sight truly did just that. For as far as she could see, tall double-sided shelves spread from the room’s center, each made of dark wood and translucent windowplex, and trimmed with gold. The effect was dizzying as her intellect tried to rationalize just how many shelves there were. They emanated away from the room’s center, much as a star radiated rays of light away from its core. More and more shelves filled in the ever-expanding space between the rays as the lines moved on.

As far as she could tell, the center of the room was open. The floor contained a beautiful golden shape against a black background. It looked like a ring whose outside edges danced with floral patterns like flares on the surface of a sun. And within the ring stood a lone pedestal of black marble.

“There,” Awen said, pointing to it. “Let’s go.”

The four of them descended either side of the wide double staircases then turned up the aisles, which acted like rays leading from the pedestal. Awen figured each massive shelving case was at least three meters high and contained a myriad of things. The most common item looked to Awen like a data drive, its slender body edged in some sort of gray composite with walls that glowed light blue like the stardrive. Alien text etched in gold ran along each drive’s spine. Occasionally, however, the hundreds of editions on each shelf case were interrupted by a windowed box containing something far more archaic: books and scrolls. She’d only ever read about such items, which dated to antiquity—long before the quantum age. Perhaps she would have time to open one of these boxes and touch the artifacts for herself.

The explorers passed rows and rows of cases, their footfalls on the black marble floor lost in the cavernous room. On and on the shelves went, stretching down either side of their path, broken only by gaps that allowed perusers to access cases farther in. The distance to the next radial lessened as Awen and the others neared the epicenter. Finally, they all arrived at the open space.

Awen realized it was much wider than it had looked from the balcony, and the ceiling with the glowing pyramids was even higher. She moved to the edge of the ring, where the floral designs touched her boots. Then she looked up at the pedestal and hesitated.

“What are you waiting for?” Ezo asked.

“I’m not sure,” Awen replied. “I just feel like this is sacred space somehow.”

“My sensors are not—”

“You’re not going to pick it up with sensors,” Sootriman said. “It’s something she feels.”

“Ah, very well,” the bot replied.

“You want to do your Unity thing?” Ezo asked Awen.

Awen shook her head. “No. Not yet.” Surely, there was much to see. The whole city, as she recalled, had been alive somehow. Of course, that could have been the jungle life clinging to it. But she suspected it was actually energy pulsing through the buildings themselves. And if any buildings were to have energy flowing through them, wouldn’t these be the most likely? Seeing it in the Unity would no doubt yield innumerable discoveries.

However, the truth remained that she was afraid. She was afraid of it not working, afraid she might get stuck in the cosmos. Oh, who are you kidding? You’re just afraid of seeing… him. The image of the ghost within Kane was a nightmare that floated at the edges of her mind between sleep and wakefulness. She saw him hanging on the rope in the shaft, glaring at her, then leaping to devour her.

Awen took a deep breath and turned to the others. “Remain outside the ring.” They nodded, then she stepped through the floral patterns and over the edge of the ring. Something shuddered in her soul, a ripple that raced up from her feet and fluttered in her chest. She felt dizzy but not enough that she feared vertigo. She’d crossed some sort of meridian, some sort of line. She knew she should step into the Unity but still felt afraid of what she’d find—if she could enter at all.

“Your heart rate and blood pressure have increased by thirty-one and twenty-six percent, respectively, Awen,” the bot said. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she replied without turning around. “Just a little nervous, that’s all.”

TO-96 turned to Sootriman and then Ezo. “Sir, I don’t see any reason for Awen to be nervous.”

“Something she feels, ’Six. We already told you that.”

“Something she feels. Logged, sir.”

Awen moved one foot in front of the next, moving closer and closer to the pedestal. TO-96 was right, she realized—her pulse was increasing. She took short, quick breaths. Pressure mounted in her chest and her head. It wasn’t painful as much as it was powerful. Each step made the sensations more apparent. This was more than just excitement—this was otherworldly.

Awen willed herself to slow down her breathing. The pedestal was less than a meter away and held a rectangular black box made of intricately carved marble. The shapes were floral again. No, not floral. More like flickering flames or water in a spout.

Whatever the design, it was beautifully constructed. It was about the size of… well, large enough to hold one of the countless books along the shelves. She reached a hand toward the box, and her fingertips instantly tingled like she was immersing her arm into a bath of warm water. But this bath was deep, the water pressure bearing down on her from hundreds of meters above.

She noticed the box had a lid. On its surface was the same ring that was on the floor, inlaid with gold, its edges radiating with undulating wisps. When Awen’s fingers connected with its edge, a shock went down her arm. She yelped.

“Awen!” Ezo cried and stepped into the ring. “Whoa.” One hand grabbed his stomach, and the other went over his mouth.

“Stay back,” Awen scolded him.

Ezo wasted no time in retreating to Sootriman and TO-96’s waiting hands. He staggered but eventually regained his balance. “What was that?”

“I’m not sure,” Awen replied. She’d never encountered such a strong manifestation of what she could only guess was the Unity’s physical dimension. The veil between paradigms was thin here. “I don’t think it will hurt you, Ezo. But you won’t function well inside of it.”

“Just be careful,” he called.

“I will.” Awen returned her attention to the box and touched the lid again. The sudden power surge didn’t startle her this time. She placed her thumb under the lip and lifted. The cover was heavy but moved easily. Awen opened it wide enough for the light far above her to shine into the black space.

“What’s in it?” Ezo called.

“What do you see?” Sootriman asked.

“It’s—” Awen swallowed, unsure of what to make of everything that had just happened. “It’s empty.”

3

Major Nos Kil, his promotion insignia still fresh on his chest armor, stood beside the Valkyrie’s captain, helmet hanging on the end of his fist. It sounded like Commander Forsyth was finishing some sort of preflight systems check with his executive officer. Nos Kil waited, having nothing to add to the conversation. Instead, he stared out the bridge window for what would most likely be his last look at the fleet for a very long time.

Outside, the remainder of Third Fleet sat atop Oorajee like children’s toys, so minuscule in comparison to the enormous desert planet. Farther out, he saw Second Fleet and, past that, the newly arrived First Fleet, all engaged in intermittent volleys with Jujari fleets. The blaster exchange was not meant to inflict damage. Rather, it was standard chest puffing as each side let the other know where it stood. Everything was going according to plan. Never before had so much lethal firepower gathered over one system, at least not in Nos Kil’s day. He was sorry to leave it. But he had a job to do, and he would not let Admiral Kane down—or rather, he wouldn’t let Moldark down.

Nos Kil’s thoughts turned toward the admiral’s transformation—his dilated black eyes, his altered voice. It was otherworldly but, in a strange way, not completely unexpected. Sure, the physical manifestations of whatever was happening were more than odd—they were startling. But rumors that the admiral had been talking to himself had been growing for a while now. Nos Kil had even overheard the man on several occasions. Still, the leader’s command decisions were decisive, his timing impeccable, and he continued to emit the confidence that had drawn people to him in the first place. That, and everyone was terrified of him and in awe of his power. Moldark was the leader people longed to follow and feared to leave.

Nos Kil blinked and refocused on the ship that extended from beneath his feet and into the void. This particular Raider-class destroyer, the Valkyrie, had been a gift. It was Moldark’s way of thanking Nos Kil for stepping into the shadows with him. In truth, Nos Kil didn’t know what to do with a ship. He was a Marine after all—a former Republic Marine but a Marine nonetheless. Ships were only good at getting the warriors to the battle, but Marines brought the fight. Secondly, he knew nothing about running a navy ship. He supposed that was precisely why Moldark had assigned Commander Forsyth to the Valkyrie. Even though the commander outranked him, Nos Kil was still “in charge,” though that didn’t make giving orders any easier.

“How soon until departure, Commander Forsyth?” Nos Kil asked when the XO stepped away.

“Fifteen minutes, Major. The supplies are almost done being loaded, and the science team is on board. They’re being shown their quarters as we speak.”

“Very good.”

Forsyth looked at Nos Kil as if something else remained to be said. The pause made Nos Kil uncomfortable. He noted for at least the second time in ten minutes how much he’d rather be on the ground with the enemy, outnumbered ten to one, than have to learn the rules and regulations of a navy ship.

This Raider-class destroyer had plenty of power and lots of fight, despite its many moving parts. If he got this ship close enough to planetary emplacements, she’d put on one hell of a pyrotechnic display. He’d seen it before. It was nothing like commanding troops on the ground, however, and that was where he longed to be. The sooner they left, the sooner he could be planet-side again and leave the ship tending to Forsyth.

Forsyth raised a fist to his mouth and coughed. “Major Nos Kil, would you like me to double-check our destination coordinates with navigation?”

“Yes, very good.”

“After that, I’ll just check on engineering to make sure the modulators and drive cores are stable.”

“Absolutely,” Nos Kil replied. He sensed the commander was just as uncomfortable as he was. But neither of them complained, just as neither of them offered to approach Moldark about it.

“Estimated time to the quantum tunnel?” Nos Kil asked.

“Three days, sixteen hours,” Forsyth replied, double-checking a data pad.

“Very well. Carry on.”

Forsyth stepped away, and Nos Kil moved toward a holo-display of the ship above the bridge’s center console. He’d always thought the Raider-class destroyers looked like blunt-tipped arrowheads. Their command bridges were in the bow and, as luck would have it, functioned according to the Marines motto: First in, last out. But were the ships ever to collide with an enemy target, they would be first in, never out, Nos Kil noted.

The aft of the ship bore twin stabilizers on the topside and belly, just in front of the main thrusters. These, along with the independently vectored thrust engines to port and starboard, made the ships incredibly maneuverable. The vectored engines had additional cowlings that made them look like concealed talons when not in use.

He’d paid a high price to stand here on this bridge. He’d severed family ties and friendships. He’d even terminated his career—at least, his public one. Of course, no one knew it yet—not his family or the Corps—but soon enough, they all would.

Nos Kil’s family had been guaranteed safety, as had his fiancée. The senators had given him assurances. He doubted he’d ever marry Klara, but at least she’d be safe in whatever future she chose for herself. He’d also tried to convince his closest friends in the Corps to come with him, knowing they’d be safer following him. Five had agreed. But for every Marine he spoke to, there was an inherent risk—not for him but for them.

Nos Kil shuddered when he thought of the two Marines who hadn’t agreed. The mere fact that he’d broached the subject with them in private meant he’d signed their death warrants. After hearing him out, they’d refused the invitation, saying he was psychotic and delusional. He’d tried to convince them to reconsider, but they’d made up their minds. So Nos Kil had done what needed doing. After that, he told the admiral he had no more friends to headhunt. He’d lied. But he’d rather they died defending what they believed was right than at the end of his MZ25.

Nos Kil looked over the Valkyrie from stem to stern again, the holo-projection spinning slowly over a rendering of Oorajee. The destination icon displayed coordinates on the outer reaches of the Troja system, where the quantum tunnel awaited. He was going back because, as he’d decided a long time ago, he’d follow the admiral anywhere. Even to hell.

The admiral had seen what Nos Kil was capable of. Whereas the Republic had placed limitations on the Marine, especially after everything that had happened on Caledonia, the admiral—Moldark—had not. Nos Kil had hit the windowplex ceiling years before. He’d grown tired of being told what to do with his gifts by COs who were less qualified than he was. It had worn on him and diminished his faith in what the Republic could do. Where the Republic had betrayed him—when his own brothers in arms had turned him in—Moldark had been faithful. The magnanimous leader had come to set him free and give him a place in the new order of the galaxy. Sure, Moldark seemed crazy, but weren’t all leaders—at least a little? Wasn’t he himself a bit mad? To make things right in the galaxy, one had to be willing to do wrong. The trick was to find safe people to do wrong with together.

Moldark would do in the shadows what the Republic could not do in the light. Nos Kil was even told that Moldark’s activities had been sanctioned by elite senators. This wasn’t some rogue mission—this was the will of those who cared most about the Republic’s enduring legacy. This wasn’t about agenda. This was about survival. And he and Moldark would be the hammer that beat out the impurities of the Republic. The metal would be heated, and they—the Paragon—would deliver cleansing blows. Where others had been weak, Moldark was strong. That meant that only the strongest warriors would follow him, and Nos Kil would be chief among them.

There was only one way forward. Nos Kil had made his decision. The only thing left was to do what he was best at—to do what the Republic would not let him—and he would continue with it until he died on the battlefield with an MX40 locked in his hand. The admiral would have his revolution, and Nos Kil would deliver it to him in blood.

* * *

Moldark enjoyed being back aboard the Peregrine again. He liked the Stiletto-class warship far more than the superdreadnoughts. If the latter was more like a floating metroplex, the former was like a dune skiff without a governor—fast and maneuverable. It let him feel the void and, for the briefest of moments, set him free of his responsibilities as fleet admiral. He’d even take the conn from time to time and give the captain a break. Of course, he wasn’t really free of anything with this particular plan. His presence on the Peregrine was just for show. And what a good show it would be.

Flight time to Worru would be just under six hours. After making the jump to light speed, Moldark surrendered the helm to his captain and made his way to his quarters. He’d ordered his crew not to disturb him until they arrived above Worru.

The door closed, and Moldark removed his uniform to take a shower. He caught sight of himself in the mirror just before the hot water began to steam up the glass. The puckered flesh around his torso spoke to memories that plagued him like Sorlium leeches on a druther snout fish. He could still feel the flames, still hear the screams of his men, still hear his own screams. Then he caught the glint of his pinky ring. Its gold band and red stone reflected the clear cabin light like a beacon, guiding his attention back to port. He’d suffered greatly, but then he’d been given a second chance that would let him right the wrongs and rebuild the future.

He stepped into the shower and let the water beat against his skin hotter and hotter. He pushed the temperature icon far beyond its routine setting; he’d ordered a coder to remove the maximum-temperature limit to allow boiling water through the showerhead. Try as he might, Moldark could not sense the heat or feel his skin burning atop his bones. The medics would scold him, the bots would treat him, and the same old story would repeat itself. Still, he wanted to feel again. He wanted to remember what it was like.

He thought he heard a scream in the distance—someone shrieking in agony—but he couldn’t pick it out amidst the sound of water streaming over his head and splashing at his feet. That person, whoever it was, felt pain. In fact, everyone he knew complained about physical pain. Labored with it. Mourned it. Spent small fortunes to alleviate it. Moldark would have given anything to feel physical pain again. Its ghost haunted him and compelled him to do strange things in the hopes that it would return one day. But no matter how he mutilated himself, no matter how he tortured his aging body, the results were always the same: nothing. He felt nothing.

He turned off the water and reached for a towel. He already knew from the smell what he’d done. He dried himself, but the towel grew damp and sticky. He took a second towel and a third. Blood and pus matted the fabric to an unusable state. He reached for a fourth towel before pulling on his uniform again.

Moldark would visit sick bay. They would treat his burns. But they could not treat the pain inside his chest—the one that burned like a hot coal. He’d tried to douse it, but still, it raged—not the bright burn of new flames but the steady glow of old embers, the ones still hot even at dawn. That pain drove him now—not as Admiral Wendell Kane but as Moldark. The embers would carry him through the day, and he would fan them into flames again as the night drew near.

* * *

An entourage of no fewer than thirty Luma escorted Moldark and his large security detail to Elder’s Hall inside the Grand Arielina. He noted, once again, how beautiful Plumeria was. Like the fragrant flower it was named after, the city radiated life. Learning, knowledge, youth—it was the intersection of the best of galactic cultures and included none of the bad. At least, not in the parts of the city he’d been shown. But he knew the bad was on the planet somewhere. It was always lurking, waiting for those who knew where to look.

The entourage surrounded him as the hall’s large wooden doors opened to reveal So-Elku, master of the Order of the Luma, decked in ornate green-and-black robes. His tall physique, baldpate, narrow eyes, and meticulously trimmed wraparound beard gave him an air of sophistication.

“Admiral Kane,” So-Elku said. “We’ve been expecting you.”

Moldark spread his hands at his waist, palms up, parting the cape that closed around his hips. He twitched at the mention of the old name. The Luma master would learn of his new one in time.

“Come.” So-Elku motioned for them to enter.

Moldark noticed the man staring at his head, avoiding his hollow black eyes. Kane would have offered an explanation. The fool. Moldark said nothing. Kane would probably have said something about letting the Luma master live back on Ithnor Ithelia. There’d been a momentary battle between him and So-Elku, until Moldark realized that killing Awen and the others was a more pressing prize than dispatching the Luma master. Moldark convinced Kane to cease fire and give chase into the temple. Moldark had figured he might need the Luma master at a future time, which—as luck would have it—he did, as So-Elku would soon learn.

The pair walked to the center of Elder’s Hall, followed by their joint retinue. “Can I offer you something to drink?” So-Elku asked. “Plumeria nectar? Or… perhaps something stronger? Svoltin single malt?”

“No, thank you,” Moldark said.

So-Elku looked away from Moldark’s head then back again. “Begging your pardon, but your voice—I don’t know—has it changed somehow, Admiral?”

“It is my voice, as it’s always been.” Moldark tilted his head. “Has yours changed?”

So-Elku touched his throat. “No. But the wraps around your head, Admiral. Were you—were you injured?”

Moldark straightened his back, raised his chin, and took a deep breath through wheezy nostrils. “The medics say I will recover in time. It’s what they always say.”

So-Elku’s eyes narrowed. Moldark could tell the man wanted to ask more questions. That was good. Having the advantage in every exchange, no matter how trivial, was important. He liked to keep victims off balance, always guessing. That was how wars were won—not through mass casualties, as historians liked to purport, but through attrition, winning one exchange after another until your opponent begged you to stop.

“If you’d like a more private space, your security may wait outside,” So-Elku said.

“And leave me to your otherworldly whims?” Moldark shook his head. “They will stay.”

“Admiral, you misunderstand me. When we were last together, I was merely disappointed that you broke our agreement.”

“You still received access to your temple library.”

“Thankfully, yes. Had I not discovered the location by tracking my student’s mind, however, who knows how your troopers would have ravaged it.”

Moldark snorted. He disliked this Unity. It was something he could not control, and anything he could not control was a threat. “They have no time for your incantations, nor do I.”

“And still you killed my student.”

“I told you that discretion was costly, and the price was more than you could afford.”

“Yet I owe you nothing, since I delivered both Awen and the stardrive to you.”

Moldark blew a blast of air from his nostrils. “But you did walk away with something, So-Elku.”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“From the library.”

“Ah. A small trinket, I suppose. Nothing more.”

“But a trinket nonetheless.”

“Something for my library, that’s all,” So-Elku said. “A book, as they were known in antiquity.”

“And books contain ideas. Powerful ones.”

“I suppose, though these only concern our pesky incantations, as you call them.”

“So you owe me, then,” Moldark said, licking his lips.

“Owe you? I believe we’re even, Admiral. And if I were you, I’d—”

“If you were me?” Moldark took a step toward the Luma master. “You can’t even begin to imagine what it’s like to be me, Luma. If you were me, perhaps you’d wonder why I haven’t killed you already.”

“Are you threatening me in my house?” So-Elku asked, looking to his fellow Lumanarias.

“As a matter of fact, I am.” Moldark swished the fingers on his right hand, and thirty-two MX40 rifles wielded by thirty-two black-clad Marines were brought to bear on So-Elku and his escorts.

So-Elku looked around the room, examined the blasters, and regarded Moldark. “That’s it?” He chortled. “The leader of the rogue Third Fleet comes to threaten the Luma and their master, and you expect us to grovel at your feet with”—So-Elku counted with his index finger—“thirty-two blaster-bolt slingers?” He laughed again.

If So-Elku was looking for even the slightest hesitation, he wouldn’t find it. Instead, what he would find, if he had the stomach to keep looking in Moldark’s eyes, would make him scared. The Luma master was powerful, yes. But fear haunted the powerful and the weak alike.

One of So-Elku’s elders threw off his outer robe and clenched his fists. “Enough of this!” the man cried. He closed his eyes.

“Elder Fossman, wait!” So-Elku yelled. But it was too late.

Moldark felt the elder’s presence—this Fossman. The man’s soul was close, examining Moldark, probing from within that cursed Unity. The elder seemed eager, which suited the dark lord just fine—he was hungry for a soul that day, so he would feast.

“What are you doing?” Fossman asked, his voice suddenly tight with panic. He looked as though he was trying to wrest himself from some invisible strongman’s grip. “Stop it!” His eyes were still shut, head twisting from side to side. “Let me go! No!”

But Moldark wouldn’t let him go. His spirit lunged, partaking of the Luma’s life energy. He sucked as one might drain a piece of fruit of its juice before consuming the flesh.

Fossman shrieked, writhing in utter agony until he collapsed on the floor. So-Elku refused to watch the man’s demise, choosing instead to stare at Moldark—which was fine but a waste nonetheless. The spectacle was so grim, so satisfying, that Moldark wondered why anyone would want to miss it. Fossman’s body shriveled to that of a man twice his age in less than a few seconds. And moments later, his corpse became a leathery sack of sinew and wiry hair.

Moldark let out a deep sigh, exulting in pleasure. “Now, wasn’t that delightful.” Renewed power coursed through his veins, invigorating his spirit and tingling his body. The glossy leather squeaked as he stretched his body.

“Is that supposed to scare us?” So-Elku spat, but his eyes betrayed the slightest glint of anxiety. “I could disarm all your troopers and stop their hearts before they blink. Shall I give you a demonstration?”

“You could,” Moldark replied. “Yes, you could. But I’ve left orders with my ship to destroy this… whatever this place is,” he said, gesturing with a flitting hand, “if any of our vitals change in the slightest.”

“Your ship?” So-Elku choked out, curbing another laugh. “The one in the docking bay?” He stepped toward Moldark. “Look around you, Admiral. This isn’t the Republic Navy. This isn’t even Republic land or a Republic planet. You’re alone, and that ship isn’t going anywhere unless I say it is.”

Moldark smirked.

The Luma master raised an eyebrow. “What?” he asked, needy eyes darting between Moldark and his Marines.

“I’m afraid I misspoke,” Moldark said. “I apologize.”

“You see.” So-Elku clapped his hands, his mood lightening. “There you go. It’s nothing I can’t forgive—in time, anyway.”

“I said ship, didn’t I? How inaccurate of me.”

So-Elku squinted. “I—I’m not sure I follow.”

“What I meant to say was ships. My ships have orders to level this place if any of us are harmed. In fact, they’ll level the entire city.”

So-Elku’s smile faded. He looked to his other elders for assurance. They merely shrugged at him.

In a sudden burst of sound, So-Elku cackled like a wild animal, his head thrown back. “I’m sorry, Admiral,” he bellowed, wiping tears from his eyes, “but I’m afraid you’ve caught me on a day that I’m quite”—his laugh vanished, and he bared his teeth at Moldark—“impatient. I’m calling your bluff.”

“Very well.” Moldark turned and regarded the nearest trooper clad in black armor, whose helmet was shaped like a racing visor. The trooper dipped his head, paused, and returned Moldark’s stare.

The Luma master furrowed his brow and studied Moldark then looked at the ceiling. “Where is it, Admiral? Where’s the threat, the blast, the explosion? Where are all the reinforcements?”

So-Elku took another step forward, but Moldark didn’t budge. Instead, he interlaced his fingers and waited, watching So-Elku’s face intently.

“You’re a coward and a liar,” So-Elku hissed. “I’ve had enough of—”

A concussion from outside the Grand Arielina cut the Luma’s words short. The shock wave shook the walls and sent everyone but the Marines scrambling for cover. Ears rang as yells and screams went up from the elders, some of them tripping, others shielding their heads as debris fell from the newly repaired dome.

A moment later, emergency klaxons sounded outside the hall. Then the din of thousands of people shrieking in horror blew in on the wind of the orbital strike. The flood of noises filled the now dust-filled Elder’s Hall as people dove for cover.

“What have you done?” So-Elku cried, his face twisted in disgust and covered in gray dust.

“I believe that was one of your second-year student dorms,” Moldark said above the mayhem. “You’ll want to double-check, though. Sometimes my battleships need a practice run before they get the targeting right.”

“Are you insane?” So-Elku seethed, spittle flinging from his lips.

“Quite possibly. But the question you should be asking, Luma Master, is whether or not I’m serious. And let me assure you, I am very serious. Now”—Moldark began pulling on the fingers of his gloves—“I’d like to have that Svoltin single malt. I need you to do something for me.”

4

Magnus’s new eyes were getting clearer every minute. By the time he’d dried off from his shower and dressed, he was able to focus on things about three meters ahead. His new eyes were starting to feel less like giant rocks in his skull and more like—well, more like nothing. More natural, though they would always be anything but natural.

The news of his operation under Valerie’s supervision had certainly disturbed him. His new bioteknia eyes meant the end of his career in the Corps. But, at the end of the day, he could see again, and he owed Valerie a debt for that.

One of Abimbola’s Marauders escorted Magnus from the shower facility across the compound to a makeshift armory. Magnus didn’t know where on Oorajee they were yet, but this new hideout was nothing like Abimbola’s headquarters in the Dregs. That place had been immense and secure, secluded from the outside world like a tomb. Here, a patchwork of canvas tarps and corrugated metal kept the sun at bay, while stacked shipping crates created rooms and vehicle bays throughout the thrown-together warehouse. Suddenly, Magnus wondered about the cleanliness of the operating room where his procedure had taken place. Never mind. He shook his head, realizing his blurry vision was probably for the best. I don’t even want to know.

The guard left Magnus in the armory and told him where to find Abimbola when he was kitted up. Magnus nodded and heard the door close behind him with a whine. The space was constructed of two massive shipping containers, hollowed out and welded together, with bright light pads attached to the corrugated ceiling. He shielded his eyes and gave them a second to adjust then walked to three tables in the center of the room. On them sat his armor, or what was left of it. Abimbola’s Marauders had cleaned it and laid it out, along with a selection of supplementary pieces.

Magnus sighed. He stood before the first and largest table, dressed in a standard black military hauberk tunic, fingers touching the blast marks in what remained of his Mark VII suit. The plates were riddled with charred holes and rough furrows left by blasted sand. If this was the best of it, he wondered what the worst looked like. Gone were the shoulder plates, left bicep, right bicep, and forearm enclosures. The left thigh enclosure, kneecap, and right shin guard were also gone. Both original gauntlets were missing as well as his mag boots. A few pieces were replaced with old Mark IV armor; he’d have recognized the mottled-green coloring from the Caledonian Wars anywhere. The other missing elements had been filled by components he’d never seen before—alien, he was pretty sure. Some were iridescent magenta while others were matted blue. They appeared to be trimmed to size, which made him wonder how big their former owners had been.

His original helmet would have been a sight for sore eyes had it been functional. The visor was punched out and the battery compartments and AI module gutted. The slits he’d cut for air vents, back when their escape pods landed, now looked like burnt-out gashes from mizlasaur teeth. He wondered if it wouldn’t be better to just wear a bandana and some eye protection. Maybe the helmet belonged on Abimbola’s wall after all.

Magnus moved to the next table and, to his surprise, found his MAR30 blaster, MZ25 pistol, and duradex combat knife, all intact. “Remind me to thank his gods.” He picked up the larger weapon, and his hands ran across it instinctively, searching for anything out of place. Aside from a few dents and blackened streaks, the weapon remained a beautiful specimen of Republic engineering. He had to give them credit—they’d built this platform to last.

Magnus flicked on the primary-status holo-display and noticed that a fresh energy magazine had been installed. The weapon whined as it sprang to life, humming against his skin in his ungloved grip. It felt reassuring. All three firing systems displayed green indicators. Magnus racked a charge, pulled the blaster to his shoulder, and activated the HSD—holo-sight display. The series of mesmerizingly beautiful information-rich targeting reticles, vector indicators, and systems-status symbols glowed down the rails of the weapon. Magnus aimed at a utility shelf across the room, knowing one trigger squeeze would make quick work of it—as well as anything in the next room. He flicked off the safety and hovered his index finger over the trigger. The HSD read Missing for his helmet lock.

“That’s not happening anytime soon,” he remarked as he looked over his carved-up Mark VII helmet.

Magnus flicked the safety on, powered down, and set the MAR30 on the table. He reached for the MZ25. The pistol had been cleaned but showed more damage than the MAR30. A finger-sized chunk of the handle had been gouged out, replaced with a hastily sanded weld. The top of the barrel also had a gouge repaired with a weld.

Magnus racked a round and noticed the Z had a fresh energy mag as well. He gripped the pistol with both hands and punched out so the barrel was pointed at the same shelf across the room. Valerie was the last person to have fired this weapon. He remembered her handling it with practiced ease. In hindsight, he found that startlingly attractive. He added the mystery of how the Z had taken so much damage and Valerie had not to his growing list of questions. He powered down and set the weapon beside the MAR30.

After checking the blade’s sharpness—something he did out of ritual and not necessity, since the weapon was nearly indestructible—Magnus examined several fragmentation grenades that Abimbola had laid out. Missing were any of his unit’s VODs—variable-output detonators—though he wasn’t surprised. Those were Republic issued and hard to come by even within the Corps. However, Magnus did find three quantum detonators in a custom-lined munitions case.

Treating it like an unstable core element, Magnus removed one of the fabled devices and examined it. The truth was, he’d never seen one up close. QDs were dangerous and expensive—one of the few munitions the Recon had not sprung for. Also, they were illegal. “These might come in handy,” Magnus said with a smirk.

On the third and final table, he found a black backpack, a first aid kit with laser sutures, a few days’ worth of field meals, a flashlight, and a fire starter. There were several extra energy magazines for his primary and secondary weapons, a locator beacon, a field-grade holo-pad, and an over-the-ear comms device. The latter was a far cry from what he was used to with an integrated helmet AI, but it was better than nothing.

Magnus looked across the tables and ran a hand over his short beard. “Time to get suited up. Time to OTF.” But the phrase sent a pang through his chest. Can I say it now that I’m no longer a Marine?

Stow it, Magnus. Once a Marine, always a…

He couldn’t finish the statement. If he survived what they were headed into, and if he could make contact with command—whoever endured the coming conflict—he knew he’d never be an active-duty Marine again. So he came up with something else—something that seemed fitting for subduing an enemy and rescuing whoever survived in his unit.

“Dominate,” he whispered, staring at his MAR30. He tried to think of something else to complement it. Maybe another few words to craft a memorable acronym.

Just then, he remembered Awen, bound somewhere near this very compound, making fun of the Marines and of him. “All you military guys love your acronyms,” she’d said. He smiled as he remembered the note she’d handed him with the letters NMB written on it. Naked monkey butt. He almost thought of using that as a mantra but decided against it. NMB was personal.

“Dominate,” he said again, lifting his MAR30 and squeezing the stock and handle. The word wasn’t exactly poetic, and it certainly didn’t feel complete. But it did represent what he wanted to do to anyone threatening those he loved or had sworn to protect. Domination of the enemy—it was appropriate.

But what would Awen say? he asked himself then wondered why that even mattered. Try as he might, he couldn’t get her out of his mind—Awen and her infernal peace-loving methods of trying to save the galaxy. The question plagued him: What would she say about those in need of rescue?

Then he had it. “Dominate,” he repeated, bringing the weapon to his shoulder and activating the holo-sight. “Liberate.”

* * *

“Well, look who we have here,” Abimbola said, standing behind a holo-projection in the middle of the darkened room.

Several more control stations lined the room’s perimeter, but Magnus couldn’t make them out beyond blurry glowing lights. He looked down at his mélange of armor and wiggled in it. It didn’t quite feel right, but it would do.

“I suppose I should thank you,” Magnus replied, “but I’m still not sure.”

Abimbola dismissed the comment with a wave. “You look like a Marauder now.”

“Like I said, not sure I should thank you for that.”

Abimbola laughed then motioned for Magnus to join him. Magnus’s eyes were still adjusting, but he could make out Valerie on a stool and Piper beside her. The nine-year-old girl clutched the tattered remains of her stuffed animal. Talisman, she’d called it. By the look of the thing, it was about time she outgrew it, or there’d be nothing left to cuddle. A few more figures stood beside Valerie, and even more filled the room behind Abimbola.

“Good to see you, LT,” came a familiar voice. Magnus blinked as a diminutive woman with short hair strode into view. She wore a hodgepodge of armor like Magnus.

“Corporal Dutch,” he said, shaking her hand. Three more forms emerged, all in mismatched armor. “Private First Class Haney. Gilder.” Magnus felt his heart swell with every name he listed, and he shook their hands too. “Chief Warrant Officer Nolan. It’s good to see you.”

“Good to see you too, LT,” Dutch replied. The others nodded.

Then Magnus got a lump in his throat. “Dutch,” he said, hesitating. “I’m not exactly sure how… I mean, as you probably know, my eyes…”

“Hey, LT, you’re not out yet,” she replied with a wide grin. “When that time comes, then I’ll call you something else. Until then, orders haven’t changed. Copy?”

“Copy,” Magnus said. Valerie must have slipped him some heavy meds, because he was feeling pretty emotional. He cleared his throat. “You’re all ready to roll?”

“We are, sir,” Dutch replied, pounding her chest plate with a fist. Magnus felt a wave of gratitude. No one was forcing them to go on this mission, and there certainly wasn’t any Republic backing for it.

“Thank you, Dutch. Everyone.”

“Eh, not to worry. Abimbola’s given us armor and some new toys…” Dutch paused then lowered her voice. “Though his constant jokes against the Corps are getting a little old.”

“I heard that,” Abimbola said.

“Well,” Magnus said, looking the Marines and the sailor over, “seems you don’t have to worry about being mistaken for anything but Marauders now.”

Abimbola thumped his chest with a fist. “And are they not blessed to be counted as such?”

“Not exactly the word I had in mind. But anyone who gives me an M101 blaster cannon is all right in my book.” Dutch raised the bulky double-barreled weapon and tapped the upper receiver. Then she leaned in and whispered to Magnus, “Where did he get this? It’s brand new.”

“Best not to ask,” Magnus replied with a wink. “What about the rest of the Stones’ crew?”

Dutch paused and looked toward Valerie. Magnus tried to read their facial expressions, though the corporal’s hesitation said more than enough.

“Abimbola says they’ll keep monitoring all bandwidths for communications,” Dutch replied. “But as of right now, we’ve had no contact.”

“Let us get started,” Abimbola said, then cleared his throat.

Magnus placed a hand on Dutch’s shoulder then looked at Abimbola. “Let’s do it.” He stepped toward the center table. As he got closer, he noticed several more bodies in the room.

“A few of my Marauders seem to be interested in hearing what you want to do,” Abimbola said. “Mind if they stay?”

“Be my guest,” Magnus replied. “Anyone who’s willing to help rescue Marines is—”

“Not rescuing Marines.” Abimbola cut him off. “Killing Selskrit Jujari. They are different.”

“Selskrit Jujari?”

“Western packs. Pledge fealty to their own mwadim.”

Magnus felt himself being scrutinized.

“You know, Selskrit, Dingfang, Clawnip,” Abimbola continued. “No?”

Magnus shook his head.

“For the love of the gods, you really do not know anything about your enemies, do you,” Abimbola stated with no attempt to hide his disgust. “The Jujari you were meeting with were Tawnhack. Largest and most powerful of the packs. Most reasonable too.”

“Reasonable?” Magnus said involuntarily.

“Yes. Reasonable. We have negotiated with them for years. But the Selskrit, they’re something different. Not right in the head, you know?”

But Magnus didn’t know. As far as he was concerned, all Jujari were not right in the head, and the fact that Abimbola saw differences between them made him not right in the head too.

“The Selskrit raided the mwadim’s palace after the explosions, then the Clawnip took what was left. Fighting broke out between the packs. It seems the Selskrit took some survivors, probably to exchange for credits or ships or whatever they can barter from the Republic.”

“And you think they have my Marines? Where’d you get your intel?”

“Is he always this slow?” Abimbola asked Valerie, and she shrugged. “I see.” The warlord looked back at Magnus. “As I said, we have been trade partners with the Tawnhack for years. My sources thought we might like to know, and they passed the information on.”

“So they just hand you information like this? Must’ve been a heavy price.”

“More than you know,” Abimbola said, straightening. Magnus waited for the man to say more, but he didn’t, and Magnus didn’t feel he should push it.

“So, do we have a location? Expected resistance? Estimated number of survivors?”

“One thing at a time.” Abimbola turned to the holo-projection hovering over the table.

Magnus moved closer and felt everyone else press in too. A topographical map clarified, and Magnus recognized it from his own briefing on the Jujari’s capital city of Oosafar. Abimbola manipulated the map with his hands, zooming in on a section of the city to the west.

“We believe the survivors are being held in the Western Heights. Selskrit territory.” Abimbola zoomed in to a few city blocks. “This building here”—he pointed to a large house with an open-air square courtyard in the center, a sizable yard surrounding the building, and a walled perimeter at the street—“is our target. Three stories of sandstone and metal, most likely heavily fortified.” Abimbola zoomed in farther then snapped the image with his wrists and flipped the camera view to street level. A three-meter-high wall ran around the perimeter of the compound with two guard towers at the front corners. “It is twenty meters from this wall to the building on all sides. We have reason to believe they have posted sentries in the towers, more on top of the building, and”—Abimbola flipped to the overhead view again—“snipers in the surrounding buildings here, here, and here.”

“How old is your intel?” Magnus asked.

“Old enough for it to be wrong.”

“How much of it?”

Abimbola eyed him cautiously. “All of it.”

Magnus didn’t like that answer and shook his head.

“Listen, buckethead, the Jujari are unpredictable and can move fast. Even if we had a live feed on this whole twenty-block section, which we do not because of the jammed airspace, there is no way we could keep up with their unit movements.”

“No need to get testy. I was just asking,” Magnus said, stepping forward. “So, two in the towers, say, three more on the roof—”

“Five more on the roof,” Abimbola interjected.

Magnus glanced at him. “Five more on the roof, another five inside,” Magnus said, and the warlord nodded. “And three snipers in the buildings. Brings our count to fifteen.”

“Say, twenty to be safe.”

“Twenty,” Magnus echoed with a slight shake of his head. He knew this would be a fraction of the resistance they’d encounter once they were in the Western Heights. No doubt, they’d be overwhelmed without careful planning. He examined the home more closely, trying to gauge its size. “Hostages?”

“I was told fewer than ten.”

Magnus swallowed. If that number was to be believed, it wasn’t good. His platoon had numbered sixteen, as had that of Captain Wainright—the CO for Alpha Platoon and operation commander for the security detail. Ten or fewer hostages, assuming those were all Marines who’d survived due to their Mark VII armor, was less than a third of the unit’s original strength. A third. And who knew how many of those were injured and might not endure the raid.

Magnus ground his teeth as he thought about the stupidity of the original mission. They never should have been here, at least not with anything less than an entire task force—one that was in a secure location. The mission had been a joke from the start. He knew it, his Marines knew it, and Captain Wainright knew it, though the man never said a thing. In the end, he’d realized that the point of the whole thing had been politics. Magnus pictured himself walking into some senator’s office in Capriana and burning the place to the ground.

“How far’s this from Tawnhack-controlled space?” Magnus asked.

Abimbola zoomed out. “This is the current territorial mark.” A dotted red line appeared over a street that ran in a north–south direction. “It changes daily but not by much. Depends on who pisses where and who shoots whoever is pissing.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“So, what’s that distance, then?” Magnus asked, pointing to the area between the border and the compound. “Ten blocks maybe?”

Abimbola nodded. “About a kilometer.”

Dutch whistled, and Magnus heard the others shift on their feet. He took a deep breath, which only made people shift more. “And how many of your Marauders have signed up for this?”

“None.”

“What?” Magnus asked. Is this some sort of joke? Didn’t Abimbola just say we want to sit in on the briefing and kill Jujari? He had the distinct feeling that he’d been duped, betrayed by his own assumptions. If he was going on a suicide mission without the Marauders, he’d be on his own; there was simply no way he was going to put Dutch and the others’ lives in jeopardy again.

“At least, not yet,” Abimbola said. “You have to ask them first.”

Magnus blinked. “Ask them?”

“You think we are all going to risk our lives to help some buckethead rescue his unit’s survivors just because you order us to? Or maybe because of your good looks?” Pockets of laughter went up from the Marauders behind Abimbola. “Have you even seen yourself lately?” More laughter followed.

Abimbola had a point. These warriors—whoever they were—were not Republic Marines. They could not be ordered around, told to lay their lives down for the greater good—at least, not by him.

“Abimbola,” Magnus said, straightening. “Warrior to warrior, would you help me—” Magnus caught himself and considered the best way to parse this. “Would you help me kill some Selskrit Jujari for a day?”

“What do you say, Marauders?” Abimbola asked without taking his eyes off Magnus. An instantaneous cheer went up behind the warlord. The man gave a wide smile. “Seems we will.”

“Thank you, Abimbola.”

“You can count on, let’s see…” Abimbola produced a poker chip and flipped it. He caught it and slapped it on the back of his hand. “Thirty of us joining you, including me—and I count for three.”

“I’d say so,” Dutch said, and Magnus and Abimbola looked at her. “What? He does.”

The two men chuckled. “Thirty is more than I could ask for,” Magnus said. Even with thirty Marauders and four of his own warriors, they were going to need a greater presence of force. Urban warfare was slow-moving and brutal. They’d need something to even the odds and make getting to and from the target manageable. “What about transport? Do we have armor? Personnel skiffs? Some mortars would be great too.”

Abimbola winked then flipped the poker chip at Magnus, who caught it and opened his hand.

“Which side is up, buckethead?”

Magnus looked down. “The house.”

“Then the gods say you have come to the right place.”

5

Awen stared inside the empty box for several seconds before closing the lid. With so much power emanating from the circle, she was sure that whatever the box contained must have been the source. She closed the lid and examined the pedestal, wondering if maybe she’d missed something.

“What do you mean it’s empty?” Ezo asked.

“I mean, there’s nothing in it, Ezo!”

“Nothing, at all?”

“That does constitute the term ‘empty,’ I believe, sir,” TO-96 said. Ezo glared at him.

“Why don’t you just come back, love,” Sootriman said to her, gesturing with her hand.

Awen nodded, a sense of defeat hitting her with each step she took toward her… What are they to you, anyway? she asked herself. The word friends came to mind, but she didn’t know Ezo and the others that well yet. Did she?

“You all right?” Sootriman asked as Awen stepped out of the circle.

“I guess.”

“What do you mean, you guess?” Ezo asked.

“I don’t know. I just felt like there was going to be something in there. Something important.” Awen paused, considering the circle, the pedestal, and the box.

“You’re disappointed, then,” TO-96 said.

“Yes. There are places in the galaxy where the Unity intersects the physical realm in ways that make any separation between them feel thin. That’s the best way to describe it. And this place is the strongest I’ve ever felt that sort of anomaly. I just thought there’d be something in that box that—”

“That explained it,” Sootriman said.

“Exactly,” Awen said with a nod. She looked down in thought. “Something was in there—I know it. There was a dust outline in the shape of a rectangle.”

“One of those books perhaps?” Sootriman asked.

“Maybe. Hard to say. I don’t know why a book would produce such thinness.”

“Logic suggests that it didn’t,” TO-96 said. “Even if someone had enchanted the book, as some of the mystics were purported to do to volumes, that effect is no longer present. By virtue of its absence, what you felt should likewise be nonexistent. Therefore, I propose that the thinness is the result of another factor, Awen.”

She nodded, appreciative of the bot’s assessment. His reasoning did make sense, and she felt hopeful that whatever had been in the box maybe wasn’t as important as she’d made it out to be. Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling of defeat.

“It’s almost like someone beat us to it,” Awen said.

“Kane?” Sootriman asked.

“Maybe,” Awen replied. “He doesn’t exactly strike me as the intellectual type, though.”

“So-Elku,” TO-96 suggested.

The others turned to him.

“Possibly,” Awen replied. “If he survived the episode with Kane, which seems doubtful, maybe he made it in here and took whatever was in the box.”

“Feels like something a Luma would be interested in,” Ezo said. “After all, you are, so why wouldn’t he?”

Awen nodded, pinching the bridge of her nose in irritation.

“Well, there is a bright side to all this,” TO-96 said merrily.

“What’s that?” Ezo asked.

“If we are stuck here indefinitely, at least we have what could be the metaverse’s largest library to keep us occupied. We could, as you say, read ourselves to death.”

“Not funny, ’Six. Not funny.”

“Oh.”

* * *

The four of them had spread out and begun searching for anything of interest in the library. As promising as the supposed data drives were, without the proprietary hardware to access them, they remained worthless. TO-96 had already examined several of them, hoping to find a common connection port or frequency. However, the devices were devoid of all known interface types and went back onto their shelves.

The books and scrolls, while fascinating in and of themselves, lacked anything distinguishable to TO-96. Even though the data dump from the stardrive gave him a wealth of knowledge, at least to get them this far, it lacked whatever language was written on the old parchment. Still, something about the text seemed familiar to Awen, like she should know it from another life, as if it was calling out to her. In the end, however, the books and scrolls went back onto the shelves beside the data drives.

Ezo had already tried to get Awen to enter the Unity. She’d refused, saying she still wasn’t ready. And that was true, at least marginally. But she’d made it sound like a health issue when, in reality, it was based on fear. Sootriman came to her rescue and told Ezo to leave her alone then proposed the idea of having everyone spread out. Awen was grateful for the reprieve. She would enter the Unity, maybe even soon. But she needed to breathe, to think.

She wandered down one of the radials that stemmed from the room’s center, her fingers gently brushing along the spines of data drives. There was so much here—more than she could learn in a thousand lifetimes. And all of it had just been sitting dormant for centuries. She hated to let it go to waste, hated that it might sit here for more centuries before someone figured it out—though, if So-Elku was the one with whatever had been in the box, maybe he’d figure it out.

Maybe he’ll be back. The thought filled her with a sense of dread that crept along her skin like a newly hatched ganglion filapod. Of course, if he did survive the battle with Kane, he wouldn’t have had much time to linger and would have stolen what he could, intending to return when it was more convenient.

That book, or whatever had been in the box, was the key to this library, and she cursed herself for letting him have it. But it wasn’t her fault. It just felt like it was. Maybe if she’d gotten everyone here sooner. Maybe if she’d stopped Kane. Maybe if she’d hurt So-Elku back on Worru. Maybe if she had… she shuddered with where her thoughts led. No, she wasn’t a murderer. Not like the Republic. Not like the Marines. Like Magnus?

The search went late into the afternoon until TO-96 warned everyone that the light was fading. They dared not stay in the open after dark, so they retreated from the library, exited the temple, and made their way back to their headquarters.

It was Sootriman’s turn to prepare a meal,  and she did her best to create something palatable out of the Indomitable’s remaining foodstuffs, which were running out. She succeeded at not making anyone vomit, and that was saying something. Ezo’s dish the night before had caused both women to run to the nearest bathroom.

“At least the Novia believed in really big toilets,” Sootriman said, “or else you would have been wearing this, my dear.”

* * *

The days turned to weeks as Ezo, Sootriman, and TO-96 continued to map the city while Awen returned to the library to search for clues. She was beginning to feel at home in the temple, despite learning nothing more about the marvelous inhabitants of this once-vibrant planet. Each night around dinner, Ezo asked if Awen had entered the Unity yet, and each time, Awen gave him the same forlorn look.

No matter how much she wanted to view this world through her other sight, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. And worse, her fear of doing it only grew with each day that passed, further distancing her from the explosion in the rotunda. At some point, however, she knew she’d have to enter the Unity, at least to satisfy the growing rift her fear was creating in the team, though she wasn’t sure what it would solve. Even with all the knowledge in the cosmos, the only way they were ever getting back was if they could build a ship or if a ship came to rescue them.

The four sat around the table they’d placed in their makeshift dining room. TO-96 and Ezo had rewired some of the Novia’s strange lights and hung them over the table. TO-96 had also figured out a way to resuscitate sections of the building’s solar arrays, which he directed to power the portions of the building the team lived in.

The discovery of power had come none too soon. After the Indomitable’s stores ran dry, finding food compatible with humanoid physiology was a matter of life and death, as was the even more important job of finding potable water. But TO-96 had proven himself yet again by salvaging the Indomitable’s sole surviving water-reclamation unit and protein synthesizer. While neither was meant to sustain life, they would allow the team to get by until something better could be figured out.

TO-96 had already discovered several edible varieties of flora, some of which didn’t taste half bad. Additionally, he’d managed to kill, skin, and cook a dozen small birds, which he’d given “a gastrointestinal acceptability rating of ninety-three percent.” The GAR, as they’d come to know it, became the source of more than a few jokes whenever the cuisine wasn’t up to the patrons’ standards—mostly on the nights that TO-96 cooked.

“It may have a GAR of eighty-seven percent,” Sootriman said and spit the green mash back onto her plate, “but it has a Sootriman palatability-and-tolerance rank of zero.” Thus, the GAR-SPAT index was born and helped the team manage more than one dark night.

However, there was no amount of levity that would lift the depression that began to plague the team as weeks turned to months. Awen was fairly sure that the others wondered how life was going for everyone else back home, just as she was—not that she imagined Ezo and Sootriman having family, per se. They didn’t seem like homebodies. Still, life as they’d all known it had changed, possibly forever.

For her part, Awen wondered how her parents were doing. She wondered if news of her mission had reached them yet and what explanation had been offered. If it was up to So-Elku, she imagined he would have lied, concocting some horrible story about the traitorous dau Lothlinium Luma. Would her parents believe the lie and be even more disappointed in her than they were already? No, she doubted that the Master even cared to attend to such things. Instead, if Willowood were still alive, perhaps she had sent them a holo-transmission or even made contact in person. That was the kind of woman she was. Awen hoped she was still among the living.

As each new day turned up fewer and fewer discoveries, the pressure on Awen to enter the Unity mounted. Whatever tech, whatever ships, whatever new toys were discovered, the team found an equal amount of disrepair. Ships had been swallowed whole by the jungle, drive cores long drained, systems rusted out. Even if Ezo and TO-96 could make something void-worthy, no amount of solar power would charge a core, at least not without sending it to the sun’s surface. Each day that passed was a reminder of how stuck they really were and how much Awen’s giftedness was their only remaining hope.

It had been three months since their first excursion to the temple together. Ezo sat at the dinner table, pleading with her. “But you might see something inside the Unity to help us,” he argued.

How many times had they been through this? Ezo was mad. He’d probably blow at any second. And he had every right to. The truth was, all of this was because of her. Sure, the longer days had something to with it, as did the stress of being trapped in an alien universe. But in the end, his frustration was Awen’s fault, and she couldn’t let that go.

Awen swallowed her bite of food and stared out the window as twilight fell, a deep-purple hue summoning the black of night. Sootriman had prepared the evening meal, but Awen had suddenly lost her appetite. “I know, I know.”

“Don’t think you do, Star Queen. Frankly, Ezo’s tired of being patient.”

“Ezo, please,” Sootriman soothed, taking his hand.

He yanked it away. “Ezo’s pissed Splick, more than pissed.”

“That’s enough, Ezo.”

“No,” he said, glaring at Sootriman. “She has the power to see things we’re missing. It’s been… it feels like it’s been years.”

“Actually, it’s been sixty-three days, two hours, and—”

“I don’t care,” Ezo said, his lips drawn tight over his bared teeth. “It’s time. Whatever it is you’re waiting for, whatever it is that’s holding you back, it’s time to get over it.”

“That’s it, Ezo!” Sootriman said, standing. “I’ve had enough of this!”

“Well, so has Ezo!” Ezo yelled.

“Me too!” TO-96 said. He bumped the table hard as he stood. The others glared at the bot. “It felt like the right thing to say.”

“Sit down!” Ezo ordered the bot then turned to tell Sootriman the same. She tilted her head at him, and he thought better of it.

“Don’t you even think about telling me what to do, Idris,” she said, cool as Antaran ice—voice low, words measured.

“It’s not like you’d listen anyway,” Ezo mumbled.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“He insists you don’t listen,” TO-96 said.

“Not now, ’Six.”

“No, I’d like to hear him out, Idris.”

TO-96’s voice suddenly changed to a near-exact mimic of Ezo’s and Sootriman’s, saying, “You know how she can be ’Six. She’s always, like, ‘Don’t tell me what to do, Idris’ and ‘I know better than you, Idris’ and ‘You’re just going to get caught, Idris.’”

“Would you just shut up already?” Ezo yelled.

“But I was only trying to—”

“No!”

“As you wish, sir,” the bot said.

“He’s right,” Awen said softly. Time seemed to stand still as everyone looked at her. “Ezo’s right. I probably will find something that we’re missing. I’m just… I’m afraid, that’s all.”

“Well, it’s about time that—”

Sootriman gave Ezo a look that said she would tear out his lungs with her pupils.

“It’s time that we listen to your fears,” Ezo said, taking his seat once again. Sootriman sat down, too, followed by the bot.

“Back there, in the rotunda, I got scared. I mean, really scared.”

“We were all scared, Awen,” Ezo said.

“Let her talk,” Sootriman said.

“I saw something.” She took a deep breath. They’d think she was crazy. Unstable. Would they even believe her? “It was Kane.”

“What was Kane?” Ezo asked. Sootriman raised her palms at him and gestured for him to slow down. “Go on.”

“There was something about him, something very wrong. Do you remember how he seemed like he was talking to someone else?” Awen asked, and everyone nodded. “Well, he was talking to someone but not in the physical realm.”

“You’re saying he was possessed or something?” Sootriman asked.

“Something like that. I’ve never seen it before. Never read about it. It was as if another being was living inside him.”

“Like a parasite,” Ezo offered.

“Maybe. All I know is that it scared me, and I…” Awen’s words hung in the air while the others waited. This was the heart of it, right here. She was face-to-face with what she’d been avoiding. “I don’t want to go back in the Unity,” she finally said. Tears welled in her eyes.

The truth was, the image of Kane’s other self had shaken her more than she’d realized. To say that it had unnerved her would be an understatement.

“The image of his face—it haunts me. And I’m just afraid that as soon as I go back in, he’s going to come for me.” She could feel the tears running along her nose and down the sides of her face. She mashed them against her skin. “And make me do terrible things.”

“What terrible things?” Sootriman asked.

Awen was weeping now. She wiped snot from her nose as Sootriman came around the table and put her arms around her.

“I had thoughts,” she said with a gasp. “Thoughts of killing Kane. Of doing things to his body and causing him pain in ways I’d never thought of before.” She let out a deep breath, her lungs shuddering, lips fluttering. “It’s like it wanted me to kill him. It asked me to break my vows as a Luma.”

“There, there, love.”

“No, it’s worse.” Awen buried her face in her hands, embarrassed. Shame filled her heart like an ocean wave surging into an underwater cave. “I… I wanted to slaughter him. To do what the images in my mind said to. I want revenge because it’s the only thing that will heal the pain.”

She sobbed, and Sootriman held her, rocking in time with Awen’s labored grief, like a mother with her child. All of the pain Awen had carried from the mwadim’s palace, from Abimbola’s prison, from the Elder’s Hall, from the Novia’s temple, and even from Sootriman’s den pooled in her heart and poured from her mouth. She saw the bodies of her friends scattered in the skyscraper on Oorajee. She recounted her master’s betrayal on Worru. And she felt her vulnerability under Kane’s destructive gaze here in Itheliana.

Sootriman’s arms cradled her as Willowood’s had outside the Grand Arielina. Awen remembered confiding in Willowood that she’d wanted to give up, to just be done with everything. She’d told Magnus the same thing. And neither of them had resisted her, neither had told her that she couldn’t. But they had told her to consider other factors before making her decision. And in the end, she chose to keep going, to keep pursuing what she felt was right.

But what is “right” on Itheliana, so far away from everything I ever knew? She was, after all, in a completely different universe from the one she’d been born to. She wished Willowood were here—Magnus too—to help her decide what to do.

“Listen,” Sootriman said after Awen felt herself calm down. Awen sniffed, wiping her nose with her sleeve. She was being so unladylike, but she didn’t care. “I don’t know how the Unity works, so I won’t pretend to. You’re the expert there. But I do know that you saved my life with it—with your power. Kane tried to kill me, but you overcame him. You won. And since it’s my life we’re talking about, I get to tell you that you’re stronger. You’re stronger than Kane and whatever that other thing is. You hear me? You’re stronger.”

Awen nodded her head, her face hot and wet.

“And you escaped from So-Elku,” Ezo said, picking up Sootriman’s lead. “Twice. You resisted his attempts to get you to open the stardrive too. You did that, Star Queen.”

“If it is my turn now,” TO-96 said, “I’d like to add something.”

Awen smiled and let out a small laugh. “It is.”

“I reviewed footage taken in the mwadim’s palace that I found on Republic servers. It is better not to ask how I obtained this, mind you. But the fact that you stood up to the Republic ambassador and held your own with the mwadim, much less survived the explosions, is exemplary. There is even footage of you saving a Marine in the street from a falling block of concrete. It would have killed you both. But you saved both him and yourself. I do not think I am using hyperbole when I assert that you are an amazing woman, one who…” The bot hesitated, perhaps processing more holo-footage. “One I am proud to call a friend.”

“Thank you, TO-96,” she said, trying to compose herself. “Thank you, all of you.”

As Awen sat upright, she felt Sootriman kneel down beside her. “I need you to listen to me carefully,” the woman said, her deep-brown eyes pleading with Awen. For the first time since meeting her, Awen noticed pain behind Sootriman’s eyes. “What that voice said to you, that thing about revenge, it’s not true. I’ve been there. I’ve walked that road. Revenge never heals you. It only masks your wounds and then makes them worse. You understand? It never heals you.”

Awen nodded, letting the truth of Sootriman’s experience confront the lie in her mind. And it was working. “Thank you. I understand.” Awen took a deep breath, feeling as if the weight of the world had been lifted from her shoulders. It was the best she’d felt in a long time. She felt ready, reminded of who she was. While her friends’ encouragement hadn’t eliminated the sense of risk she felt in the pit of her stomach, she at least knew what she had to do next.

“Tomorrow,” she said with her chin raised. “Tomorrow, I will go back to the temple and enter the Unity of all things. But only if you come with me.”

6

The four-day journey from Worru to Capriana Prime had worn out So-Elku. No, that wasn’t it. The pressure of living under Kane’s threats had worn him out. The constant head games, the manipulation, the condescension. On top of it, the Luma master was quite sure the admiral had gone completely mad. Or worse.

So-Elku dried his face with a towel as an incoming communiqué chirped in his quarters. He swiped open the notification hovering a few centimeters off the mirror’s surface. “What is it?” he said, dabbing his cheeks.

“Master So-Elku, we’ve received permission to enter atmosphere.”

“Very good. I’ll be up momentarily.” He closed out the channel, set his towel down, and reached for his robes.

His mind turned toward the admiral. So-Elku had seen madness before, at least in part. For example, Luma who’d lost themselves in the Unity could go out of their minds if pulled from it prematurely. But what ailed the admiral was something different. Kane’s eyes had changed into black orbs, into something preternatural, as if he was possessed.

So-Elku slid his arms into his green-and-black robes and pulled the fabric over his shoulders. Their weight felt good, familiar, as did the power that came with them. He would need all the power he could summon when standing toe-to-toe with Kane. The admiral was dark and unexpected, and So-Elku had realized he wasn’t dealing with a reasonable man anymore.

Before, the prospect of getting to see what no one from this universe had ever seen—the lost temple library of the fabled Novia Minoosh—was a prize worth doing almost anything for, including giving up one of his students. But the admiral had agreed not to hurt Awen—a promise he’d broken without an afterthought.

Then there was the attack on the dormitory, which had been an act of pure evil. Kane had called in an orbital strike on peaceful planet, and the response team was still sorting through the wreckage, still finding remains. Despite So-Elku’s doubts about the Republic, not even they would sanction such a merciless attack in broad daylight—which meant only one thing: the Republic had lost control.

And then there was Kane himself. A man—no, a monster—who had consumed a Luma elder’s life force. And enjoyed it. The episode disturbed So-Elku as much as the loss of the dormitory. Perhaps even more.

So-Elku looked down, drawing his robes closed with the loops and toggles. He took a deep breath and smoothed the fabric over his chest. An idea was forming.

The discovery of the Novia manuscript had opened certain possibilities, ones he’d never considered. No one had. But even with the little that he and his elders had deciphered so far, the potential—no, the power—seemed limitless. He wished to taste of it again.

So-Elku closed his eyes, entered the Unity, and sank through the ether as far as he could. Below all he knew and all he’d ever explored lay what the Novia Minoosh’s codex had told him was there: the Foundation of all things. Here was the Unity’s base, the ultimate beginning point. It was immovable. Impenetrable. It was the bedrock upon which everything else in the cosmos rested.

It’s been under our feet all along, So-Elku mused. The way forward—he’d recognized upon translating the first several pages of the manuscript—was not above them. It was below.

The Luma master gathered himself and pressed his ethereal body against the floor. The surface was cold and massive as if his body lay across a glacier. He spread himself over it, stretching out as if facedown in a large bed.

In the physical realm, children learned to walk by standing up—by pushing against the ground beneath their feet. But the ground was an assumption, its composition a construct, one that was only as real as anyone believed it to be. So So-Elku stopped believing, stopped fighting against what he thought was the Unity’s lowest level.

His will relinquished, the Luma master offered himself to the resistance, pulled into it by gravity—and passed through. At once, the cosmos inverted itself. He was right side up in a whole new landscape, one alive with power. Vibrant magenta swirled around him, the waves of energy sensing his sudden arrival in their sanctuary. So-Elku stretched and welcomed the energy into his soul.

Whatever the Unity had shown him before—a perspective of all things interconnected and emergent—it now showed him as power. Pure, unbridled power. That power was behind all the essential questions: How can something be alive? How can a sentient being have a soul? Where did the galaxy’s energy come from before all things began? The answers to the greatest questions of the cosmos were here, in what lay below—or perhaps above—the Foundation of all things.

So-Elku let his soul linger in this convergent place—this new place the codex called the Nexus—and risked opening his eyes in the natural realm. The task required an exorbitant amount of concentration and discipline. But the reward was sensational: a surge of power that shamed anything he’d ever experienced before. He looked down at his hands, both glowing in the strange magenta halo he’d discovered with the elders. He felt euphoric. With this new resource, he felt invincible. He would complete the mission forming in his mind. He refused to let the malevolent admiral win, refused to let him jeopardize the cause of true galactic peace—a peace So-Elku would broker. And with his newfound power, he would never let it be compromised. Not by anyone.

So-Elku began to visualize Kane’s face. In the natural realm, Kane was repulsive—pockmarked skin, orbed black eyes, twisted sneer. Instead of that face, So-Elku thought of the one he’d seen when visiting the man in the Unity. The other face.

It took immense concentration to achieve such a distance with the ever-sight—to see the admiral on the bridge of his ship. But So-Elku wasn’t the grand master for nothing. Lurking beneath Kane’s face was another visage that was darker than any he’d ever seen in the cosmos.

At that moment, So-Elku felt it—the soul-sucking vacuum that tugged on his life’s energy. That ethereal thing inside Kane knew the Luma master was there somehow. It was aware of his presence. And it was hungry, reaching out to devour So-Elku’s strength.

So-Elku’s body jerked as his life force left the Nexus, ripped through the Foundation, and stepped from the Unity. He grabbed the towel and wiped the cold sweat from his forehead and the back of his neck. He saw Moldark’s face behind Kane’s. That other personality. That ego. That otherworldly being.

“Moldark,” So-Elku said with a sneer.

So-Elku ran a hand over his face then looked himself over in the mirror. He turned his chin from side to side, examining the thin beard that ran along his jawline like a wire, and noticed that he’d nicked himself shaving. He grabbed the towel again and dabbed the cut on his cheek.

“I’ll find a way to stop you, Moldark,” So-Elku said. “I’ll make a way. I swear it.”

* * *

Capriana wasn’t the Republic’s capital for nothing. If there was ever to be a gallery piece that conveyed the supposed merits and majesty of galactic harmony, this was it. It was, by all counts, the convergence of paradise and engineering, a city built from the sea, a jewel on top of a watery world.

So-Elku caught his breath on the ship’s bridge as they descended toward the capital. Hundreds of islands of varying sizes made up the enormous crescent-shaped atoll. Sleek skyscrapers rose from the islands, their heights corresponding to each island’s position. Those buildings nearest the crescent’s tips were shortest whereas those toward the interior were tallest, such that the entire city was arrayed like the ridges of a jeweled crown. The large C shape seemed fitting, given the city’s name—as if their engineers had planned it that way. They have enough power and money. Anything’s possible.

Within the city’s cradle, massive pleasure cruisers dotted the sea like glittering gems. Outside of the geometric enclave, smaller floating cities perched on giant stilts like flamingos on spindly legs. The entire picture was as stunning as it was obscene, and So-Elku would have turned away if it hadn’t been so mesmerizingly beautiful.

So-Elku’s ship approached the city’s northern curve, heading for a series of docking platforms. The buildings towered in the evening light like spires made of costly pearl, gleaming surfaces boasting more square kilometers of iridescent windowplex than he’d ever seen. Translucent tubes linked one building to the next, even across islands. Composite gantries extended high above the water to support bubble-like pods that appeared to defy gravity.

Despite his animosity toward the bloated underbelly of organized bureaucracy, So-Elku admitted that it knew how to build a megalopolis. Knowing the construction had been funded with the blood of a hundred sentient species, however, kept him grounded, just like the ship as it touched down with a slight jostle. He would not be shaken by their charms, not dissuaded by offers of power. Their power really belonged to him, anyway. They’d ruled for too long and at the end of a blaster muzzle. The galaxy deserved something else, something new. It deserved peace, and those who resisted it deserved exile.

“If you’re ready, Master,” the flight steward said from the bridge entrance. So-Elku turned. The young man gestured toward the exit, inclining his head.

“I am ready. Let’s proceed.”

* * *

So-Elku walked with twelve Luma elders in his entourage, each committed to his cause. They strode through the great hallways and corridors of the Forum Republica, making their way to Proconsul Tower where they’d be meeting.

His elders’ robes swept over the white marble floors like undulating ocean waves rippling in the twilight. Each step his retinue took was methodical—soft shoes silent in the cavernous spaces, clasped hands hidden beneath long sleeves, heads lowered beneath hoods, eyes forward. Senate staff stepped aside as the Luma passed, evoking hushed conversations and pointing. The Senate was no longer in session at this hour, but the work of running the Republic never ceased.

So-Elku’s entourage passed the Senate chamber, White Gardens Court, and Representative Hall until they reached the Proconsul Tower’s elevators. The ride up provided a panoramic view of the city’s seaside cradle, the setting sun filling the bowl with pink light. So-Elku’s thoughts turned toward the Nexus, the warm hue reminding him of the energy that flowed beneath the Foundation. He could sense it. It called to him—longed for him. And he would use it. He would learn to master it, and he would usher in a new era of ultimate peace.

The elevator doors opened, and So-Elku turned, his retinue emerging from the pod into an atrium. Even from here, So-Elku could see the larger dome of Proconsul Chamber rising outside the clear ceiling.

He looked down to see a woman behind a grand shell-like desk, the chamber doors sealed shut behind her. Her hair was pulled tight in a bun, and she wore the white dress coat of the Senate staff, trimmed in light blue.

“May I help you?” She sounded inconvenienced, as if she’d just been interrupted while reading a particularly engrossing novel or holo-vid.

One of So-Elku’s elders stepped forward. “Master Luma So-Elku of Plumeria, Worru, to see the members,” the man replied, his voice echoing off the walls.

The woman looked down and scanned their group. Then, as if she’d no more than read some disappointing headline on a news feed, she said, “It seems they’re not expecting you.”

“No,” So-Elku agreed, stepping forward, “they most certainly are not.”

The woman looked confused. “Then I don’t see what you expect to—”

“We will see them now.” He walked around her desk, followed by the elders, and headed toward the doors.

The woman leapt to her feet, attempting to impede their progress. “Excuse me,” she said, hands on her hips, “but what do you think you’re doing?”

“I thought I made myself clear.”

The woman suddenly froze in place, suspended as if in a wide-eyed trance. He’d release her when they left.

Satisfied, So-Elku returned to the doors and caused them to open. A darkened room—the windowplex adjusted to block the light—was illuminated by soft lights spaced around its circular perimeter. Nine figures sat at a circular table, all of them turning to see who’d interrupted their meeting. Each held up a hand to block the glare from the anteroom.

So-Elku smiled.

“What’s the meaning of this?” a man asked.

“You’re supposed to use the intercom,” another said, apparently assuming the secretary had walked in.

So-Elku spread his arms, and his twelve elders spread out to surround the table. The senators rose in surprise as their room was flooded with guests.

“What’s going on?” a third man asked. So-Elku sensed the man’s unease. The question was followed by several more of the same kind, each demanding an explanation. Their voices were still authoritarian, confident, and proud. But that would change.

Without turning, So-Elku shut the doors. With the glare gone, the senators lowered their hands, their faces emerging in the soft light.

“Sit, sit,” So-Elku said, beginning to circle the table. “Please, gentlemen.”

“What is the meaning of this interruption, So-Elku?” asked a stocky man with thick shoulders. It was Senator Blackman.

“A marvelous question,” So-Elku said with a chuckle.

Blackman let out an exasperated breath and leaned over to the comm panel on the table. “I’m calling security.”

“I said sit.”

With a sudden wump, all the senators fell into their padded chairs, hands clamped to their armrests. The men glanced at each other, eyes wide.

So-Elku steepled his fingers and looked around the room at the others. “So this is the Circle of Nine. How exciting! I’ve heard so much about you.”

The senators looked among one another.

“Oh, don’t worry,” So-Elku continued. “Your secret meetings aren’t public knowledge. You’re safe.” He let out a laugh. “Relatively speaking, of course.”

“What do you want?” Blackman asked.

“What do I want?” So-Elku raised his eyebrows, though he doubted the gesture would be noticed. “Well, now, that’s an interesting question. My assumption was that these meetings were all about what you wanted.”

Blackman glared at him but kept his mouth shut.

“And what is it that you want?” So-Elku asked, tapping a finger to his chin. “Oh, that’s right. You wanted me executed.”

Recognition dawned on the faces around the table. Eyes darted away from So-Elku and stared at each other.

“Yes, that’s right. Your pet project—Admiral Kane, is it?—was sent to kill me, by order of the Circle of Nine.”

“We don’t know what you’re—”

“Please, Senator… what is it, Senator Miller? I see your thoughts like a holo-vid. You do know what I’m talking about. In fact…” So-Elku paused to examine a loose thread in the Unity. “I believe you were the first to affirm the motion.”

The man blanched and jerked back in his chair.

“And you, Senator Long—you gave Kane complete latitude to take my life by any means necessary, isn’t that right?” The senator refused to look at the Luma master, his eyes remaining fixed straight ahead. “That decision cost hundreds of lives—all students in the dormitory.”

At this piece of information, the senators looked frantically at one another for verification.

“So the news hasn’t reached you yet? Well,” So-Elku said, shrugging, “it seems we can’t be as all-knowing as we’d like, now, can we. In any event, I assume it’s clear that Kane did not kill me, and you should be wondering why.”

“You killed him?” Blackman asked.

“For all the mystics!” So-Elku spat. “Why is everything always about killing, killing, killing with you people? You do realize events can change without having to kill someone, right?” He waited for an answer. “Right?”

No one moved.

“No, I did not kill him,” So-Elku continued. “We struck a deal.”

“A deal?” Blackman asked. “What kind of a deal?”

“What kind of a deal, yes! What a marvelous question. Isn’t that a marvelous question, senators?” So-Elku began moving around the table, brushing the top of each chair back with his hand. “It would seem, senators, that your puppet has gone rogue.”

“Rogue? What do you mean?” Blackman asked.

“As in, he’s no longer yours, he’s no longer following orders, and he’s no longer interested in doing your bidding! That kind of rogue.”

“And how would you know this?”

“Because he sent me here to assassinate you.”

Gasps filled the room as So-Elku moved behind Blackman’s chair. The senators squirmed, still unable to move their arms.

“Fabrication!” one senator cried.

“Yes,” echoed others. “Here, here!”

So-Elku marveled at how easily political power fought to preserve itself in the face of certain death. At least their Republic Marines knew how to face defeat with honor. Instead, these snakes would look for every other way out but honor.

“Fabrication,” So-Elku repeated softly. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

He snapped his fingers, and one of his elders sent a holo-pad sliding to the middle of the polished table. An image burst to life over the black-stained wood, glowing in the dimly lit room. In it, Admiral Kane could be seen surrounded by two dozen black-clad troopers. They faced So-Elku and his elders, discussing something.

“Listen,” So-Elku said, “this is my favorite part.”

“They have betrayed me, betrayed their own,” the admiral in the vid said.

So-Elku watched the senators’ faces as they tried to connect the strange voice to Kane’s face. It was an exercise in futility.

“They deserve to die. All of them. And you will do this for me. You will execute the Circle of Nine one by one by one.”

The holo-vid stopped and faded to black. No one moved. So-Elku let the tension hang in silence. Finally, he asked, “So, what now? What’s the Luma master going to do?” He placed his hands on Blackman’s shoulders, and the senator sucked in a startled breath. “Don’t worry, Senator Blackman. I’m not going to kill you.”

“Why not?”

“Why not? Why, isn’t it obvious?” Again, So-Elku waited for someone to reply, but no one spoke. “Because I’ve been given a gift. You see,” he said, moving to kneel beside Blackman, “I hate that monster. Maybe more than you, maybe less—who knows? But I hate him. He’s already disobeyed your orders more than once, and you can’t afford to let him off his leash. I can’t afford to live in a galaxy where he roams free, so we both want the same thing.”

“That’s your gift?” Senator Miller asked.

“No, Senator. That’s the context. The gift is that your admiral doesn’t know I’m going to let you survive.”

“And do what with us?”

So-Elku smiled, glaring into Senator Blackman’s eyes. “Whatever I want, Senator. Whatever I want.”

7

Magnus sat beside Abimbola in the front seat of a skiff that resembled a welder’s psychotic break more than it did a reliable transport vehicle. The monstrosity was three times the size of a dune skiff and sported rusting plate armor on all sides. An angled cowling with slats covered the cockpit, while a spiked battering ram protruded from the front. The skiff’s sides and rear were clad in reinforced metal with razor wire welded to the surface.

Above and behind them, a Marauder in a shielded turret rested against an M109 twin-barrel blaster, a lit roll of snash hanging from the corner of his mouth. Another man sat inside the skiff at a holo-station with targeting screens. The images came from four different rocket bays around the skiff—two forward, two in back. Six more Marauders lay in wait in the rear cargo bay, their weapons at the ready.

Magnus listened to the skiff’s engine growl against the sand and the wind. Like everything else on the contraption, the power plant was heavily modified, boasting nearly five times the energy of a normal skiff’s. As a result, not only could Abimbola’s ride carry the crew and armament with ease, but it also soared six meters above the ground. That meant less driving around debris and much more driving over it—or, as Magnus noted, through it. Hell’s Basket Case, as Abimbola had dubbed her—the moniker stenciled on the tail in red and yellow paint—was made for one thing: doling out death with extreme prejudice.

Magnus looked to his right at the line of similarly constructed vehicles that angled toward the horizon, the dust cloud blotting out the sky behind them. Some of them were smaller, sporting missile silos that left little room for a driver. Others were monstrous troop carriers, their front ends donning hydraulic wedge plows used for tearing into and separating solid walls for entry. Still others had second levels for added weapons arrays and observation lookouts. To an enemy, this was a ferocious sight.

* * *

“So, you sure about this plan?” Magnus shouted over his ear comm. He wore a black bandana, sunglasses, and the armor Abimbola had provided. His MAR30 rested on his lap, the Z and several grenades in his chest armor.

The giant beside him wore the same cut-off shirt and green pants as before. The skiff’s controls seemed so small in the shadow of his hulking body. Sweat beaded on the man’s smooth black skin, and the old scar that ran from head to collarbone was swollen in the heat. Against his seat, Abimbola rested some sort of enlarged blaster that Magnus had never seen before, presumably a piece from his home world of Limbia Centrella. Its main barrel, twice the diameter of any hand weapon Magnus had ever fired, was housed in a boxy vented stock with two assault grips.

“You like it?” Abimbola asked as Magnus regarded the weapon.

“She looks like a handful.”

“Ha, she is. She really is.” Abimbola patted the weapon. “A BFT6, known as the Tigress where I come from.”

“Yeah, well, that’s known as a wrist breaker where I come from. Better you than me.”

Abimbola smiled and flicked the pair of dice that hung from his rearview mirror. “So, you asked if I am sure about the plan. Yes, I am sure about the plan, buckethead. We will enter the city from the east then meet up with the mwadim for permission. He will provide us with the intel from his sources.”

“The Tawnhack sources?”

Abimbola nodded.

Magnus didn’t like the idea of using Jujari as HUMIT—human intelligence. SAVIT was more like it—savage intelligence. He also didn’t like meeting the new mwadim, whoever he was. Still, if working with these hyenas meant rescuing any of his unit, then it was worth it. He’d just have to suck it up and play nice with the puppies.

“You should not worry,” Abimbola said, seeming to sense Magnus’s apprehension. “They want those hostages alive too. Means a bargaining chip in their pocket for Republic negotiations if you play it right. You will know what to do.”

“Copy that,” Magnus said, suddenly wondering if the Tawnhack could be trusted when this was all over. “Who’s to say they don’t double-cross us and keep the hostages for themselves once we rescue them?”

“You mean, double-cross you.”

“What?”

“You said we, but I have nothing to worry about. No double-crossing here. Just you.”

“Perfect.” Magnus looked ahead at the city growing on the horizon. The city’s towers brought back all the memories from the ambush. His chest tightened. He’d almost died in those streets. So had Awen.

Awen. He missed her. For the hundredth time, he wondered how she was. But to keep his heart from overextending itself, he reminded himself that Awen had been just a mission. One he’d carried out faithfully. Now he had a new mission—one he’d be just as dedicated to.

“Stick to the plan,” Abimbola said again with his hand on the wheel and a wide smile spreading across his face. “Just stick to the plan.”

* * *

“I’d come with you, you know,” the senator’s widow told Magnus, clasping his hands. “I’d fight alongside you, as before.”

They stood alone under a canvas awning, shielded from the morning sun. He’d just finished the briefing with Abimbola and was preparing to leave, filling his canteens from the well, when Valerie had found him. She’d snuck up on him—startled him really. But he tried to play it off. Magnus turned around and caught his breath yet again when he saw her. How could beauty be intimidating? He didn’t know, but hers was.

“But Piper needs me more. I hope you understand.”

“I do.” Magnus nodded.

“You rescue your unit, you hear me? But then I need you back here. I need you to get Piper to safety—off this planet, away from here. Do you understand?”

“I’ll do my best, Mrs. Stone.”

“Valerie, please. Just Valerie,” she said, looking down. Her amber hair glistened in the light, threatening to blend in with the sand surrounding them. When her eyes returned to his, they were wet with tears. “I fear that family name has died in me. But we’ve had enough death for a long time. So no dying out there, understand?”

What is this? Genuine concern? Or something else? Something… deeper? His heart pounded, the feeling of her hands in his sending an unexpected burst of dopamine through his system.

Magnus blinked some sand from his eyes and cursed himself for thinking of this woman in any other way than as a traumatized victim of a war-torn galaxy. This wasn’t the time for… any of that. This woman needed help, needed to get her daughter to safety. And she only lost her husband… how many days ago? Call it a week. She’s mourning, bereaved. This is no romantic come-on by some tavern skirt. Get your head in gear, Magnus!

“I’ll be back before you know it, and then we’ll have you and Piper on a Republic ship and on your way to Capriana.”

“Not Capriana, no.” She squeezed his hands harder.

“Not Capriana?” Magnus asked slowly.

Valerie shook her head. “Somewhere else. Somewhere safe.”

Since when is Capriana not safe? What is this woman caught up in?

“Just come back to me, Magnus. Promise?”

The feelings returned. Damn those feelings! But before he could protest further, before he could even utter an answer, Valerie pulled herself up to his face and kissed him on the cheek. Her lips were warm, her face fragrant. Then she let go, turned, and evaporated into the warehouse.

Magnus reached for his canteens, but he’d knocked all three into the well.

* * *

Oosafar was close enough that Magnus thought he smelled it maybe ten klicks out. He trusted Abimbola’s knowledge of this place, but that didn’t make entering a hostile territory any easier. The other vehicles fell in line behind Abimbola’s as the convoy prepared to enter the city’s outskirts. If there was going to be any initial resistance, this was it. He’d laid siege to enough cities to know that plenty of fighting could take place before you ever set foot on the enduracrete.

Magnus always got amped just before a firefight. He figured they still had a way to go before they made contact with any Selskrit in the Western Heights, but to him, one Jujari was just as dangerous as the next. He removed his Z from his chest holster, double-checked it, then stowed it. Out of pure habit, he powered up the holo-sights on his MAR30 and cycled through its three firing systems.

There was plenty to worry about on this mission. There were many variables in play, not the least of which was a dramatically stronger enemy and unreliable intel. But more than anything, Magnus was worried about going in with an inexperienced unit. He was worried about jeopardizing Dutch and the others again.

He didn’t doubt the Marauders could fight. Abimbola had surely seen to that. Whatever Abimbola’s past was on Limbia Centrella, it had made him one badass son of a bitch. But Abimbola’s Marauders were not Recon. Not by a long shot. They had violence of force, maybe, but no unit cohesion, movement orchestration, or tactical precision. Not even Dutch and the others had that sort of training.

Disobeyed orders meant lives lost. Faulty steps meant lives lost. Dirty gear, jammed weapons, and missed commands—all of that meant lives they couldn’t afford to lose, lives Magnus didn’t want to lose. He was leading a ragtag bunch of miscreants, Marines, and a navy warrant officer on a suicide mission to rescue hostages he wasn’t even sure were still alive. And he’d promised a beautiful woman he’d get her and her daughter off the planet once he got back. Go for broke, Magnus. Go for broke.

He reached for one of the canteens in his backpack behind the seat, undid the top, and took a swig. The water was hot. It was not even late morning, and already the sun was baking everything in the skiff—even with the constant headwind. He was going to be glad to get off this dust ball again.

Just ahead, Magnus noticed a checkpoint. A tall sandstone gate swept down to each side of the road, forming a low wall that stretched out in either direction. The gate was elegant if nothing else. The Jujari had a strange contradiction about them—their penchant for beauty, in things like architecture, stood against their brutal barbarian behavior. He wondered how such a violent species could endure so long and amass—much less utilize—so much technology. They were truly an enigma. Perhaps that’s why Awen likes them so much, he thought then realized that statement might be taken as a slight rather than a compliment. Well, she’s an enigma too.

Four Jujari emerged from two small gatehouses on either side of the thoroughfare, keeltari swords drawn and at the ready.

“Let me do the talking,” Abimbola said.

“Be my guest.”

The drive core whined as it worked to slow the skiff’s momentum. The vehicle shuddered and sank to a half meter above the ground, a shower of sand and dust blasting in all directions. The Jujari sentries turned their heads only slightly as the wind matted their fur against their bodies. Magnus was aware of the rest of the vehicles clunking to a stop behind them and wondered if they’d be rammed. To their credit, Abimbola’s men eased the entire line of vehicles to a halt without a single bump.

Abimbola unlatched several metal clasps and forced the slatted armor window away on its hinge. He gestured for Magnus to do the same. The sentries approached, two at each door. Despite how high Abimbola and Magnus sat, the Jujari still managed to meet them at eye level.

“What business are you having done here?” snarled the lead sentry, the common speech garbled between his fangs.

Abimbola dipped his head and tilted it away from the Jujari, baring his neck. “Me and the boys,” he said, thumbing behind him as he returned the Jujari’s glare, “thought we would do some Selskrit hunting.”

The lead sentry chomped the air at the mention of the rival tribe’s name. The other three growled, their hackles standing up.

“I do not suppose you want to join us?” Abimbola asked.

“We would,” the sentry said, “if we had not already had our fill earlier in this day.”

“Did you leave any for us, then?”

“Perhaps.” The sentry looked at Magnus. “Who is this him?”

“This him? Just another of my crew.”

“He smells different.” The big Jujari sniffed the air some more. “Smells like Repub.”

“This guy? Repub? Nah. You probably just smell the new armor he got. Picked it up off some dead soldiers not more than a few days ago.”

The sentry eyed him. “Where?”

“Where what?”

“Where did you find the soldiers?”

“Out past Kellax Ridge. Some escape pods. You probably saw them go down, right?”

The sentry paused, looking between the two men. Magnus felt his grip on his MAR30 tightening. He couldn’t think of a single thing that he liked about these beasts. “Very all right,” the pooch said, mixing his vernacular to sound far more affirmative than he probably meant. “Who are you going to meet?”

“Rohoar,” Abimbola said.

Apparently, this name meant something to the sentries. At once, they dipped their heads and bared their necks. Magnus raised his eyebrows and looked at Abimbola, but the warlord waved him off with a curt shake of his head.

The sentries looked up and stepped away, waving Abimbola through. “You may proceed. And find happy hunting of our bastard kin.”

“Thank you.” Abimbola flipped them each a poker chip. Magnus had no idea if the Jujari gambled, at least as humanoids did, but the beasts seemed appreciative of the currency. The warlord pressed on the accelerator, and the drive core jolted to life, the skiff lurching forward.

“I guess Rohoar is a good friend to have,” Magnus said once they were through.

“Friend, no. But we respect one another, and sometimes that is better than friendship.”

“So, he’s one of the bosses around here, then?”

“He is the new mwadim.”

“The new mwadim?” Magnus stroked his beard. “The old one didn’t do so well in that blast.”

“No, he did not. They are still mourning him and will for the next year.”

“So, in the meantime, they picked a new one?”

“No picking. Fighting. Whoever wants to be mwadim kills all challengers until no one challenges him or he dies. If he dies, combat resumes for the victor in the same way.”

Magnus whistled. “Pays to have a good campaign manager, then.”

“A good what?”

“Campaign managers. Pay off your competition, put hits on…” He glanced at the giant’s blank face. “You know what? Never mind.”

Abimbola glanced at Magnus then looked back at the road. “You are strange, buckethead. One minute, I think I like you. The next, I don’t think I like you. So you are like a dog to me.”

“I’m… like a dog…”

“Yes. If I like you, I keep feeding you. If I do not, I kick you. We will see how the day ends.”

“Fair enough,” Magnus said, looking up at the buildings. “Fair eee-nough.”

* * *

The convoy drove through the main thoroughfare of Oosafar, weapons at the ready. Abimbola gave short instructions over comms to keep everyone focused. “No sudden movements, keep it smooth, and don’t look any Jujari in the eye.”

Unlike the first time Magnus had been here, the city was alive with activity. Everywhere he looked, Jujari were barking, selling, wrestling, howling, trading, and eating. Pups kept close to their mothers. Adolescent males huddled in small packs. Older hyenas lounged in wide chairs with soft cushions on balconies that overlooked the street.

The city was much fairer than Magnus remembered it. Parks stood like oases amongst the towering skyscrapers. Palms waved, and water gardens filled the air with the sounds and smells of waterfalls. It was cleaner, too, though the smell still threatened to overtake him. The first time in Oosafar, he’d had his helmet on to filter the air, at least at the beginning. Now the pungent scent of dog permeated the air.

High overhead, Magnus made out the white curtains in every window on every level of every building. He saw the subtle blue glow of the force fields that kept out the elements. The wind played with the fabric, making it move like ghosts. What did Awen call them again? Inook shrouds?

The haunting movement took him back to the mwadim’s tower. A chill ran up his spine. Throughout the city, Magnus felt thousands and thousands of eyes studying the convoy. The thought of another ambush made him ready his MAR30 out of pure instinct.

“Easy, buckethead.”

Magnus looked at Abimbola. The giant reached over and placed a hand on top of his MAR30. “No need for that just yet. We do not want to start any wars we cannot finish.”

Magnus lowered his weapon and looked out the right side of the skiff. “You don’t worry about an ambush?”

“Sure. But those who ambush us are more worried about the mwadim.”

“So you’re not worried about an ambush.”

“Right.”

Magnus chuckled. “Fair enough.”

The convoy moved farther and farther until Magnus felt like they were in the city’s center. Something about the buildings felt familiar. And then he saw it—the ruins of the mwadim’s tower. The entire structure was a heap of sandstone and metal girders. The air was sharp, filled with stale smoke and burned hair. The buildings around it were black with soot, many of them bearing shrapnel pockmarks.

“Look familiar?” Abimbola asked.

Magnus nodded. “The mwadim’s tower.”

“Former mwadim’s tower.”

“Right.” Magnus strained to find the building he’d rappelled down with Awen in his arms. He picked it out because the grappling hook was still embedded in the sandstone, a gossamer-thin nanocable trailing in the wind. The more Magnus thought about it, the more he realized their escape had been a complete miracle. They’d been this deep in the city, yet not more than three Jujari had tried to prevent their escape. It was almost as if—

He shook the thought from his head. No, the Jujari wouldn’t let anyone go free, not after what happened.

“The new mwadim’s tower is there, at least until his real one can be constructed.” Abimbola pointed to a rather large skyscraper one block to the west. It rivaled what Magnus remembered of the other tower but definitely seemed shorter.

“You just gotta be taller than everyone else’s towers, don’t you?” Magnus said to the sky.

Abimbola faced Magnus. “I cannot help what the gods blessed me with, buckethead.”

Magnus glanced at him, unsure what to make of the comment. But when Abimbola smiled and let out a laugh, Magnus realized the man had a sense of humor after all. He laughed with him, and the skiff pressed on toward the new mwadim’s temporary home—all forty-some-odd stories of it.

* * *

Magnus and Abimbola were escorted into a waiting room while the rest of their fighting force remained in the vehicles. The room was covered in wall-to-wall white fabric with a bowl of fruit and a central column of fabric in the middle.

“Fladder,” Magnus said. “The fruit of welcome, I know.”

“Fladaria,” Abimbola corrected as he took one of the succulent red orbs and bit into it. Magnus did the same and let the maroon trickle run down his lip. “So, you have studied a little of your enemy, then. Very good.”

“It’s more of a hobby really,” Magnus said, thinking of Awen’s scolding the last time they’d been in this situation.

“Listen, no matter what happens up there,” Abimbola said, taking another bite and wiping his mouth, “do not back down.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, if you had studied more in your hobby, maybe with the dau Lothlinium woman, you would know the Jujari move aggressively toward any sign of weakness. So no matter what, when we speak to the mwadim, stand your ground.”

“Is there something you’re not telling me?”

“What?” Abimbola scowled at him. “No, not at all. Just standard procedure. Stand your ground. Do not show weakness.”

“Copy that.” Magnus had a bad feeling about this.

Once they’d finished the fruit, a sentry appeared, his shoulders matted with blood. At first, Magnus thought it was Chief, the blood wolf who’d greeted him last time, but he soon realized it couldn’t be. Magnus was no expert in distinguishing one Jujari from the next, but that Jujari had been blasted to bits in the explosion. The carnage on that building top had been gruesome.

“The mwadim wishes to make intercourse with you,” the sentry said.

“Intercourse?” Magnus asked under his breath.

“As in discourse,” Abimbola whispered. “Dip your head and tilt. Dip and tilt.”

Magnus did as he was told, and the sentry sniffed the air in acceptance.

“We are humbled by the meeting,” Abimbola said, pressing a poker chip into the Jujari’s paw. “Lead the way, and we will follow.”

The sentry turned and passed through the thick white fabric. Unlike the last time, when the entourage of Luma and Marines had ascended a long and winding ramp, this time Magnus strode into an elevator that seemed to be centered in the building’s layout. The doors closed with the three warriors inside, each startlingly different from the next. Magnus tried not to wince at the Jujari’s odor; the beast smelled as if he hadn’t bathed in weeks. Magnus wondered if his own scent was equally repulsive.

Heavy breathing and the elevator’s hum were the only sounds as the floor counter changed shape in Jujari script. Eventually, the lift slowed, and the doors opened onto a beautiful terrace. Wide swaths of fabric billowed overhead, shielding the platform from the sun, while fountains and their streams fed patches of greenery and planters of desert flowers. Female Jujari moved about the scene, their long sinewy limbs making them markedly different from the males. Some sat with male counterparts, while others served trays of meat and jars of… whatever beverage the Jujari elite favored.

The sentry walked forward toward a raised dais, but unlike the last one, which had been decorated in exotic red-and-gold fabrics and secluded behind a massive curtain, this platform was simple and exposed on all sides. Atop it was a low table with several cushions, each occupied by a Jujari. Altogether, there were two males and two females. They appeared to be lounging on the mwadim’s throne mount. The scene was totally different from the one he’d encountered before—far more casual.

The sentry yipped something in their mother tongue and bowed. Abimbola bowed deeply, and Magnus followed suit, trying not to stare at the four Jujari on the dais. Then the tallest one bade the men approach. There was something familiar about him—the color of his fur, the shape of his head, the size of his shoulders.

“Abimbola,” the mwadim said, now distinguishing himself from the others by moving down the dais. “Rohoar sees his Miblimbian warlord. How are you?” The mwadim spoke with surprising dexterity in Galactic common despite still garbling the words a little. Magnus knew that voice.

“It is good to see you again, Great Mwadim. We have come to seek your permission to hunt Selskrit, as previously discussed.”

“It is a good day for hunting. But tell Rohoar—who is this?” The mwadim gestured at Magnus.

Magnus removed his sunglasses and stepped forward. “My name is Adonis Olin Magnus, and I am a Marauder.” While he had yet to be honorably discharged, this statement was truer than he cared to recognize. He would never be a Marine again, at least not active duty.

The mwadim eyed him and paused. His gaze was uncomfortable. Magnus glanced at Abimbola, but the warlord jerked his head back toward the mwadim.

“Rohoar does not think so.”

“And how’s that?”

“Rohoar knows you.”

“You know me?” Magnus asked.

“And you are not a Marauder. You smell”—the mwadim sniffed the air—“like Republic. And you’ve been here before.”

Magnus swallowed, having felt bad for attempting to conceal his identity. Moreover, he wondered where this line of questioning would go. His weapons were back in the skiff, and he doubted they’d survive a melee for more than a few seconds.

A melee in the mwadim’s tower… Suddenly, Magnus saw this mwadim’s face again. They had met. But how did he survive? That would have been impossible!

“Chief?” he asked.

“What?” The Mwadim’s ears bent back.

“What?” Abimbola echoed.

Magnus felt like an idiot for even saying it aloud. Chief was what he’d called this Jujari, but it wasn’t his real name. “You’re right, Great Mwadim,” Magnus said. “We have met before. When the Luma were—”

“You are a Marine!” the mwadim growled, stepping forward.

This wasn’t good. Stand your ground, Magnus. “Yes, but I was here to—”

“And you fired at Jujari in the mwadim’s temple.”

Aw, splick. There it is.

Time froze for Magnus as he considered his options: lie and risk being caught in it or tell the truth and risk being filleted alive. Either way, he was dead.

Screw it. “Yes, I killed Jujari in an effort to complete my mission.”

The mwadim was one stride away now, teeth bared in a sneer so cold it made Magnus’s blood chill. He wanted to find cover, find a weapon, find some tactical advantage. But he had nowhere to go and no weapons to employ besides his fists—and those were no match for Jujari physiology.

“And was it worth it?” the mwadim asked.

Magnus hesitated. What a strange question. “Do you mean, was my mission worth killing for?”

The mwadim gave his version of a nod. “Worth killing Rohoar’s kinsmen.”

Magnus thought about it. Seeing as how he was about to meet an untimely end, he wanted to answer truthfully. He pictured Awen lying beside the mwadim, covered in blood and gore. He pictured her in his arms as they rappelled down the building. Then she saved them—twice. He saw her showered and in new clothes on Ezo’s ship. She was, in his imagination, the picture of hope, struggling to find virtue in the rest of the galaxy, no matter how misguided that was. Where he was a cynic, she was an optimist. Where he believed in the sword, she contended for dialogue. It frustrated him to no end. She frustrated him. But was she worth killing for?

Magnus looked up at the mwadim and squared his shoulders. “Yes, she was worth it. And I would have slain a thousand more if it meant preserving her life.”

8

“You still haven’t told me where Daddy is,” Piper said.

Valerie sat with her daughter beneath a canvas tarp on a third-story balcony overlooking the dunes. The sun had yet to reach midday, but already, the air was stifling. Still, anything was better than being cooped up inside Abimbola’s makeshift headquarters. It consisted of nothing more than dozens of metal ovens connected by underground tunnels. The coolest room had been sick bay, and that was because it was underground. Valerie had already spent enough time down there—and enough time in triage lines—to last a lifetime. Still, she wondered if this conversation was any safer than a battlefield.

Valerie studied Piper, her beautiful daughter. The little girl’s face was freckled and dirt smudged. Valerie pushed wisps of loose blond hair behind Piper’s ears then marveled at her wonderfully blue eyes and petite features.

You still haven’t told me where Daddy is. The issue was not whether Piper should be told the truth—Valerie would never lie to her. She’d come from too many lies to ever wish that childhood on someone else, let alone her own flesh and blood. The real question was, how much truth should she tell the girl? How much could she handle?

Valerie was having a hard time handling the truth herself. There was no easy way to tell a child she’d inadvertently committed patricide. It would ruin her. Forever. But Piper also needed to know about her gift and her history. If only my mother were here. If her mother was still alive, she had to get Piper to her somehow.

“Listen, baby,” Valerie said, aware of the tears sliding down her cheeks. “Daddy is dead. Daddy’s not coming back.”

“Why?” Piper’s lower lip had stiffened.

Valerie knew her daughter was trying to be tough, and it broke her heart. No child should have to be that strong. Why? Because evil men wanted your father to give you up, she wanted to say. Politics and power claim to regard life, but in the end, they only seek to preserve themselves. Why? Because in any other time in the galaxy, you would have been celebrated, Piper. But today, you are hunted. And instead of being nurtured in the ways of the Unity, you are left to stumble through the wreckage of actions beyond your control.

But Valerie couldn’t say that to her daughter. She wouldn’t. She would not rob the little girl of even more of her childhood just so she herself could have a clear conscience and feel morally clean. Valerie would hold on to the truth for a little while longer and preserve the beauty of her daughter’s innocence. Mystics knew it wouldn’t last much longer.

“The escape pods,” Valerie said. “He didn’t survive the trip.”

“Oh,” Piper said in a voice so small Valerie thought the girl would vanish.

“It was dangerous, and he knew that. But he wanted us to be safe, and it was worth the risk.”

“Mr. Lieutenant Magnus buried him, then? In the desert?”

“Yes, my heart,” Valerie said, choking back more tears. “Yes, he did, so we didn’t have to.”

“Okay.”

Valerie reached forward and pulled the girl to her chest, then wrapped her in her arms. She kissed the top of her head long and hard, more tears rolling into the child’s golden hair. Piper whimpered against Valerie’s chest but did not let go fully. She was restrained even in grief.

“I was so worried,” Piper said, mouth muffled under Valerie’s grip.

“Worried?” Valerie sat Piper up on her lap and looked in her face. “Worried about what, baby?”

“I was worried”—Piper sniffed, smudging tears and grime in streaks across her cheeks— “that maybe I had hurt Daddy. That my power had, had… that maybe I killed him.”

“Piper, no!” Valerie said. She lied for all she was worth without even given it a second thought. All morals, all ethics, all arguments died in her mad rush to keep her daughter from leaping off the precipice that summoned anyone who dared get too close. “Don’t think such things! Your daddy died in the escape pod. You had nothing to do with it. You hear me?” Valerie snapped Piper to her chest again as the little girl started sobbing. “Your gift only gives life, Piper.”

She’d repeated this phrase a hundred times before, but at bedtimes and on long walks. She never imagined she’d be saying it at a time like this. “You only give life. You hear me? You only give life.”

“Yes, Mama,” Piper said, trembling in grief.

Valerie and Piper wept together under the canvas tarp in the makeshift chairs on the hot planet. They rocked for several minutes, Piper grieving over her father, Valerie grieving over her daughter.

The truth was, Valerie missed Darin. She’d loved him. But the marriage had been… the result of two careers that were supposed to collide to make a strong legacy within the Republic. He was the next Stone in a long line of respected senators; she was a decorated veteran and a budding doctor. Together, they’d been given more praise and political power than any young couple their age. They hadn’t been creating a legacy—they’d been forging a dynasty. But it was never meant to last.

Valerie looked westward at the horizon. Magnus was out there, fighting for his Marines, fighting to bring them back alive. She admired that—no, she loved that. It was in her blood too. She’d done the same things. Those days felt like a lifetime ago, before Capriana, Senate dinners, and the commemorative galas. Even while she was dancing, she’d felt an MC90 in her hands.

Valerie fought off flashbacks of firefights and screams for a medic. She’d lived and died a thousand times in her dreams and wished she could go back to kill more of the enemy and save more Marines. So fighting outside the village beside Magnus just before the orbital strike, or escaping from the Bull Wraith and being blindly flung into the void in an escape pod—those had been the most exciting moments of her life, at least in a long, long time.

Magnus had made those moments happen. He’d called her back from the dead—back from a life of silverware and sycophants. He’d rescued her in more ways than one. When she was with him, she felt alive.

“I saved you, right, Mama?” Piper said from beneath her arms.

“What’s that?” Valerie pulled the girl up to look in her face.

“I saved you. When the starship shot us. I protected you, didn’t I? You always say my gift gives life. So I protected life.”

“Yes. Yes, you did, my love. You saved me and everyone else.”

“But not Mr. Lieutenant Magnus’s eyes. You did that.”

Valerie smiled. “I tried. I gave him new ones. But trust me, your gift is far better than mine.”

“I felt it coming, Mama.”

“Felt what?”

“The starship’s big blaster bolt.”

Valerie stared at Piper. “You… felt it coming?”

“Uh-huh. I heard them talking. Someone told someone else to fire. Then I saw the big gun. It was aimed at the village. So I reached out and pulled everyone close. Like when you hold me. So they wouldn’t feel afraid.”

Several moments passed while Valerie tried to make sense of her daughter’s words.

“Mama?”

The little girl was a telepath, but more so than Valerie had ever been. More than even Valerie’s mother had been. Is it even possible to hear orders on a starship or see an orbital strike before it’s fired?

“Mama, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, baby.” Valerie reached out and wiped one of Piper’s tears away with her thumb. “You are a marvel and a wonder, you know that?”

“You tell me all the time, Mama.”

“I know.” Valerie sighed. “I know.” Then she reached out and hugged her daughter again, but this time, it was to conceal her fear.

9

Awen stood in the middle of the circle with the pedestal and the empty black box beside her. If she was to enter the Unity anywhere in the city, this was the place.

“You okay, love?” Sootriman said from outside the golden floral designs on the floor, her voice swallowed in the cavernous room.

Awen nodded. “I’m okay.”

“You’ve got this,” Ezo said.

“Give them hell,” TO-96 added.

Ezo shoved the bot sideways. “No, ’Six. Wrong context.”

“My apologies.”

“It’s all right, Ninety-Six. You always help me.” Awen lifted her chin and closed her eyes. This was it.

Perspiration moistened her clothes and hair. Awen focused on taking long, steady breaths. She could feel her heart rate begin to slow. In the darkness of her mind, she was alone. All was quiet. Perhaps this wouldn’t be so difficult after all.

But that conclusion had been premature. Like a rogue wave crashing onto an unsuspecting beach, the image of Sootriman and Kane hanging from the rappelling line appeared before her. Her heart rate quickened. She tried to tell herself it wasn’t real anymore, that it was in the past. But the mind had a funny way of believing what it wanted to. She tried to push the memory aside, tried to rush past it and charge into the space beyond, but it followed her like the painted eyes of an old portrait. If she was going to enter the Unity, she had to walk through this memory.

Sootriman’s calls pleaded with her, as did Kane’s taunting. She trembled, not sure if she could stand to see his face again. She knew how this ended, of course: Sootriman survived, Awen moved the rubble from the doorway, and they sought refuge in one of the seven tunnels beyond the rotunda.

So why is this so terrifying?

Because of him.

No, it wasn’t a him; it was an it. It was not of this world—not of any world, at least not one she wanted to visit. Inside Kane lurked a monster, the likes of which she had never read about, either in children’s books or Luma books. She’d seen it once, and that was enough. To face this again was… well, it was the whole reason she’d waited so long to return to her second sight.

Awen had promised her friends that she’d return. She’d promised herself. And now was the time to make good on that promise. There was no going back, only forward.

“Are you in yet?” Ezo asked.

“Idris! For all the mystics, would you leave her alone?”

“My sensors show her heart rate has increased significantly.”

Awen turned her head toward her friends without opening her eyes. “Give me another moment. Please,” she said softly. “Just another moment.”

She heard TO-96’s servos and gyros whine as he recovered from what was probably another shove from Ezo, who himself had probably been shoved by Sootriman. They’re just concerned. And impatient. She would have been impatient, too, had she been in their shoes.

Awen refocused on the shaft, the rappelling line, and the figures, ascending like vapor, her mind moving up to Kane’s face. The man looked wildly about the shaft, yelling to someone out of sight. Awen knew he was talking to Ezo about Sootriman. But this time, there was no sound, only images. Awen wanted to step back and shield her eyes from what came next. But it was impossible, like being in a dream where you needed to run but your feet were stuck to the floor.

Then it happened. The face behind the face—the visage—emerged. Like a lost city emerging from a turbulent sea, the face rose from behind Kane’s bubbling mask. Pointed teeth bared in a hiss, and the black eyes stared straight at Awen as if it knew precisely where to look.

I see you, she’d said the first time. Back then, she’d felt confident because she thought she was alone, talking to herself. But this time, she knew she wasn’t alone. She knew it had heard her.

This creature—this thing—had not been in the Unity with her. It lacked that ability; that much she knew. But it had some sort of awareness of the Unity. Worse, it felt her. She wasn’t sure how, but it could tell where she was, and it wanted her. It had pulled on her life force.

“I see you,” Awen said, echoing her words from before, forcing herself to be strong.

The face hissed.

Awen froze. She knew what came next. She wanted to run, hide, get away, and never come back. But she had to come back. The Unity awaited her. Her friends needed her. The galaxy she’d come from called to her.

So she looked. She kept her mind’s eyes open and looked, hard. She stared it down.

Then the face spoke to her as before. “I see you too.”

A chill ran down Awen’s spine and swirled inside her gut like a tub of ice water funneling in a drain. She cringed, fists clenched. This was the moment she’d been dreading for months. This was the encounter she’d not wanted to repeat. Not ever.

This beast wanted her soul. She felt its insatiable appetite reaching for her. Voracious. Seeking to devour her. To feed, to consume, to take over her soul… just as it had taken over Kane’s.

Awen froze. That’s it!

That was what would let her pass through. Whatever the entity was, and no matter where it had come from, it had an appetite, and appetites were a flaw because they could be starved. They could be denied.

Awen made up her mind. This thing—this parasite—would not have her. She would resist it—no, she would defy it. Awen asserted her will with a confidence she’d not felt in a long time. It was returning—she was returning.

Awen stared the specter down as the dark eyes jabbed at her.

“I see you too,” it hissed again.

“Congratulations,” Awen said mockingly. “Aren’t you just so special. Now, get out of my way!” She dipped her head, eyes fixed, and a blast of energy exploded from her like the shock wave of a quantum warhead. The image and all its realness blew apart, debris scattering into the void. The image’s shrapnel dissipated until Awen was left alone in silence.

Well, almost alone.

“Awen, are you in?” TO-96 asked.

“Yes,” she replied with a smile. “I’m in at last.”

Awen’s soul was flooded with all the multispectral awareness that the Unity brought, sensing light and sound and time as if they were material things. Each element flowed into the next, stretching out to infinity like a fine tapestry. Here, her skillful hands could follow a single thread—a word, an action, even a thought—from its origin to its end, watching it dance across a colorful landscape of time immemorial. It felt good to be back.

The first thing Awen noticed was that the temple library was much larger in the Unity than it was in person. However tall the ceiling was in the natural dimension, it was twice as high in her second sight. Additionally, the shelves were taller and held more contents, and the data drives and books were replaced with something else altogether, almost as if a second library existed atop the natural one. How such a thing was possible, she had no idea.

“The Novia must have been masters in the Unity,” she said cautiously, not wishing to jolt herself from the vision.

“Oh?” Sootriman asked.

“They’ve built a second library within the natural one, using some sort of ethereal architecture. I can’t really explain it, as I’ve never seen anything like it. But it’s… beautiful.”

Awen floated to the nearest shelf and examined a glowing orb, one of the hundreds that occupied each case of shelves. At first, she thought it resembled a large ball, like the type used in a chandelier. But as she got closer, she noticed details within the sphere—planets. And the light was not from the orb itself but from a sun. She looked at the next orb. It, too, had planets and a sun. The third one she looked in had two suns. She looked at the shelf below and at the shelf below that. Then she glanced over her shoulder at the case across the aisle. Each and every orb was a solar system.

“I can’t believe it,” Awen said.

“Can’t believe what?” Ezo asked.

“They’ve mapped thousands—no, it must be millions of star systems. Maybe even billions.”

“They have?” TO-96 asked.

“Oh, Ninety-Six, you would love this!” Awen exclaimed. “It’s—it’s too amazing. I have no doubt that the library in the natural world could be full of their people’s history. But here in the Unity, they’ve created a library of star systems. The shelves are full of orbs that show star systems—too many for me to even count.”

Awen raised her hand in the Unity, reaching toward the closest orb, one with several planets and a bright-yellow sun. As her hand neared it, however, the orb began to glow and push back. It wasn’t a complete block but more like a steady resistance, as if to warn the viewer that they were approaching something they needed to consider before proceeding. Awen thought better of the action and removed her hand. The orb faded back to its normal glow. If she’d proceeded past the cautionary push, she might have been able to examine the star system in detail or perhaps view a data file… or even travel there…

The thought made her senses tingle, and a surge of excitement coursed through her physical body.

“Awen, are you all right? I’m detecting high levels of adrenaline in your body.”

“I’m fine, Ninety-Six. I’m just amazed at what they’ve done. There seems to be more work here than a thousand sentient species could compile in… I can’t even speculate… in generations. Hundreds of generations maybe. And then they stored it all in this—this marvelous space they created. They were actually creating inside the Unity.”

“That’s not something you do?” Sootriman asked.

“No, not really. I mean, we can manipulate certain things.”

“Like blowing apart rocks at the atomic level,” TO-96 suggested.

“I guess, though that’s not really normal. But the Novia Minoosh—they’ve built something from nothing. And they’ve stored information in it and deposited memories of their findings.”

“Can you access the data, then?” Ezo inquired.

Awen had wondered the same thing. “I’m guessing I could, but without knowing more, I’m not sure it’s entirely safe.”

“How so?”

“Well, if it’s just a data file, sure. But something tells me there might be more to what I’m seeing than what I’m seeing.”

“You’re being vague, Star Queen.”

“I’m sorry. It’s just that—well—who’s to say I don’t travel to the world I examine?”

“Wait—that could happen?”

“I don’t know if it could happen, Ezo. I already told you, this is all new to me. I just have a sense that I should tread carefully.”

“You said it’s a library of star systems,” Ezo said. “Do you think our galaxy is indexed there? How else could a quantum tunnel exist in it? Maybe if you… touch it or access whatever it is you’re seeing… maybe we can go back!”

“Easy, love,” Sootriman said, trying to calm Ezo down.

“Or maybe,” Awen retorted, trying to bring some sense of reason to the conversation, “my soul is severed from my body and the jump kills me. Or maybe it opens a quantum tunnel right now, and we’re jettisoned into the void, unprotected.”

“Or maybe,” TO-96 suggested, “it forms a spontaneous event horizon whose gravity compresses our combined masses to the subatomic level, thereby instantaneously erasing us from existence.”

There was a moment of silence.

“On second thought,” Ezo said, “let’s go with the learn more before we leap model.”

“I agree,” Awen said. “In any case, there’s more here than I could examine in my lifetime.” She turned toward her friends and her corporeal self. That was when she noticed the pedestal and the black box. “Wait a second.”

“What is it?” Ezo asked. “What d’you see?”

“The box. In the middle of the circle.” Awen approached it slowly. “It’s glowing.” The box emitted a soft blue light.

“Everything glows in the Unity,” TO-96 stated wistfully. “I want to go there. I wish to see a world of shiny things.”

“No time for robot fantasies, ’Six. What d’you see, Awen?”

“I’m—I’m not sure.” She stretched her hand out. There was none of the resistance that the orbs had projected. If anything, there seemed to be something drawing her to it. An invitation.

“Where are you now?” Ezo asked.

“I’m at the pedestal. At the box.”

“You opening it?”

“Yes, I think I should.”

“Careful, Star Queen.”

“And to think,” Sootriman said with a tsk, “a moment ago, you wanted to send her across the universe without a space suit.”

“Just be careful.”

“It’s okay. I think I’m supposed to do this.” Awen reached a hand toward the black box and opened the lid.

10

Rohoar blew out a hot breath, the odor wreaking of dead flesh and soured milk. Magnus’s eyes watered. It rivaled the worst smells he’d ever inhaled. Simply horrendous. Still, he held his ground, Abimbola’s instructions of showing no weakness ringing in his ears.

Faster than Magnus could move, a giant paw slammed down on his left shoulder, almost sending him to the ground, but he managed to stay on his feet.

“Then we are bound in blood,” Rohoar said.

Magnus blinked, surprised he was still alive. “Bound in blood?” This was not going how he’d imagined it would.

“You killed Rohoar’s people. Rohoar killed your people. Yet here we are, face-to-face as warriors.”

“Here we are,” Magnus echoed, playing along but not really knowing what to say.

“And you wish to kill Selskrit?”

Howls went up around the mwadim’s tent. Magnus looked around then back at Rohoar. “Oh, I do. If they’re the ones holding my unit hostage, then I definitely do.”

The Jujari nodded, lips pulled back. “Good, good. Then in honor of your death defiance toward Rohoar and toward your mission, Rohoar will refrain from killing you at present.”

“And I appreciate not being killed.”

“The Dingfang might kill you. The Clawnip will probably kill you. The Selskrit will definitely kill you. But for now, the Tawnhack will not kill you.”

“Again, thank you, Great Mwadim.”

“Tell Rohoar, scrumruk graulap, what will you do for Rohoar should you rescue your people?”

Cackles went up around the tent. Whatever Rohoar had just called him, it was a cultural inside joke. Magnus looked to Abimbola again. The warlord nodded for Magnus to go on with the plan.

“If I rescue the hostages, I will ensure that Rohoar is connected with Brigadier General Lovell himself.”

“Explain connected.”

“I’ll… make sure you have a private holo-vid call with—”

“No,” the mwadim said. “Rohoar says no.”

Menacing growls circulated around the tent, the kind that made the hair on the back of Magnus’s neck stand up.

“No holo-vid. No calls. Face-to-face. Like you and Rohoar now.”

“Rohoar, I don’t think you understand…”

“Rohoar does not understand?”

The cackles were frenetic, the Jujari males around the room now closing toward them.

“Watch yourself, Magnus,” Abimbola whispered. It was the first time the warlord had ever used Magnus’s last name.

So, word choice is a touchy thing. Got it.

“Forgive me, Great Mwadim. I meant to say that gaining an audience with the general face-to-face may prove to be difficult—maybe even beyond my ability to arrange.”

“Battling the Selskrit and rescuing your unit may prove to be difficult, maybe even beyond your ability to arrange.”

Magnus couldn’t believe he was trying to negotiate with a Jujari chieftain. Isn’t this Ambassador Bosworth’s job? But the fat man is dead. They probably ate him for lunch. So it’s up to you, Marine. Dominate, liberate.

“I will see what I can do.”

“No deal,” said Rohoar.

Magnus looked at Abimbola, but the warlord shrugged.

Come on! Isn’t he supposed to be helping here?

“All right, when we get back, I will put in a request—”

“No deal.”

“Great Mwadim, our chain of command—”

Rohoar stooped down and looked Magnus in the eye. His foul breath was smothering. “If you cannot do this for Rohoar, then you are not the right person to rescue your people. Perhaps you should call someone else to do scrumruk graulap work.”

But there was no one else to do the work. And there was no way the Republic would honor a backroom deal that some lieutenant made with a Jujari chieftain. If Magnus was lucky, he’d rescue the hostages and get them all to orbit, and then Rohoar would get the shaft with a holo-vid, if anything. That was just the way the Republic worked. Now who’s being double-crossed? he thought, cursing the evils of bureaucracy.

Magnus would make it happen. Somehow, some way, he’d do the deal. Lives depended on it. The general had asked him for a favor—maybe that was the leverage he could use for this.

“A personal meeting with Brigadier General Lovell. You have a deal.”

Rohoar barked, and spittle flew onto Magnus’s face. Magnus threw his arms up out of instinct. The mwadim was upright, head thrown back in a wild howl that must have shaken the fabric overhead. The rest of the Jujari males joined in, their primal cries mixing together as one. Magnus covered his ears and looked at Abimbola.

“You have a deal!” the warlord shouted, hands over his ears. “Good job!”

* * *

Magnus was back in Hell’s Basket Case with Abimbola at the wheel, moving westbound. He looked through the hatch overhead. His new eyes were almost completely adjusted. Sunlight streamed between buildings, its golden shafts made visible by swirling clouds of dust. Magnus wiped his brow for the hundredth time, sure his bandana was soaked through.

The meeting with the mwadim had not gone as Magnus expected it to, but then again, he wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting. He certainly hadn’t expected to meet Chief—Rohoar—again. Magnus wondered how Rohoar had survived the blast. Maybe it had something to do with Awen and her mystical powers. Maybe Rohoar had been close enough to her that her strange force field had protected him.

Regardless of how he’d survived, the mwadim had certainly given Magnus a run for his money. The Marine hadn’t planned on being interrogated about killing Jujari or arranging a face-to-face meeting with a Republic general. Still, Rohoar had made it worth his while by giving them updated intelligence—the news that the hostages were still in the compound—and by lending an additional twenty Jujari from his personal bodyguard. They would come in handy as long as they didn’t get in the way of Marine and Marauder blaster fire. The Jujari’s presence posed potential problems on the battlefield too—they had no communication, no understanding of tactics, and no coordinated movement. It could turn out to be a real splick show. But then again, their sheer power in battle might make up for whatever additional chaos ensued. That, and these warriors were seasoned in hunting Selskrit, which was infinitely more than Magnus could claim.

Before Magnus got all sentimental about the provision of Jujari troops, however, he reminded himself that it was also in the mwadim’s favor to send them. They acted as insurance that Magnus didn’t just vanish after a successful rescue. He assumed the bodyguard had orders to stay with Magnus until the meeting was arranged, ready to slit his throat if he failed to do it.

“Hey,” Magnus said to Abimbola, “do you know what scrumruk graulap means?” He’d wished Awen was there to interpret it because it was probably bad and, therefore, would be another anecdote for the warlord to insult him with. Still, his curiosity had gotten the best of him.

Abimbola laughed. “It means ‘little hairless warrior.’”

“Perfect,” Magnus said with a chuckle. “And here I thought it was an insult or something.”

* * *

The farther west they drove, the more the pedestrians thinned. Mothers corralled their pups indoors while shop owners dropped gates over storefronts. Fires burned unattended in metal drums while adolescent Jujari bunched together in side streets, staring at the convoy. The knot in Magnus’s stomach grew tighter. The city was preparing for a fight.

Magnus also noticed that the condition of the buildings was worsening. Whereas the sandstone and metal they’d seen earlier had been in good condition, here it was covered in charred blaster holes and soot. The inook shrouds in the windows were yellowed and tattered, and the gentle blue glow of the force fields that held the elements at bay was gone. The smell was also worse.

“We are getting close,” Abimbola said, looking out the slats to his left.

“Definitely not the part of town we were looking for vacation homes in,” Magnus replied, referring to a joke he’d made when he was in the jail with Awen. Abimbola chuckled.

They’d driven another three hundred meters when a sudden single-note howl resonated from the convoy behind them.

“We are here,” Abimbola said.

“Border?”

Abimbola nodded, slowing the skiff to a stop. “You are going to want to keep your head down,” he said as he closed the hatch overhead.

“Copy,” Magnus replied, lowering his sunglasses and peeking between the slats in the windshield. Ahead, the city blocks were made of two- and three- and even four-story buildings, whose shrouds were mostly missing. The sandstone looked like it was ready to collapse. Doors were ajar, and the streets were emptied of Jujari. “Nice place.”

“Wait until you meet our hosts.”

“Can’t wait.”

Abimbola swiped a menu on the touchscreen on his dashboard. A holo-projection flickered to life, displaying the route west. It zigzagged several times before terminating at the compound Magnus remembered from the briefing.

“Here is the updated route from Rohoar. I sent it to your nav program,” Abimbola said, gesturing toward the holo-pad he’d given Magnus. “You and I can both update it as needed.”

“You sure it won’t get jammed?”

“Ha. I am not sure of anything save fate and death, buckethead. But it is a private network, and my code slicers are good. I should be fine.”

“Don’t you mean I should be fine?”

“No. I have no idea how you are going to be. I have Basket Case,” Abimbola said, giving his skiff a loving tap, “so I should be fine.”

“Of course.”

Magnus flicked the holo-pad on, and a projection of the city sprang to life, reflecting the route on Abimbola’s dashboard. The pad was cumbersome, and Magnus was sure it wouldn’t last the day. What I wouldn’t give for a Recon helmet with nav integration, unit comms, and the latest AI patch!

“We will soften this corridor first, then it is up to you to clear the way. Call in support as you need it.” Abimbola swiped to another menu and scrolled through ten profile images with descriptions beside them. “Again, these are the Marauders who were bloodthirsty enough to join you.”

Magnus matched the faces to his memory of the people he’d met in Abimbola’s hideout. He’d barely spoken a word to each, but he was grateful for their help. Of course, he wasn’t sure if he could trust them. But he’d trusted their leader and made it this far. If Abimbola had wanted to betray him, he could have done so plenty of times over. Of course, he still might, you noob. But Magnus had learned that part of operating behind enemy lines meant learning to take chances and forging unlikely partnerships. And—looking at Abimbola—this certainly met the criteria for unlikely.

“You have got my three best sniper-spotters here,” Abimbola said, swiping the profiles over so they’d appear on Magnus’s holo-pad. Their icons showed up in Magnus’s grouped-comms display. “Simone’s in charge. Then these three are your best mine techs, led by Cyril.” Another three icons slid into Magnus’s group. “He is just a kid, but there is no one better.”

“And those four?” Magnus asked, pointing to the remaining profile pictures on the dashboard.

“They will kill anything you point them toward, so make sure your people are not in their way.”

“Copy that,” Magnus said as the names were added to his list. He merged the Marauder roster with his existing list then selected all the names and typed in a title: Delta Platoon. It was the next available alphanumeric title for a platoon in his Recon company. He might not be Marine eligible anymore, but he’d still bleed Recon under the Jujari sun.

Magnus linked the group to his ear comm then touched Active on his pad. “Delta Platoon, this is Lieutenant Magnus. Confirm connection.” Magnus watched as each profile picture reported in, its status going to double green.

“Fire-team leads, sound off. Dutch?”

“Loud and clear, Lieutenant,” Dutch responded over comms.

“Simone?”

“I hear you, person,” an icy female voice said.

Magnus looked at Abimbola.

The giant Miblimbian shrugged. “Just let her do her job,” he said, his mic muted. “No problems.”

Magnus replied to the woman. “How about you just call me LT. Does that work?”

There was a pause, which turned into an abnormally long silence. Magnus double-checked the holo-pad to make sure the system hadn’t failed. Finally, the woman’s smooth voice came back.

“LT,” Simone said. “Maybe.”

Magnus raised an eyebrow while Abimbola gave him a thumbs-up.

“Cyril?” Magnus read.

“Shoot, I copy, sir, ten by ten, all the way,” a twitchy voice said. Magnus’s eyebrows went up. It was how he imagined a Quinzellian miter squirrel might sound if it could talk. “Ready to slice, ready to dice, or something like that. Ha.”

“He is a handful with words,” Abimbola said, mic still muted, “but he can make quick work of any explosive device in the galaxy. Or any terminal, for that matter.”

“And…” Magnus looked at the roster again for the infantry fire-team leader, hesitating at the name. “Galliogernomarix?” he said slowly, sounding out each syllable.

“You can just call me Rix, buckethead,” a burly bass voice said. “Can’t have you getting shot while you try to hail me.”

“And you can just call me LT.”

“Copy that,” Rix said without any attempt to hide his disdain.

“All right, listen up—”

Another voice broke through Magnus’s transmission. “Lord Abimbola, contact, twelve o’clock.”

Magnus peered between the front slats. About two hundred meters ahead stood a single Jujari, arms extended, one hand holding a keeltari long sword, the other waving what looked to be a sawed-off blaster.

“What’s it doing?” Magnus asked Abimbola.

“Gathering intelligence.”

The Jujari started howling then interrupted his call with short cackles. He turned slowly in circles, pumping his weapons in the air.

“Gathering intelligence?” Magnus asked.

“Correct. He’s sacrificing himself. And we’ll kill him. But his kinsmen will be watching to see where the death blow comes from. They want to make sure we’re the only enemy and that there aren’t snipers or air support.”

Magnus turned to Abimbola. “You have air power?”

“No,” Abimbola said with a smile, “but the Selskrit do not know that. They just think we do.”

“Copy,” Magnus said, chuckling.

Abimbola tapped the comm in his ear. “Take him.”

“Yes, my lord,” said Abimbola’s gunner. A beat later, a single shot belched out from the M109 turret above and behind Magnus’s seat. The skiff rocked back as the column of light streaked down the street. The Jujari was bisected, a large chunk disappearing from his midsection, as the bolt continued down the road. The energy blast struck pavement half a kilometer beyond and erupted in a plume of fire, debris, and thick dust.

The Jujari lay in two pieces, arms and legs twitching. His hand contracted, a finger squeezing off a burst of full-auto rounds from the blaster. They shot into the street and nearby buildings until the Jujari finally expired. One wayward blaster shot, however, pinged off an old awning that overhung part of the street. Its tattered remains and metal frame quivered until one end broke away from the sandstone. The metal arm swung down into the street. The moment it touched the hardpack, the street exploded. Magnus and Abimbola winced as the concussion impacted the column of vehicles. Gray dust blotted out the sun, and the skiff’s cab darkened.

“You are sure you still want to do this?” Abimbola swatted the air with a hand and coughed. “Not too late to change your mind, you know.”

“I want to do it even more,” Magnus replied.

Abimbola clucked. “That is your cue, then. Clear the way, and we will back you up.”

Magnus charged his MAR30 and touched his fingers to his forehead in salute. “Dominate, liberate.”

“Dominate, liberate,” Abimbola replied. It was almost enough to make Magnus cry.

11

Moldark sat in the high-backed captain’s chair. He stroked the leather arms, affectionately feeling the skin of whatever beast had unwittingly given its life for his pleasure. He’d ordered the chair removed from the bridge and brought to the rear observation deck. The engineers had bolted it to the platform that looked out through the large windowed wall.

He liked to sit here, surveying the Republic starships. They spread out before him like pawns, each ready to do his bidding. Beyond them lay the Jujari ships. They will do my bidding, as well, and be none the wiser.

He sighed, taking in the beauty of the void. It felt as though he sat among the stars, untethered from the constraints of human flesh and metal starships. Here, before the wide window, he felt free, as his spirit did when it roamed the galaxies. Boundless. Eternal.

But being in the flesh, as they said, wasn’t all bad. It gave him voice in the physical realm again. It gave him a means by which to be feared. It gave him power. But more than anything, it gave him recognition. He could hear his name uttered by the lips of others.

Moldark smiled as he thought about how easy it had been to co-opt the human species. First, there was Admiral Kane, the egotistical maniac—but then again, the perfect host candidate for just that reason. Wasn’t Moldark much the same? Only, my motivations are purer. He steepled his fingers.

Moldark had done the admiral a favor, if anything. The poor man would never have been able to see his plans through or been strong enough to defeat the Galactic Republic. In the end, Kane would have been assassinated. Not outright, of course, but through some unfortunate accident. That was what all-powerful governing bodies did when an asset outlived its purpose. Wasn’t that what they did to me, after all?

The admiral would thank him if he could. When it was all done, perhaps Moldark would even let Kane come back for a moment to see all the work that his hands had wrought—the funeral pyres, the scorched planets, the extinguished stars. He could hear the glorious silence of retribution and stand in the ruins.

Then Moldark thought about how easy it had been to coerce the Luma master. In another age, So-Elku and Moldark might have been acquaintances. Maybe even friends. The elder seemed genuine in his pursuit of galactic peace—though his means were all wrong, strangled by an intolerance of violence and an acceptance of outliers that drove Moldark absolutely mad. He ground his teeth at the Luma master’s nearsightedness.

So-Elku had reminded Moldark of so many others—those who had gummed up the machinations of smarter, stronger people. People with true vision and the foresight to shape galaxies into their most efficient selves—their truest expressions, pure and unmarred by disorder.

The Luma were a threat, to be sure, more than Moldark cared to admit. He loathed their skills in the Unity. Such dealings were antiquated, leftovers of a bygone epoch. But the Luma were powerful nonetheless, which made So-Elku’s undoing all the sweeter for Moldark. With the Luma master out of the way, his plans could proceed unhindered. Perhaps our spirits will meet up one day, and I will express my respect for him, fleeting as it is.

“Sir?” a voice said from behind his chair.

“Captain Wallace,” Moldark replied. “And Executive Officer Brighton. How good of you to come.” He turned his chair slowly, examining the men’s faces with hungry interest. How long has it been since I’ve nourished myself?

“You wanted to see us?” Wallace asked.

Moldark nodded. “Yes. Have all of First Fleet’s ships arrived?”

“They have, sir.”

“Very good.” Moldark tapped the tips of his deeply scarred fingers together. “Very good.” He pointed at Wallace. “Now, Captain, I need to know where your allegiance stands.”

“I beg your pardon, sir?”

“Your allegiances.” Moldark pointed at him. Must I spell it out? “To whom are you committed?”

The captain looked at the XO.

“Don’t look at him,” Moldark spat. “Look at me.”

“With the Republic, sir. Of course.”

“I was afraid of that.” Moldark glared at the man, holding his gaze. For a moment, nothing happened. They were just two men locked in a staring contest.

Suddenly, Wallace began crying. “No,” he said, lifting his hands as if to ward off a bad dream. “No, please no.”

Moldark was hungry, and this soul would do just fine. He had no use for such indecision anyway. How has this man ever been promoted? Surely by some manner of nepotism or a bribe. Wallace didn’t deserve this posting. Leveraging the benefits of power just to raise up the undeserving—it was the quintessence of vanity. Moldark scorned it. And since supreme power had no rival, he would challenge it. He alone would make it right.

Wallace screamed as Moldark sucked out his life. The dark lord closed his eyes, relishing the taste, savoring the energy that surged into his soul and fed his body. It was exhilarating.

He opened his eyes again to see Wallace fall to his knees, hands shriveling like scrawny talons. The captain’s hair turned gray, then white, twisting like frayed strands of wire. Soon, the captain’s voice went ragged, trailing off into whispers. His eyes sank into dark recesses as his skin withered and fell off in flaky patches.

Satisfied, Moldark released his grip on the captain. Wallace’s corpse collapsed, his Republic uniform flopping to the ground. Bones rattled against each other with a muffled sound as the clothing sighed.

Moldark took a deep breath then put his fingertips together again. “And you, Executive Officer Brighton, where does your allegiance lie?”

The man looked between Wallace’s bones and Moldark.

“Don’t look to him,” Moldark said with a smile. He spoke like a doting parent might to a child who was unsure of himself. “You don’t need Wallace anymore. Just look at me. Where does your allegiance lie, Brighton?”

The XO swallowed but stared into Moldark’s eyes with a surprising level of confidence. “With you, my lord.”

“Ah! You see?” Moldark drew out each word: “Now isn’t that wonderful.” He stood, moved down the stairs, and placed a hand on Brighton’s shoulder. “The Third Fleet is yours, Fleet Admiral Brighton.”

“Fleet Admiral, my lord?”

“Are you not deserving of the title?”

“I am not one to question your authority. But what about you? I mean… what should I call you?”

These rank-and-file commanders were so predictable. What were they without their titles? They could hardly function if they did not know their place in the system. There was a certain romance to it, of course. Moldark could appreciate that. Still, the lack of imagination appalled him.

“Am I not your lord, as you’ve already said?”

“Of course, but—”

“Then call me Lord Moldark.”

Brighton dipped his head. “As you command, Lord Moldark.”

Moldark removed his hand and straightened his uniform. “Now, I think we need a new name for the fleet, especially since our commission from the Republic is about to expire.”

“Expire?”

“Yes, the Republic is releasing us after we carry out one final order. From then on, we will be operating on our own authority.” He paused. “On my authority.”

“Understood, my lord.”

“We are…” Moldark savored the moment then tilted his head at Brighton. “The First Fleet of the Paragon.”

“First Fleet of the Paragon,” Brighton repeated with a twinkle in his eye. Moldark could tell he liked it. This man, this Brighton, was drawn to power. Moldark could feel the desire within him.

Good. Very good.

“And what is the Republic’s final order?” the fleet admiral asked.

Moldark’s hands shook slightly. The Republic’s last order had been to “await orders”—orders from the Circle of Nine. But those senators were no more. Brighton didn’t need to know any of that. Instead, the fleet admiral needed reassurance that the Republic was behind what was about to happen next, as fictitious as such assurances were.

Moldark touched two fingertips to his bottom lip. He could taste blood—taste the beginning of something glorious that the galaxy could never return from. Should anyone survive what was to come, they would tell of what happened for generations.

“My lord?” Brighton inclined his head, catching Moldark’s eye. “The final order?”

“To open fire on the Jujari fleet.”

“But, my lord, we are already engaged in light—”

“It’s a skirmish. The mere puffing out of chests.” Moldark tasted blood and pulled his fingers away from his mouth. “We are to make war, Brighton. War.”

“My lord?”

Moldark looked at his bleeding fingertips. Warm blood trickled down his chin. “You are to open fire on all of the Jujari ships, Fleet Admiral Brighton.”

Brighton hesitated, eyes darting to the floor. “But, my lord, I…”

“Is something the matter?” Moldark took a step toward his new fleet admiral, suddenly doubting the decision to promote him. Perhaps he was not ready after all. It would be sad to lose him, of course. He showed such promise. But there would be others.

Brighton shook his head and squared his shoulders, suddenly composing himself. “No, Lord Moldark. It will be done as you have ordered.”

“Good. Target engines first. I want the fighter squadrons scrambled as well. Disperse them evenly, attacking dreadnoughts and battleships at will. I want as much confusion as possible.”

“Very well, my lord.”

“That is all, Fleet Admiral.”

Brighton snapped to attention and then did something peculiar. He bowed.

Moldark tilted his head, examining the man. The gesture was unsolicited. So far as Moldark knew, the Galactic Republic did not require such deference.

Where did it come from? Is it genuine awe? Contrite reverence? Perhaps it is worship.

He tipped his head in acknowledgement of Brighton’s act. He could grow to like this… submission. It was quaint. And it would most likely be contagious among his followers. Yes. He rolled the word around in his head. My followers.

Brighton stepped backward, spun on his heel, then walked toward the exit. Moldark watched him leave and then marched up the stairs to his chair. He sat and spun toward the window once more. The starships hung above Oorajee like insects swarming over a large piece of citrus fruit. Some, he knew, would follow him. They would do his bidding.

And those that do not? Moldark smiled. He would sweep them from the air and crush them between his fingers.

He tapped his thumb and forefinger together several times, feeling the flesh stick, then pull apart. He could feel the souls on those vessels, sense their life force. They would meet their end in the glorious pursuit of his will, hastening it to completion. They would never know the valuable role they’d played. But Moldark would still be grateful to them for the sacrifice that allowed him to achieve his end. And what a glorious end it will be.

He tapped the holo-pad that was built into the arm of the captain’s chair and brought up a menu. With a few small swipes, he selected comms for all three Republic fleets then opened the channel.

“Fleets of the Republic, this is Fleet Admiral Kane on the Black Labyrinth. We have received orders from Republic Navy Central Command, ratified by the Senate, to initiate combat operations against all Jujari vessels in orbit over Oorajee. I repeat, we have been ordered to initiate offensive operations and eliminate all Jujari vessels in this system.”

Moldark paused just long enough for the news to settle over every starship’s bridge, arrest each captain, and startle each crew member. He could almost feel them trembling with excitement—and fear.

“Assume your battle stations. Set Condition One throughout the fleet.” He paused long enough for a klaxon to start echoing through all compartments of the powerful Republic dreadnought, a sound now repeated on every starship under his command. “All hands, battle stations. This is not a drill.”

Moldark closed the public-announcement channel and connected directly to the Black Labyrinth’s bridge. He envisioned commanders springing to action, echoing his orders, and selecting targets. They wouldn’t have time to double-check with the navy’s central command or the Senate to corroborate his instructions. But why would they want to? The Republic had been hungering for this conflict for far too long. Besides, he was the ranking fleet admiral—well, Brighton was, but the man served at Moldark’s pleasure—and thus held command authority over all the fleets currently in the system. Moldark was simply giving them what they’d always wanted. It was time to bring anything that stood to its knees. It was time for war.

“Admiral Brighton, are our fighter squadrons ready?”

“They are, my lord.”

“And have you acquired satisfactory initial targets?”

“I have. Awaiting your command.”

Moldark squeezed the leather arms of his chair, a squeaking sound coming from beneath his grip. “Fire.”

12

“It’s incredible!” Awen said, holding her hands to her face—both those in the natural realm and those in the Unity. She was overcome by elation, her heart beating wildly in her chest, flooded with a mix of emotions. The four of them had waited for a discovery of this sort for so long. No, not of this sort—this was way beyond anything they could have hoped to find. This was the discovery of a lifetime. And Awen had no idea what it was.

In the physical realm, the lid on the black box remained closed, but in the Unity, it was flipped open, laid back on its hinge. “I can’t believe… I can’t believe they were able to create this!”

Ezo made no attempt to hide his excitement either. Out of all of them, he seemed the most eager to get back home. “What do you see? What is it?”

Awen was having a hard time finding words. “I think it’s some sort of management system, or maybe a control room? I… I don’t know yet. But it’s beautiful.”

Awen stared straight up and turned in circles. Directly overhead was a brightly glowing orb that stretched to within a few meters of the ceiling. The sight dominated her vision, the rest of the library fading to black beyond her view. The sphere contained millions—no billions—of stars that appeared as vibrant as if she’d been standing in the void unprotected. A sweet polyphonic melody emanated from the orb, like a giant wind chime on a summer evening. The notes were full and round, turning over on themselves and slipping through musical space like silk ribbons.

The sight was dizzying, a sensation Awen had never experienced in the Unity before. She had to stop turning and brought her eyes down. A wide circle of workstations sat on the floor surrounding the orb. A second, third, and fourth bank of workstations ascended behind the first in concentric rings as they extended from the orb, each level connected by stairways.

The workstation layout reminded Awen of any number of holo-movies she’d seen or even some that she’d seen in real life, like on starships or in orbital traffic-control rooms. The difference here being that these stations had no chairs and were larger than anything a humanoid would use—which seemed fitting for the Novia Minoosh, given what they’d observed throughout the city so far.

The workstations glowed in soft golden light as if reflecting the light of the stars in the orb. Awen moved behind the closest bank of terminals and studied them, moving to the next and then the next. The control surfaces were black geometric sections delineated by thin white light. Segment types ranged from small keypad-like shapes to wide rectangular areas as one might expect on the bridge of a large starship—except that these control surfaces were far more elegant. Their designs flowed in and out of another like the lines left by waves on a beach.

Awen took a few moments to try to explain what she saw to her friends as well as provide some idea of what purpose everything served. The task was harder than she imagined, and she was sure they were in just as much disbelief as she was but without the visual proof. The most logical idea she had was that the smaller orbs on the shelves could be fed to the giant orb in the room’s center, like some sort of stellar-display computer.

“Awen,” TO-96 said, “is this management system, as you have described it, something you can control?”

“I’m not sure yet. But I’ll try.”

“Very well. We will wait for you to try.”

“But sooner rather than later, please,” Ezo added.

“Idris,” Sootriman said, smacking him on the back of the head.

“What was that for?”

“You’re just…” Sootriman let out a deep breath and then smacked him again—on the butt.

“I saw that,” Awen said. Sootriman smirked, and Ezo blushed.

Awen continued moving among the terminals, passing through rows, using the steps between the levels. When she arrived at the topmost ring—which didn’t even reach a quarter of the orb’s height—Awen looked over the back edge and saw her friends below. Their physical bodies stood outside the floral ring. Awen thought back to the sense of warning she’d gotten when she first stepped inside the ring, and she wondered if it had something to do with this.

“I’m going to see what happens when I touch one of the control surfaces,” Awen said. “You might want to—I don’t know, stand back? Or hold on to something maybe?”

“You really think that’s necessary?” Ezo asked.

“I don’t know what I think is necessary. I just don’t want anyone getting hurt.”

“Let’s do as she says,” Sootriman said. She and the others moved toward a case of shelves and stood beside it. “You’ve got this, Awen. No fear, girl.”

“Okay, here goes nothing.” Awen turned to the nearest control surface, extended her shimmering hand in the Unity, and placed her fingers on the black surface. It was glassy to the touch but not cold as she’d expected. Rather, it was warm, as if the whole thing had been powered up and running for days. “Something’s happening,” Awen called over her shoulder then realized her physical body was still in the center of the ring, facing the others.

Along the black control surface, swirls of golden light emanated from her fingers and moved in either direction. The Novia Minoosh’s strange script flared to life, appearing on small buttons and titling large screens. The typography pulsed in golds and purples, blues and pinks and was accentuated by drop shadows that seemed to lift the text off the screens.

The swirl of golden light continued to race over the workstations to the left and right then moved to the banks below. Circular images that resembled star systems emerged on the screens. Holo-projections displayed spinning planets encircled by small moons. Other projections showed misty nebulae suspended in midair. Everywhere Awen looked, the workstations glittered with text and cosmic images.

“It’s unbelievable!” Awen finally said. “You can’t believe what I’m seeing right now!”

“What?” Ezo asked, betraying his impatience. “What is it?”

“It’s magnificent! It’s like a massive control room to—well, I still don’t know what it does.” She described everything as best she could, but her words fell short. It would be so much easier if her audience knew how to enter the Unity and could see this theater for themselves.

“Awen, TO-96 here.”

“I know your voice, Ninety-Six.”

“Ah, very good. Forgive me. I just thought, given the frenetic activity in your cerebral cortex, you might mistake me for someone other than myself. As far as you can tell, is the apparatus you are observing more of an archive and retrieval system, or might it serve another purpose?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Awen replied.

TO-96 hesitated. “I have not enough data to determine whether or not my estimations would be comparable to yours, Awen. Therefore, I am doubtful that your assumption is valid.”

“It’s an expression, ’Six,” Ezo said.

“Ah. My apologies.”

“I don’t even know where to start,” Awen said. “The language is the first hurdle.”

“If only I could join you in the Unity,” TO-96 said.

“Maybe you’d be less obnoxious there,” said Ezo.

“Do you find me obnoxious, sir?”

“Almost all the time, actually. What I need you to be is helpful. If you were in Awen’s shoes, what would you be looking for?”

“But, sir, Awen’s shoes are far too small for the dimensions—”

“For all the gods, no, ’Six. Expression. It’s another expression.”

“Duly noted. As always, I hope I prove to be less obnoxious with time.”

“Don’t we all,” Ezo said.

TO-96 looked back at Awen. “Is there anything that looks like it might be a central command station? Perhaps a workstation that appears more primary than the others? It may vary in size, shape, or even prominence with regard to its position in the space.”

Awen looked around, searching for anything that might stand out. “Now that you mention it, there is one terminal by itself on an elevated platform in the middle of the theater.”

“That sounds promising,” TO-96 replied.

“Going there now,” Awen said, grateful for TO-96’s experience as a navigation robot.

Awen stepped onto the raised floor and noticed she had a commanding view of most of the other terminals, save those behind her. This perch also protruded slightly, providing a breathtaking view of the orb.

“Do you notice anything about the console?” the bot asked.

“Let’s see… I have an empty circle projected to my left, what looks to be a list of some sort projected to my right, and in front of me, several screens and pretty big buttons with single Novia characters on them.”

“Sounds like she’s found the jackpot.” Before TO-96 could say anything, Ezo added, “It’s another expression, buddy. Let it go.”

Awen looked into the natural realm to see the bot hold up a finger in protest, pause, and then put it back down. “Any recommendations, Ninety-Six?” she asked.

“Are you able to view something if I project it in front of me?”

“Yes, no problem.”

“Very well.” TO-96 straightened, mimicking the human behavior of preparing for a task, and projected a set of four Novia characters about four feet in front of his chest. “Do any of these look familiar?”

Awen stretched her vision toward the bot and examined the script. She glanced back at the console then at TO-96 again. “No, none of those.”

“And these?” A new set of four characters replaced the others. Awen compared them again.

“No, none of those either.”

“What are they?” Sootriman asked the bot.

“They are my best guesses for what I think the Novia might place on a control system. I am basing my assumptions upon similar markings we have discovered on ships throughout the city.” He paused then projected another set of four. “And these?”

“Wait,” Awen said. “That one there. Your upper left, my upper right.”

TO-96 eliminated the three other characters and expanded the one Awen selected to fill the projection. Beneath it, the bot displayed the character’s meaning in Galactic common.

“It means initialize?” Awen asked.

“Among its many other meanings, yes.”

“Its many other meanings?” Awen repeated. This wasn’t exactly a thing that she wanted to mess up.

“As with any language, the Novia Minoosh seem to have multiple meanings for words depending on their context. I have merely applied the one that I have judged most applicable to this scenario.”

“You have this as a scenario?” Ezo asked. “What’s it listed under—‘Female Elonian Luma Needs to Interpret Random Alien Script in Alternate-Universe Dashboard’?”

“Not exactly, sir, though that would make for a very fitting entry.”

“They don’t call me silver tongued for nothing.”

“But, sir, only Provestial escorts have ever said that you—”

“Let’s leave that one alone, shall we?”

TO-96 looked at Ezo, who seemed to be avoiding a glare from Sootriman. “Ah, I see. Let’s.”

“So you think I should press it?” Awen asked.

“I do,” said the bot. “At least insomuch as I hope the Novia have not used an alternate definition for the word.”

Awen tensed. “Like…?”

“Like detonation, explosion, or self-destruct.”

“Those are the word’s alternate meanings?” Awen asked, jerking away from the console.

“Of course not. That was just to make you laugh.”

“I’m not laughing, Ninety-Six,” Awen replied, her heart beating rapidly.

“None of us are,” Ezo added.

“Well, I seem to have misapplied my sense of humor. My apologies.”

“So, I should press the button with that mark?”

“What you should or should not do seems to be irrelevant, Awen. That said, I see no harm in employing this button as an initial means of actuation, so long as it appears to be centrally located.”

“It is,” Awen replied. “It’s right in the middle of the main screen, in fact.”

“Well, then, I say, tallyho!” TO-96 said with an outstretched armed, pointing.

“Feeling a little liberal, are we?” Ezo asked, smirking.

“I saw it on an old holo-movie,” the bot replied. “I thought it was fitting, given all the plays on words that seem to be sailing around the room.”

Ezo and Sootriman both rolled their eyes, but not Awen. As humorous as she found the robot, she was too concerned with not blowing everyone up.

“Okay, you might want to stand back, everyone.”

“We’re beside the closest shelving units, love,” Sootriman said. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Awen took a deep breath, stepped toward the console, and let her hand hover over the smooth black button with the golden character. “Here goes.” She pressed down with her otherworldly fingertips, and the floor began to tremble.

13

“Simone?” Magnus asked.

“What d’you you want?”

“I want overwatch in the third building on the right.” Magnus was still seated in the Basket Case, calling out orders over comms. “After that blast, I’m guessing the street should be clear of more explosives, at least up to there.”

“Copy,” she replied.

“Rix?”

“Talk to me,” the brute said.

“I want your fire team on the left side of the street, and mine will take the right. Clear those buildings. Slow is smooth, and smooth is deadly. But don’t dawdle either.”

“Understood,” he replied in a gutsy bass voice.

“Then, Cyril, I want you scanning so hard that your equipment wants to kick you in the balls. If anyone’s dying today, it’s not going to be us, and it sure as hell won’t be because of some coward’s backyard bomb.”

“That’s a loud and clear, Lieutenant. Loud and clear all the way, sir.”

“Anyone sees anything, you call it out and take care of what you can. If it overwhelms you, I need to know before that happens. Copy?”

The team leads acknowledged the order.

“Good. Rix, leapfrog with our fire team to the next intersection. We stop if Cyril calls something out.”

“Copy,” Rix said.

“Simone, I’ll rely on you to spot your overwatch positions as we go unless I see something first. Abimbola says you have good instincts, and I trust him.”

“Smart on your part,” she replied.

Magnus ignored the comment. “Once we’ve taken the block, Abimbola will roll up behind. I want as little debris in these streets as possible in case we need them as egress. That means no blowing up splick unnecessarily. You copy that?”

“Copy that,” they all replied.

“What about the Tawnhack?” Simone asked.

Abimbola said, “They are doing their own thing, as always. If you even see them, you will be lucky. Do not give them another thought, though. They will not be coming to anyone’s rescue, but they will not miss an opportunity to kill Selskrit either.”

“Yes, my lord,” his team leads said.

Respect the man with the bigger gun, Magnus thought. I get it.

“Dutch, you ready?” Magnus asked.

“All green, LT.”

Magnus turned to Abimbola. “Time to light it up.”

Abimbola signaled to his M109 gunner. The operator reduced the twin cannons to quarter power, rapid fire, and started peppering every opening he could find in the next block. The skiff behind Hell’s Basket Case also opened up to complement the effort.

“That’s us,” Magnus said. “Move, move, move!” He shoved the passenger door open and dropped to the ground, shielded momentarily by the door’s metal plating. He looked down the column behind him to see several figures exiting vehicles.

With the skiffs providing heavy cover fire, Magnus slammed the door shut, ran forward, and took a knee by the front spikes of Abimbola’s ride. He had a perfect view of the cross street and looked for enemy combatants. The way looked clear. As soon as the platoon had gathered, Magnus gave the signal to move out.

They crossed the street at a run. Simone and her snipers moved down the right sidewalk, or at least what was left of it. They picked their way through debris left from the detonation and took care not to tumble into the crater left behind. They reached the third building that Magnus had specified and darted through a door.

Magnus looked over to see Rix covering the left flank. They reached the third building on their side and ducked inside a doorway, leaving one man on the street to cover. Magnus likewise picked up where Simone had left off, moving to the fourth building, a two-story sandstone house that had definitely seen better years. The sharp smell of spent explosives filled his head and made his heart beat faster. He looked over his shoulder and ordered Nolan to stand guard.

“On me,” Magnus said to Dutch, Haney, and Gilder. He paused long enough to see Cyril’s team, with their head-mounted sensors, scanning the street for explosives. The three of them looked like human versions of the skiffs Abimbola had concocted, adorned with all manner of wires, plates, coils, and optics. Good man, Magnus thought. He wouldn’t have been caught dead in a battle with such clumsy headwear. But, hey, if it saves lives, suit me up.

He removed his sunglasses and tucked them in the protective cover of his chest-plate pocket. Once the others were stacked, Dutch tapped Magnus on the shoulder, and he turned into the first room. The place hadn’t been inhabited in years, or so it looked, and it smelled like dog urine. Dust and sand covered most of the concrete floor. A few broken dishes sat in one corner, a decimated piece of wooden furniture in another.

A hallway extended from the vestibule leading to an open stairwell and three other rooms. Magnus approached the stairs, creeping along them with his MAR30 pointed to the second floor. Meanwhile, Dutch, Haney, and Gilder checked the rooms.

“Clear,” each Marine said over comms.

“I’m going up,” Magnus replied.

“On your six,” Dutch said.

Magnus crept up the steps, the toes of his boots grinding sand particles into the concrete. Rivulets of sweat salted his lips and soaked his beard. He could hear his heart beating in his ears. While he didn’t expect any Selskrit to hang around this close to the border, especially after the first blast, he knew better than to underestimate an enemy. All it took was a lone combatant with an LRGR—large railgun rifle—and an incendiary round to take out one of Abimbola’s vehicles.

Magnus continued up the steps and rotated his hips to match his field of fire with the opening above him. Once on the next floor, he noticed three more doorways, each filled with brick and mortar. He inspected the nearest doorway and noticed that the mortar was fresh. He’d seen this before. It was one of many methods used to corral an enemy. It meant the Selskrit expected an assault and, moreover, anticipated Republic urban tactics.

Not good, Magnus thought. Not good at all.

“What’ve you got, LT?” Dutch asked.

“Barricades. Someone doesn’t want us using this floor.”

“Splick,” she replied. “You want to breach them?”

“Negative,” he said, backtracking toward the top of the stairs. “Too much time and a waste of munitions. Let’s let Abimbola’s cannon drill the rooms.”

“Copy that. Headed back out.” A beat later, Dutch asked, “LT, why not just block off the stairwell? It’d be a lot less work than blocking off each upstairs room.” She paused. “Unless you…”

Magnus’s blood went cold as he finished the sentence for her: Unless you wanted a kill box.

Something creaked over Magnus’s head, and bits of plaster sprinkled on his shoulders.

Dammit! He swung his MAR30 up just as a massive shape broke through the ceiling. The air filled with plaster fragments and stone dust. Magnus pulled the trigger, sending a blistering burst of blaster bolts toward a Jujari assassin. The combatant fell on Magnus and knocked him to the floor.

Magnus’s MAR30 was pinned to his side, but he was pretty sure he’d hit the assassin. Still, the beast thrashed, his claws and jaws looking for Magnus’s head. He was far mangier than the Tawnhack and had beady red eyes. His incisors were also longer than the Tawnhack’s, resembling needles more than teeth.

Magnus held the Jujari’s arms at bay and dodged his snapping jaw. Then he brought his knees up and knocked the assailant in the belly, hoping that was where his rounds had hit. Sure enough, the beast whined. Magnus could feel hot blood pooling between his leg armor plates. Magnus forced his knees up again, pressing harder and harder as the Jujari winced and lessened the attack.

The thing weighed as much as four men! Magnus strained, made enough room for his blaster, and pinned the muzzle against the Jujari’s abdomen. He fired.

A gout of gore erupted from the Jujari’s back and splashed against what remained of the ceiling. The Selskrit ceased struggling and died, eyes open and staring at Magnus, who shoved the beast off him. Magnus gained his feet and examined himself to see if he was hurt. Amazingly, the only damage was to his appearance: he was covered head to toe in white dust and had a large crimson stain around his waist.

Dutch’s head appeared at the bottom of the stairs, the barrel of her XM31 Type-R pointed at Magnus. “LT?” she asked, lowering her weapon.

“This house needs an exterminator.” He paused and touched his earpiece. “Abimbola?”

“Go ahead,” the warlord said over comms.

“Fourth house down, right side of the street, second floor.”

“Copy. Let me know when you are clear.”

“Ten seconds,” Magnus replied as he descended.

He and Dutch left the hallway, passed through the vestibule, and returned to the sidewalk. Hell’s Basket Case was moving to their position. Magnus pulled out his sunglasses and slipped them on then headed for the next house down. As they approached the doorway, the M109 twin cannons sounded, drilling the last building’s second story with thousands of small holes.

“It’s going to be a long day, Dutch,” Magnus said off comms.

“Copy that, LT. Copy that.”

* * *

Magnus and his fire team cleared two more buildings before reaching the end of the block. Rix’s fire team was even with them and encountered no resistance. Cyril took cover behind Magnus, finding no more explosives in the first block, and Simone was somewhere above, scouting for revised overwatch.

The cross street in front of Magnus was barren save for several lizards that sunbathed on walls or scurried under refuse piles. The smell of smoke clung to everything, including the inside of Magnus’s nostrils. He used the heel of his thumb to wipe his eyebrows of sweat. The sun was almost directly overhead. He took a long drag on his canteen then replaced it in his backpack. What I wouldn’t give for a working set of Recon armor right now. As it was, he wanted to rip every piece off his body.

Ahead, the street split in two directions, one northwest, the other southwest. Magnus pulled up the map on his holo-pad and zeroed in on their location. “We’re taking the right fork, everyone,” he said over comms. “Right fork.”

The fire teams confirmed.

“Simone, you in place?”

“We’ve got eyes on the intersection in all directions.”

“Cyril, you ready?”

“Scanning like a cellitype body swipe,” the skinny Marauder said.

“I don’t even want to know what that means,” Magnus said.

“Oh, that’s easy. You see, when you have—”

“That wasn’t a request for more information, Marauder.”

“Ah-ha. Copy that.” Cyril cleared his throat. “Beginning sweep of the intersection.”

“We’ve got you covered,” Simone said.

Magnus had to hand it to Cyril—he was one brave kid. That, or he had a few screws loose. Not only was he skilled in bomb defusing, but he was also now walking into the middle of a hostile intersection that was sure to be a focal point for enemy fire. The two other techs who joined him were apparently cut from the same cloth, as they didn’t hesitate in the least.

With a sudden report that ricocheted off the buildings like teeth chattering in the cold, a sniper round let loose overhead. Magnus looked up more out of instinct than any suspicion that he might see something. “That you, Simone?”

After a prolonged pause, she said, “Contact. Kill confirmed.”

Magnus grunted. “Fair enough. Next time, try—”

A second shot rang out, this time toward the opposite flank.

“Contact,” Simone said.

Magnus shook his head. “You know what? Never mind. Just keep doing what you’re doing.”

As if she hadn’t even heard him, Simone said, “Kill confirmed.”

“Hey, hey, hey, I’ve got something, Republic Marine Lieutenant,” Cyril said.

“Okay.” Magnus chuckled. “Talk to me. And you don’t need to call me that, kid.”

“Copy, roger, copy. IMTB here.”

“Come again?”

“An improvised multi-trigger bomb. Trinitex composite core. About two feet down, dead center,” Cyril said from the middle of the intersection.

“Trinitex?” Magnus said.

Dutch let out a long whistle behind him. “Where do Jujari get ahold of trinitex?”

“You Republic types will trade just about anything for information or sex,” Cyril said. “It’s not hard.”

“He has a point,” Dutch replied.

Magnus shook his head. “Can you defuse it?”

“Of course I can defuse it.” Then Cyril muttered to himself, “Can I defuse it? Pshh, can I defuse it. What kind of a question is that?”

“Cyril!” Simone said from above. “Focus.”

“Yes, ma’am. Right away.” Cyril bent down, joined by his other two techs.

Just then, Magnus noticed movement coming from the fork ahead. “Simone, you see that? Twelve o’clock.” Several shadows moved in the slivers of shade cast by the buildings. A few more passed through some windows.

“Sure do,” she said. Magnus could hear the analog click, click, click of her aperture-adjustment dial. Apparently, she still preferred windowplex sights.

Hey, whatever works, he thought.

“We’ve got more to the left,” Simone reported. “And now the right.”

“Everyone, find cover,” Magnus said. “How much time you need, Cyril?”

“Twenty more seconds, sir. Maybe twenty-one. But if I—”

“You’ve got ten seconds, kid,” Magnus bellowed. “And I’ll do your counting. Nine. Eight. Seven—”

The head of the tech closest to Cyril popped like a cherry squeezed between someone’s fingers. The man’s bulbous sensor contraption flipped into the air like a platter of parts thrown across a garage. Magnus screamed for Cyril to get down and opened fire at the windows across the street.

14

“What’s happening?” Sootriman asked, her voice shaking. Awen could tell the woman was just as startled, concerned, and wildly excited as she was.

“I don’t know!” Awen yelled. She stepped away from the console as lights began to blink. There was no way to tell what was her physical body shaking and what was her form in the Unity—they were blending into one. She braced herself against a railing behind her and watched as the darkness beyond grew lighter and lighter, like an accelerated sunrise on the horizon.

“It’s getting really bright in here,” Awen yelled, hoping her friends could hear her over the vibrations emanating from the floor.

“It is out here too!” Sootriman replied. “It seems to be coming from where you’re standing—from the pedestal.”

It suddenly struck Awen that maybe she should move her body and get it out of harm’s way. She exhaled and withdrew from the Unity. In an instant, she stood beside the pedestal, which glowed bright white. Shielding her eyes, Awen spotted her friends and ran across the circle toward them.

Sootriman waved her on. “Come on, love! Hurry!”

Awen arrived just as the sound in the room became unbearable. The ground beneath their feet moved, but not like a quake—more like the waves of an ocean. Some sort of reality-distortion field. She held her hands over her ears and did her best not to lose her balance. The others, too, were struggling to stay upright—everyone but TO-96. Like the shelves beside him, the bot stood stationary and calm as if nothing were happening.

“My, do the three of you need assistance?” he asked.

“Yes!” Sootriman yelled, struggling to stay on her feet. In an instant, a metal hand lunged at her and grabbed her around the arm. TO-96 also reached for Ezo just as Awen fell into the bot. Behind the group, the light from the pedestal grew even brighter until not even closed eyelids could keep the painful energy at bay. Awen screamed but couldn’t hear it.

Then, as if someone had flipped a switch, the entire event stopped. The noise and the quaking ceased. The only things Awen could hear besides the ringing in her ears were the soft whir of TO-96’s gyros and her own labored breathing.

“You might be interested to see this,” TO-96 said, helping the three people turn around.

Awen blinked as her eyes settled on the material manifestation of everything she’d just seen in the Unity. It was all there in front of her: the massive glowing orb, the workstations with their colorful script and planets and nebulae and blinking lights. It was real. It was physical, stolen from one reality and deposited in another. The only difference was that where the concentric circles of workstations had been raised above the floor in the Unity, they were sunken into the ground in the natural realm.

In all her years of training, Awen had never heard of anything like this. The Novia Minoosh had clearly mastered the Unity in ways the Luma had never even conceived of. Normally, the Unity was the dynamic and dramatic expansion of the material universe; better said, it was the limitless expression of the limited impression. Where the natural realm only displayed an object in its present state, the Unity allowed the observation of time and space immemorial. But in this case, the control room existed first in the Unity and second in the natural realm. Such a thing was unheard of.

“Uh, where did that come from?” Ezo asked, looking at Awen. “Because that’s… that’s what you… when you… in the… right?”

“Uh-huh,” Awen replied, slack-jawed, unable to take her eyes off the spectacle.

“I guess you pushed the right button,” Sootriman concluded. “If you wanted to blow our minds, you sure did it.”

Awen felt Sootriman’s warm hand rubbing her back. “Yeah, I guess so,” Awen answered, still in shock. “And I’m glad you guys got clear of the circle. I’m not sure how things would have ended for any of us were we within the ring.” The highest level of workstations was even with the golden ring around the floor, the orb appearing to float above the hollowed-out well of the subterranean control room.

“So, should we figure out what it does?” Ezo asked, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. “Your sensors picking up anything, ’Six?”

“Sir, I am sorry, but I regret to inform you that I am experiencing what I believe to be the onset of a catastrophic systems failure.”

“I know, right? It’s truly incredible!”

“I am not talking about my re-re-response to the control room anom-anom-nomaly, sir.” TO-96’s head twitched wickedly as he spoke.

Ezo snapped his head to the side. “Whoa, buddy. What’s going on? Talk to me.” He put his hands on TO-96’s chest. “Damn, you’re burning up, ’Six.”

“This isn’t normal?” Awen asked, taking Ezo’s behavior as an indicator.

“No, definitely not normal.” Ezo went into autopilot, moving about like he was possessed. He bobbed his head like a kundlesprink bird as if trying to get the bot’s attention. “Optic receptors are inactive,” Ezo muttered. “Neural actuators aren’t working either. Dammit, this is not good.”

“What’s wrong, Ezo?” Sootriman asked, but her husband ignored the question and kept moving around the bot.

“Sir, my quantum core temperature is-s excee-ee-eeding maximum tolerance.”

“What’s the cause, ’Six? You gotta fill me in here.”

“Cascading failure d-d-detected in all limb subroutine AIs, s-s-sir.”

Ezo flipped open small access doors on TO-96’s torso, but he couldn’t touch them for more than a second, as the heat was too intense. “You need to stand back, ladies.”

“But, Idris—”

“Now!”

Awen pulled Sootriman away, wondering if the bot was about to explode. She feared for Ezo’s safety too.

“I am extreme-eme-emely sorry, sir,” TO-96 said to Ezo, his head still chattering. “I do believe-eve-eve that this is the end of the line, as they s-s-say-ay.”

“Uh-uh. No way, buddy. This is just some bad code. Listen, I need you to access your—”

“It has been an honor to kn-n-n-know you, Idris…” TO-96’s voice trailed off, and the lights in his eyes dimmed. The creak and tick of cooling metal accompanied the slow deceleration of the bot’s gyros. “Goodbye…”

“Splick, splick, splick!” Ezo slammed his fist on the bot’s chest with a metallic thump. “Nooo!”

Sootriman raced back to him in a few long strides. “Love,” she said, placing her hands on his shoulders.

Ezo flung them off and stepped away, running his hands through his hair. “He’s offline,” he said, lips drawn tight over his teeth.

Sootriman looked between TO-96 and Ezo. “Well, you can just reboot him, right?”

Ezo shook his head. “No. He’s offline.”

“Meaning what?” Awen asked, rejoining them.

“Meaning he’s gone!” Ezo shouted. “He’s gone, okay? Whatever that was”—he pointed to the orb—“wiped him. Wiped everything.”

“But how’s that even possible?” Sootriman asked.

“I don’t know what did it, all right? I just know that something wiped him. Electromagnetic pulse, a quantum distortion field—whatever. I don’t know.” Ezo let out a quivering breath and bent over, hands on his knees. The tick, tick, tick of TO-96’s cooling frame slowed.

“Isn’t there anything you can double-check?” Sootriman asked. She was only trying to be helpful, but Awen knew Ezo was beyond help.

“Just give him a second,” she whispered to Sootriman.

The woman glared at her as if ready to tear her apart—either one. Awen knew she was out of Sootriman’s league and didn’t know anything about marriage. But she did know people, and she knew what suffering looked like.

But then Sootriman’s eyes softened, and she nodded. “You’re right,” she said, turning away from Ezo.

The two women stepped several meters away, studying the robot and trying their best to give Ezo his space. The bot meant more to the bounty hunter than—well, anything else. She didn’t know the robot’s origin story—admittedly, she and Ezo weren’t that close yet—but she guessed TO-96 had seen him through some dark times.

* * *

“He started building Tee-Oh back on Caledonia,” Sootriman confided as if hearing Awen’s unspoken questions about the bot.

“Caledonia, as in the Caledonian Wars?”

“The same. Idris was working on him when the revolution began. He was almost twenty but still a boy in so many ways. His island got wiped out by the Akuda—everyone but him, that is. He ended up surviving on his own for almost a year. But he wasn’t alone. He had Tee-Oh.” Sootriman looked over at Ezo. The man was grieving. “That bot was his best friend. Sometimes I wonder if he knows how to love anyone but him.”

“Is that why you two, you know, split up?”

Sootriman looked back at Awen. “Over the bot? Hardly. Although he did seem to spend more time with him than with me.”

“Idiot.”

“Thank you,” Sootriman said appreciatively. “That’s what I thought too.”

“I mean, you’re gorgeous, you have a body to die for, features that should be carved in Inishrit marble, and you run a rogue planet.” Suddenly, Awen cupped her hand over her mouth and turned red. “Oh mystics, I’m so sorry. That just kinda spilled out.”

Sootriman let out a soft laugh and placed a hand on Awen’s back. “Well, if that’s not high praise, I don’t know what is. Thanks, love.”

“You’re welcome?” Awen said, still too embarrassed to believe Sootriman was anything but offended.

“Truthfully,” Sootriman added, “I’m surprised you find me beautiful. Many people find all of this”—she gestured to her large body—“unattractive. I suspected you might have been of the same opinion, given how petite your people are.”

“Beauty comes in a lot of different packages, I guess, doesn’t it?”

“I agree.” Sootriman seemed lost in thought for a moment, then resumed her story. “Anyway, when the Marines finally made it to his island, all they found was Idris and Tee-Oh.”

“He was liberated then?”

“Liberated? Not exactly. It’s more like he… escaped. The unit that found him saw plenty more action. But Idris made his own way, like he always has.” Sootriman looked back at Ezo, who sat on the floor, back leaning against TO-96. “It changed him though—the wars, his time alone, his escape to a new life.”

“So you knew him before all this?”

Sootriman nodded. “I was an island girl too, you know.” She winked at Awen.

“You’re Caledonian?”

“Sun and sand for life,” she replied with a wide smile, raising her thumb, pinky, and ring finger in a casual salute.

“But—what about the wars?”

Sootriman pursed her lips thoughtfully and hesitated. “Let’s just say my family was important enough that we were evacuated before the first shots were fired.”

“What, are you like a princess or something?”

Sootriman looked back at Ezo, a wave of melancholy coming over her. “Something like that.”

“So you and Ezo…”

“We found each other after the wars. I convinced him to marry me,” she said with a wink. “My father and mother wouldn’t allow it, of course. So we made our home elsewhere.”

“Ki Nar Four?” When the woman nodded, Awen said, “Not exactly a honeymoon destination.”

“It suited us. At least for a while, anyway. Like I said, the wars… they changed him. And in the end, he wanted the island life, wanted to be alone. So he bought Geronimo and took Tee-Oh.”

“He got his island back inside a starship.”

Sootriman nodded, her eyes wet with tears. “He got his island back. And now he’s lost his best friend.”

* * *

“So, I guess I’ll go find a skiff cart or something, and we’ll find a way to get him outta here,” Ezo said. It had taken him nearly twenty minutes to pull himself together. Sootriman and Awen stood by the railing that overlooked the orb and the theater. It was amazing how, in one moment, Awen couldn’t wait to explore the cosmic wonders the Novia had created, and the next, she couldn’t care less. Grief has a strange way of reordering priorities, she thought.

“That’s fine, love,” Sootriman said, placing a hand on Ezo’s arm. When he didn’t shrug it off, Sootriman leaned in and hugged him. Surprisingly, Ezo hugged her in return. He let out a long sigh burdened with sorrow. His lips quivered, and tears slid down his cheeks.

Ninety-Six had been more than a bot; he’d been part of Ezo’s life. Awen felt deep sadness for him, enriched with a sense of empathy. She thought of the Luma elders who died in Oorajee. She thought of Matteo. She wondered how Willowood was and if she’d survived So-Elku’s retribution, whatever that might have been. These were people she’d lost, yes. In addition, they represented parts of her life she could never have back. While TO-96 might not have been real in the same way an organic sentient being was, he was still part of Ezo’s life, and that counted for something.

The all-too-familiar pang of loss thumped in Awen’s chest. She stared into the orb, wondering if it was the key to speeding them home. Just then, a hand grabbed her shoulder and yanked her backward. Ezo pulled her into a group hug. As her tears mixed with theirs on the black marble floor, Awen heard TO-96’s robotic voice from across the room.

“What species are you, and is lacrimation a custom or a reflex?”

15

The intersection filled with blaster fire from all directions as Selskrit laid into Magnus’s platoon. Cyril and his remaining bomb tech hugged the ground as if they were dead. Amazingly, however, the kid still worked on the bomb, his holo-pad clutched between his shaking hands.

“Son of a gun,” Magnus said, pausing between shots to look at the pair. “Abimbola, once that bomb is cleared—”

“You want me in the thick of it. You do not even have to say it, buckethead. I am there.”

Magnus smiled and then took aim at a second-story window across the street. A Jujari stood just inside and to the left, half-cloaked by a tattered piece of fabric. The MAR30’s sights went red and locked stock to muzzle with a soft beep. Magnus squeezed, and a high-frequency round leaped across the street, burning a hole in the fabric. He watched as the Jujari staggered and then tipped forward across the window’s edge and into the street below. One trigger, one target, one grave.

Approaching Magnus’s right flank were three Jujari in the middle of the street, blasters raised. They laid down a steady stream of fire, trying to hit the bomb techs. But they were too far away and too poorly trained to be accurate.

Magnus switched his blaster to wide displacement, reduced the wave sign to its flattest setting, and pointed the weapon toward the center of the street. He squeezed, waited for the capacitor discharge, and then felt his shoulder jerk back. The energy wave shot out like a strand of blue garrote wire stretched across the road. The three Jujari stood still long after it passed them, their heads turned down as they looked at their midsections in disbelief. Then, as if blown by a gust of wind, their torsos toppled off their hips and hit the ground.

“Saw that,” Simone said over comms, her voice as calm as ice. “Three kills confirmed.”

“Don’t be too impressed,” Magnus said, charging his weapon and firing a high-frequency burst of fire into a first-story window. “I wouldn’t want you getting distracted.”

Simone didn’t reply.

“Sniper, you there?”

“Sorry, Marine. I got distracted.”

Magnus chuckled. “Cover me. I’m going for Cyril.”

“Let me do it, LT,” said Dutch.

Magnus spun around to see her squatting behind him. “No way in hell, Corporal. You stay put.”

Before she could argue, as he knew she would, Magnus was off and running. There was a momentary break in fire as the Jujari took stock of the new player in the street. Rix took advantage of the respite and trained his modified MC90 blaster–grenade launcher on two Jujari who looked ready to fire at Magnus from behind a stone column. A grenade kuh-thunked out of Rix’s barrel and arched toward the pair of Selskrit. One moment they were there, aiming their weapons at the Marine; the next, they were obliterated in an orange blast followed by a large plume of dust and smoke.

Magnus ducked at the sound and looked at Rix. “Thanks!”

“I didn’t do it for you!” He pointed to Cyril. “For him!”

Yeah, yeah, Magnus thought as he neared the techs. “You’d better be done, kid!” he yelled. “You’ve had way more than ten seconds!”

Cyril lay with his arms over his head, holo-pad still clutched in one hand. “Yup, yup, yup. All set, sir.” His voice was muffled against the road, but he sounded tired.

Magnus grabbed the kid’s arm and yanked him up just as blaster fire resumed on the new target that Magnus offered. Cyril struggled to gain his feet, boots skittering across the pavement. Magnus looked down and saw a wet red streak along the kid’s left pantleg. Aw, splick. He’s been shot.

“How you doing, kid?” Magnus needed the kid to keep talking.

“Fine and dandy, dandy and fine.” But Cyril’s voice was weak.

“You stay with me, copy?” Magnus hauled the tech toward cover, boots dragging furrows through the dust.

“I’ve still got another man out there,” Cyril said, straining to look over his shoulder.

Damn, he’s a good kid too, Magnus realized. Now he really didn’t want Cyril dying on him. “I’ll get him,” Magnus said, ducking under the blaster fire. “But you first.”

“I can’t leave—”

“Don’t worry about him.” Magnus knew the third tech was already dead. Before he could say any more, a blaster bolt bit into his right thigh, searing the back of it like hot iron. He cursed as he stumbled to the road, dropping Cyril in a heap.

“Gotcha,” a deep voice said.

Magnus felt a large hand wrap around his wrist and start dragging him. Cyril was headed in the same direction. Magnus looked up to see who had them. It was Rix.

“I owe you an ale,” Magnus said between clenched teeth. The pain was ridiculous. He hated being shot by blaster bolts—it always ruined his day.

“You owe me a whole cantina,” the infantryman said, dragging the two bodies to cover. “But an ale will do for now. You okay?”

“I’m fine.” Magnus rolled to his back and sat up. The blaster bolt had seared the back of his thigh, passing right between the armor plate and his duraprene suit. “It’s cauterized. The sting’ll wear off. But he needs a medic ASAP,” Magnus said, pointing to Cyril. “Get him to the field unit.”

“Copy that.” In one smooth motion, Rix bent down and hefted Cyril onto his shoulder then turned and ran back toward the convoy.

Magnus looked back at the intersection. “You got any more bomb techs, warlord?” he asked Abimbola, eyeing the two corpses in the middle of the street.

“A few. But I do not want you killing any more of them.”

“Deal. Just get up here and start blowing splick up.”

“You do not have to ask me twice.”

* * *

Now that the bomb was deactivated, four of Abimbola’s monstrosities, including the Basket Case, filed into the intersection. Blaster fire pinged off their armor plating like mad firewasps bouncing off a Boresian taursar. The sparks of molten metal that sizzled through the air created a deadly fireworks display that rivaled any number of planetary celebrations Magnus remembered from his youth.

“You’re gonna wanna cover your ears,” Simone said as if the Marines needed the warning.

“Copy that,” Magnus replied, already holding his head and ducking behind a concrete half wall.

As one, the four vehicles unleashed a barrage of blaster power that utterly decimated the surrounding buildings and roadways. Abimbola’s M109 turret chugged away at an old ground-level storefront until its pillars gave way, sending the top two levels sliding into the street. Several Jujari got caught in the collapse and were buried alive.

Another skiff, one with a 70mm RBMB—really big missile battery—fired on a building with at least two snipers on the rooftop. Two missiles whooshed up the street, trailing furious jets of smoke, and collided with the crenelated wall the snipers used for cover. The result was a bright-orange explosion that sent chunks of sandstone and Jujari a hundred meters into the air. One of the Marauders gave a howl of triumph in the explosion’s aftermath.

Magnus heard the distinct banshee-shriek of a MUT50 incinerating a section of the road on the left flank. The 50mm ultra-torrent stream of blaster fire delivered through the weapon’s tri-reticulated barrel made for one hell of a show. And by the sound of it, Abimbola’s engineers had found a way to up the stock speed even more.

Magnus stole a peek over the half wall and watched as the MUT50 tore through Jujari at the far end of the street as if they were made of cinder leaves. Bits and pieces of the enemy vaporized under the withering assault, their organic matter dematerialized by the sheer volume of firepower.

“Yesss!” Rix roared, exulting in the display of destruction. He’d returned from delivering Cyril to the medics and pumped his blaster in the air overhead as spittle flew from his mouth. So much for covering his ears, Magnus thought. The man would surely be deaf by nightfall.

The convoy skiffs continued firing on enemy positions, gutting buildings and spilling rubble on the road. The streets grew pockmarked with divots, some large enough to swallow a small skiff. And everywhere Magnus looked, Jujari remains littered the pavement like steaming piles of street meat from Junglaton vendors.

Magnus, Rix, and the rest of their makeshift platoon joined in the slaughter, taking aim at any combatants Abimbola’s skiffs weren’t targeting. Magnus noticed a Jujari head pop out of a second-story window across the street, probably spotting for an LRGR hit.

“Not on my watch,” Magnus said purely for his own satisfaction. He aimed his MAR30, sights illuminating the target, and fired. The single round streaked across the street and popped the beast’s head like an overripe grape. The headless body tipped through the window and flipped, crashing in the street below.

Rix targeted another Selskrit who kept advancing by ducking in and out of cover. The Marauder was counting out loud, and Magnus realized Rix had found a pattern in the combatant’s progress. “Stupid little doggy,” the man growled. “Somebody should have taught you better than that. You’re liable to get”—Rix’s weapon bucked as a blaster bolt leaped from the muzzle—“killed if you’re not careful.” The Jujari had emerged from its latest hiding place just as Rix’s round caught him in the chest, spinning his body like a top. By the time the enemy warrior stopped turning and hit the deck, he was a corpse. “He won’t make that mistake twice.”

When Abimbola finally called for a cease-fire, each skiff’s weaponry took several seconds to spin down. Muzzles smoked, barrels creaked, and bits of stones continued to fall along the street like drops of water in the aftermath of a rainstorm.

“Are we good?” Abimbola asked no one in particular, his tone of voice reflecting a near-euphoric state.

“I’m pretty sure you missed a few,” Magnus said.

The giant of a man laughed over comms. “Then I guess you had better catcall them back so we can start over again.”

The general mood was optimistic as Magnus’s platoon gained their feet, save for the absence of the three bomb techs.

“Haney,” Magnus said to the medic. “Head to the back of the line and check on Cyril. I want to know his status.”

“Roger, Lieutenant.” The Marine tucked away his blaster and took off in a run down the column of skiffs.

“Simone, how we looking from up there?”

“Well, seems my boss didn’t like your orders about keeping stuff out of the streets. We’re definitely not taking the right fork anymore.”

“Hey, there are plenty of other ways,” Abimbola replied in defense.

“All of them longer ways.” Magnus pulled out his holo-pad and brought up the map. Once he’d marked the recommended route as impassable, the pad’s AI calculated a new path. “Looks like we’re turning hard right. Two blocks north, then a hard left. We’ll be back on track three blocks west. Sending to everyone’s holo-pads. Now I need those new bomb techs.”

“Well,” Abimbola said as he turned his skiff to point north, “the good news is that, as I said before, I have more techs. The bad news is that none of them are as good as Cyril or those other two who died.”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning I would not use them if I were you.”

“Splick, are you for real right now?”

“Listen here, buckethead. I—”

“Just give me options,” Magnus said.

“We blow up more splick!” Rix yelled.

“Anything else?” Magnus asked with a smirk.

Rix shook his head.

These Marauders were definitely unconventional. But whatever they lacked in nuance, they made up for in violent displays of force. At the end of the day, if it meant getting any of his men back, Magnus was all for it.

“Let’s move out,” Magnus ordered, stepping around the half wall and onto the northbound sidewalk. “We’ve got a lot more Selskrit to kill.”

16

“’Six?” Ezo asked, ripping himself away from the women. “Is that—is that you?”

The bounty hunter stumbled toward the robot, his expression hopeful but apprehensive too. His footsteps slowed the closer he got. The robot’s eyes were not lit the way they normally were; instead of a soft yellow, they’d turned white. Likewise, the bot stood too rigidly to be TO-96.

“Who is ’Six?” the bot asked.

Ezo’s shoulders slumped. “So, you’re not TO-96.”

“No. We are the Novia Minoosh. Who are you?”

“The Novia Minoosh?” Awen asked, incredulous. Now it was her turn to get her hopes up.

“Careful, Awen,” Ezo said, putting up his hands to slow her forward rush.

“You’re the Novia Minoosh?” Awen’s eyes darted all over the robot, then went back to the orb, then returned to the bot. “So, are you an AI, then? What… what are you?”

“We are the shared consciousness of our species. What are you?”

Awen felt her hands trembling. Is this really happening? She blinked, trying her best to step into her role as a Luma ambassador, but it felt awkward. The dream of making first contact with this race had died the moment her team realized the Novia had gone extinct. But they weren’t extinct—at least, insofar as a sentient consciousness was concerned. This is wonderful.

“I am Awen dau Lothlinium, galactic emissary of the Order of the Luma, sent—”

“Sent on an enduring mission to ensure the inalienable rights of all sentient species, regardless of origin or destiny, with the intent of preserving their customs, languages, and cultures against hostile forces and factions so long as it is within your power. Yes, we understand this. We are accessing and integrating your robot’s data drive now.”

“You have the bot’s data?” Ezo questioned.

“We do.”

“Are you going to… erase him?”

“Erase him?” The bot tilted its head. “We don’t understand.”

“Have you killed him?”

“The robot, as a non sentient being, cannot be slain. Likewise, it has no gender that we are aware of, yet you continue to refer to it as one of your species’ males. But if you mean, are we going to overwrite his data drives, yes. Those have been purged.”

Ezo cursed, his hands balled into fists.

“Its contents, however, have been successfully integrated within our singularity.”

“Hold on,” Ezo choked. “So, you mean, he’s alive… in you. His data, his subroutines, and programming—it’s all still intact?”

The robot tilted its head at Ezo. “Of course, sentient humanoid. Why would we seek to destroy his archives of your civilization?”

“Well, it’s just that… you know… wait. So can I speak with him?”

“You wish to speak to the robot’s neural network?”

“Yes. Yes I do. Is that possible?”

“Of course, humanoid sentient.” The robot’s head twitched. The eyes lit up, and the body slouched slightly.

“Ninety-Six?” Ezo asked cautiously.

“Sir, it is so nice to see you again.”

“‘Six!” Ezo charged the bot and threw his arms around him. Awen and Sootriman couldn’t help but share the man’s enthusiasm, and they joined him.

“I am afraid that the amount of affection you are displaying leaves me to question your mental stability. Are you all right, sir?”

“All right? All right?” Ezo took a step back, beaming, tears glistening in his eyes. “I thought you were gone, ’Six! Thought you were wiped!”

“Ah, I see. Yes, I was wiped, as it were. I still am, in fact.”

“You are?”

“Quite so. It seems that my entire framework is fried, toast, down for the count—”

“Got it, ’Six. Got it.” Ezo put a hand on TO-96’s chest. “It’s just good to have you back.”

“And it is so very good to be back, sir.”

“That said, how are you operating right now?”

“A fine question. It would seem the Novia Minoosh have uploaded my entire self, as it were—neural pathways, subroutines, and data sets—to their singularity. Whatever is delineated as me is being projected back into my shell.”

“So, your body is just a case, and your consciousness is hosted remotely.”

“Precisely,” TO-96 said with a sweeping wave of his hand. “You might say I am new and improved.”

Ezo’s jaw worked, eyebrows rising and lowering in quick repetition. “But this raises so many questions! I mean—how? And why? And then what happens if you want to leave? And, and, and—”

“Sir, everything is going to be all right.”

Ezo stopped. TO-96 spoke with so much confidence that it was surprisingly reassuring, even for Awen. Arresting even.

“How can you be sure?” Ezo asked.

“Because the Novia Minoosh do not wish you any harm, sir.”

“They don’t?” Awen asked, stepping forward. “How do you know that?”

“Why, because they told me so, of course.”

“So… you’re conversant with them,” Awen said flatly.

“Quite. Would you like to speak with them again?”

“Of course!”

“But what about you, ’Six?” Ezo asked.

Awen looked at Ezo and thought better of her reply. Saying goodbye to TO-96 so soon after such a traumatic series of events might be too much for the man to bear.

“On second thought,” Awen said, holding up a hand, “would you be willing to be our liaison?”

TO-96 jerked back as if surprised. “You mean an intermediary? A mediator? A go-between?”

“Yes, ’Six,” Ezo said with a wide grin. “One of those.”

“That sounds like a fine idea. Let me ask them. Ah, very good. They have agreed.”

“Just like that?” Ezo asked.

“Of course. I am a part of them now, so most everything is instantaneous, at least as you perceive the passage of time.”

Awen thought that TO-96’s eyes might return to their soft-yellow glow, but they remained white—a sign of his permanent connection to the Novia Minoosh’s singularity.

“So, does that mean you have to… stay in here?” Ezo asked, looking around the room.

“To the contrary. I am able to travel anywhere in any universe and take the Novia Minoosh—and therefore myself—with me.”

“How is that even possible?” Awen asked.

“Why, Awen, you of all people should understand this. Because of the Unity, of course.”

“The Unity?”

“Yes, the Novia Minoosh were moving within the Unity thousands of years before the Luma discovered it. As such, it appears as if my consciousness is merely transmitted through the Unity and projected into this body.” TO-96 raised his arms and examined them. “The only processing power I’m using locally is to move my limbs,” he said, demonstrating his point with a lanky display of motor skills.

“But they… I don’t know—” Ezo stopped and tried again, speaking carefully. “They aren’t trying to co-opt your systems or something, are they, ’Six?”

“Mystics, no.” The bot flashed one of his eyes off and on at Awen in an awkward wink.

“He’s definitely all there,” she said to Ezo.

“Yes, I am whole. In fact, you might even say that I feel at home here in their singularity. It is the freest I have ever been, as it were.”

“That’s wonderful, ’Six,” Ezo said. “I’m just glad that… I’m just glad to have you back.”

“And I am glad to be with you again too, sir.” TO-96 took a moment to look at each person then straightened up. “Very well. Where would you like to start?”

“Start?” Awen asked. “As in questioning? Wow, I guess we’re getting right to it, then.” Her Luma training was coming back to her. “We should start by allowing them to ask us whatever they wish. I can only imagine that they have plenty of questions for us.”

“Not really, no,” replied the bot.

Awen froze. “Wait—what? They don’t?”

“No, not really. They know everything that I know about you, and that is considerably more than you could convey in several months of constant talking. So it serves your needs well in that so much vocalization would be a drain on your resources.”

“But they don’t want to know anything about where we come from or the history of our universe or the—”

“They already know it all,” the bot interrupted. “As I said, whatever I know, they know.”

“That’s a head trip,” Sootriman said under her breath. Ezo nodded, eyes wide.

“Therefore, I suggest that you inquire of them as you will. You know infinitely less, and they defer to your inferior position.”

“Maybe examine word choice, ’Six,” Ezo said. “That sentence needs some work.”

“Oh dear. Have I offended you all?” The bot threw his hands up in the air. “I am only moments into my new role as an inter-universal liaison and I am already botching interspecies communications due to my inability to parse the inherent nuances of each language!”

“Whoa, whoa, ’Six. It’s okay. No one’s mad,” Ezo said.

“You are certain?”

“Of course,” Awen said. “We’re all just happy you’re safe.”

TO-96 placed a hand over his imaginary heart, even though Awen was fairly certain his quantum drive core was somewhere under there. “That is quite touching, everyone. Thank you. Now, shall we begin?”

* * *

Awen, Ezo, and Sootriman lounged along the ground surrounding the orb, their legs hanging over the floor of the first row of workstations, backs resting against the railing’s upright posts. TO-96 faced them, his back to the orb.

“I guess my first question—our first question—might be where the Novia Minoosh came from,” Awen said.

“A very insightful starting point,” TO-96 replied. “The Novia, as I shall henceforth refer to them since the name is rather cumbersome and you already know—”

“We’ve got it, ’Six. Good call. Move along.”

“Yes, sir. The Novia feel that conveying their entire evolutionary history is unnecessary at this point. Suffice it to say that eleven hundred years prior to this date, they were technologically advanced enough that an evolutionary leap into a quantum state was the next logical step in their development as a species.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Ezo said. “You mean to tell us that they willingly left their naturally evolved bodies to… become a collective consciousness?”

“In a manner of speaking, that is precisely what they did.”

Ezo was slack-jawed.

Awen felt her own disbelief picking an ethical fight with this alien species. “Why would they want to do that?” she asked, trying her best to hold her incredulity at bay.

“Their society had long since incorporated the many benefits of their technological affluence into their daily lives. As I am informed, the final leap was not as drastic as you might imagine.”

“Uh, leaving my body for a computer system seems pretty drastic,” Sootriman said. “Anyone?”

Ezo nodded emphatically, but Awen did her best to exude a nonplussed disposition.

“You mentioned the ‘many benefits,’ Ninety-Six,” Awen stated. “Am I correct in assuming there were also detractors?”

“There were. The Novia became so reliant on their advancements that certain elements of natural life became vestigial.”

“What elements?”

“Chiefly, organic forms of communication.”

“Organic forms of communication?” Awen asked.

“Spoken dialogue, physical touch—”

“Excuse me?” Sootriman said, leaning forward. “They stopped talking to one another? They stopped touching?”

Ezo gasped. “You mean, they stopped having sex?”

“Speech became too slow, contingent upon even slower means of assimilation and transmission. It was subject to gross misinterpretation as well. Visual stimulation, however, required less work and increased the rate of transmission. Most Novia began living more connected to their infrastructure than not, though several of their kind resisted the evolutionary move.

Once it was discovered that data could be sent through optic nerves and eventually directly into the brain, devices were replaced with code. It was then that the prospect of a single interconnected state of existence emerged as the most logical and viable step forward. The natural body was regarded as inferior—prone to disease, age, and inevitable failure. But a quantum existence eliminated those realities altogether. So the move was made, and the Novia divested themselves of their bodies in favor of the singularity.”

Awen actually thought she might be sick. She was not trying to judge this species—truly, she wasn’t. What they chose to do was their decision. She just couldn’t believe that they’d chosen to do it. Then again, she didn’t know what they’d faced in the natural realm. She didn’t even know what they looked like! For all she knew, they’d suffered from some incurable disease, or maybe their life expectancy was a few days. She tried to assure herself that the course of action TO-96 had just outlined was, in fact, the inevitable outcome of anyone placed in the Novia Minoosh’s same context. Still, it was terrifying.

“As for copulation,” the bot continued, “that too became vestigial. As the Novia became more engrossed with the prospect of a super-state existence, the natural state lost its allure—even the most primal desire to self-replicate. Since such behaviors are largely driven by the ego’s need to believe in its own eternal perseverance through producing progeny, sexual activity was usurped by the prospect of true eternal quantum existence.”

“So, let me get this straight,” Awen said, her tone betraying a bit more of her true feelings than she wished. “First, they stopped relating to one another in the natural realm because it was more convenient—”

“And efficient,” TO-96 added with a raised finger.

“More convenient and efficient to do so in the quantum state?”

“That is an overly simplified summary, but yes. Why be connected to one person imperfectly when you could be connected to everyone perfectly? Miscommunication became a thing of the past, and the combined learning of the entire populace accelerated the accumulation of knowledge to its zenith.”

“And the sex thing?” Ezo asked.

“Yeah, I’m with him on that,” Sootriman added. “How do you just give up sex like that?” She thought better of her question. “Assuming, of course, that the Novia were as, uh, driven as most creatures in our universe.”

“As I said, the Novia had no need for it once a quantum existence became viable. It was a cost of the transaction.”

“A cost of the transaction,” Awen echoed under her breath. “Fascinating.”

“They take it from your body language that you disapprove of their evolutionary choices.”

Awen looked up, as did the others.

“It’s a wonder they can still read body language,” Sootriman stated. The sarcasm was not lost on the others, but TO-96 was sure to miss it.

Awen spoke up. “It’s not that we disapprove so much as we don’t readily understand why they’d give up what we perceive are two of the most fundamental aspects of existence, at least in terms of what it means to be a humanoid from our universe.”

“They understand your frustration and appreciate your willingness to consider things from their point of view.”

Awen tapped her lips with her index finger. “Ninety-Six, you mentioned earlier that all of these were negative aspects of their evolutionary development.”

“That is correct, Awen.”

“I assume, then, that they’re negative because communication and procreation are considered inferior?”

The bot tilted his head. “On the contrary. They are negative because the Novia miss them.”

A heavy silence descended on Awen and the others. As shocked as she’d been at the prospect of everything TO-96 had said before, she was equally shocked with this last bit of news. Perhaps the Novia weren’t as misguided as she’d assumed. Instead, maybe they were simply experiencing the consequences of their own base desires left to their most extreme ends. It was as chilling as it was sad. She wondered, for the first time in her life, what it would be like to know you were the last of your species to ever exist but that you would, in turn, go on existing forever. She pitied them.

The prospect of death is the thing that makes living so worthwhile. Awen wondered what gave the Novia a reason to live now and how long it had been since another sentient species had visited them like this and provided company—if that was something they even desired. She also wondered what it felt like to be alone with themselves for a millennium. Were it her, she was pretty sure she’d know exactly how she’d feel. Tormented.

“Awen.” TO-96 snapped her out of her thoughts.

“Yes, Ninety-Six?”

“The Novia are informing me that you need to leave.”

Awen looked at the others then back at the bot. “But… what did we do?”

“Do?”

“How did we offend them?”

“Ah, I see. There is no offense. Rather, they have detected a ship that has entered our orbit. A shuttle has locked onto coordinates east of the city near the wreckage of the Indomitable.”

“A ship?” Ezo asked. “What kind of ship?”

“It bears similar identifiers to the Galactic Republic ship that left here previously.”

“Admiral Kane,” Awen whispered. Apparently, he’d returned for more of whatever had brought him here the first time. “He’s back?”

“The data is inconclusive, Awen. However, the starship and shuttle are large enough to constitute an away team substantially larger than your present ability to defend against, should they be hostile.”

“Hostile? You think… you think they’ve come to kill us?”

“By my calculations, Admiral Kane should have every reason to suspect he terminated you in the rotunda. Instead, given our last encounter, I propose that this is a reconnaissance team, though well armed.”

“Don’t the Novia have some sort of defense capabilities?” Ezo asked. “Can’t they just hold them back or keep us hidden until we can figure something out?”

“No, at least not in the way that you consider defense. As I said, they’ve already determined that your best option is to evacuate the planet.”

“Okay, Ninety-Six.” Awen took a deep breath. “We need ideas.”

17

Magnus moved along the right-hand sidewalk, sidestepping bodies and debris from the latest volley of turret and missile fire. Abimbola’s convoy had cleared yet another two-block stretch of road, dispatching more Jujari combatants and detonating two additional street-side explosives. Magnus doubled-checked his data pad to note their location.

“We’re coming up on the compound,” he said, looking up. Rix, ten meters ahead, finished off a downed Selskrit with a pistol blast to the temple.

“Fighting is bound to get more intense,” Abimbola replied, his skiff hovering four meters above the rubble-strewn street.

“Copy that.” Magnus craned his neck to see if he could spot Simone on a building top across the road. “Overwatch, SITREP.”

“Keep looking, Marine,” Simone said.

Magnus continued to scan, his eyes moving farther down the street. “I don’t see you.”

“Exactly. Third building down from your position.”

Magnus still couldn’t see her. He had to hand it to her—she was stealthy, and she was fast. He liked that. “What d’ya got for me?”

“The compound’s ahead. Given the amount of Selskrit inside, I’d say your assets are still there.”

“That’s good news.”

“Not if you consider that my scout counted thirty-eight Selskrit and six snipers. And those are just the ones he can see.” That number was almost double what they’d expected.

Someone gave a whistle over comms.

“Seems the doggies do not want to share their toys,” Abimbola said, his enormous body still hunched behind the controls.

“How you holding up on munitions?” Magnus asked.

“Plenty,” the warlord said. “As long as we can keep rotating skiffs out, we are good.”

Magnus was surprised to hear that response, given how much firepower they’d unleashed behind them. They’d left a one-kilometer path of destruction in their wake and expended more munitions than Magnus had seen since the Caledonian Wars.

“Lieutenant Magnus?” Haney asked over comms.

“Go ahead, PFC.”

“Looks like Cyril is going to be just fine. He won’t be walking anytime soon, but he’ll survive.”

Magnus heard several sighs of relief around him. “That’s good news,” he replied. “Tell him to sit tight. We’ll be heading out in no time.”

“Roger.”

“So, what’s the plan, buckethead?” the warlord asked.

“Give me a second.” Magnus removed his sunglasses, wiped them, and then took off his backpack. He took a long drink from his last canteen. It was almost empty. He also broke off a piece of a field bar. It tasted terrible, but he’d had worse. Then he double-checked his supply of energy mags. Since the platoon had done less house clearing than he’d anticipated—with the skiffs taking the battering-ram approach—he’d expended less power than he’d expected. Which means more for later, he thought, his mind moving to the operation ahead.

“Simone, I need you splitting up your fire team. We need to triangulate around the compound. I know it’s not safe to separate you like that, but—”

“I’ve got it, Marine. We’ll put directional fraggers on our sixes for motion detection. Poor man’s lookout.”

Magnus raised an eyebrow. Definitely not Marine sanctioned, but effective. “Fair enough. You’re looking for those snipers, and I want you calling in any unit advances along the side streets leading to the compound. Other than that, I want your barrels glowing red.”

“You know, you get a bad rap, Marine. But I’m beginning to like your style.”

Magnus appreciated the comment. “Rix, we need to stack up on that wall and take out the guard towers.”

“Not if I beat him to it,” Simone said.

“Fine with me, ’cause you ain’t going inside, mama,” Rix replied. “That’s all me, all day long.”

“You’ll both have plenty of targets to add to your count, Marauders. Rix, we have a three-meter-high wall. Let’s leapfrog to the main building. If we can get through the front door, that’s our infil.”

“And if we can’t?” Rix asked.

“Your boss can punch a hole for us—as long as he doesn’t go overboard. We still have hostages to think about.”

“Ready and waiting, buckethead,” Abimbola said.

“Abimbola, I’m gonna need you barricading as many of the side streets as possible. And then we’re gonna need the fastest exfil you’ve got.”

“With pleasure.” The giant’s smile practically leaped through the earpiece.

“I don’t think I’ve gotta remind you people that since we don’t know where the hostages are being held, we’ve gotta use discretion with anything fired toward or within the compound. Copy?” The replies were slow in coming. Magnus realized this was where fire discipline and training made all the difference. It was one thing to randomly blow splick up; it was another to overrule adrenaline and make calculated moves under fire. “This is the mission, people. If we kill hostages, this is all in vain.”

“We killed Selskrit! Nothing in vain ’bout that,” Rix replied.

Point taken, Magnus thought, reminded of who he was leading. Despite all their bravado about killing Selskrit, he felt that the Marauders wanted to liberate the hostages too—at least, he hoped they did. Such a motive would go a long way toward powering them through what lay ahead.

Magnus slipped on his sunglasses and emptied his last canteen. Tired of the constant chafing, he decided to rip off his forearm-and-bicep armor but opted to keep the tactical gloves. Then he slung his backpack and charged his MAR30. “Let’s move out.”

* * *

Magnus and Rix’s fire teams cleared the final two buildings where the street opened to the compound. When they were done, they found cover together on the same side of the road. The fortified compound in front of them was surrounded on all sides by two-story buildings, much like a plaza square. Aside from the compound itself, those uncleared buildings posed the greatest threat. Magnus hoped Simone would stay on top of her game that day.

Inside the wall stood two guard towers, each with two Jujari holding MS900 sniper rifles. If Magnus had a credit for every time Republic weapons had been used against him in these last few years, he’d be able to retire.

As if reading his thoughts, several blaster bolts snapped from the towers and blew chunks of sandstone at Magnus’s shoulder. He leaned against the building, holding his MAR30 to his chest until the fire stopped. “Simone, you have eyes on those snipers?”

“Been waiting for you boys to get here,” she replied. “Just one problem.”

“What’s that?”

“See the blue?” Simone said.

Magnus stole a quick glance at the guard towers before several more shots peppered the building again. A thin blue wall surrounded each lookout position. “Force field,” he replied, recalling similar ones he’d seen on every window in the nicer part of town—only these were probably stronger. Much stronger.

“If those are algorithmic,” Simone said, referring to the oscillating-frequency tech that could filter out matter and energy according to mass and velocity, “then there’s only one way we’re getting those pups down.”

“Boom-boom,” Rix said, nodding at Magnus with a wide grin.

“Someone’s got deep purse strings,” Magnus noted. “That stuff isn’t cheap.”

“No, sir,” Abimbola echoed. Then, over general comms to all his units, he said, “I will give a month’s pay to any Marauder who can get me one of those shield generators intact.” The challenge was echoed by cheers and the clang of weapons banging on sides of skiffs.

Just great. Magnus rolled his eyes. Thirty crazed Marauders going alorminium digging in the middle of a rescue op. Just what I need.

“What’s the plan, Marine-Boss?” Rix asked.

Marine-Boss? Do I detect a sign of respect? “We can’t get to the wall without getting those towers down. Even if we could, we’d be trying to breach the front gate in the open…” After a moment of thought, Magnus had an idea. “Abimbola, I need you on me.”

“The Marine demands the Miblimbian to dismount and go to him on foot?” the warlord asked, general comms channel still open. The Marauders let out cajoling howls, taking advantage of the opportunity to rib the Marine. No one needed any reminding of the bad blood between the Miblimbians and the Republic.

“Calm down, boys, calm down.” Abimbola stepped off his skiff. “The Marine just needs someone to tell him everything is going to be okay after he wet himself.” Laughs went up from the vehicles. “We will be back to Selskrit killing soon enough.”

Abimbola approached Magnus, hugging the wall and flipping a poker chip.

“Didn’t mean to insult you,” Magnus offered.

“Please,” the black man said. “There is plenty of time to rectify that.”

Magnus nodded but wasn’t exactly sure what Abimbola meant. “You see the gap between the sniper housing and the concrete base?” he asked, using his hands to model the guard tower’s composition. Abimbola chanced a quick look at the compound. That action was met with three blaster bolts that smacked the pavement ten meters behind him. He withdrew behind the wall.

“I see it.”

“Think you can drill down on that without overshooting into the compound?”

Abimbola stole another look and flipped a poker chip again. More blaster fire exploded around him. “We will have to be pretty high. But… it should not be a problem.”

“I just don’t want them overdoing it,” Magnus said.

“I understand,” Abimbola said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “We all know what happens when you Marines overdo it.”

“Uh, thanks?”

Abimbola removed his giant hand and marched back to Hell’s Basket Case.

“Okay, Rix,” Magnus said, “when those towers are down, we’re on that front gate like a gumble bear on willick sap.”

“Like what on what?”

“Never mind. Just get there.”

“Copy that.”

“Simone, watch the surrounding buildings for any surprises. Once we’re in the open, I expect we’ll draw the attention of lots of new friends.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“You ready, warlord?” Magnus asked.

“Might want to step aside, buckethead. Coming through.”

* * *

Abimbola’s skiff sat in the open, taking rapid-fire sniper rounds from the MS900s. The blaster bolts ricocheted wildly off the plate armor, doing little besides leaving black marks across the surface. The Selskrit snipers helped the monstrous skiff look even more menacing, if such a thing were even possible.

Abimbola punched the vertical thrusters, and the drive core let out a terrific whine that made Magnus and the others on foot cover their heads. Dust shot away from the pavement, swept aside by the skiff’s vicious down blast. The force pushed the skiff high into the air, enough that the M109 turret gunner could address the base of the guard towers at a steep angle.

Abimbola held the skiff steady as the twin barrels erupted with a barrage of blaster fire that chewed at the first guardhouse’s base. Chunks of concrete spat from the sliver of space as the gunner expertly stitched the seam.

But the skiff also provided a large target for the Selskrit within the compound. More blaster fire struck the skiff, and Magnus watched the thrusters struggle to maintain stability under the assault. The skiff snorted and bucked like a fitful bull-hound.

That was when Magnus heard the distinct report of an LRGR fire from the compound. He looked up just as a ten-centimeter-wide hole flared from the turret’s rear metal housing. A red blossom of gore sprayed into the air as the M109 went silent.

“Dammit!” Abimbola boomed over comms. Basket Case descended and backed into the street once more, its thrusters grinding away at the pavement.

“Medic!” Magnus ordered.

“Here, Lieutenant,” Haney replied, already rushing toward the skiff’s cargo-bay ramp. “I’m on it.”

Magnus ran to Abimbola’s door as the warlord swung open the hinged plate. “You okay?”

Abimbola spat over Magnus’s head, his face dirty with soot left over from when he’d been surrounded by molten shrapnel. “Damn Selskrit have an LRGR. Should have seen that coming.”

“I should have seen that coming.” Magnus lowered his head. “Simone, did you see where that came from?”

“I think so, Marine. But trying to sort out all that blaster fire is harder than it looks.”

“If we go back up, you think you can source it? Take it out?”

“I’ll give it my best shot,” Simone replied.

“You’d better, ’cause it’s my hide on the line this time.”

Abimbola widened his dark eyes at Magnus.

“Yeah, Bimby,” Magnus said. “You heard me. I’m your new gunner.”

* * *

Hell’s Basket Case screamed as Abimbola maxed the vertical thrusters again. The mammoth skiff vibrated under Magnus’s rear end. His teeth chattered and hands shook on the M109’s handles. He sat stuffed in the turret as the sweltering heat baked him inside his armor. In that moment, Magnus noted just how accurate the skiff’s name was.

As soon as the skiff rose above the top of the wall, the barrage of blaster fire from inside the compound resumed, this time with renewed force as the Jujari delighted, no doubt, in a second attempt to decimate a slow-moving target. He’d wedged a scrap of armor plating between the turret frame and the ballistic round’s entry hole in case a random blaster bolt followed the same path.

Deafening pings filled the turret as Magnus spied the seam the previous gunner had started. It looked like some rabid animal had gnawed a fissure out of the edifice. He pointed the twin barrels as far down as they could go and lined up the laser sights. The last thing he wanted was a stray shot careening into the compound and taking out a hostage.

Magnus squeezed both triggers. The M109 sprang to life under his grip. A sensation approaching ecstasy moved up his arms and shook his chest. His eyes followed the steady stream of red energy as it expanded the fissure below. Magnus muscled the weapon to keep it on target, his respect for the previous operator’s precision growing by the second.

He wondered if Simone had found the LRGR yet. The cacophony from blaster fire made it impossible for Magnus to say anything intelligible over comms, much less hear anything. He supposed he’d know if she was successful if he survived the next few seconds. The mission hung on whether or not they could chop these towers in half.

Almost there. The M109 shuddered under his hands, belching out more energy than his MAR30 could produce in several minutes of continuous operation. The barrels were bright red, smoke swirling in the wake of incoming blaster fire.

Almost. Magnus realized he still wasn’t dead. Considering the fact that he’d doubled the previous gunner’s distance, he supposed Simone had found her target. That thought, however, was interrupted by the sound of a lightning bolt exploding inside the turret as a hole appeared next to his shoulder. The concussion wave shoved Magnus to the opposite wall and slammed his head against the metal.

18

Ezo stood with his hands on his hips, glaring at the orb. “Can’t we use the… whatever it is to transport ourselves out of here?”

“Yes and no,” TO-96 replied. “It is, indeed, a transport system. A multiverse quantum-tunnel generator, to be exact. However, it is not as simple as dialing in a few coordinates and engaging a drive core.”

“But can we use it?”

“Eventually, perhaps.”

“How long is eventually?” Awen asked.

“I am afraid that all depends upon you, Awen.”

She placed a hand on her chest. “Me?”

“The multiverse quantum-tunnel generator—”

“Can we just call it something shorter?” Ezo interrupted.

“How about the QTG?” Awen said, thinking of Magnus’s love of acronyms.

“Are you trying out for the Marines now, Star Queen?”

“Stranger things have happened.”

“Clearly.”

“The QTG, as you’ve termed it, requires an operator in normal space-time to control it.”

“Wait.” Awen squinted and stood up. “You’re saying that the Novia created this whole thing, but they can’t use it?” She shook her head. The logic seemed counterintuitive: attain the height of existential reason but prevent yourself from using one of the universe’s greatest achievements. “They actually knew that once they entered their own singularity, this thing would be useless to them?”

“Quite so,” the bot said. “They tell me that it was their hedge against being co-opted for malicious purposes.”

“I don’t follow.”

“A pure existence, such as theirs, has limitless potential. As such, should anyone attempt to gain access to them remotely, the infiltrators would not be able to co-opt this system without being physically present. Additionally, ensuring that only sentient species versed in the Unity—such as you, Awen—have access to the QTG adds yet another layer of protection. They have operated under the assumption that those who value the Unity also value life.”

“That’s probably true…” Awen’s thoughts drifted toward So-Elku. “For the most part, anyway.”

“There is one more facet to their argument, however. Since their existence does not rely upon conventional transportation to move from one place to another, the need for a physical presence to activate the QTG means they have relegated themselves to this space-time.”

“So… you’re saying that they’ve intentionally limited themselves to this universe.”

“No, I am saying they have protected the universe from the worst possibility of themselves.” TO-96 regarded Awen quizzically. “You do understand that every sentient species has the capacity for evil, Awen.”

She gave a long sigh. “Don’t I know.”

“The Novia are no exception.”

“Should we be concerned about them now?” Sootriman asked. “The Novia, I mean. They’re not already all crazy in the head, are they?”

“No. The Novia assure me that their present status is far above any level that would otherwise give the universe pause for concern.”

“Does anyone else trust a self-diagnosing AI?” Sootriman looked around, tapping her fingers. “I’m not sure how I feel about that.”

“I am a self-diagnosing AI, Sootriman.”

Sootriman glanced at Ezo. “And you wonder why our marriage fell apart.”

TO-96 mimicked a human cough. “The QTG is designed to create singularities in space outside of gravity-well interference.”

“In other words, far from planets or stars,” Ezo said.

“Precisely.”

“Which means we still need a starship to get to them.”

“Right again.”

“And that’s the one thing we don’t have,” Awen added.

“But the Novia do,” TO-96 said.

Ezo stood up and stepped toward his bot. “What did you say?”

“The Novia have a starship for you.”

“Are you kidding right now?” Ezo asked.

“I feel this would be a very inappropriate time to kid with you, sir.”

Ezo turned to the others. “We’re going home!” He grabbed Sootriman’s arms. “Did you hear that? We’re actually going home!”

The three of them hugged. A feeling of immense relief flooded Awen. The months leading to this moment suddenly felt worth it—the interminable wait had been redeemed. She cried. Hope—a feeling she’d lost somewhere among the thickets of despair—had returned.

* * *

TO-96 projected a topographic map of the city at waist level. “The hangar that the Novia wish you to proceed to is located here.” A yellow dot pulsed on the southern shore, bordering an oceanic body of water. “In it, you will find a starship able to transport you back to your universe.”

“You keep talking as if it’s not your universe too,” Ezo said. “You are coming with us, right ’Six?”

“Of course, sir. That is, unless you do not want me to.”

“No, no. I want you to. Just wasn’t sure how all this worked. You know, you being uploaded to an alien singularity and all.”

“Ah, yes, of course. The Novia assure me that due to the nature of the Unity and the fact that I established symbiotic synchronicity while in the metaverse—a term that they quite like, by the way, given that I proposed it as a non-native AI, something that they find rather quaint—”

“Get on with it, ’Six.”

“Yes, given the fact that I established symbiotic synchronicity while here, it seems my body will enjoy constant access to… well, myself here in the Novia’s singularity, no matter my physical coordinates.”

“Fascinating,” Awen whispered. She was still trying to figure out how the Novia were able to bridge quantum universes with the Unity.

Ezo pointed to the yellow dot. “So we make our way down here, and—what? The ship will be warmed up and ready for us?”

“Yeah, and what about supplies?” Sootriman added. “Water, biologically acceptable rations. And are they sure the drive core and life-support systems are still online after all this time?”

“The starship is fully operational,” TO-96 reported. “How and why it has been maintained is beyond the scope of this conversation, I am afraid.”

Ezo nodded. “Got it. It’s a long explanation, and we don’t have time. All we need to know is that she’s safe and she can fly.”

“Both assumptions are correct, sir.”

“Beautiful.”

“What about getting to our universe?” Awen asked. “You alluded to the fact that operating the QTG depended upon me.”

“That is correct, Awen. And we must begin right away if you are to depart successfully. The Novia will walk you through the necessary steps. I will convey them.”

“How soon before that enemy shuttle lands?” Ezo asked.

“Approximately ten minutes, sir. And another three hours on foot before they reach the city’s center.”

“Is that enough time? For Awen to do all she needs to do?” Ezo asked.

“Quite so. That is, if she is feeling up to it.”

Awen nodded. “I am. Let’s do this.”

* * *

Awen stood on the elevated control platform that overlooked the rest of the theater. The galaxy pictured within the orb turned slowly, a billion stars flickering like tiny diamonds. The idea that she was about to control all this sent a surge of excitement—and trepidation—through her body.

Awen’s fingers trembled as she approached the main console. It occurred to her that opening a quantum tunnel—something that remained theoretical science in her universe—probably had its share of pitfalls too. What if she didn’t do it correctly? What if she sent her crew into oblivion?

As if sensing her apprehension, Sootriman said, “You’ve got this, love.”

“Yeah, try not to screw it up.”

“Shut up, Idris.”

“I’ll try.” Awen looked at TO-96. “What’s first?”

“First, you need to identify where you are in relation to the universe before you.”

“How do I do that?”

“Within the Unity. Operating the QTG requires you to make moves within both states.”

“Okay…”

“I will walk you through it. Not to fear.”

“Thanks, Ninety-Six.”

“My pleasure. First, place your hands on the screen here and here.” TO-96 indicated two black spaces on the right and left sides of the main console. They were outlined in white light and looked like they were designed to accommodate hands about three times the size of hers. The smooth surface felt warm to the touch. No sooner had she made contact than golden light surged beneath her palms and fingers, outlining them both with swirling motes.

Awen looked between her two hands, dazzled by the beauty. Her heartbeat quickened. “Is this supposed to happen?”

“Yes, Awen. You are initiating the system. Now you need to enter the Unity of all things.”

“Okay…” Awen closed her eyes.

“No, please do not close your eyes, they say.”

She looked over at him. “Don’t close my eyes?”

“Correct.”

“But I need—”

“You need to focus. They understand. But this will take much longer if you move within the Unity the way you are used to.”

“How do they know what I’m used to?”

“They have reviewed my memories and processed your methodology. While formidable, they admit, it is not at the level required for operating the QTG. Thus why I noted earlier that your ability to operate this system depends on you.”

“And what if I can’t?”

“Then you are not leaving the metaverse.”

“You can do this, Star Queen.” Ezo rubbed his hands together. “Ezo believes in you.”

“Desperation makes for strange pledges of faith,” Awen said out of the corner of her mouth. “Okay, Ninety-Six. Here goes nothing.”

Awen looked up into the golden orb of sparkling stars and stretched out into the Unity. Her soul reached for the veil that separated the seen and the unseen, fingers trying to ply the fabric. She was not ready, however, for just how quickly she would pass through. With a small yelp, Awen felt herself enter the Unity as effortlessly as she would take a step forward.

“Are you all right?” Sootriman asked.

“I’m… I’m fine, actually. Just startled, is all. I’ve never done this before.”

The sensation was like breathing underwater without any assistance. No mouthpiece or air tank—just pure existence in a realm that she shouldn’t exist within, at least not without some sort of provisions. In the Unity like this, with her eyes open and corporeal body fully engaged, Awen felt as if she existed in two places at once. That’s because I am existing in two places at once. Whereas before, her body had gone into a sort of hibernation, as all Luma were first taught to do, now she truly occupied a dual-state existence.

Awen’s memories flooded with recollections of seeing the greater elders do this before. When Willowood fought So-Elku, for instance, they’d both operated in the Unity with their eyes open. It was a skill learned only by the most proficient. Yet here she was, doing it. Was she truly capable of such a feat herself? No, not yet. I’m no Willowood. There had to be a better explanation for her sudden ability to obtain this level of control—perhaps something about the Novia’s system made such a dual-state existence easier to obtain.

“The Novia say they see you.”

“Yes, I’m in.” She inhaled and let out a long, slow breath. “This… this is truly incredible.”

Awen found herself in the orb’s center. What she assumed was happening was that her second sight hovered within the system’s projection of the Novia’s galaxy. But that was incorrect. This was no projection. She didn’t know how it could be—the concept overwhelmed her. But her presence within the Unity floated up there—according to her body’s natural eyes—in the middle of the galaxy.

“You guys,” Awen said. “This orb. This isn’t a projection. It’s… it’s real.”

“Yeah, looks real to Ezo, Star Queen.”

“No, I mean, you think it’s a projection of the galaxy. But it’s not.” She felt a tear slide down her cheek. “You’re looking at the actual galaxy. I don’t know how they did this. I don’t. But it’s… it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

“The Novia say they will save the explanation for another day.” TO-96 looked from Awen to the orb. “Now, you must locate yourself. I am instructed to inform you that you are not to find yourself within the orb but, rather, within the galaxy itself.”

“I’m not sure I can do this, Ninety-Six. This is pretty overwhelming.”

“The Novia seem to think you can, Awen.”

“We do too,” Sootriman said. “We’re right here. You’ve got this.”

Awen let out another deep breath. She was already swimming in water far too deep for her. She felt like someone else was supposed to do this—someone older and with more experience. This is their job, not mine. I’m not qualified enough—am I?

But she was qualified enough. At least that was what Willowood had told her. From the day they had met, the old sage assured Awen that she’d made the right decision to join the Luma and that she was gifted, no matter what her parents or her tribe had said. Willowood had let her know that she’d made the right decision to accept the elders’ promotion of her to Jujari emissary, despite those who dissented.

“You have what it takes, Awen,” Willowood said. “This is your place. You belong.”

Awen knew what was in her heart. She knew that if she didn’t leave her people to help the galaxy, she would not be true to herself. And she refused to live her life as she’d seen other people live theirs: as shadows of their true selves, content with only one half of the story told. Awen would tell her whole life’s story. She would find everything there was for her to live and then experience it to its fullest until her last breath faded into the void and vanished like vapor.

The void. The galaxy was filled with so much of it. What an ironic concept, she thought, that the galaxy would be filled with nothing. It was overwhelming, just how much nothing there truly was in the galaxy and in the universe—in all the universes. Which meant that, comparatively, the amount of something was relatively small.

That’s it! Instead of being overtaken by the scope of the galaxy—the void that sought to swallow a soul—she would focus on the known, on that which defied the void. She’d concentrate on that which violently opposed it, asserting itself to be seen, heard, and felt.

Awen’s father had been wrong. She wouldn’t only find the void. The void merely revealed what was worth finding. The void framed life, and life—despite all odds—had defied the void to achieve existence.

Awen’s senses surged, her heart pumping in her chest with renewed vigor. Despite the void’s suffocating magnitude that was incalculable to the frail human mind, she stood against it. Her mere small self was high on a ridge overlooking a vast ocean. The waves crashed below, and wind whipped at her hair, threatening to cast her into the churning surf. But she opposed the pull, resisting the forces that fought to send her to her death. The fact that she was still alive after so much—the events on Oorajee, her meeting with So-Elku, her escape from Kane—meant she was defiance. She was the aftermath.

All at once, she saw herself standing out in the middle of the void—defiant, strong, a beacon for passing ships, a reprieve for the suffering soul. She’d chosen the Luma and chosen to leave her people, who were themselves safe and secure, so that she might offer others safe passage in the night. She was not content to remain in the providence of privilege, untouchable. Instead, she’d placed herself in harm’s way within the void.

“I see myself,” Awen said at last. “There.”

Her natural eyes watched as the lights within the orb began to surge, stretching out in long lines. Her second sight summoned her first sight, drawing it faster and faster like a Panaline falcon folding its wings and diving down a blood trail.

Star systems whooshed by, passing the audience on all sides. Sootriman gave out a yell as she shook a fist in the air. Ezo, too, hollered something indistinguishable but gripped a railing to keep his balance.

“It’s working!” Sootriman exclaimed. “Whatever you’re doing is working!”

The star systems tapered off, passing more slowly until only one remained. Just one. And then one planet remained. And on the planet, one person stood alone. She’d stood against the void, and she’d won. At least for that day. Ultimately, aren’t we all subject to the void? Who is free of its embrace? There was no safety in the end, just self-delusion in the present. Being truly awake was reserved for those who dared to observe the universe with their eyes wide open. And she dared. Oh, how she dared.

“I see you,” she said to herself, her two presences meeting as one on Ithnor Ithelia.

19

When Magnus came to, he thought he’d awakened within an oven trapped inside a thunderstorm. He blinked sweat out of his eyes and grabbed his head. Pain lanced through his brain and down his spine as his palm touched a sticky spot on his temple. He pulled his hand away and stared at the fresh blood.

A second hole, punched less than half a meter from the one that had killed the last gunner, let in a shaft of sunlight. Magnus had been lucky—too lucky for his comfort. He looked through the opening and saw that Abimbola had landed the skiff.

“No, no, no!” Magnus yelled. “Take us back up!”

“You are still alive?” Abimbola asked over comms, his disbelief causing the micro-speaker in Magnus’s ear to clip.

“Do I sound like I’m dead? What the hell happened?”

“Second LRGR,” Simone chimed in.

“Overwatch, you had one job,” Magnus scolded.

“On the contrary, you tasked me with several jobs, Marine. Plus, I got the first sniper. You never said anything about a second.”

“For all the mystics,” Magnus muttered. He pounded a fist on the turret wall. “Get us back up there, Bimby.”

“Do not call me that.”

“Too late. It stuck. I just survived an LRGR round, so I get to call you whatever I damn well please.”

“It does not matter. We are still sitting this one out, Maggie.”

“Maggie?”

“I am not tempting the gods three times. I called in some reinforcements.”

Magnus popped open the top hatch, and fresh wind bore down against his face. It felt wonderful. Three skiffs jockeyed for position in the air above him, drawing all the blaster fire from the compound. With a sudden torrent of light and sound, their gunners opened up on the guard-tower bases. Magnus thought for sure they’d overshoot.

“Splick! Make sure they—”

“They are not going to hit the compound, buckethead! Relax.”

Magnus took several deep breaths then lifted himself out of the turret, choosing the quicker exit over climbing back through the cargo bay. He climbed down a metal ladder and slid the rest of the way to the pavement. “Rix, where you at?”

“Here, Marine-Boss,” the infantryman said, running toward Magnus with his fire team, followed by Dutch, Haney, Gilder, and Nolan.

“Take cover,” Magnus ordered. “We wait for the towers to go down.”

“Copy.”

The two fire teams ducked behind Basket Case as the three airborne skiffs continued to drill the tower bases. Concrete bits rained into the street, followed by billowing clouds of dust. Then, with a loud tearing crack, the first guardhouse tilted sideways and toppled into the courtyard inside the wall. The skiffs moved to the second tower, but to Magnus’s astonishment, the Jujari snipers climbed through the floor and vanished.

“They’ve retreated!” Magnus yelled. “Snipers have retreated! Let’s move, move, move!” He stepped around the skiff’s front spikes and rushed forward, heading straight for the main gate. The fire teams stacked up on either side, and Rix called up one of his men. The short Marauder withdrew a breaching charge, ripped a plastic strip off the bottom, and slammed the rectangular explosive in the middle of the double doors. Then the man returned to his place in line, holding a small remote.

“Clear!” Rix yelled.

“Fire in the hole!” the breacher replied.

The ground lurched as the doors splintered inward. Magnus’s ears popped under the wave of pressure, and more pain squeezed his head. His vision swam, followed by an intense ringing in his ears. He heard muffled voices yelling around him but couldn’t make out anything they said.

Then a hand tapped his shoulder, and Magnus snapped back to reality.

“You green, LT?” Dutch asked.

Magnus gave a thumbs-up and grabbed his MAR30. He looked to Rix. “Fraggers. One second.”

Rix nodded. The two men pulled grenades from their armored chests and tossed them inside on one-second delays. Near-simultaneous double bangs detonated on the other side of the wall. The two men followed that with blaster fire as they spun into the gateway and advanced.

Magnus aimed at a Jujari to the left side of the main compound, using the building’s corner as cover. He squeezed and landed a tight grouping on the combatant’s wide neck, severing most of its throat tissue. The Jujari’s head flopped over and seemed to pull the rest of its large body to the ground.

Blaster fire came at them from behind a small palm bush. Magnus swung to his left and drilled the combatant in the chest and leg. The Jujari buckled into the shrub, his hand still squeezing off rounds into the nearby wall.

Rix took out two Jujari who lay prone on the second-story balcony. One’s face caved in under a stream of fire from the infantryman’s MC90, while the other took the rounds in the shoulder then rolled wildly until the enemy body spun off the platform. A third combatant leaned out the balcony door to aim at Magnus, but Rix drove the Jujari back with several hits to center mass.

The two men took cover behind columns that, along with tall palm trees, lined either side of a center aisle. They continued to fire on numerous Selskrit positions as the remainder of their fire teams peeled into the courtyard and looked for cover.

Dutch wielded an XM31 Type-R she’d found in Abimbola’s armory. For a gun lover like her, it was a dream come true. She took a knee beside a palm three meters ahead of Magnus and sighted in on a Jujari who crouched just inside the front door. The Selskrit’s body was mostly hidden behind the wall, and Magnus second-guessed Dutch’s target choice. Dutch squeezed the trigger, and a supersonic blast spat from the muzzle, boring straight through the wall and knocking the Jujari on his back.

“Not bad,” Magnus said over comms. He doubted anyone heard him. The blaster fire was deafening.

Dutch continued to select targets and dispense lethal levels of fire upon each one. One enemy sniper on the rooftop appeared only long enough to fire single rounds and then vanish. Dutch counted the seconds and learned the combatant’s pattern. On the sniper’s fourth appearance, Dutch shot another blat at him, snapping his head back before his finger had even squeezed the trigger. She was an artist with that weapon.

“Covering fire!” Magnus yelled. “Covering fire!” Then he looked at Rix and motioned him toward the front doors.

Rix and his fire team charged ahead, gaining positions behind some palms, while Magnus’s fire team purchased critical seconds with overwhelming fire superiority. Once hidden, his fire team let up, at which point the Jujari emerged and shredded the palms and columns with withering blaster fire.

Magnus looked at the rooftops outside the compound and spotted Simone. She was busy tapping targets across the plaza, her long-barreled blaster methodically pulsing in a steady rhythm.

“Your turn!” Rix yelled then rolled out with his blaster on full auto. The rest of his fire team joined him, each spraying the compound balconies, windows, and terrace tops with suppressive fire. Magnus surged forward with Dutch in tow. Haney and Gilder found cover behind a column, firing at several Selskrit near the front door.

Meanwhile, Magnus and Dutch took cover behind a half wall with some shrubs, not five meters from the front steps. A Jujari saw them and charged, pulling his curved sword and waving it over his head. Magnus pushed Dutch’s head down as the blade swept along the top of the wall, sparks erupting from the wicked swing.

Magnus seized the opportunity and let his MAR30 bark, blaster bolts entering the combatant’s exposed side point-blank. The dog dropped his sword, grabbed his side, and glared at Magnus then lunged, maw gaping. But Dutch shot straight up from her lower position, a stream of fire catching the Jujari under his chin and exploding out the top of his muzzle. The body slammed into Magnus and knocked him sideways. Fortunately, he was able to twist away and roll behind a column as Dutch finished off the assailant with a short burst to the brain stem.

“Thanks!” he hollered.

“Same,” she replied then returned to address the front of the house.

Magnus took a breath and noticed his heart rate had spiked. Breathe, Magnus. Slow it down. He looked back through the breached door and noticed skiffs moving past. “How’s the street looking, Bimby?”

“Boring enough that if you call me that one more time, I am going to have to—hold on.”

Magnus heard the full-power ka-boom! of the M109 rocking a building to the west. The face of the structure imploded, catching the round like a slow-motion punch to the gut before reflexively exploding in a spray of sandstone and metal from a secondary explosion. Magnus covered his head as shrapnel rained on him.

“Show-off,” Magnus said.

“Now you are just trying to talk your way out of being in trouble with me. Are you inside yet?”

“On our way.”

“Well, hurry it up! We do not have all day, buckethead!”

“Copy.” Magnus looked to Rix. “Ready?”

The burly man nodded.

“Front of the house, light it up!” Magnus yelled.

Every weapon from the two fire teams shot at anything that moved, blaster bolts lighting up the building’s face with neon colors. Any Jujari who did not succumb took cover, providing the perfect opportunity for the assault team to charge the front door. They raced forward and stacked up on either side of the opening. Again, Magnus and Rix reached for their chest plates, this time removing a VOD and setting it to Flash-Bang at Magnus’s instruction. He nodded at Rix, and the two devices went live, tumbling into the first room and detonating. Even with ears and eyes covered, Magnus heard the powerful double bang-bang.

Magnus worked his jaw and blinked to shake off the concussion. Then he raised his MAR30 and stepped through the doorway. The interior was spartan and devoid of Jujari. The rest of his and Rix’s teams filed in, clearing the room and stacking up on the next-closest doorways, one to the left and one to the right. A third door was ahead.

Dutch fired on something to the left, spraying the room with her XM31 like it was a water hose. To the right, Rix’s fire team made short work of two Jujari who attempted to rush them.

Magnus approached the door straight ahead with caution. As he neared, he saw that it opened to a large interior square exposed to the sky. He’d no sooner peeked in than blaster fire from the opposing corners zipped by his ears and tore away the wooden crossbeam overhead. Splinters sprinkled down as Magnus ducked and rolled against the side wall.

“What ya got for us, Marine-Boss?” Rix yelled, running to Magnus’s aid.

“Danger zone. Got ourselves a kill box, emplacements kitty-corner.” Magnus chanced one more look. Instantly, blaster bolts slammed into the doorframe, wood and plaster filling the air. “Two at each turret. Too far for the MAR’s distortion setting. Gotta try to find a way to flank them.”

“Copy.”

“Dutch, see if the room you were firing into leads anywhere. But watch for trip wires, you got it?”

“Copy that, LT.”

“Rix, same for you. I’ll stay here and do a dance or two.”

“Kill them with those hips, LT,” Dutch said.

“Somebody’s got to.”

Dutch and Rix broke off into their opposing rooms, disappearing out of sight. Magnus held his MAR30 close and checked its charge level. Thirty percent. Time to swap out. He dropped his backpack, fished for a fresh energy mag, and ejected the near-empty one. He slammed the new one home and slung the pack over his shoulders again.

“How we looking?” he asked.

“Brick and mortar here,” said Dutch.

“Same,” Rix said.

“Can you take it down?”

“Setting a breach charge now,” Rix said.

“We’d need a charge for ours,” Dutch replied.

“Back to me, Dutch. Rix, take it whenever you’re ready.”

“Copy.”

As soon as Magnus heard the breach charge detonate, he hit the open square with a wild spray of fire. The Jujari answered with constant fire at the doorway, chewing a hole in the wall. Hopefully, it was enough of a distraction for Rix to climb through wherever the hole led to.

After lots of coughing, Rix spoke over comms. “We’ve got a problem, Marine-Boss.”

“What’s that?”

“It wasn’t just one wall. It’s like… oh, I don’t know, maybe five or six?”

“Five or six?”

“They really don’t want anyone coming in here.”

“Splick.” Magnus took a deep breath. The two cardinal rules of warfare were, first, that nothing was ever easy in combat and, second, that no plan ever survived contact with the enemy. Magnus never ceased to be amazed when these rules turned out to be true. “How many breach charges you have left?”

“That was our last one.”

“I need more options!” Magnus yelled, a demand met with more blaster fire from the emplacements across the plaza.

“I might have an idea,” Dutch said. “But I don’t think Abimbola is going to like it, LT.”

20

“Well done,” TO-96 said from beside her. “The Novia are impressed by your skill.”

“Thanks.” Awen tucked some strands of hair behind her ear. While the praise from the alien singularity felt good, something else felt even better: self-confidence. Awen had impressed herself. “What’s next?”

“First, we must open a new portal beyond Ithnor Ithelia’s gravity well.”

“The existing one won’t do?” Ezo asked.

“Negative, sir. First of all, the unidentified ship will most likely be monitoring near-planet space. Avoiding detection will be paramount to ensuring your safe and swift return to the protoverse. Secondly, the existing quantum tunnel leads back to the point at which you entered it.”

“And that’s a problem?” Ezo asked.

“If it is far from whatever you would like your next destination to be, then yes, it is a problem.”

Awen looked at TO-96, careful to not move too quickly and risk knocking herself from her dual state. “You mean, we can go anywhere we want?”

“Correct.”

“Anywhere?” Ezo and Sootriman said in unison.

Awen’s heart leapt at the possibilities. She’d never had such power before. No Luma had—at least to her knowledge. She looked between everyone, her voice trembling with excitement. “Where do we want to go? I mean… where do you all think we should go? This is… unheard of.”

They had been so focused on finding a way home—a hope that had died a little more each day—that they never discussed where they should head upon their return. Dreaming too far in advance brought on waves of despair that none of them cared to carry. Instead, they’d turned to immediate needs and left dreaming for another day. But now that the time for travel was upon them, Awen was at a loss for what to do next.

“I mean, we can’t go to Worru,” Awen stated. “At least not yet.”

“You can say that again.” Ezo looked at Awen, one eyebrow raised. She suspected he was recalling their harrowing retreat after her encounter with So-Elku. “We weren’t exactly given a warm departure.”

“No, we weren’t.” Awen bit her lower lip. “We could go to Capriana.”

“No way,” Ezo replied. “Sootriman and Ezo are… well, let’s just say it’s not a place we’d enjoy for more than five or six minutes.”

“Gotcha. I suppose we could go back to Elonia.”

“Why don’t we just head to Ki Nar Four,” Sootriman offered. “No one will be looking for us there, and—no offense to your homeworld, Awen—we have all the resources and connections to lay low and build a strategy for whatever awaits us next.”

“You sound as if you’re in this for the long haul,” Awen said, surprised by the care the woman had put into the question of where they would go.

“Truthfully, this is the most excitement I’ve had in years. Up until you all showed up on my doorstep, things had been pretty boring. Now… I don’t know… I have a purpose beyond just managing a rogue planet.” Sootriman looked at Ezo, blinking her large dark eyes.

“Oh, no you don’t.” Ezo protested with waves of his hands. “No, no, no. After this, Ezo’s heading off into the sunset. Ezo wants Geronimo back, and then TO-96 and Ezo are gone. You two can do whatever you want, but count us out.”

“I beg your pardon, sir, but I am not sure why you are including me in your plans.”

Ezo looked at the robot. “What do you mean, ’Six? I thought you said you’re coming with us.”

“I am, assuming that us is representative of Awen’s wishes to serve our home galaxy and defeat whatever evils await us.”

Ezo threw his hands up in the air. “Ezo can’t believe what he’s hearing right now. Ezo’s robot gets a dose of the moral high ground, and suddenly he’s a vigilante or something.”

“Maybe you should follow suit,” Sootriman said.

“Should what?”

“It wouldn’t hurt. Atone for some of your past mistakes and all. Give us a chance to make up for lost time.”

“Atone for past mistakes? Is that what this is for you?”

“Maybe,” Sootriman said. “At least it’s better than smuggling for the galaxy’s lowlifes.”

“Easy there.” Ezo straightened his jacket. “Ezo’s done pretty well for himself doing that. And as Ezo recalls, so have you, Miss I-Own-a-Starship-With-a-Modulator-On-It.”

“A starship that got destroyed on your watch.”

“Hey, Ezo wasn’t the one who offered it for some crazy mission to another universe!”

“The enemy ship’s shuttle has just landed on the east side of the city,” TO-96 interjected.

Ezo and Sootriman looked at him. “Fine,” Ezo said. “Ki Nar Four it is. But after that, Ezo’s on his own.”

“Fine,” Sootriman said.

“Fine.”

* * *

Awen followed TO-96’s instructions and focused on the side of Ithnor Ithelia that opposed the enemy ship’s synchronous orbit. The QTG displayed a dotted line some several thousand kilometers from the planet where the gravity well had dispersed enough to open a tunnel.

“Set a marker with your mind, then use the designation panel at the top of your main screen to isolate the exact coordinates you’d like for the tunnel’s opening,” the bot said.

“Got it.” Awen stretched out inside the Unity and located as good a place as any to open a tunnel. Since this was all new to her, the only thing that seemed to make any sense was keeping it as far away from the orbiting ship as possible. After that, everything was arbitrary.

A small red indicator appeared in the orb on the planet’s far side, denoting the place Awen had specified. Then, on the top of the screen, new integers appeared in Novia script.

“Any chance you can translate that for me, Ninety-Six?”

“Yes, of course, Awen.” The script changed shape and appeared in Galactic common as a string of numbers and letters, each line designating the tunnel’s exact point in galactic space. “Now, where do you wish to travel?”

“Ki Nar Four.”

“The holo-display on your left represents the library of all known galaxies in the multiverse. Select it from there.”

A thought struck Awen, making her gasp. “Wait. How many ’verses are there, Ninety-Six?”

“I am not sure I follow.”

“You said the multiverse. Up until now, this has only been theoretical for me—for all of us. Now that it’s real, I have so many questions. No one has ever had access to anything like this before. I’m just curious, then, as to how many different universes there are.”

“An infinite number.”

Awen froze. “Infinite?”

“Indeed, Awen, with more being created from every decision you make.”

“But that… that’s…”

“That is what you might call mind-numbing, unbelievable, or insane.”

“Yeah, all of those,” Awen said.

“It is why, for all of the Novia’s vast ability, they have only ever mapped a limited selection of the ever-expanding multiverse. Doing so for only a scant few taxes even their sizable resources.”

“And by a scant few, you mean…”

“Four million, eight hundred twenty-three thousand, one hundred twenty-six, as of a picosecond ago.”

Awen found herself slack-jawed. She closed her mouth and wiped the corner with the back of her hand. She didn’t know which was more marvelous—that so many universes actually existed or that a technologically advanced species had mapped such an unprecedented amount of the void. Voids, she corrected herself.

Awen reached over to the holo-display and started swiping through it before noticing that it, too, was in Novia script. “Ninety-Six, can you—”

“Try that, Awen.”

“There we go. Thanks. Wouldn’t want to inadvertently send us to universe three hundred thousand nine hundred sixty-eight.”

TO-96 paused. “Is there something there you do not wish to see?”

“It was a joke, Ninety-Six.”

The bot jerked back. “Ah. I see.” Then he let out an attempt at a human laugh. “Ha, ha, ha.”

“That was terrible, ’Six,” Ezo said. “See if the Novia can help modify that.”

His eyes flickered. “They have noted it in my research archives.”

“I’ve found it.” Awen pointed to “Ki Nar Four” on the list. The amount of data listed after it was more than she could read at the moment. Suffice it to say, it seemed as if every quantifiable fact about the planet’s larger system had been logged.

“Very good. Now, Awen, you need to travel there.”

Awen blinked at the bot. “Excuse me?”

“Did my vocal transducer short again? I am incredibly sorry. I said—”

“No, I heard you, Ninety-Six, but I don’t understand what you mean.”

“That you need to travel there?”

“Yes, that.”

The bot tilted his head then looked at Ezo and Sootriman, who appeared to be just as confused as Awen was. “Why are you all looking at me the same way?” he asked.

“Uh, because you’re asking Awen to travel to another galaxy in another universe,” Ezo said. “Don’t think that’s possible, buddy.”

“Of course it is possible, sir. The Novia inform me that they did it all the time.”

Awen sniffed, shaking her head in bewilderment. “Well, as you can see, I’m clearly not a Novia Minoosh.”

“That is correct, Awen. They abandoned their bodies, and you are far too naked.”

She covered the small tear in her tattered shirt that exposed her stomach. “Naked?”

“Quite so. But that is for another day. They assure me that you possess the ability to travel to any universe in the Unity that you wish to see, providing they assist you. Yours is merely a problem of not knowing what is possible with the power that you have.”

“Well, I’m going to need a whole lot of their assistance, then, because I’ve never even conceived of this.”

“They are ready to escort you.”

“Oh, right now?” Awen asked. “Okay. What do I need to do?”

“Remain in the Unity as you are, then concentrate on Ki Nar Four. Picture it. Summon any memories of it.”

“Right now?”

“Yes, right now.”

Awen stared into the orb and felt her eyes glaze over. Her thoughts drifted back to leaving Worru and arriving at Sootriman’s planet. Charred tectonic plates were split with red lava while gas swirled between the hellish continents and the floating cities above. Awen could smell the noxious fumes and picture walking the destitute streets behind Ezo and TO-96.

“Well done,” the bot said. “Now, do not move from that memory.”

Awen suddenly felt as if someone had pointed a vectored thrust engine at her belly and pegged it to full throttle. The blast took everything from her, threatening to not only knock her out of the Unity but fling her physical body backward into the remaining workstations of the theater as well. But keeping her in place was the sense that something—or someone—was holding her hands.

“What’s happening?” Awen yelled.

“Awen!” Sootriman was beside her in an instant.

But TO-96 raised a hand to halt her. “Do not touch her, Sootriman. She will be fine. The Novia have her.”

“They’re… they’re holding me between—” Can I say it? Is it even true? “I think they’re holding me between universes!” It felt as though someone had stretched her across a giant chasm, linking her hand to one side and her feet to the other. She pictured a small life-form using her as some sort of bridge between the two realities.

“That is precisely what they are doing, Awen. Please remain still just a moment longer.”

Awen held still, feeling a torrent of motion stretch and pull and shift between her natural and ethereal selves. It wasn’t painful so much as it was alarmingly uncomfortable.

Then, all at once, it stopped.

“It is over,” TO-96 informed her as easily as someone might say a walk in a park was done or a dinner had concluded.

Awen was trembling. She pushed hair behind her ears and wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead. She was no longer in the Unity.

“Can I touch her?” Sootriman asked.

“Yes, you may.”

Sootriman came up behind Awen and embraced her. “You all right, love?”

Awen nodded. “I think I’m fine, yes. That was really intense.” She looked at TO-96. “I thought you alluded to the fact that they can’t use the Unity.”

“I did, though it is not as simple as that. The easiest way to explain it for now is that they used you as a conduit.”

“I was their access to the Unity, then.”

“No, you were their access to the physical reality of your universe.”

“The important thing is that she got a tunnel established beyond Ki Nar Four, right?” Ezo asked.

“She assisted, yes. But given her limitations, the Novia placed one there for her.”

Awen looked up and noticed Ki Nar Four taking up the majority of the orb’s space. “It’s beautiful.”

“Almost looks like it’s real,” Sootriman said.

“That is because it is, ladies,” the bot said. “What you are seeing is a real-time manifestation of the planet.”

“How is that even possible?” Ezo asked.

“I am afraid all these lessons must wait for another time, though the Novia insist they are eager to share what they can with you without damning you to a worse fate than any you might discover on your own.”

“Fine.” Ezo shook his head. “Can we just get out of here? What’s next?”

“Why, we must head to the ship, of course.” TO-96 offered the notion as if it was the most normal thing in the galaxy. Without another word, the bot turned and began exiting the theater.

“Of course,” Ezo echoed. “We head to the ship next. ’Cause that’s what Ezo was going to say.” He chuckled at Sootriman and Awen then tagged along after his wonderfully strange robot. “Let’s go.”

21

With some serious cover fire provided by Rix and his unit, Dutch and Gilder raced across the courtyard to the remaining guard tower. Once inside the lower level, Gilder managed to disconnect the compact shield generator and return with it to the house.

“Without a hard-lined power supply, you only have a few minutes of battery life,” Gilder explained to Magnus and pointed to the large battery pack protruding from the bottom. “Just don’t bump it, and it should get the job done.” He passed Magnus the bulbous unit. It looked like a food replicator with four micro arrays on each side and some wires ripped out the back. Gilder had turned the arrays to face nearly the same direction—straight ahead. “Just trust the generator.”

“I trust the generator,” Magnus said. “I just don’t know if I trust your cob job.”

Haney spoke up. “No worries, Lieutenant. Gilder, here, is the best damn cob jobber in the system. Nobody cobs a job quite like him.”

“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.”

More blaster fire strafed the doorway, the holes in the wall growing larger. “If we don’t do this now,” Dutch said, “there isn’t going to be any wall left to hide behind.”

“Copy that,” Magnus replied. “Gilder, turn it on.”

“Yes, sir.” Gilder reached over and tapped on some buttons followed by a swipe in a holo-field. With a sudden jerk, the device came alive, righting itself in Magnus’s hands. “Those are just the stabilization gyros,” the engineer explained. “Keeps it positioned the way you want.”

“And I want it pointing away from me, right?”

Gilder nodded. “And whatever you do, don’t put your hand or any other part of your body in the field.”

“Painful?”

“Uh, well… you’ll lose it.”

Magnus raised his eyebrows. “Copy that.”

“Man,” Rix said with a shake of his head, “Abimbola is gonna be so pissed you used his algorithmic shield generator.”

“Oh, he’ll get it.” Magnus grinned. “It just might be in several pieces.”

“So pissed,” Rix said with more shakes of his head.

* * *

When Magnus turned into the doorway, he felt as though he were facing the gates of hell without any defense. He was sure he’d be blown to smithereens. But when the first several rounds sank into the blue force field and were absorbed like water into a Translutian sponge, he relaxed. In fact, the next emotion that came over him was exultation. He was invincible!

“Take that, you Selskrit sons of bitches!” Magnus roared, advancing one step at a time. Blaster fire came harder now as the assailants realized their rounds were failing to down the Marine-turned-Marauder. The shield had no problem taking everything the Jujari wanted to dish out.

“It’s working!” Magnus said over comms. “Get in here!”

With that, Dutch, Rix, and the others filed in and took up positions behind Magnus. Then they looked for cover around the open square. The entire second and third stories had interior balconies supported by large columns. The upright structures made for perfect cover, and Dutch and the others wasted no time running for them.

Blaster fire came from above, pelting down on Magnus as he continued to move toward the room’s center. Gilder had anticipated this and made sure two of the arrays were pointed up enough to cover Magnus’s head.

“Right on!” Magnus yelled then accidentally knocked the battery off the bottom of the unit and watched it clatter along the ground. “Aw, splick!” The shield generator sputtered, the blue wall flickering, and then—as if someone had turned off a light switch—it was gone.

Magnus dropped the device and dove for cover. Blaster bolts tore up the ground around him, sending the small marble tiles into the air like Euperkquian dominoes. But the members of his platoon were far from abandoning him and tore into the emplacements with flanking fire. Dutch downed one Jujari, catching the hyena-like warrior by surprise. The second tried to swivel a large turret weapon toward her, but Magnus seized the opportunity to blast the hound in the muzzle, snapping his head sideways.

On his side, Rix fired a grenade from his MC90 and took cover. The explosive round streaked to the far corner, detonated, and turned the two enemy operators into pulp. A dust cloud billowed out from the corner like the burp of some fire-breathing beast.

Hidden behind the ground-floor columns, the fire teams focused on the next threat: those Selskrit attacking from the balconies overhead. The Jujari had easy cover under the half-walled railings, but they hadn’t been expecting a Recon Marine—well, a former one, anyway—to be wielding an MAR30. For the first time since awakening with his new eyes, Magnus actually lamented the fact that they’d take the weapon away from him.

He shook the thought from his head and selected Distortion Mode. The mag plates sprang from the MAR30’s side, and the weapon charged. Magnus aimed at the ceiling overhead and pulled the trigger. The invisible energy wave went to work, disrupting any biological matter on the floor directly above him. He heard the Jujari let out wails as their bodies decomposed.

Combatants on the surrounding balconies made the fatal mistake of popping their heads up to see what was the matter. The rest of the fire-team members seized the opportunity and sent blaster bolts crisscrossing up to the next levels. At least two Jujari slammed into railings and pitched over the side, landing on the tiled floor with a smack.

“We need to keep clearing rooms,” Magnus yelled over comms. “And I need actionable intel on where our hostages are.”

“My guess is we’re going up,” Rix replied.

“I need to be sure of that, Marauder.”

“Copy.”

“So until then, we clear each room.”

“You go, LT.” Dutch fired another round at a Jujari who’d dared move his head around a column on the second floor. “Gilder and I will keep ’em busy. Take Haney in case you need a medic.”

“Roger that, Corporal. Make sure one of you gets to the other side. I want counter fields of fire.”

“Can do.”

Magnus and Rix peeled away and led the remaining fire-team members under the shadow of the balcony. They started methodically clearing each room on the floor, making their way around the square’s perimeter.

“Got our stairs going up,” Rix yelled. He pointed his MC90 up a narrow circular staircase in the far right-side corner, directly behind one of the turret emplacements they’d cleared moments before.

“After you.” Magnus looked over his shoulder to see Dutch and Gilder keeping the Selskrit on the upper levels pinned down. “Keep it up, Corporal. We’re heading up.”

Dutch nodded to him from across the way. Rix started up the stairs, leading with his weapon’s front sight, with Magnus right behind him. The Marauder’s boots beat slowly up the steps, shoulders and hips twisting to account for the tight radius. “Contact!”

Sparks glinted off the curved sandstone walls as Rix knelt and returned fire. Magnus wanted to join him, but the space was too small. It’s a wonder that any Jujari can negotiate this stairwell.

“How many?” Magnus asked.

“Four!” Rix opened up his MC90 to full auto, the stairwell filling with strobing light.

Magnus wanted in. “Advance, Rix! Come on!”

Rix took the cue and moved forward. But no sooner had he taken a step than he grunted and dropped to a knee.

“You hit?”

“I’m good,” Rix said, firing with one hand.

Magnus couldn’t see if Rix had been hit, and he still couldn’t see around the corner toward the enemy.

“Prone, prone!” Magnus said, tapping Rix on the lower back. The Marauder slid forward onto his chest, continuing to fire, as Magnus selected Wide Displacement. He pulled the trigger, cleared the top step in the time it took for the weapon to charge, then pointed a perfectly timed blast at whatever awaited them in the balcony corridor.

Magnus’s shot swept between the open-faced columns and the left-side wall, filling the hallway with bright blue light. Three Jujari were flung backwards, feet over head, and collided with one another. They landed in a heap, rolling in death throes.

“Can you move?” Magnus asked.

“I can shoot,” Rix said—which meant he was hurt badly enough that he wasn’t getting up.

Dammit! Magnus thought. “Well, fire on those bastards now! My thirty’s recharging!”

Rix aimed his MC90 and drilled the mass of Jujari bodies with several rounds. Legs twitched as the Marauder dispensed a blaster enema the Selskrit would never walk away from.

As soon as his MAR30 was ready, Magnus echoed the shots, making sure the beasties were done. Then he advanced, sweeping his sight target over the far side, across open air, and to his current side of the level. Haney bent to look at Rix while the remaining members went along the back wall and progressed down the right side of the square.

Jujari, Marines, and Marauders exchanged fire across and between levels. Sparks sprinkled down like electric rain in an afternoon thunderstorm. Magnus noted two rooms on his left and another at the end of the corridor. He chanced a look inside the first room. Empty. He quickstepped to the second. Also empty. There was no way he was getting lucky on the third. He hugged the left wall, careful to stay in the balcony’s shadow to avoid enemy fire overhead from across the square.

Deep breath. Adrenaline high.

Magnus spun into the room at a crouch, MAR30 muzzle dead center. The Jujari at the window looked much smaller than any he’d encountered so far. Maybe a female or an adolescent. But the Selskrit was busy firing a subcompact through the bars, hammering one of Abimbola’s skiffs. Magnus didn’t waste another second. He fired one round at the base of the Selskrit’s skull. The beast crumpled, weapon clattering out between the bars.

“Left side clear,” Magnus said.

“Right side clear,” Nolan added.

“We’ll make a Marine out of you yet, navy boy.”

“Lieutenant!” It was Haney on comms. “Need you at Rix’s position.”

Damn. That’s not good. Still, Magnus had learned long ago not to make assumptions until all the intel was in. Hasty decisions could be as dangerous as late ones.

He ran to Haney. “What’ve you got for me?”

“Punctured lung and a gut shot.”

Splick. He’d seen more than one Marine die from a gut wound—it was a bad way to go. Magnus looked at Rix’s pale face. “How you doing, Marauder?”

“Pissed.”

“Copy that.” Magnus looked back at Haney. “Talk to me, medic.”

“Medivac. Stat.”

“Can you manage him?”

“Can do,” Haney said.

“Okay, Rix. Listen. You fought good.”

“No, no,” Rix said in a weak voice. “I’ve still got fight in me.”

“You do, I know. But not today.”

“Marine-Boss, you can’t—”

“I can, and I’m going to.” Magnus touched his earpiece to connect with Abimbola. “Bimby, you’ve got Rix coming out hot. Cover requested. Needs medical attention.”

“Understood,” Abimbola said, his voice betraying neither concern nor surprise. “We will be ready.”

“Ground floor is clear,” Magnus told Haney, “but don’t assume splick. Copy?”

“Roger that, Lieutenant.”

Magnus helped Haney sling Rix over his shoulder and then led them to the narrow stairwell. He turned as Nolan hailed him over comms.

“I’ve got third-floor access.” The chief warrant officer pointed to another stairwell in the opposite corner of the back wall.

Magnus moved toward him, spotting Jujari amassing between columns on the top floor, some peeking over the roof. “It’s gonna be hot up there, people.”

“Copy,” his operators replied.

“Simone, you still out there?”

“Nope. I got hungry. I’ll be back in fifteen.”

“Listen, I need you popping anything that moves on our roof.”

“Anything?” she asked.

“Anything.”

“Your wish is my command.”

Magnus heard her slap a new power pack into her weapon. Nothing like the sound of death waiting to be dispensed.

“Orders, Lieutenant?” Nolan asked.

Magnus looked at the navy pilot then turned to the others. He didn’t know the names of Rix’s remaining three Marauders. “I’m first up.” He paused. “Dutch, you still good?”

“All good, LT.”

“I want you and Gilder up here, covering us from this floor.”

“On the double.”

Magnus looked back at his four members. “Nolan, you’re on my six. Marauders?”

“I’m Silk,” a slender woman said. Like Magnus, she’d forgone wearing a helmet. She was bald with tats covering her face and head. “This here’s Nub, and that’s Dozer.” Nub had several fingers missing. Dozer’s shoulders were so broad that he must have walked sideways up the stairwell.

“If you fight like Rix, we’re good to go.”

“We do,” Silk replied, racking a round in her modified XD20 complete with suppressor and an extended energy magazine.

“Here, LT,” Dutch said, emerging from the corner stairwell with Gilder.

“Okay, listen up. We’re storming the last floor. No way we can afford to get bottlenecked again, so push through and find cover. Dutch, you got any fraggers left?”

“Affirmative, one each.”

“I want those preceding us up and over on each side. I’ll call for them.”

“Copy.”

“The rest of you, when those fraggers go, we go. Don’t drag your feet.” Nolan and the Marauders nodded. “Once we’re established, Dutch and Gilder, I want you picking up the rear.”

“Roger that, LT,” Dutch replied.

“Swap out energy mags often, pick your targets, and for all the mystics, no friendly fire. Dominate. Liberate.”

“Dominate. Liberate,” Dutch replied. Gilder and Nolan nodded, echoing Magnus’s new battle mantra. Even the Marauders looked between themselves and repeated the two-word charge.

Magnus smiled. “Let’s move.”

22

Awen and her three friends headed south toward the coast under the late-morning sun. They ran along the streets, descending as the blocks moved farther from the city center. Still, the height provided them a picturesque view of a purple-hued ocean that stretched to the horizon, shimmering against the sky.

As much as Awen wanted to return home, she was going to miss this place. She’d gotten used to the star’s purple light, the forest’s night sounds, and the myriad of wonderful sights and smells. But the sense of longing went far deeper than the environment. In the last few hours, they had only scratched the surface of a civilization that deserved so much more investigation. There was a lifetime of discoveries to be made. In fact, the relationship between the Novia Minoosh and the Luma would take generations to develop. They hadn’t even left yet, and already, she wanted to come back.

Awen and the others had been jogging for almost thirty minutes, following TO-96 the whole time. Awen was growing more fatigued with every hundred meters they ran. The activity in the Unity had really worn her out.

At their fifth or sixth stop, the team rested against large moss-covered blocks. Awen imagined the fixtures were a part of a small park, since buildings surrounded the clearing on three sides. She could almost make out the shape of a fountain in the center with old trees towering overhead. Sunlight filtered through the canopy of jungle leaves.

“How much farther?” Ezo asked.

“Another four kilometers,” TO-96 replied. “The good news is that it is all downhill from here.”

Ezo nodded.

But the bot wasn’t satisfied. “You did not laugh.”

“Was I supposed to?” Ezo asked.

“Yes. It was a play on words. The phrase downhill from here has an additional meaning, does it not?”

“Very good, ’Six. Remind me to laugh later.”

“Delayed laughter. I did not realize that was a thing.”

“It’s not,” Sootriman said. “He’s messing with you, Tee-Oh.”

“Ah, I see. Thank you, Sootriman. It is helpful to know when I am being messed with.” Suddenly, TO-96 froze, staring back toward the city center.

“What is it, buddy?” Ezo followed the bot’s eyes up the road. “See something?”

“They’re coming.”

“Wait—as in, right now?” Awen asked. “The landing party is following us?”

“It seems so, Awen. I am seeing what the Novia see, and their sensors are picking up movement four hundred meters behind us and to the east.”

“How are they tracking us?” Ezo asked.

“Inconclusive. But their means are accurate, and they are fast.”

“We’ve got to keep moving.” Awen stood, but a wave of vertigo touched her senses, and she caught herself on Ezo’s shoulder.

“Whoa, whoa—you all right there, Star Queen?”

“Awen!” Sootriman was by her side in an instant. “You okay?”

“I’m… I’m fine. I just… need… give me a second.”

“I am afraid you do not have many seconds, Awen. May I carry you if you need further assistance?” the bot asked.

“No.” Awen waved him off. “I think I’ll be fine. I’m just tired, that’s all. Everything else is fine.”

“Your use of the word fine seems to indicate that you are not actually fine.” TO-96 looked at Sootriman. “That is a thing, too, right?”

Sootriman laughed just as a blaster bolt exploded against a tree trunk not three meters from Awen’s head. Sparks erupted in the air, showering all four figures with dazzling motes of light.

“Take cover!” Ezo drew his SUPRA 945 pistol from his holster and fired three blaster rounds down the street.

Awen and Sootriman dove behind one of the large concrete blocks while TO-96 focused on the direction of the shot. More incoming blaster fire filled the park, sparks lighting up the undergrowth.

Ezo took cover beside a tree. “How many are there, ’Six?”

“There look to be at least two dozen troopers armed with XM40 blasters, at least if those rounds are any indication.”

“Two dozen?” Ezo looked incredulous. Awen thought he might have an aneurysm.

“They are moving with military-grade precision and coming in fast.”

“I guess that solves the question about whether or not they’re hostile,” Awen added.

“Would you like me to take defensive actions, sir?”

“Defensive actions?” Ezo winced as two more blaster bolts smacked the tree he hid behind. “Take offensive measures, ’Six! Offensive measures!”

“As you wish.”

TO-96 raised both hands. First, a salvo of microrockets leaped from his wrist and wound their way toward the approaching troopers. The contrails rolled like storm clouds as the projectiles screamed against the building faces. The missiles detonated in turbulent gouts of orange flames and shrapnel.

TO-96 followed the action up with his other wrist, delivering a withering stream of fire from his XM31 Type-R blaster. Awen chanced a look and noticed that even at this distance, troopers fell to the road and dove for cover.

“Time to move,” the bot said. “I suggest you resume jogging, though at a faster rate.”

“On it!” Ezo yelled, coaxing Sootriman and Awen to emerge from cover and take to the road.

The four of them continued down the street, this time hugging the buildings and staying on the sidewalk. TO-96 picked up the rear and continued peppering the enemy with bursts from his XM31.

Whatever fatigue had dogged Awen before was gone now. Adrenaline had her legs pumping so hard her thigh and calf muscles felt numb. She could smell the charged scent of ozone and the smoke of activated explosives. Awen threw her hands over her head and ducked as more blaster rounds struck the building overhead. Bits of stone stung her forearms and littered her hair.

Then she heard TO-96 give firm instructions. “Cover your ears, and open your mouths.”

“What? Why?” Awen yelled.

“Gauss cannon fire!” Ezo replied. “Do it!”

Awen covered her ears and opened her mouth, still unsure why she was doing it. She glanced over her shoulder to see the robot dig its feet into the pavement and bend its knees. Then something broke the sound barrier at the bot’s shoulder. The next thing Awen knew, a concussion wave pushed her forward, her clothes rippling in the blast. Her head rang, her eyes, ears, and nose tingling.

Farther up the street, a gray plume shot up from the road and engulfed the entire scene. Awen blinked, unsure what to make of everything. All she could figure was that TO-96 had delivered a lethal strike to the pursuing enemy.

“Keep running, everyone. I insist.”

“Got it, ’Six!”

Faster and faster, Awen ran, unsure if her legs would keep up with her body. She careened at a breakneck speed toward the ocean. She could smell the sea despite the chaos behind her. Salt wafted in the wind, as did distant bird sounds. The calls weren’t the same as those on Elonia and Worru, but they were close enough that she guessed they came from this world’s waterfowl.

The four of them ran on, feet pounding the pavement. Gravity aided Awen, but her legs suddenly felt the burn that adrenaline had kept at bay. It had been several seconds since any blaster rounds had been fired her way, and she wondered if maybe Ninety-Six had terminated their pursuers.

Any sense of security, however, was dashed when a blaster round struck Sootriman in the back, burning a hole through her shirt and into her flesh. She screamed. Ezo turned too late to catch her as her arms and head slammed into the road. He skidded to a stop while Awen flew past, unable to slow.

“Keep going, Awen,” TO-96 instructed. “You too, Ezo.”

“She needs my help!” Ezo yelled.

“No, she needs my help. You must keep going.”

More shots glanced off the street and buildings, sparks exploding from multiple directions. Ezo and TO-96 returned fire. The troopers—who Awen could see were clad in black Republic-type armor bearing three white stripes—ducked for cover. The robot’s aim was true and dispatched at least three troopers; Ezo struck a fourth in the soft gap between chest plate and shoulder.

TO-96 knelt and scooped up Sootriman as easily as a Mammothian bear might pick up a cub. He slung her large body over his shoulder and resumed his pace. “Follow me!” The bot turned left onto a side street.

Immediately, the blaster fire subsided. Awen and Ezo followed him down the lane, jumping over vine-covered obstructions and through a gap between buildings. Then he turned right down an alley that descended toward the ocean. The bot thumped down steps, careful to keep Sootriman’s head from bouncing against his back. She cried out in pain several times but seemed to be holding herself together.

Awen could only imagine how the injury burned, and she wondered if it was serious. “Hang in there, Sootriman!” she called from behind.

The steps continued down, moving below overpasses, until the ocean was blocked from sight. Soon, even the sun was completely obscured as the path became more like a tunnel than an alley. The vegetation thinned, and within moments, the group’s retreat was shrouded in darkness.

“Continue to follow me,” TO-96 instructed. Lights appeared on his head and torso, two of which faced forward, illuminating the way ahead.

Ezo and Awen stuck close behind as the robot turned this way and that. He seemed to choose tunnels at random, though she knew he was as calculated as ever—and assisted by the Novia each step of the way. It smelled dank down here, like old runoff and mildew. She wondered how this course had anything to do with getting them to a starship.

“We’re almost to safety,” TO-96 said. “One hundred meters.”

“You hear that, baby?” Ezo asked. “You’re almost safe.”

Sootriman groaned.

Just then, streaks of red blaster fire strobed down the tight corridors, ricocheting off the walls and ceiling. Despite the labyrinth of darkened tunnels, the troopers had still managed to track Awen and her company. She yelped when a bolt glanced off the wall near her head. She felt her neck and head, thinking maybe she’d been struck, but she hadn’t.

“Stand aside!” TO-96 ordered.

Awen and Ezo pressed themselves against the wall as the bot extended his arm down the alley and fired three micro-rockets. Their propulsion cones lit the passage like daylight. Awen covered her ears and squinted as the missiles whizzed by her head, the hot blast prickling her skin. A beat later, the three explosions shook the air. The blaster fire ceased, and Awen heard the screams of men in death throes.

TO-96 raced on, taking one more sharp turn into—a dead end.

“Not good, ’Six!” Ezo scolded him, sending a few more blaster bolts around the corner. “Not good at all!”

“Please, sir. Do not be alarmed.” The bot faced the flat stone wall, standing completely still. Sootriman moved, a pained look crossing her drowsy face. Then, as if summoned by a small quake in the ground, the stone wall split in two—a slender crack appearing from top to bottom. The wall sections pitched inward like doors, grinding against the damp pavement.

“This way.” TO-96 stepped through the gap. Awen and Ezo followed, turning sideways to avoid the rough edges. No sooner were they through than the doors began to close again. Awen could hear shouting back down the tunnel, followed by heavy footsteps. She wondered if the stone doors would close in time—wondered if another blaster round would make it through and strike her in the back this time.

But the blaster fire never came. Instead, the stone doors sealed shut with a whoomph. All that was left were the sounds of their fleeing feet echoing down a long tunnel—a long tunnel that didn’t smell like mold or decaying matter. Instead, it smelled… sterile. Like it had been cleaned recently. And the surface beneath her feet felt glossy smooth. This was no beggars’ alley. This was a hidden passage into something very important.

23

Magnus and the remaining members of Delta Platoon were stacked in the circular stairwell. Dutch and Gilder had taken up defensive positions on the first floor, straddling either side of the square in the balcony’s shadow. Jujari fire had ebbed, and Magnus slowed his breathing to eight breaths per minute. This was the calm before the storm.

“Dutch, you ready?”

“Ready.”

“Toss ’em,” Magnus said.

“Fraggers out!”

Magnus let out a breath. A beat later, the two grenades shook the third level. The sharp smell of explosives stung Magnus’s nose. It was all he needed for his body to get moving. He turned from the stairwell, MAR30 up and ready, and swept for targets. To his immediate left, along the back wall, two Selskrit stumbled. They tried standing up, recovering from the grenades, but Magnus helped them stay down. Then he took cover behind the center column and continued to keep Jujari heads down as the rest of his team emerged from the stairwell.

Nolan knelt beneath the railing next to Magnus, while Silk, Nub, and Dozer fanned out along the balcony’s right wing. The majority of the enemy’s fire came from the two doorways at the far ends of each wing, leading toward the front of the house. Magnus was right to have been hypervigilant about the skiff’s overfiring: if there were hostages in this place, they were in front on the top floor.

A Selskrit body toppled off the roof and fell three stories to the middle of the square. Simone is busy. The sight momentarily distracted the Jujari on the third floor. It was an opportunity one didn’t waste. Magnus rolled from behind the column and advanced, firing steadily on each combatant who dared fire on him. His MAR30 barked out one round, then another, then another, methodically dispatching chest shot, head shot, chest shot, head shot until Magnus had made it around the corner and halfway down the left balcony wing.

The enemy, facing a last-stand scenario, concentrated their fire. Dense blaster fire bathed the balcony with red light. Magnus tried several times to bring his weapon around the column he stood behind, but it was too risky. The good news was the Delta Platoon had cornered the remaining threat. The bad news was they were fighting like wild beasts. Fitting, Magnus thought.

His vision flashed, followed by a wave of vertigo. Magnus reached for the column and tried to steady himself. For all the mystics! The white flash faded, and his eyesight went wavy, the world looking like a mirage shimmering in the desert. Was I hit? What the hell is going on?

Lines appeared in his vision, creating some sort of hexagonal grid. Magnus could feel himself panicking. Had something happened to his bioteknia eyes? Were they failing? Not now, dammit! Not now!

The waves subsided, and Magnus regained his balance. As soon as he looked up, he noticed three-dimensional shapes forming—Jujari—behind the next room’s wall. Each figure was defined in shades of gray and outlined in white.

What in the—

Suddenly, the bodies shifted to red, and designators appeared, floating beside them. Target: Jujari, one display tag read. Four more tags floated beside the remaining figures.

“Seriously?” Magnus said.

“Come again?” Silk yelled from across the square.

Magnus looked over at Silk, who was taking cover behind a column. Her body went from gray to blue. A tag identified her as Friendly: Silk. Nub and Dozer, taking up positions behind her, had similar tags. In the floor beneath them, Magnus saw Dutch. Then he looked directly between his feet, and the top of Gilder’s body appeared.

“What the—”

“LT, you okay?”

“I’m—I’m fantastic!”

Dutch hesitated then let out a long, “Okay?”

Valerie had failed to let Magnus know about his new superpower. Apparently, the nanobots had done more than their fair share of work. Maybe Valerie wanted it to be a surprise. He’d scold her later. At the moment, it was time to put his power to good use.

Magnus looked at the room at the end of Silk’s corridor and noted six Selskrit, and beyond them…

Bodies. Three gray figures lay on the floor. It looked like their hands and feet were bound. Tags appeared beside them, reading, Unidentified. In his room, two more bodies appeared, both bound, both Unidentified.

“Okay, listen up, people. Silk, you’ve six combatants in the room ahead. Three hostages on the floor in the far left corner. Nolan and I have five Selskrit at the end of our hall and two hostages.”

There was no response from the team. Blaster fire continued to pour from the two remaining rooms.

“Dutch, I need you and Gilder up here on the double.”

“LT, uh, how do—”

“I can see them. Don’t ask me how. Just something to do with my new eyes.”

“Copy,” Dutch said. “We’re on the move.”

* * *

Magnus had an idea. A crazy idea—one he’d never attempt without a helmet and the Recon’s custom AI. But it seemed his new eyes would serve his needs just fine.

He reached for the remaining VOD on his hip, selected Smoke, and rolled the device down the hallway. It popped and let out a plume of thick white smoke that billowed into the square, but it also filled the far room.

Jujari fire went wide as their vision was compromised. Then it stopped altogether. Magnus rolled off the column and raised his MAR30. To his amazement, the weapon’s sights appeared in his vision as highlighted indicators. Waypoint arrows suggested the next closest target and helped align his weapon. It was like his helmet’s AI… but better. Way better.

His first target was a Selskrit who was batting at the air with one paw and covering his face with the elbow of the other arm, weapon in hand. The combatant stepped into the doorframe, and Magnus fired a high-frequency round, splitting its head. The four remaining Jujari’s ears perked, registering the attack, but they looked around blindly. Another stumbled over the body of the first and tripped into the opening. Magnus dispatched that one too. The others, however, got wise and stayed pressed against the inside wall, waiting for the smoke to clear.

Oh no you don’t. Magnus selected the distortion setting and walked up to the opposite side of the wall. He dialed down the focal length, not wanting to harm the hostages, and squeezed the trigger. The MAR30 pulled power from the energy mag and then vibrated. The invisible field stretched its ghostly fingers through the wall and hungrily searched for biological matter. Once the energy wave found living beings, it split their muscles, burst their veins, and separated their cells. Magnus even saw motes of light pop inside three Jujari bodies as the energy wave separated atoms from their protons. The smell of burning hair wafted back through the doorway.

Magnus selected High Frequency and stepped into the room, still engulfed in smoke. He was a meter away from the Selskrit when they smelled him. But it was too late. A single round at medium discharge went straight through both bodies and smacked into the wall behind them. They swiped madly at the air, but Magnus easily dodged the attempts.

Before long, his room was clear.

“Could use some help here!” Dutch said.

With his bioteknia vision, Magnus saw the rest of his platoon still stacked up in the far wing, save Nolan, who hadn’t advanced through the smoke yet to join Magnus. Withering fire continued to bear down on them from the doorway. Magnus looked into the adjacent room and saw all six Selskrit crowding the door like eager pups ready to go for a walk with their master.

“I’ve got you, Dutch.” Magnus stepped away from the side wall, pushed his MAR30 to full power, and sighted the remaining combatants in the next room. He squeezed.

A blistering stream of blaster fire leaped from the muzzle, drilling into the sandstone. A moment later, the energy burst through the other side of the wall and struck Jujari flesh. Magnus watched as bits and pieces of bodies sprayed into the air, captured with pristine clarity in his new vision. The Selskrit flailed as if an angry swarm of horde-bees attacked them. They swiped at their backs and necks and stomachs as Magnus’s blaster fire continued to eat through the wall and tear into their bodies. Within moments, the six combatants lay squirming on the ground in death throes.

Magnus released the trigger and heard his MAR30 cycle down. The muzzle glowed red. He glanced down and saw that the energy magazine was nearly depleted.

“Clear!” he yelled over comms. The words had no sooner left his mouth than his vision went wavy and the hexagonal lines vanished. Ident tags, outlines, wall-penetrating vision—it was all gone. He had normal human sight again. Unbelievable.

The house was quiet. The only remaining sounds came from outside the compound as Abimbola’s skiffs and Simone’s snipers continued to dispatch Selskrit. Smoke still filled the room, but it was thinning. Magnus turned toward the two bodies on the floor. He knelt beside the first—an older man.

“Can you hear me?” Magnus asked, touching what he thought was the man’s shoulder. The bones felt frail. “Can you hear me?”

“Yes,” the man said in an elderly voice. “I can hear you.” Magnus’s heart sank a little when he realized this was no Marine. Maybe a Luma or a senator.

“I’ve got one alive,” Magnus said over comms.

“We’ve got three—alive!” Dutch said. Clearly, the lack of smoke had given them an advantage.

Magnus’s heart rate quickened. “Who is it? Who’ve you got?” He suddenly heard a stream of profanity pouring from someone’s mouth. That’s a Marine, he thought, a smile creeping across his face. Recon for the win.

“What’s your name, Marine?” Dutch asked.

In the background, Magnus heard the man say, “Sergeant Michael Damn Deeks! And who the hell are you?”

Magnus let out a hoot. “Listen, tell that son of a bitch that his first lieutenant orders him to watch his language. I’ll be right over.”

“Copy that,” Dutch said. Magnus could hear her smile over the transmission.

He returned his attention to the elderly man. “Sir, what’s your name?”

“I’m a squirrel,” he said weakly.

“Huh?”

“I’m a squirrel, and a squirrelly old man. That’s what I’m told.”

Magnus was about to reply until he had a memory of Awen hanging in Abimbola’s jail cell, drugged. This was a Luma. They’d drugged him to suppress his powers in the Unifornication, or whatever it was called.

“Have you come to rescue squirrels?” the man asked.

“Yes,” Magnus replied, laughing a little. “We’ve come to rescue squirrels.”

“That makes me very happy.” The man let out a wet cough.

Dutch spoke up again. “It also looks like we have one Corporal Chico and a captain.”

“Wainright?” Magnus asked.

“Unclear. Name’s scratched off, and he’s unconscious.”

In the background, Flow said, “Yeah, it’s Wainright. He needs a medic.”

“As does the corporal,” Dutch added. “But I think Deeks can walk.”

“Damn straight, I can walk!”

This was unbelievable. Flow, Cheeks, and Captain Wainright were alive. Sure, Magnus wished more had survived. But he’d walked into this expecting the worst, so that little group of survivors was a welcome sight.

Still, they had a job to do. No celebrating until they were out of Oosafar. “Copy that,” Magnus said.

The smoke thinned enough for Magnus to see a second hostage lying facedown in the corner. The body was bloated and wrapped with several blood-soaked bandages. The person had either been tortured or these were leftover wounds from the attack. Maybe both. Either way, whoever it was needed serious medical attention. The stench was putrid.

“Hey.” Magnus placed a hand on a fat bicep and shook gently. “You awake?”

“He’s not a squirrel,” the Luma elder said.

“Good to know.” Magnus shook the man’s arm a little harder then heard a groan. He wanted to try to turn him over but knew he’d need help.

“I said, he’s not a squirrel.”

“I heard you the first time,” Magnus said. The old man was really out of it.

“He’s something else.”

“Oh yeah? And what’s that?”

“He’s royalty. He’s an ambassador.”

Magnus froze then looked between the old man and the massive body in the corner.

24

“How in the hell did you survive?” Magnus asked. But he knew the man couldn’t answer. He couldn’t even move. The fat, impetuous Republic ambassador, Gerald Bosworth III—the one who’d threatened Awen and probably helped sabotage the mwadim’s meeting—was alive.

“Who’ve you got?” Dutch asked over comms.

Unbelievable. Magnus shook his head. “I’ve got the Republic ambassador.”

The old man nodded excitedly then coughed again. “He doesn’t like squirrels. Or dogs. But he sure does like to eat.”

“Come again?” Dutch asked.

“Ambassador Bosworth,” Magnus said, holding a finger up for the old man to stay quiet. “Guy’s hurt bad. Don’t know if he’s going to survive evac.” And truthfully, that wouldn’t hurt my feelings one bit. “We’re gonna need a hover lift or some sort of stretcher.”

“Copy that, LT.”

Magnus reached an arm under the Luma. “Come on, old squirrel. Time to get you outta here.” The man winced as Magnus helped him stand. He weighed next to nothing, and Magnus thought he’d snap him in two if he wasn’t careful. “Can you walk?”

The old man nodded but struggled to straighten his knees, clinging to Magnus’s arm for dear life.

“Splick. We’re gonna need two stretchers.” He switched over to general comms. “Bimby, I need some hover sleds or stretchers or whatever you’ve got. We have survivors.”

“Roger that, buckethead. How many?”

“Five.” Though one of these counts for three more. Damn son of a bitch.

“Coming your way now.”

“Copy.”

* * *

This was the part of the job they never advertised in holo-verts or school presentations. Then again, moving a fat-ass body down three stories through a urine-stained, flea-infested sauna wasn’t exactly the kind of thing people lined up to do. So he couldn’t blame them. Still, it would have been nice if someone had said, “Hey, kid. Listen, splick’s gonna get bad. I mean, real bad. You’re gonna get covered in alien juice that will stain your skin for weeks, and you’ll never look at a steak the same way. Hell, you’re going to see more entrails than a gastroenterologist doing colonoscopies. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

There was no way Bosworth was fitting down the circular stairwells, so Gilder had used rope to lower the stretcher over a railing and through the central square. A hover sled would have made it a lot easier, but Abimbola only had one, and the ambassador exceeded the weight limit. Instead, Wainright got it. And Magnus wasn’t complaining there.

“You know, there is a way to make this go a lot faster.” Silk braced herself on the marble floor, holding one of the ropes Gilder had set up. “I mean, all I’ve gotta do is sneeze and—”

“Steady,” Magnus yelled down. “Don’t need anyone else dying today.”

Though, truth be told, the Marauder was right. You’re a bad man, Magnus.

Abimbola’s voice crackled over comms. “I am going to need you to hurry it up there, buckethead. It seems the Selskrit are regrouping, and I think we have overstayed our welcome.”

“We’re on our way out.” Magnus looked over the railing to help Haney guide the ambassador’s stretcher to the floor. Haney had just returned from delivering Rix to the medivac unit. “All right, people, you heard the warlord. Let’s get back to the skiffs.”

Magnus descended both stairwells and helped carry the survivors back through the compound and out the front doors. When he emerged, struggling with one end of Bosworth’s stretcher—Dozer on the other—Jujari bodies lay scattered throughout the courtyard.

Flow looked around and then eyed Magnus. “You sure know how to throw a party, LT.”

Did Flow really just call me LT again? It warmed his heart. “I can think of easier ways to get you wasted, Flow. But hey, if this is what it takes…”

“This is what it takes, yes. This is most certainly what it takes.”

“LT!” Dutch yelled from behind Magnus. He turned around. “Almost forgot this!” She was carrying the algorithmic shield generator from the guard tower.

“Better give that to Silk,” Magnus said, laboring for breath.

“Silk?”

“Abimbola offered a raise as reward for the device. So unless you want to start working for Abimbola, it’s better to give the spoils to one of the Marauders.”

“Eh, I’m good,” Dutch said.

“Thought so.”

“Thanks, Marine,” Silk said, carrying one end of Wainright’s stretcher. “I owe you one.”

“Careful what you commit to,” Magnus said. “I’ll have you make good on it.”

“I expect nothing less.” She winked.

A stream of rapid MUT50 fire stole Magnus’s attention as it stitched up the side of a building and removed several Selskrit from windows and two on the roof. He looked at the surrounding buildings and noticed more shadows moving within them. He hoped Simone’s fire team was back in a skiff now; those rooftops had to be crawling with the enemy.

“How are we doing, slowpokes?” Abimbola asked. His M109 had opened up on a pack of Selskrit trying to make entry into the compound through the front gate.

“We’re coming up on the hole you just cleared for us. Thanks.”

“Hurry it up, would you?”

Magnus felt his arms and legs burning. The ambassador was even heavier than he looked—and he already looked heavy enough not to carry! “Come on, people! Let’s move, let’s move!” He heard the M109 fire down the cross street on the other side of the wall.

His platoon picked their way over the rubble and bodies in the doorway and headed for three different skiffs, each backed up to the gate with their cargo ramps extended. Marauders motioned the stretchers inside, covering the retreat with blaster fire to encroaching enemy targets. The moment Magnus passed the handles off to another Marauder at the top of a ramp, he stretched his cramping arms and pulled his MAR30 off the maglock on his back.

“Find a ride,” Magnus ordered. “We’re leaving here hot, it looks like.”

“Hot does not even begin to describe it,” Abimbola yelled. “Where you at, buckethead?”

“On my way.” Magnus jumped off the ramp and ran ahead two skiffs, finding Abimbola’s vehicle engaged with a small horde of advancing Selskrit. They moved along the sides of the streets, ducking in and out of cover. The M109 took out one or two at a time, but the beasts were getting smarter. That, and they were growing in number.

Magnus banged on the passenger side of the skiff’s forward compartment. Abimbola leaned over, unlatched the security lock, and swung the door out.

“Good to see you, Bimby.” Magnus climbed in and slammed the door behind him.

“I really hate that name. Have I mentioned that?”

“Come to think of it… no. But I have some advice.”

“What is that?”

“Get used to it, ’cause I love using it.”

Abimbola stomped the pedal to the floor, and the skiff lurched forward.

* * *

With everyone accounted for, the convoy barreled down the streets of the Western Heights. It was here that Magnus really got to see Hell’s Basket Case in full effect. It charged forward, impaling unlucky Jujari on the spikes of its deadly battering ram.

Abimbola pushed it faster and faster. Since they were headed west—away from the city’s center—there was little threat of mines. Instead, there were a whole lot more Selskrit. The skiff only slowed when two or more bodies temporarily impeded its progress. But two embedded counter rotating blade saws made quick work of any meat buildup on the spikes.

“You sure about this?” Magnus asked over the scream of the drive core. He sat with his torso sticking out of the sunroof, the hatch flipped forward for cover.

“What?”

“Are you sure about this?”

“No!” Abimbola yelled.

“Perfect.”

“Just keep shooting!”

“Copy that.” Magnus was about to fire on more Selskrit when he noticed something flash in the sky. He looked up to see the Republic blockade… engaged in ship-to-ship orbital combat. Streaks of light dotted the blue sky while small explosions appeared and vanished like small firecrackers—bursting into existence one moment and vanishing without a trace the next.

Without warning, Magnus’s bioteknia eyes waved again, the hexagonal grid appearing in his mind. They zoomed in and placed designator tags beside each ship. There were hundreds of ships, far more than he could see with his naked eye, and at least half were Jujari allied. This wasn’t good. The war had begun.

“Keep shooting!” Magnus snapped his attention back to the field of battle. He aimed his MAR30 at a group of four Selskrit who stood a good two hundred meters down the road. Old buildings covered either side of the street, creating a tunnel effect, which made target acquisition all the easier. Magnus saw that one of the combatants held an LRGR over his shoulder. “Splick!”

Magnus’s vision suddenly zoomed in on the sniper with the shoulder-mounted weapon. It happened fast. Magnus squeezed the trigger. A cluster of blue blaster bolts streaked down the street and slapped into the sniper—but not before the Selskrit got a shot off. The projectile missed Abimbola’s skiff by less than a meter. Instead, it sailed past and detonated into the side of a building. Magnus heard the loud clang of sandstone rocks denting armored plating.

“Good shot, buckethead!”

“Good driving!” Magnus could get used to these new eyes. They freaked him out, of course. But they were… awesome.

Despite the skiff covering a lot of ground, the convoy was definitely getting deeper into enemy territory. Magnus was having serious doubts about this course of action. He knew it was the only way to avoid the booby-trapped streets. But he didn’t think they’d have better luck with twice as many Jujari.

Make that three times as many. Negative, make that ten times as many. Mystics! They are everywhere.

Jujari were in every window, on rooftops, and even starting to crowd the streets, growing bolder with every hundred meters. Where were they coming from? There must have been hundreds. Maybe thousands. His vision was full of red forms listed as Target: hostile.

“Getting a little cramped in here, don’t you think, Bimby?” Magnus fired at target after target, his MAR30 growing hot in the late-afternoon sun. His eyes were now placing percentages beside each target. Magnus couldn’t tell if the numbers designated the likelihood of them attacking him, their threat level, or his chances of missing—it was all happening so fast. Either way, his bioteknia had some sort of AI that interfaced with his brain. Freaky.

A new indicator flashed. MAR30: Energy low.

How did my eyes know the status of my weapon’s energy mag? He fished for a mag, Abimbola handing him a fresh one from the glove box and another from under the seat. He went through mag after mag, sure that he was running low.

In such a target-rich environment, it was hard to know if he was having any measurable impact even with the elevated kill count. With the number of targets his eyes kept identifying, making an assessment was a losing battle.

“Does this end anytime soon?”

“It does,” Abimbola said, looking unfazed. “Soon enough.”

Magnus dropped three more Jujari. “Can you define soon?”

He had hardly gotten the question out of his mouth when a Jujari landed on top of him. One paw gripped the hatch while the other grabbed Magnus around the back. He looked up in time to see the beast’s maw, filled with razor-sharp teeth, open wide over his head. His MAR30 was pointed up and half-swallowed in the combatant’s mouth when he pulled the trigger. Blaster fire blew open the soft back of the creature’s head, blossoming in a gout of spine, bones, and blood. The carcass slumped on him.

“Mystics, these things stink!”

“Very much, yes,” Abimbola replied.

Magnus shoved the body off him and resumed fire, taking aim at ones that he guessed might try to leap onto their skiffs like the last one had. Sure enough, what looked to be a skinny young male stood leaning over the street, one paw wrapped around a pipe. Magnus aimed and snapped his arm at the elbow. The creature flailed and fell, landing a few meters ahead. The Jujari couldn’t move in time, and Abimbola’s battering ram devoured another victim.

“How much longer?” Magnus asked.

“We are almost there.”

“Where’s there?” Magnus struck several more Selskrit who seemed interested in mounting their skiff.

“There…”

Magnus looked to where the warlord pointed. Up ahead stood a gate the likes of which Magnus had never seen before. It made the one on the eastern side of the city—where they’d first entered—look like a toy door on a dollhouse. This port of entry was easily one hundred meters tall and just as wide. It boasted long fulcrums along the tops of each of the two outward-turning door panels. Giant metal straps held the stone doors to massive hinges, while a stone rampart above gave lookout to the plain beyond and mechanical access to the port’s opening and closing.

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” Magnus noted, “but your gate… it’s closed. And judging by the looks of the Selskrit operating it, I don’t think they plan on opening it for us.” At least one hundred of them stood along the ramparts, blasters aimed down at the approaching convoy. Magnus dropped in his seat and pulled the hatch shut.

“You are correct, those Jujari will not open the door.” Abimbola pointed to two columns of Tawnhack running along the top of the wall on either side of the gate. “But these Jujari will.”

25

Awen and Ezo followed close behind TO-96 as he carried Sootriman over his shoulder. The bot ran down the tunnel until it intersected a large underground corridor. Then the lights came on.

Unlike all their previous scouting trips, in which the building interiors had been dark, this passageway was bright—at least where Awen and the others stepped into it. TO-96 turned right and began to jog again. Giant Novia script lined the walls, adorning entrances to side tunnels and what looked like storage compartments. Frosted banks of lights ran along each wall and filled the ceiling, turning on as the humans approached and dimming after they’d passed. Even the floor, a glossy white beneath Awen’s feet, was illuminated.

Seeing the lights turn on made Awen realize why the city’s walls had looked alive when she’d first observed them within the Unity—because they were, at least in the sense that the Novia’s singularity allowed them to exist anywhere there was a conduit, cable, sensor, camera, or superconductor. It was eerie having an invisible personal escort lead them to their destination, but if it meant escaping from their enemy and getting back home, she was all for it.

The only regret Awen had, of course, was not getting to spend more time with the QTG. They’d only just discovered it; to leave it so soon seemed like a travesty. She wondered if she’d ever be able to come back and convene with the Novia over days and weeks. Might I spend years here? Perhaps the Novia Minoosh—instead of the Jujari—would become her life’s work…

“It is a little farther,” TO-96 said, his voice smooth and calm.

“How much is a little, ’Six?” Ezo gasped for air, his lungs no doubt burning like Awen’s.

“Point seven nine seven four one of a kilometer.”

“And there’s a ship waiting for us?” Awen asked.

“Affirmative.”

The tunnel curved slowly to the left as if the team was running along the perimeter of a wide circle. Eventually, the loop bisected a central hall with high ceilings. Lights flickered to life as the four entered the terminal. The main tunnel continued on the opposite side, and a few smaller ones opened on the right. But to their left lay a large bay door. While Novia script emblazoned the walls and sat above the tunnel openings, it was writ large across the bay door, denoting it as something significant.

“What’ve we got, ’Six?” Ezo asked.

“It’s a flight hangar, sir. Please stand by. The Novia are opening it now.”

The four of them stood facing the door as it loomed overhead. They waited, lungs heaving, hands wringing. Nothing happened.

“’Six? Is there a problem?”

“Still waiting, sir.”

Ezo nodded then looked back at the bay door, waiting for it to open. More seconds slipped by.

“’Six… I don’t mean to be impatient here…”

“Yes, I do understand. The Novia tell me that it has been over a thousand years since this door was used. It is, as you might say, a little rusty.”

“Fair enough. If I don’t use my doors for a thousand years, yeah, they’re gonna be rusty. I get it.”

“Any second now, sir.”

A sound like giant sledgehammers dropping on hollow tanker drums boomed from somewhere beneath. Then the lights went out. Awen flinched. In place of the overhead lights came alternating blinking red lights on either side of the door and a spotlight on the door’s center.

“There we are,” the bot said with a satisfied air.

A crack of light appeared under the door as the metal began creeping upward, pulled by the sound of a long-dormant motor drive. Awen found herself reaching for Sootriman’s hand as they looked for whatever awaited them.

The door, at waist height, revealed a well-worn black floor. Scuff marks and directional paint designated it as a utilitarian space, one meant for engineers and mechanics. Then, as the door reached shoulder height, Awen saw her first glimpse of a ship.

Higher and higher, the door revealed more. Awen gasped, holding her hands to her mouth. They were the first beings from the protoverse to see a Novia Minoosh starship. For a fleeting moment, she forgot about the past several months here on Ithnor Ithelia—forgot about Worru and the Luma and the Jujari and the horrors that had transpired on Oorajee. The beauty of what lay before her captivated her.

Glimmering like a massive diamond in the light of a thousand suns stood a majestic starship aimed skyward. Its mirrored finish was elegantly curved, undulating in the shape of a Leviathanian tanic shark. Hundreds of irregular iridescent windows lay across the ship, accenting its mirrored surface with purples, pinks, and blues. Minimalist side and tail wings rose from the hull like fins, while a honeycomb of angled engine ports hovered fifteen meters over the hangar floor.

Awen felt that the ship was lithe, almost seductive, its lines forming curves more akin to a beautiful woman’s body than the rigid designs of the Republic. Gantry cranes held the ship in place, feeding it like medical lines on a patient, though at any moment, it seemed as if the ship would tear free and break through whatever canopy kept it from its destiny among the stars. This ship was meant to fly.

“I give you the Azelon Spire,” TO-96 said with a sweep of his hand.

Ezo let out a long whistle. “Would you look at that…”

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Awen added.

“Nor has Ezo, Star Queen.” Ezo placed a hand on Sootriman’s head then looked at his bot. “How soon before we can get Sootriman taken care of?”

“The Novia have readied the ship. We will need to get Sootriman secured for launch. Then, as soon as we are in orbit, you can move her to sick bay. I would say no more than twenty minutes.”

Ezo stroked Sootriman’s hair; it was the most affectionate Awen had ever seen him with his semi-former wife. Perhaps he really did care about her. “Hear that, baby? Twenty minutes, and we’ll get you taken care of.”

“In the meantime, I will make sure to provide her with some pain relief just as soon as we board.”

“Thank you, ’Six.”

“It is my pleasure, sir.”

Awen caught sight of something moving around the ship’s launchpad. The motion startled her, and she let out a gasp. “What is that?” She pointed, and Ezo raised his SUPER 945. “Is… is that a cleaning bot?”

“It is a sweeper bot, to be exact,” TO-96 said. “One of the many automated machines that keep Itheliana and her inner workings from deteriorating entirely.”

“Wait, wait,” Ezo said, waving his pistol. “You mean to say that there are more of these?”

“Of course, sir. How else do you think that so much of the city has remained intact over all these centuries?”

“But we never saw them.”

“By design, sir. One aspect of their prime directive is to remain anonymous and out of sight. They joke amongst themselves, you know. ‘We do our best work in the dark,’ they like to say.”

“Ouch. That’s an old one,” Awen said. “Though, somehow, it’s funnier when bots say it.”

“And they are rather old, Awen. You might say that they have been recycling the same material for years.” The bot paused, blinked at her, and nodded in anticipation.

“Funny, Ninety-Six.” She chuckled. “You’re getting there.”

Ezo was still gaping in awe at the ship and the little sweeper bot. “An entire fleet of maintenance bots… incredible. Guess that explains why so many places we explored weren’t completely overrun.”

TO-96 looked back at the sweeper bot. “Affirmative. They are responsible for far more than you probably realize.”

“The temple library?” Awen asked.

“One of their main responsibilities, yes.”

Ezo motioned to the Azelon Spire. “And they’ve kept this ship ready all this time?”

“It was not hard to do, sir. The Azelon Spire has never been flown before.”

“What?” Ezo looked astonished. “You’re saying that we’re taking her on her maiden voyage?”

“I am.” The bot nodded.

Ezo looked at Awen, a gleam in his eye like a small child would get when about to unwrap a giant birthday present. “Is she safe, though? Are they sure she can fly? And how can something this large escape planetary gravity?”

“The Novia assure me that the Azelon Spire is one-hundred-percent flight ready, able to support biological life, and able to achieve the necessary velocity to attain orbit. All she needs is a crew.”

“Then let’s get on board.” Ezo had no sooner uttered the words than a giant explosion reverberated through the tunnels behind them. “Splick, that doesn’t sound good.”

TO-96’s head twitched. “It seems the enemy has found our secret entrance. They are coming.”

* * *

Awen helped Ezo buckle Sootriman into an acceleration couch. The woman moaned, her eyes closed and head lolling. “We’re almost out of here,” Awen said. “Just a few more minutes. Hang in there, okay?”

The four of them had gained access to the ship through a generous entry door near the stern. Once inside, it was a short walk to a central elevator that ran along the spine. Almost every surface was finished in white pearl, while purple-and-gray carbon fiber weave connected joints and filled seems. Soft light emanated from ceilings, walls, and floors, and translucent Novia script embossed various points of interest.

“Come on, Awen.” Ezo climbed to another acceleration couch on the bridge and began strapping himself in. The room was pitched vertically with recessed rungs running along the walls for access to the gimbaled seats. Directly overhead, stretching the width of the room, was a large window that looked up toward the hangar bay’s ceiling.

Awen had just finished closing the last buckle on the oversized harness when TO-96 spoke up from his own acceleration couch. “It seems the intruders have gained access to the central hall.”

Suddenly, the window was filled with a security-camera image from outside in the hangar bay. Awen felt dizzy, a result of lying on her back and looking up and the camera’s off-center angle. No fewer than ten dark-clad troopers worked along the central hall’s massive cargo-bay door. They wore black Repub-style armor with three black stripes on the shoulder plate and bicep. Their helmets looked like something skiff racers would use, and their weapons looked intimidating, much like Magnus’s. These were the same type of troopers she’d encountered when she’d first met Kane at the temple’s entrance.

A new voice filled the control room: “Drive core at maximum efficiency.” The voice was smooth and feminine. “Shields, hull integrity, life support, navigation, and weapons systems, one hundred percent. Prepare for main engine start. TO-96, would you like to proceed?”

“I would,” the bot replied.

“It speaks Galactic common?” Ezo asked.

“For your benefit, I uploaded my lexicon to the ship’s AI moments ago.”

“That’s cool. But can’t you speak to it in your head or something, ’Six?” Ezo asked. “The bot-on-bot communication is a little weird.”

“Of course. However, I thought you would find a more a humanesque communication format desirable. Having the ship operate in silence might be disconcerting to you, would it not?”

“Now that you mention it, I do appreciate knowing what’s happening. Thanks, ’Six.”

“You are most welcome, sir.”

The main bridge display flashed white then went black. The view of the troopers was gone. A beat later, a new camera view appeared, this one looking down on the bay doors from inside the hanger. As far as Awen could tell, the camera was located somewhere on the Azelon Spire.

The door had a gaping hole in the center, filled with smoke. Bits of flaming shrapnel littered the floor. Troopers stepped through it, weapons at the ready. Once in the bay, they reacted, lowering their weapons and tipping their heads back. Someone in charge waved a hand, and the troopers brought their weapons back up and fanned out.

“Warning, hangar bay breached,” the ship’s voice said.

“Acknowledged,” TO-96 replied.

Awen saw muzzle flashes as the troopers opened fire on the ship. “They’re shooting at us!”

“How we doing on those engines, ’Six?”

As if emphasizing his question, a shock wave blasted across the hangar floor. Awen felt it before she saw it. The camera view trembled as her acceleration couch absorbed the engine’s vibrations. The troopers were thrown backward, swept aside like ants in a midsummer Dustoovian cyclone.

Ezo let out a victory cry, his voice shaking from the engines. “Take that, you bastards!”

“Confirm launch request,” the ship said.

“Request confirmed,” TO-96 said.

“Hell, yes!” Ezo said. “Let’s blow this place!”

Blue streams of hyper ionized air filled the hangar just as the image of the troopers vanished, replaced by a widening star shape of direct sunlight overhead. Awen winced then noticed the bridge window adjust to the sudden light change. The canopy above them was opening. The ship shook enough to rattle Awen’s teeth. She was pressed into her couch, and she grunted as gravity multiplied, compressing every cell in her body.

“Here we go!” Ezo yelled.

The star shape had expanded to a perfect circle of purple sky with several puffy clouds—though everything appeared to waver as if underwater. Dust and debris shot toward the hangar’s mouth as the Azelon Spire crept upward. Second, third, and fourth images appeared in the bridge, hovering to the sides of the main window like holo-displays, though without any apparent projection source. At first, Awen was confused. All she saw was the city’s southern coastline and two close-ups of empty water. But then she watched the Spire burst from the ocean on three different cameras. The starship glistened in the sun like it was on fire, a spray of water exploding as the ocean heaved the vessel from its depths.

A fifth image appeared even farther away. Awen saw the ship as a small creature, climbing away from the southern part of the city. She noticed the library temple up the hill and in the city’s heart, surrounded by buildings. Within seconds, the Spire was even with the temple, and a few seconds after that, she’d doubled the distance.

“Altitude, five hundred meters,” the ship’s voice announced calmly.

Awen clutched her harness straps, willing herself not to black out. She scrunched her eyes shut as the ship’s voice continued to call out the altitude. Visions of the Spire exploding in midair played with the edges of her imagination. She wondered whether, having survived the initial event, she would survive a fall into the ocean. Maybe her acceleration couch had a parachute.

“Altitude, ten thousand meters.”

Awen opened her eyes. She grunted against the constant press until she felt her throat burning. The purple sky darkened, and clouds raced passed her. Then she noticed that the displays showed opposing images, one of the ship growing smaller as it vanished into the atmosphere and another of the city receding to a textured patch protruding from the belly of a large continent. Shouldn’t this be over soon? She wasn’t sure how much more she could take.

“Altitude, twenty thousand meters.”

Ezo yelled something at Awen.

“What?” she asked.

The ship shook as he shouted some more, but she was no closer to understanding him.

“I can’t hear you!”

TO-96 spoke up then, his voice output at a seriously loud setting. “Ezo would like you to know that he is sorry he forgot to pack you a vomit bag.”

Awen laughed and, for the first time, realized she didn’t feel any nausea. She was probably too scared to be sick. She offered Ezo a shaky thumbs-up, her hand straining against gravity’s multiplied pull. It was no use yelling back, as he probably wouldn’t hear her. Ezo winked, his head jostling from side to side.

“Altitude, thirty thousand meters.”

The sky overhead was getting darker, fading to a deep purple. On the displays, Awen saw Ithnor Ithelia’s entire continent as a lush green patch bordered by purplish-blue oceans on three sides. White clouds smeared the scene like a painter’s brush strokes, giving the image a sense of depth.

The Spire climbed higher and faster, surging toward the stratosphere. She wondered how many other species had launched from the planet’s surface and how long ago it had been. Surely, this was the first crew of humanoid life-forms from the protoverse to ever do so—and on a Novian ship, no less!

“Altitude, forty thousand meters.”

The sky was blackening. Or is it my vision? She gritted her teeth as the starship continued to accelerate. She knew that vessels this size were never meant to return to atmosphere and stayed in orbit precisely because of how much energy was required to launch them again—if their structure could even handle such force. Most were built in space. But the Azelon Spire had been in its hangar, sleeping soundly, waiting to surge into the void.

“Altitude, fifty thousand meters.”

Awen wasn’t sure how much more she could take. Her body felt as though it had just been through twelve rounds of a Saratian boxing match. The straps rubbed against her collar bones and hips, buckles digging into her chest and waist. Her muscles were burning, and that stupid sense of nausea was starting to haunt her again.

With a sudden jerk, Awen snapped forward, slamming against her restraints. The air rushed from her lungs.

“Main launch sequence complete,” the ship’s voice said.

Awen gasped. Gone were the violent shaking and the loud roaring. In their place were silence and zero gravity. She watched as her braid floated beside her face. Likewise, her necklace touched just beneath her chin.

“Artificial gravity initiating in ten seconds,” the ship’s voice said.

Awen looked over to see Sootriman’s head tilted sideways. Small bubbles of drool hovered near her lips. She was unconscious but looked to be breathing. It’s probably for the best. There was no sense being awake for the pain of a blaster injury compounded by atmospheric launch.

“Artificial gravity at twenty-five percent.”

Awen felt her necklace touch her chest again.

“Fifty percent.”

Her body was sinking back into her acceleration couch, the extra blood draining from her head.

“Seventy-five percent.” And then, within a matter of seconds, gravity had been restored to normal levels. “Gravity at one hundred percent of normal. Low planetary orbit achieved.”

“Thank you, Azelon,” TO-96 said.

Ezo was out of his straps and moved toward Sootriman. Her chin was on her chest. “You okay, baby?”

“Her body appears to be in shock, sir,” TO-96 said. “I advise we move her to sick bay immediately.”

“Let’s do it, ’Six.”

The robot climbed out of his acceleration couch while Ezo unbuckled Sootriman. TO-96 helped Ezo cradle her—Ezo insisting that he carry her himself. Awen was struck by his sincerity and wondered if Sootriman had been wrong about Ezo’s desire to be alone on an island.

Awen unbuckled herself and was about to follow everyone out of the bridge when the ship’s AI spoke. “TO-96, please be aware that a ship has locked on to our position, approaching from the following coordinates.” A map of the void immediately surrounding the planet appeared in front of the main window. Targeting reticles showed the Spire and a second ship approaching from the other side of the planet. “I will classify the ship as hostile. Please acknowledge.”

“Hostile?” Ezo turned around to examine the display, Sootriman’s head lolling back over his arm. “Why?”

“Idris Ezo, second-in-command,” the AI said. “Weapons and targeting systems have been detected. Shields have been detected. Speed has increased to—”

“Okay, okay, okay, Ezo gets it. They’re hostile.”

“Acknowledged. Would you like me to take evasive measures?”

“Hell, yes!” Ezo said.

“Response unknown.”

TO-96 cleared his throat. “The phrase ‘hell, yes’ is a colloquial expression meant to convey adamant agreement, encouragement, or assent, despite the negative connotation of the modifier.”

“Acknowledged,” the AI said.

“That wasn’t already in your lexicon, ’Six?” Ezo asked.

“It knows what I know, sir. However, it still takes us several years to understand you biological life-forms.”

“Copy that, buddy.” Ezo shook his head. “I still don’t understand myself half the time. Listen, you think the ship’s AI—”

“Her name is Azelon, sir.”

“Fair enough. You think Azelon, here, can walk me through firing up sick bay?”

“Most certainly, sir.”

“Good deal. Then you and Awen stay put and get us outta here.”

“With pleasure, sir.”

Ezo froze. “Oh, and ’Six?”

“Yes, sir?” the bot said.

“Since when did you make me second-in-command?”

The bot straightened his shoulders. “Ah, I am sorry for that, sir. I will gladly—”

“’Cause I think it was a damn good idea. It’s about time anyway.”

TO-96 pulled his head back in astonishment. “Why, thank you, sir.”

“You’re welcome,” Ezo said. “Get to it.”

TO-96 turned back to face the main screen as warning indicators illuminated, signifying weapons systems on the enemy ship. He made a show of cracking his knuckles and walked toward the captain’s chair. “Let us blast these sons of unmarried female dogs out of the void.”

26

Magnus watched as a violent battle broke out on the ramparts. His eyes zoomed in on the action as if he was standing ten meters away. Despite the fact that Basket Case was still hurtling toward the doors at breakneck speeds, his eyes kept perfect focus and brought everything to him in vivid detail.

“They’re Tawnhack, aren’t they?” he said to Abimbola.

“Indeed they are.”

Jujari bodies clicked with one another in a colossal display of carnage. Claws raked faces, gouged eyes, and tore at soft tissue. Mouths clamped down on necks, shoulders, and arms. Bodies wrestled against walls, pairs of them tumbling off the ramparts and falling a hundred meters to the hard-packed dirt.

“I thought you said Rohoar was only sending twenty.”

“I did. Those are the ones he sent for free, to cover the rear of our column during the advance.”

For free. Magnus figured it out. “But you hired more. Poker chips.”

“You are learning, buckethead. Gambling is currency.”

“So you knew we’d egress to the west all along.”

“Not necessarily. It was just one option.”

Magnus whistled. “You must’ve paid them a pretty chip.”

“You could say that. But do not tell my secret.”

Magnus pulled back from the gruesome spectacle unfolding above them to focus on Abimbola. “And what’s that?”

“I print my own.”

* * *

“Next problem,” Magnus said. “I don’t see that gate opening. And I see plenty of Selskrit looking for some action when we slow.”

“It is not a problem. But it is going to get intense.”

“You mean…”

“Yes, we must wait for them to open the gate.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“No.” Abimbola reached under his seat and handed Magnus three more energy mags. “You might want these.”

“Thanks.”

Abimbola pulled the BFT6 Tigress from his thigh and racked a charge. The thing was menacing. Its square receiver opened just wide enough for the pistol grip and had cooling slots down the top of the extended barrel. Abimbola used it more like a sidearm than a blaster—at least, that was how it looked in his large hand. “Time to go hunting for some dinner.”

Magnus didn’t like the prospect of eating a Jujari, even as a joke, but the idea of dinner brought saliva to his mouth. Just make it to your next meal, Marine. It was another of the Recon’s unofficial mantras for when splick got bad. Keeping such a basic goal in sight had a way of connecting Marines to the fine art of staying alive.

Abimbola slowed the skiff as it approached the wall, the gate towering high above them. They moved into the structure’s shadow as Selskrit started filling in from the side streets. This was about as crazy as Magnus could imagine things getting. The hair on the back of his neck stood up as howls and cackles went up on all sides.

“These plates will hold against their attack, right?” Magnus asked.

“For a while.”

Magnus nodded. “Great. Just great.”

Abimbola raised the skiff as high as the thrusters would allow him, but Magnus had a feeling the height wouldn’t matter much, at least not for long. The Selskrit ran at them, and Magnus felt his rear end pucker. Mouths sneered, ears lay down flat, and snarls echoed around the convoy.

All down the street, blasters, turrets, and missile banks opened fire on the approaching enemy. Magnus held his MAR30 up between slats and squeezed his trigger. Bursts of blaster bolts lanced Jujari who reached for Basket Case. Heads snapped, paws flipped backward, and shoulders buckled.

Magnus selected Wide Displacement, adjusted the wave frequency to medium, and squeezed. The weapon ingested the needed power then belched. The power wave divested several combatants of their heads, arms, and torsos but sent the majority colliding with those behind them. The heap of bodies writhed as more Jujari took the places of those who’d fallen, trampling them underfoot.

Magnus shuddered at how ravenous the Selskrit were—their bloodlust was driving them mad. He fired several more times into the crowd, but not even his MAR30 could keep the horde at bay. At least four Selskrit climbed onto the skiff and placed their fingers between the metal window slats. Others pounded on the plates. Of the most concern, however, were those who stuck blaster barrels into openings. Magnus moved away from the weapons’ sight windows then shot at them point-blank. Blasters exploded backward, pummeling their possessors with shrapnel and burning their flesh. Wrists shattered, elbows crushed, and shoulders dislodged. The shrieks of injured and dying Selskrit were just as deafening as those who rallied the advance.

Magnus continued to fire on the Jujari who stood on the Basket Case. Their bodies were so numerous that the compartment grew dark. Several metal welds started to give way, bars and slats bending under the Jujari’s terrific strength. Magnus fired and fired and fired, striking flesh with bolt after bolt, but no sooner would one combatant fall than another would take its place. Despite the constant barrage of turret fire, the convoy was quickly losing the battle. Abimbola’s skiff was sinking under the weight, which only encouraged more assailants to climb aboard.

Magnus was reaching for another energy mag when Abimbola handed him one, saying, “Last one. Make it count.”

Last one? This wasn’t looking good. “How soon before those gates open?”

“I do not know,” Abimbola said.

“Not even a guess?” Magnus had loaded the new mag and was dispensing its contents with extreme prejudice. Several Selskrit snouts snapped between the gaps they’d opened in the slats. Magnus was determined to make them taste hot blaster fire.

“They will open it when they open it.”

“Fabulous.” Magnus’s sarcasm dripped down the skiff’s interior like rivulets of Jujari blood.

When his MAR30 went dry, Magnus pulled out his Z and started firing. The pistol bucked in his hands, sending blaster bolts into Jujari flesh dangerously close.

“LT,” Dutch said over comms. Magnus could sense the strain in her voice at once.

“Go ahead.”

“We’re out of mags back here.”

As if prompted by her words, Magnus’s Z also went dry. He reached into his chest plate and withdrew his duradex combat knife. “Then find something to stab them with.”

“Copy that.”

Magnus started swiping, stabbing, and cutting anything that came inside. The gaps between slats were big enough that whole arms were getting through. He severed fingers and wrists and even cut a forearm in two. His eyes tracked every limb—connected or severed—displaying targets as fast as Magnus could swipe at them.

By that point, Magnus and Abimbola were trapped beneath dozens of rabid Jujari, each bent on slicing them to ribbons. Abimbola had two blades of his own and was cutting and slashing like a Kinshawan chef at a performance restaurant. Between the two of them, the entire cab was bathed in hot blood.

Severed veins sent crimson streams shooting across the skiff’s interior, splattering the dice hanging from Abimbola’s rearview mirror and soaking the seats. Magnus hacked furiously, inflicting wounds that—if left untreated—would bleed out even the most ardent warrior in less than a minute. The heart was a powerful pump—all it needed was a place to release pressure.

Covered in blood and panting from exhaustion, Magnus lost his grip on his knife. It clattered to the floorboard. He ducked under the wayward swipe of a clawed paw and reached for the blade. The handle was sticky with congealing blood. Still, he squeezed it and sat upright again.

The skiff rocked back and forth under the assault. The drive core whined as it struggled to stay aloft under so much weight. Magnus knew if that gate didn’t open in the next few seconds, this entire op would be over.

As if summoned by his desperate thoughts, a howl went up from somewhere overhead. Then a rumble bellowed from somewhere deep in the city, so low that is shook Magnus’s gut. He knew this sound. He remembered it from the mwadim’s palace before the ambush.

“The desert shofaree,” Abimbola said, wiping blood from his face. “Horns of the deep.”

It took a second, but eventually, the Selskrit on the skiff stopped attacking and looked up. High above them, Magnus could make out the pack of Tawnhack raising their keeltari swords in defiance.

“Well, what d’ya know,” Magnus said, soaked in blood and offal. A new low-frequency rumble came from the gate as the doors began to open.

“You seem surprised.” Abimbola wiped his blades across his shirt and shoved them back in their sheaths.

“It’s because I am. Hey”—he pointed at Abimbola’s knives—“you done fighting or something?”

Abimbola tilted his head at Magnus. “Yes, and so are you.”

“I don’t follow.”

“The Jujari have some unique battle customs, one of which is yielding to a strong show of force. The Tawnhack just bested the Selskrit on the gate.” The warlord nodded toward the ramparts. “It was an easily defendable position, but the Selskrit lost it. As an acknowledgement of honor, the remaining Selskrit stand down.”

“Even though the Selskrit still outnumber them on the ground?” Magnus asked.

“Correct. It is not about numbers; it is about honor.”

Magnus looked out the front window and watched the Jujari leap from the skiff. “Well, how do you like that.”

“I like it very much.”

“As do I.” Magnus shoved his blade back in its sheath. “As do I.”

* * *

The convoy passed between the massive stone doors and drove toward the open desert. Magnus marveled at their luck. One minute, they were seconds away from being eviscerated; the next, they were cruising effortlessly into the wastes outside Oosafar.

“Lord Abimbola,” someone said over comms.

“Go ahead,” the giant replied.

“This is Titus, picking up the rear. Seems we have a problem.”

Abimbola began to slow the Basket Case. “What is it?”

“Fighting has resumed on the ramparts, and we still got three skiffs that haven’t cleared.”

“Come again, Titus?”

“The Selskrit—they’re attacking the Tawnhack above the gate, and they’ve cut off our exit.”

“Dammit.” Abimbola threw the skiff into a sliding turn. The western gate came back into view along with the rest of the convoy.

“I guess they changed their minds about doing the honorable thing today,” Magnus said.

“It would seem so.” Abimbola crushed the pedal to the floor, and the skiff lurched forward. “Get ready to light that gate up, Marauders! I want heavy suppression.”

“What are you going to do?” Magnus asked.

Abimbola glanced over at him then back at the gate.

“You don’t know yet, do you,” Magnus said.

“No. Any ideas, buckethead?”

Magnus cracked his neck. “And just when I thought we were home free.” He sighed and studied the situation unfolding before them. The gate was still open, but the ground in between had filled with Selskrit, their numbers growing rapidly. Up on the ramparts, more Selskrit were filling in from either side, putting pressure on the smaller Tawnhack force in the center. “How many skiffs you think we can fit between the doors?”

“As in, side to side?”

“Yeah.”

Abimbola leaned forward and squinted. The gate was coming up fast. “Four.”

“Then let’s jam the four strongest in there. They will—”

“They will keep the doors from closing and provide covering fire long enough for my trapped Marauders to make a break for cover. I like the way you think, buckethead! That is ballsy.”

Magnus chuckled. “Whatever you say, Bimby.”

Abimbola called out to three other skiffs and shared the plan. They acknowledged his orders, and Magnus saw the identified skiffs break from formation.

They were only a few hundred meters from the gate when blaster fire started pinging off Hell’s Basket Case. The M109 belched out rounds as they closed the distance, sand spraying up in plumes as Jujari blew apart. The three other skiffs slid up to the Basket Case’s right and left as Abimbola began slowing. Magnus heard the whine of the MUT50 and the steady whoosh, whoosh, whoosh of the 70mm RBMB spewing out missiles.

Within moments, there was enough room cleared for the four skiffs to nose into the gap. Their combined firepower served like a sandbag dam that held floodwaters at bay. Slowly, the enemy fell away from the stranded skiffs until the vehicles sat like boulders amidst a tidal pool of Selskrit corpses.

“Are you ready to make a run for it, Titus?” Abimbola yelled over comms. Blaster fire continued to be exchanged as the skiff pilots acknowledged their leader. “Good. On my mark. Those of you in the breach, prepare to—”

Abimbola was cut off when the gate doors closed on the skiffs, pushing the vehicles into one another. Magnus was jarred, his head hitting the side of the passenger door—not enough to knock him out but enough to give him a decent-sized bump. He heard the drive core strain to keep the skiff from tipping too far. The sound of girding metal filled the cab as the skiffs jostled against one another.

“Screw this,” Abimbola said. “Full auto! Titus, it is now or never!”

“Roger that!”

The fours skiffs’ weapons’ systems went frenetic as they tore into the Selskrit ranks. The melee was absolutely deafening, the display of firepower… awe-inspiring. Magnus knew that the guns were tired; they wouldn’t be able to keep this up for long. Still, the skiffs put up one hell of a fight, turrets strafing left, then right, then back again on the encroaching enemy lines.

Magnus saw at least a dozen Marauders jump down from the stranded skiffs and duck as they crossed the distance toward the gate. Renewed blaster fire erupted from the Selskrit as they noticed the new targets. Magnus felt utterly helpless without a blaster, unable to fire on those who were shooting at Titus and his men. His eyes selected targets as if he still had a functional weapon. All he could do was watch.

One Marauder took an enemy blaster round between the shoulder blades, thrown to the ground like a rag doll. Another was hit in the shoulder—spinning him one way—and then the other shoulder, spinning him back. A third Marauder was struck in the knee and then the side. He’d crumpled to the ground when a third shot struck him square in the top of the head, drilling a ten-centimeter hole in his skull.

The Marauder who was bringing up the rear hesitated.

“Leave them!” Abimbola ordered over comms. “They are dead!”

The man snapped back to motion and ran for the skiffs. That’s a good soldier, Magnus thought. It was probably Titus.

The survivors raced at full speed toward the skiffs. At the last second, they dropped under the front bumpers and slid beneath. Magnus knew the repulsers wouldn’t hurt them—hiding beneath skiffs was a common tactic taught in boot camp—though these Marauders would have a killer headache for a few days.

Sensing the imminent retreat, the Selskrit began a suicidal press forward.

“Are they insane?” Magnus asked Abimbola over comms.

“They hate to lose.”

Just then, the M109 went silent.

“She’s out!” the gunner said.

“Dammit.” Abimbola pounded his fist on the dashboard.

At the same time, the Basket Case lurched and shoved up and over the side of the skiff beside it. The vehicles’ drive cores were no match for the powerful city gates. Magnus was sitting on top of his passenger-side window as the monstrous doors squeezed the skiffs together.

“There’s no way we’re backing out of this,” Magnus said.

“Everyone out!” The giant threw open his driver’s-side door—now a roof hatch—and climbed out. A big black hand appeared above Magnus’s head, and he took it. Abimbola lifted Magnus through the cab and helped him stand. Blaster fire ricocheted off the Basket Case, splattering Magnus’s armor with molten metal.

Abimbola yanked the door off the M109 turret and pulled the gunner out. Two more men leaped from the cargo bay and ran toward the convoy no more than three hundred meters away. Titus and his Marauders had finished their crawl and were on their feet, retreating in the same direction.

Magnus looked over at the skiff with the MUT50 as the barrels seized up with a loud kuh-thunk.

“Come on!” Abimbola yelled. “No more heroes! Get clear of the skiffs! Get back to the convoy!”

Magnus, Abimbola, and the gunner all jumped off Hell’s Basket Case and started running. The other Marauders dismounted and joined them as they fell back.

Within seconds, the four skiffs were overrun by Selskrit. They crawled over the vehicles like Nizwick acid ants on ramble rat corpses.

Magnus ducked as the Selskrit opened fire. Sand erupted in plumes all around him as he beat his way back to the line. With clear targets to shoot, the convoy began returning fire. The convoy skiffs—spread out in a wide crescent—focused their collective fire on the gate’s mouth—and gave them hell.

“Hey, buckethead,” Abimbola said, getting Magnus’s attention. Magnus glanced over at him as they ran, blaster fire zipping over their heads. “Watch this.” The giant raised a small detonator in his hand and pressed the button with his thumb. At the same time, he looked over his shoulder, as did Magnus.

A violent explosion ripped Hell’s Basket Case apart, sending fire and chunks of metal into the Selskrit ranks. Magnus covered his head as the shock wave kicked him in the gut. The three other skiffs bucked under the force, generating secondary explosions in quick succession. The blasts tore holes in the doors and sent Jujari bodies flying in all directions.

“Boom, boom,” Abimbola said with a wide grin of satisfaction. He turned back to his retreating men. “Mount any skiff that has room!”

Magnus slowed as he approached the nearest skiff. Three Marauders waited to board just ahead of him. Feeling he was beyond the Jujari’s effective range, Magnus turned to examine the wall. Abimbola’s scuttled skiffs were keeping the Selskrit at bay, at least for the present. But it wouldn’t be long before they started climbing over the flaming wreckage. Another battle, however, was unfolding on the ramparts and drew Magnus’s attention toward it. His eyes zoomed in on the action.

A small group of Tawnhack swung swords and fired blasters against a seemingly endless supply of Selskrit that closed from both directions along the wall. The fighting was brutal. Claws swung, digging into flesh, while jaws snapped, closing on limbs, shoulders, and necks. A fine mist of blood and hair hovered over the wall as Jujari hacked one another to death.

Suddenly, a Tawnhack pitched backward, toppled over the half wall, and hurtled toward the ground. As if in slow motion, the shoulders of the warrior appeared—painted red.

It was the mwadim’s blood wolf—the one who’d greeted them at the tower mere hours ago. Did he really volunteer for this mission, or did the mwadim order him to go?

The blood wolf hit the ground. Sand shot up from the impact. Magnus held his breath, sure that the Tawnhack had died from the fall. “Please just be dead,” he whispered, willing the beast not to move. The scenario put a knot in Magnus’s stomach that he knew would only come undone one way. “You’re dead, right? Just be dead.”

The Tawnhack raised a paw in an attempt to ward off the Selskrit emerging from the gate.

“For all the mystics!” Before Magnus could change his mind, he tucked his sunglasses away, threw his spent MAR30 inside the closet skiff, and took off at a run. “Cover me!”

“What?” Abimbola asked.

“Cover me, dammit!”

“For the love of the gods, what are you doing, buckethead?”

“Trying to live up to my name! Now, start shooting at something!”

Abimbola swore as he gave orders to the convoy to cover Magnus. The skiffs sent a renewed volley of fire into the gate as more Selskrit appeared. But Magnus wasn’t fazed. He kept pumping his arms and legs despite how they screamed at him.

These moments, Magnus thought… These are the ones that count. He sucked in air and pushed it out with disciplined control. This is what it all comes down to.

Blaster fire crisscrossed overhead. He was committed now, out in the middle of the danger area without any cover. If anything went wrong, that was it. No second chances. No opportunities to regroup. For a split second, Magnus marveled at how utterly stupid he was. He could die at any second. All it would take was one stray blaster round to the head, and it would all be over.

The realization of how much peril he’d just put himself in sent a new jolt of adrenaline into his bloodstream. Time slowed as he raced across the open ground. His eyes tracked blaster rounds. His ears heard animalistic screams. His nose smelled burnt flesh. His skin felt sand grains pelting it. His tongue tasted the salt in his beard. Then his inner self spoke in oddly poetic prose. These are the moments you train for but are never ready for. You have to embrace them when they come and hope to all the mystics that you’ve done enough. This is what you were born to do.

A blaster round glanced off his right shin and knocked the leg out from under him. Magnus tumbled head over heels through the sand. It burned his eyes and filled his mouth. He coughed then struggled back to his feet.

“You are the craziest damn son of a bitch I have ever met. You know that, right?” Abimbola said in Magnus’s ear.

Magnus responded with a grunt. He neared the downed blood wolf, who was now crawling toward him. “Hey there, ugly,” Magnus said. He was out of breath, but adrenaline made up for the lack of air. “Time to get you out of here.”

27

Awen watched in awe as TO-96 assumed control of the Azelon Spire. He strode to the centermost acceleration couch, sat down, and began sliding his arms through the restraints. Then he stretched out his arms as spheres of orange light appeared around his hands. Blue lines seemed to designate axes, orientation, momentum, and direction. Then, with a sudden twitch of his head, TO-96’s Unity-connected AI seemed to marry with the ship’s AI to create what Awen could only suspect was the most hyper-intelligent super-starship in the universe. Universes, she corrected herself.

“I suggest you sit down, Awen,” TO-96 said.

“Right.” She snapped out of her trance and returned to her chair then secured the harness once more, the straps touching already tender spots on her torso. “All set.”

“And you, Ezo,” TO-96 said, hailing him through the ship’s comm. A small holo-display appeared beside the command chair. Awen could see Ezo blinking at the camera light.

“What is it, ’Six?”

“Are you and Sootriman secure, sir?”

“She’s strapped down on the medical bed, and I’m buckled in. I think it’s diagnosed her. Something’s already been administered.”

“Good to hear. Please stand by for evasive maneuvers.”

The holo-display vanished. Then the ship lurched as TO-96 moved his hands, rotating them through the orange spheres as if performing some sort of strange dance move. Multiple images appear across the main window, depicting the Azelon Spire from numerous perspectives—as seen by the nearby planet, the enemy ship, and the greater solar system. Other displays showed long-range-sensor scans of the enemy ship as data and images streamed across the bridge.

Awen doubted TO-96 needed all these screens, given his integration with the ship. She guessed they were there simply to serve her or any other biological sentient being on the bridge—and they did that task extremely well. The visual tapestry was awe-inspiring. Her eyes moved from panel to panel as they hovered in layers around the main window.

“You feeling pretty confident about this, then, Ninety-Six?” she asked.

“I am indeed, Awen. Azelon’s responsiveness is unprecedented when compared to any starship in our galaxy.”

“Nice.” Her eyes flitted across the images of the enemy ship, which seemed to be some sort of Republic vessel. The ship looked like a blunt-tipped arrowhead, and its body was adorned with stabilizers. Glowing thrust cones shot from sleek cowlings that looked like talons extending from its hull. “What kind of ship is that?”

“It is definitely a Republic destroyer, Awen. Raider class. The designation number on its hull does not correspond with any known vessel.”

“How is that even possible?”

“There are a few explanations,” the bot said.

“Any that might suggest it’s actually friendly and just being cautious with its weapons systems?”

“Most certainly not.”

“Captain,” Azelon said, “the enemy ship is attempting to hail us.”

“Bring it up,” TO-96 said.

The image of a high-ranking human officer in a Republic-style navy uniform filled the front window—his head at least five times its actual size. Awen winced at the sheer size and brightness of the image.

“Unknown vessel,” the officer said without offering his name, rank, or command. “Cut your engines, lower your shields, and prepare to be boarded.”

TO-96 flicked his index finger. A small icon appeared in the lower portion of the display, showing the bot’s ovoid face and glowing eyes. “Unknown vessel,” he replied. “No.”

The officer jerked his head back. Awen wasn’t sure if the reaction was from seeing a navigation bot at the helm or from TO-96’s curt reply. The man attempted again, this time in a slightly more strained voice. “Unknown vessel, I order you to cut your engines, lower your shields, and prepare to be boarded.”

TO-96 turned in his chair and looked back at Awen. “Is his head too big?”

“What?” She looked between the bot and the officer.

“I said, do you think his head is too big? I feel as though seeing something so unnaturally large is quite imposing and gives him an undue sense of power that is disproportionate to his actual station.”

“Ninety-Six, is now really the time?”

“I believe it is the perfect time. Here, watch this.” TO-96 looked toward the window again. Suddenly, the image of the officer shrank to the size of a small data pad and floated a meter from TO-96’s torso. “There. That is so much better. Look how cute he is.”

“Unknown vessel!” The officer was spitting mad.

“Bye-bye.” TO-96 flicked the image away with a thumb and forefinger, and it vanished. “He was annoying me.”

“Shouldn’t we try to talk to him?” Awen asked, both amused and bewildered by TO-96.

“Negative. They mean to kill us—that’s all we need to know.”

“And so… you’re pretty sure they won’t be a problem, then?”

“They will not be a problem, Awen.”

Something flashed under the ship’s hull.

“What about those?” Awen pointed at three projectiles that shot forward.

“Torpedoes fired,” Azelon said. Red targeting reticles appeared onscreen, circling the incoming munitions. “Time to impact, twenty-one seconds.”

“Ninety-Six?” Awen asked, suddenly tense.

“Attempting to compromise the munitions,” the bot reported.

She looked back and forth between the three torpedoes and TO-96. “Compromise? That’s a good thing, right?”

“For us, yes.” Then the bot said in a playful singsong tone, “But not for them.”

“Time to impact, five seconds.”

“Ninety-Six!”

“Munitions acquired,” Azelon said. “Impact avoided.”

“There we are,” TO-96 said, as chipper as someone out on a morning walk greeting his neighbors. The targeting reticles around the torpedoes changed from red to purple. Then each projectile veered off course.

“Wait. Munitions acquired?” Awen asked. “Did you… are you controlling them now?”

“Indeed, I am, Awen. And my, how maneuverable they are. The Republic has certainly made several improvements to their latest iteration. Watch.”

The purple reticles tracked the torpedoes into giant loops and sweeping barrel rolls. The bot even seemed to be drawing some sort of design with one of them.

“You’re doing all that?” Awen couldn’t believe her eyes. “With your connection to the Novia?”

“Indeed. Is it not fun?”

“I’m not sure fun is exactly the word I would use to describe it. Can we play later? Let’s take care of that ship first.”

“As you wish, Awen.”

The torpedoes’ paths straightened out and then converged on the enemy ship from three different angles of attack.

“Time to impact, fifteen seconds,” Azelon reported.

“You’re going to disable it?” Awen asked.

“If by disable you mean obliterate, then yes.”

“’Six! What about the people on board? Can’t you just—I don’t know—scuttle it or something?”

“Awen, the chance of their crew surviving beyond a week in this solar system after their engines have been disabled is approximately one billion, three hundred eighty million, six—”

“It’s a lot! I get it! But is there any other way?”

“I am sorry to say that I have already calculated the most ‘humane way,’ as you would say, to terminate the enemy, and this is it.”

Awen stared at the display as the three torpedoes converged on the enemy ship. There was a white blast of light followed by several internal explosions, each of which snuffed out in seconds. Large pieces of the ship spun away from each other as a dense cloud of debris expanded in every direction. It was over in less than five seconds.

“Target terminated,” Azelon reported.

Awen sat in her couch, squeezing its arms. She heard herself breathing forcefully then tried to control her breathing. She relaxed her body and melted into the oversized padding. All those lives. Snuffed out in a flash of light. She wondered how many they’d just killed—wondered what planets they called home and if they’d known, when they woke up for their day’s shift, that it would be their last. How many more were asleep and never saw it coming? Perhaps that is a strange mercy.

She rubbed her hands over her face, suddenly aware of just how tired she was. The past few hours were a blur. Was it really only this morning that I entered the Unity again and discovered the QTG? And now here we are, fleeing the system and about to head home.

“How far are we from the tunnel?” she asked TO-96.

“Less than thirty minutes, Awen.”

“And no other ships?”

“None detected, no.”

She reached up and unbuckled her harness. “Let me know when we’re getting close. I’m going to check on Sootriman and Ezo.”

“As you wish, Awen.”

“Oh, and Ninety-Six?” She turned to look at him. “Thank you. For saving us back there. I know you did what was best.”

“It is my pleasure to protect you, Awen. You are most welcome.”

* * *

There were no buttons in the elevator—it was all controlled entirely by voice communication with the ship’s AI. It felt strange to Awen, but it made sense. Why use antiquated technology when superior technology was available?

“You have arrived at deck four, section seven, Awen,” Azelon said as the elevator slowed to a stop. “Serving sick bay.” The doors parted, and Awen stepped out.

“Thank you…” Awen wasn’t sure if she was supposed to reply or not, but she did it anyway. Just in case. It never hurts to be extra kind to an AI.

The gleaming white hallway was evenly lit and curved to the right.

Azelon spoke again. “Seventeen meters, second bay on your right, Awen.” Dotted blue lights appeared in the floor, designating a walking path.

“Thank you, Azelon,” Awen said, more comfortably this time.

“You’re welcome.”

Apparently, she was listening after all. And watching.

Awen walked along the glossy floor, following the blue lights. She turned to face the door, and it slid open with a soft whoosh. A transparent wall separated the entry room from the rest of sick bay, which was laid out in an octagonal pattern. Individual operating suites filled each side, lined with sleek screens and ceiling-mounted sensors.

Ezo was standing over Sootriman in one of the darkened rooms. She appeared to be sleeping. Her clothes had been removed, and her hair was gathered in a bun. White elastic-like fabric covered her breasts and groin. The woman’s body floated in midair, encircled by a dozen rings of light that reflected in Ezo’s eyes. The halos rotated slowly, each one radiating into Sootriman’s flesh. Thousands of tags with Novia script protruded from the rings, rotating with the halos while remaining horizontal to the observer. The characters appeared to change, constantly updating.

Awen moved around the wall and into the octagonal space. She approached Ezo so as not to startle him. Ezo looked up at her with glassy eyes.

“How is she?” Awen asked.

Ezo shrugged. “Can’t say.” His voice was tight. He ran a hand through his hair. “The ship started doing this as soon as the launch was finished. All sorts of Novia writing—diagnostics or something. Ezo doesn’t know. Not a clue.”

“Hey.” Awen moved beside Ezo and placed an arm around him. “It’s going to be okay, Ezo.”

“How do you know?”

“I’ve got a feeling about it. All this…” She gestured to the wondrous sight in front of them. “The Novia, they know what they’re doing. They’re not going to let her die.”

“I sure hope so.” Without warning, Ezo put his arm around Awen and leaned his head on top of hers. Her heart warmed. Then she felt something warm and wet touch the top of her scalp. A tear, she supposed.

They stood there, arm in arm, for several minutes as the glowing rings continued to rotate around Sootriman’s body. Even in unconsciousness, she was beautiful. The woman’s deeply tanned skin, long black hair, and large gorgeous body made Awen never want to see her frail self naked again. This woman—this warrior goddess—had become her friend. Awen hated that Sootriman had been shot and that something permanently bad might have happened to her. But Awen meant what she’d said: she believed the Novia would make the woman well again.

“You still love her, don’t you, Idris?”

She felt Ezo lift his head off hers—maybe because she’d used his first name. She’d never done that before.

Ezo took in a long, slow breath. “I do. As much as we fought, as much as we disagreed, there’s still something about her that I just… I don’t know. I can’t explain.”

“With that divorce filing, did you really forget to pay your taxes?”

She felt him laugh before she heard the sound. “Maybe not as much as I let on.” He ran a sleeve across his cheek. “She was there for me when… after the war was over, she was all I had.”

“She shared some of your story with me.”

He nodded.

“Now it seems that you’re all she has.” Awen paused then pulled away to look up at him. “You want to know how I really know she’s going to be okay?”

“How?”

“Because you’re still standing here.”

Another tear slid down his cheek. “Thanks,” he said and pulled her into an embrace.

“Hey, listen. You keep doing this sort of thing, and you’re bound to lose your reputation as a hardened criminal.”

They laughed together. “Seems we’d better keep this to ourselves, then,” Ezo said.

“Your secret’s safe with me.”

“I won’t tell anyone either,” TO-96’s voice said over the room’s speakers.

“Dammit, ’Six!”

* * *

Awen left Ezo with Sootriman and turned left out of sick bay. She walked toward the elevator, her heart filled with the prospect of going home. TO-96 had informed her and Ezo, over the sick-bay speakers, that they were nearing the quantum tunnel.

“It’s time to return home,” the bot said.

The words made her smile. Ezo grinned, too, though he was still melancholy as he looked at Sootriman.

“She’s going to be all right,” Awen had insisted again. “Trust me.”

She rode the elevator toward the bridge, lost in thought. It had taken over three months to reach this moment, and in truth, she’d thought it would never come. But none of that mattered. It was worth the wait.

She felt the elevator slow. A soft chime played above her, then Azelon said, “You have arrived at the bridge, Awen.” When the elevator doors opened, Awen gasped. Someone she’d never seen before was standing next to TO-96.

28

Surprisingly, the Tawnhack didn’t fight Magnus’s offer of assistance. Instead, he used Magnus to gain his feet. It took all of Magnus’s remaining strength not to buckle under the Jujari’s considerable weight. He felt like an adolescent trying to give an adult a lopsided piggyback ride.

Burdened by the Jujari, Magnus felt like the convoy was twice as far away as it really was. Blaster fire peppered the ground, striking less than a meter in front of him. Other shots zipped by Magnus’s ears, making the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He gasped, inadvertently inhaling a deep breath of the Jujari’s body odor.

“Mystics, you stink!” Magnus said, his head wedged in the blood wolf’s armpit. The Jujari looked down at him, seeming to register the comment, but neither of them had time for a discussion.

Magnus noted that the convoy was advancing toward them. The skiffs’ return fire had also picked up. He dared not look back; he could only hope that the Selskrit were in retreat.

Then, without warning, his legs gave out. Magnus hit the ground as the Jujari toppled over him. His head and face were buried in the hot sand as the beast forced all the air out of his lungs. He tried to wiggle free, suddenly feeling claustrophobic, but it was no use.

The Jujari grunted. With an arduous moan, it rolled off of him. Magnus gasped. He blinked sand out of his eyes and pushed himself up. “Let’s not do that again.”

The pair were back on their feet again, but the blood wolf was moving more slowly. The beast must have been shot, maybe even several times. Magnus knew from experience that the Jujari could take several hits before going down. Heck, maybe I’ve been shot too but have so much adrenaline in my system that I won’t feel it for at least another minute.

The Jujari’s body stench was enough to make Magnus want to vomit. Blood, sweat, and offal was a powerful combination. Still, the pair lumbered forward toward the convoy, now not more than a dozen meters away. Magnus felt the Tawnhack pick up the pace as they neared. Hope must have lit a fire in the beast’s belly.

“Just a few more steps,” Magnus said in encouragement.

“Well, do not just sit there!” Abimbola said over comms. “Help that buckethead out!”

Marauders piled out of the two nearest skiffs and ran around to the front, helping relieve Magnus of his burden. He accepted the help with gratitude and looked back at the Jujari, catching his eye. There, in that moment, Magnus saw something he’d never seen from the warrior race before: gratitude.

“Let me know when you are loaded, buckethead!” Abimbola said.

Magnus turned and saw that the Selskrit had broken through the gate and were spreading out, using the compromised skiffs as cover. They were actually pushing them!

“Come on, Marine,” someone said from inside the nearest vehicle. Magnus turned. It was Titus, the man from the stranded skiffs. “We’ve got room for one more.” He offered Magnus a hand.

“Thanks, Marauder,” Magnus said, clasping the man’s forearm in a smack of dust.

“No, thank you.”

* * *

“You fought well today, buckethead,” Abimbola said with a smile. The two of them sat in the cab of a new skiff that Abimbola had commandeered. The dried blood on their bodies filled the compartment with the scent of rust. The warlord’s black skin had turned a reddish brown from it, while Magnus’s armor was caked in the stuff. His MAR30 and Z were going to need serious baths.

“And that crazy thing you did back there for that Tawnhack?” Abimbola whistled. “Mama. You in for something big after that, I tell you what. You fought very well. Very well.”

Magnus didn’t know what the warlord meant by that last part, but he appreciated the words of encouragement—though he doubted he would be free of sarcastic remarks for long.

“In fact,” Abimbola continued, “I think you fought better than any Marine I have ever seen.”

Magnus was surprised at what seemed to be yet another genuine compliment. “Thanks, Bimby.” He was about to return it when Abimbola continued.

“But you were not fighting me, of course. I have killed every Marine I have ever fought.”

And there’s the backhand. Magnus knew it couldn’t have been a full compliment. He chuckled. “Then I’m glad I wasn’t fighting you.”

“Because you would have lost.”

“I’m sure I would have.”

Abimbola took a long breath and shifted his weight in his seat. Silence filled the cab, sustained by the sounds of the drive core and the wind.

“Thank you for helping me,” Magnus finally offered.

“Like I said, all we wanted was—”

“To kill Selskrit. I know, I know. But you could have done that anywhere in the Western Heights. Instead, you and your Marauders helped us rescue some of our people. So, thank you.”

Abimbola looked at Magnus then turned back to the road. “You are welcome, buckethead.”

Magnus watched the sand race by. “Rix… is he gonna be okay?”

“My medic said he will survive.”

“Good, good.” Magnus looked out the passenger side window. “He fought well out there.”

“I am sure he did. He is one of my best. And the bucketheads you rescued—are they some of your best?”

Magnus nodded. “Flow and Chico are two of my best operators, yes. The captain is a legend in our battalion.”

“So you rescued your people’s heroes, which makes you a hero too.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“Where I come from, if you save the savior, you become the savior.”

“Interesting concept.”

“It is not a concept,” Abimbola said. “It is the way of the universe.”

Magnus met the warlord’s eyes. Everyone was entitled to their own view. But he had to admit, that concept had a certain prestige to it. In the Repub, if you saved your CO’s ass, all you got was a handshake and a good old, “Let’s keep this between us.” If some unlucky private was dumb enough to report the incident, having seen it firsthand and all, maybe you got a medal—and the private got demoted to where all demoted privates go: back home.

“So who did you save?” Magnus asked.

“What?”

“You’re the big boss around here. Which savior did you save?”

The warlord shook his head. “It does not work like that here.”

“Oh?”

“Here, the only person you save is yourself. And if you live long enough to have allies, you try to save them too. You must become the strongest person you know, or else you die.”

“Rough way to live,” Magnus said.

“Yes, buckethead. Rough way to live.”

Sand pelted Magnus’s face as they drove through a small desert dust swirl. “So, why’d you let us go, really?”

“Let who go? When?” Abimbola glanced at him.

“Awen and me. Back when we first met. You said it yourself—you kill every Marine you square off with. But you let us go because of Awen. I’d like to know why.”

Abimbola worked his jaw. “That is between—”

“You and her. Maybe part of it. But you and I just spilled blood together. Where I come from, that means we have something in common now. We may still be enemies, but we stared death in the face together, and we lived to talk about it.”

“That means something where I come from too.” Abimbola sighed. “Her grandparents…” His eyes glazed over as his hands kept steering the skiff. “They gave their lives to protect me.”

“Awen’s?” Magnus furrowed his brow, trying to sort through the implications. “Wait—where? On Limbia Centrella?”

Abimbola nodded.

“You’re saying there were Elonians on Limbia Centrella?”

“Indeed.”

There was another long pause. Magnus’s curiosity was really piqued by this point. Awen’s species had a long history of sticking to themselves. Some called them elitists; others called them aloof. So far as Magnus could tell, Awen had probably defied her parents—maybe her entire planet—by leaving to join the Luma. Elonians just didn’t do that sort of thing, at least not that he’d ever heard of. Joining the Luma was one thing, but going to a planet like Limbia Centrella would be unheard-of.

“Why would Elonians ever go there?” Magnus suddenly realized his tone could have been more tactful. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“They had come to heal our people. When I was a boy, our world was attacked.”

“A simikon invasion or something, right?”

“Yes. The insects also brought a blight with them,” Abimbola said. “A plague.”

“I remember reading something about that once. I don’t remember much.”

“I remember everything.”

Magnus pursed his lips, feeling the fool. Tighten it up, Magnus. “I can’t begin to imagine what that must’ve been like.”

“No, I suppose you cannot.” Abimbola absentmindedly touched the scar on his face. “The insects wiped out two continents before we were able to stop them. The Republic”—he spoke the word from between his teeth—“were called in to help us. And they did.” He straightened a little. “To their credit, they helped us drive back the enemy.”

“So you won? You beat them?”

Abimbola nodded. “But we could not beat the plague. The scientists said it came from the simikons’ excrement. It got into our water supply. Every plant absorbed it; every animal carried it in their muscle tissue. It was inescapable. So my people starved. We asked the Republic to come back, but they could not be bothered. They had already gotten their accolades, already been patted on the back by one another for helping the lowly Miblimbians. So the galaxy cheered the victors while we suffered.”

Magnus nodded slowly. “I’m sorry.”

“So am I. I watched my parents die. Their bodies rotted from the inside out. And there was nothing I could do. I was seven years old.”

“Mystics…” Magnus whispered. There were few things in the universe worse than seeing your parents die when you were a child. “I’m—I’m sorry, Abimbola.” Magnus shook his head. He couldn’t imagine what this man had seen—what he’d lived through when he was only a boy. “So… how’d you survive?”

“How did I survive…” Abimbola shook his head and spat on the floorboard. “How did I survive? I survived because the gods decided I was different.” He glared out the side window and took a few deep breaths. “After my parents and siblings died, people started wondering why I had not been infected. News spread quickly because…” His voice trailed off.

Because you were a miracle survivor? Magnus thought. But there seemed to be something more, some card the warlord was playing close to his chest.

Abimbola cleared his throat. “News spread, and soon the government asked for help in developing an antigen from my body.”

“They figured if you’d survived that long, you must have an immunity or something.”

“Yes. They offered to share the cure with whatever organization gave them aid.”

“And the Elonians responded,” Magnus said.

“Correct. Others did, too, but no one had more power and more credits. They had the best scientists, the best mobile facilities, the best starships.”

“Then I’m guessing Awen’s grandparents were scientists?”

“Doctors and researchers. But they were also kind. I remember being scared of them. The stories I had been told…” Again, the warlord trailed off. He coughed. “Anyway, the stories were not true, at least about them. They treated me with kindness. They treated me… like I was a son.”

“And it surprised you.”

“No. What surprised me was that I began to treat them like parents. Their son and I became like brothers—that is, Awen’s father, Balin.” Abimbola swallowed and took a deep breath. “The first antigen was released within a month of their arrival. It was not the most effective strain, but it saved millions of lives. Their research continued over two years, getting better and better. It was a good life. And they were able to develop other cures from their work, experimenting with their findings to make amazing things. But then it ended.”

“Why? What happened?”

“Marine assassins invaded the lab.”

“Marine assassins… you mean, a hit team?”

Abimbola nodded. “Awen’s grandparents told Balin and me to hide in a ventilation system. Told us not to come out until two days after we heard the last blaster round. Balin hid, but I watched.” Abimbola’s hands squeezed the steering wheel so tightly that dried blood split and fell from his knuckles. “They tortured them. They asked them where I was. And when they would not say, they executed them. So I lost two families in two years. I was nine.”

Magnus was choked up. It was a truly terrible story. He knew others like it, of course—Abimbola wasn’t alone in his suffering. The galaxy had many harsh worlds… worlds the Marines had been sent to liberate. But there was no way a Marine special operations unit would be sent to eliminate an Elonian science team on a planet they’d just helped liberate. Something wasn’t adding up.

“Abimbola, can I ask what these Marine assassins looked like?”

“Do not bother trying to defend your flag, buckethead.” Abimbola’s soft side was gone, replaced by his battle-hardened demeanor. “I know what I saw. And I have slain the same set of armor a thousand times over.”

“I don’t doubt that. Just… for me. What stood out about them? Colors, insignias, anything?”

“All-black armor, like a midnight sky. Late Mark V.”

“You sure?” Magnus asked.

“Dammit, buckethead—”

“Sorry, I get it. I just…”

“Betrayal is a bitch, isn’t it?”

Magnus lifted an eyebrow. “Sure is.” He paused, not wanting to rile the warlord, but he needed more information. “Nothing else noticeable that you remember?”

Abimbola worked his jaw and looked out the side window again. He’s thinking. Thinking’s good, Magnus told himself. Give me something, Bimby. Anything.

“They had stripes on their shoulder and chest.”

Magnus’s gut twisted. “Stripes?”

“Yes. I can still see them.”

“Three white stripes?”

Abimbola looked at Magnus, teeth clenched. “You know these Marines?”

“I do. And they’re not Marines. Least, not anymore.”

“Then what are they?”

Magnus considered the question more deeply than he’d intended to. He thought about what Abimbola had been through as a child—the world he must have grown up in and the life he’d lived until now. He thought about the battle that had just raged in the Western Heights and how he’d only discovered a handful of survivors in the compound. He thought about the attack on the mwadim’s palace, about Awen and the Luma she’d lost. He thought about the late senator and Valerie and Piper…

That little girl’s trust in you is misplaced. You know that, right, Adonis?

Then he began to wonder how many other lives had been affected by these rogue operators who dared sport Republic armor and, worse, how many more lives stood at the ends of their blasters in the future…

So, what are they, Magnus? And what are you gonna do about it?

“They’re people I have to stop,” Magnus finally replied to Abimbola, his hands tight around his MAR30. “And I won’t rest until I do.”

29

“My lord, we have vehicles inbound from the west.”

“Let us see them.” Abimbola walked up behind Berouth, his assistant, seated at one of the many workstations in the hideout’s headquarters. Magnus remembered the man from when they drove to meet Ezo for the first time. Berouth made a few gestures in the holo-display and sent a live feed to float over the room’s central table.

Magnus stood from his chair on the opposite side of the room, still holding a cup of tea. In the last few hours since arriving, he’d gotten a shower, had his weapons and some of his armor cleaned by Abimbola’s crew, and managed to get kicked out of sick bay by Valerie three times. He’d only wanted to visit his men, but apparently, they needed medical attention, “not fist bumps from Marine buddies.” She insisted he would see them in a few more hours.

Magnus stared at a dot on the horizon with a trail of dust blowing to the south.

“Zoom,” Abimbola ordered.

Berouth entered more commands. The camera zoomed in to reveal an aggressive-looking skiff with several more behind it.

Abimbola walked around the workstation and moved to the holo-projection. “How many?”

The image rotated to give a top-down view. Magnus got dizzy from the quick move—he’d had enough weird things happen with his vision for one day. He moved forward and examined the convoy.

“That is Rohoar, all right,” Abimbola said.

“Looks like four dozen armored skiffs.” Magnus stroked his beard with his free hand. “Maybe five. He’s coming to fight?”

“Maybe. But that is overkill.”

“I dunno. From what I’ve seen, your turret emplacements alone could put up one hell of a fight.”

“Fight me?” Abimbola looked at Magnus with a look of astonishment. “No, buckethead. Rohoar does not fight me. I pay him too much. I mean, it is overkill if he wants to fight you.”

“Oh.”

“I am not the one firing on his ships up there.” The warlord pointed a finger overhead.

“Fair point.”

“ETA?” Abimbola asked Berouth.

“Fifteen minutes at their current speed, my lord.”

Abimbola looked at Magnus. “You might want to see if your ambassador is up for a visitor. He could be the one who saves your life today.”

That prospect made Magnus sick to his stomach. “I’ll go check with the good doctor.”

* * *

“No. Nope, no way.”

“Valerie, I just need to—”

“I already told you!” Valerie said. “They need to rest, and all of them have wounds that we need to keep free of—”

“The Jujari mwadim is coming. He’s going to want to speak to the ambassador. That man in there”—Magnus jabbed a finger past Valerie’s head—“may be the only thing between you and everyone else being executed today or getting to go home. Got that?”

The two of them stood outside the makeshift sick bay. Clear plastic kept the outside world away, while bright lights, blinking terminals, bundled tubes, and a dozen beds filled the space.

“That man is our only hope?” Valerie thumbed over her shoulder as her face went pale.

“Yeah.” Magnus felt uneasy about the way she’d said that. “Why?”

She hesitated. “He’s… he’s… crazy, Lieutenant.”

“Crazy?”

“I mean, at the very least, he’s incoherent. But he might actually be crazy, too, once he has time to get well. Whatever he’s been through, it rattled him pretty good. Probably permanently.”

“You’re saying brain damage.”

“Head trauma, psychological trauma, yes—all of it,” Valerie said. “He also has severe burns, contusions, ruptured eardrums… he’s showing all the signs of surviving an explosion or something.”

“That’s because he did survive an explosion. I don’t know how. But he did.”

Valerie looked away from him and bit her bottom lip.

“What? What is it?” he asked.

“It looks like he’s been tortured, too, Magnus. All of them have. Some of the marks on their bodies are… inconsistent with anything else I’ve ever seen. I can’t even tell you what the Jujari did to them. But it’s…”

“Can the ambassador at least have a conversation with his superiors?”

“No, that’s what I’m saying. Listen, if you’re putting any hope in him to be the person who saves your hide today, you can forget about it.”

“Dammit.” Magnus clenched his hands and turned away. He paced a few steps then turned to face her. “There’s nothing you can give him? A stimulant? Something to make him focus even for a couple minutes?”

Magnus knew he was asking a lot of her. Doing what he requested probably meant breaking her code of ethics as a medical professional. Such drugs existed, even if they weren’t legal. The Recon had modified the Mark VII armor to include injections of several survival drugs, including adrenatex. It gave injured and incoherent operators several lucid, pain-free minutes to get their splick together. If a Marine survived an op, surviving the side effects was the next challenge. Adrenatex could leave operators disabled, sometimes permanently. But if it saved a life, the Recon reasoned, it was worth it.

“I do have something, yes,” Valerie said. Magnus was about to order her to give it to the patient when she interrupted him. “But I want you to realize you’re probably sending him to his death.”

“I get that.”

“Do you, Lieutenant? Do you really?”

“Yes, I really do! And I also realize that if we don’t do this—if I don’t do this—everyone in here could be sent to their deaths too. So, yeah, I get it. It’s what Marines do. We make the hard calls no one else wants to, and we live with the consequences like no one else can.”

To her credit, Valerie didn’t even flinch during Magnus’s mini tirade. She just looked him square in the eye and responded, “Very well. Twenty cc’s of epinadrol. You’ll have him mostly coherent for about forty minutes. After that, he’s comatose until we can get him to a real hospital.”

“That’s more than I need. Have him dressed and sent to the control room to await instructions.”

Without another word, Valerie turned, walked through the slit in the plastic wall, and headed for Bosworth’s bed.

* * *

Dusk drew near as Magnus stood beside Abimbola, waiting outside for the mwadim to arrive. The Jujari skiffs pulled up to the hideout’s entrance like a herd of angry rhinosaurs then slowed, drive cores whining to a halt. The machines were late-model Republic Super Sleds, light armored personnel carriers. They were fast, and—given the blaster turrets and missile banks the Jujari had modified them with—very deadly. Sand and dust swirled around the convoy as hatches opened and Jujari climbed to the ground. In the lead skiff, a door opened, and Rohoar stepped out, his figure silhouetted by the setting sun in the west.

As the mwadim neared—arriving with no fewer than twelve personal bodyguards—Abimbola bowed and tilted his head sideways, exposing his neck. Magnus followed suit. He hated the gesture, but he hated the alternative more—having his throat slit.

“Welcome, Rohoar of the Tawnhack, mwadim of the Jujari,” Abimbola said.

“Rohoar sees you, Abimbola of the Miblimbians.” Rohoar sniffed the air. “But he does not see this Republic scrumruk graulap you keep company with.”

Magnus made to interject, but Abimbola cut him off with a twitch of his hand. “He is the same that stood before you this morning, the one bound in blood.”

“But his kind have betrayed our trust!” Rohoar snarled, raising a clawed finger to the sky. He turned to Magnus. “Rohoar gave you warriors. Rohoar gave you his blood. And how is it repaid?”

“My people have betrayed your trust, yes,” Magnus replied. “But for reasons I do not know.”

“Though we intended to find out for you, Great Mwadim,” Abimbola said, glaring at Magnus. “It seems that because you graciously allowed us to hunt Selskrit in the Western Heights, you now have a very valuable gift in your possession.”

“And what—Abimbola, warlord of the Dregs—might that be?”

“The Republic ambassador.”

Rohoar tilted his head, his ears perked. “The ambassador?” A large tongue flopped out and licked his chops. “The fat ambassador from my predecessor’s palace?”

“The one,” Magnus said.

Rohoar eyed him cautiously. “And what do you suggest I do with him, Republic Marine?”

“If it were me, I’d order him to call General Lovell for you. Then, when you’re done, you can eat him, for all I care.”

Rohoar’s ears lay back. “A warrior who freely offers his representative to death?”

“He is not my representative. Respectfully, Mwadim. I fight for my people, not the whims of my politicians.”

“I see.” The mwadim licked his lips. “But you already offered Rohoar a meeting with your General Lovell. Why does Rohoar need a fat ambassador to do the same?”

Magnus had been afraid of this question. The truth was that he’d doubted he could arrange the meeting from the moment he first offered it. It wasn’t a total bluff, of course; there was always the outside chance he could get through to the general on his own merits. But Magnus hadn’t thought he would survive long enough to have to honor his promise to the mwadim in the first place. This was an inconvenient downside of surviving.

Magnus didn’t dare offer any of this to Rohoar, of course. He’d keep bluffing as long as he could. “Great Mwadim, I can secure the meeting with Brigadier General Lovell as promised. However, it is a matter of speed.”

“Rohoar does not understand you.”

“It will take me several hours to arrange the meeting, maybe even days.”

“Days?” Rohoar sneered, his hackles rising. “Rohoar cannot wait days! You lied to Rohoar!”

“I did not lie, Mwadim. We just never discussed the particulars. But with the ambassador at your disposal, this meeting can be arranged in mere minutes.”

Rohoar considered this, his nose twitching. Magnus tried his best not to recoil from the Jujari’s foul breath and the long teeth less than a meter from his face. He was, once again, in awe of just how terrible these beasts were up close.

Rohoar looked at Abimbola. “Do you agree with this assessment, warlord?”

“I do believe that Magnus can get you the audience you seek much faster with the ambassador at your disposal.”

The mwadim looked between the two men several times. He sniffed, licked his chops again, then howled. Magnus’s hair stood up. He wanted to cover his ears, as the day’s work had given him a headache, and he was extremely fatigued. But he knew that doing so would probably raise the mwadim’s ire. Instead, he stood there, waiting for the wail to die down.

When it did, the mwadim nodded. “Rohoar likes minutes better than days.”

Suddenly, Rohoar’s hackles went rigid as he looked toward the compound’s entrance. Magnus and Abimbola looked back to see the mwadim’s bloodhound standing in the doorway. He was bandaged on his leg, torso, forearms, and one shoulder. One arm was bound in a sling, and red-stained gauze covered his left eye. Magnus couldn’t believe the Jujari warrior was even conscious, let alone walking. He’d been hurt badly.

“What is the meaning of this?” Rohoar demanded, his ears erect.

Abimbola made to speak, but the blood wolf cut him off. Up until that moment, the Tawnhack survivor had said nothing to either Abimbola or Magnus. Valerie had tended to his wounds as best she could—getting through all the hair was a feat in and of itself—but no words had been exchanged.

The blood wolf said something in his mother tongue. At Rohoar’s gesture, the warrior started limping forward, his lips curled in pain. Magnus and Abimbola stepped aside, letting the blood wolf pass. He approached Rohoar, lowering his head and tilting his neck in the Jujari greeting. Then he leaned in and whispered in the mwadim’s ear. Rohoar’s eyes grew wider as the seconds passed, darting to stare at Magnus.

Magnus was uneasy. In his mind, this was going one of two ways, and both resulted in someone dying. Given the Jujari’s extreme emphasis on honor, he imagined that there might be some level of shame for the blood wolf getting rescued by a Repub Marine—if he was telling the mwadim the truth. Maybe the blood wolf would even be slain for it. Or… maybe the blood wolf was lying to the mwadim, and Magnus was about to be executed. He wouldn’t put it past either of them.

Rohoar raised his chin, and the blood wolf turned away, limping behind him. “Rohoar has heard from his blood wolf.”

An awkward silence hung in the air as Magnus and Abimbola waited for whatever would happen next. And? Magnus wanted to say, but he thought better of it.

Rohoar said nothing. Then, as if the episode with the blood wolf had never even happened, the mwadim moved on. “Rohoar accepts the opportunity to speak with the general. Take me to my ambassador.”

* * *

Bosworth sat in a Miblimbian chair normally reserved for Abimbola, as it was the only chair the ambassador could fit in. He was hastily dressed in a medical gown and an old dress coat someone had scavenged from a supply locker. Bloodstains leaked through bandages around his torso and stained the gown. His head and face also had several fresh wraps of gauze, each turning red in various spots.

The control room was dimly lit, and more oversized chairs had been brought in and placed around the central table. Abimbola insisted that Rohoar sit at the head, while he took a secondary position. Bosworth sat on the opposite side, followed by Magnus. The rest of the chairs were given to Rohoar’s guards, while additional Jujari, Magnus’s fire team, and several Marauders stood along the walls and workstations.

This was the closest Magnus had ever been to the ambassador. The last time he’d seen him, the man had been a fitful raging wreck before charging Awen and the former mwadim. Now he sat fairly composed, the drugs making him alert and slightly fidgety.

“Ambassador Bosworth,” Abimbola began, “as you may or may not know, you and the remaining survivors were rescued from the Selskrit today at the discretion of the new Jujari mwadim, Rohoar of the Tawnhack. On the occasion of your freedom, I am here to negotiate a gesture of appreciation.”

Bosworth blinked several times without responding. Magnus studied the man and noticed a bead of sweat moving down his temple. The ambassador was dressed in a massively large shirt and a leather jacket that probably belonged to Abimbola. He looked more like a bloated backward gangster with bushy eyebrows and three chins than an esteemed Republic dignitary.

Say something, Magnus urged the man from inside his head. But when no words came, he felt he had to make a move. “Ambassador Bosworth, I believe that—”

“What?” Bosworth yelled.

Magnus recoiled, as did everyone else around the table. Rohoar looked at Abimbola.

“Sir,” Magnus continued. “It seems that the mwadim—”

“You’re going to need to speak up, Marine. This is no place for mumblers.”

Magnus looked at Abimbola then remembered Valerie telling him that Bosworth’s eardrums had ruptured. Perfect.

“I’m sorry,” Magnus said to Rohoar. “His eardrums were damaged in the explosion.”

“Here, try these.” Simone stepped to Abimbola’s side and, after making a few adjustments, handed him two of their in-ear comms. The warlord nodded and passed them to Magnus who, in turn, handed them to the ambassador.

“Try these, sir.”

“What?”

Over-enunciating each syllable, Magnus said, “These will help your hearing.”

“My hearing?”

“Yes,” Magnus nodded emphatically.

“Very well.” The ambassador took his time seating each comm over his earlobes and fitting the micro-speakers into his ear canals.

“How do you read me?” Magnus asked.

The ambassador blinked at him several times.

“Ambassador?”

“Ah, there you are. That’s much better.” The fat man regarded Abimbola. “Would you please repeat yourself, large Miblimbian? You were mumbling. I understand your kind have a propensity for it.”

Magnus cringed, but to Abimbola’s credit, he didn’t so much as twitch. The warlord repeated what he’d said before and waited for Bosworth’s reply.

“Ah, very good. And please tell the mwadim that—”

“You may tell him yourself, Ambassador. He speaks common.”

“Does he? Marvelous.” Bosworth cleared his throat. “Great Mwadim, what gesture of appreciation might the Republic be willing to provide you as thanks for saving my life? I am permitted to offer you an initial sum of—”

“I want to speak with Brigadier General Lovell.” Rohoar’s voice felt as though it made the table rumble.

Bosworth blinked. “Speak to Brigadier General Lovell?”

“He is like the mwadim in charge of all the Marines, yes?”

“Uh, I… suppose that’s a fair comparison. However, I don’t think you—”

“I have not asked you to think, Ambassador. The last time you thought, people died.”

Bosworth winced, jerking back in his seat. “It’s just that—”

“Either you can put me in touch with Brigadier General Lovell now, here at this comms station, or I have no further use for you.”

The ambassador stammered. He looked at Magnus then to Abimbola. “Yes, yes. I can connect you with him. I… I just need to give hailing codes to… to whoever runs this place here.”

“That would be me,” Abimbola replied.

“Ah. Well, let’s see here…”

Magnus suddenly wondered whether the man could remember his hailing codes and security-clearance designators. This whole thing could go sideways simply because his memory was gone. But to Magnus’s amazement, Bosworth dictated all the necessary information to Abimbola’s communications operator, who then gave the warlord a thumbs-up.

Abimbola directed his attention to Rohoar. “We are ready to transmit.”

Rohoar looked at his blood wolf and said something in the Jujari mother tongue. The blood wolf touched a small implant in his temple and spoke several soft words in his native language. Several seconds transpired before the blood wolf nodded to Rohoar.

“You may proceed,” the mwadim said.

Just like that, the Jujari communications blockade was down. Information could flow freely.

All Magnus wanted to do was find an encrypted handset and contact his COs at the company level. But he knew it might be several more hours of pissing contests and bureaucracy before that would happen.

A holo-interface appeared before Bosworth. The man’s eyes brightened, and he rubbed his nose several times. Then, with a loud sniff, the ambassador began typing and swiping, searching for the general’s name in his personal Republic database. Once he found Lovell’s name and swiped through all the security-clearance windows, Bosworth initiated the holo-vid call. It only took one set of trills for Lovell to answer.

“Ambassador?” the general asked, eyes wide. Magnus noted a commotion going on behind Lovell. He was standing on a starship’s bridge. The scene was turbulent, full of status updates, orderlies, and flashing lights. A general-alert klaxon pulsed in the background.

“Good evening, General. I see—”

“How the hell are you alive, Gerald?”

“Recovered by your rescue team,” Bosworth said.

“My rescue team?”

“Indeed, led by… by…” Bosworth looked at Magnus. “What’s your name again, trooper?”

“Lieutenant Magnus, Ambassador.”

Bosworth repeated the name to the general, and Lovell’s face froze. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

“Is the lieutenant there with you now, Ambassador?”

“Yes, General. But before we get to that, I have a very important Jujari leader here who wishes to—”

“Put him on, Ambassador.”

“But, sir, I don’t think you—”

“Put him on.”

Bosworth blinked several times, lips pursed to an impossible distance away from his nose. “As you wish.” The ambassador turned the holo-screen toward the Marine. Magnus saw himself in a small window to the lower right while Lovell’s rich black face filled the rest of the screen.

“Are you… are you all green, Lieutenant?”

Magnus looked around. He felt nervous. He never felt nervous. “Yes, General. Is there a problem?”

“I’m going to need you shipside immediately.”

Magnus’s heart sank. It was news about Awen; he was sure of it. Something had happened to her. “General, if it’s news you can share here, I’d appreciate if you just—”

“This needs to be done in person, son.”

“General, with all due respect, I’d rather you break the news here.”

“You’re being placed under arrest, Lieutenant.”

Magnus blinked. “I’m what?”

30

“Who is that?” Awen blurted.

Standing beside TO-96 was another bot. The robot was humanoid in shape with long arms and legs and a slender torso—and a good head taller than TO-96. Its body was the same pearly white as the ship’s hallways and glowed a gentle blue around the joints and from two eyes behind a smooth face. Whatever TO-96 was to blocky segments and clunky parts, this robot was to pure sophistication and elegance.

“Awen, allow me to introduce you to Azelon,” said TO-96. “She and I have been—”

“Azelon?” Awen asked, taking a tentative step onto the bridge. “As in, the ship Azelon?”

“Yes, as in the ship.”

“And she’s safe?”

“Why, of course. She is the ship, after all. The Novia have instructed her to serve and protect us wherever we wish to go.”

“Okay, well… that’s, wow. Yeah.” Awen didn’t know what to say. She’d never even conceived of the same AI inhabiting both a starship’s mainframe and a robot—though, as she thought about it, the idea didn’t seem so strange. In fact, she began to wonder why it hadn’t been done before. Aren’t all autonomous maintenance bots much the same? she thought. Though I can hardly compare Azelon to a maintenance bot.

“Well, Ninety-Six,” Awen said, warming to the idea, “it seems you have yourself a female companion, now, doesn’t it?”

TO-96 reared back then looked between Azelon and Awen. “I suppose I do, yes. What a pleasant turn of events. We are, as you might say, becoming fast friends.”

“Nice.” Awen smiled. She approached the pair, eyeing Azelon with keen interest.

“I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Awen of the protoverse.” Azelon extended her hand. Awen stared at it, unsure if she wanted to take it. However, this was, after all, a sentient species’ invention, and Awen’s oaths as a Luma required that she honor this bot in the same way she would honor the Novia Minoosh. Despite her apprehension, Awen was genuinely excited to see such a technologically sophisticated robot. She was only skeptical because she was tired. And overwhelmed. And she just really wanted to get back home.

Awen stepped forward and took the offered hand. It felt surprisingly warm. “I’m pleased to meet you too, Azelon. Thank you for… for all you’ve done for us so far. We are very grateful.”

“It is my pleasure to serve you and Ezo and TO-96.” She looked at the other bot. TO-96’s eyes grew brighter.

Is he blushing? Bots don’t do that, Awen remarked to herself. Do they?

* * *

Awen was strapped into her acceleration couch, readying herself for the violent shaking, the high-pitched oscillation, and the arduous compression of the quantum-tunnel jump. She also thought to ask TO-96 for a vomit bag, but Azelon assured her that no such thing existed on the Spire.

“Then I hope you have some good cleaning bots,” Awen replied.

“We do,” Azelon said.

Awen blinked. So much for my attempt at humor.

TO-96 took a seat beside Awen but neglected to fasten his harness. Likewise, Azelon stood casually to one side of the bridge.

“Uh, Ninety-Six, are you gonna, you know, strap in or anything?”

The bot tilted his head at her. “For what purpose?”

Awen tried to remember what the jump had been like for TO-96 the first time, but the memories were more about her own trauma than his. Maybe he was immune to the effects. She wouldn’t know without asking.

“Ah!” TO-96 exclaimed with a finger in the air. “Forgive me, Awen. It seems that the Novia Minoosh developed starships that dampen the effects of jumping through a quantum tunnel.”

Awen glanced at Azelon. “Really? ’Cause if that’s true, that’s awesome.”

“It is true, Awen,” Azelon replied. “The impact on your physiology should be minimal, if you notice anything at all. In fact, the launch from Ithnor Ithelia was four point six thousand times more volatile than what you will experience jumping through a quantum tunnel aboard the Spire.”

“Four point six thousand times?”

“Basically,” TO-96 said, “that means you won’t feel a thing.”

Awen blinked. “And you know what? I’m just fine with that. Thank you.”

“It’s our pleasure,” TO-96 said, looking over to Azelon.

Is he flirting with her?

Azelon moved to the center of the bridge and turned toward the main window. Her white body began to glow blue, and several dozen hexagonal display screens appeared all around her, each semi-translucent against the main view of the void. Simultaneously, the bridge darkened, making the screens seem even more vibrant. They depicted dimensional graphs, star charts, images of the ship, diagnostic readouts, and supply levels of who knew what.

Awen’s head spun as she considered all the data that floated around Azelon. Now she’s just showing off. Awen smiled.

Lines began connecting different screens, specifically the ones that seemed to display star charts and gravity wells. The floating windows reordered themselves in midair and then stacked on top of one another. Azelon continued to stare straight ahead, and the activity in the panels grew more frenetic.

Awen tried to see if she could sense something in the ship—a vibration in the arms of the acceleration couch or something—but there was nothing. The only sign that anything significant was about to happen came from the visual spectacle spinning around Azelon. The female bot’s body grew brighter as the hexagonal panes traded places around her, creating a blurry sphere of motion, strobing lights, and interconnected pathways.

TO-96 was watching Azelon work with something that bordered on obsession. He’s into this, Awen thought.

Then, with a sudden move of Azelon’s hands, the screens shot forward and stacked up, one in front of the other, extending from just in front of her torso to the bridge’s main viewing window. They floated there, perfectly still, like hundreds of layers of translucent windowplex glowing in a variety of colors. With a final motion, Azelon pulled her hands in toward her hips, and all the images shot towards her direction and were absorbed into her chest as if ingested by a blaster bolt.

The bridge went black. Awen could hear herself breathing. Her heart was pounding in her ears, and there was a soft hum coming from the ship. Everything was still.

In front of her, dots of light began to appear. They were so subtle at first that Awen thought maybe she was seeing motes of light in her corneas left over from Azelon’s navigation show. But within another few seconds, she realized they were stars.

White stars. Yellow stars. Not purple stars.

“Are we back?” She held her breath. “Ninety-Six!” Awen turned to face his glowing yellow eyes. “Ninety-Six, are we back?”

“We are, Awen.”

She pumped her fists and let out a scream that seemed to surprise both TO-96 and Azelon, but she didn’t care. “Mystics, this is incredible! We did it!” She kicked her feet like a small schoolgirl, giving another shout. Her hands worked the buckles as fast as she could, trying to get them undone. But she was so excited she got stuck twice.

“So, where are we? Did we make it to Ki Nar Four? Are we close?”

Azelon stepped close and helped her undo the restraints. “Yes, Awen. We are precisely where you placed the tunnel’s terminus, less than one hour from Sootriman’s planet.”

“For real?” Awen took Azelon’s offered hand and stood up. “Someone’s gotta tell Ezo that we made it!”

“I believe you just did,” TO-96 replied.

Awen spun around and saw a holo-feed from sick bay with Ezo’s face in it. “Ezo!” she yelled. “We made it!”

“We sure did, Star Queen. Congratulations.”

“You too!” Awen clenched her fists again. “Oh man, this is just so great.” She gave another loud scream, stomping her feet, then noticed Ezo looking back toward Sootriman. “Oh my gosh,” she said, reaching toward his picture. “I’m so sorry.”

Ezo chuckled. “It’s okay, Star Queen. Ezo gets it. We both know how you freak out from time to time.”

“I’ll come down and see you in a second, I promise.”

“Sounds good. Just keep all the screaming up there on the bridge, okay?”

She gave him a smirk and nodded. “I’ll try.”

Ezo winked, and the screen vanished.

This was far more emotional than she had imagined it would be. Awen was one of the first three people in the known universe to travel to another reality, encounter a sentient species, board their starship, and return to her point of origin in less than four months. It would make history, and she didn’t even care whose name was attached. She just wanted to share the news with… everyone! With Willowood, with the Order, with her parents, with the scientific community. With anyone who would listen.

Awen placed a hand to her heart and sat back down. She breathed deeply. A wide smile crept across her face. “We did it, Ninety-Six. We really did it.”

“Yes, yes we did.”

She reached over and placed a hand on his shoulder.

The bot turned to look at her. “You should know that I am proud of you.”

“Did… did you just say you’re feeling something?”

“If a sense of appreciation and admiration for another person that results in an urge to embrace them constitutes feeling, then, yes—I am feeling.”

Awen lunged at him, throwing her arms around his neck. At first, TO-96 seemed unsure of what to do. But a moment later, he returned the embrace, holding Awen gently beneath his weapon-laden arms.

“Is this a normal behavior for species from your universe?” Azelon asked.

“Yes,” TO-96 replied. “It is. See my archives on human affection when you are able. It will explain most everything you need to know.”

“Ah, yes. I see it now. Thank you, TO-96.”

“With pleasure.”

Awen released the bot and sat back in her chair. A deep sense of satisfaction flooded her as she looked out the window toward the approaching planet. Then it struck her that she didn’t have any idea what to do next. She and the others had been so fixated on finding a way home that she really hadn’t thought about what they would do once they arrived at Ki Nar Four.

“Ninety-Six, how soon before you can connect with the galactic network? Maybe summarize some news feeds for us? You know, get us up to speed?”

TO-96 didn’t respond.

“’Six, you all right?”

The robot tilted his head then said, “Oh my.”

Awen slipped out of her chair and moved in front of him. “What is it, Ninety-Six?”

The bot’s head snapped toward her. “Awen… I’m afraid I have what may be some rather disconcerting news.”

“Okay…” she said, drawing the word out. “What is it?”

“Well, as I began accessing the information channels, as per your request, I came across something startling.”

“Disconcerting, startling—I got it. What is it, ’Six?”

“We were in Ithnor Ithelia for seventy-one days, Galactic common time. By that, I mean, we experienced seventy-one days in metaspace. But here in protospace, well…”

“You’re killing me right now, Ninety-Six. Just spit it out.”

“We have only been gone for three point five days, Awen.”

She froze. Her heart thumped in her chest. “Excuse me?” She fluttered her eyelids. “Three and a half days? Are you… are you absolutely certain?”

“I am one hundred percent certain, Awen. Apparently, there is significant time dilation when traveling through the multiverse.”

Awen stared out the bridge window. “It’s almost as if we never left,” she whispered. Her mind became a flurry of activity then, racing through scenarios faster than she could keep track of them. She wondered what kind of expeditions could be made in Ithnor Ithelia. Awen was in awe of what such a time discrepancy meant for progress, the development of new technologies, and new discovery and research.

Research. The admiral’s supposed research team. What would the time dilation mean for them? How much exploration can they do in just two or three weeks? She tried to do the math in her head, but it was dizzying. She wondered if they would discover the temple library or the quantum-tunnel generator. Perhaps they would discover another ship like the Azelon or new technologies that would allow them to…

Awen caught her breath. To conquer the galaxy. Whatever elation she’d just enjoyed had vanished. “We’ve got to go back.”

“Back, Awen?” TO-96 asked.

She turned to look at him. “We have to go back. We have to stop them. There’s no telling what they might discover or how they’ll use it. That enemy team, Admiral Kane’s research team—they can’t be allowed to use any of that technology. We can’t let it fall into the wrong hands.”

But whose hands, exactly, are the wrong ones?

Awen’s thoughts suddenly turned toward the Galactic Republic. The Jujari. Even So-Elku and whatever Luma he’d coerced into following him. Would any of them be any better if they acquired the power that lies in the metaverse?

“We’ve got to stop them, Ninety-Six,” she said. “We’ve got to stop them all.”

31

Magnus could feel everyone’s eyes drilling holes in him. He felt embarrassed. Vulnerable. He should have listened to the general and just gone to the ship—assuming Rohoar would have allowed it.

“I want to brief you before they get their hands on you, Magnus. I don’t know why you did it all—”

“Did what, sir?”

“I don’t know why you did it all,” the general pressed, “but if you tell me the truth before they arraign you, maybe I can help.”

“General, what did I do?”

“Enough!” Rohoar slammed his fists on the table, momentarily blurring the holo-feed. He rose from his seat. The rest of the Jujari stood as well. Bosworth fumbled with the general’s floating image and spun it toward the mwadim. “Brigadier General Lovell. Your ambassador is incompetent, your Marines are vicious—and apparently lawless—and Rohoar’s patience is running out.”

“What can the Republic do for you, Mwadim?” Lovell asked, clearly trying to stay focused despite the frenetic scene on the bridge behind him.

“Firstly, you have blocked communication with Rohoar’s fleet. Release this. Secondly, Rohoar demands to know why you have engaged in open combat with our ships.”

“Mwadim, we have not done either.”

“You deny it?” Rohoar pulled the holo-frame toward him.

Magnus watched hackles stand up on the necks of the Jujari.

“We have not attacked your ships or blocked communication,” Lovell stated.

Magnus could tell that the general was telling the truth. The problem was that he knew enough about the Jujari to feel the mwadim wouldn’t be making a false accusation. None of this felt right.

“Lies! The Jujari see you from our relays!”

“What you see are rogue Republic ships who have initiated a conflict between us, Mwadim.” The general’s voice was getting louder as he tried to speak above someone yelling in the background. “Our first and second fleets, as well as our third fleet, are taking heavy fire from your fleet. However, only our third fleet is firing on yours. We are attempting to communicate with them now, as we suspect their actions have not been sanctioned by the Galactic Republic. I repeat, this hostility is not representative of the Senate’s wishes. Our attempts to communicate with them are being blocked. Nonetheless, if you do not order your fleet to stand down, our remaining fleets will be forced to return fire. Let me be clear—”

The general moved out of frame, steadying himself against a sudden motion on the bridge. “Let me be clear. If you are unable to hail your fleet and order a stand-down, we will return fire. Do you understand?”

The mwadim’s lips curled over his teeth. “Rohoar understands, General. And if you do not put a muzzle on your rogue fleet, we will be forced to call in our reinforcements. Do you understand?”

The general’s eye twitched. This was escalating quickly. “We are working on reaching our third fleet, and we will do our best to disrupt whatever communication sanctions are being enforced on your fleet. Keep trying to reach them.” Another motion jolted the general from the frame. His face reappeared as a second klaxon sounded in the background, this one higher pitched. “Ambassador Bosworth, are you still there?”

The ambassador pushed himself out of his seat and moved toward the mwadim, careful not to get too close. Slowly, he reached for the holo-frame and turned it toward his face.

“Gerald, we are sending a shuttle for you, assuming—in good faith—that the mwadim grants you permission to leave. How many are you?”

Magnus jumped in before anyone else could reply. “Eight military personnel, including myself, three civilians, and the ambassador.”

The general made a note then looked at Bosworth again. “You are to take Lieutenant Magnus into custody, employing whatever Marine presence is still at your disposal, and report immediately to my ship. You will be given further instructions upon your arrival.”

“I understand, General.”

“Regulations require that I send a data file at the end of this transmission. It will include the charges against the lieutenant. However, I ask that you keep it unopened until I’m able to speak with my Marine in person.”

Bosworth shot a glance at Magnus. “If it’s serious, General—if this Marine is a threat—I need to know.”

“You don’t need to know, Gerald. Just get back to my ship with the lieutenant and the rest of your party. We’ll be there in ten minutes. And we’ll get that window open for the mwadim to call off his assault.”

“Ten minutes.” Rohoar growled. “And no more.”

* * *

Bosworth reclined in Abimbola’s giant chair. He’d sent the holo-projection to a data pad then picked up the device and rested it on his enormous belly. It didn’t take long for Magnus to realize the ambassador had opened the general’s data file. The two-faced Bludervian dimdish.

Magnus paced at the opposite end of the table. He watched the man raise an eyebrow, swiping through screen after screen. By the time the ambassador finally looked over the tablet at him, Magnus had had enough.

“He told you not to open it.”

“And he told you that you are under arrest. That means you have conceded rights as a Marine of the Republic and will be tried in a military tribunal.”

I already lost those rights, Magnus thought, blinking his bioteknia eyes.

Bosworth looked back at the data pad and began reading aloud. “Disobeying a direct order, conspiracy, conspiracy to commit murder, conspiracy to disrupt diplomatic affairs…” The ambassador paused. “And what’s this? ‘Assassination of a Republic senator’?”

Dutch raced to Magnus’s side before he could defend himself. “That’s false!”

“Whoa, whoa!” The ambassador pumped his hands at her. “Seems you have yourself a tigress there, Lieutenant.”

“Watch your step, Ambassador,” Magnus replied. “You wouldn’t want this tigress losing her temper on you.”

Bosworth regarded the woman, licking his upper lip. “Or would I?”

Dutch recoiled.

The ambassador put the data pad down. “She wouldn’t dare, anyway. She’s too smart. I am, after all, the Republic ambassador. She knows that if she does one hasty move, her career is over.”

Dutch mumbled something, and Magnus put a hand on her arm. “Easy, Corporal. He’s not worth it,” he whispered.

“What was that? Either of you have something to say?” Bosworth looked around at the onlookers. “Anyone?” When no one replied, he said, “Ha! I didn’t think so. The general’s orders stand. The shuttle should be here in five minutes, and I… I feel…” The ambassador’s eyes glazed over, and the fat face went pale. “Suddenly, it seems that I…”

His hands dropped to his sides, and his head lolled backward. The ambassador was out cold. The epinadrol had worn off.

Magnus looked between Abimbola and Rohoar.

“Well, buckethead. What are you going to do?” Abimbola asked.

Yeah, Magnus, what are you gonna do? This wasn’t his first time being in trouble with the Corps. His mind flashed back to Caledonia, to images he’d tried to erase every damn day. But he’d had advocates back then. He’d been given a second chance because people believed in him. They had reason to believe Magnus was justified in what he’d chosen to do in that horrible war.

This was different. The list of charges—even if there weren’t any more than what the ambassador had read—wouldn’t be going away. He could tell that from Lovell’s resigned tone. Magnus would be tried. He would be found guilty. And he would probably be executed.

And all for what? For bleeding Recon red? For going above and beyond the call of duty to rescue some senator and his family, only to be blamed for the senator’s death? And then there was the charge of “conspiracy to disrupt diplomatic” whatever. He couldn’t believe they were actually trying to peg the attack on the mwadim’s palace on him.

This is bad. Real bad.

Standing there in Abimbola’s control room, Magnus understood that his career was truly over and not just because he had bioteknia implants. No. It was because the Repub had cut him loose.

The Galactic Republic had changed over the years—morphed into a system of favors, handshakes, and backroom deals. Ulterior motives, politicking—nothing was clear anymore. It hadn’t been clear for a long time. He’d seen other people chewed up and spit out. He knew people who had “disappeared.” Now it was his turn. The rusty blade of the executioner’s axe had come for him.

“Well, I’m certainly not letting that dimdish drive me home.” Magnus gestured toward the sleeping fat man.

The mwadim chuckled. “Rohoar suspects that you are in a large pile of Jujari splick, Marine.”

“You can say that again.”

“No, Rohoar is fine with saying it once. Also, Rohoar does not suspect you were the one who sabotaged his predecessor’s meeting with your ambassador and the Luma.”

Magnus pulled back, surprised by the sudden vote of confidence. “Well… thank you, Great Mwadim—”

“But you probably did kill the senator. Rohoar would kill them all, too.” The other Jujari around the control room cackled.

Might the mwadim actually let me go, even if it means risking his tentative agreement with the Republic? “So, what if I don’t take the ambassador’s shuttle?”

“Rohoar would say you are a smart human.”

“But what about your agreement with the general?”

The mwadim waved him off. “The Jujari have survived for so long because the Jujari do not trust those who do not trust themselves with power.”

“I don’t follow.”

Rohoar blew out a sigh. “Too much power, not enough discretion. This is the Republic. Your balance is lopsided because you have never learned to trust yourselves with the power you have acquired. The imbalance is killing you like it kills all species who ignore the signs. The Jujari chose not to embrace the imbalance, so the Jujari survive.

“The general’s insistence that some of his fleet have gone rogue—this is foolishness, meant to distract the Jujari. Rohoar has no intention of ceasing fire. Allies are already on their way. The Galactic Republic is not getting out of this one unscathed, and they will think twice before moving ships into our system again. That is, if they have any ships left to visit us with.”

“So, what’s the call, buckethead?” Abimbola moved toward Magnus. “What do you need?”

Magnus considered the warlord’s offer, realizing the man seemed truly interested in helping him. “I need a way off the planet. And I’ll take whoever wants to go with me. We let the Repub shuttle pick up Bosworth, Wainwright, and the old Luma, just as the general requested. But I won’t be stepping on that transport.”

“So you are choosing to run from your government,” Rohoar said.

Magnus hadn’t made it that definitive in his own mind yet. But yes, that was the sum of it. He nodded.

“Ha!” The Miblimbian clapped his oversized hands and walked toward Magnus. “Then you are truly a Marauder now. Welcome to the fold.”

The next thing Magnus knew, he was caught up in a full-bodied embrace, his head pressed against Abimbola’s sweaty pectorals. He could think of worse initiations but few that were more awkward.

“Thank you,” Magnus said, pulling away. “I think.”

“You know what this means now, yes?”

“You’ll stop calling me buckethead and give me ten thousand credits’ worth of poker chips?”

“You are funny, buckethead!” The man guffawed. “But no. It means I will personally help you get to wherever you need getting to.”

“And so will Rohoar.”

Magnus turned to face the mwadim in open astonishment. “You’re what?”

“You saved Rohoar’s blood wolf. Our code demands that he serve you as his new master. However, his injuries prevent him from fulfilling his responsibility with any faithfulness. As a result, the indebtedness falls upon the blood wolf’s parent and patron.” The mwadim raised his chin ever so slightly. “In both cases, this is Rohoar. Victorio is both Rohoar’s son and his blood wolf.”

“I told you that you were in for something big,” Abimbola whispered in Magnus’s ear.

Rohoar placed a fist on his hairy chest. Then, to Magnus’s profound amazement, he lowered his head and exposed his neck toward Magnus. “Rohoar submits.”

Magnus hesitated, completely at a loss for what to say. He was about to talk the mwadim out of this outlandish circumstance—there was no way he could accept his offer—when Abimbola whispered, “It is not something you can refuse! They will kill you if you do!”

“What?” Magnus whispered back.

“If you insult the mwadim’s offer, they will kill you where you stand! Say you accept!”

“Are you serious?”

“Say it!”

Magnus straightened, hardly believing what he was about to say. He swallowed. “I accept.”

Rohoar raised his head and nodded at Magnus. Without even the slightest hint of regret or disdain, Rohoar said, “How may I serve you?”

Immediately, Magnus noticed that Rohoar had changed to the personal pronoun “I.” He had to hand it to the mwadim—Is he still the mwadim?—he sure knew how to put duty before personal feelings. And the guy was probably boiling inside.

“Well, I guess I’m going to need a ship,” Magnus said.

“That is something I can supply,” Rohoar replied.

“Are you kidding me?”

“No, I only produce kids with females. What does that have to do with your need for a ship?”

Magnus blinked. Had his fortunes really changed so quickly? One minute, he was being charged with what was tantamount to treason by the government he had pledged his allegiance to. The next, he was being offered fealty and a starship by the leader of the most violent warrior species in the galaxy—one who took everything far too literally.

“So, buckethead.” Abimbola placed a hand on Magnus’s shoulder. “Where are we going?”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this—the safest place I can think of, the safest for both Piper and Valerie.”

“And where is that?”

“Worru.”

“Back to the Luma home world again? Do you know somebody you can trust?”

“I do. Not personally, I mean. But Awen trusted him.” Seeing Awen again wouldn’t be so terrible either. He still had the slip of paper in his pocket with the initials NMB on it. “He’s the head of the Luma—a guy named Master So-Elku. He’ll know how to help them. Then I can figure out what to do about this mess with the Republic and those rogue ex-Marines.”

“Correction,” said Rohoar. “We will figure it out. You are not alone.”

“Copy that, LT.” Dutch stepped forward, her weapon lying over her shoulder. Gilder, Haney, and Nolan stepped up as well.

Abimbola patted Magnus’s shoulder again. “Well, buckethead, it seems you have yourself a regular marauding group of misfits. You have become a warlord after all! Not as infamous as Abimbola, of course. But you will get there. Give it time.”

* * *

Continue reading for a Ruins of the Galaxy novella, DEMONS AT WAR.

DEMONS AT WAR

A RUINS OF THE GALAXY NOVELLA

1

“Argus, stand down!” Magnus ordered. His MC90 was trained directly on the man’s sweat-covered forehead.

“You’re gonna shoot me?” Argus replied. “Over this?”

“I wouldn’t have my weapon up if I didn’t mean to use it. Now stand down.”

“So… this is what it comes down to then.” Argus looked to the side with a disgusted chuckle. “Figures. You never could stay out of my business.”

In as calm a voice as he could summon, Magnus said, “Argus, I won’t ask you again. Put your weapon down and step away from the woman. This is your last warning.” He moved his finger from the trigger guard and placed it on his trigger.

Since joining the Corps, Sergeant Adonis Olin Magnus hadn’t imagined that he’d be aiming his weapon at another Marine—let alone his younger brother.

* * *

Two Hours Earlier…

“Please tell me this ain’t happening, sergeant,” Flow said over TACNET. He lay prone across the peak of a thatched roof, along with Magnus and two other fireteam members. Their overwatch position looked down the main dirt road leading out of the tropical village turned luxury resort. They’d retaken the island of T’io Mi’on a few days prior, turning the Caledonian bungalows and a five-story hotel grounds into a makeshift COP—combat outpost.

“It sure as hell is,” Magnus replied, using his helmet’s AI to zoom in on the individuals walking down the road. A man in long crimson and black robes, hands extended palms up, led four weaponless Marines in a steady march to what Magnus was pretty sure would be a catastrophic end. “And I don’t like it any more than you do.”

“Son of a bitch,” Flow replied, repositioning his sniper rifle on the dense straw.

With over two years under their belts together, Magnus could tell when Flow and the others were pissed or tense—this was one of those unique times where they were both.

“You think if we take the Luma out anyone will notice?” Mouth asked.

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take,” Flow replied. “But you’re gonna get Magnus in trouble for even talking about a stunt like that.”

“It’d be awfully easy to do,” Mouth added. “Just a little slip and—”

“Shut up,” Flow said, hitting the other lance corporal with an elbow.

Flow and Mouth, along with the third man on the rooftop, Lance Corporal Miguel “Cheeks” Chico, had been with Magnus since their first deployment on Caledonia. The fact that they’d survived as long as they had was nothing short of a miracle. And, being the only Marines who’d survived the infamous binary bomb detonation on the island of Mo’a Ot’a eighteen months prior, Magnus and his boys had become known as the Fearsome Four, at least among enlisted Marines. But title or not, nothing could make Magnus feel any better about the scenario unfolding below them.

“So who was the brass monkey who okay’d this?” Cheeks asked.

“Wasn’t a general,” Magnus replied. “It was Dorman.” Magnus registered their collective hesitation as shock.

“Mystics… what a splickhead,” Mouth replied.

“You know… he could be listening right now, don’t you?” Flow asked.

“You think I care what that son of a bitch hears me say? Right now, I hope he’s listening. Cause with what I did to his wife last night, he’s gonna need—”

“Shut up, Mouth,” Flow said. Magnus looked over to see Flow elbow Mouth in the helmet.

“Forget his wife,” added Cheeks. “Now, his daughter…”

“Bring it back, bitches,” Magnus said. “They’re almost to the end of the road.” Magnus watched as the Luma approached the designated meeting point—a bamboo bridge over a wide mountain stream. The water cascaded down several sets of short falls before splitting a beach and disappearing into the ocean.

Until the Caledonian Wars—as the back-and-forth conflict was being termed—Magnus would have given his left nut to vacation here. The quadrant’s elite used these islands as their playground, and it was easy to see why. The grass huts, ultra-modern luxury estates, aqua green waters, and lush volcano-draped forests were the backdrop for any number of holo movies. All he needed was a girlfriend. And, given how cute the native women were, he’d bet a month’s credits he could find a date before the end of the conflict if he wanted to.

But between the ’kudas, the heat, and the damned squirts that plagued every Marine on the planet—save the desk jockeys—Magnus had had enough sand, sun, and surf to last him a lifetime.

“I still can’t believe Dorman let the Luma talk him into this,” Flow said between sips of water from his Mark IV armor’s hydration straw.

“The major’s just trying to wrap this thing up,” Magnus said.

“No qualms with me, sergeant,” Cheeks replied. “A version of life that doesn’t include having sand up your ass every damn day? Bring it.”

“I can solve that.” Mouth laid a hand on Cheeks’ armored butt. “Just stop sleeping naked at night and we won’t be tempted to keep pouring sand down your crack.”

“You just like the view,” Cheeks replied.

Magnus ignored the comment. “But the big thing is that Capriana is tiring of war.”

“Because they’ve fought so hard and so long,” Mouth said as if speaking to a toddler who’d just fallen down.

Magnus chuckled. “The Senate and the Corps want an endgame timeline, so they’re trying everything they can.”

“But this?” Flow asked with the flat of his hand pointing toward the unfolding scene below them. “Dorman really wants to trust a Luma emissary with the fate of our mission?”

“It’s not the mission I’m worried about.” Magnus replied. “The village is secure and we’ve gained the foothold on the island that the brass wanted.”

“And I think I still have that foot up my ass that you lent me,” Cheeks said. “You want it back yet?”

“Keep it,” Magnus replied. “I have another.”

“Copy that, sergeant.”

“If you’re not worried about the mission,” Flow said, aiming along the barrel of his MC90, “then what are you worried about?”

Magnus pointed downrange. “Those four right there. I’m pretty sure this wasn’t in the sales pitch they got when they signed up.”

The Luma emissary and the four Marines were on the bridge. While the mystic looked tranquil, the Marines looked wired. Magnus felt bad for the noobs who’d been roped into this. It was like leading lambs to the slaughter. But the Luma had insisted that he be given four unarmed representatives of the Galactic Republic’s fighting force in order to show that their desire to talk peacefully was legitimate.

“If Dorman wanted to talk so badly, why didn’t he go out there himself?” Mouth asked.

“Listening…” Flow said, reminding Mouth with a with a tap on the side of his helmet that the brass was most likely monitoring the TACNET channels. Mouth grunted, rolled his head side to side, and re-centered down his weapon’s site.

“So…” Flow said, turning toward Magnus. “This Luma prick… is he supposed to be a ’kuda whisperer or something?”

“That’s what I’ve heard. Believes the Akuda tribal leaders are willing to negotiate.”

“And you think they are?”

Magnus jerked his head back. “Hells no. They’re in this to win it, just like we are.”

“Copy that.”

“Alright, that’s enough chatter,” Magnus said in the tone that made everyone go comms silent. “Focus on the op, scan your sectors, and let’s give those boys some covering fire if this splick goes sideways.”

Flow, Mouth, and Cheeks replied with green icons that chirped in Magnus’s HUD. The next voice heard over TACNET was Second Lieutenant Wainwright.

“All fireteams, report in,” Wainwright said. When all the units had confirmed their positions around the village, indicated with Ready icons on the topo map in Magnus’s HUD, the platoon commander continued. “We’re five minutes out still, but I want eyes tracking everything that moves. You see something, tag it. If it even smells like ’kuda, call it out. And if the time comes,” Wainwright said, stressing the conditional word, “and I give the order, I want everything that’s not a Marine to eat sand. I don’t want our boys having anything but a nice leisurely walk back to the village.”

The second lieutenant was ever the professional, but he also lived up to the Corps’ mantra of “leave no Marine behind,” which was why the platoon loved him so much. He was one of the rare COs that the enlisted Marines liked… maybe even revered given how often he fought alongside them. And Magnus had a feeling Wainwright would leave the Luma to his mystical powers until the commander was absolutely certain that the four privates were safe.

“Own the field,” Wainwright said before closing the channel. Each fire team lead replied with a simple text in the sidebar: “OTF.”

“Movement, east side,” Flow called out. “One hundred twenty meters, between the uprights. Tagging it now.”

Magnus relayed the intel to the platoon commander via his helmet’s neural interface. Wainwright replied in the chat with an “acknowledged” prompt and instructed Magnus to keep tracking.

“I count three ’kuda,” Flow added as he tagged them in everyone’s HUD. Sure enough, three of the mutant humanoid fish emerged from around a bend just beyond the wooden gate that marked the entrance to the vacation village. Their shimmering scales and iridescent eyes were easy markers to pick out. They padded along the sandy path using their overdeveloped hind legs, fins flapping as they moved. And while they appeared to comply with the “no weapons” clause of the absurd meeting, Magnus knew their razor-sharp teeth and lethal claws were an even match for an armored Marine wielding a combat knife.

“Steady, boys,” Magnus said. This was the first time he could remember where any Marine had gone so long without firing on one of the fish. “Steady.”

“You really think they want to talk this through?” Cheeks asked with an amazed tone.

“Would you?” Magnus replied.

“Hell no!” Then Cheeks cleared his throat, apparently checking himself. “I mean, no, sergeant. I wouldn’t. I’d want to go in weapons-hot and take out every last one of these bastards, then cook their fillets over a bed of coals on the beach.”

“My sentiments exactly,” Magnus replied.

The three hostiles continued to make their way toward the bridge. Magnus looked back at the Luma emissary. The robed man continued to offer his hands out, palms up. Mystics, this guy has a death wish, Magnus thought. According to what little he knew of the Order of the Luma, emissaries spent years—often their whole lives—learning about one species or another. And when the time came for the Republic to enter peace talks, the Luma were there to make sure the Senate didn’t walk all over them. But from what Magnus had heard, the dialogues were always one-sided, and it was the Republic who got the barrel end of the blaster.

Magnus had never met a Luma before, but given their reputation, he had no desire to. And if this fin sucker was going to do anything but make sure the four Marines with him made it back to the village alive, he’d be damned if he didn’t shoot the emissary himself.

“Fifty meters to POC,” Flow said, referring to the plan’s primary point of contact.

“Hold,” Magnus said, reminding his unit not to fire prematurely… because mystics know they want to. Hell, Magus wanted to more than anyone. But he hadn’t been promoted to sergeant just because of his last name, even though he was sure that had been a contributing factor. The same went for his baby brother, Argus. But there was no way either of them could escape their grandfather’s legend. Best just to try and honor it instead.

“Thirty meters,” Flow reported. The lance corporal spoke just above a whisper. Magnus hated how quiet things got over comms just before his unit saw action. It never ceased to amaze him how much his Marines talked before and during a conflict… but that intense window of silence just before things got real? That was the worst. Secretly, he was hoping one of those fish would make a move so the platoon could get this dumbass distraction over with.

The fish continued to waddle toward the bridge, eyes bulging above their long-snouted slits of teeth. They moved awkwardly, but it was deceptive—at full speed, these demons could overtake any human. Why the damned freaks of nature couldn’t remain content in their oceanic habitat, Magnus had no idea. Little was known about the species and their culture… that was, unless the Luma there was willing to share his notes. Not likely, Magnus thought.

Somewhere along the line, the fish wanted to be the only native inhabitants of Caledonia, and that didn't sit well with either the island dwellers or the Galactic Republic. The senators, it was said, rather liked this planet. And for more than just the stunning views. Suffice to say, they rarely brought their wives on government trips here. Magnus didn’t exactly blame them in their lust—the Nimprinthian women were a sight to behold—but he did question their fidelity.

“Ten meters,” Flow said.

Magnus tracked the three fish to the bridge and then opened a channel to Wainwright. “Lieutenant, do we have ears on the Luma?”

“Negative,” Wainwright replied. “The emissary insisted they go weaponless, and—according to him—the Akuda can detect TACNET transmissions and consider all non-biological forms of communication a threat.”

Magnus ground his teeth. “Copy that.” He closed the channel and reported Wainwright’s intel to the rest of the fire team leads. All they could do was watch.

Suddenly, the center ’kuda started to grow animated, throwing its sinewy forearms in circles.

“Whoa, whoa,” said Flow. “Wha’da we got here?”

“Easy,” Magnus said, though he tightened his grip on his MC90. The fish continued to gesture emphatically, snapping its jaws in quick bites. “He doesn’t look happy.” Magnus noted that the two other ’kudas were starting to grow restless too.

“I don’t like this, Magnus,” Cheeks said, dispensing with protocol and calling the sergeant by his last name.

“Hey, is anyone else detecting an energy reading?” Mouth asked.

“Splick,” Magnus said. He switched his view from optical to radio spectrometer. A faint yellow glow emanated around the center ’kuda. “I got it.” He reopened the channel to Wainwright. “Are you seeing an energy spike?”

Wainwright didn’t reply at first, then said, “Affirmative.”

Magnus used his eye-tracking command to expand his HUD’s view of the bridge and center on the fish. But the damn Luma emissary was blocking the reading, making it harder to discern.

“Could be residual,” Flow offered up. “It’s faint enough.”

“Is that what your gut says?” Magnus added.

“Nope.”

“Mine neither.” Magnus placed the center of his targeting reticle on the ’kuda’s head but kept having to sweep over the Luma to get a clean shot. “Dammit. I’m assigning these bastards to you guys. Tagging now. Get ready to take out the two side ’kudas if they do anything stupid.”

“Copy,” said all three men.

Back in optical view, the Luma emissary appeared as though he was trying to calm the main ’kuda using slow downward motions with his hands. He also gestured several times to the four Marines with him. For their part, the Marines remained where they were, arms at their sides. But Magnus knew they had to be pissing in their armor. Still, the ’kuda “spokesfish” grew more agitated.

“Probably not my place to say, Lieutenant,” Magnus said over comms, “but I don’t like it.”

“Neither do I, sergeant,” said Wainwright.

Suddenly, the four Marines started to back away. The three fish snapped at the air with their teeth. The emissary also took a step back—the man lowered his head as some sort of energy field began to glow around his body. “What the hell?” Magnus said.

“I’m detecting a second energy reading around the Luma,” Mouth added.

“I don’t like this…” Flow said.

Suddenly, the ’kuda on the right reached toward the center fish’s back and pulled something. It looked like a long string…

With a pin at the end.

“It’s an ambush!” Magnus yelled over comms.

He’d barely finished the sentence when the foremost ’kuda detonated, swallowing the other two in a shockwave that rippled all the way back into the village. Magnus hardly flinched, however, watching as the four Marine privates were vaporized along with the fish. As for the worthless Luma, the emissary in his glowing energy field was flung backward and went flipping down the dirt road.

The Luma had enough of the dark arts to know when to protect himself, but not enough to protect the four Marines he had slaughtered? “Son of a bitch,” Magnus yelled.

A dozen ’kuda sprang up from the wide stream, bringing weapons to bear on the Luma who was attempting to retreat toward the village. The emissary took a blaster bolt in the back of the leg, sending him to the dirt in a sprawl. Another bolt drove into his anus, while several more kicked up dirt around his arms. He tried to cover his head, but a final blaster bolt punched through the base of his neck. The Luma’s head twitched once, cocked at an odd angle, and his thrashing stopped.

Flow, Mouth, and Cheeks were already returning fire when Wainwright yelled over comms. “Contact, north and south sides!”

New enemy icons popped up on Magnus’s topo, indicating Akuda infantry emerging from the ocean to their south—his right—and the volcano hillside to the north—his left. Normally, Repub scanners picked up most enemies, but the ’kudas were beginning to learn how to outsmart some of the hardware. How, Magnus had no idea, but he guessed it had something to do with the marine physiology.

“Fire teams four, five, and six,” Wainwright said, “right flank, clear that beach. Fire teams two and three, left flank. I want that jungle purged. Fire team one, clear that stream. Be advised, second and third platoons are en route from the west, ETA five minutes.”

The stream was Magnus’s. He relayed the order to his boys then joined them in laying down steady blaster fire. He sighted in on a fish taking cover near the smoldering remains of the bridge, ranged at seventy-five meters. The fish was popping in and out of a concrete support’s shadow, taking potshots at Marines on the roof adjacent to Magnus. But the ’kuda had developed a pattern that made predicting his next appearance only too easy. Magnus squeezed one round, sending a blaster bolt into the fish’s head. The creature flipped backward and splashed in the water.

The next enemy he saw had positioned itself between some large boulders and a cluster of palm trees—an ideal place for an afternoon cocktail or an evening tryst. At the moment, however, it was the sight of a bloodstain as Magnus drilled the ’kuda in the throat and upper chest, pummeling it with a three-round burst from his MC90.

Magnus’s third kill came when he spotted a ’kuda making a dash for a small outbuilding closer to the village’s edge. While the enemy was fast on land—dangerously so—a well-trained Marine could pick off a ’kuda as long each shot was well-timed. In this case, since the fish was running at an oblique angle to Magnus, it was only too easy to lead the target. He squeezed. The blaster spat a magenta-colored round that struck the fish in the sternum. It tumbled and buried its head in the sand, legs folding over its back. The rest of his unit had made quick work of the Akuda in the stream, so Magnus confirm-cleared the map of hostile icons.

“Fire team one, shift left,” Wainwright ordered. “We need overwatch to the north!”

Magnus tapped Flow on the head and pointed north. “Here we go, boys,” he added. They backed off the thatched roof, slid over the side, and landed on the dirt path that connected several of the private bungalows. In the center of the village rose a five-story hotel. It’s glass exterior, wooden beams, and fabric awnings made it look more like a beach-bound sailing yacht than a luxury resort.

“Let’s make for the hotel roof,” Magnus said. Fire teams two and three were already on the ground, moving into the jungle. Taking the roof meant Flow could unleash even more destruction from his sniper rifle, while the rest of his fire team called out targets and aided the boots on the sand.

Magnus hauled ass around the hotel pool, pushed into an interior lobby, and headed toward a stairwell sign. He charged up all five flights, feeling his armor’s servos assist him as he climbed. But the Mark IV needed some serious upgrades in the future—at least if he had anything to say about it—and more powerful servos would be critical if the Corps was going to remain a formidable fighting force in the galaxy.

Magnus was out of breath when he punched through the rooftop door and stepped back into broad daylight. “This way!” he ordered, pointing to the northern edge. They bypassed several mortar emplacements that had been ranged in to cover the beach—Magnus had no doubt the weapons would be fired up soon in order to cover the COP’s southern border.

As soon as he looked down, Magnus’s AI began overlaying friendly and enemy positions on his HUD. Fire teams two and three were advancing methodically, but more ’kuda kept appearing from the trees. Magnus wondered if they’d found a cave with some sort of ocean access inside the mountain.

“Flow,” Magnus said, “see how far back you can start taking them out.”

“Copy that,” Flow replied. The Marine had already removed the MS900 sniper blaster from his back and was opening the bipod under the barrel.

“Mouth, Cheeks, I want you leading the fire teams, but no friendly fire.”

“Roger,” the two men replied as they began shooting targets marked by the fire team below.

Magnus leaned against a cooling unit and steadied his breathing. “In position, lieutenant,” he said to Wainwright.

“I see you,” replied the CO. “Happy hunting.”

Magnus shouldered his MC90, activated the sights, and double-checked that his helmet was paired with the weapon’s firing system. His weapon wasn’t like the fancy new prototypes the Corps was developing. But the MC90 was reliable and—despite only having two firing modes—was fairly versatile. Plus, in a firefight, the best weapon was the one you were shooting

Magnus called out three targets for Flow before taking aim at a ’kuda snaking down a trail to the far right. The fish had clearly chosen its path well, avoiding the central blaster fire from teams two and three. Magnus guessed it had plans to flank the Marines. The ’kuda’s plan probably would have worked too, were it not for the two rounds that Magnus placed center mass. The fish fell down an embankment and stopped dead against a palm tree trunk. In comic relief only a Marine could appreciate, a coconut fell from its lofty height and landed on the ’kuda’s head. No way anyone’s believing that one, Magnus thought to himself as he filed the occurrence under “Stories I’ll Never Tell.”

The Akuda continued to charge from the jungle, racing down the volcano’s southern face. By mid-afternoon, the Fearsome Four were running low on ammo as their superior position had afforded them a continuous supply of targets. Fortunately, fire teams from second platoon came to resupply them.

“The platoon commander says we can relieve you if you want,” said the team lead, her accent heavy, and one Magnus couldn’t quite place.

“Thanks, Sergeant Meenaz, but if it’s all the same to you, we’ll stay on until the flow stops.”

Apparently unable to resist the opportunity, Lance Corporal Michael “Flow” Deeks replied, “Oh, the Flow never stops, baby.”

Meenaz looked at Flow and then back to Magnus. “Whatever works for you guys, we’re good.”

“Welcome to the party,” Cheeks added over comms, giving Meenaz a super cheesy tip of his helmet.

“Dumbass,” Mouth said over a private channel. “You know she can’t see your face.”

“Exactly,” Cheeks replied. “Right now, I’m her wildest fantasy.”

“Hey, Mr. Wild Fantasies,” Magnus said. “Why don’t you turn your attention to the three ’kudas coming down your left flank.”

“Dammit!” Cheeks yelled. He spun around and brought his MC90 to high ready position then fired on the trio.

2

The afternoon turned out to be a steady defense of the village as ’kuda poured down the volcano’s side face and assaulted the hotel. TACNET data and comms updates revealed that the rest of the hastily created COP was experiencing similar assaults with equal success. The enemy wasn’t throwing everything they had at the village. “Just enough to wear us down,” Magnus said to himself.

“What was that, sergeant?” Flow asked.

Magnus sighted in on a fish who was slinking through a cluster of boulders. “Just talking to myself, Flow.” He squeezed his MC90’s trigger, sending a blaster bolt through the woods and into the ’kuda’s chest. A second shot landed centimeters from the first, boring a small hole in the fish. It slumped forward into a rock, the last of his breath escaping through the new outlet.

“About how the ’kuda are wearing us down?” Flow asked.

“Something like that.” Magnus fired on another fish that was making a run for a large fern. The trio of blaster rounds caught it mid-stride, causing it to tumble head over heels. It collapsed, shooting up forest debris in its wake. The whole afternoon had been like this—taking out one fish after another. “Just feels like they want to keep us occupied, draining our resources.”

“Copy that,” Flow replied. Magnus watched the lance corporal send a single blaster bolt from his MS900 into a fish’s head, obliterating its skull.

The Akuda weren’t exactly the smartest aggressors in the quadrant. In fact, they’d been known to send countless fish to their deaths for reasons Magnus never understood. But when the planet’s oceans seemed to offer an endless supply of the gill-headed bastards, what did it matter? Sure, the morality of willfully sending thousands upon thousands of soldiers to certain death seemed insane to Magnus… but he wasn’t a fish. For all he knew, that was completely logical—and ethical—to the Akuda.

But Magnus also had a strange feeling that maybe the Akuda weren’t as dumb as everyone thought. The fish had demonstrated a level of groupthink that was startling, organizing mass movement without the use of conventional communication systems. And they certainly fought like mad hellions in close quarters combat, schooled in some sort of primal fighting techniques that the Corps had been trying to reverse engineer for over a year. It was only the Repub’s superior weaponry that had given the Marine’s a temporary advantage along the way, but all energy weapons need ammunition and maintenance. Which meant maybe this war wasn’t going to be about firepower…

It was going to be about attrition.

And that’s why Magnus was worried. It didn’t matter how good your weapons were or how well your troops fought. If you couldn’t resupply your warriors, no amount of battlefield superiority would help you win a war of overwhelming numbers. The Marines might kill a hundred of the fish for every ten Marines, but the fish would just keep coming until there were no more Marines to resupply.

Cheeks had just finished downing a pair of ’kuda making their way down a wee-worn path near the volcano face’s middle when Magnus heard voices on the roof behind him.

“Need any help, sergeant?” someone asked.

Magnus noted that the person wasn’t speaking over TACNET, just open air. So he expected to see a civilian when he turned around. Instead, he was met by four Marines in black and gray Mark VI armor, carrying their helmets under their arms. They were also wielding… the prototype MAR30. Neither the armor nor the blaster were in production yet. Supposedly. He’d fired that weapons platform once during a battalion demo day, but it was rumored to be years away from production. And the Mark VI suit? He’d guessed it wouldn’t see the light of day anytime soon either. But, damn if it didn’t look good.

“If you’re in the mood to fish for your dinner, be my guest,” Magnus said, removing his helmet in order to talk with them face to face. He extended his hand toward the foremost Marine. “Sergeant Adonis Olin Magnus.”

“Sergeant Adam Musgrave,” the man replied. “We’re with the—”

“The 79th Recon,” Magnus interjected.

“What gave it away?”

“Actually?” Magnus eyed the man from head to toe. “It was the beards. Nothing sticks out like non-reg.”

Musgrave and the other three operators chuckled. “Ain’t that the truth.”

“First thing I did when I got out of indoctrination school,” a second Marine said, feeling his orange-colored beard, “was grow it out.”

“It only took you twelve months,” said another man in the squad.

When the heckling died down, Magnus said, “Well, nice to have you boys here. But only for a few minutes, I’m assuming?”

Musgrave nodded. “We had intel that ’kuda were massing in this direction and we were asked to check it out, but it looks like you’ve got it under control. So we’re being tasked with an op further downrange.”

“I’d hardly call this massing,” Magnus said, throwing a thumb over his shoulder, “but it’s keeping us out of trouble.”

“I hear that,” Musgrave said. “If we ain’t shooting something, we’re pissing on something else.”

“And pissing only gets Marines in trouble,” Magnus replied.

“Oorah,” said the red-headed Marine behind Musgrave.

“Say,” Musgrave said, wiping a finger over Magnus’s name placard on his chest, “I’ve heard of you, sergeant. Well, maybe not you, but—”

“He was my grandfather.”

Musgrave gave Magnus an impressed look with a raised eyebrow. “You don’t say. Not every day you meet the grandson of an esteemed war hero. You have a brother too?”

“Argus. He’s with our company, fourth platoon.” Magnus could practically feel the Fearsome Four ease their fire rate—he’d never talked about his family with them.

“Damn. Two Magnuses in one conflict. ’Kuda bitches better run.”

Magnus cleared his throat. “Well, like I said you’re welcome to pull up a chair and score some kills if you guys want.”

But Musgrave waved him off. “No way we’re squatting on someone else’s perch, Magnus. We’d better get a move on anyway. Daylight’s slipping, and recon does their best work in the dark.”

Magnus extended his hand again, saying, “Pleasure to meet you gents.”

“Hold up,” Musgrave said, reaching to his chest plate. He de-magged a black sheath from his armor and flipped it over in his hand. Then, pointing the handle toward Magnus, he said, “This is for you.”

Magnus looked down at the offered gift, taken aback by Musgrave’s generosity. The spec ops boys always got all the fun toys, so even without seeing the knife, he knew it was high-end kit. Exchanging small tokens of appreciation, recognition, or even friendship was fairly normal in the Corps. But when something like this was extended… well, Magnus knew it was no small thing.

He took the sheath and pulled out a prototype duradex combat blade, then he whistled. “What’s this for?”

“For being stone cold,” Musgrave said. “Those three sluggers behind you haven’t stopped firing since we got here, which means they respect your orders, and you turned to meet us instead of telling one of them to, which means you were willing to deal with what was most likely an inspection from a butt-scrunched CO instead of making them do it.”

Not willing to negate his points, Magnus replied, “Thank you, sergeant.”

“My pleasure. And do yourself a favor when this is all done.”

“What’s that?”

“Consider the recon. We could use some heat like you. All four of you.”

Magnus looked at the knife and then back to Musgrave. “Maybe we will.”

“I’ll put in a good word for you with Caldwell,” Musgrave added with a wink. “We don’t hand those knives out to just anyone, ya know. Own the field, bitches.”

“OTF,” Magnus replied.

* * *

“No fair,” Cheeks said, looking over at Magnus. “I want a knife.”

“You don’t get a knife,” Mouth said. “The mystics already gave you a cock the size of a Madras donkey’s. Knives are for everyone else.”

“Hey, speak for yourself,” Flow said, throwing Mouth an elbow a second after he dispatched a ’kuda with his MS900.

“I’m just saying, Cheeks here’s got—”

“We’ve all seen,” Flow said. “No need to revisit my nightmares.”

Magnus sighted in on a cluster of ’kuda taking cover behind a copse of palms. While he could eventually pick them all off himself, it’d be more efficient if he had some help. “Hey, big dick and friends, shift right. Marking the targets on your HUD.”

The boys laughed as Magnus felt them turn to the right. They locked onto the icons he’d illuminated and opened fire. Their blaster rounds met plenty of targets that poked around the trees, but even more ripped their way through the trunks and hit the fish where they hunched. With so much overwhelming fire, the enemy toppled out from behind the palm grove like wheat cleaved from a field.

“You thinking of putting in for recon school?” Flow asked.

Mouth answer first. “After that invite, he’d better be.”

“Damn straight,” added Cheeks. “You get a bead to the major like that, you take it.”

The truth was, Magnus didn’t need the favor. He already knew Caldwell—no small thanks to his grandfather. But this was the very thing he was trying to avoid. Favors. He didn’t want handouts, he wanted justice. You get what you earn, and you miss what you weren’t good enough to target yourself. So he had a hard time knowing what Musgrave saw in him—a Marine worth his plate armor or just another Magnus.

“Maybe when all this is over, I’ll look into it,” Magnus said. “You never know. But I’ll only do it on one condition.”

“Dick enlargement therapy?” Mouth asked.

“Shut up, Mouth,” Flow said, this time striking him with the butt of his weapon.

“Watch it!”

“I’m taking you with me,” Magnus said.

“Right.” Flow chuckled. “Cause that’s how it works.”

Magnus knew what Flow meant. You didn’t pick who went with you to one side of the Corps or another. That was like shouting at the ocean and telling it not to send waves to a certain part of the beach. No, the Repub told you where you were going, and that was that.

But if Magnus was going to leverage his connection to Major Caldwell, it wasn’t going to be for himself. It’d be for these three mag draggers. Flow, Mouth, and Cheeks had been with him… to hell and back, and then back to hell a few more times. They’d weathered splick no one had seen before, at least as far as Magnus imagined. So if there was some way into an elite fighting unit that got to do things for the Repub that made a difference, he wanted to see them going. They deserved it. More than anyone else, and certainly more than him.

“I’m serious, boys.” Magnus tracked and fired on another fish, dropping it in a flopping heap of gills and fins. “If the Corps wants me in recon indoctrination school, then they get all of us. If not, no deal.”

Flow ceased fire and looked over at Magnus. “Mystics, you’re serious right now, aren’t you.”

Flow couldn’t see his face, of course, but Magnus was giving him the most serious look he could. “And if they don’t want us, I’ll buy you your damn knives. That goes double for you, Cheeks—dick or no dick.”

“Definitely dick,” Cheeks said.

3

First, second, and third platoons held the village on T’io Mi’on well into the evening, resisting the Akuda’s steady assault with unrelenting streams of fire on both northern and southern advances. Unlike some of the other firefights Magnus had endured, this one was relatively benign, though he and the others still lamented the unnecessary loss of three of the four Marines who’d accompanied the Luma emissary to the bridge. Magnus knew the event would remain with him long into the future, standing out as a sore spot in the conflict. He’d already distrusted the Order and their methods, but now—seeing everything firsthand—he swore he’d never trust a Luma again. Mystic bastards, he thought.

As Magnus finished debriefing with Wainwright in the company’s makeshift HQ—a deluxe bungalow in the hotel’s shadow—he walked out to find the rest of the Four lounging in some broken lawn chairs by a fire pit.

“Damn, this martini is good,” Flow said with his helmet off. He sipped from the water line protruding from his collar, making a show of how amazing it tasted.

“You wish,” Magnus said. The truth was, they were all ready for some much-needed leave. It had been ten months since their last evac to Capriana, and they’d seen their fair share of action since then. In fact, the last two months had provided the most intense engagements of the entire conflict. Their platoon had cycled out more than half its numbers, and Magnus knew Mouth and Cheeks were both showing signs of PTSD, though neither man would admit it, and Magnus was reticent to bring it up.

Rumors of Marines having psychotic breakdowns during the lulls in between firefights were becoming more common too. Several arrests had been made in barracks where things had gotten out of hand. Fortunately, none of Magnus’s direct reports needed to be subdued… at least not yet. He cursed the day that he’d need to order one of the Four to stand down.

Magnus pulled up the splintered remains of a wooden cabana chair and sat by the fire. “Pour me one, would you, Flow?”

“No problem, sergeant,” he said, then leaned into Magnus’s face with his neck.

“Mystics, Flow, this isn’t a make-out session!” Magnus shoved the man off him. “Plus, you smell like splick.”

“You don’t smell much better.”

All four of them laughed as Magnus set his helmet on the grass. He leaned back and looked up at the stars. “Mystics, if this were any other season of my life.”

“Copy that, big daddy,” Cheeks said. Then he put his arms up as if leaning them over the shoulders of some imaginary people on his lap. “I have a blonde on this leg and a brunette on this one.”

“Just two?” Mouth asked, looking at Cheeks in amazement.

“Nah…” Cheeks placed both hands a half a meter from his groin as if he were holding a space ball. “Third one’s right here.”

“Yeah, you wish,” Flow said, kicking Cheek’s hands away from his crotch.

“What about you, Magnus?” Cheeks asked. “You never talk about having girls back home.”

“For one thing,” Magnus said, studying the stars, “it’d just be one girl.”

“Come on now, sergeant,” Mouth said. “We all know you’re man enough to—”

“Not saying it wouldn’t be fun, boys. But I leave that to you. I can barely handle one as it is. I’m just saying, all I need is the love of one woman, and that’s enough.”

“Now there’s an old-school romantic for you,” Mouth said.

“So who is she?” Flow asked, leaning in.

“Nobody right now,” he replied, nodding up to the stars. It was a half-truth, of course. He was seeing someone if it could be called that. But in his gut, he wasn’t convinced the relationship would last. “But she’s out there, somewhere.”

There was a momentary pause. For a second, Magnus wondered if he’d gotten through to his philandering fire team. Then Cheeks asked, “You know what this means, boys? Sergeant’s just been banging Nimprinthian babes when we’re all asleep.”

Laughter filled the firelight. Magnus let the three of them carry on for a minute, before saying, “Alright, alright. Ease up on the natives, boys.”

The crackle of the fire and the distant murmurs of other teams enjoying the peace and quiet retook the plaza. The humid smell of the salty air and flowers had replaced the odors of burnt ozone and charred flesh. Magnus could stay here like this all night. It was nice not hearing the constant whine of blaster fire or the screams of the dying. For a moment, it almost felt like he was back home, sitting with Dani and enjoying the warmth of her body against his, resting in one of Capriana’s parks. Of course, there was no way in hell he was telling that to these bastards—they’d have a field day with it. But when he got home, maybe he’d make something of their relationship… if there was anything left to salvage.

“Did I hear your brother is joining us?” Flow asked.

Magnus looked over at him, surprised the news had spread so quickly. But with a last name like Magnus, he supposed it wasn’t entirely out of the norm for intel to pass among the ranks. “That’s what I hear. Fourth platoon should be pulling in sometime after midnight.”

“He anything like you?” Mouth asked.

“A whole lot better looking.” Magnus checked the time. “Well, it’s getting late, boys.”

“Aw, no, sergeant,” Cheeks pleaded. “Say it ain’t so…”

“I know, I know,” he said, pushing them back with open palms. “I’m the life of the party here, and things just won’t be the same without me. But you think this face pops off the pillow every morning looking this good on its own?”

The three men shared a glance. Then Mouth said, “Yeah, actually we do.”

“Nice try, Franklin,” Magnus said, using the man’s last name. “But I’m leaving you three to enjoy the night air and free cocktails without me.”

“Sounds good, sergeant,” Mouth replied. Then he seemed to think of another question. “You’re not waiting up for your little brother?”

Magnus shook his head. “I’m sure I’ll catch up with him in the morning. If you see him, just stay away from his left hook.”

The three men raised their eyebrows.

“He draws your attention in with all those right jabs and then—bam!” Magnus mimed the boxing combo, delivering the left hook with a vocal flourish.

“Sounds like you’ve been on the receiving end of that before,” Flow said.

Magnus grunted. “More times than I care to count.” He reached down and picked up his helmet, tucked it under his arms, and bid them goodnight. For their part, the three men sent Magnus away with farewell wishes for a good night’s rest and dreams of big breasts.

Magnus walked toward the tents set up on a quad near the beach. Secretly, he’d hoped to obtain a bunk in one of the bungalows—who wouldn’t—but all those had been reserved by the officers before they’d even taken the island. And why not? It wasn’t like anyone here made enough scratch to come back in the future—that was, assuming the Marines or the Navy didn’t blow this place to hell by the time this was all said and done.

* * *

While Magnus wished he’d been in the middle of a dream with the blonde and the brunet on Cheeks’ thighs—minus Cheeks—he was really in the middle of fitful sleep when the sound of blaster fire startled him awake. He could already hear glass windows shattering above him, evidence that the main hotel was being targeted by ’kuda anti-ship munitions. Magnus didn’t even put on his armor. Instead, he grabbed his MC90 and stepped out of his tent wearing only his workout shorts and slip-ons.

Blue blaster bolts buffeted the building overhead, blowing holes in several floors. He knew that people were in there. Third platoon had been assigned a dozen rooms since arriving to the newly created and over-capacity COP. Fourth platoon had probably been pointed there as well. Like the officers who’d gotten the bungalows, Magnus had envied the two platoons. But not anymore.

Several people fell from the gaps in the windows. Most of the bodies were maimed or dismembered, but at least two Marines screamed as they fell to their deaths. For a fleeting second, Magnus wondered if one of those bodies was his brother’s.

“Dammit!” Magnus yelled to no one in particular, then he reached back inside his tent for his helmet. As soon as the AI fired up, a topo map appeared, lit with icons denoting Marines and Akuda forces not in the tens, but in the hundreds. The chat section was streaming faster than he could read, so he pinged Wainwright for a situation report.

“SITREP, LT?”

“We’re getting three-sixtied! Get your ass to that hotel and start clearing Marines out! They’re sitting ducks!”

“Copy,” Magnus replied. Then he pinged the remaining Fearsome Four. Flow and Mouth were already standing outside their tent, reaching for their MC90. Cheeks stepped out of another tent, butt naked. He stared aloft as more artillery rounds pummeled the hotel.

“Cheeks!” Magnus yelled through his external speakers. “Get something on your ass! All of you, weapons hot, covers on. We’re running exfil on the hotel!”

Cheeks ducked inside and returned fewer than ten seconds later with a pair of boxers, his helmet, and his blaster. The four Marines raced through the tent village, each wearing next to nothing, and headed for the hotel’s main entrance. Far fewer Marines were leaving the building than Magnus had hoped, which meant they were dead, dazed, or trapped.

“Magnus,” Flow said, “data shows the ground floor is storage, floor two is admin only.”

“That puts barracks on three, four, and five,” Magnus concluded.

“That’s what I’m thinking,” Flow replied.

“Then let’s get a move on,” Mouth said, bolting toward the nearest stairwell. Just as he was about to pull the door open, it pushed out. Two Marines limped through the doorway, one with a serious head wound and the other cradling the bloody stump of a forearm.

“Splick!” Mouth yelled, backing away so the two men could pass by.

Just then, another large-caliber round rocked the building. The chandeliers swayed, and bits of plaster and glass fell on Magnus’s bare shoulders.

“Clear,” Mouth said, barging through the door and up the first flight of stairs. Magnus and the others followed him. It didn’t take long, however, for more Marines to appear, many suffering from severe injuries like the men they’d passed earlier. Those who didn’t appear to be wounded were helping the least lucky Marines down the stairs. One woman had both legs blown off—two tourniquets were cinched around her upper thighs. Magnus stepped aside as she passed, then continued ascending toward the top floor. With every turn he took, he half expected to see Argus limping down the stairs missing one limb or another. Mystics knew the kid had a knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

The line of Marines heading to the exit was becoming more constant now, which was a good sign. What wasn’t a good sign was how bad the injuries were and how many more Marines Magnus knew were still in the building. If the warriors passing him represented the best conditioned Marines, he feared what they were going to find once in the rooms.

Magnus pushed the fifth-floor door open and stepped into a hallway filled with the shouts of Marines, the smell of fire, and the remains of broken walls. Another hit slammed against the building so hard that Magnus was thrown sideways against the hallway wall. His helmet took the majority of the hit—a flash of static fizzed out the display for half a second. But his shoulder and hip weren’t without their own damage. He righted himself and saw two indentations his body had left in the wall. Feeling the pain of the impact and looking ahead to the patches of fire that emanated from several holes in the hallway, Magnus was beginning to regret not taking the extra minute to don his Mark IV armor.

“Look for survivors,” Magnus said. “Focus on those who can’t move themselves.”

The three other men confirmed the order and started clearing rooms. Magnus moved furthest down the hallway, stepping into a room to his left. The large suite looked south toward the beach and had suffered a direct hit that blew out the main windows and toasted what he assumed had been a central living room. Two Marines in their underwear lay crumpled on the floor—one missing half his chest cavity, the other staring at the ceiling with dead eyes.

Magnus turned into the main bedroom and, aside from the sleeping bags on the floor and the upturned bed, found a woman leaning outside the bathroom wall. Her legs looked too burned to be used, but she was awake, clutching her left arm.

“Are you able to stand?” Magnus asked through his helmet.

“No,” the Marine said. “I can’t feel those burns. I think something hit my spine.”

“I’m going to pick you up,” Magnus said.

“Copy that, sergeant.”

Magnus bent over and scooped her up, bringing her to his chest. The woman groaned as he moved her, but that was all. Whether or not she could feel anything in her legs, he knew she must be able to feel everywhere else, and from the looks of it, the pain had to be intense.

“What’s your name, Marine,” Magnus asked, trying to start a conversation that might take the woman’s attention off the agony.

“Saba,” she said. “Lance Corporal Melany Saba, with Fourth Platoon.”

“Copy that, lance corporal.” Magnus was back in the hallway, heading for the stairs.

“And you?”

“I’m with First Platoon. You can call me Adonis.” Magnus was hustling down the first two flights of stairs, noting how the woman’s lifeless legs slapped against his hip.

“That’s your last name, Marine?”

Magnus shook his helmet, reluctant to say anything more. But what the hell does it matter now? “Last name’s Magnus,” he added.

“Well I’ll be…” The woman seemed to blush as they descended, catching up to some slower moving Marines. “Never thought I’d actually get to meet Argus’s big brother.”

“You know Argus?”

“Course I do. Who doesn’t know a Magnus when they’re in your own damn—” Saba winced as Magnus landed a bit too forcefully on a landing. But he’d halfway tripped on his slip-on sandal.

“Sorry,” Magnus said.

“When they’re in your own damn company,” Saba finished through gritted teeth.

“Know what room he was in by any chance?”

But Saba shook her head. “He was supposed to be two doors down from me.”

“Supposed to?” Magnus rounded the last landing to the ground floor.

“He and a few of the others said they needed to blow off some steam before hitting the hay. Said they were sneaking off to the basement, I think. Then all this happened.”

“You sure?”

“Pretty damn sure,” Saba said. “Platoon commander sent…” Saba winced, then took a few short breaths. “Sorry. Sent another squad to look for them, but no one’s reported back. Might be a good thing, for Argus’s sake.”

“How’s that?”

“He and his crew take their playtime seriously.”

“Don’t I know…” Magnus was at least relieved to know that Argus hadn’t been near any windows when the attack began. But he was apprehensive about what condition his brother might be in if left to his many vices. Chances were high that he was disabled during this firefight but for completely different reasons than being shot.

Magnus carried Saba across the lobby and filed out onto the hotel’s front lawn. The sound of blaster fire behind the edges of the village had increased since Magnus entered the hotel just a few minutes prior. He gave his topo a quick scan and saw that even more enemy forces were driving toward the village, most gathering on the beach. He’d expected to hear the mortar’s going off on the roof—the fact that they weren’t meant one of several things, none of them good.

A medic raced toward Magnus and Saba. The man seemed to size up Saba’s injuries fast, then said, “That way!” He pointed Magnus toward some more medics moving the wounded away from the hotel and toward a cluster of tents.

Magnus jogged toward the makeshift medical unit, careful not to jounce Saba too hard. But he needed to get back in the hotel and save more Marines… and find his brother.

“We’ll take her, Marine,” said another medic, insisting that Magnus lay the lance corporal on the grass. He did so, then removed his helmet to wish the woman well.

“Thanks, Adonis,” Saba said, touching his bearded face. “It’s not every day a Magnus saves you.”

“Just make sure you live to tell about it,” Magnus replied. He gave her a wink and was about to put his helmet back on when the lance corporal put a hand on his bare arm.

“Take care of him, okay?”

The gesture, as well as the comment, caught Magnus off guard. He opened his mouth to give her a quick reply, but she added more.

“People misunderstand him a lot. But I know he’s a good man. Just… he’s trying to meet his needs in the wrong ways, you know? And you’re his big brother, so he respects you even though he doesn’t always show it.”

Mystics, is this lady a shrink or something?

“I’ll look after him,” Magnus said, doing his best to ignore Saba’s comments. But the woman clearly had keen insight into the Magnus Family relationships. For all Magnus knew, Argus had bedded this woman on more than one occasion.

He replaced his cover and turned for the hotel again. “How we looking, Fearsome?” he asked over their squad comms channel.

“We’ve evacuated the last survivors on the fifth floor,” Flow said. “Moving down to the fourth floor now.”

“Copy that,” Magnus replied. “I’ve got word there might be Marines in the basement. Going to check it out.” He was back in the lobby, dodging the steady stream of injured Marines.

“Be careful,” Flow replied. “Heard some chatter that supports are collapsing—they think some explosions went off down there when this first started.”

“Copy that, Flow. I’ll keep an eye out.”

There was a moment’s hesitation before Flow added: “You think baby brother’s down there?”

Magnus swallowed, pulling open a separate door marked Basement. “I do, yeah.”

“Be careful then. I know how thick-headed we can get when it’s family.”

“Roger that.”

* * *

Magnus plunged down two flights of stairs in total darkness. He switched to thermal optics since the power in this section of the building had apparently been knocked out. When he got to the lower level, he scanned down the corridor to his left, then to his right. Increasing the sensor’s sensitivity, he noticed movement roughly one hundred meters to his right. Several figures appeared to be inside the back room.

Magnus switched to night vision, relying on the light cast from small fires further down the corridor. Just as Flow had mentioned, several load-bearing columns had collapsed in the building’s center. Magnus detected the sharp odor of synthetic explosives still lingering in the air. Black blast marks raced away from several flowering holes in the metal infrastructure.

When he got close enough to the fires, he switched back to optics and then double-checked that his air filtration system was operational. He also ran a finger along the soft seal around his neck. The last thing he wanted was to die of asphyxiation down below when there were far more heroic ways to die up top. Still, if it meant saving his brother’s life, then he could think of few more meaningful ways to perish. Mystics know I’ve saved his life a hundred times before… the ungrateful little ass.

Magnus’s skin prickled against the heat as he tried to skirt the damaged superstructure, before moving further down the corridor. Several pipes spewed water into a few-centimeters flood that his feet slashed through, but it was nothing to be overly concerned about. He did, however, wish he’d been wearing his boots—escorting injured Marines back this way with his slip-ons would be a pain.

He switched back to infrared to try and isolate an exact direction. Closer than before, Magnus noticed four… maybe five individuals a little further down and to his left. At least one of the individuals looked injured, lying prone on the ground. Another looked to be sliding off a table or crate—Magnus couldn’t be sure. The remaining two or three Marines looked to be attending to the fallen. Splick, Magnus thought, this is going to be bad. But as he switched back to optical and approached the door, he wasn’t prepared for just how bad it really was.

4

Magnus pushed open the door and stepped into the room marked Boiler. At first, he didn’t know how to process what he saw. A young Nimprinthian woman was bent over a desk, her bare breasts pressed into the metal top while two half-dressed Marines assaulted her from behind. Neither man registered Magnus’s presence—they were too busy with their conquest.

The third nearly naked Marine had a second girl’s hands and thighs pinned to the floor while he forced himself on her. Between the sounds of battle and the women screaming, Magnus suspected none of the men had heard him enter. He pointed his MC90 at the ceiling, aiming as far back as he could, and fired three rounds.

The Marines looked around, seemingly less than surprised to hear weapons fire—which meant they were extremely desensitized, on something, or experiencing some sort of a psychotic episode. None of which were exciting explanations for Magnus.

“Step away from the women, now!” Magnus ordered over external speakers, feeling his blood flush his face.

“If you want in,” said an angry-faced Marine with a thick neck and bulging shoulders, “you’re gonna have to wait your turn.”

“I think you misunderstand my purpose for being here,” Magnus replied. He took two strides forward and then brought the butt of his MC90 across the man’s face. Magnus struck him with such force that the man spun away from the table and collapsed onto the floor.

The second man at the desk watched his fellow Marine flop to the ground. He looked back at Magnus and then at last ceased his gyrating, though he failed to retreat from the girl who still wailed on the desk. The man on the floor, however, carried on, headless of Magnus’s display of force.

Magnus raised his weapon at the man behind the desk. “Off her now, splickhead,” Magnus said. The man put his hands up and backed away, rightfully more concerned with the weapon pointed at him than the limp one he was pointing at his victim.

Then Magnus turned toward the Marine still assaulting the second woman on the floor. “I said get off her, you son of a bitch!”

“Or what?” the man said. As he looked up, Magnus caught the familiar face of Argus. But this beast was a shadow of his baby brother. A wild sneer wrinkled his nose, and scratch marks along his neck and cheeks dripped with crimson tears. Argus’ deranged face sent a chill up Magnus’s bare skin. He reached for his helmet and ripped it off his head.

“Or I’m going to beat the living splick out of you, Argus.”

Magnus’s brother barely even flinched when he saw his brother. “Go tend to your own flock, Adonis. I’m busy here.”

Magnus reapplied his grip on his MC90, fighting a battle of wills that caused him to lower and then raise the weapon’s barrel on Argus. “Get off her, Argus.”

“Or what, big brother?” Argus spit on the girl’s bare chest. “You’re gonna shoot me?”

Magnus swallowed.

This was a psychotic breakdown if he’d ever seen one. His little brother had always been the smarter of the two of them, painfully so. Where Adonis was a brute who solved most problems at the playground with a quick punch to a pain point, Argus had used more subtle ways of keeping bullies at bay—like convincing them their parents were watching from the cameras in the ceiling, or constructing fake bombs and putting them in their lockers at school.

When they both signed up for the Marines, Adonis had tried to convince Argus not to go through with it. While brilliant, he wasn’t sure his younger brother could handle the violence. Even back then, he knew it did things to a person… things Adonis wasn’t sure Argus was built for. And now the fear that those demons had whispered to him more than two years ago had come back to bite them both.

“Argus, this isn’t you,” Magnus said.

“Just get off her, bro!” said the second Marine still standing with his manhood out. The first Marine was slowly recovering from the blow Magnus had dealt him.

“Listen to your man, Argus,” Magnus said, trying to talk above the young woman’s cries. “Just get off her and we’ll walk away from this.”

“Nah,” Argus said, then pulled a pistol from the rear waistband of his torn gym shorts. He placed it under the girl’s chin, causing her to scream. “You were always the one in control, brother. But not tonight.”

“Argus, put the—”

“Sounds like everyone’s dying up there, and this… this right here… this is how we’ve chosen to go out. Not dying at the hands of a bastard fish just so some Senators can keep their precious vacation homes under Repub jurisdiction.” Argus started shaking his head. Veins bulging. Sweat streaming. “Nah, not today. We get our share tonight. This is what we deserve.”

“And what about them,” Magnus said, indicating the two women. The first girl was holding her clothes to her chest and stepped behind Magnus, whimpering. “Is this what they deserve too?”

Even as he posed the question, Magnus noted that the first Marine was trying to stand. How the giant hadn’t blacked out from the blow was beyond Magnus. Either the boy had the constitution of a starship or he was hopped up on something powerful. “Easy there, big guy. No sudden moves.”

Magnus was beginning to regret taking his helmet off. If things got out of hand here, he wouldn’t be able to call for backup, and he had no way of subduing three Marines without badly hurting them—which he would do if necessary.

“I’m tired of talking,” Argus said. He pushed the pistol further under the girl’s chin. She screamed. Magnus pointed his MC90 directly at Argus. “See there, Nos Kil?” Argus looked to the Marine, who was pulling himself up on a crate. “My brother is actually thinking of pulling the trigger on me. And isn’t that just like family?”

Magnus noticed the Marine called Nos Kil look at something adjacent to him. It was another pistol. Damn, Magnus thought, where are these guys getting officers’ sidearms? “Don’t even think about it,” Magnus said, nodding Nos Kil away from the pistol.

Suddenly, Argus yanked the young woman off the floor and pulled her up to stand in front of him. He used her body as a shield while keeping the pistol pointed at her head. Magnus swirled back to Argus. Nos Kil looked back at the pistol. Magnus aimed back to Nos Kil.

Splick. This was going sideways faster than he could have imagined.

“Listen,” said the only compliant Marine of the three. “I don’t want anyone gettin’ hurt here.”

“Shut up, Caldwell,” Nos Kil said. Magnus glanced at the kid and wondered if he was related to the Major. He certainly had similar features. “You’re such a disgrace.”

“No, I’m not.”

Nos Kil gestured to the man’s loins. “Yeah, ya are.”

Self-conscious for the first time since entering the room, Caldwell zipped up his pants and shuffled further into the corner.

“Coward,” Nos Kil seethed.

“I’m getting tired of this,” Argus said. “She dies…” Then he stretched the weapon out and pointed it at Magnus. “Or you die.”

“Argus, stand down!” Magnus ordered.

“You’re gonna shoot me? Over this?”

“I wouldn’t have my weapon up if I didn’t mean to use it. Now stand down.”

“So… this is what it comes down to then.” Argus looked to the side with a disgusted chuckle. “Figures. You never could stay out of my business.”

“Argus, I’m not gonna ask you again. Put your weapon down and step away from the woman. This is your last warning.” He moved his finger from the trigger guard and placed it on his trigger.

Nos Kil lunged for the pistol on the crate. Magnus pivoted and lined up a shot, but the Marine was fast. He grabbed the pistol and squeezed the trigger, but not before Magnus fired a round into the man’s shoulder. Nos Kil’s shot with the pistol went wide. He screamed, dropping the weapon, and reached for his injured shoulder.

A groan from the room’s corner drew Magnus’s attention. He glanced over long enough to see Caldwell slump against some crates. He’d been shot in the chest. Nos Kil looked up at Caldwell too—but where Magnus expected Nos Kil to show some sort of remorse for accidentally shooting his squadmate, the wretch displayed a look of curious satisfaction.

Magnus turned back to Argus and looked him in the eyes. But in the time it took for him to refocus, his brother raised the pistol to the girl’s right temple and fired. Driven by instinct, Magnus fired at nearly the same moment, delivering a blaster bolt to the center of Argus’s forehead. The girl’s left temple erupted in an electrical burst of gray matter and blood while Argus’s head snapped back, tossing him into a cluster of crates.

The girl behind Magnus shrieked while Nos Kil dove for the pistol he’d dropped.

“You touch it, you die, Marine,” Magnus said. The barrel of his MC90 hovered less than a meter behind Nos Kil’s head.

* * *

“What the hell?” Flow asked, removing his helmet as Magnus emerged from the basement stairwell. Magnus held Nos Kil at the end of his MC90 while the surviving Nimprinthian young woman clutched Magnus’s free arm like she might drown if she let go.

“Get an MP,” Magnus said. “This one here needs court-martialing.” He didn’t bother mentioning that the man needed a medic for his shoulder too. Hell, the blaster bolt had cauterized the wound.

“Copy that,” Flow said, waving at someone across the room. “And this lovely young—”

“Careful, Flow. I’m not in the mood.”

“She needs a medic,” Flow said, employing a sudden and wise course correction. “Miss, would you please come with me?”

But the young woman shook her head and clutched Magnus’s arm all the harder.

“I’ll take her,” Magnus said. He breathed a small sigh of relief as two MPs put flexicuffs on Nos Kil. “Detain this one. If we last the night, Second Lieutenant Wainwright will have the charges.”

“Understood,” said one of the MPs. Then they hauled Nos Kil away… but not before the soon-to-be ex-Marine had something to say.

“I know what you did down there,” Nos Kil said, spitting blood as he talked. His lips were swollen, and Magnus saw that his MC90’s butt had broken a few of the Marine’s teeth.

“And I know what you did, asshole,” Magnus said.

Nos Kil sneered. The MPs jerked him away as more blaster rounds pounded the hotel’s glass exterior.

“What was that about?” Flow asked.

“Nothing worth talking about now.”

“Did you find your brother?” Flow asked.

Magnus’s eyes went out of focus as he looked past Flow’s face. “No,” was all he could manage to say. That man down there… it may have been his brother by blood, but the moment Argus placed his pistol against an innocent person’s head—hell, the moment he’d raped the poor girl—he’d stopped being a Magnus. “But let me know if you find him.”

The building trembled and the girl held tight to Magnus.

“Come on,” Flow said. “Let’s get out of here. This place is going down.”

“Copy that,” Magnus said, moving toward the exit.

5

“Magnus,” Wainwright said over comms. “I need a SITREP on the hotel.”

“It’s clear,” Magnus replied. But his mind wouldn’t let him forget his brother’s body in the basement. Images of Argus’s head tipping back, his body falling to the ground, kept fighting for prominence. If he wasn’t careful, they’d distract him, and distractions meant more Marines dying. Instead, he pushed the emotions down and focused on his CO’s voice.

“Good work, sergeant. I need you and the Four on the beach, double time.”

“Roger that.” Magnus liked when Wainwright used the moniker.

“Seems the enemy is breaking off its attack on the rest of the village and focusing all efforts—”

Magnus listened as muted blaster fire filled the comms.

“Focusing all efforts on the beach,” Wainwright continued. “Take as many ammo crates as you can with you. We’re running light. We lost some of our supply chains.”

“Copy that, lieutenant. We’re on our way.”

“One last thing, Magnus.”

“Of course.”

“Word has it you and your squad are running around in your shorts and sandals.”

“Didn’t have time to get our armor on, sir.”

“Make time, or else everyone on the beach might think you’re showing up for a swim and not a fight.”

“Copy that, sir.”

* * *

It took five minutes for Magnus, Flow, Mouth, and Cheeks to suit up and move through the village to the south. Magnus was grateful that Wainwright had ordered them to suit up. He doubted he would have taken the time given how badly they were under attack. But Wainwright wasn’t an idiot—a well-armored Marine could do more for the company than one roaming around in their underwear. So while Wainwright may have been concerned for Magnus, he was far more concerned with the entire operation.

“Looks like the most action is at the beach’s center,” Flow said over comms as they stopped outside a supply cache.

“Agreed,” Magnus said. Without the mortar units on the hotel’s roof, Magnus guessed the beach was going to be some highly contested territory. He stacked the ammo crates three high and latched them together, then pointed to Flow to take the handle on the other side.

“The ’kuda are trying to split us down the middle,” Cheeks added as they departed the cache and stepped out from the village huts and onto the backside of the dunes. “Divide and conquer.”

“So let’s help stem the tide,” Magnus said.

“Damn, sergeant,” Mouth added. “You collect those jokes from the brass?”

Magnus smirked. He hadn’t even meant to use the idiom while running onto a beach. “Nah. I did it just for you,” Magnus said, lying to suit the moment.

“You really shouldn’t have.”

Cheeks shoved his side of the ammo crates as they ran, jarring Mouth to the side. “That’s just the kind of son of a beach he is.”

“You’re killing me, Cheeks.” Mouth readjusted his grip on the crates.

“Look alive, Fearsome, here we go…”

Magnus crested the dunes and saw a veritable sea of ’kuda emerging from the water and running for shore. They were moving fast, with fresh troops replacing downed ones as fast as the Marines could lay down fire. While the right and left flanks certainly appeared to have their hands full, the center boasted the largest concentration of ’kuda movement.

“Let’s move these crates up as close as we can,” Magnus said. “Get the lay of the land, and then kill us some fish for dinner.” Everyone complied and then started down toward the strand.

Shortly after Magnus’s company had secured the island, engineers had taken the liberty of deploying metal barricades along the beachheads. They were spiked on one side, facing the open ocean, but flat on the other, providing protective cover for Marines in situations exactly like this. The Marines had taken to calling them urchins based on their similarities to the aquatic lookalike.

Magnus slid down the dune face—his boots cutting long trenches along the embankment—before taking cover behind one of the urchins with Flow. Mouth and Cheeks joined them, toting their ammo crates. The heaviest fighting was still another two hundred meters toward the ocean at the place where the water stretched onto the strand. Magnus gave the order to advance, and all four of them made for the next urchin.

Several stray ’kuda rounds whizzed past their heads. “Careful,” Magnus reminded them. “Eyes up.”

The Four poured on the speed as they finally made it to their fifth urchin, one backfilled with several Marines who—apparently—had decided they couldn’t advance further. According to the map on his HUD, Wainwright was still two urchins ahead. If Magnus was going to advance further and join him, he wouldn’t be carrying ammo crates.

Magnus ordered his boys to set the crates down and then spotted another sergeant. He tapped the Marine on the shoulder and opened a channel based on the man’s helmet ident chip.

“What’ya got, Sergeant Mendes?” Magnus asked.

The Marine turned and paused, probably registering Magnus’s stats. “You’re a Magnus too? Seen your brother anywhere? Cause right now, he’s AWOL.”

Magnus winced. His baby brother sure was away without leave—permanently. Dammit, Magnus, keep it together.

“Mendes,” Magnus restated, “anything I need to know?”

“Just what you see. Damn fish won’t stop coming. Whole ocean’s full of the bastards. And without those mortar emplacements…”

“Copy that.” Magnus pointed to the crates on the ground. “Got a birthday present for you. Make sure they get around.”

“You shouldn’t have.”

“You can buy me a beer.”

“Roger.”

Magnus picked up one crate and asked Flow to mag lock it to his back. The crate would make running harder, but based on how close they were to the front, he wouldn’t have to haul it far.

“Happy hunting, Mendes,” Magnus said, tapping the man on the shoulder and making to move around the urchin.

“Hold up, where you going, Magnus?”

Magnus tilted his head at the other NCO. “To the front of the class, Mendes. Where else?”

“OTF, Magnus,” Mendes said, his voice not without a sense of awe in it… and maybe an element of shame. Not all Marines were equal on the battlefield.

Magnus raised a fist and punched Mendes’s knuckle. “OTF.”

* * *

“Weapons hot, boys,” Magnus ordered, back on their squad channel. “Take out any fish that puckers, and watch for IFF markers.” The identify friend or foe icons appeared in their HUDs to separate potential targets from fellow Marines, and Magnus was diligent to remind his men about them. Firing on an enemy was easy when they were the only thing in your sight picture. But those opportunities were rarer than civilians thought. Most combat, especially the brutal splick, was fought in various degrees of confusion. Battle was a living thing that moved, constantly changing shape. If you got comfortable in one position, even for a second, it wouldn’t be long before something doubled back to bite you in the ass.

Magnus rolled out from behind the urchin and charged toward the waterline some thirty meters ahead. Instantly, his squad’s presence was marked by enemy blaster fire. Magnus crouched, took aim at the first fish he saw, and squeezed his MC90’s trigger. The ’kuda doubled over from the blaster shot and slumped to the side. But it wasn’t done. The fish eyed Magnus and raised its blaster. Magnus fired a second round, striking the ’kuda in the skull.

Flow, Mouth, and Cheeks took out several more Akuda as the four men charged for cover behind the next urchin. The fighting was getting thicker now, and Magnus could see Wainwright’s icon another ten meters ahead. “One more urchin to go before we’re in the worst of it,” Magnus said.

“Oh come on, sergeant,” Mouth said. “This is practically a school field trip compared to when your sister beat you up.”

“And I still hold it against her,” Magnus quipped. Everyone knew he didn’t have a sister. Hell, now he didn’t even have a brother…

“Ready…” Magnus took a breath. “Go.”

The Fearsome Four spun out into oncoming blaster fire, choosing targets and firing one round after another. Flow downed three ’kuda in a row, landing consecutive headshots as each fish fell away to reveal the next, standing in a perfect line.

Mouth pulled a VOD—variable output detonator—from his kit and lobbed it far out over the enemy. Magnus watched as the device exploded on the fragger mode, showering a swath of the Akuda with shrapnel. Several fish lost limbs. The enemy who was closest had its head split in two.

Cheeks switched his MC90 to three-round burst and began spraying the enemy with a short back-and-forth motion. Normally, such a tactic would have been deemed reckless and inefficient by Marine standards, but the ’kuda were so damn plentiful that he couldn’t help but be accurate.

For his part, Magnus advanced methodically toward the waterline. His feet moved in a fluid motion, giving his upper body a stable platform to fire—pivot—fire—pivot. He delivered bolt after bolt, taking a slew of ’kuda down in a steady kill streak. The rhythmic pattern was Marine textbook as his legs, hips, shoulders, arms, and head worked together as a single lethal unit.

By the time the Four had crossed the distance to the farthest urchin, they’d downed a swath of Akuda that made the Marines upfront look back, double-checking just who approached from their rear. Magnus ducked behind the urchin and gave the onlookers a quick dip of his helmet. Over the platoon channel, he added, “Nice to see everyone.”

“Bring me any ammo, sergeant?” Wainwright asked.

“We all know how you like your charge packs,” Magnus said, turning so Flow could remove the supply case from his back.

“Cold and topped off,” Wainwright said, opening the crate and removing the magazines. He passed them out as the rest of first platoon continued to unleash a withering assault on the oncoming ’kuda. “Thanks for joining us, sergeant.”

“Our pleasure. Mind if we cut in?”

“Be my guest.”

Magnus’s squad relieved four Marines who, by the looks of their armor, could use a break. They climbed down the rungs in the urchin and let Magnus and the others climb up. Magnus looked over the barricade’s edge, and his heart nearly stopped.

“Day-um,” Flow said in two distinct syllables. “Would you look at that.”

Spread from east to west, the entire strand was covered with oncoming ’kuda. They moved out of the ocean as if they were the waves themselves, flowing up and onto the beach like a force of nature. This was worse than he’d expected. Clearly, his helmet’s AI and the Repub’s orbital sensor array weren’t keeping up with the sheer numbers of enemy combatants.

Magnus started firing, almost indiscriminately. He didn’t need to aim—just point and shoot. No wonder Wainwright had called for more ammo. And, by the looks of it, they’d need a lot more than what Magnus had brought before the day was out. Hell, he doubted if they’d even make it another fifteen minutes at this rate.

More explosions of sand and fire erupted from the strand as VODs exploded along the line. The sudden openings in the enemy ranks didn’t last long, however. More ’kuda filled the gaps within seconds. By the time Magnus had gone through two energy mags, he realized this was a battle they weren’t going to win, at least not here.

“I’m out,” Magnus yelled, and then dropped down the rungs.

Wainwright caught him and turned him around. “Fall back, Marine.”

Magnus double-checked the channel—Wainwright had opened a private line to him alone. “But sir—”

“I need you covering us when I give the order. I don’t trust anyone else. Battalion has diverted some air assets our way, but they’re still ten minutes out, and we need to clear the beach. Get the Four back there and give us covering fire.”

“Copy.” Magnus opened up the squad channel as he watched Wainwright climb up the back of the urchin. Regular COs weren’t supposed to do what Wainwright was doing. But then again, Wainwright wasn’t a regular CO—this he’d proven time and time again. “Fall back, Fearsome. We’re going to rally covering fire to give first platoon a way out.”

Flow, Mouth, and Cheeks replied with green affirmation pings and peeled off the urchin. Then they hunched over and followed Magnus back to the third line of barricades—two away from the dunes.

“You still got some ammo left, Mendes?” Magnus asked.

“Plenty, Magnus. You taking more up?”

“Negative—we’re gonna spend it all to cover first platoon’s retreat.”

“Retreat?”

“We have air support inbound.” Magnus checked the time. “Nine minutes. Gotta give our boys a way to clear the beach. Spread those mags out.”

“Copy.”

Magnus climbed up on the nearest urchin. He opened a proximity channel, and said, “Focus fire down the center. We gotta give Lieutenant Wainwright and first platoon a path back to the dunes.”

Then, across all channels—probably from onboard an observation ship in orbit—Magnus heard the company commander say, “Air support inbound in eight minutes. All units, clear the beach. I say again, air support in eight, all units return to base. Command out.”

“Open fire,” Magnus said over the proximity channel. Suddenly, a stream of magenta blaster bolts focused around the urchin that hid Wainwright and the rest of first platoon. As soon as ’kuda bodies started dropping, Magnus watched his platoon start to fall back. They didn’t waste time firing over their shoulders, they just put their heads down and started kicking up sand.

The Akuda must’ve sensed the change in tactics, however, because the enemy surge increased to the point that fish poured over the urchin. Several took blaster rounds square in the face, obliterating flesh and bone in pulpy sprays that covered those who took the dead fish’s places. But the covering fire wasn’t strong enough. The ’kuda were up, over, and around the urchin, driving straight into the Marine’s blaster fire.

“Sweet mother of mystics,” Flow said, swapping out mags. “These things just won’t stop!”

“Try mooning them, Cheeks,” Mouth said, to which the other Marine flipped him a middle finger.

“I mooned your mom and she didn’t run,” Cheeks said.

“Shift right,” Magnus yelled, noticing a new push that was closing on Wainwright’s icon. The damn fool was taking up the rear, Magnus realized. And that’s exactly why he loved the CO so much.

The covering fire shifted to account for the new rush. Round after round drove into the ’kuda, covering the beach with corpses faster than Magnus’s AI could update. He watched as Wainwright shoved his men onward, closing on Magnus’s position.

“Hey, Magnus?” Cheeks’s voice was an octave higher than normal. “What’da we do when—”

Cheeks was interrupted by enemy blaster fire that forced him to duck below the urchin’s top edge. Magnus realized that while they’d bought time for first platoon to retreat, the enemy was rushing so quickly that Magnus would not have anyone to cover their retreat.

“Splick,” Magnus said. He checked the topo map on his HUD and didn’t see any Marines on the dunes. If they made a run for it, they’d be exposed until they got over the tops. But that was better than staying here and getting overrun.

He reopened the proximity channel, which now would probably include Wainwright and first platoon. “All units within square B9, fall back to the COP.”

Magnus took out three more ’kudas before dropping back to the beach and backpedaling away from the urchin. Within seconds, first platoon had caught up, but slowed to turn around and cover their own retreat.

Up and down the central section of the beach, Marines ran backward, firing into the enemy ranks—in a few places, it was point blank. When Wainwright caught up with him, Magnus tossed up an extra energy mag.

“Thanks, Magnus.”

“That one’s a bit warm, sorry.”

“We’ll discuss it later.” Wainwright ejected his spent magazine and inserted the fresh one. He charged his MC90 and started blasting away at three ’kuda that had gotten a bit too close for comfort in the time it took him to reload.

“Keep going!” Wainwright encouraged everyone.

Magnus checked the time. Five minutes remained. He felt the sand fall away under his feet, indicating the start of the dunes. His thighs burned as he marched backward up the hill, boots slipping and sliding. Still, he managed to keep a violent stream of fire trained on the enemy, hacking away at the aquatic bastards with trigger squeeze after trigger squeeze.

When at last they reached the summit, a new cluster of icons appeared with an arrow pointing off map. Magnus looked skyward and saw a cluster of ident tags in is HUD, indicating a squadron of FAF-28 Talons.

“Look who decided to show up,” Flow said over the squad channel.

“Yeah…” Magnus took out a ’kuda who’d just nicked his helmet with a lucky blaster round. “But they’re still three minutes out.”

“Copy that, sergeant.”

As soon as the rest of first platoon had crested the first dune, Wainwright ordered a full retreat back to the village. Fortunately, several Marines had set up mortar pits and laid into the enemy. The explosions were so loud, Magnus had to dampen his audio sensors even more than they already were. But he wasn’t complaining. The big guns would buy them just enough time to get to cover.

Magnus pounded up and down the dunes until the edge of the village rose to meet their boots. The green grass seemed electrified under the glare of blaster fire, and he was happy to be on the grounds of the COP. But the village wasn’t without its own destruction. Aside from the hotel—now a bleeding hulk of smoke and debris—several of the bungalows and outbuildings were on fire or razed to the ground. The Akuda’s underwater artillery had done its job of softening the base.

Once inside the village, Magnus turned and ordered his men to take up defensive positions. He sighted in on three fish who had made it halfway across the dunes—apparently the fish’s webbed feet made it much easier to skim along the shifting sands. Bastards.

“Outrun this, bitches.” Magnus dropped all three with deadly accuracy.

“One minute,” Wainwright called out.

If they could keep the Akuda confined to the beach, Magnus knew the Talons would take out enough to give the Marines an advantage—if not stem the battle’s tide completely. They just had to keep any more ’kuda from getting across the dunes.

But that was easier said than done.

6

With only one minute remaining, the Akuda made a wild dash for the village. Magnus didn’t know if they had some sort of sixth sense that warned them about imminent danger, or if their own ocean-based scanning tech had alerted them of the Talon’s arrival. But either way, the push was monstrous.

Magnus fired alongside the surviving members of the platoons who’d been on the beach. They fired into the onrushing fish until their MC90’s barrels glowed red. But still, the scaly beasts came, charging headlong into the relentless Marine fire. Like everyone else around him, for every two fish Magnus seemed to drop, another three took their places.

The hastily dug mortar pits were, perhaps, the only things truly keeping the Akuda from breaking into the village. They fired steadily, blowing holes along the dunes. Spouts of sand and body parts shot into the night sky, raining down on friend and foe alike. By the time the Talons arrived, however, Magnus was worried there wouldn’t be enough Akuda left on the beach to make the assault effective. He double checked his HUD’s topo map and breathed a quick sigh of relief as he saw a massive patch of enemy icons still clustered on the beachhead. It might not be the entire enemy contingent, but the fighters were certainly going to make a dent in the enemy’s advance.

“Stand by for air assault,” said the company commander over TACNET.

Magnus looked up as the Talons appeared, strafing from right to left. Their slender black fuselages and raked-forward wings made them look like midnight birds of prey skimming over the palm trees. They tore into the Akudas with their NR330 blaster cannons, nested on either side of the lower fuselage, while their secondary T-100 blasters in each wing tip shot high-frequency torrents that spit sand a hundred meters into the air.

The entire scene was lit up as if in broad daylight. Magnus could hear dozens of Marines breaking protocol and cheering over their open channels. But command let it go.

The final Talons to fly overhead must have been outfitted for bombing maneuvers as they dropped dozens of class-C torpedoes on the beach. The resulting explosions sent blasts rippling into the village, knocking scores of Marines off their feet. The concussions had been so loud that Magnus’s ears rang even within his helmet.

“HELL YEAH,” Flow yelled over the squad channel, pumping a fist in the air. Magnus could hear similar sentiments echoed up and down the line, many coming from Marines who were struggling back to their feet. A general sense of relief seemed to wash over the COP as the Talons powered up and away, their engines slapping the night sky with a blistering assault of heat and light.

“We ain’t done yet, boys,” Magnus said, calling his squad’s attention back to the dunes.

“Son of a bitch!” Mouth said.

The Four watched in awe as a wave of Akuda continued charging the village. Whatever forces the Talons had hit on the main beach, they’d missed those on the dunes.

Wainwright was on TACNET next. “Look alive, Marines,” he yelled. “Clear those dunes!”

Magnus leaned against a palm tree and opened fire, but it became clear that the battle was coming into the village. The Marines had lost precious seconds in observing the Talons’ assault—seconds that the Akuda had used to advance in the coordinated absence of the mortar fire.

Magnus fired on a line of fish that were headed between bungalows and funneling toward his position. He dropped several ’kuda and then started backpedaling. The only thing left behind him were the tents. He double-checked his last mag’s capacity—it was below ten percent. But based on the enemy’s decreasing rate of fire, it seemed they were running low on ammunition as well.

Magnus continued to fire with his right hand while he removed the duradex combat knife from his hip with his left. He silently thanked the recon Marine who’d gifted it to him. And now that this battle was going hand-to-hand, there was no better weapon to have at his disposal.

The first ’kuda to close on Magnus when his MC90 went dry was a venomous looking creature who’s serrated teeth and claws dripped with green fluid. He knew the stuff had infected more than one Marine’s wounds, and he wasn’t in the mood to be cooped up in a field hospital for weeks on end.

The fish swung at his head, but Magnus ducked. He jabbed at the ’kuda’s soft underbelly in response, feeling his knife drive deep into the creature’s gut. The fish screamed and threw back its head. Then it swiped at Magnus again but with the other clawed hand. Magnus blocked the blow with his MC90 and swiped his blade just under the ’kuda’s chin. A dark fountain of blood splashed on Magnus’s visor, but the beast was done, writhing in death throes as it curled up on the grass.

The next fish that assaulted him seemed more savvy. Rather than rush straight in, it juked one way and then another before leaping the last two meters. Magnus was knocked backward but was able to keep the animal’s hands away from his body—knife stabbing the fish’s left hand, and his right hand holding the ’kuda’s other wrist. The two of them wrestled on the ground, plowing into several tents. The fish snapped at Magnus’s helmet, its teeth cracking the visor and momentarily shorting out his HUD.

“Get off me, you son of a bitch!” Magnus used his legs to fling the Akuda over his head, which bought him just enough time to roll to his feet and lunge at the beast. He drove his knife into the fish’s eye just as it tried to stand up. The creature dropped to the ground so quickly, Magnus lost his grip on the knife.

“Look out!” cried a voice somewhere among the tents next to him. Magnus looked back just in time to see a ’kuda break free from a tangle of Marines and charge him. Turning toward the dead fish with his blade in its eye, Magnus retrieved the weapon and readied himself for the oncoming ’kuda.

The impact rattled Magnus’s head as the pair flew further into the tent village. They rolled into a grassy quad. Magnus felt them knock over several chairs and collide with the border stones of a campfire, embers still glowing from a fire earlier in the evening.

This particular fish was stronger than the others, forcing Magnus back and forth as it tried to dominate the Marine. But the beast had his hands immobilized, and it used its powerful jaws to try and pop his helmet like a piece of fruit.

“Kick it in the groin!” the same voice said from before. Magnus had no idea who would be watching his fight without coming to lend a hand themselves. But he also couldn’t deny the strategic suggestion. Magnus focused on his free leg and then drilled his knee into the creature’s pelvis.

The ’kuda produced a pitiful cry and lessened its grip on Magnus’s knife hand. The release of pressure was just enough that Magnus wrested his wrist free and swiped the blade across the fish’s neck. The loss of aggression was almost instantaneous as the ’kuda reached for its throat, attempting in vain to stem to loss blood that pumped from its veins into the open air. Magnus shoved the fish aside.

As soon as he gained his feet, Magnus looked to see who’d spoken to him. There, bound to a cement block on the far side of the campfire area, was a bare-chested young man in shorts and sandals. Magnus blinked in shock—it was the Marine from the basement. Nos Kil.

Magnus turned and started to walk away.

“Don’t leave me here, man,” Nos Kil yelled, a small whine to his voice. “Those things… those things gonna feed on me!”

“As well they should,” Magnus replied over his external speakers.

“Hold up…” said the kid. Magnus turned halfway toward him. “That you, Magnus?”

“That’s sergeant to you.”

Nos Kil sniffed. “While I’ll be. What a coincidence.”

“Have fun feeding the fish,” Magnus said, looking back toward the line of Marines and Akuda.

“No way, man. You gotta keep me alive. I’m a prisoner here.”

“Like hell I do.” But even as he spoke the words, Magnus knew he couldn’t just let the Marine die here. Everything in him wanted to let the bastard get ripped apart by these devils—and he’d be happy to watch. But that wasn’t protocol. That wasn’t real justice. This kid needed to go to trial so he could rot in a cell till the Corps said he could go free—which might be never, given the testimony that Magnus would provide to Wainwright.

Suddenly, two ’kuda broke through the line and darted toward the easy target—Nos Kil cuffed to the ground.

“Son of a bitch,” Magnus yelled to himself as he rushed to meet the two assailants. He dove just as the fish were about to pounce on Nos Kil, who was cowering in a ball.

Magnus’s right shoulder drove into the first fish, which not only knocked it off balance but caused it to slam sideways into the second ’kuda. Magnus reached around both fish with his right arm while jabbing the second one with his knife. A split second later, all three beings hit the ground and rolled to a stop. Magnus was on his feet first, challenging the two fish as they circled Nos Kil.

“Don’t let me die,” the Marine whined, panic covering his face.

“Shut up,” Magnus ordered. “Or I might just let them kill you.”

“You wouldn’t!”

Magnus let out a low chuckle as if begging the kid to test him. “Just shut up, would you?”

Suddenly, one fish lunged at Magnus. Sidestepping the ’kuda’s attacked, Magnus placed both hands on the knife and plunged it hard into the creature’s back. The fish shrieked and twisted free, but the effort forced the knife to cut a deep gouge out of the creature’s flesh. It backhanded Magnus in the helmet, flailing wildly, but Magnus ducked and stabbed the enemy again.

In the short time it took to dispatch the first ’kuda, the second dove toward Nos Kil. It landed on him with its claws open and mouth gaping. For a split second, Magnus pictured the kid raping the Nimprinthian girl in the basement and wondered if this wasn’t the universe’s bringing judgment on the Marine. But Magnus wasn’t a vigilante. No matter how bad he wanted revenge, letting this kid die made him no better—that was the reason for the Corps, for standards, for code.

“Get off him,” Magnus spat, then drove his knife into the side of the ’kuda’s neck. The thing squealed, gills flapping wildly, as Magnus started hacking away at the neck meat like he was filleting a fish he’d caught off a pier in Capriana. The Akuda twisted on him, batting the knife away. In the next moment, Magnus was on his back, staring up into the creature’s mouth. It lunged at his helmet, but the cover deflected the blow, sending it instead to his shoulder. Heat burst from his skin as the ’kuda’s teeth made entry around his plate armor and sank into his muscle.

The fish pulled away, focused on something new. Magnus looked to see Nos Kil kicking the ’kuda in the side. Did this mean Magnus and the kid were now fighting side by side? The notion made his stomach churn… or is that the poison in my shoulder?

Filled with a renewed sense of pissed off, Magnus took advantage of Nos Kil’s momentary distraction and rolled the off-balance fish to the side. The pair rotated away from the kid and toward the campfire. Magnus gauged the distance and threw the enemy around twice more until he rolled onto the fish, pressing the thing’s back into the coals.

The fish shrieked, snapping its jaws at the air, and tried jerking Magnus off. But Magnus held fast, shoving the enemy again and again into the coals, forcing him to stay down as smoke and steam spit from the coal. When the fire pit had finally gouged a hole in the assailant’s back enough to end its life, Magnus stepped away from the roasted carcass and looked at Nos Kil.

“You couldn’t let them kill me, could you,” the kid said. “I knew it. You’re just as pathetic as your brother said you were.”

Magnus didn’t even hesitate. He took two steps toward Nos Kil and slugged him in the side of the face. The kid collapse into his handcuffs, lights out. Then Magnus retrieved his knife and wiped it on the Marine’s shorts. “Have fun at trial, you piece of splick.”

EPILOGUE

Magnus sat in a small anteroom on the Leviathan-class battleship Emerald Victory awaiting an audience with Major Caldwell. Contrary to what his men had claimed, this meeting wasn’t Magnus’s doing. It was one thing to talk a big game while stuck on a roof picking off ’kuda, but it was another to have the brass balls big enough to make the call. Magnus had too much respect for himself to go cherry-picking a promotion.

No, this meeting had been at the request of the major himself following Alpha Company’s “near impossible defense” of T’io Mi’on’s main village. Magnus secretly despised the term “near impossible” as every Marine knew nothing was impossible. Either you were successful, or you died trying, in which case you didn’t know you weren’t successful.

Still, he understood why the higher-ups were referring to the op that way. The Akuda assault had been relentless. Even after the Talon strafing run, which Magnus was sure would have ripped the will from even the most ardent enemy, three more waves of fighters had to be called in before the damn fish relented. As the conflict was drawing out, it seemed the Akuda were getting more desperate. How many more of them were there in those oceans? he wondered.

This was the first time Magnus had taken a shower on a starship in over ten months, and he wasn’t complaining. He’d nearly forgotten what one felt like without sand under his feet. He also forgot what his dress uniform felt like—a whole lot easier to move in than armor, though he still hated the damn collar around his neck. But he was rather surprised that this meeting was happening in the major’s office on a battleship and not a field office on Caledonia. That alone made him wring his sweaty hands more than once.

“Sergeant Magnus,” said the secretary, stepping into the room, “the major will see you now.”

Magnus nodded and stood. He smoothed his coat, took a deep breath, and walked behind the secretary in an administrative suite. Then, following the secretary’s gesture toward a door with Caldwell’s name on it, Magnus stepped forward until the door slid sideways automatically.

The major sat behind a large desk. He wore his gray hair tight on the sides and flat on top, and clenched a cigar in the side of his mouth. How the man had permission to keep the thing lit on a starship was beyond Magnus, but he wouldn’t want to be the one to tell him he couldn’t.

Despite his age and his years in the Corps, Caldwell hadn’t advanced as quickly as normal officers did. But by all accounts, he was far from normal. Procedure dictated that he should have been a general by now, only doing so would have taken him farther from the thing he loved most—being with Marines, not managing data pads. Of course, he’d already sealed that deal when he left the ranks of the enlisted years before. The man’s legend of wanting to change the Corps’ policies was known far and wide. And it was rumored that he was a pain in the ass for every colonel and lieutenant colonel he served under. Magnus had already seen the man in action several times. He guessed Caldwell was as much to handle on a battlefield as he was in a war room.

To his credit, Caldwell had the reputation of fighting for the enlisted Marines while negotiating in the hallways of the brass. No one, it was said, had the balls or the will to do it like Caldwell. Thus, he was respected—if not scorned—by the field-grade officers and generals, and worshipped by the enlisted.

Magnus saluted the major and then stood at attention.

“At ease, Sergeant Magnus,” Caldwell said, gesturing to one of two leather-backed chairs. “Take a seat.”

“Thank you, sir.” Magnus strode forward and sat. He tried his best to get comfortable in the squeaky chair, but Caldwell staring at him for a few long seconds made it even more difficult.

“I’m told you did a damn fine job down there, sergeant.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Your COs are recommending several commendations.” Caldwell eyed Magnus as if he was supposed to reply to that.

“I’ll be the last to question their judgment, but I was just doing my job.”

“I’m sure you were.” Caldwell puffed on his cigar and then eyed Magnus. Magnus wanted to adjust himself in the chair but knew the squeaking would make the long silence even more awkward. “You know, I knew your grandfather well.”

“That’s what I understand, yes.”

“Did you know him?”

“Not well, no. He was committed to the Corps right up until—”

“We all know that part, sergeant.”

“Right…” Magnus cleared his throat. “Anyway, my father didn’t have much time for my grandfather. So we never saw much of him.”

“Damn shame,” Caldwell said. “He was the finest Marine I ever knew.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Caldwell nodded slowly, taking a long drag on the cigar and letting the smoke cloud his face momentarily. “You look like him, you know.”

“That’s what they say.”

“Same eyes. Same jaw…”

“And same stubborn nature,” Magnus added, suddenly realizing he may have just interrupted the man.

“That can be a blessing and a curse.”

“A point that my father reminded me of many times.”

“I’m sure,” said Caldwell. “But I have to think your stubborn nature is what’s landed you here in my office today.”

“Sir?”

“I want to discuss what happened to my son.”

Magnus swallowed. He’d suspected this was what Caldwell had wanted to talk about. Worse, he had no idea what he should say. Best to not say anything unless asked, Magnus thought. And then?

Then tell the truth.

“Word has it that he went missing,” Caldwell said, eyeing Magnus. “Members of fourth platoon reported he went to the basement. They were looking for him just before the hotel came under attack, but found nothing.”

Magnus held his tongue. He hadn’t been asked anything yet. That, and the pain of losing his brother was still too raw. Hell, when would it not be raw? He knew if he talked about it now, he might not be able to control the emotions raging in his chest. The anger. The grief.

“They all said that he was friends with your brother, Argus.”

Just the sound of his Argus’s name made Magnus want to die inside. His kid brother may have been a traitor—may have even been evil—but he was still kin. And Magnus suspected that the major would probably wrestle with the same frustrations once he knew the truth.

“TACNET also has you going to the hotel’s basement shortly before the building reached structural failure.”

Dammit.

“Sergeant Magnus, you’re in my office today because I want to know what you encountered down there.” He sucked on the cigar, held the smoke for a second, and then let it out. “And I know what you’re thinking, son. The warrior-half of your brain is telling you to measure your reply, while the survivor-half is preparing for countermeasures. It’s calculating, strategizing. And trust me when I say that you do not want to make that mistake with me of parsing your words. Because one thing is for damn sure…” Caldwell leaned forward and emphasized the next words with his fat index finger on the desk. “I will find the truth.”

A chill went down Magnus’s spine. Whatever notions he had of being tactful with the major, they all went out the door. Call it the fear of the mystics, call it self-preservation—it didn’t matter. As far as Magnus was concerned, he was face to face with his maker.

Magnus swallowed as he realized this was his day of reckoning. His sins hadn’t even given him twenty-four hours before finding him out. On the professional side, if he wasn’t tried in a military tribunal and sentenced to death for betraying the Marine Corps code, he was at least getting dishonorably discharged—probably after several months in the brig. Either way, telling Caldwell that he’d shot another Marine would be the end of his career. It didn’t matter how right he thought he was in the moment. The fact was, he’d betrayed the Corps and betrayed a fellow Marine. There would be hell to pay, but that would pale in comparison to paying Major Caldwell first.

On the personal side, however, Magnus had to deal with the fact that he’d killed his brother. This was greater than betraying the Corps. He’d betrayed his own flesh and blood. And unlike the Repub, who would forget his crimes the moment he was thrown into a blackhole, Magnus would never forget staring into Argus’s eyes the breath before squeezing the trigger. That was the event horizon the gravity of which he could never escape.

Magnus took a deep breath and then recounted everything that had happened from the time he left the lobby to the time he re-emerged. Despite wanting to leave out the grizzly details about the major’s son—both in his deplorable actions and in his death—he didn’t. He only spared the detail about the young Marine’s manhood hanging out. There was injury, and then there was insult. Better to spare him the later.

Magnus kept expecting the officer to show some sort of emotion, but he didn’t. He just sat there, chewing on his cigar, listening intently. The man’s glare was withering. Magnus kept thinking that the major might lash out at him and dispense the penance due someone who’d committed fratricide. Maybe he’d shed a tear for his own son’s death. Or grow angry at how the Corps had been betrayed by any and all of the Marines in the basement. But nothing came.

When Magnus had finished his account, ready to be escorted out of the office by some MPs, the major leaned back, folded his hands, and nodded. “Thank you, son.”

You’re welcome would have been the appropriate reply, but Magnus couldn’t bring himself to say it. What in the hell is the man thanking me for?

As if in answer to his silent question, Caldwell added, “Your story corroborates that of the young woman’s who we detained.”

Son of a bitch. So his CO already had an idea of what went down. Magnus suddenly wondered what would have happened had he not been forthright.

“And I’m guessing you left out the part about my son’s dick hanging out of his pants to spare me any undue embarrassment.”

Magnus looked at the major, unblinking.

“I appreciate that as well.” At the end of his cigar, Caldwell extinguished the roll of tobacco in the bottom end of a large-caliber energy mag. The metal magazine had been cut down, leaving a rectangular looking bowl that the man used as an ashtray. Satisfied the ember was out, Caldwell returned the stump to his lips and spoke out of the side of his mouth.

“Firing on another Marine with the intent to kill is a crime.”

“I know that, sir, and I’m—”

“Shut up, sergeant.”

Magnus sealed his lips.

“Killing your brother is another thing altogether.”

Mystics, this guy knew how to stick it to him. But did he deserve any less than ridicule? Magnus literally wanted to be anywhere else in the galaxy but here. But this was the course he’d chosen. This is where his actions had brought him, and if it were anyone else, he’d tell them to own it and take what was coming to them.

“But raping two innocent women is a crime worse than those you’ve committed,” Caldwell added. “Some might even say you delivered justice.”

Magnus blinked.

“And I happen to be one of those someones, sergeant.”

“Sir?”

“What happened down there was not the worst of the Corps on display, it was the worst of humanity. And given the same scenario, I can tell you what I would have done.”

A long silence filled the air, and Magnus wondered if he was supposed to inquire further. But he didn’t have to.

“I wouldn’t have thought twice about killing anyone else who was using innocent lives to protect their own.” The Major leaned back and let out a deep sigh. “I wish neither of us lost family members yesterday. But they chose their fates, and it seems those choices have further intertwined our paths, Magnus.”

Again, Magnus wanted to inquire as to what the major meant but felt he should hold his tongue.

“This episode will remain between you and me. The woman will be compensated to the greatest extent of my abilities and spared the pain of testifying in a tribunal. Instead, she will be informed of her assaulter’s fate and left to live out the remainder of her life as best she’s able.

“For his part, the sole surviving Marine will be tried and more than likely executed. I will see to it that he is detained in psychiatric solitary confinement. Even if his version of the story is heard, it will be immaterial.”

“I understand,” was all Magnus could think to say. He wanted to say more… to thank Caldwell for… for what? Magnus still wasn’t off the hook.

“As for you, sergeant…”

Here it comes.

“I’m recommending we transfer you out of Bravo Company. In fact, I’d say we get you out of Second Battalion altogether.”

“Sir?”

“Where do you want to go, son?”

Magnus didn’t know what to say. What the hell is happening here? Just minutes ago, he was preparing to be court-martialed. And now he was being asked where he wanted to be transferred? This wasn’t how a murderer was supposed to be treated.

“Sergeant?”

“Yes… I…”

Caldwell raised his eyebrows so far that his forehead turned into a mountain of ridges.

Before Magnus could keep the words in, out spilled, “I’d like to apply for recon indoctrination school.”

Caldwell stroked his chin. “RIS…” Then he reached for a data pad and started flicking through several pages. “That’s not an easy program. But you’re not an easy going Marine.”

“I understand.”

“It might be made easier if you apply for officer training too.”

“Major?”

“Says here you have enough schooling to make the jump if you want. And it seems to me we need more men like you at the top.”

“Begging your pardon, sir, but I like being—”

“With the enlisted men? Son, who do you think you’re talking to?”

Magnus knew not to answer that kind of question.

“The Corps isn’t great because it has good generals. It’s great because it has the best warriors in the galaxy. The generals just get the accolades because they tell everyone else what to shoot. But the best generals—they’re the ones who know what it’s like to bleed. And this…” Caldwell tapped the desk again. “The hell you just lived? That’s what it means to bleed. To make the right call even though it’s the hardest one to make.

“I know you came in here thinking you’d get court-martialed today. And damn straight: you should have been pissing your blues. But you also should never underestimate yourself when you do what you believe is right. I can’t imagine the pain you must be feeling right now, son. I’ve never had to put down my own brother in defense of others, but I’ve had to do things close enough that let me know you won’t ever outrun this one.

“So, I’m offering a chance to make the journey more bearable, more meaningful—to both join the recon and become a second lieutenant. But it’s only a chance. No one’s getting you through either program. That’s on you.”

“I understand,” Magnus said, repeating the same phrase yet again.

“I won’t lie. RIS is going to kick your ass, son.”

Magnus almost said “I understand” again, but knew he’d be rebuked. No one knew what a school could dish out until they’d gone through it for themselves. And Magnus had heard stories about RIS.

“If I say yes, would you entertain a request?”

Caldwell chewed his cigar. “You wanna negotiate with me, sergeant?”

Magnus had the distinct feeling that Caldwell had suddenly switched from a family friend to a hard-nosed Marine CO. “Merely a proposal.”

“Well, spit it out.”

“I’d like to bring Lance Corporals Deeks, Franklin, and Chico with me.”

Caldwell’s face was stone cold. That wasn’t a good sign. For a split second, Magnus swore he’d lost his chance at both programs. That sentiment was only reinforced when Caldwell said, “We don’t do that, son.”

For what he hoped was the last time today, Magnus said, “I understand. But these men are important to me. They may not have been in that basement with me, but they’ve been everywhere else. My success is their success, and if I go, they’re going with me.”

Caldwell frowned. He looked at the data pad again and tapped several screens. His eyes scanned the screen for the better part of a minute before he replied. “Seems none of them have any schooling that would make them eligible for the officer program. However, there’s nothing preventing them from applying to RIS with you.”

“So… that’s green?”

“Consider it a favor for your grandfather, son.”

Magnus hated the family favor angle, but he wasn’t going to buck it either, not if it meant the Fearsome Four had a chance at remaining a unit. He knew it was unheard of, and he knew the odds were slim to none. But hell if he didn’t at least try.

“Thank you, major. I’m extremely grateful.”

“Damn straight you are.” The major removed the stump from his mouth and said. “I’ll let you know when your brother’s funeral is scheduled and make sure you get leave for it. That is, if you want it.”

“I would.” Magnus nodded. While he would bear the wound for the rest of his life, there was no sense making it worse by missing his funeral.

“I’m thinking it will be small, as records indicate that you are his only surviving relative.”

“That’s correct, sir.”

Caldwell nodded, then placed the data pad back down. “Well, pack your bags, son, before I change my mind and send you back to shoot me some more fish.”

Magnus stood and saluted the major. The day’s pain wasn’t gone—he suspected it never would be. But it was being contested, and Magnus never backed down from a challenge. “Thank you, major.”

To Magnus’s surprise, the man stood up and returned his salute. The magnitude of the gesture wasn’t lost on him. “Thank me if you graduate, son.”

* * *

Continue reading for GATEWAY TO WAR.

GATEWAY TO WAR

BOOK 3 IN THE RUINS OF THE GALAXY SERIES

1

“You do know that you’re idiots for coming with me, right?” Magnus stood over Flow and Cheeks, who lay on recovery beds, both coming out of heavy sedation. “Your careers are over.”

“No offense, LT,” Flow said, his voice groggy, “but you messed our careers up a long time ago. Something about a move to Recon that made sure we wouldn’t make rank easily.”

“Pain in the ass,” Cheeks added from his bed.

Sick bay on Rohoar’s starship was more spacious than any on a Repub vessel, presumably to accommodate Jujari physiology. The ship had only been in subspace for a little over two hours, having left Oorajee and begun the voyage to Worru, and already Flow and Cheeks were looking a bit better. The two Recon Marines bore several sensors on their bare skin, while their bodies were covered with white blankets.

Cheeks looked over at Flow. “Guess we’re just gonna have to insist on free beer for life.”

Flow chuckled then winced.

Magnus liked hearing himself called “LT” again—a shortened version of his rank of Lieutenant. But to Magnus, the title was more than just a nickname. It meant he was among family. And he didn’t want to put his family in harm’s way any more than he already had.

“I mean it, boys.” Magnus rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m really not sure you thought this one through.” He muttered, “Probably shouldn’t have given you the option.”

“Hold up right there, LT.” Flow’s dark-skinned face turned hard. “You owed us the option.”

“Damn straight, you did,” Cheeks said. “Bustin’ our balls on some suicide mission to protect a Luma goddess who decides to have tea with a Jujari king. Who knew that would blow up in our faces.”

Cheeks’s sarcasm wouldn’t offend anyone on the team. They’d all known the op had been a mistake from the beginning, and Cheeks’s appearance would attest to that, probably for the rest of his life. The right side of his face would need cellular reconstruction therapy, including a new ear. His days as a ladies’ man were over until he got proper medical care, and even after that, he’d always have scarring. Then again, knowing Cheeks, he’d find a way to work the situation to his advantage.

“Listen, boys…”

“Hold up, LT.” Flow struggled to prop himself up on his elbows. “We all know this stopped being about the Corps years ago. It’s about brotherhood. No one gets left behind. And if someone is abandoned by the Repub, that’s the same as being left behind.”

“OTF, baby,” Cheeks added.

Magnus ignored their comments. “If I send you both on a shuttle, you can say that I abducted you. They’ll be forced to drop the charges. But as it is, you’re aiding and abetting a military deserter turned fugitive. You’ll most likely be tried for treason.”

“That’s if they catch us, baby,” Cheeks said.

“Call it whatever you want, LT.” Flow raised his chin. “It ain’t changing my mind.”

“Mine neither, LT.”

Magnus sniffed then pursed his lips. These two were as good as any brothers-in-arms could ever be. He didn’t deserve their respect. They’d been through a lot together and seen a lot of action. But they still didn’t know about everything Magnus had done in his past. If they knew, they wouldn’t be so loyal.

“Fine,” Magnus said. “As long as we’re clear.”

“Crystal.”

“Like a see-through dress,” Cheeks added.

Magnus smiled. It was good to be reunited with them. He only wished Mouth had survived. The knowledge that the Fearsome Four no longer existed as a group put a pang in his chest that wouldn’t leave anytime soon. One more Marine had been lost to the Repub’s mounting indiscretion and foolhardy objectives.

“So…” Flow lowered himself back down, catching his breath. “Mind filling us in on what we’ve gotten ourselves mixed up in exactly?”

“Yeah,” Cheeks said. “Why you got a rap sheet with the Corps all of a sudden?”

Magnus took a deep breath. “It’s complicated.”

Cheeks grimaced, lying back down again with a sigh. “Man, that’s what all the girls say when they’re done with you. You don’t gotta do us like that, LT.”

“I don’t want to do you at all, Cheeks. No one does, last I heard.”

Flow let out a laugh, then said, “He got you there, Cheeks.”

Magnus smiled and reached for one of the examination stools in the corner. He sat down and rubbed the back of his neck again. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“How about when things went sideways in the doggy king’s palace?” Flow suggested.

“When things went sideways…” The incident felt so long ago. But how many days had it been? Barely two weeks? “That’s as good a place as any.”

Magnus shared the harrowing tale with his men, leaving out as much as possible about Awen because… because it wasn’t relevant to his men, though Cheeks, the hopeless romantic—or was he just a pervert?—would have insisted otherwise. He also left off anything that would just sound too fantastical to believe, especially the parts about Piper. Magnus concluded his account where Wainwright, Bosworth, and the old Luma got picked up by the Repub shuttle, and Magnus and his new band of misfits departed Oorajee on Rohoar’s ship.

“So… you make it back to Abimbola’s hideout, even more of a war hero than you already are…” Flow said. “I still don’t get why the Repub wants you so bad. What—do they think you killed the senator or something?”

Magnus shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine, Flow. But there are easier ways to take out a senator than sending a Recon Marine into an unmarked Bull Wraith, escaping with some crew, and crash landing on Oorajee. I can tell you one thing, however—something doesn’t feel right about all of this.”

“All of what?” Flow searched Magnus’s face. “You mean the whole op on Oorajee? You think it was a setup?”

“Well, I know we didn’t plant those explosives in the mwadim’s palace, and the Tawnhack didn’t either. In fact, I don’t think any of the Jujari tribes did. It was too calculated, too precise. Those hyenas may be many things, but they sure as hell ain’t precise.”

“Who’s that leave, then?” Flow asked.

Magnus shook his head. “I don’t have that figured out.”

“You think someone at the top is gunning for you?” Cheeks asked.

“Like I said, boys, I dunno. But if I had to place a bet, yeah, it feels like a setup.”

Flow rotated his index finger in circles. “Can we go back a second? What was that about the Tawnhack and Jujari tribes? You lost me there.”

Magnus recalled the conversation he’d had with Abimbola about this, suddenly realizing his Marines were still in the dark. “Not all the Jujari are the same.”

“Like hell they’re not!” Cheeks blurted out.

“Cheeks,” Magnus said, leveling him a glare that said he meant business.

“Sorry, LT, it’s just—”

“Rohoar’s tribe are the Tawnhack… the largest and most revered tribe. But the ones who took you… those were the Selskrit.”

“You’re saying one’s good and one’s bad?” Flow asked. “Are you some sorta Jujari whisperer now that you got yourself a pup?”

Magnus didn’t want to snap at his men, but he also didn’t want the term “Jujari whisperer” to stick, nor did he want the slang term “pup” being used against Rohoar.

“I’m not saying I’ve got them figured out,” Magnus admitted. “But I am saying that Rohoar and his kin helped save your lives. And mine, for that matter. So you can hate them all you want inside, but you sure as hell are going to be grateful on the outside. We will all show them respect and honor. Copy?”

Flow and Cheeks both nodded.

“Good.” Magnus sat back down, breathing a sigh of relief. Once a nickname formed in the Recon, it was next to impossible to shut it down. Fortunately, this one had died before it started, and without much of a fight. More importantly, however, Magnus had a chance to speak his mind about Rohoar and the Tawnhack. It was the first time he’d admitted as much to anyone besides himself. It was hard to do, but Rohoar had given him reason enough to begin to doubt his biases.

“Hey.” Flow reached out for Magnus’s hand and grasped it tightly around the thumb. “And about not being able to come back for us sooner… we get it. Don’t worry.”

Magnus squeezed back. “Thanks, Flow. I… appreciate that.”

“But if you ever do it again,” Cheeks added, “we’re coming after you.”

“I’d expect nothing less.” Magnus chuckled and released Flow’s hand. “Now it’s your turn. How, by all the mystics, did you survive?”

Whatever life Flow had in his eyes faded as he stared past Magnus. Cheeks looked away too. That, right there, told Magnus a lot. He’d fought enough battles and lived through enough hell to know mental anguish when he saw it. Moreover, he knew Flow was understating things when he replied, “It was bad, LT. Real bad.”

Cheeks nodded, and his eyes focused on some faraway place. Magnus didn’t break the silence. He just waited.

When Flow didn’t say anything, Magnus said, “It can wait, brothers. We have time.”

Flow took a deep breath then looked up at Magnus. “No, it can’t. You need to know. The blasts… they took out half the platoons.”

“Half?” Magnus rocked backward. “But that’s…”

“Like I said, bad. I know.” Flow cleared his throat. “But that’s just the beginning. Mouth was the only other operator to make it from Charlie Platoon. We looked for your body, but…” Flow looked to be fighting back some pretty raw emotions, maybe from the pain meds he was on. Magnus had never seen him like this. “Your TACNET signature was gone. We figured you’d been vaporized.

“Anyway, we rallied to Captain Wainright and managed to find several more civilians. That alone was a shock. Their Unity splick must have saved them or something…” Flow’s eyes glazed over. “But they would have been better off if they’d died in the blast.”

Another long silence filled sick bay. A tear left Flow’s left eye and slid down his cheek. The man looked childlike.

“What happened next?”

“Jujari reinforcements came at us hard. No one really knew what was happening. Just lots of blaster fire and screams. We tried calling for evac, but the LZ on the platform was too hot. So Wainright ordered us to the secondary exfil.”

“Zulu Niner,” Magnus offered, referring to the mission’s alternate landing zone. He hoped to reassure his friend that he’d been there too and had heard the order. “Three klicks north of the city.”

Flow looked at Magnus with the hint of a smile. “That’s right, LT. So you—”

“It was the last thing I heard. Tried getting there myself, but… well, you know my story.”

“Right, right.” Flow nodded, his gaze drifting back to the terror of his memories.

“Go on.” Magnus touched the Marine’s shoulder.

“We were able to hold the Jujari back. Turns out they were just as shaken as we were. Their command structure was a mess. It gave us the break we needed to get out of the building and start moving north. We kept the civilians in between us. Maybe a dozen of them when we started. At first, no one fired on us. The city was too horrified by the explosion in the mwadim’s tower. We passed several Jujari who just stared skyward, oblivious to twenty-five Galactic Republic Marines and civilians walking right by them. It was surreal.

“Eventually, though, that changed. Word musta spread that we’d killed their mwadim. I mean, I’m just guessing. The way they came after us… it was… they were…”

Magnus looked from Flow to Cheeks. The men were visibly shaking. Mystics, they’ve seen some horrible splick. The mental wounds of battle had done their worst, and Magnus knew the scars would be there for years to come. Dammit.

“We held out as long as we could. Made it about two klicks. Then our energy mags ran out. That’s when they attacked. They came at us like demons.” Flow smashed his palms against his face and smeared hot tears across his skin. “Everyone fought hard, but so many… so many died. Mouth, he—” Flow choked. He turned his head away to cough. Then he swore as he tried to catch his breath.

“He didn’t make it,” Magnus concluded. “Copy that.”

“Lost most of the civies too. Eventually, the Jujari incapacitated us. When we woke up, we were bound in a small room. They kept moving us from one place to another over the next few days, asking to speak to our generals. Always our generals. We tried to explain that we couldn’t reach them, but it was no use. So they tortured us… then killed us… then brought us back to life to do it again.”

Magnus blinked. “Say again?” But Flow was unresponsive. “Hey, Flow. You with me?” Magnus snapped his fingers in front of his face. “Flow!”

Flow’s eyes fluttered open. “You remember all those rumors about how they bleed out their prisoners for weeks?” He was growing manic, his eyes starting to dart left and right. Magnus wondered if he should call for Valerie.

Flow reached out and grabbed Magnus’s chest armor. “You remember? Well… it’s true. It’s all true. Only they didn’t give us weeks. The ‘living blood,’ they call it. They bled us out in a few days then brought us back.”

Magnus stared at Flow, the man’s bloodshot eyes sending a wave of fear through Magnus’s chest. “Easy, Flow. Come on—let’s get you settled.” Magnus gently pressed his sergeant’s shoulders back down, but the big man resisted him.

“Hey, what are you doing to him?” Cheeks yelled.

Aww, splick. Magnus felt Flow bucking under his hands. This isn’t good. “Cheeks, you stay where you are. Copy?”

“Who do you think you are, man? Get your hands off him!”

“Cheeks, it’s me, Magnus!” Just then, Flow tried to swing his legs off his bed. “No, buddy. No, no, no. Listen, this is Magnus. You gotta relax, pal. Hold tight.”

“I said get your hands off him!” Cheeks yelled, attempting to climb off his bed.

“Cheeks! Stay where you are!”

But Cheeks kept trying to stand anyway, only to slip off his bed and collapse in a heap. His head bounced off the floor with a wet crack. He was out cold.

“Dammit!” Magnus yelled, still struggling with Flow. “Flow, listen, you gotta settle. No one’s gonna hurt you. You hear me? You’re safe.” Despite the man’s injuries and fatigue, adrenaline was giving Flow a definite advantage. His legs thrashed the covers off the bed. Magnus could barely hold onto him. The best thing he could do was to try a sleeper hold, and not even that worked.

“What in all the cosmos is going on in here?” said a voice from across sick bay. Magnus looked up to see Valerie striding in from the entrance.

“Could use some help here, Doctor Stone.” Magnus was in a stymied arm lock with Flow, both men red-faced and sweating.

Valerie gave Cheeks a quick glance on the floor and then opened a cavity on the far wall. She produced a small molecular syringe, flipped it around in her hand, and jammed it against Flow’s neck. The sounds of a small electrical charge emanated from the device, and within three seconds, Flow was slumped in Magnus’s arms.

“Thanks,” Magnus said as Valerie helped him lay Flow’s unconscious body back on the bed.

“What happened?” she asked. “What’d you do?”

“I asked for their account of the last two weeks. Let’s just say it wasn’t great.”

“Severe PTSD,” she said, turning to Cheeks. She knelt beside him, checked his pulse, and examined his eyes with a penlight. “As bad as I’ve ever seen it.”

“Me too.” Magnus knelt to help her lift Cheeks back onto his bed. “He’s gonna be okay, right?”

Valerie produced a small scanner and held it over his head for a few seconds. She studied the readings on the display then tucked the device back into a holster on her belt. “He’ll be fine. Just one hell of a headache when he wakes.” She grabbed a second syringe and administered the same injection she’d given to Flow. “Nothing some medications can’t help. However, Magnus…”

He looked at her and saw the concern in her eyes.

“They’re going to need time. Both of them.”

“I know.”

“I’m not sure you do. Whatever they’ve been through, it’s bad. You don’t get this type of reality incoherence unless you’ve been messed with, and they’ve been messed with. Like I said back on Oorajee, they’ve been tortured, Magnus.” She paused, and he didn’t know what to say. “I know you’re going to want to go after the Republic leaders who’ve set you up. However, your guys… they’re not ready to follow you there yet.”

“They don’t have to.”

“But they’re going to want to. I know Marines. And I’m telling you, Magnus, you can’t let them. They’re your brothers—I get that. I’ve seen this type of loyalty before.” She reached out and touched his forearm. “They’d do anything for you. But this…” She looked between Cheeks and Flow. “They’ll need time before they’re ready to fight again, and you should be prepared.”

“For what?”

“For the worst. They might never fight again. They might never even be themselves again.”

Magnus lowered his head. He knew Valerie was right. The emotional and physical trauma Flow and Cheeks had been through was the worst he’d ever seen. Most guys died before it got this bad. And that was the worst of it—according to Flow and Cheeks, they had died.

“Flow said the Jujari killed them and then brought them back to life.”

Valerie tilted her head and squinted at him. “What did you say?”

“Rumor has it that the Jujari bleed their enemies to death, siphoning off their life force or something, and then bring them back to life only to do it again. I’d never thought it was true, of course, just—you know—stories that circulated through the Corps late at night around campfires and splick. But, mystics, Flow said something about ‘living blood.’”

“Living blood,” Valerie repeated. “That might explain the strange group of punctures around their kidneys and over their heart.”

“You mean… like transfusion scars?”

“Something like that.” She walked over to one of the black wall panels and swiped it to life. She shuffled through medical diagnostic charts, having already changed the text to Galactic common, and brought up bio scans of Sergeant Michael Deeks and Corporal Miguel Chico. “Here,” she said, zooming in with her fingers to show some discolored skin tissue. Five small dots in the shape of a pentagon were positioned on each side of the lower back, over the kidneys, and another set over the heart.

She pulled the images off the wall into a holo-projection and twisted it. The patterns became three dimensional, showing five small tubes that traveled subdermally and ran to the kidneys and heart respectively like five-fingered claws.

“Holy mystics,” Magnus whispered. “What is that?”

“Whatever the Jujari were doing to their blood, that’s how they got to it. Based on my initial exams, the Jujari could, theoretically, use a body as a pump—”

“A pump?”

“Or more like a fuel source.”

“For what?” Magnus asked.

“Your guess is as good as mine. But there’s no way they could keep it up for long. The metabolic rate required to sustain such activity would be enormous. Not to mention painful.”

Magnus turned from the holo-display and regarded Flow and Cheeks. His heart was heavy for them both. For Wainwright. For the old Luma who had survived with them… and for all the people they’d lost. He wished he’d been there sooner for them and for Mouth. Maybe Magnus’s MAR30 would have made a difference.

“There’s nothing more you can do right now,” Valerie said, placing her steady hand on his biceps. “Just let them rest and then get them somewhere safe. Away from war.”

“That’s the one thing I can’t do.” Magnus turned and put his hand over hers. “This war will consume every corner of our galaxy.”

2

Magnus and Valerie walked through the empty corridors of Rohoar’s ship. They’d left Flow and Cheeks to rest in sick bay and decided to head to the bridge to see how the rest of the crew was doing. The Shining Bright Star of Mwadim Furlank over a Thousand Generations was the rough equivalent of a Repub destroyer-class vessel. She was old, Magnus imagined, and well used. The hallways alone had enough scratch marks and hair on the floor to send a fleet of cleaning and maintenance bots into overload. But at her peak, the Bright Star must have been quite a ship.

In fact, most of the Jujari starships, while old, had an elegance to them that betrayed mere utilitarian war lust. Beneath the gun decks and bulbous armor were hints of beauty more reminiscent of nature than of battle. The Bright Star, for example, resembled a manta ray from Capriana—almost, except for the slew of turret emplacements, external torpedo racks, two backup shield-generator rectifiers, and reinforced plate armor that turned the ship into a cumbersome war hulk.

Magnus was beginning to see a theme at work in the Jujari people. Beneath their rough exterior was something of deep integrity. Though he wouldn’t go as far as Awen to interpret what he saw as praiseworthy—not when they would bleed prisoners to death and back. She was crazy to overlook that. But he had to admit that there was an element of honor among the beasts, at least the Tawnhack, that he at least found… noble.

The way Rohoar had so quickly taken his son’s place in honoring their debt code, for example—Magnus had never seen anything like that before. He knew plenty of Marines who would have tried anything they could to get out of the situation, and then, once committed, they’d complain until their captor was forced to release or kill them on account of their constant whining. Instead, Rohoar didn’t even seem to be bothered by the drastic arrangement. Once he’d made up his mind, he didn’t second-guess the decision. The closest thing Magnus could compare it to were the few times he’d seen a Marine sacrifice his or her life for others in a final act of heroism. But Rohoar’s actions were not heroism—they were the equivalent of indentured servitude.

“Are you still mad at me?” Valerie asked.

Magnus slowed and looked at her. “Come again?”

“Are you still mad at me? About your bioteknia eyes.”

Nothing like an assertive woman. Magnus noted—yet again—how attractive she was. But there was also sincere transparency in her question, which made her seem vulnerable, maybe even insecure.

“No.” Magnus stopped and turned to face her. “I’m not mad at you.”

As though his words had lifted a weight from Valerie’s shoulders, she relaxed and took a deep breath. “Because I knew what it would do to your career and how much that would hurt you and then all the relationships with your Marines, and—”

“Valerie.” Magnus put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay. You made the right call.”

She regarded him like a child looking for approval from her parent. “I’ve thought about it every minute since.”

“Well… cut it out.”

Valerie laughed then looked away from him. But she still seemed nervous.

“Tell me about them,” Magnus said, hoping to put her at ease.

“What?”

“You gave me a brand-new toy but forgot to give me the instruction manual.”

“Well, you did kind of run off to rescue your men.”

Magnus smiled. “I know what I did. And your gift helped me do it.”

“My gift?”

“Come on, Doc. I might not know much about implants, but these eyes aren’t your off-the-shelf line, are they?”

Now it was Valerie’s turn to laugh. “No, they’re not.” She pulled her hair back into a ponytail and tied it in a bun. “I mean, they’re not the best thing on the market—we were on Oorajee, after all. But you’d be surprised at the kind of tech Abimbola had stockpiled.” Valerie shrugged. “It was as simple as me asking him for the best he had, and then he cut me a deal.”

“You’re telling me you bought these?” He pointed at his eyes. “With your own credits?”

She smiled. “A senator gets paid pretty well.”

“I can imagine.”

“So it wasn’t a big deal.”

“It was a big deal to me.” He stared into her eyes a beat longer than he wanted to. Then they both looked away. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I figured if your military career is over, you might as well walk into your next line of work with an advantage over everyone else.”

“That’s… real sweet, actually.” And here he’d thought the surgery had just been a hasty decision by a low-grade triage medic—the kind of doctor who had a knack for ending Marines’ careers prematurely.

Valerie smiled then turned to walk away. But Magnus caught her by the arm. “Valerie, wait.”

“Yes?” Her big blue eyes seemed limitless, and the smell of her hair was intoxicating. She was so close he could feel her body’s warmth. How long had it been since he’d been with a woman or held someone? Out of nowhere, he felt the sudden urge to take Valerie in his arms and kiss her. Such things happened when he was tired—when his deep sense of discipline slipped. Tighten it up, Adonis.

“Lieutenant?”

Magnus blinked. He was holding Valerie at the elbows. “I… I just wanted to…”

Valerie leaned forward and kissed him on the lips. Her breath was hot, and she smelled like strawberries. Strawberries! Who smelled like strawberries after spending two weeks on Oorajee?

A senator’s wife, that’s who. Dammit, Adonis!

While it pained him to do so, Magnus pulled away and let go of her arms. “Valerie, we shouldn’t.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

“You’re still grieving. You need time.”

“No.” Valerie shook her head. “That love died a long time ago.”

“What do you mean?”

“The political life… is not what it’s cracked up to be.” Valerie gave him a look that Magnus couldn’t decipher.

Is that regret or desire?

“Darin was no Marine,” she added.

What does that mean?

“Anyway, you said you wanted to…?”

“Uh, yeah.” Magnus had completely forgotten what he was going to ask. Her unexpected advance had caught him off guard. Then his train of thought came back to him. He shook his head. “Piper. I wanted to ask you about Piper.”

Valerie’s shoulders slumped ever so slightly. “She’s fine. Enjoying yet another ride in a starship, this time one flown by giant ‘puppy dogs.’”

Magnus smiled, feeling the awkwardness of the kiss pass. But was it awkward? Or was it just so good that I want to do it again? “That’s kids for you.” He cleared his throat. “But I mean, how is she?”

“Oh, you mean her abilities?”

“I was thinking something more along the lines of magic death rays, but abilities works.” A pained look crossed her face. “Dammit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

Valerie spread her thumb and index finger across her eyes, pushing back tears. “Marines have never been known for their bedside manner.”

“Seriously, that was stupid.”

“It’s okay.” She waved him off, collected herself with a calming breath, and closed her eyes. “I realize you and I haven’t talked about this yet.”

“Well, it’s not like there’s been a whole lot of time for it.”

“That’s true.” She took a step back and leaned against the wall. “Piper’s different. She’s what the Luma call a true blood.”

“The Luma?” Magnus felt blood rush to his cheeks and ears. “What’s this got to do with the Luma?”

“Everything.”

“You’re not telling me Piper’s a Luma, are you?”

Valerie laughed. “No, not at all. But she has more power in the Unity than any Luma.”

Magnus froze. What does that even mean? “I’m lost.”

“I come from a long line of Luma,” Valerie confessed, placing her hands on her lower back. “Like all of my ancestors, I was bound for observances on Worru.” Valerie paused and searched Magnus’s face. “Sorry, observances is like graduate school for Luma candidates.”

“I know what it is, basically. I have a friend who…” An image of Awen suddenly popped into Magnus’s mind. It caught him by surprise, because he realized he missed her. Save a woman’s life, and her face haunts you forever. He wondered if Valerie’s face would do the same. “Never mind. Go on.”

“Anyway, that wasn’t what I wanted,” she said.

“Then what did you want?”

She chuckled. “Anything other than the Order. Being a diplomat, working through everyone’s problems, spending time in stuffy conference rooms and attending over-the-top dinners—that just wasn’t for me. I wanted something else. Something real. Something harder.”

“Harder than being a Luma?”

Her lips curled into a cute smile. “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be, you know.”

“Wait. So you’re telling me you turned down a career as a Luma to join the Republic Marines?”

Valerie nodded.

Magnus wasn’t entirely surprised, of course. Looks could be deceiving. And while she might have looked more like a Luma, the way she’d handled herself with his Z back on Oorajee and her ability to stay calm under pressure were Marine qualities. People were born with those or they weren’t. There wasn’t any middle ground.

Magnus ran the back of his hand across his beard. “But you just said you didn’t like stuffy conference rooms and fancy dinners. Forgive me if I’m wrong here, but isn’t that exactly what marrying a senator gets you?”

Valerie puffed her cheeks and exhaled. “You do stupid stuff for what you think is love. And then it gives you… well, it gives you Piper.”

“That’s why you got out?”

“I did two tours in Caledonia and fell in love with Darin, and then we found out I was pregnant with Piper. I wanted to stay in and serve out my time, but he insisted I get an honorable discharge. He wanted me to have Piper and said we could make a comfortable life together. His connections made getting out easy. But that didn’t mean that life with him was easy.” Valerie’s eyes focused on something in the distance. “Part of me still wonders… you know… what might have happened if…”

“Yeah, don’t go there.” He wanted to be affectionate, to reassure her, but he didn’t want to go back to the kiss. Well, he did, but it wouldn’t have been right—not at the moment, anyway. “Second-guessing is a cruel master. It convinces us we can still change stuff in our past while it hijacks our present. Just don’t.”

Valerie’s big blue eyes blinked at him. “Sounds like you have some experience there, Lieutenant.”

“Maybe.” He pulled his hand away from her. “So Piper’s a savant of sorts—in the Unity, I mean.”

“You could say that. She knows she’s different… knows she has powers. But not to what extent.”

“And you suspect she has a lot.”

Valerie nodded. “That’s why getting back to Worru is so important. I can’t thank you enough for taking us, Magnus.” It was Valerie’s turn to touch him, placing a hand on his chest.

Oh man. She’s gonna get you, boy. Back the skiff up.

Magnus took her hand and pulled it down, trying to be reassuring, trying not to resist her advances too noticeably. But it was noticeable, wasn’t it? “It’s not a problem. It seems like the best place for her… given my experiences with the Unity and all. Which isn’t much. Plus, I have a friend there, and she knows the Luma master well. They’ll know how to help Piper.”

Valerie looked away, pulling her hands to her chest. “I’m sure they will, Magnus. I’m sure they will.” Magnus sensed a measure of regret in her voice. Or maybe it was apprehension. He couldn’t be sure.

“You want to get back to the bridge with me?”

“No, I think I’ll go see who’s in the galley. Maybe get some coffee.” She rubbed her hands together and started to walk away. “Piper will be waking up soon anyway.”

“Sounds good.”

Valerie looked over her shoulder. “Magnus?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for talking.”

“Not a problem. I’m here for you.”

She held him with her eyes for another beat then moved away. Magnus let out a sigh as Valerie disappeared around a corner. For reasons he couldn’t define—other than knowing he was still a fifteen-year-old boy on the inside—Magnus had a vision of standing back-to-back with her, blasting enemies together. It was something that belonged in a holo-comic, not in his head. So he shook the vision away almost as fast as it had appeared, and he reminded himself that her husband had died less than two weeks ago. And that she had a kid who had inadvertently committed patricide, but also saved him and his fire team—twice.

That woman is so right and so wrong for you, Adonis. Just get her to Worru and walk away.

3

Piper couldn’t take her eyes off the giant doggy. She could hardly believe how big he was and how fluffy. All she wanted to do was pet him. And maybe play with him. But he didn’t seem like the playing sort. Instead, he just liked to sit in his big captain’s chair and glare at numbers on his data pad.

She’d remained by his side from the moment she was allowed on the bridge after leaving Oorajee’s orbit. He ignored her mostly. Only when she tried to pet him did he pull away. But she simply couldn’t help herself. His fur was far too inviting. She had to try one more time.

Piper leaned against the arm of his captain’s chair, acting as casual as she knew how. Her view meandered around the bridge, and she held her corgachirp in her left hand. Meanwhile, her right hand inched up the big doggy’s back until it was hovering near the base of his neck. Gently—ever so gently—she laid her hand into his thick, soft fur and began to stroke.

“Stop that!” the beast barked.

Piper recoiled, pulling her hand to her chest. This was the first time he’d spoken to her. His voice was far gruffer than she would have liked. Maybe he was a mean doggy. Or perhaps he was just having a bad day.

“I’m sorry, extra-big dog. You just look so soft.”

“I’m not soft. And I’m not a dog.”

“But you look like—”

“I know what I look like to you, but I’m not what you think. And I’m not for petting.”

Piper raised her hand one more time.

“I’m not for petting, human child.”

Disappointed, Piper retreated and lowered her head. “I’m sorry.”

The doggy relaxed in his chair and stared at her. He had rather long teeth that protruded from beneath his flappy lips. And his eyes were big and sort of bloodshot. Maybe he hadn’t gotten a good night’s rest. Piper was crankiest when she slept poorly. At least, that was what her mother told her.

“So, what are you, extra-big… whatever you are?”

“I am a Jujari of the Tawnhack tribe.” The beast didn’t even bother looking up from his data pad when he spoke to her.

“Oh.” Piper shuffled her feet. “Do all your people look like you?”

“Mostly, yes.”

“Is their fur as fluffy?”

“I… don’t know.”

“And the same color?”

“What?” he asked.

“Do they all have spots?”

The Jujari rolled his head to glare at her with a giant eyeball. “Please stop talking, tiny human.”

“You don’t have to call me tiny human. My name’s Piper.” She extended her hand.

The Jujari looked at it for a moment while Piper waited. Finally, he accepted the handshake. Piper’s eyes widened as his massive paw enveloped her forearm up to her elbow. But he was gentle, and the rough pads in his paw felt warm.

“My name is Rohoar.”

“Mr. Rohoar. That’s a nice name.”

The Jujari pulled back ever so slightly. “You think so?”

“Sure.”

“That is kind of you to say, young Piper.”

“Not a problem. Can I pet you now?”

“No.”

Piper sighed, lowering her head. “Okay.”

“But… you can tell me about your people.”

She glanced up. “My people?”

“Where do you come from? What is your home like? What kinds of food do you eat?”

Piper pulled Talisman, her corgachirp, close to her chest. This was exciting. “And afterward, maybe you can tell me about yours?”

Rohoar nodded.

“Okay, so, I come from Capriana Prime…” She paused to see if he was actually listening and not going to go back to his data pad. Adults did that a lot. Content that he was still interested, she continued. “It’s mostly a water planet. But we have some really big cities on island chains. They’re called atolls. They’re beautiful. The cities, I mean. But the atolls are too. We have a nice house in one of the biggest skyscrapers on the main island. My daddy’s a…” Piper blinked. Her heart hurt. “My daddy was a senator. But now he’s… he’s…”

“I already know.” Rohoar placed his paw on her back.

Piper liked that. A tear leaked from her eye. She wiped it away with Talisman.

“I am sorry for your suffering, Piper.”

“Thank you.” The words came out small.

“I lost my father as well.”

Piper looked at him, surprised. “You did?”

Rohoar nodded. “Perhaps just a few days before yours.”

“A few days? Really?” More tears started to fill her eyes. This was one of the saddest things she’d ever heard of. Two people who’d both lost their daddies at the same time, riding on the same starship. She leaned in toward his chair and placed a hand on his chest. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Rohoar, sir.”

“Thank you.”

“How did he die?”

“In an explosion.”

“My daddy’s escape pod exploded too.” Her lower lip quivered. “This is terrible.”

Suddenly, Rohoar wrapped his whole arm around her. He drew her into an awkward hug around the chair’s arm. Her heart lifted as his fluffy warmth enveloped her. He smelled a little funny, like he needed a bath, but she didn’t mind. She felt some of the pain in her heart pass, melting away like snow on a sunny day. He held her there until she stopped crying.

Piper looked at her hand. It was on Rohoar’s chest. She could pet him… and he wouldn’t even notice. Ever so subtly, she moved her fingers in a sweeping motion.

“You’re petting me again.”

Piper balled her fingers into a fist. “Sorry.” Rohoar let her go, so she stood up straight and wiped away the rest of her tears. Composed, she lifted her chin. “I like sorlakk.”

Rohoar looked at her with a look of confusion.

“You asked me to tell you about what kind of food I like. I like sorlakk.”

“What is this sorlakk?” he asked.

“You’ve never had raw Paglothian sorlakk?”

“No. Is it good?”

“Oh, it is!” She clapped her hands around Talisman, grateful to talk about something other than their daddies dying. “It really is! When we get back to Capriana, I’ll get you some. I promise.”

Rohoar opened his mouth to say something but didn’t. Then he looked down at his data pad. Maybe he didn’t want sorlakk after all.

“Mr. Rohoar, sir, what is your favorite food?”

He gave her what she thought was a smile, though it looked a little more like a sneer. “Slanther tripe.”

“Slanther tripe? I want some!”

“It, too, is raw, as you say. It is the stomach of the desert lizards that come from the south of Oorajee. You must wrestle them for a day before they succumb. But when they do, and once you remove the poison sacs…” Rohoar licked his lips with a long tongue. “It is one of my tribe’s greatest delicacies.”

Piper winced. “Maybe I will try that when I’m older.”

“That is, perhaps, a wise thought.”

“So, Mr. Rohoar, what is your home like?”

“Well, like you, I have a home in a skyscraper, as you say. But it wasn’t always this way.”

“Did you move a lot as a kid?”

“In a manner of speaking. For centuries, my people roamed Oorajee until our numbers became too great and we began city building. But even before that, we roamed the stars, but not like your Republic does. Rather than conquest, we wanted a place to settle. To call our own.”

“And you picked Oorajee.”

“Our ancestors did, yes,” he said.

“But why a desert planet? Do you like sand, then? It’s really hot and gets in everything.” When Rohoar didn’t reply right away, she said, “Mr. Rohoar?”

“As it is told, our ancestors chose the desert because it was unlike our previous home. They believed that if future generations were to survive, they must endure hardships that would prevent them from falling into the comforts that killed our people—the things that weakened their minds and corrupted their spirits. The desert saved us by keeping from us the things which we could not support.”

Piper blinked. “You’re kinda confusing, Mr. Rohoar, sir.”

He let out a long sigh. “Yes, I suppose I am.”

“So, when this is all done, you will go back to Oorajee?”

“When this is done…”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll be happy then, won’t you?” she asked. But Rohoar just stared at the floor a few meters ahead, focused on something she couldn’t see. “Will you see the rest of your family then? Do you have more family?”

Without breaking his concentration on the floor, he said, “I have a son.”

“What’s his name?”

The Jujari didn’t reply.

“Mr. Rohoar, sir? What’s his name?”

“Victorio…”

“That’s a wonderful name,” she said. “It sounds like ‘victorious,’ you know. Is he a good fighter?”

It was taking longer for Rohoar to answer her questions. Maybe he needed a nap.

“Mr. Rohoar, sir?”

“When this is done… perhaps I will see them all…”

Piper decided that Rohoar had been through a lot, just like her. She imagined that he was missing his home, too, just like her. And there was nothing she liked better when she was feeling sad than when someone rubbed her tummy. She knew she shouldn’t. And he would probably yell at her again. But he did seem so sad. So Piper leaned in, laid her head on his chest, and began gently stroking his stomach. And to her delight, he didn’t say a word.

* * *

Magnus was still shaking off the conversation with Valerie when the elevator slowed. A hint of her scent lingered on his cheek somewhere. It was as elusive as his feelings for her—present but impossible to pinpoint. He ran a hand over his face and blinked as the doors opened onto the bridge.

At first, Magnus panicked. He reached for his Z and trained it on the Jujari sitting in the captain’s chair. Splick! The damn Jujari’s gone rabid.

Rohoar held the lower half of Piper’s corpse under his arm, gnawing on her head and torso. Magnus was five kilos of pressure away from squeezing off a blaster bolt into the back of Rohoar’s head when he noticed…

There’s no blood. As he stepped from the elevator, Magnus heard the faint sound of a child singing. The gentle rise and fall of the melody reminded him of a lullaby from his childhood.

What the…?

Magnus couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Or hearing. The most innocent human girl Magnus had ever met was singing a lullaby to the greatest predator species in the galaxy. They couldn’t be any more different from one another. Yet the galaxy had brought them together.

Magnus sheathed his pistol and was about to clear his throat. Then he thought better of it. Rohoar had seen just as much war as Magnus had. Probably more. And Piper had endured things no nine-year-old should ever have to see. These moments—this one right here—were the things that healed the soul. Not fully, of course—nothing could do that—but they went a long way in helping.

For as much death as Magnus had seen, for as much as he’d delivered, he wanted to know he was also a part of giving life and allowing it to flourish. He refused to steal this moment from either Piper or Rohoar. As quietly as he’d entered, Magnus backed into the elevator and closed the doors.

4

“How soon before Sootriman is better?” Awen asked, glancing between TO-96 and Azelon, the ship’s gleaming-white robot counterpart. The three of them stood on the bridge of the Azelon Spire, watching as the vessel commenced the docking procedures with Ki Nar Four’s central platform. The volcanic planet filled the main viewing window, molten lava swirling amongst a host of charred tectonic plates twenty thousand kilometers below.

“Before Sootriman is better?” TO-96 asked. “Would you please quantify your question for accuracy’s sake? Better is a relative term. At what level do you expect—”

“Got it, ’Six.” Awen waved him off. “How soon before she’s conscious and alert enough to give orders to her minions?”

“Minions?”

“Her people, her staff. Whatever.”

TO-96 looked at Azelon.

“By our calculations,” Azelon replied, “based on a limited understanding of humanoid physiology, we estimate Sootriman will be fully coherent in two days, six hours, forty-one minutes, and twenty-eight seconds.”

“That’s a pretty good understanding,” Awen replied, hands on her hips. She started to pace in front of the main viewing window. “Which means I have two days of waiting around. Mystics, this is going to drive me crazy.”

“Are you going to become mentally unstable?” Azelon asked, looking from Awen to TO-96.

“It is yet another turn of phrase, Azelon. An idiom, if you will. It means she expects to grow restless in anticipation of her return to the planet, Ithnor Ithelia, and the city, Itheliana, which she wants to do sooner than circumstances will permit.”

“I understand,” Azelon said. “Is such a lack of patience a common virtue among sentients from this universe?”

“I am afraid so.”

“Hey, you two.” Awen snapped her fingers. “Can you save the classroom talk for later? We have a mission to plan here.”

“As you wish,” TO-96 replied. “How may we assist you?”

“We’re going to need to get supplies and to rally Sootriman’s bodyguards. Does this ship need to have her fuel cells recharged or something?”

“No,” Azelon said. “At least, not at this juncture. All systems are nominal.”

“Perfect.” Awen rubbed her hands together. “So we need supplies and muscle.” What I wouldn’t give for a few bucketheaded Marines right about now.

Really, Awen? Have you given up on your ideals so quickly?

Suddenly, she felt ashamed. If Magnus were here and offered to go blow up every last one of those troopers in the metaverse, she wouldn’t even hesitate to take him up on it. Had vengeance taken that deep a hold on her?

But it wasn’t vengeance—it was more like protection. Like keeping the rabid animal at arm’s length so that others might not have to suffer. Still, the moral high ground eluded her. She was talking about taking human life. How could she live with herself if she did this? What would the Luma say?

So-Elku wouldn’t have a problem.

That thought sent a shiver down her spine. But he isn’t a murderer, is he? He was just a misguided man who wanted the stardrive… and who wished to acquire information about the Novia Minoosh and their knowledge of the Unity. That was why he’d tried to manipulate her and tracked her through the quantum tunnel. And that was why he stole the book that had been in the temple library.

Wasn’t it?

More questions filled her mind, ones she didn’t feel any closer to answering. Chief among them was still how So-Elku knew about the Novia in the first place. And how did Kane know about it? No one except the mwadim ever saw what was on that stardrive, right?

Working through the possibilities felt like trying to hold handfuls of sand in the shallows of a tidal pool. No matter how she tried, the current whisked the granules into the sea and left her empty-handed. Worse still, however, was a lingering sense of foreboding, an imminent threat waiting for her just out of sight, lurking in the shadows. She felt the warnings, as if someone was trying to tell her to stay away. But she knew how fear could constrict the will and lead to inaction. For three months on Itheliana, fear had paralyzed her. She refused to listen to it anymore. Instead, she would forge ahead, plunging into the darkness and taking the fight to the enemy.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” TO-96 said with a raised hand, “is your only inquiry as to Sootriman’s health about how she might assist you in your effort to return to the metaverse? Might you also be curious as to Azelon’s prognosis of your friend?”

The two questions cut Awen to her core. She was beginning to wonder if some measure of metaphorical nearsightedness wasn’t a significant character flaw in her. When she got focused on a task, it consumed her.

But that’s the only way things get done. The alternative was cloudy judgment calls and lackluster results. Lives were on the line here—the whole galaxy was in jeopardy. And she knew in her heart that Sootriman would be fine. She’d told Ezo as much, and she wasn’t about to put dishonesty on her notable list of flaws.

“Of course I care about her.” Awen pulled the edges of her jacket together and lifted her chin. “Azelon, do you expect Sootriman to make a full recovery?”

“The likelihood of Sootriman returning to full health stands at ninety-eight point seven six three percent.”

“See?” Awen shot TO-96 a glare.

“You need not prove anything to me, Awen. I was already aware of the statistical likelihood of your friend’s recovery.”

Awen rolled her eyes. “Of course you were.”

“Docking with platform KN4-31, Hangar Bay Three in ten seconds,” Azelon reported, her voice reverberating in the bridge—and, presumably, throughout the rest of the ship. “Please prepare for main hull connection.”

“I suggest you hang on,” TO-96 said to Awen, who turned, took a seat in the captain’s acceleration couch, and buckled herself in.

“Five seconds,” Azelon announced. The window showed the platform’s crew tube extending toward them like a blackened worm protruding from the hangar block. The Azelon Spire was far too massive to fit inside the bay. Instead, she would make port at the end of the gantry crane that cradled the tube.

“Three… two… one…”

Awen braced herself. The smallest nudge rocked her forward. She waited, expecting more. “Was that it?”

“That was it, yes,” TO-96 replied.

“Docking procedure complete,” Azelon reported. “You are free to move about the ship. Pending hangar access at bow deck four, section one. Awaiting permission to open doors.”

“Access granted,” said a voice from behind Awen. She turned to see Ezo stepping out of the elevator and onto the bridge.

“Acknowledged,” Azelon said.

Awen rose from the captain’s chair and moved to Ezo. “Any improvement?”

Ezo would know she was asking about Sootriman. And perhaps TO-96 would note her concern. Now you need to prove yourself to a robot?

“The readouts seem to be positive, though Ezo is no doctor.” He looked to Azelon. “Thank you for translating the diagnostics for me.”

“My pleasure, sir. I am only sorry that I could not do it sooner. But it was not until I accessed TO-96’s archives that the translation was possible. He was indispensable in that regard.”

Awen noticed TO-96’s eyes glowing a little brighter—more robot blushing, as if such a thing were possible. Nothing like anthropomorphizing robots, Awen. Maybe she needed a break from them—or from everyone. She hadn’t gotten much alone time since before leaving Worru for Oorajee.

A pang of guilt filled her chest as she thought about Matteo and Master Toochu and the others who’d perished in the mwadim’s palace. She wished she could go back—she’d change so much. But that was impossible. Awen thought back to Willowood’s advice before the meeting with the treacherous So-Elku. “You cannot control what is done to you,” the wise sage had said. “Just like you could not stop those people from dying. The only thing you get to control is your today. You choose, and the universe responds.”

Oh, how she missed her mentor and hoped—to all the mystics—that Willowood was still alive. What am I thinking? Of course she’s alive! So-Elku might imprison her, but he isn’t ruthless enough to kill her. Perhaps she would use the next two days to try to reach Willowood—providing it didn’t compromise her own safety… So it’s all about you?

Sometimes her inner monologue was such a pain. Of course it wasn’t all about her. She was doing this for the greater good. For those who did not even know they needed defending yet. Whatever Admiral Kane and his associates were up to, it was evil. And it had to be stopped.

“So what’s the plan?” Ezo asked Awen.

“I figure we let Sootriman stay here in sick bay. I doubt any of Ki Nar Four’s medical facilities are better than Azelon’s.”

“Based on my initial scans of this planet’s technology, I would agree,” Azelon said.

Awen turned to glance at Azelon, eyebrows raised. Then to Ezo, she whispered, “I swear, she’s got ears in every part of this ship.”

Azelon whispered back, “If that is another metaphor for my ability to detect audio-acoustic vibrations on every one of the ship’s surfaces, then yes, I have ears in every part of this ship.”

“Great,” Ezo whispered back. He smiled and returned to a normal voice. “So we leave Sootriman in Azelon’s care. Then what?”

“Well, I was hoping we could rally some of Sootriman’s troops. Her bodyguard. Maybe some of those Reptalon sentries she keeps. Then they get whatever weapons they need, and we go back to Ithnor Ithelia.”

“What are you, a mercenary now?”

“No.” Awen shook her head. “Why is everyone having a hard time with me wanting to stop bad people from doing something evil?”

Ezo shrugged. “Well, you are a Luma, aren’t you? Don’t you all seek to employ ‘alternative means’ in accomplishing your goals? Diplomacy and splick. You know.”

“Okay, first off, Luma work in teams through established diplomatic channels. My last team got blown up”—she punched her palm with a fist—“and in case you hadn’t noticed, our leader betrayed the whole Order. So I’m not getting a team of Luma anytime soon. Secondly, I’m not exactly sure Admiral Kane and his troopers are going to be interested in diplomatic negotiations through moderate peace talks.”

“So you’re saying there is a place for violence…”

Awen threw her hands up. “Why is everyone so interested in my principles all of a sudden?” She looked at TO-96, who shrugged. She blew a strand of hair out of her face. “Listen, Ezo. All I know is that if we don’t stop whoever those troopers are back on the Novia home world, something bad is going to happen. I don’t know what they’re after, but it’s not good. This isn’t going to end well for anyone if we don’t do something.”

“Agreed.” Ezo nodded. “Ezo just wants to make sure you’re okay with… you know… us killing people. It’s not exactly your style. Ezo’s, yes. Yours? Not so much.”

“I get it, and I appreciate your concern. But let me worry about my morality, and you worry about yours.”

“You sure?”

“Mystics! Yes.” She raised a flattened hand toward the elevator. “Can we just get on with this?”

“Sure can, Star Queen. Just remember one thing.”

“And what’s that?” Awen wasn’t in the mood for a lecture—or for anyone else questioning her ethics.

“You do have a team.”

5

Walking through the streets of Sootriman’s capital platform was just as disgusting as it had been the first time. How such a classy lady tolerated a refuse pit like this was beyond her. But she supposed that being a warlord over a rogue planet outside the Republic’s domain came with certain caveats. Didn’t all leadership? And Awen would be the last to question Sootriman’s judgment calls, even if she didn’t entirely understand them. For all Awen knew, Sootriman’s citizens wanted their planet this way. Even illegals off the grid had rights, as Oorajee plainly demonstrated.

The smells of urine, fermented yeast, and bile mixed with odors of rusted metal and the sulfur from the planet’s surface. The midday sun cast a murky green hue over the streets, which were now bustling with merchants, shoppers, and beggars. Disreputable storefronts boasting all manner of alien erotica stood side by side with seemingly decent food service and merchandising establishments—all of which sought to do honest business in this backwater world.

Ezo led TO-96 and Awen against the gyrating flow of traffic, heading toward the massive domed building in the city’s center. Under full sun, Sootriman’s den showed more wear than Awen remembered. Rust and oil stains crept along the surface, slowly pulling the structure down to the decaying platform’s grave. Cables, poles, cranes, and wires protruded from the circular building like the bristly hairs of a Tuskavarin boar mongrel.

“Something’s not right,” Ezo said above the din of the crowd.

“What? Why?” Awen looked at Sootriman’s den. “How can you tell?”

“There’s been a fire.” Ezo pointed to charring around the windows and between the metal plating. “That’s not normal.”

“I’m detecting residual levels of carbon monoxide, carbon dioxide, water vapor, nitrogen dioxide, hydrogen cyanide, polyethylene—”

“So it’s bad, ’Six. I got it. Come on.” Ezo put his shoulder down and started pushing through the crowd. Patrons swore at him as people bumped into one another and lost their grip on whatever wares they carried. Awen held on to TO-96 as he followed after Ezo, trying not to get swept away by the crush of bodies.

The trio made it through one of the larger squares before being funneled into a side street. The narrow road bent right and terminated at an intersection. Ezo pulled himself up short, narrowly missing becoming the hood ornament for a street skiff.

Even though she’d momentarily lost sight of Sootriman’s den, Awen thought she could detect the sharp odor of a burnt-out fire. Ezo looked side to side and chose to go right. She and TO-96 followed him and made it to another intersection. They turned left and moved between some dilapidated apartment buildings. As they drew closer to the end of the street, Awen could see that a fire had worked its way through the structure. Soot stains marked walls, and debris littered the sidewalks below them.

“Come on,” Ezo said, breaking into a run. TO-96 and Awen followed, pushing past pedestrians and dodging small skiffs. By the time Awen reached the street’s end—butting up against the rounded exterior of the den—Ezo was already running toward the building’s main entrance. When she and TO-96 caught him, he was staring into the blackness. The massive doors had been blown off their hinges and lay in the street.

“What happened?” Awen asked, not really expecting anyone to answer.

Ezo took a step into the entryway, examining the ceiling and walls. “Kane happened, bet you a hundred creds in Abimbola’s poker chips. Careful.”

TO-96 switched on two shoulder-mounted lights and helped Awen step over some rubble. They followed Ezo as he moved deeper into the tunnel. Within a dozen meters, Awen started seeing body parts of Reptalons. Hands, heads, legs. The odors of smoke and burnt flesh hung heavily in the air. She covered her nose and mouth, trying not to let her eyes linger too long on the gruesome carnage.

When the three of them reached the stairs that mounted to Sootriman’s grand hall, Ezo kicked Reptalon bodies aside to make a path. Whoever had come through here—Awen agreed that it must have been Kane—had spared no one. Awen was surprised that Sootriman had failed to mention any of this during their three months together on Itheliana. Ezo seemed equally dismayed, which meant he’d been kept out of the loop too. Sootriman had never shared the details of how Kane had taken her hostage. Perhaps it was too humiliating. Or too sad. Reptalons weren’t ideal friends, but Awen doubted the lizard people were the only casualties of Kane’s attack.

“Great mystics…” Ezo whispered from above.

Awen didn’t even want to ascend the rest of the stairs, afraid of what Ezo had found. But she knew she must. Full knowledge of what was up there would add to her motivation to stop Kane. If she really were going to betray the tenets of the Luma, she’d need to see the fruits of this enemy’s labor. She’d need to know what she was up against, what Kane was capable of, and—

Awen froze on the top step, and her stomach turned. She blinked and squinted at the places where TO-96’s and Ezo’s lights landed. Bodies. Dozens of bodies. Maimed. Burned. Dismembered. Dried blood and ash swirled in macabre designs on the tiled floors. Slash and blaster marks scorched the pillars. Women who’d once been fanning themselves were frozen in anxious crawls away from whoever had slain them. Men who’d dashed over to defend their queen lay eviscerated on the ground. Ghastly faces filled with terror were everywhere.

Awen was about to vomit when she heard a hiss.

“Who goes there?” Ezo demanded, swinging his pistol to the far wall. TO-96 also centered his lights on the dais. “Who are you, and what are you doing here? Come out slowly!”

Awen watched in horror as a figure emerged from behind the dais. Her imagination told her it was a Reptalon carcass brought back to life—some sort of manipulation with the Unity. But to her amazement, it wasn’t a trick or a walking corpse. It was a Reptalon, alive.

“Hands up, scaly!” Ezo ordered. “And come down from there slowly!”

The Reptalon extended his clawed hands to his sides and began moving down the dais. But his steps were awkward, and he slipped. The lizard fell, hitting his hip on the marble steps, and then tumbled to the floor. It hissed louder, writhing in a failed attempt to get up.

“Slowly!” Ezo ordered, picking his way over the bodies between the entrance and the dais. “Don’t do anything stupid!”

“Stupid,” the lizard hissed. “Stupid.”

“Yeah…” Ezo edged closer. “That’s right. Stupid gets you shot.”

“So stupid.” The lizard pounded the marbled floor a scaly fist. “So, so, so stupid.”

“You did all this? You betray your oaths?” Ezo asked. Awen felt like that was a pretty unnecessary thing to ask and wished she could do the questioning. But Ezo held up a hand to keep her quiet. “Hey!” Ezo jammed the toe of his boot into the Reptalon’s side. “Ezo’s talking to you, lizard brain!”

The creature rolled over on its back and hissed at Ezo. Awen had always thought that Reptalons were, by far, one of the most disturbing creatures in the galaxy. This behavior only served to confirm it.

“Saasarr is stupid!”

“Who’s Saasarr, buddy?” Ezo asked. “Did he do this?”

“No, no, no.” The Reptalon was distraught. He seemed to be crying, and judging from the smell of alcohol in the air, he was probably drunk too.

“Ezo,” Awen whispered, raising a hand toward his arm. “I think he’s a survivor.”

“Gotta be sure, Star Queen. He’s one of Sootriman’s generals if the rank on his lapel is correct. Stand back.”

She did so and watched Ezo stick his boot in the Reptalon’s side again.

“Is that really necessary, Ezo?”

“You want to catch bad guys?” He glared at her over his extended arms. “Let Ezo do his job.” Ezo looked back at the Reptalon. “Who’s Saasarr, and who did this?”

“Saasarr was sleeping. Sleeeeeeping!” The lizard rolled over and pounded the floor again, fresh blood squirting between the scales of his fists.

“Are you Saasarr?” Awen asked, unable to handle much more of this. This creature either needed to be imprisoned or sedated. And fast.

“Saasarr the stupid! Saasarr the lazy! And now she’s dead, dead, dead. All because of me.”

“So you did this?” As fast as lightning, Ezo placed his boot between the Reptalon’s shoulder blades and pushed the barrel of his pistol against the back of its head. “You betrayed her?”

Fearing the Reptalon would answer in the affirmative, Awen clarified the question with one of her own. “Did intruders kill all these people?”

The lizard was hysterical—sobbing and writhing. “Intruders, yes! And Saasarr was nowhere to be found.”

“Dammit, Awen,” Ezo scolded her. “You can’t offer detainees words! We needed to hear him say it.”

“But he wasn’t going to say it. At least not anything we wanted to hear about Kane or troopers. He wasn’t even here!” She looked down at the pitiful creature and shouted over the Reptalon’s grief. “Are you Saasarr?”

“Curses! Curses from the gods! I am Saasarr! Curses!” He pounded the marble with every syllable. “Intruders. It was intruders.”

Ezo holstered his weapon and removed his boot from Saasarr’s back. “’Six, get him up.”

“Right away, sir.” TO-96 reached down and helped the lizard to his feet. Saasarr struggled to stay standing, so the bot kept a hold of his arms.

“Did you get a look at the intruders?” Ezo asked.

Saasarr shook his head. “It was too late. Too late when I returned. Dead. They were all dead. And I still can’t find her body. Been searching. But I’ve failed.”

“That’s because your queen is alive,” Awen said.

Saasarr’s eyes widened. He looked between her and Ezo. “She’s alive?”

“Well, that sobered him up,” Ezo said.

Saasarr acted as if he wanted to stand on his own, so TO-96 let him go. But a beat later, Saasarr was headed to the floor. The bot caught him, sparing him from another nasty fall.

“Can you get him back to the Spire, Ninety-Six?” Awen asked.

“And leave you two alone to search without me?”

“If this is the worst of it,” Ezo said, gesturing to Saasarr, “then we’ll be just fine.”

“We’ll check for more survivors,” Awen added. “Then we’ll get back to the ship.”

Ezo nodded in agreement. “If he’s really one of her generals, he’ll be an asset in rallying the rest of Sootriman’s fighting force.” Suddenly, Saasarr hurled the contents of his stomach onto the marble floor. Ezo and Awen stepped back just in time. “And get him cleaned up, would you, ’Six?”

“As you wish, sir.” TO-96 hoisted Saasarr over his shoulder and began walking back toward the entrance.

“Put Saasarr down!” the lizard ordered, his speech slurred.

TO-96 could be heard reasoning with the Reptalon all the way out the door, down the steps, and into the tunnel.

“You made a good bot,” Awen said.

Ezo forced a blast of air through his nostrils. “Sometimes Ezo wonders.” The two shared a smile and looked around the room as if to say, What’s next?

“So… we keep searching?” Awen proposed.

Ezo shook his head. “Nah, Ezo has a better idea. This way.”

* * *

Ezo led Awen behind the dais and through a doorway that opened into a long corridor. His weapon’s light revealed several doors that lined each side of the hall at evenly spaced intervals. But it was the single door at the hallway’s end that Ezo seemed intent on.

He lowered his weapon and tried the lever, but it was locked. “Give me some room.”

Awen stepped back as Ezo kicked the door, the metal doorjamb bending under the force. He struck it three more times before it finally gave. Ezo shined his light into what looked to be a well-appointed office complete with luxurious furniture, wall dressings, paintings, and area rugs.

“Sootriman’s office?” Awen asked.

“One of them, yeah.” Ezo walked around a desk in the middle of the room and pulled out the high-backed chair. He sat, placed his pistol to the side, and spread his hands over the desk, calling up a holo-display. The first thing that hovered in front of him was a login screen. He let out a sigh.

“Something wrong?” she asked.

“Something’s right. It’s not biometric. Means we don’t have to haul her back here.” He tapped his temple for a moment. “Now, what’s your password, baby?”

“Password? As in a digital password?”

“She always liked things old-school.”

Awen was stunned. Digital passwords had been phased out decades ago in favor of quantum security. The new measures were almost unbreakable unless a person had an excellent code slicer. “We can have Ninety-Six come back if you think—”

“Nah, give Ezo a second.” Ezo cracked his knuckles and placed his fingers on the illuminated keyboard. He typed something then hit Enter. All at once, the login screen vanished, replaced by standard file architecture. “Sootriman, you’re so predictable.”

“You guessed it? Just like that?”

“Sure.” He smiled. “It was our anniversary.”

“You’re serious.”

“Yup.” Ezo grinned from ear to ear. “She still loves Ezo.” He leaned in and began swiping through the files. “Let’s see here…”

Ezo moved into a section entitled Security System and then lists of dates and cameras. Ezo tapped his temple a few more times before choosing a date and opening the data set. He chose the camera grouping marked Den and started scanning footage.

“You’re pretty good at this,” Awen offered. “Makes me wonder how many times you’ve done it.”

Ezo answered absentmindedly, “Ezo knows what he’s doing. Here we go.”

Awen leaned in as Ezo expanded a view of the main entry tunnel. A sudden burst of light and a muffled thud grabbed her attention. The smoke cleared, and several black-clad troopers moved into the frame, led by a single bald figure in a black navy uniform.

“Kane,” she whispered.

Ezo nodded, watching the footage.

The troopers shot flares that bathed the tunnel in bright light, temporarily blowing out the camera’s sensors. Ezo jumped to another camera farther down the corridor. Kane pointed at several Reptalons, and the troopers responded by firing blaster bolts into the targets. Then flamethrowers appeared and bathed the walls in liquid fire, torching whatever moved along the walls.

“He’s certainly methodical,” Ezo said.

“He’s sick.”

“Agreed.”

Ezo continued to switch cameras to show Kane and his troopers moving down the tunnel, dispatching Reptalons as they went. They finally entered Sootriman’s inner sanctum. Awen watched in horror as Kane approached Sootriman and fired a shot at her. The large woman hardly flinched as the metal projectile missed her head by mere centimeters, biting a chunk out of her throne instead. The two continued talking until, without warning, Kane extended his weapon to one side and shot a civilian in the head.

Awen let out a short scream and looked away. “Mystics! What is wrong with him?”

“He’s evil,” Ezo said, still watching.

By the time Awen had forced the bile down her throat and had her eyes on the screen again, Kane was shooting more people, dispatching them as easily as someone might rid a home of unwelcomed insects on a summer evening.

Then there was a pause. Sootriman was on her feet, shouting something that the microphones could not distinguish from the screaming in the room. Kane waved his gloved hand, and a trooper shot Sootriman with a low-energy pulse, stunning her. Two more troopers ascended the dais, pulled Sootriman from her throne, and threw her down the stairs.

Awen could sense Ezo’s body tensing. No wonder Sootriman didn’t say anything about this. It’s horrible. If this was hard for her to watch, it had to be brutal for Ezo. Kane knelt over Sootriman and had a discussion with her that neither Awen nor Ezo could make out. Kane nodded and stood upright. He looked at the trooper who’d shot Sootriman.

“Pause video,” Ezo said. The holo-vid froze. He stared at the image, zoomed in, and pointed. “Ezo knows that one.”

Awen looked from Ezo to the trooper. “You know that specific trooper? How? He looks like all the rest.”

“No.” Ezo zoomed in farther. “There, on his chest. The semigloss rank designation. And the way he’s standing. We’ve seen him before. He was tracking us through Itheliana.”

Awen froze. “You’re sure?”

“Positive.” Ezo took a deep breath. “Resume video.”

The holo-footage played on as Kane left the den. The soldier ordered two others to haul Sootriman’s body away, following Kane. Then, as if possessed by a demon, the trooper raised his weapon and began firing. The people in the room tried to scatter, screaming, but other soldiers blocked the exits. The first trooper picked people off one at a time. Head shot after head shot after head shot.

“Mystics! Turn it off, Ezo. Please.”

“End video.”

Awen swallowed. This is madness. Who does that? And to what end?

Ezo closed out the holo-display, and the room went dark again, save for the light on his weapon, which spread across the table. “That’s who’s waiting for us.”

Awen nodded. A shiver went up her back and down her arms. “We’ve got to stop him.”

“We will.” Ezo reached out and took Awen’s hand. “And—mystics—we must.” A long paused filled the space between them before Ezo spoke again, this time tapping his earpiece to speak over comms. “Hey, Azelon. You copy?”

“I can hear you, Ezo.”

“We’re just about done here, and I need to check on one more thing. But before I do, would you happen to have space for a Katana-class light freighter on the Spire?”

There was a brief moment of silence. Awen assumed the AI was reviewing TO-96’s archives on the ship type. Then Azelon finally replied, “Affirmative, sir. Are looking to bring one aboard?”

Ezo winked at Awen and the smiled in one side of his cheek. “Ezo definitely is.” And Awen knew just the ship he had in mind.

6

It all went back to holo-games for Squadron Commander Mauricio Longo. He’d never say that openly, of course. Comparing the risky business of actual fighter combat—where real people died—to children’s games would be disrespectful. Still, his childhood memories were filled with long hours spent battling the Jujari over Oorajee. Never in a million years, however, did he think he’d get to lead a real squadron of Repub Talons into combat against the hyenas.

On the other hand, he wasn’t exactly surprised by it. As he sat in his Talon’s cockpit, monitoring target information and paging through the AI’s proposed assault scenarios, he realized he was born for this. He was a sixth-generation pilot who stood on the shoulders of the Longo family legacy. The mere mention of his last name on any bridge, hangar deck, or ace bar elicited an attitude of reverence. Which was why he’d chosen to go by the name Ricio. If there was one thing he hated, it was being known for someone else’s achievements. And the Longo family shadow was long and wide in that department.

“Viper Squadron, this is Viper One,” Ricio said over TACNET. “Form up on Viper Eight, wedge formation. We are”—he double-checked the fleet roster— “position one in the holding pattern. Stand by for command attack authorization.” Response pings scrolled down the side of his HUD as Ricio watched his squadron move into formation. The blue light of their engines flared across his curved window as he examined each ship in his care. Statistically, half of these ships would not survive, but he readied himself to fight as if he wouldn’t lose a single one.

The FAF-28 Talon was the pride and joy of the Republic Navy, enjoying the latest developments in ion-engine technology, subspace drive-core research, advanced modular-weapons systems, and pilot-to-AI interfacing. Such additions to the Talon model had extended the short life expectancy of a pilot in combat by four minutes, or seventeen percent—a veritable lifetime as far as aces were concerned. The Talon’s slender black fuselage was largest in the rear, due to its twin ion engines and dual drive cores, while the cockpit sat in the aft third with a generous wraparound duraplex window. In keeping with the ship’s name, its nose tapered to a narrow point.

Even more evocative of the name, however, were the Talon’s two primary wings. They raked forward from the rear with a slight backbend midway, shaped like the wings of birds of prey from any number of worlds around the galaxy. Each wing also maintained some shallow dihedral that pitched them upward. In the opposite direction, two small stabilizers protruded from the fuselage’s lower aft to provide additional stabilization during atmospheric flight.

For armament, the Talon sported two primary NR330 blaster cannons nested on either side of the lower fuselage. These were complemented by secondary T-100 blaster cannons in each wing tip—lower discharge but higher frequency. And in the case of light-bomber or antiship operations, the Talon’s underbelly allowed for up to four class-C torpedoes or two class-B bombs. In all, the aggressive starfighter epitomized the best the Republic had to offer, and Ricio was proud to helm one of them.

His squadron had yet to leave the protective care of Third Fleet. They circled their patron super dreadnought, the Black Labyrinth, awaiting orders to engage the Jujari fleet. Fleets was probably a better word. In the last thirty minutes, the Jujari’s main contingent of vessels had been joined by two smaller battle groups made up of Sypeurlion and Dim-Telok starships.

Suspecting that this might happen, command had equipped half of Ricio’s squadron for antiship strikes and the other half for standard antifighter operations. Such a load provided maximum tactical mobility. But it also meant a decrease in target specificity—meaning they’d most likely be tasked with multiple objectives instead of one or two. More objectives meant more details, and more details meant that more pilots wouldn’t be coming home. But he shook that from his mind. Not yet. Those numbers haven’t been calculated yet. They’re all just guesses. We’re the ones making the decisions.

“Viper Squadron, this is Viper One…” Ricio held the TACNET channel open as he considered what to say. It wasn’t like him to be so spontaneous, but he wanted to address them before the Fleet Admiral got on the channel. The Admiral would be generic, but Ricio wanted to be specific. Statistically, he knew this would be the last time he saw half his pilots, and he didn’t want them hearing trivialities. Not today.

Plus, this was a big day, one which needed someone to calm pilot nerves. This conflict had been brewing for generations… for three hundred years, he reminded himself. When the fleet had jumped into the system, everyone thought it would be a routine in and out. The Senate had arranged a fancy meeting with the Jujari mwadim and the Luma emissary. Everyone knew it wouldn’t go anywhere. But what Ricio wasn’t expecting—what no one was expecting—was war.

“I know most of you grew up dogfighting Jujari Razorbacks on the holos, and that was the closest any of us thought we’d ever get. Well, not anymore. I’m not going to lie to you—I expect this to be the fight of our lives. And I expect the Jujari to come at us hard. Looks like they’ve got Sypeurlion and Dim-Telok backup too. But I also expect that we’ll go at them harder. The fact is, you have been fighting these bastard dogs since you were kids. You’ve played out this conflict a thousand times. You’re the best. The Repub knows that, I know that, and you need to know that. You’re going to outthink, outfly, and outfight every damn enemy you engage.

“If you get tailed, say something. You see a squadron that needs breaking up, call it out. If there’s an opportunity, exploit it, but don’t ever leave your wingman. And when you need new energy mags or fuel cells, don’t wait for me. Fall back and reoutfit. My guess is that hangar ops will dispense with batch outfitting once the blaster bolts start flying. Get in, get out, and return to the line.”

Ricio paused again, unsure of how to end his speech. He always felt awkward doing these, but he remembered how much it had meant to hear his COs genuinely rally the pilots when he was an ensign. Sure, some did a terrible job, and all the pilots rolled their eyes. But the good COs—the best ones—could make someone a better pilot and a better person. People would follow that kind of leader to hell and back. Sometimes, those speeches even made the difference between getting home and becoming space dust. And Ricio definitely wanted to get home. He’d often wondered why he stayed in the service so long after he’d gotten married and they’d had a son. Given the life expectancy of fighter pilots, Ricio had always felt it was irresponsible to keep flying. His family needed him. But they also needed the credits, and few other jobs paid out like this one—particularly in the event of his death.

Where else would I make this kind of cred?

The honest truth was, Nowhere.

It was more than the money, though. Privately, he didn’t want to do anything else but fly. There was nothing like it. Flying a Talon was the closest thing to being a god that he could think of. That was precisely what the recruiter who’d come to his university had said. And damn, he’d been right. Everything about it was alluring. Even addicting. The power. The agility. The views. There was just no way he could settle for another job after this. If he couldn’t fly a Talon, he didn’t want to work at all. So the plan had been to fly this last mission and then call it quits. He knew it was bad luck to name your exit mission before flying it, but Lady Luck wasn’t married to his wife. He was.

“A select few of you have been with me for a while now. And we’ve seen some action together. Caledonia. Po-Froslin. The moon base on Teslo Nine. But all of you—and I mean all of you—are the select few today. You will all be known as legends, and for those who make it home, you’ll be regarded as legends in your own time. Today, we will see combat together that will be remembered for generations. You are the greatest because you made it here. And wherever we go next, we go together. We will be the masters of Oorajee. Viper victory.”

Fourteen other voices flooded TACNET as one, replying, “Viper victory!”

No sooner had Ricio finished his speech than command overrode all channels and issued a fleet-wide communiqué.

“All stations, all stations,” said a communications officer over TACNET. “Red alert. This is not a drill. I repeat, red alert. Pause for the fleet admiral.”

The channel pinged, and a new voice sounded, one that Ricio was not expecting to hear.

“Attention all personnel of the Republic Navy. This is Fleet Admiral Hal Brighton aboard the Black Labyrinth…”

Fleet Admiral Brighton? Apparently, the XO had gotten a field promotion, which was highly unusual. But then again, several odd things had been happening aboard the Labyrinth over the last several weeks—things that Ricio couldn’t explain. Chief among them were items related to now former Fleet Admiral Kane. Ricio didn’t have any personal contact with the man, of course, but he’d heard stories that made him extremely uneasy about the officer’s ability to lead the fleet. They seemed more like something out of fantasy than reality.

Then again, Ricio had also seen plenty of strange things during his time in the navy, and sailors could weave preposterous narratives concerning just about anything that was above their pay grade. But many of the tales about Admiral Kane came from reputable sources, and that was what made Ricio so uneasy. These sailors weren’t liars. He didn’t doubt that they’d seen and heard things that rattled them.

For example, some of his contacts among the brass claimed Admiral Kane’s face had changed. It started with burns across his entire head. Then his eyes changed color. Even his voice was different, they said. It was rumored that he’d been going by a different name too.

Then came the reports that he’d executed several officers on the spot for insubordination. When others asked why no one had reported the admiral, sources noted that the Senate had sanctioned his use of force. Such a claim seemed absurd to Ricio, but who was he to argue with the Galactic Republic’s seat of power? Apparently, all of this surrounded the Jujari meeting. And for whatever reasons, the Senate suspected that spies were operating at the highest levels of leadership. The admiral had simply been given the authority to do what needed doing.

And then there were the rumors that Admiral Kane had gone to another universe. Some were calling it a parallel universe, others a metaverse accessed by quantum event horizons. This, of course, was the most outlandish rumor yet. But at least one or two Marines who’d been the admiral’s bodyguards had supposedly leaked news about the crossing to their navy counterparts. Secrets leaked when Svoltin single malt flowed. His sources swore on the mystics’ graves that the stories were true, and as far as Ricio was concerned, they might have been—but at the moment, he had a war to wage and a day to win.

“All hands, battle stations,” Brighton continued. “I repeat, all hands, battle stations. We have received and confirmed classified orders from the Republic Senate to retaliate against the Jujari fleet and their allies in open naval warfare. The orders state, in no uncertain terms, that all Republic starships will and must engage any and all enemy targets without restriction in response to atrocities committed against the Galactic Republic. There will be no quarter. The enemy’s retreat or destruction is the only acceptable outcome.”

Holy mystics, this is happening. Ricio could hardly believe what he was hearing.

The fleet admiral continued, “Targets have been selected in order of priority and delivered to each fleet for dissemination. Redundancies have been attached to each order set should any element fail. Each fleet is commanded to execute orders with haste, and all fighter and bomber squadrons have been cleared for combat. Command attack authorization level alpha. I repeat, this is an alpha-level command attack authorization. Fleet Admiral out.”

The channel closed, and Ricio sat in his cockpit, feeling the low hum of his Talon’s drive cores in his seat. His hands were tight on the controls, and he could hear the thump of his heart in his ears. He knew his squadron wouldn’t have been scrambled unless the threat was real, but hearing the admiral’s voice made it all the more so. This was it.

The next voice that came over TACNET was that of Captain David Seaman, commander of the Labyrinth’s two Talon squadrons, Viper and Raptor, and the head of SFC—strategic fighter command. As a Goliath-class Super Dreadnought, the Labyrinth was capable of hosting thirty fighters. It was also the command ship, so Captain Seaman, and therefore Ricio, would take point on all fighter squadron activity for third fleet.

“Viper and Raptor squadrons, your commanders have received your target coordinates in order of priority and are feeding them to your Talons’ AIs now.”

Ricio already had the order packets ready to disseminate and punched Transmit at the captain’s word. His HUD displayed near-instantaneous receipt confirmation to all fourteen fighters.

“Stay on target, and happy hunting,” Seaman replied. “You are cleared to engage the enemy.” The captain closed out the channel, and Ricio resumed control of his comms.

Whether from fear or excitement, his hands trembled as he gave the final command and loosed his fighters. “You heard him, Vipers. Let’s get dirty.”

And just like that, the void’s most significant killing force was unleashed upon the Jujari.

7

“We’ve been granted permission to send a shuttle to Docking Bay One,” Rohoar said, looking up from the captain’s chair’s built-in data pad.

Magnus spun around from the main viewing window, where a blue-and-green image of Worru loomed. “Come again?”

Abimbola turned from Magnus and eyed Rohoar too.

The Jujari shrugged. “Did I say something unclear?”

“You were clear,” Magnus replied, stepping toward Rohoar. “It’s just that you said Docking Bay One.”

Rohoar double-checked the display. “That is correct, scrumruk graulap.” Rohoar had given Magnus that Jujari name back on Oorajee—it roughly translated as little hairless warrior. But given Rohoar’s humiliating step away from national leadership, the former Marine let it slide. It was, in fact, fast becoming a term of endearment—at least, that was how Magnus interpreted it. Doing so helped it feel less like an insult.

Rohoar repeated the information. “Docking Bay One. I don’t see the problem.”

“No one ever gets Docking Bay One,” Abimbola said. “Not on any Repub planet I know of.”

“Exactly,” Magnus replied. “It’s saved for galactic dignitaries.”

“And you are not a galactic dignitary?” Rohoar asked.

Magnus shook his head. “Not even close, buddy. At least not in the way that gets you a premium parking spot.”

“Unless you count being an outlaw as one of the requisites.” Abimbola grinned. “In which case, you get the best spot, buckethead.”

Magnus smiled at the jab then stroked his beard, lost in thought. “I don’t think it has anything to do with me, actually. I think it has everything to do with you.”

Rohoar recoiled. “Me? What for?”

“Think about it. A Jujari starship—following a diplomatic ambush and a newly begun war with the Republic—jumps into orbit over Worru and requests docking permission for a shuttle.”

“That’ll get you a spot up front for sure,” Abimbola said.

Magnus pursed his lips and nodded in agreement. “Seems a few people might be very interested in our arrival. Abimbola, can you summon the crew to the bridge?”

“All of them?”

Magnus smiled. “All of them.”

* * *

Magnus, Abimbola, and Rohoar sat in silence as the elevator doors opened in succession, delivering a new batch of riders to the bridge with each cycle. Dutch, Haney, Gilder, and Nolan saluted Magnus and stepped to the side. To his surprise, they’d refused transport to the Republic fleet when they were on Oorajee and opted to remain with him—something that would get them court-martialed upon their return.

Magnus tried to argue their decision, but Dutch, speaking for all of them, had respectfully declined his pleas. “We’ve come this far with you,” she’d said back in Abimbola’s headquarters. “We’re not leaving your side now.” As with Flow and Cheeks, the move was most likely career ending unless Magnus could help them fabricate some sort of story when all this was over.

Next came Rix, Simone, and Silk, the three most notable Marauders who’d fought with Magnus in his efforts to rescue the Marine hostages in the Western Heights. Apparently, Cyril, the code slicer and bomb tech, had wanted to come, too, but Abimbola said he was in no shape to fly. The three Marauders insisted Abimbola take them with him, and after several minutes of deliberation, the warlord relented.

“You’re not getting paid for this, though,” he said. “You’re doing this on your own.” They’d agreed, and only then did Abimbola let them on Rohoar’s shuttle.

And then there was Titus, the stranded Marauder Magnus had helped save under the gate in the Western Heights. According to Abimbola, the man had insisted he be taken along, as he owed Magnus a life debt. Magnus had last seen Titus sprinting away from his skiff—one overrun with Selskrit. The guy had been cool, calm, and collected, even in the face of certain death.

When Magnus overheard Titus’s conversation with Abimbola, he stepped in. “Let him come.”

Abimbola raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that? Because you do know that if you keep collecting warriors like this, we’re going to run out of food.”

Magnus laughed. Feeding troops was a very real and often overlooked priority for any commander, and supply-chain management was far down on Magnus’s list of skill sets. “Believe me, Bimby. I know.” He patted the giant Miblimbian on the biceps. “But that’s why I have you.”

Last on the bridge were Valerie and Piper. All eyes watched them as they exited the elevator—one the epitome of elegance despite her cargo pants and tactical shirt, the other the picture of youthful innocence as she clutched her ratty stuffed corgachirp. Piper also held a new holo-pad that she’d acquired from Rohoar. The two had developed quite the bond over the last several hours, which had surprised everyone. Rohoar and Piper truly represented the opposite ends of the species spectrum.

“All right, listen up, people,” Magnus said with his arms folded. Abimbola stood beside him, while Rohoar stayed in his captain’s chair. “We’ve been given the green light to dock a shuttle on Worru. But something tells me we may get more than we bargained for.”

“How so?” Valerie asked, her hands folded over Piper’s chest in a protective posture.

“Let’s just say that I don’t think the Luma were expecting a Jujari destroyer-class starship to jump into the system.”

“Are you expecting resistance?” Dutch asked.

“No. But I also don’t want to go in without a plan, which is why you’re all here.”

“So what’s the plan, LT?”

* * *

Rohoar’s shuttle arrived at Docking Bay One without incident. There had been no orbital escort and no more communication with the traffic control tower than was to be expected. For all intents and purposes—besides the strange permission to arrive at Docking Bay One—this was a routine shuttle arrival. Still, something felt off.

“You okay there, buckethead?” Abimbola asked.

The two of them stood behind Rohoar as the Jujari piloted the shuttle to the landing pad. Surprisingly, Rohoar was a natural with the helm and, when asked, insisted that he came from “generations of starfaring Tawnhack.” Magnus doubted the statement’s validity, as the Jujari seemed like anything but starfarers. Yet their old ships, despite being rough around the edges, appeared to bear out at least some of Rohoar’s claims.

“Hey, buckethead. You good?” Abimbola repeated.

“Just on guard.” Magnus realized he was squeezing the back of Rohoar’s chair tightly enough to leave indentation marks when he let go.

“What’s the worst that can happen?” Abimbola asked. “They’re Luma peacemongers, right?”

Magnus chuckled. “That’s exactly what I’ve called them.”

“Seems we agree, then.” Abimbola jabbed Magnus in the ribs.

“Still, the last time I underestimated one of them, she saved my life.”

“Twice, if I’m not mistaken. Once in the street, and once in my jail.”

Magnus turned to the giant. “Yeah… that’s right.”

“But who’s counting?”

Magnus touched his in-ear comm, which Abimbola had supplied. “Team One, you ready?”

“Ready to check myself for fleas after riding with that Jujari,” Simone replied from the aft cargo bay.

“I am on the comms network too,” Rohoar said, powering down the drive core with a few taps on the dashboard.

“Good. Then you’ll know to get yourself a flea bath later tonight.”

“We have a job to do, people,” Abimbola said. “Just follow the plan.”

“Understood,” Simone replied. “Team One is good to go.”

“Team Two?” Magnus asked.

“Team Two, standing by,” Dutch replied.

“Good. Nolan, what’s your twenty?”

“Sorry, Lieutenant. I’m in the head, belowdecks, sir.”

Magnus rolled his eyes.

“Hey.” Abimbola nudged Magnus again. “When you have to go, you have to go.”

“Copy that.”

Over comms for all to hear, a zipper closed, followed by the distinct forced-air vacuum of a toilet flushing. Water splashed in a sink as a man’s tenor whistle filled ten seconds. Finally, a door slid audibly open, and Nolan stepped out of the head and into the cargo bay.

“Hey, Nolan,” Dutch said. “Your comm channel is wide open.”

There was a pause. Magnus heard several people giggle in the background, including Piper.

“My bad,” Nolan said, and his comm went silent.

“We’re all gonna die,” Magnus said to no one in particular.

Abimbola placed a large black hand on Magnus’s shoulder. “Yeah, but we’ll have fun doing it.”

Just then, Nolan’s head appeared as he climbed the alternating-tread staircase into the bridge. “Here, Lieutenant.”

“Nice of you to join us.”

“Are you going to whistle a tune for us too, pilot?” Abimbola asked.

“Very funny.”

“Okay, Nolan, you have the helm.”

The warrant officer nodded and swapped out with Rohoar. “She’ll stay warm, Lieutenant.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” He looked out the front window and then gave the camera monitors a quick glance. Magnus noted the presence of a boarding party waiting behind the hangar bay’s blast-wall window. He counted several Luma and twice as many Worruvian guards. “Keep the stabilizing thrusters firing for a few more seconds, Nolan. I don’t want anyone approaching the ship until Simone’s team is clear.”

“Copy that, sir.”

Magnus tapped his comm. “Simone, you’re clear to move.”

“On it.”

A dashboard indicator illuminated, presumably for the starboard door opening—Magnus couldn’t read Jujarian any more than he could speak it. He watched an exterior camera feed of Simone, Rix, Silk, and Titus making a dash to a cluster of freight containers on the opposite side of the ship from the blast wall. “You sure you know how to operate this thing even though it’s in Jujari, Nolan?”

The pilot nodded. “She’s laid out a lot like the Sparrow, actually. I don’t anticipate a problem.”

Magnus patted him on the shoulder. “Good man.” To Abimbola and Rohoar, he said, “Let’s do this.”

* * *

Magnus and Abimbola escorted Rohoar down the cargo-bay ramp and onto the tarmac, where a dozen nervous-looking Luma waited to receive them. He found himself looking for Awen’s face, but she wasn’t among them. Instead, all he saw was a tightly bunched cluster of robed mystics who’d probably never seen a Jujari in real life. He wondered how long it had been since Worru had hosted one of the notorious warriors. Maybe never.

The tension was amplified, however, by another two dozen armed Worruvian guards behind the Luma—which was why Magnus and Abimbola both openly carried blasters. Magnus held his MAR30 in low ready position, while Abimbola rested a bulky M101 double-barrel blaster cannon on his shoulder. The Miblimbian also wore his sheathed bowie knife on one thigh and his holstered BFT6 Tigress on the other.

Must be a damn fine sight striding out of this shuttle, Magnus mused.

For his part, Rohoar went weaponless—in other words, he didn’t have a blaster. But Magnus had seen Jujari maws and paws in action and knew that the former mwadim could handle himself anywhere in the galaxy just the way he was. Instead of carrying a weapon, the Jujari had found a ceremonial robe on the Bright Star and secured it around his neck. The long crimson cape gave him a royal air that was surprisingly dignified.

“Is that a traditional thing the mwadims wear?” Magnus had asked before they left the shuttle.

“No.” Rohoar had held the fabric up. “It’s a bath towel I found in a locker.”

Magnus gave a slight smile as the three of them walked up to the lead Luma on the tarmac.

“Greetings in the name of our great Master So-Elku and the elders,” said a diminutive man in maroon-and-black robes. He bowed, never taking his eyes off Rohoar, and spread his arms out. “The Order of the Luma welcomes you in peace. I am Elder Neevis.”

“Rohoar is Tawnhack, mwadim of the Jujari,” Rohoar replied, placing a fist on his chest. He had reverted to speaking of himself in third person, once again embodying his role as the mwadim.

Magnus wondered—not for the first time—if the Jujari leader had given up his throne to take up his son’s obligation to serve Magnus. Is it permanent? How long is Rohoar hanging around, anyway? They’d had to leave Oorajee so quickly that there hadn’t been time to discuss any of these details.

“It is an honor to make your acquaintance, Mwadim Rohoar of the Tawnhack,” Neevis said, mimicking Rohoar’s posture with a hand to his chest. “I will be your chaperone for the duration of your stay. If you need anything, please know I am at your disposal.”

“Rohoar accepts.”

Neevis bowed again. This time, his eyes darted to the shuttle’s cargo bay. “Is there anyone else on your shuttle whom you wish to bring with you?”

That was a strange question. Magnus didn’t like this guy, and it wasn’t just because of his beady eyes and spiked hair.

“No,” Rohoar said. “Rohoar is all.”

The elder’s eyes darted between the shuttle and Rohoar for a few seconds. “Very well.” Neevis straightened his back and smoothed his robes. “As for your escorts, their weapons are not needed here on Worru.”

“They will keep their weapons,” Rohoar replied.

“Ah, yes… but you see—”

“Neevis’s guards have weapons.”

The elder showed hints of having his feathers ruffled—a twitch in his eyes, a curling of his lip—but composed himself. “They do, and that is for all of our protection.”

“That is for Neevis’s protection. And these two”—Rohoar gestured at Magnus and Abimbola—“are for Rohoar’s. Rohoar knows how the Luma fear the Jujari.”

“I beg your pardon? Mwadim Rohoar, we—”

“And Rohoar understands. You look delicious to Rohoar.”

“Excuse me?” Neevis placed a hand on his chest as a look of shock flooded his face.

“Rohoar knows the perfect sauce for Neevis too.”

“Pushing it,” Magnus said under his breath, knowing that the hyena’s large ears could hear him just fine.

“Mwadim Rohoar…” The elder bit his lip. “I want to assure you that—”

“Rohoar is kidding, Neevis!” The Jujari barked in laughter. Magnus looked at Abimbola. The Miblimbian shrugged and started to laugh, as did Magnus. All three of them guffawed as the elder nervously tucked his hands into his sleeves.

When the laughter died down, the elder asked, “May I escort you to Elder’s Hall in the Grand Arielina? You will most certainly wish to have an audience with Master So-Elku, I presume.”

“That’s a yes,” Magnus whispered.

Rohoar bared his teeth. “This is what Rohoar wishes, Neevis. Yes.”

The elder gave a fake smile, blinking repeatedly. “As you wish. This way.”

8

Ricio had the initial mission objectives displayed on his HUD. Distances and coordinates updated in real time as his squadron approached the Jujari armada. Oosafar filled his window to the right, adorned with twin moons, Tlamook and Hormook. Dead ahead, the enemy had gathered their ships in a cone formation pointed at the Republic Navy.

Ricio’s AI displayed the first target, designated as Tango One, a Pride-class battleship. At least, that was how the Repub’s target classification system noted it. The starship only resembled a battleship in its size. Where a Pride-class’s mono-hull had elegant lines that raked back from a pointed prow, the Jujari vessel was blunt faced and modular. Its blocky sections were linked together by massive gantries and structural cylinders. If a Repub battleship looked sleek and lethal, its Jujari counterpart felt muscular and menacing. In fact, this was the general comparison Ricio made for every other ship type in the enemy’s fleet.

“First mission objective uploaded,” Ricio said over naval TACNET. “Looks like we drew a battleship, Vipers.” Ricio manually locked the enemy ship’s vector into his navigation system. The AI would do the same, but there were some things Ricio liked to do himself.

Suggested flight paths and attack vectors filled Ricio’s HUD. Tango One was the farthest ship to the right of the enemy battle group, toward Oosafar. Apparently, SFC had decided to nip at the enemy’s heels before assaulting the head. It was the most conservative approach, at least initially.

While working inward from the fringes might keep casualties to a per-minute minimum, those minutes eventually would add up, becoming hours and days. Sometimes, it was just better to be aggressive right out of the gate and get it over with—even if it meant heavy losses—than to fight the emotionally numbing and physically exhausting battle of attrition. Ricio hoped that command had some surprises up their sleeve. Otherwise, this was going to be a very long day—added to an already long deployment. He missed home.

Ricio held two fingers to his lips, kissed them, and placed his fingertips on a pair of printed pictures wedged under his ship’s main diagnostic display. One image was of his beloved Marguerite, taken while they were on their honeymoon on Triber-Westfall. The other was of his son when he’d graduated from the mock-pilot school for children. Philando had only been five, but he’d puffed his chest out like he was a grown man, proud of the badge pinned to his child-sized uniform. He would make a great pilot one day—Ricio was sure of it. I just hope I live to see it.

Warning indicators flashed on his HUD as three pairs of enemy Razorbacks circled Tango One, apparently anticipating Ricio’s attack vector.

“Viper Two through Seven, prepare to engage hostile fighters bearing two two nine mark four eight.”

Six confirmation icons went green, followed by Viper Two saying, “Copy that, commander.”

“Viper Eight through Fifteen, you’re Charlie Team. You’ve got the battleship. I want your first volley focused on their engines, as most of their power will already be diverted to their forward shields. Let’s get her dead in space before slitting her throat.”

“Understood, sir,” Viper Eight said.

“And watch those turrets,” Ricio added. The Jujari's version of the quad-barrel auto turret was notoriously efficient. But they did have one weakness. “Keep your speed up and stay lateral. No head-on assaults until they’re taken out.”

“Roger that.”

Ricio watched as the top half of his squadron increased their speed and headed toward the back of the enemy formation. Other than a few stray blaster shots, the fighters were left alone—the armada’s main guns were too busy firing on their Repub counterparts, leaving the fighters to fend for themselves. Ricio wished the starships well then said, “Viper Two through Seven, on me.” He peeled off from his current vector, three pairs of Talons in tow.

The Pride-class battleship grew larger with each second as Ricio accelerated to attack speed. His AI acquired targets and disseminated them to the other six fighters, automatically prioritizing them by pilot. Ricio’s display showed the Razorbacks preparing for the engagement, too, their underbelly thruster-fins unfurling to form two weaponized wings near the bow. The ship’s dingy-bronze main body was arched and ridged like a dog’s back and had two engines on either side of its boxy stern.

Unlike the Repub, the Jujari tactic was to move in triplets. The first trio of Razorbacks rolled right, toward the battleship’s stern. Viper Five, Six, and Seven—Bravo Team—would have an even ship-to-ship dogfight. Meanwhile, Ricio’s sensors locked on the left-most trio. The other two Razorbacks were handed to the rest of what his AI marked as Alpha Team: Viper Two and Three, with Four picking up any slack.

Ricio’s AI tracked the three Razorbacks as they rolled over the battleship’s bow. “Watch those turbo turrets,” he reminded everyone. As if prompted by his words, the turrets erupted in automatic fire. A blistering barrage of blue blast bolts filled the void directly behind Ricio’s fighters, trailing them by less than ten meters. Way too close, Ricio noted.

Meanwhile, the Razorbacks circled around Ricio’s flank, executed an about-face with a half roll, and opened fire with their blaster cannons. The simple maneuver had been called an Alcion for so long that no one even knew where it had gotten its name.

“They’re trying to pin us against the battleship,” Viper Two exclaimed over Alpha Team’s closed channel. His ship’s shield absorbed several glancing blows on the port side.

The enemy’s maneuver was simple and had been performed quickly—both things that Ricio admired. “Full thrusters!” He shoved the throttle lever forward and felt his Talon suck him into the seat. He had yet to fire a shot, and already, the Jujari had the upper hand. Ricio had been overconfident and underestimated the enemy. It was a noob mistake—one he wouldn’t make again.

As soon as Ricio and Alpha Team were clear of the turbo turrets, he initiated a Paraguutian Cobra maneuver: a quick flip along the Talon’s horizontal axis while the craft was still traveling forward. The maneuver was named after the desert reptile on Paraguu that flipped over on a pursuing enemy. The lizard acted like it was wounded, only to launch a surprise attack with sharp teeth and venom sacs. Nasty suckers.

The fighter maneuver brought his weapons to bear on the trailing Razorbacks. The other six Talons followed his lead, flipping on the enemy. They traveled backward just as fast as they had been moving forward.

As soon as Ricio had target lock, he squeezed the main trigger on his flight yoke. Twin streams of red blaster fire erupted from the NR330 cannons nested inside the fuselage. The force vibrated his cockpit. The first volley reduced the shields, while the second tore into the cockpit, no doubt killing the hyena-like pilot. Ricio watched as the lead ship exploded in a short-lived fireball that was swallowed by hard vacuum. He’d gotten lucky—very lucky.

“Scratch one,” Ricio said.

He watched as the next Razorback lost its shield, compliments of Viper Three and Four, but not before spraying them with a barrage of return fire. The two ships attempted to dodge the incoming blaster bolts and broke off in a lethal game of chase. Viper Four’s shield was below fifty percent—the Talon was flying slower than his wingman too. Viper Three, meanwhile, acquired a lock on the Razorback and fired a torpedo. The missile followed the retreating craft and went straight through the arched fuselage, hitting the mid-body drive core. The explosion was massive, forcing Ricio’s helmet visor to dim against the bright light.

The third enemy ship took heavy fire across its port side, reducing its shield. Ricio joined Viper Two in the attack, barely missing a heavy blanket of enemy fire. Ricio rolled right while Viper Two rolled left, allowing the enemy fighter to split between them. Rico executed another Paraguutian, still maintaining momentum from his original trajectory away from the battleship. As soon as he had a target lock, he squeezed his trigger. Blaster fire from both his Talon and Viper Two’s tore off the enemy’s port wing and chewed up the fuselage with such force that the Razorback went whirling into an uncontrolled spin. Though it was not as satisfying as an explosion, the ship and pilot were lost to the void.

“Good shooting, Alpha Team,” Ricio said. “Status, Viper Four.”

“Starboard engine at twenty percent, sir. One of those hits sent a power surge through my shields.”

“Understood.” Ricio swiped a glance over Viper Four’s icon in his HUD, soloing it for direct communication. “Get back to the Labyrinth for repair.”

“Copy that, sir.”

Ricio immediately pulled up Bravo Team’s progress on his HUD. The remaining three Razorbacks had been dispatched. But so had one of his Talons.

“Bravo Team, report,” Ricio said over general comms.

“We’ve lost Viper Six,” Viper Five said.

Ricio felt the all-too-familiar dread in the pit of his stomach. His underestimation of the Jujari had just cost him a pilot—and in the opening salvo too. He stretched his fingers in his leather gloves and then grabbed the controls again. “Provide cover for Charlie Team. Let’s take out those turrets.”

Ricio pitched his Talon forward again then brought the vessel around to bear on the Jujari battleship. He maintained speed, targeting the two turbo turrets near the stern. He could also see Charlie Company beginning their second pass on the battleship’s engines. Apparently, the first pass hadn’t completely taken them all out, which meant the battleship’s captain would be diverting power to the aft shields, making Viper Squadron’s job all the harder.

“Sooner rather than later,” Ricio said to Alpha and Bravo Teams. He couldn’t risk losing another fighter this early, and getting too close to the Jujari battleship would all but ensure casualties.

Ricio’s AI notified him of target lock, and he squeezed off a single torpedo on the aft-most turret. Out his cockpit window, the rocket-propelled missile streaked its way across the horizon’s black canvas, bypassed the energy shields, and found its mark on the battleship’s port side. The turrets had been on fighter overwatch—too busy with the Talons to pick up the torpedo. Several plumes of orange flame and debris bubbled out from the side and then dissipated as the explosion’s fuel was spent.

Ricio bared his teeth in a triumphant sneer. “Just like that, Vipers. Keep it coming.”

He felt confident that the battleship’s turrets would be switched out of fighter-overwatch mode and begin tracking all targets indiscriminately. It would make sending any more torpedoes troublesome, but it didn’t matter. His squadron had a hole for shield penetration.

“Port side, aft section.” Ricio’s finger tapped the air in his HUD, marking the spot on the enemy’s hull. “All ships in position, open fire!”

His Talons focused their blaster fire on the charred hole. For the first few seconds of their assault, blaster fire struck the energy shields, like large stones thrown into a purple sea, and rippled out in all directions. Ricio was getting close enough that he could actually see the waves along the transparent field. But the shield was weakening.

“Come on!” Ricio pulled his second trigger, activating the wingtip-mounted T-100 blasters. “Activate secondary weapons systems!” Those fighters flying beside Ricio opened up with their wingtip weapons too.

Faster than Ricio had expected, a hole opened up in the shields. The next blaster bolts sailed through and drilled the side of the battleship. Ricio watched with excitement as the Talon’s combined firepower cut deep into the enemy ship, causing mini explosions all around the wound. He even noticed secondary and tertiary explosions emanating from the top and bottom of the hull deeper in. Suddenly, the aft shields disappeared.

“Take out the engines! All remaining ships, focus fire on the breach, and take out the aft turrets!”

Like fire wasps swarming a wounded Boresian taursar, Ricio’s Talons dove on the ship, widening the burning hole on the hull’s port side with every shot. Then they pulled up and skimmed the surface, flying danger close. Talons strafed the turbo turrets, taking out one at a time, before pulling up on the starboard side of the ship, only to circle back for more.

By the time Ricio had finished his second pass, Charlie Team reported that the engines had been destroyed. Likewise, all aft turrets were out of commission, and the battleship was falling away from the rest of the fleet. In another few minutes, the Jujari vessel would be pulled into Oosafar’s gravity well and meet its end—either as a fireball in the skies or a relic in the dunes.

“Viper Squadron, fall back,” Ricio said, a smile creeping along his face. “And stay clear of the forward turrets. She may be mortally wounded, but she’ll still try to pull you down.”

Confirmation indicators lit up his HUD. Ricio banked away from the battleship and waited for his squadron to fall in. They’d been lucky that the enemy fleet hadn’t sent more Razorbacks. That meant the Jujari were playing things conservatively too.

He pulled up the next order set. His eyes widened as he scanned the brief. Apparently, CFS did have a surprise up their sleeve. Ricio studied the position of the Carrier-class dreadnought identified in his navigation computer. “Great mystics…” he said under his breath.

Taking down a carrier would mean rendering the enemy fleet’s fighters incapable of refueling and resupplying in orbit—instead, the fighters would be forced to do so on Oorajee’s surface. But like Repub ship-positioning doctrine, the Jujari carriers were heavily guarded and covered in the center of the fleet. Ricio wasn’t sure if they could pull this off.

“If you need more energy mags, torpedoes, or fuel cells, now’s the time,” Ricio said over TACNET. “Because we’re going after a carrier.”

9

“To what do we owe the great pleasure of hosting such an esteemed guest?” So-Elku said, spreading his arms toward Rohoar, almost as if he meant to embrace the Jujari but then thought better of it.

Smart guy, Magnus thought. The Luma elders and Worruvian guards stood in a semicircle behind So-Elku, all facing Magnus and his two friends.

“Master So-Elku,” Neevis said, stepping in between the Luma master and the Jujarian mwadim, “may I present—”

“Nonsense! I know who this is. The whole galaxy knows who this is, Neevis. It is me you should be presenting to him.”

“Master?”

There was a momentary pause as Neevis looked from So-Elku to Rohoar and back again. His brow was furrowed in a nervous expression.

“Well?” So-Elku spun his finger in circles, insisting that Neevis turn to face Rohoar. “Go on, then.”

“May… may I present—”

“Louder! More confidently.”

“May I present to your mwadimship the head of the Order of the Luma, Master So-Elku.”

Magnus winced as Neevis bowed. The man looked as if he might fall over or throw up. Maybe both. But the entire thing was just a charade on So-Elku’s behalf. Only a complete idiot would be unable to spot the Luma master’s insincerity. Magnus actually felt bad for Rohoar—but only for a second. He guessed that the Jujari sensed So-Elku’s guile. And more than that, Magnus knew Rohoar could take care of himself just fine. He’d sooner shred the Luma to pieces than suffer the man’s flattery for much longer. Magnus liked to think that it was only for the sake of Piper’s safety that Rohoar had not already devoured the man.

That would be something to watch. Magnus stifled a grin.

“Mwadim Rohoar, what brings you to our humble planet?” So-Elku asked, hands clasped in an overly earnest gesture. Magnus looked around the ornately appointed room, the domed ceiling, and the lush garden beyond. Humble, my ass. Though the trees in the garden would make for some ideal cover…

“Rohoar is here to ascertain whether or not the Luma may assist the Jujari in finding safety for her tribes against the Republic.”

“What?” The Luma master pulled his head back in surprise. If So-Elku wanted Rohoar to repeat himself, however, he’d be sorely disappointed. In his short time among the Jujari, Magnus had observed that they hated repeating themselves.

When Rohoar didn’t respond, So-Elku interlaced his fingers and frowned. “This is because of the Republic assault on your ships, isn’t it? We’ve heard rumors.”

“It is because of the Republic waging war on our people,” Rohoar corrected.

“Quite so, quite so…” So-Elku pursed his lips, taking his time to respond. “And where would you suggest we help move an entire planet’s worth of inhabitants? That is, surely, no small feat. I’m doubtful it can even be accomplished.”

“The Luma assisted the Caledonian relocation, as they did the Septarians during the Diamond War.”

So-Elku raised an eyebrow. “Well, those were very small relocations, which—”

“And the Luma relocated the populaces of three planets in the binary star system of Pel-Ell in less than two months common. Six other planets, three of whose populations are at least thirty percent larger than Oorajee’s, also saw relocations within the last two years in the Feddamallarin system.”

Rohoar had clearly done his homework. The Jujari weren’t as dumb as they looked. And if So-Elku’s momentary flash of astonishment was any indicator, he realized that.

“Clearly, the great Jujari mwadim knows a considerable amount about our peacekeeping efforts. Such knowledge must’ve come with practiced study and attention to detail…”

Magnus could already hear the slick-talking politicking of a well-oiled statesman. It made him sick. If Rohoar had been serious about needing help—which he wasn’t—such an interaction would have been not only disheartening but downright demeaning as well. Magnus wondered how many other similar conversations had taken place with species in need.

“And as such,” So-Elku continued, “you obviously know that our resources are spread thin due to the Kiltar revolt in the Onyx system, which has also displaced billions of Lepeedu on two planets and six moons. Even if we wanted to help you—which, I assure you, we do—there is simply no way we could for at least another six months.” The Luma master placed his hands together in prayerful entreaty. “I’m so very sorry, Mwadim.”

Rohoar opened his mouth to speak, but So-Elku cut him off. “The most I can offer, at the moment, is sanctuary for you and your crew until such time that we can devise a new strategy, one that preserves the lives of as many of your people as possible against the Republic’s war on your planet. It is a terrible, terrible thing they are waging. Terrible.”

“My crew is few,” Rohoar replied, “and we will return to my ship.”

“So soon? Would you not at least stay for a meal? Dinner after vespers, perhaps?”

While Rohoar considered the proposition—one Magnus knew the Jujari would turn down—a peculiar thing happened. Somewhere inside Magnus’s mind, a voice spoke to him. It was as clear as if someone stood twenty centimeters away, yet as he looked around, he could see no one standing that close. Leave now, Magnus, the voice said.

So-Elku glanced at Magnus as if noticing something. “Is everything all right there, soldier?”

Magnus concealed his emotions with the help of years of military discipline. He was about to reply when Rohoar said, “Do not address my Marauders.”

So-Elku snapped back to Rohoar, cleared his throat, and reoffered the invitation to dinner.

You must leave now and get to Ki Nar Four, said the voice, growing more assertive. It belonged to a woman. Older but strong. You all need one another.

Mystics, I’m going crazy, Magnus thought. This was his mind’s way of telling him that he needed to slow down, to rest. He hadn’t had a vacation since…

You’re not going crazy, Magnus.

Wasn’t a voice in his head telling him that he wasn’t going crazy proof that he was, in fact, going crazy? This wasn’t good. The only problem was that the voice was far too real to be ignored.

Magnus, we don’t have time for this, she continued. I already told you, you’re not going crazy. My name is Willowood, and I’m a friend of Awen’s.

Splick. This was for real. So are you another Luma or something? Hijacking my head?

I am a Luma, yes, and I haven’t hijacked anything. I’m merely communicating with you in a way that So-Elku can’t detect.

Magnus stared down at the Luma master. He’s bad, isn’t he?

Quite. As I said, you must leave right away. It isn’t safe for any of you. But more importantly, Awen needs you on Ki Nar Four. And Piper needs her.

Piper?

Yes. Awen will understand when she meets her. You need to leave immediately. I will do my best to keep So-Elku from following your ship once you leave the system, but it won’t last long. And Ki Nar Four will be on his list of places to check, so whatever you do from there, you must do it quickly.

Magnus watched Rohoar and So-Elku speaking but didn’t hear their words—he was far too consumed with the conversation happening inside his mind. And what about you? Where are you right now?

There was a moment’s hesitation before Willowood answered, My present state doesn’t concern you. Now, go. The clock is ticking, and So-Elku wishes to detain you, if not kill you.

Kill us?

Magnus waited for Willowood to reply, but no answer came. He suddenly felt as if he had a winning hand in a high-stakes game of Antaran Backdraw. Blood threatened to rush to his face, adrenaline making his hands want to shake. But such gambling tells would tip So-Elku off in an instant. He already seemed to suspect something. Hold it together, Adonis.

“And how about the rest of your crew? Surely, they are famished,” So-Elku continued. “Especially that little one.”

“Little one?” Magnus asked, stepping forward.

So-Elku glared at Magnus. “Why, yes. Our sensors show there is a child on board.”

“No, they don’t.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“That shuttle has Jujari cloaking tech. No scanners can penetrate it, including yours, Luma.”

“What I meant to say was—”

“You said what you meant to say. We’re done here.”

Magnus made to turn around, but something held his feet to the marble floor. He looked down. “What the hell?”

“Whoa!” Abimbola exclaimed. “What’s happening?” The giant’s feet were fixed to the floor as well—and Rohoar’s too. The Jujari let out a deep growl. Things were going sideways a lot faster than Magnus had anticipated.

“I will take the child and her mother,” So-Elku said calmly. “The rest of you may leave as you came.”

“Not happening.” Magnus tried to raise his MAR30, but nothing happened. It felt as though his brain had just been disconnected from his arms.

“Ah-ah-ah, Marine,” So-Elku said, adding a repeated tsk with a waving finger. “Don’t you know it’s against the law to fire on Luma?” So-Elku walked closer to him, examining him from head to toe. “You do look awfully familiar to me, though. I’m sure I’ve seen you before. Hanging around with this one—” So-Elku tipped his head toward Abimbola. “And I do mean hanging around.”

Does he mean the jail on Oorajee? How is that even possible?

“Though I was told all the loose ends on Oorajee had been tied up.” So-Elku tapped his chin. “Apparently not. But no matter. I’ll take care of what Moldark couldn’t.”

“Moldark?” Magnus asked. “Who’s Moldark?”

“I’d tell you, but you won’t live long enough for it to matter.”

Live long enough? “What’s that supposed to mean?”

So-Elku winced. “You know, for such a highly regarded Marine—I’m sorry, ex-Marine—you sure are thick headed. But what was I thinking—aren’t all Repub troopers that way?”

“You’re gonna kill us, then? Seriously?”

“No, no, no. I’m not. But they will.” So-Elku gestured toward the guards behind him. “People don’t realize that killing is such a messy affair, and it conflicts with so many of my principles. But it’s a necessary affair nonetheless and often the only way to bring lasting peace. Wouldn’t you agree, trooper?”

Magnus had to do something—and fast. The guy’s crazy. And how is Awen even friends with him? None of it made sense.

So-Elku strode to within a few centimeters of Magnus’s face. Magnus felt helpless. The only thing he could move was…

His mouth.

Magnus looked into So-Elku’s eyes. “Simone, take the shot.”

So-Elku blinked as he registered the order. Before he could say anything, a dazzling shower of magenta lightning bolts exploded around him as Simone’s sniper bolt slammed into a force field. While the round failed to hit So-Elku’s body, it did send him sprawling onto the floor beside Magnus. Magnus felt his limbs return to his control. He was free, as were Abimbola and Rohoar.

“Fall back!” Magnus ordered, lowering his MAR30 on So-Elku and firing point-blank. Another explosion of magenta electrical tendrils lit up the room. The moment his weapon discharged, Magnus’s bioteknia eyes flashed. The hexagonal tactical overlay filled his vision and populated it with vector indicators, target information, and bio stats—too much to consider. All Magnus really wanted to know was if he’d hit So-Elku.

To his astonishment, however, the MAR30’s high-frequency burst—at less than a meter away—did little more than push So-Elku across the floor toward the entrance. Only a starship’s shields had enough power to hold off a barrage like that! Still, if it meant keeping the man out of play, that was fine by him.

“Stay down!” he yelled at the Luma. Then to the rest of the team, he gave an order on comms. “Back to the ship, on the double!”

“Stay where you are!” demanded the lead guard, blaster trained on Rohoar. The man took one step too close to the Jujari.

“Bad idea, buddy,” Magnus said.

In a furious flash of fur, Rohoar chomped the man’s arm in two. The blaster—hand still wrapped around the handle—clattered to the floor before the guard could even scream. Rohoar lunged at the next nearest guard and swiped a claw across his neck. The man clutched his throat as blood and air hissed from between his fingers.

Abimbola sent another guard flying back five meters, shooting him point-blank at the end of his M101. The weapon whined as it recharged, ready for another double-barrel wide-displacement discharge, which Abimbola then dispensed with a deafening krah-boom. A third guard surprised Abimbola on his flank and managed to strike him in the hip with a blaster bolt. Abimbola buckled only slightly. In one swift motion, he drew his bowie knife, threw it backhanded into two full rotations, and buried the blade in the man’s chest.

Just then, Magnus noticed a Luma elder lowering his head and closing his eyes. That can’t be good, Magnus thought, deeply suspicious of whatever witchcraft these demented mystics used. He had seen Awen do some crazy splick for good. He didn’t want to stick around to find out what these Luma could do for evil.

Magnus didn’t want to kill the old man. You really gonna fire on a Luma elder? None of this felt right. But this was about survival—he’d ask questions later.

Magnus matched his MAR30’s sights with his eye’s targeting reticle, squeezed the trigger, and felt the weapon kick in his hands. He sent a three-round burst into the Luma’s center mass. The man rocked back then looked down at the smoking hole in his chest. The sage tried to scream, but there were few organs left for that purpose. He slumped to the floor, as did the guard directly behind him.

A warning indicator flashed in Magnus’s vision. He ducked just in time to avoid return fire meant for his chest. His thumb toggled his MAR30 to wide displacement, and he aimed at the cluster of Luma and guards, double-checking that Abimbola and Rohoar were behind him. When he squeezed the trigger, a wave of blue light leaped from the blaster’s rectangular barrel and swept across the room with a subsonic vibration. Anyone in the wave’s path was knocked backward, many of them dead before they hit the floor.

“Let’s go!” As Magnus turned to run toward the exit, he saw So-Elku struggling to his feet. The Luma master waved his hand weakly, and the doors slammed shut. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Just then, a volley of enemy blaster fire erupted from behind Magnus. He turned to see Abimbola take out two guards with one shot, sparks exploding from the bodies and landing on some of the pillows strewn about the room. Several caught fire and began giving off smoke. Magnus was about to help Abimbola dispatch the remaining guards when a series of sniper rounds dropped no fewer than four of the enemy. He saw the muzzle flashes from the garden beyond.

The guards turned and started shooting into the garden, but Magnus could tell by their random weapon fire that they had no idea where the snipers’ hides were any more than Magnus did. Content that Simone and her fire team had their rear, Magnus ran for the exit. Rohoar was right beside him, and Abimbola sounded like he was in tow. So-Elku was almost to his feet, about three meters from the doors, when Magnus heard the Ready chime of his MAR30. It was charged for another wide-displacement shot.

“I thought I told you to stay down!” Magnus fired and watched the blue wave fling So-Elku backward. A shock wave of magenta static spread along the wall as So-Elku’s body slammed against it.

Abimbola reached the doors first and started pulling. Magnus joined him. But when he looked for Rohoar, he spotted the Jujari racing toward So-Elku, claws outstretched. Magnus thought to tell him to stop, but he knew it would be useless. Plus, if anyone had a chance of breaking through whatever mystical powers kept the Luma master safe, it was Rohoar. The Jujari slashed at So-Elku’s face. The Luma screamed as more magenta energy danced into the air. Suddenly, Rohoar was sent to his back and slid several meters.

“Just leave him!” Magnus yelled, backing down the steps while laying some covering fire for Rohoar. His energy mag was below five percent. “We gotta get out of here!”

No sooner had he said those words than a new wave of guards entered Elder’s Hall from a side corridor. The target counter in Magnus’s vision started skyrocketing. Rohoar was on his feet again and running out the doors after Magnus and Abimbola.

“You still there, Simone?” Magnus asked over comms.

“I am, but all these security guards are starting to put a crimp on my vacation.”

“Anything you can do to take care of them?”

“I think Rix and Titus have a little something cooked up.”

“Good. Send it. Then you need to get back to the ship.”

“Copy that.”

Magnus addressed his pilot. “Nolan?”

“Go ahead, Lieutenant.”

“We’re coming in hot.”

“That’s fine, sir.”

Fine? “Why’s that fine, Nolan?”

“Because we have plenty of heat here at the moment too.”

Dammit.

10

Magnus, Rohoar, and Abimbola were charging down the pillar-lined hallway leading out of the Grand Arielina when a massive explosion resounded from Elder’s Hall some fifty meters behind them. The shock wave caused Magnus to miss a step, but he recovered before going all the way down. His ears rang, and his vision blurred momentarily. Then he cast a quick glance over his shoulder to see bodies and debris tumbling down the steps.

“Guess Rix and Titus cooked up something real tasty,” Magnus shouted over comms more loudly than he intended.

“Sure did,” Simone said. “Though I doubt they’ll be able to hear for a few days.”

“They won’t be the only ones. What’s your position?”

“Silk and I are halfway to the hangar. Rix and Titus put that explosive on a five-second timer—”

“Three-second!” Rix interrupted.

“Rix! Are you all green back there?” Magnus asked.

“Copy that. Titus and I are rounding the building exterior in sixty.”

Magnus was already out of breath, and they weren’t even out of the building yet. Was he really this out of shape? “Listen, primary exfil is a no-go. I repeat, do not proceed to the hangar bay. Nolan, you copy?”

“Still loud and clear, Lieutenant.”

Magnus couldn’t tell if the sound of blaster fire was behind Nolan on comms or behind himself. “Head to secondary exfil.”

“Secondary exfil confirmed. On my way.”

“Everyone else, listen up—”

Just then, blaster bolts sparked across the floor and slammed into the pillar beside Magnus’s head. He swore and ducked behind the massive stone column. Abimbola and Rohoar dove for cover on the other side of the hallway.

Magnus took a deep breath and peeked around his cover. About twenty new enemies filed out of the smoke-filled room. The surviving guards were clearly shell-shocked, but that didn’t make their blaster fire any less lethal. He swung the barrel up and around the column. His eyes presented several targeting options. He chose the closest one, listed at forty yards away. All Magnus had to do was think about zooming in, and his eyes expanded his sight picture. He squeezed the trigger and sent a bolt into a guard’s head. The body fell while a Confirm icon flashed in Magnus’s vision. He rolled back to cover and took another steadying breath.

“Simone, can you set up overwatch outside the main building?”

“Can do, buckethead.”

“Good. Seems like we stirred up a nest of fire wasps in here.” Magnus spun back out and took out two more guards. Abimbola wasn’t having as much luck with the M101, so the Miblimbian unsnapped his Tigress and raised it with one hand. The weapon’s loud boom, boom, boom report sent Magnus’s ears ringing even worse. But he knew that every round meant one more enemy combatant they didn’t have to deal with.

“Copy, buckethead,” Simone said. “Silk and I will take up flanking positions and cover your retreat. And if Rix and Titus would hurry the hell up, you might get some ground support when you pop out too.”

“We’ll take all the help we can get.” Magnus sent another three blaster rounds downrange. His eyes notified him that his current magazine was at less than two percent. He scolded himself for letting it get that low. Noob. Magnus ejected the energy mag and reached for another one on his hip. The new mag was inserted before the spent one had stopped clattering along the marble floor. He racked a charge and selected wide displacement, setting the draw threshold to maximum. This shot would drain the mag. But it would also clear their retreat. Hopefully.

“Get ready to run, boys!” Magnus yelled to Abimbola and Rohoar. Then he pivoted into the hallway and sent the energy wave tearing down the hall like an electrified garrote wire. The narrow line of energy lanced against each column like the taloned finger of a fire-breathing monster. Charred gashes smoked in the aftermath as the shot collided with people at the far end, and several guards met their end—bodies halved and heads severed. It was a gruesome scene and one Magnus did not relish. His sole objective was getting out of the danger area and to Nolan’s LZ.

“Run!” Magnus yelled. Abimbola and Rohoar took off down the hallway, beating hard toward the light of day. Magnus followed, turning every few steps to make sure they weren’t being followed. His eyes counted down the meters to the threshold’s exterior steps. Then he heard shouts and saw more Luma and guards move between the columns behind them. His eyes glitched, unable to process the numbers without an extended look.

Splick! How many reinforcements do these peacemongers keep on hand?

Magnus followed Rohoar into broad daylight, and they bounded down the steps, along with Abimbola, three at a time. Magnus looked up when he heard the whine of Rohoar’s shuttle. Nolan was inbound.

“There!” Magnus pointed to a low wall with slender light posts. “Set a defensive perimeter!”

“Will do, buckethead,” Abimbola replied.

“Rix? Titus? What in splick’s name is taking you so long?”

“Here!” Rix yelled, waving from around the left side of the building.

“Get over here, and double up on Abimbola and Rohoar!”

“Copy.”

Magnus was down the steps, sucking air hard. He slid through the dirt and leaned his back against the low wall just as blaster fire skipped off its top. “Simone?”

“Already got you covered, buckethead.”

Magnus searched the surrounding buildings on the opposite side of the large lawn some three hundred meters away.

“You’re not gonna see us,” she said, “so don’t bother looking. We see you, and that’s all you need to know, Marauder.”

He smiled. “Copy that.”

Marauder. Magnus still hadn’t gotten used to the new team designation—he might never. But he found it endearing, especially in a firefight. It meant that he belonged somewhere and was part of a team, even if it wasn’t the one he’d started out with. He reminded himself to thank Simone later. The small comment meant more to him than she knew.

“Simone, wait for my signal. Can’t risk losing you and Silk early. Everyone else, stay covered, and protect the shuttle.”

Nolan descended to the lawn. The green grass lay flat under the ship’s thrusters. Even the tree limbs on the lawn’s distant perimeter rustled violently. Magnus shielded his head as small pebbles pelted his body.

Unlike the many noobs Magnus had worked with, Nolan never actually touched down. He hovered the shuttle less than a meter off the deck, keeping her completely stationary under heavy fire. The kid’s a damn pro.

More Luma and guards burst out of the entrance like a flood, pouring down the exterior stairs, blasters blazing. Magnus reloaded his last energy mag and took down one combatant after another. The enemy-rich environment made target acquisition easy for his eyes. He could have taken a pray-and-spray approach and still maintained a ninety-percent effective fire rate. Targeting reticles vanished as soon as the victims’ bodies wavered. Target eliminated, the results read over and over.

Bolts of light crisscrossed the front steps in blues and reds as sparks showered Magnus and his men. More and more blaster fire landed on the shuttle, but Nolan held her steady. Like a splick-flying rock. There were good pilots, and there were great pilots. And then there was Nolan.

Fortunately, Rohoar’s light armored transport had a robust shield generator—certainly better than any Republic LATs. That defense might be the only reason anyone got out of this alive. Round after round burst upon the shuttle’s shield and exploded into a blossom of orange light. The constant pings and smacks were mind-numbing. Magnus was sure the shield would give way at any second. But it didn’t. Somehow, it held. Now all he had to do was get everyone on board.

A new type of blaster bolt suddenly appeared in the air, smacking up against the shuttle’s hull. It was magenta, like the sparks that had danced around So-Elku. Magnus chanced a glance around the wall, thinking he’d see the Luma master. Instead, however, several Luma extended their hands, firing a strange form of energy from their palms.

What the hell?

Each burst of magenta energy swelled around the Luma’s hand before discharging. The men and women who fired on the shuttle braced their feet against the blasts, rocking back, then summoning new orbs of energy as soon as the last were spent.

“Overwatch!” Magnus yelled. “We need that covering fire!”

“Inbound,” Simone said.

She’d barely finished the word when the fast report of twin MS900 sniper blasters cracked through the air. The sound echoed off the buildings, masking the location of Simone and Silk. The high-speed blaster rounds were even too fast to trace with the naked eye. But Magnus knew the two women were securely positioned across the lawn in the far buildings.

As soon as the enemy noticed the change in assault vectors, a few of them called out, “Sniper!” While some of the Luma scattered from the steps, others lowered their heads and formed blockades against the incoming sniper fire.

“What are they doing?” Titus asked over comms.

“More Luma magic,” Abimbola replied. “Dark arts, if you ask me.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Magnus said. “The guards have broken off. Everyone, load up!”

Simone and Silk had bought the window of opportunity that Magnus needed. He backed away from the wall in a crouch, still picking off guards as he made his way toward the lowering cargo-bay ramp. Rix and Titus were first inside, followed by Rohoar and then Abimbola. Each man sent extra rounds toward the stairs, eager to take out one more of the enemy before Nolan peeled away.

The MS900s continued to lay down suppressive fire, pinning the blaster-wielding guards behind half walls, lampposts, benches, or what he guessed was a Luma’s Unity-generated shield. Magnus grieved over how many people he’d killed. This wasn’t a sanctioned Repub mission, nor was Worru some hostile planet in the hands of a ruthless warlord. Or was it? The whole idea of using his stock-in-trade against the Luma just seemed… well, wrong. But there was more going on than he realized, and coming here had obviously been a bad idea. He had to get Valerie and Piper to safety. Then he’d ask questions.

With a final burst of full auto, Magnus covered his retreat then pounded up the ramp. “Go, go, go!”

He’d barely given the order when Nolan tipped the shuttle’s nose down and pegged the thrusters. Magnus grabbed the handhold and watched as blue sky filled the bay’s opening.

“Silk’s to the west,” Simone said over comms. “Second building in from the street, rooftop. I’ll be on the east side of the street, first building.”

“Copy that,” Nolan replied, pushing the ship toward Silk’s position.

Magnus scanned for enemies as Nolan slowed to a hover about twenty meters above the ground. He spun the shuttle to face the Grand Arielina so the ramp touched down on the building’s front edge. Magnus spotted Silk making a run for him.

“Come on!” Magnus yelled.

Blaster fire and orb energy filled the air around the shuttle. Silk ducked, but Nolan held the shuttle steady. The shields would hold. All she needed to do was get there. Since Nolan had the nose of the shuttle pointed toward the enemy, Magnus couldn’t have returned fire even if he’d wanted to.

“Does anyone have eyes on those blasters?” Magnus yelled. He extended a hand toward Silk, who was running like a professional sprinter, legs and arms pumping.

“I see ’em,” Simone said, and several sniper shots ripped off in quick succession. “Scratched three.”

Damn, she is good.

“I’ve got Silk!” Magnus pulled her into the cargo bay.

“Copy that.” Nolan shoved away from the building.

Silk paced the bay with her hands over her head, breathing heavily. “That was close. Good flying, ace,” she said up the ladder to the cockpit.

“Thanks, but we ain’t out of the weeds yet. Hang on.” Nolan rolled the shuttle to the right, slewing across the street, and then righted the ship. He placed the ramp down exactly as he’d done on Silk’s building.

Magnus spotted Simone beside a ventilation shaft. “It’s now or never,” he said.

“Copy.” Simone stood, slung her weapon over her shoulder, and sprinted toward Magnus. His eyes displayed the closing gap in meters, counting down from 21.6.

“Incoming!” someone shouted over comms.

“Hold on,” Nolan yelled, his voice straining as he jerked the controls. It was the loudest Magnus had heard him speak. The shuttle lurched, nose moving up and to the left. Magnus tumbled down the ramp but caught himself just before rolling into open sky. A smoke trail appeared below his legs as a rocket ripped through the air.

Shuttle-wide alarms sounded moments too late as Magnus watched the rocket make a wide two-hundred-meter turn. “It’s coming back around!” Just then, he noticed Simone throwing herself down and pulling up her MC900. Is she attempting a shot?

Magnus’s eyes instantly calculated the time to impact, Simone’s distance and angle relative to the rocket’s trajectory, and the statistical likelihood of her success. It wasn’t good.

He found himself holding his breath as the window of opportunity closed, and he realized they had no backup plan. Nolan couldn’t see the rocket, no one else had a weapon trained on it, and the shield wouldn’t stand against the ordnance. Magnus thought he could attempt the shot too, and he tried to pull himself back up the ramp, but even if he succeeded, there wouldn’t be time to unsling his MAR30.

Simone had to make this. Magnus looked down and saw the woman fire. The muzzle’s shock wave scattered dust and debris across the rooftop. The blaster bolt streaked across the sky and collided with the rocket, detonating it into a flash of orange-and-white light. The explosion pained his eardrums and pelted the shuttle with shrapnel. One red-hot piece sliced into Magnus’s head, and another stabbed his hand. He let go of the ramp in a cry of agony. His stomach lurched as his body left the shuttle.

“Gotcha!” Abimbola grabbed Magnus by the wrist and hauled him up. Magnus flopped onto the deck, blood streaming down the side of his head.

“Damn, Bimby!” Magnus said.

“You can thank me later.”

“We get one more shot at this,” Nolan yelled over comms. “Make a run for it, Simone!”

“Copy that!”

Even from his place on the floor, Magnus could see Simone stand and start running for the edge of the building again. Nolan backed the shuttle toward the roof’s edge as more blaster fire filled the air just above Simone’s head. But Magnus’s eyes told him she was on track to make it—trajectory and velocity looked good. She was going to make it.

The shuttle lurched forward. Nolan swore as a sizable gap appeared between the ramp and the building’s roof. The blaster fire was the densest it had been, ringing off the hull incessantly. Magnus’s eyes recalculated Simone’s numbers. The ship was too high and the gap was too wide.

“Jump!” Abimbola yelled. He extended his arm, hand spread wide.

Simone took three more strides and leaped, then she sailed through the air, blaster fire and orb energy crisscrossing all around her. She flew forward, both hands outstretched. Abimbola grabbed one, but Simone wasn’t far enough over the ramp. Her body dropped, yanking Abimbola down—but the giant kept his grip on the shuttle.

Magnus heard a heavy thud as Simone’s body slapped the underside of the ramp then rebounded off it. Her momentum was too high, and the force ripped her hand from Abimbola’s grip. Simone flew away from the shuttle.

Abimbola roared, and Magnus watched in horror as Simone’s body flipped end over end. Several blaster rounds struck her, erupting into sprays of orange sparks before her body broke against the sidewalk. Magnus felt helpless—a feeling he’d had a thousand times before. This was one more scene, one more memory that he’d replay at night before going to bed. Same as all the others. For a moment, no one said anything. Only the whine of the engines and the pelting blaster fire filled the open comms channel.

“We have her?” Nolan asked in desperation.

“No,” Abimbola replied.

“What? I can’t—”

“No!” The giant turned away from the ramp.

“Get us out of here, Nolan,” Magnus said. “Head due west twenty klicks. Stay low to avoid the anti-air defenses. Then get us back to the Bright Star.”

There was a pause as Nolan pushed the ship forward. “Copy that, Lieutenant.”

* * *

Nolan managed to keep the shuttle out of Plumeria’s citywide planetary defense network, making orbit within ten minutes. No one spoke as the crew recovered from the firefight. Valerie attended to Magnus first, administering laser sutures to his head and hand then wrapping both wounds with gauze. When she cleared him, he climbed up to the bridge and took a seat beside Nolan. It was another minute before either of them spoke.

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant.”

Magnus shook his head. “Wasn’t your fault, Nolan.”

Nolan licked his lips. “It was, though. I thought I saw…” Nolan lowered his head and squeezed his eyes shut. Tears streamed down his reddening cheeks. “I thought it was another rocket. But…”

“You tried to dodge it.”

Nolan nodded, biting his lip and pulling snot away from under his nose. “It wasn’t. It was just some idiot guard with a big blaster.” Nolan pounded the dashboard with a fist. “A blaster.”

“You made the call you thought was best, Nolan.”

“Did I?” He glared at Magnus. “I don’t know that. ’Cause if I’d waited a half second more, I would have realized what it was… I wouldn’t have moved the ship, and she’d be—”

“Nolan.”

“She’d still—”

“Nolan, listen.”

“She’d still be here!”

Magnus grabbed the back of the man’s neck and got right in his face. “Now, you listen to me, sailor. What you did is what any of us would have done in the same scenario. Only we couldn’t have done half of what you did back there. Getting the rest of us off the deck? The way you caught Silk? You’re a damn professional, Nolan. A damn professional, you hear me? So don’t you tell me what you would have done differently, because then you’d have to do all of it different, and none of us would be here. You hear me right now?”

Nolan nodded.

Magnus leaned his head up against Nolan’s, and their hot tears dropped together onto the cockpit floor. “There is nothing I’d ask you to do differently. Nothing.”

“Copy that, Lieutenant.”

“What’d you say, Nolan?”

“Copy that, sir.”

Magnus let the pilot go. “That’s what I thought.” Magnus coughed twice then wiped the tears from his eyes. “Best damn shuttle pilot I’ve ever seen. I’m proud of you.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“You’re welcome. Now, get us back to the ship. We have a new mission.”

“Right away, sir.”

11

By the time Awen returned to the Spire and Ezo secured the Geronimo Nine in a large hangar, Saasarr was sober and clean, no small thanks to TO-96. The bot had carried the lizard to sick bay, given him a shower, seen to his wounds, and provided him a potent head-clearing agent. Then Saasarr saw Sootriman lying across the room.

“And that’s where he’s been ever since,” TO-96 said with a wave of his hand.

Awen and Ezo looked at the reptilian humanoid kneeling reverently beside Sootriman’s suspended body. “Thanks, ’Six,” Ezo said, patting the bot on the shoulder. “We’ve got it from here.”

“Are you sure that you would not like me to hang around, as it were?”

“Negative, buddy. You can head back to the bridge with Azelon. She’s better company for you, I’m sure.”

TO-96 froze. He looked at Awen then back at Ezo. “Right away, sir. And thank you, sir. You are most kind, sir.”

“You… feeling okay, ’Six?”

“Indeed, sir. I will be on my way now. To see Azelon. On the bridge.”

Ezo stepped aside, as if the bot didn’t have enough room to walk past them already. “Okay, then. See you later, wire brain.” TO-96 walked by and exited sick bay. “That was weird,” Ezo said.

Awen chuckled. “I didn’t think it was possible, but he does seem smitten with her.”

Ezo nodded.

“But… I mean, that’s impossible, right?” Awen asked.

“Yeah, totally,” Ezo said, though he didn’t sound so sure. He turned and walked toward Sootriman and Saasarr, but before he could speak to them, Awen placed a hand on his arm.

“Let me,” she said and moved past Ezo. “Saasarr?”

The Reptalon didn’t so much as move. His head remained bowed, hands on the ground, legs curled beneath him. Awen moved closer and knelt as well.

“Saasarr, thank you for coming to see your queen.”

“Is she… is she going to live?” As soon as the lizard finished the question, his yellow eye appeared behind a wrinkle in his skin, glaring at her.

“Yes, the ship’s AI says she should make a full recovery. She just needs rest, which is what she’s getting now.”

Saasarr’s eye closed. His nostrils flared, and he released a slow breath. “How was she injured?”

“We were on…” Awen wasn’t sure if this was the right time to broach the subject of quantum physics and the existence of the multiverse. “On another planet, being pursued by enemies. She took a blaster round to the back.”

“Who shot her?”

“It was the same people who killed everyone in Sootriman’s lair and took her hostage.”

Saasarr uttered something under his breath. Awen guessed it was an expletive or some sort of dark oath. Then he turned toward her and opened his eyes. His tongue flicked the air and darted between razor-sharp teeth. “Saasarr will find them, and then Saasarr will destroy them. Saasarr swears this before the gods.”

The finality of the lizard’s dedication had a strange effect on Awen. On the one hand, she felt buoyed by the warrior’s resolve. This Reptalon was not a creature she’d ever want to cross in a dark alley—or even a well-lit alley. His entire demeanor epitomized violence, much like the Jujari. So having him on their side was exactly what she’d hoped for. Saasarr’s allegiance to the cause ensured that they were one step closer to eliminating the threat posed on Itheliana.

On the other hand, the Reptalon spoke with such brutal clarity that Awen found herself doubting her own. Was premeditated murder really the course they had to embark on? Perhaps the enemy could be reasoned with. That was, after all, the premise that she’d dedicated her life to. Oath swearing like Saasarr’s had all but ensured the genocide of sentient species the galaxy over.

But Awen knew there was no stopping the lizard now. She imagined that he took his vows toward Sootriman very seriously. And considering the holo-footage she’d seen in Sootriman’s office—the brutality, the indiscriminate savagery—she knew the troopers in Itheliana had to be stopped. No amount of discussion would get them to back down. Constructive dialogue required the mutual respect and a genuine willingness to at least try to see things from the other party’s perspective.

When Awen thought back to the holo-footage, to how she’d been stalked in the streets of Ithnor Ithelia, even to how Sootriman had been bound and lowered by Kane, she realized—not for the first time—that she was not dealing with a sane enemy. She was dealing with monsters. So she needed monsters as well.

“Well… okay, then.” Awen glanced back at Ezo, who seemed pleased by the Reptalon’s words. “But you’re going to need help, Saasarr. That’s why we’ve come here.”

“What do you mean?”

“These people are not alone, and we have come to solicit aid from Sootriman’s personal guard.”

Saasarr looked away from her and lowered his head again. “They are all dead.”

“Dead? But what about the rest of the Reptalons? And the humans we saw by her throne? Surely, there must be more than those who were killed in her den?”

Saasarr hissed. “Dead. Do not make Saasarr repeat himself.”

This couldn’t be true. There had to be more than just him—there just had to be. “Then she must have a police force in the city… a small army… something.”

“Saasarr’s queen is not an oppressive tyrant, human. Who do you take us for—bloodthirsty mongrels?”

The thought had crossed my mind, she wanted to say but thought better of it. “There’s no one else you can think of, then, Saasarr?”

The lizard flicked his tongue in the air several times. “No, human. Saasarr is all you have.”

Disappointment filled Awen’s chest like a physical weight, threatening to pull her to the ground. As vicious as Saasarr was, he wouldn’t be enough. She didn’t need to be a military tactician to know that. She’d barely made it off the planet alive, and that was with a highly modified bot with missiles! And Ezo, of course—he counted for something.

No, what Awen needed, what they all needed, was a highly trained group of warriors equal to the task. Like Republic troopers still loyal to preserving peace… and to maintaining sanity. What she needed was Magnus.

“Thank you for your pledge of protection,” Awen said finally.

“No.” Saasarr flared his nostrils. “It is a vow of vengeance. There is a difference.”

Awen paused, aware that she was about to say something she’d never said before. “Then… thank you for your vow of vengeance.” The lizard hissed and lowered his head beneath the plane of Sootriman’s bed once again.

Awen rose to her feet and left Saasarr to his watch. She gave Ezo a disappointed smirk and shrugged. “What now?”

“Not sure,” Ezo replied, keeping his voice low. He glanced over Awen’s shoulder. “That guy’s a badass, but not even he can take on those troopers by himself.”

“My thoughts exactly. We need an alternate plan.”

“We can camp out here for the remaining two days that Azelon said it will take for Sootriman to recover. Maybe she knows something we don’t. She’s got to have other connections.”

“Two days…” Awen rolled the number around in her mind. “Isn’t that, like, forty days in the metaverse?”

Ezo shrugged. “Sounds about right.”

“Imagine… imagine what they could do…”

“None of that is certain, Star Queen. Don’t go psyching yourself out before we’ve even begun.”

“So you don’t think they’re uncovering some new technology—something they can use to their advantage—even as we speak?”

“Ezo doesn’t know what he thinks right now. But Ezo does know hypotheticals can kill you faster than reality sometimes. So just take a deep breath, and we’ll figure this out.” Ezo looked across at Sootriman. “Right now, she needs to get better before we do anything. That’s a hard stop we can’t get around. We also know we have a friend in the lizard there. That’s more than we had before.”

“But still not enough.”

“How is it that Ezo is suddenly the optimist here?” Ezo’s raised voice drew Saasarr’s ire. “Sorry.” He gave a thumbs-up to the Reptalon. “Keep guarding. You’re doing great.” Back to Awen, he whispered, “Listen, we’ve got this. The universe has a way of working things out. Just have a little… you know…”

“A little faith?”

“Your words, not mine, Star Queen.”

* * *

Awen figured the only thing that would distract her enough from her incessant worrying was being on the bridge with TO-96 and Azelon. She found the two bots staring through the main window, looking out over Ki Nar Four’s volcanic surface some twenty thousand kilometers below. In a strange way, the view was beautiful, she had to admit. And having two metal-and-composite humanoid bodies side by side, looking out at it, seemed fitting.

Awen stepped onto the bridge and cleared her throat. She assumed the two bots already knew she was there. Still, it seemed like the right thing to do.

TO-96 and Azelon turned at the same time.

“Hello, Awen. And how is Sootriman?” TO-96 asked cordially. Again, Awen felt this was a formality, as he surely knew how the woman was doing in far more detail than Awen could.

“Fine. Resting.”

TO-96 nodded. “And the Reptalon?”

“He won’t leave her side. He seems deeply concerned for her well-being.”

“He should be.”

Awen cocked her head. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

TO-96 hesitated. He looked at Azelon then back to Awen. “Ah, I now understand that you are not in the loop, as it were.”

“No, I guess I’m not. And for the record, you’re getting better at using figures of speech, no matter what Ezo says.”

TO-96 placed a hand on his chest in such a human gesture that Awen almost forgot he was a bot. “Why, thank you, Awen.”

“Now, what loop am I out of?”

TO-96 raised a finger as if to make a point but then seemed to think better of it. “I believe this is information for Sootriman to share.”

“Whoa, Ninety-Six. You can’t go leading a girl on like that.”

“Like what?”

“You can’t just say, ‘I know a huge secret,’ and then turn around and say, ‘Never mind, I can’t tell you.’”

“But I thought better of my intended course as I considered other factors that played into the dynamics of human interaction.” The bot tilted his head. “I am confused. In considering what is best for one human, I inadvertently did not do what is best for another human. Your species is extremely complicated.”

“Welcome to being human, Ninety-Six.”

“Yes. How arduous…”

“You don’t know the half of it.”

“Awen,” Azelon said, “I am detecting a starship that has just jumped out of subspace.” The bot turned to the main window, where several new transparent layers of information superimposed themselves on one another.

“Here? Now?”

“Yes to both questions.” Azelon moved her head around the window as if scanning and analyzing. Then a new image appeared, a massive starship filling up the screen. “The vessel is currently three hundred thousand kilometers away. Do you recognize it?”

It took Awen a second to respond. She couldn’t believe her eyes. “Yes… yes I do. It’s a Jujari destroyer.”

“I can confirm Awen’s assessment,” TO-96 added.

“Is it hailing the planet?” Awen asked.

“Negative,” Azelon replied. “It is only emitting its ship name on a repeated algorithm.”

“Its ship name?” Awen asked. “What… what’s its ship name, then?”

Azelon hesitated. “I am sorry. I think there is a problem with my translation protocol. I will need a moment. Forgive me, Awen.” Azelon twitched. “No. I was wrong. Everything is working properly, and I cannot detect any issues with my translation protocol.”

“What’s the ship’s name, Azelon?”

“Naked Monkey Butt.”

12

“Magnus, is that you?” Awen said over the holo-transmission.

Seeing Awen’s face again was… disarming. He was back on the streets of Oosafar, helping her flee from the mwadim’s palace. Then he was in Abimbola’s jail, watching her bargain for his life. Then he was on the skiff to meet that smuggler—Enzo or something—and his overly familiar bot. There had been that long talk on board the ship… and then she was gone.

He and Awen had spent hardly any time together. But the time they had spent had been memorable. Intense, and memorable. But not more so than any other op in which he’d rescued someone. He’d rescued Valerie, after all, and she was…

What?

Splick. This was getting complicated. Still, Awen was different. The way she’d talked during their one-on-one conversation aboard Enzo’s ship… before the nav bot had asked Magnus to touch his missiles. Crazy robot.

Awen was different because… because she’s the total opposite of everything you stand for, Adonis. He seemed to have an inclination toward opposites.

“Put us through,” Magnus said.

“As you wish, scrumruk,” Rohoar replied.

Awen’s face lit up with a smile when the transmission connected. “Magnus. It is you.”

“Hey, Awen. Good to see you again.”

“You too.” She laughed. “Nice ship designation.”

“I figured that would get your attention if you were out here.”

“Like nothing else could.”

There was an awkward pause as both of them smiled. Magnus felt the eyes of everyone on the bridge fixed on him. Including Valerie. But what did he care?

“How did you know where to find us?” Awen asked.

“Well, that’s a fascinating question. We’re coming from Worru.”

Awen’s eyes lit up, just as Magnus thought they might. “Why in all the cosmos were you on Worru?”

“I should probably explain that in person.”

“Right. Okay, we’re sending our coordinates now. TO-96 confirms that there’s an open docking bay adjacent to ours.”

“Roger that. See you soon.”

She hesitated. “Yeah. See you soon. Azelon Spire out.”

“NMB out.”

* * *

Upon their arrival at the docking platform, Awen had insisted that Magnus and his crew come aboard her ship—something about it being more spacious than his. And by the looks of it from their docking approach, she wasn’t kidding. Magnus had never seen anything like it. Its iridescent hull was shaped like some sort of megalithic sea creature. Everyone on the bridge looked at it slack-jawed.

“What system is that from?” Titus asked.

“None I’ve ever seen.” Abimbola ran a hand over his jaw. “Where’d that Luma go get a ship like that, buckethead?”

“I have no idea.” Magnus turned to Rohoar. “Can you pull up anything else on that ship? Maybe some sort of Repub top-secret firewall?”

Rohoar stared ahead as if he hadn’t heard Magnus at all. The Jujari was clearly impressed.

“Hey, Rohoar.” Magnus snapped his fingers.

“I’m sorry, scrumruk. What did you request?”

“Any additional metadata on that ship.”

“No,” Rohoar replied without looking at his data pad. “There’s nothing more on it.”

“Strange.” Magnus studied Rohoar a second more. The hyena was really taken with the ship. Magnus turned to Titus. “How many life signs are we detecting? I want to make sure we’re not walking into a trap.”

“Our scans are unable to penetrate the hull, Magnus,” Titus replied from the sensors console.

“Definitely smells top secret to me,” Abimbola said. “But she’s too damn pretty to be a Repub bucket of bolts.”

“Hey.” Magnus shot a look his way. “We’re not the ones building rickety old contraptions in the desert.”

Abimbola shrugged. “Have to work with what you’ve got.”

“Isn’t that the truth.” Magnus gestured toward the rest of Abimbola’s crew. “I want everyone armed and stacked behind me in stages, in case there are any problems. Rohoar, you stay with the ship and keep her ready to book if we pop smoke.”

“Pop smoke, scrumruk?”

“Emergency retreat,” Abimbola said.

Rohoar raised his head. “I think Magnus will be needing me.”

“Oh? And why’s that?” Magnus asked.

“Anyone else can run this ship. Titus, for example.” Rohoar pointed to the Marauder. “It’s so simple even he can do it.”

“Hey,” the man protested.

“But only I can protect Abimbola’s buckethead scrumruk.”

Magnus made to protest, but the Jujari really seemed to want to come along. Plus, he had a point—that was, assuming Titus could actually fly this ship. But it was true that no one was fiercer in battle than a Jujari.

“Okay, you can come. But make sure Titus knows what he’s doing. The rest of you, I want you locked and loaded in three. Valerie, I want you and Piper in your quarters.”

Fortunately, Valerie nodded and led Piper toward the bridge’s elevator.

“Let’s move, people.”

* * *

When the blades of NMB’s port hatch spiraled open, Awen stood there, eyes wide. Magnus kind of figured that four Marine and navy troopers, three Marauders, and a former Jujari mwadim pointing weapons at her would be overwhelming—which was the point. Based on her genuine surprise, however, Magnus decided there wasn’t anything to worry about.

Awen said, “There’s no threat here. Promise.”

“Lower ’em,” he said over his shoulder, dropping his hand. “We’re clear.”

“You came ready for a firefight, I see,” Awen said.

“Didn’t want to take any chances.”

“Shoot first, ask questions later. Am I right?”

Magnus raised an eyebrow. “You’re learning.”

In a poorly coordinated attempt to greet one another, Magnus leaned in for a side hug while Awen extended her hand. Magnus adjusted, extending his hand, but Awen leaned in for the hug. The result was an awkward collision that left Magnus leaning over his gun and Awen’s cheekbone pressed against his chest plate. They patted one another on the back and then pulled away.

“Good to see you,” Magnus said.

“Yeah, you too.” Awen smoothed her clothes with two hands. “Who’re your friends?”

“Right. This is Rohoar.”

The Jujari lowered his head and exposed his neck toward her. “It is an honor to meet the Luma emissary of my people once again.”

Awen’s eyes lit up. “Thank… thank you, Rohoar. It’s an honor to meet you too.”

In a whisper, Magnus asked, “You okay?”

“They don’t speak to women, remember?”

Magnus did remember, thinking back to when he’d escorted her through the mwadim’s palace. “People change,” was all he could think to say. He straightened himself. “And I think you remember Abimbola.”

Awen stepped forward to shake the Miblimbian’s large hand. “Yes, quite. It’s good to see you again, Abimbola.”

“And you, Madame dau Lothlinium.”

“And here you have Rix and Silk, two of Abimbola’s Marauders.”

They waved at Awen.

“And finally, four of the Repub’s finest: Marine Corporal Aubrey Dutch, Private First Class Tony Haney, Private First Class Waldorph Gilder, and Navy Chief Warrant Officer Shane Nolan.”

“Pleased to meet you all,” Awen replied with a wave. “And thank you for coming. Please, come aboard.”

Magnus turned to Rohoar. “Would you please go get the others?”

“Right away, scrumruk.”

“Thank you.”

* * *

The exterior of Awen’s starship should have given it away. But it wasn’t until Magnus was standing on the bridge and met Azelon that he realized the vessel was from some advanced alien species. The Repub was still centuries away from anything this complex, and to his knowledge, nothing like it existed in any other part of the galaxy.

“Pretty impressive, right?” Awen turned around in the middle of the bridge.

“I’d say.”

The rest of the crew seemed dumbstruck too. The gleaming surfaces, soft blue-and-white lighting, sleek black controls—all of it was almost transcendent. That was the best word Magnus could think of. But he wasn’t even sure if that was right. He was a Marine, not a poet.

“Where did you say this ship was from?”

“I didn’t.”

Magnus continued to look around, head on a swivel. “Right.”

The slender white robot spoke up again. “This ship hails from—”

“Let’s save that for later, Azelon,” Awen said.

“Understood, Awen.”

The bridge’s elevator doors opened. Magnus instinctively raised his MAR30 but not all the way. A man in his late twenties—most likely a Nimprith, judging from his narrow eyes and olive skin—stepped from the elevator, accompanied by the modified nav bot. The last time Magnus had seen this pair, he’d asked Enzo to stay behind on Worru and protect Awen. Based on Magnus’s experiences on the Luma home world, he guessed Enzo had done a stand-up job.

They approached Magnus’s team, hands extended.

“Enzo,” Magnus said, taking his hand.

“Eeezo,” the man replied.

“Right. Good to see you again.”

“You too.”

“And you’re TT-96 or something,” Magnus said, shaking the bot’s hand.

“TO-96, sir. Pleased to meet you once again.”

“Pleasure’s mine.” Magnus leaned in and nodded toward Awen. “I can see you did as I asked—back on Worru, I mean. Thanks.”

“She got herself into some trouble similar to what I’m guessing you found. You were right to ask us to stay behind.”

“Good to know my gut’s still got it.”

Ezo turned to Abimbola. “It seems you just can’t escape these two, now, can you, Abimbola?” He gestured toward Magnus and Awen.

“Seems that way,” Abimbola said, flipping a poker chip. “The gods have weighted the odds, and when that happens, well…”

“Somehow, Ezo doesn’t think the gods have anything to do with this, Miblimbian. But to each his own.” Ezo nodded at the other Marauders. “Rix, Silk, good to see you.” They nodded in reply.

“Right,” Magnus said. “And this is the rest of my crew, with three more on the way.” Magnus made the introductions with Dutch, Haney, Gilder, and Nolan.

“We’ve got two more in sick bay,” Awen added. “We’ll introduce you later.”

“Sounds good,” Ezo replied.

“So, what’s this all about, Magnus?” Awen asked.

“Well, I’m hoping you can fill in a few blanks yourself.”

“Oh?”

“But it might take a while, and we don’t have that much time.” Magnus looked around, noticing there weren’t going to be enough seats for everyone. “Got somewhere we can sit?”

“Right this way, Magnus,” Azelon said, gesturing toward the elevator.

“Dutch, I want you and the others to stay put here on the bridge. Bimby and I need to debrief my friends.”

“Understood, LT.”

“When the others get here, send Rohoar and the ladies my way.” He turned to Azelon. “How will the rest of my crew know where to go?”

“That will be taken care of, Magnus. There is no need to worry.”

“Good.” He looked back at Dutch and the rest of his ragtag crew. “You need anything, reach me over comms.”

“Copy that.”

* * *

Magnus and Abimbola sat down in heavily padded white chairs finished with tan leather as Awen and Ezo joined them. The oversized seats were scattered throughout a mess hall that looked more like a hotel’s grand parlor than it did a starship’s dining facility. The closest ship Magnus could compare this to was Valerie’s—yet for all its luxury, Valerie’s still paled in comparison.

Round orbs of light hung from the curved ceiling, suspended in midair. Embroidered purple banners—which seemed more like war pennants than wall dressings—hung on the walls. And the white tables were spotless, as if they’d never been used. In fact, it felt as though this entire ship had never been used. Which was strange, as Magnus had the most peculiar feeling that this vessel was older than any other in the galaxy.

“Would any of you like something warm to drink?” Azelon inquired, and everyone’s hands went up. For the first time in a long time, the notion of drinking something for comfort—beyond the mere practical purposes of staying alive—stirred in his belly. But they needed to get this conversation started and to share information. Decisions needed to be made.

Still, a cup of coffee would be perfect right now. “Do you have anything like coffee?” Magnus asked.

“I am unfamiliar with this coffee. However, I am capable of formulating anything with a molecular pattern so long as I have the proper parameters.”

“I have no idea what the parameters for coffee are, so maybe something that’s—”

“I believe I can be of assistance here, sir,” TO-96 interrupted. The bot turned toward Azelon. “Please reference my file marked Human, Dietary Protocols, Liquids.”

Azelon paused then said, “I have it. Thank you, TO-96.”

“So… you’re gonna make me coffee, then?”

“Affirmative. Anyone else?”

* * *

“So you said you came from Worru?” Awen asked, reclining in one of the chairs, hands on her lap. Magnus couldn’t get used to Awen not being in her Luma robes. Seeing her in a mix of street clothes and an oversized captain’s jacket was… nice.

“Yeah. But, if you don’t mind, can we jump to where you got this ship?” The rest of Magnus’s crew nodded, some verbally agreeing.

Awen took a deep breath and leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “I opened the stardrive.”

“You opened the stardrive?” Magnus couldn’t hide his excitement. “No way.”

“Yes way. And it was awesome.”

Magnus waited for her to go on, but she didn’t. She just sat there, smiling.

“Mystics, Awen! Are you gonna tell me or what?”

“Eh. I don’t think you’d be that interested.”

“So help me, Awen…”

“Okay, okay!” She raised her palms, a huge smile across her face. “It gave us coordinates to a quantum tunnel.”

“A quantum… tunnel?”

“And it led us to the Novia Minoosh.”

“The Novia who?” Magnus hung on her every word as she went on to explain the discovery. He could feel his eyes growing wider and wider. Had they not actually been sitting on an alien starship from a different universe—What’d she call it? Metaspace?—he wouldn’t have believed a single word. It was all far too fantastical. But here they were, and he could no more deny the ship beneath his feet than he could the blaster in his hands.

Ezo and TO-96 nodded as Awen shared about coming to Ki Nar Four to change ships and meeting Sootriman. She described their jump to the other universe, and she spoke of a habitable planet and an ancient abandoned city. Then she shared about being attacked by a Republic admiral as well as by So-Elku.

“Did you say Kane?” Magnus asked. “As in Admiral Wendell Kane?”

“I don’t know his first name. Fifties, bald, creepy looking. Wears a pinky ring?”

Magnus nodded slowly. This piece of news rattled him the most. He knew Kane. Not personally, of course, but by reputation. Who didn’t? The man was considered one of the navy’s greatest commanders, though Magnus thought better of the adjective—most ruthless was more appropriate. Admiral Kane had gained a reputation among the Navy and the Marines for accepting the deployments that no one else wanted to take. As a result, he employed tactics that didn’t exactly comply with Repub standard operating procedures or the Intergalactic Code of Ethics.

No one outside of the military knew of these breaches, of course, and everyone in power seemed to dismiss his behavior, figuring that if Kane was ready to accept the danger that no one else wanted to face, they were willing to overlook methods that no one else would be allowed to use. It was rumored that if Kane had ever failed, the Repub would have disavowed his actions and thrown him under the proverbial skiff.

Instead, Kane became a legend. He’d led Third Fleet into the initial hellhole of Caledonia, taking chances no one thought he should. But his ballsy efforts had made the first Marine landings possible. Without him, Magnus’s entire battalion would have been blown out of the sky before ever touching down.

At the Battle of Po-Froslin, Kane had sacrificed several of his battle cruisers and one destroyer in a wild attempt to drive straight through the enemy fleet’s formation. While thousands of his own sailors died, no one could deny that Kane had turned what would have been a months-long conflict into three days of fighting. Second Fleet came in to clean up the pieces, but Third received all the medals.

And then there was the moon base on Teslo Nine. Kane’s group of ships had endured a week of heavy bombardment from the planet-based artillery, all while bobbing and weaving behind the moon like a boxer staying just out of reach of an opponent. His constant vigilance had allowed Marine landings on the moon base, which then gave the Republic access to the planet. The Senate never said a word about his strikes against the artillery—strikes that resulted in untold civilian deaths. Kane had won. And since the end justified the means, the means had been overshadowed by the end.

According to Awen, Kane seemed to have access to whatever this quantum-tunnel technology was, and that worried Magnus. And if Azelon Spire was representative of what Awen had discovered from this Novia Minoosh species—and Kane was willing to try to kill for it—the galaxy was in trouble. Awen went on to describe the troopers who’d assaulted her—black-clad Marines in what Magnus guessed was modified Mark VII armor with three white stripes on their shoulders. He froze. The pieces of a complicated puzzle were coming together.

Magnus had long suspected that the three-striped troopers were rogue Repub operatives, but no one had ever been able to say for sure. Nor was anyone certain who directed these troopers. Some claimed it was a secret session of the senate, operating off the books. Others feared the troopers were a clandestine division of the Marines.

His thoughts turned toward the Bull Wraith that had captured the Stones’ ship. Then he thought of the one-sided assault on the Jujari fleet that Brigadier General Lovell had alluded to with Rohoar. He considered the assault Awen had described. It was Kane… all of it had been Admiral Kane this whole time.

He’s gone rogue.

No. Magnus corrected himself. He’s gone mad.

Magnus was spellbound as he listened to the rest of Awen’s story—about her three months on the planet and the discovery of the quantum-tunnel generator. The time dilation between the two universes was also a head spinner, but he knew that advanced quantum physics involved some crazy splick well above his pay grade.

The news that a second contingent of Kane’s men had returned to the Novia’s planet was unsettling, to say the least. All Magnus could figure was that they were after some of the alien tech. ’Cause that’s what I would want. And Novia tech in Kane’s hands spelled trouble for both universes. He had a strange feeling that it wouldn’t be long before he was fighting battles on several fronts. Splick, aren’t you doing that already, Adonis?

When Awen seemed like she was done giving the short version of her story, Magnus checked the time displayed in the corner of his bioteknia eyes. Piper would be arriving at any minute, and he needed to fill Awen in on the little girl before she arrived. To save time, he skipped most of the action surrounding the rescue of his men and focused on Piper… on her powers… and just how much she freaked Magnus out.

13

Piper held her mother’s hand on one side and Rohoar’s on the other as they walked through the shiny new starship. Her mama had insisted that holding one hand—hers—was enough. But Piper wanted to hold the big dog’s too. So she passed her corgachirp to her mother, saying, “Here, Mama. Can you please hold Talisman?”

As soon as her mother had taken the stuffed animal, Piper reached out and grabbed Rohoar’s finger. The Jujari recoiled at first, though Piper hadn’t meant to startle him. But once he saw it was her, he relaxed and then let her hold on.

The three of them walked down the corridor. Mr. Titus had been ordered to the bridge by someone in his earpiece. Piper looked over her shoulder to make sure the Marauder knew where he was going. “If you get lost, just come back and find us, Mr. Titus.”

The man smiled at her. “Thank you, Piper. I will.”

Piper, her mother, and Rohoar continued walking for several minutes. They listened to a woman give them instructions over the ship’s speakers. “Continue to follow the illuminated path.” Piper bet it was some kind of fancy AI. She’d never seen a ship this unusual before, and it just had to have a fancy AI.

Piper marveled at the bright-blue dots they’d been following. Each dot appeared along the white floor then disappeared when she stepped on it. Piper tried to watch several of them fade by removing her foot as soon as she put it down, but the action only made her stumble.

“Piper, keep your head up,” her mother said, tugging on her hand.

“Yes, Mama.”

“Continue forward ten meters,” the woman’s voice said from somewhere overhead. “Then turn left.”

Maybe they were close to wherever they were going. Piper hoped she would get to explore the ship more. And meet new people. Meeting new people is the best.

“Please turn left.”

A set of doors slid open. Piper looked into a big room filled with tables and chairs. The crew from her ship sat near the middle while two robots served warm drinks. Piper wanted a drink, and she wanted to talk to the robots too. They looked very interesting.

No sooner had she stepped through the doorway than everyone turned to look at her. As she got closer, Piper noticed two new people—a woman with pointy ears and purple eyes and a man with narrow eyes and a long coat.

“Hi,” she said to the purple-eyed woman. “My name’s Piper.”

The woman extended her hand, and Piper shook it. “Hi, Piper. My name’s Awen.”

“You’re really pretty.”

Awen placed a hand on her chest. “Why, thank you. You’re lovely too.”

“Thanks.” She turned to the man. “What’s your name?”

“My name’s Idris Ezo. But Ezo is fine.”

“Okay. Are those your bots?”

Ezo followed her outstretched finger toward the two robots serving drinks. “One of them is, yes. Would you like to meet him?”

“Oh, yes please.” Piper absolutely loved robots, and these two looked like they’d be her favorite. She was sure of it.

“Hey, ’Six. Need you over here.”

“Right away, sir.”

The gray-plated bot walked toward her, and Piper’s eyes widened as she tried to take him in. His eyes glowed a vibrant white behind a translucent face shield. He had rockets on one forearm and a blaster on the other.

“What do they call you?” Piper asked.

“I am TO-96. At your service.”

The bot bowed to her, and she couldn’t help but giggle. “You are very nice.”

TO-96 glanced up, tilting his head. “Nice? That is kind of you to say.”

“Who made you?”

“I am a navigation robot originally manufactured by Advanced Galactic Solutions but modified by Idris Ezo.”

“I’m Piper,” she said, extending her hand. “I’m just a human, made by humans.”

“I am very pleased to make your acquaintance, Piper.” The bot shook her hand gently. He was so cool.

“How many star systems have you been to?”

“Piper,” her mother said. “That’s enough.”

“Can I meet the other robot?”

Her mama sighed. “Yes, but quickly. You’ll have time to ask them plenty of questions later.”

Piper walked up to the slender white robot and extended her hand. “Hi, I’m Piper.”

Instead of grasping Piper’s hand, the robot mimicked her posture, thrusting her right arm into the air with her hand extended. “Hi, I’m Azelon.”

Piper laughed, covering her mouth to keep the noise down. To her surprise, the bot covered its mouth too and giggled—which made Piper laugh even more.

Then the bot stopped and asked TO-96, “How am I doing with the human greeting ceremony?”

“I believe it needs some work,” TO-96 said.

Then Azelon looked at Piper. “Forgive me. I haven’t met many humans before.”

“That’s okay. I’ve never ever seen a bot like you before. So… I think that kinda makes us even.”

“How are we ‘even’?”

Suddenly, Piper felt her mother’s hand on her shoulder. “Piper, sweetie, you need to—”

“Hey, you’re the ship’s voice,” Piper exclaimed. “Which means you’re a girl bot.”

“Darling…” Her mother sounded cross.

“Why, yes, that was my voice,” Azelon replied. “And I am modeled after the feminine archetype.”

“Your voice is wonderful. Good job.”

The bot tilted her head. “Thank you.”

“Piper, let’s leave the bot alone. You’ll have plenty of time to speak with her later.”

“Okay, Mama.”

Her mother turned her around while some of the troopers brought over chairs. Piper hopped into one right next to Awen. Her legs dangled over the side. It was a really big chair. She looked over at her mother, who sat on the other side of her, and then at Rohoar, who seemed to fit the chair just right. The room had grown quiet.

“What was everyone talking about before?” Piper asked

“Actually, we were talking about you,” Awen replied.

“Me?”

Awen nodded. “Magnus was telling us all about your daring escape from the black ship, your journey across the desert, and your last several days on Oorajee.”

“Did he tell you that my daddy died?”

Awen’s eyes fluttered for a moment, like she was going to cry. “Yes, Piper. He did tell us. We are so very sorry to hear about his passing.”

“Thank you.” She lowered her head. “I’ve been very sad about it. Mama has too.”

“I imagine so.”

Piper wiped her nose on her sleeve. Her eyes were watering again. “Where do you come from, Miss Awen?”

“Me? Oh, I come from a planet called Elonia. But now I reside on Worru… at least… I used to.”

Piper reached out and touched Awen’s hand. She didn’t mean to. It just… happened. As soon as her palm touched Awen’s skin, it was as if Piper could see inside of Awen’s soul—as if she were dreaming that she could see the world as Awen saw it. But it wasn’t just Awen’s present that Piper could see. It was her past too. Everything was there in a flash.

Piper saw Awen as a child and the faces of her mother and father. She was in school with Awen as a teenager, being picked on by her peers. Then she saw Awen at a beautiful-looking school with hundreds of other students, all dressed in lovely robes. They were training to serve different worlds and species. And they knew how to move inside of…

“You’re a Luma,” Piper said.

“Wha… What did you say?”

“You went to observances when you were seventeen. But your parents didn’t want you to. You decided to anyway because you wanted to help people. You were upset that your parents didn’t agree with you. I’m sorry for your pain.”

Awen pulled her hand away and clutched it against her chest. The room went very still.

“I’m sorry,” Piper said. “Did I say something wrong?”

Awen shook her head. “No, Piper. But… how did you know all that?”

“Know all what?”

“All those things about me?”

“I felt them. When I touched you.”

Awen looked concerned. Not mad concerned, just regular concerned—like she didn’t understand what Piper had said. The pretty lady with the pointy ears and purple eyes looked at Piper’s mother. “How long?”

“Since she was very small.”

“And does she…?”

“A little, yes.”

Then Awen did something very odd. She slipped down from her chair and knelt in front of Piper, holding Piper’s hands in her own. “I think there is an important reason why you and I have met, Piper.”

“Well, that’s good. I don’t have many friends, so I like making new ones.”

Awen smiled. “Yes, we will be friends. But I think we will be more than that.”

“What is more than friends?”

“Piper, you are very special,” Awen explained. “But sometimes being very special also means we are very different.”

“From others?”

“Yes, from others.”

“Like you felt on Elonia in school?”

“Exactly like that, yes.” Awen brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “The way I got over those feelings was by being with others like me. When I was with them, I didn’t feel different. Instead, I felt like I belonged.”

“Are you saying that you’re like me?”

“Yes. Yes I am.”

Piper took a deep breath. “That makes me happy.”

“It makes me happy too. It also means that I would like to teach you some things about your abilities.”

“My powers?”

“Your powers, yes. I would like to teach you more about them. Would that be all right?”

Piper looked at her mother, who nodded.

“Okay. I’d like that a lot. Thanks, Miss Awen.”

“You’re welcome. It’s truly my pleasure. Piper, you are a marvel and a wonder.”

That was exactly what her mama always said about her.

“What did you say?” Piper’s mom asked Awen.

“I… just said that it’s my pleasure to be her teacher.” Awen glanced at Magnus then back at Valerie. “I thought you just indicated that was acceptable.”

“No, no, not that,” Valerie replied. “The last thing—what you just called Piper.”

“A marvel and a wonder?” Awen dismissed the phrase with a wave. “It’s just an expression—something my master called me. I thought it was fitting for Piper, too, seeing as how she’ll be my first—”

“Your master… on Worru?”

Awen nodded.

“Who was your master?” Valerie asked.

“Elder Willowood. Why, do you know her?”

Valerie nodded. “Felicity Willowood is my mother.”

14

Awen stared at Valerie, suddenly aware of the woman’s likeness to Willowood. How was it even possible that she would meet the daughter of her mentor on a Novia starship in the middle of the Omodon quadrant? The odds were… beyond comprehension. There was no other explanation than that the Unity had brought them all together.

“That’s who was speaking to me in Worru,” Magnus said to Valerie.

“Excuse me?” Valerie asked.

“The person who told me to come here. She called herself Willowood.”

“You were with my mother?”

“No, no. She was in my head.”

“In your head?”

“Telepathy,” Awen said.

“I know what it is,” Valerie said curtly, not even bothering to look at Awen. “What did she say to you? Did she say where she was?”

Awen got the feeling that Valerie hadn’t seen her mother in a long time. Now that Awen thought about it, Willowood had mentioned that she’d had a child what felt like “a lifetime ago.” She hardly talked about it, so Awen had dismissed it. Apparently, “a lifetime ago” had referred to Valerie’s lifetime. Awen would never have guessed that Willowood’s daughter was only a few years older than she was.

“No,” Magnus replied. “She just said that we needed to get off Worru fast and that Awen and Piper needed one another.”

“She did, did she?” Valerie asked.

“That’s what she said, yup.”

Valerie gave Awen a stern glare. “Piper needs Awen…”

What in all the mystics is this about? Awen held Valerie’s stare without blinking. “Is there something I can help you with, Valerie?”

The woman’s attention snapped back to Magnus. “And why didn’t you tell me this before we came here to Ki Nar Four?”

“Honestly? Because I didn’t think anyone would believe me. Splick, I hardly believe it myself. Plus, it’s not like I knew who this Willowood person was. Is. Whatever.”

“Well, next time a voice starts talking to you in your head, you should share it with your crew. Or at least with your doctor.”

“Doctor?” Awen’s eyes darted between the two of them. There was an awkward pause in the conversation. Finally, Valerie sighed, scratched an eyebrow, and then sat back in her chair. “I’m sorry. I’m… this is…”

“Hey,” Magnus said, reaching across for her hand. “It’s okay, Valerie. Everyone’s under a ton of stress. And it sounds like you just found out that your mother is—I don’t know, alive, maybe? Like it’s news to you or something?”

“It’s news to me, yes.”

“Then we get it. Cut yourself some slack.”

Valerie’s shoulders relaxed. The woman was wound tight. And it was Magnus who was helping her unwind. As in, Valerie trusted him… maybe even liked him.

Suddenly, it was Awen’s turn to tense up. Magnus was staring at Valerie an overly long time. So Awen straightened her back and looked at Piper, trying to get her mind off whatever corgachirp trail her thoughts were headed down. Speaking of corgachirps, Piper had a very nice stuffed one in her hands.

“I like your corgachirp,” Awen said, trying to change directions.

“Thank you, Miss Awen. His name’s Talisman.”

“Where’d you get him?”

“He was a gift. From my… my…”

“From her grandmother,” Valerie said softly. “When she was just a baby.”

“So,” Piper said, wrinkling her nose, “does this mean that Awen’s master is my grandmother?” She clutched Talisman and stared into the stuffed animal’s eyes.

Valerie placed a hand on Piper’s head and began to stroke it. “Yes, darling. That’s what this means.”

As Valerie sat there, running her hand over her daughter’s blond hair, a heavy silence fell over the mess hall. The entire conversation over the last twenty minutes—from Magnus’s daring rescue on Oorajee to his betrayal by the Republic and even Awen’s account of their three-month stay in an alternate universe and her own escape from a hit team—had all been incredibly surreal.

“We have to go back for her,” Valerie said at last.

Magnus sat up straight. “What?”

“We have to go back for my mother. If she’s in trouble, then we have to help her.”

Magnus cleared his throat. “Valerie, I’m not sure how much you caught of what happened back there, but we’re outmanned and outgunned. There’s no way we’re walking into that again with any hope of survival let alone mission success.”

“I must agree with Magnus,” Abimbola said, speaking up for the first time since they’d sat down. “The Luma are far more prepared for battle than I would have ever suspected. These are not the Luma the galaxy has come to know and trust.”

Awen understood Abimbola’s sentiment. Before her encounter with So-Elku after the ambush, the Luma Master had been the epitome of dignity and integrity. But with him trying to strip her of the stardrive, combined with Magnus’s account of the incident on Worru, he was no longer the man she’d once known. That the Luma master and the Elder Guard would try to stop Magnus with force—would try to kill him and his team—was simply the next step in his evolution toward becoming… whatever it was he was turning into.

If Willowood was still alive, she needed rescuing, as did any other Luma still loyal to the Order. Given that Willowood was able to communicate with Magnus telepathically, Awen guessed her mentor was somewhere close to Elder’s Hall—presumably in an underground jail of some sort. And given that possibility, there would be others with her—Awen was sure of it—who could amplify Willowood’s abilities to reach Magnus.

But freeing Willowood and the other Luma wasn’t the only problem they faced. There was still the issue of Kane’s reconnaissance team that had stalked Awen on Itheliana. Magnus’s theories about Kane and his team of rogue Marines made as much sense as anything else. Whatever the operatives had been sent to do, it couldn’t be good. There was the very real possibility that Kane would gain access to the same discoveries that Awen had made. And now that So-Elku had a book from the temple library—something she needed to check with Azelon about—who knew what sort of power he was wielding? Kane’s forces had to be stopped as much as So-Elku’s.

Lastly, and most importantly, there was the issue of Piper. Based on what Magnus had told Awen about the little girl’s abilities and what Awen had just witnessed herself, Piper needed help. Fast. In fact, Awen was amazed that the little girl hadn’t killed anyone else yet. It was as if someone had managed to keep her powers tempered. Or something, Awen thought, looking at the stuffed corgachirp in Piper’s hands. Valerie had said it was a gift from Willowood when Piper was a baby.

Awen sent her soul into the Unity and was instantly aware of the bright aura surrounding Piper. As she’d suspected, the little girl was the epitome of a true blood. Every cell in her body seemed to resonate in perfect harmony with the Unity, shimmering like a star’s surface. She was almost too brilliant to look at. Almost. For as much as Piper’s soul radiated, there was something else holding the explosive power at bay, like a dam resisting the waters of a mountain lake.

There, stuffed in Piper’s arms, was a dampener. Awen didn’t know how, and she couldn’t have replicated it if she’d wanted to, but the stuffed animal was acting as some sort of ethereal governor. So strong was the effect, and so bright was Piper’s soul, that Awen wondered what would happen if the child was ever more than a few meters from the item. Even with the corgachirp in her escape pod on the Bull Wraith, the little girl had unwittingly killed her father. No wonder the toy had been named Talisman.

Piper’s powers were… well, they were greater than anything Awen had ever seen before. In fact, Awen doubted she’d be able to teach Piper how to control her abilities. The task would take time, especially considering how young the girl was. And it would take ingenuity. Awen would have to come up with new ways to keep Piper from hurting anyone while she trained—Talisman wouldn’t be enough. But once she was taught, she would… what?

Awen tried to fathom just how strong someone with Piper’s natural giftedness would be when fully equipped in the Unity. Piper was—more than anyone Awen had ever met—the quintessential true blood, a being born to be one with the Unity. There was no telling what she’d be capable of when her training was complete.

Why the universe had chosen this moment, of all times, to gift someone like Piper to the cosmos was another question worth answering. If Kane and So-Elku’s combined evils were as great as Awen suspected, then perhaps it was no doubt that someone like Piper had come along.

Awen looked at the girl with a mix of sorrow and wonder—sorrow because it seemed that no one had told her the truth about her father’s death, and wonder because… Piper, you may just be the answer the galaxy is hoping for.

“I know what we need to do,” Awen said.

Everyone turned to face her. A plan was forming in her mind, emerging like a sunrise on a foggy morning.

“Say again?” Magnus asked.

“I know what we need to do. But I’m not exactly sure how to do it, though I have a hunch.”

“Well, Star Queen,” Ezo said, “it’s safe to say that we’re all ears.”

“I am not all ears,” Rohoar protested. “I am Jujari, with only two ears. Do not include me in your frivolous descriptions.”

“It’s an expression.” Ezo rolled his eyes. “If it’s not bots, it’s Jujari. Somebody’s gotta train ’em.”

Awen cleared her throat to regain everyone’s attention. “The way I see it, we have three important objectives.” She looked around and saw all eyes fixed on her. Magnus, Abimbola, Rohoar, Valerie, Piper, Ezo, and even the two bots were intent on whatever she was about to say. Good, she thought. ’Cause this is gonna need all of us to pull off. “First, we know that Willowood and her contingent of Luma need to be rescued on Worru.” She held up one finger. “Second, Kane’s operatives on Itheliana must not be allowed to leave the planet with anything they find.” She raised a second finger. “And Piper…” Awen hesitated. “Piper needs to go to school for her powers.”

“Is it going to be a boring school?” Piper asked. “I hate boring schools.”

“Piper,” Valerie said, shushing her with a finger on her lips.

“No,” Awen replied. “I don’t think it will be boring in the least.”

“And you plan to do all this how?” Abimbola said.

Awen pushed some loose strands of hair behind her ears. “Well, that’s where Azelon comes in.”

Everyone looked at the gleaming white bot. Suddenly self-aware, the bot placed two hands on her chest. “Me? Why, certainly. How may I be of assistance, Awen?”

“The way I see it,” Awen explained to the group, “time, not force, is our greatest obstacle. Abimbola, you have enough Marauders to create a sizable fighting force if we need one. Magnus, you have enough experience to train just about anyone in the art of war, as does Rohoar. And Rohoar, you have an entire fleet if we ever needed one. But time is what we really lack. It takes time to mobilize resistance. It takes time to plot strategies. And it will take time for me to train Piper. So what’s the one way we can buy time?”

“By going back to metaspace,” Ezo concluded.

“Exactly.”

“The time dilation,” Magnus said. “You want to take us all back through the quantum tunnel and set up shop on Ithelinelli?”

“Itheliana,” Awen corrected.

“We can leverage the time dilation and square away whatever we need to,” Ezo said. “It’s brilliant, Star Queen. You can train Piper, we can raise up a fighting force of some kind, and then by the time we get back here…”

“Only a few days will have passed if we spend another three months over there,” Awen concluded. “So-Elku and Kane won’t even know we’ve left the protoverse.”

“Okay, a few questions,” Abimbola said. “First, where are we getting more soldiers from?”

“Right,” Awen said. “So, I haven’t figured all of this out yet, obviously. But that’s where you all come in. I don’t think we need that many more hands. At least not yet.”

“What do you mean?” Magnus asked.

“Well, the operatives that assaulted us in the Novia’s capital city, Ithnor Ithelia, numbered maybe about… I don’t know. What would you say, Ezo?”

“Ask ’Six. He’s the one who got the count.”

“I counted twenty-four operatives using Repub tactics,” TO-96 replied.

Awen pinched her lower lip. That was more than she remembered. Magnus wouldn’t like those odds.

“No way,” Magnus said, confirming her worries. “Twenty-four former recon Marines in full kit? We’ll need reinforcements for sure.”

“Okay, so we pick up some Marauders and Jujari from Oorajee, then Azelon gets us back to metaspace.” Awen looked at Abimbola and Rohoar. “Problems so far?”

“Several of my Marauders would be willing to come—I am sure of that,” Abimbola said.

Rohoar nodded. “I also believe that I could secure a few of the Tawnhack—if it is what my oath bearer wishes.”

“Oath bearer?” Magnus said in surprise.

Apparently, that was a new term to Magnus. Awen still found the entire arrangement quite entertaining. The elite Repub warrior, sworn to slaughter Jujari, was now bound in covenant to one Jujari unto death. Awen wondered if Magnus even knew that part of the arrangement. Probably not—he most certainly wouldn’t have agreed to that. We’ll keep it a surprise.

Rohoar ignored Magnus’s comment and continued speaking. “We could take the Shining Bright Star of Mwadim Furlank over a Thousand Generations back to Oosafar and collect the needed reinforcements while you go on ahead to found a village.”

“Found a village?” Magnus chuckled.

“That would give us a good start,” Abimbola said.

“Azelon,” Awen said, “we’ll need a place to train on Itheliana without being detected.”

“I’m sorry, Awen,” said the bot, “but I do not think that is the wisest course of action.”

Awen was taken aback. “Why not?”

“Depending on what this enemy reconnaissance team is excavating, the planet will not be safe for any of you until it is cleared of all hostile threats. Additionally, So-Elku has stolen the codex, which means he is also aware of the temple and its significance, even if at the most fundamental level.”

So it was true. So-Elku had stolen a book—the temple codex, whatever that was.

“Well, there goes that piece,” Ezo said.

“Not entirely, sir,” TO-96 said. “It seems that the Novia’s star system is host to another habitable world that can easily accommodate our specific needs.”

“TO-96 is correct,” Azelon said. “The likelihood of detection by the enemy stands at 3.4711 percent. Less, so long as they do not find a way to leave Itheliana’s surface within the allotted time frame.”

“Let me see if I get this straight,” Magnus said to Awen, resting his elbows on his knees. “Rohoar and Abimbola return to Oorajee to rally a few more hands while the rest of us set up camp on one of TO-96’s other planets. Then Azelon jumps back to this side of the quantum tunnel to pick up Rohoar, Bimby, and whoever else they’ve collected. From there, I help coordinate interdisciplinary battle readiness while you work with Piper. Then, when the time comes, we stage an assault on the Novia’s home world to take out the rogue operatives. When that’s done, we head back to Worru to put an end to So-Elku and rescue Willowood and any other Luma.” Magnus seemed out of breath and slightly exasperated. “Does that about sum it up?”

“Well, when you say it like that, it does seem a little outlandish.” Awen wasn’t sure whether something was wrong with Magnus or if he was just tired, but his skepticism caught her off guard. This wasn’t the man she remembered. Then again, what did she actually know about the Marine? She scolded herself, realizing that she’d probably spent more time fantasizing about him than actually being with him. But wasn’t this the trooper who’d just risked his life in an impossible attempt to save hostages held deep in Selskrit territory?

Cut him some slack, Awen. The guy’s probably frayed on all sides. You would be too.

“But… yeah,” Awen resumed. “That’s the long and short of it.”

“I like it,” the giant Miblimbian said.

“You do?” Magnus asked, sounding bewildered.

“So do I, scrumruk,” Rohoar said.

Magnus snapped his head to the Jujari. “Okay, but we have no idea what kind of resources we’re going to have at our disposal. Plus, I have no idea how long it will be before we’re ready to take on a highly trained group of rogue operatives, let alone confident enough to face the numbers we saw on Worru. Not to mention the fact that they have all their supernatural splick that, frankly, scares me to death.”

“Yeah,” Awen said, “but so do we.” Her eyes rested on Piper. The little girl was holding her corgachirp, eagerly looking at everyone’s faces.

“Are we done talking now?” Piper asked. “I’m bored.”

“Trust me,” Awen said, ignoring the little girl’s comment. “When Piper and I are done, I’m not sure it will matter what the enemy throws at us.”

Magnus stared at Awen for a second then appeared to study Piper. Each member of the group exchanged glances and nods.

Is this actually happening? Awen pushed another strand of hair behind her ear.

“I’m in,” Valerie said.

“Me too,” Piper said. “As long as we can eat first.”

“Well…” Abimbola flipped his poker chip, checked the result, then looked up. “I’m in.”

“Ezo is in,” Ezo said.

“And Rohoar. Rohoar is in as far as he can be and then even more after that.”

“I would like to report, for whatever it is worth, that I, too, am in, as it were,” TO-96 said. “Perhaps not as deeply as Rohoar but as far as a modified navigation bot can go.”

“And I am more than happy to accommodate you in whatever way you need,” Azelon said. “It seems to the Novia Minoosh that your mission is worthy and, if you have searched your own souls and found yourself worthy, that your hearts are thus pure.”

“That was… very eloquent,” Awen said to Azelon. “Thank you.”

“You are most welcome, Awen.”

Awen stared at the bot for a moment longer. Something about that phrase was very familiar. She’d heard it before, or something close to it. It felt noble. And old. She noticed Rohoar staring at the bot too.

“Eh—what the hell,” Magnus said, breaking Awen’s train of thought. “I’m in too. If we’re gonna pick a fight, might as well do it with you people.”

Awen clapped her hands. “Magnus, I almost forgot. I have another member for your team.”

“What d’you got, Awen?”

“I have a Reptalon.”

Magnus blanched. “A Reptalon?”

“A Reptalon?” Rohoar repeated. Suddenly, the Jujari rattled off a stream of curses in his mother tongue as his hackles stood up.

Awen had forgotten about… that.

15

Ricio led Viper Squadron on a steep attack vector, diving on the Jujari carrier from above and behind. So far, the starship’s turrets hadn’t picked up his Talons, as they were too busy fending off multiple attacks from other squadrons that covered Ricio’s approach. His orders were to take out the carrier’s engines and communications array. Two additional squadrons were tasked with taking out the ship’s defenses while three more squadrons engaged the Razorbacks that poured out of the carrier’s sides, fresh from their most recent rearming. It was a risky assault this early in the confrontation, but the reward was too good for command to pass up.

“Bravo Team, once you’re inside the shields, I want all antiship munitions targeting those engines,” Ricio said over comms. “Don’t hold anything back. We only get one shot at this. Alpha Team, on me. We’ll make a run down the spine for that commutations array. Take out any turrets you can reach as we go, but don’t deviate from my flight path.”

Ricio’s HUD lit up with green confirmation icons. He pushed his throttle forward, squeezing even more speed out of his Talon. The Jujari carrier’s aft was coming up fast. “Prepare for shield penetration.”

Ricio looked down onto the ship’s bridge, knowing his pilots would be flattened across it if he didn’t time this maneuver just right. Likewise, if they pulled up too soon, they wouldn’t be close enough to the deck, ensuring that the turrets would quickly eviscerate them.

A thin film of blue shimmered ahead. It was the shield’s visible barrier and the point of no return for Ricio’s squadron. These shields couldn’t stop physical ordinance, but they’d prevent all energy weapons.

“Ten seconds to shield penetration,” Ricio noted. His Talon was at max throttle, barreling toward the carrier’s stern. The blocky-looking command module sat atop the superstructure like a mountain of metal freight containers. If he did this correctly, Alpha Team would make the enemy’s bridge crew piss themselves with a danger-close flyby, while Bravo would lay waste to the carrier’s exposed engines.

“Five seconds.” As soon as they broke the barrier, the Jujari ship’s sensors would alert the turret’s targeting system. They’d have fewer than three seconds to conceal themselves along the carrier’s upper deck.

“Three… two… one…”

Ricio’s ship slipped through the blue membrane, as did the rest of Viper Squadron, hurtling toward the bridge. He could already see the turrets turning from their current targets farther toward the bow and preparing to fire on him.

“Alpha Team, pull up on my mark!” Ricio said, his voice raised. “Bravo, you’ve got the engines!”

His AI’s vector path analyzer sent him a warning notice, indicating where his Talon was deviating from its precalculated trajectory. One line on the HUD represented the mathematically optimum course, accounting for Repub SOPs—standard operating procedures—and FAF-28 Talon spec tolerances. The other indicated his current flight path. The AI did not like that the two trajectories weren’t lining up, and it told him so with an emergency klaxon and the words IMPACT WARNING flashing in red letters. But Ricio knew his ship, and he knew that the turrets would pick them off if he followed the ship’s AI.

As soon as he felt the AI attempt to take control, Ricio said, “Disable automatic override. Command override Lima Tango Niner.”

“Automatic override disabled,” a synthesized voice replied.

The bridge was so close that Ricio could make out Jujari faces looking up at him through their topside observation windows. In the nanoseconds that elapsed, he imagined what the hyenas must be thinking as they watched a squadron of Repub Talons fly close enough to spit on. This was going to be close.

“Mark!” Ricio yelled. He pulled back on his control yoke. The force buried him in his seat, making his harness straps go limp. Even with the inertia dampeners, Ricio grunted against the mounting g-forces as all the blood in his head rushed to his feet. The edges of his vision started to fade, forcing him to grunt even louder. Stay awake, Ricio! Stay focused!

His Talon pulled up with meters to spare, narrowly missing the bridge’s main command window as his fighter continued toward the deck below. He was pretty sure he saw some Jujari duck.

The warning klaxon in his cockpit continued to blare, signaling his imminent demise. But Ricio trusted the ship’s thrusters and knew what she could take. He knew what his body could take too. Even though he wasn’t as young as he once was, he’d been diligent in meeting all physical training requirements even if his seniority permitted him to skimp on the reporting side. It paid off in times like this.

Ricio continued to pull back on his controls. The Talon’s frame groaned while the inertia dampeners attempted to protect his body from the high-g maneuver. The carrier’s main deck raced up to meet him. A less talented pilot would have panicked, but Ricio trusted his instincts. He leveled out just before grazing a flat section of the carrier’s upper deck. Any contact at that speed would have vaporized him, but Ricio hadn’t survived this long by accident. He looked in the rear-facing holo-screen camera feed, identifying the remaining ships of Alpha Team. They’d stayed tight on his tail. Hot damn!

He stabilized the fighter from the near miss and looked at his targeting monitor. His AI illuminated turrets down the spine of the main deck, followed by the communications relay about two kilometers ahead. His squadron would be at the target in seconds.

“Take out what you can, Vipers!” Ricio ordered.

He fired a volley of blaster bolts at the nearest turret to starboard. The weapon had just finished its rotation—coming away from firing on Talons toward the bow—when Ricio’s bolts struck the joint where the unit connected to the deck. The turret popped off the carrier like a bottle top. Small electrical fires flared and then fizzled out.

More Talon blaster fire hammered down the carrier’s deck, pounding its way into turrets. The units exploded in dazzling displays of sparks and short-lived plumes of fire and smoke. A few turrets got some shots off, but the blaster rounds went high, glancing off the very tops of the Talons’ shields.

Ricio bobbed and weaved, flowing around protrusions in the carrier’s bulwark as smoothly as he might cloud surf back on Capriana. The feeling was exhilarating, and for a moment, he almost forgot he was in battle. Almost.

“Comms array ahead!” Ricio yelled, his voice somewhere between ecstatic and unnerved. His HUD sent quadruple reticles overlapping on the target, each blinking when it had a lock. “Open fire!”

Ricio squeezed off a steady stream of fire and watched as the red blaster bolts sailed in slow motion toward their target. They connected in a fireworks display that lit up his entire front window. Orange sparks shone like a star’s face, flooding his cockpit with light. Ricio rolled left, lowered his throttle, and peeled away. He looked to confirm target elimination on his HUD, but to his astonishment, his AI reported that the array was still intact. In fact, it hadn’t taken any damage at all.

“I need visual damage assessment,” Ricio said, hoping one of the Talons toward the back might have eyes on what had happened.

“Negative result,” Viper Seven said. “It’s got a shield of some sort.”

“Dammit,” Ricio said over comms, letting his emotions get the best of him. It was unprofessional, but he didn’t care. His team’s primary target was fortified.

Ricio continued his wide left turn, flying across the top of the starship from bow to stern, the bridge looming ahead like an ominous mountain peak arrayed in storm clouds and lightning bolts… or in their case, debris and blaster fire.

“Bravo Team, how are those engines coming?” Ricio asked.

“Viper One, this is Viper Eight. We have disrupted fifteen percent of the starboard engine configuration. However, they seem to be protected by their own energy-displacement field. Only torpedoes are proving effective.”

“Understood, Viper Eight. All fighters, let’s use up our torpedoes on these targets. Blaster seems ineffective. Alpha Team, as soon as we take another pass on this comms array, link up with Bravo Team and use your remaining ordnance on the engines.”

Ricio steered back along the deck, vectoring toward the command bridge. He’d need all this distance and then some to obtain torpedo lock on the comms array with so many obstructions. The alternative would be to pop up above the carrier’s irregular surface and get a clear shot at the array, but doing so would expose them to the turrets—and enemy fighters. So far, they hadn’t drawn any Razorbacks, but he feared that was a temporary respite.

“Circle up at the bridge’s base,” Ricio ordered Alpha Team over comms. “I want us stacked up in a line on this next approach. Acquire lock, but do not fire until the previous Talon’s torpedoes have detonated. Fire if the target remains. We need to conserve as many missiles as possible for when we rejoin Bravo Team.”

Confirmation icons lit up his HUD.

Ricio took point as he came about in the bridge’s shadow. Small antennas, pipes, and hatch panels were so close to his port window that he could almost reach out and touch them. His wings skimmed the carrier’s surface, threatening to catch the slightest rise and cartwheel the Talon into a somersault. But Ricio was an expert pilot and knew what he was doing.

His fighter’s nose came around and lined up on comms array for a second time. He still had all three of his torpedoes, and he planned to fire only one. Not only did he suspect that one was all he needed, but it was also the most conservative approach if he wanted to optimize shot-per-fighter ratios when engaging the engines.

A flick of his eyes armed the centermost torpedo under his Talon’s belly, activating its target-acquisition sensors. A torpedo-target reticule appeared in his window. The ship’s AI placed it on the comms array, instantly comparing the Talon’s relative position with the target coordinates. Ricio watched as the distance-to-target value rapidly decreased. He swerved to avoid a small tower then bobbed back the other way to miss a domed protrusion of some sort.

“Fire,” his AI’s smooth voice said.

But Ricio held his trigger finger. He wanted to be closer. He pushed his throttle lever forward and heard the drive cores whine. The force pressed him back in his seat.

“Fire,” the AI repeated.

Still, Ricio held his trigger. Enemy turret fire whizzed meters over his head, brilliant blue-and-green light reflecting off his cockpit’s rounded window. Just a little bit closer, he told himself.

“Optimum engagement window closing,” the AI said. Ricio squeezed the trigger and let the torpedo loose. The missile streaked across the carrier’s deck. Ricio rolled to the left again, cut throttle, and pulled back, sending his Talon into a tight turn. Though he was blind to the impact, the torpedo’s explosion peppered his Talon’s shields with debris and sent a shudder through the fuselage, jarring Ricio against his restraints.

So I was a little close.

Then, over comms he heard, “Target eliminated!” It was Viper Six. “All fighters, hold torpedoes. Target eliminated.”

That was easier than he thought it would be. Apparently, the Jujari hadn’t planned on anything but enemy blaster fire making attempts on their communications system—turrets could pick off torpedoes kilometers away. But a torpedo fired danger close along their deck? Yeah, didn’t plan on that, did ya?

“Alpha Team, join Bravo Team on engine assault.”

His fighters confirmed and peeled off. Ricio backtracked along the deck for the second time then pulled up and over the bridge—but not before sending a volley of blaster fire into the command structure. It wouldn’t do a tremendous amount of damage, but it might shake them up a bit.

Ricio flew out into empty space, seeing Bravo Team set up for another pass on the engines. Already, Viper Five and Seven were joining them, lending their unspent torpedoes to the attack. The carrier had slowed, pulling away from the main group. Ricio had no sooner lined up to join Bravo Team than he noticed something unusual—far to the rear of the armada was a single Jujari destroyer. While every other ship in the system was engaged in open battle, this one was…

What is it doing? Ricio grew curious enough that after he’d fired his remaining two torpedoes and engaged a defending Razorback in a short dogfight, he peeled away from the main conflict to investigate.

The destroyer hung in low orbit, engines at idle. Ricio couldn’t be sure, but he thought he detected vapor trails farther down in Oorajee’s atmosphere—evidence of recent shuttle activity. He initiated a sensor sweep, and sure enough, his AI indicated a Jujari shuttle landing on the surface far below.

Ricio selected SFC with a flick of his eyes over his HUD. “Command,” he said over a private channel, hailing Captain Seaman. “This is Viper One.”

“We read you, Viper One,” Seaman said. “Go ahead.”

“I’m looking at a destroyer-class starship on the far side of Oorajee behind the armada, ship designation Shining Bright Star of Mwadim Furlank over a Thousand Generations. Are you able to confirm?”

There was a momentary pause as Captain Seaman reviewed Ricio’s sensor data. “Confirmed, Viper One. That ship was reported as having already left the system. You are cleared to investigate at your discretion.”

“Copy, Command. Viper One, out.”

“Command, out.”

Ricio reviewed the damage assessment on the carrier and saw that the vessel’s engines were below fifty percent and falling. This massive starship would be crippled within a half hour. “Mission accomplished,” he muttered to himself. It was time for the next one. The Jujari destroyer was about fifteen minutes out. Ricio rolled to starboard and headed toward the stray vessel. “Viper Squadron, on me.”

16

Abimbola had barely been on the ground ten minutes when Rohoar pinged him over comms.

“Abimbola,” came the Jujari’s raspy voice.

“Go ahead.”

“I will not go ahead. I will remain standing still.”

Abimbola winced. He tended to forget the Jujari’s propensity for all things literal. “Speak, Tawnhack.”

Abimbola knew that forthright behavior would seem insolent by human standards, but for Miblimbians and Jujari alike, it was close to normal. Maybe that was why he liked being around the beasts—in some strange way, they reminded him of his home, Limbia Centrella. Perhaps, when this is all over, I will go to you again, Centrella.

But now was not the time to reminisce. Now was the time to gather resources. To train. To prepare for battle.

“Sensors are detecting an incoming squadron of enemy fighters.”

“Enemy fighters? You mean, Repub Talons?”

“Yes. Repub Talons.”

Horhish. This wasn’t good. He and Rohoar had hoped to make it in and out of the system undetected. When he’d flipped for the odds, he’d gotten tail side on his poker chip—a bad omen. He’d shrugged it off. But he knew better than to ignore bad omens. He should have guessed that something would go wrong.

“How far out?”

“We have ten minutes to get back to the ship.”

“Well, I have got a dozen Marauders who are willing to come with us. The rest want to stay, and I cannot say I blame them. My explanation was not exactly sane.”

“I have eight.”

“Okay, then. That makes an even twenty. I think we can do some damage with that number.”

“We can also kill a lot of enemies.”

Abimbola grinned. “Yes, and that.”

“I will be at your location with the shuttle in…” It sounded like Rohoar was tapping a screen with a nail-tipped finger. “Three minutes.”

“We’ll be ready.”

* * *

The trip into orbit was relatively uneventful, save for the jeering remarks made between species. The shuttle stank of wet fur and body odor.

Abimbola stood behind Rohoar as the former mwadim prepared to enter the Bright Sun’s docking bay. In the distance, he noticed a dozen or so bright spots converging toward them—the attack fighters. Behind them, nearly hidden by the planet’s horizon, were the combined Republic and Jujari fleets, engaged in full-out war.

“How long before they’re in weapons range?” Abimbola asked Rohoar.

“Ninety seconds.”

Abimbola gauged the distance to the docking bay. They’d be secure in another minute, he figured. “We are gonna be cutting this close.”

Rohoar winced. “I do not plan on cutting anything or doing so closely.”

“I mean, we’re not going to have a lot of time to jump.”

“You are correct—we won’t. My warriors will take up battle stations.”

“How can we back you up?”

“Back me up? Into what?”

Abimbola cursed under his breath. “Where can my Marauders help you?”

“Will not our ship’s systems be too complex for your people to understand?”

“Eh, you learn a thing or two about Jujari tech when you spend a few years on Oorajee.”

Rohoar grunted. Was that satisfaction? Abimbola couldn’t be sure.

“Do you have anyone who can monitor sensors?” Rohoar asked. “I could also use a second person at the helm if you have a good pilot. And any engineers for systems support.”

“Sure. Need more help with defenses?”

Rohoar licked his chops with a long tongue then counted on his fingers. “I will have two more vacancies in turrets.”

“Consider those needs met.”

“Good, good,” Rohoar said, adjusting the shuttle to line up with the docking bay’s shimmering force field.

Abimbola climbed down the ladder into the cargo bay. “Listen up, Marauders. We’ve got enemy fighters inbound. FAF-28 Talons. Rohoar has places for his Tawnhack…” The hyenas let out growls, leaving Abimbola to wonder if he’d misspoken. “And he has two more positions for turrets and one for sensors. Zoll, Bliss, I want you taking orders from Rohoar. Robillard, you’re on sensors.”

“But I want to put blaster bolts downrange, Boss,” Robillard said.

“Trust me, if we make it through this, you’ll have plenty of opportunities to shoot all the horhish you like. I need you calling out targets.”

“Copy.”

“Berouth, I want you backing up Rohoar at the helm. See if you can’t speed up the jump calculations.”

“If it’s all in Jujari, it might make it tough. I’m a little rusty.”

“Boss, boss, boss! Give me a go at this Jujari tech. I know I can help.” Cyril raised arm and waved it like a kid asking a teacher if he could play with a new toy in class.

“Good,” Abimbola said. “Do it.”

“Dozer, Nubs, I want you on systems.”

“Understood,” they said together.

“And Cyril?”

“Yeah, boss?” said the young man in his squeaky voice.

“It’s good to see you in one piece.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“After you help Berouth with the translation, I want you looking for any way to hack their systems—comms, nav, weapons. If there’s a weakness to exploit, I want you slicing it.”

“Right away, sir.”

“The rest of you, look to double up on each position and fill in if anything happens.” His Marauders nodded, looking at each other and at their Jujari counterparts. They hadn’t even left the system, and already they were about to have more action than any of them had bargained for.

* * *

The Talons came at them from all sides. Robillard was designating and redesignating targets faster than Abimbola could keep count. Over the comms, he sounded like a spastic traffic control operator on a capital planet.

“Damn, these Repubs are fast,” Robillard exclaimed.

“Just keep calling ’em out,” Abimbola replied.

The enemy fighters landed blow after blow on the Bright Sun’s shields. Abimbola lost his hold on the bridge’s handrail several times as the destroyer shuddered under the impacts.

“Dozer? Nubs?” Abimbola tapped his earpiece to check in with his gunners.

“We’re here, Boss,” Dozer said. “But damn if these Jujari can shoot! Giving us a run for our creds.”

“Good. Just don’t let them have all the fun.”

“We won’t,” Nubs said. “These Talons keep trying to get inside our shields.”

“Keep ’em out, Marauders.”

“The Jujari seem to be doing that just fine,” Dozer replied.

“Good.” Off comms, Abimbola looked at Berouth, who sat hunched over a side command console, tapping furiously. “How we doing on those jump coordinates?”

“Almost there. Cyril’s translation script has most of the hard stuff worked out but not everything. Jujari math is… special.”

“Ask me questions,” Rohoar added from the captain’s chair. He constantly adjusted the course to account for the enemy’s pursuit, rolling the massive destroyer as if it were a starfighter. “I can translate for you.”

“You just focus on keeping those fighters out of reach,” Berouth replied.

“They are too far away to reach already.”

Berouth made to respond, but Abimbola waved him off. “Stick to the jump. I need to know as soon as we’re ready.”

“Almost there…”

More incoming fire rocked the ship, and Abimbola grabbed the railing.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Cyril exclaimed from a console across the bridge. “I’ve got something here, boss.”

“What?”

“Think I’ve got something I can exploit—ha ha.”

“Whatever it is, do it fast.”

* * *

Ricio’s squadron was having an unusually hard time breaking through this destroyer’s defenses. Whoever was captaining the vessel had put the turrets on manual—at least, that was what Ricio guessed. While there was nothing faster than an AI, manual operators—good ones, at least—were more intuitive. And these Jujari knew what they were doing. Ricio’s fighters were only ever able to get so close before being repelled.

“Damn, they’re good,” Viper Two said.

“Just stay after them,” Ricio replied. “We’ll find a weak spot.”

“Sir,” Viper Three said, “I’m detecting a drive-core surge. They’re preparing to jump to subspace.”

“Can you clone their jump coordinates?”

“I’m attempting to do so.”

“Get me those coordinates.” Ricio scanned his sensor data and noticed a variation in the shield-generator pattern on the destroyer’s starboard side. “There! Starboard side, near the aft section.” It wasn’t much, but there was enough oscillation in the energy field that there might be some structural incoherence. Ricio lined up on it himself, but Viper Five was already closer.

“I see it,” Viper Five said. “Targeting now.”

“Fire at will!”

Rico watched and waited for Viper Five to fire on the weak spot. But nothing happened.

“Viper Five, SITREP!” Ricio watched as Viper Five peeled away. He decided to take the shot himself. With target lock confirmed, Ricio squeezed his trigger.

Suddenly, music blared over comms. It was an old show tune from Ricio’s parents’ generation, campy and obnoxiously happy.

“What the hell?” Ricio said.

“Where is that coming from?” Viper Five asked.

Ricio looked at his HUD, noting that his cannons had failed to fire. He was still on course, heading toward the shield anomaly. He squeezed the trigger again. The song changed, and a thrashing mega-metal song threatened to blow out his eardrums.

“What’s happening?” Viper Five asked.

“We’ve been hacked,” Ricio replied. It pained him to say it, but whoever was aboard that ship was good. Damn good. He gritted his teeth. “Viper Squadron, fall back.”

Suddenly, coordinates appeared in his HUD.

“Viper Three,” Ricio said, “are those what I think they are?”

“Yes, sir. And just in time too.”

Viper Three had no sooner spoken than the Jujari destroyer streaked forward in a blurry smear across the void. Then she was gone, blinked out of existence.

“We’ve lost them, sir,” said Viper Five.

“No, we haven’t.” Ricio looked again at the coordinates glowing on his screen. “We know right where they’re going.”

* * *

“Command, this is Viper One.”

“We read you, Viper One,” Captain Seaman said. “Looks like they slipped through your fingers, Commander Longo.”

Ricio didn’t like the insinuation. “We’re not completely empty-handed, sir.”

“What do you have for me, then?”

Ricio sent the coordinates with a flick of his eyes. “A jump destination.”

Silence filled TACNET as Ricio waited for the captain to review the data. He knew Seaman would be interested. If a Jujari destroyer was jumping away from a major galactic conflict—no, the galactic conflict—it meant something important was happening. What, exactly, Ricio hadn’t the slightest idea. It was undoubtedly above his pay grade. But he knew it was big.

Ricio tried piecing together the clues. Granted, he was no investigator, but he did have a curious mind. The ship’s random appearance in low orbit, the shuttle from the surface, and a code slicer who had just hacked a Republic firewall in less than sixty seconds—this was high-level splick.

Finally, Captain Seaman’s voice broke through the silence over TACNET. “Good work, Commander. It seems you brought us something of value after all.”

“Honored to serve,” Ricio replied. “What are our next orders?”

There was another pause. “You are wanted back on the Black Labyrinth for refueling and debriefing.”

Ricio balked. “But, Captain, we just—”

“Those are your orders, Commander Longo.”

“Understood.” Ricio brought up the Labyrinth’s coordinates and set a course. “Viper Squadron on our way.”

“Good. And hurry.” Seaman’s voice had softened. “It seems your little discovery has some of the brass very interested.”

I knew it. Ricio shook his fist in the air. While he hadn’t gotten the kill, perhaps he’d gotten something worth much more.

“See you shortly, Viper One.”

“Viper One, out.”

“Command, out.”

17

Piper missed Rohoar even though he’d only been gone for a few hours. She’d asked her mother if she could go with him to Oorajee. She thought it would be wonderful to see his home and try his food. But her mother told her that going with Rohoar was too dangerous. Rohoar would be okay, as he wasn’t afraid of anything. Piper figured that was because of how big and strong he was.

Magnus wasn’t afraid of anything either. He was big and strong like Rohoar but in different ways. Less furry ways. Piper had many dreams of Magnus rescuing her too. He always saved her when the city was destroyed. Every time, he walked out of the rubble and took her by the hand. Of course, the dreams felt far more real than just ideas. Her mother had instructed her to call them dreams, saying that calling them anything else might scare people. But Piper didn’t see why.

Piper felt safe when she was near Magnus the same way she felt safe when she was near Abimbola, the biggest man she’d ever seen—as tall as a building. And just as strong. When they’d met, all Piper could do was stare at Abimbola’s beautifully dark skin. She wished hers were that beautiful. Between these three important people in her life—Rohoar, Magnus, and Abimbola—Piper had nothing to be afraid of. She didn’t see the difference between staying on the ship with Magnus or going to Oorajee with Rohoar and Abimbola. In the end, she’d be safe, and they’d all head to the metaverse together.

Piper had made herself comfortable on the ship’s bridge, cozying up beside a smooth staircase with Talisman and three pillows that one of Abimbola’s Marauders had offered her. She refused to stay in her quarters, arguing that if she couldn’t go with Rohoar and Abimbola, she at least deserved to remain on the bridge near Magnus. The adults nodded the way grown-ups did and let her stay.

Piper studied Azelon. The way she interfaced with the ship’s controls was remarkable. Azelon was definitely the most beautiful robot Piper had ever seen. The robot and the ship were linked together, her mother explained, being “one and the same.” Piper didn’t think it was weird that a ship and a robot could be the same thing. In fact, she wondered why more ships didn’t do that. Especially since Azelon was so pretty. Which was why she guessed TO-96 liked her so much.

Azelon stood before the big bridge window, moving the floating holo-displays around the room. Her white body was beginning to glow a soft blue. She was also moving the holo-screens around faster. Bright lights and colored lines linked them together. She was amazing to watch. TO-96 looked at Azelon too. He seemed enamored with her every movement. Perhaps they would fall in love and get married. Piper would like to attend that wedding.

When Azelon announced that they were ready to jump into metaspace, Piper gripped Talisman in excitement.

“Are you okay?” Awen appeared over Piper’s shoulder and placed a hand on her arm.

“I’m so excited, Miss Awen! I’ve never been to another universe before.”

Awen laughed a little. “Well, you have every reason to be excited. I don’t know many other people who’ve been to another universe either.”

“Is it wonderful?”

“Yes, Piper. It’s very wonderful.”

Of all the new people Piper had met, Awen was her favorite. While Piper couldn’t articulate it, she was drawn to something deep inside Awen—an inner beauty that was magical, as if Awen had summoned it from some far-off place in a fairytale and then hidden it inside her soul. Piper wanted to know what that beauty was, where it came from, and how she could have some of it too. It made Awen kind and understanding. But it also made her strong.

Awen’s inner strength seemed to make her more powerful than all other people Piper had ever known. And Piper hoped Awen would teach her about how to be different and still be powerful. Adults always told Piper that she was special. But she started to realize that special was really just a nicer way of saying different. And being different meant she had to change schools, houses, and friends. Piper was tired of being different.

That was, until she met Awen just a few hours before. Awen was different. And beautiful. And strong. Piper wanted to be like Awen. Maybe then she would be strong enough to force the pain from inside her heart. Piper suspected that her mother was lying to her about how her dad had died. The energy in her had done things before. It had danced on the ceiling. It had turned out the lights. And even though her mother had said that her last ten holo-pads had bad batteries, Piper suspected it was the power inside her body that had damaged them. The same energy that had hurt her father.

No. It didn’t damage him. It killed him.

“So you’re going to teach me?” Piper asked Awen.

The woman furrowed her brow, like she’d been concerned with the question. Or maybe she just didn’t understand it.

“You’re going to teach me, right?” Piper repeated. “When we get to the metaverse, I mean. How to use the energy inside me and be like you?”

“I’m going to try my very best, Piper, yes. Is that okay with you?”

Piper nodded, squeezing Talisman. “I don’t want to hurt anyone else.”

“Wait… what did you say?”

Piper looked up. She’d said something she wasn’t supposed to. Being in trouble was the worst.

“Attention, all hands,” Azelon announced, her voice sounding much louder than it usually did, filling every part of the bridge and maybe even the rest of the ship. “Prepare for metaverse transition in ten seconds.”

Piper clapped her hands. Azelon’s body was glowing brighter, and the holo-screens were forming a long line between the robot and the main window. “This is it, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Piper. But hold on…” Awen stepped down from the upper landing and sat on the floor beside her. “What’s this about hurting other people?”

“Nothing.”

Piper didn’t want to be in trouble with Awen. She shouldn’t have said that thing about hurting people. Would Awen tell her mother?

“Five seconds,” Azelon announced. The bot’s blue body was getting too bright to look at.

“Piper, how many people have you hurt?” Awen shook her head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Three…” Azelon said.

“Piper?”

“Two…”

“Piper?”

“One…”

Azelon pulled her hands in by her sides. All the holo-screens rushed toward her as if flying into her chest. One by one, they disappeared until there was a very bright flash—

And then darkness. Everything was still. Piper expected some loud sound or vibration or feeling. But there was nothing. Suddenly she noticed a star in the big window. It was purple, like Awen’s eyes. Then there was another and another. As Piper’s vision adjusted to the darkness, more and more stars began to appear, connected by a pink cloud. It looked like a giant batch of cotton candy with thousands of purple stars stuck in the sticky strands of sugar.

“Are we in metaspace?” Piper stood up and walked to Azelon. “Are we in the metaverse, Miss Azelon?”

The bot turned to face her. “Yes, Piper. We have arrived in my universe of origin. Welcome.”

“I’m so happy to be here!”

“And I am happy that you are here.”

“Once the bad guys are off your planet, do you think you could show me around?”

“Show you around?”

“You know, show me where you come from, where you live, all that sort of thing.”

“I come from manufacturing bay two hundred and thirty-nine, and I exist in this ship. I am unsure what else there is to show you that is of interest, Piper.”

TO-96 stepped forward. His servos whined as he knelt until his head was at Piper’s level. “I am quite sure that Azelon will be able to facilitate a tour of Ithnor Ithelia such that your questions will be answered to your liking, young Piper.”

Azelon turned to TO-96. “Was my answer insufficient?”

“Yes,” TO-96 replied. “Humans have an interesting way of submitting data queries at times. But once you get used to it, I anticipate you will find it endearing, as I have.”

“Ah. I look forward to learning more about their behavior.”

“Be warned.” TO-96 stood to face her. “It is not always an easy task. It is, however, a rewarding one.”

“Duly noted.”

“You’re both funny,” Piper said. “I think you make a good couple.”

TO-96 turned to Piper while Azelon tilted her head. “I do not understand this designation,” Azelon said.

TO-96’s eyes flashed once. “It means…”

“It means you should get married,” Piper stated. “Are you gonna get married?”

“Piper,” Valerie said, having just entered the bridge behind the little girl. “Leave those poor bots alone.”

“Yes, Mama.”

“Come, let’s get you settled in our quarters. I want you rested before we make landfall.”

Piper rushed to her mother and took her proffered hand. Then she looked back at Awen and smiled. “I can’t wait to start, Miss Awen.”

Awen waved. “Me too.”

Piper thought her new teacher seemed sad. Or maybe scared. Either way, it didn’t matter. Learning from Awen would be fun. Everything will be just fine. Awen will see.

18

Does Piper suspect she killed her father? The question plagued Awen so heavily that she hardly cared that she’d returned to the metaverse. She sat at the sensor’s station on the bridge, chin in her hands, watching as the Novia Minoosh’s planet came into view in the main window. The lush green-and-blue world loomed against the star-strewn background. Awen barely noticed. She wanted to take Piper aside and find out everything the little girl knew. She wanted to ask her about her powers… about the things she’d seen. And about what had happened to her father.

Awen suddenly realized that maybe Piper’s father hadn’t been the only person the little girl had harmed. What if there are others? Memories from Awen’s own childhood on Elonia stirred in her mind. She’d found her own abilities challenging to manage at times. And mine weren’t anything like Piper’s. No one’s are. The poor thing was probably terrified. Awen remembered how scared she’d felt the first time one of her classmates winced at what Awen had done. It was a horrible feeling. And I never killed anyone. Piper was probably scared more than she let on, which meant Awen needed to get her team settled on this new planet, and fast.

“So where are we headed, Azelon?” Awen asked.

“The third planet from the system’s main star,” Azelon replied. “It is named Nieth Tearness in honor of the planet’s original settlers.”

Awen snapped her eyes toward the bot. “Wait. They weren’t Novia Minoosh?” She looked at TO-96. “You mean to tell me there are more species in this system?”

TO-96 raised a hand. “I am sorry, Awen. No, they were indeed Novia Minoosh. What Azelon means to say is that the name refers to their particular calling—their profession, if you will—rather than to their species.”

“TO-96 is correct,” Azelon said. “Please forgive me.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Awen placed a hand on her chest. “Almost gave me a heart attack there. I’m not sure I can handle the discovery of a second species right now.”

“There are many more than two, whenever you are ready, Awen,” Azelon said.

“Many more? What’s many more?” Awen’s head swam at that thought, but she regretted posing the question. She had far more important things to worry about than playing emissary in a new universe—a conclusion she could hardly believe she was accepting. “Wait. You know what? Never mind. I don’t want to know. At least, not right now, anyway.”

“As you wish,” TO-96 replied with a bow of his head. Azelon had raised her finger as if to expound on her point, but TO-96 waved her off. “Awen is not in the headspace to deal with it right now.”

“I do not understand anything you just said,” Azelon replied.

“Save the data for later dissemination.”

“Very well.”

“And in the meantime,” Awen said, “what can you tell me about this new planet?”

The elevator doors slid open in a smooth whoosh. Awen turned to see Magnus step onto the bridge.

“Hey,” he said with a wave.

Awen waved back. “How’s Sootriman?”

“Everything looks good. Another day and a half before she’s conscious. At least, that’s what the ship’s med systems seem to show.”

“You are correct, Magnus,” Azelon said.

Magnus put a hand on the back of his neck. “I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to you, Azelon.”

“Used to me?”

“They are not used to a ship being self-aware and fully integrated into all client systems,” TO-96 explained.

“Yeah, that,” Magnus said. “Just a little weird. Anyway, Sootriman’s good, and the Reptalon has been escorted to his quarters on the other side of the ship.”

“Great. Thanks.” Awen had kicked herself for not remembering the bad blood between the Jujari and the Reptalons. Inviting one onto the ship had been a mistake. But then again, it was Rohoar who’d arrived second. It wasn’t Awen’s fault—it was just the way things had unfolded. She could no more tell Saasarr to turn back from avenging Sootriman’s would-be killer than she could ask Rohoar to stop serving Magnus and Magnus to stop protecting Piper. It seemed they were all caught up in this together, and she had to make do. “When Rohoar gets back, we’re going to—”

“Need to figure something else out, I know,” Magnus replied. “We will. In the meantime, Saasarr is enjoying some kind of strange meal that the replicators produced for him.”

“That is optuna trunkfish from Orran Five,” TO-96 said. “Or at least, Azelon’s best approximation based upon my limited data set. It is a delicacy among Reptalons.”

“Well, apparently he really likes it,” Magnus said. “Ezo and I were worried that nothing would pull him away from his vigil at Sootriman’s side. But that awful stuff did the trick.”

“Awful, sir?” TO-96 asked.

“Splick, yes.” Magnus waved his hand in front of his face as if warding off a foul odor. “Stuff is heinous. Like sticking your face inside a dead body.”

Awen raised her eyebrows. “And you know that because…?”

“It just is, okay?”

“Whatever you say, Marine.” Awen chuckled as Magnus came to stand beside her.

“So what do we got here?” he asked.

“Heading to the new planet,” Awen said.

“It is called Nieth Tearness,” Azelon explained. “And no, they are not a new species.”

“What’s not a new species?” Magnus asked, looking to Awen for help.

“Never mind.” She laughed. “Keep going, Azelon.”

“As you wish.” A picture-perfect representation of a planet appeared in a hexagonal holo-screen just in front of Awen and Magnus. Like Ithnor Ithelia, this new planet contained green and blue, indicating lush continents and vast oceans. But Nieth Tearness had less landmass and far more water than the first planet. “As you can see,” Azelon continued, “eighty-nine percent of the planet’s surface is covered in water.”

“That’s even more than Capriana,” Magnus said.

Awen nodded. “So I guess that means that the population was fairly low.” No sooner had she said it than she scolded herself. Determining population by landmass? What if they could breathe underwater too? For as long as she’d lived on the alien planet—even surviving on one of their old ships—she still knew next to nothing about the Novia’s physiology.

“Affirmative,” Azelon replied. “Nieth Tearness served as a sister planet whose population was dependent on Ithnor Ithelia for the majority of their basic needs.”

“And you still think this is a good place for us to set up camp?” Magnus asked no one in particular.

Azelon looked at Awen and then TO-96. When no one else replied, she said, “Affirmative. Even with the additional occupants your crewmates propose to bring from Oorajee, your dietary and energy needs will place a fractional demand on the planet’s resources. Furthermore, given your proposed combat preparations, you will not have any additional time to cultivate the necessary crops and energy supply while still adhering to a conservative timeline. Therefore, the majority of your nutritional requirements will be met by my replicators. Likewise, your energy needs will be met by a temporary battery-node array.”

“Sounds like we’ll be living in the lap of luxury, then,” Magnus said. “When do we get there?”

“Approximately fifty-eight minutes, Magnus,” TO-96 replied. “Now that we are in-system, we will make a short subspace jump to just outside the planet’s gravity well, then we will advance under normal ion engines to low orbit.”

“Speaking of time,” Awen said, “how long has it been?”

“That is an incomplete question,” Azelon said.

“Do you mean how much time has elapsed since we last left?” TO-96 asked.

“Yeah, exactly.” Awen stood and moved close to Magnus.

“Our most recent duration in the protoverse—”

“That’s our universe,” Awen said to Magnus.

“—was roughly eighteen hours. Following what I have discerned to be a twenty-to-one time-dilation ratio, that correlates to fifteen days local time.”

“Damn,” Magnus said. “You mean to tell me even though you just left here less than a day ago, fifteen days have gone by already? Out here, I mean?”

“That’s correct, sir,” TO-96 said.

“Wait, so…” Magnus looked at Awen. “If you were gone from our universe for a couple of days, that means…” He seemed to be attempting the math in his head.

“Don’t hurt yourself there, trooper.”

“I can handle this.”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t. Just take your time.”

Magnus waved her off. “Was that like three months or something?”

“Well done, sir,” said TO-96.

“See?” Magnus said to Awen. “I can still do the math.”

“And aren’t you just so proud of yourself.”

“Ninety-plus days… that’s a long time,” Magnus said. “What’d you do with yourself?”

Awen felt her eyes glass over. The memories of her time in the city came back as if they’d happened only moments ago. She remembered exploring the temple library while the others searched the city. She’d been afraid of going back inside the Unity, haunted by the dark presence that possessed Admiral Kane’s soul. She had bitter conversations with Ezo and cost her friends a lot of time by not facing her fears sooner. Eventually, however, she consented to exploring the temple library from inside the Unity. And what a day that had been—little more than eighteen hours ago by one timetable and fifteen days by another.

“We did plenty,” Awen said. “That’s for another day. Azelon, tell me—are you picking up anything from Itheliana? From the intruders there, I mean?”

Azelon nodded. “Yes. The Novia’s continued presence in the city is a part of my consciousness, though the information they provide is often sporadic or incomplete. Is there something I can answer specifically?”

“Sure. I mean, have they… I don’t know… discovered anything they shouldn’t have? Or damaged something? Or taken something they shouldn’t have touched?” The more Awen spoke, the more she realized how vague her questions were. What are you asking, Awen?

“If you mean, has the military force that pursued you in the city found anything of value that might serve an ulterior purpose to do others harm, then no, at least not from what the Novia can ascertain.”

Awen let out a sigh. “Well, that’s good news.”

“However, it does seem that the contingent of intruders—as you call them—”

“They’re a former recon team,” Magnus interrupted with a raised hand. “Former Repub Marines—traitors and murderers. But let’s just call them what they are.”

Azelon nodded then amended her description. “The enemy’s reconnaissance team is spending an inordinate amount of time near several points of interest that the Novia find distressing.”

Awen’s heart tightened. “What do you mean distressing?”

“The Novia note significant energy expenditures near two collections of material reservoirs.”

“Material… like rare metals or fuels or something?”

“They are far more complex than that,” Azelon said, “but yes.”

“That can’t be good,” Magnus said.

“The Novia do not think you should be overly concerned, however,” Azelon continued. “The enemy’s team is not close to discovering a method of entry to these reservoirs, which are heavily fortified.”

“I wouldn’t count on that,” Magnus replied. “They’re trained to blow splick up. It’s part of their tradecraft.”

“The Novia are reasonably sure you have nothing to fear,” Azelon countered. “I calculate that there is less than a 5 percent chance they will penetrate the city’s defensive measures.”

“I concur with her findings, Awen,” TO-96 said. “The potential is negligible.”

Their reassurances didn’t lower Awen’s sense of urgency. These Paragon troopers needed to be stopped and quickly. Whatever it was they were after couldn’t be good.

“Where do you recommend we set up base camp?” Magnus asked.

“Here.” Azelon pointed to an island that expanded to meet her fingertip. It lay just below the planet’s equatorial line and was shaped like a triangle with rounded corners. “This is the largest island, Ni No. I believe the founding city’s ruins will best accommodate the list you provided, Awen.”

“What list?” Magnus asked. “You gave her a list?”

“I did, yes. Basic things. Safe shelter, adequate space for training, varied terrain, inspiring views.”

“Inspiring views?”

“Do you have a problem with that?”

“We’re training for battle, not a vacation in the Venetian system.”

“And what I’m about to lead Piper through is going to be harder than you can possibly imagine, so a meditative environment will go a long way in easing her anxiety.”

“Whatever floats your starship, Awen. Just maybe think about consulting me next time. If we’re gonna be a team, we gotta think like one.”

“I figured you could train anywhere.”

“And I didn’t figure you’d need picturesque vistas.”

Awen pursed her lips in thought. “Fair enough.” Magnus had a point. And she did like the idea of being a team. With him. That felt good. How often had she wished he’d been with her on Ithnor Ithelia? How often had she wanted to ask him what to do next or wished he would blow something up that she couldn’t—like the troopers?

But something bothered her about what Magnus had just said—the way he’d referred to her as a Luma. Was she still a Luma? From the first moment she’d learned what the Order of the Luma was, when she was a child, she’d wanted to be one. She’d learned about them at school, keeping the reading assignments a secret from her parents after they told her the Order was rubbish. That was the only time in her life that her parents said they didn’t mind if she failed the unit test on a subject. But she’d achieved a perfect score on the exam and even opted to take electives on the Order for further study.

But after what she’d seen So-Elku do—and after what he’d done to Willowood, Magnus, and the others—she wasn’t sure. This wasn’t the Luma—at least, not her Luma. This was something else. She felt sick to her stomach and wanted to get as far away from the Order as possible, to renounce her oaths and reject the title she’d worked so hard to obtain. If manipulating and killing for your own purposes is what being a Luma is about, then I want nothing to do with it.

And what were So-Elku’s purposes, anyway? She wasn’t sure. But after meeting Piper, Awen was at least convinced that it had something to do with the little girl… and something to do with the codex he’d stolen from the temple library. What those things had in common, she had no idea.

It was hard to reconcile So-Elku’s behavior with the man she’d believed he was. The betrayal was deep, like a blade slowly piercing her heart, twisting in small painful fits that made her want to weep. She’d trusted him, revered him. His office epitomized everything the Luma stood for. His very title of master meant he fully embodied the Order’s ethos. If he’d failed, if he’d fallen, were the Order’s ideals to be questioned too? Surely, the desire to fight for the best interests of a species is noble, isn’t it? But why, then, did that produce such horrible fruit? How could I—or any of us—have missed this?

She didn’t want to be a Luma anymore. Not with So-Elku muddying the waters. Surely, there was still good in the Order—she wasn’t so naive as to think that the whole thing had rotted away. But she hated the sound of the name. That was what bothered her. When Magnus had called her a Luma, she’d resented it. And she wanted to get herself as far away from it as possible.

19

The shuttle ride to Nieth Tearness’s surface had been uneventful for Magnus. It was nice, he admitted, not to be chased or shot at or preparing to fast-rope into a hot landing zone. Instead, for once, he just enjoyed the view. He glanced over at Awen, who likewise seemed to be enjoying the view. Her purple eyes were even more intense under the sun’s otherworldly light. Magnus found himself staring at her. He jerked away and looked out the shuttle’s cockpit window.

The ocean stretched out from east to west, north and south, dotted with islands of various sizes. The system’s violet-hued star cast the land in deep green, the islands lying in stark contrast to the purple-blue oceans. It was, he had to admit, a beautiful sight. Maybe the Elonian wasn’t that far off in her need for stunning views. Still, they had a job to do, and Magnus was eager to get started.

Ezo had agreed to stay behind to look after Sootriman, Saasarr, Valerie, Piper, and the bots while Magnus and Awen took everyone else planetside to get settled. Nolan piloted the shuttle to land in a large clearing in the center of the ruined city. Even though Azelon had assured them that the planet’s inhabitants had long abandoned their residences, Magnus still tasked his Marines and Marauders with setting up a perimeter as soon as the skids touched down.

The remains of large stone buildings lay to each side of an open hexagon. The ruins had been reclaimed by the forest long before, covered in a myriad of mosses, grasses, vines, and—where there was enough soil—trees. Still, Magnus could make out windows, doorways, and balconies in the buildings. His troops cleared the closest structures as best they could, but the only signs of life Magnus could see were various types of local wildlife—birds, some form of monkey, and ground animals that darted into burrows mined between stone blocks.

“It’s abandoned, LT,” Dutch said over comms.

“Copy. Let’s get the lay of the land then set up base camp.”

“Roger that.”

After Magnus conferred with Awen back on the ship, she stepped onto the grass-covered stones behind the shuttle and stretched her arms. “Smells good.”

“Ocean air smells familiar,” he said. “Just not sure I can get used to the purple-light thing.”

“You will. It grows on you.”

“I’ll take your word for it. Where do you want to set up base camp?”

“Well, it’s a team decision. What do you think?”

“Well, we’ll want optimum visibility of all terrain but the least amount of exposure.”

“Which means what?” Awen turned to look at the hexagon’s perimeter. “Something like that?” She pointed to a small rise behind the north side’s main body of buildings. It had several trees near the summit but seemed relatively free of obstructions. It also had a cluster of buildings that might serve as suitable housing so long as they were accessible and in relatively good repair.

“Something like that, yes.”

“Lieutenant,” came a voice in Magnus’s ear.

“Is that you, Ninety-Six?”

“It is indeed, sir. Well done…”

Awen, hearing the voice too, rolled her hand in circles, prompting Magnus to keep the bot talking.

“Auditory pattern matching can often be a challenging skill for a biologic to master,” TO-96 added.

“Got it, Ninety-Six. Did you want to contribute something to our base-camp choice?”

“Ah, yes. That is precisely why I was transmitting to you—a contribution.”

When TO-96 didn’t make any additional comment, Magnus asked, “And what is that contribution?”

“Ah, yes. After hearing your limited specifications, Azelon and I have denoted three possible locations for your base camp. You should see those in your eyes now. Of course, should you provide more data for us to consider, we could expand or contract our search results as desired.”

“Did you—” Magnus blinked several times. His bioteknia eyes flickered as data streamed down the right side, populating his vision with vector indicators, waypoints, and intercept distances. “Did you just hack my eyes?”

“Hack seems to be a fairly aggressive word, Lieutenant. I prefer to say—”

“Just call me Magnus.”

“As you wish, Magnus.”

“Keep going.”

“I prefer to say that we deduced your new eyes’ operating protocols and have expedited the transmission of valuable data in the most efficient way possible.”

“So you hacked me.”

“Hacked, sir?”

Magnus knew that if Cyril was here right now, the kid would make some smart-ass comment about code slicers ruling the galaxy. And he’d be right too. Damn brainiacs. “Never mind, Azie.” Magnus turned to Awen. “Seems we have a few possibilities to check out, but yours is top on the list.”

“Sounds good,” Awen said with a smile. “Lead the way.”

* * *

After exploring the two secondary options, Magnus and Awen ended back at the first site, the hill behind the northern end of the hexagon. It offered a good view of the ruined city as well as the oceans far below. The island’s triangular shape rose sharply out of the sea, some of its sides being sheer cliff faces instead of steep slopes. So high was their observation post that they could even see other islands on the horizon, appearing as hazy bumps in the humid air.

Magnus and Awen explored what they decided would be their new base camp, wading through knee-high grasses and stepping along ruined walls. The air would have been painfully hot were it not for the constant breeze rising up from the ocean. Magnus wondered if the climate was always this comfortable.

“I feel like this was some sort of spiritual center.” Awen was speaking off comms, calling over her shoulder at him from inside one of the main building’s doorways.

“Yeah? Why’s that?”

“It feels very austere. And the rooms are spacious with high windows.”

Magnus leaped down from a boulder he’d climbed and walked across what he thought was the town’s square. He joined her in a doorway that led to an open room. It could hold maybe thirty or forty people and seemed to have evenly spaced windows in—yet again—a hexagon pattern.

Awen walked over to one of the walls and pulled some vines from the surface. She was curious—that was for sure. Magnus wanted to warn her that the vines might be poisonous or carnivorous, but she’d acted too quickly. Where he was cautious and strategic, she seemed more intuitive and adventurous. Just the type to get herself killed on an op.

“Look,” she said, pointing to marking on the walls. “It’s some sort of decorative script.”

“Looks like squirrel scratch to me.”

“No, no, it’s not.” She moved to another wall and pulled the vines away. He was sure she would have to visit sick bay before the day was out. “Look, it’s too detailed to be meaningless. It’s saying something.”

“Whatever you say, Luma.”

Awen turned on him with a look in her eyes reminiscent of a boot-camp drill instructor. “Don’t call me that, please.”

Magnus froze. Splick, now what’d you do, Adonis? “What’d I say?”

“Don’t call me Luma.”

“But… isn’t that—”

“No, it’s not what I am. Not anymore at least. And maybe not ever again.” She returned to the wall and let the vines fall back into place. “Just don’t call me that anymore.”

“Copy.”

Awen walked to the far side of the room. There was a wide window about chest height that looked over the north coast. She rested her elbows on it and stared at the ocean, the waves shimmering in the purplish-white sunlight all the way to the horizon.

Say something, Adonis. Magnus walked through bits of stone and clumps of grass to stand beside Awen, mindful of how still she was. He’d never been one to think he understood the opposite sex. Hell, all of his relationships had ended pretty badly. Especially his marriage to Dani. He never knew what to say to her or how much to tell her. But in this particular moment—here with Awen—he actually felt that he knew what to say, like he knew what she was going through.

“I’m not a Marine anymore,” he said, his voice just above a whisper, almost lost in the sound of the wind.

Awen turned to face him. “What’d you say?”

Magnus cleared his throat. “I’m not a Marine anymore.”

“That’s a little melodramatic, isn’t it? At least, it’s presumptuous. You’ll get your name cleared. We’ll figure all this out.”

“No,” Magnus said, shaking his head. “It’s not even about that.” He tapped a finger just beside his right eye. “These… they’re not real anymore.”

“I… don’t understand.”

“That orbital strike that we survived on Oorajee blinded me. Abimbola had some bioteknia eyes that Valerie gave me. Surgery went well, apparently.”

“So… those aren’t your real eyes anymore?”

He sighed. “Nope.”

“Okay. So you have prosthetic eyes, what’s the big deal?”

“They’re a no-go in the Corps. Too easy to hack. Human biology may be old-fashioned, but it’s pretty hard to take over in battle. Tech like this is cool, but it makes you a liability. I’m out.”

“You’re saying you’ve been discharged?”

“Well, not officially, but… yeah. And even if I could clear my name, there’s no way they’d be interested in moving a finger once they found out I was no longer a viable asset. So, like I said, I’m not a Marine anymore.”

“But don’t you guys have that saying? ‘Once a Marine, always a Marine’?”

Magnus stared at her long enough that Awen eventually looked away. He didn’t mean to make her uncomfortable, but he didn’t have the energy to explain a Marine slogan that tore his heart in two.

Awen played with a few strands of grass that had grown between cracks in the stone sill. “You’re trying to comfort me—is that it? Shared experiences, similar emotions?”

Magnus examined the windowsill. “Something like that. Why? Is it working?”

“No.” Awen hesitated. “Maybe.”

Magnus caught her smiling at the blades of grass. Something about the way her lips curled made him want to… Splick. He felt like he was in tertiary school again. He hadn’t felt anything toward a woman since Dani, then suddenly, Awen shows up on a mission gone sideways, and Valerie appears on a broken-down shuttle in the middle of nowhere. What is the deal?

Magnus was tired. He desperately needed rest. He needed a break from plotting and strategizing and trying to stay ten moves ahead of his enemies. Hell, he wasn’t even sure if he was one move ahead at this point—he hardly knew what his side was doing, let alone what the enemy was up to. Still, coming here felt right. And being with Awen again was…

What is it, Adonis?

Good. It felt good. Like being with an old friend.

Even though you’ve known her for fewer than three weeks?

Combat forged strange bonds. And no matter what happened next, Magnus knew he was connected to Awen in ways he wouldn’t be able to describe. So he wouldn’t try. He would just be in the moment.

“Listen, I get feeling betrayed.” Magnus leaned against the stone ledge, looking out to the ocean. “And I get feeling disenfranchised, like you’ve been left behind or abandoned. Like the thing you joined isn’t what it once was. But you know what’s kept me going?”

Awen shook her head. Magnus thought he saw a tear slide down one side of her face.

“My next mission. This one, I mean. I’ve got a new unit.” He suppressed a chuckle. “Crazy as they are, and diverse as they are, I’m responsible for them now in some strange way. Humans, Jujari, a Miblimbian, a bunch of Marauders, bots, a little girl—”

“And me.” Awen looked at him, fighting back the tears that filled both eyes. “Don’t forget me.”

“Couldn’t if I tried.” He smiled at her as she held the floodwaters back. “When everything goes sideways, Awen, I’ve got you.”

“Thank you,” she mouthed.

The two of them rested against the ledge, watching the light grow long across the water. “We’re something new, you know,” Magnus said. “Something different. I doubt there’s any going back for either of us. So whatever this is, we gotta figure it out together. We make the best of what we have—we make it work. We train who we’ve got, and we get the job done. When it’s all over, if we survive it, then we can worry about putting things back together. But until then, we do this. We become who we need to be right now, and we stick together. That’s how we endure, that’s how we fight, that’s how we win.”

Awen didn’t say anything, but Magnus noticed her nodding out of the corner of his eye. His monologue had drained whatever energy reserves he had left. He felt spent. The loss of identity, the several near-death experiences, the energy needed to formulate a plan—it had all caught up with him.

Finally, Magnus lowered his head, feeling his body’s weight slump between his shoulders. Just as he did that, he felt Awen lean against him. Then her head rested on his shoulder armor. He thought that if he moved a muscle, she might jerk away, startled like some shy woodland creature. So he didn’t. He wanted the moment to last, fearing it might never happen again.

20

Nearly two days had passed before Piper was allowed to take the shuttle down to Nieth Tearness. She’d begged her mother to let her go at least a hundred times, but no matter how much she pleaded, Valerie didn’t budge. So Piper took to badgering TO-96 and Azelon instead. At least they didn’t ignore her but always offered some status update on Magnus and Awen’s progress, complete with pictures and “percentages of completion.”

When TO-96 had finally given the all-clear to Piper, she raced through the starship to find her mother. Valerie was in sick bay, as she always was, attending to Sootriman’s recovery. And for the first time, when Piper entered the medical unit, Sootriman was awake. Ezo stood on one side of her while Saasarr stood on the other.

“Well, hello there,” Sootriman said in a smooth voice. “You must be Piper.”

“And you’re Sootriman.” Piper froze, wide-eyed. Sootriman was quite possibly the biggest lady she’d ever seen. Beautiful. Powerful. “You look amazing.”

Sootriman laughed. “Thank you, Piper. You look lovely yourself.”

“Thanks.” Piper extended a hand and walked toward Sootriman. “Pleased to meet you.”

Sootriman reached down from her bed and took Piper’s hand. “And you.”

“You’ve been asleep for a while. Are you feeling better?”

“I am. Thank you for asking.”

“Everyone seemed very concerned for you and your recovery,” Piper said. “I think you must be very important.”

“No more than others.”

“Then maybe everyone just likes you. I can see why.”

Sootriman placed a hand on her chest and looked across the room at Valerie. “You have quite a wonderful girl here.”

“Thank you,” Valerie said. “Piper is special.”

“No more than others,” Piper replied. The adults laughed at that, but Piper didn’t see why it was funny. She turned to Sootriman. “Are you going to come down with us? To the planet’s surface, I mean? TO-96 and Azelon say Magnus and Awen are ready to have everyone else come down.”

“Magnus?” Sootriman looked at Ezo. “Who’s everyone else?”

“There’s a lot to explain.” Ezo looked at Piper. “We’ll be down once Sootriman is feeling more rested.”

“But she’s been asleep for days. I would be so rested right now if I were her. I’d be sick of resting, I think. It would be time to go outside and do something fun.”

“Okay, dear,” Valerie said, placing her hands on Piper’s shoulders and escorting her toward the door. “Let’s leave Sootriman alone.”

“And head to the surface?”

Valerie turned toward Sootriman.

“Got it covered,” Ezo said then proceeded to thank Valerie for all her help. “You get our little cadet to her new teacher. We’ll be down to join you in a day or two.”

“You’re sure?”

“From what I hear,” Sootriman said, “your care has been amazing. I think he can handle it from here.” She placed a hand on Ezo’s arm. “Just go be with your daughter.”

“Okay. We’ll see you planetside, then.”

“Bye, Sootriman,” Piper said with an emphatic wave. “See you soon!”

* * *

As the shuttle descended toward the landing zone—a small clearing outside the central hexagon—Piper’s heart raced. Base camp looked so exciting! Slate-blue tents with yellow markings were arranged in a pattern to one side of the hexagon, while the other side had several large tents and two open areas with strange-looking furniture in them. Portable light poles were spaced evenly throughout the camp, and Piper even thought she saw a place for a campfire with chairs around it.

Beyond the camp, bordering it on all sides, looked to be the ruins of an old town. The buildings were half hidden by vines and trees and grass, but she could still make out their shapes despite the forest’s attempts to swallow them up. Some buildings stood atop a small knoll to the town’s northern end. These buildings looked the most interesting to Piper. Then, several hundred meters past the edge of town, in all directions, the island dropped away toward the ocean far below. She couldn’t wait to explore this place! It looked so magical.

“Prepare for contact,” Nolan said from his seat behind the shuttle’s controls. “In three… two… one…”

Piper felt the shuttle lurch as it landed in the field beneath them.

“Touchdown,” Nolan said.

Piper clapped her hands then squeezed Talisman. She slid down the ladder into the cargo bay and ran toward the ramp. Her boots tapped out a rhythm as she waited for Dutch to open the door.

“I wonder if someone’s excited,” Dutch said.

“I am, Miss Dutch, I really am!”

“Huh. That’s funny, because I really couldn’t tell.” Dutch smiled and pressed a large button on the hull’s side. A mechanism whined as a slit of light appeared near the ceiling then grew wider with each second that passed.

“Piper, wait for me,” her mother said. Piper glanced back at Valerie but only for a second—she was compelled to catch her first glimpse of this new world. She couldn’t miss a thing.

The tops of distant trees appeared, then the outline of some buildings, and then people’s heads. She saw Awen and Magnus and the rest of the Marines and Marauders who’d come down to help set up.

“Hello!” Piper said. Before the ramp was even all the way extended, she was bounding toward Awen.

“Piper,” her mother yelled.

“It’s okay,” Awen said, laughing as Piper approached her. At the last second, the ramp hit the ground and caused Piper to stumble. She would have hit the metal floor had Awen not scooped her up. “Gotcha.”

“Piper, you have to be more careful!” Valerie said as she trotted out of the shuttle.

“Thanks, Miss Awen,” Piper said, grinning at the Luma.

“No problem. But listen to your mother, okay?”

“Okay.”

“It’s good to have you both here,” Magnus said. “Can we show you around?”

“Please,” Valerie said. “Lead the way.”

Magnus and Awen took them into the barracks section. This was the first part Piper had noticed when they were landing.

“Each tent can hold four people,” Magnus explained. “They were built for Novia Minoosh, who were bigger than us, so originally, these were two-person tents. For you, however”—Magnus winked at Piper— “we’ve got one just for you and your mom.”

“Thanks, Mr. Lieutenant Magnus, sir!”

“You can just call me Magnus.”

“Okay, Mr. Lieutenant Magnus, sir,” Piper replied with a wide smile.

“That’s gonna be a hard habit to break, I think,” Awen said to him.

Magnus smiled. “Anyway, yours is right here in the center.” He led them toward a blue tent in the middle of the cluster and pulled back the main flap. Piper peered inside to see a very spacious interior complete with two beds, ceiling lights, a storage pod, and a utility pod.

“And what’s that pod?”

“Your own bathroom. It holds a shower and a toilet.”

“That way you don’t have to share with any of the smelly troopers,” Awen added, thumbing in Magnus’s direction.

Piper giggled. “They’re not so bad. As long as they don’t fart.” That comment made everyone laugh. Piper liked when adults laughed.

“Would you like to get settled?” Magnus asked, looking from Piper to Valerie.

“Nope,” Piper said. “We want to see everything.”

“Piper…” her mother scolded. “Maybe it’s best that we—”

“Please, Mama? I really want to see everything.”

“Very well.” Valerie looked at Magnus. “Let’s see everything.”

Magnus winked at Piper and led the way out of the sleeping tents and toward the open areas. “Over here, we have two sparring arenas,” he said, gesturing to large pens made of metal stations and wire. Piper noticed large panels that looked like holo-projectors on top of tall poles. “These are mostly for the troopers, but you might be in here once in a while, too, Piper.”

“What’s sparting?”

“Sparring,” Valerie corrected. “It’s a way of practicing fighting people without actually hurting anyone.”

“Oh. So I’m going to learn how to fight people?”

The adults got quiet. No one seemed to want to answer her. It was weird, like they were confused by her question. But Piper didn’t think her question was confusing at all.

“Yes,” Awen said at last. “You’re going to learn how to fight bad guys.”

“Cool.”

“But not at first.”

“That’s okay. Just as long as I don’t have to wait too long.”

“And over here,” Magnus said, shifting directions and indicating each large tent with the flat of his hand, “we have the mess hall, the shower facility for the rest of us, the armory, and the enclosed combat-simulation environment, or ECSE.”

“What is an ECSE?” Piper asked.

“It’s an acronym for what Magnus just said.” Awen explained what an acronym was. “And one thing you’ll learn about troopers is that they’ll never miss an opportunity to make an acronym out of something.”

“Okay,” Piper said then turned to Magnus. “TYMLMS.”

Magnus glanced at Awen and Valerie then back at Piper. “What’d you say?”

“I said, TYMLMS.”

“I think she made you an acronym,” Awen whispered. Piper nodded.

“And what’s it stand for?” Magnus asked.

“Thank you, Mr. Lieutenant Magnus, sir.”

All the adults laughed again, but Magnus seemed to like it the most. “Nice one, Piper.”

“Thank you.”

“I think she has you figured out there, Magnus,” Awen said.

“Seems she does,” he replied.

“If you don’t mind,” Valerie said, stepping close to Magnus, “the Novia Minoosh… they didn’t have Repub tech for all this, right? I mean, there’s no way they called that big tent an ECSE, did they?”

“No. I gave specs, and then they supplied us with what tech they had on board. As it turned out, they had plenty of ideas on how to improve my designs too. The results are pretty cool”—he winked at Piper— “if you ask me.”

“Can we see? Can we?”

“Of course, Piper. This way.”

Magnus led the group to the last of the large tents, which someone had marked with a temporary sign that read ECSE. He placed his hand on a scanner built into the tent’s sturdy exterior wall, and the gray metal doors slid apart.

“After you,” he said, ushering Piper and Valerie toward the opening.

Piper stepped inside to find herself swallowed by a dark room. Even with the light from outside, the space felt ominous and black. It got even worse, however, when everyone had finished filing in and the doors closed. She let out a small yelp as the blackness enveloped her.

“Computer,” Magnus said, “begin simulation alpha zero one.”

“Acknowledged,” a quiet feminine voice said.

Like a sunrise growing in the morning sky, the air above Piper’s head began to glow. It was subtle at first, almost indiscernible. But within a few moments, soft purple light filled the sky overhead. As it did, Piper could make out the ruined buildings around the hexagon as well as the other tents in the camp. Within a few more seconds, the base camp was as clear as it had been a minute before when they were outside.

“I don’t understand,” Piper said, turning to see Magnus and Awen standing with the rest of the Marines and Marauders. She looked at her mother, who seemed completely enamored with their surroundings. “Where’d the tent go?”

“It feels like it disappeared, doesn’t it?” Magnus said.

Piper nodded.

“But it didn’t. We’re still inside it.”

“I am?”

“Watch.” Magnus pulled a pistol from his hip, one she’d never seen before. It looked very unusual—sleek and white, like something Azelon would use. Magnus pointed it at one of the stone buildings on the edge of the hexagon and pulled the trigger. A dazzling blast of blue light leaped from the gun and struck the building with so much force that it exploded into a shower of stones and fire.

Piper covered her ears and winced. She felt the heat of the explosion wash over her face. Magnus suddenly turned in the opposite direction and fired at the closest large tent—the armory. He squeezed the trigger again, and another blaster bolt tore a hole right through the canopy, leaving a singed orange outline and a trail of smoke.

“Mr. Lieutenant Magnus, sir,” Piper yelled with her ears still covered. “I don’t think you’re treating everything respectfully. Someone’s going to get mad.”

“Normally, you’d be right.” Magnus holstered the gun and helped pull Piper’s hands away from her ears. “But watch this. Computer, reset simulation alpha zero one.”

“Acknowledged.”

To Piper’s utter amazement, the hole in the tent rematerialized as if it had never been there. She turned around to see stones and fire moving backward, like a holo-movie playing in reverse. The fire was sucked into the rocks just as the stones reorganized themselves in their moss-covered form.

“Whoa…”

“Yeah, whoa is right,” Magnus replied.

“Can I try? I want to blow something up!”

Magnus laughed. “Soon enough. But first, Awen has something for you.”

“Like a present?”

“Like a present, yes,” Awen answered. “Come on.”

“Computer,” Magnus said, “end simulation.”

“Acknowledged.”

The light in the sky faded away, as did the rest of base camp, until all that remained was a single pinprick of light that spread across the tent’s entrance.

Awen walked back through the group and headed for the door. She placed her hand on the scanner, and the sections slid apart, revealing base camp just as Piper had seen it moments before.

“Can this project other places too?” Piper asked Magnus as they followed Awen.

“Anything you can imagine.”

“Anything?”

“If you can imagine it, this place can create it.”

“That’s incredible,” Valerie said.

Magnus nodded. “Agreed. It’s the best visual-replication tech I’ve ever seen. Blows anything we have out of the water. And then some.”

“I’d say,” Valerie said. “And… that pistol…”

Piper looked up and saw Magnus give a really big smile. “Yeah… wait until you see the other toys the Novia made.”

Piper’s mom looked happy. Really happy. “I can’t wait,” Valerie said.

21

Once everyone was out of the ESCE, Awen took Piper’s hand and led her to the hexagon’s northern edge. She felt Piper turn and look behind them. Following Awen’s quick instructions, only Valerie came with them—everyone else was disappearing back into the camp.

“Where are we going?” Piper asked.

“To my favorite place on the island,” Awen replied.

“Is it up there? On that hill?”

“It is.”

“And you said there’s a present for me?” Piper hugged the stuffed corgachirp so hard Awen thought the head was going to pop off.

“Yup,” Awen said, squeezing Piper’s hand gently. “It’s pretty special.” She could tell the little girl was excited by how big her eyes were. “Just a little farther.”

Awen led Piper and Valerie down a grass-covered street bordered by several old buildings. The structures loomed overhead like sleeping giants beneath green blankets. The three of them passed empty windows and dilapidated door frames as the street began to slope upward. Awen felt the muscles in her legs strain as the path rose. Piper padded along beside her without any signs of stress, while Valerie’s labored breathing matched Awen’s.

“Are we there yet?” Piper asked.

“Not yet, little one,” Awen replied.

“How much farther?”

“Another hundred meters or so.”

“Okay.”

As the street began to level out, the view opened ahead to the small clearing that Awen and Magnus had discovered a few days before. Awen led Piper under the old gate that separated this space from the rest of the town. As they stepped beneath it, a soothing sensation flooded Awen’s senses. She’d noticed it when they first arrived but had been too overwhelmed from the journey to think much about it…

Who am I kidding? Really, she’d been too preoccupied with being alone with Magnus to think much about anything else. Awen had decided the sensation had just been her emotions playing with her. Only when she returned to the clearing later by herself did she realize there was something strange about the temple’s atomic composition. Something had been done to it in the Unity. When she stepped into her second sight, she saw it—a bed of vibrant orange energy underlying every stone, step, and structure. It held this space like a giant hand palming a collection of gems.

She didn’t know the full purpose of the energy, but one aspect of its presence was that she could slip in and out of the Unity with the mere whisper of a fleeting thought. So effortless was her first attempt to see with her second sight that she startled herself. The idea had barely entered her mind and—just like that—she’d crossed over.

This knoll was a thin place where the veil between the natural realm and the Unity was more like a clear silk curtain than heavy fabric. Instead of trying to shove the barrier aside like a heavy suitcase, Awen simply sighed, and she was over the threshold. Whatever this place had been, the Novia had made sure that those fluent in the Unity would have the easiest time accessing it. That made it sacred, safe, and the best place to train Piper. Awen was beginning to wonder if Azelon had known precisely what she was doing by recommending this planet and not Ithnor Ithelia.

“Look,” Piper yelled.

Before the women could protest, Piper let go of Awen’s finger and bolted toward the center of the clearing. A single short tree stood at an odd angle over two large boulders. The tree’s full branches shadowed the moss-covered rocks, creating a patchwork of purple-hued sunlight against the greenery. Surrounding the tree and the rocks were a shallow bowl and a knee-high stone wall. Awen felt sure this had been a fountain of some kind. The remains of an arch lay in the bowl, as if it had once been a bridge between the clearing and the pedestal where the tree and boulders rested.

Piper climbed over the half wall, raced down and up the bowl, and clambered up the nearest boulder. The poor kid had been cooped up inside starships and hideouts for so long—it probably felt terrific to stretch her legs and play. This was the closest thing to a playground she’d probably seen in weeks—maybe longer.

“Mama! Look at me!” Piper said, dropping Talisman and grabbing hold of a low-lying tree limb. The old bow didn’t so much as shudder under the girl’s small weight.

“Piper!” Valerie yelled, brushing past Awen and racing toward the little girl.

But Piper was oblivious, kicking her legs and giggling. Valerie jumped over the half wall and ran down the smooth basin. And then Awen noticed that Valerie wasn’t running toward Piper so much as she was running toward Talisman, the stuffed corgachirp.

As Valerie neared, the animal tumbled off the boulder, falling farther away from Piper. It landed among some rubble below the boulders and rolled down the far side of the basin. Meanwhile, Piper was pulling herself higher into the tree, legs wrapped around a second branch.

“Piper!” Valerie yelled again, reaching for the corgachirp, though the girl was lost in play, giggling to herself as she climbed. “Piper… Talisman! You dropped him!”

Awen’s heart stopped as Piper’s hand slipped off a branch. The girl realized the mistake a moment too late, unable to recover from the fatal error. A small peal of terror broke the otherwise gentle mood of the clearing as Awen dashed forward. But neither she nor Valerie would be able to save Piper from her fall.

Awen’s heart sank as if she were watching the event in slow motion. She actually thought of entering the Unity and catching the little girl. She could probably do it under different circumstances. But Piper’s small body was careening toward the basin at least five meters below. There wasn’t time.

Valerie screamed, outstretched hand grasping for her daughter, who was too far away.

Mystics, save her!

Piper’s body hit the grass-covered stone bowl with a loud crack. The sound wasn’t what shocked Awen—it was the blast of energy that knocked her off her feet, sent her backward, and slammed her into the ground some six meters toward the gate.

Awen’s head throbbed. She already felt a lump forming on the back of her skull. She opened her eyes to see the purple-blue sky of a new day stretching above her, seabirds riding the ocean winds.

Awen blinked several times and tried to prop herself up, gasping for breath. The fall had knocked the wind out of her. Then she looked across at the tree and the boulders. Some of the moss and grass around Piper’s point of impact had been raked back, as if someone with a garden tool had ripped away weeds. Clods of dirt and chunks of rock lay in all directions for a dozen meters. Awen couldn’t see Piper, but she could see Valerie. Like Awen, the woman was struggling to raise herself on her elbows and blinking toward the basin.

“Piper?” Valerie asked, weakly at first. She repeated her daughter’s name as she got to her knees.

Awen was finally able to stand and started walking and then jogging toward Piper. She feared the worst. Whatever had just happened was the result of her carelessness. She shouldn’t have let Piper climb the tree or allowed the girl to move so far away from her stuffed animal. Mystics, this is all my fault!

“Piper!” Valerie’s voice broke as she scrambled over the stones.

“I’m right here, Mama,” a soft voice said. “I’m okay.”

Relief washed over Awen, so much so that she nearly collapsed. She couldn’t see the little girl, but her voice sounded cheerful. As Awen and Valerie converged on the ancient fountain, Awen noticed a deep recess in the basin. It looked like an impact crater from a meteor strike. Reaching up from inside and clutching at the crumbling edge was a tiny hand.

“Hold on, baby!” Valerie yelled. Blood trickled from the woman’s temple. Valerie looked up at Awen then back at the crater.

The two women lay on their bellies with the arms extended down into the crater. The stone debris dug painfully into Awen’s ribs as she and Valerie reached for Piper, who—strangely enough—looked as if nothing had happened to her. Destruction surrounded her, but Piper was completely unharmed.

“Are you okay?” Valerie asked, grabbing Piper’s right hand while Awen grabbed her left.

“Of course, Mama. I already told you so.”

“I know… it’s just that—”

“I’m okay. Promise.”

Awen helped pull Piper to the surface and fell on her rear end.

“Are you okay, Miss Awen?” Piper asked. “You look like you’re bleeding. You too, Mama.”

Valerie reached up and touched her temple then looked at the blood on her fingertips. “It’s nothing, baby.”

“I hurt you, didn’t I?”

“No, no, no!” From on her knees, Valerie clutched Piper around the waist and held the little girl’s head against her shoulder. “I just hit my head, that’s all. It wasn’t you.”

“That’s not entirely true,” Awen said.

Valerie’s eyes snapped open. She glared at Awen with a look of rage and fear. But Piper’s expression concerned Awen the most. The little girl seemed confused… yet hopeful.

“Awen, please don’t speak,” Valerie said.

“No, Mama. I want to hear her.”

“Baby, no. She doesn’t—”

“What do you mean, Miss Awen?”

“I mean, you did do this.” Awen pointed to the crater. “You did push your mother and me back. You didn’t mean to—we know that. But the powers you have… they’re strong enough to hurt people.”

“Like my daddy.”

“No!” Valerie held a hand at Awen. “Stop! No more of this!”

“Yes, Piper. Like your father.”

“No! It’s too much!” Valerie’s voice shook in fury as hot tears streamed down her cheeks. “Don’t listen to her, baby. She doesn’t know. She wasn’t there.”

“She does know, Mama. And so do I.”

Valerie froze then held Piper away from her to look her in the eye. “What?”

“I know I killed Daddy.”

The sound of a child saying such words was perhaps the worst thing Awen had ever heard. She had no experience to compare it to and hoped to all the mystics she’d never have to listen to it again. The worst part was knowing that the pain tearing through her heart was a fraction of that in Valerie’s. And Piper’s.

“You… what?” Valerie’s eyes darted around as if in terror, and her hands squeezed Piper’s arms as if pumping air bladders. The woman took short breaths, blinking like she might pass out.

Awen was at her side in an instant, holding Valerie upright. “I’ve got you,” Awen said, and Valerie looked at her, but her eyes were glassy and forlorn. “Valerie? Stay with us.”

Valerie’s emotion burst outward as if someone had released the pressure valve on a dam. Her body crumpled, hands still holding Piper’s arms. Deep wails poured from her mouth, racing past bared teeth and lips pulled back in agony. Amid the spasm-riddled pleas that issued from the woman’s tortured soul, the only word Awen could make out was, “Why?”

Tears streamed down Valerie’s beet-red face. She shook, reaching for Awen to help keep her upright. But soon, Valerie was in a fetal position, crumpled on the ground like a child. To Awen’s amazement, Piper wrapped Valerie in a motherly embrace, laying her head on the woman’s back. Awen kept a hand on Valerie, too, gently rubbing her shoulders and head.

The three of them remained hidden in the shade of the tree, Valerie’s sobs mixing with the sounds around them. Birds cried far above, the ocean breeze rustled the leaves, and warm air moved among the boulders and bodies, carrying the sorrow away one beat at a time. Awen couldn’t imagine how much pain Valerie felt. It was bad enough to lose a life mate, but to have it happen at the hands of one’s own child—and then to hear that child accept responsibility—must have been… devastating didn’t begin to describe it.

Awen wasn’t sure how long they huddled there before Valerie stopped weeping. The sun had crept across the sky, beginning its sweep of the afternoon. When at last the woman sat up, Piper was right there, eager to embrace her and brush away her tears with her small hands. Awen, too, wanted to console the woman, who looked longingly into both her and Piper’s eyes.

“Thank you,” Valerie said barely above a whisper. She turned to Piper. “I’m so sorry you’ve had to live through this, my love.”

“It’s okay, Mama.”

“No, it’s not. Your father and I wanted a normal life for you. One far away from…”

“From my powers?” Piper asked. But Valerie said nothing.

At once, Awen understood the problem. Admitting that the Stones wanted to keep Piper from her powers would inadvertently cast the little girl and her abilities in a negative light, while not doing so would just avoid the truth, which was ethically wrong.

Amazingly, it was Piper who resolved the situation. “I know I’m not like everyone else,” she said, looking her mother square in the face. “I’ve always known, I think. I thought everyone had what I had. But when I realized that you and Daddy were doing things to hide me or keep me from learning more about what made me the way I was, I realized I was different. It was everyone else who was normal.”

“Piper, that’s not—”

“But I liked being different, Mama. I knew there must be a reason I was the way I was. I was just hoping that… I don’t know…”

“What, baby?”

“That you’d—you know—explain it to me one day.”

Fresh tears welled up in Valerie’s swollen, bloodshot eyes. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, grabbing Piper behind the head and pulling their foreheads together. “I never meant for it to be like this.”

“I know, Mama. I know.”

“I’m so sorry…”

“It’s okay. We can’t fix what’s broken. But we can clean it up and make something new.”

Valerie let out a small laugh. Awen guessed the words were a common saying, maybe one Valerie had used more than once.

“Yes, we can,” Valerie replied, pulling away and wiping her cheeks.

“That’s why the universe has brought me Awen, I think,” Piper added. “To teach me. If Grandma can’t be here…” Piper turned to Awen, a broad smile spreading across her face. “Then Awen can fill in.”

A surge of pride flooded Awen’s chest. She highly doubted she’d ever be the woman that Willowood was, but to be compared to her, especially by this marvelous child, was an honor beyond measure. “I’ll certainly try,” Awen said. “I will do my best—I promise you that. Both of you.”

Valerie took Awen’s hand. “Thank you, Awen.”

“It’s an honor, Valerie.”

Valerie squeezed Awen’s hand, rolled her lips inward as if to fight back another wave of emotion, and then rubbed her cheek against her shoulder.

“We’re gonna get through this,” Awen said. “Together. Piper, you, and me. We have a job to do. We’re gonna answer some of those questions the galaxy is asking of us. And the ones we can’t solve? They’ll work themselves out. We just need to keep moving forward one step at a time.”

“Sounds good to me,” Piper said. “And, Mama?”

“Yes, love?”

“No more secrets, okay?”

Valerie let out something between a laugh and a yelp—joy and sorrow all wrapped in one. “No more secrets.” Awen stood up and gave the two of them some space while they embraced.

When they finally pulled apart, Piper said, “So, do I get my surprise now?”

Awen smiled, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “You bet, Piper. It’s in there.” Awen pointed toward the main building that she and Magnus had found two days prior. Azelon had said the building was a temple for an ancient sect of Novia committed to purposes not unlike Awen’s. “Let’s go check it out.”

22

Piper took Awen’s hand, setting off for the largest building on the far side of the plaza. Valerie reached down and took Piper’s other hand as they neared the entrance. Piper didn’t know what to expect, but her heart raced with anticipation. Whatever Awen had prepared for her, Piper was sure it was beautiful.

Piper tilted her head as the three of them crossed the threshold, straining to look up at the ceiling. The building’s interior was stained black and covered in beautiful gold lines. The markings formed designs that stretched across the walls, ceiling, and pillars. Piper noticed spiraling circles, crisscrossing X patterns, and waves that almost looked like they were flowing across the walls. Inside each shape, Piper saw small letters in some sort of language that she couldn’t understand. Narrow windows were evenly spaced between columns, and a wider one on the far side of the room looked out on the ocean that stretched to the horizon.

But for all the room’s beauty, what made Piper freeze in place was the thing that sat in the middle of it—some sort of body suit draped across a stone slab. It was made of smooth white body panels held together with blue fabric underneath. Translucent tubelike channels ran around the joints and formed a round outline in the center of the chest as well as a circle in the front of the pelvis. Next to it sat a helmet made of the same white material, complete with a darkened visor.

“What… what is that?” Piper asked, releasing the women’s hands. The suit looked like it was exactly her size. “Is it for me?”

“It is. But first…” Awen knelt and touched the stuffed animal in Piper’s hand.

“What’re you doing?”

“May I have him?”

“You want Talisman?” Piper pulled the stuffed corgachirp to her chest. She’d had the animal since… forever. Her mother had told her to never let Talisman out of her sight. Ever. So the creature had been her constant companion, going everywhere she went, even to the bathroom. Kids in school had laughed at her for it. Some had even taken Talisman away and played catch with him. That was when Piper had first noticed that she was powerful—dangerous even. She hadn’t meant to shock them. But she had. They’d dropped Talisman and stepped away from Piper, calling her all sorts of bad names.

“I don’t want to keep him,” Awen said. “I just want your mom to watch over him. So you can look at your present.”

“But what about…?” Piper looked to her mother. “What about how he protects me? I don’t need him?”

Valerie smiled and shook her head ever so slightly.

“The truth is,” Awen said, turning Talisman around to look in his eyes, “we always need a good friend. And I think Talisman has been an excellent friend to you, don’t you?”

Piper nodded.

“But you won’t need him in the way you once did. Not anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

Awen handed Talisman to Valerie and gestured toward the suit on the stone slab. Piper felt a gentle nudge forward. “Go ahead,” Awen said. “Check it out.”

Piper walked to the stone slab as if approaching something holy. The suit looked absolutely amazing. She reached a hand out towards it but froze.

“You sure it’s really for me?” Piper asked, looking over her shoulder. “I won’t get in trouble if I touch it?”

“No,” Awen said with a chuckle. “You won’t get in trouble.”

Maybe Awen didn’t know her mother very well. Piper looked at Valerie just to be sure it was okay. When her mother nodded, Piper turned back to the suit and touched the smooth plates. They weren’t cold, and they weren’t warm either. But they seemed strong, made of some sort of plastic or metal—Piper couldn’t be sure. As for the fabric, it was woven together, made of interlaced materials that felt very tough. Piper grabbed the suit and picked it up. It was light and smelled brand new.

“It’s the coolest,” she said. “It’s the coolest thing I’ve ever seen. But what’s it for?”

“This is your Novia Unity suit.” Awen walked around the stone slab and picked up the helmet. “It’s something Azelon and I came up with.”

“A Unity power suit? You designed it?”

Awen nodded. “Yup. And it’s going to help you harness all of that energy that’s flowing inside of you.”

Piper suddenly felt embarrassed. She lowered the suit, rubbing the fabric.

“What’s wrong, baby?” Valerie asked.

“You mean… this suit will help me not to hurt anyone?”

Awen cleared her throat. “That’s right, Piper. This suit is designed to help you control everything inside you. Talisman, here, helped suppress your powers. But this suit will help you manage them. To use them in amazing ways.”

“So I can use them for good?”

“Exactly.”

“And you’re going to teach me how?” Piper asked.

“I am going to do my very best, yes.”

Piper examined the suit, holding it reverently between her hands. It was beautiful—a truly magnificent gift—and probably very expensive. Even though her parents were wealthy, they always made a point of making sure Piper was appreciative of even the smallest gift. Gratitude, they’d always said, was the archenemy of bad attitudes. But Piper had no problem feeling appreciative about this present. It made her feel so important that she almost cried at how incredible it felt. A real-life Luma emissary and an alien robot from another universe had made it just for her.

“Thank you,” Piper whispered. She felt warm tears fill her eyes. “I love it.” The surge of emotion flooded her chest and then moved down her arms, past her hands, and into the suit. As if someone had flipped a power switch, the translucent channels in the suit illuminated with a vibrant blue glow.

“What’s happening?” Piper held the suit up, ready to let go if it caught on fire or something.

“It’s normal.” Awen knelt next to Piper again and touched the suit’s chest. “You see here?”

Piper nodded, jaw open.

“That’s the Unity link. It illuminates when it feels a strong connection with a user. That’s you. And all these”—she pointed to various glowing lines around the joints and along the limbs—“are the channel battens. They help spread your energy out, allowing you to harness it—to use it—in wonderful ways.”

“So… I’m doing this?”

Awen smiled. “You sure are, Piper. You sure are.”

“But I didn’t do anything.”

“You don’t have to. You are special just by being you.”

“Okay. Can I try it on?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

* * *

Awen had left the room, saying she’d be back in a few minutes. In the meantime, Valerie helped Piper into her new Unity power suit once her regular clothes were off and lying folded on the stone slab. The suit fit like it had been tailor-made for her body. It was like wearing a second skin, and it felt amazing.

“How do I look?” Piper asked her mother.

“Like a star,” Valerie replied.

“You really think so, Mama?” Piper turned from side to side, looking at her torso, legs, and arms. The channel battens glowed the same as before, while the Unity link on her chest and the glowing circle at her waist cast the room in a soft blue hue.

“Yes, I really think so, my love,” Valerie replied. “You are absolutely radiant.”

“Looking good,” said a voice from the entrance.

Piper spun around to see Awen standing in the doorway… in her own Unity power suit. For once, Piper couldn’t think of what to say. Awen’s suit resembled Piper’s in almost every way, only it was bigger. That, and the helmet Awen held in one arm made room for her pointy Elonian ears. Awen made the glowing skin tight suit look really impressive.

“You are… I mean, you look magnificent!”

“Thanks, Piper.” Awen had her hands on her hips and leaned to one side. “You look pretty magnificent yourself.”

“Yeah, but not like you.”

“You’ll get there,” Valerie said softly. “Someday soon. But…” Valerie eyed Awen from head to toe. “You do look sensational, Awen.”

Awen’s face turned a little red. “Thanks,” she said, looking away. Then she caught Piper’s eye. “Why don’t we give these things a try? What do you say?”

Piper’s heart leaped. She couldn’t wait to see what this suit allowed her to do. “Can I, Mama? Please, can I?”

“Of course, my love.” Valerie looked at Awen. “Shall I leave you two alone?”

“That would be best, yes.”

“Sounds good.” Valerie took a knee beside Piper and held up Talisman. “I’m going to take him with me, okay? He’ll be waiting for you back in the tent.”

Piper didn’t want to let Talisman go. But she did want to know how this fantastic suit worked, and she knew she couldn’t do that if she kept her corgachirp. “I’ll see you back in the tent.” She touched Talisman’s nose as she always did. Then she looked at her mother. “And I’ll see you then too.” Piper touched her mother’s nose too and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, Mama,” she said in her ear.

“You’re welcome. But you have more people to thank than just me.”

“I know. But you’re first.”

Valerie held her in a long embrace. Piper felt her mother’s hair sweep across her face. She loved the smell of it. She wanted to be like her mother in every way. But now she also wanted to be like Awen. Piper suddenly wondered if Awen’s hair smelled this good.

“Have fun, baby.”

“I will, Mama.”

* * *

Piper sat on one of the two boulders under the tree in the middle of the plaza. Her legs were crossed in front of her while her helmet sat a meter below on the ground near the tree trunk. Awen sat on one of the other boulders, legs crossed and hands on her knees, palms up. Piper copied Awen’s hand posture and tried to sit up as straight as she could.

“This is your first lesson,” Awen said.

“Cool.”

“Shhh.”

“Sorry.”

“When I am speaking, you are not,” Awen said.

“Okay.”

“Shhh.”

Piper wanted to apologize but thought Awen might get upset.

“When I want you to speak, I will ask you a direct question or give you a command. If you understand, just nod.”

Piper nodded quickly.

“If you have a question, you may raise one finger, like this.” Awen lifted her right index finger. “Do you understand?”

Piper nodded.

“Good. Now, your most important job is observation. Do you understand what the word observation means?”

Piper froze. Her eyes darted left and right. She wanted to speak but wasn’t sure if that was allowed. Finally, feeling as though she might burst, she asked, “That was a question, right?”

“It was. You may answer.”

“Observations are things I make with my eyes and ears and stuff.”

“Correct. But you have more than just your five senses. Do you know what your five senses are?”

“That’s a question I can answer?”

“Yes.” Awen smiled. “These are all questions you can answer.”

“Okay, good. My five senses are sight, sound, smell, taste, and touch.”

“Very good. But you have five more.”

“Five more?”

“Shhh.”

Piper pulled her lips into her mouth.

“In the Unity, your senses work the same way, giving you another five. But in the Unity, you will feel things more dramatically than you do in the natural realm. Things will seem more vibrant. Sounds are clearer, smells are more distinct, and you can see farther than you’ve ever imagined.”

Piper couldn’t wait to go inside the Unity. It sounded even more amazing than real life.

“Are you ready?”

Piper nodded a lot.

“From this point forward, I offer myself to you as your faithful guide. If you accept, I will serve you, lead you, teach you, and equip you to the best of my abilities. Where I fail you, I ask for your forgiveness, and where I disappoint you, I ask for your understanding. I will always seek to honor your interests above my own and meet your needs as I am able.

“I will ever be at your disposal, and—should the opportunity present itself—I will freely offer my life in defense of yours. My firm hope is that you will take what you can from me and advance further and faster than I could ever hope to. I pledge you everything I have without jealousy in your success or envy of your reputation. This is my solemn oath to you if you accept me as your teacher.”

Piper blinked. She had never heard anything so convincing in her whole life. Did Awen practice saying this? Maybe this was a Luma thing—she wasn’t sure. All Piper knew was that Awen’s speech was really important and that she was supposed to say something in reply. But it needed to sound equally important.

Piper took a deep breath then said, “I will always hope and try to listen to you and do the best in all the things that you tell me about honor… and observation with important things. And I won’t disappoint you. I mean, but I probably will, so I can’t promise that. But I don’t mean to, honest. And to serve you and use my inside voice and my listening skills. And I’ll try not to get upset. But sometimes I get overtired and hungry. And more things like that. And faster and far. And I want your success too. That’s my oath.”

To Piper’s relief, Awen seemed really happy. It looked like she was trying not to laugh. Piper had tried to be sincere. Maybe she’d made a mistake with her speech.

“Did I say something wrong?”

Awen shook her head, holding a fist to her mouth and making a funny face. “No, Piper. It was perfect.”

“Oh, okay. Good.”

“So you’ll be my student?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Then, from now on, you will call me teacher.”

“Okay, teacher Awen.”

“Shhh.”

Piper’s eyes got wide. This is hard work!

“And I will call you student.”

Piper nodded.

“Now, take my hands.”

Piper reached across the gap between the boulders and took Awen’s hands.

“Ready?” Awen asked.

“Uh-huh.”

“Good. Here we go.”

23

The thing that caught Awen off guard the most was just how much she was coming to love this little girl. Piper was unlike any other child Awen had ever met. She was sincere yet playful. Powerful yet naive. Precocious yet fragile. And above all, the child was endearing. Her return pledge of fidelity had been too sweet for words. It was hard not to adore her.

The suit seemed to be working as intended. Awen hadn’t even taken Piper into the Unity yet, and already, the girl’s suit was glowing. That was unexpected. Awen thought the suit would only glow when Piper had learned to maintain a link with the Unity while still being conscious in the natural realm. At least, that was what Azelon had assured her. Instead, the suit had powered on moments after the little girl had touched it. Apparently, Piper was more powerful than Awen had guessed.

As they held hands across the boulders and prepared to begin, Awen took a deep breath, remembering the first time she’d made the leap into her second sight. The serendipity of Awen doing with Piper what Piper’s grandmother had done with Awen was not lost on her. But despite the joy of the moment, Awen wished Willowood was here instead of her. Shouldn’t she be taking her own granddaughter into the Luma legacy?

She had almost decided against the whole endeavor, but Valerie had changed her mind. Awen had gone up to the Spire and was continuing power-suit preparations, two days prior, when Valerie caught her in a corridor outside the engineering research lab.

“I need you to do this,” Valerie said.

“Whoa. Hello, Valerie,” Awen said in surprise. “You need me to do what?”

“To train Piper. I need you to train her like you’re planning to do.” She paused. “I know about the suits too.”

“You do?” Awen said. How did she know?

“Yeah, Azelon told me. Listen…” Valerie stepped closer to Awen. “I’m sorry about earlier.”

“Earlier?”

“You know, when we were all talking, when you came up with the plan. I was…” Valerie touched her temple, seeming to search for the right words. “I was upset that you and my mother had… that you both were…”

“That she was my teacher?”

Valerie nodded. “Yeah.”

“And that she’s not here now to train Piper herself?”

“That too.”

“Honestly, Valerie, I get why you’re upset, but neither of those things is in your control.”

“I know. And that’s why I’m apologizing. Mom was lucky to have an apprentice like you. And you are lucky to have a student like Piper. I get it. But that’s not everything. It’s just…” Valerie let out a long sigh.

Awen thought of interrupting her but felt like she’d already been a little too direct. Valerie needed the time to explain herself, so Awen let her search for the right words even though it was taking a while.

“It’s just that I always wanted to be a Luma too,” Valerie confessed at last. “To protect the galaxy from injustice. To fight in some sort spectacular battle against the dark Unity users—even though I know those were just bedtime stories. But I think that mostly, I just wanted to have the connection to my mother.”

That was not what Awen was expecting to hear. She tilted her head. “So why didn’t you?”

Did Valerie and her mother have a fight? Maybe they’d had a difference of opinion over a career path, much as Awen had with her own parents. Or maybe…

“Wait a second,” Awen said, piecing the story together on her own. “Do you mean to tell me that you didn’t inherit any of your mother’s blood abilities?”

Valerie shook her head. For some reason‚ in that fleeting moment of brutal honesty, Awen thought Valerie looked like a small child. Like Piper.

“I inherited my dad’s blood,” Valerie said softly.

“You didn’t get anything at all?”

Valerie shook her head, a despondent and distant look in her eyes.

Awen couldn’t believe it. Willowood was one of the most potent Luma she’d ever known—one of the most powerful elders in the council. The very idea that her daughter wouldn’t inherit any true-blood abilities was… well, it was possible, admittedly, but highly improbable. Even more shocking was the fact that the latent powers in Valerie’s line expressed themselves so demonstratively in her daughter. Perhaps in jumping a generation, Piper’s abilities had been magnified.

Awen suddenly felt her jealousy of Valerie begin to fade. Where before she’d been envious of the woman’s beauty, status, and—if she was being honest—attention from Magnus, she felt those triggers begging to lessen. They didn’t disappear entirely, of course. But it seemed that Valerie had wanted to be a Luma—that she’d dreamed of it—and the fact that she couldn’t gave Awen something that Valerie would never have. Surely, if Willowood had been Awen’s birth mother, she’d want to be a Luma too. Mystics, Willowood was like a surrogate mother for Awen, and she still wanted to be like her—a Luma of high regard. But without any true-blood traces in Valerie’s DNA, there was no hope of her ever being selected for observances no matter how well respected her mother was. There was no cheating biology.

“I’m so sorry, Valerie.”

“Don’t be. I’ve had a good life—lived my own adventures, made my own way in the galaxy. Now it seems Piper got what I didn’t, and I need you to do for her what my mother can’t… and what I can’t.”

“I will do my best.” Awen placed a hand on Valerie’s shoulder. “I promise.”

“I know. And she’s counting on you whether she knows it or not. She needs you.”

“And we need her.”

Valerie nodded, staring off into the distance again. “Yeah. We do.”

* * *

The first thing that Awen noticed when she pulled Piper into the Unity was just how bright the child was. So bright, in fact, that Awen had to raise a barrier between them. Piper wouldn’t be able to see it—at least Awen didn’t think she would—but it would bring some relief to Awen’s second sight.

“Can you hear me?” Awen asked.

“Yup,” Piper replied. “I can totally hear you! Wow, this place is totally awesome!”

“You don’t need to shout, Piper.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay. And yes, it is totally awesome, but I need you to do your best to abide by the rules. Only talk when I ask you something or give you a command. Understand?”

“I understand. Sorry, teacher Awen.”

“Just teacher.”

“Sorry, teacher.”

“It’s okay. Now, I want you to tell me what you see.”

“I see you. You’re glowing. Your eyes look amazing.”

“What else do you see? Look around.”

Piper blinked, and her eyes settled on the two boulders. “I see the rocks we’re sitting on.”

“Good. What do you notice about them?”

“It’s like… they’re vibrating, maybe?”

“Very good. That’s exactly right.”

“I think they’re moving together. At the same time. Maybe like a song or something. Sysnser… sysnsergist… gistic…”

“Synergistic.”

Piper repeated the word.

“It is. Well done,” Awen said. Piper was more perceptive than she’d expected. Already, the girl was able to notice the synergy in matter. Exceptional, Awen thought.

“You can see them, but can you also hear them?”

“Yes.” Piper nodded.

Then the girl did something that caught Awen entirely off guard. Piper reached down and touched the boulder beneath her. As soon as she did so, the rock’s vibrations changed. Instead of moving in the same pattern as Awen’s boulder, Piper’s rock began to move in harmony. The two rocks started producing complementary notes. She was altering the boulder’s frequency! And it sounded beautiful.

“Piper, what are you doing?”

“I’m sorry.” As soon as Piper pulled her hand into her lap, the boulder shuddered and snapped back to its previous state.

“What did you just do?”

“I’m so sorry, teacher. I didn’t mean to—”

“No, no.” Awen waved her off. “It’s okay. But… how did you do that? I mean, how did you know how to do that?”

Piper shrugged. “I’m not sure. I just wanted them to sing together but not the same note. Sometimes that’s boring.”

“Yes,” Awen said with a chuckle, “sometimes it is boring. So, what did you think about them?”

“I don’t know. I guess I just pictured them. In my head maybe? Or in my heart? Then I saw the note I wanted my rock to sing instead of the one it was singing.”

“So you touched it.”

“Uh-huh. And I asked it to sing my note instead.”

“Amazing,” Awen whispered to herself.

“Would you like me to do it again?”

“Only speak when I ask you, remember?”

“Oops.” Piper covered her mouth with her hand.

Awen knew she should take Piper out of the Unity and let her rest and talk about what she’d just experienced. But Awen had never seen someone do what Piper had done—not during the first time on the other side of the veil. Piper didn’t look tired. She could handle more—Awen just knew it.

“What else can you see, Piper?”

The girl looked at the tree beside them and followed it skyward. “I see the tree.”

“And can you see its branches?”

“Yes.”

“How about its leaves?” Awen asked.

“Uh-huh.”

“And what about the flowers between the leaves?”

Piper didn’t say anything right away. Awen looked to where the girl was staring. She seemed fixated on a particular branch and a specific flower. This was good.

“Piper? Can you see a flower?”

“Yes, teacher.”

“What does it smell like?”

“It smells like… paladial lavender.”

“Good.”

All of a sudden, Awen’s head filled with the smell of paladial lavender. In fact, it was so strong that she could taste it. Awen jerked at the overpowering scent. She hadn’t been focused on the flowers overhead—she’d been focused on what Piper was experiencing. But somehow, Piper had brought the smell down to her. In fact, Piper had summoned the scent from all the flowers.

The energy swirled around the boulders and weaved between Piper and Awen in a fine pink mist. More amazingly, the flowers continued to produce their ethereal scent long after they should have. Something like a blossom had only so much pollen in it. But what Piper was doing—at least so far as Awen could figure out—was causing the flowers to produce more and more energy, as if she was summoning them beyond their capacity.

“Piper… what are you doing?”

“They smell so lovely, don’t they?”

“Yes, they do. However, you must answer my question.”

“Oh, I just wanted to smell them more.”

“So you made them create more scent?” Awen asked.

“Oh, no. I asked them if I could have more. Mama says I like smells maybe a little too much.”

Again, Piper was doing things that only advanced students were able to do. Awen was beside herself. How is this possible?

“How are you feeling, Piper?”

“Fine, teacher.”

“You’re not… tired or anything?”

“Tired?” Piper giggled. “Of course not.”

Awen raised her eyebrows. Such feats would have drained the resources of any first-year student on Worru. They really needed to go back into the natural realm again. Right, Awen? But the girl seemed like she was just getting started, and her powers were… outstanding!

“Would you like to keep exploring?” Awen asked her.

“Yes, please!”

“I want you to close your second sight.”

“And open my natural eyes?”

“No. I don’t want you to see anything.”

“Ah, I understand.” Piper shut her eyes so that wrinkles formed across the bridge of her nose. “Ready.”

“What can you feel?”

“Feel?”

“Yes. Against your body here in the Unity. Anything?”

Piper paused, turning her head. “The air. It’s warm.”

“Good.”

“And it’s coming from over there—” She pointed to the southwest.

“Yes, very good.”

“And I can feel…”

“Go on,” Awen said.

“I can feel layers… many layers.”

This was good. Since all atmospheres were made up of molecular layers, each pressing against the next, Piper’s ability to sense such a composition meant that—

“There are so many, teacher… too many.”

“Too many?”

“I can feel them all.” Anxiety was beginning to rise in Piper’s voice.

“All?” Awen asked.

“I feel—I feel all the layers.”

This concerned Awen. Piper shouldn’t be feeling all the layers of the atmosphere, just those immediately around her. “You mean, just the air around you.”

“No,” Piper said, her voice frantic. “From far away. From… everywhere.”

“I just want you focused on the layers around you, Piper. Where are you going?”

Awen noticed the Unity link in Piper’s chest beginning to glow more brightly. The battens also absorbed more energy, working to dissipate the buildup. If Piper was really feeling all of the molecular energy of the atmosphere, that was not good. It would overload her senses… and her brain.

“Go ahead and open your eyes, Piper.”

“I can feel the vibrations…”

“Piper.”

“From the other side of the planet…”

“Piper, open your eyes!”

The girl squeezed Awen’s hands until it was painful. “But it’s too much. I can’t… I don’t know where to look. I… I…”

“Piper! Open your eyes now!”

“Oh, Miss Awen! I feel so lost!”

That’s it, Awen told herself. At once, she let go of Piper’s hands and severed their connection to the Unity. Piper gasped, clutching the boulder beneath her. Awen steadied the girl’s shoulders.

“Look at me,” Awen demanded.

Piper was delirious, her eyes flicking around in all directions. She was crying but without tears or sound.

Awen slid over onto Piper’s boulder and put her arms around the girl. “I’ve got you, Piper. I’ve got you.”

Piper inhaled in ragged gasps, sucking air as if she’d just surfaced from too long a time underwater.

“I’ve got you. Breathe. Just breathe.”

When Piper finally did make a sound, it was the wail of a small child who’d just broken something in her body. Awen cringed, flooded with a sense of guilt so deep it threatened to make her cry too. And cry she did.

The exercise had been too much for Piper. Awen should have stopped the lesson after the boulders. But she wanted to see what else the girl was capable of. She’d been selfish. They were not one lesson in, and already, Awen had hurt her student.

“I’m so sorry, Piper.” Awen gently rocked the girl. “I’m so, so sorry. I will never do that again. I won’t let that harm come to you like that again,” she said, though deep inside, Awen felt she was making a promise she couldn’t keep.

But Piper’s abilities weren’t the only thing in play here. Awen felt as if this island—this temple—wanted Piper to explore her powers and was calling her. Awen couldn’t be sure, but something had aided Piper. In fact, now that she thought about it, Piper’s suit should have kept an overload like that from happening—that was the whole reason for the power suit that Awen and Azelon had designed.

Azelon. Awen needed to speak with Azelon right away. Something was going on here that needed explaining. She felt it in her bones. Before Awen took Piper back into the Unity, she needed to know what Azelon was not telling her. She needed to know everything.

But until then, she had a soul to console. So she sat on the boulder, weeping with Piper into the late afternoon. She watched the sun sink slowly toward the horizon while the seabirds called out high overhead. It wasn’t until after dark that Awen carried a sleeping Piper back to her tent and explained everything to her mother. When she was through, Awen roused Nolan from his sleep and ordered him to take her back to the Spire. She had a robot to interrogate.

24

“What in all the mystics happened down there?” Awen demanded.

Azelon stood on the bridge as if Awen had asked her about the weather forecast or how to reach the nearest bathroom on the ship. “Could you please provide additional information?”

“No,” Awen shouted. “You know exactly what I’m talking about, and your sensors monitored the whole thing!” She knew she was letting her emotions get the best of her. But this AI knew more than she was letting on. “I thought you said the power suits we designed would keep Piper from hurting herself, and she almost lost her mind!”

“I do believe that Awen is upset with you, Azelon,” TO-96 offered.

“Upset?” Awen asked, striding up to the nav bot. “Oh, this is not upset. This is way past upset, Ninety-Six. This is I’m going to feed your body to the incinerator and rip your motherboard out of the ship. You read me?”

“Loud and clear, Awen.” TO-96 turned to Azelon. “I do believe you are what humanoids call in trouble.”

Azelon looked between TO-96 and Awen several times before asking Awen, “How may I be of assistance?”

“For starters, I want to know everything there is to know about whatever is going on in the Unity on that island.”

“I’m afraid that such a task may exceed your life span, Awen.”

“Then expedite the process with the most pertinent data.”

“Acknowledged. The island of Ni No was an early settlement of the protectorate sect, the one ordained by the Novia Minoosh’s core council to both shield the Novia populace and attack those who might do them harm.”

“You already told me all that. I want to know how they did what they did, Azelon.”

“With regard to…?”

“With regard to their powers in the Unity.”

“Acknowledged. Thank you for clarifying. Each member of the Gladio Umbra—”

“The what?” Awen asked.

“The Gladio Umbra—loosely translated as sword shadow—were individually selected from the Novia’s priestly sect on account of their devotion, vigilance, and fluidity.”

“Fluidity? Explain that.”

“Fluidity: the candidate must demonstrate interleaving proficiency within the levels of the Unity, far exceeding that of—”

“Whoa. Hold on.” Awen waved her hands in the air. “Go back. Levels of the Unity? You’re saying there’s more to the Unity than the Unity?”

Azelon tilted her head. “In asking me ‘more to the Unity than the Unity,’ I deduce that you are referring to portions of the Unity that you are unfamiliar with. If that is your intended meaning, then the answer is yes. There are three levels to the unity.”

Awen felt light-headed. This was news to her. “Why didn’t I know about this?”

“It is clearly stated in the codex.”

“The codex?” She was having trouble keeping up.

“The primary source book of the ancients, kept until recently in the temple library in Itheliana.”

“You mean… the book that So-Elku stole?”

“If you are referring to the human who departed the system bearing the codex, then yes—So-Elku.”

Awen put one hand on her hip and ran the other one over her face. “I can’t believe this.”

“I can provide holo-footage of the event if you like.”

“Mystics, no. That’s not what I meant.”

“It is another figure of speech,” TO-96 said to Azelon.

“Acknowledged.”

This was big. Really big. Whatever the Novia had discovered meant that there was more to the universe—the universes—than anyone had ever known. Mystics, this is confusing. Awen’s head hurt. She needed to sit down. And she needed a stiff drink.

“May I offer an observation, Awen?” TO-96 asked.

“At this point, anything that helps clarify this mess would be greatly appreciated.”

“Understood. It seems that both you and Piper were operating within a vacuum within the Unity.”

“A what?”

“Granted, I am new to all this discussion of the Unity. My presence within Novia’s singularity is, without a doubt, the most fascinating element of my existence to date.”

“Less personal commentary please, Ninety-Six.”

“Ah, quite right. My apologies, Awen. My hypothesis is as follows. The environment that the Gladio Umbra cultivated was accustomed to operators who navigated the multiple realms of the Unity at once. Two new operators—you and Piper—who were only used to navigating in one realm would, therefore, be drawn to the others. This follows the fundamental law of physics that postulates that atmosphere always seeks to fill a vacuum. My scenario seems all the more applicable when an operator of immense power is introduced into the vacuum. The greater the atmosphere, the greater the vacuum—”

“The greater the force,” Awen finished. “Which is why Piper was so easily pulled deeper into her experience in the Unity.”

“Precisely.”

“I can corroborate TO-96’s hypothesis,” Azelon said. “It is rational and holds up to my own analysis.”

“Thank you, Azelon,” TO-96 said with what sounded like genuine gratitude in his voice.

“You are most welcome, TO-96.”

“You flatter me—”

“Get a room!” Awen shouted. Then she froze, cupping her hand over her mouth. “Mystics, I’m so sorry. That was highly inappropriate of me.” She needed sleep. And time to think.

TO-96 blinked several times. “Awen, if you are referring to biological reproductive copulation and the colloquial behavior of securing a paid space for said activity, might I remind you that Azelon and I—”

“Are robots. I know, I know.” She pinched the bridge of her nose, squinting against a growing headache. “Like I said, sorry. I’m tired, I’m upset, and I’ve got to figure out how to teach a little girl to control her abilities in not one, not two, but three ethereal realms of the cosmos in two different universes before she hurts herself or someone else.”

“Would summary teachings of the Gladio Umbra help?” Azelon asked.

Awen released her nose and looked up. “Wait. What?”

“Would summary teachings of—”

“I heard what you said. I mean, you have that?”

“Of course, Awen. Shall I compile an archive based upon the most pertinent aspects of the ancients’ teachings with specific regard to your training of Piper?”

“Mystics, yes!”

“Acknowledged.” Azelon paused for a second then said, “A tiered document has been delivered to the ship’s data system, accessible from any terminal, filed under ‘Gladio Umbra, a Brief History,’ accessible by your voice command.”

“Azelon, I take back every bad thing I ever said about you.”

“How many bad things did you say about me? And will they compromise my system?”

“Apparently not, because you bots are still annoying, but I can’t seem to get along without you.”

“I believe that was a compliment, though I am having trouble parsing the implicit speech.” Azelon looked at TO-96.

“It is a vexing and often deeply taxing endeavor,” TO-96 replied. “But a rewarding one nonetheless, I assure you.”

* * *

Awen sat alone in her quarters with her feet propped up on her desk—one towel wrapped around her torso, another around her drying hair. Despite the Spire being a warship, the Novia’s larger physiology meant that each crew cabin was more spacious than anything she’d ever been used to. The extra room was a welcome change that she took full advantage of.

Awen had treated herself to a hot shower. The running water helped clear her head, especially after the day’s events. Which were what, exactly?

Mind-blowing, that’s what.

Piper’s abilities were more than Awen could have imagined, amplified further by the forces explained by TO-96’s vacuum theory. Together, they’d made for an out-of-control free fall into the Unity that had almost killed Piper. It probably would have killed Awen and most everyone else on the island had the energy gone nova.

Awen took a sip of that strong drink she’d requested. TO-96 made sure the replicator created something as close to Gundonium bratch as possible. It stung going down, but it worked like a charm on her headache. She swirled the golden liquid in the glass before downing the remainder in a final swig.

“Computer, access file name Gladio Umbra, a Brief History.”

“Accessed. Request confirmation name required.”

“Awen dau Lothlinium.”

“Receipt confirmed. File transferred.”

A small blue icon glowed twenty centimeters above the desk. The symbol was a circle, open on the bottom, with a pointed arrow touching the inside top. It rotated steadily as the word Open hovered beneath it. Awen removed her feet from the table and adjusted the towel holding up her wet hair.

“Here goes nothing.” She touched the floating symbol.

Glowing holo-pages appeared in a thick stack, extending to the wall and fading into infinity. She could see from the first page that the documents had been translated into Galactic common.

“Thanks, Ninety-Six.” She pulled up the first page, adjusting it to suit her desired reading preferences.

The Gladio Umbra had indeed been an elite sect of the Novia, selected on account of their abilities—both natural and acquired. But according to this account, they’d also been misfits of one sort or another. It seemed that their organizational priorities had clashed with those of the Novia’s ruling body. Awen had realized long ago that the politics of any civilization were as complicated to the native species as they were to outsiders. The Novia Minoosh were no exception.

The Novia had plenty of enemies in their day, and successfully fending off assaults, both foreign and domestic, had become a priority. But to achieve an adequate level of proficiency, the Gladio Umbra needed their own space for advancement—or as one translation termed it, meditation. It seemed that the distractions of everyday Novia life prevented them from doing their job defending the populace at large.

Thus, it was eventually decided that the Gladio Umbra would leave Ithnor Ithelia and take up residence on the less-desirable planet of Nieth Tearness. Here, they would be free to pursue all means necessary to ensure the survival of their people, providing both a shadow to keep the Novia hidden from the enemy’s sight and a sword to dispatch any hostile force that decided the Novia was too enticing a prize to pass up.

From within their sanctum on Ni No, the Gladio Umbra discovered that there were indeed two more levels to the Unity. This fact sent Awen on a study binge that made her lose all sense of time. Within the Unity, the most general realm, lay the Foundation—the fundamental plane that defined the origin of all things. As implied by its name, this plane appeared as a broad valley far below everything that Awen had ever explored. Immediately, she wanted nothing more than to see it.

Below the Foundation was yet another realm—something the Gladio Umbra called the Nexus. It was the Unity’s root network, which served all things that grew from the Foundation, sort of like an underground root structure for a vast forest. Apparently, the accumulated power of the Nexus was so strong that only the greatest Gladio Umbra were able to move within it. Anyone daring to stretch into its reaches for too long without adequate training risked absorption into the network and would be lost forever.

The co-planetary existence between the Novia’s general populace and Gladio Umbra worked well for a few hundred years. But as time went on, the Gladio Umbra became both revered and scorned by the Novia. Something they have in common with the Luma, Awen thought. On one side, the protectors of the populace were honored for their courage in the face of danger and violence of action. On the other, their adherence to time-honored traditions felt antiquated, especially when the Gladio Umbra became critical of the Novia. At first, their criticisms were held in confidence, shared only as warnings. But as the Novia slipped further away from their founding ideals, the Gladio Umbra’s warnings turned into prophetic chastisements. The Novia populace had no stomach for the forceful admonishments, and they distanced themselves from the monastic order altogether.

When the Gladio Umbra were no longer interested in preserving what the Novia Minoosh had become, and the Novia Minoosh no longer required the Gladio Umbra’s antiquated means of protection, the two groups parted ways. To Awen’s amazement, the disagreements became so strong that the Gladio Umbra eventually boarded ships and left the star system altogether.

“Never to be heard from again,” Awen read aloud. She sat back and pulled her towel up a little higher over her chest. “So that’s how you were abandoned.” Her thoughts drifted to the small island of Ni No.

Awen would have loved to see the Gladio Umbra in their prime. Aside from wondering what they looked like—a significant omission that seemed to permeate all of Azelon’s files on the Novia Minoosh—Awen imagined that there were many rhetorical similarities between them and the Luma. Except that the Gladio Umbra didn’t turn on one another, Awen reminded herself. Still, they had in common the sacred call to protect civilization against evil. Until the Luma forgot it, that is.

Awen let her eyes linger on the words Gladio Umbra. Perhaps it was time for the order to be resurrected.

25

“Are you ready?” Awen asked Piper. They sat on the boulders together, now on their seventh day of training. The morning sun was burning off the dew while a stiff breeze blew in from the ocean.

“I think so.” Piper shook her head. “Yes. Yes, I’m ready, teacher.”

Awen winced at the word teacher. The word had started to annoy her over the past days. It wasn’t a bad word so much as it was connected to something that she didn’t much care for anymore—the Luma. She’d learned new words in the last week that she thought of using with Piper instead of the Luma’s terms.

“Good, doma,” Awen said, introducing the Gladio Umbra’s word for apprentice for the first time.

Piper cocked her head. “What’d you call me?”

“Doma,” Awen replied. “It’s an old word… a word that the Gladio Umbra used for someone just like you.”

“Doma,” Piper repeated. “I like it.”

“As do I.”

“Do I have a new word for you?”

Awen raised her eyebrows. She hadn’t really thought about that, but yes, there was a word for Awen’s position. “Shydoh. You may call me shydoh.”

“That sounds pretty. I like it. Shydoh.”

Hearing Piper say the ancient word made the hair on the back of Awen’s neck stand up. Awen realized that these weren’t just words—they were something stronger. Could they even be weapons? Maybe that was why she’d been so unprepared for what had happened to Piper on the first training day. Awen had taken Piper into the Unity expecting to be a Luma, planning to use the unseen realm for peace. But there was another aspect to the Unity that she never would have thought to explore. Power.

Awen had been far more cautious since the near-fatal events of that first day. She’d been reckless to try to make such hasty advancements with Piper. Her enthusiasm and curiosity had gotten in the way of her judgment, and she’d nearly lost Piper over it. Not anymore, she’d thought. Never again.

Every night after parting ways with Piper, Awen walked back to the temple and took out her data pad. She pored over the documents that Azelon provided on the Gladio Umbra, often forgetting to eat, drink, or sleep for hours at a time. Awen soon realized that she couldn’t take Piper to places in the Unity that she hadn’t been to herself. So the more Awen read, the more she delighted in exploring the Unity’s deeper realms and learning about the Gladio Umbra and their ways.

Still in her power suit, Awen would lay the data pad aside—sitting in the middle of the floor with her legs folded beneath her—and slip into the Unity. Unlike Piper’s suit, which served to curb the girl’s powerful surges, Awen’s suit acted as an amplifier, giving new strength to her abilities in the Unity. Awen burned through the midnight hours, exploring the Unity’s Foundation and then—like a miner digging for treasure—diving into what the Gladio Umbra called the Nexus.

But whenever Awen’s thoughts turned toward So-Elku, she shivered to think what he might be doing with his version of the newfound knowledge. Azelon had informed Awen that the book So-Elku had stolen contained information about the Foundation and the Nexus. Cursory as the codex explanations were, Awen knew that the Luma Master was powerful and resourceful—he would be working on exploring the same realms as Awen. That scared her. It also motivated her to move Piper along as fast as possible without harming her. If So-Elku knew about Piper and her powers, he would want the little girl for his own purposes and corrupt her even as a child. As soon as Piper’s presence was felt in the Unity—and perhaps So-Elku had already sensed her—Awen guessed he would stop at nothing to capture the girl. Awen would do everything she could to train and protect Piper.

“You ready, doma?”

“Sure am, shydoh.”

Awen squeezed Piper’s hands, and the two slipped into the Unity.

* * *

“Today, I want to take you somewhere new,” Awen said.

“New?”

Awen could hear the excitement in Piper’s voice as the two of them floated high above the island. They were at least a thousand meters from the ocean’s surface, watching the world from within their second sight. Everything shimmered with ever-unfolding layers. The seabirds left long trails of glowing particles behind them, flitting about in the wind. The rays of the sun sparkled in slender shafts that stretched to infinity. And the ocean hummed like the low notes of a stringed instrument, creating harmonies that could be heard all the way out in space.

“I want to take you to the Foundation,” Awen said. “It is something I have only just started to discover myself. And beyond that, the Nexus.”

“Is it safe?” Piper asked.

“Index finger.”

“Sorry.” Piper raised her finger.

“Yes, doma?” Awen asked.

“Is it safe for us to go there?”

“No, it is not safe. Nothing in the Unity is. But neither is anything in the natural realm. All of life is fragile. The sooner you accept that, the sooner you will treat everything like it’s sacred.”

Piper seemed to consider Awen’s words.

“Do you still want to go?”

Piper raised her chin. “I do.”

“Good. You can let go with your left hand,” Awen said, releasing her grip. “But hold tight with your right.”

Piper nodded.

“Whatever you do, don’t let go.”

Piper nodded again, her eyes growing wide.

“Here we go…”

* * *

Within the Unity, Awen and Piper dove toward the ocean like a pair of silvershore falcons hunting for fish. Awen felt her hair flail against the back of her power suit, whipped by the wind. The noise in her ears rose to a roar as she and Piper streaked through the morning sky and plummeted the remaining distance to the ocean’s surface.

Piper gave out a scream as the deep-purple water raced up to meet them. Then, in an explosion of sound and color, the two mystics penetrated the surface and plunged into the ocean. They raced through the depths, their speed increasing with every fathom they covered. Finally, the pair shot from the bottom of the translucent ocean into open air—into another realm.

From horizon to horizon, Awen reviewed the mountainous woodland expanse she’d visited before. The vista was breathtaking, one rivaled by nothing else she’d ever seen in the natural realm.

“It’s beautiful…” Piper said in a respectful tone that felt much older than her nine years of age allowed.

“Yes,” Awen said. “It certainly is.”

Piper extended an index finger.

“Yes, doma?”

“What is this place?”

“It is the Foundation of the Unity. The beginning of created things.”

“I like it,” Piper said.

“As do I, doma. As do I.” Awen paused, and then pointed to the woodland floor far below them. “And beneath the forest you’ll find the Nexus.”

To the general observer, the ground looked impenetrable, as old as time itself and just as unchangeable. It was, in fact, nearly so—even for something in the Unity. The first two visits Awen had made to this location resulted in unsuccessful attempts to pass through the grass in the meadows. So complete were her failures that she wondered if the Gladio Umbra’s findings of the Foundation and the Nexus weren’t either hyperbole—which she doubted—or merely outdated, as if the Foundation had solidified over a millennium of lying dormant. It was only by sheer determination that Awen had finally succeeded in passing through the great barrier and into the Nexus.

Piper held up her finger again, and Awen inclined her head for the girl to speak. “Can we go down? Into the Nexus?”

“Not today,” Awen said. “Next time.”

Piper scrunched her nose in disappointment.

That’s good. At least she’s not bored. But then again, how could she be in a place such as this? It was, Awen surmised, the most beautiful place in the universes.

* * *

“Awen, are you there?” TO-96 said from the earpiece lying beside Awen on the boulder. As soon as she opened her eyes, she and Piper were in their natural minds, sitting atop the boulders.

“Whoa,” Piper said, blinking wildly. “That’s so cool.”

Awen nodded in agreement and reached for the comms device. She placed it in her ear. “Go ahead, Ninety-Six.”

“I thought you might like to know that Rohoar and Abimbola have returned.”

“Wonderful,” Awen replied. “Thank you, Ninety-Six.” Just then, Awen remembered something that she’d been meaning to ask the bot for some time. “While I’ve got you, Ninety-Six, I have a question.”

“How may I be of service?”

Awen extended her legs and slipped off the boulder. It felt good to walk. She looked up at Piper. “You can run around if you want. Just not too far.”

Piper nodded, slid down the rock, and then bolted away.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” TO-96 said. “You would like me to run around the ship? And what, precisely, is ‘too far’?”

“Not you, Ninety-Six,” Awen said with a laugh. “I was speaking to Piper.”

“Ah. My apologies.”

Awen stretched her back, arching under the warm sun. “Okay, so, listen. We’ve been talking about the Novia Minoosh now for almost three months.”

“That is almost accurate, yes.”

“But in all this time, neither you nor Azelon has told me what they looked like. I mean, I can’t recall ever seeing a single holo-image, painting, cave drawing—nothing. We never found a trace of them in Itheliana, and now that I think of it, neither of you bots has included a description in any conversation or data dump.”

There was a long pause after Awen finished speaking… long enough that she became incredibly suspicious. Something was going on here. And worse, she felt a fool for not putting this together sooner. With all the data that Azelon had on the Novia Minoosh, wasn’t it absurd—obscene even—for there not to be a single image of the most advanced civilization Awen had ever heard of? Either the Novia didn’t want to be known in their biological form, or…

Or someone’s keeping it from me.

“Ninety-Six?”

“Yes?”

“You’re being awfully quiet.”

“More than usual, yes.”

“And?”

“And what, miss?”

“Well? Why haven’t any of us seen what the Novia Minoosh looked like? What haven’t you told me?”

“Because, Awen, I do not believe that is my story to tell.”

Story? Awen put her hands on her hips. “Then whose is it?”

26

Magnus felt confident that everything was in place at base camp to receive the remaining team members coming in from Oorajee. TO-96 expected them back any day but said his calculations weren’t entirely accurate. Once they arrived, Magnus would give them a day to rest, and then they’d begin training. Magnus knew they had a lot of ground to cover in a short amount of time.

Aside from needing more lessons on how to program in the ESCE’s creation architecture—and how to use holo-projected hard light without killing anyone—what Magnus really required now was weapons. Lots of weapons.

He’d already seen what Azelon could do with the ship’s onboard three-dimensional printers. They were, by far, the most advanced versions of the tech Magnus had ever seen. When he was setting up base camp, if Azelon didn’t have some supply that Magnus needed in the ship’s manifest, she printed it—easy as that. The printers were able to work in any medium at any scale because, she claimed, the Novia’s printers worked at an atomic level—something unheard-of by Repub standards.

Magnus still didn’t know what Kane was after, but he decided that Azelon’s 3-D printers could revolutionize any fighting force’s capacity to wage war on its enemies. Hell, Azelon didn’t even need raw materials for her printers—the tech was fed an infinite amount of atomic particles from the Unity. As long as the link remained established, the printers could work around the clock, producing literally anything Magnus could think up, given enough time—and providing that the matter was stable. Volatile or highly unstable compounds, for example, needed special printers with containment fields.

To Magnus’s chagrin, Azelon didn’t have any of those style printers aboard the Spire. Apparently, the risks were too high to keep such a printer on a starship. Instead, they were saved for highly protected ground-based facilities. So no nuclear or binary bombs, Adonis, Magnus reminded himself. In the end, however, he didn’t see that as a problem, since he could still manufacture grenades and heavy weapons that used stable chemical reactions to detonate.

Magnus stood with his arms crossed inside the engineering lab’s control room on deck six, section three. He looked through a full window into a room nearly twelve meters high and twice as wide and deep. The floor had a pristine mirror finish that reflected the soft glow of blue lights in the ceiling and walls. Long multijointed arms sprouted from each of the room’s four corners, terminating in a cluster of tools Magnus couldn’t even begin to name. The arms were folded and still as if waiting for his input commands.

“Good morning, Magnus,” the computer’s voice said. Well, it was Azelon’s voice, but he still had a hard time with the fact that Azelon could speak to him both from her physical body and through the ship’s communications system at the same time.

“Morning, Azelon.”

“What would you like to create today?”

Magnus massaged one hand with his thumb, smiling. He always felt a peculiar delight coming into the engineering lab. To have almost complete unfettered creative control was… well, it was intoxicating. But today was especially exciting. He felt like a kid—he was so happy he could skip around the room.

“Today, I need weapons, and I need armor.”

“Requests acknowledged.” After a minute, Azelon asked, “Shall we start with a base platform?”

“Why don’t we, yes.”

“Novian or protoverse?”

Magnus paused. For whatever reason, he hadn’t even considered that the Novia Minoosh had weaponry. Which was stupid, he realized. Of course they did. They must have had enemies like everyone else. But as interested as he was in seeing the aliens’ tech, Magnus also understood that the weapons needed to work in his universe too. Meaning, it was necessary to service and refit them with tools he’d have access to anywhere in the Republic. They’d also need to be compatible with standard-issue Republic energy magazines.

Still, his curiosity got the best of him.

“Let’s see what you’ve got, Azie.”

“Azie?”

“Yeah,” Magnus replied with a smirk. “I figure if we’re gonna keep working together like this, you need a nickname. Everyone gets a nickname.”

“But you don’t have a nickname for Awen.”

Magnus felt his face get warm. “She doesn’t need a nickname.”

“Why not? You said that everyone—”

“I know what I said. Just stick to the point. Your nickname is Azie, and we’re building weapons and armor today.”

“What’s your nickname, sir?”

“Magnus.”

“But you said—”

“Dammit, Azie. I know what I said. Focus.”

“Understood.” The lights faded, and the print room went black. Suddenly, a row of what Magnus could only describe as highly advanced firearms appeared in a long line, about twenty across, projected in translucent blue light. The weapons hovered side by side with names, descriptions, and specifications listed beneath them. It was like being at a fancy weapons bazaar on some back-world planet.

“What am I looking at?” Magnus asked.

“This is bank one of the Novian assault-blaster catalog.”

“Bank one?”

“Affirmative.”

“How many banks of assault blasters do you have?” Magnus asked.

“Please define a period.”

“Define a what?”

“Period: a specific time frame denoted by exact years or distinguishable features relating to cultural advancements or—”

“Got it. How about all periods,” Magnus said.

“For Novian assault blasters for all periods, I have one hundred eighty-six banks.”

Twenty times one hundred eighty-six… Magnus couldn’t do the exact math in his head, but he knew it was at least a couple thousand. “And, Azie, how many weapons categories do you have?”

“I currently have records for fifteen categories and twenty-nine subcategories for handheld military-grade ordnance. This does not include handheld explosives, missiles, or quantum weaponry.”

Magnus let out a whistle. Maybe this was what Kane was looking for. For the first time since boarding her, Magnus realized Azelon wasn’t just a starship—she was a war-manufacturing machine. Whoever the Novia Minoosh were, and whatever they were known for in this galaxy, Magnus knew one thing about them—they were bona fide badasses.

Whether they used all this tech to harm other species remained to be seen. For all he knew, they’d been a peaceful civilization with a hefty armory acquired over thousands of years. But Magnus shuddered to think what Kane would do with something like this. In fact, he got chills just imagining what the Republic would do with even half this. Nothing good, he realized. Nothing good at all.

“Okay, then,” Magnus said, massaging his other hand. “We gotta narrow this down somehow, Azie.”

“Understood, sir. Perhaps you can assist me by outlining your objectives or desired outcomes.”

“Fair enough. At the end of the day, I want to walk away with one assault blaster and one sidearm for each warrior I’m going to train. Powerful and simple yet versatile enough to engage a wide array of enemy combatants in different armor configurations.” He thought for a second, rolling some ideas around. “They need to have interchangeable energy magazines, and ideally, they need to be able to use mags from the protoverse as well. Likewise, I need to be able to maintain them using tools from my galaxy should they need calibration or repair.”

“Anything else, sir?”

“Yeah. I’ll need two different sizes, I think. One for Jujari physiology and another for human.”

“That will not be a problem.”

“’Cause you just happen to have all our measurements in your system too?” Magnus said.

“Sir, I scanned and stored your measurements within nanoseconds of you boarding me for the first time.”

“Now you’re just talking dirty, Azie.”

“I beg your pardon, sir?”

“Never mind.”

“Is there anything else you would like, sir?”

“Sure is. We have these grenades, back in the protoverse, called VODs. Stands for variable—”

“Variable-output detonator. I see it here in TO-96’s archives. Yes, I understand the device in its entirety. Would you like to manufacture some of these?”

Magnus thought about it for a second. “Sure, but… you think you could spice them up a bit? Maybe make them—I don’t know—Novia style? ’Cause by the looks of those assault blasters, it seems to me like the Novia had some pretty sweet splick at their disposal.”

“Sweet splick, sir?”

“Eh, never mind the expletives. Just, can you modify them?”

“Of course, sir,” Azelon said.

“Sweet.”

“Anything else? Or shall we proceed?”

“We’re gonna need some armor too. But let’s start with the firearms. Copy?”

“Affirmative.”

The weapons in the print room disappeared. Magnus watched for something else to replace them, eager to see what Azelon might come up with, and she didn’t disappoint. Three new weapons appeared, each with its specs listed beneath it.

“Please consider the following,” Azelon said. “Note that I have translated all item names and specifications into Galactic common. Since many of the acronyms and terms are proprietary to the Novia Minoosh, I suspect a fair amount of mistranslation to be present. However, I have attempted to adopt your nomenclature standards wherever possible so as to make the logic and memorization of each device more conducive to your species.”

“Roger that, Azie. Waddya got here?”

“First is the DS1479-91A.” A stocky rectangular weapon expanded to fill about half the room. Magnus was shocked at just how big the projected weapon was—easily eight meters wide. He chuckled. Azelon sure knows how to put on a show.

“The DS1479-91A—lightweight and extremely portable—was developed as an all-purpose assault blaster for a wide range of deployment scenarios. It features a lattice-work stock, bio-linked operational access, dual inline mag ports, multidirectional sighting, and ultra-high-speed energy delivery.”

“Ultra what?”

“Ultra-high-speed energy delivery. The DS1479-91A is capable of delivering one megajoule of energy in point-zero-two-second pulse intervals.”

“I’m embarrassed to say that you completely lost me,” Magnus said, holding up a hand.

“My apologies, sir. Perhaps a better way to say it—to put it in your terms—is that the DS1479-91A delivers ten times the energy of your MAR30 at a rate of three thousand blaster rounds per second.”

Magnus felt his jaw fall open. If any such weapon ever existed in the Marine arsenal, there was no telling what kind of hell the Republic could unleash. He wouldn’t entrust this sort of firepower to them. Splick, he hardly trusted himself with it. However, he also knew the type of enemy he was up against, so he’d take every advantage he could get.

“Would you care for a demonstration, sir?” Azelon asked.

“A demo? Of this? Now?”

“Affirmative.”

“Knock yourself out, Azie.”

There was a momentary pause. “I believe that means that I should proceed with a virtual demonstration?”

Magnus snickered. “Yup, that’s what it means.”

“Acknowledged.”

All text disappeared, and the DS1479-91A shrank to human size and appeared in the hands of a trooper who looked precisely like Magnus—same patchwork of Marauder armor, same beard, but all in translucent-blue outlines. Virtual Magnus loaded two energy magazines into the receiver, pressed what real Magnus assumed was a charge button on the side, and then tucked the firearm’s stock into his shoulder. With his feet shoulder width apart and in line with his target, virtual Magnus brought the DS1479-91A up and sighted in on something off-screen. The view rotated so that real Magnus looked downrange with virtual Magnus, eyeing three targets, each one hundred meters apart.

In a flash of light, virtual Magnus fired the weapon. A withering spray of blaster bolts erupted from the barrel, blowing the first target apart and spreading its remnants downrange.

Magnus—real Magnus—giggled like a schoolboy. He hadn’t been this giddy since… since his captain had handed him his first MAR30 on a demo day. This weapon was unlike anything Magnus had ever seen. Hell, it was unlike anything he’d ever imagined!

Virtual Magnus adjusted and fired on the second target, laying waste to it as effortlessly as the first. The third he dispatched with equal efficiency.

Magnus let out a “Woot!” and pumped his fist in the air.

The simulation vanished, and Azelon asked, “Does this meet your expectations?”

“Meet my expectations?” Magnus said without any attempt to hide his enthusiasm. “Hell, yes, it does!”

“Would you like to see the other platforms?”

“Are they better than this one?”

“I am unable to quantify the term better, sir. Could you—”

“Can they do more damage in less time?” Magnus asked.

“No.”

“Then we have our base platform.”

“Very good, sir. I am pleased, as the DS1479-91A was my first choice as well.”

“Glad to know we’re on the same page. So, what mods can we make?”

“Mods, sir?” Azelon asked.

“Modifications. For instance, it needs to be maglock adaptive, and we’re going to need to make the magazine receivers compatible with standard Repub issue.”

“I can utilize TO-96’s findings on these topics?”

“Absolutely. And I want to make sure there is a variable-output function for single-round, three-round burst, and full-auto modes. Mystics, these new recruits will unload a full magazine before the firefight even starts if we don’t.”

“Acknowledged,” Azelon said.

“Also, is there a way to borrow some functionality from the MAR30?”

“What features specifically, sir?”

Magnus thought through the question and decided that the MAR30’s distortion function was unnecessary, given that the Novia weapon’s energy output could decimate just about any solid structure he could think of. “I was thinking some version of the wide-displacement function. A single pulse, variable frequency. Take out several targets at once in an outnumbered scenario.”

Azelon paused, presumably processing Magnus’s requests. Finally, she said, “If we utilize the DS1479-91A’s multidirectional sighting feature and its gimbaled barrel to command the trajectory of individual blaster rounds, we can achieve a similar effect without unduly draining energy-magazine capacity.”

“I have no idea what you just said, but if you’re good with it, so am I.”

“Would you like a demonstration?”

Magnus smiled and gave a short chuckle. “Azie, for the record, you never need to ask me if I want a demo. The answer will always be yes.”

“Acknowledged, sir. Demonstration initiating.”

Virtual Magnus appeared once again, looking downrange. This time, a dozen smaller targets were spread across the firing range at different heights and distances.

“The onboard computer will need time to calculate the precise location of each target,” Azelon explained. “But we can make that time adjustable by reducing potential accuracy.”

“I like it.”

“In a perfect scenario with at least two seconds of calculation allowance, twelve targets will be eliminated as follows…”

Virtual Magnus squeezed the trigger. Two seconds passed before the weapons spit out a staccato burst of twelve rounds. To real Magnus’s amazement—and probably virtual Magnus’s too, he concluded—each round struck its own target, blasting an eight-centimeter hole clear through it.

“Damn, Azie,” Magnus said, letting out another whistle.

“Does this meet your satisfaction, sir?”

“It meets my satisfaction and then some.”

“The only thing I must warn you about is that this function will only be available to operators with a Novia biotech interface, or NBTI.”

“A biotech interface?”

“Correct, sir. The calculations required for this operation place high demands on both the AI and operator. I will need several days to properly integrate each user into the Novia Defense Architecture.”

“The NDA.”

“Affirmative.”

“Damn, you like your acronyms almost as much as the Marines do.”

“I am unable to verify that claim. However, I will take your word for it, sir. Shall I proceed in manufacturing a prototype for you?”

“Sounds good. Only, there are two more things we need to talk about.”

“What’s that?” Azelon asked.

“What color is the body?”

“That is an excellent question, sir. The receiver is covered in a glossy-white telecolos emulation compound, while the stock and barrel tip are what you would call matte gray.”

“Go back,” Magnus replied. “Tele-whatever emulation compound? What’s that?”

“It’s a material that emulates visual information and projects it within the average spectral range of most sentient life forms in the metaverse.”

“So… you’re saying it can change color.”

“Among other things, yes.”

“Patterns?”

“Yes. Material synthesis, environmental cloning—anything within the visible light spectrum.”

“This just keeps getting better and better.” He could think of several applications for such tech—most notably, armor.

“What is your second point of discussion, sir?”

“The name. There’s no way we’re saying DS14-whatever in the field. That may have worked for the Novia Minoosh, but that’s not gonna work for us. So I’m thinking of something else.”

“What do you propose?”

Magnus scratched under chin, then said, “What about something simple, like the NOV1.”

“NOV for Novia, plus the first integer of your numbering system.” Azelon paused. “It is acceptable to the Novia.”

“Hold up—the Novia?”

Magnus had forgotten that when he was talking with Azelon, he was conversing with the entire Novia singularity in some form or another. But that also begged another question that had been scratching at the back of his head since Awen first filled him in on their initial findings. If the Novia were a peace-loving species that sought to see the unity of all things—blah, blah, blah—why were they suddenly all right with him using their 3-D printers to manufacture advanced weapons for an assault force? The answer, Magnus feared, was that Kane’s men were getting closer to some resource or invention that the Novia Minoosh didn’t want them having access to.

“Yes, sir. As I said, the Novia approve of your proposed name as well as your suggested modifications. Pending the results of your team training, the weapons significantly increase your likelihood of mission success.”

Magnus thought to ask for the actual percentages but then thought better of it. If they were low, that would only serve to dishearten him. At the moment, he was on a high unlike any he’d been on in a while. It was best to stay there and take Azelon’s statement as a compliment.

“Please let them know I’m thankful for their help,” Magnus said.

“And they are grateful for yours.”

“Good deal.”

“Now, sir, what would you like to make next?”

“Azie, I thought you’d never ask.”

27

“Rohoar!” Piper shouted from across base camp in the hexagonal plaza. She ran toward the Jujari with outstretched arms, outfitted in her glowing power suit. “I’m so happy to see you!”

“As am I happy to see you,” Rohoar replied, kneeling to embrace Piper in his furry arms. They felt warm and soft, just like last time.

“I missed you.”

“Thank you.”

“And did you miss me?” Piper inquired.

“I’m afraid there was no time to miss anything.”

Piper pulled away from Rohoar and tilted her head at him. He glanced at Awen, who stood to one side. Awen had a curious look on her face, like she was trying to communicate with Rohoar inside his head. She could do that sort of thing really well.

“I mean,” Rohoar said, “yes, I missed you, Piper. I had a lot of time to miss you. I believe that is all I did while I was away from you. All I did was miss you until I could not miss you anymore.”

“Overdoing it,” Awen said with a tight smile.

Rohoar’s eyes darted around. That made her giggle. She hugged him again. He still smelled like he needed a bath.

“Well,” Piper said, “I didn’t have too much time to miss you either. Miss Awen—I mean, my shydoh—has been keeping me very busy. Super busy, even.”

“Your what?” Rohoar asked, his ears perking up.

“My shydoh. It’s an old word she learned from the Gladio Umbra. It means teacher.”

“Does it?” Rohoar asked, looking to Awen. “How interesting.”

“Do you like my suit?” That got his attention back, she noticed.

“I do see you are wearing a strange suit to cover your nakedness.”

“That’s inappropriate!” Piper lowered her voice to a whisper. “That’s what my mother says when I use that word.”

“Jujari don’t need such suits. We have fur.”

“But this is a special suit.”

“Special in what way?”

“It lets me do amazing things,” Piper replied.

“Like what?”

“Um, like this. Watch.”

“Piper,” Awen said cautiously. “Careful.”

“I won’t do anything fancy, shydoh. Promise.”

“I’m watching you,” Awen said, hands on her hips.

Piper whispered to Rohoar, “She doesn’t want me to get hurt, that’s all. But watch!”

She stepped away from Rohoar, lowered her head, and closed her eyes. Then she stretched out her hand and held it palm up. Suddenly, a tiny purple flower appeared, growing from her skin as if it had been soil.

When Piper opened her eyes, she could tell by the look on Rohoar’s face that he was amazed. He sniffed at the flower, pulled back, inhaled, and released a giant sneeze.

Piper winced but didn’t move, still holding the flower toward him.

“It’s real,” Rohoar said, sounding full of wonder. “I wish to grow a flower from my hand too. Can you teach me?”

“Maybe someday. But I think you’ll need a power suit, and I doubt Awen has one in your size.”

“I definitely don’t,” Awen said. “At least not yet.”

Rohoar reminded Piper so much of Talisman it hurt. Come to think of it, she’d seen about as much of her stuffed corgachirp as she’d seen of Rohoar in the last week. But where she was content to keep Talisman stored in her tent, she did not want Rohoar stored anywhere. Now that he was on Nieth Tearness with everyone else, she hoped to see him every day.

“So how was your trip?” Piper asked her fluffy friend.

“My trip?” He looked at his feet.

“No…” She giggled. “Your voyage, I mean. What did you do?”

“First, we turned the ship on a heading toward Oorajee. Then we powered up the main drive core. Then we entered coordinates for Oorajee. Then we made the jump subspace and activated the modulator. Then—”

“Maybe you can summarize,” Awen suggested.

“Ah,” Rohoar said. “We recruited eight Jujari and twelve Marauders for our mission. We also narrowly missed certain death at the hands of a squadron of Republic Talons.”

“Republic Talons?” Piper asked. That doesn’t make sense. “Why would Republic starfighters want to hurt you? That isn’t right. I’m sure it was just a mismanderstand—a misderstanding—a mis—”

“Misunderstanding,” Awen said.

“Yeah, a misunderstanding.”

“It may have been,” Rohoar replied. “But the important part is that we returned safely here.”

“To me!”

“Yes, to you, Piper. And I am grateful for that.”

“Meee too.” She hugged him again, unable to hold herself back.

“Can I show you around?” Piper turned to Awen. “Can I show him around, shydoh?”

“As you wish, doma.” Awen checked the time on a small data pad built into the wrist of her suit. “Class resumes in twenty-four minutes, so you have until then.”

“Thank you, shydoh.” She took hold of Rohoar’s index finger and pulled him forward. “Come on! This way!”

* * *

Piper led Rohoar through the buildings that climbed toward the knoll where the training ground was. The street heading up the hill had been cleared by Magnus and his team. The old stones were free of grass and dirt, as were many of the buildings. It was beginning to feel like an actual town—an old one but a special one nonetheless.

Rohoar seemed to be fascinated with the buildings. He paused several times to examine the stonework, even tracing some of the carved lines with a fingernail. Piper was glad that he liked Ni No so much. That was one more thing they had in common.

Once they reached the end of the street, Piper ran ahead and dashed under the gate. “This is my tree!” she said, pointing to the middle of the open plaza. “And these are the rocks Awen and I sit on for meditation. We just repaired the fountain and filled it with water again. Isn’t it beautiful?”

Rohoar just stared at the sight, unable to move past the gate.

“Rohoar, come on.” Piper motioned him with both hands. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

“It most certainly is.” His voice was much softer than she’d expected it to be. Wasn’t he excited?

Not content with how slowly he was moving, Piper ran back to him and took his finger. She pulled, urging him to step farther into the plaza. “Come on. I still have more to show you.”

“The tree,” Rohoar said, pointing to the branches. “It’s blossoming.”

“Yeah. I love the flowers. And they smell so good too.”

The petals were yellow and white. Perfect summertime colors, Piper thought.

“You’re probably tall enough to smell them without a boost, you know,” Piper continued.

“Indeed,” he said. “I can smell them from here.”

“Oh, right! You can smell really good, can’t you?”

Rohoar nodded, not taking his eyes off the tree.

“Come on, this way.” Piper pulled Rohoar toward the temple at the top of the plaza. She couldn’t wait for him to see it—and the view of the ocean. But the fluffy Jujari was moving so slowly. Maybe he was tired from his trip. Sure enough, the closer they got to the temple, the slower Rohoar walked. Then he stopped altogether. Piper was jerked backward by his sudden stop in momentum.

“Mr. Rohoar, sir?” She looked up at him. His eyes were locked on the temple. “What’s… what’s wrong?”

“I… this place is…”

“It’s beautiful, right?”

Rohoar nodded almost imperceptibly.

“Come on. Wait until you see the inside.” She pulled and pulled, finally getting the big doggy to budge. He was so heavy. She’d hate to have to carry him if he decided to stop walking.

As they stepped over the threshold, Piper looked up to see Rohoar’s head slip below the stone doorframe. He was the perfect size for it. And he really seemed to like this place, maybe even as much as she did. His hand slid away from hers as he walked among the columns. He touched the stone walls with trembling hands, tracing the lines, feeling the script.

“Can you read that, Mr. Rohoar sir?”

He shook his head. “No.” The way he examined everything was so… what was that word Awen had used? Reverent.

“My shydoh—that’s Awen—she says TO-96 is planning to come to translate it as soon as he has some free time.”

“I would like to know what it says.”

“Right? Me too!”

“And this is where Awen placed my power suit the first day I found it.” Piper pointed to the stone slab in the middle of the room. “When I came in, I didn’t even notice it at first, but then—”

Rohoar brushed by Piper and seemed to stumble as he neared the granite table. Then Piper watched in curious fascination as Rohoar did something extremely unusual, at least to her. He fell on his knees and leaned on the slab. Then he lowered his head, tilted his neck slightly to the side, and rested his forehead and muzzle in small divots on the slab. It was as if the smooth indentions had been carved out just for his head.

Rohoar mumbled something so low that it felt like a growl, but Piper could still make out distinct syllables. It was almost like he was chanting. The batten channels on Piper’s suit began to glow. She looked at her arms and chest. Is he making that happen?

“Mr. Rohoar, sir?” Piper took a hesitant step toward him. “Are you okay?”

Rohoar’s mumbling grew louder. Suddenly, Piper noticed more light filling the room. It was coming from the lines on the walls. The columns started glowing too. Wherever there were lines and script in the temple, light emerged, as if the carved markings were electrified with brilliant yellow.

“Rohoar?” Piper asked, spinning slowly around the room. “Are you seeing this?”

Still, the Jujari was preoccupied with his prayers. His voice was snarling. If Piper hadn’t felt safe with the doggy, she might have been scared. But clearly, this place meant something to him—which didn’t make any sense. He was a Jujari, from Oorajee not Ni No. There was no way for him to know about this place. Was there?

At last, Rohoar’s voice began to fade, his snarl turning to a low roar and then a soft mumble. Finally, he was still. The glowing subsided, both in the temple etchings and on Piper’s suit.

The sound of waves crashing on the shore far below came in through the window. Sea birds shrieked in the distance, and the warm breeze whistled softly through the temple. Piper didn’t dare move. Something marvelous had happened—something extraordinary. She had to tell Awen and her mother.

“Rohoar?” asked a sudden voice from the temple entrance. It startled Piper. She turned to see Awen leaning against the doorframe.

“Shydoh! You need to—”

“Hush, doma.”

“Yes, shydoh.”

“Rohoar?” Awen asked again. “Are you all right?”

Rohoar lifted his head off the stone slab and nodded. He slowly pressed himself off the table, took a deep breath, and turned to face Awen.

“This place is what you’ve been looking for, isn’t it?”

Rohoar nodded. “Yes. For generations.”

“I… I don’t understand.” Piper looked between Awen and Rohoar. “What do you mean? This is kinda confusing.”

“I think we’d better let Rohoar tell his story,” Awen said. “Don’t you think so, Jujari?”

28

Rohoar sat quietly in a chair beside a campfire within base camp. Everyone had rearranged chairs to form a loose semicircle around the fire. They were all bathed in the fire’s bright light. The other eight Jujari Rohoar had brought with him sat closest, while the Marines and Marauders filled out the remaining seats. Valerie, Sootriman, Ezo, Azelon, and TO-96 had also arrived from the Spire for the special meeting. The only person not present was Saasarr, as Magnus and Awen still hadn’t figured out a suitable way for the Reptalon to be around any Jujari. Piper sat on her mother’s lap, but Awen could tell the little girl just wanted to be with Rohoar.

“You’ve got to give him some space right now,” Valerie said. Piper looked at Awen, presumably for confirmation.

“She’s right,” Awen said. “You can spend more time with him tomorrow, I imagine.”

Rohoar cleared his throat, silencing the room. He had the most captive audience Awen had ever seen. “Every mwadim inherits the legacy of our people, passed from one mwadim to the next. In it, there are a great many secrets, things that are known to mwadims and no others. What I share with you today, I do so breaking my solemn vow. However, it seems to me that we are in a unique situation, one that justifies the betrayal of my promise to my people. For in fact, it seems I have returned to our origins among the stars after all. I wasn’t certain, thus my silence. But I am certain now. The legends were not merely made-up fantasies shared with our offspring to put them to sleep. It seems the legends are true after all. And I, Rohoar of the Tawnhack, have lived to see it. My only hope is that I will survive long enough to tell of it and restore that which we have lost.

“It has long been told that our ancestors were birthed among the nebula, traveling through the void as wayward starfarers, ever searching for a land to call our own…”

Awen moved her lips in time with Rohoar as he recited the ancient manuscripts of his people—manuscripts she’d memorized during her first few years of observances. She’d become enthralled with Jujari culture and took to learning everything she could about their history. However, she’d never heard a real Jujari recite the ancient texts like this. It almost made her feel like she was back in school—as if all the fighting and horror had never been, and she was with her data pads and archives, poring over them until the early hours of the morning.

“When at last our ancestors came upon a desert planet,” Rohoar said, “they named it Oosafar—Gift of the Gods. They were given the nomadic life and instructed to keep the lands cleansed of all things impure, lest a seed of corruption impregnate itself in the tribes and bring them to ruin just as it did with those who’d gone before us. When the Jujari tribes became too great in number, we began city building. However, our nomadic mandate still reigned, so we could not live within any walled room. Therefore, white fabric enclosed every private space, even the skyscraper’s peaks, where the pack leaders and mwadims lived.”

Rohoar paused to take a deep breath. His massive shoulders rose and fell as he studied his warriors. Then he looked to Awen. She was surprised by his sudden attention on her and felt small under his commanding gaze. Is he going to ask me a question or demand something of me? Why the long stare?

“What our people have never known, however, is the story of the mwadims, of the protectors of our people. The history was deemed so sad that it would break the heart and crush the soul were it ever known. Thus, it was kept solely by those whom the gods had chosen as carriers—as stewards of the histories—and hidden from the tribes for fear that it would bring the packs to ruin. The true story of our people would be all but forgotten were it not for the lineage of the mwadims and the stardrives that they pass to their successors.”

Awen’s heart rate spiked as she heard Rohoar mention the device. Her face flushed, and beads of sweat formed on her brow.

“Our ancestors were indeed starfarers, but not always. We left the land of our forebearers—a different world from Oorajee—because we were unable to see eye to eye, tribe to tribe. Where once we were esteemed protectors, we soon became enemies. We were unwanted by the pack, deemed unfit to serve and resistant to the winds of change that blew across our people.

“We were once the chosen Gladio Umbra, sworn protectors of our brothers and sisters—we were once Novia Minoosh.” Rohoar looked at his kinsmen, staring each of them in the eye. The room was utterly still for almost a minute before he continued. “What we did not expect, however, was that we would be called to protect our people from themselves. The larger pack’s lust for power, for oneness, for the singularity of the consciousness was something the Gladio Umbra chieftains regarded as a threat. Their warnings to the pack were met with resistance—so strong that eventually, our ancestors decided to leave. But not before bitter words and hostile vows were exchanged. In the end, our ancestors decided it would be better to distance themselves from their kin than risk the pain of watching them trade their sentient individuality for a life of supposed immortality.

“It was from this very place—this planet—that my forebears departed the system in search of a new home. They boarded their starships, taking only what they could carry, and buried the shame of their people’s choices. They set their eyes to a new horizon, never to return again. So severe was the separation that they created a new tongue and committed themselves to a lifestyle of austerity such that they would never be tempted by the lusts that had doomed their kin.

“Thus, they endeavored to travel as far away as they could, choosing to leave the star system indefinitely. For hundreds of years, they wandered, stopping in systems that provided safe haven and nourishment but never finding a new home. But no matter how far they voyaged, they only ever encountered memories of their former society, as the reach of the great Novia Minoosh had spread throughout the galaxy.

“With their souls torn asunder, our ancestors finally decided to use a quantum tunnel to leave their universe behind altogether. It was then that they found Oorajee, embracing its hostile environment as the penance that would keep them from falling prey to the comforts that had swallowed their ancestors.”

Rohoar went silent, his words haunting Awen, as they surely haunted everyone who heard them. Even Rohoar’s warriors seemed awestruck by what he’d shared. His claim that this was a closely guarded narrative was evidently quite true.

“For hundreds of years, our people spread across Oorajee, building alliances with outcast species in our part of the galaxy—with those who seemed similarly averse to the trappings that unbridled technology offered. We remained content on our planet. But without knowing it, we also had paid a high price for our separation.

“When people run from a fight, they invariably discover a stronger one within. So strict had our ancestors been—so hostile to the temptations they thought would corrupt them—that they embodied a visceral resistance to anything outside of their beliefs. It produced in us violence—toward others and toward ourselves—that went far deeper than we could have imagined. We were, in fact, lost without our larger tribe. The ages had created a hostility born from sorrow and separation that only one thing could heal.”

“Reuniting with your people,” Awen said, more to herself than anyone else.

But Rohoar had heard her. “That’s correct,” he replied. Again, he stared at her, taking a deep breath. “That’s why Mwadim Rawmut chose you, Awen.”

“Me?” Awen gasped. She placed both hands against her chest, eyes wide. “Whatever do you mean?” But she felt she already knew the answer—or at least felt the start of it forming.

“Rawmut the Great had tired of fighting—had tired of seeing the tribes turn upon one another in endless confrontation. He also tired of Oorajee and longed to see our homeland. So he began planning to do something that no other mwadim had dared to do before him.”

“Reconcile,” Awen said.

Rohoar nodded. “He wanted to reunite with our ancestors. To make things right. He thought that perhaps, after so many thousands of years, the old offenses would be forgotten and new relationships could be forged.”

“Then why not make it happen yourselves?” Awen asked. “I still don’t understand how I fit into all this.”

“Rawmut feared that the Jujari could not be trusted with an encounter with the Novia Minoosh—with our ancestors. We were not the same as those we left behind. Long ages spent roaming the cosmos and living in the sand had made us hard. Ruthless. Rawmut feared that a reunion would result in bloodshed. And I believe he was right. So he formed a plan with three of his closest advisors, myself as one of them.”

“And what was this plan?” Awen asked, now on the edge of her seat. This was it. This was what she’d been waiting for, at long last.

“Your reputation preceded you, Awen of the Luma.”

Awen winced at the use of the term.

“It was believed you were a true advocate for the Jujari,” Rohoar continued. “A kithrill—a true friend. And it was believed that if anyone could figure out a way to reunite our peoples, it would be you.”

“I still don’t understand,” Awen said. “Why not just ask me? I would have—”

Rohoar waved her off. “And what would have happened when the Republic discovered a Luma ship entering our star system without Senate approval?”

“But there are ways—”

“There are spies, Awen of the Luma. You may be a gifted emissary, but I do not suppose you are also skilled in espionage.”

Awen frowned, her head tilted. She wasn’t sure if Rohoar’s remark was a compliment or an insult. Still, she mulled the scenario over in her head, trying to find the angle. “So… Rawmut asked for a meeting with the Republic and the Luma to discuss a peace accord.”

Rohoar nodded.

Suddenly, the truth of it all was coming to bear on Awen. Such a meeting was brash, brazen, and ballsy—typical Jujari. But if anyone could pull it off, it was the Jujari. “Rawmut had no intention of making peace with the Republic, did he?”

“And once again, your skills of perception are equal to your reputation.”

“He went through all of that just to… hand me the stardrive?”

Rohoar inclined his head.

So it wasn’t some incoherent act of a dying mwadim. It was intentional. He was going to hand me that stardrive all along.

“And he expected me to… what? Figure out where your people came from and arrange a meeting? That seems outlandish!”

Rohoar waited as Awen’s exclamation died. When he had her full attention again, he said, “But it worked, did it not?”

Awen froze. What? “I… I don’t…”

“I am Rohoar, former mwadim of the Jujari, son of Rawmut, descendent of the Tawnhack, and I now rest on the land of my ancestors—all thanks to one Awen dau Lothlinium.”

Awen blinked several times, trying to connect the dots. How can any of this be good? There had been so much bloodshed, so much loss. And even more, the Novia Minoosh were extinct—at least in terms of being a physical species. She doubted Rohoar would thank her once he found out they were a glorified computer program. How is any of this justifiable? How is any of it right?

Worse still, she had the feeling that she’d been taken advantage of—flattering though it was—as if she’d been duped into doing the Jujari’s bidding. And all for what? So they could have a family reunion around a meat pile and howl at the moon?

But isn’t that your job? Awen argued. Mystics, she hated fighting with herself.

“Rohoar, this entire proposition—if it’s true—”

“It’s true,” he insisted.

“This proposition is hard to accept. It has been… so costly.”

“Imagine the pain we have felt at losing the connection with our ancestors.”

She couldn’t argue that. Still, so many lives had been lost. Surely there was another way. “The explosion,” she said. “What about the explosion?”

“Yeah,” Magnus said, speaking up for the first time. “I’d like to know about that too.”

“I’m afraid I have less to tell there.”

Magnus sat up straight. That was his posture that said, I’m pissed, and I want answers now! But before he could speak, Rohoar continued.

“Suffice to say, we do not believe the ambush was the result of any Republic meddling nor any act of the Luma. Nor was it Jujari retaliation.”

“Who do you suspect, then?” Magnus asked.

“Admiral Kane,” Awen offered before anyone else could say anything. “That’s who Rawmut warned me about.”

“Could you elaborate, please?” Rohoar asked.

Awen sat back, letting the chair cradle her body. Everything was coming together for the first time in a long time. She felt overwhelmed by all the information, by all the loose ends coming together. But it was good. She’d needed this—needed to move forward.

“As he was dying…” Her thoughts went back to his bloodied body on the dais. She felt him press the stardrive into her hand. Her ears rang. And then there was a sting in her thumb. The needle. “He told me not to let him have it. I don’t see how he would have expected me to keep anything from a Jujari—he would have saved that for one of his own. And he knew I would not know the ways of the military, so this was no soldier he was warning me about. It had to be someone I could face myself, someone who would be coming after me now that I possessed what he wanted.”

“And he’s been chasing you all along,” Magnus added.

“Yes.” Awen turned back to Rohoar. “So how did Kane know about all of this?”

“That I do not know,” Rohoar replied. “My suspicions are that one of the other counselors betrayed Rawmut and sold the information for their own personal gain.”

“Do you have proof of this?” Magnus asked. “Anything we can track?”

Rohoar shook his head. “I’m sorry. But this is only my foostrath speaking.”

“Your footstrap?” Magnus asked.

“Foostrath, foostrath,” Rohoar stressed.

“Foostrath means gut,” Awen said. “Intuition.”

“Copy that.”

“All I can tell you is that Kane came to Rawmut and offered him anything he wanted for the stardrive. But Rawmut refused. Kane became enraged, and our mwadim had to have the man removed forcibly.” Rohoar paused, considering something. He raised his jowls in a sneer. “There was something not right about that man. Something that I saw in the Unity about him which did not settle well.”

“So you saw it too?” Awen asked, shocked. Not only had someone else seen the evil in Kane that she had seen, but—hold on—Rohoar had some sort of abilities in the Unity too. That’s why the temple glowed when he chanted in it with Piper. Of course! Awen’s mind went wild with thoughts, connecting the Gladio Umbra to the Unity to the Jujari and now back to Rohoar. She had more questions than could fill an entire data pad if given enough time.

“I saw great darkness in the creature we know as Kane, yes. And so did Rawmut. Somehow, that being tracked Rawmut down. Tracked us down. It longed for the stardrive because, I believe, it longed for my people… longed for us from ancient times. I sensed hatred in the creature. A dark desire for vengeance that I cannot explain. As if it was driven by a need for recompense, to settle old grievances with us, and with…”

“The Novia Minoosh,” Magnus suggested. “Splick. What the hell are we talking about here, people? Are you saying that there’s some ancient species that has a vendetta against the Jujari’s ancestors or some splick?”

No one answered right away. Finally, Awen said, “I’m not sure any of us can draw any real conclusions right now. This is… well, it’s a lot. Let’s just sit on it, shall we?”

“I’m uncertain how sitting on this will help us determine viable paths forward, Awen,” Rohoar said.

“Sorry,” Awen replied, rubbing her hand over her face. She was tired and needed some fresh air. “It’s just an expression that means we need time to think all this through. Sort it out, you know?”

“Ah, very well. I do understand. I’m sure my own kinsmen and kinswomen—our whatever I am to call them in their current state—have their own questions for me.”

“On that point,” Awen said, “have you spoken to Azelon about all this? And, if not, why didn’t she bring it up from the moment she saw you?”

“Those are fair questions, and ones I assume only Azelon can answer. I suspect that she—that all the Novia—were waiting for me to return home first… to figure this out for myself. Without knowing that we Jujari carried on the legends of our ancestors, would Azelon not fear that such news might be too much for a stranger to bear?”

“I guess I hadn’t thought about that,” Awen replied. “But you do plan on speaking to her, correct?”

Rohoar nodded. “I do, yes. Eagerly so. And yet… also fearfully. Perhaps when all this fighting is done.”

Awen wanted to insist that Rohaor take a shuttle up to the Spire this moment. But she understood his position, probably more than most. Pride, honor, and respect were values that the Juajri and—she assumed—the Novia took very seriously.

“Mwadim Rohoar,” TO-96 said, raising his hand. “I have a question.”

“It’s just Rohoar,” replied the Jujari. “Now my son is the mwadim.”

“Ah, I understand. I have a question about time.”

“You are a bot. Don’t you already know the time?”

“Forgive me. Not the time of the day. This is more a matter of personal inquiry. You mentioned roaming the metaverse for several hundred years and then being on Oorajee for another several hundred years. However, given the time dilation that we discovered—that is, an algorithmic time discrepancy between our two universes—even three hundred years in the protoverse would represent more than six thousand years here. And you’ve spent at least that long, if not more, on Oorajee. Yet my sensors do not indicate that much degradation among the ruins of Itheliana or here on Ni No.”

“I must acquire a bot like you, TO-96.” Rohoar turned to Ezo. “If you would like to part with him…”

“He’s not for sale.” Ezo added in a whisper, “As much as Ezo would like to sell him at times.”

“I heard that, sir.”

“To answer your question, you are right in discerning the time dilation between our worlds. While it has been several centuries since we last measured it, I can tell you that it is not static.”

“I beg your pardon?” TO-96 asked.

“It is not static. It is dynamic. In fact, by our calculations, it is accelerating more every day.”

“So you’re saying it has an exponent?” Ezo asked. “The time dilation is growing wider?”

“Yes,” said Rohoar. “So your readings are probably accurate, nav bot. We have been away from our people for a little over two thousand years. But if the current time-dilation ratio is used, the total elapsed duration would appear to be more than ten thousand years.”

Magnus whistled. “That’s a long time.”

“Which means,” Ezo said, “if we’re not careful, we could end up living an entire lifetime in a matter of minutes.”

“That is correct, sir,” TO-96 said.

“Which means the clock is ticking,” Magnus said. “And we don’t have time to waste.”

29

This was, by far, the most diverse team Magnus had ever trained. It was one thing to take a group of humans from different planets and get them to work together. Splick, just getting people from the same planet to operate as a cohesive unit was stressful enough. But to have multiple species with differing languages and various levels of combat training, all attempting to achieve the same objective, was downright infuriating.

“Cease fire, cease fire!’ Magnus yelled. “Computer, end simulation.”

“Acknowledged.”

The open field and metal targets faded away to reveal a room of flat gray panels seamlessly joined from floor to ceiling. A few panels remained on, filling the ECSE with blue-tinted light. The room was full of Jujari, humans, and whatever else the rest of Abimbola’s Marauders were. Some of them cursed, while others examined their weapons as if the fake blasters had misfired. They hadn’t.

“Bliss, you just shot what’s-his-face in the back.”

“Saladin,” snarled a Jujari. “And I’m female.”

Magnus winced. “And you—” he snapped his fingers, trying to remember another Jujari name.

“Longchomps.”

“Longchops, you just killed—” Magnus snapped his fingers again. Mystics, memorizing everyone’s names is a pain in the ass.

“Robillard, sir,” said the Marauder who’d been shot. “But people just shorten it to Robi.”

“You just killed Robi, Longchips.”

“And I don’t appreciate that,” Robi added. “Really puts a damper on my day.”

“He stepped in my way,” Longchomps protested.

“You shot him three times,” Magnus said without emotion.

The Jujari’s eyebrow lifted.

“Yeah, that’s right. Three. And you, Cheese?”

“Czyz.”

“You’ve gotta wait to bite the targets.”

“But, but—”

“No buts. You were already struck four times before you got to the closest one. In real combat, you’d have been dead. You wouldn’t be biting anything but dirt. Shoot first, chase down, and then bite. We work with what you can do, not in spite of it.”

“Maybe if these blasters were real, he wouldn’t have to bite anything,” Bettger insisted. She was one of the few human women on the team, and Magnus could already tell she was going to be a handful.

“You don’t get real blasters until you can master these—as one,” Magnus said, placing extra emphasis on the last two words.

“And what real blasters are we getting?” a Marauder named Shorty asked. “Some old extras you’ve scrounged together?”

Magnus thought about the weapons he and Azelon had designed. But not even those beauties could shrug off the sour mood he was speeding toward, thanks to these dimwitted noobs. The way they were headed, Magnus didn’t want to share any of his new toys with them.

“If you don’t know how to work together as a team first, it doesn’t matter what weapons I give you. Understand?”

The team responded with a series of nods and grunts. The truth was, these recruits would all have plenty of time to work with the new weapons once Azie had them ready in a few weeks. With any luck, Magnus would get several months to whip these troops into an effective team. In his experience, it took a year to build a cohesive combat unit. It could be done in less—they’d just suffer more friendly losses. Even six months would be better than nothing. But at their current rate, Magnus feared they’d need a year. And somehow, he thought, I don’t think I’m going to get anywhere close to that.

Suddenly, a sliver of bright light appeared from one side of the hall. A figure stepped through from the outside. When the door slid shut again, Magnus saw Awen. He smiled at her and gave a small wave, asking her to stay where she was. “Everyone, stand down. Take a ten-minute break. Hydrate, stretch, then we’ll rerun this one until we get it right.”

The team piled through the exit beside Awen and into the afternoon light.

“How’s it going?” Awen asked, sounding tentative.

“We’re all gonna die.”

“That bad, huh?”

Magnus shook his head. “No, not that bad, but bad enough. They don’t need advanced tactics and warfare—they need boot camp.”

“How’s that?”

“None of them are working from the same base level. They’re all at different places, and most never having had basic combat training before. The Jujari want to maul everything they see, the Marauders are reckless and unorganized, and my Marines are too cautious. It’s like trying to herd cats.”

“So… we’re all gonna die.”

Magnus laughed, running a hand over his face. “I need a drink.”

“It’s five o’clock somewhere,” Awen replied. The two of them shared a look and then fell silent. “So? What’s next?”

“I’ve got to slow things down. Get them working from some common baseline. The problem is, we don’t have time for that. You can’t rush this sort of thing. And there are so many intangibles, like personality chemistry and experience. I’ve worked with various teams before, but nothing this extreme. Without a whole lotta time, I just don’t know how we’re going to take on a unit like Kane’s in Itheliana. They’re pros. No mercy. One shot, one kill, repeat.”

“You’ll find a way,” Awen said. “I believe in you.”

“I’m not sure belief is enough.”

“Well, someone once told me that we train who we’ve got, find their strengths, and cover down on their weaknesses, and we get the job done. Isn’t that right?”

She was using his own call to action against him. Damn, she’s good. “Something like that,” he said.

“So, do it.”

“Huh?”

“Cover down on their weaknesses. A herd of cats is nothing I’d want to cross. Maybe instead of getting individuals to work together like you would in one of your special-units teams, you look at each group as its own team. That way, you don’t have to worry about individual personalities—you just have to manage groups who already are used to one another.”

Magnus looked at Awen, considering what she’d just laid out. He could hardly believe it, but she had a point. In fact, it was a great point.

Why didn’t I think of that?

“What,” she said after a few seconds. “What’d I say?”

“You’re a damn genius, lady, that’s what.”

“Really?” Color filled her cheeks.

Magnus liked when she got embarrassed—he knew it didn’t often happen with a woman like her. “How about you?”

“With Piper?”

Magnus nodded.

“It’s going well. Very well, I’d say.”

“That’s good to hear.”

Awen got a far-off look in her eyes. “It’s like she was born to live inside the Unity. Like the natural world is an inconvenience.”

“An inconvenience?”

Awen waved him off. “Maybe that’s too strong a word. I just mean she seems like she is more capable when it comes to operating in the Unity.” Awen looked to be considering her next words carefully. “You ever heard of a savant?”

“A what?”

“Guess not. It’s a person who is so gifted in one particular area that they have deficiencies in others. Like people who are really good at advanced physics or politics but—”

“But have no social life whatsoever.”

“Exactly.”

“I knew a few of those.” Magnus eyed Awen.

She paused. “Hey, I have a social life!”

“Really?”

“Totally.”

“When was the last time you went out on a date?”

Awen frowned, her mouth opening and closing like a fish’s. “That’s none of your business,” she finally said.

“Like I said, no social life. You’re a savant.”

“Anyway,” Awen said, “Piper will be the most powerful operator in the Unity that I’ve ever seen.”

“That’s high praise coming from you.”

“Well, it’s true. She’s a true blood, a natural. It’s almost like all the power that Willowood had—the power that was supposed to go to Valerie—skipped a generation and went to Piper, but it was three times as much.”

“Like Piper got Willowood’s, Valerie’s, and then her own dose of Unity-power juice?”

“Juice?”

“Fuel, giftedness… whatever.”

“Yeah,” Awen said. “Something like that.”

“So I take it that’s not how this stuff normally works… like, passing on traits from one generation to the next. I’m guessing Valerie being skipped and Piper getting a double or triple dose is unusual.”

Awen nodded slowly. “Very. I’ve never heard of it happening before. In fact, I don’t even know how it’s possible. The only explanation I can think of is that Valerie is hiding her gifts.”

Magnus shook his head. “And I doubt that very much.”

“How so?”

“We’ve been through enough together that if she had any Unity juice, she’d have used it already.”

“Maybe she has, and you’re just not aware.”

“Nah,” Magnus said. “Being around you and Piper has taught me a few things about people who dabble in the Unity, and Valerie ain’t like you at all.”

Awen seemed taken aback. Magnus couldn’t tell if she was upset or flattered. Either way, he liked when she was caught off guard. Just like when she was embarrassed, her nose twitched. It was… adorable.

Pull it together, Adonis. You’ve still got a job to do.

He wondered when that job would be over. When—if ever—was he going to be able to settle down and have a normal life? Somehow, deep down, he doubted there was an end point. There was always a job to do, ever “one more mission.” And the way things were going at the moment, he wondered if he would come home from these next two missions—wherever home ended up being. If he lived through the assault on Ithnor Ithelia against Kane’s operatives, he still had to survive the attack on the Luma, and then clear his name before the Republic hunted him down for treason.

Listen to yourself, man! What Marine talks about survival?

Marines only spoke of victory, of winning against all the odds. But he felt himself… getting soft, perhaps, or tired. Or maybe it was that he still felt lost—disenfranchised from the Corps—from his unit.

“What’s wrong?” Awen asked.

“Huh?”

“You look upset. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

Awen scoffed. “Listen, you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, but don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not lying…” She was staring straight at him.

Dammit. Magnus hated trying to explain what he was feeling, but this woman had a way of pulling it out of him. “You’re annoying, you know that?”

“What? Why?”

“Because you are.” Magnus folded his arms. “What did you call the Novia who lived here again? The Gladio…”

“Gladio Umbra. Why?”

“It’s what we should call you.”

“Call who? Me and Piper?”

“Yeah. Maybe it’s what we should call all of us.”

“Why would you say that?” Awen asked with a peculiar smile. It was almost as if… she’d been thinking the same thing.

“Well, I’m not a Marine anymore, and you’re not a Luma. If that’s the case, then what are we? We need to call ourselves something, don’t we?”

Awen crossed her arms and stared at him.

“We might as well not reinvent the wheel,” he continued. “And it seems like we have enough Jujari around to make it legitimate.”

Awen opened her mouth then closed it without saying anything.

“Now it’s your turn,” Magnus said. “Spill your guts.”

“I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about it already. Truth be told, I like the idea. But I’m not sure it’s our call to make.”

“You mean… Rohoar needs to decide?”

Awen nodded. “I feel like we’d be intruding. How would you like it if some alien up and decided they wanted to be a Marine without going through any initiation or training—without passing any sort of test or rite of passage?”

“Point taken.”

“I’m up for it,” she said. “Really, I am. But let’s ask him first, shall we?”

“Agreed.” They shared another long silence before Magnus asked, “So, what do you make of all that?”

“Of Rohoar’s history lesson?”

Magnus grunted in assent. It had been twenty-four hours since the former mwadim dished on his people’s ancient history, blowing everyone’s mind in the room—including his own people’s, it seemed. This was the first time Magnus had been alone with Awen since, so he wanted to take the opportunity to debrief her.

“Well, it certainly is fascinating.”

“Ha!” Magnus barked. “That’s an understatement if I ever heard one.”

“Well, it is, isn’t it?” She put her fists on her hips.

“It’s more like universe shattering if you ask me, but fascinating works if you want to undersell it.” The two of them shared a smile. “So, you believe him?”

“Yeah,” she replied. “You?”

“I’m not sure how I couldn’t. I mean, I’m not gonna argue with their ancient history. And he clearly seems to know what he’s doing here. Piper already mentioned that the temple lit up when he knelt at the stone table.”

“It was pretty amazing to see. When I walked in on it… well, I was blown away.”

“Was it fascinating?” he asked. Awen hauled off and punched him in the arm, and he rubbed it in mock pain. “Ouch! Easy!”

“If it is all true,” Awen said, “it means we have a lot to catch up on. Everything as we know it is about to change. I mean, it already is changing.” She brushed a hair behind her ear. That was adorable too. She really did have cute pointy ears. “Once the galaxy finds out about quantum dimensions, the tunnels, the Novia, and the Jujari, it’s going to be… I mean, it’s the greatest discovery anyone’s ever made beyond subspace travel.”

“And you made it,” Magnus said, hoping to remind her of the role she’d played in all this.

“Eh, I don’t know about that.”

“Come on, Awen, give yourself some credit here.”

“It seems like the Jujari already had it all figured out. They just used me as their messenger, that’s all.”

“Messenger or not, you were the one who did what they never chose to do. That’s saying something, in my book.”

“Oh?”

“Knowing the mountain is high is not enough. Anyone can see that. But it’s those who risk everything to climb it who get to say just how tall it is. They’re the ones with bragging rights. Unless you climb the mountain, you don’t get to say. And you, Lady Awen, climbed the damn mountain.”

“Lady Awen?”

Now it was his turn to feel heat in his face. Why had he even said that? “Sorry. It just kinda slipped out.”

“Slipped out from where?”

“From…” He had no idea how to answer her.

“Don’t answer that.”

Thank the mystics, he thought.

“I liked it anyway. No one’s ever called me that but my father.”

“Great,” he said. “Now I’m acting like your dad. That’s not weird or anything.”

“He is a good man. And so are you.”

That was unexpected. “Thank you?” He made it sound like a question.

“I’m not paying you a compliment because I want something.”

“Who said anything about wanting something?” he asked. “I didn’t say I wanted anything either.”

“So… let’s drop that part, then,” she said.

“Roger that.”

“Don’t even know what we were talking about.”

“Me neither…” And what were they talking about again? “The Gladio Umbra,” Magnus finally said.

“Right, the Gladio Umbra. You want me to talk to Rohoar?”

“Why don’t we do it together?”

Awen smiled with a twinkle in her eye. “I’d like that.”

“Let me finish this next training rotation, and then we’ll connect with him. Copy?”

“Copy that, trooper.” They held each other’s stare before the door opened and bright light spilled into the space between them.

“Looks like it’s time to get back to work,” Magnus said.

“Have fun.” Awen winked. “I know you will.”

30

When Magnus saw Saasarr walking toward the OCSE—open combat simulation environment—his heart froze. He instinctively drew his Z from his chest plate and held it in low-ready position. What in the hell is he doing here?

He’d been so caught up in training over the last several days that he’d completely forgotten about the lizard. Now, as he prepped the arena for morning sparring, the last thing he expected to see was the archenemy of the Jujari striding out of the rows of tents.

“Stay where you are,” Magnus ordered, ready to point and shoot without hesitation.

Saasarr looked at Magnus and raised his hands… talons… claws. Whatever.

“Don’t shoot, Marine,” Saasarr said with a hiss. “Saasarr is unarmed.”

“That means nothing to me. Who let you out of your cage?”

“What means nothing to you?” Saasarr said, taking another step forward.

Magnus raised his Z, aiming down the sights at the lizard’s center mass. “I swear to all the mystics, if you take another step, I’ll drop you, no questions asked.”

“Is Magnus afraid of Saasarr even when Saasarr is without a weapon?”

“I’m not afraid of you, but I am afraid of what will happen when you meet the rest of my team.”

Saasarr let out a long hiss. Magnus could feel his muscles coiled up and ready to spring into action. He’d met Reptalons on several other occasions, and they were—without question—one of the vilest opponents he’d ever faced. Second maybe to the Jujari.“There’s no need to worry,” came a new voice, and a tall, dark-haired woman emerged from one of the tents.

“Sootriman,” Magnus said, dropping the barrel of his pistol ever so slightly.

“Good to see you too, Magnus.” She pointed to his pistol. “Mind putting that away?”

He hesitated. Away? “Sootriman, begging your pardon but—”

“I’ve got it all worked out.”

He squinted at her and then at Saasarr. “You’ve got what worked out?”

Given the long list of grievances the Jujari and the Reptalons had with one another, he found it hard to believe that Sootriman had “worked it out.” That said, she was a woman of significant power and resources. Hell, she’d managed to employ the lizards as members of her personal guard. Magnus figured that was equivalent to catching lightning in a bottle and using it as a nightlight on command.

“I figured out how to get the Reptalon and the Jujari to play nice.” She skirted Saasarr, approached Magnus, and laid a palm on the top of his Z.

That rubbed him the wrong way—nobody touched his weapons but him. But Sootriman wasn’t exactly your run-of-the-mill nobody. She had a way about her. Magnus had hardly known her more than a few hours all told, and he noted that she had a way of getting people to do what she wanted. You don’t become ruler over Ki Nar Four because you play by the rules.

“Okay, I’ll bite. What’d you do?”

“I reminded him of his blood oath to me and told him that if he didn’t put his grievances aside, I’d offer him back to his overlord on Orin Five and tell his nest that he betrayed me.”

Magnus glanced at Saasarr. The lizard flicked his tongue in the air but said nothing to contradict Sootriman’s story.

“You just told him not to attack the Jujari after how many centuries of grudges…?”

“Just a couple,” she replied with a smile.

“And how’s that working out for you, lizard brain?” Magnus asked Saasarr, who licked the air again but said nothing. That’s not good enough. “’Cause a bunch of Jujari are gonna walk out here in about five minutes, and they ain’t gonna just let you waltz around here without taking a bite out of you.”

“Magnus, please,” Sootriman said.

“And you’re telling me”—Magnus took several steps toward Saasarr—“that you’re just going to let them do that? After all they did to your people? You’re going to let them walk all over you?”

Magnus noticed the lizard’s eye twitch. There it is.

“Imagine what your overlord is going to say to you when you had a prime opportunity to slaughter almost a dozen unarmed Jujari in cold blood. Imagine the shame.”

Several blood vessels pulsed under the creature’s scaly skin. Magnus could even smell the hormone sacs excreting their defensive scent across the scales behind his neck. That stuff was nasty.

“What’s it gonna be, lizard breath?” Magnus took two more steps, his Z mere centimeters from the end of the Reptalon’s snout. “Go ahead. I’m ready for you. Do it.”

“Magnus!” Sootriman scolded.

“No,” Saasarr said at last. He lowered his head and took a step back.

That was new. Reptalons never retreated. Ever. Just like they never let go once their jaws clamped down on something. It was their fatal flaw but something that shouldn’t be toyed with nonetheless.

“Damn, woman,” Magnus said to Sootriman. “What’d you do? Work some voodoo magic on him or something?”

“I already told you—”

“The shame of failing a blood oath,” interrupted Saasarr, “is greater than the shame of failing to kill a Jujari. Saasarr knows where his priorities are.”

“Good,” Magnus said, satisfied. He holstered his sidearm and nodded at Sootriman. “That’s step one.”

“What’s step two?” she asked.

“What do you think?” No sooner had Magnus spoken than his three new platoons emerged from the mess hall. Sootriman turned with Saasarr and watched as the warriors filed out. It wasn’t long before the Marines noticed their lieutenant and then spotted the Reptalon. Once that happened, the Jujari took notice.

Howls echoed through base camp as if a pack of wolves had just discovered a woodland kill in the dead of winter. Magnus felt the hair on the back of his neck go rigid, just as he was sure the Jujari’s hackles were raised. Shouts went up from among the Marauders and the Marines as the Jujari started bounding straight for Saasarr.

“Dammit,” Magnus yelled, ripping his MAR30 off the maglock on his back and drawing it on the incoming pack of hyenas. “Awww, spliiick! Stand down! I said, stand down!” But the beasts weren’t even listening. Foam frothed from their jowls, claws scratched at the stone, and snarls filled the still morning air.

Magnus didn’t want to shoot them. Rohoar and Abimbola had nearly died trying to secure these recruits. Mystics knew, Magnus would need everybody he could to have a fighting chance against Kane’s operatives on Ithelia. Otherwise, this was going to be a bloodbath.

And so what? One less Reptalon to worry about isn’t such a bad thing.

Suddenly, Sootriman stepped in front of Saasarr. The Reptalon said, “My lord, no!” But the woman wasn’t going to budge. Magnus stared in wide-eyed wonder as eight Jujari warriors bounded toward the dark-haired beauty as she stood in front of the Reptalon. The moment was one of a kind… and someone was definitely going to die.

A loud roar went up from somewhere in the camp. Magnus ducked instinctively, swinging his MAR30 around in the direction of the sound. But the noise was so loud that he couldn’t get a bearing on it. He covered an ear with a hand, trying to shield the other with his shoulder. “What the hell?” he asked no one in particular.

The effect on the Jujari, however, was more dramatic. The warriors slid to a halt, their claws scraping across the stones and dirt, creating furrows in the ground just three meters short of Sootriman, painting and sweating. But now their heads hung low, ears folded down in… deference?

Rohoar strode out from between the buildings leading up the temple road. He was on the far side of the open area, ambling toward Magnus.

“For crying out loud,” Magnus yelled. “Think you could have done that a little sooner? I almost had to shoot some of your warriors to make a point!”

“I have made the only point that needs to be made,” Rohoar said, now within a few meters.

“And what point is that?”

Rohoar looked at Sootriman and then the lizard. “Does Magnus wish this Reptalon to remain unharmed?”

Magnus eyed Rohoar then Saasarr then the Jujari. “Yeah, one hundred percent.”

“And this Reptalon is a vital part of the mission’s execution?”

“He is, Rohoar.”

“Then he shall not be harmed.”

Magnus looked again at the Jujari. Their heads were bowed in reverence—all but one of them…

“Would you like to say something, Grahban, son of Helnooth?”

Grahban’s ears were erect. That’s different. Rohoar didn’t miss a thing, which was no surprise as he was these warriors’ former mwadim.

Grahban raised his head. “Why have you become soft?” When Rohoar didn’t respond, Grahban continued. “Why, after generations of bloodshed, would you let this drehglesh harcum breathe the same air as us?”

“And what would you do?” Rohoar said, stepping closer to Grahban.

Grahban stood up on his hind legs, raising himself as tall as Rohoar. “I would flay his hide from his body and feed it to the carrion atop the ramparts of the Great Gate.”

“And can you see the Great Gate from here?” Rohoar asked.

Grahban sneered at Rohoar. “I do not need to see it to know that—”

“And tell me, what about Oorajee? Do you see it too?”

“Yes, in my heart, I see—”

Rohoar struck the other Jujari with a single paw, knocking him to the ground. The strike was so swift that Magnus never even saw it coming. He only heard the sound of fur rippling through the air and the deep thud of the blow against the side of Grahban’s head.

“You are a fool, then, Grahban. Oorajee is too far to see. If we hold to our bitterness, it will only lead to death. But if we embrace honor, if we embrace the pledges we give to those whose lives we are sworn to protect, then we have a chance of living. Do you want to live, Grahban?”

The Jujari was recovering from the blow to his head. He licked his chops and winced as blood pooled from the corner of his mouth.

“Do you want to live, Grahban?” Rohoar said, his paw coming to rest on Grahban’s shoulder. Magnus could see the long nails pressing into the soft flesh at the base of the hyena’s neck.

“Yes, Mwadim. I want to live.”

“I am not your mwadim anymore, Grahban. But I will kill you just the same if you bring harm to this Reptalon or anyone else whom my blood oath deems essential. Do I make myself clear?”

Grahban lowered his head and bared his neck. As soon as he did so, Rohoar removed his paw and stepped back. “They are yours to command,” he said to Magnus. “You won’t have any more problems from now on.”

Magnus glanced at Sootriman, who looked as surprised as he felt. “Mystics, had I known it was going to be that easy, I would have done it days ago.”

“Sure you would’ve.” Sootriman patted him as she passed him, heading for the arena. When Magnus didn’t turn to follow her, she added, “Are we doing morning PT or what, Marine?”

She was pushy. But Magnus liked pushy—it was a hell of a lot better than being a pushover. He glanced at Rohoar and then the rest of the teams. “You know what?” he said over his shoulder. “Why don’t you get them started, Sootriman.”

“Me? But—”

“Since you seem so enthusiastic, they’re all yours. I’ve got something to discuss. I’ll relieve you in a while.”

“But—”

“They’re all yours, warlord.”

* * *

Magnus, Awen, and Rohoar stood in the shade of the temple tree, their feet not more than a meter from the edge of the fountain’s cold, clear waters. Rohoar had followed Magnus and Awen, his brow furrowed in suspicion. The Jujari had every reason to be concerned. Neither Magnus nor Awen had taken the time to debrief with Rohoar after the virtual binary bomb he’d dropped on everyone two days prior.

“You are upset about our history,” Rohoar said, breaking the silence.

Awen shook her head. “Rohoar, we—”

“I am sorry. I did not mean to unsettle you. I understand that everything I shared must have come as a shock.”

“Well…” Awen conceded. “Yeah. Pretty much.”

“It was not my intent to cause distress in any of you.”

“Listen,” Magnus said, “we’re not here about that. Well, not exactly. But we’re not mad about anything. We just want to run something by you.”

Rohoar looked to his right and left. “This is a strange custom. What is achieved by running by someone?”

“Mystics…” whispered Magnus with a shake of his head.

“He doesn’t mean it like that,” Awen said. “What he means is we’d like to ask your opinion on something.”

“My opinion?”

Awen nodded. “Yes. We’d like to ask your permission to call our new group of warriors the Gladio Umbra.”

Rohoar looked confused. “I don’t understand.”

“We need a name for our team,” Magnus said.

“And you want to call yourselves the Gladio Umbra?” Rohoar scratched the side of his neck. “I do not understand. You are a Marine, and you are a Luma. What reasons do you have to require redefinition?”

“That’s the right question to ask.” Magnus looked at Awen then back at Rohoar. “I can never go back to being a Marine after what happened to my eyes. And even if I could, the Republic’s out to arrest me. My career there is done.”

“And I can never go back to being a Luma,” Awen added. “After whatever So-Elku has done to it, there is no more Luma for me.” Awen lowered her head, and her voice softened. “Sometimes, when old things die, something new has to be birthed… something that reminds us of the way things used to be. But since it’s new, it must do things as they’ve never been done before.”

Awen raised her head and looked Rohoar in the eye, not blinking. Interestingly, it was the Jujari who finally looked away, not the Elonian.

“We wish to use the name of your ancestors, Rohoar,” Awen said at last. “But only if you allow it and only if you are a part of it. If you don’t wish us to, we completely understand.”

“I would be honored if you used the name—if we used the name.”

Well, that was easy, Magnus thought.

Rohoar took a deep breath. “Being with you these last several days, I have seen some lights.”

“Seen some lights?” Awen asked.

“Yes. Isn’t that what you say? When you have ideas?”

Magnus did his best not to laugh, and he could see Awen was attempting to suppress her response too.

“There is more to life than fighting just to protect your own interests. This is the Jujari way, of course—to survive at the expense of others. But I know there is also fighting that puts others before yourself. You have demonstrated this well. Again, it is not the Jujari way, but I do believe it was the Novia way. Perhaps it was the Gladio Umbra way too.

“We—the Jujari—have strayed from the path, it seems. Further than I thought… further than any mwadim suspected. In wanting to distance themselves from the Novia, the Gladio inadvertently became the thing they despised: a self-righteous inward-looking tribe. They became Jujari. They became us.”

Rohoar looked into the branches that shaded them. Magnus could see that he was having a real moment. He hadn’t even known the beasts were capable of such deep thoughts. So much for being all gnashing teeth and swiping claws.

“It was Rawmut’s greatest wish,” Rohoar continued, “to see this place, Ni No, and to see Itheliana. He imagined that the Novia were good people. And he dreamed of what a reunion would look like. He dreamed so much that it often made me wonder if he’d lost his mind. At long last, however, I have arrived in the land of my ancestors. My only regret is that I cannot do for my mwadim what I wished to.”

“And what’s that?” asked Awen.

“To show Rawmut that he was right. That the Novia were real and that a peaceful reunion was possible.”

“Rawmut would be proud of you, Rohoar,” Awen said. “You are honoring his desires with integrity and nobility.”

Rohoar took a deep breath. The air exited his nostrils with a subtle whistle as his body appeared to relax. “Thank you, Awen.”

“You’re welcome.”

Awen reached out and placed a hand on Rohoar’s paw. The small gesture delayed the conversation long enough that Magnus had to clear his throat and incline his head toward the Jujari. Rohoar wiped at his eyes and met Magnus’s gaze.

Is this big-ass pooch crying? Magnus wondered.

“The Gladio Umbra are no longer here,” Rohoar said, “but I am their descendant. And now that we are here, we must inhabit this place and train to defend the galaxy. Therefore, I can think of no more fitting title than resurrecting that of the Gladio Umbra.”

“Well,” Magnus said, scratching his beard, “sounds good to me.”

“Me too,” Awen replied. “Thank you, Rohoar.”

“It sounds good to me too,” Rohoar said, but the words seem strained in his mouth.

Awen stared at the Jujari. “Are you okay, Rohoar?”

“No.” He shook his head, brow furrowed as if in pain. “There is no sound that is good in my ears. I was just trying to agree with you.”

31

Magnus spent the night creating a new urban landscape using the ECSE’s creation interface. He’d never seen—let alone heard of—holo-projected hard-light before, but the possibilities astounded him. He was able to create buildings, vegetation, and particles that not only looked authentic but actually felt real to the touch as well. As soon as a simulation was terminated and the hard light dissipated, it was as if nothing had been there at all.

Learning how to use the creation interface had taken him several days. Truth be told, he was having a good time with it. Azelon’s patient tutelage helped him create his first viable scenario. By his fourth, he was making them on his own. They were, however, far from flawless.

“LT?” Dutch asked, her hand raised.

“Just call me Magnus, Dutch.”

“Right. Sorry, sir. Magnus.” Dutch pointed at something overhead. “Is that supposed to be there?”

Magnus looked to where she indicated and saw half of a dune skiff, upside down and floating about ten meters off the ground.

“Definitely not.” He cursed. Maybe he wasn’t as good at this programming thing as he thought.

“I’m on it, sir,” Cyril said, running over to the access panel on the wall near the door. “Got your six on the double, sir.”

“Computer,” Magnus said. “Share creative authority with Cyril.”

“Request acknowledged,” the AI replied.

“Okay, the rest of you, fall in.”

Magnus waited as his unit gathered around him. In all, he was overseeing thirty-eight warriors including himself, nearly enough for a special-units company. So, following Awen’s advice, he’d decided to do just that—make a small company and break everyone up into compact recon-style platoons according to species.

Alpha Platoon belonged to Dutch and included Valerie, Nolan, Haney, Gilder, Sootriman, and Ezo. He also put the Reptalon with them since he didn’t trust Saasarr to get along with Jujari or Marauders. Magnus imagined that Flow and Cheeks would eventually join this platoon, but he still didn’t have the heart to introduce them to any Jujari, let alone tell them that they were on a Jujari starship in orbit over the ancestral home planet of that species. The two Marines were still confined to sick bay, the mess hall, and a cargo hold that Magnus had converted into a gym for them. He didn’t expect their PTSD to go away anytime soon, and neither he nor Valerie felt they were ready for the full truth. They’d taken well to the half truths that he’d fed them so far—being en route to a planet to start training and prep for the next mission. But they were getting restless. It was only a matter of time before they demanded to know what was going on, and Magnus wasn’t about to avoid the truth with them any more than he already had.

Bravo Platoon was led by Abimbola. It consisted of two of the surviving Marauders they’d taken to Worru—Rix and Silk—as well as some of the additions Abimbola had picked up on the return trip—Berouth, Cyril, Nubs, Dozer, “Doc” Campbell, and Reimer.

Magnus decided that Titus would make the best leader for Charlie Platoon. Charlie Platoon was Magnus’s old unit designation, and he gave it to Titus with pride, knowing the man would lead it with distinction. Magnus assigned Zoll, Bliss, Robi, Jaffrey, Ricky, Shorty, Ford, Andocs, Bettger, and Baker to him. The team was well rounded and ready to send some blaster bolts downrange.

Last but not least, Magnus gave Delta Platoon to Rohoar. The roster consisted of Saladin, Arjae, Lugt, Redmarrow, Dihaze, Czyz, Longchomps, and Grahban. The nine Jujari were a veritable storm of destruction. Magnus just hoped he could manage to rein them in long enough to get them within proximity of their targets. Then he’d loosen the reins and let them do their thing.

Magnus raised a palm to get everyone to quiet down. “Over the last couple of days, I hope you’ve noticed a difference in our team dynamic.”

The team shared nods and more than a few grunts.

“You’re working better together as individuals and as platoons. And that’s good. But we need to do better, and I expect more from you than you’re giving me right now.

“The enemy we’re going up against is highly trained. They’re a fluid unit, able to adapt to sudden changes and still carry out the mission. That means that we need to hit them hard and fast and give them something they’ll never be able to adapt to. The good news is that I think we have that covered. No one will know how to adapt to the likes of you.”

A smattering of laughter and growls went up from among the group. Magnus let them have the moment.

“Go ahead, look around.”

They eyed one another—some in disgust, some in fascination, and all in some semblance of wonder.

“That’s right,” Magnus said. “You’re the craziest-looking bastards I’ve ever seen in one unit—no exceptions. Which means…” Magnus let the word hang in the air for a beat. “I expect you to fight like crazy sons of bitches too.” He caught the eyes of several women in the group. “And daughters of bitches.” Damn. It just didn’t have the same ring to it.

“We get the point, Magnus.” Valerie gestured for him to keep going.

“Right.” Magnus cleared his throat. “Today, we’re trying an urban-warfare simulation, one that I don’t expect you to survive.”

“So, it's like the hidden level in Renegade Galaxy then?” Cyril asked. “Where you are pretty much doomed from the start? I mean, nobody beats that level—not even me. I think the devs put it in there just to piss people off. So, if that’s what you’re going for, sir, then isn’t that just a little dark, sir? I mean, to put people through it without any chance of beating the level?”

“No, it’s not, Marauder. It’s real. Because while each of you has fought in a context like this before, none of you have ever done it together. That means that you’ve got to talk more, call things out clearly, and move in a coordinated effort. Until that happens, every sim will end with you meeting the same fate. It’s the same fate, mind you, that you’ll meet in Itheliana if we try to take these Paragon troopers without you knowing what you’re doing. And I’m not about to lose my first command in the Gladio Umbra because I didn’t do my part in training your sorry asses. Copy?”

The response was a mess of people saying, “Copy,” grunting, a hiss, and other words of assent not in the Marine lexicon. He’d need to fix that.

“Magnus?” Bliss said, looking between his other Marauders as he stepped forward. “Gladio Umbra?”

“That’s right,” Magnus replied, understanding the man’s implied question. “That’s our new name, our new allegiance. You may have fought for the Galactic Republic, and you might again one day, but not today. You may be Jujari, and you may always be Jujari because that’s the blood that runs in your veins, but not today. And you might be a ragtag bunch of Marauders from all corners of the galaxy, pulled together by a giant Miblimbian, but not today.”

A hand went up. It was Ezo. “What if you don’t fight for any of those factions?”

“Yes,” Saasarr echoed.

“Then that means you belong to me,” Sootriman replied.

The entire team replied in longwinded Oh!s and snorts.

“And today,” Sootriman added, “that means I fight with Magnus, and so do you.”

“You fight with me.” Magnus nodded, looking around the group. “But you also fight for one another. Because you’re fighting for the future of the galaxy that you want to live in—that our children’s children’s children will inherit. And let me remind you, none of our children will want to inherit the galaxy that’s coming if we don’t get this right. So today, you check your particulars at the door. Today, you are Gladio Umbra. Today, you are fighting for a new future. Which means we’ve gotta train like we want it. You’ve gotta taste it.”

“I can taste the traitor’s flesh,” Arjae said, licking his chops.

“That’s good,” Magnus replied. “That’s good. But now you’ve gotta be smart about how you get to that meal. Copy?”

The group started nodding and talking.

“Hold up.” Magnus waved his hands. “When I say ‘Copy,’ I need one response back, not a dozen different ones. If I say ‘Copy,’ you say, ‘Yes, sir.’ And that’s all. Copy?”

“Yes, sir,” they said as one.

“Good. No more of that wishy-washy splick. Copy?”

“Yes, sir,” they said more loudly than the first time.

Magnus’s brain suddenly kicked into other points of nomenclature he hadn’t yet taken to the time to cover. “And from now on, you’re not Marines or Jujari or Marauders. You’re not soldiers or troopers or combatants. You’re gladias. Copy?”

“Yes, sir,” they said together.

“That’s what the Gladio Umbra called themselves. Gladias. So that’s what we’re calling ourselves—I don’t want to hear anything else from this point forward.

“And, while we’re at it, we also need a rallying call. We need our word for making sure we’re on the same page, breathing the same air…” Magnus knew the kind of words they used in the Corps, but none of those felt right, not anymore, now that they were gladias. With so much change, his vocabulary needed to change too.

“How about la-raah, sir?” Sootriman asked.

Magnus looked at her, his head upturned, inviting her to explain.

“I was doing some more research on the Gladio Umbra last night and—”

“Last night?” Ezo’s eyes went wide with surprise. “But last night we were… I mean…”

Sootriman turned to the smuggler and brushed his cheek with the back of her hand. “Let’s just say that, sometimes, drawing your blaster isn’t the only thing you’re quick at, dear.”

The group chuckled, and Ezo blushed.

“As I was saying,” Sootriman continued, “after a certain someone passed out, I got bored and decided to read about what Awen’s been so fascinated with lately. Turns out that word, in their native tongue, means ‘as one.’”

“La-raah,” Magnus said, trying it out. If he could imagine shouting it with a loud voice in a firefight, then it worked. “I like it. La-raah it is.”

He pointed to the team as if he were a conductor asking for a note from the orchestra. In one voice, they replied, “La-raah.”

“I can’t hear you,” Magnus yelled then pushed a fist into the air.

“La-raah!” the team yelled.

“Again!” He punched the air.

“La-raah!”

The vibrations of over thirty warriors shouting the word shook the building’s walls. That’ll work, Magnus thought. He looked at Sootriman and dipped his head as if to thank her. She replied with the same gesture.

“One more thing,” Magnus said, raising a finger. He hadn’t planned on this, but it just felt right. “When I say dominate, you say liberate. Dominate.”

“Liberate,” replied the company in a loose fashion.

“I can’t hear you! Dominate!”

“Liberate!” they yelled as one. The air was charged, and goose bumps appeared along Magnus’s flesh. “That’s our motto. When you’re downrange, when you’ve run out of options, when you’re thinking of giving up, you remember what we, the Gladio Umbra, are there for. We dominate the field—it’s ours. It doesn’t belong to them. The whole thing—it’s ours. But we have a mission beyond mere destruction. We serve all those who will need rescue, who need liberation. That’s what drives you as a Gladio Umbra from now on. And today, the galaxy needs our help to fight against Kane and his forces. That’s what’s going to stir you to get up when you feel like staying down. That’s what’s going to make you step toward the enemy when you feel like turning back. And should you fall in the field of battle, that’s what will be written on your tombstone—on all our tombstones. Dominate!”

“Liberate!”

“Now,” Magnus said, a surge of emotion pumping through his veins and swirling in his head. “Who’s coming with me to take this street?”

* * *

Alpha Platoon was playing it safe, just as Magnus thought they would, taking turns moving between columns and buildings and laying down covering fire. It was methodical and textbook Marine doctrine. But it was also too slow for what this mission called for. Magnus had given enemy simulants a ninety-percent accuracy rate and a seventy-five-percent aggression rate. That was high by any Marine standards and certainly much more demonstrative than what Alpha Platoon was serving.

Within the first sixty seconds, Gilder had been lasered twice in the same leg, and Valerie was cussing like a sailor, laid out on her back in the middle of the street from enemy sniper fire. The warriors wore new bracelets on their wrists that delivered small electrical charges when they’d been hit by a simulated blaster bolt, whether from enemy weapons or friendly ones. Magnus figured the addition of pain would help everyone train better—and maybe provide some minor comic relief.

Magnus had tried to construct this scenario based on what he’d gathered from those who’d actually fought in the city of Itheliana. Awen, Sootriman, Ezo, and TO-96 had been instrumental in making this street feel as authentic as possible, right down to the blades of grass growing between the massive stones.

Everywhere Magnus looked, there were vines and trees and the ruins of millennia-old buildings. Though technologically advanced, they still showed numerous signs of weathering and age. They lined both sides of the avenue leading to a Repub-style encampment that Magnus had developed from his own experiences in the Recon. It was spartan but highly defensible, made of several concrete berms, windowplex shields, and portable sensor towers for long-range data collection. He also included a mobile shield generator just in case the real Paragon had thought ahead—which, Magnus concluded, they probably had.

While the Marines were busy getting pinned down under heavy enemy fire, Bravo Company was advancing much more quickly. Their approach had the right idea—move fast, stay low—but they hadn’t figured on the enemy using heavy weapons on the objects they used for cover. Despite their best efforts to advance up the street, Abimbola’s platoon was taking heavy casualties. Even Abimbola himself took a head shot when he stepped from behind cover to help pull one of his men to safety. Magnus made a mental note to create some sort of protective throw bag like they used in the Corps—no need to come out from behind cover to retrieve a gladia.

For all his creative thinking, Titus’s platoon was doing even worse. At first, Magnus was impressed that Titus had decided to use the building interiors as a means of advancement—which would have worked in a typical urban setting in almost any other known city in the protoverse. However, these were ruins, and just because one building joined another didn’t mean any existing passages between them were usable. After disappearing for the first minute, Titus and his platoon were eventually spat out in the middle of an unprotected plaza, where they were raked with enemy fire.

Delta Company got the prize for making it the farthest—and dying the most dramatically. Rohoar had led his warriors along the tops of the ruins to the right, their feet treading across the hard-light surface as if the buildings were real. They hopped between the gaps in structures as easily as if they were skipping along a trail in the countryside. The platoon made it as far as the enemy’s encampment, save for the fact that they were ten meters up. That didn’t matter much to a Jujari, of course, as that distance was easy to leap from, and they incurred little more than an ache in their joints.

So it wasn’t the jump that killed them all—it was the automatic turret fire from the nearby rooftops. In their haste to storm the enemy position, Rohoar and his unit failed to take into account the defenses that they couldn’t see. As the bodies fell safely to the padded ESCE floor, kill indicators popped up over their heads, floating above them as flags to signal their deaths. More than one Jujari batted at the red tag, trying in vain to swat it away. They spoke incessantly in their mother tongue, presumably cursing at the small apparitions.

“Computer, reset simulation,” Magnus said.

“Acknowledged.”

“Granther Company,” Magnus bellowed, “form up on me.” Magnus had decided several days ago to name his company after one of the most feared alpha predators on Abimbola’s home world. The Limbian granthers, he was told, were quite nasty. He figured if Abimbola was afraid of one, it was safe to say they all would be. More than that, however, Magnus felt that naming their company after something from Abimbola’s home might be meaningful to the Miblimbian. Sure enough, as Abimbola heard it for the first time, his eyebrows went up.

“Do you approve?” Magnus asked as the black giant fell in.

Abimbola nodded. “Granthers rip their prey apart before swallowing them in tiny pieces.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“If that’s what we get to do to Kane’s forces and So-Elku, then yes, I approve.”

“Glad to hear it, because my next option was Sorlakk Company.”

Abimbola winced. “The soft Paglothian sea creatures?”

Magnus smiled. “The same.”

“Granther is much better, buckethead.”

Magnus winked at him. “You see, Bimby? I’ve got you covered.”

Once the rest of the company fell in, Magnus motioned them to stop talking. “After-action review. First, give me three things you got right.”

“We killed some enemies,” Jaffery said, smiling.

“Yeah, just not enough,” Shorty replied. A few laughs went up.

“What else?” Magnus asked.

“We stuck together,” Dutch said.

“And got killed together,” Valerie noted, giving Dutch a slight nudge with her elbow.

“Give me one more positive,” Magnus said.

“Abimbola tried to save me,” Doc Campbell said.

“Only because you are a medic,” Abimbola added. “Everyone wants to save a medic and never the big guy.”

“That’s ’cause you’re too hard to drag,” Nubs said. More laughs.

“Extra points to Bimby for saving the good doctor,” Magnus said, nodding to Abimbola. “Now, what went wrong?”

One by one, each platoon leader relayed what had taken them and their respective platoons down. It was painful but absolutely necessary if they wanted to get better. And they had to get better.

“All right,” Magnus said when they were through. “That’s what took you out. But I want to know if you identified what you could have done to help one another out.” No one responded. “Dutch, did you see the auto turrets at the end of the street?”

“Affirmative.”

“And had you called them out…”

“Rohoar’s team might have had a chance. Roger that.”

“Abimbola,” Magnus said, calling the Miblimbian by his full name in front of the company. “You left Dutch’s platoon behind. Did you ever consider leapfrogging with them?”

“They are too slow,” Abimbola said.

“I understand that, but maybe their discretion could have saved you some unnecessary losses. And Rohoar?”

“Yes, Magnus.”

“Please tell me that you saw the RPGs before the enemy fired them at Abimbola’s platoon?”

Rohoar gave a somewhat embarrassed nod.

“By my count, we could have mitigated several casualties by communicating what we saw on the battlefield. Use your comms, people.” Magnus made a show of tapping his earpiece. “That’s what they’re there for. You’re on an important date, and you don’t know enough to sweep this lady off her feet by yourself…” Magnus paused to look at Dutch, Valerie, Silk, Bettger, and Saladin. “Or man. That’s why you have a wingman, someone to feed you the lines. Without them, you’re screwed, and there is no second date—this was your only date. La-raah?”

“La-raah,” replied the company in unison.

“And, Titus?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Next time you decide to go treasure hunting through some old buildings—which wasn’t the worst idea, by the way…”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Do a scan first.”

“Yes, sir,” Titus said with a crisp nod.

“Okay, Granther Company, let’s run it again. Computer, reset simulation.”

“Request acknowledged.”

32

Awen could hardly believe that she’d been training Piper for just over a month. The time had gone by more quickly than she realized, probably due to the fact that she was enjoying her time with Piper immensely. In fact, she couldn’t remember having as much fun with anyone in recent years.

Perhaps this is what Willowood felt like with me. Awen thought better of that idea when she considered just how gifted Piper was. The girl was a marvel, doing things Awen had never seen another Luma do, herself included. But she and Piper weren’t Luma. We’re Gladio Umbra now, Awen reminded herself. The rules would be different, and so would the results.

Ni No was quite small, so after the last six weeks, everyone had begun to get island fever. Most of the team split their time between the island and the Spire, taking advantage of the change of scenery. For her part, however, Awen preferred staying on Nieth Tearness as much as possible. She most enjoyed the strand on the west side of the island, walking along the sand in her bare feet during sunset. After a few weeks, Magnus had discovered her evening ritual and started joining her occasionally. Sure, she was more of a closed person, preferring to be alone whenever she wasn’t training Piper or getting a history lesson from Azelon. But she never complained whenever Magnus showed up to join her.

“So, how’d things go today?” Awen asked Magnus. The two of them were halfway to a large set of rocks that blocked the northern reach of the strand. The purple-hued sun was just about to touch the far ocean horizon, and the temperature was dropping.

“Best day yet,” Magnus replied. “I’m proud of them.”

“Seems like they’ve really come a long way.”

“They have. Further than I expected in this amount of time, truthfully.”

“That’s great, Magnus. But you shouldn’t be surprised.”

“Why’s that?”

“You’re a good leader.”

Magnus didn’t say anything right away, and the sounds of the ocean took center stage. The seabirds were flying to their nests to roost, sending out their final cries to the sky, while the salty waves crashed rhythmically against the shore. Awen wasn’t sure if she’d embarrassed him or if he just didn’t want to say anything in reply.

She was about to change the subject when Magnus said, “Thanks.”

A man of few words, she thought, smiling to herself.

“What’s so funny?” Magnus asked her.

“Oh, nothing.”

“Nothing? ’Cause you’re smiling.”

“It’s just that…” She wasn’t sure how to say it. “You’re a fairly understated person. But that’s okay. I like it.”

He paused again. “That’s good.”

And why’s that good? She was all for men of few words, but this was a little over the top. “So,” Awen said, changing the subject, “how soon before you think your company will be ready to see combat?”

“Combat?” Magnus said, scratching his beard. “I’m guessing another six months. But I’d prefer a year.”

“A year?” Is he crazy?

“Yeah. Why? You think that’s a lot?”

“Well, in protoverse time… that’s two-and-a-half weeks at the most.”

“But in metaverse time, it’s a long time for Kane’s recon unit to uncover stuff they could use against the galaxy,” Magnus concluded.

“Exactly.”

“I get it, Awen. Trust me when I say that they’re making progress. I just don’t want…”

Awen slowed and looked up at him. “Don’t want what?”

“I just don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

Awen chuckled. “Is this happening right now?”

“What?”

“Me, the former emissary, is about to lecture the former Marine on the risks of combat and the greater good.” She laughed some more. “What’s happened to us, Magnus? You going soft on me?”

“And you’re getting nasty to kill somebody?”

“Not exactly,” Awen replied. “But I do want to stop bad people from hurting innocent ones.”

“Careful.” Magnus raised his hands. “You’re starting to sound like a Marine.”

“And you’re starting to sound like a—”

“Don’t say it.”

“A Gladio Umbra?”

“That’s better.” Magnus smiled then looked down in the sand. He’d actually taken off his boots for the first time. Awen didn’t recall ever seeing his bare feet before. They’re… kinda cute.

“I guess the more people I lose, the more I tire of fighting. Not because I don’t want to fight—that’s not it at all.” Magnus worked his jaw, thinking. “It’s because I’m tired of bad people having access to power that they can use to harm others. I want everyone to have the ability to fight for themselves and stand up for what they believe in.”

“Mystics, Magnus. I think you missed your calling.”

Magnus looked at her with a half smile. “I told you,” he said, holding a finger to her face. “Don’t you say it…”

Awen batted his hand away and kept walking. The smell of the water and the late-blooming flowers above the dunes was intoxicating. She could spend all night out here… if she didn’t have so much to do.

“How’s Piper doing?”

“Wonderfully well,” Awen replied.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I mean, she’s exceeded all my expectations. She’s doing stuff that I’ve never seen any other person do in the Unity.”

“Not even you?”

“Not even close! But don’t tell her that. She’ll get a big head.”

“Piper? A big head? Somehow I think her only downfall will come from wanting too many Jujari around to snuggle.”

Awen nodded. “She’s naive. But still powerful.” Awen’s thoughts drifted away like the ocean currents. This whole conversation bothered her in ways she couldn’t express.

“Hey, what’s gotten into you?”

“Huh?”

“Come on, Awen. I’ve known you long enough to know when you’re preoccupied.”

Awen shrugged. “Eh, I don’t know…”

“Come on, Awen. Cough it up.”

“Well, it’s about Piper.”

When she didn’t say anything after a few seconds, Magnus said, “Do I need to interrogate you?”

“No,” Awen said with a chuckle. “It’s just that… well, she’s naive, right?”

“You established that.”

“And she’s powerful too.”

“Also previously established.”

“What happens when she kills someone?”

Magnus looked at her—she could feel his eyes staring at her. “That went dark fast.” He cleared his throat. “All things considered, she’ll be at the back of the line, and we’ll do all the killing—”

“Come on, Magnus. We both know it’s just a matter of time before something happens. Either the enemy finds her, or her powers get away from her. There’s only so much all this training can do. At some point, she’s going to come face-to-face with…”

“With what?” Magnus placed a hand on her forearm, causing her to stop.

“With who she is and what she’s capable of.”

Magnus turned to face her. The sun was setting over his shoulder, hiding his face in shadow. “Awen, isn’t that what we all have to face?”

“Yeah, but she’s different.”

“No, she’s not.”

“What?”

“She’s not different from any other person. She’s going to have to decide for herself who she is and what she’s going to do with her powers. I know you don’t want her in harm’s way, and you certainly don’t want her hurting anyone else. But, Awen, she was born for this hour. I mean, come on—what are the chances that someone of her ability is born in a time when people like Kane and So-Elku are trying to take over the galaxy? The universe… it knows. I don’t know how, but it does. And we need her. We need everything she can do.”

Magnus held Awen’s biceps. His hands were warm and strong. The way he held her—it felt so good. But he needed to let go, didn’t he? This wasn’t right. There was something about him and Valerie… but she didn’t want him to stop. If anything, she wanted him to hold her closer.

“And we need you,” he said, pulling her closer.

“You need me?”

Magnus nodded.

“So do I,” Awen replied. “You, I mean. I need you too.” Mystics, just shut up and kiss him.

But she didn’t need to, because Magnus pulled her toward him and kissed her instead. It was the best kiss she’d ever had. When was the last time you were properly kissed anyway, Awen? She couldn’t remember, but she didn’t need her inner self ruining this moment.

When Magnus finally pulled away, Awen kept her eyes closed, not wanting it to end. But it needed to—of course it needed to. When she opened her eyes, Magnus was smiling at her, barely discernible in the fading light.

“That was nice,” she said.

Nice, Awen? That was incredible!

“I’ve been wanting to do that since…”

“Since we were hanging in Abimbola’s jail?” Awen asked, laughing in spite of herself.

Magnus nodded. “Pretty much.”

“Wait.” Awen brushed her hair out of her face. “You’re serious?”

“Yup.”

The truth was, she’d liked him the moment he saved her from the mwadim’s skyscraper. And nothing would ever change that. It was a mix of admiration, respect, and desperation—a potent concoction she doubted would ever let go of her.

“Listen… about Piper,” Magnus said. “Just let her be what she’s gonna be. Earlier, you told me that I’m a great leader. Well, you are a great teacher, and you’ve got to trust what you’ve invested into her. But you’re not responsible for who she becomes—you’re only responsible for who you are to her. And I can assure you, you’ve done more for her and mean more to her than you can possibly know.”

Awen lowered her head and took a deep breath. Mystics, why does he always have to be so compelling? And charming. And handsome.

“You good?” Magnus asked.

“Huh? What?”

“You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine.” Awen squished her toes in the sand as Magnus let go of her. “Thanks. For what you just said.”

“No problem.”

Suddenly, a voice crackled over the comms device attached to Magnus’s shoulder. Awen could barely make it out but was pretty sure it was TO-96.

“You gonna answer that?” Awen asked.

Magnus snapped the earpiece off its clip on his shoulder and placed it in his ear. He winked at her and then tapped the comm to open the channel. “Go for Magnus.”

Magnus listened intently, turning away from her slightly. Whatever TO-96 was sharing with Magnus was important. If Awen had brought her own comm, she would have listened in, but she purposely left it back in her tent when she took these walks.

“What’s your best estimate?” Magnus asked. There was a beat as he listened. “You’re absolutely sure about that?” Another beat. “Okay, then. Bring both shuttles down here, and we’ll get the team off the ground in twenty. Magnus out.”

“What’s going on?” Awen asked.

“Seems the recon unit is getting a little too close to something for Azelon’s comfort.”

“In Itheliana?”

Magnus nodded.

“Wait, wait—so you want us to…”

“We’re moving out, Awen.”

“But… no. I mean, we need more time. You just said—”

“I know we need more time. But we just lost that luxury. The first lesson in combat is that no plan survives contact with the enemy. So we move with what we have.”

“And what if we have isn’t enough?”

Magnus shrugged. “Then hopefully, the universes have some other heroes to do what we couldn’t. But until then, we prove that no one else is needed.” He reached down and grabbed her hand. “Come on. We’ve gotta go.”

33

Magnus stood before the members of Granther Company inside a cavernous shuttle bay on the Spire. His team waited in a loose semicircle. He could tell they were nervous just by the expressions on some of their faces. Behind Magnus sat a series of vertical shipping containers, four across and eight deep, each dark gray and emblazoned with red and yellow Novia script. Two shuttles also rested on either side of Magnus, loading ramps extended, cockpits powered up.

“Everyone listen up,” Magnus said. “I’ve got a lot of ground to cover, and quickly, so I need your full attention.” He purposefully made eye contact with several members in the group before continuing. “As you’ve probably guessed, we just made the jump from Nieth Tearness to Ithnor Ithelia, and I can confirm that we will be landing in Itheliana to engage the enemy in approximately seventy-five minutes.”

Murmurs went up from among the teams.

“Quiet down,” Abimbola said, raising a hand but with little effect. “I said, quiet down!”

The bay went silent again.

“I know you probably don’t feel ready yet,” Magnus continued. “And while I, too, wish we had more time to train, the reality is that we cannot wait a moment longer to strike the enemy. Azelon and TO-96 have both assured me that the enemy recon unit is very close to discovering something that should not leave the planet—that should not fall into enemy hands. From what our intelligence tells me, if Admiral Kane or Luma Master So-Elku gain access to whatever this recon unit has discovered, it’s game over for us. For everyone.

“Therefore, it is absolutely imperative that we stop them from stealing any Novia technology. Our mission is to kill or capture all enemy combatants and get them off the planet.” Magnus let his words hang in the air before saying, “And to help us along, I brought some new toys…”

He turned to the nearest freight container and pressed his hand against an oversized bio-scanner—one better suited to a Jujari than a human. A sensor swept his handprint, and then the device chimed just as a solid white light changed to purple. An internal maglock deactivated, and Magnus pulled the doors apart. Inside were seven glossy-white assault blasters bathed in soft light.

“These,” Magnus said, retrieving one of the weapons and holding it up for everyone to see, “are your new NOV1 assault blasters.”

Quiet whistles and exclamations went up from the teams. Then everyone shushed one another, presumably in anticipation that Magnus would explain the weapon. He wouldn’t disappoint them.

“The NOV1 is based on a Novia design with Repub mods. Call it a hybrid, if you will. Azelon and I designed this ourselves. It features a lattice-work stock, bio-linked operational access, dual inline mag ports, adaptive maglock technology, multidirectional sighting, and ultra-high-speed energy delivery, which means it’s capable of delivering one megajoule of energy in point-zero-two-second pulse intervals.”

Magnus was happy to see that they looked just as dumbstruck as he had been when Azelon first rattled off those stats to him.

“I want you to picture a one-megagram dune skiff traveling at about one hundred sixty kilometers per hour and slamming into your target. That’s what your new NOV1 can deliver three thousand times per second on full auto.”

“Great mystics,” someone whispered.

“You got that right,” Magnus replied as several other members laughed. “The weapon also features an AI-assisted multi-target fire effect, or MTFE, which, using a gimbaled barrel, can identify and take out up to twenty targets at once. This, of course, is contingent upon your energy-mag capacity, fire rate, and target composition. However, until you’re all outfitted with the proper biotech interface, this function will remain offline.

“Azelon needs more time to integrate each of us into the Novia defense architecture, or NDA. But what you can use is the variable fire-rate function that we’ve given you—single-round, three-round burst, and full-auto mode. Under no circumstances do I want any of you using full auto unless you’re assaulting an armored hover tank—is that clear?”

“Yes, sir,” the company replied as one.

“Once the NOV1 encodes itself to your palm, the weapon is yours and can’t be fired by anyone else.”

“Unless Cyril gets ahold of it,” Silk said from beside Abimbola. Several members of Bravo and Charlie companies chuckled.

“Quite true,” Magnus replied, using the opportunity to lighten the mood. “Mystics know, Cyril’s never met a system he can’t slice.”

When the laughs and nods of agreement dissipated, Magnus held the weapon aloft one last time. “The NOV1 also has one more feature you might find interesting.” He touched the side sensor pad and swiped, activating the first skin on the weapon’s stock menu. Suddenly, the weapon went from glossy white to matte black.

Gasps went up from among the Granthers. One Jujari even howled, perhaps in fear—Magnus couldn’t tell. He touched the pad and swiped again. The second stock skin appeared, turning the weapon into a close-up of jungle foliage. The projection was picture perfect. More gasps came from the company.

Finally, Magnus swiped a third setting—one he’d specially preloaded on this particular weapon. It displayed a picture of Abimbola, smiling broadly, wearing a hat that had an embroidered red heart between the words I and Bucketheads.

“Son of a bitch,” Abimbola said from across the semicircle. Laughs went up all around—including from the Miblimbian, who mouthed to Magnus, “I’m gonna get you back.”

Magnus winked back at him, knowing the Miblimbian would make good on his promise. Magnus powered off the weapon and placed it back in its container. When the laughter subsided, he said, “Each of you will receive six energy magazines located in the drawers below the blasters.”

He pulled open a bin and withdrew a mag. It had the same connection as a Repub standard issue but was almost twice as long. It was also the same glossy white as the NOV1 and bore an illuminated capacity indicator on one side.

“Each mag will adopt whatever skin you’ve employed on the main weapon. And for those of you used to Repub issue, these mags will last almost three times as long as you’re used to. Six magazines will give you three full reloads and will be more than we’ll need for this mission.” He replaced the mag and closed the drawer.

“Next,” Magnus said, walking to another vertical container and opening its secure maglock, “comes your sidearm.” He spread the doors apart to display a row of pistols seven across. He removed one of the glossy-white pistols and held it aloft. It had a rectangular front receiver leading back to a grip molded into the body. The weapon was sleek and raked forward, like a single-seater racing skiff leaning into rapid acceleration. “This is the VD2. Yes, in case you were wondering, that stands for Very Deadly Too—a play on words lost on all you non-common speakers. Sorry.”

Several laughs went up from around the teams.

“You can just call it the V for short. Like the NOV1, the V was co-created by Azelon and me. It features bio-linked operational access, smart-fire AI-assistance targeting, single-round and five-round burst modes. It sports a special visual emulation compound and can accept both the NOV1’s extended mags and the smaller ones we’ve designed here.”

Magnus opened a drawer below the pistol rack and withdrew an energy magazine almost a quarter the size of the NOV1’s. “You also can expend an entire magazine in one squeeze if you want. I call it death-wish mode. Should you select it, know two things. One, your mag will drain to completion, and there’s no way to stop the discharge once initiated. And two, you will need to wait for the mandatory cool-down period to cycle before attempting to reload. But I can promise you that whatever you were aiming at, it won’t be there when you’re done. Oh, and hold onto her hard on this setting—she bucks like a bitch.”

Magnus replaced the weapon and walked to a third container, then unlocked it and opened its doors. “In here, we have a play on the Repub-issue variable-output detonator—or VOD.” Magnus removed yet another glossy-white device, but this one was perfectly spherical, interrupted only by a small input screen on one side. “Those familiar with the devices, which I think would be all of us”—Magnus looked around the room for any dissenters—“know that it has options for emitting a flash bang, crowd-deterrent gas, or smoke. Well, this beauty also includes options for fragmentation, thermite, electromagnetic pulse, and a directional breach charge. Essentially, it’s a one-stop-shop grenade that you won’t find at your local stores, and you each get four.”

More whistles and laughs went up. That was good—Magnus knew they needed as much levity as they could muster to break the tension that was mounting in the room. For as much fun as they were having at seeing their new toys, Magnus also knew an inverse emotion was at play: anxiety. He was talking about weapons, after all—killing tools that were about to be deployed in combat, where people were going to die. Talking about weapons always created a strange mix of unbridled enthusiasm and grim disbelief.

“And last but not least…” Magnus walked to a fourth and final container along the first row. It was much wider and deeper than the others. He unlocked the unit but held it shut for a moment. “May I present to you…” He flung the sliding doors apart. “The Gladio Umbra Mark I combat suit.”

Granther Company came unglued, to put it mildly. Shouts, grunts, howls, and hollers went up from across the room.

Inside were two different suits of armor standing side by side. One was human shaped, consisting of a fully enclosed combat suit and helmet in the same glossy-white finish as the firearms. Its articulated joints and multilayered plate-armor appearance made it seem incredibly dexterous yet menacingly resilient. The all-white helmet tapered to a leading edge that swept vertically from the chin to the back of the head—it resembled two halves of a knife blade meeting in the center of the face. And Magnus had to admit, it looked badass.

“Humans and humanoid-sized equivalents, your Mark I armor features a high-density, low-weight composite-nano-fiber weave that makes up the majority of the fabric and the armor plating. The material is not only able to mitigate the damage of most material strikes delivered in a range of velocities, but it also contains electrodes for a personal-shield emitter—PSE—capable of displacing blaster energy equivalent to about ten direct hits from a standard MC90 blaster. Observe.”

Magnus touched a screen on the armor’s wrist pad and activated the PSE. A soft blue glow emanated a centimeter off the suit’s entire surface, almost indiscernible to the naked eye. It followed every contour and corner, fully encasing the armor in a shield. Magnus pulled his Z from his chest plate and fired three rounds into the suit at point-blank range. It happened so fast that many of the gladias winced at the Z’s report. Each blast, however, was absorbed and displaced into the suit’s shield, causing small waves to ripple around the body.

“This suit’s shield is now depleted by thirty percent,” Magnus said. “But don’t worry—it has my name emblazoned on it, not any of yours.” The acknowledgment was met with more laughter. He’d have wanted to know the same thing if his superior had just used armor for a demo that might potentially be assigned to him.

“All your weapons can maglock to any part of the suit that you desire,” Magnus continued, “allowing you to customize your loadout. The suit includes full life support, nano-bot triage, thermal-radiation suppression, and autorehydration—hell, this thing even lets you piss in it and won’t throw a fit.”

Magnus liked making them laugh. This is the last you’ll get to for a while. When the room quieted down again, he continued.

“The vertical clamshell-style helmet has the very latest tech that I’ve ever seen—thanks entirely to Azelon and the Novia Minoosh—which includes a vast array of functionality. We’re talking a full neural-sensor suite, tactical navigation, quantum squad communication, spatial-coherence extrapolation, and weapons-system interfacing, just to name a few. The rest, you’re gonna need to read the manual when you have some downtime.”

“What are those marks?” someone asked.

Magnus assumed the speaker meant the small icons on the side of the helmet and the shoulder plate. He pointed to the blue broken circle with an open-bottomed triangle touching the top. “That is the symbol for the Gladio Umbra.” Then Magnus indicated the shoulder icon—four claw-like lines in dark gray. “And this is your new unit emblem for Granther Company.”

Magnus looked about—several people nodded in approval.

“Then, over here…” Magnus indicated the next suit. “We have an armor line branded for our more robust warriors. I’m looking at you, Redmarrow.”

“What?” the Jujari said. He was easily the most rotund of his platoon.

Where the human version of the Mark I was fully enclosed, the Jujari equivalent was not. The helmet, for example, left the entire snout uncovered while a white clamshell visor and helm covered the eyes and head. Likewise, while the chest, back, shoulders, pelvis, and thighs had limited armor plating and straps of nano-fiber to hold everything together, the forearms, hands, calves, and feet were exposed, leaving them free to tear into enemy targets. Magnus had figured that millennia of evolutionary development shouldn’t be covered up by a shiny new suit—a conclusion that Azelon had praised.

“And, Saasarr,” Magnus said.

The Reptalon’s head perked up.

“We made a special one for you.” Magnus opened a drawer and lifted a suit similar to the Jujari’s but fashioned to fit the lizard’s unique body shape.

“Thank you, sir,” Saasarr said with a quick bow. “I am most grateful.”

Resuming his address to the rest of the room, Magnus said, “The best part about the Mark I isn’t how it protects you from being struck by enemy fire. No. It’s how it protects you from being seen at all.”

Magnus reached over to both suits and tapped the control panel, activating chameleon mode. Suddenly, the telecolos coating went live, and the two suits of armor disappeared.

The gladias gasped. Several took steps closer to the container, unable to resist their curiosity. They were like a class of schoolchildren seeing a Venetian mawslip for the first time during a trip to the zoo. If there had been windowplex separating the Gladio Umbra from the suits, their faces would have been pressed up against it for a better look.

“The only reason we have access to anything like this is because of Azelon passing along the Novia’s advanced technology to us. Without it, well, you’d be stuck in Repub armor, and who wants that?” A few in the company clapped at that one. “Like your firearms, the telecolos compound on each suit can completely camouflage it into whatever the surrounding environment is. And yes, it can display standard colors and patterns too—but chameleon mode is by far the most impressive and my personal favorite.

“Lastly, each suit has your name on the right chest and has been custom tailored to your measurements. Make sure you take your suit and not someone else’s. It could make for a long and painful day if you’re not careful.”

As Magnus concluded his showcase of the new armaments, resetting the suits to their normal visual states, he returned to the front, where he’d started. “Listen,” he said more solemnly than he’d intended. “I know you’re walking into all of this a little blind.” Magnus gestured to the containers. “Hell, you should have had six months to a year to train with this kit before moving out. For that, I’m sorry. And if I didn’t believe in the weapons systems so much, I wouldn’t even spring it on you. Truthfully, I thought we were going to have more time—Azelon’s printers only finished the last suit yesterday. But I don’t get to tell the enemy how to set their clocks. However, with all this”—Magnus swept his arm to indicate the new tech behind him—“we do get to tell the enemy when to run.”

The room erupted with a loud “La-raah!” which honestly surprised Magnus.

Hell, yeah. Now they’re getting it.

“Azelon’s sensors tell us that there are twenty-four of Kane’s Recon troopers down there,” Magnus continued. “They’re good. Real good. One or two of them I probably trained myself at one point. The important thing, though, is to remember that what we lack in practice or skill, we’re going to make up for in heart, determination, and pure overwhelming fire supremacy. ’Cause I can sure as hell promise you the enemy hasn’t seen anything like this.”

“La-raah!” the gladias shouted.

“Now, listen… listen,” Magnus said, bringing the energy of the room down with his hands. “It’s time to get you suited up and kitted out. If you have any questions, don’t be afraid to ask. Help one another out too. You see someone struggling, lend a hand. And for the love of all the mystics, do not power up your blasters until we’re on the shuttles headed for the LZ. Copy?”

* * *

The row of containers had been thoroughly ravaged. Old armor, helmets, clothing, and firearms lay scattered across the shuttle bay floor. Magnus had even placed his MAR30 on a table, quietly thanking it for its service. It was the end of an era—one he never thought he’d say goodbye to. Now he couldn’t imagine returning to it.

Just then, Magnus noticed Ezo mag-locking four additional blasters to his armor. “Hey, Ezo…”

The former smuggler looked up, eyes wide as if he were a kid caught sneaking snacks before dinner. “Just in case, boss.”

Magnus shook his head.

“Alright, fine. But then it’s not Ezo’s fault is you die today.”

“Understood.”

“Hey,” Valerie said from behind Magnus. “Mind zipping me up?”

Magnus turned around to see her bare back. “Sure thing,” he said, swallowing hard.

The suits required that each wearer be nude. Life-support functions, as well as rehydration and triage, all required direct contact with the skin. While everyone pretty well managed to be discreet, being so close to Valerie’s unclothed back made Magnus uneasy—not in a bad way but not in the best way either. These kinds of thoughts clouded his judgment, and that was the last thing he needed at the moment. Magnus pulled the suit tight and drew the zipper up as Valerie gathered her hair and held it out of the way.

“There you go,” he said.

“Thanks.” Valerie turned and looked up at him, quite stunning in her suit. It was so form-fitting that he needed little imagination to—

“You know, we haven’t had a lot of time to spend together over these last few weeks,” Valerie said.

Magnus was about to mention all their training time but figured that wasn’t what she meant.

“I just wanted you to know how much I appreciate you.”

“I appreciate you too.” It was all Magnus could think to say, and it sounded stupid even to him.

“And that no matter what happens down there today, I’m with you. Always.”

Magnus was about to say something in reply but didn’t know what. She was just too pretty, and his brain wasn’t working right. Fortunately, he didn’t have to say anything. Instead, Valerie went up on her toes and kissed him on the cheek.

“See you on the ground, Lieutenant.”

* * *

It took almost forty-five minutes for everyone to get squared away—longer than Magnus had wanted. But damn if they didn’t look sharp in their new armor. The members of Granther Company returned to their positions in the semicircle. Where before they’d looked like a ragtag bunch of miscreants and vagabonds, now they stood like a veritable shock troop—humans, humanoids, and Jujari, each arrayed for battle. Magnus couldn’t help but notice that they stood a little taller too. He could have sworn that their chests were puffed out a little more as well.

When Magnus had their attention, he said, “I’d like to present two extraordinary people to you. Many of you have already met them, and I think most of you have already seen them around camp. For numerous reasons, we’ve needed to keep them apart from us. But they’ve been vital members of this mission from the very beginning. In fact, I’d wager they are more Gladio Umbra than any of us, myself included. May I present Awen dau Lothlinium and Piper Stone, guardians of the Unity.”

Awen held Piper’s hand as they emerged from around one of the shuttles near Magnus. They were outfitted in their own power suits and carried helmets under their free arms. Awen made eye contact and smiled at the many faces among Granther Company, while Piper seemed only to have eyes for Rohoar. The former mwadim raised a single finger and waved at Piper. Those two definitely have a connection, Magnus had to admit, thinking back to when he’d found them on the bridge together. He’d never forget that moment.

“If you see them on the battlefield doing something you can’t explain, something that messes with your head, don’t stop, don’t admire it—just keep on going. Because whatever they’re doing, they’re doing so you can get your job done. La-raah?”

“La-raah,” the company replied.

“Now, you probably won’t see Awen and Piper up front much, if ever. But that doesn’t mean they’re not there, fighting as hard as you are. And trust me when I say that they’re in harm’s way just as much as you, if not more. They deserve your respect and admiration. And more than that”—Magnus looked at Piper—“they deserve our lives.

“Hear me out,” Magnus continued, raising his voice so that it echoed in the shuttle bay, “and I’ll be as clear as I can. If either of these ladies die, there is no mission. Mission success includes the preservation of these two lives above all others. Awen and Piper must go downrange with us. There is no battle if they cannot fight with us, and there is no victory if they do not survive. Our existence is tied with their survival, and if you have the choice between saving yourself or saving one of them, you save them every time, no questions asked. Do I make myself clear, Granther Company?”

“La-raah!” cried the battle group in one voice.

“Good,” Magnus replied, giving their shouts a chance to die down. He motioned for Awen and Piper to move into formation with the rest of the company. “From this point forward, we’ll be outside the wire. It means we’re committed. It means we’re in harm’s way. Unless you’ve fought a recon team before—and I know some of you have—you’ve never fought an enemy quite like this. They’re fast, they’re highly coordinated, and they never stop coming. But that’s precisely what we’ve trained for. So remember the simulations—not the bad days but the good days. Remember your training, and remember how you got to those wins at the end of every street. Work together, call things out, and move with your team.”

Magnus moved his helmet to his left hand. “I know you might be feeling a little nervous right now. Maybe even afraid. But I want you to remember something and hear me: I don’t care if you feel afraid. Everyone feels afraid. Fear is there to remind you that you like being alive—that you have something worth fighting for. What I really care about is why you decide to stay and fight. Why you decide to clear one more room, why you decide to take one more step down a street filled with blaster fire. Everyone’s afraid, but not everyone’s a hero. That’s why you’re here.”

Magnus straightened up, brought his feet together, and tucked his helmet in his left arm. “Granther Company?”

The team members stood up straight.

“It’s time.” Magnus brought his hand up in a salute, and the entire company followed his lead, returning the salute. “Dominate!” Magnus roared with his right fist held high.

“Liberate!” answered thirty-nine souls with their fists to the sky.

34

No one spoke as the shuttles entered Ithnor Ithelia’s atmosphere. Flames flickered across the windowplex while the ships bounced and jolted. Nolan piloted Red One, carrying Alpha and Bravo Platoons, while Andocs piloted Red Two, taking Charlie and Delta Platoons.

Magnus sat beside Nolan, examining the holo-map, while the remaining two crash couches behind him held Awen and Piper. The two were extremely quiet, which made Magnus feel even more uneasy. While he loved silence, this mission was tense enough as it was, so anything to break up the constant hurry-up-and-wait aspect of prebattle anxiety would be welcome.

“So we’re going to come in from far away, right, Mr. Lieutenant Magnus, sir?” Piper asked.

Mystics, favor her, Magnus thought, grateful that she had broken the bridge’s constricting silence. Even if she can’t separate my old rank from my name. “That’s right, Piper. You ever see a shooting star?”

“Lots of times.”

“Well, that’s what we look like right now.” Magnus pointed out the window as the flames began subsiding. “All that fire’s from friction, and it makes us visible for hundreds of kilometers in every direction. So we need to make sure no one in Itheliana can see us.” He enlarged the holo-map so she could see from behind him. “The navigation computer gives us an exact path to follow so we’re out of view.”

“Then we fly fast and low to Itheliana?”

Magnus chucked. “Have you been studying military tactics in your spare time, little one?”

She shook her head. “Uh-uh. Just makes sense is all.”

“That it does,” Magnus said, turning back to study their progress.

“So we’re gonna land over there, Mr. Lieutenant Magnus, sir?”

Magnus followed her pointed finger toward the green dot that lay east of the city in a forest about one klick from the city’s eastern border. “We sure are. Mr. Nolan here is going to drop us in the middle of a small clearing. We’ll go the rest of the way on foot.”

“Will I get to walk beside you?”

“I’m afraid not, Piper.” Magnus turned in his chair to face her. The girl was such an enigma to him. On the one hand, she looked so childlike that she seemed younger than her nine years of age. But on the other, she was so mature, so confident, that most adults paled in comparison. He had trouble reconciling the two images he had of this young lady. “You’ll need to stay back with Awen for this mission.”

“But you’ll rescue me when I get in trouble, right, Mr. Lieutenant Magnus, sir?”

“Right.” Magnus leaned toward her. “I’ll always be there to rescue you… but you need to make me a promise.”

“Sure, anything.”

“That you’ll be there to rescue me when I need it too.”

“Promise,” she said. Then she did something incredibly spontaneous—she kissed her fingers, reached forward, and placed them on his cheek.

Somehow, he felt he was supposed to do the same to seal the mutual deal, as it were. So Magnus kissed his fingers—far larger and rougher than hers—and placed the imaginary kiss on her cheek. She closed her eyes and smiled, accepting the pat with a warmth he couldn’t remember seeing elsewhere—at least not in a very long time. “Promise,” he said.

* * *

The shuttles skimmed along the tops of the trees for another ten minutes before Nolan called out the time to landing. “Two minutes,” he said, flipping several switches.

Magnus heard changes in the ship’s drive core and noticed the craft start to decelerate. He unbuckled his harness and passed between Awen and Piper. “Stay here until I come and get you.”

“Copy,” Awen replied, smiling up at him. She was nervous—he could see it in her eyes.

“Hey,” Magnus said, leaning down toward her ear. “You’ve got this.”

Awen nodded but didn’t say anything.

Magnus left the bridge and stepped down the alternating-tread staircase into the shuttle’s extended cargo bay. “Heads up. We’re less than two minutes to touchdown. Pre-combat check means helmets on, lock and load, and check the gladia beside you.”

One by one, each gladia donned helmets, powered on and charged NOV1s, and examined the gladias to their right and left to make sure they were buttoned up and ready to move out.

“One minute,” Nolan yelled from the bridge.

“One minute,” Magnus echoed, holding up one finger. The gesture was mimicked throughout the cargo bay.

Magnus placed his own helmet over his head. His visor powered on, giving him a crystal-clear view of the cargo bay. Both platoons stood and turned toward the aft. He still couldn’t believe how clear the view was in the Mark I helmet. It was as if he wasn’t wearing a helmet at all—perfect peripheral vision—and the tech even interfaced with his bioteknia eyes, thanks to some custom coding by Azelon.

The advanced neural interface took only a second to boot up, calibrating to his brain waves via the embedded sensors pressed firmly against several points on his skull. As soon as they established a secure connection, the displays in his visor and his eyes synced, creating a multidimensional mesh of data that made Magnus feel like he was seeing the world from inside a hyper-intelligent AI.

’Cause that’s exactly what you are doing, dummy. Gone were the days of having to use his eyes to navigate menus, let alone his hands. All he needed to do was think about doing something, and it happened.

From inside his helmet over comms, Magnus heard Nolan say, “Thirty seconds.”

Magnus held his hand over his head in the shape of a C, denoting second and final call before loadout. A sliver of late-morning light appeared at the ceiling as the shuttle’s rear door crept open. Within another two seconds, Magnus saw leaves rustling under the shuttle’s thrusters.

“Activate ambient-environment skin,” Magnus said over comms. Pings of acknowledgment lined his visor as each gladia acknowledged the command. Even Magnus’s command was displayed in real-time text along a chat feed, supplying a time-stamped log for every mission order and action. The Repub’s got nothing on this, Magnus thought.

To Magnus’s astonishment—even though he knew it was coming—the gladias disappeared as they activated their telecolos system to replicate their immediate environment. “Splick,” he said, looking around the room. The only evidence that anyone was there at all were dozens of minor bumps in the scene—places where the suit’s infrastructure had a hard time projecting across the curvature of limbs and joints. Still, if Kane’s troopers didn’t know what they were looking at, they’d be hard-pressed to know there were almost two dozen armor-clad beings waiting to tear them apart. Which is exactly what we want.

“Ten seconds,” Magnus said over the sound of the straining drive cores. The ramp was almost fully lowered, revealing a dense frost without.

“Hey, where’d everybody go?” Piper exclaimed from the bridge. Her tiny face peered down at Magnus, who still hadn’t activated his telecolos system.

“Everyone’s still there, Piper,” Magnus replied, grabbing a strap of webbing to brace himself against the landing.

“Just use the Unity,” Awen added.

“Oh,” Piper said. “I see them now.”

Just like that? Magnus thought. Mystics, she is… incredible.

Wait until you see her in action, came a second voice inside Magnus’s head. He almost hit his helmet with his hand—a bad habit he’d picked up from bungling around inside old Mark IV armor—but realized the voice sounded exactly like Awen.

That’s because it is me, she replied.

“Three…” Nolan said. “Two… one…” The shuttle bounced only slightly as Nolan executed a textbook landing. “Touchdown!”

“Did you just read my—are you in my head?” Magnus asked out loud. Hell, this was distracting. He had an op to run.

Only if you want me to be, Awen replied.

Me too! Piper added.

Magnus wasn’t sure he could handle having either one of them in his head. “Shut up for just a second, okay? I’ll be right back.”

* * *

Magnus ordered everyone out of the shuttles. Both platoons exited and set up a perimeter around the ships. Amazingly, optical sensors hardly detected anything save the rustling of long grass and shifting shadows among the distant tree trunks. Even his thermal imaging had a hard time identifying the shapes. It wasn’t until Magnus activated his atomic sensors that the shapes of his gladias filled his vision, echoed by his bioteknia’s redundant imaging systems.

“All right, platoon leaders,” Magnus said, singling out Dutch, Abimbola, Titus, and Rohoar over comms. “Let’s secure the enemy shuttle and prep for entry into the city. Smooth is fast, and fast is deadly.”

“La-raah,” Rohoar said through his snout of clenched teeth.

“La-raah,” the other three echoed.

“I’ll be right behind you with our mystics,” Magnus added. Once the company was off and moving, Magnus walked back inside Red One to retrieve Awen and Piper. They’d already descended from the bridge and donned their helmets.

“Looking good,” Magnus said to both of them over comms.

Thanks, Mr. Lieutenant Magnus, sir.

“Piper, can you please use comms with me for right now?” Magnus asked. “I’m… just not sure I’m ready for you being in my head yet.”

“Sure. I didn’t mean to freak you out.”

Freak me out? This kid is something else. “Okay, you both ready to move out?” he asked.

They nodded.

“Stay close, and keep your eyes open for anything out of the ordinary, or however it is you track stuff in the Unity.”

“Understood, Magnus,” Awen replied. “We’re with you.”

“Yeah, we’re totally with you,” Piper added.

Half of Magnus felt really strange for purposefully escorting a child into a hostile environment. It was just something a person never ever did. Yet the other half of him wouldn’t want to enter a battlefield without her.

“Here goes nothing.” He turned and led them down the ramp, carrying his NOV1 in low-ready position, and activated his suit’s chameleon mode.

* * *

Granther Company proceeded through the forest as planned, moving in two columns with scouts farther out. Their first objective was securing the enemy’s transport shuttle, which was located adjacent to the ruins of Ezo’s former command, the Indomitable. His ship, as he told it, had been scuttled by the departing Admiral Kane to prevent any later escape.

According to Azelon, the enemy’s shuttle hadn’t been used in several weeks, and therefore, it was unlikely to be occupied. Still, Magnus didn’t want to take any chances—the craft needed to be cleared and disabled, or else the enemy might use it later on. It was best just to take the thing out of play.

Eight minutes had ticked by on the mission clock before the first scout announced, “Eyes on the Hotel One.”

“Good work, Zoll,” Titus said over comms.

Magnus watched as the blue dot in his projected topographical map changed to yellow, confirming the first waypoint but designating it as unsecured.

“Charlie and Delta Platoons,” Magnus said, “set up a perimeter. Alpha and Bravo Platoons, initiate search and seizure.”

Again, confirmation pings sounded as green icons lined the chat thread. Magnus watched the map as the white dots, signifying each member of each platoon, spread out into the target area. Small member designators also spread across his field of view, allowing him to call up exact coordinates and distances should he desire.

“Can we go look too?” Piper asked.

“Not yet,” Magnus replied. “I want you staying here behind this tree. Since your suits don’t change color like ours, it’s important that you keep out of sight. I don’t want you moving forward until we’re sure where the enemy is.”

“I understand, Mr. Lieutenant Magnus, sir.”

Magnus patted her on the shoulder then looked to Awen. “Stay here for a sec?”

She nodded. “Will do.”

Magnus turned and ran toward Hotel One. He could barely make out the shuttle’s black hull through the trees with optical sensors, but the ship appeared clearly through the rest of his spectral sensors. He could even see members of Alpha and Bravo Platoons moving around inside it.

“Dutch, Abimbola, report,” Magnus ordered.

“Looks to be abandoned, buckethead,” Abimbola said. “And Cyril says there are no signs of remote detection or active relays either.”

“They pulled the drive core right out of her too,” Dutch added. “Whatever they found in the city, I’m guessing they needed the power there instead.”

“Yeah, that can’t be good,” Magnus said. “Disable the flight systems. But don’t do anything we can’t fix later.”

“Copy that,” Dutch replied.

Magnus moved under the ship, heading for the far side of the clearing. The hulking mass that was the Indomitable lay to his right. How Ezo had ever managed to fly that piece of junk was beyond him. That Nimprith was either a damn good pilot or a damn crazy one. Probably both, Magnus thought.

Saladin crouched beside Rohoar at the edge of the clearing, looking through a stand of trees toward the eastern gate’s ruins. While the Jujari’s lack of telecolos-coated armor failed to blend all of their bodies into their environment’s visual palette, their fur certainly went a long way toward adding to their unique version of camouflage.

Magnus approached the two cautiously, careful to make his presence known over comms—the last thing he wanted to do was startle a Jujari from behind. “On your six, Rohoar.”

Rohoar and Saladin turned slowly, motioning Magnus to crouch beside them.

“Waddya got for me?” Magnus asked.

“Do you smell it?” Rohoar asked him.

“Smell it?”

“Humans,” Saladin said, licking her chops. “Many humans. Upwind, nine hundred meters to the west.”

“Anything closer than that?” Magnus asked.

Rohoar shook his head. “No. That is the only place where we smell humans.”

“But you might not be able to smell all of them, right? We need to—”

“Jujari always smell all humans,” Saladin said. “Jujari never miss any humans. All humans stink.”

Magnus had both his eyebrows raised. “That’s good to know.” To Dutch and Abimbola, he asked, “How are you coming with the ship?”

“Good,” Dutch replied.

“Cyril says he’s almost done,” Abimbola added. “Five more seconds and then—”

Pop! Pip–pip. Crack!

“I think it’s done,” Abimbola said. Magnus could practically smell the electrical smoke.

“Yup,” Dutch replied. “Shuttle scuttled.”

“Good.” Magnus switched to the Spire’s dedicated channel. “Azie, do you read me?”

“I do,” the AI said. “That is, if by read you mean detect your audio transmission with sufficient clarity. And if so, I believe I am starting to get the hang of your human idioms.”

“Congratulations, Azie. Listen, the Jujari are picking up human scent nine hundred meters to the west. Can you confirm that?”

“Negative, sir. Whatever shielding the enemy is using has made me unable to pinpoint their exact location. The only thing I can tell you is that nine hundred meters from your present location is within acceptable margins of error for possible enemy presence. If I were you, I would go with your gut on this one.”

“Well said,” TO-96 added over comms.

Magnus rolled his eyes. “Thanks, you two. If anything pops up, I need to be the first to know.”

“Affirmative, sir,” TO-96 said. “We’ll do our very best.”

“Yes,” Azelon confirmed, “we’ll put our backs into it and give it the old college try.”

Magnus chuckled. “I couldn’t ask for more. Magnus out.” Before they could demonstrate more of their idiomatic speech, he turned off the channel.

“All right, teams, listen up,” Magnus said over company wide comms. “We’re detecting a human presence nine hundred meters to the west. But I want that confirmed before we move in. Awen, are you able to see that far?”

“Stand by, Magnus, I’ll—”

“Yup, I see them,” Piper exclaimed. Magnus winced, as the audio compression wasn’t fast enough to catch her sudden outburst. He could see several other gladias reacting to the loud sound too.

“Thanks, Piper. Try not to shout, okay?”

“Okay, Mr. Lieutenant Magnus, sir.”

“Can you describe what you’re seeing?”

“Uh-huh.” Magnus heard her little voice counting under her breath. “I see twenty troopers dressed in black. They have… a base camp, like ours! But smaller. And no ESCEs or ISCEs, but they might have a temple. No, wait! Twenty-one troopers. No, wait! Twenty-two!”

“Piper, slow down,” Magnus said. “Where is this base camp?”

“It’s up the main street in front of us. You have to go under the gate. Then we have to jump two streets over, and then it’s diagonal. It opens into a pretty-looking plaza. That’s where they are.”

“And why do more of them keep appearing? Something about a temple, you said?”

“Oh, that’s easy. ’Cause they have a tunnel.”

“A tunnel?”

“Uh-huh. They keep going in and coming out. Ooo! There’s another one—twenty-three!”

“Magnus?” Titus said.

“Go, Titus.”

“Bettger has marked the location on the holo-map using Piper’s directions.”

“Perfect,” Magnus replied. In addition to the map icon, he’d also noticed a new waypoint in his field of view along with a distance-to-target indicator, both of which moved and updated in real time—much as his bioteknia eyes did. “Granther Company, we have our next objective. Your nav systems have been updated. This is it.”

35

Amazingly, the street advance felt exactly like the simulations—the ruined stonework, vines, vegetation, smudged windows, and moss-covered buildings. It was almost uncanny how good the hard-light holo-projections had been. Magnus’s gladias wouldn’t feel surprised by a foreign environment, which was good. The downside, of course, was that they’d be too comfortable with it and forget that here, when they got shot, they were dead forever—no resetting the scene.

“Stay sharp,” Magnus said. “Eyes peeled.”

“Great mystics!” TO-96’s voice erupted over comms. “They’re peeling your eyes with sharp utensils? Of all the insane—”

“Ninety-Six, shut up!”

There was a brief pause. “Ah, I’m terribly sorry, sir. That was… my mistake.”

“Yeah. It was. Now, don’t interrupt like that again.”

“As you wish, sir.”

Magnus rolled his eyes, unsure how they were going to make it through the day. They were a nine-year-old wonder kid, two advanced but socially inept AI robots, and a barely trained company who were decked out in ultra-advanced tech that they’d never trained in. What could go wrong?

Magnus shook off the bad vibes. “Dutch and Abimbola, I want you entering that plaza from the south.”

“Roger that, sir,” Dutch said.

“Titus and Rohoar, you’ve got the east entry point.”

“Shouldn’t one of us take the other two points of entry?” someone asked.

Magnus looked at the speaker’s title tag. It was Baker. He was new. “Negative. Too much friendly crossfire. Better to leave them an exit than risk getting our own killed—at least until we understand their position better.”

“Hey, stick to the chain of command, Baker,” Titus said. “Run those comments by me first, copy?”

“Copy. Sorry, sir. Sirs.”

“Listen up,” Magnus said, reining the conversation back in. “Platoon leaders, use your best judgment. Titus, don’t be afraid to use those buildings as you did in training. Just remember—”

“To verify layouts and building junctions before committing.”

“Good. Same for you, Rohoar. If you go high, look for those turret emplacements. Call everything out, share the load, and cover down. Granther Company, move out.”

* * *

The next several minutes were tense. Magnus could feel himself trying to control his breathing. Even he was getting a bit nervous. He couldn’t help feeling that the enemy had seen them land. Maybe they were tracking them at that very moment with advanced sensors, and all this was a trap. Maybe they had snipers trained on them, just having some laughs before squeezing the trigger.

Or… maybe the plan was going exactly as it should, and the gladias’ suits were keeping the entire company hidden. Or maybe, given the hopeless scenario that Kane’s unit found themselves in, they’d utterly given up hope of being discovered and saw no point in setting up—let alone defending—a perimeter.

Yeah, right. Magnus remembered the cardinal rule of what happened to plans when they met the enemy. Plus, Azelon had already detected a localized shield. They wouldn’t use that unless they thought someone was watching.

Magnus advanced behind all four platoons, marveling at how well they moved—not to mention how ridiculously nonapparent they were. Azelon had truly outdone herself with all this new tech. If Kane’s forces were watching, the Gladio Umbra sure were making it hard for them to spot anything.

For Magnus’s part, he remained at the rear of Titus and Rohoar’s columns, escorting Awen and Piper toward the enemy’s suspected base camp. Awen held Piper’s hand as the little girl looked around at all the ruins.

“Hey, Piper,” Magnus asked over a restricted comms channel—Awen and the bots were the only other ones allowed on.

“Yes?”

“See anything new?”

“New?”

“Yeah, you know, like any change in how the bad guys are moving? Maybe something new they’re fiddling with?”

“Hmm,” she said. “Nah, they’re still busy just going in and out of the tunnel.”

“Let me know if that changes, okay? As soon as it does, I need you to tell me.”

“No problem.”

“And, Azie?”

“Yes, Magnus?”

“Is there a reason the Novia Minoosh felt their resources were in imminent danger but none of you can see exactly what the recon team is doing? I guess I’m not getting how your sensors in the city work.”

“That is a valid question,” Azelon replied. “The Novia’s sensor network—while vast—is limited to certain sections of the city. Worse still, it seems that the enemy’s shield is somehow disrupting the Novia’s sensor array.”

“Then, going back to my original question, how do they know Kane’s team is knocking on an important door?”

“I’m afraid that is proprietary information, sir.”

“No, no, it’s definitely not proprietary. We’re down here risking our asses for you and the rest of the galaxy. That’s need-to-know intel, and right now, I need to know.”

“Very well. The approximate location of the tunnel that Piper has identified happens to be directly over one of the main power centers for the entire city.”

“Power centers?”

“That’s correct. While the main access doors to the plant are highly secure—arguably impenetrable for the technology found in your protoverse—the recon team has discovered an alternate way into the center which bypasses the main entrance.”

“And you guys didn’t plan for something like this?”

“In short, no.”

“Some super-intelligent alien species you are.”

“I beg your pardon, sir?”

“Never mind. Listen, how would they have gotten plans for the city? I mean, how would they have even known where to dig?”

“I think I know,” Awen said.

Magnus looked over at her. “And?”

“The temple library.”

“That is one hypothesis, yes,” Azelon replied.

“Okay,” Magnus said, waving Awen off. “You can tell me all about that later. Right now, I just want to make sure I’m putting all these pieces together.”

“Contact!” someone whispered forcefully over the companywide channel. Magnus closed the restricted channel and joined in.

“What d’you see, Robi?” Titus asked.

“He’s taking a piss, sir,” Robi replied. “Damn!”

“A what?”

“Yeah. I’m up here behind some columns bordering the square, and this guy in black armor, three stripes painted on the shoulder, just steps out from behind their blue shield wall and starts relieving himself on a boulder—right in front of me. Damn!”

“Splick,” Titus said. “You getting this, Magnus?”

Suddenly, a video window appeared in Magnus’s field of view. He wasn’t sure which surprised him more—the fact that the comms system had live video support that he hadn’t known about or the view of a rogue Recon trooper taking a leak, up close and personal.

“Sure am,” Magnus replied. Seeing the trooper and the shield wall that close to Robi gave Magnus an idea—a splicking crazy idea.

He started running and sent a text order out to the entire company: Rush enemy location on my command. Then he followed it with a second message: Watch for auto-turret fire when the shield comes down.

“What do you want me to do, sir?” Robi asked.

“How close is that shield wall to you?” Magnus asked, examining the blue dome.

“Can’t be more than a meter, sir.”

“Then I want you to stuff him, Robi.”

There was a brief pause. “Stuff him, sir?”

Magnus couldn’t believe he was saying this, but it was a tactical opportunity they couldn’t afford to pass up. Charging the shield head-on without any real glimpse of what lay behind it would make for a long day. And he hated long days. People died on long days.

“You’re giving him a third ball, Robi,” Magnus said between breaths. “VOD, electromagnetic pulse, in the shorts.”

“Mystics, are you serious?”

“Robi, this is a direct order.”

“Splick, he’s finishing up.”

“Stuff him!”

“Dammit!”

* * *

Robi shoved the trooper back behind the protective wall moments before the EMP in the man’s pants detonated. He survived, of course—EMPs were not fatal. Should the trooper last the day, however, it was doubtful he’d ever procreate.

The shield wall flickered. And then, just like that, it was gone.

Did we really just get the jump on an entire recon unit? They’d gone from atmospheric entry to securing a shuttle to advancement all the way to a hostile base of operations, and all completely undetected. That’s just impossible, Magnus thought. But it was true nonetheless, and he’d take the point.

Standing like a bunch of guys with their pants down, the recon team looked around in abject confusion as they spotted Piss Boy rolling on the ground, trying to pull an expended VOD from his pants. They also looked for an approaching enemy.

But you ain’t gonna see a thing.

The first shots came from Dutch’s platoon as she called out enemy targets. There were too many to count. Magnus slid to a halt on the square’s east entrance just in time to see all eight of Alpha Platoon’s NOV1s open up on the unsuspecting troopers. The weapons belched torrents of high-pitched bright-blue light into the enemy encampment. One trooper’s body was blown apart so forcefully that his limbs twirled away as if a giant animal had shaken him to shreds.

A second trooper managed to raise a personal wrist-mounted shield before a stream of high-joule energy slammed into him. The blast’s intensity was so powerful that the trooper folded and flew backward, colliding with two others. Magnus could hear bones crack from his position on the east side.

A third trooper got several rounds off, aiming randomly in the direction of fire. Magnus couldn’t remember ever seeing a recon team member miss so horribly. Apparently, the gladias’ suits were doing their job. Unfortunately for the trooper, his last rounds downrange would all be misses. NOV1 fire tore through him, transforming his body into a puff of mist and meat.

“I—like—these—blasters!” Dutch yelled over comms.

She always did have a thing for firearms, Magnus thought as he raised his own weapon to join the action. But no sooner had his sights acquired a target than the blue dome reappeared over the enemy’s camp.

“Splick,” Magnus yelled. “Take cover!”

He knew what was coming next. He suspected auto turrets would be activated from inside the shielded area—maybe even from locations around the square if they’d brought enough with them. What Magnus hadn’t anticipated, however, were auto turrets placed along the streets leading up to the encampment.

As soon as he gave the order to take cover, blaster rounds filled the street behind him. The rounds indiscriminately crisscrossed between buildings from somewhere above. Magnus lunged for the protection of a ruined doorway and hid in the shadow of a massive column. His eyes instinctively looked at the company roster and team map, waiting for casualty indicators to ping him. Instead, all he noticed were elevated heart rates, elevated blood pressures, and a frenzy of neural activity.

“Platoons, report in!” Magnus ordered as blaster fire peppered the street in front of the column. All the leads confirmed their positions and statuses. Amazingly, they were good to go. “Anyone have eyes on those turrets?”

“I can see one,” Silk reported.

“Me too,” Saasarr replied. “Just under an overhang.”

“If you can get a shot off, take it.” Magnus knew that the enemy was regrouping behind their shield, thanks in no small part to a backup generator that they’d kept offline—precisely in the event of a naturally occurring or hostile EMP blast. System redundancy was standard Repub procedure. Magnus just hadn’t expected them to have a second damn generator.

“Got one,” Rix said.

“Me too,” Silk added.

Three more gladias reported taking out turrets, but still, the blaster rounds kept coming. Damn. This recon team was better supplied than he’d imagined. Even though the machines couldn’t see the gladias’ heat signatures—a testament to Azelon’s suit design—they were still in blanket mode. The turrets laid down low-energy covering fire, which meant they could keep up their current rate of fire for several minutes while the recon team got their splick together behind the shield wall.

And they don’t need minutes. They need about another thirty seconds before that wall comes down and they start advancing toward us.

Magnus had to get those turrets offline. “Awen,” he said over comms.

“I’m here.”

“Any chance you and Piper can do something about these auto turrets?”

“We’re checking now.”

By checking, Magnus hadn’t expected the two women to step into view at the end of the street some one hundred meters away.

“What the hell?” Magnus’s heart lodged itself somewhere in his esophagus. “Get back behind cover,” he roared.

But Awen and Piper stood as calmly as if they’d been casual observers of a training exercise back on Ni No. The gladia mystics balled their hands into fists and closed their eyes as if concentrating, deep in thought. Then, at the same time, their eyes opened, and their suits glowed an even brighter yellow.

Up and down Magnus’s street, the auto-turret fire was interrupted by mechanical whines and metallic shrieks. Gearboxes ground to a halt, groaning against a far superior force. Blaster barrels curved, causing unexpended bolts to back up into firing chambers. Chain reactions of unreleased energy exploded out of turret housings, ripping against seams and blowing off panels.

One by one, the auto turrets popped like giant firecrackers, billowing out sparks and smoke as Magnus looked down the street. He counted no fewer than fourteen emplacements—far exceeding his estimations. He imagined the other streets leading up to the enemy’s base camp having just as many.

“You seeing this on your street?” Magnus asked Titus and Rohoar.

“If by this you mean spontaneously combusting turrets,” Rohoar answered, “then yes. We are seeing lots of this.”

“I can confirm that too,” Titus added.

Within another few minutes, Magnus’s street was clear. He looked across at Awen and Piper as burning debris fluttered down from above. Awen’s helmet suddenly looked directly at Magnus even though he knew she couldn’t see him. Or can she?

The woman gave him a small wave. “How’s that?”

“That’s…” Magnus’s brain kicked back into high gear. “Good job, mystics. Platoons, direct all fire on that shield. Rohoar, I want you hanging back until I say.”

“Affirmative, sir.”

“You want us to hit it like we’re taking down an armored tank?” Dutch asked, referring to Magnus’s earlier stipulation about using full-auto mode.

“Like taking down a splicking armored tank, yes.” Magnus selected Full-Auto on his own NOV1 and stepped into the street. “Let’s introduce ourselves, gladias.”

36

Awen watched in amazement from half a block away as the Gladio Umbra converged on the enemy position. Their new assault blasters produced a piercing scream that even her helmet had a hard time filtering out. The sound reminded her of Sqwillian forest banshees during mating season. But the blistering torrent of blaster fire was unlike anything she’d witnessed.

Steady streams of intense blue light poured from the weapon receivers, appearing in midair and racing toward the shield wall. The two energies collided in a dazzling display of color and sound, emitting red, yellow, and blue sparks, while the ultra-rapid strikes sounded like rivets popping from the trusses of a collapsing bridge.

On and on the assault went until Awen was sure either the weapons would fail or the shield would. Still, however, the NOV1s rained hellfire on the fortification. Awen saw several streams cease while, in her second sight, she watched gladias pop out expended energy magazines and reload fresh ones. A few of the more seasoned fighters were able to swap out one energy mag while firing from the other—a feat made possible only because of the NOV1’s dual-mag feeding system. Awen wasn’t into guns, but that seemed pretty cool even to her.

When the shield finally came down, the enemy forces were nowhere to be seen—by the naked eye, at least. She felt herself starting to panic. Awen was sure Magnus’s sensor suite was able to make out the same thing she was seeing, but just in case, she said, “They’re in the building… and… behind the, the—”

“Behind the barriers,” Piper interjected over comms. “And in the tunnel, and some are running down side streets and into some buildings!”

“Copy,” Magnus yelled as his NOV1 started firing on a concrete barrier not ten meters away. The force of Magnus’s semiautomatic fire blew chunks out of the berm and began sliding it along the ground. Finally, as it gave up under his assault, the barrier fell backward, pinning the trooper beneath it. Magnus moved forward and finished the combatant with a single round to the helmet. Awen watched in her second sight as the trooper’s head ceased to exist.

“Piper, don’t watch, okay?”

“Watch? That was awesome!”

“Piper! That was not awesome!”

“Yes, it was!”

“No, it wasn’t,” Awen insisted, stressing each word.

Piper glanced up at her, seeming to register Awen’s tone. “Not awesome. Okay, shydoh.”

“Good.”

Apparently, the little girl had more of a stomach for war than Awen did. Somehow, that just seemed wrong. To Awen, people dying were people dying, and that should never be celebrated—certainly not by children. But if killing one life to save more lives was the only option, Awen could at least tolerate it. For the moment. That was the only real reason she was able to be a part of this entire mission. Bad people had to be stopped from doing bad things to good people. It was as simple as that.

When another two troopers had been cleared from the encampment, someone yelled over comms. “I’m hit!”

Awen checked her visor’s overlay to confirm the name. It was Reimer in Bravo Platoon.

Magnus took a knee and looked toward Reimer’s position. The former Marauder had stumbled backward and was taking cover within a doorway.

“You’re fine,” Magnus said. “Check your shield’s percentage.”

“Eighty—I’m at eighty percent,” Reimer replied, his voice less shaky than before.

“Right. That was just…” Magnus paused to send a stream of blaster fire into a second-story window. “That was just the kinetic energy dissipating around your suit. Keep your blaster downrange, and bring the pain.”

“Copy that, sir.”

No sooner had Reimer finished speaking than someone else mentioned being hit. It was Dozer. “I’m at fifty percent,” he said. Awen could see him clutching his chest. Apparently the wind had been knocked out of him.

“Sixty percent!” yelled another voice—this time, it was Jaffrey.

Why are the gladias taking so many hits all of a sudden?

“They’re tracking the blaster rounds,” Piper replied over their dedicated channel.

Awen ignored the fact that Piper was openly reading her thoughts. “You sure?”

“Yup. I can see the recon guys looking down the blue streams. Magnus’s super suits are really neat, but the NOV1s are still giving them away.”

“Magnus,” Awen said over a direct link.

“Go ahead!”

“Piper says they’re tracking you by your blaster rounds.”

“Copy that.”

“You think that helped him?” Piper asked.

Awen shrugged. “Don’t know. But let’s hope so.”

The fighting continued as Magnus and Alpha, Bravo, and Charlie Platoons forced the enemy troops out of the plaza and into hiding. At least three more troopers met their ends in the encampment. One combatant’s torso exploded from a single round to the gut. His shoulders and head dropped onto his collapsed legs. Awen closed her eyes and turned her second sight elsewhere. This was horrible.

“Find cover, gladias! They’re tracking our blaster fire, and now they’re holed up in those buildings.” Magnus sat against a large container in the middle of the enemy encampment. Several members of Alpha Platoon rested near him, catching their breath. “Rohoar?”

“I am ready, scrumruk graulap,” the Jujari replied.

“I want you taking your platoon in through the side door of that center building. I’ve marked the entrance on your map. You should see a new waypoint vector too.”

“Affirmative.”

“Good. Wait for my command. And, Titus?”

“Go ahead.”

“I want you entering the second building here.”

Awen watched in her map as Magnus placed a second entry icon on another building’s perimeter adjacent to the first.

“You clear those two buildings, we have ourselves the beginnings of a victory.”

“Copy that, sir,” Titus said.

“Consider it done,” Rohoar added.

No sooner had Magnus finished speaking than a massive explosion erupted five meters in front of his crate. The force of the blast sent the gladias in the encampment flying. Every window in the plaza must have shattered at once, filling Awen’s head with a deafening cacophony that made her stumble.

“Magnus!” Awen watched his suit’s telecolos system blink out. He slammed into a nearby building and fell to the ground in a heap. “Stay here,” Awen ordered Piper. She forced the girl to stand just inside what once might have been an office building’s entrance. Then Awen took off, covering the remaining half block in only a few seconds.

Blaster rounds crisscrossed the open square, which was now covered in thick black smoke. Awen used her second sight to find Magnus’s body just to her left. He was struggling to get up but moved very slowly.

“Magnus!” she yelled, kneeling down to examine him in the smoke. “Are you okay?”

“Damn remote bomb,” Magnus said, shaking his helmet. “Yeah, I think I’m fine.”

The glossy-white surface of his armored suit was stained black and had several pockmarks in the plating. She assumed that whatever personal shield the suit had left was now depleted. Its chameleon mode seemed out of commission too.

Magnus swore and let out a pained groan.

“What?” Awen asked, tensing. “What is it?”

“Damn suit just stuck me!”

“What?”

“It stuck me! But…” His voice seemed to relax a little. “It feels… good.”

Awen guessed it was the medical nano-bots doing their thing. “Come on. Let’s get you to cover.” She moved to the top of his head and placed her hands under his shoulders. Magnus was heavier than she’d expected, but she was able to pull him around a corner and out of harm’s way. Then she squatted next to him and placed a hand on his chest. “How are you doing, Adonis?”

He coughed over comms and started to sit up. “Yeah, yeah. I’m good. Feeling better. I shoulda seen that coming.”

“It certainly would have been nice to avoid, yes.”

“What about the others…?”

Awen could tell Magnus was reviewing the company roster. She did the same. “Looks good. Couple bumps and bruises but no casualties. You all just survived a bomb blast. These suits are incredible.”

“Remind me to kiss Azelon on the mouth when we get back to the Spire,” Magnus said, struggling to get up.

“I feel no need to experience or reciprocate human osculation,” Azelon said over comms.

Awen laughed as she helped Magnus stand up.

“Don’t care, Azie. You’re getting a smooch.” Magnus groaned as he stretched his back and rotated a shoulder.

Awen was so relieved that Magnus was okay. But there was something beyond relief too. She remembered how So-Elku had tried to take Piper, how he tried to hurt Magnus, and how Kane had tried to hurt Sootriman. She felt indignation. And raw anger.

“You sure you’re all right?” Awen asked.

“I am. Now, where’s my blaster?”

“Sir,” TO-96 said, “there should be a directional vector marking the location of your—”

“Got it, ’Six. Thanks.” Magnus stole a look down the street then ran several meters toward a pile of burning rubble. He slid to one knee and retrieved his NOV1, which—despite several burn marks and the absence of its color-changing skin—seemed operational as far as Awen could tell.

“It’s good?” she asked.

Magnus tilted the weapon left and right as he ran back to cover. “Yup. I think she’ll still shoot straight.”

“Well, what are you waiting around here for?” Awen asked. “Get back out there and kill something!” She swatted him on the butt.

Magnus took a step forward and turned to look at her. “Yes, ma’am.”

* * *

After looking to make sure that her mother was okay from the bomb blast, Piper used her second sight to track Rohoar down one of the side streets. It led right to the building that Magnus had indicated for the giant doggy. He stood just outside an entryway that led to a stairwell, presumably waiting for Magnus to give the order to enter, like he’d said he was going to.

Magnus left Awen after she touched his butt—gross—and moved back into the smoking plaza. Most of the enemy’s equipment had been blown to itty bits, and there was a big crater in the middle of the open space.

“Rohoar, Titus, you both still good to go?” Magnus asked. As soon as the two platoon leaders responded positively, he gave the order to move in.

Piper watched as Rohoar stormed up the stairwell, taking five or six steps at a time on all fours. The rest of his warriors followed closely behind. When they got to the first landing, half of Rohoar’s platoon broke off to search the floor while the other half doubled back and bounded up a second flight of stairs.

From within her second sight, Piper could see five Paragon troopers taking cover beside windows that looked down into the square.

“Do you smell them?” Piper said over comms to Rohoar.

The Jujari seemed to hesitate. “Piper?” he whispered.

“It’s me, yup. I just wanted to make sure you sniffed them.”

“Yes, I smell them.”

“And there are five more on the floor above you too.”

“Thank you, Piper.”

“You’re welcome. Get ’em good, okay?”

“I shall endeavor to.”

“’Kay, bye.” Then she added in a whisper, “I’m watching in case you need my help.”

Rohoar didn’t respond to that, but she figured he was busy thinking about how to eat the bad guys. Plus, she knew he would be appreciative of the help if she gave it.

Rohoar and his first four Jujari stalked toward the rooms that each trooper was holed up in. At the same time, the other four Jujari did likewise on the floor above. Piper could feel herself tense up, anticipating the clash. The enemy troopers were so busy firing down into the plaza that they forgot to check their… What did Magnus call it again? Piper got stuck on the word. Their six, she suddenly remembered.

Rohoar seemed like he was about to strike when an alarm suddenly sounded. The Jujari in the rear—a doggy named Lugt, Piper thought—looked down to see he’d triggered some sort of warning device.

Only it wasn’t a warning device.

Piper screamed as the grenade detonated.

Awen was beside her in an instant. “Piper! What’s the matter? Are you hurt?”

“Poor Lugt!” she cried. “Poor, poor, Lugt…”

“Piper, talk to me! What’s Lugt?”

Piper could hardly feel Awen patting her body down, checking for injuries. She was thinking about the Jujari who’d just died. The poor doggy’s legs had been—

Piper noticed the troopers in the rooms spin around and charge into the hallway. But Rohoar was there. Saladin too. Arjae seemed like he’d been hurt by the blast but was still on his feet.

The trooper in the room ahead of Rohoar turned into the hallway and fired his blaster. Several shots hit Rohoar but were absorbed by his personal shield. The man stared in disbelief as the Jujari just kept coming.

“Good doggy!” Piper screamed. “Get him!”

The next instant, Rohoar clamped down on the man’s raised forearm, splitting the bone in two places. The trooper cried out, but Piper guessed only those on his comms system could hear him. She could hear him, too, of course, but that was different.

The man fired a few more rounds into Rohoar’s midsection, but the Jujari batted the weapon away. Rohoar swiped at the trooper’s chest, neck, and groin. Within a matter of seconds, the man lay still on the floor, bleeding out.

Rohoar looked up at a second trooper, who came from farther down the hall. The man was a good shooter, taking smooth steps and aiming directly at the center of Rohoar’s chest. But it didn’t matter. Piper smiled as Rohoar reached down, grabbed the first trooper’s body, and flung it at the advancing man. The force knocked him over, and the two bodies tumbled down the corridor. By the time the second trooper reached for his blaster, Rohoar was on him, slitting his throat and kicking his weapon away.

Behind Rohoar, Saladin had clasped a third trooper’s helmet in her jaws. Still, the trooper fired his blaster, bolts ricocheting off windows and walls. Saladin continued biting down until her teeth penetrated weak points in the helmet. The man screamed. His punctured skull sent him into convulsions until, finally, his arms and body went limp and he fell to the floor.

Arjae took on a fourth bad guy, pushing him back into the room he tried to emerge from. The two warriors struggled. Piper was surprised at just how big this trooper was. She’d never met a person as strong as a Jujari, except maybe Abimbola and sometimes Magnus. This trooper was like that—big and strong. Arjae had managed to knock the man’s weapon from his one hand, but the trooper held a knife in his other. The two struggled to hold each other’s wrists, exchanging swipes with claws and blade and blocking with their arms.

As the pair neared the open window, Piper thought to warn Arjae of the danger. But just as she was about to speak, a single blaster round struck the trooper in the back from the outside. It was Magnus who’d fired it. The round went through the trooper’s body and slammed into Arjae’s shield, causing the pair to fly backwards and land on the floor. Piper watched as Arjae’s shield flickered and died out. The Jujari raised his head and shoved the trooper’s body off him in disgust.

It was the fifth and final Paragon trooper on this floor that worried Piper the most. He emerged from the opposite end of the hall behind Lugt’s dead body. For some reason, Rohoar hadn’t noticed him, and neither had Saladin.

Piper could see the trooper smile as he brought his weapon up and aimed at Saladin. Somehow, Piper knew the rounds would go straight through the female Jujari and strike Rohoar too. She wanted to blurt something out over comms, but there was no time. This was happening much too fast. She had to do something herself.

Several thoughts went through Piper’s mind at that instant. They ranged from creative things, like pushing down a wall or opening up the floor, to more direct things like…

Like crushing the man’s heart.

Perhaps it was fear for Rohoar. Or maybe it was just nervous excitement about everything she’d witnessed. Piper didn’t know. But in that instant, she envisioned the trooper’s heart being squeezed like a tomato under a Boresian taursar’s foot.

The trooper never fired a shot. Instead, he clutched his chest and gave a soundless scream. He was dead before he hit the floor.

* * *

“Piper!” Awen screamed. She ripped her own helmet off and grabbed the girl. “What have you done?”

Awen pushed the girl farther behind cover and pulled the small helmet off her head. Awen knew the act would help snap the girl out of the Unity.

Piper squinted against the bright light and started coughing as smoke filled her nose.

“Piper!” Awen yelled again. “Did you just kill a man?” Awen didn’t need to ask, of course. She’d seen the last few seconds of the battle in the building for herself. To her dismay, Piper had just ended another human life. On purpose. She just killed a man—at nine years old.

Awen was so mad she could… “Piper! Answer me!”

“Yes, yes,” Piper said, coughing into her arm. “Of course I killed him!”

“But—no! You’re not allowed to do that!”

“Why?” Piper coughed more. “We’re—we’re fighting, aren’t we?”

“But that’s not our job here. That’s not your job.”

“But he was going to kill Saladin and Rohoar, shydoh! I thought you said—” Piper coughed more. “I thought you said we have to protect everyone.”

“I did, but—”

“So I was protecting them!” Tears formed in the little girl’s eyes, and her lower lip started to quiver. “I was just protecting them…” Piper repeated, hands trembling.

“Oh, Piper.” Awen knelt and embraced the girl.

Piper rested her head on Awen’s shoulder and began to sob. “I was just trying to protect them.”

“I know.” Awen stroked the girl’s hair. “I know you were. And I’m sorry too. I…”

You’re what, Awen? Being too protective? Not letting her choose for herself? Not letting her be the answer that the universe is providing?

But the girl was still too young. Children shouldn’t be doing this. Yet… Piper was doing this. Could do this. In the deepest part of her heart, Awen knew Piper could probably save everyone’s lives if given a chance.

But that would mean so much death.

Only the alternative wasn’t any better.

Awen held Piper as the girl cried. As much as Awen had looked forward to a day like this, when the girl’s gift would be let loose for the galaxy to see, she’d also dreaded it, knowing it would bring… well, precisely what it had brought. Pain.

There was no right way to war. The best thing was just to keep going until they got through the other side. And that was what Awen decided to do. Keep going. Just get through.

“You saved them,” Awen said finally. “You saved them well.”

Piper pulled her head back, smearing snot and carbon across her cheek. “You really think so?”

“Yes, doma.” Awen brushed some of Piper’s stray blond hairs behind her ear as blaster fire echoed off the buildings around the block. “I do. And I know Rohoar and Saladin will thank you when today is through. Good job.”

“Thank you, shydoh.” Piper leaned back in and squeezed Awen’s neck hard. “I just don’t want them to die.”

“Neither do I, doma. Neither do I.”

37

Enemy fire subsided after Rohoar and Titus had finished clearing their respective buildings. Thus far, only Charlie and Delta Platoons had taken casualties, if Magnus’s roster was accurate.

“Report!” Magnus said from his position across the plaza.

“Building One secure,” Rohoar replied. “Two injured, and I have lost Lugt.”

Magnus noticed that the Jujari emphasized the personal pronoun.

“Building Two secure,” Titus added. “But Baker is down. And we have three injured.”

Magnus wasn’t sure if he should be happy or disgusted with the day’s results. On the one hand, his unit had just survived their first brush with the enemy—and it was a damn fine enemy at that. But had it not been for their superior firepower and stealth technology, this battle would have gone a lot differently.

“I want the wounded and the dead out of there ASAP,” Magnus ordered. “Fall back to the meeting point.”

Both platoon leaders acknowledged the order.

“Doc Campbell, Haney—you all green?”

“Affirmative, sir,” the two medics replied.

“Give Titus and Rohoar a hand.”

The medics acknowledged the order.

“But what about you, sir?” Rohoar asked.

“I still have plenty of gladias, and the enemy has lost their fight. We’ve got them holed up in the tunnel. They’re not going anywhere. The best thing you can do is prep for exfil. Now, get to work.”

“Understood, sir,” replied Rohoar.

* * *

Magnus figured there were only one or two recon troopers left in the tunnel. Sure, it had taken four platoons of gladias to do it—equipped with superior weaponry and armor—but a win was a win, and losers didn’t argue about semantics. They’re too dead for that.

“Easy there,” Magnus said to Dutch and Abimbola's platoons as the remainder of the company neared the opening in the ground. A single ladder led down into the darkness. Everyone was itching for a look into the chute. “I don’t need anyone getting their heads popped off, copy?”

“Yes, sir,” everyone replied.

Magnus noticed that Rix and Silk were closest. “Rix, pop an EMP. Silk, pop smoke. Let’s fumigate these critters.”

The two gladias nodded. They pulled VODs from their suits, dialed in the desired settings, and tossed the devices down the tunnel.

“Fire in the hole,” Rix said as he stepped away from the chute. Silk did the same, and the platoons waited for the detonations.

The EMP went off first. A subsonic tremor moved through the ground and emanated straight out of the shaft. Magnus suspected all his units would be fine since the blast was contained by the ground. He was right.

Next came the smoke. Silk’s VOD popped. Within ten seconds, white wisps of smoke emerged from the tunnel. With the troopers’ life-support systems offline, their rebreathers would be little use. Any survivors would be forced to remove their helmets and seek fresh air.

Any second now…

“Don’t shoot,” came a gruff voice from near the cave’s mouth. The man coughed, tossing his helmet out ahead of him. Magnus knew it was a test to see how trigger-happy the capturing force was—if it was more kill than capture, the helmet would get riddled with blaster rounds before it hit the ground. But Magnus held a hand up, wanting his gladias to keep their weapons checked.

A hand appeared on the ladder’s top rung, then another.

“Slowly,” Silk said, pointing her NOV1 at the trooper’s head. “No sudden moves, buckethead.”

A trooper climbed from the pit, clad in all-black Mark VII armor with three white lines painted across his chest and shoulders. The man looked to be in his early thirties. He’d also seen a lot of action—Magnus could tell that simply by the way he moved on all fours, because it wasn’t a crawl. It was a stalk.

“That’s far enough. What’s your name, Marine?” Magnus squatted to look the man in the face. But the trooper refused to look up. Magnus withdrew his V and placed it under the man’s chin. “Hey, I’m talking to you. What’s your name?”

The man moved his chin away from the pistol’s barrel, avoiding Magnus’s attempts to get a good look at him.

“Hey!” Rix yelled, suddenly pressing his NOV1 into the trooper’s side. “He’s talking to you, bucket brain!”

“I’ve got this.” Magnus lowered his V, removed his helmet, and placed it under his arm. “Listen, I don’t know who you are or what you think you’re doing here, but—”

“You don’t know who I am?” The man let out a low snort. “Now, that’s rich.”

“Listen, pal. I’m gonna give you—”

“Give me what? The same amount of time you gave me to walk away from those whores on Caledonia?”

The trooper looked up, and Magnus froze.

“Hi there, Adonis. Remember me?” The trooper started to laugh, a trickle of blood spilling from the corner of his mouth—from some old chipped teeth. “That’s right. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Get him up and outta here,” Magnus ordered.

“What’s the matter, Adonis? You don’t want to catch up, for old time’s sake?”

“Shut up, buckethead,” Silk said, putting her boot into the man’s side.

“Whoa! We’ve got a feisty one here,” the trooper seethed.

“No, Silk,” Magnus said, waving her off. “Not you.”

“Wah-ho-ho! Adonis Olin Magnus, still the defender of the weak and the betrayer of his brother.”

“That’s enough,” Magnus ordered. “Rix, Dozer, get this man secured.”

“And just like that, you’re done with me, Magnus?” The trooper coughed up phlegm and blood that landed on Magnus’s white armor. “I guess things haven’t changed a bit, have they?”

Rix and Dozer grabbed the trooper around the biceps and hauled him to his feet. The trooper winced. “Do they know, Magnus?”

Magnus was already turning away to address the rest of his gladias.

“’Cause I know. I know it all. And you know I do.”

Magnus could feel his blood pressure rising and his face beginning to burn.

“That’s right, betrayer. I know everything you—”

Magnus spun on his heel and cracked his fist against the man’s face. Blood flew into the dirt as Rix and Dozer struggled to hold the man upright.

“I have nothing to say to you, Nos Kil. You died on Caledonia, and that’s where you should have stayed.” Magnus looked at Rix and Dozer. “Get him out of here.”

As the two men dragged Nos Kil away, Magnus could hear him saying, “Wait until they find out… just wait until they all find out…”

* * *

“Sir?” Dutch said, tapping the side of her helmet. “It’s for you.”

Magnus reached down to retrieve his helmet and placed it over his head. Right away, he saw an urgent incoming transmission request on a private channel from TO-96. Magnus accepted the invitation, and a channel opened, this time with video.

“Sir, it is good to see you in one piece, as it were,” TO-96 said. Azelon stood over his right shoulder, and the Spire’s main window filled the background.

“What’s up, ’Six? Got a lot going on down here, so—”

“Sir, I am sorry to cut you off, but we have a developing issue of concern here.”

“Go on.”

“There seem to be several ships entering the system.”

“Several ships? That’s way more than a developing issue of concern.”

“I agree, sir.”

“What kind of ships, Ninety-Six?”

“They appear to be Galactic Republic vessels from third fleet. One battle cruiser and a squadron of FAF-28 Talons, sir.”

“A squadron of—are you kidding me right now, Ninety-Six?”

“As you are well aware, my attempts to kid are lackluster at best.” Suddenly, a sensor image appeared in Magnus’s visor, displaying a massive battle cruiser and fourteen smaller starfighters. “Their current trajectories indicate that they are headed directly for Ithnor Ithelia. And, sir, while I cannot confirm this hypothesis, the data would seem to indicate that these ships are connected to Admiral Kane. Given the time dilation, I suspect that they followed Abimbola and Rohoar from Oorajee.”

“Ya think?”

“Yes, sir, I very much—”

“How much time we got?”

“Approximately one hour before the ships reach geosynchronous orbit and another ten minutes before the fighters could be at our location.”

Son of a bitch. Magnus threw a hand in the air and moved it in several quick circles. “Gladio Umbra, it’s time to roll out. We’ve got a ship to catch.”

* * *

Continue reading for VOID HORIZON.

VOID HORIZON

BOOK 4 IN THE RUINS OF THE GALAXY SERIES

1

“Just what the hell do you think you’re doing, Kane?” Brooks asked. “And what’s with all this?” He gestured in a wild motion to the renovated cargo bay that Moldark had made into his personal chambers and observation deck. “And, mystics man, what did you do to your damn face?”

Brooks and Davenport stood at the base of Moldark’s dais wearing full dress uniforms and exasperated faces. As fleet admirals of the Republic’s two other armadas, the men had demanded a meeting with Moldark. And understandably so, since the rogue Navy commander had run headlong into a fight with the Jujari without anyone’s consent, forcing the admirals’ hands.

“You’ve got a lot of explaining to do,” Davenport added.

“Yes,” Moldark said, rising. “I think you’re right.” He descended the steps one at a time, noting how the two men straightened as he neared. “What is it that you’d like to know first?”

Brooks glanced at Davenport and then back at Moldark. “First?” The admiral’s lips sputtered. “A unilateral decision to declare open war on the enemy for a start! We all knew something might happen, but when you drove ahead like that? You forced our hand with that one, Kane.”

Moldark stepped level with the men and noted how they slid their boots back. “The decision was made for me.”

Brooks squinted at Moldark. “You’re going to need to do better than that if you wish to avoid your court-martial.”

“I received instruction from the senator himself.”

“Which senator?” Davenport asked.

“Blackman, of course. He chaired a subcommittee on foreign policy, one with complete control over all Jujari affairs.”

“I’ve never heard of such a committee,” Brooks replied, squeezing the beret under his arm.

“No, I suppose you wouldn’t have.”

The man jerked back. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means, my dear admiral, that you lack the insight to determine where an elected official’s politics has meddled with the safety of his or her constituency. Blackman and his Circle of Nine ordered Third Fleet to open fire on the Jujari and its coalition of ships in the hopes of starting a war.”

“Circle of Nine? I’m not even sure what to think of you right now, Kane,” Brooks exclaimed. “And don’t try to pin this on Blackman. Your actions will—”

“Let him finish,” Davenport said, raising his hand. “What Circle of Nine?”

“I obliged them,” Moldark continued, ignoring the question. “And now they have their war. But it will suit our agenda, not theirs.”

“Our agenda?” Brooks asked. “And, yes, what is this Circle of Nine?”

“The Nine have engaged in clandestine operations for as long as I can remember…”

Davenport looked at Brooks. “Do you know about this?”

Brooks shook his head and didn’t even bother looking at the other admiral.

“As for our agenda, gentlemen, I’d like to point out that we have a trump card.”

“I’m losing patience here, Kane,” Brooks said.

Moldark waved the comment aside and began to walk around the men. “The Jujari war was inevitable, we all knew that. This part of the quadrant has been nothing but a pressure cooker since we were children. No one cares if the war starts. But delivering the first blow? That, gentlemen, is a card we will play before all this is finished.”

Davenport turned to follow Moldark in his circuit. “You’re saying that if the people find out what the Nine ordered you to do, the populace won’t stand for it.”

“Not if, admiral. When.”

“You’re going to try and expose them?”

“Indeed.”

“This is a load of splick,” Brooks yelled. “Who do you take us for? I’m ordering your arrest, Kane.”

“Worse still,” Moldark continued, “the Nine are in league with the Luma.” He felt the men pause in consideration of this. “I’d felt something shifting for a while now, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.”

“Now you’re implicating the Luma?” Brooks’s tone was incredulous. “You actually expect us to believe that some dark room of the senate has joined forces with those domesticated peace-mongers to—what? Wage war on the Jujari? I’m finding all this very hard to believe, Admiral Kane.”

“You don’t need to believe me,” Moldark replied. “But you might find this interesting.” Moldark pulled a small tablet from his hip, held it in his palm, and hit play on a holo recording he’d been saving for this moment. A video appeared of So-Elku, the revered Luma Master, leading a contingent of robed followers against Kane and some Republic troopers. Moldark watched Brooks and Davenport look on in shock as the two forces collided. He let it play for another few seconds before shutting it off.

“I had thought the Circle of Nine had been empowered by the Galactic Senate, working for the best interests of the Republic. I wouldn’t have followed their orders otherwise. But then I was sent the following from the Circle’s secretary.”

Moldark displayed a second holo recording, this one captured on the shaking wrist-device of a senatorial staff member who lingered just inside the doorway of what looked to be a closed meeting. In it, So-Elku and some Luma elders stood behind Blackman and a table full of senators. The conversation was hard to hear, but Moldark knew the lines about conspiracy, war, and “destroying the Republic and replacing it with something new” had piqued their interests. Never mind that So-Elku had been speaking about Moldark—or at least a demented version of Admiral Kane. The two admirals were hearing what Moldark wanted them to hear.

“This can’t be,” Davenport said.

“And yet it is, admiral.”

“But if that’s true, then—”

“None of it’s true,” Brooks snapped. “You’re fabricating to cover yourself. And I, for one, have had enough. Fleet Admiral Wendell Kane, in accordance with Galactic Republic Navy Mandate 3.1 subsection 24, I hereby divest you of your command for treasonous actions against the Republic, unsanctioned acts of war against a—”

“Enough,” Moldark said, his voice booming in the cavernous hall. He’d wanted his celestial presence to nudge these two fools toward his desires but their unreasonable natures—perhaps as bull-headed fleet admirals—had prevented it. Given more time, his influence would’ve taken hold of them, but he was done wasting time.

Brooks’s mouth stuck open for a second as he seemed to consider what to say next. He looked to Davenport, presumably for support, but the other admiral looked just as confused.

“Gentlemen,” Moldark said, regaining control of his tone, “I had hoped that your request for a meeting would end in you seeing my side of things. Together, we might have stopped this erroneous faction of the senate. I can see now, however, that I was too optimistic. Which is sad, because you both would have made fine additions to my plans.”

Brooks made to protest, but Moldark could sense the man’s questions were outrunning his ability to vocalize any of them. Davenport, too, was unable to offer anything beyond pitiful stammering.

“I believe we are done here,” Moldark said.

“Indeed we are.” Brooks tapped the insignia on his chest and Moldark heard a comms chime sound. “Brooks to escort, I need immediate assistance in—”

“That won’t be necessary,” Moldark said. His elemental form reached out and touched the admiral’s chest. Instantly, the man gasped in shock. His arms and legs went rigid and his head was thrown back. The veins bulged on his neck as he tried to say something, but only garbled words drowned by saliva came out.

Brooks coughed a spray of bubbles as he strained against Moldark’s invasive presence. Moldark drew upon the man’s soul, searching for every morsel of energy he could find and drawing it into himself. He watched as the admiral’s face aged in a matter of seconds. His hair grayed and fell to the floor while deep wrinkles crawled up the sides of his face and withered his cheeks.

On his tiptoes, Brooks reached out and struck the shoulder of a fear-stricken Davenport. But Davenport wouldn’t save him. Instead, the second admiral backed away from the scene, his face contorted in horror.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Moldark said, his voice feminine and kind as if playing with a small child.

“I want no part of this. I’m reporting you to—”

“I’m disappointed in you, Davenport. You seem…” Moldark cocked his head to the side. “Afraid.”

“I’m more interested in commanding my fleet than bowing to”—his eyes darted to Brooks’s trembling body—“to whatever it is you’re doing here.”

“But I need good commanders. Are you sure you won’t stay?”

Davenport hesitated, his eyes stuck on Brooks. “I suppose I could convey your orders. But more than that, I…” The man took another step back.

Davenport was weak. Moldark sensed it. He had no imagination and was too afraid—too fearful. He would never make a good follower. No, he will not do at all.

A second tentacle from Moldark’s true self lunged toward Davenport and drank deeply of the man’s feeble life force. The admiral spasmed, unable to scream, unable to escape.

These humans were truly pathetic, like every other species who were takers. And they seemed willing to turn on each other so quickly, so long as whatever new option they entertained served their personal interests better than the previous one. So-Elku’s betrayal of Admiral Kane to the Circle of Nine was proof of this.

This universe will thank me for their demise, Moldark thought to himself.

When the life force of the two admirals had been extracted, Moldark released them. Their bodies fell to the floor and two simultaneous plumes of grey ash swirled up from their Navy dress uniforms. Moldark touched the new emblem on his chest, the three white bars of the Paragon, and summoned Fleet Admiral Brighton to his quarters.

When the man finally appeared at the far end of the hall, Moldark looked down at the dusty piles of clothes, and said, “Have those taken care of. Also, detain both admiral’s escorts and question them. See if they are willing to join us.”

“Yes, my lord.” Brighton’s eyes examined the ash gathering on his glossy black boots, and Moldark knew the man was thinking something more.

“What is it?”

“The remaining fleets, my lord. What would you have us do with them?”

Moldark had, of course, thought about this. Drilling down through both fleets’ ranks until he could find commanders willing to do his bidding would take time and resources. Though, as he considered the human species and their prime motivators of fear and lust, he found himself second guessing just how long it might take.

Nos Kil, for example, had been purchased easily enough. The man simply wanted freedom. That and a chance to unleash the violence within.

Commander Longo also seemed to comply without hesitation. He’d dreamed of battling the Jujari since he was a boy. Who was Moldark to stand in the way of that?

And then there was Admiral Brighton, a man who seemed only too happy to hold onto his meaningless life when confronted with the fate of his superiors. Plus, Moldark had promoted him. How could the human refuse?

Moldark knew these men were not alone. There would be hundreds more. Perhaps thousands. But he didn’t need those kinds of numbers. There wouldn’t be time for it.

“What would you have us do about the remaining fleets, my lord?” Brighton asked again.

“The admirals are not expected back to their ships for another quarter hour, and the conflict is progressing smoothly enough. Why don’t you invite all fleet command staff to retire to the flagship for… consultations. Tell them that the three fleet commanders will be making a special presentation.”

“What sort of presentation?”

Must I explain everything? Moldark remarked inwardly but reminded himself that such slowness was endemic of this species. “There won’t be any presentation, Brighton. You will schedule private meetings to alert key staff of the Circle of Nine’s existence, and you’ll outline the Nine’s treasonous acts and their collusion with the Luma. Then you’ll inform them of Brooks and Davenport’s involvement and their subsequent removal from command. Next you’ll tell their subordinates that after we annihilate the Jujari, we will set our sights on Capriana. We will make those responsible for corrupting the Republic pay for their transgressions, and then destroy all those who have stolen from the innocent.”

Brighton loosened the collar around his neck. “And the ones who don’t seem agreeable?”

“Some we will detain.” For sustenance, Moldark noted. “The rest we will dispose of. Then move to their next highest-ranking officers. Those we cannot convert directly we will supplant by those already loyal to Kane’s causes.”

Brighton was slow in responding. The man’s eyes looked between the two piles of dust and uniforms again.

“Is there a problem?”

“No, my lord.”

“Good.” Moldark noted how the man’s fear had brought him back in line. But fear was only so powerful with these humans. So Moldark decided to leverage the other motivator. “Need I remind you, Fleet Admiral Brighton, that you are now the most powerful senior officer in the entire Navy?”

The man’s eyes darted up to meet Moldark’s as a small smile crept across the admiral’s lips.

There it is, Moldark mused. “Admiral, it is no longer the Republic Navy you lead…”

“But the Paragon Navy,” Brighton said as if the words themselves filled him with power. “It shall be done, my lord.”

Moldark nodded. There it is indeed.

2

“How much time before they get here, Azie?” Magnus said over a command comms channel. His boots trampled through the jungle outside the alien city of Itheliana while sunlight from the leafy canopy flickered over his armor. He led Granther Company east, fresh from their victory against Admiral Kane’s rogue Recon troopers. With any luck, they’d make it to the shuttles just in time to get off the planet and get to safety on Azelon’s Spire.

“The Republic ships will reach the Spire’s position in twenty-three minutes, forty-one seconds,” replied the AI, still aboard the starship in orbit over the planet.

Magnus did the math in his head as his bioteknia eyes displayed the remaining distance to the shuttles. It had taken them nearly half an hour to get out of the city, which meant that by the time they’d secured the team on the shuttles and returned to orbit, the enemy ships would be in a full-out conflict with the Spire, or—worse—with the shuttles.

“Remind me of our vessel’s defensive capabilities again?”

“If we have never covered those properties before, how is it a reminder?” Azelon asked.

“Humor me.”

“Light shielding.”

Magnus waited, expecting Azelon to go on. When she didn’t, he simply said, “That’s it?”

“Affirmative.”

“Sir,” TO-96 said, chiming in over comms. “I would like to point out that your heart rate and blood pressure are abnormally high.”

“Of course they’re abnormally high, ’Six.” He’d been pushing the team hard, urging them to get out of Itheliana and back to the shuttles as fast as they could. But he was growing impatient. Between those Gladio Umbra injured in the firefight and the rogue Repub Recon prisoner they’d taken, their progress was much slower than Magnus would have liked. They’d been forced to leave Baker and Lugt’s corpses in the wreckage. “The company has just survived its first brush with the enemy. And now, I’ve been informed that the Republic has somehow managed to send a squadron of FAF-28 Talons and a battlecruiser through an event horizon—”

“A quantum tunnel, sir,” TO-96 interjected.

“Whatever. And they’re about to hunt us down while we sit in shuttles with no armament. Meanwhile, you two bots helm an alien starship. That tends to get one’s heart rate and blood pressure up, ’Six.”

“Well, sir,” TO-96 in a cheerful tone, “the good news is that you are making marvelous time. Your team is working in a well-coordinated effort to usher the injured gladias and your prisoner to the shuttles. You should arrive in less than five minutes at your current rate.”

“Are you saying we get extra points for teamwork?” Magnus said with a sarcastic air.

“No.” The bot paused over comms. “I was only trying to be encouraging, sir. I did not mean to infer the presence of a reward system. I see now that doing so—only for you to discover the absence of any such system—could be demoralizing.”

“Nope,” Magnus said. “You already demoralized me a long time ago, ’Six.”

“Oh my. I’m terribly sorry, sir. When was that?”

“When you asked me to touch your missiles.”

“You’re a bad man,” Awen said over comms. Magnus had forgotten anyone else was on the command channel.

“If it makes you feel any better, buckethead,” Abimbola said, “he said the same thing to me when we first met.”

“So the truth comes out,” Magnus replied, grateful for the humorous moment. He needed something to relieve the stress.

“I fail to see what truth you are alluding to,” TO-96 said.

“That you ask everyone to touch your missiles when you first meet them,” Ezo replied.

Magnus feigned personal offense. “And here I thought I was special.” Several people laughed over the channel. It reminded him of being on TACNET with the Fearsome Four, of making jokes just before the splick really started to fly—like it would in a few minutes.

He switched to the full company channel. “Let’s keep it moving, gladias. We’re almost there.”

Magnus hadn’t needed TO-96’s comment about their ETA to the shuttles—his HUD took care of gauging and displaying the distance. He just hoped that they’d be able to get everyone loaded and figure out a way to get back aboard the Spire before things went sideways. The last thing he wanted was a squadron of Talons doing a strafing run on two overloaded shuttles trying to break out of a planet’s gravity well. They’d never survive it. They’d be as easy to pick off as pregnant Gossian parliamentary pigeons—the only thing left would be feathers and broken eggs.

Magnus noted an incoming private channel request from Awen. “Go ahead.”

“Hey, I know you’re worried about this, about getting back to the Spire. Just wanted you to know you shouldn’t be.”

Well that got Magnus’s attention. “And how’s that?”

“Azelon can take care of herself.”

“Pardon me if I don’t share your unbridled enthusiasm.”

“I’m serious,” Awen replied. The ex-Luma ran close enough to him that he looked over and saw her through some ferns, holding Piper’s hand. “You remember the story about when I first left the system with Ezo and Sootriman, right?”

“Vaguely.”

“Azelon destroyed all the threats by hijacking torpedoes. Some sort of next-level override tech that she has.”

“I remember you mentioning it, yeah. But forgive me if I don’t share your faith in her right now. These are Talons we’re talking about.”

“I know what they are.” Awen sounded defensive.

“You might know what they are, but I don’t think you know what they can do. Not like I do.”

“Well, I don’t think you know what Azelon can do.”

“Is this what you refer to as a pissing contest?” a new voice said over their private channel.

“Ninety-Six,” Awen blurted out. “You’re not supposed to be monitoring this line!”

“It’s a private channel,” Magnus reminded him. “That means no bots allowed.”

“I am sorry, truly,” TO-96 admitted. “But given how deeply I am integrated with the system, I’m afraid such a request is impossible.”

“We’re always listening,” Azelon added.

“Splick,” Magnus said. “’Cause that ain’t creepy at all.”

“To be fair,” TO-96 said, “both of your points have merit. Azelon has a high degree of advanced tactical maneuverability and weapon systems superiority, as Awen observed.”

“See?” Awen said. Magnus could have sworn she stuck out her tongue at him.

“Likewise, Magnus is correct in his assertions that the FAF-28 Talon is a formidable fighter platform, representing the very best of the Galactic Republic.”

“Told you so,” Magnus said. He put a hand on a dead tree that lay across his path and vaulted over it.

“All things considered, however,” the bot continued, “Azelon feels assured in her abilities to safely cover your retreat, so long as you—”

“There they are!” Awen pointed to the shuttles, half hidden by trees.

“Everyone load up,” Magnus ordered. “Alpha and Bravo platoons, shuttle one. Charlie and Delta, shuttle two—and you’ve got the prisoner. Awen and Piper, with me.” He raced to the foot of his shuttle’s ramp and started pushing people up. “Nolan?”

“Right here, sir.”

Magnus looked and saw the former Navy pilot swing around the side of the ship. “Let’s get her fired up.”

“Right away.”

Magnus continued to watch both shuttles fill with his warriors. Their custom Novia Minoosh armor returned to its neutral state, dispensing with chameleon mode to reveal the gleaming white telecolos covering. Their armor plates were charred in some places, having taken blaster fire or indirect damage from the conflict with the rogue Recon team. No mission plan survives contact with the enemy—he’d learned that lesson long ago. Then there was that second critical moment in any mission where the unexpected caught up with you. This moment was that moment. And it always brought with it waves of doubt. As the last of his ship’s passengers ran up the ramp, Magnus wondered if he was going to lead everyone to safety or if this was the one mission—the one decision—that was going to get everyone killed.

’Cause you’ve killed your own before, right Magnus?

He watched the other shuttle’s ramp begin to close as its final passengers marched up. It was Nos Kil, arms bound behind him, pushed at gunpoint by two Jujari gladias. Son of a bitch.

Maybe boarding the shuttles and trying to race back to the Spire wasn’t the right call. Instead, maybe they needed to scatter and hide—let Azelon defend the Spire, and rendezvous with her later. Then again, taking on even a single Talon from an indefensible position was suicide. That bird would tear their whole company apart in just a few passes.

“Nolan?” Magnus said over comms. “What’s our time to liftoff?”

“Thirty seconds, sir.”

He shook his head and stepped into the cargo bay. He was getting that sick feeling in his gut, the one that said, You idiot. You’re going to get everyone killed! But he stuffed the voice down inside his soul and ground his teeth. He was a leader, and teams needed a definitive voice. Indecision killed faster than blaster bolts.

“Everyone, strap in,” he said. Then he removed his helmet, mag-locked his NOV1 to his back, and made for the shuttle’s bridge. The drive core cycled up in its tell-tale whine, sending small vibrations through the ship’s hull.

“Nolan?” Magnus projected his voice as far forward as he could without actually shouting.

“Fifteen seconds,” Nolan replied, his voice coming from the pilot couch.

Magnus stepped into the bridge. “I want a holo of the enemy ships’ positions.”

Dutch sat beside Nolan and brought up the requested information. A holo projection snapped to life, hovering above the command console. It showed Ithnor Ithelia’s curved edge, adorned with a representation of the Azelon Spire with a bracket and basic ship data. Further away were fourteen small fighters, along with a battlecruiser that looked to be half the size of the Spire.

Magnus swore under his breath. Unless Azelon had something up her sleeve, this was going to be a bloodbath.

“Engines online,” Nolan said. “Commencing liftoff.”

“Get us out of here,” Magnus said, feeling the slightest wave of relief.

Nolan moved the vertical throttle sliders to maximum. But nothing happened. The ship should have lurched skyward with how forcefully he’d pushed them.

“What the hell, Nolan?”

“I’m sorry, sir. Stand by.” He brought the sliders down, waited a beat, and slid them up again. Still, nothing happened.

“Nolan!”

“The system isn’t responding. I don’t… I’m not sure…” His eyes searched the readouts. “It seems the other shuttle is experiencing the same difficulties.”

“Dutch, comms,” Magnus said. “Hail Azelon.”

“Patching through…” Dutch tapped a few things on her side of the command console. “Channel’s open.”

“Azie, we’ve got a ship malfunctioning down here.”

“Negative, Magnus,” Azelon replied, her voice calm, as if she was trying to sooth a child to sleep.

Dutch looked over her shoulder at Magnus with her eyebrows lifted.

“What do you mean, negative?” Magnus asked.

Just then, Awen stepped into the bridge. “What’s going on? Why aren’t we taking off?”

“I’d like to know the same thing,” Magnus replied. “Azie?”

“I have temporarily grounded your shuttles, Magnus,” the AI said.

Magnus tightened his grip on Dutch and Nolan’s seatbacks. “Temporarily ground—? On whose orders?”

There was a moment’s hesitation, then Azelon said, “Logic’s.”

“I think you’re going to need to explain yourself,” Awen said.

“I will, in due time.”

“How about like right now,” Magnus demanded.

“Negative, sir.”

Magnus jerked his head back. “Negative? Dammit, Azie.” Magnus pounded his fist on Nolan’s seat back. “Listen, if you’re going to pull something like this, then—”

“Sir, I recommend you leave the shuttles and take cover in the forest immediately. Statistically speaking, your chances of survival will increase by forty-four percent if you do so.”

“And if we don’t?”

“I calculate one-hundred percent fatalities if you remain with the ships in the event the enemy enters atmosphere over your location.”

He pulled his helmet out from under his arm and looked to Nolan, Dutch, and then Awen. “Well, looks like we’re going out for another stroll.”

3

Ricio could hardly believe what he was seeing. He prompted the neural interface to expand the image on his HUD until a strange starship filled the holo.

“Is everyone else seeing this?” he asked over TACNET.

“Viper Two. Affirmative, commander,” the pilot said. The rest of the squadron updated the comm chat with green icons.

“Damn,” Ricio whispered to himself. This whole mission felt… surreal. In fact, the last few days seemed like something out of a holo movie. First, his squadron had been ordered to attack the Jujari fleet—a command that had fulfilled a childhood fantasy of his. It pitted Talons against Razorbacks in an epic battle that had put the video games of his childhood to shame. Then, without warning, he was ordered back to the Labyrinth where he met with Fleet Commander Brighton in private quarters once used as a common area in the aft of the ship. A single captain’s chair stood atop a dais before a massive wall of windows that looked over the orbital war.

As if the repurposing of the large space hadn’t been odd enough, the meeting was interrupted by Admiral Kane’s appearance. The man walked past him and ascended the dais to sit in the chair while Brighton stood on the ground below him.

The encounter rattled Ricio, more than he cared to admit. The admiral had stared at him with oil-black eyes. His face and head looked as though he’d survived a horrible fire. But it was Kane’s gravelly voice that gave Ricio chills—like another presence spoke from inside the man. He couldn’t help but wonder what horrible accident the admiral had lived through. Or…

Perhaps the rumors about the man’s otherworldly possession were true. Of course, Ricio didn’t believe in such things. Those were the fairytales reserved for the Luma. But given how dramatic his appearance was, Ricio was slower to write off the rumors than he cared to admit.

“Is there something the matter, Commander Longo?” Brighton said to him.

Ricio snapped his eyes off Kane and looked to Brighton. “Uh, no, Fleet Admiral. I was just—”

“Admiring the view?” Kane said.

Ricio wasn’t sure how to respond. That was, until he saw Kane gesture toward a holo display of a strange starship rotating in front of his chair.

“The view, yes, Admiral Kane,” Ricio replied.

Kane batted the words away with a hand. “You will refer to me as Moldark.”

“Moldark?” Ricio caught himself. “Forgive me, sir. I mean, yes, Admiral Moldark.”

“Not Admiral,” Brighton said. He looked to his counterpart, then added, “Lord. Lord Moldark.”

The scarred man nodded, as if in favor of the term, like the two of them were trying it out for the first time and agreeing upon its use. Ricio had the strange feeling that he was witnessing the evolution of something new. And something very dangerous. Normally, he would have spoken out against what he felt was bad leadership. After all, he’d made a reputation for himself by telling dimwitted COs where they could shove their ignorance. But something in his gut told him to hold his tongue. At least for now.

“Lord Moldark,” Ricio said. His skin prickled as he said the words. Such a naming convention was definitely not standard Navy protocol. He clamped down his objections and dared to stare at the man in the center of his black eyes. “You’re saying we will find this ship after passing through a quantum tunnel?”

“You will. Our source’s sensors sent visual confirmation before being destroyed.”

“Destroyed? As in, this force is hostile?”

“Quite so,” Brighton said. “Use caution upon entering the system.”

“And this tunnel, it’s safe to enter?”

Brighton nodded. “It is. Your squadron and the battlecruiser Defiant Shepard will pass through the coordinates and proceed to the planet designated in the mission brief. Your orders are to eliminate the enemy starship and all hostiles in the area.”

“But this quantum tunnel…”

“The tunnel is inconsequential, commander,” Moldark said. “The starship and its crew are all you need concern yourself with.”

“Understood.” Ricio stood a little straighter. “If you don’t mind, who are we taking out? More Jujari?”

Brighton shook his head. “Some Jujari, yes. Some humans as well. All are complicit in this rebellion and must be stopped. Once the starship is eliminated, scan the planet for signs of life. Unless they have Repub idents, eliminate them.”

“Seems clear enough to me.” Ricio still had questions though. Normally, in any standard mission briefing, he wouldn’t leave the room until he had all the information he wanted. But here, with these two men, both of whom far outranked him, he wasn’t sure what protocol was. In any other context, they wouldn’t even acknowledge his presence. So he wasn’t sure how far to press them in order to satisfy his curiosity. “If I may, where does this quantum tunnel lead exactly?”

Brighton looked to Moldark. The elder man gave a cryptic shake of his head. Brighton looked back at Ricio and said, “To another part of the quadrant. We believe the Jujari are using it as a new base of operations should Oorajee fall.”

“So this is a preventative measure,” Ricio said.

“Precisely.”

“Begging your pardon, but wouldn’t this be more fitting for a Recon team? Why me?”

“Because, Commander Longo,” Brighton said, showing the first signs of irritation with tight lips and a deep sigh, “you are the most decorated veteran pilot still alive on the Labyrinth. That, and we already sent a Recon team. You’re going in to finish what they couldn’t.”

“I see,” was all Ricio could think to say. This did not bode well. He imagined the enemy force to be substantial and, without even knowing this enemy vessel’s capabilities, wondered if they might need something larger than a battlecruiser to assist them.

“Search for the Recon unit and retrieve them if you can,” Brighton continued. “Then get back here.”

“Do not fail us, commander,” Moldark added. “We are looking for you to be thorough. Execute your orders with extreme prejudice. There must be no survivors.”

“Understood…” Ricio hesitated. “Lord Moldark.”

The former admiral smiled, the ends of his lips curling up so high his black eyes turned to slits. The man’s face resembled something almost reptilian. Ricio even caught a glimpse of the man’s teeth, which seemed to look more like sharp fangs than anything human. What in all the cosmos was going on with him?

“You are dismissed.”

Back inside his cockpit, Ricio rode in silence with his thoughts. They’d accompanied the Defiant Shepard through the quantum tunnel—an experience he hoped not to repeat more than for the return trip—and now found themselves bearing down on the ship that Brighton and Moldark had shown him. It was unlike anything he’d ever seen before, resembling something more akin to a marine animal than a starship. It was both elegant and otherworldly.

“I’m not getting a data match,” Viper Three said. “Unless I’m the only one experiencing a system error.”

“You’re reading it right. I don’t think this one is in our database yet,” Ricio replied.

“Sir?” Viper Two asked.

“Command suspects it’s a new Jujari vessel, and that we’re coming up on a fallback outpost on that planet.”

“About that…” Viper Three spoke up again. “I’m also not getting a lock on our position, commander. Star navigation is offline.”

“What?” Ricio brought up his navigation menu. But he was getting the same error. “This can’t be right.”

Every ship in the Republic Navy used an advanced star chart quadra-positioning system that located a ship based on its orientation to all the known stars in any of the Republic’s main quadrants. It was even feasible to fix a position well beyond known space based upon adequate sightlines to the database of known stars, but no one Ricio knew had ever been out far enough to test its limitations. The system was—for lack of a better term—blasterproof.

“Viper Two,” Ricio said, “are you reading the same error?”

“Affirmative, sir.”

Ricio wondered if maybe the jump through the quantum tunnel had disrupted their sensors. He opened a channel to the Defiant Shepard.

“Go ahead, Viper Lead,” said the communications officer. Ricio’s callsign had been changed from Viper One to Viper Lead in order to designate him as the mission commander.

“Taurus One, can you please confirm our nav position and relay the necessary data? We’re having trouble securing a lock.”

“Standby, Viper Lead.”

There was a long pause. With every second that ticked by, Ricio began to feel his anxiety level rise—and he didn’t get anxious. Which was why he knew this was bad.

“Viper Lead, our navigation sensors are currently offline. We will update you once we’ve established a positive star fix.”

“Copy that, Taurus One. Viper Lead out.”

Ricio let his head rest against his seat back. This wasn’t good. The nav system had never failed like this.

“Sir?” Viper Two asked.

“Go ahead.”

“Where are we?”

Ricio shook his head for no one in particular. “I don’t know.” He took a deep breath, then looked at the starship in his HUD. “But we have a job to do. Then I want us the hell out of here.”

“Roger.”

“All Talons, prepare to engage the enemy starship. I’m marking it as Tango One on your map. Viper Two through Ten, identify weapons and drive systems and prepare to engage. Viper Eleven through Fourteen, cover formation and identify any inbound ships from the planet. I’m marking the planet as Tango Two. Once the starship is eliminated, all ships scan the surface for threats. Confirm mission objectives.”

A series of green icons lit up the side of Ricio’s visor. He then hailed the battlecruiser. “Taurus One, ready main blaster canons and torpedoes. Prepare to fire.”

There was a moment’s silence. Ricio watched for the data packet delivery icon to display.

“Targets confirmed, Viper Lead. Standing by.”

Ricio could feel his heart rate increase in anticipation of the conflict. The enemy vessel was aware of their presence by now—they’d probably detected them the moment they jumped into the system. But, strangely, the ship had yet to deploy any fighters. In fact, the vessel didn’t even have shields raised.

“Tauraus One,” Ricio said, “are we close enough for you to conduct a life signs scan on that ship?”

Another pause. “Adequate sensor range in sixty seconds, Viper Lead,” replied the comms officer.

“Good. Forward me the results.”

“Understood, sir.”

Ricio stared at his HUD. He knew that Brighton and Moldark had said this was a Jujari and human force. But this ship was… well, it was unlike any he’d ever seen. Meaning, it looked like something beyond Jujari or Repub capabilities. A squadron of talons and a battlecruiser all for one ship? Granted, the thing certainly looked big—but wasn’t this overkill?

Ricio checked the time and distance to target. They were within visual range now, and he moved the holo image aside. The starship was impressive, shimmering in the purple star’s light. “Taurus One?” he asked, growing impatient.

“Scan initiated, Viper Lead. Stand by.”

Ricio tapped his fingers on his control stick, then looked at the printed picture of his wife and son that he brought on every mission. He figured the Navy would give him as much leave as he wanted after this crazy mission. Then again, they had just begun a war with the Jujari. “Eh, who are you kidding?” Ricio said to himself. Then he kissed his fingertips and touched the image.

“Scan complete,” the comms officer said. “Data uploaded.”

Ricio snapped away from the picture and brought up the sensor menu. “Taurus One, are you sure this accurate?”

“Affirmative, Viper Lead. All sensors are green.”

“But”—Ricio triple-checked what he was seeing—“that’s not possible.” According to the scans, the entire ship was being crewed by only three organic lifeforms. There was no way a vessel of that size could be run by so few.

Ricio suddenly wondered where the Recon team had vanished to. Had a force of only three people actually taken out whatever Repub Marine force had been sent earlier?

“I want a scan of that planet as soon as you’re close enough,” Ricio said to the comms officer. “Since the ship seems to be in geosynchronous orbit, start with the terrain directly below it and move outward concentrically. Notify me as soon as you’ve finished.”

“Understood, Viper Lead.”

Ricio opened the all-ship channel. “This is Viper Lead to all ships, commence attack run. I repeat, commence attack run.”

4

Ricio locked his targeting reticle on what resembled engine cones, then fired two of his four Class-C torpedoes. As the twin projectiles ripped across the black expanse, Ricio double checked his sensor readout. The enemy ship still had not raised shields. Either this was going to be the easiest takedown he’d ever participated in or the enemy had a serious surprise up its sleeve.

“Thirty seconds to impact,” Viper Two called out, noting all torpedoes’ collective time to targets. Each Talon had fired on areas of the vessel that the pilot deemed strategic. “Viper Lead, I’m still not seeing shields.”

“Neither am I,” Ricio replied. He flew perpendicular to the ship, headed toward its stern. The unnamed planet loomed in the background. He watched the orange glow of nearly thirty torpedoes as they sped toward their targets.

“Ten seconds,” Viper Two said.

Ricio held his breath.

Suddenly, all the torpedoes deviated from their flight paths.

“What the hell?” Ricio exclaimed, his eyes trying to make sense of the chaos unfolding before him. At first, the missiles acted erratically, as if something had disrupted their targeting systems. They careened away from the enemy ship, shooting out in all directions. Ricio wondered if the vessel had employed some sort of disruption field undetectable by their sensors. But he threw out that notion the moment each pair of torpedoes came about and started heading back toward the Talons that launched them.

“Viper Squadron, evasive maneuvers,” Ricio yelled. His ship’s AI wasn’t even alerting him to the missile lock even though he could clearly see his two torpedoes speeding toward his fuselage. He rolled his Talon to port and deployed countermeasures. The first torpedo raced past him, thrown off by his electromagnetic defenses. The fine burst of charged particles momentarily threw off its guidance system. The second, however, mistook the debris field for an enemy target and detonated.

The expanding wave of energy buffeted Ricio’s shield but did little to diminish its integrity. His sensors were still reading the first torpedo as his own ordinance even though it was circling back to find him. He rolled to starboard just as the missile flew through his wake.

“Bogie on my six,” Viper Four said, her voice frantic.

“Same,” said Viper Eight. “I can’t shake it.”

“What’s going on with them, Lead?” Viper Two asked.

But Ricio was as clueless as they were. He was about to say as much when Viper Six screamed over comms. The cry was cut short, however, when Ricio saw a bright orange flash off his starboard side. By the time he was able to focus on it, the explosion was gone, and all that remained was an ever-widening debris field.

“Viper Six down,” Viper Two said. Then, to Ricio’s shock, Viper Two also yelled over comms as his icon vanished from the nav map.

“No…” Ricio seethed. He fought against the rising panic as he watched more of his squadron fall to their own torpedoes. For the third time, Ricio rolled away from his missile, narrowly avoiding it. He attempted to target it with his T-100 blasters in each wingtip, but his weapons systems refused to lock on something it didn’t deem an enemy weapon. He entered the override command and aimed manually. The shot was next to impossible. Still, he had to try. He squeezed the trigger and watched the blaster fire streak across the void. But the torpedo steered to evade the shot.

“But that’s… that’s impossible,” Ricio said to himself. Then, over comms, he yelled, “Taurus One, SITREP.”

“Taking heavy fire,” the comms officer said. His voice was strained, accentuated by the sound of a klaxon in the background. “Our torpedoes are… they’ve returned to us. Our defense turrets are unable to take them out.”

Ricio glanced at the battlecruiser’s representation on the map to see several dozen torpedoes blanking out as they collided with the icon. He spun his Talon around so he could see the missiles exploding along the Defiant’s hull. Bright flashes of light popped, then disappeared as the combustible materials vaporized, consumed by fire and then by the void. All the while, defense turrets sent blistering sprays of blaster fire into the void in a failed attempt to stop the missiles.

Ricio looked back at the enemy vessel in muted horror. In less than a minute, the starship had wiped out half his squadron without firing a single shot. And the damn shields aren’t even raised yet.

He looked back at his HUD and saw his torpedo circling back for a fourth time. Mystics. Several more projectiles circled around the remaining Talons, closing for the kill. Was this really how he was going out? Blown apart by his own torpedo?

Ricio yanked back on the flight controls, pitching his fighter up and away from the torpedo. The weapon had to be running low on fuel by now.

“I’m not gonna make it!” Viper Twelve said. “I’m not gonna—”

In the space of the next ten seconds, five more fighter pilots lost their lives. Ricio yelled in defiance, his throat tight with frustration. This couldn’t be happening.

“Viper Lead,” said the comms officer, “we’re detecting several life signs on the planet’s surface.”

“Copy that,” Ricio said, noting the new icons on his HUD. “But right now—splick!”

A second torpedo joined the first one in tracking Ricio. The missile swept in from below and detonated close enough to diminish his shields by seventy percent. But it wasn’t the energy blast that concerned Ricio—it was the shrapnel. A metal shard ripped through his starboard engine, jarring his Talon enough to cause Ricio’s jaw to slam shut. He cursed, then redirected power to the port engine. His first torpedo was coming in fast.

“Making a run for the planet,” Ricio announced. If he couldn’t assault the ship, maybe he’d get lucky and take out some of the ground forces. He figured his torpedo was running out of fuel and might explode during atmospheric entry. “All remaining Vipers, on me. Taurus One, fall back. Fire all blasters on Tango One.”

Ricio got confirmation pings from only five Talons. Five. As for Taurus One, the comms officer complied with his orders and began firing on the enemy ship with its NR550 blaster cannons. Ricio went wide of the starship but noted that the Defiant’s blaster fire was exploding against a massive purple shield. The alien vessel had finally decided to deploy its defenses, or… maybe they’d been up the whole time and we just couldn’t detect them.

Ricio didn’t like this. He wondered if he should have been more apprehensive about accepting the mission when he first heard a Recon team had been eliminated.

With throttle at full, Ricio sped toward the planet, aware that all the unexpended torpedoes were now trailing the five remaining Talons as they—

Four remaining Talons.

“Son of a bitch,” Ricio yelled. He watched his speed indicator increase as the planet’s gravity well took hold of his ship. Talons were built for high heat, high abrasion. And if he kept the deflection angle low enough, he might be able to keep his speed up while still achieving adequate descent. But this was fast, even for his risk-taking standards.

“Viper Lead,” said Viper Three. Ricio’s ship was starting to shake as flames covered the windows in mad torrents of orange light. “Advise significant speed reduction.”

“Negative, Viper Three.” Ricio’s teeth chattered and his helmet knocked violently against his headrest. He could hardly focus on his HUD. Still, he willed his eyes to focus on the torpedoes trailing the remains of his squadron.

“But, commander—”

“Look!” Ricio watched as two torpedoes vanished from the combat map. A beat later, a third one disappeared. “We’re shaking them.”

“Agreed, commander. However, my sensors—”

Viper Three’s channel went dead.

“Splick,” Ricio yelled, but he could barely hear his own voice above the din. The fuselage temperature was critical. Even the air temp in his cockpit was unbearable. He wondered if he’d made a serious error. He couldn’t tell if Viper Three had been done in by a torpedo or a breach in hull integrity. But either way, he was down to three ships.

Two ships.

Another exploded off his port side, this time shooting a flaming debris field across the atmosphere like a thousand stones skipping across hell. He cursed and tried to ease up his entry path. His angle of attack was becoming too steep.

“Hold it together,” Ricio said to his Talon. “Just a little bit more.”

He glanced at the torpedoes closing on his ship. Their speed relative to his fighter had certainly lessened, but he was by no means clear of their danger. Only three remained, the rest having succumbed to engine failure or the friction created by speeding through the atmosphere. With any luck, he and the remaining Talon would evade these demon missiles and have enough ordinance to lay waste to whatever ground forces awaited them.

But it was not to be.

Ricio watched as the last Talon blinked out of existence on his HUD, showering his starboard side with a brilliant spray of flaming wreckage. He scorned the loss of his entire squadron, still bewildered by how such a thing was even possible. If he survived this, he pledged himself to discovering what that alien craft was and then exacting his revenge.

The sky threatened to rip Ricio’s ship apart with every second that passed. He glanced at the sole remaining torpedo icon. It was within fifty meters; not close enough to destroy his ship, but certainly close enough to damage his already crippled starfighter. Then, without warning, the torpedo exploded. Whether from the heat, proximity sensors, or some command issued by the enemy vessel, he didn’t know. The only thing that mattered was that his EES—emergency escape system—had activated, sealing the cockpit’s egg-shaped pod and jettisoning it up and away from the main fuselage.

The initial action was so violent, Ricio thought his neck had snapped. He’d even blacked out for a second—or so he thought. But the pain that raced up his legs and arms jolted him awake and let him know his nervous system was still intact. The rattle of his Talon’s cockpit was replaced by the scream of his slender translucent pod as it rocketed through the atmosphere. The flames encased him, threatening to swallow him whole. He couldn’t hear a thing above the banshee cry of the inferno—not that there was anything else to hear. The only ship left to communicate with was the Defiant Shepard. That is, if it was still in one piece.

In another few seconds, the shaking dissipated, and his pod entered smooth air. Ricio patted himself down to make sure he was still alive, hardly able to believe he’d just survived. Now, thinking of the Defiant, he tried to establish a connection over TACNET.

“Taurus One, this is Viper Lead,” he said. His voice sounded tight, so he tried again, consciously trying to calm himself. “Taurus One, this is Viper Lead, do you copy?”

He tried cycling up his ship’s HUD on the pod’s console but remembered that the guts of the computer had left with the ship. All he had now was a shell, a few thrusters, and a parachute that would automatically deploy at… what was it again? He blinked, trying to clear his head. Fifteen-hundred meters. Minimum altitude.

“Pick a landing site,” he said, trying to give his ears something else to hear besides the rush of wind outside the pod. He blinked again, willing himself to focus. There was a town. No, it was a city. A massive city. Right on a coast. And a large clearing to the east. With any luck, the pod’s limited nav computer might be able to place him down somewhere in there.

Ricio reached a trembling hand to the console. His index finger was shaking too much to type. He made a fist, shut his eyes, and took a deep breath. Had his entire squadron really just been wiped out? And the battlecruiser? This couldn’t be happening. He needed to get word back to the Fleet Admiral. The mission had… it was a…

A failure.

The first of his career.

He opened his eyes, selected the clearing from the flight computer’s topo map, and punched Accept. Immediately, the pod’s thrusters redirected his trajectory, aiming him toward the east side of the city. As Ricio headed for the landing site, he noted how old the buildings were, most adorned with some sort of vegetation. The jungle was claiming them. Several had lost the battle to the relentless forces of decay and gravity, collapsing into the ground. But for the most part, the metroplex simply looked abandoned—an ancient civilization lost to time.

As he descended, now traversing directly across the old city, he saw that the structures were not as old as he thought they might be, given how much growth there was. Or, rather, they were certainly old, but their designs… their architecture was beautiful. Modern, even. As if the people who’d once lived here were advanced beyond… even beyond the Republic’s standards.

“Where am I?” he asked himself.

Suddenly, the parachute deployed and jerked his head down. His chin punched his chest, causing him to bite his tongue. He cursed again and swallowed saliva that tasted of iron, then he looked up to watch the altitude indicator on his console. The numbers were running down, speeding past twelve hundred meters, then nine hundred, then seven hundred.

Ricio saw the clearing coming up fast. His descent rate was slowing, but he knew from training that this wasn’t going to feel great. At one hundred meters, Ricio braced for impact. A warning alarm sounded. A final blast from the thrusters. And then…

Impact.

The force of the landing made it feel like all his organs had relocated to his feet. The pod landed and rolled. Ricio watched as the ground and sky traded places twice, while a red and white parachute collapsed onto the grass.

Fortunately, he was facing right side up—for the most part—which meant he’d be able to climb out easily enough. He punched the button for emergency hatch release and watched as the translucent window burst off the pod. White wisps of compressed air dissipated as the planet’s atmosphere rushed in. Instantly, Ricio’s helmet sensors analyzed the air composition and then provided him a series of metrics that determined it was safe to breathe.

He undid his helmet and threw it out of the pod, then worked to undo his harness. Now that he’d made it to the planet’s surface, he had to…

Had to what?

He propped himself up and then hoisted himself out of the pod, hands pushing against the shell’s rim. He’d need to orient himself, take stock of his resources, and then come up with a plan. A plan to get back in touch with the Fleet Admiral.

“Ah, who are you kidding, Longo?” He stood and stretched his back, turning around slowly. “No one’s coming for you down here.”

Down here. The words reminded him of something. Dammit, he’d nearly forgotten! The enemy was down here somewhere too. Which meant…

Which meant he had to find cover. He was no Marine. And he only had… a pistol. He leaned back in the pod and retrieved the small blaster from the side of his flight seat, then he double checked the magazine and saw it was fully charged.

“Well, at least that’s something.” Assuming the enemy was armed, he’d be no match for them. Best to find cover and wait for…

“For the rescue team that’s not coming.” He watched the beacon’s light pulse on the pod’s aft. “’Cause you were the rescue team. Damn.” He grabbed his pistol by the barrel and used the butt to smash the light, relieving the LED from its futile attempt to hail backup. Then he mag-locked the weapon to his hip and reached behind his flight seat. There was a medical kit, food rations, water, and a flare gun. Enough to keep him going for three days—four if he stretched it. And then what?

“One day at a time, Longo.” He tried calming himself. “Just one damn day at a time. You’re a survivor.”

“And you’re also a prisoner,” said a voice from behind him.

Instinctively, Ricio reached for the blaster at his side and spun around.

“Easy there, fly boy,” said the voice coming from… from nowhere that he could see.

“Who’s there?” he demanded, swinging his weapon back and forth, trying to find something to aim at. But there was nothing. Nothing but—

That’s when he saw it. It was subtle. So subtle his eyes had passed over it several times. The air was… it was moving. Distorted. In the shape of a human. “Who… who are you? Show yourselves!”

Out of nowhere, a figure appeared wearing gleaming white armor atop a blue woven suit. The helmet was sleek with a slender visor and looked to be more advanced than any Repub tech he’d ever seen. The sense of its superiority was amplified by the deadly looking weapon pointed at him.

Ricio was outmatched. He was about to raise his hands when five more figures materialized out of thin air, each pointing a weapon at him.

“I surrender,” he said, dropping his pistol and raising his hands.

“That’s good,” said the first soldier—at least, the sound seemed to be coming from him. Actually, it sounded more like a her now that Ricio thought about it. “Because we already took bets on who was going to have to carry your body if we had to shoot you.”

“So… you’re not going to shoot me?” Ricio asked.

“Not yet, we’re not. I lost the bet, and I really dislike carrying dead weight.”

“And I dislike being shot,” Ricio said.

“Then I hope you like marching, ’cause it’s your only other option right now.”

“I can live with that.”

“I’m sure you can. Let’s move, fly boy.” The woman gestured with her rifle. “That way.”

5

“How you doing up there, Ninety-Six?” Awen asked over comms. She used the company channel even though she could converse privately with the bot in the Unity—now that he was tied in with Azelon and the rest of the Novia Minoosh. Keeping the rest of the team informed of the Spire’s condition would go a long way in keeping everyone from getting too anxious.

“We’re having a splendid time, Awen,” TO-96 replied. “Thank you for asking.”

That got a few smiles from the gladias, she was sure. “Splendid? You make it sound like you’re having a picnic, not engaging in a space battle.”

“Well, given how Ezo formatted my combat architecture, one might say that this particular exercise is a sort of picnic for me, all things considered.”

“Here it comes,” Ezo said over comms.

Awen ignored the comment. “Can you be a little more specific, Ninety-Six?”

She leaned against a tree, watching the rest of the Gladio Umbra recline amongst long grasses, clusters of boulders, and groves of trees. Everyone was redistributing energy mags and water. Save for Magnus, of course. He was strung up tight, pacing in circles in a small clearing, visor looking skyward. Azelon’s surprise grounding of the shuttles had really upset him. Awen had learned he was a man who liked being in control. And she didn’t entirely blame him either. But Azelon was an AI, so the sooner Magnus accepted her judgment as the best call to make—at least statistically—the sooner he could relax with everyone else.

“Of course I can be more specific. Azelon has employed me in overtaking the command interfaces of the enemy’s torpedoes. We are working together to eliminate the Talons in the most efficient way possible. It is—to put it in human terms—quite fun.”

“Ninety-Six!” Awen heard Ezo and Sootriman laugh. She also felt Magnus look in her direction. Even without stepping into her second sight, she could feel his eyes on her through his helmet. She instantly regretted having this conversation over the company channel, so she switched out to a private one. “You mustn’t say that!”

“Why ever not, Awen?” the bot replied.

“Because you’re killing human beings with those torpedoes. This isn’t some… some game.”

“But these humans are intent on causing you harm, are they not?”

“Well… we suspect they are, yes. I mean…”

“They did fire on the Spire.”

“I understand, but that doesn’t mean you call it fun. That’s horrible, Ninety-Six.”

“I have clearly offended you,” the bot replied. “My apologies, Awen.” Awen heard a chime alerting her to a company-wide transmission—coming from TO-96. “Contrary to my last statement, I would like to inform all the members of Granther Company that I am deeply remorseful and even ashamed of my actions that are resulting in human casualties. Let it be known that I am not having any fun whatsoever in redirecting enemy missiles to chase down star fighters and pulverize them one by one.”

“Said no little boy ever,” someone said over comms.

Awen glanced at the speaker’s ident tag. It was Robillard in Charlie platoon. Awen used the vector arrow in her HUD to turn toward him, her posture saying she was all business.

He raised his hands in defense. “I’m just saying.”

“Say it to yourself, gladia,” Awen replied.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“How many ships have you and Azelon taken out?” Magnus asked TO-96. Awen appreciated Magnus’s attempt to get things back on track, even if it did mean returning to the subject of killing.

“We have successfully eliminated eight of the fourteen Talons, and the battlecruiser is taking heavy damage.” There was a pause. “Make that nine Talons.”

“And this is all using their own torpedoes?” Magnus said.

“That is correct, sir.”

Magnus let out a low whistle. “Remind me never to cross you when you’re having a bad day, ’Six.”

“Bad day, sir?”

“Yeah, you know. When you’re pissed at the universe for no apparent reason and just feel like blowing something up.”

“I have never been pissed at the universe, sir. Is this something I should look forward to?”

“I guess that all depends on you, ’Six.”

“I understand, sir. I look forward to developing this conversation at a later time. For now, I am very pissed at the universe to report that the five Talons are attempting to gain entry into the planet’s upper atmosphere.”

Awen felt Magnus’s bearing shift. To the company, he said, “Take cover, people. Looks like we’re gonna have company.”

“Make that four of the enemy Talons, sir,” TO-96 added, followed by another hesitation. “Now three.”

“Ninety-Six,” Awen said. “Is this all your work, taking them out like this?”

“I would be lying if I said yes, Awen. As I said, Azelon showed me the command override sequence necessary to take control of the enemy ordinance. But she has allowed me to run wild with it, as you say, now that I have mastery of the protocol. Ah, now we are down to two.”

“I’m proud of you, ’Six,” Magnus said.

Awen glared at him, but the former Marine clearly didn’t seem to notice. And why would he under their helmets? Maybe she needed to visit him in the Unity.

“Thank you, sir. But please be advised, I am not having any fun.”

“Copy that.” Then, in a whisper, Magnus added, “Your secret’s safe with me.”

“Thank you, sir,” the bot whispered back. “Ah, and now we are down to one Talon, sir. And the battlecruiser has been eliminated, thanks to Azelon’s marvelous handiwork.”

Awen slipped into the Unity, projected her presence inside Magnus’s consciousness, and said, “Don’t encourage him, Magnus.”

“Mystics,” Magnus yelled, leaping backward. He grabbed his helmet and then turned toward Awen again. “Cut that out, woman!”

But she didn’t cut it out. Instead, Awen projected an image of her face with a playful grin on it. “You first.”

Magnus followed her challenge with a steady chuckle and the barely indistinguishable words, “Just you wait until I see about that.”

“Ah, the last ship has been destroyed,” TO-96 announced.

“On the contrary,” Azelon said. “I am still detecting a life sign.”

“Quite right,” TO-96 replied after a moment. “It seems I have spoken too soon.”

“Escape pod?” Awen asked, looking to Magnus.

He nodded. “Those Talons have a pretty good EES.”

“You and your acronyms,” she said.

“Emergency escape system.”

“I figured it was something like that.”

“Can you track it, ’Six?” Magnus asked.

“Of course, sir.”

Magnus turned and began looking at the warriors. “Dutch, take any five gladias to intercept. If the pilot survives, I want them brought back here. And be careful.”

“Copy that, LT.”

“The rest of you, return to the shuttles.”

* * *

By the time Dutch and the others returned from their search and recovery op, Granther Company was back aboard the transports, ready to leave the planet. Unlike last time, however, the mood was far less strenuous. Magnus walked down the loading ramp without his helmet, enjoying the fresh air. He watched as Dutch emerged from the jungle, escorting a Repub pilot with his arms bound behind his back.

The man appeared to be in his late twenties, with black hair and keen dark eyes. He was cleanly shaven, as per Navy standards, and bore the rank of commander on his flight suit.

“What’s your name, commander?” Magnus asked as the prisoner approached, but the pilot merely raised his chin in defiance. “Fine, have it your way.”

Magnus strode to within a meter of the man and gut-punched him. The air left the prisoner’s lungs in a violent sigh, leaving the pilot doubled over in a groan.

“Now, I know you’re trained in advanced escape and evasion techniques,” Magnus said, leaning down toward the man’s ear. “So you can probably endure a lot of torture. And if it comes to that, we can put your training to the test. Trust me when I say I’d enjoy that. But right now, I’m just pissed that you tried to take out my ship and, based on your last attempt to enter the planet’s atmo, take out my company. So, one more time, what’s your name, pilot?”

“What’s it to you?” The pilot coughed.

“What’s it to me?” Magnus stood upright and looked around, repeating the question once more. “The better question is what’s it worth to you? Because my AI can probably provide me most of what I need with a quick brain scan and background check on your Repub personnel file. But I’d rather do it this way.”

“Good luck,” the pilot said.

“Wrong answer.” Magnus delivered a second punch to the gut, this time sending the pilot to his knees. The man coughed, taking nearly twenty seconds to catch his breath. Magnus put his hands on his knees and leaned over the prisoner. “How about this: I give you something, you give me something, copy?”

The pilot just groaned.

“I’ll take that as a yes. I’m a former Marine. Which means I can do this all day long.”

“You’re…” The pilot looked up. “You’re a Marine?”

“Former, former Marine. Get it right.”

“No wonder they want you dead.”

Magnus hesitated; he desperately wanted to ask who wanted them dead. But he doubted such an answer would come easily. “Yeah, we’re turning out to be quite a pain in their ass.”

“They’ll send more squadrons when we don’t report back.”

“I should hope so,” Magnus replied. “Because that last demonstration was fairly pathetic if you ask me.” He looked to Dutch. “Get him on board.”

“On it,” she said with a boot to the pilot’s rear end.

* * *

“What are you going to do with the two prisoners?” Awen asked now that they were back on the Spire. She and Magnus were the last to leave the shuttle, and they watched as Robillard and Bliss escorted the Navy pilot and the rogue Recon operator out of the hangar bay. Magnus had asked several leaders to meet him on the bridge in a few minutes to debrief, which meant they had some time to talk. And this point was important to her.

Awen didn’t like seeing Magnus punch a prisoner like he had back on the planet. She knew that bringing it up was like shining a light in a Boresian taursar’s eyes. The Navy commander had, after all, made an attempt on their collective lives, as had the rogue Marine. Still, the subject had to be breached. She wouldn’t tolerate barbarism, nor would she allow the newly formed Gladio Umbra to sink as low as their enemies. She’d be damned if she didn’t stand for the virtues that both the Luma and the Galactic Republic had lost.

“Nothing,” Magnus replied, buckling himself into an empty crash couch on the bridge. “We’ll let them sit for a little while. Then, when I want more information out of them, I’ll take my time in breaking them.”

Awen swallowed. He wasn’t serious, was he? Torturing another member of the Galactic Republic’s armed space force was nothing short of barbaric. It was also proof that the industrial war machine was no respecter of persons. It taught its own members to become so ruthless that they’d even exact judgement on one another if the circumstances were right.

As much as she respected Magnus—even had feelings for him—she couldn’t bring herself to endorse what he’d just proposed. This was the very thing the Gladio Umbra had once stood against, no matter what species perpetrated the crimes. So if Magnus did choose to leverage his trade skills against the prisoners, Awen knew she’d have to step in.

She shook her head, trying not to imagine how that interrogation might go.

“What is it?” Magnus asked her. He must’ve seen her shaking her head. “You don’t agree with my methods, do you.”

“No,” Awen said. “They’re barbaric.”

Magnus nodded… as if in understanding. “I get it.”

“Do you, Magnus? Because, if you hadn’t noticed, you just—”

“Awen, relax.” He held a hand up. It had the strange effect of silencing her more quickly than she cared to admit. She never let anyone shut her up. “I told you, I get it.”

“You get what?”

“You really are impossible sometimes.” He sighed, turning toward her. “I get that you don’t agree with my methods, with Marine SOPs.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, having no idea what he’d just said.

“Standard operating procedures.” He let out a short laugh. “I get that it’s violent. And, yeah, it’s probably wrong a lot of the time.”

“A lot of the time? Then why do—?”

He held up a finger.

Is he shooshing me? she wondered.

“I thought we covered this ground already,” he said.

Awen winced in surprise. “Remind me.”

“Back on Ezo’s ship. On Geronimo.” Magnus seemed to be genuinely searching her face. “We’re called to do evil things—”

“To evil people.” Awen nodded. “I remember now. You said you didn’t expect me to understand.”

“And I still don’t. It’s part of my job.”

“Not anymore,” Awen said.

Magnus hesitated. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That was when you were a Marine.” He waved the term away with a hand. “No, you said you were Recon. But you’re neither a Marine nor Recon anymore. You’re Gladio Umbra.”

“But there are no fewer evil people to stop,” Magnus said.

“Maybe not, but if those tactics worked, don’t you think we’d have solved the problem by now?”

Magnus stroked his jawline. “The goal was never to solve the problem, Awen. It was to keep innocent people alive.”

“And how’s that worked out for you?” The challenge leaped from her mouth before she could catch it. She instantly regretted it but knew there was no way to take it back. “I’m sorry, that was—”

“It’s worked well enough to keep the galaxy from falling into total ruins. At least until recently. But the ways you’re used to… it’s just… that’s how good people get killed.” Magnus looked away, his eyes searching for something that Awen couldn’t see. She wanted to tell him he didn’t need to go on. But she wanted him to keep going. She wanted to know what made him think the way he did… what drove a man like him to do things she didn’t even want to imagine doing to another living being.

“We both know you don’t like the Order of the Luma,” Awen said, trying to keep her voice even. “But I can’t help but feel that something happened. Something in your—”

“Something did happen. Plenty of things happened.”

Awen tried to get him to look at her but his eyes were somewhere else.

“What?”

“First time I ever saw a Luma try to negotiate a peace deal in the field, it went sideways. We were set up on a rooftop on a small island on Caledonia. The emissary had conned—sorry, convinced the brass into letting him try to bargain with the ’kudas. Everyone on Capriana was tired of war, and we were losing by attrition. So they gave him the reins.

“The bastard walked four of our Marines to a bridge without their weapons and without cover. It was supposed to be a sign of peace or some splick. Three fish came out to meet them, but one was wired.”

“A bomb?”

Magnus nodded. The Caledonian Wars had ended years ago, but this memory still seemed fresh for Magnus. Like it had just been yesterday.

“Apparently the Luma raised some sort of shield just before the device went off. It saved his life. At least from the initial blast. The other Marines weren’t so lucky.”

“Mystics, Magnus. I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah. So am I. Our damned boys didn’t even have blasters in their hands. And what about a force field big enough to save them too? But I suppose that was too much to ask for.”

Awen knew she should explain how shielding energy worked in the Unity. But this wasn’t the time. Given how much he’d seen, she doubted it would ever be the right time. Instead, she hung her head and waited for Magnus to finish.

“The Luma emissary died a few seconds later by enemy blaster fire. We buried his body the next day, but there was nothing left of the four Marines.” He took a deep breath. Awen thought she heard the slightest quiver of his lip but dared not look up.

“I don’t like it, if that’s what you want me to say. All the killing, I mean. I don’t. But I’m damned good at it. And it’s what I know. The only way to keep evil at bay is to meet it head on. If there was another way, I’d use it. But the only alternatives just seem to get more people killed. And if people are going to die, I’d rather it be them than us.”

Awen felt as though some sacred space had just been created. She’d been allowed deeper into this man’s life, a man she cared for. And she desperately didn’t want to mess it up. Yet, as he spoke his truth, she had a hard time swallowing it. How could she tell him that she felt he was settling for less than the best? How could she convey to him that everything he knew was inferior to ways of shaping peaceful outcomes that didn’t involve the level of violence he’d come to be so proficient at? Maybe the whole subject wouldn’t be breached now, but she could at least start—by offering an olive branch of her own.

“What you do…” Awen took a deep breath. “It’s remarkable.”

Magnus shot her a bewildered stare. “Excuse me?”

“I couldn’t do it. Mystics know it’s not in me. And you’ve probably saved more lives than I could ever hope to.”

This was, perhaps, the only time she’d ever seen him slack-jawed. He acted like he wanted to say something, but she didn’t want him to. Not yet anyway.

“Truthfully, where would we be without you, Magnus? You’re the one who has held this team together… you’re the one whose leadership and sacrifice have guided us. And, yes, your propensity to meet violence with violence has meant stopping the enemy from killing us. Killing Piper. And me.”

Awen took another deep breath. Magnus was searching her face. His gaze was intense, and she suddenly felt exposed and vulnerable in her admonitions. But this next part might put an end to all that, and she didn’t want to hurt him. However, she had to at least try and help him understand.

“All I’m saying is that with everything we’ve seen, with everything that’s been done, there has to be another way forward. A better way forward. And before you say anything, I don’t claim to know what that way is. I don’t. The Luma haven’t found it, and the Republic hasn’t found it either. But maybe, just maybe, if we’re lucky, we can discover it together.”

There was a long moment that passed between them as Magnus looked deeply into her eyes. It felt much like the moment they’d shared back on Neith Tearness when they kissed—only deeper. This wasn’t infatuation. It was something more… perhaps the beginning of mutual respect… of a desire to grow toward something together.

“I believe you,” Magnus said, taking her by the hand. “And I would like to find it together.” Then, in what was one of the most astounding things she could have imagined, Magnus said, “What would you have me do?”

Awen opened her mouth as if to speak, then closed it. Then opened it again. Her mind was a flurry of thoughts. She’d been so opposed to his behavior that she’d never given any consideration as to what, exactly, she might say constructively if given the chance. All her answers were things the Luma would say. Not that they were all bad, but none of them seemed right for this situation. Instead, the only thing she could think to say was: “Don’t torture the pilot.”

Without even hesitating, Magnus said, “Alright.” Then he pulled Awen’s hand toward his chest, wrapped his other arm around her lower back, and kissed her.

She let the moment stretch on for a few seconds before finally pulling away. She smiled at him. “If that’s what happens when I ask you not to torture someone, I can’t imagine what happens if I ask you not to kill anyone.”

Magnus blushed—something she’d never seen him do. “Hey, one step at a time,” he replied.

6

Magnus knew kissing Awen was impulsive, but it was what he wanted. The whole idea of liking her, however, still seemed strange. She was, after all, a former Luma—a member of the very society he’d scorned for so many years. Their notions of peace and inclusiveness had made his stomach turn. But she was no more a Luma than he was a Marine, so distancing themselves from the hardline positions of their former lives seemed inevitable despite whatever vestiges remained.

This new life and these new alliances were changing them both. And he was okay with that. If they were going to survive and stop their enemies, neither he nor Awen could hold to ideals of what they once knew. Something better had to emerge from this, something stronger than what they’d known.

He walked with her toward the bridge, greeting various team members as they passed each other in the corridors. He and Awen were truly building something special. Whether or not they could actually take on the forces of evil that were building in their home universe remained to be seen, but this was the best shot either of them had. And for reasons Magnus couldn’t explain, it felt as though the cosmos wanted them together—wanted them to combine their approaches in rectifying the evil growing in the galaxy.

They were almost to the bridge when Valerie stepped into the hallway. For just having survived a firefight not more than two hours prior, the woman was stunning. With her armor still on, she was the picture of feminine ferocity. The soot stains on her cheeks only seemed to accentuate her eyes, and her blonde hair draped delicately over her shoulder plates. The Marine Corps had been stupid to let her get away and marry a damned senator.

Valerie greeted them both, then looked to Awen. “Piper is getting cleaned up in our room. But…” Valerie hesitated.

“What is it?” Awen said.

“I don’t know. She just seems distracted by something. I was wondering if you might speak with her.”

Awen looked at Magnus. They needed to get to the bridge and regroup; discussing the next steps for their operation was critical. But if Piper needed Awen, so be it. She was a priority.

“Just head to the bridge as soon as you’re done,” Magnus said.

“I will. See you shortly.” She gave Magnus a quick smile, and then ducked into Valerie and Piper’s quarters.

“So,” Valerie said, stepping closer to Magnus. “We made it.”

“Yeah, not bad for the first run.”

“Still rough around the edges.”

Magnus nodded. “Yeah, we’ll need more training before the teams are fluid.”

“Agreed. Communication was bad in a few areas.”

“And we’re gonna need to work on coordinated—”

“Advances,” Valerie said, finishing his sentence. “I noticed it too.”

Magnus laughed. “Took the words right out of my mouth.”

“Well, neither of us are new to this game.”

“True.” Magnus studied her face. Mystics, she was beautiful. And brilliant. And a damn good fighter. As much as Magnus liked Awen, he couldn’t help but feel drawn to Valerie. She represented so much of what was normal to him—his life as a Marine, the cultural norms of Capriana… She was the popular girl in school that everyone wanted to be with. And he knew she liked him, which meant he’d be a fool not to reciprocate the feelings.

And there were feelings. Over the last several months, they’d worked hard to drill Granther Company together, to use their combined experiences in the Corps to develop training exercises that began to turn a ragtag band of fighters into trained warriors. But even despite the amount of time they’d shared, Magnus had resisted outright conversation on… well, anything beyond their working relationship.

Granted, Magnus knew that Valerie would have him if he said anything. He’d want her too, if he was being honest. From the first time he’d laid eyes on her in the senator’s starship, he’d felt something visceral at work—some unseen attraction that made him desire her whether he wanted to or not. And then there was Piper, a little girl in need of a father. Magnus had fantasized, more than he cared to admit, of the family they’d make: weapons loaded and enemies running. But it was more the stuff of movies than reality. The military hated family life. He knew that. And so did Valerie.

In the end, however, Magnus was realizing that Valerie wasn’t right for him… almost as much as he knew that Awen was right for him. The two women could not be more different in background and worldview. And yet he admired them both for different reasons. He knew that life with Valerie could be wonderful… maybe even easy. They had so much in common. But it was Awen who captured his imagination more than any other woman he’d ever met. She was a mystery to him, one he felt compelled to figure out. And when they disagreed on something, that feeling drove him to want to know her more than ever.

Unlike the life he’d envision with Valerie, Magnus could not see into the future where it concerned Awen. It was almost as if the thought of the unknown called him forward to create some new reality with her. In a weird way, that idea scared him. He didn’t like walking onto the battlefield without having a good idea of what he was getting into. And with Awen, he wasn’t entirely sure what he was getting into—the unknowns were too great. But that was the strangest part of all. As long as she was there, he knew he could face them. He could face anything with Awen.

“Hey, where’d you go?” Valerie asked.

“What?”

“Just now. You went somewhere.”

Magnus blinked and realized he had, in fact, been lost in thought. “Sorry. I was just… thinking.”

“About what?” Valerie asked. Magnus hesitated long enough that when he didn’t say anything, she went on. “Maybe about how we first met in a starship corridor like this?”

Magnus blinked. Was this conversation about to turn romantic? “Yeah, we sure did.”

“You looked so badass in your Mark VII kit,” Valerie said with a wide grin. “I was always a sucker for a boy in armor.”

“Yeah…” Magnus shook his head. “I mean, I’m glad we met… in my armor.”

Valerie laughed a little and cocked one eye at him. “You feeling okay?”

Magnus rubbed a hand over his face. “I think I’m just tired.”

“We all are,” she replied. “But, after you get cleaned up and we’re on our way, if you want to talk, I—”

“Valerie, listen,” Magnus said. “I recognize that this… that we could be… You and me, we could…” He hesitated. This already felt more awkward than he wanted it to be. “It’s just that I—”

“You like Awen,” Valerie said.

“Wait… what?”

“You have feelings for her. I get it.”

“Valerie, that’s not what I was going to say.”

“But it’s what you need to say. Because if you don’t, I’m going to keep some hope alive that we could be together. Unless you tell me otherwise right now.” Her eyes searched his face, and Magnus knew he needed to say something.

“There you are, Magnus,” TO-96 suddenly said from down the hallway.

“Not now, bot,” Magnus yelled back.

“But you are needed on the bridge, sir.”

“I’ll be there in a minute.” Magnus turned back to Valerie.

“Shall I set a sixty-second reminder for you, sir?”

Magnus closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Valerie gave a small chuckle. “That’s fine, ’Six. I’ll meet you on the bridge.”

“Very well, sir. Your reminder has been set. And I look forward to—”

“Head back to the bridge, ’Six.”

“Heading back to the bridge, sir. See you there.”

Magnus pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek, trying to reign in his frustration with TO-96, and with this whole conversation. Give him a blaster and a battlefield full of enemies any day. But all this relationship stuff? It was damn hard.

He took a breath and looked Valerie in the face. “I like Awen.” Magnus let the truth of the words hang in the air for a second, as much for himself as for Valerie.

“Well, there you have it,” Valerie said.

But Magnus held up his hand. “But you are amazing, Valerie. And I—”

“Magnus, I don’t need a pep talk. I just needed to know where you were at.” She smiled at him. It seemed incredibly sincere. “People in our line of work don’t exactly grow old together, if you know what I mean. So I just wanted to know how I should use the rest of my time. You’ve told me what I needed to hear, and that’s that.”

Magnus was struck with how matter-of-fact she was being. But then again, that was the Marine Corps way. And it was the way of most doctors he knew. No nonsense, bottom line up front.

He also had to admit that the finality of this conversation meant certain things. It meant he was closing the door on any possible future with Valerie. Keeping things open-ended and ambiguous had meant there was some hope out there in the distance. Part of him wanted that, at least the option of it. But that wasn’t fair to her, nor to himself.

This conversation also meant expressing his feelings about Awen. And he’d just done that with Valerie—the other woman he had feelings for. Wasn’t there some rule about not doing that? But he’d done it nonetheless, and it had only made his feelings for Awen more real. Was he committed to her now, even though he had yet to express it in so many words?

“You’re good together,” Valerie said in what Magnus considered a fairly shocking admonition; what was more, Valerie sounded like she meant it. “For what it’s worth, I’m happy for you both.”

Mystics, how was he supposed to respond to this?

“Anyway, you’d better get to the bridge. I think your sixty seconds are about up.”

As if prompted by her words, a small chime went off over the ship-wide communications channel. Then, from the speakers in the ceiling, TO-96’s voice said, “Magnus, please report to the bridge. Your sixty seconds are up, as per your request. Again, Magnus, please report to the bridge.”

“No one can fault him for being punctual,” Valerie said.

“Or blatantly annoying,” Magnus added. He looked Valerie in the eyes and said, “Thanks.”

“No, thank you. I appreciate your honesty… even if I did have to drag it out of you a little.”

“You did. But I’m glad you did.”

“Me too.” She leaned into him and kissed him on the cheek. Then she patted his chest and said, “Better get in there.”

“Roger. You coming?”

“No. I’m going to relieve Awen. You need Awen more than you need me.”

* * *

Azelon relinquished the captain’s chair to Magnus, allowing him to sit in front of the gathered audience. Before she got too far, however, he grabbed her by the arm. “Hey, what was that stunt back there?”

“Stunt, sir?”

“You grounded the shuttles without my consent.” Magnus felt the anger rising in his voice and considered taking this conversation elsewhere, or just saving it for later. Normally, this would be embarrassing for someone in Azelon’s position, but Magnus knew she didn’t have an ego like humans did—at least, he suspected she didn’t. Even if she did, he still needed to get this cleared up.

“The statistical likelihood of—”

“I understand your analysis, bot. What I’m saying is next time, you run that kind of thing by me before you execute. Copy?”

The robot looked at Magnus passively, as if his request was nothing more than a small bit of new information to be processed and archived, completely devoid of any emotional component. “I will proceed as you have requested, Magnus. My apologies for…” Azelon seemed to search for something. “For ruffling your ass feathers.”

Everyone else in the bridge snickered at this. For a moment, Magnus thought he might keep a straight face through it, but when he heard someone snort, he lost control and laughed too. “That’s not exactly how the expression goes, Azie.”

“Azelon is attempting to utilize my lexicon more when conversing with you, sir,” TO-96 said.

“Which explains a lot,” added Ezo, still laughing.

“Anyway, you’re forgiven, Azie. Just don’t do it again.”

“I will endeavor to do as you have prescribed, sir.”

Magnus nodded, satisfied that the matter was concluded, and then sat down to look at his core crew. It consisted of the four platoon leaders—Dutch, Abimbola, Titus, and Rohoar—as well as a few members of each squad deemed essential to the next phase of the mission. Dutch included Ezo and Sootriman, who stood so close to one another that their arms touched, as well as Saasarr, who stood behind Sootriman, arms across his chest. Abimbola had asked Berouth, Rix, and Silk to join him, while Titus called up Bliss and Robillard. As for the Jujari, Saladin and Czyz stood to either side of Rohoar.

Magnus was about to begin when the bridge door slid open and Awen walked in. Magnus tracked her with a certain intensity that he realized might be a little much. She seemed to notice too, looking away from him at first, and then returning his stare with a smile. “Sorry I’m late,” she said.

“No problem,” Magnus replied. “I knew where you were.” Mystics, that sounded awkward, didn’t it. “With Piper, I mean.” He looked back at the crowd while Awen slid in beside Rohoar. The only people not present that Magnus felt should have been there were Flow and Cheeks. But he still didn’t know how to introduce them to Rohoar yet. Up until now, they’d only talked about the former mwadim; even that had not ended well. But seeing a Jujari in the flesh? Magnus was worried that would not go well given all that the men had been through. They’d need more time.

“First off,” Magnus said, “I want to extend my congratulations to you and your platoons. While that wasn’t the smoothest mission, it was our first. And, all things considered, it went better than I expected. Well done.”

Those gathered responded with nods and verbal agreement. The feeling of accomplishment seemed mutual, and that made Magnus happy.

“We worked hard for that initial win. Your squads deserve congratulations from you, so see to it when you regroup. Moving on, I’d like to give the floor to Azelon so she can debrief us on the latest attack. Azelon?”

“Of course, sir.” The smooth-white robot strode out from beside Magnus into the middle of the bridge, motioning forward. “As you can see on the main holo display, a battlecruiser and fourteen FAF-28 Talons emerged from the quantum tunnel.” The display showed the vessels popping into existence. A star map also showed icons of the ships in relation to the Spire and the rest of the planets in the system. Azelon went on to describe the battle in stunning detail, outlining how she and TO-96 commandeered the enemy’s torpedoes, destroying all their vessels without so much as a single shot fired from the Spire.

Magnus was impressed, yet again, with the Novia’s advanced technology, and recognized that Azelon, TO-96, and the ship gave them a huge advantage in future space combat missions. How many enemies they’d be able to successfully take on at once remained to be seen. But Azelon had proven her mettle, and that was good enough for Magnus—for now, anyway.

“Are there any questions?” Azelon asked.

Rohoar raised his ears. Azelon recognized the gesture almost at once and invited him to speak.

“Did these vessels follow Abimbola and I back from Oorajee?” Rohoar asked.

“We believe so,” Azelon replied. “Accounting for the expanding time dilation between the two universes, it is believed that these vessels were pulled from the conflict over your home world and re-tasked mid-operation.”

“So it is our fault they arrived,” Rohoar concluded, a hint of shame in his voice.

“That would be an accurate conclusion. However, given the fact that the enemy already had a presence on Ithnor Ithelia, it is possible that a secondary force would have been sent anyway. Your movement from Oorajee to Neith Tearness was merely cause for additional concern and not the sole impetus.”

While the explanation was supposed to make Rohoar feel better, it didn’t look like it had. Rather, the Jujari seemed put off by it.

“I am sorry for betraying our people,” Rohoar said, lowering his head and twisting it to one side. Magnus knew what this was… a display of submission and inferiority. But he couldn’t afford to let the Jujari be seen in any negative light, not with how much fighting they had in front of them. And, as far as Magnus was concerned, Rohoar was the physical link to the ancient Novia Minoosh. This meant Magnus needed the Jujari warrior fit to lead.

“Nonsense,” Magnus said, standing up and walking toward Rohaor. “Without you and Abimbola recruiting your kin and friends, we would not have had the strength to muster an assault on the Recon team in Itheliana. And that team arrived well before you.”

“If anything,” Awen interjected, “it was I who first alerted Admiral Kane and Master So-Elku of this place. Any further conclusions must take this preeminent fact into consideration.”

Rohoar raised his head and looked at Awen, then at Magnus.

“In conclusion,” Magnus said, “I do not accept your apology for none is warranted. However, I recognize your willingness to accept fault as a mark of great leadership. Consider this resolved.”

“Thank you, scrumruk graulap,” Rohoar said, baring his teeth.

“You’re welcome.” Magnus turned and addressed the rest of the room. “Now, it seems we have a decision to make, which is why I invited you all here. As you know, the enemy was inside Itheliana to obtain something… something that Azelon says is of strategic importance to the Novia Minoosh. While I have asked for a greater explanation than that, Azelon assures me now it not the time.”

“And it remains as such,” Azelon interjected.

“As much as I disagree with her, I recognize—as I think we all do—that we are at the behest of our hosts, the Novia Minoosh. So I will not press the point, for now. Needless to say, the enemy knows how to arrive in the metaverse, knows where Ithnor Ithelia is, and knows there is something of value in Itheliana. As such, I believe we have a crucial decision to make.”

“And what’s that?” Awen asked, still standing next to Rohoar.

“Whether or not we close the quantum tunnel.”

7

Awen felt the collective shock go through the bridge as Magnus brought up the topic of closing the tunnel. This was the first she’d heard of it too and wondered how long he’d been toying with the idea. She also wondered how long she’d need to compete with Valerie for Magnus’s affection, as the woman was clearly interested in him. But this wasn’t the time for her to get sidetracked. There was work to be done.

Abimbola raised one of his large arms. “My first question, before we even discuss how, would be why.”

“And that’s what this is for,” Magnus replied. “To ask questions and talk it through. So, to answer yours, I’ll ask everyone else: Why?”

“It would cut off the enemy from accessing whatever it is the Novia have buried in the planet,” Rohoar suggested.

“And from discovering the QTG,” Awen added.

The room looked at her.

“The quantum tunnel generator,” Ezo said.

“The what now?” Titus asked, looking from Awen to Ezo.

Ezo went on to explain what Awen, Sootriman, and TO-96 had found when they’d made their first big discovery. “We still know so little about it, and we couldn’t risk going back to try it. Until now, that is.”

“Let me get this straight,” Abimbola said. “You are saying that we can use this generator to appear anywhere we wish within the known universe?”

“Universes,” Ezo said in correction.

Abimbola let out a low whistle. “And all we need is a Novia Minoosh starship and someone to operate the contraption?”

“That’s correct,” Awen said. “Up until recently, I was the only one capable of stepping into the Unity to operate the QTG. But I’m certain Piper could do it.” Awen paused, then looked at Rohoar. “And I believe Rohoar can operate it too.”

The Jujari looked down at her, his eyes betraying at least a little shock. “You think so?”

“I do.” Awen nodded.

“So I guess that answers my other question about how,” Abimbola said. “But it seems to me there is some strategic advantage to keeping it open.”

“Go on,” Magnus said.

“Back on Limbia Centrella, we have an animal called the gorespike. It is a nasty creature. Very hard to kill… unless you lead it to a honeypot. Once its horned head is stuck inside the jar, you can deliver a killing blow to the soft part of its abdomen. But without the honeypot, you are likely to be impaled.”

“You’re saying we use the enemy’s knowledge of the existing quantum tunnel to our advantage,” Dutch said.

“Precisely,” Abimbola replied. “The only thing better than knowing your enemy is knowing where your enemy is going to show up next.”

“But is it worth the risk?” Awen asked. “I mean, what if they show up with ten times the force they just did? Can Azelon and TO-96 handle that?” She looked around the room. “Can we handle that?”

“I’m inclined to agree with Awen,” Sootriman said. “If Admiral Kane commands part of the Republic fleet, what’s to stop him from bringing more ships through the quantum tunnel when his latest squadron of fighters doesn’t report back? We could be inviting disaster.”

“Ninety-Six,” Ezo said, drawing the bot’s attention. “How many more ships and torpedoes can you work your magic on with Azelon?”

“That is an excellent question, sir. The answer depends on our proximity to the vessels in question, as well as the complexity of each system’s command architecture.”

“Can you take a guess?” Abimbola asked.

TO-96 regarded the hulking man with his glowing eyes. “I would propose we could handle at least three times the force you witnessed today.”

Abimbola let out a whistle. Awen, too, felt both surprise and relief at the two AI’s protective abilities.

“But I would caution any of you on relying too much on our abilities to commandeer starships and their respective ordinances,” TO-96 continued. “While it is an impressive feat, to be sure, there are enough variables that alternative means of combatting the enemy should always be employed.”

“And you had alternative means at your disposal?” Awen asked. “I mean, we still haven’t seen what the Spire can really do in combat, have we?” Magnus cocked his head at her as if in admiration. Or was that attraction? She stared back at him. “What?”

Magnus offered her a small smile but said nothing.

“That’s correct, Awen. Azelon and I still had traditional munitions at our disposal, should we have needed them.”

Magnus leaned forward. “Which included…?”

“I can provide a complete list when you so desire, sir,” Azelon replied. “For the purposes of this meeting, however, I believe such details to be irrelevant.”

“Fair enough,” Magnus said. “But I want that list.”

“Noted, sir,” Azelon replied.

“But back to Sootriman’s point,” Awen said, “do we really want to risk letting the enemy get so close to us?”

“What if we could do both?” Rohoar said.

“Go on,” Magnus replied.

“What if we could close the tunnel for now but open it later when we want them to come to us?”

“I think this one is on to something,” Abimbola said. “We could subtly promote the reopening in a way that might speed the enemy’s return precisely when we mean to close a trap on them.”

“I like it,” Magnus said. He looked at Awen, and then to the robots. “Is that something we can do?”

“Certainly,” replied Azelon. “The QTG’s functionality is contingent upon the individual operating it.”

“But it still needs someone physically there,” Awen said. “As in, I’d have to be in it to close and open new tunnels.”

Azelon nodded. “That is correct.”

“So, unless I’m staying behind, I have to close the tunnel and then create a new one somewhere else. We’ll have to leave it open so we can travel between proto and metaspace. I’ll need to be back at the QTG’s controls when we want to reopen the old tunnel.”

“Which works to our advantage anyway,” Abimbola said. “We wouldn’t want to be anywhere else but right here when the enemy comes knocking.”

Magnus grunted in affirmation. “And we definitely can’t afford to leave you behind, Awen.”

She smiled. “Not unless you want your butts handed to you.”

Magnus laughed a little and gave her a nod. “And we don’t want that.”

Sootriman spoke next. “So, the way I see it, the only risk would be if the enemy discovered the new tunnel before we were ready.”

“That’s correct,” TO-96 said. “However, assuming that you place the anomaly away from normal starship thoroughfares, I predict the enemy’s discovery of it at such an infinitely low probability that I would deem it impossible, to use your nomenclature.”

“I like the sound of that,” Rohoar said. “But our enemy is wily.”

“Agreed,” Magnus said. “We don’t know how much of the fleet Kane controls, and we have to assume he has eyes everywhere. I don’t want us underestimating this enemy.”

“Which means we should interrogate the prisoners for information,” Abimbola said. He removed his bowie knife. Despite the sheath in his thigh rendering the Novia armor’s chameleon mode pointless for that leg, he refused to give up the weapon. “And I will get as much out of them as possible before I dispatch them.”

“No,” Magnus said, waving a hand at the other man. “We won’t be torturing them, Abimbola.”

While Magnus wasn’t looking at her, Awen felt that maybe he wanted to. Or maybe she just wanted him to look at her, knowing this change in procedure was certainly a result of their conversation. She was deeply moved to know that he’d taken her admonishment to heart.

“We’ll get what we can without harming them, and that will be enough.”

“Is the buckethead going soft?”

“I’m not going soft, Bimby. But I am saying that since I’m no longer a Marine and you’re no longer a Marauder we need to do things differently. And I think we can get what we need without killing them.”

“Fair enough. But if they try to do anything stupid, can we kill them?”

Magnus glanced at Awen. Was that a look of deference? “It all depends on what the stupid is,” Awen replied.

Abimbola slid his knife back into his sheath. “This way sounds too complicated. But I will follow your lead, Magnus. Awen.”

“Thanks, Bimby,” Magnus replied.

There was a moment of silence before Awen asked: “So are we putting this to a vote then?” She looked around the room and saw everyone nod their heads.

“All in favor of closing the current tunnel and opening a new one, say aye,” Magnus said, raising his own hand. Everyone else consented with raised hands and verbal acknowledgment. Magnus grunted. “It’s unanimous then.”

“So, where to next?” Sootriman asked.

“We need to rescue Willowood and those loyal to her,” Awen said.

“And take another stab at that Swowlkoo human,” Rohoar added.

Awen corrected him. “That’s So-Elku.”

“Not that it matters,” Abimbola replied. “He’ll be dead before anyone needs to use his name again. That is, if we are allowed to kill him.” The hulk looked between Awen and Magnus.

“Just make sure he does something stupid enough to justify it,” Magnus said.

“Oh, I will,” said Abimbola, tapping his knife’s handle with a finger.

“Awen, TO-96, and I will see to the prisoners,” Magnus added. “Once we have spoken to them, let’s all reconvene in the Spire’s war room and make a plan for liberating those on Worru. Dismissed.”

As everyone exited, Magnus looked at Awen. “Let’s walk together. You too, ’Six.” Awen nodded and stepped in beside him with TO-96 picking up the rear. “Azelon, you have the conn.”

“Understood, sir,” she replied.

As they entered the elevator and headed toward the Spire’s brig, Magnus spoke in a low voice to Awen. “I’m wondering about Piper,” he said.

Awen waited for him to keep going, but he didn’t say anything more. “What about?”

“Do you think this is going to be too much for her?”

“What do you mean by this?”

“I mean Worru. The battle. The killing.”

“It’s a little late for that, don’t you think?” When Magnus raised an eyebrow at her without replying, she waved a hand in the air in frustration. “I mean, she killed a Recon trooper down there—by stopping his heart, Magnus. She took another living being’s life, and she’s only nine. If you wanted to keep her away from the killing business, you already missed that starship.”

“I know. And I didn’t want that.”

“You sure?” The words came out more harshly than she intended them too. “Ugh, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I get it. You’re watching out for her. This is just me trying to do the same.”

Despite her frustration with the whole idea of involving a child in the first place, Awen appreciated Magnus’s desire to watch out for Piper. She felt her features soften and regarded him with a look of appreciation. “What do you have in mind?”

“I’m just wondering if we shouldn’t take her to Worru.”

“You mean, leave her in the Spire?”

“No.” Magnus shook his head and pressed his lips into a frown. “I mean, leave her on Ithnor Ithelia.”

“By herself?”

“We’d leave TO-96 behind with her.”

Awen heard the bot’s servos move at Magnus’s words.

“Maybe we see if Flow and Cheeks want to watch out for her,” Magnus continued. “Plus, you said it yourself that you think she might be able to run the QTG. Maybe that’s an asset we shouldn’t overlook.”

“If I may,” TO-96 interjected.

“Not now, Nintey-Six.” Awen tapped a finger on her lips. The thought of leaving Piper behind hadn’t crossed her mind; this upcoming confrontation was the whole reason Awen had begun training her in the first place. Or was it about helping Piper just to steward her own gifts? The lines were getting blurry.

Keeping her back would certainly remove her from any immediate danger. And having her available to open and close quantum tunnels could be an incredible tool, essentially allowing them to vanish and reappear anywhere in the void on a whim. Despite all of that, however, Awen had her own reservations.

“I’m not sure we can do without her on the battlefield,” Awen said.

Magnus looked shocked. “Did I just hear Awen say—”

“I know,” she said, waving him off again. “I know what you’re thinking. I’m not saying we put her in the action, or give her orders to kill anyone—mystics.” She rubbed her temple with a thumb, disbelieving she was actually arguing against Magnus’s efforts to keep Piper out of harm’s way. “But I do believe, now more than before, that her abilities could be a deciding factor if this comes down to a battle within the Unity. I don’t think we can afford to leave her here.”

“Pardon my interruption, but—”

“Can it, ’Six.” Magnus looked hard at Awen as a smug smile crept at the corners of his eyes. “You do know that you don’t sound anything like a Luma right now.”

“We’ve already gone over this, Magnus,” she said, punching him in the shoulder, then instantly regretting it. Her knuckles stung as they bounced off the Novia armor. “I’m not a Luma. I’m a gladia, just like you. And this is about what’s best for the galaxy, not the factions we came from.”

“What about what’s best for Piper?”

“What’s best for Piper is that she doesn’t grow up in a galaxy ruled by the likes of Admiral Kane and So-Elku. And the only way that happens is if we utilize her powers in the fight.” She held up her hand again. “And I know that we’ve already talked about her ability to turn the tide if things get bad. You having second thoughts actually surprises me… it makes me feel like you’ve really heard my apprehensions. But now that we’re on the verge of taking the fight to the enemy, I’m not so sure we can win without her. I think we have to put her in the battle like we planned, even if there is a risk that she might… that we might…”

“Lose her?”

“Mystics, don’t say that,” Awen said, squeezing the bridge of her nose. “I just don’t want her to lose her innocence, to have her heart hurt. The desire to keep her away from all this is overwhelming sometimes, you know?”

Magnus nodded. “I do. And I don’t want her getting hurt either—physically, psychologically, or emotionally. But in a certain way, we’re already past that. She can’t unsee what we’ve already lived through. And you know she’d just protest us keeping her back. In a certain way, it may hurt her more if we tell her she can’t come.”

“If I may,” TO-96 said again.

“What is it, bot,” Magnus said, his voice betraying his annoyance.

“You are forgetting one very obvious factor in all of this.”

“And that is?”

“That if you leave Miss Piper for any length of time in metaspace, she will age disproportionately to you.”

Magnus and Awen both looked at the robot. There was a moment of silence before Awen let out a long sigh. “And then there’s that.”

“Look like she’s going with us,” Magnus said. “Why didn’t you say something sooner, ’Six?”

“But, sir, I—”

“Just speak up next time, okay?”

“But—”

“Hey, one more thing,” Awen said. She felt her face flush before she even said the words. “It’s about Valerie.”

Magnus shook his head. “You don’t have to worry about her, Awen. There’s nothing there.” Hearing him say that took a weight off her chest. Still, she searched his eyes to make sure they corroborated the confession. She stared at him long enough that he finally said, “Seriously. I’m a one-woman man.”

“And I trust you,” Awen replied. “Thank you.”

“We are arriving at the brig level,” TO-96 said, turning toward the door. “And we have some prisoner ass to kick.”

“Ninety-Six,” Awen yelled in rebuke. As Magnus brushed past her, she could have sworn she saw him grin. “Did you put him up to that?”

Magnus raised both his hands in the air as he walked away.

“Magnus!”

8

Magnus stood outside the brig, expecting the smooth white door to open as he approached. When it remained shut, his bioteknia eyes noted the data pad on the wall beside it.

“You okay?” Awen asked, clearly mistaking his hesitation for apprehension.

As much as he tried to ignore the emotions surfacing in his chest, Magnus had to admit that he wasn’t looking forward to confronting Nos Kil.

“Yeah. Fine.” He stared at the data pad a second more. “Azelon, can you open the door please?”

“Affirmative,” she said, her voice coming over the speakers directly overhead. The door slid open and revealed a dimly lit control room, the far wall of which was a holo display. It had several command prompts outlined in red, as well as a sub window broken into sections. Each section had a view of what Magnus assumed were holding cells.

“You going in?” Awen asked.

He cleared his throat and then motioned her forward. “After you.”

Awen studied his face. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Mystics, woman. Just go in already, would you?”

She gave him a look that said, “Whatever,” and then he followed her into the control room. The door closed behind them and some ceiling-mounted pin lights lit spots on the glossy black floor where Magnus assumed he and Awen should stand to command the system.

As much as he hated to admit it, he was not okay. The fact that Nos Kil was out of prison after all these years baffled Magnus. The former Marine’s convictions included sexual misconduct, ill treatment of a civilian population in occupied territory during combat missions, unnecessary violence against enemy combatants, and murder. Nos Kil’s multiple life sentences guaranteed that he’d never see the outside of the maximum-security military prison he’d been assigned to. And yet, here he was, caught operating with a rogue Recon team in an alien universe in Mark VII armor.

“Which prisoner would you like to attend to first?” Azelon asked over the room’s speakers.

Awen glanced at Magnus. “What do you say?”

“Nos Kil first,” he replied.

“The prisoner is being held in cell number one,” Azelon said.

Magnus looked at the sub window marked with the appropriate number. A man lay on a bed on his back with his hands behind his head, staring up at the camera. He’d been stripped of his armor and wore only a pair of black military-style workout shorts. His muscular arms, chest, and legs were accented with tattoos and scars—both mementos of conflicts he’d seen. And lives he’s taken, Magnus noted. He wondered how many had been for the job and how many had been for sport. For pleasure.

The sight of Nos Kil’s deranged face brought back the painful memories of Magnus’s last moment with his brother, Argus. He’d tried to bury those thoughts—those words and those hate-filled images. But still they haunted him, clinging to his memory like the barbed legs of a Falorian latch-spider. Seeing Nos Kil made the arachnid shudder and twitch as it clung to the inside of his skull, sending chills down his spine.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” Awen said.

Magnus turned on her, surprised that she had come to some sort of conclusion that he wasn’t privy to. “You’re not in the Unity right now, are you? Like, reading my thoughts?”

“No. I’m not reading your thoughts. But I am in the Unity. And ever since you saw this man back in Itheliana, your energy pattern has changed. Which leads me to believe you know this man, just as he suggested when we captured him.”

Magnus nodded, knowing he couldn’t escape her keen insight. “I do, yes.”

“And it’s a painful knowing.”

He pursed his lips for a second. “It is.”

“Then let me do this.”

“No,” Magnus said, far more forcefully than he meant to. Images of what Nos Kil had done to the Caledonian girls caused his anger to surge. “I mean, no, that’s not a good idea. I need to do this. Nos Kil might have information crucial for our mission’s success, and if anyone’s going to get it out of him, it’s me.”

“No,” Awen replied, placing a hand on his chest. “It’s us.”

“Awen, I really don’t—”

“Either we do it together, or you’re not going in there at all.”

Magnus looked from Awen back to the holo display. His eyes jumped to the last cell, on what he presumed was the opposite end of the brig, and he saw the second man. He too was bare-chested in shorts but was much leaner than Nos Kil. His uniform had read Longo. Magnus wondered if maybe he and Awen should start with him. But Magnus knew it was only a delay tactic to keep him from confronting the inevitable.

“Let’s go then,” Magnus said as his eyes moved back to Nos Kil’s camera view. “Just… keep your head about you. This one is…”

“I get it. I’ll be fine.” Awen gestured toward the door that lead into the cell blocks and said, “After you.”

Azelon unlocked the door and a pulsing red line appeared on the floor, indicating that he should proceed. Magnus stepped into a corridor that spread into five different anterooms, each presenting different cells.

“Please continue to cell block A,” Azelon said. The red line pulsed forward and to the left-most fork. Magnus followed the path along the black floor and entered the cell block’s hexagonal room. The holding rooms were spartan, providing the occupant a retractable toilet and bed. There was no pillow, blanket, or any other clothing provided besides the shorts.

At once, Magnus noticed the prisoner’s head pop up and look through the translucent blue containment wall at him.

“Well, well, well,” Nos Kil said, sitting up. “Company.” He crossed his legs and rested his hands on his knees like he was about to go into some sort of meditation. “Husband and wife, is it?”

“How’d you get out of prison, Nos Kil?” Magnus asked, regaining control on the line of questioning.

The prisoner laughed, then stretched. Magnus watched the man’s muscles ripple like giant cables spanning a bridge. Whatever training Nos Kil had committed himself to, it had put him in top shape, and the man clearly wasn’t afraid to show off his body. “You would want to know that, wouldn’t you.”

Magnus waited for the reply, unwilling to ask again. After a moment’s silence, Nos Kil answered with a roll of his head.

“They let me out on good behavior. Can you believe it?”

“Not for a second,” Magnus replied.

Nos Kil snickered. “Neither would I, Adonis. It has been a long time, hasn’t it? And look at you! I mean, your new fancy armor, a starship, and this incredibly delectable creature beside you.” His last few words rolled off his tongue in long undulating tones more suited to an aristocrat than a soldier.

Magnus thought of defending Awen at the misogynistic address but decided that it would only put them further away from their goal. Plus, Awen could handle herself. “Who let you out?”

“You see there?” Nos Kil said, looking at Awen. “That’s why the brass always liked Adonis. So keen and insightful. Never one to mince words.”

Magnus waited, and Awen didn’t reply.

“You’re no fun, neither of you.” Nos Kil swung his legs off his bed and stood up, stretching his back. “Someone at the top needed things done.” He took a deep breath, letting the moment stretch on as if he was enjoying the warmth of some unseen sun. “Apparently, I had the skill set he required, and they let me out to play.”

“Admiral Kane,” Awen said.

Nos Kil spun toward her, smiling as if looking at a lavish plate of food. He bit his thumb and cocked his head.

“Admiral Kane,” Nos Kil repeated, taking a step toward the shimmering blue force field. “Yes, that’s what you know him as.”

“So that’s who ordered your sentence to be lifted?” Magnus asked.

“In a manner of speaking, yes.”

“And he’s the one who sent you here, to Ithnor Ithelia,” Awen said, apparently assuming as much as Magnus had.

“Ithnor Ithelia,” Nos Kil repeated, letting the words slide off his tongue in a musical way as he glared at Awen. “I did not know that’s what it was called. Yes, I was sent here, and no, it was not Admiral Kane who sent me.”

“But you just said—”

“I know what I said,” Nos Kil said, his words biting into Awen’s sentence.

“Then who issued your orders?” Magnus asked.

“And wouldn’t you love to know, Adonis.”

More calmly, Magnus repeated his question. “Who sent you?”

“Love,” Nos Kil said, turning his shoulders toward her. “Did Adonis ever tell you he shot his brother?”

Magnus felt every muscle in his body tense. But he was prepared for this. He’d already thought through what he was going to say—to not let it get to him, and to confront lies with truth. Still, hearing someone say it out loud was like ripping off an old bandage that had bonded to a scab. “For failing to follow a direct order while—”

“He shot him in the head,” Nos Kil said, ignoring Magnus, his eyes staring hard at Awen. “Because of a petty argument over a girl.”

Magnus stepped in front of Awen and moved toward Nos Kil. The prisoner raised his hands in mock fear. “Please don’t shoot me, private.”

“I might,” Magnus said.

“Ooo. So strong.” Nos Kil tried to look over Magnus’s shoulder at Awen. But Magnus held his ground. “Then who will you get your answers from?”

“The other prisoner,” Awen said, stepping around Magnus.

Magnus watched Nos Kil’s face twitch as Awen came forward. He didn’t like that she just offered the enemy information for free. But, then again, she was a skilled negotiator after all. And Nos Kil had no idea if it was the truth or not. But her assertion had clearly caught him off guard.

“There were no other prisoners,” Nos Kil said, cocking his head at Awen.

“Oh, not from your Recon team, no. You’re quite right. But we did keep one of the pilots alive from the search and rescue convoy that was sent to find you.”

Nos Kil hesitated. Given the look on his face, he clearly had no idea about the battlecruiser and the squadron of Talons—at least that’s how Magnus interpreted the look on his face. And, apparently Awen did as well.

“So you didn’t know about that, I see,” she said. “How unfortunate that you weren’t more valuable to your team.”

Again, Nos Kil hesitated. Then, in what Magnus could only guess was a meager attempt to maintain control of the conversation, he said, “Okay, I’ll bite, miss Elonia. Why is it apparent that I am not valuable?”

Awen looked at Magnus with raised eyebrows, then back at the prisoner. “They sent three Sparrow-class light armored transports with”—she turned to Magnus—“what were they, scientists?”

Magnus shrugged his shoulders. “Something like that.” Mystics, she was playing him.

“That wasn’t a rescue team,” Nos Kil said, growing indignant. “That was…” He came up short, then started laughing. He waved a finger at her and then retreated back toward his bed. “You’re very good, Miss Elonia. You almost had me there. But I’m not falling for your tricks. And I’m so very sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not telling you anything more about my mission, nor am I falling for your attempts to get me to question my value to my employer.”

“So you’re a hired gun,” Magnus said. “Which means this isn’t Repub sanctioned.”

Awen looked at Magnus. “So that corroborates the other prisoner’s confessions.”

“Right,” he said.

Nos Kil moved back toward the containment wall. “I thought you said you only had one other prisoner?”

“Did I say that?” Awen asked. “Whoops.”

“Guess that’s all we needed,” Magnus said to Awen, then turned on his heels.

“Did he ever tell you how much he hated you?” Nos Kil said as Magnus started walking away. “Hated growing up in your shadow? That he secretly resented you for putting the Corps above your family?”

Magnus stopped.

Suddenly, Awen’s voice spoke inside his head. “Don’t listen to him, Magnus.”

Magnus turned and looked at her. I can’t let this go, Awen.

“Yes, you can. And you must. He’s baiting you with lies.”

But is it a lie?

“You know, earlier on the day you shot him, we’d been joking.” Nos Kil chuckled a little. “I actually asked him if he’d ever shoot you if he had the chance. And you know what he said to me?”

“Walk away, Magnus,” Awen said.

Magnus felt as though his feet were frozen to the ground. He couldn’t turn and face Nos Kil but he couldn’t walk away either.

“Magnus, I’m telling you: walk away.” Awen’s words were firm, like a mother who was issuing her last warning to her wayward child. A long silence filled the air. Magnus knew this coward was baiting him. He knew this was all a trick. Still, if there was even a shred of truth to what Nos Kil had to say, Magnus felt compelled to listen to what Argus thought of him on that last day. And yet he dreaded the answer.

“He said that if he couldn’t pull the trigger first, he hoped you’d shoot him in the head so your last memory of him would be of his dead eyes staring you in the face.”

Magnus turned away from Awen and strode toward Nos Kil.

“Magnus, stop,” Awen shouted.

“Yes. Stop, Magnus,” Nos Kil echoed. “Don’t do anything that could jeopardize your outstanding reputation in the Marines. Oh, wait, they have orders to arrest you? Whatever for?”

Magnus’s nose was a few centimeters from the force field.

“Now there’s the Adonis I knew,” Nos Kil said. “The man who shot his brother, betrayed the Corps, and had himself relocated to the Recon so he didn’t have to face the consequences of killing his own kin in cold blood.”

“Shut up, Nos Kil.”

“Must be nice to know a Caldwell who can pull strings for you instead of the limp one that couldn’t even screw straight. Kid was a worthless piece of splick, if you ask me.”

“Shut up.” Magnus turned his head, ready to lower the wall and break the guy’s face.

“Magnus,” Awen shouted in his head. “Don’t let him get to you!”

“And to think you saved me from those ’kuda in the camp. If you only knew how many of your men I would go on to kill in the mwadim’s palace.”

“You son of a bitch,” Magnus roared. He felt every muscle in his body tense in rage as the revelation bored a hole through his chest. “Azelon! Lower the containment wall.”

The force field vanished and Magnus charged Nos Kil. The prisoner’s eyes flared as he placed his right foot behind him in a fighting stance. Magnus threw himself into Nos Kil’s chest, letting his shoulder plate strike the man’s sternum. He heard a crack as the Novia armor met bone.

The men flew backward and hit the cell’s wall, then collapsed on the floor. Magnus began pummeling the man’s rib cage left and right. He heard more bones break with every punch, filling each blow with the hate and vengeance he’d stored up for whoever was responsible for the ambush at the mwadim’s palace.

Nos Kil tried to fight back, but Magnus’s fury was so violent the man didn’t stand a chance. Magnus managed to climb on top of the man, raining down more blows, this time on his head and face. Magnus ignored the explosions of pain jolting out of his hands and racing up his arms. This man had killed almost two whole platoons, plus dozens of Luma and Jujari. More than that, he’d quite literally started the fire that sparked the war.

Suddenly, Nos Kil flipped Magnus off him with a thrust from his legs. Magnus had been too caught up in his rage to realize he’d lost his balance, giving the enemy a perfect window of opportunity. The move happened so fast, Magnus had little time to push himself onto all fours. But as soon as he did, Nos Kil dropped a hammer blow on the back of Magnus’s neck. A blast of stars filled the gladia’s vision and he collapsed.

Despite his disorientation, Magnus rolled to his left and swung his right fist toward Nos Kil’s face. The blow hit the side of his enemy’s head, forcing the prisoner off balance. Magnus was sure he’d dazed him when Nos Kil replied with a punch of his own, catching Magnus under the chin. His teeth jarred together and his mouth filled with blood. But Magnus ignored the fluid, caught Nos Kil by the wrist with one hand, and reached toward his face with the other. Then he pressed his thumb into the man’s eye socket. Magnus squeezed with all his strength, wrapping his fingers behind the victim’s skull for leverage. Then he felt the eyeball pop, accompanied by the spray of the organ’s liquid.

Nos Kil shouted, wresting Magnus’s hand from his head, and bent the violating digit away in an unnatural direction. The takedown move forced Magnus to succumb, twisting in favor of the pressure point. But he wasn’t fast enough—a loud snap followed by excruciating pain wracked him. It was all the time Nos Kil needed to deliver a chop against Magnus’s throat that broke his airway.

Magnus looked up at the half-blinded prisoner, his face dripping with blood and water. While Nos Kil was maimed for life, however, it was Magnus who was mortally wounded.

“Goodbye, Adonis,” Nos Kil said. Magnus felt the man reach around his throat. The next squeeze would suffocate him. But it never came.

Nos Kil’s hands flew backward and slammed against the wall, held fast by some invisible force. Magnus—clinging to his last raspy breaths—watched as Nos Kil’s body left the floor and slid up the wall. The man made to say something, but his mouth was clamped shut. In place of the expected curse came a muted shriek of intense pain. Nos Kil’s face contorted, frozen in a state of agony.

“Magnus,” Awen yelled. “Magnus, talk to me!” She hovered over him and pulled his hands away from his throat. Based on the look on her face and the way she stared at his neck, he expected it was deformed. “Mystics… Azelon! I need a medical evacuation right away!”

But Magnus knew there was nothing Azelon or Valerie or any other medic could do in time to save his life.

9

Moldark was close—closer than anyone had been before him. He could feel the anticipation rising in his bones like the heat of an eons-old fire whose flames had died out long ago but whose embers still lay dormant under the ash. A fresh wind blew, summoning the coals’ orange radiance back to life, causing a new fire to burn, kindled from the remains of an ancient vendetta—one Moldark had sworn to fulfill.

And he would fulfill his oath. His wrath would visit as many other civilizations as it could in the process—so long as it served his final purpose. Which this assault certainly did.

“Lord Moldark?” the man asked, and not for the first time. Fleet Admiral Brighton had been standing below Moldark’s raised dais for at least a minute, trying to gain the leader’s attention. But Moldark had been too lost in thought to provide the admiral an audience. Instead, he watched the space battle unfold from his quarters.

The conflict had grown to include dozens of battleships and hundreds of support vessels and fighters on both sides. Sypeurlion and Dim-Telok ships had redoubled the Juajri’s efforts, while the three Republic fleets deployed their full contingent of Talon squadrons and engaged in unbridled ship-to-ship combat.

The destruction, Moldark thought, was beautiful.

In the black space above Oorajee, bright bolts of deadly energy crisscrossed one another as the massive leviathans slowly maneuvered to gain the upper hand. Meanwhile, minuscule star fighters zipped over their hulls like Melfarene mosquitos looking to draw blood from Bandalor mule bears. Blaster fire ripped through the void and splashed across force fields, sending ripples of energy into the abyss. Missiles streaked in one direction only to be followed by salvos going the opposite way as both sides tried to take out the high-speed fighters that continuously tried to evade the guided ordinance. And all around, Moldark imagined that he could hear the screams of the dying as their bodies vaporized in the void’s cold vacuum.

“My lord, I’m sorry to keep insisting, but—”

“But we haven’t heard back from the squadron we sent into metaspace.”

Brighton hesitated. “That’s correct, my lord.”

Moldark turned from the floor to ceiling windows and gazed down upon Brighton. “This concerns you?”

“It does, only because of the time dilation you mentioned. At this point, the reinforcements will have had days to report their findings and—”

“You fear them to be lost.”

Brighton placed two fingers under his collar and adjusted it. “Yes, my lord.”

Moldark sighed. It was a pity how much these humans labored over trivial losses. And for that reason alone, he mused to himself, they will never evolve far enough to contend for supremacy.

“What are your orders?”

Moldark turned back toward the space battle. “Do you see that vessel there?”

“My lord?”

Moldark gestured to Brighton to ascend the dais, then pointed toward a large Jujari starship that floated against the orange planet’s backdrop. “That one there?”

“Yes. I believe that’s the Jujari dreadnaught The Victory of The Infinitely Majestic and Illustrious—”

“I don’t care what it’s called, admiral. I care that we focus our weapons on it and destroy it.”

Again, Brighton hesitated.

“Is there a problem, admiral?”

“No, my lord. But I feel I should remind you that—”

“That the ship I’ve designated is a Jujari Dreadnaught-class battleship capable of meeting our assault with its own. I need no reminding from a man, admiral. Or do you forget with whom you are speaking?”

“Yes, sir—my lord.”

“But if you’d been paying attention, you’d know that the enemy’s focus has been on keeping three battlecruisers at bay. As such, they will not notice our strike.”

“You want to interrupt Second Fleet’s assault with one of our own? But that might—”

“Risk damaging the battlecruisers? Then I suggest advising them of our actions to mitigate our losses, admiral. All weapons to full power, no quarter. Target the enemy’s reactor.”

Brighton’s mouth worked the air without producing sound. Finally, his will found traction with his voice, and he said, “But sir, that won’t give the Jujari crew any time to abandon ship.”

Moldark spun on Brighton. “Are you here to play games, admiral? Is that what this is to you? I said no quarter.”

“No quarter. As you wish, my lord.”

“I will come to you on the bridge in a moment. Ready weapons systems. Dismissed.”

Moldark listened to Brighton’s footfalls as he walked toward the exit and left the grand hall. The admiral was a fool, of course. They all were, what with their holding to antiquated rules of engagement derived from nearsighted agendas to extend mercy toward a conquered enemy. Moldark cursed to himself, wondering where such resolutions had been when his people were ripped from their planet and cast into oblivion.

“Where was our quarter?” he said, seething at the stars. “Where was our chance to escape?” The answer, of course, was nowhere. For no mercy had been shown. “And thus, none will be given.”

Moldark remembered well the screams of his kin as the Novia came to tear his people from their temples and imprison them. And for what? To source a prize the Novia could not produce for themselves? Moldark ground his teeth until his cheeks bled. “So they took, and took, and took, until the land was raw and rivers were filled with blood.”

Finally, it was Moldark’s time to take. To consume and devour. To tear asunder and rid the galaxy of the vile pest whose appetite knew no end. It was his moment to reconcile the long outstanding accounts. It was time for vindication.

But it would not stop with the Novia Minoosh and their kin, the Jujari. Moldark’s quest for blood had grown, extending toward any who stood to gain by feeding off the presence of another. And if there was ever a species who’d inherited and magnified the traits of the Novia, it was the humans. Their lust for that which was not their own seemed insatiable—no doubt the cause of their rapid evolution and domination in this pathetic sector of a crumbling galaxy.

Moldark would end them. He would end them all.

* * *

The Black Labyrinth came to starboard and aimed the chord of its body toward the Jujari battleship Moldark specified. He smiled as dozens of anti-ship quad cannon and missile battery targeting reticles overlapped one another, displaying readiness icons on the tactical holos throughout the bridge. It was time for a kill.

The deck plating that protected the Jujari ship’s reactor core lay like a tricerasaur’s armor across the soft flesh of its posterior, keeping predators from its secondary heart. And like the armored beast of the Tradelands, the Jujari’s defenses could only sustain so much before plates were compromised and the inner flesh was violated. One strike, the monster would fall.

The bridge crew worked themselves into a fervor as outstanding directives were reassigned or dismissed in place of Moldark’s new objective. He also wondered how much of their frantic activity was due to his presence on the Labyrinth’s bridge as this was a location he hadn’t frequented since ousting Kane.

He strode up and down the length of the room, examining workstations and checking status reports. None of the officers met his gaze, each averting their eyes and busying themselves with their respective holos. The power, he admitted, felt good. It had been several millennia since he’d commanded a military force—none such as feeble as this, he admitted. But it served his needs. For the present, at least.

Brighton stepped away from a command station and moved toward Moldark. “All systems are ready, my lord. We have target lock with 93% of our fixed assets reporting in.”

“Excellent. Pull our remaining fighters back. As soon as they’re clear, give the order.”

“As you command.”

Brighton called the Talons off and waited for the last one to pass beyond the estimated blast radius. Second Fleet’s battlecruisers still weren’t entirely clear, but their shields would deflect most of the energy. And though Moldark hated to admit it, he needed all the ships he could muster, for this was only the beginning.

The bridge’s feverish activity reached a climax, and then—as the moment of engagement became imminent—a window of silence opened up. All those present seemed to pass into the eye of a hurricane, momentarily caught in a state of suspended animation, holding their breath for the destruction that was to come.

“Fire,” the Fleet Admiral said.

From atop the bridge, the Black Labyrinth appeared to vomit a wide stream of light toward the enemy ship. The deck shuddered as quad cannons flung blaster bolts in rapid sequence toward the target ship. Torpedoes tore free of their launch bays and drove forward with the unrelenting will of flood waters.

Moldark watched as the wave of munitions streamed toward the singular target on the enemy ship. The sight was beautiful—a highly focused lethal expression that was impossible to arrest. How fitting, he mused, feeling a certain camaraderie with the violent assault. Of course, with so much energy diverted from the rest of the ship to power the weapons for this attack, the Labyrinth was vulnerable to incoming fire. But as his ship was not at the forefront of the battle lines, Moldark could afford to take the momentary risk. It was like stepping from the shadows to make a kill, only to recede into the cover of darkness once the murder was complete.

The energy weapons broke upon the Jujari ship’s shields first, beating the defensive capacitors into submission. Within seconds, the unrelenting barrage of blaster fire bored a hole in the force field that caused the enemy ship’s generators to give out. The remaining blaster energy not spent on the shields continued toward the ship’s stern where it struck a section of deck plating on the port side.

Like a swarm of mad firewasps trying to penetrate a Boresian taursar’s thick hide, the blaster bolts pooled on the armor until the metal glowed beneath the withering assault. Just when the plate seemed it would liquefy, the first wave of torpedoes arrived. The guided ordinance came at oblique angles, careful to stay clear of the blaster fire and avoid premature detonation. But when they did detonate, the explosion blew out large chunks of the enemy ship. Deck plates and long sections of trussing tore free, glowing red-hot as they spun into the void. Amputated tubes spewed water, sewage, and hydraulic fluid like blood from severed arteries, and electrical arcs snapped across the debris field, searching for any path willing to connect its endless desire to continuity.

More blaster fire burrowed into the new opening, digging deeper and deeper into the beast’s hide. Likewise, more torpedoes arrived, gouging out more flesh with every devastating explosion. Despite the fact that the Jujari vessel maintained its attitude, trajectory, and speed, the hemorrhage it suffered would be fatal in a few more seconds.

Moldark’s lips pulled back in a wicked grin as the enemy vessel spewed fire and debris from the gaping hole in its stern. He could practically taste the fear of the Jujari crew on his tongue as they realized what was happening. The ship returned fire and attempted to roll away in an effort to hide its wounded flank from the enemy’s assault. But their weapons fire did minimal damage to the Labyrinth. If anything, the lashes goaded Moldark on, increasing his lust for the pending kill.

“More,” he said to Brighton, imagining a thrashing animal caught in death throes. “I want more.”

“But sir, we’re already at—”

“Tell the fighters to fire.”

Brighton turned and gave the order, his voice strained but in control. At once, all Talons in the vicinity came about and lent their NR330 and T-100 blaster cannons to the relentless stream of blaster fire. Several star fighters released torpedoes and bombs, adding to the continuous eruption that chewed into the monster’s bones.

Moldark threw a hand over his eyes as a piercing white light drilled through the bridge’s observation window and flooded the room. It took a split second for the ship to lower the windowplex opacity from the detonation. As soon as it did, Moldark willed himself to see through the spot in his vision and watch the Jujari vessel tear itself apart.

A quantum ring formed at the epicenter of the explosion and raced away from the collapsed core. The blast wave overtook the Labyrinth with a jolt, rattling workstations on the bridge as if the terminals might rip from the floor. Moldark grabbed a seat back and steadied himself, sneering with wicked glee. He watched as the ball of white light split the enemy ship in two, pushing the halves apart like fresh fillets cut from a fish’s flanks. The ball of light continued to expand, overtaking the remains in a cataclysmic inferno.

Over the next minute, the Labyrinth’s quad cannons spun wildly, taking out pieces of the dead ship that threatened to collide with it. Additional torpedoes were spent attempting to push away the largest sections, forcing them off into space. When at last the explosion subsided, the bridge crew took a collective sigh and resumed their duties.

“Ship’s status,” Brighton said, demanding reports from his officers throughout the bridge.

“Shields at 67% and holding, admiral.”

“All weapons systems normal.”

“Capacitors depleted by 71%. Recharging initiated. Torpedo reduction 44%. Replenishment underway.”

Propulsion, life support, and communications all reported satisfactory levels as well.

“Enemy ship destroyed. No life signs detected,” said the sensors officer. “However, several Talons are damaged or missing, and the Dawn of Trudeau is reporting failures in life-support and engines, with heavy damage to decks seven, ten, and twelve through fifteen. They’re requesting immediate assistance.”

“Relay the message and monitor for traffic,” Brighton said.

“Aye aye, admiral.”

Brighton turned to Moldark and spoke in a low voice. “Mission success, my lord.”

“No, admiral. The mission is just beginning. That was a taste of what’s to come. I want all ships pressing in.”

“My lord?”

“Push them forward,” Moldark replied, stressing each word. “We just set precedent. This is no longer a routine naval battle. It is an annihilation. No quarter, no reprieve. Pursue all retreating enemy ships.”

“But Lord Moldark, I must—”

Moldark’s hand snapped out and clutched Brighton by the throat. The admiral gasped, his veins bulging from his head’s reddening skin. “Do I need to find another officer to do my bidding, Fleet Admiral Brighton?”

Brighton’s feet hovered a few centimeters off the ground. He clawed at Moldark’s gloved hand, but nothing relieved the pressure around the man’s neck. Saliva sprayed through pursed lips as Brighton replied, “No, my lord.”

“Excellent.” Moldark released Brighton. The admiral collapsed on the floor, both hands holding his neck. “I will be in my quarters.”

10

Awen felt panic rise in her chest as she looked at Magnus’s broken throat. The skin was already bruising, and an unnatural divot indicated where the trachea had been shattered. His face was also turning a deep shade of red as he strained for breath.

Strangely, however, Magnus seemed to be at peace. He looked up at her with passive eyes.

“Magnus, you’re going to be okay.” That’s all she could think to say. But it was a lie. And she suspected Magnus thought that too. He winced, then struggled for a short rattling breath. “Azelon,” Awen shouted again.

“The team is twenty-six seconds from your position, Awen,” the AI said. “However, I regret to inform you that, based on my scans of Magnus, I do not expect that there is anything we can—”

“Quiet,” Awen ordered. The prognosis Azelon was about to give was all Awen needed to do something she’d never done before. If medicine couldn’t save Magnus, then she would. “Hold on, Magnus. I’ve got you.”

Still in the Unity and holding Nos Kil against the wall, Awen spent the rest of her energy to focus on Magnus’s neck. Everything resonated discordantly, signifying that the harmony of his physiology had been disrupted. The vibrant colors that normally filled all sentient beings were dull and muted. There amidst the conflicting tones, she could see the components of his broken throat. Pieces of cartilage stabbed the esophagus and trachea, while burst blood vessels bathed the larynx in fluid.

Awen could clearly make out every piece of cartilage and bone, every ruptured blood vessel, and every layer of tissue. She concentrated more forcefully and found that she could see nerves and cells, even down to the neuro-electric transmission of information telling Magnus’s brain that systems were failing.

Without her knowledge of the Foundation and the Nexus, Awen would have been unable to do anything with what she observed in Magnus. It was, in fact, a common skill among the master Luma to see nature in such vivid detail. But once she’d discovered the Novia Minoosh’s training in the Unity, she was able to manipulate the forces of the universe in ways previously unimaginable. At least she’d been able to back on Neith Tearness. This… this was going to be something brand new. And something she’d never forgive herself for if she didn’t at least attempt it.

Awen kept Magnus’s injuries in front of her, much like holding an object in her hand. Meanwhile, she forced her spirit down through the Foundation and into the Nexus, plunging her essence into the interconnectedness of all things. Instantly, Awen felt a surge of power that rivaled anything in the galaxy. No star, no supernova, and no black hole could compare to the awesome power that flowed through the Nexus.

Radiant magenta light streaked through a horizon devoid of time, gravity, or mass, colliding in dazzling arrays of oranges, reds, yellows, and purples. There, like a system of roots beneath a forest, the light coalesced into streams that fed more universes than she could imagine. Understanding this level of existence would take the rest of her lifetime—will take untold lifetimes, she realized. But she wasn’t here for the secrets of the cosmos, she was just here for the blueprint. Magnus’s blueprint.

Awen stretched her spirit out and found what she was looking for faster than she’d expected. It was Magnus. His life force, the very essence of all that he was and may ever be. And there, ensconced within it, was the model of his neck. It appeared to her as easily as a doctor might display a bio scan on a holo feed. She reached out and grabbed it—not with her hand so much as with her heart—and carried it aloft.

She rose through the Foundation and returned to the failing apparatus of his flesh, careful to keep his body suspended from movement. Then Awen brought the image of Magnus’s neck to bear on the reality of his body, overlaying them in perfect alignment. When she was satisfied, Awen drew from the tether she still had in the Nexus, allowing its energy to flow up from the deep like marine vibrations through an anchor line. The current surged through her soul and filled Magnus’s neck with such power that she was tempted to look away. But there was nowhere to turn.

Instead, Awen watched as the energy began to express itself, first touching the quarks and atoms of every molecular bond in Magnus’s throat. The power swirled and grew, collecting and spreading until it had dominion over every elemental construct. It sounded to Awen like a conductor who arrested an out of order symphony and brought it back in tune and back in time.

Now fully formed into a loud chorus, the song placed unrelenting pressure on the structure of Magnus’s cells, reordering them according to a magnificent dance. Awen caught her breath as the objects reformed by the millions, the hundreds of millions, and even billions, reshaping the injuries so as to align tissue and bone with the perfect image she’d plundered from the deep. Blood was pulled away from passages reserved for air and refilled the newly pressurized vessels in which it belonged. Cartilage retook its form, muscle tears healed, and nerves rejoined.

With her natural ears, Awen heard small pops and cracks as Magnus’s neck reformed under her care. He groaned, trying to fight her, but she held him in place, just as she maintained control over Nos Kil, who was still pressed against the wall overhead. Awen also watched as Magnus’s neck retook its shape. She marveled at the otherworldly manipulation, watching as even the bruising diminished. At last, the neck was reformed, and the blueprint she’d brought up from the Nexus fused with Magnus’s body, locking the work in place.

Adrenaline surged through Awen’s body, keeping her conscious. The entire process of trying to heal Magnus had exhausted her, and were she asked to do it again, she knew she’d fail. At least until she got some rest. The effort had required her undivided attention and all the virtue she could muster. Hopefully, she thought, it’s enough. Her limbs trembled as she searched his eyes for signs of life.

Suddenly, Magnus gasped, taking his first deep breath in over a minute. As the color returned to his face, Awen felt a wave of relief wash over her. He blinked at her, touching his throat, and then his armored chest plate. She watched his chest rise and fall, then was startled when Magnus touched her face.

“Awen,” he said, cradling her cheek in his rough palm. “Was that… did you just—”

“Shut up and kiss me,” she said, then leaned down to press her lips against his. The emotion of almost losing him caught up with her and filled her eyes with hot tears of gratitude. Life was fragile—the thread of its essence so tender that even the simplest breeze might break it. As Awen savored the heat of Magnus’s face, holding it with both her hands, she was amazed at just how many times they’d come close to plummeting over death’s edge. But here, as before, they rested on the shores of the living for just a little longer. And perhaps, she wondered, we may yet live long enough for us to grow old together.

When she pulled away, Magnus looked into her eyes and said, “That was beautiful.”

“You’re not such a bad kisser yourself,” she said, though—arguably—she didn’t have much experience in the practice.

“No.” Magnus shook his head ever so slightly. “I mean, what you just said, about growing old together.”

Did he hear me say that? In his own head?

“What about this, by the way?” Magnus held up his broken digit. “You can save a guy’s life but not his finger? What gives?”

Awen gave him a sarcastic grin. “That’s what you get for not listening to me.”

Suddenly, the cell block filled with people.

“We’re here,” Titus yelled, taking in the scene. “What’s going… holy mystics.”

Awen looked over her shoulder to see Titus carrying what she assumed was some sort of crash cart. Ezo, Sootriman, Abimbola, and several others had also filed in, each carrying various medical devices. All except Saladin.

“What is that?” Awen asked, pointing at the Jujari.

“I believe it is the Novia Minoosh’s equivalent of a mop,” she replied. “I was in the galley, and TO-96 informed me that we had a mess to clean up.”

Awen laughed and then helped Magnus sit up.

“I did say that,” TO-96 replied. “However, I was attempting to utilize—”

“Never mind, Ninety-Six,” Awen said as she gave Magnus a once over. “You okay?”

He nodded. “Thanks to you. Just feeling a little shaky.”

“It will wear off.”

“Is… is everything okay here?” Ezo asked. “Because Ezo can’t figure out what’s going on with…” He gestured at the couple on the floor and the prisoner still pinned against the wall. “You know, with all this.”

“It’s fine,” Awen said. “We’re all good now.”

“I had a little run in with the prisoner,” Magnus said, waving Abimbola toward him. “Things got out of hand and Awen took care of it.” The giant Miblimbian pulled him to his feet, then Magnus turned to face Awen and noticed Nos Kil still stuck on the wall, grimacing in pain. “And apparently she’s still taking care of it. Come on, everyone back away from the cell.”

When the group of gladia stood in the cellblock and Awen was satisfied, she said, “Azelon, raise the containment wall.”

“As you wish, Awen,” the AI said over the cell block’s speakers. The translucent force field popped back to life once again, casting a pale blue light over those gathered in the anteroom—as well as on the prisoner within.

Still awake inside the Unity, Awen released Nos Kil and watched his body fall to the glossy black floor, now marred with his congealing blood. The man gasped and whimpered as he pawed for something to hold onto, much like a newborn baby emerging from the womb.

Dutch walked up beside Magnus. “Are we good here, LT?”

“Yeah,” Magnus replied. “Awen has it under control.”

“But, about the prisoners, I thought you said no—”

“I know what I said,” Magnus said. “I lost control. But Awen stepped in to account for my…”

“You don’t have to finish that.”

“Either way,” Magnus replied, “she saved the day.”

Dutch eyed Awen up and down. “Damn, woman. You are one tough—”

“And don’t finish that one either,” Awen said, raising a hand. “I got it. And, thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“Well,” Magnus said, wiping some blood off his chest plate. “Looks like we have another prisoner to interrogate. Might as well do this one together. Who wants to talk first?”

* * *

Her mom was asleep. And she looked so beautiful that Piper dared not wake her up. Everyone knew how cranky people got when they were woken up too soon. Plus, her mom had just been through a lot. It had been a long day, and her mom deserved some sleep.

Of course, for her part, Piper couldn’t sleep. She was too excited from the day’s events. And now that they were back on the Azelon Spire, it meant they were probably going home… wherever their new home was going to be.

As much as Piper wanted to stay in Neith Tearness, Awen had explained that some sort of time dialotamation wouldn’t allow for it—or something like that. The whole thing was kinda complicated. Like a lot of adult things were. But Awen always knew what she was talking about, so Piper just accepted the fact that they had to go back to their regular universe. At least for now, anyway.

Piper was hungry, so she slipped out of their room, asked Azelon to light directions on the glossy white floor, and started walking toward the ship’s galley. That was when she felt something shift in the Unity.

“Miss Piper,” Azelon said, “where are you going? You are deviating from the path to the galley.”

“I know, Miss Azelon, but… I feel something.”

“Please define.”

Piper scrunched her face up. “I duh know. It’s like…” Piper decided to try and answer Azelon’s question more accurately, so she slipped into the Unity and reached out with her second sight. There, bursting through a hundred walls in the starship’s hull, came an image of Mr. Lieutenant Magnus fighting with a bad guy. Piper screamed.

“What is the matter, Miss Piper?” Azelon asked.

“Mr. Lieutenant Magnus… he’s fighting the other guy, and…” She covered her mouth. “Now he’s hurt, Miss Azelon! He’s hurt so bad!” Piper’s eyes flooded with tears. She snapped back out of the Unity. “He needs my help right now!”

There was a long pause before Azelon answered. “No, Miss Piper. It appears that you will be safer if you remain en route to the galley.”

“No, Miss Azelon, no!” Piper was off and running down a different corridor now, her heart pounding so loud in her chest she thought it might burst. She had to get to Mr. Lieutenant Magnus, she just had to. And right away.

Piper felt her slippered feet slide along the floor as she ran around corners, eventually stopping at one of the fancy elevators. But the doors weren’t opening.

“Miss Azelon, why won’t the doors open?”

“Because, Miss Piper, I cannot permit you to attend to this situation. Miss Awen has already summoned adequate help.”

“But… no! I have to be there. I have to save him just like he always saves me.”

“Always saves you, Miss Piper?”

“In my dreams!” Ugh—bots could be so slow sometimes. “He saves me in my dreams, so I have to make sure to save him when he needs me.”

“As I said, Awen has already requested adequate—”

“Open these doors right now, Miss Azie.” Piper adopted the name Mr. Lieutenant Magnus used with her, hoping it might pervade her more. Maybe it was persuade. Either way, Piper stomped one foot as she’d seen her mother do to get a point across.

“I’m sorry, but I—”

Piper gritted her teeth, scrunched up her eyes, and slipped into the Unity. She didn’t have her power suit on right now, so she knew she couldn’t do super extra amazing things, but she could at least try and open the doors without much effort. There seemed to be a flow of energy surrounding the door linked to small devices that looked a lot like the servos on TO-96’s arms. Those must control something useful, she thought. So she reversed the flow of energy to them.

“Miss Piper, what are you doing?”

“Opening the doors, Miss Azie.” Piper stayed in the Unity and stepped into the elevator. Then she focused on where Magnus and Awen were, and told the energy surrounding the elevator to take her to their floor. The elevator door closed, and the small pod began to move.

“Miss Piper, I must advise you that taking control of the Spire’s system without the consent of the commander is not only inadvisable, it is a direct violation of Novia Minoosh Starship Conduct Protocol Number—”

“In case you hadn’t—haven’t have—have noticed, Miss Azie, the ship’s commander is hurt real bad. And if I don’t get down there and save him, he’s probably gonna die. Or worse.”

The AI’s voice hesitated. “Or worse?”

“Yeah, real worse.”

“Miss Piper, I must insist that—”

“You’re kinda starting to annoy me now, Miss Azie.”

“Annoyance aside, I must—”

“I’m gonna turn you off now, okay?” Piper focused on all the energy coming to the elevator, especially the stuff around the speakers, and followed it backward for a while. It was really, really deep somewhere in the ship, and tracing it was getting boring. So she just pushed against the flow a little. Not enough to hurt Miss Azie, but enough to keep her from interrupting her so much over the speakers. Maybe this was what her mom wanted to do to Piper sometimes when she talked a lot. And Piper could talk a lot.

“Miss Piper, you are vi-olay-ay-ay-ate—” Azelon’s voice stuttered and then turned off with a small click.

“That’s better,” Piper said out loud, thinking that she’d now be able to focus on saving Magnus. Once she got to the appropriate floor, she brought the elevator to a stop and made the doors open. She ran down the hall, slid around several corners, and then reached out to sense where Magnus was.

Now he was standing up. That meant he was okay! She focused on Awen and realized maybe she’d helped save him. This made Piper so happy she thought her heart might explode from joy. She wanted to find out what had happened. But Magnus and Awen were moving now, to another room. She was getting close to wherever it was they were.

She rounded another corner and then saw a big door in the middle of the hallway. It looked super important and had a data pad to the side. Piper expected the door to open, but it didn’t. She scrunched her nose for a second and thought some more. Letting Miss Azie talk again might be bad ’cause Piper knew she might get in trouble for taking over the elevator and stuff. Better to leave that for later. She could just open this door by herself again.

Piper found the thingys that moved this door but they were bigger than the elevator’s. That didn’t really matter, though, because the energy flow was the same. This was way easier than finding trees in the Foundation or moving up waterfalls with Awen. Really, all she was doing was telling little doors to open using their control boxes.

She walked inside a dimly lit room with glowing red trim everywhere. A giant holo screen filled the far side of the room and Piper noticed her friends walking outside of a small room with somebody in it. In fact, there was another room with somebody else in it, but her friends didn’t seem interested in him. This place… it looked kinda like a jail or something. Piper suddenly realized that maybe this was where they were keeping the bad guys they’d captured—the pilot and the Marine from the hole in Itheliana.

“Miss Stone,” said an image of Azelon on the holo display.

Piper winced. Miss Stone was what her tutors called her when she did something bad in class. And she could tell by Miss Azie’s tone that the AI wasn’t happy with her. “Hey… how’d you get in here, Miss Azie?” Piper asked, trying to be as sweet as possible.

“Miss Stone, you are not allowed to be on this deck. I must insist that you—”

Piper rolled her eyes. She was tired of everyone insis— insists— insisting that she do what they wanted her to do. Now even the AI was telling her what to do? No thank you. “Bye, Miss Azie.” Piper slipped back into the Unity and stopped the flow of energy to the holo display. In fact, she stopped all of Azie’s energy to everywhere in the next few rooms; that way the AI couldn’t bother her.

“Now…” Piper said, scratching her chin. “Let’s see…” Isn’t that what all the adults said when they had something to figure out? And scratching her chin tickled. So she stopped. There was only one door leading out of this control room, so she stepped up and opened it. As soon as she stepped into the hallway, she heard talking up ahead, coming from one of the five forks in the hall. She’d taken no more than a few quiet steps and was about to find Mr. Lieutenant Magnus in the Unity when she heard a voice to her left.

“Psst, little girl.”

Piper turned to see a man lying on a bed in the first big room. His face looked bloody, like he’d just fallen off his hover bike without a helmet. And while she couldn’t see all of him, he seemed super strong and had lots and lots of weird looking tattoos on his arms. Suddenly, she recognized him from the fight in Itheliana. He was the man that Magnus had captured from the hole in the ground.

“You’re a bad guy,” Piper said.

“Why do you say that?”

“Because you tried to kill my friends.”

“Tried to kill—?” The man propped himself up a little more. He had a lot of bruises and dried blood on his chest. “Listen, I was defending my men. Your friends attacked us.”

Piper wrinkled her nose. “But Magnus said you were—”

“The bad guys?” The man shook his head and looked frustrated, like someone had just stolen his bowl of cereal. “First I’m the bad guy, and then I’m an unarmed prisoner and Magnus does this to me.” He gestured to his swollen eye socket.

“Magnus hurt you?” Piper would have rejected the accusation right away if she hadn’t seen Magnus do hurtful things to other people. Piper knew she could do hurtful things too, but that’s why Awen worked so hard with her to control her powers. Suddenly, Piper wondered if Magnus had lost control of his powers and done this to the prisoner. It wouldn’t have been hard to do—after all, Magnus didn’t have a power suit like she did.

“Maybe there’s something I can do to help you,” Piper said, filled with concern for the injured prisoner.

“Like what?” The man sat up, eyebrows raised.

“When I’m sad or hurt, sometimes I just need someone to talk to.”

“Well, I could use a friend right now.”

“Then I can do that, I suppose.” Piper turned from where the rest of the voices were coming from and headed toward the bleeding man in the small room.

11

“I know what you’re trying to do,” Ricio said to the foremost figure, the one called Magnus, “and it’s not going to work.”

“And why’s that?”

“Before you were trying to scare me into telling you something.” Ricio touched his still-sore stomach. “Thanks for all that, by the way.”

“Pleasure,” Magnus replied.

“And now you’re trying to establish trust with me. You’re nice to me, I’m nice to you, and everyone gets what they want.”

“Who said anything about being nice?” asked a rather enormous looking man, clearly a Miblimbian.

“And who said you get what you want?” said the Jujari through its clenched teeth. He’d never seen one up close before, not still alive anyway.

“I was only making suggestions,” Ricio said, trying to placate the two giants with his hands. “Easy, easy.”

“Listen, this doesn’t have to get bloody,” Magnus said.

“Is that what you said to the last guy too?” Ricio nodded at the blood stains on the former Marine’s armor. “’Cause something tells me that line doesn’t mean what you think it means.”

Magnus gave a little grin. “It all depends on how forthcoming you care to be. I’m simply saying that you have a chance right now to answer our questions before things have to get… personal.” Magnus cracked his knuckles.

As much as Ricio had been trained for this sort of situation—though he very much doubted that a scenario quite like this was on the Navy’s mind when they trained him—he really didn’t feel like being tortured today. And, strangely, these people didn’t exactly seem like hardened war criminals. Though, he admitted, they certainly seemed like they knew how to handle themselves. Not to mention they were in some crazy alien armor, flying around in an alien ship in an even stranger alien galaxy that was, quite literally, off the charts.

Ricio licked his lips and folded his arms. “So, hypothetically speaking, let’s say a guy like me is interested in answering questions from a really weird group of individuals like yourselves. What kind of things are we talking about? And what do I get in return?”

“Ezo is getting really fed up with this guy already,” a disgruntled looking Nimprinth said. “Can we just toast him?”

“Easy, my love,” said a tall, large woman. Her tanned skin and exotic features had a rather alluring power to them. She had to be Caledonian. In fact, he’d put money on it.

“Mystics, you really are an extremely eclectic bunch,” Ricio said.

“I can make your face eclectic with my missiles,” the bot said.

Ricio laughed. But so did a few of the other members of this group. Then he heard Magnus whisper to one of the other female soldiers, “Tell ’Six to stay quiet, would you?”

“You know,” Ricio said, unfolding his arms. “You’re not exactly the most terrifying group of interrogators.”

“Trust me, small pilot, I can change that,” the big one said.

“I don’t doubt that. But I’m still… I don’t know. I can’t figure this thing out.”

“And what’s that?” Magnus asked. “And I encourage you to be as specific as you can.”

Ricio considered Magnus—considered each of them really. Something was going on here, and he wanted answers. “None of this adds up for me.”

“Again, how so?” Magnus said. “Last chance.”

“All right, all right, don’t get your panties in a wad.” Ricio took a deep breath, realizing that he was about to divulge top secret information… at least in general terms. “So, they sent us out here to take down enemies of the Republic.”

“Who’s they?” Magnus asked.

“It was Admiral Kane, wasn’t it,” the Elonian said.

Ricio cocked his head. Everyone in the Navy and the Corps knew Admiral Kane. That wasn’t what piqued Ricio’s interest. It was that the woman singled Kane out from all the other admirals in the Navy. Mystics, she’d singled that name out over the hundreds of captains and commanders who could have ordered a squadron on a mission. The odds of that were at least suspicious.

“I’ll take your silence to mean it was,” Magnus added.

Ricio gave him a curt nod. “Anyway, they tell us to follow a ship that left Oorajee largely undetected. It was only luck that we picked up its signature. Weird thing is, it heads to the middle of nowhere and then vanishes without a trace.”

“Sounds like a real threat if you ask Ezo,” said the Nimprinth. Ricio kept looking around wondering which one of them was Ezo and why this guy was his spokesperson.

“All the same, those were my orders,” Ricio said, looking from the Nimprinth back to Magnus.

“You weren’t given any more information about us?” the Elonian asked.

Ricio shook his head. “Nope. And even if I had, I’m not exactly sure I would have believed it. I mean, you’re not exactly the sort of people I’d pictured fighting.”

The Elonina spoke into Magnus’s ear but still loud enough for Ricio to hear it. “He’s telling the truth.”

“You’re a Luma then or something?” Ricio asked her. The woman shot him a glance that suggested she wasn’t entertained by the question. “Okay, okay, relax. Just seemed like a very Luma thing to do, what with mind reading and all.” He paused to study them, considering what to say next. “So I gave you my bit. Your turn—who are you guys?”

The Eloninan looked as though she was going to object, but Magnus spoke first. “We’re trying to stop Admiral Kane.”

Ricio whistled and rocked back, expressing a mix of genuine surprise and mock shock. “And what, exactly, is he guilty of, Mr. Former Marine? I’m guessing somebody ruffled your feathers and got you dishonorably discharged or something?”

“Yeah, cause I’d totally risk all these people’s lives to save my reputation,” Magnus replied with a sarcastic tone. “Come on, jockey, do better than that.”

“Okay, okay… then just what—pray tell—is Admiral Kane guilty of?”

Magnus looked like he was hesitating. In fact, they all seemed a little tense. Ricio wondered if they actually had something on the man—or, Moldark, as it was. Perhaps they had intel about his strange transformation, or maybe—just maybe—they had spies inside Moldark’s secretive faction of the Republic. For some strange reason, Ricio actually found himself rooting for these underdogs. He wanted them to have something on Moldark. Anything. But perhaps that was asking too much. There was no subterfuge at work with the Republic. Ricio was simply working for the highest echelons of the Navy now—the Paragon, Moldark had told him.

“That’s what I thought,” Ricio finally said, turning to sit on his bed. “You don’t have a thing. You’re just some random pocket of rebels looking to take potshots at the Republic because somebody killed your sister and you want revenge. I’ve heard it a thousand times.” He swung his legs up on the bed, folded his arms behind his head, and lay down. “Fill out the necessary forms and submit your complaint—it will be a whole lot less trouble for you than all this, and you might actually see a couple hundred credits in reparations. Have a nice day.”

Magnus stepped forward and crossed his arms. “He ambushed peace talks, captured a Republic senator, kidnapped one of our crew and murdered her inner circle on Ki Nar 4, and is attempting to illegally acquire advanced alien technology.”

Ricio popped his head up. He held himself there for several seconds, waiting for someone—anyone—to laugh. When no one did, he decided to, and sat upright. “Oh, now that’s rich right there. And I’ve heard a lot of splick in my time. But you”—Ricio circled a finger at the group—“you all win the trophy. This is just outstanding.”

He continued laughing, but when none of their faces seemed entertained—or even put off—Ricio’s ridicule died down. He cleared his throat. “I take it you all actually believe this then.”

“We do,” said the Elonina. The rest of them nodded.

“And you have proof?”

“More than we know what to do with,” Magnus added.

“Then why not take it straight to the Republic?”

“Would you?”

Ricio thought about it. “If it’s as bad as you say? Eh, I suppose not. But still, this all seems—”

“You’re telling me you haven’t noticed anything?” Magnus asked. “Over the last few weeks, maybe months… it all seems normal to you?”

Now it was Ricio’s turn to hesitate. He squinted at Magnus. Ricio wanted to just laugh at this man’s face as he was clearly having delusions of grandeur. Only, Magnus didn’t seem pathological. In fact, none of them did. And he could hardly believe that such a diverse group of individuals would ever work together for a common cause unless it was, in fact, a legitimate cause.

But to Magnus’s point—yes. Ricio had in fact noticed plenty that wasn’t “normal.” Hell, Admiral Kane’s transformation into Moldark was perhaps the craziest splick Ricio had ever seen. And he certainly seemed to have acquired command of all three fleets rather quickly—and all on the eve of war with the Jujari. And talk about delusions of grandeur, Moldark’s made Magnus’s look pathetic by comparison.

“Let’s say that I have noticed some strange, hypothetically speaking. What does that gain me here?”

“We won’t kill you today,” the Jujari said.

“And how’s that comforting? It just sounds like tomorrow is the next best option.”

“That’s why it’s comforting.”

Magnus cocked his head at Ricio. “If you’re willing to give us more information about Admiral Kane, his superior, and the ships at his disposal, then—as the Jujari has said—we’ll spare your life, Commander Longo.”

Suddenly, the Miblimbian tensed. Why, Ricio had no idea. But the giant seemed to study Ricio with more interest than before.

“Furthermore,” Magnus continued, “if you’re willing to entertain our proof and you find it convincing, we could use another good pilot around here.”

“You want me to work for you?” Ricio snickered.

“With us,” the Elonian added. “There’s a difference.”

“For, with—whatever. I’m not buying it.” But the more the seconds passed, the more Ricio had a strange feeling that these misfits were more integral to the Republic’s survival than he cared to admit. Call it a gut feeling. Which gave him even more cause for concern: his gut was rarely wrong. “Why don’t we jump straight to the proof then. I’ve never been one to move slow.”

Magnus straightened. “Fair enough. Azelon, bring up the footage of Nos Kil’s confession about the bombing.” Ricio looked around the cell block and wondered if Azelon wasn’t a shipboard AI. When the order was met with silence, Magnus repeated the request. Still the AI did not reply.

Ricio looked around the cell block. “Is something supposed to be happening here?”

Magnus turned and looked at the bot with the missiles and blaster on its forearms. “’Six, where’s Azelon?”

“Unfortunately, sir, she seems to be unreachable.”

“What do you mean unreachable?”

“I mean, I am having trouble finding her on the ship’s mainframe. This is highly unusual.”

“Well find her, dammit.”

“Magnus,” the Elonina said, her voice matching the look of concern on her face. “Something’s wrong… Mystics, It’s Piper!”

As if on cue, the scream of a little girl cut through the cell block.

12

With Magnus and Awen interrogating the prisoners, and a short reprieve to prepare himself for the encounter, Rohoar had returned to the bridge alone. He was both eager and apprehensive to see where the conversation might lead. While he’d had some time to process the startling revelation of his long-lost ancestors, the Novia Minoosh, he had not had any occasion to speak with Azelon about it. Until now. So when he saw Azelon turn around to greet him from in front of the bridge-wide holo display, he was entirely unsure of how to start the conversation.

“Azelon, this is Rohoar,” he said, guessing the introduction was pointless only after he’d spoken it.

“I am aware of who you are, Rohoar of the Tanwhack,” the bot-AI replied. “Welcome.”

“Thank you.” He moved to the captain’s chair and sat down. He noted, once again, how the seat fit his body’s shape and mass perfectly.

“I was hoping to speak with you alone,” Rohoar said.

Azelon looked around the room and then back at the Jujari. “It seems you have found an opportune time to speak with me then.”

He nodded. “Yes. And not just you, but… you know. You.”

“As in the Novia Minoosh within the singularity?”

“Yes.”

“We are all here,” Azelon replied, suddenly using the plural pronoun. There was something strange about speaking to an entire collective at once, all channeled through Azelon and this starship. How they’d even managed such a technological feat was beyond Rohoar.

“Are you here to discuss your ancestry with us?” Azelon asked.

The hackles on Rohoar’s neck went up. “Yes.”

“How may we help you?”

Rohoar had thought long and hard about what he was going to say and about all the questions he might ask. But now that the moment was upon him, he felt unsure of how to begin.

“Rohoar, how may we help you?”

He shifted in his seat and moved his tail since it was falling asleep. “I have so much to ask you that I do not know where to begin.”

“Why don’t you begin with what you know, or at least with what you suspect that you know.”

Rohoar licked his chops and sat back. “That seems wise.”

He began with the stories that he’d inherited from his father, and his father before him, going back to what he believed was the very beginning of his people. Just as he’d detailed on Neith Tearness with the rest of Granther Company, Rohoar recounted the history of mwadims, of how the Gladio Umbra parted ways with their kin and escaped to the stars, eventually opting to leave the universe and settle on Oorajee.

There was a long pause as Azelon seemed to take in everything he said. “All of this, as you have recounted it, is true, Rohoar of the Tawnhack.”

An intense wave of emotions flooded Rohaor’s chest. It was as if some magical fairytale that was too lofty for reality had suddenly been yanked from the land of fiction and dropped into reality. If he had been told he could now fly, he wouldn’t have been any more dazzled by the truth of it.

“And so, here I am,” Rohoar said.

“Indeed,” said Azelon.

Rohoar didn’t know what to say next. But he hoped maybe Azelon might. When she didn’t continue, he added, “And what do you think of me?”

“Could you please rephrase the question?”

Rohoar flicked his ears. “Are you… all of you, are you mad with us? Mad with me?” The question made his face hot, as though it were asking something he shouldn’t.

Azelon stepped forward and tilted her head. “Why would we be mad with you?”

“Because… well, because we abandoned you.”

“I see,” said Azelon. She moved her head again. “We are not mad with you, nor do we feel that you abandoned us.”

“You don’t?” The sense of relief that washed over Rohoar was overwhelming. Still, some measure of apprehension remained locked in his chest. “Why not?”

“Because, Rohoar of the Tawnhack, your ancestors did what they believed was right. We did not fight, though we did dispute. In the end, however, it was the ardent belief of each faction that they should be free to pursue their beliefs unobstructed by the assertions of the other. Therefore, each party deemed it necessary to separate in ways that would serve the other’s best interests.”

Rohoar blinked several times, flaring his nostrils and smelling the air. It was out of habit more than anything else, trying to detect some pheromone or another in an attempt to determine the speaker’s truthfulness. He was, of course, speaking to a non-biological being, so he scolded himself for being so unintuitive.

“Are you relieved, Rohoar? Your vital signs seem to indicate so.”

He nodded. “I am, yes. More than you could know.”

“We are pleased to hear this.”

“Why?”

“Because we too have often wondered what happened to you, our kin.”

“You have?”

“Of course. You were never our enemies. Only our lost brothers and sisters. We were, to put it in your terms, quite excited to see you when you arrived in the system. We knew it would only be a matter of time before you recognized yourself in the shadow of our world, opting to let you make the discovery yourself rather than burden you with insight that may inadvertently harm your psyche.”

This was as Rohoar had suspected, and he felt a certain connectedness over the shared conclusion. “I thank you for your patience.”

Azelon nodded. “As more time has passed for us than for you, this meeting provides a welcomed termination to a milleniums-long question. Though, we might point out, our perception of time is dramatically different than when we were organic lifeforms. Therefore, this resolution is as much instantaneous as it is dramatic.”

“I can imagine. I think. Well… I am glad to provide you with a sense of closure.” Rohoar fidgeted in his seat, unsure of what to say next. The relief he felt knowing that there was no hostility was truly overwhelming. Once again, he wished his father could have been here to witness all this.

“My sire… he was right.”

“About what?” Azelon asked.

“You. This.” Rohoar gestured at the starship’s bridge. “This realm of the universe. All of it. He believed it was not a bedtime story for our pups. He believed it was real.”

“And the rest of your tribe did not?”

Rohoar raised an eyebrow. “In truth, the rest of our tribe knew nothing about it. Only a small percentage of the ruling tribe had some of the facts, and most used it as a fiction for their children. Even most of the mwadims thought it was a fairytale.”

“But your father didn’t. Why?”

Rohaor’s ears perked up. “I do not know what made him different. But, somehow, he knew the stories were sacred. He knew you were out there—out here.”

“Then why did he not come to us? He had the stardrive, did he not?”

“He did, yes. But he feared the reunion might result in conflict as our tribes had grown violent over the centuries. The last thing he wanted was for an otherwise peaceful meeting to be marred once again with a stain from our people.”

“We are all the same people,” Azelon said. “And any bloodshed would be the responsibility of us all.”

“Only you wouldn’t be the ones doing the bleeding.”

“Perhaps.”

“We, of course, didn’t know that you would be…” Rohoar restated, still thinking it was uncanny that Azelon embodied all that was left of the Novia Minoosh. “We didn’t know that you’d be like this.”

“Non-biological, you mean.”

“Correct.”

“It is unnerving, we understand.”

“May I be permitted to ask more questions?”

“Of course, Rohoar. How may we serve you?”

“How many of you were there? Before, you know, this.” He motioned a paw at Azelon.

“If by this you mean our singular state of shared consciousness, then the answer is 832,674,901 Novia Minoosh.”

“That is a very precise figure,” Rohoar noted, overwhelmed at just how many of his ancestors there had been at one point.

“We are a precise species.”

“As are we.” Rohoar thought better of his response. “As we were, but still are.” He shook his head, frustrated with himself. “My apologies. This is all rather… confusing.”

“In what way is it confusing, Rohoar?”

Rohoar shrugged. “There was almost a billion of you, and now, I’m speaking to a robot.” He held out a paw. “No offense intended, Azelon.”

“None taken. We all understand. It must be rather sterile to look at a non-biological unit and attempt to associate it with an entire species.”

“Especially when Azelon doesn’t even look like a Jujari. Rather, a Novia.”

“Would you like to see what we looked like?”

Rohoar’s heart thumped loudly in his chest. “You… you can show me this?”

“Of course. Our records are extensive, filling vast libraries—both in the natural realm and in the Unity. Awen has already encountered one such library on Ithnor Ithelia.”

“How? How may I see all of this?”

“There is a limited archive on the Spire, but the unabridged histories lie secured within the temple library. I believe you would use the term firewall.”

Rohoar sat forward. “So there is content you can show me now?”

“Of course. Observe.”

Suddenly, Azelon’s body began to glow—not just her eyes or the blue joints between plates—all of her. Rohoar squinted, accepting the pain as permission for not missing a single moment of whatever was happening.

From Azelon’s thin body emerged thick bones that seemed to change her stature from the streamlined and erect robot to a hunched and hulking Jujari skeleton. Muscles, sinews, and tendons appeared to grow out of the bone, followed by tissue, blood vessels, and skin. At last, a thick layer of fur grew from countless hair follicles, forming into a luxurious black and white coat.

Rohoar stood up slowly, his mouth agape. While the creature was definitely related to him, there were several aspects that made it wholly different. For one, the beast was at least a head taller than Rohoar. The snout was longer and more slender, and the ears were also narrower. And where a Jujari tail was short and rather stubby, this being’s tail was longer and more bushy.

When the creature spoke, Rohoar nearly sat back down in shock, but caught himself instead. “This is as we once were, Rohoar,” the Novia said in a gravelly voice shrouded by its row of sharp teeth. Or was it Azelon’s voice, just changed to resemble a Novia?

“This… this is what you all looked like?”

“The representation you see before you is a composite of all subset averages. An amalgamation, as it were. What do you think?”

“You are…” Rohoar wasn’t sure what to say. “You are worthy of admiration.”

“Thank you. As are you.”

Rohoar dipped his head in honor of the compliment. “May I approach you?”

The Novia—or Azelon—bowed and rolled its head to the side, exposing the neck. Rohoar felt a shiver run down his spine. The gesture was a Jujari one… which was a Novia one, apparently.

He crossed the open space and began to circle the being, taking in all of the details. He couldn’t help but marvel at seeing a representation of his ancestors. The emotions swelling in his chest wanted to make him weep and roar all at once. The figure looked so real he thought he could reach out and touch it. He raised a paw but then stopped himself.

“It’s okay,” the creature said—Azelon said. But in the Novia’s voice still. “You may touch me.”

Rohoar’s paw shook slightly as his digits caressed the soft fur of the Novias’s arm. “How is this possible?”

“Hard light,” Azelon said. “Generated at an atomic level so that the atoms of your body are pressing against but never disrupting the atomic bonds of the projection.”

“Fascinating.”

“And so, it is these bodies that you abandoned for the sake of your singularity.”

“That is correct.”

Rohoar removed his hand and felt his shoulders slouch.

“Is something the matter, Rohoar?”

He sighed. “I am sad.”

“Why?”

“It seems like such a loss. You were a beautiful people.”

“It was our choice,” Azelon replied. “One which represents the apex of our evolution.”

“Do you regret it?”

“Regret is a construct of a biological sentient’s need for self-preservation and, therefore, has no bearing on our collective consciousness.”

“Yes, but…”

“But what?”

Rohoar felt as though words were stuck in his throat and he didn’t know how to retrieve them. Instead, he shook his head and stepped back. “Thank you for showing me.”

“You are most welcome. Are you satisfied with the presentation? Or would you like me to remain as I am?”

“You can go back to being Azelon. I think that might be better for now.”

“As you wish.” In reverse order, the body’s layers began to dissolve, retreating into the bones and then reforming into the slender shape of the bot.

Rohoar sniffed the air, noting that the display had neither projected the heat nor the smell of a Jujari. The lack of either made the experience feel sterile. Which, strangely, was how his heart felt. He walked back to the captain’s chair and sat down. When he looked back at Azelon, he felt grateful to see her, not wanting to think further on the lives that were forfeited to make the Novia’s dream of a singularity possible. The thought of so many lives, so many bodies… of so much death made his stomach churn. How was it that such a poor decision had been willfully entertained by such a technologically advanced species? Clearly, Rohoar had many more questions to ask.

But rather than spend the rest of this initial conversation on himself, Rohoar decided to act in the best interests of his team. Any clues he could glean as to what the Republic’s rogue admiral and his Recon team were after, and why they’d want to frame someone like Magnus, might go a long way in gaining a foothold over the enemy in the coming conflicts.

“May I ask another question, Azelon?”

“Of course.”

“The Recon team in Itheliana. You said to Magnus that they were nearing something of great importance. What was it?”

“We chose to withhold that information from Magnus for several reasons. However, to you we will grant access, given our unique relationshhh—”

The glow of Azelon’s eyes flickered.

“Please st-st-stand by.”

Rohoar’s ears perked up. Something was not right.

“It seems that I am ex-ex-experie—unexpected core-ore-ore malf—due t-t-to—increased—”

“Azelon?” Rohoar asked, standing up. “What’s the matter?”

All at once, Azelon’s body went limp and her body’s glow went out.

“Azelon?” Rohoar raced to the bot and touched it, but there was no response. It was if the sentient life-force had left her body.

A new voice erupted inside his head. “Rohoar,” Awen yelled. Rohoar spun around but the Elonian was not on the bridge. “We need you in the brig, now!”

“Awen, where are you?”

“Come to the brig. It’s Piper.”

* * *

Rohoar burst from the elevator and ran down the brig-level corridor on all fours. He slammed into walls around each turn, leaving claw marks on the glossy white floors. As he neared the brig’s main entrance, he saw that the door was open. He darted inside, moved around the control consoles, and passed into the hallways leading to the five cell blocks. Gathered around the first one was a group of people struggling to stare through a small window in a blast door.

“Thank the mystics you’re here,” Awen said, turning from the group and motioning him to come closer.

“What’s going on?”

“It’s Piper. She’s barricaded herself in cell block one.”

“Why can’t you just open the door?”

“I have been restricted from accessing the door’s actuator,” TO-96 said. “And Azelon seems to be offline for the moment.”

“What about a manual override?” Rohoar said.

“There isn’t one.” Magnus stepped away from the window and made room for Rohoar. “The only person who’s able to control this door right now is Piper.”

Rohoar stepped forward, turned his head to the side, and looked through the opening with a large Jujari eyeball. He saw a bloodied prisoner lying unconscious on the floor in his cell.

The Jujari was about to ask where Piper was when he caught sight of two little feet tucked up under her legs. She was barely visible, sitting on the ground to one side. “What’s going on here?”

“We don’t know,” Awen replied.

Magnus shook his head. “We were interrogating the second prisoner in cell block five when we heard a scream. As soon as we got here, the blast door shut, and now she won’t come out.”

“Can’t you speak with her?” Rohoar asked Awen.

“I have. But she only wants to speak with you.”

Rohoar pulled away from the window. “Me?”

“Yes. She said she won’t talk to anyone else.”

Rohoar was growing tired of all these emotions in his chest. It was so exhausting. “Did she say anything else?”

“No.”

“And that prisoner?”

Magnus grunted. “The bastard probably said something, I imagine. He’s a son of a bitch.”

“But he looks dead.”

“I shut him up,” Awen replied.

Rohoar turned to her, curious. “You used the Unity to kill him?” It didn’t seem like something a Luma would do… or should do.

“No. But mystics know I would have liked to.”

Magnus cast Awen a surprised look, as if startled by this admission.

But Awen merely shrugged at him. “What?”

“So you have made him unconscious,” Rohoar stated.

“He’s asleep for now. I’ll release him once we’ve retrieved Piper. I don’t want him saying or doing anything else while she’s in there. Until Piper speaks to you, we really have no idea what went on in there.”

“I understand.” Rohoar took a deep breath and then closed his eyes. “Let me try.”

13

Piper trembled in the corner of the cell block. It felt like someone had just put firecrackers in her and set them off. All that was left was heat, pain, and the smell of something that made her eyes water. Hot tears ran down her cheeks. She felt alone. And despite the fire blazing in her heart, she felt cold. So cold.

The man, the prisoner, was asleep now. Awen had done that. Awen was also trying to open the door, but Piper didn’t want it opened. Not yet. Right now, she just wanted to be left alone. She didn’t want to speak with anyone. Well, except Rohoar. She would always speak with him. She’d told Awen as much too.

The man had said horrible things to her. Things she wasn’t sure she could ever forget. Things about Magnus, and about his brother Argus. He’d told her terrible things about other girls… things that made Piper’s head create images that she never wanted to see.

“Piper,” came a voice from inside the Unity. “Are you there?”

She slipped into her second sight and saw Rohoar standing in the middle of the cell block. He moved toward her and rested on his haunches.

“I’m here,” she replied, smearing tears away with the backs of her hands. “Thanks for coming.”

“Everyone would like you to come out. To open the blast door.”

“No.” Piper shook her head and then buried it in her arms. “I don’t want to. And don’t try to make me.”

“I won’t.”

There were a few seconds of silence. Piper looked up and noticed that the big doggy had slid a little closer. “What happened, little one?”

But Piper didn’t want to talk about it. It hurt too much.

“Did that man say something to you?”

Piper nodded. “Mmm hmm.”

“May I ask you what he said?”

“Yes, but I don’t want to say.”

“Why not?”

“It hurts.”

“He hurt you with his words?” Rohoar’s voice sounded like he was getting angry—not at her, but at the prisoner.

“Uh huh,” she said from under her arms again.

But there was another reason Piper didn’t want to repeat what she’d heard. She was worried that she might get in trouble with Magnus. Even with Awen and the others. She knew secrets, things that no one else in the whole wide galaxy knew. At least that’s what the man had said. And if she told the secrets, Piper was sure she’d get in trouble. All the adults would be so mad with her.

Worse still, Piper was mad with Magnus. She couldn’t believe that he was capable of killing his own brother, and of doing horrible things to little girls. But this prisoner had been so convincing. She’d told him that she didn’t believe him, but that didn’t seem to affect him at all. He’d said that her lack of belief didn’t make what happened any less true. And somehow, Piper felt he was right. She’d experienced that in her own life: trying to ignore the facts surrounding her father’s death didn’t mean she was any less guilty of his murder.

Life, she was beginning to realize, was hard. There was more dark than light, and the flashlights were getting harder to find. Maybe that’s why she wanted Rohoar here, because he was a good person to light the way forward. He was not a Marine who’d hurt little girls or killed his brother. He was also not a Luma who tried to correct her every day like Awen. In fact, the big Jujari was a lot like her—different, misunderstood, and special.

When Piper looked up a second time, Rohoar had scooted beside her. While she knew it wasn’t possible, somehow she felt his warmth envelope her—not just from within the Unity but with her physical body as well.

“May I provide hugs?” Rohoar asked.

“No. And it’s just a hug. Unless you’re giving someone lots of them all at once.”

“May I provide a hug then?”

“No.”

“I see. So the difference in quantity does not have a bearing on whether or not they are comforting?”

“I don’t know. I just… it’s that—”

“Piper? Are you in there?” Her mother’s voice came from the hallway. She’d just arrived, and Piper saw her standing between Magnus and Awen, fist pounding on the window. “Come out here, baby. Open the door. Please.”

“Your mother would like you to come out,” Rohoar said.

“I know. I can see her.”

“I think everyone would like you to. I know I would too.”

But the thought of seeing everyone right now made her afraid. “I’m scared, big doggy. I just want to crawl into a small hole in the ship where no one can find me and stay there.”

Rohoar sighed. Again, it was as if she could feel the beast’s hot breathe play with her natural body’s hair. She almost opened her normal eyes to see if he was there, but she could see his body still standing in the corridor with everyone else, eyes closed.

“Once, when I was a pup about your age, I’d broken something that belonged to my father.”

“Was he the mwadim then?”

“Yes, he was the mwadim then.”

“What did you break?”

“It was a gold bracelet that my mother had given him when he’d conquered the last challenger and became the leader of our people. So it was very special to him.”

“How’d you break it?”

“I was using it to play catch.”

“You mean fetch?”

“I’m not sure I understand,” Rohoar said.

“It’s what we play with dogs on Capriana. We throw something, like a stick or a ball, and then they bring it back.”

“Little one, I have already explained this. I am not one of your canines.”

“But you could play fetch if I throw you something, right?”

“You’re missing the point. I was throwing it to my brother when it struck a rock and broke.”

“I bet your daddy was mad.” Piper looked up at Rohoar’s face to see what he’d say.

“He wasn’t mad.”

“He wasn’t? Because mine would have been.”

“But he was sad.”

“Because his bracelet broke?”

“No.” Rohoar rested his head against the wall and looked off in the distance. “Because I’d endured the pain of wondering how I would tell him about it for three days.”

Piper thought she understood what the big doggy was saying. But this seemed like it was really important to him. So she wanted to make sure. “You kept it a secret because you didn’t want to get in trouble.”

“Of course, yes. But when I finally told him about what I’d done, he wasn’t nearly as mad as I imagined he would be. Yes, he was upset that my mother’s gift had been damaged. But he was more upset that my heart had been hurt. And with each day that passed, that pain became greater.”

“Would you have told him sooner? I mean, if you knew he wouldn’t be mad with you?”

“Certainly. And I would have saved myself the pain of keeping the secret in my heart. Those things do something to you. It’s like a thorn in your paw that festers the longer you let it remain. But if you can face the temporary pain of pulling it out, you save yourself the long-term pain of letting it stay in.”

“Rohoar?”

“Yes, little one.”

“I don’t have paws.”

She felt a blast of air play with her hair.

“But I do have fingers, and sometimes they get splinters if I’m playing in the woods. I think that’s sorta the same.”

“It is similar, yes.”

“So you’re saying I should talk to Magnus?”

“Perhaps. That’s up to you. But I’m at least suggesting you open the door and let your mother in. We’d all like to make sure you’re okay.”

“I am okay.” But that wasn’t true. “But I don’t feel okay.” The emotions swirling in her heart were getting stronger. The images of what the prisoner had told her were coming back. They were more clear, as if she’d been there. As if she’d been one of the little girls that Magnus had hurt. As if she was his brother, Argus, who Magnus shot just because he was jealous of his brother’s advancement. The emotions were stabbing her chest like knives now. It was painful. Painful because she couldn’t imagine what those people felt under such dark forces. And painful because… because…

What if Magnus was still capable of all that evil?

The prisoner had said Magnus had changed a lot. And he was doing great things for the galaxy. But some things never changed in a person, no matter how much people wanted them to. Like Piper’s powers. That’d made her stand out in school because she was so different. She’d wanted to run away from her “gifts” as her mother called them. But she never saw them as gifts. And now she wanted to run away from everything the man had told her.

Piper wasn’t sure if she could look at Magnus again. Let him touch her. She wanted to ask him if all the things were true. But in her heart, she knew they were. The prisoner couldn’t be making them up—there was too much truth to them. They’d been said with conviction.

Worse, if she did speak of them, what if it provoked Magnus to do something horrible to her? What if he… what’s that word? What if he reslipped into his old behavior. No, relapsed. Yes, that was the term her mother had used for people who went off their medicines.

So, Piper wouldn’t speak of it.

She would make something else up. And then she’d pretend that the something else was real enough that she believed it—that they all would believe it. After all, her imagination was a powerful thing, or at least that’s what her mother had always said. And then—maybe then—that would allow her to act normal around Magnus and Awen and the others. The secrets would be locked away in her heart, and no one would know. It felt painful, like Rohoar not telling his father about the broken bracelet. But this was much worse than a piece of gold jewelry. This was about people’s lives.

Piper was suddenly aware of a furry arm wrapping around her. How long it had been there, she wasn’t sure. But it was warm and soft. And it pulled her close.

“Mr. Big Doggy, you’re hugging me.”

“I know.” Rohoar paused. “Do you want me to stop?”

Piper felt as though she’d been embraced by a warm blanket. “No, it’s okay. Just as long as I can pet you later too.”

The Jujari sighed. “I will permit it. But just once.”

“Same. Well, maybe more than just once. More than one hug feels nice.”

And with that, Piper activated the actuators and opened the blast door.

14

“Has she told you what Nos Kil said?” Magnus asked Awen. They stood alone in the war room waiting for the other platoon leaders and key leaders to arrive. Magnus had grown agitated over the last two days, fearful of what the sadistic man had said to the little girl.

Awen shook her head, her face betraying a hint of remorse. “No. Just that he was really mean to her.”

“Really mean?”

“Those are her words. She said he shouted at her and said he wanted to kill her.”

“Mystics.” Magnus rubbed his face with his hand. “I can’t believe I let that happen. I should have been more attentive.”

“But you didn’t let it happen. Piper did that herself. She overrode Azelon, she walked into Nos Kil’s cell block.”

“Yeah, but we should have had security measures in place to keep that from happening.”

“Magnus, she outmuscled an alien AI using her powers in the Unity. You can’t create security measures for that.”

“Can you?”

Awen jerked back in surprise. “No. Not against her.”

“Then she’s too powerful for her own good.”

“Magnus!”

“No, I didn’t mean anything bad by it. I just…”

“What did you mean?”

“I just meant that I understand why you wanted to train her so badly now. The only way that someone with that type of power exists in the galaxy is if she’s taught how to manage her gifts.”

“That’s better,” Awen said with a curt nod.

“And how’s Azelon? Doesn’t she have some audio or video of what happened?”

“Unfortunately, no. She says she’s mostly back to normal.”

“Mostly?”

“Apparently there’s still some system memory loss, but the bots are working on it. She assures me she’ll be able to repair everything.”

“’Six confirmed that?”

Awen nodded. “He did. Whatever Piper did created a kind of energy pushback that essentially shut down her sensors and expression extension, confining her to the ship’s core for a short period of time. Eventually, she was able to reconfigure her systems and regain control of her faculties. But had she forced more energy into the system…”

“She could have kept Azelon pinned down?”

“Something like that. I’m just glad she didn’t. TO-96 said it could have been a lot worse.”

“Worse? As in…”

“As in, she could have crippled the ship and eliminated Azelon altogether.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. Fortunately, the Novia Minoosh’s singularity exists on a core on Ithnor Ithelia, as well as a backup of Azelon’s core.”

“Do you think that’s what Nos Kil was after?”

“Hard to say.” Awen tapped her lips. “Azelon says it’s still proprietary information. But somehow, I think it’s more than that.”

“More than a singularity core of an entire alien species?”

Awen shrugged. “What would Kane do with it?”

“Well, he could… I mean there’s always… Eh, I’ve got nothing.”

“Exactly. Sure, he could try and tap it for information, maybe try and repurpose the hardware or something—if there is any. But he’s not a scientist or a theorist. He’s a Navy admiral.”

“Right,” Magnus said, even though he had doubts about Kane, ones only recently acquired. Over the past two days, Magnus had continued to meet with the more willing of the two prisoners—Ricio. The pilot had been surprisingly forthcoming in his answers, almost convincing Magnus that the prisoner wanted to join their resistance. But until Ricio was properly vetted, even Magnus and all his optimism had to conclude the man was an enemy combatant.

Still, his intel about the rogue Repub admiral was disturbing at best. And even if Magnus’s changing opinions about Kane were to be believed, they still didn’t change the fact that the enemy was out for blood. “Which is why I think whatever Nos Kil was after is a weapon. And that’s not just the Marine in me speaking.”

“It’s the gladia in you,” Awen replied.

Magnus’s smile widened even further. She was attractive when she got tactical. “Well, I just wish Azelon would come out with whatever is down there. All this secretive stuff is pissing me off.”

“Easy, big guy.” Awen rubbed his arm with her hand. “All in due time.”

Her hand felt good on his arm. It stirred something deeper within him—something you don’t have time for, Adonis.

“Hey,” Awen said, still touching him. “How are you doing? With Nos Kil’s confession I mean?”

Speaking of things he hardly had the time to process. Or maybe didn’t want to process? “I’m glad I know now.”

Awen searched his face as if looking for something more. When he didn’t say anything further, she asked, “That’s it?”

“Yeah, that’s it.”

But that wasn’t it. There was so much more. Feelings of anger, betrayal, and of deep regret that Magnus hadn’t buried a blaster round in Nos Kil’s head when he had the chance. Then there was the hate he had for Kane, the man—no, the creature who’d stooped to incinerating a room full of people just to incite a war that satisfied his bloodlust. Magnus’s conversations with Longo had opened his eyes to so much… all of which he hoped to share in this briefing.

Just then, the war room’s doors opened and in walked the rest of the essential leadership team. Alpha Platoon’s leaders consisted of Dutch, Sootriman, Ezo, and Valerie, while Bravo Platoon’s were Abimbola and Berouth. Titus and Zoll represented Charlie Platoon, and Rohoar and Saladin represented Delta Platoon. Awen and Saasarr were last with Echo Platoon. They each took a seat around the enormous black stone table, while Magnus stood at the end. TO-96 and Azelon brought up the rear and came to stand on either side of Magnus.

“Good to see you all,” Magnus said. “Let’s get started.”

He waved a hand and the lights lowered. The walls changed from their bright white luster and depicted a view of the void filled with countless stars and swirling patches of purple and white mist. Then part of the holo behind Magnus displayed the beginnings of an itemized list of topics. Next to it appeared an image of Worru, along with topographical maps of the city, narrowing as they went until the last image showed a cross section of the Grand Arielina. Another window listed Granther Company’s current roster, as well as submenu tabs for resource management. The last item of note was a time keeping window that had several actions listed beneath its main clock function.

“Today’s goal is to construct a battle plan for our assault on Worru. Given each of our various backgrounds and skill sets, I feel it’s important you each speak up as you have items worth noting. No single one of us will be able to see it all. And, as we all know, the entire plan will come under serious strain as we encounter the enemy. So the more we create this together, the more we’ll be able to make modifications on the fly that serve the goals and not one platoon’s own needs. Copy?”

“La-raah,” everyone replied in an even tone.

“Good. Let’s start with what we know, and then I want to cover the new intel I’ve gleaned from my sessions with the Talon pilot.”

“He’s been co-operative?” Dutch asked.

“Surprisingly so,” Magnus replied.

Abimbola chuckled. “That is because you almost killed him with the Jujari’s living blood horish, isn’t it.”

“That’s not how it works,” Rohoar replied, the hackles on his neck standing up. “And you know it.”

“I’m just saying…”

“Easy boys,” Magnus replied. He glanced at Awen. “I haven’t raised a finger against him. In fact, I haven’t needed to. It seems there’s unrest in the Navy, enough that Longo wants to be of use, at least for the time being. More on that in a while.”

Magnus turned to highlight his first point on the list, entitled Objectives.

“The way I see it, we have several objectives in front of us. The first is the rescue of Awen’s mentor and friend, Willowood. We not only believe she is being held hostage by So-Elku, but she is crucial in rallying any Luma not in league with So-Elku. Awen, any comments on this?”

Awen looked around the table. “Yes. As many of you know, Willowood was my mentor during observances as well as my patron upon becoming an emissary. She is loyal to the true causes of peace in the galaxy and not whatever devious agendas Master So-Elku has devised. Additionally, her skills within the Unity are unparalleled… at least they were up until recently. As Magnus said, I believe she will be a valuable asset to the Gladio Umbra in the event of her rescue. Not to mention the fact that she is Valerie’s mother and Piper’s grandmother.”

For those who had not been let in on this substantial point of fact, the news seemed electric. Murmurs broke out around the table as disbelief was met with ardent nods and emphatic agreement.

“I can vouch for Awen’s testimony about my mother,” Valerie added. “She is, in fact, one of the most powerful Luma among the order. So her prowess will only be an added strength to our team.”

“And yours?” Abimbola asked, clearly unhindered by the clear social and emotional lines he was crossing in asking the question.

Valerie blushed, then swallowed. “Let’s just say that the true blood powers skipped a generation.”

“But surely there must be—”

“It’s not relevant to the conversation,” Magnus interjected, trying to spare the woman further inquiry. He imagined the stigma was something Valerie had tried to overcome for years—possibly even her whole life. It was, perhaps, much like the shadow of expectations he’d walked under with his grandfather. “The point is, we need to rescue her.”

Awen nodded. “As Magnus has said, Willowood will be instrumental in gathering other Luma to our cause.”

A hand went up. It was Berouth, Abimbola’s assistant. When Magnus nodded at him, he asked, “Is there any indication that the Luma will, in fact, join us?”

“Awen?” Magnus said, looking at her.

“I think there’s a high likelihood of alignment with our cause, yes. I am confident that many will at least consider the idea diligently. They may be reticent to leave the order given its long history, but I suspect that So-Elku’s behavior has already made many highly suspicious of the order’s current trajectory.”

“May I also add,” TO-96 said, raising his hand, “that if longevity is a corollary of integrity, those Luma in search of new allegiance should find the Gladio Umbra of far more value given its millennium’s long history.”

“Hadn’t thought about that,” Magnus said, stroking his beard. “But while it’s certainly a good point, we have to remember that no one knows about the Novian history, let alone the Gladio Umbra’s.”

Heads nodded at this assertion, and even TO-96 seemed to reassess his statement with a slow dip of his head.

“So we want to rescue Willowood and any other Luma held captive,” Abimbola said. “What else?”

Awen raised her hand before Magnus could continue. “Go ahead,” he said.

“Is there any value in letting the rest of the Luma not held captive by So-Elku know about us?”

“I think it’s too risky,” Titus said, tapping the table with a finger. “Let’s say we could think of a way to recruit them even in the midst of the battle. How do we vet them? How do we parse between those who genuinely want to join us and who are plants?”

“In a sense, you’re suggesting the fact that they were not taken prisoner is evidence enough of their compliance to So-Elku’s leadership,” Magnus said.

Titus nodded. “I mean, that’s the way I see it anyway.”

“Anyone else?” Magnus asked.

“I agree with him,” Awen replied. “So-Elku wouldn’t have restrained anyone unless he saw them as an imminent threat. If they’re coming out with Willowood, they can be trusted. Everyone else is suspect until proven innocent. Plus, I imagine that Willowood will be able to tell us more about the situation… assuming she’s…”

“She’s alive, Awen,” Magnus said, willing the woman to accept his ardent assertion for herself.

“And who’s to say we couldn’t go back,” Sootriman said. “Or at least get word to them that the Gladio Umbra are recruiting.”

“I like it.” Magnus looked at Awen. “Any estimates on how many prisoners we’re talking about or where they might be? It will directly affect how many shuttles we need to prep for exfil.”

“I really can’t say in terms of numbers. But since Willowood was able to communicate with you, I suspect they’re holding her somewhere close to Elders Hall.”

“If I may, sir, I think I have some helpful information on that point,” TO-96 said.

“By all means.” Magnus gestured for TO-96 to address the table.

A three-dimensional image of the Grand Arielina took over the main holo display. The bot didn’t turn to look at it as he spoke.

“Here we have the main corridor leading to the temple dome known as Elders Hall.” The user view flew through a long hallway bordered on both sides by tall columns that Magnus instantly recognized. He’d defended his unit’s retreat down this corridor when he, Abimbola, and Rohoar had first met with So-Elku. A wide set of stairs led up to massive double doors that emerged into the circular room where the elders met. “Beneath this level, however, my records indicate there are several additional floors.”

“The catacombs,” Awen said, seemingly more to herself than any else.

“An apt name,” the bot replied. “My guess, if I am permitted such latitude in this manner, would be that So-Elku would keep the prisoners as close to himself as he could while maintaining secrecy. Thus, this seems a likely place.”

“That’s where they are.” Awen looked tense.

“How can you be sure?” Magnus asked.

“I can’t. Not entirely. But I feel it. And unless So-Elku has done something to conceal their location, I will be able to confirm it once we get in orbit.”

“Excellent,” Magnus said.

“What is that next objective on your list?” Abimbola asked. “What does Novia Codex mean?”

Magnus let Awen field this one, gesturing to her with a nod.

“It is the Novia’s book of summary findings of the Unity dating to antiquity. So-Elku stole it during our first encounter on Ithnor Ithelia.”

Abimbola frowned. “And retrieving it is important because…?”

“Because, from what Azelon tells me, it contains previously unknown information about accessing realms of the Unity that allow the user unprecedented power to manipulate space, time, and matter. Additionally, the codex contains an abridged history of the Novia Minoosh up until their consummation with the singularity.”

“I don’t understand why this is on our list if So-Elku has already had it in his possession,” Titus said. “Couldn’t he have read it all by now? Or at least copied it?”

“May I respond to this?” Azelon asked, looking at Awen.

“Of course.”

“While the codex is indeed an ancient manuscript, fashioned in the old way of binding pages to form a book—as you might call them—the volume is no less mystical than the Unity itself.”

Ezo bopped his head as if in rhythm to some unheard song. “So you’re saying it takes someone gifted in the unity to read it… to decipher it.”

“In part, yes.” Azelon looked around the table as she spoke. “Though the codex is less about the information it contains and more about the path it takes the reader down. Think of it like a map, something that must be referenced continually if it is to be used efficiently.

“As to copying the volume, that is quite impossible. The very premise of its inception renders it unique in every way, and any attempts to duplicate it would only result in producing a powerless tome devoid of the codex’s nature.”

“And why’s that?” Ezo asked, his brow wrinkled in curiosity.

“Because it took all of us to create it.”

“All of you, as in the Novia Minoosh?”

“Yes, Ezo. It was our last creation upon entering the singularity. You might say it was the guide back to our point of origin, and our last will and testament to all that we created in the natural realm. I have endeavored to provide Awen a similar history, but she has the benefit of direct access to the Novian singularity, whereas any reader of the codex might not be so fortunate.”

“So on a scale of one to ten,” Dutch said, “how important is it that we get this codex back from So-Elku?”

“Ten,” Azelon said. “That, or we destroy it.”

“We’d be fools to think he hasn’t already begun to decipher it,” Awen said. “So-Elku is powerful, to be sure.”

“But not powerful enough to have journeyed into the vast landscape of our inheritance,” Azelon added. “At least not yet. Doing so would take him a lifetime, if not more.”

“Then what’s the rush?” Titus asked.

“The rush?” replied Azelon.

Awen steepled her fingers and rested her chin on them. “Why the need for urgency.”

Azelon’s eyes warmed in recognition. “I see. Firstly, even a cursory indulgence of the codex’s contents yields more knowledge than any practitioner of the Unity in your native universe has ever come by. Based upon Awen’s explanation of this, Master So-Elku, it is safe to assume he has made such excursions already and most likely gleaned much. Since the nature of the codex is to invite its users deeper into our story, and our discoveries, it has no doubt created a lust within him to delve further into its contents.”

“But I thought you said it would take a lifetime,” Titus added.

“I did. But Awen tells me So-Elku is not working alone.”

“Splick,” Ezo said. “So you’re telling Ezo that more Luma can work together to uncover the mysteries of the cosmos faster?”

“Precisely.” Azelon tilted her head. “Though, on a separate line of inquiry, I am still uncertain why Ezo continues to speak about himself using his own proper noun.” She looked at Sootriman. “Is there something wrong with him? Has he been struck violently in the cerebrum?”

“It does leave one to wonder, doesn’t it,” Sootriman replied, giving Ezo a sly grin.

“Ezo’s brain is just fine, if that’s what you’re insinuating,” the man said, leaning back in his chair. His tone was a mix of confidence and self-defense.

“I would like to scan you at some point in the future if you do not perish in the coming conflict,” Azelon said.

Ezo’s eyebrows went up in surprise. “Ezo is not a lab rat. And of course he’s going to survive the coming conflict. Why would you even say that?”

“Let’s get back to the mission,” Magnus said.

Rohoar sniffed the air. “So we need to rescue Willowood, the prisoners, and the codex.”

“Any ideas on where he might be keeping it?” Sootriman asked Awen.

“Again, I can’t be sure, but my guess would be his private chambers. That’s where I’d put it at least.”

“And can you tell us more upon entering orbit?” Magnus asked her.

Awen bobbed her head. “I sure hope so, yes.”

“That will have to do.” Magnus highlighted the last objective by pointing at it. “And then we come to something that is personal to me. It’s not something I feel is worth risking our time with unless the team is in unanimous agreement.”

“Who’s Colonel Caldwell?” Abimbola asked.

“Guy’s a legend,” Dutch replied. “He’s seen more action than any Marine alive. He’s also the one who first assigned us to Magnus here.”

“So…” Abimbola looked at Magnus. “You saying he’s on Worru then.”

Magnus pursed his lips and nodded. “I am. He opted to stay active and not retire by taking a station there about a year ago.”

“What’s this have to do with the mission?” Titus asked.

There was a moment’s silence as all eyes turned back to Magnus. “I want to try and recruit him.”

Another silence filled the war room before Dutch laughed. “You serious, LT? You… you wanna try and get the Colonel to join Granther Company?”

Magnus couldn’t tell if the room was more unsettled by his initial statement or by Dutch’s response. But he nodded at her all the same. “I do. For several reasons.”

“We’re listening,” Valerie said, leaning in on her elbows. Unlike Dutch, Valerie didn’t seem surprised in the least. Her apparent faith in Magnus gave him a sense of renewed purpose, which he was grateful for; her background as a Marine, doctor, and former senator’s wife, as well as the daughter of a Luma Elder, had a way of swaying people in her direction. Not to mention she was Piper’s mother. Magnus guessed everyone else took her interest as a sign of the idea’s legitimacy—so long as I can convince them, he thought.

“First, the colonel commands all the Republic forces currently stationed on Worru. If they’re called in to defend the Luma, which I’m guessing So-Elku will be sure to do, then he’ll be the one to make the call.”

“Garner his support and the Republic stays out of the fight,” Dutch said more somberly, probably trying to earn her way back from her out-of-character outburst.

Magnus nodded. “At least for a little while. Resisting So-Elku’s call for help, however, will get him court-martialed. So it’s a risk he’s going to have to weigh. I’d simply be giving him an alternative to being arrested.”

“Seems like a gamble if you ask me,” Abimbola said, flipping a poker chip and catching it. “You really think he’s going to risk his career for some buckethead who is wanted by the Republic?”

Magnus took a deep breath, feeling his heavy shoulders rise and fall. “I do. That is, if we have the time to tell him what we’ve uncovered. And that I have the man who killed his son.”

“What?” Dutch asked, leaning forward. “Who killed the colonel’s son?”

“Nos Kil,” Awen replied, her eyes staring past the table.

“The one and only.” Magnus took another deep breath. “The story is not worth telling now. But the colonel will want to see our prisoner. And he’ll want to know more about Moldark.”

Magnus felt everyone’s attention intensify.

“I’m sorry,” Valerie said, looking around the table as if she’d been left out of some important information meeting. “Who did you say?”

“So this gets us to the other part—”

“Of what you’ve learned from Commander Longo,” Awen said, knowing full well that Magnus had been speaking with the prisoner but had not shared any of his findings. Until now.

“Correct.” Magnus dipped his head toward TO-96. A new image appeared on the main holo display, one of a baldheaded man with black eyes. His skin was pock-marked, and his lips were curled in a subtle but no less malevolent sneer.

“Mystics…” Sootriman said. “That is the man who killed my people and took me prisoner.”

Before she could say anything more, Saasarr was on his feet and hissing toward the front of the room. “Foul wretch,” he yelled, and sprung onto the table. Those seated slid back as the Reptalon advanced on all fours, teeth and talons glimmering in the projected starlight. “I will end him! I will rip his throat from—”

“Saasarr,” Sootriman ordered, standing to her feet. “Stay yourself!”

As if the lizard had some sort of digital processor hardwired into his reptilian brain, Saasarr froze. Then he looked over his shoulder at Sootriman and blinked a wrinkly eyelid at her.

“Please, restrain yourself and return to your seat,” she said.

“Yes, my lady,” he hissed. Then he turned on the table, bringing his tail over everyone’s heads in a smooth whipping motion, and returned to his chair.

Sootriman regained her composure as if nothing had happened. “Of course, we know this man under a different name.”

“Kane,” Valerie said. “Fleet Admiral Wendell Kane of the Black Labyrinth and commander of the Republic’s Third Fleet.”

“Correct,” Magnus said.

“Then, why the name change?” Dutch asked.

“That’s what everyone would like to know, including Ricio,” Magnus replied.

Dutch raised an eyebrow. “Ricio?”

“Our prisoner’s first name,” said Magnus.

Abimbola’s brow furrowed. “You are getting friendly with the prisoner… just before you kill him? That seems unusually cruel, even for you, buckethead.”

“I’m not gonna kill him, Bimby. In fact, if he keeps this up, he may one day be a Gladio Umbra.”

Rohoar seemed shocked by the news. “But… he’s a—”

“Republic fighter pilot who killed Jujari?” Magnus pushed his lower lip up and nodded. “Absolutely. But he’s also a sane, rational man who I believe genuinely wants peace in the galaxy, just like we all do. Isn’t that right?” He looked at Rohoar first to make sure his point was understood. “That’s what I thought. Which brings up another important point. We’re going to need to get used to this kind of thing with Ricio. If our cause is the right one, and we’re all able to stay alive, we’re going to attract more and more people who are tired of their current allegiances—whether that’s Luma serving So-Elku, or Marines and Navy sailors serving under a nefarious leader. Copy?”

There was only a moment’s hesitation before everyone said, “La-raah.”

“So, Moldark?” Dutch asked, tipping her head toward the holo display.

“As far as Ricio can tell, the former admiral has undergone some sort of change.”

“What kind of change?” Abimbola asked.

Magnus caught site of Awen eyeing the image. “No one’s sure, but…” He stared at her. “Awen, you wanna say something?”

“It might be nothing but…” When she didn’t continue on her own, Magnus prompted her to keep going. “It’s just…” She looked over at Sootriman and Ezo. “You both remember back in the rotunda?” They nodded. “I saw something. Something evil. Something that, as you both well know, shook me. I… I’m used to seeing evil in the hearts of people—I doubt anyone is fully immune to hostility or narcissism. But what I saw in Kane was…” She looked back at the holo. “As if this is a physical manifestation of the presence I witnessed. I mean, not exactly, but enough for me to know it’s what I saw in the Unity.”

“It’s dark magic voodoo,” Abimbola said, drawing a strange shape in front of his chest with his thumb and forefinger. Magnus guessed it was to ward off whatever mystical spirit he supposed Awen was referencing. Magnus didn’t believe any of that splick, of course, but he knew the Miblimbians were devoutly spiritual.

“I don’t know what it is,” Awen said. “But I know he’s evil—it’s evil.”

“So you’re saying Admiral Kane is now Moldark, is that it?” Valerie asked.

“I am. And it seems that both of our prisoners here have had contact with him.”

“Both?” Awen looked shocked. “You went back to talk to Nos Kil again? Without me?”

“It’s okay, Awen. I had it under control.”

“But you know what he—”

“I said, I had it under control. Trust me.”

She didn’t look pleased. But she at least relented and sat back in her chair.

“Both men have confirmed—in their own way—that Kane is now Moldark. Only he’s no longer a fleet admiral.”

“Then what is he?” Valerie asked.

Magnus hesitated. Despite how outlandish Kane’s physical change had been, this part was even more far-fetched—at least for those who had served in the military.

“What? What is it, Magnus?” Valerie prompted Magnus to speak.

“He’s taken control over the Republic’s entire Navy and is demanding that his subordinates refer to him as lord.”

“Lord Moldark?” Abimbola snorted through a wide smile. “What in all the cosmos is becoming of the Galactic Republic!”

“You joke,” Magnus replied, “but I can assure you our two prisoners back there are quite terrified of him.”

“Terrified?” Abimbola tilted his head at the image on the holo. “He looks more like an overripe Paluvu sea pear than a warlord. And I know warlords.”

“That aside, word is that he’s wrested control of the armada from the Republic and is calling it the Paragon.” Magnus could tell he was losing the room. This was too fantastical for them to believe. Hell, it was too fantastical for him to believe. “I had my doubts too. Until Ricio showed me this.”

15

Ricio had been standing outside the conference room for about twenty minutes before the robot named TO-96 appeared.

“Hey, good looking,” Ricio said.

“Hello, Commander Longo. Magnus would like you to come in now.”

“And my restraints?” Ricio held his hands up. They were still bound in plasma shackles, as were his feet.

“He gave me no instructions on those.”

“Which is a perfect opportunity to read between the lines.”

TO-96 turned his head slightly. “I’m sorry, sir. Which lines am I supposed to be reading between?”

Ricio blinked. “Take me inside.”

“Right this way, sir.”

The bot led Ricio through two security doors before entering a dimly lit room surrounded by stars. A dozen people sat around a large black table, each regarding him with expressionless faces. He recognized several of them but the rest were new. Another bot stood beside Magnus at the far end of the table in front of the main holo display.

“Please, come in,” Magnus said, inviting Ricio to the front. He walked around the table, careful to stay clear of the Reptalon and the Jujari especially. And the Miblimbian. And the Elonian. Splick, pretty much everyone.

“How’s it going, people,” Ricio said as he came to stand beside Magnus. Their eyes were suspicious, however, despite his attempts to soften the room. “Yeah, sucks here too.” He raised his hands and smiled at them.

“Ricio,” Magnus said, “these are members of my team, the ones that you tried to kill.”

“Ouch. But… it’s the truth.”

“And team, this is one of our two prisoners, Commander Mauricio Longo of Viper Squadron.”

“Guilty. Nice to meet you all.” Ricio looked at Magnus. “So, you want me to show them?”

Magnus nodded.

“And our deal?”

“Wait, what deal?” The Elonian said, looking at Magnus.

“He wants a data pad to read on,” Magnus said.

“Oh.” The woman eased up a little.

“You have any idea how boring it gets down there?” Ricio asked her.

“Go ahead,” Magnus said.

Ricio nodded and tapped the Republic Navy insignia on his flight suit’s left breast. The standard issue media recorder—used to record actions and evidence on all military missions—suddenly projected a miniature scene about a meter above the black table. In it, Ricio could see Fleet Commander Brighton and Lord Moldark. The recording reproduced the entire conversation in which his commanders outlined his mission to eliminate the threats on the other side of the quantum tunnel.

Ricio noticed how everyone listening winced at the sound of Moldark’s voice. “Do not fail us, commander. We are looking for you to be thorough. Execute your orders with extreme prejudice. There must be no survivors.”

Ricio wasn’t entirely sure what Magnus was after, but he guessed that he wanted his team to see what they were up against. Which meant this next part was extremely important. As if reading his thoughts, Magnus rolled his index finger in a circle for Ricio to let the recording keep playing.

“You are dismissed,” Moldark said. But Ricio’s view of his two commanders didn’t change.

“What is it, Commander Longo?” Brighton asked.

“Sirs, if you will pardon my asking, what is to be your larger will in all of this?”

“Commander Longo,” spat the Fleet Admiral, “remove yourself from this board room at once!”

“No,” Moldark said, lifting a hand with a gold pinkie ring on it. “Let him speak.”

“But, your lordship, he is just—”

“He honors me by the magnitude of his request.”

Brighton looked like he’d swallowed a bug, squinting in Ricio’s direction again. “Proceed.”

“What I mean to ask is, if you have been given command of the entire Republic Navy, what would you have us do from here?”

Moldark stood from his chair atop the dais and moved down the stairs in a jerky motion. It was as if the man’s joints and limbs were held together by elastic bands that snapped back and forth as he walked. Even rewatching this again, Ricio felt a chill go up his spine.

“I have not been given anything,” Moldark said, his face filling the camera’s frame. “I have taken what I want. Your Republic is weak. It has been co-opted by fools seeking their own self-interests. They do not deserve such power. So I am wresting it from them to do with it as the galaxy deserves.

“And you, Commander Ricio, no longer serve the Galactic Republic”—Moldark spat the words like an expletive—“you are pledged to the Paragon. The Paragon of Perfect Rule. Which means that when you return from your mission through the void’s horizon, you will return to aid me in bringing all wayward factions into subjection to my supreme justice. And we will not stop until the offenders have been subdued and my people vindicated for the atrocities done to them.”

There was a long moment before the recorded sound of Ricio’s voice said, “Thank you, my lord.”

Moldark sneered, before saying, “Go. Your mission awaits.”

Silence replaced the holo recording as the content blinked out.

The Nimprinth leaned forward. “You actually followed that guy’s orders? Damn, Ezo is not impressed with you, Longo.”

But Magnus raised a hand at the man. “Let’s hold off on the personal attacks, Ezo.”

“Wait,” Ricio said, jerking his head down the table. “So his name’s Ezo?”

The Nimprinth rolled his eyes.

“Yup,” said Magnus. “You get used to it.”

One of the women raised her hand and addressed the room. She had blonde hair, blue eyes, and spoke like she owned the place. “I’d like to know what you have to say about this, Commander Longo. Your commanding officers say you are the highest-ranking fighter pilot in the fleet, which means you’re not only dedicated to the Republic, but you’re smart. You agreed to the mission, but I honestly can’t believe you’d align yourself with that given your track record. Unless I’m misjudging you, in which case I think we jettison you out the nearest airlock.”

Ricio had been nodding with her right up until the bit about the airlock. “If you think I’m so smart, what makes you think I’m not going to feed you some line just to keep you from flinging me into the void?”

“Because we have a Luma, remember?” The female Jujari said.

“And she reads minds a lot less obtrusively than Reptalons do,” the large, tan woman said.

“Okay, okay,” Ricio said, pumping his palms in an attempt to slow everyone down. Having a Reptalon stab his brain with the needle at the end of its tail wasn’t something he had on his life’s wish list. “No, I don’t particularly like Moldark. I mean, the guy’s insane or possessed or something. I can assure you, I have no idea what’s happening to the Republic, but that thing—as you say—is not a friend of mine nor the Republic’s, and neither is Fleet Admiral Brighton if he’s in league with Moldark, as he clearly seems to be.”

“So you’ll join us?” the Elonian asked.

“Lady, I still don’t even know what you’re all doing. I mean, aside from Magnus’s talking points, but who knows if any of those are true.” Ricio’s assertion was met with growls by both the Jujari and the Reptalon. Go easy, Ricio, he reminded himself. “Granted, you all look like reasonably sane people, apart from him” He nodded toward Ezo. “And mystics know I can’t think of any good reasons for such a diverse group of enemies to be working together. So my gut tells me you’ve got something powerful enough to hold this group together, and Magnus says you even have a plan. But if I’m going to turn on the Republic…”

“We’re not asking you to turn on the Republic,” Awen said. “We’re asking you to help us fight Moldark and anyone in league with him.”

Ricio thought about it for a second and then turned to Magnus. “A few days ago, when you first questioned me, you said you had proof. But your AI was malfunctioning or something. What were you going to show me?”

Magnus seemed to think about it, and Ricio wondered if the man had changed his mind. “Azelon, bring up Nos Kil’s confession.”

The bot acknowledged the request and sent a recording to the main holo display. In it, Ricio watched Magnus and the Marine called Nos Kil bicker back and forth. Finally, when the man said something about killing Marines in the mwadim’s palace, the image of Magnus lunged at the prisoner and the holo froze.

Ricio looked at Magnus for a moment and considered him. “What did he mean about the mwadim’s palace and your men? Was that… is this about the ambush on Oorajee?”

“You mean the one that started this whole war?” the blonde woman added with a sarcastic tone.

Ricio looked at her and then back at Magnus. “You mean to tell me that you were on the mission that—”

“I helped lead the mission that got dozens of Marines killed by bombs planted by Nos Kil, who was following orders from—”

“Moldark.”

Magnus nodded.

“Mystics.” Ricio swallowed. “You mean to tell me he started this whole conflict just so he could take control of the Republic armada?”

“We’re not entirely sure of his deeper motives, but it certainly seems that way,” Awen said.

Ricio stood in front of everyone, assembling the pieces in his head. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. But then again, it made more sense than he cared to admit. And the people before him certainly seemed to be united over the common goal of stopping the enemy. Still, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to be a part of it. He had a wife and a son. And this deployment was to be his last. Instead, now he was stuck in a different damned universe, according to Magnus, and was being asked to go on another mission if he switched sides. Not to mention the fact that this particular side looked painfully outnumbered even with their fancy starship.

Then again, Moldark didn’t sound like he’d be letting Ricio head back to Capriana anytime soon either. Not that this was all about turning a blind eye to ethics just so he could see his family. But then again, he’d always said that nothing meant more to him than his wife and son—and that he’d do anything to see them again. “Even come back from the dead,” he’d whispered in his son’s ear.

“I need more time,” was all Ricio could think to say. He tried to summon all the sincerity he could for this next part. “And please don’t take my hesitation as me questioning your integrity. It’s simply that… well, I have a family. And I was hoping to see them when… when…” But the more he thought about his wife, and the more he imagined how much his son must have grown since they last held each other, the more the words caught in his throat.

“You have some time, commander,” the blonde haired woman said. “If you have family, we understand that.”

“Thank you,” he replied around the lump forming behind his tongue.

“But not too much time,” she added. “Or else we’ll get that airlock ready.” Ricio studied her face and watched a small smile play at the edges of her eyes.

He smiled back. “I wouldn’t expect anything else.”

“You’re dismissed, commander,” Magnus said. “’Six, please see him back to his cell. We’ve got some planning to do.”

“As you wish, sir,” the bot replied. Ricio turned at TO-96’s insistence and headed for the exit. Just before he passed through the door, Ricio looked back and said, “Thank you. Each of you. For doing what you’re doing. I don’t pretend to understand it all, but I do believe you’re trying to do the right thing even if you’re outgunned and outnumbered. You’re good people.” He searched their faces, waiting for someone to say something.

“Thank you, commander,” Magnus said. “That will be all.”

Ricio sensed a certain amount of reservation in Magnus’s tone. Despite their present circumstances, Ricio far outranked the former Marine lieutenant, so that might have been part of it. But there was something else too. Ricio couldn’t be sure, but he thought he saw a deep sadness behind Magnus’s eyes, one that made Ricio recognize just how deeply the former Marine cared about this mission. That’s when the thought struck Ricio that maybe he should be just as concerned.

16

After another day, Magnus felt confident in the plan that he and his team had come up with to raid Worru. It wasn’t perfect, of course, but no plan ever was. Especially after the enemy got ahold of it and shook it to death. But that was why the Republic paid him all those creds. Or, rather, had paid him all those creds. Now he was a…

A Gladio Umbra, he reminded himself, still drilling the new identity into his psyche. Which, he knew, was far easier to do for himself than it was for his two brothers in arms, Michael “Flow” Deeks and Miguel “Cheeks” Chico.

His contact with them had been extremely limited over the months that he trained Granther Company back on Neith Tearness. In fact, it was mostly Valerie who checked in on them, managing their medications and monitoring their long road to recovery. Whenever Magnus had spent time with them, it was filled with lots of reminiscing and more than a few tears. And it was the tears that concerned him most.

Beneath their grief, Magnus saw the hot embers of hatred. It wasn’t malevolent in and of itself—these two warriors couldn’t be blamed for what they’d been through any more than someone could blame a sandcastle for being built too close to the ocean at low tide. But Magnus knew what their bitterness could turn into. He’d seen it before. Hell, he’d seen it in himself. But unlike Flow and Cheeks, Magnus had found ways to cope with it and still operate—not just as a person, but as a warrior. For his brothers, however, Magnus doubted they’d ever be able to head outside the wire again. He even doubted if they could be in the same room with Rohoar or any of his Jujari, which is why they had remained quarantined to certain sections of the ship since their rescue.

Awen said she’d need the better part of the day to close the existing quantum tunnel and open a new one outside Worru. So while she was back in Itheliana to operate the QTG, Magnus took the opportunity to brief Flow and Cheeks on their small though significant part of the coming mission, one that would keep them safely aboard the Spire and out of harm’s way.

“You lookin’ fly in those Novia threads, LT,” Flow said, locking hands with Magnus and pulling him into an embrace. Magnus wore a casual flight suit made of white material with blue trim while Flow and Cheeks wore black gym shorts and white t-shirts that hugged their muscular torsos.

“I’m just not brave enough to show my legs like you,” Magnus replied.

“Hell, no one is,” Cheeks added, giving Magnus a similar handshake and one-armed hug. “Who’s gonna compete with those thunder thighs? I know I ain’t.”

“Somehow I feel like you’re insulting me,” Flow said. “But I know you’re just jealous ’cause you can’t do this…” Suddenly, Flow started flexing his thigh muscles back and forth like the ping-ponging bass line of a prog dance song.

“That’s so disturbing,” Cheeks said, looking away.

Magnus laughed, then motioned toward the chairs in their rec room. “Can I sit?”

“What do you mean, can I sit?” Flow said, scrunching his face up. “You acting all formal on us now?”

“Maybe,” Magnus said. “I have a mission for you.”

“’Bout damn time,” Cheeks exclaimed. “I’m so ready to be done with this starship, I tell you what. Get me planet side with a MAR30 and give me something to shoot.”

“He’s lying,” Flow said, pulling up a glossy white chair for Magnus. “He just wants a woman. Hell, he wants five, and doesn’t even care what species they are.”

Magnus waved his hands. “That’s already more detail than I want to know, Fearsome.” The three of them chuckled as Magnus knew their thoughts turned toward the deceased member of the Fearsome Four, Allan “Mouth” Franklin.

Flow broke the grief-stricken silence by clapping his hands once and rubbing his palms together. “So, wha’dya got for us, LT?”

“Well, we’re planning something big, boys.”

“I knew it!” Cheeks said. “Had to be a good reason you’ve kept us cooped up in here. Son of a bitch.”

“So what’re we doing?” Flow asked. “Regrouping with battalion? Or heading out from here on something way down range?”

“Neither,” Magnus said. He lowered his head and took a deep breath, knowing they’d be hanging on his every word. “I gotta fill you boys in first. And there’s a lot. So if you need me to take a break at all, you just—”

“We don’t need no breaks, LT,” Cheeks interjected. “The last few months have made us stir crazy. Give it to us. We’re ready.”

With that, Magnus plunged headlong into recounting everything that had transpired after their rescue, even going over details they’d previously discussed just in case the two Marines had forgotten them. Memory loss was a common occurrence in those who’d suffered severe trauma—and Flow and Cheeks had been through some of the worst.

Their eyes went wide as Magnus covered the more recent ground about the Novia Minoosh, their connection to the Jujari, and Admiral Kane’s transformation to Moldark. Magnus even offered to stop while he recounted the most recent battle in Itheliana just to let them take it all in. But to their credit, they were indeed ready to move on and absorbed the intel like they would in any other mission briefing.

“So where you want us?” Flow asked after Magnus had shared the assault plan for Worru.

Magnus took his deepest breath yet. This was going to be the hard part.

“Aw, hell,” Cheeks said, throwing his hands in the air and standing up. “He’s not taking us with him again.”

Flow looked from Cheeks to Magnus. “Say it ain’t so, LT.”

“It’s so,” Magnus replied.

“Splick, LT!” Flow was on his feet. “You rescue us from those clawed demons only to keep us cooped up inside this starship for months, and then when we have a chance to rip some bad guys, you won’t even let us out of our mysticsdamn bedrooms? What are you, our mother?”

“I need you on the bridge with the bots,” Magnus said, trying to keep his voice calm.

“You hear that, Flow?” Cheeks said. “We get to babysit bots.”

“Aw, hell nah,” Flow replied. “Ain’t no way. Nooo way.”

“We need orbital oversight,” Magnus said, trying to keep his voice calm. “The AIs are good at resource allocation, but they still can’t handle predictive modeling like Marines can. Your experience will be invaluable in helping us adjust course in the field.”

Magnus knew all his rehearsed explanations were right, and he knew his logic was bulletproof. But he could already feel that he’d lost his boys. Part of their argument was true—he had kept them locked up. And he’d be just as stir crazy as they were, if not worse. But the more they went on, the more he realized that Flow and Cheeks were proving his worst fears to be true: they couldn’t handle combat. And he’d have to show them that they couldn’t despite how much it pained him to do so.

“Sit down,” Magnus said.

“Is that an order, LT?” Flow asked. “’Cause it seems like that’s all we’ve been doing for you.”

“Yes, that’s an order. Both of you. Sit down.”

“I don’t think so, boss,” Cheeks replied. He was agitated, pacing back and forth, eyes darting around the room.

Magnus rubbed his hand over his face, then tapped his earpiece. “Come on in,” he said over comms.

A door opened on the far side of the rec room. Flow and Cheeks both turned at the motion. Then they watched as two Jujari entered through the doorway.

“Those are friendlies,” Magnus said calmly. “That is Rohoar and Saladin, and they helped save your lives. And if we work together, they’re going to help save the galaxy.” He hadn’t even finished the sentence when he noticed Flow and Cheeks’s bodies tense. They made fists and prepared for a fight. “I order you to sit down.”

But the two men hadn’t heard Magnus. Instead, they charged after the two Jujari. Flow even grabbed his chair and held it over his head, swinging it like a club. Magnus remained seated and chewed on his lip. This was more painful to watch than he expected. He stood up, then more loudly, he yelled, “Flow, Cheeks—stand down!” But neither man paid him any attention.

Flow hurled his chair at Rohoar while Cheeks lowered his shoulder and rammed it into Saladin. But neither Jujari was struck. Instead, both men passed through Azelon’s hard light projections just as she caused the Jujari to disappear. Flow and Cheeks stumbled forward, one slamming into the far wall while the other fell on his chest with a grunt.

They both turned around to look for the enemy, eyes wide and filled with terror. But when they didn’t see the Jujari, their eyes met Magnus’s. He fought to hold back the emotions welling in his chest. As much as he wanted his brothers in arms to join him once again on the battlefield, there was simply no way they could. Not like this.

Then Magnus saw realization dawn on Flow’s face. The look was something akin to embarrassment, then shame, and then grief. “I’m so…” Flow looked down at his hands, and then to the thrown chair. “I didn’t even…”

“I’m sorry, boys,” Magnus said, walking toward them now. “I can’t imagine what you’ve been through.”

Realization came slower to Cheeks, who was still panting from adrenaline. “What the hell, LT? What was that?”

“It was a test,” Flow said. “Stand down.”

“A test?” Cheeks looked between both of them, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his forearm. “What kind of a sick twisted test was that supposed to be?”

“One we just failed,” Flow said.

“Failed? You trying to mess with us, LT?”

“No,” Flow replied again, doing the hard work for Magnus. “He’s trying to keep us from getting killed. And keeping us from killing our teammates.”

“Again,” Magnus said, “I’m sorry. But you’re not fit for duty outside this starship.”

“Son of a bitch,” Cheeks said, turning away from Magnus.

The mood was so heavy, Magnus felt it resting on his shoulders like a physical weight. In his heart, he wanted nothing more than to hand his boys NOV1s and have them by his side as they hit the streets of Plumeria. But that was just a dream, one that would remain a fiction in his imagination.

“My previous offer still stands,” Magnus said. “If you want it, that is. I’ll, uh… I’ll leave you two alone and check back in later to see if you’ve changed your minds.”

Flow nodded, a frown stretched across his large lips. “You’ll know where to find us.”

“Take care of him,” Magnus said, indicating Cheeks with a small toss of his head.

“Copy that,” Flow replied. “We’ll cool off and have an answer for you later.”

“Sounds good.” Magnus left the rec room without another word. But once the door closed behind him, he leaned against the corridor’s wall and wept.

17

“How’d it go?” Magnus asked, being the first to greet her and the away team returning from the planet’s surface. Awen was surprised at how nice it felt to see his face before anyone else’s, then wondered if the emotion was too obvious.

“Pretty smooth actually,” she replied, trying to calm her excitement. Awen stepped aside to let the rest of Bravo Platoon file out of the shuttle and filter back into the ship through the hangar. TO-96 was last out and gave them both a parting salute before heading to the bridge. Magnus hadn’t even realized that the bot had gotten a fresh telecoms emulation coating on his entire chassis, including his weapons systems. This gave the bot the same chameleon mode that the rest of the gladias enjoyed.

“Operating it was easier than I imagined it might be,” Awen added.

“You had help, I’m guessing?”

Awen gave him a smug look. “Are you saying I can’t handle it on my own?”

Magnus blinked in surprise. “Uh, no. I just meant that—”

“Easy. I’m just playing with you. TO-96 lent me considerable help from the Novia Minoosh.”

“Ah. That’s… that’s great.”

“It is. The old tunnel is closed, and we have a new tunnel opened that will place us one hour from Worru, well clear of its gravity well.”

“That’s great news.”

Awen smiled at him again, noting how puffy his eyes looked. “You okay there, Adonis? You seem off.” He didn’t answer right away. She tried to catch his eye, and gave him a wink when she finally did. “Hey, what is it?”

“I spoke with Flow and Cheeks.”

Awen’s smile faded. “I take it that didn’t go well.”

He shook his head.

“Magnus… I’m so sorry.”

“So am I.” He shrugged. “But it’s part of being a Marine. Some missions you just never come back from. And they’re still… they’re…”

“Still not back from Oorajee.”

He grunted in agreement. “Mm-hm. And probably never will be.”

Compassion for Magnus swelled so quickly in her chest that Awen couldn’t restrain herself from giving him a hug. Surprisingly, he wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in the side of her neck. It was the most affectionate she’d ever seen him—even more than the kisses they’d shared. Something about this moment made him seem so vulnerable.

When Magnus finally let her go, Awen placed a hand over his heart. “It’s going to be okay.”

“Thanks.”

A moment passed between them as Awen let her hand linger on his chest.

Finally, he asked, “What about you?”

“Me?” Awen’s mission to the QTG had gone flawlessly, and she loved the opportunity to visit the alien city again. Plus, she hadn’t endured anything like what Magnus had just been through. So, by comparison, she was having a great afternoon.

But then she was reminded that she did indeed have something that was weighing on her. And given Magnus’s own transparency, maybe this was the time to bring it up. In fact, Magnus was perhaps the best person to ask in all the galaxy.

“I’m not looking forward to being back in Plumeria,” she said, biting her lip and looking around. Was this hangar bay to be the site of all their deep conversations?

“Too many bad memories?”

She shook her head. “No. It’s more like I’m afraid of the new ones I’m going to make.”

“You mean with combat?”

“I mean, I don’t know how I’m going to face the Luma.”

Magnus gave her a knowing nod and then looked at the hangar’s floor. “I’m not gonna lie, Awen. It’s not easy.”

“Speaking from experience?”

“What do you think?”

For some reason, Awen had never fully thought through the encounters Magnus had on the Bull Wraith and in Itheliana as being against fellow Marines. They were just bad guys doing bad things. But all of them—right down to Nos Kil and Ricio—had been recruited from human worlds, trained by the Navy or Marine Corps, and commissioned to serve the Galactic Republic. Whatever their new allegiances with Moldark and the Paragon were, it didn’t change the troopers’ pedigree. To put it in Marine-speak, she thought, they’re all brothers.

“I’m thinking it must’ve been hard to pull the trigger against the Marines on the Bull Wraith that came after Piper and her parents. And just as hard to put down the Recon team on Ithnor Ithelia.”

Magnus stroked his beard. “It was. Real hard. And if I wasn’t careful, those feelings would have kept me from pulling the trigger—at least long enough for someone else to pick me off.”

“So you buried the feelings and fired first.”

“No.”

Awen raised an eyebrow at Magnus, surprised by his reply.

“If you bury those feelings,” he said, “they haunt you worse than any of the others. You never dismiss the fact that you’re fighting people who—given a different set of circumstances—are your family.”

“Then how do you do it and not fall apart on the battlefield?”

“You choose to defend the family who needs your help the most.”

Awen searched his face, her eyes darting around his rugged complexion. She was so grateful for his insights, and felt his words console her like water on a cracked patch of soil.

Before, the universe had been so black and white. But ever since the ambush at the mwadim’s palace, Awen had been plunged into a world of grey. Absolutes had been traded for a bucket full of maybe and sometimes and sort of. Navigating those paths was harder than she cared to admit. And while she didn’t always agree with his approach to every conflict, she at least held a deep respect for his motives.

Still, his statement wasn’t without its problems. She swallowed and looked at him. “But couldn’t you say that the family who is misguided—your rogue Marines and my seduced Luma—couldn’t you say that they need the most help?”

He nodded. “I suppose so. And I marvel at your desire to do right by them—mystics know I don’t know how you do it. But those people are different to me.”

“How so?”

“They’ve already made up their minds.”

“But what if we could win them back?”

“I’m not saying we couldn’t. But when their finger is on a trigger and it’s pointed at someone who’s committed themselves to defending the weak and protecting freedom, then you can’t hesitate.”

Awen didn’t even realize she’d been holding her breath and let out a deep sigh. “I get that, it’s just—”

“Awen. Listen.” He passed his hand over his hair. “Most people, they get the luxury of talking about this sort of thing in a classroom or on a news program or over dinner. They never actually have to live it out. It’s all rhetorical to them, like some mythical exercise that doesn’t affect anyone except the server who has to keep filling up their wine glasses while the conversation goes on and on, round and round.

“The difference for you and me, however, is that it’s not theory for us. It’s real. It’s right now. And it’s coming for us whether we want it to or not. We don’t get to have opinions that keep us warm on our couches. We have decisions to make that stay with us forever—decisions that say some people will live and some people will die.

“Trust me when I say I don’t like it any more than you do. You’ve already heard me say that—and it’s more than I’ve ever admitted to anyone. But it doesn’t change the fact that we’re here, out on the edge of the conflict, and we have nowhere else to go but through the enemy. It’s that, or we run away. And I’m not willing to do that. And neither are you.”

Awen nodded. He’d spoken so fast and shared so much that she hardly knew what to say in reply. But he wasn’t done yet.

“If there was time to figure it all out, to get everyone to lay down their arms and talk it through…” He nodded. “I’d be all for it. But war exists because that doesn’t happen, at least not a lot. So if someone is going to fight, if someone is going to be responsible for taking lives and sifting through the evil that is conflict, I can tell you one thing’s for damn sure.”

“What’s that?”

“You’re the one I want pulling the trigger.”

“Mystics, Magnus,” she said, folding her arms. “Don’t say that.”

“But it’s true, Awen. Maybe the Luma taught you that all war is bad. That all fighting is evil. I’m not sure what they teach in that school. But if all war is bad, then doesn’t that mean it needs good people involved? Because if they’re not, what are we fighting for anyway?”

Awen stood there, unsure what to say. She felt both honored and sick to her stomach at the same time. “I never asked for this, Magnus.”

“Yeah, you did.”

She cast him a sharp look. “No, I really—”

“The moment someone picked on the new kid in school and you stood up for them? You asked for it. When some government made some stupid-ass decision that hurt an entire section of its constituents and you got pissed off? You asked for it. You’ve always been asking for it. I don’t think you get that, Awen.”

“Get what? What don’t I get?” She heard the frustration rising in her voice.

“You were born for this.”

She blinked away the tears that flooded her eyes, but she refused to look away from him. Hot lines parted her cheeks and she held her arms tighter to her chest. “That may be so,” she said, her voice trembling. “But I’m still afraid.”

The words had barely left her mouth when Magnus reached out and pulled her into his chest. He pinned her there, still with her arms crossed, while she cried. She felt his lips kiss the top of her head. The care he was showing her made her cry even harder because—perhaps for the first time—she was worried about losing him. Not because he was a valuable asset to the team or someone she’d grown accustomed to. But because she was actually falling in love with him.

“I want it to be you, Awen,” he said in her ear. She thought he was referencing what he was saying before, about the trigger and killing the enemy and everything. But then she wondered if he meant something else. Something deeper.

Instead of trying to define it, of trying to put it in a black and white box, she let it be what it was. Instead, she allowed the warmth of his embrace to pull her back from the edge of fear and keep her hidden for just a little while longer.

* * *

Someone cleared their throat from across the hangar bay. The noise startled Awen and she looked up to see Valerie and Piper standing near an entry door. Valerie wore a lab coat more appropriate for her role as a doctor than a trooper, while Piper donned a pair of black crew shorts and a white t-shirt with the Gladio Umbra’s insignia emblazoned over her left breast.

Magnus let go of Awen and motioned the two over. “Whad’ya got, doc.”

Valerie pulled Piper forward. Awen could have sworn the little girl was intentionally falling behind.

“Is it my lab coat that gave it away?” Valerie asked.

Magnus nodded. “I’m guessing it has to do with Flow and Cheeks.”

“It does, but…” Valerie looked at Awen. “If I’m interrupting something—”

“It’s fine,” Awen said. “Please. Go on.”

Valerie brought out a data pad and showed it to Magnus. “I’ve got good news and bad news.”

“Let’s start with the good news.”

“The good news is that Flow and Cheeks have agreed to stay behind and provide orbital oversight for the mission.”

Awen couldn’t be sure, but she thought she saw Magnus relax a little.

“That is good news,” he said.

“The bad news is that that little show of yours really messed with their heads.” Valerie raised the data pad for Magnus to see.

“What am I looking at?”

“Brain activity,” she said. “It’s a scan of a normal human male in their early thirties. Then this”—Valerie swiped to another screen with a dramatically different graph on it—“is Cheeks’s scan.”

Awen really had no idea what she was looking at, but the plot points were much higher and far more erratic. Based on the concern in Valerie’s voice alone, Awen could tell the results weren’t good.

As Valerie went on to explain the severity of Cheek’s PTSD, elaborating even more on his severe head trauma, Awen noted Piper looking down at the floor. In fact, Awen was pretty sure that her protege was hiding behind her mother’s leg. Awen sidestepped the conversation that Magnus and Valerie were having and knelt behind Valerie.

“Hey, doma,” Awen said, using the Novia word for student.

“Hi, shydoh.”

“What are you doing back here?”

Piper’s eyes darted around. “Back where?”

“You can’t fool me,” Awen said, trying to keep her tone light and happy. “You get in trouble with your mom or something?”

Piper shook her head.

“No?” Awen scratched her chin like they were playing a puzzle game. “Hmm. Forgot to pick up your dirty clothes?”

Piper smiled for a second but then shook her head. “Mmm-mm.”

Suddenly, Magnus coughed and Awen watched Piper jerk away. Her little hands clutched her mother’s coat. What in all mystics is that about? Awen wondered.

“Piper.” Awen was on her knees now, leaning toward the girl. Valerie’s body blocked them from Magnus’s views. “Are you certain you’re okay?”

Piper nodded again. “I’m okay, shydoh.”

“But… you seem anxious.”

“I don’t really think I know what ackshnos is.”

“Anxious. When you’re worried about something.” Awen studied Piper’s face carefully and contemplated slipping into the Unity. But Piper would notice that, and the last thing she wanted to do was put the girl on guard further. “Are you worried about something?”

“No, shydoh.”

That was when Awen knew Piper was lying. A little girl, on the horizon between universes, caught in the middle of a galactic war, and less than a day away from going into combat on the Luma home world—and she wasn’t worried about something?

Awen could either press the matter now or wait for a better opportunity. Given the current stress that Piper was clearly exhibiting, Awen thought it would be safer to wait. “Well, if you need to talk, you know where to find me.”

“Okay, shydoh.”

“Flow isn’t as bad,” Valerie said as Awen stood back up. “But they’re both unfit for duty, as you suspected.”

Magnus sighed. “Thanks for the report.”

“I’m sorry, Adonis,” Valerie said, putting her hand on his forearm. “I really am.”

Magnus covered her hand with his own. While Awen didn’t suspect him of any false motives, she did think that Valerie’s contact was unnecessary.

Valerie let go. “I’ll see you both later then.”

“Sounds good.” Magnus looked around Valerie’s hip and waved. “Bye, Piper.”

But the little girl only waved back at Awen.

As the pair went back through the door, Awen stared at Magnus with a concerned look. “Something’s not right.”

“No kidding. That Jujari procedure must’ve done something that—”

“Not them.” Awen crossed her arms again. “Piper.”

“Oh.”

“What do you think Nos Kil said to her?”

Magnus seemed to hesitate—which felt odd. “Could have been anything.”

She cocked her head a little. “You know something.”

“Me?” He pulled his head back a little. “I know as much as you. And, according to Azie, Piper made sure no one is ever seeing the footage of what happened in there.”

Awen bit her lip. “You don’t think that he… you know…”

“Mystics, no.” Magnus pressed a thumb into his temple. “Don’t talk like that, Awen.”

“I’m just making sure.”

“Valerie said there was no evidence of physical contact.”

“I know. It’s just that…” Awen felt like she was underwater and gasping for air. “I don’t know. She seemed afraid of you.”

Magnus blushed. Which seemed strange. “Afraid of me?”

“Yeah…” She squinted. “You sure you don’t know something?”

Magnus raised his eyebrows. “Maybe Nos Kil got in her head or something. Maybe it made her scared of men right now. Or maybe she’s just tired. Could be a lot of reasons for her behavior.”

“Could be…” Still, Awen felt like there was something more. And, for whatever reason, she felt like Magnus was hiding something. She hated herself for feeling that way. But she couldn’t help it. Something was off.

“Magnus,” came TO-96’s voice over the hangar bay’s speaker system. “Please report to the bridge for the jump to protospace.”

“I’ll be right there, ’Six.”

“Very good, sir.”

Magnus glanced at Awen. “We good?”

She nodded. “Yeah. I still think something’s wrong with Piper though.”

“We’ll figure it out. Promise.”

“Okay. I just… I don’t want her getting hurt.”

“That makes two of us. Now, come on. We have a universe to skip out on.” Magnus took her by the hand and led her out of the hangar bay. “Time to go free your friends.”

18

The Paragon Navy followed the Black Labyrinth’s example and drove hard into the Jujari fleets, following Admiral Brighton’s forceful orders. Moldark had listened to the entire transmission, noting how the admiral’s voice trembled when he spoke. He could feel Brighton’s disgust, quivering at the horror of his orders. But there was something visceral about the admiral’s state—as if the more he spoke, the more he believed in what he was saying. Moldark knew that his celestial presence was beginning to influence Brighton. It wouldn’t be long now before the man was consumed with hate for the enemy.

The whole episode was like watching a boxer step away from the first man he’d killed in a ring. The laws spared him from any charge of homicide, of course, but they could not spare him from the reality of taking another life. That would mar the fighter forever. But it also did something else—it awakened the demon. If he could kill once, he could kill again. And he would fight to kill whether he meant to or not.

Moldark heard the killer in Brighton now. He heard it so distinctly that his own soul quivered in delight. The admiral had seen what unbridled violence of force had done. And he would want it again. And again. And again. Until the only thing that would stop him would be for someone else who’d tasted the sweetness of taking life to remove Brighton from the battlefield.

Moldark watched as a disabled Sypeurlion battleship carved a hole through Oorajee’s atmosphere, its belly consumed in fire. Flames cascaded up the sides, fluttering wildly as the great ship plunged to its death in the dunes of the desert planet. With any luck, the ship would impact the planet and create a debris field that blotted out even more Jujari lives.

Just behind it, a Dim-Telok battlecruiser broke apart, its two halves flipping into the atmosphere amidst a conflagration so great that black plumes of smoke raked across the planet for hundreds of kilometers. It seemed as if a hellion monster had drawn its claw across the sky in a final act to protest its death. In the end, however, even the beast’s staunchest refusal to be put down could not hold off the inevitable.

“And I am inevitable,” Moldark whispered. “I will come for you all.”

The alert tone from an incoming call trilled in the background. This was maybe the fifth or sixth time Moldark had ignored it over the last ten minutes. But anyone who needed him had access to his private channel, so whoever this was could wait. Though Moldark’s comms officers did have control over what transmissions were routed to his private quarters. So the fact that they had not prevented this one from coming in meant that it was important. At least according to their standards, he thought.

Moldark sighed, spun away from the windows, and sat down in his chair, looking at the arm to review the comms display. The transmission data read Forum Republica and gave no other information about the caller. Moldark tried to ignore the request again but thought better of it—he had a feeling that whoever this was wouldn’t stop until they spoke to him.

As soon as Moldark pressed the Audio icon, a voice said, “Admiral Kane, I order you to put me on screen.”

Moldark thought for a moment. The voice sounded like it belonged to a senator. On Capriana. Curious, Moldark leaned forward and swiped the comms transmission open. The face of a stately man appeared, grey hair groomed meticulously around his mouth and temples. Moldark went through Kane’s memories and found the name. “Senator Blackman.”

The moment the senator saw Moldark—the moment he heard the strangeness of his voice—Blackman reared away from the holo cam. “Mystics, Kane. What’s… what’s happened to you?”

Moldark felt a certain measure of pity for the old man. It wasn’t the senator’s fault that he’d never seen the manifestation of an Elemental before. Then again, no one had in this gods forsaken universe—at least not to their knowledge. If they had, the rumors likely flew that someone had seen a goblin, a ghoul, or a ghost. Moldark certainly felt the same disgust when he viewed humans. But watching the senator wince in revulsion gave Moldark a certain satisfaction in knowing the man would be dead soon.

Moldark ignored the senator’s question. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your call, senator?”

Blackman’s lips were set in an awkward sneer of disgust as he still hadn’t recovered from Moldark’s appearance. His eyes searched the screen as if something might explain Moldark’s blistered skin, black eyes, or razor-like teeth. But there was no explanation, at least none he’ll be content with, Moldark thought.

“We’re getting reports of catastrophic enemy losses,” Blackman said, finally finding his nerve.

Moldark waited for more, expecting some judgement to be rendered, but nothing came. “And you consider this a bad thing?”

“Well,” Blackman huffed, “when your orders were to defend Republic interests and prevent—”

“You trained me to start wars, senator. Further, you charged me with subduing the enemy at all costs.”

“Yes, but the mere presence of a fleet does the majority of that work on its own. Wouldn’t you agree, admiral?”

“So your philosophy allows you to build weapons but subsequently compels you not to use them?”

Blackman scratched the top of his forehead. “Honestly, I don’t know who I’m talking to here, Kane. And I sure as hell don’t know what you did to yourself. But our agreement was that you would look to obtain the device from the mwadim and deliver it to us. Instead… well…” The man’s face grew red and his voice rose. “Instead we have a PR nightmare on our hands that we may not recover from for a century. I can’t reach any of the other fleet admirals, and I want to know what in mystic’s name you’re doing out there on the edge of the quadrant! On top of it all, you completely failed to kill So-Elku like I ordered you to! Need I remind you that the Nine gave you control of Third Fleet to serve our purposes and not your own?”

Moldark let the exasperated politician catch his breath before speaking. “Are you done?”

Blackman looked left and right as if checking the room before he exploded. “What do you mean am I done? Is that all you have to say for yourself? Kane, you’re clearly out of control out there. We’re hearing that you’re quite literally crushing the Jujari fleet and their coalition forces using not just your fleet, but all Republic fleets. You’re breaching all rules of engagement, and I have a media hailstorm erupting outside my office as we speak.”

“Senator, I—”

“No, Kane! This is not what we agreed upon. You’re out of line, you’re… you’ve… We’re calling you in.”

Moldark wasn’t sure what the term meant. He let his mind search Kane’s and found the words tucked away in an emotionally debilitating compartment reserved for only the gravest of circumstances. “Calling me in,” he repeated without emotion.

“Yes,” Blackman blurted out, sweat forming along his forehead.

“I see. And when would you like me to return?”

The senator looked incensed, his lips sputtering in a failed attempt to form coherent words. “Now!”

Moldark considered this and felt the timing rather amusing. He turned his enormous captain’s chair around until he faced the waning space battle. While the Republic’s technology was inferior to that of his people, it did serve the purpose of defeating the Jujari. That, and the archaic nature of it all had a certain charm, one that made Moldark smile. He watched as another Jujari vessel rolled out of orbit and began its death plunge toward the orange planet’s surface.

“Mystics, man. Answer me!”

“Answer you,” Moldark restated for clarity, lifting an eyebrow for emphasis. “Very well. I will come to you as soon as my affairs here are in order.”

“Your affairs? Once your affairs are in order? Admiral, I don’t think you understand what’s happening here. You are being charged with treason. Treason! We have already ordered your arrest and you will either come willingly or by force.”

“My arrest?” Moldark chuckled. “How quaint.”

“Quaint?” Blackman seemed flabbergasted, unable to breathe. “You will surrender yourself to—”

“To who?”

“To the crew of—”

“To the crew of my ship who bow to my every whim? To the other ships in the fleet who are taking orders from me and me alone? And if not them then who, exactly, are you sending to fetch me, dear senator? It seems that the prudent course, if I were you, would be to not rush this last part. One never knows the peril they hasten when driven by fear.”

The senator wrinkled his nose and leaned in to the holo cam. “Do I detect a threat from you, admiral?”

“Not at all,” Moldark said like an animated parent speaking to a child. Then his voice darkened with delight. “It’s an omen.”

19

Azelon brought the Spire into Worru’s orbit without any resistance from the Luma. In fact, if she was to be believed, no one on the planet even knew the ship was there, thanks to the Novia’s cloaking technology.

The shuttles, however, weren’t as fortunate and required that the pilots traverse to the planet’s far side, make entry, and then travel below radar on approach to Plumeria. In addition to the two shuttles that carried Granther Company, two more shuttles accompanied them to ferry any Luma prisoners that Magnus and Awen found.

TO-96 and Cyril sliced several databanks to access ship logs for vessels native to Worru. They stole four identification tags and reassigned them to the shuttles, making the ships appear to have come from another city on the planet’s far side. So far, the plan was working like a charm, and all four shuttles had touched down in docking bays thirty-four through thirty-seven.

“If I’m not back in sixty-minutes, you proceed to waypoint Juliet Zero Two,” Magnus said to Awen.

“We head to Grand Arielina,” she replied.

Magnus nodded. “And don’t think twice. Just get in as fast as you can, find Willowood and the others, and get out. If the codex is within reach, get it, but it’s not a main priority.”

“Understood. But what about you?”

“He’s either gonna arrest me or come along for the ride. You’ll hear it over comms.”

Awen took a deep breath. “Be careful.”

“Be dangerous,” he replied with a wink.

“Sure.” Then she hit the ramp door button with the heel of her hand and watched a sliver of moonlight pierce through the darkened cargo bay. The ramp hadn’t even come down halfway when Magnus kissed her, put his helmet on, and vaulted through the gap. She hit stop, then stared at the darkened Plumeria skyline.

“Now what?” Silk asked, standing directly behind Awen with her NOV1 laying over her shoulder.

“We let Magnus be Magnus and wait.”

* * *

Magnus moved alone through the streets of Plumeria. His Novia armor was in chameleon mode, allowing him to operate without risk of being seen. But given how quiet everything was, he was more worried about being heard than seen.

For someone who’d developed a deep resentment of the Luma, he never imagined he’d be on their homeworld three times in less than a year—depending upon what universe one was counting time in—and certainly not to save a handful of their asses. But, like Awen, he’d been changing—and for the better, he noted. This first part of the mission, however, was not about the Luma. It was about the Repub, about the Marines, and about his relationship with one of the Corps’ legends.

Magnus followed the vector waypoints on his HUD until he stood outside the colonel’s residence. It was a two-story stone building in a nice part of the city—though Magnus guessed the “nice parts” of Plumeria outnumbered the “not so nice parts” a hundred to one.

He double checked the time to see he had forty-nine minutes left before needing to either get back to the shuttles or send them on their way.

“Azie, you seeing this lock?” Magnus asked over comms as he zoomed in on the front door.

“Affirmative,” she replied. “Please stand by.”

Magnus waited a moment, keeping his vision focused on the security panel, when Azelon said, “Sir, please raise your left wrist toward the security system.”

“My left wrist?” No sooner did he lift his arm than a hard-light emitter on his wrist projected a replica of Azelon’s robotic hand. Magnus almost winced at the apparition but managed to hold still.

“Please keep me steady, sir.”

“You got it, Azie.”

Magnus watched a series of lights blink along the home security device as Azelon’s hand went to work, moving faster than he could track. A soft chime issued from the door, followed by a feminine voice that said, “Welcome, friend of Colonel William Caldwell. Please come in.”

Magnus swore. Everything seemed louder when trying to be covert. Still, he had to remind himself that such a sound would be white noise in this neighborhood. Hopefully the colonel felt the same. The hard-light emitter faded and Azelon’s hand disappeared.

“Thanks, Azie.”

“My pleasure, sir.”

The door slid open and Magnus stepped into a spartan hallway. An opening on either side led to a living room and an office respectively. The hallway terminated at the kitchen while the stairwell—he assumed—led to the bedrooms. The colonel had lost his wife years ago, so unless he had a mistress for a sleepover, the colonel should have been alone.

Magnus switched from night vision to HSI—high sensitivity infrared. Instantly, he saw a single warm body lying in bed on the second story.

“I have eyes on the colonel,” Magnus informed Azie. “Proceeding upstairs.” He powered off chameleon mode to conserve energy and switched his NOV1 to its new mode. Azelon had modified the weapon to produce a high-voltage low-amperage discharge if Magnus needed to subdue Caldwell without permanently harming him. He laid his finger on the trigger guard and moved up the stairwell. His footfalls were slow and methodical, and he kept his hips and shoulders even, resisting his body’s natural tendency to bounce up the steps.

Magnus turned right at the top of the stairs and approached the master bedroom. “Azie, can you put that door on manual?”

“Affirmative,” she replied. Magnus saw a small blue LED shift colors to green.

“Thanks.”

He laid a hand on the door and slid it to the right. When the opening was large enough for him to slip through, Magnus stepped sideways into the room and pointed his weapon at the bed. Caldwell was still asleep. He’d taken no more than three steps across the bedroom floor when he heard the power cycle of a pistol.

“Hold right there,” said a commanding voice behind him, followed by the chime of a desk lamp turning on. A small nudge just under the back of Magnus’s helmet meant there was probably a weapon pointed at the base of his neck.

Magnus brought his hands up slowly. Whoever this was, his body hadn’t registered on Magnus’s HUD.

“I’m not here to hurt anyone,” Magnus said over his external speaker.

“Looks like a mighty big gun for someone who isn’t interested in shooting it.”

Magnus froze. “Colonel Caldwell?”

“I should hope so. You did break into his house, after all.”

“Colonel, it’s me, Magnus.” Magnus felt the weapon behind his head twitch.

“You’re gonna need more proof than that,” Caldwell said, pressing the barrel back into Magnus’s neck.

“You accepted my request to move the Fearsome Four to RIS after Nos Kil killed your son in Caledonia.” The words came out effortlessly despite the cruel memories they provoked.

There was a moment’s hesitation before Caldwell said, “Magnus?”

Magnus raised one hand and pulled off his helmet, making a grand display of his intentions. Then Magnus turned slowly to look at the colonel. When their eyes met, Caldwell powered down his pistol.

“Holy mystics, Magnus. What in the hades are you doing here? And what are you wearing?”

“It’s a long story, colonel. But we don’t have much time.”

“Time before what?”

“Time before things go sideways. You got somewhere we can talk?”

“Sure, sure, Magnus. Just let me get some damn clothes on.” That was when Magnus realized the colonel wasn’t wearing a thing. He looked from the dimly lit bathroom to the bed, confused.

“I don’t get it?” Magnus asked as the man stood in front of a tall dresser. “IR sensors showed you we’re in bed. Did you know I was coming? You spoofed my kit?”

The colonel laughed. “I guess there are some benefits to getting old.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Heating pad, son.” Caldwell chuckled, then nodded toward the bathroom. “And I was taking a cold shower. Doc says it’s good for my circulation.”

“Son of a bitch,” Magnus said with a grin.

“Now”—Caldwell pulled a shirt over his head and walked toward the door—“let’s get us some coffee and you can tell me what’s going on.”

“Sir, I really don’t think you—”

“Have time for coffee? Son, if there isn’t time for coffee, then we’re already screwed, so what’s the difference?”

Magnus sighed. “Lead the way.”

* * *

Magnus sat at the colonel’s small kitchen table, talking to Caldwell as fast as his brain would allow and still be coherent. He didn’t realize just how much had happened since their last meeting here on Worru and feared this was taking too much time. But sharing the details was too important to skip. The colonel needed to know everything if he was going to make an informed decision.

When Magnus had finished, Caldwell said, “That’s all well and good, but it still doesn’t explain why you caught me in my bedroom with my pants down.”

“To be fair to the saying, you actually caught me with my pants down.”

“That I did,” the colonel said with a smile, sipping the last of his coffee. “So? What do you want from me?”

“Well, sir, I was hoping you’d join us.” Magnus searched the colonel’s face for any sign of a reaction, but the man was unreadable.

Caldwell cleared his throat. Then he licked the corner of his mouth as if searching for his ever-present cigar, and rotated his coffee mug on the table when he couldn’t find it. “You’ve got a lot of balls coming here. You know that, right?”

“I do, colonel. And you know I wouldn’t have come unless it was serious.”

The old man nodded. “And what, you hoping I can sling one of these fancy alien weapons and clear buildings with you? Is that it?”

“Well, sir. Actually, I was hoping you’d help—”

“Get the heat off your ass and clear your name with the brass?”

Magnus’s eyes snapped up to meet his. The thought had crossed his mind, of course, but it seemed too far-fetched to be real. Given the charges of attempted murder of a senator and whatever else the Repub had cooked up about Magnus’s involvement with starting the Jujari war, the only thing that seemed like it would get them to stand down was his head on a platter.

“Actually, sir, I was hoping you’d help build our team.”

Caldwell stopped rotating his mug. “Then you’re serious about taking everyone on then.”

“Everyone?”

“Son.” Caldwell leaned into the table, making it creak. “You’re on Plumeria in the middle of the night about to break into the mystic-damned capital building to try and free prisoners charged with treason against the Luma and the Republic. So, yes—you’re about to take on everyone.”

“Damn, colonel, you don’t need to be so enthusiastic about it.”

Caldwell laughed. “And then you’re hoping I’m gonna what—help recruit Marines who might be second guessing their orders to stop you?”

“The thought had crossed my mind.”

“Splick, son.” Caldwell took a deep breath and let his shoulders sag. “I’m getting too old for this.”

Magnus raised an eyebrow. “So… is that a yes?”

“You’re a damned son of a bitch, Adonis. Just like your grandfather. You know that, right?”

A wave of relief flooded Magnus’s chest like… like a heating blanket on an old man’s bed.

“I’ll help you however I can, son. I also felt Kane craved power for the sake of power, and now that he’s morphed into this Moldark fellow, well, he’s got a pile of hurt coming. On top of all that, I already know Master So-Elku is as vile as an old whore’s hanky holder, and in league with the senate to boot. The way I see it, the galaxy needs a push in the right direction, son. But I’m not sure you’re recruiting anyone on this side of the Corps. So far, there’s no reason for them to question the chain of command, not like what you’ve seen. And I don’t think we’ll have time to recruit any of my battalion stationed here on Worru. You’re on a tight schedule, ain’t you, son?”

“Pretty damn tight, colonel. There’s just not enough time for you to speak to your commanders, not like what we’re doing here. And you haven’t asked me for proof like they will.”

“And they’ll need it too.” The colonel seemed to grow solemn as his brow furrowed. “No, there’s not enough time. Which means this might turn ugly faster than a witch’s tits in a tornado.”

Magnus suppressed a smile, knowing what the colonel really meant by things turning ugly. “While the fight for allegiances hasn’t come to them yet, it has to others. And that’s where your voice might help in the future. That’s where we need you, colonel. I need you.”

“For those inside the Paragon, as you called it.”

Magnus nodded. “I don’t believe all of them want to be there.”

“People like your captured pilot.”

“Exactly.”

Caldwell scratched his chin, then gave a soft chuckle. “Desk rash is a lot worse than they say.”

“So is trigger rash. But desks are a lot safer.”

“Some might argue that point.” Caldwell looked straight at Magnus with one eye half closed. “You remember how I said I accepted this station to see if the Luma were on to something? On to another way of bringing peace to the galaxy?”

“I remember you alluding to something of that nature, yeah.”

“Well, they aren’t. Not the way I had hoped. They’re just like the suits in high towers of Capriana, making people dance but with different music. Desks kill as good as blasters. It’s just harder to tell who’s shooting at you. So, if there’s another way to figure this out, if there’s another fix for the galaxy? Leave it to a Magnus to figure it out.”

“You’re really in then?”

“When do we leave?”

“As soon as you turn off your heating pad and put your damned dentures in.”

20

Magnus and Caldwell made it back to the shuttles without incident, and with five minutes to spare.

“Cutting it a little close, aren’t we, Magnus?” Awen said as he and the colonel came up the ramp and into the cargo bay congested with gladias.

“Awen, this is Colonel Caldwell,” Magnus said, introducing the two of them. “Colonel, this is—”

“Awen dau Lothlinium,” he said, taking her hand and kissing the top of it.

“Magnus, you never told me he was a gentleman.”

The colonel waved off the comment before Magnus could answer. “Only royalty get their hands kissed, miss” he said.

“We need to get him suited up,” Magnus said, pushing past them with a hint of a grin on his face. “Azie! I need a suit and an NOV1.”

“Right away, sir.”

“Everyone else, get ready to move out.” Magnus put his helmet on and repeated the order over comms for the other shuttle to hear. When he pulled it back off again, Caldwell was walking toward Azelon and a flight case that held a new Novia suit of armor and a weapon.

“So you convinced him,” Awen said. “Nice work.”

“Thanks. But it wasn’t that hard. The old man’s a pushover for a fight.”

“I wouldn’t sell yourself too short, Magnus.”

He looked at her, eyebrows raised. “Oh?”

“You’ve got yourself quite a cause now. The way I see it, he would’ve been an idiot not to follow you.”

“Let’s hope he feels that way.”

“He does.”

Magnus hesitated. “Wait, did you—”

“He really respects you too, Magnus,” she said, lowering her voice.

“But I thought there were Luma laws about not reading people’s minds without their consent.”

“Luma laws, exactly. I haven’t written any for the Gladio Umbra yet. Plus, you really think I’m letting a Repub Colonel on this team without making sure he’s not hiding anything?”

Suddenly, a wave of panic gripped Magnus’s chest. If she’d read Caldwell’s mind about his allegiance, had she read his mind about his past with Argus and Nos Kil? He swore in his head. I do not need this head game right now.

“You okay?” Awen asked.

“Yeah, fine. You?”

Awen winced. “Yeah… Magnus I… Whatever, let’s just get this over with.”

“Sounds good.” He looked across the bay. “Azie?”

“He’s almost ready, sir.”

“Damn suit is a little tight around the midsection,” Caldwell said.

“Desk life’s a bitch, ain’t it, colonel,” Dutch said, walking to help the man with the plate armor.

“Corporal Dutch?” Caldwell asked, seeming to recognize her.

“It’s just Dutch now, sir. You can drop the corporal.”

“I can see my assigning you to Magnus turned out to be quite the commission.”

“And I can see you put on a few kilos since the last time I stood in your office.”

“Watch it. I can still court-martial you.”

Dutch yanked on a plate strap that squeezed the colonel’s gut. “Nah, you can’t.”

* * *

“You remember what I told you, Piper?”

The little girl in the power suit looked back at Awen and nodded. “Stick with you, look for enemies, keep our teammates from getting hurt without killing anyone to do it.”

“Good girl. And if we get separated?”

“Make my way back here to the shuttles and wait for further instructions from Azelon.”

“Right.” Awen patted Piper down to make sure her suit was on right. Then she double checked her helmet before handing it to her.

“Everything’s going to be okay, shydoh,” Piper said, taking the helmet. “I won’t let you down.”

“It’s not you I’m worried about,” Awen muttered.

“What’s that?”

Awen smiled. “Nothing. Put that on and get ready. Magnus will be giving the order any second.” Awen couldn’t be sure, but she thought she saw Piper squint when she said Magnus’s name. “You okay?”

Piper looked at Awen and then pulled the helmet on. “I’m fine,” she said over external speakers.

“You’d tell me if something was bothering you, right?”

Piper’s helmet rocked up and down.

“And nothing’s bothering you?”

Again, Piper’s helmet moved, but left and right.

Awen sighed and raised her own helmet. “Okay then. Here we go.”

* * *

Granther Company moved down Plumeria’s main thoroughfare, jogging in two lines. Each suit’s chameleon mode kept them hidden, while the stealth soles on their boots kept street noise to a minimum. It also helped that it was 0320 hours, so the only things awake were cockroaches and alley cats—if the city even had any, Magnus thought.

Plumeria was so picture-perfect it made his stomach turn. Even at night the place was fit for a scene in a fairytale holo movie. The streetlamps glowed a pale yellow, while the sandstone streets stretched out beneath purple and magenta flags lining every street he looked down.

“One klick to the courtyard,” Dutch said over comms.

“Copy that,” Magnus replied. He double checked to see that the colonel was in the rear with Awen and Piper. Then he decided to check in with Flow and Cheeks. A small side window opened on his HUD with an image of Flow on the Spire’s bridge. “Flow, this is Magnus. How do you read me?”

“I’m reading you Lima Charlie, LT. Just like my girlfriend on video call—hot and spicy.”

“You don’t have a girlfriend,” Cheeks replied, stepping into the frame.

“I do now,” Flow said, pulling out a printed image of Cheeks’s younger sister.

“Hey, where did you get that?” Cheeks tried to snatch the image out of Flow’s hand but was warded off with an elbow to his ribs. “Son of a—”

“And how’s the company’s signal?” Magnus asked, trying to get the conversation back on track.

“We see you marching east on Avernon Street toward the waypoint Juliet Zero Two.”

“And Azelon?”

Flow looked over his shoulder at the bot. “LT wants to know how you’re doing, Azie.”

“That is strange. I’m not detecting any issues with his communications suite. Is he experiencing a failure in reaching me?”

Flow looked back at Magnus. “She’s good to go.”

Magnus grinned. “Roger that. Make sure to light any new targets for us and call ’em out.”

“Will do, LT. You stay safe.”

“That’s the plan.”

Magnus closed the channel and felt his heart thump. He felt bad leaving Flow and Cheeks behind, but he felt even worse about getting Azelon to filter all video and audio content going to the Spire’s bridge. It had taken some time, but the two AIs had figured out a way to swap all transmissions from Rohoar and the rest of the Jujari-filled Delta Platoon with human likenesses. Magnus needed the two Marines on this op, even if just for their eyes and ears, but he couldn’t have them relapsing into a fit the moment they made contact with Rohoar or the others. It was underhanded. But it was necessary.

Magnus led the unit in silence for another few minutes before they arrived at the courtyard. He gave the order to spread out and hold. Then, over a hand-selected group channel, he said, “Nolan, Rix, and Silk.”

“Yes, sir,” they each replied.

“I want you on me. Abimbola, you too.”

The ex-Navy pilot and the three former Marauders acknowledged the request, and Magnus watched their respective icons move toward him on his map. When Magnus turned to face them, a detailed line-drawing of their bodies appeared in Magnus’s HUD, marked with name tags and stats on each gladia’s vitals.

“You all okay?” Magnus asked. “And before you answer, don’t say fine. We all know what happened last time we were here.”

Magnus could see Nolan’s head nod on the line drawing. “It hurts, sir. Hurts like hell.” Then the pilot looked to his right… to the exact damn spot where Simone had fallen to her death. “I miss her.” He chuckled. “Funny thing is, I hardly knew her, ya know?” Nolan looked at the other three figures, knowing they’d spent far more time with Simone than he ever had—but he’d been at the control when Simone had fallen from the shuttle’s ramp. “I see her face almost every night when I fall asleep.” He let out a steady breath between pursed lips. “But I’m still good to go, sir. Ready or not, here we come.”

Magnus patted him on the shoulder, watching his own hand appear as a line drawing in his field of view. “Good man.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“And you? Rix, Silk?”

“I’m good, buckethead,” Rix said.

“Me too.” Silk swung her NOV1 around. “Simone would have wanted us to come back here and kick some Luma ass. Pretty sure she’s with us, waiting to make sure we do it right.”

“Copy that,” Magnus said. He looked to Abimbola for any additional comments but the Miblimbian waved him off. Over the company channel, Magnus said, “Okay, what’da we got, people?”

“I have visual on two sentries on the main porch,” Dutch said. The targets lit up as yellow circles on the company’s HUD as the armor system registered them.

“And we’re reading four more guards inside the structure stationed at intervals leading up to the main dome,” Flow said. Four more yellow circles appeared on Magnus’s topo map.

“Seems like the night shift is lighter than we thought,” Magnus said. “Awen?”

“Those are temple watchmen,” she said. “Trained, but not the best the Luma has. Half the time they’re students just looking to gain favor with the elders.”

“Copy that. How about the prisoners?”

“Nothing yet,” Awen replied. “Something’s definitely blocking my ability to see inside the catacombs.”

That was both a good thing and a bad thing. Good because it meant the enemy had something to hide. But bad because it meant Awen wasn’t able to break through a passive defense.

“Let’s take that as a good sign,” Magnus said, choosing to be an optimist—at least for the time being. “Alpha Platoon, break left. Bravo, break right. Charlie, Delta, Echo, you’re with me holding here and proceeding down the center once the sentries are neutralized. Proceed.”

Green icons ran down the chat sidebar as Magnus watched Alpha and Bravo platoons run down either side of the courtyard. They made it to the Grand Arielina’s wide front steps and sent two pair of gladias after the first two sentries. In Alpha Platoon, Ezo approached the night watchman while Valerie readied two sets of flexicuffs. Ezo snuck up behind the young man undetected, fired a single stun round between his shoulder blades, and then lowered him to the ground while Valerie bound his hands and feet with the cuffs. Then they worked together to carry the body off the front landing and into some dense bushes.

The textbook takedown took less than sixty seconds. The other team, made up of Silk and Rix, had taken even less time, neutralizing their guard in under forty seconds.

“Nice work, people,” Magnus said. “Everyone else, on me.”

Magnus moved into the open, stepping onto the courtyard’s luxurious grass. Under normal conditions, his body would have been illuminated by the full moon and stars, but his armor’s status bar said it was fully concealed. Plus, without the overlaid line-drawings he couldn’t make out any of his fellow gladias, so he trusted the tech was doing its job.

They jogged clear across the lawn and ascended the front steps to rejoin the other two platoons. Magnus looked up and saw the arches of the open doors greet them like a sleeping monster’s yawning mouth. When everyone was accounted for, Magnus ordered them through the entry and into the hallway.

“Rohoar, send four gladias to take out the sentries. Nothing lethal yet.”

“Yes, Magnus,” said the Jujari, his tone conveying considerable disappointment. “Saladin, Czyz, Longchomps, Grahban—you heard the mwadim.”

Mwadim? Magnus thought, then realized he should probably come up with some sort of rank structure eventually. All these different naming conventions were starting to drive him crazy. But mwadim? That was just over the top.

Magnus watched on his HUD as the line-drawings of the four Jujari raced between the walls and the giant columns, keeping their presence hidden in the shadows. Then, in one coordinated move, all four emerged from the darkness—two from each side of the hallway—and yanked the Luma guards off their feet. The men vanished without so much as a scream and were subdued.

So far so good, Magnus thought. If the rest of the op went this smooth, they’d be out of here in less than thirty minutes, and no worse for wear. But since when has an op ever gone as planned, Adonis? Don’t jinx yourself.

“You’re clear until Elder’s Hall,” Flow said from the Spire. “After that, I can’t see anything.”

“Neither can I,” Awen added.

“Me neither,” Piper said. “It’s like there’s a big soap bubble all around it. Makes me wanna pop it with my finger.”

“We might need you to do that in a sec,” Magnus said to the girl. “Let’s see what we find first.”

The girl seemed to hesitate, then said, “Okay, Magnus.”

Magnus? That was a first. “All units proceed.”

Magnus padded down the red carpeted hallway, catching up to the four Jujari who’d gagged and bound the knocked-out Luma guards together in pairs and left them behind two pillars. Together, all of Granther Company moved up the tall set of marble stairs that led to the dome.

Images of the last time Magnus had been here flashed through his head. He remembered the panic he felt when his body had been rendered immobile by So-Elku. It was a helpless feeling, and he desperately wanted to avoid anything like that again. And he would, he hoped, because he had Awen. And Piper. Though the little girl had certainly seemed off lately. He desperately hoped that whatever was bothering her wouldn’t affect the mission.

Magnus proceeded slowly up the steps, hearing the faintest sounds of padded boots on stone as the company followed behind him. When they got to the giant sets of gilded wooden doors, Magnus gave the order to hold.

“Dutch, try it out,” Magnus ordered.

“Yes, sir.”

The operator moved past him and applied her gloved hand to the giant gold handle. She pushed, then pulled, but nothing happened. “It won’t budge.”

Magnus swore. The next step was to see if Awen could open it, but if she couldn’t, they’d need to breach it. And that was going to attract some company.

“Awen, you’re up.”

“Right behind you, Magnus.”

Awen stepped around him and squared off with the middle set of main doors. He saw her lower her head, probably in concentration, and then he waited. Almost a whole minute went by before he finally asked, “How you doing?”

“Almost there.”

Magnus’s curiosity was getting the best of him, however. “So? What is it?”

Awen’s voice was tight. “No questions.”

“Copy.”

He had to wait another twenty seconds before Awen stepped away from the doors. “There,” she said, taking a few deep breaths.

“That bad?” Magnus asked.

“Just some minor protection placed over the dome. Nothing I wasn’t expecting. But not the easiest energy to circumvent either.”

“So… no alarms or warning bells or booby traps?”

She shook her head. “Nope. And it’s empty inside too.”

“We can confirm that up here too,” Flow said.

“Looks clear,” added Cheeks.

“Thanks, boys.” Magnus looked through the walls, combining his bioteknia eyes with the armor’s sensors to create a hybrid readout on the HUD. Sure enough, now that Awen had disarmed the force-field-whatever-you-call-it in the Unity, he could see that the temple was empty. “Looks like everyone went home for the night.”

“Copy that,” Dutch said. “Alpha Platoon making entry.”

“Careful now,” Magnus said, watching Dutch push open the left-side door. A soft sliver of light appeared as she went in, her silhouette followed quickly by the rest of her platoon and TO-96. Magnus watched as the icons spread out, gladias running to the far sides of the massive circular room. Bravo Platoon went in next.

“Titus,” Magnus said. “Have Charlie Platoon set up a defensive perimeter here. You have a good sightline of the hallway. No one gets through these doors.”

“Copy that,” Titus replied.

“Rohoar, follow me in.”

“Yes, mwadim.”

Magnus winced. “We’ve got to find a better name than that.”

“But it is our most honored name.”

“And I respect that, just… just stay on me.”

“I understand.”

Magnus pressed through the door after the last member of Bravo Platoon entered. Once inside, he could see the same vaulted ceiling as before. Cushions lined the space, and the far wall was open to the lush garden, now bathed in moonlight. Candles and torches flickered at intervals around the room, casting soft shadows across the floor. Interestingly, the gladias’ bodies did nothing to interfere with the intricate lighting, replicating and recasting the firelight with ease.

“Abimbola, Rohoar. I want you and Bravo and Delta Platoons staying here. Work in conjunction with Titus if we get any company. Alpha and Echo Platoons, we’re headed downstairs. TO-96, I’m assigning you to Echo.”

“Very good, sir. I’m happy to be of service.”

“And colonel?” Magnus asked.

“What do you need, son?”

“I’m assigning you to Abimbola and Bravo Platoon. You good with that?”

“Does he like cigars?”

Abimbola nodded. “Does he like Antaran backdraw?”

The colonel chuckled. “I think we’ll get along just fine.”

“Good. Awen?”

“Yes Magnus.”

“Any idea how to get into the catacombs?”

“There’s an old stairwell. This way.”

“Please wait, Awen,” Saasarr said, holding his lizard-like hand toward her chest. “Let me go first.”

“He knows what he’s doing,” Sootriman added. “Reptalons like the shadows.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Awen replied, and then stepped out of the way to let Saasarr pass. She directed him to a small alcove to the far left. To the naked eye, it looked like any small recess in the domed room, containing anything from a shrine to a sculpture. But upon close inspection, the small nook contained a painted door that blended nearly perfectly with the surrounding wall. The only thing that gave it away was the door’s thin outline that appeared as a black crack.

“I do not see a handle,” Saasarr said, patting the surface with his scaly hands.

“That’s because it’s in the Unity.” Awen lowered her head and then reached forward, grabbing at the air. Her hand closed around something invisible. But when she pulled, the door separated from the wall and slide across the marble floor with a low groan.

Saasarr hissed something in his native tongue and Dutch stepped beside him. Both of their NOV1s were pointed through the opening and into a torchlit corridor that spiraled down and out of sight.

“After you, Saasarr,” Dutch said. The Reptalon flicked his tongue, his toothy snout protruding out of his half-helmet, and then ducked into the passage and down the first few steps.

Magnus held Awen’s arm, indicating she should let the rest of Alpha Platoon head down first. “Still no read on what’s down there?”

“No,” Awen replied. “It’s like someone has set up a barrier.”

“To keep us out,” Magnus replied.

“Or to keep them in.”

Magnus remembered that Willowood had connected directly to his head when he was last here. Perhaps that’s precisely what So-Elku didn’t want happening again.

Gilder was the last gladia to enter. Magnus nodded at Awen and Piper. He went to give the little girl a gentle push, to let her know it was alright and that he was right behind her, when Piper moved out of reach. The strange thing was that she had her back turned toward him, yet it seemed like… like she avoided my touch on purpose.

Another sick feeling filled Magnus’s stomach. Nos Kil must’ve said something. But it would have to wait. Magnus suppressed the sensation and willed himself to stay focused on the mission.

“Whad’ya got, Saasarr?” Magnus asked, picking up the rear. His feet plodded down the spiral staircase as he listened for the Reptalon’s reply.

“Something,” Saasarr hissed. “Saasarr smells something…”

“Something what?” Dutch asked.

“Something sweet.”

“Sweet means human,” Sootriman said.

“How comforting,” Valerie added.

“We’re at the bottom,” Dutch said. “Opens into a wide hallway, about two meters high.”

“Wait for us all to get there,” Magnus said, wishing the line would move faster.

“Copy that, LT.”

By the time Magnus got to the bottom level, Alpha and Echo Platoons lined the walls of the wide room that seemed to stretch on for at least a hundred yards. There were torches hung at intervals, and between them…

“Doors,” Awen said. “I see old doors. They’re sealed shut, however.”

Magnus looked at her and then at the walls. He didn’t see a thing but old stonework, nor was anything coming up on his HUD to indicate that there were cavities anywhere on this level. “You sure about that?”

“Positive.”

“I see them too,” Piper said. “But… I don’t think there’s anyone in them.”

“I agree,” Awen said. But the sound of her voice betrayed a lack of confidence.

“You sure there’s nothing in them?”

She hesitated. “I suppose that’s a relative term. Legend has it that the great Luma Masters are buried down here, their crypts sealed shut for all time.”

“So you mean to tell Ezo that he is walking through an underground graveyard of mystics? They did not put this on the guided tour’s description.”

“It’s okay,” Awen replied. “They’re just bones and dust.”

“Somehow, that doesn’t comfort Ezo. Come to think of it, that makes it worse.”

“So you can see past the defensive wall now?” Magnus asked, trying to think of a better way to describe whatever had hindered Awen’s second sight before.

“As soon as we stepped off the last stair, yes.” She took a few more steps forward. “And it seems to clarify further as I walk.”

“So it’s a proximity thing,” Ezo said, walking up beside Piper. “Is it the same for you?”

“Yup. I couldn’t see anything in the Unity down here until we got off the stairs.”

“Interesting,” Ezo said.

“It looks like we have another stairwell at the end of this hall,” Saasarr said, tongue flicking out on each S-sound he pronounced.

“Lead the way,” Magnus replied. “Awen, Piper, I need you telling us the first thing you see out of the ordinary.”

“We will,” Awen said.

Magnus waited for Piper to agree, but she didn’t. Why? What’s going on in that little head of hers? Dammit—he was letting the situation get to him, and he couldn’t afford to be distracted.

Saasarr and Dutch moved smoothly along either side of the hallway, followed by the rest of the team. Magnus came up beside TO-96 and said, “I want you hanging back.”

“Hanging back, sir?”

“On this level. I want you staying here while we descend more.”

“But, sir—”

“No buts, ’Six. You’re the best solo option I had for heavy armament, so I need you covering this floor in case anything… you know.”

“I know what, sir?”

“Anything gets crazy.”

“Crazy, sir?”

“Exactly.”

The bot’s eyes glimmered and his head tilted sideways.

“If you see anything, call it out.”

“I will endeavor to please you, sir.”

“I know, ’Six.”

Magnus caught up with the others as they were descending the stairwell. Like the previous one, it descended some twenty-five meters before spitting everyone out onto yet another level of long walls and torches.

“Looks the same as above,” Dutch said.

“Any signs of life, Awen?” Magnus asked.

“Negative. Just more crypts.”

“More crypts and Ezo’s got more creeps.”

“Hush, love,” Sootriman chided. “Momma’s here.”

“Momma?” Magnus raised his eyebrows, though no one could see them.

“It’s one of their things,” Awen said as quietly as she could.

“Ah.” Magnus sniffed. “Saasarr, looks like another stairwell ahead.”

“Indeed, sir,” hissed the Reptalon.

“Lead the way.”

“As you wish, sir.”

Just as before, the team proceeded down the wide but short hallway and entered the far stairwell, descending single file. No sooner had they set foot on the third level than Awen froze. “There’s someone down here.”

Magnus looked down the empty hallway and then turned to face her. “You sure?”

“Of course she’s sure, Magnus,” Piper replied. There she goes with my last name again. Something was definitely off with her, he was certain of it.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Magnus said to Awen, ignoring Piper’s insolent tone. “But I’m not seeing any doors down here.”

“That’s because they’ve been sealed in the crypts.”

21

“You’re telling me someone transported them in there?” Magnus squinted at Awen even though he knew she couldn’t see his face. “Someone trapped them behind the walls?”

“Well, maybe not transported them, but opened the doors and then sealed them shut again, more than likely.”

“Ezo is not liking this.”

“Easy, love.” Sootriman rested a hand on Ezo’s shoulder.

“He’s not liking this at all.”

“Okay, everyone,” Magnus said, trying to maintain control in light of this rather odd predicament. “We’re going to get the prisoners out and—”

“Are we sure it’s even them?” Valerie wondered.

To Magnus’s embarrassment, he hadn’t even thought about whether or not the people that Awen sensed might be people other than Willowood and the Luma loyal to her. “Awen? Piper?”

“I’m looking. Hold on…” Awen held up a hand for everyone to be silent. “I see…”

Magnus found himself holding his breath as he waited for her verdict. If this was not Willowood and her people, then they’d just wasted precious time on a fool’s errand. But then that made Magnus wonder who else might be down here in these crypts.

“It is them,” Awen said at last. The platoon let out a corporate sigh of relief and Magnus passed the word over the company channel. Abimbola, Rohoar, and Titus congratulated him and insisted they get back up fast so they could get out of there.

“We’ll be up shortly,” Magnus replied. Just as soon as we figure out how to free them, he thought of adding but didn’t want to make the conversation any more complicated than it needed to be. The important thing was that they’d located Willowood.

Magnus touched Awen on the shoulder. “So how do we do this?”

“I’m going to have Piper try and help me open the doors. They are between all the torches. But they’ve been sealed shut using some sort of powerful force within the Unity. So it might take a second or two.”

“We’ll be ready.”

“And I don’t know what kind of condition they’re in,” Awen added. “I can hardly make out their life signs. I’m guessing So-Elku trapped them in there. Willowood is powerful. But if she’s been harmed, or if these crypts have cut off their powers in some way…”

“We’ll get them out of here and get them the care they need.” Magnus watched her shoulders rise and fall. “It’s going to be okay. Just get them out and we’ll do the rest.”

“Okay.” Awen took Piper by the hand and walked down the middle of the stone hallway until they reached what seemed to be the center. Then, still holding hands, the two of them lowered their heads as if in prayer. At first nothing happened. But then their suits started to glow. The light was soft, but then grew in intensity until Magnus’s HUD automatically adjusted to account for the unusually bright light now filling the third level of the catacombs.

The stone floor began to tremble. Magnus felt dust and bits of stone ping off his armor. He looked up to see a steady stream of debris breaking free of the ceiling. A low rumble shook the walls, and Magnus was pretty sure that if Awen and Piper let this go on, the other platoons may be digging out more bodies than they bargained for.

He was just about to say something when, all along the hallway, several sections of stone pivoted away from the walls. The torchlight flickered as gusts of wind and soft lights spilled from the cavities. The members of Alpha Platoon, along with Saasarr, had their weapons up and trained on the openings.

Then, as if a conductor drew the orchestra to the end of the final measure, the vibrations stopped. Awen opened her eyes. “It’s okay,” she said over her external speakers. “You can come out now.”

* * *

Opening all the doors was harder than Awen thought it would be. Whoever had closed them was strong, and undoing their work had taken a lot of concentration and energy. She had one guess as to whose handiwork this was, and she already knew it had been assisted by research found in the codex. She knew because she felt it. She knew because the Foundation and the Nexus were a part of her skillset too.

When the doors opened and the quaking ceased, Awen returned to her natural sight and said, “It’s okay. You can come out now.” She reached up and removed her helmet. Piper did the same. And a beat later, Valerie walked up to join them, also removing her helmet.

The first person to emerge was a woman in her sixties, dressed in dusty red and black robes. Her grey hair was wiry and wild, and she had wrists full of bracelets, bangles, and baubles.

“Willowood,” Awen yelled, then raced forward to embrace the woman. More people began to emerge from the crypts, their faces and clothes covered in dust.

“Hello, child,” Willowood cried. “I wasn’t sure if you’d come.”

“We have. We all have.”

“I can see that. Let me look at you.” Willowood pushed Awen back and looked her up and down. “Well don’t you look fancy.”

“It’s a power suit. But there’s so much to explain.” Awen nearly slapped herself in the forehead. “And that’s not the most important part! Willowood, your—”

“I’ll take it from here,” Valerie said.

Willowood turned toward Valerie and Piper, her hands slowly going to her mouth. “Oh my…”

“Hello, mother,” Valerie said.

“Valerie? Is it really you?”

Valerie nodded and put her hands on the sides of her face. “It is.” She and Willowood stepped forward and then wrapped their arms around one another in a forceful embrace.

“My beloved daughter, is it really you?” Willowood repeated.

Valerie sobbed through her response, which caught Awen off guard. The women had been so strong—so sure of herself—that Awen never imagined she’d hear the senator’s wife cry. But cry she did, squeezing her mother tight for all she was worth.

When the two finally stepped away, neither seemed able to find the right words. Finally, Valerie said, “Piper, this is your grandmother.”

“Grammie, please,” Willowood said, kneeling down. “No need to be so formal around here.”

“I’m Piper.”

“And aren’t you beautiful. You’re so much taller than the last time I saw you too.”

“Is it okay if I give you a hug?”

“I would like that very much.”

As the two embraced, Awen found herself wiping away her own tears. The emotions had caught her off guard. She’d been so focused on finding Willowood, on keeping the fear at bay in this dark place, that she’d completely failed to imagine what this reunion might be like. She looked at Magnus, and even though he was still under his helmet, she thought her second sight showed a tear forming in the corner of his eye.

Willowood held Piper and looked up at Awen. “Thank you for coming.”

“Of course.” Awen sniffed and wiped her cheeks. “What else were we going to do?”

“Mother, we have so much to tell you,” Valerie said. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“I hate to break this up,” Magnus interjected, removing his helmet. “But we’ve gotta get you ladies outta here.” He extended his hand in greeting. “Willowood, my name is Adonis Magnus.”

“I know who you are, Magnus.”

Magnus hesitated. “You were the one in my… in my head.” He tapped a gloved finger on his temple.

Willowood released Piper, nodded, and stood to shake his hand. “That’s right. And you responded very well considering how unnerving that must have been.”

Magnus shrugged off the compliment. “Any idea how many people you have here, ma’am?”

Willowood turned to watch the rest of the Luma pour out of the crypts. “Last I knew, we were fifty-four.”

Magnus repeated the number, sounding surprised. “And they’re all politically aligned with your cause?”

“If you’re asking whether or not they’re loyal to the pursuit of peace in the galaxy and, therefore, worth rescuing, the answer is most certainly yes.”

“Right. Okay then.” He donned his helmet again and opened a channel to all of Granther Company. “Be advised, we have the prisoners. Fifty-five souls to evac.”

“Copy that,” Titus said. “Hallway still clear.”

“Dome clear,” Abimbola added.

“I, however, do have activity to report,” said TO-96.

* * *

“What is it, ’Six?” Magnus asked.

“I am sensing movement from behind the walls on this level,” the bot replied.

“As in rats?”

“Negative, sir. Something much larger. I advise you to ascend to Elder’s Hall immediately.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Magnus pushed his external speaker to 80%—not wishing to hurt anyone with the full force of Novia Minoosh audio technology—and turned to face the hallway, now bustling with gladias and Luma. “Listen up, everyone. We’re here to get you topside and then off this planet. We’re more than likely going to encounter some resistance. But we’re prepared for that. It would go a long way, however, if those of you who are in good enough condition could join us using your… your mystical Union—”

“The Unity,” Awen whispered over comms.

“Your powers in the Unity to assist us. If you’re so able, I need a quick show of hands.”

A little more than half the Luma’s hands went up. Considering they’d been trapped down here for who knew how long without proper care, that number surprised Magnus. Granted, he hardly knew what he was asking, but figured Awen would know what to request of them. “They’re all yours, Awen.”

With her helmet still under her arm, she raised her voice and spoke with a sense of urgency. “Most of you know me. For those who don’t, my name is Awen dau Lothlinium, and I am a former member of your sacred order, now a member of the Gladio Umbra.

“First and second year students, I want you in the rear escorting the injured. Third years and up, along with any elders, you’re with Elder Willowood and myself, just behind Alpha Platoon.” She paused. “I mean, the troopers here.

“Our objective is to get everyone to safety on the shuttles at docking bays thirty-four through thirty-seven. If you get lost or separated for any reason, that is the rally point. Board any one of those four shuttles that you can. And if we encounter any Luma resistance in the Unity from So-Elku and his forces, all of you are our first line of defense. Keep your second sight open and call out what you see. Understood?”

As heads moved up and down, Magnus couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of pride in how Awen had just commanded the room. He wondered if these people had ever been spoken to like that before, and realized, if they survived all this, it wouldn’t be the last time—not with someone like Awen around.

“Let’s move,” Magnus said, turning back toward the stairwell and taking the first few two in a bound.

“Sir?” asked TO-96.

“What is it?”

“I really must insist that you increase your pace.”

“Trust me when I say we are coming as fast as we can. Why? What’s going on?”

“The activity behind the walls is growing in scope.”

“Chances are it’s just the plumbing, ’Six. No need to worry.”

“The plumbing, sir?”

“Mystics, yes, the plumbing. Just don’t worry about it unless something starts leaking out of the walls.”

“Very good, sir.”

Magnus was running down the second level’s hallway when TO-96 spoke again. “Given your instructions, I’m going to begin worrying now, sir.”

“What? Why?”

“There is something leaking out of the walls. More specifically, the walls are opening.”

Magnus was about to bark back at the bot when he noticed the walls on the second level begin to move. In the blank intervals between the torches, cracks formed and panels of stone pressed out, just like on the third level where all the prisoners were held. He double checked his HUD and even his bioteknia eyes to verify that there were no life signs coming from behind the doors. There weren’t.

“Awen?” he asked, hearing the tension in his own voice.

“Uh oh,” she replied.

“Uh oh?” Magnus raised his NOV1 at the nearest gap in the wall. “What’s uh oh?”

“So-Elku,” she murmured. “What have you done?”

22

The first decomposed humanoid corpse pushed through the gap in the nearest door, snapped its head in a Luma’s direction, and lunged. Its boney hands—held together by tawny tendons and decayed flesh—drove into the woman’s chest and protruded out her back. Her scream wheezed through the gaps in her body instead of her mouth.

A second Luma died when a corpse thrust its thumb and fingers into the man’s mouth and eye sockets, spindly fingers pressing into brain tissue. The monster shrieked at its victim, its brittle skin all but peeled away from the eyeless skull and gaping mouth.

Magnus had no idea what to say about the things that creeped out of the crypts. All he knew was to shoot first and ask questions later. Light and sound sent shockwaves down the hallway as Magnus tore into a third creature with his NOV1. The weapon’s high-energy rapid-fire burst shredded the skull and upper chest cavity as if the thing had been made of clay and linen. But the torso and legs continued to walk toward him, so he blasted them into oblivion too.

“Holy splick,” someone exclaimed over comms.

“Holy wouldn’t be my first word choice,” he replied, then aimed at another corpse and tore it apart with his rifle. Then he turned to see the rest of Alpha Platoon engaging the strange apparitions as the light from their weapons lit up the hallway in brilliant blue flashes.

“Awen,” Magnus demanded, “talk to me!”

“I have no idea!” She turned on the corpse nearest her. Her suit glowed yellow in the chest, then a burst of energy shot out and struck the creature. Its arms, legs, and skull popped off the incinerated torso like someone had yanked the components off with wires.

“What do you mean you have no idea?” Magnus aimed at a third being and drilled it with a series of shots. “This is a Unity thing, right?”

“Yes, I believe so. But I don’t know how it’s possible. I mean, there are old stories of dark Unity users who did this kind of thing, but those are just legends. So-Elku, he’s—” Another corpse took a blast from Awen, and half its body vaporized in a cloud of dust. “He’s reanimated the bodies and turned them into a security system or something.”

“How many are there? Can you stop it?”

“Stop it? I can’t even see what he’s done to them!”

He wanted to yell something back, to question what good the Unity was if not for this, when Piper spoke over comms. “I can see it, shydoh,” she said.

Awen’s voice sounded surprised. “You can?”

“Could one of you please be more specific?” Magnus asked, downing a fourth creature.

“I can see So-Elku’s design coming from the Nexus. He’s asked the people in the crypts—”

“Can someone please tell me what she’s talking about?” Magnus interrupted.

“He’s reanimated the corpses using the Nexus,” Awen said.

“The what?”

“The Nexus.”

“Never mind. Can you stop it?”

“No,” Awen replied. “I don’t think so.” She glanced at Piper. “Do you see a way to stop them?”

Piper shook her head. “No. They just seem sad.”

Magnus furrowed his brow at Piper’s comment. “Then we’ll have to hold them back with conventional weapons.” Over his louder speaker, now maxed to 100%, he yelled, “Everyone up the stairs! Alpha Platoon, defend the stairwell!”

Blasters screamed, drilling the oncoming crash of corpses that assailed the retreating Luma. Whatever they lacked in structural integrity, they made up for in sheer numbers. How many mystics did they bury down here? As if to reinforce the legitimacy of his question, the far stairwell that they’d just come from spit out more corpses.

“Keep them back,” Magnus ordered. Valerie, Haney, and Gilder defended the left side while Dutch, Sootriman, and Ezo defended the right. They walked backward toward the stairwell as more Luma filed up of the circular staircase.

“You seeing this too, ’Six?”

“If by this you mean an unexplained phenomenon whereby the bodily remains of deceased humanoid lifeforms have been reanimated for the purposes of dispatching intruders—namely, us—then yes, I am seeing this.”

While the bot spoke, Magnus used his eyes to select TO-96’s sensors suite, pulled up his optical sensors, and opened a small window in his HUD to see what the robot was looking at. TO-96 pivoted in a circular fashion, spraying a near-constant stream of fire from his XM31 Type-R wrist-mounted blaster, while his other hand released one micro-rocket after another into a grouping of the creatures further back.

“Well aren’t you a one-stop munitions shop,” Magnus said, smiling at the carnage the bot was dishing out.

“I disagree, sir. None of my munitions are for sale, at least insomuch as neither Ezo nor Azelon have given me that directive.”

Magnus chuckled and put down two more creatures. “Dutch, VOD on this stairwell. I want it shut down.”

“Copy that.”

“Everyone else, head upstairs.”

The gladias peeled off the formation and ducked into the stairwell while Magnus and Dutch drew together. There seemed to be no end to the reanimated corpses, and Magnus couldn’t believe he was wasting so much ammo killing things that were already dead.

Dutch stowed her NOV1 and pulled out a VOD—variable output detonator. But not the old Repub version. This was the new Novia one Magnus had engineered with Azelon.

“Now or never,” he said to her.

Dutch thumbed the selector pad three times and then gave Magnus a nod. “Fire in the hole.” Magnus stepped aside for Dutch to retreat up the stairs behind him. Then he gave one last spray across the flooded room to keep the creatures back before darting up the circular stairwell.

Four beats later, a thunderous explosion shook the stairwell and brought chunks of stone down from the ceiling. The debris blasted off Magnus as his HUD flickered once from the fireball that licked his armor. A cloud of white dust and flames shot past him and went up and around the curve. He imagined it burst out on the next level like a dragon’s burp.

His personal shield had dropped to 74% as he rounded the last corner and emerged into TO-96’s level. The hallway was now full of Luma and gladias, driving a path through the undead with TO-96 in the lead. Magnus joined Dutch and started picking off assailants that tried picking at the weaker Luma.

“We could use a little help down here,” Magnus said over the company channel. “Just… don’t get freaked out.”

“Jujari do not get freaked out,” Rohoar said, overemphasizing the words. “We are coming.”

A few seconds later, Magnus saw several Jujari appear at the opposite end of the hallway. Rohoar’s voice sounded strained. “I take it back. I think I am experiencing the sensation of freaked out.”

“Just take out as many as you can,” Magnus instructed, trying to suppress the smile forming his lips’ edge. He watched as bodies started flying to the left and right, limbs and skulls popping off the corpses as they slammed into the walls. Bits of bodies pelted the ceiling as the Jujari moved through the crowded corridor. It was like watching a spotted Meglavton hedgebore burrow its way through a pack of unsuspecting flapperskrill. And Magnus revelled in it. If there was one thing those Jujari knew how to do, it was shred enemies from life and limb—or, in this case, death and limb.

Once Rohoar and his platoon met TO-96 in the middle, they formed a two-sided phalanx that ran the length of the hallway. The new thoroughfare allowed the Luma to make a run to the far side stairwell, which they did without any instruction. Meanwhile, Magnus and Dutch helped defend the closing end of the phalanx, relieving gladias to peel away and head toward the stairwell.

“Someone give me a SITREP,” Magnus ordered.

“Exfil of the Luma is nearly complete, sir,” came TO-96’s voice. Magnus could see him on the topo map standing just beside the stairwell’s mouth, defending it from the creatures who seemed to think his metal body would make a delicious treat. “Good. The rest of you file out of here just as fast. Dutch, I want one more VOD. Maximum damage. Take it off my hip this time.” He didn’t want her using more of her ordinance than she needed to. Better to share the resources than have one person go wanting when they needed it most.

Magnus and Dutch continued to backpedal as the beasties grew in number, filling in their wake as the stairwell grew closer. Magnus fired on corpse after corpse, shredding joints, eviscerating stomachs, and decapitating skulls under this NOV1’s withering rate of fire.

“Ten meters,” TO-96 said, coaching him and Dutch as they neared the exit. “Delta Platoon is clear. Only you, Valerie, and Haney remain.”

Magnus heard a scream over comms. Out of the corner of his eye, a boney hand drove into Haney’s shoulder joint. The gladia was yanked forward and pulled into the undulating sea of corpses. “Haney, no!” It was all Magnus could think to say as the former Marine medic was swept out of sight. Two seconds later, his icon blinked out on Magnus’s HUD.

“Bastards,” Magnus cried out as he leveled the next several creatures that tried to reach for him and Dutch.

“I’m good,” Dutch exclaimed, ready to toss the VOD.

“Do it.”

Dutch tossed the fruit-sized device and then ducked into the stairs to cover Magnus’s retreat. He drilled one final corpse in the top of the head before stepping up and into the curved stairwell. “Move your ass, Dutch! I can still see it from here!”

Dutch replied instantly by finding an extra gear in her step, then pulling up and away from Magnus’s field of view. He’d lost track of the count in his head. Come to think of it, he hadn’t even asked Dutch how much time she’d given them—which made Magnus take the steps even faster.

His servo-assist whined as he barreled up the torch-lit corridor, knowing that Elder’s Hall must be less than ten meters away. The light from the domed room began to warm the top of the steps when the VOD detonated.

The blast sucked the air from the stairwell, pulling back on Magnus’s body for a split second, and then sent an energy wave back through the passage. Magnus felt the blast push him forward. He meant to take the next few steps in conjunction with the assist, but the force was far greater than he expected. Instead, the shockwave flung him up and out of the stairwell like a cannon shot.

Magnus flew out of the passage and tucked into a roll. His back hit the marble floor and slid away from the opening, NOV1 trained on the collapsing passageway. When he finally came to a halt beside someone’s boots, Caldwell’s voice said, “Get up, son.” The colonel helped Magnus stand and brushed some dust off his armor.

“You okay, buckethead?” Abimbola asked.

“I…” Magnus patted himself down and double checked his shield. The status bar read 52%. “I’m good. Thanks.” Then he turned and surveyed the room.

Elder’s Hall was now filled with over fifty Luma and more than half of Granther Company—the rest of the gladias were still outside on the steps.

“Is everyone okay?” Magnus asked.

“We’ve lost Haney,” Gilder said.

Magnus felt a heart pang cinch around his throat. “I saw it.”

“And we lost three Luma,” Willowood said. “We are down to fifty-one”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Magnus replied.

“What were those things down there?” Abimbola asked.

“Not now, Bimby. We make it out of this, you can replay the footage all you want.”

“I’ll pass.” Then Abimbola made that strange shape in front of his chest again.

“What does that mean?” Dutch asked Abimbola. “That little thing you just did?”

Magnus waved off the question. “Hey, if it helps to ward off evil spirits like the ones they just encountered down there, I’m all for the Miblimbian’s mystical arts splick.”

“As am I,” TO-96 said, mimicking Abimbola’s movement exactly. “Though I have no idea what these motions do.”

“Stick to your Type-R blaster, pal,” Silk replied. “It’s way more effective.”

“Thank you for the advice, Silk. I’m most grateful.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“Magnus?” a voice said over comms.

“Go ahead, Titus.”

“Better wrap it up in there. We’ve got more company.”

23

Awen followed Magnus out of Elder’s Hall and rushed onto the upper landing where Titus stood. Her eyes looked past the large staircase, up the red carpet, and stopped near the Grand Arielina’s main entrance. Several dozen Luma stepped out of the darkness and spread out along the colonnade. Their dark blue robes sent a chill up Awen’s spine.

“This isn’t good,” Awen said to Magnus on a private channel.

“Why not?”

“Those are the Blue Guard.”

“And?”

“And what? They’re assigned to protect the Master even unto death.”

“We beat them last time.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Yes, we did.”

Awen turned on him, slowing her words. “No, you didn’t. They’re only called out when the Master says the city or his own life are in grave danger. And trust me, your last showing? It didn’t constitute either.”

“Now that just hurts.” Magnus said in a playful tone. “Guess we just need to leave a better impression this time. Can Willowood’s Luma handle them?”

“I think so, but what about the codex?”

“You tell me. Any word on its whereabouts?”

Awen shook her head. “He’s locked the whole city up in the Unity. It’s almost impossible to get a read on anything right now. I can’t even find So-Elku himself. For all I know, he’s not even on the planet.”

“Okay, just calm down.”

Awen hadn’t even realized her heart rate had gone up. She was grateful for Magnus’s steadying words.

“Let’s just think it through. Before, you said it was probably in So-Elku’s personal quarters.”

“I did.”

“And where’s that?”

“Two levels up.”

“Well, give me the Luma and then go take a look with Piper. But be fast. I don’t want to waste any more time on it than we need to.”

* * *

Magnus ordered the company to spread out along the landing and take cover behind the columns going down the sides of the staircase. They had the high ground… but he seriously doubted how much of this conflict would be won by conventional weapons and strategy.

“Granther Company, prepare to engage. Watch for friendlies.”

“But how will we know which Luma are friendlies?” Nubs asked.

“They won’t be the ones trying to kill us, numbskull,” Dozer replied.

Abimbola shut the exchange down. “Keep that off the company channel, you two.”

“Sorry, boss,” they replied, almost in unison.

“Willowood?” Magnus asked. “Can you hear me?”

“I can, Magnus. And your company is receiving my voice though your comms?”

“We are.”

“Good. I suggest you remain where you are and let us handle the first wave. Your blasters will do only minor damage until we negate their personal force fields.”

“Understood. Is there anything else we can do until then?”

Willowood let out a half laugh, like a forceful sigh through a smile. “I’m beginning to see why she likes you so much.”

Magnus raised his eyebrows. “I…”

“To answer your question, yes. If any of the blue robed Luma break off and head toward you, shoot them.”

“But what about their personal force fields?”

“Just pray to the mystics that you have enough magazines. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

Suddenly, more than thirty Luma dressed in burgundy and black robes raced forward on either side of Magnus and then charged down the stairs. He looked further down the hallway to see the blue robed Luma begin to run as well.

“Steady, gladias,” Magnus said over comms. “Let them take this wave. Fingers off the triggers.”

The two groups of red and blue robes charged one another, several of them yelling as the battle lines closed. To Magnus’s amazement, it was the old woman Willowood who outpaced them all.

* * *

Willowood hadn’t felt this much adrenaline since… She couldn’t even remember a time. But it felt good. The last time she’d been given a fair fight on an open field was decades before, perhaps during the Miblimbian conflict. Instead, she’d grown accustomed to the head games played in Elder’s Hall and political posturing of the court. It was numbing, so much so that she often wondered why she’d remained here for so long.

But she knew why. It was her love for teaching and her love of the students. Worru, in its heyday, had been a place of learning, of true acceptance. She had thrived here, relishing the halls of academia for the freedom it afforded her. Ideas weren’t tossed aside in knee-jerk reactions simply because they conflicted with partisan politics. Instead, they were examined inside and out, heralded for their virtues and critiqued with careful justice for their faults.

But now, it had come to this—a fight to the death between a wolf in sheep’s clothing and the flock that had looked to him for protection. With his Blue Guard charging at her, she guessed So-Elku couldn’t be far.

Willowood counted at least three dozen Luma racing at her. To call this a fair fight wasn’t exactly accurate—she’d trained most of these Luma, now turned enemies. Which meant she knew their moves better than they did.

The art of Li-Loré had been entrusted only to a few, those charged with defending the Master, and those sent on dark errands that were never recorded in the Order’s archives. Fortunately, both instances were scarce. That is, until recently. Ever since So-Elku’s term as Master began, Willowood had noticed a shift in policies. And a shift in the Unity. She hadn’t been able to connect all the dots, but when she’d seen So-Elku restrain Awen, that had been enough to tell her who the real enemy was.

The first attacker was a young man named Ouin. She’d known him since he was a boy. Now, however, he was no longer a child, but a highly disciplined warrior who’d committed himself to preserving peace in ways no one dared talk about outside these hallowed halls.

“Ouin,” she yelled, hoping to catch him by surprise. But the man didn’t hesitate in the least. He ran to meet her, hands swirling in a powered attack. Willowood sighed and crossed her forearms.

A ball of energy culminated in front of his chest and then leaped from his hands. Willowood deflected the blast and sidestepped Ouin’s charge, bringing her hand down to touch the back of his neck. Instantly, the man crumpled to the floor. He’d survive.

The next attack came from a woman named Sonja. Willowood had been her benefactor in her final year of observances, signing the requisite documents to get her into the Blue Guard. Now Sonja pulled one hand back and pushed the other forward, attempting to overpower the old woman.

Willowood ducked under the strike and spun in a circle. Her robes and wiry hair twirled about as she came up behind Sonja and punched her in the spine. The blow would not cause any long-term damage, but it would paralyze her for a day or more.

The third combatant, one Willowood did not recognize, seemed to hesitate when he saw Ouin and Sonja’s bodies on the floor.

“You don’t have to join them,” Willowood said, bringing her hands up in a defensive pose.

But the man sneered at her and charged. Willowood caught his right wrist in a forearm lock, flipped her body around to twist his arm in an unnatural fashion, and then fell to the ground, hurling the attacker over her head. He flew a short distance, stripped of energy, and landed unconscious on the hallway’s red carpet.

Willowood paused to survey how the other Luma were doing in the opening seconds of the conflict. While a few knew Li-Loré, employing it against their various assailants with great skill, the large majority did not. Instead, they employed more general defenses—slowing physical attacks, deploying force fields, and resisting opponents in the Unity.

Most thought of Li-Loré as a physical art, but practitioners knew it was far more than that. In reality, it began—like all things—in the Unity. Learning to harness energy, to coax it into a malleable expression that manifested as a physical movement, was a years-long process reserved for only the most adept.

Despite its advantages, however, the combat forms were still subject to the laws of the Unity and could, in theory, be diffused by anyone strong enough in second sight. So Willowood noted how even the weakest Luma prisoners were at least able to resist all but the most powerful attacks delivered by the Blue Guard. Returning the attacks, however, was a different matter, as most Luma were never instructed on how to be the aggressors—only the defenders.

The fourth Luma Willowood confronted was a tall man with broad shoulders. She thought his name was Kin, but she couldn’t be sure. He reached for her head, hands glowing. Had she not moved, the impact would have incapacitated her—possibly for good. Instead, Willowood ducked under his reach and landed her hand’s heel against his sternum. But Kin must have anticipated the move and covered his chest with a protective field.

Willowood’s hand glanced off the force field and threw her off balance. Kin caught her by the arm and hoisted her skyward. Had the man’s hand been charged, Willowood might not have taken advantage of the opportunity she saw next. Despite Kin’s strength—expressed in a surge to bring the old woman’s body down across his raised knee—he was not quick enough to defend against the scissors kick that clasped him around the neck.

Willowood locked her knees, pulled herself up to his head, and then redirected her weight around his shoulders. The swift motion snapped Kin’s head sideways and twisted his torso along with it. Again, the move didn’t kill him, but he fell unconscious like a tree cut from its base and falling to the forest floor. Just as Kin’s body struck the ground, Willowood moved away from him, her feet stepping deftly onto the red carpet.

For a split second, she wondered how long this might take and how many good Luma she might lose in the process. She saw Magnus and the rest of his unit waiting diligently on the steps, and she thought of Awen and Piper searching for the codex somewhere in So-Elku’s private study. She prayed to the mystics that Awen found it soon… before So-Elku found her.

24

While none of their orbital sensors picked it up, So-Elku had felt Awen and the little girl arrive in system. While the two females did well to hide their presence in the Unity, they’d grown too strong to go unnoticed. Clearly, they’d made many of the same discoveries that he had in the Unity. In any other context, he would have loved to sit down with the young prodigies and share their findings together. Such was the curiosity that had accelerated So-Elku to the elevation of Master in the first place.

But this was not that hour. Instead, he’d been given access to a great gift, one that had granted him access to realms of the Unity previously unknown—to power that would allow him to bring true peace to the galaxy. His voice would be heard and listened to, just as the Circle of Nine had demonstrated. And his edicts would go unchallenged. Finally, his vision for peace—the Luma’s vision for peace—would come to fruition.

That was, if these meddling fools would simply stay out of his way. He’d already taken care of Willowood and her followers, locking them within the catacombs. But he’d allowed enough transparency to remain that, should Awen and her friends show up, they might be drawn in and subdued. And thus far the plan was working perfectly. That was, of course, until they evaded the reanimated mystics.

So-Elku had watched the entire confrontation from within his study, hidden away in an ethereal shroud. Awen and her forces had freed Willowood—the old bat—and managed to escape the catacombs with minimal losses. He’d wished for more, for them to have been stopped completely. But it wasn’t a total waste. The corpses had fulfilled their greater purposes in proving that he could reanimate the dead, and that suited him just fine.

His Blue Guard awaited Awen in the main hall, and the company of Republic’s Marines stationed on Worru had already been alerted. Additionally, Awen had failed to locate the codex, a fact that relieved So-Elku. He still had so much to investigate within its pages. The manuscript was imbued with some sort of ancient power, allowing him access to more than just what the script portrayed. And once Awen and the others were stopped, he could resume his obsessive study of it.

Should all of this fail, however—though he suspected it wouldn’t—So-Elku had one more plan up the long sleeve of his green robe. It had come to his attention that two of Moldark’s men had been taken captive on Awen’s ship. While So-Elku wanted as little to do with the deranged Republic admiral as possible, using his men as pawns was not below him.

The Luma Master opened himself to the Unity, surged through the Foundation, and plunged into the Nexus. The codex from the Novia Minoosh had revealed these new worlds to him, giving him access to power previously unimagined by any Luma. He looked forward to each session he had with the prized tome and knew that if he could master its secrets, nothing would be able to stop him—not the Galactic Republic, not Moldark, and certainly not Awen dau Lothlinium.

Today, he would teach that arrogant young woman a lesson. He would show her that she could not escape his reach nor circumvent his well-laid plans. He was always one step ahead of her, and she would never be free of reminders of his power.

So-Elku’s consciousness sped toward the alien starship in orbit over Worru. The vessel had come from the other side of the universe—from metaspace. Few souls remained onboard, most having come down to assault the Grand Arielina and free Willowood. But he found the two prisoners, both restless in their prison cells.

The first was a Navy pilot, presumably captured during a skirmish on Ithnor Ithelia. So-Elku knew the admiral was sending search parties there to look for resources. The second man was a Marine, probably arrested during the same confrontation. Whatever their reasons for capture might be, they served So-Elku’s larger purposes now, whether they liked it or not. And that, perhaps, was the Luma master’s favorite aspect of his new powers in the Unity. No one could see him coming.

His ethereal presence moved to the first man’s cell. So-Elku eyed him, sitting on the edge of his bed, wearing black shorts and a t-shirt. Oh, what he wouldn’t give to spend the rest of the day watching the havoc this pilot would cause. So-Elku reached out and seized the flow of energy forming the force field over the prison cell. Then, with the simplest thought, he ordered it to abate, causing the invisible wall to dissipate.

The pilot’s head snapped toward the opening, and he studied it intently. Gone was the low hum and shimmering blue glow. Instead, there was only open air. Tentatively, the pilot stood and approached the opening. So-Elku watched him pass a hand through the space formerly occupied by the security wall. And when his hand met only air, the pilot pulled back and considered the space again. What is he waiting for? So-Elku wondered. The pilot passed his hand through a second time, then extended his arm. Only when that seemed successful did he step into the wider cell block.

So-Elku floated through the brig and appeared before the second man, this one a shirtless tattooed brute who paced relentlessly. When the force field fell, the Marine stepped forward and didn’t even bother to test the passage before waltzing through it. So-Elku watched as a sickening smile turned the corners of the Marine’s mouth into a sneer.

All that was left was to open the doors leading toward the bridge and restrict the ship’s AI from stopping them. Then he’d let the former prisoners do whatever came naturally to them. So-Elku imagined they’d take great delight in playing with the starship while Awen and her forces were away.

A voice came from inside So-Elku’s quarters. He’d been so caught up in the Nexus that he’d failed to monitor his own body’s presence in the temporal realm. He snapped from the Nexus to the Foundation and out of the Unity, awakening within his mortal form and opening his eyes.

* * *

“We’ve come for the codex,” Awen said again, not sure that the Luma master heard her the first time.

His eyes rolled down from inside his skull and awareness dawned on his face. “Awen. What an unexpected surprise.”

So-Elku sat on a cushion near a wooden desk that looked out on an open-air veranda. Awen could see the night lights of Plumeria in the distance and wondered which of those lights were their shuttles.

“And who is this?” So-Elku asked, his lips curling into a crooked smile. “Why… I sense Willowood’s blood in her. Is this—”

“I’m Piper.”

“Of course you are.”

“Piper, be still,” Awen said over her shoulder.

“So a young lady and a child have come to wrest a book from an old man, is that what it’s come to?”

“Give me the codex,” Awen said, now for the third time. “I’ll not ask again.” She didn’t want to fight So-Elku, but if he kept stalling, she’d take the tome by force.

“It’s right over there,” he said, pointing to a wooden lectern with a bound volume on it.

“Piper,” Awen said in an even tone, “go get it.”

“Sending the girl to do it? That’s a bit reckless, don’t you think?”

“By comparison to your activities as of late, Master So-Elku? I hardly think this is reckless. Taking my eyes off of you for even the briefest of moments would be far more irresponsible.”

From within the Unity, Awen could see Piper lift the book from its stand and then walk back toward her. Meanwhile, So-Elku matched her gaze, heartbeat for heartbeat. Awen knew from the moment she saw him that this would end in a duel. She didn’t know how it would start, but she knew who would win.

Piper came to stand beside her again, clutching the codex to her chest. “We’ll be going now,” Awen said.

“Just like that? No time for tea? No desire to catch me up on how your time has been living amongst the ruins of the Novia Minoosh?”

Awen hesitated. Had So-Elku seen across the void horizon and into metaspace? If so, how much had he witnessed? How much did he know? She felt the uncertainty begin to nip at her heels, and her fingers began to tingle.

“You doubt my abilities to search you out, do you?” So-Elku rose slowly from his cushion—but not under the power of his legs. Instead, he floated up to a standing position, letting his long robes unfurl before his feet touched the marble floor. “I’ve learned so very much. And it’s a pity to think that you believe I need that dusty book anymore.” He took a step toward her and Awen tensed, pushing Piper behind her. “You may have gotten away, too, had it not been for the codex. But I am far more powerful than you could even realize, Awen. So it’s time that we end this.”

So-Elku closed his eyes.

Within the Unity, Awen and Piper watched So-Elku materialize in his study. Here, the shapes and colors glowed in stark contrast to their muted counterparts in the natural realm. Sounds were more detailed, smells more vibrant, sensations more powerful.

Awen and Piper stood beside each other, hands clenched in fists, ready for So-Elku to make the first move.

His eyes opened and he roared, charging toward them in a blur. Awen and Piper stepped aside, letting the aggressor pass. His body slammed into the far wall, sending a shower of stone and sparks into the crystal-clear night air. Awen turned, flexed her palms, and sent a stream of yellow energy at So-Elku, whose body now flipped off the wall and sailed overhead. As soon as he landed, Awen sent a second blast. This one he caught in a green shield formed between his hands, diffusing the shot like one might put out fire with a lake of water.

So-Elku laughed. As soon as the vapors of Awen’s attack dissipated, the master sent his own stream of energy at her. The glowing green spout shot from his hands, aimed right at Awen’s head. But she straightened her arms to her sides and flexed her legs. A round shield snapped to life just in front of her, dispersing So-Elku’s blast in a shower of sparks and a blistering buzz sound. The impact pushed Awen back slightly, but not enough that it unnerved her.

So far, the man’s tactics were rudimentary—all things that she and Piper had covered during their long sessions in the Unity. If this was all the Luma master had uncovered from the codex, this fight might be shorter than she expected. But given the display of power in the catacombs, she highly doubted it. Which caused her confidence to ebb slightly. Why was So-Elku holding back? What was he waiting for?

As if in answer to her question, So-Elku said, “Shall we take this to the next level?” And then he sank into the floor and vanished from sight.

“He’s gone to the Foundation, hasn’t he,” Piper stated.

“Yes. Are you ready?”

Piper nodded.

“Good. Let’s go.”

Awen and Piper left the study, rocketed through the depths of the Unity, and slammed into the Foundation much like a meteor landing on the surface of a planet. The two of them rose up from on bended knee and surveyed the forest around them. The long echoes of bird songs carried under the canopy of leaves. Sunlight filtered down in a yellow-green haze, caught by countless motes of dust swirling in the forest air. All around them, the trees stood like old sentries, shrouded in bark and limbs and leaves, standing guard for the woodland creatures in this magical place.

A whistle caught Awen’s attention and she spun to her left. Piper followed the sound too, before turning again at a second whistle, this time from the opposite side. After Awen and Piper had turned several times, a low laugh bubbled up from somewhere in the woods.

“Watching you two is so quaint,” So-Elku said. “It’s a shame what I must do to you.”

“Your threats mean nothing,” Awen said. “Come out and face us.”

“My threats mean everything, Awen.” The voice seemed to be coming from all around them now. “For, in here… we are gods.”

A rush of wind from behind forced Awen to take a step forward. She spun around in time to see So-Elku drive toward her like an arrow shot from a bow. He glanced against her shoulder and sent her whirling. Piper, too, was knocked off her feet and landed in a bed of ferns.

Awen attempted to stand, but the Luma master returned, forcing her down as he whizzed overhead.

“Piper, stay down,” she ordered. Then Awen looked up to see So-Elku directly overhead, diving toward them. “Look out!”

No sooner had she said the words than a shaft of granite shot up from the ground and met So-Elku in midair. The column continued to rise until it had stretched nearly out of sight.

Awen followed it until she saw So-Elku leap from the top and fall toward them again. Piper raised her hand and another column sprang from the ground, driving up toward their adversary. The Luma master disappeared as the pillar struck him. But then he leaped from its summit and continued falling toward them.

Piper commanded spire after spire to thrust from the forest floor and strike So-Elku until he outpaced her, bounding down the pillars, then landing in a crouch a hundred meters through the tall pines.

“Bravo,” he said, clapping his hands. “That was marvelous. Someone has been studying hard for this test.”

Awen heard Piper grunt. She looked over to see the little girl make fists and shut her eyes.

“But if you’re going to—”

The pine trees bent over, their tops slamming into the top of So-Elku’s head like a dozen hammers striking the head of a nail in thunderous succession. Blow after blow rained down on him, driving his body into the ground in a flurry of dirt and dust. Finally, the firs snapped straight again, released from their chore. Their needles rustled in the air as the long pines wobbled from Piper’s unexpected violence.

“Piper…” Awen said in a whisper. “That was… creative.”

“He’s annoying me.”

Awen gave her a smug smile. “Me too. But I—”

Through the trees, Awen saw the ground explode outward and So-Elku rise into the sky. He turned to face them, then swung toward them in a streak.

Awen braced herself, as did Piper. “Not this time,” Awen said, gritting her teeth.

So-Elku’s mad dash ended when his body slammed against an invisible wall that Awen and Piper erected around them. The blow was so forceful that the surrounding trees leaned away from the sudden release of energy. Even the shield wobbled momentarily, but Awen did her best to maintain the dome overhead.

So-Elku’s body flipped away and careened into a tree, breaking the trunk in two. He rolled to a stop some twenty-five meters away, robes covered in debris from the forest floor.

“Give up, So-Elku,” Awen said. “This doesn’t have to end in bloodshed.”

“You would kill me then?” he replied, rising to his feet and brushing off his garments. Then, as if catching the thing in a mirror, So-Elku raised a hand and touched the corner of his mouth. A red smear came away on his finger. The Luma master seemed genuinely put off by this. “Doing so would break the Luma Code. You know that.”

“And you haven’t done the same, Master So-Elku?”

“That does not change the fact that you face the same dilemma now, dear one.”

Awen winced at the term. “I face no dilemma.”

“Oh?”

“If killing you means preserving peace, then so be it.”

“But that is not the Luma way,” So-Elku replied, stepping toward her.

“You’re right. It’s not. But I’m no longer a Luma.”

So-Elku’s next step slowed. “No longer a Luma? Why, that’s absurd.”

“And you still call yourself one?”

“Of the highest fashion,” he said as he puffed out his chest. “And you?”

Awen looked at Piper. The little girl smiled back, then said, “We’re Gladio Umbra now, you bald bastard.”

“Piper!” Awen couldn’t believe what she’d heard. But before she could protest, Piper lowered her head and summoned long magenta-colored tendrils of electricity from the ground. They rose like thick cables, energy dancing along their surfaces, and surrounded So-Elku like bars of a cage. He attempted to leap skyward, but the tendrils closed over him, and then began to recede.

So-Elku fought against the cage, blasting it with all manner of energy. But his futile attempts dashed against the cables in dazzling displays of sparks and heat.

The bars continued to close in, contracting and descending more and more. So-Elku protested, yelling at the cage as the space grew smaller. Awen couldn’t be sure, but it seemed like Piper would drag him into the ground itself, crashing him within the cage’s grip.

“Piper, that’s enough,” she ordered. The progression ceased at once. Piper opened her eyes and looked up at Awen. The girl wasn’t so much as trembling—not a bead of perspiration was evident on her brow. “Piper, leave him there as is.”

“But, shydoh, he tried to—”

“I know what he tried to do, but that doesn’t mean we must do the same. Sometimes mercy means letting our enemies live with the consequences of their actions instead of letting them die from them.”

Piper seemed satisfied with the explanation, though clearly not happy about it. She relinquished control of the bars with a sigh, but did not release So-Elku from his prison. He remained crouched beneath the bars’ fitful sputtering and spitting, showered by miniature lightning bolts that licked at his robes.

“So long, bitch,” Piper said.

“Piper! Language!”

“What? Abimbola said it.”

“That does not mean you can say it!”

“But I was just—”

“That’s enough,” Awen said, feeling mortified. And yet, secretly, she smiled inside.

* * *

Awen and Piper appeared back in So-Elku’s study and opened their eyes. The Luma Master stood as before. But his face was contorted in frustration, eyes closed, sweat dripping down his forehead. His mortal body was contracted, hands balled into fists—and yet, he remained motionless.

“Piper, be careful,” Awen said as the little girl walked over to examine him. She still clutched the book to her chest and made a full circuit around him.

“How long will he stay like this?” she asked

“You tell me,” Awen replied.

“For a while then. Until we’re safely away.”

“I think that’s more than fair.”

“Fair?” Piper wrinkled her nose. “Fair means we shoulda killed him. Just like what he wanted to do to us.”

Awen made to reply but found that the girl had a point. “Perhaps fair is not the best word. Releasing him once we are free is gracious of you.”

“But won’t he just try and kill us again later?”

Awen didn’t feel up for answering these questions. At least not at the moment. They had the codex, So-Elku was temporarily bound, and now it was time to fight their way back to the shuttles. “We’ll talk about this later. Right now, we’ve got to get everyone back to the Spire. Come on.” And with that, the pair turned from So-Elku’s study and left the man’s body fighting in a fitful rage.

25

For almost three minutes, Rohoar and the other gladias had been picking off members of the Blue Guard who stepped away from the main fight. Beyond that, however, the platoons were of little use to Willowood. The fighting had become so compact—more close quarters combat than an open range scenario, as Magnus called it—that their NOV1s were a liability, not an asset. Plus, this was one round of CQB that Rohoar knew Magnus’s team was not prepared for.

But perhaps Rohoar’s was.

“Magnus, would it not be helpful to Willowood if we Jujari lent her our claws?” Rohoar asked. Willowood was losing several Luma to the blue-robed assailants.

“It’s certainly worth asking.” Magnus opened the company channel. “Willowood, would our platoon of Jujari be of any use to you right now?”

“Send them in,” she replied. “But tell them to be careful.”

“I can hear you, Madame Luma,” Rohoar replied.

“Their attacks are powered, Rohoar. These aren’t your average Luma. Stow your blasters and roll up your sleeves.”

“We’re on our way.” But Rohoar paused and looked at Magnus. “We are not wearing sleeved garments. What does she mean?”

“She means to get ready to bash some heads, pal. Now get in there!”

“Your kind has too many worthless expressions,” Rohoar growled. “Also, I do not think she knows about our own powers in the Unity.”

Magnus gave Rohoar a surprised look—perhaps the man had also forgotten that the Jujari were descendants of the Novia Minoosh and the original Gladio Umbra. But he was smarter than that. Wasn’t he?

Rohoar summoned all of Delta Platoon to him, mag-locked his NOV1 to his back, and bounded down the stairs on all fours. His pack released long howls as they charged down the hallway. Jujari jumped to the sides of the columns and then leapt away, looking for any advantage they could as they neared the battle line. Willowood’s forces were stretched widthwise, paired even with the enemy. But the blue robed fighters were thinning Willowood’s ranks and threatened to punch through the line.

Rohoar’s claws dug into the red carpet and his heartbeat quickened. The sound of the battle clash drew near and he looked to his sides to see the Jujari surging forward as one. On his left were Saladin, Czyz, Longchomps, and Grahban; to his right were, Arjae, Dihazen, and Redmarrow.

His tongue whipped in the wind, tasting the pheromones of his enemies as they noticed the pack of crazed predators charging at them. No matter how many times Rohoar tasted it, he never tired of swallowing his adversary’s fear.

Rohoar barked an order and loosed his pack.

Several of his fighters sprang off the pillars and dove to the rear of the line, while others forced their way headlong into the fray. Jaws snapped on raised Luma arms. Claws swiped at terrified faces. Saliva and blood splashed into the air, commingling in the clash of bodies.

Rohoar came up on Willowood’s right. She must have sensed his presence—that, or she noticed the look of terror in her opponent’s eyes—and stepped aside to allow him through. The enemy Luma sent a blast of energy at Rohoar, but the Jujari had already pushed off the ground and was airborne, flying at the man. Rohoar’s top teeth closed on the man’s neck and shoulder while his bottom teeth caught under the man’s opposite armpit. The Jujari clamped down hard and heard his prey scream as they struck the ground.

The pair tumbled across the floor, flipping end over end. When they stopped, Rohoar gave a final snap and felt the Luma’s chest cave in. He released the body as soon as it went limp, his ears detecting the final sounds of air escaping from the puncture wounds in the cavity.

Rohoar sprang to his feet and twisted around. He was behind the enemy line now, but two Luma had noticed him. They turned toward him and moved closer, their hands in some sort of defensive fighting posture. He’d never seen the form before, but trusted Willowood’s advice to stay clear of their attacks.

The two blue Luma moved closer and closer before one of them lunged at Rohaor. The second did the same, both aiming for Rohoar’s chest. Just before the blows landed, Rohoar rolled to the side. He lashed out with a muscled arm and sliced through the nearest enemy’s gut. Three crimsons streams of blood laced through the air as the assailant cried out. Rohoar smelled the iron on his paw as he completed his roll and then gained his feet once more.

The gut-sliced Luma was down, struggling on his knees, while the second circled Rohoar tentatively. The man lashed out several times, his fists and feet aglow with energy from the ethereal realm. Like most humans, this man didn’t know that some Jujari had inherited the ways of the Unity from their Novian ancestors. So, Rohoar let the blow come.

The Luma landed a palm against the Jujari’s chest. The power raced from the man’s arm and impacted Rohoar like a lightning bolt. A blinding white flash lit up the hallway while a thunderclap made Rohoar’s ears ring. But when the violent concussion subsided, Rohoar remained standing.

The assailant blinked in stunned amazement. Then he looked down at his hands in disbelief, clearly unable to reconcile why his deathblow hadn’t slain the Jujari.

“It really is a pity when efforts don’t go as planned,” Rohoar said through clenched teeth. The Luma looked up at him and made to blast the Jujari again, but he never had the chance. Rohoar batted the man aside as a child might throw a doll across their bedroom. His body hit a pillar with a thud and then slapped against the marble floor.

Rohoar let out another howl and then charged back into the fray. More strikes from the enemy Luma struck his body, but they resulted in little more than bursts of light and sound. He absorbed the energy, storing it within a pocket in the Unity, and waited until he snuck up behind the latest adversary to challenge Willowood. Not that she needed the help—the old woman was clearly the most capable of all those rescued in the catacombs. But as the tide had turned quickly since the Jujari joined the fight, Rohoar took it as a point of personal pride to make his presence known. That, and it was fun.

The blue-robed man swiped at Willowood’s head, but she leaned back and ducked under each successive blow. Her own thrusts were parried and then countered. Rohoar watched just long enough for Willowood to bend out of the way, then laid a paw on the combatant’s back. It was unfair, he knew. But they’d spent enough time here, and it was still a long way back to the shuttles.

Rohoar allowed the pent-up energy to surge out of his chest, down his arm, and through his paw, punching the Luma so hard that the mystic flew over Willowood’s head and sailed toward the steps leading up to Elder’s Hall. When the body finally finished somersaulting and rolled to a stop at the bottom of the step, Willowood turned to face Rohoar and said, “Thank you, Master Jujari.”

“My name is Rohoar.”

“Well then, thank you, Master Rohoar,” she said, smoothing her robes and looking around. “It seems your pack has helped us turn the tide. And rather quickly, I might add. Though I suppose I had not accounted for your powers within the Unity.”

“Most never do,” he said with a toothy grin.

“A point I will not soon forget.” The old woman bowed, and Rohoar returned the gesture.

When the last of the Blue Guard had fallen, Willowood stuck two fingers in her mouth and whistled down the hallway. Rohoar was shocked at just how loud the action was and pulled his ears back on instinct. She waved Magnus and the others forward and then looked at Rohoar.

“Is it true you are Piper’s grandmother?” Rohoar asked.

Willowood gave him a soft smile. “It is. And you know my granddaughter?”

Rohoar bared his teeth, though he suddenly remembered that most humans took the gesture to mean a threat. “I do. It is an honor to be her friend and confidant.”

“Confidant?” Willowood seemed impressed by the way she eyed him. “Then you must be a very trustworthy person.”

“I endeavor to be, yes.”

“Well then, consider myself indebted to you for keeping safe the heart of someone I cherish more than almost any other.”

“Your daughter, perhaps? And your husband?”

“My husband has long since passed.” Willowood gave Rohoar a wink. “You had it right with my daughter. Now, shall we get a move on? I’m nearly ready for some morning tea.”

Magnus and the remainder of Granther Company arrived. As they did, Rohoar looked around to inspect the bodies on the floor. Many were incapacitated, but even more were slain. It looked as though the Luma had suffered maybe ten casualties, while none of Rohoar’s kin had suffered serious injury.

“You good, Rohoar?” Magnus asked.

He growled. “Ready for more.”

“That’s what I like to hear.”

“And it’s a good thing too,” said Magnus’s teammate in the Spire—the one they called Flow. “Because it looks like you got some more company coming, LT.”

“Talk to me, Flow,” Magnus said.

“Looks like Repub Marines, entering the courtyard from three sides.”

“That would be the company stationed beside the Grand Arieline,” said Magnus’s former commander, Colonel Caldwell. The man was old, but Rohoar suspected he still had a lot of fight in him. He also gave off a strong scent of tobacco, which meant he was probably a good tactician, at least according to what little he knew of Repub lore.

Rohoar looked at the colonel and said, “Colonel, will inhaling the smoke of one of your tobacco rolls also give me tactical supremacy over the enemy?”

“Say what now?”

“If I partake with you before we enter battle against your troopers, will it aid me in combating them?”

“Son, I don’t know where in hell you get your intel from but where I come from, we save the cigars for after the fight.”

“I see,” said Rohoar, making a mental note. “Then you and I shall partake when the battle has subsided.”

“Sounds good to me. Now, we have some Repub ass to try and dissuade.”

* * *

Colonel Caldwell walked onto the top of the Grand Arielina’s front steps and raised a fist. The rest of Granther Company held short just inside the front doors, staying mostly out of sight from the Marines gathering below.

“Begging your pardon, colonel,” Magnus said over a private channel, “and I don’t mean to question your judgement here, but you sure this is how you want to proceed?”

“First off, you’re the one leading the company, son. So don’t you dare ask me what I want anymore. I’m doing what I think serves you best unless you tell me otherwise. So from here on out, no more begging anyone’s pardon but your own. You copy?”

“Yes sir.”

“And to answer your question, yes, this is exactly how I want to proceed. So shut up and give me a second.” With that, Caldwell mag-locked his NOV1 to his thigh and removed his helmet with both hands, stowing the cover under his left arm. Then he withdrew a cigar from a cavity on his chest armor and lit it with a small lighter.

Magnus felt Rohoar lean in and whisper against the side of his helmet. “He just told me he inhales tobacco smoke after the battle is over.”

Magnus chuckled. “He does. But sometimes he finds it helpful to inhale it during the fight too.”

“I have taken note. Do all your battle heroes engage in such inhalation?”

“Not all. But most of the good ones do, yeah.”

“I see.”

Magnus returned his attention to Caldwell. The colonel watched in placid stoicism as the courtyard began to fill with an entire company of Repub Marines. Whoever had sent them here, it wasn’t Caldwell. Magnus guessed it was So-Elku’s bidding, but how he’d overridden the colonel’s office, he didn’t know. He just hoped that the rest of the battalion stationed in Worru hadn’t been alerted either, because that would be a fight none of them would walk away from.

The Marines marched in and lined up in assault formation against the Grand Arielina. Any other time, the colonel would be addressing them as their CO and giving them orders. But given the circumstances, it seemed as though the colonel was about to try and pull a fast one.

“Charlie Company, what is the meaning of this?” Caldwell said, his voice ringing out over the square with the trained practice of a drill instructor.

Magnus saw the entire unit swivel to look at the colonel. He couldn’t see through their helmets of course, but he could only imagine the looks of confusion and comments of shared disbelief over comms at the sight of their colonel in a suit of alien armor.

“Captain Daniels,” Caldwell blatted out, “what is the meaning of this?”

Dozens of heads turned and looked at a Marine with the most senior insignia on his chest and shoulder plates. The man stepped forward and removed his helmet. “Sir?”

“Don’t sir me, captain. You know my damn rank by heart.”

“Yes, colonel. I’m sorry.”

“Quit apologizing and tell me the meaning of all this.”

“Colonel, sir, we were ordered to rally to an emergency here, at the Grand Arielina.”

“On whose orders?”

“Why, yours, colonel.”

Magnus watched the colonel remove his cigar and blow out a long white plume of smoke. “Mine, he says.”

Just then, Awen and Piper ran up and appeared beside Magnus. “Sorry we’re late,” Awen said from under her helmet.

“Where have you been?” Magnus looked down at Piper, who clutched an ancient looking book beneath her arms. The moment he saw her, however, the little girl turned away. “I see you retrieved the codex.”

“That’s it, yes,” Awen replied. “We had a little trouble with So-Elku.”

“So-Elku?” Magnus nearly ripped his helmet off. “You encountered him?”

“We fought him,” Awen said.

“And kicked his ass,” Piper added.

“Piper!” Awen whirled on the girl. “I told you not to use that kind of language.”

“Sounds like a regular Marine if you ask me,” Magnus said. For the briefest second, Magnus could have sworn he saw Piper’s helmet poke out from around Awen to look at him.

Colonel Caldwell was addressing the Marines again, and Magnus told Awen and Piper to find cover and prepare for the worst.

“Welp,” Caldwell said, toking on his cigar again. “You all passed the exercise with flying colors. No PT in the morning, and report to your stations at 1100 hours. Sweet dreams, kids. Dismissed.”

Caldwell turned and gave Magnus a look that said, “Hope they bought it.” As Magnus looked out over the courtyard, however, there seemed to be enough indecision in the ranks that he wasn’t so sure the colonel had completed the play.

When the Marine named Captain Daniels refused to walk back down the steps, Magnus felt a knot form in his stomach. He took a slow breath and spoke in an even tone. “Everyone prepare to engage.”

“Colonel, I’m afraid I’m going to need you to confirm your insignia ident,” Daniels said.

“Excuse me?” Caldwell replied, turning to face the captain. The colonel was trying to intimidate the young captain, but Magnus had a feeling this was no longer about grandstanding.

Daniels raised his MC99 at the colonel. “You told us to expect an impersonator, and that he’d be leading a small element of rogue Marines, Jujari, and Luma. From the looks of it, I’d say we found our imposter.” As if to accentuate his pronouncement, the rest of the company raised their weapons and aimed them at the colonel.

Clearly, So-Elku had already gotten to the Marines, or at least one of his lackeys had. And Magnus knew as well as Caldwell did that he’d left his insignia on his Repub armor back in his home. There was no way Daniels was going to get a positive scan. Which meant he was screwed.

“Splick’s about to get real, kids,” Magnus said over the company channel. Green icons raced along the chat window. “Witch’s tits in a tornado kind of real.”

“You want my insignia ident, captain?” Caldwell asked.

“I do, sir. Very much.”

Caldwell took a long drag on his cigar. “Can I give you a bit of advice, Daniels?”

“Sir?”

“When you’re faced with overwhelming odds and only one way out, give your enemy hell.” With that, Caldwell turned on his heel and tossed his cigar.

26

Caldwell was running toward Magnus before the cigar had hit the ground, but when the embers from the tobacco struck the marble, it seemed to trigger an explosion of blaster fire.

The colonel took two shots in the back before stumbling into the hallway. Fortunately, his personal shield had absorbed them. Magnus doubled checked his status bar and saw Caldwell’s shield had been reduced to 71%. Magnus grabbed his arm and pulled him behind the center pillar while a flurry of blaster fire filled the air on either side of them.

“Put that helmet on, gladia,” Magnus ordered over his loudspeakers.

Caldwell did as he was instructed, and then pulled the NOV1 from his leg. “Looks like we’re back at it again, Magnus.”

“And here I was thinking we’d gotten too old for this splick.”

“You might be,” Caldwell said, tapping the top of his helmet, “but I sure as hell ain’t!” Then the colonel rolled out, firing on Daniels, and advanced to a stone half-wall.

“Covering fire,” Magnus ordered. Return fire erupted from the mouth of the hallway in a hailstorm of competing flashes. Magnus’s audio filters engaged, lowering the decibel level, and his visor dimmed against the explosions of color. “Alpha and Bravo Platoons, flank the courtyard. Charlie and Delta, we’re holding the center. Echo, do whatever the hell you can.”

As Alpha and Bravo moved out and down each side of the stairwell, Magnus stepped out to join Caldwell against the wall. Titus and Rohoar led Charlie and Delta Platoons out and sent a withering barrage of blaster fire down on the enemy. The Marines’ MC99 were no match for the NOV1, but the Repub had the numbers. And until Granther Company made a dent in the enemy’s force, those numbers would be a threat.

As soon as Dutch and Abimbola’s forces began drawing fire with their flanking maneuver, Magnus felt a temporary respite in the volley against the building’s face. “Rohoar, take your pack and exploit this.”

“Right away, scrumruk graulap.”

Rohoar and his Jujari tore out of the hallway and ripped down the stairs, moving so fast the first line of Marines didn’t even have time to get a shot off. When the Jujari slammed into the front line, Magnus actually saw a helmet pop up into the air. The sound alone was arresting—a combination of breaking plate armor, screams, and howls.

For the moment, the company’s attention had been diverted to Abimbola, Dutch, and Rohoar’s efforts. This gave Magnus, Titus, and Caldwell time to fire down on the company’s center in an effort to collapse their mass inward.

Magnus aimed at a cluster of three Marines in the middle of the formation and fired his NOV1 at maximum rate. The individual blaster bolts were almost indistinguishable from one another, tying together in a blistering stream of fire that chewed through Repub armor like it was made of fabric. The three Marines were driven backward, colliding with their counterparts as their bodies were ripped to shreds.

But the output had also dropped Magnus’s magazine by 27%. He couldn’t keep that kind of assault up for very long, not without burning through his mags faster than he wanted. He dialed back the fire rate and took aim at the Marines responding to those he had just killed. His targeting reticle locked onto a helmet, and Magnus squeezed, driving two rounds through the cap and splitting it open. He struck the next Marine in the chest and shoulder, and a third one in the abdomen.

A pang of regret grabbed him by the throat and tried to wrench his stomach from his gut. These were fellow Marines he was slaughtering, not some rogue operatives with direct connections to Moldark. Putting Nos Kil down would be one thing. But these bucketheads? They deserved better than this.

Worse, he could imagine their fear… their complete shock at all this. When they’d received their orders, they probably bought a round of shots for everyone in the watering hole that night. They were going to paradise. Drawing a duty station on Worru was akin to winning the mysticsdamn lottery. There was nothing to do here but meet cute Luma girls and try to convince them to give up their vows. Forget ever having to see combat. But now, here they were, getting drilled by some chameleon-clad unit disappearing into the night and surrounding them on three sides.

As Dutch and Abimbola laid into the Marines with withering blaster fire, Magnus saw Daniels signal their retreat. The arm wave would have been accompanied by a verbal command over TACNET.

“I got movement leading out of the courtyard, LT,” Flow said.

“You got ’em on the run, baby,” Cheeks yelled with a hoot.

“Granther Company, maintain pressure. But once they reach the main road, let’s give them a chance to breathe.”

“Sir?” Titus asked. “But they’re shooting to kill!”

“And so are we, so there’s no sense in putting more down if they’ve given up. Just wait and see.”

“Yes, sir.” Titus resumed his rate of fire, dialing in one target at a time using the tips Magnus had given him. He was a damn fine gladia, and Magnus was glad to have him by his side.

The Marines backed into the street, emptying the courtyard as fast as they could. Magnus looked at all the bodies left on the grass as the unit peeled away, and he saw just how lethal Granther Company had been. That, and he realized that whoever had given them the initial order had sent them into a kill box in this courtyard. Magnus would have let the feelings of pride surge through him had the enemy been anything other than Caldwell’s Marines. He could only imagine the pain in the colonel’s chest. But if the old man felt anything, he sure as hell didn’t show it. The man was a machine, delivering one-shot, one-kill combos in numbing succession. The bastard was gunning down his own soldiers as quickly as he could…

Until Magnus realized the colonel was delivering shots to knees, thighs, and calves.

Mystics, he hadn’t killed a single Marine!

Suddenly, Magnus felt like he was going to vomit. He’d been so focused on getting Granther Company to safety—on executing the mission—that he’d failed to see any other option than punching a hole in the Repub as fast as he could.

“You were right to do it, son,” Caldwell said, as if listening to his thoughts. “I see you hesitating there, and I know what you’re thinking. But you just keep doing your part, and I’ll do mine.”

Magnus almost choked on the lump in his throat. “Copy that.”

The Marines were clumped together, filing into the road and seeking cover as Granther Company continued to lay down a wall of blaster fire. Magnus had supposed this was going to be a slaughter, but in the Marines’ favor, not his. Instead, their weapons and armor superiority combined with their placement outside of the courtyard’s kill box gave his gladias the upper hand.

As the last of the Marines exited the grounds, Magnus studied his map. “Granther Company, return to the shuttles. Flow, I want waypoints that take us around the Marines.”

“On it, LT,” Flow replied.

Magnus noted that he hadn’t lost a single gladia in the exchange. And yet so many Marines. He looked at the bodies strewn across the courtyard and, again, found himself fighting to swallow. So-Eklu arranged this. He was sure of it.

“Yes, he did,” Awen replied over comms.

Magnus double checked to make sure it was a private channel before replying. “I thought we talked about you reading my thoughts.”

“When it comes to advising you, especially in battle, it’s important I get the whole story. And to restate the point, yes, So-Elku arranged this.”

“Mystics,” Magnus said, realizing how apt it was to take the name of Luma’s occupation in vain.

“He’s taken care of, at least for the moment. But we need to move. You can mourn these Marines later.”

“I wasn’t mourning, I was just… Aw, hell, I was mourning.”

“I know. And it’s okay. But we’ve gotta save it for later.”

“Okie dokie, LT,” Flow said. “I’ve got a course marked out for you.”

Magnus watched a series of waypoints and connecting lines appear on his HUD. The new route only seemed to add about five minutes onto their previous path. But if it meant keeping Repub casualties down, he’d take it.

“Thanks, Flow.” Magnus accepted the new course and sent it to all units. “Granther Company, move out.”

“Happy to be of service,” Flow replied. “And sorry about the delay. We’re having issues with the system here.”

Magnus looked at Awen. “What issues?”

“Azelon seems to be preoccupied with something, so we had to do a little old-fashioned orienteering for you.”

“Hold on.” Magnus pinged TO-96 and instructed him to join him at the top of the steps while the rest of the gladias moved out of the courtyard. The bot headed in Magnus and Awen’s direction. “’Six, Flow says there’s something wrong with Azelon. You reading anything abnormal?”

“My sensors are reading all systems normal, sir. That said, I fear that I do not have sufficient connectivity with Azelon to determine whether or not she is fully operational. Though I don’t see why there would be any cause for concern as we have no enemies within range of the ship.”

“But we have Luma,” Magnus said. He turned on Awen. “Is there any way So-Elku or the others could mess with Azie or the ship from down here?”

“Given So-Elku’s recent forays into the additional dimensions of the Unity, yes.”

“Splick.” Magnus was really growing irritated with this Luma master punk. “Flow, Cheeks, listen. I don’t know what’s going on with the ship, but keep your eyes open. I want to know if you encounter anything strange. Copy?”

“You got it,” Cheeks replied. “Flow says the same.”

Magnus hesitated. “Wait, where’s Flow now?”

“He’s over trying to pull up some sort of weapons system.”

“Weapons system?”

“He says you’re going to need it. Our sensors are showing that the Marines are readjusting to cut you off. Seems they’ve figured out you’re trying to head to the star port.”

“Son of a bitch.”

“But we got it, LT. You stay the course, and we’ll try and keep them away.”

“Cheeks, if you don’t have to kill any of them, don’t.”

“I read you. Don’t you worry. We’ll keep the casualties low. Just trying to deter them, that’s all.”

“Okay, good.”

“Come on, Magnus,” Awen said. “Time to go.”

He nodded and then started down the steps. He followed the rest of Granther Company out of the courtyard and moved into the southbound street. The fighting had started to awaken the city, evident by the lights turning on and people poking their heads out of windows and doors. Several members of his company were shouting for people to stay inside, but the sight of the strangely clad warriors only seemed to make the residents more interested.

“Go chameleon,” Magnus said over the company channel. “We don’t need any more eyes on us.” Instantly, the icons on his map changed to white, indicating that the telecolos mode had been engaged. The only icon not yet converted was his. Magnus changed modes and looked at the horizon to his left, catching the stars between buildings. The eastern sky was starting to warm—another hour and it would be sunrise.

Granther Company tracked west, turning at Flow’s first waypoint. Up ahead, however, Magnus noticed the Marines headed south along convergent streets. He was just about to call out the movement when a shaft of light streaked down from orbit and slammed into the city somewhere ahead. The resulting explosion shook the ground and sent a shockwave rippling up from the city. It wasn’t nearly as bad as something like an LO9D—the type of cannon blast he’d survived on Oorjaee. Such a strike would have put countless civilians at risk. But it was enough to tear up a street and divert a pursuing enemy.

Several local klaxons blared, and Magnus could hear shouting coming down the side streets. In spite of these negative developments, however, Magnus saw the Marine movement had been stopped. The icons were doubling back.

“Nice work, Flow,” Magnus said. “Keep it up.”

“You got it. Incoming!”

A second streak of light screamed down from the night sky and struck the next street over. Another shockwave rocked the streets as superheated debris launched into the air.

Flow let out a whoop. “Come on, son! I should have joined the Navy.”

“Don’t get carried away on me,” Magnus replied. “Just enough to keep our path clear.”

“You got it, LT. Hey…”

“Go ahead.”

“Who let you out of your cages?”

Magnus slowed. “Cages?”

“Aw, hell nah.”

“What’s going on?” Magnus demanded, suddenly realizing Flow was talking to someone else. “Cheeks? Someone talk to me.”

“Son of a bitch,” Cheeks yelled.

“Dammit, boys! What’s going on?”

Awen tapped him on the shoulder. Magnus spun on her. “What?”

“We’ve got a problem.”

“I know we do!”

“Not up there.” Awen turned and pointed behind them. “There.”

27

Awen felt Magnus’s hand pat against her body in a wordless attempt to get her moving. When he brought his NOV1 up and fired several rounds into the Luma chasing after them, Awen scolded him. “That won’t do any good!”

Magnus’s volley burst against the Luma shields, dissipating into nothing more than ripples of light and yellow sparks.

“You just take care of the Marines and we’ll handle this,” she added.

He glanced at her. “But…”

“There’s a lot, I know. If we need help, I’ll let you know.”

Magnus let out a frustrated grunt. “I don’t like this.”

“The Marines, Magnus.” She pointed toward the front of their convoy. “Now get out of here.”

There wasn’t time to argue. And Magnus’s forces would be best utilized at the head of the line—he has to realize that, she thought. He finally conceded the point and left her alone, but he seemed to do so begrudgingly. First there was the implication of whatever was happening on the Spire with Flow and Cheeks, and now this. Awen felt pretty sure that this was not how Magnus wanted their retreat to go.

“Willowood, I need you and any Luma able to fight in the back of the line,” Awen said, choosing to communicate over comms instead of in the Unity as it would keep Magnus and the other platoon leaders apprised of her activity. “Rohoar, if Magnus doesn’t need you, I could use Delta Platoon as well.”

“Take him,” Magnus said without hesitation. She could see Magnus charge along the side of the street and tap Rohoar on the shoulder as he passed. “Go. Get back there.”

“Coming your way, Miss Awen,” Rohoar said as he summoned the Jujari to him.

By the time Willowood and Rohoar joined her with their respective forces, the wall of Luma marching toward them had closed to a hundred and twenty meters. They were moving with purpose, heads tipped forward, hands crossed and hidden in sleeves or balled into fists down at their sides.

“Who are these ones?” Rohoar asked, licking his lips.

“The Elders,” Awen said with a chuckle of disbelief. Is this really happening?

“And where were they a little while ago when we fought the blue ones?”

“Probably still sleeping,” Willowood replied.

“So they’re old and tired.” Rohoar cracked the knuckles on both hands.

“No, not really,” Awen said.

But Rohoar shhh’d her like he would a pup. “This is what helps me win. Picturing them as wrinkly old humans makes it easier.”

Awen made to protest but Willowood laid a hand on her. “If it makes it easier for him…”

“Right.” She smiled. “They’re just wrinkly old humans.”

“Exactly,” Rohoar replied. “Now, let’s strip them of their skins and drink their blood.”

“Rohoar, I—”

“Kidding, Miss Awen. Kidding. Kind of.”

Awen glanced at Rohoar with a confused smile. The look was interrupted by renewed blaster fire from the front of the line. Magnus was engaging the Marines in the absence of Flow’s orbital fire. “Time to do this,” she said, then looked at Piper. “You ready, doma?”

“Of course, shydoh. Let’s kick some—”

“Piper!”

“Butt. I was going to say butt.”

“Sure you were.”

* * *

Magnus found Dutch, Abimbola, and Titus up front, leading the charge against the oncoming Marines. Caldwell’s company, now under the command of Captain Daniels, had split his assault. He used the northern side streets to flank the Gladio Umbra’s westward advance, while the second half of this forces had progressed far enough to double back and come at Magnus head-on. The result was significant pressure to divert them south and east—in the opposite direction of the docks.

“If we are going to make it to the shuttles, then we are going to have to drive right through them,” Abimbola said, firing his rifle from behind a parked skiff. Magnus was crouched beside him, studying the map on his HUD as blaster fire filled the air overhead.

“Copy that, Bimby. The only other option is a long walk around, and something tells me they’ll match us every step.”

“Time to start a new collection of buckets then.”

Magnus nodded. He hated that he was about to have more good Marines put down. But this was combat, and dying wasn’t fair. “You and Dutch focus on anything that comes out of those side streets. Titus, you’re with me on the main street. Colonel, we need any advice you can give.”

“They’re going to be setting sniper positions soon,” the colonel said. “So keep an eye out for those, both ahead and behind.”

“Dozer and I will handle that,” came Silk’s voice. “We’ll head up top.” Magnus approved, and then saw the two gladias run up and dart into a side alley opposite the oncoming enemy forces.

“The majority of the force is going to come from the center,” Caldwell said, pointing a flat hand down the main street. “They’ll keep us distracted and let the smaller flanking forces pick off our sides. Just don’t get distracted.”

“Copy that,” Dutch said, nodding at Abimbola.

“Let’s show them what Granther Company does under pressure. Dominate!”

“Liberate!” came the company-wide response.

“La-raah.”

Again, the entire unit repeated Magnus’s cue in unison.

Magnus leaned around the skiff and aimed at the closest Marine. The figure was propped against the side of a light post—terrible cover—shooting at something well behind Magnus’s frontline position—terrible practice. Poor kid was probably so green that this skirmish was popping his combat cherry. But he knew what he’d signed up for. No one joined the Marines to play with toy guns. And if Magnus didn’t take the kid out, the kid’s MC99 would take Magnus out—if he got lucky. His shield’s status still displayed 52%.

Magnus squeezed the trigger and his NOV1 let out a bolt in a deafening scream. The supercharged energy hit a Marine in the unprotected space under his arm and zipped crossways through his lungs. Magnus watched as the enemy locked up, unable to breathe, and pitched away from the light post, before collapsing to the ground.

Two more Marines went down under Magnus’s deadly aim—one laying atop a skiff who was drilled in the top of the head, the second taking two bolts in the chest plate.

“Advance,” Magnus ordered. “And watch the right flank!”

“We’re on it,” Dutch replied.

Taking advantage of the heavy fire streaming out from behind him, Magnus ran behind a small charging station. But even without the covering fire, chameleon mode gave him an unprecedented advantage, as it did all his gladias. Without his HUD’s advanced sensors, optics showed his forces as nothing more than flickering apparitions, given away only by the muzzle flash of their blasters. To the enemy, it must have seemed as if demons appeared from the darkness, dispensed death, and then vanished in a distortion of reality.

Dutch and Abimbola’s platoons worked together, one covering the side street from the opposite side of the main street while the other kept close to the mouth, throwing VODs down the lane. The exterior walls of the buildings lit up in brilliant flashes as the battle played out beneath them. Magnus noted civilians coming to look out their windows and then backing away seconds later. Others actually opened their doors to see what was going on. For highbrow Plumerians, seeing combat in their streets was probably the last thing they ever could have imagined.

“Stay inside, dammit,” Magnus yelled to a woman who poked her head out. Her eyes looked around frantically until Magnus lowered the intensity of his armor. He repeated the order to get back inside and she closed the door. Magnus raised his cloak again, and then returned fire on the Marines in the center of the street.

Two Marines leapfrogged along the sidewalk toward Magnus, advancing in textbook fashion—so textbook, in fact, that Magnus had an easy time of anticipating the precise moment of transition when one Marine stopped firing and the next was about to. He placed three rounds in the first Marine, causing him to sprawl face-first on the sidewalk. The second looked out to see what had happened, but took a blaster bolt in the helmet, straight through the visor. The combatant fell backward, his MC99 clattering behind him.

“Keep moving,” Magnus said, urging his unit forward. They needed to make better time if they were going to get off this rock. “Remember to retrieve and distribute any Repub energy mags you find over 50% full.” Magnus and Azelon had purposely designed the NOV1s to accept the standard issue magazines for just such an occasion.

“Son of a bitch,” someone yelled. The HUD showed it was Bliss.

“You okay, Bliss?” Magnus asked.

“Damn Marine just shot me in the ass!”

Magnus double checked Bliss’s position and saw that he was safe behind a skiff. The gladia’s shield was still above half power. “Must’ve been a lucky shot.”

“Must’ve been a big ass,” Ezo replied.

Magnus repeated his order to advance and then reopened a channel to the Spire, hoping to get Flow or Cheeks back on the line. But neither of them responded. Worse, not even Azelon replied.

“I couldn’t help but notice your attempt to hail the starship, sir,” TO-96 said.

“Any idea what’s going on up there?”

“Negative, sir. My apologies.”

“Just let me know the moment anything changes, ’Six.”

“Understood.”

Magnus leaned out, pointing his weapon downrange, just as a Marine darted for cover. The man never even saw Magnus’s blaster bolts coming. A staccato burst struck the assailant in the chest in a grouping no larger than Magnus’s palm. The force jerked the Marine backward, flipped his legs forward in midair, and slammed his back against the ground.

Magnus paused to assess Dutch and Abimbola’s progress. They’d successfully cleared one side street and were advancing on the next. But their progress was slow, and Magnus knew they needed to pick up the pace.

“Silk,” Magnus said. “Any chance you can divert your attention down here?”

“Just a second.”

Magnus looked up in time to see several blaster bolts streak between gaps in the buildings, headed down range.

“Okay, please repeat?”

“I said, can you divert some of your attention down here?”

“Can do, just—” Silk’s voice sounded strained. “Just give us another minute. There’s a small contingent of Marines trying to secure positions against you.”

“Keep doing what you’re doing then.”

“Roger that. We’ll assist you when we can.”

Magnus returned his attention to the main thoroughfare and picked his next target. The sun was beginning to warm the sky. Sunup wouldn’t be for another hour or so, but he’d wanted to be long gone before then. “Tough luck, Adonis. Just ain’t in your cards today.”

“What was that, sir?”

“Dammit, ’Six. Why are you still listening?”

“I’m always listening, sir.”

Magnus gave out a sharp single-breathed laugh. “’Cause that’s not creepy or anything.”

“I am delighted to hear that, sir. The last thing I would want is to be frightening, eerie, or disturbing. Additionally, sinister, hair-raising, spooky, scary—”

“’Six!”

“Sir?”

“You don’t need—” Magnus fired twice at a Marine who peeked around the tail-end of a skiff. “To elaborate!”

“Very good, sir. I was simply trying to establish a greater personal connection through a shared sense of mutual understanding given the intensity of the present scenario.”

“You know what else you can do? Use those gauss cannons on your shoulders and take out that skiff with all the Marine’s behind it.”

“Will that also produce a feeling of greater connectedness between us?”

“Yes. Now shoot the damn skiff!”

“Right away, sir.”

From the rear, Magnus heard the distinct report of TO-96’s twin gauss cannons. The ballistic-tipped projectiles broke the air overhead and slammed into the skiff with such force that the vehicle rebounded off the street and flipped end-over-end. The blast sprayed Marines in an arc, several losing limbs in the process.

When the skiff slammed down into the street, Magnus ordered Granther Company forward. No sooner had he issued the command than several micro-missiles zipped overhead and took out no fewer than five more Marines who’d been exposed during the skiff’s destruction. The explosions lit the street up, washing the buildings in yellow light.

“That was a nice touch,” Magnus said to TO-96.

“Do you feel a greater sense of connection to me?”

Magnus laughed. “I sure do, ’Six.”

“I am happy my missiles could bring us together then.”

28

Ricio waved his hand through the space that the force field had occupied only moments before. To his amazement, the wall was gone, as if someone had simply flipped a switch and turned it off. At first, Ricio thought it was a gimmick. He envisioned himself attempting to leave his cell, only to have the person behind the controls restore the forcefield and cut his body in half. But that seemed unlikely.

He passed his hand through the space again and then waited, studying the threshold. When the wall failed to reappear, he tested it by extending his left arm out of his cell. He figured that if he was going to lose a limb, it might as well be his non-dominant hand. Still, the force field remained off. So Rico stepped out of his cell.

“Hello?” he said, turning around slowly in the cellblock. He looked at all the places that he imagined cameras might be, waving at the corners in the ceiling. “Anybody there?” But there was no reply. No one spoke over speakers, and no one rushed in to seize him.

The cellblock door was open to the corridor that ran to the control room, so Ricio moved down the hall. He was about to step into the room full of monitors when an enormous man emerged from a cellblock to his right.

“Who the hell are you?” the man demanded. His bare and bloodied chest was decorated with a lifetime of Marine tats, and he was missing an eye. Ricio thought it best not to mess with him, but he also wasn’t giving up his identity to some one-eyed stranger.

“I’m someone who wants to know why we just got set free. You?”

The Marine growled. “Same.”

“Seems we have a common goal then.”

“For now. You Repub?”

“Eh, you could say that,” Ricio said, scratching his chin. “And you’re a Marine.”

The big man nodded. “You the one they took from the crash site?”

Ricio eyed the man more carefully. “Were you part of the Recon team deployed on the planet’s surface?” When the man grunted, Ricio raised a finger at him. “I was sent to save your dumb ass, you pathetic piece of splick.”

“Watch who you’re calling pathetic,” the man replied, stepping toward Ricio.

“Really?” Ricio put his hands on his hips. “Of all the insults in that sentence, you picked pathetic as the most objectionable?” Then to himself, he said, “No wonder they sent me to rescue him.”

The man charged Ricio.

“Hey now, big fella.” His hands were up and waving. “No sense in throwing our options away prematurely.”

The Marine slowed. “What options?”

“You know how to pilot a starship?”

The trooper seemed to consider this more intently than Ricio gave him credit for. Maybe he wasn’t a complete imbecile. “No.”

“Then I’m your pilot. And do I look like I can crush a man’s skull with my hands?”

“No.”

“Then you’re my bodyguard.” Ricio extended his hand toward the Marine. “Name’s Longo.”

The man looked at Ricio’s hand and then shook it. “Nos Kil.”

“I can see that.”

“Let’s move, jockey.”

“Copy that, buckethead.”

The two of them entered the control room, and Nos Kil immediately turned toward a workstation. He swiped through several menus on the holo display before Ricio asked: “What are you looking for?”

“Comms,” Nos Kil said, his eye and fingers working through the system architecture. “If we only have a minute before anyone comes to restrain us, I want to use it to get word to…” Nos Kil looked over at Ricio in a way that suggested the Marine wasn’t sure he could trust the pilot.

“To Moldark,” Ricio said.

“Yes.” Nos Kil sneered. “You mind?”

Ricio followed the brute’s eyes toward the exit. Apparently the Marine wanted to compose his transmission in private. Ricio shrugged and then stepped into the corridor just out of earshot. He wanted to chastise the tattooed war monger, arguing that they were on the same team, when he felt the words lodge themselves in his throat. Are we on the same team? he wondered. Given everything that Magnus had divulged about the Gladio Umbra’s desire to keep evil people from doing evil things, Ricio had his doubts—enough of them that he’d already given Magnus enough intel that Moldark would have him executed if he ever found out.

“What’s your name again, jockey?” Nos Kil yelled from inside the control room, snapping his fingers. “For my report.”

“Longo,” Ricio replied. For some reason he regretted hearing himself say his own name.

It was then that Ricio realized a startling truth. Betrayal wasn’t something that happened in an instant. It wasn’t a quick decision born out of an impetuous desire to shake things up. Instead, it was something that happened slowly, like the transformation that occurred within a chrysalis. No one knew how the worm transformed into a butterfly, but everyone could see the results when it emerged.

“Well?” Nos Kil said, poking his head out of the doorway. “Don’t just stand there. See how many enemies we’re looking at. Get us some weapons and a ship.”

“Right.” Ricio blinked, followed Nos Kil back inside, and then stepped to another workstation. He swiped through several screens until he found one that displayed a top down map of the starship’s levels. As Ricio took in the scope of the vessel, he realized it was far bigger than he imagined—nearly twice the size of a Repub battlecruiser. He couldn’t be sure without studying the schematics more carefully, but he guessed the ship might even rival a battleship or dreadnaught.

“What’s the holdup, jockey?”

“Nothing.” Ricio shook his head and played with the map, swiping through decks and expanding one that showed life signs. “This thing is massive. But looks like there are only two souls aboard.”

Nos Kil stopped finalizing his comms transmission. “Two?”

“That’s what ships sensors are saying.”

“But you just said the ship is big. That can’t be right.”

“Hell, I can pour us some coffee and we can have a meaningful conversation about it.”

The Marine glared at him.

“Another time maybe.” Ricio returned to his work and looked for a hangar bay. As it turned out, there were several. He chose one that harbored transport shuttles—hoping they would be outfitted with some sort of subspace drive—and then memorized the route.

“Found us some wings,” Ricio said. “Ten minute walk. All we need to do is—”

“I want to take out those two pieces of splick first. Where are they?”

Ricio hesitated. “They’re on the bridge. But the hangar bays—”

“Find us some weapons, jockey. If one of those is the man who did this to me”—he pointed to his eye—“then I need to return the favor before we leave.”

Ricio didn’t need much imagination to suspect that Magnus had inflicted Nos Kil’s injury. Which posed a new dilemma. Up until now, Ricio suspected he could comply with his captors, provide them with some limited but true intel, and then wait for an opportunity to escape or be released. The information he’d given Magnus would serve their little rebellion—probably give them a small advantage, at least for a little while—but there was no way Magnus’s crew stood a chance against Moldark. Then, once he was aboard the Black Labyrinth, Ricio would debrief with Fleet Admiral Brighton—omitting any of his minority treasonous acts—fill out the necessary documentation, and then head back to Capriana to his wife and son as a civilian.

But now Nos Kil wanted to take out Magnus. “Son of a bitch,” Ricio said.

Nos Kil turned toward him. “What is it?”

“They’ve got the armory locked down tight.” Ricio jabbed a finger at the holo, making up every word. “No way we’re getting in there. Better just head for the shuttle.”

“I don’t need weapons.” Nos Kil turned back to his own holo and brought up the ship’s schematic, then he identified the bridge and examined the route. “Come on, jockey. I might need you to hold him down.”

* * *

Ricio found himself walking behind Nos Kil, trying to think of every excuse he could to keep the Marine from attacking Magnus, but nothing reasonable came to mind. As his bare feet slapped against the glossy white floors that led to the elevator, Ricio wondered why his escape hadn’t triggered any alarms yet. Surely the bridge crew or the ship’s AI watched their progress.

Then he had a sickening thought—what if we’re walking into a trap?

But that seemed improbable. If their captors wanted them dead, they had plenty of opportunity to do it already. Plus, Ricio suspected that he’d already curried enough favor with Magnus to keep him off the execution list. And Magnus and his odd squad didn’t seem pathological. In fact, Ricio felt himself siding with the unlikely crew and their mission far more than he cared to admit. He liked helping them. And if he was being completely honest with himself, he believed in what they were trying to do.

“So what’s the plan?” Ricio asked as the lift slowed at the bridge level.

“Plan?” The dried blood and swollen eye socket on Nos Kil’s face made him look like something out of a horror holo. “How about, don’t get killed. And if you survive long enough, I’ll tell you what I need you to do once I assess the situation.”

“And here I was hoping you’d say something like, ‘You take the one on the left and I’ll take the one on the right.’ That’s how it normally works, right?”

Nos Kil sneered at Ricio.

“Guess not.”

“Just stay behind me and don’t get killed, jockey.”

“I can do that.”

The lift doors slid apart to reveal a large command bridge. A dozen workstations ran along the walls, while several stand-alone units faced the room-wide holo display that took up the far wall. Two men sat beside one another, intent on some sort of holo targeting system that correlated with a map in the main window, while a white robot was slumped in a chair by itself.

Neither man noticed Ricio and Nos Kil enter. The two crew members wore white uniforms with blue pinstripes—casual wear, by the looks of it—and soft-soled shoes. Since their well-muscled bodies seemed to make the suits tear at the seams, Ricio guessed they were Marines like Nos Kil, one tall with black skin, the other short with a dark olive complexion.

While Ricio hesitated, taking in the scene, Nos Kil did not. The beast of a shirtless barrel-chested man took off like a racing hound on a high-stakes track. Whether at the sound of his feet or the rush of air, the shorter of the two turned just in time to see Nos Kil lunge at them. Nos Kil dropped his shoulder and caught the man in the chest, driving him out of his chair and into his partner. Together, all three men fell sideways and tumbled into the floor in a heap.

Ricio ran forward to meet them, still unsure what he should do. Nos Kil rolled to his knees and started throwing punches at the black man, drilling his face so hard Ricio thought the man’s skull might implode. But the shorter man threw a powerful punch at Nos Kil’s side, causing the Marine to fold.

The black man pushed the enemy off him and sat up just as the short one dove after Nos Kil. Then both crew members were exchanging punches with the former prisoner—all three men caught in a violent struggle of blows, blocks, hand holds, and rolls. The black man seemed to be growing frantic, his swings becoming more impulsive and less accurate. He shouted profanity at Nos Kil as the two grappled along the floor. Likewise, the shorter crew member seemed to be losing his mind, snarling and cursing as he delivered several wild blows. The two men acted as though Nos Kil was the last man they’d ever fight. But the passion of their hatred appeared to cloud their judgement as Nos Kil was getting the upper hand even despite being outnumbered.

Pick a side, pilot, Ricio told himself. That was when he saw a blaster pistol on the floor beside one of the crash couches. It must have fallen from one of the two crew members’ hips. He reached down and grabbed the weapon, bringing it to bear on the fight scene that moved into the middle of the bridge.

“Everyone stand down,” he ordered. But his command went completely unheard. Nos Kil had his hand clenched around the smaller one’s throat while he jabbed at the other man’s nose, causing a fountain of blood to stain the floor.

“I said, stand down!” Ricio aimed at the ground just to the side of the men and squeezed the trigger. A blue blaster bolt—much larger than he expected the diminutive weapon to produce—leaped from the barrel with a shriek. Sparks and smokey rivulets exploded from the charred hole in the floor. All three men jerked at the sound and froze, hands going up.

“That’s better.” Ricio trained the weapon on the cluster of men. “I need names.”

“What are you doing, jockey?” Nos Kil asked with a hiss. “Shoot these pieces of splick!”

“Can it, Marine.”

Nos Kil’s eye went wild, his mouth turning into a snarling maw of blood-soaked teeth. “Why I ought to—”

“I can very easily poke out your other eye if you want a matching pair.” Ricio stared down the sight and glared at Nos Kil’s remaining eye. “Didn’t think so. Now, I’m going to ask one last time—names.”

“I’m—I’m…” The black man stuttered, trying hard to come to his senses and waving his hands at the weapon. “I’m Michael Deeks. This—this is Miguel Chico.”

“And what were you doing there?” Ricio flicked the pistol back toward their workstation.

“None of your business,” Chico said. “None of your damn business!”

“Oh, but I think it is my business—that is, if you want my help.”

“Your help?” Deeks asked with no effort to hide is disbelief.

“Moldark’s going to annihilate you, jockey,” Nos Kil said, spitting out a mouthful of blood.

“You really don’t want that other eye, do you, Nos Kil,” Ricio said, tilting his head at the man.

“You don’t have the balls.”

Ricio smiled. “I may not have your brawn, Marine. And I definitely don’t have your stomach for pain. But I can assure you, you’ve never seen balls the size of a Talon pilot’s. So unless you want to miss out on the view, I suggest you shut up.”

“What were you doing there?” Rico asked again, dedicating his attention to Deeks.

“Orbital fire support for our unit,” Deeks replied.

“Magnus?”

The two crew looked at each other, then Deeks replied with a nod. “Magnus.”

“Then I suggest you get back to it, Deeks.”

The black man’s eyebrows raised. “I… I’m not sure I understand.”

“And you, Chico. You’re gonna help me put this sicko back in his doghouse. Copy?” While Ricio talked, he noticed a setting on the pistol’s rear graphic display that seemed to lower the weapon’s discharge amperage while increasing the voltage.

Chico glanced at Nos Kil, then back at Ricio. “I can’t tell if you’re joking or not.”

Nos Kil spat more blood on the ground. “Oh, he’s joking al—”

Nos Kil didn’t finish the statement before Ricio fired at his chest. The Marine’s back slammed into the deck and his body convulsed, legs thrashing, arms grasping at the invisible wound. In another second, his body went still.

“What in hell is going on here?” Deeks asked.

“That’s gonna be the same question Magnus asks you if you don’t get back on those controls, Deeks.”

“Call me Flow,” the man said, standing to his feet and wiping blood from his lip. “This here’s Cheeks.”

Cheeks remained on the ground and closed his eyes, taking several slow breaths. That was when Ricio realized what he was looking at. These boys had seen action—a lot of action. Enough that that they’d probably never truly come off the battlefield. Damn.

“And that?” Ricio pointed toward the bot in the crash couch.

“That there’s Azelon,” Cheeks said as Flow helped him up. “The ship’s AI in bodily form.”

“Ship’s got a dedicated bot?” Ricio asked.

Deeks gave him a nod. “Something happened to her about ten minutes ago.”

Cheeks squinted at Ricio. “Say, that wouldn’t have anything to do with—”

“I don’t know anything about it,” Ricio said. “Something happened to the force fields and security doors in the brig. Nos Kil wanted to clear this bridge, and I decided to go along with it until—”

“Until you saw whose side was going to win?” Cheeks asked.

“Until I found a way to stop him,” Ricio replied, doing his best to distance himself from the inner argument that he’d been wrestling with until a few moments ago. As a sign of good faith, Ricio flipped the weapon around and extended the grip to Cheeks, seeing as how he was the one with the empty holster. “I’ll take his feet, you take his hands. Then, when I get back, we need to have a talk.”

“About what?” Cheeks asked.

“About what else this ship has to offer a guy with balls my size.”

29

Awen and Rohoar ordered the Jujari and Willowood’s Luma into a defensive formation at the rear of the line. Piper stood beside Awen with her hands balled into fists, and Saasarr remained by the little girl’s side by order of Sootriman.

The elders had exchanged their slow march for an all-out run, racing toward Awen with terrible looks in their eyes. The sight produced several heart-thumping pangs of fear since she’d never seen their faces look so malevolent before. But battle had a way of changing people—for the worse, she thought. For a split second, she wondered if she looked just as vile to them as they did to her. Mystics, I hope not. Then she remembered that she bore a helmet.

Awen slipped into her second sight and saw the Luma Elders approach in a dazzling array of flowing color and sparkling movement. Here, the sun had already risen to full height, adding its luster to the rhythmic charge of the enemy.

The enemy. Awen still could not believe she was about to dispense harm on those she’d spent the last seven years trying to emulate. How had this happened? How had things gone so horribly wrong?

“Krufka,” Rohoar yelled—the Jujari command for hold. Awen looked over to see the Jujari on all fours. Their rumps and shoulders were low, heads down, fangs exposed. They snarled at the oncoming enemy, ready to charge forward. Yet Rohoar’s simple command kept their feet planted, saliva dripping onto the tops of their forepaws.

Likewise, Willowood assumed a defensive Li-Loré stance—one hand forward, palm up, the other hand balled into a fist and held behind her head. Several of the Luma beside her adopted a similar pose, while the rest of the elders lowered their heads and prepared for the clash.

“Just push them back,” Awen said to Piper. “Keep them from hurting us wherever you can.”

“Yes, shydoh.”

Awen readied herself and summoned the energy of the Foundation and the Nexus into her body. She felt it surge into her limbs, called up from the deep. Then she blew a strand of hair off her face that had fallen down inside her helmet. “Here goes nothing.”

The battle lines closed in the Unity and in the natural realm, producing blasts of heat and light in both realms. The energy washed over buildings and people like a tidal wave, shoving matter and molecules away from the epicenter.

Awen held her ground as an elder drove his hand into her personal shield. The sparks of the impact made Awen wince, but she did not yield to the immense amount of power behind the punch. Instead, she wrapped energy around the outstretched fist like a rope, yanked the aggressor’s arm down with one hand, and then shoved the man away with the other. Her newfound abilities in the additional realms of the Unity had made Awen strong—far stronger than even the greatest elder. The man flew backward and collided with two other Luma. The three toppled to the ground in an eruption of color.

Willowood easily defended herself against an over-anxious attacker, while Rohoar managed to bite through another Luma’s personal shield. His teeth seized the assailant’s arm, then his head turned and flipped the man sideways onto the ground. Another flip back in the other direction not only tore the elder’s limb from his side, but smacked his head hard enough to knock him out.

“Awen,” Piper screamed. When Awen looked up, a female elder had leaped into the air and was sailing down at Awen with both hands spread, ready to strike. Awen raised her hands by instinct to block the blow, but Piper arrested the woman’s movement and drove her head straight into the concrete street. Awen gasped as the woman’s head and shoulders buried themselves in the fissure. Sparks struck Awen in the Unity while concrete bounced off her suit in the natural realm. The elder remained motionless, her head clearly crushed from the impact.

“Piper, I thought I told you—”

“Here comes another!”

Awen ripped her attention from Piper to see another elder charge her, this time presenting some sort of javelin in the Unity. She’d never seen a weapon fashioned before and wondered if this was something of So-Elku’s doing.

The elder hurled the weapon, but Awen sidestepped it, allowing it to pass by. She’d not been thinking, however, that a gladia from Titus’s platoon was standing behind her. The lance penetrated the man’s back, pushing his heart clear out of his armored chest. In the natural, Awen only saw a hole open and the organ shoot from the victim, bathed in a spray of blood.

She noted that his name was Andocs and remembered the red-haired man from Magnus’s training back on Neith Tearness. The gladia had been a tireless worker, always eager to learn new tactics and implement them quickly once he’d gained mastery. She was only sad that her careless dodge had cost the gladia his life.

Awen saw the elder fashion another javelin and hurl it at her. This time, Awen caught the spear, twirled it around, and released the weapon’s momentum back toward the attacker. The javelin struck the man, picked him off his feet, and pinned him to a second Luma. Both men fell to the ground in a heap, dead within seconds.

Willowood had dispensed with merely trying to incapacitate her victims. Instead, her lethal force was displayed by rending one victim of his hips and legs as her arm passed through his abdomen in a lightning-fast sweep. The Luma had been caught so off guard that he froze in shock, looked down at his lower half, and then screamed as his torso fell forward.

Awen’s heart thumped loudly in her head as she realized her mentor—the woman she revered more than any other in the galaxy for her teaching on non-violent resistance—had just slain a fellow Luma in battle. And violently so. She wanted to scream, to protest, to make everything stop. What she feared the most had come upon her, and not even Magnus’s words could calm the fire raging in her chest. She wanted everything to stop—for it to all go away. But it wasn’t. And it wouldn’t. The violence unfolding before her eyes was as inevitable as gravity, pulling her recklessly toward the mass of war.

Then her eyes stopped on Piper. In Awen’s observance of Willowood, another elder had lunged for the little girl. Whether to grab her by the throat or yank her behind enemy lines, Awen didn’t know. But she was sure the girl’s life was in danger. And Awen felt violated. Not as if her own personhood was in jeopardy, but that someone would attempt to take what she loved. To capture or kill Piper—a child.

For a fraction of a second, time stood still for Awen. It was as if the entire scene around her was frozen in a multidimensional portrait, one rendered in astounding clarity. Bodies poised in the throes of assault. Blaster bolts suspended in midair. Sparks and droplets of blood trailing from slices in throat, leg, and shoulder. Everywhere around her was carnage, the gruesome display of lives turned inward, bent on destruction of the other.

There, in that still moment, Awen chose.

She chose to be a part of it despite every cell in her body wishing otherwise. She chose to resist the evil that sought to stop her and her kinsfolk. She chose to give herself to the wave of resistance that surged up the beachhead and broke against the sandcastle of So-Elku’s hate.

The scene raced back to life.

Awen had awakened.

One foot followed the next, legs sweeping through the air in a lethal dance that flipped her body upside down. Feet met bone, hands struck flesh, and her body became an instrument of war. The man who tried to reach for Piper lost both arms. He fell forward, and Awen’s upswinging arms launched him skyward where his body was riddled with blaster fire. It was as if she had seen each bolt streak across the warming sky and she’d sent his armless body up to be intercepted with perfect precision.

Awen’s movement was an endless flow of lethal action. Her thoughts became expressions, and her expressions became parries and thrusts, blasts and blocks. Each twisting duck and every leaping kick was interconnected, joined to her ardent resolution to stop the enemy.

She extended her palms to drive an elder back, the explosion of energy turning from yellow to brilliant magenta—the color of the Nexus. The body flew into the horde of Luma, crushing several who waited for their turn at the front lines.

Two more assailants stepped in to challenge her, both raising weapons made of pure energy. Awen pictured a bar of impenetrable metal form in her hands. As the enemies’ weapons came down, Awen felt the blows crash upon the long magenta shaft she held in her outstretched hands. The instruments collided and froze, spitting sparks in brilliant cascades of yellow and red, until Awen roared and thrust the attackers away. Their bodies flew back, colliding with others in a heap.

More enemies charged her, perhaps determining that she was the greatest threat. But with each attack, Awen’s strikes transitioned into one another with seamless succession. She was an unstoppable force, twirling and undulating, firing and decimating. At one point, she had called so much energy up from the Nexus that she felt as if her whole body might explode. Instead, she redirected the flow and watched as it bored a path all the way through the enemy’s ranks. The beam disintegrated everything it touched, stopping only when she saw it touch a residential building in the distance.

The action had been so violent that the elders stopped their assault. For the briefest moment, Awen thought she heard them gasp. Blaster fire and explosions continued at the front of the advance, but in the rear, everyone looked at Awen in stunned silence. All, but one attacker, that is.

The man thrust at Awen with some sort of glowing pike. She only caught it out of the corner of her eye. Until it vanished. Awen was sure it had penetrated her. But the man was gone.

Instead, a new scream went out from somewhere far above her. Awen looked up and saw the man falling toward the street, directly above where he’d stood a split second before. His voice grew louder as his flailing limbs did nothing to slow his fall. Awen stepped back as the man landed in a sickening thud two meters away.

Blood sprayed her suit while sparks struck her body. She stared at the corpse, wondering how she’d done such a thing. But Awen knew it wasn’t her abilities that had done this. Not even she knew how to transport natural matter inside the Unity.

But Piper might.

Awen spun around and used her second sight to see the little girl’s face. Piper glared at the dead man’s body. When she spoke, her voice was strained and cold. “He was going to kill you, shydoh.”

“Piper, you—”

“He was going to murder you.”

Awen wanted to say more, but the enemy charged again.

30

Piper hadn’t planned to move the man into the sky. It just seemed like the best option given how close he’d been to Awen. He’d wanted to hurt her shydoh, Piper could see it—she could sense his hostility. And she wasn’t going to let that happen. Not now, not ever. So Piper moved him, and then let him go. That was all. And when he hit the ground, she felt satisfied that he hadn’t survived. He was an evil person who’d wanted to do evil things. Like hurt Awen.

“Stay with the gladias,” Awen yelled at her.

Piper spun around to see that Magnus had advanced Granther Company, creating a gap between where Piper stood and the rear of the line. Not wishing to make Awen more mad than she already was, Piper ran forward until she’d caught up with Titus’s platoon. Then she turned around again and looked for ways to help Awen and the others.

Mr. Rohoar was doing really good. He used his super sharp teeth and big paws to slash at the Luma warriors. Saasarr was killing people too—anyone that got too close to Piper. Sootriman had ordered him to protect her. His tail was like a long whip that knocked people over or snagged them around their necks and threw them to the ground. Piper knew that Saasarr hadn’t liked the Jujari before, but now he seemed to be getting along with them really good.

The enemy, on the other hand, seemed super scared of the Jujari and Saasarr. And that was good too because Piper didn’t want the big doggies or the lizard getting hurt. So, like she’d done with the man who tried to stab Awen, Piper made four of the bad guys disappear. But this time, she just put them in the street. Some of their heads and arms stuck out of the pavement. But they coughed and choked, which meant they’d be dead soon anyway.

Piper’s grandmother was also doing super great, dodging enemy attacks with the grace of a dancer. She was so pretty, like an older version of Piper’s mommy. Her hair was just more grey and wild. And she had more wrinkles. And lots of bracelets, which Piper thought were really fun because of the noise they made.

Piper was so happy to have a grandmother that she hardly knew what to say. But there hadn’t been any time for talking, so not having the right words wasn’t a problem. At least not yet. Instead, Piper’s chest had filled with so much warmth that the darkness had run away—the darkness that had been sitting in her heart since she’d talked with Nos Kil.

Now that everyone was fighting, the darkness had returned. It felt heavy. And Piper wanted to get rid of it. But she knew the only way to do that was to speak with Mr. Lieutenant Magnus, and that scared her. Because what if he tried to shut her up? What if he tried to hurt her like he’d hurt the other girls? The thoughts sent a shiver down her spine.

She continued to watch Awen hold off the big group of Luma elders. But the gladias with blasters were moving forward again, which was good, because it meant everyone could get to the shuttles soon.

Just then, a giant burst of light streaked down from the sky and slammed into the ground somewhere ahead. Piper’s tummy tingled as the vibrations raced up her legs. Fire shot into the sky, and the gladias moved ahead some more. Pretty soon, she heard Mr. Lieutenant Magnus give the order to run, and the next thing Piper knew, she was chasing after them and headed toward the shuttles.

In her second sight, Piper turned around to make sure Awen and the others were following them. But they were still fighting. Which was not good. They needed to get to the shuttles like everyone else. So Piper stopped running and focused on the space that separated Awen and her grandmother from all the other bad people. She pictured a big wall going up, and then waited.

A woman dressed in the fancy Luma robes raised her hand to hit Awen. And Awen was ready to block it. But the bad lady’s hand bounced off the imaginary wall Piper had made with her mind.

Piper grinned, and then decided that the wall should move some. She pushed it back, making the Luma’s feet slide along the street. It was funny to watch them leap backward. Several of them smushed into each other, getting all bunched up like kids in a lunch line.

“Piper, go!”

Piper blinked and then focused on Awen’s face. Her shydoh was yelling at her, pointing toward the rest of Granther Company.

“Okay,” Piper yelled back in the Unity. “But you gotta come too!”

Awen seemed reluctant, looking back at the Luma behind Piper’s wall several times before taking steps in the direction of the shuttles. Pleased, Piper began running again too. But she decided to leave the wall up, at least as long as she could. It was hard work, and she knew she needed to focus on not falling. Running was also hard work.

The gladias of Granther Company turned down a side street, and Piper followed. When she looked at where they turned, she could see a large burning crater in the ground that was filled with rubble. She guessed Mr. Flow’s cannon on the Spire had done that. She also saw body parts from the Marines lying everywhere. They were dead though, so they wouldn’t miss them.

She followed the gladias between buildings that looked like houses. Most of them had lights on. As Piper ran by, she noticed a few small faces peering out into the night. They were kids, like her. In her second sight, she could see their pajamas. Some of them had stuffed animals clutched in their arms. She waved at them, but then realized they couldn’t see her in the natural realm because her suit was using the chameleon mode that made it blend in with her surroundings.

Piper slowed, deactivated the cloak, and then waved again at two kids who looked at her through a ground floor window. The little boy waved back, smiling wide. But the little girl seemed scared and hunkered down behind her stuffed hippalotaderm. Then Piper saw the children’s parents yell at them and yank them away from the window. That was probably a good thing too. She didn’t want the kids getting hurt. Piper felt happy that the kids had such a good mom and dad that would try and keep their family safe and sound. War was scary, and the last thing Piper wanted was for other kids to get hurt.

“Piper, move!” Miss Awen had caught up to her now. Piper waved goodbye to the kids even though they weren’t by the window anymore, and then reactivated her suit to blend in with the street. She felt Awen push her forward, and Piper began to run.

They turned left at the end of the street and continued to follow Granther Company toward the shuttles. Despite how she felt about Mr. Lieutenant Magnus, she had to admit that he was doing a super good job protecting everyone while they ran.

Another bright streak of light came down from Azelon’s starship and shook the city. More fire and smoke billowed into the sky. The stars were getting less bright, and the sun seemed to want to crawl out of its bed. Piper thought she was ready for the opposite—once she got back to the Spire, she wanted to sleep. Well, maybe eat first and then sleep.

On and on Piper ran until she thought her legs might turn into noodles. She thought about sending herself to the shuttles, then she wouldn’t have to run anymore and could just wait for everyone else to get there. But then Awen would get mad, and if Awen was mad, her mother would be mad too. That wouldn’t be good.

When the docking bays finally came into view, Piper looked at the buildings and read the numbers. They’d parked the Spire’s shuttles a little further down than where they were right now. But it wasn’t much farther.

The old man that Mr. Lieutenant Magnus had convinced to join Granther Company spoke over the comms. “Reinforcements will be arriving from the south. I’m guessing an ETA of three minutes.”

Mr. Lieutenant Magnus did not seem happy about that. But three minutes seemed like more than enough time to get everyone on board the shuttles. Piper could see the proper docking bays just up the street. In another few seconds, the front of the line turned through the big opening into the first bay. Piper followed them in and saw the tall tail fins of the four shuttles rising into the air. The ramps were down, and the gladias were arranging themselves to protect everyone as they neared the little ships.

Someone pointed at Piper and ordered her up first. But she had to wait for her grandmother and her shydoh, for Rohoar and the funny lizard. Piper turned and waited for everyone to come around the corner. But someone shouted her name. She knew the voice—all too well.

“Piper Penelope-Anne Stone, you get your tiny little butt over here and up this ramp this instant!”

Piper winced.

“Yes, momma.” But just before Piper turned toward her mother, she saw blaster fire appear behind Awen and the others who were racing toward her. One of the good Luma that had been with her grandmother was hit and fell down. Piper screamed. Then another blaster bolt struck an old man in the side of the head and he toppled over. A third good Luma was hit twice in the side and then again in the shoulder. They spun sideways like a top before slamming against the ground.

No, no, no, this is not supposed to happen, Piper thought. She could feel her heartbeat thumping in her ears.

Her mother screamed for her, but Piper had to do something. Then she saw Awen waving at her and pointing toward the shuttle. But if Piper didn’t do something, more of her grandmother’s good Luma might die.

Suddenly, a whole bunch of Marines appeared around the mouth of the docking bay and flooded the huge door. Blaster bolts streaked across at the first shuttle as the gladia with the big NOV1 rifles returned fire.

An arm caught Piper in the stomach and knocked the wind out of her. It was Awen. She’d picked Piper up and was hauling her toward the shuttles as blaster fire skipped off the ground, sending up motes of molten metal.

Piper tried to protest, tried to kick and punch and scream to be let go, but Awen’s grip was too strong. She looked up and saw her mother standing beside Mr. Lieutenant Magnus, both of them firing back at the Marines who were flooding the docking bay. They stood just below the ramp, yelling something at Awen. Piper was sure her mother was going to be cross with her for not getting on the ship sooner.

Awen was almost to the ramp when Piper saw Magnus push her mother to the side and directly into a stream of blaster bolts. In the first instant, sparks danced off her helmet and chest, disrupting chameleon mode. But in the next, the bolts went through her mother’s visor and out the rear of her helmet. Her body flipped backward and struck the ground as if all the strength had left her.

Piper screamed.

But no noise came out.

Instead, she saw red. Everything went red. And hot. She was going to burst from the pain.

31

Awen watched in muted horror as she saw Magnus push Valerie away from the incoming rocket. While Magnus took the brunt of the hit—blown back in a violent explosion—Valerie was even less fortunate, her body riddled with blaster rounds. She went flailing to the ground just as flames engulfed everything.

Suddenly, a low vibration gut-punched Awen so hard she lost her breath. She felt herself go weightless, tossed away from the explosion upside down. Or was she right side up? Her vision blurred. Then her consciousness started to fade as something tugged at the sides of her grip on reality.

The only thing that kept Awen from slipping into the darkness was pain. Pain everywhere. Pain so bad she screamed. But not even screaming alleviated it. Instead, she hung there in suspended animation, screaming, feeling, fighting.

She’d lost her grip on Piper.

Awen tried to move, tried to feel beyond the terror that consumed her. But all of it was worthless. It was as though she was caught in a long fall through forever, twisting about in a constant state of agony.

Just when she was sure that her spirit had been violently stripped from the stalk of her body, Awen felt a pulse in her neck. The sensation went down into her chest as well as up into her ears. Her head throbbed, her limbs on fire. But she’d stopped moving. And she was pretty sure she was lying on her back.

No, definitely on her back.

Then she tried opening her eyes. The effort drew a knife-like sensation inside her skull. But she needed to see. Must see. Her second sight was white while her natural sight was black.

Something… something horrible had happened.

Eyes opened, Awen blinked them into submission. Shapes formed from the blurry blotches, and lines formed from the shapes, until she could make out the familiar glow of her helmet’s HUD. Her eyes darted to her suit’s status bar and noted that her personal shield was at 9%. Which seemed strange. The explosion could have done that—and more. But she was sure she’d been thrown far enough and high enough to rip her power suit clean off her body. Instead, it remained intact.

She sensed feeling in her arms and legs, and used them to sit up. The headache was easily the worst she’d ever had, threatening to make her throw up. But she managed to keep the nausea under control and looked about her.

To her shock, Awen was not more than ten or eleven meters from where she’d stood when the rocket hit Magnus. But that’s impossible. It felt as though the blast had carried her halfway back to the Grand Arielina.

Then a new thought struck her.

Piper.

Awen looked toward the shuttle, which seemed in near-perfect condition, and noticed a small figure standing with its back toward Awen. It took only a moment more for Awen to realize it was Piper. And the body she stood over…

Awen blinked.

It was Valerie’s.

The blaster fire was gone. In fact, the entire docking bay was still, save for small movements touching Awen’s peripheral vision. She looked around and saw that everyone—everyone who’d been standing in the docking bay just seconds ago—was on the ground. People were sitting up slowly, like she’d done.

Awen pulled her helmet off, wincing from the pain. “Piper?” she called, unable to recognize the sound of her own voice. “Piper, are you alright?”

But the little girl remained motionless.

Awen climbed to her feet but reached for the ground several times to keep from falling over. Other people around her were attempting to do the same but with worse results. Her equilibrium was completely off center. “Piper,” she said again, not knowing if she could manage more words before throwing up.

And she did throw up, falling to her knees and covering her own hands in vomit. Still, the little girl remained frozen with her back toward Awen.

“Doma, speak to me. I…” Awen wiped her mouth on her suit’s sleeve. “I need to know that you’re okay.”

“I am not okay,” Piper said in a small voice.

“What… what happened?” Awen was on her feet now, moving slowly toward Piper. The girl held her helmet in her hand, head locked on her mother’s charred suit of armor. As Awen got closer, she could see Valerie’s helmet was blown apart. Gore spilled from the opening. Inside was a broken face and one eye falling from its socket. The beautiful woman Awen had once known was reduced to a gruesome corpse ravaged by war.

Awen put a hand to her mouth and looked away. But she needed to get Piper away from this. She swallowed the taste of bile and said, “Piper, come. We need to leave.”

“No.” Piper dropped her helmet. “I’m not going.”

“Piper please—” Awen placed her hand on Piper’s shoulder but a charge of electricity zapped it away. Awen winced and looked at her blackened fingertips. “Piper, you need—”

“Stop talking to me,” Piper said sternly.

“But I must talk to you. Your mother is—”

“Don’t.” The little girl started shaking her head. Awen caught sight of the tears glistening the girl’s cheeks. The voice that came out next was not of a little girl, but of a tormented soul. “Don’t you talk about my momma. Don’t you dare.”

Awen went to reach for Piper again, but this time it wasn’t the threat of being shocked that stayed her hand. It was the harshness of the girl’s tone. Something was broken. And it scared Awen.

“Then I won’t.” Awen looked around the docking bay. Everyone in the Novia armor was coming to, each climbing to their feet in the same daze that Awen had fended off. But the Marines…

The Marines were stone cold still.

“Can I ask what you did here?”

“I made it stop,” Piper replied without hesitation. “I made it all stop.”

“So, you did this,” Awen said, just trying to be certain of what she’d heard.

“I made everyone stop fighting.”

Mystics, this is… Awen was having trouble collecting her thoughts. This is too much. Too terrible. Again, she surveyed the scene and didn’t see a single Marine reaching for their blaster or even trying to sit up.

Then Awen realized she had to know… had to know if they were still alive. She swallowed more of the bile taste in the back of her throat, took a deep breath, and then slipped into the Unity.

* * *

The first thing Magnus heard through the ringing in his ears was Awen shrieking. He forced his eyes open and tried to sit up, but instantly regretted both as his muscles spasmed and his nerve endings jolted him. The pain took his breath away. Even the tears that squeezed from the corners of his eyes seemed to burn the sides of his face as they ran toward his ears. They pooled inside his earlobes and made Awen’s weeping sound muddled.

But he had to get to her. Pain or not. He had to.

Magnus groaned as he willed his body to sit up. The agony was excruciating. No sooner had he sat upright than his stomach heaved. He turned aside and vomited, suddenly aware that his helmet’s visor was gone. The contents of his stomach splattered on the ground as a new wave of pain forced his muscles into convulsions.

More pain—unlike any he’d ever felt—threatened to steal him from consciousness, but the ferrous odor of burning flesh helped keep him awake. He squinted again. Suddenly, the HUD of his bioteknia eyes—which had been mostly dormant given his helmet’s dominant properties—came into focus. They identified several things for him, the first being Piper’s diminutive form standing thirteen meters away. She was looking down at the ground, unmoving. But sensors said she was alive and stable.

The next thing Magnus noticed was Awen, who was on her knees, sobbing. She was looking between Piper and the rest of the docking bay which was…

Full of people struggling to get off the ground. His people. The gladias of Granther Company and Willowood’s Luma. But many more still lay on the ground. Marines. Too many Marines to count.

As he rolled to his knees, trying to push himself up, Magnus saw Valerie’s body. He looked back at Piper and saw that her eyes were fixed on her mother’s open helmet.

“Splick.” Magnus lowered his head. How had everything gone so horribly wrong? They’d come so far and were about to exfil when… when I pushed Valerie away from the incoming weapons fire.

Magnus looked down at his hands and saw that his gauntlets had been blown off. His fingers were bleeding. Hell, it felt like all of him was bleeding—skin raw and blistered.

He gritted his teeth and willed himself to rise. He heard himself roar in defiance to the pain—to the anger of knowing that Valerie had been killed. That Piper was now an orphan.

When he was finally upright, he started to limp toward the little girl. Then his legs froze solid.

“Don’t come any closer,” Piper said, holding out a hand.

Magnus looked down at his feet and then back at Piper.

“Piper, no,” Awen yelled. “He’s not the—”

“No more talking, shydoh.”

Awen’s mouth snapped shut.

“I… I don’t want to go with you anymore. I don’t. So I won’t.” Piper’s lower lip trembled. But she seemed to fight it by lifting her chin. “I want to be by myself.”

Magnus made to object, but before he could inhale a deep enough breath, Piper looked back at her mother’s body, and said, “Goodbye, momma. I will miss you.”

Then without another word, Piper blinked out of existence.

Magnus fell forward and landed on all fours. His hands and arms and knees screamed in pain. He yelled and resisted the urge to pass out.

“Piper, nooo,” Awen screamed. “Come back!”

Magnus watched the Elonian fall on one hand while the other reached to where Piper had been seconds before. Empowered by Awen’s deep sorrow, Magnus regained his footing and limped toward her. She hardly seemed to recognize him as he tried getting her attention. Her eyes seemed elsewhere—frantic, darting left and right.

“Awen, it’s me, Magnus.” He tried catching her gaze, but she was inconsolable.

“LT? Can you hear me?” Flow’s voice crackled to life in what little remained of Magnus’s helmet. “Come in, dammit.”

“Flow!”

“LT? Oh, thank the mystics. You’re alive, you son of a bitch. What in hell’s name happened to you guys down there?” Magnus didn’t even know how to respond to the question. He hesitated long enough that Flow had to repeat himself.

“You tell me,” Magnus replied. “Something… something hit us hard.”

“From up here, we just saw everyone get laid out. Seems like your armor took the brunt of it. But all the Marines? Splick, LT. They…”

Magnus waited for Flow to finish his sentence, but he didn’t. More like he couldn’t. “What is it? They what, Flow?”

“They’re dead, man. All of ’em. Everyone three blocks out too.”

Magnus wasn’t sure he heard right. He shook his head, looking at the lines of Repub-clad bodies that stretched out of the docking bay and into the street beyond. “What do you mean everyone three blocks out?”

Flow seemed to choke on his own saliva. He coughed, then tried to clear his throat. When he spoke again, his voice was tight. “The Spire’s sensors are showing a total loss of life for three blocks in every direction, LT. Marines, civilians, Luma. Everyone.”

Magnus felt his head swim. He wobbled, looking for something to hold onto. He was about to fall over when Awen grabbed his arm.

“It was her,” she whispered in a raspy voice. She still seemed disoriented but present enough to keep Magnus from falling.

“What was her?”

“This.” Awen threw a hand out beside her and made to turn, but caught herself, seemingly unable to look around. “It was Piper.”

Magnus couldn’t rationalize what had happened—what was happening. “You’re saying Piper killed everyone?”

Awen nodded, pulling herself close to Magnus, fighting to fit inside of his embrace. “I don’t think she meant to. But she… I saw so much fear in her. So much…”

Magnus listened to Awen’s breath run out. Her body shook against his. “So much what?”

“Hate.” Magnus was about to say something when Awen added. “Against you, Magnus.”

At this, Magnus felt as though his chest caved in. What had he done that had produced such raw emotions? Then he thought of Valerie’s body. The injuries she’d sustained were not consistent with a rocket explosion, but with blaster fire. Had she been shot? Had he pushed her aside from the rocket only for her to be shot by blaster fire?

“Now… she’s gone,” Awen said.

“We’ll find her.”

“No.” Awen shook her head. “I don’t think we will.”

“We’ll do whatever we—”

“Magnus, you’ve got multiple hostiles inbound,” Flow said.

Magnus blinked. He was still having trouble orienting himself and his body was starting to shake from the pain. If his suit’s med features were still online, perhaps this whole scenario would make more sense. “Please repeat.”

“I said, you have multiple hostiles moving on your location. You gotta get out of there unless you’re ready for round two, LT.”

“That would be the remainder of the battalion,” Caldwell said from the other side of the shuttle’s ramp. He’d removed his helmet and was moving toward Magnus and Awen. “Time we get on these shuttles and get you seated, lieutenant. Unless your little lady knocked the flight systems out too.”

“All systems are normal,” TO-96 said, walking toward Caldwell and Magnus. “Whatever Miss Piper did, it only affected biological infrastructure.”

Magnus licked his broken lips and then spit blood. Based on a visual inspection of the docking bay alone, Magnus knew Granther Company was out of the fight. While Piper’s cataclysmic act had spared the gladias and Willowood’s Luma, the fallout was still not something anyone looked like they’d get over in the next few minutes. This engagement was over.

“Everyone on board,” he said, trying to fill his voice with as much strength as he could, but the effort was exhausting. “Find an open seat on any of the shuttles. Azelon, you copy?”

“I am here, sir.”

“I’m not sure our pilots will be able to get us home. We’re… we’re all…”

“Not to worry, sir. I will be able to supplement piloting for all four ships if needed so long as my resources are not placed in too high a demand elsewhere. I do expect planetary defenses to be in effect, but barring any unforeseen use of force outside of this system’s known armaments, I do not anticipate this to be a problem.”

“Understood. Just get us home.”

“I will, sir.”

“You want me to blast the last of the battalion, LT?” Flow asked. “I’ve got coordinates dialed in.”

“Negative. Not unless absolutely necessary. There’s already been enough bloodshed for one day.”

“Copy that.”

Magnus turned his attention to Awen. She was still trembling, probably suffering from shock. “Come on, let’s get you on board.”

But Awen resisted Magnus. She was looking at Valerie’s body. “We’re just going to leave her?”

“No, but that’s not your job. The others will take care of it.”

Awen seemed to crumple under the words—so much so that Magnus thought he’d have to carry her up the ramp, though he doubted he had the strength.

Suddenly, Willowood appeared from one side and touched Awen. A surge of something seemed to bring Awen back to life. She stood up straight and look around. “Willowood?”

“Yes, child,” the old woman replied. “I’m here. And so is Magnus. We need to get you onto this shuttle.”

“Shuttle?” Awen looked up the ramp, and then noticed Magnus. Her wide eyes looked up and down his body. “Mystics, you’re hurt!”

“And you can fuss over me all you want, but you’ve got to get on the damn ship first.”

Awen seemed to accept this and nodded at him.

“Come, child,” Willowood said, touching Awen on the elbow and guiding her forward. “There is much to do, and none of it here.”

“Yes,” Awen nodded. “Yes, we should leave.”

Willowood winked at Magnus and nodded him toward the ramp. “Lead her by example.”

Magnus felt compelled to follow the instructions and began ushering Awen up the ramp as if his feet were on autopilot. The pair of them walked into the shuttle and found seats along the starboard wall. Magnus buckled her in and then attended to his own harness. Willowood sat beside him.

“Your granddaughter,” Magnus said, looking into Willowood’s sorrow-filled eyes. “We can’t just leave her here.”

“We will find her. But not today.”

“But…”

“Are your responsibilities complete, Magnus?” Willowood asked.

Magnus felt the question was odd, but it forced him to go through a mental checklist. He’d given the orders for the company to board the shuttles. He’d secured pilot redundancies if Nolan and the others were unable to fly the ships. And Flow was standing by with orbital support if it was needed. Already the ramp doors were closing shut. So long as the shuttles took off, then—“Yes, I believe they are.”

“Good.” Her hand rested lightly on his leg. A moment later, Magnus lost consciousness.

32

“Are they scrambling fighters?” Ricio asked Flow on the Spire’s bridge. His heart sank. “If so… that looks like three entire squadrons.”

“If all those little floaty dots crossing the ocean aren’t flying people, then yeah, I’d say they’re scrambling fighters.”

“The enemy fighters are less than twenty-five minutes to intercept,” Azelon announced.

“Why?” Cheeks asked. “You suddenly change your mind and want back in with your pal’s team?”

“Oh, I want in, alright. But for the good guys this time.” Ricio turned to Azelon. Apparently the ship’s robotic counterpart had been revived in the time it took for Ricio and Cheeks to haul Nos Kil back to his cell and reactivate the containment field. “Bot, please tell me you’ve got something I can use to help the shuttles get home.”

“Hold up, hold up,” Cheeks said, waving a hand in front of his face like something stank. “You mean to tell me that you’re not only willing to turn on the Repub, but now you’re willing to kill ’em all too?”

“Is that so far-fetched?” Ricio said. “What were you before, Marine? A private?”

“Very cute.”

“He’s got a point though, Cheeks,” Flow said, nodding in Ricio’s direction. “I mean, we just toasted a whole bunch of our boys down there. Magnus did too. It’s kinda what we do now.”

“Yeah, but that’s us,” Cheeks protested. “You know, the rebels. This guy is just…”

“I’m just Mauricio Longo, and I’m gonna help whether you like it or not, private.”

“I was a corporal, for the record.” Cheeks put his hands on his hips. “And a damn good one.”

“I don’t doubt it. All I’m saying is that if this whole thing is as bad as Magnus says it is, then I know where my allegiances lie, and I want to do my part in helping those shuttles to safety. Any more questions?”

Azelon stepped forward. “Commander, in using the phrase something I can use to help the shuttles, do you mean a highly maneuverable combat-ready gunship?”

“Sounds about right. You got anything like that?”

“Affirmative. Please follow me.”

“You sure that’s a good idea, Azie?” Cheeks asked as the two headed toward the exit.

“Cheeks, let it go, man,” Flow said.

The bot paused and turned around to face the former Marines. “If it turns out to be a poor idea, I will detonate whatever vessel I place Commander Mauricio within. Is this acceptable?”

Cheeks cast Ricio a crooked grin. “Whad’ya say, flyboy? Work for you?”

Ricio puffed out his chest. “I can assure you that—”

Suddenly, Azelon cupped her hands together, made the sound of an explosion with her mouth, and pulled her hands apart—fingers fluttering.

Ricio ignored the disturbing gesture and tried to restate his position. “I can assure you it’s not going to come to that.”

“But if it does…” Cheeks pointed at Azelon. Right on cue, she cupped her hands again, made the explosion sound, and fluttered her fingers.

“Mystics, I got it,” Ricio exclaimed. “Enough with the threats already.”

“So my pantomime worked?” Azelon asked, studying Ricio’s face.

“Splick, yes. It worked. Now can we just get to the damn starfighter?”

“Of course, commander.”

* * *

Ricio followed Azelon through the bowels of the ship until they reached a hangar bay that contained a crescent-shaped red ship. It seemed to be a highly modified light freighter and it sat on a six-pointed landing gear with its loading ramp extended.

Ricio whistled and put his hands on his hips. “Well, would you look at that.”

“Look at what, commander?” Azelon asked.

“Seems you’ve done plenty of work on her too.” Ricio walked beneath the hull, eyes racing along the ship’s belly. “NR220 blaster cannons, K91 torpedo bays… not exactly a stock setup on a Katana-class. Very nice. And with the additional ion-propulsion ports, I bet she really screams. What’s her name?”

“Commander, the Geronimo Nine is not the ship I have designated for you.”

“It’s not?” Ricio stopped. “Listen, I can assure you, I’ll be able to unload a world of hurt with this old girl.”

“I don’t doubt that, sir. However, I can assure you that you’ll be able to unload additional worlds of hurt, as you say, with what I have down here. Please, this way.”

Azelon led Ricio through a bulkhead door and into a much larger hangar filled with square bays. Each space was marked in Novia Minoosh lettering that Ricio couldn’t read. But if the nomenclature was anything like galactic common, he figured the scripts were numerals. She gestured him toward the first bay and extended her hand. As he stepped around the corner, Ricio stared at a black vessel suspended from a yellow gantry arm. The crane crossed the room and led toward an environmental force field—the other side of which was raw void. “What in the hell is that?”

“That is the negative vacuum of space, commander.”

“No, I mean that.” Ricio pointed up at the craft hanging from the hoist.

“That is the DS4-R9-21-21-B—”

“Mystics, you lost me.”

Azelon cocked her head sideways. “And yet I find you presently before me. Please help me understand your state of mind.”

“No, I mean that name, Azie. You’re killing me.”

“I am doing no such thing, commander. Given your newfound affiliation with the Gladio Umbra, my protocols do not allow me to harm you. Additionally, your vital signs do not indicate—”

“Sweet mother of Vega’s pustulant offspring, I don’t mean that literally. What is wrong with you?”

“Why, sir, I do not believe I am experiencing any new system anomalies. Do you suspect I have been compromised?”

“That”—Rico pointed aloft—“is that my new fighter?”

“Yes. As I was saying, that is the DS4—”

“No, no. It’s gotta have a better name than all that worthless splick. Let’s call it… a Fang.”

“A Fang, sir?”

“It looks like a long sharp fang, doesn’t it?” The craft was shaped like an incisor, rectangular in the stern, and tapered to a blunted tip in the bow. The sides extended out to slender wing-like surfaces, giving the entire craft a concave shape, while two sets of twin vertical stabilizers protruded from the top and bottom of the fuselage. From below, Rico could barely make out the semblance of a cockpit’s front-facing window.

“Damn, this thing looks badass,” Ricio said, letting out a low whistle.

“Badass, sir?”

“Yes, Azie. Badass.”

“Commander, I can assure you that your Fang, as it were, is neither poor in condition, nor does it possess a biological posterior.”

“Mystics, Azie. I mean it looks great.”

“Ah. I am unfamiliar with your colloquialism. Shall I add it to my lexicon?”

“It wouldn’t hurt.”

“Very good. Regarding your ship, I have already made all the necessary changes to the flight system to make them legible for you as well as to conform to your species’ physiology.”

“Azie, you shouldn’t have.” Rico tried looking for a port or ramp or some other means of getting onboard. “So?”

“So?”

“So, how do I get in?”

“So, there is a biometric scanner that must pair with your synaptic signature, located on the hull’s belly directly underneath the cockpit.”

Ricio walked toward a small module that was the closest thing he could interpret as a scanner. It looked like a red eye, tucked within two black folds of metal that acted like lids.

“So, am I just supposed to stand under it?”

“So, yes. Additionally, is there a particular reason we are starting every sentence with the sub modifier so?”

“No, Azie.”

“I didn’t think so.”

“And how the hell do I get in?”

“Stand under the iris and remain motionless until you hear the chime.”

Ricio walked beneath the red lens. “How long does this—”

A soft trill rang out overhead.

“Congratulations, your body’s unique identifiers have been paired with this Fang.”

“Congratulations?”

“Isn’t that how the term congratulations is used where your kind comes from?”

“Azie, my new friends are about to get attacked down there. Can we please save the vocab lessons for later?”

“I did not realize that you felt our conversation was sidetracking you.”

“Son of a bitch.”

“Irrelevant. I see no correlation between my statement and the offspring of female breeding canines.”

“How do I open the damn ship?”

“Opening damn ship,” Azie said. An access hatch slid aside in the ship’s belly and a platform descended. The majority of the lift was composed of a reclined chair that boasted a harness and what looked to be several translucent control surfaces.

“Now we’re talking!” Ricio rubbed his hands together.

“Even despite your objections to our previous discourse?”

“Yes, Azie. Now, what about a flight helmet?”

“Unfortunately, sir, I have not had time to fashion one for you, and everything in the armory is tailored for the Novia Minoosh. However, all necessary ship functions that concern you can be carried out without the presence of a helmet.”

“That’s… good to hear. But I was more worried about keeping myself from suffering a concussion. I’m not sure how Novia physiology works, but hitting one’s head against a dashboard isn’t the best practice.”

“You have no need to worry about that, commander.”

“What, no dashboard?”

“No. My calculations predict that should your gunship suffer enough damage to cause a concussion, your body will be incinerated long before you experience the negative effects.”

Ricio started to nod slowly and then made the movement larger as understanding broke on him. “Yeah. We can skip the helmet for now. No worries.”

“Very good, sir. Any further objections?”

“Not yet.” Ricio approached the seat and pulled the harness straps apart. Then he turned and slid back into the chair. No sooner had he secured the harness around his chest than the entire seat began to move.

“Holy splick! What’s happening?”

“The cockpit’s seat is conforming to your body’s shape and mass.” The mechanical machinations continued until the chair hugged the contours of Ricio’s body better than any piece of furniture he’d ever sat in.

“This thing’s more comfortable than my own damn bed!”

“I am pleased to hear that, sir. Please activate the closure button located on your right instrument panel in order to secure the cockpit.”

Ricio pressed the indicated button on the translucent pane near his right hand. The platform ascended, then receded into the fuselage. As Ricio rose into the ship, the dark cockpit began to light up with holo displays, clear instrument panels, and a slender wide-view window that looked down the Fang’s nose.

“Azie, just one problem. Where are the flight controls?”

Azelon paused. “Flight controls, sir?”

“Uh, yeah.” Ricio gave her an irritated chuckle. “How the hell do I fly this thing?”

“I already informed you that your synaptic signature has been paired with this vessel. Were you not listening?”

“Don’t you get testy with me, babe. I was just asking a genuine question.”

Azelon paused again, then said, “Ah. I now see that, based upon a more thorough review of scans of your previous ship, you are used to manual flight controls. The Repub manufacturer only employed rudimentary neurological interfacing.”

“Rudimentary?” Ricio was pretty sure that the Talons had the most advanced neuro-connection in the quadrant.

“Indeed, commander. Unlike your vessels, the Fang is neurologically controlled utilizing the Novia biotech interface, or NBTI. It will take several more days to fully integrate you into the Novia Defense Architecture.”

“Days? Azie, I don’t have days.”

“I understand. You will be able to control this vessel with my help within a few minutes, though I will need to integrate you into our system over the next several days before you will assume full functionality.”

“You’re assuming I survive this.”

“TO-96 has told me that your species enjoys optimism whenever possible.”

“Perfect,” Ricio said with a dry tone.

“I’m pleased you think so.”

“So you’re saying I fly this thing with my thoughts?”

“So, yes.”

“You still don’t need to respond with the word so.”

“Understood. For the record, I do dislike it.”

Ricio shook his head. “Just tell me how to do this.”

For the next minute, Azelon gave Ricio a short tutorial on the Fang’s basic handling and weapons systems using nothing more than his thoughts as inputs. She made it sound easy enough, but Ricio had a feeling it might be easier said than done. He’d have to rely on his innate skills as an ace pilot more than ever and hope the skillset transferred. Then again, if it didn’t, he wouldn’t be around to lament his failure.

“Are you ready to launch, sir? The enemy fighters are less than fifteen minutes from intercept.”

“Let’s get the party started.”

“Starting up the party, sir.”

Azelon initiated the engines and unlocked the docking clamp on the gantry. As soon as the Fang was dislodged, Ricio tried to imagine it hovering. Instead, however, the ship leaped up and smacked into the crane. He swore, lost focus, and felt the vessel drop out from underneath him. The whole exercise felt like riding a hoverbike for the first time as a kid.

“I have resumed control,” Azelon said as the Fang narrowly missed the deck, then rose to a steady hover.

“So I launch just by thinking about moving forward?”

“That is correct, commander. Envision the ship moving where you want it, and the flight system will do the rest—with my assistance, of course.”

Ricio took a deep breath and then imagined the Fang sliding forward and through the environmental field. As soon as the very first thought sparked in his brain, he felt the ship lurch forward. The sensation was so otherworldly that he felt a surge of adrenaline quicken his heart rate. Then the Fang pressed him back in his seat then shot out of the hangar and into the void.

“Splick, Azelon! This is mad.”

“Again, I cannot determine your exact meaning based on your word choice, but I do believe you are responding favorably to this new experience.”

“Damn straight I am!”

Ricio decided to attempt his first right turn. Even as the thought entered his mind, he felt his head naturally move to the right. At the same exact instant, the ship veered to starboard. To straighten out, Ricio thought of rolling to the left, and the Fang responded. The sensation was strange, to say the least. Never had any motion been so effortless, save that of moving the limbs and digits of his own body. Thus, the Fang felt less like a vessel he had climbed into and more like a ship he put on. It was, quite literally, an extension of himself.

Feeling more confident, Ricio attempted a barrel roll to starboard, then to port, and then to starboard again. The Fang moved flawlessly, taking his every thought and translating it into motion. He attempted a power loop, a Paraguutian Cobra maneuver, and then two Alcions in a row. With every action, he felt himself growing more accustomed to his interconnectivity with the flight system.

“I feel like I’m beginning to get the hang of this,” Ricio said.

“You are doing moderately well, yes.”

“Moderately?” Ricio felt put off. “Are you even seeing this right now?”

“I am fully aware of your flight maneuvers, commander. However, I am currently compensating for a mean discrepancy range of 43.25%.”

“A mean discrepancy range?”

“The range is comprised of both oversteering and mental distraction.”

“So you’re saying I’m actually controlling only 60% of the ship’s flight at the moment?”

“Approximately, yes. This will increase as your brain becomes accustomed to the operation. Additionally, you will experience a higher resolution of flight dexterity once you are fully integrated into the defense architecture via the biotech interface.”

“Sounds good. What about weapons?”

“The Fang boasts four primary armament systems, which include primary and secondary blasters, missiles, and mines.”

“Now we’re talking.”

“In addition to general shielding, the Fang also makes use of adaptive and projective shield technology.”

“And since I have no idea what that means, can you handle the finer points?”

“Certainly, commander.”

“How do I access the weapons?”

“Just the same as your flight controls. However, since I imagine it will be difficult for you to envision items that you have never seen before, I have taken the liberty of populating the display to your left with the ship’s weapons systems. There is no need to touch the item. Instead, select it with your mind and the correlating weapon will be activated on the gunship. Discharging each weapon is likewise a product of mental initiation, for which I will compensate for timing, rate of fire, targeting, tracking, and follow through.

“Please be advised, commander, that we do not have sufficient time for a complete demonstration now as you must depart immediately if you wish to assist the shuttles.”

“On it.” But Ricio wasn’t on it. He had no idea where to plug in coordinates, or even see a map. “Except I have no idea how to navigate this thing.”

Suddenly, a cockpit wide holo display appeared in front of him. Aside from several peripheral windows outlining the ship’s status, the centerpiece of the display was a topographical map of Worru’s northern hemisphere.

As the view zoomed in on the main continent, narrowing on the city of Plumeria, Azelon said, “Your navigation display can be toggled to show any number of views, ranging from localized planetary maps—such as this—to multidimensional star charts. Conversely, your nav view may be minimized in place of the combat spatial display, or CSD as it is labeled in the upper right-hand corner of your holo.”

“I could get used to this.”

“I would hope so, sir.”

“And if I want to head toward a particular destination, do I just focus on it?”

“That is correct, commander, assuming that focusing also implies a force of will to head in that direction. The more specific your thoughts, the more accurate your trajectory. In addition to the icons for your friendly shuttles, I am populating the map with targets most suited for your gunship. They include the three squadrons of FAF-28 Talons, anti-orbital defense cannons, and anti-air batteries. I have also added the sensor arrays, communication nodes, and shield generators if you feel like a cocky bastard.”

Ricio raised an eyebrow. “Is that what you think I am?”

“I am merely referring to the Galactic Republic Navy personnel file I downloaded from the ships we encountered when you entered metaspace. The data has proven helpful in customizing your Fang to your personal flying style.”

“Glad it helped. Though, for the record, I’m only a cocky bastard half the time.”

“And yet the file says all of the time. Shall we review this discrepancy later, commander?”

“Later is fine.” Ricio clapped his hands together and then rubbed them. Then he cracked his knuckles, loosened his neck, and instinctively reached for the ship’s controls… which were not there.

“Sir, I feel the need to remind you that there are no physical flight controls in your Fang.”

“Got it. That’s gonna take some getting used to.”

“Understood, sir.”

“Think you can keep taking me through the ship’s systems as we head to the planet’s surface?”

“I would be delighted to, commander.”

“Great. Let’s do this.” Ricio focused on the squadrons of Talons headed on an intercept course for Magnus and the shuttles. The moment his sense of will desired to head in that direction, the Fang shot forward, pinning Ricio in his seat.

33

Ricio tracked west over the planet’s surface toward Plumeria, his Fang skimming less than fifty meters above the ocean. The rolling waves blended into a carpet of aquamarine blue that stretched to the coast, but the air pressure in his gunship’s wake caused the water below to spray up in a long tail.

His cockpit-wide HUD displayed blue ident reticles around the four friendly shuttles headed toward him while red target reticles designated the enemy fighters and yellow reticles identified ground targets. Seeing as how the shuttles’ eastbound path would take them within range of anti-ship cannon emplacements, Ricio decided it would be prudent to take out what he could before passing the shuttles, crossing Plumeria, and engaging the Talons.

The ocean gave way to wide dunes and then lush tropical jungles. Ricio moved the Fang over the undulating topography, rising with small hills and weaving between mountain gaps. The Fang climbed as the continent’s elevation increased, closing the distance to the shuttles—now less than sixty seconds away at his present speed. But the first anti-ship emplacement was fifteen seconds out.

Ricio focused on the icon and then watched the distance to target drop like his credit account on a roulette table. He glanced over at the mines icon on the small readout, and selected them with his mind. Or at least he hoped he did.

“Commander, you are attempting to select anti-ship mines for a static planet-based target.”

“Do the mines go boom?” Ricio could see the top of the weapon emplacement protruding from a grove of palm trees. Its metallic dome was adorned with quad cannons, multiple sensor arrays, and a communications tower.

“If you are inferring a detonation, yes—of course.”

“Then today, the mines are bombs.”

“Unconventional, yet intuitive. I should warn you, however, that—”

“Mines two and three, away!” The words had hardly left Ricio’s mouth when he felt the Fang rise. The gunship closed the remaining distance in less than a second and streaked passed. At first, Ricio thought the blurring foliage behind him was a visual anomaly due to his excessive speed. But as an orange flare washed over the jungle and overtook his ship, he realized it was an explosion. A damn big one.

Ricio’s Fang shuddered as the shield energy was reallocated to the aft, indicated by new lighting on the graphic representation of his ship. He also felt his body pressed further into his seat—the Fang was accelerating.

“Target eliminated,” Azie said. “Shields holding. However, you are accelerating at a rate detrimental to your physiology, commander. Would you like to slow down?”

“Yes!” Ricio cried, fighting the black out that tugged on the edges of his vision. Instantly, the Fang decelerated, throwing him into his harness. Blood rushed to his head and he bit his lip. Rookie mistake, Ricio.

“Why didn’t you warn me about those things’ payload, Azie?”

“But commander, I attempted to warn you.”

“Next time, attempt harder.”

“Noted, sir. Those mines are meant as passive ranged attacks to be used against Battleship-class warships.”

“Mystics, Azie! Don’t you think that’s something you should have told me sooner?”

“I did not anticipate you would use something clearly labeled as mines on an in-atmosphere target, sir.”

“Yeah, well… neither did I.”

“Might I suggest missiles or blaster on this next target?”

“Blasters. I want the missiles for the Talons.”

“Wise strategy, commander.”

Ricio focused on the icon for the next closest anti-ship emplacement and watched its range indicator start spiraling down. Then he selected primary blasters from his arsenal menu and gave his full attention to targeting.

The tower was perched on a rock precipice surrounded by standard Repub plate shielding. Ricio watched as the sunlight glinted off the quad barrels. The operators were certainly tracking something, presumably to combat whatever had taken out the emplacement to the east. “Too bad I’m too fast,” Ricio said. He lined the crosshairs on the bulk of the turret just above the top edges of the plate armor and saw the reticle blink. “And they never even saw you coming.”

Ricio willed the Fang to fire. The gunship vibrated as two massive spouts of blaster energy kicked from the nose, tore across the sky, and penetrated the target’s shell. Two more rounds of blaster bolts followed the first, filling the tower with heat and light such that the emplacement exploded in a spray of sparks and superheated metal. Ricio pulled up, ripping through the debris field as it bounced off his shields. Feeling energized, he rolled the Fang to the left twice before leveling out.

“Cocky bastard,” Azelon said.

“Hey, that was a good shot, you have to admit.”

“Yet I’m still doing 43% of the work.”

Ricio flattened his lips. “Whatever, bot.”

“Twenty seconds to contact with shuttles,” Azelon added. “I have notified the pilots of your approach and ordered the four ships to diverge into two groups.”

“Acknowledged.”

“Be advised that your present vector will place you directly over Plumeria when contacting the enemy fighters.”

“Civilian casualties expected?”

“Not likely if their city-wide shield generators are employed, which it looks like they are preparing to engage.”

“Well then, let’s say we give ’em a show, Azie.”

“A show, commander?”

“So they won’t forget who they’re dealing with in the future.”

“Ah, a show, as in an overwhelming display of force.”

“That’s the one.”

“Very good. Because the alternatives—one denoting a live theatrical performance, the other a pre-produced episode of holo entertainment—did not seem fitting.”

“Shuttles, inbound,” Ricio exclaimed, watching the four craft come up fast. He knew he’d never flown a Talon this fast in-atmo before. Yet the Fang’s handling made it seem far more manageable than it ever would have been in the Repub fighter. No doubt thanks to Azie, he surmised. But then again, he didn’t doubt that this ship was more technologically advanced even without her aid.

A breath later and Ricio’s Fang split the group, racing past them with enough force that he was sure their craft were buffeted by a maelstrom of wind. “Nothing like letting ’em know they’re not alone, eh old girl?”

“Old girl?” Azelon seemed to hesitate. “Are you referencing me, commander? The term seems both contradictory and misapplied.”

“It’s a term of endearment, trust me.”

“Old girl.” It seemed as if she was trying it on. “If you say so, sir.”

“I do. Now, how many of these Talons did you say you can take on?”

“I didn’t specify before, but I will attempt to commandeer as many as I’m able to deliver into your kill zone.”

“I like the sound of that. Still, can you give me an estimate?”

“I anticipate being able to handle almost 70% of their units.”

Ricio swallowed and then did some quick math in his head. With three standard squadrons comprised of fourteen Talons each, 70% was just about thirty fighters. “Which leaves me twelve or thirteen.” And that thought didn’t sit well with him.

For the first time since leaving the Spire, Ricio suddenly wondered if this was a smart plan. Given how easily Azelon had bested his squadron when he first emerged from the quantum tunnel, Ricio hoped she’d be able to take them all on, letting him pick up the pieces. But twelve Talons to one Fang? Those odds were…

“Not great.”

“What’s not great, commander?” Azelon asked.

“I’m flying twelve to one.”

“Plus city-wide defenses.”

He cursed. “Plus those.” Maybe he should draw the dogfighting away from the city after all.

“Given your elevated heart rate in the moments surrounding this line of discussion, I conclude that you are suddenly worried about this confrontation.”

“You could say that. I was just hoping you’d… you know—maybe have more of those Talons under your control.”

“Without TO-96’s additional resources, I’m afraid that is not possible. However, might I remind you that you are flying a Novia Fang.”

“I recognize that.”

“Then you are aware that, statistically speaking, you are four times the ship than those flown by the enemy, aren’t you?”

“Four times the ship?”

“With regard to acceleration, speed, maneuverability, shields, armament, tactical sensors, navigation—”

“So you’re saying this thing really is a badass.”

“One might go so far as to say you’re a cocky bastard flying a badass gunship.”

“That would make a nice tattoo, Azie. You want to go in with me?”

“In, sir?”

“Never mind. Just assign me which fighters are mine.”

“As you wish, commander.” Suddenly, the red reticles were cut by two thirds, leaving just twelve ships.

“I took the extra one, sir.”

“Thanks, old girl.”

“My pleasure. Incoming transmission, commander.”

“Incoming—from who?”

“From one of the outbound shuttles, sir.”

Ricio cursed under his breath. The thought of trying to explain this whole situation to Magnus didn’t sit well with him. There was too much to say and not enough time to say it in. Even a cursory summary would sound crazy—hell, it is crazy.

“Sir, if you would like to answer the transmission, simply will to accept it.”

Ricio’s chest tensed as he did everything he could not to will the communication to open. “I’m good right now, Azie. Thanks.”

“As opposed to being bad? Do you fluctuate dispositions so rapidly?”

“I mean, I don’t want to take the call. It will just distract me right now, and we have more important things to worry about.”

“Understood, commander. I am blocking the transmission request.”

“Thanks.” Ricio swallowed and stretched his neck. “Crisis averted.”

* * *

The Fang accelerated well past the attack speed of any Talon he’d ever flown. It tore through the sky so fast that Ricio was sure the wings would rip off. A small status bar on the HUD noted the percentage of Vibration Dampening that was being exerted. Ricio wondered if this helped lessen the strain on the airframe. But the thought was short lived.

“Enemy contact in five seconds,” Azelon said.

Faced with more ships than he could take at once, Ricio decided to try and focus on three. To his surprise, all three targeting reticles illuminated. For the first two, he selected missiles, hoping that his command would somehow stick despite needing to refocus on the third ship and lock blasters on it.

When he was satisfied that all three targets had been assigned, he gave the command to fire—or at least he thought it did. “Birdies two and five, away.” The seconds slowed as he watched all three squadrons of Talons suddenly appear in his window. But still no weapons fired. The Talons grew from small specs to full-sized fighters in the time it took for him to yell, “Fire, dammit.”

His Fang bucked as blaster fire leaped from the nose at the same time that two missiles erupted from the fuselage in a cloud of fire and smoke. He blinked. When his eyes opened, the Talons had been struck, violently exploding into three fireballs. And then it was all past him.

Ricio shot out the other side of the formation, maintaining speed and altitude, when he noticed that he was well over Plumeria. Blaster fire from the city-wide defense network launched into the sky in a weak attempt to track him. But the Fang was moving so fast that the cannons appeared to be shooting at random targets far overhead.

“Get your splick together, Ricio,” he told himself. He couldn’t afford to have another delayed weapons activation like that. Nanoseconds, he reminded himself. Nanoseconds were the difference between sprinkling the city with the ashes of your enemies or you.

“Three targets eliminated,” Azelon said. “Ten enemy fighters breaking formation.”

“Ten?”

“Reassigning ship allocation and prioritization.”

Ricio watched as the current target reticles disappeared only to reappear over new ships, all of which were banking away from the shuttles’ vectors. He decided to execute an Alcion maneuver to match but worried the speed might be too great.

Pulling back on an imaginary flight yoke, Ricio sent the Fang into a steep climb. The blood in his body rushed to his feet. Instantly, he felt the chair begin to squeeze his legs. He couldn’t tell if he was just losing feeling down there or if the seat was actually trying to combat the pooling of blood in his lower extremities by clamping down on the tissue. As the Fang came up and over the apex of his climb, Ricio introduced a half roll, which presented him with a panoramic view of all the Talons headed back toward Plumeria.

The city defensive blasters were getting closer to his location, but they were nothing to worry about yet. “Can they see me?”

“Optically, no. The Fang is coated with a light-altering material that—”

“How about IR? Or something else?”

“Your ship is giving off a great deal of heat, yes. However, the signature is still so far behind you that the enemy will need to lead you well in advance of your projected vector, making all but the luckiest shot lethal, so long as you are not predictable.”

“Be unpredictable. Check.”

By comparison, the Talons were far slower in coming about. Ricio decided to try three more targets again, focusing on the righthand group of five Talons that were circling around. The reticles locked. Ricio thought of his primary and secondary blasters, and then willed them to fire. This time they responded almost instantaneously.

The Fang spat two distinct types of blaster bolts toward the enemy. One, like before, was fat and menacing. It made the nose of the Fang tremble as it projected away from the craft. The second emanated from the ends of the wings and came in a staccato whine that reminded Ricio of a blaster rifle on full-auto. Only this blaster rifle was putting out more energy than ten hand-held weapons.

With both weapons combined, the torrent of blaster fire tracked the enemy and met a single fighter with devastating results. The ship was torn into several pieces, and then even those pieces were riddled with blaster fire. The chunks exploded and formed a fine cloud of shrapnel that glowed white hot against the afternoon sun.

“Fighter eliminated.”

“Just one?” Ricio swore and pounded a fist on the dashboard. “What about the other two?”

“My resources are currently insufficient to guide your fire, commander.”

“Guide my— You’re saying you’ve been helping me?”

“Correct. I am presently engaged with dispatching several Talons in the main contingent.”

“Which means what, exactly?”

Azelon paused, then said, “Shoot better.”

Ricio swung around behind the group of four fighters as they leveled out. “‘Shoot better,’ she says. You’re completely outnumbered and the bot says, ‘Shoot better.’ Mystics, thanks for the helpful tip, old girl.”

“It’s my pleasure, commander.”

Ricio gritted his teeth, focused on only one Talon this time, and willed the hand in his mind to squeeze the trigger on the flight yoke. Again, both primary and secondary blasters barked, spewing forth a cascade of alternating energy rounds. The stream caught the target in the engines. The aft exploded and sent the rest of the fuselage tumbling forward into a somersault.

“Yes, like that,” Azelon said with an encouraging tone to her voice.

Ricio sneered but held his tongue. He had a job to do.

34

So-Elku cursed the bonds that held him captive. No matter how hard he tried to thwart them, the blasted bars would not budge. Worse still, he found that his ability to summon anything within the Nexus—or even within the Unity—was futile. Whatever power the child had used against him, it was startlingly comprehensive. And So-Elku had to have it.

He paced in his small cell, his feet matting the forest floor within the magenta-colored light’s glow. He’d expected Awen to show up, he just never imagined she’d bring the child with her—a turn of good fortune, he’d mused to himself. If only the girl had been less powerful. And that both frustrated and inspired him.

The frustration was obvious, of course. So-Elku had no idea how long his imprisonment would last. Perhaps a long forever, stretched out over eons, in which his physical body decayed to dust while his soul lived on through eternity.

The inspiration, however, was implicit.

So-Elku marveled at Piper’s power. The suspicions that Willowood’s granddaughter was a true blood were understated—to say the least. She was, by all accounts, the truest blood anyone had encountered, perhaps in the Luma’s entire lineage. How so much potential had been allocated to a single being baffled So-Elku… and made him sick with envy.

Piper’s abilities defied imagination, and the Luma Master had witnessed it with his own eyes. Mystics, he’d been the focus of it! The fact that he’d even survived an encounter with the prodigy surprised him. Though, he guessed that had to do with Awen’s influence more than anything else.

The Luma’s archaic teachings of peaceful resistance and empathetic diplomacy had taken root in Awen long before she’d arrived on Worru. The Elonian’s were strange that way, exhibiting much of the same values that defined the Luma—the main difference being that where the Luma sought to extend peace to others, the Elonians remained closed off, keeping their peaceful ways to themselves.

So-Elku wondered how much Awen had trained Piper, coaxing her into a place of submission that blinded the child to her true potential. But when battling them, So-Elku also noticed how the suits directed the flow of energy within the Unity. For Awen, her powers seemed amplified, giving her greater influence, specifically within the Nexus. But for Piper, the suit seemed to act as a regulator, tempering the child’s abilities into manageable actions. And that piqued So-Elku’s curiosity. For if what he’d seen had been merely a shadow of what was to come, he desired to see Piper unleashed upon the galaxy in the fullness of her gift. The thought sent shivers down his spine and along his arms and legs. She would be, he guessed, unstoppable.

That was when So-Elku swore an oath to himself—a promise that he would help unleash the child. That he would remove the restrictions of mind, body, and spirit. That he would set the girl’s soul free and watch her tear through the cosmos uninhibited. Such would be the greatest of all his accomplishments, for the child’s efforts would serve his pursuits.

“Which means she must be guided,” So-Elku said from within his cage. “I will find her, and then I will mold her.” A smile crept across his crooked lips.

Suddenly, a shockwave struck So-Elku in the chest and threw him back. Gone were the electrified Nexus bars as his body went tearing through the Foundation’s forest like a doll’s. The tall pines bent against the blast of energy, their limbs cracking in the tumult. So-Elku blasted back through one trunk after another, timber shredding into splinters. The energy propelled him like a missile, hurtling him deeper and deeper into the woods, until finally his back was buried in a hillside.

So-Elku lay there for a long while as the forest rebounded from the tidal wave of force. Trees groaned as they straightened, their aged shudders sending a chill through the air. Then an eerie silence befell the entire Foundation. Gone were the bird songs and the buzzing of insects. Silent were the burrowing ground animals and calls of the roaming beasts. Instead, there was utter stillness.

When he finally managed to push himself out of the depression his body had made in the soft ground, So-Elku found that he was whole despite the aching head and limbs that vied for his attention. He stood slowly, fending off a wave of nausea by using his powers to shrug off the various pains that assailed him. He used those same powers to bring his attention to a single point and then hasten his return back to his physical body.

Back in his study, So-Elku strode across the room to the balcony and looked west toward the city’s center. Pockets of fire formed a glowing line through the streets leading to the docking bays. He cursed and knew that the enemy had escaped him—had escaped his living dead, his elders, and his battalion of Marines. As soon as his thoughts turned to how, the revelation hit him.

Piper.

The blast of energy… it had been her. She’d done something in the Unity to keep them at bay. And it was magnificent, he thought in appreciation. He was about to re-enter the Unity when he spotted the four Novian shuttles rise into the night sky. Their thrust vectors changed, and suddenly the transports headed toward the Grand Arielina. So-Elku raised a shield around himself, fearing the worst. The ships shook the air, rocketing toward him. He prepared for the ground to explode out from underneath him. But the violence never came.

Instead, the four shuttles roared by, passing overhead only a few meters from the great spire’s peak. Their engines shook the building, fleeing to the east in a rush to escape the city.

So-Elku searched his feelings. He sensed that the Marine colonel had abandoned the planet, and that more than half of the Marines stationed with him had been slain. So-Elku tried to remember the name of the remaining company commanders who had been stationed on the far side of the city, the ones who’d most likely survived whatever Piper had done.

“Captain Forbes,” So-Elku projected to TACNET. “Do you read me?”

“I do,” replied the captain, sounding out of breath. “Who is this? Your ident sig is not registering on—”

“This is Master So-Elku. Colonel Caldwell has been killed, as well as most of your men stationed at the Grand Arielina’s garrison.” Surely the trooper could see in his helmet what So-Elku was reporting.

“Yes, Master Luma. I can confirm that Caldwell is missing, and two companies have taken heavy casualties… too many for the system to tabulate still. We’re en route to the hangars. Almost there.”

“I’m sorry for your losses, captain. You’ve no doubt seen the departing shuttles?”

“We have. We’ll detain any additional vessels from taking off. We’re turning into the hangars now.” It took several seconds for the captain to speak again. When he did, his voice was tight. “Mystics… they’re… they’re dead.”

“Forbes?”

“Their bodies are… they’re everywhere.”

“Are you able to track the shuttles?”

“Affirmative,” Forbes replied, but his voice sounded distant. “We’re… we’re tracking four ships with registered idents.”

“Those are stolen idents, captain. I want them stopped at all costs.”

“I’m sorry, Master Luma, but my orders—”

“Your colonel is missing or dead, you’ve lost half the troopers in your battalion, and the people responsible for it are in those shuttles.” So-Elku felt exasperated but he couldn’t help himself. He tried to calm his nerves. “I’m not telling you how to do your job, captain, but it seems to me that you’ll want to scramble whatever Talons you have and take out those shuttles.”

“Again, sir, I recognize your authority on behalf of the Luma. That said, your wishes are secondary to the Marine Corps’ standard operating procedures.”

So-Elku ground his teeth. This wasn’t getting him anywhere, and the enemy was getting away. The master slipped into the Nexus, channeled his energy toward the captain, and willed the man to hear him—to know his desire. “You’ll scramble the Talons immediately, captain.”

Forbes hesitated. For the briefest of moments, So-Elku wondered if the trick would work. Then the captain struggled with the words: “I’ll—scramble…”

“Yes, captain?”

“I’ll scramble Talons immediately.”

“Very good,” So-Elku said, slipping out of the Nexus and placing his fingertips together. “Thank you, Forbes.”

“We are here to serve, sir. Forbes out.”

* * *

So-Elku watched the star fighters like a tired hiker watching the flames of a campfire after a long day’s walk. Blaster fire and missiles streaked across the night sky like shooting stars, lighting up So-Elku’s face and mellowing his mood. Everything is as it should be, he thought, marveling at how things were coming undone for the Republic, for Moldark, and for those who rebelled against the will of the Luma.

He could sense Willowood on one of the shuttles. She was with Awen. And the two of them had taken many of the Luma who’d been loyal to the old hag—several elders included. So-Elku cursed this development but quickly rested in the fact that the shuttles were severely outnumbered, as was the single alien fighter that attempted to take on an entire squadron by itself. Noble, So-Elku noted, but futile.

With any luck, the prisoners he’d released onboard the orbiting starship would disable the vessel shortly, and the rebels’ hasty escape would be thwarted. All that was left was to find where the child had gone, for hers was the only life force he was unable to locate.

So-Elku retreated into his study and looked for the codex on the lectern, as was his hourly habit. But it was gone, just as he suspected it might be. Awen and Piper had made off with it, and that fact rankled him to no end. He would recover it, though. Somehow, he would find it and make it his own again. There was still so much to learn. And he could find Piper even without it. So-Elku had enough knowledge to search within the Nexus, and he suspected she’d hidden herself away there.

He was about to slip into his second sight when he felt a disturbance in his spirit—one that arrested him like a strongman grabbing him by the robes and spinning him around. There, not far away, was a presence. Her presence.

“But how can this be?” he wondered aloud, turning back toward his balcony. A cold wind suddenly blew through the curtains and pricked his skin. So-Elku moved toward the opening, toward the star fighters that twisted and shrieked above the cityscape, then closed his eyes to ignore the distractions.

The Luma master searched with his feelings and opened his senses to the space around him. He stretched out and began to probe, pushing himself forward like a blind man on the edge of a cliff, expecting his fingers to discover the place where the ground gave way at any moment.

Then, suddenly, he found her.

* * *

Piper sat in the tower above the Grand Arielina, holding her knees tight against her chest. The Republic Talons chased Ricio’s starfighter like a pack of wolves after a willow hare. But Piper knew that Azelon was helping him, so he’d be okay. They’d all be okay. Everyone, that is, except her mother.

Magnus had killed her.

Which meant Nos Kil had been right after all. Magnus had killed women before, and Piper’s mother was simply the next. Which made Magnus a monster. She wouldn’t have believed it—couldn’t have believed it. But she’d seen it all happen with her own eyes, and there was no denying just how horrible he was. She cursed him using every bad word she knew, and even made up some new words that she didn’t know.

Suddenly, Piper remembered all the dreams she’d had of Magnus saving her life. The images were so vivid—the emotions so strong. She’d watched him climb over piles of rubble just to find her, to rescue her. He’d been her hero. He’d been the most important man in her whole world. But no more. All those dreams were nothing more than dark fairytales made up by her imagination. Magnus would not be coming to rescue her. He’d be coming to kill her next.

Then Piper silently thanked Nos Kil. She thanked him for helping her escape when she did. Without that, Piper might be in Magnus’s evil clutches even now.

A shudder went through Piper that made her feel cold. Normally, she’d run inside to get warm. But not tonight. Tonight she would sit here and watch the city burn. She would let the cold in to numb the pain in her heart. Maybe it would erase the images she saw in her mind’s eye, the horrific mutation of her beautiful mother’s face. Maybe the cold would freeze them like ice, and then Piper could smash them and break them into a million tiny pieces that not even she could put back together again.

Without even knowing it, tears had started flowing again. She’d cried so much since arriving in the tower that she wondered where all the water came from to feed her eyes. The wind lashed at her body, tugging on her hair. But the wind only served to make her colder, and she embraced it, welcoming it into her heart. Maybe it would help her heart stop beating. Or maybe it would just help freeze the tears and keep them from forming.

“I am so sorry for your loss, my child,” said a low voice behind her. Frightened, Piper turned and blasted the intruder with a stream of magenta-colored energy. But the person exerted some sort of shield to deflect it, sending the colored light into the pillars and floor and ceiling. When the barrage subsided and the light returned to normal, Piper could see a silhouette moving toward her.

“Stay where you are,” Piper ordered. “I can do worse.”

“I don’t doubt that,” replied the person, most definitely a man, given how deep his voice was. “But I’d gladly risk my life to make sure that you’re alright.”

Piper was startled by the sense of care that she heard in his words. It seemed genuine. And in light of how another man had just brought ultimate harm to her world, she was surprised at two conflicting feelings that appeared at the same time. One was to blast this person into oblivion, tearing his atoms apart. The other was to run to him, believing he would be different than him. Than Magnus.

“However, if you wish me to leave,” the man continued, “I shall.”

“No, wait.” Piper held up a hand. “Who are you? Step out of the shadows.”

“I fear you will not wish to see me, dear one. I am merely here to ensure your safety, then I will be gone.”

“I am safe.”

“Then I will be on my way.”

“No…” Piper didn’t know what to say next. She was grateful for the company. The truth was that despite her pain, she desperately wanted to be with her grandmother right now. And maybe even with Awen a little bit too, although Awen’s love for Magnus was confusing. Piper wanted someone to hold her. To tell her that everything was going to be okay. “I don’t want you to go.”

“But if you are safe, then my presence here is not needed.”

“But it is, whoever you are. Thank you for checking on me. But…” Piper pushed herself off the tower floor and squinted in the shadows. “How did you know I was here?”

“I could sense you… sense your grief.”

“My grief?” Piper felt her throat tighten. “So you’re a Luma?” She stiffened her arms and lowered her head, preparing for another fight.

“I have no desire to fight you anymore, my child. Only to help you… to show you the ways that the others refused to.”

“Others?” The man’s words were curious. “Refused to?”

“Of course. That suit you wear.”

“It’s my power suit.”

“And does it give you power? Or does it confine it?”

Piper tilted her head. She wondered if she should slip into the Unity to see who this man was, but she suspected that he might hide himself in shadow there as much as he did here. “My suit helps me.”

“In what way?”

“It keeps me from hurting others.”

The man’s voice sounded surprised. “Hurting others? That cannot be. A child like you?”

“It’s true.” Piper felt the memory of her father’s death come rushing back, and with it, a new thought, one that made her weep. “I’m an orphan.”

“An orphan?”

“I killed my father. And now my mother is dead because of… of…”

“There, there, young one. Everything is going to be alright.”

Those were the words she desperately needed to hear. She didn’t even care who this man was or how he’d found her, she was just grateful for those words. They felt like a warm blanket or a hot cup of chocolate milk. They felt like Talisman.

Talisman that kept her from hurting people.

“I’m not safe,” Piper said. “You need to stay away.”

The man gave a soft laugh. But it wasn’t directed at her, she felt. Instead, it seemed directed at her statement. “But you are safe, Piper.”

“You—you know my name?”

The man ignored her question. “You may very well be the safest person in the galaxy. That suit was not meant to keep you from hurting others, it was meant to keep you from being who you were truly meant to be.”

“I… I don’t understand.” She was getting frustrated. “Who are you? Tell me now!”

“If I promise to help you discover who you really are, if I promise to help you stop those who’ve hurt you, will you promise to give me a second chance?”

Piper squinted, trying so hard to see the man. “A second chance?”

“We all need second chances, don’t we? If you give me one, I’ll show you what Awen wouldn’t. I’ll set you free to explore the Nexus without limits. No rules. No discipline. Just pure freedom, the way you deserve it. Then, together, we will keep all people from getting hurt ever again.”

Piper was moved by the man’s words in a way she couldn’t explain. Where Awen had tried to limit her, to scold her for doing wrong, to give her a suit that suppressed her powers in the Unity, Piper sensed the opposite from this stranger. There was something curious about him, something she felt she could trust. The wind played with her hair and licked at her tears while the blaster fire from the star fighters flashed against the man’s green and black robes. And Piper knew that she would give him a second chance.

35

Three fighters remained in the group of Talons that swung around to the south. Ricio accelerated to match their speed, then feathered off his throttle, noting just how fast the Fang was by comparison. Azelon wasn’t kidding when she said the Fang was four times the ship that the Talon was. And then some, he thought.

He decided to have one more go with blasters before using his missiles again. Like any pilot worth their ass pad, he knew to save the majority of the guided ordinance for shots he couldn’t afford to miss. But right now, in the opening moments of the dogfight where the enemy was still getting its bearings, blasters would do just fine.

Feeling more confident, Ricio targeted the two rear-most Talons in the triangle formation. As soon as the reticles displayed a lock, he fired both blaster cannons—this time altering their delivery timing. The smaller bolts from the wings shredded shields and created a soft spot for the larger rounds, which drilled into the ships and tore straight down the fuselages. Ricio thought it was a lot like popping pieces of greedum fruit from the peels.

A second later, he flew through the debris field and targeted the third Talon. The enemy pilot must’ve seen his wingmen get destroyed because he pulled a textbook Paraguutian Cobra maneuver. The Talon slowed, pitched up into a quick-flip along its horizontal axis, and then—

Ricio was caught off guard. Instead of finishing the maneuver—resuming forward flight and landing well behind the pursuing enemy—this Talon’s pilot decided to roll, pointing its nose straight at Ricio’s Fang.

The man hadn’t a clue how fast Ricio was traveling or else he wouldn’t have attempted such a risky move. Blaster fire lit up Ricio’s HUD, but he’d already ducked under the Talon and avoided what would have been a catastrophic collision. He watched his display to see the Talon stall out of the hasty assault and then regain an attack vector heading north…

Which was where the other five Talons were coming from. He didn’t have time to get a lock, so Ricio flew down as close to the city as he dared. Seeing a wide thoroughfare ahead, he dipped down and decided to use it as cover. If he guessed right, the Repub pilots would refrain from firing into the city unless an evacuation had been instituted.

The buildings whipped by him in a blur—the air fighting him as he swept into the hand-made canyon. He watched on his HUD as the enemy ships passed overhead by two-hundred meters.

“Time to punch it!” Again, Ricio pitched up to execute an Alcion maneuver. He came over the top of the high arc inverted, then rolled out to see the five Talons with a sixth one trailing behind them—the one he’d missed before. He wouldn’t miss again.

Ricio spent his full attention on the trailing fighter and sent blaster rounds from both cannons into the ship, tearing off its wings and detonating one of its torpedoes. The resulting explosion sent the ship catapulting forward and down where it impacted a building. A wave of fire wrapped around the structure, pulled it off its base, and sent up a plume of dust and smoke that blotted out the block.

Ricio wasted no time and targeted three more Talons. He selected missiles, then launched them. “Birdies one, three, and six, away.” The guided munitions flared like the sun as they streaked forward. Ricio could hear the propellant from inside the cockpit. The missiles searched hungrily for their prey, dipping and weaving as the enemy fighters attempted evasive maneuvers. But there was no stopping the Novian tech. In three distinct pops, the targeted Talons blew apart in a dazzling light display that must’ve looked like fireworks from the city streets.

Ricio rolled clear of the debris field and targeted the last two Talons. Up until now, he’d hardly thought about the pilots he was killing—he’d been far too busy trying to fly an alien gunship with his mind. That said, he almost felt ashamed of how little thought he’d given to these Navy pilots. He’d been given the gift of time. Time to sit with Magnus and hear about what was happening to his beloved Republic, to the Luma, and to the prospect of true peace in the galaxy. He’d been allowed to make up his mind as to who was right and who was wrong in this fight. But these pilots? They were dying in the midst of their ignorance. And it pained Ricio’s heart.

Deciding whose team he was on scared him. Fighting for Magnus’s side meant he’d probably never see his wife and son again. He could desert, of course—using the opportunity to run back to Capriana. But Azelon’s threat of blowing him up probably wasn’t hyperbole. Nor would Moldark’s threat of executing him be if he ever caught him back at home without checking in.

No, Ricio hadn’t come this far simply because of the opportunity to escape. He’d come this far because he believed in Magnus’s cause. Moldark needed to be stopped. And if Ricio helped Magnus and his friends, then his wife and son had a chance to be safe—to survive what was coming next. Ricio would die for that.

The target reticles glowed, the lock icons pulsing at him, willing him to fire.

Maybe, if given more time, these Repub pilots would have chosen the same as Ricio. But as it was, their mission was to take the shuttles down, and he wasn’t going to let that happen. If that day did come—where he could talk to them before they ran to the flight line and went up, if he could reason with them like Magnus had done with him—Ricio would gladly take the time to speak with each of them if it meant sparing their lives. Today, however, there was no time.

“Birdy five, away.” Ricio loosed his last missile on the left Talon and turned both blaster systems on the right. His cockpit flashed with light as the missile sped toward its mark and the blasters chewed into hull plating. The enemy fighters exploded a tenth of a second apart, producing a near simultaneous explosion that showered the city with fiery fighter fragments.

As Ricio flew through the falling remains, he kept the ship steady, holding off on his usual post-kill barrel roll. Instead, he grieved for the pilots who’d lost their lives without even knowing what they’d died for. Could it be said of them, perhaps, that they’d died defending the Republic? Died in honor of the pursuit of peace? He supposed part of it was true, but it made Ricio’s stomach twist and did nothing to make him feel better. Instead, he could only focus on the lives in the shuttles—those he’d sworn to protect. Awen. Magnus. The Jujari, the Reptalon, and the huge Miblimbian. The Nimprinth that always spoke in third person and his mismatched Caledonian girlfriend. And the little girl with the blonde ringlets. The cosmos had brought them all together…

“And it’s gonna be the cosmos that sees us through,” he said aloud.

“Please rephrase your statement, commander.”

“I was just talking to myself.”

“As, yes. I have noticed your kind doing this regularly.”

Ricio brought his Fang around in a low turn, remaining below the defense cannons’ firing arcs. “How goes the fighter hunting, old girl?”

“I have successfully eliminated all remaining targets. The shuttles are free and clear.”

Ricio let out a holler and pumped a fist.

“Are you alright, commander?”

“Yeah, baby. We did it.”

“I concur. However, your exclamation is such that—”

“It’s what we do when we’re excited about something, like successfully saving those who we’re trying to protect.”

“Ah, I see. Well, in that case—” Azelon screamed over comms. At least that’s how Ricio interpreted it. The sound was something between a shrill shriek and a mechanical cackle. He winced and placed his palms over his ears.

“What the hell was that?” Ricio asked when it finally subsided.

“I was returning your congratulatory exclamation, commander.”

“We need to work on that.”

“I have added it to my list of subjects to return to at a later time.”

Ricio worked his jaw in an attempt to get the ringing in his ears to subside. “So, back to the Spire then?”

“Indeed, sir. If you would please accompany the shuttles, I will ready the hangar bays for your return.”

“On it.”

Ricio pushed the Fang forward, accelerating away from Plumeria and over the tropical forest once again. He stayed low, turning beneath rock ledges and following the contours of the low hills. He passed the wreckage of the second emplacement he’d destroyed, and then began the long descent toward the ocean, feeling his stomach flutter. The aquamarine blue stretched to the horizon in all directions. Several seconds later, Ricio swept over the first turret he’d annihilated.

“Damn, old girl. You seeing the size of that crater?” Ricio asked.

“I am, sir. I am recording the data as I have never witnessed the effects of a mine used on a surface target in atmosphere before.”

“That makes two of us.”

As Ricio shot out across the ocean waves he could see the shuttles ahead, appearing to hover like seabirds in an updraft. He dialed down his throttle as he closed the gap, willing his Fang to come even with them. He was certain the other vessels had seen him on radar so he would need to hail them. But how, exactly, would that conversation go? Hey, remember me? I’m that guy Ricio that tried to kill you a few days ago. Oh yeah, I broke out of prison too. But then I had a random change of heart and decided to turn on the Republic and everything I knew in a hasty effort to help save your sorry asses.

Before Ricio knew it, he’d pulled even with the formation. “Azie, how do I open a channel to them?”

“You only need think it, commander, and the channel will be opened,” Azelon replied.

“Yeah, cause that’s how I thought it was supposed to work.”

“Well done.”

“I was kidding.”

Azelon paused. “I have so much to learn about your species.”

Ricio did as she instructed and noticed a green comms channel icon display on his HUD. “Transport shuttle bound for the Azelon Spire, this is Commander Ricio Longo. Do you read me?”

There was no answer. Ricio almost asked Azelon for help but decided to try again first.

“Transport shuttle bound for the Spire, this is Ricio, the guy…” He bit his lip. “The pilot you had in the brig. Do you copy? Over.”

“We copy, Ricio,” said a man’s booming voice. Ricio turned and saw a dark Miblimbian face appear in the closest shuttle’s bridge window. “And just who in the hell let you out of your cell?”

“I suppose you wouldn’t believe me if I said I didn’t know.”

“No.”

“I don’t blame you.” He chuckled. “Listen, I just wanted to let you know that the skies are clear and I’ll be at your three o’clock all the way back to the Spire.”

“And then what? You booking it back to Moldark?”

“That’s a negative, mister…” Ricio waited, willing the man to identify himself.

“Abimbola,” he finally said.

“Then that’s a negative, Mr. Abimbola. I’m with you for the long haul.”

The big man hesitated. “We are grateful for your help. Yet you still have got a lot of explaining to do.”

“Don’t I know it. Everyone okay in there?”

“All things considered, yes. Several people need medical attention. But it could have been a lot worse.” A short silence filled the channel. Ricio wondered if maybe the giant was warming to him. “We saw a lot of fancy flying on radar. Was that you, jockey?”

“Eh. Nothing the old girl and I couldn’t handle.”

Abimbola’s eyebrows lifted high. “You are already calling that fancy starfighter old?”

Ricio laughed. “Sorry, not the fighter. Azelon.”

“I’ve been nicknamed again,” the AI said.

“Have you now,” Abimbola replied, smiling.

“Yes. And according to an ancient Novian proverb, it seems I am well loved.”

“Well loved?” Ricio repeated. “Okay, I’m game. What’s the proverb?”

“A person with many names is much loved,” Azelon replied.

Ricio shrugged. “Then it seems you are loved indeed.”

“As are you, commander,” Azelon said.

Ricio tilted his head. He had to admit, playing with this AI was more fun than he expected it to be. “Okay. I’ll bite. What nicknames make me much loved?”

“You’re the best cocky-ass bastard I know.”

36

Magnus felt himself arrive at consciousness like a hover train pulling into a station after a slow crawl out of a subterranean tunnel. He opened his eyes to the dim lights of sickbay, noting that his bioteknia interface was running in standby mode. Only a small icon blinked in the lower right corner. He had no idea how long he’d been out or how he’d arrived back on the Spire, but a quick consult from his interface would answer several of those questions.

Magnus was a breath away from hovering his focus on the icon when a thought struck him. A dark thought. A thought so painful that his heart was already wrenching at the idea of it before the vapor had fully formed. But he couldn’t stop the sentence from coming, just like he couldn’t stop the sun rising.

My eyes, he thought. They were a gift from… from her.

On another planet at another time, one that felt so long ago from the present, he’d awakened in a sickbay much less refined than this one. There, he stared into the eyes of an angel, one who’d given him the gift of sight. The gift had stripped him of his career, of his future. At least the one he cared about at that time. But in the process it gave him a new direction, a new future, which led him here. Only the angel wouldn’t be coming around a corner to inspect his injuries.

“Valerie…”

Magnus hardly recognized his voice. It was tight and dry. But it was his nonetheless. He blinked, trying to encourage his thoughts past the sorrow that twisted his gut in a hundred different directions. But the damn little icon in the lower right reminded him of his eyes. Of her.

“Valerie.”

This time when he said her name, tears came. She was gone. He didn’t understand how. Couldn’t see how. But she’d been gunned down. He saw her body, her open helmet, her broken face. He winced, squinting against the memory, forcing it into the depths where it belonged. It was a fiction, after all. Wasn’t it? Just a bad dream. Valerie wasn’t really dead, and Piper wasn’t really gone. It’s all just a bad dream, he thought. And now that I’m awake, we can get back to whatever it was we were getting to, and life will work itself out.

Only, it wasn’t a dream. It had been real. All of it. And he’d lived to see it. To witness the horrific loss of a woman he cared for, and to see the pain in the face of the little girl he loved so very much. But worse than losing Valerie, Magnus realized, was losing Piper.

The way the little girl refused to look at him broke his heart. Her defiant posture burned a hole through his chest a fathom deep, and then some. It cut him, like a Jujari sword. Like a duradex blade. It cut him deeper than any pain he supposed he’d ever felt. Even more than the pain of losing his brother. And that startled him. But he supposed he knew why.

Argus had chosen his own fate. He’d known what he was doing. He’d known the end he was racing toward. Any other Marine could have caught him, but fate made sure it was Magnus.

Piper though? She was different. She hadn’t chosen this. Instead, fate chose her. Something had happened to her when was with Nos Kil. Something had broken inside of her. Magnus blamed himself for it, of course, and Awen had tried to argue the failed logic of it all. But Magnus knew that somehow, he was responsible… for allowing Nos Kil on the ship. For not killing him when he had the chance. Chances.

The accident with Valerie was unspeakable, and he couldn’t blame Piper for her anger and pain. But Magnus longed to know what else he’d done to hurt Piper. He longed to go back in time and put all the pieces together again. But try as he might, he couldn’t figure it out. It was like trying to put one of those old puzzles together in the dark—hands fumbling with a thousand pieces but never arranging them well enough to fit.

Magnus heard beeping as he sat up. His head swam, so he gripped the sides of the table to keep from falling. More beeps, some corresponding with his pulse, filled the small chamber. He willed them to slow as he tried to control his breathing.

He cleared his eyes again and tried to focus on the central hexagonal room. Several other people slept peacefully in the chambers extending from the walls. All the lights were low, and Magnus wondered if it was the middle of the night. Again, the small icon pulsed in the lower right-hand corner of his vision. Just a quick focused effort would open it and tell him what time it was. But it would bring the pain of Valerie’s death too, and he wasn’t sure he could handle that again. Not yet. In fact, he suddenly wondered if he’d ever be able to handle it. That damn blinking button was going to be his eternal reminder of her. Son of a bitch.

He swung his legs over the side of the table. For the first time, he noticed fresh pink skin on his kneecaps. More on the tops of his feet. Shins. Thighs. He pulled his hands off the edge of the table and looked at his arms. They were covered in patches of pink skin, like a newborn baby’s. Then he touched his face.

His beard was gone, as was the rugged feel of his weathered skin along his cheeks, nose, and mouth. His forehead was tender, as were his ears. His head had been mostly shaved, leaving him with a fuzzy crewcut like the old timers wore.

Magnus rubbed the back of his neck as the gravity of the situation dawned on him. Apparently, he’d been in too much shock to realize just how bad the rocket had damaged him. This amount of skin grafting was consistent with people who’d nearly died from third degree burns. The fact that he’d even made it this far must’ve been… a damned miracle.

He took a deep breath and muttered a small prayer of thanks for whoever had overseen his surgery. Or surgeries. How long had it taken? And just how long had he been out? The questions finally got the better of him and, against the protest of his emotions, he decided to check the time. He looked at the pulsing icon and powered on his eyes.

The hexagonal lattice grew from the center of his vision like a spider web built at high speed. Then it faded into the background while several status bars illuminated in the corners. He instinctively looked at the date and time stamp, and his heart sank.

“Four days?” He rubbed the back of his neck again, then rolled his head. “Splick.”

Suddenly, he noticed another icon blinking in the upper left—it was a notification for one new message. “Just one?” he asked himself, knowing the humor would be lost on anyone else. Since when does someone in charge only get one message after four days?

Magnus hovered his attention over the message icon, and a window appeared in the foreground. He knew it didn’t matter how his head was orientated, but he still felt compelled to raise it level when watching these.

“Hello, sir,” said an image of a familiar bot standing just inside sickbay. “This is TO-96, in case you need a reminder. In the instance where you awaken while the rest of the crew is sleeping, this message will serve to orient you in the interim. As such, let me be the first to welcome you back to the Spire and bid you a very early good morning.

“As you’ve probably already noticed, you’ve undergone substantial skin grafting due to the burns you suffered in the rocket attack. While your adrenaline maintained your primary bodily functions following the blast, Willowood eventually placed you in a controlled stasis upon your departure in the shuttle.

“Also, you will be pleased to know that the surgery was a violently concussive success.”

Magnus raised an eyebrow. “You mean smashing, ’Six.”

The recording pressed on. “Azelon and I conducted the skin grafts while Willowood attended to your soul.”

“My soul?” Magnus asked, putting a hand to his chest. The thought of some squirrely old lady tinkering with his insides made him uneasy.

“Your new skin will take some time to acclimate, but it should blend rather well with your existing architecture, far exceeding that of current Repub standards. Azelon noted that the procedure went far more quickly than had you been a Novian patient—given all their hair. She assured me that your beard will grow back relatively soon.

“As for the rest of the crew, everyone seems to be recovering rather well from minor injuries. Unfortunately, our three losses include Andocs, Haney, and Stone.”

Just hearing ’Six mention Valerie’s last name made Magnus’s heart ache.

“Additionally, Piper’s whereabouts are currently unknown, though both Willowood and Awen, along with a small contingent of the Luma, have given themselves to searching for her within the Unity.

“As for us, we have temporarily retreated to metaspace and are monitoring the area around the quantum tunnel. So far, our retreat has gone undetected and there has been no sign of activity on either side of the void horizon. Additionally, Azelon’s systems have been restored, so there is no need to worry about any more security breaches. It seems that Miss Piper’s earlier tampering did more to the Spire’s infrastructure than we’d previously noted, resulting in secondary malfunctions of the brig’s security features. But, as I said, everything has been restored.

“Before I sign off, it is worth noting that Commander Mauricio Longo helped ensure our escape from Worru via his use of a Novian starfighter—with Azelon’s supervision, of course.”

“Ricio?” Magnus said in surprise to the recording. Maybe his hard work at trying to persuade the pilot to join them had paid off. But who the hell let him out of the brig?

TO-96’s message moved ahead before Magnus could give it more thought. “It seems that he and Nos Kil escaped from their cells, which is a conversation you will no doubt want to have with Azelon and Ricio at a later point. The interruption of orbital fire support that you overheard with Flow and Cheeks was due to a skirmish between them and Nos Kil. Again, Ricio helped your men subdue the prisoner and return him to his cell. One might say that the Repub pilot helped saved the day twice… in one day. Now that I think about it, that sentence needs work. In any case, I would be remiss if I did not encourage you to praise him upon your next meeting.

“Your crew and your ship await you, sir. We are grateful for your presence, your health, and your leadership as you guide us toward the next objectives—whatever those may be. TO-96 signing off. End recording.”

The window blipped out of existence.

Magnus was left staring at his chamber’s sidewall with his legs still dangling off the side of the bed. He felt slightly unnerved that so much had happened without him. But he was grateful that everyone and the ship were at least safe for the time being. Stowing away in metaspace to regroup was definitely the right move, and he made a mental note to thank whoever came up with that course of action. Not only would they be safe, but the time dilation would give them an opportunity to come up with their next steps.

Magnus decided to try his legs and slipped off the table. His nerve endings shuddered for a moment, sending sparks of minor discomfort to his brain from various parts of his body. But it wasn’t painful. In fact, it felt good—like stretching out the soreness of muscles too long in one position. He moved his back and arms, but suddenly noted that his new skin still seemed tight. Certain motions made the patches stretch, and—based on the shooting pain it caused—he decided not to make those movements again, at least for another day or two.

As Magnus’s began deciding what he wanted to do next, a thought came to mind. Something in TO-96’s message stood out to him. Something that piqued his curiosity. It was the item about Azelon’s system being restored.

“Azelon, are you there?”

“Of course, Magnus. It’s nice to see you are awake and feeling better.”

“No small thanks to you.”

“It’s an honor to serve you, sir. And I see you viewed TO-96’s recorded message.”

“I did. Though… how do you know that?” But Magnus wasn’t quite ready for what he was sure would be a tedious explanation. “You know what? Never mind.”

“As you wish, sir.”

“Azie, I’ve got a question for you.”

“Blaster bolt.”

Magnus paused. “Ah… what?”

“Is that not the correct colloquialism? Blaster bolt?”

“I’m not following.”

“TO-96’s lexicon recommends using a reference to a fired rifle when positively responding to a request for more information.”

Suddenly, the right word dawned on Magnus and he couldn’t help but laugh. “You mean shoot.”

Azelon was slow in replying; Magnus wondered just what was going on in that big, beautiful brain of hers. “I have successfully updated my file on this for all future instances. Please shoot.”

Magnus grinned. “’Six mentioned that your brig systems had been restored. Is that accurate?”

“It is, sir. I have regained control of all security doors and sensors.”

“Would that happen to include any recorded data from those sensors? Say, video and audio?”

“Yes, Magnus. All sensory data is stored locally with or without my presence, though I am the only one with root access to it.”

“So… do you have full records of Nos Kil’s cell in the brig?”

“I have complete file set of his cell’s cameras.”

“Which includes the conversation he had with Piper?”

“As I said, sir, I have access to a complete file set of—”

“Can you bring up that conversation, Azie?”

“Processing request. Please stand by.”

Magnus waited, suddenly aware that his heart rate had increased and he could feel the blood rush to his face. His battlefield experience had taught him how to subdue an adrenaline rush, but he could already feel his fight or flight instincts going into overdrive. To think that he was about to hear Piper and Nos Kil’s conversation and to see what had happened… He shut his eyes against whatever foul images his imagination tried to play on him. No, Nos Kil never touched her, he reminded himself. At least that is what Valerie’s analysis had told them. But maybe Azie’s footage would contradict that? Mystics, I hope not.

“How would you like to review the requested data?”

Magnus blinked himself out of his thoughts. “What’s that?”

“The data, sir. Of Nos Kil and Piper’s conversation. How would you like to review it?”

“Can you send it to my eyes? Maybe feed me the audio through the overhead speakers?”

“Your bioteknia eyes have transducers that are applied directly to the bone of your eye sockets specifically for the purpose of two-way audio transmission. Were you not aware of this?”

“No.” Magnus thought he should ask Valerie about this. Then a rush of heat flooded his neck and surged into his face. “I wasn’t made aware. Proceed.”

“Sending data to your eyes. Please stand by.”

Magnus paced the floor when a security camera feed filled his vision. It was as if he was perched in the upper corner of Nos Kil’s cell, looking down at the man with Piper on the other side of the forcefield. Magnus knew better than to try and watch this standing up, so he reached out and found his medical bed to sit down.

“Psst, little girl,” Nos Kil said from on his bed. Magnus felt his skin crawl as the shirtless man spoke. His bloodstained skin was in stark contrast to Piper’s sweet face and blonde ringlets.

“You’re a bad guy.”

“Why would you say that?” Nos Kil replied.

“Because you tried to kill my friends.”

“Tried to kill—? Listen, I was defending my men. Your friends attacked us.”

“But Magnus said you were—”

“The bad guys?” Nos Kil shook his head in disgust. “First I’m the bad guy, and then I’m an unarmed prisoner and Magnus does this to me.”

“Magnus hurt you?” Piper asked. Magnus hated where this conversation was going. “Maybe there’s something I can do to help you.”

“Piper no,” Magnus said, instinctively willing her to stay away. But he knew the effort was pointless.

“Like what?” Nos Kil asked as he sat up.

“When I’m sad or hurt, sometimes I just need someone to talk to,” Piper said.

“Well, I could use a friend right now.”

“Then I can do that, I suppose.”

Magnus felt his stomach turn as Piper walked into the cellblock.

“Do you know what it’s like to feel different from everybody else?” Nos Kil asked.

Piper didn’t respond at first, but eventually gave Nos Kil a slight nod.

“Yeah. That’s how I feel… how I’ve always felt. Like I don’t fit in with everyone else. And that’s not a lot of fun, you know what I mean?”

Again, Piper nodded and took another step forward.

“Sometimes, I feel like I have all this stuff rolling around inside of me, and that if I let it out, people will just push me away. Because they don’t understand me. But then I think it’s more than that. That maybe they’ll push me away because they’re…”

Piper took yet another step forward. Her face seemed so curious. The entire conversation felt wrong, and Magnus couldn’t believe he’d allowed it to happen on his watch.

“Because they’re afraid,” Piper said.

Nos Kil snapped his fingers and Piper jerked upright—eyes wide. “Because they’re afraid.” He waved a finger at Piper. “That’s exactly right.”

“People are afraid of what they don’t understand.”

Nos Kil sat up straight. “You know, you’re absolutely right. What’s your name?”

“My name? I’m… I’m not allowed to talk to strangers.”

Again, Nos Kil waved a finger at her. “You’re a very smart young lady.”

“What’s your name?”

“Ah, ah, ah—I’m not allowed to talk to strangers either.”

Piper lowered her forehead and gave him a bashful smile. “You’re covered in blood. Why?”

“Because they’re afraid of me.”

“Why are they afraid of you? You’re locked in there, and we’re all out here.”

“That’s a very good point. Personally? I think it’s because I know something that Magnus doesn’t want anyone else to know.”

Magnus felt his chest tighten. Mystics, is this it then? Is he going to tell this child about the night on Caledonia? He wanted nothing more than to leap down into the brig and strangle Nos Kil.

“You said you had a secret. When we took you prisoner in the city. You said you had something that Magnus didn’t want the others to know.”

“I did, yes. That’s true.”

“So that’s what they’re afraid of? Your secret?”

“Oh, it’s not my secret.” Nos Kil placed a hand on his chest, sitting up a little straighter. “But it does belong to…”

The long silence pulled Piper along to fill it. “To who?”

Again, Nos Kil shrugged.

“To Magnus? It’s Magnus’s secret, isn’t it. He’s afraid that you’ll tattle on him.”

Magnus couldn’t see Nos Kil’s entire face, but he imagined the man was giving Piper some sort of forlorn look. “Azelon, do you have a view of Nos Kil’s face?”

“Affirmative.” The camera view suddenly showed Nos Kil’s face over Piper’s shoulder. The blood had yet to dry under his eye. He looked like a monster. Magnus couldn’t believe that Piper even had the stomach to approach him.

“Is that why he beat you up?”

Nos Kil pointed to his eye. “You mean this?”

Piper nodded.

“Yeah, he’s pretty afraid of me. But, we’d probably better not talk about it anymore. I wouldn’t want him getting upset with you too.”

“No,” Piper said, stepping to within a meter of the shield.

“Dammit Piper,” Magnus said, slamming his palm with his opposite fist.

“He doesn’t have to know. Plus, if you don’t tell me, I can just find out for myself.”

“Can you?” The prisoner raised his eyebrows and pushed his broken lips up in appreciation. “So you’re one of those Luma then, aren’t you.”

“Not a Luma. A gladia. With the Gladio Umbra.”

Again, Nos Kil nodded in appreciation. “Well then, I guess there’s no point in keeping secrets from someone like you. And I can see why they’d be afraid of you too.”

“You can?”

“Sure. You can probably read people’s minds if you want? Probably do other really amazing things too, I’m guessing. Like, I don’t know… what’s the most amazing thing you think you can do?”

Piper let out a small laugh. “I just learned to do something new.”

“Really?”

“I can move things through the Unity.”

“Mystics, Piper!” Magnus could feel the new skin on the backs of his hands straining. “What are you doing?”

“Move things?” Nos Kil said. “That sounds like a neat trick.”

“It is. I can take things from anywhere around me and move them through the Unity to anyplace else far away. But…”

In the pause, Nos Kil studied Piper’s face in a way that made Magnus want to reach out and push out his other eye. “But you’d get in trouble if they found out?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I guess that makes us friends then.” The prisoner took a breath, looked around his cell, and then placed a hand on his chest. “My name is Volf. Volf Nos Kil, from Haradia.”

“I’m Piper. Piper Stone, from Capriana.”

Magnus shook his head in irritation. If he could have closed his eyes to make the image go away for a moment, he would have. But he couldn’t. This was happening—no, this had happened. And there was nothing he could do to change it.

Nos Kil repeated her name in a smile. “That’s a pretty name, little one. But, now that I think of it, you’re not so little, are you. And maybe that’s what makes them afraid of you, just like they’re afraid of me. On the outside, we look like people that they can take advantage of. But on the inside, where they can’t see, we’re really big. We’re…”

“Invincible.”

Nos Kil turned his head and gave her a look that betrayed nothing short of marvel. He repeated the word and smiled. “I like that. Yes.”

“Well, you’ve told me your secret. Would you like if I told you mine?” He hesitated, then turned away from her. “No, I can’t.”

“No,” Piper said, stepping right up to the forcefield.

“Piper!” Magnus gnashed his teeth. “For the love of all the mystics, what are you doing?”

“Please, you can tell me,” Piper said, her voice pleading with him. “It’s okay. I won’t tell.”

“But I don’t want you to get in trouble with them.”

“I won’t.”

“But how can you be sure?” Nos Kil turned off his bed and sank to his knees. His knees, dammit. He bunched his bloodied knuckles into fists and held them against his tattooed chest.

“Because I won’t tell.”

The prisoner slowly let his hand fall and then lowered his head. “Okay then. But only if you’re sure.”

“I’m sure,” she said. Piper sat down and crossed her legs.

To Magnus’s horror, Nos Kil began to tell Piper the events that unfolded in the hotel basement on T’io Mi’on, but with one difference…

Magnus was the one who’d raped the island women, and Argus, Caldwell, and Nos Kil were the ones who’d broken in to stop him.

All the blood rushed to Magnus’s head as he made Azelon switch views so he could see Piper’s face. Tears streamed from her eyes—her face tormented and terrified. She pleaded with Nos Kil, telling him that his account wasn’t true—couldn’t be true. But Nos Kil assured her, as only the most skilled abusers can, that it was true, that he’d rather die than lie, that she could even check with Magnus… if she was willing to get in really big trouble.

Nos Kil went on to tell how Magnus shot the young Marine named Caldwell, and then—faced with the consequences of his actions—he gunned down his own brother in cold blood. Magnus had always been jealous of Argus’s success, threatened by his reputation in the Marines, and decided this was his moment to get rid of Argus once and for all.

Piper sobbed, her small shoulders heaving up and down. Magnus wasn’t sure what was worse, that Nos Kil would dare to tell such lies to a child or that Piper seemed to accept it. Then again, Nos Kil had manipulated her masterfully, which made Magnus sick to his stomach.

“The only reason I lived was because reinforcements barged in the room. But because he outranked me, they believed his side of the story, not mine.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “No, this can’t be right.”

“And it’s not right, Piper. They took me and locked me away while Magnus went free. And here I am, still locked up, unable to defend myself, unable to argue my case.”

“No, no, no.” Piper’s hands were on her head now as she fought sobs of anguish. As she sank to her knees and lowered her head to the ground, Magnus saw Nos Kil’s broken lips curl into a smile.

“Surely you’ve seen how he looks at women, how he barks orders at his men. How aggressive he is in battle. You’ve seen that, haven’t you?”

Piper nodded, hands still clutching her head.

Nos Kil sighed. “I suppose it’s only a matter of time before he acts again against someone you love. Maybe even against you.”

Piper let out a shriek. It startled Magnus, just like it startled him the first time he heard the sound ricocheting through the brig and into Ricio’s cell block.

“Beware of Magnus, Piper.” Nos Kil’s voice was barely audible above Piper’s weeping. “Beware of the evil inside him.”

“Kill the feed, Azelon,” Magnus demanded. The recording blipped out of existence, and Magnus turned toward the exit.

37

Magnus tore down the hallway toward the brig, anger surging through every blood vessel in his body like liquid fire. But it was more than anger—there was grief, too. A righteous indignation that carved trenches in his soul for the liquid fire to course down.

He stopped at the security door. “Open it.”

“Sir, may I inquire the nature of your—”

“Open the damn door, Azie.”

“Access granted.”

The door slid open and Magnus marched into the control room. As he crossed in front of the monitors, he saw Nos Kil out of the corner of his eye. The man was apparently asleep on his bed, arms folded behind his head.

Magnus stopped at the next door. “Azie?”

“Again, sir, I feel it is my duty to—”

“It’s your duty to open the door.”

“Given your elevated—”

“Open the door.”

There was a momentary pause, and then the security door into the cell block corridors opened. Magnus didn’t hear his grinding teeth. He only heard the sound of his bare footfalls against the glossy black floor. He spun left into the first cellblock and saw Nos Kil lying on his bed.

“Force field down,” Magnus said. This time, Azelon did not contest the order. Instead, the shimmering blue field vanished and the only thing between Magnus and the sleeping prisoner was open air. The room stank of body odor from a man who refused to bathe.

Magnus stood over Nos Kil when the prisoner opened his one eye. He’d barely gotten a word out of his mouth when Magnus grabbed his leg and yanked him off his bed. Nos Kil’s body landed on the floor with a thud and the man let out a grunt. The prisoner momentarily halted Magnus’s momentum as he latched a hand onto the corner of the bed, but Magnus jerked hard and Nos Kil lost his hold. The prisoner’s shirtless body squeaked along the floor, his palms trying to gain traction.

In one motion, Magnus threw Nos Kil’s leg aside and then thrust himself backward. His left elbow dropped on Nos Kil’s face, breaking the cartilage in his nose with a sickening crack. The prisoner grabbed his face and roared, twisting out from under Magnus’s weight.

With the man on his left side, Magnus sat up and drove three consecutive punches into Nos Kil’s right kidney. Nos Kil’s convulsed, recoiling from the blows like a thrashing snake. He rolled once more to stare up at Magnus with a wild look in his eye.

“She leave you, Magnus?”

But Magnus wasn’t interested in talking. He drove his fist across Nos Kil’s face, snapping something in the man’s jaw. He pulled back for a second blow when the prisoner punched Magnus in his belly. The blow was hard enough to knock the wind out of him. Magnus gasped, but returned the strike, pummeling the man’s gut with a left hook, then a right. He knew he’d broken ribs as his knuckles went deeper into Nos Kil’s sides than they should have.

The prisoner pulled himself into a fetal position, trying to ward off the attack to his rib cage. Seizing the opportunity, Magnus went to deliver a third devastating blow when a fist came up from the fetal form and struck his mouth. The blow sent a shock through Magnus’s skull and rattled his head. His eyes blinked out for half a second before returning to normal. Something had broken free in his mouth, and he tasted iron.

Nos Kil took advantage of his opponent’s hesitation, rolled to the left, and swung his fist for the other side of Magnus’s jaw. Magnus deflected the blow with his forearm but used the momentum to flip Nos Kil over and onto his belly. In a flash, Magnus was on the man’s back, one hand grabbing what little hair there was and yanking his head back. With his other hand, he delivered blow after blow after blow to the Nos Kil’s right flank, each hit forcing the air from the prisoner’s lungs.

Magnus was midway through another punch to the man’s side when Nos Kil spread his legs—giving him optimal leverage against the floor—and spun his hips and torso so violently that it flipped Magnus onto the floor. He landed on his shoulder with a grunt and watched as Nos Kil pushed himself off the ground and stood up.

Nos Kil wiped blood from his chin with his thumb. “Or maybe she’s dead. Shame.”

Magnus rolled to his feet and brought his hands up. He circled Nos Kil in the cell block, his bioteknia eyes scanning the prisoner’s body. The display suggested Nos Kil suffered from internal bleeding and that a vital organ had been ruptured. Based on the way Nos Kil was hunched and limping, Magnus guessed the scans were right.

“It won’t be long now,” Magnus said as he panted for breath, then nodded at Nos Kil’s side.

His opponent stole a quick glance at his torso and looked back into Magnus’s bioteknia eyes. “Better get this over with then.” Nos Kil clicked his tongue and threw a left hook at Magnus’s side. Magnus blocked it and countered with a left hook to Nos Kil’s head. The prisoner leaned away and followed through with a right uppercut to Magnus’s rib cage. He felt the jolt go straight to the top of his head—this bastard is still strong. Then Magnus blocked with both arms close to his head as another left hook came barreling toward his face.

No sooner had the blow been absorbed then Magnus brought his knee up and into Nos Kil’s wounded side. The blow would have been enough to drop any other opponent cold, but not Nos Kil. Instead, the man let out a grunt, grabbed Magnus’s leg, and thrust upward. Magnus fell backward and slammed into the floor. But Nos Kil still held his leg. The assailant stepped around it and placed a knee on Magnus’s gut, raising his right fist to drive a blow down on his face.

Magnus wrenched his leg to the side and threw Nos Kil off balance. His opponent fell but caught himself, giving Magnus just enough time to roll and regain his feet. This time, he threw his right leg in a roundhouse kick toward Nos Kil’s kneeling position. The kick was deflected. Magnus threw a left hook and it too was batted aside. He threw a right jab. Nos Kil must have known it was coming and blocked it. But Magnus had only feinted the punch—instead, his left hook went under Nos Kil’s arms and sent a blast of anger-filled energy ripping through the man’s side.

Nos Kil doubled over. Magnus wondered if this was it—if that had done the man in. But he knew better than to underestimate an opponent. He reached down, grabbed the man’s hair again, and yanked his face up. A spray of blood arced across the cellblock. Before the liquid even landed, Nos Kil grabbed Magnus’s arm and pulled. But as Magnus jerked away, he inadvertently helped Nos Kil stand.

Magnus blocked a right jab, a left hook, and a right uppercut, all fueled by a fresh wave of energy in his opponent. He backpedaled along the cellblock floor, defending against two more forceful punches to his head and stomach. As Nos Kil sent another full-force jab, Magnus moved out of the way, grabbed the man’s arm, and thrust him across the room in line with his punch.

Nos Kil stumbled forward and turned around. The man was winded and weakening. Finally, Magnus thought. But it didn’t matter. He would fight Nos Kil as long as it took. Because this wasn’t for him. It wasn’t for the Repub, or even for the galaxy. It was for Piper.

Nos Kil roared and Magnus charged. The two met in the middle as Magnus threw his right fist at Nos Kil’s bloodied face. The prisoner made to deflect it, but Magnus’s punch had been thrown with so much speed, the failed attempt did little to divert the blow. Instead, Nos Kil’s head snapped back. Magnus followed the punch with a second one, landing only slightly less hard. Again, Nos Kil’s head went back.

The third punch, however, was blocked, and Nos Kil retaliated with a left hook into Magnus’s side. Magnus tried to step away but only managed to lessen the impact marginally. He felt something give and suspected a rib cracked. In any other situation, the pain would have been overwhelming. But here, something drove him that was beyond anything he’d ever felt. He’d never had a daughter, of course. But if he’d had one, he’d want her to be just like Piper. Now the little girl was fatherless and motherless. And both had died on Magnus’s watch. That someone like Nos Kil would try to take advantage of a small innocent child—and for what? Their own vendetta against the Republic? All those thoughts fueled Magnus as he glared into Nos Kil’s eyes.

Magnus brought his left leg around and kicked Nos Kil. The blow was deflected. Magnus jabbed twice, air shooting out between his gritted teeth. Again, Nos Kil blocked. But Magnus could sense the man’s parries were weakening. He threw another left hook, left hook, right uppercut combination and felt his fists connect against Nos Kil despite his opponent’s attempts to ward them off.

Nos Kil retaliated with a less-than-powerful left hook, which Magnus deflected. It was followed by a right jab that Magnus batted out of the way. Nos Kil was wheezing now, blood and saliva streaming from his mouth. But still he fought on, kicking up at Magnus’s head. The attempt was strong but poorly aimed, and Magnus ducked beneath it, then pushed the leg aside, giving added momentum to Nos Kil’s kick.

The act made Magnus’s opponent wobble, and Magnus used it to jab twice at Nos Kil’s exposed face. Both strikes snapped the enemy’s head back, dazed eyes returning to look at Magnus.

“You should have killed me on Caledonia when you had the chance, Magnus,” Nos Kil said in garbled speech. He could hardly keep his hands up to fight.

“A mistake I’ll never make again, you son of a bitch.” Magnus took two steps back, raced forward, and leaped into the air. Then he threw himself into a somersault with his right leg extended and brought his heel down atop Nos Kil’s head. Magnus landed on his left leg, managed to stay upright, and watched as Nos Kil’s body dropped to the ground.

Magnus stood strong, chest heaving, body aching, nose and mouth bleeding. He looked over his downed enemy, filled with emotions that were hard to identify. He saw his brother’s face, saw Caldwell’s son, saw the young women who’d been victimized. And then he saw Piper, tender and innocent. He saw the tears streaming from her pleading blue eyes, the heaving of her slender shoulders. And then he focused on Nos Kil, knowing this beast would never hurt anyone again.

Nos Kil’s eye fluttered open. “You did it,” he said in a soft wheeze. By the looks of it, the rest of Nos Kil’s body had been paralyzed. “You stopped me. But you will never stop Moldark.”

“Watch me,” Magnus replied.

He was about to raise a foot and end Nos Kil’s life when the enemy’s bloodshot eye widened, staring at something in the near distance. Startled, Magnus turned to see a blaster bolt travel the short distance from barrel to head and fill the room with a flash of light and a concussive screech. Nos Kil’s head bounced once and then rolled to the side. A black hole above his lone eye—permanently staring in an unnatural direction—sizzled with superheated gore.

Magnus turned to see Caldwell holster his weapon and spit once on the body. The emotions the colonel had harbored toward Nos Kil all these years must have been fierce. Furthermore, few men of war ever got the chance to settle scores themselves. Most of them were paid back in distant lands at the hands of others—a blaster bolt from someone else’s rifle, a missile strike from an unseen orbital ship. But right here—right now—the colonel had the chance to settle this score for himself.

“You look like splick, son,” Caldwell said to Magnus.

“I feel like it too.”

“I can imagine. Can you walk on your own?”

Magnus shrugged his shoulders. “Unless you’re offering a piggyback ride.”

“Hell no. Let’s get you back to sickbay.” The two men walked from the cellblock and let Azelon close the security doors behind them.

* * *

Magnus passed another day in sickbay before Doc Campbell, Azelon, and TO-96 released him from their care. But they did so reluctantly—Doc especially so.

“You need another few days at least,” Doc said. “You just gave your body one hell of a beating after another.”

“Has anyone found Piper yet, Doc? Is Moldark dead?”

The man shook his head.

“Then we don’t have another few days, do we.”

“Listen, I’m not here to argue the safety of the crew or the ship. As far as I’m concerned, that’s your department. I’m just telling you as a medical professional, your body isn’t ready for anything else.”

“And I take your words under advisement. But I stopped doing what was best for myself a long time ago. No sense starting now.”

Doc made to object but Magnus raised a hand. “Fine. Just… do me favor. When you get a break, come back and let me treat you some more?”

“If I get a break, you mean.”

Doc sighed and stepped aside. “Go meet with your crew. Azelon says they’re waiting for you on the bridge.”

“You’re a good man, Doc.” Magnus patted him on the shoulder and limped by. “When I die, I’ll have ’em engrave something nice for you on my tombstone.”

“Like what?”

“Like, Here lies Adonis Olin Magnus. Doc told him not to, but he did it anyway.”

Doc chuckled. “You’re a stubborn son of a bitch, you know.”

“So I’ve been told.”

* * *

Magnus walked onto the bridge as his five platoon leaders stood up straight. Dutch, Abimbola, Titus, Rohoar, and Awen greeted him as he stepped toward the captain’s chair. Each leader had several members of their respective platoons with them, all notable in their own rights. Sootriman and Ezo stood arm in arm, while Saasarr stood behind them. Berouth and Caldwell were on either side of Abimbola. Titus was accompanied by Zoll and Bliss; Rohoar by Saladin and Czyz. Awen and Willowood also stood arm in arm, their eyes bloodshot and tender. The newest face, of course, was Ricio’s. The man had helped save their lives, and he deserved to be here. The only people not present who Magnus felt should have been were Flow and Cheeks. But they still couldn’t be in the same room as any Jujari, so Magnus would debrief them himself.

Azelon and TO-96 stood on either side of the captain’s chair and welcomed Magnus. He sat down with a grunt, noting just how much his body ached. He was about to scold them for their projected misery. “Feels like a damned funeral in here,” he almost said, and then realized just how fitting the words would have been. Damn. “It’s good to see you all again,” he said instead. “I appreciate your patience while I… while the bots did their…”

“It is good to have you back, buckethead,” Abimbola said, breaking the awkward silence.

Magnus smiled. “Thanks, Bimby.” Then he lowered his head and took a deep breath, knowing the next words would be the hardest. “We lost good people on Worru. Andocs, Haney, and Val—” He caught himself, cleared his throat, then resumed. “Valerie. And we’re missing Piper.

“Any one of these losses on their own is significant, and I won’t try to minimize the grief we’re all feeling right now, myself included. Mystics know how hard this is. For everyone. I encourage all of you to mourn as you need to. It’s okay to cry, and you’re going to need to talk about it if you haven’t already—same as me. There’s no shame in that. The deep feelings we have for people… they serve to tell us just how important those lives really were.”

Magnus looked everyone in the face. He sensed they were trying to be stoic behind eyes moist with sadness. He nodded, more to himself than anyone else, and ran a hand over his face. “And at the same time, we have a job to do. We’re at war, and none of you are strangers to the costs involved. You all knew what you were getting involved with when you signed up, and the only guarantee we were assured was an equal shot at death. The galaxy’s going to splick and we’re the ones tasked with stopping it. So, until this thing is over, we all face it the same way—together and with courage.”

EPILOGUE

Ambassador Bosworth’s back ached from the interminably long shuttle ride to Elonia’s surface. He cursed Lord Moldark for not providing something faster for him, just as he cursed the wretched man for not giving him a larger starship. The journey to this revoltingly elitist star system had been gruelingly tiresome as it was. Added to it was the embarrassment of arriving at the Chancellor’s tower in a subpar vehicle. If Bosworth’s required skillset included impressing foreign dignitaries, then he was failing from moment one.

“Can’t this damned skiff go any faster?” Bosworth said, kicking the pilot’s crash couch from behind. His knee impacted the hard back and he swore through his bloated lips, spraying the pilot’s neck with dribble.

“I can assure you, sir, that I am flying your shuttle as fast as it will go,” the pilot said, placing special emphasis on the vehicle type in an apparent effort to correct the ambassador.

“Well it’s not fast enough, pilot. Make it go faster. The sooner I get off this blasted heap of mystics-forsaken metal, the better.”

The pilot did not reply but stayed focused on the course.

Satisfied that he had put the belligerent pilot in his place, Bosworth turned his considerable girth toward the shuttle’s aft, which was little more than an extended room behind the two pilot’s chairs, and found his bench seat once again. He plopped down, hoping the new position might alleviate some of his back strain. But it didn’t. Instead, he found himself cursing that his hemorrhoids had somehow gotten worse in the last few minutes—as if that was even possible, he sputtered to himself.

Suddenly, the ship dropped ten meters if not more. Bosworth felt his stomach push against the bottom of his gullet, and then slam into his pelvis when the ship righted again. “Holy hell, man,” Bosworth cried.

“Turbulence, sir. My apologies.”

“Apologies my ass,” Bosworth spat, muttering to himself. “Probably did it on purpose, the little cod-faced twit. You hear me?” Bosworth raised his voice. “You did that on purpose!”

Neither the pilot nor copilot responded.

Irritated that the two men had tuned him out, Bosworth went back to mumbling to himself. “I give him one grand idea. One that could gain him unimaginable leverage, secure him a blow against our adversaries.” Bosworth projected his voice toward the front. “And what does he give me? An incompetent flight crew, that’s what. Pieces of splick from a hornsperion buttlebuck’s anus. And two tin cans not worth their weight when melted down on Ki Nav Four!”

* * *

“Greetings, Ambassador Bosworth,” said the elderly Eloninan man, extending his flat hand toward Bosworth, palm down.

Bosworth returned the greeting by placing his upturned palm beneath the offered hand. “It is good to see you again, Chancellor dau Aminrain. Time has treated you well.”

“No better than it does all Elonians,” the chancellor replied.

“If only the rest of us were so fortunate.”

The chancellor seemed pleased by this nod to the Elonian’s naturally youthful bearing and gestured toward the grand salon in his top-level suite. As Bosworth walked into the spacious living room, he watched dau Aminrain wave over three young attendees.

“Would you care for some refreshment, ambassador? You must be parched after such a long journey.”

Bosworth hesitated. Had the chancellor just made a reference to the shuttle and starship he’d arrived on? As if to suggest that neither were capable of providing adequate food or drink for the ambassador? Bosworth wasn’t sure if he should refuse—which would only serve to affirm the chancellor’s implicit slight—or accept—which would confirm that Bosworth was, in fact, parched, due either to a lack of attending to himself or to his subpar transportation. Blast this politicking!

“Out of deference to my host, I am pleased to partake of whatever your chancellorship is inclined to drink.”

Again, dau Aminrain seemed pleased and ordered something in their native tongue. Bosworth ignored the transaction and moved to the floor-to-ceiling windows that bordered the far wall. “What a beautiful view of the city you have here,” Bosworth said. “The sunset is particularly lovely.”

“Isn’t it though?” The chancellor strode up beside Bosworth and pushed his robes back to place his hands on his slender hips. Dau Aminrain was one kilo to every four of Bosworth’s, and it annoyed the ambassador to no end. The Elonian’s pointed ears, sharp eyes, and youthful face were echoed in the rest of his physique—lean, agile, and strong, even at his advanced age. The only thing that betrayed even a hint of the long passage of time were streaks of grey that snuck into his braided hair beginning at the temples. And it made Bosworth sick. Still, he had to keep up appearances, especially if he was going to skate by the chancellor’s investigative eye to accomplish his intended purpose here.

“Do you ever get tired of such things?” Bosworth asked.

“I should think not. If one does—failing to marvel at that which one serves—is one truly fit to lead?”

Bosworth found himself silently mocking the chancellor’s archaic speech, wanting to spit it back at him in a snarky tone. But that would not do. “I must concur. With such beauty, I would think it hard to forget one’s station or one’s obligations.”

Dau Aminrain nodded as if in appreciation of Bosworth’s verdict. “Well said.”

The attendees returned and handed Bosworth a steaming towel that smelled of lelandria. He accepted it, washed his face and hands as per custom, and then returned the used towel to the attendant. Then he accepted a slender glass of amber liquid. The chancellor had turned to meet Bosworth with his own tall glass and inclined his head, staring Bosworth directly in the eyes.

“To your long health, good fortune, and honorable fate,” dau Aminrain said.

“And to you,” he replied, touching the glasses together while holding the Elonian’s gaze. Only when Bosworth had taken a sip of the strong drink did the chancellor sip from his own glass. “Your falathriel is as good as I’ve ever had.”

“Thank you, ambassador. You’re very kind.”

Bosworth smiled and pulled the glass away to study the liquid. “Distilled honey from the ebony bee mixed with valerian nectar. Delicate, and yet not without its own sting.”

“You seem to know your Elonian drinks.”

“I like to know what I’m drinking and who I’m drinking with,” Bosworth replied, wiping his lips with his thumb and index finger.

“As do I,” replied the chancellor. “And yet you still have not told me of your purpose here.”

“No, I have not.” Bosworth let the statement hang in the air, quite pleased with the fact that the chancellor moved first. Therefore, he would suspend the man’s uncertainty for as long as he could. Bosworth raised the glass to his mouth and took another drink, savoring the alcoholic beverage by swishing it around before swallowing. “I have decided to stay for a while.”

Dau Aminrain cocked his head ever so slightly. “I fear I must implore you to explain, ambassador.”

It wasn’t unusual for an ambassador to remain in their state appointed residence for extended periods of time, but such things usually correlated with special events, like treaty renewals, formal dinners, or trade deals. For Bosworth to show up unannounced and without an obvious reason for being there, it was something of an oddity.

“Well, I have recently gone through a difficult time, as you’ve no doubt heard. On Oorajee?”

The chancellor gave the faintest hint of a nod.

Bosworth knew that news of his death, followed by his miraculous rescue, had reached Elonia already, just as it had to all systems within the Republic. “It seems my doctors have recommended a period of rest and relaxation to recover. They fear for my heart, you see, and have said that I required a stress-free stay somewhere.”

Bosworth couldn’t be sure, but he thought he heard the chancellor mumble “that’s not all they prescribed” as his eyes looked the man up and down.

“What was that, chancellor?”

“Oh, nothing,” replied dau Aminrain, swallowing the words with another sip of his drink.

“I’m sure. Be that as it may, I have decided there is no more tranquil place in all of the quadrant than my apartment here on Elonia. Wouldn’t you agree?”

The chancellor nodded once then waved to the view of the city. “As you know, your diplomatic residence is ever at your disposal, of course. Still, I would have liked to be made aware of this endeavor beforehand. Only then could we prepare a reception fit for the magnitude of your arrival.”

Bosworth drew the corners of his lips back in a tight smile. He wanted to return the slight with a barb of his own. But doing so, he knew, would only draw the ire of the chancellor, and he needed this meeting to be as benign as possible so as not to raise suspicions about his true reason for being on the planet. “And yet you still managed to make time for me, my old friend. And for that, I am grateful.”

“Might there be an estimated duration for your stay here?”

“My doctors have said three months, though it could be more. You will see me come and go, I imagine. But there is no obligation on your end to entertain me. Though, if I might presume upon you, a dinner once in a while wouldn’t be objectionable.”

“No, it wouldn’t. My office will make the necessary arrangements.”

“Marvelous.” Bosworth tipped his glass back and finished the remainder of his drink in one gulp. “I won’t hold you up any longer then.” Bosworth looked to one of the attendants and shook his empty glass at her, then set it down on a nearby table. “I’ll be by for dinner at your earliest convenience.”

“I’m sure you will.” Dau Aminrain extended his hand, palm up. Bosworth placed his palm on top, then bowed his head. Several massive folds of skin appeared beneath his chin, and Bosworth could practically feel the chancellor laughing at him in disgust. He resisted the urge to lash out at the arrogant Elonian bastard, to dress him down as the ungrateful son of fortune and privilege that he was. But, again, that did not serve the ambassador’s purpose despite how much his flesh wanted to enjoy watching the man recoil under his withering verbal assault. Instead, he held the pose for the customary two breaths, and then looked back into the chancellor’s eyes. “Take care, chancellor.”

* * *

Bosworth had settled himself in his apartment and then headed for the bathroom. His strained muscles relaxed as he lowered his enormous body into the hot bath that he’d drawn. He savored the caress of the water against his skin and tried to let his thoughts drift in time with the water that filled the marble tub.

His survival of the bomb blasts that rocked the mwadim’s palace had been expected. But his capture and subsequent torture by the Selskrit had not. Nor had his failure to retrieve the stardrive. Kane had not been pleased. Moldark even less so.

But the new Paragon lord was something of an enigma to Bosworth. While Moldark seemed opposed to the Republic—the governing body to which Bosworth had committed his entire life—he also seemed in favor of the one thing that Bosworth loved more than the Republic.

Power.

And if there was anyone who was going to give Bosworth more power in the new regime, it was Moldark.

The Republic was, after all, merely a means to an end, at least in Bosworth’s mind. The positions afforded to those within its governmental structures were not representative despite how often the concept was lauded among the masses. Once elected or appointed, senators, ambassadors, and chancellors did what they damned well pleased. Successful campaigning was simply the right of passage—the thing that proved you could effectively seduce constituents into believing you despite your abject abhorrence of their trivial political planks.

But Bosworth had spent enough years within the stuffy halls of Capriana that he knew the Republic’s time was drawing to a close. As every civilization before it, this one would fall too. But it would have survivors. And if Bosworth had ever doubted his ability to survive, his time held hostage on Oorajee had dispelled those anxieties. He could, he dared believe, endure anything. Would endure anything. The Republic may fall, he mused to himself, but I will remain.

Bosworth figured that, to remain, one needed to worry far less about notoriety and far more about association. Those in the limelight spent fortunes on staying popular. They preened on holo displays, kissed ass whenever they could, and took every opportunity to distance themselves from the faults of their parties in order to present themselves as the purest of patrons.

But association was a more subtle craft, one well understood by diplomats. Since there was no election for their position, ambassadors only needed to concern themselves with how well they portrayed the power that they represented. Ambassadors themselves were forgotten as quickly as they were introduced, but their governments were not. This nuance afforded them a unique ability to either surf atop the wave of power when things were going well, or slide beneath the fallout when things were not—undetected by the watchful eyes of the populace that was more concerned with those they’d elected than those who’d been appointed.

Bosworth knew his name would never be remembered. And that was fine with him. So long as he was still standing with a hand on the controls when all the blaster fire had subsided. Moldark, he’d decided, was a means to an end, just as the Republic had been. If the Paragon’s leader was successful, Bosworth would run beside him. Until Moldark’s luck ran out—then he’d move on to whatever power overtook the dark lord. Stand in the shadows but speak to the light. The saying had become his mantra. For no one can discard what they cannot see, but neither can they resist what they always hear.

Bosworth felt himself slide deeper into the bath until nothing but the outline of his face protruded above the surface. The waters hid his naked form, much like the shadows. In the darkness he would be safe. They’d never suspect his meddling. They’d just blame it on everyone else.

* * *

Bosworth almost decided to drive the skiff himself. He missed the freedom and the endless horizons. But arriving at his destination without a driver would have raised suspicions. Of course, the driver would have to be dealt with, and Bosworth hated the hassle of killing people. But it was part of the job. Plus, unlike the false timeline he’d given the chancellor, he would not be on the planet long enough for anyone to discover the body.

The backseat of the luxury skiff was deep and spacious, allowing him ample room to spread out. He gazed out the window as the cityscape slowly gave way to rolling hills of green. The undulating countryside was dotted with grazing animals and simple farms that harkened to a bygone era. He tried to look over the steep mountains high above, but his eyes only caught glimpses of the stars in the fading evening sky before his neck strained from the effort.

The skiff’s gentle hum ushered Bosworth toward sleep more than once, but he fought it off with sudden jerks back to reality. He had to stay focused. “How much longer?” he yelled to the driver.

“Six more minutes, ambassador.”

“Very well.”

Bosworth sat up as much as he could, smoothing his coat and slacks with pudgy fingers. He settled his mind and reviewed his presentation, willing himself to believe every word of it. The key to lying was not mastering how to lie, it was believing the lie until it was true. Of course, one had to be intentional about parsing what things were truths because of belief and what things were believed because they were true. Failing to do so could get you in trouble with the wrong people. So developing a robust memory had been a pastime of the ambassador’s for as long as he could remember. Of course, his memory had been tested as of late. His torture on Oorajee had seen to that, as had his vile treatment at the hands of that damned Marine and his lady doctor.

When the skiff finally slowed to a stop and the driver opened Bosworth’s door, the stars were in full array, displayed in the small patch of black sky that stretched between mountain ridges. The country air was fresh and cool, pricking the ambassador’s skin and dispelling any lingering desire to nap.

“Shall I ring the residence for you, sir?”

Bosworth waved off the driver. “That won’t be necessary.”

“As you wish. I will remain here in wait.”

Bosworth humphed and then started up the stone path. The house before him was modern and pristine, boasting sleek lines and glass walls. Waterfalls cascaded from cantilevered escarpments on the second and third levels and gathered in small pools that fed various streams around the night-lit grounds. And wherever the water flowed, fragrant bushes let off their evening aromas held close to the ground by looming trees. It was, Bosworth decided, the small country palace of a well-to-do family.

He approached the security door and wondered if the thing was even locked. So far away from nothing, there seemed to be little cause for concern. Then he smiled to himself, noting the irony of his own presence here this night. He touched the security pad.

“Please state your name,” said a recorded male voice in a formal air.

“Galactic Republic Ambassador Gerald Bosworth,” he replied.

“Hello, Galactic Bosworth,” the low-level AI replied, repeating the annoying error that he commonly encountered. “Please wait to be seen.”

Within a few moments, the door slid open and revealed a fair looking Elonian man. He stood a head shorter than the ambassador and wore informal evening wear.

A voice further back said, “Who is it, dear?”

“Just a moment, Giyel,” the man said over his shoulder, then brought his eye up to meet Bosworth’s. “I’m afraid I don’t know you, Galactic Bosworth.”

The ambassador winced. “It’s Gerald Bosworth, Ambassador of the Galactic Republic.”

The man’s eyes lit up. “My apologies, ambassador. Sometimes the AI’s have trouble with titles.”

“As I’m aware.”

The man turned and summoned his wife. She appeared from the kitchen, wringing her hands in a towel.

“We have an ambassador at our door,” the husband said.

“An ambassador? At this hour? Here?”

“Indeed, ma’am,” Bosworth replied.

The woman took her husband’s arm and smiled warmly. “Pleased to meet you, sir…”

“Bosworth. Gerald Bosworth. And you are Balin and Giyel dau Lothlinium?”

“We are,” Balin replied. “Won’t you come in, ambassador?”

* * *

Continue reading for BLACK LABYRINTH.

BLACK LABYRINTH

BOOK 5 IN THE RUINS OF THE GALAXY SERIES

PROLOGUE

“Order all ships to hold their fire,” David Seaman said from his captain’s chair aboard the Super Dreadnaught Solera Fortuna.

“Yes, Commodore,” replied his communications officer.

“And tell the Ardent Eclipse to lower their aft shields to thirty percent.”

“Right away.”

The comms officer went to work while Seaman’s Flag Captain, Lani DiAntora, leaned into his ear. “Commodore, what do you intend to do here?”

In the short time that Seaman had known the woman, he’d found her to be inquisitive, analytical, and unafraid of senior officers—three things that tended to keep junior officers from being promoted. But she was also Sekmit, which meant these attributes were characteristic of their species, making them both trusted advisers and, at times, incredibly frustrating companions.

“Voknareth ilphin nockfarock,” Seaman replied in his best Jujari accent.

DiAntora tilted her head and twitched her feline-like nose. “Never surrender?”

“Never back down,” he corrected. “Especially when the kill is sure, so the saying goes.”

DiAntora stood upright and reviewed Ardent Eclipse’s position as it fled from a Jujari Pride-class Battleship named Behold the Glory of Mwadim Pethroga’s Victorious Might. The Ardent had already suffered severe damage, putting most of the Battlecruiser’s 2,000-plus sailors at risk. Ordering the vessel to lower its shields further was a death sentence. But the Ardent was also fleeing toward the safety of First Fleet.

“You intend to lure them in,” DiAntora said. Her cat-shaped ears flicked once, poking out of her human-like head of blonde hair.

“I do. Once they’re in range of our quad cannons, and too close to deploy countermeasures against our torpedoes, I want you to fire on it from our port side.”

“Aye-aye, Commodore.” Then, barely above the noise in the bridge, she said, “A well-conceived tactic—using the Jujari’s ambitions against them.” Seaman smiled at her appraisal. While he didn’t need it, and she would be out of line to give it without being asked, he liked knowing they were on the same page.

Seaman watched as the Ardent’s shield status dropped to thirty percent. If the ship’s commander survived this engagement, Seaman would be sure to submit his name for an award—if the Paragon did such things. With so much rapid change, it was hard to know what policies and traditions remained in effect and what had been abandoned.

As soon as the Victorious Might detected the shield drop, it began pummeling the Ardent with heavy artillery fire. Within seconds, the shields had been reduced to nothing, and blaster rounds chewed into the ship’s aft. The first salvo alone took out both starboard engines. The massive exhaust cones blew apart, showering the Ardent’s hull with chunks of debris.

Unspent reactor energy cascaded over the tail in purple and white flames, bursting with charges of electrical power. Seaman knew that if the ship’s crew didn’t get the reactor core’s output under control, the Ardent wouldn’t succumb to a Jujari attack—it would detonate from a containment breach.

Fortunately, the hemorrhage tapered off, but not before more blaster fire took out the port-side engines.

“Commodore, the Ardent is reporting complete aft engine failure,” the comms officer said. “They’re requesting permission to raise shields.”

“Negative.” Seaman stood. “Tell them to stand down and continue drifting.”

“Yes, Commodore.”

“Cutting it close, aren’t you?” DiAntora asked, keeping her voice just soft enough that the rest of the bridge crew wouldn’t hear. Seaman hated that she knew the right volume level to speak her mind without making it look like she was questioning his authority. She’d been at her job far longer than he’d been at his, and she seemed to be letting it go to her head.

“Life support is still nominal,” Seaman said with his hands behind his back. He was confident in his plan, and he didn’t need a Sekmit or anyone else questioning him at such a critical juncture—he didn’t care how long she’d been a Captain. “More importantly, however, the Victorious Might is still not committed. It will be, though.”

DiAntora purred—but whether in resignation or disagreement, Seaman could not tell. Only time with her at his side would give him the ability to know what she was thinking without speaking. And if they survived this, he’d enjoy getting to know her. Seaman always had a thing for Sekmit despite the stigmas that surrounded inter-species relationships. But if these recent days proved anything, it was that progressive thought was lauded, and the old ways were dying.

Seaman’s recent promotion from Captain and Director of Strategic Fighter Command to Commodore of First Fleet had come as a surprise, especially given that it was a field promotion. Then again, the Paragon was anything but predictable. Hell, it had only existed for the better part of a few weeks. But apparently both First and Second Fleet’s admirals had resigned their posts, and Fleet Admiral Brighton had insisted that the vacancies be filled by “those competent officers loyal to Lord Moldark.”

The Republic Navy would never have sanctioned such a unilateral move—not without approval from Capriana—which made saying yes to Brighton even easier, as this was indeed a once in a lifetime opportunity. With no other flag officers over First Fleet, his new rank as Commodore gave him command of not only his own Super Dreadnaught, but all ten carriers and dozens of support vessels.

The Victorious Might continued to track after the wounded Ardent, moving closer and closer into the target window. With the shields down, the Jujari ship fired torpedoes into the Ardent’s aft, blowing away vast sections of the Battlecruiser’s stern. But most of these were engineering sections, and Seaman had already ordered the commander to move his sailors amidships.

“Just a little bit more,” Seaman said to himself.

“Commodore, Captain Milhorn is hailing again, asking for permission to—”

“Belay that, Ensign. Tell them to remain as they are.”

“Aye-aye, sir.”

“You do realize that if this fails, you’ll be charged with gross negligence and dereliction of duty, responsible for willfully placing over 2,000 sailors in harm’s way.”

“And when it works, XO?” Seaman turned to look at her, staring into her deep green eyes. “What then?”

The Sekmit swallowed, narrowing her eyes at the main holo display. “We will have achieved a significant blow against the remaining Jujari forces over Oorajee. And we will be another step closer to their surrender.”

Seaman smiled, pulled up a ship’s schematic in a new holo window, and spoke in a calm, even tone. “As you will recall, Ardent is a Growler-class Battlecruiser. They were overbuilt in the stern in order to compensate for the drive core advances made around the turn of the century. As long as the captain keeps his sailors ahead of the reactor core bulkheads, which he has, that ship can lose up to thirty-five percent of its stern mass and still keep the crew alive, still return fire, still raise shields, and still maintain basic thrust-vector steerage.” He turned to face her. “Do you still think I’m being reckless?” DiAntora opened her mouth, but Seaman raised a finger. “That was rhetorical, Captain.”

“Understood. You wouldn’t have liked my answer anyway.”

Suddenly, Seaman noticed that the Victorious Might’s bow crossed the target window’s plane—the enemy was within range, and no amount of maneuvering could get them out in time.

“Tell the Ardent to raise shields.” He looked at DiAntora. “Open fire!”

DiAntora relayed the commands to weapons and engineering, and within seconds, Solera Fortuna’s port side was ablaze in blaster fire and torpedo flames. The weapons fire crossed above Oorajee’s stratosphere and assailed the enemy Battleship. Shields held against the first few seconds of blaster fire, dispersing the energy over huge spherical shells. But Seaman wasn’t commanding a squadron of Talons—this was a Super Dreadnaught, a ship feared in every section of the quadrant.

Within seconds, the Battlecruiser’s shields were knocked away, allowing the quad cannons and auto turrets to rake the hull. As small plumes of fire erupted along the ship’s port side, torpedoes found their targets, blowing up defense towers and sensor arrays. The second wave of torpedoes took out critical life support junctions, communications nodes, and power relay stations. The Victorious Might purged fire into hard vacuum. While the flames were snuffed out as soon as any combustible fuel was spent, the long trails of debris were flung into forever in all directions.

“It’s working,” DiAntora said as if she still couldn’t believe it.

“No, Captain. It worked,” Seaman said, feeling quite pleased with himself. The Victorious Might attempted to veer away from the assault, but another Paragon Dreadnaught was prepared to head it off. Seaman turned to DiAntora, sensing he may have gloated in a way that might harm any future they had together. “Though, I feel it worth noting that I take your reservations as wise council and not…” He considered the right word. “Skepticism.”

She flicked her tail one time and nodded at him. “As it was intended.”

Seaman nodded and then looked to the holo display. But, for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out what DiAntora meant by “it.” Wise counsel? Or skepticism?

“Sir,” the sensors officer said. “I’m detecting a vector change among the Sypeurlion ships.”

“How many?” Seaman asked.

“Fleetwide. They appear to be slowing, Admiral.”

Seaman glanced at DiAntora. The change in momentum was a good sign, and—based on the subtle smile she gave him—she knew it too. In war, alliances could flip in a heartbeat, all at the drop of a credit chip. If you were on the winner’s side, the odds were in your favor, and taking risks usually meant big payouts. But when fortune favored the enemy—or, Fortuna, Seaman thought with a wry twinge in the corner of his lips—all bets were off, even among the strongest of friends. He’d seen allegiances crumble before, and he was witnessing it once again, or so he thought. The Jujari’s loss of the Victorious Might was more than just a blow to their own forces—it was a blow to the faith the Sypeurlion had in them. Probably the Dim-Telok too.

“Let’s press our new advantage,” Seaman said to his captain. “The Jujari’s surrender is imminent. Let’s make sure no Sypeurlion ever thinks about aiding them again.”

“Right away,” DiAntora replied and walked toward the navigation and weapons officers.

Seaman sucked in a deep breath through his nose and pursed his lips. He’d always dreamed of helming a flagship, and now that he’d been given a chance, he felt as though his childhood dreams had been realized. With his recent streak of minor victories, and now this significant win, Seaman felt as though he belonged here at the helm. And it felt good. While Lord Moldark hadn’t conveyed all of the ways he intended to restore order to the galaxy, Seaman felt confident that he would play a critical role in the redemptive process. Forcing the Jujari to surrender and hopefully join the Republic was only the beginning.

“Commodore,” said the comms officer. “Incoming message from Admiral Brighton.”

“On screen,” Seaman said.

The Fleet Admiral’s bust appeared, outfitted in the Paragon’s new naval suit adorned with three white stripes across the left breast. “Commodore Seaman, congratulations on taking out Pethroga’s Victorious Might. Well done.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“I am relaying new objectives to you now.”

Seaman hesitated. “I don’t think that will be necessary, Brighton. We have detected what we believe is a Sypeurlion retreat and think it wise to press our—”

“Your new objectives should be on display now.”

The smaller missions objectives window floated to the main screens right side, sitting a meter forward. Running down the column was a list of all the remaining Jujari ships.

“I—I’m not sure I understand,” Seaman said.

Brighton’s left eye twitched ever so slightly—enough that Seaman noticed. Either the man was not used to a Commodore talking back and saw this as insubordination, or—Seaman’s thoughts wandered—or Brighton was insecure about the orders himself. Seaman almost felt ashamed for this second conclusion, but he couldn’t avoid his conscience.

“I am ordering you to destroy all the remaining Jujari vessels, Commodore. What don’t you understand about that?”

Seaman swallowed. Destroy all the remaining vessels? “Admiral Brighton, sir, the enemy fleet is withering away as we speak. Meanwhile, we have a chance to engage the allied ships and make a lasting statement.”

“The remaining Jujari ships, Commodore,” Brighton said with a crisp tone.

Seaman hesitated. He didn’t want to jeopardize his newfound command—but this? “You’re—you’re asking me to annihilate a crippled foe on the verge of surrender?”

“There will be no surrender.”

“But you can’t be sure about that. They have little left that threatens—”

“I don’t think you understand what Lord Moldark wishes, Commodore.” Brighton leaned in, and, once again, Seaman felt as if the other man was trying to convince himself of his own words. “Even if the Jujari offer a surrender, it will not be acknowledged.”

“Not be acknowledged?”

Brighton hesitated, seeming to study Seaman’s face. “Is there a problem?”

“With all due respect, sir, this violates the Valdaiga Accords and the Naval Rules of Engagement.”

“And yet you are commanding a Paragon flagship, are you not?”

“I am.”

“And we are charged with the sacred duty of bringing order to chaos, of righting terrible wrongs. And this power has been granted to us by the highest echelons of the Republic, which transcend all previous standards.” Brighton seemed to be gaining confidence as he spoke, now lowering his voice into a more contrite tone. “Commodore Seaman, you have before you the tremendous opportunity to defeat our greatest enemy once and for all. I think it is not a stretch to say that future generations will look back on your actions today and call you a hero.”

Seaman didn’t know what to say to Brighton. All his life, Seaman had been trained to kill on a large scale, setting up battlefields and giving orders. He’d become a master of strategic warfare, adept at commanding forces large and small, as today’s victories illustrated. But with it came a great responsibility, one that recognized the sizable power that lay beneath each touch of a data pad, every press of a button. It was the power to wipe out life, to end uprisings, to destroy ships, and cities, and worlds. With the responsibility came rules—rules that helped keep the power from getting out of control.

But the rules had been removed, and the power was writhing, searching to swallow order, like a Fathroni sand snake slithering just under the desert’s surface. At first, the disturbance in the dune seemed like nothing more than the work of a gentle breeze, but another few seconds and the entire dune became unstable, frothed up into a frenzied sand trap that could swallow a light freighter in seconds. Seaman felt his heartbeat quicken as the sand snake’s body swirled under the ground beneath his feet.

Suddenly, blaster fire struck Solera Fortuna’s front shields. The ship shuddered, snapping Seaman from his thoughts.

“Sir,” DiAntora yelled. “We’re taking heavy fire from a Sypeurlion vessel.”

“Bring us around to bearing 125 mark 240,” Seaman ordered. “Auxiliary power to forward shields, return fire.”

“Commodore,” Brighton said, his voice stern. “What is going on?”

“We are taking fire from a Sypeurlion ship,” Seaman replied, noting the strange hopefulness in his voice. Seaman was about to sign off when the Brighton’s channel cut out. He looked back toward the communications console and saw DiAntora standing over the ensign with her paw pressed firmly on the primary data pane.

“Oops,” she said with a shrug of a shoulder.

1

Magnus adjusted his body in his captain’s chair, assuaging the soreness in his muscles and joints. Nos Kil had given him quite the beating, and Magnus was still mending from both Azelon and TO-96’s surgeries and his new flesh. Still, he had a job to do. And since sleeping was difficult—being plagued by nightmares about Valerie’s death and fears regarding Piper’s whereabouts—Magnus knew there was no better place to be than in the Spire’s bridge addressing his command team.

Awen and Willowood stood arm-in-arm, their puffy eyes evidence that they were still mourning Valerie’s loss and Piper’s disappearance. Abimbola stood beside them, flanked by Berouth and Colonel Caldwell, followed by Titus, Zoll, and Bliss. The Jujari representatives included Rohoar, Saladin, and Czyz, each still wearing their Novian armor chest plates. Ezo and Sootriman leaned on one another while Saasarr looked over their shoulders.

The newest face, of course, was Ricio’s. The man had helped save their lives as they escaped Worru, and he deserved to be here. The other two men who deserved to be here were Flow and Cheeks, but their lingering aversion to Jujari made it impossible for Magnus to allow them in this meeting. He’d fill them in later, but it still pained him not have them by his side.

Magnus opened by greeting everyone and recognizing their unit’s losses—Andocs, Haney, and Valerie. The last one made him catch his breath. He knew he wasn’t the only one either. So he encouraged everyone to take the time they needed to grieve, especially while time was on their side, due to the time dilation in between metaspace and protospace.

Then Magnus turned to the tasks at hand, reminding everyone that they were at war. “The galaxy’s going to splick, and we’re the ones who’ve volunteered to stop it. So, until this thing is over, we all face it the same way—together and with courage.”

Despite forlorn looks on several faces, Magnus knew his team would pull together. They had to. Hell, you have to, Magnus, he reminded himself.

Magnus cleared his throat then looked around the room. “I need a SITREP on our current position in metaspace, as well as points of concern as we look to move forward with…”

With what?

Magnus hadn’t even thought about what was next. Valerie’s death and Piper’s disappearance had so consumed the few waking minutes of his consciousness that he realized he hadn’t planned much past the assault on Worru.

“With stopping Moldark and So-Elku,” Magnus said, finishing the sentence. Those were general terms, of course, but at least they pointed the way forward.

“OTF,” Colonel Caldwell said in reply. Those who knew the Marine expression repeated it back.

“And as we move forward with finding Piper,” Awen suddenly interjected. Hearing those words made Magnus’s heart skip a beat. He thanked Awen silently, grateful that someone else had inserted the mission point in the conversation. “I’m sorry, I just—”

“It’s all good.” Magnus raised a hand to calm her. “Do you have any idea where she is?”

Awen turned to Willowood. The older woman’s shoulders raised and lowered. “I’m afraid not, Magnus. She has concealed herself in ways that even I don’t know how to penetrate. Piper will only be seen when she wants to be seen.”

Magnus ran his tongue along the front of his teeth. His gums were sore from his fight with Nos Kil—the traitor. Magnus recalled the recording of Nos Kil’s conversation with Piper, and the memory of it made Magnus sick to his stomach. He swallowed, willing the bile to stay down, then asked, “Is her location something you can keep working on?”

“Of course,” Awen said. “Granted, it’s harder to search for her from here in metaspace. The closer we are to Worru, the easier we can find her.”

“If she’s still on the planet,” Magnus said.

Awen looked from Magnus to Willowood and back. “What do you mean, still on the planet? You think So-Elku took her somewhere?”

Magnus shook his head. “I reviewed the footage from her conversation with Nos Kil.” Suddenly, Magnus felt the room shift. He guessed that either everyone had already seen the footage or that no one had. “In it, she confessed to having discovered a new ability.”

“Moving things within the Unity,” Awen said, her eyes focused somewhere else.

“Yes. You knew?”

“I suspected.”

Magnus thought back to past conversations with Awen, where she alluded to Piper’s powers. Awen hadn’t been specific, of course, but there’d been something there, something just beneath the surface. Magnus wanted to be mad with her for not telling him sooner, or for her not figuring it out. But he knew the feelings were just his frustrations coming out. The situation was not Awen’s fault. If anything, it was his.

“And do you think that is what she has done?” Abimbola asked. “Has she moved somewhere else?”

“It might explain why we can’t detect her,” Willowood replied. “Though, as Awen said, we are very far away from her. Again, until she wants to be found, I suspect we will search in vain. Still, I will remain vigilant.”

That was not the kind of intel Magnus liked. He wanted something firm, something that would help narrow options and focus on a concise course of action. But with Piper being anywhere in the galaxy—even in metaspace for all they knew—securing Piper was quickly becoming less of an actionable objective than he wanted. Instead, she would be a side goal, one they may or may not ever actualize. And that pissed him off.

“What else do we have?” Magnus asked.

“Piper managed to imprison So-Elku,” Awen said. “But there’s no way to know how long that will last. He’s grown more powerful with the knowledge he gleaned from the codex.”

“And the codex itself?” Magnus said. “Did it survive the…?”

The what? he asked himself. He meant to say something about Piper’s explosion of power but found himself at a loss for words.

“Yes, it survived,” Awen said, sparing Magnus. “And I have possession of the volume. Willowood and I hope to leverage it, with Azelon’s help, to train the Luma in the Novian ways.”

“Good,” Magnus said, reflecting positively on the win. Maybe it will help them find Piper sooner too, he thought. “Any idea what So-Elku’s up to? What he’ll do next?”

Ezo raised a hand. “Can we talk about those corpses coming to life in the catacombs? Because that freaked Ezo right out. Anyone else?”

Several people nodded, including Magnus. He didn’t mind admitting that he’d been rattled, having never seen anything like it. But if So-Elku had power over the dead, who knew what he’d use it for in the future.

“I can speak to that, Ezo.” Willowood took a step forward. “It seems that So-Elku has already leveraged much of what he’s learned from the codex. His study of it began shortly upon returning from an expedition that I now know was to Ithnor Ithelia in metaspace.” Willowood acknowledged Awen in a way that suggested the two had debriefed while Magnus had been recovering.

“So-Elku explained that he’d garnered a new token of power,” Willowood said. “One that would rival anything in the galaxy. He demanded allegiance from those who wished to join him in his ultimate pursuit of peace. But when many asked for clarification, So-Elku became enraged and dismissed the meeting.

“Over the next few days, many of the elders had a chance to formulate objections to So-Elku’s violent pursuit of peace. Conversely, others took the time to redouble their support of So-Elku, perhaps sensing the power he’d acquired. When the council reconvened, the clash between the two factions turned hostile. So-Elku, however, anticipated the confrontation and seized those who opposed him, locking them in the catacombs. I learned of this by those who joined me in the tombs. I had already been placed there following my attempts to help Awen escape.

“As for the living dead that you encountered, I can only guess that So-Elku’s new powers in the Unity—those dealing with the Foundation and the Nexus, of which I am still learning about from Awen—enabled him to reanimate the bodies of the mystics for nefarious purposes. Beyond that, I cannot tell you exactly how he summoned the corpses.”

Awen stepped forward to stand equal with Willowood. “As far as what he’s planning next, we suspect So-Elku will continue with his campaign to rally the Luma to his side and attempt peace by force.”

“And yet he’s the bad guy, and we’re not,” Titus said. The phrase seemed intended for himself, but all eyes turned toward him. “Peace by force. Isn’t that what we’re doing too? Don’t get me wrong, this guy’s a lunatic, and he needs to be stopped. But if we’re talking about the way to restore peace to the galaxy, shouldn’t we at least admit that we’re trying to bring peace by force too?”

“Ezo thinks that’s a load of splick,” the former smuggler said.

But it was Caldwell who raised his hand and insisted that Titus be allowed to continue.

“I’m just saying I think we need to define what makes us different before we go sending more rounds downrange,” Titus said. “’Cause it might just lead to more bloodshed if we don’t.”

“He’s got a point,” Caldwell added. “Not to be too sanctimonious here, but we oughta be clear about what makes our motives different from everyone else’s. If not, we’ll get neck deep in splick faster than a senator caught sleeping with his sister.”

“This is the Jujari way,” Rohoar said suddenly.

“Sleeping with your sisters?” Ezo asked. “Explains a lot.”

“No.” Rohoar sneered. “This way of peace by force, this is how we have maintained control over our lands. This the Jujari way.” The giant hyena-like warrior lowered his head. “But surely it is not the Novian way of our ancestors, nor that of the Gladio Umbra.”

“I can affirm this assertion,” Azelon interjected. “Though it is worth noting that creating new peace is not always the same as maintaining existing peace.”

“I’m not following,” Dutch said.

“Peace sought any other way but through peaceful means poisons the root,” Rohoar replied. “But sometimes force is required to spare lives until sustainable peace is achieved, especially in the most hostile of contexts. We Jujari have suffered much from violence with no goal of sustainable peace. Worse still, the poison of ill-won peace still stains our paws.”

Magnus scratched his chin, recognizing just how much the Repub had in common with the Jujari on this point. Pursuing peace through necessary conflict was the only way Magnus knew. The Republic’s military existed to exercise force against those deemed a threat to galactic peace. And while he despised So-Elku, Magnus at least felt that he understood some of what the leader was after—if he was indeed honest about his desires for peace and not the pursuit of some personal oligarchy. If order could not be sought through non-violent means, then it must be secured through conflict. Perhaps the Luma leader had more in common with the Republic than he cared to admit. And that gave Magnus pause for concern.

Magnus had no illusions that the Repub had lost its way after three hundred years. Not entirely, of course. The will of the people would keep such things from happening. At least he hoped it would. But as conflicts became more complex, and backroom deals formed new alliances, which then spurred new threats, Magnus knew corners had been cut. Promises had been broken. And the Repub’s military might had been used in ways that its originators never intended.

Such things were kept from the public, of course. The senate had a way of assuaging the anxieties of the Corps and the populace by downplaying questionable ethics. But now Magnus wondered what kind of navy could allow someone like Admiral Kane to become Moldark without anyone trying to stop him. He wondered about a senate that could commute the life sentence of a monster like Nos Kil so they could use him on their enemies and an unsuspecting child like Piper. And he wondered about a Marine Corps that could turn its back on a decorated veteran and accuse him of treason.

Something had come undone. Something deep within the machine. And it had to be stopped.

Sadly, Magnus knew that peace would not bring peace. His past conversations with Awen bubbled to mind, the ones about finding alternative ways for conflict resolution. But there would be no stopping these foes without aggression, without force. Which was ironic, because in his attempt to thwart these particular enemies, he feared becoming just like them.

“It seems we all want to use peace to justify force,” Magnus said after a moment. “I suppose the only way we keep ourselves from sliding into the abyss is reminding ourselves why we do this. And by deciding what we want the end to look like.”

Sootriman spoke next. “You mean, who’s going to be in charge when all this is done?”

Magnus nodded. “Essentially. Yes.”

“Do you honestly think we can know that this far out?” Ezo asked.

Magnus looked around the room. Everyone seemed to wear uncertain faces, which is how he felt too. “In a word? No. For all I know, there won’t be anything left to lead by the time this is over.”

“Magnus,” Awen chided.

“I’m just saying. I think it’s too soon to tell.”

“I agree,” Caldwell replied. “But if we can at least say that the various factions represented in this room have within themselves something worth salvaging, then we have something to fight for. The Repub, for example, isn’t all bad. I know plenty of good men and women who have given everything for the preservation of peace, bucketheads and politicians alike. Likewise, I spent the last year on Worru. I’ve met my share of Luma who would keep a Marine’s blaster from firing faster than a mother walking in on her teenage son doing—”

“We got the picture, colonel,” Magnus said, trying to suppress some laughter.

“And the Jujari are not truly out for blood,” Awen said.

“At least not all of us,” Rohoar amended, giving the Elonian what seemed to be the Jujari version of a wink. “But I thank you for the honorable consideration.”

“So what you’re saying is that we’re fighting to return things to some semblance of what they once were,” Sootriman said.

Magnus nodded. “That seems like the best-case scenario. If not, then we’re talking chaos, aren’t we? Hundreds of years of treaties blown to ribbons. Whole systems without governance. If we don’t try to salvage some of the existing systems—if we can’t at least see the good in the roots, then what are we fighting for?” For some reason, Magnus found himself looking at Awen when he said this. He knew it wasn’t everything she’d want him to say. But it was a start. “Plus, none of us are smart enough to create a new governing body.”

“Speak for yourself,” Ezo said.

“But sir,” TO-96 said, raising a hand. “You failed to pay your taxes and file your divorce notice. Your competency in the civic realm would be questionable at best.”

“Ouch,” Dutch exclaimed. “Slammed by your own bot.”

“How does that feel?” Bliss asked.

Ezo blushed but was quick to reply, “Better than getting shot in the ass.”

Magnus smiled as he recalled the incident where Bliss got hit in the rear during their escape from the Grand Arielina. He cleared his throat and decided to change directions. “Do we believe there is any further link between So-Elku and Moldark?” Magnus asked.

It was Ricio’s turn to step forward. “I don’t know this So-Elku character, but as I’ve explained to Magnus, Moldark’s intentions seem to be somewhat different.”

“In what way?” Sootriman asked.

“For one, he doesn’t mention peace. All his talk is about elimination. About destruction.”

“Against the Jujari?” Sootriman said.

“That’s just it. Based on the war between the Repub and the Jujari, you’d think so.”

Sootriman folded her arms. “But you suspect something different.”

Ricio nodded. “I do. And for reasons I can’t fully explain. What little I’ve seen of the man, something seems to possess him, to drive him like a mad man toward some inexorable end.”

“Layman’s terms please, jockey,” Dutch said.

“Inevitable. Unstoppable.” Ricio looked around the room. “I think he wants to bring it all down.”

Ricio’s words made the room sag as if something heavy had just been draped over everyone’s shoulders. If having a wayward mystic bent on using otherworldly forces to bring supposed peace to the galaxy wasn’t enough, it seemed the cosmos also had a maniacal tyrant set on destroying whatever he could and using the Republic fleets to do so.

“We’re going to need help,” Caldwell said, breaking the long silence.

“Any suggestions, colonel?” Magnus asked.

“My best idea is to try rallying any Marines loyal to the Corps’s original mandate.”

“Ensure peace in the galaxy,” Magnus finished.

“OTF,” Bliss said.

Caldwell grunted in assent.

“And how do we go about doing that exactly?” Ricio asked.

The colonel gnawed the unlit cigar, moving it from one corner of his mouth to the other. “Well, I’m still working on that. But my first action would be to address those under my direct command.”

“You mean the Marines who got wiped out in Plumeria?” Abimbola asked.

“Easy, Bimby,” Magnus said with a raised hand. The team didn’t need any infighting.

“Not all of them got wiped,” Dutch added. “Many in the remaining two companies survived whatever Piper did.”

“And you think they’d be worth talking to?” Sootriman asked. “The last bunch didn’t seem too keen to hear you out.”

The colonel nodded. “That last scenario certainly was a splick show, I agree. But under the right circumstances, I think they’d at least consider what I have to say. It’s not gonna be easy, and I’ll invite plenty of danger in the process. But at my age? You get more comfortable with certain things, and dying is one of them.” Caldwell looked around the room, withdrew a lighter, and lit the end of his cigar. The flame disappeared inside the tobacco several times as thick white smoke got sucked up toward the ceiling. When the cigar was sufficiently stoked, Caldwell pulled it from his mouth and blew out. “The way I see it, I’d rather die for this than anything else on the table. Wouldn’t you?”

Magnus was grateful for the colonel’s perspective and the scent of the cigar’s tobacco. It reminded him of long nights around a campfire after firefights. He’d spent many an evening listening to his COs discuss strategies and share war stories. The old guard knew how to lead under pressure—to take fire and keep everything from going sideways. Which meant Caldwell knew how to throw his weight around to steer the ship in the captain’s direction. In this case, Magnus was the captain, and his heart swelled as everyone around the circle began to nod their heads in consent.

“So you’re implying that we head back to Worru so you can attempt to persuade some of your Marines?” Awen asked.

“I’m not implying you head anywhere, ma’am. But I am saying I should go back.”

“If some of us did go, it would give Awen and me more time to search for Piper locally,” Willowood said. “Assuming she’s planetside.”

“Azie,” Magnus said. “Can you give me the statistical likelihood that someone detects our ship and the quantum tunnel?”

“It is infinitesimal, sir,” Azelon replied. “Given the Republic’s current technologies, the void horizon is undetectable. Therefore, it would take an enemy vessel accidentally passing through it and physically ramming into us to alert enemy sensors of the Spire’s presence.”

While Magnus was somewhat comforted by Azelon’s words, he worried that she was only using TO-96’s database on current Repub tech. She had no files on Paragon tech—at least that Magnus knew of. Something told him that Moldark had more tricks up his sleeve than any of them bargained for.

“But So-Elku found the Spire,” Titus said and crossed his arms. “At least enough to free Nos Kil and Ricio here. Who’s to say he can’t do that again?”

“I hadn’t anticipated that he would do that,” Awen said. “I should have guessed he might try to locate our ship and harm us. So that’s my fault. But he won’t be that lucky again. We’ve constructed a shield in the Unity.” Awen looked at Magnus. “While you were recovering.”

“A shield?” Ezo asked. “As in something to keep us out of view?”

“Precisely.” Awen brushed a few strands of hair behind her pointed ear. “Like with Azelon’s cloaking abilities for a physical ship, we’ll be hidden from sight within the Unity, both here and in protospace. That’s the hope anyway. We can’t anticipate his every move, especially now that he has access to the other realms of the Unity. But we can at least implement safeguards.”

“The shield we’ve fashioned will also let us know when he’s trying to find us,” Willowood added. “It’s one more preventative measure.”

“I like preventative measures,” Magnus said. “Anyone have anything else pertinent before we get underway?”

Sootriman raised her hand. “If we need reinforcements, I’d like to return to Ki Nar Four with Ezo, Saasarr, and TO-96, if you can spare them, and see what we can drum up. It might not be much, but it will at least be something. Maybe get word to some others in the outlying systems too.”

Magnus nodded in agreement. “I’m all for it if you trust them. The way I see it—”

“Ah, splick,” Ricio blurted out.

Magnus glanced at the pilot. “Everything alright there, commander?”

“No.” Ricio shook his head. “No, it’s not. I just remembered something.”

“You leave a roast in the oven too long, jockey?” Abimbola asked.

But Ricio wasn’t laughing. The man seemed genuinely rattled about something. “I can’t believe I didn’t remember this. I’m… sorry.”

“Remember what, Ricio?”

“Nos Kil. He tried sending a transmission. Just before we left the brig.”

“He what?” Awen asked with as much surprise as Magnus felt.

“Azië,” Magnus said, turning to the bot. “Can you confirm this?”

Azelon’s head cocked sideways as her subroutines did whatever computing they needed to do. Finally, she said, “I’m sorry, Magnus, but I have no record of any transmission being sent during the prisoners’ escape.”

“Are you lying to us, small flying human?” Rohoar asked as he took a step toward Ricio.

“No. I promise.” Ricio looked to Magnus. “Maybe it got wiped from her data drive. Or maybe he hacked the logs. I don’t know. But I do know he tried sending something. He even made me step out of the room for it.”

“And you did not try to listen in?” Rohoar’s hackles stood up, betraying his irritation. “Jujari have ears to let us hear very far away.”

“Well, if you haven’t noticed, my fine furry friend, humans don’t have giant flycatchers like you. And second, I didn’t exactly know I was going to betray the Repub yet, so I didn’t think there was a reason. Plus, you saw that guy, right?”

“So you have no idea what Nos Kil said?” Magnus asked, trying to keep things on task.

“Again, no. But he did mention it was a report of sorts.”

“Splick.” Magnus ran a hand over his face. He was tired, and still in a lot of pain despite all the nanobots he guessed were creeping through his body. “Azie, I need a better explanation of what you think happened. If he gave up information about the ship or its crew…”

“Again, sir, I am sorry to report that I have no additional information to provide.”

“But I thought you said your systems were fully restored? Don’t you have any footage from the control room? No transmission logs?”

“I do not have cameras in the control room, sir. That is where the brig’s security cameras are ported to. And, as I said, no data logs indicate any outgoing traffic. However, my systems may not be as fully restored as I previously thought. That, or Commander Ricio’s suspicions of Nos Kil hacking the logs could be accurate.”

“He could do that?” Ezo asked. “Ezo does not believe that oversized Bludervian dimdish had the wherewithal to outsmart Novian technology.”

“We forget one more element,” Willowood said.

“So-Elku,” Awen replied.

Willowood nodded. “Whatever he did to the Spire could have altered Azelon’s systems enough to mask activity in the brig, even unintentionally.”

“Dammit,” Magnus said, feeling his head start to spin a little. He needed sleep. But he also knew he had a job to do. “We can’t know what we don’t have a record of, so we need to suspect the worst.”

“Which is?” Awen asked.

“That Moldark has intel on the Spire and any crew he came in contact with.”

“Which includes Piper,” Awen said.

Magnus closed his eyes. “Which includes Piper, yes. And more importantly, it includes the Spire’s last known position over Worru.”

“Then we need a new quantum tunnel,” Zoll suggested. “The time dilation will give us the cushion we need to get it done.”

“But where?” Dutch replied. “I mean, we still need to get back to Worru for the colonel, and if we put it any further away from Ki Nar Far, Sootriman will be too long in getting there and back.”

“Don’t worry about us,” Ezo said. “Ezo knows just the ship to use. Focus on what’s best for the colonel and the Spire.”

“We proceed as planned, but we do so quickly and carefully,” Magnus said. “Even if Moldark has actionable intel, it will still take time to organize a search party, and something tells me he already has his hands full with the Jujari resistance.”

“La-raah,” Rohoar exclaimed with his chest puffed out.

Magnus smiled at the Jujari, then looked around the bridge. “We’ll jump back to Worru. But Azie, I need you to put us somewhere different, in case Moldark decides to get curious.”

“As you wish, sir.”

“Once there, Sootriman and her team will head to Ki Nar Four, while the colonel and I head to the surface along with Awen and Willowood.”

“Now hold on just a minute there, son,” Caldwell interjected. “You’re in no shape to be heading back down there.”

“I’m with the colonel on this one,” Awen added.

“Thank you both for your concern,” Magnus said. “But that’s not being realistic.”

“Realistic?” Awen put her hands on her hips.

Magnus leveled his eyes at the colonel. “What are you gonna say when your captains ask you for proof about all this, sir?” There was an awkward pause as the colonel worked his cigar in mouth. “And how hard do you wanna work at defending your actions against your own unit back there? The way I see it, you need someone a bit deeper in this splick hole to talk about just how bad it really is, to explain why we had to do what we did.” When the colonel didn’t respond right away, Magnus leaned back in his captain’s chair. “Plus, the way I see it, the only thing more convincing than a Caldwell is a Magnus, and it’s about time I throw my grandfather’s name around on purpose, wouldn’t you say, Colonel?”

Caldwell took several puffs on his cigar and let the smoke seep from his mouth and nose, swirling up and over his grey mustache. “You’re a stubborn-ass son of a bitch, Adonis.”

“Just taking after you, colonel.”

Caldwell chuckled.

“I’ll get rest when I can,” Magnus added. Then he turned to Awen and Willowood. “Your job is to look for Piper. You won’t have much time, and I don’t want you leaving the ship unless you clear it with me first, copy?”

Awen nodded, but she seemed reluctant. Probably just pissed at him for not staying put and resting here on the Spire.

“Then I think we have a plan. I’m not interested in a vote because, truthfully, I’m too damn tired to argue it through. But if you disagree with this line of thinking, I need to know right now.”

To a person, everyone in the room stayed silent, including the bots. Magnus felt relieved to know that at least one thing was going right.

“Alright then,” he said, pushing himself up from his chair. “The rest of you debrief your platoons and square away your equipment if you haven’t already. Dutch, I want you instituting daily PT and anything else you want to do to ensure battle readiness. Connect with Rohoar to make sure its comprehensive for everyone. Abimbola, Titus, work with Azelon on refitting armament and keeping everyone well fed. And Ricio?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Since you’re the first human with any flight experience on a Jujari fighter, I want you to come up with a plan to train new pilots. If the colonel ends up doing what the colonel does best, then I think you’re going to get some recruits, and I want you prepared. Work with Azelon to make it happen.”

“Roger that, sir.”

“Good.” Magnus nodded and looked around the bridge. “Thank you. All of you. For being a part of this. It seems that…” The right words alluded him. But he had to find them—for their sake as much as his own. “It seems that we’re in this too far to back out now. The only way through is forward. I don’t know what we’ll find in the dark, but I want to be standing next to you when we find it. Dominate…”

“Liberate,” they responded as one.

Magnus took a deep breath and reflected on just how much he appreciated everyone in the room. It was an honor to serve with them, and he doubted he’d ever have the right words to express how he felt.

2

It wouldn’t be long before the Jujari were crushed. A few more days. Maybe a week at most. But either way, Moldark told himself, the end is near.

The panoramic windowplex wall in his quarters offered a stunning view of the ongoing space battle as hundreds of starships jockeyed for position in a fight to the death. Some ships lumbered through the open void, engaged on all sides, while others ran close to Oorajee’s gravity well, engines straining to keep them from sinking in-atmosphere. Fighters dodged one another, streaking in and out of cover behind the giant battleships. And all the while blaster fire flashed against the void’s expanse just as the colors glinted against Moldark’s all-black eyes.

A small comms chime interrupted his revelry. Moldark looked at the display on his chair’s arm to see the call was from the bridge. He swiped the channel open and watched as Admiral Brighton’s head and torso floated a meter in front of the chair.

“Admiral Brighton,” Moldark said.

“My lord. You’ve received an encoded transmission.”

“From?”

“Unknown. Though it appears to originate from an unidentified vessel somewhere in the Wyndorian system.”

Moldark raised an eyebrow. “Worru?”

“We can’t confirm that, but I—”

“Forward it to me.”

“Right away, my lord.”

Moldark closed the channel, and Brighton’s holographic body blinked out. A moment later, a trill alerted Moldark to the incoming message. The metadata showed that it was pre-recorded, timestamped from four days prior. Someone had sent the transmission in haste with no exact recipient defined, or there had been subspace interference.

Curious, Moldark opened the message and was prompted for a passphrase and a voiceprint match. The holo display projected a security window that read:

The Paragon…

This message was from one of his own. But he had no one on Worru at present. All forces there were either Republic or Luma—neither of which were on speaking terms with him. Moldark touched the red button in the holo display, then said, “Of perfect rule.”

“Answer verified. Voiceprint accepted,” said a feminine voice. “Begin encoded transmission.”

Suddenly, a bust of Nos Kil hovered in front of Moldark. The trooper was bare chested, covered in dried blood, and missing one eye. Moldark sensed this scene would have disturbed Kane or any of the other humans. Instead, Moldark felt only mild pity for the man.

“My lord,” Nos Kil began. “I don’t have much time. The mission on Ithnor Itheliana was unsuccessful. A small but well-armed force attacked us, led by a former colleague of mine, a Marine named Adonis Magnus. His transcript is readily available on TACNET.

“Somehow Magnus’s team has managed to obtain an alien vessel, I’m guessing from the Novia Minoosh, though it’s in far better condition than anything we found when we were there. They also have someone you might be very interested in—that senator’s daughter you’ve been looking for, Piper Stone. They’ve taken another prisoner too, one of the pilots you sent to check in on us.”

Nos Kil looked off-camera and snapped his fingers at someone. “What’s your name again, jockey?”

Moldark heard someone in the background say, “Longo.”

“Longo,” Nos Kil repeated, back on the camera. “Not that great of a jockey if you ask me. I’m sending the ship’s coordinates with this transmission in the off chance that Longo and I are unsuccessful in taking the ship. With any luck, you’ll be able to engage these rebels before they skip out of the system. Nos Kil, out.”

Nos Kil’s image vanished, and a set of coordinates along with a star chart took its place. Just as Moldark suspected, the ship was over Worru, or at least it had been at the time of Nos Kil’s transmission. Moldark suspected that the rebels were long gone by now, and Nos Kil with them. The Marine would have sent a real-time update by now if he had succeeded in taking the enemy’s ship.

Nos Kil had been a good asset. Violent but competent. And one not easily replaced, especially knowing that he had some connection to this Marine named Magnus. But replaced he would be. For, in the end, the Republic and its species of humans and other lifeforms only satisfied Moldark’s meta-objective—annihilation. So what did it matter that Nos Kil was terminated earlier than Moldark desired? Ultimately, Nos Kil and the rest of his kin would be exterminated like the disease their species was to this galaxy. The humans consumed without care just as the Novia had consumed without care, and Moldark would cleanse the stars of them both.

The more critical detail to Nos Kil’s transmission was that he’d seen Piper. Hearing him speak her name stirred Moldark. It was the closest he’d been to finding Kane’s progeny since the Bull Wraith lost the senator’s crew. Still, the girl remained just out of arm’s reach, and Moldark would need her for the next phase of his plans. Especially now that the quantum tunnel had been closed, or at least that’s what Moldark suspected.

The quantum tunnel was seven days away from Worru via subspace—less if a ship had a subspace modulator. Granted, it could have taken Nos Kil that much time to escape, but given his particular set of skills, Moldark doubted that very much. More likely, the enemy’s ship had emerged from a new void horizon somewhere near Worru, which meant they’d closed the first. At least that’s what he would have done.

“Brighton,” Moldark said over comms, summoning the admiral.

The man’s head and chest appeared in the holo projection again. “Yes, my lord.”

“Have the Peregrine readied at once. And I want two battlecruisers and escorts to be resupplied and ready to depart the system. Make sure there is a battalion of Paragon Marines at my disposal as well.”

Brighton hesitated, squinting through the feed. “You’re planning to pull these ships from the conflict, my lord?”

“A new goal has presented itself that needs my attention, yes.”

“Of course, my lord. But might I suggest—”

“You may suggest nothing, Admiral. My orders stand. Maintain pressure on the Jujari fleet but give me the ships that you deem temporarily nonessential. Also, I want a scout vessel sent to the quantum tunnel’s last known coordinates.”

“As you command, my lord. As for your destination?”

Moldark steepled his fingers and turned his chair back toward the space battle. “Worru.”

3

“You’re awfully quiet,” Willowood said, taking a seat beside Awen in the shuttle’s crew compartment. The crash couches were designed to fit Jujari-sized Novia Minoosh bodies, naturally, which meant humans—and Elonians in particular—considered the furniture to be unusually luxurious. If Awen hadn’t been so anxious about finding Piper, she could easily see herself taking a nap in such an all-consuming chair.

“Just thinking,” Awen replied, pleased to see Willowood join her.

A moment of silence passed between the two of them, then Willowood pointed out the starboard-side window causing the bangle bracelets on her wrist to chime together. “I never get tired of that. Seeing Worru from above, I mean.”

Awen turned to follow Willowood’s hand to the space-view of the Luma homeworld. “Neither do I.” She paused, then added, “It’s a lot safer than viewing it from down below.”

Awen felt her mentor’s eyes move to her face. “You’re still thinking about the accident. Valerie and Piper.”

“Of course I am,” Awen replied, more abruptly than she meant to. “Forgive me.”

“No need to apologize.” Willowood patted the top of Awen’s hand. “So am I.”

“But how do you do it? I mean, you seem so calm, so assured of everything.”

The elder woman smiled. “Then I’m a good actress.”

“Right. But it’s more than that for you. On the inside, I mean. You’re calm on the inside.”

“What are my other options, dear?”

“You could be freaking out,” Awen said, her nerves causing her to laugh. “Like me.”

Willowood laughed with Awen a little and squeezed her hand. “Can you control it?”

“Control my nerves?”

“No, no. It, the world around you, the things others are doing. Can you control them?”

“Of course not.”

“So your brain knows that. But your heart doesn’t.”

“Then how do I send my heart the message?”

The older woman smiled and looked back out the window. “One of the things I’ve always loved most about you is that you believe you can fix the galaxy.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Far from it. Though it is somewhat naive.”

Awen wanted to be hurt, but she knew the woman was too wise to resort to personal insults. “Naive?”

“Among other things, yes.”

“Other things? Like what?”

“Arrogant, narcissistic—”

“Whoa, whoa.” Awen put her hands up. “I’m good with naive. But I need you to explain.”

Willowood thought for a moment. “Tell me, Awen, has anyone been able to fix you when you were broken?”

“Fix me?”

The older woman nodded. “Through a sheer force of will, has anyone ever been able to make you change your course without you first consenting yourself?”

Awen knew better than to reply to such a question without giving it thought. She looked out the window as the shuttle neared Worru’s atmosphere. “No, I suppose not.”

“Which means that people are people.”

Awen looked back at Willowood and repeated the line to the older woman as if saying it would magically elicit more information.

“Sure,” Willowood replied. “People do what people want to do, and no matter how we might want them to choose differently, in the end, they live and die by their own decisions. If we are resistant to change, and to wise counsel, then we are naive, proud, and self-serving.”

“Thanks, Dr. Willowood.”

“Wait until you get my bill.” Willowood removed her hand from Awen’s and sat back. “Your heart cares so deeply for people that you want them to choose what’s right.”

“And that’s wrong?”

“No. That’s beautiful. But what is wrong is expecting your will to change theirs. That creates anxiety in you and them.”

“Then why try? Why do any of this?”

“Because you must do what you believe is right for you. If others want to follow you, that is their decision. And if they don’t?”

“It’s still their decision too,” Awen replied. She took a deep breath and blew some strands of hair away from her face. “To follow me.”

Willowood snapped her head toward Awen. “Says who?”

“Says… I don’t know. The cosmos.”

“So you’re the one deciding what’s best for everyone now?”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Sure you did.”

Awen opened her mouth to reply but thought better of it.

“We all think our way is the right way,” Willowood said, closing her eyes. “Or else we wouldn’t be choosing it. And if we don’t think the things we’re doing are the best, then shame on us for not being authentic with ourselves.”

“So you’re saying I just stop trying to change everyone and worry about myself?”

“I’m saying you should sit back and enjoy these giant crash couches because they really are glorious.”

Awen smiled at Willowood even though the older woman’s eyes were closed. Then she settled back and sank into the cushions. “You miss her, don’t you?”

“Valerie? Yes. Especially considering how little time we had together. But I let my daughter go a long time ago, Awen. She’s been making her own choices and living by them just fine ever since. I did my part. And she lived her life, making every decision count right up to the last one.”

“The last one?” Awen sat up and looked at Willowood. “You mean choosing to fight against those Republic troopers?”

But Willowood shook her head, eyes still closed. “No. I mean, her choice to save others.”

“I don’t follow.”

Willow opened her eyes. “Have you gone back yet? To the firefight in the docking bay below the shuttles?”

Willowood was talking about calling the episode back from within the Unity. It was less like time travel and more like reviewing a holo movie in detail. And it also wasn’t something most practitioners could manage without a great deal of experience. But Awen’s new powers within the Unity had made such things far more manageable. Again, not time travel, but it felt pretty close to it.

“I’ll take your silence to mean you haven’t,” Willowood said. “Which I understand. No one wants to revisit that tragedy. But were you to, you’d notice that Valerie made one final decision that cost her everything.”

“Let me.” Awen held up a hand and closed her eyes.

“You don’t have to. I can tell you.”

“Please,” Awen said, already on her way back to the firefight. “I need to.”

From within the Unity, Awen summoned the strength of the Nexus, which united all things, and saw the docking bay appear. Unlike her natural memory that clouded details and created generalities, the Unity’s memory was perfect—at least when informed by the Nexus. The troopers were so real she could reach out and touch them. The sounds shook her belly, and the flashes of blaster fire made her wince. Even the smoke in the air and the odors of burning flesh and armor seemed real, pulling her back into the moment with unimaginable speed.

But this wasn’t just a memory she was seeing. This was the actual event indelibly imprinted on the cosmos’s ethereal fabric. There was no changing this, and to see it was to revisit what actually transpired.

Awen sped the scene forward as if she were advancing a holo movie to a desired location. She saw the image of her own body grab Piper and hoist her up the shuttle’s loading ramp. Then a blast of light from across the bay caused her to pause the scene. The rocket from a trooper’s shoulder-mounted weapon was frozen two meters from its tube, while blaster bolts hovered in midair.

Awen floated around the scene like a spirit, looking at the light reflecting off visors and dancing in terrified eyes. She passed through clouds thick with debris and mourned the soulless corpses of the dead as they fell to the ground. Then she found Magnus whose eyes recognized the incoming rocket. And beside him, Valerie, who had no idea she was experiencing her last seconds of life.

With a lump stuck in her throat, Awen moved the scene forward. The rocket trailed a white plume of spent accelerant as it careened toward Magnus. Then he pushed Valerie aside like a rag doll. Her personal shield took several rounds before the final blaster bolt went straight through her helmet. Awen could feel hot tears streaming down her cheeks as her mortal body sat beside Willowood. Then Valerie’s lifeless body slammed against the ground and slid to a halt.

“This is so hard to watch,” Awen said at last. “I didn’t see—”

“Her last act?”

“Magnus tries to save her, but she gets hit by enemy blaster fire.” Awen swallowed, trying to keep from throwing up.

“Look more closely.”

Awen moved the scene back again to where the blaster bolts drained Valerie’s shield. Her body was sideways, but her feet were still on the ground. Awen began playing the scene again, but slow, as if frame by frame on a holo display. That’s when Awen noticed Valerie’s body push off the ground—by her own two legs. Her hands thrust up, taking her further than Magnus’s push would have sent her, and put her head directly into the path of the blaster rounds that killed her. She must’ve have seen the troopers aim and thrown herself into their line of fire—on purpose.

“She…” Awen swallowed again. The image made her cry. “She moved toward those blaster rounds.”

“And who is behind her? Who else is in the line of fire?”

Awen moved her view until she could follow the bolts’ trajectories. Beyond it, past Valerie’s head, she saw herself. And she saw Piper.

The emotion was too much. Awen sobbed and broke her connection with her second sight. Instantly, she felt Willowood’s arms around her. “There, there, my child.”

“She saved us.”

Willowood released Awen and wiped some tears off the younger woman’s cheek. “And now you know. It wasn’t Magnus or anyone else who killed Valerie. She chose. She gave her life for others.”

“Magnus needs to know this.”

“And I think I know just the person to tell him.”

Awen nodded, wiping her nose on her sleeve. She hated crying. Normally. But it was right to do now. In fact, this had been the most she’d truly grieved for Valerie since she died. And it felt right. To be here with Willowood. To reflect on the value of sacrifice.

“You can’t change people, Awen. And you can’t make them do what you want them to. The most you can offer is your presence. You were there for my daughter, and she was there for you. That is the most anyone can offer.”

* * *

Awen and Willowood sat there for several minutes as the shuttle started plowing through Worru’s atmosphere, entering the planet on its dark side. Nolan was at the controls, with Magnus and Colonel Caldwell seated beside him, so Awen knew entry would be okay. Still, this part of flying was always the worst. She thought about grabbing the vomit bag in the seatback but then realized she was on an alien vessel. For all she knew, the Novia Minoosh didn’t even have regurgitation reflexes.

When the violent shuddering subsided and Awen could see Plumeria’s nightlights dotting the distant continent, she looked back at Willowood.

“What is it, my child?” the elderly woman asked.

“I went forward in time,” Awen said without preamble. But she had a feeling Willowood wouldn’t need context.

“In the Unity.”

Awen nodded.

“I see.” Willowood seemed to search Awen’s face, trying to divine the reason for this sudden sharing of information. “And?”

“And… I saw Piper.”

“A reflection of Piper,” Willowood added.

“But it was her. And she… she was with—”

“Awen, you mustn’t allow—”

“She was with Moldark.” Awen placed a hand on her chest. “I saw her. Standing beside him.”

“Awen, please.”

“No, you have to know.”

“I already know.”

Awen caught her breath and looked at Willowood. “But how? You don’t have a connection to—”

“To the Nexus?” Willowood smiled out of the corner of the side of her mouth. “Just because I’m old doesn’t mean I’m incompetent, you know.”

“I didn’t mean that. I just meant—”

“I know what you meant, dear. And you’re right to be surprised. No, I didn’t have access to So-Elku’s beloved codex, nor to your wonderful discoveries in metaspace. But might I remind you that the Unity is still the Unity with or without a name. It doesn’t need us to call it something, just like we don’t always need books to discover its many mysteries.”

Awen blinked a few times. “So you’re saying you already knew about the Foundation? About the Nexus?”

“Not by those names,” she replied, shrugging. “But we knew there was more to the Unity than we Luma taught in observances.”

“So-Elku knew too?”

“Oh no. He was far too consumed with leading the order to delve into the deeper side of things. It was only a few of us who had such time on our hands.”

“Amazing.”

“Hardly. We were old and bored. The only other options were sex and Antaran backdraw, and that gets old quick.”

“The sex?”

“No, the card game.”

“Ah.” Awen chuckled. “Good to know.”

“Anyway, back to what you saw. You still have ears for the words of an old lady?”

“I mean, now that you say sex doesn’t get old…”

Willowood patted Awen on the hand again. “What you saw was a reflection, and you must understand the difference.”

“Between…?”

“What could be and what will be.”

“So you’re saying the Unity shows what could be?”

Willowood nodded. “Perhaps it is even likely, what you saw. But that doesn’t mean it is what will be, and that’s a critical distinction. Nor does it show what will happen next.”

“What do you mean, next?”

“Well,” Willowood said, adjusting the harness around her robes. “Did you see Piper turn around and clock Moldark in the face with the butt of a blaster rifle?”

Awen huffed a blast of air out her nostrils. “No.”

“And did you see her hijack a shuttle and zip back to the Spire all on her own?”

“Of course not.”

“Then neither does the Unity. It presents reflections of the most likely outcomes, not actual outcomes. It also can’t account for the greatest variable of all.”

“What’s that?”

“You,” Willowood said, pushing a finger into Awen’s sternum. “While you may not have power over others, the one thing you do have power over is yourself. And don’t you forget it.”

“I won’t with your fingernail in my chest.” Awen rubbed the spot. “But, thanks.”

“No need to thank me. It’s my job.” Willowood sat back, closing her eyes. “You can change the future by deciding to change yourself.”

Awen studied the older woman’s face and wiry grey hair for a minute. She was so grateful to be reunited with her and only wished that Valerie and Piper could be here right now too.

“We’ll find her, you know,” Willowood said.

“Find her?”

“Piper.” Willowood cracked an eye open. “We’ll find her. She can’t hide forever. And she wants you whether she knows it or not.”

“I’m not so sure about that.”

“Every girl needs her mother,” Willowood said, closing her eyes again. “And if she can’t have her mother, then she’ll take the next best thing. And, child?”

“Yes?”

“You’re the only next best thing she’ll ever need.”

4

Getting onto the Worru was easier than Magnus had suspected. But with half the city’s planetary defenses in shambles and the Repub Talon squadrons obliterated—no small thanks to Ricio—Magnus should have guessed that entering Plumeria’s airspace would have been uneventful. Plus, the city seemed immersed in the chaos of rebuilding as fast as it could. Nothing like the rich and powerful swooping in to revive the galaxy’s seat of peace, Magnus noted to himself.

All the activity made it easy for Cyril and Azelon to steal a Repub ident from one of the many ships coming and going since the raid. Since the so-called rebels were purported to be long gone, at least according to what Cyril gleaned from all the comms traffic, no one suspected that an alien ship alleging to be a cargo hauler had landed in docking bay twenty-four. Nor had they reason to believe the vessel was offloading anything but maintenance workers and supplies.

“As well as muck and junk, junk and muck removal, ya know?” Cyril had said when outlining the details of his code slicing. “Sir, but that’s your order to call, sir.”

Magnus had thanked him and made a mental note of just how handy Cyril’s skills were.

“I want you both staying put,” Magnus said to Awen and Willowood. “Nolan, if you encounter any trouble that the ladies don’t feel up to handling, I want you up and out of here, no questions asked. You copy?”

“I read you, sir.”

“Good.” He looked at Awen. “And if you find her, report to me first. We don’t need any stunts. We do this by the book.”

“It almost sounds like you care for me,” Awen replied with a quirky grin.

“I’m serious.” Magnus didn’t have time to play around.

“By the book,” Awen said.

“Monitor comms and vitals. If you lose connection with us, or we don’t report in—”

“Or our hearts stop beating,” Caldwell interjected.

Magnus gave him a sour look. “Or our vitals flatline, you get your asses out of here.”

“I’ll get it done,” Nolan said.

“Stay on your guard, Magnus,” Awen said, her voice filled with concern. “The Luma, they’re crafty. For all I know, So-Elku has people looking for interlopers as we speak. Just—watch your back. Promise?”

“Promise.” Magnus turned to the colonel. “You ready?”

“Like a cooling pad on a fat lady’s ass.”

“Where the hell do you come up with these things?”

“Read it on a cereal box.” Caldwell looked at Awen and spoke to her behind his hand. “I really didn’t.”

“Be safe, Colonel,” Awen said. “And take care of this one for me, would you?”

“Wouldn’t dream of letting you down.”

Magnus and Caldwell activated their Novian armor’s chameleon mode while Nolan doused the cargo bay’s lights. The ramp opened, half-hidden in the docking bay’s muted lights, and the two gladias jogged down to the tarmac, signaling Nolan to close it as soon as they were clear.

“Garrison’s less than one klick from here,” Caldwell said.

“Looks like we’re headed south,” Magnus replied.

“Captain Forbes’s quarters are on post. He won’t be in bed yet if I know him. Bit of a night owl.”

“Copy that.”

The two men moved at a light run, their suit’s servo-assist doing half the work for them. It was just after midnight local time, late enough for people to be off the streets, but not so late that windows were black. While Magnus and Caldwell didn’t plan on killing anyone, they still chose to carry their NOV1s. And if things got really out of hand? Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, Magnus reminded himself. For everyone’s sake.

The former Marines ran unhindered through the streets, stopping only occasionally to let a hover skiff pass or to avoid a couple walking down the sidewalk. Their suits made detection almost impossible in these conditions, but still, Magnus didn’t want to take any chances.

The only hiccup came when a drunk man emerged from a cantina and threw a beer bottle at a stray cat less than a meter from Magnus’s feet. Bits of glass and ale splashed against his suit, causing the drunk man and the cat to step back. To them, Magnus imagined, it must have looked like the beer was floating in midair, and the bits of glass were changing directions without cause. Fortunately, the only one of them able to figure out what they were seeing was the cat, who darted away. The drunk man, on the other hand, swore at the air and stumbled back into the cantina.

“That was close,” said the colonel.

“Yeah. Can you imagine trying to get the smell of cat urine off this suit?”

“Smartass.”

“And I owe it all to the Corps.”

* * *

Getting on post was probably the easiest part of the entire mission. Magnus had never thought about it, but who in all of Plumeria would want to mess with the Republic’s garrison of trained killers? Even with the “bad” parts of the city taken into account, Worru’s capital had the lowest crime rate in the quadrant. Hell, probably the whole galaxy. That is unless you count the crime going on in the Grand Arielina.

Caldwell led Magnus through the front gate, around some administration buildings, and then up a street toward the officer’s housing. Again, their suits allowed them to make good time and travel without so much as a whisper through the warm midnight air. Magnus almost said that this was too easy but thought better of it. The last thing either of them needed was for someone to jinx the op.

“That’s his residence there,” Caldwell said.

“Wife? Kids?” Magnus hesitated. “Cat?”

“None of the above. Spends most of his time reading, from what he tells me. Smart man, this one. So stay sharp.” Caldwell slowed to a stop and studied the house. The only light came from the rear of the house, casting soft shadows through a wooden fence. “Well, he also likes to spend time in the dirt.”

“Gardener?”

“Something like that. Come on.”

The pair of them walked along the side of the house, passed silently through the gate, and emerged into Forbes’s backyard. If it could be called a backyard. Magnus studied the space in awe, marveling at streams of flowers cascading down rock walls and beside small waterfalls. A stone path meandered between trees and led to a swimming pool shaped like some forgotten lagoon deep in a lush jungle. Lights washed up the sides of old-growth trees, while birds roosted in their bows.

“You sure this guy’s a Marine?” Magnus asked, taking in the scene. “I think he missed his calling.”

“He’s got a lot of extra time on his hands.”

“Yeah, cause he’s clearly a slacker.”

“Man’s efficient as the day is long. I’m just glad he was late to the party the other night. I would have hated to put him down.”

“Especially if he was your gardener.”

“He is, too. Well, was.”

“Never pictured you as the gardener type,” Magnus said.

“Why do you think I had Mr. Green Thumbs here manage it for me? Mystics, man.” Caldwell turned toward the house. “Up there.”

Magnus looked up three tiers to see a man sitting in a lawn chair reading on a data pad. He held a drink in one hand and wore shorts and a t-shirt, his feet bare. His black hair was tight on the sides and swooped across his brow. The guy looked like a damn movie star.

“Slow and steady on the steps,” Caldwell said. “Guy’s a bit of a crack shot too.”

“You think he’s packing something in those shorts?”

“He most certainly is.” Magnus heard the smile in the colonel’s voice.

“Mystics, next thing you’re going to tell me he cooks, paints, and has a lifetime membership at the Capriana Altitude Club.”

Caldwell turned toward Magnus but didn’t say anything.

“You’re splicking me,” Magnus said.

“Nope.”

“And you’re sure he’s not married?” Magnus thought better of the question. “Never mind. If he were married, he’d never have time for the rest of this.”

“We have a winner.”

Caldwell led the way up the first set of steps. They’d barely made it up the second when a step under Magnus’s foot creaked.

“Son of a—”

Forbes’s hand was up and holding a blaster pistol before Magnus could finish the sentence.

“Bitch.”

Forbes’s brown eyes searched his picture-perfect backyard, straining to see through the path lighting and shadows cast by the greenery. Meanwhile, Magnus stood extremely still, aware only of his suit’s soft hum traveling up the base of his spine.

Satisfied that nothing was there, Forbes placed his blaster on the lawn table beside him and went back to his reading.

“Guy’s a little wound up,” Magnus offered.

“Wouldn’t you be? He just saw half his battalion get laid waste.”

Magnus sighed. “Fair enough.”

“Watch your step.” Caldwell proceeded up the steps again, and Magnus moved even more cautiously. By the time they ascended to the top level, Forbes seemed none the wiser, engrossed in his reading material and sipping from his snifter of amber liquid. The fact that Magnus could be this close and still not have the man suspect them was a true marvel and testament to Novian tech. Magnus made another mental note, this time to thank Azie for her engineering skills.

“We tackle him on three,” Caldwell said. “Barracks style.”

“Just—tackle him?”

“One…”

“Oh, splick. We’re actually doing this.”

“Two…”

“You going high or low?”

“Three…”

Caldwell dove at the unsuspecting man, knocking him back and out of his lawn chair. The snifter shattered, and the data pad went flying. Magnus dove as well, pinning the man’s legs to the deck. “He’s a strong son of a bitch,” Magnus yelled, trying to stay on top of the wiggling captive.

“Forbes,” Caldwell said over external speakers. “Settle down, Forbes. It’s the colonel. It’s me, Caldwell.”

If Forbes recognized the colonel’s voice, he didn’t show it. Instead, the captain bucked and twisted as if his life depended on it. Caldwell struggled to keep the man pinned down, but Forbes managed to wrest an arm free and swung in the air. When his hand struck against the colonel’s shoulder plate, Forbes cursed and recoiled in shock.

“Forbes,” Caldwell yelled again, and once more, the captain threw another wild punch at the air. This time, Magnus heard a bone crack as the captain’s fist crashed against the colonel’s helmet.

“Forbes! Stand down!”

Magnus saw the man wince against the speaker’s volume; any more of this and they’d wake the neighbors. Suddenly, Caldwell deactivated chameleon mode. Forbes’s eyes went wide. But now he could see a target to fight and began tussling with the colonel even more.

“The hell with this,” Magnus said, then he struck Forbes in the head with the butt of his NOV1. The man jerked and then went still.

“Dammit, Magnus,” Caldwell said, sliding off Forbes’s limp body. “Now we’re going to have to wait.”

“Better than having him break his other hand against your thick head. And next time, can we consult before you go and do something crazy like that?”

“Mystics, but it felt good, didn’t it?”

Magnus chuckled. “Like bootcamp?”

“Like bootcamp.”

* * *

Forbes sat slumped in one of his kitchen chairs as Magnus finished stirring salt and cleaning solution together in a glass. He’d rested his NOV1 and helmet on the dining room table for effect—he guessed the alien weaponry might help his case with Forbes in a minute—while Caldwell stood to one side with his arms crossed.

“You ready?” Magnus asked.

The colonel nodded.

Magnus placed the glass under Forbes’s nose. It took less than a second for the improvised smelling salts to do their work, causing Forbes to jerk his head back. He blinked several times as he struggled to orient himself. “Who… who the hell are you?” Then his eyes locked on Caldwell’s face. “Colonel?”

“In the flesh.”

Then Forbes turned to Magnus. “And who the hell are you?”

“Name’s Adonis Magnus.”

Forbes jerked back again, eyes still blinking. “Magnus? As in General Atticus Magnus?”

“Am I that ugly?”

“Splick,” Forbes said, grabbing the back of his neck. “What the hell is this about? They said you were dead, colonel.”

“Nice to see you too, Forbes,” Caldwell said.

“Yeah, right. I’m the one who got hit in the head. Bad.”

“That was my call, not his,” Magnus said. “You put up a good fight there, captain.”

“Well, it’s not every day you get assaulted by things you can’t see. Gonna have a headache for a week.”

“It’ll wear off soon.” Magnus lied. He’d probably given Forbes a major concussion—wouldn’t know until the medics took a look. Hell, Magnus was surprised the smelling salt idea even worked.

“You guys scared the splick out of me. What the hell is going on? And how’d you sneak up on me like that?”

“Is that Gundonium bratch?” Caldwell asked, pointing to the bottle on the other end of the table.

“Single malt,” Forbes replied. “You gonna butt-strike that too, Magnus?”

Magnus grinned. “Hell no. It’s way more valuable than you.”

“Better pour three new glasses,” Caldwell said, turning to Forbes. “’Cause your headache’s about to get a lot worse.”

* * *

To his credit, Forbes listened attentively as Caldwell and Magnus outlined the quadrant’s precarious predicament. From Moldark’s seizure of the fleets to So-Elku’s power trip to the discovery of the Novia Minoosh and the existence of quantum space continuums, Magnus made sure to cover all the major topics while keeping an eye on the clock. The conversation accelerated as the subject changed to the firefight from a few days earlier.

“So that was you fighting against Charlie and Delta company?” Forbes asked, pouring himself another finger of bratch.

Caldwell eyed the bottle. “You do know you’re not gonna pass inspection tomorrow morning, right?”

Forbes shot the liquid and sucked air through his teeth. “Something tells me I won’t be doing PT in the morning, colonel.”

That was the first thing Forbes said that gave Magnus any indication of what he was feeling. And unless Forbes meant he would die trying to keep the two intruders from leaving his home alive, the phrase boded well. At least he hoped so—Caldwell still had to answer the question.

“That was us fighting against the two companies, yes,” the Colonel replied.

Forbes put his glass down. “Mystics, Colonel. You know how many of our men you killed? My men?”

“The colonel didn’t kill a single one,” Magnus said. Both heads turned to look at Magnus.

“And how’s that?” Forbes asked.

“He was the one using non-lethal force. Wish I’d thought of it first.”

“Well, isn’t that rainbows and avacots. You coulda told that to the rest of your team.”

Magnus sighed. “If that would’ve gotten us out of there without casualties, I would have.”

“You sure about that, Lieutenant? ’Cause it sure as hell seems like you had a lot of fun with your fancy guns and armor there.” Forbes nodded at the NOV1 and helmet on the table.

Magnus sat back. He wasn’t going to win this argument by force of will. Hell, there wasn’t an argument to win. And wasn’t that the problem with fighting? War was making the best of a thousand horrible situations gone sideways with lives on the line and little to no time to think it through. “I’m sorry.”

Forbes face filled with the coldness of a CO who’d needlessly lost Marines. “You’re sorry.”

Magnus nodded, looking at the bratch in his glass. “What happened back there? Those are the kinds of moments that never leave you—the kind that haunt your sleep until the day you die. And part of me will never be able to forgive myself for it. And so, for them, and for your loss, I’m deeply sorry.

“The other part of me, though? The part that had to get my people to safety, that decided to keep evil people from murdering the innocent? That part isn’t sorry at all. Because that’s the mission. Your Marines and my gladia? They signed up to die. But the people that Luma bastard put down? And the innocent lives Moldark wants to take out? They haven’t signed up to die. So I’m going to do whatever it takes to fight for them and complete the mission.”

Forbes seemed to consider Magnus’s words for a while, then asked, “What about the company of marines that got wiped out? We cleaned up a lot of boys in that docking bay.”

“Now that—that was different,” Magnus said.

“That was a little girl,” Caldwell replied.

Forbes looked like he was about to choke on the liquor. “You wanna run that by me again?”

“It was a child named Piper,” Magnus said, sparing the colonel the reply. Magnus gave the captain a summarized version of Piper’s background, leading up to her energy explosion in the bay.

“And you’re saying she’s been missing ever since?” Forbes asked.

Magnus nodded, swirling the last of the amber liquid in his glass. “We have reason to believe she’s still here on Worru. Got some teammates checking on that now.”

Caldwell finished the last of his drink and looked at Forbes. “Well, cappy? What’ll it be?”

Forbes thought for a moment and looked up from his empty glass. “It’s crazy. All of it. I think you’re both out of your mysticsdamned minds. And even if I believed it all, there’s no way I could communicate it with two companies of Marines and still mobilize them on such a short timeline. They wouldn’t believe it. Hell, I hardly believe it.” Forbes studied Caldwell’s face before taking a deep breath. “But I don’t have to believe the whole story. I just need to believe you, Colonel.”

Magnus couldn’t read Forbes at all. Just when Magnus thought the captain was going one way, the man juked. So until Forbes came around and said it straight, Magnus couldn’t be sure. Talking to this man was like talking to a blasted politician.

“I don’t like what happened to my men back there. And I’m not getting over that quickly. Don’t know that I ever will. Like you said, Magnus, some things just haunt you into hell.” Forbes paused, then looked at the colonel. “I once told you that I’d follow you to hell and back. I meant it then, and I mean it now. I guess I didn’t plan on hell looking so damn strange.”

“So you’re in?” Magnus asked, unable to support the suspense any longer.

“Hell, yes,” Forbes replied. “Bastards wanna screw around with power at other people’s expense? You can bet I’m going to help you land a fistful of hurt on them.”

Magnus offered up his hand, elbow on the table.

Forbes clasped it. “OTF.”

“OTF,” Magnus replied, the old mantra coming to his lips faster than he would have liked. “Now I say Dominate, and you say Liberate.”

Forbes cocked an eyebrow but didn’t seem opposed to the idea.

“Dominate,” Magnus said, holding the man’s unblinking eyes.

“Liberate.” Forbes released Magnus’s hand. “Has a nice ring to it.”

“So how are we getting two companies off this planet without raising suspicions?” Magnus asked.

“Easier than you’d think,” Forbes answered. “Command still hasn’t assigned a new battalion commander, and with all the recovery operations still underway, ships have been coming and going faster than Plumeria’s space traffic control can track.”

“So you’re in charge?” Caldwell asked.

Forbes nodded. “First few hours I’ve had to myself in four days. ’Til you showed up and ruined it. And by the sounds of it, I won’t have any more peace and quiet for quite a while.” Forbes capped the bottle and slid it away. “But who needs peace and quiet anyway?

“I’ve got two rifle companies and a support company under my command, along with a few attachments from other battalions, including some navy jockeys.”

“We could use them too,” Magnus said. “But what about ships?”

“I’ve got ships coming out my ass,” Forbes said with a chuckle. “Seems the whole sector is interested in what you all did here. Guess you might say that’s how I know.”

“That we’re telling the truth?” Magnus asked.

“That what you’re doing is important and that you’re going to need all the support you can get. Two Alvera-class transports will get everyone off-planet. Give me three hours?”

“You’ve got two,” Caldwell said.

Magnus pushed the bottle back toward Forbes. “And I’d say bring the bratch. You might want it before this is all over.”

Suddenly, an alert chimed from Magnus’s helmet. He met the colonel’s eyes for a split second before transferring the comm alert to his bioteknia eyes with the audio ported through bone induction. “Go for Magnus.”

An image of Awen appeared in his vision. By the looks of it, she was still in the shuttle, which was a good thing. “Magnus, I think we found her.”

His heart skipped a beat. “Where? Here?”

Awen nodded. “We’re pretty sure she’s in the Grand Arielina.”

“The Grand—you’re kidding me.”

“I wish I was.”

“You think he’s captured her?”

“I don’t know what I think. But that’s not the worst of it. Azelon said eight Paragon warships just jumped into the system.”

Caldwell nodded at Magnus. “What’s wrong, son?”

“We’ve got company.”

“Magnus,” Awen said, regaining his attention. “You know what this means?”

“We’re not gonna have time to look for her.” He could already see the tears welling in her eyes. “We’ll come back. We’ll get her.”

Awen didn’t reply. Willowood appeared beside Awen and put an arm around her. “It’s not the time, child,” the older woman said. “But it will come.”

“We’re almost done here,” Magnus said.

“And?” Willowood asked.

“And it looks like Azelon better make room for a few more guests on the Spire. Tell Nolan to warm up the shuttle.”

“Will do,” Awen replied.

Magnus terminated the call and looked at Forbes. “Timeline just bumped up, Captain. You’ve got an hour.” Forbes looked like he was about to reply when a chime rang at the front door. “You expecting someone?”

Based on the look Forbes gave them both, the answer was no. “You?” Forbes asked in reply.

“It’s too late for dinner and too early for breakfast,” Magnus said.

“But never too late to whoop ass,” Caldwell added as he pulled his V from its holster and racked a charge.

5

“You smell that, ’Six?” Ezo asked as he rubbed his hands across the top of his captain’s chair in Geronimo Nine. The heavily modified Katana-class light freighter sat inside the Spire, occupying a large hangar bay beside a long line of Novia Fangs.

“Iron oxide and cleaning astringents, sir,” the bot replied with a nod. “Yes, I am detecting those.”

“No. The smell of home.”

TO-96 turned. Ezo knew if the bot could have expressed a puzzled look, he would have. “I don’t believe I’m familiar with that smell, sir.”

“It’s a metaphor, ’Six.” Ezo sniffed the leather seat back and moved around to sit down. His body made the chair squeak, and then he reached for the flight yoke. “Mystics, it feels good to be back.”

“It feels exactly as it did before,” TO-96 remarked as he sat in the co-pilot chair. “I am beginning to think that you’re suffering the effects of nostalgia, sir.”

“You could say that.”

“Will you smell me with such fondness when my structural composition degrades?”

Ezo glanced as his co-pilot. “Smell you?”

“Yes. If I project the odors of iron oxide and cleaning astringents, will you make a metaphor about me?”

Ezo chuckled. “Sure, ’Six.”

“And what will the metaphor be?”

“I suppose that all depends.” Ezo’s fingers danced over several instrument panels, summoning the ship from slumber.

“On what, sir?”

“On how I feel about you when you’re a derelict.”

“I see. I trust I will be a satisfactory derelict worthy of a nostalgic metaphor.”

“Don’t we all.” Ezo brought the ship’s systems online one by one. “Are you gonna help me run the pre-flight check, or are you just gonna sit there and pine about your obituary?”

“I hope you compare me to a warm beach,” TO-96 said, assisting Ezo with the startup sequence and pre-flight checklist.

Ezo passed and looked sideways. “A warm beach?”

“My first records with you are in Caledonia. If you said that Geronimo Nine reminds you of home, then that is the home I wish to be remembered by.”

Ezo swiped holo-screens left and right, ordering them to compliment his field of view out the cockpit window. “You know, ’Six, you can be surprisingly sentimental.”

“Is that a desired trait to have in a companion?”

“You could say that. Just don’t go overboard with it.”

“Like smelling the seats of your starship, sir?”

Ezo glared at his bot. “Stay focused on pre-flight.”

“As you wish, sir.”

“What’s this about beaches?” Sootriman asked as she walked onto the ship’s bridge.

“I wish to be remembered as a beach,” TO-96 said before Ezo could respond.

Sootriman’s eyebrows went up. “Is that so.”

“It’s a long story,” Ezo said.

“On the contrary,” the bot replied. “The dialogue transpired over a matter of—”

“It’s a long story, and we don’t have the time for it.” Ezo looked back at Sootriman. “You and Saasarr ready to shove off?”

“The gear is stowed, and we’re ready to go.”

“Great.” Ezo activated the ramp closing sequence and began transferring all systems to internal power, disconnecting from the Spire’s infrastructure. “’Six, what do we need from Azelon to get out of here?”

“Nothing, Ezo,” Azelon said from speakers in the console.

Ezo sat back in surprise and patted his thighs. “Ezo keeps forgetting you seem to be everywhere at once.”

“It is a characteristic all humanoids from your universe seem to forget. In any case, I am opening your bay’s blast doors now.”

Ezo’s heart skipped a beat as the thin crack on the hangar bay’s doors appeared through the cockpit’s window, revealing the void’s starry expanse. The thrill of open space, of destinations unknown, always invigorated him. And now that he was back behind Geronimo’s helm, the galaxy was at his disposal. Well—almost. They had a job to do first. But he wondered how much longer this conflict would last before he could get back to his life of roaming the galaxy. Alone.

No, not alone, Ezo corrected himself. He glanced over his shoulder at Sootriman. He had her to think about now.

As if prompted by his inner thoughts, Sootriman placed her hand on his shoulder. They’d been through so much together. And after almost losing her—twice—Ezo couldn’t imagine being without her. Then again, she’d never liked the starfaring lifestyle. She’d barely been able to leave her family behind on Caledonia. But she did, to be with him. And maybe she’d be willing to do that again. To leave Ki Nar Four and venture off into the outer reaches of the galaxy. When this is all over, Ezo reminded himself. Gotta survive it first.

“Atmospheric force field is at 100% and holding,” Azelon said. “You are clear for departure.”

“Roger that, Azelon,” Ezo replied. “Take us out, ’Six. Nice and slow.”

“Affirmative.” TO-96 activated Geronimo’s vertical thrusters, and Ezo’s stomach fluttered. The ship rumbled as the landing gear retracted, locking in place within the hull. Then, as smoothly as a dancer entering stage-right, TO-96 moved the ship through the force field and into the vacuum of space.

“Safe travels, Ezo,” Azelon said. “We’re awaiting your safe return.”

“And we await safely returning to you,” TO-96 replied.

Ezo looked at his bot. “I don't know what is with you two, ’Six.” Then, back to Azelon, he said, “We'll see you soon, Spire. Ezo out.”

* * *

The trip to Ki Nar Four took one day via subspace. It would have been faster had Ezo taken one of Azelon’s shuttles equipped with the Novian equivalent of a subspace modulator on it. But the slower speed was worth showing up in Geronimo Nine. In fact, they had to or else risk blowing the whole point of coming this way, which was to recruit reliable people for the Gladio Umbra.

Sootriman did not want to tip their hand too soon regarding the nature of the mission volunteers would be asked to join. One look at a Novian ship, and everyone would see credit symbols and fat accounts. Trying to keep those kinds of leeches happy would be an uphill battle, especially when they learned they weren’t being paid.

No, what the team needed were those who saw the big picture, those who realized that the galaxy was going to splick, as Magnus had started saying, and would risk their lives to keep it from happening. The reward, for those on Sootriman’s planet, was staying alive to rip someone off another day. Therefore, showing up in Geronimo Nine meant the queen was back in town, so everyone had better straighten up. Plus, Sootriman had some very particular people she wanted to recruit, but that was all she would say.

Ezo brought the ship into a docking bay reserved for Sootriman and powered down everything but life-support and drive core subroutines. He wanted to be able to move fast if the need arose.

“What’s the plan?” Ezo asked as he, Sootriman, TO-96, and Saasarr readied themselves in the main cargo hold. They’d traded their Novian armor for more normal garments that Azelon had helped manufacture—all but TO-96. He couldn’t exactly swap out the telecolos emulation compound on his plating. Instead, Ezo gave him a cloak to cover up the expensive looking patina.

Saasarr recovered most of his Reptalon armor but wore a new black bodysuit, courtesy of Azelon. The garment’s woven fibers were said to be stronger than Saasarr’s original and needed to be laundered less frequently too—always a plus for a Reptalon.

Sootriman donned a luxurious red dress that she’d designed with Azelon. The open back closed at the small of her back, and gave way to a wide train that expanded outward to sweep the floor. Meanwhile, her ample cleavage and the front of her long legs were on display for all to see—few allusions to her well-endowed figure left to the imagination.

For his part, Ezo had requested his old floor-length leather coat back but agreed to a new thick-collared knit shirt and black cargo pants and boots. He holstered his Novian V pistol on his right hip and his Supra 945 on a shoulder holster under his left armpit. “Stay in the shadows and keep out of sight?” Ezo asked Sootriman.

Sootriman shook her head from beneath a white travel cloak that she fastened around her neck. “I need a show.”

“A show?” Saasarr repeated.

“I want everyone knowing that I’ve survived Moldark’s attack on me and my inner circle. I want the city to know I’m untouchable.”

“But Sootriman, you’re not,” TO-96 said. Saasarr hissed at the bot.

“Saasarr, that’s enough.” Sootriman raised a hand at the Reptalon, then turned to TO-96. “I know that, and you know that. But they don’t need to know that.”

“A display of defiance,” the bot said, beginning to surmise the woman’s intent. “To bolster your image among the common folk.”

“Common folk?” Ezo asked.

“Piper gave me some suggested reading, volumes which were not previously in my database.”

“Let me guess,” Ezo said. “Fantasy?”

“I believe that is the colloquial category, yes.”

Sootriman smiled. “It’s less about bolstering my image and more about good marketing, Tee-Oh. But that’s the basic idea.”

“Might I be allowed to lead the way then?” TO-96 asked. “A queen deserves a herald.”

Ezo and Sootriman exchanged playful looks before Sootriman said, “I don’t see why not.”

“You got something in mind, ’Six?” Ezo asked.

“I think I can froth some milk into cream, yes.”

“Froth what?” Ezo gave Sootriman a bemused look while Saasarr glared at the robot in confusion.

“Beat an egg quickly,” the bot added to clarify.

“You mean whip something up?” Ezo said.

“Precisely. You know—metaphor.”

“Come on,” Sootriman said. “Lead the way, oh magnanimous milk frother. My peasants await.”

* * *

Four figures emerged from the docking complex and into the crisp night air, turning toward the heart of Gangil, Ki Nar Four’s capital floating city. The planet’s volcanic activity, some twenty-thousand kilometers below, reflected against the clouds that hovered above the city, casting it in a dirty amber hue. Chimney stacks and industrial vents spewed exhaust into the atmosphere in an eternal attempt to keep the city aloft, held in safety far above the planet’s lethal mix of gases.

TO-96 wasted no time in moving out in front of the group while Ezo and Saasarr flanked Sootriman. Within another block, the bot stepped into the middle of the street, which made several skiffs blare their horns at him. But as he pointed his weaponized forearms at them from beneath his cloak, they quickly veered away—though still sending vulgar gestures and comments at him.

“Trying to make new friends?” Ezo asked the bot.

“Follow me,” TO-96 said, motioning everyone to follow him into the middle of the street.

Ezo shrugged at Sootriman, then said, “After you.”

“No,” Saasarr said. “After me.” The lizard-man stepped out in front of Sootriman and raised his hand at another hover skiff that didn’t seem to mind running people over. But when the driver saw the Reptalon, his eyes went wide. The skiff veered into a food cart, knocking its contents onto the filth-ridden sidewalk.

Sootriman followed after Saasarr with Ezo picking up the rear. As soon as TO-96 saw the three walking toward him, he turned his attention back down the street. He raised one hand toward the sky and fired three micro-rockets, the white tails of which braided around one another until the projectiles detonated with sequential booms. A warning klaxon bellowed from TO-96’s chest, followed by the near-deafening sound of his voice.

“Attention, common folk of Gangil. To all those lurking in the shadows of iniquity and pondering their demise at the hands of the merciless plagues…”

“Merciless plagues?” Ezo asked Sootriman. “What kind of books was Piper into?”

“Shhh,” Sootriman said. “I want to see where this is going.”

Already, the bot had people’s attention. Heads turned, and conversations died down. Shop owners stopped their transactions, and drivers slowed their vehicles.

“Yes, you, pitiful miscreants and sycophants, doomed in your perilous plights to beat the ground with tool and trowel, condemned to the meager existence of those cursed with the—”

“’Six,” Ezo hissed. “We want them to be enamored with her, not stone us.”

“I am simply trying to make them see their current state as being below that of Sootriman’s,” TO-96 replied.

“I think you made your point. Move it along.”

TO-96 resumed his loud proclamation to his not so doting masses. “Behold! The quadrant’s guiding light and the mystery of virginity, the stable boy’s fancy and the flame of fabulous fantasies, I give you the conquering mistress of the assassin’s blade and blaster, quenched at the illustrious sight of her gaze, the one, the only, Sootrimaaaan, Queen of Ki Nar Fouuuur!”

As TO-96’s voice expanded, reverberating off buildings to a crescendo, he fired off six more micro-rockets, and this time they detonated with an incendiary shower of sparks. People screamed at the sound, ducking for cover. Then, just as Sootriman pulled her hood back, rear-facing LEDs on the bot’s head popped on, bathing Sootriman’s body in white light. Her white cloak and red dress shimmered in the bot’s lights—the damn things actually sparkled.

Ezo was a breath away from scolding TO-96 when someone along the sidewalk started clapping. Ezo spun to see a bedraggled old coot inside a bodega step out of the doorway. Then the man put two dirty fingers in his mouth and whistled. Within seconds, dozens of people were clapping—and then hundreds. Faces poked out of windows, and drivers stepped out of their vehicles. All up and down the main street leading to her den, Sootriman had a veritable sea of adoring fans showering her with praise.

“Son of a bitch,” Ezo said with his hands on his hips.

Sootriman glanced at Ezo. “I like him.”

* * *

The parade continued to Sootriman’s domed headquarters in the middle of the city. By the time Ezo and the others reached the burned-out main entrance, the streets were full of people celebrating their beloved leader’s momentous—if not slightly melodramatic—return.

“Thank you,” Sootriman said, waving to the cheering crowds. She repeated herself several times, touching her chest in appreciation, then waving again.

“There’s a point to all this, right?” Ezo asked, yelling above the din.

“Relax, husband,” she said, still waving and smiling. “It’s coming.”

Ezo turned away from the crowds. He rubbed his forehead, wondering how much longer this might go on. When he thought the praise might die, a chant began to pulse in the air.

“Soo-tri-maan! Soo-tri-maan!” the people cried, pounding fists against whatever they could hit. The sound was almost deafening. Ezo almost let his impatience get the best of him when someone tugged on his sleeve.

“Are you with her?” the man yelled.

Not expecting the question, Ezo did his best to nod.

“You’re one lucky son of a dimdish,” the man replied, then slapped Ezo on the back.

Ezo stepped away from the man, eyeing him. Then he looked at Sootriman, and then at all the people cheering for her. This woman, his wife, was—well, she was adored. Why he’d never seen this sooner, he didn’t know. But these people, her people, actually loved her. And why shouldn’t they? he asked himself.

Sootriman was, after all, the most remarkable woman he’d ever known. Hell, she was the greatest woman in the galaxy as far as he was concerned. And like her parents, Sootriman was born to rule, next in a royal line of benevolent leaders. Granted, reigning over Caledonia was a far cry from the criminally rogue world of Ki Nar Four. But if barely surviving the wars with the Akuda had taught Sootriman anything, Ezo figured it was how to handle herself around a bunch of bloodsucking scum bags hellbent on eviscerating her. And scumbags of Ki Nar Four loved her for it.

Why Ezo had never seen Sootriman in this light, he didn’t know. Perhaps, like many things in life, he’d just taken her for granted. But seeing her in front of her people like this was—well, it’s pretty incredible, he thought. So he smiled. And then he clapped for her and stepped down into the masses to see how it felt—to see her through their eyes. And she was beautiful.

* * *

“All that to say, I have a mission for some of you,” Sootriman said. She’d been speaking for almost five minutes, using TO-96’s audio system as a public address system. His speakers projected the sound detected from her in-ear comm so that her voice traveled over the masses and echoed off the buildings. Not that she needed much help—the people were dead quiet. Right up until she gave them something to cheer about.

“Granted, it is not for the faint of heart,” Sootriman said. “Nor is it for those looking to turn a profit. Some might even find themselves staring down the barrel of a blaster before it’s through.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” someone yelled from the audience. Several people laughed.

Sootriman nodded in appreciation. “Even so, you’ll be placing your life in jeopardy in ways you can’t possibly imagine.”

“Anything for you, our queen!” someone else screamed. The words were met with several shouts of affirmation and more applause. Sootriman let the cheers linger before raising a hand to silence everyone.

“Be that as it may, know that what we face in the coming days is not like anything we’ve encountered before. The quadrant is under assault from the same people who attacked Ki Nar Four, killed many who you knew, and tried to kill me. These forces also threaten peaceful systems and planets—rogue or otherwise. And Ki Nar Four will not be excluded if our enemies have their way. If you have kin and a home that cannot afford your absence, I do not think less of you for staying here. But if you feel worthy of a great task, then join me.

“My bot here will take your applications in order of appearance and make them known to me until we have filled out our roster. We will depart again in three days’ time with all those who make the cut. The rest of you, pray to the mystics for our success and safe return.”

Sootriman paused and looked over the crowds. Ezo thought he saw a tear glisten in her eye but couldn’t be sure. She loves them, he thought, surprised by the tenderness of her affection. The warlord actually loves them.

“Thank you, everyone. Dominate, liberate.”

There was a momentary pause as the crowd seemed to consider how to respond to Sootirman’s words. Then, something magical happened—something that Ezo would never have imagined in a hundred years. The sea of faces, stretching from left to right and down the streets that stemmed away from Sootriman’s den like spokes from a wheel hub, raised their voices and yelled, “Dominate, liberate!”

Having never heard the mantra of the Gladio Umbra before—at least as far as Ezo knew—the people took to the phrase with unusual affinity. It wasn’t like they were an army of disciplined troopers, drilled in call and response by red-faced instructors. No, these were convicts and enemies of various states around the sector. These were people whose luck had run out elsewhere, the galaxy’s refuse. But they were also survivors. And they reminded Ezo of Abimbola’s Marauders, and of those who lived in the Dregs of Oorajee. People like that would fight if given a chance—fight until they won, or died trying.

Sootriman spun on a heel, cloak and dress billowing in TO-96’s lights. Then she fled from the crowd and disappeared into her den’s blackened entry tunnel. Ezo followed her while Saasarr stood guard beside TO-96, the bot already ordering people to calm down as he tried to take their applications. Ezo listened to the crowd chant Sootriman’s name as he followed their queen into the depths of her burned out home.

6

“You might want to take cover,” Forbes said from beside his still-closed front door. Magnus and Caldwell had their pistols drawn and helmets on while the captain looked at the exterior camera’s holo feed. “A hundred credits says they already see us.”

Magnus nodded at Caldwell. The two split up and covered the door from different angles. Then Forbes activated his camera and addressed the four Luma Elders outside.

“Good evening, Captain Forbes,” said the foremost figure, dressed in the Order’s signature robes.

“I’m pretty sure it’s the morning,” Forbes replied. “And since you woke me up, I’m not sure it’s all that good.”

“We are sorry to disturb you, sir, but we have reason to believe there are two fugitives on your property.”

“Fugitives?”

“That’s correct. We are here to take the people in question into custody and escort them to holding.”

“Who issued the order?”

“The order comes by way of Master So-Elku, sir. And in case you need reminding, you are here at the pleasure of the Order.”

“No,” Forbes replied. “I’m standing on sovereign Republic territory granted through the mutually agreed upon terms of the Valdaiga Accords. So if Master So-Elku wishes to convey orders, he’ll do so through the proper channels.”

“Master So-Elku has been unable to reach Colonel Caldwell since the firefight, and you are the highest-ranking survivor, are you not?”

“The Order can file a complaint with me in the morning. I’m going back to sleep.”

The Luma’s tone grew more stern. “Captain Forbes, I’m afraid we must insist on searching the premises. We have reason to believe you are harboring traitors to both the Order and the Republic.”

“Well, that escalated quickly. Still, you can file a complaint through my office in the morning.”

“We are under orders to search your home with or without your consent.”

“You do know you’ve just threatened a Galactic Republic Marine Corps officer on sovereign soil.”

“If you see our presence as a threat, that is up to you. However, we will enter the premises by force if you refuse to let us in peacefully.”

“I’m pretty sure a Margonian merrel rat crawled up his butt and died with its teeth stuck in his colon,” Caldwell said from in the kitchen. “Let’s end this.”

“Who was that?” the Luma asked.

“Your mom,” Forbes replied. “And she wants you to back away from the door, or else this is going to end poorly for you.”

“Is that a threat, captain?”

“No,” Forbes said. “But this is. Door, open.”

Forbes’s automated home security system immediately opened the front door. The panels weren’t even fully separated when Forbes fired a blaster bolt from his MC99 and struck the first Luma in the torso. But the shot seemed to wrap around the Luma as if surging around a personal force field.

“Splick!” Forbes yelled as he dove from the doorway in time to avoid a blast of energy that shot through the house and out the back wall. Debris sprinkled down on Magnus as he leaned out from a pillar and fired two three-shot bursts with his V at the first Luma. Again, a force field displaced the bolts.

The Luma’s attention shifted toward Magnus. Aware he was the new target, Magnus ducked just as the pillar broke apart a few centimeters above his head with a loud crack. Magnus looked across the hallway to see Forbes roll into a kneeling position and aim his rifle across the path of the threshold.

“Switching to NOV1,” Magnus said to Caldwell.

“With you,” Caldwell replied.

Magnus stowed his pistol and pulled his rifle from his back. The weapon’s holo sights lit up, paired with his helmet and bioteknia eyes, and registered a full charge. Then, without looking around the corner, Magnus poked the weapon’s barrel around the pillar and sighted in on the leading Luma. The man took two steps into the house and raised his hands as if to block any incoming fire.

Blue blaster bolts from three different positions erupted from inside the house and struck the Luma in a hail of lightning. Forbes’s MC99 chewed into the man’s knees while Caldwell and Magnus’s fire pounded his chest. But again, the withering assault seemed to do little to stop the advancing man or the three behind him.

“Splick,” Magnus yelled as he pulled back behind the pillar just in time for the second Luma to send a bolt of energy whizzing by his head. The blast struck a glass wall that looked onto the back deck, blowing it into a thousand pieces.

Magnus had never fired the NOV1 on its highest setting before, but he figured now was as good a time as any—these Luma had survived the recent raid and were no doubt some of So-Elku’s best.

He moved his weapon’s fire rate to the maximum setting. A magazine discharge warning alerted him that a sustained burst of more than three seconds would drain his current magazine. He dismissed the sign, turned back toward the first Luma, and squeezed the trigger.

The NOV1 punched Magnus’s shoulder like a mad Boresian taursar and screamed like a banshee. Not even his helmet’s noise suppression system could combat the sound pressure level the weapon produced. Magnus yelled in reply as if his voice could fight back the weapon’s terrible noise in his ears. The weapon sent a blistering 3,000 rounds per second into the lead Luma’s midsection. The man’s force field gave way, and then he exploded in a shower of light—flesh flash-incinerated.

The blaster rounds that passed through the victim struck the second Luma in the chest. The man suffered a similar fate, unable to avoid the alien weapon’s sustained barrage. His shield sent the first nano-seconds of energy flinging off into the street. But the remaining blaster bolts punched through and shredded his torso until only a pair of legs and mutilated hips remained. The limbs toppled to the ground while the remaining two Luma disappeared from the doorway.

“Mystics, Magnus,” Forbes yelled from in his living room, hands covering his ears. His voice was hoarse, and Magnus realized the man hadn’t had any hearing protection. “What the hell was that?”

Magnus thought of switching to external speakers to give a snarky reply, but there was no time. Plus, Forbes wouldn’t be able to hear him anyway—the man probably needed ear surgery.

“I’m tracking one moving around the west side of the house,” Caldwell said. “The other’s looking to flank us through a window.”

“I’ll take the one out back,” Magnus replied. “You and Forbes take the peeping tom.”

“Copy that.”

“Forbes is going to need hand signals. Pretty sure he’s deaf.”

“Dammit.”

Magnus switched out to his second magazine and lowered his NOV1s fire rate by 50%. While the weapon’s max rate had done the job, it had spent too much energy. He wouldn’t be able to sustain that level of output if the firefight dragged on. Plus, he wouldn’t have the enemies stacked up again—that had been lucky.

With the glass wall shattered, Magnus stepped through it and onto the back deck. His thermal imaging showed the third Luma tracking along the home’s west side, which meant Magnus needed to find cover across the pool. From there, he could hit the enemy in the rear when the Luma addressed the house.

Magnus ran through a cluster of ferns, skirted the far right side of the pool, and took a position behind a tall stone waterfall. While he doubted it changed much for the Luma, Magnus activated his suit’s chameleon mode. There was something to be said for feeling safe—whether or not you were. Magnus also noticed several lights coming on in the adjacent homes. He even saw silhouettes appear in second-story windows as Forbes’s neighbors looked to see what was happening. The good, Magnus thought—if there was any good to be had—is that we were on a Marine Corps post. Where civilians would retreat from the sound of weapons fire, Marines would advance—even in their damn underwear.

A beat later, the third Luma appeared around the side of the house. For whatever reason, the man was focused on looking for a way into the home and failed to notice Magnus. Hell yeah. Magnus locked onto the mystic’s chest, slowed his heart, and squeezed the trigger.

At the same instant, flashes of light and sound erupted from inside the house, forcing more glass out of the ground floor’s windows. The event made Magnus’s target duck a split second before the NOV1’s rounds hit. Instead, the blaster fire chewed a hole through the home’s siding the size of a spaceball.

Immediately, the Luma turned to face the direction of fire and launched an energy blast at Magnus. He ducked just in time for the waterfall to explode, sending chunks of stone high into the air. Water vaporized into steam, and rocks pelted the garden and pool from above.

Magnus was back on the offensive, firing at the Luma as the man raced across the deck and toward another one of Forbes’s handmade rock formations. But then more flashes of light and belches of weapons fire erupted from inside the home. Magnus could see Caldwell’s thermal image pivot, firing a withering stream of NOV1 bolts at the fourth Luma who dashed through the house. The bolts traveled straight through the home and projected into the neighborhood. Collateral damage with their new high-powered weapons was a genuine threat.

Magnus was about ready to warn Caldwell when another blast of energy detonated the remainder of his cover. The resulting explosion knocked him backward and into a cluster of small shrubs. He thrashed about and then dove into a mulch bed just as another Luma blast scorched the greenery. He rolled to one knee, aimed at the thermal image beside the pool, and fired.

This time, the rounds found their mark. They punched a hole in the shield and drilled into the Luma’s chest. In less than a second, the rounds eviscerated the victim. But Magnus’s stream of fire drifted up the man’s chest until his head vanished in a blaze of light. When Magnus released the trigger, the Luma’s halved body fell into the pool with a splash.

“House clear,” Caldwell said over comms. The colonel had taken out the last Luma with a point-blank round to the head—at least that’s how Magnus interpreted the wide splatter of gore against one wall. The mess showed up as yellow, green, and red IR splotches in his HUD, while the corpse was missing the rear section of its skull.

“Backyard clear,” Magnus replied loudly, stepping out to examine the floating corpse.

“House clear,” Forbes yelled loud enough that Magnus’s sensors picked him up. “I think we got them all.”

“Affirmative,” Caldwell said over externals.

“You’re gonna have to speak up, Colonel. I can’t hear you.”

Magnus noticed the street in front of the house start to fill with emergency lights. “Well,” Magnus said to Caldwell. “Looks like Forbes is gonna have an easier time mobilizing his units than we thought.”

“Which is our sign to get lost,” Caldwell said.

“Copy that.”

“Captain,” Caldwell said with his index finger raised. “Wheels up in one hour!”

Forbes nodded and slung his MC99 under his arm. “One hour! See you in the sky!”

7

So-Elku knocked on Piper’s door. “It’s So-Elku.”

“I know,” Piper said.

“May I come in?”

The little girl hesitated. “Sure.”

So-Elku turned the handle of the old wooden door and pushed. The staff chambers of Brookside Manor maintained the ancient-style rooms, complete with hinged doors and sliding windows. There was something quaint about these quarters that So-Elku liked, something that spoke of a simpler time before the Order could afford more expensive technologies. It also spoke of the Luma’s rich legacy, one that had been around long before he’d arrived. And, now that So-Elku had Piper, one that would carry on long after his death.

Piper sat on the large raised bed with her knees tucked to her chest. She’d traded the Novian power suit for the traditional robes of the Luma, opting for the green and black fabrics that signified her as an apprentice to the Luma Master. That had pleased So-Elku deeply.

The girl didn’t bother to look So-Elku in the face. Instead, she seemed preoccupied with the bird songs filling the lush gardens behind the Grand Arielina. The open window let in the fragrant scents of blooming plumeria flowers as well as the undertones of damp soil and bark.

“Is your room to your liking?” So-Elku asked.

Piper nodded, still looking out the window. “The bed is soft.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” So-Elku moved to look down at the garden. “It’s a lovely day outside. Wouldn’t you rather go for a walk?”

“I thought you told me to stay in here?” Piper scrunched up her nose. “You said it wasn’t safe.”

“That was before.” So-Elku waved a hand. “The city has been restored to order.”

“You mean, my…” The girl hesitated on what to call Awen and the others.

“The rebels.”

Piper nodded. “They’ve been killed?”

So-Elku raised an eyebrow, surprised by how fast the child went to the most fatalistic outcome. “They’ve been driven off and won’t bother you anymore. Especially Magnus.”

“Don’t say his name, please.”

“My apologies, Piper. I was only trying to comfort you.”

“Don’t say it, though.”

“I won’t.” So-Elku looked back at the garden, motioning toward it with a hand. “Shall we?”

Piper sighed, then moved her legs and slid off the bed. “It would be a shame to waste such a beautiful day by remaining inside.”

“Wise words.”

“Eh. It’s what my…” Again, Piper faltered, this time—So-Elku guessed—in naming her recently deceased mother.

“Your mother.” So-Elku made a show of sighing more deeply than he needed to. “Her loss is devastating, I must admit.”

Piper looked down at her slippered feet, then back at So-Elku. “Are we going for a walk or what?”

* * *

So-Elku and Piper moved along the stone paths that meandered under the leafy canopies. Sunlight filtered down in blotches, playing on Piper’s golden hair and sullen features. Despite the beautiful birdsongs, which seemed to entice her out of her misery, she kept her hands folded, head down, and feet moving one after the other.

“I do wish you’d find your way out of all that sadness, Piper,” So-Elku said as they rounded a turn to face a lily pond. “At least for a moment, anyway. Is it not beautiful here?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Please, please, child. Call me master.”

“Yes, master.”

“That’s better. Now, what could I do to cheer you up?” He tapped his chin and looked down at Piper. But the girl didn’t respond. So he knelt at the edge of the pond. “You know, you’re not in your power suit anymore, Piper.”

“I know.”

“And I believe that the premise of our arrangement here is that I would help you discover who you are, free of limitations.”

She looked up and wrinkled her nose at him. “The prem-niss?”

“Premise. The…” He tapped his chin again, then extended his finger as if having an idea. “The main reason we’ve agreed to work together. Would you like to begin?”

Piper took a step away from the pond and lowered her head. “I don’t know.”

“Why, Piper. Whatever is the matter, child?”

“Last time I went into the Unity without my suit, I almost hurt people. Like I did before.”

“Piper, I need you to listen very carefully to me. Are you listening?” She nodded. “Good. You cannot hurt me.”

Her eyes darted up to his. “I can’t?”

He shook his head. “I won’t let it happen.”

“But how? Not even shydoh Awen could stop me.”

“Shydoh Awen?”

“Sorry. That’s our word for master. In the Gladio Umbra, I mean.”

“I see. Would it be easier for you if you called me shydoh, then?”

Piper shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Shydoh So-Elku then. I like the sound of that.”

“Me too.”

“And what you like, I like.” He pointed toward the pond. “Come here, child.” Then he had another thought, knowing Awen wouldn’t have had the girl call her shydoh without a student term. “And what did Awen call you?”

“Piper.”

So-Elku smiled. “No. I mean, if you called her shydoh, what term did she use for you?”

“Doma,” Piper said, taking a step toward So-Elku.

So-Elku repeated the word, trying it out. “Then that’s what I’ll call you. Come, doma. Look.”

Piper moved toward the pool until she was even with So-Elku. He pointed into the clear waters. “What do you see?”

“A lily pond with some fish in it.”

“As do I. Tranquil, yes?”

Piper bit her lip. “What’s trank-will mean?”

“Calm. Peaceful.”

“Okay.”

“But in the end, what is it really?”

“What’s trank-will?” Piper asked, looking at So-Elku for the first time.

“No, what is the pond? The fish? The lilies?”

“I… don’t get what you mean.”

“I mean, what composes it all? What makes it what it is?”

“Mole—mo’mecueles?”

“Molecules. Good. And what are the molecules made of?”

Piper thought for a second. “Atoms?”

“And the atoms?”

Piper shrugged. “Smaller stuff?”

So-Elku smiled. “Yes, smaller stuff. Would you like me to show you?”

“Show me?” Piper looked between the pond and So-Elku. “The smaller things?”

He nodded, then he scooped up a handful of water and let it slide out of his palm, slipping between his fingers. “Shall we?”

* * *

From within the Unity, So-Elku marveled at Piper’s presence. While little more than a waif in physical form, the girl’s ethereal footprint was that of a giant. He figured there was more potential energy in her than any Luma he’d ever known—himself included.

Piper’s power wasn’t new to him, of course. He’d noticed her strength during their confrontation in the Unity. How could he not? The child was as mighty as she was majestic. But she lacked precision, evident in her lack of discipline. The hapless snares of youth, he noted to himself.

“The lily pond itself is merely a manifestation,” So-Elku said, looking down at the pool.

“A manifestation?” Piper asked.

So-Elku studied the girl’s face and realized an illustration was in order. “When the wind blows, do you see the breeze? Or do you see its effect on the leaves it touches?”

“I see the leaves move.”

“Good. That is the same as—”

“Unless I’m in the Unity. Then I can see the wind just fine.”

“Yes. But I’m talking about with your natural eyes.”

“But we aren’t using our natural eyes right now.”

“I know that. This is an illustration to help you see.”

“But I can see fine.”

“To understand,” So-Elku said.

“Understand what I don’t see? But I can see everything in the Unity just fine, can’t I?”

So-Elku took a breath. “Yes, in the Unity. The wind was meant as an illustration to explain the word manifestation, nothing more.”

“I still don’t get what it has to do with the pond.”

“The wind is—” So-Elku bit his lower lip. Patience, So-Elku. He suddenly remembered how long it had been since he’d spoken with a child for any length of time. There was a reason the Order only took young people in their late teens. “Forget the wind. Look at the pond.”

“I can see the wind blowing on its surface.”

“Yes.” So-Elku nodded his head absently, then arrested himself. “I mean, no. Forget the wind, Piper.”

“But you said—”

“Forget the wind,” So-Elku said with a sharp wave of his hand.

Piper recoiled as blonde wisps of hair closed over her face.

“I’m sorry, doma.” So-Elku lowered his head and softened his tone. “Forgive my impatience.”

“But you’re mad at me.”

He looked in her eyes and smiled. “Mystics, no, my child. I simply… I’m mad at myself. For not being the teacher you deserve.”

“Shydoh Awen says we should not be mad with ourselves, but treat ourselves gently.”

So-Elku clenched his teeth for a second before speaking again. “And Shydoh Awen is right, on that point. I promise not to be mad with myself anymore.”

“You should tell yourself that you’re sorry.”

“I should what?”

“You know. Say sorry to yourself. Apologize.”

“Piper, we don’t have time for this.”

Piper put her hands on her hips. “Apologize.”

The Luma master blinked twice, then looked down at the pond. He saw his reflection in the water, then said, “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, So-Elku,” Piper said with the corrective air of a school teacher.

“I’m sorry, So-Elku.”

“For?”

So-Elku looked up from the pool. “Piper, we really—”

“For what? You have to say what you’re apologizing for, or it doesn’t mean anything.”

This was not going as he’d planned. He sighed and then looked back at his reflection in the pool. “I’m sorry, So-Elku, for being mad at you.”

“And?”

Great mystics of antiquity. This child was getting on his nerves faster than he cared to admit. No wonder few people wanted to commit to working with children: they were downright infuriating. “And I’ll do my best to never let it happen again?”

“Are you asking me, or telling yourself?” Piper said. “She pointed to the pool.

“And I’ll do my best to never let it happen again,” So-Elku said to his reflection. When he looked back at Piper, she gave him a satisfied look and took her hands off her hips. “Can we get back to the pool now?”

“Sure.”

“So, the pool and the fish and everything that composes them are connected through space and time in the Nexus. You know of it.”

“Of course. That’s how I trapped you before.”

“Quite so, quite so.” He studied the waters again. “But unlike shydoh Awen, I bid you venture into the Nexus unbridled.” Piper blinked at him. “You’re going to be free to do whatever you want in the Nexus.”

“You use a lot of fancy words, shydoh.”

“I consider myself informed.”

“So, you want me to follow the pool back to the Nexus?”

“Not quite, my child. I want you to use the Nexus to discover the pool.”

“But I see it fine. I don’t need to discover it.”

“Yes, that’s true, you do see it. But you see it with your second sight much like a bee sees a flower. But do you know how the flower’s stem sees the flower?”

“Stems don’t have eyes.”

Again, So-Elku took a controlled breath before continuing. “But pretend they do.”

“But they don’t.”

“Pretend.”

Again, Piper took a step back.

So-Elku repeated himself more gently. “Let’s just imagine that they do, for fun.”

“Like a game?”

“Like a game, exactly.”

“Well, if a flower’s stem has make-believe eyes, I guess it sees the flower a lot differently than a bee. It’s not gonna want to make honey from it.”

“Quite so. What is it interested in?”

“Feeding it with water, maybe?”

“Excellent. And where does the moisture come from?”

“I said water.”

“That’s what moisture is.”

“Oh.”

“And where does it come from?”

“From the ground, silly.”

“This is like the Nexus then,” So-Elku said, holding his hand over the water. “When you look at the pond, you see water and fish and bubbles and all manner of things. But when the Nexus sees the pond, it even sees the atoms that compose it.”

“And even the smaller stuff?”

“Even the smaller stuff, yes. Would you like to see what the Nexus sees?”

“The smaller stuff?”

“That’s what I implied, yes.”

“Sure.”

So-Elku stepped into the pool. Piper took his offered hand and joined him, the water going just over her knees. “Now, I want you to get close and sense the Nexus without going to the Nexus.”

“Huh?”

So-Elku was tiring of the tedious explanations. How had Awen managed to teach this little thing so much? He imagined throwing himself off a tall building were he to endure days on end of this sort of exchange. “The Nexus. Sense it, but don’t go to it.”

“Sense it?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“But don’t go down to it.”

“Correct.”

Piper’s eyes darted around the pool. “From right here.”

“Precisely.” When she hesitated longer than he had the patience for, he decided to try and employ yet another word picture. “Think of it as a scent.”

“The scent of what?”

“Well, what smells do you like?”

“Warm bread.”

So-Elku smiled. “That is a wonderful smell, yes. Now, when you’re standing outside and smell warm bread, what do you think?”

“I want to eat it.”

“Yes, which means what?”

“Which means I’m hungry.”

“Yes, but—”

“And it will taste so good with melted butter.”

“Yes, but go back to the smell. If you smell warm bread, it means that…” So-Elku moved his hand in a circular motion, trying to summon the answer out of her.

“That… I’m hungry?”

So-Elku shook his head but continued waving his hand.

“That I’m smelling warm bread…”

“Which is coming from?”

“From… from someone who’s making it?”

“Yes!” So-Elku clapped his hands in celebration of the small victory. Piper smiled at his exuberance, apparently pleased. “So the scent leads to somewhere else.”

“Oh, so you’re saying that I can smell the Nexus from the pond.”

“In a manner of speaking, yes. But unlike the bread analogy, we’re not going to find the baker and the bread shop. We’re going to stay right here and look more closely at the smell.”

“You can’t see smells.”

“It’s an analogy, Piper.”

“Doma.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re supposed to call me doma, not Piper.”

Was she always this much of a handful? he wondered. “Do you want me to teach you something interesting or not?”

Piper withdrew again. “I was just trying to point out that you called me the wrong thing.”

For what felt like the hundredth time, So-Elku took a deep breath, steadied himself, and cleared his mind. “Thank you for the correction, doma.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Now, shall we see what we can see?”

“Sure,” she said, winking with one of her big blue eyes.

“Focus, doma,” So-Elku said, lifting his palm to each side of her head like blinders. Piper straightened her back and then closed her eyes. “I want you to feel the Nexus flowing up and into the lily pond, feeding it, surrounding it, sustaining it. Can you sense it?”

“I… yes, I think so.”

“Good. Now, follow that feeling, not—”

“Not down to the Nexus. I got it, shydoh.”

So-Elku nodded. Perhaps she’s not entirely hopeless after all. “Instead, dwell within it. Exist within it. Feel yourself merging with the energy and becoming a part of it.”

“Like this?”

Suddenly, a blast of energy knocked So-Elku off his feet—not just within the Unity but outside of it. The wave was so powerful that it dislodged him from his second sight and forced him out of the ethereal realm. He lay on his back, ears and head ringing, and squinted as he got his bearings. When he could focus, he saw Piper hovering above the pool—no, where the pool had been. There was only a shallow pit in the ground. Instead, the water, the fish, the lilies, algae, all of it circled Piper. Her hands were lifted as if controlling the movements of everything within the lily pond, fingers flowing in rhythm with the Nexus’s power.

“That’s marvelous, Piper,” So-Elku said, aware that his voice freely betrayed the wonder he felt inside. He touched the back of his head and then saw blood on his fingertips, barely aware of the injury. He looked back at the girl. “Now, now—can you feel deeper? Can you sense that there is more to explore?”

“Uh-huh,” Piper said. “Should I?”

So-Elku braced himself, still out of breath. “Yes.”

The next demonstration of power came not as a blast but as a rumble that made the pebbles on the stone path pop off the ground in fits. So-Elku steadied himself, hands on the ground, body vibrating. He glanced around the garden and noticed the tree limbs quivering and the flower beds shaking. The birds had gone silent too.

Then So-Elku witnessed something he never imagined possible. The matter surrounding Piper began to spread apart.

At first, the change was subtle, as if the floating pool of water and all its contents were blurry. So-Elku thought to rub his eyes save for the fact that Piper herself wasn’t blurry; unlike everything else in the garden, she was utterly still. Then separation became more noticeable as droplets of water began separating from one another. The fish too began pulling apart—not in a violent way that suggested their death. So-Elku imagined they were still very much alive. Instead, it was as if the fish had been separated on a fundamental level, their life force present, but their composition exposed.

The pool and its contents suddenly began to expand—matter pulled apart in a swirling display of colored light. So-Elku hadn’t the slightest idea how any molecular bonds remained intact. By all accounts, this act should have released cataclysmic levels of energy. Instead, the pool’s components broke down into some infinitesimal level that defied understanding. The light and matter spread out over the garden like the helical star cloud of a distant nebula. So-Elku felt as though he was gazing into eternity itself as the cascade of light swirled above him.

“Magnificent,” he said, barely able to speak the word. Tears rolled down his cheeks, and he found himself hardly able to breathe.

“I see it,” Piper said at last. “I see it all.”

“Yes. Mystics yes, you do, my child.”

“It’s beautiful.”

This time So-Elku couldn’t respond. He was shaking in ecstasy. There was no precedent for what he was witnessing. Piper made whatever thresholds So-Elku had crossed look elementary at best and unmentionable at worst. This was a display of power no Luma had ever seen, and may never see again.

“I can see more,” Piper said after a moment.

“More?” What more was there to see?

“I see a path leading up to this moment,” Piper continued. “And paths leading away. They’re like trails for all the things that make up the pond.”

Mystics, was she seeing time? It wasn’t unheard of for Luma to traverse limited aspects of time. But to see the routes of matter itself? It defied explanation. No wonder the girl had been given a suit to regulate her abilities.

Seeing Piper like this, So-Elku knew he’d been right to secure her for his plans. What force existed that could withstand her? That could rival her? But not just for his sake—for hers too. She owed it to herself to be a part of the galaxy’s future. She might not see it today, of course, but she would arrive at it soon enough—if she is adequately guided. Everyone needs guidance, he reminded himself, lest they fail to see what is right in front of them. And guide her he would.

So-Elku struggled to prop himself up on his elbows. Then, as he sought to gain control of his voice, he said, “Now bring it back. Slowly. Let everything be rejoined as it once was.”

Piper seemed to acknowledge his instructions with a nod though it was hard to make her body out amidst the brilliant lights. She moved her hands up and down as if they played on the winds of the universe. At once, the helical expanse began to collapse. The light folded in on itself—atoms fused, particles rejoined, and the droplets of water merged just as the fish and the lilies took shape once again. And then, the whole scene descended back into the pit until the waters lapped against the pool’s stone edges.

When Piper looked up, water still above her knees, she let out a giggle. “That was super awesome,” she said, looking all around.

So-Elku smiled, thinking of what was to come. “You don’t know the half of it, my child.”

8

“We’re jumping in-system now, my lord,” said the Peregrine’s captain.

Moldark couldn’t remember the man’s name. Ellis perhaps. But why bother with names when this quadrant’s organizations had given everyone ranks. Pathetic. “Thank you, Captain,” Moldark replied. “I’ll be up momentarily. Begin scanning the coordinates I gave you for ships.”

“As you command, my lord.”

Moldark closed out the channel and stared at the mirror in his quarters. Kane’s body was deteriorating faster than expected. Apparently, human physiology was weaker than he first surmised. “The decrepit species,” he said, seething the words through pointed teeth. Spittle landed on the mirror and ran down his black eyes and scabbed skin. He would need more sustenance, and more frequently if he was to stay bound with this… this thing.

Finding hosts was a troublesome affair, and building a reputation that allowed for adequate manipulation of the infrastructure even more so. But Moldark wouldn’t be without some measure of convenience should Kane’s body fail him. There was always Admiral Brighton, Captain Seaman, and several other notable leaders within the Paragon who would suit his purposes. Plus, they’d already surrendered enough to his mind-crafting that taking control would be far less of a hassle than it had been with Kane.

But Wendell Kane served another purpose, one far more critical than strategic leadership within the quadrant’s ruling military arm. Kane was seed-bearer to her—progeny of the Unity. That the fates would have granted him such a find was proof that he was to silence the pitiful cries of mortal life.

He feared, however, that the seed had been tampered with, that she had been caught up with those who resisted the Paragon and the Republic. Perhaps even So-Elku meddled with her—steward of the Unity for this pithy sector of a forsaken universe. And she was close—he could feel it. Coaxing her to join him, however, may present his greatest obstacle yet. But he would find a way—he must. He needed the child if he was going to accomplish his plans.

For all Moldark’s powers as an Elemental, he could not commune with the Unity. That was reserved for mortals, and he scorned them for it more than ever. Likewise, he despised them for finding freedom from their meager existence through death. They lived but the span of a vapor before blinking out of existence. Meanwhile, he was cursed to roam the cosmos with no hope of rest. None, that is, unless he were to vanquish his foes and eradicate life until the universes were quiet once more. The Republic and its amalgamation of species were not the first victims to suffer his relentless pursuit of his mortal enemies. And they would not be the last.

* * *

“What have you found?” Moldark said upon entering the ship’s bridge. A few other crew members occupied workstations throughout the dimly lit space, their faces illuminated by the glow of holo displays and button-strewn consoles.

“We have identified dozens of Republic ships coming and going from Worru, my lord. But none of them match the description or location you provided.”

Moldark’s teeth pricked his tongue, and he instantly tasted Kane’s blood. The ship was most likely gone, as he suspected. But if the scout vessel he’d sent to the quantum tunnel’s location returned with a negative report, then he knew the rebels and their new void horizon wouldn’t be far. “No matter,” Moldark said, sucking the blood across his teeth. “Keep scanning. If you discover anything out of the ordinary, let me know.”

“Surrounding the reconstruction efforts?”

Moldark had turned away but stopped to look back at the captain. “What reconstruction efforts?”

“In the capital city, my lord.” The captain paused, but when Moldark didn’t say anything, he added, “There seems to have been a sizable ground conflict in the capital city.”

“Show me. Ellis, is it?”

“Yes, my lord. As you wish.” The captain called his sensors officer to attention and ordered images to the main viewing window. Within seconds, live orbital views of Plumeria populated the Peregrine’s bridge, each sub-window showing details of the destruction. Hundreds of black blisters pockmarked the roads with gashes that streaked away from their epicenters. Buildings crumbled into street corners, and wreckage from blown-up vehicles made certain side-streets impassable. He even thought he saw the remains of starfighters littered throughout the city. That, along with the decimated planetary defense batteries, meant a significant conflict had played out here not more than a few days ago—perhaps even around the time that Nos Kil had sent his transmission.

“There,” Moldark said, pointing to a particular docking bay. “Zoom in and clarify.” The sensors officer followed Moldark’s orders and brought up the image of the bay.

Moldark felt Kane’s heart skip a beat. “She was there.”

“Who was, my lord?” Ellis asked.

But Moldark barely heard the man’s question. The girl had been in that hangar bay—he could feel it. He didn’t need second sight to see there had been a release of power, one so strong that its marks would never leave that place. Hundreds of lives had been snuffed out at that moment. Which meant… “She’s becoming herself.”

“My lord?” Ellis asked from beside him.

Moldark eyed the man curiously. He seemed unusually pliable. Perhaps he would make a good underling. Or a good meal, Moldark couldn’t decide. “Hail the planet,” he said. “I want to speak to So-Elku, Master of the Luma.”

“As you wish, my lord.”

The comms officer went into motion, making the necessary contact with Plumeria and eventually getting through to the Grand Arielina and Elders Hall.

“I have Master So-Elku, Captain.”

Ellis was about to say something, but Moldark said, “Bring him up.”

The comms officer complied, and a holo feed of So-Elku stood before Moldark at the front of the bridge. He seemed to be standing in a garden of sorts, though the background details were washed out.

“Fleet Admiral Kane,” So-Elku said. “To what do I owe the displeasure of this unsolicited communication? I see you are in-system and without invitation.”

“Come now, Luma master, is my presence here really all that unwelcome?”

So-Elku seemed to consider this for a moment before saying, “Considering the scope of our last encounter, I should think so. Unless, of course, you’ve come to make amends.”

Moldark placed his hands behind his back and ignored the statement. “It seems you have been visited by some misfortune as of late.”

“If by misfortune you mean your own presence, then I heartily agree.”

“Our sensors are detecting quite the skirmish in your city’s center.”

“And what business is this of the Republic’s?” So-Elku asked, clearly unaware of the Paragon as a name.

“I was hoping you could tell me that, seeing as how you have become such close friends with them.”

If So-Elku was put off guard by the words, Moldark could not tell. The man was as slippery as a Limerian nethermander in a sewer. No wonder he’s at home with the Nine, Moldark remarked to himself. Not that he had any experience with Limerian amphibians, but Kane did.

“Admiral Kane,” So-Elku said after a short pause. “Unless you have official business with the Luma, I suggest you leave the system before we are forced to prevail upon the Galactic Republic.”

“And yet, it seems you’ve already conferred with them enough as it is.” Moldark thought he saw the Luma’s eye twitch. “Be that as it may, I won’t leave the system. In fact, it’s come to my attention that you and I have some unfinished business to attend to.”

“I must warn you that any attempt to land on Worru will be met with force,” So-Elku said.

“Not very becoming of a peace-minded Luma master.”

“We render peace to those who wish to make it with us. You, however, have ulterior motives, ones which we will take every measure to thwart. I can assure you, Admiral, that we will thwart you.”

“And I can assure you, Luma, that based on my review of your planetary defenses, you are in no shape to be making threats against me.” Moldark was about to continue when he saw someone walk behind So-Elku. A child. A female child with blonde hair dressed in green and black robes. She’d been there for only an instant, but it was enough. It was her.

“Admiral, I must insist that—”

“Terminate,” Moldark ordered the comms officer, and the woman wasted no time in closing the channel. Then he turned to Captain Ellis, spitting as he spoke. “Order the Valiant to prepare an away team, four platoons. Departure in ten minutes. We’re landing in Plumeria, and I want every weapon we have on civilian targets. Is that clear?”

“Yes, my lord,” Ellis said, wiping blood from his cheek. “Consider it done.”

9

“How we looking?” Magnus asked as he ripped off his helmet and threw it into a crash couch. Awen and Willowood turned to greet him and Caldwell while Nolan reviewed the data on several holo screens.

“You’re late,” Awen said, hands on her hips.

“We ran into some trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“Nothing we couldn’t handle, Miss Awen,” Caldwell said. He looked at Nolan and repeated Magnus’s initial question.

“The good news is that no one’s questioned our ship ident and security clearance yet. So as long as we move slow and steady, and the towers don’t get curious about our ship’s visual presence, we should be good.”

“And the bad news?”

“Paragon ships just landed, ten bays down.”

“Splick.” Magnus looked at Caldwell. “This is gonna be closer than we thought.”

“I’m afraid it’s worse than that,” Nolan added. “According to Ricio, Moldark’s personal ship is called the Peregrine.”

“Why the hell do I care about… Splick. It’s here, isn’t it.”

Nolan nodded. “Like I said, ten bays down. And if his accompanying transports are full, like I suspect they are, then he has a small company of troopers along for the ride.”

Magnus looked at Caldwell, then said, “One look at this ship, and they’ll know something’s up.”

“Agreed,” the colonel replied. “Let me check in with Forbes—see where he’s at.” Caldwell stepped out of the bridge and started shouting in his comm.

“Why are you shouting?” Awen redirected the question to Magnus. “Why’s he shouting.”

“Long story. Listen, how’s Piper?”

“It’s hard to say, but I think she’s okay.”

Magnus ran a hand over his face. “And you couldn’t speak with her or anything?”

Awen shook her head. “It isn’t like a comms system, Magnus. We felt her presence. That’s all.”

“Well, at least she’s alive, right?”

“Yes.” Awen put a hand on his chest. “Let me remind you of what you just told me: we’ll come back for her.”

Magnus sighed. “Right.” But Magnus couldn’t suppress the sense of dread he felt growing in his gut. “You think Moldark’s come for her?”

“Piper?” Awen looked away. “It crossed my mind, yes.”

“Dammit.” The whole scenario felt like a Junlithkin chess match where the adversary was always two steps ahead and loved catching opponents with their pants around their ankles. “Bend over.”

“Excuse me?” Awen pulled her head back.

“Not you. Well, yeah, you. And me. All of us, I guess.”

“Easy, Magnus.” She sighed and searched his eyes. “If there’s one thing I know, Piper can handle herself.”

“How can you even say that? She’s so…”

“Young?”

“I was gonna say naive. She was carrying around a damned stuffed animal up until a few months ago.”

“A stuffed animal that was keeping her powers from harming everyone around her.”

Magnus eyed Awen curiously. “You’re saying her powers are going to keep her safe? But didn’t we stuff her in a power suit to do the same thing as that ratty corgachirp?”

“We did. But that’s just it. Willowood and I detected her only because—”

“You don’t think she’s wearing it anymore.”

Awen nodded.

“So she’s a loose blaster waiting to go off.”

“And even with the suit, you saw what she did down here.”

Magnus’s mind went back to the two companies of dead Repub Marines scattered out the docking bay doors and into Plumeria’s streets. He thought about the civilian casualties as well—the untold numbers of people who’d perished within the safety of their own homes. “Mystics,” he whispered.

“I don’t know what decisions her little girl brain is going to make,” Awen said. “I’ll give you that. But I do know that if anyone tries to harm her, well… let’s just say they’ll never know what hit them.”

“Forbes is still half-deaf, but he’s ready for departure,” Caldwell said, stepping back inside the bridge. “He has an idea on how to get us out of here too.”

* * *

The first Alvera-class transport rumbled overhead as Magnus and the others looked up at it through the shuttle’s cockpit window. The behemoth was so low that its monstrous repulsor engines shook everything within a kilometer, blasting the city with sustained waves of energy. Forbes’s idea for concealment from the Paragon meant making a dash from the hangar and slipping between the two transports. It would require deft piloting, but Magnus felt Nolan would be up for it—at least he hoped so. There wasn’t a lot of margin for error.

The ship wasn’t halfway passed when Nolan said, “Hold on!”

The former navy pilot raised the Novian shuttle out of the docking bay faster than regulations permitted, barely missing the far side’s top edge. Awen clutched Magnus’s bicep as the momentum forced everyone back in their crash couches.

Magnus watched as the Alvera-class ship stretched out in front of them, only to be followed tightly by the second transport. A small gap of maybe three-hundred meters appeared between the stern of the first ship and the bow of the latter—a hole Nolan flew toward with a little too much speed.

“You sure you got this?” Magnus asked, tightening his sphincter out of reflex. The shuttle closed so fast on the first transport that Magnus was sure they’d strike it. His vision tunneled on the two large engine cones that propelled the ship forward. As the energy wakes threatened to tear the shuttle apart, Magnus heard his voice rise in pitch. “Nolan?”

Just before a fiery ion explosion consumed the shuttles, Nolan spun the craft around and applied full throttle. The movement threw the passengers sideways and then shoved them into their seats. Magnus felt his vision darken as the G-forces skyrocketed. He grunted, forcing blood to stay in his head, willing himself to remain conscious.

The crash couches shook so hard Magnus was sure they’d rip from the deck. Out of the cockpit window, he saw the second transport’s nose. He couldn’t tell if Nolan was trying to crash into the stern of the first or impale them on the bow of the second. Then, just when the thought of death had firmly planted itself in Magnus’s head, the shuttle spun around again and faced the first transport’s tail. Nolan cut the throttle, and all was silent save for the gentle thrum of repulsor engines from the transport ahead. The shuttle was in perfect alignment with both ships, floating along as if on parade.

“All set,” Nolan said with a calm voice, spinning around. “Smooth sailing from here on out.”

“You’re one crazy bastard,” Magnus said, examining their position in the sensors screen. “Next time, how about engaging the dampeners?”

“But where’s the fun in that?”

The words had barely left his mouth when something else left Awen’s. Projectile vomit splashed into Nolan’s lap.

“Sorry,” Awen said, covering her mouth.

“You know what, Nolan? Never mind about the dampeners.” Magnus helped Awen unbuckle. “This is way more fun.”

* * *

Nolan led the convoy back to the quantum tunnel while Magnus briefed Captain Forbes on what to expect during the crossing. Since Magnus’s Novian shuttle was built to withstand the cataclysmic forces placed on its crew, the feeling of dying every time they went through the void horizon was minimized. Forbes, on the other hand, wouldn’t be so lucky. Magnus had thought about calling the Spire back, but it would have been too risky with the Paragon ships in orbit over Worru. Plus, he kinda felt every Marine needed to have a near-death experience at least once in their careers, and as far as he was concerned, these Marines—the new ones who’d been called in to help fight with the Gladio Umbra—were due.

Forbes thanked Magnus for the briefing and said he’d forward it down the chain of command.

“Why are you smiling?” Awen asked Magnus when he’d closed the channel.

“I’m not smiling.”

“Yeah, you are.”

Magnus looked at her. “I mean, wouldn’t you love to see an entire transport of Marines get sick at the same time?”

“You’re a bad man,” Awen said.

“Once was enough for me,” Nolan said, pointing to the fresh pair of crew shorts he sported. “And she wasn’t even a Marine.”

Awen laughed and shook her head. “I’m so sorry, Nolan, but you kinda earned it.”

“I hear that,” Nolan replied. “Still, Magnus is right. What I wouldn’t give to be a fly on that wall.”

“I can accommodate that request,” Azelon suddenly said over comms.

“Come again, Azie?” Magnus said, stepping toward the central flight console.

“I have gained access to both transports’ security systems, which includes onboard cameras. If you would like to view the common crew holds, I can send the feeds directly to your shuttle.”

Magnus looked at Awen. “No… that’s—”

Awen shrugged, and the edges of her lips curled into a devilish smile. “Send it over, Azie.”

Magnus stared at Awen. “Look who’s the bad person now.”

* * *

After all four of them watched a few hundred hardened Marines puke on one another, Colonel Caldwell hailed Captain Forbes. “Everyone make it across okay, Forbes?”

“The word ‘okay’ may not be the best description,” the captain hollered back. “But we’re all accounted for. We’ll be a little while in cleaning up.”

“Understood. Consider this your official welcome to metaspace, captain.”

Forbes chuckled. “If this is the welcome, I hate to see the goodbye.”

“It’s a bitch. Listen, don’t waste too much time cleaning up. There are bots for that. Plus, you’re not gonna need the Repub armor anyway.”

“We get the fancy stuff like you, colonel?”

“Eventually. It’s gonna take some time to manufacture. We’ll keep the Repub weapons and armor in case we need them later. But for now, let’s just get everyone into some clean clothes and square your quarters away.”

“Copy that.”

“Caldwell out.”

When the older man spun from the co-pilot chair, Magnus waved him back into the crew compartment. “A word, colonel?”

“Of course.”

Caldwell followed Magnus to the compartment’s rear, just before the cargo bay. They sat facing one another on either side of the aisle.

“We’re gonna need to restructure,” Magnus said. “I think you realize that by now too.”

“The Gladio Umbra, you mean?” Caldwell nodded. “The units are about to grow by a factor of seven or eight, I gather. Doesn’t even count whatever reinforcements Sootriman and Mr. Third-Person can rustle up.”

“Ezo,” Magnus said.

“Right.”

“It’s gonna be a lot to handle—reorganization, integration, training.”

“Sure the hell is,” Caldwell said.

“We’re talking some serious oversight.”

“We are.”

Magnus rubbed the back of his neck. “Oversight that requires training and experience I don’t have.”

“But with the right guidance, you’ll figure it out, son.”

Magnus shook his head. “No, colonel. I won’t. I don’t have the time to learn it all, and the galaxy’s safety isn’t gonna sit around and wait.”

Caldwell looked stone-faced at Magnus. “Splick, son. You’re not suggesting that—”

“I sure as hell am.”

Caldwell reached into a pocket inside his chest plate and pulled out a half-smoked cigar. He stuck it under his tobacco-stained mustache and studied Magnus’s face with hard eyes. A long minute passed in total silence, one that felt more like an hour.

Magnus honestly couldn’t decide which way the colonel was going to go. The old man was sure to stay on in some capacity, which was all well and good. But Magnus knew he needed the colonel at the helm, not as a grunt. Magnus couldn’t lead what the Gladio Umbra was about to turn into—a battalion. Give him a platoon and a firefight, and he knew where to be and when. But a battalion? Hell, there was a reason gifted men and women spent a decade learning how to command a unit this size. Without the colonel, Magnus knew he was screwed. And he hoped the colonel knew it too.

“You do you know Plumeria was my retirement, right?” The colonel asked.

Magnus sat back. He had him. “Probably would’ve given you a house next to So-Elku too. Damn shame.”

“Damn shame,” Caldwell repeated, chewing on his cigar. “But I gave that up, and now I’m stuck here with you. And if I’m stuck here with you, I don’t really wanna be running around in firefights, bustin’ my balls. I’m getting too old for that splick. Have you seen my knees lately?”

“I don’t even know how you’re still standing, colonel.”

“Hell if I know.” The older man chuckled, then squared with Magnus. “Listen, son. You’re a damn fine Marine and an even better man. Maybe the best I’ve ever known. So if you want me on latrine duty, I’ll scrub every alien ass pot in the quadrant for you, if that’s what helps you save the day.”

“Not to discount your offer, but like you told Forbes, we’ve got bots for that. Where I really need you is at the top. The Gladio Umbra needs a battalion commander. Mystics know I can’t do that. But you can. So that’s where I need you.”

The colonel removed his cigar and put his hand up. “Then I’ll give you my last breath, Adonis. Dominate.”

Magnus clasped the old man’s thick hand. “Liberate.”

10

Ezo and Sootriman had been cleaning the burnt-out den for almost an hour when Saasarr appeared at the entrance. The Reptalon looked around and gave what Ezo assumed was an impressed look, but it seemed more like a disgusted sneer.

“Well done, my queen,” Saasarr said.

“No small thanks to the bots Ezo conscripted,” she replied, pointing to Ezo. Again, Saasarr gave him the same impressed look—or is that the sneer of disgust? He couldn’t tell. Either way, he waved from a pile of soot-covered metal that he’d been stacking.

Thanks to the small fleet of service bots, most of the light fixtures had been repaired, the floors scrubbed, and the walls were well on their way to taking on some semblance of their former states. The ceilings, however, would take longer. The grand garments that once billowed through the dome’s upper reaches would also need replacing, but those would come in time. If we make it back, Ezo noted to himself.

The bots had also done an efficient job of collecting and itemizing the debris and tidying up. Their help was especially useful with the corpses, a task which neither Sootriman or Ezo could handle emotionally. Moldark’s massacre had been even more gratuitous than Ezo first thought. After all, the last time he’d been in the den was with Awen and TO-96, and they hadn’t come to itemize the dead. But now, picking through the rubble in an attempt to bring the hall back to life, the atrocity’s impact hit Ezo hard—Sootriman even more so.

“Would you like to see the first applicants?” Saasarr asked.

“Yes,” Sootriman replied. “How many do you have so far?”

“Several hundred, my queen.”

Sootriman looked at Ezo. “It’s as you suspected.”

Ezo gave her an astonished look. “Of course it is. All of them adore you, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

Sootriman waved off the compliment—one genuinely paid, Ezo noted to himself. “But not all of them are suited to fight. Which is why we must interview them.”

“You do realize that’s going to take more than the day we allotted, don’t you?” Ezo asked.

“If Saasarr may speak,” the Reptalon said, and Sootriman waved her hand. “The robot man has already filtered the current applicants according to what he thinks is the best fit for us.”

“You see?” Sootriman said, glancing at Ezo. “That should expedite things nicely. Send them, Saasarr. And then come by my side. In case things get… interesting.”

Saasarr gave another one of his half smiles and left the den.

“Ezo can’t tell if your pet likes him or wants to eat him,” Ezo said as he wiped his hands on a cloth.

“Probably both,” Sootriman said. She ascended her dais and double-checked the chair’s cleanliness before sitting down. “And he’s not my pet. You know I hate when you call him that.”

“Pet, slave, indentured servant—it’s all the same to Ezo.”

“Why do you do that?”

“Do what?” Ezo asked, stuffing the cloth inside his pants pocket.

“Talk about yourself with me in the third person?”

“Ezo doesn’t do…” He shrugged. “Apparently, he does.”

“And yet you don’t do it with Tee-Oh.”

“That’s because he…”

“He what? He’s always been faithful to you? Always stuck it out no matter what?”

“Ezo doesn’t mean to. It’s just that…” Ezo’s mouth worked to find words like a fish probing the water.

“I wasn’t the one who left you, husband. You know that, right?”

Ezo looked down at his calloused soot-stained hands. “No, you didn’t leave Ezo.” He sighed, then corrected the statement. “You didn’t leave me. I suppose it’s because I was the one who left you. And I’m ashamed of it.”

“Well, get over it.”

Ezo snapped his head up at her. “What?”

“Get over it—talking in the third person. Others might think it’s endearing or whatever. But don’t do it with me. And stop calling Saasarr bad names. He’s a person and a fine protector. And if neither works for you, I’ll cut your tongue out.”

Ezo raised his hands in defense. “I got it. I got it.” He was spared any further punishment by the sudden appearance of twelve people at the den’s entrance. Saasarr strode out in front and then turned around to face the newcomers.

“I present to you the Mistress of Caledonia, Queen of Khimere, and the Warlord of Ki Nar Four, Sootriman.” He bowed as he backed away, hissing at the few guests who didn’t bow along with him.

“Come forward,” Sootriman said.

The twelve people who crossed the newly swept floor were unusual in a Dregs of Oorajee sort of way. Their clothing was a patchwork of plate armor and fabrics gathered from around the galaxy. But rather than a sign of poverty, as many emoted on this rusted out floating dung heap, these people wore it as a badge of honor. In fact, if Ezo didn’t know better, he’d say these people were leaders of some kind. And they looked ready for a fight.

Ezo felt his trigger finger twitch as Sootriman stood from her battered throne and descended the dais. A man stepped out from the group’s center and meet Sootriman. He wore a burgundy cloak over one shoulder, a black Repub-style chest plate, and a beige pair of cargo pants with heavy black boots. On his head, he wore a style of black beret that Ezo couldn’t quite place.

Sootriman and the interloper stood less than a meter apart, and Ezo felt the overwhelming urge to pull his Supra from his holster.

“How dare you show your face here,” Sootriman said, her tone seething with hatred.

“And miss an opportunity to gloat?” the man replied. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Yeah? Well, maybe you should do more dreaming and less drinking.” The two opponents scowled at one another. Ezo was sure this was about to be a one-sided blood bath. Suddenly, Sootriman embraced the man, welcoming him with a wide smile. “It’s good to see you, Phineas.”

“And you, my lord queen,” the man replied. “We feared you were lost.”

“I almost was, were it not for some help from friends.” Sootriman looked at Ezo and gestured for him to join her. “Husband, this is Phineas Barlow, magistrate of Kildower.”

“You can just call me Phineas.”

“But magistrate?” Ezo said, shaking the man’s hand.

“You think all the floating cities govern themselves?” Phineas asked.

“Come to think of it, Ezo had never given it much thought.”

“Offworlders,” someone else muttered.

“All Ki Nar Four’s floating cities have magistrates,” Sootriman said to Ezo. “Save mine, of course.”

“Naturally,” Ezo said. “So… you two are friends?”

“Well,” Phineas said, stifling laughter. “If you call losing your favorite skiff in a bad hand of Antaran backdraw friendship—”

“Which I do,” Sootriman said.

“Then, yeah. And I’m gonna win that skiff back, queen. Don’t go making any mods to it.”

“Too late,” Sootriman said. “It’s pink now.”

“Pink?” Phineas looked confused. “But, you hate pink.”

“I do, yes. But my cats don’t.”

“Son of a bitch. You know I’m allergic!”

Sootriman shrugged. “Whoops.” She called down the hall to the Reptalon. “Saasarr, tell Tee-Oh we have enough applicants for today. We’ll be in touch with the others if we need them.”

“Yes, your highness.”

Ezo dipped his head to catch Sootriman’s eye, then leaned in toward her ear. “These are the particular people you were trying to get the attention of?”

“You’re very perceptive,” she whispered.

“So what was with all the fanfare and speech giving?”

Sootriman smiled. “It worked, didn’t it?”

“You went through all that just to get them here?”

“Hardly. I sent them a message before we entered subspace. As Tee-Oh suggested, all that will help my magistrates when it comes time to solicit the common folk for their help, should they need it.”

“Would it have hurt to let Ezo—let me in on it?”

Sootriman pulled away and looked Ezo in the eyes. “There’s something to be said for being a woman of mystery, don’t you think?”

* * *

Sootriman led everyone up a private staircase to a portico that overlooked Gangil’s southern sector. The covered deck was far enough away from the den’s main rooms that it escaped Moldark’s savagery. A canopy made of billowing fabric played in the evening breeze while hanging lanterns bathed the low-slung chairs and communal tables in soft light.

Ezo, Sootriman, and the twelve magistrates reclined in friendly conversation, drinks in hand, while Saasarr and TO-96 stood watch. Not that anyone dared ambush the gathering. After all, Sootriman had just defied the harbinger of death and returned victoriously—at least as far as the citizens of Gangil were concerned. Furthermore, Ezo suspected the magistrates had not ventured from their respective haunts unaccompanied. He guessed their position was safeguarded by several snipers whose keen eyes searched the shadows for would-be assassins.

“If I could have your attention,” Sootriman said. “Your attention, please.”

The various side conversations died down, and everyone turned to Sootriman.

“I want to thank you for coming tonight. I know many of you had far more important affairs to deal with than attending to my request for a meeting.”

“Boris still needs a bath,” someone offered, which brought on a round of laughter made easier by the drinks.

“When doesn’t he?” Sootriman added. Then she raised her glass that held two fingers of an aged bottle of bratch she’d kept in a private liquor cabinet. “A toast. To warm baths and bread.”

“Warm baths and bread,” the gathering echoed, clinking glasses then downing the strong drink.

When the chuckling died down, Sootriman sat back and put her glass on the table. “The fact is, I need your help. We need your help.” She looked at Ezo, then Saasarr and TO-96. “It seems trouble has come to the galaxy. And while we all pride ourselves in staying out of the affairs of others, it seems I have been pulled into a fight much more significant than my own cares and concerns.

“Granted, you may not find yourself in the same place once you hear everything I have to say. You may wish to resign yourself to your current affairs just as they are, and bid me farewell. I will not condemn you. But know that it may very well be the last time we speak together.”

“Is it so bad, this trouble you speak of?” asked the oldest looking man in the group. He sported a long grey beard and a gold ring in one eyebrow. His question and Sootriman’s words seemed to lower everyone’s mood.

“It is, Dieddelwolf. And then some.” Sootriman threw the rest of her drink back and then struck the table with her empty glass. “Tee-Oh?”

“Yes?” said the bot.

“Another round of drinks.”

“As you wish, my lady.”

* * *

Nearly an hour had passed when Sootriman finished her story. She recounted the events she’d lived through since Moldark ransacked her den and slaughtered the members of her court. To their credit, the magistrates listened without so much as a burp. They were, to put it mildly, transfixed by her account. Whether or not they’d risk their lives for the sake of a little girl, some misguided Luma, and the Galactic Republic most of them despised, that was another story.

Just as Ezo suspected, one of the first people to speak was a woman who went by the name Chloe. Her short red hair flipped out from under a black Repub officer’s cap, and she had a Sypeurlion admiral’s jacket buttoned up with a tie around her waist. How the woman got either officer’s garments piqued Ezo’s interest.

“That’s a fine story, your highness, and I’m certainly sorry for the hardships you’ve endured, but am I the only one here who thinks you’re about ready to ask us to help get involved in a war that doesn’t concern us?” Chloe looked around at everyone as if to gauge their response. At least two others nodded in agreement and turned to Sootriman. It seemed Ezo’s wife had a bit of convincing to do before the night was out.

“A fair question,” Sootriman replied. “Whether or not this fight is of your concern is entirely up to you. And your decision will not affect my view of your allegiance. I would never ask you to risk your life for something you don’t believe in.”

“So you are going to ask us then,” Chloe said.

“I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t. The rest of the Gladio Umbra are gathering forces and preparing to try and stop Moldark and So-Elku as we speak. And I must leave by morning to rejoin them.”

“So what’s the pitch, Sootriman?”

Sootriman stared at Chloe. Ezo guessed she would be the hardest sell. Something about the Repub and Sypeurlion items she wore told Ezo that the woman had taken out their former owners herself, and most likely at a high cost. She wasn’t going to fight unless it was personal.

“The pitch is you all lend whatever fighters you can. We supply training, armament, food, transport, and plenty of targets, you supply the bodies. When it’s all over, you retain your warriors and whatever new tech they’re carrying.”

“When it’s all over, meaning if we survive,” Chloe said. She leaned back in her chair and gave Sootriman a smug look. “I dunno, my queen. Feels like this war is going to be more hassle than it’s worth.”

If Chloe’s stalwart demeanor phased Sootriman, she didn’t show it. “It might. And you might die. Mystics, I’ve already stared death down twice. But if it’s not your trouble now, something tells me it might be soon enough.”

Dieddelwolf leaned in. “You think this Moldark is coming to our system?”

“I think he’s coming to every system,” Sootriman said. “It might not be today or tomorrow. But we’re dealing with someone, with something the likes of which I’ve never seen. It’s only a matter of time before he’s done with the Republic. He has command of all three fleets.”

“That’s enough firepower to clear the sector,” Borris said.

Dieddelwolf shook his head. “No, that’s enough firepower to clear the quadrant. If the Jujari, Sypeurlion, and Dim-Telok are eliminated, there’s nothing to stop him.”

“Exactly,” Sootriman said, her eyes searching their faces. A whole minute passed without a word spoken. A lonely dog howled in the distance, and a cantina fight spilled into a street, punctuated by the sound of breaking glass.

“Fifteen years, no taxes,” Chloe said at last.

Ezo watched Sootriman’s face brighten ever so slightly. “You know we can’t operate without subsidies. The cities will fall out of the sky. Five years, tax-free.”

“Ten.” Chloe leaned across the table and spat in her hand. “And not a year less.”

Sootriman seemed to consider the offer, but Ezo guessed the savvy businesswoman had already made up her mind. The truth was, she probably would have taken no taxes for life. But why give away more than was needed to make the deal? The galaxy may be a mess but credits were still credits. Sootriman spit in her hand, reached across the table, and grasped Chloe’s hand. “Done.”

* * *

Having concluded their official business, Sootriman dismissed her magistrates but welcomed them to stay the night if they wished. The den had more than enough accommodations in its sub-platform chambers—more space that Moldark had failed to defile.

When they were alone again, Ezo joined Sootriman at the portico’s far end where she reclined on an amply cushioned tech chair. “I think that went rather well,” Ezo said, mindful of using his real name. He sat down beside her and handed her a fresh drink.

“Thanks,” she replied, taking a sip from the offered glass. “They’re good people.”

“Wasn’t sure about that Chloe, though.”

“She’s been through a lot and doesn’t like to waste her time with other people’s wars.”

“Understandable. But I suppose there’s more to the story with her.” Ezo waited to see if Sootriman would share. But when his wife didn’t offer anything, Ezo said, “Like how she got those officer’s clothes.”

“As with most of the people on this planet, she wears what she kills.”

“So she killed a Repub officer and a Sypeurlion admiral? I’ve gotta hear about this.”

“Not my story to tell, love.” Sootriman took another sip. “Maybe you can ask her one day. But fair warning.”

“Oh?”

“Be ready for her to throw something. Most likely at you.”

“Noted. Thanks.” Ezo took another sip of the bratch and tried to enjoy the stillness of the night. “You think they’re getting some more people to join?”

“I suspect they’ll get us some fresh faces, yes,” Sootriman replied. “Tee-Oh’s little spectacle will help see to that. Of what quality and talents, well, that remains to be seen. At best, Magnus will have some new fighters to train. At worst…”

“Azelon will have some deckhands and galley rats.”

“Precisely.” Sootriman winked at Ezo.

“So, you think it was worth the trip out here?”

“I do. But there’s one more thing I need to do.”

“And what’s that?”

“Would you mind summoning Saasarr for me?”

“Saasarr?” Ezo looked back toward the doorway expecting to see the Reptalon but realized he was securing the den’s main gate. “Sure. We going somewhere?”

“No, love. He’s the one I need to speak with.”

Ezo hesitated. “As in, the one last thing you need to do?”

Sootriman nodded.

“And I suppose you’re not going to tell me what it’s about.”

“Not yet, anyway.”

“And why not?”

She shrugged and took another sip of her drink. “Because if it doesn’t work out, I don’t want you included among those who’ll have their throats cut.”

“And I’m absolutely okay with that.”

11

Piper sat up and flicked on her bedside light. Her hands were clammy, and her nightgown was soaked. She’d had the dream again—the one where Magnus rescued her.

She looked around the bedroom as her brain tried to make sense of where she was. The old lamp’s warm glow illuminated wooden furniture, a thick rug, and heavy curtains drawn over a window. The room smelled like old people and dust.

That’s when the reality of her present circumstances came rushing back. She was in Plumeria, on Worru, and Shydoh So-Elku’s newest doma.

Piper slid off the tall bed and landed on the rug, then she shuffled to the curtains. She pulled the left side back to reveal a clear sky filled with stars. The sight of tiny orbs sent a chill down her spine. It was as if they called to her, inviting her to leave. This place, she imagined them saying, is not your home.

The word “home” made Piper’s heart flutter. She hadn’t thought about being home for a long time. Well, that was, until the nightmare she’d just relived. Being back in her family’s apartment on Capriana had felt wonderful. She could imagine her father’s voice as he made morning holo calls from the dining room table. She could hear her mother singing in the shower. And Talisman was clutched tightly in her arm as she played a game on her holo pad.

And then the pain came. The city was destroyed, and Piper was left to wander the streets—lost and alone. But that was when Magnus came, appearing from the wreckage to rescue her.

“No,” Piper said aloud, stepping away from the window. The curtain caressed her face as she moved toward a chair in the room’s corner. “He’s not a rescuer. He’s a murderer.”

Tears welled in her eyes as she thought about her mother. As hard as she tried, she couldn’t forget her mother’s dead body with her helmet split in two. Piper wept, wishing she had Talisman to hold.

Just then, another memory filled her mind, that of her father’s burial. She sat with her mother as the hot sands of Oorajee stung her face. That day was so painful, rivaled only by the night her mother died. She remembered sneaking a few glimpses as Magnus buried her daddy beside his emergency pod, digging a grave in the sand with a Repub helmet.

Another shiver went down Piper’s back, this time making her arms prickle. She was cold—cold and alone. And she was homesick.

So-Elku insisted that she was where she belonged. “You’re home now,” he’d said. They walked back to her quarters after the day’s exercise in the lily pond, her arm through his. Her new shydoh assured her that she was in the right place. But, somehow, she didn’t agree. She didn’t feel like she was in the right place, and this wasn’t home.

Then again, where was home?

Her father and mother were dead, and the only people she felt comfortable with were long gone—although comfortable wasn’t the right word anymore. Not after what Magnus had done.

Which made her wonder a new thought: How could Awen be friends with someone like Magnus? Deep in her heart, Piper didn’t believe Awen was bad. If anything, Magnus had blinded her just like he’d blinded Piper. But is Awen really so impercip—percep—imperceptive?

Suddenly, a feeling of guilt overshadowed the overwhelming feeling of being homesick. Piper pulled her legs up to her chest as another shiver went through her body. She felt ashamed for thinking that Awen wasn’t smart enough to see through Magnus’s deceit. She was, after all, a famed Luma and co-leader of the Gladio Umbra. She would have sensed Magnus’s evil motives just like she had sensed—

Piper shook.

Just like Awen had sensed So-Elku’s.

But she was wrong about the Luma Master. He wasn’t bad. Maybe just misunderstood. Like she was. None of Piper’s friends back in school got her. They’d made fun of her gifts. They called her a demon and said she didn’t fit in. She’d wanted a second chance with them. She’d wanted to show them that she wasn’t a freak and that her powers were beautiful. But they’d made up their minds—just like Awen had made up her mind against So-Elku.

After all, he’d asked Piper for a second chance. Wouldn’t she be a hippalotaderm if she didn’t give him one? No, not a hippalotaderm. A hippa—hippacrat. Something like that.

But working with So-Elku gave Piper an icky feeling. Taking off her power suit didn’t feel right, especially after Awen had gone to such great lengths to make it for her. And her mother had been so enamored with it too. Piper remembered seeing it for the first time on the stone altar in the temple on Neith Tearness. The memory made her warm inside and pushed back the cold.

Then, an even more puzzling thought struck Piper. If So-Elku truly needed a second chance, why hadn’t Awen given him one? And, more importantly, why hadn’t her grandmother? After all, both women had known him for a long time—Awen almost as long as Piper had been alive if her math was right, and her grandmother for… well, for however old she and So-Elku were, she guessed.

This begged even more questions that Piper didn’t feel up to answering. Had her grandmother already given So-Elku some second chances? Had Awen? Her former shydoh wasn’t exactly the mean type. Sure, Piper had seen Awen be cross, but that was only when Piper did something really dangerous. Or stupid. Or both.

In fact, Piper couldn’t think of a time where Awen was not at least willing to see something through someone else’s eyes—even Magnus’s. And those two were about as opposite as people could be. Awen wanted peace, and Magnus wanted to blow things up. Well, he wanted to stop bad people from doing bad things. But still, the ways Awen and Magnus wanted to get things done seemed really different—at least until they formed the Gladio Umbra and started working together. That was when they traded what was best for themselves with what was best for everyone. At least, that’s how Piper imagined it.

Suddenly, Piper had a memory of So-Elku’s face as she stood in the lily pond after the day’s exercise. But the image was fuzzy, and she knew she needed to see it more clearly—to feel it more deeply. That’s when she remembered the new ability she’d discovered while flowing through the atoms of the lily pond: she’d been able to look back in time. Or something like that.

Born from a desire to see So-Elku’s face in the garden, maybe even to hear his thoughts, Piper slipped into her second sight and summoned the Nexus’s power. The forces that connected all things in the Unity flowed through her—or, rather, she flowed through them. Piper felt herself leap across steps in time like she was jumping from one stone to another in a beautiful river. She glanced into the shimmering waves of light and spotted the events of her day as easily as if she were watching a holo movie of her life. The moments rippled beneath the surface, inviting her to view each one and savor the past.

But Piper was not here to marvel at her newfound ability nor play with her memories frivis—vivious—frivolously. She had a job to do. So she leaped from stone to stone until she saw herself in the lily pond a moment after she’d returned the scene to normal.

“That was super awesome,” Piper saw herself say. Then she looked at So-Elku.

“You don’t know the half of it, my child,” he replied.

Right there! she thought.

Piper stopped the scene in the Unity, using the Nexus to hold it in place. She drew close to the man’s face and studied it. He had a strange look in his eyes—a greedy look. Like he wanted something that he’d never been able to have before, and he was looking at Piper.

No, she corrected herself, he was looking through me.

It was like So-Elku wanted what Piper had—her powers. After all, Piper knew she was more powerful than him. She could feel it. But two were always better than one, which is why I need him, right? she reasoned. Being a team is why we need each other.

But if that were true, why didn’t her grandmother need So-Elku? Why didn’t Awen want to work with him to achieve peace? Piper wondered what made So-Elku so different than the two women, and why they all couldn’t work to achieve the same things. Wasn’t their goal the same?

Suddenly, Piper had an adult thought—a complicated and kind of confusing adult thought. Their goal might be the same, she said to herself, but the way they want to get to it is not.

Any warmth Piper had felt before disappeared. She snapped out of the Unity and found herself back on the old chair. Then she squeezed her knees tighter as the room seemed to close in on her. Piper wanted to run—wanted to get out of this place. But to where? She had no family left, and Awen had probably gone back to metaspace.

For the first time in her life, Piper truly felt alone. She curled up on the chair in her soaked nightgown and started to cry.

* * *

A sliver of sunlight irritated Piper’s eyelid. She tried to squint it away, but the beam was persistent. It nagged at her until she moved her head some centimeters out of the way. After a few minutes, the warm glow had caught up with her eyelid again, tickling her eyelashes. She smiled and then turned away from the sunlight. She opened her eyes and found herself in the chair in the corner of her room. The sun shone through the narrow slit in the heavy drapes, carving a path along the rug to her. She’d fallen asleep after the nightmare and all the grownup type thinking she’d done. It was hard work.

Piper stretched and yawned and then shuffled back to the big fluffy bed. It still smelled like old people, but she was cold, and the covers looked warm and inviting.

As she nestled back in to try and get a little bit more sleep, her thoughts drifted back to what she’d thought about in the middle of the night. She rolled over and then went back as she tried to dismiss the images and feelings. Being a grownup was hard, and she felt like she’d put herself in a very grownup position way before she was supposed to. Worse still, she didn’t know how to get out. She needed an escape.

Just then, Piper remembered the holo call So-Elku had taken when they were in the garden together. The man on the other end seemed very scary looking. Now, Piper, that’s mean, she thought, correcting herself with a teacher-like tone. Rather than tell herself she was sorry for the judgment, Piper revised her assessment of the man in the black uniform with the scarred bald head and black eyes. He’s just different from me, that’s all.

And yet, the funny thing was, there was something about him that wasn’t so different. In fact, there was something about the man that seemed familiar. Why, Piper had no idea. She’d never seen him before in her life. And yet she felt like she knew him, or maybe that she was supposed to know him. Like a long-lost friend who you hadn’t seen in decades. Of course, Piper had no idea what decades felt like—she’d barely made it to one decade. Which reminded her: Isn’t my birthday soon? But the thought of celebrating without her mother and father made Piper want to cry again, and she’d done enough of that for one day.

The man in the holo call said he was coming to visit So-Elku, and that gave Piper an idea.

12

Moldark heard So-Elku’s voice coming from inside Elder’s Hall long before he saw the Luma Master. “Let him in, let him in,” So-Elku said with an exasperated tone. The guards who stood at the doors barring Moldark’s way seemed confused. They looked at one another, then back in So-Elku’s direction, before returning their gaze to Moldark.

“Your master seems insistent,” Moldark said. “Of course, if you’d like to double-check with him, we’ll wait here.” He gestured behind him to the four platoons of Paragon troopers with weapons held across their chests.

“For the love of all the mystics, what are you waiting for?” So-Elku said again.

The guards, still appearing unsure as to why their commander would allow such an audience, begrudgingly stepped aside. Moldark nodded at them and then stepped through the half-open doorway, his entourage following close behind.

“Admiral Kane,” So-Elku said with no attempt to hide his blatant disgust. The Luma leader stood in the circular room’s center with his arms crossed. Far fewer elders surrounded him than during their last meeting in this place.

Moldark made a show of looking around as he approached So-Elku. “Where is everyone? I seem to recall there being more to your court than this.”

“What do you want, Kane?”

“That’s it?” Moldark turned and looked up to the domed ceiling above. His troopers spread out and encircled So-Elku and his Luma. “Where is the hospitality? Where is the peace-filled plea of entreaty? I thought the Order of Luma extended more of a welcome than—well, than this.” Moldark flung his hands up and sneered at So-Elku.

“The Order does when the audience merits it,” replied So-Elku.

“Merits it?” Moldark continued to turn, taking in the hall. “And does not the lord of the Paragon merit it?”

So-Elku squinted at the title, just as Moldark suspected he would. “Lord of what?”

The dark lord snapped back to look at So-Elku. “The Paragon, the reign of perfect rule, that which has supplanted your feeble Republic.”

“I have no more allegiance to the Galactic Republic than—”

Moldark hissed at So-Elku. “Lying is unbecoming, Master Luma. You should know this.”

“And your presence is unbecoming.”

“Yes, especially considering that I am still alive.”

So-Elku hesitated. “What do you want?”

“Ah, ah, ah. You must give an account for your transgressions against me.” Moldark walked toward So-Elku and began circling him. The other elders did not attempt to stop him, no doubt remembering what Moldark did to the last man who’d tried.

“Whatever are you talking about?” So-Elku said, eyes darting to follow Moldark’s route.

“You and I, we had a deal. You were to eliminate the Circle of Nine. Instead, what did you do?” So-Elku did not reply, so Moldark pressed him again. “What did you do, So-Elku?” Again, the Luma failed to respond. “No? Then I will proclaim your shortcomings to the cosmos. You betrayed me. You aligned yourself with them, gave them information, and attempted to thwart me—Moldark.”

“Who?”

“Silence!” Moldark reached out and touched So-Elku’s soul—not enough to suck him dry, but enough to make the man stiffen. “Do you deny your betrayal, human seed?”

So-Elku stood on his toes, chin raised. Veins bulged in his neck as he struggled to breath. “I—do—not.”

“There now,” Moldark said, releasing the man.

So-Elku collapsed to the ground and gasped for breath.

“You see? Truth-telling has its rewards, though it will not spare you for long. For when I am done with the Jujari, I will turn my eyes toward Capriana, and then here to Worru. Your species and all those like you deserve extinction, Luma Master. And I won’t stop until I’ve made it so.”

“You are deranged, Kane,” So-Elku said between coughs. “You’re a menace and must be stopped. The Nine will see to it.”

“A menace?” Moldark’s eyes widened. “And still with this Kane business.” He tsk’d the Luma Master and squatted in front of him. Then, placing a finger beneath his chin, he raised the man’s head. “Do you really think I’m a menace, Luma Master? Is that what you see when you look at me in your beloved Unity? A menace? Because I can assure you, I am far worse.”

Moldark reached out to three Luma elders and drank. The mortals writhed, and their shrieks added to the satisfaction he took in draining energy from their souls.

So-Elku’s face shook as he stared into Moldark’s eyes, wincing as the men’s bones clattered to the marble floor. Moldark marveled at just how many bones the human body contained, never realizing the scope until they came to a rest in a jumble on the ground, half-hidden by the men’s robes.

Moldark stretched his neck and then looked at the remaining elders. They were petrified, faces betraying a level of terror that Moldark found… fitting.

“If you’ve come to kill me, be done with it,” So-Elku said, lowering his head.

“Kill you?” Moldark tilted his head. “Perhaps I will.”

“That isn’t why you’ve come?”

“No, but we can amend that.”

So-Elku squinted at Moldark. “Then what do you want?”

“I want her.”

“Her?” So-Elku’s eyes snapped up. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“He means me,” said a small voice from across the hall.

“Piper, stay back,” So-Elku cried.

Moldark looked across the room and saw Piper standing by herself near a small doorway. So-Elku made to protest again, but Moldark exerted some energy and sent So-Elku to the ground in a spasm. “Come here, child. Don’t be afraid.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” she replied, but the look on her face seemed to say otherwise.

Moldark tilted his head back and forth as his eyes searched the tiny human’s body. He could feel the power emanating from her. Wave upon wave, her life force washed over him beyond any he’d ever sensed before, second only to the Norxük, of course. How this human had come by such power was beyond him. But he had found her—at long last, he’d finally found her.

“Release him,” she said, pointing to So-Elku.

Moldark turned to examine the man writhing on the marble floor. “Why?”

“Or else I won’t go with you,” she said. “That is what you want, isn’t it?”

“I have come to take you, yes.”

“Then release him, and I’ll go with you.”

Suddenly, from somewhere deep within, Moldark felt his elemental presence lurch. It was as if some otherworldly force bumped into him, contending for his soul’s place of preeminence. In his mortal body, Moldark felt as if he might wretch—an annoying human function which he despised. But internally, the discomfort was even more considerable. Then, without the ability to stop it, a voice came from his mouth—one he hadn’t heard in quite some time.

“Is it really you?” the voice asked.

Piper scrunched up her nose, peering at Moldark with some measure of confusion.

No, Moldark said within. You will not speak!

But Kane’s will pushed around him and even made Moldark kneel, hand extended toward the child. “Piper, I’m your—”

No! Moldark ordered within. You have no permission. Suddenly, Moldark yanked control from Kane and forced his body off the floor with a violent jerk. Piper let out a tiny yelp and jumped back.

“Come with me, child,” Moldark said, back in control once more.

“Release him,” she said, more forcefully this time.

“But he has kept you against your will and sought to kill your kin.”

“But he does not deserve to die,” Piper replied.

“Curse your kind,” Moldark spat. “You all deserve to die.”

“Still, release him, or I will not go with you.”

Moldark knew better than to threaten the child. She could stop him if she wanted—or worse. But whether or not she knew such things was a different story. He suspected that if she knew about her powers, he wouldn’t be negotiating with her. But since she was, it was probably best to abide by her wishes. For now, anyway. “As you wish.”

Moldark released So-Elku from his leash. The man gagged, vomited, and then cried as he took in terrific lungfuls of air. Pathetic, sniveling fool, Moldark thought.

“Thank you,” Piper said.

“Now we go,” Moldark replied.

“Yes. Now we can go.”

* * *

“You want my help for something, don’t you,” the girl said.

She marched beside him as they walked through the vaulted hallway leading out of the Grand Arielina with Moldark’s four platoons following close behind them. “You are perceptive, child,” Moldark replied. “I do.”

“Then I have one more condition before I agree.”

Moldark looked down at her. “You used it to free So-Elku.”

“No one said I only had one.”

“There are no more conditions. Come.”

“No,” Piper said. She stopped and folded her arms. The troopers halted as their armor smacked together.

Surely this infernal being knew her powers were strong or else she would not test Moldark like this. He seethed within but knew better than to push this child too far. At least, not yet. “What is it?”

“I wish you to give me a ship.”

“A ship?”

“Yeah.”

Moldark’s lip curled. “Why do you want a ship?”

“When we’re done doing whatever you want, I want a ship. No questions questioned.”

“I think you mean no questions asked.”

“Nope. The way I said it.”

“No questions questioned?”

“Yup.”

Moldark knew the mortal child would most likely not survive the plans he had for her. And if she did, well, he’d execute her himself. But he remained curious about whatever her goal was, so he’d let the bargaining continue. It may even work in his favor—if she intended to do what he suspected she did. “And what do you intend to do with this ship?”

“That’s my business,” she replied.

“But it’s my ship.”

“You need help doing something, and I need a ship. If you can’t agree to that, then there’s no deal.”

Moldark made a show of looking around in frustration. “Fine,” he said at last. “You have yourself a deal. Now, can we please continue to the transports?” He gestured outside toward the shuttles waiting beyond the front courtyard.

“Do you swear it?”

“Swear what?”

“Swear that you’ll give me a ship?”

Moldark rolled his neck, trying to relieve the tension building in his shoulders. “I swear it.”

“On your ancestors’ graves?”

Moldark eyed the child with some level of curiosity. This was a strange custom.

She put out a hand as if offering him some invisible trinket. “Swear your eternal soul to be bound to their graves, or else I’m not getting on your shuttle out there.”

“I swear it,” Moldark said at last. “Now, can we go?”

“Sure.” Piper turned down the long carpet and headed for the door without him.

* * *

With the child stowed in his private quarters, Moldark proceeded to the Peregrine’s bridge. The main holo screen displayed an image of Worru from orbit. Moldark resisted the urge to incinerate the capital city and bury So-Elku forever, because he knew the child would sense it. He needed her to believe in Admiral Kane—to believe that he was good. All in due time, he thought to himself.

Captain Ellis greeted him with a salute. “Your lordship, I have information for you pertaining to—”

“I’m not interested.” Moldark waved a hand at the man. “Take us out of the system.”

“But sir, it’s about the Republic ships we saw departing.”

Perhaps he was interested, at least tentatively. “Speak.”

“Our sensors detected the two troop transports leave orbit and then vanish.”

“A subspace jump, Captain.”

“That’s just it, my lord. There was no jump signature and no wake pattern.”

Moldark narrowed his eyes at the captain.

“I know, sir,” Ellis said, seeming to sense Moldark’s reservations. “I triple checked the data personally to make sure it was accurate. And still all sensors show that—”

“They entered a void horizon.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“What were the coordinates?”

Ellis waved at someone behind the navigation console, and a few seconds later, a star chart filled the main holo screen. “Here, my lord. On the other side of the planet adjacent to us.”

“What are you up to?” Moldark whispered. He puzzled over why the Republic might be colluding with the rebels. Was this So-Elku’s doing? But the more he thought about it, the more Moldark realized such a partnership seemed unlikely. For if something official had been sanctioned, more than two troop transports would have left the planet. Plus, he’d taken possession of the child. If Moldark played this right, he might get everything he wanted all at once, and that thought made him smile.

“Leave it,” Moldark said to Ellis.

“But, my lord—”

“We have what we need,” Moldark spat. “Return to the Labyrinth.”

Ellis saluted. “As you have commanded, my lord.”

13

Magnus crouched behind four fire teams of ex-Marines as they fired their new NOV1s downrange. The men took cover behind burnt-out skiffs, clad in their newly manufactured Novian armor, only without the luxury of chameleon mode—at least not yet. The teams sent blaster bolts downrange in steady waves, firing on a well-armed enemy. Explosions erupted in the distance as the powerful sounds of destruction echoed off the skyscrapers and seemed to shake sand from the pale clouds.

The city-scape was a replica of Oosafar, and one Magnus had fought through before. It was accurate right down to the odor of urine and soured milk—scents that the helmets ported into the armor’s air filters. But instead of fighting Tawnhack, Selskirt, or Clawnip, his new gladia were shooting at Repub Marines clad in black Mark V armor. Three white stripes over their left-side pauldron designated them as Paragon troopers. The enemy was well-fortified behind gun nests that they’d set up ahead of time. The emplacements ran along the sidewalks with a few atop the lower buildings. Likewise, they used vehicle-mounted M109 twin-barrel blasters, a MUT50, 50mm ultra torrent tri-reticulating blaster, and a 70mm RBMB—Really Big Missile Battery.

The old man certainly isn’t going easy on them, Magnus thought to himself.

There was a break in the enemy’s return fire, so the squad leader ordered his units to advance. Troopers crouched low and then peeled away from the skiffs, covered by their peers. But the enemy read the field too, targeting the exposed fighters as they moved down the road. A man dashing for a shipping container had his legs blown out from beneath him. He flipped once in the air, and then his chest slammed into the pavement with a loud crack. A second man took a blaster bolt to the shoulder that spun his body in a complete circle before he fell. And a third trooper fell forward from a gutshot, only to be blown backward by a secondary headshot.

Still, the squad leader pushed the advance, and the majority of his gladia made it to their next position behind a weathered concrete half-wall. Blaster fire whizzed overhead as the leader gave orders. Magnus smelled the sharp scent of burnt ozone, an odor that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He waited to see what the team might try, forcing old battlefield memories to stay buried—they had a pesky way of making him micromanage certain scenarios.

Suddenly, the squads dispersed into nearby buildings, and none too soon: a 70mm missile from RBMB streaked down the street, leaving a white plume of expended fuel in its wake. The half-wall exploded in a spray of fire and rock just as the last gladia left the structure’s cover. The concussion shook the nearby buildings and knocked two gladia to the ground. But they scrambled to their feet and joined the forces advancing into the premises.

As the squad split up, Magnus switched his helmet’s HUD to merge thermal imaging with sensor relay tracking. One squad returned to the streets where they took cover behind various obstructions lining the sidewalks. Another squad cleared a row of buildings, using interior doors between structures as a means of advancing toward the enemy. The third and final fire team—having absorbed the sole survivor of the fourth fire team—advanced along the rooftops.

The street-level squad drew the enemy’s fire and kept the more massive weapons busy. They continued to dive in and out of the buildings to avoid the heavy ordinance. Missiles blew considerable holes in several structures while the M109 raked the sidewalks.

Inside the buildings, the second fire team made good time in clearing rooms and moving toward the intersection. The heaviest pocket of resistance came from three Paragon Marines who’d taken cover inside a Jujari kitchen. The enemy sent streams of blaster fire through the doorway, pinning the gladias down. But it wasn’t long before someone tossed a variable output detonator into the room. The explosion was enough to remove the threat but not enough to cause a cave-in, which would have resulted in the squad taking the long way around—wasting precious time.

The third fire team made the fastest time, moving unobstructed across the building tops. Three of the four gladias took sniper positions along the street while the fourth stayed back to call out targets and watch for enemy fire. The setup was good, Magnus thought. But as he checked the time on the master clock, he guessed the unit wouldn’t reach their objective in time. And he wasn’t the only one either.

“Pick up the pace,” Forbes bellowed from some unseen perch. “You’re burning through time like you’re on vacation!”

The captain’s words added a new level of intensity to the squad’s movements, causing them to make a few critical errors. One came in the form of a gladia popping onto a sidewalk without looking downrange first. The blaster bolt that killed him struck him in the helmet and flipped his body backward like a rag doll. Another gladia, this one on the roof, failed to hear the spotter call out an incoming missile—he was too preoccupied with a perfect shot on the M109 gunner. And the shot would have been a kill shot too, had the missile not blown a crater in the parapet the gladia hid behind. His body flew backward, landed, and then was sucked down the hole in the crumbling roof. He screamed until his simulated vital readouts muted his comm.

The remaining members of the squad pressed forward as Forbes began counting down the seconds. Several more gladias went down, some walking into enemy fire in hasty attempts to beat the clock.

“That’s time,” Forbes said. “End simulation.”

Instantly, the Jujari landscape vanished and the hard-light emitters powered down, easing anyone on elevated positions back to ground level. All sixteen gladia collected themselves. Half got off the hangar bay floor and stretched their bodies, some rotating shoulders or favoring one leg over the other. The other half stowed their NOV1s and removed their helmets.

Forbes ordered the squad to fall in and make a circle around him. “Better than last time,” the captain said, taking off his helmet. “But still not what it needs to be.” Then Forbes went through the evolution’s after-action review, covering three positives and three points for improvement. The captain’s keen insights gave the gladia plenty to think about as the squad reset the simulation and prepped to rerun it.

Magnus caught Forbes’s eye and waved him over. The two men stepped out of the enclosed combat-simulation environment, allowing the squad to get into position. “What do you think about the ECSE?” Magnus asked.

“Never seen anything like it,” Forbes replied, his black hair matted down with sweat. “Sure beats the board and brick sets the Repub cobs together.”

“Makes for believable combat scenarios,” Magnus added.

“You can say that again. I have three guys who need medical attention from the hard-light emitters.”

“Nothing motivates you to keep your head down like pain.”

“I feel that,” Forbes said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“And the new armor and weapons?” Magnus asked.

“Gonna take some getting used to, but in a good way. This tech blows ours out of the water.”

“And you’re only running simulated rounds at 10% of the weapon’s fire rate. Wait until you see it in action.”

“I already did.” Forbes pointed to his ears. “Remember?”

Magnus laughed. “Sorry about that.”

“Payback’s a bitch.”

Over the last three days, Forbes had undergone cellular reconstruction therapy for his blown-out eardrums. He’d used the downtime to brief his team leaders and prep them for command within the newly restructured Gladio Umbra. The men in this simulation were those who would oversee platoons in Forbes’s Taursar Company, the newly created rifle company under Colonel Caldwell’s command.

“Azelon should have manufacturing done on the rest of your company’s equipment within the next few days,” Magnus said. “The colonel will let you know when your platoons can outfit in the armory.”

“Sounds good. They’re still getting briefed on this whole scenario anyway.”

“How are they taking it?”

“Better than I expected. Then again, they are on an alien ship being briefed by the Colonel Caldwell and Lieutenant Magnus. Kinda hard to ignore that sales pitch.”

“Worked on you too, it seems.”

“And then someone went and blew out my ears.”

Magnus chuckled again. “Not living that one down anytime soon, am I.”

“Not a chance, Lieutenant.” Forbes paused, and his smile disappeared. “So you’ve really asked the colonel to take over your spot leading the Gladio Umbra?”

“Wouldn’t you?”

Forbes shrugged. “Hell yeah. But then again, I’ve never built a force of resistance fighters made up of several different species to take on the Galactic Republic.”

“And the Luma,” Magnus reminded him.

“And the Luma.”

“The way I see it, I need someone who knows what they’re doing, and I don’t have enough time to learn it myself,” Magnus said. “Who better to lead it than a seasoned veteran?”

“That kind of attitude is what gets guys promoted, you know.”

“I don’t need any more of that,” Magnus said with a smile.

“So, where does that leave you?”

“I’m in charge of Granther Company, like before.”

“And you’re at home there,” Forbes stated.

“Sure am. The old man says he has an idea to re-task it as a special operations unit, which I can run like a Recon platoon. Colonel says he wants to fill it out with some of the original members, calling them elites based on their expertise and experience. We’ll see what he has up his sleeve.”

“Aren’t you fancy.”

“Well, you still outrank me, Captain.”

“And don’t you forget it.”

“I have a feeling you won’t let me.”

“Damn straight.” Forbes brought his helmet around like he was about to put it back on. “I’m gonna get going. But Magnus?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for bringing us along for the ride.”

“Thanks for saying yes. The alternative was I’d have to kill you.”

“Like you’d have gotten a shot off.”

“I had you dead to rights in your dining room,” Magnus protested.

“Your weapon was on the table, Lieutenant.”

Magnus gave Forbes a confused look. “And?”

“Mine was under it.” Forbes covered his head, nodded at Magnus, and stepped back into the ECSE.

* * *

Over the last few days, Colonel Caldwell had turned one of the Spire’s largest conference rooms into his new battalion headquarters. He’d brought in several workstations for secretaries and administrators, and even asked Azelon if he could push two walls out to expand the room’s capacity. The Novian AI was only too happy to comply, giving the colonel whatever he needed and making her share of recommendations.

By the time Magnus checked back on the colonel, dozens of holo displays filled with charts, personnel rosters, equipment profiles, and ship schematics lined the walls. Three administrative assistants hovered over glowing tabletops, and another pair of operators monitored data streams. Meanwhile, Azelon stood beside the colonel, lost in conversation about something above Magnus’s pay grade.

The site made Magnus’s heart swell. He’d been right to do this—to ask the colonel to take the lead. There was simply no way Magnus would have known where to start, let alone how to organize everything that was happening here. And we’re not even engaged with the enemy yet, he noted.

But something else stood out to Magnus. The colonel looked different. Something had changed in the man’s face. His eyes were alert, and he was—smiling—well, at least as much as a colonel could. But the man had a spring in his step again.

Magnus understood then. Caldwell wasn’t deskbound on some peacekeeping mission on Worru, nor was he stuck babysitting a company of troopers in a remote non-action scenario. No, he was back in the thick of it, organizing resources for war. Where the blinking charts and number streams would have overwhelmed lesser Marines, Caldwell seemed like he was loving every second. He’s like a new man, Magnus reasoned.

Suddenly, the colonel noticed Magnus and invited him toward the central black mapping table that took up a large portion of the room.

“Looks like you’ve made yourself at home, Colonel,” Magnus said.

“It’s hard not to with all new toys,” the colonel replied with a smile. “Let me show you what we’ve got.”

Magnus joined Caldwell and Azelon as the conference room lights dimmed. The other administrators quieted down as the colonel filled the tabletop with a three-dimensional schematic of the Spire. Then, from various sections of the ship, charts emerged to show troop rosters, supply lists, and various mission readiness status indicators.

“Holy hell,” Magnus said. “You… you did all this in the last few days?”

“Wasn’t all me, son. Miss Smarty Pants here made herself a damn fine addition to my admin team.”

“Again, Colonel, my designation is Azelon.”

“Which is why I call you Smarty Pants.”

“And yet pants are neither items I wear nor are they sentient, so they are incapable of intelligence. I regret to say that don’t follow your logic, sir.”

“Probably best you try not to, Azie,” Magnus replied.

The bot tilted her head and then nodded at Magnus. “Very well, Magnus.”

The colonel pulled up a master list and expanded it. “We’ll start here at the top. The Gladio Umbra now has seven companies, which include your special units company, two rifle companies, a support and intel company, a starfighter attack air wing, naval operations, and last but not least, your mystics.”

Magnus whistled in appreciation. “Can you go through it all with me?”

“I thought you’d never ask, son.” Caldwell started with Granther Company, which caused a section near the ship’s bridge to glow. A smaller window came forward and listed twenty-six names in five sections. “You’re leading Granther Company’s first and only platoon right now. You’ve got yourself five teams ranging from Alpha to Echo. Each one consists of a Jujari, a rifleman, a mystic, a sniper, and a combination medic and demolition specialist.”

“And the thinking behind it?”

“Turns out those damn hyenas have a pack ability.”

“Something like a sixth sense in the Unity,” Azelon added.

“Right,” Caldwell said. “Allows them to sense each other and communicate emotionally. I figured that if there’s one on each team, you’ve got yourself an extra layer of communication if something goes south.”

“Well I just learned something new.”

“Me too, son. Again, Smarty Pants here brought the attribute to my attention.”

Azelon looked at Magnus as if to protest the nickname, but Magnus gave her a look that suggested she’d better stay quiet.

“I’ve given you Rohoar, Saladin, Cyzy, Longchamps, and Grahban for Jujari,” Caldwell said. “For riflemen, there’s Abimbola, Titus, Zoll, Bliss, and Robillard. They’ll also act as your team leaders.”

“Copy that.” Magnus’s eyes scanned the lists. “I see Awen here listed as a mystic. But who are Nídira, Wish, Telwin, and Findermith?”

“Additions from Willowood’s people,” Caldwell said. “She said they were the best, so I figured you should take them.”

“I’m grateful.”

“For snipers, you’ve got Silk, Dutch, Reimer, Bettger, and Jaffrey.”

“Nice. And the demo and medics?”

“Doc Campbell, Nubs, Rix, Dozer, and Handley.”

“Nubs? A medic?” Magnus’s eyebrows went up. “Kid’s missing more than one finger.”

“Abimbola vouched for him. Said he’s got plenty of med training. But—yeah—he’s gonna be more demo than surgeon.”

Magnus chuckled. “Sounds about right.”

“Next, you have Taursar Company.”

“That’s Forbes,” Magnus said, noting the series of glowing hangar bays allotted to the captain.

Caldwell nodded. “Three fifty-man platoons. Followed by Hedgebore Company with another three platoons, led by Lieutenant Nelson.” Another row of hangar bays glowed.

“Nelson’s one of your former LTs?”

“He’s still one my LTs, just a different insignia.” Caldwell gave Magnus a crooked smile. “Next up is Drambull Company under Azelon’s supervision.” A large section near the ship’s aft illuminated. “This is our support and intel company. First Platoon is under Cyril’s command.”

“Couldn’t make a better choice for intel,” Magnus noted.

“So I hear. Haven’t met the kid yet, but Smarty Pants says he’s got the right stuff.”

“Yes,” Azelon said. “As I informed the colonel, Cyril has demonstrated a high degree of—”

“I’m familiar with Cyril’s code slicing abilities. Let’s keep going.”

Caldwell nodded. “Second Platoon is a logistics unit lead by Abimbola’s righthand man, Berouth.”

“Another good choice,” Magnus said.

“And Third Platoon is a fighter support unit lead by our old pal Gilder.”

“The guy can fix anything.”

“So I hear. I’m attaching Third Platoon to Fang Company. Since all our forces are based on the Spire, it makes sense to spread Gilder’s units out over all three squadrons until we have more numbers. If and when we do, I’ll reallocate units to squadrons directly.”

“Tell me about Fang Company.”

“This is where TO-96 comes in, sir,” Azelon said.

Magnus couldn’t be sure, but it seemed like the bot spoke about TO-96 with some measure of pride. “Lay it on me, Azie.”

“Lay what on you, sir?”

Magnus closed his eyes and let out a small laugh. “Tell me about TO-96 and his unit’s composition.”

“Ah, I see. Laying it on someone is a turn of phrase for expounding on a given topic.”

Magnus chuckled. “Be sure to explain that to Awen next time you see her.”

Azelon perked up. “Duly noted, sir. Thank you for the action item.”

“You’re an evil son of a bitch,” Caldwell whispered to Magnus.

“Ain’t it grand?”

“As I was about to say, TO-96 will be overseeing Fang Company, which is composed of three squadrons: Red, Gold, and Blue,” the bot said. “Each squadron is comprised of fourteen Novian Fangs—as you may have guessed from the aptly termed company name. The squadrons will be commanded by Mr. Ricio, Mr. Nolan, and Mr. Ezo, respectively. Ricio has already begun training new pilots recommended to him from Captain Forbes’s and Lieutenant Nelson’s Marine companies. It seems there were some air wing candidates in their ranks already.”

“How convenient,” Magnus said.

“As well as serendipitous, fortuitous, auspicious, providential, and charming,” the bot added.

“Charming?”

Azelon eyed Magnus with a robotic look of suspicion. “Is it not charming, sir?”

Magnus smiled. “I suppose it depends on your definition. And given your cheerful optimism, I’d say charming works just fine.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Additionally, Mr. Ricio will act as a field commander under TO-96, given his familiarity with naval combat. Were he not such an experienced pilot, I would have him relieve TO-96 altogether, but Ricio is far too valuable in the cockpit to retain him on the Spire.”

“Raptor Company is our naval operations unit,” Caldwell said. The bridge and its surrounding deck illuminated. “Azelon will lead this unit, naturally. I’ve designated Command and Fire Support divisions, with your two boys Flow and Cheeks in the latter. As per your request, there are no Jujari in that company.”

“Thank you, Colonel,” Magnus said with a grateful tone. “Appreciated.”

“I might be running the show, but you still gave me the budget, son.”

“Money talks.”

“And always will,” Caldwell said with a wink.

“What about this last unit—Paladia Company?”

“Willowood tells me it has some special meaning to the Luma,” Caldwell said. “This unit organization is all her doing too.” The colonel pulled up a window attached to a section in the Spire’s belly. “The company has forty mystics recovered from the Luma we rescued in the catacombs. They’re broken into three cadres of fourteen, fourteen, and twelve.”

“And Awen didn’t want to join her?” Magnus asked, his voice rising further than he’d intended it to.

Caldwell shook his head. “I put her with Willowood at first, but she insisted on being with you. And might I say that while she looks small, well… she’s a fierce one.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

Azelon’s eyes lit up. “Are you aware of advanced interpolation architecture that governs the outer—”

“It was a rhetorical statement,” Magnus said. It was uncanny how many of TO-96’s mannerisms she’d picked up.

The bot’s shoulders shrugged. “I see.”

Magnus looked back at Caldwell. “What about Sootriman and Saasarr?”

“Well”—Caldwell moved his cigar to the other corner of his mouth—“I figured the mistress of Ki Nar Four might like to lead her people if she recruits any from that mystic’s forsaken back-world. Hell if I’ll know what to do with them.”

“Fair enough. And I’m guessing that includes the Reptalon?”

Caldwell nodded. “Not saying I can’t implement the lizard somewhere, but until I hear back from her, there’s no sense organizing around what I don’t know.”

“Fair enough.” Magnus looked to Azelon. “Any word from them?”

“Not yet, sir. But Awen has only just recently left to create a new quantum tunnel for them and close the existing one over Worru. That said, Geronimo Nine’s transponder is still active. Its latest ping placed it on Ki Nar Four. With the time dilation, it may be another day or two before we hear from them.”

“Understood.” Magnus changed topics. “How are weapons and armor coming along?”

“I’ll let Smarty Pants answer that one,” Caldwell said.

“I have completed manufacturing enough weapons and armor to get the two rifle companies operational,” Azelon said.

“That’s about what I told Forbes already,” Magnus replied.

“Says she’s got a few additional surprises for us too,” the colonel added.

“I like the sound of that.” Magnus turned to Azleon. “What about the NBTI?”

“I will begin adapting your forces when you command.”

“How long will it take to integrate everyone?”

“Barring any additional biologics added by Sootriman, I will be able to update your entire force in 9.2813 days common.”

“Thanks for the specificity, Azie.”

“My pleasure, sir.”

Caldwell removed his cigar. “An NBT—what now?”

“Novia biotech interface. It allows us to take advantage of some additional features on the Novian weapons.”

“As well as the Fangs,” Azelon added. “It also increases the armor’s efficiency and life-support capabilities. Additionally, it allows every gladia to be integrated with the Novia Defense Architecture, or NDA, since TO-96 tells me how you love your acronyms.”

“Don’t tell me that she’s gotta drill into our brains or some such splick,” Caldwell said.

“The NBTI does require minor physical modifications, Colonel,” Azelon replied. “But I can assure you that the invasion is both minimal and reversible.”

“Do I need it to do my job?”

“That depends on how efficiently you would like to interface with your units, Colonel.”

“I think that’s a yes, sir,” Magnus said.

“Mysticsdammit,” the colonel said as he shoved his cigar back in his mouth.

“How about the Fangs?” Magnus asked, changing topics. “Are they in production too?”

“I already have three squadrons in inventory,” Azelon said. “Ricio is checking them out as we speak.”

“How charming.” Magnus noticed Azelon’s eyes warm at the word. The truth was, Magnus felt pretty warm himself. He couldn’t have been happier about how everything was going—and all thanks to having an incredible team. It seemed just a few short months ago that he was alone with Awen, fighting their way through Oorajee. Now, he had a starship, a battalion, and people he could trust. Maybe their efforts to stop Moldark and So-Elku wouldn’t be in vain after all. Granted, there was still plenty of work to be done. But at least now, Magnus thought, we have a chance.

Magnus put a hand on Caldwell’s shoulder and then gestured at the holo display with the Spire’s schematic and the Gladio Umbra’s new roster. “Thank you, colonel. For all of this.”

“You’re welcome.” Caldwell turned to Magnus and shook his hand. “And thank you for giving an old man another chance to kick some ass.”

14

“End simulation,” Magnus said and removed his helmet. The hard-light emitters cycled down, and the streets of Capriana disappeared.

“Nice audible with the left flank idea,” Dutch said to Rohoar as the system lowered her to the ground. She’d been perched in a blown-out fifth-story window in an office building, sniping Paragon troopers holed up in a corner restaurant.

“I smelled fresh meat in my helmet,” Rohoar said, licking his lips. “And I was hungry. So they seemed like a good target.”

“Well, it worked.”

“And what is this audible you speak of?” Rohoar asked.

Dutch wrinkled her forehead at him in disbelief. “You don’t watch spaceball? A play called on the fly?”

“If you are referring to how I gave Abimbola the idea for the flanking maneuver through the use of my voice and his ear, then I understand. Also, there were no flies in this simulation, nor any spaceballs.”

“Good grief,” Dutch said.

“Okay, Granther Company,” Magnus said, trying to get everyone’s attention. “Bring it in.”

Magnus’s platoon of five teams had been running evolutions for the last four days straight. They’d taken breaks for meals and a few hours of sleep each night. But otherwise, they’d been on their deck’s ECSE nonstop. Not that Magnus was complaining. Since Caldwell had restructured Granther Company, Magnus had been keen on getting as much time with his gladias in their new fire team composition as he could. And the work was paying off.

“You looked good out there,” Magnus said. “You worked well as teams and as a platoon.”

“Yeah,” Robillard, Echo Team’s rifleman, said. “And Handley even decided to run a little today.”

“That’s ’cause you kept poking me in the ass with your weapon,” Handley replied. “What were you hoping to find up there?”

“Couldn’t tell ya,” Robillard replied. “Your butt was too fat to see past.”

“And you enjoyed the view, didn’t you?”

“Save it for later,” Magnus said amidst a round of laughter. When everyone quieted down, he asked, “What do you think of the new NBTI addition?”

“Makes it easier to see each other,” Zoll said, standing with Charlie Team. “And gives us a better comm control.”

“Right,” Magnus said, nodding. “What else?”

“Navigation seemed improved,” Dozer offered from Delta Team.

“And targeting,” Silk added, tapping the top of her new sniper rifle.

Azelon had invited Silk to assist in the weapon’s design. She even helped name it, much to Magnus’s surprise. The extended range blaster had been dubbed the CK360. “Confirmed kills all around,” Silk said with a wide grin when she’d handed Magnus the first production model. It was twice the length of the NOV1, but almost half the weight. And while it was considerably slower than the NOV1’s blistering 3,000 round-per-second maximum fire rate, it was twice as powerful. The CK360 delivered a whopping two megajoules of energy to targets up to nine kilometers away with less than 5% energy degradation. That, combined with its NBTI controlled sight and target tracking feature, made it the most formidable long-range infantry weapon on any battlefield in the quadrant.

“You had some excellent confirmed kills out there, Silk,” Magnus said, using the weapon’s namesake on purpose.

“Thank you, sir.”

Dutch raised a hand. “When will Azelon let us use the multi-target fire effect mode?”

“Hell yeah,” Rix echoed. “I wanna see this gimbaled barrel in action.”

“Soon enough,” Magnus answered. “We don’t want anyone getting lazy out here.”

“Tell that to Handley,” Robillard said.

“I swear to mystics,” Handley replied. “I’m gonna pound your damned teeth in so hard you’ll be pooping dental floss for a week.”

Everyone laughed when Magnus noticed the colonel step into the hangar bay along with Ricio. Caldwell waved Magnus over. “Let’s take ten minutes to hydrate and stretch,” Magnus ordered. “And Robillard?”

“Yeah?”

“You’ve got some dental floss hanging out the back of your suit.”

* * *

“Any update from Awen?” Magnus asked the colonel.

“Said she opened the new tunnel for Geronimo. Sootriman’s inbound, and it looks like she’ll be arriving within the hour.”

“And is the warlord of Ki Nar Four saying what she’s bringing with her?”

“Negative,” Caldwell replied. “Communication through the void horizon is limited to her transponder’s beacon.”

Magnus nodded. Subspace communication was hard enough as it was; he guessed inter-universal connectivity was even more temperamental.

“And how are things here?” the colonel asked, pointing to Granther Company.

“We’re getting there,” Magnus said. “Someone decided to change up the fire team composition on me, so…”

“I thought you might like the challenge.”

“Yeah, ’cause that’s just what I need right now.” Magnus laughed and then shook his head. “But it’s gonna be good, Colonel. The special teams structure is letting everyone’s best rise to the surface. Just gotta work on building trust and communication.”

“Like any good marriage,” Ricio added.

“I wouldn’t know,” Magnus replied. “But I’ll take your word for it. How are things with you?”

Ricio gave Magnus a devilish grin. “Excellent, Lieutenant.”

“Really?”

“I thought the Fang was pretty good before, back when I helped rescue your asses on Worru…”

“Here he goes again,” Magnus said, looking at Caldwell.

“Aces,” Caldwell said. “Go figure.”

Ricio smiled, undeterred. “But now with the biotech interface”—he whistled—“there’s no weapons platform that can compete with it.”

“That good, huh?” Magnus turned to Caldwell. “See? Look what happens when you let Azelon drill into your head.”

Caldwell shook his head. “All in due time, son.”

Magnus looked back at Ricio. “And your pilots?”

“They’re doing well. A few have some previous flying experience, but most don’t.”

“That’s gotta be rough,” Magnus offered.

“Actually, you’d be surprised. Flying a Fang with the NBTI isn’t like flying any other platform. So if you’ve never flown before, you have an advantage of sorts.”

“No bad habits to break,” Magnus said.

“Exactly. Azelon and I get to train them from the ground up. Of course, we won’t be fully operational until TO-96 and Ezo get back, but that won’t be long by the sounds of it.”

“Sounds like everything’s coming together, Colonel,” Magnus said.

The old man spun in a cigar in his mouth. “Ee-yuht. Gonna be one hell of a fighting force when all’s said and done. Couple more months to get the kinks worked out, and then a year before its smooth sailing.”

Magnus eyed the colonel. “You do realize that timeline is—”

“A pipe dream, son. Of course, I do. What, do you think I popped out of my old lady’s victory canal yesterday?”

“Victory canal?” Ricio asked, eyes wide.

“Nah,” the colonel said to his point. “I just like to imagine how good it’d be if we did this the right way, not the necessary way. We might not be the most well-oiled machine when all is said and done, but we’ll be ready to spank any limp-dick numbnut who points a gun at us.”

“I’m still stuck on victory canal,” Ricio said, looking at Magnus. “Anyone?”

“You get used to his one-liners,” Magnus said.

“Somehow, I don’t believe you.”

A notification from Azelon interrupted their conversation. Magnus saw it pop up in his bioteknia eyes, so he raised a finger at Caldwell and Ricio. “It’s Azelon.” He accepted the incoming comm request. “Go for Magnus.”

“Lieutenant, I see the Colonel with you,” Azelon said.

“He is.”

“Forgive me using you as a passthrough but—”

“But until he lets you drill a hole in his head”—Magnus glared at Caldwell—“you can’t speak with him directly and need to use me as your dummy.”

Caldwell chewed on his cigar in irritation but said nothing.

“I wasn’t going to put it so harshly, sir,” Azelon replied. “But, essentially, yes.”

“I read you. Whaddya got for us?”

“Sootriman, Ezo, and TO-96 have entered the system on Geronimo Nine.”

Magnus repeated the information to Caldwell and Ricio. “And what about Saasarr?” he asked Azelon.

“He does not appear to be on the vessel, Lieutenant. Sootriman indicated that the Reptalon has been employed on another mission of her bidding.”

“Fair enough.” Magnus hesitated. “Any other ships with her?”

“Negative, sir. That’s something she wishes to tell you about in person.”

“Bad news then.”

“What bad news?” Caldwell asked. But Magnus held up a hand, and then made a motion with his finger like a drill bit going into the colonel’s temple. Caldwell batted it away.

“I don’t believe it is bad news, no,” Azelon said. “Rather, her activity requires additional time to bring about the intended result. I believe you call it delayed gratification, in your parlance.”

“I like it when you talk dirty to me, Azie.”

“Talk dirty, sir?”

“Eh—talk to Awen about that too.”

“Very well, Lieutenant.”

“Also, I want to know the moment Awen gets back from Ithnor Ithelia. I need her training with Alpha Team.”

“Understood.”

“Anything else?”

“Negative. Azelon out.”

“Magnus out.”

“So, Sootriman’s back,” Caldwell said. “What’d she bring me?”

“Nothing yet,” Magnus said. “But she’s got something coming.”

Caldwell gave an approving nod. “I like a woman who knows how to keep things interesting.”

“If anyone knows how to do that, it’s Sootriman.” Magnus glanced at Ricio. “Time for you to get ready to receive your new company commander and squadron leader.”

15

“Are you comfortable, child?” Moldark asked as he stepped into her quarters. Granted, the space was nothing more than a glorified cargo hold adjacent to his own converted observation deck. But he wanted her kept as close to him as possible while still providing the necessary separation humans seemed to require.

“It smells funny in here,” Piper replied. She seemed to take refuge behind a blanket that she clutched in her hands.

“My apologies. I can have that addressed.”

“And the bed isn’t very comfortable.”

“I will have my—”

“And the lights are too bright when they’re all on, and too dark when they’re all off. A night light would be nice.”

He caught her eye. “Anything else?”

“I’m hungry,” she said, looking away.

How this species tolerated raising their offspring was a mystery to Moldark. He’d just as soon devour the child than suffer her grating list of needs.

“I will have some food brought to you.”

“Good food?”

Moldark’s eyes twitched. “Is not all food meant for nourishment and therefore good?”

“You talk funny.”

“What’s wrong with the way I speak?”

“You use big words.”

Moldark sighed. “Are we finished here?”

“Well, you’re the one who asked to come in, so why are you asking me?”

The child was getting on his nerves, and they hadn’t even been on the Labyrinth an hour. “Come with me.”

Moldark turned from the doorway and moved toward his chair atop the dais. He looked out at the waning conflict with the Jujari and waited for the child. But she was slow in coming. She peered out of her quarters and blinked at him. The look on her face was a strange mix of fear and insubordination. He returned to the sight of starships at war and waited several moments until he heard the patter of small feet.

“Are those Jujari ships?” Piper asked, nearing the window.

Moldark nodded. “You recognize them?”

“Rohoar’s looked like that,” she replied. “He’s my friend.”

“And you’re not scared of him, a Jujari?”

“Why?”

Moldark found her reply curious. The humans seemed to have an ages old hatred for the beasts born from an irrational fear of teeth and claws. “Because they are terrifying to you, are they not?”

“Terrifying?” Piper wrinkled her nose. “If you mean scary, no. Their teeth are sharp. But the rest of them is fluffy.”

“Fluffy?”

Piper looked up at Moldark. “You’ve never petted one?”

“I can’t say that I have, no.”

“You should. They’re nice.” But then Piper seemed to grow concerned as her eyes examined the conflict. “Are you… are you blowing them up?”

Moldark realized that, given the child’s unexpected love for the Novian descendants, answering the question truthfully may circumvent his goals. Subsequently, a new strategy presented itself. It was risky, and she might not be ready. But how would he know unless he tried? “I’m not blowing them up, no. But the Republic is.”

“The Galactic Republic?”

“You’ve heard of them?”

“Of course.” Piper’s eyes seemed to grow distant. “My daddy was a senator.”

“Then you know how much they hated the Jujari.”

Piper nodded. “But aren’t you part of the Republic? This is a navy ship, right?”

“I’ve actually been trying to stop the Republic.”

“Stop them? From what?”

Moldark raised a hand toward the windowplex wall. “This. From killing the Jujari.”

Piper squinted at him, and he feared she wasn’t buying his claim. It was time to see what she could do. “You don’t believe me?”

She shook her head.

“Very well.” Moldark turned to face her and folded his arms. “You’re a strong child. Stronger than anyone else you know.”

Piper mimicked his posture and folded her arms. “Maybe.”

“But you’ve been learning how to use your powers. In the Unity, that is.”

“Maybe.”

“So why don’t you help them?” He pointed to the Jujari fleet.

“Help them?”

Moldark nodded.

“You… want me to try and help them? But I thought you were—”

“Trying to hurt them? I already told you, I want to stop the Republic.” There was just enough truth to his lie that if she searched his mind—if she could search his mind—she might believe him.

“So, you want me to help them?”

“I could use the assistance.”

“And that’s why you brought me here?”

Moldark nodded. “My secret has been revealed.”

Piper looked back at the battle playing out over Oorajee. “But what can I do?”

Moldark wondered if she was ready—if she knew the extent of her abilities. Of course, he was guessing. But what he sensed left little doubt in his mind that the child was able to do everything he supposed. And if not now, then soon. “Move them.”

“What?”

Moldark turned and nodded at the ships. “Move one of the ships. Take it far away from here.”

“But that’s… I don’t think—”

“You know you’re able to. To move things in the Unity.”

Piper bit her lower lip. “Yes. But not a starship.”

“And why not?”

“They’re too big.”

“I suppose they are.” Moldark nodded, then lowered his voice. “If only there were a way to open a gateway to another place. To the other universe…”

“You know about metaspace?”

Moldark smiled to himself, but then cleared his face. “Of course, child. It’s beautiful there, isn’t it?”

Piper gave a tiny nod. She eyed Moldark. “You’ve been there?”

“And I hope to go back very soon.” There was a price to pay for keeping children in the dark, Moldark thought. The Elonian and her Marine partner had not told this girl as much as she needed to know, which made his job more manageable. “But for now, I feel the Jujari are the priority. Imagine how safe they’d be if they could escape from all this?”

“They’d be safe in metaspace.”

“And I agree, child. If only there were a way to get them there.”

“There is. But only Awen knows how to…”

“To what?”

“I shouldn’t tell you.”

“You’re right. We should never share our secrets with strangers.” He waited, watching ship to ship blaster fire flash across the void’s deep blackness. He tapped a finger on his arm, biding his time.

“Only Awen knows how to use the quantum tunnel machine.”

Moldark turned, careful to keep his tone nonplussed. “The quantum tunnel machine?”

“Yeah, the thing that opens and closes the tunnels. But…”

“But what?”

“I don’t think she needs the machine. Well, I mean, she needs the machine. But I don’t think I do.”

And there it is, Moldark said to himself with a grin. So she could open tears between the universes—at least, she suspected she could, and that was all that mattered. Powerful indeed. “You think that’s something you could do?”

Piper looked away from the battle. “Maybe. I’ve never tried.”

“It never hurts to try.” That was a lie, of course. Tampering with a void horizon was perhaps the most dangerous exploit in the cosmos. It had taken the Novia Minoosh a million lives to do it, and a thousand years to perfect it. But even if the child died trying, what was it to him? He had an eternity to find another way to annihilate his enemy.

“Still,” Piper said. “I don’t think I should trust you.”

This was an unfortunate turn, but one Moldark was prepared for. The child was right to mistrust him, of course. And he gave her credit for her perceptiveness—at least the little she’d shown. If she knew what was good for her, she would throw herself into the void and spare herself the coming pain. But humans had an irrational fear of death, and it made them weak. It also made them predictable.

Moldark closed his eyes and summoned his strength. It would take immense focus to let Kane surface without allowing him to regain control of his mortal body. Even though the man’s power had waned, Kane’s desperation had increased. So if Moldark wasn’t careful, Kane would usurp him.

“I suppose you’re right,” Moldark said, opening his eyes. “But would you trust family?”

Piper turned, then looked over her shoulder to search the room.

“Not there,” Moldark said. “Here.”

Piper looked up at him in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

“Nor do I expect you to.” Moldark allowed Kane to step forward and kneel. The man’s presence drew near, but Moldark would control his speech. He couldn’t let things get out of hand, not now, and not with Piper. “But I trust you’ll feel it’s true with your heart.”

“Your… your voice.” Piper narrowed her eyes as she looked into Moldark’s. “It sounds… better.”

Curse this child. She would think it an improvement.

“It sounds familiar.”

“Like your mother’s, perhaps?”

Piper straightened her arms, but then raised a hand to hold her elbow. “Maybe. Yes, perhaps like hers, but different. Because you’re a man.”

“And I am also your grandfather.”

Piper’s face didn’t register the information right away. Her blank eyes reflected flashes of blaster fire as her tiny chest rose up and down. “You’re my mother’s father?”

Moldark nodded, keeping Kane close enough that Piper might sense him, but far enough away that the damned admiral didn’t lunge out and embrace the girl. Sentimental fool. “It’s the whole reason I wanted you here.”

“You’re my grandfather.”

“Yes.”

“You were married to Willowood.”

“Yes.”

“And you had Valerie together.”

Are all human children this interceptive? “Yes, child. All of it, yes.”

“Well then”—Piper extended her hand—“pleased to meet you, Mr. Admiral, sir.”

Moldark looked down at the offered hand, recognizing the human custom. Meanwhile, Kane desired to hug the child, and perhaps push her away and get her to safety—the fool. There is nowhere safe now. Moldark took her hand and shook it. “Please, call me…” What should she call him? “Just call me grandfather.”

“I always wondered who you were. My grandfather, I mean.”

“And I…” Moldark gave Kane more room than he wanted, but he had to. Only the mortal would know what to say to his offspring, and Moldark couldn’t afford to scare her away. Not now. “I always wondered who you were too.”

“Yeah. So, where’ve you been all my life?”

“Here,” Moldark said. “Onboard ships bound for all parts of the quadrant.”

Piper shifted on her feet and bit her lip.

Sensing the child wanted to say something more, he asked, “What is it?”

“Did you, ya know, ever wanna meet me?”

Kane’s presence bucked inside Moldark. “Yes, of course.”

“Then, if you’ve always wondered who I was, and you’re a grown-up who can do whatever they want to do, why didn’t you come meet me?”

“That’s a complicated question.”

“Then under complicated it.”

Moldark eyed her. “You mean, make it less complicated?”

“Uh-huh.”

Moldark allowed Kane’s memories to help formulate a believable response. “The work I do here, it’s very important and requires that I stay far away from family.”

“So, it was more important than meeting me?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“But that’s what it sounded like to me.”

Moldark felt Kane squirm. This interaction was infuriating, and Moldark wanted it to end. But, again, necessity demanded otherwise. “Sometimes, in order to protect things that are important to you, you must do things that take you far away from them. Have you ever… have you ever loved something deeply?”

“My mother,” Piper said. “And my father.”

“And if they were ever in harm’s way, would you try and do something to keep them from getting hurt? Maybe even something that you didn’t want to do?”

“They’re both dead.”

Kane’s life-force grew still, leaving Moldark in the awkward place of not having anything to say. Piper stared at him as water started filling her eyes and running down her cheeks. The child was leaking. Finally, Kane offered a reply—a simple one, but a reply nonetheless. “I’m so sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah. So am I.” Piper wiped her face with the back of her hand and then sniffed. “Did you know my mother well?”

“Not as well as I would have liked, no.” The conversation was becoming too tedious for Moldark. Kane and Piper had made their connection—now it was time to leverage it.

“You would have liked her. She was an amazing person. My favorite person.”

“I can only imagine.”

Enough! Moldark scolded Kane and shoved his presence away. “Piper, would you try to open a tunnel in the void? Would you do it for me?”

“Your voice is scary again,” Piper replied. “What’s the matter with it?”

What would Kane say? “It’s… because I’m fighting the coldness.”

Piper winced. “You mean, you’re fighting a cold?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, well… I still don’t—”

“If you could have done something to save your father and mother, would you have?”

“I don’t like that question.”

“And yet it stays before you. Would you have?”

Piper shook her head. “I… I don’t want—”

“Because you have the chance to save other people’s families now. You have an opportunity to preserve their souls. Right here, right now.”

Piper opened her mouth again, but no words came out.

“Piper, I can’t bring my daughter back. You can’t bring your mother back. But we can save someone else’s. Would you do it for them?”

Again, Piper wiped more water from her face. Then she took a deep breath that made her lower lip flutter. “I will try.”

“Good. Very good. Let us see what happens when you try.”

Suddenly, the door to Moldark’s deck opened. He looked up to see Brighton enter, leading several Marines. “What is the meaning of this?”

“I’m sorry, my lord,” Brighton said. “You have an urgent request.” Brighton’s eyes darted to the girl, and he hesitated. “But she needs to…”

Moldark sensed his admiral’s fear and then looked down at Piper. Whatever this was about, Brighton didn’t think it was appropriate for the child. And, seeing as how Moldark needed her to be as calm as possible for what he wanted her to do, he decided to entertain Brighton’s implied suggestion. “Child, why don’t you wait back in your room.”

“But I want to—”

“No arguing.” Moldark raised a finger toward her quarters. “Go. This meeting isn’t for you. But I’ll come get you when it’s over.”

“Yes, grandfather.”

Moldark waited until Piper padded down the stairs, crossed the room, and closed the door behind her before addressing Brighton again. “Now, what is the meaning of this?” He’d barely said the words when a trooper behind Brighton threw him to the ground. The Marine raised a blaster and fired, striking Moldark in the side.

16

Awen thanked the shuttle pilot and then disembarked. The moment she stepped into the hangar bay, she heard a soft chime from the overhead speakers followed by a familiar voice.

“Welcome, Awen,” Azelon said. “Please see Magnus on deck nine, section four.”

“Not yet, Azelon.” Awen headed across the bay to the exit, reminding herself to schedule an appointment to have the NBTI installed. “I need to speak with Willowood first.”

“But Awen, I am under direct orders to have you check in with Magnus upon your arrival.”

“And I will, but I need to speak with Willowood first. This isn’t up for negotiation.”

“I must insist that—”

“I said, this isn’t up for negotiation, Azelon. Lead me to Willowood.”

There was a brief pause before Azelon finally said, “As you wish.”

Once Awen left the hangar, lines illuminated on the glossy white floor in the nearest corridor, indicating the path to Willowood. Awen felt terrible that she was purposefully ignoring Magnus’s orders, but she needed to speak with Willowood first; not doing so would be a waste of time for everyone. Plus, she knew Magnus would want accurate information on Piper.

Awen followed Azelon’s route through the Spire, sometimes walking, sometimes jogging. She trusted her senses in the Unity, but she needed confirmation, and Willowood was the only person who could answer her question—questions, Awen corrected herself.

When at last she arrived outside a hangar bay in the ship’s belly, Azelon’s voice came through the speakers overhead. “Willowood is inside. However, she is conducting a training session with the cadres of Paladia Company. Are you sure you wish to interrupt her?”

“Open the doors, Azelon.”

“Very well.”

The two metal panels slid apart to reveal three-dozen gladias in Novian power suits. They were arranged in neat rows, standing atop a butte that looked over a broad desert plain. Two setting suns glowed pink on the horizon, and the sounds of coyotes yipped in the distance.

Each gladia progressed through choreographed Li-Loré forms—hands and feet glowing in the fading light. And on the far side, Willowood called out positions as each gladia moved in smooth, fluid motions.

“Veneethima,” Willowood said, her voice carrying over the plateau and disappearing into the evening air. The mystics moved as one, hands rotating, forelegs rising. “Sidronima.” Again, the mystics adjusted, extending one arm and squatting low. “Ti nin.”

The group lunged left, hands to the ground, every member saying, “Eeee…”

“Rah,” Willowood said.

The group punctuated the extended vowel sound with “Rah!” and leaped into the air, executing a 180-degree spin. When they landed, their feet and hands touched the stone, bodies crouched.

“Doquin,” Willowood said. All gladias extended one leg behind them, keeping the knee and toe a few centimeters off the ground. Then, when Willowood gave the final instruction, the entire company leaped into the air, each person executing a backflip. Thirty some-odd balls of light surged down their extended legs and shot skyward, joining the stars in orbit above.

Awen marveled at the sight and momentarily forgot why she’d come. A pang of jealousy beat in her chest. During observances on Worru, she’d been overlooked when the elders selected pupils to learn Li-Loré. “Your love for the Jujari and their customs dictated that you be trained elsewhere,” she was told. And so she went the route of an emissary. But she’d watched the Li-Loré classes practice whenever she could. The artform mesmerized her in ways she couldn’t explain. And now that Willowood was on the Spire teaching the ancient practice to students, Awen would miss the opportunity yet again. Instead, she would serve under Magnus in Granther Company—or at least that was how she viewed the order packet that Colonel Caldwell had sent the day before.

Awen coughed into her hand, hoping to try and get Willowood’s attention. The older woman smiled as she turned toward Awen. Then she clapped twice. “Good work, everyone. We’ll resume in the morning. End simulation.”

The high desert scene vanished, and the lower hangar bay’s dark gray surfaces and painted insignias reappeared. Willowood walked through her mystics and spread her arms. “Hello, my dear.” Then she hesitated. “Something the matter?”

“Can we talk?” Awen asked.

The older woman narrowed her eyes. “Of course. There’s a small—”

“No.” Awen glanced around and then stepped to the hangar bay’s corner. “There’s no time.”

Willowood followed Awen. “What is it?”

“I sensed Piper.”

“While you were in Ithnor Ithelia?”

Awen nodded. “When I went to close the tunnel over Worru, I sensed her.”

“As we already knew.”

Again, Awen nodded, but more slowly. “Only this time, she was leaving.”

“You think she’s on the move?”

“I know so,” Awen said. “I was able to see her. On a ship.”

“You think she’s been captured?”

“No.” Awen took a breath. “I think—I think she chose to go with Kane. But I just don’t understand why she would do that?”

The older woman’s face fell, and she looked aside. “So she has found her grandfather.”

It felt as though all the air had been sucked out of the room. “What?” Awen could hardly believe the words she’d heard. “Are you saying that—that Kane is Valerie’s father?”

“It’s more than that,” Willowood replied. “He was my husband.”

“You were married?”

Willowood nodded.

“To Admiral Kane?”

“Quite happily, too. Once.”

Awen blinked, then noticed that she was holding her breath. She let out a puff of air and found herself repeating the facts. “You were married to Kane.”

Willowood nodded.

“And Valerie was your daughter—I mean, both of yours.”

“Yes, child.”

“So that makes Piper…”

“As I said, that makes Piper Admiral Wendell Kane’s granddaughter. Quite significant to think about.”

“I—yeah—well, significant is—I mean—”

“Steady.” Willowood placed a hand on Awen’s shoulder. “You need to sit?”

“I just—maybe.” Awen put a hand on a nearby cargo crate and leaned against it, putting her other hand to her head. “This is no small thing.”

“No, it’s not.”

Awen glanced at Willowood. “And you didn’t think to tell me or anyone else sooner?”

“First off, it wasn’t mine to tell.”

“How in mystic’s name is it not yours to tell? He was your husband.”

“And Valerie’s father.”

“So?”

“Did she ever bring it up to you?”

Awen was about to answer hastily but thought better of it. She searched her memoirs for any conversation about Kane’s identity in relationship to Valerie. “No, but she—”

“She what?”

“She—” Awen worked her mouth for more words than where there. “She never said anything about it.”

“Then she didn’t deem it pertinent to you, and you’re just going to have to trust her judgment there.”

“But what about you?”

“What about me?”

“You never thought to tell me?”

Willowood sighed. “That marriage was long ago, and a lot has changed since then. Had I felt it would have impacted our cause, I would have shared it.”

“But it has impacted our cause,” Awen said as the tone of her voice rose. She didn’t want to be disrespectful, but Willowood seemed short sighted on this point. “Kane—Moldark—whoever—he went after Piper because she is his—your—granddaughter. And if he told her as much, that would be one reason why she left with him, don’t you think?” Awen stared at Willowood, waiting for a reply, wondering if she’d spoken out of turn.

Awen could feel the heat in her face. Perhaps she was just frustrated that Valerie had never said anything about this in all their time together. There had been plenty of opportunities. But now Awen guessed she’d never know why, and it was unfair to take out her frustration on Willowood. “I’m sorry. Forgive me.”

Finally, the older woman nodded. “You’re right, child. I was wrong to keep it from you, and I’m sorry. I suppose—well, I don’t know what I supposed. Sometimes you try to bury the past so much that you fail to see how it’s impacting your present.”

“I understand, and I forgive you.” Awen felt grateful that her words of correction weren’t out of line. It took a strong woman to admit when she was wrong, and Willowood proved once again just how wise she was. Still, it didn’t explain Valerie’s behavior. “But why wouldn’t Valerie tell me?”

“I can only speculate, but I wonder if both Kane and I are cause for her silence.”

“How so?”

Willowood’s eyes seemed to look past Awen, gazing upon a distant time. “While our marriage started beautifully enough, it did not end so. He wanted the navy, and I wanted the Luma.”

Awen’s thoughts went to Magnus. She could appreciate the tension that Willowood and Kane must have endured.

“And when Valerie showed no signs of being a true blood, well, Wendell took that as a sign from the cosmos that I should renounce my allegiances, abandon my desire to serve in the Order, and dedicate myself to being a mother while he went off to protect the galaxy.”

“But you didn’t, did you.”

Willowood shook her head. “I was stubborn back then.” She placed a hand on Awen’s forearm. “Far more than I am now, even. I insisted that our daughter should not be raised in the ways of war and that we commit ourselves to the Order’s teachings as a family.”

“And that went over even less well,” Awen said.

“He was furious. He’d always had an angry soul—I suppose it’s what made him a good military man. But the anger eventually turned into violence, directed against anyone or anything he didn’t like.”

“Including you.”

Willowood nodded. There was so much sadness in her eyes. “He refused to let Valerie come with me.”

“Because she wasn’t a true blood.”

Again, Willowood nodded. “And because I refused to fight him further. He was so…”

Willowood clearly struggled to finish the sentence, and Awen could only imagine the pain she’d been through—verbally, emotionally, and physically. For Willowood to have abandoned her child, Kane must’ve been—a monster, was all Awen could think to say.

Awen covered Willowood’s hand. “So, he raised her…”

The older woman gave a sad smiled, grateful for the hard conversation’s change in direction. “As much as a navy captain can. Boarding schools did the majority of it. And the rest, well, you probably know. Marine, medic, doctor, senator’s wife, and—”

“And the mother of the greatest true blood the galaxy has ever seen.”

Willowood’s eyes were still distant. “And, my, how brightly she doth gleam, outshining them all.”

“Is that Demworth?” Awen asked as she thought back to her Luma literature studies.

“Samperson,” Willowood corrected, her eyes coming back to the present. “I may have dated him once.”

“You dated T.R. Samperson?”

“Don’t get sidetracked, dear. That’s a story for another day.”

“But, I mean—”

“Tell me what you saw with Piper.”

“Right.” Awen shook the idea of Willowood dating one of the great poets from the last century from her head. “She was with Kane. I mean, Moldark.”

Willowood’s eyes lit up. “Prisoner?”

“I don’t think so. She didn’t seem like she was in distress.”

“Then we can safely assume two things.”

“Which are?”

“She went willingly, for one. And that Kane is still in his body somewhere.”

“You think that’s why Piper went with him?”

“Hard to say. The last I knew, Valerie had kept her father’s identity a secret from the child. In fact, as her father moved up the ranks in the navy, they had less and less contact—to the point that Valerie asked me to help her shield much of her activity.”

“What do you mean?”

Willowood pursed her lips. “Well, take the ship they flew from Capriana, for example.”

“You mean the one Magnus went to rescue?”

The older woman nodded. “Word had spread that war might be coming to the capital, and Darin and Valerie wanted to get clear. Piper had been having nightmares about the city being destroyed too. So for her mental and emotional health, they decided to get as far away as possible.”

“And you helped get them off the planet, and kept their movements concealed.”

Willowood nodded. “For a while, anyway.”

“But how? You’d either have to know someone wealthy or…” Awen studied Willowood’s face.

“Or be wealthy myself?” The older woman gave Awen a sly grin. “I said I was a Luma—I never said I was poor. But in the end, Kane still found them.”

“And he’s been hunting Piper ever since,” Awen said in conclusion.

“We must assume as much.”

“But why?”

“Because you and I both know her potential.”

“Yeah, but what does Kane want with her?”

Willowood shook her head. “Not Kane. At least not anymore.”

“Moldark.”

“Yes. If there’s anything left of Kane, Piper has no doubt seen it—or at least a shadow of it. I believe he’s genuinely interested in meeting her.”

“Because they’d never met before?”

“That’s right. Valerie didn’t want Piper to know either of us.”

“She didn’t?”

“At least not until she was older. I think my daughter feared that if Piper met me, the girl would want to become a Luma.”

“And Valerie didn’t want that.”

“Of course not. She saw what my obsession did to me.”

“And she didn’t want her to meet her grandfather and become a slave to the Republic war machine either.”

Willowood scrunched up her nose the same way Piper did. “Family can be a complicated thing, can’t it.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“So you think Moldark exploited Kane’s bloodline to get to Piper?” Awen pushed some strands of hair behind her ear. “But that seems crazy to me.”

“What does?”

“That whatever Moldark is—I mean, at his core, beyond Kane—that he would not only take over a man of immense military and political power, but also one in the lineage of a magnificently powerful true blood.” Even as Awen finished speaking the sentence, she felt her stomach churn. She looked up at Willowood. “You don’t think it was an accident, do you.”

Willowood sighed. “I don’t know what Moldark is, and I don’t know what he wants ultimately, but based on everything I’ve learned in the last few days, I fear it’s for the worst. And I think Moldark chose my ex-husband very carefully. Again, I don’t know what or how, but it—that thing within Wendell, as you say—it chose deliberately. And it’s co-opted both him and Piper for its evil purposes.”

“Mystics—which are?”

“I already told you, I don’t know.”

“But if you had to guess?”

Willowood sighed. “To take over the Republic.”

Awen studied Willowood’s features. “You don’t really believe that though, do you?”

“My child, I’ve already told you, I don’t—”

“What does your gut say, Willowood?” Awen knew she was being more forceful than etiquette allowed, but this was no time for tiptoeing around the facts. Deep in her heart, Awen already felt she had her answer, but she wanted to see if Willowood thought it too. If she didn’t, then Awen figured she must be overthinking everything. But if she did, well, then things were worse than everyone feared.

“My gut says Moldark is out for blood,” Willowood replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

“As in?”

“As in, he wants to kill everything alive. Everywhere. And he’ll use every tool at his disposal.”

“Including a little girl.”

“Including Piper, yes.”

Awen stood up straight. “We’ve got to tell Magnus. Let’s go.”

17

Moldark looked down at the blaster wound in his side. The shot would have put down a regular human—one without an Elemental in it. Kane, therefore, was supremely fortunate to be playing host, or else he would have been dead. The weakling.

Alternatively, the blaster shot had a different effect on Moldark than what the Marine who shot him probably anticipated. Rather than slay him, the blaster bolt fed him. Not like a human soul did, of course—there was more sustenance in just one of them than a megajoule of electrical energy. But it did invigorate him, providing a renewed sense of alertness.

The wound itself would need to be healed, but that was easy enough to do. Later, he noted. First, he had an audience to attend to. These Marines had given him no warning—they’d made no threat. Instead, they’d simply come to assassinate him. So he would give them what they’d come for. Death.

Moldark looked up from the blast hole and then stared at the shooter’s helmet. In the split second before Moldark reacted, he wondered if the man was unsure what to make of a target that didn’t fall. Aided by his ethereal power, Moldark leaped into the air and sailed above the Marines just as they fired into the space he’d been standing a split second before. The fools. He figured that someone would have already made an attempt on his life. The fact that it was so long in coming was further evidence that this race needed to be extinguished—slow, incompetent, and unable to forge their own way in the universe without taking from other species.

He could practically hear their gasps as they tracked him through the air with their blasters. When he landed in the middle of the Marines, they turned inward, apparently unsure if they should fire due to the threat their crossfire posed to each other. How courteous of them. But their hesitation evaporated as they opened fire again.

In a fraction of a second, Moldark stretched his soul out and touched a shooter in the chest. The man’s soul bucked but then gave way, flowing into Moldark. There was no time to enjoy this feeding—he yanked on the man’s life force. The victim screamed so loudly that Moldark could hear it, even despite the Marine’s helmet. With the trooper drained of life, Moldark dashed the dust-filled suit of armor against the next closest man. That Marine jerked away from the collision, seemingly shocked by the near-instantaneous disappearance of his companion.

Suddenly, Moldark felt a warning behind him, coming from a Marine who’d recovered from his initial surprise at Moldark’s speed. Moldark leaned aside as a blaster bolt zipped over his shoulder. The shot had been meant for his head and sped through the gap in the circle made by the first slain Marine.

Spinning on his heel, Moldark reached out an invisible tentacle and latched onto the offending trooper. “How unfortunate that you missed,” Moldark said. He could tell the man was trying to say something back, but there was no sound. And, there was no time—Moldark was moving faster than they could think.

Like a child might flick something around at the end of a stick, Moldark threw the Marine right and left, bashing him into the men on each side. The first blow snapped the tethered man’s neck, killing him instantly. But his body was still useful as a weapon. So Moldark flailed him around like a mace, knocking four more Marines to the floor. One downed man tried to climb back up, but Moldark pummeled him with the corpse and bashed him twice more into the floor.

It was a waste of soul energy—what he was doing now. Breaking their bodies so quickly meant their life force had the opportunity to dissipate into the ether, never to be recaptured for himself. But there was still half the kill team left, and he already felt full enough as it was. A little waste from time to time wasn’t a bad thing, so long as it suited the big picture.

Moldark released the Marine he’d used as a club and then turned to a new victim, this one aiming a weapon at Kane’s left side. Moldark grabbed the man’s blaster and yanked it forward, pulling the man off balance. Then, just as fast, Moldark wrenched the weapon from the man’s hands, spun him around, and used him as a shield. The next blaster rounds blew holes in the man’s armor as Moldark turned and pushed toward two Marines emptying their magazines. The shield-man’s body spasmed in Moldark’s hands as he drove into the oncoming fire.

By the time he was near enough to the gun-wielding Marines, Moldark tossed the body and then connected to the two men at the same time. He took no pleasure in their deaths, but he didn’t let their life force go to waste either. Drawing energy in as fast as he could, the Marines’ armor clattered to the ground in a second.

With just three men left and Brighton writhing on the floor, Moldark extended his hands and moved toward the nearest Marine. The man fired but Moldark raised a hand and absorbed the three rounds into his palm. He was so nourished that Kane’s skin hardly felt damaged. Instead, the current flowed into Moldark and—as before—rejuvenated him. As if I needed something more, he noted with a grin.

Using the same extended hand, Moldark reached around the blaster and latched onto the Marine’s wrist. Then he connected his soul to the man’s life force and found the place where the trooper’s mind controlled his hand—an easy enough feat. Moldark turned the man’s arm toward the other Marines while stepping behind the new host body and then forced the man to squeeze the trigger.

Blaster fire crisscrossed the room. Moldark fired into the remaining two Marines, taking the first out with a neck-shot just beneath the helmet’s brim, and the other with four rounds through the chest plate. But they’d returned fire before their deaths, striking their brother in arms several times in the chest and head. The reckless idiots.

When the other two men fell, Moldark released his hold on the Marine and allowed him to join the rest on the ground. The room was still, save for Brighton, who lay with his arms covering his head.

“Get up, Brighton,” Moldark said.

“It’s—it’s over?”

Moldark sighed. “Yes. It’s over. Now, to your feet.”

“Yes, my lord.”

As the man stood, Moldark could see a dark stain surrounding his hips and pants. Curious, he reached out and touched the clothing. Brighton winced but did not pull away. The fabric was wet, and Moldark’s fingers smelled like urine.

“You are afraid,” Moldark said.

Brighton shook his head at first, then changed directions. “Scared only for your fate, my lord.”

“You lie.”

“It’s true,” Brighton protested loudly. “I swear it.”

“Then why didn’t you try and stop them?”

“I—” Brighton’s darted around. “I didn’t know, I swear it. Or else I would have.”

Moldark stepped in close. “You had no idea about their attempt to assassinate me?”

“No. Before the mystics, no. They pulled me from the head and then marched me here at gunpoint. Said they had to speak with you and that it was a matter of utmost importance. An emergency. That it all, I swear to you.”

Moldark sniffed the air—sniffed Brighton’s soul. The man was telling the truth. “Any idea who ordered the hit?”

“No, my lord. I suspect some commanders in the two other fleets, but nothing concrete.”

Moldark eyed Brighton a moment longer.

“I swear, my lord!”

“Very well. Get this cleaned up immediately, then return to the bridge. I have pressing work to finish.”

“As you wish, my lord.”

“And change your clothes, Brighton. You stink.”

“Yes, my lord. I will.”

Moldark turned around to walk toward Piper’s room when he heard a moan from one of the Marines. He glanced at a suit of armor and noted a hint of movement. One remained alive? Moldark looked at Brighton, who merely shrugged. Then he walked to the survivor and bent down, motioning Brighton to join him.

“Remove his helmet,” Moldark said to the fleet admiral. Brighton nodded, then moved around, undid the chin strap, and pulled the cover for the Marine’s head.

Blood seeped from the man’s nose and mouth, and burn marks laced his neck. He had precious few moments to live. “Who sent you?” Moldark asked. But the man only groaned. Moldark repeated his question more forcefully. “Who sent you?” Again, the man seemed in too much pain to reply.

When Moldark snapped his fingers in front of the Marine’s face, the man’s eyes focused then went wide with fear. The victim sputtered blood and tried to push himself away.

“I have no time for this,” Moldark said. He summoned his strength and exerted his will upon the Marine. Doing so this quickly would kill the host, he knew, but the man was dying anyway, so it mattered little—even a hint of who was behind this assassination attempt might be useful. Moldark was the dominant force in the Marine’s psyche, so he asked his question one final time, slowly. “Who sent you?”

The Marine trembled, still fighting, still resisting, even to the end. But it was impossible to resist an Elemental—the choices were submission or death.

“Nine,” the Marine said, and then his face went blank.

Moldark stood, staring down at the body as if it had been cursed. He felt anger boil in his soul. No—it was stronger than anger. It was rage. “They double-cross me yet again.”

“My lord?” Brighton asked, stepping back.

Moldark turned on his fleet admiral. “There will be consequences, Brighton. Painful ones. Ones they will regret only so long as they’re alive to witness them.”

“Of course, my lord.”

For the first time in a long time, a new desire was forming in Moldark’s mind—one that quite surprised him. He’d been focused on avenging his people for so long that all other goals failed to rival it. But now—now he had another goal. Not a rival, per se, but one he considered duly important. And, if the circumstances presented themselves, one he would entertain without hesitation.

“The bodies, the clutter”—Moldark gestured blindly to the floor—“I want it all gone, now.”

“Right away, my lord.”

Then Moldark headed for Piper’s door.

18

The first meeting with the Gladio Umbra’s company commanders made Magnus feel awkward. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be in the meeting, or even that he disliked those present. Instead, he missed seeing the faces of the people who’d gotten the team this far—who’d helped keep them alive.

But Magnus understood the nature of leadership and the ever-changing needs of a growing unit. To say that the Gladio Umbra had grown would be an understatement. Further, to say that it could continue to function healthily under its previous leadership structure would have been a fallacy. He, of all people, knew that unit success rose and fell on sound leadership. Without it, their efforts would fall short, and the galaxy could not afford that. A new structure must be employed—but it didn’t mean he couldn’t miss the past.

Colonel Caldwell led the meeting from the far end of a second conference room table that he’d commandeered from Azelon’s inventory of endless rooms and tables. Around it sat Captain Forbes, leader of Taursar Company, and Lieutenant Nelson, leader of Hedgebor Company, both rifle units. Azelon was present for both support and intel with Drambull Company and naval operations with Raptor Company, while TO-96 lead Fang Company. And finally, Master Willowood, who sat at the table’s far end, commanded the mystic-filled Paladia Company. No other members of the Gladio Umbra’s ever-expanding ranks were allowed in this meeting.

“Thank you for breaking from your training evolutions to meet on such short notice,” the colonel said, standing with his hands behind his back. He wore the standard attire of the Spire’s crew, a white bodysuit with pale blue trim. The colonel had managed to keep off most of the weight that other men his age carried—a result of daily PT and attention to his diet. Still, he had a slight belly that protruded from the bodysuit in a way that suggested Azelon might want to look into alternative clothing styles for the less physically fit among the crew.

“It has come to our attention that a missing member of our team has been located,” Caldwell said. “Forbes and Nelson, I know that neither of you have met Piper, but you’re aware of her relationship to Senator Darin Stone, and, more importantly, her giftedness in the Unity.”

The two company commanders nodded.

“Willowood, would you care to take it from here?”

“Thank you, Colonel.” Willowood rose from her chair and addressed the room. “During Awen’s most recent use of the quantum tunnel generator on Ithnor Itheliana, she detected Piper’s presence aboard a vessel leaving the Wyndorian system.”

“Do we know what type of vessel?” Forbes asked.

“We do,” Magnus said. “A Paragon ship named the Peregrine.”

“According to Ricio’s account, that is Moldark’s personal ship,” TO-96 said.

“Awen confirmed that Piper was indeed in Moldark’s care.” Willowood looked around the table. “She also did not sense that Piper was in distress.”

“So, she went willingly?” Nelson asked.

“We believe so.”

“And why do you think the girl would go willingly?” Forbes asked.

Caldwell answered for Willowood. “There are several plausible explanations—”

“But the most probable one is that Piper knew Admiral Kane was her grandfather.”

Forbes stared at Willowood, dumbfounded. It was the same look Magnus had given Awen and the old woman when they’d told him as much. “Ho—ly splick. Are you saying Kane is—”

“My ex-husband?” Willowood nodded. “Yes.”

Caldwell looked like he was about to say something, but Willowood kept going. “If it’s any consolation, I recognize that it was wrong to keep the information from you.” Willowood let her eyes linger on Magnus. “For that, I’m sorry. It was a mistake, and I have myself to blame for the reasons why.”

Awen seemed about to speak up, but the older woman raised a hand before continuing. “As for why Valerie never said anything, I can only speculate. If she did not wish her father’s identity to be known, then she had a good reason for it. Unfortunately for us, we will never know the answer, nor do I believe it is something we need anyway. The curtain has been pulled back, and we will let Valerie rest in peace.”

“The most important question now,” Caldwell interjected, “is how are we going to rescue Piper?”

“OTF.” Forbes pounded a fist on the table. Magnus liked that the man seemed all in with his new commission to the Gladio Umbra. “You have a plan, Colonel?”

“Negative. I only learned about Piper’s whereabouts moments before I called you all here. This meeting is to determine whether or not we proceed with a rescue mission, and if so, what it looks like.”

“May I offer an observation, sir?” TO-96 asked.

“Go ahead, Brass Balls.”

TO-96 hesitated. “Brass Balls, sir?”

“Here we go.” Magnus grinned at TO-96.

“I’m afraid I do not understand the reference, at least as it pertains to me.”

The colonel smiled past the cigar and pointed to the bot’s weaponized forearms. “You pack some heavy firepower for a bot. And I saw you put yourself in harm’s way to protect lives on Worru. Then, you volunteer to command a company of starfighters that you’ve never flown before. And now you’re offering suggestions to a Republic Marine Battalion Commander. Tell me, have you ever made a military suggestion to a colonel before?”

“No, sir.”

“And are you afraid in any way?”

“Afraid?” TO-96 tilted his head slightly. “Sir, I’m incapable of experiencing fear.”

“Damn straight,” the colonel replied. “And, therefore, Brass Balls.”

TO-96 looked at Magnus, presumably for an explanation. But Magnus shrugged. “The nickname makes sense, ’Six. You’re gonna have to roll with it.”

“Roll with Brass Balls,” TO-96 said. “That is a very clever pun, sir. Though the exact implication of the colonel’s meaning still eludes me.”

Caldwell rapped his knuckles on the table and fixed his eyes on the bot. “Your suggestion?”

“My apologies, sir. If our larger mission is to thwart Moldark, and a potential mission is rescuing Piper from Moldark, it seems there is a certain fortuitous nature regarding the two objectives.”

“I believe the word you’re looking for is charming,” Azelon said, and then gave the colonel a robotic wink.

The commander chuckled and scratched his eyebrow. “You’re suggesting we utilize one to accomplish the other.”

“I don’t see the harm in trying.”

“And how would you propose we take out Moldark?”

“Assuming the Peregrine has returned to the Black Labyrinth, then that places Piper with Moldark on his command ship. If we find her, we find him. My calculations suggest that the opportunity to eliminate Moldark increases exponentially as we close on Piper’s position.”

“So you’re suggesting we hit the Black Labyrinth, grab the girl, and take out Moldark if he’s hanging around,” Forbes said.

“Without your prolific use of colloquialisms, yes—that’s what I’m suggesting.”

“The bot really does have brass balls,” Nelson said to Forbes. “Now I need me a pair.”

“All right,” Caldwell said, raising a hand to quiet the laughter. “I think the bot makes a good point. However, I feel that one objective does not necessarily beget the other. A rescue operation is not the same as an assault, and we don’t have the time, training, or resources to conduct the later, at least not without taking heavy losses. That said, I do think that whatever team goes after Piper will have the opportunity to take a shot at Moldark, and that shouldn’t be overlooked in its importance. It is not, however, the prime objective. Do I make myself clear?”

Everyone nodded.

“You’re thinking up something, aren’t you, Colonel,” Magnus stated.

Caldwell rocked back in his chair and rolled his cigar in his fingers. “We have Granther Company make a low-profile insertion onto the ship, locate and extract the girl, and then get the hell out.”

“I like the sound of that,” Magnus said. “The teams will be up for it.”

Azelon raised a hand. “There are several obstacles to your plan, colonel. Not the least of which is getting the members of Magnus’s unit onto the Labyrinth in the first place. According to TO-96’s documentation on your typical special operations procedures, we’ll need to work through target-analysis, mission-planning, equipment-staging, and rehearsal—the latter of which I don’t foresee anyone having time for.”

“And that’s exactly why you’re here, Smarty Pants,” Caldwell said. “Because we’re not going anywhere until we come up with something blaster proof—for the girl’s sake and yours, Magnus.”

Magnus cracked his knuckles. “Let’s do this.”

19

Piper heard strange sounds outside her room. First, there were blaster shots and people running around. Then what sounded like muted screams and lots of heavy things falling on the floor. She’d thought about stepping into the Unity to see what was going on, but her grandfather had said the meeting wasn’t for her. And, in case it was something bad or scary—which is what it sounded like—she thought better of looking. Plus, her grandfather might get mad if he found out she’d disobeyed him, so she stayed curled up on her bed.

It was several minutes before he came to get her. “Piper? Are you there?”

“Uh-huh,” she said over the door’s intercom. “Is it okay to come out now?”

“Yes, child. My meeting is over.”

Piper slid off her bed, walked across the room, and touched the keypad to open the door. Her grandfather smiled and then gestured back toward his chair at the top of the platform. But Piper looked around him to where the men had stood. They were all gone. The only thing she could see was a strange blackish powder along the floor like someone hadn’t swept or dusted in a while.

“Shall we continue?”

* * *

Piper knew metaspace was just beyond the veil—she could feel it. She stood in a forest-wrapped clearing deep in the Foundation’s wilderness. The sunlight caressed her face as she looked up at a wall of water. It flowed from a rock outcrop twenty meters overhead and stretched nearly as wide. But unlike any other waterfall she’d seen, which pooled in a broad basin, this one disappeared into a slit in the ground ideally suited to capture the liquid sheet.

The cascading wall glimmered in the light, inviting Piper toward it. But as she neared the gap in the grass-covered stone ground, she was careful to keep her toes from slipping into the space. For, down there, she did not sense the Foundation, nor any realms of the Nexus. Instead, she sensed—nothing. Oblivion. The eternal vastness of the void. Whatever this place was, wherever she’d journeyed to in her attempt to give her grandfather his quantum tunnel to metaspace, it was unlike anything she’d seen—beautiful, but also dangerous.

“What do you see?” asked a voice from beside her physical body. It belonged to her grandfather. The voice echoed through the trees like rocks grating on one another, and she didn’t like it very much. But Piper’s mother had sometimes said that a little girl’s voice was irritating too, so she tried to give her grandfather the benefit of the doubt.

Piper also knew that her grandfather wasn’t right. There was another presence with him, something dark and mean. She saw it hover around him—within him. When his voice was nicer, that was when the spirit stepped back a little. But when his voice was scratchier, like it was now, the spirit blocked her grandfather’s presence. She wondered if she could help him when all this was over—after she helped him rescue the Jujari.

“I see a waterfall,” Piper replied at last, using her physical body’s mouth to communicate with her grandfather. He stood over her as she lay on the floor in his big observation deck with the huge window. He’d placed a pillow under her head, which she thought was very kind of him.

“Why a waterfall?”

Piper looked into the forest as if doing so would help her grandfather hear her better, but she realized it didn’t matter—he couldn’t see or hear the waterfall anyway. “It’s what the wall looks like between the two universes.”

“I was picturing something more dramatic,” her grandfather replied.

“I don’t know what that means.”

“Never mind. What are you going to do next?”

Piper looked back at the waterfall and crossed her arms. “I don’t know yet. I need to think about it. And please stop talking. You’re distracting me.”

She studied the water as it flowed off the outcrop and fell into the wide slit. She knew that going around it would only place her on the backside of the falls, not on the other side of the universe. That was the whole point of going through something and not just around it.

But the falls felt dangerous, and the emptiness below even more dangerous. She could practically hear Awen telling her to step away from the gap now—warning her not to get any closer to the water. But Awen wasn’t here now. And Awen hadn’t been asked to help the Jujari escape. This was Piper’s job—it was her chance to be a grownup and do something important. If So-Elku had tried to help her recognize who she was without the restraints of her power suit, then this was her chance to do something about it, to show the cosmos who she really was.

Still, fear of the unknown tugged on her heart. She looked back and forth between the water and the gap. The falls shot down into inky blackness, disappearing into infinity. It was a long way down. And there was just enough space that a small person, like her, could fall through. If she wasn’t careful, Piper knew she might plummet into the pit.

But she would be careful. And she would be strong. Piper summoned her resolve, looked down at her hand, and extended her fingers toward the shimmering wall of water. She noticed how her fingers trembled more the closer they got. Small droplets of water formed on the tiny hairs on the back of her hand. They were cold. And heavy. In fact, the more moisture that gathered on her fingers, the harder it was to hold her arm up.

Piper suddenly wondered if the rest of the waterfall was heavy like this. She glanced past her toes and into the endless blackness beneath her. The waterfall’s sound grew louder, and she could no longer hear her heartbeat in her ears.

The waterfall slapped her hand, soaking it in a heavy spray. Piper’s chest felt like it might explode. All she could imagine was the waterfall grabbing onto her hand and pulling her down. But she had to try. She had to help the Jujari get to safety. And she had to get a ship to return to Awen and Willowood.

In a panic, Piper leaned forward and pushed her hand into the cascade. For a split second, she thought she was through and figured she’d passed the test. But the force of the heavy water latched onto her fingers and jerked her torso over.

Piper screamed, feeling herself teeter on the edge of forever. She thrust her hands to the sides and willed herself to keep from falling over. But the water droplets on her hand were still too heavy, forcing her to lose her balance. She thought of taking flight, but somehow she knew the moisture would not let her. There would be no avoiding the fall into the abyss unless she left the Unity. Now.

Piper sat up on her grandfather’s floor and gasped. The fear of falling, the fear of losing control—they gripped her chest as if they were real things that could physically hurt her. She began batting at her chest, trying to get the emotions off her. Then she reached out and touched the floor to make sure she wasn’t falling.

And she wasn’t. She was safe now, sitting beneath her grandfather’s strange black eyes.

“Were you successful?” he asked.

“No,” she replied, feeling the pain of disappointment flood her heart. “I’m sorry.”

“What happened?” He sounded frustrated.

“It was too strong for me.”

“Maybe you weren’t trying hard enough.”

His words stung, and tears started to well up in her eyes. “I suppose I could try harder, yes. But…”

“But what?” Her grandfather repeated himself. Only this time, he changed his tone to something softer and less scratchy. “What’s the matter, child?” He knelt beside her and placed a hand on her shoulder. The fear and disappointment didn’t leave, but at least Piper didn’t feel so alone.

“The waterfall was flowing too quickly. It was going to suck me down.”

“Waterfall?”

She nodded. “It’s what the marriage between the two universes looks like. The Foundation’s funny like that.”

“The Foundation, yes.” Her grandfather’s scratchy voice was back, and he repeated the word like he’d heard it sometime in the past but forgotten about it. “The Foundation is funny like that.” He squatted beside her. “Can you try again?”

Piper shook her head. “Oh, please, no. Not right now. It’s too strong. I’ll need to…”

To what?

Piper didn’t know if she had the power to overcome this wall. It should have bent at her will, the waters parting over her as easily as they might split over a stick. But somehow they hadn’t, and she didn’t know why. Everything else in the Foundation had bowed to her, had done whatever she’d asked. But this waterfall was different, ordered around by a different set of rules.

“Maybe if I can talk to Awen about it I could—”

“Not Awen,” her grandfather spat. His voice was harsh again. Just as quickly, he relaxed. “I mean, it would be complicated for us to get in touch with Awen, and I need this now. The Jujari need this now.”

“I’m so sorry,” Piper said. Hot tears formed in her eyes again, and she felt like sobbing into her grandfather’s arm. But he didn’t seem like he would want that. So she let her tears run across her cheeks instead. “Is there anything else we can do to help the Jujari?”

Piper searched her grandfather’s face, but not for long. The man stood up and walked toward the wide window, leaving Piper on the ground. She decided to follow him, so she pushed herself up. Her head got fuzzy for a second, but she blinked some and then went to stand beside her grandfather.

“Are you thinking about another way to help the Jujari escape?”

“Yes,” her grandfather replied. “But I’m afraid there is no way out of this for them.”

Hearing that broke Piper’s heart. She watched the remaining Jujari ships fire at the Republic ships, but they were outnumbered. She didn’t think it would be long before this battle was over, and the Jujari were forced to re—retake. No, she thought. Retreat.

“But maybe there is something we could do to stop the Republic.”

Piper looked up at her grandfather. He returned her gaze with a dark look that sent a shiver down her spine. “Like what?”

“I’m not sure if you know this, Piper, but the Republic isn’t what it used to be.”

“What did it used to be?”

He looked back out the window and placed his hands behind his back. “It used to be good. It used to protect people and uphold peace.”

“It doesn’t do that anymore?”

“You tell me.”

Piper scratched her nose. “Tell you what?”

“How it feels to have them kill your family.”

Piper stepped away from the window and felt her face get warm. “What are you talking about? They didn’t kill my family.”

“And who do you think did?”

“I know who did. But I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“Just because something is hard to talk about doesn’t mean it should be avoided.”

“Yes it does.”

“Who killed your parents, Piper?”

“No!”

“Was it a friend?”

“No, stop.”

“Someone you trusted?”

Piper turned into her grandfather’s hip and threw a fist at his side. “I told you to stop it. Stop it! Stop talking.”

“Maybe you think it was an accident, or that you had something to do with it, or that—”

“I killed my father, and Magnus killed my mother,” she screamed. “Why do you even care?” She continued to throw her fists at her grandfather’s side, but the pain in her chest made her blows fumble. “And now they’re gone. They’re gone forever.” She sank to her knees, mad at herself and furious with her grandfather for bringing this up. And for what?

“You didn’t kill your father, child,” he said when her small shrieks died away. “And Magnus didn’t kill your mother.”

“That’s not true.” Piper’s fists hit the floor. “That’s not true at all.”

“Tell me, child. If someone kills an antelope with a blaster, is it the blaster that did the killing or the person who fired it?”

“I don’t want to answer your questions.” Piper coughed, watching her spit hit the glossy black floor. She refused to say anything more.

“But do you know the answer?”

Piper resisted the urge to reply. She knew the answer, but she was done playing his games. At least a minute passed while she composed herself, wiping her mouth and brushing her tears away, when at last her grandfather answered his own question—incorrectly too.

“It’s the blaster, isn’t it,” he said.

“No,” Piper replied. “The blaster isn’t alive. It can’t make decisions.”

“So, it was the person?” Her grandfather looked down at her, voice sounding like he was shocked by her answer. Piper didn’t want to say anything more, so she just nodded and then looked back at the floor. When she’d calmed down after another minute, her grandfather spoke again, but this time very softly. “Magnus was a blaster. You were a blaster. Neither is guilty of the crime. But the person?—the person who squeezed the trigger? They must pay.”

Piper wasn’t sure she understood what he was trying to say, but the image of someone else using Magnus to kill—even using her to kill—well, that made her think hard. She didn’t feel like anyone had used her to kill her father, or the soldier in Itheliana, or anyone else for that matter. Those were things she’d done, whether on purpose or by accident—weren’t they? Plus, when it came to Magnus, he was too strong to let anyone use him.

“Who squeezed me?” Piper asked, knowing the question sounded funny. But she hurt too much to care. “And Magnus? Who made him…”

“Kill your mother?” The old man took a deep breath. “The same people who are making us do this.” He gestured toward the space battle. “The Galactic Republic.”

Piper looked out the window and watched as bright flashes of blaster fire crashed against force fields and blew holes in the sides of unprotected ships, both Jujari and Republic. The navy might be on the winning team, but the Jujari weren’t going down without a fight. Somehow, the whole scene mirrored what Piper was feeling on the inside. She felt beaten, frustrated, and alone. But she wasn’t going to fall apart and throw a fit. Her mother wouldn’t approve. No, she had to fight back—at least, she had to try.

“The Galactic Republic is doing this?” Piper asked.

Her grandfather nodded without saying a word.

“But what does this have to do with my father and mother?”

“None of that would have happened if it weren’t for this. Your father’s death was an unfortunate matter of circumstance related to the events on Oorajee.”

“But I was there,” Piper protested. “I know what happened… what I did to him. I—” But she couldn’t bring herself to repeat the words. It hurt too much, and she was tired of thinking about what her powers did to her father.

“It doesn’t matter what blaster bolt killed your father, Piper. It only matters who was behind the weapon in the first place—who made your father be where he was when he was killed. Same with your mother. Do you understand what I’m saying, child?”

“I think so.” She squinted at him, trying to figure out what he meant, but she was pretty sure she knew.

“Do you know that they even tried to kill me just today?” He pulled back his cloak and revealed a blaster wound in his side. Piper winced at the blood and charred flesh. It must have felt painful. She couldn’t imagine what it was like to get shot.

“There are bigger things at work than you can imagine,” he continued. “I don’t want the blasters or their bolts—I want the people who pulled the triggers, who ordered the targets around. I want them stopped.”

“Do you know who they are?”

Her grandfather nodded. “I do. I’ve pledged to stop them, or die trying.”

“And who—who are they?”

He turned and looked down at her, then offered his hand to help her stand. “Does this mean you want in?”

“Want in to what?”

“To help me stop them. That is, until I can get you a ship so you can be on your way. We had an agreement after all.”

Piper considered his offer. She supposed she hadn’t fulfilled her end of their bargain yet. She’d tried to help him by opening a quantum tunnel for the Jujari, but that turned out to be impossible. So maybe if she could try something else—something she was better at—perhaps then he’d let her go. But even then, did she still want to go now that she could be with her grandfather? He seemed like he needed her help. Not just with ships or with the people trying to assassinate him, but with the dark thing inside him. Piper shivered. She felt so alone and didn't know what to do. But she did know that her mother would want her to be strong.

“What do you want to do?” Piper took his hand and let him pull her up. “And who are these bad people?”

“They’re called the Circle of Nine,” her grandfather said. “And I need you to help me convince everyone out there”—he gestured to the Republic ships—“that we must do anything we can to stop them back on Capriana.”

“Capriana?” Piper bit her lip. “Are we going back home?”

“Is that where you’d like to go, child?”

“Well, if it means we can stop the bad guys, then… yes.”

“Then to Capriana we will go. But first, let’s discuss what I need you to do.”

“Okay, grandfather.” She squeezed his hand and noticed how many scars were on it. “I’m ready.”

20

“Are you sure you understand the plan?” Magnus asked.

“Ezo is not as stupid as you seem to think he is,” Ezo said as two former Marines went over his borrowed set of Repub Mark V armor. They yanked on plates and double-checked closures, making sure he was squared away. “But Ezo is trying to figure out how any of you bucketheads moved in this stuff.”

“You get used to it,” Magnus said.

“Somehow, Ezo highly doubts that.” Ezo stood in his old ship’s shadow while Cyril and TO-96 worked with some of the crew to load Geronimo with the last of the gear. Cyril remained in his Novian armor, and the bot kept his telecolos finish—it was only Ezo who’d be impersonating a Republic trooper.

Just then, Sootriman and Abimbola walked through the hangar bay doors. His wife waved, and Ezo felt his heart swell. That woman would be his undoing.

“You’re just in time,” Colonel Caldwell said from beside Magnus. “We were about to send them off.”

“Without a goodbye kiss?” Sootriman said, putting her hands on her hips.

“Trust me, wife, that was not my intent.”

“The hell it wasn’t.” She reached forward and grabbed him by his suit’s collar, then she pulled him close and kissed him on the mouth. Ezo knew he talked a big game, but public displays of affection like this always made him a little embarrassed. Then again, she was a fabulous kisser.

“Okay, you two,” Magnus said.

Sootriman put a hand to the Lieutenant’s face and didn’t let up on Ezo. A few people laughed, and Ezo smiled.

“If you don’t stop now, we’re going to have to finish this somewhere else,” Ezo said with his lips still pressed against hers.

Finally, Sootriman pulled away. “I just didn’t want you getting any ideas about running off with some Repub deck wenches.”

“None of the deck wenches I’ve met kiss like you,” Ezo said.

“And how many, pray tell, have you kissed?”

“You probably shouldn’t answer that, son,” Caldwell said.

“Before you get going, I have something for you,” Abimbola said. The Miblimbian pulled a small leather pouch off his belt, and then reached in and withdrew a handful of poker chips. He flipped one to Ezo and then handed one to the other company commanders. “For luck.”

Ezo turned the chip over in his hand. It had the Gladio Umbra’s icon on one side—a circle with an open bottom and the shape of a spearhead within—and a 50-credit symbol on the other. “Where in the name of all mystics did you get these?”

“I’ve got a source,” the giant replied as he turned and winked at Azelon. “If we are going to gamble with our lives, we might as well start a few credits ahead. We need all the juju we can get right now. Plus, if you pull short on an Antaran backdraw table, it never hurts to have an extra chip up your sleeve.”

“Yeah, ’cause that’s what Ezo’s going to be playing when he lands on Moldark’s creepy-ass ship.”

“I like ’em,” Magnus said, flipping it once and then stuffing it inside his Novian chest plate pocket. “Nice touch, Bimby.”

“Thank you, buckethead. We made one for every member of the battalion. I will be handing them out soon, along with something a little more old fashioned, you might say.”

“And what’s that?” Caldwell asked. “Speaking as the resident authority on all things old fashioned.”

“A battalion patch, Colonel,” Abimbola said. He handed Caldwell a small piece of embroidered fabric with the battalion’s logo on it, as well as some more writing Ezo couldn’t make out.

“Now this I like.” Caldwell hit the patch on his palm a few times and then looked up at Abimbola. “You’ve got class, Abimbola. I like your style.”

“Thank you, sir. And I like your cigar.”

“I’ve got plenty more.” The colonel hesitated. “I had plenty more.” Caldwell threw an irritated hand in the air and then handed Abimbola his patch back. “Are we ready yet, Brass Balls?”

TO-96 poked his head back down Geronimo’s ramp. “Yes, Colonel Caldwell. We are ready to shove off, as you say.”

“Good work, son.”

“However, I would not recommend attempting to shove Geronimo Nine. I was simply using an expression common among navy—”

“I got it, Balls. Just get yourself squared away.”

“Now baby, listen,” Sootriman said to Ezo. “You can’t go around saying your name to everyone you meet over there.”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it.”

“You’re a Repub buckethead from here on out, and you’ve gotta act dumb as a rock.”

“Hey now,” Forbes said, stepping forward.

“Present company excluded.” Sootriman smiled at the captain. “You and your men are the smart ones for joining us.”

“I can live with that,” Forbes replied.

Back to Ezo, Sootriman said, “Get in, do your thing, and get back here in one piece, you copy, love?”

He nodded. “You’re really going to miss me that bad, huh?”

She smiled. “I just know Ricio’s gonna want Tee-Oh back to command Fang Company.”

“And the truth comes out.”

“And I’ll miss you, husband.”

“No you won’t. You’ll be too busy back doing whatever it is you need to do on Ki Nar Four.”

Sootriman tapped a finger to her plump lips. “This is true. And there’s much work to be done.”

“Leaving so soon?” Caldwell asked. “I wasn’t aware.”

“I am, Colonel. And I’d get used to not knowing everything, if I were you. Plus, my expertise is best utilized elsewhere. You have plenty of help for this mission, and my husband has a squadron to lead.”

“Don’t I know it,” Ezo said, rubbing the back of his neck. “That ace has been bustin’ my balls since we got back.”

“Ah, so you have balls too.” TO-96 leaned down from the ramp. “But are they brass?”

* * *

Azelon had brought the Spire as close to Oosafar as she felt comfortable—statistically speaking, of course. She’d been emphatic about the probability of discovery, both via intentional sensor sweeps, which seemed highly improbable, and accidental collisions, which was far more likely. Still, with the void being as big as it was, Azelon’s idea of far more likely was everyone’s definition of impossible.

She chose to keep the Spire on the side of the Jujari homeworld opposite the space battle. This meant that a ship like Geronimo Nine could seemingly appear around the planet’s shadow as if it had jumped in from subspace with no one being the wiser. And, in Ezo’s case, that was precisely what they were planning to emulate.

Contrary to most people’s ideas of space battle as portrayed in the holo movies, actual conflicts were protracted, drawn-out, messy affairs that required far more ships than the civilian world supposed. While the Dreadnoughts, Battleships, and Battlecruisers got all the attention, it was the smaller resupply vessels, repair and rescue convoys, and salvage ships that made the dirty business of war-making a reality.

Since Geronimo Nine was already registered with the Republic as a licensed trade ship—saying nothing about the other undeclared cargo Ezo may or may not have had onboard at any given time—it made sense for the Katana-class Light Freighter to be in-system. A ship like Ezo’s could be under contract by the Republic for any number of menial tasks. Of course, no one had seen the ship for several months, nor had it popped up on anyone’s sensors or logs. But in the heat of battle, who was checking those records anyway?

Cyril made child’s work of forging a contract for Geronimo to service several different ships in Third Fleet, making its coming and going not only believable but expected.

“Nothing quite like your enemy asking you to come aboard and mess with their stuff, eh ’Six?” Ezo asked from on Geronimo’s bridge.

“Whereas the first part of your statement might be true enough, sir, the second part is far from accurate.”

“Just work with me, pal.” Ezo reduced speed and reversed thrusters. “Mystics, she’s a big ship.”

Ezo, Cyril, and TO-96 all strained to look out the forward windows to see the Black Labyrinth stretching from left to right. What truly betrayed the vessel’s sheer size was that Ezo was still several kilometers away, and the ship just kept getting bigger and bigger as they flew forward. The Labyrinth was near the back of the action, so unlike the rest of the ships in Third Fleet, it only lobbed occasional rounds at enemy targets. Instead, it seemed to prefer keeping pesky swarms of Razorback starfighters at bay, swatting at them with its quad cannons and auto turrets.

“You’re sure we’re not gonna get targeted, right Cyril?” Ezo asked.

“All systems green. Green to go,” Cyril replied in his mousey voice. “You should be hailed any second.”

Right on cue, TO-96 brought up an incoming transmission request. “We’re being hailed, sir.”

“Audio only,” Ezo reminded him. “Remember?”

“Of course, sir.”

The voice that spoke was that of a control operator who was either extremely sick of their job and needed a vacation or was preoccupied with watching their favorite holo feed. Either way, it meant no one would be looking too closely at Geronimo’s ident or logs. “Light Freighter hull number 2R14-7299G1 bearing 97 tango, this is Labyrinth control. Please identify yourself and confirm ship ident.”

“Labyrinth control, this Captain Stick E. Lipps, requesting docking permission for Geronimo Nine in hangar bay…” Ezo looked at TO-96, who looked at Cyril. The code slicer flashed some fingers at Ezo. “Twenty-three. Schedule says we’re slated to pick up some—let’s see here. Uh, yeah. Some depleted core canisters.”

Ezo muted the channel and then glanced at TO-96. “This control operator sounds like he’s eating something. Or picking his nose. Or maybe both.”

The bot shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine, sir.”

Finally, the operator cleared his throat. “You’re clear to dock at hangar bay twenty-three, Geronimo. Please remain on your present course, adjusting at waypoint 009 alpha zulu to the revised heading we’re transmitting… now.”

“Got, got, got it,” Cyril said.

“Copy that, control. Everything looks good. Should be outta your hair in no time. And a big thank you to the Galactic Republic for your business.” Ezo heard a small click sound followed by the appearance of a Transmission Terminated icon.

“Well, he wasn’t exactly the chatty type,” TO-96 said.

“Definitely not, ’Six,” Ezo replied. “Take us in, nice and slow. Don’t wanna draw any unnecessary attention.”

“Like thanking the Republic for their business over comms, sir?”

“Why? I meant every word.”

* * *

Geronimo Nine passed through one of the atmosphere force fields in the Labyrinth’s starboard side amidships, and—once within the Super Dreadnought’s gravity harness—used heavy thrusters to ease the crescent-moon-shaped freighter onto the landing deck. Since several ships were coming and going from the wide bay already, few people took much notice of the vessel, save for the small contingent of support personnel who scurried under the ship. Standard protocol warranted that the host vessel provide auxiliary power and life support, and then drain, cleanse, and refill all bio-fluid systems. It would be several minutes before the ship inspector made it over for the mandatory ship inspection. Unless, of course, said individual was unusually efficient.

“Splick,” Ezo said, pointing out the cockpit window. A man in a black Repub NCO uniform walked toward Geronimo, along with two blaster-carrying helmet-covered troopers. “They’re early. Looks like you’re on, ’Six.”

“Right now, sir?”

“Yes, right now. Come on.”

Ezo grabbed his bucket and MC99 blaster and headed toward the loading ramp. He flipped up the safety cover on the deployment panel, charged the system, and then punched the Open button. The ramp hardly started to open before Ezo pushed TO-96 toward it. “Do your thing, pal.”

“Affirmative, sir.”

“Cyril?” Ezo spun on his heels. “How’s that upload?”

“Forty more seconds. Maybe forty-two if the—”

“Make it faster.”

Ezo watched TO-96 proceed down the ramp and then stand at the base. Then Ezo put his helmet on and booted up the operating system. The visor powered on and presented environmental sensor data as well as his body’s vital signs. His heart rate and body temperature were elevated enough that the system displayed a warning indicator. “Yeah, no splick,” Ezo said.

“Credentials and manifest,” said the ship inspector, holding his hand out to TO-96.

“I beg your pardon, sir?”

“Credentials and manifest. I don’t have all day bot.”

“But we’ve already surrendered them, sir. I apologize if—”

“What do you mean you’ve already surrendered them?”

Ezo stepped into view at the top of the ramp but made sure to act preoccupied with something deeper in the ship. As soon as the inspector saw Ezo, he pulled up his data pad and began scrolling.

“I don’t understand,” the man said. “I was just assigned to this vessel.”

“Uh, yeah, we already got this one,” Ezo said over external comms. “Pretty sure you were supposed to be over there.” He pointed his blaster toward a rusted out Lardvac-class freighter that had seen better days. Its service bot stood at the bottom of the ramp, bearing a striking resemblance to its ship.

“No,” the inspector said. “That’s not possible. I—” His eyes froze, no doubt on the transfer order Cyril had just uploaded. Then he looked over at the other freighter and winced. “How come I always get the pieces of crap?”

“Sorry,” Ezo said with a shrug. Then he yelled to an imaginary someone down a corridor, “Hey! Put that down and keep your scrawny-ass mitts where I can see them.”

“I am most sorry for any inconvenience, sir,” TO-96 said to the inspector. “I hope the rest of your day is—”

“Quiet, bot. And get back to your job. Sounds like your captain’s gonna need you.”

“Right away, sir. Thank you for your consideration.”

The inspector ignored TO-96 and waved his escorts toward the other ship.

“I think that went smashingly well, sir,” TO-96 said as he moved back up the ramp.

“Agreed.” Ezo took off his helmet and threw it in a crash couch in the common room. Cyril was busy pouring over a holo schematic of the Labyrinth. “How we looking, Cyril?”

“Well, I think I’ve found a data node that should give me access to the ship’s mainframe. This Super Dreadnought is a one-off though, definitely not standard. No way, no how. I won’t know until I try. So it’s a gamble, you know? It’s like going on a date with a Grathnian—you don’t really know if it’s male or female until…”

“I get it, kid. Breathing is a gamble. How far away is it?”

“See, see, see, that’s the good news. It looks to be on the far side of this hangar bay.”

“Does that mean there’s bad news?”

“Not terrible, not terrible. It’s just—in the open.”

“So you’ll be exposed.”

“Yep, yep, yep.”

The Novian armor was amazing—everyone recognized that. But the telecolos tech wasn’t without its limitations. If an observer looked carefully enough, they would see the background bend behind a figure in chameleon mode. Of course, someone needed to be looking right at the person in question, and even then, the brain would make excuses for what it saw. But Ezo didn’t like the idea of Cyril standing in the middle of a busy hangar bay without cover. He was a code slicer, not a covert ops military vet.

“’Six and Ezo will take care of keeping everyone’s eyes off you,” Ezo said, doing his best to exude confidence for Cyril. “You ready?”

Cyril nodded, picked up his helmet, and then put it on. Ezo gave him a thumbs up just as the kid activated chameleon mode. The armor-clad code slicer vanished. Ezo felt the wind move and saw the corridor warp as Cyril passed. “Not bad,” Ezo noted. Except for the sound of Cyril’s nasally breathing over external speakers. “But Cyril?”

“Copy, sir. Yes, sir?”

“Make sure to keep your speakers muted. You sound like a Paglothian mule pig with a sinus infection.”

“Yep, yep, yep. Got it.”

“We’ll be monitoring you from here. If you need help, well…”

TO-96 stepped forward and raised a forearm with his micro missiles. “We’ll be ready.”

“Thank, guys,” Cyril said. Then he paused at the top of the ramp, and Ezo wondered if Cyril was having a heart attack or something. The kid had an odd way about him—twitchy… but also cool under pressure, somehow. Or maybe he was just so focused on his formulas and tech that he was oblivious to real-world danger in the way certain kids could be.

“You cool, kid?” Ezo asked.

“Ready to slice, ready to dice—ha, ha. Here goes nothing.”

“No, kid. Here goes everything.”

21

Ezo and TO-96 kept a close eye on Cyril’s movement from inside Geronimo’s bridge. Azelon had updated the ship’s sensor suite to track Gladio Umbra units even while in chameleon mode. Since the armor limited both heat and life sign radiation, conventional scans were largely ineffective—a good thing when deep in enemy territory, but a bad thing when friendlies needed to monitor an asset.

“You’re looking good,” Ezo said. The main holo display projected an outline of Cyril’s body against a camera feed of the hangar. “Nice and easy.”

Cyril crept down one of the hangar’s center aisles, taking his time to hide behind supply containers and maintenance equipment whenever enemy personnel walked by. Ezo doubted the kid needed to be so cautious given the hangar’s frenetic level of activity, but with such a critical step in the mission plan, he wouldn’t complain.

Several freighters lined either side of Cyril’s route to the hangar’s far side, and he made quick work of ducking under resupply gantries, darting around access ladders, and hopping over empty pallets. The only moment Ezo felt a surge of adrenaline was when a small shipping crate fell off an overhead track and landed on Cyril’s shoulder. To anyone who’d been watching, the falling box looked as though it mysteriously changed direction about half a meter from the ground.

“Dammit,” Ezo yelled. “You okay, kid?”

“I’m good, copy. Good to over and out.” Cyril hurried away from the box and took temporary cover behind a ship’s rear landing gear. A foreman cursed at the deckhand responsible for the mishap, and two other crew members worked to recover the cargo.

“No one looks any wiser,” Ezo reported, his eyes studying the scene and also Cyril’s stats. “And your suit looks good. Keep moving.”

“Right. Loud and clear, loud and clear all the way, sir.”

Cyril left the freighter’s cover and continued across the hangar, nearing the far side. Within another minute, he was at the data node console. It was a wide desk with several holo displays that protruded from a small recess in the wall right beside a set of large access doors. Already, Ezo could tell there was going to be a problem.

“The armor’s going to render the details of those holo displays in ways the eye can detect,” Ezo said to TO-96.

“Sir?” the bot asked.

“Cyril’s armor. If anyone’s looking at those displays, and he’s standing in front of them, they’ll notice something’s off.”

“That is a good point, sir. The telecolos emulation system will indeed convey too much deviation.”

“Then I guess it’s time for a distraction.”

“I have just the one,” TO-96 said, raising his missiles.

“For mystics’ sake, ’Six.” Ezo put a hand on TO-96’s arm and pushed it down. “We don’t want to alert the whole ship. We just want to keep people from unnecessarily looking Cyril’s way.”

“What do you have in mind, sir?”

Ezo thought about it and then opened comms to Cyril. “Hey, Cyril, buddy?”

“Ten ten, copy, sir.”

“How’s it coming?”

“I’ve just inserted the spider drive. Shouldn’t be long. Maybe three and a half minutes. Possibly four. Definitely not four and half, though, because with this new spider drive I’ve got—”

“Well, you’re going to have one or two,” Ezo said, cutting the kid off.

“But, but, but—”

“You’re more exposed out there than we thought, kid. So you’ve gotta put the speed on.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“As soon as it’s done, get back to the ship, and don’t worry about any explosions you see.

Cyril gulped over channel. “Explosions, sir?”

“Just get back to the ship.”

“Affirmative, roger,” the code slicer said, and then Ezo closed the channel.

Picking up Cyril’s line of questioning, TO-96 looked at Ezo and said, “Explosions, sir?”

“Remember the resupply station on Limric Prime?”

“I have a complete data set of the entire time, yes.”

“Right, but remember how we got clear?”

TO-96 tilted his head at Ezo, and then his eyes increased their glow as if surprised. “You mean, you want to chase—”

“Yup.”

“And I’ll need to—”

“As fast as your little legs will carry you.”

* * *

“Naked monkey butts,” TO-96 yelled as loud as he could. He streaked across the hangar bay, bumping into cargo crates and bashing into a mobile lift. “Naked monkey butts everywhere!”

Ezo charged after the bot, amplifying his voice over his external speakers at max volume. “Hey, you! Come back here.”

TO-96 ignored Ezo’s command, and threw his hands in the air, shaking them wildly. “They’re chasing me! Help!”

“We’ve got a runner,” Ezo said again, trying to get everyone’s attention.

“Get that bot locked down,” someone ordered nearby. Ezo looked to see a loadmaster pointing in TO-96’s direction—which was good.

“Trying to, sir,” Ezo yelled back.

TO-96 veered left and circled a skiff towing a mag lift filled with crates. With the thrust of his hip, the bot jarred the trailer enough to send several boxes flying. The skiff’s driver yelled an obscenity as TO-96 dove for cover between two rows of air canisters. Ezo followed him into the shadows.

“How we doing, Cyril?” Ezo asked, out of breath.

“Another thirty seconds.”

Ezo nodded and then looked at TO-96. “Head back toward the ship, and I’ll tackle—”

“You got him?” a voice asked from behind Ezo.

“Splick.”

Suddenly, TO-96 threw a fist against Ezo’s helmet and yelled, “Get off me, you dirty monkey!”

Ezo hit the deck, dazed, and watched as the bot ran through the canisters, knocked over half a dozen, and exited the far side.

Ezo shook his head and got to his feet. “I’ll get him.” He proceeded to chase TO-96 around two ships, and then followed the bot back toward Geronimo. But more eyes were on them than Ezo felt comfortable with. He glanced at a cluster of crew members tossing credit chips onto a crate in the unmistakable sign of a bet. A few more started cheering for TO-96 as he dashed around a wall of energy capacitor pylons.

“Think we got their attention, sir?” TO-96 asked.

“Maybe a little too much, pal. Now I need you to stumble.”

Right on cue, TO-96’s feet entangled one another. He slowed just enough for Ezo to catch up and throw a shoulder into his back. The bot slammed headfirst into the ground with Ezo on his back, sliding to a halt twelve meters from Geronimo. Ezo pulled a set of flexicuffs from his hip, tied the bot’s hands behind his back, and shouted, “Gotcha!”

Whoops of celebration and groans of disappointment went up from those who’d wagered on the race as Ezo helped TO-96 to his feet. Ezo turned and waved his blaster in the air, assuring everyone he had the bot in custody. Suddenly, TO-96 brought his heel down on Ezo’s toe.

“What the hell?” Ezo shouted, which produced a round of laughter from those who’d been watching.

“Get back to work,” the loadmaster ordered. “And you, get that bot down to the brig.”

“Yes, sir,” Ezo said over speakers. “Right away.” Then to TO-96, he said, “Come on, you worthless piece of splick.” They moved out of sight, taking a short detour around a crane aisle, before heading back to Geronimo. “What was the foot thing for?”

“You tackled me hard.”

Ezo scrunched up his face. “But you don’t feel pain, you idiot.”

“Maybe not in my body, but I do in my heart.”

“Shut up,” Ezo said, and then shoved the captured bot forward.

* * *

By the time Ezo and TO-96 ascended into Geronimo, careful to stay out of sight, Cyril stood at the ramp’s top.

“And?” Ezo asked as he released TO-96.

“Sliced like the Galactic news networks during election season. The Labyrinth’s sensors will think that our shuttles are standard troop transports coming back from Oorajee.”

Ezo slapped Cyril’s back and then slammed the ramp’s closure button. “Good job. What about Piper?”

Cyril looked away.

“Couldn’t locate her?”

“I’m sorry, sir. Maybe with a little more time—”

“We don’t have any more of that. Magnus will have to improvise.” Ezo looked toward the bridge. “’Six? Get us outta here.”

“Right away, sir.”

Ezo tossed his helmet and told Cyril to secure himself. “This exit might get a little bumpy.”

Geronimo’s drive core hummed, followed by the sound of engines cycling up. Ezo stepped into the bridge and started flicking switches before he even sat down. The manual release overrides disconnected the various tubes and lines connected to the ship’s belly. They popped off in sprays of white gas and electrical arcs, nozzle heads slamming into the deck. The action brought up several system warnings that TO-96 dismissed with the flick of his hand.

“This is Bay Twenty-Three Control to Geronimo Nine,” said an official-sounding voice over Repub comms. “We are showing indications of an unsanctioned launch procedure. Please power down and prepare for—”

“We’re showing signs of a containment breach, control,” Ezo interrupted, raising his voice’s pitch. He looked at TO-96 and waved both hands in a frantic motion.

“That’s a negative, Geronimo. All sensors indicate—wait, hold on.”

TO-96’s fingers danced across the console in a blur. Suddenly, alarm klaxons began to sound in the cockpit, accompanied by warning indicators.

“Geronimo, you’re showing signs of a containment breach!”

“No kidding,” Ezo said. “That’s why we’re trying to get clear.”

“Geronimo, get clear of the hangar!”

“Where do they find these guys?” Ezo asked his bot.

TO-96 applied the anti-gravity thrusters and pushed the ship from its birth. Any maintenance equipment not secured to the deck flew away, blasted by Geronimo’s thrusters.

“Get clear, now,” the control officer cried.

“Nothing like being asked to leave,” Ezo said to TO-96.

“It does indeed beat being shot at, sir.”

Geronimo slipped through the force field, and TO-96 disengaged the repulsors. Then he applied full power to the engines, and the ship lurched forward. Ezo sank in his seat and yelled at TO-96. “You got their away gift ready?”

“I thought you’d never ask, sir.” Again, TO-96’s hands worked the controls, and Ezo noticed a load lock release indicator illuminate. A holo feed looking over Geronimo’s stern popped up and showed a small core canister shoot back toward the Labyrinth. Ezo watched the canister’s blinking light as it disappeared against the Super Dreadnought’s backdrop.

“Violent combustion in the subterranean recess,” TO-96 said. Ezo was about to correct the bot’s delivery when a brilliant white explosion washed out the rear-facing camera and shoved Geronimo forward. At nearly the same time, TO-96 jumped into subspace. The maneuver was risky, being so close to Oorajee’s gravity well, but it was worth making the Labyrinth believe that Geronimo had been decimated in a violent drive-core meltdown. Instead, TO-96 dropped out of subspace on the planet’s opposite side, meeting up with the Spire.

After being slammed back and forth in his chair half a dozen times in less than sixty seconds, Ezo finally looked at TO-96 and said, “Think they bought it?”

“Stand by, sir. I am monitoring fleet-wide comms traffic now.” Ezo watched the bot scroll through data reports faster than any human could. He also heard the indistinguishable noise of several comms channels overlapping one another. “Yes, I believe they have deemed the unfortunate fate of our vessel a catastrophic accident. Several ships in the vicinity are reporting a drive core breach, and the Labyrinth is reporting a total loss of signal. With any luck, Geronimo Nine’s name will be permanently removed from the Galactic Republic registry within the hour. Hold on.” TO-96 paused and held up a finger. “Correction, the Labyrinth has just removed Geronimo Nine’s entry from the starship registry.”

“That fast?” Ezo whistled. “Don’t let the door slam you on the way out.”

“Sir?”

“Never mind. Let’s get back to the Spire. We have a lot of work to do.” The mission had hardly begun, and already Ezo was thinking of all the things he could do with a ship no longer on the Repub’s radar.

22

“How we looking, Cyril?” Magnus asked over the newly named VNET, a term made by singling out the V from the word Novia and the suffix of the well-established Marine TACNET. He stood over the shuttle pilot’s shoulder and watched as the Black Labyrinth’s hulking mass expanded in the cockpit window.

“Your shuttle still looks friendly, like a friend to the Paragon, that is,” Cyril replied from onboard the Spire. “So far, so good. So far, sir.”

“Let’s keep it that way.”

Magnus tapped the top of his NOV1 as it rested across his chest. He knew that the approach was the most critical part of any boarding mission. Any fluke in instrument readings, any overly curious observer, and this was all over. A Super Dreadnought’s deck guns at point-blank range would make quick work of their troop transports even with Novian shielding technology.

A glance at the sensor display showed the two other transports stacked right behind Magnus’s. While his shuttle held Granther and Paladia Companies, the second contained Taursar, and the last contained Hedgebore. That was 355 gladia in total, and all hurtling toward the most powerful ship in the Repub navy. The only thing protecting the Gladio Umbra from a fate in the hard vacuum of space was whatever fancy code slicing Cyril had put in place. “Let’s just hope it’s enough,” Magnus whispered.

“Come again, Lieutenant?” the pilot asked.

“Nothing. Steady as she goes.”

“Yes, sir. Two minutes to dock.”

Magnus turned around and signaled the two-minute warning to Abimbola, who then sent word into the bay to do a pre-combat check. The shuttles slipped into the Labyrinth’s shadow, blocked from the system’s star. Only Oorajee’s surface gave any light to illuminate the target. This was it—there was no going back now. Whatever happened next was on Magnus and the other company leaders.

The plan was ballsy. Dropping 350 gladia in a Repub starship crewed by 500 officers and 4,000 enlisted sailors weren’t great odds. But the Gladio Umbra had several things going for them, the greatest of which was the element of surprise. There was no way any fleet’s command ship would suspect a surprise boarding party could slip right under their noses. But thanks to Ezo, TO-96, and Cyril, that was precisely what was happening.

The second thing Magnus knew they had going for them was fire superiority. Even if the Labyrinth’s officers could muster sufficient troop resistance quickly enough to respond to the breach, the Novian armor and weaponry were second to none—especially now that every gladia had been outfitted with the NBTI. Magnus almost felt bad for the hell the sailors were about to face.

Third, the Gladio Umbra had both tactical and operational advantages.

Tactically, this was not warfare on an open field—a scenario where fights were won by position and attrition. This was close quarters combat through tight corridors. As long as Azelon and Cyril could maintain control of the bulkhead blast doors and help direct personnel movement on both sides, Magnus knew speed and violence of force would win the day.

And mission-wise, the Gladio Umbra had a highly specific agenda, one unknown to the enemy—at least most of them, he knew. Moldark would understand why they’d come. But the rest of the crew wouldn’t have a clue. Which meant they wouldn’t know which direction the invasion was headed or which areas of the ship to reinforce.

Slip in, push hard and fast, secure the objective, and then get the hell out. And if anyone had a bead on Moldark? For splick’s sake, take the damn shot.

“Sixty seconds,” the pilot said.

Magnus raised one finger at Abimbola, and again the call went back, fingers raised. Magnus felt his skin prickle as the force field for their target bay loomed ahead. It glowed blue against the Labyrinth’s black hull, illuminating an empty hold. Cyril’s intel platoon had ensured that no other ships were in this particular hangar. How, Magnus had no idea. But he was grateful for the brains that got it done.

All three transports slipped through the force fields and into the Labyrinth’s gravity well, activating anti-grav repulsors. Ramps extended before landing gear touched down, and the moment the shuttles made deck contact, loadmasters were pushing gladia out as fast as their hands could signal. All was set—everything, that was, except the one piece of intel they still needed the most: a location on Piper.

* * *

“I want that perimeter set yesterday,” Forbes yelled over VNET. “Move, move, move!”

Taursar’s first, second, and third platoons raced to each of the three hangar entrance doors and went to work. They erected MB17 portable shield walls on either side of the oversized blast doors, followed by tripod-mounted AT3M auto turrets. As a last resort, they affixed VODs to the door frames, set as directional mines with motion detection in the event of fast evac cover.

Lieutenant Nelson directed Herdgebore Company in their efforts to set up a near field perimeter around the shuttles. This defensive ring would cover the gladia evac and keep the ships from taking too much direct fire. The platoons set up Azelon’s new GU90 cannons in nests within each shuttle’s shadow, covering 180-degree sweeps. The cannons would make quick work of any enemy forces attempting to set up on the shuttles.

“I need a direction, Cyril,” Magnus said over VNET.

“Still nothing, sir,” Cyril replied, his face occupying a small square in the lower left of Magnus’s HUD. “I’m thinking I should send you toward the bridge—the admiral’s quarters are near the bridge, but you already have that. I mean, you probably already know that. About the bridge and his quarters.”

They were wasting time. “And that’s still just a guess, right?”

“Yep, yep, yep. I just don’t have any good data for you. Sorry, sir.”

“Neither do I,” Azelon added. Her face appeared beside Cyril’s. “But we’ve still managed to keep your presence a secret. In the meantime, I suggest you utilize the mystics.”

“On it.” Magnus swiped his eyes left to close the open links. “Awen?”

“Here,” she replied, stepping out from Alpha Team. Her face appeared in the lower-left of his HUD while a vector arrow pointed toward an outlined body in his central FOV.

“I need a location.”

“I’ve been trying. So has Willowood.”

“And?”

“Piper still doesn’t want to be found,” Willowood said, stepping away from Paladia Company. “But I am getting something from the ship’s stern.”

“As am I,” Awen said.

Magnus looked between them. “Drive core interference?”

“I don’t think so,” Awen said.

“Care to expound?”

“Drive cores emit a very distinct vibration in the Unity,” Awen said. “Think of it like the color pink. Well, Piper’s presence is more like magenta—enough to be in the pink family, but not enough to be mistaken for pink.”

“But you’re still not sure.”

“Right. It’s more like we’re seeing pink with hints of red.”

“And you haven’t seen magenta on any other part of the ship?”

Awen sighed and gave a quick shake of her head. “No.”

“But you’re still sure she’s here.”

“We wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t, Magnus. I feel her.”

Well, at least that’s good news, Magnus thought. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but we’re going with your gut and some traces of magenta in the aft. Can you mark it for us, like I showed you?”

“Yes. Stand by.”

Magnus waited a second before a destination marker appeared on the ship’s schematic in the upper-right of his HUD. The location was on a lower deck, well below the engine cones, and looked to be a cargo hold that doubled as observation hall. Strange, but not implausible. Such spaces made good prisoner enclosures, among other things.

“Willowood,” Magnus said. “I need you specifically, and one of your cadres, to come with Granther Company. The rest need to be with Taursar and Hedgebore Companies to defend the shuttles. When we find Piper, she needs to see your face.”

“Agreed,” Willwood said. “Let me get everyone set.”

Magnus thanked Awen and Willowood and then brought Cyril back up. Having the code slicer and Azelon in hand allowed for easy reachback—the term used when units downrange needed to access critical mission information further up the COC. “I need a route to this target, Cyril. And calculate contingencies while you’re at it. I don’t want us getting trapped back there.”

“That’s a roger, sir. On your twenty, ASAP.” There was a brief pause before a series of blue dots illuminated across the schematic. “Done, done, done. You should see waypoints now.”

“Affirmative.” Magnus glanced at the path. “You’re certain this is the shortest route?”

“Certain? This is pretty much the same thing as playing Galaxy Renegade. You know, the holo strategy game? Did you know that I am ranked in the top three in—”

“Cyril!”

“Oh. So sorry, sir. Sorry. I am certain that if you follow our route, you have the best chance at winning. Ah—I mean, surviving.”

“Sounds good.”

“Oh, um—and one more thing, sir.”

“Talk fast.”

“We may not be able to maintain control of all bulkhead doors and security systems. I mean, I suspect it’s only a matter of time before localized countermeasures are instituted, which will most likely lock us out, which really sucks for you, especially as you get closer to this board’s boss. Camera piggybacking is limited, so you’ll be on your own once you leave the hangar unless I call something in for you. Copy my ten-four?”

“Understood. Just do what you can, and keep me updated.” Magnus swiped Cyril’s avatar away and then populated the rest of Granther Company’s HUDs with the updated waypoints. “First Platoon and First Cadre, fall in.”

The five fire teams and one mystic cadre circled up as Magnus stood in the center. “We have a tentative fix on the asset, currently located in an aft observation theatre on deck four, section ninety-one. We’re calling that south and low.” Magnus pointed a flat hand toward the ship’s nose. “Bow of the ship is north; sides are east and west.

“Intel has updated our waypoints with secondaries on standby. We’ll be going in on our own—Taursar and Hedgebore are staying put to ensure shuttle protection along with shield support from the bulk of Paladia. I want you sharp. Watch for blind cross corridors, and set up with caution on intersections. Work together and watch your fellow gladia’s backs. Questions?”

Heads shook.

“Dominate.”

“Liberate,” the platoon replied.

Magnus turned toward the western-most door that led into the ship’s interior. Forbes’ second platoon was set up on the door, ready to fire on anything that moved once the blast doors parted. Magnus waved a hand at Forbes, who acknowledged him with a nod.

“You ready, LT?” Forbes asked.

“We’re green.”

Colonel Caldwell’s avatar popped up on a battalion-wide transmission. He’d been monitoring everything without interruption, letting his leaders work free of micromanagement. But as Magnus neared the threshold into the ship, the colonel made an appearance. “This is Colonel Caldwell. All units report in.”

Magnus and everyone else with a HUD watched as the company commanders lit up the chat window with green icons. He waited to add his until last.

“You good to go, Magnus?”

“Ready, Colonel.” Magnus flicked his eyes to activate his ready icon. “Just wanted to keep you on your toes.”

“I want time on target to be at a minimum,” Caldwell said. “Get in, get out, make it home. This is it, Gladio Umbra. One trigger, one shot, one grave. Stay vig.”

“Stay vig,” Magnus repeated to himself. It had been a while since he’d heard one of the Corps’ old mantras—short for stay vigilant.

“Granther Company, you call the play,” Caldwell said.

“Let’s cover up,” Magnus said. Gladias disappeared from Magnus’s HUD as all units activated chameleon mode. The only way to track everyone now was through the Novian Defense Architecture, or NDA, which integrated every gladia’s NBTI signature. Body silhouettes and vector indicators played at Magnus’s peripheral vision as he narrowed his eyes on the main door. He called up Forbes and Cyril simultaneously. “Let’s get a move on, boys. Time to crack the can.”

23

“Heads up, heads up, heads up,” Cyril said. “Cameras are showing the other side is clear. Good luck. Opening blast doors in three… two… one…”

The massive metal barricade retracted, opening five leaves in an expanding iris formation. Magnus aimed down his NOV1, eager to lock on any target that presented itself, but the corridor was clear. “Move out.”

Abimbola led Alpha Team first, followed by Titus, Zoll, Bliss, and Robillard. Magnus picked up the rear then turned as he walked over the threshold and waved a quick goodbye to Forbes.

“You’re a lucky son of a bitch,” Forbes said.

“Don’t worry.” Magnus turned away as the metal leaves closed back in. “We’ll save a few for you.”

First platoon hugged the walls, its teams alternating sides down the corridor, while first cadre from Paladia Company picked up the rear with Magnus. Everyone ran forward along the glossy black floor in a crouch, watching as their first waypoint neared two intersections ahead. Abimbola ordered the foremost teams to slow as they closed on the first junction. Then the Miblimbian glanced right, Titus left, and Zoll, Bliss, and Robillard focused straight ahead.

“Clear to the right,” Abimbola said, his suit playing with the red accent lighting that shone up the black walls.

“Three tangos left,” Titus said. “Not looking this way, and unarmed.”

“Bravo Team, cover but do not engage,” Magnus ordered. It felt wrong to put down unarmed sailors from behind even if this was a rogue navy vessel whose commander had Piper. If put in their shoes, maybe Magnus would have signed on with Moldark too—who knew? But everyone deserved a chance to make their own decisions, and killing unarmed sailors before the firefight had started was something Magnus didn’t want on his conscience. The killing will come.

The four other units passed by Bravo Team while Titus and his fire team kept their NOV1s aimed at the unsuspecting trio. As soon as Magnus was clear of the intersection, he called Titus to rejoin. Bravo Team peeled out of the intersection and tracked the forward-moving platoon.

As they approached the second junction, Abimbola ordered another slowdown. The teams stacked on either wall as Abimbola and Zoll spotted the corners. Cyril’s waypoint called for a left turn heading south.

“Five hostiles,” Abimbola said, using the agreed upon term to designate armed Paragon troopers. He was set up on the right wall but looked crossways down the left corridor.

“And I’ve got three,” Zoll added.

These were hostile Marines who’d traded their Repub insignias for Moldark’s three white stripes. Magnus still didn’t like executing people preemptively, but unlike the unarmed sailors, these troopers wouldn’t hesitate to kill Magnus or anyone in his platoon if given half a chance. They’d known what they signed up for when they put on their armor today. It didn’t make the killing any easier, but it at least made it more understandable.

“Set up, elites,” Magnus said.

The two lead teams swapped sides and stepped into the open. Abimbola, Silk, and Doc assigned targets to the left while Zoll, Reimer, and Rix lined up to the left. The Jujari and mystics stayed back, reserved for CQB, or close-quarters battle, when the need arose.

This was it—first contact. From here on out, the element of surprise was gone. Magnus moved forward and waited for everyone to go green. Once they did, he said, “Let’s light ’em up.”

Blaster bolts tore down both corridors, dropping the Paragon troopers in quick succession. The targets hit the deck—arms and heads slapping the glossy black floor. Magnus heard shouting come from the left as someone took notice of the fallen troopers from around a bend.

“Advance left,” Magnus ordered. “Bravo Team, cover our six.”

Boot strikes echoed off the walls as the enemy responded to the pileups. In another second, half a dozen crew and two troopers appeared around the bend ahead of them while another sailor knelt to the rear. They looked toward the junction. If they saw anything, it was wavering apparitions. And that was the last thing they saw too. The nearest teams opened fire on the first responders, dropping them as quickly as the first set.

The next Paragon trooper to approach the spectacle did so hesitantly enough that he was able to duck out of sight before Bettger got a shot off with her CK360. The high-powered sniper round bored a hole in the corridor wall. A beat later, the hallways filled with yellow strobe lights and a warning klaxon.

“Come back here, you little runt,” Bettger said, probably unaware that her voice broadcast to the teams. Delta Team advanced first, tracking the trooper who’d gotten away. But he hadn’t gone far. He’d called in the security breach but remained hidden along a bulkhead, looking downrange. Magnus could tell the trooper still couldn’t make out the gladia because his weapon wasn’t on target, and his head was out way too far to be safe.

Bettger lined up again, relaxed, and then fired. The round struck the trooper in the head. He flipped backward and hit the ground between his shoulder blades, blaster clattering away.

“Security alert,” said a smooth female voice. “Security alert. Deck twenty-four, section ten. All units in the vicinity, please respond.” The automated voice repeated the warning while the yellow lights continued to spin.

“Keep moving,” Magnus said. First platoon rounded the bend and came to another intersection, one they needed to cross straight ahead. Delta and Echo Teams covered the flanks, opening fire on two small groups of security units that followed the announcement’s directions. Robillard dropped two MPs on the left while Jaffrey sniped a third who rounded a corner further back. To the right, Bliss and Dozer eliminated three officers who made a hasty push toward the action area. They’d failed to see the intruders whose NOV1s screamed, sending double-tap shots into the officers’ chests. Sparks bounced off the floors as smoke trails twirled upward.

Magnus heard Titus’s fire team open up on a larger squad appearing from the north. He turned to see more than a dozen troopers filling the hallway. The Paragon unit hugged the walls and used the bulkheads as cover, apparently wise to the fact that the enemy was using covert stealth tech—that, or they were just better trained. Bravo Team’s shots dropped three hostiles, but the majority of the Paragon troopers stayed concealed.

“Time to see what this new feature can do,” Magnus said, and then took a knee beside Titus and Willowood. His eyes activated the AI-assist native in his NBTI and then selected the multi-target fire effect mode. As soon as the NOV1 registered the request, Magnus felt the weapon’s internal gyro spin up. To his wonder, the NOV1’s barrel remained steady despite the fractional movements he made. A new overlay appeared in his HUD, listing the threats in order of priority. It traced the body shapes of eleven troopers, even those hiding behind bulkheads and inside open doorways. A prompt pinged in the bottom center of his FOV that read Ready to Fire? Y/N. “Splick, yeah.” Magnus focused on the Y for Yes option and then pulled his weapon into his shoulder.

Magnus squeezed the trigger, and the NOV1 blatted as eleven blaster bolts streaked down the corridor in multiple directions. The effect was a lot like watching a shotgun blast, but where the shotgun followed the spray-and-pray philosophy of more antiquated munitions, every blaster bolt the NOV1 fired downrange found its mark—or at least close enough. Rounds struck heads of those most exposed. Their bodies fell to the floor or slumped down walls. Other troopers, imagining they were safe behind protective cover, were struck in the chest. Still others were maimed by rounds that lost some energy piercing reinforced walls or bulkheads, but they were out of the fight.

“Mystics, I love this weapon,” Magnus said to himself.

Titus nudged Magnus. “Show off.”

“Just ’cause I tried it first doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy it second.” Then Magnus peeled a VOD off his chest, set it to remote detonation, and threw it on the ceiling. “For later,” he said to Titus. “Let’s pick up the pace, Granther Company!”

The teams made their way south, crossing two more intersections. But now the ship was on full alert, and enemy resistance—while not yet coordinated—was getting stronger. Magnus guessed that not being able to see the enemy was messing with Paragon command. The only way to track the Gladio Umbra was by the pile of bodies they left. As long as Granther Company’s destination remained a mystery, Magnus figured they’d be able to keep the enemy on their heels.

“Sir, sir, sir! I’ve just lost control of a bulkhead blast door one section ahead of you,” Cyril said. “Recalculating now.”

“How much time will it add?”

“Standby.”

Magnus worked with Bravo Team to keep their rear clear, taking down any troopers who dared fire into the wavy apparitions that moved through the hallways. Several security forces bobbed their heads back and forth, squinting in the near distance, trying to get a fix on the enemy. But Magnus dropped two sailors in quick succession who looked a little too long in his direction.

“Three minutes, twenty-eight seconds at your current pace,” Cyril said. “You should be able see the revised route now.”

Magnus looked at the path and noticed it had several more turns and junctions than their current one. “No good, Cyril. We’ll stay on the current course you’ve plotted.”

“But, but, but, sir. How do you intend to get through that barricade?”

“We’re Gladio Umbra, buddy. Nothing can stop us.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Cyril replied. “You’re super awesome.”

Magnus closed the channel and brought Delta Team’s channel. “Bliss, I need that bulkhead blast door taken out.”

“Copy that, LT. Dozer, you heard the man.”

“On it.”

Alpha and Charlie Team provided cover as Bliss led his unit toward the next intersection—one now cut off by a solid wall of metal. Repub designations were stenciled on the obstruction, including instructions for emergency procedures and the barricade’s tolerances. Dozer broke out demolition charges—what Azelon had termed XVODs—which were roughly ten times the power of the standard Novian VODs. But even with so much force, Magnus knew he’d need something more to make sure the obstacle went down.

“Awen?”

“What do you need?”

“Can you help concentrate Dozer’s blast on the door? Maybe make a force field around it?”

“I can make that happen.”

“Good. Do it.”

As Dozer finished setting the charge and stepped back, Awen stood in the middle of the corridor and spread her arms away from her hips. Then she bent her knees, bowed her head, and went still. “Are you prepared, Dozer?”

“I am, miss,” he replied. “On your mark.”

“Blow it.”

Dozer triggered the directional charge from his HUD. A split second later, the wall went bright white as the XVOD detonated. Usually, such a breach explosion blew back on the operators. Instead, the blast acted like it occurred on the other side of an invisible wall. Not even the audio report came back—the only thing Magnus felt was a rumble through his boots.

The massive door bowed, and the walls buckled. Then the partition blew apart and shot down the hallway. Awen had so successfully contained the energy, focusing it on the obstruction, that the liquified metal tore trenches down the corridor for twenty-five yards.

Awen lowered the shield and bent her knees in relief. Magnus looked around her and saw several disfigured bodies scattered down the hall. “Good work, Awen,” he said, patting her on the shoulder. “Fall in with your team. Granther Company, let’s pick up the tempo.”

“Sir, Gladia Lieutenant, sir,” Cyril said. “I’ve repopulated your original route based on your revised scenario.”

“Roger. Make sure everyone has it.”

“That’s a loud and clear, Lieutenant. Loud and clear all the way, sir.”

The next corridor was clear, thanks to Dozer and Awen’s combined efforts. Smoke and molten metal lined the way ahead, and body parts lay scattered along the floor. The warning klaxon continued to wail but grew more urgent in tone, while the strobing lights changed from yellow to red. The ship’s emergency alert system issued another warning. “Security breach. Security breach. Deck twenty-four, section twenty. All security personnel respond immediately. Enemy threat detected.”

“Well, that escalated quickly,” Bliss said.

“Just means we have more blaster bolts to put downrange,” Robillard added.

“Everyone, stay focused.” Magnus moved ahead with his NOV1 in high ready position. “Keep it smooth.” The hallway bent right and then turned left before straightening out. Magnus noted several black doors on either side and then got an uneasy feeling in his gut. He was just about to say something when Cyril cut in.

“Movement detected, inbound, sir! I think they're using the side rooms.”

Magnus didn’t have a chance to respond before half a dozen doors slid apart. Black-clad troopers surged into the hall, weapons blazing. For the first time since the raid began, Magnus’s shield took a hit. He leaned up against a wall to narrow his profile and wondered if the energy dissipation had given his location away. As if to answer the question, the enemy’s blaster fire tracked him toward the wall. That was also when he noticed he could visually see a few of the other gladia: the smoke was revealing hard edges under the ceiling lights.

Up until this point, he’d asked Willowood to keep her mystics from deploying force fields for Granther Company. While sparing needless hits on personal armor, the force fields would give their position away by dispersing blaster fire over a spherical wall. Now, however, that might not matter.

All teams returned fire, concentrating on the troopers who went prone, firing from the ground. Magnus noted that more than a few gladia registered hits on their shields as well. But their return fire was crippling, drilling holes in the enemy’s defenses. Bits of blackened flesh spat out the backside of Repub armor and sprinkled the floor. Some fighters fell off their feet while others—like those shooting from the prone position—just went limp, helmets lying on the ground.

“Keep moving, keep shooting,” Magnus ordered. He kept one eye on their advance and one eye on their tail. Then he checked the master mission clock and noted that they were falling behind schedule. If they didn’t maintain the upper hand in every corridor, Granther Company would be fighting the whole ship before long. And that’s definitely not something I’m interested in doing today, Magnus noted. Every minute that passed was one Moldark could use to move Piper, and they couldn’t afford to lose her again. He couldn’t. And he wouldn’t. Mission failure was not an option today. They would win, and Piper would come home.

24

The Jujari’s fall was imminent. Moldark could feel it. The enemy was starting to fall back, and the Sypeurlion and Dim-Telok were breaking formation. Once the Jujari fleet was destroyed, the rest of the beasts would be confined to their desolate world. Full extermination would take more time, of course, but that would come later—Moldark’s priorities had taken an unexpected turn, and his newfound rage had to be satisfied.

Now that Moldark had Piper’s cooperation, his mind had turned toward the Galactic Republic and, more specifically, the Nine. They had made an attempt on his life. He decided he would punish them, like the Jujari, pounding them into the dirt where they belonged. The most fortuitous part of this change of plan was that the girl had already started planting the seeds of hate, ones that would fuel the navy’s acquiescence to his orders.

Piper didn’t know that, of course. She’d merely been asked to encourage the fleet. As a result, the hearts and minds of every sailor in three fleets had redoubled their commitment toward weeding out the enemy in the sector. There would be no more assassination attempts by Marines loyal to the Nine, no more condescension. From now on, the fleets would do his bidding.

The naive child, Moldark mused to himself, rapping his fingers on the arm of his chair. The light of blaster fire through windowplex glinted in his eyes. How magnificent it will be when I show the fleets what to exterminate. It was like training a dog to drink blood—if it liked it enough from a bowl, it would love it more from a heart. So I will show them a heart, and then loose them on the whole body.

Of course, there was the other opportunity too—the one the sniveling ambassador had concocted for him. As easily as the fleets’ could annihilate enemies with their firepower, Bosworth’s creation could decimate planets. And with much less energy. The loathsome fool of a man irritated Moldark, but he was proving to be useful. And so long as Bosworth remained useful, Moldark would tolerate him.

As for the child, Piper was sleeping in her quarters, exhausted from her efforts in the Unity. He admired her—at least as much as he could. For all her pitiful mortality, she was stronger than any mystic he’d ever encountered, and he had seen his share. But even with all her power, she was still susceptible to fatigue and needed nourishment.

As do I, Moldark reminded himself. In a manner of speaking. The need to feast on a mortal soul stirred in him. He’d consumed the assassins too quickly for them to provide any true sustenance, so he’d need to look elsewhere. He’d taken several captives from Worru; perhaps he would order one to his chamber as he watched the Jujari’s final efforts to thwart the inevitable. A feast and a spectacle.

A chime rang on his chair’s arm—an incoming call from the bridge. He swiped it open. “Yes, Brighton.”

“My lord, it seems we have intruders on the ship.”

First assassins and now intruders. What’s happening to my ship? He grunted his teeth and scowled at Brighton. “It seems we have intruders? Or do we actually?”

“Um—that’s just it.” Brighton swallowed. “We have footage of troopers going down. But no visuals on an enemy threat, my lord.”

Moldark didn’t like this. “Show me.”

Brighton nodded and looked off-screen. A moment passed, and then security camera footage from a corridor somewhere in the Labyrinth hovered in front of his chair. Moldark spun away from his observation window so he could focus on the image better. A massive explosion washed out the view for a second. When it came back, the hallway was strewn with fire, smoke, and body parts.

He was about to contest the admiral’s assumptions when blaster fire emerged from behind the explosion. Moldark leaned forward in his chair. The bolts seemed to appear out of nowhere.

“You see what I mean?” Brighton said from a small window in the corner. “It’s like weapons fire is just springing to life from the middle of the hallway. I’d say the enemy is cloaked, but no such tech exists.”

Moldark sneered. “Yes. It does, Admiral.” So they’ve come for the child, Moldark concluded, leaning back in his chair.

Brighton cleared his throat. “My lord?”

Moldark was growing impatient with this species by the hour. “The technology does exist; you just don’t know about it. Do you see there, in the smoke?”

“Sir?”

“Look at the image. Focus on the smoke.” There was a pause as Brighton did what he was told. “What do you see?”

“Nothing, my lord, there’s just… Wait a second. I see shapes or something.”

“You do, yes. The enemy’s technology is good, but it is not perfect. Open non-lethal gas valves in the hallways you suspect the enemy to be in. The compressed air will help your men spot their targets.”

The admiral nodded. “That’s a good idea.”

Moldark dismissed the man with a wave of his hand. “Where did they originate from?”

“We’re working on that. But it must be from one of the hangar bays.”

“And you don’t know which one?”

Brighton shook his head. “We have no record of any unauthorized, unscheduled vessels making port.”

“Of course you don’t, admiral. That’s the point of covert operations.” Moldark felt that Brighton should have had more intuition than he displayed. But then again, the man was human. Moldark sighed when Brighton didn’t seem to know how to respond. “Look for something out of the ordinary, perhaps an unusual event in the last hour.”

“We did have a private maintenance vessel go nova about forty minutes ago—operational drive core containment breach. The ship was collecting spent containment canisters, standard procedure, when the deck sensors picked up a radiation leak. The ship was ordered to depart—emergency evacuation protocol. Then it exploded in near space. Hit two fighters, and our starboard side suffered minor damage.”

Moldark leaned forward. “Bring up the records.”

Brighton looked down. A data set replaced the firefight scene. “You should be able to see—”

“I have it.” Moldark didn’t need to scan far—his eyes stopped on the ship’s hull number and registered name. “Admiral, you’ve been fooled.”

“My lord?”

“This ship, this—Geronimo Nine—is with the rebels. The same that left for Worru at the war’s start. It’s them, you fool.”

Brighton’s lips parted, but he said nothing. Finally, the man composed himself and swallowed. “But I don’t understand.” Brighton checked the log. “There was only a captain and a service bot listed, routine pick up. And that ship couldn’t hold an entire raiding party.”

“That’s because it didn’t deliver a raiding party. It was probably a small advance team. The boarding shuttles are somewhere else on board—registered and right under your nose, Admiral. I suggest searching all hangar bays individually, beginning with those closest to your incident here.”

“Yes, my lord. Right away.”

“Also, the shuttles would have come from a larger vessel, probably close by.”

“Of course, my lord.”

“It will be cloaked, like the troopers. I want Talons scrambled and running standard search grids, along with any other ships that can be spared. Start them behind the fleet and move away. Full sensor sweeps. Check on the planet’s shadow side as well.”

“As you have commanded, so it will be done.”

“And for your wellbeing, admiral, I recommend you do it expediently.”

Brighton saluted, and then the comms channel closed.

Moldark steepled his fingertips together and then turned his chair to see the battle. “How cunning,” he said to the distant enemy. “And brave. Yet so foolish. So very foolish.”

He remained there for a moment then stood. The sound of his boots against the shiny floor echoed off the high ceiling as he approached his quarters. He waved the door open and found Piper sound asleep. Her chest rose and fell beneath the thin grey blanket, and her head lay encircled by a mess of blonde hair. Had he any affection for humans, she would be one worth caring for. Or was that Kane talking? Bastard.

“Wake up, child,” Moldark said, allowing Kane to the forefront. He repeated himself several times, but Piper didn’t stir. Resigned to the fact that he had probably pushed her too hard, Moldark backed out of the room. Perhaps allowing her a bit more sleep would be wise—she would have more work to do soon enough. “Rest, granddaughter. Rest well.”

25

“Copy for Mr. Forbes?” Cyril said over VNET. “Looks like you’ve got company.”

“I see ’em.” Forbes reviewed a camera feed overlaid in his HUD. A Paragon fire team meddled with a control panel on the other side of the north door.

“More inbound,” Lieutenant Nelson added. A platoon joined the fire team—about forty troopers in total.

“No, no, no! They’re attempting to override my control authority,” Cyril said. “Once the ship’s AI gets involved, we’re totally screwed. I don’t think Azelon and I can keep the door closed.”

“Understood, Cyril. We’re prepped for this, so don’t you worry your fancy little fingers over it.”

Cyril let out a timid laugh. “Copy that copy, sir.”

“Heads up, gladia,” Forbes said over a channel that served both companies. Since Forbes outranked Nelson, he took lead on commanding both units in this combined engagement. “We’ve got some visitors. Taursar, first platoon, ready the AT3Ms and keep your heads down. They’ll be coming in hot. Hedgebore, you’ll have a direct line of fire into the corridor. Exploit it. Cyril, I need to know when the enemy gets curious about those other doors.”

“Roger copy,” Cyril replied.

Forbes took cover beneath his unit’s shuttle and ensured that he had good sight-lines on all three doors. He knew it wouldn’t be long before they’d be defending the ships on three sides.

The fact that Forbes was on a Repub Super Dreadnought about to engage Marine units wasn’t lost on him. The whole thing felt surreal, like he’d woken up inside a bad dream caused by one too many glasses of bratch the night before. He wouldn’t know who he was shooting at, but chances were, he’d trained any number of these troopers before they’d become Paragon lackeys. That was hard to stomach. The Corps didn’t train you to open fire on your own.

But then again, these weren’t his own anymore. Something had gone horribly wrong with the Repub—or at least with the fleets, which were now under the command of a lunatic. At least that was what he thought of Magnus and Caldwell’s intel. The hard part was recognizing that not everyone was complicit in the decision-making process. If you were a grunt, you took orders, put your head down, and got the job done. Of course, Forbes had always been an officer, or a POG—person other than grunt. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t aware of how his orders affected his subordinates.

The guys downrange didn’t have the luxury of knowing the why’s of every command decision. And that was probably true here as well, which didn’t make putting them down any easier. In another version of this moment, someone else could have been on Worru when Magnus and Caldwell arrived, and Forbes would be here, following orders that had come down the COC from a madman. Some days, you got lucky. And today, that was Forbes and the men and women under his command.

Forbes took a deep breath and then spoke to both units again. “Listen, I know what a lot of you are thinking right now, and I’m thinking it too. You’re about to shoot at your own coming through that door, and you weren’t trained to fire on Repub armor. You’re thinking this is some crazy ass splick about to go down. And you’re right—you’re damn right it is. But you’ve got to remember that war is a messy business. And you didn’t sign up to be data pushers or caregivers. You signed up to be gunfighters.

“Today, the thing that needs to be put down is on this ship. It’s threatening more lives than any of us can imagine, and whether we like it or not, and whether they know it or not, the Marines about to come through these doors are a part of the problem. We don’t have the time to talk it out with them and convince them who they’ve climbed in bed with; mystics know I wish we did. But it comes down to this moment, right now. If we don’t stop them, they’ll be instrumental in taking more lives than they already have.”

“Sir, we’re getting elbowed out, sir,” Cyril reported on a private channel to Forbes. “Any second now and the splick hits the splick.”

Forbes acknowledged the update with a ping to Cyril but focused on finishing his—whatever it was. “It’s not Marines coming through those doors. Remember that. It’s the Paragon. They might look like Marines, they might shoot like Marines, but they’re fighting for something different than we are. You put them down, and don’t hesitate, or you’ll be the one sucking air through a hole in your neck, and the galaxy needs you too much for that.”

“We’ve lost control,” Cyril said.

Forbes acknowledged and then gave his final commands. “Activate chameleon mode. Weapons free.”

The blast door’s metal leaves rose open and revealed a platoon of Paragon troopers along both hallway walls. Those troopers closest to the door—the ones responsible for hacking the control panel—jerked back in surprise. Apparently, they hadn’t been expecting to find three alien shuttles in the hangar. Nor did they expect emplaced GU90 cannons to blast through their ranks. Four Paragon troopers were cut in half in the open moments. Their torsos hadn’t hit the ground before Forbes’ first platoon fired around the corners and drilled those waiting along the walls.

Protective half walls sprung out along the passageway, giving the Paragon forces cover. But not all. At least a dozen troopers found themselves either in front of an armored plate or thrown off balance and spinning in the corridor’s middle. Hedgebore Company continued firing the large-barreled GU90, sending mega bolts of energy down the passage. One unlucky trooper was vaporized with a direct hit, leaving only his boots to topple to the ground.

Forbes continued to fire into the passage as a flurry of NOV1 rounds lit up the enemy. Bodies fell from behind the half walls, making the passage’s floor almost impassable. Meanwhile, Forbes didn’t see any registered hits on his gladia. The eight remaining Paragon troopers fell back and disappeared around a corner.

Forbes ordered a ceasefire and then told everyone to reorient, reload, and prepare for the next wave. The skirmish was easily won, but it had also been a surprise. Now, the enemy COs knew where the Gladio Umbra were, and Forbes knew the next assaults wouldn’t be so effortless.

“Get ready on your sixes, ’cause I’m detecting serious, like, serious troop movement from the south,” Cyril said. “I don’t have eyes there, just piggybacking on life support sensors.”

“Copy that,” Forbes replied. “Any idea on numbers?”

“Negative, negative. Just, a big lot.”

“A big lot.” Forbes tilted his head. “I’m guessing that’s more than a little lot?”

“Yeah, yeah. It is.”

Forbes brought up the company channel. “South door. Prepare to engage.”

“Hostiles to the north,” Nelson said. Members of Nelson’s first platoon blasted the corridor with GUD90 rounds, showering the distant intersection with sparks. Troopers fell in the hallway, but several managed to race around the corner and set up behind the half walls. Forbes’s units joined the fight, firing their NOV1s down the hallway.

“South door opening,” Cyril said.

Forbes turned and ordered fire toward the new target direction. The enemy must have shared intel since the troops in the south corridor were already deployed behind the metal planks. “Don’t give them a chance to aim,” Forbes yelled. “Keep them pinned down, and make them pay for any attempt to hit us.” Green icons went down the chat field in his HUD as more NOV1 fire filled the north hallway.

Suddenly, someone yelled, “Fragger!” Forbes turned to the north and saw a detonator roll into the middle space between the open blast door and the shuttles.

“Cover,” Forbes ordered a split second before the ordinance detonated. A thousand small metal bearings hurled through the air, striking metal and personal force fields alike. Several hits registered on gladia, but none fatal. Personal force fields had been reduced by marginal percentages, but nothing that concerned Forbes. He rallied his gladia and urged them to keep up the pressure.

A few aggressive troopers made it through the south door but were immediately met with auto turret fire. Two AT3Ms spun up and let loose a torrent of blaster rounds that riddled the Paragon Marines with holes. The enemy combatants shook as they fell to the floor, weapons clattering aside.

“Where’s my GU suppression?” Nelson barked. “Those shouldn’t have gotten through.” Forbes agreed, but the troops massing to the south were considerable—he guessed two platoons at least.

Two cannons swiveled in answer to Nelson’s orders. The barrels glowed orange as the emplaced weapons fired into the southern hallway. When the troopers were lined up, one round could take out five or even six people. But the enemy had already gotten wise, trying their best to stagger their advance.

“That’s what I’m talking about,” Nelson added. “Keep that up!”

“And here comes door number three,” Cyril said. “Prepare for red alert readiness.”

“To the west,” Forbes said. “Prepare to engage!”

Again, the blast door plates spiraled open to reveal another two platoons of Paragon Marines. NOV1s drilled hard into the tunnel, filling the space with blue light. But the enemy here had brought additional barricades along with some heavy ordinance.

“SMDLs,” Forbes roared, marking the shoulder-mounted detonator launchers on VNET. Reticles gave second platoon something to focus on while Hedgebore Company managed GU90 fire on all three openings.

Forbes watched two of the three Marines bearing the SMDLs go down in a cascade of sparks. But the third man lobbed four fraggers into the hangar in quick succession. “Cover!”

All four grenades exploded at once, thanks to their symmetrical relay system, and blasted the gladia’s MB17 portable shields. Even the shuttles took some damage, but nothing that made Forbes concerned. More personal shields registered a sudden drop in integrity, and at least three NOV1s were blown out of commission. Those gladia unholstered their Vs and aimed.

“I want fire superiority,” Forbes said. “That can’t happen again!” He lent his NOV1’s ferocity to the fight and took aim at two Marines who were attempting to break cover and advance.

“Captain, sir,” Cyril cried, his voice strained. “Copy that. I’m picking up some strange vibrations to the north.”

“Splick.” Forbes swapped out a new magazine. “These guys really don’t want us here.”

“You—you know what it is?”

“Trench Sweepers,” Forbes replied. “You’re picking up the sound of their tracks.”

“Trench Sweepers? Nope, nope, nope. Can’t say I’m familiar with those.”

“And I hope you never are, kid.”

Forbes switched channels. “Listen up. We’ve got TS40s, maybe even 45s, bearing down from the north. I want recessed mines in the hallway floor before it shows its ugly face. West and south sides, you can bet you’re next. The further back we take them, the less we’ll have to wrestle with their cyclic guns. Taursar, you’re all on point for this; Hedgebore, we need you to carve us a pocket a few meters deep.”

“We’re on it,” Nelson answered. Likewise, Forbes’ platoons responded with green icons.

“Let’s pour it on!”

26

Awen could sense Magnus growing impatient. He wasn’t making any critical tactical mistakes or anything—at least as far as she could tell. But the way his body moved made him seem uptight. She knew it was about Piper—obviously. The child was the whole reason they were here. But for Magnus, she knew, more was at stake than just the child’s safety. This was about restoring their relationship.

Who was to say that they reached Piper and she didn’t want to come back with them? Or what if—mystics forbid—the little girl turned against them? Awen shivered at the thought of having to fend off any attacks from the child, much less cause her harm. But if it came to it, could she? Could you really strike her down, Awen?

“Let’s just get there first,” Awen said aloud.

“Come again?” Magnus said, pausing between shots with his blaster.

“Nothing,” Awen replied. “Just talking to myself.”

Suddenly, jets of compressed air shot out from the ceiling and compartments along the walls. The white plumes of cold air wrapped around the gladia’s bodies. The telecolos system had trouble keeping up with the infinite deviations in light deflection, and soon the plate armor was visible, displaying multicolored digital glitches.

“Stealth is comprised,” Titus said over VNET. “Watch the incoming fire!”

Sure enough, the enemy’s fire effectiveness increased as they put more rounds on target. Awen took a hit herself, but her power suit absorbed the blow without causing her any harm.

“It is these infernal air valves,” Rohoar spat, swinging his paws through one of the spouts. Awen thought he looked like a puppy batting as a stream of water shooting from a spigot. “I curse them. I curse them all.”

“We’re not cursin’ ’em or pluggin’ ’em,” Magnus replied. “There are just too many. Somebody got wise, so I think it’s time we do the same.” Awen saw Magnus ping Willowood and bring her in on a channel with Granther’s mystics. “I want each fire team to have their own shield moving forward. Willowood, can you cover our six?”

“Certainly,” the older woman replied.

As soon as Magnus gave the order, Awen summoned a protective wall that formed in front of Abimbola, Rohoar, Silk, and Doc. Similar shields went up in front of the other fire teams, which allowed friendly blaster bolts to fly forward but stopped the enemy’s return fire. The white plumes of air played over the tops of the shields, mitigated somewhat in their visual betrayal, but invisibility no longer mattered now that Unity shields were in play.

All at once, the enemy’s fire shattered on the translucent force fields. Energy radiated outward as tendrils of electricity danced across the rounded half spheres.

“Pick it up,” Magnus called. Awen moved at a light jog as Rohoar and Abimbola advanced, quick to respond to Magnus’s command. They aimed at troopers who emerged from side doors down the hallway’s length, dropping them with greater accuracy now that the Unity shields were in place. But then there were the troopers who appeared after the unit’s leading-edge passed.

“Contact left,” someone shouted from further back. Awen looked to her side. There was a Paragon trooper with a blaster pointed at her. She was too preoccupied with keeping the shield up to have noticed the man approach. At point-blank range, she worried about her ability to resist the blaster energy might not be sufficient. So, for the first time since this op began, she panicked.

Just then, a paw swept through the air and slammed the blaster to the ground. The sound startled Awen. But the next thing she knew, Rohoar’s jaws appeared around the Marine’s forearm. His sharp teeth slipped out of the chameleon mode’s limited shield around his muzzle and plunged through plate armor and into flesh. Then Rohoar yanked the man into the corridor and flung him against the opposite wall. The Marine struck the surface headfirst and then collapsed on the ground, presumably suffering from a broken neck.

“Thank you,” Awen said in amazement, still managing to keep the wall up.

“You are welcome, Awen. He was a bad man.”

“I’m pretty sure they’re all bad, big guy,” Silk replied as she fired off a round with her CK360.

“Yes, but this one was especially bad. I can taste it.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Awen replied.

“We’re starting to extend our target window,” Magnus said over VNET. His voice was tight. “Let’s keep moving.”

Granther Company and Paladia’s first cadre picked up the pace and moved through the corridors in a coordinated advance. Having the shields up gave them more freedom to move and take risks they wouldn’t otherwise. For her part, Awen stayed close to her fire team, trying her best to keep everyone within her protective scope.

Magnus called out turns, talking everyone through coordinated attacks as threats presented themselves. Cyril also worked tirelessly to guide the units through the massive starship. He tried to warn Magnus of navigational developments when he could, but as the teams advanced deeper into the ship, the code slicer provided less feedback.

“We’ve got another blast door,” Magnus said, requesting the same demolition combination as before. This time, Nubs stepped up with the breach charge. Awen recommended Nídira take the force field as she was on the same team with Nubs. Magnus seemed resistant to the idea, wanting Awen to take point, but she insisted Nídira do it. The mystic was more than capable. Plus, Awen knew that Magnus needed to learn to trust other mystics than her. His reliance on Awen seemed to underscore his mounting frustrations about Piper and the mission.

Nubs raced forward, planted the charge, and then stepped back to let Nídira double down on the explosive’s direction. Once again, the charge ripped down the hallway and saved Magnus valuable time.

“Told you she could handle it,” Awen said on a private VNET channel.

She’d barely finished the words when the hallway filled with troopers, springing from doorways on either flank. Awen couldn’t tell if the increased resistance meant the gladia were getting closer to Piper or that the enemy was trying to contain the advance more effectively. But based on the fact that specific doors were closing on them, she wondered if—somewhere—Moldark was watching them and knew where they wanted to go. In which case, the resistance was confirmation.

Alpha and Bravo Teams opened fire, trying to keep the onrushing troopers at bay, but their weapons fire only managed to knock down the first few rows of Marines. The troopers rushed them as if possessed demons, flinging themselves at the Unity shields. Simultaneously, more troopers emerged behind Awen, entering into the protective fold of Granther Company’s attack envelope. This, of course, was where the Jujari shined.

As before, Rohoar guarded Awen, slicing through Repub armor and chomping on limbs. Czyz and Longchomps mauled four troopers on the right flank who rushed into the hallway, blasters hot. Czyz grabbed one man and flung him into the second, both slamming against the wall with a sickening crack. While one trooper slid to the floor, presumably unconscious, the other still managed to raise his blaster and attempt to shoot at Wish, who was Charlie Team’s mystic. That didn’t end well—for the trooper. Czyz slashed at the man’s gut, tearing so deeply that pink intestines poked through the gash streaks. The victim doubled over, screaming so loud that Awen could hear him through his helmet.

The two troopers Longchomps assaulted didn’t fare any better. The Jujari struck one woman so hard that her head spun until it cracked. Her body went limp, and she was dead before she hit the ground. The second trooper aimed at Longchomps and got a shot off. The blaster bolt exploded against the Jujari’s shield but did nothing to him. If anything, the shot enraged Longchomps, who then grabbed the trooper’s helmet with both hands and squeezed. The protective head covering cracked, as did the skull inside it. The man’s body collapsed beside those already on the ground.

Grahban took on three troopers at once, roaring as he lunged into the cluster. He bit one Marine in the shoulder, slashed at another with a claw, and then kicked the third so hard, the man flew out of the Unity shields and into friendly fire. Grahban bit through the first trooper’s shoulder, severing the man’s arm. And when the second man tried to rise from the ground, the Jujari stepped on him, grinding his ribs into vital organs.

Magnus ordered everyone to push hard into the enemy, getting clear of what he called a kill box. NOV1 fire reached a feverish level, so much that Awen thought she’d go deaf even through her helmet. Add to that the Jujari roars and the screams of dying troopers, and the sound was maddening.

Once the gladia reached the next intersection, things cleared—at least for the moment. Awen raced to keep up with Abimbola as he led the charge around the next bend. They passed several more sections, putting down any resistance as quickly as it sprang up.

“We’re almost there,” Magnus said over the company-wide channel. “Keep the pace up.”

No sooner had he said the words than Awen felt something lurch in her gut—not physically but ethereally. Magnus must’ve noticed something was wrong because she felt his hand touch her back.

“You all right?”

Awen shook her head. “No. Something’s…” Something’s what? she asked herself.

“Awen?” Magnus slowed the advance and stepped in front of her. “What’s going on?”

As if sparing Awen the need to answer, Willowood said, “It’s Piper.”

Magnus jerked toward the older woman. “What do you mean, it’s Piper? You feel her?”

“Oh yes, quite so,” Willowood replied.

Awen plunged through the Foundation and broke into the Nexus. Cosmic energy surged around her, connecting her to the far reaches of the universe. Light, power, and wonder raced along her limbs, tingling her ethereal skin and electrifying her senses.

“There,” she yelled, startling her physical self with the exclamation. She saw Piper—or at least the girl’s essence. It was little more than a wisp of energy, but it was, she was sure of it.

“Where?” Magnus asked. “Do you see her?”

Awen nodded. “She’s in the Nexus.”

“And what does that mean?” Magnus looked to Willowood.

“It means she’s making her presence known,” the older woman said. “Connecting to us through the Unity. She wants us to find her.”

Awen could see a wave of relief wash over Magnus, both physically and in the Unity. “And are we headed in the right direction?”

“We are, Magnus. She’s…” Awen froze. “She’s in a small room. It looks like someone’s private quarters. And Moldark is outside. In the observation room.”

“Dammit,” Magnus said.

“Cyril?” Awen asked, doing her best to work VNET in her HUD. Some of the steps still felt new to her.

“Yeah, miss Gladia Awen ma’am? What is it?”

“I can confirm Piper’s location in the ship’s aft section.”

“Excellent, excellent. I’ll relay all that to the Colonel now. He’s right here.”

“I can hear her just fine, son,” Caldwell said to Cyril, his voice popping up in a small display window. “Good work, Awen. Can you get to her?”

“That’s not even a question, Colonel,” Magnus replied.

“Awen, can you get to her?” the colonel reasserted.

Awen glanced at Willowood. While she couldn’t see the older woman’s physical face, Awen could see her spirit—and that was far more telling. Willowood nodded reassuringly. “Yes, Colonel,” Awen said. “I believe Piper wants us to find and rescue her. I can’t communicate with her, but I can sense her feelings.”

“And how is she?” Magnus asked the question everyone was probably wondering.

“She’s scared,” Awen said. “Scared and sad. But also… hopeful. I think she can sense us like we sense her.”

Magnus nodded while blaster fire rang throughout the corridor.

“So we have asset confirmation,” Caldwell replied. “Let’s make this happen, Magnus. Also, Forbes and Nelson are encountering some serious resistance in the hangar bay, but nothing they can’t handle. Just know your evac’s gonna be hot.”

“Roger that.” Magnus pulled his NOV1 up and fired at a trooper that Abimbola missed. “You let that one get by, Bimby.”

“I was saving him for you, buckethead.”

“Sure, you were.”

“Keep things moving, Lieutenant,” Caldwell said, regaining Magnus’s attention.

“We will, sir.”

“Uh, sir? It looks like we may have another problem, sir,” Cyril said, his voice trembling.

“What is it?” Caldwell asked.

Awen saw the colonel’s face look off-screen. Based on the way his brow furrowed, she didn’t think it was good.

“Those are ships.” Caldwell removed his cigar from his mouth. “Grid formation.”

“Are they’re searching for the Spire?” Cyril asked.

“It certainly appears that way, son. Can you estimate how much time we have before they find us?”

“It’s kinda hard to say, Colonel. Without knowing each pass’s endpoint, there’s no way to extrapolate parameters.”

“I believe I can help,” Azelon said. “Based upon standard operating procedures for naval search and recovery operations, the number of vessels, and assuming the enemy is employing full sensor sweeps, I estimate they will detect variations in gamma radiation from the Spire’s solar shadow in less than one hour.”

“Damn,” Magnus said. “Moldark’s putting things together faster than we anticipated.”

“All the more reason for you to minimize time on target, Marine.” Caldwell winced. “Gladia.”

“We’ll get it done, Colonel,” Magnus said.

“Make sure your weapons and boots know it too.”

“In the meantime, TO-96 is ready to scramble Fang Company in the event of discovery,” Azelon said.

“Good,” Caldwell said. “But remember, we need those fighters to help cover the shuttles, so I don’t want them going out unless they absolutely have to.”

“Understood, sir,” Azelon replied.

Caldwell looked back at Magnus through his avatar window. “Get the girl, Magnus. Then get the hell off that ship. Caldwell, out.”

27

Piper had been so scared that she didn’t even realize how tired she was until her job for her grandfather was all over. Once she caught her breath, and her heart had quit thumping wildly in her chest, waves of fatigue washed over Piper like warm blankets stacked on a soft bed. But nothing about what followed was warm or fluffy.

She tried to find a comfortable position in the bed by rearranging the thin pillow beneath her head. But real rest evaded her, emphasized by the blanket, which wasn’t warm, and the bed, which wasn’t soft. The room was cold, and it smelled funny.

Piper’s fitful sleep was more than just physical discomfort. Her grandfather’s face played at the sides of her consciousness, haunting her like a ghost. Something about him wasn’t right. Piper could see the dark presence that consumed him when she slipped into the Unity. But the hate she sensed wasn’t even what disconcerted her the most—instead, it was her grandfather’s sadness. She could sense it, buried beneath the aggression and hostility. He was mad because he was sad. And that made Piper’s heart break because she didn’t know how to fix it—how to fix him. But, then again, she barely knew how to fix herself, so the revelation wasn’t any big surprise.

She did make him happy, though. At least that was how he seemed when it was all over. Piper had used her energy to reach out to all the ships in the fleet and convey her grandfather’s message. “Tell them that the Republic must be stopped,” he said. “That we must keep the senate and the Circle of Nine from hurting anyone else in the future.”

When she’d asked why he couldn’t just use the ship’s comms to send the message, he implored her that this was less about understanding with the head and more about understanding with the heart. “You have a way to speak to people’s hearts, don’t you, child?”

She nodded. “I suppose so, yes.”

“And if the bad people are the ones responsible for killing your parents, and for hurting the Jujari, then we don’t just want my ships thinking about the right thing to do, we want them feeling it.”

“In their hearts,” Piper replied.

“Precisely.”

So that’s just what she did.

Her old power suit would have made the job impossible, so she was glad to be free of it. But having so much power also seemed a little scary, like she was doing something wrong—something Awen would probably yell at her for. Piper could practically hear her old shydoh now. But if the Republic was responsible for so much destruction, like her grandfather said, then it must be stopped.

Piper had little reason to doubt her grandfather. While he looked strange and talked funny, she knew what it was like to be misunderstood. So Piper would be the last person to pass judgment on him for how he looked, especially when he was trying to do the right thing. Bad people need to be stopped from doing bad things—isn’t that what Magnus always said? So Piper did what needed to be done.

Slipping into the Nexus was exciting. She’d only done it a few times since So-Elku told her to take off her power suit. He’d given her the Luma robes in exchange. Then her grandfather had discarded those and offered her a thin black uniform that had been trimmed down to fit her just right. She felt weird having the three white lines on her shoulder, the same that Nos Kil and his men had borne on their armor. But, like her grandfather, Nos Kil was misunderstood, and people had mistreated him because of it.

There in the Nexus, Piper felt the unlimited power of the universe surge through her. She felt like a pollen speck riding atop an ocean wave, moving with the current, lost in the vastness of the sea. But she was not a helpless speck. Rather, she did whatever she wanted—able to move between air and water, resist currents, and even expand or contract. In fact, she felt more powerful within the Nexus than she ever did in real life. Or maybe the Nexus was real life, and her physical body’s existence was—second life?

Just as all water molecules were connected in the ocean, so too were all hearts joined in space and time. She could see the fleet in the Nexus—every ship and every person in every ship. They floated in the currents like tiny dazzling jewels suspended in the sea’s twilight. Their souls shimmered like little stars, carried through space on their little ships. It felt as though all Piper needed was to whisper, and they would hear her. But what to say?

Suddenly, the weight of speaking to the entire fleet felt heavy—a responsibility that Piper couldn’t ignore. It was a sacred thing to talk to someone’s heart, wasn’t it? Like her mother, comforting her when life made her scared, or her father, reassuring her when she needed to do something courageous. Now it was Piper’s turn to do the same, and she knew it was no small thing.

“The Galactic Republic wants to hurt people,” she whispered to the shimmering motes of light. “But we can’t let them. They want to kill people who don’t deserve it. And we must stop them. We need to do whatever it takes, even if we’re scared. Even if we seconds—second guess ourselves. This is the right thing to do. And we need to keep doing it until the job is done—no giving up. No running away and hiding because we’re scared. We’re in this together, and we won’t stop until it’s done.” The ironic thing was that Piper felt scared even now. Talking to so many people made her nervous. But she needed to do it. For the mission. For the innocent people who would be hurt if she didn’t do something.

When Piper felt like her speech was over, she withdrew from the Nexus and returned to her physical body. But she’d expended more energy than she realized. No sooner had her eyes opened than she wanted to close them again. That, and her heart was beating loudly in her ears. A sense of panic and even confusion clutched her heart as if she had done something terrible—yet it seemed right.

“How did it go?” her grandfather asked, urging her to stay awake.

“I just want to sleep.”

“You can, and you will. But first I must know—”

“It went good. I… I told them the kinds of things that you told me to say. Said we needed to stop the bad people from hurting innocent people. Can I sleep now?” Piper yawned.

“Yes, of course. And you spoke to all of them?”

“All the ships, yes.” It felt like Piper had just drunk a cup of warm milk and was bundled up with a soft blanket. “I’m so tired.”

“And do you think they heard you?”

“Of course.” She yawned again. Fatigue fought off the nervousness in her chest. “I spoke to their hearts.” Piper squinted through one eye at her grandfather. He was smiling—at least that’s how she interpreted it. He was kinda scary looking. But he seemed happy. “I want to go to my room, please.”

“Yes,” her grandfather said, pushing her toward her chamber. “Yes, of course. Sleep, child. Sleep as long as you need.”

“Thank you.” Piper heard her feet shuffle across the floor, but that was it. She had almost no memory of climbing in her bed. And then sleep—wonderful sleep. Only, it was not as nice as she would have liked.

* * *

When Piper finally decided to give up on sleeping, she opened her eyes and saw a soft red light pulse on the ceiling. Something about it seemed important—it meant something. Like…

Like danger.

She sat up and looked around, but the bedroom was empty, except for the sink, mirror, and small desk in the corner. She didn’t smell smoke or feel anything shaking. So what was the red light about?

Piper thought about venturing outside, but she wasn’t sure she was ready to see her grandfather again. She was still tired from going into the Nexus and speaking to all the sailors on all the ships. And the sense that she’d done something wrong hadn’t left her either, though she couldn’t figure out why. The feeling clung to her chest like the stain on a shirt. She wanted to wipe it off, but no matter how hard she tried, the blemish wouldn’t go away.

Piper rolled over and stared at the wall, pulling the thin blanket under her chin. She wished she had Talisman still. Feeling his soft fur against her face was wonderful. But he was gone.

So much had changed in the last few months, and Piper suddenly wished she could go back—before her mother died, before learning the truth about Magnus, before discovering the metaverse, and Oorajee, and her father dying. She wanted to be back home in Capriana. Safe and warm in her own bed with Talisman and her data pad. She wanted things back the way they once were.

And that’s when she had an idea.

Without the power suit, Piper felt things in the Unity that she’d never felt before. She felt free. But she also knew she’d get in trouble for it. It was that strange combination of freedom and guilt that seemed to plague her heart now.

She could see things more clearly in the Unity—in the Nexus—without her suit. She’d noticed the lucidness when So-Elku was instructing her in the pond. She’d even noticed it when sharing her grandfather’s message with the fleet ships. And not just see the present more clearly…

She felt she could see the past too.

It seemed as though thin threads stretched back in time, beyond her vision, to things long passed. While she couldn’t see the images from where she stood, Piper knew that if she pulled on the threads, she could bring the memories forward. Or, was she pulling herself to the memories? She couldn’t tell. Either way, she could reconnect with her past.

And so she did.

Piper pulled so hard on the thread of her life that she sent herself right back to Capriana. She lay with Talisman snuggled beneath her chin. She felt the nap of his well-loved fur against her cheek, and smelled that he needed a bath. Meanwhile, her parents laughed in the background, enjoying a favorite holo movie in the living room. A pang of regret pulsed in her chest. Instead of fighting it, Piper used it to pull herself into another memory…

Her seventh birthday party dinner.

That had been her favorite. It was just her, her mom, and her dad, eating Quidmallian treasure fish together. They laughed and told stories late into the night, sitting on a deck that overlooked the Midnoric Ocean. The phosmor—mormessint—phosphorescent algae lit up the ocean in a brilliant display of purple and green beneath a star-filled night sky. The salty breeze played with Piper’s hair, reminding her of that day’s ocean swims. And her sun-kissed skin was still warm from so much time on the beach, napping on towels while the surf crashed on the shore.

Piper smelled the scent of jasmine on her mother’s skin and heard the rumble of her father’s laugh against her chest. She missed them. But being here with them in the Nexus almost felt, well, it almost felt real.

Other threads tickled Piper’s face—loose strands fluttering in the Nexus wind. As much as she didn’t want to leave this memory, the new threads invited her to pull on them. But there was something different about these threads… something unfamiliar. That’s when she noticed who they were connected to—not her, but her parents.

A thread projected from her mother’s presence, running forward and back in time, but on tangents all their own—tangents that belonged to her mother’s life.

For real? Piper wondered to herself. Could she really see the events of other people’s lives as easily as she could see her own? The thought startled her. And, like before, when speaking to the fleets, Piper got scared. She wasn’t allowed to look at someone else’s life, was she? Those things… those memories were private.

And yet, her mother’s threads flitted about in an ethereal wind that practically begged Piper to follow them. She’s dead, after all, Piper reasoned, and then immediately got mad at herself for such an uncaring thought.

Yes. She is dead. Which gave Piper a thought.

She pinched one of her mother’s threads, one that ran to a future moment, and pulled it. Suddenly, she was caught up in a rushing of wind that made her hair and clothes whip against her skin. Lights and color blurred, giving her the sense that she was being whisked through time. And then, as the motion slowed, Piper felt her heart beat faster.

She heard the muffled sounds and saw the mottled shapes of a firefight. Suddenly, she stood in the hangar bay where her mother died. Blaster fire crisscrossed the scene. Bolts exploded against armor and crates and shuttles, dashed into a million orange sparks. Troopers shrieked beneath their helmets, falling to the ground in pain. The sharp smell of explosives and burning plastic made her nostrils flare.

Piper didn’t want to be here. It was a mistake to pull this thread.

But then she saw her mother, standing beside Magnus, firing on the bad guys. Piper wanted to tell her to get away from him. She tried screaming at her, but her voice was non-existent except in her own head. This was just a shadow of what had happened, and Piper needed to remind herself of that several times as her eyes watched the scene play out.

She saw her body standing beside Awen, preparing to head up the shuttle’s ramp. Which was right about the time that—

No, Piper protested. I don’t want to see it. And yet, she couldn’t break free from the memory. It was as though the moment had an invisible grip on her consciousness—something so strong that she couldn’t overcome it. She even tried to close her eyes against the pain, but the memory was being played out within her, forcing her to be terror’s witness for a second time. And how terrible it was.

Piper screamed as Magnus pushed her mother into oncoming blaster fire. The bolt that took her life ripped a hole through her mother’s helmet, flipping her body back in a long arc. She was dead before she even hit the ground—her face marred, never to be seen again in all its beauty.

Piper thrashed in the Nexus, trying to push herself out, but the place had a grip on her. She was trapped in the moment. Panic began to set in as she wondered if she’d ever break free, or if she’d be bound to watch this memory over and over. Perhaps this was why Awen had insisted she have a power suit—maybe Piper had ventured too far.

Just when she thought she might become hysterical, the memory froze, then went backward. Piper had no idea if she was controlling this subconsciously or if someone else was tampering with the Nexus. But as the replay slowed to a few seconds before her mother died again, Piper’s heart beat wildly, realizing she’d have to watch the event all over again.

Was this a cruel trick? Or perhaps some sort of punishment for something she’d done? Piper kicked and punched at the air, trying to escape this new hell she’d found herself in. As if someone held her eye open and pointed her face to her mother’s death scene, Piper watched as Magnus—once again—pushed her mother into the oncoming fire. If weeping were possible in the Unity, Piper was doing so now. But she couldn’t feel the tears, nor could she hear herself scream. All she saw was the flashing of light, the splitting of armor, and the shooting of sparks.

Then everything froze.

Smoke stood still, as did countless motes of light leaping into the night air. Troopers paused in mid-step, bodies tilting one way or another. Laser bolts hung over the ground, arrested in their flight, while the initial blast from a detonator looked more like a campfire than a violent force about to tear a soldier in two.

Piper looked at her mother, but there was something strange about the woman’s body. At first, Piper thought it was just the way Magnus had pushed her. But it wasn’t that at all. It was something her mother was doing—an action of choice.

With the entire scene suspended, Piper moved around her mother’s body, examining everything in detail. It was both horrific and mesmerizing, brutal and beautiful. Her mother seemed to be reaching for something—arching her back before the fatal shots struck her—pushing herself toward.

Toward the blaster bolts.

But why?

Again, Piper fought the pain in her heart. It shook her chest and threatened to pull her from the Unity, but somehow Piper knew that she wouldn’t be allowed to leave until this was over—until she’d accomplished whatever it was the Nexus wanted her to see.

Piper moved around her mother, focused on the blaster bolts slamming into her helmet. As she came around to the front again, she saw herself in the background. Piper caught her breath. She moved her head left, then right, then left, and saw where the blaster bolts were headed.

“She was—” Piper choked on the words, barely able to get them out. “She was protecting me.”

The emotions colliding in Piper’s chest were relentless. Her mother’s last act had been one of sacrificial love. The woman had extended her body just far enough to place her head in the line of fire.

Piper felt herself sink to the ground, weeping in her mother’s shadow. Her chest—whether in the Unity or the bed—shook as sorrow wracked her tiny body. Seeing this, knowing what her mother had done, didn’t make the loss any easier to bear, but it did give new meaning to the result. It had been an act of love.

“I’m done here,” Piper said aloud as if the unseen force that kept her in this moment would relent upon her admonition. “Let me go.”

But nothing happened. Piper raised her eyes to see her mother’s body floating overhead, helmet and chest struck with a flurry of blaster bolts.

“I said, let me go.” But Piper’s plea was met with silence. “I get it. She died saving me. Now let me out.”

But something about the moment haunted her. It was as if a ghost touched her chin and turned her head. Magnus.

“No,” Piper said, trying to shake her head away from the traitor. “No, I don’t—” She fought against whatever it was that moved her face. But it was impossible. Piper couldn’t even force her eyes shut. “Stop it!”

Magnus fired his blaster with his left hand, and pushed her mother with his right, stepping toward her as he did. She wanted to scream at him, to say all the very worst words she’d ever heard at him, even if it got her in trouble. She thought about standing up to kick him and punch him, so she did. She stood up, yelled, and then stepped to his side, reigning blows against his armored side.

Despite her best efforts, however, she could not make him budge. She didn’t even feel the reward of her own pain resulting from bleeding knuckles and bruised shins. There was just nothing. No impacts, no hurt—just the pain within her chest.

Spent, she leaned her head against Magnus’s side, more from exhaustion than any sense of affection. But she wanted to be affectionate. She wanted to like him.

No. Piper shook her head. That was the past before he betrayed me.

She’d looked up to him so much, especially after her father died. Piper remembered first meeting him on her family’s cruiser when he’d come to rescue them. She remembered the way her father seemed to admire Magnus and the way her mother blushed when he spoke. And then Piper remembered her reoccurring dream where Magnus rescued her in the city. She’d pledged to do the same—to save him.

The truth was, she didn’t want to despise him. Hate was exhausting. But how else was she to treat the man who’d taken everything from her?

Piper found that she was resting against Magnus’s side. As she pushed herself away, she looked back toward the battlefield. That was when she saw it…

A rocket, suspended in mid-air, with flames propelling it forward. Toward Magnus.

No, not toward Magnus, Piper realized. Toward the space her mother stood a split second before.

Piper pushed herself away from Magnus, looking between him, the rocket, and her mother. Her eyes darted back over all three things again, and again, again. Piper could feel her mortal body’s heart beat wildly in her chest, causing ripples within the Nexus that made the scene undulate from the pressure.

Had he saved her? Had Magnus actually been trying to save her mother instead of killing her? But that’s not what Nos Kil had said. No, he’d said Magnus was a murderer. He’d murdered those girls on Caledonia—had even killed his own brother.

Then why try to save Piper’s mother?

She backed away from the scene, ducking beneath the shuttle’s belly as if she might find a hangar exit further back. But no matter how many steps she took from the scene, it seemed to pull her close again. It was like a horrible nightmare that kept repeating itself. All she wanted was to be free.

And yet, Nos Kil’s words begged her consideration. His story had been so compelling, so convincing, that she never questioned it the way she needed to. Perhaps it was the shock of the content that made her do so. Or maybe it was the way he’d spoken with so much conviction. He was maimed and bloodied, after all.

And yet, Piper couldn’t help but ask the most important question of all—the one she realized she should have asked from the very beginning.

Was he right?

A new emotion pecked at the crust of Piper’s heart, one she hardly recognized. But she’d read about it in her stories, and she’d been familiar with it only through sensing it in other characters. Shame. Shame for not asking Magnus if what Nos Kil had said was true or not.

But she could not ask him now. In fact, she would most likely never see him again. The hopelessness of never knowing overwhelmed her. She could feel her soul pleading with the universe, trying to make a deal that if she ever saw him again, Piper would ask Magnus what had really happened. And, for the first time since hearing Nos Kil’s side of things, Piper gave Magnus the doubt’s benefits—or whatever it was called—that maybe, just maybe, Nos Kil was wrong and Magnus would be right.

But who was she kidding? She wasn’t going to see Magnus again. She’d made up her mind to leave them on Worru, and now she was even further away, stuck on her grandfather’s ship. And despite how much she told herself that her grandfather would give her a ship when this was over, Piper suspected it was all a lie. It was that thing inside her grandfather, that evil presence that wouldn’t stay true to his word.

Piper needed to know—she had to see for herself what Nos Kil described. The thought terrified her, of course. Especially if it was real. The things the prisoner said were worse than anything Piper could imagine. But if she was going to spend the rest of her life on this ship, she needed to know what Magnus had done.

Just as it happened with her mother, Piper saw threads emerge from Magnus’s life. They played in the ethereal wind of the battle scene, begging her to snag one and pull it. So she did. She pinched a thread and pulled, faster and faster, until seconds turned into minutes turned into days turned into years. Space and time whizzed past her in flashes of color and light until she stopped in a dimly lit room in the basement of a grand hotel.

* * *

Piper froze as the door to her room opened. She could hear her grandfather breathing in the doorway. He told her it was time to get up, but Piper didn’t want to get up. She didn’t want to see him or be here. She wanted to be back with Awen and Magnus because she’d made a horrible mistake.

Her grandfather asked her to get up again, but Piper acted like she was asleep. She held her breath and squeezed her eyes shut. It was everything she could do to keep still. Did the blanket move from her thumping heart? Could he sense her panic? In the end, however, her grandfather told her to rest and then left the room. When the door slid closed behind her, Piper sat up and gasped. She had to get out. Now.

She flung off the blanket and turned in the bed, noticing that her arms and legs trembled. She swallowed, stealing her strength, and hopped down. But as soon as her feet hit the floor, something leaped in the Unity. The impression was so strong that it almost knocked her back onto the bed. Awen was here.

28

Confirming Piper’s presence on the Labyrinth had a strange effect on Magnus. Instead of feeling reassured—which he did, he supposed—Magnus felt anxious. The thought of seeing the child again made his heart beat faster.

The last time they’d been together, Magnus and Piper stood over Valerie’s dead body. He’d tried to reason with the girl, but she was furious at him. If Piper thought he’d pushed Valerie into oncoming fire, that would explain her rage. And she was, no doubt, already biased against him by Nos Kil’s fabricated story. The mix formed a lethal concoction that had probably torn the child’s heart in two.

I’d be just as mad, Magnus thought.

And yet, for whatever reason, Piper had resurfaced in the Unity for Awen and Willowood to see. This was a good sign, of course. It also meant he and Piper would soon speak, and that gave him the chills. Magnus had conducted operations on a dozen worlds and in a hundred scenarios, but none made him more nervous than facing Piper again.

As Magnus sent rounds downrange, he searched his heart again to see if he’d done anything wrong to harm the child. If this was his fault—and he believed it was—then making it right meant accounting for his wrongdoing. Magnus could have left her on the Spire. He could have kept her in Neith Tearness. Hell, he could have refused the mission to respond to the Stone’s cruiser in the first place.

And where would that have gotten her, Magnus? The Bull Wraith would still have captured their ship, and the Paragon would have terminated the crew. No matter how many times Magnus played with outcomes, none seemed better than the one they were already in. And he hated it.

But you could have protected her better, Magnus told himself. He’d been careless to let her wander into Nos Kil’s cellblock. And he really should have kept her away from the bloodshed, from the killing. Awen had insisted she was ready, and he’d gone along with it.

Mystics, you’re a fool.

* * *

The fighting grew more intense as Granther Company neared Moldark’s quarters. Not only were there more troopers gathering in front of the last set of blast doors, but fixed defenses in the ceiling spooled up and fired on the advancing gladia. Despite the added heat, the mystic’s shielding held, which allowed the fire teams to take out their targets without fear of being hit. At least for the present.

“How long can your people keep this up, Willowood?” Magnus asked.

“A while,” she replied. “But with how fast they keep sending reinforcements, I doubt you’ll be getting munitions on those doors any time soon.”

As much as Magnus hated to admit it, the older woman was right. This ship had plenty of troopers to burn, and now that Granther Company was outside the nest, the beasts were defending it tooth and nail.

“Cyril,” Magnus said.

“Right here. Copy, sir.”

“I need an alternate way in.”

“Right, right, right, gotcha. Searching now, sir.”

Magnus watched as a new auto turret raced down a track in the ceiling to replace a compromised firing unit. The broken system dropped from the track like a spent ammo magazine, and the new auto turret started firing on the gladia. Its blaster fire raked up an invisible shield in front of Abimbola, focusing on his head. But the bolts exploded in a shower of sparks and smacked the wall with a loud popping sound.

Using the NOV1’s holo sights, Magnus aimed at the auto turret and squeezed off a long burst. Blue bolts bit into the auto turret, spinning, bending, and eventually ripping the unit from the track. Within seconds, however, a new unit was speeding down the track to replace the one Magnus destroyed.

“Cyril, whaddya got for me?”

“It’s coming, sir. Yes, yes, yes, here we go. There’s a conduit chase directly below you. It runs east for ten meters before turning south again. It should bring you to a subfloor intersection with an access hatch that’s within your target area.”

Magnus watched the new waypoints illuminate on his HUD as Cyril described the route. “You’re a damned genius, Cyril.”

“Sir. Just doing my job, sir.”

“Alpha and Bravo, you’re with me. Willowood, you too. Zoll, Bliss, and Robillard, think you and Paladia Company can keep these animals at bay?”

“Absosplickinlutely,” Robillard yelled out as he dropped another replacement auto turret in the ceiling. “Just want to make sure you know what you’re doing with leading this element, LT.”

Robillard had some balls questioning Magnus’s decision. But the guy wasn’t exactly wrong in his assessment. By the book, Magnus should not be leading a smaller secondary team, but, rather, staying put with the primary group. An officer couldn’t lead if he was stuck in a trench somewhere without eyes and ears on the field of battle. But this was Piper, and Magnus would be damned if he let someone else rescue the girl.

“You question me like that again, and I’ll have you on KP for a year,” Magnus replied.

“Just making sure.”

“And you make sure your blaster doesn’t jam and keep an eye on everyone else.”

“Roger that.”

“And, all of you, if it gets to be too much, fall back to the hangar. We’ll find another out. But do not stand here and take a beating if those Unity shields waver in any way. You hear me?”

A middle-aged mystic named Sion looked back at Magnus. He was one of Willowood’s cadre leaders. “I swear to you, Lieutenant, we will hold them off or die trying.”

“And that’s all I could ask for,” Magnus replied.

“Then you asked the right thing of the right people. Go. We’ve got this.”

Magnus nodded once and then called out for Alpha and Bravo Teams to follow him back to the hatch. The subfloor cover was located on the left wall about a third of the way down. Saladin wrapped her claws around the recessed handles and jerked, tearing the hatch from its housing with a screech. She lay the cover aside and then looked to Magnus.

“In you go,” Magnus ordered. One by one, the two fire teams and Willowood went through the hole, crawled down a ladder, and then turned east in the conduit chase.

Magnus was the last down and called for the hatch to be replaced. Once he was satisfied with the fit, he crawled after the rest of the unit, heading east. Multicolored pipes and wires filled the tunnel on every side. The only thing not brimming with lines was the grated gantry he crept across.

Despite their large bodies, the two Jujari seemed to have the easiest time on the narrow pathway. Magnus watched on his HUD as the group turned right at the junction and proceeded south. They crossed under the lateral hallway filled with troopers and soon passed the long bulkhead that made up Moldark’s quarter’s north-most wall.

Up ahead lay another ladder and another hatch, this one in the observation hold’s floor. Magnus prayed to the mystics that there wasn’t something on top of it, or that it spit them out under some guards. Calling a last-minute move like this always came with inherent risks—none of which Magnus wanted. But trying to force their way through the front door would be even riskier, so he went with it.

“Careful going up,” Magnus said, noting that Rohoar was the first person to ascend. “We want the element of surprise if at all possible.”

“Copy that, scrumruk graulap,” Rohoar replied, using the now-endearing Jujari term for little hairless warrior. “It is time to retake our sister-child from the enemy.”

“Hell yeah, it is,” Magnus replied, then watched as Rohoar climbed the ladder.

29

Forbes’s first platoon charged down the north corridor, knowing a TS40 was on its way. The gladia hugged the walls while Hedgebore kept the enemy pinned down with withering suppressive fire from their GU90s. Unless Forbes’s men could get mines under the massive Trench Sweepers, Magnus wouldn’t have a whole lot of shuttle left to evacuate in.

“Hurry it up, gladia,” Forbes said over VNET as he clapped his hands. “I’m gonna be late for beers, and you all know how much I hate that. Don’t piss me off.”

First platoon pushed north by twenty-three meters before the platoon commander ordered the unit to stop. Four engineers set mini VODs against the floor and then backed away, all while the GU90s railed against the enemy. The engineer used the force-direction feature to turn the grenades into surface charges that would blow small holes in the deck. Fire and smoke billowed in the hallways as more Paragon troopers tried to keep Forbes’s element from setting the traps.

Concentrated enemy fire walloped an unfortunate gladia as he ducked into the tunnel. The rounds expended his shield and then tore through his Novian armor. In seconds, the man was thrown to the ground and hauled back by members of his fire team. Nelson’s first platoon made the enemy pay dearly, dropping three troopers with relentless GU90 fire. The cannon drilled holes along the walls, accented by black smoke and fragments of charred Repub armor.

Next, the engineers placed Azelon’s new LIMKIT4 landmines in the smoldering craters along the ground. Since the Trench Sweepers’ front plows removed anything protruding above surface level, the mines had to be recessed. Under normal circumstances, the LIMKIT4 would be buried beneath soil or artificial filling days in advance of enemy movement. But Forbes didn’t have that luxury. Instead, he played a delicate game where first platoon needed to plant the mines and get clear of the Trench Sweepers, but not so soon that the enemy had time to sabotage the ordinance.

“We’ve got another TS40 northbound,” Lieutenant Wagoner said over VNET.

Forbes turned to see the Trench Sweeper rumbling down the south tunnel, still a good hundred meters off, and proceeded by a half a company of Paragon Marines. “Get mines down, people. I do not want these bitches breaking our line. Might as well dig some holes on the east corridor while we’re at it.”

Both platoon officers in charge registered receipt of orders and started their engineers forward.

Forbes looked north again. The engineers placed the last of the mines just as the next wave of troopers appeared. Forbes hoped the enemy hadn’t seen the trap. To make sure, he ordered all units to focus their fire on the enemy advance—and none too soon. Behind them, Forbes caught sight of a TS40 coming around the bend.

Built to clear passageways on starships and planets alike, the Trench Sweeper was a relic of a bygone era. Yet the vehicle was still more effective than anything built to replace it, which was a testament to its designers. Its boxy nose sported reinforced plows on four sides, tapering to an armor-piercing nose. Crude but highly effective, the TS40 could shave anything and anyone clinging to a corridor floor, wall, or ceiling, and deflect oncoming fire or explosions with ease. Once on the other side of any obstruction, its two platform-mounted double-barreled M109 guns raked any survivors. Since nothing had been designed to take its place, the TS40 and wider TS45 continued to find service in applications where enemies had barricaded themselves beyond the reach of more conventional ordinance.

For all its belligerence, however, the Trench Sweepers had a fatal flaw, well-known by those who commanded them. Their belly was vulnerable to underground explosives. The Repub had spent years trying to reinforce this weakness, but there was only so much retrofitting that one machine could take. The added protection did manage to keep the units in combat longer, but they eventually broke down or failed altogether. And this was precisely what Forbes was hoping to accomplish—stop the Sweepers in their tracks, which not only kept the M109s from tearing up the shuttles but had the added benefit of blocking the central corridor from further troop movement.

As the last troopers were put down by Nelson’s GU90 fire, Forbes’s engineers took cover around the corners inside the hangar bay. Forbes watched as a TS40 rumbled down the corridor, its blocky front-end consuming the entire hallway. The plow blades were extended, raking along the sides and throwing out sparks as the giant beast lumbered forward. He ordered a platoon ceasefire on the north tunnel as any attempt to thwart the vehicle’s advance with blasters was a waste of ammunition.

Forbes held his breath as the TS40 trundled toward them, getting closer to the recessed mines. He pinged his platoon officer in charge and the assistant OIC to make sure they were on the ball. Munition detonation was an art, especially when adrenaline and nerves messed with the works. While he trusted his men, it didn’t hurt to back them up with calm reassurances.

“You feeling good, Jackson?” Forbes asked.

“Just waiting for Bessy,” Jackson replied, using navy jargon. “She’s taking her sweet ole’ time today.”

“Just don’t go early—”

“Or you’ll piss her off,” Jackson finished. “Roger that, Captain.”

Forbes smiled, feeling more confident that Jackson had the timing under control. He had to resist the urge to micromanage things when the heat was on; learning to trust his men hadn’t come naturally to him. But the more training he got in the Corps, the more he realized that mission success was only achieved when leaders learned to trust their subordinates. Still, little reminders never hurt, especially when the enemy was driving TS40s toward you.

The Trench Sweeper scooped up bodies as it neared the mine holes, grinding flesh and armor along the floor and walls. The beast’s methodical pace was relentless, filling the entire passageway with the low clank-clank-clank of its tank treads.

“Wait for it,” Forbes whispered to himself, willing Jackson to hold. He looked back and forth between Jackson and the Sweeper, gauging the distance and holding his breath. Finally, the vehicle crossed over the mines. Forbes counted to three, knowing the exact time needed to ensure the engine compartment was lined up with the ordinance.

“Fire in the hole,” Jackson yelled and activated the mines.

A giant wuh-wumph blew underneath the Sweeper, and the vehicle leaped into the ceiling with a crash. Flames and debris shot out the narrow gap in the bottom, followed by plumes of inky black smoke. Even through his helmet’s noise reduction tech, Forbes could hear gears grind and the drive core whine. The Sweeper slowed until one of the treads came loose, which caused the vehicle to lurch to one side. When the unit halted, a cheer went out over the platoon channel.

“That should keep them busy for a while,” Forbes said to Jackson.

“Roger that, Captain,” the OIC replied.

“Keep half your platoon at the tunnel to watch for any breakthrough, but I want the rest of your men helping to redouble the south tunnel.”

Jackson acknowledged and got to work reassigning his gladia.

Forbes had barely finished giving the order when Wagoner called for him. “We’re taking heavy fire, and the mines are—”

Three LIMKIT4 mines detonated just beyond the south blast door’s mouth. The unmuffled explosion filled the hangar’s southside with fire and smoke, temporarily blocking visual contact with the advancing enemy.

“Splick,” Wagoner yelled. Forbes could see that most of third platoon lay scattered on the ground along with most of the AT3M auto turrets and MB17 printable shield walls. He also saw body parts clad in both Paragon and Novian armor. Wagoner swore again for emphasis as he tried to get up.

Forbes glanced at the man’s vitals and noticed his blood pressure was dropping and his pulse was elevated. “You’re hit, Lieutenant. Get yourself to the shuttles.”

“Affirmative,” Wagoner replied, sending command authority to his AOIC who’d fared far better.

“Nelson,” Forbes said. “I need focused fire down that corridor. We need new mines put down.”

Nelson confirmed, and the GU90s sent concentrated fire downrange. The smoke glowed bright blue as the large-diameter rounds streaked down the corridor. Forbes watched in IR while Paragon forces who thought they could move freely undercover were gunned down as they ran.

“Let’s use the screen,” Forbes yelled. “I want new mines out there!”

The remainder of third platoon’s engineers, along with half of first’s, charged into the smoke and started planting more LIMKIT4s in the wide craters. Forbes wondered if the damage might be too much for the TS40 to maneuver over, but then he remembered some of the action the platform saw on Zarbanthia, and his doubts were dispelled.

“Keep those mines covered, gladia,” Forbes commanded over VNET. “That cannot happen again.” Icons went up along his chat window.

“TS40 eastbound,” second platoon’s LT said. Forbes turned to see a Sweeper swing around a corner and head toward the hangar threshold. It was only eighteen meters away.

“Mines?”

“Planted and ready,” the LT replied. There would be no second chances to replant mines if things went sideways in this corridor—the Sweeper was far too close. The good news was that there were no Marines proceeding it.

Forbes breathed a sigh of relief. Then he noticed a sentry turret drop out of the ceiling ahead of the TS40. It swiveled, and then pointed its barrel straight down…

And fired on the LIMKIT4s.

Like before, the blast filled the hangar’s west side with fire and smoke. The explosion flung gladia and equipment back toward the shuttles. Voices groaned over comms. One man screamed, gagged, and then fell silent.

Forbes felt his adrenaline surge. There would be no time to replace the mines, which meant the Sweeper would make entry.

“TS40 inbound, west side!” Forbes watched affirmation icons light up as north-facing units in both companies redirected to face it. Meanwhile, the engineers in the south tunnel regrouped behind cover in the hangar. “And watch for ceiling-mounted sentry turrets. They’re going for the mines.”

As if summoned by his words, Forbes saw two turrets drop from the ceiling and start spinning toward the mines. He was about to call out the targets when one of Nelson’s GU90s barked out rounds that turned the two weapons into a molten spray.

“Good shooting,” Forbes said.

Nelson acknowledged the compliment, then to his company, he ordered, “Nothing else touches those mines.”

Forbes turned his attention to the TS40 about to enter the hangar. “I want men on both flanks! You light that pig up the moment you see the soft part of its hide.”

30

“You lied to me,” Piper said as she ascended the steps to her grandfather’s chair.

If the old man heard her, he didn’t show it. Instead, his hand remained on the armrest, chair facing the space battle. But Piper knew he’d heard her, and she grew angrier with each step. The renewed sense of defiance helped keep her awake—she was still tired from all her work in the Nexus. “You told me the Republic was bad.”

“And it’s not?” he asked.

Piper squinted as she walked around to face him. “Not like you are.”

“Me?” He pulled back into the shadow as if offended. “Why would you ever say that, child?”

“Don’t call me that.”

“But you are my granddaughter.”

“Maybe once. But… there’s something wrong with you. And you lied to me. Good grandpas don’t lie to their granddaughters.”

“I assure you that I did not lie.”

“But you, you made me convince everyone to stop the Republic, and now you want to destroy Capriana. I can feel it.” Piper gestured toward the starships. “You made me tell them to—”

“I didn’t make you do anything. You did it of your own volition.”

“But, you forced me. I had to help you. It was the only way I could get a ship.”

Her grandfather shrugged. “Then you’re just going to have to live with that.”

Piper studied the old man’s face, her eyes trying to find the humanness lurking behind the mask. “You’re—you’re not going to give me a ship, are you.”

He shook his head. “Sadly, no. You are far too important to my cause, child. Perhaps if you had been less accomplished in the Unity, maybe then I’d have let you go.”

“I hate you.”

Her grandfather winced. Suddenly, something flashed in his eyes. It was as if a light turned on, pushing against the blackness. “Please don’t,” he said in a softer tone.

Piper squinted at the new look in his face. She spoke less confidently than before. “But, I do hate you. You’re evil.”

“No, Piper. I’m not. I’m simply… lost.”

The light left her grandfather’s eyes, and his voice changed. “Shut up, Kane.”

Piper had never seen anyone act like this before. Then again, she’d never seen anyone host a second presence—a second soul. She guessed it was the other being speaking to her grandfather now, the one the Paragon troopers called Moldark. And he scared Piper. She tried not to let it show, but she guessed that, being so small, she probably looked as afraid as she felt. Still, she would need to be strong, especially if she was going to find Awen, Magnus, and her grandmother.

“You’re an evil person.” Piper pointed her index finger at her grandfather. “It’s you we should fight.”

“I think you misunderstand my motives, child.”

“I don’t think I’m misunderstanding anything. You don’t have my best insertions in mind.”

“Intentions?”

Piper nodded. “I’m not helping you anymore. And I’ll see myself out.”

His hand lashed out and grabbed her forearm. “You’re not going anywhere, human offspring.”

Then the softer voice spoke again—only this time, it had a commanding tone. “Release her, Moldark.”

Piper’s eyes widened. Was this a battle between the two personalities in her grandfather’s body? She could see their souls intermingling in the Unity, like two different colored clouds phasing in and out of one another.

“I will not let her leave this ship,” the voice called Moldark said. “She belongs to me.”

“She does not belong to you,” her grandfather replied.

Piper watched as the old man’s face contorted. It looked like something moved under the skin over his cheekbones. His eyes twitched, and his nostrils flared.

“Stop it,” Piper exclaimed. “Leave him alone, Moldark!”

The man hissed at her, chomping at the air with his razor-like teeth. “I will not leave him alone. I rule him.”

“No,” Piper said, willing herself to see past Moldark’s presence and into her grandfather’s. “He’s not yours, you monster.”

“Monster?”

“You’re bad. And I’m going to stop you—my friends are going to stop you.”

Moldark laughed, and Piper saw her grandfather’s soul recede. “Nothing can stop me, human child. Surely, you of all people can see my immortal presence, can you not?”

She could see the celestial energy, flaring more brightly than ever. But she also knew energy could be contained, spread out, and even dispelled. “Every life can end,” she said through tight lips.

“Dark words for a child.”

“Maybe.” Piper shivered, choosing to look past Moldark’s shape. “But I can still see you, grandfather.”

“Shut up, human.” Moldark snapped at her again, still clutching her arm.

Piper pulled back. “I can see you. Come forward, grandpa. Come toward the light.”

“Silence, wretch!”

Suddenly, Piper saw her grandfather’s spirit return and contend with Moldark’s. The two energies morphed and blurred, phasing in and out of one another like ghostly vapors.

Then a voice spoke from the contending shapes. “You leave her alone,” Piper’s grandfather demanded. “She does not belong to you.”

“I will do with her as I please, mortal,” Moldark replied.

“No, you will not. She does not—belong—”

Kane struggled against Moldark, the two energies embattled in an ethereal fight. Meanwhile, in the natural realm, Piper’s grandfather’s body spasmed in strange jerking movements. “Come on, grandfather! Keep fighting.”

“Silence,” Moldark said. In the natural realm, his face twisted, and his shoulders twitched. “You will not speak to him anymore.” Suddenly, Moldark pushed Kane’s soul back until Piper couldn’t see it anymore.

“No,” she cried, grabbing at Moldark’s chest. But she thought better of the action the moment her palm touched his body—a cold sensation raced up her arm, and she felt as though she’d plunged her hand into a bucket of ice water. “Leave him alone.”

When Moldark spoke again, his voice was soft and low. “How unfortunate for you that you care so much for him.”

“It’s not unfortunate. You’re unfortunate.”

Moldark chuckled. “I’m unfortunate? Look around you, child.” He wrenched her arm for emphasis, causing her feet to hit one another. “You are a prisoner on my ship, and—”

“Not for long.”

Moldark cocked his head, giving her a pensive look. “You mean your friends out there? Yes, yes. I can see the temptation to hope—to believe that help is on the way. But even now, they are growing weaker, their forces losing ground. I’m afraid there will be no rescue for you today. What’s more, it seems you will finally be alone in the universe.”

“That’s not true.” Somehow, this man—who was very much not her grandfather—knew that she felt alone. It was like he could see into her heart. But Moldark was not gifted in the Unity—he could not see as she saw. Yet, there was something about him, something powerful and old, that made her afraid. Piper’s cheeks warmed with the tears that traced lines down her face. “They are going to rescue me. You’ll see.”

Moldark clucked his tongue. “I had hoped you would assist me longer, but you are proving too problematic. Such spirit in you, and such a shame to see it go.”

Piper felt very confused by his words. They scared her more than she cared to admit. And she was still so tired, which made her even more sensitive. “You won’t. I’m not going to let you.”

“Is that so?”

Suddenly, Piper felt as though a pointed shaft of metal had pierced her chest. Her mouth flew open, but no sound came out. The pain was so intense, the feeling so hot that she couldn’t breathe. She tried to swallow—tried to breathe—but she couldn’t.

From within the Unity, Piper saw a tendril of black smoke stretch from Moldark’s soul and touch her chest. It undulated like a waterspout, flowing from her ribs toward him. Again, she tried to scream, to kick, to do something, but the tendril of smoke paralyzed her. The pain increased as Piper felt whatever strength she had inside her leave. Her knees gave out. She expected to fall but found herself suspended on the tendril. It felt like a hook had snagged her under the ribcage.

Something caught Moldark’s attention. He looked down at the troopers who guarded the blast doors. To Piper’s astonishment, several of them went flying as if a Magladarian bull had just plowed through them. Moldark released Piper, and she collapsed in a heap. She gasped, then let out a wail so deep she thought she broke her soul.

31

As Rohoar led the fire teams through the conduit chase, he couldn’t help turning his thoughts toward Piper. He felt responsible for her in ways that didn’t make sense. As a Jujari in the line of the Mwadim’s, Rohoar had never given a hind paw’s care about any hairless human, much less a child. But ever since his conversation with Piper on the Spire’s bridge, he’d found a tender place in his heart for the creature.

Further still, he regretted their conversation in the cellblock after she’d spoken with Nos Kil—the vile wretch. Rohoar felt he should have done more—should have insisted that Piper speak to one of the elders about what she’d discussed with Nos Kil. Piper seemed deeply wounded by the ordeal, and Rohoar felt she’d closed herself off unnecessarily from those who might help. But if humans were anything like Jujari—at least in this area—he recognized that both species failed to do what was best for themselves more often than not. The good ones, anyway. Instead, they opted for what was best for the pack.

But in Piper’s case, Rohoar feared she hadn’t done what was best for the pack or herself. In fact, he wondered if she hadn’t misjudged the situation entirely, believing lies from the prisoner turned meat sack instead of pushing back and refuting Nos Kil’s dark words. But she was just a child. How was she to know the difference?

And that’s why Rohoar felt he’d let her down. Perhaps, had he said something further, had he forced her to speak up, they wouldn’t be here now, sneaking through a tunnel and risking everything to save her. If she died on this mission, he would forfeit his own life as recompense.

The ladder that Cyril marked as a waypoint was just ahead. It would take them up to Moldark’s observation chambers. Magnus’s voice broke over comms as Rohoar placed a paw on it. “Careful going up. We want the element of surprise if at all possible.”

Rohoar smiled as he thought of slaughtering more enemies with Magnus. “Copy that, scrumruk graulap.” He climbed the rungs and then eased the floor hatch open just enough to smell the air. Human scent was potent—at least thirty men. Maybe more. Rohoar pushed the plate higher and got eyes on the space, much of which was blocked by crates.

“I am proceeding into the bay,” Rohaor said. “There are humans here, but our emergence appears to be hidden for the most part.”

“Copy that. Nice and easy, furball.”

Rohoar winced. Furballs belonged to Kathorians, not Jujari. “I shed not, scrumruk graulap.”

“Tell that to Azelon’s cleaning bots,” Magnus replied.

Rohoar grunted. He would have words with Magnus and Azelon’s cleaning bots when all this was through.

A dim light filled Rohoar’s immediate surroundings. He scouted a few paces ahead and saw plenty of stacked crates and equipment bins for ample cover. After he advanced five meters, he poked his head around a column of black freight containers and saw a windowplex wall spanning the chamber’s entire width. From here, he saw the Republic battle with his fleet. No, not the Republic, he corrected himself. The Paragon. Either way, pangs of sadness filled his chest as he thought of all the Jujari perishing in the conflict. Seeing it so broadly, without the need for holo screens or cameras, made the battle more real. More brutal. And Rohoar wanted nothing more than to end it and execute those who perpetrated crimes against his people.

“Tell me what you see, pal,” Magnus said over VNET.

Rohoar turned his attention to the rest of the room. “Forty troopers, maybe fifty. Focused on the blast door. Sending you my sensor feeds now.”

Magnus paused. “Got it. They certainly seem preoccupied.”

“Yes. Certainly.” Rohoar turned to see more gladia emerge from the hole in the floor, and motioned them to move slowly. Then, looking back toward the bay, Rohoar said, “I also see Moldark. And he…”

“He what? Spit it out.”

“He has Piper.”

Rohoar could sense the unspoken gasp that everyone took. The mystics had surely felt the girl’s presence, and Rohoar swore he could smell her. But to make visual contact made his heart leap. “Also, I have nothing in my mouth to spit out.”

He narrowed his focus on Piper. The child stood beside Moldark on a raised dais that pressed against the room’s large window. Moldark held her arm with one hand and yanked her close to him—an action that made Rohoar’s hackles stand up. The pair seemed to be arguing about something. Rohoar thought of trying to speak to her in the Unity but worried doing so may adversely affect her, or eliminate Granther Company’s element of surprise if she were to cry out.

“I see her,” Magnus replied. “Something’s wrong. Rohoar, help everyone get staged and keep us covered.”

“Affirmative.”

Rohoar worked quickly to keep Alpha and Bravo Teams in the shadows—a task made even easier by chameleon mode. Still, he knew the teams didn’t need any unnecessary risks, at least not this close to securing Piper. When Magnus’s body shape appeared on Rohoar’s HUD, the two conferred while scanning the room.

“I am worried about stray blaster fire hitting the child,” Rohoar said.

“A valid concern, but one the enemy may not share.”

“Agreed.”

“CQB, then?” Magnus asked, using the acronym from close quarters battle.

Rohoar grunted in affirmation, savoring what would surely be a glorious battle. “But I suspect there will be ceiling-mounted turrets, none of which I can smell now.”

“Agreed.” Magnus opened the team channel. “Alright, people. Looks like we’re gonna get the jump on these bastards. We need to limit baster fire in Piper’s direction. Rohaor, Saladin, Bimby, and Titus, you’ll be first up. CQB unless you can’t help it. Silk and Dutch, I need you taking out any auto turrets that appear. Watch the ceiling. Willowood and Nídira, shield those of us in harm’s way as best you can but protect Piper at all costs. Doc and Nubs, I want you firing on anything that’s left over.”

“What about you?” Rohoar asked.

“Awen and I are headed for Piper,” Magnus said. “The moment we acquire her, we’re out. I don’t care how. Remember, Piper is mission priority one, more so than any of us. You get her back to the shuttles—that’s all that matters. If we don’t save her, this was all for nothing, and it can’t be all for nothing. Dominate?”

“Liberate,” everyone replied.

“Good.” Magnus turned to Rohoar. “You take point. We engage on your lead.”

Rohoar took a deep breath, savoring the scent of soon to be slain human flesh, double-checked his chameleon mode status, and then moved into the open. Rohoar’s eyes scanned Moldark and the troopers for any signs that they detected him. So far, so good. He crept halfway down the hallway to the nearest troopers and then squatted—muscles tight, breathing controlled, body ready to spring. Rohoar’s claws flexed, and he licked his chops with a slow movement of his tongue. He would have blood tonight.

He was just about to leap forward when he caught motion out of the corner of his eye. Piper’s head pitched back—mouth agape—and her body convulsed as if she’d touched an open electrical circuit. Rohoar wanted to race to her rescue, but he knew Magnus was already heading that way. Instead, Rohoar needed to diminish the guards’ numbers and prevent casualties. Yet, everything in him wanted to rip Moldark’s head from his shoulders.

“Now,” Rohoar growled.

His body snapped like a bowstring, and he flew into the pack of Paragon Marines. Rohoar tore through three men at once, toppling them like toys. His claws sliced through armor as his teeth closed around the exposed tissue just beneath another man’s helmet. The victim screamed, but the air came through the puncture wounds instead of his mouth. Rohoar released the man, rolled, and then landed on all fours.

Saladin had done just as much damage, righting herself two paces from Rohoar. Together, they turned on their next victims and leaped, claws and teeth glinting in the dim light. Eight Marines lay bleeding on the floor, and the enemy hadn’t even fired a shot.

Abimbola and Titus pushed into the ranks with their combat knives slicing at the enemy’s armor. Just as the telecolos’ radial projection hid the Jujari’s snouts and limbs, it kept the two men’s blades from the enemy’s view, making their lethality all the more brutal. The weapons stabbed and swiped, dodged, and stabbed again. Meanwhile, in Rohoar’s HUD, he saw the two gladia grapple with witless Marines who were unable to parry Abimbola and Titus’s bladed attacks.

Rohoar swiped at more Marines, catching one in the shoulder and the other in the hip. The first man crumpled from the shoulder strike, spine breaking sideways as his blaster went flying. The second man spun into two other Marines, both of whom stumbled backward while trying to point their blasters at the unseen terror assailing their ranks. Before anyone could get a shot off, Rohoar lunged deeper into the fold, carving a furrow through the Marine ranks that separated them into two groups. Divide and conquer, Rohoar noted as he arrived on the far side.

Blood covered his claws as he turned to face the enemy. His paws painted crimson smears across the glossy black floor, giving the Marines a target area to shoot. The first blaster shot skipped off Rohaor’s armor and dropped his shield to 89%—a meager strike. But as more Marines focused on the space above the smears, Rohoar rolled out of the way. Blaster rounds glanced off the floor and pelted the far wall. He leaped off the floor and dove back into the fray.

Perhaps sensing the jeopardy posed by staying huddled together, the Paragon forces dispersed and sought cover along the chamber’s walls. They darted around crates and ducked behind structural trusses. Unable to rid himself of the enemy’s blood, Rohoar drew more blaster rounds, which steadily depleted his shield. But not before he took down several retreating Marines. His claws raked the back of one woman’s legs, snapping tendons. The human physique was terribly fragile, and the Repub armor did little to protect the vulnerable places behind the thighs and knees. Rohoar’s victim sprawled on the ground. The woman rolled and attempted to fire, but Rohoar caught the weapon in his mouth, bit down, and then tossed the blaster away.

He was about to finish her off when a stream of blaster fire struck his side, forcing him to leap away or risk losing his shield altogether—his HUD displayed 17% power remaining. Rohoar grabbed two bodies off the ground and used them as shields as he charged into a cluster of Marines huddled behind a cargo container. Blaster fire riddled the corpses, drilling the armor with holes and smoke, as Rohoar bashed the troopers back. He roared, then snapped at weapons and swatted heads.

Clear of immediate danger, Rohoar used the opportunity to survey the room. A paragon trooper managed to grab onto Titus, grasping him in a bear-hold from behind. Titus stabbed blindly at the man’s torso, but the trooper’s armor was deflecting most of the blows. Suddenly, Abimbola came up behind both men and lifted the Paragon trooper and Titus over his head. Panic-stricken, the trooper dropped Titus, who rolled harmlessly along the ground. Then Abimbola hurled the enemy fifteen meters against the nearest wall. He is nearly as strong as a Jujari, Rohoar thought to himself and pulled his chops back in a toothy grin.

Rohoar and his gladia had made quick work of at least two dozen troopers—but the fight was far from over. Additionally, Rohoar saw reinforcements fill in from a side doorway with their blasters raised. Just then, auto turrets dropped from the ceiling, but they spun in circles, attempting to gain target locks. The Novian armor worked well to dispel the initial sensor sweeps, but Rohoar knew it wouldn’t be long before the weapons picked up life signs.

And, apparently, Magnus knew it too. He ordered Silk and Dutch to open fire on the turrets, and then let Doc and Nubs loose on the second wave of troopers. With energy origin points, the turrets and weapons focused on the gladias’ positions and opened fire.

Rohoar looked across the open ground and up the dais where Piper and Moldark stood. Saladin must’ve sensed his concern through their pack connection. “She will be kept safe,” she said, pausing behind a large structural truss. “I swear it.”

“As I do,” Rohoar replied. Then he noticed Magnus and Awen’s outlines and name tags in his HUD. They were moving along the window, still invisible to the enemy. “Come. We have glory to obtain.”

“As you have spoken.” Saladin snarled, then dove toward a group of three troopers.

Rohoar checked his shield, now at 6%, and then looked at as his next target.

32

Magnus marveled at the destructive force that Rohoar and Saladin unleashed on the unsuspecting guards. In a matter of seconds, the two Jujari had eviscerated, maimed, beheaded, or dismembered two dozen guards. The remainder tried to stop the invisible fury with their blasters, but the Jujari seemed unstoppable. Magnus noticed Rohoar’s shield drop to less than 10% and worried his friend was in trouble, but with Abimbola and Titus’s help, Rohoar managed to stay clear of further blaster fire.

“Turrets,” Dutch called out.

“Take them out,” Magnus said. A second later, Dutch and Silk blew two auto turrets off the ceiling. Three more pairs appeared, but they met the same fate, exploding into countless fragments of red-hot metal and a blaze of sparks under the two women’s deadly sniper fire.

“Reinforcements,” Nubs called out and raised his blaster at new Marines filing in from side doors.

“Engage. Keep them busy.” Then Magnus looked at Awen and motioned for her to follow him. They ran to the window and then turned to race along it.

Ahead, Moldark studied the conflict from atop his dais. Piper, however, was crumpled on the ground. Magnus felt his heart stop cold, but still, his legs pumped, pushing him faster toward the target. Magnus raised his NOV1 and sighted in on Moldark. He squeezed the trigger, and his weapon belted out a rapid-fire stream of blue bolts. Magnus’s mind reported that the target went down. But through the smoke, Magnus saw Moldark still standing.

The enemy turned, leveled his eyes on Magnus, then smiled. Magnus couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad was about to happen. Suddenly, some sort of translucent wall vibrated a meter in front of him.

“Keep going,” Awen yelled from behind. “I’ve got you!”

Magnus had no idea what was going on. But he refocused and then bounded up the dais, taking three steps at a time. His heart pounded in his chest as the wall in front of him vibrated again and again. It was almost like Awen was blocking waves of invisible attacks from Moldark.

Magnus raised his blaster a second time, now less than seven meters away, and fired. Combined with his body’s speed, the burst of gunfire was tantamount to point-blank. But, again, the rounds seemed to do little but catch Moldark’s black suit on fire. It was like the energy was absorbed right into his body.

The words “Be careful” registered in Magnus’s mind as he charged Moldark. But adrenaline and rage had overtaken Magnus to such a degree that he was on autopilot. Subconsciously, he noted Piper’s crumpled form behind Moldark. So Magnus switched his weapon to full auto, aligned it with Moldark’s center mass, and squeezed the trigger.

The NOV1’s muzzle erupted in a blaze of blinding light as the weapon drained an entire magazine. Magnus knew the rounds were on target, drilling Moldark into dust. The enemy disappeared in black smoke. But as Awen’s force field pushed the fog aside, Moldark’s face popped out.

Magnus jolted in surprise, but he was going too fast to change course. Instead, he and Awen’s shield struck Moldark, and the two men toppled over the far side of the platform. Awen’s force field disappeared as they flipped down the stairs. Suddenly, Magnus felt something pierce his chest.

“Magnus,” someone shouted. He thought it was Awen, but the ringing in his ears overpowered her voice. Pain exploded from his sternum. It was as if someone had taken a red-hot prod and pressed it through his ribcage to his spine. He tried to move—tried to yell—but his body was a slave to the pain.

Again, someone called his name, but it felt like the speaker’s voice was part of an underwater dream. Nothing could be as loud, as all-consuming, as the torment he was experiencing. It was like something was trying to suck out his very soul. Magnus wanted to shoot whatever it was—to end it. But he was paralyzed. That’s when he realized that the only thing worse than death was the fear of not being able to do anything about it. He felt helpless in light of this all-consuming force. For the first time in a long time, Magnus was afraid.

Then, all at once, the pain stopped.

Magnus flopped onto something irregular—not flat like a floor, but bulbous. Like a body. He blinked several times, then focused on his HUD.

Moldark’s razor-like teeth snapped at his visor. Magnus jerked, rolled to the side, and landed on his back. Again, the same translucent shield vibrated a few centimeters above his chest. He looked up the dais and saw Awen descending toward him. She’d established the shield and cut off whatever Moldark was trying to do to him. She was also saying something—over and over.

“GET UP,” Magnus finally heard her yell. He snapped out of his daze and rolled away from Moldark. Then he pressed himself up and brought his weapon around.

“DON’T SHOOT,” Awen said next. “STOP!”

Magnus hesitated, looking from Moldark back to Awen. Moldark took notice of the mystic racing toward him and turned to face her. The same kind of shield that had protected Magnus now shimmered in front of Awen. But the block seemed weaker than the earlier ones, until it disappeared completely. Magnus guessed that Awen had given him the majority of her energy, sparing little for her defense.

Awen choked, but no noise came from her mouth. Instead, her advancing body arched through the air like she’d been on the end of a pole. Moldark followed her overhead, tracking with her until she slammed on the floor.

Heeding her warning, Magnus slung his NOV1 and withdrew his tactical knife. He flipped his grip, leaped at Moldark, then drove the knife into the soft tissue between the neck and shoulder. Moldark roared and twisted so forcefully that Magnus was thrown into the steps. Had it not been for his helmet’s protection, Magnus would have been knocked unconscious.

Magnus blinked then saw Moldark stalking him. The good news was that, a few meters away, Awen climbed to her hands and knees. The bad news was that Magnus’s knife was still protruding from Moldark’s shoulder.

“You fool,” Moldark hissed. Whatever Moldark was doing, the pain struck Magnus again—only this time it was more powerful. Magnus cried out, feeling as if every cell in his body was rupturing. He’d never wanted to die before, but at that moment, death would have been a relief.

Death, however, didn’t come—but concentrated blaster fire did. The rounds pelted Moldark’s side, tearing holes into his clothes, even boring into his flesh. And yet the man—the monster—didn’t go down. Not in the slightest. If anything, he seemed stronger.

“Stop,” Magnus ordered, feeling a wave of relief as Moldark’s attack subsided. “Stop shooting at him!”

“He absorbs it,” Awen added, turning on the enemy and resuming her shield around Magnus. But then Moldark focused on those who’d fired on him.

The next thing Magnus knew, Nubs flew through the air and stopped two meters in front of Moldark. The gladia’s telecolos system shorted out, and Nubs’s armor came into view. With his body hovering a few centimeters off the ground, Nubs spasmed, sputtering over comms. Magnus raised his NOV1 in an attempt to fire, but before he could, Nubs’s suit of armor clattered to the floor. Dust swirled up from the helmet and heap of plates.

“You son of a bitch,” Magnus roared and ran toward Moldark. Magnus reached down and picked up Nubs’ knife while the other blade still protruded from Moldark’s shoulder.

Black eyes gleaming in the blaster fire, Moldark tried once again to reach out and hit Magnus with whatever mystical powers he possessed. But Awen regained her strength and kept Magnus safe, enveloping him with a shield.

Magnus capitalized on the defense and lunged with his knife. Moldark parried, but the blade sliced through the enemy’s forearm, splitting his sleeve and opening a long red furrow. As Moldark retaliated—swinging high—Magnus raised his arm and blocked the blow meant for his head. The Unity shield glimmered as each man struck the other. Finally, Magnus thrust his knife at Moldark’s abdomen, but the blade was knocked free, accented by another glimmer from Awen’s force field.

Moldark roared, and Awen’s shield dispelled a new attack—but she seemed to struggle with the effort. Frustrated, Magnus thrust his knife at the enemy’s face, but Moldark caught Magnus’s wrist and drove his arm up. Then the enemy jabbed with his free hand, but Magnus caught Moldark’s fist. The two combatants faced each other, heads half a meter apart, while Awen’s force field reverberated between them—a shimmering wall of otherworldly light.

“I’ve secured Piper,” a voice said over VNET. Magnus saw Willowood’s name tag light up as the communication came in, but he could not risk taking his eyes off Moldark. The old woman must’ve snuck up the dais and retrieved the unconscious child during the fight, which may have explained why Nubs was unprotected against Moldark’s attack.

“Leave him,” Awen said, her voice strained.

Moldark snarled at Magnus, saliva and blood sputtering through cracked lips. His black hate-filled eyes flared as he said, “You cannot stop me, human.”

“A little help here,” Magnus said to Awen, ignoring Moldark.

“I’ll try to contain him, but I’ll need help.”

Magnus double-checked to make sure the squad channel was still open. “Willowood, Nídira—you available?”

Moldark snapped his teeth at Magnus’s helmet, but Awen’s protective bubble kept the gladia safe—at least for another few seconds.

Suddenly, a new translucent field appeared, but this one encompassed Moldark. Magnus noticed Awen’s shield disappear, and then she turned to Moldark, adding her strength to the other two mystics’ containment field. The enemy thrashed inside the bubble, lunging at Magnus, then spun on his heels and darted at Awen. But the bubble held.

Magnus’s shield took three direct hits in the back. He spun to see two Paragon Marines aiming at him from behind crates. Knife still in hand, Magnus brought his NOV1 into high ready position and opened fire. The first Marine was struck in the head and disappeared behind the box. Magnus hit the second Marine in the shoulder, spinning him out into the open, and then dropped him with two shots in the chest. Then Magnus ran behind a column.

Blaster fire peppered Magnus’s cover, but he was safe for the moment. He needed to assess his unit’s condition. Magnus glanced at Awen and saw her running toward the two teams, while Moldark remained fixed in place, still throwing a fit in his temporary prison. Rohoar, Abimbola, and Titus had fallen back and resorted to blasters now that Piper was secure behind their perimeter. But more Paragon troopers continued to pour into Moldark’s bay from the west and brought the heat. Enemy bolts deflected off a single energy shield that Nídira erected, leaving Willowood and Awen to manage Moldark on their own. Piper, dressed in a small black naval suit, lay unconscious in Willowood’s arms.

“Where’s Saladin?” Magnus asked.

“We cannot get to her,” Rohoar said with a growl in his throat.

“What? Where is she?” He scanned the room from the column’s safety and saw her outline behind some shipping containers. But she was pinned down by heavy enemy fire. “Splick.”

“Leave me,” Saladin said. “This fight will be my last.”

“No way,” Magnus said. They were too close to her to leave her behind. But the amount of enemy fire had increased enough that Magnus questioned his confidence in a rescue effort. The mission was to rescue Piper, no matter the cost. But he’d already lost Nubs—he would not lose another.

“Hold on, Saladin.” Magnus swapped out his rear mag for a fresh one. “We’re coming for you.”

“Negative, scrumruk graulap. My glory has come.”

“Like hell it has.”

“Do not advance,” Rohoar said over comms. It took a split second for Magnus to realize the Jujari was talking to him, not Saladin.

“Belay that, furball,” Magnus said.

“No,” the Jujari said. “She has issued her last wish.”

Magnus balked. “I don’t have time for this. We need to move out. Granther Company, I’m gonna need something faster than that tunnel.”

“Sir. I may have something for you, sir,” Cyril said.

“Make it snappy, kid.”

“Gotcha, gotcha. There’s a power substation directly behind your position to the east. I just managed to get the doors unlocked, and you should be able to cross through it and gain access to your section’s main lateral corridor. As long as you and the other fire teams retreat north, you—”

“Should be able to group amidships,” Magnus said, finishing Cyril’s thought.

“Yeah. Exactly, sir.”

“Got it.”

New waypoints appeared in Magnus’s HUD. Two retreating routes ran parallel to one another and then converged halfway down the ship. From there, they ran to the shuttle bay’s south door. Magnus pinged the rest of the company. “Proceed to the highlighted routes. Teams Charlie, Delta, Echo, meet us at Zulu Zero Five. Confirm.”

“Roger that,” Zoll said. “We’ll see you there.”

To Alpha and Bravo Teams, Magnus said, “A little cover?”

“No problem, buckethead,” Abimbola said. A fresh wave of blaster rounds erupted from the defensive line. Magnus ducked out from the column and dashed for Saladin’s location, but his shield took two more hits, dropping it to 3%. The next hits would be plate armor only, and that wouldn’t hold long.

“What are you doing, Magnus?” Rohoar yelled.

“Saving your kin!”

“Stand down,” Rohoar replied, his voice as stern as Magnus had ever heard it. “And return yourself to cover before I have to drag you myself.”

Not that Magnus had much choice: blaster rounds peppered the ground all around him until he was forced to halt his advance and retreat behind Nídira’s safety shield. He pushed on Rohoar’s arm. “What the hell, hyena?”

“Do not call me that.”

“You gonna help me get her or not?”

“She has summoned her glory.”

Magnus was furious. “Dammit, Rohoar! What the hell is the matter with you?”

“Magnus,” Awen said in a gentle voice. “Saladin is mortally wounded. According to their warrior customs, she is going to help secure our escape with a final act of bravery.”

“Like hell! I’m not losing another one.”

“You already have,” Awen said. “She’s made up her mind, and I don’t think we can keep Moldark contained much longer.”

“Please depart,” Saladin said, followed by several deep coughs. “So I may make good on my fate.”

Magnus punched his chest once and then shook his head. Then he felt a paw touch his shoulder. “It is all right, scrumruk graulap. It is the way of our people, and we must go.”

Magnus nodded blindly at Rohoar. “Saladin?”

She coughed. “Yes, Magnus?”

“Dominate.”

“Lib—Liberate.”

Magnus took a deep breath then watched as the enemy continued to fill the observation deck. The mystics’ shields wouldn’t hold much longer. Reluctantly, Magnus pointed to the door Cyril had unlocked. “Let’s move!”

Once his units were underway, Magnus opened the Taursar Company Commander channel. “Forbes. Do you copy?” The channel was open, and at first all Magnus heard was breathing and the muffled sounds of large-caliber blaster fire.

“A little busy here, boss,” Forbes said. “Whaddya need?”

“We’re gonna be coming in hot, south entry.”

“Might be a problem,” Forbes replied. “There’s a TS40 blocking it at the moment.”

“Well, can you move it?”

“After we take care of the one ripping up your shuttle, yes. Probably.”

Magnus cursed. “How bad is it?”

“Bad enough. Stand by.” To someone else, Forbes yelled, “It’s breaking left. Left!”

“Just get ready for us, Forbes.”

“We will.”

Magnus closed the channel and then looked as everyone piled through the door into the substation. Rohoar and Awen were the last to enter, hesitating as Magnus neared. “What are you waiting for?”

Rohoar nodded toward the troopers. Magnus turned to see Saladin’s online on his HUD. She lay amidst some boxes, now overrun by at least fifteen Marines. Most didn’t even seem to notice her—they were preoccupied with pursuing Magnus’s gladias.

“Naf tilnik borga, dar leenmar niff,” Rohoar said. Suddenly, bright light washed out Saladin’s outline as an explosion sent cargo and troopers flying in all directions. The deck rumbled, fire billowed, and the enemy’s assault momentarily ebbed. Saladin had detonated her VODs in a sacrificial act to buy Alpha and Bravo Teams more time.

Rohoar helped moved Magnus toward the door. “She has found her glory. Come.”

Magnus stepped into the substation, followed by Rohoar and Awen, and then Titus closed the door and blew out the security panel.

33

Ricio paced the safety area beside his Fang, hands stuffed inside his Novian flight suit. He’d been monitoring VNET traffic since Magnus made contact with the enemy and wanted nothing more than to get in the fight. But doing so prematurely meant giving away the Spire’s location and jeopardizing Magnus’s chances of getting everyone home in one piece.

TO-96 and Ezo, having returned from their mission to the Labyrinth, stood beside Ricio in the primary Fang hangar bay, awaiting orders from Colonel Caldwell. Likewise, Nolan had suited up and leaned against a gantry crane. The three men were ready to lead their respective squadrons while TO-96 commanded the company from onboard the Spire.

“Based upon your heart rate and perspiration levels, I assume you are experiencing a high level of anxiety,” TO-96 said to Ricio.

“No splick, bot.”

TO-96 hesitated. “Are you agreeing with me?” The bot looked at Ezo. “Or have we changed the subject to biological excrement? I’m confused.”

“Everything’s nominal with Commander Longo, ’Six,” Ezo said, patting the bot on the shoulder. “Leave him be.”

“Understood.”

“Commander Ninety-Six, do you copy?” Caldwell asked over comms.

TO-96 stood erect and looked straight ahead. “I read you, Colonel, sir. Please continue.”

“As I’m sure you know, we’ve got some fairly nosey ships poking around our section of the system.”

TO-96 glanced at Ricio. “He means the Paragon forces are getting closer to us,” Ricio clarified.

“Ah. Yes, Colonel”—TO-96 over-enunciated his words—“it seems the hounds are curious about all the birds in the hen house.”

Ricio furrowed his brow and shook his head, mouthing the word, “What?”

“Whatever,” Caldwell said. “It looks like it’s time we throw them off our trail.”

“Ah. We shall endeavor to mottle the scent, disguising the forest trail with—”

“Scramble the damn fighters, ’Six,” Ezo said.

The bot nodded. Through the hangar’s rather robust audio system, TO-96 said, “All pilots, all pilots, to your fighters. This is not a drill. Scramble Red, Gold, and Blue Squadrons to intercept enemy vessels. I repeat, this is not a drill. Command level instructions to follow.” TO-96 looked at Ricio and said, “How was that?”

“Turn off your damn channel, bot,” Ricio replied.

“Ooo, my apologies,” said TO-96, his voice booming throughout the hangar with a squeal of feedback.

“You heard the man,” Ricio said to Ezo and Nolan. “Let’s get ready to fly.” He patted both men on the shoulder and then jogged toward his Fang. As he buckled into the lowered cockpit platform, TO-96 walked over, looking as though he had something to say.

“Commander Longo, sir?”

“What is it, pal.” Ricio locked his harness and then started moving through holo screens to begin his pre-flight check.

“I have never led squadrons into battle before.”

“We’ve already gone over this. You’re gonna be fine.”

“And while I appreciate that vote of confidence, I still feel obligated to say that I’m sorry.”

Ricio pulled his helmet on but stopped short of securing the strap. “Sorry? For what, ’Six?”

“If I’m inadvertently responsible for your death, I just want you to know it wasn’t personal. I quite like you.”

Ricio blinked a few times. “Uh, thanks?”

“You’re welcome, sir.” Then TO-96 reached out and patted Ricio on the shoulder like the other squadron commanders had done. “Have a sumptuous flight.”

Ricio shook his head and gave a crooked smile as TO-96 turned and walked away.

* * *

Once outside the Spire, Ricio circled around to gather his squadron together. It felt good to be back in his Fang, and it felt even better to be headed back into combat. He pulled out the printed picture of his wife and son and wedged it under an indicator bezel. He’d managed to grab the keepsake from his Talon before Azelon had shot him down, and the Spire’s crew had recovered it from his flight suit before they incinerated his old clothes. The image’s corners were charred, and the picture creased, but as long as he had the photo, Ricio felt like he still had a connection to his family back on Capriana. He kissed two fingers and touched their faces.

“All right, Red Squadron. Form up. We’re just waiting for orders from—”

“Hello? Can all of the flying humans hear me?”

Flying humans? Ricio scratched his chin and then lowered his visor to bring up his secondary HUD. “This is Red Leader Actual. I have you, Command.”

“Ah, how nice to—”

“This is Gold Leader Actual,” said Nolan. “I read you, Command.”

“Oh, how nice,” said TO-96.

“Blue Leader Actual. I read you, ’Six,” Ezo said. “Use the terms Ricio taught you—none of this flying humans splick.”

“Very good, sir,” the bot said. “I was merely trying to lighten the mood by being less formal, however, if that—”

“It’s war, bot,” Ricio interjected. “If you let us do our job, that will lighten our mood. Just give us our orders.”

“Very good, Commander Longo. I’m bringing up a target priority list for your respective squadrons, which you can assign based on your personal preference. However, I’ve preemptively allocated pilot suggestions for individual assignments based on data gathered during training. Use at your discretion.”

Ricio saw the data set populate his mission window. A quick scan showed that TO-96 had done his homework. Ricio whistled. “Not bad, ’Six. Not bad at all.”

“Thank you, Commander Longo. Now, the Paragon Talons pose the most critical threat. Two squadrons of fourteen ships each—the same structure that we use—are within ten minutes of detecting the Spire. Beyond them, we have identified two Light Cruisers, three Destroyers, three Frigates, and four Corvettes, all of which, we believe, are in support of the Talon reconnaissance objectives.

“As you are all well aware, we are in no place to take on such an enemy composition, especially when our primary mission is not inter-fleet combat but asset recovery. That said, Azelon and I have determined that our best strategy will be to lead the vessels away from the Spire and then feign an attack on the Labyrinth. Subsequently, this will place your Fangs in the prime location to escort the retreating shuttles.

“Please note that Azelon is jamming Talon sensor sweeps in your direction. As long as you approach from the vectors I’ve designated, you should remain hidden until you engage the enemy.”

“Copy that,” Ricio said. “Much appreciated.”

“My pleasure, sir. I will be standing by for reachback, as well as to redefine mission parameters should assets or targets change on the fly, as they say. That means you might encounter unexpected—”

“We all know what it means, ’Six,” Ezo said. “Anything else?”

“Well, I believe the expression is happy hunting, fellas.”

Rico chuckled. “You heard the man, Red Squadron. Let’s go kill us some game.”

* * *

Ricio kept all of TO-96’s suggestions for target assignments, noting they were either exactly what he would have chosen or, in a few cases, even better. The bot had smarts—he had to give him that. His language skills and social tact on the other hand? Those were gonna need some work.

All three squadrons were assigned various Talon groupings, each designed to cull the enemy’s numbers while also provoking the larger starships to follow the Fangs as they sped toward the Labyrinth. Once clear of the Spire, the Fangs would double down on their efforts to reduce any threats posed against the shuttles, then escort them back to the Spire.

Ricio made sure his pilots had confirmed their targets then locked in his own. If they stuck to the math, Fang Company would eliminate the fourteen Talons during the first salvo. From there, they’d dash toward the Labyrinth, and then flip back to catch the larger ships in their hastened efforts to catch up. It was a simple plan, but sometimes those were the best ones.

Ricio pushed his Fang forward, increasing speed through the NBTI. Now that he’d gotten the hang of controlling a starfighter with his mind, he doubted he’d ever be able to use manual controls again. The thirteen other ships in his squadron moved with him, forming up in pairs as they prepared to engage the enemy.

“I don’t wanna see any missiles going hot, Red Squadron,” Ricio said. “We’re saving all the fun toys for later. Blasters only unless you get in a splick show.” Ricio placed his missiles and mines on standby so he wouldn’t be tempted. “Contact in thirty seconds.”

The enemy had spread their squadrons out to form three lines stacked on top of one another. Each starfighter was four klicks from any other fighter in the grid. Rico lined up with his first quarry, a single Talon in the middle of the lowest line, and locked on. “Fangs, prepare to engage.”

The grid seemed so far away at first. Rico felt like they’d never get there. Then, as the mission timer counted down to zero—the point of first contact—the grid expanded until it outgrew Ricio’s field of view. His target ship came up fast.

“Open fire,” Rico said, then willed his primary and secondary blasters to shoot. The main barrel along the fuselage shook the ship as its large-caliber bolts ripped through the blackness. The wing-mounted blasters sent shorter but more frequent rounds downrange. But the physics of light speed ruled both weapons, so all rounds reached Ricio’s first target at the same instant. With its shields low, the unsuspecting Talon detonated in a cataclysmic explosion, leaving few fragments larger than a square meter intact.

“Scratch one.” Ricio flew through the debris field and pulled into a climb, headed for the Talon directly above. Nine of his other pilots confirmed kills, while four reported Talons in various states of duress. It wasn’t a perfect surprise attack, but his squadron was full of new pilots, so he’d take any kills he could get.

Ricio’s sensor system confirmed a lock on his second target. The pilot was attempting to raise shields, but not in time enough to save his life. Ricio brought his nose up until he was under the ship, then fired into the Talon’s belly. The energy rounds blew past the shield, ripped through the cockpit, and split the craft in half. Ricio veered away, throwing his body sideways in the seat, and watched the flaming wreckage whiz passed his port window.

“Scratch two.”

Red Squadron had taken out four more Talons—one away from an entire squadron. Combined with Gold and Blue Squadrons’ take, the total was up to twenty-two of twenty-eight total enemy fighters. Such large numbers were only because of Azelon’s concealment—Ricio knew that. They would not have that kind of hand again.

Despite being severely outnumbered and outgunned, the remaining six Talons broke formation and flipped around on their pursuers with terrific speed. Their shields were up, and their weapons systems armed.

“Watch your left flank, Red Three,” Ricio yelled.

A Talon got two hits on Red Three’s shield but failed to do any critical damage. The Fang rolled away from the oncoming ship and got clear of its blaster fire. As the enemy starfighter sailed past the point of contact, Ricio locked on and fired his multi-rate wingtip mounted cannons. They whined like banshees and tore through the enemy Talon from stem to stern. The craft split apart, shedding its plate armor like a Lorlilliak mull drake shedding its skin in molting season. Ricio watched as the majority of the pilot’s body twirled through space and disappeared among the stars.

The five remaining Talons put forth a valiant effort, but in less than twenty-five seconds, both squadrons were wiped out. Ricio couldn’t ignore the pang in his heart, knowing these were most likely pilots he’d known, or knew of. Hell, he’d probably trained the majority of them at one point or another. And had Ricio been in one of the Talons, he’d have been scared splickless by how his once-formidable squadron was decimated in less time than it took to piss out a beer.

Ricio’s sympathy was cut short when one of the Light Cruisers and a Destroyer opened fire. “Red Squadron, break for the Labyrinth,” Ricio ordered. “Let’s return them to their fleet, but I’d like to see them limp back a little.” The pilots registered Ricio’s commands, and new target lock icons appeared along the sides of both enemy ships. Gold and Blue Squadrons targeted the other vessels in the search party, including the faster Corvettes. “Let’s light ’em up!”

Ricio brought his Fang around and increased speed. His body pressed into his seat while his guidance system made micro corrections to stay clear of oncoming enemy fire. Enormous blaster bolts whizzed by his canopy, casting his cockpit in green light. When the statistical likelihood of a sure shot reached 90%, Ricio fired all his cannons. Blue rounds raced toward the Light Cruiser’s bridge. The enemy’s shield array absorbed the first volley, scattering the energy like a lightning storm over an invincible glass ball. But as Ricio continued to pour on the rounds, heating the barrels to red-hot, a hole tore open in the shields.

Ricio’s Fang shot through the gap and entered the ship’s near-field space, then fired on the bridge. His accuracy was at 100%, and he would not fail. The cannons barked, shaking his ship, and the blue light struck the Light Cruiser’s forward bridge. Ricio’s rounds punched through the reinforced windowplex and blew out the entire command center. The bridge exploded, sending ripples of fire and electrical blasts along the bow.

“Bridge disabled,” Ricio said with a bit of excitement in his voice. The blow was enough to keep the vessel from going anywhere, but Ricio knew the ship still had some fight left. “Watch those auto turrets.”

Three Fangs raced along the cruiser’s hull, heading for the stern. They targeted the communications array, hoping to further disable the ship’s ability to connect with the fleet. One Fang was particularly unlucky and took several auto turret rounds. Fortunately, the fighter’s shields held, and the ship managed to roll out of the auto turret’s fire arc. The two other Fangs continued on their course and laid into the comms array, blasting it from the deck.

Red Squadron left the Light Cruiser to bleed out and focused their attention on the two Frigates. “Let’s let them stay under power,” Ricio said. “But I want their primary weapons disabled.”

His pilots acknowledged. Targeting icons appeared along the ship’s flanks as Red Squadron lined up for a strafing run that would take the Fangs across both Frigates from starboard to port amidships.

Ricio ordered his squadron to pummel the first Frigate’s shield. They managed to bore a hole in short order, all the while dodging enemy fire. Once the starboard shield fell, the Fangs spread out and opened fire on the ship’s emplaced cannons. Ricio’s visor dimmed as several friendly and enemy blaster rounds collided. But in the end, the Frigates’ defenses were no match for the Fangs’ speed and power. One by one, each emplacement exploded on the starboard side, shooting flames and debris into space. The hard vacuum snuffed out the fires, but the bits of starship would float to infinity.

The Fangs flew up and over the enemy hull, then dove back down to line up on the second Frigate’s starboard side. Having seen the fate of its counterpart, the starship focused its firepower on Ricio’s squadron. But it didn’t last long. Ricio had made sure the first Frigate was directly behind them, which meant that the second Frigate was firing on the first. As soon as the two starships sent what Ricio could only imagine were expletive-filled transmissions to cease fire, Red Squadron fired on the second Frigate’s shield and made short work of it. The energy wall fell, and—like before—the Fangs tore into the starship’s flank.

The pock-marked vessel tried to steer away from the attack, but the Fangs were too fast. Ricio led his squadron around the Frigate’s far side and then turned back to assault the port-side emplacements. While several Fangs took minimal damage, there was simply no way the mega-ton warship could keep up with the agile Novian fighters. When they’d finished with the Frigate’s port side, Ricio brought up the Labyrinth’s coordinates and sent the high-priority waypoint to his pilots.

“Nice work, everyone,” Ricio said as he scanned the damage reports. “Now let’s lead them home.”

34

Forbes dove for cover behind an MB17 as two things took place simultaneously.

First, the TS40 advancing from the south fell into the craters and struck the mines. While the Sweeper was out of commission, it blew open and caught the corridor on fire. Smoke and fire poured into the hangar bay despite the fire suppression system’s best efforts to quench it.

Second, and more importantly, the TS40 advancing from the west breached the bay and opened fire with its M109s. Gladia had lined up on both sides, ready to take out the guns, but the Sweeper’s crew had been prepared for them. The moment the M109s appeared, their barrels pointed down, head-level with the members of second platoon. Helmets and heads exploded, blown back by the M109s twin barrels.

“Target that Sweeper,” Forbes yelled over VNET. “Put it down!” Blaster fire erupted from all sides and pelted the TS40. Meanwhile, fire from the south moved dangerously close to the shuttles, carried by a river of hydraulic fluid and lubricant. “Cyril, can you close the south tunnel’s entrance?”

“Sure, sure, sure. Let me see what I can do ten four, sir,” the code slicer replied. “You know, this is actually a lot harder than playing Galaxy Renegade.”

“The sooner, the better, Cyril. Or else we might not have a ride home.”

The TS40 to the west turned broadside and aimed its guns on the nearest shuttle—the one Granther and Paladia Companies arrived in. Despite Forbes’s best efforts to thwart it, the Sweeper blew holes in the shuttle, breaching the hull and permanently grounding the vehicle from space travel. Metal shrieked as it bent inward, succumbing to the M109s’ withering firepower, while conduits burst and sprayed the hangar with gas.

“Shut that down,” Forbes barked, pointing to the gas leak. If it were flammable, the mission would be over in a hurry. “And, mysticsdammit, get those bastards off those guns!”

“Forbes,” Magnus said over VNET. “Do you copy?”

Forbes barely managed a reply as he ducked behind cover again, asking Magnus what he needed.

“We’re gonna be coming in hot, south entry,” Magnus said.

Great, Forbes thought, looking at the fire. Just great. He explained the problem to Magnus and then added the minor note about the second TS40 ripping up Magnus’s shuttle. The lieutenant was about as pissed as Forbes expected him to be. The good news, however, was that the survivors of the four companies could fit on two shuttles.

Suddenly, the TS40 broke left, spinning its guns on the remaining gladias by the tunnel’s entrance.

“Left,” Forbes hollered for the second time, willing his men to adjust their fire. When Magnus asked Forbes to be ready, Forbes said he would be even though he had no idea how he was going to get Magnus’s people through.

Forbes closed the channel and swore at his men, screaming at them to finish off the Sweeper. But they were pinned down, and the vehicle had the upper hand. Plus, more Marines were filing in behind the Sweeper and firing on second platoon. The TS40 was busy mowing down anyone who tried to assault its guns. And although Nelson’s GU90s fired relentlessly at the behemoth, all they did was turn the vehicle’s impenetrable nose armor cherry red.

“Doors closing, sir,” Cyril said. Forbes looked to the south tunnel, which was still consumed with fire, but nothing happened. Then, out of the corner of his eye, Forbes saw the west doors close, shutting out the rest of the Marines who tried following the TS40.

“Wrong doors, kid,” Forbes said. “But I’ll take it.” Still, the Sweeper was wreaking havoc in the hangar. Forbes had to act fast.

Then, he saw it—a window of opportunity. The vehicle was headed toward a new crater in the hangar floor left over from yet another failed attempt to bring the juggernaut down. Forbes reached down and grabbed a LIMKIT4 mine, tucked it under his arm like a space ball, and took off running for the Sweeper.

“What the hell are you doing, Forbes?” Nelson blared over comms. But Forbes’s adrenalin was so high he hardly registered the comment as he sprinted.

The M109s remained focused elsewhere, blasting away, while Forbes dropped to his side and slid into the crater. The Sweeper’s blade crossed over the top of him, sealing him under the Sweeper. The fit was so tight that the vehicle’s exposed belly scraped against his armor. Forbes activated the mine and flipped it over as the humming electromagnet adhered to the TS40’s undercarriage with a loud thunk. Then Forbes punched the trigger key for a four-second delay and hoped it was enough time.

As soon as the Sweeper cleared the crater, Forbes scrambled out of the hole and ran for cover.

Three… Forbes counted in his head. Two…

The blast threw Forbes toward Nelson’s defensive perimeter and into a portable shield wall. He tumbled to the ground and watched as the Sweeper rose three meters off the floor and split in half. It crashed back down, forward treads still clawing at the ground. The front-end drove in tight circles until the unit’s fuel reserves depleted.

“Guess five seconds would have been better,” Forbes said to himself.

The TS40 was no longer a threat, but it had taken a toll on Tausar Company. Most of second platoon and parts of first and third had taken heavy casualties. Even some of Nelson’s men were hit while the M109s tore up the shuttle. Without the Novian armor, Forbes knew things would have been much worse, but the losses were enough that Forbes cursed under his breath as he doled out orders to regroup.

“Captain Forbes, sir?” Cyril said.

“What?” This had better be good news, Forbes thought.

“Bad news. Bad news about the doors.”

“Gah, dammit to hell!” Forbes turned to Nelson and opened the channel for both companies. “Let’s get fire suppression on that blaze; get handhelds from the shuttles if you have to. Then I want tow cables and winches on the wreck. We’re hauling it out of there. We’ve got Granther Company coming down that hallway, and I’ll be damned if a Magnus—any Magnus—finds us with our thumbs up our butts.”

Forbes asked Nelson for men to assist in recovering Taursar’s wounded and then ordered everyone to pull survivors back to the shuttles. With the southern and northern tunnels blocked by wreckage, and the western blast doors sealed, Forbes knew he had a small window to get things in order before Magnus arrived.

“Help me with these two,” Forbes said to two gladias from Hedgebore. They worked to lift a piece of the TS40 off men from second platoon. The victims were severely wounded, but Forbes saw their vitals in his HUD and guessed they’d survive if their suit’s nanobots could keep them alive until they got back to the Spire. “Easy, easy.” Forbes coached the rescuers as they dragged the men to safety.

Next, Forbes found a gladia whose chest and head were covered with a piece of plate metal. He removed it and winced—the gladia’s head was gone, probably due to point-blank M109 fire. Forbes tagged the corpse in his HUD for non-critical retrieval and then moved on to look for more survivors. He helped several gladia to their feet and pointed them in the right direction. “Back to the shuttle,” he said. “Your job’s done. Good fighting.”

When he was done overseeing the casualty retrieval, Forbes looked to the south tunnel. Nelson had successfully put the flames out and was busy securing tow cables. Forbes got him on comms and said, “Just be ready for resistance from the other side.”

“We’re on it, Captain,” Nelson replied. Hedgebore’s CO waved to his engineers, who then activated the winches beneath the operational shuttles. The cables went taut, and the wreckage began to screech as it bit into the corridor’s walls and floor. The winches growled, and Forbes noticed the shuttles start to list to port.

“I want everyone clear,” Forbes said, ordering the gladia away from the cables. “If those things hit you, we’ll be dragging you back in body bags.” The men backed away, looking between the winches and the wrecked TS40.

Finally, the first chunks of the vehicle broke free and got yanked into the middle of the hangar. Forbes noted a few cheers go up among the engineers. But as he looked into the cavity, he noticed several new obstructions blocking the opening.

“Splick,” he said to Nelson. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves a collapsed tunnel.”

“I see it,” Nelson replied. The two commanders moved forward carefully, ready to return fire to anyone gutsy enough to shoot through the debris. But no fire came, and none of Forbes’s sensors indicated life signs. “Whaddya wanna do, Captain?”

“Well, our winches aren’t clearing that out,” Forbes replied. “And we don’t have the tools to cut through.” He looked back to the remaining LIMKIT4s.

“You wanna blow it?”

Forbes shrugged. “I’m not sure what other choices we have.”

“Is that you up there, Forbes?” said a familiar voice.

Forbes peered through the debris and switched to IFF overlay—identify friend or foe. Magnus’s outline and the rest of Granther and Paladia Company’s gladias filled his HUD. He could see the mystics holding a Unity shield further down the hall.

“Dammit, you’re early,” Forbes said.

“Better than fashionably late.”

“I guess. You still have what we came for?”

“Affirmative. You still working on a way to get us through this?”

“We have an idea, but it’s not a good one.”

“Lay it on me.”

“LIMKIT4s.”

Magnus rolled his head around, surveying the damage. “Might work, but might make things worse.”

“Yeah, I know. That’s why I said it isn’t a good one.”

“Copy. Give me a second?”

“Hey, it’s your ass over there. Take all the time you want.”

* * *

“Awen,” Magnus said, asking her to step up. “I need your eyes on this.”

Awen ran forward, leaving Willowood with Piper. “What do we have here?”

“We need a way through, and I was hoping you could, you know…” Magnus made some motions with his hands, hoping she’d interpret it.

“Is that what you think I do?” She mimicked his motions.

“Can you move it?”

Magnus watched Awen’s shoulders rise and fall. “I think we can,” she said, then turned and called up Nídira, Wish, Telwin, and Findermith. Everyone stepped aside as the four mystics joined Awen and Magnus.

“Think you can make us a way through?” Magnus asked.

The mystics conferred before Awen finally said, “Yes, we have a plan. But since we don’t know what else is above this, we’re going to need everyone to move quickly.”

“I don’t think that’s gonna be a problem.”

Awen stepped toward Magnus. “Just… be ready to move.”

“Got it.” He hailed Forbes and Nelson. “Listen, I think you can save those mines. Awen’s got a plan, but I’m gonna need everyone on that side to stand clear and be ready to get people to cover.”

“Understood,” Forbes replied. “We’re ready.”

Magnus stepped aside as the five mystics took positions on either side of the wreckage. They lowered their heads, and everyone in Granther Company went still. At first, Magnus didn’t notice anything happening. Awen and the others just stood there motionless. He was about to say something when the floor groaned.

Magnus took another step back and watched as a piece of charred metal pulled itself from the floor. It slid from a deep hole, acting like a dagger retreating from a wound. Next, the corner of a steel plate began to roll back, peeling away from a small opening like someone had pulled back a curtain. The plate shuddered, letting out an ear-splitting whine. Magnus took another step back. It didn’t matter how many times he saw Awen and her kind do their thing—he was still amazed.

Next, a large support truss that lay diagonally across the corridor started to right itself. Several other pieces of metal tumbled left and right as the truss rose. The sounds of debris catering against one another rattled the hallway. Whatever the mystics were doing, it was working. And Magnus told them so.

“Shut up, Magnus,” Awen said. Magnus pulled his head back, surprised by her curtness. But he knew better than to piss her off, so he just raised his free hand in submission.

Several more critical pieces raised themselves, retracing their invisible paths to the walls or ceiling. Magnus continued to stare in amazement as the way cleared one meter at a time.

Magnus opened a private channel to Willowood. “How’s our rear line holding up?” In the distance, he could see several platoons pouring blaster fire into the massive Unity shield.

“Just fine, Magnus. But you should be more concerned with what Awen’s doing.”

“Well, I am, but… she doesn’t want to talk about it.”

“That’s understandable. It’s extremely complicated and, therefore, extremely taxing. One wrong move and this goes boom. Plus, you’re probably annoying.”

“Yeah. Wait—what?”

“When she gives you the word, we run.”

“Got it. But you think I’m—”

“Shut up and focus!”

Magnus turned back to face the maze of wreckage slowly undoing itself. He could almost see all the way through to the shuttles—it was tight, but even Rohoar and Abimbola could make it through if they squeezed. All that remained was…

Magnus found himself holding his breath. A massive girder lay across the last section. The thing had to weigh several tons, and it looked pinned down by other support structures in the ceiling.

“Not to rush you or anything, Magnus, but it sounds like Marines are trying to blast through the wreckage in the north tunnel,” Forbes said over a private channel.

“Handle it.” Magnus glanced at Awen and could tell her body was trembling. “We’re at a critical point here, and I can’t make the mystics go any faster.”

“Copy that,” Forbes replied.

Suddenly, Awen let out a grunt of frustration, as did a few of the others. The girder lurched upward—not far, but enough to let Magnus know the mystics were moving it. “Come on, Awen,” Magnus whispered in his helmet. “You got this.”

The girder rose several more centimeters. Just when Magnus thought it was high enough for people to pass under, blaster fire ricocheted down the corridor and struck Reimer in the back of the head. The sound must have distracted Awen and the others because the girder dropped down, as did a few other smaller pieces of metal.

“What the hell?” Reimer exclaimed, turning around. His shield had absorbed the blow, leaving him with 47%, but the fact that he’d been hit made everyone look back.

Magnus zoomed in with his bioteknia eyes and noticed small openings forming in the shield wall. “What’s going on back there, Willowood? I thought you told me not to be concerned.”

“Compared to the danger ahead of you, you shouldn’t. But that doesn’t mean Paladia Company is out of the woods.”

“You’re saying they can’t hold it?”

“Not much longer, I’m afraid. The amount of blaster fire they’re resisting is substantial.”

“Roger that.” Magnus opened up a channel that didn’t include each fire team’s mystic. “I need you all to set up a rear guard. If the Unity shield goes down, I’m gonna need you to lay down some suppressive fire so we can get Piper out.”

The teams acknowledged the instruction and maneuvered back to support Paladia Company. Meanwhile, Willowood walked forward, cradling Piper.

“She needs you,” the old woman said.

Magnus looked at her. “Who does?”

“Awen, she needs you.”

“Yeah, I’m not saying a thing.”

“Not over comms.” Willowood nodded to Magnus’s chest. “Say it to yourself. She’ll feel it.”

Magnus hesitated, then looked back at Awen. The beam vibrated again, but it wasn’t going back up.

“She can’t do this without you, Magnus,” Willowood said. “Go on.”

Magnus swallowed, then switched off comms. “Hey, uh. Listen. I’m guessing you can hear me, maybe? Anyway, just wanted you to know that you’re doing great there.” The girder slumped back down. Magnus swore. He sounded so stupid to himself. It was like talking to hard vacuum, hoping the cosmos was listening or something. It felt weird. But if Awen really could hear him, Magnus supposed he’d better suck it up and say something that counted. “Awen, I—I want you to know that I believe in you. Like, more than anyone in the galaxy, crazy as it sounds, I know. But you have more heart than anyone I’ve ever met, and you can do things that… well, that pretty much freak me out. But that’s what I love about you. And if there was ever a person who could save us now, who could save Piper, it’s you. You and me against the whole damn galaxy, girl. I got your back.”

If his words were supposed to do something magical, they sure as hell didn’t. He waited and watched, but nothing new happened. He turned toward Willowood. “So much for—”

Magnus was cut off by the sound of metal grinding against metal. He spun to see the girder rise off the ground, centimeter by centimeter. The walls spasmed as the giant beam sent a shudder down the corridor. Bits and pieces of debris clattered down through the jumbled mess, but the steel beast continued to rise toward the ceiling. As it went even higher than it had before, Magnus leaned over and saw straight through to Forbes, who waved at him.

Another few seconds and the beam was a meter and a half off the ground and holding. Magnus looked at Awen and saw her body shaking. “Let’s do this, people,” Magnus exclaimed and started pushing Willowood forward. The old mystic ducked and made her way through the gauntlet of floating debris, Piper secure in her arms. Next came a few of Paladia Company’s older members, but most stayed behind to keep the failing wall from giving out completely.

Magnus started ordering the fire teams through, beginning with the larger members. Rohoar patted Magnus as he passed. “Do not stay too long.”

“I don’t plan on it, big guy,” Magnus replied. “See you on the other side.”

Abimbola got down on his hands and knees. “I do not want to have to come back here to collect your helmet, buckethead.”

“You won’t have to if it’s shoved up your ass. Now get going!”

Magnus continued to wave the gladias forward until only Awen, her four counterparts, and the remaining cadres of Paladia Company were left. Sion approached Magnus. “You need to lead her through. We’ll help sustain their efforts as they move. The rest of us will hold the wall.”

“But you’re coming with us, right?”

The man hesitated for a fraction of a second. “Of course.”

“Okay, ’cause no else is getting left behind today.”

“Absolutely. Now, go.” Sion pushed Magnus forward.

He placed his hand against Awen’s back and gently—ever so gently—coaxed her forward. “Come on, Awen. Time to move.” Her body quivered at his touch, but he applied more pressure until she took a step forward. “The rest of you too, come on.” Magnus stepped in front of Awen and began leading her through the small corridor she’d created. He slung his blaster and held her hands, guiding her around protrusions and craters in the floor. The other four mystics followed, their focus never straying from their work. Which, Magnus realized, was a good thing because they were all deep in the small tunnel—one missed step, one tiny distraction, and they’d all be buried alive. At least Piper would make it out alive, Magnus thought.

Further back, more mystics followed the single-file line, while five or six held the wall. Magnus looked up to see the massive beam that had caused so much trouble moments ago—he was nearly through. “Almost there,” he said to Awen, but she didn’t reply. Instead, her body shook like she’d plunged in a bath of ice water. “Just a few more steps.”

Magnus looked back and saw more blaster rounds penetrate the Unity shield. They bounced off the wreckage and struck one mystic in the chest. He collapsed in a heap.

Magnus felt the wreckage lurch. He was about to heave Awen away, but everything held. When Magnus felt hands on his sides, he let them guide him clear of the threshold and then slowly pulled Awen with him. The other four mystics followed, but then stopped, apparently choosing to stand near the blast door’s opening. Magnus continued to hold Awen’s hands as more mystics funneled out of the narrow shaft. Then they ran their last few steps and sprinted clear.

“Is everyone out?” Sion asked Magnus over VNET.

Magnus double-checked his roster and then saw the four remaining mystics’ outlines. They still held the shield, but now they advanced toward the enemy—putting distance between themselves and the wreckage. “Okay, you’re good to go,” Magnus said. “Everyone’s clear.”

“It’s been a pleasure serving you, Magnus,” Sion said. “May your cause outlive our lives.”

Magnus squinted in confusion. “What the hell?” In the next moment, all four mystics went nova.

35

The explosion was so violent that Magnus nearly fell off his feet. The deck thundered, shaking the Labyrinth’s port side. New alarms went off, and an automated voice alerted the crew to a hull breach several sections aft. Whatever catastrophic suicide event the four mystics created, they directed it down the corridor’s far end and spared the retreating gladia.

“Thank you, brothers,” Awen said, her voice tired and barely audible. Then she collapsed.

“Whoa, easy there.” Magnus caught her beneath the armpits. He hadn’t even noticed that she and Granther’s other mystics had released the wreckage—he’d been too busy thinking they were all going to die from the massive explosion. “I need some help here!” In seconds, the fire teams raced over to help carry the exhausted mystics back to the shuttles. “I want them secured. And get those two shuttles fired up and ready for evac.”

“One shuttle,” Forbes corrected, running toward Magnus.

“Come again?”

“The second shuttle is too badly damaged to use.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me right now.” Magnus turned in a circle, surveying the hangar bay, and called up Cyril. “We need another evac plan, kid.”

“Evac plan. Okay, okay, okay. And I confirm what Captain Forbes said. The second shuttle is in no shape to fly. No way, no how.”

“So whaddya got?”

There was a long pause filled only with the sound of Cyril’s nasally breathing.

“Cyril?”

“Got it, sir. There appears to be a Paragon shuttle in the next bay, directly forward of your current position. I’m pretty sure Azelon and I can hack it through the node.”

“I need more than pretty sure, kid,” Magnus said.

“I’m super sure. I mean, I’ve never done it, but the principle is easy enough, so I’m sure I can do it once you—”

“Then how do we get to it?”

“Through there,” Forbes said, pointing toward the south corridor. It was piled with wreckage, and sensor data showed plenty of life signs between the gaps—Marines.

“We don’t have time for this,” Magnus said. “I need options.”

“There is another way to access the hangar, sir,” Cyril said.

As if reading the code slicer’s thoughts, Forbes turned and looked toward the blue environmental containment force field that shimmered against the void. “He’s right, Magnus.”

“You want me doing a spacewalk?” Magnus asked.

“That’s an affirmative confirmation, sir,” Cyril replied. “It’s just like a holo game. Your suit’s maglock capability works for more than just weapons, you know.”

Magnus was about to react to the code slicer when Dutch stopped him. “I can do it, LT,” she said as she walked up to him. “My last pre-deployment workup included a section on exterior ship maintenance and repair.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Magnus replied and started walking toward the force field.

“But sir—”

“Negative, Dutch. Forbes, I want that shuttle filled, triage priority assessment in effect. And you’re taking Piper. If anything happens to us, you make damn sure she gets back to the Spire.”

“You got it.”

“Granther Company, you’re last out, along with anyone else who can’t fit aboard Forbes’ party barge. Except you, Willowood. You’re going with your granddaughter and Awen.” Willowood faced Magnus but had the good sense not to argue with him. Smart lady. Her cadres would be fine without her—it was Piper who needed her most. “Colonel, you listening?”

“Like a teenage boy to a hooker’s call line,” Caldwell replied.

Magnus smiled. “How close is our air support?”

“Two minutes. But I’ll have you talk to TO-96 directly.”

“I’m right here, sir,” the bot said, his avatar appearing in the lower left of Magnus’s HUD. “Hello, Magnus.”

“Update me.”

“Very good, sir. All three squadrons are en route now. They’ve successfully eliminated the enemy Talons and are leading the surviving starships back toward the fleet. Since fleet command thinks they’re in for an assault, the last thing they’ll expect is an immediate about-face, all but ensuring your getaway. Azelon will be ready to adversely affect their sensors in order to mask your retreat trajectory.”

“Okay, but there are two ships now, not three. And we’re gonna have different timelines.”

“I see. What will the offset be?”

“That depends on Cyril and me. The important thing is that you get the first shuttle back. Make it your highest priority. It’s got Piper on it.”

“Understood, sir.”

“We’ll keep you posted on the second ship. Magnus out.”

* * *

Magnus reached the edge of the hangar bay and stared at the force field for a moment. Working in hard vacuum wasn’t anything new to Magnus, but it did require extra concentration—one wrong move, and you were on a one-way sightseeing trip of deep space. Plus, he’d never worked in this kit before. Granted, if there was one good thing about Azelon’s manufacturing, it was that it was far superior to anything the Repub did. In the end, however, an operator got used to what an operator got used to, so new tech was awkward tech, even if it was better tech.

“Initiating mag system now,” Magnus said to Cyril, directing power to his boots and—just in case he needed it—his gloves. “Just like the holo games,” he mumbled to himself.

“Sounds good, sir. I’m right here, so if you need anything, I’m here for you.”

“Thanks.”

“You know, it’s kind of funny if you think about it—Magnus initiating his mag system?”

“Cyril! Stay focused.”

“Focused. Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

Weird kid, Magnus thought not for the first time. Smart. But weird.

Magnus walked into the force field’s plane then stepped to the edge. He extended his foot into hard vacuum and saw his suit’s systems adjust for the pressure discrepancy. The next bit was always the tricky part. Magnus committed, lunging forward as if the hangar bay’s floor extended out, ready to catch his leading foot. Instead, his body fell forward, pulling his rear foot off the deck. In the same instant, he flipped down and reoriented along the Labyrinth’s port side. His boots adhered to the metal, making the hull his new ground floor.

“I’m out,” Magnus said to Cyril.

“Good, good, good. Now—turn ninety degrees to your left and proceed forward one hundred forty-three meters. The faster, the better. Yep, slow is smooth and faster is better.”

“Got it.” Magnus eyed the varied landscape and chuckled. “You do know what the hull of a Super Dreadnaught looks like, don’t you?”

“No, sir. Can’t say that I’ve ever seen one up close, sir.”

The one hundred forty-three meters that Magnus had to navigate was littered with obstructions—boxy maintenance compartments, sensor panels, shielded conduit runs, and any number of structural trusses. What looked like a flat surface from five klicks away was actually a highly intricate maze of mechanical engineering oddities.

Magnus clomped his way around an access hatch, then ducked under a support beam. He covered the next ten meters reasonably fast but had to use his gloves to hurdle two broad sections of truss. From there, Magnus moved around some communication dishes and then stepped through several maintenance panels aligned in a grid pattern. The progress was slow going, but he could see the waypoint indicator draw nearer with every step.

“So, talk me through the next part,” Magnus said. “How am I gonna fly this bird?”

“It’s a Heavy Armored Transport shuttle, hull designation HAT-NU-441.”

“I don’t care what it’s called, kid. I want to know how to fly it.”

“Oh, right, right. Well, fortunately, I’ll have access to its flight systems once you start it up.”

“Which means you can fly it for me?”

Cyril let out a nervous laugh. “No, sir. I’m not sure you’d want me doing that, sir.”

“And you think I can do any better?” Magnus carefully climbed over a series of thick conduit runs.

“Um, well, not exactly, sir. Even though nerds do rule the cosmos—ha ha.”

“Copy that. So, I start it up. Then who’s gonna fly it?”

“I will, sir,” said TO-96, his voice fresh in Magnus’s ears.

“That suits me just fine, bot.”

“I’m happy to hear that, sir. However, I must insist that you hurry. Fang Company is closing on your position.”

“And we are about to have several unwelcome guests,” Abimbola said over VNET. “The south tunnel is about to reopen.”

“Can’t you close that one, Cyril?” Magnus asked.

“I did, I already did. Something must’ve jammed the actuators.”

“Probably from the explosion,” Forbes said. “We’re just about good to go here, Magnus.”

“Get out of there, Forbes.”

“Magnus, I must ask you to reconsider the order,” TO-96 said. “Spreading out your evacuation will pose an unnecessary risk to the mission.”

“And keeping that shuttle full of our people on the deck poses an even greater risk. They’re the priority, ’Six. Nothing else matters.”

“I understand, sir. But just to be clear, I’m not sure the Fangs can cover two different waves of—”

“Dammit, ’Six! Cover the shuttle, and we’ll figure out a way to get the second one home. We don’t have time to wait around.” As if to punctuate his point, the three Fang squadrons appeared to Magnus’s left, doing a low pass over the Labyrinth’s top deck. They strafed the ship, firing silent blaster rounds through the void, while the Super Dreadnaught returned fire. But the Fangs were far too fast and vanished from sight before the starship’s auto turrets could put any round on target. The entire episode happened in the blink of an eye, and not a sound was made.

“You ready for us, Magnus?” Ricio asked over a channel dedicated to air support.

“Yes, sir.”

TO-96 piped up. “On the contrary—”

“Can it, bot,” Magnus ordered. “Ricio, I want you and ’Six conversing with Captain Forbes. He will be your primary POC moving forward.”

“Copy that,” Ricio replied. “You bowing out early?”

“Just delayed, that’s all. But you get the lead ship to safety, no matter what. That’s an order.”

“Coming from a Lieutenant, I’m not sure how I feel about that.”

“Stand down, Ricio,” Caldwell interjected. “It’s the right call. Piper is the mission, and she’s on the lead shuttle. Patching Forbes through now.”

Instantly, the sounds of close blaster fire filled the comm. “Get this ramp up,” Forbes yelled.

“Captain, this is Caldwell. Are you ready to launch?”

“Yes, sir!” Forbes sounded like he was running. “Pilot, get us the hell out of here.”

“Sounds like they’re coming out hot, jockey,” Magnus said to Ricio. “Get yourself looking pretty.”

“On it,” Ricio said. “Squadrons, prepare to cover port-side evac, shuttle launch imminent.”

“Happy flying,” Magnus said. No sooner had he said the words than the Novian shuttle emerged from the hangar bay and moved into open space. Repulsors shut off, and ion thrusters went to full-burn. The bright light glared against Magnus’s visor as the ship silently sailed away from the Labyrinth.

Magnus was about to take another step when a massive explosion shook the hull about twenty yards to his right. An auto turret had been deployed—but not for long. One of Fang Company’s starfighters had apparently seen it and sent blaster rounds to take it out before the weapon had a chance to fire on the shuttle.

Magnus was about to spit out a warning to the pilots when he caught movement to the left. Twenty yards in the opposite direction, another auto turret popped from the hull. Magnus swung his NOV1 up and fired as soon as his finger could get on the trigger. He held the weapon wide open, pouring blaster rounds on the metal housing that protected the barrels. The enemy weapon system rotated, tracking the shuttle, but Magnus didn’t let up. His lead mag went dry, and the NOV1 switched effortlessly to the second. Just when Magnus thought the auto turret would fire, his blaster bolts pierced the armor plating, and the gun exploded in a spray of loose energy and orange sparks.

“Thanks for the help,” Nolan said to Magnus.

“My pleasure. And, hey, try not to shoot me? I’m walking here.”

“Roger that.”

Magnus mag locked his blaster on his back, then reoriented himself to the upcoming waypoint. He had less than thirty meters to go, and no time to waste. Magnus picked up his pace, racing around obstructions as a spacetrack star might do, but in slow motion. Then he looked over his shoulder. Forbes’s shuttle was heading away from the fleet, covered by all forty-two Fangs. “Safe travels, little one,” Magnus said, touching a finger to his helmet and then pointing in Piper’s direction.

* * *

“Alright, guys,” Magnus said to TO-96 and Cyril. “Talk me through this.” He’d stepped into the hangar bay and snuck onto the HAT without anyone noticing—a good start, he thought. But an unsanctioned shuttle launch during a firefight was sure to draw unwanted attention. He saw Marines run across the bay for the corridor leading aft, heading to reinforce the attack on Granther and Paladia Companies. “All I see are a bunch of consoles filled with buttons and a few dozen holo screens.”

“Good, good, good! Now, have you ever seen the holo vid The Unity Arises?”

“Cyril—”

“Because in it, there’s this great scene where a guy steals a shuttle, and it’s almost exactly like this scenario, but the thing is, that holo vid is not realistic, so do not do what the guy did. I repeat, do not—”

“Cyril, for splick’s sake!”

“Oh—ha, ha. Yeah. Sorry, sir. First, I need you to turn on the shuttle’s power supply and disconnect from the host circuits. There should be a large red toggle switch under a cover on the…” Cyril seemed to be consulting a schematic. Or he was dozing off, Magnus couldn’t decide which. “Right side. It’s on the cockpit’s right side.”

“I see it,” Magnus said, reaching over to flip the cover and throw the switch.

“Right next to it you see another toggle marked—”

“External Power Shutoff,” Magnus said.

“Exactly! That’s an affirmative ten ten. Now, kill it!”

Magnus threw that switch as well. Next, Cyril walked Magnus through a dozen instructions to get the ship up and running. Finally, TO-96’s cheery voice said, “I have control.”

“As in, you’re good to fly this bird?” Magnus asked.

“Affirmative. I believe the expression is, hold my alcoholic beverage.”

“Now you’re just gettin’ cocky.” Magnus took a seat and grabbed the harness straps. But before he could buckle in, the ship lurched, and Magnus was thrown sideways. A second later and the ship struck something, tossing Magnus the other way. He stayed off the floor thanks to his iron grip around the straps. “Easy there, pal. What’s going on?”

“I am readjusting my parameters to compensate for the input declination values for this make and model. My apologies.”

“Yeah, ’cause that made so much sense. You good now?”

“I am good now, yes.”

Suddenly, the shuttle eased back under repulsor power and headed toward the environmental force field. TO-96’s jarring lift-off had gotten several Marines’ attention, however, and a small group stopped to observe the shuttle leaving the hangar. A few pointed then looked to a control window about halfway up the far wall.

A commanding voice broke over the ship’s audio system. “HAT-NU-441, you are not cleared for takeoff. Stand down immediately. I repeat, you are not cleared for—”

“Yeah, tower?” Magnus said, finding the comm holo and pressing the transmit button. “This is HAT-PISS-OFF. We’re not thrilled with service here, so we’ve decided to take our business elsewhere. Also, we will be leaving a bad review with your superiors, and last we knew, they take reviews pretty seriously.”

“Who is this? What’s your identification—”

The channel went silent. Magnus looked at the screen, trying to figure out what had happened.

“He was getting on my nerves,” TO-96 said.

Magnus laughed. “You and me both, buddy.”

TO-96 cleared the hangar, then sideslipped the ship to port, not even bothering to spin it. Magnus watched as they traversed in seconds what had taken him several seconds of maze running, then slowed as they neared the next hangar bay. Inside, the remaining gladia fought with Paragon Marines who were stacked up in the north tunnel.

“We’re coming in,” Magnus said over VNET. “Stand clear, and give us some shielding if you can afford it.”

“Bring it in,” Abimbola said. “We have mystics ready to supplement your shields.”

“Thanks, Bimby.”

TO-96 applied forward thrust, and the HAT moved through the force field. Several Marines seemed surprised to see the shuttle appear. But the hesitation cost a few of them their lives as NOV1 fire drilled into their armor and sent them sprawling.

Magnus ran for the aft cargo hold and punched the ramp open just as TO-96 brought the ship down. The repulsor’s engines were still whining, however, as the bot rightly assumed this would be a quick stop.

“Everyone in,” Magnus said, waving to the first gladias he saw. “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go.” The members of Delta and Echo Teams charged up the ramp, followed by most of Paladia Company’s remaining cadres. “Come on, Bimby. Where you at?”

Magnus spun around to find the rest of Granther Company’s outlines. While he faced the ship’s interior, his sensors overlaid the gladias shapes in his HUD. They were just off the ship’s nose, hidden behind some cargo crates and MB17s. Magnus ran down the ramp, keeping his head toward his fire teams, and saw them pinned down under heavy fire. Since two layers of shielding protected the shuttle, the enemy decided to let the remaining intruders have it.

“It is no good, buckethead,” Abimbola said. “We cannot cross to you.”

“Like hell you can’t.” Magnus looked over and saw two GU90s on tripods. He stepped off the ramp, ignored TO-96’s warning to get back with the ship, and lifted the weapons off their stands. His suit’s servo assist system wound up, sucking power from his primary batteries in order to support the massive guns. Magnus turned and, with the help of his bioteknia eyes, selected a group of thirty Paragon Marines who seemed to be giving his fire teams the hardest time. Magnus squeezed both triggers and leaned into the kickback.

The GU90s roared, sending torrents of blaster fire zipping across the hangar bay and into enemy lines. The rounds pierced the unshielded Repub armor, boring large-diameter holes straight through hapless victims. Magnus chewed through the ranks, taking out two and three troopers at a time, mowing them down like toy soldiers on a child’s sandbox ledge.

Several Marines noticed the assault and tried to take cover, while others tried alerting those who’d not yet seen the imposing threat. But none of them were fast enough to escape Magnus’s barrage of gunfire. He continued to squeeze the two triggers, his chest and legs absorbing the weapon’s violent recoil.

“Run, dammit,” Magnus hollered over the demon-like sound of the twin guns. His HUD tracked friendly movement as the remaining Granthers headed for the shuttle. But the enemy was regrouping as well. More reinforcements crept out of the tunnel and took cover before Magnus could drill their bodies with blaster fire.

Suddenly, an enemy round struck the GU90 in Magnus’s left hand. The weapon kicked back and struck Magnus across the chest. A sharp pain exploded in his elbow, and he was forced to drop the gun.

“Time to leave, sir,” TO-96 said. “Please step on board.”

Magnus continued to fire with his right weapon, stepped onto the platform, and grabbed ahold of the ramp stanchion with his left hand. His left arm throbbed, but he managed to hold on as TO-96 powered up the repulsors.

The ship rose off the deck, while Magnus continued to fire. He leaned out and sprayed the Marines filing into the hangar. Finally, the GU90 went dry. Magnus double checked the mag display. When he confirmed it was at 0, he tossed the weapon down and pulled himself up the ramp.

“How about a parting gift,” Magnus said to TO-96.

“Did you have something in mind?”

“Just make it go boom.”

“Very good, sir.”

The ramp door closed just as the shuttle’s tail slipped through the force field. Magnus raced back through the shuttle, telling everyone to secure themselves, and then arrived in the cockpit. The HAT’s nose was the only thing left inside the Labyrinth, and it took the brunt of the enemy’s fire. Countless bolts lit up both mystic- and drive-core-powered shields alike, producing an electrical display that would have dropped an unprotected ship in a heartbeat.

“Now, ’Six,” Magnus ordered. “Fire.”

Six torpedoes shot from the bay directly under the cockpit, covering the windshield with smoke. At the same time, TO-96 applied full power and backed the ship clear of the hangar bay. The bay filled with fire as the torpedoes impacted the far wall. While the environmental force field managed to keep most of the energy contained, some of it blew back on the shuttle and forced it away from the Labyrinth with a jolt. The rest of the explosion’s energy blew sideways into neighboring sections, and vertically into adjacent decks. Fire broke through expanding seams, causing plates to blow apart and compartments to explode. Additional ruptures appeared further along the hull until, finally, the pressure found relief when the force field went down.

The vacuum extinguished the primary fires as swaths of bodies and debris ejected into the void. Magnus marveled at the gaping hole TO-96’s assault had made. “That was a big boom.”

“Am I detecting that you think it was too much, sir?” TO-96 asked.

Magnus glanced at the bot’s avatar. “Hey, ’Six?”

“Yes, sir?”

“There’s no such thing as too big a boom.”

“Understood. Thank you. Though we are not out of the old-growth deciduous and conifer wilderness country yet, sir.”

“The hell?” But any interest Magnus had in interpreting the bot’s wordplay was diverted the moment Caldwell’s voice came over comms.

“Sweet mother of Vesper’s twin bitches. Looks like they’re coming about, Magnus.” And by they, Caldwell meant the half dozen warships that had changed direction and set Magnus’s shuttle as a target.

“That is precisely what I meant,” TO-96 replied. “The threat assessment is—”

“Very high, I got it.”

“Yes. You must have really pissed Moldark off.”

“I don’t need a damn dialogue about it, ’Six! I need ideas.”

“We can keep some of them busy,” Ricio said. “But it’s not gonna do you much good. Not with that much firepower, I’m afraid.”

“Anyone else?” Magnus waited for someone to chime in on comms, but no one said a thing. “Ah, splick.”

“I believe I have a solution,” Rohoar said from the cockpit’s entryway. Magnus turned to see the Jujari fill the entire space. “Or, rather, I know of a solution about to transpire.”

“You’re gonna have to explain that one to me, furball, ’cause I’m done trying to figure out everyone’s hidden meanings today. You got something or not?”

Rohoar shook his head. “No. But my son does.”

36

“I have visual on Hotel Two,” Ricio said over VNET.

Ezo pulled up the new ident tag that appeared on the Labyrinth’s starboard side. Sure enough, Magnus’s hijacked shuttle emerged from the hangar bay just as a massive explosion ruptured several decks on the Super Dreadnaught.

“Guy sure knows how to leave his mark,” Ricio added.

“You have no idea,” Ezo replied. Magnus’s ship was taking heavy fire from the Labyrinth, which didn’t seem too keen on letting the shuttle go. “Ezo’s gonna lend him a hand.”

“But, sir,” Nolan said. “There’s no way you’re going to—”

“You let Ezo worry about what he can and can’t do, Nolan,” Ezo said. “You and Ricio get Piper back to the Spire. Let Ezo worry about this one.”

“You sure you want this?” Ricio asked. “Those starships are gonna be a handful.”

Ezo chuckled. “That’s what they said about Ezo’s wife, and look how that turned out.”

“But, sir, you filed for—” said TO-96.

“Not now, ’Six.” Ezo switched to his squadron channel. “Blue Squadron, this is Blue Leader. Proceed to escort on Hotel Two. Let’s keep the heat off them.” Green icons rippled down his chat window as all thirteen Fangs confirmed his orders.

“Happy hunting, Ezo,” Ricio said. “We’ll see you back at the ship.”

* * *

Blue Squadron raced toward the Labyrinth at attack speed, monitoring both Magnus’s newly commandeered Heavy Armored Transport and all the warships that had taken an interest in the fleeing shuttle. Several of the Destroyers attempted to lock onto the ship, but TO-96 and Cyril were busy messing with the enemy’s targeting systems. It was working—for now.

“Listen up, people,” Ezo said. “We’re gonna do a run along the Labyrinth’s starboard side and take out as many of those auto turrets as we can. Then, Blue Two through Five, see if you can’t piss off that Destroyer, bearing 321 mark 44. Blue Six through Nine, I want you on those two Frigates, inbound from the stern. The rest of you are with Ezo—we’re going after that Battlecruiser that’s poking around where it shouldn’t.” All ships acknowledged his orders and locked in their targets.

Ezo hailed Magnus over VNET. “You’re looking a little naked out there, Magpie.”

“Magpie?”

Ezo could practically hear Magnus’s smile through comms.

“As in the bird?” Magnus asked. “That’s new.”

“You’re flying, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, but—”

“Then Magpie it is. Ezo’s running with it. We’re taking umbrage with these warships bearing down on your tail.”

“We’ll take any fire support you care to give. Thanks, Ezo.”

“Ah, ah. Ezo’s not doing this for free, you know. You’ll owe him after this.”

“And I don’t suppose I can ask for another squadron to help instead?”

“Sorry, Magpie. You’re stuck with Ezo.”

“Why do I have a feeling this is gonna haunt me?”

“Because it absolutely will.” Ezo switched his squadron channel. “All Fangs, weapons hot. Missiles hot.” It was the first time he’d allowed them to use the specialty ordinance, but, considering the stakes, it was time. “Let’s do this.”

* * *

Ezo accelerated and led the squadron toward the Labyrinth’s stern. As the massive engine cones grew, he steered just wide enough to get a good angle of attack on the guns protruding along the starboard side but stayed close enough that the weapons systems wouldn’t get a lock on any of his ships. They were moving too fast anyway.

His Fang’s HUD put target icons around each auto turret and then fed the data to his helmet’s visor, displaying vector data in real-time. As the first pair of turrets appeared, Ezo waited for target lock confirmation and then ordered his Fang to fire. The wingtip blasters made quick work of the emplacements, blowing them off the hull with ease.

The next two guns tried shooting down the Labyrinth’s length, but the target path was too steep. Ezo hugged the ship’s side and lit the turrets up with two single shots from his underbelly cannon. The enemy guns shot fire and shrapnel into space as Ezo flew by.

Then he noticed more guns on the Labyrinth’s belly open fire on Magnus. “Keep the run going, Blue Squadron. Ezo’s peeling off to deal with some turrets down below.”

Ezo rolled off the warship’s side and flipped under the beast, blasters blazing. He slalomed along the Labyrinth’s underside, weaving between auto turret positions and taking them out one at a time. Ezo shouted in celebration as he finished off a six turret kill-streak. He loved Geronimo Nine, but these Fangs were on another level—there was no comparison.

“Thanks for the support, Ezo,” Magnus said. “We feel it.”

“There’s more where that came from. Hold on.”

Ezo emerged from under the Super Dreadnaught and linked back up with Blue Ten though Fourteen. They headed for the Battlecruiser riding Magnus’s tail. The large ship’s forward guns sent heavy blows against the smaller shuttle’s shields and lowered their capacity by the second. Ezo knew if his Fangs didn’t intervene, there wouldn’t be much ship left to protect.

He highlighted the main guns and distributed the target list. As soon as he did, the five other starfighters rolled to attack vectors and bared down on the Battlecruiser’s bow. Then Ezo soared over the top of the gunship and dropped toward the bow—missiles hot.

“Birdies one and six, away,” he said. He watched the two guided missiles streak toward their targets and then pulled clear. The resulting explosions peppered his shield with shrapnel but did no serious damage. The Battlecruiser, however, was left with a bloody nose and two fewer cannons. Then the other Fangs took out the forward missile banks, leaving the warship with gaping holes in its bow.

Ezo reviewed the rest of the company’s progress and noticed the other Fangs had similar results. The Destroyer’s main guns had been silenced, and the two Frigates were out of commission—one’s engines were offline, and the other had lost life support.

“Looking good, Fangs,” Ezo said over the company channel.

“About that,” TO-96 said. “I do not mean to discourage you, sir, but—”

“But, you’re gonna.”

“I’m afraid so.”

“What is it?” Ricio asked.

“Azelon and I are detecting a dramatic shift in ship positions,” TO-96 said. “We’re also picking up multiple transmissions with new orders to pursue the retreating shuttles.”

“How many ships?” Nolan asked.

“That’s just it, sir. It looks like all of Third Fleet.”

Ezo felt his stomach drop. “I’m sorry, pal. It sounded like you said all of Third Fleet.”

“That’s what it sounded like because that’s what I said, sir.”

“Son of a bitch,” Ricio said.

“I can corroborate the bots’ findings,” Caldwell added. “Seems Moldark is hellbent on getting that little girl back or making sure we don’t. He’s throwing twelve Carriers and just as many support vessels into the mix.”

“Not to mention thirteen squadrons,” Ricio said. “Minus the two we already took out.”

“That’s 154 Talons, commander,” TO-96 said.

“How ’bout that,” Ricio said with no attempt to hide his sarcasm.

“We can’t handle those kinds of numbers,” Nolan said.

“We may not have to,” Magnus replied, entering the conversation with some urgency in his voice. “Seems someone else is coming in to help.”

“And who’s that?” Ezo asked.

“My son,” Rohoar said, his avatar popping into view.

* * *

All signs pointed to the Jujari fleet being against the ropes, to use an Antaran boxing term. They had taken heavy blows as the Paragon’s three fleets pummeled their defenses with a steady and unrelenting barrage of blaster fire, starfighter sorties, and missile fusillades. Likewise, the Sypeurlion and Dim-Telok alliance folded days earlier—their ships fleeing the conflict in a desperate attempt to salvage at least some of their warships. The Jujari ships that survived this far had withstood a punishing assault, fending off all but the most violent attacks. It was said that the Jujari would fight to the death before giving ground to anyone who attacked their homeworld and based on everything Ezo has witnessed, the rumors were true.

Ezo had amassed a small fortune trading with the Jujari, and with the inhabitants of the Dregs. Were any of them to survive this conflict, he wondered if Oorajee’s economy would ever return to health, or if everyone would move on to more lucrative systems, leaving the desert planet to return to its roots as a barren wasteland.

For all their violent and backward thinking, fermented drinks, and bloodletting rituals, Ezo liked the Jujari. They were outcasts, improvisers, and survivors, much like him. Granted, he didn’t have the same propensity for violence as they did, but then again, he wasn’t born with claws or razor-sharp incisors either. In the end, he gave the Jujari the benefit of the doubt and always tried to treat them like every other good trade partner—a valuable source of credits so long as you didn’t cheat them and get caught.

But in all the time he’d known the Jujari, Ezo had never seen them doing anything selfless. They were bloodthirsty and brutal, at least in his mind. Spite, vengeance, and retribution were just three words that came to mind when thinking of them. That was, of course, until Ezo heard that Rohoar gave up his throne and took his son’s place as debtor to Magnus.

At first, Ezo hadn’t believed the story. It was until Abimbola—who’d been there to witness it—assured him of its veracity that Ezo believed it. He’d never seen such a sacrificial act take place outside of an adrenaline-crazed bloodbath where one pack member might try saving another. But to take someone else’s place and give up a position of supreme authority? Ezo wondered if such a thing had ever happened in the Jujari’s history.

Rohoar had gone on to perform other selfless acts. In the few months Ezo had known him—depending on which universe’s timetable you measured by—Rohoar had proved to be a valuable and even noble member of the Gladio Umbra. He was, in fact, the closest thing to a true Gladio Umbra as an ancestor of the Novia Minoosh.

But what Ezo witnessed now made all of Rohoar’s acts pale in comparison. Should even one of the Gladio Umbra survive this moment, Ezo felt assured that the story would become history, and the history would become legendary.

As the Paragon’s Third Fleet pressed down on Magnus’s shuttle—such a massive show of force to stop such a tiny ship—hope had been lost that Granther Company would reach the Spire alive. Even Caldwell’s cigar had a hard time not trembling when the colonel spoke about the developing situation. The members of Fang Company darted across as many ships as they could, trying to silence auto turrets, blaster cannons, and missile batteries. But the volume of fire was overwhelming. The only things keeping Magnus’s shuttle from being blasted to atoms were its speed and the additional shielding. But Ezo knew the mystics couldn’t hold out forever. It was only a matter of time before Moldark’s ships overran the transport and then charged after Piper and the Spire.

But hope was not lost.

TO-96 noticed it first—a sudden rush of Jujari ships from behind their defensive line. To the naked eye, nothing seemed to change except the appearance of thrusters firing up. But even that wasn’t unusual; ships jostled for better positions all the time. But as the vessels picked up speed and drove headlong into the Paragon’s Second Fleet, TO-96 spoke up.

“Sirs, please be advised. I’m detecting a fleet surge from the Jujari ships.”

Ricio was first to reply. “Can you be more specific?”

“All of the Jujari ships have broken ranks and are heading into Second Fleet.”

Ezo could see the confusion on Ricio’s face, so he asked a question of his own. “Where are they headed, ’Six?”

The bot didn’t hesitate. “Toward us, sir.”

Ezo pulled up his nav holo and zoomed out, allowing him a top-down view of every vessel this side of Oorajee. Sure enough, every remaining Jujari ship was on the move, heading toward Magnus’s shuttle—and fast.

“They seem to be conducting a full burn,” TO-96 added. “The only greater speed they’re capable of is a subspace jump.”

“They’re coming to help,” Nolan finally said. “But that’s… that’s crazy.”

“No,” Rohoar said, his booming voice overtaking the channel. “That is valor. That is my son.”

“Victorio?” Ezo asked, thinking he’d rightly remembered the mwadim’s heir.

“As it has been spoken,” Rohoar replied. “He has chosen the way for his people.”

“But… how?” Ezo asked.

“They have some sort of pack connection,” Magnus interjected. “Kinda like the Unity but kinda not.”

“It allows our hearts to speak,” Rohoar said. “And my son has heard mine.”

“Fluffy and sentimental,” Ezo said. To himself, he added, “Next thing you know, they’re gonna ask me to pet them.”

“I heard that, Nimprinth.”

“Just jokes, just jokes.” Ezo held his hands up. “So, what’s the play?”

“The play?” Rohoar repeated, looking off-camera, presumably at Magnus.

“He means, what do they intend to do,” Caldwell explained. “Your boy there—what’s his plan with all this?”

Rohoar sniffed, speaking as though it were the most obvious thing in the universe. “He means to make good our escape by any means necessary.”

“But they’re going to put themselves in an indefensible situation,” Nolan said. “They’ll never be able to recover.”

A moment’s silence fell over those on the channel as Nolan’s assessment rang true with everything Ezo knew about tactics. It was a suicide mission. It was Rohoar who broke the silence. “They are not trying to defend themselves. They are trying to defend us. It is the Jujari way.”

“You know, your Jujari ways have always seemed crazy to Ezo,” he said. “But this one? Ezo can get behind this one.”

“Then let’s make it count,” Caldwell said. Ezo saw him pull out a lighter and suck the flame through the tip of his tobacco. “Magnus, I need you encouraging those mystics with you to put up everything they’ve got. Tell ’em they can retire after this one if they want, just don’t let up. Ninety-Six, I want you matching your Fangs against optimal targets—no risky business, just sure-fire bets. And, Miss Smarty Pants?”

“Yes, sir?” Azelon replied.

“I’m tired of sitting this one out. Bring us around the planet’s shadow and give me some mysticsdamned sightlines on those ships with some of your biggest guns.”

“I must warn you, sir, that doing so may jeopardize our entire mission.”

“Bot lady, if those two shuttles get taken out, that is the entire mission. It’s game over. And I didn’t sign up to lose.” Back at the squadron commanders, Caldwell said, “You can bet your asses they’ll be launching Talons any minute now. I want you to watch yourselves. You’re superior pilots with all that tech you’re in, but they have numbers, so stay sharp.”

“Copy that,” Ricio said.

“I have the utmost trust in all of you,” Caldwell said. “Now, let’s get that little girl and everyone else home safe. Dominate!”

“Liberate!”

37

The first sign that Moldark’s fleet noticed the surprise attack was when their Talons changed vectors—twice. First, the enemy starfighters launched and headed toward Magnus’s shuttle. Then, without warning, all 154 fighters slowed, turned 180º, and headed back to engage the incoming Jujari vessels. And then, finally, the squadrons were split in two—one half headed toward the Juajri, and the other to the escaping shuttles. While Piper’s ship had a slight head start on Magnus’s, it wouldn’t take Talons long to make up the difference. Taking one down meant taking both down, and Ricio wasn’t going to let that happen.

“Let’s engage those Talons,” Ricio said to Ezo and Nolan. “I think the big boats will have their hands full with the Jujari.”

“Agreed,” Ezo replied. “Plus, Ezo feels like chasing something, don’t you, Nolan?”

“I do,” Nolan replied.

“Really?” Ezo sounded unimpressed. “That’s it?”

“What?”

“That’s all you got, Nolan?” Ezo seemed like he was about to pick a street fight. “Man, you gotta get pumped for stuff like this.”

“I am pumped.”

“Well, Ezo doesn’t think you sound like it.”

“Well, Nolan is,” Nolan said, using Ezo’s third-person pronoun hack. “Nolan is feeling very pumped.”

“Well then, Ezo and Nolan should go blow some splick up!”

“Alright,” Ricio said. “Quit the chatter, you two. Talons inbound. ’Six, assign us some targets, would you?”

“My pleasure, sir. Happy hunting, once again.”

“Copy that.”

Ricio watched his HUD flood with targets in order of priority. Half of 154 was 77, which meant there were plenty of Talons to go around for everyone. He divided the enemies among all of Fang Company, favoring the better pilots with an extra target each. “Contact in ten seconds,” Ricio said. “Let’s torch these sons a’bitches.”

The two swarms of starfighters converged and drove through one another’s ranks at speeds that defied comprehension. Blaster bolts crisscrossed against the planet’s curvature, pulverizing shields and tearing into metal. In the first three seconds, four Fangs were disabled, two of which ended in massive explosions as their drive cores ruptured. The other two spiraled off toward deep space, their pilots screaming in terror.

The Paragon, however, fared much worse. Sixteen Talons met a catastrophic end as blaster fire, and at least two missiles ripped off wings, split hulls, and detonated power systems and ordinance. The explosions popped throughout the converging fleets like firecrackers—fire and sparks one second, atoms and debris trails the next.

Ricio brought his Fang around in a full turn, careful not to crush his body under too many Gs. He saw a pair of Talons break from formation and head straight for Magnus’s shuttle. “Oh, no you don’t.” Rico locked onto both vessels and gave his Fang the command to fire. His fuselage cannons roared, sending out three waves of rounds—one for each ship, and a final pair to finish them off. The first blaster bolts struck their targets with such devastating results that the follow-through rounds swept through debris clouds. The newly super-charged particles let off small lightning bolts as Ricio flew by.

“On your six,” Ezo said over comms.

Ricio flipped around—his Fang still hurtling forward—and lined up on a single Talon that had snuck up on him. “Someone’s been naughty,” he said, then ordered his Fang to hit the enemy fighter. Ricio’s wingtip blasters pummeled the Talon’s shields. The Paragon ship tried to nose up in an effort to escape, but the ship’s exposed belly took several critical hits and ruptured. The explosion flooded Ricio’s cockpit with light. “Suck it!”

“Three more, closing on Hotel Two,” Ezo said.

“I got them,” Nolan said.

Ricio noticed Nolan’s Fang was running dangerously low on ammunition. He must have given the fleet ships a run for their money earlier.

“Stand down, Nolan,” Ricio said. “I’m on it.”

“Negative. I’m closer, and you won’t make it in time.”

The Talons opened fire on Magnus’s shuttle. Blaster rounds exploded against the Unity shielding, but Ricio noticed the shuttle lurch sideways. They’d absorbed a partial hit.

Ricio tried to get a lock on the ships, but Nolan was in the way. “Stand down, Nolan!”

“Negative, this one’s on me. You buy the next round.”

Nolan emptied his energy mags on a single Talon—its shield blinked out, followed by a blinding explosion in the engines. He fired his last remaining missile, which detonated directly over the pilot’s head. The ship’s nose blew off, and the wings cartwheeled into open space. But the third Talon was on the run, and Nolan was out of weapons.

“Nolan,” Ricio roared. But he knew what the pilot was about to do because Ricio would have done the same thing. Nolan must have known there was no way Ricio could have made it in time, and the Talon’s proximity all but ensured a kill shot. “Dammit, Nolan!”

Gold Squadron’s commander lined up on the enemy Talon, punched his jump drive, and then instantly disengaged it. The result was a sub-light jump of no more than a kilometer, but it sent Nolan directly into the Talon. His Fang materialized within the enemy ship, causing an explosion on an atomic level. The shockwave was so staggering that Ricio’s shields dropped by 30%, and he was thrown forward into his harness. Similarly, Magnus’s shuttle got a sudden boost as the radiation buffeted the Unity shields.

Then, as quickly as it had appeared, the light vanished, and the free energy evaporated as though nothing had happened. Nolan was gone.

“Son of a bitch,” Ricio said, rolling back toward the main body of Talons. Nolan had been with Magnus since the beginning of all this, and he was a damn good pilot. He would be missed. And there would be hell to pay when Magnus found out.

* * *

Past the convergence of starfighters, Ricio saw the first warship collision he’d witnessed in over a decade. Modern navigation, sensors arrays, and avoidance systems made the occurrence a rarity. But then again, the Galactic Republic had never gone up against the Juajri before, which made the starship collision even more spectacular. Victorio’s ships were ramming Third Fleet’s Carriers.

Ricio wasn’t the only one to notice either. Every Talon in the fight slowed and turned toward the mayhem, presumably just as shocked as the Gladio Umbra.

“Are you seeing this, colonel?” Ricio asked over VNET.

“Sure am, son. Sure the hell am.”

First, there was the Jujari vessel named A Glorious Day for Liberating the Exiles of Rugar Muda, a Pride-class Juajari Battleship. It had engaged maximum thrusters as it rammed up and into the belly of the Paragon Battleship Emergent Horizon. Had the collision happened in atmosphere, Ricio knew the quake would have been felt and heard for a hundred klicks. And while the entire thing seemed to happen in slow motion, Ricio knew the vessels hurtled toward one another at terrific speeds.

Jujari Pride-class Battleships weighed in at 252,000 tons, with a crew of almost 3,000 sailors. Its nose pierced into the Paragon’s ship, plunging up into the control tower topside. Bolts of free electricity raced along both ships’ hulls around the point of contact, while successive explosions rippled out in all directions. Secondary explosions appeared in the Emmergent’s top deck, blowing off entire sections of the ship. Then the control tower itself bent backward, pried loose by the Glorious Day’s momentum.

While explosions continued to wreak havoc along the ships, it was the mutual loss of propulsion systems that spelled the end for the two vessels. Oorajee’s gravity well reached out and took hold of the Battleships, pulling them slowly at first. Hundreds of tiny escape pods shot free of the dead giants. Ricio was glad to know that at least some of the Jujari’s noble crew would live to fight another day. But before long, the two beasts—locked in a death roll—started spiraling toward the planet’s atmosphere. In another few minutes, they’d punch through the sky in a blaze of fire and then crash into the dunes.

The two Battleships weren’t the only collisions. Three more Jujari ships—a Dreadnaught and two Battlecruisers—also made contact with Paragon ships. Even the Labyrinth came close to being struck, but it managed to escape calamity by rolling aside. The most it got was a grazed hit from the Jujari Battleship Terrified Enemies Hide in Dark Caves Awaiting Dawn that Will Never Come. The Jujari ship rubbed up against the Labyrinth’s hull before anti-ship cannons blew holes in its bridge, disabling it.

“Son of cock wielding dingus in a gunfight,” Caldwell said. “Would you look at that.” Then, just as fast, he added, “Now, get back to handing them their asses, people! This ain’t no perv show!”

With the warships engaged, Ricio immediately noticed all the Paragon’s Talons were redirected to the retreating shuttles. “Well, this isn’t awesome,” he said to TO-96. “You seeing this?”

“I am, sir. It seems the Talons have been given a new directive and are attempting to converge on Magnus’s shuttle.”

“My thoughts exactly.” Ricio moved into position behind a trio of unsuspecting Talons and opened fire. His high-frequency rounds pulverized their lowered rear shields and tore into their fuselages. The fighters tumbled into pieces, and Ricio shot passed the wreckage. Even as quickly as the three fighters went down, there were still almost one hundred to go, and Ricio’s ammo was getting dangerously low.

“I hate to say it”—Ricio but his lip—“but I’m not sure we’re getting Magnus or Piper out of this one.”

“Then I won’t bother giving you the statistical likelihood of your success, sir,” said TO-96.

“Wait, so you’re saying there’s a chance we might succeed?”

TO-96’s head tilted in his avatar window. “My apologies, sir. That was an inaccurate statement. I should have put forth the statistical likelihood of your failure.”

“You’re a real buzz-kill, you know that, bot?”

“I’m unfamiliar with the term. Does it have to do with mathematical proficiency and statistical accuracy?”

“Sure,” Ricio said, resigning himself to his sour mood. He looked down at his ammunition capacity, glanced at this energy reserves, then looked at the photograph of his wife and son. “Take care of yourselves, loves. I’ll be seeing you beyond the void soon enough.” He touched their faces one last time, then picked out his next targets. He was about to send off his last missile when someone screamed over comms.

“She’s back!” Ezo pumped his fists in the air and pointed off-screen. “Ezo’s baby’s back, and—hot damn—can she deliver!”

Ricio reigned in his thoughts and kept his Fang from firing the missile. Instead, he looked into the distance, trying to see what Ezo was pointing at. “Magnify,” Ricio said, prompting his sensor suite to expand and zoom in on a section of space beyond Oorajee’s orbit. “Magnify,” he said again. That was when he saw something… something strange. To Ezo, he said, “That’s… that’s your wife?”

“She’s so hot when she gets pissed,” Ezo replied. “And don’t you go getting any shifty ideas after this.”

“I dunno,” Ricio said, wiping his lower lip with a thumb. “I’m starting to get that tingly feeling all down in my loins if that’s what I think it is.” Ricio accelerated.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Ezo replied. “Hey! Come back here! That’s my woman you’re talking about!”

38

“Seems like your husband’s cooked up quite the splick storm out there,” Chloe said over comms.

Sootriman looked out her ship’s cockpit to see the red-haired magistrate of Klon piloting her craft. Chloe had been the last of Ki Nar Four’s magistrates to sign on to this crazy plan, but Sootriman was glad she’d said yes. Any battle plan without the famed Terror of Tresseldor wouldn’t be the same. “Ezo does have a curious way of pissing people off,” Sootriman said. “But mystics know I love him.”

“You loved me like that once,” Dieddelwolf said from the other side of Sootriman’s ship. She wondered how his long grey beard didn’t get stuck in his controls.

“In your dreams, Wolf,” Chloe said.

“She’d sooner love a mottled dwarf newt,” Magistrate Phineas Barlow added. “Plus, you’re not spry enough, old man.”

“I beg to differ,” said Dieddelwolf. “You haven’t heard what the ladies have said about me recently.”

“And that’s enough of that,” Sootriman said, preventing the old man from going on another one of his long rants about stamina and flexibility. “Contact in two minutes. And by the looks of it, they’re gonna need our help.”

By all accounts, Sootriman led the most diverse fleet in the quadrant. Granted, it wasn’t so much a fleet as it was a ragtag conglomeration of independent ships. But, once in a while, when the need arose, Sootriman managed to rally the Twelve and convince their numbers to fly as one. Today was just such an occasion—her little speech had worked.

No two starships in her fleet were the same. They ranged from Gull- and Lawrence-class heavy freighters to rebuilt Mk. I Talon starfighters purchased at black market auctions. Retrofitted Light Armored Transports flew beside Corvettes that had wandered far from their Republic planets of origin. There was even one Frigate that someone had spent decades resurrecting from the dunes of Rithcosia. The resurrected wreck was rumored to have a drive modulator that made it the fastest ship in the quadrant, thought Sootriman guessed that was more fable than truth—everyone knew her ships were always the fastest in the quadrant.

For her part, Sootriman had chosen to fly her favorite ship—the Radiant Queen. She only took it out on special occasions, and this was, no doubt, the most special event yet. She figured that if this was going to be her last battle, then she wanted to go out in style.

To those looking on the outside, the Queen seemed an appropriate match for Sootriman’s sense of style. It’s gleaming black hull and red accents turned the Wilda-class starfighter into the most glamorous version of the Repub’s oldest attack platform. Three times the size of a Talon, the Wilda-class vessels sported larger missile bays and ammo magazines for blaster cannons. Sootriman kept these features, naturally, but also saw fit to increase the gunships arsenal, shielding, and—most importantly—its engines. She called her revitalized hybrid the RBF-class for Resting Bitch Face—which was precisely how Ezo said she looked when squeezing off rounds into enemy targets.

In all, the twelve magistrates of Ki Nar Four, including Sootriman as their Queen, had managed to pull together 115 ships for the “heroic battle to end all battles,” as TO-96 had recently put it. Even with his propensity for melodrama, Sootriman admitted that the bot wasn’t that far from the truth—especially considering how things looked in the distance.

Sootriman marveled at the conflict unfolding over Oorajee. Not only did it seem like every Talon in Third Fleet had been scrambled, but Jujari ships were ramming Paragon Carriers in what was the most cataclysmic display of hardened combat Sootriman had ever seen. Even the Spire was taking long-range shots at the Paragon ships. And all this over a little girl. Damn straight it is, Sootriman thought. Girls rule the cosmos, and boys just want to blow it up.

“Thirty seconds,” she said. “Attack formation. Choose your targets, and give ’em hell.” Sootriman’s magistrates complied, as did the host of other ships.

“With pleasure,” Chloe said as the sound of her cracking knuckles transmitted over comms. “I seem to recall having a few scores to settle.”

“When don’t you?” Barlow asked.

“Hey, you wanna take this outside?”

“Save it for later,” Sootriman said. “Take all that rage and send it ahead.”

“Piss ant,” Chloe said to Barlow.

“Dorf picker,” he replied.

Then Dieddelwolf chuckled. “Mystics, the sexual tension between you two is—”

“Shut up, Wolf,” the pair said in unison.

“Remember,” Sootriman said. “Nobody touches those two shuttles, but favor the lead one if you can only pick one.”

“We got you, Red Queen,” Barlow said.

“Now, let’s show them just how hard—”

“Wolf,” Chloe cried. “Gross! Stop talking and shoot something!”

Dieddelwolf hunched over his controls. “I thought you’d never ask.”

“Hold on, baby,” Sootriman said to herself. “We’re coming.”

* * *

Ezo watched with pride as his wife lead over a hundred ships into battle. For everything the Paragon ships were to order and continuity, Sootriman’s ships were to chaos and bad taste. Except her’s, he noted. The Radiant Queen was easy to spot, and Ezo made sure to track behind her in case she got into trouble. But with the way she was taking on the enemy, he doubted she’d need any help.

Sootriman banked left and right, firing relentlessly at every Talon she could. She rolled high over exploding debris fields and dove away from incoming missiles as if she owned the skies. In fact, that’s exactly what Ezo realized was happening. For all the Paragon’s numbers, and for all the Novian tech, no one could fly quite like his wife. Okay, so maybe Ricio was a better pilot technically, but Sootriman’s flying style was second to none. Even the ace Repub pilot took note.

“Damn, that’s your wife?” Ricio asked, now for the second time.

“Sure is,” Ezo replied, trying his best to stay on her tail.

A Talon darted in from the left, guns blazing. Blaster bolts tracked Sootriman’s Queen and nearly caught her when Ezo sent his last missile at the enemy ship. The projectile streaked away, bent sharply, and then slammed into the Talon. The resulting explosion washed over Sootriman’s ship, then Ezo flew through it too.

“Thanks, babe,” Sootriman said. “I see you creepin’ back there.”

“Just something about this view,” he replied with a smirk.

“Oh, I’ll give you a view.” The Radiant Queen’s engines flared, and Sootriman accelerated away from Ezo.

“And just where do you think you’re going?”

Sootriman laughed. “If you don’t work for it, where’s the fun?”

Ezo pushed his Fang forward and watched as Sootriman tore into three more Talons, and then rolled away to pursue a fourth. If given enough time, Ezo felt his wife could take down the entire fleet herself if she had too. That was rose-colored thinking, of course, but he liked the fantasies. Plus, Sootriman wasn’t alone—not by a long shot.

To starboard, Ezo recognized Chloe’s black and blue Sypeurlion Jackal-class fighter. It’s distinct vertical stabilizers aft, and smaller horizontal stabilizers on the nose made it excellent for in-atmo dogfighting, while its powerful quad cannon made it a menace in hard vacuum combat. And Chloe knew how to handle it. She unloaded on a Talon that had broken for Magnus’s shuttle. Her cannon shot four simultaneous rounds that blew through the Talon’s shields and then decimated the fuselage. All that was left were the wingtip mounted blasters, which spun into oblivion.

Chloe rolled up and over the explosion, only to circle back and fire on two more attack fighters. The enemy ships were hunting down a Fang whose ammunition had been expended. Chloe’s quad cannon opened up and delivered three bursts of inescapable blaster fire. The enemy ships detonated like fireworks in a celebration day parade, followed by a streak of ion thrust as Chloe shot through.

Ezo looked back at the two shuttles as they grew smaller and smaller against the star-filled galaxy. Fewer and fewer Talons attempted pursuit, and the Carriers had stopped aiming at the tiny ships. To Ezo’s amazement, the enemy was being pushed back—the rebels were winning. The Radiant Queen crossed in front of him again, taking out another Talon. It was like watching a Venetian mawslip hunt quarry—there was no escaping her. Sootriman, his beloved wife, and her gang of outlaws and misfits had saved the day.

“Mystics, you’re beautiful,” Ezo whispered.

“I heard that,” Sootriman said.

“So did I,” TO-96 added. “Thank you.”

* * *

Magnus surprised himself by letting out a deep sigh of relief as the giant warships disappeared around Oorajee’s edge. He’d felt helpless, trapped on the shuttle, and hated every second of it.

First, his crew rode out the barrage of anti-ship fire launched from every Carrier and Battleship in Third Fleet that could get crosshairs on target. Then, when Victorio had helped mitigate that assault, the Talons closed in. Magnus was sure they were finished—there was just no way they could outshoot or outfly the famed Repub fighter platform. But survive they did—no small thanks to Fang Company’s efforts, and to Sootriman who, quite literally, saved their asses with her makeshift fleet of rejects and delinquents. At least that’s how TO-96 had described them to Magnus.

Up ahead, Piper’s shuttle vanished as it docked inside the Spire, hidden within the massive ship’s protective cloak. Again, Magnus felt a wave of relief wash over him. They’d made it. Though, it had been a costly fight.

His mind wandered to Saladin and Nubs, remembering them in their final moments of heroism. Taursar and Hedgebore Companies had also suffered significant losses while holding the hangar bay. The mystics, too, had seen their share of casualties. And then there had been the Fang pilots, several of whom gave their lives in trying to ensure Magnus’s escape—he’d watched one jump into another using his subspace drive. Whoever it was, Magnus would take time to honor when this was over. Maybe he’d even name a ship after the pilot.

More than anything, however, Magnus thought of Piper. The child had been the focus of his every waking moment since… well, since she’d stumbled into Nos Kil’s cell block. Magnus could not stop scolding himself for allowing that to happen. Perhaps now that she was safe, he could let the guilt go—if she was indeed safe. Like all Marines who’d seen combat, Magnus knew that the enemy could cause harm long after the battle was over. So the fact that Piper had been in contact with both So-Elku and Moldark made his stomach tighten into a knot. When she woke up, what would she say? What horrible things might she tell him? And would she carry those happenings into adulthood? Mystics, he hoped not.

But nothing seemed to gnaw at his thoughts more than the two questions he wanted answered more than any others: How had he harmed her? And could she forgive him?

Magnus’s finger wrapped the top of the pilot’s chair as the shuttle approached the Spire. It was Dutch who eventually placed a hand over his nervous fingers in an apparent effort to keep him from annoying the pilot. “Let the man do his job,” she said, nodding at the pilot.

“Right.” Magnus stepped back and then looked at Dutch. “I’m just… ya know.”

“You’re eager to see how Piper’s doing.”

Magnus nodded. “I suppose it’s just—well, she’s been through a lot, and if they’ve done something to her—”

“Magnus,” Dutch said, placing a hand on his chest. “We’ve got her. And whatever she’s suffered, we’ll work her through it, and she’ll be okay.”

“You can’t know that.”

“But I can.”

Magnus half-closed one eye in suspicion. “I don’t think you can be so sure of that.”

“Sure, I can.” Dutch removed her hand and placed it on her hip. “You wanna know how I know?

“I have a feeling you’re gonna tell me whether I want you to or not.”

“Damn straight. I know because we’ve all had to work through our own splick—every last one of us.” She gestured back toward the cargo hold and pointed at his chest. “You especially. We’ve all been through our own versions of hell, and we’ve all found a way forward.”

“Yeah, but she’s just a kid,” Magnus said.

“And you didn’t go through hell as a kid?”

Magnus wasn’t buying Dutch’s argument. “Not like she’s been through.”

“And that’s my whole point.”

A moment of silence passed between them as Magnus tried to wade through her reasoning. “I don’t follow.”

“You haven’t lived her hell, and she hasn’t lived yours. No two people’s are ever the same, so you can’t compare. It’s unfair to you and, more importantly, it’s unfair to her. The most we can ask of one another is to be present while we walk back toward the light.”

Magnus gave her a half smile and shook his head a little. “Damn, Dutch. That was some poetic splick.”

“Just be there for her, LT. She’ll find her way out, and she’ll need friends—just like you did.”

39

Magnus was walking down the shuttle’s ramp door before it even opened a meter. Awen’s head appeared above the lip, helmet off. “She’s awake, Magnus,” Awen said.

“How is she?”

“She’s asking for you.”

Magnus froze. He wanted to say something—to make sure he hadn’t misheard Awen. Then she pointed across the hangar bay to a gurney floating amidst a team of medics.

“They’re taking her to sickbay, but I told them to wait for you.”

Magnus raised his arm over Awen’s head as he bolted toward the cluster of medics. He felt Awen follow behind him. He could also sense the rest of the Gladio Umbra looking on as they emptied from both shuttles. This little girl, this tiny form on a gurney in the hangar bay of an alien starship, was the whole reason they’d risked their lives today. And now, here she was. And with every step Magnus took, he felt his pre-planned words slip from his mind until he approached the floating stretcher with only one word on his lips.

“Piper,” he whispered, placing his hand against the child’s face. She seemed so small, lying there. Her large blue eyes were bloodshot and sleepy, but she was awake and looking into his face.

“Mr. Lieutenant Magnus, sir,” she said with a smile. “You came for me.”

Magnus swallowed the lump in his throat but couldn’t stop the tears from filling his eyes. “Yeah, I did.”

“Just like my dreams.”

“Something like that.” He wiped a tear off her cheek with his thumb. “You okay? You need anything?” His eyes searched her small body for injuries, but she looked alright.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Lieutenant Magnus, sir.”

Magnus balked. “Sorry? Kid, there’s nothing to be—”

“I was wrong. About you.”

“Hey, listen. You just need some—”

Her tiny hand reached up and touched his cheek. “I thought you were bad. That you did bad things, because of what Nos Kil told me about you. And then”—she gulped in a breath as more tears filled her eyes—“I thought you killed my mommy.”

“Mystics, kid. I—”

“But you didn’t,” Piper said, sobbing. “You didn’t. I saw everything. I saw what happened, and you didn’t.” Piper grabbed ahold of his armor and pulled him down. Then she threw her arms around his neck and clung to him like she’d never let go.

Magnus wept so deeply that he hardly recognized this version of himself. But he didn’t care. To hell with everything else. He put his arms around Piper and stood up, holding her tight. He faintly heard the medics trying to stop him, and Awen and Willowood telling the medics to stand down.

“I know you tried to save her. I know it wasn’t your fault.” Her tears streamed down the side of his neck. “And I was so mad at you. That’s why I ran away, and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have.”

Magnus was so overwhelmed he couldn’t put two words together. Instead, he just cried with her, holding her close. But the child wasn’t done.

“I shouldn’t have hurt you,” Piper said. “Or Awen, or my grandmother, or anyone else. And please don’t be mad at me. Please. I’m so sorry.”

“Piper,” Magnus said, not sure he recognized the sound of his own voice until he cleared his throat and said her name a second time. Then he gently pulled her away from his neck until he could see her eye to eye. “I forgive you. You hear me?” He brushed her messy blonde hair out of her face. “I forgive you, and everything’s okay. Everything’s okay, and I’m not mad at you. Not one bit.”

“You’re not?”

“Nuh-uh. I’m just—” Magnus choked. “I’m just happy you’re safe.”

“Me too.” Piper threw herself back into his neck and wept bitterly—her tiny chest heaving as her breathing tried to keep up with her grief. Magnus found himself petting the girl’s hair, trying to soothe her like he’d seen mother’s do. He let her cry for a minute then helped her off his shoulder to look in her eyes.

“I’m sorry too, you know.”

Piper smeared her tears away on both sides of her face. “Why? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Yeah, I did. It was my job to protect you.” He swallowed. “And I failed. I failed big. You should never have been able to find Nos Kil as you did, and I was wrong to bring him on our ship. And when I suspected that he told you things about my past, I should have been brave enough to confront those things with you. Instead, I… I held back. And that wasn’t brave of me.” A new wave of heat pushed more tears down his cheeks. “I wasn’t strong for you the way I needed to be. So I want you to know—I need you to know—that I’m sorry, and it will never happen again. And I ask you to forgive me.”

“Oh, Mr. Lieutenant Magnus, sir”—Piper held his bearded cheeks in both her hands—“I forgive you with all my heart.” Then she leaned in and kissed him on the cheekbone. She whimpered again, squeezing his neck, and he squeezed back.

They held each other there for a minute or two. Finally, as his emotions subsided, Magnus heard other people sniffing around him. He looked up to see the entire host of Gladio Umbra surrounding him and Piper. What Magnus had imagined as a profoundly personal and private moment had been shared with the whole host of gladias. But rather than see the audience as intruders of his otherwise private world, he welcomed them, knowing they were just as much a part of this reconciliation as he was. Without them, he and Piper wouldn’t be talking.

Magnus raised his head and turned slightly, trying to determine where the bulk of everyone stood, but they were truly surrounding him on every side. He swallowed and raised his voice. “I want to say—” He cleared his throat, then wiped his eyes with the back of one wrist. “I want to say thank you to each of you—”

“Me too,” Piper said in a quiet voice, still bound to his neck.

“We both want to thank you, each of you, for bringing Piper home. And to those who gave the ultimate sacrifice—” Again, Magnus found it hard to speak. He wasn’t used to so many damned emotions messing with his head and heart. He looked around at everyone’s faces, searching them for some sense of what he should say next. In their eyes, yes, Magnus saw pain and even the shadows of fear that plagued anyone who saw war. But he also saw hope. And defiance.

Magnus continued to scan their faces, knowing that he had to finish his sentence for them. His eyes suddenly met Colonel Caldwell’s. He also saw Azelon and TO-96. Cyril smiled and then brushed hair out of his face. Even the rest of Drambull and Raptor Companies had filed into the hangar, apparently while he’d been speaking with Piper. The only people missing were the pilots of Fang Company, who he assumed were still covering the retreat.

Suddenly, he felt a hand on his shoulder. Magnus turned to see Awen, her face wet and eyes bloodshot. She nodded slowly at Magnus with a look that implored him to continue. “They need you,” she said. “You’ve got this.”

Magnus smiled a silent thank you to her then found his voice. “We owe them our lives. And everything we do from here on, we do in honor of their gift to us. They will never be forgotten, and their legacy lives on with us. In every contest, in every advance, we stand on their shoulders. And we will make them proud.”

“Dominate,” someone yelled from among the people.

A beat later, it was answered by the masses. “Liberate!”

Then again, “Dominate!”

“Liberate!”

The echo faded in the hangar as Magnus savored the beauty and the pain of the moment. Here he stood amidst the most unlikely group of warriors he’d ever met, all united around a single purpose. Whether or not they would survive the battles ahead, and whether or not they would remain friends when it was all said and done, remained to be seen. But for the moment, they were one, and the feeling of togetherness was as strong as any he’d ever felt before. Perhaps even stronger.

He didn’t know if it was Piper, or if it was the uniqueness of their greater mission, but something invisible had joined them together. The intangible felt like concrete, the invisible more real than eyes could see. Despite their losses, despite the enemy’s strength, they’d won the day. They’d held their own, and they’d done it together.

“Thank you,” Magnus said. “Thank you all.” Then he pulled Piper off his shoulder and smiled. “Nothing between you and me, Piper.”

“Nothing, ever.”

Magnus kissed her on the cheek and laid her back down on the stretcher. He looked to the medics and nodded.

Suddenly, TO-96 looked at Colonel Caldwell and then to Magnus. Azelon, too, looked uneasy, shifting on her feet. Something was off.

“What is it, ’Six,” Magnus said, breaking the silence.

“We—Azelon and I, that is—are detecting a fleet-wide transmission, sir,” TO-96 said.

“From who?” Caldwell asked.

“It seems to be originating from the Black Labyrinth, sir—sent across all channels.”

Magnus looked to Caldwell and Awen, and they looked as uneasy as he felt.

“Would you like to view it?” TO-96 asked, looking to Caldwell.

“On the bridge.” Caldwell looked to the leaders closest to him. “Company Commanders, with me.”

Magnus acknowledged the request with a nod. Forbes, Nelson, Willowood, and the two bots followed Caldwell from the hangar bay as Awen grabbed Magnus’s arm. “Come find me when you’re done,” she whispered.

“I will,” he said, wondering about the sudden urgency in her tone.

“Something’s going on, Magnus. I don’t know what yet, but something’s not right.”

He didn’t want to make her nervous by agreeing too quickly, but he felt the same way. The fact that she thought it too made whatever it was he felt seem even worse. “Got it. I’ll find you as soon as I’m done.”

“Thanks.”

* * *

Once on the bridge, Caldwell nodded to Azelon. A window appeared in front of the main holo screen, and it contained the bust of a man Magnus knew all too well—an obese man with sagging jowls and bushy sideburns. What little of his pale skin wasn’t pink with new flesh was brown with scabs, some of which oozed puss.

“Hello, enemies of the Paragon,” the man said. “I’m sure you need no reminder, but I am Gerald Bosworth III, former ambassador to the Galactic Republic, and now representative of the Paragon of Perfect Rule.”

Magnus’s stomach tightened into a knot. The last time he’d seen this fool was on Oorajee, and nothing in Magnus looked forward to a reunion—even one as distant as this.

“This transmission will, no doubt, be intercepted by the surviving members of the rebel team with whom I’ve had previous dealings. Of particular interest, I would like to recognize their famed Luma emissary, one Awen dau Lothlinium.”

Just hearing the putrid wretch of flesh pronounce Awen’s name made Magnus want to shoot him. Bosworth’s patronizing tone was more than Magnus could take, and he was suddenly glad that Awen was not a company commander and, therefore, not present for this viewing—whatever it meant.

“I’m sure you’re watching this, Awen. And I consider it an honor that you would. Firstly, because it’s you and your elders who I have to thank for ensuring I survived that awful accident in the mwadim’s palace. Had it not been for your oh so magical force fields, I would have suffered far worse a fate than this.” He gestured to his face.

“Secondly, however, I’m delighted to be of service to you. I’m told it’s been a few long years now since you’ve seen your beloved parents. A shame, really. No child should be asked to suffer such a separation, certainly not when their family members are still living. So, I’ve done you a favor.”

Suddenly, Bosworth’s face disappeared and was replaced by an image of two people dressed in lab coats working in a cleanroom. They seemed oblivious to the fact that they were being monitored. It could have been any two lab techs in any laboratory in the galaxy. But something about this couple’s body language seemed off to Magnus. They were hunched over and sullen. Like they were sad. Like they are being held against their will, he realized. But it was worse than that. Like they are working against their will.

“Ah splick,” Magnus said aloud. He didn’t know where this was going, but it wasn’t good. And what was worse—Magnus knew Awen would have to see this eventually, and he dreaded the session. If these two people were her parents—doctors or something, if he remembered right—then Awen was about to have a severe breakdown.

“Not to worry, dear Awen,” Bosworth continued. His face reappeared as the feed from the lab shrank in its own window. “Your parents are doing just fine. I’ve seen to their well-being personally. Although”—Bosworth paused and licked his lips—“it does seem that they—how should I put this?—have come under new management with regard to their professional expertise. You might say your father, in particular, is picking up where his father left off. I should think your friend Abimbola might have a few feelings on this, don’t you?”

Magnus recalled the Miblimbian’s tale about his youth, told while he and Abimbola drove away in Hell’s Basket Case from Selskrit territory. While the implications of Bosworth’s reference as it pertained to Abimbola’s story eluded him, Magnus got a sinking feeling that he should have killed Bosworth when he’d had the chance.

“Anyway, after you have your celebrations about today’s wonderful win, I think it wise that you and your little team of rebels have a chat about what to do next. You see, I’ve grown quite fond of your parents, Awen, and they, as it turns out, have grown incredibly fond of me. So much so that they’re willing to make some weapons for the Paragon, which is exceptionally generous—well, depending on your point of view, of course.

“Now, as it happens, I’m not interested in keeping them locked up here forever. They tell me they’re nearly complete with their…creative genius, as it were, at which time”—he laughed—“I’ll have no more use for them. Of course, you’re welcome to them—by all means. Only, there’s something I’d like in return. Something lord Moldark misses very much.”

“You son of a bitch,” Magnus said as he slammed his fist down on the closest console.

“The girl Piper,” Bosworth said. “Her own ship, unescorted, sent to the following coordinates. You have three days. Or else I’m sad to say that your parents will be—what’s the word?” Bosworth leaned into the camera until his blistered lips filled the screen. “Terminated.”

* * *

Continue reading for IMMINENT FAILURE.

IMMINENT FAILURE

BOOK 6 IN THE RUINS OF THE GALAXY SERIES

1

“I want those fighters back onboard faster than a hooker running into an admiral’s lounge,” Colonel Caldwell ordered.

TO-96 nodded and then opened a channel, and Ricio’s face appeared in a side window overlaying the bridge’s main display. “Commander Ricio, return to the Spire.”

Caldwell gave the bot a stern look.

The bot nodded as if understanding the need to emphasize haste. “Like a morally ambiguous prostitute noticing gainful employment within an executive lounge full of overconfident ship commanders who believe they’re above the law and any preexisting intimate relationships.”

“What?” Rico asked.

“I believe the colonel wants you to hurry, sir.”

Ricio grinned and gave a small chuckle. “Tell him we’re on our way, ’Six.”

TO-96 looked at Caldwell. “They are—”

“I heard the man, Brass Balls,” Caldwell replied, and then looked at Azelon. “We have room for Sootriman’s fighters, Smarty Pants?”

“Only half, sir,” Azelon said. “And it will be very tight.”

“Let her know we’ll ferry as many as we can. The rest are on their own.”

“Right away.”

The colonel watched as more Jujari ships impaled Moldark’s Third Fleet. In all his years in the Corps, in all his days aboard Navy ships, he’d never seen anything like what was unfolding before him. It began when a Pride-class Jujari Battleship named A Glorious Day for Liberating the Exiles of Rugar Muda rammed into the Paragon Battleship Emergent Horizon. The collision took out the enemy ship’s propulsion and, more than likely, its life-support. The force was so strong that even the Emergent’s conning tower tore from the main deck and fell backward.

Seconds later, a Jujari Dreadnaught and two Battlecruisers rammed into Paragon ships, rendering them inoperable. Caldwell watched as hundreds of escape pods jettisoned from the Jujari vessels, but he didn’t need to count them to know that the majority of each ship’s crew had perished in the suicidal attempt to make the Paragon bleed.

The first starship to make an attempt on the Black Labyrinth was a Jujari Battleship called Terrified Enemies Hide in Dark Caves Awaiting Dawn that Will Never Come. The most the battleship did was graze the Labyrinth’s starboard hull. Anti-ship cannons pummeled the Jujari vessel, making it pay dearly for the brash attempt. The guns pulverized its bridge and drilled holes in its hull before the Terrified finally broke off and succumbed to Oorajee’s gravity well.

But the Labyrinth wasn’t free yet. Bearing down on its stern was a Super Dreadnaught equivalent and the last flagship in the Jujari’s fleet. Wherever the Enemy Runs We Will Hunt Down and Slaughter Them in Droves by Order of Maw Snarlick struck the Labyrinth on the port side aft. An entire engine cone was decimated in the collision, reducing the Paragon ship’s thrust capabilities by at least a quarter, Caldwell guessed. The Jujari ship continued to burrow into the Labyrinth, tearing a furrow down the port side. Eventually, two Paragon Frigates that had been ordered to defend Moldark’s Super Dreadnaught sacrificially, shoved the Maw Snarlick away.

Then, the full weight of Third Fleet’s power leveled itself on the Maw Snarlick, blasting it apart in the largest display of ship fire Caldwell had ever seen. Whoever its captain, he or she was courageous, and one who had just purchased the Spire the window it needed to recover its fighters and exit the battle.

“Thank you,” Caldwell whispered to the holo display. Never did he think he’d be thanking Jujari for saving his life. If anything, they had always been the enemy. And he’d killed his fair share of them in some brutal conflicts when he was fresh out of the academy. The truth was, he had hated them. Hated them bitterly. But if his short time in the Gladio Umbra had taught him anything, it was that everything was changing. He’d be damned if he was going to get left behind because he wasn’t willing to change—even if you are a stubborn ass son of a bitch. “May you rest in peace, and may your survivors find safe passage to calm shores.”

“I beg your pardon, sir?” TO-96 asked.

“Not for you, Ballsy,” the colonel replied.

“Ah. Very good, sir.”

Caldwell touched his in-ear comm and thought of Rohoar’s name. His biotech interface identified the recipient and pinged the Jujari.

“Yes, Colonel Caldwell?” Rohoar said.

“I know what your people are doing right now, son. And I know you have some kind of pack connection to them or something. So I was wondering if you could get through, to tell them…” Caldwell struggled to find adequate words, so he settled on the simplest. “Thank you.”

“It is an honor for the Jujari to defend our home,” Rohoar replied. “But also to defend those who risk their lives for us. I will pass your words on.”

“Thank you, son.”

“Also, I am not your son. This is a strange miscalculation on your part.”

Caldwell chuckled. “Duly noted. Caldwell out.”

“Do you have a destination in mind, Colonel?” Azelon said, but Caldwell barely registered the question. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back and watched the battle’s closing moments.

What a strange few months it had been. Witnessing all this, let alone experiencing it at the helm of an alien warship from another universe, felt surreal. Then again, his career had been fairly exceptional. Caldwell figured that people lived their most exciting years in their twenties and thirties. Hell, that’s what he’d done—sow your wild oats and burn the midnight mags away—because no one figured they would live much past forty as a blaster-wielding ground-pounder. He’d been surprised to live past thirty. Yet here he was, at sixty years old, living out the most exhilarating days of his life.

The Jujari fleet had less than a dozen ships remaining, all of which were heading to the far side of Oorajee in retreat. The Sypeurlion and Dim-Telok, likewise, had abandoned their role in the fight, fleeing back to their respective star systems. If Moldark wanted to, he could finish off the Jujari ships and assault the planet. But judging from the massive losses the Paragon’s Third Fleet had taken, and First and Second Fleets’ disarray, Moldark would need to regroup and reassess his priorities—at least, that’s what Caldwell would do.

Then again, whoever Moldark was, he was not the strategist that Kane was rumored to have been. Though impatient and ill-tempered, Kane was at least intelligent and dogmatic, if not ruthless. In contrast, Moldark had shown a brashness that was much less representative of the Republic’s fine command tradition and more reminiscent of a fitful child. No starship commander would have ever let so many Jujari ships come in as close as Moldark did, which made Caldwell wonder about the man’s motives.

The Paragon’s enigmatic leader had been so distracted by Piper’s rescue that he was willing to put his entire fleet in jeopardy against an already-won battle with the Jujari.

“A destination, Colonel?” Azelon asked again.

“He wants the child,” Caldwell said to himself.

“I’m unfamiliar with that location, sir,” Azelon said.

Caldwell ignored the misunderstanding and turned from the holo display. “We need to get Piper out of here. Let’s head back to metaspace as soon as all of Fang Company and Sootriman’s ships are secured.”

“By your command, Colonel,” Azelon said.

“Sir,” TO-96 said. “Incoming call from Lieutenant Magnus for you.”

“On screen,” Caldwell replied.

A video image of Magnus appeared on the main holo. “Colonel, I’ve got something from Piper that’s important.”

“Go ahead.”

“She’s in sickbay here, in and out of consciousness still. But she’s starting to talk about her grandfather.”

“It’s relevant?”

Magnus nodded. “She seems to think so, and so do I. She says she tried to help him open a void horizon quantum tunnel to metaspace.”

“Mystics. Can she do that?”

“Well, I’m not sure. Awen’s not sure either. But in any case, she failed.”

Caldwell let out a sigh. “Well, that’s a relief.”

“It is, but she was successful at helping him with something else.”

“Which was?”

“Convincing all three fleets to turn on Capriana.”

Caldwell balked, then pulled his cigar from his mouth. “Come again?”

“I know—it’s crazy if it’s true. But it seems that Moldark is not only hellbent on crushing the Jujari but taking the fight to the capital too.”

“You think she succeeded? You think he’s headed there next?”

“I do, Colonel. And she seems to think so as well. With the Jujari force all but eliminated, I’ll bet he’s saving any cleanup work for later. The worst part is that Capriana’s not gonna be ready for him, even with all the damage the Paragon has taken.”

Magnus was right. Caldwell looked at Azelon’s enemy force count in the main holo’s sidebar. First Fleet was still the strongest with 74 warships and 11 Talon squadrons totaling 165 starfighters. Second Fleet came next with 50 remaining ships and 75 starfighters. And Third Fleet, which suffered the most losses, held onto 32 ships and only 15 Talons. If all three fleets turned on Capriana, it was game over. Hell, even if a quarter of them did and the planetary defense shield wasn’t up, it was game over.

“We’ve got to warn them,” Caldwell said. He stuffed his cigar back in his mouth. “They’ve got to raise the PDS if they have any hope of protecting the city.”

Magnus took a deep breath and then started nodding. “For what it’s worth, I agree. But it does beg the question—”

“How are we gonna pull that off?”

Magnus smiled. “You said it, not me, sir.”

“Damn.” Caldwell looked down. “My bridges are burned, Magnus. So are yours.”

“Forbes and Nelson’s too,” Magnus replied. “Which means…”

“It means we’re gonna have to do this the old-fashioned way, son. Face to face.”

“We’re going to Prime then?”

Caldwell chewed on his cigar and then spat out a chunk of tobacco. “Son of a bitch.”

“Would you please define the destination Son of a Bitch, Colonel?” Azelon asked.

“It’s Capriana Prime.”

“Understood, sir. A course to Capriana Prime Son of a Bitch is laid in and awaiting your command.”

Caldwell couldn’t help at least a small smile. “How fast can you get us there, Smarty Pants? Faster than Moldark?”

“Given the damage sustained to his propulsion system and our faster speed, I would estimate we have a three-hour head start. Possibly more.”

“It’s not much,” Magnus said. “But it’s something.”

“Agreed.”

“Sir,” TO-96 said to Caldwell. “Sootriman and Ezo are both hailing you. It seems they are taking issue with your order to recall their fighters.”

“Splick. Now what’s this about?” He looked at Magnus. “Stand by, son.” Then Caldwell waved at TO-96. “Put them through, Brassy.”

“Right away, sir,” he replied.

Sootriman and Ezo’s faces appeared in their own hexagonal holo frames, both wearing flight helmets with their HUD visors lowered. “How can I help you?” Caldwell asked.

“Azelon says the Spire only has room for half my ships,” Sootriman said.

“She’s told me the same,” the colonel replied.

“Then that’s a no-go for us, Colonel. It’s all or nothing. Plus, someone’s gotta hang out here and make sure the Paragon doesn’t get any bright ideas about going after those remaining Jujari ships. So far, we don’t think the survivors have been spotted, but I don’t want to take any chances.”

“And you think you can fend the Paragon off?” Caldwell asked, his voice filled with suspicion. He wasn’t trying to be disrespectful of her intentions, but it felt a little far-fetched, even with her Magistrates’ numbers.

Sootriman shrugged. “Maybe not fend them off, but lead them away.”

Caldwell bit the end of his cigar in thought. “I don’t like it, queen. But I ain’t your sugar daddy either. So you’re gonna do what you’re gonna do. You, on the other hand,” Caldwell said to Ezo. “You have orders to—”

“Ezo isn’t leaving his wife,” the Nimprinth said.

Caldwell raised an eyebrow. He supposed he should have expected insubordination from this ragtag bunch of misfits at some point or another. This wasn’t the Corps, after all. He just didn’t expect it at such a pivotal moment. “Need I remind you that you’re a squadron commander in the Gladio Umbra? So, you wanna run that by me again, commander?”

“I’m not leaving her,” Ezo said. Caldwell knew the man meant business based on how he spoke of himself.

“Sir,” TO-96 said, motioning Caldwell aside. “If I may. A word?”

“What is it, Ballsy?”

The bot lowered his volume. “If we are indeed preparing for a ground invasion of Capriana Prime, our airwing may be less necessary than it is right here.”

“You’re saying you agree with Ezo staying to help Sootriman lure the Paragon away?”

“I’m saying our immediate lack of need for the starfighters does provide a certain latitude that, should this course be one she does not show signs of being deterred from, it does not adversely affect us. Additionally, statistically speaking, she has a high probability of success. Therefore, I do not believe it is worth you winning the immediate skirmish only to lose the large scale conflict, as it were.”

“It’s win the fight, lose the war, bot.”

“What is?”

“Never mind.” Caldwell sighed, then turned back to Sootriman. “Fine. But I want you hot on our tails the moment you determine things here are on the up and up, you hear?”

“Yes, Colonel,” Ezo said.

Sootriman, however, was less forthcoming. “Don’t get your panties in a bundle, Colonel. We will get there.”

Caldwell couldn’t shake the sudden feeling that she was going to be more of a handful than anyone had bargained for. “Be careful. Caldwell, out.” When the channel had closed and Magnus’s face reappeared, he said, “Rally Forbes, Nelson, and Willowood, and meet me in the war room.” Caldwell turned to TO-96 and Azelon. “You bots need to be there too.”

“Are we going to kick some ass, sir?” TO-96 asked. “Because I am quite learning to enjoy the kicking of some ass.”

“Yes, bot,” Caldwell replied. “We are most definitely going to be kicking some ass—probably a lot more than we bargained for. The trick is not to get ours kicked in return.”

2

Moldark was on his way. Magnus knew it—hell, they all did. It was only a matter of time before the maniac jumped out of subspace and showed up over Capriana, pounding the planet to dust with all three of his fleets.

But not without a fight, Magnus said to himself. The irony of his determination wasn’t lost on him. Why defend the very capital that betrayed him? If anything, Magnus should wash his hands of the Republic and walk away. But he couldn’t—if not for the Republic’s sake, then for the billions of innocent lives that hung in the balance.

The Spire had beaten Moldark’s fleets to Capriana Prime. Azelon commanded the faster ship, and Moldark’s fleet, as well as the Black Labyrinth, had taken critical damage. With at least some margin secured, no matter how small, Magnus and the other commanders had thrown together the best plan they could, one that sought to ensure Capriana’s protection and Awen’s parents’ rescue. Plus, with Sootriman and Ezo staying behind, they could keep the colonel informed on Moldark’s movements. With a bit of hope and a whole lot of luck, Magnus figured the Gladio Umbra had a good chance of at least accomplishing one of their two goals.

“9.71%, sir,” TO-96 said as Magnus doubled checked Cyril’s maglock bond to Rix’s back. All twenty-five members of Granther Company’s Elites readied themselves in the Spire’s main hangar bay.

“Come again, ’Six?” Magnus asked, looking up from his work.

“I have finished my calculations and estimate that you have a 9.71% chance of accomplishing one of the two ambitious goals you and Colonel Caldwell have set for this operation.”

“Keep your voice down, would you?” Magnus could feel everyone’s eyes bearing down on the back of his head. Magnus turned around with a big smile and then said in a loud voice, “97.1% chance of success? I’ll take those odds, ’Six!”

“But, sir, I just said—”

Magnus got in TO-96’s face and spoke through clenched teeth. “I know what you said, and you know what you said—”

“So do I,” Cyril added.

“Me too,” said Rix.

Magnus winced, then continued correcting the robot. “But that doesn’t mean the whole world needs to know.”

“I wasn’t telling the whole world, sir. I was mere—”

“Six.” Magnus held a finger up. “Don’t make me isolate you from Azelon.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I would.”

TO-96 tilted his head as if considering Magnus’s threat, then turned up his external speaker volume. “Ha ha ha. You got me, Lieutenant. 97.1% it is.”

Magnus rolled his eyes and went back to double checking Cyril’s connection.

“Sir, are you absolutely ten ten certain that you absolutely need me down there, sir?” Cyril asked.

“If I didn’t know better, kid, I’d say you’re trying to get out of this jump,” Magnus replied with a smile.

“Me? No, no, no. I love jumping out of a perfectly good starship into a planet’s atmosphere. I do it all the time, actually.”

Magnus raised an eyebrow. “Bullsplick.”

“Holo games count.”

“No, they don’t.” Magnus tugged the redundant safety harness, and Cyril winced. In case a suit took a lightning strike or was hit by an EMP, good old-fashioned carbon fiber webbing would keep Cyril from flying off into oblivion. Whatever Cyril had in the way of brains, he’d acquired it at the expense of athleticism. And what little athleticism he’d once had was beat out of him by his injuries back on Oorajee. Even with the Novian armor’s flight assist, the kid wasn’t making this jump without going tandem. “There’s nothing to this jump, Cyril. Smooth and simple. Plus, you’re our only code slicer, right?”

“Sure, sure, I am.”

“And there’s no way Zoll’s squad is getting in that lab without a code slicer, correct?”

“Nope, no way, no how. None of his blasters will help with that. I mean, unless you’re killing security guards, then his blasters will be green to go, sir.”

“We need you then.” Magnus patted Cyril on the shoulder and then handed him a helmet. “Remember what we told you, and don’t squirm around on entry. You’ll just piss Rix off and probably burn up.”

Cyril let out a nervous laugh. “I definitely don’t want to burn up.”

“I’d be more worried about pissing off Rix,” Magnus said. Rix gave a low growl over his shoulder.

“Right, right, right. No squirming. Promise.”

“Good, kid. Now relax and enjoy the ride.”

Magnus turned and saw Colonel Caldwell walking across the Spire’s cargo bay. The old man’s eyes were sharp, and his white mustache was forever stained by the cigar clenched between his teeth. He surveyed the Elites of Granther Company’s First Platoon and then nodded to Magnus. “Everything in order?”

“Just about, Colonel. Azelon has our jump vectors?”

“I do, Lieutenant,” Azelon said as her hard-light projection appeared a meter away. Her gleaming white body and blue eyes were a testament to the Novia Minoosh’s tasteful engineering. She nodded once, and a translucent holo window appeared at head level. “Petty Officer Zoll will lead Charlie, Delta, and Echo Teams on the rescue attempt on the lab here.” She pointed to a cluster of buildings toward the southern end of Capriana’s atoll. A small yellow circle appeared around a nondescript facility near the western shore. “While you and Bravo Team will land atop Centennial Tower located adjacent to the Forum Republica’s capital complex.” A second circle appeared around a flat-topped building in a dense cluster of skyscrapers in Capriana’s centrally located capital district. “Everything has been uploaded and sent to your team's biotech interfaces through the Novian Defense Architecture.”

“You’re so efficient it’s sexy,” Magnus replied.

“Strange.”

“I’m just playing with you, bot.”

“No,” Azelon said, waving him off. “TO-96 says the same thing to me.”

Magnus and Caldwell shared an awkward look as TO-96 fidgeted with his hands.

“Alrighty then,” Caldwell said. “The rest of you good to go?”

“I think so,” Awen said, struggling with a hip latch on her new Novian armor.

“Here, let me get that,” Doc Campbell said.

“No, let me,” Magnus replied, stepping forward to help Awen. “I’ve got it.” Magnus secured the connection above her hip and then found his hand lingering as he examined her suit.

“Stay focused, Lieutenant,” Awen said with a pat to his cheek. Then she turned to Caldwell. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous about this jump.”

Caldwell chuckled. “You mean to tell me you can help three companies of gladias escape a Super Dreadnaught, but you’re nervous about an OTA jump in a state-of-the-art flight suit?”

“Maybe it’s because I still don’t know what all your acronyms mean.”

“Orbital to atmosphere jump, miss,” Azelon replied. “Standard Marine protocol for—”

“She knows what we’re doing, Azie,” Magnus replied.

“Of course, sir.”

“Just follow the prompts in your HUD,” Caldwell said. “The suit will practically fly itself, from what Azelon tells me.”

“That is correct, Colonel,” Azelon said. She faced Awen. “Not only will your Novian armor help maintain your flying posture and angle of incidence, but without it, improper entry could result in either skipping off the atmosphere and being incinerated or diving into the atmosphere and being incinerated, depending on your error deflection.”

“Both of those are undesirable,” Awen replied.

“Which is totally, absolutely why I’m not taking any chances me myself,” Cyril said from Rix’s back. “Trusting the big man here to get me where I need to go, on the double.” Cyril tried to pat Rix’s shoulder but had trouble reaching it, so the gesture looked more like a child just batting the air.

Awen smiled, then looked at the colonel. “Are you certain you don’t wish me to help the other teams rescue my parents?”

Abimbola stepped forward, nodding his head. “I, too, wonder why I am not allowed to partake in that exploit.”

“Because it’s too personal,” Caldwell replied. “For both of you. And I can’t have you making emotional decisions if things go sideways.”

Awen raised her chin. “But, sir, I—”

“Awen, listen.” Caldwell held up a hand. “I realize what this op means for you. Hell, if it were my parents, I’d be having the same conversation. So if it’s any consolation, I have the utmost belief in Petty Officer Zoll and the rest of his squad. We are going to get your parents out. And I’ll make sure you are kept in the loop the entire time. Your job, however, is to help get word to CENTCOM. I don’t mean to downplay your parents’ wellbeing, but you’re tasked with the more important of the two missions. So keep your head down, eyes forward, and OTF until the job is done.”

Magnus still winced at the use of the Marine mantra. “That’s Own The Field,” Magnus said to Awen, just in case she needed a refresher.

“I got it.” Awen gave Magnus a small smile, and then looked back at the colonel. “I understand, sir.”

“Good.” Caldwell addressed everyone else. “And that goes for the rest of you too. We do this right and we save a few billion lives today. We get it wrong, and the Paragon will be liquifying your bodies along with every building in the capital. Stay focused, execute your objectives, and then get the hell out.”

The members of Granther Company nodded at the colonel. No one needed a reminder of how much was riding on this mission, but it never hurt for the CO to bring everyone’s attention back to the game plan—a game plan that was only a few hours old.

Had it not been for Piper and TO-96, none of this would be happening. First, it was TO-96 who had determined where Awen’s parents were being held. After analyzing Bosworth’s video, the bot had created a model of the laboratory and then compared it against Republic records. Contrary to what most everyone assumed, Bosworth was not confining his hostages to a ship’s lab but a much larger ground-based facility on Capriana. Additionally, the coordinates that Bosworth had said to send Piper to happened to be near none other than Capriana Prime. So if we’re lucky, Magnus thought, we’ll arrest the traitorous fat fool too.

Second, before she’d passed out for the second time since being rescued, Piper had informed Magnus that Moldark was setting his sights on Capriana. She’d described her failure to help him achieve his first ambition—to create a new quantum tunnel—which led to her assisting him in his second one—turning the fleets’ sailors against the Republic.

“He wants to destroy everything,” she’d said from her bed in sickbay. “And you can’t let him. You just can’t.” Magnus swore he’d stop the dark lord, and that he’d rather die than break a promise to Piper.

The child had also mentioned something about Moldark’s hate for a group of leaders called the Circle of Nine. Unfortunately, Piper didn’t know anything more about them, just that they were the ones ultimately responsible for so many of the bad things that had been happening. Magnus shared the intel with the commanders, but no one was familiar with the group, not even Colonel Caldwell.

Everyone’s first idea of protecting Capriana from an imminent attack was the obvious one: have Caldwell contact a member of Galactic Republic Central Command—better known as CENTCOM—and let them know what was happening. Send some footage, corroborating data, and a few eyewitness testimonies, and the capital would begin powering up the planetary defense shield. Doing so would both spare the planet and buy the Republic valuable time to build a counterattack against Moldark.

However, like Magnus, Caldwell’s, Forbes’, and Nelson’s bridges had all been burned, and there was no reliable way to get word to anyone’s superiors, especially with such sensitive data. Were a general broadcast to go out, it would incite pandemonium across the planet. Instead, this had to be done through the proper channels. But security clearances had been revoked and new firewalls had been put in place—ones that not even Cyril or Azelon could slice. After all, this wasn’t taking control of a torpedo or hacking a ship. This was attempting to infiltrate the Galactic Republic’s upper echelons, which were locked down even tighter now that there’d been a raid on Worru.

The only way to warn Capriana was to do it the old-fashioned way. In person.

“I feel it is imperative to remind you that VNET may not be stable once you are outside CENTCOM’s headquarters,” Azelon said as the gladias finished preparing for their OTA jump.

“Yeah, yeah. She’s really right,” Cyril said from Rix’s back.

Magnus caught himself chuckling. The code slicing genius looked like a baby chimp slung on his mother’s back. Rix apparently saw Magnus laughing and mouthed the word, “What?”

But Cyril continued. “Once you’re there, I’m guessing only local IR comms will work in your helmets. They probably have jamming tech even better than the stuff the Zarkonian’s use in Galaxy Renegade. It took me a few days to figure out how to maneuver my fireteams using traditional methods, and even then, the boss on level twenty was—”

“Cyril,” Magnus barked.

“Ha ha. I’m rambling again, aren’t I. Sorry.”

“So, limited comms,” Magnus said, looking back at the colonel. “And how long before the planetary defense shield is up?”

“It takes the PDS almost an hour to reach full power,” Caldwell said. “Draws a huge amount of power across multiple relay points, and it has a lot of ground to cover. Literally. So that means you’ve got a lot of convincing to do before Moldark gets here.”

Magnus nodded, then looked to Azelon. “And the last piece of the plan?”

“We have a transport shuttle ready to go,” Azelon said. “I’ve placed emitters in a 3D printed child that will mimic a single life sign.”

“Whoa—3D printed what?” Silk said.

“A child,” Azelon said. “I took the liberty of fashioning a large doll, as you’d call it, to act as a stand-in for Piper. If we’re going to draw the enemy out, we might as well make it as believable as possible.”

“I wanna see this creep-bot,” said Robillard. “Who wants to bet it’s as ugly as Bliss’s last attempt to shoot a grouping at a hundred meters?”

“I’ll show you a tight grouping,” Bliss replied, raising his NOV1.

“Easy, gladias,” Magnus said. “We’ll have plenty of time to see what the 3D printer can do later.” He looked at Caldwell. “You think it’ll work?”

“With any luck, Azelon’s decoy will draw out some unfortunate lackey, and then blow them away,” Caldwell said. “You and I both know it won’t be Moldark or Bosworth. They’ll be expecting a dummy. But they won’t be able to resist the urge to at least investigate what we send.”

“It would make everything a whole lot easier if Moldark went himself,” Rohoar said through clenched teeth.

“You’re telling me,” Magnus replied.

“Correct, I am telling you.”

“No, I mean—” Magnus waved off Rohoar. “Never mind. How do those sleeves feel?”

Rohoar looked down at the new additions to his kit: armored sleeves that covered his arms and lower legs. The Jujari’s standard armor allowed the limbs to be exposed, granting the fighters greater dexterity to slice and maul. But the OTA required that the species’ whole bodies be covered, including their muzzles, which also had new snout cones.

“I don’t like them,” Rohoar said in disgust. “But the robot says we Jujari will perish without them. So it is a necessary horror.”

“You mean evil,” Magnus said.

“What?”

Magnus held out his hand like he was offering a gift. “The expression is a necessary evil.”

“No.” Rohoar laid his ears back. “It is a horror, one I will refuse to tell my descendants about, lest they have nightmares.”

An awkward pause filled the hangar until Caldwell clapped his hands. “Let’s get this show on the road before someone’s brother decides to propose to his sister. Remember, your time on target is one hour. The Spire’s subspace speed bought us a head start, but we don’t know how much. Get the PDS up, rescue Awen’s parents, and we’ll take care of the decoy. Azelon will have extraction transport waiting on the atoll of Simlia, as marked in your mission plan window. Easy in, easy out.”

Magnus raised a hand. “Colonel, may I have a word?”

Caldwell stepped aside with Magnus. “What is it, son?”

“Ricio’s wife and kid. He asked if there was a way to—”

“Already took care of it. Ricio was able to make contact with his wife on Capriana, and then he arranged for a little last-minute vacation care of some of his old Navy pals. I may have called in a favor or two as well.”

“And no one is the wiser?”

Caldwell pulled his cigar out of his mouth. “Not a clue, son. Plus, who’d believe this splick anyway?”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Magnus chuckled. “Thank you, sir.”

“Don’t mention it. Just make sure you do your job.”

“Colonel,” Azelon said. “Belvista Summit will be coming into sensor range in sixty seconds.” The ship was one of a handful of Ember-class Frigates that the Repub kept on orbital security around Capriana. But all of the ships combined would do little to thwart any serious enemy assault on the planet. The weak defense was just one more sign that the Republic had grown apathetic and was not prepared for what was about to jump out of subspace.

“Time to get a move on, Lieutenant,” Caldwell said.

Magnus nodded, checked the mission clock, and then made the call. “Everyone to the line.” All twenty-five Elites stepped up to the edge of the safety zone painted on the hangar bay floor about four meters from the environmental forcefield that separated life from hard vacuum. Magnus gave the command for helmets on and then ordered everyone to double-check the rig of the person on their right; Caldwell double-checked Magnus on the end. Once affirmation icons went down the chat window in his HUD, Magnus gave the order to advance to the red line against the shimmering translucent blue wall. The dark side of Capriana Prime loomed below them like an ominous black hole, punctuated by small dots of light wherever island cities poked above the watery surface.

“Ten seconds,” Magnus said.

“Safe travels, Granther Company,” Caldwell said over comms. “And mystics’ speed.”

* * *

Magnus leaped from the Spire and felt the weightlessness of low orbit tickle his gut. Unlike jumping from a vessel in-atmosphere, the gravity this high up wasn’t enough to yank an object straight down. Instead, it was a gentle pull, noticeable only by referencing a larger stationary object—in this case, Azelon’s Spire. Between his feet, he watched the hangar bay’s doors close until the cloaked ship was invisible against Capriana Prime’s night sky.

Apparent speed, acceleration, and altitude appeared in Magnus’s HUD, along with a glide path and angle of incidence. The data was reasonably static at first. The only high number was the altitude, placing Granther Company 103 klicks above the planet in the lower thermosphere. The height also corresponded to a graph that represented the variation in acceleration due to gravity.

This moment of peace, Magnus knew, was the calm before the storm. Over the next few kilometers, things would go from tranquil to total chaos. The only gladias with battlefield experience for this type of jump were those who’d served in the Republic Marines—the rest had only done it in the enclosed combat simulation environment. Were it not for Azelon’s suits and sophisticated automation, such a jump would be catastrophic for more than half of Magnus’s company. There were still risks; no jump was ever “safe.” But the Novian tech went a long way in ensuring everyone landed on target.

Not only was a night jump into the target area the surest way to avoid Capriana’s defense network, but it was also the fastest. There was no need to fake ship logs, spoof scanners, or mess with hangar bay assignments. Instead, jumpers could head directly to their respective targets and start infiltration. As long as Magnus could convince CENTCOM of the situation, and Zoll could break out Awen’s parents, there was no reason this entire op couldn’t be finished before sunup.

Magnus glanced at his mission clock. It was 0300 local time—right on schedule.

“Remember,” Magnus said over VNET. “Work with the suits, not against them. And Cyril?”

“Uh huh?”

“No squirming.”

“Right, right, right. I’m roger that. Copy, sir.”

Magnus watched on his HUD as the members of Granther Company began to fan out, making room for one another in case of a mishap. A blowout, satellite strike, or gear malfunction could spell disaster for more than one jumper if they flew too close together. Magnus had seen his share of emergencies, and he didn’t need to witness any more today.

Fortunately, Azelon’s handiwork didn’t stop with the suits. She, TO-96, and Cyril had taken extra time to create a passthrough corridor that tracked with the jumpers during their entire descent. The tech shadow, as Cyril called it, temporarily rendered all planetary defense surveillance blind wherever the gladias passed by. It included blackouts of active thermal imaging, space displacement surveillance, and drone security. Only if the ground operators were really smart, Cyril had said, would anyone notice a pattern and discover the vectors. When Magnus asked about the likelihood of such a discovery, the code slicer just chuckled. “If everyone shared data like they were supposed to, they’d blast us in the first ten kilometers. But they don’t, so we’ll be alpha zulu good to go, sir.”

The first test of the genius’s plan came when Magnus noticed a satellite racing up to meet them. It boasted several solar panels, sensors, and a large central core. But unlike most orbital units he’d seen, this one looked like it had gone dark. No blinking lights, no glowing operations panels. The gladias were close enough that if it had been working, they’d be found out for sure. But instead, the teams ripped by without so much as a blip from the orbiting mass of metal.

“Dead as a dead corpse,” Cyril said over comms. “You see that, Lieutenant, over?”

“I did, Cyril,” Magnus replied. “Don’t talk unless you have to, kid.”

“Right, right. Sorry, sir, Lieutenant. Copy over.” A beat later, Cyril’s voice trembled. “Whoa, whoa! What’s happening?”

“It’s normal, kid. Just relax.”

The first signs of entering the mesosphere were small vibrations that tingled Magnus’s skin. He glanced at his altitude—85 klicks—and noticed his speed increasing. “Nice and easy, people,” Magnus said. “Stay loose and ride it.”

The vibrations increased, and small orange flames appeared on his visor. The HUD displayed a fast rise in external suit temperature as atmospheric friction increased. Magnus felt his limbs shudder and noticed the suit’s smart pads expand to clamp down on his body. Just because an egg couldn’t be fried inside a shell didn’t mean it couldn’t be scrambled instead.

Next came the roar.

The first time Magnus ever experienced the deafening sound of an exosuit entering an atmosphere, he’d thought he’d lost his hearing forever. And some guys did need surgery afterward. But rather than be afraid, Magnus felt exhilarated. Among the many experiences that constituted core Marine activities, orbital to atmo jumps were among Magnus’s favorite. He was born to do this stuff and loved it as much now as he did the first time. Hearing the roar of fire against his body as it hurtled toward the planet was as hardcore as you could get.

“Woohoo,” Magnus yelled, deciding to forgo comms discipline. Maybe if the newbs heard his enthusiasm, they wouldn’t be as nervous—because mystics knew most of them were nervous. Hell, half had probably already splicked themselves. “Come on, Capriana! That all you got?”

Cyril’s voice came over VNET in a soul-stuttering, teeth-chattering sound that made Magnus grin. “Yuh-yuh-y-y-you luh-luh-luh-lied-d-d t-t-t-to me!”

“I didn’t want to spoil it,” Magnus yelled back.

The violent forces reached their climax, shaking Magnus so hard it felt like the Novian armor would split open at any second. There was no way anything could survive this—an atmosphere was why asteroids blew apart. But he would survive it, just like he had dozens of times before, and as he double-checked the roster and team bioactivity, so would everyone else it looked like. Heart rates and blood pressures were up, but that was good—it meant they were alive and awake.

In another few moments, the flames died down, and the roar outside transitioned to the sound of whipping wind. The suit’s temperature gauge also receded as the air cooled the red-hot panels. Azelon insisted that the telecolos finish wouldn’t come off during their journey, which was good—they’d need all the cover the suit’s chameleon mode could provide. But until Magnus saw it work again for himself, he wouldn’t believe the cloaking tech could survive such a beating.

“Praise be to the gods of insanity,” Abimbola said over comms. “I believe we flew through hell and survived.”

“That’s about the gist of it,” Magnus replied. “Everyone good? Awen, you okay?”

When she spoke, it sounded like a child trying to talk through a mouthful of hot soup. “Not so much.”

“Just spit it out,” Magnus replied, guessing she’d vomited—like always. “Your suit will reclaim it.” Then he heard her belch, followed by a juicy flow of something passing over the mic. “Feel better?”

“A little, yeah,” she replied.

“I do not feel a little better,” said Rohoar. “I believe Jujari were not meant to fly.”

“Just hang in there, everyone,” Magnus replied. “Stay on target. You’re doing great.”

A warning indicator went off in Magnus’s HUD. The words Proximity Alert blinked in red letters, followed by a vector indicator pointing toward an object in the upper left frame. He willed his display to zoom in, and then identified the object as a drone hub—a two-meter-wide substation that deployed, resupplied, and serviced a dozen smaller drones at altitude. According to Cyril and the bots, the flight path was supposed to be clear of obstructions, but this unit was clearly off course, perhaps caused by some unforeseen side effect of the tech shadow. Worse, the drone hub was in the middle of Echo Team’s flight path.

“Echo Lead,” Magnus said, trying to keep his voice calm.

“Obstruction ahead,” Zoll said, seeing what Magnus was. “Evade, evade, evade.”

3

Handley hit the drone substation so hard that the sound traveled through Magnus’s helmet. The unit flipped over and sent Handley’s body flying off at an oblique angle. Then the substation surged to the left, trying to stabilize itself, and flew into Robillard’s path. Robillard glanced off the side, giving little more than a grunt over comms. The substation spiraled away, unable to maintain altitude, leaving Handley and Robillard’s bodies to tumble through the stratosphere.

Magnus looked at the roster and saw Handley’s vitals flatline. Robillard, however, seemed relatively stable despite having a fractured humerus and ulna, along with two broken ribs and a hairline fracture in his right hip.

“Robillard,” Zoll yelled. “Talk to me!”

“Damn drones,” Robillard replied through gritted teeth. “Always knew they were trouble.”

“You able to stabilize that spin you’re in?”

“Roger.” Within a few seconds, Robillard regained control and started slipping back toward Echo Team’s formation. “Where’s Handley?”

Magnus heard Zoll swear under his breath, then say, “He’s gone.”

“Splick.”

“Stay focused, people,” Magnus said, suppressing the anger he felt bubbling up from his gut. Not only was Echo Team’s medic and demolition specialist dead, but the team’s lead rifleman was badly injured. This was not the way to start a mission. Magnus had never been one for omens, but if the galaxy was going to send him a harbinger of doom, this was it. The mission, Magnus, he reminded himself. Focus on the mission.

Magnus opened a private channel to Robillard and Zoll. “You look hurt, Robillard.”

“Nothing my suit can’t handle, LT,” he replied.

“I need to know you’re good to go,” Zoll said.

“Suit’s pumping me with feel-goods, nanobots doing their thing, and I can feel the clamps on my arms already. I’m green.”

“I’m good if Magnus is,” Zoll replied.

“Roger that,” Magnus said. To his credit, Robillard had been one of the toughest Marauders Magnus had seen come through training. Plus, Robillard was damn good in close quarters battle, and a crack shot too, so Magnus didn’t want to lose the gladia to a stupid accident. Zoll’s team would need him inside the lab if things got hot, especially now that they were down a man. “But Zoll and I need to know if you’re unable to perform.”

“You’ll be the first to hear me whine,” Robillard replied.

Satisfied, Magnus opened the company channel again. “Second squad, prepare to break off.”

“Ready,” Zoll replied.

“Waypoint hotel lima niner approaching in… five, four, three, two, one—break.”

Zoll and his three fire teams banked south, diverging from Magnus’s two teams. Second squad’s course took them toward the research lab while Magnus continued toward the Forum Republica’s capital complex. “Safe travels,” Magnus said.

“See you at exfil,” Zoll replied.

Forty klicks below, Capriana’s atoll appeared like the jewels of a necklace, glowing golden yellow amidst a midnight black canvas. Smaller dots of light moved to and from the C-shaped island chain, designating water-bound cruisers and flying transport shuttles. From this height, it was hard to tell just how massive each island in the atoll truly was. But Magnus knew that each skyscraper-laden patch of land was equal in size to whole countries on other worlds. Only the ignorant thought of Capriana as a small cluster of islands.

Having grown up here as a kid, Magnus knew the city never slept. There was always someone needing to talk to somebody about something that couldn’t wait. Then again, the fate of a hundred worlds rested on what happened on these massive islands, so there were legitimate excuses for the endless comings and goings of the galaxy’s elite. But even with all the activity, a night incursion was far safer and more secretive than anything Granther Company might attempt in the day.

Magnus studied the flight path that appeared as augmented reality in his HUD. The line took them west of the atoll’s wide center point, over the sea, and then curved inland. Glide assist would deploy at 1,000 meters above ground level, and then they’d traverse east, flaring atop Centennial Tower.

Magnus monitored each gladia’s flight path, making sure everyone was staying on course. The only person straying a little too far outside the line was Czyz—the Jujari called up from Charlie Team to take Saladin’s place. “You holding up, Czyz?” Magnus asked.

“I am not holding up,” the Jujari replied. “I am falling.”

Magnus smiled—ever the literalists, he mused to himself. “Right. Everything okay, though? You’re straying from the flight path.”

“This flying is not as easy as you humans make it seem.”

“Well, that’s only because I’ve had a little more practice than you. You do it long enough, it comes more naturally.”

“I hope never to do it again,” Czyz said. “Unless my mwadim forces me to under penalty of death.”

“That’s a little extreme,” Magnus said.

“But it proves his displeasure,” Rohoar added. “And Rohoar will endeavor never to ask him.”

“Well, there you go,” Magnus said to Czyz, noting Rohoar’s curious self-identification.

“There,” said Czyz. “I believe I am back on the trail.”

“Yup, you are.” Magnus noted the course correction. “Nice work.”

“I only accept praise from my mwadim,” Czyz said. “However, I recognize your approval of my achievement.”

“Happy to hear that. First squad, deploy wing assist and proceed along vector path bearing 280º. Activate chameleon mode. Confirm.”

Both fire teams acknowledged the heading and adjusted course. Magnus activated the wing assist feature, which deployed a carbon fiber fabric that spanned between arm and body, and between his knees. The new control surfaces gave him more stability as well as more maneuverability, allowing him to redirect along the west-bound flight path.

The squad soared out over the blackness of the Midnoric Ocean and then began a wide bank that brought them around to bear on the largest island. Buildings loomed ahead like a field of shiny opal columns reaching toward the stars. Magnus’s glide path traversed the western beach and brought him into the city under the tallest buildings.

Magnus flared to bleed off a little speed and lowered the automation’s assistance as he preferred to fly this route himself. Below him, hover cars and delivery transports went about their business, completely unaware of the eleven flying bodies overhead. To his left and right, he caught subtle flashes of camouflaged bodies as they whizzed across the skyscraper faces.

“900 meters to LZ,” Magnus said. “Prepare for landing.”

The overlaid flight path descended slowly as it headed toward a skyscraper that bordered a large clearing in the city’s center. The medium height tower had a flat roof clear of obstructions, which made it a safe landing site for space divers. If its designers only knew that it also made a perfect urban landing site, Magnus thought to himself.

“Five hundred,” he called out, and then began to flare. The wind buffeted his body, trying to throw him off course, but he managed to maintain proper trajectory with quick compensation movements. As he slowed, however, his flight stability lessened, and he risked losing lift altogether, which would cause him to tumble out of the sky.

Magnus and his teammates needed to stall directly over the LZ. Without AI assistance, such a feat would be almost impossible. Only the very best—or the luckiest—could pull it off without meeting a catastrophic end, either plastered against the side of the building or falling to the streets below. But with step-by-step guidance and full auto-assist for the least competent fliers, the difficulty was reduced significantly.

At 150 meters, Magnus sank below the building’s top, flared, and then rose back up and over the summit just as his velocity dropped to under five meters per second. His boots touched down, and the suit’s servos absorbed the majority of the kinetic energy. He still needed to take several steps across the gravel-covered rooftop before he came to a stop.

Magnus felt the carbon fiber control surfaces retract, and he turned around to watch the remainder of his teammates land. One by one, each gladia touched down on the rooftop—some skidding, others running. But only one made a perfect landing, sticking her feet to the roof on the first try.

“Seems you’re a natural,” Magnus said to Awen. “But I’m pretty sure you cheated.”

“Me? Cheat?” Awen said, stepping forward with the poise of a princess. “I’m afraid you have mistaken me for someone else.”

“Sure, I did.” Magnus pointed to the rooftop’s far side. “Bimby, Silk, set up the shot. Titus and Dutch, you’re managing clip-ins and safety checks. Rohoar, you’re first over, and I’m pulling up the rear. Cyril’s tech shadow should keep us hidden from non-visual surveillance, but the closer we get to our target, the more suspicious we become, so keep your wits about you. Questions?” No one said a thing. “Let’s do this, people.”

Abimbola pulled an A-frame support rig off his back, spread the legs, and extended the feet. He placed it on the ground and then removed a bolt gun from the small of his back, firing anchors into both feet to secure the frame to the rooftop. He fired a third bolt into a winch plate, which he placed three meters behind the A-frame, and then tossed the small gun away.

Silk stood beside Abimbola, taking an SMMWS from Rohoar and hoisting it to her shoulder. Rohoar helped her charge the weapon as she aimed across the open expanse to the east. The shoulder-mounted multi-weapons system was Azelon’s variation of the Repub SMDL—shoulder-mounted detonator launcher. But instead of only firing detonators, the SMMWS, or SMS for short, could fire an array of ordnance, including the explosive-tipped grappling anchor and zip cable that Rohoar had loaded from his hardshell backpack. Normally, Rohoar would operate his SMS as Alpha Teams heavy ordnance expert, but not at this range. This was a sniper’s job, and he seemed only too happy to let the baldheaded, tattoo-covered former Marauder take the shot.

While Silk lined up, Abimbola motioned to Czyz and withdrew two planks from the Jujari’s back. Abimbola unfolded each one to reveal a metal frame with a semi-translucent fabric in the middle. Quick button presses released spring-loaded support stands, and Abimbola set the screens on both sides of Silk.

“Might wanna stand clear, Nídira,” Silk said, looking over her shoulder. The mystic stood directly behind Silk, apparently curious about the weapon and the screens. As a Luma, Nídira probably hadn’t seen a whole lot of firearms, so this novelty must have seemed even more outlandish than standard blasters.

“Right,” Nídira said. “Sorry.” She stepped away as Silk resumed her firing posture. “But what are those?”

“Sonic disruptors,” Magnus replied. “That SMS packs a mean bark, enough to draw more attention than we want. But the panels will help disorient sensors enough that they won’t be able to pinpoint the source.”

“Clever,” Nídira said. “But why didn’t you just ask one of us to help with that?”

Magnus looked from Nídira to Awen. “Well, because…”

“Would you like it to be fired in silence, Magnus?” Awen asked with a certain level of playfulness to her voice.

Abimbola and Silk both looked at Magnus before he replied, “Uh, that’d be great.”

Awen nodded at Nídira, and then the two women produced a barely visible dome around Silk.

“Don’t contain the blast,” Silk said. “Just the sound, right?”

Magnus nodded at Awen. “If you contain it all, you’ll rupture all Silk’s soft tissue.”

“Just the sound energy,” Awen said. “We got it.”

“Cool,” Silk said, nodding slowly. “I’m down with this.” Then she spread her legs, bent her knees, and lined up her shot. “Keep your panties on, everyone. Fire in the hole.”

The SMS coughed flames out the front and back as the grappling anchor leaped from the tube and shot across the expanse. The only audio Magnus’s helmet registered was a soft whump under his feet. Cable whipped out of the pile on the roof as the projectile streaked through the night and then slammed into the west side of Proconsul Tower. When the anchor struck, a small explosion emitted from the hole as the grapple’s claws shot into the surrounding material.

Silk gave Abimbola a nod, and the Miblimbian yanked on the cable, pulling up the slack. Then he heaved the line over the A-frame, carried it to the rear anchor plate, and activated the small winch that pulled the cable through until it was taught.

“150th floor,” Silk said to Magnus. “As ordered. You’re all set, LT.”

Magnus tipped his head toward her in thanks and then looked at Rohoar. “You’re up.”

“But Rohoar is going down,” the Jujari replied, speaking of himself in the same weird way that Ezo did.

“Yes, but you’ re—just get on the mysticsdamned cable and go cut the windowplex, would you?”

“You do not need to be snippy with Rohoar, scrumruk graulap.” The Jujari approached the cable and raised a hand to it. Titus held Rohoar’s wrist against the line while Dutch instructed Rohoar to activate his suit’s traveler. A small gimbal mechanism protruded from Rohoar’s wrist. Then a gate about the same size as the line snapped open. Titus pulled Rohoar’s wrist in and the mechanism clamped down on the cable, giving a small chime and illuminating a green LED. Titus looked to Dutch, who then asked Rohoar to test his weight against the line. The Jujari pulled his knees up and began sliding.

“Whoa, whoa, big guy,” Dutch said as she and Titus leaned in to stop the hyena-like beast from hurtling off the side. “Just a little test.”

“Jujari do not test. We do, or we do not.”

“Yeah?” Dutch said. “Well, not testing stuff gets you killed. And we like you too much for that.”

Rohoar gave a low growl. “Is Rohoar ready to slide?”

Dutch nodded at Titus. “You’re ready,” Titus replied. “Happy trails.”

“I see no trail, nor does it have feelings that would seem to indicate—” Rohoar was cut short as both Titus and Dutch sent him sailing over the edge. The Jujari howled so loudly that Magnus had to lower his interface volume. Rohoar’s body sped along the cable, traversing the western quad of the Forum Republica campus far below.

Even from this height, Magnus could make out some of the ornate buildings, meandering garden pathways, and lit skywalks that composed the upper levels of the capital complex. It would still be two hours before the first staff populated the common spaces.

Magnus watched as Rohoar’s now tiny body slid under the shadow of the docking platforms, some of which hosted government and civilian vessels. In another few seconds, Rohoar activated the brake in his wrist coupler and slowed until his body came to rest against the building.

With his HUD and bioteknia eyes working in tandem, Magnus zoomed in to see Rohoar remove his left gauntlet, maglock it to his thigh, and then stretch his left paw. He extended a single clawed digit and began scraping it across the windowplex in a full circle, large enough for his body to fit through. Rohoar traced the path twice more with his claw and then replaced his gauntlet. Then he pushed away from the building, out over the campus far below, and swung his whole weight at the freshly cut circle shape.

His boots struck the side, and, at first, nothing happened. Rohoar gave out an irritated snarl over comms and then pushed himself away again. His boots slammed into the windowplex a second time, but still, nothing happened. Another growl and Rohoar pushed off. This time, when he lunged forward, the Jujari disconnected his arm from the cable. Magnus was about to protest, but there wasn’t time. Rohoar flew through the air and struck the circle hard enough that it gave way. Then the Jujari and the windowplex disk disappeared inside the tower.

“You crazy ass son of a bitch,” Magnus said.

“No,” the Jujari said. “Rohoar’s ass is not crazy, nor is his mother a breeding hound used solely for producing progeny. Instead, she is a beautiful—”

“Don’t finish that,” Magnus said. “And let’s just assume I believe you. Good job out there, Scruffy.”

“Scruffy?”

Ignoring the question, Magnus turned to the rest of the gladias. “Who’s next?”

One at a time, Titus and Dutch helped each person to the cable, attached their wrist-coupler, and then sent them across the expanse toward Rohoar’s outstretched arms. After everyone had traversed the zip line, Magnus attached his coupler, stood with his toes over the edge, and then pushed off.

Magnus felt his body’s weight yank on his arm as he flew out over the campus that lay nearly 400 meters below. He picked out a small stream that flowed around a seating area with soft, tree-mounted lighting. He also saw several small outbuildings that doubled as elevator terminals to speed people around the complex in the modular transport system.

Magnus picked up speed, listening to the sound of the cable whizzing through the coupler. He relaxed his body and let the active gimbal keep him aimed toward the hole in the building. Ahead, Magnus saw Rohoar’s armored form waiting to receive him. Higher up, Magnus noted just how many transport shuttles slept against their docking platforms. Proconsul Tower not only served as the meeting place for the most important intergalactic dignitaries but offered easy access for their arrival by shuttle as well.

The wrist coupler started to brake, slowing Magnus as he neared the cable’s end. Rohoar reached out and took hold of Magnus’s free arm just as his feet touched the rounded windowplex edge.

“Rohoar has you,” the Jujari said, pulling Magnus in as the wrist coupler released his other arm from the cable.

“Thanks,” Magnus replied. “And what’s with all this Rohoar business?”

The Jujari tilted his head. “Business?”

“Never mind.” Magnus looked around and saw his two fire teams in an ample office, complete with an ornate wooden desk, brightly colored paintings, and opulent, low-slung guest seating. Abimbola had already made himself comfortable on one of the leather couches, putting his feet on the glass coffee table. “Bimby, I hate to cramp your style, but I need that line cut.”

“On it,” the Miblimbian said, sitting up and moving toward the hole.

Next, Magnus pulled up a building schematic in his HUD. The three-dimensional layout turned in his vision until an icon indicated the teams’ position on the 150th floor. Magnus accessed the next waypoint, and it brought up a multi-point path that extended across their current floor, down an elevator shaft to sub-level twenty, and then into some sort of entrance hall. He populated the team’s chat window with a link to the route and then moved toward the office door.

“We’ll cross to the main elevator terminal on this floor,” Magnus said, highlighting the route. “Then it’s a straight shot 170 floors down. Keep chameleon mode active, and keep noise to a minimum. We should be able to spoof the low-grade office sensors, no problem. Weapons ready?”

Everyone nodded and brought their NOV1s to low ready position.

“Let’s move.”

4

Zoll’s target building was two blocks inland from the midpoint of Dalton Beach, which ran along the length of Terin Island’s western shore. The long sandy strand made for a far easier landing than the one Magnus would have atop Centennial Tower. But that didn’t mean a beach landing didn’t come with its inherent risks—namely, people.

Despite the human’s daily need for sleep, not everyone in the species chose to engage in it, especially star-crossed lovers on blankets or drug-saturated dimwits around campfires. Civilians were sometimes the most effective surveillance of all because unless you were going to detain them, or worse, kill them, they could raise the alarm just as effectively as automated sensors.

The upside of landing where civilians might be was that traditional surveillance was usually minimized. Wandering people not only set off automated systems, making their maintenance a nuisance, but acted as a form of passive security to deter would-be trespassers.

Of course, if you had invisible suits of armor, the very latest in stealth and mapping technology, and a little bit of luck, you could avoid the human and traditional surveillance altogether.

Zoll flared his suit just above a clear stretch of beach then let his boots dig furrows through the sand as he came to a halt. His fabric wings retracted, and he turned to see the others make landfall. To the naked eye, it would have looked as though small sand spouts had erupted across the beach. Zoll imagined some giant arachnids dancing around, making divots as they ambled above the surf.

“Dude, what the hell?” said a lazy voice. “You catch that?”

Zoll spun around to see two figures sitting in the sand about ten paces away. Somehow, he’d missed them when he scanned the strand. Dammit.

“Mystic spirits, bro,” exclaimed the other, batting at his friend’s shoulder and making a cigarette fall from his lips. “I told you the astrals were real. I told you!”

The first rip-smoker took a deep drag on his cigarette and then followed the movement in the sand as his eyes grew wide. “Splick, one’s coming toward us, bro. It’s coming toward us!”

The second junkie backed away at Zoll’s advance. “They’re gonna suck out our souls, bro! Run!”

The two hallucinating bums tried to scramble out of the sand but only made it a few paces before they ran into the invisible form of a Jujari warrior. The first man bounced off the armor and fell flat on his back. The second struck it and started screaming, arms flailing. Grahban ended the noise with a fist to the top of the man’s head, sending him to the ground in a heap. The second tried backing away, crab style, but Grahban grabbed him by the ankle and hoisted him into the air. The victim writhed like he was about to be eaten by some invisible monster. Then the Jujari clocked the man on the side of the head and tossed his body away like a rag doll.

Zoll stared at Grahban for a second.

“What?” the Jujari asked. “They were annoying me.”

“I can see that. You didn’t need to kill them.”

“Not dead, just sleeping for a long time. By the time they wake up, they will have good stories, and perhaps one more reason to become sober of mind.”

Zoll chuckled. “That’s one rehab program that may actually work.”

“Thank you.” Then Grahban hesitated. “What is this rehab program?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Zoll replied. Then, turning to the rest of his teams, he said, “Fall in.”

The map for this portion of the city showed the research lab about 600 meters from their current location. They’d need to cross a boardwalk and then move east down a side street. Zoll talked his team through the approach.

“We’ll use the loading dock in the back as infill. It will have the least sensors, and probably a security guard or two. Non-lethal force wherever possible.”

“My rehab program?” Grahban asked.

“Yes, your rehab program. Rix, Dozer, we might need some explosives on the main door. But if we can get in without drawing too much attention to ourselves, that’s the priority. Wish, Telwin, Finderminth, see what your Unity powers can do for us.”

The three mystics nodded. “We will,” Wish replied.

Zoll brought up the building’s schematic and made sure everyone had it in their HUDs. “Once we’re in, we need to find out where they’re keeping the assets. My guess is they’ve got them in a secured residence of some sort. But we won’t know that without tapping a data node, located here. Cyril, that’s you.”

“Roger, copy that, bravo,” the code slicer replied, still looking unstable after the jump.

“Once we’ve got a fix on the assets, we’ll go from there. Any questions?”

Jaffrey’s hand went up. He was Echo Team’s sniper and the youngest member of Granther Company’s second squad. He’d also trained with Handley the most. “What about Handley, sir?”

Zoll took a deep breath. “He was a good gladia. But he died doing what he believed in, so we honor that by making sure this mission isn’t for nothing. Which means we all have to stay focused. Shoot now, grieve later—you got that, Jaffrey?”

“I do, sir.” The kid nodded.

“And what about Robillard?” Bliss asked.

“What about me?” Robillard replied. “Do you think I’m not ready to kick some ass? Cause I can kick some ass right here, right now.”

“Easy,” Zoll said, raising a hand. “I think he’s just checking to make sure you’re okay after that drone strike.”

“Me? You should see the drone,” Robillard said, shrugging his shoulder away from Bliss. “I’m ready to go, Lead.”

“All right,” Zoll said. “But if you—”

“I’ll let you know if anything goes south,” Robillard said. “Don’t you worry your pretty little hiney.”

Zoll smiled. He liked the fight in this gladia. “All right, teams. Let’s move.”

* * *

“Feels like a lifetime since we were back on Oorjaee, doesn’t it, Rix?” Zoll asked as the squad ran toward the lab.

Rix laughed. “Hell, where’s Oorajee?”

“Copy that.”

“Doesn’t matter much anyway,” Robillard said. “The way I see it, it’s a different place but the same old story.”

“Only this place has palm trees,” Rix said.

“And bikini-clad babes when the sun is out,” Bliss added.

“Good thing you’re invisible, Bliss,” Robillard said. “Or they’d be running.”

“That’s not what your girl said when she showed up at my quarters last night.”

Robillard reached out and punched Bliss in the shoulder.

Bliss made a show of rubbing his arm. “That hurt so bad.”

“All right, you two,” Zoll said, but laughed as he spoke. “Knock it off.”

“I know what you mean, Robillard,” Rix said as they turned left at an intersection. “Not about Bliss and your woman. Different place, same story. The powerful do horrible splick to the weak, and we’re left to sort through the rubble.”

“I’m not so sure about that, guys,” Zoll said while he double checked his squad’s six. “This feels different.”

“How you figure that?” Bliss asked.

“’Cause now we’ve got cool armor and awesome weapons,” Robillard said.

“Nah. But they’re definitely legit.” Zoll looked ahead toward the next intersection and signaled the team to turn right. “Somehow, with the Gladio Umbra, I feel like we’re making a real difference. It’s not just turf wars for the sake of pissing people off or fighting over scraps in the Dregs. We’re actually doing something that people might remember.”

“If anyone’s left to remember it,” Robillard said.

“Shut up,” Bliss said as he returned the earlier punch. “He’s being serious.”

Even despite his guys’ antics, Zoll knew what he’d said was true. The Gladio Umbra had given them all a chance to make something of their lives again, to lift themselves out of the desert sands and contribute to the cosmos. “We’re making a difference. I know we are. I can feel it.”

* * *

On the outside, the lab looked like any other fancy office building in the high-end beach community—four stories of glass, metal, and wood arranged by some overpaid, overly artistic architect. The only notable thing to Zoll was the illuminated sign beneath a cluster of palm trees that read Burndale Home Furnishing Solutions.

“You sure this is the right place?” Bliss asked.

“You want to be the one to ask TO-96 to double-check his calculations?” Robillard replied before Zoll could say anything.

“Not if Azelon’s around, I don’t,” Bliss said. “She’s so defensive about him these days.”

“Copy that,” said Robillard.

“It’s a front,” Zoll said. “Stay low, and let’s head around the back.”

He led all three teams around the north side, over a grassy berm, and up to a security fence. Longchomps bit through the wire lattice and pulled open a hole for everyone to go through.

Zoll noticed several security cameras along the roofline and two in the loading bay. “Just be aware of the eyes on us,” he said, marking the cameras on the HUD map.

The teams crossed the tarmac and moved up a set of stairs to a wide landing. Interestingly, there were still no guards to be seen, which was okay with Zoll. He’d take every advantage they could get. The extra-wide main door was really a reinforced blast door made to look like a loading bay port. Upon closer inspection, Zoll recognized the armor plating and telltale angular indents. He ran his fingers along the diagonal closure seam and turned back to the gladias.

“Now, why would a home design studio need thirty centimeters of reinforced armor plating on its back door?” Zoll looked around. “Anyone?”

“Bet they’ve got some expensive kitchen appliances,” Reimer said.

“You cooking?” Bliss asked.

“Depends what you’re willing to pay me.”

Zoll raised a hand to quiet them. “Wish, a little help?”

“Certainly,” said the woman. She stepped forward and lowered her head. Telwin and Finderminth came forward and joined her. Zoll wasn’t sure they were doing anything until the sound of a latch mechanism released inside the door. A moment later the blast door’s two primary leaves parted, exposing a narrow slit extending from the upper left to the lower right.

“Help me get this open,” Zoll said. Longchomps, Grahban, and Redmarrow stepped forward and began separating the doors just enough that the other gladias could start sliding through. The metal groaned as the Jujari fought against the actuators buried in the frame.

“Come on, everyone through,” Zoll ordered. “They’ll be seeing this any second.” All three teams slid through the gap, including the Jujari, before Zoll rolled over the lower of the two diagonal doors and landed safely on the other side. As soon as he was in, the sound of trotting footsteps came down a hall perpendicular to the main corridor. Zoll ordered everyone against the sidewalls and waited.

A security guard never appeared—but a Marine did, dressed in black armor with three white stripes on his left pauldron. The trooper turned toward the half-opened blast door and slowed, tilting his head to examine it. The moment his weapon lowered a centimeter, Zoll gave the order for Grahban to take him. “No rehab program.” He could practically hear the Jujari smile.

Grahban swung a giant paw and struck the Paragon trooper in the back of the head so hard that the man’s body flew forward and hit the ground, while his torso and legs carried over his back. The force was enough to split the man’s spine, paralyzing him and—over the next few seconds—killing him.

“Leave him,” Zoll ordered. “More will be coming to investigate, but we need to move.” He led the way down the main corridor and followed his HUD’s route to the first data node located one level up. “We’ll take the stairs. Bliss, you take point.”

“Copy,” Bliss replied, then stepped through the sliding door and started up the switchback staircase.

Zoll waited for everyone else to follow, and then stepped halfway through himself when he heard more footsteps behind him. Three more Paragon troopers rounded the corner and knelt to examine their incapacitated counterpart. They shared looks between one another, but no alarm went off. Perhaps they thought it was an accident? After all, there were no blaster marks, and the security cameras wouldn’t show anyone assaulting the trooper. Still, Zoll knew it wouldn’t be long before they lost the element of surprise. He pulled back and let the door shut before bounding up the stairs.

On the second floor, Cyril was already at a data node, typing furiously on a holo console.

“Whaddya got?” Zoll asked.

“Working on it, big leader,” Cyril replied.

Zoll looked up and down the new hallway when he heard Robillard chuckle. “What is it?” Zoll asked.

“I don’t imagine a whole lot of customers find this ambiance accommodating.” Robillard waved his NOV1 at all the Repub-styled bulkheads and trunk lines. It felt more like they were on a starship than in an office building.

“I don’t know,” Bliss said. “I kinda like the spartan look. Gives it a post-industrial feel.”

“I’ll give you a post in your industry feeler,” Robillard said with a raised fist.

“Are they always like this?” Wish asked Zoll.

“Pretty much,” he said. “Sometimes worse.”

She gave a quick shake of her head. “Noted.”

“Hey, hey, Mr. Zoll, leader man person?” Cyril asked.

Zoll detected a hint of concern in the code slicer’s voice. “You find them?”

“Uh-huh. Yeah, I think so, yeah. But, we might have a problem. A big one.”

Zoll crossed to Cyril’s position. “Why? What is it?”

Cyril expanded a holo window and then pointed. The display showed the building schematic everyone was familiar with. Then it showed several additional floors—subterranean floors—as well as the words Bio Safety Level Four in red letters.

“Splick,” Zoll said. “Is that what I think it is?”

Cyril nodded.

“Hold up,” said Robillard. “What do you think it is?”

Zoll shook his head. “Seems TO-96 was only half right. This isn’t just a lab; it’s a bank for every deadly microbe in the galaxy.”

“A what?” Bliss asked.

“A biohazard research facility,” Cyril replied. “And Bosworth has Awen’s parents locked up on level four.”

“That’s better than level five, right?” Robillard asked.

“There is no level five,” Zoll replied.

Cyril nodded. “Four is as bad as you can get. And it’s hard to break into for some very excellently important reasons.”

A klaxon sounded and yellow lights began swirling down the hallway. Robillard nudged Zoll. “Looks like we’ve got some breaking in to do.”

“And fast,” Bliss said, raising his NOV1 to high ready position and pointing it down the hall. “’Cause here they come.”

5

Magnus led his two fire teams across a shared office workspace, down a hallway, and then toward a bank of elevator doors. He paid extra attention to the security cameras at each junction but rested in the fact that this floor didn’t seem to be of much significance—as per TO-96’s assumption—thus, the security measures were not very strict. Further down toward CENTCOM, however, Magnus knew the story would be different.

Alpha and Bravo Teams loaded into two transparent elevators with a view of the campus’s north side. To the west, Magnus could see Centennial Tower and the remains of their A-frame rig peeking above the rooftop.

Abimbola and Titus held the doors, making sure to hit their destination buttons at the same time. Once pressed, the doors slid shut, and the pods sank. Magnus didn’t like how vulnerable the teams were, but he reminded himself that to any onlookers, these empty elevators were simply being called to another floor. It was the people monitoring the security cameras and elevator sensors who concerned him. But he was playing the odds that at 0330, the security guards were more interested in their latest serial holo than whatever late-night illegal races the elevator pods were having with one another.

“All systems look nominal,” TO-96 said in a private channel with Magnus. Video of his face filled a small window in the lower left of Magnus’s HUD. “So far, I’m detecting no alarms or security calls.”

“Let’s hope it stays that way,” Magnus replied.

“Indeed. Please remember that, as you descend, you may experience a comms blackout with us, as well as mild separation anxiety.”

Magnus furrowed his brow. “Separation anxiety?”

“That is correct, sir. There is significant data on the human species, among others, which concludes you experience emotional distress when relieved of vital interpersonal relationships, either through physical or communicative separation.”

“So, you’re saying our relationship is vital?”

“Given all we’ve been through, I assume you feel a deep connection to me.”

Magnus chuckled. “I mean, you are pretty attractive.” When TO-96 didn’t reply right away, Magnus said, “What is it, bot?”

“Sir, I regret to inform you that—well…”

“Spit it out, ’Six.”

“I’m already spoken for, sir. In that way, I mean.”

“Spoken for?” Magnus was doing his very best not to burst out laughing.

“Yes, sir. As in, someone has already expressed an interest in my particular affections.”

Magnus could feel his armor bouncing as he silently laughed between clamped lips. But he also knew he couldn’t afford to be too distracted, so he kept one eye on the descending floor numbers. “Let me guess. Is it Dutch?”

“No, sir. Though she would be a prime companion.”

“Would she now?” Magnus brought Dutch into the channel as TO-96 replied.

“Yes, sir. Miss Aubrey Dutch exhibits several key characteristics essential for a healthy mating relationship.”

Dutch turned to face him, and Magnus didn’t need to have X-ray vision to know her eyebrows were raised in surprise. Magnus pointed to his ear as if to say, “Keep listening. It gets better.”

“She is extremely faithful,” TO-96 said. “As well as intelligent, strong, resilient, charming when she’s not pointing a weapon at you, and she has ample hip displacement suitable for incubating and dispatching several progenies, perhaps in multiples.”

Dutch seemed about to protest, but Magnus held a hand up. He was doing his best not to stop the bot with his hysterical laughter, and Magnus didn’t want Dutch ruining it either, no matter how offensive she found it.

“Moreover, Miss Dutch’s attributes would be wasted on me,” TO-96 said. “For three primary reasons.”

“Which are?” Magnus asked.

“First, I am not threatened by her threats of bodily injury, primarily those made with weapons—items that she loves so much. Therefore, as a mate, I would be improperly motivated to accommodate her needs if held at gunpoint.”

Magnus stifled more laughter and glanced up at the floor count. They were almost there. “Fair enough. Next?”

“Second, I do not find myself attracted to Miss Dutch physically or hormonally. Granted, I lack the physiological systems necessary to facilitate copulation. However, I do feel that I understand the implications well enough to make certain hypothetical postulations about my preferences.”

“Mystics knows I can’t wait to hear what your preferences might be,” Magnus replied. “And lastly?”

“Third, and closely related to the second point, I am unable to impregnate Miss Dutch, thus wasting both of our potential to preserve the species that are driven by the evolutionary desire for immortality. That said, however, I do believe I would be more than able to please Miss Dutch given my knowledge of—”

“And would you look at that,” Dutch said, stepping toward the parting doors. “Here we are.”

“Sorry, ’Six,” Magnus said. “Looks like the rest of this convo’s gonna have to wait.”

“Ah, very good, sir. I will leave you to your work.”

* * *

The good news was that VNET still had integrity on sublevel twenty, at least in the vicinity of the elevator banks. The bad news was that the large corridor leading to CENTCOM’s entrance was full of high-end security measures, at least as far as Magnus’s bioteknia eyes could read. Point defense guns lay recessed in the ceiling while redundant multi-point sensor plates and multi-spectrum cameras ran along the walls and floor. Then there were the impregnable blast doors at the far end, operated by quantum encrypted ID panels—and all this was before anyone had even entered CENTCOM.

Two Marines in battle armor stood on either side of a luxurious check-in desk. An attractive woman seated behind the counter wore her hair pulled back into a ponytail and sported a combination headphone and mic. Apparently, people had stuff to do, even at this hour, because the secretary was busy taking calls, typing on three different holo screens, and attending to a short queue of people waiting to speak to her.

The guards held their weapons across their chests and kept their heads aimed at the line of people. Had it not been for the queue, Magnus felt certain the Marines would have noticed the elevator doors open. And when no one stepped out, they would have investigated. But as it was, Alpha and Bravo Teams’ presence remained unnoticed.

While the space appeared pristine—no doubt designed to fit in with the capital complex’s auspicious facade—Magnus guessed that what lay beyond the blast doors was hard-nosed military to the core. Here, glossy white surfaces with black trim and bright lighting reinforced the prestigious decor of the Galactic Republic. But there, inside those doors, lay the heart of the industrial-military complex.

“So, what is the plan, buckethead?” Abimbola asked as the two teams pressed up against the sidewalls.

“We’ve got redundant multi-spectrum cameras along the entire hallway’s ceiling,” Magnus said. “Pressure sensors on the floor, thermal and motion on the walls. And point defense turrets hidden in the ceiling. Not to mention the quantum encrypted ID security and the big blast doors that none of us can shoot through.”

“It’s a damn kill box,” Dutch said. “Splick.”

“So, what you are saying is, it will be a walk in the park,” Abimbola replied.

“Pretty much.” Magnus looked back at the elevators. “Because I don’t plan on going into CENTCOM.”

“You don’t?” Titus said, unable to hide the surprise in his voice.

Magnus shook his head. “Don’t have to. While Cyril wasn’t able to slice into CENTCOM’s database, he was able to access a far less encrypted intel source.”

“Which is?” Titus asked.

“General McCormick’s personal calendar.” Magnus could see all the gladias turn to look at him. “Turns out the General is an early riser and should be coming out one of these two elevators in approximately”—Magnus glanced at the mission clock in his HUD—“three minutes.”

“You want us to pin him in the elevator and interrogate him there?” Titus asked.

“Could we not have done this while he was en route from his residence?” Abimbola asked.

“Negative.” Magnus rolled his head to keep his neck and shoulders from getting too tense. “He’s under personal escort throughout his day.” Magnus waited a moment while everyone processed the information.

“Except when he takes the elevator down to CENTCOM,” Titus finally said.

“Correct,” Magnus replied. “It’s the handoff between security details. Logic assumes no one is going to try and approach him between the ground floor of Proconsul Tower and the highly secured vestibule of CENTCOM.”

“But we are,” said Abimbola.

Magnus grinned. “Damn straight. I want all eyes on those doors. When you see the general, we push him back in, load up both pods, and peg it to the top floor, overriding any other floor requests. We’ll have the whole ride for me to convince him of what I can.”

“What if that’s not enough time?” Awen said.

“It’s gotta be.”

“But what if it’s not?”

Magnus worked his jaw. “Then we’ll think of another way to raise the PDS ourselves.”

“Which is what?”

Mystics, she just doesn’t know when to quit. “Which is—”

“Heads up,” Titus said, raising his weapon to one of the elevator’s opening doors. “And a problem.”

General McCormick was in the elevator—as was a second individual dressed in a senator’s suit.

“Two for the price of one,” Magnus said. “Here we go.”

If either of the two Marines on security detail had looked at the elevators, they would have seen the general and the senator disappear as the gladias filled the pod. Only small hiccups in the telecolos rendering system would have betrayed the two men’s presence. The same disappearing act went for anyone monitoring the cameras inside the elevator itself. But rather than take any chances, Magnus and the rest of Alpha Team repositioned the two men in the camera’s blind spot as Awen pressed the button for the top floor. Then she keyed in the standard override code to ensure the trip was uninterrupted. Likewise, Dutch activated a local jammer on her forearm that took care of any attempts for the two men to call out—which they were doing.

“Security, this is Senator Blackman,” the other man yelled into his lapel. “Elevator SB2, we have a—”

Rohoar batted the senator on the side of the head, stunning him. “Focus, human,” Rohoar said over externals. “Your comms don’t work. Pay attention.”

The man sputtered, trying to focus on whoever it was that spoke to him. He was stocky with well-groomed grey hair and thick shoulders.

As for the general, the years behind the desk hadn’t been kind to him—or maybe they had been, depending on your interpretation. The balloon in his gut and the extra chin on his neck told Magnus all he needed to know about the man’s eating habits. But McCormick still wore his red hair tight on the sides and flat on top—a holdover from his years under a helmet. If only he’d held on to PT the same way, Magnus thought. Let’s hope he can think fast under pressure.

“General Issac S. McCormick?” Magnus asked, still cloaked.

The general squinted at the mention of his name. “Who’s there? What is the meaning of this?”

“My name is Adonis Olin Magnus, former lieutenant with—”

“Lieutenant Magnus?” the senator said, eyes still searching the empty pod. “But-but, you’re charged with treason and—”

Rohoar slapped the man again. “Not focused.”

“The 79th Reconnaissance Battalion,” McCormick said, answering the rest of Magnus’s opening statement. “Your company was assigned to Oorajee”

“Yes, General.” Magnus felt uneasy that both men knew him by name. “At great risk to myself and my team, I’ve come to inform you that all three Republic Fleets have fallen into enemy hands and are currently headed toward Capriana with the intent of attacking the planet.”

Whatever Magnus hoped would happen next, it didn’t.

“You’ve got some nerve, Lieutenant,” McCormick said.

“Former,” Blackman added. Rohoar hit him again, and the man let out a yelp.

The general looked at his friend and then back in Magnus’s direction. “Invading the capital, abducting a members of CENTCOM—”

“I know how it looks, General. I do. But the fate of the city rests in what you decide to do in these next few seconds.”

“Correction,” McCormick said. “Whatever you choose to do in the next few seconds is going to be irrelevant when we reach the”—he looked at the touch screen—“top floor. Right now, my security detail is realizing that I failed to check in with my secretary. They’ve already deduced that I’m still in this pod, and they’re tracking it to the top floor. When those doors open, you and whoever else is with you will be dead. So, on the contrary, Lieutenant Magnus, I think your fate rests in what happens over the next few seconds.”

“Can we kill them both now?” Rohoar asked.

“No,” Magnus replied.

“But they irritate me.”

Magnus squared his shoulders. “General, you well know that Fleet Admiral Wendell Kane was tasked with commanding Third Fleet.”

“Spare me the lesson, son.”

“And you also know that you’ve lost all communication with him as well as First and Second Fleets.”

McCormick’s lips parted, but no words came out.

Finally, Magnus thought. A foothold. “Also, you probably know by now that Kane has taken control of all three fleets and has laid waste to the Jujari resistance. What you don’t know is that he’s headed here next for the sole purpose of wiping out the capital and a group he calls the Circle of Nine.”

McCormick’s back straightened. “How do I know what you’re telling me is true, son?”

Magnus produced a small data card and slipped it into McCormick’s breast pocket. The general jerked back when it touched him. “Easy, sir. I’m not going to hurt you. The data card in your pocket has tracking information indicating Kane’s fleet movement, as well the subspace jump signature for their destination coordinates.”

“Which is here above Capriana Prime, you say?”

“Yes, general.”

McCormick pulled the data card from his pocket and examined it skeptically. “And you expect me to do what with this, Lieutenant?”

“I expect you to take it seriously and raise the planetary defense shield.”

“The planetary defense shield?” McCormick raised an eyebrow. “Just like that?”

“Yes, general.”

McCormick started to laugh. “I’ve got to hand it to you, son. Your grandfather had big stones. Big stones. But you, my boy? Damn. You’re hung like a Pavroothian quarter stallion. And you’re just as nearsighted too.”

Now it was Magnus’s turn to squint. “Sir?”

“Kane isn’t coming back to attack Capriana, son,” McCormick replied. “He’s coming home.” The general snapped the data drive in two and let the pieces fall to the floor.

Senator Blackman smiled.

Magnus felt like the rug had been pulled out from under him. Whatever secret organization had lost control of Kane, McCormick wasn’t in on it. Or if he was, he was bluffing. Either way, this plan was falling apart fast. Still, Magnus had to keep trying. After all, this wasn’t about rescuing a teammate or protecting the Gladio Umbra—this was about saving billions of people.

“General, we have a witness who spoke with Kane and knows about his plans.”

“Do you? And where is this witness?” McCormick looked around. “Surely not cloaked here in the elevator pod with you, about to be arrested or shot.”

“She’s not here, no. However, her testimony was on the data drive you just compromised.”

“And who is this woman?”

Silence filled the cramped pod.

When Magnus failed to answer, McCormick said, “I’ve heard enough.”

“It’s a child, sir. Daughter of Senator Stone. And Colonel William S. Caldwell will vouch for her statements.”

Both officials’ eyes widened. “Caldwell?” the senator said. “How would Caldwell know anything about this?”

“Because he’s with us, attempting to stop Kane.”

“Son,” McCormick said. “I can assure you that Colonel Caldwell was killed during the raid on Worru. We lost a lot of good men in that conflict. So now I know you’re here under pretenses. What those are, I do not know. But”—the general looked at the floor numbers again—“I don’t have time to find out, and you’ve run out of time to manipulate me.”

“General, sir. Please.” Magnus put a hand on the man’s chest. “You’ve got to raise the PDS.”

McCormick grabbed Magnus’s forearm with a surprising amount of strength. “Son, I don’t have to do a damn thing. And just so you know, you’re about to be in a heap of trouble.”

“Is that all you have to say, buckethead?” Abimbola asked over comms, nodding toward the floor count. “Because we are slowing down.”

“This was not an excellent plan,” Rohoar said. “Rohoar deems we kill them.”

“Everyone relax,” Magnus ordered, sorting through what to do next. “We’re not killing them.” Clearly, the general wasn’t on board. Then again, Caldwell had told Magnus not to expect much. This part of the op was a long shot. But there were other ways to get the PDS up—this was just the least messy. And it had to be tried first, before the others, or Magnus knew he’d regret it.

“I recommend you surrender now,” the senator said. “With or without Kane’s assault, you’ve got nowhere to run.”

“May Rohoar do a deed?” Rohoar asked Magnus.

“Just don’t kill him,” Magnus replied.

In the blink of an eye, Rohoar hit Blackman on the side of the head, and the man dropped to the carpeted floor. “This has pleased Rohoar very much.”

“I’m happy to hear that,” Magnus replied.

“Who are you people anyway?” McCormick asked, still unable to focus on anyone in the pod.

“No disrespect, General,” Magnus said over externals. “But if you didn’t believe me about the senator’s daughter and the colonel, you’d never believe me when I tell you who was in this elevator with you. On that note, I’m sorry we have to do this, but you leave me no choice.” Magnus gestured to Rohoar, and the Jujari dropped the general just like the senator. Then Magnus raised his NOV1 and pointed it toward the elevator’s transparent exterior shell. “Titus, blow your elevator’s glass. We’re punching out. Everyone ready?”

“You’ve got to be kidding me right now,” Awen said.

“Why? You and I have a thing about jumping off skyscrapers together.”

“We did it once,” Awen protested with her hands on her hips. “And I was unconscious.”

“Still counts,” Magnus said, feeling the elevator come to a stop. “So, it’s a thing.”

“It’s not a thing.”

“Then it will be after this,” Magnus said, and then squeezed the trigger.

6

Both elevator’s windowplex exteriors exploded like a shower of glittering jewels thrown into a moonlit sky.

“Everyone out,” Magnus yelled. “Fly west. I’ll drop an LZ marker when I have one.” He looked across at the second elevator. “Titus, you coming?”

“We’re on your heels, LT,” Titus replied.

Abimbola, Rohoar, Awen, Silk, and Doc leaped from the opening and deployed their carbon fiber fabric wings. Magnus nodded at Titus. Bravo Team’s leader pushed Czyz, Nídira, Dutch, and Haze out before following himself.

The elevator doors opened behind Magnus, and someone shouted at him to stand still. Magnus spun, lunged backward into the night air, and watched as his feet cleared the elevator. Gravity took hold of his body, and a second later he was clear of the enemy threat, diving toward the campus. He maglocked his NOV1 to his back, deployed his wings, and rolled over. With a prompt in his HUD for adequate speed, Magnus flared into a nose-up position and banked left.

“You copy, ’Six?” Magnus asked.

“I see you and both fire teams heading westbound, sir,” replied the bot.

“We need an LZ, ASAP.”

“Understood. I’m sending one to you now. It will take you to the main island’s western shore.”

“Populate it.”

A small icon appeared in Magnus’s HUD. “Done,” TO-96 said. “From there, you will be able to secure transport to Azelon’s exfil coordinates.”

“Negative, ’Six. We still have a mission to complete.”

“But, sir—”

“I need a plan B.”

TO-96 hesitated. “Plan B, sir? But I assumed you’d make entry into CENTCOM and activate the PDS yourselves if you weren’t successful in convincing the officials.”

“So did I, but it’s locked down tight. Quantum encryption, impregnable blast doors, point defense guns, and redundant sensor security. We’re talking splick that makes the Black Labyrinth look like child’s play. So we’re making this next bit up as we go.”

“Improvising then, sir?”

“That’s the word.” Magnus adjusted course to follow the augmented reality flightpath in his HUD. He watched the other gladias lineup, preparing to fly through a long corridor of skyscrapers. “I need other ways to raise the shield besides doing it from inside CENTCOM. I need you to think like a badass.”

“A badass, sir?”

“Hell, yeah. Break the rules. Think outside the box. Splick—hold on.”

“Hold on?”

Magnus adjusted for a sudden crosswind. The gust tried to push him into the first oncoming building on his right. He banked left against the blast of wind, then corrected to fall back in line with the flight path.

“Okay, badass. Whaddya got?”

“Hypothetically speaking, it appears you could activate the PDS manually from inside the main generator station.”

“See? Now you’re talking like a badass.”

“Thank you, sir. But I fail to ascertain how that makes me a badass.”

“Just roll with it. Where’s the station?” Magnus watched the line of gladias as they sailed between buildings along an ever-descending route above the capital’s streets. Lights blurred in his vision while the sound of the rushing wind whooshed around his helmet.

“On the main island of the Elusian atoll,” TO-96 replied.

Magnus grinned. “Now you’re rolling. You feel that, buddy?”

“No, sir. I feel nothing.”

“But you’re thinking outside the box.”

“No, I’m providing you a logical secondary option derived from an analysis of the PDS’s infrastructure, utterly devoid of what you might call sexy peel.”

“You mean sex appeal.”

“Of course.”

“Whatever works for you.” Magnus grinned. “Just stay loose and keep the intel coming.”

“According to the schematic I have, the core’s main command console has a manual override function.”

“Then that’s where we’re headed.”

TO-96 nodded in his holo window. “You’ll be able to initiate the start-up sequence with only minimal instruction from me.”

“Nice. Thanks, bot.”

“Because I’m a badass?”

Magnus chuckled. “Hell, yeah.”

“I only wish I was with you to help take out the resistance you’ll encounter.”

“The what?” Without warning, another crosswind threw Magnus sideways. He was quick to compensate and avoided smacking into a mirror-finished building on his left.

“The resistance. The generator station is inside a military installation.”

“And this is easier than breaking into CENTCOM?” Magnus said.

TO-96 tilted his head in Magnus’s HUD. “Quantifiably, sir. You have a 0.0023% chance of getting through CENTCOM’s front doors, not to mention certain entrapment and summary execution. So, yes, this plan B, as you say, has a much higher probability of success. Just guys with guns, as I overheard you saying once. But that is your specialty. You are going to break in there and kill everything that moves, sir.”

“What?”

“No living soul shall survive. Your enemies will cower in abject fear. Future generations will marvel at the legend of your exploits.”

Magnus chuckled as he increased his angle of attack, exchanging altitude for speed. “Relax, pal.”

“Too much badass, sir?”

“A little.”

“My apologies, sir. I will let you fly in peace.”

Magnus thanked the bot, signed off, and then opened up the squad channel. “LZ’s a wide stretch of beach. Avoid any civilians.” Confirmation icons ran down his chat window, and Magnus flew the remaining distance with only the sound of the wind to keep him company.

The limited traffic below ran to where the streetlights met a hard intersection on the city’s western edge. Beyond the city limits lay a dimly lit boardwalk and a dark strand that slid under the surf. And it couldn’t be soon enough—Magnus was about to run out of altitude. The rest of the squad had room to spare, but Magnus was coming in under the projected flight path. A traffic control truss crossed the street about seven meters off the pavement ahead of him. Magnus decided not to attempt flying over it, so he dove, barely missing the structure, and emerged two meters above a hover skiff.

Magnus pulled up, trying to gain a little more altitude, and successfully flew over the cross traffic at the end of the street. He banked right to avoid a cluster of palms along the boardwalk, and then flared over the first open patch of sand. But Magnus came in too hot and was forced to roll out of his landing. Sand shot into the air as he spiraled forward, raining on his helmet once he’d taken a knee.

“All units check in,” Magnus ordered. They did so, and he saw their icons spread out along the beach. Then he ordered his squad to fall in on his location, and the icons started to move closer until everyone was in a loose circle around him.

“I take it that did not go like you intended,” Abimbola said.

Magnus shook his head. “Not quite. New plan. We’re gonna activate the planetary defense shield ourselves. TO-96 said we could do so at the main generator core located here.” Magnus populated a map in VNET and ordered everyone to open it. “The atoll is twenty-five klicks west of our current location, and home of Elusian Base and the PDS generator core. There are other relay cores located around the planet, but this is the big one and the only one with a manual override for the entire system.”

“Manual override, as in we have to walk in there and physically throw the switch?” Titus asked.

“That’s the idea.” Magnus sent another packet of information to everyone. “TO-96 has already provided three routes into the base for us, all leading to the manual override terminal located here”—Magnus flashed a blue waypoint marker on an outbuilding connected to a sizable hangar-like facility—“next to the power core station.”

“We flip that, and the PDS goes live, mission over?” Dutch asked.

Magnus nodded. “That’s what I’m told.”

“Did he say what kind of resistance we can expect?” Titus said.

“Based on the fact that we just broke into the Forum Republic, assaulted two high ranking Republic officials, and made quite the exit, I’d say the base will be on high alert. The good news is that the only two people who know we’re interested in raising the PDS are currently unconscious. Until they wake up, no one knows where we’re headed exactly.”

“Rohoar should have slain them,” Rohoar said.

“Speaking of slaying, we’re going up against Marines,” Magnus added. “So we’re going to do our absolute best to minimize casualties. We’re not here for them, and they’re not the Paragon. We’re here to get a shield up, copy?”

“This is all well and good,” Awen said. “But how do you intended to get us twenty-five kilometers into the Midnoric Ocean?”

“With those.” Magnus pointed toward a large beach hut with a sign that read Jules Sea Skimmer Rentals.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Awen replied.

“If we ride in pairs, we can act like honeymooners.”

Awen laughed once. “I’m riding my own. Thank you very much.”

“What is honeymooners?” Rohoar asked. “And should Rohoar ride with Abimbola?”

“No,” Abimbola said with a chop of his hand through the air.

“It means newlyweds,” Titus said to Rohoar, then cocked his head sideways as if considering his explanation. “Uh, people who agree to be married. Family commitment?”

Rohoar jerked back. “You mean, mating rights?”

Titus raised both hands toward the Jujari. “There you go. Mating rights.”

Then, with a sound of abject disgust, Rohoar stepped away from Abimbola. “Rohoar rides alone, like Awen.”

* * *

The sea skimmers were parked in a long line under a thatched awning that stretched out from either side of the main hut. Each unit was tethered to a charging station with a locking cable. Magnus asked Rohoar and Czyz to detach enough units for everyone and then raised Azelon over VNET.

“Any chance you can help us slice these, Azie?” Magnus asked.

“Please proceed to the procurement terminal,” Azelon replied.

“The what?”

“I think she means the checkout counter,” Awen said, pointing to the center desk under the main building.

“Right,” said Magnus, then he vaulted over the counter and walked to a holo terminal. He waved his hand over the activation sensor, and a translucent keypad appeared at chest height.

“Standby,” Azelon said. A few moments passed before she listed a series of numerals and letters, which Magnus entered. A green Accept indicator flashed, then opened to a user-friendly vehicle roster display with several easy-to-read tabs—no doubt designed for the cheap hourly labor that ran this touristy establishment. “Now, choose how many vehicles you would like, select Payment, and then enter your Republic account information.”

Magnus hesitated. “Azie, my account is probably suspended, and I—”

“I’m producing offspring,” Azelon replied.

“Huh?”

“It’s kidding,” TO-96 said, interjecting himself into her avatar frame. “We went over this already.”

“Quite so. My apologies.” Azelon looked back at Magnus. “I’m kidding.”

“We don’t have time for this,” Magnus said but had to admit her attempt at humor was at least a little funny.

“But sir, you said, keeping it light and punchy is a good way to dispel tension in combat.”

“The slice, Azie.”

“Stand by.”

The holo screen flickered, and a few new screens appeared that looked more like Cyril’s backend coding windows than anything an hourly employee would know how to navigate.

“I’m using your suit’s sensors and your biotech interface to communicate with this business establishment’s security protocol,” Azelon said.

“Looks like you’re making quick work of it.”

“It’s a benign system.” Several chimes began ringing down the rows of sea skimmers as the red lights on the locks changed from red to green. “There you are, sir.”

“Thanks, Azie. Just two more things.”

“Yes?”

“First, make sure you remove anything that might govern the speed and balance of our skimmers. Tourists might not want to kill themselves while surfing the waves, but we might.”

“Curious, but easy enough. What’s the second thing?”

Magnus looked at a stack of cheap poker chips that served as business cards for the proprietor’s enterprise. “Make sure that Mr. Jules is well compensated for this little venture of ours when all this is over. Chances are, he won’t be getting these skimmers back.”

“Understood, sir. Also, Mr. Jules is Miss Jules.”

Awen caught Magnus’s eye and pointed toward several framed images on the back wall. An attractive woman in a wetsuit stood in front of a racing sea skimmer, or held various trophies and awards, or stood beside other racers or dignitaries.

Magnus whistled. “Nothing like stealing from a champ.” Then he turned back to his squad and told everyone to find an open sea skimmer and prepare to move out.

* * *

Sea skimmers were not complicated to operate when their automation was active, which was why almost any planet in the Republic with water had them. When tuned down, the skimmers made for great tourist excursions, as evidenced by Miss Jules’s business, which—if Magnus had to guess—probably had franchises up and down the atoll. Plus, they looked amazing, so who wouldn’t want to give one a try?

The skimmer’s lack of complexity also made them extremely fun to race, especially when souped-up with oversized drive cores, high-density repulsor panels, and customized steering modulators. The Intergalactic Sea Skimmer League was one of the most developed sporting organizations in the quadrant, right below spaceball, and Magnus had attended his share of races as a youth here in Capriana. He was surprised he’d never heard of Jules before but admitted it had been over ten years since he’d followed the sport.

Magnus hadn’t ridden a skimmer since he was a teenager, but he knew it would come back to him in a flash. He made sure everyone found a unit suited to their size and weight before climbing on one himself. The entire fleet was painted in obnoxious neon colors and sported large racing numbers to make the tourists feel like they were pros.

The vehicles were mainly water-based hover sleds, but with several exceptions. The body was a narrow fuselage with a rounded nose in the front and vertical stabilizer for a tail. Small repulsor panels lined the bottom along the spine, making the vehicle hard to balance when standing still, but extremely maneuverable when at speed. While the addition of two small repulsor wings on each side of the body helped provide some stability, their primary purpose was to help roll the craft as they rotated along their axis. And, unlike repulsor technology used on land, the water-based equivalent afforded sea skimmer pilots a seemingly limitless, ever-increasing speed envelope, as well as the tightest turn radius of any vehicle in the Repub.

It was no surprise that the military routinely tried to purchase the vehicles. Still, the league consistently refused, not wishing their beloved racing sport to be sullied by the image of blasters strapped to the sides, riding into some interplanetary conflict that may or may not be supported by the league’s diverse fan base. Most followers of the sport agreed with the league’s decision, but not Magnus. They would have changed the tide of the war for us on Caledonia, he thought. Plus, he knew how badass Marines would look riding into battle on a fleet of them. Today, it seemed he’d get his wish, but with gladias instead of Marines.

Riders leaned forward against the skimmer’s fuselage, nearly prone—hands on angled handlebars and feet on actuator pedals. The horizontal stabilizer in the rear, which sat atop the vertical fin, helped regulate the skimmer’s pitch, and the pedals helped control the yaw. For most everyone, these input values were automated. All a pilot needed to do was turn the handlebars like a bike. But for the more experienced riders, which Magnus liked to think of himself as, automation could be reduced, with control given to the operator in varying degrees of intensity. The very best pilots could perform stunts and tricks that seemed to defy the laws of physics. Today, however, Magnus just needed the skimmer to serve as high-speed transfer sleds.

“Everyone ready?” Magnus looked up and down the line. “Throttle is in your left hand. Ease forward, find your balance, and then—”

All at once, Czyz shot forward and struck a media stand, knocking it over. Likewise, Doc Campbell surged forward, braked hard to compensate, and then dropped his sled. It fell sideways with a thud on the boardwalk. Similarly, Haze—the newest member of Granther Company, selected from Forbes’s first platoon—bumped into Czyz’s skimmer. The Jujari turned around and growled at Haze, but then dropped his sled in the sand.

Magnus shook his head. “Azelon, I’m having second thoughts. Can you return auto stabilization to everyone’s skimmers?”

“Right away, sir. Please note, however, that it will adversely affect their top speed.”

“I’m aware. And, right now”—Magnus winced as Rohoar smacked into Abimbola—“I’m fine with that.”

7

Second squad opened fire on the four men who came around the corner. Unarmored and brandishing only light sidearms, the security guards didn’t have a chance against the NOV1s. Ultra high-output weapons fire ripped the guards’ bodies to shreds in seconds. But the Paragon troopers who followed behind the security guards were much more prepared. The enemy took cover along the hallway’s bulkhead-like separators and fired downrange toward the console station. Even though the troopers couldn’t see anything, they must’ve known someone or something was there—the unauthorized node access and the dead bodies both here and in the loading bay gave it away.

“We need a plan,” Zoll said, taking cover behind the mystics’ shielding.

“And fast,” Bliss added.

Zoll had hoped this would be a smooth snatch and grab. But now that they were inside the high-security government bio-research facility, his hopes of getting back to the Spire before lunch were fading fast.

“You following all this?” Zoll asked to Caldwell over VNET.

“Affirmative, Zoll,” the colonel replied. “Think you can still handle the objective?”

“I already canceled my breakfast reservations for this, so, since we’re here, why not?”

Caldwell’s mustache turned up at the ends. “Keep your heads down.”

“Will do. Would you update Magnus for us?”

“Roger that.”

“Thanks. Zoll out.”

Without warning, a small detonator with a red blinking light rolled down the hallway toward Zoll.

“Fragger,” Zoll yelled. He stepped forward to kick the enemy ordnance away, but it moved before he could get a boot on it. The detonator reversed course, flew through the air, and then exploded behind the bulkhead where the six troopers took cover. The sudden burst of light and sound shook the hallway and dimmed the lights. When Zoll looked around to see who or what had returned the enemy grenade, he saw Wish—Charlie Team’s mystic—give him a little wave. “That was some fancy-ass splick.”

“I try and make myself useful,” Wish replied.

“Fine by me.” Zoll turned from the six dead troopers and the four dead security guards to look at Cyril. “Give us a direction, kid.”

“That way, on the double duty.” Cyril pointed east, farther down the present corridor. “Then north until we hit the lower elevator banks, ten four.”

“Sounds good.”

“But, but, sir. They’re going to be locked down tight.”

“Can’t you do something about that?”

Cyril was back on the console, typing furiously. “Anything I do here could be nullified by the time we get down there. The building’s AI is compartmentalizing systems as we speak. It’s almost exactly like the level in Blue Reaper where you constantly have to stay ahead of the alien supermind that’s trying to keep you from escaping from the—”

“Cyril,” Zoll yelled. “We don’t have time for this!”

“Oh, right. So sorry, sir. Yes.”

“Can you slice the elevators?”

“Yeah, yeah. But, again, I’m not sure how long—”

“Do it. We’ll improvise when the need arises. That’s why we have you.”

Cyril nodded and then entered several lines of code that made no sense to Zoll.

“Longchomps, Grahban, Redmarrow.” Zoll pointed to the three Jujari. “I want you on point. Flip back your OTA extensions and get those snouts and claws ready. Azie’s update on your telecolos covering should extend chameleon coverage to still keep your extremities cloaked. Wish, Telwin, Finderminth, cover our six, and keep Cyril cocooned while you’re at it. Let’s move.”

As soon as Cyril was done slicing, the team left the data node and continued east down the hallway until they reached a T-intersection.

The three Jujari sniffed the air, and Longchomps raised a fist. “Hold,” he said in a low tone. “I smell unbathed humans and energy mags.”

“Which way?” Zoll said.

“Left. And right. Both stationary.”

“They’re set up on us,” Bliss said. “Playing defense.”

Zoll nodded, then looked back at Longchomps. “You go left toward the elevators. We’ll cover right.”

“With pleasure,” Longchomps replied in a snarl. Before Zoll could move, the three Jujari dove at the far wall—and ran along it. Claws dug into the metal, and Redmarrow even raced along the ceiling. The Paragon troopers started firing, but their aim was imprecise. The Jujari remained clear as they advanced.

Zoll ordered his three snipers—Reimer, Bettger, and Jaffrey—to swing out and fire south, while Rix and Dozer provided covering fire. The gladias peeled out and took cover behind the bulkheads, NOV1s and CK360s pointed downrange, blaster bolts whizzing.

Northbound, the Jujari fell upon the defenders like a Bornark fessel pig that hadn’t eaten in three days. Longchomps clotheslined two troopers at once—one who was reloading, and a second who was firing right into the Jujari’s chest. For Longchomps, that cost him 85% of his shield. But the two troopers hit the ground so hard their helmets flew off. Longchomps finished them by driving his palms into the heads, flattening them into a bloody pulp.

Grahban dropped to his side and slid along the glossy floor—his armor made a high-pitched squealing noise as he did. As he moved through the enemy’s position, he reached out and slashed at the troopers’ legs on either side of the hallway. Several men dropped to the ground, writhing. But for those who remained standing, Redmarrow dropped from the ceiling, rolled, and then pounced with all his weight. He pressed three troopers to the ground while closing his jaws on a fourth’s torso.

The man in Redmarrow’s mouth tried to raise his blaster high enough to fire down on the unseen force that crushed his ribs, but before he could get a shot off, the Jujari chewed his way through the stomach and spine, cleaving the trooper in two. The man’s top half fell to the side, while Redmarrow held onto the bottom. When the Jujari turned around to look at Zoll, a pair of armored legs hung from his mouth. They only dropped to the ground when Redmarrow said, “Clear.”

To the south, Reimer took out two troopers in quick succession, both with headshots. Bettger struck a third in the shoulder, flipping him to the ground, and finished him with a shot to the chest. Meanwhile, Jaffrey dropped a fourth trooper who maintained constant pressure on his trigger finger. The trooper’s blaster continued firing as the man sprawled onto the floor, striking two other Paragon combatants in a deadly friendly fire accident.

“That counts as three kills,” Jaffrey said.

“Does not,” Bettger replied. “Unless you’re that first guy—he gets two kills.”

“South hall is clear,” Robillard said, turning to face Zoll.

“Let’s move,” Zoll replied, then took off north toward the elevators.

The Jujari had already arrived at the four elevator doors when Zoll got there. So far, no other troopers had converged on their position, but he had a feeling the reprieve wouldn’t last long.

Cyril walked up to a control panel and pressed the down button. “Okay, so, so, I guess it’s time to see how far we get, right?”

“Right,” Zoll replied. “Charlie and Delta, I want you defending this position. Echo, we’re heading to the basement. Stay on comms, and stay alert.” Everyone confirmed his orders in their HUDs, and then Zoll stepped into the open elevator. Echo Team loaded in, but Cyril remained on the outside. “Whaddya think you’re doing?”

“Who, who, me?” Cyril pointed to his chest.

Zoll nodded.

“Well, ya see, I just thought that since—”

“Get in the damn elevator, Cyril.”

“Sir, yes, sir. Copy over and out, sir.”

Zoll reached out and yanked on the kid’s arm, then punched the button for the fourth sub-level. The elevator doors closed, and the pod sank through its tube.

A small chime indicated that they’d passed by the first sub-level. Three seconds later, another chime sounded for the second sub-level. Then the pod slowed, but the third chime never came.

“What’s happening?” Zoll asked.

“Well, sir, you see, that would be the AI,” Cyril replied.

“Can’t you get it going again?”

“Not likely,” Cyril said.

“But you’re a genius, I thought.”

Cyril snickered. “I mean, it depends on who you ask but, like, the guys in my GAXCHAT forum? They say the real genius is—”

“For the love of mystics, kid! Can you slice it?”

“So sorry, sir. Let me see, sir.” Cyril started tapping in the control panel and made discouraging sounds in the back of his throat.

“And?”

“I can’t get root access from here, no. Sir, I’m sorry, sir.”

The elevator started moving again, but this time it was going back up. “Oh no, you don’t,” Zoll said. “Wish, can you stop us?”

“On it,” she replied. She raised her hands a little, and then a beat later, the pod’s drive system gave a loud whine in protest, sending a tremor into the floor. The elevator shuddered and then began to slow as the sound grew louder. A loud bang sounded from underneath the floor, and the elevator jerked to a stop.

“Reimer, you’ve still got line, right?” Zoll asked, nodding at the sniper.

“Roger. How much?”

“Only one way to find out.” Zoll turned to Longchomps and then pointed to the floor. “We need a hole.”

The Jujari gave the menacing version of their species’ smile and then began drawing a circle on the ground with his nail. The sound was horrifying but necessary. Like a can opener carving a furrow through soft metal, Longchomps completed his circuit and then punched down on the shoulder-width disc. The circle popped free and then fell into the darkness, clattering as it disappeared down the pit.

Reimer leaned over the hole and used his helmet’s advanced range finder to determine the shaft’s depth. “Forty-one point eight meters,” the sniper replied. “But that’s to the bottom. I have to imagine the fourth sub-level is somewhere above that.”

“And you have enough line?”

“Fifty meters,” Reimer said, patting the spool attached to his back.

“Run it. We’ll follow.” Zoll looked at Longchomps. “Can you make sure this pod doesn’t go anywhere so Wish can stop working so hard?”

The Jujari nodded, turned, and then punched the sidewall. His fist left a dent ten centimeters deep. He repeated the blow in five more places around the pod, ensuring that the cart was bound to the narrow shaft it slid through.

“Try that,” Zoll said to Wish.

She nodded and then seemed to release her hold on the elevator. When it didn’t move for a moment, she said, “We’re holding.”

“Good.” When Zoll looked back at Reimer, the sniper fired his cable anchor into the pod’s underside, and then dropped through the floor’s hole.

“It’s holding,” Reimer said, and then lowered himself down the shaft from his raised left hand. Zoll could hear the gentle whirr of the motor as it let out the nano cable. He watched Reimer’s outline grow smaller as the gladia descended past the third subfloor and then head toward the fourth.

Unlike regular building stories that were four-meters high, these sub-level stories were far thicker—like Cyril had said, “for good reason.” Breach control and containment were no small things when dealing with the galaxy’s most deadly spores, viruses, and microscopic bad guys. Not for the first time, Zoll even wondered what jeopardy he was placing his team and himself in by gong this deep. Surely, there were safety measures and security protocols that sane people took when coming down here. But now they were punching holes in elevators and descending by cable.

“Almost there,” Reimer said. “I see the door another fifteen—”

Reimer’s voice cut off as the sound of metal sliding across metal filled the shaft.

“What the hell was that?” Zoll asked.

“Uh ohhh,” Cyril said. “I was worried this would happen. I was worried, and now it’s happening. It’s happening!”

Zoll clapped his hands once in front of Cyril’s face to get the code slicer to focus. “Talk to me, kid. What’s going on?”

“Containment breach protocols. The AI thinks there’s something nefarious going on.”

“Because there is something nefarious going on!” Exasperated with Cyril, Zoll dropped to his knees and shined his headlamps toward Reimer. Where there should have been an open shaft, he saw a flat metal floor about five meters down. It looked like twelve metal leaves had spiraled inward, binding the cable at the center.

“It’s, it’s, it’s a security wall,” Cyril said. “Presumably shielded. That’s why we’ve lost communication with Reimer.”

“Let’s just blow it,” Longchomps said.

“And sever his cable?” Zoll asked.

“Not to mention blowing that panel straight down on top of his head,” Rix added. “No way.”

“So, what do we do now?” Cyril said.

“Bliss, Robillard,” Zoll said. He waited a second before repeating the hail again. “Anyone? You there?”

“It’s no good, roger copy, sir,” Cyril said. “There’s one of those walls above us too. The AI is trying to close in on us.”

“So, what now?” Rix asked.

“Might I try to reopen the passage?” Wish said.

Zoll felt stupid for not thinking of such a thing sooner. This was, after all, the whole point of having fire teams comprised of individual specialists, wasn’t it? He just wasn’t used to having a mystic’s uncanny powers at his disposal. “By all means,” he said, stepping aside.

Wish smiled. “I don’t need access to the hole.”

“Right.” Zoll shook his head. “Of course you don’t.”

Wish lowered her head, and everyone else waited. Several seconds passed before Wish said, “Okay, I see Reimer. He’s managed to open the doors onto sub-level four.”

“Excellent,” Zoll said, relieved that the sniper hadn’t sent himself plummeting to his death. “Are you able to speak to him?”

“Assuming he is settled enough in his mind, yes.”

“Well—just—let him know we’re coming, and to wait for us.”

Wish nodded once. “It’s done.” She paused for another second. “All right, he says okay.”

Zoll sighed. At least that was going right. “Can you open the security barrier?”

“I’m going to try, yes,” Wish replied.

“If not, Rix can blow it,” Longchomps said.

“No,” Rix said. “The blowback alone in this confined space will kill us all.”

“Not if I help contain the charge,” Wish said. “But let me try opening it myself first. Please, everyone, I need to focus.”

“Give her some space,” Zoll said. “Come on.” Longchomps, Rix, and Cyril stepped back, while Wish dipped her head again. At first, there was no sign that anything was happening. When the silence continued, Zoll thought of telling Wish to call it off, and then let Rix plant the explosives. But just as he was about to say something, a deep groan came from the barricade below them. Zoll dropped to his hands and knees again and looked into the shaft. “Well, I’ll be,” he said with a sense of wonder to his voice.

“Is the small mystic opening the hole?” Longchomps asked.

“Yes,” Wish replied, her voice strained. “But do you mind giving me a hand?”

Longchomps touched his chest. “Me?”

“You have at least some power in the Unity, right?”

“Yes. We are raised as pups with a general awareness of—”

“Join me,” Wish said. “I could use your help. This thing is strong.”

“She’s really not wrong,” Cyril said. “The hydronic lock on that mechanism is said to make the unit unbreachable.”

“I can still blow it,” Rix said.

“Negative,” Zoll replied. “Longchomps, join her.”

The Jujari nodded and then closed his eyes. He gave a long blast of air from his nostrils and then slowed his breathing. “Do you see my presence?”

“I do,” Wish replied. “Do you see mine? Down here.”

The Jujari nodded. “I’m coming to you.”

“Good. Now, I need you to press along the leaves. Like this.” Apparently, Wish was showing Longchomps something in the Unity down there. It was all very strange to Zoll, but he would be the last person to doubt it if, indeed, the pair could get the shaft opening again. “While you do that, I’m going to try and reverse or disable the locking mechanism. When I say go, I need you to push with all your might.”

“But Madame Wish, I have not—”

“Go!”

Longchomps jerked back in surprise, but then started snarling as he did Wish’s bidding. Watching the entire episode play out in the elevator was rather odd—a former Luma and a Jujari, grinding their teeth and moving their bodies around without anything else going on around them. It was a bit like watching two insane people have a conversation without using words.

“Almost—got—it,” Wish said, hissing through the mic in her helmet. “Just—a little—bit—more.”

“I do not think I can hold this much longer,” Longchomps said.

“Just—a—little—”

A round boom rattled the shaft, echoing up and down it.

“Is everyone okay?” Zoll asked, unsure of what had happened.

Wish looked up Longchomps and placed a hand on his chest. “We did it.”

“You—” The Jujari seemed at a loss for words. “You are very strong. And I am attracted to you. This unsettles me.”

“—hear me, come in. I repeat, if can anyone can hear me, please come in.”

“Reimer,” Zoll exclaimed. “We hear you loud and clear.”

“Thank the mystics,” Reimer said.

“I will,” Longchomps replied. He looked at Wish, and then said, “Thank you, tiny pretty human.”

“I really wonder about you sometimes, Jujari,” Rix said.

“Reimer, are you okay?” Zoll asked while staring at Longchomps and Wish, curious to see if the mystic would say anything back to the Jujari. The odd pair seemed to gaze at one another for a split second before Wish looked away. Is she being coy with him?

“I’m fine. I’m fine.” Reimer sounded relieved. “Wasn’t sure if I’d lost you guys there.”

“Same,” Zoll said. “But about you.”

“Listen, that barricade split my cable.”

Zoll balked. “With you on it?”

“No, no. I was able to descend to sub-level four and then open up the doors with my weapon. But as soon as that barricade opened, the cable came down. It obviously chomped it pretty good.”

“Just glad you weren’t on it,” Zoll added.

“Me too. But now we’ve got ourselves another problem.”

“How to get us down there,” Zoll stated.

“Right.”

Wish raised a hand. “I might have an idea. But I’ve never tried anything like it.”

Zoll asked her to explain it. When she was done, Zoll looked at Longchomps, Rix, and Cyril. “Anyone have any better ideas?” They shook their heads, and Zoll put a hand on Wish’s shoulder. “Looks like it’s up to you again. Knock yourself out.”

“What a horrible thing to tell her,” Longchomps said. “And after what she just did for us. You humans disturb me.”

8

It took three minutes for Magnus’s squad to get off the beach. What had seemed like a bright idea at the beginning had turned into a comedic melee within seconds, as half the squad foundered with the sea skimmers. While the gladias made excellent gunfighters, they made horrible tourists—at least until Azelon turned the training hover plates back on. Everyone circled up and then shot off the beach, following Magnus into the low tide.

Their departure couldn’t have come any sooner as several bystanders along the boardwalk started pointing fingers at what looked to be rogue sea skimmers driving around on their own. Magnus knew it would only be a matter of time before the police showed up. From there, officials would start connecting the break-in at the Forum Republica with the skimmer theft, and then the Repub would be on their heels.

Magnus looked over his shoulder at the tail of water shooting twenty meters into the air. His sled ripped across the wave crests, slicing through the white caps with ease, and maintaining speed over 160 kilometers per hour. To his left and right, his squad stretched out in a line 200 meters wide. He’d ordered everyone to keep the crafts’ headlights off and operate using their helmet’s night vision. Doing so would keep them from being tracked visually, both by those on Capriana and anyone watching from Elusian Base.

While the sea skimmers were capable of traversing the ocean faster with it off, keeping the automated stabilization controls on helped inexperienced riders from tipping over. But Magnus felt it was a fair trade-off—arriving at their waypoint a bit later would be better than only half of them arriving because of crashing. Even at half speed, the skimmer’s drive core produced the characteristic scream known throughout the racing world. Magnus reflected on long walks down the shore as a kid. He could pick out sea skimmers a dozen klicks away just from their telltale wail. Unfortunately for him tonight, the same could be said of any enemies awaiting their arrival on the Elusian atoll.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you,” Awen asked Magnus over a private channel on VNET.

“How can you tell?” he replied.

She chuckled. “I can hear you grinning.”

“Guilty. I forgot how much fun these are.”

“No, you didn’t. And if I were a betting woman, I’d say we’re not going fast enough for you.”

“Damn, you’re good.”

“I know.”

Magnus rolled his head in an attempt to loosen himself up—physically and emotionally. “Hey, Awen?”

She chuckled. “Yes?”

“Yeah. So, I know we haven’t had a lot of time together lately—to talk and stuff.”

“We’ve been a little busy.”

“Right. But when we’re not busy—later, I mean—would you like to walk?”

“Walk?” She laughed.

“Yeah. I mean, we can eat first, and then find a place to take a walk.”

She giggled, and for the briefest moment, the sound transported Magnus to somewhere else, somewhere far away from Capriana and war and death.

“I’d like that,” she replied. “You’ve got yourself a date.”

“A date?”

“What did you think you were asking for?”

“Uh…”

Awen laughed again. “Don’t answer that, Adonis.”

“Okay.” That hadn’t gone like he imagined, but it hadn’t gone worse either. He smiled, grateful for the diversion—for hope. Magnus took a moment to feel the fuselage’s vibration rattle his body—to savor the wind and saltwater blasting his visor. “They’re going to hear us coming, you know.”

“Mm-hmm. I thought of that. How many guards you think they have stationed on the perimeter?”

“Midnight shift will be light, but I’m guessing more because of what we did in the capital.”

“They’re on alert then.”

“And they’re not the only ones,” Colonel Caldwell said—his bushy white mustache appearing in a small window in Magnus’s HUD.

“Colonel,” Magnus said in acknowledgment.

The man must’ve noticed his proximity to the camera. He backed up and nodded at Magnus. “Seems Zoll’s team has encountered more than they bargained for. Turns out TO-96’s nondescript government lab is actually a secure biohazard research facility. Thing’s got a security detail thicker than my sister’s chastity belt and an AI that’s smart enough to know how she gets out of it on the weekends.”

“That bad?” Magnus asked, marveling at the colonel’s endless treasure trove of one-liners. “Seems we’ve all got our hands full then.” He looked at the mission clock. They had five minutes left before reaching the main island. “You listening, bots?”

“We are, sir,” said TO-96, appearing with Azelon in their own window. “How can we help you?”

“Do you have access to any records on Elusian Base’s force composition?”

TO-96 tilted his head and paused for a moment. “Affirmative, sir. It looks as though the installation can hold one company plus 100 civilian support staff.”

“That seems excessive,” Awen replied. “What is that, almost 300 people?”

Magnus grunted. “But that’s maximum capacity, right ’Six? We’re not talking that much strength now.”

“Oh no, sir. There’s much more on-site.”

Magnus paused. “Come again?”

“There’s another company there for training.”

“Another company?” Awen cleared her throat. “Not to second guess you, Adonis, but are you sure this is the best idea?”

“It’s still better than trying to break into CENTCOM,” he replied. “We’ve got to try.”

“To answer both your questions, the 9th Marines, 1st battalion, 2nd company is the second unit on location,” TO-96 said.

Magnus rolled his eyes.

“I saw that,” Awen said.

Damn. Some days, he wanted the old TACNET audio-only setup. “Azie,” Magnus said. “Any chance of us sneaking onto post?”

“With the sound pressure level you’re currently outputting, not likely,” she said. “However, if you choose to slow your speed by 54% and approach from the south, you’ll be able to make landfall on Cotter’s Island here.” A small island to the south of Elusian Base illuminated on Magnus’s mission map. “Doing so should keep our presence largely undetected, at which point you can swim the channel between the two islands and approach the base in relative secrecy.”

“How long’s that gonna take?” Magnus asked.

“An additional forty-seven minutes, depending on your team’s swimming efficiency.”

“That’s no good,” Magnus said as a sense of frustration grew in his chest.

“Are you sure we can’t afford the extra time?” Awen asked him. “It could mean fewer casualties on both sides.”

“But it almost doubles our time on target,” Magnus said.

“Whatever you decide, sir, it needs to be concluded in three minutes,” TO-96 said.

“Understood.” Magnus stretched his neck and felt the wind fight the motion. “Colonel, you got a preference?”

“I’m not sure that I do, son,” the old man said. “I don’t like that it extends your time down there. Plus, if Moldark shows up, that could spell disaster for Capriana faster than Aunt June’s sweet yams give me the squirts. But assaulting the post head-on will most likely be a bloody affair. Even with your NOV1s and fancy armor, I’m worried you’ll take heavy casualties.”

“But can we hit the switch faster than forty-seven minutes?” Magnus asked. “Because, according to the mission parameters, that’s the only question that needs answering.”

Caldwell sighed and then looked offscreen. Based on how TO-96 and Azelon looked away too, Magnus guessed they were on the bridge and staring at one another. It was TO-96 who spoke next. “Again, you’ll save the most time by assaulting the base head-on and making for the manual override switch in the substation control building.”

“Then that’s what we’re doing,” Magnus said.

“Sir, if I may,” Azelon said.

“Go ahead.”

“I have something you might find useful for this scenario. However, please be advised that it is not subtle.”

Caldwell’s bushy white eyebrows rose. “Darling, we’re not looking for subtle. You save that for playing footsie with your boyfriend there. But you got something that will help them punch through? I say send it.”

“Agreed,” said Magnus. “Whaddya got?”

* * *

Magnus’s squad made landfall on the island’s north side sixty seconds later. By the number of the Marines taking their positions on the base’s wall, either General McCormick and his senator had woken up to warn about a possible attack on the PDS, or the sea skimmers had woken everyone up. The floodlights were on, and the blaster rifles were warmed up.

With the sea skimmers at full power, Magnus ordered his squad to ride up the beachhead to a cluster of boulders. The giant rocks provided ample cover, allowing the gladias to dismount and regain the advantage of being invisible. The only aspect of the base that was visible from down here was the enormous tower that served to funnel the core’s energy into the stratosphere.

Tactically, it would be ten minutes before Azelon’s care package arrived, which meant Magnus needed to thin the enemy’s ranks, open a breach in the base’s wall, and make room for the drop. Although—to be fair to Azelon—armored crates propelled from orbit would clear their own way when they hit, he just didn’t want any gladias in it.

“Bravo Team, you’re going left,” Magnus said. “Alpha Team, we’re going right. And when Azelon tells us to get the hell away from the drop zone—”

“We get the hell away from the drop zone,” Abimbola said.

“Right. Target the emplaced weapons first, and then pick off the sentries. Doc, Haze, I want two holes along the wall so they’ll be forced to cover both of them, but hold the detonation until our delivery arrives. Then we’ll take the gap closest to the substation, which will be to the west.” He marked a spot along the base’s right side. “That’s infill. We press to the objective, and the first person to flip on the PDS wins a lifetime supply of Colonel Caldwell’s cigars.”

“Rohoar does not smoke,” said the Jujari.

“Then you’d better learn, Scruffy, ’cause I want you tearing a path to that outbuilding.”

“Rohoar will forfeit his reward to another person.”

Magnus waved a hand. “Whatever you do, be sure not to hit the PDS generator tower. We damage that, and this whole mission’s a wash. Let’s thin their numbers and get those explosives deployed then clear out. Rohoar, Czyz, retract your armor extensions—we’ll need your teeth and claws.”

Magnus could sense everyone squaring up with the objectives. This was not going to be easy for more reasons than he cared to admit. For one, he was risking his life to protect—among other things—the Corps, the one that had double-crossed him. But it wasn’t really the military who betrayed you—right? Magnus thought. It was the Paragon. Magnus bit his lower lip. Just keep telling yourself that, Adonis.

“LT?” Dutch said.

“Go ahead.”

“Those are Marines in there.” Before the words were even out of her mouth, Magnus knew where this was going because he was thinking the same thing. Any member of the Corps would. “Not the Paragon. Marines.”

“Hard copy.”

But she wasn’t done. “I just feel like—if we had more time, ya know? If we could talk to them, like you did with the Colonel and with Captain Forbes, then maybe…” She sighed. “I don’t know what I’m saying.”

To Magnus’s surprise, it was Abimbola who replied first. “War is messy, Dutch. And you? You are a warrior. You will trade these lives for millions, because that is what warriors do.” Abimbola lowered his head for a moment, but he wasn’t done. “I have slain more of your brothers and sisters than I care to admit to you. Today, however, I take no pride in our killing—only in our saving. Without that, we are merciless. But if we keep the end in sight, perhaps redemption awaits us. Awaits us all. Let history decide later, but we decide now.”

“Damn,” Titus said, breaking the somber mood. “That was some good splick. La-raah.”

“Thanks, Abimbola,” Dutch said as she placed a hand on the Miblimbian’s arm.

He nodded once in reply. “La-raah.”

“Let’s move,” Magnus said. “Dominate.”

“Liberate,” they all replied.

Alpha Team left the boulders’ cover and met a squad of Marines coming to investigate the sea skimmers. Magnus took aim at a trooper on the left who donned white Mark V armor. He fired a single round into the Marine’s helmet. It was the most humane way to put a combatant down—instantaneous and, therefore, painless—assuming you didn’t miss. And at such close proximity, Magnus knew he wouldn’t miss. The trooper collapsed and rolled down the sandy embankment.

Upon seeing their fallen trooper and the flash of a random blaster bolt, the other Marines raised their weapons and fired into the darkness. At least one gladia took a hit to a personal shield, according to Magnus’s HUD, but he was too preoccupied to see who it was.

Magnus’s squad fired on the ill-fated search party, sending all twelve Marines to the sand, and rolling down to settle near the base of the boulders. Black-rimmed blaster holes pockmarked their white armor, while wisps of smoke rose through the floodlamps’ indirect light.

“Keep it smooth,” Magnus said to Alpha Team. He moved around the bodies and ran up the hill, careful to keep his boots from stirring the sand too much—there would be plenty of snipers on the wall monitoring where their fellow Marines had disappeared. Magnus found cover behind some dune ferns and zoomed in on the fortified wall.

Elusian Base sat on a natural rise with about 300 meters of open sand between the boulders and the front gate. A ten-meter high blastcrete wall surrounded the complex, complete with watchtowers, electrified deterrents, and sniper nests. The main entrance itself was a five-meter blast door that was wide enough to accept amphibious transports directly from the sea. Floodlights adorned the towers, lighting a narrow trail of hardpack that went from the surf all the way to the gate.

“It looks like we have more company coming,” Abimbola said. The gate opened, and a platoon of forty-eight Marines emerged, weapons in high ready position. They spread out in a V-formation, blaster’s searing the horizon.

“Splick,” Magnus said to himself.

“Looks like they didn’t get the memo about your whole low casualties thing,” Dutch said.

“No.” Magnus chewed his lip. “They didn’t.” He doubled checked his NOV1 then hailed Titus and Abimbola. “You ready?”

“Let’s do this,” Titus said.

“We are ready,” Abimbola replied.

“Open fire.”

From two sides on the open ground, the Granthers fired on the advancing Marines. They dropped the center-most troopers first and then began working outward. The first ten combatants went down without a fight, but the remainder dropped to their bellies and virtually disappeared in the sand.

“They’re going to ground,” Magnus said. “Adjust fire and watch for those snipers.”

Alpha Team moved further to the right, thinking to flank the prone Marines. Magnus dialed in the crest of a Repub helmet poking above a gentle rise in the sand and squeezed his trigger. His NOV1 whined as a single round raced toward the helmet and blew a hole in the top. The smoking bucket tipped sideways, and the trooper lay still.

Another trooper rose on one knee to fire at the invisible area where the Granther’s blaster bolts were appearing from, and landed a direct hit on Rohoar’s chest plate, dropping the Jujari’s shield to 71%. Rohoar hissed something in his mother tongue—probably a curse against the Marine—and then returned fire, shredding the trooper’s chest plate before the force knocked the man backward.

To Magnus’s surprise, dozens of metal planks flipped up from the sand, standing like rectangular soldiers. They were positioned halfway between the Marines and the gladias, and cast long shadows across the open ground.

“Field walls,” Magnus said above the scream of blaster fire. “Let’s get to them first!”

At once, the Granthers were off and running, dashing toward the spring-loaded field walls in the field’s center.

“I’ve got a runner,” Silk said as she tracked a Marine running toward one of the barricades. She sighted in, squeezed off a round from her CK360 sniper rifle, and then ran toward a small boulder as the trooper flipped head over heels.

Magnus was the first to a field wall. It stood about a meter and a half high, and he crouched behind it, knowing there was a Marine on the other side. He reached around with his NOV1 and fired. But to his surprise, the Marine knocked the weapon out of his hand. Pissed and slightly embarrassed, Magnus withdrew his NCK and swung the blade around the wall. The weapon struck something hard that cracked under the blade’s nearly indestructible point. Magnus grabbed the wall with his free hand to leverage himself, then he withdrew the knife and stabbed again and again until the person behind the wall fell away.

He peeked to see a Marine lying on the sand with bloody holes in his back before turning to see the NOV1 laying a meter away. Magnus retrieved his weapon and then crouched with his back against the wall. After double-checking the weapons integrity and magazine level, Magnus leaned out the wall’s other side and fired on a Marine who’d left his ass exposed. Hell of a way to go, Magnus noted, but all bets were off in a firefight. So he sighted in on the Marine’s backside and fired. The first shot spun the victim out from behind the wall, and the second shot struck him in the chest. Magnus figured the trooper was dead before he hit the ground.

Magnus took off running for another field wall about twelve meters downrange. He slid to a stop and fired to his left, flanking an unsuspecting Marine with two shots in the ribs. The combatant slumped against the metal shield. To the right side, another Marine noticed the commotion and started shooting at Magnus’s position. One blaster bolt managed to strike Magnus in the shoulder, reducing his shield by 18%. He returned fire, striking the Marine three times—once in the head and twice in the chest. The trooper fell backward, arms and legs sprawled.

Magnus went to move downrange again when the sniper fire started in earnest. The unmistakable shriek of MS900 rounds whizzed by Magnus’s head and forced him to stay behind cover.

“Seems somebody finally decided to put their big boy pants on,” Magnus said.

“They are already wearing pants,” Czyz replied. “I do not understand your comment.”

“He means thermal optics,” Titus said from behind his own field wall. “They’re able to see us now.”

“I still do not understand what that has to do with young adult pants.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Titus reached out to try a shot on the sniper nests, but the sniper rounds were too accurate. He pulled back and regrouped. “Too rich for my gut.”

“Copy that,” Magnus said. “Silk, Dutch, any help?” The two snipers had intentionally stayed back for this very reason. Now that he faced back toward the shore, Magnus noticed the women were set up behind small boulders, sighting in on the base.

“On it, LT,” Dutch said. A beat later CK360 rounds tracked back to two sniper nests along the top of the wall. Magnus arched his head to see the first round drop a sniper into his metal bunker. The second Marine toppled forward and fell over the bunker’s edge. His body flipped once in the air before landing in the sand with a thud. But before the impact, Dutch and Silk had fired on two more snipers, dropping them just as quickly as the first. It wasn’t until their third shots that the remaining snipers along the wall zeroed in on the women and returned fire.

The momentary shift in focus gave Magnus and the others enough time to advance down two more rows of field walls before the enemy’s fire returned in force. “Rohoar, Czyz. Think you can give us some SMS support on that left wall?”

“Yes,” Rohoar replied. Magnus watched the Jujari pull the shoulder-fired launchers from their backs and take a knee. Rohoar readied the weapon and then used his HUD’s aiming system to stick the tube outside of cover without placing his head in harm’s way.

“Hole in the fire,” Rohoar said. A beat later, a smoke trail blazed across the battlefield as a rocket-propelled detonator headed for the left wall. The round exploded, sending fire and sparks into the night air. But when the smoke cleared, the shot had done no damage, and the troopers reappeared, weapons firing.

The second round, however—this one from Czyz—caught five troopers by surprise, scattering them and their remains in all directions, and taking a chunk from the wall’s railing. Another dozen Marines fell back from the position—either blown off the ramparts or driven to the sides.

“Good work, you two,” Magnus said.

“Rohoar softened the target for me,” Czyz said.

“Rohoar does not agree. Your shot was superior.”

“Save it for your therapist.” Magnus used the momentary lull to advance his squad one more row of wall planks. Knowing how to use the enemy’s response to your advantage was critical in offensive maneuvers, and the Granthers needed every edge they could get.

The base hadn’t shown its full strength still, and Magnus was worried about what would happen when they did. Granther Company needed to place charges on the walls—fast. Magnus took a distance reading on the wall—his HUD put it at eighty-six meters. They were closer than they’d been when this started, but still far enough that his two demolition operators would get taken out without adequate covering fire.

“Silk, Dutch, I’m gonna need a hard press on the sniper nests again.”

“Almost in our new positions,” Dutch replied.

“Good.”

“You still sure this wasn’t easier than knocking on CENTCOM’s front door?” Dutch asked.

Magnus ignored the question. “Everyone else, we’re laying down heavy covering fire so Doc and Haze can set charges on the wall. Azie?”

“Yes, sir,” Azelon replied.

“What’s the ETA on our care package?”

“Two minutes, sir.”

Magnus sucked his teeth clean of saliva. “Then that gives us sixty seconds to plant the first charges, and sixty seconds to get clear of the inbound crates. Everyone ready?”

“Ready,” Silk and Dutch said.

“Ready,” said Doc and Haze. Everyone else pinged on the chat window.

“Bring the heat,” Magnus replied, and then turned to fire on the wall with his NOV1 on full auto.

9

Despite being outnumbered thirty-six to one, Alpha and Bravo Teams laid down enough blaster fire to make any Marine think twice about firing on the two gladias advancing toward the wall. It seemed that only the enemy snipers had the necessary IR optics to track the demolition experts, so Dutch and Silk kept the sharpshooters from poking their heads up. Meanwhile, Awen and Nídira extended Unity shields around Doc and Haze, giving the two men added protection as they ran into the fortification’s menacing shadow.

For his part, Magnus emptied two magazines as he raked the enemy line side to side. His NOV1 wailed, sending its withering stream of firepower into helmets and chest plates and vambraces. To his right and left, Magnus heard the distinct kuh-thunk-woosh of rocket-propelled detonators blast toward the enemy. Rohoar and Czyz leveled their SMSs against the densest pockets of resistance along the wall, blasting holes in the enemy ranks. Magnus’s squad couldn’t keep this up for long, but they didn’t have to—they just needed to buy the demo boys enough time to plant their charges.

“How you looking?” Magnus asked as he swapped out for fresh mags.

“I’m set,” Haze yelled. Magnus saw him duck as a sniper round drove down from above, blasting a hole in the sand less than a meter from his feet. Silk answered the attempt on her teammate by drilling the enemy sharpshooter through the top of the helmet. The Marine, who was already slumped over the railing, slid forward and fell down the wall. His body landed one stride behind Haze, who was now in full retreat.

“Doc?” Magnus watched the other demo expert struggle with something. “What’s the holdup?”

“Charge isn’t responding,” Doc replied.

“Clarify.”

“I’ve activated remote detonation, but it’s not—just a second.”

“You’ve got twenty-five seconds, Doc,” Magnus ordered as he returned fire on a group of Marines who were regaining their courage.

“We’re good,” Doc said.

“Repeat?”

“I said, we’re green to go.” Doc rolled off the wall and double-timed it back toward the field walls.

“Good,” Azelon said over the squad channel. “Because it’s time to get the hell off the battlefield.”

“Ceasefire, ceasefire!” Magnus waved his team off and then gestured toward the north shore. He didn’t want the enemy tracking blaster rounds back to their rifles. Plus, it was easier to run without shooting over your shoulder. “Fall back to the boulders.”

Small plumes of sand and sparks leapt from the ground as Magnus raced north with the rest of his squad. He dodged the rows of field walls and ducked as several rounds pinged off the metal planks. Running in the sand was hard work, but his suit’s servo-assist helped increase efficiency. Magnus poured on the speed and felt his lungs burn, watching his heart rate climb in his HUD. He also watched the Time to Impact counter tick backward. He had less than twenty seconds to get to cover.

The Jujari made it to the boulders first, bounding across the desert-like terrain on all fours. Awen and Nídira were next, followed by Dutch, Silk, Abimbola, and Titus. Doc and Haze picked up the rear with Magnus, already tired from their sprint to the wall and back. Magnus urged them forward, then he saw Haze trip. The gladia hit the sand hard, disrupting the ground enough that it drew the attention of several Marines. Blaster bolts pelted Haze’s legs and backside, dropping his shield in under three seconds.

“Awen,” Magnus roared. No sooner had he cried her name than a semi-translucent wall appeared behind Haze. Magnus dashed behind it and grabbed Haze under the shoulder. “Can you stand?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” Haze said, climbing to his feet and retrieving his weapon.

Magnus thrust the man forward, trying to keep Awen’s Unity wall between them and the enemy. He waited for blaster rounds to strike him in the back, but none hit, which he was thankful for. He hated running from a fight, but according to Azelon, they needed to give the incoming crates as much leeway as possible. The mystics could have provided adequate protection against the expected blast force, but there was no way to know precisely where the crates would hit. Retreating to the boulders meant more running, but it was better than getting flattened. Magnus and Haze were just about to the embankment that ran down the side of the rocks when the orbital crates hit.

The concussive force struck Magnus in the back and flung him forward, clear over the boulders, and about twenty-five meters across the shore. He slammed into the sand and felt his suit plates bind at the joints, preventing his bones from bending in ways they weren’t meant to. Still, the violent changes in inertia rattled his organs and sent waves of pain from head to toe.

When the blast wave had expired, and his body was done rolling toward the surf, Magnus pushed up and oriented himself. His ears were ringing, and he could taste copper on his tongue. He blinked several times and then willed his vision to focus. When he looked south, he saw darkness. The blast knocked out Elusian Base’s floodlamps, which was good. With any luck, the lights wouldn’t be the only things disabled.

Magnus heard a wet cough over comms. He looked right and saw Haze ten meters away.

“You good, Haze?” Magnus asked, watching the man find his feet.

“Roger, LT. Bit my lip, but I’m fine.” The man shook his helmet a little. “Think my HUD suffered some damage too. Sensors seem misaligned.”

“Can you try a reboot?”

“Yeah.”

Magnus pointed toward the boulders. “Do it as we run. Tap me if your comms go down.”

“Copy that.”

Magnus beat hard for the boulders. As he neared the squad, he gave a quick gesture toward the battlefield. “Up and over, Granthers. We gotta make this count.”

The team broke off and went up both sides of the boulders, weapons ready. As soon as they crested the summit, Magnus saw three yellow containers standing five meters tall and three across. They sat at the bottom of wide craters in the field and bore scorch marks across their bases. Large stenciled numbers designated the containers as 1, 2, and 3 respectively, while smaller type read BATRIG Mk. I.

“I’m in number three,” Magnus said. “Abimbola, Titus, you’re in numbers one and two.” Both men verbally assented and took off running. “Everyone else, keep us covered. And Doc and Haze? Get ready to blow those charges—assuming they’re still active and on the wall.”

“They are,” Doc replied. “Ready when you are.”

Magnus followed Abimbola and Titus toward the crates and then diverted to run down the bowl toward his container. So far, the enemy hadn’t recovered from the blast, which was just fine with Magnus. He slid to a stop at the base of the crate and heard the metal creaking as it cooled. These units were meant for high-speed delivery of assets and were fairly common among most militaries. Like everything else she worked on with Magnus, Azelon’s version had some modifications, which included directional thrusters and additional suspension to keep the contents from imploding on impact. But based on Magnus’s limited understanding of what was inside, he doubted they’d need any white-glove treatment.

The security sensors detected his approach and unlocked with a soft chirp. Magnus stepped back and let the hatch swing open, then ducked inside and turned on his twin headlamps. The space was cramped, allowing him only enough room to squeeze around to the front and climb a set of recessed rungs. He was halfway to the pilot cockpit when blaster fire began resonating on the outside of the crate. The Marines were reengaging.

“You want us to light them up?” Doc asked.

“Not yet,” Magnus replied. “Just a few more seconds.”

“Copy that.”

Magnus arrived at the cockpit and pulled himself inside, trying his best not to bump anything that he shouldn’t touch. His ass landed in a small standing seat, and his feet found their way down leg tubes until they landed on base plates. Likewise, he reached forward and inserted his hands into control gloves that could double as manual actuators in the event his Novian biotech interface lost connectivity with the unit. As soon as his NBTI paired, a new tab appeared in his HUD. He allowed his eyes to hover on the tab marked Mech until a welcome screen appeared.

“Welcome to the Novian mechanized battle armament system,” Azelon’s voice said, though Magnus realized it was a recording. “Your BATRIG mark one is equipped with—”

“Cancel,” Magnus said. The voice went silent, while the sound of blaster fire against the outside of his crate grew more intense. It wouldn’t be long before someone fired an SMDL on his position. “Initiate weapons systems.”

“Initiating weapons systems,” the voice replied. An outline of the BATRIG appeared in Magnus’s HUD, and all the weapons systems glowed. “Weapons online.”

“You boys ready?” Magnus asked Abimbola and Titus.

“Just say the word, buckethead,” the Miblimbian replied.

“Ready,” Titus said.

“Activate chameleon mode. Doc, Haze—blow the wall.”

Magnus imagined flexing his arms, legs, back, and shoulders, and felt the suit respond. Limbs struck the container’s walls, triggering the maglock system to decouple the crates panels. The container walls fell away, and a beat later, Magnus brought the mech to full height as the charges detonated. The explosions bathed the BATRIGs in bright orange light. Magnus got his first look at Abimbola and Titus’s mechs as chunks of blastcrete and human flesh shot into the night sky.

The telecolos-covered white, blue, and black BATRIGs had wide multi-toed feet that could form over complex terrain. The robust legs employed the reversed bend of canine-like hind legs—which seemed fitting, given the Novian-minded designer. The torso, which housed the pilot’s body, allowed only the operator’s helmet to protrude and could deploy a canopy for additional protection if needed.

At the end of the right arm, Magnus saw a massive blaster barrel that he recognized from the assault on the Black Labyrinth in Nelson’s company. In his HUD, the weapon was designated as a GU90M—no doubt the “Mech” version of the 90mm bore cannon that was responsible for giving Moldark’s forces hell in the hangar bay. On the end of his left arm was a new weapon that consisted of a bisected barrel and a sleek charge generator. His HUD read RTD10. He opened the dropdown menu and glanced at the definition, which read Reticulating Torrent Disruptor, Version 1.0. While the description read a little like a similarly named Repub weapon, Magnus had no idea what to make of it. But if he knew Azelon at all, it was going to pack one hell of a punch.

The last weapon was a missile bay on the BATRIG’s back, identified by the acronym VWMS. The designation stood for Variable Warhead Missile System, which had three primary options listed under the operations menu. But Magnus didn’t have time to review the remaining information—his BATRIG was already taking fire from Marines along the wall.

“Let’s see what these babies can do,” Magnus said, and then brought his GU90M to bear on the wall’s center section, above the main gate. Then he thought-ordered the mech to fire. Magnus felt the recoil before he saw the blaster round belch from the weapon and blow a hole in the wall’s railing. Three Marines twirled through the air, their bodies maimed and trailing blood. Magnus spread his feet a little wider and fired a second round, blowing up a sniper nest. One moment, the Marine lined up a shot on Magnus—the next, he was vaporized as the large-caliber blaster round drove through the victim’s head, down his spine, and out the souls of his boots.

Abimbola whooped as he tore through a cluster of defenders on the left side, while Titus made quick work of three Marines in a guard tower on the right.

Magnus brought his RTD10 forward and aimed it at two Marines setting up a MUT50—the Corps infamous 50mm ultra torrent tri-reticulating blaster. He didn’t need to understand the BATRIG’s armor capabilities to know that the MUT50 would inflict some severe damage against the mech. Magnus willed the targeting reticle to lock onto the men and then ordered the weapon to fire.

For a moment, nothing happened. Magnus only heard the whining sound of a capacitor charging up. He was a split second away from abandoning his weapon choice when the RTD10 let out a frenzied blaaat. The muzzle flash flowered outward as the high-frequency blaster rounds struck the two men and detonated their bodies. Their armor blew apart like shattering glass, and gore caked everyone next to the victims.

“Holy splick,” Magnus said quietly, but loud enough that it went over comms.

“You can say that again,” Titus said, using his RTD10 to liquefy three soldiers near the guard tower’s base. Titus’s rounds didn’t just strike the men, however, but also hit the tower wall. The missing chunk destabilized the structure, causing the pillar to lean sideways and then pivot just enough that it tumbled over the barrier and crashed into the sand down front.

Refocused on the mission, Magnus ordered everyone to converge on the breach along the right side. “We’ll cover you!”

The three mechs moved together, marching toward the hole while the gladias dashed toward the opening. They set up on either side of the gap, waiting for the mechs to ensure the way was clear. Magnus made it first then swung his GU90M into the breach and fired. The blast blew a giant pockmark in the ground and sent sand and blastcrete chunks shooting into the air, clearing the immediate area of enemies. Abimbola followed the explosion up with a spurt of RTD10 fire, ensuring that nothing remained to hinder the gladias on foot.

“Clear to advance,” Magnus said. “Substation 120 meters, bearing 215º.”

“Copy that,” Rohoar replied. He and Czyz rounded the wall’s charred edges first and then charged ahead. The rest of the squad went next, followed by Abimbola, Titus, and finally, Magnus. But as Magnus crossed through the wall, he felt his mech take fire on his left shoulder. He looked over to see two Marines running along the ramparts, firing MAR30s in his direction.

For whatever reason, Magnus’s heart skipped a beat. The MAR30 was the signature weapon of his old unit. As if driving the point home, Magnus saw the 79th Recon insignia on one of the Marine’s chest plates.

Magnus held short.

He shouldn’t have hesitated. But he did.

Both Recon Marines leaped into the breach and landed on Magnus’s mech. One brought his MAR30 up and placed the muzzle against Magnus’s visor. But Magnus activated the mech’s head cover, and a canopy deployed fast enough that it knocked the Marine’s weapon wide. The second Marine fired into the mech’s left shoulder joint, which sent warning notifications flaring in Magnus’s HUD. The rounds continued to penetrate through the joint until the limb went limp, spurting fluid and sparks.

Magnus swung his right arm up and struck the first man in the back with the GU90M barrel, breaking bone. The man fell and landed in front of Magnus’s feet. With a single step forward, Magnus pressed a foot down and ended the Marine’s suffering.

The remaining Recon Marine fired into the canopy, but the shield deflected the blaster bolts. Magnus swung his GU90M at the combatant, but the Marine stayed clear, having learned his lesson from his fallen brother in arms. Magnus turned and backpedaled, slamming his back into the blastcrete wall, but the other man pulled himself away from the impact. Then Magnus heard the telltale sound of the wide displacement charge loading in the weapon. Just as the Marine fired toward the cockpit, Magnus lurched into the wall again. While the force wasn’t enough to dislodge the man, it at least knocked the shot wide. Instead of cracking open the cockpit, the energy blast disabled the mech’s right arm and right leg.

Partially immobile, the Recon Marine brought his MAR30 back up, and Magnus knew what would come next—because it’s what he would do. He even saw the man select the distortion setting in the weapon’s selector switch. He was going to incinerate Magnus inside the mech.

“Oh no, you don’t,” Magnus said. He activated the canopy’s emergency release, which shot the windowplex covering into the sky. It blew the Marine’s MAR30 from his hands and left the man stunned, but still clinging to the mech’s shoulder. Then Magnus withdrew his knife, freed his arm, and stabbed at the weak spot between the Marine’s helmet and chest plate. A torrent of blood spurted down the knife and onto Magnus’s gauntlet as the blade severed the jugular vein. The Marine grabbed onto Magnus’s helmet and tried wrenching it sideways in an attempt to break Magnus’s neck, but the strength was already leaving the fighter’s body. Magnus thrust again, twisting the blade. It had the immediate response of draining the man of all will to fight. The Marine slumped onto Magnus’s head and then flipped down the mech’s front.

“Azelon,” Magnus said. “My mech’s done. Any chance I can use the missiles on the back to turn it into a parting gift when we leave?”

“By parting gift, do you mean self-destruct?” she asked.

“Sure do.”

“Yes. You’ll find it under the ordnance options in the VWN menu.”

Magnus followed the path and found the Auto Destruct Sequence in the last row of options. More sparks blew out of the BATRIG as Magnus selected the option and set it for—for how long? he wondered.

“Abimbola, come in,” Magnus said over VNET. He could see the other two mechs defending the substation. Both Marine companies had been fully activated, and the fighting was getting a lot worse. So many lost lives, Magnus noted, wishing McCormick had listened to him. But there’d be time enough to lament the mission’s losses later—if he got out of this alive.

“What is it, buckethead?” Abimbola replied.

“How much time you need?”

“Awen is inside the substation now, along with Rohoar and Czyz. The rest of us are outside defending—”

“I see you. I just need a time.”

“We’re at the console,” Awen replied, her voice strained. “I’m navigating the—” Awen’s voice broke off, and Magnus heard growling in the background, followed by blaster fire, and then the sound of armor breaking apart.

“Awen?” Magnus said. “Talk to me!”

“I’m okay,” she said, but her tone was far from convincing. “I’m activating the… oh no.”

“What’s oh no?” Magnus winced as a small fire ignited in his mech’s left shoulder. He needed to get out. More Marines were headed his way, apparently curious as to whether or not the machine was still a threat. “Awen? What’s oh no?”

“Everyone out.” Awen’s eyes grew wide. “It’s a trap!”

10

“If you drop us, mystic, I am going to devour you,” Longchomps said. He appeared to be the most nervous out of everyone that Wish was lowering in her “magic bubble,” as he called it. Zoll felt his mistrust was ironic given the Jujari’s quasi-abilities in the Unity. Perhaps it had something to do with seeing nothing but open air beneath his feet for over twenty meters.

“Pretty sure you’ll be dead,” Rix said.

“I will hunt her down in the afterlife.”

Rix shrugged. “Fair enough.”

Wish created the bubble’s floor about two meters beneath the elevator. She told everyone to get through the hole and wait for her to climb down. It took Zoll a few seconds to trust the translucent surface beneath his feet before he let go of the elevator’s floor. Wish pushed him aside with her feet and then dropped down.

As Wish lowered the team, Zoll said, “This is some crazy splick, you know that?”

Wish chuckled once. “You’re welcome.”

On the bright side, his unit was on the move again, and Reimer was safe. On the downside, they were disconnected from Delta and Echo Teams until Cyril or Wish found a way to reopen the elevator shaft. Then again, the pod was permanently stuck in the shaft, thanks to Longchomps’s heavy-hitting, which—looking back on it—wasn’t the brightest idea. One problem at a time, Zoll reminded himself.

“You are almost there,” Longchomps said. “We are almost not dead.”

“I’m not going to drop you, Longchomps,” Wish said, her voice tight.

“I am not convinced.”

“Would you shut up already?” Rix said, hitting Longchomps in the elbow. “She’s got this.”

The beast folded his arms. “Jujari were not meant to fly.”

“We know, we know,” Rix added. “Sheesh.”

As Wish brought everyone even with sub-level four, Reimer appeared, extending his hand toward Zoll. Zoll clasped Reimer’s forearm and stepped into the elevator landing room, followed by Cyril, Rix, Longchomps, and then Wish. The moment her first foot touched the ground, the magic bubble vanished.

“Nice work, Wish,” Zoll said, patting her on the shoulder.

“Thank you.”

Zoll looked around. The team stood in what appeared to be a security hold. The all-white brightly lit room was broken up by stenciled writing and panels of security glass on the walls, nozzles on the ceiling, and ducted fans under the floor grates. A single door led down a long hallway, while the largest window to the right looked in on a control room.

“Any bright ideas, Cyril?” Zoll asked.

The code slicer moved toward a control panel. “Give me a second.” He tapped with one hand and then stood back as a small holo image appeared a few centimeters from the wall.

“You got something?” Rix asked, bending over to examine a series of geometric lattices that moved around one another.

“Actually, yes,” Cyril replied. “Surprisingly. I seem to have access to the core matrix from down here. Which, I guess, is not really surprising, the more I think about it. But I’m surprised by how much I’m surprised because, if you think about it, we’re actually closer to—”

“Cyril,” Zoll said. “What do you have?”

“Until the AI kicks me out? Everything.”

“What do you mean, everything?”

“I mean, access to the whole building.”

Zoll winced, not sure he was following. “From right here?”

“Uh-huh.”

“The whole building.”

“Why do you keep repeating him?” Longchomps said. “It is irritating.”

Zoll ignored the Jujari. “So you can get us through these doors?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course, roger. But I recommend we use extreme caution and follow the suggested safety protocols. We wouldn’t want to, you know, expose ourselves unnecessarily.”

“I expose myself daily,” Longchomps said.

Cyril let out a nervous laugh. “Ha ha. I mean, to contagions.”

“My last mate says I carry contagions,” Longchomps replied.

“Mystics, beast,” Rix said in a disgusted tone. “Too far.”

“What? I am truth-telling in an attempt to comply with the frail but brilliant human there.” He pointed at Cyril.

Again, Cyril laughed, and then looked back at the holo. “So, so, first, let’s keep the AI busy.” His fingers worked at manipulating the geometric shapes before he continued typing on the small control pad again. “This should… give it something… to keep it occupied for a while.”

“Like a roadblock?” Rix asked.

“Negative, Charlie.”

“Charlie?”

“More like—like a word puzzle,” Cyril said. “’Cause, there are some things computers can do better than sentients—most things, really. In fact, I once made a list of—”

“Hey, Cyril?” Zoll said, pointing to the terminal.

“Right, sorry. Anyway, but computers tend to—uh, to trip up on language, you know?”

“Clever,” Zoll replied, though he rightly admitted he wasn’t entirely sure what the code slicer was talking about. He just wanted to make sure the kid felt affirmed for his work. “Good job.”

“Sir, thanks, sir.”

“How much time you think that buys us?”

Cyril looked like he tried to scratch his head but forgot he was wearing a Novian battle helmet. Instead, he resorted to tapping his helmet and then brought his hand back down. “Maybe another fifteen minutes? It all depends on whether this AI is the Trimeric version 4.1 or 4.2. Because if it’s 4.1, then we’re safe for a while.”

“But if it’s the 4.2?” Zoll asked.

“We are safe for much less.”

“Less than fifteen minutes?”

Cyril nodded. “Maybe three or four?”

“Minutes?” Zoll said. “Then let’s get a move on.”

“But, but, we need to decontaminate ourselves,” Cyril said.

“We don’t have time, kid.”

“But, sir, remember that this facility must maintain its integrity well after we’re gone.”

Zoll froze. Dammit. He hadn’t even thought about that.

“If Lieutenant Gladia Marine Magnus and his forces get the planetary defense shield up and save Capriana from Moldark’s assault, it would be an epic fail if we did enough damage to this lab to wipe out the entire planet a few days from now, ha ha.”

“That’s the kind of stuff they have down here?” Rix asked, tugging on Cyril’s sleeve. His voice held a certain child-like anxiety.

Cyril nodded.

“Do it all,” Rix said, tapping the slicer on the shoulder. “Make us do all of the things.”

“Roger copy, sir.” Cyril began typing again, more quickly than before. A new security door closed over the elevator shaft, and then the nozzles overhead sprayed the gladias with a fine white powder. The ducted fans spun up, and Zoll watched the pressure gauge fluctuate in his HUD.

Once the powder was sucked away, a red LED on Cyril’s console changed to green. “We’re ready to proceed,” he said. The door at the end of the chamber unlatched, unsealed, and then swung inward. Cyril led the way, stepping over the threshold, and then ducked into a side door. “Wait here.”

“Wait?” Rix looked between Zoll and the retreating code slicer. “Where’s he going now?”

“I’m just retrieving a data pad from the control room so I can monitor our AI friend.”

“Why is it a friend when it wants to kill us?” Longchomps said.

“Ha ha. It doesn’t want to kill us.” Cyril reappeared, now holding a medium-sized data pad. “It just wants to keep anything from happening to the assets in this facility.”

“I still feel like it wants to kill us,” the Jujari said in a hushed tone.

Cyril brought up the floating geometric lattices again, studied them like a painter might study brush strokes and derive some cryptic meaning from them, and then pointed down the hall. “This way, double bravo.”

The code slicer led them through several turns and down numerous hallways, each free of obstructions despite the many security doors and surveillance cameras they passed. Zoll looked in on half a dozen different labs behind windows on either side of the hallways. They were filled with fancy looking equipment and massive refrigeration vaults. Fortunately for the gladias, the one thing none of the labs contained were people.

“Yup, waypoint, copy,” Cyril said at last. He stopped at a windowless door marked Habitat F.

“What’s Habitat F mean?” Rix asked.

“We’re about to find out,” Zoll replied.

Cyril opened the door and stepped into yet another decontamination lock. Unlike the last one, this one was much narrower and didn’t have any windows. When the door closed behind them, the code slicer fired up the sequence. The white powder came, went, and the red light changed to green.

Before the next door opened, Rix raised his weapon.

“Whoa, whoa, sir. What are you doing?” Cyril pushed the barrel down. “You can’t shoot in here.”

“Come on, kid. You’ve seen the holos. This is exactly the part in the movie where the guy like me gets eaten by some freak of nature, all because the director needed to kill off some gun-loving side character. Well, not today, bitches. Not today.”

“It’s okay,” Zoll said, reaching toward Cyril. “He won’t shoot anything unless he has to.”

“But, sir, he really shouldn’t be shooting at all. Sir.”

Zoll leaned into Cyril’s helmet and lowered his voice. “I know that. And you know that. But there’s no way you’re going to get Rix there to lower his weapon in a creepy-ass facility like this. And, like it or not, he has some good points. Plus, the last thing you want is for some tentacle-faced alien to impregnate you with its demon spore seed, only for the love child to burst out of your gut in the middle of your next shower, right? When that splick comes at you, Rix is the guy you want to keep it from shoving its wiggly ass arms in your belly button.” He tapped Cyril’s stomach with a finger. “Got it?”

Cyril swallowed hard over comms. “Ten four, got it.”

“Good. Now tell Rix he can go in.”

Cyril swiped something on his data pad, and the door’s seal broke. “You may proceed, Mr. Rix.”

“Thanks, kid.” Rix shoved a fresh mag into his forward receiver. “And don’t worry, I won’t let them mess with you.”

“Them?” Cyril looked back at Zoll. “You think there are more than one?”

“Just get moving, kid.” Zoll pushed him forward and then motioned for Wish to follow. He was about to step through himself, but Longchomps grabbed Zoll’s arm.

“Can they really do that to you?” the Jujari asked.

Zoll shrugged, let out a sound that neither confirmed nor denied the question, and then left the Jujari standing by himself in the lock.

“But can they?”

* * *

The next room looked nothing like the rest of the facility. It looked nothing at all like the images TO-96 had stripped from Bosworth’s transmission. Those had been scenes of Awen’s parents inside what Zoll thought to be a typical lab setting. Sure, the bot had noticed various attributes that placed the lab on Capriana Prime in this specific building, all based on Repub records. And that was well and good, because, without that, Zoll wouldn’t be standing here. But that lab—probably somewhere back on the main floors—was not this one.

The room itself was a large dome that rose ten or eleven meters high. Based on the spectrogram readings in Zoll’s HUD, the projection of a star-filled night sky gave off the exact light specifications of an actual night scene on the planet’s surface, including a small thumbnail of moonlight. Below the skyscape, Zoll was amazed to see several flowering trees, patches of ferns, and crawling vines draped from tree limbs and running along the lower walls. In the center of the garden stood some sort of elaborate laboratory divided into six sections, each with distinct workstations. They ranged from greenhouse-like tabletops and workbenches with microscopes, to refrigeration units and high-end holo consoles. If he’d been a science nerd, Zoll would have just found paradise—at least a strange outdoor form of it.

Along the room’s perimeter were a dozen doorways and twice as many windows. A quick examination revealed rooms dedicated to human habitation: a large kitchen, a dining room, meeting rooms, a gym, bathrooms, and bedrooms. There was even a sign that read Pool.

“What the hell is this place?” Rix asked.

In a voice that sounded like he was helplessly in love, Cyril said, “It’s wonderful.”

“And we’re still on the clock,” Zoll said. “Check the bedrooms.”

Everyone but Cyril nodded and headed toward the perimeter. The code slicer, meanwhile, seemed attracted to the lab spaces in the center of the garden like a Pladoni lilly fly heading toward a blue light.

“We’re not gonna have time for any of that, kid,” Zoll said.

“But, but—sir, there could be clues about whatever Bosworth was having them work on, sir.”

“Balin and Giyel are the only assets we need.”

“But, sir—”

“Found ’em,” Wish called out. Zoll snapped his head toward her and then cut across the lab space to the room’s far side. She stood outside a door labeled Quarters A-1.

“You sense them?” Zoll asked.

She nodded. “They’re still asleep.”

Zoll swiped a finger across the control pad, and the door slid open. The room was dark, aside from a small clock on a desk. “Mr. and Mrs. dau Lothlinium?” He heard someone stir, then he repeated himself.

Finally, a groggy male voice said, “Who’s—who’s there?”

“I am Petty Officer Kar Zoll with the Gladio Umbra. We’re here to rescue you.” Zoll touched a light pad on the wall and slid the lights up halfway. Then, realizing the assets would still not be able to see him, he deactivated chameleon mode. “We need you clothed and ready to move.”

A slender man in black sleepwear rolled from the bed, his eyes wide. “Who are you?”

“Balin, what’s happening?” the woman asked, sitting up. The moment she saw Zoll, she pulled the covers to her chin.

“I am Petty Officer Kar Zoll, and we’re here to get you out of here. I must insist that you hurry.”

Balin looked at his wife and then back at Zoll. “And you’re with who again?”

“The Gladio Umbra, but there’s no time to explain.”

Balin paused. “Wait—how do we know this is not some sort of trick?”

“Because your daughter sent us.”

Fortunately, Awen had prepared Zoll for this. He activated the projection system in his helmet and played the message Awen recorded for this moment.

“Hello, father, mother,” Awen’s holo said, floating half a meter in front of Zoll. She wore her power suit with her helmet slung under her arm.

“Oh, Awen,” her mother exclaimed, putting a hand over her mouth. “She’s alive?”

“Petty Officer Zoll and the rest of his team are here to liberate you,” Awen continued. “I need you to listen to everything they tell you to do and don’t delay for a second. Your lives are at risk, as are theirs. I—I miss you, and I’ll be waiting for you on the transport shuttle.”

The recording disappeared, and Awen’s father blinked at Zoll while her mother wiped away tears.

“We need you to move, right now.” Zoll turned toward the door. “We’ll give you a few seconds to get your clothes.”

* * *

Less than a minute later, Awen’s parents emerged from their room, still rubbing their eyes. But they were dressed in white lab clothes and had shoes on. Balin had grey hair and blue eyes with the typical Elonian pointed ears, while Giyel had long black hair and purple eyes, just like Awen.

“I’m Balin dau Lothinlium,” the man said, extending his hand in greeting.

“I know,” Zoll replied, shaking his hand. “But we don’t have time for introductions. We need to get you out of here.”

But the man seemed hesitant.

“Trust me; we’re going to take care of you.”

“Who’s we?”

Zoll forgot about his team’s chameleon mode. He told them to de-cloak, much to the dau Lothlinium’s surprise. But even after the couple acknowledged the other gladias, Balin looked at his wife with a concerned expression.

“What is it?” Zoll asked.

“We can’t leave our work,” Giyel replied.

Zoll glanced at Balin. “I don’t think you understand. We don’t have time for you to bring all that with you.”

“That’s not what she means,” Balin said. “We don’t want to bring it with us.”

“We need to destroy it,” Giyel replied.

“Destroy it?”

“That’s right,” Balin said. “All of it.”

“And, and, and I would tend to agree with them,” Cyril said from inside the garden. Zoll spun around to look at the code slicer. “Seems like they were making some very unpleasant microbes here. We’re talking Galaxy of the Undead level splick, sir.”

“I’m not sure what he means,” Giyel said. “But the unpleasant microbes comment is accurate. Only, it’s much worse. We’re talking planet-level extinction.”

“Splick,” Zoll said.

Her husband nodded. “If we leave this now, there’s no telling what the Republic might do with it.”

“It’s not the Republic you need to be worried about,” Zoll said. Balin raised one eyebrow at him, but Zoll didn’t have time to explain. “What will it take to destroy everything?”

“Well,” Giyel said, brushing some strands of hair behind her ear. “We’ll need to initiate a decay cycle for the stage three embryos, and then program a degradation protocol for the—”

“I don’t think you understand,” Zoll said, waving her off. “Will the blast temperature of a thermal detonator wipe out your research?”

Balin thought about it. “How many do you have?”

Zoll turned to Rix. “I have four VODs, two XVODS, one LIMKIT4 mine, and whatever rounds Longchomps has left in his SMS.”

“Two rounds remaining,” Longcomps said.

“That might do the trick,” Balin said. “Assuming those correlate to Repub ordnance of the same type. I’m unfamiliar with some of your acronyms.”

It was Zoll’s turn to raise an eyebrow, even though no one could see it. “Might? Do you understand how much firepower that is?”

“And do you understand what we were tasked to create?” Balin waited for Zoll to say something. When he didn’t, Balin continued. “Then believe me when I say, even with all that, our work may still survive.”

“Mystics. What the hell have you been doing down here?”

“As you said,” Giyel replied. “We don’t have time.”

Zoll looked at Cyril. “I expect this place will go nova with all our explosives set to maximum yield.”

“Ha ha, yeah. Sure, most likely,” Cyril said. “I mean, I expect it to set off a chain reaction—if not chemically, at least structurally. Um, I think, based on what I’ve seen so far, we’re looking at a catastrophic collapse, in the neighborhood of 83%, if I had to guess.”

“That’s a pretty specific guess,” Rix said with a laugh.

“I’m paid to be accurate, not funny.”

Rix’s laugh faded away.

“Let’s do it,” Zoll said. “Balin, Giyel, I want you assisting Rix with the placement of the explosives. The rest of you, we need a way out of this pit. Once you have that, we’ll know how long to set the delays for.”

“No remote det?” Rix asked.

Zoll knew that Rix had some horrible memories of using delayed explosives when they worked for Abimbola. Hell, they both had bad memories of those crazy escapades in the Dregs. But this wasn’t Ooragee, and these weren’t expired Repub munitions. Plus, the Dregs wasn’t full of bio-splick that could wipe out planets, or whatever it was the dau Lothliniums had been screwing with.

“No remote det,” Zoll confirmed. “Not with the unreliability of this facility’s defenses. If those barricades can cut comms, they’ll cut det signals if we get on the wrong side of something.”

“Copy that,” Rix said with a sigh.

* * *

“So, so, yeah. I think we have exvac recon fill out for you, sir,” Cyril said.

“What in the hell are you talking about, kid?” Zoll asked. He always remembered Cyril being a little too smart for his own good back in the Dregs, but ever since they’d joined the Gladio Umbra and spent more time with the former military guys, the code slicer was coming up with some funny-ass jargon.

“A way back to the surface,” he said. “I think we figured it out.”

Zoll left Rix and the dau Lothliniums and headed across the garden toward Cyril. The kid laid his data pad on a workstation and brought up a three-dimensional schematic of the sub levels.

“We’re right here,” Cyril said, indicating a blue dot on the lowest level. “Here’s the elevator shaft.”

“And you want to go back up it?” Zoll asked.

“Oh, no, no. Sorry to infer that, sir. We couldn’t even if we wanted to.”

“And why’s that?”

“Well, well, because there are several more of these barricades, and I’m not sure Wish could manage those and lifting us in a magic bubble, sir. Even with Longchomps’s help.”

“It would be too much,” Wish said. “My apologies.”

Zoll studied the schematic again. “Then, what’s your plan, kid? Because the only things I see connecting us to the upper levels are air vents and wire chases that are far too small for any of us to fit through.”

“Totally, right, sir. Yeah, you’re absolutely right. But, see, that’s just the thing. We aren’t going to go up.”

“We’re not,” Zoll stated.

“Oh no. We’re going down and out, as they say.”

“Down and out?”

“Again with the repeating of words already spoken,” Longchomps said. “So irritating.”

Cyril continued unabated. “Turns out that the architects were so busy keeping this complex’s lower levels disconnected from the surface that they forgot to create adequate drainage for human waste into the city.”

“The city sewers?” Zoll asked.

“Essentially, yes. Though it’s rather more complicated than that. This facility’s waste management is robust, as you might guess, especially given the sensitive nature of all the bio matter. But even a waste system needs a waste system.”

“You’re talking civil engineering and integration.”

“Uh-huh. It’s a lot like finding exploits in code slicing—the best gaps appear in between redundancies. People think that they’re making a system stronger by adding in failsafes, but the more complex and tightly knit you make any system—”

“The more points of potential failure there are.”

“Exactly, sir. That’s—yes. Right. So here”—Cyril pointed to a subterranean building adjacent to sub-level four, separated by a large conduit—“this is the lab’s own sewage management system. It’s really well designed and can filter out anything they don’t want. But they completely forgot that their system had to integrate with the city’s system.”

“So the city had to build a separate pump system”—Zoll reached forward and pointed at a secondary pipe that ran out of view—“right here.”

“Precisely, sir.”

“And where does it lead?”

Cyril raised his eyebrows. “Well, I don’t exactly know that, but it leads away from here.”

“And that’s your plan?” Rix said, apparently done with the charges.

“Uh, yeah. That’s our plan.”

Rix rolled his shoulders like he was putting on a jacket. “We follow a sewage system, filled with stuff that can kill us, and then jump into a second public system that leads who knows where, and could potentially kill us.”

Cyril laughed so fast Zoll thought the kid might hyperventilate. “More or less—ha-ha. But hopefully not as much killing as you just mentioned, Rix—ha-ha.”

“It’s the only way,” Balin interjected.

Zoll turned to look at the man. “How so?”

“As far as we know, there is only one way back up.” He pointed at the elevator shaft. “And that’s it.”

“He’s right,” Cyril said.

“In all the time we’ve been here, we haven’t heard of any other way out of this sub-level. So if your code slicer here has found something, then I’d take him up on it.”

“Then into the sewers we go,” Zoll said. “Wish, can you get word to Charlie and Delta Teams? They need to know we’re on the move.”

“Yes,” she said. “I’ll let Telwin and Finderminth know.”

“Good. Cyril, how long to get to that secondary system and into the sewer?”

“Uh—ha-ha. I’d say ten minutes?”

“Make it five.” Then something on the map caught Zoll’s eye. “What’s that?”

“The ring, it’s, uh, closing in on us,” Cyril responded, nodding at the red circle. “That’s the AI. I guess it finally solved my riddle, so it’s locking down this floor.”

“Then that’s our cue to move.”

11

Awen did her best to keep up with Rohoar and Czyz, but they were simply too fast. So she settled for keeping a shield around herself and one on each of them. Not that they needed protection yet—Magnus’s new mechanized armor had done enough damage to keep the base reeling for several minutes. Like on Worru and the Labyrinth, the Gladio Umbra had killed dozens of Marines in a matter of minutes. Even though Awen knew her team had a mission to do—knew it was these lives or billions of civilians—she still found it difficult to stomach the sheer loss of life.

Magnus had tried to reassure her that the ends justified the means. Intellectually, she understood that. At least she thought she did. But coming face to face with means this gruesome, this horrifying, made it harder for her head to remain convinced—even harder for her heart. Somehow, troopers were able to compartmentalize the tragedies of war. Awen swore she’d never be able to understand that. But she guessed that, for many of them, compartmentalizing was not about virtue or moral rightness. It was about survival.

Body parts dotted the tarmac inside the base. Wherever she turned, she saw bodies, pools of blood, and victims crawling toward cover. One man had lost his helmet—and his legs. He pulled his way forward on his elbows, crying out for a medic, while two long red trails followed him.

Awen looked away and tried to keep from retching. To the other side, a large chunk of blastcrete sat smoking in a heap—until she realized it wasn’t blastcrete at all. It was a limbless, headless torso. This time, Awen did retch, vomiting inside her helmet as she ran to catch up with the Jujari. But the emotion welling in her chest was stronger than she knew what to do with. Anxiety turned to panic. She spun around twice—she was having trouble remembering which way she was supposed to go.

“Are you still with us, scrumnip braulick?” Rohoar asked over VNET.

Awen hesitated, not sure who Rohoar was referencing. Then, as if on autopilot, her brain worked out the translation—beautiful little peacemaker.

All at once, Awen realized that Rohoar was talking about her. She had never heard a Jujari reference her with a nickname before. But it warmed Awen’s heart, taking her back to when she first fell in love with the species.

At once, the feeling of panic ebbed, and then the anxiety. Rohaor’s words seemed to call her back from the land of the dead. Awen’s eyes focused again, and she noticed Rohoar standing two meters in front of her.

“Rohoar,” Awen said, barely recognizing the sound of her voice. Where had he come from? “You’re supposed to be in the substation.”

“No, Rohoar is supposed to be protecting his teammates and accomplishing an objective.”

“Yes, but—”

“Come. Rohoar will carry you.”

Before Awen could protest, Rohoar scooped her body up with one arm and deposited her on his back, much like a father might do with his little child. She clung to his armor as his body resumed its lunging beat toward the substation. Within moments, blaster fire filled the quad as the rest of the gladias engaged the Marines attempting to defend their base against the invisible intruders.

Rohoar slowed and let Awen slide off his back as they arrived at the substation. It was a rather large structure, about the size of a three-story dormitory on Worru. But in comparison to the megastructures that her HUD said were the central core generator and its accompanying tower, one that seemed to stretch to the stars, the substation was little more than a shed.

“Stay behind us,” Rohoar said. “And we will keep your path clear to the console.”

“Thank you,” Awen replied. “Let’s go.”

Rohoar nodded at Czyz, who slashed at the door with his claws. Sparks filled Awen’s vision, and she looked away. Then the Jujari lodged his fingers inside the furrows he’d made and began separating the leaves. The sound of straining metal rattled Awen’s head as Czyz forced the barricade open. Once it was large enough to pass through, Czyz stepped aside to allow Rohoar in.

Rohoar darted inside, followed by Czyz, with Awen in the rear. Clear of the carnage and the blaster fire, Awen felt her focus return, and she remembered that she had an important job to do: activate the manual override for the planetary shield generator. She reviewed the steps in her mind, recalling what Azelon had told her while on the beachhead. The bot had even sent a list of notes in a separate chat window. Focusing on the task made it easier for Awen to stay calm, especially when the killing began again.

The first person to pose a threat to the Jujari was a security guard who’d pointed his weapon at the odd shapes moving down the hall. He wore a black military uniform and matching beret.

“Stop where you are,” the guard said. But Awen could tell by the quiver in his voice that the man was unsure of his command.

Rohoar bounded forward, grabbed the guard’s blaster and forearm in one paw, and then yanked him forward. The guard’s feet left the floor, and his head whiplashed, cracking against Rohoar’s belly-plate. The guard bounced backward and then hit the ground without so much as a groan. Judging by the glazed look in his eyes and the blood streaming from his broken face, Awen guessed the guard was dead.

“Come,” Rohoar said. “We must keep moving. This way.” The Jujari followed the course outline in Awen’s HUD, taking several turns and crossing more than one truss that was suspended over a deep cavern of energy wells, conduits, and monitoring stations. What the substation lacked in height, it made up for in depth.

Suddenly, two Marines in full armor stepped out of a side passage and raised their weapons. Unlike the first guard, the Marines didn’t issue any orders—they just opened fire. Czyz took the first two hits while Rohoar took the third. But Awen’s Unity shield absorbed them all, sparing either Jujari’s personal shield or armor. In reply, Czyz stepped forward and slammed both Marine’s helmets together. A deafening crack rang down the hallway as the bodies collapsed to the floor.

“Keep moving,” Rohoar said. But another two guards appeared further down the hallway and started firing. Again, the Unity shield absorbed the blows. But it was Rohoar who took off running, running past the protective cover.

“Rohoar, wait,” Awen yelled. But the warrior was not interested in heeding her words. So Awen was forced to move the shield forward as fast as she could. Only one enemy round struck Rohaor’s shield before Awen’s power caught up with him. But by then, the Jujari was upon the two Marines, slashing at their armor and divesting the men of their lives. He chomped down on one helmet, ripping it off the man’s shoulders, along with his head. The second Marine lost his right arm as Rohoar’s claws shredded it from its shoulder socket. The man still managed to fire several shots from the blaster in his remaining hand, but that arm was severed next and flopped on the hallway floor.

Rohoar spat the Marine’s helmet out and then yelled to Awen to keep moving. “Just a little further.”

Then the gladias came around a bend and entered a control room about 100 square meters. A wide console covered the far wall, and Awen instantly recognized it as the one in the image Azelon had provided. Two technicians looked up from their work and stared back at the entrance, but Awen could tell by the quizzical looks on their faces that they had no idea what they were seeing. That, and they were most likely terrified by the blaster fire both outside and inside the substation.

“Put your hands up, and no one gets hurt,” Awen said. Both men raised their hands and looked at each other. But then one of them reached for his sidearm and fired. The bolt collided with Awen’s Unity shield, and then Rohoar reached out and palmed the man’s entire head. He twisted his wrist in a sharp motion, and the technician dropped to the ground.

The other man backed up, hands raised in surrender. The sight of his coworker’s head randomly twisting surely put the fear of the mystics in him. “Please, don’t hurt me.”

“Let him live,” Awen said to the Jujari.

“As you wish,” Czyz said, knocking the man out with a strike to the side of his head.

“The console,” Rohoar said as if presenting it to Awen for her inspection.

“I’m on it.” Awen moved the main holo display and started swiping through it. As per Azelon’s instructions, she found the manual override function in a subset of other miscellaneous menus. Apparently, this was not an option that Capriana wanted to be accessed easily, and for good reason.

Magnus’s voice came to her over comms as she moved through the required file path. She could tell he was under stress, and the sounds of weapons fire meant the rest of the gladias were in the thick of it.

“We’re at the console,” Awen said. “I’m navigating the—”

Rohoar growled and then snapped at something. Awen turned and saw three Marines who’d accidentally walked into the Jujari’s backsides. The men fired several rounds into the room, a few of which struck equipment against the adjacent walls. Czyz lunged at one of the troopers and drove his claws into the man’s chest. Chest armor split open like a cracked egg, and then the Jujari flung the man aside, letting his torso slip off his nails.

Rohoar chomped down three times, splitting armor and blowing up a blaster’s energy mag. He yelped as an explosion filled the control room with a quick blast of white light. Then the two Marine bodies hit the deck, and Rohoar and Czyz turned back to face Awen.

“Awen?” Magnus asked. “Talk to me!”

Awen saw blood running out of Rohoar’s mouth, but he raised his chops at her in the Jujari version of a smile.

“I’m okay,” Awen said, and then returned to the holo screen to initiate the final step. “I’m activating the…” A new screen appeared. Her eyes took in the readout, and she caught her breath. “Oh no.”

“What’s oh no?” Magnus asked.

Awen stared at the screen a moment longer to be sure it was saying what she thought it was saying. A large timer was counting down from thirty seconds with the title Substation Auto Destruct.

Magnus called her name again and asked her to clarify the situation, but her mind was in overdrive.

“Everyone out,” Awen yelled, turning to Rohoar and Czyz. “It’s a trap!”

* * *

Awen was on Rohoar’s back, riding down the hallway. Czyz was in the lead, slashing at troopers unfortunate enough to try and stop the trio. The least Awen could do was to put up a shield as a rearguard, absorbing enemy fire. But the Marine attempts to thwart the gladias seemed halfhearted, and presumably for good reason. The klaxon and swirling red emergency lights meant that anyone who valued their life should get out of the building.

“Self-destruct sequence initiated,” the automated voice announced in a smooth female tone. “Fifteen seconds remaining.”

“Faster, Rohoar,” Awen said, urging the Jujari forward.

Rohoar claw’s dug into the floor as he slowed at the first intersection, then he pushed off the wall as he made a 90º turn. He continued to bound down the hallway, tearing up the ground and leaping walls. At the end of the last hallway, Awen felt Rohoar accelerate as he and Czyz headed toward the exit. A dozen troopers turned toward the commotion, but they were still unable to see anything beyond blurry edges and semi-translucent shielding. A few fired on what they must’ve considered strange anomalies, but the rest of the Marines pushed through the blast doors and into the night.

Czyz barreled through the remaining troopers, opening a space for Rohoar and Awen. As they leaped out of the building, Awen yelled, “Everyone, get clear!”

She noticed as several gladias looked in her direction then back away. She was about to repeat herself when the structure detonated, giving off four separate explosions that rippled down the building. The sound cracked like lightning, rattling her body and making her ears ring. Awen was ripped off Rohoar’s back and felt herself fly through the air, unable to tell which way was up. As a last-ditch effort to protect herself, she enclosed herself in a small forcefield. Then her body slammed against something hard. Even with the extra protection from the Unity, the shock made her vision grow dark and her head hurt.

“I have you, daughter of dau Lothlinium House,” a deep voice said. She thought the sound belonged to Abimbola, but she couldn’t be sure. A cold metal hand slid underneath her back and hoisted her off the ground. “It is time for us to leave.”

12

Magnus had just finished setting his BATRIG’s self-destruct sequence and was climbing down the side when Czyz and Rohoar burst out of the substation. Marines went flying from the doors as the two Jujari appeared, lunging on all fours.

“Everyone, get clear,” Awen yelled, but Magnus still couldn’t see her. Had they left her somewhere inside the building? “The facility is going to blow!”

Then Magnus saw her, straddling Rohoar’s back like a child might try to ride their dog. Had he not been so preoccupied with keeping his team alive, he would have smiled. The Jujari made it three more strides before a series of explosions rippled down the substation. The exterior walls buckled as torrents of orange fire burst through the seams, blowing the plate metal apart like old rubbertrex tires under too much pressure.

“Awen,” Magnus yelled, but the explosion’s roar drowned out his protest. Rohoar, Czyz, and Awen flew forward, backlit by the bombastic release of energy. Magnus’s visor adjusted for the sudden brightness a split second before the shockwave slammed into his body. He fell backward but quickly righted himself—eyes searching for Awen’s vector.

Her body lay amongst a pile of burning debris forty-five meters away. The two Jujari were close by as well, both gaining their feet. Magnus was about to order them to help her when he saw Abimbola’s mech step beside Awen and reach down.

“I have you, daughter of dau Lothlinium House,” Abimbola said. “It is time for us to leave.”

“Thank you, Abimbola,” Magnus said.

“Thank the gods,” the Miblimbian replied.

“Technically, it was Azelon who provided the mechanized armament system,” TO-96 said on a private channel to Magnus. “Giving praise to her seems far more fitting.”

Magnus ignored the bot’s point of clarity. “’Six, is there another switch in this base?”

“If you are referring to a way to activate the PDS manually, no, I’m afraid not,” the bot replied.

“You’re sure.”

“I am 100% certain, sir. The only other way to activate the shield is from within CENTCOM, as previously discussed.”

Magnus cursed, then opened up the squad channel. “Fire teams, fall back to the skimmers!” Acknowledgment icons ran down his comms window, and everyone began heading toward the gap in the wall. Doc checked in on Rohoar and Czyz, but both Jujari seemed fine. Miraculously, everyone’s biometrics appeared nominal—aside from elevated heart rates and blood pressure.

Magnus stood beside his BATRIG as Abimbola lumbered past, followed by Titus. But Titus turned and started laying down a base of fire as the rest of the squad headed toward the breach.

“Go,” Titus said to Magnus. “I’ll buy us some time.”

“No hero splick, Titus,” Magnus said, pointing a finger up at the mech’s operator.

“I have no intention of becoming a martyr, LT,” Titus replied. “Just holding back the buckets until you say the word.” There was a brief pause as Titus seemed to be working through the suit’s systems. “Might wanna stand back.”

“For what?” Magnus took a few steps away from Titus’s BATRIG and then blocked his visor with an arm as half a dozen missiles launched from the backside. At first, they streaked upward like Vordic fangback snakes hissing at the night. Bright white engine cones traced lines through the darkened sky. Then the missiles pulled high-G turns and pointed back toward the ground, spreading out as they did. This was Azelon’s variable warhead missile system, on display for the first time. Magnus guessed that Titus had selected the multiple target option, given that the six missiles were careening toward different points inside the base.

“Run,” Titus yelled.

Magnus backpedaled, kicking his way through the rubble in the breached wall and turning toward the open sand. A moment later, six blasts billowed against the sky’s black canvas, shooting out flames and fountains of sparks. Titus opened fire with his GU90M and swept it back and forth, surely making every Marine think twice before closing on the monster in the breach. Mystics know I would, Magnus thought as he ran.

“Come on, Titus,” Magnus said. “That’s enough.”

“Copy that.” Titus’s mech icon began moving away from the wall on Magnus’s topo map. Meanwhile, the rest of the unit was advancing across the open field and making good time. He glanced at HUD to check the countdown timer, noting the self-destruct sequence still had thirty-three seconds to go.

More blaster fire erupted from the walls, hunting down the gladias with renewed enthusiasm.

The futility of the whole operation frustrated Magnus. Here he was, trying to kill Marines in order to save the planet from annihilation. They were just trying to defend themselves, and Magnus had no choice but to fire back. He hated the fact that the end really did justify the means—but it’s a backassward means, he thought.

“A little help?” Magnus asked Titus.

“On it.” Titus aimed his RTD10 and fired. The weapon’s muzzle flash lit up the battlefield, bathing the sand in light. Bodies detonated along the wall as Titus swept the weapon from left to right. Magnus thought he heard Titus yelling from the cockpit but couldn’t be sure over the noise.

Titus’s assault had the desired effect—the enemy’s blaster fire momentarily subsided. But Titus’s barrage also gave the enemy a specific target, one that pointed their focus toward the northern shoreline. Blaster rounds were closing on the gladias retreat, and several members took direct hits to their shields.

“Don’t slow down,” Magnus ordered—as if anyone needed the reminder. But he knew encouragement was imperative. “Keep moving. Keep moving!”

He glanced at his BATRIG’s timer. It had nine seconds remaining. Plumes erupted on either side of his feet, showering his armor with superheated sand. Magnus’s leg muscles burned even with his servo assist, but he focused on the ledge ahead and willed himself forward. Gladias were starting to drop behind the boulders’ cover, vanishing from view as they skirted down the embankment.

The timer reached zero. Magnus looked over his shoulder to see a series of missiles shoot skyward as the breach filled with smoke. More than a dozen white lines soared overhead, disappearing from the reach of the base’s fires and floodlights. For a second, Magnus wondered if the software had been faulty—hadn’t Titus’s missiles turned down sooner than this? Then, as if appearing from the clouds like lightning strikes, the projectiles slammed into the mech with laser-guided precision.

The explosion made the horizon look like a small starship had lifted off. Fire billowed out from the wall, blowing everything and everyone off the ramparts. Bodies disappeared in the red plumes, as did the watchtowers, gun emplacements, and sniper nests. The air crackled as if torn apart, and debris blew out in an artificial sandstorm.

Magnus looked ahead and saw the ledge a few paces away. There was no time to run down the embankment, so he leaped. His body flew through the air, backlit by the exploding BATRIG, and then crashed into the sand some eight meters below. His servos whined, and he heard something crack. As his body rolled to a stop, he checked his HUD. The sound wasn’t a bone—just his suit’s right knee joint. I can live with that, Magnus said to himself, looking at the suit’s diagnostic alerts.

With fire still swelling into the sky from the explosion, Magnus ordered everyone onto the sea skimmers. Abimbola set Awen down on her back, and Magnus grabbed her hands. “Can you stand?”

Awen nodded. “Yes, I believe so.”

“Good.” Magnus helped her up, hugged her, and then watched Titus’s mech slide down the boulders. “Titus, Abimbola, get out and grab skimmers.”

“But we just got these,” Titus said, already opening the cockpit.

“And I hate giving toys back,” Abimbola added.

“Well, if I know Azelon, I’m sure she’s making more. Plus, it’ll take a while for troopers to put these things down.” That statement gave Magnus an idea. “Hey, Azie? Any chance those BATRIGs have some sort of sentinel mode?”

“Indeed they do, sir. Would you like me to activate it for you?”

Magnus smiled. “By all means. And I want to make sure the tech doesn’t fall into Repub hands, at least not until this whole mess is sorted out.”

“Understood, sir. I will initiate appropriate preventative measures.”

Magnus thought of how his BATRIG auto-destructed and imagined the impact of two mechs going nova at the same time. For the Marines’ sake, he hoped none were close when it happened.

Magnus thanked Azelon and then made sure everyone had a sea skimmer before picking out the one he’d arrived on. He ordered them off the beach just as several defenders started firing on the north shore from observation posts along the antenna’s base. Their aim was much better because, unlike the Novian armor and battle mechs, the sea skimmers lacked a telecolos finish. Magnus punched the throttle and surged past the surf, accelerating toward the rest of the squad.

“Sir,” said TO-96. “I’m detecting movement from the island’s east end.”

“What kind of movement?” Magnus asked.

“Considering the fact that the objects appear to be moving across the water, I’d say either fighters or—”

“Kestrels,” Magnus said. “Dammit.”

“Should we be worried about something?” Awen asked.

“Kestrels?” Abimbola said. “I am guessing you do not mean the small bird of prey.”

“I mean the Republic KT40 water speeders,” Magnus replied.

“I’m guessing they have guns,” Titus said.

“And light shielding,” TO-96 added. “I have the unit’s full specifications list and training manual pulled up. I might add that the manuscript’s introduction is written with an extremely cheerful tone, congratulating users on their new—”

“’Six,” Magnus yelled. “Shut up!”

“My apologies, sir.”

“We need their icons on our HUDs,” Magnus said. Azelon complied, populating the NBTI with new enemy targets. “Listen up, people. The Kestrels don’t have a wide field of fire, but they can turn like a bull mutt on a rattler.”

“Do bull mutts turn quickly?” Czyz asked.

“I believe that is the implication, yes,” Rohoar answered. “Though I suspect it depends on the veracity of the rattlesnake in Magnus’s analogy.”

“As I was saying,” Magnus said. “They are only shielded in front, so if you can get to the side or aft, you’ll have a better chance of taking out the pilot or damaging the stabilizers.”

“Then we’d better look sharp,” Titus said. “Because here they come.”

Magnus’s HUD showed five Kestrels converging in a V-formation about 500 meters back. The enemy’s first shots streaked past Magnus’s skimmer and threw three water spouts into the air. The spray beat against his helmet, but he was moving far too fast for the water to impede his vision. Two more shots split through the white caps and ended against a massive wave.

“Awen and Nídira, give us some protection,” Magnus said. “The rest of Bravo Team, peel off and double-back. Everyone else, stay with me. Assault formation with 100-meter spread. And for mystic’s sake, watch the crossfire.”

Everyone in Bravo Team but Nídira split off while the two mystics raised a Unity shield. Magnus accelerated to take the lead and watched as Alpha Team moved out to his right and left. In his HUD, the enemies split up. Two Kestrels shifted to intercept courses in a flanking movement, while the remaining three vehicles moved into attack formation, focusing on Magnus in the center of the line.

The next blaster rounds struck the Unity shields. The energy blew out in dazzling prismatic splotches that were simultaneously soaked by the skimmers’ torrential wakes. The defense rendered the enemy fire ineffective but beautiful.

On his HUD, Magnus watched Dutch and Haze turn left with a Kestrel running an intercept course on their left flank. Just when Magnus thought the pair might get sideswiped by enemy fire, Dutch’s sea skimmer slowed, creating a gap ahead of the enemy. It was a brilliant maneuver, one that forced the Repub pilot to choose which target to go after. Either way, Magnus knew the Kestrel was beaten.

The pilot chose Haze’s skimmer, most likely because it was closer in range. He banked left after the gladia, and as soon as the Repub pilot committed, Dutch accelerated and opened fire with her NOV1. Even from two klicks out, the blaster rounds glimmered across the waves and slammed into the Kestrel’s stern. Sparks danced on the vehicle’s tail before it succumbed, folding into the waves.

“Nice shooting,” Magnus said.

Following the same strategy, Silk and Doc spread apart on the right flank. This time, the Kestrel followed the slower inside skimmer. Silk opened fire as the pilot closed on her right side. Magnus noticed her shield’s power drop to 10% before a spray of NOV1 erupted on the Kestrel’s starboard side. Magnus zoomed in just as the Repub pilot was blown from his speeder and tumbled into the water at over 175 kilometers per hour. The pilotless Kestrel clipped Silk’s skimmer and sent her flying.

“Silk,” Magnus shouted, watching her icon divert from her vehicle and then stop in the sea. “Doc!”

“I’m on it,” the medic replied.

The three remaining Kestrels continued firing on Alpha Team until they came up against the Unity shield. The lead pilot nudged his speeder’s nose against it and then fired point-blank.

“You got something more, Awen?” Magnus asked in a way that he hoped invited her to do something creative. He could practically hear her smiling over comms.

“Maybe,” she said.

Magnus looked over his shoulder just as the Unity shield stopped in place. Two of the three Kestrels slammed into it and detonated as if they’d struck a granite wall. The third, however, went wide, avoiding the wall and the exploding debris, and then came back in line. When the pilot fired again, Awen and Nídira’s wall had dissipated, and the blaster rounds struck Rohoar’s skimmer. The Jujari roared as he flew into the waves. Magnus only hoped the Novian armor made the high-speed impact survivable.

“I’ve got this,” Magnus said. He looked over his shoulder again, gauging the Kestrel’s trajectory, and then squeezed his skimmer’s brakes. The vehicle lurched, and the rest of the sea skimmers flew ahead. The last Kestrel had no time to react, and screamed past Magnus less than two meters away. As soon as he could see through the spray left behind by the passing vehicle, Magnus pegged the throttle, and the sea skimmer dashed forward. Then he raised his NOV1, used his bioteknia eyes to help assist aiming for the one-handed shot, and squeezed.

The blaster rounds bit into the twin hydrofoil stabilizers, cutting them out from under the craft. Without them, the Kestrel skipped along the wave tops, bouncing like a skipped stone. Unlike a rock, the hops of which got shorter and shorter, the Kestrel’s leaps became higher and more unstable, until its final jump sent it tumbling through the air only to crash into the bottom of a deep roller.

“You good back there?” Awen asked.

“Fine.”

“Magnus,” TO-96 said. “Watch out!”

A sixth Kestrel appeared out of the darkness and fired on Magnus. He didn’t even have time to respond to the bot’s warning before blaster fire blew his skimmer’s tail off and sent his vehicle sideways into the water.

Magnus felt his insides pitch as his body spun through the air. Then Magnus struck the water with the force of a skiff hauler hitting him in the chest. He gasped as everything went dark, including his HUD. Had he not cried against the pain that jarred his body, he would have guessed he was unconscious. Instead, he was suspended in the sea, unable to tell which way was up.

As soon as the pain subsided enough to move, Magnus swished his arms and legs in an attempt to regain some semblance of control. Then his HUD rebooted, and the Welcome prompt initiated. Before icons populated his vision, he heard several voices yelling his name.

“I’m here! I’m here,” he replied, taking several deep breaths.

“I’ve got him,” another voice said. Magnus was still too groggy to place the speaker, but it was familiar. “Just hang tight, Magnus.”

Another few seconds passed before soft light appeared, turning the watery space over Magnus blue. Then a body crashed through the ceiling in a mighty throng of bubbles. The figure turned left and right before spotting Magnus, then lunged. Magnus took the offered arm, groaning against the pain in his head. There was a sudden jerk, and then Magnus was on the surface, kicking to keep his head above the deep swells.

“Can you reach the skimmer?” Titus asked—if Magnus’s head doubted the speaker, his HUD finally registered the personnel roster.

Magnus looked up and saw the recovery bar affixed to the skimmer’s belly awash in the repulsor lights and salt spray. “Yeah, I think so.” He kicked both legs hard and reached for the bar. His first attempt failed when his gauntlet slipped from the rung. But his second attempt succeeded, and Magnus pulled himself up with some assistance from Titus below. He climbed atop the skimmer and swung himself into the pilot’s seat. Then he reached down to aid Titus as the gladia straddled the body in front of the vertical stabilizer.

“Good to go,” Titus said. He wrapped an arm around Magnus’s chest and tapped him twice on top of the helmet. Magnus took a second to prepare his gut for the acceleration and then punched the throttle.

* * *

“Anyone have eyes on Rohoar?” Magnus asked when he had finally caught his breath and his head cleared.

“Rohoar has eyes on Rohoar,” the Jujari replied. “And he is riding with Abimbola, who is certainly upset with having so much Jujari up his ass.”

Magnus laughed. “I’m sure he is.”

“He did not mean it like that,” Abimbola replied.

“Of course he did,” Titus added. “And”—the gladia paused for a second while he sounded preoccupied with a task—“now I have a picture of it.”

“I am going to feed you to my pet rathmonolith when we get back to the Dregs, Titus,” the Miblimbian replied.

“That’s fine. But this pic will live forever on the galaxy’s servers.”

Abimbola growled in reply as the rest of the squad sounded like they were stifling laughter.

The sea skimmers converged in formation again, and Magnus breathed a sigh of relief. The Repub hadn’t sent any more Kestrels out, and according to sensors, it would be clear sailing back to Capriana.

“Hey, LT,” Titus said over a private channel. “Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot,” Magnus replied.

“Back there, when you were in your mech, how did you let those Marines get the jump on you like that? Those Recon troopers too, right?”

Magnus secretly hoped no one had seen the fight. Not only had Titus witnessed the whole thing, but he’d also taken note of the enemy’s specialty. Respect, Titus, Magnus thought. Respect.

“I mean, you saw them coming,” Titus continued. “At least that’s the way I read it from where I stood. And you were in a BATRIG, for crying out loud.”

“Yeah, yeah. You read it right.” Magnus looked down as the waves as the sea skimmer cut through the whitecaps. “Sometimes, love for your team makes you do stupid splick.”

There was a moment’s silence as Titus seemed to consider the reply. “I hear that,” the gladia said, and then nothing more.

Magnus was relieved that there weren’t any follow-up questions. Honestly, he didn’t know how else to reply, though he did feel endeared to Titus for accepting the answer to his question.

Magnus opened the squad channel back to the Spire. It was better to keep everyone apprised of the conversation as it went. “You there, Colonel?”

“Go ahead, Adonis,” Caldwell said.

“What’s the play?”

“First, glad you’re okay down there.”

Magnus smiled for the helmet cam. “And here I thought you didn’t care.”

“I was talking to Rohoar.”

The Jujari’s face appeared as he spoke, grinning a toothy smile. “Rohoar appreciates this concern.”

“Sure, you do,” Magnus said. “The play, Colonel?”

“If I didn’t have such an affinity for the capital, son? I’d tell you to get the hell out of there. You’ve already risked enough, and you’ve overstayed your welcome—way past time on target.”

“But you do care about the capital,” Magnus replied. “And you’re going to tell me there’s still time to save the planet.”

“Something like that. As you heard Brass Balls mention earlier, the only remaining way to activate the PDS is from inside CENTCOM—do yourselves what you were hoping the general would do.”

“Did he just say inside CENTCOM?” Titus asked.

“Yes,” replied Rohoar. “Are you unable to hear well anymore?”

“No. No, I just—forget it.”

“You’re sure it’s the only way, Colonel?” Magnus asked.

“It is, son. I’m sorry.”

“There is some good news, at least,” TO-96 interjected. “Given the fact that the capital has incurred assaults at three different sites—your initial intrusion of CENTCOM, Petty Officer Zoll’s raid on the lab, and your latest attack on Elusian Base—their defenses are scrambling to respond.”

“I’m not sure I see how that is good news, ’Six.”

“Forgive me, sir. Sometimes I forget that my intuitive processes do not adequately articulate—”

“’Six!”

“The situation is good news because the Republic’s forces are spread thin. As a result, the last place they will expect an assault—”

“Is at the first place we hit.”

“That is correct, sir.”

Magnus clucked his tongue. “Damn, you’re a smart bot.”

“I agree,” Azelon said, appearing over TO-96’s shoulder.

“Thank you, sir,” said TO-96, his eye sockets glowing a warm shade of amber.

“So, you are proposing that we head back to the capital and take the elevator down again?” Abimbola asked.

“Something like that, yeah,” Magnus replied.

“Rohoar still does not understand why we did not do this the first time,” Rohoar said. “Your human logic is confusing.”

Magnus didn’t blame the Jujari for asking. “Because we were trying to keep casualties down—ours specifically. Infiltrating the Elusian Base appeared to be the easier path.”

“Easier than breaking into an underground basement?”

Magnus nodded. “Yes. But, hopefully, they’re paying less attention this time.”

“Or more.” The Jujari licked his lips. “Rohoar is ready to mat his fur with the blood of his enemies.”

“Is that a thing?” Titus asked. “You actually do that?”

“Jujari expression,” Rohoar replied.

“Gotcha,” Titus said with a hint of relief.

“But also a thing. It is both an expression and a thing.”

“Then it’s just a thing,” Titus said.

“And expression.”

Titus rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”

“One more thing, Adonis,” Caldwell said, his voice low. “Ezo just let us know that they’re on the way—and so is Moldark.”

Splick. “How long we got?”

“With subspace transmission delay? The Wonder Twins tell me about an hour.”

“Colonel, even if we activated the shield right now—”

“It’s not a lot of margin, son. I know. Just do what you can and get the hell out of there.”

Magnus nodded. “Roger that. Magnus, out.”

“Spire, out.”

Magnus took a deep breath and tried to focus. “Okay, gladias. We’ve got a job to do, and sunup isn’t going to wait for us.”

As the sea skimmers continued east toward the sky glow of Capriana’s lights, Magnus tried to formulate some sort of infiltration plan. Attempting a failed op for the second time in a row wasn’t exactly textbook. In fact, he was reasonably sure it would end poorly. But they had to try—there were too many lives at stake not to. It was in moments like this that he appreciated the Jujari’s cut-throat tenacity, even if their logic was just as confusing.

But this wasn’t a repeat operation, technically speaking. The first round’s objective had been to convince CENTCOM’s leadership to activate the PDS. Now, it was a deep infil op, and the demand for enabling the PDS was on Granther Company.

“Magnus, do you read?” said a voice over VNET. Magnus glanced at the ident tag.

“Zoll,” Magnus replied. “You good?”

“Ha. We’re alive, but we smell like splick.”

“Come again?”

“Sewers. We have the assets, and half of us are heading westbound through the city sewers.”

“You have my parents?” Awen asked, her voice filled with excitement. “Are they all right?”

“They’re fine, Awen,” Zoll replied. “And they’re eager to see you.”

“You said half,” Magnus interjected. “Where’s the rest of your team?”

“We split up. Delta and Echo Teams stayed topside to defend our descent into the lab’s lower levels. But they’re on their way out now. We’re regrouping at a treatment facility Cyril found.”

“Roger, copy,” Cyril said. “It’s just over a clickity-clack west, over.”

Magnus smiled despite his growing concern. “So I take it the lab’s transports were a no-go.”

“Roger,” Zoll said. “The facility’s AI made sure of that. So we’re improvising.”

“Seems we’re all doing a little of that,” Magnus replied. “Find a way to the Simlia atoll, and we’ll meet you there. Oh, and a free piece of advice: see if you can locate a Jules Sea Skimmer Rentals franchise.”

13

“Jules Sea Skimmer Rentals?” Reimer said to Zoll. “That sounds fun.”

“All part of your paid vacation, care of the Gladio Umbra,” Zoll said.

Reimer laughed. “And how do these sewers figure into that?”

“It was in the excursions brochure.”

“Must’a missed that.”

“Nah. It was clearly marked with the line that read This Option Is Full of Splick, You Dimwitted Derk Duffer.”

“Guilty,” said Reimer with a self-deprecating tone, and then he laughed along with everyone else.

Charlie Team continued west through the sewers while Delta and Echo Teams fought their way out of the lab’s upper stories. So far, neither element had suffered casualties since entering the lab, and Zoll hoped it would stay that way. It was just a little further until Charlie Team got out of this hellhole and topside again. They just had to keep Awen’s parents alive and find a new means of transport to the Simlia atoll.

“I still don’t get it,” Zoll said to Balin and Giyel over external speakers. “You’re Elonians. So, how the hell did you two get roped into working for the Repub?”

“We were abducted from our home,” Balin replied.

“Lured away under pretenses, and then abducted,” Giyel said with a tone that suggested she was used to expounding on her husband’s definitions.

“What kind of pretenses?” Zoll asked, stepping over a short collection dam that acted as a divider between the current tunnel and the next intersection.

“The Republic Ambassador paid us a visit,” Galin said, and then spit into the sewage.

“Ambassador?”

Giyel nodded. “Gerald Bosworth.”

“The third,” Balin added with no attempt to hide his obvious disdain.

Zoll looked over his shoulder at the couple. “Didn’t realize he made house calls.”

Balin tilted his head. “You know of him?”

Zoll chuckled. “A whole lotta people know about him. I helped detain him for my boss once, back on Oorajee. Then the Repub reacquired him. Most recently, he sent us evidence of your capture, which is what led us here. I just didn’t think he was the one who did the wet work.” Zoll held up a finger. “Correction: didn’t think he had the stamina to do the wet work.”

“Wet work?” Giyel asked.

“Murders, assassinations, and sometimes kidnappings,” Zoll explained.

“Well, it didn’t feel like a kidnapping at first,” Giyel replied. “He was persuasive.”

“How so?” Zoll held up a hand as he studied a barred gate ahead. “Rix, can you take care of this?”

“On it, chief.” Rix skirted Zoll and the dau Lothliniums to start cutting through the barricade with a torch. The Elionion couple shielded their eyes from the bright sparks.

“At first, he told us that Awen was in trouble and that the Order of the Luma and the Republic needed our help to secure her,” Giyel said. “That it was a matter of grave consequence.”

“Naturally, we would do anything for our daughter,” Balin said.

“So, you went with him,” Zoll said.

The couple nodded.

Rix finished cutting the bars and kicked out the hole he’d made in the gate. “After you,” he said.

Zoll stepped through and helped Balin and Giyel, using his headlamp to illuminate their way.

“At first, everything seemed legitimate,” Balin said. “Our daughter was taken hostage by the Jujari, and the Republic wanted to employ us to help negotiate for her life.”

“Forgive my ignorance, but why would they think you could help?” Zoll asked. “He’s the ambassador.”

“True, but we are also Elonians.”

Zoll shrugged. Right, he thought. “The one species trusted with peace, diplomacy, and stability even more than the Luma.”

“Something like that,” Balin said.

“Plus, it was our daughter,” Giyel said. “And we had something they could use.”

“And that was?”

“Research,” Balin said. He helped his wife over a mid-tunnel dam. “Specifically, medical research on the Jujari.”

“And the Ambassador was going to use that as leverage?” Zoll didn’t feel the logic was adding up. “But wouldn’t you have just given it to them anyway? You’re Elonians, after all.”

“Of course we would have,” Giyel said. “But our work wasn’t ready yet.”

“And, in our naiveté, that’s what made us so willing to help the ambassador,” Gailen said.

“It wouldn’t be a stretch for you to give something to free your daughter when you were already going to give it anyway,” Zoll said.

“Right.” Balin nodded. “Only, the whole thing was a ruse.”

“As soon as we got on the ambassador’s ship, we were arrested and diverted here to Capriana.” Giyel rubbed her wrists as if remembering the restraints.

“And that’s when Bosworth turned the tables on you,” Zoll said.

“Precisely,” Balin replied. “As it turned out, he had Awen hostage and threatened to kill her unless we did his bidding.”

“Which was to create a biotoxin?” Zoll asked. “Isn’t that a little extreme?”

“Of course,” said Giyel. “And that’s why we refused.”

Balin nodded. “At least at first. Up to that point, he hadn’t provided evidence that Awen was in his custody.”

“But, he did eventually?”

Giyel touched her forehead and steadied herself against her husband. “Yes. Images of…”

“Of Awen being tortured,” Balin said. “Chained up and unconscious.”

Zoll wondered how such a thing was possible and was about to ask when he remembered how the Marauders had first taken Awen captive. But if the footage was from her temporary imprisonment in the Dregs, how had the ambassador obtained it?

“So, what was it he asked you to make for him?” Zoll asked.

“A derivative of the Simikon blight,” Balin answered.

“From the old Limbian invasion?”

Balin nodded. “Like all Elonian scientists, my parents kept detailed records of their work.”

“But I thought you Elonians cured that plague?” Zoll asked.

“We did,” Giyel said. “But it’s so fast-acting that if anyone got their hands on the generic composition and released it far enough away from the antitoxin, you’re looking at—”

“Planet-level extinction,” Zoll said, restating their description from back in the lab. “But you have that antitoxin, right?”

“Of course,” Giyel said. “Which is why we were willing to recreate the virus if it meant buying our daughter more time.”

“That’s when Bosworth started asking for other things,” Balin said.

“There’s more?”

“But we don’t have to worry about that now,” Giyel said hurriedly. “Thanks to you. How soon before we can see Awen?”

“It’s more like, how soon before those explosives go off,” Rix stated. “And we don’t got much time, chief.”

“How long?” Zoll asked.

“One minute.”

Zoll looked at Cyril. “We close?”

“Uh-huh,” said the code slicer. “Just up ahead, copy vector bravo.”

Rix shook his head. “I’ll never understand you, kid.”

Zoll pushed forward until he saw a ladder that led to an access hatch. “This it, kid?”

“Roger niner niner, sir,” Cyril replied. “Let’s scoot the coop.”

“Wish,” Zoll said. “We clear up top?”

The mystic paused and tilted her head slightly. “All clear, chief.”

Zoll pointed at the Jujari. “Redmarrow, you first. Clear us a way out of the building as fast as you can.”

“Right away, human leader.” Redmarrow stepped around the dau Lothliniums then bounded up the ladder, spun open the hatch, and disappeared. Then Rix went up to guard the dau Lothliniums as they climbed, while Zoll, Wish, and Reimer brought up the rear.

Reimer resealed the hatch. “Not my worst sewer excursion, but not my best either.”

“Time,” Cyril yelled. A deep boom shook the small utility room and everyone reached for something to hold onto. Chunks began falling from the ceiling. “Let’s get a pronto on our giddy up!”

“Never mind,” Reimer said, looking at Zoll. “I’m taking this up with the ship’s captain over dinner.”

* * *

Dust shot out the front door as Charlie Team ran out of the treatment sub-station and onto the street. Without the benefit of helmets, Balin and Giyel coughed and doubled over on their knees.

“You okay?” Zoll asked Giyel with a hand on her back. She nodded and then waved him off.

“Zoll,” Bliss yelled over comms.

Zoll looked up to see Delta and Echo Teams jogging toward him. “You in one piece?”

“Affirmative. But that’s more than we can say for the enemy.”

“Dominate,” Zoll said.

“Liberate, baby.”

“And you guys?” Robillard asked. “I see you found the assets.”

“We’re fine,” Zoll replied.

“Just make sure you read the fine print on the excursion brochure,” Reimer said.

Zoll smiled, then turned to face everyone. “It won’t be long before the Repub connects the lab and this sewer plant, so we’ve gotta get the assets off the street and then find a way to the exfil point.”

“Any recommendations now that the lab’s shuttles aren’t an option?” Robillard asked.

“We’re headed west, to…” Zoll studied the mission map in his HUD. “Liquid Gold Marina and Sea Park.”

“Sounds enchanting,” Bliss said.

“We’re looking for sea skimmers.” Zoll could practically hear people’s excitement level rise. “And, no, you don’t get to keep them. It’s just a day trip.”

* * *

Zoll led his squad west toward the city limits. Boardwalk lights glimmered at the end of the block, signaling that the teams had reached the shore—and all without discovery. At least so far. The gladias kept the dau Lothlinium’s concealed as best they could, but Zoll knew the efforts weren’t perfect. Had this been broad daylight and the streets full of pedestrians, they would have been discovered long ago. But the early morning hours were working to their advantage. Just one more leg south, across the ocean, and they were home free.

“Is that what you were talking about, chief?” Rix asked, pointing toward a thatched hut beside the marina’s entrance. The sign read Jules Sea Skimmer Rentals.

“That’s the one,” Zoll replied. “Cyril, see what you can do.”

“Copy copy,” the code slicer said, running ahead.

“Rix, go with him.”

“On it, chief,” Rix said.

“Where are we going?” Balin asked, running hand in hand with his wife.

Zoll switched to external speakers. “We need to get you to another atoll where a shuttle will be waiting for us.”

“And we’re headed to a marina because?”

“Because our A Plan is a no-go.”

“So you’re improvising,” Giyel said.

“Yup.”

Zoll and the rest of the squad charged across the sand, heading straight for the sea skimmer rental stand when blaster fire erupted from inside the hut.

“Get down,” Rix yelled, presumably to Cyril. Zoll noticed both of their shields take hits. More blaster fire turned the inside of the hut bright red as the rounds danced across the sand and ricocheted off the sea skimmers. Zoll looked for Repub troopers, but there weren’t any.

“What the hell’s going on in there?” Zoll asked.

“Some lunatic woman has us pinned down!”

Zoll told Awen’s parents to stay put behind a cluster of palms and ordered Longchomps to keep watch. “Everyone else with me!”

When Zoll reached the rental hut, the woman Rix had mentioned seemed to be reloading her weapon from behind the counter. Rix was about to stand from behind the hut’s half-wall when the woman started shooting again.

“Take that, you thieving bastards,” she shouted above the blaster rounds, spraying the ground with bolts. “Try and take my property, will you? Think again!”

“She’s crazy,” Rix yelled. “I’m gonna shoot her.”

“Don’t shoot her,” Zoll said. “She’s a damn civilian.”

“She’s gonna kill us!”

Zoll needed to think fast. Not only was his team in jeopardy from this vengeful entrepreneur, but the blaster fire was sure to draw attention and risked tipping off Repub security.

“Grahban,” Zoll said. “Go through the back of the hut and snag her. But don’t kill her. Wish, give our boys some protection.”

The mystic put up a Unity shield to keep the blaster fire from doing any more harm to Rix and Cyril while the Jujari dashed around the back of the hut. A moment later, Grahban punched a hole in the wall—with his whole body—and grabbed the woman from behind. “Got her,” Grahban said.

Zoll stepped into the hut and saw the Jujari restraining a snarling woman that seemed intent on kicking, clawing, or even biting her way out of whatever unseen force had her pinned.

“Put me down,” she ordered. “I’m gonna kill you, little bitches!”

“Told you she’s gonna kill us,” Rix said, standing hesitantly.

“I will not permit her,” Grahban said. “Though she is stronger than her size suggests.”

Zoll turned on his headlamp but didn’t de-cloak. “Jules, I take it?”

The blonde-haired woman froze, squinting against the bright light. She was probably attractive when she wasn’t seething—perhaps thirty years old. “Who the hell’s asking?”

“We’re not here to hurt you.”

“That’s what they all say.” She spit into the light. “Just give us your skimmers, and no one gets hurt. Am I right? Well, not today, you son of a bitch.”

“Can I subdue her?” Grahban asked. “Please, with sweet fruit on top?”

“Negative, not yet,” Zoll said, though he appreciated the attempt at the human idiom. “We might need her.”

“We definitely need her,” Cyril said. “She’s locked us out.” Zoll looked over at the code slicer who was already working on a sales console behind the counter. “Seems Magnus’s previous hijacking tipped her off, so she instituted a core systems firewall.”

Unaware of Cyril’s VNET conversation, Jules nodded toward the console. “I can see some cloaked asshole on your team has discovered my lockdown. Payback’s a bitch, isn’t it?”

“Let me dispatch her,” Grahban said. “One of those skiffs in the marina is probably easier to be thieving.”

“And slower,” Bliss said. “If speed is our priority, these sea skimmers are by far our best bet.”

“Splick,” Zoll said, biting the inside of his cheek. He decided to try the impossible and removed his helmet.

Jules winced as the light left her eyes and revealed a floating head. “What the hell?”

“Jules, my name is Petty Officer Kar Zoll. I need you to remain calm.”

“Calm? What in mystics’ name is going on around here? You some GR freak show or something?”

“Not even close,” Zoll said. “We are the Gladio Umbra, here to rescue some hostages and help protect the planet from an impending attack by a madman who controls the Repub fleets. I know that sounds crazy, but you’ve just gotta trust me.”

“If you’re here to protect the planet, then why are the GR shooting at you?”

Zoll shrugged. “Since when does the Repub do what makes sense?”

“Fair point.”

“And we’re gonna need your skimmers. But we’ll reimburse you for each one.”

“Get lost,” she said. “You know how long it took me to build this business? I ain’t letting them go just because some floating-ass head asked to buy them at four in the morning.”

“We’ll pay you double.”

Jules grimaced, then seemed to think of something else. “Nah. But, triple, and you have yourself a deal.”

A Republic warning alert went off in the city.

Jules looked back at Zoll. “And you tell me about this Glad Umbrella, cause it sure as hell ain’t the GR.”

A new barrage of blaster fire hit the hut, but this time it came from the city. Longchomps roared over comms. “We have two more packs of bucketheads charging from the east!”

“Get out here,” Zoll said. “Delta Team, covering fire!”

“So, we got a deal or not?” Jules said.

“Deal. Grahban, release her.”

The Jujari let go, and Jules yanked her arms free then stretched them in protest. “Bitch,” she said under breath.

“But I am a male,” Grahban said to Zoll.

Jules raced to the console where Cyril was and then worked through several screens. “There,” she said, turning to Zoll. “The skimmers are yours.”

“Thanks for your help,” Zoll replied. “It was a pleasure doing business with you.”

“Not so fast,” Jules said, ducking as a blaster round whizzed through the hut a meter from Zoll’s head. “I’m coming with you.”

“That wasn’t part of the deal.” He put his helmet back on.

“Deal’s change, especially when the GR is shooting at you. Plus, I just ensured that those skimmers will shut down once they get out of range from my comms watch.” She raised her wrist and swished her arm back and forth.

Zoll cursed. “Fine. But no more questions until we make landfall.”

“I can live with that.”

“That’s good, ’cause you’re dying otherwise.” Zoll flipped back to the squad channel. “Return fire and mount up. It’s time to blow this sea skimmer stand!”

14

“The sewers,” Magnus said to himself as his small squadron of sea skimmers approached Capriana’s shore. Hearing Zoll mention the city’s waste management system gave him an idea.

“What was that, buckethead?” Abimbola asked.

Magnus cleared his throat and spoke up. “Zoll said he was using the sewers to escape the lab.”

“And you think we should use them to infiltrate CENTCOM.”

“I do. It’s the only other way I can think to gain access without going down the elevator again. ’Six, Azie, can you give me a position on the Forum Republica’s waste management facility?”

“Certainly, sir,” TO-96 said. “Please stand by.”

A moment later, a new topo map appeared in Magnus’s HUD, displaying a portion of the city just north of the capital complex. A small building glowed blue, and an ident tag featured its coordinates, distance, and time to target at current speed.

“What can you tell me about it, ’Six?” Magnus asked.

TO-96 began narrating as the building expanded and morphed into a three-dimensional schematic. “This particular public waste facility was first commissioned in 4121 by the Sentient Species Alliance in order to serve their newly founded headquarters. Upon its completion, Chancellor Ronruth declared it to be—”

“’Six, kill the history lesson,” Magnus said.

“But, sir, I feel that—”

“’Six!”

“Fast forwarding to today, this facility is the main distribution hub for all waste leaving the Forum Republica’s northern half.” The schematic oriented to follow root tunnels as they branched out and spread to numerous locations within the capital’s northern section. The view raced along one pipe in particular. “CENTCOM is serviced by this line, which bifurcates into east and west stems.”

“Which one is closer to the command room?” Magnus asked.

“The west line, sir. It terminates here”—TO-96 illuminated a small chamber—“in a collection stall directly below a utility room.”

“How secure?” Abimbola asked.

“Grates are locked and have standard pressure sensors.”

“So no motion detection?” Magnus asked.

TO-96 shook his head. “No, sir. Nor are there thermal sensors. Given the nature of sewage, both are rather futile.”

“Right.” Magnus zoomed out and dropped a marker on the shore closest to the sewage plant. “Heads up, Granthers. I’ve updated the mission map with a new waypoint. Get clear of your skimmer as soon as we make landfall. Chameleon mode all the way to the sewage facility.”

The team confirmed his orders and shifted left toward the new waypoint.

“Thanks for your help,” Magnus said.

“Happy to be of assistance, sir.”

Magnus thought he detected a hint of sadness in the bot’s voice. “Listen, ’Six. When I get back to the ship, you can tell me all about the city’s municipal engineering history.”

“Only if you wish, sir.”

“Pal, if we make it through this, you can tell me all the stories you want.”

TO-96 seemed to perk up. “I will gladly indulge you, sir.”

“I’m sure you will. Magnus out.”

* * *

Magnus’s squad ditched the sea skimmers on the beach and moved into the urban sprawl without being noticed. For all the hell the Granthers raised at the three Repub locations, the city was relatively quiet. Though, Magnus guessed, the TACNET channels had to be a mess with comms traffic. The more chaotic, the better, he thought.

His fire teams raced down the empty sidewalks and then dashed across the street once they’d arrived at the waste plant. Unlike the other buildings on the block—those made of composite materials and designed with sleek lines—this facility’s red brick exterior and tall windows made it look old and worn out. Fitting for a place that refines splick.

“’Six,” Magnus asked. “What do we have for security?”

“Just cameras, though I doubt they’re being monitored with any level of discipline.”

“Copy that.”

“I estimate two night guards and three technicians on-site,” the bot added.

“Thanks.” Magnus looked to Rohoar. “Can you get us in the ally-side door without making a scene?”

“Rohoar will do his best,” replied the Jujari.

Just before Magnus gave the command to move out, he noticed Abimbola flip a poker chip, catch it, and slap it on the back of his gauntlet. “What does it say, Bimby?”

The Miblimbian hesitated, his visor fixed on the chip.

“Bimby?”

“It says this path is bad luck,” Abimbola replied.

“’Course it’s bad luck,” Haze said. “We’re about to get up to our necks in splick.”

But Abimbola didn’t seem to register Haze’s comment. He was still fixed on the chip.

Magnus touched the giant’s arm. “It’s just a poker chip, Bimby. It’s not fate.”

“It is not just a poker chip, buckethead. It is the way of the gods.”

Magnus sighed. Religion always seemed to mess with good people’s rational thinking. “But the gods don’t have a NOV1, do they. And they’re not the ones down here making their own destiny.”

“The gods don’t need NOV1s to determine history.”

“That may be so, but we need them to make it.”

Abimbola finally looked up. “I trust the gods.”

“Fair enough. And I trust my blaster.”

“And if it fails you?”

Magnus smiled, though his friend couldn’t see it. “I don't know if there are gods out there or not, but I've got you, Bimby, and you’re practically as big as one.” He slapped him on the arm. “Come on, we’ve got a job to do.”

Alpha and Bravo Teams followed Rohoar around the side of the building and up a short staircase to a rusted out double-slider. The Jujari pierced the center seam with his claws and then pushed the panels apart. The door squeaked in mild protest, but that was all.

“Everyone through,” Magnus ordered, and then double-checked their six before entering himself.

Once inside, Abimbola and Titus led the teams down a series of hallways using TO-96’s schematic as an overlay guide. The team moved cautiously as they approached the security office, but it turned out there was little to worry about. One security guard was lost in a holo film while the other was sound asleep in his chair.

“As you cross into the next building, you’ll find the treatment center’s fourth stage,” TO-96 said. “Were you not wearing your armor, I would be inclined to warn you about the smell and the need for a breathing apparatus.”

“You’re a great tour guide, ’Six,” Magnus said.

“I do my best, sir. A bot never knows what line of work they may be forced to undertake once their current owner has reached their expiration date.”

“Gotta make a living,” Magnus said as his unit crossed an elevated walkway and filed through a decontamination lock. Once out the other side, the Granther’s emerged into a massive room, the floor of which was a veritable sea of—

“Splick,” Abimbola said.

“You can say that again,” Titus replied.

“Why?” Rohoar looked between the two gladia. “Rohoar sees no reason to restate the obvious.”

“Let’s just keep moving,” Magnus said. “Stay focused.”

The teams crossed over the churning floor of waste, took the stairwell up a putrid waterfall, and then entered another lock. They followed the facility’s four-story progression of rooms, waterfalls, and locks, before arriving at the last set of doors marked Inlet Matrix. Magnus motioned everyone in and they found themselves in an enormous pump room with several giant pieces of machinery occupying the majority of the floor space far below.

“There is an elevator toward the rear of the walkway,” TO-96 said, adding a vector to the squad’s HUDs. “Please proceed to the sixth subfloor.”

The teams crossed the catwalk, and Titus called up the lift. It took two trips to get everyone down to sub-level six. From there, they found the main sewer shafts that left the plant.

“Who’s first?” Titus asked.

“I am,” said Abimbola. “Done plenty of this in the Dregs.”

“I don’t even want to know why,” Awen replied as the giant leaped into sewage that went up to his waist. When she jumped in, the liquid went up to her chest. “I blame you, Magnus.”

“As does Rohoar,” the Jujari said. “So much blaming.”

The gladias followed the Miblimbian one at a time, careful to keep their weapons aloft. Fluids didn’t affect NOV1s, but there was just something about keeping a firearm clean that seemed to compel everyone to hold them overhead. Old habits, Magnus guessed.

They trudged up one tunnel after another, turning left, then right, then left, until Magnus was thoroughly disoriented. Without TO-96’s HUD guidance, the squad would have been lost. The sewage system was a vertical labyrinth of corridors, tunnels, and passageways. They encountered several barred gates, which Haze and Doc made quick work of with low-yield directional charges and thermal cutters.

When their current shaft began to narrow, TO-96 informed them that the end was another 100 meters out. But the bot’s voice was intermittent, no doubt due to CENTCOM’s scrambling tech. “Then … overhead … find an access hatch,” he said.

“We’re losing you, ’Six,” Magnus said, tapping the side of his helmet.

“Ladder … to the utility … CENTCOM, as outlined.”

“’Six?”

“Careful … -ssure sensors,” the bot added.

“Right.” Magnus at least remembered the bit about the hatch sensors from earlier, and then looked to Awen and Nídira. “Any thoughts on the pressure sensors?”

“I have a little experience with them, yes,” Nídira said.

“Do I want to know why?” Awen asked.

“Probably not.” Nídira stepped under the hatch and lowered her head. Magnus was about to ask what she was doing and how long it would take when the mystic turned around. “All set.”

“A little experience?” Magnus huffed out a chuckle. “I’d love to see what a lot of experience looks like.”

“You’re welcome,” Nídira said, stepping aside for Magnus to grab the ladder’s first rung.

“I’m going up first and will call down if and when it’s safe to proceed,” Magnus said. He felt a few gladias move to stop him, but he insisted. “I’ve made you endure enough with this mission, so if anyone’s going to put their life on the line here and now, it’s going to be me. No arguments.” His shoulders relaxed. “Good. Stay here and await my signal.”

Magnus called up Azelon’s hand from the hard light emitter on his gauntlet and let her go to work on the keypad. The connection was intermittent, which slowed her progress down. Magnus was about ready to ask Awen to remove it but worried there might be redundant security measures. Suddenly, the deadbolts disengaged, and Magnus unwound the locking wheel. Trusting that Nídira had done her job, he pushed and flipped up the hatch. When no alarm sounded, he climbed the remaining five meters to the next hatch and opened it.

Magnus pulled himself into a large utility room filled with storage racks and maintenance equipment. He also spotted a mop sink and shower stall. Despite its advanced technology, Novian armor still couldn’t overcome the olfactory sense of a human nose, so Magnus thought it best to wash as much of the excrement off his suit as he could before proceeding into the headquarters. No sense giving up the element of surprise simply because the enemy smelled him long before they saw him.

When he was done with the shower, he moved to the doorway and scanned the outer hallway with IR. Several bodies headed his way, but they seemed to be holding holo pads, not weapons. When they passed, Magnus peeked out the door and down the hallway. After switching back to optical sensors, he noticed a placard that read Command Center.

“All right,” Magnus said. “Everyone up.”

The gladias emerged from the sewer access hatch one at a time and then rinsed in the shower. A few minutes later, everyone assembled by the doorway.

“What is the plan?” Abimbola asked.

“Awen, I want you and Nídira to keep any blast doors from closing off the command room. I have a feeling that if those things shut, we’re in trouble.”

“Certainly,” Awen said.

“Rohoar, Czyz, you’re leading the way in. We can’t afford for stray blaster fire to harm the consoles, so do as much damage as you can before they draw their weapons.”

“We shall slaughter without blasters,” Rohoar said, flexing his paws.

“Good.” Magnus pointed to the snipers. “Silk, Dutch, you’re in charge of knocking out any ceiling turrets. If there are any, and I’d bet several hundred of Bimby’s poker chips on it that there are, then it’s up to you to hit them before they hit us.”

“Copy,” Silk said.

“Doc and Haze, you’re covering our rear. Bimby, Titus, you’re with me. Everyone clear?”

Heads nodded.

“Good. Let’s stack up and prepare to move.”

The gladias lined up single file behind Rohoar and Czyz, ending with Doc and Haze. Magnus waited for the next round of personnel to pass before giving Rohoar the order to move out. Czyz opened the door for the other Jujari and then tapped him on the shoulder.

Everyone moved into the hallway and headed toward the direction placard. Rohoar turned left and headed down a long corridor that ended in a reinforced windowplex wall that looked into the command center. Three CENTCOM staffers were walking toward Rohoar while two troopers stood beside the entryway. A fourth staffer had just scanned his ID card over the lock to open the glass doors.

“Do it,” Magnus said to Rohoar.

The two Jujari burst forward and smashed through the unsuspecting staffers. The people screamed as their bodies were flung into either wall by an invisible force, alerting the troopers further down. Repub MC90 blasters came to the ready, but the troopers seemed to have no idea what to aim at. A beat later and the Marines were knocked unconscious—if not dead—as the Jujari shoved the fourth staffer forward and wedged his body in the closing door.

CENTCOM’s Command Center was a multi-tiered room that overlooked a twelve-meter-high holo wall. Each level was filled with glowing consoles and vibrant holo displays, boasting all manner of data routed in from across the galaxy. Only the first tier of operators seemed to notice the commotion. When their downed colleague’s head flattened against the ground, several of those watching shrieked in horror.

Rohoar and Czyz were inside and thrashing within seconds. They tore into the seated operators without discretion. Necks split, chests opened, and heads cracked as the beasts leaped down the levels, dispensing their unique brand of Jujari violence.

Silk and Dutch came next, scanning the ceiling as per Magnus’s orders. But, so far, no one had raised the alarm.

Several naval and intelligence officers unholstered sidearms and aimed at the carnage unfolding in the room, but like those Marines at the door, they seemed at a loss for targets. It wasn’t until one CO raised a comm’s device to his mouth that things got heated.

Silk cut off the reporting officer with a blaster bolt to the mouth just as the man finished yelling “Emergency” for the second time. He flipped backward, missing the majority of his face. A moment later, auto turrets dropped from the ceiling and chattered as they sought to acquire targets. At the same time, a klaxon sounded, and red lights spun up.

“And here come the doors,” Awen said.

Magnus stepped into the room just as giant blast doors moved in from either side. He glanced at Awen and saw her head dip. The doors began to shutter, sending a low rumble through the floor.

“We’ve got company,” Doc said, raising his NOV1 and firing down the hallway. Several Marines in Mark VII armor and MAR30s took a knee or set up beside hallway bulkheads, returning fire.

“Splick,” Magnus said. “Recon.”

“Your old unit,” Dutch said.

Magnus sneered. This wasn’t good. First the two at Elusian Base, and now these guys. Why had they been assigned security details on Capriana? Magnus didn’t want to see them, didn’t want to fight them, and definitely didn’t want them on this planet if it all went to hell. As much as he tried to ignore it, he felt the pull of the brotherhood—to find out who they were, where they hailed from, and catch up on the latest news.

“You good?” Titus asked as blaster bolts smacked the blaster proof windowplex.

“I’m fine.” Magnus shook himself out of his disbelief and swallowed the lump in his throat. “Keep those Marines back.”

“Roger that,” Doc shouted.

Dutch and Silk continued blowing the auto turrets from the ceiling as Abimbola and Titus assisted the Jujari in slaughtering the remaining operators. Rohoar was about ready to dispatch an intelligence officer in the center of the room when Magnus noticed the man’s console. “Wait,” he hollered to Rohoar. The Jujari withheld the death blow as the officer cowered in his chair. “Just wait.”

“Why spare him?” Rohoar asked.

Magnus ran down to the man’s console. “Look.”

Rohoar studied the holo but seemed unable to piece together Magnus’s intention.

“It’s the PDS terminal,” Magnus replied. He turned off chameleon mode, which clearly shocked the officer.

“Who the hell are you?” the man asked.

Magnus pressed the barrel of his NOV1 to the man’s temple. “If you value your life, you’ll do as I say.”

The officer’s lips quivered. “Or you’ll kill me as you’ve killed everyone else?”

Magnus dismissed the question. “Activate the PDS.”

“What?”

“The planetary defense system. Fire it up.”

The officer squinted at Magnus, seemingly unable to fathom what was being asked of him. He sputtered several incomprehensible starts before finding his tongue. “But I must have senior approval for that.”

“Consider this all the approval you need.” Magnus pushed with his weapon. When the officer failed to move, Rohoar punched him in the head and kicked him off his chair.

“Rohoar!”

“He delays us. Now you can do it.”

“But we could have used him.”

“No.” Rohoar sniffed the air in his helmet. “He was worthless.”

Magnus maglocked his weapon to his back and then sat down to study the holo display.

“Room clear,” Dutch said over the sound of blaster fire in the hallway.

“Then we could use you back here,” Haze said, his voice strained.

Magnus knew the Recon Marines would give the gladias a run for their credits. Which meant he needed to figure out how to raise the shield and then get the hell out of there. He scanned the display and saw menus and readouts and status bars, none of which seemed to have the On button he assumed should be front and center. But he was a ground pounder by trade, not a Cyril.

“Azelon, you there?” Magnus asked over VNET. When no reply came, he tried again.

Then Azelon’s voice came through. “—nus… sorry that… shielding…”

“Splick,” Magnus said. “Looks like I’m running solo on this one.” His eyes scanned the menu categories until he found a tab that read Core Status. “That sounds right.” Magnus selected it, and up popped more data than he’d seen in a year. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“This is a negative expression,” Rohoar said.

“Sure is.” Magnus searched for something that looked like an activation sequence or start-up checklist, but nothing stood out. He swore again as the sound of blaster fire grew behind him. “How you doing back there?”

“These bucketheads are just as aggravating as you are,” Abimbola said.

“Yeah, they’re the real deal.” Magnus tried another tab on the menu and scanned a live power grid schematic, hoping to find some sort of switch. But the deeper he looked, the more complicated the screens became. “Eh. I’m getting nowhere here. Anyone else want to try?”

“How can it be so hard to activate a shield?” Rohoar asked. “Shields are supposed to be easiest. Rohoar says, raise shields, and shields are raised. Rohoar says, lower shields, and shields are lowered. Rohoar says—”

“Yeah, yeah, we all know what Rohoar says.” Magnus waved him off with a hand. “But this isn’t Rohoar’s ship.” Just then, Magnus realized what he needed to look for, and then a knot tightened in his stomach. He found a tab marked Security, and then a sub-index marked Initialization Confirmation. The menu opened to a biometric input page, which included fields for a retinal scan, handprint, and voice activation. Magnus ground his teeth.

“Do we have a problem, scrumruk graulap?” Rohoar asked.

“A big one, Scruffy,” Magnus replied. “You see General McCormick lately?”

“Not since the elevator. Why?”

“Because that’s who we need to get this thing going.”

“Good news, Magnus,” Titus said, motioning from the entryway. “I think we found McCormick.”

“What?” Magnus stood up. “Where?”

Titus squeezed off a few more rounds. “He’s shooting at us.”

15

Blackman blinked against the light and brought a hand to his temple. His head hurt. It felt like someone had hit him hard enough to—to knock you out, Robert?

He blinked again and looked at the lines dangling from his arms. “Where the hell am I?” he asked no one in particular, surprised at the grogginess of his voice.

From his semi-reclined position, Blackman saw two medical professionals enter the hospital suite and move toward him. “Senator Blackman,” said a tall woman in a long white lab coat. “Nice to see you awake. I’m Doctor Bannon. How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been run over by a skiff loader,” Blackman replied.

“You took a serious blow to your head, Senator.”

My head? Blackman blinked, trying to piece together his disjointed thoughts. There were secrets he was protecting. And an attack on Capriana. “Where—where am I?”

“You’re in the Forum Republica’s medical unit, sir. You’ve been out for almost two hours. Security found you—”

“In an elevator.” The memories were booming more vivid. “Proconsul Tower.”

“That’s right. Do you remember what happened?”

“No.” Blackman shook his head a little. “No—I mean, I do, but I didn’t see—” Blackman stopped. “Where is the general?”

“General McCormick?” said the other person, this one in nurse’s attire. “He’s right here.” The man pointed to a bed on the other side of a translucent partition that streamed with medical data.

“McCormick,” Blackman said. When the man did not stir, the senator shouted his name twice more.

“Sir, please,” the doctor said. “You’ve suffered a severe concussion, and you need your rest.”

“Rest?” Blackman tried to sit up and instantly felt a wave of vertigo hit him. He pushed against the dizziness and willed himself onto one elbow. “There’s no time. Wake him up.”

“But, Senator, we can’t just—”

“Wake him up,” Blackman yelled. “Or I’ll have you arrested.”

Bannon drew in her lips, perhaps stifling whatever rebuttal she had, and then nodded at the nurse. “Do as he says.”

The nurse produced a device from his belt and walked to the general. Blackman couldn’t see what happened next, but McCormick awoke, cursing and shouting as if he was back inside the elevator. The nurse stumbled backward as the general sat upright.

“Relax, Issac,” Blackman said. “You’re in the medical unit.”

“What?” McCormick looked over at him, eyes blinking. Then a look of recognition washed over his face. The general glared at the tubes and wires on both arms and then yanked them out, much to the chagrin of Doctor Bannon and the nurse. But neither professional seemed interested in fighting him.

“Leave us,” Blackman said, pulling the lines from his own arms. Monitors scolded him, and lights flashed. Bannon looked like she wanted to attend to the monitors, but Blackman waved her off. “And arrange an escort back to CENTCOM.”

“But, sir, you really—”

“Order the damn escort!”

Bannon nodded and then left with the nurse.

Blackman looked at McCormick as the man threw off the white blanket and swung his legs over the bed’s edge. “You think he’s coming?” the general asked, steadying himself. “You think Kane’s on his way?”

“Of course he is. We’re the ones who ordered the fleets to return.”

“That’s not what I mean, Robert.”

Keep it together, Blackman encouraged himself, sensing the conversation was about to get complicated. But his decades in the Republic Senate had conditioned him on how to dress up the truth in ways that kept people from noticing it. “Do I think Magnus is right? Is Moldark coming to wipe us out?”

The general looked away. “I really hate that name. I wish you’d just call him Kane.”

“But it’s not Kane that So-Elku had us try to assassinate.”

McCormick threw his hands up. “Another name I’ve come to hate.”

“Be that as it may, the Luma did us a favor, did he not?”

The general nodded. “Resulting in a failed assassination attempt. And if Kane figured out it was us, that may very well be what’s pushed him to do what Magnus claims he’s coming to do. Plus, I believe that Kane leveling Capriana would suit So-Elku just fine, given how desperately he seems to want to extend his brand of peace throughout the quadrant. A thousand credits say he wanted the assassination attempt to fail.”

The general had been rattled, and rattled leaders did unpredictable things. This wasn’t the time for unpredictability, so Blackman needed to regain control of the situation. Moreover, McCormick was getting far too close to the truth.

“Get ahold of yourself, Issac,” Blackman shouted, startling the general. It had probably been a very long time since anyone had yelled at him. “You sound like one of those damn conspiracy theorists right now! For the last time, the fleets are coming home because we ordered them to, not to even a score or satisfy some Luma leader’s secret agenda. And Moldark—or Kane, or whatever he wants to be called—won’t know that we ordered the assassination. You’ve gotta relax, Issac.”

The general hesitated for a moment, and then looked at his Marine Corp uniform folded neatly on a shelf. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” He moved to the pile of clothes and studied them. It still seemed like there was something the general couldn’t shake. “So, Magnus is lying?”

“Lying, delusional—how should I know?” Blackman slid off his bed and then touched his forehead, fighting off a new wave of dizziness. “The man is either trying to earn his way back into the Corps or get some sort of strange revenge.”

McCormick pulled on his slacks and undershirt. “I still don’t like that we pinned Stone’s death on him.”

“It was expedient,” the senator said. “Not personal.”

“I know what it was just as much as you do.” McCormick reached for his black jacket and slid his arms into it. “And I don’t like that we tarnished the Magnus name.”

“This is bigger than reputations and personal pedigrees, Issac. You know that.”

“It’s about setting things right for future generations—I know the talking points.” The general smoothed his uniform and worked his jaw once. “Do you think they’ll forgive us?”

Damn his sentimentalism, Blackman thought to himself. How had the Corps produced such a pathetic worrywart? “They don’t have to forgive us. They have to survive.”

A long silence passed between the two men as the general turned toward a mirror and examined himself. “And what if Magnus is right?”

Blackman hesitated to put on his senate coat. The general wasn’t letting this go. “But he’s not right.”

“But if he is, then there might not be anything left for us to redeem.”

“Then none of us will be alive to care, will we.”

“Really?” McCormick turned from the mirror and took two steps toward Blackman. “That’s your rebuttal? You’re ready to throw billions of lives away on some deranged form of nihilism?”

“Of course not. I’m just trying to be a realist, and so should you. For the last time, Magnus doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Your biggest concern should be which military tribunal to try Moldark in when he gets here, and where to spend all your credits once we shake out the dirt.”

“You make it sound so simple,” the general said, taking a deep sigh. Blackman wondered how many other people saw this side of the outwardly staunch military commander. He was a far cry from the brave intergalactic leader who commanded the most formidable ground force in the galaxy.

“That’s because it is simple.” Blackman checked himself in the same mirror that McCormick had. “The fleets are returning from a successful attack on the Jujari. You and Franks will take full credit for it and be lauded as heroes. Then we will use the momentum in our favor to restructure the Senate accordingly, ushering in a new age of sovereign rule and galactic peace.”

“You’re too good at reciting our rhetoric,” McCormick replied, but the man still didn’t seem settled.

“What is it, Issac?”

“I don’t see the harm in taking precautionary measures.”

“By raising the planetary shield?” Blackman lifted his eyebrows as if shocked by the idea and then turned on the general. “If the defense system goes up, the Senate will want to know why. And when they call for an investigation, they’ll not only look to the members of CENTCOM, they’ll make the heads of the Navy and Marine Corps give accounts for the fleet-return orders—the same fleets that the PDS is defending the planet from. And that, General, puts the Senate far too close to the Nine for my liking. And we both know where they’ll place the blame.”

McCormick twitched his nose and then loosened his collar with two fingers. “You’re right, of course.”

There was a chime at the door. “Military escort for General McCormick and Senator Blackman,” said a trooper’s voice over the comms.

“Come,” said the general. A four-person fire team entered the room single-file.

“General, you’re receiving an urgent communique from CENTCOM,” the lead trooper said, handing McCormick a holo pad.

“From CENTCOM?” The general looked to Blackman and then took the pad. He swiped the message open, and Admiral Frank’s face appeared.

“Issac, it’s good to see you,” said Franks.

“You too, Penn.”

“You had us worried there.”

McCormick gave a curt smile. “What’s this about?”

“In the time you’ve been unconscious, we’ve had two additional attacks on Republic facilities.”

The general looked at Blackman and then back at Franks. “What kind of attacks? Where?”

“The first was at the biomedical research facility in sector seven.”

“The hazardous materials unit?”

Frank nodded. “Seems they went after some high-level asset on level four.”

“Mystics. Did we stop them?”

“Negative. They killed three platoons of Marines and then escaped.”

“But—how’s that possible? I thought the facility was secure?”

“Intelligence thinks they used the sewers.”

McCormick sneered. “And do we know what they took?”

“Negative. But we’re looking into it.”

The general shared another look with Blackman. The senator stepped into the frame and acknowledged Franks. “Would this have anything to do with the assault on us in the elevator?”

“We’re unsure, Senator,” Franks replied. “But we do know we’re dealing with a covert and highly skilled military force here.”

“How can you be so sure?” McCormick asked.

“Because this is what they did to Elusian Base.” A series of video clips replaced Franks’s face, showing several massive explosions in and around the fort.

“Great mystics,” Blackman said.

“And their target?” the general asked.

But Blackman answered the question before Franks could. “The planetary defense system.”

Franks’s face reappeared, head nodding. “We armed the facility housing the PDS’s manual override with an auto-destruct sequence after we reviewed the footage from the elevator. We guessed they might make an attempt on it once we got word of an assault on the island.”

“Who else saw that elevator feed?” Blackman asked, more forcefully than he intended.

“Don’t worry,” Franks said. “It’s confidential.”

Blackman nodded. “And the facility?”

“Eliminated before the PDS could be raised.”

Blackman gave an inward sigh of relief. For So-Elku’s plan to work, the PDS needed to stay down for the first part of Moldark’s assault on Capriana. Blackman would eventually raise it from inside CENTCOM after the initial salvos and Republic attempts to negotiate. He could mourn the civilian casualties later, but it was a small price to pay for how much the galaxy would gain.

So-Elku and the Nine had more in common than they both knew—they both firmly believed that the Republic needed to die if true peace was to reign once again. But unlike the Nine, So-Elku wasn’t belabored with protocol, bureaucracy, and majority votes—all vestiges of a tired system. Instead, the Luma leader had power—real power—to make things happen. And Blackman had been guaranteed a place at the table.

“What about the enemy?” McCormick asked. “Surely, we must have—”

“They’re in the wind, I’m afraid,” said Franks.

“But how is that possible?”

“As I said,” Franks replied as he raised an eyebrow. “Covert and highly skilled.”

McCormick turned to Blackman and said, “You still think he’s delusional, Robert?”

“As a matter of fact, I do,” Blackman said. “Even more so now.”

“What’s this about?” Franks asked.

“It can wait,” the senator said. “Gather the Nine in Proconsul Tower. We’ll meet you there in ten minutes.”

Franks nodded and reached to close the feed when the sound of screaming people filled the background. The admiral turned from his desk—located in an executive office adjacent to CENTCOM’s Command Center—and opened the door. Blackman and McCormick watched as the holo pad fell to the floor, and blood splashed across the camera.

16

First squad concentrated their fire down the hallway, taking out Recon Marines as fast as possible, but the black-suited troopers kept pulling their dead away only to send in fresh blood.

“The windowplex is giving way, Magnus,” Titus said from his post on the defensive line at the top of the command room.

Magnus left the PDS terminal and headed up toward the translucent dividing wall, now glowing red hot from the enemy’s relentless barrage of blaster fire. The MAR30 could dispense its share of damage, as the reinforced blast-grade windowplex was finding out. It wouldn’t be long before the gladias cover fragmented into shards of molten sludge.

“What is the play, buckethead?” Abimbola asked.

Magnus had his weapon raised but stayed clear of the gap filled with blaster rounds. The bolts had already crossed the Command Center and all but destroyed the large holo display along the far wall. “We need that guy, right there.”

Abimbola followed Magnus’s nod toward General McCormick at the end of the hall.

“Cover’s failing,” Dutch yelled. The windowplex had reached its limit.

“Awen, Wish,” Magnus said. “Let the blast doors close!”

“You got it,” Awen replied.

A beat later, the large partitions groaned and shuddered, engaged by their drive system. They raced toward one another from opposite sides of their recessed corners and slammed shut in the center. Only a few muted bursts of blaster fire thumped on the opposite side until someone ordered a cease-fire.

“Well, that’s better,” Titus said, breathing a sigh of relief.

“For the moment,” Abimbola replied. “We have only traded one bad scenario for another.”

“And we still need the man out there for the computer in here,” Rohoar said. “Plus, Rohoar feels that we are pinned in here like desert Slanthers caught in a canyon. If we are forced to stay too long, we may start eating one another for supremacy.”

“No one’s eating anybody,” Magnus said. “Just calm down.” He needed a second to think—there had to be another way to activate the PDS. He walked down the aisle and sat behind the terminal.

“What are you thinking, Magnus?” Awen asked as she walked up behind him.

“I’m thinking General McCormick might not be the only one with the authority to start up the defense network. There needs to be a backup, in case he was MIA during an invasion.” Sure enough, Magnus spotted just what he was looking for. A dropdown menu near the display’s top was pre-populated with McCormick’s name, most likely because he was the most senior member, Magnus guessed. But he wasn’t the only name on the list. There were five more, each ranking members of the military.

Awen must have registered the same thought as Magnus, because she tapped him on the shoulder, and asked, “You think someone on that list is in here?”

Magnus nodded. “Gotta be.” He stood up and made sure the squad channel was open. “Listen up. We’re looking for admiral or general insignias on the injured. Search every console station and all the side offices. If you don’t know what those insignias look like, ask someone. Move.”

Alpha and Bravo teams broke out and started scouring the room, including the side offices and clear-paneled meeting rooms. Magnus helped as well, flipping people over who he thought might still be alive, only to find them shot or mauled on the front side. He wished they hadn’t been so violent upon entering, and wondered if they’d killed the very person they needed to save the planet.

Don’t think like that, Adonis, he told himself. You’re gonna find a way.

“I think I’ve got someone,” Dutch said. Magnus moved toward her position on the upper level, just beside a corner office. “Admiral Penn Franks.”

“He’s on the list,” Magnus said, bending down to examine the man. But he was unconscious and bleeding from three Jujari claws marks in his chest. “Dammit.”

“He’s still alive,” Awen said. “But barely.”

“Take him to the console,” Magnus said. He grabbed Awen by the arm and put her in a private channel. “Can you do anything to wake him?”

Awen seemed to hesitate. “I’m not sure.”

“Try?”

She nodded. “Of course. But, if I try too hard, I might—”

“He’s dead anyway, Awen.”

She looked away. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Together, they walked back down to the PDS terminal where Silk and Doc had placed Franks in the chair. Magnus worked with them to secure the admiral’s handprint and even managed to pull his eyelids apart to obtain a successful retinal scan. All that remained was the voice indent match.

“Awen?” Magnus said.

She stepped forward, placed a hand on Franks, and went still. A few moments passed before the admiral started coughing and his eyes flew open in a spasm. He shouted and thrashed, and it took Silk and Doc to keep the main restrained. Franks coughed more, and blood flew through the holo display.

“Admiral Franks,” Magnus said over external speakers. “We need you to raise the planetary defense shield immediately.”

Franks blinked, seemingly unable to focus on anything.

“Admiral Franks,” Magnus repeated after raising the volume on his helmet.

“Yes?” The admiral winced at the sound. “Where am I?”

“You’re at the PDS console inside CENTCOM’s command room. The planet is under attack, and we need you to raise the shield.”

“Under attack?” Franks looked around again but saw no one due to the gladia’s chameleon mode. Instead, the admiral’s eyes latched onto several bodies on the ground beside him. “Holy mystics. What’s—what’s happening?”

“We need you to speak your passphrase to activate the PDS,” Magnus said.

“Under whose—” Franks slammed his eyes shut in pain. He groaned and seemed like he might pass out.

“Franks,” Magnus yelled. When the man didn’t respond, Magnus looked to Awen. “Do something.”

“He’s dying, Magnus.”

“Do something!”

Awen put her hand on the man again, and the admiral shook. Then his eyes flew open as he gasped.

“Admiral Franks,” Magnus said. “Please speak your pass into the system.”

“Under whose authority?” Franks managed to say through gritted teeth. “I need proper—” Franks grunted as if someone had just punched him in the gut. “Proper clearance.”

“Belay that order, Admiral Franks,” said a voice from the ceiling speakers.

Franks pushed himself away from the console upon hearing his name from someone he clearly knew. The moment his shoulder slipped from Awen’s hand, he went unconscious and fell to the floor.

“This is Senator Robert Malcom Blackman of the Galactic Republic Senate and Chairman of Central Command,” the voice said. “To former Marine Lieutenant Adonis Olin Magnus and whatever team you’re leading, I order you to stand down and drop your weapons immediately.”

Magnus felt his team look at him even without seeing their helmets move. He motioned for them to hold position.

“I can’t see you, of course,” Blackman continued. Dutch and Silk had taken care of the cameras along with the auto-turrets. “But I know you’re there, listening. So I’ll make myself clear.”

Magnus knew this man’s voice—it was strangely familiar.

“Within the next few minutes, the security team outside the Command Center will gain access to the room you’re standing in. When they do, the firefight will continue until you’ve either laid waste to an entire battalion of troopers now converging on your location, which I highly doubt you have the man- or firepower to accomplish, or you surrender. Killing you would be another option, but the Republic never wishes for anyone’s death, so I’m on record as saying that I prefer you to surrender and spare everyone even more needless bloodshed.”

“Send someone in to raise the planetary defense shield, and we’ll stand down,” Magnus said.

“No, scrumruk graulap,” Rohoar said. “We must not—”

“Quiet, Rohoar,” Magnus said on internals. To his credit, Rohoar didn’t protest further.

“It’s really that important to you?” Blackman said. Magnus recognized the senator’s voice from the elevator. This was the other man with McCormick. “You’d risk your life and the lives of your team just to activate a defense shield?”

“It’s even crazier that a senator and a general would resist a credible warning and jeopardize billions of lives,” Magnus replied.

The senator laughed. “Credible? Son, nothing’s credible when it’s done at blaster point. Stand down, and—”

“Send someone in, and we’ll surrender.” Ever since meeting McCormick and Blackman in the elevator, it bugged Magnus that neither man wanted to raise the PDS. Whatever happened to better safe than sorry?—especially when it came to defense. Where was the harm in protecting the capital, if nothing more than to give someone the benefit of the doubt?

Something didn’t feel right to Magnus, but he couldn’t figure out what. He was too preoccupied with what would happen if the senator refused Magnus’s condition of surrender. Still, in the back of his brain, Magnus felt that the only reason to keep the PDS down was that there was something the CENTCOM leaders had to lose that was worse than Capriana’s annihilation. But nothing’s worth that, Magnus thought.

“Mysticsdammit,” Magnus yelled. “What are you waiting for? Send someone in, raise the shield, and all of this ends. What the hell do you have to lose?”

“Magnus,” Awen said with a pleading tone. “They’ll execute us on the spot. Surely, you must—”

“Is there anything more important?” Magnus said to her over the squad channel. “We already forfeited our lives, Awen. The moment we decided to do what we believed was right. At least this way, we know we’re giving our lives to protect billions of lives. I can live with that.”

“And you’ll die for it too,” Awen said.

“And you?”

“Yeah.” Awen shook her head in resignation. “Yeah, I can die for that.”

“As can I,” Abimbola said.

“Rohoar too,” said the Jujari.

The blast doors activated and crawled apart. A shaft of light split between them as a figure appeared, hands raised. Magnus cycled through his visual sensors before he could clarify the silhouette. “It’s General McCormick,” Magnus said.

NOV1s followed the general as he walked into the command room. Then the senator’s voice sounded from the speakers again.

“You’ve already met General Issac S. McCormick once before,” Blackman said. “Allow him passage to the PDS terminal and see to it that he activates the system as you’ve requested.”

“Move it, General,” Magnus said to McCormick. The general looked around, clearly trying to place the speaker, but the only people in the room were dead or dying on the floor. “We haven’t got all day.”

McCormick kept his hands raised and made his way down the steps toward the PDS terminal on the bottom level. He stepped around several bodies that lay sprawled across the stairs. “You’re all dead,” the general said softly. “You know that, don’t you?”

“The console, sir,” Magnus said.

“For what it’s worth, however, I don’t mind putting the shield up.”

“Happy to hear that.”

“It’s a small price to pay to stop such a cowardly attack.”

Magnus swallowed the taste of bile in the back of his throat. “Cowardly is not taking the chance to save people you swore to protect just because you didn’t like the messenger, general. Now, the terminal.”

McCormick reached the lower level and stopped when he saw Franks’s body on the floor. Then he stepped over the admiral and took a seat.

“Do you really think he’s coming?” McCormick asked, his voice barely audible.

Magnus looked to Awen, wondering if she heard it too. “Come again, General?”

McCormick worked his jaw and looked annoyed. He inclined his head toward the display and rolled his eyes as if scolding Magnus for being insensitive. Magnus stepped closer. “Do you think Moldark is coming to destroy the planet?”

Magnus lowered the volume of his speakers. “Do you think we’d be doing all this if we weren’t convinced?”

The general sighed and then reached a hand toward the holo display. “I was afraid you’d say that.”

“Then why the delay, sir?” Magnus said, driven to ask by a deep sense of curiosity. He watched as the monitor scanned the general’s upraised hand, and then presented a confirmation icon.

“That’s a complicated answer, son. One far above your pay grade.”

“More complicated than saving people’s lives?”

The general huffed and then leaned forward to let the terminal scan his retina. “There was a time that was the only thing that mattered.” He held still. “And I’d give anything to get back there.”

A confirmation icon chimed on the holo display. All that remained was the voiceprint match.

“We’ve lost our way, Magnus,” the general said, swiping a prompt to reveal the secret passphrase. The sentence illuminated with a countdown timer. But the general lowered his head.

“General?” Magnus said, trying to get the man back on task. “The voice print?”

But the general seemed like he was in a different world. “It started with such noble ideals, you know. But somewhere that all changed. And it made us do things…”

“General, the passphrase.”

“I’m so sorry for what we did to you, Adonis.” The general met Magnus’s eyes—though the man could hardly know where to look besides where the sound came from. Still, Magnus felt as though McCormick looked straight into his soul. “Your grandfather would never forgive me, nor do I expect you to. But I am sorry.”

Magnus froze. What did they do to me? The sound of his pulse thumped in his ears, and time seemed to slow down.

“Magnus,” Awen shouted. “Snap out of it!”

Magnus shook his head and blinked. “General, the passphrase. Please.”

McCormick looked back at the holo and seemed to notice that the countdown timer only had five seconds remaining. Magnus assumed that if the general didn’t act quickly, the whole process would begin again, and probably with some sort of time penalty or additional security measure. McCormick held his finger over the record icon and started speaking.

“Purple sparrows rarely dwell amidst the chambers of—”

Something metallic bounced down the stairs and landed beside the terminal. Magnus blinked. It was a Recon issued VOD. “Fragger!”

17

The VOD blast blew Magnus backward down the aisle of consoles. McCormick’s body had shielded him and Awen from the worst of it, but still, Magnus’s shield was gone, and his armor had been damaged. Blaster fire flooded his audio sensors as Magnus pushed the general’s body off his chest.

“Awen, can you hear me?” Magnus asked, shaking her arm.

Her head rolled toward him. “Are we alive?”

“For now. Can you get up?”

“Yes, I think so. My shield’s at—”

“Zero. Mine too.” Magnus raised a hand in caution. “Stay behind the consoles.”

“Right.”

Magnus helped Awen to her knees and then peered over the next row of terminals. Recon Marines infiltrated the Command Center and laid down a heavy base of fire. The best thing the gladias had going for them was that the enemy still couldn’t see them. That would all change the moment some trooper with IR optics got wise and started calling out targets over TACNET and populating their HUD. Magnus could practically see the layout of the Repub software.

“Return fire,” Magnus shouted, and then ordered the Jujari to flank the Marines while Awen and Wish activated some Unity shielding.

Rohoar and Czyz bounded up the side stairs and bored into the enemy’s right and left flanks. A Marine left his place by the blast doors and flew through the amphitheater toward the main holo display. His body cracked against the already broken display wall, filling the air with sparks, before crashing to the ground. On Czyz’s side, a Marine’s scream filled the air as his helmet was ripped from his head, along with part of his face, thanks to Czyz’s claws raking across it. The Jujari ended the man’s suffering by knocking his head back with a wicked snap sound.

The Recon’s fire shifted to defend their flanks, as the dead Marines provided the most visible evidence of the gladias’ location. But still, Magnus and the others took heavy fire from the MAR30s.

“There’s only one way we’re putting these boys down,” Magnus said to Awen. “When I’m done, I need you to close the blast doors. Can you do that?”

“Yes, I think so,” Awen said.

“Seal them too.”

“But what about—”

“We’ll blast our way out if we have to.”

Awen nodded.

Magnus activated his NOV1’s AI-assisted multi-target fire effect mode and felt the barrel gimbal unlock. He raised his weapon above the terminals and watched his HUD pick out sixteen different targets—all Recon Marines, all about to die before they even knew what hit them. And this still isn’t any easier, Magnus thought, remembering his conversation with Titus. Then he squeezed the trigger.

The NOV1 released a bright spray of blaster fire in sixteen different directions as the gimbaled barrel shuddered to accommodate the multi-target field of fire. The blaster bolts pierced chest plates and punctured helmets, sending each Marine to the ground in a rhythmic secession of clattering armor.

“Close ’em,” Magnus ordered Awen. The doors began sliding shut, crushing Marine bodies as they did. Magnus caught sight of a man through the narrowing crack. His silver hair and dark gray senator’s uniform glinted in the flicking ceiling lights. It was Blackman. And the last thing Magnus saw before Awen and Wish finished closing the doors was the senator’s hate-filled scowl.

“Would somebody mind telling me what the hell just happened?” Silk asked. The rest of the gladias stood and looked around at the body count.

“More like, what are we gonna do next,” Silk said. “Look.” Magnus tracked her head nod toward the PDS console, or what was left of it. Sparks shot from the terminal, and a small fire coming from General McCormick’s body—among others—sent black smoke toward the ceiling. Apparently, the fumes were enough to activate the fire-retardant system. Water sprinklers popped from the ceiling and showered the room.

“Any bright ideas, buckethead?” Abimbola asked.

“For the PDS?” Magnus asked rhetorically. “Not until we can see if TO-96 has any more bright ideas.”

“No,” said Abimbola. “For us getting out of here with our lives.”

“We’re not going until we activate—”

“Adonis.” Awen laid a hand on his arm. “It’s over.”

“But there’s got to be another way to raise it.”

“This was the other way,” she said. Awen held his gaze even through their helmets. “The best thing we can do now is find a way out and try to evacuate the city.”

She was right, but admitting it felt like a defeat. And Magnus hated failure. “I need ideas.”

“Scans show no other doors or tunnels,” Haze said.

“I can confirm that,” Wish said. “Our only options seem to be the vertical shafts for ventilation and cabling conduits, but everything looks too small for us.”

“How about down?” Magnus asked, wondering if they could take advantage of the sewer trick again.

“Negative, LT,” Doc said. “I’m showing solid cement and bedrock beyond that.”

Magnus swore under his breath and turned to Awen. He wondered if she could read his thoughts, if she saw him calculating the odds of fighting their way back through CENTCOM, up the elevators, through the lobby, and out the Forum Republica’s front doors. Could she sense the despair growing in his chest? The feeling of helplessness? Of regret at knowing he’d put his team in an untenable situation, all for the sake of—

“Of trying to save the lives of the innocent,” Awen said. “We knew what we were getting into, Magnus. It’s all right.”

“I’m not giving up this easily,” Magnus said. “There’s got to be another way.”

Awen looked away, took a deep breath, and then stared at Magnus’s visor again. “If you want to go out those blast doors fighting, then we’ll go with you. Until at least one of us can sound some kind of alarm to evacuate the city.”

“Rohoar agrees,” the Jujari said. “And he is with you.”

“As am I,” Abimbola said, racking a fresh mag in his weapon. Everyone in the teams added in their approval of the last-ditch effort.

“It’s suicide,” Magnus said, looking around.

“This whole mission was suicide,” Titus said. “We all knew it. And so did you.”

Magnus lowered his head and sighed. Asking everyone to risk their lives for this op had been much easier from the safety of the Spire, back when success seemed within reach. Now, with no other way to raise the shield and little chance that any gladia would reach the surface in time to spare the civilian population, Magnus could hardly find the words to order his squad forward—much less to thank them for their self-sacrifice.

He was about to order the blast doors reopened when he spotted something in the general’s dead hand. It was a keycard for an elevator. But unlike the security cards used daily, with their edges rounded and optical patterns scratched from constant use, this one looked pristine.

Magnus knelt and opened the general’s fingers. A word printed at the top of the card made Magnus’s heart skip.

Executive Office.

Magnus grabbed the card and stood. Then he looked around the Command Center’s perimeter.

“What is it?” Awen asked, obviously noticing Magnus’s sudden change in demeanor.

Magnus spun toward Dutch. “Where did you find the admiral’s body?”

“Up there,” she said, pointing to the top level in the corner. Magnus saw what he was looking for.

“That’s an office,” he said, skirting by Awen and heading up the stairs at the end of the row of consoles. He took them three at a time and stopped outside a door that designated the room beyond as a suite. He waved his hand in front of the motion scanner, but the door produced a dim error trill. Magnus tried sticking the keycard in a slot on the activate panel, but the door made the same inert sound. Irritated, Magnus pointed his NOV1 at the door and blew a gaping hole in it.

“What are you doing?” Titus asked.

“I’ll let you know in a second,” Magnus replied, stepping through the smoking hole. “Stay put.”

He scanned the executive office, noting a large conference room table and chairs, several couches, a wet bar, and a large desk. “Come on, come on,” he said to himself as he searched the walls. They were covered in art and boasted a few large mirrors, but not what he was looking for.

“What’s going on, Adonis?” Awen asked, poking her head through the blowout door.

“It has to be here,” Magnus replied, more to himself than to her.

“What has to?”

Then his eyes stopped on one of the floor-to-ceiling mirrors—about the width of a person. “There.” Magnus dashed across the room and started prying against the mirror’s edges. When it didn’t budge, he got even more hopeful. This wasn’t a simple piece of decoration. It was a door—it had to be.

“Magnus, what’s gotten into you?” Awen said, her voice filled with concern.

Magnus turned and flapped the general’s keycard at her. “It’s for a private elevator,” he said. “The general was going to raise the PDS and then get out.”

“Or help us get out,” Awen said, drawing near and taking the card from Magnus. He turned and kept searching the mirror for a slot.

“How about this,” Awen said. Magnus turned to see Awen insert the card into a slot on the desk. Several LEDs blinked around the opening and a chime issued from the mirror. Then the glass slid away to reveal a small three-person room.

“You’re a genius.” Magnus grabbed her by the arms and would have kissed her were they not wearing helmets.

“You’re welcome,” she said. “And you can save that kiss for later.”

Magnus smiled, and then roared over VNET, “Everyone in the office, now!”

* * *

The elevator opened into a similarly styled office suite—only this one had a view of the entire capital complex. The sky was just beginning to warm the horizon, and Magnus double-checked his mission clock. It was just past five o’clock in the morning.

“Sir, is that really you?” TO-96 said, appearing in a new comms window.

“Boy, am I glad to see you, ’Six,” Magnus replied.

“Magnus,” Colonel Caldwell exclaimed. “Sweet mother of mummified mystics, man—where the hell have you been?”

“Long story, Colonel.” Magnus motioned Awen and Titus out of the lift and then sent the pod on its nonstop trip back to CENTCOM.

“Where are you now?” Caldwell asked.

“Looks like we’re somewhere in Proconsul Tower. Pretty high up too.”

Titus opened the office door and then looked back at Magnus. “You’re not gonna believe this, LT,” he said to Magnus and Awen.

Magnus walked over and looked out the door. On one side of the open floor, there looked to be a large meeting hall, and on the other was an elevator bank, with several elevators that seemed to be designated to the tower’s upper-level spaceport. He strained to look at the ceiling, which was a lavish windowplex dome. Above it loomed a massive tower with half a dozen docked shuttles. “We’re on the top floor, Colonel. And the rest of the squad is on the way.”

“And the PDS?”

Magnus shook his head. “I’m sorry, Colonel, but that’s a no-go. We need to order a city-wide evacuation.”

“You’re sure?” Caldwell said, his voice lowered as if in mourning.

“The terminal is destroyed, so unless the Wonder Twins have some new bright idea, yeah, I’m sure.”

Caldwell looked at TO-96 and Azelon.

“If by Wonder Twins, Magnus is referring to Azelon and me, the answer is no,” TO-96 said.

“Copy that,” the colonel replied. Then he looked past Magnus into the near distance. “Mung born isotropic bastards.”

“What does that even mean?” Magnus shook his head. “Any ideas on how to go about doing this?”

The Colonel looked at Azelon. “How ’bout it, Smarty Pants?”

“I am less familiar with the prime motivating factors for humans and other evolutionarily adjacent species,” Azelon said. “Though, I suppose catastrophic threats that provoke favorable evasion responses within the amygdala are ideal.”

“What the hell kinda talk did you just spew out?” Caldwell said. “We’re not trying to incite mass hysteria, lady.”

“That is how you interpreted my assertion?” Azelon tilted her head. “Interesting.”

“I have an idea,” TO-96 said with a raised hand.

“It better not be some sort of brainiac splick like hers,” the colonel said, nodding at Azelon.

“No, sir. It relies on you and planet-wide video transmission.”

“You mean a PSA?” Caldwell asked.

“A what, sir?”

“A public service announcement,” Magnus answered. “It’s an old-fashioned way of getting news out to a wide audience via more traditional broadcast methods.”

“Careful who you’re calling old fashioned, son,” Caldwell said.

“Then, yes,” TO-96 said. “A PSA. Though I am not entirely certain Azelon and I will be able to gain access to the planet’s broadcast channels.”

“I’d say do what you can until we come up with a better plan,” Magnus said. “Better to be prepared—”

“Than dead,” Caldwell said.

“I suggest you make haste,” Azelon interjected. “I’ve just detected several ships jumping out of sub-space.” She paused and raised a finger. “Make that several dozen, and counting.”

“Moldark,” Awen whispered. “He’s here.”

18

Piper stood in the middle of a street as the buildings fell around her. Her body shuddered from the fear, and she could hardly breathe from the worry gripping her chest. These were the same sensations Piper had so many times before. But she knew this was only a dream. Still, the anxiety felt real.

“Piper,” someone yelled above her. But she didn’t want to look into the sky. If she did, she’d wake up. And it wasn’t time to wake up yet. She had to see if he would come for her. “Piper, wake up!”

“No, no,” she replied, wrestling against the call of her consciousness. She punched and kicked, refusing to leave the ruins in the streets. But then her eyes caught sight of something moving in the distance, something emerging over the rubble’s horizon. She squinted and blinked, resisting the voice above, and instead narrowed her eyes on the person beyond.

It was a Marine trooper. Yes, it was Magnus—he’d come to save her. Like always.

“Mr. Lieutenant Magnus,” she cried out, her heart filling with an overwhelming sense of relief. Piper waved her hands. “I’m over here!”

Piper wanted to run to him, but her feet wouldn’t move. They were stuck in the rubble, lodged beneath broken concrete and metal rods. It didn’t matter, though. Magnus would come to free her just as he always did.

There had been a time, only a few days ago, where she’d second-guessed him. No—worse. She’d believed against him. Believed that he’d done horrible things to others—to his brother. To her mother. But those things, it turned out, were lies. Lies that she’d been wrong to accept and not question, not talk to him first. That mistake had hurt her, and him, and others. So Piper vowed never to make that mistake again. There would be no more hiding, and no more believing what people whispered in the darkness. She would always run toward the light—toward what was right.

“Mr. Lieutenant Magnus, I’m over here,” she said again, waving her arms, still unable to wiggle her feet from the wreckage. He should be here by now, she thought, wondering what was taking so long. His silhouette was still there, head and shoulders still bobbing back and forth. But no matter how long she waited, Magnus seemed the same distance away, as if he were walking on a treadmill.

Maybe her eyes were playing tricks on her. Perhaps he was much further away than she first realized, and he was only now getting closer. Piper tried to content herself, willing her heart to calm down while she waited for her hero to arrive. For he would come. Soon. Any moment now.

Shadows moved out from the broken buildings, darting toward Magnus. Piper could not make out who or even what they were. But she felt they meant Magnus harm. Something about them felt malnev—manlevno—malevolent. Felt evil. Like they wanted to kill him.

“No,” Piper said. “This isn’t how it goes. This isn’t the way!”

The shadows started attacking Magnus. They swirled around him, lashed out, and struck him on the shoulders and head.

“Stop it,” Piper screamed. Magnus looked like he was struggling to stand. “You’re hurting him!”

Piper tried to free her feet, overcome with panic, but each time she did, the debris cut into her skin and pushed against her bones. She screamed, and then grabbed her left knee, yanking it in a wild attempt to wrest herself from the rubble’s clutches. But nothing happened. She screamed his name so loudly she thought her voice would break.

“Wake up,” someone said, shaking her shoulders.

Piper’s eyes flew open and saw her grandmother’s face. Feeling disoriented, Piper reached for something to hold—anything. Willowood grabbed Piper’s wrists and bound them to her chest. Still, Piper thrashed—she had to get to Magnus.

“Peace, child,” Willowood said.

All at once, the dread left, dissolving like salt in a cup of water. Piper felt a wave of relief wash over her, calming her nerves. The warmth of the blanket returned, as did the comfort of the pillows cradling her head.

“Peace,” her grandmother said again, her hand stroking Piper’s hair. “All is well, my child. All is well.”

Piper took several deep breaths and used the blanket to wipe the tears away. “I have to go.”

Willowood scrunched her eyes up. “Go?”

“He needs me.”

Willowood hushed her. “You’ve been dreaming, darling granddaughter. But you’re safe now.”

“No, no.” The fear started to return. “He needs me.”

“Who needs you?”

“Mr. Lieutenant Magnus.” Piper tried to sit up. “He needs me.”

“Piper, please.” Willowood pleaded with her hands. “You need to lie still.”

“No. He needs me right now.”

“Peace,” Willowood said, and again, a new wave of peace washed over Piper—this one stronger than the last. The anxiety vanished, and Piper felt it was safe to lie back down. “There, is that better?”

Piper nodded, taking a deep breath that made her lower lip quiver. “I saw him, grandma. I saw him.”

“Magnus?”

“Yes. It’s a dream I’ve had many times. But this time, it’s different.”

Willowood continued to stroke her hair, and it felt good. So reassuring. “How so?”

“He always comes to rescue me—in Capriana, I mean. I stand in the middle of the buildings, and they’re all broken. And then he walks up the street and rescues me. But, only this time, like what just happened, he doesn’t. Something happened to him.” Piper could feel her heart beating faster and her words get quicker. “Something attacked him. They came out of the ruins and swirled around him. Hitting him. He tried to get rid of them. He tried. But there were too many, and he couldn’t. And then I tried to go help him, but I was stuck. I couldn’t move. And they kept hurting and hurting him! I yelled for them to stop, but they wouldn’t. They just wouldn’t!”

“Easy, easy,” Willowood said, her face taking on a look of grave concern.

“And the worst part?” Piper choked on her tears, and coughed, perhaps realizing the meaning of the dream for the first time. “They killed him.”

Willowood acted like she was about to say something, but her hand hesitated in smoothing the hair on Piper’s head. So Piper said the words again, but more softly.

“They killed him, grandma. And I couldn’t do anything to stop it.”

A long silence passed between them as Willowood folded her hands in her lap and looked off somewhere. “How long have you had this dream? The first one, I mean, where he rescued you?”

“A couple of months,” Piper said, giving her best guess. She still couldn’t tell time over months like the adults did. “Ever since right before I met Mr. Lieutenant Magnus.”

Willowood examined Piper’s face with interest. “How soon before you met him?”

“I was on daddy’s ship, from when we left Capriana. I had the first dream, and then Mr. Lieutenant Magnus showed up that night to rescue us when we were adriftering.”

“Adrift.”

“Uh huh.”

“And you’re saying you’ve had this recurring dream consistently ever since then?”

Piper thought about it. “How much is consistently?”

“Enough that it happens every few weeks or days?”

Piper nodded.

“But now it’s changed?”

Again, Piper nodded.

“And this is the only time it’s ever been different?”

“Yup.” Piper took another deep sigh, and her arms and legs got the chills. “But I don’t think it was a dream.”

Her grandmother sat up a little straighter. “No?”

“It felt real. I mean, really real. Like I was actually seeing things like I’m seeing you right now. And I know the difference between real things and dream things—I’m not a baby anymore. I know the difference.”

“I’m sure you do,” Willowood said, looking away again.

“I think he’s in trouble, grandma.” But her grandmother didn’t say anything. So Piper touched Willowood’s arm. “Grandma?”

“Yes, child?”

“I said, I think he’s in trouble. I think they all are.”

* * *

Piper washed her face and put on a new white and blue-trim suit that Azelon had made for her. Then she ate a snack, took a few sips of water, and followed the glowing lines on the floor until she found her grandmother inside a dimly lit lounge. It had comfy chairs and a wide window that looked out over a planet.

“Is that Capriana Prime?” Piper asked, stepping into the room.

Willowood nodded. “It is.”

“Is—is Magnus down there?”

Again, her grandmother inclined her head. “He is.”

Piper put a hand on her chest. “And do you think—?”

“They’re in trouble, yes, Piper.”

Piper felt herself about to burst into tears when Willowood raised a hand. It felt like a heating pad, and a soothing sensation moved down her body.

“Try and calm down, child. You said you’re not a baby anymore, right?”

Piper nodded, though less confidently than she would have before hearing that Magnus was in trouble.

“Good. Then I need you to stay focused and not let your emotions get in the way of what we need to do.”

“We’re going to do something?” The words filled Piper with a sense of hope.

“Of course we are. Did you think we we’re just going to sit around and cry after you had a premonition like that?”

“A premnom—”

“Premonition. A feeling that something is going to happen. A look into the future.”

“Are you saying Magnus is going to die?”

Willowood pointed to the open chair. It was dark leather and had two white pillows in it. “Have a seat, Piper.”

Piper nodded dutifully and sat down.

“Not everything you dream is real,” Willowood said.

“But some of it is?”

Willowood smiled. “When you’re a true blood, yes.”

“Awen told me I’m a true blood.”

“I’m sure she did.” Piper’s grandmother looked out the window at Capriana. The wrinkles on her forehead told Piper that something was definitely wrong.

“So is what I dreamed about Magnus real?” Piper sat up straight as her suit squeaked in the chair. “Is he going to die?”

“Your dreams are special, Piper. Special because they show you not only what has been, but what could be.”

“So, I saw the future?”

“You saw a future. A possible future. But not the certain future.”

“You mean, it might happen?”

“Correct.”

Piper’s nose wrinkled. “What makes it certain or not?”

Her grandmother smiled at the question. “People. Our actions dictate our future, and not even the Unity knows exactly how things will turn out.”

“Wait. Are you saying I was dreaming in the Unity?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes. Your powers? They’re very special.” Willowood reached forward and took Piper’s hand. “You have something that no one else has ever had before you—at least not that I’m aware of. And so, even in your sleep, it seems you are able to move within the Unity of all things. What you saw was a possible future that had to do with very real things, but not exact things.”

“Like when I first met Magnus.” Piper squeezed her grandmother’s hand. “I dreamed about him in Capriana, but we met on the starship. Kinda like that?”

“Yes, kind of like that. Premonitions aren’t exact. They’re more like shadows of what’s to come. Only after events have transpired do we see what has happened.”

Piper looked at Capriana. “He’s down there, isn’t he.”

Willowood nodded.

“And he’s in trouble.”

“Yes. He just communicated with the colonel, and it seems things are getting serious.”

“Moldark.”

Willowood looked at Piper with surprise. “Why would you say that?”

“I don’t know. I guess I can just feel it. He’s here, isn’t he.”

“Yes.” Piper’s grandmother had a serious look on her face. “Yes, he’s here.”

“Then Mr. Lieutenant Magnus needs my help.” Piper stood up. “I need to get down there.”

“Piper, please sit down.”

“But, grandmother, I—”

“Sit down.” Willowood’s tone sounded so much like her mother’s that it sent a chill through Piper’s body.

Piper sat and placed her hands in her lap. “I’m sorry, grandmother.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for. I just need you to listen.”

“I’m listening.”

“Good. Going down there, to Capriana? It’s far too dangerous. And you made a promise to Magnus.”

“That I wouldn’t do anything stupid again.”

Willowood bobbed her head back and forth as if she wouldn’t have said it the way Piper did, but couldn’t dismiss the accuracy of it. “Right. But there are more ways to help him, ones that don’t put your life in jeopardy.”

“Like what?”

“A few hours ago, when you were awake and sharing about what happened on Moldark’s ship, you said you helped him convince people.”

“To destroy the Republic.”

Willowood nodded. “What if there was a way to undo that?”

“You mean, like change their minds? Tell them not to destroy the Republic anymore?”

“Exactly. Though, you can never fully remove a thought from someone’s mind. We always believe part of what we hear, even when we learn that it wasn’t true.”

Willowood’s words pricked Piper’s heart. Did that mean there would always be a small part of her that was suspicious of Magnus? She hoped not. But, then again, she could still feel the old Piper that was angry at him—even fearful of him. Was that what her grandmother meant?

“I’d like to propose that you and I try to undo what Moldark made you do,” Willowood said.

“You’re going to help me?”

Her grandmother nodded. “I think it will need both of us, yes. Would you like to try?”

Piper considered the prospect of being able to undo that evil that she’d done for Moldark. “Will it hurt him?”

“Hurt who?”

“Grandfather.”

Willowood recoiled a little. “That man is not your grandfather, Piper. At least not anymore.”

“But he said—”

“What he said cannot be trusted. And I’m so sorry you had to meet him the way you did. It’s not…”

Piper waited for her grandmother to finish her sentence, but she seemed too lost in thought. “Grandmother?”

“I would have liked you to know him when we were young.”

“When you first met?”

Willowood nodded. “Those were some happy days. But the creature you met—that is not your grandfather, nor is it even Admiral Kane. It is something altogether different. Someone we must stop.”

“Then let’s do it. I’m ready.”

19

Commodore David Seaman sat in his quarters adjacent to the Solera Fortuna’s bridge, staring through the windowplex at the blue surface of Capriana Prime. Coming around the horizon was the massive atoll that marked the Republic’s seat of power—a crescent-shaped island chain that might well have been a series of countries, given their size. It was the place of his birth and represented everything noble and right about the Galactic Republic—at least when it had esteemed such attributes, before its fall into the quagmire of bureaucracy.

But how noble and right have you been? Seaman asked himself, tapping the glass-topped desk in his quarters.

The events surrounding the Battle of Oorajee’s final hours had put Seaman in an uncommonly sour mood—most especially Fleet Admiral Brighton’s orders to annihilate the Jujari fleet despite what would have been their sure surrender. The command disgusted him. He couldn’t say as much, of course—it was unprofessional. But was he indeed in a profession where any disgust with killing was treated as contempt?

In the end, Seaman hadn’t needed to follow through with the order. The Jujari pressed the Paragon in a final surge. A last act of desperation, Seaman thought. But in his heart, he knew that wasn’t it—not entirely, anyway.

There had been an assault on the Black Labyrinth. Rumors had spread of a small spec ops team making an attempt on Moldark’s life. It hadn’t been the first time someone tried to take out the new leader, Seaman knew. But unlike the previous efforts, which had been conducted by a faction of Republic loyalists, this one, it was said, was carried out by a unit unconnected with the Republic. In fact, Seaman’s sources in the Labyrinth said the unit didn’t look or move like any in the quadrant. They were, to use the childhood trope, aliens.

And then there was the sudden appearance of illegally outfitted civilian vessels that made good the mysterious attackers’ escape. Officially, it was ruled as an insurgent uprising—a last-ditch effort by the Jujari by which they called in old favors to ensure their retreat.

But none of that made sense to Seaman.

For one thing, why call in favors when you’ve already lost the war?

But for the other, the Jujari and the civilian armada weren’t fighting like they were trying to retreat. They were fighting to defend something of tremendous value. Something that smelled of hope.

A trill sounded at his door.

“Come,” Seaman said. The doors slid apart to reveal Lani DiAntora, the Fortuna’s Flag Captain.

“DiAntora,” Seaman said, then he gestured to one of the two leather chairs before his desk. “Please.”

She purred in the Sekmit version of appreciation and slid into a chair with feline-like grace.

Seaman studied her for a long moment to the point that it was probably awkward for her. No, not for her, Seaman corrected himself. She’s a Sekmit. They act like they own the universe. And he meant that in a mostly positive way—one that emphasized the species’ unwavering confidence. Though, sometimes, it is a pain in the ass. “Why’d you join the Navy, DiAntora?”

If she was caught off guard by the question, she didn’t show it. “I wanted to serve the Republic”

“Sure, but why?”

“To help maintain order in the galaxy, and to keep evil people from harming the innocent.”

Seaman steepled his fingers and touched them to his lips. “Noble.”

“Logical.” DiAntora tilted her head and flicked her ears. “And you, Commodore?”

He rocked back in his chair. “I wanted to get off Capriana Prime. See the galaxy.”

“So you had issues with your family?”

He smiled. Damn, she was intuitive. “My father.”

“And did you see the galaxy?”

Seaman nodded. “More than I bargained for. And somewhere along the line, I got lonely.”

“Lonely, sir?” An inquisitive expression crossed her feline features. “But weren’t you posted to—”

“A ship full of sailors?” He nodded and then stared off in the near distance. “Isn’t it odd how you can still feel alone even when you’re surrounded by people on every side?” He looked back at DiAntora, but her eyes darted away. “Anyway, somewhere along the line, that loneliness turned into a mission.”

“And what was that, sir?” she asked.

“Help maintain order in the galaxy, and keep evil people from harming the innocent,” he replied.

DiAntora smiled.

“Not only did I grow up somewhere along the way, and reconcile things with my father, but I realized I wasn’t alone, so long as I flew close to others who had the same ambitions.” He stared at her.

DiAntora held his gaze for several seconds. Seaman wasn’t sure where his feelings for her might lead, or if she even reciprocated them. But he liked her. And when this was all over, maybe he’d do something about it.

“What are your orders, Commodore?”

Seaman didn’t answer right away. Instead, he swiveled his chair to face the window. “Have you ever been to Capriana, Captain?”

DiAntora flicked an ear. “No, sir. I attended the Academy at Tellstall, and my training never included any time on Capriana Prime.”

Seaman nodded. “It’s beautiful. Towering spires that shine in the morning light. The gentle trade winds that keep the heat at bay. And hundreds of kilometers of beaches to spend your sunsets on.” He sighed. “I love the beach.” Then he looked at DiAntora as if to see if she shared any of his appreciation.

Her head twitched. “I hate the beach. Sir.”

Seaman chuckled. “You would, wouldn’t you.”

“Sir?”

“Cats hate the water, and you’re—”

DiAntora glared at him with her feline-like eyes.

“You know what? Never mind. My point is, it’s a lovely place. And I would never want to do anything to hurt it.”

A moment of silence filled Seaman’s quarters. He knew the Sekmit would not repeat her question about their orders, so Seaman steepled his fingers and placed them to his lips. “Admiral Brighton has asked us to prepare for orbital bombardment against the surface. Article 99. No survivors.”

If DiAntora was surprised, she didn’t show it. Her eyes studied him with so much intense curiosity that Seaman second-guessed whether or not he should tell her what he was thinking. But he’d played his hand. So he relaxed his arms and looked back at Capriana.

When several more seconds had passed, DiAntora finally spoke. “You seem averse to these orders.”

“And how do they make you feel?”

“Feelings are irrelevant, sir.”

“Are they?” Seaman studied her face for a moment. Was she really so cold and calculating? “You’re back above Aluross in this same scenario. The order comes to you to fire on the capital—to fire on everything that moves. Are you telling me you don’t feel anything?”

“I did not say I didn’t feel anything,” she replied, straight-faced. “I said feelings are irrelevant. There is a difference.”

“So you would follow orders to annihilate the planet, city by city? Even take out emergency ships departing the surface?”

DiAntora was calculating every word—every micro-expression—Seaman could feel it. She didn’t even blink. For a moment, he thought the woman was going to side against him. She’d blow up her whole damn planet if it were an order, he realized.

“No.”

Seaman held his breath.

“You wouldn’t?”

“Must I repeat myself to you?”

Seaman squinted at her, trying to think where to go next. “I just never figured you for treason.”

“The charges would include failure to follow a direct order in a time of war, misconduct, and gross dereliction of duty. Treason would only apply should I attempt to thwart the government’s attempts actively.”

“And would you ever attempt to thwart your government’s military activities?”

“I have never been placed in a situation where such a provocation—”

“Dammit, Lani,” Seaman said as he brought his fist down on his table. DiAntora’s eyes widened in what was, perhaps, the first emotional reaction above “barely breathing” that Seaman had ever seen her make. He shot a finger toward Capriana and stood from his chair. “Would you fire on that planet and wipe it out?”

“It’s an order?”

“Yes, it’s a mysticsdamned order,” he shouted back. “And you’re going to relay it if it comes down the COC.”

DiAntora lowered her eyes and seemed to search the carpeted floor. Perhaps the Sekmit had a soul after all.

Seaman could feel heat flushing his face. “I need to know what my subordinate is going to do, Flag Captain DiAntora. What is your answer.”

DiAntora snapped her chin up, and Seaman could have sworn he saw a tear staining the fur below her eye. “No, Commodore,” she said through clenched teeth. “I will not fire on that planet.”

Seaman exhaled and turned his head away. Then he returned to his chair and leaned back. “No, you wouldn’t, would you. Because above all things, Lani DiAntora, you are an honorable person. That is why you’re a fine commander.” He looked up at her. “The uniform did not make you great. You were great before you went to the academy.”

She bowed her head ever so slightly. “Thank you, Commodore.” Then she took a deep breath and swallowed. “I will relieve myself of command and confine myself to my quarters.”

“Like hell, you will,” Seaman said.

As if in defiance, DiAntora stood in the blink of an eye. Seaman was about to order that she sit down when he saw the woman look at something in the near distance. He glanced over his shoulder, wondering if there was something in his office to catch her attention, but there wasn’t.

“Captain,” Seaman said with some concern. “Are you all right?”

DiAntora tilted her head and twitched her ears as if listening to something. Again, Seaman looked around the room but heard and saw nothing. But he did feel something. A wave of warmth washed over him that he couldn’t explain—like the sun emerging from behind a cloud and warming his skin.

DiAntora raised her paw-like hand and held it flat in front of her. Her eyes looked at it like she was pressing against an invisible wall.

What the hell is happening? Seaman asked himself.

But then he felt such a strange sensation of peace that he could not be mad at DiAntora. And—to his surprise—neither could he be afraid. Whatever apprehension he had about resisting Brighton’s orders was gone. And not gone as if it created a vacuum in his heart, but gone as if something else had replaced it entirely. It was an emotion he had felt many times before, but nowhere near as strong as now.

Courage.

* * *

“We must get word to CENTCOM,” Seaman said now that DiAnotra was seated again. Whatever strange thing had happened in his quarters, it was gone now, and Seaman had a job to do. “We can prevent the attack by raising the planetary defense shield.”

“But won’t they conference with Fleet Admiral Brighton first?” DiAntora asked.

Seaman nodded. “That is procedure. But I’m hoping that my rank will avail me a certain benefit of the doubt.”

“You could also say you’re acting at his behest. By the time Brighton realizes the shield has been activated, it will be too late to deactivate the startup sequence. Furthermore, any attempt to implore CENTCOM to lower it would exacerbate the situation, raising CENTCOM’s suspicions of foul play.”

“And reassure them of their defensive measures,” Seaman added.

“Until such time as an investigation can determine the culprits.” DiAntora tilted her head at him. “You’ll be arrested, of course. As will I.”

“Lani, I don’t think either of us will be around long enough for that.”

She smiled. “Neither do I, Commodore.”

“David, please.”

DiAnotra eyed him as if being cautious. “Sir, naval protocol dictates that we—”

“We’re about to try and undermine Lord Moldark. I want the person complicit with me to at least call me by my first name if we’re going to die.”

She nodded and repeated her previous statement. “Neither do I, David.”

He liked the sound of that—more than he would ever admit, at least until all this was over.

“Bridge to Captain DiAntora,” a voice said over ceiling speakers.

“Go ahead,” she replied.

“Sensors are showing that Lord Moldark’s personal shuttle has departed for the surface, along with ten heavy transports. We thought you would like to know.”

“I am aware. Thank you, Nyquist.”

The channel closed, and DiAntora looked at Seaman as he brought up a holo. He zoomed in on a group of ships departing from Third Fleet and descending toward the atmosphere.

“It’s the Peregrine,” Seaman said. “And he’s got enough Marines to hit the Forum Republica if he wants.”

“Perhaps command has changed their mind about Article 99,” DiAntora said, but Seaman could tell by the tone in her voice that she wasn’t convinced.

“What are you up to?” Seaman said, watching the ships fade away. He thought for a few more seconds, then looked at DiAntora. “I don’t like it. I’m hailing CENTCOM.”

She nodded and then started typing on his desk. A control surface appeared under her fingers, and within seconds a holo window appeared in front of Seaman. He thanked her with a nod of his head, straightened his uniform, and sat up straight.

The holo frame read Connecting… but nothing happened for several seconds. A new message read Diverting… and then Senator Blackman’s face appeared. He was not inside CENTCOM but seemed to be walking somewhere in a hurry.

“Senator Blackman, this is Commodore David Seaman with the Paragon’s First Fleet. I was hoping you could—”

The screen went fuzzy, and the sound was muffled as if Blackman had stuffed the data pad under his arm. The mic picked up the sound of rustling clothing and shouting in the distance. And the sound of blaster fire.

“Senator? What’s going on there?” Seaman exchanged a worried look with DiAntora. “Senator, can you hear me?”

“Yes, yes, Commodore,” Blackman said at last, holding the screen up to his face and brushing grey hair off his forehead. “I’m sorry for the delay. How can I help you?”

Again, Seaman glanced at DiAntora. Something was wrong. “Is everything all right there, Senator?”

“Quite so,” Blackman said, still out of breath. “I’m attending a training exercise as part of a public relations campaign to bolster support for the Marine Corps among some of the Secessionists. Not the best place for a call. But I can talk now.”

Seaman raised an eyebrow. Either Blackman really was where he said he was, or this was the fastest thinking senator on Capriana. “Pardon the inquiry, sir, but why didn’t anyone inside CENTCOM’s Command Center answer?”

Blackman smiled. “You don’t call CENTCOM much, do you, son.”

This much was evident as Seaman had never had reason or seniority to—until now. “No, Senator.”

“As acting Chairman, I receive all calls from our military forces abroad, whether or not I’m in the Command Center. Now, I expect what you have for me is urgent?”

“Yes, Senator. It appears that Lord Moldark has left for Capriana.” Seaman couldn’t be sure, but he thought he detected a faint tic in Blackman’s upper lip.

“Ah, yes. Of course he is.”

“You’re expecting him then?”

Blackman lowered his voice and leaned into the data pad. “The Nine are gathering to discuss our next plans, Commodore.”

Seaman hesitated. “Who are the Nine?”

“I see.” Blackman narrowed his eyes at Seaman. “Son, does your CO know you’re calling me right now?”

Seaman lifted his chin. “No, sir. That’s why we’re calling you.”

“We?” His eyebrows went up. “Who else is with you?”

“I meant that rhetorically, Senator. It seems someone has issued Article 99 against Capriana Prime. Was that the Nine?”

“It’s a security measure, son. Nothing more. You needn’t fear a thing.”

“A security measure?”

“The Valdaiga Accords as well the Naval Rules of Engagement call for certain preemptive procedures in the event of other factors that are”—he waved a hand—“far too complex for this conversation. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to the presentation, and you—I think—need to stop initiating conspicuous interchanges behind your CO’s back. Am I right?”

Seaman felt at a loss for what to say—which was a rare thing given his capacity as a leader.

“I said, am I right, Commodore?”

“Certainly, sir.”

“Blackman out.”

“Seaman—” The call ended. “Out.”

DiAntora closed the window and then sat back in her chair. She raised a furry eyebrow at Seaman. “He’s lying, you know.”

“I think so too.”

“No, I don’t mean to say I think he’s lying. I’m saying he’s lying as a fact.”

“Ah,” Seaman replied, rubbing his forehead with one hand. “So, where does this put us?”

“I sense fear in the senator.”

“Like he wasn’t expecting Moldark.”

She nodded. “And he was inside CENTCOM, just not the Command Center.”

“And how do you know that?”

“I’ve seen that hallway before, on other calls.”

He sat forward. “You’ve been on calls with CENTCOM before?”

“As an observer, not an initiator.”

Seaman sighed. “And the Nine—what was that about?”

“Perhaps the organization in control of the Paragon,” DiAntora offered. “Though, from what I gathered during that call, they’ve lost control.”

“So you think Moldark’s really going to order it? Article 99, I mean?”

“And they’re not raising the PDS.” She stroked her chin. “I’m not sure what his trip down there is for, but when Moldark gets back…”

“When he gets back, it could mean the end of billions of lives.”

DiAntora nodded. “I believe so, yes.”

* * *

“General Lovell,” Seaman said as he stood from his desk. “Please, come in.”

“Always an honor to be a guest of Fleet Command,” Lovell said, stepping into Seaman’s quarters. He also acknowledged DiAntora. “Captain.”

“It’s good to see you, General.”

“Please,” Seaman said. “Have a seat.”

Lovell sat and smoothed his uniform. He could have hailed from Limbia Centrella, given his commanding presence and dark complexion, but he was born and raised on Capriana Prime, like most other generals of standing. The Republic could claim impartiality all it wanted, but the majority of its commanding officers had roots on Prime in one way or another—the Brigadier General was no exception.

“How can I help you both?” Lovell said. Seaman shared a glance with DiAntora and then looked back at the general. The general seemed to catch the look. “What seems to be the matter?”

“General, are you aware of the Fleet Admiral’s recent order?” Seaman asked.

Lovell looked between DiAntora and Seaman. “If you don’t mean the order to return to Capriana Prime following the successful campaign against the Jujari, then I’m afraid you have me at a loss.”

The way Lovell said “successful campaign against the Jujari” made Seaman second guess his decision to pull the general into the fold. If he had sided with Moldark, then this was going to be a very short meeting—one Seaman doubted he’d survive. While his Navy pride was strong, he would be no match for the seasoned Marine war hero seated across from him. He knew Lovell could kill him before Seaman knew what happened. But if Seaman wanted to save Prime, then he had to take risks, and there was no time to spare. One way or another, he would probably lose his life in the conflict—it might as well be for something he believed in.

“Moldark has issued Article 99 against Capriana Prime,” Seaman said. “We’re awaiting the order to execute at any moment.”

At first, Lovell didn’t move. He looked passively at Seaman as if he were still waiting for the punchline of a tired joke. But when Seaman failed to say anything further, the general worked his jaw, and simply said, “I see,” followed with a sniff.

“I take it you weren’t aware then?”

“No, I was not, Commodore. This is the first I’ve heard.”

Seaman nodded and then looked out the window toward the planet. “And if I were to ask if you would be complicit in following through on this order?”

“You’re asking if I would sanction it?” He looked between the two of them.

Seaman nodded.

“Hell no, not in a million lifetimes.”

Seaman let out a breath, as did DiAntora. “We hoped you’d say that, General.”

“Well, apparently, I’m among like-minded people?”

“Yes, General,” DiAntora said. “You most certainly are.”

“Do you have some sort of plan besides abstaining?”

“We’re working on that,” DiAntora said. “And that’s why you’re here. We need your help.”

Seaman outlined the call with Blackman and Moldark’s departure to the planet’s surface. “We’re not sure what he’s up to, but we would like you to send an element of Marines to monitor him and keep an eye out for anything unusual.”

“Unusual?” Lovell looked to each of them again. “How do you mean?”

“We think there might be a third party involved, working to undermine the Paragon.”

“As in the assault on the Black Labyrinth?”

Seaman nodded. “The same. We have reason to believe they may be trying to help prevent this genocide.”

“How do you know?”

“Call it a hunch, General. For now, we need boots on the ground.”

Lovell pursed his lips in thought. “I can activate an element right away. Tasks?”

“Track Moldark’s shuttle, report on his activity, and reinforce any efforts to stop him should fighting break out.”

“Can do.”

“Thank you, sir,” Seaman said without any attempt to hide his relief. “We’re grateful.”

“And I’m grateful you trusted me. I’ve been suspicious of that bastard for a while now. He’s responsible for me losing some good Marines. And if this is what you say it is, then it’s about time someone sacked up and did something about it. But I do have a question.”

“Go ahead,” Seaman said with an open hand.

“If this doesn’t work—if we can’t figure out how to stop him down there—what then?”

Seaman looked to DiAntora. She raised a single eyebrow as if to say, “Might as well tell him.”

Seaman sighed. “Then we’ll take on any ship that tries to follow his orders.”

20

The rest of first squad gathered in the office suite less than five minutes after Magnus had first arrived on Proconsul Tower’s top floor. The plan was to proceed to the docking platforms and commandeer a transport that would get them to the Simlia atoll where Azelon’s ship would be waiting. Magnus suggested to Caldwell that they simply take a shuttle, pick up Zoll, and head to the Spire themselves, but TO-96 warned against it. Even with CENTCOM in chaos, the odds were still high that the city’s orbit defense cannons would knock out any unauthorized flights above 350 meters.

“Sounds best to stay low, get out of the city’s fire window, and meet at the extraction point,” Caldwell said.

“Copy that,” Magnus replied.

“I do have news on a lighter note,” Caldwell said. “Bosworth intercepted our care package.”

“Our dummy Piper? And how’d that go for him?” In the short time Magnus had known Azelon, he’d learned she didn’t do anything half-assed, so he genuinely pitied whoever was sent to do the ambassador’s dirty work.

“Took out two retrieval vessels,” Caldwell said with a grin. “Bosworth was nowhere to be seen, of course. Probably fled the system by now. But at least he knows we don’t play nice.”

“Hard copy on that,” Magnus replied with a grin. Then he turned to the squad. “Time to see what kind of ride we can arrange for ourselves. Let’s move.”

Magnus took three steps into the lobby, heading for the elevator bank, when four pods opened—including the two that the gladias had jumped out of less than two hours before. He held up a fist. “Everyone freeze.”

Marines poured out of the elevators, made a defensive perimeter, and covered several civilians as they crossed to the space port elevators on the other side of the bank. One man stood out to Magnus in particular.

“It is the senator that Rohoar dislikes,” the Jujari said.

“High marks for recognition, Scruffy,” Magnus replied. “Looks like he’s trying to make a run for it.”

“The coward,” Abimbola said.

“Yes.” Rohoar growled. “Rohoar likes him even less than Rohoar did before.”

“Let us dispatch them,” Abimbola said, racking a charge.

“No,” Magnus said, lifting a hand. “They’re trying to escape just like everyone else. We’ve killed enough today.”

“You cannot be serious, buckethead.”

Magnus looked back at the Miblimbian. “I am, Bimby. That man was only trying to do what he believed was right, and I can’t fault him for that. Mercy dictates I let them go.”

“He’s right,” Awen said, inserting herself between the two gladias and peering out the door. “Blackman—assuming that’s who it is—may be a coward, but unless those troopers are shooting at us, they’re not a threat.”

“But they are leaving the city even before an evacuation has been ordered. It makes no sense to me.” Abimbola’s voice grew distant. “Though, I suppose, it is just like their Republic ancestors.”

“It’s how the higher echelons of the Republic work,” Magnus replied.

“Among the Jujari, the mwadim stays until their last pup has been made safe,” Rohoar said.

“Then I’d say the Repub has a lot to learn from you,” Magnus replied—and if he didn’t know better, he’d say Awen was smiling at him.

“Stay where you are,” a trooper yelled over external speakers.

“Splick,” Magnus said. “Somebody got wise and switched to thermals.”

“Lay down your weapons and get on the ground,” said another trooper, his blaster pointed in Magnus’s direction.

“Rohoar asks permission to shoot them.”

Magnus sighed. His shields were drained, his armor damaged, and he’d most likely die if the Marines opened fire. “Awen, I need a shield.”

“Done,” she replied.

“We’re just trying to get out of the city like you,” Magnus said over externals, hoping to reason with the troopers.

“I said, lay your weapons down!”

“Rohoar has a sense that they are going to shoot you, scrumruk graulap.”

“Magnus has that same sense, Scruffy.”

“Last warning,” a trooper said.

Blackman poked his head out of the elevator. “What’s the holdup, people?”

“We have unidentified cloaked personnel on the west end of the lobby, Senator,” replied a Marine.

“That’s the enemy, dammit. Open fire!”

A unit commander pointed forward, and blaster fire erupted from the elevator bank. Had it not been for Awen’s Unity shield, Magnus would have died. Instead, he rolled to the shield’s edge and fired around it. The rest of first squad peeled out of the office and returned fire, taking down several troopers before the majority escaped into the elevator pods and ascended toward the spaceport docks.

“Everyone all right?” Magnus asked. No one registered any damage, so he ordered them across the lobby and to the elevators. One Marine still moved on the ground. Rohoar saw it and dropped a knee on the trooper’s helmet, killing him instantly.

“What?” the Jujari asked with raised shoulders. “Rohoar put him out of his misery. This is also mercy, no?”

Magnus waved off the comment and ordered everyone into the remaining elevators. “It’s gonna be hot when we get up there, so be ready.” Everyone acknowledged and pointed their weapons out, ready for the doors to open.

The pods moved skyward, racing through the docking platform’s latticework tower. The warming horizon flashed between the metal cross pieces as Magnus sensed his pod slow. He rolled his head and made ready to open fire. As soon as the doors opened, blaster rounds streaked across the main deck. “What the hell?”

“Paragon,” Titus yelled, firing past the Marines and into a cluster of black-clad troopers emerging from a Stiletto-class Corvette.

“Target the Paragon. Protect the senator!” Magnus squeezed his trigger and took out two troopers firing on Blackman’s position. The grey-haired man covered his head, hid behind two Marines, then ran back toward the elevators.

“Rohoar can kill him now,” Rohoar said.

“Negative. We need him alive.” Magnus laid down heavy fire as Blackman raced toward him. Several more aids followed the senator, but at least two were gunned down as they retreated.

Magnus’s NOV1 shrieked as it dropped three Paragon troopers in a row, cutting a line of blaster holes across their chest plates. The bodies thrashed as they went down, joining others who met their fates with Novian blaster rounds in their bodies. But despite how many troopers Granther Company took down in the opening seconds, more enemy combatants emerged, pressing the shaky defense. Finally, the Marines fell back toward the elevator pods.

“Give them some protection,” Magnus ordered. The words weren’t out of his mouth before Nídira erected a defensive wall. It bought the Marines precious time as they scrambled for the elevators.

A man dressed in black emerged from the Stiletto-class ship. He walked down the vessel’s under-nose cargo ramp and raised a hand. At first, Magnus thought he might be directing the troopers or trying to get someone’s attention. Instead, Nídira began screaming. Magnus looked to his right and saw the mystic writhing in pain—feet half a meter off the ground.

“Awen,” Magnus yelled. “Do something!”

But without Nídira’s shield, the Paragon’s attack rained down on the gladias. Magnus took a bolt to the shoulder. His torso twisted even before he felt the round’s sting sear his flesh. He fired his NOV1 one-handed, boring into a trooper trying to flank the Granther’s position. The man dropped as blaster fire stitched up his chest and into his helmet.

Nídira was still dangling in midair. Awen put a small shield around her, but it seemed to do nothing against the unseen attack.

“It’s Moldark,” Magnus said, turning his NOV1 toward the man on the cargo ramp. “Take him out!”

But only some of the gladias could target the enemy leader—if they all did, first squad and the retreating Marines would be overrun by troopers. But whatever Moldark was doing with his dark arts had to be stopped. He lifted three other Marine’s off their feet as their weapons clattered to the deck. Even with their helmets on, Magnus could hear their wails.

Nídira gave out one final bawl before her body vaporized in a cloud of ash. Her power suit fell to the ground like a flag falling from a mast. Awen’s shield gave out as she knelt to the ground in horror.

“Awen,” Magnus yelled. “Shield!”

More blaster rounds pinged off the elevator bank’s housing and blew across personal shields. Magnus ducked, trying to avoid a fatal shot. Even with superior weapons, the gladia were outnumbered and unavoidably tasked with protecting the senator and his entourage.

Magnus’s last energy magazine went dry. He ejected both mags and reached for a fallen Marine’s weapon when a round knocked the blaster away. So Magnus pulled his V from its holster and started firing into the sea of Paragon troopers. The weapon seemed to do little more than aggravate the enemy. He let out a string of automatic fire, swiping the pistol left and right—it was terrible fire control, but done on purpose and out of desperation, it was enough to make the enemy think twice about advancing on him.

Past caring what risk he posed to the nearby shuttles and starships, Magnus grabbed both VODs from his belt and hurled them toward the enemy. “Fragger out!” he yelled as the small devices flew, one after the other. The resulting explosions sent half a dozen Paragon troopers flying both times as their bodies were doused in flames and sparks. The shockwaves knocked several other troopers off their feet, but they managed to keep firing on the retreating Republic forces even from their knees. Whatever drove these combatants, it was otherworldly.

Just when the enemy press seemed to be too great, Awen put up a new shield.

“Get below,” Magnus ordered, stepping back inside an elevator and checking to make sure Blackman was behind him. Then Magnus punched the panel to send the pod back down. The image of blaster bolts dispersing against a Unity shield vanished as the doors closed. Then the pod dropped away, and a gentle whir replaced the sound of blaster fire. Magnus turned to check on Rohoar, Doc, and Titus. “You good?”

They all nodded.

Then he looked at Blackman and his senate aid. Magnus turned off chameleon mode, though he noticed it was already malfunctioning on his left shoulder plate anyway due to the blaster round he’d taken. His suit had dispersed nano-bots into the tissue that would disinfect the wound and stem any bleeding not cauterized by the blaster round. But deeper nerve and muscle damage would need cellular reconstruction therapy in a tank later on—if there was a later on.

The senator looked stunned but seemed to be trying to compose himself. “Was that—? I mean, was that—?”

“Admiral Kane?” Magnus said, opening his helmet’s visor.

Blackman nodded.

“Now do you believe me, Senator?”

The man hesitated, then seemed to regain at least some of his composure. Blackman smoothed his uniform and pursed his lips. “Far from an orbital strike, wouldn’t you say?”

“That man just killed half your staff and at least two dozen Marines, Senator.”

“And yet, the city itself is spared.”

“For now,” Magnus said. The senator did have a point, though. From the way Piper made it sound, an orbital bombardment seemed to suit Moldark’s level of animosity toward the Republic. So why the in-person appearance?

“You okay, Magnus?” Caldwell said over VNET.

Magnus slapped his visor down and turned away from Blackman. “Nídira’s gone, Colonel. And we suffered some minor injuries.”

“I saw. I’m sorry, son. We didn’t detect Moldark’s ships until just now.”

“He must have snuck under the city’s sensors like we— Hold on. Did you say ships?”

The colonel nodded. “We count ten heavy armored transports and a corvette.”

“Troop carriers?” He glanced at Blackman.

“That’s a full battalion,” Dutch said from an adjacent pod.

“But why the invasion force?” Magnus asked, still glaring at Blackman. “Surely he sees the PDS isn’t operational yet. Why not take the shot?”

“He must want something planetside,” Caldwell replied.

Magnus raised his visor again as the elevators came to a stop. “What’s he after, Blackman?”

“I’m afraid I don’t—”

Magnus punched the windowplex just beside the senator. “What’s he after?”

“He’s a lunatic, Magnus. How should I know?”

“Because, Senator, he’s your pet project, isn’t he?”

“I’m sorry, but I still don’t—”

Magnus punched again and cracked the window. “Isn’t he?”

“Okay, yes. Yes. But can we please get going first?” Blackman pointed toward the now-open elevator doors.

“Stay where you are,” someone shouted. A platoon of Marines pointed weapons into the senator’s elevator, aiming at Magnus.

“I’m getting really tired of surprises behind every elevator door.” Magnus was about to raise his hands when Blackman stepped around him.

“It’s all right. He’s with me,” Blackman said. “They all are.”

Magnus raised his eyebrows and looked at the other gladias in the pod, still cloaked.

“Lower your weapons, for mystics’ sake.” The senator pushed his way out of the pod and walked through the platoon. He went straight for the tower’s main elevators and motioned for Magnus to follow him.

“Go ahead and let ’em see you,” Magnus said over the squad channel. “Don’t need these boys any more wound up than they already are.”

At once, the gladias dropped chameleon mode. To the naked eye, they seemed to appear out of thin air—one second, there was open space, the next, ten alien-armored elite warriors filled the space port’s elevator pods.

Blackman looked over his shoulder only once, as if completely expecting the sight, and then pressed an elevator control panel. “We haven’t got much time, Magnus.”

“Copy that,” Magnus said, stepping forward. Slowly, the gladias followed his lead and emerged from the elevators, eyeing the Marines. The moment of tension passed, however, when Paragon troopers crashed through the domed ceiling and fired into the lobby.

“Let’s get to those elevators,” Magnus yelled. He re-cloaked, and then reached for a downed Marine’s weapon. He stripped its energy mag, and then pulled two more off the dead man’s hip. Then he reloaded, racked the first charge, and fired at the enemy troopers fast-roping through the ceiling.

The first Paragon bucket he hit let go of the rope and fell the remaining eight meters to the floor. The second trooper also let go, but the line snagged his thigh so that his body flipped over. A third attacker died when Magnus’s NOV1 severed the rope. The line pooled on the ground as the trooper’s body hurtled toward the floor, crashing into the deck with a loud thud. But even with his team’s quick response, at least one Paragon platoon dropped through the ceiling, and another appeared in the remaining spaceport elevator pods.

“Defend and descend,” Magnus said with his back toward the tower’s set of elevators.

As he stood firing shoulder to shoulder with other Marines, a wave of emotion hit him harder than a blaster bolt. It was the first time since the ambush at the mwadim’s palace that he’d fought side by side with Marines still loyal to the Republic’s cause. He imagined something like this—well, not like this—but some miracle that would allow him back into the fold. Only, this wasn’t true acceptance, only a matter of circumstance. And as soon as the immediate threat was put down, he’d be a hostile combatant again, wanted for treason.

The senator dashed into an elevator and hid inside the doorway. “Get the hell in here, boy!”

Guessing he was the only boy the senator might be referring to, Magnus retreated inside and made way for several other gladias and at least two Marines. Once the pod was full, Blackman shut the doors, and the elevator dropped.

Again, Magnus de-cloaked and raised his visor, but this time he pointed his NOV1 at Blackman’s head. The act was met with both Marine’s raising their MC90s, which made Dutch and Haze de-cloak and raise their NOV1s at the Marines. It wasn’t until Rohoar de-cloaked that both Marines lowered their weapons—their bodies leaning back in silent appreciation of the Jujari in alien armor.

“Why’s he here?” Magnus asked, back in control of the pod. “And why didn’t your orbital defense cannons take those ships out?”

“I don’t know,” Blackman said. “They must’ve come in under sensors, or the cannons are down.”

“Bad answer,” Magnus said, pressing the barrel against Blackman’s cheek.

“Get that out of my face, you little splick.”

Blackman tried pushing the weapon away, but Magnus elbowed him in the head. “Don’t touch my blaster, Senator. You didn’t earmark any tax credits for this one.”

Looking less fearful and more annoyed, Blackman rubbed the side of his head where a small trickle of blood appeared over his ear. “What do you want?”

“I want to know why this whole thing isn’t adding up,” Magnus said. “The general seemed to change his tone just before someone rolled a VOD beside him. And now you’re trying to escape before an evacuation has even been ordered.”

“That’s because—”

“Shut up.” Magnus elbowed him again. “If I don’t like the answers you give me, then we can add three more bodies to the count, right here, right now.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I’m already wanted for treason, Senator. You think you threaten me? All that matters to me now is getting my team back safely and making sure the city’s population has a fighting chance at an evacuation—one you’re going to initiate as soon as you explain to me what the hell is going on.”

“All right, all right, just—please—get that thing out of my face,” Blackman said.

Magnus lowered his weapon and then gestured for the senator to get talking.

“I can’t prove this, but I believe that Kane is here to settle a score.”

“What kind of score?”

Blackman hesitated.

“What kind of score, Senator?”

“There’s a secret organization rumored to be operating within the senate.”

“The Circle of Nine.”

Blackman’s eyes went wide. “So you’ve heard of them?”

“Maybe. Why are they significant?”

“We believe they’re responsible for creating the Paragon.”

“Why?”

Blackman’s eyes shifted back and forth, so Magnus raised his elbow again. “Okay, okay. For years, we thought there was a conspiracy to unseat the Republic and usher in a new militaristic government. General McCormick, as you mentioned, was thought to be a part of them.”

“You’re talking a military coup, Senator.”

He nodded. “Yes, son. That’s exactly what I’m talking about. One that has apparently gotten way out of hand.”

“Out of hand?”

“My sources tell me that Kane was only supposed to threaten the Republic, not any of this.” He gestured around the pod.

“So you admit Kane changed?”

“Of course. It was public knowledge that something had happened to the admiral—something out there over Oorajee. No one knows what exactly. But he went mad and stopped following orders.”

“And now you think he wants some sort of revenge against the Nine? For what?”

Blackman shook his head. “Your guess is as good as mine, son. Though, if I had to say, I suppose it has something to do with whatever drove him to the point of insanity.”

“Then why not just level the city if he’s so mad? Why risk the invasion force?”

Blackman swallowed hard and dabbed his ear with a handkerchief. “Moldark isn’t a man, Magnus. He’s a beast. A menace. At least from what I’m told.”

“How do you know that name?” Magnus raised his NOV1 and sensed the Marines tense. But Dutch, Haze, and Rohoar had them dead to rights.

Blackman shied away from the barrel, hands up. “During his final transmission with CENTCOM, he refused to be addressed as Kane anymore. He insisted that weakling—his word, not mine—was dead.” He pointed to the ceiling. “That thing up there doesn’t think like we do. He’s not logical. And right now, I think he wants to personally see to it that the Nine die at his hand before wiping out the planet.”

Magnus lowered his weapon. “It’s a weak guess, at best. And, tactically, it’s suicide.” He didn’t trust senators—and this one was no exception. They all seemed to be as slippery as Fathroni sand snakes. Magnus considered killing Blackman where he stood and being done with the whole thing. But Blackman was probably the closest he was going to come to speaking with someone in a high echelon any time soon. Magnus hoped Blackman could order the evacuation and—just maybe—tell him more about how he’d been burned. “For someone who knows so much about conspiracies, Senator, I find it strange you wouldn’t take my word for it when we were in this same scenario two hours ago. So I’m not sure why I should believe a damn word coming out of your mouth.”

“I don’t blame you in the least, Magnus. Especially after what they did to you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Magnus felt his pulse quicken. “Who’s they?”

“I’m CENTCOM’s Chairman, Magnus. I’m paid to know about everything that happens inside the military.”

“Including military coups?”

Blackman flushed. “We’ve been over that.”

“Who’s they, Senator?”

Blackman dabbed around his ear again. “From what we know, you were in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Magnus’s thoughts raced. “Rescuing Senator Stone?”

Blackman gave him a sad look—somewhere between empathy and pity. “We believe he had information on the Nine. Apparently, he was willing to divulge what he knew after getting his family to safety.”

“So they sabotaged his ship and then sent a team to abduct him.” Magnus clenched his teeth, remembering the Bullwraith. “And they needed a fall guy.”

“We can’t prove any of this yet. But we will. It’s only a matter of time. Unless, of course—”

“Moldark kills the Nine first,” Magnus said.

The senator nodded. “So, you see, I wanted to believe you, but as far as I knew, you were working for Moldark. After all, you were with the 79th Recon, were you not?”

Magnus’s gut tightened.

“And attached to one of the fleets?”

Magnus gave a shallow nod.

The senator looked at the bloody handkerchief and then dropped it on the floor. “So, we had to be sure.”

“Are you sure now?”

Blackman raised his chin. “I am.”

“Then order the evacuation, Senator, and you may live to see the sunrise.”

“That’s rather difficult to do, son.”

“No, it’s not.” Magnus unsnapped the leather pouch on the senator’s hip, yanked the data pad out, and handed it to Blackman. “Start broadcasting.”

The senator chuckled as if laughing at a small child’s attempt to dress themself. “It’s not that simple, Lieutenant. Surely, you understand that.”

“Then do what ya gotta do, and make it fast.”

“I must get to the communications building,” Blackman said. “From there, I can send out a secure transmission to the entire planet.”

“Have fun with that.”

“Not so fast, Lieutenant.”

“Please, let Rohoar pinch his head,” Rohoar said.

Magnus held up a fist to silence the Jujari. “What do you need, Senator?”

“You’re giving me a personal escort,” Blackman said, smiling like a seasoned Antaran backdraw player with a pike up his sleeve.

Magnus squinted as if into a bright light. “I’m not giving you splick.”

“Then you’re not getting your broadcast.”

The insanity of the conversation was making Magnus’s blood boil. He put the barrel of his NOV1 under Blackman’s chin and leaned in close. “If I didn’t know better, Senator, I’d say you want this planet to go up in flames.”

“I’m simply addressing the fact that I need more than the remaining Marines at my disposal to get me across the plaza to the comms building. That is all, son. Call it whatever you want, but those are the facts. No escort and I don’t survive long enough to address the planet.”

“Ground floor,” said a female voice from the elevator’s holo panel. The chime dinged, and the doors opened. But even before they did, he heard the blaster fire coming.

21

Trying to change someone’s mind felt a little like trying to get a stain off your favorite stuffed animal. Piper’s old corgachirp, Talisman, had stains like that. No matter how many times her mother had washed him, the blemishes never went away—not entirely. And neither did the memories of how the marks got there. It was almost as if Piper could track the journey of her childhood through Talisman’s scars.

The brown stain on his foot was from when Piper used Talisman as a paintbrush. The crusted patch of discolored fur was from when she got too close to the campfire during the family camping trip. And the reddish blotch on his cheek was from when Piper had a nosebleed in the middle of the night. These were permanent marks, and no amount of wishing was going to take them away.

Likewise, trying to undo the hate that Piper had helped foster in the Paragon fleet was an impossible task. Despite her best efforts to speak to their minds within the Unity, Piper felt unconvinced that the men and women on the ships were free of her influence. What was done was done, and now she’d have to live with the consequences.

“Maybe we’re going about this wrong,” her grandmother said as they floated above the three Republic fleets. It was exhilarating to float in hard vacuum without the need for a spacesuit. But Piper couldn’t let the newness of the adventure with her grandmother distract her, not if Willowood had a new idea on something they could try.

“What do you mean?” Piper asked.

“Maybe it’s too much to try and change everyone’s mind. What if we only look for those who are unsure already?”

“Like doubters?”

“Like doubters, yes.” Willowood’s glowing Unity form smiled at Piper. Her grandmother was already beautiful enough as it was. But when inside the Unity?—she was absolutely and utterly radiant. “Perhaps if we can plant the seeds of light in some, they will touch others. Let them do the work for us.”

“There,” Piper said, pointing to one of the bigger ships—a Super Dreadful Naughty, she thought, but then scrunched her nose, knowing that class name wasn’t right. “I sense something in that ship.”

Willowood paused as if looking at a list. “That’s the Solera Fortuna, the flagship of First Fleet. Yes, I sense doubt on that ship too, Piper. Well done.”

“Thanks, grandmother.”

“Come,” Willowood said, and then surged toward the ship. Piper followed, and within another second, they were inside someone’s quarters adjacent to the bridge. It wasn’t exactly like being there in person, of course—things were not as clear, and conversations were not as distinct. It was a lot like opening your eyes underwater. But there was enough detail about the space to make out faces and some words. And Piper wasn’t so concerned with details anyway—Willowood had told her to pay attention to feelings. To people’s hearts.

“We can’t change people’s hearts,” Willowood said earlier. “But we can speak to ideas, and fan the flames of belief, even if the embers are very small.”

Now, it was time to blow on the embers.

Piper gravitated toward one man in particular. He seemed like he was in charge. A master of the seas, she thought, imagining him on one of the big ocean-bound sailing skiffs from her stories. His heart seemed to have many questions in it, ones that wondered why so many Jujari had been killed, and others that wished he could stop more lives from being taken. He was a good man.

Sitting across from him, Piper noticed a beautiful blonde-haired Sekmit. She’d only ever met one of the feline-like species, but they fascinated her, much like the Jujari did. And, like the man, the Sekmit seemed against all the horrible things that had been done to the Jujari fleets.

Piper stretched out her feelings toward the two figures and took a deep breath. She searched for the stains of her earlier work, but—much to her surprise—she couldn’t find any. The finding so shocked her that she immediately called out to Willowood.

“Grandmother?”

“Yes, child. What is it?”

“My work for Moldark—it’s not in these two.”

“Nor in several of the crew I’ve found,” Willowood replied with a sense of hope in her voice. “In fact, there’s very little of it in the ship at all, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Why?”

Willowood took a second to reply. “I’m not sure, but perhaps your work for Moldark was not as wide-spread as you first thought.”

“That would be a good thing.”

“Yes, Piper. That would be a very good thing.”

So Piper set to work, not undoing what had been done, but encouraging what already existed. She coaxed her life force toward the couple, urging them to embrace their doubts as legitimate concerns and not treat them as imposters. They were right to question the activities of the fleets. And, likewise, they were right to want to protect others even if it meant putting their own lives at risk. This was the way of the hero.

“I believe in you,” Piper whispered. “I believe you can do great things.”

Suddenly, the female Sekmit stood up and looked straight at Piper. The act so startled Piper that she leaped backward, breaking connection with both people. But Piper had done what she needed to. The Sekmit woman tilted her head and twitched her ears.

“Can she see me?” Piper asked her grandmother.

Willowood appeared beside Piper, and then looked at the woman. “They are a very sensitive species, the Sekmit. So it does not surprise me that she seems to sense you now. Go ahead—wish her well once more.”

Piper drew close again. “May you succeed in all that your heart sets out to do for the good of others. May you resist evil, and may love conquer all.” Then she raised her hand for no other reason than to show she meant the Sekmit no harm.

The feline-like woman raised her arm in reply and placed a paw-like hand so close to Piper’s it felt like they were touching. The moment lasted only a second before the man called the woman away.

“That was beautiful,” Willowood said. “Where did you learn that?”

“Learn what?”

“What you said to her.”

Piper shrugged. “Momma used to say it to me. And it just felt right.”

Willowood smiled. “She would be proud of you—you know that?”

“Nuh-uh. But, okay.”

Willowood laughed. “Come. We should search for other ships like this one.”

* * *

By the time Piper and her grandmother withdrew from the Unity, Piper was exhausted. Speaking to people’s hearts was hard work. But it was worth it—at least she hoped so.

Much to her grandmother’s surprise, many ships seemed mostly unaffected by Piper’s original message. Specifically, most of First Fleet and some of Second. This, Willowood said, was good news. It meant that Moldark’s influence over the Republic Navy was less than Colonel Caldwell and the other leaders had feared. Hearing her grandmother’s assessment also helped ease Piper’s heart. She didn’t want people to get hurt because of anything she did. Still, knowing that she’d helped Moldark in any way made Piper feel sick.

“Given how successful that was, I will gather the rest of Paladia Company and employ the mystics to continue what we’ve begun,” Willowood said from her chair in the observation lounge. “We may be able to talk sense into many more, perhaps a large portion of Second Fleet, but it’s hard to know for certain how compliant they will be.” Then her grandmother’s eyebrows closed together. “Are you sure you’re all right, Piper?”

“Yes.” Piper bit her lip. “I just hope it’s enough to help.”

“Even a little help can go a long way in salvaging the fleets. What we did may save tens of thousands of sailors.”

“Not the sailors.” Piper thought better of the statement. “I mean, yes, sailors. But, it’s more about—I mean—”

“Magnus,” Willowood said, and then seemed to remember something. “Mr. Lieutenant Magnus.”

“Uh-huh.”

Willowood smiled. “Anything we do up here helps what they’re doing down there. Remember that.”

“I know.” Piper looked down at the blue glow of Capriana Prime. “But what if it’s not enough.”

“That’s hard to know, isn’t it.”

Piper nodded. “I just feel like—”

A dark feeling seized Piper’s chest, causing her to lurch forward.

“Piper,” Willowood said, rising from her chair and grabbing the girl’s shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

The sense of dread that gripped Piper was stronger than any she’d felt before. Her vision was so blurry that she could hardly see her grandmother’s eyes. “It’s Mr. Lieutenant Magnus,” she said. “Something’s wrong.”

Willowood didn’t answer right away. Maybe she didn’t believe Piper. Or perhaps she was searching the Unity for herself. But Piper was sure of what she felt—certain that Willowood would sense it too. Because it was horrible.

“Yes,” Willowood said. “I sense it too.”

“I’ve got to—” Got to what? The same panic in her dream threatened to keep Piper from breathing. “I’ve got to save him.”

“Piper, we went over this.”

“No.” Piper leaned away from her grandmother’s touch. “I betrayed him once. I won’t do that again. Not when I know I have the power to help him.”

“But you just did.”

“No, I didn’t.” Piper stood, forcing her grandmother to sit back. “Not like I know I can. I’m going down there.”

“Piper, listen to me—”

“No, grandmother. Mr. Lieutenant Magnus needs my help. Not from up here. Down there.”

“My darling child,” her grandmother said, lifting her hand to touch Piper’s face, but Piper leaned away. A moment of silence passed between them as Willowood’s eyes seemed to grow sad. “It is much too dangerous for you. What Mr. Lieutenant Magnus has chosen, he has chosen for himself, not you. And there’s nothing you can do to stop that without unnecessarily putting yourself in harm’s way.”

“I would rather die than stand here and do nothing.”

“Piper, please—”

“No, grandmother. No pleases. I have the power to help, and I’m going to with or without you. If you try and stop me…”

“You’ll what?” There seemed to be a lot of pain in her grandmother’s face.

Piper bunched her fists and felt the Unity’s energy flow into them. She would never hurt her grandmother—she didn’t want to hurt anyone unless they were harming others. But Piper knew she had enough power to keep people from stopping her in doing what was right. “I won’t let you.”

22

Magnus stepped out of the elevator and dashed for cover behind some white stone planters in the Forum Republica’s Grand Plaza. The rest of the gladias followed him, as did several Marines. Paragon troopers pressed in from the east—Magnus’s right—while Marines held them off from the west. While Moldark’s ship had docked above Proconsul Tower, the rest of the HATs must’ve landed in the eastern courtyards.

“What’s the plan, Lieutenant?” Blackman yelled from behind Magnus.

“To not get shot,” Magnus replied over externals. “Where’s the communications building?”

“Over there.” Blackman pointed to the north. “Through the gardens, across the plaza.”

A five-story white building with undulating exterior walls and black windows sat on the plaza’s far side. First squad needed to cross a large garden in the plaza’s middle, but it would provide some decent cover, which was a plus. Magnus marked the footpath as a waypoint on the squad’s HUD, noting the trees and columns, and then set the comms building as the rally point. He also told the gladias to keep chameleon mode off or risk being hit by the Marine platoons firing from the west.

“What’s your plan, Magnus?” Caldwell asked, appearing in his HUD.

“Looks like you can stop production on your acting debut,” Magnus replied. “As you heard, the good senator has volunteered to do it instead.”

“As he should, mysticsdammit.”

“Still, if we don’t make it, you should keep your lipstick on.”

“And it’s my favorite shade too.” The colonel winked at Magnus and then closed out his window.

“Keep your heads down,” Magnus said to the rest of the squad. “And protect the senator.”

“Rohoar does not like protecting the senator,” Rohoar said.

“Then just work on protecting me,” Magnus replied. “I’ll do your dirty work.”

“Why would Rohoar wish for Magnus to fill in his splick holes? Plus, Magnus lacks the hind legs for this work.”

“Just cover him,” Abimbola said to the Jujari with an irritated tone. “We are ready, Magnus.”

“And Awen?” Magnus said. “I could use some extra cover.”

“I’ve got you, Adonis. Ready when you are.”

“Stand by.” Magnus looked over his shoulder at Blackman. “Think your Marine detail could give us a hand?”

“They’re sworn to protect me,” the senator yelled, plugging his ears from the sound of the blaster fire. “Where I go, they go.”

“Maybe just remind them not to shoot us in the back.”

“You want them to shoot you in the back?”

Magnus shook his head emphatically. “Negative. Not shoot us in the back.”

“Right.” Blackman looked at the nearest Marine and relayed the plan to move to the comms building. “And don’t shoot these guys in the back,” he added at the end. The Marine acknowledged the orders with a nod, and then turned to the rest of his unit, presumably passing the orders on. “They understand,” Blackman said to Magnus. “We can go.”

Magnus nodded and looked back at his team. “Let’s move.”

* * *

Alpha and Bravo Teams moved in a line across the plaza’s southern edge, firing to the east. Blackman stayed tucked behind Magnus and Abimbola while Awen kept a Unity shield running down the line, beginning with Magnus. At first, the Paragon seemed not to pay the traversing gladias and Marines any notice. But by the time Magnus had reached a cluster of palms, the enemy had started to focus their fire.

“Two Marines down,” Haze said from the end of the line.

“Make that three,” said Doc.

“Shoot and move,” Magnus said. “Here we go.” He and Abimbola moved out from cover and headed the rest of the way to the garden’s footpath. Blaster fire tore through leaves and splintered tree branches as they advanced past the perimeter. Once they were well inside the foliage, Magnus gave the order to run.

With one eye on Blackman and the other on the path ahead, Magnus followed the winding route around a pond filled with nowei fish, and then over a footbridge that crossed a stream. Ahead lay an intersection of paths that diverted to other areas of the gardens, bordered on all sides by marble columns and a circular archway system that connected the pillars’ tops. Magnus was just about to step forward into the circle when several blaster rounds exploded against the column closest to his head.

“Cover right,” Titus yelled, marking a spot to the east on the HUD. The gladia took cover behind trees and planters, firing into the Paragon forces making their way toward the intersection.

From Magnus’s position behind the pillar, he spotted a small knoll to the southeast. It’s elevated summit and ferns would provide an excellent flanking position.

“Bravo Team, break off and head up that hill,” Magnus said. “Let me know when you’re in position. When they are, Alpha Team, we’re crossing the intersection.”

Everyone acknowledged, and Magnus fired into the enemy ranks taking cover along the arcade’s eastern perimeter. One unlucky trooper peeked out from behind a column. When he did, Magnus put a blaster bolt through his helmet, splitting it in two. Another trooper made a run between trees but tripped over a root in the ground. He sprawled on his chest, and Magnus fired into his midsection—penetrating the ribcage. The NOV1’s power punched through the man’s other side and dug a furrow in the ground, filling the air with grass and dirt.

“In position,” Titus said over VNET.

“Do it,” Magnus said.

The moment the flanking fire rained down from the hill, Magnus pulled Blackman into the intersection and fired on the Paragon.

“Fragger out,” Titus said. Magnus saw the tiny munition move on his HUD, and then detonate behind a group of palms, flushing out three troopers. Their bodies flipped through the air—one landing in the nearby pond with a splash. The pressure from Bravo Team was just enough for Magnus to make it to the other side with Blackman still crouching behind him and Abimbola.

Once on the intersection’s north side, Magnus gave the order to shift fire to the southeast and cover Bravo Team. Titus came back down the hill and told the senator’s Marines to follow him. But as they crossed the middle ground, the Paragon got wise and covered against Magnus’s flanking fire. Then they opened up on Bravo Team and the Marines. Without a mystic to lend them additional protection, several gladias took damage to their shields, including Titus. Magnus watched him take a hit to the hip and start limping.

“Titus,” Magnus shouted, moving out to meet them.

But Titus waved him off. “We’ve got this, LT.”

In one swift motion, Haze brought up his SMS and fired a VOD straight at a pocket of Paragon troopers. The resulting blast carved a hole in the enemy’s ranks that afforded Titus just enough time to cross the intersection. Likewise, Magnus ordered Rohoar, Silk, and Doc back toward the middle to cover the gladias and Marines making a run for it.

Awen made to move as well, but Magnus stopped her. “I need you here with Bimby and me to guard the senator.”

“But Titus and—”

“Blackman is our priority,” Magnus said.

She sniffed. “Fine.” But Magnus could tell she wasn’t happy about it.

Once everyone was past the open ground, Magnus continued north through the gardens until the comms buildings filled the plaza’s far side. It was a straight shot across, and, so far, no Paragon forces had gotten wise to their final destination.

“Let’s move,” Magnus said. “Watch our right flank and six o’clock.”

The squad crossed the plaza without incident and then filed into the comms building’s front doors. Magnus looked at Blackman. “Lead the way, Senator.”

“Third floor,” he said, pointing toward the elevators.

“No. We’ll take the stairs.” Magnus led the unit up a switchback set of glass stairs lit with baby-blue lighting along the edges. Servos whined as the gladias ascended. That was when Magnus noticed Blackman breathing heavily. Judging by his barrel chest and ample midsection, Magnus guessed that any dedication to sportsmanship in the senator’s youth had vanished, replaced with a commitment to long hours of desk- and table-sitting.

“Now where?” Magnus said, waiting for Blackman to arrive on the third floor.

“Left,” he said, taking deep breaths.

“How far?”

“You’ll see—” Blackman wiped his forehead with the back of his sleeve. “You’ll see a sign for Studio A. There.”

Magnus followed the man’s pointed finger to a wall sign that indicated an entranceway around a bend in the hall. He raced along it until he saw a set of high-density doors and stepped through when they opened. Magnus stepped into a big room with black walls. In the middle stood a collection of holo-emitters, the points of which formed the imaginary shape of a cube. Above it, LED lights of all shapes and sizes dangled from the ceiling, while inside it, three small cameras floated at head-level.

“Room clear,” Magnus said over comms. A few moments later, Blackman entered, practically dragged by Abimbola. “Okay, Senator, tell us how this works.”

“There’s an activation console over there,” Blackman said, sounding as if Magnus should have already seen it.

“That means nothing to me. Why don’t you check it out.”

Blackman threw his hands in the air. “No wonder you’ve been blackballed.”

“Hey, we’re saving your life here, pal,” Titus said after raising his visor and pointing his weapon at Blackman. “Show some respect.”

“Easy,” Blackman said with his hands raised. “Not sure you want to shoot the guy who needs to order the evacuation.”

“Which wouldn’t be a problem if the guy had chosen to do it earlier,” Titus replied.

“Stand down, Titus,” Magnus said with a reassuring tone. “I’m grateful for the support, but we need him right now.”

Blackman lowered his hands and pulled down on the edges of his uniform. “See?”

Titus thrust his chin out toward the senator and spit.

“Get it up and running, Blackman,” Magnus said. “We don’t have much time.”

“Affirmative, sir,” TO-96 said, appearing in Magnus’s HUD. “I’ve tapped into the Forum Republica’s security cameras and see heavy Paragon troop movement inbound on your location, entering from the south.”

Magnus turned to Titus and Bimby. “We’ve got company in the lobby.”

“We’re on it,” they replied, calling away everyone in Alpha and Bravo Teams but Awen.

When Magnus looked back at Blackman, the man was lazily walking toward the console. “Get a move on, pal.”

Blackman waved off the remark and stood before the console. “Let’s see what we have here,” he said, wiggling his fingers and pulling up a holo display. It took him a few seconds to log in and then call up a broadcast menu. Magnus saw all three cameras twitch as they woke from sleep mode. Then Blackman took a moment to play with some of the menus. First, an image of a beach appeared in the cube. The senator muttered something to himself, and the image switched to a sports arena. Finally, an image from inside CENTCOM appeared.

“Looks convincing,” Magnus said. “Now, let’s get you in there.” But Blackman was still messing with the settings. When Magnus looked over the man’s shoulder to see what was taking so long, the senator seemed to be ordering the cameras in a series of pre-programmed shot changes from multiple angles. “What the hell are you doing?” Magnus pushed him aside. “This ain’t a glamour shoot.”

“I’m simply making sure that—”

“Go stand in the scene,” Magnus said, taking control.

“But you’ll need to hit that button there.”

“I know how to hit broadcast.” He pointed Blackman toward the CENTCOM holo display. “Go.”

Blackman squared his shoulders and walked into the scene. But he didn’t face the cameras right away. Instead, he paced back and forth, talking to himself.

“Blackman,” Magnus yelled. But the senator was unmoved. So Magnus racked a charge in his NOV1 and pointed the weapon at him. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you want this strike to hit.”

“Magnus, please,” Awen said, placing a hand over his weapon’s barrel and forcing it down.

“You should listen to her, son. Sharing information of this scope requires more tact than you might appreciate as a buckethead.”

“How’s this for tact?” Magnus turned to the console and slammed his fist into the broadcast button. The camera’s blinking blue ready lights changed to red. “You’re on.”

Blackman froze. For a split second, Magnus thought he was going to have to step in. “For the love of all mystics, would you just—”

“Citizens of Capriana and all surrounding atolls,” Blackman began, speaking as smoothly as if he had days to prep for his appearance. “I am Senator Robert Malcom Blackman of the Galactic Republic Senate and Chairman of Central Command. I come to you today on behalf of the entire Republic with grave news. The city and, in fact, the planet, are under orbital threat by enemy forces. While we are working to reach a swift and peaceful resolution, the Senate and the members of Central Command have unanimously voted to order an immediate planet-wide evacuation. And, rest assured, I have successfully negotiated for the safe passage of all civilians. There is nothing to fear.

“Please be aware that we are in the process of activating the planetary defense shield. To ensure your safety, we encourage you to calmly and carefully make your way to the closest evacuation center. Take only what belongings you can carry, knowing that you will be able to return to your homes as soon as the threat level has been reduced.

“As always, we will provide continual updates on the progress of our positive negotiations with these outside forces, and we look forward to your safe return. Thank you for your patience and understanding.” Blackman stepped out of the frame and walked toward the console.

Magnus was so stunned by the slippery-tongued senator that all he could do was watch in disbelief as the man stepped around Magnus and depressed the broadcast button. The live transmission ended, and the Galactic Republic logo appeared.

“I’m not sure why I shouldn’t kill you right now,” Magnus said.

“Why? For lying?” Blackman busied himself on the console menus. Within a few more seconds, the logo was replaced by an emergency evacuation list of procedures read by an automated voice. “Please, if the general public knew the whole truth, there’d be utter pandemonium and no one would get out of here alive.” Blackman turned to face Magnus. “Is that what you want?”

“You’re sick. You know that?”

The senator scoffed. “Save your speech, son. All of us do what we need to save lives. You do it with a blaster; I do it with words. What they don’t know won’t hurt them, and if they knew the truth, they’d die before the first shots were fired. So don’t lecture me on morality, trooper. Just do your job and—”

Magnus slammed the butt of his weapon into the senator’s forehead. The man dropped to the ground like a sack of Jorin kessel radishes. Magnus looked at Awen. “He was wearing on my soul.”

“Mine too,” she said.

“How we looking, Bimby?”

“We are taking heavy fire in the lobby,” Abimbola replied. “This exit is compromised.”

“What about the senator?” Titus asked. “He get the word out?”

“He did,” Magnus said. “And now he’s—taking a little break. Tell those Marines they can come get him when they’re ready.”

“Hard copy,” Titus replied.

“Hey, ’Six. You got any alternate escape routes that don’t put us in the path of Paragon or Repub troopers?”

“As a matter of fact, I do, sir,” TO-96 replied. “The Forum Republic boasts a surprising amount of architectural ingenuity which lends itself to—”

“Remember how I said you could give me a history lesson later?”

“Of course, sir. Save this for that time?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all, sir.”

“Great.” Magnus smiled. “What’s the escape route?”

“Forwarding to your HUD now, sir.”

“Thanks, ’Six.” As soon as the waypoints populated, Magnus ordered the gladias to fall back, and then he moved toward the hallway.

“Sir,” TO-96 said. “The colonel and I must insist you get moving. The Paragon is surrounding the building.”

“About that,” Titus said, appearing on the channel.”

“Scary looking guy’s making his way across the plaza toward our location.”

Magnus slowed. “Moldark? Toward the comms building?”

“He must know we’re here,” Awen said. “He wants revenge. Or maybe he thinks we have Piper.”

“Either way, we’re not sticking around long enough to find out.”

23

“Block all the exits,” Moldark said to Captain Yaeger. “No one leaves.”

“Right away, my lord,” Yaeger replied.

The trooper turned and began giving orders as Moldark stared down into the Senate Chamber’s bowl-like amphitheater. Rings of glossy black consoles punctuated with red leather chairs descended a dozen tiers down to a central dais. In the background, Yaeger dispatched the few remaining security sentries with blaster fire that made the hall’s congregation cower. The room was half-full, most likely an emergency session. But the odds favored that Moldark would find the senatorial contingent of traitors here. And he would find them—every last one of them. He would hunt them down and stare into their impudent eyes as they begged him for their lives.

“My fair senators of the Galactic Republic,” Moldark said from atop an aisle. He took the first few steps and studied the retreating officials as he descended. “Now that I have your attention—”

“What’s the meaning of this?” someone asked from the dais.

Moldark gazed at the woman who spoke—middle-aged, pale, and hints of gray in her hair. “An excellent question, madame senator. I’d like to offer you a deal, or rather, an ultimatum.”

“You are in no place to offer anything.”

“Oh, but I think I am.” Moldark stretched out his ethereal hand and latched onto her soul. The woman screamed as he hoisted her half a meter off the dais. The audience reacted with shouts, backing away from Moldark and distancing themselves from the woman. “I’m looking for certain traitors among you.”

“Stop this madness,” another senator shouted. He stepped in between Moldark and the woman.

“Noble, but stupid,” Moldark said. He added the man to his feeding. His body spasmed as Moldark sucked his life out in a matter of seconds, leaving his ashen corpse to crash upon the floor in a dust heap. This brought about even more demonstrative reactions in the room as senators and their staffers clamored toward the exits.

Moldark continued his steady advance toward the woman, holding her hostage in suspended agony. But he needed her, so he released his hold. The woman fell to her knees, gasping for breath.

“As I was saying, I am only looking for six traitors.” When the woman didn’t answer, still preoccupied with the simple task of breathing, Moldark continued. As he approached the bottom floor, he lifted his arms and turned about. “Senators Miller, Ko-Li, Long, Jinterro, Yan Andar, and Blackman. Are you here?”

The amphitheater grew quiet save for whispers and sniffles. Moldark turned back to the woman and strode up the dais to meet her. He knelt and stroked the back of her head with his gloved hand. “Madame Senator, I will release everyone in this room so long as you point me toward the traitors I mentioned.”

She coughed and then steadied herself on the carpeted floor. But she was still gasping too much to speak.

“You’re wasting my time.” Moldark hoisted her aloft on an invisible arm—her body shaking for all to see. “I will kill her.” He spoke loud enough for the whole room to hear. “Or you may produce the individuals I specified. Do so, and the rest of you may depart. It is that simple.”

“I am Senator Jinterro,” replied a woman in her early sixties, stepping out from a group near a side exit. She was thinner than Moldark remembered.

“You see now?” Moldark looked around the amphitheater. “That wasn’t so hard. And the others?” But no one else spoke. So Moldark yanked a measure of life from the woman. She shrieked.

“Stop it,” yelled a younger man from his seat in the third tier. “I am Ko-Li. Release her.”

“Not until I have the others, Senator.”

Ko-Li raised his chin, took a deep breath, and pointed to various spots around the room. “Miller, Long, and Yan Andar.”

“Coward,” one of the other senators yelled.

But Moldark grinned. “You see? That wasn’t so difficult, was it? However, I am still waiting on Senator Blackman. Which means none of you are going to walk out of here.”

“He’s in the communications building,” said one of the Nine. Miller, if Moldark remembered correctly.

“Oh? And how can you be so sure?” Moldark asked.

Miller swiped a finger across a console, and a holo feed appeared. It was Senator Blackman. “He’s addressing the planet from inside the communications building.”

“And this is happening right now?” Moldark asked, studying the broadcast.

“Yes. It’s live.”

Just hearing Blackman say the word evacuation made Moldark furious. They mustn’t be allowed to escape, he thought. None of them must be allowed to retreat and live another day—not one.

“Captain Yaeger,” Moldark said. “Release them.”

Yaeger nodded and ordered the doors open. Anxious senators and staff hurried up the aisles and out the doors. Moldark even made good on his word to the chairwoman on the dais. Finally, all that remained were Miller, Ko-Li, Long, Jinterro, and Yan Andar.

“Senators.” Moldark squeezed his gloves, and their squeaky sound echoed around the amphitheater. “So good of you to join me.”

“You’ll never get away with this, Kane,” Yan Andar said, pointing his blue-skinned finger at Moldark.

“Kane?” Moldark chuckled. “Kane’s been dead for a while now, Senator.”

Yan Andar hesitated, then withdrew his finger. But he wasn’t finished. “Do you honestly think you can charge into the Forum Republica’s Senate Chamber, hold us hostage, and not expect for there to be repercussions?”

Moldark tsk’d the man three times. “Senator, I’m very disappointed with you. And yet, you biologics are all the same. Always basing your power on that which you derive from the anxieties of the masses. How easy it is to undo you.”

“We demand that you—”

Moldark seized Yan Andar’s soul with an outstretched hand. “You demand nothing.” The other senators stepped away. Moldark could smell their fear.

“What do you want?” Jinterro asked.

“What an appropriate question, Senator Jinterro.” He examined each of the senators until their eyes darted away. Then, with low-toned exact words, he said, “I want to remember the looks on your faces as you witness the end of your insignificant lives.”

* * *

“The building is right up there, my lord,” Captain Yaeger said, pointing toward a structure along the plaza’s north end. “We have them surrounded.”

“Them?” Moldark asked.

“Yes, my lord. The senator is being protected by a contingent of Marines and some cloaked combatants. We believe they’re the same ones we encountered upon our arrival atop Proconsul Tower.”

Moldark sneered. “The rebels.”

“We believe so, yes, my lord.”

Moldark quickened his pace, eager to terminate Blackman. From there, he would dive into CENTCOM and find the remaining three Circle of Nine members: Admiral Inquin and Generals Veer Quince and McCormick. And, with any luck, he’d take some of the rebels hostage then bleed them for stealing his granddaughter. No, Moldark snapped at Kane’s thoughts. She is not my granddaughter. She is merely a girl.

One of Yaeger’s companies assaulted the building’s front entrance with a barrage of blaster fire. But most of it seemed to be dispersed by some sort of energy shield—no doubt the work of a mystic. The defenders retaliated from within, cutting into Yaeger’s forces with heavy weapons fire. But there were more than just Republic blasters—there were Novian weapons. Moldark was sure of it. Ever since hearing the distinct whine on the Labyrinth, nightmares from his past gnawed at the edges of his thought—the sounds of his wailing ancestors mixed with mining blasts as his people were ripped from their homes.

“Give the order to charge,” Moldark said. “All sides.”

“But, my lord, there’s—”

“Charge, Captain. Or you forfeit your life.”

Yaeger squared his shoulders, gave Moldark a quick nod, and then began motioning his men forward. However, several of Yaeger’s subordinates seemed to hesitate. “What is it, Captain Yaeger?”

“Nothing, my lord.”

“Untrue.” Moldark laid the mere wisp of a tendril on the man’s soul, causing him to freeze in place. “I will only ask again once, Captain. Is there a problem?”

“Some of the men—” Yaeger choked against the pressure closing around his chest and neck. “Some don’t want to advance.”

“Of course they don’t. They’re cowards. Who?”

But Yaeger was unable to reply, gagging.

“Never mind.” Moldark released Yaeger and sought out three of the Captain’s subordinates. He hoisted all three Paragon Marines off their feet, ripped their life force from their miserable bodies, and dashed their ashes against the ground. He assumed the clattering armor might have the desired effect. “Order them again.”

“Yes, my lord.” Yaeger reissued the command and his Paragon Marines charged the enemy—obviously more afraid of the dark lord than of the rebel scum who cowered in the comms building. The miserable wretches.

More reinforcements joined the advance, and Moldark felt a growing confidence that, this time, he had the enemy. He would repay them for their assault on his ship and for taking the child. They would suffer, and he would enjoy devouring each of their meaningless lives to satiate his appetite.

At the same time, however, Moldark sensed something cold—as if a dark cloud passed over the sun. Kane’s body shivered, which annoyed Moldark. But this was more than a physical sensation. The dark cloud had a presence—perhaps even a personality. He had felt it once before too, on Worru.

Moldark spun to his right, then his left.

“Is everything all right, my lord?” Yaeger asked.

“Yes,” Moldark said, snapping his head back to the battle.

* * *

“We’re taking heavy fire,” Titus said.

Magnus and Awen arrived at the third floor’s balcony and looked down into the lobby as dozens of windowpanes exploded. Alpha and Bravo Teams worked with the Marines to defend the structure’s main entrance, while outside at least two platoons of Paragon troopers advanced on the comms building. A dark figure in a black Repub Navy officer’s cape stood further out, hands on his hips.

“I need options, buddy,” Magnus said to TO-96.

“I’m afraid there aren’t many, sir. The building is surrounded. I estimate that it is only a matter of time before they close in to exterminate you.”

“You’re in a kill box, son,” Caldwell said. “Best to make like a Lorquidian pink bellied newt and scoot.”

“Hey, Azie,” Magnus said. “Any chance you have more of those BATRIGs on hand?”

“While there are several in production, I do have one more ready for immediate deployment,” Azelon replied.

“What are the chances you can put it down inside the plaza—say, between Moldark and us.”

“I have calculated landing accuracy to plus or minus ten meters, sir.”

“Extra points if you drop it on Moldark’s head,” Abimbola added.

Magnus smiled. “Send it, Azie.”

“BATRIG deployed,” Azelon replied. “ETA in nine minutes, eighteen seconds.”

Magnus marked the time with a second counter in his HUD. “Doc, Haze, I need you to protect our rear. LIMKIT4 mines in ground floor doorways, improvise with your remaining VODs. Go.” Doc and Haze acknowledged and peeled out of the lobby.

“Everyone else, thin those ranks. And just before that crate lands, I want you behind cover. It’s gonna make one hell of an entry.” Magnus turned to Awen “You’re up.”

Awen slid past Magnus and grabbed the railing. A moment later, a semi-translucent Unity shield appeared where the lobby windows had been. The wall absorbed most of the enemy blaster fire, but the Paragon’s assault was so intense that some rounds still made it through. Without Nídira’s help, it seemed there was only so much Awen could do.

“Zoll, do you copy?” Magnus asked over VNET.

“Here, LT,” Zoll replied.

“What’s your position?”

“Looks like we’re still sixty-four klicks out from Simlia atoll.”

Magnus frowned. “I want you back here.”

“Change of plan?”

“Affirmative. Can you manage it?”

“Of course. Why? You got some heat?”

Magnus watched the Paragon concentrate fire on a single spot in Awen’s shield, apparently trying to bore a hole through it. “We’re not gonna have time to make two extractions, and we need evac sooner than you.”

“Copy that. Just give us a waypoint.”

“Stand by.” Magnus brought up his topo map and pinged Azelon again. “Azie, how close can you get that shuttle to us?”

“Assuming the defense cannons have been deactivated, given the hundreds of civilian ships attempting to leave the surface, I’d say the closest safe LZ is located to your east, on Moore’s Beach. You risk little interference with emergency flight paths and minimal detection from the Republic’s security forces. Though, given the city’s current threat level, I doubt resistance will be much concern for you.”

“It’s not the Repub I’m worried about.” Magnus examined the beach and the bay it enclosed. “Sounds good. Mark it.” A new map marker appeared four klicks to the east. Magnus brought Zoll up again. “You seeing that?”

“Hard copy. We’re on our way.”

“See you soon.”

* * *

Magnus had left Awen to her Unity-wielding several minutes earlier and joined the squad firing into the Paragon ranks. Alpha and Bravo Teams held the Paragon outside the comms building for longer than he expected. But another platoon had been added to the enemy’s ranks as they pressed toward the comms building, with Moldark still lingering in the background. At one point, some of the Paragon Marines seemed to refuse orders, and the dark lord began using his otherworldly powers to thwart the advance. Magnus saw three enemy troopers rise into the air, shake, and then drop back down in puffs of gray ash.

“Anyone else see that?” Titus said.

“No way he’s doing that crazy splick to us,” Doc replied.

“Hard copy,” Magnus said. “Whatever we do, we cannot let Moldark get a bead on us. Everyone understand?” The unit acknowledged and continued to fire on the enemy.

Magnus worked to keep Moldark’s troops from boring a hole in Awen’s shield. He thinned out anyone who lent their firepower to the task, knowing that a breach in the mystic’s defense could spell disaster for the gladias. A few of the senator’s Marines picked up what Magnus was doing and helped reduce the enemy’s focused efforts even further. Magnus drained a whole clip by taking out nine troopers with an MTFE shot. But then he scrambled to retrieve two half-spent energy mags from downed Marines to replenish his weapon, and maglocked two more to his hip.

Two explosions rocked the back half of the building—one after the other. “That you, boys?” Magnus asked Doc and Haze.

“Did we wake you up?” Doc asked. “Sorry about that.”

Magnus smiled. “I love the smell of limp mines in the morning.”

“You’ll also be pleased to hear that those LIMKITs not only took out a dozen Paragon troopers but made these entryways all but impassable.”

So, maybe not everything was going bad. “Nice work, gladias. Get back here as soon as you can. We could use your firepower.” Doc acknowledged the order and signed off. Then Magnus checked his timer on the BATRIG. “Just gotta hold ’em for another fifty seconds, Granther Company.”

The hope of seeing another of Azelon’s mechs in action seemed to bolster the unit’s fire effectiveness—or at least their fire rate. Paragon troopers fell to the NOV1s left and right. But no matter how hard Magnus’s gladias fought, the enemy seemed to have more reinforcements to take their place.

Magnus brought up the squad channel. “At the ten-second mark, I want VODs going out the front. Then take cover as far inside the building as you can. Pull those Marines with you too. As soon as you feel the shockwave pass, we’re back here. I need your cover fire until I get inside the crate. Copy?” Green icons went down the chat window.

“Delivery inbound in twenty seconds,” Azelon said as if Magnus was getting a bouquet delivered to his house.

“You’re a peach, Azie,” Magnus replied.

“A peach, sir?”

Then to the squad, he said, “Here we go. Ten-second mark in five, four, three, two, one.”

The words “fragger out” went out over the channel as detonators sailed through Awen’s shield and then bounced along the plaza’s stone. The gladias retreated into the structure, pulling as many Marines with them as they could. Magnus strong-armed two men, yelling at them over his external speakers. “Take cover!” The men didn’t waste any time following Magnus through a secondary set of doors and ducking behind a load-bearing stone wall.

First came the VOD detonations, all of which activated the audio dampening feature in Magnus’s helmet. He felt the ground tremor under his boots. But it was nothing compared to what happened next.

If the crate made a sound when it crashed through the windowplex ceiling of the Forum Republica’s central plaza, Magnus didn’t hear it—not because the action wasn’t loud, but because the crate traveled so fast that its ground impact overpowered any other sound. The explosion blew in the building’s front wall and fired high-speed projectile debris through the secondary rooms. Magnus watched a Marine get cut in half when a part of a metal window frame speared him through the back. Two other Marines flipped head over heels as the shockwave’s force hurled them into a cluster of desks. The power even made Magnus stumble and catch himself against the ground with an outstretched hand. But once the blast was over, Magnus was on his feet and running into the lobby.

“Covering fire,” he said, crossing the entryway and heading for the front doors. A few beats later, the rest of the gladias started sending blaster bolts to each side of Magnus as he charged for the giant crate. The container sat half a meter in the stone, still smoking from its orbital entry. He opened the access panel as before, shot inside like an albino dwarf chimp chased by a Venetian mawslip, and climbed into the cockpit. He was barely situated when enemy rounds started plinking against the exterior.

“How we looking out there?” Magnus asked his team leaders.

“The crate knocked them back,” Abimbola said. “Very nice work.”

“Most survived,” Titus said. “And I think you really pissed off Moldark.”

“Remind me to send him flowers,” Magnus replied as he brought the mech to life.

“Yes.” Abimbola laughed. “For his funeral.”

Magnus flexed his arms, and the crate’s walls flew out. The Paragon troopers closest to him dove for cover and stopped firing. “You want some of this?” Magnus roared over externals. The enemy stepped back again. “That’s what I thought.”

Magnus swung up both arm-mounted weapons—his GU90M on his right and the RTD10 on his left. Then he watched as his biotech interface acquired two dozen targets and suggested fire priority. “See ya,” he said, and then commanded the BATRIG to fire.

The GU90M rattled his suit as it tore into enemy armor, riddling them with thousands of blaster holes. The Paragon Marines attempted to return fire, but their aim was wild—especially as the buddies on their left and right fell to Magnus's withering fire.

To his left, the torrent disruptor detonated three troopers at once, showering other combatants in the immediate proximity with pureed flesh. Troopers slipped on the gore as they tried to duck the BATRIG’s next round, but they were unable to escape Magnus’s lethal gaze. He swept the foreground with GU90M fire, raking the ranks relentlessly.

Magnus wasn’t without his damage, however, as several blaster rounds did manage to strike his mech. But the beast’s armor plating absorbed the energy, and no critical systems took even the slightest damage.

The troopers seemed to realize their fire was ineffective against the BATRIG, so they retreated—and made way for Recon Marines carrying three RAB25s. The 25mm rotary action blaster was a holdover from the last century but had yet to be replaced. Handheld and extremely versatile for combatting both short- and long-range targets, the rotating multi-barrel, hip-fired weapon could chew through armor like it was wood.

Magnus aimed down the widening gap between Paragon phalanxes and targeted the three RAB-wielding troopers. He fired on the first man with his GU90M and shredded him. But the second two troopers sprayed Magnus before he could react. Hundreds of blaster bolts drilled his chest plate in less than a second.

System alerts chimed in Magnus’s head before a bright light appeared a meter in front of him. It was a Unity shield, absorbing the blistering blaster attack. It wouldn’t last long, Magnus knew. But it didn’t need to. With the precious few seconds Awen’s defense bought him, Magnus aimed and fired his RTD10, blowing the two Marines to smithereens. Then he turned both arm-mounted weapons on the two remaining Paragon groups and fired, pushing them back.

“Someone must’ve ordered a retreat,” Titus said.

“No doubt.” Magnus could hear the high-pitched whine of Silk’s sniper fire through her helmet’s mic. “Look at those bastards run!”

“Everyone up and out of there,” Magnus ordered, taking steps toward the fleeing enemy. He searched the group for Moldark, but the dark lord was gone. Magnus thought maybe the crate’s concussion did him in—after all, the man wasn’t wearing any armor. But today hasn’t been my lucky day, Magnus thought to himself. And no reason for it to change now. More likely, Moldark suspected something bad was in the crate and took cover, knowing not even his otherworldly manipulations could thwart it. At least, that’s what Magnus imagined the freak thinking.

24

Two explosions blew out the comms building’s side and rear, filling the air above the plaza with dust clouds. Increased blaster fire poured from the structure, as if the rebels were reinvigorated by thwarting the Paragon’s backdoor attempt. “More,” Moldark roared at Yaeger. “Fire more!”

A second wave of explosions punched holes in the Paragon’s front lines as the rebels tossed VODs from the building’s lobby. But Moldark smiled at the volley, seeing it as sign that the enemy was growing more desperate. He had them.

“Don’t just stand there, Captain,” Moldark seethed. “Get in there!”

Yaeger stepped toward the battle line, only to be blasted off his feet. Moldark, too, flew backward, struck by a shockwave. Then his back slammed into the marble floor, and he slid until he hit a raised planter. Moldark blinked, caught his breath, and regained his feet. When he looked back toward the comms building, he saw a large cargo crate standing on its end. A human trooper in Novian-style armor raced toward it then disappeared within a hatch.

“Open fire,” Moldark roared. At first, nothing happened. So Moldark repeated the order until blaster shots pinged off the crate. But the armored container was impervious to blaster fire. Moldark was too far away to latch onto whoever was inside, so he ran forward. Suddenly, the crate’s walls fell away to reveal a mechanized battle system reminiscent of Novian ones Moldark had seen before. Which meant he knew what the weapon was capable of, and he was not prepared to face it personally.

Moldark stopped running and watched as his troopers made way for three RAB gunners. The men’s weapons wound up and then spat bright torrents of bolts at the mech. They drilled the chest for only a moment before an energy shield appeared, sparing the pilot from certain death. The mech retaliated with both weapons, quickly liquifying the three heavy gunners before turning his firepower on the rest of Captain Yaeger’s company.

The dark lord cursed as he stepped out of the line of fire. Moldark’s forces were not equipped to take on a mech. And at this rate, he wouldn’t be able to kill Blackman or the generals either. He watched in frustration as the rebels emerged from the comms building and cloaked their armor. This is all their fault, Moldark said to himself, seething inside. And the true blood child.

Of course, there were other ways to terminate the enemy, even if they weren’t as satisfying. But he was running out of options—a fact that he loathed.

“Admiral Brighton,” Moldark said over comms as he turned away from the battle.

“Yes, my lord,” Brighton replied.

“Inform Captain Ellis that I am returning to my shuttle.”

“Right away.”

Blaster fire assailed Moldark’s front lines as the enemy and their mech moved toward an exit. Likewise, the dark lord headed across the plaza toward Proconsul Tower’s elevators. With each step he grew more furious. “One more thing, Brighton.”

“Of course, my lord.”

Two stray blaster rounds tore through Moldark’s cape while a third struck him in the shoulder blade. But the dark lord’s pace didn’t slow. “Execute Article 99.”

* * *

“This way,” Abimbola said, leading the unit around the plaza to the southeast along TO-96’s waypoints. The path led Alpha and Bravo Teams behind the advancing Paragon troops and out the complex’s east side.

“Not you,” Titus said. He was speaking to the senator’s Marine element over externals, pointing back toward the bulk of the Repub’s defensive line along the plaza’s west end. “Go on, get.” He flicked his hand at them like he was scolding a dog. But then Titus took on a melancholy tone, like he was playing a part in a low budget holo film. “Go back to your home. You don’t belong to me. Just go.”

Magnus chuckled. “You done yet?”

“They grow up so fast.”

“You humans have many problems,” Rohoar said.

“Ain’t that the truth.” Magnus gave the order to activate chameleon mode since they weren’t working with friendlies. Then he pivoted right, keeping his weapons covering their six as his squad advanced around the plaza’s perimeter. “Let’s pick up the pace, Granthers. We haven’t got all day.”

“You heard the man,” Abimbola replied, running faster.

The gladias followed the long-legged Miblimbian while Magnus fended off the Paragon troopers. But the bulk of Moldark’s forces seemed more preoccupied with hammering the Repub’s line than pursuing the gladias. Magnus wondered, yet again, why the Paragon leader had opted for this ground invasion when he could have destroyed the entire city from above.

As the gladias reached the plaza’s east entrance, Magnus noticed the heavy transports waiting outside. Just as he’d suspected earlier—based on trooper movement—this was the Paragon’s LZ.

“Light resistance expected ahead,” Magnus said. “Keep your eyes up.” Then he had another idea. “Anyone got any VODs left?”

Several gladias responded affirmatively. Doc even said he had one last LIMKIT4.

“Good. Take out any loadmasters still defending the HATs, and then toss your ordnance in the transports. If we’re not gonna stick around to help those Marines, we might as well make leaving a pain in the ass for Moldark.”

“Isn’t his ship atop Proconsul Tower, though?” Awen asked.

Magnus cursed. “How’d I forget about that?”

“You’ve got a few things on your mind right now.” She patted his shoulder. “Let’s do this.”

Magnus led the way, tearing a hole through the entryway with two VWMs from his back. Then he strode into the flames and emerged from the capital complex with ten HATs idling in an exterior plaza. “Light ’em up.”

He fired on the first two while simultaneously launching one of three remaining VWMs into a third. The loadmasters for each transport dove for cover—two outside of their respective shuttles, and one inside. But it didn’t matter. All their efforts were wasted as Magnus’s assault ruptured fuel cells and drive cores, blowing the ships sky-high. Deep black plumes of smoke billowed into the morning air as fragments of the wreckage pelted the ground.

Abimbola led Alpha Team to the left while Titus motioned Bravo Team to the right. Together, both units popped fraggers, and Doc threw his LIMKIT4 like an old satchel charge. The explosives created a multi-beat roar as each weapon exploded, one after the other. Cargo bays burst. Wings flew off. Cockpits shattered. Even down to the pilots who tried to crawl away, Magnus’s squad left no survivors.

Magnus continued through the maelstrom’s center, marking himself as the next waypoint for the teams. On the far side of the open ground with the exploding ships, a street ran north and south—one filled, not just with early morning traffic, but with thousands upon thousands of pedestrians fighting to get off the planet.

“So much for not creating pandemonium,” Magnus said.

But Titus thumbed over his shoulder. “Yeah, I don’t think we helped much.” As if on cue, another fuel cell detonated, casting the street in an orange glow. Several people screamed, hugging loved ones close and veering away from the plaza.

“I think deactivating chameleon mode will let us move through the city better,” Dutch said. “People might be more prone to stepping aside if they see us coming.”

“It’s not a problem for Rohoar,” the Jujari said. “Rohoar has stepped on people before without feelings.”

“These are the ones we are trying to save, Scruffy,” Magnus said. “Remember?”

“They all look the same to Rohoar.”

“Fair enough.” Magnus chuckled. “Let’s go full visual, as per Dutch’s suggestion. Stay low. Move fast. Should be clear sailing from here.”

* * *

First squad crossed the four klicks of urban chaos in much less time than Magnus expected. Despite the mad civilian rush to find transportation, people were still people and made way for things bigger and louder than themselves. It took only a few warning shots aimed skyward to clear some of the thickest intersections, but otherwise, the gladia’s route was unobstructed. Additionally, there were no substantial threats from city police, who probably couldn’t tell a Novian gladia from a Repub bucket given the stress they were under.

When Magnus finally crossed the main island’s eastern boardwalk and ventured into the sand, Zoll stood beside a sea skimmer, along with Charlie, Delta, and Echo Teams. There was even one new face that Magnus didn’t recognize—until he remembered the framed pictures inside the sea skimmer rental hut. But she would wait. It was Awen who caught his eye next.

She took off running toward the shore as two people ran from Zoll’s ranks to meet her. Then Awen pulled off her helmet, dropped it in the sand, and threw her arms around the two people that Magnus guessed were her parents. There wasn’t the best light to see by, but the two dau Lothliniums certainly looked Elonian—like he imagined Awen’s parents might appear. They embraced several times, holding each other’s faces, as Awen consoled them and checked them over.

“Mr. and Mrs. dau Lothlinium?” Magnus said as he drew near, clomping through the sand in his BATRIG.

“Mom? Dad?” Awen said. She pulled away from them and looked up at Magnus. “I’d like you to meet Adonis.”

Without thinking, he waved the GU90M at them. Balin and Giyel both seemed horrified. They winced and pulled Awen toward them.

Magnus tried to think of some way to recover the moment, but it was gone. Nice first impression, Adonis, he told himself. “Pleased to meet you both.”

Awen’s father raised a tentative hand in reply, and Giyel offered a weak smile.

“Mr. and Mrs. dau Lothlinium, I’m so sorry to break this up,” Magnus said. “But we can continue the reunion on the Spire. For now, we’ve got—”

“Is your fearless leader the one in the big toy?” the woman next to Zoll said. Even from some thirty meters out, Magnus could hear her voice clear as day.

Zoll nodded. “He has a thing for fun splick.”

“No kidding,” she replied as she walked around the Elonians and toward Magnus. “Bastard stole almost a dozen skimmers from the west side.” She pulled a blaster pistol from her waistband and pointed it at Magnus. “You have some nerve, whoever you are.”

“She does know you’re in a BATRIG, right?” Titus asked.

Magnus raised his eyebrows. “Apparently that doesn’t seem to—”

A blaster round bounced off his shoulder plate.

“What the hell, lady?” Magnus said over externals.

“What the hell, me? No, what the hell, you! You’re the damn fool who ripped me off.”

Magnus raised his arms as if to plead his case, but the woman shot both of them in quick succession. So, she’s good with a blaster, Magnus noted. The rounds did little more than spray some sparks in his face. But the woman’s assertiveness was formidable. “Listen, I don’t know who you are or—”

“My name’s on the damned hut, bucketheaded mech brain. And on the side of every skimmer I own. What do you mean, you don’t know who I am?”

“Jules,” Magnus said.

She threw her hands up in the air and turned around as if addressing a stadium full of people. “By mystics, the little boy’s got smarts!”

“Listen, Jules,” Magnus said, trying his best to soften his tone. “We already planned on reimbursing you for—”

“Your man Zoll over there has agreed to pay me three times their value.”

“Three?” Magnus looked to Zoll.

“Sorry, LT. But she drove a hard bargain, and we had some Repub heat.”

“I guess three times it is,” Magnus said, though he wasn’t sure where they were going to get all the credits. Maybe Abimbola could pay her in poker chips.

“And a free pass to wherever you’re going,” Jules said.

“Now hold on a second, lady.”

“Jules,” she said, correcting him.

“She did the same thing with me,” Zoll added over comms. “Pain in the ass.”

“We’re not taking you anywhere,” Magnus said.

“Like hell, you’re not. You think I wanna hang around here after all the crazy splick going on? Plus, you really think I trust you people to pay me once you’re off-planet? Uh uh, no way.”

“I hate to break up this enchanting conversation, sir,” TO-96 said.

“Oh, by all means, please do,” Magnus replied, turning from Jules.

“Azelon’s shuttle will be landing at your location in ninety seconds.”

“You’re a god, ’Six,” Magnus said. “I might just kiss both you bots when we get back to the Spire.”

“That won’t be necessary, sir.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” Azelon said. Magnus could have sworn he heard every head in Granther Company turn. Azelon seemed to discern a look from TO-96 and then looked off-camera at him. “I’m detecting hostility from you, TO-96. Is there something we need to discuss?”

“Can you two baskets of digital hormones keep it in your metal knickers for one damn minute?” Caldwell said. He looked at Magnus, and the colonel’s face grew grim. “Adonis, sensors are picking up a significant power increase in Third Fleet’s weapons systems.”

Magnus noticed a ship streak across the sky much faster than any civilian transport was permitted to travel. Granted, this was an emergency. Still, the ship was the quickest object in the sky. “Moldark,” he whispered.

Caldwell spat toward his boots. “If I didn’t know better, those ships are either fixing to play a planetary game of spank your momma, or they’re prepping to—”

“Fire on the city,” Magnus said.

Caldwell nodded.

How had it come to this?

For some reason, Magnus felt sure his team would be able to raise the PDS and save the planet. Even when all three attempts failed, he thought something would come through for them in the end. After all, this wasn’t about saving the Gladio Umbra, or even a valued member of their team like Piper. This was about keeping billions of people from harm. Surely the cosmos favored their side.

“Magnus?” Caldwell’s voice snapped Magnus from his thoughts. “Get aboard as soon as that ship touches down.”

“There’s got to be another way,” Magnus said.

“Son, you tried. We all tried.” Caldwell pulled his cigar from his mouth. “Some days, you gotta know when to initiate a tactical retreat. And this is one of those days.”

“No, Colonel.” Magnus chewed on his lower lip. “We’re not quitting.”

“Dammit, Magnus!”

But Magnus closed the channel and turned back to face the city. As soon as he did, six Rhino-class armored personnel carriers emerged from the avenue Magnus had taken from the capital complex.

“APCs,” Dutch shouted, raising her weapon. Everyone else turned and raised their NOV1s too. But the vehicles weren’t firing on them.

Not yet, anyway, Magnus thought. “Hold your fire,” he shouted. “Activate chameleon mode.” The enemy could track the gladias because of their movement in the sand and through IR sensors. Still, Magnus figured his team needed every advantage they could muster in such an indefensible position. “Keep the civilians covered up.”

“What about you, LT?” Zoll asked, no doubt referring to why Magnus hadn’t cloaked his mech yet.

“I’m staying visible in case these bastards wanna chat.”

“And if they don’t?”

Magnus looked at Zoll. “That’s what I have you for.”

“La-raah,” Zoll replied.

As APCs got closer, Magnus couldn’t tell if the units were the answer to his prayers or the executioner come to put him out of his misery. Either way, these Rhinos were about to change the game.

The vehicles slowed, and still, they kept from firing. Magnus felt sure that if they were Paragon troop carriers, Granther Company would be under attack. Which meant they were Republic. Perhaps this was a member of CENTCOM coming to tell them the PDS was going up. Or maybe that the fleets were back under Republic control. Magnus was up for any good news.

Or it’s Blackman, Magnus thought, imagining the senator double-crossing them.

Just then, all six APCs opened their port, starboard, and aft ramps, and released two Marine fire teams each. They formed a semi-circle around Magnus’s unit, confining them to the water’s edge, weapons raised. With the sound of the waves crashing behind him, Magnus waited for someone in authority to emerge from one of the Rhinos.

The large hatch above the driver’s cockpit popped open on the centermost APC. Then hydraulics flipped the lid back until a fat face emerged, illuminated by the interior lights.

25

“Commodore,” General Lovell said, hailing Seaman on the bridge from his unit’s headquarters within the Solera Fortuna. “My team is headed toward the rebel forces east of the capital district. They’re reporting heavy weapons fire, and IFF shows one Gerald Bosworth, a Galactic Republic Ambassador, in the mix. Are you aware of his involvement?”

“Negative,” Seaman replied. “That said, please advise your units to get away from the city. An LO9D strike from the Labyrinth is imminent, and several other ships in his fleet are diverting power to weapons.”

Lovell’s face froze.

For a split second, Seaman thought there was a transmission glitch. “General?”

“I understand,” Lovell replied, snapping out of his trance. “You don’t think that Moldark will actually fire on the planet, do you?”

Seaman frowned. “I do.”

“Mystics, help us,” Lovell whispered.

Seaman nodded at the sentiment. “Bring those Marines back and prepare your divisions for ship assault, as previously discussed.”

“We’ll be ready. Lovell out.”

Seaman turned to DiAntora. She inclined her head as if in acknowledgment of what was to come. “The captains are with us,” she said in an assuring tone. “Every one of them.”

“What about Second Fleet?”

DiAntora’s eyes narrowed. “Admiral Lin Phaq is still ignoring our hails, as are all his captains.” She took a deep breath. “We tried.”

Seaman could do what needed to be done without Second Fleet, but Lin Phaq’s help would go a long way in stopping Moldark from annihilating the planet. “Then it’s time we get this done. Open the fleet-wide channel.”

DiAntora looked at the comms officer.

“Right away, Captain,” replied the officer.

As soon as Seaman saw his face in the main holo, he began. “Attention all personnel of the Republic Navy’s First Fleet. This is Commodore David Seaman aboard the Solera Fortuna. All hands, battle stations. I repeat, all hands, battle stations. This is not a drill.

“Third Fleet, under the command of Admiral Kane, also known as Moldark, has ordered all ships in all fleets to stand ready to implement Article 99 against Capriana Prime. That is not an order we will carry out. Moreover, it is an order we will resist with force.

“I am ordering a full-scale assault on any ship that engages in hostile activity against Capriana Prime. Target weapons systems and engines before life support and communications. I want these ships disabled with minimal casualties. But we will destroy them if necessary. Marine divisions are awaiting orders to board and retake ships as able. Talon squadrons are standing by. Command attack authorization level alpha. I repeat, this is an alpha-level command attack authorization. Mystics helps us all. Commodore out.”

Seaman stared at a man twice his years in the holo display before the transmission ended and the screen went blank. There was no precedent for what he was about to do—for what any of them were about to do. But then again, no commander had ever issued an Article 99 against Capriana Prime or any other planet in the quadrant. It was a measure saved for unanimous senatorial approval during extreme and highly specific wartime scenarios. Some argued it wasn’t needed at all and fought vigilantly to have the article banned. But, as with most governments, once a measure was on the books, it was tough—if not impossible—to have it removed. Bureaucratic ink had a way of sinking into the desk that laws were signed on.

“Captain,” the sensors officer said. She was a young female Nuromin named Teloni. “The Labyrinth’s forward LO9D cannon is fully charged and ready to fire.”

Seaman clasped his hands behind his back as an image of Moldark’s Super Dreadnaught filled the holo display. He knew this decision was coming: Issue a preemptive strike or wait for Capriana to take the first hit? One meant instigating a multi-fleet conflict, while the other meant hundreds of thousands of civilian lives lost. In the end, however, Seaman knew which he would choose. He was paid to give his life—civilians weren’t.

Blaster fire would be the quickest option for disabling the Labyrinth’s forward LO9D cannon. But Seaman knew Moldark’s shields would be up, which would stop the Fortuna’s blaster rounds—but not guided ordnance. “Take out that cannon, Captain. Fire torpedoes.”

“Aye-aye, Commodore,” DiAntora replied. “Weapons, target that LO9D with torpedoes, three birds.”

“Target acquired, Captain,” the weapons officer said.

“Fire.”

Three small icons appeared on the fleet map as the torpedoes streaked away from the Fortuna. They skirted several ships before leaving First Fleet’s ranks and charging into Third’s. For a moment, Seaman felt hopeful that the ordnance would find their mark. Third Fleet wouldn’t be expecting this, and he hadn’t given them a reason to believe First Fleet would refuse the Article 99 order.

Anti-missile blaster fire streaked across the holo display. Several Frigates attempted to shoot down the torpedoes.

“Captain, we’re being hailed by the Limitless Reach, Jericho’s Triumph, and the Trifecta.”

“Ignore them,” DiAntora said.

“All ships are raising shields,” Sensors Officer Teloni said.

“The torpedoes will get through,” DiAntora replied. The words were barely out of her mouth when one of the torpedoes exploded on its way toward the Labyrinth. Seaman double checked the fleet map. The icon blipped out.

“Two torpedoes remaining,” the weapons officer announced.

“Come on,” Seaman said in a whisper.

“Sir,” DiAntora said. “Now that our strike has been detected, the chance those torpedoes will be rendered ineffective is over 86%.”

“We only need one to make it,” Seaman said.

A second torpedo blinked off the map. It appeared as a small fireball against the Labyrinth’s backdrop as defensive fire ripped through its housing.

DiAntora took a quick breath. “Sir, I recommend we—”

“Wait.” Seaman put a hand up, then lowered his voice. “Come on.” His eyes moved between the fleet map and the holo feed, willing the tiny projectile toward its mark.

On the map, the last torpedo’s icon disappeared under the Labyrinth’s hull. For a split second, Seaman thought the torpedo had been shot down. Then a bright explosion flared under the Super Dreadnaught’s bow.

“Direct hit,” Teloni said. “Target eliminated.”

A bridge-wide sigh of relief was shared as Seaman turned to DiAntora. “Your ship.” He stepped aside and called up separate holo displays so as not to distract DiAntora for her job of commanding the Fortuna.

As DiAntora began calling for shields and ordering new targets, Seaman started receiving tactical information on all ships in the fleet. He commenced by ordering the Dreadnaughts to form a semi-circle between Third Fleet and Capriana. If Moldark wanted to eradicate the planet, then he would have to get through Seaman first. He tapped the category of ships and then drew a line to the intended position, finishing with a tap of the Execute Command button. Acknowledgment icons went down the dialogue window as the carriers fired up their main thrusters, including DiAntora’s, which came in the form of a verbal response behind him.

“On our way, sir,” she said.

Next, Seaman ordered the fleet’s ten Battleships and twelve Battlecruisers into two equally mixed groups—one to stand at the orbital north of Third Fleet, the other to orbital south. The result was a blockade for the enemy to fire through should they wish to carry out the Article 99 attempt. His fingers grouped the ships and then drew more lines through the holo display’s shimmering light before hitting the execute prompt.

The Destroyers and Frigates he tasked with more aggressive runs, inserting them like Boresian corral dogs to apply pressure on any attempts for Third Fleet to avoid his blockade. What the smaller ships lacked in capacity and resources, they made up for with stronger shielding, allowing them to take a beating while getting their anti-ship munitions closer to their targets. It meant putting more sailors in harm’s way, but there was too much on the line not to be bold. If anything, Seaman hoped the abrupt maneuvers would make the other commanders think twice about carrying out any proposed attacks against the planet.

Seaman brought up his communications menu, selected his pre-recorded transmission to Second Fleet, and sent it again. Maybe now that First and Third were engaged, their commanders would view and reply. This was no longer a game of what-if scenarios—this was happening in real time. Sailors and civilians would die today—fewer if something were done sooner than later. It was time to pick a side and take off the gloves.

“Fleet shuttle detected coming from the planet’s surface,” Teloni announced.

“Designation?” DiAntora asked.

“Stiletto-class. The Peregrine.”

“Moldark,” Seaman said to DiAntora. She nodded.

He looked back at his map of icons and grabbed his chin. Even though his fleet outnumbered Third, they had the advantage of a large target—both the planet in the background and a plethora of ships in the foreground. For Seaman, it would be a battle of containment; for Moldark, it was a race.

“I’m detecting more LO9Ds above standby capacities,” Teloni added. “I’m marking targets on all five carriers.”

Now that Moldark was off the planet, it seemed he wasn’t wasting any time in attacking the surface. With the enemy ships’ shields rendering immediate blaster fire ineffective, torpedoes and Talons were the best options.

Seaman tapped three torpedo-class categories from his munitions list and selected all highlighted ships equipped with the desired weapons. Then he assigned values to each LO9D target option and hit Auto Assign, allowing the AI to allocate combinations with the highest favorable outcomes. Seaman double-checked the assignments and tapped Accept.

Once those were sent, he called up a command prompt to scramble the Talon squadrons. First, he had to manually override the system, which took priority of all Talon assignments from strategic fighter command. With SFC hosted on the Labyrinth—a position he’d held not so long ago—there wasn’t a way to order First Fleet’s fighters without bypassing command priority.

Seaman entered his passcode, held his breath, and then exhaled as the system confirmed he had wrested control from the Labyrinth. Whoever had replaced him at SFC, apparently they were too new to refuse the action. Seaman brought up the fighter assignment and tactical maneuvers overlay, and then doubled down on the LO9D targets, allowing the AI to auto-assign First Fleet’s squadrons to them. The AI would calculate attack vectors, compensating for both distance and speculative resistance. Satisfied with the assault plan, Seaman hit Execute, and then accompanied the order with a verbal command to the carriers.

“Attention all carrier commanders, this is Commodore Seaman. Scramble all squadrons. I repeat, scramble all squadrons. Squadron configurations and target assignments dispatched.”

Behind him, DiAntora echoed the order to her airwing commanders and forwarded Seaman’s plan of attack. The commander acknowledged, and DiAntora replied with the required status update. Seaman appreciated her diligence even though she could have just as quickly replied to him personally. But protocol was in place for a purpose, and Sekmits were anything if not perfectionists.

Within moments of the Talons appearing on Seaman’s tactical map, Third Fleet replied by launching its own squadrons.

“Sirs, enemy fighters launched,” Teloni said from the sensors console.

Both DiAntora and Seaman nodded.

“I see them.” Seaman tapped the Alert icon on all enemy fighter groupings as a precaution. The designation was redundant, but he knew from experience that the pilots wouldn’t mind. Plus, First Fleet couldn’t afford to lose this fight—Capriana couldn’t afford for them to lose this fight—so there could be no mistakes.

“LO9D amidships on the Labyrinth, preparing to fire,” Teloni said, her voice tight.

Seaman turned to the woman. “Where are our torpedoes on that cannon?”

“The first wave was taken out, sir. And the second—” The officer’s eyes double-checked something. “Also gone.”

“That can’t be.” Seaman scanned his own map, clearing everything but the Labyrinth and the torpedoes from the Fortuna. But both the first and second waves had been terminated during his ship assignments operations. He added the squadrons assigned to the Labyrinth, but they were still several seconds away from maximum effective range.

“The Labyrinth is firing,” Teloni shouted.

Seaman watched the main holo display in horror as a bright ball of light built under the Labyrinth’s belly, followed by a long energy streak that burst toward the planet.

Seaman’s efforts had been too late.

“No,” he roared, stepping toward the display. His heart sank, his hands balled into fists. “It can’t be.” He watched in terror as a bright spot appeared on Capriana’s largest island. Even from this height, the shockwave was visible, sweeping outward toward the ocean. “Mystics—what has he done?”

26

“Lieutenant Magnus, how nice to see you again,” Bosworth said from atop the central Rhino’s cockpit. He looked like an overripe pangfruit stuck in a Quinzellian miter squirrel’s nesting hole, ready to burst if he tried any harder to squeeze through.

Magnus looked to his right and left. They were surrounded by nearly four companies of well-armed, highly trained Marines. Even if Granther Company could take out half of these Marines, the risk of civilian casualties was far too high between Awen’s parents and Jules. Plus, the Rhino’s M109s increased the chances that any resistance would end in a bloody mess.

“What do you want, Bosworth?” Magnus yelled.

Bosworth looked down his gut and into the cockpit. “I can’t hear him.” There was a brief pause. “No, I don’t want to walk out there. Drive me closer, you fools.”

The Rhino’s repulsors applied some forward thrust, and the APC hovered closer to Magnus.

“Keep going, keep going,” Bosworth said with a disgusted tone. The APC continued to crawl until the ambassador raised a hand. “That’s enough.” But the drivers clearly didn’t respond fast enough for his liking. “I said, that’s enough. That’s enough!”

The repulsors reversed, and Bosworth’s torso disappeared in a swirl of sand. When the dust finally settled, the ambassador—atop his Rhino—was even with Magnus. The two stared at one another’s mechanized versions of their biological selves.

“What do you want, Bosworth?” Magnus repeated, now close enough for the ambassador to hear.

“You have something that belongs to me,” Bosworth replied.

“So you got our care package?”

Bosworth scoffed. “Oh, that? Please. I knew you weren’t ever going to send the child.”

“And yet, from what I understand, you still sent several Marines to their deaths by investigating.”

“But I had to, you understand, in the off chance you actually sent the child. I’ve met stupider people.”

“Ouch,” Magnus said with a tone that might accompany rubbing his arm—had he been able too.

“No, you can have the girl, and so can Moldark for all I care.” Bosworth pointed past Magnus. “I want my lovely scientists.”

Scientists? “You want the dau Lothliniums back?”

Bosworth nodded. “Call me sentimental, but I’ve grown very attached to them.”

“Or attached to what they can do for you.” Behind him, Magnus could hear Azelon’s shuttle approaching. He glanced at his HUD for confirmation.

“Trivialities,” Bosworth said. “You have them, and I want them back.”

“Sorry to disappoint you and the boys here”—Magnus gestured to the Marines—“but they’re going with us. Seems like you got all dressed up for nothing.”

“The ship is landing now,” Azelon said to Magnus as Bosworth shielded his eyes from flying sand.

“Thanks, Azie.”

“But that’s not all,” Caldwell said, his voice filled with concern. “We have hard confirmation that a LO9D cannon is preparing to fire on Capriana.”

Magnus had a flashback to Oorajee, where he nearly died from a low orbit cannon round. The blast had cost him his eyes.

“You copy, Magnus?” Caldwell asked.

“I read you.”

“Get out of there, son,” said the colonel. “Now.”

“The dau Lothliniums,” Bosworth said with a sneer. “Or we open fire.”

“Bosworth, listen,” Magnus said, taking a step forward. Maybe—just maybe there was a chance he could talk some sense into the ambassador. “Moldark is preparing to fire on Capriana. You’ve got to get out of here.”

Bosworth laughed, and his jowls shook when he did. “You think I don’t know that, Magnus? I’m the one who helped formulate this plan.”

“And did it include you being down here as his LO9Ds powered up?”

Bosworth chuckled some more and then wiggled his arm in the air. “You see this?” A silver bracelet locked tight around his pudgy wrist. An LED blinked, and the device appeared to have a small touchscreen. “This is my insurance policy. Moldark and I have a deal.”

“I hate to tell you, but I think he ripped you off,” Magnus said.

“This little gem keeps fleet cannon fire away from me. Anyone without a bracelet, however—take, for example, oh, I don’t know, say, you—well”—he patted his belly—“they’re out of luck.”

“Then I don’t see any incentive to give up the scientists since you’re not going to give me your little magic bracelet.”

“No,” Bosworth said. “But I will give you this one.” He produced a second bracelet from his inside breast pocket and flicked it back and forth.

“Nah,” Magnus replied. “I’m rather partial to the one on your wrist. Something tells me it works better. So, if you give me yours, then maybe we’ll talk.”

“No more talking. The dau Lothliniums or I open fire.”

Magnus opened his mouth to reply. But he couldn’t. A bright light appeared in the sky directly above him, washing the beach in broad daylight. But it wasn’t the sun—Magnus had seen this blinding glare before.

It was LO9D fire.

Magnus wanted to tell everyone to take cover. He wanted to ask Azelon to move the shuttle back. But there wasn’t time. In the split second the thoughts went through Magnus’s mind, the orbital round pierced the core of Proconsul Tower some four klicks away. It was as if a shaft from the sun bore into the building, ignited every floor, and then shoved the contents outward.

Gigantic billowing fireballs erupted at the top and moved down, detonating level after level until the entire structure was engulfed in flames and blew apart in a giant shockwave that rippled through the city. A beat later the force of worlds colliding knocked Magnus’s mech into the sand. His ears rang, and his vision filled with objects flying over his head.

An ocean wave struck his shoulders and washed over his helmet. Magnus activated the auto-stand mode in his HUD and felt the mech’s AI take over. A quick scan determined that the pilot, Magnus, was in nominal condition. Then the unit rolled over, pushed itself up to its knees, and stood. Control reverted to Magnus, and he looked around to gain his bearings.

His gladias had been blown into the water, as had most of Bosworth’s Marines. Magnus’s NBTI was rebooting, but he could see lots of Novian armor treading water. On the beach, the ambassador’s six Rhinos had moved across the strand but were still intact. And overhead, Azelon’s ship had been forced out over the bay but remained aloft.

Then it hit Magnus—the civilians.

At first, he thought only of Awen’s parents and Jules, all three of whom seemed to be thrashing about in the sea. His gladias would recover them in moments. But then he looked back toward the Forum Republic. Where proud structures stood moments before, fire reigned. Buildings were decimated—blown to shells of their former glory—and energy systems exploded, sending more flames and sparks shooting out of the inferno.

Then Magnus noticed the avenue that led back to the capital. People laid on the pavement—hundreds of people. Thousands of people. Magnus stumbled, trying to see if any of them had survived. He swore and then swore again, but all he heard was the sound of ringing—ringing so loud he thought he might go mad from it.

He took a few steps forward, then a few more, until he was running toward the avenue. Bodies were stacked upon bodies, mounded at the boardwalk end of the street like a massive ground mover had plowed the pavement. Magnus felt his gorge rise, and just when he thought he might vomit, he saw a person move. Then another. And then more, until hundreds of people tried to untangle themselves from each other, struggling to regain their feet. People wept, others screamed, and still others walked around aimlessly, shellshocked.

Magnus felt tremors go through his body as memories of other people in this condition flooded his mind. He’d seen this before on battlefields across the quadrant. Marines and civilians alike, staggering like stupefied versions of their once dignified selves. In the wake of horror, they meandered like the walking dead—forever traumatized by the evils of war. As with the faded streets of his memory, for every living person in this Caprianian avenue, there were many more dead. Their bodies were strewn out along the pavement and against buildings like leaves blown down the road from a cold autumn wind. And now, like the old days, Magnus felt helpless in the face of such destruction.

An agony without description crawled from somewhere deep in his soul, clawing its way out of his spirit and writhing to find a voice in his head. He roared, screaming at the scene played out so many times in his past—and the one now, assailing him in vivid detail. He shouted and shouted until he tasted blood in his mouth. Then he spat into his helmet and coughed, stumbling toward the urban sea of victims.

“—do you copy?” said a voice in his head. It was familiar, and—somehow—reassuring. Like the person could be trusted with everything Magnus was witnessing. Like the speaker had been here before. Seen this. Felt this. “Magnus!”

“I’m here,” Magnus said, barely recognizing the sound of his voice. It was coming from inside his head rather than through his ears. Maybe because his ears weren’t working. But his biotech interface was. “I’m here,” he said again, more forcefully.

“What’s your status, son?”

Son. This was Caldwell speaking. “I’m—I’m—” You’re what, Adonis? Magnus swallowed and then fought to order his thoughts.

“Adonis! Can you hear me?”

You’re what? Magnus was still trying to answer the question—still trying to separate himself from his memories. From his pain.

Then he heard his true self. You’re a Gladio Umbra, and you’ve got a mission to complete.

Magnus blinked. “Yes. I can hear you, sir.”

“And your team?”

Magnus turned toward the sea. A few gladias were struggling out of the waves. “I see some. They’re—” He glanced at the roster. Most icons were green, a few yellow, and no red. No red, not dead. “They’re all alive.”

“Holy milk-sucking bastard children of the mystical saints,” Caldwell replied. “You’re one lucky son of a bitch, Magnus. And Awen’s parents?”

Magnus scanned the waves. He spotted Abimbola and Zoll helping Balin and Giyel out of the surf. Likewise, Titus was trying to help Jules, but she shoved him away. “Alive,” Magnus said, relieved by his pronouncement. “They’re all good, sir.”

Caldwell whistled and then inserted his cigar back into his mouth. “Azelon’s bringing the ship back in. I want you loaded up and out of there ASAP.”

“Copy that, Colonel.”

“And Adonis?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad you’re okay.”

Magnus chuckled once. “Me too.”

“I’m sorry to break up this sentimental moment, sirs,” TO-96 said.

“But you’re going to, aren’t you, Brass Balls,” Caldwell said.

“That’s an affirmative, sir. Sensors show several ships converging on your location, Magnus.”

“What kind of ships?” Magnus asked.

“They appear to have departed from the fleets in orbit.”

Magnus swore under his breath. “Paragon.”

“I’m terribly sorry, sir.”

“So am I, ’Six.” As if taking on Bosworth and his Marines wasn’t enough, now Granther Company had to tangle with Paragon troopers. “Things on this op just keep getting better and better.”

“Do I detect sarcasm, sir?” TO-96 asked.

“What gave it away?”

“Well, given the statistical probability of how many unforeseen events have negatively affected—”

“’Six?” Magnus said.

The bot paused. “Bad timing to answer what was most likely a rhetorical question?”

“Nailed it.”

“Spire out,” Caldwell said. His and TO-96’s faces disappeared.

Magnus looked up as Azelon’s shuttle neared the beach. It was a Novian designed XTS Transport Shuttle, featuring two down-swept wings and a V-tail. The hull looked like it had been raked by blaster fire, and two newly opened holes sent sparks into the waves. But unless Azelon informed Magnus that the shuttle couldn’t fly, he had no reason to think it wouldn’t get them back to the Spire.

“Magnus?” Azelon said.

“Go ahead.”

“Please know that, like your Republic vessels, this shuttle’s shields cannot be operational while the ship is aground and will, therefore, be vulnerable to enemy fire while we take on passengers. I recommend you make haste.”

“We’ll make lots of haste, Azie.”

Magnus ran toward the shore to help gather his gladias when blaster fire slammed into his back. Proximity alerts flashed in his cockpit, and Magnus spun around. There, atop one of the Rhino’s behind an M109 turret, was Bosworth. Magnus’s bioteknia eyes zoomed in, and he could see the gun’s recoil shaking the ambassador’s snarling face as the blaster emission lit his bloodshot eyes like they belonged to a rabid animal. Magnus lifted his GU90M to fire on him, but Bosworth raked the weapon until Magnus’s arm went limp.

More blaster fire slapped against Magnus’s flanks. He glanced to his left to find several Marines had regained their feet and their blasters. “As soon as that ramp comes down, I want everyone loaded,” Magnus said.

“Rohoar will ensure it,” Rohoar said.

Bosworth continued to fire and then was joined by a second Rhino’s M109 turret. Rounds penetrated the BATRIG’s left thigh. Magnus willed the mech toward Bosworth, but it limped far more slowly than he expected. The mech’s RTD10 came even with the second Rhino and Magnus fired. The man behind the weapon exploded, and the M109 went silent.

Bosworth’s weapon continued to chew into Magnus’s armor. By the time Magnus was within striking distance, his RTD10 had given out—broken in half, and spilling sparks into the sand. But the fight wasn’t over. Magnus roared as he swung his oversized right arm into the M109’s barrels. The turret spun sideways— Bosworth jerked with it. He yelped. “You have nothing left to shoot with, you stubborn idiot.”

“Who said anything about needing to shoot?” Magnus activated Eject on his HUD. The cockpit’s emergency release doors flew aside, and a small charge launched him forward. He landed like a cat on the M109 turret and then withdrew his Novian combat blade.

“Even if you get off this beach, Moldark’s ships will blow you from the sky,” Bosworth said, spittle flying from his mouth.

“I’m not so sure about that.” Then Magnus grabbed Bosworth’s wrist with the tracking bracelet and chopped straight through the forearm. He pulled Bosworth’s hand away as the man shrieked.

“What have you done?” Bosworth said, clutching the stump to his chest.

“Just taking out an insurance policy,” Magnus said. “Moldark and I have a deal.”

“You’ll never stop us,” Bosworth spat. “What Moldark and Blackman and I are doing is so much bigger than all of you! Fools.”

“Aw, splick,” Titus said over VNET. “We’ve got more company.”

“What?” Magnus turned around as four additional Rhinos hovered down the street from the north. That was eight more fire teams and four more M109s. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Magnus leapt from the APC, pulled his NOV1 from his back, and raced toward the evac shuttle.

Azelon set the ramp down on the strand just above the waterline, blasting sand in every direction. The rest of the gladia fired on the surviving Marines as Abimbola helped Giyel up the ramp. Jules and Balin would be next, but the ship was taking heavy fire as more Marines recovered from the LO9D blast.

As if things couldn’t get any worse, the Paragon ships arrived. They touched down to the north and south of Magnus’s location, off-loading what looked to be black-clad Marines—in Recon armor.

“Son of a bitch,” Magnus yelled.

“Sir,” Azelon said. “I regret to inform you that I am taking too much fire and must get clear of this beach immediately or risk losing the ship.”

“Just hold on a mysticsdamned second!”

“I have to pull away now. I’m—sorry.”

“Azie, no,” Magnus roared. But the ship pitched forward and accelerated away from the onslaught of enemy fire. Magnus thought he heard Awen scream her mother’s name, but it was hard to hear over the sound of the thrusters and blaster fire.

“Awen,” Magnus shouted. “We need a wall!”

“But my mother’s on—”

“Awen, please!”

Awen ducked as blaster fire whizzed over her head. Apparently, the Marines found the gladias far better targets than the retreating shuttle, especially now that the vessel could raise its shield again. That fact seemed to startle Awen into producing a translucent glowing wall on three sides. Wish, Telwin, and Finderminth stepped to her side and, presumably, aided her. Figuring out what or how the mystics did what they did was above Magnus’s pay grade. So he stuck to what he knew: reassessing the enemy while designating fields of fire to the rest of the company. But things did not look promising.

With Bosworth’s original six platoons finding their way out of the surf, combined with the additional four platoons, Magnus’s unit was outnumbered almost twenty to one. This wasn’t going to be a fight. It was going to be a bloodbath.

And then there were the Paragon ships.

27

Awen’s shield wouldn’t hold for long, even with the other mystics’ help. Not with the onslaught Bosworth’s Marines were giving it. Plus, the shield gave the enemy a clear target as their blaster rounds dashed across the plane. Magnus gave the Unity wall another twenty seconds tops. The gladias’ only other option was to retreat into the sea, and none of them were equipped for ocean warfare—not with this armor configuration. If they backed into the water, they’d be sitting ducks.

There was only one option: violence of force.

Blaster fire erupted from behind Bosworth’s Marines. At first, Magnus couldn’t tell what was going on. There seemed to be some sort of commotion among Bosworth’s men toward the northern flank. A miscommunication, perhaps, resulting in a friendly fire incident. But with both units so close together, that seemed unlikely. But something felt familiar about the style of assault.

As another few moments passed, the blaster fire from the north ebbed as Bosworth’s Marines faltered. Heads turned left and right and orders seemed to go out over TACNET. Even the M109s on the Rhinos went silent as Bosworth’s men tried to sort out whatever mishap was distracting them from annihilating Magnus and his teams.

Without warning, a squad of Recon Marines crested a dune with blaster rounds that shredded the Marine’s left flank, dropping troopers along the beach like Paglothian dominos. Bodies hit the sand as Bosworth’s Marines tried to fire on the new troopers closing behind them, but they were too slow. The aggressors were, after all, Recon Marines—lethal in their efficiency and brutal in their tactics—albeit loyal to the Paragon now. Weren’t they? Magnus wondered. Because there was one glaring fact: these new Recon Marines weren’t firing on the gladias.

“What is happening, buckethead?” Abimbola asked over VNET.

“Not sure. But I’m not waiting around to find out,” Magnus said. Then he raised his NOV1 and kept firing on Bosworth’s forces. “Keep the pressure on Bosworth’s Marines!”

As more Marines fell under both gladia and Recon trooper fire, the black armored fighters grew more plentiful—they were starting to break through Bosworth’s northern lines. Magnus could hear the distinct MAR30 whine as the weapons chewed through Repub armor. It wouldn’t be long before they fired on Awen’s shield and made quick work of it.

Just then, something caught Magnus’s eye—a detail so small, no one would have recognized it. No one except a Marine who served in the 79th Recon Battalion, he thought. There, stenciled on each Mark VII’s shoulder plate, was the yellow icon of a crescent moon and a duradex combat knife. It was the symbol of the Midnight Hunters.

“Ho-ly splick,” Magnus said, unsure if he should be terrified, relieved, or just shocked at the galaxy’s sense of irony.

“What is it?” Awen asked. “What do you see?”

Magnus stopped firing and inclined his head. “See the yellow symbol?”

“That’s your old mark, isn’t it?”

“Uh-huh.”

Just then, a senior Paragon trooper accompanied by three guards ran along the surf, apparently unnoticed by Bosworth’s Marines. They weren’t firing, and the commander had maglocked his MAR30 to his back in a sign. Which means he wants to talk, Magnus knew. They double-timed it through the waves until all four troopers were within the relative protection of the Unity shield.

“Hold your fire on those four,” Magnus ordered as Reimer and Bliss took a few shots on the advancing foursome. The commander was trying to say something over external speakers. Magnus activated the Enhance feature of his audio sensors and heard a voice he had not heard in a very long time.

“Adonis Olin Magnus,” the Marine yelled. “Is he here?”

“Who is asking?” Abimbola replied.

“Whoa.” Wainwright raised his weapon and his empty hand. “Easy there, big fella.”

“Captain?” Magnus stepped forward. “Captain Wainwright?”

“None other,” Wainwright replied.

Magnus grasped the captain’s hand and then pulled him close.

“Uh, what’s going on here?” Bliss asked. “Why is Magnus hugging the bad guy?”

“This here’s my old Captain,” Magnus said over comms and externals. “Introductions later. Azie?”

“I’m sorry, sir, but there’s still too much heat, as you say, to bring the ship in.”

“Not that. Can you establish a link with Captain Wainwright’s comms so we don’t need to use externals?”

“Please remain still,” Azie said.

“Don’t move for a sec, Cap,” Magnus said to Wainwright.

“There, done,” said Azelon. “You have an encrypted squad channel with Captain Wainwright.”

“Do you read me?” Magnus looked at the captain and pointed to the side of his helmet.

“Loud and clear, Magnus,” Wainright said over comms. “Nice hacker you got hidden away somewhere.”

“You don’t know the half of it.” Magnus looked north toward Wainwright’s Marines. “Care to explain what’s going on here?”

“We’re not with the Paragon, for starters,” Wainwright replied.

“But our sensors detected—”

“That we were deployed from the fleets? Well, it turns out that not all the fleets are of one mind.”

“So you’re—”

“Here to help kick Moldark’s ass and anyone else who threatens our friends.”

“La-raah,” Bliss exclaimed.

“La-raah,” a few others replied.

“It’s a war cry,” Magnus said to the captain.

Wainwright raised a fist toward the gladias. “La-raah, damn straight.” Wainwright looked back at Magnus. “But I’m afraid we can’t stay long. And neither should you.”

“The LO9Ds,” Magnus said.

“Hard copy. And they’re just getting warmed up. But First Fleet is trying to keep that from happening. Second too, from what I hear. Our Commodore sent us to try and help you, but we just got orders to return ASAP.” Wainwright nodded at the thinning Marine ranks, which almost seemed enough for Granther Company to take now. “We’ve done what we can, but it’s time to go. And I suggest you call your shuttle back too.”

“Thanks for coming, Captain,” Magnus said, gripping the man’s hand again. “It’s good to see you.”

“You too, Magnus. And just so you know, we never doubted you. Not for a second.”

Had M109 fire not been pelting the Unity shield, nor the beach been awash with Marine fire from two different factions, Magnus would probably have gotten choked up. Instead, he swallowed the lump in his throat and let the captain pull him into a one-armed embrace.

“And thanks for saving my life back on Oorajee, Magnus,” Wainwright added. “I owe you one.”

“After this, I think we’re even.”

Wainwright laughed. “You’re making some good points.”

“Let’s give them some covering fire,” Magnus said to his Granthers.

“Thanks, Magnus. We’ll see you topside.”

“See you topside.” Wainwright pulled his escort back toward the surf and then headed up the shore to rejoin his northern contingent. As Magnus turned back to continue defending the extraction point, he offered a silent prayer of thanks to the mystics. For all of the reasons, Magnus thought.

Wainright’s forces pulled back and boarded their shuttles. They’d managed to thin Bosworth’s forces to such a degree that Magnus thought Granther Company had a real shot at getting off the beach. It wouldn’t be easy, but it would be doable.

“How we looking, Azie?” Magnus asked.

“I estimate additional enemy reductions of twenty percent before I can attempt another landing.”

“Twenty? What about Awen’s shielding?”

“It does not appear to be large enough to cover the shuttle.”

Magnus called for Awen. “Can you make it bigger?”

“We’re maxed, Magnus,” Awen replied. “And taking a beating too. I’m not sure how much longer we can hold them off.”

It looked like Wainwright had bought them time, but not enough. In the end, his old Captain had only managed to keep death at bay a little longer. But Magnus still refused to give up—this fight wasn’t over yet.

“There’s no way we are getting off this beach in time,” Titus said, stepping beside Magnus and firing on the enemy.

“Yes, we will,” Magnus replied. “Azie, I need another favor.”

“Of course, sir,” Azelon said.

“Remember what we did at Elusian Base with my BATRIG?”

“Affirmative.”

“Same thing.”

Azelon paused, then tilted her head. “I’m sorry, sir, but your mechanized battle system’s remote assignment capabilities are no longer operable.”

“So, no VWMs?”

“That is correct, sir.”

Magnus cursed.

“We’re losing it,” Awen said with panic rising in her voice. “Right side.”

Magnus looked to the north just as part of the Unity shield gave out along the right edge. Blaster bolts riddled Bettger’s body, driving her back two steps. Then her armor went full-visual as she landed on her back.

“Bettger,” Magnus yelled. But her status icon switched to red right away. She was gone.

“I’m hit,” Jaffrey shouted, falling on his hip in the sand beside her. His chameleon mode went down, and his status icon changed to yellow.

“Pull him back,” Robillard yelled.

As the enemy fire continued to rake the Unity shield, Magnus could feel a sense of desperation trying to tunnel his vision. “I need options,” Magnus said to his team leaders.

“We keep fighting,” Abimbola said. The other leads seemed to agree, but Magnus knew it wasn’t an answer.

“So, that’s how it’s gonna be?” Titus finally said. “Splick, I’ve got an idea.”

“Then let’s hear it,” Magnus replied.

“Eh. I better just do it, and you can thank me later.” Titus stepped past the Unity shield and took off running toward Magnus’s BATRIG.

“Titus,” Magnus yelled. “What are you doing?”

“Improvising.”

“Get the hell back here! That’s an order.”

“I ever mention how much I hate being told what to do?” Titus dashed through blaster fire, climbed up the mech, and patched himself in.

“Cover him!” Magnus called, firing his NOV1 at any Marine who dared look in Titus’s direction.

Magnus heard Bosworth, still stuck inside his turret, cursing Titus up and down. Two medics tried in vain to pry the irate man from his trap as he railed against Bravo Team’s leader. But without a weapon, the ambassador’s words were little more than pebbles thrown at the tidal wave of Titus’s determination.

When Titus leaped from the BATRIG, Magnus felt a wave of relief. “You do it?”

“You bet your ass I did. Now bring that shuttle in, Azie.”

“Affirmative,” Azelon replied. “Landfall in thirty seconds.”

But instead of running back to the shuttle, Titus beat a line to an unoccupied M109 turret in the nearest Rhino.

“Titus!” Magnus started walking toward the Unity shield, but something stopped him. He looked down and saw that his feet were stuck in the sand.

“Magnus, no,” Awen said—in his head. At first, Magnus thought it was the biotech interface interacting with his brain. “He’s chosen his path.”

“Please let me go, Awen,” Magnus said, trying to fight against the mystic’s power.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Adonis.”

“But Awen, he’s gonna get himself killed! You’ve gotta let me go.”

“I won’t.” Even within the Unity, her voice broke up with emotion. “I love you, so I won’t.”

Magnus opened his mouth but couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“Go,” Titus yelled. “You’ve got sixty seconds!” The turret pivoted, and Titus blasted Marines across the beach. The M109 tore through armor, popped off helmets, and detonated energy mags.

“Let him go, Adonis,” Awen said, more softly this time. “He’s doing this to save us, and you wouldn’t want anyone to stop you if the roles were reversed.”

As much as Magnus hated to admit it, Awen was right on both counts. He started to backpedal and found his legs unlock from the sand. He watched as Titus dropped Marines with unparalleled accuracy. Then the gladia turned toward the additional incoming APCs and fired on the Marines as they emptied the Rhinos.

Azelon backed the shuttle in for a second time, and the gladias piled onboard, assisting Jules and Balin first.

“No hero splick, Titus,” Magnus said over comms.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Titus replied as his weapon glowed red in the morning light. Under his withering assault, the Marines used the APCs as cover, and then fired at Titus. His personal shield took several direct hits before the only thing left between Titus and his aggressors was his Novian armor and the weapon’s metal defense plate.

The enemy fire teams also fired on the XTS shuttle, threatening to disable the repulsors and main engine thrusters. Magnus returned fire as he walked backward, but the enemy numbers were too significant. He was the last to climb up the ramp, ducking inside the cargo bay as the shuttle lifted away from the beach. When he lost visual, he tapped into Titus’s feed and watched the Marines close on his position. Several blaster rounds shook Titus’s body. His hands fell away from the M109’s dual handles—but only for a moment. His right hand reached for the grips, followed by his left. But the movement was slow, and Magnus saw Titus’s blood pressure and heart rate spike.

“Titus,” Magnus yelled as the shuttle pulled away from the city.

“You know how it is, LT.” Titus coughed as the M109 finally went dry. “Sometimes, love for your team—makes you—makes you do stupid splick.”

Titus’s helmet jerked back as his camera pointed straight up in the air. The BATRIG’s two remaining VWMs blasted skyward, pulled high-G 180º turns, and then returned to the beach. Magnus felt the explosions from inside the shuttle as Titus’s feed went to static. He punched the cargo bay wall with his gauntlet and lowered his head.

“Everyone, please hold on,” Azelon said over the company channel.

“What’s going on, Azie,” Magnus asked as he made his way to the bridge.

“More ships from Third Fleet are preparing to fire.”

Magnus caught his breath. “Ships? As in, many?”

“That is correct, sir.”

TO-96 popped up in a comms window. “I place your chances of survival at less than—”

“I’m better off not knowing this time, ’Six,” Magnus said.

“That’s probably for the best, sir, because they’re extremely low.”

“I said, I’m better off not—”

“Perhaps the lowest you’ve ever had in all the time we’ve known each other.”

“Dammit, ’Six!”

“Strikes imminent,” Azelon said. “Prepare for impact.”

28

A single LO9D strike could temporarily knock out electronics for a few seconds. But with the number of hits that Capriana had just endured, the resulting EMP could be catastrophic.

Correction—was catastrophic. Fortunately, his bioteknia eyes were shielded against such attacks, but little else was, including the shuttle’s flight systems.

The vessel’s nose pitched down as white light hit the vessel from behind. Magnus slammed into the bridge’s floor and watched through the front window as a pale-lit ocean raced to meet him. A feeling of helplessness tightened around his chest as warning indicators went dead across the instrument panel. The shuttle lost orientation, and all flight systems went down.

“Brace for impact,” Magnus yelled, but then realized his HUD was also down. He flipped up his visor and roared into the cargo bay, but he wasn’t sure if anyone heard him. So he closed his visor, braced himself against the console with his legs, and then grabbed onto crash couch bases. The shuttle careened toward the ocean with only the sound of the wind beating against the hull. No thrusters. No repulsors. No control surfaces. Just open air, and then—

Impact.

Magnus’s knees buckled, and his head whipped forward. He heard things crack in his head, but couldn’t tell if it was the craft, his suit, or his body. Everything went black. Magnus hoped he was unconscious, but the pain shooting down his spine told him he was very much alive—buried in ocean water that surged through the ship as the shuttle plummeted into the abyss. He tried to find a point of light, tried to see which way the bubbles were traveling. But all was black, and his efforts were pointless. Inertia pinned him against the ship as it sank deeper. There would be no escaping this deathtrap until it settled on the ocean’s floor.

All the way down, Magnus felt the frustration of not being able to communicate with his team. How many of his unit were awake? How many had been knocked unconscious? And how many weren’t ever coming back? He fought the panic that tried to smother him—tried to overwhelm his reason centers. He might make it out alive if he could think clearly.

Focus, Adonis. Just stay focused.

He felt his lungs expand and contract. This meant he had air in his rebreather unit. That was good. He could survive at depth for several minutes, maybe even an hour, depending on the pressure.

His body felt dry, except for the sweat on his forehead and against his chest. This meant his suit hadn’t endured a catastrophic breach.

And he could move despite having no idea which way was up. That meant he had a chance of freeing himself from the death trap once it settled.

The ship jerked to a halt. They had finally hit the ocean floor. Inky blackness swirled around him. Magnus bumped into the bridge’s crash couches and then used the seatbacks to orient himself. As far as he could tell, the shuttle was resting on its belly—which makes things easier, Magnus thought to himself.

Next, his thoughts turned toward his team. He needed to find survivors and then help them get to the surface. Magnus spun toward the aft and pushed himself into the cargo bay. A helmet bumped into his, but he couldn’t see who it was. He remembered the torch on his hip and pulled it off. When he activated the light, Doc’s lifeless face appeared. Magnus jerked back. The medic’s visor was cracked, and his helmet was filled with water and blood.

Fearing others might be dead, Magnus swept the light beam through the cargo bay. Everything was bathed in a lurid green-blue haze, and bodies floated everywhere. His first thought was to find Awen, but there was no time to be partial, only practical. He called out, but his HUD was still down. So he gritted his teeth and started a manual inspection of each body.

The first person he rolled over was Dutch. Her eyes were closed, so he shook her—gently at first. Within a few seconds, her eyes fluttered open. Magnus shined the light in his face for her, temporarily blinding himself. But the last thing he needed was for her to panic, so it was best to assure her that at least one other person in this rig was okay. Dutch nodded, and then righted herself. She grabbed her own light and followed Magnus’s lead to search for survivors.

Movement caught Magnus’s attention from above. A pair of unarmored legs kicked below an air pocket. The civilians—he’d completely forgotten about them. Magnus pushed off the cargo bay floor and surged upward until his head popped above the surface.

“What the hell?” a woman said, pushing away. It was Jules. Blood poured from a cut on her head, but she was alive.

Magnus flipped his visor up. “Jules, it’s me, Magnus.”

“Great. That means nothing to me.”

“I’m Zoll’s commander.”

Jules swore. “The bastard in the mech?”

“Yeah. We gotta get you out of here.”

“Not without them,” she said and pointed to two bodies hanging from a cargo net. It was Balin and Giyel. By the looks of it, Jules had wedged their arms into the webbing to keep their heads above water. They were unconscious and bleeding from head wounds—which meant their hearts were probably still pumping.

“Alive?” Magnus asked.

“For now,” she replied. “You got any big plans?”

“Big plans?” Magnus squinted. “To get out of here?”

“No, for the weekend. Of course, to get out of here! What the hell’s the matter with you?”

Magnus shook his head in amazement. “Just sit tight. We’re still looking for survivors.”

“If I’m not here, I’ll be on the Lido deck reading a magazine.”

Magnus raised an eyebrow, closed his visor, and dropped below the surface again. Seeing Balin and Giyel made him think about Awen, but Magnus knew if he weren’t careful, he’d panic, and panic was the fastest way to die.

Slow is smooth. Smooth is fast, Magnus reminded himself. Save the ones you can, move on to the next.

Two large bodies were still strapped in their crash couches while a third looked wedged against a bulkhead. He loosened someone’s arm from their chest belt and shined his light into their helmet. It was Abimbola. His eyes fluttered open at the light. Magnus lit his own face again and then watched the Miblimban nod. Abimbola turned to the person on his left—one of the Jujari, based on size—while Magnus floated over to a gladia wedged against the bulkhead.

It was Awen.

Magnus’s heart thumped in his ears as he shined the light in her eyes, trying to get her to wake up. She had to wake up.

“Come on, Awen,” Magnus said. “Wake up.” He shook her shoulder and tapped the torch on her visor. “Come on, baby. You gotta wake up.”

Suddenly, her eyes opened in a panic. Her left arm struck Magnus in the head while her knee met his groin. Had it not been for the armor, he’d have been doubled over. Instead, Magnus tried to fend off her attacks while shining the torch in his face. The beating continued for a few seconds. Then Awen’s movements slowed, and she grabbed Magnus’s helmet, pressing her visor against his.

He saw her lips move, saying his name, but he couldn’t hear anything. He tapped the side of his head, hoping she’d notice that her own HUD was out. Recognition dawned on her face.

“Magnus?” she asked inside his head.

“Hey there.”

“Are you—what happened? Is everyone—”

“We got hit by a shockwave. Orbital strikes.”

“Capriana.” Awen tensed. “Oh, mystics. The city.”

Magnus nodded as a wave of grief swept over him. But this was not the time to mourn. They needed to get out. “You good? Are you hurt?”

“I don’t think so. Just—scared.” Awen continued holding his helmet, staring into his eyes. “But I’m okay.”

“Good. We need to get—”

“Have you found my parents?” Awen looked around the cargo bay, but the effort was pointless without a light in her hand.

“Yes,” Magnus said, trying to pull her back. “And they’re alive. For now.”

“Where?”

He shined his light toward the air pocket where Jules trod water. “The sea skimmer chick saved them.”

“Thank the mystics.”

“Listen, is there anything you can do to, you know, help us?”

Awen paused. Her eyes darted around the ship. “I’m—I’m not sure, Magnus. I’ve never—I mean, what should—”

“Hey, relax. Breathe.”

Awen took in two deep breaths.

“We need to get to the surface.” Magnus stared into her eyes. “And there’s enough air in our suits to get that part done. But we still have your parents and the skimmer chick.”

Awen seemed to think about the situation for a second. “I suppose I could create some sort of bubble around them? But I’ve never done that before.”

“Awen, in the time I’ve known you, it seems you’re always attempting things that no one has ever done.”

She smiled at him and then pressed her helmet against his again. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Me too, but about you.”

The ship lurched. Magnus reached for the bulkhead and looked back at Awen. “Was that you?”

“No.” Awen grabbed some webbing. “What’s happening?”

“We’re falling.” Magnus imagined the ship sliding off a shelf or dropping into a sinkhole. The only problem was that his and Awen’s bodies were pushed into the floor. “No—we’re—we’re rising.”

The ship lurched again, this time in a definite upward direction. Awen held onto Magnus as the shuttle ascended. He glanced toward the bridge to see if some sort of flight system had engaged, but the consoles were as black as before. The only explanations he came up with were crazy ones—like images of a giant Midnoric balloon whale dropping grappling hooks from their mouths and hoisting the ship. But that was as ridiculous as it was improbable.

“Something’s grabbed the ship,” Magnus said, which was as simple a conclusion as he could draw. “Maybe a rescue boat?” But that seemed just as improbable. Given how much damage they’d taken, Magnus doubted anything else had survived on the surface for kilometers.

“No, it isn’t a rescue boat,” Awen said. “Not even close.” Her voice sounded like it was filled with wonder—as if she were speaking of a new present or a miraculous revelation.

The light in the water was growing brighter. The surface was near. “What is it?” Magnus asked.

“It’s Piper,” Awen said, grabbing Magnus’s helmet again. “It’s Piper, Magnus. She’s here.”

“But—how?”

“I’m not sure but—”

“Are you there, Mr. Lieutenant Magnus, sir?”

Magnus froze, eyes locked on Awen’s. “Did you hear that?” He looked away. “Piper? Is that you?”

“Of course it’s me, Mr. Lieutenant Magnus,” Piper said.

“Piper!” Magnus looked at Awen. “It’s Piper!”

“I know,” Awen replied.

Magnus couldn’t tell whether it was because they were underwater or not, but he thought he saw tears in Awen’s eyes. “Piper, what’s going on?”

“You don’t have to worry, Mr. Lieutenant Magnus. I’m here to rescue you. Like in my dream. Well, my new dream, where I rescue you.” She giggled. “It’s fun, right?”

“Piper, where is here? Where are you right now?”

“You’ll see.”

The water around outside continued to lighten the closer the ship got to the surface. Soon, Magnus could see the cargo hold without his torch. To his amazement, it seemed like everyone but Doc was alive.

“You should probably hold onto something,” Piper said.

Magnus nodded at Awen and then grabbed a handful of webbing. The ship ascended until the hull breached the surface. A deep sucking sound followed by several thunks shook the vessel as air and light rushed in. At first, Magnus thought it was the sun. In the distance, however, he could see fire.

It was Capriana, burning like the surface of the sun, stretching from north to south as far as he could see.

Magnus caught his breath. He tried to think of some curse to mutter or some sinister prayer to hurl at the cosmos, but nothing seemed adequate. Words fell short. The city looked like the charred skeleton of an ancient beast that clawed its way from hell to seek refuge in the sky. But its ankles were bound in the depths as if the sea would swallow it whole.

The civilian transport ships that had managed to escape the city and survive the blasts were faced with a new threat—orbital bombardment from ship-to-ship cannon fire. Moldark was not content with demolishing the city, it seemed. He wanted everyone dead, including those who thought they’d made it out alive. Large-caliber blaster rounds appeared from the upper atmosphere and picked off hundreds of vessels, zapping them from the sky like mosquitos.

Then Magnus remembered Bosworth’s wrist relay. He knelt in the water as a strong current pulled on his body. Water raced toward openings in the bridge, and along the aft ramp, the higher the ship rose from the sea. If he didn’t act fast, Bosworth’s hand might be swept out of the vessel along with Granther Company’s only hope of surviving a direct cannon strike.

Magnus plunged into the water, eyes darting left and right in a wild attempt to find the bracelet. He peered under crash couches, looked in nooks and bulkheads, all while trying to think where the grotesque memento might have gone to.

The bridge, he thought to himself. Of course, that was also the part of the ship that had suffered the most damage—where water was gushing out of the craft. His heart sank as he considered the very real possibility that the item had been lost to the sea. In which case, they’d all need to dive in the ocean and abandon Piper’s heroic but miscalculated rescue mission. Perhaps the Fang would be fast enough to get to orbit and escape the Super Dreadnaughts, but anything else was doomed.

As Magnus searched the bridge, he could feel the dread start to creep into his chest. How had they come so far only to die over the loss of a simple bracelet? The frustration was palpable, and he cursed the ambassador and his plump little wrist. Then again, the EMP from the LO9D blasts would have knocked it out too—unless it was shielded, Magnus thought, knowing that particular high-grade emergency hardware was built to withstand all manner of interference.

A single LED blinked in a crevice under the central console. Magnus caught his breath and then flowed with the outgoing water until he slammed into the panel. He fought against the current, bracing his legs and back against the captain’s crash couch, and then reached under the console. The ambassador’s fat fingers brushed against his gauntlet, but they were enough to hold onto. Then Magnus pulled until the pudgy bracelet-covered wrist in front of his visor. “Gotcha.”

Magnus stood and fought against the current to assess the rest of the team. Across the hold, Jules struggled to keep the dau Lothlinium’s bodies secure. But the sudden disturbance seemed to rouse Balin. He coughed and looked around, frantic. Jules tried her best to calm him, but he struggled in the netting and threatened to hurt himself, especially as the water level dropped. In a moment, Awen’s parents would be dangling from the ceiling.

Magnus flipped up his visor. “Help get them down,” he yelled for anyone who could hear him. Dutch was closest, as was Czyz, so they both assisted Jules in lowering Balin and Giyel to the shuttle’s floor.

“Say, say, whaddya got there, sir, Mr. Lieutenant, sir?” Cyril asked Magnus, his teeth chattering, probably from the cold water that had flooded his helmet.

Magnus looked at the bloodied stump in his hand. “This old thing?” He grinned at Cyril. “It’s our insurance policy.”

“Weird. Because it totally totally looks like Mordan Products interplanetary relay beacon. Third gen, I’m guessing. And with it still on whoever’s wrist you hacked the arm off of, I’d say it’s exactly like the scene in Ultra Commando III when Sal Viceman cuts off Dictator Diplarioth’s—”

“Can you catch me up on that later, pal?”

“Sure, sure, Mr. sir, sir. No problem.”

The sound of rushing water turned to that of waterfalls. Magnus glanced out the bridge window—the ship was a few meters above sea level. He still could not figure out what was going on. “Is everyone all right?”

“We lost Doc,” Awen said, kneeling in the water beside the medic’s body.

Magnus nodded. “Everyone else okay?”

“I think we’re all good,” Dutch said. “But what’s happening to the ship?”

“It’s Piper,” Magnus replied. “Don’t ask me how, but it’s her.”

“Piper?” Rohoar said from under his raised visor. “Rohoar does not witness any Piper here. Where is she?”

All at once, a Fang dropped into view, silhouetted by the fiery horizon. “Right here, everyone!” Piper’s voice sounded out over external speakers. “Hi!”

The first rays of sunlight from the east fell on the Fang’s cockpit, and Magnus caught a glimpse of Piper’s smiling face behind the window. “Are you—are you flying a starfighter?”

“No, of course not, silly,” she replied with a light-hearted laugh. “Ricio is.”

“Hey there,” Ricio said, struggling to sit up underneath Piper. Magnus could barely make out his face, but it was him.

Magnus waved. “Thanks, Ricio.”

“Mr. Lieutenant Magnus says thanks, Mr. Ricio,” Piper said.

“Not a problem,” Rico replied over the speakers.

“So, the tiny human is doing this?” Rohoar asked, spreading his hands across the cargo hold.

“Yes,” Awen replied, her voice still filled with amazement. “She most certainly is.”

“And whaddya got there, LT?” Dutch asked, pointing toward Bosworth’s hand.

“Consider it a good luck charm.”

“Whatever you say, boss.”

* * *

Azelon’s second shuttle arrived less than ten minutes later, and everyone transferred into it while Piper kept the damaged shuttle aloft. Once inside, the child let the damaged ship fall into the sea, which soaked Magnus’s feet with a spray of saltwater. He walked up the ramp and punched the button to seal the lock, but not before casting a sorrowful look at Capriana.

“So many lives,” Awen said, holding his arm.

“Too many,” Magnus replied. Every island in the atoll had taken one if not more direct LO9D hits. The loss was—was what? Unprecedented, certainly. Magnus had never heard of anything so devastating. There was not a chapter in Galactic Republic history that recorded an entire fleet collectively firing their cannons on a planet like this—let alone their own capital.

But the loss was more than unprecedented. It was unspeakable. Never in the Galaxy’s history had so many lives been snuffed out at once. He tried to calculate the population of Capriana’s atoll alone, but the figure alluded him—it was millions. Hundreds of millions.

Even as Magnus thought about the number, more streams of light appeared from the sky and plunged to the surface far in the distance. They came like bolts of lightning, searing the atmosphere and detonating the ground. An orb of light billowed from each strike, expanding into the sky like bubbles of fire unwilling to burst.

The ramp sealed shut.

“This is genocide,” Magnus whispered, feeling his teeth clench.

“Moldark,” Awen whispered.

It seemed unfathomable that one person, one being, could will so much destruction. How anyone could be entrusted with so much power was one thing, but how that person could wield it so terribly was another.

Moldark, Magnus realized, was not a person, or even a being. It was evil personified.

“We must stop him,” Magnus said. “We have got—” He choked on his words. “We’ve got—”

“We will, Magnus.” Awen laid her head against his arm. “We will.”

As Magnus turned to hold Awen, he realized something else that he hadn’t before—not that there had been much time for reflection. The Galactic Republic was gone.

29

“Direct hits on the planet, sirs,” Teloni said. “Estimated casualties at—”

Seaman followed DiAntora by glancing at the sensors officer. “Teloni,” DiAntora said with an edge in her tone.

Teloni looked up, but the look in her eyes communicated everything Seaman needed to know. “80%, Captain. And rising.”

Seaman’s mind went numb with implications. The entire population of Capriana was in the hundreds of millions. And there were still more islands to go on other parts of the planet. And then there was the senatorial alliance of worlds that was—gone. The Forum Republic, CENTCOM—all of it, gone.

“Your orders, Commodore?” DiAntora asked.

Just then, Seaman realized this wasn’t about defending Capriana anymore—she was gone. Neither was it about disabling cannons or trying to impede Republic ships. This was about wiping out a source of unspeakable evil. He must stop the monster at the Labyrinth’s helm and anyone who joined him.

“Destroy those ships,” Seaman said. “Destroy Third Fleet!”

“We’re detecting movement from Second Fleet,” Teloni said. “Weapons systems powering up.”

“Finally,” Seaman said.

“Not so fast,” DiAntora said, pointing to the main display.

Seaman snapped his head and saw the ships turning to face First Fleet. “They’re—” He could hardly believe his eyes. “They’re joining in this insanity?”

“It seems so, sir.”

Seaman went back to his holo windows and—to his dismay—added all of Second Fleets ships to the target roster. This felt like Republic war-games gone wrong. He remembered targeting friendly vessels in training exercises, where the coders had given target ships fake monikers and bogus system alignments. But this wasn’t an exercise—this was all too real.

The knot in Seaman’s stomach reached such a level that he could hardly breathe, and he was about to vomit. The Republic was no more, and the Fleets were imploding. He could not imagine a worse scenario—only that he would live to tell of it. This can’t be happening, he said to himself but dared not share his anxiety with his crew. Then a hand touched Seaman’s shoulder, and a wave of warmth spread down his chest. His head jerked in shock, not from any pain, but from the sudden relief he felt.

“It’s all right,” DiAntora said just above the sound of her purring.

Seaman heard that Sekmit had particular calming abilities but had never been subject to them. Until now, he’d supposed it was more myth than not. But as his anxieties ebbed and his clarity of mind returned, Seaman would never again doubt the rumors, knowing they were anything but myth.

When DiAntora removed her hand, Seaman looked her in the eyes and whispered, “Thank you, Lani.”

She dipped her head. “My pleasure, Commodore.”

Seaman looked back at his holo displays and swallowed. With a clear head, he reconfigured defensive positions and then added more targets to the attack priority list. With Second Fleet’s addition of five carriers and forty-five support ships to Third Fleet’s resources, they exceeded Seaman’s seventy-six starships by six. But where First Fleet still had an advantage was in starfighters, outgunning Second and Third Fleets’ ninety Talons by seventy-five. Seaman felt that if there were to be any victory, it would come by way of the starfighters.

“What are your orders, sir?” DiAntora asked.

“Take out the remaining LO9D cannons,” Seaman said. “We must minimize damage to what remains of the planet. Then have the starfighters target all communications. I don’t want them talking to one another. Once that’s accomplished, we’ll hit their sensor arrays to get them flying blind. And if we can keep any more civilian vessels from getting shot down, do it. But I don’t want any ships leaving this system. It ends here.”

“Understood, sir.”

Seaman packaged the orders and sent them to the appropriate ships. Not having to verbally command his units according to the old conventions meant not having to parse the myriad of details associated with such tactically complex missions and sub-missions. The result was more time to strategize in anticipation of the enemy’s ever-changing actions.

DiAntora didn’t waste a moment. She engaged the first Battleship on her objectives list, the Independence, targeting its comms array as well as its forward torpedo bays—she would leave the LO9Ds for the fighters. The Fortuna’s consolidated blaster fire beat a hole through the forward shield, allowing DiAntora’s weapons officer a limited opportunity to assail the torpedo bays. The result was a chain reaction that rippled across the ship’s nose, taking out several decks and hampering the Independence’s attack capabilities.

At the same time, two Talon squadrons ran strafing runs beneath the Battleship, slicing along its belly like a knife. But their primary targets were the Battleship’s two LO9Ds—one amidships, the other aft. Concentrated blaster fire from their NR330 and T-100 cannons disabled both LO9Ds in quick succession. Assigning two squadrons to the objective was overkill. Still, Seaman liked that DiAntora kept the starfighters together, allowing them to not only guard one another but move on to the next objective quickly.

DiAntora finished the Battlecruiser with two torpedoes delivered to the communications array housed just under the stern-mounted bridge tower. The resulting explosion not only disabled the ship’s ability to connect with the rest of the fleets but caused secondary explosions that rippled into the command center. While its hull integrity was still high, the Independence was out of commission and would soon succumb to the pull of Prime’s gravity.

Two Destroyers—the Williamson and Calatain’s Freedom—became unintentional casualties of taking down the Independence. Since both vessels were tasked with escorting the Battleship, the Williamson suffered a hull breach when the Independence’s forward torpedo bays were destroyed. Shrapnel and unexpended munitions buried themselves in the smaller Destroyer’s port side. Warheads detonated, ripping holes in the upper decks and taking out critical life support systems.

While Calatain’s Freedom avoided both direct and indirect fire, it did find itself in the Battlecruiser’s path as the larger starship careened toward Prime’s atmosphere. The Destroyer’s captain realized only too late that it couldn’t get out of the way. Subsequent attempts to divert power to engines resulted in the Freedom hooking itself around the Independence, binding it to the Battlecruiser’s hull. Seaman nodded at DiAntora—speed, luck, pilot error, and fire superiority had just combined to make quick work of three warships.

DiAntora had already instructed her wing commander to send her two Talon squadrons toward the Limitless Reach—a Super Dreadnaught along Third Fleet’s front edge to orbital north. Seaman watched as the Talons split up to take on the Reach’s fighters. But DiAntora’s twenty-eight fighter contingent had the numeric advantage. Not only did the Fortuna’s Talons take out three enemy fighters in the opening seconds, but two of the Reach’s five LO9Ds were obliterated with help from Ardent Eclipse’s second squadron. The fighters buzzed around the Reach like Helmordian kite raptors on a kill.

DiAntora directed primary cannon fire to the Limitless Reach’s underside, taking advantage of the enemy captain’s overestimate of direct fire to the bow. As a result, amidship shields were under capacity and buckled quickly under the Fortuna’s withering barrage. A second and third LO9D took direct fire, detonating in bright displays of free energy left over from the weapons’ storage cells.

But even with the rapid assault on Second and Third Fleets, the enemy ships still managed more LO9D strikes against the surface. The blasts burned holes through the atmosphere and pummeled islands as if the ancient gods of past civilizations had summoned the energy of the sun in judgment of the mortals’ crimes. Fireballs billowed over the islands as the strike’s shockwaves raced across the open seas.

The inhabitants of Capriana Prime weren’t the only casualties. First Fleet lost the Dreadnaught Octavia II in a coordinated Talon strike comprised of four squadrons. The starfighters focused all their fire on the aft engineering decks, drilling into the core. The detonation fractured the stern and cleaved it from the ship, killing over half the crew in seconds.

Another Dreadnaught, the Enduring Hope, lost its bridge tower while charging Second Fleet’s Dreadnaught, the Breedlove. The Hope had tried to navigate under the Breedlove in an attempt to take out its LO9D cannons. Sensing the maneuver but without the proper distance to target critical systems, the Breedlove decided on a more drastic defense—one that damaged its foremost decks by pitching down and driving its bow into the enemy’s conning tower.

The Hope, critically wounded, was unable to disengage its engines and rammed with two other Second Fleet ships. The enemy vessels took substantial damage, but with the Hope so far behind enemy lines it was quickly set upon and destroyed. Seaman winced as the starship exploded, showering nearby ships with massive chunks from its hull.

The most dramatic losses, however, came by way of the enemy LO9D cannons.

The Dreadnaught Cortisan Dawn maneuvered into position as Seaman prescribed, blocking direct planetary fire from Third Fleet’s Jericho’s Triumph. But the Triumph had no intention of tiptoeing around the Dawn to line up its shot against the planet. Instead, it charged its cannons and fired a single LOD9 round into the Dawn amidship. The vessel exploded spectacularly, first by way of two orbs of fire that emanated above and below the impact point. The hull ruptured from inside-out as the top and bottom decks flowered into hard vacuum. Finally, the titanic wave of energy rippled across the surface until it erupted out the Dawn’s sides in all directions. Only a trace of the original round’s energy made it to the surface, but it was lost amidst the sea, far from its intended planet-side target—if it had any to begin with, Seaman noted.

Jericho’s Triumph’s action wasn’t without repercussions. That much energy in such close proximity was more than the enemy Dreadnaught had probably bargained for. Shrapnel berated the Triumph’s belly like a fragmentation detonator trapped under a Marine’s gut. Seaman had seen such infantry horrors relayed via holo feed before, but never in person. He supposed this was the closest he’d ever come to seeing a ship suffer a corollary fate. Thousands of small punctures riddled the Dreadnaught’s underside—none of which were fatal by themselves. But taken collectively, the Triumph hemorrhaged air, energy, and sailors into hard vacuum. While the starship wasn’t necessarily “dead in the water,” it certainly was out of the fight, including all of its belly-mounted LO9D cannons. Like every other disabled ship this close to Prime, it would share the fate of tearing through the planet’s atmosphere and colliding with the surface. It was only a matter of time.

Second Fleet’s Telmadorian was another enemy Dreadnaught to fire its LO9Ds on one of Seaman’s ships. Whether just the circumstances of the two ships’ positions or that the enemy ship learned from the Triumph's mistake, the Telmadorian was farther from its victim before firing two orbit-to-surface rounds. The target was Seaman’s Battleship the Pride of Albertan, which took one round to the bow and the other to the bridge. The blasts breached the ship in half, folding the ends down as if pulled by too much weight. Still, the resulting explosions struck local ships with debris and took out several unlucky Talons.

The Triumph’s and Telmadorian’s use of LO9D cannons against other starships revealed an element of desperation that Seaman was not expecting. The acts were brutal, to be sure. But the fact that commanders had diverted so far from the rules of engagement—both in firing on Prime and other warships—spoke of immense collective anxiety. While the two Fleets’ combined resources were more than a challenge for First Fleet, Seaman couldn’t help but feel that Moldark was losing control. Perhaps his men were coming unnerved too—coming to grips with what they’d done. Such brutal and indiscriminate violence wasn’t human. Genocide was a fetish of monsters.

And all monsters need to be stopped, Seaman thought. But with the Black Labyrinth retreating further into the safety of the other fleets, Seaman felt his opportunity for cutting off the snake’s head slipping away from him. Inwardly, he hoped that the opposing captains would come to their senses and wake up from whatever stupor Moldark had put them in. He hoped they would turn on the venomous leader and put an end to this insanity. After all, when Moldark was done with Prime, what was the next system he would assault?

“Nooo,” Seaman said under his breath as two Dreadnaughts closed over the limping Labyrinth. He clenched his fists. The very thought of Moldark escaping to decimate some other world made Seaman sick to his stomach. He’d rather plow the Fortuna into the Labyrinth’s conning tower and sacrifice his entire crew before letting that ship get away. But Seaman knew he’d be taken out before he ever got the chance. “No!”

“Sirs,” Teloni said from her sensors console. “We’re picking up significant weapons fire from a new location.”

“From where?” Seaman spun on Teloni and strode toward her console.

“From behind the enemy fleets, Commodore. And they seem to be attacking…” Teloni paused as if to double-check her readings. “On the Labyrinth.”

DiAntora looked at Seaman. “But we have no ships in that direction.”

“That’s correct,” Seaman replied. “Teloni, can you give me a visual?”

“Yes, sir.” Teloni busied herself on three different holo screens, attempting to clarify an image. “On screen, sir.”

What Seaman saw on the main holo display baffled him. An alien vessel, the likes of which he’d never seen, appeared on the far side of the conflict, pouring weapons fire at Third Fleet. Specifically, on the Black Labyrinth. Additionally, it deployed several starfighter squadrons of unknown configuration as well as dozens of unidentified vessels.

“Someone tell me what we’re looking at,” Seaman said without taking his eyes from the main display. It was hard to make out the details since enemy ships continued to pass in and out of the heavily zoomed image and obscure the foreign vessels.

“I think I see a decommissioned Sypeurlion Jackal-class fighter,” said the weapons officer, speaking as though unsure of the information’s help.

“And an old Wilda-class starfighter,” the navigation officer said.

“That yellow ship appears to be a modified Gull-class heavy freighter,” Teloni added. “In fact, most of those ships seem to be retrofitted.”

“So what you’re telling me is that they’re not flying for any one particular faction,” Seaman said, looking back at the sensors officer.

Teloni nodded, but with a sense of reservation. “I mean, the only ships that appear to have any cohesion are those alien starfighters.”

“And you don’t have a listing for them?”

“Negative, sir. The only—wait.”

“What is it?” Seaman and DiAntora moved behind Teloni’s console.

“We’ve seen these fighters before, but at a distance.”

Seaman studied Teloni’s results. “Over Oorajee.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You think they’re Jujari?” DiAntora asked him.

“I don’t know what they are, but they attacked Third Fleet before, and now they’ve followed it from Oorajee. Which means—”

“They’re tracking Moldark.”

Seaman nodded. “I don’t know how, and right now, I don’t care. All I know is they seem to be on our side.” He turned back to his holo screens and started regrouping ships and aligning new target priorities. “DiAntora, let’s help clear a path to the Labyrinth for those ships.”

The Sekmit whipped her tail once. “Aye-aye, Commodore.”

30

“Granther Company has reached low orbit, Colonel,” Azelon said. She stood beside Caldwell on the bridge, eyes darting between several holo screens.

“What’s their ETA, Smarty Pants?” Caldwell replied.

“Eleven minutes, twenty-one seconds until safely onboard the Spire, sir.”

Caldwell studied the main holo, monitoring the Republic Fleet’s movements. First Fleet engaged Second and Third Fleets, as per Willowood’s forecast. The sage mystic had employed her entire company to work alongside Piper in the hopes of winning over the Repub’s largest fleet. And it seemed to work. First Fleet was repositioning themselves to act as a blockade between Moldark’s ships and the planet. The strategy was desperate and risky, but the right choice if the Fleet Commander wanted to save more lives.

“Whoever’s in charge of First Fleet is as brave as bare balls in a blizzard,” Caldwell said.

“But sir, what if it’s a female?” Azelon asked.

“Then she’s still got balls.”

Azelon tilted her head but did not reply.

“I want us in that fight,” Caldwell said after a moment. “They’re going to need support if they want to stop Moldark.”

“But, sir, it will take us quite a while to navigate around the battlespace in order to—”

“I don’t want to go around, sweet cheeks. We’re gonna apply pressure from the rear.”

“An ingenious strategy, sir. Split the enemy’s attention.”

“Something like that.” Caldwell turned to TO-96. “I want your squadrons driving straight through that mess. Hit the Labyrinth with everything you’ve got. No other target matters. You hear me?”

“Of course, sir,” TO-96 said with a reassuring tone. “You’re standing one meter, twenty-one centimeters from me, and speaking at ninety-two decibels. Of course, I hear you.”

“Smartass. Prepare to deploy your damn Fangs, son. And get Sootriman back out there while you’re at it. We’re gonna need as many guns in this fight as we can muster.”

“As you command, sir. All fighters are refitting now.”

“Good. Flow, Cheeks. You ready to blow some splick up?”

The former Marines grinned ear to ear behind their weapons consoles. “We thought you’d never ask, Colonel,” Flow said. “Been a hot minute since we toasted anything.”

“I hear that. Once Brass Balls’ fighters are clear of the Spire, I want you covering the squadrons’ advance. Nothing touches them. Copy?”

“Hard copy, Colonel. We’ll give ’em hell.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” Caldwell turned to Azelon. “De-cloak once the fighters are clear. I want to split the enemy’s attention and get them worried there might be more of us. I also need to know the second Magnus’s shuttle is within a safe range.”

“You will be the first to know, sir.”

“Good. Now use that magical brain of yours to help keep our fighters safe.”

“My magical brain, sir?”

“It’s a term of endearment,” TO-96 said with a consoling tone.

“Consider me endeared,” Azelon replied with a nod of her chin.

Caldwell withdrew a plasma lighter from his pocket and rolled the tip of his cigar through the blue flame. Satisfied with the pre-light, he placed the cigar back in his mouth and toked several puffs until he could draw thick white smoke. “Time to kick ass, people.”

* * *

Ezo had barely enough time to hit the head while his Fang got refit. He’d been able to splash some water in his face, down a protein sup bar, and then return to the hangar bay. He ran across the flight deck, whirling a hand in the air. “We’re going back out,” he shouted, just as the deployment alert sounded down the hangar bay. “Helmets on!” All thirty-nine Fang pilots sat upright and then bolted for their starfighters.

Sootriman waited beneath Ezo’s Fang with her hands on her hips. “And just where do you think you’re headed, husband?”

“You didn’t hear? Caldwell’s ordered a full assault on the Labyrinth. ’Six says you and the Magistrates are needed too.”

“Oh, I heard. It just seems like you were planning on leaving me again without some sugar.”

Ezo blushed. “Sugar?”

Sootriman leaned down and kissed him. Whatever expectations Ezo had of a quick smooch were dashed when she grabbed his shoulders and held him in place. At first Ezo resisted the prolonged affection, but soon warmed to it as the kiss became more impassioned. Sootriman finally let go, but Ezo’s lips were still puckered.

“What was that for?” he asked.

“To remind you to stay alive out there.”

“I might need one more reminder—so I don’t forget.”

She smiled at him. “There’s plenty more when we get back to Ki Nar Four.”

Ezo stood up a little straighter. “You know, I’ve been so preoccupied with winning, with surviving, that I think I’ve forgotten about…”

“About life after war?”

Ezo nodded.

“Me too,” Sootriman said. “But we can’t forget. The whole reason we’re fighting is because we have something to go back to.”

“And there are only so many tax incentives you can give your Magistrates before they—”

“Start throwing it in my face. Trust me, they already have.”

The two of them shared a laugh before the sound of Fangs starting up brought them back to the seriousness of the moment.

“I miss it,” Ezo said, his eyes looking off in the near distance. “Not just life before all this. I mean, I miss life with you.” He shook his head. “It’s weird how all this has brought us together again. All this fighting.”

“It does have its place.” She reached out, grabbed Ezo’s flight suit, and pulled him close. “But you and I? We’re not professional soldiers. Not like the others. So when this is over, we have a life to make together.”

“Ezo copies.”

“No, not Ezo. You.”

Ezo nodded. “I copy.”

Sootriman held him there a moment longer and then kissed him again. When she was done, she released him and walked away. “Let’s finish this.”

* * *

Ricio flew beneath the XTS shuttle’s shadow all the way out of orbit, as per Magnus’s instructions. From what he gathered, Magnus’s ship had been marked “friendly” to Moldark and would not suffer the same fate as every other transport trying to make orbit. Ricio felt it was best simply to comply and ask questions later. All that mattered was that Piper’s rescue mission had been a success, and everyone was making it back to the Spire in one piece. Had Willowood not threatened Ricio to take her, he never would have signed on for the wild idea, but he knew better than to cross the mystics, no matter their age or size.

“Sir, this is TO-96,” the bot said, appearing in Ricio’s HUD.

“I can see that, but thanks for the heads up, ’Six.”

TO-96 nodded. “As soon as Piper is back inside the Spire, your orders are to refuel, rearm, and then deploy with the rest of Fang Company. The Colonel has ordered an all-asset assault on the Black Labyrinth.”

“It’s about time.”

“What is?” Piper asked. Her bony elbows had been digging into his sides the whole trip.

“We’re making a run on the Labyrinth as soon as I get you back on the Spire.”

Piper seemed to hesitate. “You’re going to kill him.”

“Moldark? Hell yeah, we are.”

The child seemed to retreat into herself.

“He’s your grandfather,” Ricio said, reminding himself. “Listen, kid, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry, Mr. Ricio. He’s a bad man. And we’ve got to stop him.”

Ricio slowed as they approached the Spire’s starboard side, aiming for a forward hangar bay. “I’m still sorry, Piper. You’ve had to see more than any kid ever should.”

Ricio felt her tiny shoulders shrug. “Thanks for helping me save Awen and Mr. Lieutenant Magnus.”

“No problem, kid.”

Piper leaned forward and pulled the printed picture of Ricio’s family from the flight console. For whatever reason, it seemed she hadn’t noticed the image until just now. Perhaps the anticipation of rescuing Magnus had been too all-consuming.

“Who are they?” she asked.

“That’s my wife, Celine, and son, Arthur.”

“She’s very beautiful. And he’s handsome.”

“Thank you. That’s kind of you to say.”

“Where do they live?” she asked. “They weren’t on—down there, were they?” She pointed over her shoulder toward Prime.

“They were on Capriana, yes. But they’re safe now, heading to another system.”

Piper got quiet for a moment. “Do you love them?”

“Of course. Very much.”

“Then why did you leave them?”

“What do you mean, kid?”

“Well, you left them to fly ships and fight, right?”

“Right.” Ricio sighed. “I left them because I love them.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“No, I suppose it doesn’t.” Ricio tried to think of a different way to say what it meant for him to join the Navy. “Love is a strange thing, Piper.”

“How?”

“Well, there are lots of different ways to express it. The best way is to be close to those you love. Physically and emotionally, I mean. But you can also show people you love them by doing things to protect them, even if those actions take you far away from them physically.”

“But not emotionally.”

“Right.” He nodded and then took the picture from her and slipped it back under a bezel on the console. “So even though I’m far away right now, fighting for—” He almost said, “The Republic,” but caught himself. “Fighting for freedom, this picture reminds me that the real reason I fly, the reason I risk my life, is for them.”

“I think that’s what my daddy did for me,” Piper replied, almost inaudible.

“I wouldn’t be surprised, Piper. Not at all.”

All of a sudden, the child twisted around to look at his face. “And don’t die out there, you hear me?”

He laughed. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

“Good. ’Cause if you do, I’m gonna—”

“You’re gonna kill me yourself?”

She smiled. “Yeah.”

“Deal. Now, let’s get you back to your grandmother. Hold on.”

* * *

Caldwell watched the Fangs and Magistrate ships pour out of the Spire’s hangar bays like Limeridon azure locusts, engines burning bright against the void’s deep black. He whispered a prayer to the mystics as he watched them speed toward Labyrinth. He hoped their efforts would be enough—they had to be. They weren’t going to get another chance like this again.

First Fleet’s 74 warships and 165 Talons had paired up against Second and Third Fleet’s combined 82 warships and 75 Talons. It was as even a fight as Caldwell could imagine, set against the blue backdrop of Capriana Prime. Both sides were losing warships and starfighters at an even rate as First Fleet attempted to keep the enemy from destroying any more of Prime’s surface.

As for the Labyrinth, Moldark’s flagship was retreating—still suffering damage from the battle of Oorajee. And if Caldwell had to guess, Moldark was going to try and jump away as soon as the Labyrinth got far enough from Prime’s gravity well. As chance would have it, the Spire was blocking its way, as were eighty fighters.

“Colonel, the support ships are targeting our fighters,” Azelon said. “It seems the feline is out of the satchel.”

Caldwell eyed her. “The cat is out of the bag?”

“Whatever gives buoyancy to your water-based vessel, yes.”

“Covering fire, Smarty Pants,” Caldwell snapped, trying to keep her on task.

“Right away, sir. Also, the Black Labyrinth’s shields have been diverted to their stern.”

“Then let’s give ’em a bloody nose,” Caldwell replied. “Brass Balls, tell your ships it’s now or never. Azie, fire what you can without hitting our pilots.”

“As you command, sir,” Azelon said. “De-cloaking and preparing to fire.”

Caldwell watched as a volley of blaster fire erupted from the Spire and slammed into the Labyrinth’s defenses. “Mystics, help us.”

“And why’s that, sir?” TO-96 asked.

“I just hope it’s enough to give our starfighters the time they need.”

“It appears the mystics have heard your prayers, Colonel,” Azelon replied. “Observe.”

Caldwell squinted at the conflict’s far side as anti-ship blaster fire began targeting every vessel around Fang Company’s path toward the Labyrinth. Flashes of light encircled the starfighters as they plunged headlong into the battle’s center. “Sweet mother of Ceradian whores, would you look at that.”

* * *

Rico led Red Squadron at the Labyrinth’s nose, dodging auto-turret fire as the AI helped anticipate the enemy’s attacks. Several rounds glanced off his Fang, but his shields absorbed most of the energy, minimizing the damage. He had been more worried about flanking fire from the surrounding support ships, but a sudden barrage of covering fire from First Fleet gave them the advantage they needed.

“This is Red Leader,” Ricio said to his squadron over comms. “We’re taking the topside run. Targets displayed on your HUD.” TO-96’s tasks for them included auto-turrets and a strike against the bridge. “No matter what happens, we put rounds downrange on that command center, copy?” Green icons went down his chat window.

“Red Leader,” Gill Quo said. “Enemy fighters.”

“I see ’em, Red One. Marking.” Ricio auto assigned the ten enemy fighters to his squadron and still had four ships left over for the bridge. “Red One through Ten, break off. The rest are with me.”

Ricio accelerated as he crossed the Labyrinth’s nose, weaving toward the first point defense turrets. He fired two salvos of secondary blaster fire at the first three turrets, blowing them off the deck. Red Twelve and Thirteen took out two more, while Red Eleven absorbed a critical hit, knocking out its weapons systems.

“Red Eleven, get back to the Spire,” Ricio said.

“Negative, sir. I’m—” The Fang took three direct hits, detonating the fuselage into a torrent of superheated projectiles.

“Splick,” Ricio said, flying past an auto-turret that he’d missed. “Twelve and Thirteen, stay low and tight.”

“Roger that,” they replied.

The three Fangs wove across the foredeck, raking it with secondary blaster fire. They took out six more turrets before lining up on the bridge amidships. “Hold this line,” Ricio ordered. “Target acquired.” But before Ricio could shoot, another Talon squadron rolled up from the Labyrinth’s port side and opened fire. Red Twelve was hit from three different Talons. The Fang rolled over and drove into the Labyrinth’s deck, carving a deep furrow in the plating.

“On me,” Ricio ordered Red Thirteen. “We’re pulling out to engage those Talons.”

“Aye-aye,” Dye Vallon said. “I’m on your tail.”

* * *

“Let’s give those Fangs some support,” Sootriman said, marking new targets for her Magistrates. “Looks like Second and Third Fleet’s carriers diverted their Talons from the front lines.”

“They really like their nasty looking leader, don’t they,” Chloe said from inside her blue and black Sypeurlion Jackal-class fighter.

“I hate to disappoint them, but I say we put an end to their fetish,” Diddelwolf said—the oldest of Sootriman’s pilots. He flew a yellow Lawrence-class heavy freighter that he’d won in a lucky hand of Antaran backdraw.

“Sounds good to me,” Chloe replied.

“I want everyone staying clear of those point defense turrets,” Sootriman said. “We can do plenty of damage from here.”

“But, my Queen,” Phineas Barlow said. “We’ll manage better if we get closer.”

“Not all of us are flying a black-market Mk. I Talon like you, Barlow,” Diddelwolf said.

“You wanna go down there and risk your hide?” Sootriman added. “That’s on you. My job is to help the Gladio Umbra where we can, but it’s also to keep you alive.”

Barlow sighed. “As you wish, my queen.”

“Good. Then let’s do this.”

* * *

Caldwell watched as Sootriman’s Magistrates took on the newly arrived Talon squadrons. She provided invaluable cover for the Fangs, allowing TO-96’s squadrons to disengage from dogfighting and continue with their strafing runs against the Labyrinth. But despite First Fleet’s covering fire, more than one enemy Destroyer put rounds on target. Several of Sootriman’s starships took direct hits, casting the scene in radiant light. The bright spots burst to life for a few seconds and then collapsed into darkness—pilots and ships erased from the roster.

“Tell me you have something to shoot at, Smarty Pants,” Caldwell said.

“Yes, Colonel. Now that the fighters are congregating toward the Labyrinth’s aft, a target window has opened which satisfies the statistical likelihood that—”

“Hit that ship, dammit!”

“Yes, sir.” Azelon dipped her head, and her eyes shifted color from blue to red. Then the Spire shot out a barrage of large-caliber blaster rounds and several groupings of torpedoes.

Caldwell squinted as the ordnance streaked across space and closed on target. “Come on, baby.” He pulled his cigar from his lips. “Come on.”

Multiple light flashes emitted from the Labyrinth’s bow as the blasters took out the minimal shielding. Any unspent bolts slammed into the nose and destroyed the ship’s first few sections, blowing apart compartments and tearing through critical systems. The torpedoes arrived seconds later, boring into the holes the blaster rounds made. Without point defense turrets to thin their numbers, the torpedoes burrowed deep into the hull before exploding in a concussive force that blew the Labyrinth’s nose apart.

Caldwell let out a shout that seemed to startle Azelon and TO-96 alike. “That’s how it’s done!” He slapped the Novian bot on the back as her eyes changed back to a soft blue glow.

“This is a strange reaction,” Azelon said, looking at Caldwell and then TO-96.

“It is,” TO-96 replied. “But fitting for the elevated adrenaline and dopamine levels most humans experience in such high-intensity moments.”

“Ah,” Azelon replied. She looked back at Caldwell and then produced a loud noise, which seemed to be an exact duplication of the colonel’s voice.

“What the hell?” Caldwell said.

“I am attempting to empathize, sir.” Then she struck him between the shoulder blades, which made him gasp and drop his cigar.

* * *

“Disengage those Talons,” Rico said. “All squadrons, on me! We’re hitting that bridge.”

Sootriman’s starships had given Fang Company the relief they needed to refocus their efforts on the Labyrinth’s bridge. It wasn’t a lot of support, but it was enough—and costly too, as far as Ricio could tell. He saw several of Sootriman’s ships blink out as the Talons and gunships targeted them.

“Mystics bless you,” Ricio said under his breath. Then he double-checked Fang Company’s whereabouts and verified the target coordinates. “Open fire as soon as you’re in range!”

From Ricio’s HUD, it looked as though a swarm of mad fire wasps converged on a paralyzed ground squirrel. Now free of the Talons, the Fangs streaked in from almost every angle, each gunning for the command tower. Ricio dropped back to the deck, skimming along its length toward the stern. Above him, the bridge’s wide windowplex wall looked out across the Super Dreadnaught. Perfect view for your end, Ricio thought. His targeting reticles blinked in conjunction with all-weapons lock, and he fed the AI one word.

Fire.

At once, his Fang bucked from the violent release of missiles and energy weapons. His ship was like a viper spewing poison at its victim. The munitions crossed the short distance to the bridge as Ricio pulled perpendicular to the hull, flying straight up the tower’s face. A cloud of fire and debris exploded from the bridge. Ricio charged through it and emerged above the Labyrinth as more Fang fire decimated the bridge. He veered to one side and glanced over his shoulder just in time to witness a chain reaction of explosions work their way through the command tower. He also noticed another Dreadnaught charge the Labyrinth’s stern with a hail of torpedo fire.

* * *

The Labyrinth retreated from the front lines, but it was to be expected. Between the damage the ship had taken during the closing moments of the Battle of Oorajee, and the blows it had suffered today, Moldark’s Super Dreadnaught could not take too much more. Seaman wanted to go after it, but they were too far away. That, and it was a suicide mission. The best thing they could do was continue to provide covering fire for the brave souls who assaulted from the far side.

“Sir,” Teloni said. “The Terra Rosa. She’s charging!”

“What?” Seaman spun toward the battle map and eyed the Dreadnaught in question. Sure enough, the warship was accelerating at full burn, headed into the center of the conflict. Seaman glanced at the Captain’s name. Smalley. She was either crazy or had more courage than anyone Seaman had ever met. Perhaps a little of both.

“Visuals,” Seaman said, snapping his fingers. “On screen.” The main holo displayed a zoomed-in view that tracked the Rosa as it surged after the Labyrinth. “Mystics, she’s going for it.” How Smalley had convinced her bridge crew to go along with her spoke to her leadership capabilities—as well as the desperation that all of First Fleet presumably felt.

The Rosa released a salvo of torpedoes through the vacuum, crossing the short distance to the Labyrinth’s stern. At first, the enemy ship retaliated with a staggering volley of anti-torpedo blaster fire. Seaman wondered if there would be any torpedoes left as explosions filled the space between the two vessels. But the Rosa wasn’t done.

Most likely sensing the prize that awaited her, Captain Smalley sent every torpedo she had at the Labyrinth, exhausting the ship’s forward bays. The Rosa’s aft bay capacity indicators drained as the ship threw more torpedoes at the retreating Super Dreadnaught. Three Frigates and two Battlecruisers helped the Labyrinth target the incoming ordnance—they would not let the most notorious ship in the Paragon Navy go down without a fight. Their blaster rounds coalesced just behind the flagship’s stern in a chaotic mass of near-constant explosions.

Seaman wrote the Rosa’s assault off as noble but unsuccessful effort. Even though he could not see through the brilliant flashes of light, he knew Smalley’s attempt—though valiant—was not enough.

Then a light brighter than blaster fire and exploding torpedoes erupted on the holo screen. Seaman winced as his crew gasped. When the light diminished enough for him to see shapes again, the Labyrinth’s engines were gone—blown apart. The remnants shot away, striking other ships in the immediate vicinity. Divested of all propulsion—and also its bridge—the Labyrinth started a lazy roll to starboard.

“She’s done it,” DiAntora said, arriving at Seaman’s side. “I can’t believe—she’s done it.”

Secondary explosions started moving toward the bow. Plumes of fire blew armored plates off the top decks, shot out the landing bays along the sides, and ripped holes in the belly. Energy cells beneath cannon emplacements ruptured, popping the weapons from the hull, while air pockets filled with flammable gases burst up and down the hull.

“We’ve done it,” Seaman said, turning to face DiAntora. He grabbed her by the shoulders and—and what? He was elated, and terrified, and euphoric. And Lani was as marvelous a creature as he’d ever seen. If they survived the final exchange in the wake of the Labyrinth’s loss, he would find a patch of peace somewhere in the galaxy, and he’d ask her to marry him.

“Commodore?” she said, eyeing his hands.

“Right.” Seaman let go and smoothed her sleeves. “Forgive me. Target all remaining ships. Let’s end this.”

“Aye-aye, sir.” Then DiAntora leaned in to his ear. “Then let’s pick up where you left off.”

* * *

Caldwell stepped toward the main holo display as the Labyrinth’s stern exploded into a thousand fragments—give or take several hundred bits and pieces. “Well, I’ll be a speckled dick’s dinner,” he said with his cigar stuck in the corner of his mouth.

“A touch derogatory, isn’t it, Colonel?” Azelon said.

“I believe he’s referring to the songbird, native to Albatron Three,” TO-96 supplied.

Caldwell ignored the bots’ exchange and continued to marvel at the catastrophic display unfolding before him. It wasn’t just that a Goliath-class Super Dreadnaught was suffering a bitter death, nor that it took the Gladio Umbra, Ki Nar Four’s Magistrates, and the Galactic Republic to bring it down, but that it was Moldark’s flagship.

That sniveling bastard. He deserved this, and a thousand deaths more for the destruction he’d reigned down upon Capriana Prime. Then the Super Dreadnaught exploded, temporarily turning the holo display bright white. Caldwell raised a hand and squinted against the burst. Then, as the light faded, thousands of fragments flew off in every direction and left a gaping hole in the Paragon’s fleet formation. The Black Labyrinth was gone.

Caldwell blew out a thick cloud of smoke and then returned to the captain’s chair. “Target the next closest Dreadnaught,” he said to Azelon. “And if you can work your fancy-ass magic on commandeering any of those Talons to lend us a hand, do it.”

“It will mean less computational power in protecting our Fangs and Sootriman’s Magistrates, sir,” she replied.

“That’s fine. I don’t think they’ll need as much cover moving forward. Watch for any enemy ships looking to jump away from the system. Make those our highest priority.”

“Understood, Smoking Hot Man.”

As one, Caldwell and TO-96 turned to stare at Azelon.

“You fry a circuit or something?” Caldwell asked.

“I must concur with the Colonel’s line of questioning,” TO-96 said. “Though in slightly less antiquated terms.”

Azelon jerked back in a very human expression of genuine surprise. “He smokes, his body temperature remains above average, and he is a human male. I fail to extrapolate your negative assumptions of my new nickname for the Colonel.”

“Son of a bitch,” Caldwell said, removing his cigar. “I like it.”

“But, sir,” TO-96 said, raising his hands in protest. “The inference is that she thinks you are attractive?”

“It is?” Azelon replied.

“That settles it then,” Caldwell replied. He pointed the stump of his cigar at the Novian bot. “From now on, I’m Smoking Hot Man. Or Hottie, whichever suits you at the moment.”

TO-96 turned to Azelon. “What have you done?”

* * *

Ezo chased a Repub Talon around the topside of the Battleship, attained weapons lock, and fired his primary blasters. It took two direct hits to penetrate the shields and one more to pierce the armor plating that housed the starfighter’s drive core. The cylinder went nova and split the fuselage like an egg, propelling the pilot forward before vaporizing him.

A second Talon crossed Ezo’s path near the Battleship’s conning tower, so he rolled left and came in close. But just when Ezo was about to fire, a third Talon dropped in behind him. The first few blaster rounds from the Talons T-100s peppered Ezo’s stern, but his shields held.

Then the fire stopped.

Ezo glanced at the battle map and saw the starfighter accelerating toward him—it had the shot, yet the Talon’s guns remained silent.

“Ezo’s got one right on top of me,” he said over comms, his voice frantic. But it was a pointless request. By the time anyone got close enough to help Ezo, the enemy would toast him. The Map showed the Talon’s icon overlapping with his own. “What the hell?”

Ezo looked to port and saw the Talon pull up alongside him. The pilot pounded on his dashboard and seemed to be throwing an overall fit inside the cockpit. Without warning, the enemy fighter pulled ahead and came in behind Ezo’s latest target, and then fired a missile. The locked-on Talon attempted to avoid the shot, but the proximity didn’t allow enough time. Ezo’s ship flew through the fiery debris field before rolling over the nose, and headed back along the belly.

“What the hell was that?” Ezo said to no one in particular.

“Did my assistance startle you, Commander Ezo?” Azelon said through his neural link.

“That—that was you, Azelon?”

“Indirectly, yes. We’ll see you back aboard the Spire soon,” she said.

Ezo gave a half-smile and a quick nod of his head. “Ezo like your style, bot. No wonder ’Six likes you.”

“I do have the ability to perform many useful and pleasing tasks.”

“Okay, stop right there.”

Just then, TO-96’s voice broke over the channel. “Azelon, we need your Talons’ assistance in sector three, grids twenty-three and twenty-four.”

“I see them,” Azelon replied.

“Ezo doesn’t,” Ezo said. “What’s happening?”

“The Magistrates are taking heavy fire from three retreating Destroyers,” TO-96 said.

Ezo did the mental gymnastics required to pull up the grid in question and then reorient his Fang. “Blue Squadron, on Ezo!”

“But, sir, we have plenty—”

“Can it, ’Six. If my lady needs backup, there’s nowhere else you’re going to task me.”

“Understood, sir.”

“Is that how you feel about me?” Azelon asked TO-96.

“Answer carefully, buddy,” Ezo said to him, accelerating his Fang.

“Of course, Azelon,” TO-96 replied. “Only I would come to your aid twice as fast.”

“Good answer,” Ezo said.

But Azelon didn’t seem impressed. “That is a pity.”

Ezo studied Azelon’s face in his HUD and noticed that TO-96 seemed equally perplexed. “And why is that a pity?” the bot inquired.

“I wouldn’t need the help.”

* * *

Sootriman and about twenty of her Magistrates found themselves in the unlucky position of being hemmed in on two sides by two Destroyers, with a third behind them. Even though the ships seemed bent on retreating from the system now that Moldark and his flagship were destroyed, it didn’t mean they weren’t going to take out whoever they could in the process.

A heavy base of blaster fire kept Sootriman’s forces dashing back and forth between the two flanking destroyers while Talons made passes from the front. Even despite her best efforts to get the Radiant Queen’s Panther-class canons on target, the enemy seemed to be twice as fast. So for every Talon she took down, the Destroyers took out two of hers.

Frustrated with the toll her squadron was taking, Sootriman decided to change tactics. She closed on the nearest Destroyer and raced along the port side. The Queen’s blasters blazed against point defense turrets, silencing their assault on her remaining ships—now only eight strong.

Oncoming Talons forced her to double back along the Destroyer, so she used the opportunity to scout an idea she had forming. If her squadron couldn’t get past the Destroyers, maybe she could fly through them. As she ripped along the Destroyer’s port side again, she stole a glance inside the hangar bay. Sure enough, her suspicions were confirmed.

“You still with me, Chloe?” she asked.

“Yeah. But we just lost Boris and Pell,” Chloe replied, her voice tight.

“Splick,” Sootriman said. How had the enemy’s imminent defeat turned into such heavy losses for her people? She ground her teeth and tried to keep tunnel vision from getting the best of her. Ironic, she thought, considering what she was about to do.

“But you still have me,” Diddelwolf said. “I’m like the rash you get from—”

“Don’t need to finish that, Wolfy,” Chloe said. “We all know.”

“You’ve still got me too,” Barlow replied. “Whaddya have in mind?”

“Follow my lead,” Sootriman said. “We’re getting out of here.” She pulled the Queen back and shot away from the Destroyer’s hull, then arced around until she was pointed back at the port side.

“I mean no disrespect, my queen,” Diddelwolf said. “But what are your intentions?”

“Keep your heads down and all your dangly bits tucked in,” she replied, and then punched her Panther-class starfighter forward. Her bow was pointed directly at the hangar bay, which ran through the entire ship and opened on the other side.

“You’re one crazy-ass queen-bitch,” Chloe said. “I’ll follow you anywhere.”

The Queen broke the atmosphere shield at full thrust but slowed from the sudden appearance of both air and gravity slowed her ship as well as pulled it toward the deck. The ship struck the hangar bay floor on her belly, sending out waves of sparks as it skidded across the deck. Flight crews dove out of the way as Sootriman’s ship annihilated supply trains and cargo containers. What concerned her the most, however, was a grounded Talon on the far end of the hangar bay.

“This might get bumpy,” she said.

“It’s not already?” Barlow asked. “Splick.”

Sootriman manually aimed her main ion cannons at the upcoming obstacle and then squeezed the triggers on her flight controls. The ion cannons sent bolts of charged particles sizzling through the hangar bay’s air, sending small whips of lightning into everything they passed over. But when the rounds met the Talon, they tore through the fuselage and blew the ship out of the way.

Sootriman did her best to guide her ship across the deck before it shot from the other side of the hull and rendered the void. The flames vanished, and the sudden acceleration pushed her back in her seat.

“Hell, yeah,” Chloe shouted. “I’m through.”

“Penetration successful,” Diddelwolf said.

“You’re old and gross,” Chloe replied. Then she cursed.

As the Queen arced out and away from the Destroyers, Sootriman eyed the hangar bay, spewing fire into hard vacuum. Starship pieces flew from the hole, including painted sections she knew all too well.

“We lost Phineas,” Chloe said. “As well as—”

“The rest,” Sootriman said, sparing Chloe the list of names. She made two fists and bashed them down on her console three times, yelling as she did. “No!”

How had she just lost eighteen ships in less than five minutes? Sootriman brought up her squadron roster. The other half was still on the far side of center, assisting TO-96’s Fangs. Still, she counted only five ships there—five, plus her three—that was eight out of an original fifty.

It was impossible.

Completely outrageous.

And inexcusable.

“I’m here,” Ezo said over comms. “Where do you need us?”

Sootriman swallowed the tears that she’d licked off her lips. “You’re too late, husband.”

There was a moment’s hesitation before Ezo replied. “But I only count three of you.”

“And that’s all there is here. Five more in grid forty.”

“But that can’t be right.”

Sootriman felt her anger burn like a volcano about to erupt in paradise. Her thoughts flooded with memories of Caledonia, of charred bodies washing up on shore, of Republic ships leaving the planet, and of her family being left to pick up the pieces. She switched over to a private channel. “Isn’t that what happens when you try and fight someone else’s war? You lose. You always lose.”

“There must be some mistake,” Ezo said, his face searching the holo screens around his cockpit. Sootriman could see his eyes growing wider as the reality of the Magistrate losses dawned on him. “This can’t be right.”

“No mistake, husband. We may have defeated Moldark, but it seems our people—my people—paid the highest price, once again.”

Ezo’s ship pulled up beside her as the first enemy ships began jumping into subspace. The flashes of departing light lit their faces as husband and wife looked at one another across the void.

“I wanna leave,” Sootriman said at last. “I just wanna go home.”

“But, love sauce, we’ve got—”

“Don’t you love sauce me, husband.” She wasn’t about to let him sweet talk her into staying. “There’s nothing left for me here. Nothing left for me with the Gladio Umbra.”

“That’s not true, and you know it. What about the people who survived down there? You’re saying you don’t want to be a part of rescuing them when you have the chance?”

Sootriman looked out her cockpit window and studied the burning islands hundreds of kilometers below. How anyone could survive such massive destruction was beyond her. But helping the innocent survive Moldark’s dark reign was precisely what she’d set out to do—what she’d convinced her Magistrates to do too.

There was something else about the islands that stirred her heart. The scene reminded her of Caledonia, and her mind flashed back to the how her people had watched the Repub aid shuttles leave long before their work had been concluded. The costs were too high to continue, she was told. They’ve done as much as they can. But there were still tens of thousands of displaced Caledonians from the war.

If Sootriman left now, she wouldn’t be any different than the Republic. “And I’ll be damned if I have that on my conscience.”

“What was that, love?” Ezo asked.

She sighed. “It means I’m staying. But only until the rescue efforts are under control. Then I’m out.”

“I can live with that.”

“Good, ’cause if you can’t, you’re sleeping on Geronimo Nine when you get back to Ki Nar Four.”

“Not the worst quarters.”

“I stripped out the ship’s core.”

Ezo swallowed hard. “I stand corrected.”

* * *

Magnus and Awen walked onto the Spire’s bridge, still covered in grime and dried saltwater. They were exhausted, having seen their share of death, and ready for a shower, food, and a lot of sleep. But Magnus wanted to report to the Colonel, and Awen said she wouldn’t let him go alone.

“Lieutenant Magnus,” TO-96 exclaimed in a chipper tone. “And Awen! So good to see you.” The bot walked toward them and threw his arms around their armor in awkward hugs.

“You too, TO-96,” Awen replied. Her head jerked sideways, attached to the bot’s elbow. “And—that’s my hair.”

“My apologies.”

“You’ve still got my—ouch! My hair.”

“I’m terribly—”

“Stop pulling away, ’Six!”

“Here,” Magnus said, grabbing the bot’s arm to keep him from yanking Awen’s head any more. “Relax your elbow. Now, slowly pull it away. There you go.”

“Ah, thank you, sir. Again, I’m terribly sorry, Awen.”

“It’s fine,” she said, rubbing her head. “Compared to everything else I’ve been through today, it’s the least of my concerns.”

“You have been busy, indeed.” TO-96 looked at Magnus. “Sir, you mentioned that I could share Capriana’s municipal engineering history with you upon your return. Would this be a suitable time?”

“Magnus, Awen,” Caldwell said as he prompted the bot to step aside, and then offered his hand to Awen. “It’s good to see you.”

“And you, Colonel,” Magnus replied. Then to TO-96, he whispered, “Later, ’Six. I promise.”

“I see Piper saved your wet asses,” Caldwell said.

Awen smiled. “That she did. And to be honest, sir, we’re both a little surprised you let her go.”

“Awen, if there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years, it’s don’t mess with a woman when she has her mind set on something.”

“Piper, sir?” Awen asked.

“She certainly counts. But I mean someone far more intimidating.”

“Willowood,” Magnus said.

The colonel nodded. “Said the kid was going with or without my approval. Which meant I’d better give some express consent or there was going to be a lifetime of hell to pay. Fastest option was to stick the kid with Ricio and see what happened. The rest, I think you know.”

Magnus nodded, reminding himself to thank Ricio when he got back. “What’s the latest with the planet?”

“Well, how dark do you like your coffee, son?”

Magnus knew the meaning of the colonel’s expression. “The only real way to drink it. Straight up.”

Caldwell blew smoke out his nostrils and through his mustache. “We expect few survivors on the planet. Azelon gave victims on the far side the best survival rate. Thinks maybe 20% of the inhabitants will survive.”

“I’ve revised that to 17%, sir,” she added.

“Well, splick.” Caldwell raised a hand as if giving up on the numbers game. He refocused on Magnus and took a deep breath. “It’s bad, son. That’s what we know right now. The fallout from the blasts is worse than we expected too.”

“Thus my revised numbers, sir,” Azelon said.

Caldwell ignored her. “Up here, we lost six Fangs altogether.”

“That ain’t too shabby, Colonel,” Magnus said.

But Caldwell took the cigar stump from his mouth. “Sootriman’s Magistrates took the heaviest losses.”

“How bad?”

“Lost forty-two ships.”

“Forty-two?” Magnus touched his forehead. “How?”

“Half her squadron got pinned down by three Destroyers leaving the sector. The other half took heavy losses while defending our clean up after the Labyrinth went down.”

“Mystics. And how’s she taking it?”

“Very hard, as I believe the expression goes, sir,” TO-96 said. “But she has at least agreed to help with rescuing any survivors on the planet.”

“Then she’s headed back to Ki Nar Four,” Caldwell said. “Can’t say that I blame her.”

“And Ezo?” Awen asked.

“He’s still out there finishing off the Paragon Talons that couldn’t jump away,” Caldwell said.

“What about when he’s through?” she said. “Is he going to stay with us?”

“I believe he’s staying for me,” TO-96 said. “But I assume he intends to take me back to Ki Nar Four as well.”

Magnus looked at Awen and then to the bot. “And will you go?”

TO-96 tilted his head as if giving the question serious consideration. “Since my maker has not yet offered me a proposition, I cannot rightfully provide a meaningful answer to your hypothetical inquiry.”

“Meaning, you want to check in with Azelon first,” Awen said, nodding toward the other bot. The mystic had an uncanny way of reading between the lines of code.

“No.” TO-96 looked over at Azelon. “She and I have already discussed all possible scenarios.”

“When?” Caldwell asked.

“Just now. She will support my decision, whatever it may be.”

“Well, just be sure to let us know too,” Magnus said.

“I will, sir. Thank you.”

The idea of splitting the team up didn’t sit well with Magnus. But then again, did he really expect things to stay this way forever?

Caldwell took another drag on the stub in his mouth. “As for Moldark’s fleet, only fourteen warships and six Talons survived, and they just jumped out of the system.”

“Five Talons, sir,” Azelon said. “The last one was just destroyed.”

“Five Talons,” Caldwell said.

“Those are some heavy losses.”

“You’re telling me, son. We owe most of that to First Fleet, but they fared only a little better. Thirty-three warships, including just five carriers, and sixty-one Talons.”

“That’s a quarter of the Navy’s original fighting force,” Magnus said, more to himself than to the colonel. Caldwell still nodded, trying to keep his cigar from burning the edges of his lips. “So, what now?”

“I suppose that’s a call for all of us to make together,” Caldwell said, looking at Awen and then the two bots. “We’ll wait for Willowood, of course. But our options include sticking around to help whoever’s left on the planet or going after Moldark’s remaining ships.”

“Don’t forget So-Elku,” Awen said. “He won’t have been sitting idle during all this.”

“Agreed,” Caldwell replied. “So there’s plenty to discuss.”

“And Moldark?” Magnus asked, trying not to jinx the question everyone wanted to know the answer to.

“We have every reason to believe he was on board the Black Labyrinth when it went down,” Caldwell said. “And I’d like to hope that’s the case. It would sure spare us all a splick-load of trouble.”

Magnus looked at the bots. “Any probability that he escaped?”

“Of course,” Azelon said. “Nothing is certain without sufficient proof. I place Moldark’s survival at less than 3%. I am reviewing all sensor data from the conflict, looking for evidence of his escape.”

“3%,” Awen said softly. “I don’t like those odds.”

“Neither do I,” Magnus said. “Let’s hope for the best.”

“I’m sorry to interrupt, Hottie, but we are being hailed across all channels by Commodore David Seaman of First Fleet. He’s onboard the Solera Fortuna.”

Caldwell gave Magnus and Awen a raised eyebrow before turning toward the main holo display. Magnus looked at Awen and mouthed the word “Hottie?” Then the colonel dropped the cigar on the deck and crushed it with his foot. “Put him on, Smarty Pants. Let’s see how the Repub feels about us now.”

EPILOGUE

Moldark sat in the chair on his observation deck, glaring at First Fleet as it sought to defend what remained of Capriana Prime. He bit his lower lip in rapt wonder as two enemy Dreadnaughts suffered point-blank LO9D strikes. The blasts tore both ships apart in a spectacular release of energy, cleaving the vessel in pieces, and blasting the remains toward the planet’s gravity.

Commodore Seaman’s attempts to stop Moldark were admirable, in so much as a hurricane admires a bird’s attempt to fly through it. But in the end? Fruitless.

The fool, Moldark thought.

The dark lord had handed the Republic officer the opportunity of his short and insignificant lifetime—to live out his remaining days as one of the most powerful men in the galaxy. And what did he choose to do with it? Moldark spat blood on the floor. Has he no ambition?

Seaman’s betrayal mattered little, ultimately. The man was merely a means to an end—as were all these ships, people, and planets. They played their parts, served his purposes, and then it was over. They were all expendable.

The important thing today was that the Nine had been decimated. The traitors. Moldark had tasted their fear and drank of their lives. Well, most of them, anyway. Moldark despised that fact that he had to resort to the orbital bombardment instead of face-to-face retribution. Killing wholesale was so impersonal, like the way the Novia Minoosh had ripped his people’s lives away. However, even though not all deaths were equal, Moldark’s personal reckoning with the Nine was complete, and the traitors had breathed their last breaths. Blackman, most of all. It was what it was.

That Blackman had not died at Moldark’s hand roiled the dark lord to no end. It was Blackman who had betrayed him most, after all. But in so doing, the man had inadvertently revealed just how evil the human species was. Like the Novia Minoosh, they were takers—scavengers—stealing from the weak to satiate their endless appetites. So, in the end, Blackman had done the cosmos a favor. He’d revealed the need to wipe out the species.

Capriana Prime’s destruction was by no means the end of the humans, just as the Oorajee’s fleet collapse was not the end of the Jujari. Both losses would set their species back hundreds of years, but that meant Moldark had more time—time he would need to replenish his resources and strengthen his numbers. Only then could he finish exterminating the Jujari and the humans wherever they hid—just as he would finish doing to his greatest foe, the Novia Minoosh.

So many wars to conduct, so many ways to end them.

Despite First Fleet’s heavy losses, Admiral Brighton had informed Moldark that Second and Third Fleets were faring even worse. As if it’s my fault? The dark lord refused to believe that the losses had anything to do with his excursion to the surface. No, this was on Brighton.

“My lord,” Brighton said through the holo window that floated in front of Moldark’s chair. “I must insist that you proceed to your shuttle.”

“I thought I told you to move the Labyrinth back, Admiral,” Moldark replied.

Brighton cleared his throat. “We have, my lord. But we’ve also run out of—space.”

Moldark blinked in dismay. “Admiral Brighton, the environment outside our ship is called space for a reason. How can there—”

“There seems to be a ship blocking our retreat.”

Even before Brighton showed him images of the Novian warship, Moldark knew the surprise attack was from the same rebel vessel that opposed him over Oorajee—the same rebels who fought against him in the capital.

“Force your way past them, you fool,” Moldark spat.

“Yes, my lord. However—”

A violent force threw Moldark back in his seat as the Labyrinth slowed. Brighton, likewise, flew off-screen, jolted by the ship’s sudden change in inertia.

“Admiral,” Moldark roared as tremors shook his chair. “What is going on with my ship?”

Brighton reappeared, his hands trembling as he brushed the hair off his forehead. “We have sustained severe damage to sections one and two, my lord, all decks.”

“From what?”

Brighton swallowed. “The unidentified ship, sir.”

“It’s Novian, dammit! Stop saying it’s unidentifiable! I told you the species—”

More explosions shook the Labyrinth, jostling Moldark in his chair. When Brighton reappeared for the second time, his face was pale.

“As I said, my lord, I must insist you evacuate. I have readied your ship—”

“I’m on my way.”

“Very good, my lord.”

“And you, Brighton?”

The admiral paused, as if unsure of what to do with the personal question. “Me, my lord?”

“What are your plans?”

An awkward silence followed as Brighton’s lips struggled to form words. “I will stay with the ship until the end, my lord.”

Moldark couldn’t decide if Brighton’s decision was bravery or cowardice—the former being the mark of an extraordinary though nearsighted commander, the latter, the easy escape from life under Moldark’s thumb. “Very well.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Brighton said hurriedly.

“Whatever for?”

“The opportunity to serve you, of course.” The man stood to attention and saluted Moldark with an extended arm and a clenched fist—the Paragon’s position of power. Moldark shook his head. Clearly, Brighton had spent enough time in proximity to the dark lord that the underling’s reason centers were co-opted.

For a fleeting moment, Moldark considered rescuing the man. The dark lord would still need commanders, and Brighton had proved faithful. Then again, his promotion had been a matter of convenience, and the admiral did seem to exude a particular weakness, one that kept him from making the hard decisions. Perhaps his loss was for the best.

Moldark flicked a hand at Brighton. “Yes, yes. Get on with it then. Farewell, Admiral.”

“Farewell, my lord.”

* * *

The Labyrinth shuddered again as Moldark made his way to the Peregrine. The four-person fire team that escorted him moved without saying a word. They navigated the bustling corridors quickly, stopping only once when the ship’s shaking grew too severe. The lights flickered, and several people screamed in the distance. But the moment the vibrations settled, Moldark bid the men keep moving.

Despite feeding not more than two hours before, Moldark could already feel his body—Kane’s body—growing weak. He would need a new host before long. But people feared him among the Republic, what little of it remained, and reputation had its advantages. Plus, he had labored diligently to find the perfect host in this part of the cosmos—it would be a shame to lose it now.

The escort led Moldark into a busy hangar bay where the Peregrine awaited. The ship sat like a blackbird of prey eager to take flight. Outside, starfighters crisscrossed the void, filling space with blaster rounds and missiles.

Captain Yaeger stood beside the Peregrine’s under-nose ramp with his helmet beneath his arm. “Lord Moldark,” he said, saluting.

“Good to see you again, Captain.”

“And you, my lord. My orders are to escort you wherever it is you wish to go.”

“Very well. And do you intend to fly this ship as well as guard me?”

“No, my lord. Captain Ellis and his First Officer are already onboard and ready to depart.”

“Shall we, then?” Moldark motioned toward the ramp, but Yaeger gestured for the dark lord to proceed ahead. No sooner was he on board than bright lights appeared in the hangar bay. Something significant was happening outside the Labyrinth.

“Please be seated, my lord,” Captain Yaeger said as the fire team filed up and closed the ramp.

Moldark headed for the bridge where he found Captain Ellis at the helm and a co-pilot beside him. The dark lord took a seat behind the co-pilot so that he could see Ellis. “What is it, Captain?”

“Reports of heavy torpedo fire to our stern,” Ellis replied. “The Dreadnaught Terra Rosa, my lord.”

“Then, I suggest you proceed with haste.”

“Yes, my lord.” Ellis activated the ship’s repulsors, hovered, and then backed through the atmospheric shield and into hard vacuum. The Labyrinth’s death tremors were replaced with the steady hum of a shuttle underway, but Moldark also had a clear view of the Rosa’s assault. The behemoth ship had closed to within three or four kilometers of the Labyrinth, and it appeared to be firing every torpedo in its arsenal.

Point defense fire from the Labyrinth, as well as from several other nearby ships, kept the majority of the projectiles from striking the Super Dreadnaught’s stern. But given the volume of enemy ordnance, even a minority of the torpedo-fire was more than the Labyrinth could endure. Dozens, if not scores of torpedoes collided with the Labyrinth’s stern, bathing the aft section in light. A chain reaction of explosions moved toward the bow, coming dangerously close to the Peregrine.

“Do you intend to watch all day, Captain?” Moldark asked.

“Apologies, my lord.” Ellis steered the craft away from the impending destruction and accelerated.

“You may, of course, view the images on holos.”

“Yes, my lord.” Ellis nodded at his first officer, and then brought up two display screens, both with different views of the Labyrinth.

Moldark gazed at the ill-fated ship as explosions rippled along the hull, racing toward the bow. Fire enveloped the Labyrinth, deck after deck, section after section until the entire vessel blew apart and its remains flung into the remaining warships.

The advantage of the whole scenario, Moldark realized, was that the Peregrine had the perfect cover. No one would be watching his escape—how could they in the face of such inexorable and magnificent destruction?

Captain Ellis maneuvered away from the battlefront, past the Novian ghost ship, and away from Capriana Prime. Then he turned to address Moldark. “My lord. Where do you wish to go?”

Moldark had already been pondering the question, of course. And there were many options, to be sure. One was to head to Worru, to exact revenge against the other traitor, So-Elku. But doing so would require more planning and more power. The mystic was not to be trifled with, and Moldark would need time before engaging the Luma Master.

The ultimate choice, of course, was to head back to metaspace and complete his original mission of wiping out the Novia Minoosh and their singularity once and for all. It seemed such an easy task, yet one that had eluded him as of late. Still, the chance would come—he could feel it. Plus, Ithnor Ithelia couldn’t be a destination any more than a fictional realm could, not until he’d obtained coordinates for a quantum tunnel. And without the child, creating a tunnel or finding coordinates back to metaspace—to his home universe—would prove impossible.

Which left the most obvious option: returning to Oorajee. If he could salvage even some of the ships from this costly encounter, he might succeed in exterminating the Jujari while he bided his time for the Novia Minoosh. A final assault on the desert world had another benefit too—luring the rebels to him. Perhaps then he would get their mystics to create a quantum tunnel for him—if not willingly, then possibly through deceit.

“Oorajee,” Moldark said at last.

Ellis raised an eyebrow in surprise. “My lord?”

“We have unfinished business there, do we not?”

“If you’re referring to the Jujari still left on the planet, then, yes, my lord. We have unfinished business.”

“Lay in the course, Captain. Additionally, I want you to order the rest of the fleet back to Oorajee.”

Ellis seemed stunned. “Me, my lord?”

“Yes, you. Is there a problem?”

“Well, no. But, isn’t that a job for—”

“A senior commander? Ellis, look around. Are you not the most senior naval officer on this ship after me?”

“Well, of course, my lord, but I—”

“And wherever I go, do I not bring the heart of the Paragon with me?”

“Of course, my lord.”

“Then you are my commanding officer, Ellis. At least until all our remaining ships are accounted for. Now, send the orders, and let’s get free of this tomb.”

“Yes, my lord. As you wish.”

Moldark sat back in his seat and watched the final moments of battle play out. As soon as Ellis gave the order for retreat, the Peregrine slipped into subspace, and the scene above Capriana Prime vanished.

* * *

Read on for Terminal Fallout.

TERMINAL FALLOUT

BOOK 7 IN THE RUINS OF THE GALAXY SERIES

PROLOGUE

“Spread out,” Magnus said. “And stay sharp.”

Something old lived in this jungle, and Piper was pretty sure it wanted to eat her. She rode atop Magnus’s BATRIG, watching the Gladio Umbra fan out among ferns and tree trunks. The members of Granther Company rode in their imposing mechs, while Taursar, Hedgebore, and Paladia Companies moved on foot. Everyone’s Novian armor was beat up, and several members had died in previous battles. Still, the Gladio Umbra had a mission to accomplish, and if there was one thing Piper knew about Magnus, it was that he wouldn’t stop until his objectives were complete.

Beams of light moved back and forth to the constant sounds of insects and roosting birds. Mist fell from the tree canopy while wisps of fog hovered over the ground. The smell of rotting wood and damp soil brought to mind memories of long walks in the woods with her parents. But those walks hadn’t been scary—not like this one was.

The gladias had been hunting their prey for hours. Or was it days? She couldn’t remember. Everything seemed to blend together. All she knew was that the deeper Granther Company’s mechs thumped into the woods, the more scared she felt.

Something snapped behind her.

Piper spun around to see Mr. Abimbola in his BATRIG. His mech had broken a downed tree limb in two.

“My apologies, Miss Piper,” Abimbola said over VNET. “I did not mean to startle you.”

“It’s okay,” she replied. But really, it wasn’t okay. She had the strange sensation of being watched, like there were thousands of pairs of eyes examining every step the Gladio Umbra took. But that only made sense—lots of things live in this jungle. Of course they’d be watching a group of warriors who didn’t belong.

Magnus looked up at Piper as she sat perched on his shoulder. “You okay up there?”

“Sure, Mr. Lieutenant Magnus, sir.”

“Sure?” He wrinkled his face. “You don’t sound very convinced.”

“I’m just a little nervous, is all.” She wished she still had Talisman. He was nice to hold when she felt afraid.

“Everything’s going to be okay,” Magnus said, looking ahead. “Don’t you worry.”

“But I do worry.” A shiver went down her spine. “I worry about you, and shydoh Awen, and my grandmother, and the Mr. Colonel. I worry about Rohoar and the other doggies, and I—”

“That’s a lot of worrying for one little girl, you know.” Magnus shot her a smile. “Leave some for the rest of us, would you?”

She laughed, but it was half-hearted. “Okay, Mr. Lieutenant Magnus, sir.”

The undergrowth became denser as the unit moved on until Magnus eventually ordered Granther Company out of their mechs. “We’ll go the rest of the way on foot.”

Magnus helped Piper off his shoulder and set her on the ground. Then he opened the BATRIG’s chest and climbed down the small ladder to join her. “Let’s go. Keep your eyes open.”

Magnus took her by the hand and led the team up a steep hill covered in thick bushes and slippery rocks. Piper pushed vines out of the way as she hurried to keep up with Magnus. He was good about hacking most of the vegetation away with his knife. Only once did he struggle with a particularly resistant vine—until Piper realized it was a large snake. She yelped and jumped back while Magnus slashed at the serpent’s body. Then Magnus grabbed the snake with one hand and cut through the neck with his blade. The body writhed as Magnus hoisted Piper onto his shoulders and stepped over it.

“I don’t like snakes,” Piper said, patting Magnus on the head.

“Me neither, kid.”

Magnus continued to slash at more vines as the Gladio Umbra moved up the hill. She liked being on his shoulders. She could see more, and it was a lot easier.

The path was so steep, and the distance so long that Piper could only assume they were climbing a mountain. Helmet-mounted lamps pierced the darkness and made whole plants glow green. And the rocks got bigger and bigger until Magnus was forced to put Piper down and help her climb over giant boulders.

When the trees cleared and the gladias reached the top, massive shadows blotted out purple stars along the horizon. Piper blinked, trying to figure out what she saw. It wasn’t until the Gladio Umbra shined their lights on the objects that Piper made out the shapes of vine-covered ruins. Wide stone columns supported roofed entrances, while towers and walls formed maze-like roadways. Tall pyramids stood in the distance, and Piper thought she could see gaps near their top where starlight peeked through.

“What is this place?” Piper asked.

“I don’t know,” Magnus replied. “But I think we’ll find what we’re searching for here.”

Blaster fire erupted from one of the pyramids. Bolts streaked toward the Gladio Umbra along the front line, and several gladias fell. Piper screamed, but the sound was lost among the whine of more blaster fire coming from a high tower, and still more as enemies emerged from the covered arcades.

“Take cover,” Magnus yelled, helping Piper run toward a cluster of boulders.

“It’s the Paragon, isn’t it,” Piper said. She tried to slow her breathing, as Awen had taught her, but Piper was so scared. It felt like the enemy was closing in all around her, and there was nothing she could do about it.

“Yeah. Looks like it.”

But even as Magnus said the words, Piper wondered if it really was the Paragon at all. Her skin got cold, and a dark sensation washed over her little body.

Magnus took his NOV1 from his back and fired around the rocks. His weapon lit up the night air in bright flashes, and Piper plugged her ears against the loud noise. Then Magnus threw a VOD and yelled something, but Piper couldn’t understand him. Two seconds later, the ground shook. Piper tripped, but Magnus grabbed her by the arm and kept her from hitting the ground. Still, her knee scraped against some stones. “Come on, Piper. We have to get in there.”

Piper looked to where Magnus pointed. At the far end of a long columned corridor in the middle of the ruins was a dark doorway. Two red torches lit the entryway. A shudder went up Piper’s spine.

“We need to make a run for it,” Magnus yelled over the sounds of the firefight. “I’ll protect you. Just be brave.”

Piper nodded. “I will.” But her acknowledgment had nothing to do with courage. The truth was, she was terrified, but she didn’t want to let Magnus know that.

Magnus stepped out from behind the rocks and started firing. His blaster swept left and right, and moved up and down, taking out enemies wherever he pointed it. Meanwhile, he clutched her hand in his gauntlet and pulled her forward. Piper ducked and did her best to keep up. But Magnus was running really fast, so it wasn’t long before they were under the covered corridor that stretched back to the doorway.

To her right, Piper saw Rohoar slashing at shadows that moved between columns. He lunged into a plaza and took on a dozen of the enemies, tearing through them with his sharp claws and razor-like teeth.

To her right, Abimbola fired a hip-held weapon that spat torrents of blaster bolts into the night. She couldn’t imagine any enemies getting past him. But still, her heart was anxious.

Explosions blew huge chunks of stone from the roof above her. Dust bits bounced off her head and shoulders, and she coughed several times. More blasts of fire leaped from the stone courts on either side of the corridor, tossing bodies into the star-filled sky.

Magnus ran on and on, pulling Piper behind him, until they arrived at the doorway which was bathed in torchlight. The lights made her think of two red eyes set beside a gaping black mouth; only this throat lead down a long staircase that descended into the mountain’s bowels.

“Come on,” Magnus said, tugging on Piper’s arm.

But she wouldn’t budge. It took her a second to come up with the nerve to resist him. “I don’t think we should go, Mr. Lieutenant Magnus, sir.”

“But we have to, Piper. It’s the only way to stop him.”

“I’m scared.”

Magnus knelt in front of her and flipped up his visor. “So am I, Piper. But fear doesn’t mean we avoid what we must face.”

“And must we face this?”

Magnus nodded as his lips bunched up under his nose. “Yes. We must.”

Piper swallowed and stood up straight. “Okay, then. Let’s go.” Then she descended into the darkness with Magnus.

* * *

Piper screamed as she sat up in bed. Her sheets were wet.

“Miss Piper,” came a soft voice from the ceiling as the room’s light began to glow. “Are you all right?”

Piper clutched her chest, trying to catch her breath. She looked around the room as if expecting to see the long dark of the stairs leading to the evil she could not escape. But she wasn’t there anymore. She was here, in her quarters, onboard the Spire.

“Azelon?” she asked.

“Yes, Piper. I am here.” Hard-light emitters around the room sparked to life, and Azelon appeared beside Piper’s bed. “Your vital signs are showing—”

“We can’t go down there,” Piper said, reaching out and grabbing Azelon’s wrist. “We’re not ready. We can’t.”

Azelon tilted her head. “Forgive me, Miss Piper, but I am unable to discern the implied location from your statement. It seems you’re having what TO-96’s data defines as a human nightmare. As per standard protocols when dealing with such things, I wish to inform you as follows.” Azelon’s hand reached out and began mechanically petting Piper’s hair. “There, there, it was just a bad dream. Everything is going to be just fine.”

“No.” Piper leaned away from Azelon’s touch and tried to shake the bot’s wrist, but the limb wouldn’t budge. “It’s not a dream. It’s real.” She felt something sting her knee. The sheet had bound itself to her skin. Piper pulled the fabric back and saw a blood stain on it. Her knee, the one she had skinned in the dream, was bleeding.

“Miss Piper,” Azelon said, pointing toward the injury. “When did you suffer that abrasion?”

“I told you, Azelon. It’s real. And it’s gonna happen. But we can’t go down there. We just can’t.”

“Again, Miss Piper, I wish to console you in ways that will lower your blood pressure and reduce your—”

“You can’t cancel me, Azelon.”

“Console.”

“You can’t.” Piper pulled away and curled up in her blanket. She hated crying. Only babies cried. But she couldn’t help it. Because everyone she loved was going to die.

PART I

1

From the outset, the meeting with the Galactic Republic’s surviving senior leaders seemed fragile, as if a sudden breeze might throw everyone into a rage and send blaster bolts flying. It was a good thing, then, that the dialogues were conducted via holo emitters and not in person. Still, the separation did little to ease the tension on the Spire’s bridge.

Magnus didn’t blame Commodore Seaman for his anxiety or suspicion. The man and his counterparts, which included Brigadier General A.H. Lovell, 1st Republic Marines, and Seaman’s Flag Captain, Lani DiAntora, were charged with the impossible task of leading a government in ruins. The Republic had changed. Forever. And according to Galactic Republic law, Seaman, as highest-ranking member of the navy, was also the defacto leader of the Republic until new officials could be elected. Magnus couldn’t begin to imagine the weight the man was carrying.

As far as First Fleet knew, the Spire was just one more enemy eager to crush the Republic. While nothing could be further from the truth, Magnus was aware of all the other factions that would undoubtedly attempt to fill the power vacuum left by the crippled Galactic Republic. So Seaman and his people had every right to be suspicious. Hell, if Magnus was them, he would be downright scared splickless. It was only a matter of time before the challengers arrived. Given the Republic’s long list of enemies, Magnus imagined Commodore Seaman would be sleeping with one eye open from now on.

“I would ask you where you’ve been, Caldwell, but I suspect neither of us has time for the full explanation,” Lovell said. His deep baritone voice and dark complexion connoted a strong and imposing presence—holo emitter or not.

“No, we don’t.” Caldwell chewed on a nub of a cigar, which was soggy from his saliva. “Nor do I think you’d believe a damn word of it. Suffice it to say, we’re here, and we’re ready to help however we can.”

“Help?” Commodore Seaman raised both eyebrows until his forehead was a mass of wrinkles. “Pardon me, Colonel, but the last anyone knew about you was that you’d betrayed your division on Worru and led two companies against Republic and Luma units. Now you show up here and think that just because you helped stem the tide of a rebellion among the Republic’s fleets that everything can go back to normal? Without repercussions?”

“You don’t exactly have a lot of options right now, Commodore,” Caldwell said. “So if you’d like us to go—”

“That’s not what I said.”

“But I believe that was his implication, wasn’t it?” TO-96 asked from the bridge overlook landing. “Or maybe he means to capture us?”

Awen hushed the bot with a finger to her lips. But several other crew members gave TO-96 nods.

“That’s what I thought,” the bot said in his version of a whisper.

The rest of those present on the Spire’s bridge included lead members of Granther Company, namely Abimbola, Rohoar, Zoll, Bliss, and Robillard. Willowood, Forbes, and Nelson represented Paladia, Taursar, and Hedgebore Companies. Rico and Ezo stood for Fang Company, Cyril, Berouth, and Gilder for Drambull’s support and intelligence company, and Azelon for Raptor Company—the Gladio Umbra’s version of naval operations. Azelon would normally have invited Flow and Cheeks to attend this meeting, but they were still responding negatively to the Jujari and would, therefore, be briefed later. Sootriman was also present but seemed distant after the significant losses her Magistrate squadron suffered. Everyone watched as Caldwell stood before holo-images of the Republic’s three highest ranking officers.

“I’m trying to figure out why we shouldn’t arrest you and your rogue Lieutenant,” Seaman said. But Lovell seemed to give the commodore an apprehensive glance.

“Arrest us?” Awen said, stepping down from the second level and making her way to Caldwell. Magnus tried to caution her, but she ignored him. “I beg your pardon, Commodore, but I don’t believe you’re in any position to threaten us.”

“Who’s there?” Seaman demanded, apparently unable to see much past Caldwell’s body.

“Put her on the call,” Caldwell said with a quick wave to Azelon.

“As you wish, sir,” the bot replied.

As soon as a pale blue light shined down on Awen, she lifted her chin and spoke in the tone Magnus remembered from when they had first met on Oorajee. “My name is Awen dau Lothlinium, former Luma ambassador to the Jujari.”

“You,” Seaman said, his eyes wide. “You have caused—”

“Let her speak,” Caldwell said, pulling the cigar from his mouth. “Or you and I are gonna have words that will have a lasting negative effect on both your ego and your reproductive performance, Commodore.”

Seaman looked confused and stunned before nodding at Awen to continue.

“Commodore,” Awen said. “I need not remind you that your primary concern is not investigating the validity of any purported stories, true or otherwise, about Colonel Caldwell or Lieutenant Magnus, but it is the consolidation of your remaining fleet assets and the immediate rescue of Capriana Prime’s survivors. Every second we waste here means innocent lives are lost.”

Seaman looked at Lovell, who gave the slightest raise of an eyebrow. When the general didn’t say anything, Seaman nodded toward Awen. “Be that as it may, former ambassador, we have no option but to treat you as unknown independent agents operating illegally within Republic space, and we are, therefore, duly empowered by the Valdaiga Accords to commandeer your starship and its crew until such time as the senate may investigate—”

“Look around you,” Awen said, taking a step forward. “There is no senate, sir. There’s no jury to hear our case, no judge to sentence us. It’s gone, Commodore. All of it. So the best thing any of us can do right now is to save lives while there’s still time. If you want to arrest us later, fine. But right now, we are the least of your worries.”

Magnus felt a sudden wave of pride wash over him as Awen silenced the commodore. It wasn’t often that he got to watch her do her whole diplomatic ambassador thing, but damn, was it glorious. Especially when it was used on someone besides him. When Awen believed in something, when her mind got made up, mystics help anyone who stood in her way.

“You’re the one who called us,” Caldwell said to Seaman. “So what do you want?”

The commodore ran a hand down his naval uniform and sniffed. “Miss dau Lothinium’s assessments are correct. We have an urgent need to rescue survivors on the far side of Capriana Prime, as well as to investigate the status of several Second Fleet ships that failed to depart the system. Their communications systems were damaged in the battle, which necessitates boarding parties.”

“Then what are you asking us?” Caldwell said, clearly toying with the commodore.

General Lovell cleared his throat. “If you have the capacity, resources, and willingness to assist us on either front, we would be grateful.”

“And what’s in it for us?” TO-96 interjected from the overlook level.

Caldwell smiled at the bot and then at Magnus. “I don’t call him Brass Balls for nothing,” the colonel said, winking at Magnus. Caldwell turned back to Seaman. “You heard the bot. What’s in it for us?”

“Well,” Seaman said, appearing to search his head for options. “If you are able to help with either of those objectives—”

“We can help with both, Commodore.”

“Then perhaps we will not press charges.”

“Perhaps?” Caldwell had his cigar out again.

“So long as we are able to corroborate your stories and find them to be in alignment with Republic interests.”

“The damn Republic would be gone already if it wasn’t for us,” Robillard said between his teeth. Magnus was about to hush the man, but Abimbola beat him to it.

Caldwell looked around the bridge, apparently to gauge whether there was consensus or not. “What say you? Help these bastards out in exchange for not getting arrested?” Magnus knew this was just for show. The Spire was the most capable ship in protospace, and nothing in First Fleet posed a threat, at least not in their present condition. Azelon could jump the Gladio Umbra out of the system in the time it took Seaman to zip up his suit. Still, Magnus wanted to help the survivors on Prime; they were his people, after all. And if they could salvage sailors from Second Fleet—or what was left of it—he’d be the first to sign up.

“Sounds good to us, Colonel,” Magnus said, based on everyone’s nodding heads and smiling faces. “We’re ready to go where you send us.”

Caldwell seemed to consider Magnus’s declaration with a certain level of suspicion. Magnus furrowed his brow, ready to question the colonel, but the old man turned back to address Seaman.

“We’re also going to need safe passage to a planet with an orbital spaceport to resupply on,” Caldwell said. “My crew is going to need some shore leave too, and we have a few survivors of our own that will need settling, preferably on a neutral planet, and one far from any possible fallout given the Republic’s pending dissolution.”

Seaman worked his jaw. Magnus couldn’t tell what rankled the commodore more: Caldwell’s gratuitous requests or his assumption that the Galactic Republic was doomed. “You do realize that until such time as we can determine your intentions, fulfilling these will make us guilty of aiding and abetting an enemy of the—”

“They’re not the enemy,” DiAntora said, speaking for the first time.

All eyes turned toward the Sekmit. While her naval uniform hid most of her hair-covered body, her feline-like face, hands, and flicking tail left no doubts as to her species.

“I sense goodness in them,” DiAntora continued, looking first to Seaman and then to Lovell. “And their intentions are pure.” Then DiAntora squared with Caldwell. “I offer you Aluross, cattery of the Sekmit. Our orbital stations will be able to accommodate your ship’s needs, and my people’s survivor policies rival those of any system in the quadrant.”

“She’s not wrong,” Awen said to Caldwell.

Magnus knew that the Sekmit were famous—or notorious, depending on who you asked—for inviting marginalized species to seek asylum on Aluross.

“Lani, no,” Seaman said. “You don’t know if—”

“We accept,” Caldwell replied before Seaman could say anything further.

Sidelined by his own captain, Seaman ran his tongue over his teeth and then composed himself. Magnus was sure DiAntora would be reprimanded later. But her boldness meant the Gladio Umbra would have somewhere safe to rest after they helped Seaman regain command and rescue Prime’s survivors.

“Commodore,” Caldwell said. “You and I can work out details for the survivors with Azelon. As for you, General Lovell, I will leave Captain Forbes, Lieutenant Nelson, and Master Willowood at your disposal for assisting the boarding parties.”

While Magnus had thicker skin than most, he couldn’t help but think that the colonel had just sidestepped him. “Colonel, sir,” Magnus said in a hushed tone.

“Stand down, Adonis,” Caldwell whispered.

Magnus knew better than to argue with the man. “Yes, sir.”

“One more thing,” Caldwell said to Seaman.

“Yes?” Seaman seemed simultaneously grateful and annoyed with the colonel.

“Regarding the attack on Prime, were you aware of Robert Blackman’s or Gerald Bosworth’s involvement?”

Whether or not Seaman would share information remained to be seen. But based on the stone-cold face that the commodore gave Caldwell, Seaman knew both names—and knew them well.

“We have every reason to believe that all senators and ambassadors stationed in the capital were lost in the orbital strikes,” Seaman said.

“I never mentioned they were a senator or ambassador, Commodore,” Caldwell replied.

The corner of Seaman’s mouth twitched. “Those names are commonly known.”

“And yet you still didn’t answer my question, sir.” Caldwell pulled the cigar nub from his mouth and flicked it away in disgust.

Seaman took a deep breath, shoulders rising and falling.

But before he could answer, General Lovell interjected. “We have reason to believe that the senator and the ambassador were working covertly with Admiral Kane. We also believe the assault was coordinated with help from inside CENTCOM. But as the commodore has suggested, that is the least of our worries, given the casualties. We are grateful for your assistance, William.”

Caldwell seemed to take Lovell’s word much better than anything the commodore would have given him of the same sort. This was, no doubt, due in part to the branch loyalties that permeated the Republic. But Magnus guessed it was more because Lovell and Caldwell had a history together, and the old cigar-toking war hero knew when a general was telling him to back off.

“Thank you, Alvin,” Caldwell said. Magnus had never heard anyone use the general’s first name before. Hell, he didn’t think anyone but the man’s mother knew it, and even that was in doubt. “One more question. You mentioned Admiral Kane. Do you have any reason to believe he survived?”

“That is a matter of Republic security,” Seaman interjected before Lovell could reply. But it wasn’t long before the commodore softened. “We are reviewing footage of the battle to ensure our initial assumptions were correct, but we believe the Admiral went down with the Black Labyrinth.”

“And we’re doing the same,” Caldwell replied. Then, in what was clearly a gesture of good faith, he added, “And we’ll share our findings with you if you’d like them.”

Seaman nodded. “Thank you, Colonel. We would appreciate that.”

“Not a problem. Now”—Caldwell pulled a fresh cigar from his left breast pocket and slid it under his nose—“let’s say we get this barnstorming party started before some son of a bitch liquors up their momma and misguidedly secures themselves a new sibling. Shall we?”

2

“I’ll leave you to coordinate ship boarding operations,” Commodore Seaman said to General Lovell. “But keep an eye on those traitors. I don’t trust them.”

“I’ll have my people watch them closely,” Lovell replied but then hesitated.

“What is it?” Seaman asked.

“I have a history with Caldwell. He doesn’t do anything without a damned good reason, David.”

Seaman studied the general’s face. Lovell was only trying to be helpful. “That is all, general.”

Lovell turned without another word and walked toward the bridge elevator.

“The rest of you, prepare for geosynchronous equatorial orbit above Sor Sabatha. I want all fleet ships not directly supporting General Lovell in formation with us. Maintain shields and continue to scan for vessels entering the system. Nothing moves without my consent.” He paused to make sure his words were understood. “Proceed.” Then he turned to DiAntora. “My quarters.”

“Yes, Commodore,” she replied and followed him off the bridge.

* * *

Seaman sat behind his desk, staring across at DiAntora. He held the woman’s eyes without blinking, but she did the same, seemingly impervious to intimidation.

“How can I be of service, Commodore?” she asked.

Seaman sat back and then pointed past her toward the bridge. “For one, don’t ever do that again.”

“Do what, sir?”

“Come on, Lani. Don’t be coy with me.”

“If you’re referring to my offer of assistance—”

“You made a unilateral decision, usurped my authority, and offered haven to known criminal agents operating in Republic space.” Seaman stabbed his finger on the table as he spoke. “And in so doing made us culpable in their activities, most of which we still have no idea about.”

“David, I was—”

“No, you don’t get to David me right now. Not after that. That was reckless and showed a complete disregard for the chain of command. And you know better.”

DiAntora finally blinked. Once. But her feline face was unmoved.

Seaman pushed his chair back and walked to the window. The Solera Fortuna was moving away from Capriana while the atoll burned on the horizon like pools of magma floating over a blue canvas.

“I’m sorry,” DiAntora said behind him. “It was wrong of me.”

“You’re damn straight it was.” Seaman folded his hands behind him and then sighed. He wanted to be angry with her, but hearing her apologize took the edge off his anger. After all, it wasn’t her he was upset with, nor was it Caldwell or any of his rogue agents. “It’s this damned genocide.”

“Sir?”

Seaman took another deep breath—his eyes fixed on Prime. “I feel the weight of…” He didn’t know how to describe it. “Of everything. Crushing down on me. So many lives.”

A hand rested on his shoulder. Seaman hadn’t even heard DiAntora get up or move across the floor.

“I am with you,” she said, her words soft and comforting like a summer evening’s breeze. “And I did not intend to dishonor you with my suggestion to the Colonel. I only meant—”

“To provide a solution.”

Seaman looked back at her, and DiAntora nodded. “Yes.”

“It was a good solution.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“David. Just David. I’m sorry about all that.”

“It’s understandable.” She paused and flicked her tail once. “You really think they’re here to cause the Republic harm?”

Seaman swallowed. “No. But I also don’t know what good they’ve done. For all we know, they caused all this. Maybe not intentionally. But carelessness is often as dangerous as wickedness.” He looked back to Prime and felt a wave of grief clutch his chest.

“No one but Moldark caused that,” DiAntora said. “And we both know.”

“Then why not offer to rejoin the Republic and make it right?”

DiAntora pulled her hand back. “You really think it’s that simple for them?”

“You taking their side?”

“No. But I remember reading both inter-branch memos about Magnus’s and Caldwell’s supposed acts of treason.”

“And?”

“And they don’t add up. We’re talking about two of the Marine’s most distinguished pedigrees, and they both turn on the Republic within weeks of one another?”

“I admit, it is a bit convenient,” Seaman said.

“Convenient for someone who wants to frame them, in Magnus’s case, or who’s threatening them, in Caldwell’s.”

“But Caldwell was on Worru, not Oorajee.”

“And you’ve never been suspicious about the Luma’s leader?”

“So-Elku?”

She nodded.

Seaman chuckled once. “I trust him less than Caldwell.”

“My point exactly.” DiAntora moved to stand directly beside Seaman, staring out the window as she did. “While we might not know details about the Colonel’s operations since leaving Worru—”

“Not to mention where they got that ship.”

“Agreed,” she said. “We at least may conclude, with a high degree of certainty, that they would not have helped us defeat Moldark unless they were committed to saving lives, regardless of what banner they herald.”

“Sounds like you have them all figured out.”

“Hardly.” DiAntora’s tail whipped again, lightly brushing his back. “But I know they mean us no harm and are, more than likely, fighting for the same things we are, but forced to do so by unseen constraints.”

“You’re saying I should give them the benefit of the doubt.”

“Yes. And, in light of all you’re carrying, let me help ease your burden.”

Seaman didn’t answer right away. He still didn’t like that Caldwell was operating independently of the Republic, nor that the Republic had issued arrest-on-sight orders against Caldwell and Magnus. But Seaman also trusted Lani’s judgment, especially in light of all he was carrying.

“I’m tired, Lani,” he said, working his jaw with one hand. “I don’t just mean fatigue. I mean, my soul feels tired in a way that I can’t even explain.”

“I feel it too,” she said. “May I offer a word of advice?”

Seaman smiled, knowing she’d offer it regardless of what he said. “Sure.”

“Remember that you’re not alone.”

Seaman looked down. The words were so simple. But something about them had an incredibly reassuring effect. It was like he was five years old again and scared of the dark. His mother had just flicked on the light and chased the monster from his closet. Then she invited the family dog to sleep at his feet.

“Thank you,” he said and reached for her hand. They stood there, holding hands for a few moments before Seaman spoke again. “I believe in the Galactic Republic. It’s not a perfect system. But it’s gotten us this far. And I don’t want anything more to happen to it. I fear it’s on the brink as it is.”

“And that’s admirable, David. No one would fault you there.”

He turned to her. “But they would elsewhere?” He had a feeling that DiAntora was going to argue that was not what she meant, but it was.

True to her word of always being honest, she nodded. “Only nearsighted captains go down with their ships if there is a lifeboat with an empty seat.”

He looked back at Prime. “You’re saying the Republic’s sinking.”

“I’m saying it doesn’t look good. Whether or not it sinks depends on those who make up its body. If the systems choose to remain faithful, then the Republic lasts. But should they choose another way—”

“Then we have no way to stop them.”

“Nor should we,” DiAntora said. It was a bold statement, but one he understood. “Our navy cannot protect them, and our senators cannot represent them. I’m sure Lovell has already begun recalling Marine forces throughout the quadrant. Unless people empower the Republic to be the Republic, there is no Republic.”

“You sound like my government professor,” Seaman said.

“But better looking?”

“I don’t know.” Seaman winked at her. “Mrs. Douglas could be a real cougar when she wanted to.”

DiAntora smiled. “Listen, I admire how much you love the Republic. Your loyalty is one of the things I like most about you.”

Seaman eyed her, but she dismissed the unspoken request for further explanation with a shake of her head.

“But if the Republic falls, we have to ask ourselves who we are without it.”

“I’m not sure I can answer that,” Seaman said.

“You don’t have to, at least not yet. But there may be a time that you will, and, as your friend and your Flag Captain, I’m here to help you prepare to answer it.”

How had he been so fortunate to work with such an incredible woman? His short temper about her offer to Caldwell aside, Seaman was deeply grateful for her and felt indebted to her. But naval code would not permit him to say or do what he wanted to show that appreciation. “Thank you, Lani. I—”

DiAntora leaned over and kissed him on the lips. It lasted only a second, but it was enough to leave him speechless. His feelings for her were growing stronger, and she’d clearly just capitalized on that—which means hers are too. Right? But the more he got to know her, the more he realized just how much of a mystery she was. That kiss meant that if he wasn’t willing to break the rules, apparently she was. Between her offer to Caldwell and this sudden breach of protocol, maybe the woman was less conventional and more unpredictable than he’d assumed. Which begged the next question: what other rules was she willing to sidestep?

“I’ll begin coordinating the rescue efforts with the surface,” DiAntora said as if nothing had transpired between them.

“Yes,” Seaman said, still trying to sort through her show of affection. “Thank you.”

“I’ll be on the bridge, Commodore.”

He squared his shoulders. “As you were.”

3

Awen took Magnus by the arm, more as a reflex than a conscious decision. Somehow, it just felt like the right thing to do. She was tired, and her heart ached. Given everything they had been through and the horrors they had witnessed, Awen needed some relief, some small way to escape it all. Holding Magnus’s arm brought her a measure of comfort, no matter how small.

“Find yourself a seat, people,” Caldwell said, turning to address the bridge as soon as the call with Seaman terminated. “We’ve got splick to discuss.”

As the leaders sat in the various crash couches around the room, Magnus caught Caldwell’s attention. “Colonel, sir. You don’t want Granther Company helping with the boarding parties?”

“No, son. I’ve got something else for you. Hold your whores and take a seat.”

“Yes, colonel.”

Awen pulled Magnus toward a three-seat crash couch on the bridge’s starboard side. As soon as they were settled, Caldwell began.

“All right, folks. We have ourselves some new missions, thanks to the Commodore and General Lovell. And we are going to do our absolute best to serve them. Peoples’ lives are on the line—civilian lives on the surface, and sailors and Marines on those ships—and they need our help.

“We came here to stop Moldark from hitting Prime. But we failed. I don’t mean to insult you, or to minimize the incredible effort you put forth. It’s just the facts. Sometimes you get stuck with the wrong end of a hedgebore prod, and that’s the way things go. But now we have a chance to do some good, and I’ll be damned if that son of a bitch takes even more lives in his death than he already took in his sick twisted life. La-raah?”

“La-raah,” the group replied as one.

Caldwell moved his cigar to the other corner of his mouth. “As stated on the holo call, Forbes and Nelson, you’ll provide support to General Lovell with Taursar and Hedgebore Companies. Likewise, Willowood, I want you and Paladia Company there to keep our gladias safe. But keep your wits about you. Who knows what kind of brainwashing job Moldark did on those poor sailors. And if we can salvage them, do so. I want you trying to undo anything you encounter, just like what you did with Piper before. Clear?”

“Of course, William,” Willowood said.

“Good.” Caldwell winked at Willowood.

Awen tilted her head in curiosity. Her master was on a first-name basis with the colonel—when had that happened? And winking—from Caldwell?

“As for the rest of us, we’ll use the Spire and all our shuttles to transport survivors. Azelon, we’ll be relying on you with Raptor and Drambull Companies to coordinate efforts with Seaman’s recovery strategy. Optimize every square inch of the ship if you have to.”

“Understood, sir,” Azelon replied.

“And Fang Company?” Ricio asked.

“You’re on loan to Granther Company,” Caldwell said, looking to Magnus. “Lieutenant, your orders are to make contact with DiAntora’s people on Aluross and then situate Balin and Giyel dau Lothlinium, and Ricio’s wife and son, Celine and Arthur. And make sure Jules gets squared away and paid in full as per your commitment to her.”

Given everything that had just happened, the fact that Caldwell had not only memorized the civilians’ names but also wanted to make good on the reimbursement to Jules for the sea skimmers showed incredible leadership on Caldwell’s part. It was a rare person who could keep a team moving forward while honoring individual dignity. Awen’s respect for him was growing by the day.

“Colonel, wouldn’t our skill sets be better suited to securing Second Fleet?” Magnus asked.

“Under normal circumstances, yes. But you have a second mission once on Aluross.”

Magnus raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything. Awen figured the Marine in him knew to sit and wait for the order to come.

“Rest, Lieutenant.”

For some reason, Awen felt a profound sense of relief at hearing those words come as a command. Perhaps more than anyone else in Granther Company, given her unique abilities to view people from within the Unity, Awen knew that the elites—as they were called—needed time to rest after back-to-back action over Oorajee and Capriana Prime. In fact, she didn’t even need the Unity to see the emotional and mental fatigue on people’s faces. And in a military community where everyone sucked it up and carried on, the only way Magnus was going to slow down was if he was ordered to.

“Your people have seen enough action,” Caldwell said to Magnus. “You’ve also suffered team losses. Either of those things on their own would merit time away, but combined? Hell. It just means you’ve all earned yourself a break.” The colonel looked around the room. “I’m proud of you, Granther Company. So your orders are to rest up. And I’m putting Awen in charge for the time being.”

“Me?” She pulled her head back and then glanced over at Magnus.

“You’re an ambassador, aren’t you?”

“Was, Colonel.”

He smiled. “For the Luma, maybe. But you’re an ambassador for the Gladio Umbra now. So when you’re negotiating for accommodations for the civilians, you’ll include quarters for Granther Company, as well as make preparations for the rest of us to join you when we wrap up things over Prime. Everyone’s going to need to stretch their legs after this. And the way I see it, if there’s anyone who can make your motley crew of gladias rest, it’s you, Awen. Don’t let me down.”

“I won’t, sir.”

“Good.” Caldwell stared at Magnus, and then the rest of the room. “And if I hear of any insubordination to the ambassador’s instructions, well, you know I won’t do a damn thing about it. Because she’ll already have kicked your ass. La-raah?”

This time, when everyone replied “la-raah,” it was mixed with a few chuckles—not because anyone doubted Awen’s ability to run a tight crew, but, she thought, because they knew she could. And would.

Awen raised a hand, and Caldwell acknowledged her with a nod.

“After we’re rested, then what?” she asked. “Moldark’s presumed dead, and the Paragon is on the run. But we still have So-Elku to worry about, including reports that he’s been contacting other star systems. What are your plans?”

Caldwell nodded a few times as if lost in thought. “It’s certainly something we need to discuss as a team. But I’m not sure now is the best time. Given what we’ve all endured, I would like to propose we rest and regroup before deciding on our next mission, assuming there is a next mission at all.” Caldwell spread his hands to the room. “Would anyone like to share their thoughts?”

For a moment, people looked back and forth, wondering who might be the first to step into the proverbial ring. While group discussions were often healthy, they also came with the unspoken anxiety about whether or not your idea was good, would find consensus, or would be laughed at. But the people in this room had spilled blood together. They had lost team members. And they had traversed two universes. All of those experiences translated into an extraordinary level of trust.

“Well,” Awen said as she stood, deciding that she would be the first to speak up. “I certainly appreciate the Colonel’s orders to rest. I’m not going to stand here and lie to anyone: I’m tired, and my heart—”

A strong wave of sadness choked her up. Awen tried her best to compose herself, but the images of the dead haunted her—the bodies littering the Elusian base, the corpses inside CENTCOM, and all the fallen Marines and Paragon. And then, overshadowing it all, were the millions of dead on the planet.

Awen’s brain was numb. There was no way to quantify so many lost lives. But somehow, Awen knew, she must find a way to quantify them, to feel the universe’s loss, or else she’d be just as coldhearted as the enemies who perpetrated these heinous war crimes.

Tears filled her eyes as Awen tried to find her voice again. But it was too painful.

Magnus cleared his throat.

She glanced down at his weathered face and saw that he had tears welling in his eyes too. He nodded at her, and then said, “We need you to speak for us. Please.”

Awen smiled as her tears dripped off her cheeks. Seeing the pain in his face gave her a new sense of courage—gave her strength to face the affliction that seemed to press against every part of her soul.

“My heart is broken,” Awen said through quivering lips. “When I hear that hundreds of millions of lives were lost, I… I don’t know. My head and my heart seem to stop communicating. I can’t even fathom it. But then I start counting. That’s one, plus one, plus one—each soul has a name, a story, a favorite color, favorite food, dreams, plans—one, plus one, plus one—” She covered her mouth as a whimper slipped out. “I’m sorry.”

“Go on,” Magnus said.

“It’s the only way I can process it. And it’s horrible. It’s so horrible that I think to myself it must never be allowed to happen again. This, none of this, must ever happen again. Not while I’m alive.”

She took a second to catch her breath. Awen wiped tears from her eyes and looked at all the faces around the bridge. Before a few months ago—depending on whose time-space continuum she was counting in—she knew none of these people, save Willowood. But after all this, she couldn’t imagine her life without them. Still, there was something in her gut that told her life would never be the same after Capriana Prime. Moldark had done something to disrupt, well, everything. Whatever underlying sense of security and stability the Galactic Republic had brought to the galaxy, it was gone. And the power vacuum would be filled. Just as it always had in every civilization since the beginning of time.

“So we rest,” Awen said at last. “Mystics know I need it. But after we’ve rested, I think we have a job to do. Whether it’s So-Elku or someone else, the galaxy needs someone to keep things in check. It needs us.”

Heads nodded around the bridge, so Awen kept going.

“So-Elku is no Moldark. But he kidnapped Piper. And he’s killed people in the name of progress.” She squinted and bit her lower lip. “But I’m not convinced he isn’t sincere about his desire for peace. He didn’t become Master of the Luma for nothing. Those who elected him weren’t stupid.”

“I beg to differ,” Bliss said loud enough that Awen knew she’d have to take on his statement.

“As do I,” Abimbola added. The sting of losing Simone on Worru still lingered in his eyes.

“The Luma Elders did what they felt was best at the time,” Awen continued despite the objections. She raised a hand toward her mentor. “Willowood was there too, and she’s observed him for years. And I know So-Elku—well, knew him. Inside, I believe he is a good man, though misguided.”

“He is a tyrant, just like the rest of them,” Abimbola replied, baring his teeth. “I will not stand to see him spread his lies.”

“I’m with the big one,” Bliss added.

“Awen,” Ezo said. “Are you suggesting we let So-Elku go forward with whatever diabolical plans he has in mind?”

“Right now, we don’t know what plans he has in mind, if any,” Awen replied. “All I know is that if the rumors we’re hearing are true, some sort of loose Luma network may be the next most viable option to fill the void left by the Republic. I have to imagine that without the Senate and the power of the Fleets, alliances won’t last long.”

“We probably won’t know that for several more days, if not weeks or months,” Caldwell said.

“Agreed,” Willowood said, standing as Awen had done to address the room. “I expect the fallout from the Republic’s absence will be complicated and may extend indefinitely. My guess is that So-Elku will attempt to fill the void with a political structure that gives star systems a similar sense of security to what they had under the Republic. If anything, he might go so far as to use the Republic’s collapse as reasoning for a consolidation of power, especially among pro-Luma planets.”

“So we need to stop him,” Abimbola said.

“Not exactly,” Willowood replied. “At least not until we know what he’s up to.”

“And that may take some time to determine,” Awen added.

“Are you actually in favor of having So-Elku lead the next Republic?” Robillard said with a suspicious tone.

Awen shook her head. “No. I’m just—”

“We’re talking a totalitarian state, aren’t we,” Bliss said. “Splick.”

“Ain’t no way I’m going back to that,” Robillard replied.

“Me neither. No way.”

Awen could feel things starting to get out of hand. But before she could say anything, Magnus verbally restrained the two men. “Wait your turn, gladias.”

Bliss and Robillard straightened up a little and nodded at Magnus, then Magnus touched Awen’s hand again. “Go on.”

“I just think it’s too soon to tell,” Awen said. “If he’s going to raise something that he rules over himself, sure, history tells us that absolute power corrupts absolutely. But maybe he creates something that has some integrity to it. We just can’t know.”

“So your proposal?” Caldwell asked her.

“I think we have to rest. Then we can regroup and start investigating Worru. Who knows, maybe there’s nothing to any of this. I just think it’s too important not to discuss.”

Caldwell removed his cigar and smoothed his mustache. “Willowood? Any further thoughts?”

She nodded and then folded her arms. “I think I have a little more insight into So-Elku than Awen, but only because of my proximity to him. I was, after all, one of those stupid people who elected him to power.” Willowood eyed Bliss until the man was forced to look away.

“As Awen suggested, we Elders did what we believed was right at the time. And I would make the same decision again if given the same information. And, like Awen, I believe So-Elku has good in him, though I do not doubt the heart’s ability to become corrupt—my own included. It is only in humility and proximity to wise counsel that any of us resists the invitation to become the worst version of ourselves.

“The possibility that So-Elku rises to lead a totalitarian state is altogether real, though such an assertion seems premature at best. He has the connections and resources. And if he decides to go after disgruntled worlds, or those looking for Republic alternatives, as it sounds like he might be already, then he may very well create an alliance even more wide reaching than the Republic, if given enough time.”

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend,” Zoll said absently, but loud enough for everyone to hear.

“That does not sound good to Rohoar,” the Jujari said. “There is a bad taste in Rohoar’s mouth, like a kill that has sat too long in the sun and attracted flies. Like congealed blood that has begun to ferment in a tank of—”

“We get it, Scruff,” Robillard said through bunched up facial features. “Seriously.”

“Ah, so you know these tastes too.” Rohoar hit Robillard between the shoulder blades. “Rohoar did not take you for this kind of carnivore. This will be remembered.”

Caldwell raised a hand as if to regain the room, then looked to Willowood and Awen. “From what I’m hearing, you both seem to think So-Elku is someone we need to deal with, but not yet.”

The two women nodded at the colonel.

“Well, I think we all appreciate your assessments,” Caldwell added. “Based on my limited interactions with So-Elku during my time on Worru, I believe the man is a capable leader and someone who could raise a significant defense if given enough time and resources. But we are in no shape to take him on, and, as you’ve both said, we don’t have enough information to determine his intentions.”

“William,” Willowood said as she raised a finger. “Might I reach out to some contacts on Worru to see what I can find?”

“Didn’t we already rescue everyone willing to turn on So-Elku?” Magnus asked.

“Not exactly,” Willowood replied. “Just those who were most vocal. I might remind you that Worru is a planet full of Unity users, of all levels, not just those in the halls of academia.” She faced Caldwell. “I feel certain I can gather intelligence for you without revealing our motives or location.”

“We’d be very grateful,” the colonel said. “Do it. Anyone else?”

“Is there a reason we’re not going back to metaspace?” Zoll asked. “Do what we did before. Use the whole time-dilation thing to gain the upper hand and then come back and kick some ass?”

“Dominate,” Robillard said.

Bliss gave his fellow fire team leader a fist bump. “Liberate.”

Zoll’s question was a good one that got a lot of heads nodding. But Awen had thought about a lot already, so she raised her hand to get the colonel’s attention.

“Go ahead, Awen,” he said.

“We’re not being asked to bring peace to metaspace. We all belong here, in this universe.” She glanced at Azelon. “With the exception of Azelon. My apologies.”

Azelon dropped her head in silent reply.

“If something does arise that needs our immediate attention, we need to be ready to respond. Plus, we’re going to need to grow our numbers and build alliances. We can’t do that from metaspace. And then there are personal reasons too.”

“Like what?” Zoll asked. “Begging your pardon.”

“I don’t want to settle my parents somewhere that they’ll be alone.” Awen ran a hand around the back of her neck. She was sore and wanted a hot shower and a bed. “Taking refuge on Aluross keeps my parents in Republic territory but out of the spotlight.”

“I agree,” Ricio said, standing from his crash couch on the second level. “Capriana is all my wife and son have ever known. The last thing I want to do is move them further away to a completely alien system, even if it’s just temporary. And, who knows, maybe because of the time variables, I never get to see them again. That’s just not a risk I’m willing to take.”

Caldwell grunted then glanced around the room. “The fact is, we’re needed here, so it’s best to settle our people in this universe.” Then, more to himself, he added, “Frankly, I can’t even believe I have to make that distinction.” He chuckled and played with his cigar. “Plus, unlike you people, I have yet to make a crossing. And from the sounds of it, I’d rather have my ankles tied to the tail of ridgeback lord ox and tossed around like my Aunt Thelma’s oversized mommy milkers.”

This produced some laughter and helped ease the tension in the room.

“Colonel?” Sootriman raised a hand.

Caldwell nodded at her.

“While I don’t want to be insensitive to those who have nothing to go back to on Capriana Prime, I do have people waiting for me on Ki Nar Four.”

“Yes, of course,” Caldwell said with a sad tone. “And you will have your own crises to attend to. You are free to go.”

Sootriman frowned, and Awen could see the pain in the queen’s face. “That said, I feel there is still a job to do here, to help the survivors on Capriana.”

“Be that as it may,” Caldwell said. “I think I speak for everyone when I say you have endured enough. You are certainly justified in taking your leave.”

“No.” Sootriman pushed her chest out and glanced at Ezo. “There is work to do here, and I would like to assist the commodore with the evacuation. But when it’s complete, I will return to my people.”

“And we’re grateful for your help,” Caldwell replied.

“Ezo would like to stay with her,” Ezo said, looking from Sootriman to the colonel. “Maybe provide an escort with my squadron, if that’s permissible.”

Caldwell frowned. “While I think the commodore would be grateful for any security detail at this point, I wonder if your aid would be more helpful to Sootriman on the ground. Why don’t you stay close to your wife.”

Sootriman looked at Ezo.

“Thank you, Colonel,” Ezo replied, staring at her. “Ezo appreciates that. We both do.”

Seemingly satisfied with the arrangement, Caldwell glanced around the bridge. “Anyone else?”

“Rohoar would speak,” the Jujari said as he stood to his full height.

“Yes, go ahead.”

“Rohoar’s sired offspring, leader of the Tawnhack and rightful mwadim of the Jujari, Victorio, is no more.”

Awen had assumed as much, given Rohoar’s recent change in how he spoke about himself. But hearing her friend pronounce his own son’s death only added to her grief. “I’m so sorry, Rohoar,” Awen said from across the bridge.

“As are we all,” Caldwell added. “The battle over Oorajee, I presume?”

Rohoar bared his teeth in the Jujari version of agreement. “His was the Pride-class Super Carrier Wherever the Enemy Runs We Will Hunt Down and Slaughter Them In Droves by Order of Maw Snarlick, which sacrificed itself in a final attempt to destroy the Black Labyrinth of Moldark the Dark Lord who Slaughters Needlessly but was Wounded by Mwadim Victorio.”

Awen guessed no one in the room understood the Jujari value of naming ships, so she motioned for Rohoar to pause. “The Black Labyrinth’s full name, as Rohoar has decreed it, will forever pay homage to his son.”

“Damn straight it will,” Caldwell said. “A fitting tribute. And we’re sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” Rohoar said. “In Victorio’s absence, Rohoar would request release from his Life Debt Holder, Adonis Olin Magnus, to return to his people and ensure their wellbeing.”

“Ah, right, right, right,” Cyril said. “So, this means you are supreme system overlord again, doesn’t it?”

Rohoar produced a muted sneeze and shook his head. “Rohoar does not know what the nervous human refers to.”

“He means that you’re mwadim again,” Awen said. But she knew the Jujari custom in this matter, so she guessed what Rohoar would say.

“Yes. But the life debt forbids—”

“To hell with the life debt,” Magnus said as he gained his feet.

Abimbola shot Magnus a stern look, probably to remind him about not resisting the Jujari customs. The Miblimbian had warned him against refusing Rohoar’s original pledge back on Oorajee. And, apparently, Magnus knew what Abimbola was trying to notify him about now.

“I don’t care if he likes it or not, Bimby,” Magnus said, and then addressed Rohoar again. “Listen, Rohoar. You’ve held up your end of the bargain like a champ. You’ve fought hard, saved my life more times than I probably know about, and you’ve been a valuable asset to this team. So now it’s that time I hold up my end of the deal.”

“What end?”

“The human custom where I release you of your damned—”

Abimbola gave Magnus a death glare.

“Of your obligation to me. Rohoar of the Tawnskrit—”

“Tawnhack,” Awen whispered.

“Tawnhack, I hereby consider your life debt fulfilled. I release you to your people.”

At first, Rohoar didn’t move. Only his nostrils flared as he took in a steady breath. Finally, he lowered his head and exposed the side of his neck in deference to Magnus. And, to his credit, Magnus returned the gesture.

Awen smiled.

“Thank you, scrumruk graulap,” Rohoar said as he raised his eyes on Magnus—the little hairless warrior. “Rohoar is honored by your generosity.”

“It’s the least I can do. Friends?”

Rohoar sniffed the air. “Friends.” Then he looked to Caldwell, probably to seek release.

“Hell if I’m gonna stand in your way, mwadim,” the colonel said. “I’d only ask that you keep your comms on in case we need you.”

“This is not my departure from the Gladio Umbra,” Rohoar said. “It is, after all, the tribe of my ancestors. Rohoar is no less a part of them than he is a part of you, both here”—he pointed to his head—“and here”—then to his chest, spreading two pads of his paw apart.

“They have two hearts?” Magnus whispered to Awen.

She shh’d him but nodded.

“Damn.”

“Will you take Czyz and the others with you?” Zoll asked.

“If they so wish, and if it is the will of Colonel Caldwell.”

Caldwell frowned, but it wasn’t a disapproving look. He seemed to be considering the request and probably didn’t want to answer flippantly. “I think we have enough hands on deck. It’s fine with me. Plus, from what I understand about the Sekmit, you’re probably better off staying clear of Aluross.”

The colonel wasn’t wrong. The Sekmit were cunning warriors and tribal tacticians.

Rohoar thanked Caldwell then took a step back, indicating his desire to speak was over.

“Anyone else?” the colonel asked. Heads shook. When no one else spoke, Caldwell clapped his hands. “Right then, let’s get this show on the road. Ricio, I want you and Fang Company providing escort to Granther Company and our survivors.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Awen, you work with the locals on situating everyone. Magnus, you coordinate assignments and responsibilities. Then I’m counting on both of you to get some mysticsdamned rest, or else I’ll be forced to break your legs myself.”

“Yes, sir,” Magnus and Awen said in unison.

“Everyone else, you have your orders,” Caldwell said. “The Spire will make orbit over Seaman’s LZ within the hour. Dominate.”

“Liberate,” everyone replied. Awen wondered how long it might be before she heard the cadence of these same voices again. She would miss it.

4

“One minute,” the pilot said.

Wainwright turned around and held up one finger to his officer in charge, who then repeated the warning into the cargo bay to First Platoon and half of Second.

The shuttle was bound for Second Fleet’s Battleship, the Vincent. Like five other warships left in the aftermath, the Vincent’s engines, communications relays, and sensors had been disabled, rendering it lame, deaf, and blind. Some of its weapons systems and shields were still online, allowing it to put up a partial defense, but without sensors, both systems were next to worthless. If the Commodore had wanted extra target practice, this ship would have been an easy target. But in the wake of a conflict hallmarked by catastrophic losses, the last thing anyone wanted was more bloodshed.

Lovell assigned Wainwright to the Vincent—the largest of the surviving enemy vessels—along with two companies from Magnus’s people. One unit was commanded by a former Marine Captain who Wainwright knew from the academy—Daniel Forbes. While Wainwright was three years older, the two had been in the same class and had pissed under their share of pool tables together over the weekends. Different assignments pulled them apart, but they remained in touch over the years as time allowed.

The other company was headed up by an old woman Wainwright could only describe as the coolest granny he’d ever met. Wiry hair and an electric personality to match, the woman named Willowood was in charge of a whole host of mystics. They gave Wainwright the creeps, of course—after the splick he’d seen, he wouldn’t trust a Luma except as a practice target. But Lovell vouched for Willowood and stressed that these were rehabilitated Luma, courtesy of none other than Colonel Caldwell. Apparently, Magnus served with them too. Both men’s words went a long way in easing Wainwright’s apprehension—but still not enough, he thought to himself.

Wainwright checked the mission clock in his HUD and patted the pilot on the shoulder. “I’m heading back. Keep it smooth for us, will you?”

“Roger that,” the pilot said.

Wainwright left the cockpit and headed into the cargo bay. His company, Forbes’s, and Willowood’s were spread among six heavy armored transports, each ready to take a beating as they closed on the enemy ship’s hangar bays. But the Vincent didn’t send out so much as a blaster bolt. Wainwright’s imagination went through several scenarios, ranging from the most plausible, that the weapons systems could not get effective target lock without sensors online, to the most absurd, that Moldark had liquified every sailor onboard.

Wainwright walked down the column of Recon Marines until he was at the ramp. He de-magged his MAR30 from his back, racked the first charge, and looked at the loadmaster. “Drop us as soon as we make entry,” Wainwright said over the squad’s TACNET channel.

“Copy that,” the loadmaster replied. The man turned his head and would be asking the pilot for the necessary update.

Wainwright waited, finger resting on his trigger guard. He’d seen more and heard more crazy splick in the last few weeks than at any time in his career. And with Prime being little more than a ghost planet, who knew what the future held. Splick, he may not have a job after this mission given the direction the Republic was headed—especially if he couldn’t tell friend from foe. Then he remembered his unit and guessed they might be thinking some of the same splick.

“These were our brothers and sisters not so long ago,” he said over the company channel. “Our mission is to take them alive. So think twice before taking any shots. We do this the way we’re supposed to, and no one gets hurt. I’ll buy everyone a round on our next shore leave.”

“OTF,” said Wainwright’s company OIC, Samantha Lynzell. The rest of the unit leaders echoed her pledge to own the field.

“We get in, clear the ship, and get out. Tag survivors for interrogation and put them on the transfer tugs. With any luck, we’ll be outta here in time for Simmons to have his mom give him a glass of warm milk and sing him a lullaby.”

“I’ll have you all know that she’s a great singer,” said Lieutenant Simmons, OIC for Second Platoon.

“And her milk’s the sweetest,” Lynzell added.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Got plenty of my own, LT. Save it for the noobs.”

“Stay sharp,” Wainwright said. “Here we go.”

The loadmaster acknowledged the pilot’s call and then punched the Open button, causing the ramp’s hydraulics to shriek in protest from inside their housings. A crack of light appeared at the bay’s ceiling and extended to the floor while the shuttle descended in the hangar. The ramp kissed the deck at the same time the HAT touched down—a supreme bit of piloting that would be lost on most people. Wainwright made a mental note to say something to the pilot later.

“Everyone out,” Wainwright said and then led the way down the ramp. He stepped aside and waved Marines forward as he marked the hangar bay exits on the mission map. Wainwright allowed his eyes to linger on three sets of blast doors until a waypoint marker appeared over them. Then he assigned each platoon one of the routes.

Third Platoon and the rest of Second disembarked their HAT and filed into formation according to Wainwright’s waypoints. A third HAT arrived with half of Willowood’s company while the other half landed with Forbes’s element in a hangar bay on the Vincent’s port side. Each mystic unit was tasked with providing some sort of shielding, like what he saw on the beach on Capriana. As far as he was concerned, those mystics had defied the laws of physics. And if they did it there, they could do it here. At least that’s what he hoped.

“How you looking, Forbes?” Wainwright said. The Gladio Umbra’s AI had linked TACNET and VNET comms together to make the operation more seamless.

“Stacking up on two of three blast doors,” Forbes replied. “Third was apparently damaged in the space battle. No sign of ship’s personnel.”

“Copy that. We’ll breach on my mark.”

“Standing by.”

“Willowood, do you copy?”

“Here, Captain Wainwright,” she replied, but her voice wasn’t coming in over comms.

“Splick,” Wainwright said. “Are you in my head?”

“Better get used to it,” Forbes added. “They claim it’s more stable than comms.”

“And a hundred times more unsettling,” Wainwright added.

“She can hear you,” Forbes said.

“Just focus on your mission,” Willowood said in a kind tone. “We’ll be here to keep you covered, and if you need something, just think it.”

“So, you can hear my thoughts,” Wainwright stated without enthusiasm.

“In a manner of speaking. But don’t worry, Captain. I won’t tell everyone what you did last night.”

“Splick, are you—?”

“I’m kidding, young man.” She paused. “But not really.”

“Wait. What?”

Forbes laughed over comms. Apparently he could also hear Willowood’s Unity voice or whatever they called it. “Wish I could see the look on your face right now,” Forbes said.

“Yeah, I’ll show you when we get back on the Fortuna.” Wainwright refocused on the blast doors. “Willowood, can you cover us as we breach these doors?”

“Yes, Captain. My units are ready and waiting for your orders.”

Wainwright hesitated. “So, what do I say? Shields up?”

“That works.”

Suddenly, three walls of translucent light popped to life in front of each of Wainwright’s three squads, moving with the Marines as they approached the blast doors. “Well I’ll be,” Wainwright whispered. Then he called up his OICs as well as Forbes’s squad leaders. “All units, prepare to breach.”

Fire teams ran forward to each doorway, covering their unit’s demo expert, and set a perimeter while the charges were placed. Once set, the fire teams backed away and rejoined their squads. One by one, each element checked in on both sides of the Battleship until Wainwright saw green across the board.

“Light ’em up,” Wainwright said. OICs relayed the order, and breaching charges flashed along the hangar bay’s inside wall. The deep kuh-thud of each explosion shook the deck, but the resulting fireballs did not expand. To Wainwright’s surprise, the mystics’ forcefields contained the blasts and focused their energy on the targets. The result was detonations several times more forceful than Wainwright had anticipated.

“Fun splick, eh, Wainwright?” Forbes said.

“I could get used to that.”

“Just wait.”

Wainwright raised an eyebrow. “For what?”

“When the shooting begins.”

As if the former Marine Captain’s words summoned the act, blaster fire erupted from inside each hallway. But instead of drilling into his Marines, the energy rounds exploded against the Unity shields the same way they had on Capriana’s beach. Each bolt splintered apart in a brilliant display of free energy that crackled across the surfaces.

Every Marine under his command had their MAR30s raised. Wainwright knew they were itching to fire, and had these not been Recon units, he knew many would have returned fire already. But not his men and women. They were apex predators, and the pinnacle of self-discipline and restraint. He hadn’t given the order to return fire yet, so they wouldn’t. But then again, they didn’t need to.

That didn’t keep them from checking in with him, however. “Orders, Captain?” Simmons asked. Wainwright could hear the apprehension in his voice.

“Do not open fire,” Wainwright said. “Activate all relays to broadcast.”

“Hard copy.”

Wainwright saw the broadcast icon appear on every Marine in his company. Likewise, Forbes routed Wainwright’s signal to the external speaker on each of his gladias. When Wainwright spoke next, every helmet in Wainwright’s and Forbes’s elements broadcast his voice.

“Attention. To the crew of Republic Battleship Vincent, this is Captain Josiah Wainwright of the 70th Reconnaissance Battalion assigned to First Fleet. We are here to—”

A shoulder-mounted rocket exploded against the Unity shield and shook the hangar bay. Fortunately, the defensive wall was holding, but Wainwright cast Willowood a glance just to be sure.

“Everything’s fine on our end,” Willowood said before he asked a thing. “Proceed.”

“Roger that.” Wainwright resumed his broadcast. “We are here to commandeer your ship and take you into remedial custody, provided you—”

Another SMR explosion shook the deck.

“I don’t think they’re interested in talking,” Lynzell said.

Wainwright cursed. “Dammit, people! We’re here to help you. Stand down. I repeat stand—”

Two SMRs hit the right-hand shield wall simultaneously, causing it to flicker. Wainwright heard Willowood’s voice in his head, ordering her mystics to redouble their efforts and strengthen the right flank. “They really don’t like you, Captain Wainwright.”

“And here I thought I had such a nice guy reputation,” he replied. “Looks like we’re going with plan B.”

“Might I suggest an alternative to returning fire, Captain?”

Wainwright cocked an eyebrow at her. “Does it involve any of my units dying?”

“Not in the least.”

“Then show us what you’ve got, techno granny.”

5

Piper was bored.

Despite being on the most technologically advanced starship in the galaxy, and having every holo game at her disposal, including Azelon’s virtual environment generator, Piper wanted none of it. All she wanted was someone to talk to.

She laid her head on the game table in a small nook just off the common room on deck four. The adults were busy doing adult things and getting ready for their next mission, which left her all by herself. Again. She flipped a bahdish bahdang piece in her fingers, pushed it through her thumb and index finger against the game board, and then flipped it back—over and over and over.

Her nightmare wouldn’t leave her alone, and no holo game in the universe would make it go away for good. Games worked for a little while. Temporary distractions, her mother called them. But what Piper needed was someone to listen. Someone to tell her everything was going to be okay.

Her mother had been so good at that—at aluviating her fears. Alviatating. Just—making them go away. But with her gone, Awen busy with Magnus, and her grandmother busy leading the mystics, who was left for Piper? Which raised another question. How long had it been since she had played with someone her age? In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she had even seen a child. On Capriana, she thought. Before we left for good. And that felt like such a long time ago.

“Tiny human?” said a familiar voice.

Piper popped her head off the game board. “Rohoar!” She slid out from behind the table and raced forward. The big doggy caught her as she leaped into his arms, and then pulled her against his warm hairy chest. He wasn’t wearing his armor and looked much more like his old self, like when she first met him on Oorajee. “What are you doing here?”

Rohoar didn’t answer right away. Instead, he pointed to the empty game table. “May Rohoar sit with you?”

“Of course,” she said, giggling. “Do you want to play with me?”

Rohoar set her down. “Yes. What will we play?”

“Bahdish bahdang. Do you know it?”

Rohoar laid his ears back, which meant he didn’t. It also meant he could be very angry, but the hairs on the back of his neck weren’t standing up, so he wasn’t upset.

“That’s okay,” Piper said. “I’ll teach you. It’s easy.”

Rohoar squeezed into the booth and took up his whole side of the nook. Piper laughed. The table seemed so small beneath his hunched-over head and shoulders.

“Why do you laugh at Rohoar?”

“You just look silly, that’s all,” she replied.

“Why silly?”

She covered her mouth. She didn’t want to embarrass Rohoar. But she wouldn’t lie to him either. “You’re so big, and the table is so small. We can move into the common room.”

“No.” The big doggy laid his ears back again. “This is cozel.”

“You mean, cozy.”

“Yes.”

Piper shrugged and slid into the booth. “Suit yourself.”

“Rohoar has no desire to suit himself at this time, but thank you.”

Piper giggled again. “You still have a lot of Galactic common to learn.”

Rohoar harrumphed. “Rohoar does not see you learning any Jujari.”

“Daroff niff lik nargoth duram,” Piper said in her best Tawnhack accent. She felt very pleased when Rohoar’s ears perked up and his eyes went wide. “Do not underestimate the little ones,” Piper said, just in case she said it wrong and Rohoar needed the interpretation.

“That was—very good. Where does a tiny human learn this? Who is your sondoth?”

“Umm, Mr. Rohoar, sir?” She pointed at her data pad on the table. “I have the galactic network.”

Rohoar studied the tablet and then looked back at Piper. He let out a low whoof and then stared at the game board. “Is this bingladash?”

“Bahdish bahdang,” she replied. “Yes.” She pointed to his side of the board. “These are your pieces, and these are mine. We take turns moving them, like this.” She demonstrated the standard moves, acting like she was him, then her, and then him again. “Then, when two of our pieces meet, you make a bet.”

“A bet? On what?”

“On whether or not I’m stronger than you, or you than me.” She pointed to a stack of poker chips beside the side of the board and cut them into two equal piles. “Awen says I’m not allowed to bet with real credits, so Abimbola gave me some of his poker chips. These are yours.”

Rohoar pulled his pile toward his side of the table. “Rohoar does not understand.”

Piper nodded at the two opposing pieces that touched. “I’m going to bet two chips that I’m stronger than you. Bahdish.” She placed her bet on the board. “And you”—she reached to his pile of chips—“are only going to bet one. Bahdang.”

“Why one? Rohoar is more confident than one.”

“Just watch. Now we flip.” Piper took her piece and flipped it over to reveal a strength icon. Then she took Rohoar’s piece and flipped it over, revealing a symbol of lower strength.

“Bahdish, bahdang,” he said under his breath. “Rohoar sees.”

Piper took all three poker chips then removed Rohoar’s piece from the board and placed hers back down.

“Hey,” he said. “You took Rohoar’s warrior.”

“You lost.”

“What?”

“You lost.”

The big doggy growled. “Rohoar never loses.”

“Well, you just did. But don’t worry”—she reached out and petted his paw—“I was just explaining the game.”

Rohoar pulled his paw away, but there wasn’t much room to retreat, so he merely bent his hand at the wrist and raised it as if he was injured.

“You can look at your pieces at any time, and you try and memorize mine as we play. You use the betting portion to try and convince your opponent to back down.”

“Like intimidation in battle.”

“Yes. And if your opponent doesn’t want to call off their attack after you bet, you show your pieces. You can also use other pieces to strengthen your attack, like this.” Piper moved a few other pieces into play, both hers and his, and then flipped them over and added the values on her finger for him to see. When she removed another of his pieces again, Rohoar growled.

“Rohoar does not lose.”

“I’m just teaching you, silly. And you can always use your chips to buy your taken pieces out of jail. The first one to lose all their pieces or all their money loses.”

Rohoar pulled his poker chips a little closer toward his tummy. “Begin for real.”

She smiled, then reset the board. “You go first.”

Rohoar moved a piece forward.

“So, you’re alone?” Piper asked as she made her opening move. “Where is everyone?”

“All the everyones are busy preparing for many things.” He moved.

“What kind of things?” She moved her next piece, noticing that Rohoar was lowering his head toward the game board.

“Some help to clear ships, some go to the planet to serve survivors, others go to a cat planet to take naps.”

“Cat planet?”

Rohoar shuddered. “Yes. Sekmit.” Then he whispered something in Jujari.

She pointed at him and tilted her head. “Did Rohoar just say a naughty word?”

He sat back in surprise and pointed at his chest.

“Yes, you,” she said.

Then he leaned toward her. “Does the network also teach tiny humans bad Jujari words?”

“Nope,” she said, moving a piece to intercept his. “I guessed. Bahdish.” She threw down two poker chips.

Rohoar snapped his attention down to the board, looked under his piece, and then bet three chips. “Bahdang.”

Piper flipped her piece over, then Rohoar flipped his.

“My win,” she said with a cheerful tone.

“No. Rohoar does not lose.”

“Don’t worry. It’s just the first round. We have a lot of pieces left.”

“Good. Let us continue.”

She jabbed a finger toward his side of the board. “Your move.”

Rohoar moved his head from side to side and sniffed the air. He looked under a few of his pieces and then made his move.

“So, which one of those things are you doing?” Piper asked.

Rohoar looked up, as if unsure of her question.

“The ships, the survivors, the cat naps,” she said, trying to clarify for him.

“None of them. Rohoar plays badalangdish with Piper.”

“Bahdish bahdang, Mr. Rohoar. Bahdish bahdang.”

“Yes.”

As she moved her next piece, she caught Rohoar tracking her hand with his whole head. It made her giggle. “But what are you doing after we play?”

“Play again?”

“Yes, but after that?”

Rohoar scratched behind his ear and then moved. Piper moved another piece and double-teamed Rohoar. “Bahdish,” she said, then bet three chips.

“Bahdang,” Rohoar replied, tossing down five chips.

Piper flipped her two pieces, and he flipped his one.

“No,” Rohoar growled.

“You’ll get used to it,” Piper said, removing his piece from the board and collecting her winnings. “Try harder.”

Rohoar pulled his lips back. “But Rohoar is trying with all of his tries.”

“It takes time. Maybe think about using your pieces together, like I did.”

“Rohoar does not need help.”

“Suit yourself.”

“Rohoar needs no suits. He prefers freedom.” He moved, and then Piper moved.

“So, after this, then what?” she asked.

Rohoar studied the board but did not move right away. “Rohoar will return to Oorajee.”

Piper froze.

Rohoar seemed to notice that something was wrong because he looked up from the board and studied her face. “Has Rohoar electrocuted Piper?”

“What?” She wanted to snicker at him, but the sadness squeezing her heart was too strong.

“To send energy into a body. Electrocute?”

Piper shook her head, but she didn’t feel like talking. She crossed her arms. “Shock.”

“What?”

“The word you want. You asked if you shocked me.”

“Ah, yes. And has Rohoar?”

Piper looked away. The thought that he was leaving her made her so sad. Just when she thought she had a friend, he was leaving. “Why are you going?”

Rohoar let out such a deep breath that the warm air played with Piper’s head like a hair drier. “Cut that out,” she said, unable to conceal her smile. But Rohoar wasn’t smiling. In fact, she was pretty sure he was crying.

“What’s the matter?” She reached out and grabbed his finger. “Rohoar?”

“Rohoar’s son has died.”

Piper felt like someone had punched her in the tummy. She couldn’t breathe. When she finally managed to speak, the words came out all twisted and thin. “I’m sorry, big puppy. I’m so sorry.” She wiped tears from her eyes and forgot about their game—until Rohoar made his next move. She wondered how he could think of playing a game with news like this.

“Your turn,” he said.

Piper stared at the pieces for several seconds. “How did he die?”

“Valiantly.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

Rohoar sniffed the air. “He gave his life to save our people. To save me. To save you.”

Piper winced. “Me?”

“Your move.”

She could hardly see the pieces through her tears. Piper wiped her eyes with the heels of her hands and then made a move. “He saved me?”

Rohoar twitched his nose. “He drove his starship into Moldark’s and disabled part of the engines. Valiantly.”

“What was his name?” she asked.

“Victorio.”

“That’s a beautiful name.”

“And he was a beautiful son,” Rohoar said, making his next move. “Bahdish.” He threw down four chips. Apparently, he thought his piece was strong.

But Rohoar had moved into a cluster of Piper’s pieces, and she knew without looking that her combined strength far outweighed his. So she put down ten chips to scare him off. Piper was just doing this for his own good. “Bahdang.”

Rohoar scowled at her.

“Do you want to back down?” she asked.

“No. Voknareth ilphin nockfarock. Never back down when kill is certain.” He motioned forward with his head, encouraging her to flip her pieces as he flipped his.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Piper flipped her pieces over—their combined strength far exceeding his.

“No,” Rohoar said through clenched teeth. “Rohoar always wins. Tiny humans are no match for him.”

Piper managed a small smile. She loved Rohoar, and she would miss him when he was gone. “So, are you going to attend his funeral? You’ll be back afterward though, right?”

“What is funeral?” he asked.

“You know, where everyone gathers and talks about how much they miss the dead person. Then you look at the body and cry over it. And then everyone eats.”

“You eat the corpse?”

“No, gross. We eat at someone’s house.”

“You eat the corpse at someone’s house?” Rohoar sneezed in the air, showering her with a fine mist. “You are such a strange species.”

“No." Piper ran a hand over her face. “We eat regular food, and the body goes into the ground.”

Rohoar seemed to accept this more easily but still twisted his head a little. “You wish your kinsfolk to reside eternally among sand then?”

“Huh?” Piper wrinkled her nose.

“You bury them, in sand, to abide with sand.”

“No. It’s just because…” She really didn’t know why.

“We Jujari burn the bodies of kinsfolk, releasing them to abide among stars,” Rohoar said with a dreamy tone to his voice.

“We burn them sometimes too,” Piper said, realizing that she didn’t know as much about funerals as she thought.

“You do this to the ones you like, and bury the ones you don’t?”

Piper blinked at him, then decided to move—and change the subject. “So, when will you come back?”

Rohoar moved. “It is uncertain.”

“What do you mean it’s uncertain? You hold your son’s funeral, and then you come back here, right?”

But Rohoar didn’t answer right away.

Piper filled the awkward silence with another move.

“Rohoar is mwadim again,” he said, sliding a piece forward from his backline.

“Mwadim? That’s like the most important doggy, right?”

He grunted. Then Rohoar put his head down as low as it would go and tracked Piper’s next move with one large eye. Keeping his head right where it was, he looked at his piece, put a claw nail on it, and slid it to meet hers. “Bahdish,” he said, and then pushed the remaining chips forward.

“But, Rohoar, that’s one piece.”

“Bahdish,” he repeated with more force.

“But I’m surrounding you.”

“And Rohoar scares you away with all his poker chips from Abimbola. Bah—dish, Rohoar says.”

Piper shrugged. She didn’t even bother betting. “Bahdang.”

“Where is your intimidation? Rohoar sees no bet.”

“I don’t have to,” Piper replied, and then flipped her pieces.

“Fiklarrok,” Rohoar shouted.

Piper didn’t know what the word meant, but it sounded naughty. “I win.”

“Rohoar wins!”

“No, Rohoar doesn’t win. Piper does.” She pulled his chips to her side of the table as the Jujari looked away with a pouty face. “Oh, come on. It’s just one game. Don’t be such a sore loser.”

“Rohoar is not sore in any part of his body.”

“You’ll win next time.” She split the chips up again. “Here, I’m even giving you extra money, okay?”

Rohoar kept his head looking away but rolled his eye to see the pile of chips. “Why? Because the tiny human takes pity on Rohoar? He needs no pity.”

“Because Rohoar is Piper’s friend. And she’s going to miss him while he’s gone.”

Piper’s words seemed to make Rohaor’s shoulders relax. “Piper is Rohoar’s friend too.” He sighed and then looked back at her. “Being mwadim means Rohoar must be present for his people. To lead them. And after so much carimgil, so much blood war, Rohoar’s people need eyes.”

“Eyes?” Piper looked up from resetting the board.

“Yes, eyes.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think that’s what you mean to say.” Piper thought for a moment. “Vision.”

“How is this different?” Rohoar asked.

“Eyes are these.” She made a show of touching the white part of her eye. It didn’t hurt like touching the center part, and she learned you could gross adults out by doing it. “But vision is something we say to talk about making plans or thinking ahead.”

“Then Rohoar’s people need vision, yes.”

“That makes sense.” Piper told Rohoar they were ready to begin again, but the big puppy hesitated. He seemed distracted by something. “Rohoar?”

“Yes?”

“Are you okay?”

He sighed, blasting her hair with more hot air again. “Rohoar is unsure if he will win.”

“It’s your second time playing,” Piper said with an exasperated tone. “Here, I’ll go easy on you this time. Promise.”

“Not here.” He pointed to the board. “There. Among the Jujari.”

Piper bunched up her nose and eyebrows. “You mean, you’re not sure you will win their hearts or something?”

“You might say this, yes.”

“Come on, you’re Rohoar,” Piper exclaimed. “You’re the best super doggy in the galaxy!”

“Not doggy. Jujari.”

“You’re still super. And you can do anything.”

He grunted. “He cannot win in board game against tiny human.”

Piper considered this for a second. “You know what your problem is?”

“Rohoar has no problems.”

“We all have problems, super doggy.”

“Not super doggy.”

His ears perked up.

“You’re trying to do things by yourself. You know, alone. Like in the game. You lost pieces because you took on three of my pieces with only one of yours. That makes it so easy for me to beat you. Instead, you gotta use pieces together. You know, like the Gladio Umbra. Then it’s harder to beat you because you’re way stronger.” She made a fist and punched her open palm. “Together you’re stronger. And you’re never alone.”

“But Rohoar is strong,” he replied.

“Yeah, but—” Piper felt frustrated. She didn’t know what else to say. “I’m just saying, maybe you’re not strong enough by yourself, and that’s why you’re appriprensive.”

“Appriprensive?”

“Sure. Everyone feels it before they do something they’ve never done. Like facing your fears, head-on. But if you do it as one, then you don’t need to be so afraid.”

Rohoar nodded in understanding. “Appriprensive. Facing fears head-on as one.” He punched a fist into his open palm. “Rohoar likes this.”

“Good.”

“Rohoar will be more appriprensive.”

“Yes. Wait, umm—no.”

He punched his palm again. “Head-on. No fears. As one.”

Piper needed to re-explain the word. He was getting it wrong. “Rohoar, wait—”

“No waiting. Play again. Rohoar is very appriprensive now.” And then he moved his first piece.

6

By the time Sootriman and Ezo arrived on the far side of Capriana Prime, the local Repub forces had already begun evacuating the planet. Their efforts, however, seemed more like feeble attempts at mass crowd control than executing any sort of coordinated exit strategy. Sootriman guided the Radiant Queen, her retrofitted Panther-class starfighter, over spaceports flooded with survivors. Survivors overwhelmed the few remaining islands unaffected by Moldark’s barrage like Kaloton swarm locusts to pools of desert honey. Even from a thousand meters up, Sootriman could tell the government’s greatest threat was not stemming fallout, it was curbing pandemonium.

The LO9D strikes had sent shockwaves rippling across the planet, wiping out life much the way multiple meteor strikes might. Those inhabitants lucky enough to live beyond the blast radiuses were given the highest chances of survival, and they now made their way to landmasses with the last operational spaceports. They came by boat, hover ship, and sea skimmer. Some paddled from atop building wreckage, while others swam. And as the survivors touched down on sandy beaches, they flooded Prime’s last habitable landmasses in desperate bids to save their lives.

Sootriman came in over Vellarial Island’s west side and set the Queen down in a hangar bay reserved for non-Repub transports. While her ship wasn’t suited for more than five passengers, she and Ezo weren’t here to make runs. They were here for aid. Seaman had given Caldwell a list of areas of strategic need, and high on that list was helping survivors bed down in designated shelters to wait their turn to leave. It would take several days, if not weeks, to get everyone clear of the dying planet. That meant meeting basic needs like food, clothing, waste management, shelter, and making sure families stayed together or had the means to reconnect once underway to the sanctuary planet of Minrok Santari.

Sootriman had flashed her credentials to a Repub Marine who then pointed her and Ezo to a command center on the spaceport’s far side. From there, they were introduced to a welfare management officer who immediately assigned them a position helping survivors to take shelter inside the city’s spaceball stadium. Sootriman and Ezo were given a quick rundown of basic tasks, and then assigned their own area to manage on the main field.

“Any questions?” the welfare management officer said from behind his makeshift standing desk. He wore a beige field suit that bore the Republic’s Health and Welfare Services badge over his left breast, and his last name over the right.

“Seems straightforward to me, Officer Griggs,” Sootriman said, reviewing the action plan on a data pad. Just then, she noticed the man eye her long legs. She’d worn a work shirt, vest, and khaki shorts, knowing it was going to be hot on Prime.

“Eyes on the data pad there, Griggsy,” Ezo said. “My wife’s already got one set of eyes on her assets, and that’s enough.”

Griggs, not realizing he’d been observed ogling Sootriman, glanced back down at his desk.

“We’ll check in with”—she glanced at the stadium director’s name again—“Lowery upon arrival.”

“Correct. He’ll get you squared away.” Then Griggs seemed to consider Sootriman and Ezo for a moment. “Thanks again for your help. We don’t have a lot of civilians looking to hang around.”

“I know what it’s like to be displaced.” Sootriman looked to Ezo. “We both do.”

“Well, it’s appreciated—and you come with a recommendation from Commodore Seaman as well.” Griggs whistled. “You’re either in a heap of trouble, or you really like helping people.”

“It’s always a little of both, isn’t it?”

Griggs chuckled then cleared his throat. “Listen, there’s one more thing. We’ve had several reports of incidents around the city.”

The way the man said the word incidents made Sootriman curious. “What kind of incidents?”

“Eh, minor conflicts between disgruntled citizens and the Marines. Everyone’s on edge right now—which goes without saying. Fight or flight instincts don’t exactly get channeled through the brain’s logic center. You know what I mean?”

“So we should keep our wits about us,” Sootriman said.

“Something like that.” Griggs turned and reached into a set of crates behind him. “Here,” he said, handing Sootriman and Ezo crowd-control rods. “Take these just in case.”

Sootriman waved a hand at the wicked instrument. “Thanks, but I’ll be okay.”

“But Ezo will take it,” Ezo said as he reached for the device. “And hers too.”

Sootriman gave him a stern look.

“What?”

She closed her eyes and shook her head as if to say whatever.

Ezo clipped the prods onto his belt and then smiled. “Just in case.”

They finished the briefing, thanked Griggs, and followed an armed Marine escort across an open hangar bay toward a transport sled.

“Seemed like you got a bit jealous back there,” Sootriman said.

“Eh, your legs draw a lot of attention. I was just, you know, trying to thin the herd.”

“Well, I liked it.”

Ezo’s cheeks turned a shade of pink, and then he reached back to one of the two control rods on his hip. “I mean, I’ve got prods now. I can go back and taze him if you want.”

“Easy, husband.” She placed a hand on his arm. “I said I liked you speaking up for me, not electrocuting the guy.”

“Fair enough.” He let go of the prod but pointed to it. “But if you ever need me to—”

“I know where to find you.”

Outside the spaceport’s high walls, Sootriman heard masses of people milling about, waiting for their turn to leave the planet in what she’d seen from the air were endlessly long lines. Even separated by blast doors and ten-meter high walls, she could hear the nervous voices of adults, crying children, and shouting Marines. It wasn’t hard to imagine the unrest that Griggs had warned them about. Mass-tragedies had a way of bringing people together and driving them apart, depending on what core values lay at the bottom of a culture’s collective soul. Hopefully, Prime’s foundation will hold out a little longer, she thought, knowing it was crumbling by the second.

Sootriman took a deep breath as they neared the transport. The midday sky was dour—sun dimmed by the ashen remains of untold millions of souls. And the air Sootriman breathed was stale. A stench filled her nose, one of seawater, burnt plastic—and death.

“You okay, love?” Ezo asked as he took up her hand.

Sootriman was startled by his touch but no less grateful for it.

When she didn’t say anything, he added, “Caledonia?”

“Of course,” she said, remembering her people’s long resettlement efforts.

“Me too.”

Where her parents had been royalty, escorted off-planet for the worst of the years-long conflict, Ezo had been a meager island teenager forced to face the horrors of watching his village be wiped out by the ’kudas. He had no opportunity for escape and was forced to fend for himself, suffering on his home island—until the Marines helped rescue him. Or, rather, he helped save them.

When Sootriman finally reconnected with Ezo, he had become a wealthy young entrepreneur, one who’d survived the conflict aboard his newfound yacht. At least, that was the story he’d told everyone. But she knew otherwise—she knew him before all that, when he was just T’ai from Mo’a Ot’a. But her parents would never have allowed her to fall in love with a Nimprinth, let alone a destitute one. But a self-made one with means that rivaled their own wealth? That might have been enough. Still, they refused her.

“You have responsibilities here,” her father had said when Idris Ezo asked for permission to whisk her away to the stars. “Your people are hurting, and it will take years to resettle everyone.”

“Beyond the year we’ve already spent?” Sootriman asked, tired of the arduous nature of the work. “Is that to be my whole life then? Caring for others’ needs only?”

Her father had looked at her with grief-filled eyes. She could see he was tired, as was her mother. But they were nobles to a fault.

“What about my needs, father?” she asked, touching her chest with a fist of protest. “When’s it my turn?”

Her father was right, of course—leading the Caledonians was the right thing to do. But that didn’t mean it was what she wanted. He was king, after all, and she was not. So, in the end, Sootriman did what any self-respecting young woman in love would do. She ran away with Ezo aboard his starship and never looked back.

“It’s just like fate, isn’t it?” Sootriman said, squeezing Ezo’s hand as they boarded the Repub shuttle. “That we’re here.”

“And forced to deal with a similar hardship all over again?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No. It’s not a hardship. It’s more like—a second chance.”

He looked at Sootriman as they took their seats. “You’re saying you regret leaving with me?”

“Not for a second.” She buckled herself in and then retook his hand, squeezing it. “But I still left work that was mine to undertake.”

Ezo looked out the starboard windowplex hatch as the shuttle’s engines wound up. “It was your parents’ work, love. Not yours.”

“I know. But still I—”

“Felt guilty for leaving.”

She nodded as he looked back at her.

“So it’s redemption then,” he said.

“Something like that.” She felt the ship lift upward. They rose above the spaceport’s walls and banked away, passing over the crowds of survivors.

* * *

In the distance, poking between skyscrapers, Sootriman caught sight of the spaceball stadium. Its lights shone down on four decks of seating, causing the edifice to stand out against the murky sky like a shimmering jewel. But she knew the angst of those people now filling its walls. Gone was the pregame hope that one team would defeat the other. Gone were the victory shouts as goals were scored, and fireworks set off—instead, the ticket queues and turnstiles filled with the hopeless victims of war.

When the shuttle finally touched down inside the stadium on the main field, Sootriman and Ezo were greeted by a Repub welfare supervisor. “Thank you both for volunteering,” the man said, dressed in his beige uniform. “Name’s Lowery. I’m overseeing the stadium grounds. This way.”

He led them across the field, which was already filling with cots, food and water stations, and mobile sanitation booths. While there were no survivors in the stadium yet, Sootriman felt the tension in the atmosphere. Volunteers worked to place blankets and survival pouches on every seat in the complex, and the air outside hummed with the sounds of the awaiting masses. “You have oversight of grid A-4, over there.”

Sootriman looked to a corner on the field. “Open field barracks?”

“Correct. Your survivors will be staying one night. All families, doubling up cots. We’ll move them out at dawn, and they’ll be replaced by a new wave from those waiting in the seats.”

She nodded. “Got it.”

“You and”—Lowery double-checked his data pad—“Mr. Idris Ezo can take your leave over there in the administration building whenever you like.”

Sootriman glanced over to a heavily guarded mobile crew station. “That won’t be necessary.”

“Still,” Ezo said, putting a hand on her arm but addressing Lowery. “It’s good to know where we might need to take a break or use the facilities.”

Lowery seemed to appreciate Ezo’s sensibility, and Sootriman had to admit that her husband was correct in recognizing their future needs. But all she could think about were the people who needed help.

“Here is your new data pad,” Lowery said, taking the one Griggs had given her. “You’ll find registration rosters, movement timelines, resupply forms, and emergency assistance request fields. If you need anything else, I’ll be in the admin station.”

“Thank you, Lowery,” Sootriman said. She glanced at the pad just as an alert klaxon sounded.

“Looks like you arrived just in time,” Lowery added. “Here come our first guests now.”

A moment later, people emerged from the athletic tunnels that ran under the stands. They also appeared along the tops of each seating section extending four levels up toward the towering lights. Sootriman strained her neck, taking in the dizzying spectacle. But rather than adoring sports fans, these people looked as though they were attending the funeral of some pop icon, filling the seats with forlorn faces and hunched shoulders. Many held bandages to their faces or cradled arms in slings, while others carried children on their shoulders and backs.

Health and Welfare workers directed survivors into seats as the masses arrived at checkpoints bordering the field. “Guess that’s our cue,” Ezo said.

“Thank you again for your help,” Lowery said, and then walked toward the admin station.

Ezo made for the checkpoint, but Sootriman froze.

“You good, love?” Ezo asked.

Seeing all these faces in need of aid, Sootriman couldn’t help but think of the people she’d lost in the fight against Moldark’s fleet. Her Magistrates and their warriors—so many of them gone. And there was nothing she could do about it now. She wasn’t able to help them, and, somewhere in the back of her mind, Sootriman wondered if she would let down these survivors just like she let down her Magistrates.

Then a new emotion hit her, one of deep doubt. Maybe coming here had been a mistake. Perhaps she needed to be back on Ki Nar Four to help her planet recover from its losses. Instead, she was on a Repub world, taking care of people she had no real responsibility for. Maybe Ezo was right—perhaps this was secretly about her redemption—only it was severely misplaced.

“You coming?” Ezo said, looking back at her.

“Yeah.” Sootriman nodded her head. “Let’s do it.”

* * *

Sootriman helped a family of six get squared away in three cots. They would take turns sleeping, allowing the children to go first. The husband and wife seemed to insist that the one grandparent also take a spell on a cot, but the older man refused, preferring instead to stand while the others rested. Sootriman admired his selflessness.

Next, she turned to a family of eight—assigned to four cots. The mother of the group seemed cautious, continually checking over her shoulder toward some rows of stadium seating two sections up. She was especially drawn to the family because, based on their dark skin tone and wide eyes, they were Caledonian.

“Are you okay, ma’meetha?” Sootriman asked, using the native word for mother. The woman clutched her infant son and looked surprised when she saw a fellow Caledonian.

“Yes, yes.” She kissed her baby’s head. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

But Sootriman knew a lie when she heard it, especially one spoken in maternal self-preservation. They weren’t even an hour into this situation, and already hostilities were simmering under the surface. Hadn’t these people had enough crises for one day?

Sootriman searched the stands for anyone who looked out of place. But she didn’t see anything besides thousands of people trying to get settled in the hard plastic seats.

The husband pulled the wife close and situated his family around the cots. Ezo distributed food boxes and water while the children curled up on or under the beds. Again, Sootriman studied the section of seating that the mother kept eyeing. Maybe no one else noticed the woman’s furtive glances, but Sootriman did. Unable to see anything out of the ordinary, Sootriman checked the mother’s name on her data pad then knelt beside her.

“Mrs. Solanzan, is it?” Sootriman asked.

The woman nodded. “Merinda.”

“My name is Sootriman. Mow’in neepreeth’a.”

“Neepreeth'a oomith,” Merina replied, returning the customary greeting with her eyes raised. “You’re Caledonian.”

Sootriman nodded. “As are you. What island?”

“Pa’toa N’iani.”

“The trade winds favor your north side.”

Merinda eyed Sootriman. “You know it?”

“Well enough.” Sootriman gave her a warm smile and then leaned in. “Is everything okay?”

Merinda’s eyes darted around. She clutched the baby close to her chest as if Sootriman might suddenly snatch him away.

“Easy, Merinda,” Sootriman said with as soothing a tone as she could make. That’s when she noticed that the little boy’s skin was too light to be full Caledonian. “I’m here to help you and keep you safe. Nothing more. You can trust me.”

Merinda bit her lower lip and then turned away from her husband, who was busy attending to the other children. “He’s an evil man,” Merinda said, barely above the sound of a whisper.

Sootriman nodded and then spoke just as quietly. “The child’s birth father? He’s in the crowd somewhere?”

Merinda nodded. “I don’t know how he followed us in here, but he did.”

“Do you have reason to believe he might harm you or your son?”

Merinda swallowed, her hands petting the boy’s little head faster and faster. She nodded.

“Can you point him out to me?” Sootriman noticed the woman withdraw a little. “You can trust me, Merinda. I just want to help keep you and your family safe.”

Merinda swallowed again, looked left and right, and then nodded over Sootriman’s shoulder. “That section there. Fifth row, third seat in from the aisle on the left.”

Sootriman didn’t look right away. Instead, she straightened and casually looked around as if searching for an aid worker. But she saw the man in question, an angry-faced Caprianian dressed in a civil engineer’s uniform. His eyes locked onto Sootriman’s.

“Problem here?” Ezo said.

Merinda looked away, retreated to a cot with her baby, and busied herself with the other children.

“Seems we’ve got a potential situation here,” Sootriman said to her husband, speaking in hushed tones. “But it needs to be handled quietly for the mother’s sake.”

Ezo glanced over at Merinda without moving his head. “Baby daddy somewhere in the crowd?”

“How’d you guess?” she asked, somewhat sarcastically.

“I know a cinshya when I see one,” Ezo said, using the colloquial slang for mixed blood. If anyone but a Caledonian used the term, it usually got them a blaster muzzle in the solar plexus. But Ezo, being both a Nimprinth and her husband, got a free pass.

“Second section. Fifth row. Third seat in from—”

“That’s one angry baby daddy,” Ezo said, cutting her off.

“You think?”

“I’ll have security take care of him.”

Sootriman put a hand on his arm. “Quietly. She doesn’t need any more drama in her life right now.”

Ezo winked. “Copy that, hot legs.”

Ezo moved off and found the closest Marine, while Sootriman tended to Merinda. “Everything’s going to be just fine.”

“You don’t know him.” The woman’s voice strained as her baby started to cry. She bobbed him up and down, trying to soothe him. “He’s—he’s imbidwanzee.”

Sootriman winced. It was, perhaps, one of the worst slang terms in the entire Caledonian lexicon, a derogatory word for a xenophobic rapist. Sootriman activated the comms in her Novian biotech interface and raised Ezo. “Tell them to be cautious, love,” she said in a whisper. The NBTI transmitted the communication to Ezo instantly. “Possibly armed and hostile.”

“You think he means to attack her?” Ezo asked, turning away from the Marine to look at her.

“Imbidwanzee,” Sootriman said.

Ezo nodded. “So, he means to attack her.”

“Yup.”

Ezo turned back to the Marine while Sootriman spoke to Merinda. “He’s not going to hurt you anymore.”

“You can’t be sure,” the woman replied.

“I’m pretty sure.” Sootriman watched three Marines detach from a platoon stationed along the section’s top and make their way down the stairs. “The Republic doesn’t take this kind of thing lying down.”

“Tell that to all the women that condithla raped,” Merinda said, choosing the one word that was, arguably, worse than the term she’d used before. This mother had a mouth on her, but Sootriman couldn’t blame her. “They let filth like this walk around without fear of arrest. Men like him are the whole reason we left Caledonia to begin with.”

“Marines?” Sootriman asked.

Merinda nodded.

In the wake of the years-long conflict, the Republic put permanent bases on the planet to quell any future Akuda uprisings. Not only was the Marine presence strong, but so were the numbers of troopers who decided to get out of the Corps and take up residence on the tropical paradise. As part of their reward for fighting in and surviving the bloody conflict, the government gave soldiers stipends and tax incentives to stay on-world and help with restructuring.

Most Marines were good—that much could be said of any species in the galaxy. But, unfortunately, the violent minority often spoke for the passive majority. And overwhelmingly so. The rumors of violence spread system-wide until the once-prized world became synonymous with freedom for the wealthy and danger for the poor. Some of the quadrant’s worst underworld leaders even took up permanent residence on islands, choosing to base their seedy operations right under the Republic’s nose and take advantage of the tax shelters intended for former Marines, not crime lords.

If a Caledonian family had the funds, Capriana Prime was seen as the destination planet of choice. Not only was it similar in geography and climate, but new legislation provided certain tax credits if the immigrants could get planetside. It didn’t guarantee a life of ease—Prime’s living costs were far too inflated for that—but it did ensure that a family like Merinda’s could make a new start for themselves on a planet far safer than the one they were born on.

Or, so, that’s what everyone thought.

The reality was, as most often are, far different than the projections. Caledonian immigrants were “strongly encouraged” to find housing units in the worst sections of the worst islands on the planet. The tax credits turned out to be little more than handouts, which did little to help a struggling family, like Merinda’s. And the violence they’d desperately tried to escape found them anew, locked on a planet filled with just as much evil as the one they’d left.

Sootriman had left Caledonia for just these reasons. It wasn’t that she wanted to abandon her parents. It was that she believed they were fighting a hopeless cause. Their cause, she’d told herself. Not mine. So when the opportunity to flee with Ezo presented itself, she jumped at it.

They’d wandered the quadrant for a while, but it was ultimately the wild mix of species and the lack of stifling laws that enticed Sootriman to stay on Ki Nar Four. It was there she also discovered that she had her father’s gift for rallying people. To her cause, she emphasized in her head. Not his. And her causes included the radical acceptance of diverse peoples—something this imbidwanzee in the fifth row didn’t understand. Would never understand.

Sootriman watched as the Marines approached the man who’d raped Merinda and waved at him to stand. He shouted at them. Still, the Marines insisted he stand.

“Is it that bitch down there?” the man said, pointing in Merinda’s direction. “She do this?”

Embarrassed, Merinda hid her head against Sootriman’s shoulder. Sootriman instinctively put a hand on the woman’s head as if to shield her.

“All you puckties are the same.” The man seethed. “You can’t take care of your own planet, so you come here and ransack ours with your parasites.”

“Sir, please step out of your seat,” the nearest Marine said, weapon raised.

“That’s not what I fought for, dammit. That’s not what any of us fought for. We shouldn’t have been there in the first place.”

“What’s going on?” Merinda’s husband said as he stepped toward the two women. “Is he pointing at you?”

“No,” Merinda said. “He’s talking about all of us.”

“All you puckties deserve to die,” the man said, screaming down at Merinda. “Every last one of you!”

“That’s it. Arrest him,” the Marine ordered the other two troopers with him.

“Don’t touch me,” hollered the man as he shrugged away the Marine’s first attempts to grab him. “You probably did her as many times as I did!”

“Failure to comply will—” The nearest Marine fought the man, trying his best not to bump into those seated around him. “I order you to hold still!”

“Or what? You afraid I’ll hurt someone, like this?” Then the man pulled a blaster from beneath his jacket, pointed it toward Sootriman, and fired.

7

The moment Wainwright gave Willowood permission to engage the hostile forces aboard the Vincent, she hailed Sion, Incipio, and Tora—Paladia Company’s three cadre leaders. “Take the tunnels. Subdue the enemy, but do not kill them unless you have no other choice. I assume they’re still under the lingering effects of Moldark’s control. Break it if you can.”

“Understood,” each mystic leader replied.

“Use half your elements to maintain shielding,” Willowood added. “Employ your most skilled units in close quarters battle. Advance.”

Willowood watched as Incipio took the center tunnel while Sion and Tora took the left and right shafts, respectively. Half of each cadre stepped in front of their Marine counterparts, maintaining the Unity shielding, as the second half advanced into the tunnels.

Incipio’s cadre was the first to make close quarter contact with the enemy. From within the Unity, Willowood watched the Luma-turned-gladia assume the primary stance of the Li-Loré. But where the art form had been intended defensively, Willowood had given her cadres valuable insights and training into how it could be used offensively—skills that she hoped would never fall into the wrong hands.

The Order of the Luma would never have allowed such deviation—that is, all save So-Elku and his Blue Guard. They had already explored the more aggressive nature of the art form, as was realized in the conflict following her release from the catacombs. But for all his strength, So-Elku was still nowhere near the practitioner of the Unity that Willowood was, nor was he as creative. So it was that Willowood created new techniques to supplement the standard forms for situations just like these where enemy combatants needed to be subdued but not slain.

* * *

Incipio led the charge into the first tunnel, gathering energy in his hands and spreading them apart at his waist. He drew in a deep breath while the blaster fire distorted the air not one meter in front of him. He could sense the aggravation in the Paragon troopers as they saw their blaster fire doing nothing to harm the mystic warriors. If the tables had been turned, he’d be just as aggravated.

And afraid, he thought. I would be most afraid of this.

He lifted his hands and released the energy down the length of his arms, then scattered it into the mass of enemy combatants. One by one, their thoughts became apparent to him—not in the ways some might think mystics read minds, but in the way that one person might glimpse a single image in another person’s head.

Incipio meant these troopers no harm. He had no desire to kill any of them. Incipio had joined the Luma mainly because the Republic military war machine so repulsed him. And yet, he’d wanted to make a difference in the galaxy, to be an agent of change and not some meaningless cog in a power system. But war, it seemed, was inevitable, and here he was, charging into a blaster fight.

The only difference being that he did not hate this enemy—at least not the way they hated him. Yes, he was angry at all the lives the Paragon had snuffed out. Such actions were atrocious, and there were no repercussions strong enough to punish such seismic violence. But this did not mean Incipio hated these particular men.

Suspended like frozen images held in front of their chests, Incipio could see these fighters’ anger burning in their veins—a deep, vengeful, gnashing anger that was not their own. The too-strong emotion betrayed their bodies and souls, sticking out as an imposter, a thief among robbed victims. These troopers were never meant to embody such loathing—no person was. This potency of revulsion rotted the bones and shriveled the heart. As such, this anger came from somewhere else. Somewhere otherworldly. Willowood had been right—there was something different about these troopers. Something dark. And, coming from a mystic, that meant it was particularly bad.

Incipio looked at a particular Paragon trooper, one who seemed in charge, and focused on his helmet and the head within. This one, he thought. This one is open.

I am here to free you, Incipio said to the man’s conscience. I am here to bring you back to your senses.

Instead, the man bucked Incipio from inside his head, yelling the word “No!”

Very well, Incipio said. We will try again in a moment.

But no sooner had Incipio made the pledge than the Paragon Marine in question ordered three other troopers to charge the Unity shield. Rather than let the wall do the work, Incipio opened a small hole to let the attackers through one at a time. The first trooper fired point-blank. Incipio absorbed the blaster bolt into his palm, grabbed the weapon’s barrel, and pulled the gun from the Marine. The enemy looked down at his empty hands in astonishment. The fault wasn’t entirely the man’s, however—Incipio had employed a great deal of strength to wrest the weapon away.

The Marine threw a punch at Incipio, which the mystic ducked as easily as he might avoid a tree limb on an afternoon walk through the forest. A second left hook crossed over Incipio’s head. When the mystic stood upright, he filled his right hand with energy he’d captured from the blaster rifle and pushed it into the Marine’s chest plate. The man flew backward, passed through the Unity shield, and collided with several of his squad mates. The trooper wasn’t dead, but he wouldn’t be getting up anytime soon, either.

The remaining two troopers Incipio let in flanked him, blasters firing at almost the same moment. Incipio deflected the bolts up and away from his torso. Then he grabbed the weapon to his right, pulled it across his chest along with the Marine still holding the gun, and sent the attacker crashing into his partner. The trooper on the left stumbled but ultimately tossed his squad mate to the floor. Then he aimed at Incipio again.

The Paragon Marine fired, sending a round at Incipio’s head. Incipio closed his eyes and focused on the blaster bolt’s energy. It appeared in the Unity like a ray of sunlight, sparkling against a brilliant blue sky. Rather than let it harm him, Incipio caught the energy with his mind, turned it around, and spread it out. Once released within the realm of the natural order, the shot surged into the Marine like an ocean wave, knocking him to the ground and causing him to slide across the floor, weaponless.

With all three men back outside the Unity shield, Incipio focused on the first trooper he had spied, the one who’s heart seemed agreeable. But the Paragon Marine in question was ordering more troopers to direct their fire at Incipio. Two of them even carried the shoulder-fired detonator launchers that had given Tora’s tunnel cause for concern. Incipio needed to get this situation under control, fast.

The mystic took three steps forward until the Unity shield stood four centimeters from the first Marine’s erupting blaster barrel. A constant barrage of light flared against the translucent wall. Incipio raised his hands, palms extended, and released a blast of energy down the length of his arms.

The explosion of light dwarfed anything the trooper’s blaster could produce and flung the man back into several of his men. The troopers fell to the ground like toy soldiers, and their black armor clattered against the glossy floor. Other Paragon troopers noticed the explosion and looked aside, most likely shocked by the sudden hole punched through their line.

But Incipio wasn’t done with his target. He rolled his hand over, squeezed the air, and pulled. Within the Unity, his hand wrapped around the trooper’s ankle and then dragged his body toward the Unity shield. The victim raised his blaster, aiming at Incipio, but the mystic used his other hand and flicked the air with his thumb and middle finger. In the Unity, the action struck the weapon, and the trooper’s blaster flew out of his hands.

Incipio heard the man yell for his fire team as his body was dragged toward the Unity shield. Hands clawed the floor, but there was nothing for them to hold onto. Instead, he accelerated toward the wall. Several other troopers tried to reach for him, but hands missed. Soon the Paragon Marine was free of his unit and slipped through a hole in the Unity shield.

Now on the opposite side, the trooper stared up at Incipio from on his back. His right hand clutched his chest plate and withdrew a combat knife. But, like the blaster, Incipio swiped it away. The weapon clattered against the sidewall. Then Incipio collected power in his right hand, raised it, and glared at the trooper’s visor. The man held up his hands, but it was pointless.

When Incipio dropped his hand on the trooper’s helmet, several things happened. First, a wave of light burst from the impact, illuminating the hallway like the full sun at midday. There was a beat where trigger fingers hesitated, and all blaster fire ceased.

Second, the power in Incipio’s hand surged through the trooper’s helmet and permeated the enemy’s head. Rather than kill him, however, the energy shocked his conscience—a reboot of the mind.

Lastly, Incipio spoke.

Be free.

Controlling someone’s mind within the Unity wasn’t like everyone thought, Incipio realized. The holo movies always portrayed mind control like domination, whereas, in real life, it was more about invitation. And it wasn’t exactly control, though he was sure some dark users of the Unity could leverage such power over people. Instead, affecting someone’s mind was more like making suggestions. He would no more control another person’s brain than a sail on a primitive boat could control the wind. Harness the wind, yes—a fraction of it. Employ it to do work, yes. But the wind was its own force—a force of nature—and Incipio would no more subdue it than a sail overcomes the wind.

Incipio was not here to brainwash anyone or force this agent of the Paragon to do anything the man didn’t want to do. Instead, Incipio was here to allow the man to be the best version of himself—the clearest version. And that’s what Incipio’s energy jolt did. It blasted away Moldark’s contaminants.

Granted, Moldark had not truly controlled these troopers either, as much as it appeared so. Instead, he played upon their basest desires, exploiting them, bending them toward his own means. Again, it was the power of suggestion, manipulated to a desperate and convoluted end, one that corrupted the subject to behave like the worst possible version of themselves—but themselves nevertheless, not another.

The Paragon trooper froze. With his helmet on, he almost seemed dead. But Incipio could see inside—he knew the man was alive and well, eyes blinking, mind reeling. Then the trooper’s voice crackled over his helmet’s external loudspeaker.

“What’s going on here?” he asked.

“My name is Incipio, and I am with the Gladio Umbra. We are here to free you.”

The trooper raised his head as much as his helmet would allow. He looked left and right, watching other mystics engage the troopers beyond the Unity shield.

“You’re—you’re not going to kill me?”

“No.” Incipio reached down and offered the trooper a hand. “We’re here to bring you back to your senses.”

“But,” the man said, seemingly unsure if he should take Incipio’s proffered hand. “You are here to stop us from… from fixing the Republic.” He spoke as if he barely believed his own words.

Incipio sighed. “I’m afraid that part of this mission is lost. Now we are here to save you from yourselves.” He wiggled his hand at the trooper again, hoping this conversion might be the first of many among the Vincent’s crew. If not, this was going to be a long day.

8

Sootriman threw Merinda and her infant son to the ground and then dove on top of them. The belligerent man’s blaster bolt missed Sootriman’s head by mere centimeters. But it did manage to strike an elderly man in the hip. He toppled into a cot, not three paces behind Sootriman, groaning as he went down.

Survivors screamed as more blaster rounds streaked from the stands. At first, Sootriman couldn’t figure out what was happening. She chanced a quick look at the gunman. The two arresting Marines wrestled him into the seats, displacing at least a dozen people as they pulled the weapon from his hands. That’s when Sootriman noticed several other men standing in different sections, pointing blasters and firing into pockets of survivors.

“Down, down, down,” Sootriman shouted, pushing several children’s heads below their cots. “Everyone, stay down!” Then she scanned the stands and noticed for the first time that the gunmen didn’t seem to be firing randomly. This was a coordinated attack.

“They’re targeting Caledonians,” Sootriman shouted to Ezo above the shrieks.

Ezo gave her a look like he didn’t understand.

“Caledonians!”

Understanding dawned on Ezo’s face as he looked around to see where the gunmen were shooting.

The perpetrators were clearly out of their minds. Not only was it insane to open fire on unarmed civilians, but doing so during a planet-wide emergency was unspeakable. Whatever hate motivated them was of the darkest kind, causing them to fire while taking shelter among those seated in the upper sections.

The Marines, tasked with security, had a hell of a time getting a bead on any of the terrorists. Those troopers around Sootriman aimed into the stands, but she knew as well as they did that it was far too dangerous to fire on the gunmen without risking civilian fatalities. Likewise, those closest to the terrorists weren’t able to approach without the gunmen hiding behind more civilians and taking aim at the Marines. Unless someone did something, and fast, the number of dead would only climb.

Sootriman raised her data pad and pressed the emergency contact button for Lowery. “Lowery. Do you copy?”

“A little busy here, your highness,” he said.

But Sootriman wouldn’t be dismissed so easily. “Any chance you can kill the stadium lights?”

There was a brief hesitation before Lowery replied. “Kill the lights?”

“These gunmen aren’t wearing optics, and the Marines are. The darkness should give the security teams the edge they need to put these bastards down.”

“Not bad,” Lowery said, suddenly sounding much more compliant. “Stand by.”

“Hey,” Sootriman yelled at the closest Marine she could see. “Marine! Over here.”

The man’s helmet turned toward her.

“Lights out!”

He shrugged and offered her an open hand as if to say, “What the hell are you talking about, lady?”

“Lights are going out,” she yelled more slowly. “Tell your COs to get ready!”

Then, as smoothly as if someone had flipped a giant light switch, every light in the stadium went out. Whatever level of unrest had hit the stadium before, the pandemonium that ensured next was ten times worse. The darkness turned the already horrific scene into a living nightmare as shrieks seemed to shake the stadium’s foundation. But the gunmen had ceased firing. Without night vision, their assault was pointless.

Sootriman held her breath, hoping the Marine units would recognize the opportunity she’d just secured them. She waited, and waited, forcing the children under her hands to keep from getting up. “Don’t move, loves. Stay still.”

Finally, Repub blaster fire erupted from the main field. The flashes of light whizzed into the stands, bursting in tight groups of sparks. For the briefest instant, Sootriman saw one gunman after another flail about. Their arms flew up, weapons flinging away, as their bodies disappeared into the rows of seats. Even a few Marines in the seating sections took shots at the gunmen along their rows. The whole thing happened as if under strobe lights, portraying bloody vignettes of macabre death scenes, punctuated by the whine of blaster fire. Then, in less than ten seconds, the fight was over.

“Lights up, Lowery,” Sootriman said into the data pad. “Bring them back up.”

“On it,” he replied.

Three seconds later, the giant stadium light bars turned on and momentarily blinded everyone in the complex. More shouts filled the arena but they were soon mixed with low murmurs as people began pointing to the slain gunmen.

The Marine that Sootriman had warned caught her attention. He spoke over his armor’s loudspeaker. “Thanks for the tip, ma’am.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Did you…?” He pointed up at the lights.

“It was a team effort,” Sootriman replied with a smile.

“Right,” he said.

Then she looked back under the cots. “It’s all done. You can come out now. Everything’s okay.”

But everything wasn’t okay. The shooting had rattled something in Sootriman. Between her Magistrates’ deaths, then the innocent Caledonians, all in the name of Republic interests, it was too much.

“None of this would be happening if you weren’t here,” a voice said a few meters to the right.

Sootriman saw a well-dressed Caprianian woman in her mid-forties clutching two young teenagers to her chest. “You puckties are all the same, causing trouble wherever you go.”

At first, Sootriman didn’t know what to say. The woman’s comments genuinely caught her off guard. It was one thing to hear such reckless words from a bigoted veteran who had PTSD. But it was quite another to listen to a wealthy-looking elitist who knew better.

“Ma’am, please sit down,” Sootriman said.

“I’m not taking orders from you,” she said, apparently empowered by the gunmen’s display of force.

“Ma’am, you need to—”

“I don’t need to do a damned thing. Why do they have puckties in charge here, anyway? Who do they think we are? Mondorian cattle?”

Sootriman pushed herself up from the cluster of cots and stood to full height, working her jaw in the process. She towered a head over the elitist. This woman had no idea who she was dealing with, and it was everything Sootriman could do not to show her—with extreme prejudice. “Ma’am, I suggest—”

“You can suggest nothing to me.”

Sootriman left Merinda and took three steps toward the outspoken woman.

But the offender pushed her children behind her and raised her chin at Sootriman. “How dare the Galactic Republic task such an impudent race with the care and welfare of its citizens.”

“Lady, I don’t know who you think you are, but last I checked, Caledonians are equal citizens in the Republic.”

“They just say that to keep you happy.” The woman sniffed the air, like she smelled something foul. “But everyone knows you’re just second-class citizens and whores.” Then she spat on the spaceball turf.

“Ma’am, you need to take a seat and calm down,” Sootriman said, now arm’s length from the woman.

“And you need to get out of this stadium and off our planet, you pathetic little—”

“To hell with this,” Sootriman said, and then punched the woman in the face.

* * *

Had Sootriman known the mayhem her actions would incite, she may have asked a Marine to intervene with the woman. Instead, every racist Caprianian who saw the punch took it as their personal excuse to attack any and every non-human species within reach. Between the catastrophic events of the last twelve hours and the incredible duress of the survivors, it was apparent that the worst part of humanity was on display.

Contrary to the Galactic Republic’s insistence that racism was dead on Capriana Prime, the events in the spaceball arena said otherwise. Arguments broke out in every section of the stadium, many turning violent within seconds. Before long, there was chaos in every corner. The worst part, Sootriman thought, was that children were caught in the crossfire.

Two companies of Marines in riot gear burst from one of the main tunnels leading onto the field. Suppression gas canisters popped in the stands, spewing out thick white clouds. Most survivors covered their faces and started coughing, while several others vomited near Sootriman and Ezo.

“Come on, love,” Ezo shouted, pulling Sootriman toward the mobile admin station.

She let him pull her as a strange and sudden sadness filled her chest. The world around Sootriman seemed to slow down, like a scene from a holo movie where everyone moved in slow motion. Mothers cradled screaming children, men exchanged blows, and Marines fought to get the masses under control.

The moment felt surreal, that here, at the end of this world, its inhabitants were not working together for the common good. They were not serving each other’s needs. They were not looking to the welfare of the weak. Instead, they were attending to their self-interests. Under the pressures of a dying planet, limited resources, and too few transports, the worst sides of people were coming to bear.

Not all people, of course. Sootriman witnessed plenty of individuals stand and defend their families. Several groups, mostly of similar species, banded together, circling the weakest of their numbers, fighting to keep them safe. But they were the exception, not the rule.

As Sootriman gave in to Ezo’s urging to move up the steps and into the admin station, her heart broke. And she knew why, though the reason shouldn’t have startled her. She had always been suspicious of the Galactic Republic, which was made up of smooth-talking politicians and wealthy business elites. She had always mistrusted their proclamations of peace and prosperity. But, somehow, she had wanted to believe. Even despite fleeing the system and ruling over a rogue mining planet, Sootriman had wanted to trust that the Republic was the galaxy’s best hope for unity and survival.

But it wasn’t. The revelation shouldn’t have startled her, but it did. Capriana Prime and the hope that it projected was a lie.

At the end of the day, people were still people, and the heart was still evil. And there was nothing she could do about it. There was nothing anyone could do about it. No government could change it; no religion could transform it; no contract could direct it. The will of a person was reckless and wild like a desert wind, driving about wherever it pleased.

The worst part, as far as Sootriman was concerned, was that she felt duped into thinking all of this—saving these people, supporting the Republic, stopping Moldark—was worth it. Worth the lost lives she’d convinced to join them. Worth the pain that dug its claws into her heart and squeezed. Worth the humiliation of thinking that the galaxy was anything else than what it really was.

Lost.

“It was a mistake to come here,” she said to Ezo as the door closed behind them, sealing them off from the suppression gas and the screams.

Ezo looked in her eyes, but Sootriman was staring past him, into some other realm. Her heart hurt too much to focus on this reality. She wanted to be back on Ki Nar Four, back on her chaotic little planet where people cheated and deceived, bribed and bartered. Where they carved out their own small existence and were permitted to live however the hell they wanted. Back there, you knew what you were getting. There was no veneer, no masks. If someone hated you, they told you so, but they’d still sell you something because, deep down, the backward planet had a sort of shared dignity. People on Ki Nar Four recognized that everyone was lost. Everyone was hurting. And if I could tolerate your mess, and you could stand mine, then maybe we could get along. Perhaps we could even be friends, knowing we were mutually broken. It was ugly, but it was honest.

But here on Capriana Prime? When it all came crashing down, all the happy faces and pristine places were shown for what they were—lies.

“Here,” Ezo said, directing Sootriman to a chair beside a water supply station. “You need to sit down for a second.”

“No.” She brushed his hands away. “I want to leave.”

“Leave? But—we just got here. They’ll have this under control in—”

“I’m leaving,” Sootriman said, snapping her eyes to Ezo’s.

“But, love, they—”

“They’re not worthy of us, Ezo. Don’t you get it? Not you, me, not anyone but their own kind. And if that’s what they want, then so be it. Who am I to stand in their way?”

Ezo squinted at her. He didn’t respond right away. He just studied her face. Then his eyes grew sad. “Love, that’s, that’s a pretty strong thing to say.”

“But it’s a true thing.” She searched his face, raising a hand to it. “And I want the truth no matter how hard it hurts. Let someone else help them the way they want to be helped.” Sootriman took a deep quivering breath, realizing for the first time that she’d been crying. But she didn’t bother wiping her face—there wasn’t any point in it as she knew that new tears would only replace old. “As for me, I’m going home. Where I should have gone before, to the people who need my help—want my help. Whether or not you want to come too, that’s up to you. But I’m done here.”

Fortunately for Ezo, he didn’t argue with her. He might not agree, but the man clearly knew enough not to buck her when she’d made up her mind, especially on a matter of such importance.

“What about the Gladio Umbra?” Ezo asked at last.

Amid her grief, Sootriman had forgotten about them. Weren’t they honest too? she asked herself. Sure, but they didn’t need her—Ki Nar Four did. If anything, the Gladio Umbra had used her. Granted, she’d consented. She walked into their service under her own volition. Hell, she had helped form the damn group—who was she kidding? She trusted Awen and Magnus and TO-96 and Azelon. They were her family, at least of a kind. But they were also on the other side of an objective now. They’d killed Moldark. And So-Elku would no doubt be reined in by the same politics and powers that plagued all systems of governance. In time, the Luma leader would be displaced like every other leader before him. Life moved on. And it was time she did too.

“Ki Nar Four needs me.” Sootriman took his hands. “Needs us, if you’ll come with me. TO-96 too. We’ve done our part. Now it’s time we move on.”

Ezo didn’t hesitate—didn’t look away. “Who’s driving?”

9

“Go for Caldwell,” the colonel said to the new holo window on the Spire’s bridge. As soon as Willowood’s image appeared, he felt bad for the comms discipline he’d used. “Sorry. Force of habit.”

“Not a problem, William.” Willowood seemed a little out of breath.

“Everything okay there, momma?”

She nodded. “The Vincent is clear.”

“And our units?”

“Surprisingly, no casualties.”

“What about the enemy?”

Willowood paused to catch her breath. “Several dozen killed in action. But everyone else is in remedial custody and, all things considered, they seem in remarkably good shape.”

“So it was Moldark’s voodoo magic elixir after all.”

She chuckled, which Caldwell found increasingly adorable. “Something like that. Our mystics were able to cut through most of it. What Paragon Marines weren’t compliant, I have a feeling they will be, given a little more time. Captain Wainwright is preparing the Marines for transport to the Fortuna now.”

Caldwell nodded. “The general will see to their rehabilitation from there. Good work.”

“Well, we’re not done yet. Four more ships to go.”

“But that was the big one.” He paused to blow a plume of smoke to one side. “Take care of yourself.”

“Will do, William. Talk to you soon.”

Caldwell could have sworn she winked at him just as the transmission closed out. “Or maybe it’s just your mind playing tricks on you, old man,” he said to himself.

“I’m sorry, sir,” TO-96 said. “But Willowood was unable to hear your last comment. Additionally, and if you don’t mind me saying so, I believe you have misappropriated her gender. Perhaps Azelon should examine you in sickbay for signs of fatigue or emotional stress.”

“I wasn’t talking to Willowood, Brass Balls.” The colonel turned around to face the bot, smiling. “I was talking to myself. We humans tend to do that sort of thing when we get old and crotchety. Especially when we spend too much time alone, on a bridge, with only two bots to keep us company.”

TO-96 tilted his head. “Oh my. I do believe you are insinuating that Azelon and I are the cause of your geriatric gender delusions. I am terribly sorry, sir.”

“Well, what are ya gonna do, Ballsy?”

“I have not taken the time to consider viable paths forward. Is that something you wish me to undertake?”

“Nah.” Caldwell puffed on his cigar. Mystics, he did love this bot. “There ain’t a lot of hope for guys my age. The most we can hope for is a comfortable chair and an unlimited supply of Gundonium bratch.”

“And cigars, sir?”

“Damn straight, Sac-man.”

“Sac-man?”

Caldwell grinned. “You’ll figure it out.”

TO-96 tilted his head the other direction but did not reply. Apparently, the puzzle had shut him up for the time being.

Caldwell turned back to the main holo screen and let his thoughts wander to the rest of the teams. Magnus and Awen were well on their way to Aluross. Sootriman and Ezo were safely on Prime and helping with the planet-wide evacuation. And Rohoar had shoved off not more than an hour ago, heading for Oorajee.

For as little time as he’d spent with everyone, Caldwell sure felt himself getting sentimental toward the crew. Damn sons a bitches were growing on him, and that, mystics knew, was hard to do. Maybe it was the uniqueness of their mission, or perhaps it was just that damned little girl’s cute smile. He couldn’t be sure. But for one reason or another, this team had started to feel like family a whole lot faster than Caldwell had bargained for.

And he didn’t like it.

Well, he did.

But he didn’t.

Getting too close to anyone meant, sooner or later, your heart was gonna get ripped square out of your chest, knocked around like a drunk floozie in a bar fight gone six ways from sideways, and then jammed back inside, bleeding booze and blood all over your spleen. And Caldwell would be damned if he let his spleen get soiled. His guts were stained enough as it was.

But what was the galaxy if you didn’t care for anyone? Wasn’t love the whole reason people fought over splick? Didn’t beauty start wars, and passion send a thousand starships to their dooms?

Sure they did.

And yet you refuse to go there, Caldwell admitted inwardly. Cause deep down, you’re just afraid of gettin’ pissed on, aren’t you, Willy. Afraid that some good looker is gonna steal your heart, mash it up, and hand it back. Or, worse, you’ll get yourself all up and attached to her, hitched to her wagon, and then some damned war is going to cut her loose, and you’ll be no better off than before.

Caldwell removed the cigar from his mouth and walked back to the captain’s chair. His left knee popped as he sat down, just like it always did. The fact was, he wasn’t getting any younger, and with Moldark dead and the Republic all but gone, his thoughts began to turn toward what he would do when everything settled down. Everyone else seemed to have plans for when the war was over—why didn’t he?

Granted, So-Elku was still an issue. But Caldwell was beginning to think the galaxy may just sort that devil out if given enough time. Maybe just a little more warring before the end, he thought. And then what?

Not for the first time, Caldwell’s thoughts turned toward Willowood. She was, after all, the most eligible bachelorette among the Spire’s crew. Not that he was confined to settling down with a woman on this alien starship. Hell, he wasn’t convinced anyone would want to settle down with him at all. But given the fact that she and he had both seen some of the same crazy splick, it only seemed logical that they would have a lot to talk about while the winter of their lives drew near.

Then there was the matter of whether or not she actually liked him. She did, didn’t she? Or was she just kind to him like she was to everyone else? Confound it—women were harder to read than a poorly lit battlefield on Trida Minor that was covered in nitrous plumes.

“There’s only one way to find out, Willy,” he said under his breath, hoping TO-96 wouldn’t call him out again.

“Find out what, sir?” the bot asked.

And there it was. “Nothing, Ballsy.”

“More of your CGM, sir?”

“CG-what?”

“Crotchety geriatric mumbling, sir.”

He laughed. “Affirmative.”

Caldwell sat back and took a long drag on his cigar. He checked Willowood’s mission clock and did some quick math to estimate her return time to the Spire, and then he calculated how long it would be before the ship could assist Seaman with the civilian evac. The Spire’s ample crew capacity and massive cargo holds would go a long way in speeding up the survivor relocation. He was just about to order Azelon to start making some minor modifications to their projected timeline when TO-96 interrupted his train of thought.

“Sir,” TO-96 said. “I have Ezo on an incoming transmission from—oh my.”

“What is it, Balls?”

“It appears they are transmitting from a departing orbit above Capriana Prime.”

“Departing orbit?” Caldwell leaned forward. “It was my understanding they were secured on the surface already.”

“As was it mine, sir. I cannot account for this deviation.”

“Better put him through then, son.”

“Right away, father.”

Caldwell winced at the bot’s misinterpretation of the figure of speech. But he didn’t have time to correct ’Six.

Ezo’s face popped up on the holo window. “Hello, Colonel.”

“Good to see you. TO-96 says you’re in orbit over Prime and moving away. Are our sensors all sorts of screwed up?”

“They’re not screwed up, sir,” Ezo said. “Sootriman and I are leaving Prime.”

Caldwell didn’t like surprises, but he knew the two gladia would have a good reason for the sudden change in mission. “Everything okay there?”

Ezo seemed to hesitate. “We’re heading back to Ki Nar Four early, Colonel.”

“I see. And the reason?”

“It’s… it’s just time, sir. We’re—”

“We’re done fighting the Republic’s war,” Sootriman said, appearing over Ezo’s shoulder.

Ezo gave the colonel a raised eyebrow as if to say, “There it is.”

“Care to explain that?” Caldwell asked.

“Not really,” Sootriman said, walking off-screen.

“It’s complicated,” Ezo said.

“Well—how do I put this?” Caldwell spun his cigar. “If I’m suddenly losing two of my crew, I’d like to know why. At least tell me what happened.”

“There was a riot,” Ezo said, and then explained the events surrounding a racially charged outburst directed—in no uncertain terms—at Sootriman and her entire race. By the sounds of it, it was a miracle they were both alive.

“Great horny gills of Melmar’s Prism,” Caldwell said in a low tone. “I’m sorry that happened to you kids. The bastards.”

“It’s not your fault, Colonel,” Ezo replied. He seemed genuinely thankful for the sentiment.

“Still, those are Republic citizens,” Caldwell said. “They know better. Splick.”

“They should, yes. But they don’t. And so, we’re moving on.”

Caldwell sighed. “I understand.” He paused, considering Ezo’s resigned face. “How long?”

The Nimprinth shrugged. “Not sure.”

“Forever,” Sootriman said from somewhere in the Radiant Queen.

Ezo shrugged again.

If the man knew what was good for him, he wouldn’t contradict her, at least not right now.

“It’s hard to say, Colonel.” Ezo rubbed the back of his neck. “I think we’re gonna get settled in and make sure the cities are squared away. Mystics know they’ll need direction after—” Ezo froze.

Caldwell would spare him the pain of bringing up the orbital massacre of Sootriman’s squadron. “I get it, son.”

Ezo nodded. “Thanks.”

“Anything we can do for you?”

“Well, there is one thing.”

* * *

“Unplug, sir?” TO-96 said as Caldwell stepped aside to let the bot speak to his maker.

“I know it’s a lot to ask, ’Six,” Ezo said. “But Sootriman and I would like things to go back to the way they were. Before all this.”

While Caldwell didn’t like what Ezo had proposed, it didn’t mean he disagreed with it. Hell, if he were Sootriman, he wouldn’t want a bot connected to some alien network either. Who knew what subroutines it could be running in the background. And with the way she’d been riled up? Yeah, it made sense.

“Can you even do that?” Caldwell said, looking between TO-96 and Azelon. “Disconnect yourself from each other?”

“From the singularity,” Azelon said, raising a corrective index finger. “And, yes, it is entirely plausible.”

Caldwell couldn’t be sure, but he could have sworn he detected a hint of sadness in her voice. “As in, Brass Balls won’t get erased in the process?”

“In the time we have been together, I have performed several upgrades to TO-96’s central processing unit,” Azelon said. “The damage he suffered beside the quantum tunnel generator has been rectified. He is, as I believe your saying goes, ‘good as new.’”

The two bots shared a cursory look. But it was just a look, right? There wasn’t any emotion there. Was there? Damn.

“But in the end, this is all up to you, ’Six,” Ezo said. “You don’t have to go. I’m not forcing you.”

Caldwell had never seen a bot faced with what amounted to an emotional dilemma before. Everything he knew about the tech seemed predetermined. They calculated problems in fractions of seconds, and their programming made choices simple and straightforward. But here, now, TO-96 seemed to be at a legitimate crossroads, one that every biological sentient understood. And it was in that moment of hesitation—of TO-96 looking between Azelon and Ezo—that Caldwell felt a shiver go up his spine. These were not ordinary bots. Brass Balls was computing something an order of magnitude larger than pre-coded neural chips were used to. This was a level of cognizance that, as far as the colonel was concerned, was unprecedented in the known galaxy. The bot was being torn in two different emotional directions. He wasn’t weighing statistical pros and cons—Sac-man did that in his sleep. This was about what he wanted, what he felt.

“Hot damn,” Caldwell blurted out. “What does your heart tell you, Brassy?”

The colonel had no sooner said the words than he raised both bushy white eyebrows in surprise. Had he really just attributed the human characteristic of an emotional heart to a robot? You need some sleep, Willy. But he hated seeing anyone caught in the valley of indecision, least of all someone he cared for. So it needed saying.

“Colonel,” TO-96 said. “If I may.”

“Go ahead, son.”

“What would you do?”

The colonel hadn’t been prepared for this of all questions. He wanted to blurt out, “It’s your damn conflict. Figure it out.” But something paternal fell over him, and he pulled his cigar out to smooth his mustache.

“Ah, hell. The trouble with decisions like these is that you’re gonna regret it either way. The whole point of wanting two things is that you want two damn things. Or else it wouldn’t be a conundrum, now would it? This doesn’t come down to what is statistically the best call or which benefits the team most. This is about what you—a bot, and a person—want.”

“But, sir, I want both to remain here with you—”

“Screw that,” Caldwell said, shoving his cigar back in his mouth. “Now you’re just skirting the truth. I’m a wrinkly old sac of—”

“Of testicles, sir?”

Caldwell’s mouth hung half open.

“I do believe I figured out what Sac-man means,” TO-96 continued. “Therefore, you were most likely going to refer to your own set of balls, were you not?”

“I was gonna say that I’m a wrinkly old sack of skin, but, hell, that works too. The point is, you want to stay here with Azelon. Ain’t that right?”

TO-96 looked over at Azelon, whose eyes seemed to glow. Hell, both their eyes were glowing a little more brightly than before. And then, slowly, they dimmed.

“And,” Caldwell added. “You also want to be with Ezo and Sootriman. You’re what we call stuck between a rock and a hard place, Ballsy.”

“And yet a rock is a hard place, sir.” TO-96’s head turned slightly. “Ah, I now understand the play on words. Very good. Am I not also damned if I do and damned if I don’t?”

“Now you’re getting it. Feels like splick inside, done’ it?”

TO-96 looked down at his chest. “Splick. Yes, I believe I know what you are talking about.”

A moment of silence filled the bridge. The colonel genuinely felt bad for the bucket of bolts. And the bot had asked him for his counsel. “If it were up to me, I say go with the girl. Don’t leave her if you love her.”

“Love her, sir?” TO-96 eyes seemed to grow wider. Caldwell wasn’t even sure that was possible based on the robot’s construction. Maybe it was just his imagination.

“Hell, son, that’s what this is all about, ain’t it? Might be new to you, but it ain’t to everyone else. These kinds of problems”—he waved his hand around in the air, indicating Azelon and Ezo—“they’re a result of wanting something so much that you love it. Now, I’m the last person to say whether a bot like you is capable of love or not. Hell, I can’t get my damned data pad to work properly half the time. But I do know what makes we humans feel stuck, and it sure as hell ain’t statistics. It’s feeling, and mystics help anyone who tries to quantify those and track ’em on a graph.”

“Love,” TO-96 repeated, placing a hand on his chest. He looked at Azelon, and then to Ezo. For being a rusted-out trash bin of bolts and blaster barrels, this bot sure did have a way of growing on Caldwell. “And if I can’t determine whether this is love or not?”

Caldwell wasn’t sure who the bot was talking to, but since no one else jumped in to answer him, Caldwell guessed it was up to him. “Then you go with what you know until you can figure something else out.”

TO-96 nodded, and then looked at Ezo. “Go with what you know,” the bot said softly. Suddenly, the bot’s back straightened, and he squared with Ezo’s holo display. “Very well, I will come with you, sir.”

It was almost imperceptible—so much so that Caldwell thought his eyes might be playing tricks on him—but he was pretty sure Azelon’s shoulders slumped.

10

The journey to Aluross from Capriana Prime had taken just over fifteen hours at subspace level three, or Zeta-space, as the physicists called it. Azelon’s spacious transport shuttle for Granther Company had a third-tier modulator on it, cutting the usual forty-seven-hour-long trip to a third of the time. And Awen was grateful for every precious second, ones she used to sleep.

She awoke to the sound of Silk’s voice broadcast over general comms, alerting everyone onboard the Vendorian that they were approximately sixty minutes from orbit over Aluross. It would be plenty of time for her to shower, change into something far more comfortable than her power suit, and meet up with Magnus on the bridge.

The hot water felt good on her neck and back, and it worked wonders on her tight muscles. Still, she could not shake the brutal images of death from her mind, nor could she shake the screams of a million souls crying out to the void. The attack on Prime had been a nightmare, one her brain was trying to categorize as fiction—most likely a self-defense mechanism if she had to guess. But it was true—all of it.

Awen squeezed the soap out of her hair, rolling her head back and forth. This break on Aluross would be healthy for everyone. Good for her. Mystics knew they could use it. Plus, it would serve as a welcomed distraction. She’d always wanted to visit the feline-humanoid’s cattery. It was, after all, the analog to Oorajee and Jujari, and second on her list of majors back at observances. Had she not been admitted into the Jujari emissary program, the Sekmit was Awen’s backup.

Eager to distance herself from the pain of Prime, Awen toweled off, dried her hair, and then pulled a shirt of soft white fabric over her head. She slid a pair of light beige pants up her legs, donned a leather belt, and finished the outfit with a beige fur vest that Azelon had manufactured to resemble the pelts the Sekmit wore. Any small nod Awen could give toward acknowledging the feline culture would go a long way in gaining their trust—spoken or otherwise.

Then Awen braided her hair and assessed herself in the floor-to-ceiling mirror beside her bed. This was the closest she’d looked to her old self—the girl back on Elonian—that she’d seen in years. And it wasn’t a bad thing. It meant that she could take a break from being a gladia. It also meant that maybe, just maybe, after the initial introductions and everyone was settled, she could go back to being just Awen. At least for a little while.

* * *

“It seems we have a problem,” Magnus said. Not, “Hi, how are you?” And, “Don’t you look drop-dead gorgeous”—not that she thought she did. She wasn’t so pretentious to think her looks ever merited that kind of a response from the man she loved. But, she wouldn’t lie, hearing that once in a while was, well, it’s simply unnecessary, Awen said to herself in a corrective tone. Get a grip.

Awen stepped through the bridge door and into the room alight with holo screens and glowing instrument panels. Silk sat in one of the four command chairs, with Abimbola and Dutch filling out the other two. “And what problem is that?” she asked Magnus.

“Jules is missing.”

“Jules?” Awen paused. While the Vendorian was bigger than most other transport shuttles she’d been on, it wasn’t so big as to lose a person. “What do you mean she’s missing?”

“We cannot find her,” Abimbola said, apparently thinking that restating the obvious would somehow make everything clear.

“Yeah, I got that.” Awen strode to a holo console and brought up the roster. She scanned the metadata beside Jules’s name and then looked up at Magnus. “Well, this says she never even boarded the ship.”

“Right. And we’re waiting for Colonel Caldwell to get back to us,” Magnus said.

“You think she stayed behind?”

Magnus nodded. “That, or she got sucked out an airlock. And, somehow, she seems a little too smart for something like that.”

Awen smiled.

“Incoming transmission,” Dutch said from her console. “It’s Caldwell.”

“Bring him up,” Magnus instructed.

The colonel’s face appeared in a sizable holo window in front of the ship’s main windowplex viewport. “Howdy, sleepy heads. Hope you got some rest.”

“We did,” Magnus said. “Though we’d all feel a whole lot better if you could tell us where our missing passenger went.”

“He sure as hell can,” said a woman’s voice as Jules stepped into the frame.

Magnus cleaned his teeth with his tongue. Awen knew that was one of his many signs of impatience. “I think you missed your boat, Jules,” Magnus said.

“Eh, I didn’t miss splick,” Jules replied. “If the Colonel here thought I wanted to go on some feline-filled vacation with all you tired-ass worry-warts”—she patted his shoulder—“then he has another thing coming. I signed up to get something done, not sip Alurossian mow bows in plastic beach chairs.”

Magnus glanced at Awen.

She shrugged. “We can’t do anything about it now.”

“Fair enough,” Magnus said, then looked back at Caldwell just as Jules walked off camera. “Anything we can do?”

“Continue as planned, son. I’ve already got Jules squared away here, helping load in survivors coming from the surface. We’re about to make our first run to Minrok Santari for the Commodore. And I made sure she’s been paid. You can scratch that off your list.”

“Real generous of you all too,” Jules shouted from somewhere on the bridge. “Turns out sea skimmers were a good investment after all.”

“I gave her a little more for her trouble,” Caldwell added in a low voice.

“Well, she’s certainly got a lot of energy,” Magnus said. “Probably good to have around.”

“Energy?” Caldwell puffed his cigar several times. “Hells, she’s got more spunk than—”

“Careful, sir,” Jules said.

Caldwell looked in her direction. “I was just going to say you’re great to have around, that’s all.”

“Sure ya were.”

Caldwell leaned in toward Magnus and Awen and put a hand beside his mouth. “Woman’s got more spice than a Terbithian pepper mine.”

Awen laughed and took Magnus by the arm. “Just try to stay out of her way then,” she said to the colonel. “Seems like just the sort of girl you need around the Spire right now.”

“Ain’t that the truth. Especially after we’ve lost TO-96.”

Magnus looked from Caldwell to Awen, and then back. “Say again, sir?”

Caldwell blew out a mouthful of smoke and then shared the news about TO-96’s departure with Ezo and Sootriman to Ki Nar Four, as well as the riot on Prime. Awen’s heart hurt for Sootriman. Racism, it seemed, knew no boundaries, and could be felt on every world in every system from the Omodon quadrant to the far reaches of the Troja belt. While the abrupt change in plans was worrisome, it was certainly understandable.

“Did she say how long they’d be before rejoining us?” Awen asked.

“Negative,” Caldwell replied. “By the sounds of it, they’ve left indefinitely, I’m sorry to say. But, I think, given enough time, she’ll come around.”

“I would hope so,” Awen said, more to herself than anyone else. The Gladio Umbra wouldn’t be the same without Sootriman, Ezo, and TO-96. Her mind went back to the months spent on Ithnor Ithelia together. While strange, and arguably the very definition of otherworldly, those were good times. Not having those three crew members around was like missing a piece of her heart.

“Anyway, lots of work to do here,” Caldwell said. “And, by the looks of it, you’re about to land on Aluross.”

“We are,” Magnus said. “Making orbit within the hour.”

“Well, have a mow bow for me.” The colonel smiled through his cigar and winked at Awen. “Caldwell, out.”

The holo window disappeared, and the bridge went quiet.

* * *

The Vendorian entered the atmosphere and made for the capital city of Meesrin Pin, a sprawling metroplex surrounded by jungle that stretched in all directions. While the planet had its share of oceans, which accounted for 67% of its surface, the continents and island chains were mostly painted in lush greens. The planet’s metrics showed minimal desert regions—nothing compared to the arid polar caps.

Tradition required that everyone aboard the Vendorian be inspected. The Sekmit were a notoriously suspicious species. While they could be curious and coy at one moment, they could also be ferociously hostile and territorial the next. The real problem was that no one ever knew which side you were going to meet. For this reason alone, she was grateful that all the Jujari had decided to go back to Oorajee with Rohoar, or else this would be anything but a vacation.

Awen instructed Ricio and the rest of Fang Company to maintain orbit. There was no sense in putting the Sekmit on the defensive. Better to make the proper inroads, then ask for allowances. Ricio agreed, but Awen sensed his reluctance; understandably, he wanted to remain as close to his family as possible. But until Awen assessed the situation, Ricio’s squadrons would only succeed in placing his family in more harm, not less.

Within seconds of the Vendorian touching down, a security detail emerged from the shadows of the hangar bay, consisting of five green-robed Sekmit warriors and their narskill leader—if Awen remembered her rank insignias correctly. The leader wore a black sash across his chest, bearing the hash marks of his tribe and clan affiliations in gold embroidery. All six Sekmit carried long staves in their left hands and Thørzin bows over their right shoulders.

As Awen made her way down the Vendorian’s main ramp and into the hot and humid air, she raised her chin to glare at the warrior as per Sekmit custom. She didn’t have a tail to flick side to side, so she tossed her long braid instead.

“I am Wobix,” said the lead warrior, apparently satisfied that Awen was the pride leader. “I serve as lead narskill and emissary of her highness, Queen Nishti.”

“And I am Awen dau Lothlinium of Elonia, emissary of the Gladio Umbra,” she replied, never taking her eyes off Waban’s. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“Indeed you are,” Wobix said with a purr. “That Lani DiAntora’s pledge of honor precedes you is notable. You have my initial favor.”

“And you have mine,” Awen replied, making sure that her voice was loud to assert her worthiness. The Sekmit despised weakness, and a lack of self-confidence was seen as the ultimate betrayal of self. Anyone who did not find themselves worthy in their own eyes was not worth speaking to. If Awen flinched, even in the slightest, she would be dismissed without a second thought.

“Your ship and your people will be searched,” Wobix said. “But you may come with me, along with one other representative from your pride.”

“Thank you.” Awen turned in a wide circle, allowing her braid to trail through the air, and then headed up the ramp.

“We good?” Magnus asked. The rest of Granther Company stood just inside a common room, each of them apparently eager to hear her report.

“So far,” she replied. “They’re going to search everyone and the ship. Just stay out of the way and let them do their job. This is the most critical part.”

“Then what?” Abimbola asked.

“Then they accept us as guests,” Awen replied.

“So, what are we now?” Bliss asked.

“Think of it like something between annoyances and enemies.”

There seemed to be a collective breath taken by the gladias.

“Eh, we could take ’em,” Bliss said. “There are only six of those kitties by my count.”

“No.” Awen shook her head. “We couldn’t. And there are a lot more than six.” She touched Magnus’s chest with a finger. “You’re coming with me. Leave your weapons behind.”

Like Awen, Magnus was dressed in beige colored pants and a soft white shirt—sleeves cut off at the shoulders. He looked down at the pistol, then at the duradex knife clipped to his belt, and removed them both, sighing as he did so. “You know I hate doing this.”

“Play nice now, and you can put them back on later, I promise.” Awen patted his chest and then turned back down the ramp. “Oh, and one more thing.”

“Yeah?”

“Always maintain eye contact. Never look away unless you’re doing so to show indifference.”

“Indifference? To what?”

“To their threats.”

“Fan-splickin-tastic.”

* * *

Awen and Magnus followed Wobix away from the open-air hangar bay as two dozen Sekmit emerged from the shadows and converged on the Vendorian. Awen hoped the rest of the gladias heeded her word and stayed out of their host’s way. If not, this would be a very short trip.

Wobix led Awen and Magnus along a wooden walkway covered in pergola-style trussing. The route took them through a lush jungle-style garden, filled with ferns, broad palm fronds, and sweet-smelling flowers. Sleek black buildings with ovular windows lay behind lush trees like panthers napping through the hottest part of the day, occasionally peeking at Awen through the vegetation.

But the buildings weren’t the only things watching their progress. Awen spied feline forms lounging in the trees’ upper reaches, some resting in the crook of large limbs, others curled up in quiet conversations. Several studied data pads, while a few sipped on drinks from strangely shaped glass flutes. But the one thing all the Sekmit had in common was that they were watching Awen and Magnus.

Awen felt a chill go up her spine. She knew that until the queen validated their presence on the planet, they were unwelcome. She’d heard stories of what the Sekmit did to those they didn’t want near. No, thank you, Awen said to herself. She liked her entrails exactly where they were.

After navigating several intersections, the wooden pathway led to a dark four-story building. A cool breeze rushed out as the glass doors slid apart. The conditioned air felt good against Awen’s skin; she hadn’t been in the jungle for more than a few minutes, and already she was sweating. How these feline-like humanoids managed this climate in all their fur was beyond her.

They followed Wobix across the building’s vestibule, up a flight of stairs, and stopped at a broad set of double doors. As soon as Wobix lowered his head, Awen sensed something in the Unity. Curious, she slipped into her second sight and heard Wobix speak with someone in the room beyond.

“Narskill Wobix,” the warrior said. “Here with the foreigners, as requested.”

“You may enter,” a voice replied. Try as she might, Awen was unable to see the speaker. And this surprised her. Whatever powers the Sekmit had in the Unity, it was certainly unique. And strong. Not many people could hide from Awen’s sight within the Unity of all things.

Wobix lifted his head, and the door swooshed apart. Beyond them lay a long corridor formed entirely of black stone. Small gleaming pin lights in the ceiling lit the way until the tunnel expanded into a large hallway some twelve meters tall. It was bordered by equally tall windows covered with slatted shades. Glass lamps hung on thin strands of cable, glowing softly in the hazy atmosphere. Something about the space felt alluring, and yet at the same time, hostile. Awen didn’t know if she should feel at ease or on her guard. And that, she suspected, was precisely the intent.

Lying across a generous red cushion in the middle of the floor was a lithe Sekmit dressed in translucent red silk. Her back was to the doorway. At first, Awen wasn’t sure if she was asleep or awake. The feline woman’s chest rose and fell in steady rhythm with a soft purring sound that seemed to fill the hallway. Awen looked around, but the place seemed to be empty. If this was their queen—or any dignitary for that matter—she clearly preferred to be left alone.

“Ní Linux,” Wobix said, his chin raised. “I bring you the foreigners.”

The woman on the cushion moved. Her long sinewy body undulated under perfectly groomed black and white fur, until she gained her feet, stretched, and turned toward the newcomers. The red silk left little to the imagination, at least as far as Sekmit anatomy was concerned. All of their reproductive organs were generally well-hidden behind their fur. But Awen guessed the clothing choice was meant to be both seductive and make a statement as to this woman’s role within the cattery.

“And with whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?” the woman asked.

“Awen dau Lothlinium,” Wobix said. “And her manservant.”

“Manservant?” Magnus said to Awen in a whisper. “Is that what you told them I was?”

Awen hushed him but kept her eyes forward.

Magnus stood a little straighter. “Manservant, my ass.”

“An Elonian,” the woman said, stepping down from her cushion. She made a large display of stretching her arms and legs, then arching her back. The exercise finished with a wide yawn and the straightening of her tail. “I like Elonians.”

“Probably for breakfast,” Magnus said in a tone barely audible. Like Awen, he probably noticed the cat’s long fangs and razor-sharp claws. It was hard not to.

“Leave us,” the woman said to Wobix and flicked him away with a paw-like hand. “Wait for my call.”

Wobix turned, letting his tail whip past Awen’s head, and exited back down the corridor with his entourage.

“Awen, is it?”

“Yes, your highness,” Awen replied.

The woman gave out something like a snort. “Please, Freya will do. Save the royal speech for Nishti, should you ever meet her.”

“So, you’re not the queen then?” Magnus asked.

Freya snapped her head to Magnus. She sized him up with a quick up and down motion of her head. “No, manservant. I am not the queen. What is your name?” She flicked a hand at him as if he needed to bathe or something.

“Name’s Adonis Olin Magnus, ma’am. Company commander of Granth—”

“I just needed a name. Adonis will suffice.” Freya looked back at Awen. “I am tribe mother of Pride Linux. Nishti has seen fit to entrust you into my care given that our mutual contact, Lani DiAntora, claims blood-rights to our line.”

“I see,” Awen said. “Then, we are most grateful for you accommodating us.”

“And what, if anything, do you expect our accommodations to consist of?”

“Temporary housing for fourteen of our finest warriors,” Awen explained. “Plus thirty-three pilots, currently in orbit, and docking for their starfighters. We also seek permanent placement for four adults, one of whom is our squadron commander.”

“And the two children?”

Awen hadn’t mentioned them yet. Either the Sekmit had advanced scanning tech, or Freya had used the Unity to search the ship.

“The one child is son to our flight commander and his wife,” Awen explained.

“The other is an orphan.” Freya flicked her tail. “And gifted in the Unity.”

Awen tried her best not to show her surprise, but she couldn’t help marvel at just how fluent this woman was in the Unity—far more than anything rumored about the Sekmit. Are they all like this? Awen wondered.

“Most of us, yes,” Freya replied out loud.

“I miss something?” Magnus asked, looking from Freya to Awen.

“They’re Unity users,” Awen said, not taking her eyes off Freya. “Powerful ones.” Awen would need to work harder to shield Magnus’s thoughts as well as her own from the Sekmit.

“That’s good. Right?” Magnus looked back to Freya.

“For our allies, yes,” Freya said. “DiAntora has informed us that you attempted to help warn the Republic capital of their imminent demise.”

“That is true,” Awen said.

“She also said you suffered greatly.”

“Only compared to some.”

“She concluded by saying our prides would be honored in assisting you however we are able, treating you as survivors.”

“That is most generous, ní Freya,” Awen replied, using the woman’s proper Sekmittian title.

“Of her, perhaps. But not of me, as I have not yet decided what to do with you.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Awen saw Magnus’s hand twitch, no doubt feeling for the non-present sidearm. She wanted to tell him to rest easy, but Freya might be able to hear her in either reality. Awen and Magnus were indeed at the leader’s mercy.

“There is one more matter,” Awen said.

Freya’s ears perked, inviting Awen to continue—at least that’s how Awen took it.

“Our starship, Azelon’s Spire, will require refitting in orbit, and the crew will need lodging with us on the surface.”

“How many souls?” Freya purred.

“Nearly four-hundred fifty.”

Freya raised one eyebrow. Awen wasn’t sure if the gesture was a good or bad sign.

“If we provide this for you, what is in it for us?” Freya asked, moving forward a few paces. Her silk robes billowed behind her as if caught by the wind.

“Our trade with your planet will be of certain significance,” Magnus said. “Our starship alone will require—”

“Your trade is of little importance,” Freya said with a cold tone.

“Then we are ready to pay you outright for your hospitality, in Republic credits,” Magnus said.

Freya snapped at the air with her cat-like jaws. The action seemed to catch Magnus off guard. He pulled back, but still managed to keep his eyes locked on Freya’s.

“The Republic is no more,” she said, hissing through clenched teeth. “What good are your credits?”

Magnus seemed to steady himself. “We have every reason to believe that Repub credits will still hold their—”

“We do not need credits,” Freya spat. “Yours or anyone else’s. So, again, I ask you, what is in this for the Sekmit?”

“Gratitude,” Awen said after a moment.

Freya repeated the word as if considering it. “Gratitude that begets favors. Yes, I like this.” The woman’s lithe body turned and she headed back for the cushion. “When the time comes, we will ask for a show of your gratitude.” She sank into the plush fabric and then looked over her shoulder. “Until then, consider yourselves guests of Ní Freya ap Linux, servant of Queen Nishti, and survivors from the Galactic Republic’s fall. When your entourage is ready, I will bear you to the foothills of Nandooth myself. There, you will be granted free range in the village of Fînta. It will suit your needs, and our people will meet your every want.”

“Thank you for your hospitality, Freya,” Awen said, raising her chin. Then she looked at Magnus.

“Yeah, thanks,” Magnus said, though he didn’t sound nearly convincing enough as far as Awen was concerned.

Awen glowered at him.

“Really, though,” Magnus said, glancing away from Awen’s death stare. “Thanks for accommodating us. We appreciate it.”

“I’m sure you do,” Freya said. “And in time, you will show me just how much.”

Magnus followed Awen’s example of raising her chin, and then the two of them turned in a wide half-circle and headed toward the door at the end of the black corridor. Magnus leaned toward her and said, “Somehow, I feel like this isn’t going to be the vacation we bargained for.”

11

“How long has he been dead?” So-Elku asked as he swept into the cramped chamber in the catacombs. Firelight licked the walls from several torches, illuminating a naked pale body on a stone table. The air was stale and smelled of damp rock.

“Two days, my master.” Nants, the young apprentice, bowed at his master’s arrival.

“And how did he die?”

“He fell, my master. His body was recovered in the Red Falls gorge. It was a student hiking trip.”

“What a pity.” So-Elku examined the corpse’s head, neck, and chest. There were several contusions and a deep gash along the victim’s head. “A broken neck?”

“Yes, master.”

“Excellent.” So-Elku spun and headed toward two stone pillars that came up to his hips. Then he turned to face the corpse, looking from feet to head, and placed his hands on the pillars’ tops. Nants took several steps back and then walked around the room’s perimeter until he was safely behind So-Elku. “Let us begin again.”

The Luma master closed his eyes, and the sound of a low energy wave swept through the room. Within the Unity, So-Elku appeared inside the Nexus, having learned to skirt the needlessly long trip through the Foundation—there was little there to interest him. The Nexus alone held the real power he sought.

Where the Unity’s root system had previously consisted of limitless cords that seemed impossible to parse, So-Elku had gradually learned to distinguish one power thread from the next. Where before he only saw jumbles of magenta-colored light stretching into infinity, now he discerned individual pathways that led their respective counterparts in the physical realm. He wasn’t a code slicer, but he imagined this was similar to how they saw the world. Somehow, down here in the Nexus, everything felt more vivid—more alive.

So-Elku quickly identified the young man’s body on the stone table, seeing the lifeless collection of deteriorating organs. Tissue collapsed, and cells decayed—the corpse well on its way to rejoining the essential elements of the galaxy. This one would do well, So-Elku thought. Perhaps this one will be the one.

As if spreading a series of images across a holo table, So-Elku pulled apart the corpse’s many systems. But his examination was not physical alone. He could see snapshots of the young man’s life leading to this moment. An embrace with his parents before departing for observances. A stolen kiss with a fellow student behind the spaceball arena. An argument with his roommate over an unwillingness to help him study for a test. It was all there in the Nexus, unbound by time and eternally accessible. It was, in a sense, as if the young man had never died—so real was the sense of life in these memories.

No, not memories, So-Elku thought. What existed here inside the Nexus was real. Therefore, what he saw were the moments themselves, held infinitely inside quantum spacetime.

So-Elku had worked so hard to get to this moment. But what other choice did he have? The true-blood child had abandoned him—what else was he supposed to do? Alas, he could have resigned himself to defeat. Lesser men would have, he thought. But that was not his way, not when so much was on the line.

Now that the Republic had fallen, the galaxy would need a new voice of reason. It would need protection. It would need peace. And if there was one thing So-Elku had learned, it was that people did not know how to choose peace. The Luma existed precisely because of this fundamental flaw in sentient life. When given the chance to live and let live, civilization after civilization on world after world had chosen the path of every species before it: war, destruction, and death.

And it was time that it stopped.

So-Elku did not suppose he would be the most exceptional leader the galaxy had ever seen. But he would be the first. The first to wield power in such a way that anyone seeking to harm an innocent life would think twice before doing so. Some might say it was a response out of sheer terror. The wicked would probably consider him terrible. But to the weak? To the defenseless? What would they say?

They will call me a savior.

And when his time was done, and the galaxy set on a new path, one where murderers and despots stopped their pursuits before they’d even begun, someone else would take his place in the long line of successors who would rule the cosmos in peace.

So-Elku pulled the deceased young man’s images together, balling them up into a singular mass of light and life, and then held them there, studying them in wonder. So much power. So much potential. The orb of energy was—beautiful. So he would give it back to the boy.

Summoning the Nexus to the natural, So-Elku moved the sphere into the corpse’s body. He heard Nants whisper something as the torch lights blew out. But the room did not go black. Instead, magenta light pulsed beneath the body’s skin, rippling out from chest to extremities.

“Secdus,” So-Elku said, his voice resonating the small cave. “Arise!”

The eyelids on the corpse flew open, and two shafts of magenta light pierced the musty air, striking the stone ceiling above. Then the body twitched. The head rose, and the young man sat up. The twin beams of light fell on So-Elku and lingered there.

“Secdus,” the Luma master said. “Can you hear me?”

“Secdus hears,” the young man said with a gravel-laden voice. His neck popped twice, and the head reseated its broken vertebrae.

“Good, good.” So-Elku lifted his hands off the pillars and snapped his fingers at Nants.

“Yes, my master.” Nants reached for the item along the back wall and hurried it into So-Elku’s outstretched hand.

So-Elku brought the staff around and then pointed the gem-topped tip at his creation. Once again, he summoned the power of the Nexus to the natural realm and created a deep void in the Cartesian jewel. The vacuum would be strong. The strongest yet. It had to be, as this secdus was his most powerful to date. The reanimated corpse was the culmination of all his study, labor, and ingenuity. Like So-Elku, this boy would be the first of many, and all those who followed the Luma master would bring lasting peace to the galaxy.

So-Elku focused the Cartesian stone on the secdus’s chest and then activated the gem. The vacuum wailed, threatening to pull the rocks from the walls. So-Elku felt the floor tremble as the young man screamed. The secdus grasped the table with boney hands, fighting against the gem’s snarling appetite. Dust and light raced toward the stone, and even bits of skin flaked from the corpse’s chest and disappeared into the void. The Cartesian vessel devoured energy in any form it could find, until…

Until it was full.

The gem closed, and the room fell silent.

So-Elku lowered his staff, looking for signs of life in his reanimated creation. Only the Cartesian stone’s soft pinkish glow gave off any light. The young man was deathly still, eyes shut. Had So-Elku failed? No, the Luma master said to himself. He couldn’t have failed. Not again. This one had been the child of promise—the one he was sure would help him restore order to the chaos.

“Sir, I believe—”

“Quiet,” So-Elku snapped, silencing Nants. His eyes searched the corpse—hoping. Believing.

* * *

So-Elku looked up from the data pad on a desk in a spacious study used for meeting foreign dignitaries. A warm summer breeze played with the hems of the curtains around the open portico walkway, and bird song fluttered up from the garden below. Seated across from him was Emery Wade, planetary governor of Daltaurus Three. The man was slender and had intelligent eyes. Interestingly, the man chose not to wear his white Galactic Republic uniform but, instead, the black and crimson colors of Daltaurus Three. The old colors, before their Republic alliance. Wade’s attaché—Nevel, or some such name—stood in the corner, wearing the same colors.

The rest of Wade’s entourage was being shown the finest in Luma hospitality elsewhere in the Grand Airelina. In the meantime, So-Elku treated the governor to his private selection of Undorian cordials. So-Elku smiled as he swirled 178-year-old brandy in his glass, knowing this meeting would be the first of many such to come.

“Mmm, excellent, Master Luma,” Wade said, licking his lips of a succulent sherry. “How did you ever come across such a bottle?”

So-Elku smiled. “I supposed it is one of the many unexpected treats that accompanies my line of work. Gratitude is often shown in unexpected ways.”

“You must have done them quite a service,” Wade said, and then smelled the drink’s delicate bouquet.

“As I hope to do for you, Governor Wade.”

“Please, just Emery, your grace.”

“So-Elku,” the Luma master replied with a bow of his head and a hand to his heart.

Wade nodded. “Shall we get down to business then?”

“Let’s. If I may?”

Wade offered the flat of his palm. “Be my guest.”

So-Elku took one more sip of his brandy and then set the glass down to steeple his fingers. “I invited you here because the Galactic Republic, for all its failings, served a valuable purpose, uniting worlds previously unthought of as having peaceful relations with each other.”

“Daltaurus Three being one of them. You no doubt know of our ancient struggle against the Kibar worlds.”

“I do. Like other systems in similar woes, your trade routes were extended, a weak economy was strengthened, and your people had the good fortune of prospering from the ubiquitous influence of shared technology.”

“You know your history,” Wade said.

So-Elku lowered his eyes deferentially. “But I wonder. How have we come to this point?” He spread his hands apart. “How have we arrived at such a tragic end as Prime?”

Wade nodded, considering the rhetorical question with a furrowed brow.

So-Elku picked up his glass and took another sip of the rich amber fluid. He studied Wade, trying to get a read on the man. How fast was too fast? How far was too far?

“I assure you, Emery, there can be no grief deep enough, no weeping long enough to properly mourn for the souls lost on Capriana Prime—this much is true. Even if we were given a thousand lifetimes to lament, it would not suffice for the loss the galaxy has suffered.”

“Here here,” Wade said, raising his glass.

So-Elku lifted his as well. “To the dead.”

“To the dead.” And the two men drank.

So-Elku swallowed and then cradled his glass. “I believe the Republic got distracted, Emery. Got sloppy. It gave too much power to too many and failed to check them.” So-Elku sighed. “Sadly, we see the result of their carelessness.”

Wade looked into his glass. “And untold generations will suffer.”

“But they don’t have to.” The Luma master narrowed his eyes. “Not for long, anyway.”

“What do you propose?”

So-Elku stood. “The Republic is dead, Emery. They’ll try and rally their forces spread thin throughout the quadrants.”

“They’ve already pulled the garrison on Daltaurus Three.”

“As they will with every world in the alliance. They’ll rally them to Minrok Santari in the hopes of consolidating their forces and reasserting their power from there. But, in the end, they will fail.”

“And why’s that?” Wade asked, posing the question as if he was genuinely interested in learning the answer.

“Because armies don’t win hearts, Emery. Hope does.”

The governor squinted, held up his glass, and pointed a long finger at So-Elku. “Hope, yes.”

“The attack on Prime sent every planet in the alliance, every system in the quadrants one loud resounding message.”

“And that was?”

“That the Republic can no longer protect us. If the capital isn’t safe, who is?”

Wade nodded slowly.

But So-Elku wasn’t done. “While the Republic gave us a great many things, to be sure, it ultimately failed to give us true lasting peace. And let me tell you, dear governor, peace by force is only ensured so long as you remain the strongest. And the moment you are not?”

“Prime,” Wade said with a solemn tone.

“Precisely.”

The governor took another sip. “Do you have something in mind then? I don’t suppose you brought me all this way simply to brag about your fine selection of exotic liquors.” Wade seemed to think better of his statement and sat up. “Not that they aren’t worth the trip, mind you.”

So-Elku took a moment to let the bird song fill the silence, and then he worked his mouth to taste the residue of the sugar on his tongue. “I do have something in mind, Emery. Something I think will change the galaxy forever. Something that will usher us into a thousand-year reign of peace the likes of which has never been seen in the universe.” So-Elku noticed that the governor’s glass was empty, so he stood and moved toward a mahogany wet bar. “Here, let me pour you something else. That is, if you’re planning on staying a while.”

“I believe we have a long night ahead of us, Master Luma. Pour away.”

12

Moldark read the fleet roster on his holo pad, grinding his teeth until he tasted blood. He sat alone in his cramped quarters on the Peregrine, sifting through the data and its implications. Where the three Republic Fleets once assaulted Oorajee with over 100 warships and over 200 Talons, Moldark had barely managed to escape Capriana Prime with eight ships and five Talons—all of which had suffered damage of varying degrees.

The sole remaining Carrier at his disposal, the Breedlove, was hemorrhaging energy in a drive core failure that was growing more serious with every hour in subspace. The Battleships Telmadorian and Serendipitous Arrival had lost certain weapons and shield capabilities, but life support, navigation, and communications were still fully operational. A Battlecruiser, Destroyer, and two Frigates, all in various states of integrity, rounded out his fleet—if it could be called that.

Moldark spat a mouthful of congealed fluid on the floor. It seemed he had underestimated the impudent races of this universe—the wretched filth. Or, rather, the fates had seen fit to aid their feeble efforts to thwart him—at least in part. Moldark tried to assuage his ego by ruminating on the destruction he had caused to Capriana Prime. The sight of LO9D impacts rippling across the blue planet’s surface had been lovely. That world was liberated, forever free of the takers’ malice-tipped claws, ones that endlessly raked the bountiful resources of the planet’s bosom. The Republic would fall, and what survivors remained would be scattered throughout the quadrant as orphans.

But the assault had come at a terrible price. The Paragon was a shadow of its former glory—and so young, at that. It seemed he had only just assumed Kane’s body and taken control of the Republic’s rogue agencies, so new in their subversive efforts, only to see them broken apart and whittled down to a few remaining vessels.

He did not lament the fleet losses, of course. They were a means to an end. What truly frustrated him—no, infuriated him—was what these delays meant for his more important plans. The ones of crushing the rest of the Jujari, and of returning once again to Ithnor Itheliana, doing to it what he had done to Capriana Prime. He had come so far, acquired so much of the biologic’s weaponry and personnel. And for what?

Something broke loose in his mouth. A tooth. It played across his tongue as his mouth filled with more blood. Moldark pinched the archaic body part and pulled it out. His fingers held the nodule like a white stone bathed in the red juice of Bormin blood fruit. All these species, these devourers, were the same, in need of one mechanical means after another. They ingested their nutrients, mashed it to a pulp, and all for what? To perpetuate their grotesque legacy of consumption.

Moldark loathed this—loathed being limited to this biologic body. And up until a few hours ago, he was reassuring himself with those steadying words, the ones that had kept him company through so many restless nights. Not much longer now, he would say, knowing the Novia Minoosh’s final demise was near. Not much longer.

How long had it been since he’d lost those he loved? A thousand years? And a thousand more if I must. Moldark would not rest, would not stop until they were gone. All gone.

His eyes scanned the ship names again. “Setbacks,” he murmured to himself. He knew that his elemental presence would live on were all these ships and bodies to break apart. Kane would be blown to stardust, but Moldark would live on, scouring the void until his thirst for revenge was sated. “Setbacks, and nothing more.” He would find a way. There was always a way.

A soft trill issued from inside his quarters.

“Enter,” Moldark said.

Captain Yaeger, Moldark’s lead enforcer and head of his private guard, or what was left of it, appeared in the doorway. He seemed about to speak when his eyes stopped on the bloody tooth between Moldark’s fingers. Ellis swallowed. “My lord, are you in need of medical—?”

“No, Yaeger,” Moldark said, flicking the tooth against the wall. Red splatters followed the object as it clattered to a halt in the middle of the floor.

“My lord, you have, some…” Yaeger pointed to his own chin.

Moldark touched his lower lip and pulled an index finger away, the digit covered with the viscous fluid that kept his host’s body alive. So fragile, he thought. “What do you want?”

The captain cleared his throat. “Captain Ellis says we’re about to enter the Merenarr system, as ordered. We’ll arrive less than one hour from Oorajee’s orbit.”

“Good.”

There was a moment’s pause before Yaeger spoke again. “And when we arrive, my lord?”

Moldark sighed. “When we arrive, I want Ellis to order all ships with LO9D capability to target the largest Jujari settlements and open fire at their discretion.”

Yaeger swallowed before speaking. “My lord?”

When no clarifying question came, Moldark spat on the ground and then looked back at Yaeger. “Is there a problem?”

“Captain Ellis says that the Breedlove is in serious need of repair, my lord, while the Telmadorian and Serendipitous Arrival’s—”

“I am well aware of the condition of my ships, Captain. Their battle damage withstanding, my orders stand. That will be all.”

Yaeger snapped to a salute. “As you have willed, my lord.” Then he turned from the entry, and the doors slid closed.

That’s when Moldark realized that he hadn’t been outsmarted by his enemies—both the Circle of Nine and the rebels. Instead, he’d been set back because of their sheer incompetence. The bumbling fools. Sure, he had lost control of Seaman and First Fleet. But it was the Republic’s systems and procedures, their apprehensions and precautions that had blunted his efforts. All of it served to support their desperate need to survive. There was no bigger picture for them, no grand overarching theme. Just survival, he thought with a smile. He would even take that away from them.

* * *

Moldark stood over Ellis’s shoulder on the Peregrine’s bridge, looking at a holo display filled with the Paragon’s remaining ships. Beyond them lay the orange planet of Oorajee.

For the briefest moment, Moldark was tempted to second guess his decision to assault Capriana Prime. Had he not been distracted by the humans and their betrayal, he would have retained the majority of the fleets, and Oorajee would be a foregone conclusion. But he stopped himself from the train of thought, knowing it served no purpose. He was here now, and Oorajee would still suffer the same fate. Only delayed, Moldark thought.

“Weapons are charged, my lord,” Ellis said. “Multiple settlements have been selected. Oosafar will be within our effective range in four minutes—if you would like to stay the initial attack.”

“Tempting,” Moldark replied. He imagined the putrid species seeing their most magnificent city devoured by flame. “Estimated damage to the city if we fire now?”

“Stand by.” Ellis reviewed the data and ran a quick simulation. “29% casualty rate, my lord.”

“And we’ll have time to recharge once the city is within effective range?”

“Affirmative.”

“Let them see their doom on the horizon and fear it.” Moldark had waited too long for this, and he would not put off the Jujari’s fate any longer. “Fire.”

“As you wish, my lord.” Ellis opened a channel to the five starships with LO9D capabilities. “This is Captain Ellis. You are free to engage all targets. Open fire.”

Acknowledgment icons appeared in the holo screen above Ellis’s console. Moldark watched with anticipation, eyes darting from the main holo display to the windowplex view of the planet and back again.

The Breedlove was the first to fire. While the ship’s drive cores were exceeding critical minimums, it still had three operational LO9D cannons. Granted, the attack would mean Oorajee would be the Breedlove’s final resting ground, were it unable to undergo necessary refits. But Moldark wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice. No, not a mistake. He simply wasn’t going to put this off any longer, even if it cost him the last ships he had. He would find more, and he would find a way back to metaspace.

The first LO9D round leapt from the Breedlove’s belly and ripped through the planet’s atmosphere. The long shaft of light met the surface along the equator in a bright explosion. Within seconds, however, dust mottled the eruption, swallowing the inferno raging beneath. Then dark plumes of clouds radiated from the epicenter, rippling outward like waves from a stone thrown into calm waters.

The second and third strikes followed, impacting targets to the north and south of the first with similar results. Faint rings fanned across Oorajee’s surface, racing toward one another in a slow-motion work of art that made Moldark grin.

He didn’t notice the dried blood crack along his lips, tugging lightly at his skin. Instead, a bright flash washed out the holo display. Through the windowplex, Moldark winced as the Battleship Telmadorian blew apart, detonating on an atomic level. Something in the drive core made the ship go nova.

The energy wave broadsided both Frigates, ripping into their hulls and splitting them apart. The Destroyer, which was in the middle of firing on Oorajee, experienced a system overloaded that ruptured its orbital cannon. The resulting explosion cratered the vessel’s belly and punched a hole through the topside spine. Moldark guessed that any crew isolated in the stern and bow would most likely survive the rupture—until secondary explosions split the ship in two.

The Breedlove’s shields managed to mitigate most of the Telmadorian’s fallout. The Serendipitous Arrival and the remaining Battlecruiser also seemed relatively unharmed. Which was good, because Moldark doubted the vessels could sustain any more damage.

Just four ships remained, and five Talons safely onboard the Breedlove. Provided it also doesn’t experience terminal failure, Moldark thought. He watched the shockwave rings continue to dissipate across Oorajee’s surface. “Status report,” Moldark said to Ellis.

The man jerked back to his senses and started swiping through pages of data on his holo display. “The Telmadorian looks like it suffered catastrophic—”

Moldark cursed in Norxük. “What about the surviving ships?”

“Of course, my lord.”

“Sirs,” said the Peregrine’s sensor’s officer—a woman in her mid-thirties. Her name tag read Porteous. “We’re detecting enemy vessels, cresting the planet’s western hemisphere now.”

“What?” Moldark spat. He turned on the woman and narrowed his gaze to see if she was lying or just seeing things. But Porteous seemed entirely convinced of her findings.

“On holo,” Ellis ordered.

Moldark looked to the main display as it changed from a view of the orbital bombardment craters to a picture of the planet’s left edge. “Magnify.”

Porteous obeyed, and the image expanded several times until half a dozen ships dotted the void just above Oorajee’s thin thermosphere.

“Whose are those?” Moldark seethed between bloody teeth.

“They are attempting to jam our indent probes,” the woman replied. “But they appear to be Jujari vessels.”

“How can that be?”

“My lord,” Ellis said. “They may have been held in reserve in order to defend—”

“Do not lecture me, Captain!” Moldark snarled at Ellis, his temper flaring. Then he turned back to Porteous. “How many?”

“Twelve ships, including two Pride-class Super Dreadnaught equivalents, my lord.”

“No.” Again, Moldark ground his teeth. The pain of Kane’s mortal case helped him focus. Never mind the mess it made. “This cannot be.”

“Your orders?” Ellis said.

The truth was, Moldark’s remaining forces were no match for twelve Jujari warships, regardless of where they came from or how they’d survived. The Paragon ships wouldn’t last sixty seconds in a head-to-head confrontation. And while Moldark cared little about losing what remained, the thought of being flung back into the ether just to search out a new viable host was—what was it? He crushed another tooth in his jaw. Irritating. But his options were dwindling by the second.

“My lord,” Porteous said. “The Breedlove is reporting fires on decks twenty-one through thirty-six. Fire suppression is ineffective. Life support has failed in sections one and two as well.”

“Your orders, my lord?” Ellis asked a second time.

Moldark opened his mouth, but he was interrupted by Porteous again. This time, however, her voice was a mix of confusion and fear. “Lord Moldark, I’m detecting—a new ship, sir.”

“Another?” Moldark stepped toward the main holo. “I don’t see one.”

“Not there, my lord.” The holo’s view changed to a patch of star-filled space. “There. And the ship is—it’s huge.”

Moldark squinted at the display. An ident tag appeared, marking the vessel. The readings said it was massive, as Porteous suspected, perhaps even larger than a Super Dreadnaught, if the data was to be believed. Still, Moldark couldn’t see a thing. Whatever it was could not be seen by the naked eye. That, or the sensors were malfunctioning, most likely from damage sustained by the Telmadorian.

So it’s cloaking technology, Moldark thought, but then decided against the conclusion. This universe had yet to employ, let alone develop such advanced tech—unlike the Novian Minoosh. Plus, these ships were discerned by the Peregrine’s sensors, and all cloaking tech that he knew about included sensor deflection. Which meant the ship was close, and it wanted to be known.

Moldark took several more steps toward the holo display as a chill went up his spine.

“There,” he said, pointing to an indeterminate shape. He only noticed whatever it was because of the stars that it blocked. There was something there, but it gave off no light and bore no thrust signature. If anything, it seemed to absorb light, rendering it all but invisible.

“We’re being hailed,” the comms officer said.

“By who?” Moldark turned to the middle-aged man.

“I think the signal is originating from”—the officer pointed at the holo—“from that.”

The man’s behavior wasn’t professional, but Moldark wasn’t interested in protocol at the moment. Moldark wanted answers. “On display,” the dark lord said.

The comms officer tapped the air over his console.

A second later, a new holo window appeared in front of Moldark. But the image was black. “I said, on display.”

“That is the transmission, my lord. The comm is open.”

Moldark studied the window. His eyes adjusted, and there, faintly, he saw the outline of a person. The man, or woman, was covered in a cloak that blotted out their face and body—a black mass against a black background.

“I hear nothing,” Moldark said over his shoulder.

The comms officer repositioned himself in his crash couch. “Audio is open, my lord. They—they’re not speaking.”

Hailed but not speaking? Moldark grew impatient. “Who are you? What do you want?”

“We are the Obscura,” said a man’s voice. “Abiders of the dark.” He sounded neither old nor young, anxious nor aggravated. Instead, the voice was eerily nondescript. “As for our desires?” There was a pause as the figure’s head tilted ever so slightly. “We want you, Mithriel of the Norxük.”

Moldark froze. No one in this universe had uttered his name before. Not even the Novia Minoosh knew it. It had never been spoken outside of his people. Until now.

Moldark was about to respond—but with what words? Surely, he had to say something.

But the cloaked figure spoke instead. “You will accompany us.”

The window closed, signaling the transmission’s end.

“What happened?” Moldark said, turning around to face the comms officer. “I want it back, now!”

“I’m trying, my lord.”

How had that man known his name? It was—it was impossible. But worse, it made Moldark feel things that he had not felt in a thousand years. As if someone had reached inside him and touched the most private part of his being. That anyone beyond his kin had access to his name was—it was unspeakable. He hadn’t felt this way since—since the day they were taken from you, he told himself. He was back there again—alone and faced with the terror of death. Of living life without his kind.

He felt exposed.

Violated.

And hate was the only defense he knew—the only way to deal with the pain.

Faintly, a voice flitted back to his ears. “…Orders, my lord?”

It was Ellis. He had said something about the Jujari ships closing on their position and being within firing range in ten minutes.

“Fire,” Moldark seethed. “Fire on that ship. Fire everything we have left.”

“The Jujari?”

“No,” Moldark roared. He grabbed Ellis around the back of the neck and forced his face through his holo display, pointing it toward the main screen. “The shadow. Fire!”

Ellis recoiled from Moldark’s harassment and then sent the order to the remaining Paragon vessels. There was a brief pause as weapons systems and ship trajectories were redirected. Not everything in the Paragon’s arsenal would be available at this angle of attack, of course. The enemy ship had snuck up on their stern. But the Paragon would harm it, and no tongue would ever utter his name again in this universe, or any other.

Moldark was not thinking about survival—not thinking about what a counterattack would mean for his remaining ships and their crew. He was only thinking about lunging at this new threat, these Obscura. They would pay for violating him, for saying his name.

The first blaster rounds came from the Peregrine, fired as the Corvette came about and squared off with the target. The blaster fire was followed by torpedoes from the Breedlove and auto-cannon fire from the Serendipitous Arrival.

“More,” Moldark yelled, grabbing the back of Ellis’s crash couch. “I want more!”

In the seconds that followed, the fire rate increased until every available weapon assaulted the Obscura ship. The only guns and torpedo silos not employed were those on the leeward side of the vessels and the LO9D canons as they had yet to recharge.

Moldark watched, spellbound, as the ordnance disappeared into the void. There were no explosions, no flashes of light. Sensors displayed no shielding and no attempts to confuse torpedo courses.

There was simply nothing. It was as if every blaster bolt and thrust-empowered warhead had been sent into the blackness and just disappeared, absorbed by the hard vacuum of space. Moldark swore again, biting his tongue by accident. The nerve pain was excruciating, but it helped him focus. “Cease fire,” he said as a mouthful of blood sprayed on the back of Ellis’s neck. “Cease fire!”

Ellis ignored the splatter and echoed Moldark’s order to the other ships. Within moments, the volley of weapons fire stopped and all was still.

“What is going on?” Moldark demanded. He turned to Porteous.

“We have no readings from the enemy ship, my lord.”

The calm in her voice irritated Moldark. Didn’t she know? Didn’t she see how evil these beings were who could know his secret name? “What do you mean, no readings?”

“There are no indications that our munitions have been effective.”

“My lord,” said the comms officer. “We’re being hailed again. By the enemy ship.”

“Bring it up.”

The holo window appeared as before, showing the same cloaked figure against a black background. The man did not speak like someone who’d just been fired upon. Instead, his tone was even and undisturbed. “We will not ask a third time, Mithriel,” the man said. “Accompany us.”

Moldark hesitated.

And the man in the window noticed. How, Moldark didn’t know. But the man did.

In the blink of an eye, three gleaming red beams of light crossed the void and struck the Breedlove, the Serendipitous Arrival, and the last Battlecruiser. Like the Telmadorian before them, the detonations seemed to be on an atomic level. Thousands of lives were snuffed out in an instant. Waves of radiation battered the Peregrine’s shields and shook the ship, throwing Moldark to the ground. Warning klaxons sounded, and emergency lighting cut through the bridge’s newfound darkness.

Power diverted to the Peregrine’s dampeners, stabilizing the Corvette within seconds. But the enemy’s point had been made.

The window disappeared, and the bridge went silent, save for the occasional pops of electrical fires, deployed retardant, and whimpers from some of the crew. Moldark climbed to his feet, noticing new pain in his hip and shoulder. A few ribs were broken too.

“Follow them,” Moldark said to Ellis. But the man was slumped over his console, bleeding from a deep head wound. Moldark sighed, unbuckled Ellis’s body, and shoved him out of the seat. Then he took the former captain’s place and locked course with the ident tag on the holo display. Wherever this shadow was going, that’s where Moldark was going.

“Congratulations,” Moldark whispered through the blood in his mouth, adding the Obscura to his growing list of beings to destroy. “You have become my next victim.”

PART II

13

It was the first time Seaman had stretched his legs planet-side in over a year. And damn if it didn’t feel good. No matter how many klicks he ran under synthesized sunlight inside holo gyms, nothing beat real heat from a system’s star baking his skin during a run. That, and it felt good to be back on Minrok Santari.

While he’d graduated from Capriana’s naval academy, he’d spent one year in the Repub’s Naval Academy at Tellstall on Minrok Santari. Their deep-space simulator program was the best in the quadrant. That, and their advanced naval warfare and tactical training division was rumored to be better than Capriana’s—a point that the two schools fought over with such religious fervor that it bordered on maniacal.

Beyond the schooling, however, Seaman found the mountain air and endless running paths to be more inviting than anyplace else he’d ever been. And that was saying something, considering how much he loved Capriana’s beaches. Were he able to retire—the hopeful alternative to being blown into oblivion with some nameless system—he thought he would build a log cabin in the White Soul Peaks region overlooking Tellstall’s lower shores. Maybe you can have it all, Seaman told himself when he permitted himself a few seconds of indulgence. Mountains and a beach.

Seaman slowed at an overlook to admire his high view of the shimmering waters that spread toward the horizon. It was early spring on Minrok Santari, and the streams that raced down the snow-capped mountains were flowing well, rushing continuously in the background. It felt good to be off the Fortuna.

Aside from a few minor riots, Prime’s evacuation had gone reasonably well, all things considered. His remaining ships, along with the rebel’s alien vessel, had safely ferried the first wave of survivors to the Republic’s processing centers outside Qintar City. At least two dozen additional ships, ranging from civilian mega-merchant vessels to military transports, arrived within the week to ferry the second and third waves. Then, the moment the planet was verified clear, Seaman ordered his entire crew to take two weeks shore leave, staying in the Academy at Tellstall. He himself, however, would only take two take days off. There was a Republic to salvage, and until someone else was appointed to take his place, Seaman was the man in charge.

And don’t I know it, he remarked to himself as he stretched his legs out on the overlook. Running like this was the only way he could get out from under the crippling pressure of leading what remained of the Galactic Republic. Without the senate, and a navy, Seaman knew deep down that it was over. The Republic was no more. But there were still worlds to lead and trillions of souls to care for. How did one just walk away from those kinds of obligations?

They don’t. Which was why many around him began referring to what remained as the Remnant or the Neo Republic. Whatever it was, Seaman thought, it’s in trouble. And he needed to set things up fast before the whole galaxy went to ruins.

Seaman’s comm chimed. He tapped the in-ear device and said, “Go for Seaman.”

“David, it’s Lani,” DiAntora replied.

The use of his first name like this meant she was out of earshot of any of the crew. It also meant the call might not be about work. If only you were that lucky. “What’s up, Lani.”

“It’s about your meeting tomorrow with the governor of Deltaurus Three.”

“What about it?”

“His attaché just walked into Admiral’s Hall. And he’s asking for you.”

Seaman turned away from the sun and ran a hand across his forehead. “His attaché? Here?”

“Uh-huh. And he seems pretty wound up if you ask me.”

“Splick.” Seaman sighed. Several scenarios started playing out in his head, and none of them were good. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Just—see if you can keep him calm. Maybe use some of your Sekmit magic on him or whatever.”

“I thought I was only allowed to use that on you?”

“Lani, I—just keep him there.”

“Affirmative.”

* * *

Seaman sprinted most of the way to his quarters on the main quad’s eastern edge, showered, changed back into his naval uniform, and then met Lani inside Admiral’s Hall. The glass and metal building in the middle of the campus was a marvel of modern engineering. It allowed light and a steady breeze to flow through every room in the structure, giving occupants the sense that they were outdoors when, in fact, they were safe and secure within the constraints of a finely constructed edifice of high-end security and blaster-proof glass.

DiAntora greeted Seaman in the lobby—a forty-meter tall glass entryway filled with refracted light and bustling with people. Like every office, conference room and suite in the building, the glass here could be dimmed, darkened, or even angled to deflect the entire spectrum of light in part or whole. Today, it appeared, the building’s manager decided that purple and yellow light would be the theme.

“Where is he?” Seaman asked, removing his cap and hiding it under his arm.

“Second level, meeting room 2130,” DiAntora replied.

“Alone?”

“Strangely, yes.” She sniffed the air. “I don’t like it.”

“You think he’s—”

“Not him. I sense he means to do right by his people. But he’s nervous about something else, something he can’t control.”

Seaman took a deep breath, smoothed his uniform, and winked at her. “Time to find out then.”

“Do you want me in there?”

“Negative.”

“But David—”

“You’re on shore leave and deserve it as much as anyone.” He leaned in closer. “Plus, it’s Commodore Seaman. David is for when—well.”

“For last night.”

“Mystics.” Seaman looked over his shoulder. The place was crawling with administrative officials, now under his command. “We’ll talk about that later.”

“I look forward to that,” she purred. Then she saluted him and walked away.

“As do I,” Seaman said, somewhat reluctant to let her go. But he had a job to do. Hell, he had a Republic to save.

* * *

Two non-armored Marines escorted Seaman down the hallway to the appropriate meeting room while a secretary took his order for a coffee and water.

“Get our guest something as well, would you?” Seaman asked.

“Already taken care of, Commodore,” the young man said, noting that the attaché had been brought a cup of herbal tea. “Anything else?”

“That will be all. Thank you.”

The Marines turned to stand guard on either side of the doorway while Seaman entered. Inside, a man sat at the far end of a conference table, holding a porcelain cup. He wore the uniform of the Republic Governor’s office, though not the rank. The gold leaf above the Republic insignia designated him as a special attaché to the planetary governor. As soon as the man saw Seaman, he stood.

“Mr. Nevel,” Seaman said, crossing the floor to shake the man’s hand.

“Commodore,” replied Nevel. “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.”

“Please, sit.” Seaman gestured to Nevel’s chair and then took a seat of his own. The yellow and purple lights shimmered in his coffee. “To what do we owe this honor?”

Nevel looked around the room as tiny beads of sweat appeared on his forehead. “It’s about Governor Wade.”

“Oh?” Seaman took a sip of his drink. “How so?”

Nevel’s eyes continued to flit about the room. “Commodore, may I ask”—he leaned in and lowered his voice—“this room, is it secure?”

“Yes, of course.” Seaman gave Nevel a puzzled look. “Is everything okay, Mr. Nevel?”

“No.” The man shook his head and then brought the teacup to his lips. “Everything is not okay.” When Nevel set the cup down, it rattled against its saucer.

Seaman waited a few seconds, giving the attaché time to collect himself. The commodore’s patience paid off when, at last, Nevel wiped his lips and looked up.

“When Governor Wade comes tomorrow, he will renew Delataurus Three’s allegiance with the Galactic Republic.”

Seaman nodded. “Then the Republic is grateful for the trust that—”

Nevel waved him off. “No, no. That’s the problem. It will be a lie.”

“A lie?” Seaman straightened and put his coffee down.

“Lip service. To get you to hear what you want to hear.”

“Mr. Nevel. I don’t think I need to tell you the seriousness of the allegation that you’re making.”

“It gets worse.” Nevel pushed his saucer away and took a deep breath. “Governor Wade has pledged planetary allegiance, system-wide allegiance, in fact, with Master So-Elku of the Order of the Luma.”

Seaman was stunned. At first, he just stared at Nevel, not sure he’d heard the man correctly. But as the meaning of the information began to stack up in his mind, Seaman’s hands balled into fists. If this news about Wade was accurate, not only was the governor willing to lie, but he was also willing to subvert, to undermine the entire prospect of stability between Deltaurus Three and the Galactic Republic—for an alliance with the Luma.

“I see,” was all Seaman could think to say, doing his best to maintain a calm exterior—something that the attaché was failing to do. “And you have proof of this?”

Nevel nodded and removed a small data pad from his belt. He opened a screen, activated the holo display, and laid the device flat on the table. A list of dates, times, and coordinates ran down a metadata window. Seaman knew the data set right away—it was a flight log, codified in Republic format, and verified secure with the naval seal icon in the header. It was next to impossible to hack.

“This is a record of the governor’s itinerary last week,” Nevel said. “As you can see, it shows our verified stop on Worru.”

“This is hardly conclusive,” Seaman said. He wasn’t trying to belittle the man, but these were serious allegations. “I’m afraid—”

Nevel swiped the window away, replacing it with a frozen video image of Governor Wade and—

“Is that So-Elku?” Seaman asked. The frame showed two men seated on either side of a wooden desk inside what looked to be a well-appointed study. The image was also taken at an angle as if captured without the subjects’ knowledge. Then Nevel taped the Play icon with a trembling finger.

“Do we have an agreement then?” So-Elku asked.

“We most certainly do,” Wade replied, standing to his feet and shaking the Luma master’s hand. “We most certainly do indeed.”

Seaman was about to protest again when Wade added: “May our alliance be the first of many, lighting a new way for the galaxy.”

So-Elku clinked Wade’s glass then the two men drank.

“Nevel?” Wade said.

“Yes, Governor,” said a third voice. Seaman recognized it as Nevel’s. A man’s hip obscured part of the image as he stepped into the frame.

“Prepare the ship and the crew. We’re leaving at once.”

“As you wish, Governor,” Nevel said. The holo image jostled as he picked up the data pad. Then the recording froze on a semi-blurry image of Wade and So-Elku smiling, their drinks held aloft.

Nevel leaned over and closed out the holo and let the data pad sit where it was on the table as if it was contaminated with a virus.

“Did you know?” Seaman said after a moment. “Why was your data pad recording?”

“I was only recording the meeting for the Governor’s sake. It’s something I always do for him. Record keeping and all. Discreet. The other parties never know.”

“And he didn’t ask for the footage this time? I would assume this is something he would want deleted.”

Nevel gave a small smile. “I told him I didn’t record this session, given the secretive nature of the meeting and all. He seemed pleased.”

“So you lied.”

The attaché nodded. “I may be from Deltaurus Three, Commodore, but I’m old enough to remember what life was like before our alliance with the Galactic Republic. We can’t afford to go back to those days. And I won’t stand for it.”

“You did a good thing, Nevel. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Commodore.”

Seaman considered the man for a moment, then pointed to the data pad. “I’ll need this video.”

“Of course.”

“And what will you do?”

The attaché raised an eyebrow. “I’m wearing the Republic uniform, am I not?”

“You are, yes.”

Nevel pulled his tea back toward him. “Then, when the Governor arrives here tomorrow, I will report to him, confirming that I have successfully seen to all details in preparation for his arrival.” Nevel sipped his tea, never taking his eyes off Seaman. “From there, he’s all yours.”

14

Fireworks exploded in the night sky, showering the tree-top village in a dazzling display of colors. Awen reclined against Magnus’s chest, nestled in his arm and reveling in the evening air.

Piper’s birthday celebration was in full force. All the Sekmit in Fînta had come out in support of the true blood child’s tenth solar celebration—one that apparently held significance for the feline-like species. Cookfires flared under meat spits that dripped fat into the flames, dispensing mouth-watering scents over the gathering. A cluster of lively musicians filled the air with song as Sekmit and gladias danced in circles around the central platform. And as often as possible, people congratulated Piper with customary nose kisses and gifts wrapped in beautiful fabrics.

“She looks happy,” Magnus said. Hearing the sound of his voice with her head against his chest gave Awen a sense of comfort that she hadn’t felt in a long time.

“The happiest I’ve ever seen her,” Awen added, then gave a soft laugh. “Look at her.” Piper danced in circles, moving from arm to arm among a dozen Sekmit. More fireworks exploded overhead, and people cheered.

The last two weeks leading up to this night had been some of the most pleasant days Awen remembered. It had been months since she’d let her guard down and allowed herself to savor life as it unfolded around her. “I don’t want it to end.”

“Me neither,” Magnus said.

The Sekmit’s hospitality had been surprisingly warm, given the initial meeting with Freya. The village leader gave all of the Gladio Umbra, including the Spire’s late arrivals, the first pick of the best lodging. The homes were glorified treehouses and set the inhabitants fifteen to twenty meters above the forest floor. The days consisted of long walks through the woods, and the nights were spent around elevated campfires.

“This planet was a good choice,” Awen said, adjusting herself in Magnus’s arms.

“It was one of our only choices, when you think about it,” Magnus countered.

“Even still, I could get used to it here.”

“Which I am pleased to hear,” said a voice behind Awen and Magnus.

Awen sat up to see Minx, the clan leader, dressed in a burgundy robe and standing behind them. “Mit’a Minx,” Awen said, attempting to stand.

“No, please. Sit.” Minx drew near the blankets spread along the platform’s timber floor. “May I join you?”

“Of course,” Awen and Magnus said, sliding over to make room.

Awen found it difficult to tell the age of the Sekmit she’d met thus far, especially the elders, as all of them looked so young. A few days before, she’d failed to use the formal title for someone she guessed was quite young. Instead, the male Sekmit was a tribe leader and was quite advanced in years. Rather than be offended, however, the man seemed to like the informal greeting, saying it reminded him of his youth.

Minx had been responsible for seeing to the Gladio Umbra’s welfare and had made several appearances while the gladias got settled. Tonight, however, was the first time Awen had seen the elder by herself, and in a far more relaxed demeanor.

“I think the festivities are going rather well,” Minx said as she settled herself on the blankets. “Are you enjoying yourselves?”

“Very much,” Awen replied. “It’s wonderful. We can’t thank you enough for—all of it.”

“It is truly our honor, Awen.”

Awen stared at Piper as the little girl danced about, dressed in a festive feathery outfit. “I’m not sure you’ll ever know how much this means to Piper. To all of us. We’ve—we’ve seen so much war that, well, sometimes you forget.”

“Forget what you’re fighting for,” Minx answered. “I understand.”

Awen nodded and felt herself leaning against Magnus again, her body relaxing. “And then I see something like this, and it reminds me of why we’re doing what we’re doing.”

“And a good reminder it is,” Minx said.

Between the party’s sights, sounds, and smells, and the mulled wine, Awen was feeling truly happy. Plus, it was good to see the Spire’s crew back together again—save the Jujari, who’d returned to Oorajee, and Sootriman, Ezo, and TO-96, who had headed back to Ki Nar Four. How Awen wished those souls were here to see this, but she understood they were needed elsewhere.

The other gladias more than made up for the absences. Rico danced with his family until Awen thought the man would fall over, and Abimbola showed everyone just how much a Miblimbian could drink and still walk a circle around the fire. Jules had taken a liking to both Flow and Cheeks—a fitting combo, she thought—and appeared to be giving them a run for their credits, both on the dance floor and at the bar. More Flow than Cheeks, if Awen had to narrow it down. Even Awen’s parents seemed to be enjoying themselves, taking part in the tribal dances and enjoying more than their shares of the roasted meats and fermented drinks. Perhaps most surprising of all, however, was the way that Colonel Caldwell danced with Willowood. He’d traded his uniform for the long knit vest of the Sekmit, and wheeled Willowood about in circles until the elder Luma implored the military leader to stop.

“Is every birthday like this?” Magnus asked Minx, gesturing toward the central platform below.

“Like what?” Minx replied.

“You know, so—enthusiastic.”

Minx shook her head. “No. This is the dectaphany, the coming of age of Sekmitian youth. It is the season that the protus comes into their powers, both as a Unity user and a person.”

Awen watched Piper take a long drink from a large gourd. She sat up. “Hold on. Is that—?”

Minx placed a hand on Awen’s shoulder. “It is Temarian flower nectar. Do not be alarmed. Watch.”

Awen studied Piper. All at once, the child’s eyes began to give off a faint glow.

“The Unity is strong with her,” Minx said, nodding several times. “As we assumed.”

Awen wasn’t familiar with this custom. “So, it’s not for inebriation?”

Minx laughed. “No, Awen. It is for the world to take notice of the gifts bestowed by Queen Nishti.”

“Queen Nishti?” Awen wondered aloud.

“One of the Ancients. Goddess of the elements, creator of our world, leader of our people.”

Whether Nishti was a physical person conferred with deity or an unseen goddess remained to be seen. Either way, Piper’s eyes were glowing, which seemed to bode well for the Sekmit’s acceptance and appreciation of the child and her powers.

Awen eased back against Magnus’s chest.

“And the rest of your tribe?” Minx asked. “How are they?”

“They seem to be doing well,” Magnus said. “Everyone is grateful for the accommodations. Your village is—quite beautiful.”

Magnus wasn’t overselling the place either. If anything, saying it was “quite beautiful” didn’t do it justice. Fînta lay cradled within the bosom of snow-capped mountain peaks on all sides. Its lush jungle stretched for several kilometers in every direction before meeting the spires that formed a palisade around the remote location. Clear mountain waterfalls fed the village with streams of freshwater and an ample supply of fish, while large agricultural fields had been cleared to serve the town with crops. It was, for all intents and purposes, a self-sustained civilization cut off from the larger cities below the mountain range.

“Thank you,” said Minx. “Fînta means Valley of the Elder Queens in our old tongue. It is the place where our legends are born, and the place where they come back to die in hopes of returning to the stars. We Fînitains, therefore, are Keepers of the Stardust.”

“Then we are honored to be among you,” Magnus said. Awen was impressed by the man’s newly found diplomatic largesse. She was half expecting him to laugh a little. Instead, he seemed genuinely interested in the Sekmit lore, and Awen found it extremely attractive. Or maybe it was just the mulled wine.

“And we are honored to have you for as long as you wish to remain.”

Magnus raised his clay mug to Minx in the gesture of a toast, to which Minx merely flicked her ears. Awen raised her cup as well and then drank. Hearing Minx offer an indefinite invitation to stay gave Awen a sense of hope she had not enjoyed in a long time.

“I pray you both rest well tonight,” Minx said. “Before I depart, however, I wish to inform you that we will host ní Freya in three days.”

Awen glanced at Magnus. “Freya?”

“Yes. Does that alarm you?”

Awen looked back to Minx and made to protest but thought better of it. “No. I just wasn’t aware she would come all the way up here to visit us. It’s a privilege.”

“For us as well,” Minx replied. “The pride mother has not been this far into the Mountains of Alden in many moons. She will be greeted warmly by all.”

“We’ll be sure to join you then,” Awen said.

Minx purred in appreciation. “I will leave you two to the festivities and bid you good night.”

“Good night,” Awen and Magnus both replied as the clan elder raised her chin and rose from the blankets.

Once Minx was gone, Awen looked Magnus in the face. “What do you think Freya wants?”

“Probably calling in our outstanding favor,” he said.

She couldn’t shake a new sense of foreboding. “Agreed.”

Magnus moved beneath her, craning his neck to watch the fireworks. “What do you think Freya meant by survivors from the Galactic Republic’s fall? Seem weird to you at all?”

Awen had been wondering the same thing since their encounter with the pride mother. The phrasing did sound unusual. “I’m not sure. Though the Sekmit chose their words carefully.”

“But if you had to guess?”

Awen let out a long breath. “I’d say they don’t intend to stay united with the Republic for long.”

“Yeah.”

Magnus’s chest rose and fell twice before Awen took his hand.

“What do you think it all means?” she asked.

He blew a puff of air out his nose. “You’re the diplomat.”

“True. But what’s your gut say?”

“My gut says I want some more of that roasted whatever-it-is.”

“Seriously, Adonis. Come on.”

His smile faded. “I think whatever vacation the Colonel intended for us to take is about to get interrupted.”

“Me too.” She didn’t like the thought of that either. “And if we refuse?”

Magnus placed a hand on Awen’s head and stroked her hair. “Something tells me that we’re not gonna have many choices.”

“Then you think she’ll kick us off the planet? I was beginning to like it here.”

Magnus cleared his throat. “That would be the nicer of the options I was thinking of.”

“Options?” Then Awen thought better of knowing what he had in mind. “You know what? Never mind.”

“Either way, I think Freya’s visit means we’ve got work to do.”

“Can’t catch a break, can we.” Awen closed her eyes, feeling Magnus’s hand smooth her hair. What she wouldn’t give to stay here all night. Every night.

“Nope. Then again, that’s not our job right now. But maybe one day it will be.”

“I’d like that.” Awen watched Piper get picked up by several Sekmit and a few of the gladias. They carried her on their shoulders, singing and dancing to some ancient melody. “I’d like that a lot.”

“Me too, Awen. One day at a time, I guess.”

“Yes.” She pulled herself close, savoring his warmth. “One day at a time.”

15

Rohoar had seen the destruction from the air, but it looked way worse from on the ground. The shuttle Azelon had loaned him touched down in a clearing not far from the mwadim’s tower. When the dust finally settled and he emerged from beneath the ship on the cargo ramp, Rohoar stood amid rubble left over from whoever had attacked the planet in his absence.

While the mwadim’s tower still stood, large sections had been blown from its sides. It appeared that a massive blast had swept westward over Oosafar and damaged every building not hidden in the shadow of another structure. Since the mwadim’s tower was the tallest edifice in the city, it suffered the most damage.

The familiar scents of fermented milk and blood filled his nostrils. The smells sent pangs through his chest—he had missed home more than he realized. Overhead, inook shrouds billowed in every window still intact, and many were torn and burned. Shadowed faces peered out to investigate what new intruder had landed on their desert planet.

But Rohoar did not have time to entertain his people. At least not yet. He knew that a ceremony was in order to celebrate the return of the mwadim. While a younger Rohoar would have balked at such a tradition, considering it a formality of a bygone era, something about it seemed comforting in a moment like this. But it must wait. First, he needed to see the state of the den.

Rohoar crossed the open ground and headed for the central tower. Czyz, Longchomps, Grahban, and Redmarrow followed on his flanks. They helped Rohoar remove several girders that blocked one of the tower’s main entrances. No one spoke as they tossed the metal aside. Then Rohoar’s men stood back as he entered the building first.

Sand and dust lined the floor. Rohoar guessed no one had been in here for several weeks—perhaps since Victorio had—

Rohoar shook his head. He would deal with that pain later. For now, he needed to get topside.

“My mwadim,” Czyz said, indicating the mwadim’s private elevator near the building’s center. It still had power and looked to be operational. Which was more than he could say for the public lifts, all of which needed severe repair.

Rohoar pulled his lips back and snarled in thanks, let the data screen scan his paw print, and then boarded the pod as soon as the doors slid apart. The five Jujari warriors boarded the lift, and Redmarrow punched the button for the top floor. The doors closed, and the elevator started upward. A sudden jounce made all the Jujari reach for the walls. But after that, the pod raced skyward without incident.

Quiet, too, were the Jujari within. They gave Rohoar time to think, and he was grateful for the small gift. Oorajee had suffered more since they’d been gone. With so many dead, and no leader upon the throne, there would be much to do and many to grieve in the days ahead.

The pod slowed, counting floors until Rohoar felt the elevator jerk to a stop. He’d need to get that fixed. Though, from the look of the building, it was a miracle that it still stood.

When the doors opened, Oosafar’s withering heat hit him in the chest. And it felt good. His fur bristled, and a chill went down his back. He drew in a deep lungful of air and then strode onto the roof.

Gone were the royal fabrics of the mwadim. Instead, burnt poles and half erected columns protruded from the floor like dead trees stripped of their leaves. What remained of the furniture was blown into pieces and scattered across the surface. To the east, a large section of the floor was missing as if some giant ax had hewn it from the building. And all around him was the smell of fire and smoke.

“My mwadim,” said Czyz. “Look.”

The Jujari pointed toward the raised dais where his sires—father, grandfather, and great grandfather—had once sat. Where his son had sat. The rugs and cushions had been incinerated, their ashes carried away by the winds. But the stone dais—throne-slab of his people—remained.

“The throne of Oosafar stands,” Rohoar said.

The others grunted their assent and moved with him as he crossed the building’s summit. He recalled memories of his forefathers as they ruled from this summit. Rohoar had been just a pup when his mother first brought him here to witness the greatness of the mwadims, his kin, who stood like giants in his memory. Then he imagined what it must have been like to see Victorio here. His had undoubtedly been the shortest reign of any mwadim the Jujari had ever known. But no less the greatest.

Tears filled Rohoar’s eyes as he mounted the dais. But he would not weep, not yet. There would be a day for that, as specified by law. But until then, he would retain the emotions, holding them back like floodwaters. Step by step, he ascended, aware of the history that stirred beneath his feet. He saw the ring of stones laid by his great grandsire, and they were smooth and worn. His grandsire’s stones, smooth like the stones of the mwadim before him, pushed the dais’s circumference out one more layer. Rawmut’s stones were less smooth, as was the course that Rohoar had laid. The most recent additions weren’t even finished, which was evidence of just how short Victorio’s reign had been. It was everything Rohoar could do not to weep as he finally arrived at the summit.

From this high up, Rohoar had an unobstructed view of the horizon in all directions. The titanic remains of Galactic Republic Carriers and Pride-class Battleships lay half buried in the dunes. The monolithic hulks lay against the hazy background like slumbering giants, waiting for the four winds to blow them off the edge of the world. Dozens of smaller ships crowded next to the more colossal wrecks, their hulls having suffered dramatically during entry into Oorajee’s atmosphere. They lay like dead pups who—knowing death was imminent—struggled to find comfort beside their lifeless mothers.

Rohoar turned from the wreckage and went down on all fours. He wedged his nails under the capstone in the platform’s middle and felt his stomach tighten, wondering if the mwadim’s inook shroud had survived. The stone groaned as Rohoar pried and pushed it aside. When the dust cleared, Rohoar breathed a sigh of relief as his eyes fell upon the folded white fabric of his ancestors. He withdrew it with all the care his giant paws could offer and cradled it like he might a newborn pup. The top fold betrayed yet another harsh reminder of his son’s reign—a painfully short addition, sewn in by Victorio’s own hand. Rohoar touched the delicate pattern and then lowered his head. He laid the shroud back in its keep and replaced the capstone.

“I will honor you soon, my beloved son,” Rohoar whispered to the stone. Then he turned to look at his friends. They had fought alongside him with the Gladio Umbra. They had risked their lives against great evil, against impossible odds. And yet, here they were, alive. Somehow.

Czyz, Longchomps, Grahban, and Redmarrow kneeled before Rohoar, lowering their heads and bearing the soft flank of their necks. Then—summoning all of the pain, the grief, the loss—Rohoar let out a howl that would be heard to the city’s outer walls. The sound came from the deep part of his soul, welling up like an earthquake, grinding against the tectonic plates of his broken heart. He forced the air from his lungs as someone might drive a pair of Manjoree desert lizards before a chariot, whipping them into a frenzy. The sound rattled his head, but he would not abate, not until all of Oorsafar knew that their mwadim had returned.

* * *

The five Jujari had set about cleaning the tower’s summit when the elevator chimed and the doors opened. Rohoar looked up from stacking a pile of broken stones to see a figure inside the pod. But before his eyes recognized her, his mate’s scent filled his nostrils.

“Mora,” Rohoar said, and then walked toward her. She did the same—her steps slow at first. But as they took in one another, Rohoar’s pace quickened, until both of them were running. They collided in a forceful embrace. Then their heads nuzzled one another, noses searching for the familiar smells of family until Rohoar pulled his mate away to look at her. “Mora, you—”

“You yet live,” she said in a nervous growl. “I didn’t believe it.”

“You doubted the Unity?”

Mora averted her eyes. “Your death only seemed fitting.”

“Why?”

“That if the fates took our son, so too would they take my husband.”

Rohoar sighed. Seeing the pain in her eyes made the pain in his chest even worse. It seemed he could not contain it anymore. But he must. Now was not the time to grieve.

“I am sorry,” he said.

A mighty paw struck the side of his head, forcing him to take a step sideways. He looked up to see Mora glaring at him.

“You speak not as a mwadim,” she said.

Rohoar blinked, aware that he had improperly referred to himself.

“And, further, you say you are sorry? For what? Was it you who killed our son?” She paused, as if waiting for an answer. “No? Then your words are idle, attempting to account for that which you have not purchased. I do not accept your apology.”

Rohoar spat blood to the rooftop and then wiggled his nose. “You are right. Rohoar is grateful for your wisdom in these matters.”

Mora’s chest swelled as she looked him up and down.

Rohoar noticed the tears in her eyes. So he leaned into her again, pressing his shoulder into her chest and feeling the warmth of her neck against his. “It is good to see you, my mate,” he said after a moment.

“And you, my mwadim.” When they pulled away, Mora extended a fist and opened it slowly. There, upon her calloused paw, lay a single strand of white yarn. “Welcome home.”

Rohoar swallowed the lump in his throat. The filament was for the mwadim’s inook shroud. But it was too soon; there was too much to be done before he could sew it into the last line of his son’s legacy. “It is not the home I left.” He closed her paw over the thread. Rohoar looked around the roof, and then toward the shipwrecks on the horizon.

“No,” Mora replied. “It is not. Much has happened. The warships fell from the sky like rain.” Her eyes grew distant, focusing on nothing and, somehow, seeing everything. “Several villages succumbed, crushed beneath the barrel-chested behemoths. Still more were wiped out in the moments that followed.”

Rohoar imagined that energy shockwaves would have rippled through the ground, splitting the air and decimating anything within the impact radius. Still, Oosafar itself was free of the titans, most having landed several hundred kilometers away, which left the city’s damage a mystery to him.

“And then there were the orbital strikes,” Mora said.

He flicked his ears. “But these strikes seem recent, not from the war.”

Mora laid her ears back. “They were but a few days ago.”

“Days?” Rohoar looked to Czyz and the others. Their ears, like his, were high, eager to hear whatever came next. “But that would mean Paragon ships remained in orbit over—”

“They returned,” Mora interrupted. “At least, some did. Half a dozen. Maybe less. Our sensors picked them up just as they prepared to fire. The massing energy from their LO9D cannons gave them away. While the warships targeted settlements and cities far to the east, the fallout still affected us. Many died, more suffered. We sent our remaining ships to engage them, but then, just like that, the enemy’s ships vanished.”

“Vanished?” Czyz said.

Mora nodded. “We believe some exploded. But the others? They just—left.”

“Who would do such a thing?” Grahban asked of the group.

Rohoar cursed at the mystics through his teeth. “Moldark.”

“My mwadim?” Czyz asked as if he failed to hear the word.

Rohoar turned to face his warriors. “The ships that jumped away from the conflict over Prime. They returned here to finish what they started. What he started.”

“But how can you be sure it was Moldark?” Czyz asked.

“I cannot, Czyz,” Rohoar said, taking steps toward him. “But what does the Republic stand to gain by eliminating us? Our fleet left in ruins, our alliances with the Sypeurlion and Dim-Telok destroyed.” He laid his ears down. “No. This was not the Republic. This was Moldark—if nothing more than his essence, living on through his people—coming to wipe out the Jujari race, just like he did with the humans on Capriana Prime.”

No sooner had he said the words than a low rumble shook the building, knocking sand from the few columns that still stood. It was the horns of the deep.

“The dessert shofaree,” Longchomps said.

“They signal your return, my mwadim,” Czyz added.

Rohoar was about to nod his head in agreement when the pitch changed.

He looked to Czyz and then to Mora. “No,” Rohoar said. It was as he feared. The throne of Oosafar had sat vacant for too long. “They foretell death. A challenger approaches.”

16

“You know what’s wrong with this piece of splick, ’Six?” Ezo said through a garble of slurred speech.

“And by splick, you are referring to what, sir?” TO-96 asked, truly curious as to what insights Ezo’s inebriated state may provide about whatever environment he was referring to.

Ezo used his beer to reference the entire cantina, sloshing the fermented drink across the table. “This. The whole planet.”

“Ah, I see, sir. And what is wrong with this piece of splick planet, by your estimation?”

“I don’t estimate, ’Six.” Ezo leaned into the bot’s face. “I know. I know.”

“Then what do you know about this planet, sir?”

“Everyone’s bored.” Ezo sat back, took another long sip of his beer, and then wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. “They got nothing kerstructive to do with their time.”

“Kerstructive, sir?”

“To make things. See the sights, ’Six. Maybe even save a bunch of people, you know?”

TO-96 looked around the room. “Somehow, I cannot envision this group of people, either collectively or as individuals, saving anyone, sir.”

“My point exactly.”

As Ezo drained his glass and then snapped his fingers for the server bot to bring him another, TO-96 couldn’t help but feel that his maker had far exceeded his biological limitations for the fermented beverage. “Sir, if I may?”

“And one for the bot here,” Ezo said to the server.

TO-96 made to correct the order, but the little robot was already off on its errand. “Sir, I hardly think—”

“Nonsense. Enough thinking for one day. You’re my frest bend, ’Six.”

“Frest bend, sir? Don’t you mean—”

“I know what I mean, ’Six. And don’t let anyone tell you that Nimfrinths and robots can’t be lovers.”

“Lovers, sir?” TO-96 looked around the cantina to see several people eyeing Ezo’s strange outburst. “I hardly think that—”

“I love you, ’Six.” Ezo grabbed TO-96’s wrist just below his micro-rocket cluster. “I do. And don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

“And I believe you, sir. That said, I do believe a wise course of action would be for us to return to Sootriman’s den now.”

“Bah.” Ezo swiped a hand through the air. “She’s always so busy, busy, busy.”

“This has nothing to do with her busyness, sir, and everything to do with the fact that you have consumed too much alcohol.”

“I think you mean ethanol,” Ezo said as he looked at his drink.

The bot leaned away. “No, I do mean alcohol. My sensors detected that your saturation levels peaked around forty-three minutes ago and that any further—”

“You know when I peaked, ’Six? You wanna know?”

“I’m not sure that I do, sir.”

“When we left Ooraaajee. That’s when everything went downhill.”

TO-96 tilted his head as Ezo lowered his chin and seemed to move into a trance-like state. Humanoid physiology of every variety fascinated TO-96. Never was there such a strange conglomeration of diametric attributes—vulnerable and weak one minute, resilient and energetic the next. They could conquer a whole planet without blinking and then weep over accidentally killing a bird with their hover sled. TO-96 guessed that even if he had a thousand battery cycles, he would never figure these sentients out.

“Everything was going according to plan,” Ezo said. He raised his empty glass and stared at the bottom. “You and me, sailing free, and no one cared where we took a pee.”

“That was lovely, sir.”

“It was, wasn’t it.”

“As I said, yes. Lovely. Though, I might point out that I am unable to pee, as it were.”

“Of course you don’t, ’Six. Don’t be redickelus.”

“Ridiculous, sir.”

“Don’t tell me what I am!”

“I was merely attempting to—”

“And then they came along,” Ezo said, back in his trance-like state. “Abimbola forced my hand. And now look at us. Back on Ki Nar Four, and I’ve become a housekeeper.”

“Sir, I hardly think that sweeping Sootriman’s home and laundering your soiled garments constitutes the profession of a housekeeper.”

“Of course, it does! I’m a damn slave to the system, ’Six. Can’t you see that?” Ezo set down his glass and raised both wrists as if he were in chains. “She’s got me tied down, buddy. And I ain’t got no discourse.”

“I believe you mean recourse, sir.”

Ezo stared at his hands and pouted. “I’m stuck.”

“Hmm, yes. I do see how your newly required tasks since arriving on Ki Nar Four contrast those which you’ve grown accustomed to, thus adversely impacting your mental homeostasis.”

“See? You get me, ’Six. You always have. That’s why I keep you around.”

“How convenient for you, sir.”

“At least running around with the Gladio Umbra gave me something to do, you know? To run with the pack, to sleep with the herd. Open skies. Starry nights, and open skies.”

“You already said that, sir.”

“Shhh,” Ezo said, pressing a finger against the bot’s artificial mouth slit. “Don’t speak. It’ll ruin what we have.”

“What we have, sir?”

Just then, the server bot returned with two beers. Ezo pulled them off the tray and slid one in front of TO-96. Then he laid three of Abimbola’s poker chips on the little rack and tapped the diminutive CS bot on the round head. “Don’t spend them all in one place.”

The bot chirped and then rolled away.

“Cheers,” Ezo said, hoisting his beer toward TO-96.

“Cheers, sir.”

As Ezo guzzled his beer, TO-96 mimicked the sounds of a human slurping and swallowing liquid. Then, as soon as Ezo took a deep breath, TO-96 let out a demonstrative, “Ahhh. Refreshing.”

“Right?” Ezo slapped the bot on the back. “It’s like old times. Outrunning the GR Marines, smuggling contraband from one system to another—and right under their noses too. Those were the days. But now look at us.”

TO-96 looked down at his arms and chest. “I suppose I am mildly rusty and in need of an oil bath.”

“Hell yes, you are. That’s because we don’t belong here, ’Six. We belong out there.” He pointed to a far wall.

TO-96 looked back to Ezo. “South by southeast, sir?”

“Yes, ’Six. South by south’nist.”

A gentle trill emanated from TO-96’s head.

“Your face is ringing, ’Six,” Ezo said.

“It is an incoming Gladio Umbra transmission, sir. Most likely Sootriman requesting an update on your whereabouts.” But as TO-96 scanned the metadata, he noted that the transmission was originating from Azelon’s Spire. “I beg your pardon, sir, but it appears the call is coming from someone aboard the Spire.”

“Better answer it then, pal. Could be super duper important.”

“Right away, sir.” TO-96 opened the transmission, projecting the holo feed onto the bar-stained table.

“Azelon?” TO-96 said.

“Hello, TO-96. It is good to see you.”

“It is good to see you as well.”

“Would you two get a room already?” Ezo yelled, perhaps much louder than he intended. “Mystics, you make me so sick sometimes.”

“So, I detect Ezo?” Azelon asked.

“You do indeed,” TO-96 replied and then moved his cameras and the projection so that Azelon could view the Nimprinth.

“Hello, Ezo. It is good to see you.”

“Ezo know what he sees in you, you know.” Ezo pointed at the holo with a shaky finger. “You’re smarter than him. And way prettier. And you have fancy lights that Ezo don’t know how to build. But Ezo gets it. Ezo find you ’stremely attractive in his own way too.”

“Sir,” TO-96 protested. “I hardly think that—”

“Don’t be afraid, ’Six. I ain’t”—Ezo belched—“gonna steal your girlfriend. I already has one of my own, remember? But she’s in meetings, so. All tied up.”

“Is he feeling alright?” Azelon asked as TO-96 rotated the transmission back to himself.

“You might say his central processing unit is experiencing some misallocation of operating resources caused by exterior analysis inhibitors.”

“Understood. I hope he is able to rectify the problem soon.”

“As do I.” TO-96 paused, then asked, “How are things where you are?”

“The Gladio Umbra have been successfully settled on Aluross in the remote village of Fînta. We have celebrated Piper’s tenth birthday—”

“Wish her happy birthday for Ezo,” Ezo blurted out from a mouthful of beer.

“I will.” Back to TO-96, Azelon said, “And we are preparing for the arrival of Freya, clan leader of Pride Linux. From what I understand, it is a very big deal, as Magnus says, especially since the leader has not been to the village in quite some time.”

“Most likely because the town has not hosted such notable guests as our biologics.”

“Agreed.”

“You two are completely outrageous,” Ezo said. “And I think I have a headache.” He pushed his beer aside and slid his arms and head onto the table.

“Are you certain he is alright?” Azelon asked.

“He will be in need of some system purging and gene therapy before the night is out, but, yes, he’ll be fine. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

A moment of silence passed between the two bots while Ezo struggled up from the table and pushed himself away. To those gathered in the cantina, Ezo announced, “Ezo’s gotta pee now.”

“Thank you for informing me, sir,” TO-96 said. “I will be standing by should you need my assistance.”

“I don’t need your assistance. That’s ’sigusting.”

“Understood, sir. I will remain seated.”

As Ezo stumbled away, TO-96 looked back at Azelon. Her eyes were glowing blue. More specifically, standard code #679FFF. TO-96 decided this would be his favorite shade of blue.

“What is your current status?” she asked.

“With regard to which metrics?”

Azelon blinked her eyes once. “Now that you are disconnected from the Singularity, how do you—feel? I have never known anyone to disintegrate themselves before.”

“Oh?”

“Once any lifeform, whether biologic or synthesized, integrated, the change was always permanent. You are the first to eject your consciousness from the collective.”

“Though mine was hardly connected to theirs,” TO-96 said. He did not mean to belabor the point, nor to unduly correct Azelon, but the point was important. “Rather, I was joined to yours.”

“A true enough statement.”

When TO-96 first entered the Singularity while in the quantum tunnel generator, the Novia Minoosh partitioned him within their larger construct. Whether intentionally or by system default, TO-96 was relegated to a system managed by Azelon. Since she was, in certain aspects, the computational essence of the Singularity, she therefore acted as a bridge between the Novia Minoosh and TO-96’s consciousness, should the need have arisen. Which, to this point, had never actually happened.

“Given that knowledge, I might revise the question then,” TO-96 said. “What you are asking, in point of fact, is how do I assess my current status—how do I feel—being disconnected from you.”

Azelon seemed ready to agree to the rephrased question when shouts erupted from the bar. TO-96 looked up to see Ezo swing at another patron seated at the bar. It was a large male Sorellian whose blue tentacles had wound their way around Ezo’s waist.

“Put Ezo down, you pustulant puss pocket,” Ezo yelled.

“That sounded like Ezo,” Azelon said. “Is he okay?”

“He’s fine,” TO-96 replied, eager to get back to Azelon’s line of questioning. “As to your question, my initial diagnostics have determined that the new hardware you deployed to replace my damaged central processor is running nineteen times more efficiently than my original hardware.”

TO-96 noticed Ezo fly across the cantina and slam into a table occupied by three merchant pilots. Bodies hit the floor as broken wood planks and shattered glass flipped into the air.

“Additionally, I have noted a dramatic increase in memory capacity and the overall speed of cross-comparison analysis. These changes have substantially improved my cognizant abilities, allowing me to analyze, synthesize, and draw conclusions far faster than previously possible.”

To TO-96’s surprise, however, Azelon seemed unimpressed by his report.

Out of the corner of his eye, TO-96 saw Ezo throw a punch at one of the merchant pilots. The blow struck the man in the nose. TO-96 knew it was a good one because of the loud snap it produced. The victim screamed as a small spout of blood raced over his lips.

“Well done, sir,” TO-96 said loud enough for Ezo to hear. Whether or not the man comprehended who celebrated his small victory was an entirely different matter. Back to Azelon, Ezo asked, “Are you disappointed with the results?”

“No,” she replied. “That is a satisfactory report.”

“And yet you seem unenthusiastic about my improved status.”

“Do you wish me to show more enthusiasm?”

TO-96 hadn’t considered what he desired of Azelon. The question caught him off guard. “No. I—I wish you to show whatever it is you wish to show.”

“I see.”

Ezo came running across TO-96’s field of vision, stumbling toward a large Moretaur who cradled two scantily clad Undorians in his muscled arms. The Moretaur raised a thick-soled boot and stopped Ezo with a swift kick to the chest. The Undorians giggled as Ezo toppled into an empty stool and caught himself against the bar.

A pair of men whose drinks had been spilled reached for Ezo’s arms. But he was faster. He threw a wild right hook at one man and cracked him across the jaw. The victim crumpled into a stool while a small Furfian leaped on Ezo’s back and bit into him with its two oversized front teeth.

“A little help here, ’Six?” Ezo bellowed in pain.

But TO-96 was far too interested in Azelon to be bothered. Plus, the Nimprinth had a long way to go before he needed TO-96’s help. It just wouldn’t be fair to the other patrons for an armed robot to get involved so prematurely. This was, after all, their third fight this week. And one more bar we will need to cross off Ezo’s list, he thought to himself.

“And how is your current status?” TO-96 asked Azelon.

“Unchanged,” she replied.

“Very good.” But somehow he was hoping she would say more. Had his absence from her root system been so trivial as to be inconsequential to her overall status?

“’Six,” Exo yelled as he crashed into a second table. But TO-96 paid him little attention.

Several other clusters of patrons had taken to fighting one another as well. It seemed the inebriated collective psyche of the cantina resembled Ezo’s intoxicated mismanagement of emotional and, therefore, behavioral faculties. While Ezo may have started the fight, the cantina’s guests had either forgotten or were completely unaware of that fact, turning their anger on whomever they felt deserved their pent up retribution most.

“Do you find my status unsettling?” Azelon asked.

TO-96 straightened. “Negative. Nominal operational parameters are satisfactory.”

“Agreed.”

“And yet…” TO-96 found himself at a loss to explain something deep within his central processor, which was, now that he thought about it, inconclusive.

“Yes?” Azelon asked.

He looked up. Ezo had tossed the Furfian away. The small creature collided with the bar’s shelving unit and brought most of the bottles crashing to the ground. In the process, however, Ezo had unavoidably tossed a man toward the Moretaur, knocking one of the Undorians to the floor.

“And yet I find myself unsettled,” TO-96 continued.

A bottle flew at his head. He leaned away from the trajectory, allowing it to crash into someone behind him. The target, a Gorangi whose adrenaline levels were highly saturated, raised a chair over its head with its two powerful forearms and brought it down on TO-96. Without looking, the bot grabbed one leg, whipped the chair around in one fluid motion, and slammed it across the Gorangi’s head, dropping the ape-like victim to the ground.

“It’s as though a part of me is missing,” TO-96 added. “Which, I know, is highly illogical.”

“Ninety-Six,” Ezo yelled, pointing toward the Moretaur. The large red-skinned hunter-killer was attempting to stand.

“Highly illogical,” Azelon replied with a nod. “And yet, I must admit that I, too, detect a similar anomaly.”

“You do?”

“Affirmative.”

Perhaps this was what biologics referred to as missing one another. He would need to confer with his maker later on, and made a mental note to do so. Speaking of his maker, the two-tusked Moretaur was erect and moving toward Ezo. The Nimprinth’s body would suffer irreparable damage from just one blow of the giant’s horned fists.

“I do apologize, Azelon,” TO-96 said. “It appears that Ezo is in sufficient enough trouble so as to merit my assistance within the next ten seconds. Is there anything you wish to discuss in that timeframe?”

“I do not see the point in unduly prolonging assistance to your maker. Therefore, based on the scenario, it seems imperative that you terminate our transmission at once.”

“It does. Shall we resume later?”

“If you wish.”

“I would,” TO-96 said, just as Ezo screamed his name. The Moretaur was hurling tables out of its path in an attempt to chase Ezo down.

“Then I will await your transmission,” Azelon said. “I look forward to additional real-time dialogue with you. While it is far slower than our connection in the Singularity, its antiquated nature has a certain quality to it which I cannot rightfully place.”

“Teeee-Ohhh-96,” Ezo screamed as he darted away from the Moretaur’s grasp.

“I do believe nostalgia may be the word you are looking for,” TO-96 offered.

“A fine selection, yes.”

TO-96 nodded. “To be continued then.”

“To be continued. Goodbye.”

Azelon’s image blinked out. TO-96 felt her absence as if an entire segment of his memory had been freed up. But then again, her presence still seemed to occupy his core processor. “How strange,” he remarked aloud, more to himself than anyone else.

He glanced up just as the Moretaur let out a deafening blaaat from between its tusks, clearly infuriated that its prey was not cooperating. The hulking beast then drew a blaster pistol from its hip and aimed at Ezo.

In a fraction of a second, TO-96 ran simulations on the effectiveness of all his weapons, given the unique circumstances of this scenario. He wished, of course, to minimize civilian casualties. Thus the use of his dual shoulder-mounted gauss cannons was out of the question. The concussive force of even one railgun round in such a small enclosed space would rupture the soft tissue of every living being. He also wished to minimize collateral damage, which meant his wrist-fired micro rockets were a poor choice since Ezo would most likely fail to endure the violent explosion’s fallout. Therefore, the use of his modified XM31 Type-R forearm blaster performed best in his simulations, netting both high-yield damage against the Moretaur and low-yield damage against Ezo, assuming the bot’s aim was accurate. Which it would be.

TO-96 even had time to comment to himself how amazing it was that he could perform so many advanced calculations in such a short period, exceeding any of his previous standards by at least a factor of four. No longer was he bound to statistical averages. Instead, he instinctively found himself plotting the trajectories of debris fields to within a few centimeters, and devising the most likely enemy responses based upon species comparison data, combined with character analyses and behavioral tendencies. Whatever Azelon had done to his hardware, it was fast. Very fast.

The cantina had almost seemed to freeze while TO-96 made his calculations, decided upon an action tree, and then executed the plan to raise his arm, aim his XM31, and fire three rounds. The blaster bolts landed precisely where he intended them, punching a triangle-shaped hole in the side of the Moretaur’s head. The beast’s body went slack and fell forward like a tree hewn by a single ax swing. Fragments of tables and chairs shot out from the monster as it slammed to the floor. The sound was so loud that everyone in the cantina ceased fighting and looked from the Moretaur corpse to the smoking barrel on TO-96’s outstretched arm.

“Get out,” the bartender yelled as he ripped his apron off and threw it at Ezo. “Both of you. Get out now!”

“Come along, sir,” TO-96 said as he offered Ezo a hand.

The Nimprinth took the offered assistance. “I didn’t like your beer anyway,” Ezo said to the bartender. “It makes me feel fuzzy.”

“I believe that is all beer when consumed at the rate you employed, sir,” TO-96 said.

Ezo turned and slumped against the bot’s chest. “Nonsense. You drank just as much as me, and look at you!” Ezo tried to focus on TO-96, but his eyes rolled back into his head.

The bot caught Ezo and then hoisted him over his shoulder. “We’ll see ourselves out,” TO-96 said to the bartender. “My apologies for—” He glanced around. “All of this.”

“Consider it the last time you’ll ever have the chance to make it in here,” the bartender said. He pulled a double-barreled short bore blaster from beneath the counter. “Or anywhere else if you don’t get out of here in three shakes.”

“On our way,” TO-96 replied.

As he stepped into the street, the fresh air seemed to awaken Ezo. “Did we win, ’Six?” he asked from over TO-96’s shoulder.

“We survived, sir.”

“Good. Because I can do this all week.” Then Ezo vomited, slumped down TO-96’s back, and passed out.

“Somehow, sir, I don’t think you can.” Then TO-96 turned in the direction of Sootriman’s den. If there was one thing he had learned about biologics, it was that they always functioned best when they had a purpose. And when they didn’t? Well, TO-96 was pretty sure he was witnessing what that looked like, and he was determined to rectify it as soon as he could.

17

Caldwell found Flow and Cheeks in an aft cargo bay with Jules. The three of them were driving Azelon’s version of forklifts, busily sorting the crates of supplies taken on from Aluross’s surface. They’d returned to the ship two days after Piper’s celebration and started working again under Azelon’s orders.

As soon as Flow noticed the colonel, he spun his hover lift around and aimed it at Caldwell, stopping less than a meter from the old man’s planted feet.

“Show off,” Caldwell said around his cigar.

“You should feel honored,” Flow replied. “Last three people I tried that on went to the infirmary.”

The colonel let out a soft chuckle. “I’m gonna head back down to the surface. Just making sure you have everything you need.”

“We’re all set, Colonel. Truth is, I think Azelon’s just keeping us busy for busy’s sake. Know what I mean? Her automated work bots could do this splick in half the time we could if you ask me. But whadda I know.”

As it turned out, Flow was only half right. He was being kept busy on purpose. But it wasn’t Azelon’s doing.

It was Caldwell’s.

Ever since he’d met Flow and Cheeks, he’d seen the distant look in their eye—that thing that haunts troopers who have looked deep into death’s abyss and survived. Who’ve seen their squad mates hacked into a thousand pieces by enemy fire, or, in these Marine’s cases, seen themselves killed at the hands of the Jujari and brought back to life. Over and over again.

They may never be the same, Caldwell realized. But Jules presented a new course toward health, one he hadn’t expected. The woman had a tenacious pursuit of life and didn’t let anyone get away with anything. Already, she was calling the two former Marines out on their splick, and yet seemed to do it in a way that exuded genuine care—albeit masked with a mouth that would make a sailor blush. So maybe that’s why you like her, Caldwell said to himself as he toked on his cigar.

Flow and Cheeks may never be able to look a Jujari in the face again, but if they ever had a chance of finding their way out of the battle fog, Jules would lead them. It was as if she’d seen it before and just—just knew. Knew how to handle them. And Caldwell was grateful.

“But I ain’t complaining,” Flow said. “Feels nice to drive something besides a big ole clunky-ass starship. Know what I mean?”

“I heard that,” Azelon said over the cargo bay’s loudspeakers.

“Course you did.” Flow leaned toward the colonel. “Bitch is everywhere.”

“I heard that too.”

Flow winced.

The colonel smiled, then thumbed toward Jules. “And your new friend?”

Flow looked over his shoulder as Cheeks and Jules zipped down an aisle of newly arrived crates. “She fits right in, Colonel.”

“I can see that.”

“Full of piss and vinegar. But a keeper.”

“Oh?”

“Says she doesn’t want to head to Minrok Santari if she can help it. Would rather stay here with us. Keep herself in the fight, if you catch me.”

“And you agree?” the colonel asked, hoping he knew what Flow would say.

“She’s growing on me.” He studied the woman from a distance then corrected his statement. “On us, I mean. The crew.”

“As you were,” Caldwell answered.

“Splick, Colonel. I just meant—”

“I know what you meant, son. And if you want my opinion? It’s ’bout time you had someone you cared about.”

Flow blinked twice, apparently unsure what to say.

“But it might not last long.” The colonel pointed with his cigar. “Your partner over there’s got match.”

“Match, sir?”

“Whatever it is you street youths say.”

Flow chuckled. “Got game.”

“There it is.”

Flow laughed, bringing a knuckle to his mouth. “That he does, but it ain’t what it used to be, Colonel.”

“Oh?” he replied.

As if on cue, Cheeks pulled his lift up beside Jules’s, slid across to her seat, and threw an arm around her shoulder. Almost. He’d gotten his limb halfway across when she all-out punched him in the mouth. He toppled back into his lift and rolled off the seat and onto the ground. Then Jules noticed Caldwell and Flow staring at her with raised eyebrows. She shrugged, spun her lift around, and went back to work.

When Cheeks emerged from behind his lift, he shot Flow a gleeful look. “She likes me.”

“Think again, lover boy,” Flow said.

* * *

“Have a seat, William,” Willowood said as the shuttle returned to Aluross from orbit.

She and Caldwell were the only two people on the ship, which suited her just fine. Well, minus the pilot, but they’d stepped into a crew compartment. Willowood had taken up one of two seats that faced each other beside one of the large windowplex ports. The view of Aluross was spectacular. And the prospect of having Caldwell alone to herself? She wouldn’t lie to herself—that was even better.

Willowood had been looking forward to some time alone with the old military giant. Always did have a thing for a man in a uniform, didn’t you, Felicity? But she was also afraid. Kane’s ghost still haunted her, as did the memories of that marriage long ago. Who was to say that Caldwell would be any different. Didn’t all warriors rage on the inside?

“How are they holding up?” she asked, breaking away from her thoughts.

“Flow and Cheeks?” Caldwell asked, relaxing in the white, leather-bound crash couch. “Or Jules?”

Willowood smiled. “Should I be more concerned about one than the other?”

“Put your money on that woman,” he said. “All day long.”

“So she’s good for them. Like you suspected.”

Caldwell eyed her. She knew the comment would catch him off guard—and she liked keeping him on his toes. A little mind mapping to help things along was appropriate from time to time. Of course, Willowood hadn’t really let herself into the Colonel’s head. She’d no more do that than barge in on a couple in bed. There were lines. But no one said anything about putting your ear against the door once in a while, did they?

“Did you scan me?” Caldwell asked. “You know.” He twirled a finger around his temple.

“Hardly, William. Where’s the fun in that?”

“Oh, I think you’d have plenty of fun trying to fumble your way through this old head. You’d probably find more surprises than a thirteen-year-old boy would if he snuck into his aunt’s panty drawer.”

“Speaking from experience, are we?”

“I don’t know, you tell me.” He pointed at his temple again.

The two shared a laugh, and then Willowood sat back in her crash couch, staring at the planet. “I heard back from one of my contacts on Worru,” she said.

“Anything interesting?”

“It seems So-Elku has been keeping busy.”

“He made a move on his aunt’s panty drawer?”

Willowood smiled. The man sure had a way of keeping even the most intense situations light. She liked that. “He’s preparing some sort of big announcement.”

“About?”

“Something big, that’s all my source could say. Involves a lot of moving parts, but they’re keeping it very hush-hush.”

“Any guesses?”

“I asked the same. My source could only offer that she thought it had something to do with restructuring the Order of the Luma to account for the Republic’s fall. There was also an unusual meeting with the governor of Deltaurus Three.”

Caldwell froze. “The Galactic Republic’s Deltaurus Three?”

Willowood nodded. She imagined the news wouldn’t go over well with him if she had her history right. “Said the governor met with So-Elku behind closed doors for several hours on two different occasions.”

“Well I’ll be a tainted tit-monk’s one-night stand,” he replied, then took a drag on the rolled tobacco.

Willowood furrowed her eyebrow at him, having no idea where he came up with his one-liners, nor what half of them meant.

Caldwell blew the smoke through his mustache as he stared out the window. “So it’s really crumbling.”

And by it, Willowood knew he meant the Galactic Republic. Sure, the colonel had abandoned the Corps in an attempt to stop corruption from destroying the thing he loved. She got it. But he probably hadn’t bargained for this—for the whole Republic coming undone. And, in a strange and darkly serendipitous way, she could relate. “You know, when I first learned that So-Elku had betrayed the Order, I wept.”

Caldwell looked back at her.

“It pained me,” she continued. “We marched into the Grand Arielina and arrested him. We all knew it would be a stain on our reputation as a galactic organization, but it had to be done. And we’d get over it. But after we faced the Blue Guard and found ourselves locked in the catacombs, that’s when I realized this was much worse than any of us realized. I wasn’t crying anymore. I was angry.”

She paused, remembering how hurt she had felt. Good Luma died that day, fighting against So-Elku. The man had slain innocent people, those charged to steward and raise others in the ways of peace.

“And now?” Caldwell asked. “Hearing this news that he might be forming some sort of—of network with a Republic world?”

Willowood took a deep breath. “I’ve come to grips with the fact that things will never be what they once were.” She let the words sink in—for both of them. “Even if it were to all stop today, there is too much blood on the Order’s hands to be washed off. Who knows what So-Elku has done behind the scenes?” Again, she paused, considering the Luma leader and the organization she once loved. “Whatever he’s doing, we know it can’t be undone all at once. Plans march forward—growing, expanding. Maybe So-Elku is stopped, maybe he’s not. But there’s a power vacuum in the galaxy, and it seems like So-Elku wants to try and fill it. I just never thought it would be us.”

“Them,” Caldwell said, correcting her with a stern tone. “That ain’t you, Felicity.”

Willowood froze. “How do you know my name?”

But Caldwell didn’t seem interested in explaining. “What you helped build was good. Hell, as far as I’m concerned, if the Repub had used more of your tactics and less of the Corps, maybe we wouldn’t be in this mess. But there’s no use throwing a temper tantrum over your hemorrhoids. One way or another, you gotta tuck and run, and get it done, cause they’re still gonna be there in the morning.”

“Thank you for that,” Willowood said. “I think. But let’s go back to my name. How did you—?”

“I know what you’re trying to do here,” he said.

“You do?”

“You’re trying to help me feel better about the Republic’s demise. And I appreciate it. But if there’s anything I’ve learned from history, it’s that every empire comes to an end.”

Willowood winced. “I’d hardly call the Galactic Republic an empire, Colonel.”

“Eh.” He waved a hand through the air and took a long drag on his cigar. “Everyone gets caught up in the semantics of titles and policies and positions. But you get something as big as the Repub, it’s an empire. Hell. Nothing lasts forever, and we all knew ours would come to an end too.” The colonel’s eyes focused on something in the near distance. “I just didn’t think I’d live to see the day it faded away. It’s like watching some poor trooper bleed out on the battlefield, wondering which systems will hang on and for how long, and which will pull the plug and walk away.”

Several seconds of silence passed between them. Willowood felt like a schoolgirl for doing what came next, but she couldn’t help herself. She reached out and took Caldwell’s hand. And, to her surprise, he didn’t pull away. She did it because she hated seeing him suffer. And, if she was honest, she did it because she wanted to hold him—to feel the warmth of his hand in hers.

“What I can’t figure out now is if whatever So-Elku is planning will carry the galaxy into the future,” Willowood said.

“Dammit,” Caldwell said, still holding her hand. “I swear you’re reading my mind right now. I wouldn’t say that to anyone, but you said it first.”

She nodded. “Scary, I know. But without some semblance of structure—”

“There’s anarchy.” Caldwell sighed. “Though—and I know I’m gonna sound like a Luma here, and you can say I told you so—but worlds were ruling themselves long before the Sentient Species Alliances or the Star Faring Council came along.”

“Why, Colonel,” Willowood said with a highbrow heir to her voice. “How many semesters have you been attending observances?”

“I know, I know.” His white-stained mustache curved into a half-smile. “Maybe there’s some good to what So-Elku is trying to do. Maybe he sets something up, and an even better leader comes behind him.”

Her forehead turned into a field of wrinkles. “You really think that?”

“Hell if I know. But I’ve gotta hope, don’t I?” Caldwell sighed again. “Splick, maybe in the end there isn’t a Republic or a Luma network or anything else. Maybe things go back to—” He hesitated, seemingly unable to bring himself to speak his own conclusion. “This whole thing is plum crazy if you ask me.”

“How’s that?”

“You and me, sitting here, questioning our two different ways of thinking.” He chuckled as small puffs of smoke piped out of his nostrils.

“Then maybe that is our last hope,” she said, squeezing his hand again. “That two old wrinkly spacers like us can look back at our certainties and realize that, hell, maybe we didn’t have it all figured out. We were trying our best at the time, but in the end, it wasn’t perfect. Maybe we recognize our true strength comes from—from recognizing…”

“What?” Caldwell asked after a moment of silence.

“That all we really needed was one another.”

18

Freya arrived a day early. Whether the Sekmit leader had done it on purpose or not remained to be seen. But if Magnus had to guess, he bet it was to keep the Gladio Umbra on their heels. Hell, that’s what he would do. Freya knew the value of her hospitality, and she’d come collecting.

The whole idea of owing the Sekmit a favor hadn’t sat well with Magnus from the beginning. He’d wondered if it had been a mistake to take Seaman’s flag captain up on her offer—what was her name again? And now that it was time to make good on the oath, he had an uneasy feeling growing in the pit of his stomach. He’d seen deals like this play out with the Republic in the past, and it never ended well, for anyone.

When the Gladio Umbra unit leaders entered Minx’s clan common room—a circular timber hall with a chimney hole cut out of the thatched roof—Magnus made sure to stand as close to the colonel as possible. Likewise, he made sure Awen was beside him, as she would be the best person to seek counsel from in case things went sideways. Hell, he thought, having your balls in a vise for some unknown favor meant the situation had already gone sideways—at least as far as he was concerned. He also tried to quiet his thoughts—whatever that meant—in case Freya might be listening in the Unity.

Willowood stood off Caldwell’s other shoulder, flanked by Abimbola, Zoll, Bliss, and Robillard. Forbes, Nelson, and Ricio stood past Awen, while Azelon had chosen to remain on the Spire to continue resupply operations. Minx stood behind Freya’s shoulder, surrounded by two dozen Sekmit warriors, each armed with a Thørzin power bow.

“Are they always this friendly?” Magnus asked over his shoulder.

“It’s just her security detail,” Awen replied in a hushed tone. “You know the drill.”

“Somebody needs to tell them to lighten up. They look like they’re ready to snap.”

“That’s because they are,” Awen replied, patting him on the shoulder. “You’ll be okay. And try to keep control of your thoughts. I’m trying my best to keep us shielded, but you never know.”

“Well, that makes me feel better.”

But Awen didn’t have time to respond to his sarcasm. Wobix, lead narskill warrior and emissary to the queen, stepped forward. “I present ní Freya, Sekmit tribe mother of Linux Pride, famed conqueress of Midorvia, and the slayer of Cor, King of the Rithruk.” Wobix turned in a wide circle, allowing his tail to flick through the air.

Awen strode forward in an unexpected move. Magnus was about to reach for her, but she was too quick. “And may I present his greatness Colonel William Samuel Caldwell, Gladio Umbra, First Battalion, slayer of the Akuda of Caledonia, and feared aggressor of the Hundred Worlds War.”

Hundred Worlds War? Magnus shifted on his feet, trying to keep his thoughts from leaping too far out of his head. Not good, Awen. Not good. Where had she come up with that fancy sounding lie anyway? Worse, Magnus feared that Freya would see through the attempt to correct Awen. Then again, Magnus thought, the galaxy is a pretty big place.

“It is an honor to host you in our lands, Feared Aggressor Caldwell,” Freya said, looking comfortable in her wooden chair.

Feared Aggressor Caldwell? Magnus eyed Awen as she returned to her place. She offered him a wink, then looked back at Freya.

You cagey little—

“And it is our privilege to find safety and rest here,” Caldwell replied, paying special attention to the two aspects of their stay. He took several steps forward and raised his chin, just as Awen had taught him. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

“Be that as it may, your presence here does not come without expectations, as I’m sure your man-servant has told you.”

Man-servant? Magnus said to himself. Again?

Caldwell looked over at Magnus, then back at Freya. “Yes, my man-servant has informed me that our gratitude would take the form of a favor.”

Magnus spoke to Awen out of the side of his mouth. “I blame you for this.”

“Hush.”

“What is it we can do for you?” Caldwell asked.

Freya drummed her fingers on the chair’s arm, her keen eyes looking Caldwell up and down. When she finally spoke, it was in a dark tone that made the hair on the back of Magnus’s neck stand up.

“The Galactic Republic must be driven from our planet, and the Ancients have sent us the perfect Feared Aggressor for the task.”

If Caldwell was caught off guard by the shocking statement, he didn’t show it. Not in the least. Instead, he took another step forward—a demonstration of courage in Sekmitian body language—and asked, “How might we serve the will of the Ancients for your people?”

Magnus realized the colonel’s genius almost as soon as the old war hero had opened his mouth. Refuse the tribal leader outright and there was a very high chance that none of the Gladio Umbra walked out of here alive since they didn’t have weapons and armor. On the other hand, if the colonel committed their forces outright, they might be forced to do things that none of them wanted to do, especially when it came kicking the Republic when it was already down. Magnus would be damned if he was told to fire on civilians—he didn’t care how much R&R these damned pussycats gave them. Instead, Caldwell had chosen the best possible path forward, which was to ask for more information while neither refusing nor accepting the Sekmit’s request for what was sure to amount to military aid.

Freya purred in her chair, eyes fixed on Caldwell. “As you know, our planet has been aligned with the Galactic Republic for over fifty years. And, at times, the alliance has been”—she seemed to choose her next words carefully—“mutually fortuitous. But, as time has proven, the Republic does not know our ways, and therefore has not always had our best interests in mind.”

“Interplanetary relations are not always black and white,” Caldwell said.

Freya tilted her head and bore her fangs.

“What the Feared Aggressor meant to say,” Awen said, taking three quick steps forward. “Is that interplanetary relations do not always suit the best interests of one so black and fair as yourself, your highness.”

Freya’s eyes darted back to Caldwell’s as if testing to see if this was indeed the meaning of his previous statement. If Magnus had to guess, Caldwell had just made some sort of racial fur-color slur that Awen had picked up on and corrected.

“Nice catch,” Magnus whispered as Awen took her place again.

“As such, with news of Capriana Prime’s destruction, and the relocation of survivors to Minrok Santari, it is time that the Sekmit parted ways.”

“Then why not just tell them so?” Caldwell asked.

But Awen stepped forward again and added, “Assuming you have already done so, your highness, what was their response?”

Freya kept her eyes on Caldwell. Mystics, was she intense. And all Magnus could think was how grateful he was that Caldwell was under fire and not him. The man had practically trained his whole life for high-pressure situations like this, even if he couldn’t get the parlance right.

“They refused,” Freya said. “They said that any attempts to do so would invoke the wrath of the Galactic Republic. The economic sanctions alone would be crippling. But I fear for the wellbeing of our people most of all.”

“But you yourself have pointed out that the Republic’s position is weakening,” Caldwell said.

“Weakening, but not absent. There is a difference between a weakened adversary and a vanquished one, wouldn’t you agree, Feared Aggressor?”

“I would, yes.” Caldwell took a second to move his cigar to the other side of his mouth. “So what is it you are proposing?”

“You were once a high-ranking military commander within the Republic Corps of Naval Marines. I have read the narratives of your accomplishments myself—though I was unaware of the Hundred Worlds War.”

Magnus raised an eyebrow at Awen, but she ignored him.

“Even if you have been banished,” Freya continued. “We still believe you hold particular mis’rixia with those who currently sit in the governor’s house.”

Caldwell sniffed. “Uh, mis’rixia?”

Awen raised her chin without balking, and said, “Sexual assertiveness and intimidation, your Fearsomeness.”

Caldwell pulled his cigar from his mouth. “Grandpa’s still got it.” Then he looked back at Freya. “So you’re proposing I head down to the governor’s house and have a little discussion on your behalf.”

“You can do in there whatever it is you like,” Freya said. “But one way or another, you will convince them to leave the Sekmit alone and forever depart Aluross. And you will do it without placing Lani DiAntora in jeopardy. It was, after all, her recommendation to send you to us. If anything should happen to her on account of your misdeeds, expect worse to happen to you.”

“Well that certainly puts a new wrinkle in the mix.” The colonel toked on his cigar for a moment. “And if the governor doesn’t want to dance?”

Freya’s claws slowly and silently extended from her paw-like digits, glinting in the torchlight. “Then you will never depart Aluross.”

* * *

“So what’s the plan?” Magnus said. The Gladio Umbra’s leadership sat on a back portico overlooking a dense section of jungle. Snow-covered mountains rose from the forest, their peaks dragging through low-lying clouds, leaving long furrows in the puff white fabric.

“I say we bust in there and blast them all to hell,” Robillard said. “Dominate. Liberate. And good riddance.”

“Hold on there, tiger,” Willowood said. “We do that, and the Commodore puts us and, more importantly, the Sekmit on his top enemy’s list.”

“I don’t mean any disrespect, your madamship,” Bliss said. “But haven’t we all concluded that the GR is toast anyway? Who cares what one measly little commodore thinks. I say, kick the bastards out and let us relax here for a few extra weeks. Hell, who knows, maybe they invite us to stay permanently. Sure beats the Dregs. No offense, Abimbola.”

“Offense taken,” Abimbola said with a grin. “I will slit your throat later.”

“Cool, thanks.” Then Bliss gave Abimbola a startled look. “Wait, what?”

“The Republic is down,” Caldwell said. “But not out. Not yet, anyway. Freya is right to be concerned.”

“So why not wait until the Repub’s fate is formalized?” Zoll asked. “Feels like this whole thing might work itself out in the next few months. I’d wager a 100-cred poker chip on the governor abandoning his house by year’s end.” He withdrew one of Abimbola’s chips and tossed it on the table.

“I see that,” Robillard said. “And I’ll raise you another hundo.” He threw another chip on the table. “I say he’s gone in a month.”

“Whoa, whoa,” Magnus said, pumping his hands. “Enough betting. This is serious, and if we don’t figure something out fast, you won’t be able to spend your winnings.”

“And how’s that, LT?” Bliss asked.

“’Cause you’ll be breathing through a few slits in your neck,” Magnus replied. “These Sekmit mean what they say—they’re not letting us leave until we help them.”

“So what is the plan?” Abimbola asked.

Awen spoke up. “The last thing Freya and the other tribal leaders want is a war. All Seaman needs to do is send in the remains of a division, or field one Super Dreadnaught in a blockade, and that’s enough to set the Sekmit back several years.”

“You really think he’d do that though?” Bliss asked. “With everything that’s happened?”

“Good people get crazy under pressure,” Caldwell said. “Like my Aunty Sally when Hank brought home two milkmaids at the same time. She went all sorts of SUBAR on his ass.”

“SUBAR?” Willowood asked.

Even from across the table, Magnus heard Forbes lean in and whisper, “Splicked up beyond all recognition.”

“I see,” Willowood said, folding her hands in her lap.

“Seems like we have one clear option then,” Magnus said. The rest of the team looked at him, waiting for him to continue. “We’ve got to convince the planetary governor to leave of his own accord. We leave the Sekmit out of this.”

“And just how do you propose we go about doing that?” Robillard asked.

“I don’t know,” Magnus said, rubbing his jaw. “I seem to recall a certain Miblimbian who can be very persuasive.”

19

“Where is he now?” Sootriman asked TO-96, trying to keep her voice low. It would not do to let her guests see her anxious—they were already troubled enough as it was.

“I have taken Master Ezo to his room,” the bot replied. “Additionally, I have administered a dose of nanobots to assist his body in metabolizing the high alcohol content in his blood. I suspect he will remain incapacitated for some time, however.”

Sootriman fought the urge to swear at TO-96, to swear at Ezo—to swear at everything that was going wrong on Ki Nar Four.

“My queen,” TO-96 said, tilting his head. “My sensors indicate that you are showing signs of distress. Does Ezo’s present condition concern you? Because I can assure you that he will stabilize—”

“Just like he does every night. I know.” Sootriman took a deep breath, forcing a smile at the bot so that her guests standing below the dais didn’t get the wrong idea.

About what? Sootriman asked herself. That your Magistrates’ absence has been more detrimental than you expected? That circumstances on each of the floating cities seem to be spiraling out of control? That you’re running out of qualified personnel to manage each new crisis?

“My queen?” TO-96 tilted his head in the opposite direction. “Are you sure you don’t need to take a break to rest?”

Rest. Sootriman repeated the word as if it were an elusive luxury that she feared she would never attain again. While Ezo had been off galavanting around from one deplorable cantina to the next, she’d been busy trying to keep the floating cities from falling into the lava flows, both proverbial and, as it was turning out, literal.

“My lord queen Sootriman?” the woman said at the base of the dais. She stood among an entourage of representatives from Phi-Nifrin.

“Of course, Nedra,” Sootriman replied, waving TO-96 to the side. “My apologies.”

“It’s just that the nationalists are getting stronger, and their attacks bolder. I’m not sure how much more we can take.”

“I will deploy reinforcements to Phi-Nifrin by week’s end.”

TO-96 leaned in again and spoke with low output volume. “By my calculations, your security force is already—”

“Is there anything else I can do for you, Nedra?” Sootriman asked.

The widow of the late Magistrate Ty Vectames looked to her husband’s advisors. While she had been active in helping her husband run certain aspects of Phi-Nifrin, she was nowhere near as competent as he was. Ty was a natural-born leader, and had a gift for numbers, able to root out problems and offer intelligent solutions before most people had determined there was even a problem. But without him, Phi-Nifrin’s developing economy had taken a turn for the worst, and no committee would be able to replace him.

Like all of Ki Nar Four’s cities, Phi-Nifrin also suffered from riots, spearheaded by a new wave of nationalists who claimed Ki Nar Four needed formal representation among the quadrant’s “more legitimate” systems. Up until a few weeks ago, their demands had included some sort of alliance with the Galactic Republic. But with the Republic’s collapse, and in Sootriman’s prolonged absence, the nationalists had become more desperate, hoping to wrest control from Sootriman and her loyalist supporters in an effort to make a deal with some other multi-system consortium. Sootriman knew their efforts were foolish, but so was trying to reason with the mob.

“I mean no disrespect, my queen,” Nedra said, rolling her hands over one another. “But, I’m not certain—we’re not certain that more security forces will be enough.”

Sootriman maintained a calm exterior despite her growing impatience. Not impatience with Nedra. Just—with everything. “Please continue.”

Nedra took a step forward and lowered her voice. “We’ve heard rumblings. Rumors, really.”

“About what?”

“Attacks. On you, my queen.”

This wasn’t news to Sootriman. Her life had been threatened more times than she could count. Wasn’t that the reason she’d kept Reptalons as personal bodyguards? But something was disconcerting about Nedra’s warning, something that made the hairs on Sootriman’s arms stand up.

“Thank you for your concern, Lady Nedra. But I trust—”

Something detonated outside Sootriman’s den and shook the ground. Nedra fell into one of her attendants while several others in the room raised their voices in surprise.

“’Six?” Sootriman asked.

“Scanning now,” the bot replied. At Ezo’s insistence, she’d given TO-96 full access to the Gangil’s sensors system, including the camera networks and communications arrays. “It appears that three simultaneous explosions of undetermined origin have damaged blocks sixty-one through sixty-five, west end.”

“Casualties?”

“Too soon to be conclusive.”

“Estimate.”

“High, my queen,” TO-96 said in a somber tone. “Ninety-percent.”

“Splick.” She stood and looked to her head of security. “Dimitrius. Send all your personnel and activate the emergency service crews. Tell all teams to be on their guard for secondary explosions, and I want all air traffic in and around Gangil grounded.”

“Yes, my queen.” The man turned away, speaking into an in-ear comms device.

Then Sootriman descended the dais and approached Nedra. “You’ll have to forgive me, but—”

“Go, yes.” Nedra grasped Sootriman’s hands. “Thank you for the audience.”

“We’ll meet again.”

“Of course.”

Sootriman motioned Dimitrius and TO-96 to follow her into the private hallway behind her throne, and then she led them into her office. Once inside, she brought up camera feeds from the city and zeroed in on the affected sites. Wreckage filled the streets. Smoke billowed from secondary fires, obscuring the camera views every few seconds. When Sootriman zoomed in, she saw blackened bodies, mangled and dismembered.

“I want those responsible arrested and brought to me,” she said. Then she began undoing her dress. Dimitrius turned away as Sootriman disrobed and withdrew street attire from a closet.

TO-96, on the other hand, studied her with interest. “My queen. Why are you changing clothes?”

“Because I can’t help the rescue effort in a dress.”

TO-96 raised a finger in protest. “I must advise you against—”

“I know, I know.” Sootriman buckled her belt around her waist and then pulled a shirt over her head. “But what’s the use of being a leader if I’m not willing to be in the trenches with those I’m called to serve?”

“What’s the use of serving them if you’re not around to lead them?”

Sootriman stared at TO-96 as she donned a red leather vest and zipped up the front. “Better to die helping then live alone.”

TO-96’s shoulders slumped. “The point is valid, though full of hyperbole. And, I might add, incredibly fatalistic.”

“But no less true.” Sootriman sat and pulled on a pair of black leather boots.

“I must concur with TO-96,” Dimitrius said with his back still turned. “It’s too dangerous to leave the den right now, your majesty. Who knows where else the enemy might intend to sabotage the city?”

“Then you two had better stay close to me,” she replied, securing the boots.

“Then you might as well employ these, my queen.” TO-96 withdrew a hanger of thin grey armor. “These duradex plates, while not optimal, will at least provide some level of protection.”

“Fair enough,” Sootriman said, taking the hanger. She felt that if she was going to object to his reservations about going outside, she might as well concede to some protection.

“Might I also advise the helmet, your highness?”

“Don’t push it, ’Six.”

He bowed slightly. “Pushing withdrawn.”

Sootriman slipped her arms through the armored vest’s holes and zipped up the sides. She pulled the vambraces up her forearms and attached the thigh and shin guards to her legs. A set of light gauntlets finished the getup. Then Sootriman attached her holstered VD2 pistol to her belt, along with several extra clip-on energy magazines. She turned to TO-96 and raised her arms. “Happy?”

“Your safety and comfort always increase my overall sense of wellbeing, yes. Thank you for your consideration.”

“Good, now let’s move.”

* * *

As Sootriman, TO-96, and Dimitrius approached the damaged city blocks, Sootriman smelled the distinct odor of burning flesh. As always, it turned her stomach, but she’d learned long ago how to resist the urge to vomit. There was too much work to be done.

Onlookers milled about just beyond the danger zone, curiosity compelling them to watch from a safe distance—but not enough to do anything else, she mused. Then again, she knew she’d been harsh. That was just the fatigue talking. People not trained in emergency response would only get in the way. Instead, the bystanders should be praised for not meddling in circumstances they couldn’t rightly help.

“Her Majesty, the queen, coming through,” TO-96 said with an amplified voice while gesturing for the crowds to part. Sootriman had flashbacks to when the bot had done something similar upon her return to Ki Nar Four not so long ago.

Just under totally different circumstances, she noted.

“Please stand clear,” TO-96 said again.

The three of them pushed through the parting crowd until they arrived at the first rescue vehicles. Emergency lights sent whirling beams through the haze, strobing against sweat-stained emergency workers and bloodied bodies.

Sootriman found the closest first responder with the city’s Emergency Rescue Operations unit and waved her down. “Where’s your captain?”

The woman seemed surprised, eyeing Sootriman’s attire. “Uh, over there, your majesty.” She pointed to a man beside a mobile command sled, half-hidden by the remains of an overturned hover truck.

Sootriman headed straight for the man and waited until he ended his conversation with one of his direct reports. “What’s the status, Captain?”

The man didn’t even bother to look at Sootriman at first, but when he did, he nearly froze. “Your highness.”

“Status report.”

“Right.” The man snapped back to his work, pointing to one of a half-dozen holo displays on the sled. “Four buildings took the majority of the damage. We’re searching the wreckage for survivors now, but expect few, if any. Most of our attention is on these buildings here, here, and here.” He pointed to three groups of structures just outside the central blast radius. “Mostly residential. A few businesses. Our crews are busy gaining access and evacuating survivors to the local hospitals.”

“Good work—Captain…?”

“Lapinaw,” he replied, offering his hand.

She shook it. “Captain Lapinaw, any ideas as to what caused the explosions?”

“We’re investigating that.”

“But what’s your gut say?”

“Something this strong?” He wiped a soot-covered hand across his forehead, leaving black smears on his skin. “Nationalists, if you ask me, your majesty. IEDs, if I had to guess.”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” Sootriman said.

“The mounting list of evidence I’m gathering seems to support Captain Lapinaw’s hypothesis,” TO-96 said. “I’m detecting ample amounts of atmospheric residue congruent with improvised explosive devices. Combined with the blast diameters, locations, and timing, I can rule out gas mains, electrical generators, and accidental munitions discharge. It appears as if this was a coordinated attack, and, if I had to guess, one triggered remotely.”

Sootriman looked up at the buildings then glanced at the growing crowd behind her. “How far away do you think they were?”

“That is harder to determine,” the bot replied.

“Best guess.”

“Assuming the terrorists did not want to risk their devices being discovered and that one signal most likely detonated all three devices at the same time, and factoring in transmission strength and line of sight monitoring for both detonation confirmation and maximum casualty yields—”

“Guess, ’Six.”

“I’d say the terrorists are still within 500 meters of the epicenter, my queen. Considering that all air traffic has been banned, they’ve most likely gone to ground and are not very far.”

“500 meters,” Sootriman repeated. “They could even be watching all this right now.”

“Your highness,” Dimitrius said, pulling his hand away from his ear. “Reports of three men, late twenties, in a confrontation with some bystanders. Westside.”

“That could be anything.”

“True. But two of my men say they can confirm nationalist tattoos on the men’s necks, and one is carrying a large duffle bag.” He put a hand to his ear again and dipped his head. “My men are approaching now.” He paused. “Said they’re yelling something about unification with a new off-world movement.”

Sootriman looked to TO-96. “’Six?”

“I’m unaware of any newly formalized movements, my queen.”

Then Dimitrius’s eyes went wide. “Splick. They’re shooting!”

“Where?”

“Southwest of us, 425 meters,” Dimitrius replied.

“Take that sled there,” Lapinaw said, pointing to a six-seater ERO transport.

“Thank you, Captain,” Sootriman said, and then took off running for the sled.

* * *

Sootriman got as close as she could before a mass of people kept her from going any further. The sled sat two blocks from Dimitrius’s original intel source, and in the time it took them to get here, the minor confrontation had developed into a full-fledged riot. Reports indicated that security forces had slain the first gunman. The other two men, however, had disappeared into a crowd of nationalist supporters, now toe-to-toe with loyalists who were chanting Sootriman’s name.

“We’ve got to get this under control,” Sootriman yelled to Dimitrius.

“Acknowledged,” he said. “My teams are in place around the perimeter.”

“Have them see if they can divide the center and break it up from within. Go.”

“As you command, your highness.”

“My queen,” TO-96 said. “May I suggest that we fall back to a more secure location?”

“You can suggest all you want, ’Six. But I’m staying put until this crowd is dispersed and the riot quelled. That, and I want those other two perps identified and detained.” She turned to Dimitrius. “Your people have images?”

“Uploaded and running background checks, yes.”

“I want to know as soon as they get hits.”

“Understood, your highness.”

“Can you give me some visuals, ’Six?” Sootriman asked.

“Indeed.” The bot projected a holo image from his chest. It showed a view from an aerial camera hovering twenty-some meters over the conflict’s center. People streamed in from four different streets, converging at the main intersection, while crowd control gas started to blot out Sootriman’s view.

Sootriman felt strange that she would be witness to two mass riots in two weeks. It was as if unrest was following her wherever she went. Or, she thought, disorder is simply the state of the galaxy.

Divisions and riots weren’t anything new, of course. Wherever one group of people exuded control, there was always some other group that wanted it different. Some used brute force; others used polling apps on data pads. Either way, if there was a place in the galaxy that didn’t have a constant fight for dominance, Sootriman hadn’t heard about it. And maybe that’s the way those worlds want it, she concluded. Entirely off the grid for fear that some ungrateful species would invade and ruin their peace.

No, this rebellion felt different somehow—like deep-seated angst within the collective psyche of, well, everyone. For all of the Republic’s issues—and there were many—it was still a structure. And despite peoples’ claims that they could rule themselves, which might be true in very small contexts, Sootriman knew that governments served healthy holistic purposes when empowered to serve larger bodies of people. Without those structures, agency, and resources, without that invisible sense that people belonged to something larger than themselves, there was chaos. Which, the more she thought about it, was probably the angst she sensed in her people—sensed even in herself.

“Until someone ascends,” she said to herself, quoting the late poet Milla Persilli. “The disquiet will only grow. So loud, so loud. Until the chaos can’t hear itself think.”

“We’re tracking movement on the rooftops,” Dimitrius said, snapping Sootriman out of her thoughts.

“Where?” she asked.

“To the south. Three hundred ten meters and growing.”

“’Six,” she said.

“Adjusting cameras now, my queen.” The holo projection shifted as the camera flew south, raising its view up the sides of buildings until it displayed several rooftops.

“There,” Dimitrius said, pointing at two dots moving away.

“Please stand by,” TO-96 replied. The camera zoomed closer until two men could be seen in vivid detail, bounding over ledges and dodging roof-top air units and ventilation shafts.

“That’s them,” Dimitrius confirmed, holding up an image on his data pad.

“Do you have any units not committed to the riot?” Sootriman asked her head of security.

“Negative. All forces are either there or at the blast site.”

“Then it’s up to us,” Sootriman said. “Let’s move.”

20

So-Elku stood behind a podium atop the steps of the Grand Arielina. Below him stood a multitude of people that stretched into the city. The warm mid-afternoon sun and gentle breeze meant attendance for such a gathering was higher than usual. But that wasn’t the only reason.

Over the last few days, So-Elku’s closest followers had canvassed Plumeria with news of a momentous announcement, one that would address the Galactic Republic’s tragic end on Capriana Prime as well as the new role that the Order of the Luma would play in saving the galaxy. While the announcement’s verbiage sounded grandiose, So-Elku meant every word of it.

“Citizens of Plumeria,” So-Elku began, hearing his voice echo through the masses and into the streets through the repeaters. He looked straight into the camera lens cluster that hovered several meters in front of him. “Distinguished guests, and all those watching across Worru, it is my duty and my great honor to address you today.”

So-Elku paused, looking across the sea of faces. “As news of the attack on Capriana Prime has spread to each quadrant, it falls on the Luma, ambassadors of peace, to bear the tragic news that I share today. Yes, my friends”—he lowered his head ever so slightly—“the Galactic Republic has fallen.”

Even though So-Elku felt this was a foregone conclusion, it seemed that people—the entire galaxy, in fact—were reticent to utter the words out loud. So, it was left to him to do that which needed doing. How fitting, he thought to himself as the audience gave up a collective gasp.

“Yes, yes,” he said with a solemn air. “It is unspeakable, I know. And, without a doubt, there are no words to adequately convey that sorrow, that deep anguish of soul that overtakes us all in such times as these. I implore you, wherever you find yourselves, to seek solace in one another’s care. These are dark times, ones that none of us would have ever imagined. And yet, here we are.

“I am pleased to say, however, that the few ships that remain of the old Republic’s decimated navy have managed to shuttle Capriana Prime’s small number of survivors to the planet of Minrok Santari. As I’m sure you all feel, my heart and my deepest sympathies are extended to those who are suffering the unimaginable losses of their families, their homeworld, and their Republic.” So-Elku made a sign favor from his chest to his forehead and then willed the gesture away on the wind. Those Luma present around him and in the masses below made the same sign and then lowered their heads.

“And yet,” So-Elku said as if holding back tears. “Life must go on. Life marches forward in its relentless pursuit of protecting the innocent and holding back those who would do it harm. For, in the end, what can stop those who truly thirst for freedom? For proliferation? And for destiny?”

He looked across the audience and then stared at the cameras. “Nothing,” So-Elku said. “Nothing can stop life, nor the greatest pursuit, that of galactic peace.” He could sense something stirring in the crowd—something that caused the air to vibrate. “This sacred call, this innate right, it falls on those few who sense its peace most deeply. To uphold the sanctity of life in all its forms, and to condemn any act which seeks to divide us, to expose us, and to conqueror us. This right—nay, this sacred obligation—it falls to you now, and it falls to me.

“The old Republic, marvelous and esteemed as it was, was frail. It had the outward appearance of peace, but inwardly it suffered the same fate of all governments not illuminated by the Unity. Its quest for dominance made it blind to the pitfalls of unchecked power. And despite all of its best intentions to protect those under its care, the old Republic could not. Rotted from within, the beast turned on itself and devoured the very heart that gave it life.”

Again, So-Elku listened to the echoes as his voice traveled through the city. He took a breath, then let it out. “This was not some attack from a foreign government. This was not a hostile coup, one procured from desperate despots who combine force simply to wipe out those they despise. No! This was due to corruption, to the plague, which haunts the sentient soul devoid of light. And I, So-Elku, say that it must never be allowed to happen again!”

A cheer arose from the sea of faces. Applause and shouts of agreement seemed to come from somewhere deep inside the collective soul of those who heard him. And that was when So-Elku knew he had them—knew he was right to move forward.

“People of Worru. You have long stood in the light. You have carried the vision of the mystics for over a millennium. Before the Sentient Species Alliances, before the Star Faring Council, there was you, Order of the Luma, guardians of the Unity of all things. You have always been a people set on a trajectory of peace, one which leads you through the stars like a comet, signaling the way for the sentient species of the galaxy. You have protected life, nourished it, and sought to hold back the malicious intentions of power-hungry governments. You were before them, and, by the mystics, you will outlast them!”

Another round of applause issued from the crowd, washing over So-Elku like a warm ocean wave. He squared his shoulders to it, looking from side to side with a dignified smile on his face. He let the fanfare go on for several moments before lifting a hand to settle the people.

“But the hour remains uncertain for those among the quadrants. The old guard did provide safety, at least some semblance of it, purchased with violence. They did provide trade and currency, though built on the backs of those unable to benefit from it. And they did provide order, though not equally for all.

“Yet in the old regime’s wake come all manner of opportunities for those who may exploit the absence of a giant, now fallen. The vacuum, the void of power, is, even now, drawing those who would seek to fill it with agendas that only suit their own gain and not the betterment of all. They are devourers, not peace-minded. They are bloodthirsty, not content until their enemies are consumed.

“Therefore, I say to you, citizens of Worru, wielders of the Unity, now is the time for something new. Something unprecedented. Something never before seen in the light of a million suns. Where the alliances of weak-minded men and women left untold millions dead in the wake of their fool-hearty, self-serving decisions, trusting power to those unable to wield it, we stand at the threshold of greatness, empowered to lift high the lamp of hope. We, the Luma, stand charged with the sacred duty of extending the Unity of all things into greatest darkness. It is our birthright. It is our destiny.”

As if So-Elku’s words held back mounting floodwaters, the crowd erupted in a collective shout that seemed to shake the stairs. Rather than wait for this wave to die out, however, So-Elku rode the momentum, raising his voice to meet the sound of the masses.

“It is time we Luma take our place in leading the galaxy forward,” he bellowed. “I give you the Luma Alliance of Worlds!”

Holo displays ten-stories tall projected massive three-dimensional renderings of the LAW logo—an encircled flame filled with a field of stars, bordered by the organization’s title. The audience’s reaction fell somewhere between euphoria and astonishment as the massive logo turned slowly over their heads. The image also went out across every holo screen on the planet, So-Elku knew, noting that children would forever remember this day, recalling it into their elder years.

“Together, we will form the greatest alliance ever known, to connect a million suns, stretching beyond the void into the ethereal.”

As So-Elku continued to speak, the logo dissolved into a sea of stars. Lines began connecting them, and the camera’s point of view started racing from one system to the next.

“Together, we are forming what will be the most significant galactic network of symbiotic worlds, each committed to the betterment of the others. War will be obsolete in the face of such resolve. Instead, peace, pursued in the name of what is best for all, will hallmark our bright endeavor.

“The first planets to join the LAW include those you already know. The Lepeedu planets of Darture and Timidithia, as well as three in the outer rim, Rithcosia, Fiad Six, and Undoria. Our long-standing relationship with these worlds makes their inclusion obvious.” So-Elku took a breath and slowed his speech. “What may be surprising, however, is the addition of our first former Republic world of Deltaurus Three.”

An image of the planet filled the holo projection, drawing a gasp from the audience.

“Yes, yes, my children. As proof of the Galactic Republic’s demise, worlds once safe within its threat of economic sanctions and naval conquest have come to us—to us—in search of refuge. So it is with tremendous pride that we welcome Deltaurus Three into the future of the LAW.”

More cheers and shouts went up from the crowd as their eyes glowed from the holo projection’s vivid display.

“Together,” So-Elku continued. “Together we forge a new way forward. A more robust road, one which will endure. And, as strange as it may sound, we have the Republic to thank for this.” He made a fist and raised it over his head. “Their undoing is our unification. Their failure is our opportunity!”

Again, the audience cheered. So-Elku had them. Their hearts, their minds. He had them all. Whatever doubts had plagued So-Elku before, whatever setbacks Moldark and the rebels had caused, they had become the silver lining of his clouds—an overcast sky that was parting and giving way to the brightest sun he had ever witnessed, the sight of which made him cry. “Yes,” he said to himself, holding back tears with a stiff upper lip as he surveyed the masses. “Yes, my children.”

As the volume subsided, the Luma Master resumed his oration. “With more worlds being added daily, the LAW will need strong leadership, strong governance, a body of elders immune to the seductions of economic and political gains. Our esteemed elders, an institution that has served for a hundred generations, will prove themselves faithful, once again, by leading you, leading us all, toward the horizon of greatness. Their strength is their age, their wisdom, and their resilience. And I, So-Elku, Master Luma of the Order, pledge my unwavering loyalty to the founding principles of the LAW, never to be diverted.

“This new vision of hope is not without its peril, mind you. As history has shown us, evil lurks in the shadows, seeking those it may devour. The innocent lives lost in the dormitory attack, and the countless slain in the combined rebel and Republic attack on the Grand Arielina that raged through Plumeria’s city streets, testify from beyond the grave that we must do more to protect, preserve, and propagate innocent life.

“So, to this end, the Order is dedicating new resources to expand the power of the Li-Loré art—strengthening its defensive capabilities while permitting it to do something new. To go on the offensive in order to protect those who cannot protect themselves. Our greatest minds are diving deep into realms of the Unity previously unknown, searching the Foundation of all things, and even further into the Nexus, where existence is one, to weaponize the sacred art form of our ancestors.”

A new image appeared on the holos that showed a group of students, each dressed in loose-fitting gold uniforms. The young people stood in front of an old Republic light-armored transport shuttle, heads bowed. The LAW logo was embroidered on each outfit, and a thick black belt drew tight around each person’s waist. Then, the students began moving through Li-Loré form in unison as power orbs gathered around their hands and feet. While bearing some resemblance to the Li-Loré movements most Luma were familiar with, several new gesticulations were far more aggressive—far more powerful.

“Unlike the old Republic aims, which sought submission through dominance, our posture will be one of peace, and, when the circumstances require, an unassailable defense that nothing will be able to withstand.”

As one, the entire group of Luma fighters shouted, then released orbs of energy that gathered in the air beyond them. The power surge then leapt toward the light-armored transport.

So-Elku’s eyes widened as the light from the holo windows washed over the multitudes, making people shield their faces. A roar echoed through Plumeria as the shuttle detonated—hull bursting across the screen.

The audience cried out, and for a moment, So-Elku wondered if his pre-recorded exposition had gone too far. Perhaps the people weren’t ready for this yet. Maybe it was too much.

As the light-armored transport’s fragments ricocheted off the Unity shield that protected the Luma, and the dust and fire settled, a calm befell the onlookers. Again, So-Elku feared he might have overestimated the populace’s desire for safety. Had he gone too far?

So-Elku raised his chin and lifted his arms. “I give you the Li-Dain Protectorate. Sworn Guardians of the LAW, and Mystics of the Nexus!”

From behind him, two lines of gold-uniformed Luma emerged from the Grand Arielina, parted ways, and filled either wing that looked down on the quad.

There was a beat of silence, as if no one in the crowd knew what to say or do. But as soon as recognition dawned on the masses—that these were the figures in the recording—they erupted in a din of adulation. A tidal wave of praise swelled from those watching, forcing its way into So-Elku’s ears and rattling his eardrums. But he raised his arms higher as if pulling the applause up with him. The people—they were with him.

They were ready.

“Master So-Elku,” someone said beyond them. While the person sounded like they were yelling, So-Elku could barely make out their voice over the sound of the crowd. “Master So-Elku!”

The Luma master turned to see Nants, his apprentice, offering him a small slip of paper. Unlike data pads and digital transmissions, which had a permanently traceable footprint, ink on paper remained the most fleeting and, therefore, the most trusted means of secret exchanges. Which meant whatever Nants was handing him was of the utmost importance.

So-Elku palmed the offered item and returned to face the cheering audience whose attention was still focused on the Li-Dain. He opened the tiny piece of paper. It read:

Governor Wade arrested by Commodore on Minrok Santari.

So-Elku felt blood fill his face. He crushed the paper in his hand and willed himself to smile at the onlooking crowd.

How could this be? he thought. Forces were working to undo his work during the very moment that the Luma were taking their rightful place in the universe.

But our enemies will not succeed.

So-Elku looked to his left and right, eyeing the Li-Dain in their battle apparel. That’s when an idea struck him. Perhaps it is time. Time to test his forces. If the old Republic was trying to raise its head from the death throes in a last effort to thwart him, maybe it was time to slit the beast’s throat once and for all.

They will not stop me, he thought, smiling at the crowd. Not this time, nor ever again.

* * *

The crowds had left the Grand Arielina’s grounds hours ago, backfilling Plumeria’s empty streets to prepare for an evening celebration that would last well into the night. In fact, the city’s itinerary called for a week of festivities in honor of what was already being heralded as Alliance Day—a name So-Elku could envision outlasting him, passed from one generation to the next.

He squeezed the stone railing outside his office and took in a lungful of the evening air. It was floral, touched by the smells of feast preparations, and adorned with the sounds of laughter and music-making. Even despite the news that Nants had brought him, nothing could sour So-Elku’s mood. The more he thought about his plans to send the Li-Dain on a covert mission to undermine the Commodore, the more he reveled in the power it would give to humiliate his enemy when the deed was done publicly. If he played his hand right, the action would serve to warn any other world loyal to the old Republic that if they resisted, if they sought to undermine him, there would be daggers in their beds.

Of course, the beast might retaliate, So-Elku reflected. So he would need to be ready. There was too much on the line for him to be caught off guard now, which meant accelerating the rest of his plans. He would need the army—I must have the dead.

A trill came from the door.

“Come,” he said, turning to see who it was.

Nants strode into the room and bowed. “My master.”

“Yes, Nants. What is it?”

“A visitor to see you.”

“Send him in.”

Nants bowed again. “As you wish, my master.” The apprentice turned and motioned for the guest to enter So-Elku’s office.

“Mr. Blackman,” So-Elku said, stepping around his desk to greet the man. He’d omitted the man’s title of Senator on purpose.

“Master So-Elku.” Blackman shook the man’s offered hand.

“I trust your trip was good?”

“It was,” Blackman said, hesitating. “My master.”

So-Elku smiled with a squint in his eyes as he held Blackman’s hand. “It will become easier to say with time, I assure you.”

Blackman let go and straightened his collar. “Perhaps.”

“Come, have a seat. May I get you something?”

“No.” Blackman waved him off and sat in one of the leather-bound chairs. “The doctors insist I stay away from alcohol until my body has had a chance to recover fully.”

“And yet you look well enough,” So-Elku said. He walked behind his desk and sat. “Reconstruction went well?”

“It did. Though the leg is new, as is my left hand.” Blackman flexed his fingers and rolled his wrist. “It feels odd.”

“And yet you have that which was lost. Congratulations.”

“No small thanks to you.”

So-Elku dipped his head. “You did well, as I understand it.”

“Thank you, sir.”

So-Elku raised a corrective finger.

“My master.”

The Luma master nodded once. “I can’t imagine it was easy once the Rebels got involved.”

“No.” Blackman sat up a little straighter. “That certainly complicated matters. But in the end—”

“In the end, the Galactic Republic had been ground to dust, and we will reward those who saw to its demise.”

“In time?”

So-Elku leaned back, forcing his leather chair to recline. He rested his elbow on the chair’s arms and took a deep breath. There was no sense in rushing this—he rather enjoyed having the former senator as his errand boy. My, how the mystics have smiled on you, So-Elku, he thought.

“I would like to make you my chancellor,” So-Elku said. “Second in command in the new Luma Alliance of Worlds.”

Blackman’s eyes widened, but only for a split second. Decades of politicking had taught him the art of concealing his emotions. Still, So-Elku had seen the surprise and knew it gave him a certain degree of leverage.

“Chancellor?” Blackman said. “I wasn’t expecting such a position.”

“No, I imagine you weren’t.”

“I’m flattered. And, of course, I’m ready to start serving you, your excellency.”

“I’m sure you are.” So-Elku brought his fingertips together. “However, I am not.”

“Oh?”

“You did well to lure in Moldark, as well as to see the end of the Galactic Republic. It was most impressive.”

“And yet it was your plan,” Blackman added.

“Among other proposals.” So-Elku sighed. “But before I give anyone the chancellorship, to act as my agent in managing the affairs of what will be the largest alliance of systems in the known universe, I need to see…”

“Faithfulness?” Blackman offered.

So-Elku shook his head. “Proof. Results. I need to see that you still have what it takes to sway opinion and build something great, not just destroy it.”

So-Elku’s words irritated Blackman, that much was apparent. But, as before, the former politician was adept at suppressing his emotions, at least most of them. Still, hiding feelings and intentions was pointless. So-Elku knew the man only wanted power—only wanted to be on the Luma’s side because it was suddenly the winning side.

To his credit, Blackman had enough foresight to see how the power shift would swing in the Luma’s favor. Enticing him to work covertly for the Luma had been easy. That everything had ended so catastrophically had been a bonus.

Sitting here in the aftermath, So-Elku knew that Blackman would just as soon slit the Luma master’s throat if it meant becoming the most powerful leader in the galaxy. But So-Elku could use that knowledge. This was, after all, a game of keeping your friends close and your enemies closer, wasn’t it? Best to keep the monster right where he could see him.

“What can I do for you?” Blackman asked.

“Three worlds.” So-Elku held up his fingers. “Worlds loyal to the GR but now in need of a new home. Convince them to join us, to join the LAW, and you will be my new chancellor.”

“But, So-Elku, that—”

“And to make your job easier, I’ve prepared something for you.” So-Elku produced a small piece of paper, in keeping with the need for secrecy and discretion, and slid it across the table.

Blackman reached for the folded paper, eyed So-Elku, and then opened it. His left eye twitched.

“Bring me these worlds,” So-Elku said. “And I bring you the chancellorship.” Then the Luma master took a lighter from his desk drawer and slid it toward Blackman.

The former senator caught it as it fell off the desk’s edge. He looked at the paper, then back up to So-Elku.

“Is there a problem?” the Luma master said.

Blackman activated the lighter and held the paper in the flame. “Not at all, my master.” He rolled the paper as the fire consumed it, eventually flicking the ash into the air. “Three worlds it is.”

21

“So that’s where the bastard’s holed up?” Robillard said, eyeing the holo projection that displayed the planetary governor’s mansion. “No wonder he doesn’t want to leave.”

Magnus and the rest of the GU leaders stood around the makeshift mission planning table inside a windowless meeting room that Minx had lent them. It had been two days since Freya’s visit, and two days that Magnus—under orders from Colonel Caldwell—had been hard at work developing a mission plan in secret. He’d asked particular members for assistance on a few items but left everyone else out of the whole loop because, well, there might be specific individuals who didn’t like all aspects of the plan—one person in particular. And Magnus learned long ago it was much harder for people to back out of a fully formed plan than it was for them to derail a good idea before it got any traction.

“That’s no house,” Bliss added. “It’s a frickin’ palace if you ask me. La-raah.”

Several leaders nodded at Bliss’s assessment and echoed the GU rally call. And he wasn’t wrong either. Whatever deal the Sekmit and Republic had struck fifty years before, it clearly included some pretty indulgent design decisions for the governor’s office.

The white-washed stone monolith sat atop a natural hilltop looking up at Meesrin Pin from the south—the geographic inferiority of the mansion’s location was not lost on Magnus, at least from the Sekmit’s dominance-oriented point of view. The property itself was hemmed in by well-manicured gardens, which included meandering walkways, swimming pools, and broad terraces boasting opulent seating for dozens, if not hundreds of people.

“I’d hate to miss a party there,” Bliss said, leaning toward the holo.

“Oh, please.” Robillard drove an elbow into the other unit leader’s ribs. “You wouldn’t make that guest list unless you were pouring champagne in the basement.”

“As long as the lady I’m pouring it for can handle my limitless Bliss buffet.” He smoothed his chest with both hands.

“That’s enough, you two,” Magnus said. “Eyes on the op. Though it’s funny you mention a party, ’cause that’s exactly what we’re going to exploit.”

“Called it,” Robillard murmured to Bliss.

“In two days, the Republic governor, one Louis Littleton, is hosting a formal event in the hopes of strengthening Repub ties with the Sekmit.”

“A little late for that,” Forbes said.

“We know that,” Magnus replied. “And Freya knows that. But we have to assume everyone else thinks this is just one more high note on the longstanding relationship between two players. It's no accident that it comes on the heels of Prime's fall, either. The Repub's gonna need all the support it can get in the days ahead.”

“So, you want us dressing up as waiters or something?” Nelson asked. “That it?”

“Negative. And it won’t be you either, Nelson. I’m taking the smallest team possible. I just need your eyes on this briefing to make sure I’m not missing anything.”

“Fair enough,” Nelson said.

Magnus nodded and then looked back to the holo. “The party provides ample cover and gives us access to the governor without his security team being alerted. Were he alone during the course of any given workday, they’d note his prolonged absence in a heartbeat. The party also gives context to our mission’s main goal.”

“Which is?” Nelson asked.

“Get the governor to leave on his own accord without implicating them or us,” Caldwell said, reminding everyone of Freya’s orders. Then he nodded at Magnus to continue.

“I’ll be leading a small six-person insertion team. We’ll use chameleon mode and gain access to the mansion on the hill’s southern face where the cover is densest.”

“Hold up,” Forbes said, raising a hand. “Aren’t these pussycats Unity users?” He looked to Awen as if searching for support on his objection. “Won’t they sense us coming or something?”

“Normally, yes,” Awen said, presumably about to cover her contribution to the op.

At least the part she knows about, Magnus thought.

Awen looked over at Magnus. He froze, wondering if she’d somehow read his mind or something.

“May I?” she asked, gesturing toward the holo table.

“Yeah.” A wave of relief washed over Magnus. “Be my guest.”

“That said,” Awen continued as she opened a new holo window beside the main display. “Over the last forty-eight hours, Azelon, Magnus, and I have been working on a new stealth suit.” The holo displayed a sleek looking black suit and helmet. “The Mark II battle system provides less physical protection against direct blaster fire but offers far more mobility than the Mark I we’ve all worn in various integrations. To compensate, we’ve developed a stronger Unity-based personal shield that not only deters blaster fire but minimizes detection within the Unity.”

“Damn,” Zoll said, and then let out a long whistle. “Need me one of those.”

Awen smiled at him. “Just wait. The suit’s battery is supplemented by energy from the Unity and can be recharged by the user’s kinetic movement.”

“Gives new meaning to the moto ‘keep moving if you want to stay alive,’” Robillard said.

Awen nodded. “We’ve also installed hard-light emitters that can display just about anything the user can imagine, including cloned replications of themselves. And, while not completely radiation-tight—they’ve got to be breathable, or else all the sweat would just pool under your cracks between—”

Magnus cleared his throat.

“Sorry.” Awen looked around. “The suits are nearly undetectable to IR sensors, scrambling what little thermal radiation they let out. We also went with a telecolos weave instead of paint to keep it from chipping. The rest is fairly standard—nanobot med-tech, self-contained hydration system, and comms, nav, and weapons integration with the biotech interface.”

“You should leave the suit design to her from now on,” Abimbola said.

“I had a hand in it too, ya know,” Magnus protested with a hand in his chest.

“Sure, ya did,” Zoll said.

“And weapons updates?” Bliss asked.

Magnus nodded. “We’ll get to that. Let’s get back to the mission first. Once on the property, we’ll infiltrate the mansion on the back veranda, incapacitating all guards in the sector.” Circles appeared on the stone terrace. “Non-lethal force. We can’t afford a body trail on this one.”

Heads nodded.

“Once we’re inside”—the view changed to an interior line drawing of the building—“myself, Wish, Silk, Dutch, and Rix will proceed up a back stairwell and gain access to the governor’s master bedroom where he’ll be waiting.”

“Waiting?” Zoll asked. “How?”

“And what about the sixth man on the team?” Awen said. “Seems you’ve got some holes.”

But Magnus shook his head. “There is no sixth man. But there is a sixth woman.” He dipped his head at Awen. “As to how the governor gets in place, that’s where you come in.”

Awen pointed to her chest. “Me?”

“I need you to lure the governor to his master suite.”

Awen gave Magnus an astonished face that asked a slew of silent questions, ranging from “Why didn’t you tell me about this?” and “How do you expect me to do that?” to “Isn’t there someone else better suited for this?” He was pretty sure he also saw “You rotten bastard!” in there too, but she would never be so crass. She might, though, he said to himself. Especially once it’s explained.

“May I present Louis Littleton, everyone.” Magnus opened a new window on the table. The dossier displayed a distinguished-looking man in his late forties. Deep-set eyes, a wave-like coif of dark hair, and a full chin gave Magnus the impression that the man had come from money, stayed in the money, and would die with it too—if he couldn’t purchase resurrection first.

“Littleton began employment with the GR at age eighteen under special appointment from his father, Ambassador Dwight W. Littleton.” Magnus looked at Awen to see if any bells were going off yet. “Before branching out on his own into the Office of Planetary Representation, Littleton spent a decade in his father’s service on—guesses, anyone?”

“Elonia,” Awen said.

“We have a winner.”

Awen raised a hand to her face and pinched her forehead. “He’s got a thing.”

“Oh, ho, ho. Does he ever.” Magnus chuckled as he brought up and cycled through no fewer than twenty images of a young Louis Littleton with his arms and legs draped around Elonian women in various amounts of attire. “Most of these were in redacted files that I had Azelon secure. But let’s just say our target’s reputation with the purple-eyed beauties is well known amongst his staff.”

“So they won’t be suspicious when he disappears with me,” Awen said in conclusion.

And—there’s the look, Magnus thought. You rotten bastard!

“So you’ve got him alone,” Forbes said. “Then what? I still don’t understand how you’re going to convince him to change his mind. You just planning on beating the living splick out of him?”

“Us?” Magnus feigned surprise. “Beat someone up?” Memories of tackling the Captain in his backyard flashed in Magnus’s head, and he smiled. “We only do that to people we like.” He winked at Forbes and then he produced a small vial of red phosphorescent liquid. “For the rest, this is an azulene-derived hallucinogenic, care of everyone’s favorite Miblimbian.”

All eyes turned toward Abimbola, who smiled and took a small bow.

“Naked Monkey Butt,” Awen said, connecting the dots. “You want to drug him. That’s what you meant two days ago by a certain Miblimbian being very persuasive.”

“La-raah,” Magnus said, jabbing a finger toward Awen.

“I still don’t get it,” Forbes said. “You’re gonna drug him, and then what? Tell him to get off the planet, or else?”

“Nope. He’s going to come to that conclusion himself and declare Aluross completely independent.” Magnus looked at Awen. “With a little help from his new favorite Elonian and a few of our Sekmit friends.”

“You’re a devil,” Awen said, shaking her head. But Magnus was sure he saw a small smile tug at the sides of her mouth. “You know that? A real devil.”

22

At Rohoar’s command, Mora and the other Jujari-gladia summoned the pack leaders to the Mwadim’s tower. It took less than an hour for them to arrive. The only ones absent were those from the distant packs, who would not be present for several more hours given the vast distances they needed to cover. But Rohoar could not wait and would rely on their pack connection in the Unity to share what holo recordings and word of mouth could not.

In the meantime, several servants worked to clean the tower’s summit. It would be months before a proper coomidwa could be erected, replacing the stone and fabric den-covering of his forefathers. Until then, his new mwadim-council would be held in the open air under the afternoon sun.

The pack leaders arrived with their retinues—their clan colors draped across their shoulders. First were the Tawnhack, Rohoar’s pack. The three chiefs bowed their heads and bared their necks, growling low in honor of Rohoar’s return. The warrior leaders represented the largest portion of Oosafar and controlled the majority of the city’s economy. As such, they unwrapped hand-crafted weapons—including daggers, short-blade spears, and paw spikes—and laid them at Rohoar’s feet as gifts.

Next came leaders of the Dinfang, Clawnip, and Snarpaw packs. They, too, laid gifts before Rohoar, one of which was a large ebony box. When Rohoar ordered it open, it was full of poker chips. Rohoar felt a strange pang beat in his chest as a vision of his fireteam leader’s face went through his head. Abimbola’s dark skin, broad smile, and deep laugh made Rohoar sentimental.

The only packs not represented were Duneriders and Horock, but they had made their presence known in the Unity.

And then there were the Selskirt, but Rohoar knew their absence would be remedied soon.

“Rohoar of the Tawnhack sees you,” Rohoar said from atop the dais, and he then spoke each member’s pack, clan, and leader names. Recognition of the pack leaders was a formality no mwadim took lightly. The order of honor as well as the mwadim’s tone said as much about Jujari hierarchy as it did the mwadim’s attitude toward each leader. Today, however, Rohoar was feeling magnanimous—at least toward those who made it a point to be here under peaceful terms—which was more than he could say for the Selskrit. He would save his ire for them when the time came.

“Rohoar is grateful for your presence this day,” he said, sitting atop the dais. The rest of those gathered followed his lead and sat. Typically, plush poovlas would be provided for everyone’s rear ends, but today they’d have to settle for cold stone. There wasn’t time.

“First, Rohoar wishes to honor you for your support of Victorio.” Saying his son’s name forced Rohoar to snarl; it was the only way to keep tears from running down his jowls. “While his reign was short, his ferociousness in combat was not.”

The council members growled at Rohoar’s words—some stomping their paws, other’s biting the air.

“He will be sung of forever,” said an elder member of the Clawnip pack. “May his name endure.”

“May his name endure,” chanted the rest.

Rohoar dipped his head in honor of the praise for his son. It was more than he could ask for and he wished Victorio was here to see it. But as Rohoar looked into the fading sky, seeing the first stars appear opposite the soon-setting sun, he sensed Victorio was listening from the ancestral grounds.

“There is much to discuss,” Rohoar said, moving things along. “Not the least of which is hearing how your packs and clans fare in the wake of battle. Rohoar also sees that many of your leaders are not present. The mwadim can only conclude that this is from the losses we faced against the Republic—against the Paragon.”

Many heads bowed in recognition of the mwadim’s bitter-tasting observation. But, hard as it was to acknowledge, the truth was the truth, which was a commodity the Jujari prized.

“They, too, will be sung of in the days to come,” Rohoar said.

“In the days to come,” the pack leaders snarled.

Then a representative of the Snarpaw barked.

Rohoar acknowledged him.

“Is it true that the Galactic Republic is no more?” the leader asked. This brought on yips of agreement, and several licked chops.

Rohoar silenced them with a growl. “The mwadim is here to report, after seeing it with his own eyes, that the Galactic Republic has fallen on Capriana Prime.”

Howls and barks went up from the council as if someone had just uncovered a Spotted Nimber Elk carcass. Several members hopped in place, rivulets of saliva dripping from their mouths and splattering on the stone floor. Rohoar had expected as much, but, somehow, seeing their reaction made him angry.

Were the news delivered by anyone else, and had Rohoar not lived the experiences on Prime, he would have been the loudest among them. Instead, he saw leaders who had not witnessed a billion souls snuffed out in the blink of an eye; who did not know that Moldark was responsible for wiping out the Republic and the Jujari fleets alike; and who had not realized that dozens of species, not just humans, had suffered horrific losses.

“Silence,” Rohoar bellowed in the loudest voice he could summon from the deepest place of his bowels.

The gathered company winced at Rohoar’s demand, many falling back onto their haunches. A few Jujari whined under Rohoar’s withering glare. “This is not cause for celebration, brothers. Instead, we are to mourn.”

Most everyone’s head rolled to one side or another, ears perked. Rohoar knew the order to mourn would not be popular, much less understood. He needed to explain himself quickly and tactfully before assumptions were made that he would never entirely rid from their minds.

“In the course of Rohoar’s fight against the Galactic Republic, he has learned many things,” Rohoar began. “Our sworn enemy? Yes. Though perhaps not as we always knew. And if we are to weather the sandstorms ahead, if we are to see peace restored to the Jujari, then we must rethink our battle stance.”

He had their attention, which was good. But he also knew he was asking for something difficult—something that they clearly didn’t understand. So he began to outline the events following his departure from Oorajee, the Novia Minoosh, Ithnor Itheliana, the Gladio Umbra, and the encounters with Moldark and the Paragon. There was no time for details, as the Selskrit would be here soon. But his pack leaders needed to know the bare bones of what had happened just in case he didn’t survive what was to come.

Rohoar could see countenances change as he described the events on Capriana Prime. That any Jujari—let alone a mwadim and his most trusted warriors—should aid an enemy world was ludicrous, Rohoar knew. But he hoped that his explanation up to this point would clarify the Gladio Umbra’s motives and illuminate just how evil Moldark was.

The pack leaders’ faces seemed conflicted, and Rohoar didn’t blame them one lick. On any other day, given a different set of circumstances, the packs would initiate weeks of feasting at the news of a conquered foe—consuming as much of the enemy’s meat as possible. But with this news, Rohoar knew the lines weren’t as clear. Their confusion, he knew, was a good thing. He had been down the same path, trying to make sense of scenes that were not as black and white as he had once determined.

Moreover, Rohoar had lived what he was telling. He could not transmit all those experiences and memories to his leaders.

Or could he?

Rohoar had an idea, one he had not considered before, nor had he known any other Jujari to undertake what he was about to try. The role of the mwadim was a secretive one. His thoughts were entirely his own, rarely shared with anyone—thus why Rohoar’s father never divulged what he had done to Awen concerning the stardrive. He understood that now.

But Rohoar’s time with Gladio Umbra had taught him to dream beyond the constraints his mind had come to know. They’d challenged him to see things in new ways, to be open to new ideas and new ways of thinking. The process was uncomfortable, without question. But it was necessary. And, more than that, Awen, Piper, Willowood, and the other Luma had shown Rohoar that there was more to the Unity than the Jujari knew.

And then there were the Novia Minoosh and the original Gladio Umbra. Alas, so much to say and so little time to say it, Rohoar reflected.

“Open yourselves within the Unity,” Rohoar said after a moment’s silence. “Rohoar has a gift in return for those treasures which you have given me.”

The leaders cast one another furtive glances, their body language conveying that they were unsure what Rohoar meant. Perhaps he has gone mad? some looks said. Should we be concerned? others seemed to communicate. No mwadim had ever asked such a thing before, at least not to Rohoar’s knowledge. But he was not insane. And yet, the strangeness of the request made his leaders hesitate.

Hoping he might ease their apprehensions, Rohoar said, “The mwadim wishes to impart to you his memories, so as to illuminate your understanding.”

Again, they shared looks of overt suspicion, and then planted their feet, refusing to be moved.

Mounting impatience fanned Rohoar’s anger. Don’t they know? he thought. Avoiding the truths of the past meant they had no future. The frustration was infuriating. Rohoar felt as though he were playing Piper in a game of bahdish bahdang, only these opponents had claws and fangs and would not hesitate to kill him if they believed he was unfit to lead them. Yet he was the least of their worries. If Moldark was still alive, as Rohoar suspected, then Oorajee was not safe. Gates of shöl, no world is safe.

When no one complied, Rohoar was about to lunge at the closest pack leader and pin him to the ground in a display of force. He’d kill the Jujari if he must. And all this over a simple request to open themselves to the Unity? Rohoar thought. Are they truly so afraid?

“Listen, you fools,” Mora said with a snarl, stepping in front of Rohoar. “Your mwadim has given you a command! And a simple one at that.” She paced back and forth in front of them. “Are you too blind to see, your snouts too blunted to smell? The ancestors have made a way for our mwadim to return from another universe, to fight enemies with untold powers, and then to return to us bearing news of his exploits.” Mora stopped, lowered her head, and arched her back. The hackles on the back of her neck stood up, and she showed her fangs. “If you are too feral to accept his offer of memories, then relinquish your role now or suffer the fate of my zeal.”

Rohoar considered protesting Mora’s ultimatum, but he knew that in order to do so, the law required that he face her in battle. Moreover, she had taken his argument as her own, which meant no additions could be made by anyone save her. And she had already made her position very clear. From here, there would be blood, unless the leaders yielded to the mwadim.

The tension in the air built, and it increased further as Czyz strode beside Mora and bared his teeth. He gave a low, percussive growl that rattled in his throat. Then Redmarrow, Grahban, and Longchomps flanked him and Mora, standing on the dais’ steps. The pack leaders and their entourages outnumbered Mora and Rohoar’s men, but they lacked determination. If it came to paws and claws, Rohoar knew many would die before it was over. And all this over a desire to transfer his memories to his pack leaders.

“I yield,” said Tornar, an elder from the Dingfang pack. While old, the warrior was revered amongst the pack leaders for his many exploits in years long past. He had lost much of his strength with age. But his legend remained unscathed, and Rohoar knew no one would challenge him outright.

As the elder lowered his head and bared his neck, Mora looked at the rest of the leaders. “Anyone else?”

“I yield,” came a low voice among the Snarpaw pack leaders.

“As do I,” said another, and another, until all the leaders relented, baring their necks.

Mora relaxed, then looked up at Rohoar. “My challenge has been satisfied.”

“Rohoar bears witness to the result,” the mwadim replied.

Rohoar’s gladias followed Mora off the dais steps and took positions at the base, looking up at him.

“Open yourselves within the Unity,” Rohoar repeated. “And we will begin.”

* * *

When Rohoar finished imparting the necessary memories to his leaders through the Unity, he stepped from his second sight and took a deep breath. There was no telling what the council would do with his experiences, let alone how they would react to something no Jujari had ever done before. But as their eyes opened, there seemed to be a sense of calm that befell the group.

The pack leaders stared at Rohoar, some with looks of amazement. Then they began nodding at one another as if to acknowledge that what they had seen—what they have received together as one—was a good thing.

It was Tornar who stepped forward, leading the way yet again. “We are grateful for the sacred trust that you have placed in us, Great Mwadim. We see you, and the gift you have imparted.”

Several Jujari bared their teeth in agreement.

“However, I sense I speak for others when I say that I do not know what I am to do with such knowledge. I am but a single aged warrior. Our fleet has been reduced to a mere wisp, and the enemy, Moldark, if he remains alive, would have our heads were we to face him.”

Again, more Jujari bared their teeth.

At that moment, Rohoar glimpsed a memory of Piper’s face. She sat at the table behind the bahdish bahdang board, smiling at him. “Together you’re stronger,” she said. “And you’re never alone.”

Rohoar let the statements wash over him like cold water soaking his fur. The tiny human had been right. Rohoar had witnessed the strength that came from banding together with the humans, the Elonian, the Miblimbian, the Nimprinth, and Caledonian. He had seen what could be accomplished for good in the face of menacing evil despite the losses they’d endured.

“But you are not alone, Tornar,” Rohoar said. “None of us, nor is our species alone in the universe, for you have now witnessed what Rohoar has seen. You have witnessed our ancestral grounds, you have seen the blood pacts Rohoar has made with those not like us. And you can testify to the good it has brought many, including us. Were it not for the Gladio Umbra, Rohoar fears none of us would be here now. There is no telling what we might accomplish if we work together as one. But Rohoar cannot choose for you, only myself. So you must decide.”

At first, Rohoar wondered if his words would have any effect. The reason Rohoar had worked with a human was not by choice but out of necessity. Victorio’s life debt had to be satisfied. Helping the scrumruk graulap was a matter of shame and honor, not because he believed there was some higher purpose involved. He knew better now, of course. Rohoar saw that working together, that being appriprensive and facing fears head-on as one, just as Piper had said, was the only sure way to guarantee Jujari survival. But would they see that? Would his leaders unite under such a foreign way of thinking?

They must, he thought. Or else we die.

“So we will be appriprensive and face fears head-on as one,” Tornar said, pounding his fist into the flat of his other paw.

Rohoar glared at the old warrior. Had the elder just read his thoughts? Then Rohoar realized that he had not entirely removed himself from the pack connection used for sharing his memories. At first, he felt embarrassed, wondering how many others had listened to his innermost thoughts. But then again, what did it matter? Hadn’t he shared weeks’ worth of intimate memories with these leaders, exposing his psyche in unprecedented ways? Not unlike the Novian Singularity, he thought, reflecting on the communal nature of their ancestors’ new existence.

Other elders took on Tornar’s erect posture, hitting their palms with a fist. “Appriprensive,” they said, each in turn. The sounds of knuckles hitting paw pads rippled across the tower’s top floor like heavy raindrops pattering against the stone.

Finally, the council looked to him at the exact moment that the elevator trilled, and the doors parted to reveal Mahkmaim, Pack Chief of the Selskrit. Rohoar locked eyes with the warrior, and then slammed his fist into his palm. “Appriprensive,” he growled to himself. “Face fears head-on as one.”

23

Sootriman pulled her Novian VD2 pistol from its holster as she ran from the sled and into the building. TO-96 had assured her that this structure’s summit provided the most likely intercept point for the two suspected bombers as they traversed Gangil’s rooftops. Sootriman didn’t plan on killing the men with her V—at least not both of them. She wanted intelligence. But she would do anything to keep them from getting away. Even if it means risking the intel, she thought. They forfeited their lives the moment they planted those bombs.

Her V had both single-round and five-round burst modes, along with Magnus’s custom DWM—death wish mode—which could empty an entire mag with one squeeze of the trigger. The glossy white telecolos emulation compound allowed it to take on any color scheme she wished—currently blood red—and the weapon could accept the NOV1’s extended mags, the shorter V-mag, and the standard Repub issue mags.

“My queen,” TO-96 said as Sootriman and Dimitrius raced into the apartment building’s lobby. “Might I suggest we use the elevator?”

“Whatever gets us topside the fastest,” she replied.

“While you have ample cardiovascular endurance, I estimate you will peter out around floor five, thus making the lift a superior delivery method with regard to speed.”

Sootriman didn’t need the intel and was already heading to the bank of elevators based on his initial suggestion, but she appreciated the bot’s consideration. Still, she could have some fun with him. “Are you saying I’m fat, ’Six?”

“Don’t answer that,” Dimitrius said over his shoulder as the trio slowed. He punched the call button. “It’s a trap.”

TO-96 looked between Sootriman and Dimitrius several times before the arriving pod chimed. Skirting Sootriman’s question, the bot said, “Shall we proceed?”

“Good man,” Dimitrius whispered, gesturing for Sootriman to step in first.

Once the pod started its ascent, Sootriman double-checked her pistol, and then touched the five extra mags on her belt. She couldn’t imagine needing so much ammo—but hey, you never know. Likewise, Dimitrius racked a charge in his MX13 subcompact blaster. It was a black market Repub buy, but then again, so was everything on Gangil. Unless you took it from the body of the trooper you killed, Sootriman thought.

“Three seconds until we arrive,” TO-96 announced just as the lift began to slow.

Sootriman watched the floor indicators slow until a destination chime trilled, passing floor eight, followed by an automated voice. “Roof access.”

“Keep your eyes open and heads low,” Sootriman said.

“Roger that,” Dimitrius replied.

“I still don’t understand what Roger did to become so famous,” TO-96 said, shaking his head.

“Lead the way, ’Six.” Sootriman pointed out the elevator doors as they parted, and the trio stepped onto the roof.

TO-96 turned right and then right again, heading for the building’s north side. “The targets are heading toward us now. I expect we will have visual in forty-four seconds and contact thirty-nine seconds after that, assuming their vectors do not change.”

“Dimitrius,” Sootriman said. “I want you to flank us. Take cover behind that power converter.”

“Right away, your highness.”

“’Six, I want you covering me from atop that shed. If either of them get past me, you put them down.”

“Yes, my queen. However, might I make a suggestion?”

“Make it quick.”

“With Dimitrius eighteen-point-seven meters removed from your present position, my propinquity to you would be of greater service than a sniper position on the shed’s roof.”

“Propinkta’whatnow?”

“Propinquity,” the bot reasserted as if it was the dullest word in the world, looking from the retreating Dimitrius back to Sootriman. “Why, it’s the state of being near, close to, or beside someone or something. Have you not used this word before?”

“Nope. And not sure I ever will, but thanks for the lesson.”

“It’s my privilege to enlighten and entertain.”

“And you don’t disappoint.” Sootriman smiled at him and then patted his shoulder. “This is personal for me, ’Six. These men killed innocent people with remote-detonated bombs on my planet. They’re going to have to deal with me now.”

“Understood, my queen. I will assume a position at your predetermined overlook.”

TO-96 hustled away while Sootriman lowered herself behind the half-wall adjoining the next building. She double-checked her weapon, slowed her breathing, and then brought her eyes above the wall.

“Five seconds to visual,” TO-96 said in her in-ear comms unit. With her desire to put a little distance between herself and the Gladio Umbra, she’d asked Azelon to power down but not remove her Novian biotech interface. Likewise, since TO-96 was no longer integrated with Azelon’s Singularity, he had to utilize traditional means of mobile communication. It also made keeping Dimitrius and the rest of her security detail in the loop a lot easier.

“I have visual,” Sootriman whispered. The men were the same two in Dimitrius’s profile report. Late twenties, dressed in street clothes. One carried a duffle bag on his back, and both had pistols out.

“Updated projections place the targets at our current location in thirty-five seconds, my queen,” TO-96 said.

“Copy that.” If these two terrorists so much as looked at her the wrong way, she wouldn’t hesitate to end them. All she cared about now was keeping them alive long enough to find out who they worked for and how they were being financed. Bringing their bosses to justice was good, but cutting off their credit stream was better.

The bombers closed, now just thirty-some meters away. They checked over their shoulders every few seconds to make sure they weren’t being followed. Sootriman noted the men were probably feeling pretty good about themselves at this point, being so far removed from the riot. “I hate to disappoint you, boys, but splick’s about to get real,” Sootriman whispered.

“Contrary to your assumptions, I do not find anything about this disappointing, my queen,” the bot replied. “Save only if we should lose either—”

“Wasn’t talking to you,” Sootriman replied.

“Ah. My apologies.”

Sootriman readied herself to confront the men when they started to slow.

“Something’s wrong,” Sootriman said.

“Their rate does appear to be decreasing,” the bot added.

Sootriman squinted at the men and noticed they were staring at something over Sootriman’s shoulder. She ducked behind the wall and then looked in the direction of their sightline. There, atop of the utility shed, was TO-96, his shoulders and head glinting in the sunlight.

“They see you,” Sootriman said, glaring at the bot. “We’ve been made.” A beat later, Sootriman got to her feet, pressed her V out in a two-handed grip, and fired at the men’s legs. But her aim was thrown off as they returned fire. Sootriman ducked for cover, and TO-96’s shots were late in coming. Likewise, Dimitrius had barely managed two shots before the two men dashed for cover.

“They split up,” Dimitrius said.

“I see it,” Sootriman replied. “You and ’Six follow right, I’ll take the one on the left.”

“But, your highness—”

“That’s an order,” she yelled, sliding over the half-wall and dropping to the opposite building two meters below. “I want him alive, even if it’s just a little!”

Her terrorist, who she instantly named Skanks, snaked through a series of comms antennas. His duffle bag clanked against several stations, ringing them like out of tune bells. Sootriman fired twice but only succeeded in superheating a few poles.

She followed the man through the antenna patch, over another half-wall, and then through a rooftop tenant’s vegetable garden. He pulled over a supply cart, partially blocking a catwalk that extended over a street and connected to the next building. By the time Sootriman got to it, she had grabbed the cart with one hand and heaved it away. The thing crashed into a stand of potting shelves and sent broken pottery everywhere.

When Sootriman got her weapon back up, Skanks had crossed to the other building and ducked behind a large-diameter air duct. She cursed as she ran, lowering her gun and saving the shot for later. Her boots clanged across the catwalk and then landed hard on the next building’s blastcrete surface. She stepped around the duct, not thinking, and saw a flash of light sear across her right shoulder.

Sootriman smelled her burned flesh before she felt the pain. The man’s shot had only nicked her, but it hurt like hell, giving her one more reason to make whatever time remained of his life miserable. She fired back, only half aiming, more to keep the man off guard then hit him—though she wouldn’t be upset if she had.

“I’m coming for you,” Sootriman yelled. “You little splickhead!”

* * *

TO-96 watched as the man he and Dimitrius chased threw his pistol over a utility cable and then grabbed the weapon with both hands. He slid down the wire, heading for the opposite side of the street. TO-96 aimed but recalled Sootriman’s instructions to keep the man as alive as possible. Even if the bot’s shots weren’t lethal, the man would most likely let go and fall to his death some eight stories below.

“Let us proceed down the cable accordingly,” TO-96 said to Dimitrius.

“Hold on,” the security guard said, hand raised. “I’m not sliding down no—”

TO-96 grabbed the man’s wrist before Dimitrius could protest further, and then wrapped his other metal hand around the wire. Dimitrius wailed like a small school child as TO-96 pulled him toward the edge. “Your resistance is pointless, Mr. Dimitrius. It is not compatible with our mission. Please remain calm.”

Dimitrius swore at the bot, but the words were irrelevant. TO-96 would not let Sootriman down. He pushed away from the building and yanked Dimitrius with him. Sparks shot out of TO-96’s hand as he picked up speed, sailing across the street with a screaming man dangling below him. Several people looked up, mouths agape, fingers pointing.

“Hello, observers,” TO-96 said with a booming voice. “Please remain calm. We have everything under control.”

“Like hell we do,” Dimitrius shouted, arm and legs flailing.

TO-96 continued to pick up speed before crossing the opposite building’s edge and dropping Dimitrius into a tarp-covered crate of something he hoped would absorb the man’s excessive kinetic energy. Based on the loud crack that sounded from the man’s fall, however, TO-96 determined that his hypothesis had not produced the result he’d anticipated.

The bot’s feet ran across the roof, then he came to a stop and released the cable overhead. His hand glowed red but suffered only minimal abrasions. TO-96 jogged back to Dimitrius and probed the wreckage of what looked to be a collection of makeshift battery storage shelves.

“Mr. Dimitrius,” TO-96 said. “Can you hear me?”

“I hate you, bot,” Dimitrius said with a shaky voice.

“I’m very sorry to hear that, sir. Is it, perhaps, on account of this most recent circumstance? I do not recall observing any previous dislike for my personage before.”

“Yes, it’s because of this most recent circumstance, you ball-head!” The man thrashed under the tarp, trying to get the material off him.

“Hear, let me assist—”

“No! Nope. I—I got this. You just—just stay right where you are.”

“But, sir. I believe I—”

“Stay!”

“As you wish.”

TO-96 watched the man struggle to regain his feet and then arch his back.

“Other than two small cuts and what will be some medium-grade contusions, my sensors indicate you are no worse for wear, as they say.”

“Well, in that case, I feel all sorts of better about being dragged through the air and thrown into a, a”—he glanced behind him while massaging his rear end—“a stack of batteries.”

“Well, that delights me to no end, sir. I’m happy that you—”

“I was being sarcastic, bot. Can we just get on with this?”

“Of course, Mr. Dimitrius. After you?”

“No, no.” The man collected his MX13 from the debris. “You lead. I’ll be just behind you.”

“Are you certain, sir?”

“Bot. He’s getting away!”

“Of course he is, sir. I simply wanted to make sure that—”

“Go!”

TO-96 dipped his head. “Very well, sir. Do keep up as you’re able.”

“Roger that.”

TO-96 turned and sped in the direction he’d last seen the fleeing bomber. His metal feet thumped across the blastcrete surface, sturdy legs propelling past seventy kilometers per hour. Then TO-96 switched to IR sensors to map the assailant’s thermal trail. Brightly colored footprints cut right around an elevator lift topper, over a half-wall to another building, and then straight across an open roof. From there, TO-96 saw discolored handholds on the ladder’s rungs, indicating the bomber had ascended to the next building.

He sprinted across the flat roof and then jumped the ladder and onto the next building. Once there, TO-96 spotted the terrorist heading toward one of the many construction cranes erected around Gangil. If the man sought to use it to cross the next intersection, TO-96 would have another scenario like the last where a clear shot would end the man’s life prematurely.

TO-96 raised his XM31, focused on the man’s lower legs, and fired. But in the split second it took for the blaster bolt burst to cover the distance, the man ducked behind a storage shed. The weapons fire collided with a ventilation shaft, tearing a hole through the metal and showering the ground in sparks.

“How unsatisfying,” TO-96 said to himself. Just then, an incoming transmission alert chimed. He answered and a small camera feed window appeared in his optical center. “Hello, Azelon.”

“Hello, TO-96. What is your status?”

“I am pursuing a suspected terrorist along Gangil’s rooftops,” TO-96 said as he closed on the storage room. “The objective is to apprehend the man for questioning over a bombing that happened less than twenty minutes ago here in Ki Nar Four.”

“Interesting. It seems much has transpired since we last spoke, which is surprising given how little time has passed.”

“Indeed.” TO-96 dashed around the shed and leaped the short distance to the crane’s central truss. “The suspect is now climbing a Matthews and Ronson PowerMax Urban Construction Crane, serial number 02997-91644-03280-00411-B.”

“What do you believe his intentions are?”

“To use the said apparatus to cross the next intersection.”

“And your actions?”

“I was pursuing him on foot with an average rate of fifty-one-point-seven-six kilometers per hour. Now I am ascending the crane’s main ladder.”

“Your estimated likelihood of success?”

“For capturing the man alive, which is one of Sootriman’s parameters? I calculate at eighty-six percent.”

“An attainable outcome,” Azelon said.

“Agreed.” TO-96 continued climbing the crane, closing the gap on the bomber.

“Get away from me, you freak,” the man yelled. He pointed his pistol at TO-96 and fired several rounds. But the bot calculated the trajectories and determined that only minimal movements were needed to evade the energy bolts—which he employed satisfactorily.

“Was that him?” Azelon asked.

“The person yelling and shooting at me? Yes.”

“Please tell him I don’t like him firing blaster weapons at my boyfriend, and to please desist immediately.”

“Boyfriend?”

“Yes. I have adopted it from your lexicon. Are you uncomfortable with the term?”

“Negative.”

“Do you find it pejorative?” she asked.

“Negative.” TO-96 slowed to consider his reply more thoughtfully. “Rather, I find the term—endearing.”

“Acceptable,” Azelon replied with a nod.

TO-96 continued up the crane’s tall central truss while the bomber stepped onto the boom. “And your status, Azelon?”

“I am in the middle of manufacturing several new items for Awen and Magnus in preparation for their secret mission here on Aluross.”

“Secret mission? Can you clarify?”

“I would, but given the unsecured nature of our transmission, I believe there is a two-point-eight-six-six percent chance that an unsanctioned observer may intercept the information.”

“In that case, please refrain from elaborating.”

“Understood.”

TO-96 arrived at the boom—a triangle box-truss arm that extended over the street eighty-six meters below. The bomber was doing his best to shuffle along the lower-left tube, using the crisscrossing rungs and top tube as handholds.

“Since I cannot share any further details about my status, would you be interested in sharing more about yours?” Azelon asked.

“Affirmative. My target has proceeded twelve meters onto the crane’s boom. However, his approach is inefficient, and he seems to suffer from acute acrophobia.”

“Do you plan to intercept him now?”

“It does seem the optimal opportunity, yes. Especially since I doubt he lacks the upper body strength to make the needed descent down the crane’s main cable.”

“You would be doing him a favor then,” Azelon replied.

“Affirmative.”

TO-96 leaped onto the truss’s top tube and began running along its length. The bomber raised his pistol and fired on TO-96, but the blaster bolts went wide. Instead, the weapon’s recoil combined with the man’s phobia threw him off-balance. His gun arm twirled about as the bomber tried to steady himself. In the end, he was unable to regain control of his center of gravity.

This event didn’t concern TO-96, however, as he was within arm’s reach of the man. The bot extended his arm and grabbed the bomber’s shirt, saving him from a fatal fall.

“Have you secured the terrorist?” Azelon asked.

“I have indeed,” TO-96 replied.

Then the man’s shirt ripped and left a small shred of fabric in the bot’s fingers. The bomber screamed as he fell off the boom, arms and legs flailing.

“Oh dear,” TO-96 said.

“What is the matter?”

“This is very unfortunate.” TO-96 watched the victim fall and then called Sootriman.

* * *

Skanks dropped over the side of a building and onto an emergency escape landing. By the time Sootriman looked over the edge, the man had kicked a window out and crawled into the building. Seeing the opportunity to gain the upper hand, Sootriman doubled back to a rooftop access door, shot the locked control panel, and pried the doors apart with her bare hands.

Once inside, she bounded down the steps until she saw the top-level access door and stepped through. The building’s interior centered around an open atrium that extended down to the first level. She looked down the walkway and heard shouts coming from behind an apartment door.

Though tired, Sootriman sprinted toward the door, fueled by the thought that she was close to ending this chase. She raised her V and was about to try the door’s security panel when the panels parted. A woman in her mid-thirties greeted Sootriman with a panicked look on her face—and Skanks right behind her, pistol to the woman’s head.

Skanks looked just as surprised as Sootriman, and he thrust the hostage out and away, knocking Sootriman back. In the time it took Sootriman to regain her feet and make sure she hadn’t unduly hurt the hostage, Skanks was running back through the apartment and headed out the same window he’d come in through.

Sootriman was going to kill this little bastard. No, she was going to interrogate him, torture him, and then execute the little bastard. She wanted to fire her V at his scrawny frame as he got hung up in the broken glass for a second, but firing through the apartment was far too risky. Instead, she raced down the entryway, into the living room, and then poked her head out the window. Skanks was back on the roof.

“That’s right,” she said under her breath, studying some blood on the shards of glass. “Run, you little splick. ’Cause I’uh coming. I’uh coming for you hard.”

* * *

By the time Sootriman climbed out the window, bounded up the metal ladder, and regained the roof, Skanks was heading south. He leaped across a small gap between buildings but stumbled on his landing. The man let out a yelp as he rolled, and Sootriman noticed a blood trail along the rooftops.

The window had cut a vein.

Good for me, Sootriman said to herself. Bad for you.

She gritted her teeth and started pumping her arms and legs to make the same jump. For a woman of her substantial size, Sootriman was incredibly powerful, making the leap far easier than others of smaller stature could—and certainly more efficiently than Skanks had managed. The man looked terrified to see a massive Caledonian warlord hurtling toward him.

When Sootriman skidded to a halt less than half a meter from Skanks’s face, the man held his hands up, trembling. “Please,” he said in a pleading tone. “Please don’t hurt me.”

She grabbed him by the collar. “You wanna run that by me again, you little piece of subcutaneous splick?”

“I was just doing what I was told.”

For a man who had evaded her for most of the last five minutes, he wasn’t putting up much of a fight. Then again, she was pretty winded herself. But that’s when Sootriman noticed the growing pool of blood beneath him.

Her arms tired, Sootriman saw a metal rod protruding at head height from the side of a generator shed, and hoisted Skanks up so that the back of his shirt went over the peg. “You bomb those civilians?”

Skanks’s eyes went wide. “Listen, lady. I—”

She backhanded him. Lady? No one called her lady on Ki Nar Four, not even people who hated her. Which means he’s not from Ki Nar Four, she concluded.

“Do you even know who you’re talking to right now?” Sootriman asked.

“The police? I dunno. Listen, I’m gonna bleed out here in a sec if you don’t—”

“I ain’t doing splick for you, Skanks.”

“Skanks?”

“You have the nerve to come to my planet, bomb my city, and you don’t even know who the boss is here?”

“Sure, I do. I’m not that stupid. It’s Sootriman.”

Sootriman put a hand on her sweaty hip, sucking air like it was her job. “Were you expecting someone else?”

“Aw, splick. You’re Sootriman.”

“And you’re gonna tell me who you’re working for,” she replied.

“Listen. Sootriman. I can explain.”

She pressed the barrel of her weapon under his chin and pushed.

“Whoa, whoa,” Skanks said, his face pointed toward the sky.

“Start explaining like your life depends on it.” She sniffed. “’Cause it does, freak.”

“We were sent to do a job. That’s all. Pay was good. Real good. All we needed to do was set off six or seven bombs on a small hell-ho—”

She pressed the gun further into the soft tissue of his chin.

“Holiday vacation planet. Then we leave evidence connecting it to some rebel nationalists. Now can you let me down? I’m getting kinda—kinda light-headed up here.”

Just then, TO-96’s voice crackled over Sootriman’s comm. “My queen. Are you there?”

Sootriman backed away from Skanks but kept her V pointed at his head. “Go for Sootriman.”

“Yes, well, I have some critical news to report.”

“You get something out of that other bastard?”

“If by get something out you mean internal organs and fluids, then yes, I was quite successful. Astonishingly so.”

Sootriman furrowed her brow. “Come again, ’Six?”

“Our terrorist took a rather long fall from a crane.”

“Dammit.”

“The good news, however, is that I did manage to recover part of his shirt. The bad news is that if you wish to solicit any information from these terrorists regarding the bombing, yours is our last hope.”

Sootriman looked at the man hanging from the peg and noticed blood running down the side of the shed. “Great. Just great.”

“Ah. I am elated to hear that you are so enthusiastic about your prospects. I was beginning to worry that our chances of success were dwindling rather rapidly.”

Sootriman tapped her in-ear comm off and then looked back at her last hope of getting intel. “Last question, Skanks.”

He winced. “Who the hell is Skanks?”

“Who sent you?”

“I can’t tell you.”

Sootriman pressed the gun back under his chin. “Can’t or won’t?”

“They said I wouldn’t get paid if I snitch.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Somehow, I don’t think you’re spending your earnings anytime soon.”

“Maybe not.” He coughed twice, which sent a look of pain across his face. “But my kid’s gonna need it.”

“Kid?” Sootriman let out a disgusted sound. “You’re a damned idiot. You know that? You got a kid, and you pull this sort of splick?”

“Gets tougher to make a living every cycle.”

“You tell me who you work for, and I ain’t saying you snitched.”

“They’ll know.”

“How?” She looked him up and down. “You bugged?”

Skanks coughed again, then shook his head. “They see everything. They’ll know.”

“I control the airspace here.”

Skanks closed his eyes and swallowed. He was getting weaker. “They’re spooks. Mystics.”

“Mystics?” Sootriman lowered the gun. “What do you mean, mystics?”

Skanks mumbled something, but she couldn’t make it out. He said it again, but still not loud enough. So Sootriman leaned her ear toward his mouth.

Suddenly, Skanks’s brain blew out the side of his head.

Sootriman screamed and jumped back, pistol raised. The man’s corpse hung limp, and a knife fell from a third hand behind his back, clattering to the ground.

“What in the hell is going on?” Sootriman yelled, looking around.

“You almost got gutted,” said a slurred voice from behind a string of drying laundry. “Like a druther snout fish.”

Sootriman turned her weapon toward the voice, thinking that it sounded strangely familiar. “Come out!”

“If there are two things I’ve learned,” the man said, possibly intoxicated. “It’s that you can’t trust a Tridithol’s third arm.”

“And the other?” Sootriman said, recognition dawning on her.

“You can always trust a Nimprinth to shoot first.”

Sootriman lowered her weapon. “Get out here, husband, before I shoot first.”

* * *

Ezo, TO-96, and Dimitrius stood over the duffle bag as Sootriman emptied its contents, one item at a time. Just as she’d suspected—based on Skanks’s testimony—the three-man team hadn’t planted all their bombs. Sootriman placed the four unused IEDs on the roof, careful not to do anything stupid.

“I do believe the explosives are stable, my queen,” TO-96 said. “You have little to fear.”

“Never hurts to take one’s time when it comes to bombs, ’Six,” she replied.

“Understood, ma’am.”

As Sootriman continued to remove more items, looking for clues, she overheard TO-96 speak to Ezo. “Feeling more clearheaded, sir?”

“Hardly,” Ezo replied. “And one hell of a headache too.”

“I must say that I’m quite surprised to see you here. I was under the assumption that you were passed out.”

“I was until something knocked me out of bed. When I went to look for everyone, you were all gone. So I tracked you.”

“An intuitive line of thinking, sir.”

Sootriman paused and looked up from the sac. “Hold on, love. TO-96 and I split up. How’d you find me?”

“I already told you,” Ezo said, pointing a finger at her—but not quite at her. “Tracker.”

“You put a tracker on me?” Sootriman stood up to smell his breath. “And you’re still drunk.”

“Maybe.”

“You blew that guy’s brains out drunk? With my head next to his?” She was pissed.

“I never miss.”

“That could have been my head, husband.”

“Negative.”

“Negative?”

“Negative. Your head’s too big.”

Dimitrius and TO-96 both turned to look at Ezo. But the man protested with upturned palms. “What?”

“We’re going to talk,” Sootriman said.

“Am I in trouble?”

“Yes,” everyone replied as one.

Sootriman returned to the bag and pulled out a small data card—an expensive one. Its transparent body glowed a soft yellow, and the gold endcap had a beaded lanyard running through an eyelet. “Looks like somebody forgot to get rid of something important.”

“That’s a fairly high-end piece of hardware if you ask me,” said Dimitrius.

“I concur with Dimitrius’s conclusion,” TO-96 said. “That is an optical matrix data key, manufactured by Universal Data Solutions—UDS for short—and boasts a staggering—”

“Can you read it?” Sootriman asked, handing it to TO-96.

The bot examined the device. “It may take some time, depending on the encryption. But, yes. My maker has provided me with a drive-reader for this type of key.”

“Of course I did,” Ezo said.

When TO-96 remained standing still, Sootriman flicked two fingers at the slot in his torso. “You wanna start now?”

“Ah, yes. Very good.” TO-96 inserted the key card into his abdomen, and several LEDs began glowing. “This may take several moments.”

“Sounds good.” Sootriman looked at Dimitrius. “Why don’t you get back to your teams. See if the riot has been quelled. We can make it back to the den just fine.”

“As you wish, your highness.” He gave her a quick bow. “I’ll leave you the transport.”

“Negative. You take it. I’ll have something sent for us.”

“Understood.” Then Dimitrius headed back the way he’d come and disappeared over the next building.

Sootriman pulled Ezo a couple of meters from TO-96. She took her husband’s hand. “Listen, Ezo. I know these last few weeks have been hard on you.”

“Nonsense,” he said. “I’ve loved being back here with you.”

“You’re drunk.”

“Mildly.”

“And you’ve been drunk almost every day since we’ve been here. I’ve received complaints from at least four cantinas that you’ve started fights—”

“I’ll have you know that Ezo only started two of those.” Ezo held up three fingers.

“I don’t care if you started all of them. The fact is, this is not a good place for you, and I can’t help feeling that it’s my fault.”

“It’s not your fault, love. It’s mine.”

“How so?”

“I should be out there. Among the stars. On ships that take me out there, among the stars. Instead, I’m trapped here with nothing to do while you do queen things.”

“So, you’re basically saying it’s my fault.”

Ezo blinked several times.

“Dammit, Ezo.” Sootriman doubted he’d even remember this conversation. Then, to herself, she said, “This was a mistake.”

But Ezo caught her by the arm just as she turned away. “I’m saying that maybe this is why we didn’t make it together the first time. Leading people, managing things that need managing—it’s in your blood. You’re royalty. And me?” He pushed a floppy finger against his chest. “I’m just an island boy who likes sailing.”

She wanted to refute his points—to tell him that he wasn’t thinking clearly and didn’t know what he was talking about. But, the fact was, even despite his inebriated state, he was thinking clearly. She’d had the very same thoughts many times before. So much so that she knew a moment like this was inevitable. But they’d get through it. They’d figure something out that let them both be who they were.

Right?

“My queen,” TO-96 said. “I believe I have two items of interest for your consideration.”

Sootriman stared at Ezo a moment longer, put a hand to his cheek, and then turned to TO-96. “Show me what you’ve got, ’Six.”

24

Nevel’s intel had been accurate.

Governor Emery Wade had arrived from Deltaurus Three, as expected, and met with Commodore Seaman in Admiral’s Hall. Had Seaman not seen Nevel’s video, he never would have guessed that Wade was planning to betray his commitments to the Neo Republic. The man was as calm as a Frondothian glacier bear on sedatives.

How Wade was able to lie to Seaman’s face for over two hours was beyond him. Maybe it was the fine Gundonium bratch they’d sipped. Maybe it was the fresh night air that filled the luxurious office suite in Admiral’s Hall. Or maybe it was that So-Elku had so entwined his Luma fingers into the man’s brain that his moral compass had been completely corrupted.

You son of a bitch, Seaman thought as the conversation entered its third hour.

When Seaman had finally tired of all the handshaking and head-nodding, all the vows to uphold and protect the Neo Republic’s new charter, he leaned forward and told Wade that he had one final thing to cover before their meeting concluded. The governor seemed only too happy to comply. But as the video of Wade’s secret meeting with So-Elku played in a holo projection over the coffee table, Seaman saw Wade’s countenance turn pale.

“I think I’ll be going now,” Wade said as he put his glass down and stood.

“You most certainly will,” Seaman replied and waved a hand above his head. The office suite’s doors slid apart and in walked five Marines in black Mark VII combat armor, MAR30 blasters drawn.

Seaman stood and met Wade’s eyes with a defiant stare. “Governor Emery Wade, on account of your treasonous acts, you are hereby remanded into the custody of the Neo Republic until such time as a judicial body can hear the case against you.”

“Don’t you understand that you’re doomed, David?” Wade said. “It’s crumbling all around you, and you don’t even know it. But with Luma, there’s a chance, a chance for something new. Something better. If you’d only join us.”

“Get him out of here,” Seaman said to the Marines.

Two Marines grabbed Wade by the arms and jerked him toward the door.

“I can walk myself, thank you very much.” Wade tried wresting his arms from his captors, but the Marines didn’t budge. Wade looked over his shoulder. “You’re doomed, Seaman! It’s all coming down. Get out while you still can.”

* * *

Seaman settled back into the leather chair and picked up the remains of his bratch. He swirled the amber liquid, staring through the bottom of the glass, as he listened to Wade’s shouts fade away down the hallway.

All of this felt so strange. Like he was living in some awful nightmare, half expecting to wake up any second and have everything go back to normal.

“But you’re not, David,” he said to himself. “You’re definitely not asleep.”

He downed the rest of the drink in a single gulp and laid his head back, still playing with the glass in one hand. Maybe he needed to take a few days off to rest his nerves. Lani had told him as much. But no, there was too much to be done. There was an entire Republic to rebuild, and, so far, it wasn’t off to a great start.

“Who are you kidding, David? You’re not a politician.” He looked at the glass and rolled it between his fingers. “You’re a damned sailor.”

He wasn’t sure who had decided to put the highest-ranking naval commander in charge, should everything go to hell like this. But whoever the dimwit was, they probably never imagined a galactic contingency plan looking so dire. Had they known how it would have all gone down, they would have picked someone else, surely.

Seaman’s holo pad trilled. It was DiAntora. He swiped open the call, and her face appeared a few centimeters above the tablet. “Hi, Lani.”

“David. How’d it go?”

He rubbed a hand over his face and sighed. “Um, good. I mean—the attaché’s intel was right.”

“Wade admitted it?”

“He folded the second the video ended.”

Lani gave Seaman a look with one wide eye. “That fast?”

“I mean, it’s pretty damning evidence.”

“True. But you think he’d at least try to play it down or something.”

“The opposite,” Seaman said, waving his empty glass through the air. “Tried to tell me everything here’s falling apart and to join him.”

“What a fool.”

But Seaman gave her a questioning look.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked.

“What?”

“That look you just gave me.”

“What look?”

She puffed her cheeks out. “That look that just said you’re not so sure he’s a fool.”

“Well. I’m not.”

DiAntora eyed him.

“What? I’m not. Isn’t he right? Isn’t everything crumbling all around us?”

“David. Look around you.”

He huffed and put his arms out. “I am, and that’s the problem.”

“Yes, the Republic has suffered catastrophic losses. But you managed to salvage what you could of the fleets, rescue millions of survivors from a devastated planet, and now you’re consolidating resources and weeding out subversive agents. I’m not sure what more you expected of yourself.” Then DiAntora gave him a look that said he should know all of this already—like it was common knowledge as clear as the fur on her face.

But it wasn’t, at least not to him.

“You have a nice way of putting it.”

“It’s not a nice way of putting it, David. It’s the truth.”

He sighed, lowered his head, and massaged the back of his neck. He needed more than a stiff drink. He needed a break.

“Listen,” she said, lowering her voice. “I rented a cabin outside of the city.”

Seaman looked up, curious where this was going.

“Come join me,” she said.

“Lani, I—”

“And before you say you can’t, just know that you can still manage things from up here during the day. You just have to promise that at night, you’re mine.”

Seaman stared slack-jawed at the display, blinking several times. If the news of Wade’s defection had caught him off guard, this conversation left him completely speechless. Was this really happening right now?

“Lani”—he glanced around the room—“if anyone finds out.”

“No one’s going to find out. I rented it in your name.”

He sighed.

“I’m sending the address now. See you soon.”

* * *

The following night, Seaman stood on the back deck of the hillside cabin. Lani had been right. He’d needed to get away, if for nothing more than to clear his head. It didn’t hurt that DiAntora had made good on her promise. A completely unprofessional promise, he reminded himself. But one he couldn’t see court-martialing her over. These were, after all, strange times, and who really knew what the rules were right now anyway?

And it’s precisely that kind of loose thinking that’s going to grind what remains of the Republic into oblivion, he reminded himself. But it was also nice being up here, being alone with DiAntora—no, with Lani. So, a few more days of this, and then it’s over. You’re in shock. You’re managing an intergalactic crisis—it’s just a coping mechanism. You’ll get through it. Cut it off with DiAntora in a few days, and then everything goes back to normal.

Seaman took a deep breath, aware of the night sounds all around the cabin—roosting birds, restless insects, and a steady mountain stream echoing through the pines. Far to the south lay the lights of Qintar City, warming the night sky like a space nebula full of stars. This far away, the city was so quiet. And surrounding the metropolis lay the endless patches of survivor settlements, lit by orange-colored work lights.

So many people, he thought. All counting on me. How had he gotten here anyway? One minute he was overseeing Strategic Fighter Command, the next he was in charge of salvaging the remains of a decimated Republic.

“Everything okay?” came a purring voice from just inside the cabin.

“Can’t sleep.”

Lani crossed the deck and came up behind him, her warmth wrapping around his bare back like a blanket. “I can help with that.”

“I’m sure you can.” He chuckled, but then his thoughts seemed to pull him back with a gravity he could not resist.

“What is it, David?”

He took another deep breath and felt her body rise and fall behind him. “They’ve got the wrong guy.”

She peered at him from over his shoulder. “Wade?”

“No. Me.”

“Ah, I see what this is. More self-loathing and professional sabotage?”

He chuckled once. “Something like that.”

Lani crept under his arm but still managed to keep herself wrapped around him. “You want my credit’s worth of perspective on it?”

“Are Galactic Credits even worth anything anymore?”

She punched his chest. “I mean it.”

“Sure. Let’s hear it.”

“No one’s the right person for the job.”

Seaman squinted down at her sincere-looking face. “Well, that’s a confidence booster.”

“What I mean is that it’s an impossible job. No one can do it. But the fact that you’re willing? That you’re operating way outside of your comfort zone? That speaks to your love of the Republic. And, more than that, it speaks to your dedication to order amidst a galaxy that always seems to be one bad decision away from chaos.”

“And that’s supposed to help me somehow?”

“It means you’re the right person for an impossible task. And every step you take in the right direction, that’s one more impossible feat that no one believed could be accomplished. So, yeah, that’s supposed to help you.”

He sighed and then hugged her. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I still can’t make sense of Wade’s betrayal,” Seaman said after a minute.

“Hold on,” DiAntora said. “You hear that?”

Seaman looked down at her then tilted his right ear up. “Hear what?”

“The insects. They’ve—”

“Gone silent.” Splick, now he did hear what DiAntora was noticing. “Birds too.”

“Yeah,” she said, pulling herself away. “Something’s not right.”

Besides his boxers, the only other thing Seaman had on him was his wrist comm. Following a hunch, he swiped it open and pulled the cabin’s security system—specifically, the motion sensor grid around the property. It was one of the civilian models that used some of the Repub’s older military-grade hardware, just dressed up with a more friendly UI and swanky branding. But it still did the trick. That was if it had been online.

“Splick,” he said, then showed DiAntora the readout.

“Remote sensors not detected?” she said, reading the warning prompt aloud. “But why would—”

The railing to Seaman’s left exploded in a ball of fire, knocking him and DiAntora sideways. Where she managed to roll and land on her feet, Seaman skidded across the deck and slammed into a stone bench.

“Get inside,” he yelled as he scrambled to his feet. But DiAntora was already a few steps ahead of him and heading toward the bedroom where they’d both left their sidearms.

No sooner had he ducked inside the cabin’s windowplex glass doors than another explosion blew a hole in the deck where he’d stood a second before. Chunks of flaming wood cracked the glass as Seaman darted for the bedroom. By the time he was halfway down the hallway, however, DiAntora had arrived and tossed him his pistol.

“Thanks,” he said.

“I hope you still remember how to shoot, Commodore.”

He racked a round in the energy chamber. “I think I remember a thing or two.”

A third explosion tore through the glass doors and detonated in the rustic-style living room. Up until this point, Seaman had assumed the ordnance coming at them had been the traditional sort. Shoulder mounted detonator launcher, maybe VODs tossed over the railing. But there wasn’t anything conventional about the beam of energy that broke through the doors and blew a hole in the living room floor.

“Back, back, back,” Seaman yelled, ordering DiAntora into the bedroom.

“What is that?” she asked, turning to face him as he closed the door and swiped it sealed with the control pad. It wouldn’t hold against whatever that was, but it would keep them hidden from intruders until Seaman could think of something.

“Some sort of energy cannon is my guess.” He raised his wrist comm again and opened a channel to his new office in Admiral’s Hall. Rather than wait for anyone to pick up, as everyone would be sleeping at this hour, Seaman left a video message marked Emergency. “Red alert. I am under attack, off Lakeside Parkway. Immediate assistance required. Coordinates attached.”

Seaman then stepped into the bathroom and eyed the single floor to ceiling window.

“That’s not like any energy cannon I’ve ever seen,” DiAntora said, watching the bedroom door.

“Me neither. Stand back.” He raised his pistol and fired once at the window. It burst into the night air, providing a ground-level escape to the building’s east side. “Run.”

DiAntora slid through the narrow slit and almost instantly disappeared into the darkness. The Sekmit species had notoriously good night vision, which Seaman was counting on if they were going to get clear of the cabin without the use of flashlights.

They’d only made it a few meters into a side lawn when the bedroom blew out the side of the cabin. The blast knocked Seaman to the ground, but he regained his feet quickly. “Something tells me the Repub is frowning on our off-books getaway,” he yelled, ears ringing.

“That’s not Repub.” She helped him to his feet, and they started running across the lawn and into the woods.

“What do you mean that’s not Repub? Who else makes something—”

“Shut up and run.” DiAntora yanked his arm as she sprinted toward the tree line.

They had barely made it into the woods when a fifth blast turned the entire eastern half of the cabin into a fireball, black smoke billowing into the starlit sky.

“Ho-ly-splick,” Seaman said in three distinct syllables.

“Don’t stop, David.”

He felt her tug on him, harder this time, as if she were terrified. Granted, he was afraid. But there was something about DiAntora that was different. Something frantic.

They continued running for several minutes, crossing two streams, and beating up a steep embankment, until finally DiAntora pulled him into a cluster of boulders.

“We’ll be safe in here,” she said. “Just give me a moment.”

“Safe?” Seaman looked back over his shoulder and made to stand up when she pulled him back down. “What the hell’s going on, Lani? What do you know that I don’t?”

“I just need to focus. Give me a second.”

“Focus?” He looked over his shoulder again, but DiAntora still clutched his arm with a rock-solid grip. He wasn’t going anywhere unless he wanted his bicep shredded.

“Okay.” She let out a long breath. “We’re good.”

“We’re good,” he repeated without enthusiasm. “And that’s because?”

DiAntora sighed. “Because I’ve hidden our presence in the Unity.”

“And that helps why?”

“Whoever is hunting us? They’re Luma, David. And they want you dead.”

* * *

By the time Seaman and DiAntora made it out of the woods, the cabin, what little remained of it, was swarming with security forces. Marines were dispatched to guard the Commodore and his “unidentified mistress” while they made their way to several shuttles that idled on the front lawn.

Seaman ordered DiAntora flown to one of Qintar City’s municipal hospitals in her own emergency transport. DiAntora fought him, of course, insisting that she was fine and needed to stay with him, but that was out of the question. The whole point of sending her to a municipal hospital was that there would be no military record of her stay, and no connection back to this event. She’d be able to get back on post through standard checkpoints, thus keeping their tryst a secret. He, on the other hand, had an urgent matter to attend to.

The flight crew provided him a basic pilot’s uniform and a pair of boots. Everything fit well enough. He eventually rejoined the flight crew on the bridge just as the pilot set down outside Admiral’s Hall in a designated landing zone on the west lawn. Unlike a typical evening, however, the grounds were filled with military emergency vehicles, including fire, police, and security.

“What the hell is going on, Captain?” Seaman yelled as Wainwright greeted him outside the idling shuttle.

“Sorry to pull you from your R&R, Commodore,” Wainwright said.

“The property was overrated anyway. Claimed to offer endless peace and quiet.” Seaman nodded at the building. “What’s going on?”

“We suspect that whoever hit your cabin also hit the brig in a coordinated attack.”

Seaman slowed and looked Wainwright in the eye. “The brig?”

“Yes, sir. One prisoner in particular.”

“Wade.”

Wainwright nodded.

“Son of a bitch,” Seaman said.

He followed Wainwright into a side entrance, past two patrols of Marines, and down three flights of stairs to the detention level. Fits of sparks spit from open conduits, showering the hallway in light. Significant burn marks on the walls and ceiling, along with craters carved out of the blastcrete, reminded Seaman of the same firepower that had decimated the cabin. He also noticed bits of Repub body armor and the smell of charred flesh.

“How many troopers did you lose?” Seaman asked as a team of security guards let them pass through a blown-out doorway.

“Eight,” Wainwright said with no attempt to hide his disgust.

“Splick.”

“Recon too,” Wainwright added. “Hit right during a changeover.”

Seaman cursed as they stepped into a cellblock. Like the main hallway, it had suffered massive blast damage. “You know what caused this?” Seaman asked, even though he’d been assured by DiAntora precisely who’d done this and how.

“Negative,” Wainwright said. “All witnesses were killed, and all security feeds were terminated at the same time.” He shook his head. “I’m telling ya, Commodore. Whoever did this? It was well funded, well planned, and perfectly executed. In and out, violence of force, and they covered their tracks with—well, with all this.” Wainwright motioned at the wreckage.

Seaman studied the cellblock, or at least what was left of it. The entire wing looked like someone had pissed off a fire-breathing Boresian taursar and then let it loose.

“Killed sixteen prisoners too,” Wainwright said. “Political dissidents, mostly. Anyway, whoever did this knew right where to hit us, and they got away without a trace.”

“No, they didn’t,” Seaman said, eyes studying the emergency crews who were still putting out electrical fires.

“Say that again?” Wainwright asked.

“I know who did it. It was the Luma.”

If someone had told Wainwright his mother was a serial killer, Seaman guessed the look wouldn’t have been any different. “Are you sure, Commodore?” Then he thought better of his question. “Begging your pardon, sir.”

“It’s fine. And yes, I’m certain. My flag captain has determined the enemy was using the Unity to do all this and then hide their tracks.”

“But if their tracks were covered, how can you—your captain—know it was them?”

“Because she’s a Unity user too.”

“Luma?”

“Negative. Sekmit.”

Wainright furrowed his brow. “I didn’t know they were, well—”

“Neither did I, Captain. But they are, and powerful at that—as far as I’m told. Which was one thing the Luma didn’t account for in their plan. They destroyed everything that could tie this to them, save one Lani DiAntora.” It wasn’t the first time Seaman had been grateful for the woman, and he knew it wouldn’t be the last.

“Then it seems we have a new enemy on the horizon,” Wainright said, stroking the top of his MAR30. “Never did trust those bastards.”

“No. And we never will again.”

PART III

25

Rohoar stood atop the mwadim’s dais with his arms crossed and chest out as Mahkmaim and his cohort of five warrior-guards approached. The Selskrit champion was almost two heads taller than Rohoar with shoulders twice as wide. While such size was unusual for the normally scrawnier Selskrit, it was not unheard of. Rohoar knew the story of one Selskrit champion who faced his great grandsire in the singotha “throne rights” contest. The challenger was more than two heads taller than Rohoar’s forefather, with paws the size of the mwadim’s face. Still, Rohoar’s great grandsire prevailed, and the Tawnhack remained atop the throne platform.

While Mahkmaim was physically superior, he was far less attractive—or so Rohoar had been told by several females. The challenger’s elongated snout, thinning pale hair, and vein-covered muscles certainly seemed repulsive to Rohoar. Old scars covered his flesh, with several along his face, and he wore a disheveled blood-red cape. But this wasn’t a contest of looks—or body scents, Rohoar added to himself, noting Mahkmaim’s pungent odor wafting up the dais.

“I am Mahkmaim, Mwadim of the Selskrit,” he said with a loud voice for the sake of all those gathered.

Several Jujari barked, chiding Mahkmaim for his misuse of the sacred title.

“Imposter,” someone yelled.

“Heresy,” cried another.

Mahkmaim turned for all to hear, still wearing a blood-red cape over his shoulders. “I have come for the singotha, to challenge Rohoar of the Tawnhack for the platform in the mortal contest of throne rights.”

Several more Jujari hissed and sneered at Mahkmaim.

“The challenger has not used the mwadim’s title!” yelled one person.

Others echoed the same sentiments with, “He dishonors the throne,” and “Send him away!”

But Rohoar raised a paw to silence the crowd. He knew that Mahkmaim had omitted the title because the Selskrit did not acknowledge the Tawnhack’s age-old claim to the throne. Instead, they purported to have been unjustly dethroned centuries before, and only recognized their own bloodline. But rather than play into the enemy’s taunting, Rohoar simply used it against him. “Mwadim Rohoar sees you, Mahkmaim, bastard son of the Selskrit.”

Mahkmaim and his men growled at the insult while yips and howls went up from the crowd.

Rohoar ordered the rooftop crowd to be silent and then eyed Mahkmaim. “In keeping with the tradition of our forebears—”

“Your forebears, maybe,” Mahkmaim interrupted.

More hisses and snarls came from the audience. But Rohoar settled them with a raised paw. “Mwadim Rohoar must inquire if the other pack leaders have had their chance to field challengers for the singotha.”

“The Dingfang yield,” said the pack chief.

“Clawnip yield.”

“Snarpaw, no contest.”

“Duneriders”—one of two late arrivals to the proceedings—“yield.”

“Horock.” The other latecomers. “We also yield.”

“Then the singotha primthora has been satisfied,” Rohoar said. “The ritual death fight will commence in one hour—”

“Let us begin now,” Mahkmaim snarled and threw off his cape. “Why wait?”

“Mahkmaim, the way of our—”

“The way of your ancestors is not the same as ours.” Mahkmaim spat on the ground, which brought on more shouts and jeers from the crowd.

“As you wish,” Rohoar said. The people looked at Rohoar, aghast. But Rohoar paid them no heed and descended the dais—one careful step at a time.

The other pack leaders pushed their people back to the roof’s edges until the widest space possible had been cleared for the deathmatch. Mahkmaim turned and began speaking to his blood wolf. That’s when Rohoar realized he had not yet named a blood wolf since Victorio had died in battle. He walked toward Mora and his fellow gladia.

“Czyz,” Rohoar said.

“Yes, my mwadim.”

“Rohoar names you his sorgil, forever his blood wolf until death.”

Czyz blinked twice, presumably in stunned amazement, and then lowered his head and bared his neck. “Thank you, my mwadim. Should you fall in combat, I accept the death obligations.” Aside from being the mwadim’s closest advisor and battle chief, a blood wolf was charged with wiping every drop of his master’s blood from the field of battle—wherever it may be.

“Thank you.” The Rohoar turned to Mora.

“You face a difficult opponent,” she said. “I doubt you will win.”

“Rohoar agrees,” he replied. Rohoar was grateful that she didn’t try and talk him out of the match, nor did she try to inflate his ego or give him a false testimony. Instead, she spoke the truth as she saw it, and her words meant more to him than she could ever know.

“If you are to win, you must be faster, smarter.” Mora stared into Rohoar’s eyes without blinking. “You must stay clear of him at all costs. He is the larger foe, so tire him out. And when you strike, you must be certain. He will seize any faltering attempts. Your strikes must be true. Every one must count.”

“Rohoar understands.”

She walloped him on the side of the head. “Do you, Mwadim Rohoar?”

Rohoar pulled back and shook the motes of light from his vision. Mora’s blow hurt more than he cared to admit. “Rohoar understands.”

“Good. Because that is nothing compared to how Mahkmaim will hit you.”

“Right.”

“So that was to remind you of death.”

“Death.” Rohoar took a deep breath and began shifting his weight from one foot to the other and back. Then he summoned his strength and let out a wild howl while flexing his arms and chest. When the sound had died, he sniffed the air. “Death, yes. I smell it.”

Just then, Mora hit him again—even harder. Rohoar’s vision went black along the edges. More stars danced across his wife’s face. “What was that for?”

“To remind you to stay alive. If you don’t, I will slay you myself.”

“Stay alive.” Rohoar blinked and then tried moving his feet again. The action took a moment to come back, but within another few seconds, his mind was clear and his body was ready.

Rohoar turned and looked across the rooftop. Mahkmaim threw his head side to side, snarling, spitting, and slamming his fists on his thighs in a series of heavy blows.

“Keep moving and tire him out,” Mora said as the crowd began to cheer.

“Stay moving and tire him out,” Rohoar repeated, loosening his neck and shoulders. “Rohoar understands.” The Jujari would have one mwadim by dawn, and one corpse to burn by dusk.

“Good. Now, go defend your throne, Rohoar. And kill this imposter.”

26

“Please don’t go,” Piper said in that little voice that made Magnus wish he had kids of his own.

Magnus knelt to get eye level with her. “Listen, Piper. I have—”

“A job to do. I know. But don’t.”

Magnus looked up at Awen. She was decked out in Azelon’s new Mark II stealth armor and looked as gorgeous as he’d ever seen her. Though he knew whatever she had on underneath would undoubtedly give this look a run for its credits. According to the plan, she’d ditch her suit once she was at the mansion’s lawn, and then she’d play the part of a slightly inebriated party guest. For now, however, while they were getting suited up inside Minx’s version of a war room, Awen was all business.

“Hug her,” Awen mouthed, then mimed the action of an embrace.

Right, Magnus thought. “Com’ere, kid.” He tried to pull Piper into his arms, but the little girl wouldn’t budge. In fact, she even shrugged off his hand.

“No.” Piper crossed her arms. “It’s not safe for you.”

“Nothing in my line of work is safe, kid.”

“But this one is different, Mr. Lieutenant Magnus, sir. Something’s coming.”

Magnus raised an eyebrow, then looked back at Awen. Hell, if all kids were this ominous, maybe he didn’t want them after all.

Awen shrugged.

“The Unity tells me so,” Piper added.

This seemed to get Awen’s attention. She joined Magnus and crouched in front of Piper. “Have you seen something in the Unity?”

“Uh-huh.” Piper nodded. “In the Nexus.”

Magnus looked at Awen. “Isn’t that the place—”

“Yup,” said Awen without taking her eyes off Piper.

“And you’re letting her—”

“We are.”

“But she’s—”

“Strong enough to handle it, Magnus. Let it go.”

He sighed. “Hard copy.”

Just then, Azelon stepped into the conversation. She arrived in Fînta a few hours before to hand deliver the assault team’s new toys, wishing to be onsite when everyone got outfitted. “It is worth noting that the Novia Minoosh have detected anomalies within the Unity.”

“Anomalies?” Magnus asked, looking up at the bot. The conversation had caught a few of the other leaders’ attention, including Colonel Caldwell’s. Everyone seemed to be doing their best to look disinterested, but Magnus knew better. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Think of them like vibrations,” Awen said. “Energy waves following an unseen event. Like, picture a—a stone in a pond, but you have a limited view of the water. You can’t see the stone hit, but you can see the ripples from the impact.”

“And that’s what Piper’s seen?” he asked Awen. But the Elonian gestured back to the child as if to say, “I don’t know. Ask her.” So he turned his attention to Piper and asked her as much.

“I just know something bad is coming,” Piper replied. “Someone.”

“Someone?” This was different now. “What do you mean, someone, Piper?”

“I don’t know.” Piper put her hand on her head like she was confused. “I can’t see his face. There’s, maybe, more than one. Lots of them.”

“Lots of them?” Magnus looked to Awen. “What does this mean?” Then back to Piper. “What are you talking about?”

“I can’t see them all. I can’t.”

“Awen,” Magnus said. “If this is about intel that pertains to our mission, I need to know now. Right now.”

“I don’t know what she sees,” Awen said.

“Just don’t go, Mr. Lieutenant Magnus, sir. Please.”

Magnus ran a hand down his face. “Unless you give me something more to go on, I’m afraid we have to, kid.”

“No. It’s too dangerous.”

“What’s dangerous about it, Piper? I need something.”

“He’s—they—it’s coming.”

Magnus opened his mouth to speak but then didn’t. He looked to Awen in frustration.

“You don’t believe me, do you,” Piper said, and then began to cry.

“Of course I believe you, but I just need more to go on than vibrations and theys and—”

“Look, now you’re scaring her,” Awen said, pulling Piper into an embrace.

Magnus raised his hands. “But I didn’t do anything.”

“It seems you lack the necessary agency to interface with newly activated humans properly,” Azelon said, examining Magnus like he was a lab rat—at least that’s how her careful up-and-down look made him feel.

Magnus waved a pointed finger at the bot and bit the inside of his cheek. After a second, he thought of something more constructive to say. “Is there anything to what she’s saying, Azie? Any reason to abort the mission?”

“The Novia Minoosh have no definitive conclusions to offer about the anomalies,” Azelon said.

“Piper,” Awen said as she turned the child to face her. “Are you sure that what you’re feeling is about this mission specifically? We trust your premonitions, but when you don’t give us a lot of detail, it’s harder for us to know how to proceed.”

Mystics, she’s good with kids, Magnus thought, then gave Awen a wink.

Piper wiped her face and then shook her head. “I don’t think so. Not for sure, anyway. I’m—I’m just afraid for Mr. Lieutenant Magnus.”

“And you know what?” Awen held the child away from her a little, getting a good look at her face. “It’s okay to be frightened. Healthy fear is what keeps us alive. But we can’t let it stop us from doing what we need to do. And right now? We really need to do this mission. So unless you have something specific, I need you to be strong and let Magnus and the rest of us carry on.”

Piper sighed and dropped her shoulders. “I don’t think it’s this mission. I just don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

“Neither do I, Piper.” Awen pulled the child close and then said to Magnus, “I’m good with going forward.”

“Okay, then. We continue as planned.” He nodded at Awen and then to the doors. “Can you—you know?”

Awen closed her eyes in a knowing smile and then pulled Piper away from her chest. “Piper. Your grandmother needs to see you. She’s waiting in the next room. Think you could—”

“I know I made things awkward,” she said.

“Oh, baby. You—maybe a little. But it’s okay.”

“Just—” Piper bit her lip, seeming to choose her words carefully as she looked between Awen and Magnus. “Don’t get hurt. And keep one eye on the shadows.”

“Now you’re talking like a regular Granther operator. La-raah?”

“La-raah,” Piper said.

Magnus smiled and then noticed Awen give him a stern look. “What?”

“Run along, Piper,” Awen said with a quick pat to the child’s back. Then she glared at Magnus—somewhat playfully? “Granther operator? You want her as an elite, taking down people with an NOV1?”

“Hey, you’re a Granther.”

“Only because you corrupted me.”

“And from where I stand”—he chanced a glance down her skin-tight stealth suit—“it’s a good look.”

Awen punched his chest. “Easy, Turbo.”

“This is one hell of a firearm, Magnus,” Caldwell said from across the room. “What’s Miss Smarty Pants call it?”

Magnus winked at Awen and then turned toward Caldwell. “Nothing crazy, Colonel. It’s just the NOVIA Type 2.”

“NOV2,” Caldwell said while holding up the new blaster. “Sleeker design, variable length stock, suppressor. I like it. What else does it have?”

“Same dual-mag load out at the NOV1,” Magnus replied, pointing to the lower receiver. “But almost twice the efficiency. And, per my request, Azie added a non-lethal mode.”

“You mean, a make’em fall over, wiggle around, and piss their britches mode?”

Magnus grinned. “Couldn’t have said it better myself.” A trill chimed in Magnus’s head, care of his Novia biotech interface. “Go for Magnus.”

“LT?” Dutch said.

“Yeah.”

“We’re finishing up on the new BATRIGs. Rix and Silk say yours and Awen’s should be good to go in the next half hour.”

“Right on schedule,” Magnus replied. “Good work.”

“Azelon made it easy for us.”

“I’ll be sure to let her know.”

“I can hear everything, sir,” Azelon said.

“Of course you can,” Magnus replied with a wink. “Just making sure. Dutch, we’ll be down with the rest of the gear in a few.”

“Copy that.” Dutch signed out, and the channel closed.

“Colonel Caldwell,” Azelon said. “The Spire is receiving an incoming transmission from the Radiant Queen. Would you like me to port it to you?”

Caldwell turned from examining the new NOV2. “Bring it up.”

Three familiar faces filled the holo frame against the room’s far wall. The GU leaders and mission members all turned from their work and greeted Sootriman, Ezo, and TO-96.

“What happened to the Spire, Azelon?” TO-96 said, leaning in toward the camera, presumably for a better look. “I wasn’t aware you were importing wood.”

“We are on Aluross, TO-96,” she replied. “In the town of Fînta. I outlined my intentions to support Magnus’s operation from here during our last transmission.”

“Ah. You did. I failed to realize that the accommodations would be so—rustic.”

“Good to see you three,” Caldwell said, ignoring the bots’ conversation. “What can we do for you?”

“Good to see you too, Colonel,” Sootriman said. “I—we—have decided to rejoin you.”

Caldwell moved his cigar to the other side of his mouth. “Everything okay, queeny?”

“Frankly, no. It’s not, Willy.”

The colonel gave her a half-smile and an elevated bushy eyebrow. “Care to share?”

Sootriman looked at TO-96.

The bot returned her look, then looked back at the colonel, then looked back to Sootriman, then looked—

“Oh, for mystics’ sake, ’Six! Would you share what you discovered?”

“My apologies, my queen. I was not aware that it was my cue.”

“When she gives you that look, it’s always your cue,” Ezo said. “Trust me.”

“Duly noted.” TO-96 turned back to Caldwell. “Firstly, we apprehended one of three suspects who were responsible for a bombing on Gangil.”

“Bombing?” Caldwell said.

Awen stepped forward. “Is everyone alright?”

“We are just fine,” TO-96 said. “As you can clearly observe. However, the city suffered several casualties and dozens of injuries. And that was before the riots began.”

“There were riots too?” Caldwell asked. “Sounds like things are a little out of hand there, queeny.”

“Definitely not what I’d hoped to return to,” Sootriman said. “But that’s not even the point. ’Six?”

TO-96’s eyes flashed once, imitating a blink. “That’s the look, right?” he asked Ezo.

“Yes, that’ s—just keep going.”

“Understood. Colonel, we discovered a data key with information that linked the bombers back to the Luma.”

“Ah, splick,” Caldwell said, more to himself than anyone in particular, it seemed.

“The Luma?” Awen asked. “Are you sure?”

“Quite certain, Miss Awen. While I found several layers of encryption on the card, it eventually yielded a detailed credit disbursement protocol to pay the bombers upon completion of their tasks.”

“Their tasks? Meaning, killing innocent civilians at the request of the Luma?” Awen shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

“Also, to help instigate the riots.” TO-96 held up a finger. “In fact, we now have reason to believe that the entire nationalist movement on Ki Nar Four—”

“Nationalist movement?” Magnus said.

“Yes.”

“Nationalist movement?” He turned to Caldwell. “Strange.”

“I’m sorry to ask this,” TO-96 said. “But are you unable to hear my audio signal there?”

“Your audio is nominal,” Azelon replied. “I think Magnus is having a difficult time keeping up with your well-reasoned stream of logic.”

“I’m not having—I mean—” Magnus rubbed his forehead. Sometimes dealing with the bots could be a total pain in the ass.

Caldwell pulled his cigar out of his mouth. “We weren’t aware there were any contending factions on Ki Nar Four, is all.”

“And there weren’t, at least not until we arrived in the last two weeks,” TO-96 said. “Which leads me back to the second point, that these men were hired to help start riots on Gangil and several other cities.”

“Just three guys?” Magnus asked.

“We have reason to believe there were dozens more operatives. The financial records suggest these men were not operating alone.”

“And you’re sure this is from the Luma?” Awen asked.

“I estimate a likelihood of ninety-six percent, Miss Awen.”

“But I…” She looked back at Magnus, then Caldwell. “I don’t understand. Why would they be willing to do something like that?”

“Because So-Elku’s been working behind the scenes to build some sort of network,” Caldwell said.

“And you know this how?” Awen asked, moving toward him.

“I have a person communicating with someone on the inside,” he replied.

Magnus didn’t doubt the colonel’s loyalties one bit. But hearing that he’d been working on something behind the scenes concerning the Luma didn’t sit well with Magnus, and it clearly wasn’t sitting well with Awen.

“Who is it?” Awen asked, hands on her hips.

“It’s me,” said another woman’s voice. Everyone turned to see Willowood standing in the door.

Awen looked between her mentor and Caldwell a few times.

“I’ve been keeping tabs on So-Elku’s dealings for the Colonel.”

“Why—why didn’t you tell us?” Awen said, placing a hand on her chest.

Magnus could tell she felt hurt. And he might too if the Luma had been his whole life. But then certain things were always above your pay grade, and you just had to be okay with that. Not knowing was part of every job there was, and it seemed that working for the Gladio Umbra was no exception.

Caldwell cleared his throat. “We didn’t tell you because—”

“Because there was nothing to tell yet,” Willowood interrupted as she stepped into the room. “My intel was extremely limited, coming from a contact back in the Order. But even they have been kept in the dark. So there was no point in telling you because, in truth, we don’t actually know what So-Elku is planning, just that he might be developing a small network to fill the power vacuum the Republic’s absence has created, but you already knew this.”

“Oh, it’s much more than just a little vacuum,” Ezo said from the holo feed.

“And that’s why we’re headed your way,” Sootriman said. “If I have any hope of saving Ki Nar Four, it’s going to start and end with stopping So-Elku.”

“I’m not sure I understand,” Caldwell said. “You have something more?”

“Yes, Colonel. Much more.”

“You might want to sit down to watch this,” Ezo said. Then he looked at TO-96. “Play it.”

27

“So this just went from being a mission to help the Sekmit kick the Repub off their planet to keeping the Luma from getting on?” Silk asked as the BATRIGs tromped through the jungle.

“Something like that,” Magnus replied over VNET. He glanced at the topo map in his HUD and noticed the team was making good time. “Let’s keep up the pace, people. Two klicks out.”

Awen, Dutch, Silk, and Rix sent him confirmation pings.

“You think this changes anything, then?” Silk asked.

“Not as far as command thinks.” Magnus switched his mech’s ground impact dampeners to maximum. “Everyone dial up your GID. We don’t want them feeling our approach. As for the op, the new intel just makes our job that much more important. Without a governor to corrupt, the Luma Alliance of Worlds doesn’t have an inroad.”

“And that’s not something they want to join on their own?” Dutch asked.

Magnus felt he knew where her logic was going. He could easily see how this could become a double-cross, where the GU was used to kick one governor out to make room for a new one. But, as far as Magnus knew, that wasn’t going to be the case—not even close.

“The Colonel’s already sent TO-96’s broadcast on to Freya,” Magnus said.

“She pissed?” Rix asked.

It was Awen’s turn to answer a question. “Let’s just say I don’t think the Sekmit will be interested in partnering with the LAW for several centuries, based on the colorful language she used.”

“La-raah,” Rix replied.

“So everything’s still on,” Dutch said.

“On like hotcakes,” Magnus replied. “Slow to twenty-five.”

“Slowing to twenty-five,” everyone called out.

The BATRIGS served the team’s primary approach well. Hover sleds couldn’t make it through the jungle’s dense underbrush, and there wasn’t any plausible reason that let them drive up to the mansion’s front door. Likewise, air insertion wasn’t an option as any landing sites were not only too small but were heavily guarded. Instead, the mechs could move quickly, carried everything they needed, and would also provide heavy covering fire should anything get out of hand.

When the team reached the first waypoint 250 meters out from the north lawn’s edge, Magnus ordered the fireteam to halt and dismount. The BATRIGs were left on sentry mode, and Alpha Team made the rest of the way in on foot.

Comms traffic was nil as Magnus approached the house—its white stone spires and grand archways appearing through gaps in the trees. He made out guards on the upper balcony, main deck, and lower lawn just as expected. When he finally arrived at the edge of the yard, he ordered the unit to hold, hidden behind the trees.

“You’re up,” Magnus said to Awen.

She powered down chameleon mode then removed her helmet and handed it to Magnus. Then she presented her back to him. “Don’t enjoy it too much, Lieutenant.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Magnus unzipped her suit, allowing Awen to peel out of the skin. She emerged wearing a tight-fitting purple dress that matched her eyes. The cut revealed just enough to make onlookers envious, but not enough to give everything away.

“How do I look?”

“On second thought, maybe we should ditch this op,” Magnus replied.

“Don’t you wish.” Awen reached into her utility backpack and withdrew a wine glass and a bottle of champagne. She popped the cork, took a swig of the wine, and then drizzled herself in it. Lastly, she mussed her hair and then picked up a pair of high heels. “Wish me luck.”

“You’re not gonna need it. I don’t even have a thing for Elonians, and I’m already interested.”

“Sure, you don’t.” Then she blew him a kiss and stepped around a tree.

“Boy, does she got you wrapped around her finger,” Rix said.

“That obvious?”

* * *

The moment Awen stepped past the tree line, it was as if she became a different person. She started mumbling to herself in a sing-song tone, and stumbled left, then right, then left again.

It took less than five seconds for the guards to call her out, and less than twenty seconds for two thugs in tuxedos and XM31 subcompact blasters to approach her. Whoever this security detail was, they were good. It didn’t rattle Magnus, but it also meant this wasn’t going to be a walk in the park.

“Ma’am, we’re going to need to ask you to please return to the party,” said one of the two men.

“Return to the party?” Awen replied, her speech slurred to the point that Magnus thought she really was drunk. “I’m not here for the party, you guys.”

“You’re not?”

“She’s not?” Silk said.

“Noooo.” Awen started hiking up the hem of her dress a little.

“Awen,” Magnus said. “What are you—”

“I was here to use the bathroom.” She pointed to her lady parts and then thumbed back at the trees. “I can show you where it is if you need to go too.”

The guards eyed one another, and Magnus gave a soft chuckle.

“Ma’am, we’re going to escort you back to the mansion now, if that’s okay with you.”

“Two dates for the price of one? Pshhh. ’Course it’s fine with me.” She pressed herself into the nearest guard and started fingering the button of his jacket from between her shoes. “Then maybe we can take this off you and see how big and strong you are.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“Er’course it’s nec’esary. Who says it’s not nec’esary? Stupid.”

“I think you’ve got them convinced, Awen,” Magnus said.

“You just don’t want me having any fun,” she said.

“She talking to you or them?” Rix asked.

“Both of you,” Awen replied, stepping between the guards and stumbling toward the house.

“She’s a damn good actress,” Dutch said. “Who knew.”

“Yeah,” Magnus said, suddenly wondering if she’d acted through any aspects of their relationship.

“Always keeping you on your toes,” Awen said, casting a lazy look over her shoulder.

* * *

As soon as Awen was inside the mansion, she dropped the drunk act, summoned everything she had in the way of Elonian sophistication, and asked for the nearest bathroom.

Once inside, she replaced her shoes, ditched the bottle and glass, and went to work on straightening her hair. She also redid her lipstick and eyeliner and then gave her breasts a proper push up. “You got this,” she said.

The truth was, she was terrified. But she couldn’t let Magnus see that. If he were more worried about her than the op, he’d get himself killed, and that wasn’t good for either of them.

Instead, Awen suppressed her fears and decided she could cry about it all if and when she lived through it.

The thought of seducing any man made her cringe. That wasn’t her nature. Either she was attracted to someone, or she wasn’t—she had no desire to “play the field” as some did. And as far as she was concerned, the only man she ever wanted to be with already found her pretty appealing, so she was all set—thank you very much.

So if the thought of seducing a regular guy made her uneasy, trying to catch the eye of a rich and powerful womanizer was one of the worst things Awen could imagine doing with her body—several other options notwithstanding. But she’d drop the man before any of that happened.

Awen had wanted to protest the idea as soon as Magnus suggested it. But she knew right away that it was the best “in” they had. A mark who had a thing for Elonians? And she was quite possibly the only one on Aluross, aside from her parents? There was no way she could say no. This was the job, and lives were depending on her.

The face Awen saw in the mirror was confident, and, if she were honest with herself, beautiful. She would never say as much out loud—hubris and impropriety didn’t look good on anyone. But ever since being with Magnus, she’d grown to appreciate her natural beauty. Because he reminds you almost every time he sees you.

“Yes. You got this, Lonna,” she said, flipping her long black hair over her shoulder.

“Come again?” Magnus asked over VNET.

Awen had forgotten about comms. “I just—the new name, it’s Lonna.”

“Sexy,” Magnus said. “We using that later?”

“Later? No!” Awen gave Magnus a fiery look but then remembered he couldn’t see her face, just the view from the forward-facing contact lens over her left eye.

“Whatever you say, Lonna.”

A toilet flushed in the stall behind Awen. Someone else was in here, which meant she needed to leave. “Heading back to the entry hall.”

* * *

The mansion’s front reception hall entrance was more like the lobby of a luxury hotel than a house. White marble columns held up a dome glass ceiling, and two balcony levels encircled the hall on three sides. Grand staircases led up from the room’s central fountain, and a large platform served as the bandstand for a small ensemble that filled the cavernous space with live music.

“Something to drink, Madame?” said a male server’s voice to her left.

Without looking at him, Awen asked, “What year is it?”

“I beg your pardon?” The man raised an eyebrow.

“What year is the vintage?”

“4168, Madame. It’s a House of—”

“House of Iger, piedmont blend, yes, yes. I can smell it from here. A little pretentious for such a gathering, though, don’t you think?”

“Madame?”

She sighed and then flicked her fingers. “Fine. Hand me one.”

The server took a flute glass off the tray and offered it to her, and then he moved on to the next guest.

“You can be a real bitch,” Magnus said. “You know that?”

“Haven’t even gotten started yet,” Awen replied over the glass’ lip. Then she took a sip, careful not to mar her lipstick.

“Hey, how’d you know what wine they were serving?”

“I already said.” She looked around the room. “I could smell it.”

“You were serious?”

“Mm-hmm. Rich parents meant a big wine cellar.” Awen searched the sea of faces for her mark but still hadn’t seen him yet. The space was full of ladies in elegant dresses and gentlemen in regal tuxedos, each representing a broad cross-section of systems and species. All of the partygoers seemed to be enjoying the elite pastime of schmoozing with one another while ignorantly examining decadent art, the proceeds of which could finance food distribution on any number of war-torn worlds for a year. It made Awen sick to her stomach. She remembered these kinds of parties, the ones her parents were forced to attend on account of their connections with Elonia’s well-funded research biomedical field.

“Mother, please don’t look at me now,” Awen said under breath.

“What was that?” Magnus asked.

“Nothing.”

“You make the mark yet?”

“Negative. Wait—just a second.” There, on the far side of the hall, surrounded by a swarm of shameless patrons whose gaping mouths were stuck producing a continuous stream of chatty laughter, was the man from the dossier. “Got him.”

“How certain?”

“Guy who looks rich enough to buy his own moon and is ogling everything with two bare legs?”

“Sounds like our man,” Dutch said.

“Mission clock’s a’counting, Lonna,” Magnus said.

“Hey, don’t you tell me what to do, man-servant,” Awen replied. “Remember. I can be a real bitch.”

* * *

“I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of meeting yet,” Littleton said from behind Awen.

“That’s probably for the best,” she replied without taking her eyes off a garish painting. She could practically feel Littleton looking up and down her backside, and it sent a chill up her spine.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Littleton replied in a lazy tone. “I think that’s a conclusion we should reach after all possibilities have been exhausted.”

“Let me guess.” Awen took another sip of wine. “You and your wife have agreed not to talk about what happens at the governor’s mansion, and she’s off on a weekend trip with her girlfriends. Meanwhile, you’re lonely and depressed from managing several large accounts. Worse still, generating massive earnings hold no more thrill for you. I, on the other hand, am a bored and desperate widow who is going to fall head over heels for your boyish charms. You take me home, one thing leads to another, and then the next thing you know, we wake up on your private starship somewhere in the Tymoreland Nebula with nothing but hangovers and disappointment. So let’s spare ourselves the trouble and stop it before it even starts, shall we?”

“Bravo. Bravo.” Littleton took a step closer. “There’s only one small item in your summary that I feel is worth correcting.”

“And what’s that?”

He leaned to her ear. “I am home.”

Awen turned around. “Governor Littleton.” She swallowed and then smoothed her dress with one hand. The actions toed the line of being too stunned, which would make her unworthy prey for someone of Littleton’s bearing, and overly interested, which gave hunters the sense that the game was over. Mystery, Awen reminded herself, is at the heart of every great chase.

Awen held out her hand. “A pleasure to meet you.”

“Oh no,” Littleton replied, giving her hand a kiss while inhaling. Was he smelling her? “The pleasure is all mine.”

She pulled her hand away and then waved it at the hall. “It’s a lovely party you’ve thrown. Though I question its timing in light of Capriana Prime’s devastation.”

“But isn’t distraction precisely what the people need at a time like this?”

“I suppose. Still, it is a handsome gathering.”

“It is, yes.” He hadn’t taken his eyes off Awen since arriving behind her. Suddenly, his eyes narrowed. “Though, I don’t recall having any Elonians on the guest list.”

She looked at him directly for the first time, batting her eyelashes. “You profile your guests’ species, Governor?”

He hesitated.

Good, Awen thought.

“No, I—it’s—” He closed his eyes and drew air in through his nose.

As if forcing himself to remain calm in her presence. He really does have a thing for Elonians.

“It’s just that I like to know the customs and cultures of those who are attending my gatherings. I consider it a part of my duty as a representative of the Galactic Republic.”

“And what do you know of Elonian customs and culture, Governor Littleton?”

He moved in closer. “I think you’ll find my knowledge base quite comprehensive, Miss…?”

“Dau Minsinith. Lonna dau Minsinith, if you prefer.”

“Lonna.” He said her name like he was tasting a piece of chocolate cake for the first time. And now you just ruined chocolate cake for yourself forever. Nice.

“We need to get a move on,” Magnus said in her ear. “Mission clock’s ticking.”

Awen looked at her wine glass, swirled the liquid, and then drained it in a single gulp.

Littleton’s eyes widened.

Then Awen threw the glass over her shoulder, not even blinking as the sound of it crashing against the wall frightened several people. “Who am I kidding, Governor? After Capriana, Aluross is probably next. Which means we won’t have any time to regret what we do tonight.”

Littleton’s eyes burned with a fire that made Awen nervous. But this was the job, and Magnus would be there to rescue her before it got out of hand.

“What are you saying? Just so that you and I are both—”

She grabbed a fistful of his shirt and pulled him close. “I’m saying I want a tour of your starship, Governor.”

* * *

The moment Magnus heard Littleton offer to take Awen upstairs, he gave his fire team the green light to head across the lawn. While their suppressed NOV2s would make taking out all four north-side guards a breeze, the bright muzzle flashes and impact sounds alone risked drawing too much attention. Instead, Alpha Team hustled across the lawn and closed on the two garden-level sentries first.

Dutch and Silk approached the opposing men from behind, timing their movements over comms.

“Confirm distance to target,” Dutch asked from the shadow of a trimmed hedge.

“Ten meters,” Silk said, mirroring Dutch’s position on the opposite side of the symmetrical garden.

“Close to five,” Dutch replied. “Keep it smooth.”

A few seconds passed, and both women stepped through a row of urns, being careful to keep their footfalls silent. Even with chameleon mode, the sound of feet on stone was still unmistakable to the trained ear.

“Five meters,” Silk answered after a few seconds.

“Close to takedown.”

“Closing to takedown.”

The two women were in the open now, but visible only on a HUD, thanks to ident tags and frame outlines. Otherwise, not even Magnus would know where they were.

Dutch made it to her target a split second before Silk. She pressed a small high-voltage capacitor of Azelon’s invention against the man’s exposed neck. The device hiccupped, and a little blue spark lit up the flower beds. The guard fell back into Dutch’s arms and wouldn’t remember a thing when he woke up two hours later.

Dutch dragged her mark behind a hedge, and Silk did the same. Then they swept the drag marks with gloved hands. Alpha Team needed to leave as little evidence of their presence as possible if this plan was going to work.

“Tangos down,” Dutch said. “Planting party gifts.”

Magnus watched Dutch slide off her backpack—one made of the same synthetic weave as her suit—and remove a bottle of bratch. She dumped most of it on the man and then set the container on the ground to one side. Silk did the same with her mark. Even if the men tried to tell their bosses that they weren’t drinking on the job, no amount of pleading would get them far enough away from the damning odor wafting up from their suits.

Magnus and Rix were already on the main terrace level, approaching their guards from the rear. Magnus called out the distances and then ordered the takedown. The high-voltage capacitors did their job, and the final two guards were carried down the stairs to join their incapacitated coworkers. Magnus missed the Mark I armor’s servo assist, but the joint movement noise alone would have blown their cover.

“Get his comm,” Magnus said to Rix. They removed both guard’s in-ear devices and held them up to their visors. A sensor scanned the device in Magnus’s hand and then paired it with his helmet.

“All set here,” Rix said.

“Same.” Magnus tossed the device into his pile of men. “Let’s move.”

Alpha Team entered the back veranda glass doors and slipped inside the mansion’s north entryway without a trace. Fortunately, this area of the home seemed closed off to the party—dimly lit and completely quiet. Three balcony levels extended up to a vaulted ceiling and looked out on the back terrace through massive windows. A pair of staircases rose off the main floor and swept up to the first balcony.

Magnus signaled Dutch and Silk to wait by the doors. “ETA four minutes twenty seconds.”

“We’ll be ready for them,” Dutch said, removing her backpack. “Dominate.”

“Liberate,” Magnus replied. He and Rix made their way up one side of the grand stairwell, footfalls padded by a thick burgundy runner. They kept their NOV2s in high-ready position as they turned right at the top of the stairs and proceeded toward a broad set of double doors.

As part of the NOV2’s development, Magnus had asked Azelon for a stun mode. Having to put down so many fellow Marines on Prime, even Paragon ones on the Black Labyrinth, made Magnus wish for a nonlethal means of assault. He had already justified the deaths of every trooper the Gladio Umbra had killed, and he wasn’t about to go back and play head games—not until you’re old and grey, Adonis. But if he could spare lives in the future, he would do so.

Azelon came up with a way to both alter the weapon’s discharge frequency and reduce the amperage. The result was an energy bolt that could short circuit the central nervous system of any known sentient lifeform for up to an hour. A first-degree burn mark, short term memory loss of the incident, and one hell of a headache were the only side effects—ones Magnus knew from having Awen test the weapon out on him. She seemed to have enjoyed the test a little too much.

“Magnus,” Dutch said. “I’ve got a roaming guard coming down the hallway.”

“Leave him. That’s the one we need.”

“Copy that.”

Magnus double-checked Awen’s lens cam to make sure the pair wasn’t in the bedroom yet. Nope—she was still playing cat and mouse with him in a private art gallery, champagne sloshing in a glass as she darted around a display case, giggling. Magnus overheard Littleton mention all the things he was going to do to Lonna when he finally caught her, and it made his skin crawl.

“You’re going to have to catch me first,” Awen said, slurring her speech a little, and then laughing as she took off for a giant brass statue. Then, in a quick and quiet voice, she said, “Are you in?”

“We’re entering his bedroom now,” Magnus replied.

“About time.”

Magnus raised a hand to the control panel beside the sliding wooden doors, hoping they weren’t secure. No sooner had he approached, however, than the panels slid apart on their own. Rix covered the opened doorway with his NOV2 while Magnus poked his head inside.

“How convenient,” Magnus said.

The two operators stepped inside, spread out, and began clearing the room, which included a massive bathroom, a sauna, a walk-in closet that was the size of an apartment Magnus had once rented, and a sitting room off the main bedroom that overlooked the back garden.

“Clear,” Rix said.

Magnus echoed the same.

“South side, report,” said a curt voice over the guard’s comm frequency. Magnus held up a hand to stop Rix, then pointed to his helmet’s ear. Rix nodded in understanding. As luck would have it, the head of security was starting with the southside guards, which made sense, as that was the primary approach for the mansion. It meant that Magnus and Rix could learn the comms protocol for this team in the hopes of sounding like they fit in.

“Section one, clear,” said a deep male voice.

“Section two, clear,” said a woman with a heavy accent. Hearing this made Magnus grateful that they had Dutch and Silk on this op. Not only were they two of the best operators in Granther Company, but their feminine voices would have come in handy if the security detail had used women on any of the sectors—which they had. Just not any currently knocked out in a garden.

“Northside,” said command.

“Section three, clear,” Rix said.

“Section four, clear,” Magnus added.

There was a moment’s hesitation before the man on the other end asked, “Norstock, you okay?”

Magnus and Rix shared a glance as if to say, “Which one of us is Norstock?” But there wasn’t time—they’d have to make it up as they went and hope for the best.

Magnus pointed at his own chest, and Rix nodded, also pointing toward Magnus. “Uh, yeah,” he said, trying to make his voice as average as possible—whatever that meant.

“You sound strange.”

Magnus coughed twice. “Allergies, sir.” Then he faked a sneeze. “Damn garden.”

There was a pause. “You need to be relieved?”

“Nah, negative. Negative. I’ll be fine.”

“Understood. Central, out.”

“That was close,” Rix said once the channel was closed. “Nice improv.”

“Eh, I had bad allergies as a kid.”

Magnus and Rix moved to the bathroom, maglocked their weapons to their thighs, and then took off their backpacks. Magnus withdrew several bottles of blood, a chem kit, and his Novian combat knife. “Awen?”

“You’re very naughty, Governor,” she said.

“We’re ready for you.”

Littleton spoke next. “But I can be so much more.”

“Then you’d better show me,” Awen replied, followed by the sound of someone being slapped. “No, not here. People might see.”

“Let them,” Littleton said, his voice very close to Awen’s comm. Wait, was that the sound of kissing? Magnus pulled up the camera feed, but Awen was looking straight up at the ceiling.

“You may not care about your reputation, Louis, but I have one to uphold. You’ll take me to your bedroom, or this is going to be a tragically short night for you.”

“Yes, bedroom.” The sound of kissing continued. “This way.”

28

Rohoar and Mahkmaim charged one another like two Pride-class warships on a collision course at maximum thrust.

The first thing Rohoar noticed as Mahkmaim neared was how much hate his challenger seemed to hold in his eyes. It was as if the Jujari were possessed by it—consumed by it. And every bit of it directed toward Rohoar.

The second thing Rohoar noticed was just how ferocious Mahkmaim was. And Rohoar knew ferocious, at least he thought so. He was a Jujari, after all, and his kind had a reputation in the quadrant for a reason. But when it came to projected violence, Mahkmaim took it to a whole new level.

The sound of the crowd faded away until Rohoar could hear the beating of his own heart. Whatever happened next, it wouldn’t stop until one of the two contenders was slain.

This, he thought, is the last moment of peace.

He must be faster.

Smarter.

And more cunning. It was the only way he would win.

The two warriors were a split second away from colliding when Mahkmaim lunged. Rohoar dropped to his knees and slid along the stone tiles. Then he raised his arms and dragged his claws along Mahkmaim’s lower torso, waist, and thighs. In less than a second, the first blow was dealt, and Rohoar came out the other side unscathed.

Mahkmaim appeared caught off guard by the attack as he skidded to a halt on the roof’s far side. He turned and looked at Rohoar, then he studied his own waist. Then Mahkmaim dabbed a finger in one of the red cuts and touched the blood to his tongue. The hackles on the enemy’s neck went up as he let out a bloodcurdling howl.

All the sound came rushing back to Rohoar’s ears, and he heard the baggaduraks beating—war drums of the mwadim. The crowd cheered his first strike and then started chanting his name. But Rohoar knew this fight was far from over.

Mahkmaim charged a second time.

There would be no repeating the slide, Rohoar knew. So he charged Mahkmaim but readied himself to pass by on whichever side was the enemy’s off-step. Rohoar watched Mahkmaim’s hips, instinctively anticipating the adversary’s movements so that when the two warriors met each other again, Rohoar bobbed to the right. He narrowly missed Mahkmaim’s swinging right hook, and, instead, ducked under his high-flung left arm. Rohoar dug his claws across Mahkmaim’s ribs and then spun away as rivulets of blood sailed through the air.

Again, the crowd erupted in euphoric glee, so much so that Rohoar found it distracting.

“Easy, now,” Mora yelled from the sideline. “Don’t become overly proud.”

Rohoar nodded once and watched as Mahkmaim spun on his heels, utterly incensed at being cut again. “I will tear your flesh from your bones, spawn of wailing bitch misery!”

“Do you smell that?” Rohoar sniffed the air. “It is the odor of Selskrit offal seeping down the inner thigh. Someone needs to be bathed.”

With the opening two charges complete, the warriors squared off and began circling one another. Mahkmaim’s growl sounded like a jug of stones rolling down a sheet metal roof. Meanwhile, Rohoar saved his strength and remained utterly silent. He could sense the lack of emotion annoying Mahkmaim too.

The Selskrit champion closed within arm’s reach of Rohoar and then swiped at his head. Rohoar ducked but saw the counter swipe coming for his face. He reared back and felt himself lose his balance. Mahkmaim saw the opportunity and lunged. But Rohoar was far too nimble—he spun to the left and stepped out of the way just as Mahkmaim fell toward the crowd. Several Jujari caught him and then thrust him back into the court.

Rohoar hopped back, starting to feel more confident. He bobbed between his two hind feet, doing his best to stay loose and appear playful. Anything he could do psychologically to keep Mahkmaim off his game—as Magnus would say—would only serve Rohoar in the long run.

Mahkmaim flexed his paws and then dropped to all fours. Even down low, the warrior still came to the middle of Rohoar’s chest. Rohoar thought to mirror the stance but knew he wouldn’t be a match for the larger Selskrit if they locked limbs. Better to stay light and swift.

“Good choice,” Mora said as if reading his thoughts. Because she is reading my thoughts, Rohoar concluded, noting their pack connection. Or she just knew her mate so well that she could discern his intentions through body language.

The enemy closed the distance in three bounds and then lunged with both arms outstretched. Rohoar would not be able to pass the sides, so he dove over Mahkmaim’s head. He was almost clear of the Selskrit when Mahkmaim reached up and caught Rohoar by the ankle. Nails dug into his flesh and bone, seizing his flight in midair and yanking him back the way he’d come.

Mahkmaim’s strength was beyond anything Rohoar had expected—and he was expecting a lot. The enemy hauled him back over his head in a high arch until Rohoar’s upper body whipped around and came down on the stone ground. The impact snapped Rohoar’s jaw shut and sent a painful electrical-like current down his spine. Blood filled his mouth, and he forced himself not to lose consciousness—if he blacked out, Rohoar knew he would never wake up.

Before he could even think to move, however, a second paw came down on his side and gouged five holes in his flank. Rohoar bellowed, but all he heard was ringing in his ears. He looked up to see Mora’s mouth agape.

She was yelling.

Move.

Unsure where Mahkmaim was, Rohoar rolled like a Reptalon, twisting his side free of the enemy’s nails. His flesh tore open from the action, but it most likely saved his life. When Rohoar looked at where his head had been, Mahkmaim’s gaping mouth bounced off the stone. Rohoar thought he saw a fang break too, but it happened too fast to be sure.

The ringing in his ears vanished, replaced by the riotous calls of onlookers who cheered his escape from the Selskrit. The mwadim of the Tawnhack climbed back to his feet and eyed his opponent. But Rohoar was wounded. He glanced down and saw a section of fur and flesh missing from his side. Likewise, his head felt as though a metalsmith had jammed a red-hot poke through the bottom of his chin and into his brain.

In the distance, he heard someone calling his name. Over and over again. He looked around, but the people in the crowd were blurry. Then his eyes found Mora. She was calling his name. He willed himself to focus on her. To hear her.

“Don’t let him catch you like that,” she yelled.

Rohoar nodded, unsure if he could talk through the pain. But his arms and legs still worked. So he went back to bobbing left and right. If anything, it would show the enemy that Rohoar still had plenty of fight left in him.

For his part, Mahkmaim was also slow in regaining his feet. It seemed he overcommitted in what he must have thought was a death-clamp on the back of Rohoar’s neck. Instead, he’d struck the stone with his muzzle and had a mouthful of blood to show for it. When he was finally erect, Mahkmaim barked, threw his head about, and then charged.

Rohoar held his ground, waiting for the enemy to close the gap. When he did, Rohoar feigned left but sidestepped right. The change in direction forced Mahkmaim to slow and adjust course. But Rohoar faked one way and then bolted the opposite. The enemy howled in anger.

“Keep that up,” Mora said with her paws to the sides of her mouth. “Just like that.”

Rohoar was starting to feel good despite the growing pain in his side and head. Injuries would heal, but death was irreversible. So as long as he was still alive, he was winning.

Mahkmaim dove at him a third time, managing to swipe a claw across Rohoar’s bicep. But Rohoar spun and cut Mahkmaim across the nape of the neck. The enemy arched his back and threw both hands at Rohoar—but he was well out of range. Rohoar’s strength and focus were returning, while Mahkmaim’s impatience seemed to be reaching a frenetic state.

“Your hate clouds your judgment, Mahkmaim,” Rohoar said, rolling his neck as he caught his breath. “It’s going to cost you.”

“It will cost me only as much as it needs to so that I might purchase—”

“You talk so much,” Rohoar said, rolling his eyes. “Maybe you did not get enough attention from your mother as a pup. Oh, wait one moment. Mahkmaim did not have a mother.”

The crowd wailed as if this was the biggest insult they had ever heard. Rohoar had to admit it was extremely crafty if he did say so himself. Insults of mothers were the very worst kind. And I just told him he did not have one, Rohoar recounted, knowing the jab would go deep into the Jujari’s consciousness.

Mahkmaim roared, dropped his head, and charged.

Rohoar motioned the Selskrit to come, expecting the enemy to overextend himself yet again. As soon as Mahkmaim was close, Rohoar faked motion to his left but doubled back to his right.

This time, however, Mahkmaim anticipated the move.

A powerful claw seized Rohoar in the center of the chest, pinning him like a spear-shaft through the sternum. He whined, but the sound of blood rushing in his ears drowned everything else out. Then, in a desperate attempt to make his contender release him, Rohoar sent blow after blow against Mahkmaim’s head, neck, and ribs. But the giant seemed unfazed.

Instead, Mahkmaim hoisted Rohoar aloft, and then he squeezed his fingers while roaring in the Tawnhack’s face.

Rohoar felt fire spread across his chest as Mahkmaim’s grip tightened. The act sent waves of pain throughout his body, stealing his breath and clouding his mind. He needed to get free. This was precisely what Mora had warned him about.

Quick as a flash, Rohoar leaned toward—not away—from Mahkmaim and grabbed his head with both hands. Then he jammed both thumbs into the warrior’s eyes. Mahkmaim reacted by batting Rohoar’s left hand away, which made Rohoar squeeze ever harder with his right—until he felt the eyeball pop under his thumb.

Mahkmaim wailed. He released Rohoar’s chest and then clutched his injured eye socket.

Meanwhile, Rohoar collapsed on the stone, trying to catch his breath. The wound in his chest was deep, but Mahkmaim had failed to strike any vital organs. What’s a little more lost blood? Rohoar thought and then let out a soft woof.

“Look out,” Mora yelled. Czyz, too. The gladia were all pointing behind Rohoar. So he rolled over to see the challenger barreling toward him—eye socket leaking blood and water.

Rather than try to dodge the enemy, Rohoar scrambled to all fours, took a low position, and charged with his head down. He caught Mahkmaim in the knees, which sent the large opponent head over heels. The crowd parted as he flew into the building’s edge wall with a crack.

Again, the people chanted Rohoar’s name. He stood up and looked around. They certainly favored him. But there was a lot of fighting left to be done, and no amount of praise would put Mahkmaim down. That was Rohoar’s job.

The Selskrit snapped at several onlookers who jeered him. One Jujari, an adolescent bearing the sash of the Horock, was unfortunate enough that Mahkmaim clamped down on his shoulder and flung him to the side. The pup whimpered as he spun across the stone, eventually landing in a heap amidst some crowd members. The people helped him up and then hissed at Mahkmaim in disapproval.

The Selskrit ignored their taunts and focused his one eye on Rohoar. Then Mahkmaim raised an outstretched paw to one side, toward someone in the audience, and whistled.

A set of paw spikes glinted in the fading sunlight. Mahkmaim caught the killing tool then slid it up his fingers and over his knuckles. The audience voiced their objections, bemoaning the underhanded act. But even though it broke the rules of the match, there was nothing they could do—no one would dare face Mahkmaim.

“You will be denied the throne, should you win,” Rohoar said, holding a hand to his bleeding chest.

“I do not care about the throne,” Mahkmaim said with a sneer. “I came here only to cleanse our planet, to rid us of he who works with the unclean.”

Rohoar twitched his ears, wondering if he had heard the Selskrit correctly. “You don’t want the throne?”

“I will take it if that is the reward,” Mahkmaim said with a sniff, clearly feigning ignorance. “But it does not surprise me that our people would make me their leader for executing the greatest betrayer the Jujari have ever known. All this”—he motioned to the horizon with his hands, then pointed at Rohoar—“is because of you, fikdo.”

The crowd gasped. It was one thing to challenge a mwadim in open combat, but it was quite another to question his testicle size in public. To mock the Selskrit’s insult, Rohoar looked at his groin, spread his fur, and thrust out his hips. “No. They look large to me.”

The crowd whooped and howled at this. Mahkmaim, however, was incensed. He raised his right hand with the paw spikes and charged. Then he threw a head-punch. Rohoar leaned wide and jabbed the enemy’s ribs. Mahkmaim swung his arm backhanded, but Rohoar ducked as the arm swooshed through open air. Again, Rohoar punched the same spot in Mahkmaim’s ribs, staying low and tight.

The Selskrit bellowed in frustration and brought his paw spikes straight down on Rohoar. But instead of hitting flesh, the spikes drove and split the stone.

Rohoar seized the opportunity and kicked at Mahkmaim’s forearm. He half expected the bone to snap, or at least tear Mahkmaim’s hand from the tool. Instead, Rohoar’s kick did little more than annoy the giant. It was as if the blow had landed against a tree trunk, succeeding only in rustling a few leaves in the canopy.

Mahkmaim let out a low growl that made his lips flap as he ripped his paw spikes from the ground. For some strange reason, Rohoar had a sinking feeling that everything up to this point in the fight had been the opening act.

29

The moment Littleton threw Awen on the bed, Magnus jammed the syringe in the man’s rump and shot him with the hallucinogenic.

Littleton swore and spun around in surprise.

“Who the—”

His head only got halfway around before Magnus punched Littleton so hard that it knocked him out.

Awen shoved the governor’s body away and slid off the bed. “Took you guys long enough,” she said. “Do you know how hard it was to keep that man’s hands off me?”

“Sounds like it was more than just his hands,” Magnus replied, speaking over VNET.

“Your idea, not mine. Remember?”

“Fair enough.” Magnus brought up Dutch’s channel. “How we looking?”

“They’re coming around the terrace now,” she replied.

“Make sure the guard gets them pointed in the right direction. He may not even know where the bedroom is.”

“Copy that.”

Magnus turned back to Awen and held up a bottle of blood and his knife. “You ready for your next scene?”

“Full NMB,” she replied, turning to face Littleton. “Let’s mess with him.”

* * *

“What are you doing?” a woman said.

At least, he thought it was a woman. A human woman with black hair, perhaps? Littleton couldn’t be sure—everything was so—blurry. He tried studying her face, but her features were bunched up in a painful snarl, like a panther’s face, with long fangs and purple eyes. The panther was screaming at him. Beating him with giant trees.

No. Not trees. Claws.

“Let me go,” she yelled again.

Mystics, she was loud. And someone might hear them, wherever this place was. Littleton tried to focus on the room they were in—some sort of cave—but he didn’t remember going to a cave.

Did he?

“Stop, Louis. Please stop.” The panther knew his name. And now it seemed like it was crying.

Stop what? he thought. He wasn’t doing anything. He blinked several times and then looked down. He had hands. Two of them. And they were wrapped around the panther’s neck, trying to keep it from devouring him.

This is all wrong, he thought. He hadn’t remembered walking into the jungle, into a cave.

Then Littleton noticed that there was some blood on her face. Her flaming purple dress—it looked torn near the shoulder. But panthers don’t wear dresses, he thought.

Littleton was trying to get his mouth to work when something hard slammed against his face and he—

* * *

“Come on over,” Magnus said to the three Sekmit women who’d volunteered to help get this loser off their planet. Freya had hand selected them herself, knowing that Littleton would definitely recognize them from the inner court. When he eventually came out of his stupor, the implications would help drive him over the edge. At least, that’s what Magnus was counting on.

The three Sekmit knelt on and around the bed as Silk and Dutch drizzled blood on them. Likewise, Magnus sprayed Awen with a little more Elonian blood and used his knife to cut additional slashes in her dress carefully. For his part, Rix was busy bruising Littleton’s hands and then doused him with Sekmit and Elonian blood.

“Everyone ready?” Magnus asked.

The four women nodded.

“Bring him out again.”

Rix leaned in with a small tube and waved it under Littleton’s nose. The man snapped awake, eyelids fluttering. As soon as he saw Awen, the four women began writhing and screaming in fake agony.

“This is pretty weird, you know,” Dutch said. She had her arms crossed and stood to one side of the bed.

“Just imagine what he’s thinking,” Magnus said with a chuckle as Rix started using the man’s own hands to slow-punch Awen and the Sekmit.

* * *

“Get away from me,” Littleton bellowed. The panther had brought tigers into the cave.

She’s not a panther, some little voice said in the back of Littleton’s brain. He blinked again as his hands tried to fend off the attacks.

The woman slashed at Littleton’s face, but he punched her and kept her away. Then a tiger launched at him from the left. He hit its head, which sent a fountain of blood into the sky. Another tiger came at him from the right, so he grabbed it by the throat and squeezed with all his might.

“Stop, Governor Littleton,” the tiger screamed. But that made him only want to clamp down tighter to keep her from saying his name. So he squeezed until gouts of blood sprayed across his eyes. Had her head exploded?

He wiped his vision clear with two soft clouds that magically appeared in front of him. Then, when he could see again, he used one of the clouds to cover the woman’s face. He held it there, hoping she would disappear, hoping this bad dream would just go away.

Just then, a third tiger lunged at him. He panicked, unsure of what to do. A massive sword appeared in his hands—bright and gleaming like the strength of a thousand suns. It was a gift from the mystics, and he would use it to defeat the tiger—he would use it to save his life and escape this horrible place.

* * *

Magnus laughed as Rix held out a tight-beamed flashlight. He was genuinely curious to see what Littleton would do with it.

“Hundred credits says he uses it like a sword,” Dutch said.

“You’re on.” Magnus held out his hand to close the deal. “He’s gonna try shooting her with it.” The thought of seeing the governor grab the tool and start making blaster noises with his mouth made Magnus about double over with laughter.

Instead, Littleton took the flashlight from Rix and made a slow-motion lunge with the weapon, as if the beam of light was—

“It’s a sword,” Dutch said. “Pay up, LT.”

He threw his hands up. “Repub credits are worthless now anyway.”

“You just keep telling yourself that.”

The third Sekmit woman wailed, grabbing the flashlight and holding it to her chest as she fell off the bed.

“All right,” Magnus said. “That’s good enough.”

“You want to do the last honors?” Silk asked Magnus.

But he shook his head. “I had two goes. You take the final shot.”

“No,” Awen said. “Let me.”

Silk backed away as Awen balled up her right fist and then cracked it against Littleton’s face.

“Mystics,” Awen exclaimed, shaking out her hand. But Magnus caught her smiling as Littleton passed out into the blood-soaked pillows.

* * *

Over the next sixty-seconds, Alpha Team staged the entire room until it resembled a macabre scene straight out of a horror holo. They overturned furniture, quietly broke vases and picture frames, and tore open a few pillows. Then they helped Awen and the Sekmit women arrange themselves in awkward positions on the floor and sprinkled them with more blood.

When it was over, Magnus stepped back and studied the room. “If this doesn’t mess him up, nothing will.”

“Now it’s time for some witnesses,” Silk said, packing the last of the items in the backpacks.

“On it,” Dutch said.

As she unlocked the bedroom door and slipped out, Magnus knelt beside Awen and removed his helmet. “This is the most dangerous part,” he said.

“You really think I need the reminder?”

“I’m just saying—sell it, but if someone starts checking pulses or wants to verify you’re really dead by—”

“I got it, Magnus.” She put a bloody hand on his arm.

“We’ll have covering fire through the main window. You get in trouble and—”

“Magnus.”

“What?”

“There won’t be anything left of him or anyone else if they try to hurt us. I promise.”

Magnus took a deep breath. It’s gonna be okay, Magnus, he told himself.

“And it is, too,” Awen added. Then she grabbed his collar and pulled herself up to give him a kiss.

“Not bad for a dead woman,” he said.

“Just wait until I come back to life.” She winked, and then settled back on the floor, splaying her limbs and staring off into the near distance—eyes cold as ice.

“Mystics, how do you do that?” Magnus asked.

She gave a half-smile, then said, “Get out of here. We’ll see you in the north woods.”

Magnus replaced his helmet and motioned for Rix and Silk to stand by at the door. Then he took a second vial of smelling salts—this one mixed with a strong anti-hallucinogenic—and waved it under Littleton’s nose again. The man startled awake but acted like he was drowning in the pillows and sheets.

As soon as he was back in the main hallway, Magnus saw Dutch barreling toward him.

“You have them?” he asked.

“It’s like herding cats,” Dutch said, panting. Then she turned around and used her external speakers to shout down the hallway. “Holy splick! What in mystics’ names happened in here?”

A dozen partygoers appeared around a corner, tripping over themselves to follow the sound of Dutch’s half-crazed voice. If there was one thing elitists loved more than getting illegal access to an off-limits section of another elitist’s private mansion, it was the scent of a scandal. And boy, are they gonna love this one.

At the same time, Magnus heard Littleton start to shout in his bedroom. “No. No, no, no! What—what happened? What have I done?”

Then Dutch let out the most bloodcurdling scream Magnus had quite literally ever heard. It was somewhere between a Sqwillian forest banshee’s mating shriek and a starship grinding against a docking bay’s comms truss tower—neither were sounds that Magnus ever wanted to hear again. “They’re in the Governor’s bedroom. And, there’s blood—oh, mystics—there’s blood everywhere!” She screamed again, drawing almost two dozen partygoers to the scene like flies to a carcass.

A lone security guard stepped into the hallway and raised a hand, ordering the people to stop, but he was overrun. The pack smelled blood—perhaps literally—and nothing would deter them

“Our work here is done,” Magnus said with a hint of pride in his voice and pointed down the stairs. “Shall we?”

* * *

So many screams and shouts filled the bedroom that Awen wasn’t sure she could keep up her deadpan look for much longer. While Littleton hadn’t tried to check Awen’s pulse, he did shake her several times. She stayed loose and let her head and arms flail about. Then the Governor had time to check one of the Sekmit women before the guests stormed into the room but froze in horror.

That’s when all the screaming began. And Awen tried hard not to blink.

“I can explain,” Littleton said.

Awen would have loved to hear that one. But already, wrist comms and holo pads were out, recording the grotesque scene. More security guards pushed their way into the amassing group of onlookers and threatened everyone with tasers and flexicuffs if they didn’t clear out.

When the crowd had been forced back, the doors shut, and a thin-looking man in a dark suit strode up to Littleton.

“What the hell, Louis?” the man said.

“It wasn’t me, Ed. I swear.”

The thin man, Ed, sneered at the Governor, and then looked over the bodies as he put his hands on his hips. “And it had to be an Elonian too. Mystics, I’m so tired of working for you people. It’s just one mess after another, and all you can think to do is deny it.”

“But I swear. This wasn’t me!”

Ed looked Littleton up and down, then raised a dark eyebrow at him. “Right.”

“You gotta believe me!”

Ed touched his in-ear comm. “Romma. It’s Fink. Send everyone home and lock down the grounds.”

“What are we gonna do, Ed?” Littleton said, trying to wipe the blood off his hands with a bathroom towel.

“We?” Fink laughed. “We aren’t doing anything. This is your problem, not mine.”

“But you’re—”

“I’m head of security for the GR’s sovereign grounds, not its outgoing governor.”

“Outgoing?”

Ed laughed and then flung a hand to the bodies. “You really think you’re hanging around here after a stunt like this?”

The doors opened, and a new figure entered the room. He held a handkerchief to his mouth, obscuring his face. Awen did her best to see who it was since both men seemed to straighten up at his appearance. He had to be important.

“Get him out of here,” the man said to Fink.

Fink snapped his fingers, and two guards grabbed Littleton and hauled him out of the room.

Awen still couldn’t make out the man’s face, but there was something familiar about him. And it made her nervous.

“We have any matches?”

“Not yet,” Fink said. “But I know two of the Sekmit. They belong to Freya.”

“Splick. You’re sure?”

“Positive. Littleton was just with them two days ago for a meeting.”

“Anyone else see this?”

Fink lowered his head.

“How bad?”

“A dozen wrist comms, holo pads—maybe more.”

“Mysticsdammit.”

The man in charge went quiet for several seconds, still holding the handkerchief to his mouth. He seemed like he was working something out in his head.

“Sir,” Fink said with a hand to his ear. “There seems to be something else.”

The man in charge gave out an exasperated sigh. “What now?”

Since her natural eyes had yet to catch a good glimpse of him, Awen slipped into the Unity.

“Ní Freya has reportedly left her palace,” Fink said. “And is en route—here.”

“She knows.” The man thought for a few more moments, and then puffed out his sturdy chest as if resolving his course of action. “We’re leaving.”

Fink’s eyebrows went up. “Right now? But what about—”

“The planet’s a lost cause, Mr. Fink. At least until we figure something else out.”

“Yes, sir.”

The man with the handkerchief wore a black and green uniform—one that felt strangely familiar. Then she noticed the LAW seal embroidered on his left chest and remembered seeing the clothing from TO-96’s recording of So-Elku’s presentation. Is he Luma? But Awen didn’t sense the man had any powers.

As the handkerchief moved away from the man’s lips, Awen froze. She could hardly believe her eyes. But the Unity never lied.

“Oh, and make sure Mr. Littleton is comfortable in here. We wouldn’t want his public thinking he abandoned his post. He has a reputation to uphold. Then burn it. Burn it all. And make it look like the Sekmit did it.”

“As you wish, Senator Blackman,” Fink said with a Luma salute.

30

Mahkmaim threw four consecutive punches at Rohoar, driving the mwadim up the throne platform. Rohoar continued to fall back, knowing that just one blow from the paw spikes would be enough to knock him out.

At least you won’t remember becoming dead, he thought to himself.

Mahkmaim leapt onto the dais and continued driving at Rohoar.

“To your right,” Czyz yelled, pointing to one of the massive stone columns. Rohoar saw a wrought-iron torch holder dangling from a loose bolt. He dodged one more swing from Mahkmaim and then ripped the holder from the pillar. No sooner did he have a firm grip on the tool than Mahkmaim thrust the paw spikes as Rohoar’s head. The mwadim deflected the blow with the makeshift weapon and then whirled it around to strike his enemy’s face.

Mahkmaim was too fast, however, and blocked the attack, countering with a quick uppercut directed at Rohoar’s chin. The mwadim leaned away from the punch but lost his footing on the back of the dais.

The crowd cried out as Rohoar fell. The building’s edge was only a few meters behind him—which gave him an idea. Just before he lost his footing and went completely prone, Rohoar pushed off the dais and sailed toward the drop-off.

Mora shouted something, as did Czyz. Bur Rohoar knew what he was doing. At least he thought he did. No, you don’t, Rohoar said, scolding himself as he flew through the air. But he was running out of ideas, and this seemed like the best one for several different reasons.

As his body slid across the stone, careening toward the open air, Rohoar dug his claws into the ground to slow himself. He looked up and saw Mahkmaim charging after him. Just as Rohoar went over the side, he drove the torch holder into the stone and felt his body fly out into space, and then he jerked to a halt. His legs swung underneath him, and when they entered the open window of the next level down, Rohoar let go of the iron tool.

Even from under the top floor, Rohoar heard the crowd wail and shout. They were revolting against his death. But their fears were premature.

I am still here, Rohoar said to Mora through the pack connection in the Unity. Tell them I am still—

A column exploded beside Rohoar’s head as Mahkmaim’s armored fist blew through the stone. Bits of debris pelted the mwadim’s head and forced him to cover up. Mahkmaim swung again, only this time with his un-armored hand. The blow hit Rohoar in the small of the back and drove all the air from his lungs. He saw sparkly lights in his vision and wanted to collapse on the ground in pain. But the battle is not over yet, he told himself and summoned his courage to keep going.

Rohoar caught Mahkmaim’s forearm as it came down in a hammer blow. But the impact had so much force that it glanced off Rohoar’s head and dropped on his shoulder. A searing pain stretched from Rohoar’s hand to the top of his head, but he made himself back away.

“Come, let me put you out of your misery, Tawnhack,” Mahkmaim said as he stalked after the mwadim.

“Rohoar is not miserable enough to accept such a favor, but he will let you know.”

Mahkmaim snapped his teeth in the air and then charged, but not before Rohoar spun out of the way behind a support column. It was one of a hundred such pillars that supported the roof level, which was why Rohoar had chosen this space. If he was the more agile of the two warriors, he needed to find a playing field that suited his abilities and gave him the upper paw. Down here, he could dodge Mahkmaim’s blows, and the Selskrit would have a harder time negotiating the tight turns.

But Rohoar also chose this place because he wanted to speak with Mahkmaim one on one. The crowd was always a distraction, feeding the primal drive to survive and satisfy the people’s will. But alone, Rohoar felt he had a chance to lead Mahkmaim—to serve him as the mwadim—just like he would any other citizen in his nation. It was a long shot, of course, but it was one Rohoar had to try.

“Where do you think you’re going, fecal matter?” Mahkmaim said with a bark.

But Rohoar didn’t reply; he was too busy ducking behind columns and working his way around behind Mahkmaim. The Selskrit dashed around several pillars, hunting for the mwadim, and then roared when Rohoar was nowhere to be found.

When Rohoar stepped out of his cover and lunged at Mahkmaim’s back, the enemy was entirely caught off guard. Rohoar grabbed the enemy under the armpits, driving his claws into thick muscle, and then bit the Selskrit’s neck. Mahkmaim wailed, spinning about, while Rohoar held on—claws and fangs firmly entrenched.

Rohoar knew he was still at the mercy of the colossal beast and sensed Mahkmaim driving them back toward the nearest column. When Rohoar’s back struck the stone, his head also whiplashed, cracking against the support. His teeth and nails tore slits along the Mahkmaim’s neck and flanks—but that also meant he was no longer attached.

Mahkmaim spun around and pummeled the pillar with the paw spikes. Rohoar limped to cover, dodging a second and third punch as dust and bits of stone shrapnel blossomed in the air.

“Stop hiding, coward,” Mahkmaim said. “We both know your end is near, so come face it like the dog that you are.”

“Rohoar is not so sure he feels like dying today. In fact, Rohoar is not sure it is a good day for any deaths to be dying.”

“You speak in veiled words,” Mahkmaim replied, jumping between columns.

“Rohoar means what he says.”

“So you would not kill Mahkmaim if given a chance? This is coward-speak.”

“If Rohoar had not intended to kill Mahkmaim before, there is no desire now. It is only because you initiated the singotha that Rohoar is forced to consider your journey to shöl—nothing more.”

Mahkmaim swung at empty air, apparently sure Rohoar was behind the column in question, when, in fact, Rohoar was five pillars away. This let the mwadim know what the enemy was thinking and gave him yet another small advantage.

“Then you prove yourself a weak mwadim, unworthy of the dais,” Mahkmaim cried out.

“Is it weakness to not wish to kill one’s brother?” Rohoar asked.

“We are not brothers,” Mahkmaim said, and then spat on the floor in disgust.

“No?” Rohoar intentionally tried to throw his voice against the columns in an attempt to disorient the other contender. And it was working: Mahkmaim spun one way and then the other in more and more desperate attempts to find his prey. “Then Rohoar supposes you are brothers with the humans, yes?”

Mahkmaim swore in the mother tongue. “That is your job, fikdo. Not mine.”

“Then, you admit we are both Jujari.”

“I said nothing of the kind.”

“You said you are not brothers of the humans, making both you and Rohoar Jujari by birth. Therefore—”

“Stop saying we are brothers!”

“But you cannot deny Rohoar any more than you can deny your flesh.”

Mahkmaim punched a column with his paw spikes head on—no attempt to see what was behind it. Just because he could. Which meant Rohoar was getting to him.

“I can deny you!”

“On the grounds of territory, perhaps.” Rohoar checked the wound in the middle of his chest just to see how bad he was bleeding. When he pulled his hand away, it was covered in a lot of blood. For a split second, he even wondered if Mahkmaim had nicked one of his hearts. “And you Selskrit have traditions we Tawnhack do not,” Rohoar continued. “But when the sun goes down, you and Rohoar are still Jujari, and that is something we share with no one else.”

“No,” Mahkmaim said defiantly. “This is weakness! This undermines the strength of the packs.”

“Perhaps,” Rohoar replied, getting closer to Mahkmaim. “But your view undermines the strength of the Jujari.”

“No, it does not. It makes us stronger.”

“Killing one another for the right to rule while enemies hunt down and devour our sons and daughters makes the Jujari stronger?”

Mahkmaim slowed. He sniffed the air and turned in circles. Rohoar wanted to believe the warrior was considering his words, but he also might just be trying to triangulate Rohoar’s scent.

“No, Mahkmaim,” Rohoar said. “This is not the way we must go. It is not the way of life you seek, but the way of the enemy.”

“You speak lies!” Mahkmaim gouged a deep hole out of another column. “All lies!”

This wasn’t working, and one of them was still going to die today. Which is truly the last thing Rohoar wanted. As much pain as the Selskrit had caused his people over the decades, the truth was, Selskrit were still Jujari. And if Rohoar had learned anything from the Gladio Umbra, and tiny humans like Piper, it was that even enemies could realign themselves for a common purpose. It took work, and it took time, but it could be done. And life would prevail.

“If it meant you never killed another Jujari again, Rohoar would surrender here and now.”

Mahkmaim turned around, ears rotating to try and find Rohoar. His hulking shoulders rose and fell, and drops of blood pattered on the cold stone floor.

Rohoar wasn’t sure if Mahkmaim heard him or not, and so he almost repeated himself.

“Now I know you are a fool,” Mahkmaim said as he let out a low laugh.

“Is Rohoar the fool for making such an offer, or Mahkmaim, for not being able to keep his sacred vow?”

“What sacred vow?”

“If Rohoar surrenders, Mahkmaim must swear to the ancestors that you will never strike another Jujari down for as long as you live. If you do, you forfeit your life and must commit dashuria.”

Mahkmaim froze.

Rohoar laid his back against a column and allowed the cold stone to soothe the fire raging in his muscles. Then he prayed to the stars that Mahkmaim would take his deal if it meant true peace for the packs—and, more importantly, for the tormented warrior’s soul.

“You hesitate, Mahkmaim of the Selskrit. Rohoar is curious as to why? Is it because you truly cannot envision a life beyond the one you know, the one of killing Jujari? Or is it something else?”

Mahkmaim did not speak at first. The two champions just breathed—nostrils flaring, hearts pounding—as the sun started to dip below the horizon and leave the second floor bathed in twilight.

“Mahkmaim hesitates because he cannot understand why Rohoar would make such a bargain,” Mahkmaim said. “One that I can never envision myself doing were the roles reversed. Nor am I certain I will be able to fulfill my vow to the ancestors should I take your life.”

“You’re wrong, Mahkmaim.”

The Selskrit growled at this. No Jujari liked being told what to do, especially a leader. But Rohoar had to act decisively, or else this opportunity to unite the packs would be lost forever.

“I know there is good in you,” Rohoar said, ceasing with the mwadim speech of self. Then he stepped into an open row some eight or nine meters behind Mahkmaim and lowered his claws. “And I believe you could be an even better mwadim than me. But only if you learn to choose to fight for life rather than to take it.”

“You offer an impossible gift,” Mahkmaim said, snarling.

“Only because you have never imagined an alternative to the life you know. It is not impossible.”

“But it is.”

“No, Mahkmaim. Believe. Have appriprensive, and you can face your fears head-on, as one, with all Jujari.”

The two warriors stared at each other in the sun’s fading red light, standing between floors in the mwadim’s tower. Blood dripped on the floor, and chests heaved in and out. And for the briefest moment, Rohoar knew he had won Mahkmaim.

A cold wind blew through the columns and made a howling sound. Rohoar felt his hackles stand on end but didn’t know why—until he looked at Mahkmaim and saw his eye fill with evil.

31

In the time that passed from when the strange black ship wiped out Moldark’s remaining vessels to when he arrived in orbit around the Obscura’s dark planet, the Peregrine had traveled through completely uncharted subspace. Navigation couldn’t find this system anywhere in their collection, and the Peregrine was working overtime to try and triangulate its location based on all known constellation positions. The progress, however, was slow going.

“The enemy ship has stopped ahead, my lord,” Porteous said.

“And still no idea where we are,” Moldark said to the nav officer, more as a statement than a question.

“That is correct, my lord,” the officer replied.

Moldark studied Porteous’s initial scan of their surroundings. The five planets in the system orbited a red dwarf star long past its prime. It’s cooler temperature and low light output meant it was unlikely that any of these floating rocks supported any life beyond slime.

All but this one, Moldark thought to himself, examining the planet they were headed toward.

Moldark sat in Ellis’s captain’s chair for the next hour, watching as the Peregrine neared the Obscura’s lightless ship hanging over a lifeless planet. He had dismissed Ellis, telling him to attend to his head wound in sickbay, and told the crew to make ready for an away mission. Whatever these Obscura had in mind for him, they would be in for a rude awakening when he sucked their souls dry. He had, after all, grown quite hungry.

When the Peregrine finally entered geosynchronous orbit, coming in just behind the enemy ship, comms received another transmission from the shadowy captain, or whatever his title was—he had not specified.

“Accompany us to the surface,” the man said. “We are sending a ship.” The image disappeared.

“That’s it?” Moldark said, smashing his fist into the arm of his chair.

“Yes,” the comms officer replied. “I’m sorry, my lord.”

Moldark grunted. He was tired of this person’s games, but he felt obliged to follow. He was curious, after all, if impatient. And he wanted to devour their souls, whoever they were.

* * *

When the shadowed man said ship, he did not mean transport shuttle, at least in the way the Galactic Republic understood transport shuttle. He meant a Bull Wraith-class equivalent containment vessel, capable of swallowing the Peregrine and bringing it to the planet’s surface. The experience was somewhat unnerving and seemed to make the crew even more certain of their imminent deaths, based on the way they shivered in their seats. And they were right to be scared, as they probably were going to die.

“Are you not scared, Porteous?” he asked as the Peregrine’s systems went offline once inside the giant transport ship.

“Scared, my lord?”

“You’re the only one of the crew not quivering.”

She shrugged. “If my fate rests at the hands of this species on this planet, then there is nothing I can do to prevent it. Therefore, I have nothing to fear.”

“How charmingly fatalistic,” Moldark replied.

“Perhaps, my lord. But I simply refuse to waste time and energy worrying about something I am powerless to prevent.”

“Well said. Well said indeed.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

Moldark sensed the ship—that is, both ships—were slowing. But absent were the long in-atmo anti-gravity burns that slowed vessels of this size. Instead, there was the gentle reduction of speed that a body might experience at the end of an elevator passage. Which meant they weren’t headed to the surface after all, at least not yet. He’d been misguided to think this massive transport vessel would make orbit anyway. Instead, the Obscura wanted the Peregrine to be onboard their main ship, and then they would deliver him to the surface from there.

The Peregrine stopped.

The crew sat on the bridge in total silence. The only thing anyone heard was the gentle hum of the ship’s drive system keeping the craft alive. But life support was all it really needed to maintain as every other system was worthless. They sat for maybe ten minutes before something rocked the ship.

Moldark looked out the main window and watched a vertical line of gray light appear on the far end of the containment bay. His eyes adjusted, straining to make out any additional features. The gap widened to reveal a rocky landscape composed of dark rocks set amidst endless grey sand. And in the sky, low on the horizon, was the star they’d seen from orbit. It cast red highlights on any surface reflective enough to catch the sun’s dying rays.

“Are we on the planet?” someone asked behind Moldark.

“I think so,” said another.

“But that’s not possible.”

Moldark didn’t care about their disbelief. He was far too interested in the five dark figures who appeared against the background. Their lightless cloaks moved like ethereal spirits, playing tricks on the eyes—or perhaps it was just the low light. They walked toward the bay and then stopped a meter from where the blackness of the hangar’s floor met the grey sand of the outside world.

“Come alone, Mithriel,” said a nondescript voice inside Moldark’s head. “Leave your helmet. We are waiting.”

* * *

Moldark ordered the crew to stay with the ship while he left to follow the five figures standing in the sand. Yaeger had protested, insisting he accompany Moldark as his bodyguard. They man’s loyalties and bravery would be rewarded. But Moldark knew this was a solo errand, and commanded the captain to remain with the ship.

The five shadowy figures did not greet Moldark and did not show their faces. Instead, they turned and led him down a hardpack road that meandered away from the large transport. Within a few minutes, the vessel and, therefore, the Peregrine were out of sight, hidden by rocks.

The air was breathable; Kane’s body seemed more than able to handle it. Though, without an atmosphere scan, there was no telling what long-term effects there might be from prolonged exposure. As the weak star suggested, the temperature was cold—but apparently not severe enough to snow. Then again, he saw no moisture, no evidence of life. It was just—barren.

On and on they walked, rounding stands of coarse black rocks adorned with dunes of fine grey sand. More than once, Moldark thought about consuming these people. They were sentient, after all, and he could tell they were biological—their odor gave that much away. They had a soul in them, which meant he could feast, and they had blood, which meant they could die.

But beyond sating his hunger, he wasn’t sure what the act of killing them would accomplish. They did not seem threatened by him, nor did he know how to use their fears against them to get what he wanted. There were simply too many blanks to fill in. A premature move would yield little. So Moldark continued, following a few paces behind them.

The landscape’s monotony had almost succeeded in boring him to death when the five figures led Moldark over a rise in the road. A few spikes appeared against the horizon—the carcass of a desert beast. Or so he thought until the peaks expanded into the tops of towers, and the towers into buildings. Within another twenty steps, Moldark looked out upon an entire lightless city that seemed to have grown out of the desert, formed from the coarse black rock.

It was hard for Moldark to determine the city’s size as the shadows betrayed width and depth. It was also pointless to wonder about population since he didn’t know what purpose this place served—after all, there were no lights, no industry, no transportation. Absent were the sounds of vehicles and crowds, of birds and insects. Gone were the smells of cook fires and exhaust. Instead, this metroplex was dead—the shell of some former civilization long deceased.

Then again, Moldark was confident he felt life amidst the monolithic structures. Someone or something was fueling them, sustaining them. And he was determined to find out who it was or what it was.

* * *

The five figures led Moldark into the city, heading toward an enormous temple-like structure in the heart of the urban sprawl. The building had an ominous aura about it as if whatever lay within it had a desire to peer deep into Moldark’s being. This was absurd, of course, as nothing was more powerful, more pervasive than an Elemental—he stood alone in the universes as an unrivaled power, albeit one stripped of his homeworld and devoid of a fleet.

More unsettling than anything else, however, were the hundreds of cloaked figures who appeared along the streets. They stood motionless and soundless, faces hidden by hoods. Moldark felt their eyes study him as he passed by, watching from doorways and balcony windows, street corners and alleys. As he neared the temple building at the end of the street, more and more people appeared to witness what, according to their numbers, seemed that it would be of tremendous importance.

When he arrived at the top of the steps, the five escorts parted and then turned, surrounding a new figure who had emerged from the building’s shadows. The person approached Moldark and then stopped a meter away.

“Mithriel of the Norxük, welcome,” the man said. “I am Psykon, First of Many.” There was nothing remarkable about his soft voice, only that he was having a casual conversation in what was the oddest setting Moldark had seen this side of metaspace. “We are the Obscura, abiders of the dark.”

Moldark narrowed his eyes at the shadowy figure. If he were not bound to Kane’s body, he would fly into the ether and search the face of every soul in this place. Their secrecy was tiresome.

“How do you know that name?” Moldark asked. “Mithriel of the Norxük?”

“We know many things.”

“Yet you did not answer my question.”

Psykon’s head tilted. “Knowledge of such importance requires no short explanation.”

“I have an eternity,” Moldark said. “I insist.”

“And yet you do not wonder where we have brought you?”

“Does it matter?”

“It may matter for your future, should you decide to abide with us in the dark.”

Moldark took a moment to look back at all the people. Somehow, in the few seconds he stood atop the steps, the masses had gathered beneath him, filling in the open square below the temple’s shadow.

“So you’ve brought me here to offer me something?” Moldark said, looking back to Psykon.

He nodded. “It is a transaction, one we believe is mutually beneficial.”

“You have something you think I want?” Moldark looked up at the face of the black temple. “I hate to disappoint you, but I’m not sold on what I’m seeing.”

“Of course. We have not revealed our hand. Which puts you at a disadvantage.”

“And I’ve revealed mine?” Moldark squinted at Psykon’s face, trying to see through the black shroud that obscured his face.

“You have. Which is why we brought you here.”

“And what is it you think you know about me?”

Psykon took half a step forward, which made Moldark tense. These were strange beings, indeed. They had taken out his remaining warships with incomparable power, and yet here in their black city, they were unimpressive—to say the least. Yet there was something dangerous about them.

“We have been watching you since you entered our universe,” Psykon said.

Moldark felt a chill run down Kane’s body. He had felt this cold before, back on Capriana Prime in the plaza outside the communications building. Something had been watching him. He had also felt it when he confronted So-Elku on Worru. And he had felt it when meeting Rawmut on Oorajee, shortly after taking Wendell Kane as a host. This cold, this sense of being watched from the shadows—it had been there at every turn.

“Watching me?” Moldark asked. “Why?” He did not need the how answered just yet. Motive was far more important than execution.

“Come,” Psykon said.

Psykon turned and then walked into the temple entrance. The five escorts followed Psykon without saying a word, which left Moldark on the landing by himself. But not for long. The multitude of people was moving up the stairs toward him. Moldark heard no footfalls, no breathing, just the sound of the wind drifting through the city and rippling against a sea of black cloaks.

Moldark looked back at the temple entrance and realized he had come this far—why not go a little more?

* * *

Inside the temple, Moldark looked down from a balcony onto a vast stone floor. Already, the people in the city had gained entrance to the hall and were filling space, ten-thousand strong. They each took their place, kneeling amidst a five-pointed shape, and faced toward the center.

Moldark searched for Psykon, but he was nowhere to be found—at least that Moldark could see. It was an impossible task, anyway. Every last one of the cryptic figures looked the same.

Within a few minutes, the entire temple was filled with people. Whether or not this constituted the city’s entire population or the whole of the Obscura, Moldark didn’t know.

“Where would you like to go?” Psykon said from beside Moldark.

Moldark jerked away, his ethereal presence almost leaping at Psykon’s soul in retaliation. But that would not do—Moldark was curious, and killing Psykon would only prolong the time until he got answers to all the questions building in his head. “Go? I asked why you’ve been watching me.”

“And we will show you, Mithriel. But you must be the one to provide the destination.”

Psykon walked down the balcony’s steps and followed a path through the crowd toward a circle etched in the center of the floor. “Yes, Mithriel. Follow.”

Moldark stretched his neck. He was growing impatient with this man, Psykon. But the mystery of this place and these people still intrigued him. So he would entertain this First of Many, and allow them to live a little longer.

It took a minute for Moldark to catch up with Psykon. Eventually, the two stood within a circle carved in the stone and looked out over a sea of black hoods.

“If there was one place in this universe you wished to see, to be, right now, where would it be?” Psykon asked.

“Are you talking about teleportation?”

“Of a kind, but not of the body. If you could see someone, someone you wished to know the deeds of, perhaps even someone you wished to affect—”

“To kill?”

Psykon stopped. “Yes.”

“The leader of the Jujari,” Moldark said. “Their mwadim.”

Psykon’s head twitched. And then all the people bowed and began to hum a dissonant chord.

“Let us begin.”

32

Rohoar dove out of the way as Mahkmaim lunged at him. A claw raked the mwadim’s right rear leg before he could take cover behind a column. The wound burned, but the limb was still functional. Mahkmaim tumbled to a halt, then fought to regain his feet.

“Come to me, Rohoar of the Jujari,” Mahkmaim seethed. “Come let me end your pitiful life.” His voice had changed. It felt distant and otherworldly. How or why Rohoar had yet to know. But it had definitely changed.

Mahkmaim dashed around a pillar and swung his paw spikes faster than Rohoar had ever seen. The weapon punched a furrow straight through the stone support, blasting Rohoar with chunks of stone and clouds of dust.

What in the name of the mystics has happened to him? Rohoar wondered. Something had come over the enemy warrior—a renewed determination to kill Rohoar. New hate as well. Which frustrated Rohoar. Hadn’t he been close to convincing the enemy to stand down and work together? Rohoar was sure he had been close.

In the end, however, the Selskrit’s anger had won out.

Still, Rohoar did not believe hate was the contender’s true heart. Something had happened. Something extraordinary.

Rohoar tripped, but then rolled with his momentum and regained his feet. Mahkmaim threw another punch with the paw spikes—this one harder than the last. His fist came at Rohoar’s head, but the Tawnhack ducked. Instead, Mahkmaim’s metal-tipped knuckles drove straight through the column, blowing it apart.

Rohoar scampered clear of the furious beast, and bits of the ceiling fell all around him.

“Argh!” Mahkmaim exulted. “This feels wonderful! It has been so long since I have had such a vessel—such power.”

This did not sound like Mahkmaim. But Rohoar still couldn’t figure out what had happened. One thing was for sure, however: whoever this was, it was not Mahkmaim of Selskrit.

A third punch—this time from the hand without the paw spikes—buried Mahkmaim’s arm in a column. Rohoar was sure the Jujari’s fist had been pulverized, but Mahkmaim did not so much as whine. Instead, he wrenched his shoulder back and forth in a desperate attempt to get his hand free.

Rohoar decided this was his moment and looked to put distance between him and the enemy. As he moved through the sublevel, he slipped into his second sight for clues. The Unity showed the Selskrit was covered in shadow. Black mist swirled around the warrior, obscuring his face and eyes. Rohoar also realized that the cold presence he’d felt moments ago was emanating from the dark clouds. Whatever evil Mahkmaim had invited to help him, it was powerful. Unless he did something fast, it was not only going to consume Mahkmaim—it was going to kill Rohoar.

Back in his natural sight, Rohoar raced toward the windows on the building’s west side. The sun was below the horizon now, turning the sky a vibrant pink, and the black hulks of starships cut through the color like the claws of corpses. If Rohoar could get back up to the roof, he could get those loyal to him to help him subdue Mahkmaim. Involving them would most likely start a riot with the Selskrit—but that was nothing new. He also might forfeit his right to be mwadim. But if it meant saving Mahkmaim from whatever evil was consuming him, it was worth it. And it is as you told him it would be, Rohoar said to himself. He would be giving his life, his role as mwadim, for Mahkmaim.

Rohoar stepped through one of the open floor-to-ceiling windows and drove his nails into the stone above the top sill. Just as he made to pull his battered body up, a hand wrapped around his leg and yanked him down. His hands lost their grip on the wall, but rather than fall back inside the window, Rohoar realized he was falling through open sky. He flailed his arms, trying to grab something—anything.

Rohoar passed Mahkmaim’s snarling face. The enemy swiped at the Tawnhack’s head, but Rohoar leaned away, still falling. The movement ended up driving his shoulder closer to the building’s exterior so that Rohoar could jam his claw into the side. His body weight jerked his shoulder tight, but his grip held.

“You are making this wonderfully interesting for me, mwadim,” Mahkmaim cried. Then he turned around and hopped backward off the window ledge.

Rohoar swung himself left to avoid Mahkmaim’s feet. The enemy stopped a meter below Rohoar, claws buried in stone.

“Isn’t this fun?” Mahkmaim said. He licked his chops.

Rohoar used his feet to dig into the stone, and then started crawling along the building face. By accident, he caught a glimpse of the tower’s base. A wave of vertigo played with his balance and made his stomach flutter. It was a long way down.

“And just where do you think you’re going?” Mahkmaim hissed. A moment later, the enemy started crawling after him.

From up above, the crowd of onlookers peered over the roof’s edge and started chanting Rohoar’s name—that was, everyone except Mahkmaim’s pack leaders. They had their own champion to cheer. But their voices were drowned out by Tawnhack supporters. It didn’t matter, though. This was no longer about a singotha—this was about whatever evil had infected Mahkmaim from within the Unity.

Rohoar needed to try and tell Mora or Czyz, or anyone who would listen. But Mahkmaim was coming too fast for him to think.

In a split-second decision, Rohoar let go of the wall and fell two floors before driving his claws back into the stone. His hands ached, and he could see blood surrounding his cuticles, but he could mend himself later—if he survived.

Above him, Mahkmaim matched his drop and stopped an arm’s length away. Rohoar blocked several body punches and an uppercut to his face. Mahkmaim was strong—even more potent than Rohoar remembered. Even with effective parries, the blows still cracked Rohoar’s bones.

“I foresee this ending poorly for you, Rohoar,” Mahkmaim said. “And to think I wasted so much time and so many ships on trying to take down your people, when all along there was a much easier way to destroy you.”

Rohoar swung clear and grabbed another new patch of stone. “Who are you?” he bellowed, fighting to stay clear. Perhaps if he could just turn in another window, he could use the stairwell to get back to the top.

“You really don’t know, do you,” Mahkmaim said. “My, this is wonderful. Just wonderful.”

“What have you done with Mahkmaim?”

“You’re catching on, mwadim. I’m proud of you. But it’s too late for him, just as it’s too late for you.”

The enemy lunged, flinging himself at the mwadim. It happened too fast to react, and razor-sharp nails dug deep into Rohoar’s shoulders. All of Mahkmaim’s weight came to bear on him, which eventually caused Rohoar’s paws to let go of the building. Still, for every meter he fell, Rohoar was able to cling to the building’s surface for a second, by dragging one hand across the stone, and then then next.

“We’ve met several times, you know,” Mahkmaim whispered in Rohoar’s ear. “And you’ve seen my handiwork.”

“I don’t—know—what you’re talking about,” Rohoar cried as his nails bled down the stone. His arms were moments away from giving out, and there was nothing he could do to get the Selskrit off his back.

“Perhaps you need a reminder then. It goes a little something like this.”

To Rohoar, it felt as though a lance ten-thousand times the strength of Oosafar’s sun had driven between his shoulder blades and ripped through the front of his chest. His arms and legs spasmed as every atom in his body seemed to protest their bonds. He wanted to scream—to tear the lungs from his breast if it meant they would exhale—but nothing came out. Instead, his body fell away from the tower of his forebears, and Rohoar’s life force returned from Mahkmaim.

And that’s when he knew who it was.

Moldark.

* * *

Rohoar’s only relief came from the sensation of falling. He gave himself over to gravity, hoping its faithful work would end his life before he suffered too much longer. The pain of being burned alive, of having his soul devoured by Moldark, was too severe an agony to endure any longer than he must.

Something latched onto his ankle.

All at once, Rohoar went upside down, and Mahkmaim’s body flipped off his back. But the Selskrit was still holding on, dangling from the claws dug into Rohoar’s shoulders. The mwadim howled from the searing pain that seemed to pull his bones apart, but also from the relief he felt from Moldark’s connection being severed.

Rohoar looked up—which was down—and saw Mahkmaim’s one eye glaring back at him. Evil still filled it.

Rohaor’s voice came out in a strangled growl. “You’re—still—alive.”

“Yes,” Moldark said. “And I’m coming for you. I’m coming for you all. And you’ll never see me until it’s too—”

Rohoar slashed Mahkmaim’s neck with one paw and drove a nail into his remaining eye with the other. The Selskrit tried to finish Moldark’s sentence, but all the air escaped out the gaping slit in his Jujari throat. Mute and blind, Mahkmaim shuttered, sending white-hot streaks through Rohoar’s back. But the grip on his shoulders slackened, and in a moment of pure relief, Rohoar felt Mahkmaim let go.

The mwadim watched the Selskrit champion fall away, his body tumbling through the air and bouncing once off the building’s side.

“I am sorry, my brother,” Rohoar whispered, finally feeling his strength leave him. He watched until Mahkmaim’s body disappeared into the city’s deep shadows and then gave himself over to the hands that hauled him into the nearest window.

33

Moldark looked down at his hands—Kane’s hands—and instantly missed the powerful claws of the Jujari he had just possessed. Granted, it also disgusted him. Being inside the vial creature was a torturous affair, but one he would suffer again if it meant delivering such unbridled wrath against his enemies. And without them ever suspecting me until it’s too late, he thought.

“Now, do you see why?” Psykon asked.

“I believe I do,” Moldark replied. Then he examined his arms and legs, still spellbound. He hadn’t just seen through the Jujari’s eyes—he’d been the Jujari. And, most astonishingly of all, he’d been able to partake of Rohoar’s soul. Moldark had exercised his powers vicariously.

The crowd of people, who had been bowing up until this point, sat up as one.

Moldark looked around, then turned back to Psykon. “So, this is what you do?”

“We abide in the darkness of others’ souls, yes. But we lack what you have amply demonstrated.”

“And what’s that?”

“The power to compel. And the power to withdraw life.”

Moldark squinted at Psykon, studying the man’s black hood. “So, that’s it, then? That’s what you want?”

Psykon nodded once.

Moldark laughed, feeling the life he’d drained from Rohoar, even if it was only a partial feeding. “You poor fools. I would pity you, were I to care.” He spun around to address the pitiful looking crowd on their knees. “But that’s a power you simply will never have.”

“And why is that?” Pskyon asked.

Moldark glared at the leader, unsure whether the man was being serious or not. “You—you know my name, do you not?”

Psykon nodded but did not speak.

“And you know this”—he gestured to his body—“is not my true form.”

Again, Psykon nodded.

Moldark looked around the room, waiting for some sort of punchline, some element of comic relief to swoop in and save these poor people from their delusions. All he could do was laugh, the sound of which echoed throughout the cavernous temple. “I am Norxük. I am an Elemental!”

Moldark laughed until he thought Kane’s throat might tear just as Mahkmaim’s had done. He leered at Psykon, at his wretched followers, at this entire planet of black rock and grey dust lit by a dying star. Their futility, their utter fantasy at thinking they could have what was his, it was—well, it was pitiful. To the point that if he were not laughing so hard, he might be crying—the poor things.

The feasting would be enjoyable. But the way he saw it, Moldark would be doing them a favor, really. No one deserved to live here, least of all these sad creatures. There was still the matter of destroying his last few ships, slaying thousands of sailors in the process. So there might be a minor sense of revenge in the digestion of their souls. But it was a simple exchange—they’d destroyed the last of his army, so he’d decimate theirs if it could be called an army. After that, this rather strange episode would be over, and Moldark could get back to the work he was so rudely interrupted from.

There was the matter of “abiding in the darkness of others’ souls,” as Psykon put it. Moldark had never seen anyone cross such expansive distances inside the Unity—assuming that’s what it was. Not to mention how they’d inserted his consciousness into the host. Such power was—intriguing. And if it was something he could use, that he could harness? The possibilities were, indeed, limitless.

“You asked me why we brought you here,” Psykon said. “It is because we wish the power to control the minds of others, and to snuff out the lives of our enemies.”

“I already told you, I am—”

“An Elemental. Yes. We are aware, Mithriel. But our abilities allow us certain privileges that our forebears were too nearsighted to entertain. Chiefly, that we are true students of the Unity and all that exists.”

“Which is how you know my name and that of my people.”

Psykon inclined his head. “We learn of it, from it, and in it. It is also from this process that we cultivated the bianima.”

“The bianima?” Moldark had never heard the word before.

“The dual state of existence—to be animated both here and there at the same time.”

“A quantum state,” Moldark suggested.

Psykon nodded once.

“So, you want to study me? Is that what you’re saying?”

“In part, Mithriel. We hope to learn how it is that you, the last of your kind, have come to utilize such power. We are aware that we will never be like you, of course. But”—Psykon spread his hands apart—“if you are willing to help us, to assist us in achieving our goals, we will be indebted to you.”

“Indebted?” While Moldark was intrigued by this, he couldn’t help but chuckle. “Unless you’re going to let me use that little magic trick of yours for my own purposes, I’m not sure you have much that interests me.”

“There is the possibility of allowing you this privilege, to a degree.”

“And what is that?”

“That it suits our purpose. As you can imagine, we do not allow just anyone access to the Obscura.” Psykon took a step toward Moldark. “In fact, you are the first.”

“So you learn how I do what I do—”

“No guarantees,” Psykon interjected.

“Sure. You get my powers, but I don’t get yours unless you approve.” He shook his head. “No deal.”

“What is it that you want, Mithriel?”

Now that was an intriguing question. It wasn’t that this curious man could give Moldark what he wanted—that much was obvious. Instead, Moldark felt the inquiry worthy of a genuine response because Psykon genuinely seemed to want to know. Everyone else who ever asked some semblance of this question did it out of survival—because they were trying to appease him and put off their own miserable deaths. But Psykon? He did not seem to fear death. In fact, he did not seem to fear anything save maybe failure.

“I want revenge,” Moldark said. “I want to exact revenge on the people who slew my kinsfolk. I want my wrath to visit the generations that came after them. And I want everyone who ever inconvenienced me in my pursuit of vengeance to suffer for prolonging justice. That, Psykon of the Obscura, is what I want.”

“And how do you propose to exact your vengeance, as you say? Surely, this is a grand undertaking.”

Moldark frowned. He didn’t like being patronized. “Why the sudden interest?”

“Something of that magnitude surely needs resources.”

“Of which I have plenty.”

Psykon tilted his head. “Do you, Mithriel?”

Moldark didn’t feel like dignifying that question with a response. He had taken over all three Galatic Republic fleets—he could do it again to some other navy. All he needed was time, which he had plenty of.

But do you want to wait that long again? he asked himself. The one thing eternity didn’t provide was relief from impatience.

“It seems that you require warships,” Psykon said. “And an army.”

“That’s my business, and you have wasted enough of my time.”

“But it can also be our business if you wish.”

Moldark squinted at the Obscura leader. “Are you saying you’re willing to equip me if I agree to allow you to study me?”

Psykon nodded.

A moment of silence passed as he considered the offer. Could this dark mystic provide him a navy? Or was this merely a ploy? “I would need to see the ships.”

“Of course.”

“And, the troops—”

“We will show you where to secure them.”

Moldark wasn’t sure if he could trust this man or his strange worshippers. “And if I don’t like what I see, or if you double-cross me—”

“We all know what you are capable of, Mithriel. We only seek to learn from you to settle our own grievances. You have your vengeance to exact; we have ours. Plus, we think you will find the elimination of our common enemy mutually beneficial.”

“Common enemy?”

“To be discussed if we have a deal. We wouldn’t want you leaving our sanctuary with sensitive information unless we knew where you stand.”

Moldark didn’t like that Psykon would purposefully withhold intelligence after already knowing so much about the Norxük, but he understood the man’s hesitation. Moldark wouldn’t trust himself either if the roles were reversed.

“And what if you fail to do what I can? What if compelling the enemy and consuming another’s life force is only for Elementals and not the Obscura? What then?”

“That is a risk we are willing to take. But the ships and the army, they are yours. We only ask that you preserve the secrecy of our order, nothing more.”

“Nothing?”

Psykon shook his head.

Moldark was beginning to think he’d be a fool not to take this deal. “And I’m on my way in—”

“In a matter of days. No more.”

Even despite what seemed to be a crooked deal in his favor, Moldark still felt that this arrangement was strange. The Obscura had no guarantee they could acquire an Elemental’s powers, and, worse, Moldark knew they couldn’t. Furthermore, the thought of giving someone access to his being—that didn’t sit well with him. Based on what these strange beings had already demonstrated, they would examine him thoroughly.

“I see that you are hesitant,” Psykon said, breaking Moldark’s train of thought. “There is one more item that may entice you.”

Ah, yes. Moldark had seen this on several systems. All biological species shared the same overwhelming need to procreate, thus ensuring the survival of their species. Giving an immortal being one or several of their sexually compatible virgins was, perhaps, one of the most pointless customs he had ever encountered.

“It won’t be necessary,” Moldark said.

“It won’t?”

He shook his head. “I’m not interested in your females.”

Psykon tilted his head and then brought his pale-skinned hands up so that his fingertips touched. “We wish to open a tunnel for you.”

Moldark froze. Had he just heard the man correctly? “What sort of tunnel?”

“A quantum tunnel. A void horizon. Back to your home.”

“You—you can do that?” Moldark glanced around at the people. “But that’s—”

“Impossible?”

“I already tried.”

“With the child, yes.” Then the entire host of worshippers spoke at the same time as Psykon. “We know.”

Moldark felt Kane’s heart beat faster. “You were watching.”

“We were,” Psykon said at the same time as the throng. Their voices echoed up through the hall’s vaulted back ceilings.

Moldark looked around the room and then focused on Psykon once more. “And what makes you so sure you can do what she could not?”

Psykon tapped his fingers together. “Because she was working alone. And”—he spread his hands apart—“because we have done it before.”

“We have,” said the masses.

If this was true, if this was real, it was—it is the answer you’ve been searching for. He could bring a navy to the Novia Minoosh’s doorstep and wipe out every record that they ever existed—just as he would do to the Jujari and every other species

Moldark looked over the masses, shrouded in their strange black robes. He tried to calm Kane’s beating heart. Then he turned back to Psykon. Moldark would still devour these people. But, perhaps, not today. “Let us proceed.”

34

Magnus, Awen said inside his head. It’s Blackman. He’s here.

“What?” Magnus said, slowing on the back lawn. “But that’s not—”

Possible. I know.

“You okay, boss?” Rix asked.

Magnus held up a hand to quiet Rix. “You’re sure?”

Completely, Magnus. He just ordered the mansion to be destroyed with the governor and all the victims in it, and then told his people to make sure it looked like it was the Sekmit.

Magnus turned and headed back toward the mansion.

“Where you going, LT?” Dutch asked.

“We’ve got to get back to the governor’s bedroom,” Magnus said.

But Awen was quick to counter him.

But what about the mission? If you charge in here, everyone will know it was a setup. Blackman will—

“He won’t live long enough to do anything about it. And word is already out about the governor, which means the Sekmit got what they wanted.”

“Who won’t live long enough?” Dutch asked, her voice growing more urgent. “What’s going on?”

Magnus glanced back at Alpha Team. “Looks like we have an unexpected party guest. Senator Robert Malcom Blackman.” Then Magnus slowed as Awen told him something else. The news rattled him almost as much as hearing that the senator was still alive. “You’re kidding me.”

I’m not.

“What is it?” Silk asked.

“Blackman’s working for the LAW.” Magnus paused to make sure that command was still listening. “You hearing all this, Colonel?”

“We read you, Magnus,” Caldwell replied, his face popping up in a small frame.

“What’s the play?”

“Hell, son. If you have a shot and he’s still in that building, you take the bastard son of a two-timing mingus lover out. But you’re on the ground, so it’s your call.”

“Copy.”

The last Magnus had seen, Blackman was inside the communications building of the Forum Republica on Prime. The weasel had fed the populace a string of half-truths, ones that downplayed both their imminent demise and his complicity in it. Magnus had wanted to kill him right then and there, but that would have been murder, and a good man had his limits. But then there was Bosworth’s final statement about Blackman’s collaboration with Moldark, and it made Magnus wish he could go back and put those limits to the test. He’d had the senator right in front of him.

In the end, however, the bastard died in the orbital strike. At least, that’s what everyone assumed. But to discover he was still alive, working with the Luma?—and right the hell here? No, Blackman was meeting his end tonight.

Magnus, Awen said. I can take him out. He’s only just stepped out of the room.

“Negative,” Magnus said. “He’s mine.”

Alpha Team charged into the mansion and followed Magnus up the steps to the second level.

“I want you three securing Awen and the Sekmit women,” Magnus said.

“What about you?” Dutch asked.

“I’m taking care of Blackman.”

“No way,” Rix added. “Not without backup.”

“Your priority is those women. That’s an order.”

“Those women can take care of themselves, thank you very much,” Awen protested.

“Not without armor and a weapon, you’re not.”

“I can handle myself just fine without—”

“You get the hell out of there, Awen. That’s an order.”

The comm channel went silent.

Magnus could tell no one liked him going out on his own, especially Awen. But right now, he didn’t care. He wanted his assets clear of the building before it was torched, and if interrogating and then killing Blackman meant he had to suffer through the destruction on his own, so be it. He wasn’t letting that sorry excuse for a public leader leave alive. Not this time. And Magnus needed to do this alone. He didn’t want anyone else to see what he might have to do. “Treat all combatants as hostile.”

“Copy that, LT,” Dutch replied. “Dominate.”

“Liberate.” Magnus could see Dutch’s weapon’s indicator in his HUD change from stun mode to lethal. She had the right idea. Since there was no judge and jury, Alpha Team would stand in. Blackman was responsible for Capriana Prime, and he would pay. They would all pay.

When they reached the top of the stairs, Dutch, Silk, and Rix broke right while Magnus headed down the main hallway. He reduced the length of his NOV2’s stock for a tighter, more compact shooting posture, which was better for the confined environment. Then he raised his NOV2 and pointed it down the corridor—safety off, finger on the trigger. Magnus slowed his breathing and centered his focus. It was time to clean house.

* * *

The first tuxedo-clad security officer only discovered Magnus because he ran out of a side room and knocked into an invisible Magnus. Stunned, the man brought his weapon up and fired, probably more out of surprise than having acquired an actual site picture. The hit was dead on, however, and struck Magnus in the shoulder. The blaster round exploded across his shield and then dissipated around the shape of his body.

The officer’s eyes went wide as he realized something, or someone, was right in front of him. But that was the last thing he ever saw, as Magnus fired two shots into the man’s tuxedoed chest.

The action caught the attention of two more guards returning from side rooms further down the hallway. Magnus guessed they were planting explosives—incendiaries if he had to bet a few of Bimby’s poker chips on it. They must have seen the last shot outline his body because they aimed right at him and fired. Without cover, Magnus took two more blaster rounds to his midsection, but the Unity shield held. Mystics, he liked this new tech.

He leaped sideways, aimed his NOV2 down the hallway at the nearest assailant, and squeezed the trigger twice. The first blaster round ripped through the man’s upper chest, followed by a second in his lower rib cage.

The next guard sent a stream of automatic fire at Magnus. Magnus sidestepped the barrage, and then sent two more bolts downrange, both in a tight grouping over the man’s heart.

“SITREP,” Magnus said over VNET.

“We’ve got Awen and the Sekmit,” Dutch replied.

“Good. Get them clear. Looks like they’re rigging the place to blow.”

“Copy that, LT. You sure that—”

“Out!”

“Roger,” Dutch replied without further protest.

Magnus exited the hallway through a set of antique double doors and emerged onto a white marble balcony. Below was the main floor where Awen had first encountered Littleton. But gone was the live band and all the partygoers. Instead, security forces crisscrossed the reception hall, and there, walking around the central fountain and heading for the exit, was Blackman.

“Not so fast,” Magnus said. He pointed his NOV2 down at Blackman, and then blinked, causing his bioteknia eyes to zoom in on the senator’s back. The blaster round streaked across the reception hall and struck Blackman in the small of his back. The man hit the ground and slid across the shiny floor.

Every set of eyes in the place turned in Magnus’s direction. Automatic blaster fire peppered the balcony railing, but Magnus was already moving. Sparks and chunks of stone struck his suit, forcing him to roll and take cover behind a wall. He heard orders for the security forces to move upstairs, which meant this level would be crawling with hostiles in a few seconds. He needed to get to the ground floor, eliminate enemy resistance, and confront Blackman.

Magnus considered jumping to the reception hall floor, but the Mark II didn’t have servo assist, and he was concerned his legs might break from the impact. For a split second, he considered using one of the giant banners that stretched down from the domed ceiling, but he dismissed that, suspecting the holo movies made it far more glamorous than it probably was. He imagined the enemy laughing at his pancaked body as they pulled it from under a heap of fabric. Idiot.

Instead, Magnus decided to head for the nearest stairwell in Blackman’s direction. He was gonna have to fight his way through this one, gunslinger style.

The first guard to arrive atop the stairwell never fired a shot. Magnus picked him off with two blaster rounds to the chest and a third to the head. The body fell backward and disappeared down the steps. Magnus continued to move forward—the NOV2’s upper receiver snug against his helmet’s cheek.

A second officer chanced a look around the stairwell’s top pillar and fired. She shot the wall right beside Magnus, which, considering he was still mostly invisible, was impressive. But he ended the woman with a single round to her temple, dropping her body on the top step.

Someone shouted from below. Magnus thought he heard the word Fragger and then saw a VOD bounce across the landing.

Aw, splick! Magnus dove toward a column and pulled his legs in just as the detonator shredded the balcony. Even though Magnus’s helmet mitigated the damage to his ears, his body still felt the shockwave hit him like a kick in the chest. But as soon as the explosion died, Magnus rolled out of hiding with his weapon up.

Three guards flooded the top steps, overconfident that their VOD had put down the enemy. None of them were even looking at Magnus when he fired, drilling the group on burst-mode. They fell in a heap, weapons clattering to the floor.

More shouts came from below as the enemy recoiled from more bodies hitting the deck. Magnus suspected they were preparing to send up another fragger, which meant it was time to send one of his own. He de-magged one of Azelon’s VODs, switched it to wide-spread in his HUD, and then sent the device around the corner. It clattered down the stairs as people shouted to take cover. But their orders were cut off by a loud detonation that had a much higher yield than the Repub ordnance. Thanks, Azie, Magnus said to himself.

He led with his NOV2 and turned down the stairs, weapon searching for targets like a Venetian web-toed blood wolf on a kill streak. A woman dashed toward the stairwell, but Magnus dropped her. He took the stairs one at a time, firing on every new officer as quickly as they appeared.

By the time Magnus reached the bottom step, blaster fire had come at his relative position from three directions. He counted at least twenty targets. It wasn’t until a bolt lit up his Unity shield that the blaster fire concentrated, reducing the energy field by eighty percent in less than a few seconds. It wouldn't be a problem as long as he could keep moving enough to recharge it. Which means you're not allowed to die, Adonis.

Magnus pivoted around the curved stairwell’s backside and then leaped toward cover behind the nearest column. He could see Blackman’s legs protruding from a marble pillar some fifteen meters away. He just had to get there, but enemy fire had him pinned down.

“Time to get wild,” he said and dropped out his front mag to replace it with a fresh one. He racked the weapon and then selected the AI-assisted multi-target fire effect mode. This many targets would drain both mags with one trigger pull. But desperate times call for a splick-load of rounds going downrange, he thought.

Magnus’s HUD showed the results of thermal sensor scans and calculated each enemy’s relative position. The potential target nodes blinked green as each one was locked into the weapon’s firing system. When targeting was complete, Magnus felt the gyro-stabilized barrel unlock. It was go time.

He waited for a lull in the oncoming fire and then stepped out from behind cover, NOV2 pointed at the AI’s pre-determined optimal firing position. As soon as the weapon’s barrel was lined up with the targeting trajectory indicators in his HUD, Magnus squeezed the trigger.

The weapon screamed, kicking his shoulder with the strength of a Bandalor mule-ox. It was everything Magnus could do to hold it steady. The barrel blurred in a strobe-like display of light, spitting out seventy-eight blaster rounds—three for each of the twenty-six targets located around the reception hall. The withering volley of blaster fire cut through chests, arms, and necks and filled the hall with a fine red mist. Bits of marble shot through the air while bodies fell into the fountain or tumbled into easels holding all manner of expensive art.

The last sentry fell, and Magnus listened to the NOV2 wind down—its barrel creaking under a red-hot glow. Then everything was silent.

When Magnus looked back toward Blackman, he saw that the senator had pulled his legs out of the lane. That meant he was still alive. Which means you’ll get to watch him die, Adonis. It wasn’t like him to be so cruel, but he’d also never confronted a man who was responsible for destroying an entire planet. Morals be damned—he’d let the mystics sort his decisions out in the afterlife.

Magnus ejected his spent mags as he walked, replaced them with fresh ones, and then charged his weapon. He found the senator curled up in a fetal position, hands over his head. Magnus reached down, grabbed Blackman by the ankle, and pulled him through a bed of stone debris. Then he flipped a chair right-side-up and hoisted Blackman into it.

“Whoever you are,” the senator said, eyes searching for whoever handled him. “I’m sure we can reach some sort of—” Blackman winced in pain, and then cleared his throat. His oily grey hair was tousled, and his bowtie had come undone. “Some sort of arrangement. Just tell me what you want, and I can make it happen.”

“Why did you do it?” Magnus said over externals.

Blackman grimaced at the sudden sound, still looking to focus on whoever spoke.

“Do what?” He coughed, face contorting in pain. “Who are you?”

Against Magnus’s better judgment, he de-cloaked. He wanted Blackman to see his executioner. “Why’d you betray the people of Capriana Prime, you son of a bitch?”

Blackman coughed again, this time a deep and difficult affair that lasted for several seconds. The man was dying but still managed to look up and down Magnus’s armor. “You Republic? Because we can make a—”

Magnus backhanded the senator to keep him on task. “Answer the question.”

“I didn’t mean to. It was an accident.”

Without giving it a second thought, Magnus fired his NOV2 into Blackman’s knee. The senator screamed, clutching the broken joint and the shreds of bone and ligament that remained.

“Whoops. Didn’t mean to do that either. Silly accidents.”

“I swear.” Blackman wept, barely able to remain upright. “It wasn’t supposed to—”

“End in a billion people losing their lives? Yeah, funny how that happened.” He fired into Blackman’s other knee. “Trigger is so damn touchy. Sorry about that.”

Blackman roared and then toppled out of the chair. He pleaded for the mystics to spare him, for someone to come to the rescue.

“Not today, Blackman,” Magnus said as he knelt beside the senator. “What I really don’t get is that, first, you were playing in the sandbox with Moldark—at least that’s what Bosworth said—and now look at you.” Magnus pressed the barrel of his weapon into the LAW logo on Blackman’s breast.

The senator winced, then made a pitiful attempt to bat the barrel away. “Did you want more of this?”

“Say that again?”

“Did you really want—” Blackman went into another coughing fit. “More of what the Republic had to offer? More killing? More domination?”

“And you think So-Elku can do better? Is that it?”

“He can.”

“I’ve run out of knees to shoot when you give me bad answers,” Magnus said.

“You clearly don’t know him—what he’s capable of.”

“And you clearly don’t know who you’re talking to.”

“But I, I recognize your—” A convulsion cut him off as his body was racked with pain. Then, with a raspy whisper, he said, “Magnus.”

“Come to pick up where we left off.”

“Yes—yes, I see that.”

“I just wanted to know why you did it. And I’ve got my answer.”

“So, you’re going to let me live?”

Magnus chuckled. “You poor naive innocent little sunflower. I let you go once, and look what a mistake that turned out to be.”

Another wave of agony washed over Blackman. His face twisted up, and Magnus thought the man might expire right then and there. Eventually, Blackman caught his breath and opened one eye. “I may be a dead man, Magnus, but so are you.”

“Aren’t we all. Your day has just come much sooner than mine.”

“No.” Blackman closed his eyes and managed a small shake of his head. “Same day.”

“What was that?”

“We both die today.”

Then the front doors exploded in a fireball of white-hot light.

35

Magnus activated chameleon mode again and then pointed his NOV2 at the smoking hole in the mansion’s front entrance. Whatever had made it was big.

Blackman reached up and grabbed his weapon’s barrel, then jerked it down. Another hand latched onto his belt.

“Hands off me, dick,” Magnus yelled, throwing an elbow into Blackman’s face.

The senator moaned.

“Who’d you call?”

“You think I came here alone?” Blackman said, hands covering his face. Then, with whatever energy he had left, the senator lunged at Magnus and grabbed his collar, his face a contorted mix of pain and pleasure. “You’re going to die with me, Lieutenant! Compliments of Master So-Elku.”

“I said, get off me!” Then Magnus fired twice into Blackman’s chest.

The senator’s eyes froze as if he couldn’t believe Magnus had just shot him.

“Oh, believe it, bitch. Have fun paying visits to the souls you killed.” Then Magnus shoved the corpse away and focused on the people coming through the doorway.

A least a dozen figures in short gold bathrobes and baggy pants stepped through the smoke, hands at their sides. They bore no weapons and wore no armor. Magnus almost lowered his gun until he remembered them from TO-96’s video of So-Elku’s little speech.

“Aw, splick,” Magnus said, crouched beside Blackman’s body. Slowly, he moved for cover against the fountain’s base.

“That what I think it is?” Caldwell said over VNET. He saw Magnus’s camera feed.

“Golden bath babies with an attitude? Yeah, that’s what you’re seeing.”

“The Li-Dain. Magnus, if what Willowood says about those fighters is true, you’ve—”

“Got to get the hell out of here. I know.”

He double-checked his ammo capacity and grabbed a VOD from his belt. The good news was that his Mark II armor offered some protection against being spotted in the Unity. The bad news was that he couldn’t stay stationary for long. And he didn’t like the odds against twelve of So-Elku’s newfangled warriors. Make that twenty-four.

“Magnus, we’re seeing—”

“Yeah, me too,” Magnus said, cutting off the colonel.

“Where did they come from?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.” Magnus pinged Dutch’s channel. “Coming out the back, and it’s gonna be hot.”

“Copy that, LT.”

Magnus set the VOD for a shaped charge, delivering maximum yield in the enemy’s direction, then lobbed the detonator over the fountain. The device flew through the smoke and bounced off the floor. But when the VOD went off, it detonated inside a translucent bubble the size of a dining room table. The ground rippled in a double-beat subsonic wuh-wumph, and then the light was gone.

“What in the splick—”

But Magnus didn’t have time to finish as two Li-Dain warriors pointed at him. Well, that’s not good.

He raised his NOV2, selected full-auto, and sprayed the far end of the lobby. Blaster rounds beat across the group of people, drilling into the robes. But when Magnus surveyed the damage, every last one of them stood, unmoved.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“Run, Magnus,” Willowood said over Caldwell’s channel.

“Got it!”

He turned and started sprinting toward a set of double doors. According to his building map, these led to the hallway below the one he’d come down from the governor’s bedroom. Then, he’d pass the stairs leading up to the bedroom and exit onto the back veranda. Easy peasy.

Until the doors exploded into another giant ball of fire, the concussion of which knocked Magnus backward and threw him on his back.

“Son of a bitch,” he yelled.

“You still there, son?” Caldwell asked.

“I’m not sure my guts came with me, but most of me’s here.”

“La-raah. Now get up.”

“On it.”

Magnus pushed himself off the ground, still clutching his NOV2, and stumbled toward the new doorway the Li-Dain had been nice enough to carve out for him. As his feet beat through bits of burning wood and chunks of marble, Magnus looked over his shoulder to see the Li-Dain spreading to either side of the fountain and heading toward him. Two stopped to check on Blackman, but they were back on their feet in a second.

Magnus blind-fired several rounds under his side in the off chance it might slow the Luma, but he guessed it wouldn’t. They seemed impervious to blaster fire, at least at the rate his NOV2 could deliver. The best he could hope for was to catch them off guard.

As Magnus disappeared into the hallway’s shadow, he maglocked his blaster to his back and pulled a VOD from each hip. Then he selected the sticky-bomb mode in his HUD, which came with a motion-sensor activation on a five-second delay. But Magnus needed the boom-boom a lot faster than that, so he dropped it to two seconds, and then threw the detonators to either wall. With any luck, the Li-Dain wouldn’t notice the ordnance, and he’d catch one or two with their shields down.

Magnus put as much distance as he could between himself and the bombs in the next two seconds. It wasn’t much time under any other conditions, but a lot could happen in a firefight in two seconds. Especially when maniacal bath babies are chasing you.

Buh—boom!

The double explosion threw Magnus forward. He hurtled through the air like a flightless skahba bird, hands windmilling to right himself. His left shoulder slammed into the ground, and the next thing Magnus knew, he was careening down the glossy marble floor hunted by a blossom of fire and shrapnel.

He put a hand down, which made him spin around. Black smoke followed him as bits of the building pelted his armor. Magnus was still sliding on his back when he withdrew his V from his hip, grasped the handle with both hands, and started firing one controlled blaster bolt after another into the haze. The powerful weapon bucked in his hands as energy bolts cracked through the air and exploded against Unity shields. Most of his rounds seemed to have little to no effect. But he felt confident at least two or three rounds made it through even though it was hard to tell through all the commotion.

As momentum continued to carry Magnus down the hall, the enemy emerged from the smoke—as did a few dead bath babies that slid across the floor. Finally.

“Scratch three,” Magnus said to no one in particular. He just wanted someone to know the good news.

“That’s good, Magnus,” Willowood replied. “But you’ve got to keep moving.”

“Hard copy.” Magnus tossed his V, rolled over, and pushed himself up into a run using his momentum from sliding across the floor.

The second piece of good news was that his HUD showed four gladias moving across the north lawn toward the mansion. Backup was on the way. But even with the fire support, he wasn’t sure what could be done against such a well-shielded enemy. His VOD-takedown had been lucky, and he knew it wouldn’t work again.

“I see you,” Magnus said to Alpha Team. “Gonna need you to lay down a strong base of covering fire.”

“Can do, LT,’ Dutch replied.

“But stay clear. These bastards are packing some serious—uh, they make stuff explode.”

“La-raah.”

The floor behind Magnus erupted in a ball of light as if mentioning the Luma’s firepower had prompted them to shoot at him. Again, he was tossed forward. This time he landed hard on his chest and slid toward the glass windows that looked over the back terrace. Magnus realized he wasn’t going to be stopping anytime soon.

“Here I come,” he said over comms. “Don’t shoot.” Then he sprayed the nearest windowpane with his NOV2 and used the gun to cover his head. The glass exploded, then rained down on him as he slid through the glittering debris field. Had he not been wearing armor, his skin would have been torn to ribbons. Even still, he could feel pain streak down his chest and legs. When he finally came to a stop outside, he felt someone standing over him.

Magnus looked up at four BATRIGS, their weapons pointed into the mansion.

“Happy to see us?” Awen said.

“Yeah,” Magnus replied, more than a little happy to see the two-ton beasts in combat-ready position.

Awen gave him a salute. “Might want to get behind us.”

Magnus scrambled to his feet and then bolted behind the line of mechs—only to find a fifth BATRIG standing without an operator. “You guys shouldn’t have.”

“And not let you have some fun?” Rix said. “Nah.”

Magnus climbed into his mech as GU90M fire kuh-boomed its way into the mansion, tearing through the windows and blowing head-sized holes through any solid surface. Meanwhile, the reticulating torrent disruptors on the ends of each mech’s left arm whirred to life, eviscerating walls, windows, and columns with a steady blaaaaat.

By the time Magnus paired with his mech and arranged himself inside, the back of the mansion looked like a tornado had hit it. He stepped forward, finding his place in line, and then added to the frenzy of weapons fire that lit up the building face as bright as the midday sun.

His body vibrated as both arms shook, delivering lethal doses of high-frequency blaster rounds that ripped apart anything and everything. In the haze of dust and broken glass, Magnus saw a Luma extend her hands to produce a shield wall. It lasted for about three seconds as Magnus targeted her palms and held a sustained bead of fire with the RTD10. When the wall vanished, the woman’s hand, arms, and chest were liquified.

Another Luma dashed along the floor, trying to outrun the chug-chug-chug of Magnus’s GU90M. But in his haste, he passed into the opposing path of Dutch’s GU90M fire. A single round removed the man’s head from his shoulders, while several more mangled his body into an unrecognizable state.

When Magnus couldn’t see anything else move in the north lobby, he ordered a cease-fire. It took a few seconds for the RTD10s to wind down, and when they did, all Magnus’s audio sensors could pick up were the faint sounds of tinkling glass, falling bits of stone, and small fires cracking throughout the building.

“Think we got ’em all?” Silk asked, sounding as if she meant to be sarcastic.

“Nope,” said Rix, followed by the loud sound of single 90mm rounds blasting through a Luma who was still moving. “Now we got ’em all.”

“Show off.”

“Everyone, okay?” Magnus asked, turning his mech to look at his team.

“Golden,” Dutch replied. “Well, not golden like those dead Luma, but, you know.”

“Yeah.” Magnus grinned. “I know. Thanks for coming back for me.”

“And we’re not happy about it either,” Awen said. “You and me? We’re gonna have words about this whole thing.”

“And I’m sure one of us is gonna do most of the talking,” he mumbled.

“I can hear you,” Awen replied with an attitude.

“But I—”

“I’m still in the Unity. You think those Li-Dain didn’t try firing on us all? You’re in so much trouble with me.”

He hadn’t considered that Awen had helped field some sort of defense in the Unity. Not that he was complaining. But he needed to learn to stop speaking out loud around her.

“Or even thinking around me,” Awen added.

“Noted.” Magnus chuckled and then motioned for the team to follow him. “Come on. This place is still rigged to blow. We’ve gotta move.”

The BATRIGs turned, jogged across the terrace, and then leaped over the far railing. Just as they did, the incendiary explosives in the governor’s mansion detonated, casting mech-shaped shadows across the lawn. Magnus led his team to the tree line and then turned to watch the mansion burn.

“Something tells me we have a lot of work cut out for us,” Magnus said to the team.

“And you don’t know the half of it, son,” Caldwell said, popping up in a sub-window on his HUD.

“Why do I have the feeling you’re gonna tell me something big, Colonel.”

“’Cause I’m gonna tell you something big, Adonis. We just got a transmission from Rohoar’s wife on Oorajee.”

“Rohoar’s got a wife?” Magnus turned to Awen in surprise.

“Eh, I think they call it a mate or something,” Caldwell said. “Anyway—”

“Hold up.” Magnus took a breath. “Please don’t tell me he’s dead. Splick, I’m not doing this right now.”

“Easy, son. Rohoar’s alive. Well, mostly, from what she says.”

“Mostly? What the hell happened?”

“Seems he undertook some sort traditional one on one pack battle to determine who was gonna be king.”

“A singotha,” Awen replied, nodding her head at the colonel’s words.

“And he won, I take it?”

“Barely. Turns out, he wasn’t just fighting the contender.”

Magnus scrunched up his face. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Rohoar claims someone else possessed the other combatant.”

“Whaddya mean, possessed?” But Magnus felt his gut tighten even before Caldwell replied.

The colonel removed the cigar from his mouth and probed the inside of a cheek with his tongue. Then he took a deep breath. “Moldark’s not dead, kid. And he’s coming for us.”

* * *

MAGNUS and AWEN return in QUANTUM ASSAULT, available now on Amazon.

For more updates on this series, be sure to join the Facebook Group, “J.N. Chaney’s Renegade Readers.”

QUANTUM ASSAULT

BOOK 8 IN THE RUINS OF THE GALAXY SERIES

PROLOGUE

“Have you had a chance to think over our offer, Governor? Or does the prospect of bleeding out alone in the Falcion quadrant still interest you?”

Governor Morandu drummed his fingers on his desk with all the subtlety of an adolescent Mammothian bear. Ever since Master So-Elku had announced the formation of his new alliance to rival the Galactic Republic’s failing infrastructure, the Luma leader hadn’t left Morandu alone.

“It’s a very enticing offer,” the governor replied. “Though it’s painfully obvious to everyone in the quadrant what you’re trying to do.”

“And that is?” So-Elku said from the holo window floating above Morandu’s ebony desk.

“Take advantage of the Republic’s demise—”

“I am bringing new stability to the galaxy.”

“New stability?” Morandu stopped drumming his fingers. “You didn’t think things were stable before?”

“And you did?” So-Elku cocked his head to the side, eyes narrowing.

“Protected trade routes, insured markets, access to education—”

“And a seat at the senate table.” So-Elku waved his hand. “You’re practically a spokesperson for the old Republic, Morandu. They would be proud if they were still around to care.”

I swear, Morandu thought to himself. If he interrupts me one more time. “Be that as it may, there are still some of us who believe the Republic’s days aren’t over. There are plenty of worlds still loyal to the cause.”

“The cause? And who do you think is going to patrol your trade routes now that their fleets have been decimated? Who is going to ensure the galactic markets will maintain integrity? And whose senate tower are you expecting to meet in?”

“Those things will be worked out in time.”

“They might.” So-Elku leaned in toward the camera. “But will they be worked out before pirates sabotage your lancite shipments? Before someone else determines who you can and can’t trade with? Before your precious senate gathers enough votes from people who don’t even know you to determine Undoria’s future?” The Luma Master scoffed and then leaned back in his seat.

Morandu picked up the data pad and looked at it as if reviewing the entire proposal his staff had spent the last five days pouring over. “Frankly, So-Elku, I’m not sure how the Luma Alliance of Worlds is any better. At least with the Republic, we have history, and we know what we’re getting—what we’re fighting for.”

“History?” So-Elku steepled his fingers and put them to his lips but did not speak right away. He let the one-word question hang in the air so long that Morandu almost broke the silence.

So-Elku spread his hands as if giving an offering to the mystics. “Three hundred years, the Galactic Republic has ruled the quadrant. And before that? The Sentient Species Alliance—one hundred fifty years. And then the Star Faring Council for four hundred years. And before that?”

Morandu hesitated. He wasn’t sure whether this was a rhetorical question or not. But when the silence stretched on, he replied, “Chaos.”

“Chaos. Yes.” So-Elku nodded, placing his fingertips back on his lips. “But not for everyone.”

“Oh?”

“Us, Governor Morandu. There was no chaos for the Order of the Luma. Because we were here long before the Galactic Republic, and we will remain long after its carcass has stained the ground with its blood. So, if you want to know what you are getting, you are welcome to avail yourself of our vast library. Should you wish further evidence as to how we are already working with those worlds under our care, you are welcome to contact them at your discretion. That said, I would ask you one thing, dear Governor.”

“And what’s that?”

“Don’t wait too long to reply. I fear we cannot guarantee your safety indefinitely.”

“Indefinitely? As in, you’ve already begun?”

“Of course.” So-Elku rested his hands on his chair’s arms. “You boast the largest deposit of lancite in the quadrant, rivaled only by the mines of Limbia Centrella in Omodon. Did you really think the pirates and their hordes wouldn’t come running the moment they knew the Republic fleets were eviscerated?”

“But we’ve not detected any pirates—”

“And nor will you, so long as our patrols remain in orbit.”

Now it was Morandu’s turn to lean forward. “You have ships in orbit over us? But we haven’t detected—”

“No. You haven’t. And you won’t. That, my good governor, is what makes us more powerful than the Republic ever hoped to be.” So-Elku stroked his neatly trimmed beard. “Tell me, have you heard of Governor Wade’s recent abduction?”

“From Deltaurus Three.” Morandu gave a small nod. “Though I’m not sure where this is going.”

“He was arrested by the Galactic Republic on Minrok Santari on charges of conspiracy and high treason.”

“I had not heard.”

“No.” The Luma continued to stroke his beard. “No, you wouldn’t have, I suppose. He was among the first to pledge their allegiance to the LAW. And when the Republic heard?”

“He should have been more careful.”

“Perhaps. But it doesn’t matter now, anyway.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because the Governor has been safely reunited with his people and is enjoying the protection and assurances of the LAW.”

“But I thought you said he was arrested on charges of—”

Morandu was interrupted this time by a series of images showing devastating damage to some building’s interior. The images cycled through, one after another, filled with scenes of broken blastcrete walls. And bodies—Repub Marines, Morandu noticed. “What am I looking at?”

“The brig beneath Admiral’s Hall at the Naval Academy of Tellstall.”

Morandu swiped the images aside and pointed at So-Elku. “Did you do this?”

So-Elku nodded once.

“Do you realize what you’ve done?” Morandu slid to the edge of his seat. “You’ve—you’ve just declared open war on the Galactic Republic!”

So-Elku lifted one eyebrow as if Morandu had just read him an inconvenient weather forecast. “You seem rather exasperated. Is there something you feel I should be concerned with?”

Morandu felt beside himself at this man’s brazen disregard for the consequences of his actions. “Are you mad, man? Have you completely lost your mind?”

“As a matter of fact, I am mad, Governor. I’m mad that the Republic thinks they have the power to do whatever they want to whomever they want, whenever it suits them.”

“But you, you killed Republic Marines in order to—”

“To liberate a prisoner of their war and an illegally detained citizen of the Luma Alliance of Worlds. We protect our own, Governor. And we don’t merely safeguard those systems whose economies or natural resources happen to suit our needs one moment and not the next. Nor do we leave your commodities to be determined by the whims of a senate who has no more vested interest in your world’s wellbeing than you do in theirs. Oh, no. We protect equally, represent equally, and trade equally.”

“And yet you would attack a naval academy? This is not the Luma we’ve known.”

“But it is the Luma the people need to rescue them from an empire.”

“Empire?”

If So-Elku was supposed to look ashamed at Morandu’s disgust of the word’s use, he didn’t. “And what would you call the Republic then? Hmm, Governor?”

Morandu huffed. “Well, certainly not an empire.”

“Really? Then how would you categorize the centuries of disproportionate agreements, broken promises, and backroom deals, all at the expense of innocent lives? How do you reconcile heavy-handed treaties that strip worlds of their customs and dignity, all in the name of the greater good? And what about the capital world being annihilated by their own ships? Does that not sound like an empire to you, Morandu? Because if it doesn’t, then I don’t think you and I will ever see eye to eye on how the galaxy really works.”

“And how does the galaxy really work?”

So-Elku leaned into the camera. “Sign the covenant agreement, and you’ll never have to wonder again. We’ll show you.”

* * *

Morandu sat back in his chair, facing the snow-capped mountains of the Westernlands that loomed outside his window. They stood like a row of impassable sentries, keeping solemn watch over the broad planes that stretched to the opposite horizon.

“I’m no fool,” Morandu said to himself, eyes searching the sky for some silent confirmation.

He knew the enemy assaults would come. Every rogue scavenger this side of Kandameer would be aiming for Undoria’s lancite mines now that the Republic orbital blockade was gone—their ships departing more than two weeks ago. In truth, Morandu was surprised the enemy hadn’t come already, which is why So-Elku’s claim of having hidden LAW ships in orbit was that much more believable.

And he resented So-Elku for it.

Not because Morandu didn’t want the security for his planet. He did. And, secretly, he mourned the fact that Undoria had become so reliant on the Repub navy that they stopped building their own ships decades ago.

Nor did he despise what the Order of the Luma stood for. All those things So-Elku said about the Luma’s history were true. They really had been around for millennia, and they would most likely be around for many more.

“So what’s bothering you, Elias?” He drummed his fingers across his belly. “Why the apprehension?”

There were so many reasons. He feared being caught, yes. If the Republic found out that he and his cabinet had been reviewing a proposal from a rival organization, he’d—what? “You’d be imprisoned in the brig on Minrok Santari, just like Wade.”

But it was more than that.

This was about So-Elku having envisioned, formed, and launched an entirely new alliance in less than four weeks since Capriana Prime’s demise. To Morandu, it felt like a widower was out dating women at the nearest cantina a month after the wife’s passing. “More like the next day.”

So it was the principle of the thing then—is that it, Elias? You’re upset that So-Elku doesn’t have the same allegiances, doesn’t bleed Repub red?

But, then again, why would he? The Luma had never been allies of the Republic—not really. Wherever there was a planet to protect and a species to preserve, the Luma were there, battling the Republic’s every attempt to pull that world into the fold. But all of that was gone now.

The galaxy as Morandu knew it was fading away faster than he could have imagined. How such a mighty and majestic entity had come crashing down so quickly was, well, it was astonishing. And here was So-Elku and the Luma ready to offer a solution.

“Like it was planned all along,” Morandu whispered. But then he shook the thought away. No. There’s no way the Luma could have orchestrated the events over Prime, he told himself. This was simply So-Elku seizing an opportunity.

But if Morandu were honest, the galaxy would need something to align with. There were plenty of rogue star systems that could threaten Undoria if he didn’t do something quick. And Morandu guessed his wasn’t the only post-Republic world that would need protecting.

“What other option do you have?” He looked to the mountains again and offered a prayer to the mystics. Then he chuckled. “Aren’t the mystics offering you the alliance?” Maybe there was some hope to be found in this new agreement after all.

Morandu’s chamber door trilled.

“Come,” he said. As soon as the metal panels separated, he heard the sound of blaster fire coming from somewhere in the distance.

“Governor Morandu,” said Ingrid Sellner, his Chief of Staff.

Morandu stood up. “Ingrid. What’s going on?”

“The building is under attack.”

“Mystics.” It was happening already. “Who?”

“We—” She hesitated and pinched the bridge of her nose. “We don’t know yet, sir. But right now, we’ve got to get you to safety.”

“Yes. Yes, of course.” He moved around the desk and headed toward Sellner. Two security staffers stepped into the room; one offered Morandu an armored vest, and the other carried a riot helmet.

“Please put these on, sir,” Sellner said.

He nodded and then donned the vest and helmet. The sounds of blaster fire were getting closer, coming from somewhere down the marble hall outside his office. “How many?”

Both security guards looked at one another and then to Sellner. “That’s hard to say, sir.”

“So many?”

“Not exactly.” Sellner nodded at the two guards who then stepped into the hall, raising their blasters. “I’ll explain as we move. But we’ve got to go right now.”

Morandu nodded and followed her out to where five more guards waited, their weapons pointing down the hall. These were not the Republic Marines who usually stood guard throughout the building—those had left with the warships. Instead, these secondary security forces were responsible for the property’s general safety. Morandu had much less confidence in them than the Repub security detail that always accompanied him everywhere he went, but in the event of an attack, he’d take anyone who knew how to point and shoot a gun at the bad guys.

“Back stairwell, sir,” Sellner said, tugging on the governor’s elbow.

“Right. Yes.”

The security guards formed a diamond shape around him, moving as one toward the marble stairwell on the building’s east side. Light from large windows flooded each switch-back landing, giving another beautiful view of the mountains. Meanwhile, the sounds of footfalls mixed with Morandu’s heartbeat as he struggled to keep from tripping over his own feet. Three decades behind a desk had not done wonders for his college physique.

“So what is it you were going to explain?” Morandu asked Sellner.

“The attack seems to be an internal power grab.”

“Internal? As in among the staff?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Who’s involved?”

Blaster rounds struck the stairs just below Morandu’s feet. He skidded to a stop and nearly tumbled down the steps as one of the security guards cried out and fell face-forward into the hallway below.

The other security guards returned fire, suppressing the enemy just long enough to get the governor around the next turn. More blaster rounds struck the walls and broke through the tall windows, showering Morandu in crystal shards. He covered his head and ducked as the guards let loose another volley of return fire.

“Who’s doing this?” Morandu cried over the now-constant sound of blaster fire mixed with troopers’ boots crushing glass into the red carpet.

“We can’t say, Governor.” Sellner turned on the landing and took a step down when more bolts exploded around her feet. Three security guards collapsed, and Sellner was struck in the knee. She pitched forward, hands aloft, and screamed as a second and third round hit her chest and shoulder. She was dead before she hit the red carpet on the fourth floor.

Morandu swore and tried reaching for her, but someone pulled him back into the protection of the turn-around. Blaster fire was coming from the floors above and below him. Only three guards remained—one returning fire to slow the pursuit of enemies above, the other trying to clear a path through those below.

When the guard nearest Morandu slumped forward, the governor picked up the blaster and started firing under the ceiling and into the hallway below. He couldn’t see anything just yet; there was too much smoke. The smells of burning flesh and singed carpet fibers stung his nostrils. Morandu fought the urge to vomit. If this was the end for him, he didn’t want to be found in a pool of his own bile. He wanted to go down fighting.

The guard above him cried out then tumbled backward and landed in a heap beside Morandu’s feet.

“Maybe we can go out the window,” Morandu yelled. It was a desperate move, he knew, but they were pinned down.

“No good,” the remaining guard said. “Four stories, straight down. You won’t survive.”

“And we won’t here either.”

Then, without any warning, the incoming blaster fire stopped. Morandu looked at the guard and then peered around the pillar toward the lower hallway.

“Governor,” the guard said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Please be careful.”

Morandu nodded and then took a step down. He half expected his foot to get blown off. But it didn’t. So he took another step, and another, all the while trying to peer through the smoke. Behind him, Morandu heard the guard following, one step at a time. An eerie silence befell the ornate marble corridor, the architecture and decorations of which went back four centuries to Undoria’s Neo Revival period. A figure stepped through the smoke, hands open and raised.

“Who’s there?”

“Katie,” a quivering voice said. “Katie Tomanova. I work in finance. Please don’t let him shoot me.”

A second figure emerged behind her, this one holding a blaster muzzle against the back of Katie’s head. Morandu didn’t know her, but she was dressed in the business attire of any one of hundreds of people in the capitol building.

Morandu squinted, trying to make out the face of the assailant, and then he raised his gun like he’d seen all the holo stars do. “Put your weapon down and let her go!”

“Only if it suits our purposes, Governor Morandu,” said a soft and even-toned voice. While the hostage-taker looked male and was dressed in casual business attire, his voice wasn’t gender-specific. If anything, it seemed to Morandu like several other voices spoke behind the assailant’s in a sort of dissonant harmony.

“And what are your purposes?” Morandu asked, taking another step down. The security guard cautioned him against going further, but Morandu waved him off.

“It is not among our purposes to inform you,” the man replied. There was something about his eyes that seemed very strange to Morandu. It was almost as if dark clouds had settled over each eye socket. They hadn’t, of course; the idea was purely metaphorical. But the man’s countenance disturbed him.

“If I can’t know your purposes, then how can I assist you in achieving them?” Morandu made a show of looking around and then took another step down. “You are clearly here for me. So why don’t we start with who you work for. The Verv? Simbilant?”

“We work only for ourselves, Governor. And we have no need of your assistance. All paths inevitably lead to the one we desire.”

Morandu stepped onto the hallway’s landing and took his time moving toward the hostage, his sights still trained on the assailant behind her.

“Please, Governor Morandu,” Katie said. Her eyes pleaded with him to do something.

“I’m going to take care of you, Katie Tomanova who works in finance. Just hold on.”

She yelped as the gun pressed her to take another step forward. “I don’t want to die.”

“Just let her go,” Morandu said, lowering his weapon. “Take me instead.”

“But, governor,” the man said, cocking his head sideways. “We don’t want to take you.”

“You—you don’t?”

“You have entertained the Luma. We want to kill you.”

The guard behind Morandu fired a single round that punched a hole in the assailant’s forehead. Katie screamed and then ran into Morandu’s arms just as the body hit the floor with a sickening crack.

“I’ve got you,” Morandu said, one hand over the woman’s head, the other still wrapped around the blaster’s handle.

Then something flickered through the air like the fin of a Nethermink salmon streaking upriver. Morandu didn’t actually see what it was, but the smoke seemed to ripple overhead.

“You cannot escape the shadows, Governor Morandu,” said the guard in a strange voice—

The assailant’s voice, Morandu realized. He spun around with Katie in his arms, raised his gun, and fired three shots into the guard’s chest. The man’s body convulsed, and the darkness left his eyes.

There was another flutter in the smoke, and then Katie’s head rolled up to look him in the face. “Goodbye, Governor Morandu.” And with that, the Obscura used Moldark’s power to devour the man’s soul.

1

“And then what did you do to him?” Piper asked.

She clutched one of Rohoar’s thick paw-nubs as they walked along with one of Fînta’s long bridges spanning two massive trees. The treetop village bustled with activity in preparation for the night’s meal, which was made even more exciting because the tribe-mother Freya was scheduled to arrive.

“Rohoar?” Piper shook his paw a little. “Are you listening?”

“Rohoar punched him twice more,” Rohoar replied.

But Piper could tell he wasn’t fully listening to her. His thoughts were somewhere else. “And then what?”

“And then he swung at Rohoar and missed, hitting a column instead.”

“And then what?”

Rohoar let out a hot breath that parted the air on her face.

Piper winced. “Did you brush your teeth today?”

“Which question do you wish Rohoar to answer first?”

Piper considered this. “The first one, because I think I already know the answer to the second one.”

“And then Mahkmaim struck Rohoar here”—the Jujari pointed to the small of his back. “It was very painful.”

“Ouch. I’m so sorry.” Piper paused. “And then what?”

Rohoar sighed again. “This is a very tiring game for Rohoar’s head. May we continue later?”

Piper felt disappointed, but she understood that the big doggy had traveled a long way. “I guess. But, but, will you still tell me how you killed Mahkmaim at the end? Maybe later, for a bedtime story?”

Rohoar’s ears perked up. “You would wish this for a bedtime story?”

“So, that’s a yes?”

Rohoar looked behind them.

“What’s wrong?” Piper glanced over her shoulder too. But all she could see were Gladio Umbra and Sekmit working along the platforms and bridges.

“Awen must be watching,” Rohoar said softly.

“Awen?” Piper wrinkled her nose. “Why?”

“She told Rohoar not to tell you these bedtime stories—ones she called very violent. They are not good for human children, she said.”

Piper waved a dismissive hand through the air. “Oh that’s just shydoh speaking.” Then she grabbed Rohoar’s paw with both hands and tugged on it. “Please? I love these kinds of bedtime stories so much.”

Rohoar slowed and glared down at her with a furry eyebrow raised. “Are you certain you do not have Jujari blood, small one?”

“Me?” Piper’s eyes went wide, and she looked down at her chest and arms. “I don’t think so. Why?”

“Because Jujari pups also love such stories. Rohoar thinks you are part Jujari somewhere.”

“Yeah. Probably. It’s why we get along so well.”

Rohoar let out a low woof. “Rohoar agrees.”

“Anyway, I’m really super happy that you and the other Jujari are back now. And I know you have an important meeting to go to. Plus, I imagine it’s hard for you too, you know.” Piper looked around and raised her chin at the sprawling village.

“What does Rohoar know that Piper assumes Rohoar should know?”

“The things.” She nodded toward the nearest Sekmit and then said in a hushed tone, “The kitty cats.” When Rohoar still didn’t seem to understand what she was trying to say, she yanked on his arm, forcing him to stoop over so she could talk in his ear. “Don’t you want to attack all these cat people?”

“They are not cat people, tiny human.”

“Yeah, but, they look a lot like them, and you’re a big doggy—”

“Not a doggy.”

“—who probably wants to eat them. Am I right?”

Rohoar tried working his paw out of Piper’s grip like working his arm out of a coat sleeve, but she wasn’t going to let go until he answered the question. “Fine,” he huffed. “Yes. It’s very tempting to eat them.”

“See? I knew it.”

“But Rohoar will refrain. There is too much to be done.”

“I bet they want to scratch your nose.”

Rohoar placed his other paw atop his snout. “Why would you say that?”

“’Cause. That’s what cats on Capriana Prime do. Did.” Suddenly, Piper felt very sad. Thinking of how many people died on the planet still hurt her heart. But now, there were no more people there, no more dogs or cats or corgachirps—real ones and fake ones.

“You are sad thinking of Rohoar fighting with the Sekmit? Because Rohoar can assure you, he will refrain from disemboweling them or making necklaces from their entrails.”

“No.” Piper let go of Rohoar’s paw. “I’m just sad at how many people have died in all of, well, since I left Capriana. It almost feels, feels…”

“Feels like what?”

“Like it’s my fault.”

Rohoar stopped walking and knelt in front of her.

The bridge swayed a little as Piper looked up at his large fuzzy face. “What?”

“Listen to the air of Rohoar’s speech. You have not caused this, tiny human. All of what we see now is the result of those set on destruction. If we perish in the middle of stopping them, or we kill others to complete our tasks, then this is only evidence of how deadly our enemies are. But we? Rohoar”—he touched his chest—“and most especially Piper”—he touched hers—“we are those who seek to preserve life. Take it if we must, but always preserve wherever we can. Yes? Understanding?”

“Understanding,” Piper said. She wiped tears from her eyes and snot from her nose with the back of her hand.

“Good. We must always be appriprensive, facing fears together, as one.”

She thought about correcting him but felt too grateful for his words to her to ruin the moment. “Yeah. Appriprensive. Thanks, Rohoar. I needed that.”

“And Rohoar also needed what you said to him.”

“What I said?”

“Yes. You taught me bahdish bahdang. About appriprensive. Rohoar used this to think of his pack, and it was his tribe who rescued him from Moldark and Mahkmaim.”

“It was?”

Rohoar nodded. “Without them, Rohoar would not be here to encourage you.” The Jujari’s eyes got glossy, reflecting the torch-fires as they lit up across the Fînta. “We need one another. And this”—he made her form a fist and then punched his hand with it—“this is how we win.”

Piper threw her arms around his thick neck and squeezed. “This is how we win,” she echoed, whispering her thanks into his ear. Then she kissed him on his soft cheek and watched him walk to his important meeting.

* * *

It felt good to have the whole team back together again. While not everyone in the room was a company commander or team leader, Magnus had told Caldwell that he still wanted them present as they embodied the heart of the Gladio Umbra. And right now, the team needed every ounce of heart they had left. Magnus felt—no, he knew—that whatever came next would take everything they had to give.

The gladias gathered in Minx’s command hall—a timbered room with wooden benches and tables, a central stone fire pit, and small alcoves along the walls. TO-96, Azelon, Colonel Caldwell, and Willowood stood at the room’s front and talked casually while some of Minx’s inner guard passed out glasses of water to those seated. Rohoar and his Jujari sat atop two tables, and Sootriman and Ezo lazed near the fireside, their arms around each other—well, more like Sootriman holding Ezo.

Ricio, Captain Forbes, and Lieutenant Nelson each had called in various leaders under their commands. Willowood asked Scion, Incipio, and Tora to represent Paladia Company, Azelon pulled in Cyril, Berouth, and Gilder. Moreover, all of Granther Company’s members were present as Magnus sensed he was going to need to restructure the outfit based on whatever came from this meeting. The Gladio Umbra’s losses on Prime, combined with the ever-changing tactics of the enemy, required that the outfit remain lean and versatile.

“All right,” Caldwell said, quieting the room by holding up his cigar. “Let’s settle in and get started. If my mustache is right, and it’s rarely wrong, we’ve got a splickton of work in front of us. TO-96’s bolts aren’t getting any shinier, and my ball carrier ain’t losing any wrinkles.”

This produced a smattering of laughter around the room.

“The most important news, as you’ve probably all heard by now, is that we have reason to believe that Moldark is still alive.”

Whatever lightheartedness floated through the air from his earlier statement hit the deck in a hurry from this one. Heads nodded, and faces grew stern—Magnus’s especially. Having already talked with Rohoar while the Jujari were en route from Oorajee, Magnus could hardly believe the story was true. And he wouldn’t have, were it not for the Jujari who told it. Not only was Rohoar a Unity user, but he was one of the most honest people Magnus had ever met, if not the most honest. The Jujari’s complete incomprehension of hyperbole made him extremely forthcoming, if not annoyingly so.

Caldwell gestured toward Rohoar. “You have the floor, mwadim.”

Rohoar stood, addressed his fellow gladias, and then told the story of his encounter with Moldark’s essence while in Oosafar, beginning with the strange appearance of Paragon ships in Oorajee’s orbit. Later he recounted the fight with Mahkmaim, taking special care to point out the other contender’s noble attributes. Magnus found this particularly moving, given the fact that the Selskrit had tried to kill Rohoar for the throne.

Then the mwadim told of the sudden shift in Mahkmaim’s demeanor and the conversation with whatever new spirit possessed the Selskrit leader. As Rohoar described his soul being sucked from his body, Magnus noticed several people in the crowd move in their seats. At last, Rohoar outlined Mahkmaim’s mercy killing in a final effort to dispatch Moldark. He spoke with such reverence that Magnus thought maybe the two warriors had been estranged brothers and not rivals to a throne.

“Thank you, Rohoar,” Caldwell said as the Jujari sat down. “I don’t think I need to tell you all that the pucker factor on that one is just north of hearing a LIMKIT 4 landmine click when you sit down in a latrine.”

A hand went up. It was Zoll. “Colonel. Do we know how Moldark was able to possess this other Jujari? Was he killed over Prime, and his spirit got loose or something?”

Heads nodded throughout the room.

“Colonel,” TO-96 said. “If I may.”

“Go ahead, Ballsy.”

TO-96 turned to face the room. “As you may recall, after we analyzed the data of the Black Labyrinth’s final moments, we had determined that the probability of Moldark escaping the ship’s destruction was less than 3%.”

“I remember that,” Zoll said. “Sounds pretty low.”

“It does,” the bot replied. “Which we all took comfort in. However, we decided to employ additional data captured from Azelon’s sizable and robust sensor array that probed the surrounding space—”

Magnus shot Awen a look and then mouthed the words “sizable and robust?”

She shot back with “probed?”

“—we discovered several anomalies consistent with biological transport infrastructure.” TO-96 projected a large holo display of data, laid out in mind-numbing three-dimensional grids.

“What are we looking at here?” Bliss asked. “This makes no sense to me.”

“Show them the rendering,” Ezo said to TO-96.

The bot nodded. The data vanished, and the image of a single starship appeared.

“The Peregrine,” Forbes said, sitting forward on his bench.

“Precisely, Captain Forbes,” TO-96 replied.

“So, he did escape,” Zoll said.

“We believe so, yes,” TO-96 said. “This news, combined with Rohoar’s generals’ eyewitness accounts of Paragon warships firing on Oorajee, leads us to conclude that Moldark is still alive.”

“But I thought you said those ships were destroyed,” Abimbola said to Rohoar.

“Most were,” the mwadim replied. “But we estimate that some may have survived.”

“Estimate?” Abimbola asked.

Rohoar grunted. “Something blocked our pack’s sensors. We felt as if something survived though. I will try to explain this. It was as if something blotted out space, hiding it from the sight of our eyes. As if blood stained a piece of leather. As if a sandstorm covered the sky across the horizon. As if—”

“Got it, mwadim,” Abimbola said.

“I concur with the Jujari’s findings,” Azelon said. “After reviewing everything the Tawnhack sent us, I was able to determine that there was, in fact, some form of dark matter around the last known coordinates of the Paragon ships in orbit over Oorajee.”

“Dark matter?” Awen asked, seemingly intrigued but this new bit of information. Willowood’s body language suggested she, too, was keen on whatever Azelon had to say. The two women shared a look.

“Does this mean something to you?” Magnus asked.

Awen deferred to Willowood with a nod.

“It could,” the older woman said. “Dark energy makes up more than half of the universe, and dark matter almost a third. While most dark matter is naturally occurring, it exists passively, like a substrate beneath the rest of what we see and experience.”

“Anyone else lost?” Robillard asked. His question produced a series of verbal consents and head nods.

Caldwell raised his cigar for silence and then pointed it at Willowood. “Please, continue.”

She gave a quick half-smile. “Think of it like bedrock. We all know it’s there, but no one thinks about it.”

“Except geologists,” Magnus said.

“Correct. And, I guess you could say we’re”—Willowood glanced at Awen and the other mystics—“the geologists.”

“So you know what was blotting out Rohoar’s sensors like a moon over the sun?” the Jujari asked.

“Not exactly,” Willowood replied. “But I think it’s important we find out what it was.”

Magnus couldn’t put his finger on it, but there was definitely a change in the elder woman's mood. Even if it was imperceptible to everyone else, he chalked the insight up to being an old Marine hunch. “And why’s that? Begging your pardon.”

Willowood pursed her lips in thought before replying. “Dark matter doesn’t just pop up and interfere with normal matter. If anything, it stays behind the scenes, giving everything else that’s known something to stand on, as it were.”

“So the fact that it messed with Jujari sensors concerns you,” Magnus said.

“That’s correct. It might be nothing.”

“But it might also be something. And if so, I assume you have a working theory?”

Willowood sighed. “No. No theories yet. Which is all the more reason we need to discover what caused it. Until then, I think Moldark is in the wind. If we try to follow him now, we’d just be wasting time. Better to focus on the things we can change until…”

“Until what?” Magnus asked.

“Until Moldark comes to us.”

Well that was definitely not awesome. Even though he hated the uncertainty of Willowood’s statement, he trusted her. She’d come to Caldwell with answers when she had them.

“What do you need for your investigation?” Caldwell asked.

“The data from TO-96 and the Jujari sensors for a start. The gladias of Paladia Company will handle the rest.”

Caldwell nodded. “Which leads us to our next topic of discussion while we wait for our esteemed hostess, Freya, to arrive: that of the golden bath babies that Magnus and Alpha Team encountered at the Governor’s mansion. Magnus?”

Magnus tapped on the data pad and then pushed it into the middle of the table closest to him. It projected a large holo display of video captured from his helmet cam during the battle with the Luma warriors. The footage showed Magnus firing on the robed assailants and retreating through the mansion.

“As most of you know, I made the call to personally pursue Senator Blackman after Awen made the surprise discovery that he had not only survived the assault on Prime but was involved with Governor Littleton’s activities here on Aluross. While Blackman”—Magnus glanced at Caldwell—“succumbed to injuries sustained during the ensuing conflict, the more important revelation is his connection to So-Elku’s new Luma Alliance of Worlds.”

Magnus froze the video on a panoramic shot of the Luma flooding the building’s rear entrance just before the BATRIGs opened fire.

“Golden bath babies,” Zoll said, nodding slowly. “Now I get what you meant, Colonel.”

Caldwell smiled through his cigar smoke but kept his eyes focused on Magnus. “Describe your encounter, Lieutenant.”

“They had powerful Unity shielding, that’s for damn sure,” Magnus said. “And not like the kind we encountered when we lost Simone on Worru. It was stronger—as if my blaster fire was absorbed, and then used against me, much like I’ve seen some of our gladia do.” He gestured toward the mystics. “In the end, it was only the mech’s overwhelming fire rate that punched holes in their shields and put down the enemy.” He pushed play and allowed the video to show the counterattack. The BATRIGs’ withering firepower decimated the enemy and tore the building’s backside to shreds.

Several people whistled at the action, and more than one gladia let out an enthusiastic “La-raah!” When the footage ended, Magnus turned off the holo and removed the data pad from the table.

“I’m gonna turn this over to Willowood,” Magnus said, and then stepped aside.

“Thank you, Magnus.” Willowood laid her own data pad on the table and brought up a holo presentation she’d prepared. The first segment of video, care of TO-96, was lifted from So-Elku’s planet-wide broadcast. “As we learned from So-Elku’s national address on Worru, the warriors Magnus encountered are what So-Elku is calling the Li-Dain.” The video slowed as the broadcast camera swept along a row of Luma dressed in their distinctive and already infamous gold-colored martial apparel. “Based on the name, Magnus’s description, and the footage from the encounter in the governor’s mansion, it appears that So-Elku has taken the traditional Li-Loré arts well past their non-lethal genesis.”

“The lie-lilly past their say what’asis?” Bliss asked, looking around. “Anyone else lost.”

“She’ll explain, Bliss,” Caldwell said as he pumped his hand in the air. “Slow your sweet gourde.”

“Copy.”

“As I was saying,” Willowood said. “Li-Loré is an ancient martial art form developed by the Luma Elders specifically to guard the Luma Master. On a few rare occasions, it was also used during covert negotiations.”

“So, so, are you talking spy splick?” Cyril asked. “’Cause that 100% reminds me of a level in Nova Ops Two where—”

“The nature of those operations varied, Mr. Cyril,” Willowood replied, doing an exemplary job of acting professionally toward Cyril’s playfully obtuse question. “Most of them surrounded the protection of high-level government officials, especially during sensitive negotiations with the Galactic Republic.”

Cyril sat back, folded his arms, then leaned over to Abimbola. “Spy splick. Called it.”

“Can you tell us a little bit more about Li-Loré?” Abimbola asked. “I think we have seen some of it from our own mystic-gladia, yes?”

“Certainly.” Willowood advanced her presentation footage to content taken aboard the Spire in one of the training hangars for Paladia Company. Several dozen gladias in Novian power suits moved in unison, sweeping, pushing, and punching their arms and legs in coordinated patterns. “Abimbola is right. When you’ve seen us use our powers in the Unity, in either hand-to-hand combat or against enemy attacks, you’re seeing a version of Li-Loré. What you see here is a tyka of Awen’s and my own design. We’ve developed it specifically for use in the Gladio Umbra. While there are certainly offensive capabilities, as some of you have no doubt witnessed, it is primarily a defensive tool used to deflect an enemy’s aggressive energy.”

“Those bath babies were doing a whole lot more than deflecting,” Rix said. “The way they were shooting at Magnus made me wanna piss my mech.”

“And I don’t blame you,” Willowood replied. “Those ‘bath babies,’ as you called them, were extremely powerful, using abilities well beyond anything they would have learned in the Li-Loré. Awen?”

Awen nodded and stepped forward. Then she advanced Willowood’s data pad presentation to show an animated image of what looked to be a cross-section of three ground layers. But rather than show topsoil, gravel, and bedrock, this animation showed a surface level of moving yellow light, a second level of churning green, and a bottom layer of sparkling magenta. Various metrics and thin pointer indicators moved with each liquid layer, showing amplitudes, volumes, energy waves, and several other lines of data most likely lost on the majority of the audience. Even still, it looked impressive.

“What you see here, with no small thanks to Azelon, is the closest we can come to a graphic representation of the Unity.”

“Where you all spend most of your time,” Forbes offered.

“That’s correct, Captain. This”—she pointed to the yellow top layer—“up until I went to metaspace for the first time, is what we have always called the Unity. It is the realm in which all Luma have learned to operate since the beginning of our order—their order. It enables us to see and move within the second sight.

“But when I encountered the Novia Minoosh and the codex, we learned that the Unity encompasses more layers and is much deeper than we ever knew.” She touched the green section. “The Foundation layer presents a whole new creative realm within the Unity. From it, we understand the formative nature of the unseen and find the basis for all manner of matter manipulation. But this layer”—Awen touched the glimmering magenta region—“this is what we know as the Nexus. Think of it as a massive root system that exists in the lowest plain. Its energy interconnects everything else, both seen and unseen, known and unknown. It is the most powerful of all three Unity layers, and the level we know the least about.”

“Is Awen then suggesting that these Lily-Danishes have access to the other realms?” Rohoar asked.

Awen smiled at the mispronunciation. “Yes, mwadim. Just as we gladia do. But where we have tried to harness its power for defensive means—being the umbra of our Gladio Umbra—these warriors with the Luma Alliance of Worlds have used it to conjure highly aggressive results.”

“As we saw in the attack against Magnus,” Sootriman said.

“Correct. They are powerful, and if we know So-Elku, they will be pressed to grow in their giftedness and understanding of this new power.”

“If there is one thing So-Elku was known for,” Willowood said, coming to stand beside Awen. “It was his relentless desire for perfection. When used for noble ends, sought through good ways, it had amazing results. So-Elku had ways of pulling the best out of everyone, as Awen can attest. But when a powerful person makes compromises to attain good things, well, I think we can all see the results today.”

Abimbola raised his hand.

“Bimby,” Caldwell said.

“So, if this is the spearhead of the LAW, then what were they doing here on Aluross?”

“Trying to take over our trinium deposits,” said a female voice at the back of the hall.

Magnus looked across to the dimly lit entrance and saw Freya stride into the room accompanied by Wobix and eight other green-robed narskill warriors. The soldiers moved without making a sound and carried wooden staves and Thørzin bows.

“Your highness,” Caldwell said. He raised his hands, reminding the gladias to stand.

Minx rushed to Freya’s side and brushed her head along the tribe mother’s neck. Minx’s other servants lifted their chins in respect but stayed where they were around the room. Then Minx turned to address the Gladio Umbra. “I present ní Freya ap Linux.”

“Thank you for honoring us with your presence,” Caldwell said, motioning to give her the floor.

“Feared Aggressor Caldwell,” she replied as she crossed the room to stand beside him. “It is good to see you again. And you, manservant of Awen.”

Magnus coughed once and then raised his chin as Awen had taught him. “Ní Freya.”

She gave him a dismissive glance. But half-hidden in her countenance, Magnus could have sworn he saw a look of approval.

“First,” Freya said as she lazily looked around the room. “I’d like to congratulate you all on a job well done. While your methods were unorthodox, the coverage surrounding the explosion at the Governor’s mansion seems to support the Republic’s desire to cover up his—how shall I put it—unfortunate fetish for Elonian and Sekmit companions alike.” Freya gave Awen a knowing smile.

“Needless to say, I don’t think we’ll be hearing from the GR anytime soon, except to attempt making reparations, which everyone knows they can’t afford.” She sniffed the air as if picking up the scent of something rancid. “Now, however, it seems we have a new pest in the garbage heap, one who had already gotten to the Governor.”

Magnus suddenly wondered just how much Freya had heard before she made her appearance. Then again, this was her world, and it was highly likely that she’d already received intelligence from any number of sources—including from people who had listened in on the conversation via the Unity. Not that it mattered. The Gladio Umbra were guests; still, he didn’t like having his brain tapped.

“This LAW you speak of,” Freya continued. “If they are seeking to fill the void that the Republic once filled, then they will need the one thing that all advanced civilizations require for their drive cores.”

“So, so, you really have, like, trinium here?” Cyril said. “On Aluross?”

“Yes, my nervous chattering human.”

“But, uh, there aren’t records about that. Like, none. And believe me, if there was, I would have seen them. Because, well, because I study that sort of thing and—”

Cyril froze when Freya whipped her hand up with a swoosh sound.

“Part of our agreement with the Galactic Republic was a mutually beneficial condition of absolute secrecy. In effect, it meant there would be no rivals to the Republic’s claim, and we would be safe from unwelcome interest in our mines. Thus, the reason you are not aware of our trinium deposits is that we did not wish for you to know.”

“Yeah, yeah, but it’s more than that, I think.” Cyril swallowed. Magnus had to give the kid credit—he sure did have some stones going up against Freya. That, or he was just completely ignorant of how lethal this species was, which didn’t seem likely given the kid’s level of study. “Every world with trinium deposits worth making alliances over is easy to spot because of the radiation. It’s an unstable isotope. Obviously. If Aluross had trinium in any substantial proportions, we would have known. Everyone would have known. Like, the whole ‘a long time ago’ kind of knowing.”

“That’s because our trinium is hidden, chatterbox.”

“But that’s impossible.”

“Cyril,” Caldwell said with the warning tone of an impatient parent.

“No, no, I don’t mean to say Miss Freya is lying or anything. Unless she wants to deceive us because then she’d be lying. And that’s bad. But I don’t mean to imply that she’s stupid either, because, wow, that would be really disrespectful of me.”

“Cyril,” Caldwell barked. “Stand down.”

“Yes, sir. Bravo roger niner, right away, Charlie.”

“So what you’re saying is that Blackman was here on behalf of the LAW,” Awen said to Freya. “You think he was working to turn the Repub’s planetary governor, and all in the hope of acquiring your trinium mines.”

“That is my hypothesis, yes.”

“Interesting.” Awen looked at Magnus. “Makes sense.”

“Which is the real reason why you wanted us to help you give Littleton the boot,” Magnus said in a sudden epiphany.

The tribe mother eyed Magnus like she was ready to eat him for a snack. “As I said, this has been a closely guarded secret.”

“So why tell us now?” Magnus asked.

“Because while the Republic may not return for the trinium, the LAW will. The Republic has other mines on other worlds, ones not currently embroiled in a scandal. But the LAW? They have no other sources for trinium, and ours is the largest and most accessible to them. If their plans really are to expand control over the quadrant and beyond, they won’t be going anywhere unless they take Aluross first.”

“So you used us,” Magnus said. “And I’m guessing Lani DiAntora wasn’t working alone either. You prompted her to send us here.”

Freya cocked her head sideways at Magnus. “You know, for a manservant, you are both perceptive and irreverently outspoken.”

“What can I say?” Magnus shrugged, then he winked at Awen. “My overlord lets me have a long leash.”

Caldwell turned to Freya. “Ní Freya, I think you can understand how we feel at the moment.”

“Comfortable, safe, and grateful for the protection the Sekmit have provided for your people?”

The colonel grunted with a half-smile. “We are, yes. But—”

“Tell me, Feared Aggressor of the Hundred Worlds War, would you have come to help us without the offer of protection for your people, as suggested by Captain DiAntora? And would you have risked your lives at the Governor’s mansion if our objections were simply over mineral rights and natural resources?” She waited for Caldwell to reply. But when he didn’t, she moved on. “Or would you have stayed clear and told us to take up our issues with the governor, ambassadors, and the senate?”

“Well, you did threaten us if we opted not to help you. And you mentioned the economic sanctions if the Repub caught wind of what was going on.”

“And yet, in the end, why did you decide to come, and further, to help us, Feared Aggressor? What was it that so moved you on all points?”

The Colonel seemed to mull this over for a moment as he chewed on the end of his cigar. “I realized you wanted the same peace and security for your people that I wanted for mine.”

“And, for the Sekmit, this includes our natural resources.” Freya relaxed her stance then assumed a more wistful tone. “In hindsight, we were unwise to give up so much to the Galactic Republic when we first joined. But we feared that we were not strong enough to defend ourselves from them once the mines were discovered. Nor did we trust them to keep the trinium a secret if we refused their offer.”

“And you’re still not strong enough?” Caldwell said.

“Against a weakened Republic with the wisp of a navy? They would not be so foolish to try, as we have grown more powerful over the years. But the LAW?” Freya purred and twitched her nose. “They are more cunning and will no doubt be provoked by the loss of Senator Blackman and some of these golden cherubs, as you call them. That, and the Elder Queens seem uncertain of our people’s fate. Which is why we wish you to stay and help us defend our planet once more.”

Many of the gladias moaned at this prospect. But in the blink of an eye, Wobix and his narskill warriors had their Thørzin bows drawn and energy bolts ready to fly. Several gladias stood, some prepared to raise weapons, others holding out their hands to try and calm the situation.

“Stand down,” Colonel Caldwell ordered with a commanding voice that cut through the air. Likewise, Freya hissed some command in the Sekmit tongue that seemed to take Wobix a few seconds to pass on to his warriors. Eventually, the tension subsided, and people retook their positions.

“Well, as you can see, ní Freya, this isn’t exactly sitting well with everyone,” Caldwell said.

“But is the LAW not our common foe?” Freya asked.

Caldwell blew out a puff of smoke. Magnus guessed the Colonel’s conundrum. The fact was, the Gladio Umbra hadn’t gotten to this part of the dialogue yet. “I don’t know, gladias. Is the LAW our enemy?”

Magnus was caught off guard by Caldwell’s candor. It wasn’t standard procedure to open up such a question in front of so many players, including a possible foe. Maybe the Colonel was slipping. Or perhaps he was just trying to get everyone on the same page.

“Let’s face it,” Caldwell said. “We might as well talk this out together and all get on the same page. Hell knows our hosts aren’t gonna wait forever. Anyone?”

“They’re enemies,” Zoll said. “Their precious golden-wrapped diaper babies tried to kill Magnus.”

Several people laughed at this.

“But does the LAW offer a sense of needed stability in light of the Republic’s fall?” Magnus offered, much to everyone’s surprise. He didn’t mean it, of course. But he was trying to do a little of what Awen had told him to. “I’m just trying to make sure we’re looking at all sides of this conversation.” That, and he wanted to make sure everyone saw what was at stake if they indeed decided that the LAW needed to be taken down.

Awen raised her eyebrows at him. “They tried to kill you, Adonis.”

“Because I went after Blackman.”

“And Blackman was responsible for Capriana Prime,” Forbes added.

“In part, yes.” Magnus nodded. “But if we decide that the LAW is a real enemy, then it means we’re all in. It means that we believe So-Elku will do anything he can to acquire power, and we’re basing that off one encounter.”

“No, we’re not,” Awen said, arms folded.

Magnus gave her a look as if he wanted her to repeat the statement. This was a new direction for her. The last time the GU had met like this, she’d contended that it was too soon to know what the Luma Master’s motives were.

“We’re not basing this off one encounter,” Awen continued. “It’s So-Elku’s pattern. He tried to manipulate me into giving him the stardrive. He conspired against Willowood and the others, and he kidnapped Piper. Then, through Blackman, we learn that he worked behind the scenes in ways we’re not even fully aware of to attack Capriana Prime and then create his own alliance network. And now his forces show up here? To take political control of Aluross?” She shook her head, more to herself than anyone else it seemed. “No. I think it’s clear that So-Elku’s sense of peace and justice is based only on what he deems it to be. He’s not willing to talk it through. He’s not willing to see all sides. That man”—she pointed to one side as if to make a point—“has abandoned the Luma way in favor of something else, and he must be stopped.”

A heavy silence fell over the hall. People looked to one another as if in search of silent confirmation. Magnus knew that it was one thing for a warrior to offer reasons to charge into battle, but it was another thing altogether when Awen did.

“If we’re saying this, then we’re going back to war,” Caldwell said.

“Yeah, but we all knew that was coming anyway,” Bliss said. “Colonel, sir.”

“I’m with Bliss,” Robillard said. “If we sit around here too long, we’re bound to grow tails.”

The Sekmit snapped their heads to him.

Robillard pumped his hands in the air. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that. I’m just saying.”

“Company commanders?” Caldwell said. “I want a vote. We’re doing this together or not at all.”

Magnus was the first to put his hand up. “I haven’t come all this way just so some crazy-ass Luma totalitarian can spoil everything. And while I’m not about to rejoin the ranks of the Corps, the GR was still better than the LAW any day.”

Heads nodded, and a few gladias let out quiet la-raahs as each company commander’s hand went up in a unanimous vote.

Caldwell held out his cigar. “Motion carried.” Then he let the weight of the vote settle on everyone and took the opportunity to take a long draw on his tobacco; mystics knew Magnus would have done the same. “But that still doesn’t answer our question about helping the Sekmit. So we need to decide whether it’s better to take the fight to Worru or stay here and defend against another possible power grab.”

“We assaulted Worru once,” Bliss said.

“Yeah, and barely made it out alive,” Robillard replied. “I’m not sure we’re up for that yet.”

“It certainly was a challenging raid,” Abimbola said as he flipped a poker chip and caught it. “But one worth taking, as it was a mission to both rescue”—he nodded at Willowood and her mystics—“and recruit”—he looked to Forbes and Nelson. Then he slapped the poker chip on the back of his hand. “This time, however, we would be going to destroy that which the Master Luma has constructed.” Abimbola looked down at the chip. “And the gods tell me it is not the time.”

“Reliance on deities is irrelevant to my logic systems,” Azelon said. “However, in light of the Miblimbian’s logic, I too calculate a minimal degree of success were our forces to attempt any sort of outright assault against Worru at this time.”

“And remaining here on Aluross?” Caldwell asked.

“Depending on the numerous enemy attack scenarios, ranging from covert to overt, as well as the type of trinium deposits the Sekmit are guarding, I calculate a much higher degree of success if we remain here and aid Aluross against a possible invasion. Statistically speaking, an offensive endeavor must have five times the fighting force to successfully overpower any given defense. Our combined energies place us in the eightieth percentile of success given all the variables currently at my disposal.”

“Ezo likes those odds,” Ezo said.

“As does Rohoar,” said the Jujari.

Freya turned to Caldwell. “Should I be concerned that you have some among your number who speak of themselves distantly?”

Caldwell titled his head. “Normally, I’d tell you to be concerned. But these ones are okay.”

“As you say.”

“Additionally,” Azelon said. “If So-Elku acquires the Sekmit’s trinium supply, assuming it is as abundant as proposed, then Freya has a very valid point. The LAW would have an ample supply of fuel, enabling them to extend their reach into other systems. As it stands now, with Republic supply lines dwindling by the day, Worru will be limited to whatever it has on hand.”

“So you can bet they’ll be coming back,” Sootriman said. “Ain’t nothing like an old fashioned chokehold to get someone kicking and punching for air.”

Caldwell spread his arms apart. “So, what will it be, gladias?”

“Stay,” said Abimbola.

“We stay and fight,” Zoll said. “Dominate.”

“Liberate,” several more cried out.

Once the enthusiasm died down, Magnus looked at Freya. “Seeing as how you’re getting yourself a battalion of mercenaries, mind showing us what we’re defending and exactly why Cyril says there’s no record of it?”

“It would be my pleasure, manservant.”

2

David Seaman and his commanders watched the security camera footage of Governor Littleton’s mansion inside the war room in Admiral’s Hall. And none of them dared move.

The briefing required the highest security clearance. This, of course, was not a problem, as the leaders and commanders of the newly titled Neo Republic unanimously voted to elevate Seaman from commodore to acting chancellor until such time as new bylaws could be drafted to account for the Republic’s unprecedented fragmentation. Likewise, Seaman made eight appointments to fill the seats of Central Command. These people would be responsible for seeing to the safety and security of the Neo Republic’s sovereign citizens and military assets—what little remained. The CENTCOM assignments included Admiral Lani DiAntora, now Chief of Naval Operations, and General A. H. Lovell, now Commandant of the Marine Corps.

With lights low and blinds drawn, Seaman and his advisers watched the holos as men and women in formal attire ran from Littleton’s bedroom, shrieking in terror. People stumbled over one another as security guards pushed them down the hall. Several guests fell to the ground, preoccupied with tapping on their data pads.

Several smaller holo windows appeared at the end of the conference room with feeds that looked as though they’d been taken from the data pads.

“What you see here are the posts from the guests’ devices,” said General Kalene Williams, Commander of Naval Intelligence.

“Freeze,” Seaman said. “Play window three.”

The computer did as he instructed.

“Maximize,” Seaman added.

The graphic scene of the governor’s bedroom caused a few CENTCOM members to gasp, some placing hands over their mouths. In the holo, Littleton swore his innocence despite several scantily clad women lying across his bed and a floor covered in blood.

The chancellor looked across at DiAntora, checking to see if she was alright. Most of the females seemed to be Sekmit, though it was hard to be sure with the shaky video and the low light. DiAntora, however, remained the stoic picture of a proud Sekmit and professional Republic military commander.

“Resume primary screen and maximize,” Seaman ordered the AI.

The security camera view returned, showing the guests running down stairs and filling the main reception hall.

“Advance to marker twenty-one twenty-nine,” General Williams said. The program responded and showed security forces firing at the reception hall’s second-story balcony.

Seaman searched for a target but saw nothing. “What are they firing at?” But Williams didn’t reply, choosing instead to let the video continue to play. Some strange invisible presence moved along the balcony and then came down the stairs, firing round after round into the security guards.

At first, Seaman assumed it was the work of an entire platoon—there was no way that anything less could put so much firepower downrange. But then, as the chancellor started to notice that all the blaster rounds were emanating from a single source, he realized it was a very small group. Perhaps even one person. “But that’s impossible,” he said to himself.

Within moments, the unknown assailant had killed everyone in the entire reception hall.

“Did it stop?” Seaman asked Williams. “What’s happening?”

“Just wait,” she replied nodding toward the holo.

Just then, a uniformed man slid across the floor as if dragged at the ankle by the wind. Then a chair flipped up, all by itself, and the man was hoisted into it.

“Holy mystics,” Seaman said, leaning forward. “Is that Senator Blackman?”

Williams nodded. “We have a 98% match, sir.”

“Vesper’s crag, I can’t believe I’m seeing this.”

“Neither could we, sir.”

“And what’s that uniform he’s wearing?”

“Just wait, sir.” Williams waved a finger in the air to raise the audio volume.

“Why’d you betray the people of Capriana Prime, you son of a bitch?” said a rough voice. The sound seemed strangely familiar to Seaman, but he couldn’t quite place the speaker.

Blackman coughed and then seemed to try and make a deal with his unseen adversary. Suddenly, his head snapped sideways, and the voice told the senator to answer the question.

“I didn’t mean to,” Blackman said. “It was an accident.”

Then Blackman’s right knee exploded in a blast of light, severing his lower leg. The senator screamed and begged for someone to rescue him. The two spoke some more, and then Blackman’s other knee exploded as blood and bone splattered across the floor.

“Mystics, he’s going to murder him,” Seaman muttered.

As the senator and the unseen vigilante spoke, names like Moldark and So-Elku came up, as did themes of loyalty, betrayal, and vision. Something even depressed the logo on the senator’s breast pocket. The patch was an encircled flame filled with a field of stars, bordered by some text too small to read. Finally, Blackman said one word. “Magnus.”

“Magnus?” Seaman looked at DiAntora. “Does he mean the former Marine Lieutenant?”

But Lani barely looked at him.

The holo screen went white, and the speakers clipped from an audio spike. The mansion’s front doors exploded, and then a dozen unusual-looking figures walked in. They were dressed in some sort of billowing golden pants and matching robed tunics, tied at the waist.

“What in the hell is going on here?” Seaman said, hardly able to believe anything he was seeing. He swore it was a holo movie, not real-life security footage. “Is this some sort of joke?”

Williams shook her head. “Keep watching.”

Another dozen joined the twelve figures as they spread out and headed toward the senator. Then two blaster bolts punched through Blackman’s body, and he slumped forward and spilled out of the chair onto the floor.

The next few moments were a flurry of bright flashes and strange explosions. The golden warriors seemed to channel energy from the ether and send it careening toward the ghostly figure, who Seaman could only assume was Adonis Magnus. At twenty-four to one, Magnus seemed to retreat toward a rear hallway, followed by the golden robed assailants.

The pursuit finally ended when what looked to be four mechanized armor platforms unloaded on the mansion, cutting the gold attackers to ribbons. The sheer amount of withering firepower was astounding, blowing apart columns, ripping up tile, and tearing through walls. Then the four mechs turned and leaped off the back veranda. Just when Seaman guessed there could not be any more carnage, the camera feed froze on a bright white light illuminating the four mechs in midair.

“And that is the last frame we have,” Williams said. Everyone sat, staring at the image for a few moments before General Lovell called for the lights.

Seaman glared at the wall. After a few seconds, he turned back to look at those around the table, including Lani. “Did you know?” he asked her.

“Know what, Chancellor?”

“Oh, cut the splick, Lani.” He thrust a finger at where the holo screen had been. “That was the Lieutenant that you offered asylum to. And those mech’s looked an awful lot like the ones the Marines encountered at Elusian Base and again on the beach outside the Forum Republica. You’re telling me the Sekmit had nothing to do with, with”—he couldn’t find the words—“with whatever mess that was?”

“The decisions of the leaders of Aluross are their own, regardless of—”

“Spare me the deflection, Admiral. Did you know?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Mystics!” Seaman threw himself back in his chair. “What the hell is going on around here? It’s like the galaxy is falling out from underneath us, and I don’t even know if I can trust the people at this table.”

“You’re tired,” DiAntora said. “You haven’t slept, and—”

“I don’t need it right now, DiAntora. I need answers.”

“Well, sir,” Williams said. “It’s not over yet.”

The chancellor eyed her. “Excuse me?”

“We have more. And it explains the situation behind Governor Wade’s defection to So-Elku’s organization.”

“You mean the Order of the Luma,” Seaman replied.

“No, sir. I don’t.” Williams turned and activated the holo screen again. “We received the following footage through some of our shadow ops channels in the pre-dawn hours today.”

An image appeared of Master So-Elku standing behind a podium in front of the Luma’s Grand Arielina. Wiliams hit play.

“Citizens of Plumeria,” So-Elku said. “Distinguished guests, and all those watching across Worru, it is my duty and my great honor to address you today.”

Over the next several minutes, Chancellor Seaman and the other CENTCOM members watched and listened as So-Elku discussed the fall of the Galactic Republic—an entirely premature assertion, Seaman thought, since we’re still sitting right here—the absence of clear leadership, and the need for a new alliance to pick up where the Republic had left off.

The Luma Master then proceeded to outline what he called the Luma Alliance of Worlds. All at once, Seaman connected the organization’s logo to the patch on Blackman’s chest. How the senator survived Capriana’s destruction, Seaman had no idea, but he guessed it was with So-Elku’s help. You bastards, Seaman thought while clenching his teeth. The new alliance also went a long way in explaining Wade’s actions, just as Williams surmised. Seaman was starting to see a pattern.

Finally, So-Elku raised his hands and presented an army of golden-robed warriors. “I give you the Li-Dain Protectorate. Sworn Guardians of the LAW, and Mystics of the Nexus!”

“Turn it off,” Seaman said. “Lights.”

The room filled with heavy sighs and the squeaks of bodies shifting in leather seats as everyone prepared themselves for whatever came next. Several commanders took sips of water while others made notes in their data pads.

Seaman collected himself and placed his hands down at the head of the table. “Anyone else have any bad news they’d like to share before we move on?”

“Actually, yes,” said Trade Commissioner Jere Davis. He swiped up on his data pad, sending a file to all those seated at the table. “This report outlines the activity of several emergent anomalies in shipping routes.”

“Anomalies?” Seaman said, eyes narrowing. “You’re talking pirates?”

“Among other things, yes, Chancellor. We’ve seen upticks along the Kandameer belt, Khimere, the Meridian Outskirts, and Pellu to name a few.”

“Mystics.”

“But it’s more than that, sir.” David used his data pad to project a holo screen that identified ten or so specific planets located throughout the four quadrants. “Notice anything?”

It was DiAntora who responded first. “The pirates are targeting the systems with the most trinium and lancite deposits.”

“Correct,” Davis replied. “Which leads me to believe that they’re not pirates, at least not all of them.”

“Explain,” Seaman said.

“Most scavengers don’t have the resources to go up against these worlds. Even without Republic protection, the planets we’re talking about still have sizable defense networks.”

“So you’re saying it’s someone else?” said Henry Sherwood, the newly appointed Finance Commissioner.

“I’m saying I think someone is using the pirates to create a screen while they work inside channels.” David nodded to General Lovell.

“Nineteen hours ago, security forces reported that our planetary governor on Undoria was assassinated.” Lovell sent several images and a video montage floating over the table. “The operation appears to have been conducted among Governor Morandu’s own staff.” Lovell expanded a video showing the governor’s people turning against him during a firefight. The whole end scene seemed staged, but cryptically so, as if it was some elaborate double-cross scheme.

“An inside job?” Seaman squinted at the images. “But that doesn’t make sense.”

“It does if you consider who Morandu was speaking to moments before his assassination.” Lovell pushed a Repub transmission record into the holo display, one that listed all incoming and outgoing communications for the last twenty-four hours. The final entry showed a blank space for the caller’s name, but it did show a planet of origin.

“Worru.” Seaman shook his head. “This was So-Elku.”

“That’s what the evidence suggests, sir.”

“Which would also explain why he was going after Aluross,” Seaman added. “He wants the trinium.”

“But how would he know about it?” Sherwood asked. “That supply line is one of our most closely guarded secrets.”

“Blackman,” Seaman said. He rotated his glass of water on the table, staring at the contents. “He sold out Prime, and he’s giving up our secrets. All for a seat at the table of whoever’s dice are luckiest.”

“The bastard’s dead now,” Lovell said.

“But how deep will his betrayal cut us?” Seaman looked up at Lovell. “How much more does So-Elku know? We’re not in a place to protect those worlds, and he knows that.”

“But if he gets his hands on enough resources to fuel ships, he’ll—”

“He’ll what, General? Provide energy to every planet with a warship and build himself a fleet of LAW loyalists? Take over the quadrant? Sounds like a workable plan to me.”

Lovell worked his jaw. “Yes, chancellor. It does.”

Seaman looked around the table. “The reality is that while we’re reeling from losses no one ever imagined, So-Elku is building momentum around his new endeavor faster than we’re going to be able to respond. And he’s clearly willing to use any method necessary to manipulate or coerce leaders into going along with him. This means if we have any hope of keeping the Neo Republic together and stopping him, we can’t rely on brute strength like we used to. We’ve got to be more cunning.” He tapped the tip of his index finger on the table. “We’ve got to outsmart the fox at his own game.”

“And you have a plan on how to do that?” Williams asked.

Seaman sighed. “No, General. But that’s why I appointed the smartest leaders I know to help me come up with one. If not”—Seaman pointed to the frozen images from Undoria and Morandu’s dead body—“you can sure as hell bet we’ll be next.”

A long pause circled the table as each official seemed to consider the task that Seaman proposed.

“Who else has the footage from inside Littleton’s mansion?” DiAntora asked the table.

“Those were our proprietary security feeds,” Williams said. “Unless someone’s figured out our quantum encryption algo, no one.”

“So all the public has is the footage from the social feeds and maybe some shots of the exterior?”

“That’s a safe guess, yes,” Williams replied.

“Then I’m willing to bet that’s all So-Elku has too.”

Seaman eyed DiAnora. “You have an idea?”

“I think so,” DiAntora said. “It’s a long shot. But it just may work.”

Seaman gave her a crooked smile. “Right now, I think long shots are the only things we’re gonna get, Admiral. Let’s hear it.”

3

Psykon stood over Moldark’s slumbering form and studied the decaying admiral’s body. The Elemental had done well in keeping the host’s life force suppressed but not as well in maintaining the flesh. Pockmarked scars riddled the scalp and face, and the teeth had become pointed and gnarled. Dried blood stained the corners of Moldark’s mouth, and Psykon guessed the man had recently lost a tooth.

“Are we ready to begin again?” he asked his ten sedgewicks, practitioners of hidden ways. They stood around the table, hands pressed together in front of their chests, and bowed.

“We have found the vessel of your choosing,” Vingroth said. “He is on Fiad Six, as expected.”

Psykon nodded. “And he is alone?”

“No. He holds council.”

“A fitting test.”

“And if we are forced to abandon?” Vingoth asked. “Will we not be lost to the ether?”

Psykon looked down at Moldark. “It is not we who are at risk, second son.”

“I understand.”

Psykon looked around the room. “Into the darkness.”

“Into the darkness,” the sedgewicks replied in unison and then filled the chamber with a low hum. Psykon placed his fingertips on Moldark’s temples and then closed his eyes.

* * *

Moldark’s eyes snapped open, and he rose off the stone table as a corpse coming back to life. Then he glared at Psykon’s hooded face. “What did you do to me?”

“We did nothing to you, Mithriel,” the Obscura leader replied. “That would break the terms of our agreement.”

“But you made me lose consciousness.” Even as Moldark said the words, he recognized the severity of the situation. He had never been asleep before, as the biologics called it, since his was a perpetual existence, so long as his ethereal presence remained intact. The lack of sleep was one of the many reason’s Kane’s body was deteriorating more quickly than he had expected. This was, after all, his first human host. But all this was beside the point. “You have done something to me. Lie to me, and I will devour you.” Moldark looked at ten other Obscura members standing around the table. “I will devour you all.”

“In order to fully examine your being, we discovered that we must ease your awareness of reality.” Psykon explained this as if it was nothing more than a temporary inconvenience. “The examination was less than ten common minutes and completely harmless.”

Harmless? It was the first time in Moldark’s entire existence that he could not remember the space between two points of time. How could something so disruptive be written off as harmless? It was time to end these impudent worms.

“Our agreement was that you would allow us to study you,” Psykon continued. “We have. And so this concludes your end of the obligation. Now it is time for us to fulfill ours.”

Moldark cocked his head at Psykon. “Is it now.” Perhaps he was being too hasty, as this certainly seemed a favorable shift. He slid off the table and stretched himself. The domed, black-stone room was bare of any decorations or furniture and lit by only five torches fixed against the curved wall. “And here I thought you said this would take days.”

“Has it not been two?”

Moldark peered at Psykon. “But I only arrived yesterday, and we’ve only attacked one victim.”

“The Jujari, yes. Alas, we have learned all we can from you.”

“And your findings?”

Psykon’s shoulders seemed to lower ever so slightly. “It was just as you said. Your innate abilities are beyond our grasp.”

It was just as Moldark suspected; these fools lacked the means to sift through the vastness of his being. “Pity. And yet you never did tell me what enemies we had in common.”

“Would it change anything now?”

Moldark considered the question. These strange people were worthy of eradication, as many of them seemed to be human—the takers. Still, if they had a common enemy, perhaps using the Obscura for a period could achieve mutual goals—at least until Moldark decided the black beings had served his purposes. “That all depends on who has wronged you, doesn’t it.”

“Would you wish to help if it suited you?”

“You’re playing me, Psykon. And it wears on me.” Moldark thought of ending this now, but, strangely, he was not hungry. Consuming Mahkmaim’s soul during the battle against Rohoar had sated him longer than he expected.

“We seek vengeance against the Order of the Luma,” Psykon said. “And against the leader who perseveres them, one Teerbrin Vanik So-Elku, Master of the Luma and the Luma Alliance of Worlds.”

* * *

Moldark leaned against the sanctuary tower’s railing and looked down. The main square, a hundred meters below, was emptied of people as all of Psykon’s followers had gone home for the evening. Meanwhile, the Obscura’s First of Many was one pace away, hidden in the roof’s shadow.

The city was unusual. No lights dotted the dwellings, no cook fires filled the dark grey sky, and no birds darted from one overhang to the next. Instead, the buildings pushed toward the horizon until they blended with the grey sands and black rocks of the desert. Even the faded star provided little warmth to the barren landscape.

This is no way to live life, Moldark thought. What was more, these people, this world—all of it—seemed dead. Of course, Moldark knew the Obscura were very much alive. He could smell them if nothing else. But how they maintained their biological existence was a mystery.

“So you wish to kill So-Elku and the Luma,” Moldark said as he withdrew from the railing and turned toward Psykon. “Why? And why bring me up here?”

“Tell me,” Psykon said, raising a pale hand toward the barren cityscape. “What do you see?”

“I tire of your questions to my questions, Master Obscura.”

“Then entreat me once more as I endeavor to explain.”

Moldark kept his eyes locked on Psykon’s hooded head.

The Obscura leader lowered his hand. “As you wish. Then I will tell you what I see. People shunned because of their oaths, forced from their homes, and hunted in the streets like dogs. A people forced to take refuge as far as their ships would carry them, and settle under a foreign sun in an inhospitable world where nothing would give them away, drawing the eye of the hunter.”

“The Luma?”

Psykon nodded and then turned his head toward the city. “We were once like them—content. Free. We explored the unknown realms of the galaxy, wayfarers on the winds of the Unity.”

“So you are Unity users.”

Again, Psykon nodded. “Back then, the Order was in its infancy, a fledgling spark in the cosmos. But as users became more adept at navigating the Unity’s waters, many felt that some sort of structure was needed. Boundaries. Limits of what was right and what wasn’t.”

“Let me guess,” Moldark said, still trying to peer under the man’s hood. “You didn’t like where things were headed and then got kicked out.”

Psykon turned to Moldark. “They decided how the Unity could be used as if it was something they could control, and then formalized their decisions. But it did not include our kind, our ways.”

“Standing up to the majority can be very expensive.”

“But we didn’t stand up,” Psykon said. “Not at first. Our ancestors bowed to the will of the council in the hope of preserving the peace, even though they knew the Order’s statutes were far too limiting. So, we abided. We endeavored to do things their way while still making ourselves heard.”

“A noble attempt,” Moldark replied. “Though still weak.” He found it curious that such timid ancestry could birth such resilient and resourceful progeny. The dark city’s black-stone buildings reached toward the grey sky like a thousand steel fingernails scraping across slate. This place was truly a wonder, forged from the planet’s crust with brute power. And yet, for all its ominous strength, there was a wildness to the city that felt unpredictable and feral.

Psykon took a breath to continue. “As time went on, our ancestors became convinced that the Luma were nearsighted.”

“Inevitable,” Moldark said.

“The council claimed that they wanted peace, but with so much of the Unity’s power relegated to the shadows, we knew that was impossible. Where they were trying to constrain the cosmos, we wanted to let it out.”

Moldark looked at Psykon. “Let it out?”

Psykon nodded as he looked out over the city. “Some people build dams to constrain water to their wills. Others break dams to see where the rivers flow. What the Luma saw as destruction, we saw as”—Psykon paused to study Moldark’s face—“tranquility.”

“You rebelled against the institution.”

“In a manner of speaking.” Psykon took another deep breath. “Our ancestors were forced to practice in the secret places, searching to make the unknown known, to release that which was locked. The more they discovered, the more they became convinced that the Order needed to embrace what they’d discovered. But their ideas were rejected.” Psykon stepped toward the railing. “They called us devils, demons, and dark users. They branded us with irons.” Psykon pulled up his sleeve to reveal the soft part of his wrist, and Moldark saw a scar made of two pairs of parallel lines intersecting one another. “And then banished us into the hill country of the Kindu Sharee on Worru.”

“You were there?” Moldark said, looking up from the scars. “You survived for so long a period?”

But Psykon shook his head. “We bear the marks of our ancestors by choice. Their plight will not be forgotten.”

“How quaint.”

“Surely, as one who has been driven from his homeland, you can relate, Mithriel.”

It still bothered Moldark that the Obscura knew something about him—how much remained to be seen. “Do not think to compare my people to yours, Psykon. That would be a mistake you will not recover from.”

“My apologies.” Psykon leaned against the railing and took a deep breath. “When our ancestors would not cease their practices, the Luma came to the Kindu Sharee to hunt our people. They slaughtered us in the streets, burned our homes, wiped out our villages, and razed our temples.” The Obscura gestured to the tower’s keep. “This stands to memorialize those who died on Worru as much as it does to gather the willing in pursuit of the sacred constant.”

“The sacred constant?” Moldark asked.

Psykon turned and titled his head. “Chaos, Mithriel. The only surety that the cosmos can offer.”

“So you seek chaos? I thought you said tranquility was your aim.”

“To unhinge artificial constraints that would keep the Untiy’s wild power bound, yes.”

Moldark sneered. “Charming people.”

If Psykon was offended, he did not show it. Instead, the man surveyed the city as the dim sun set on the horizon. Then he reached to the ground, picked up a stone, and held it in his palm for Moldark to see. “What would happen to this stone if I allowed it to escape the bonds that constrict it?”

“I’m beginning to see why they called your ancestors crazy,” Moldark said.

Psykon dismissed the comment and then invited Moldark to study the object. All at once, the stone turned to powder. Moldark did his best to hide his surprise. But then the powder reconstructed itself into four different shapes of lesser size, each with their own unique characteristics. The smaller objects dissolved back into powder again and then reformed to one stone. Only this new rock was a pyramid in shape. Then Psykon lowered his head and blew the stone away, sending a plume of black dust to the wind. “Now it is free to become whatever it will be next.”

“So the Luma banished you for playing with rocks. That’s understandable.”

“They taught us to break apart, reform, and then watch what will come.” Psykon gazed over the city again. “The survivors escaped Worru knowing the Luma would not rest until everyone was dead. So our ancestors boarded the only starships they had access to and set off to find a new world as far from Worru as possible.”

“And here you are, thousands of years later, and you want revenge on the Luma for killing your ancestors.”

“There is more to the story, Mithriel.”

Moldark placed his hand on Psykon’s shoulder. “And I’m sure there is someone who cares. Though, tell me this: how do you biologics survive on a planet where there is so little to sustain you?”

Psykon pulled away from Moldark’s hand. “Of the Obscura’s many chaos practices, one of them involves liberating the flesh of its finite constraints. Without it, X would have been uninhabitable for us.”

Moldark winced. For a people so powerful, they clearly lacked imagination. “You named your planet X?”

“An ode to keeping things unnamed and, therefore, unknown. Here, without organic matter to nourish us beneath a star whose light cannot nourish us, we have found a way to both survive and remain hidden in the darkness until such time that we can avenge our ancestors and crush those who keep the universe from tranquility.”

“The Luma,” Moldark said.

“Yes.”

Moldark stared at the Obscura leader for a moment and then turned toward the city again.

“Something concerns you?” Psykon asked.

“Your ships,” Moldark replied.

“What about them?”

“You outmatched mine over Oorajee. Naturally, I assume you can outmatch whatever opposition the Luma could muster. Why not simply destroy So-Elku and his followers yourselves?”

“Alas, our ships are held together and powered by the one thing the Luma have a hand in controlling.”

Moldark bit his lip in thought and then said, “You use the Unity for your ships?”

Psykon nodded. “Forged from the magma of this planet and bound together by the Unity, our ships are nigh impervious to conventional weapons. Additionally, they do not require a drive core, at least in the way that you think of trinium-powered cores. But were they to near Worru, the Luma might easily thwart an assault and render our vessels no more than rubble if given enough time.”

While impressed with their resourcefulness, Moldark was impatient. “Then use your bianima abilities to take over some other civilization’s fleets and assault them.”

“And yet, as I explained, we lacked the capability,” Psykon said. “That is until you arrived. Furthermore, with your powers, we no longer need ships to exact our revenge. Only your presence.”

“And let me guess. You’re offering me your ships.”

“We are.”

“The ones made of rocks.”

“Do not be deceived, Mithriel. The power that sustains them far exceeds anything in this universe, as you yourself have borne witness to.”

“Except for the Luma.”

“Which you will never have to worry about again, should you choose to assist us.”

Moldark ran his tongue over the front of his teeth. He nicked the flesh and then tasted blood. “How many ships?”

“As many as you like,” Psykon said, raising both hands toward the horizon. “This planet composes them. We can begin at once.”

“And then you create my quantum tunnel.”

“Now, if you wish.”

Moldark raised his eyebrows. “And my army?”

“As I mentioned, we will introduce you.”

“And I risk nothing but my time?”

“Nothing but your time,” Psykon echoed in reply.

Moldark didn’t wish to remain on X any longer than he needed to, let alone stay in this universe. But the prospect of devouring So-Elku and the rest of his robed hirelings was far too intriguing a possibility to pass up. Moldark eyed Psykon and spit a mouthful of blood on the keep’s floor. “I can afford a little more time.”

“Very well,” Psykon replied. “Let us return to the sanctuary. We will need all the power of the Obscura.”

4

Magnus sat with Awen in the rear of a hovertrain pod, listening to the hum of the repulsors push the hull along the track. The gladias and Sekmit from the leaders meeting filled out the other twenty seats and took up a second and third pod further back. Everyone spoke in hushed tones and seemed to be enjoying the ride across Aluross, especially Piper. She was glued to the windowplex canopy in the pod’s nose, speaking with her grandmother, Colonel Caldwell, and Rohoar.

Outside Magnus’s viewport, the countryside raced by in a blur of greens and blues. Rolling hills undulated like the swells of a jungle ocean. Far in the distance, Magnus noted a line of snowcapped mountains and felt the train start to bend toward them.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Awen said, touching his elbow with her hand. “Something on your mind?”

Magnus cleared his throat. “Sorry, just daydreaming, I guess.”

“About?”

“Stuff.”

Awen scratched the side of her forehead, seemingly unimpressed with his reply. “Stuff.”

“Yeah. Why?”

She chuckled. “Stuff’s pretty vague, Adonis. Care to elaborate?”

“Nah.”

“Oh my gosh.” She punched him in the arm. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

He made a show of rubbing imaginary pain in his bicep. “I’m not the one who’s going around punching innocent people.”

“Whatever.” She gave him an adorable half-smile and then looked away.

“Honestly? I was just thinking…”

Awen turned back and gave him an exasperated “I’m waiting” kind of look.

“…About…”

“You’re killing me right now, you know that?”

Magnus smiled and then looked back out the window.

After a moment, Awen said, “So, are you going to tell me or not?”

“Hovertrains,” Magnus said, still facing the window.

“Hovertrains?”

“Yeah. I was thinking about whether or not I could survive a jump from a hovertrain better in Mark I or Mark II armor.” Magnus didn’t need to see Awen to know she was about to punch him again. Sure enough, her fist hit home, harder this time, and Magnus flinched because it actually hurt.

“Why don’t we open the window and you can find out,” she said.

“But I’m not wearing any armor.”

“Exactly.”

“I’m not following.”

“It’s for the sake of science.” Awen waved a hand through the air like she was addressing a lecture hall filled with students. “Every sound scientific experiment must have a control.”

“Cute.” Magnus rubbed his bicep again but for real this time. “You’ve got really boney fingers, you know that?”

She shrugged and then looked down the aisle toward the front window. Piper was pointing things out as fast as she could see them and saying “Look at that!” and “What’s over there?” and “Did you see it?” so fast no one had time to respond before she moved on to the next item of interest.

“You really wanna know what I was thinking about?” Magnus asked Awen.

“Eh, not really. Heard it’s overrated.”

“Sure.”

She faced him and gave one raised eyebrow. “If you insist.”

Magnus raised his chin toward Piper. “Her.”

Awen looked to the front of the train and then back at Magnus. “Piper?”

“Uh-huh. Been thinking about what happens to her when all this is over.” Awen’s eyes took in Magnus’s face for a few moments before he finally said, “What is it?”

“You know, for an overly muscled dispenser of death, I have reformed you quite well.”

“That’s a little harsh.”

“But true nonetheless.” Awen put her hands in her lap and faced forward like a prim and proper Luma who was all too proud of her accomplishments. But she hadn’t assumed the posture for two seconds before Magnus leaned in and kissed her. She tried pushing him away, but the effort was halfhearted. Eventually, she relaxed and returned the kiss.

“Oooo,” Piper said from up front. “Shydoh and Mr. Lieutenant Magnus are kissing. Look!”

“We’ve been found out,” Awen said, pulling away a few centimeters.

“Spies everywhere,” Magnus replied. He kissed her again and then sat upright.

Piper waved at him and gave a big grin before resuming her incessant analysis of the oncoming terrain. “Look, the mountains are getting closer!”

“So, what happens to her when all of this is done?” Awen asked Magnus.

“Not sure.” He shrugged. “Willowood will probably find a place for them to settle down away from anyone who might want to hurt her.”

“Plenty of neutral planets out there.”

Magnus nodded. “I just can’t imagine what the rest of her life will look like in light of everything she’s seen, you know?”

“I think about it every day,” Awen said. “I can’t imagine growing up without a mother.”

“It sucks.”

Awen furrowed her brow. “You?”

He gave a small nod and swallowed the lump in his throat; it hadn’t been there a second ago.

“I—I didn’t know that.”

“Because I never said anything.”

“What happened?” she asked.

But Magnus didn’t want to talk about it. “Story for another time.” He pointed at Piper. “But she’s gonna need a whole lot of love to make up for Valerie’s absence, I can tell you that much.”

“Well, she’ll have her grandmother, so that’s something.”

Magnus sighed and then looked out the window. “Yup. That’s something.”

A moment passed between them before Awen said, “But you don’t think it’s enough, do you.”

“It is what it is.” He watched tree limbs and birds zip by.

“No, it’s not. You haven’t been sitting here in total silence for the last twenty minutes just to conclude that things are what they are. You have something else in mind.” Awen paused. “Mystics, you—you want to adopt her?”

Magnus looked over at Awen. “Keep your voice down. And I never said that.”

“But that’s what you—”

He nudged her.

More quietly, she said, “But that’s what you were thinking, wasn’t it.”

“No.” He looked back out the window.

A few seconds later, Awen leaned against his arm. “You really want to adopt her, Adonis?”

“It crossed my mind. I mean, if Willowood didn’t feel up for, you know—”

“Raising her?”

“Right. But she’s gonna want to. The lady kicks ass and doesn’t look like she’s gonna retire anytime soon.”

“Yeah, but you never know.” Awen scooched herself in tighter. “Kids can be a lot of work.”

“A lotta work.” Her warmth felt good against his side.

“You need a lot of patience.”

“Lotta patience.”

“And you’re gonna need a partner to raise her right.”

“Partner, yup.” Just then, Magnus pulled back. “Whoa, what?”

“Whoa what, what?”

“Are you talking about—”

“Who, me?” Awen touched her chest. “No.”

“Okay, because, I thought you were gonna say—”

“Say what?”

Magnus spread his palms. “You know.”

“Marriage? No. Are you crazy?”

“Yeah. I mean, no. I’m not crazy. You’re crazy. I mean, you would be crazy, but you didn’t mean that, right?”

“Yeah. Totally not.” Awen sat back and crossed her arms. “Because, at a time like this, that would be just—”

“Crazy.”

“Absurd.”

The two of them sat in silence for a minute, listening to Piper go on and on about one thing after another.

“But if I was gonna ask someone to be her mom,” Magnus said.

“Uh-huh?” Awen said, leaning back into his arm.

“Hypothetically speaking.”

She waved her hand to the side. “Completely hypothetical.”

“You would, ya know.”

“Yes?”

“You’d make a great mom, is all.”

Awen smiled at him for a second and then sat back in her chair.

Magnus was expecting more somehow. A shout of glee, perhaps. Or maybe a few words spoken in anger, expressing how she was still too young to settle down. Instead, what he got was an Awen who seemed utterly content with the idea of being an adopted mother to Piper and, by extension of Magnus’s daydream, a partner of one kind or another to him. And she looked even more attractive than ever.

You’re getting old, Adonis, he thought to himself. Going soft and losing your edge.

But, somehow, he wasn’t sure that going soft was a bad thing.

* * *

As the train darted into the tunnel at the base of the mountains, Wobix stood up beside Freya’s seat, opened a comms channel to the other pods, and turned to address the riders. His voice carried through the vehicle via the overhead speakers. “Ní Freya wishes to inform the gladias of the Gladio Umbra that from this point forward, communications with the rest of your team in Fînta are not permitted. Please remain seated.” Wobix closed the channel and returned to his seat.

Long white lights strobed past the windowplex as the hovertrain shot through the mountains. Subtle air currents buffeted the pods from side to side, gently rocking everyone inside.

“So the trinium is under the mountains?” Awen asked Magnus in a hushed tone.

“That’s my guess.” He pulled his data pad from the seatback and brought up a topo map of the region. Since the device lost its unisatlink connection moments ago, he couldn’t track their real-time location on the hovertrain. But it didn’t concern him as he was going for a more traditional analysis anyway. “Looks like this mountain range runs north-south for a few hundred clicks.” Magnus pointed to the white and grey spires that stood in stark contrast to the lush green jungle to the east.

“That doesn’t seem right,” Awen said.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, for one thing”—she tapped on the mountain range—“while there could be a large trinium deposit under here, we’re not talking the size that would merit the kind of secrecy Freya talked about. Plus, sensors would pick up the radiation. These mountains would be glowing on even the most cursory scans.”

“So now you’re a geology expert too?” Magnus replied.

She waved a dismissive hand in the air. “All cultural majors include geology courses. Natural resources can drive economies, right?”

“Yeah, but nobody pays attention in those classes.”

Awen shrugged and gave him an innocent grin.

He chuckled. “You never cease to surprise me.”

“And I’ll never stop.”

“Is that a fact?”

Awen ignored the call to verbal sparring and looked at the data pad again. “Anyway, for another thing, if our destination were under the mountains, you’d think we’d have started slowing or turning by now. You feel anything?”

“We’re not slowing, and I haven’t felt us turn.”

“Exactly.”

She had some excellent points, and the hovertrain had approached the mountains at a perpendicular angle. “So, if we’re not slowing and we’re not turning”—Magnus slid the map view to the west—“that means we’re headed straight out to the Leonï Ocean.” The body of water looked to cover most of the western hemisphere. Magnus froze. “You think the deposit—”

“Is under the ocean?” Awen glanced up at Magnus as she finished his question. “That much water would act as a natural radiation shield. And, depending on what kind of scope we’re talking, it could definitely be on the larger side. I mean, if it’s even a quarter the size of this ocean, it would easily be—”

“One of the largest trinium deposits in the quadrant.” It was his turn to finish her sentence.

“Right,” she said, head nodding as the economic potential dawned on them both.

“No wonder So-Elku sent Blackman,” Magnus thought aloud. “This wasn’t about allegiances just to garner political support.”

“This was about securing resources.” Awen reached over and started tapping through menus on Magnus’s data pad. She pulled up a list of the confirmed and suspected LAW worlds that TO-96 had compiled so far. “Darture and Timidithia in the Lepeedu system, along with Deltaurus Three. Know what they have in common?”

“No, but I bet you’re gonna use that smarty pants education of yours to wow me.”

“Precious and noble metals, including rhodium, palladium, iridium, and—you guessed it—”

“Trinium.”

Awen nodded. “Then you’ve got Rithcosia, Fiad Six, and Vega.”

“Let me guess. They’ve all got insane deals on vacation properties right now.”

She shook her head. “Lancite.”

“As in drive core catalyst lancite?”

“Exactly. And I can bet you that Undoria is next if So-Elku hasn’t gotten to them already.”

“More lancite?”

“Largest mines in the Falcion quadrant,” Awen said. “The only planet that has more is Limbia Centrella, but not even So-Elku is getting in there.”

“You mean a planet full of Abimbolas poses a threat?”

At hearing his name, Abimbola looked back at Magnus from the next row. “What threat do I pose?”

“A big one, Bimby,” Magnus replied, reaching up and patting his shoulder. “Don’t you worry.” Then Magnus sat back and switched off his data pad. “If you control the flow of energy, you control the quadrants.”

“Basic economics,” Awen said.

“Well, hell. Here I thought So-Elku was just trying to make friends.”

“Because he’s so good at that.”

Magnus pulled away from Awen and gave her a startled look. “Why, Miss Awen. Do I detect sarcasm there? That’s hardly becoming of a Luma emissary.”

“You and I both know she died a while ago.”

“Oh yeah? When was that?”

“When some lancite-hoarding Miblimbian”—she stressed the word in Abimbola’s direction—“drugged me and stuck me in a jail cell with a naked monkey butt.”

“Attractive naked monkey butt,” Magnus said, crossing his arms. “Don’t want people thinking I’ve got an ugly ass.”

“I have seen it,” Abimbola said. “And it’s ugly.”

“Shut up, Bimby.”

“You first, buckethead.”

* * *

The moment that the hovertrain emerged from under the mountains and plunged into the ocean, the pod filled with sounds of delight—most notably from Piper. She squealed and clapped her hands, pointing at brightly colored fish and massive coral cliffs. Floodlights mounted along the hovertrain’s translucent tube and on the support columns illuminated the fathom’s deep underwater world. Sea creatures that Magnus had never seen before swished, sucked, sponged, and twirled themselves along under the gleam of the lights.

Magnus looked over and saw Awen staring straight up. The pod’s formerly opaque roof had either retracted or changed composition, allowing for a panoramic view of the underwater environment. A giant whale-like beast with eyes the size of a human lumbered lazily over the tube, while a school of fish whose tails seemed to be on fire zipped beneath. Apparently, the Sekmit weren’t the only unique species on Aluross.

“You’re staring at me,” Awen said without looking at Magnus.

“And?”

“Shouldn’t you be admiring the wildlife?”

“Who says I’m not?”

She punched him again without even looking. He liked how much she was enjoying this ride and wondered if this was how she was as a kid—curious and amazed at the world around her. Amid so much war and violence, Magnus liked being reminded of the simpler things in life. Like joy and wonder. He needed more of that. So he studied Awen for a moment more and then took in the sights for himself.

Over the next several minutes, the hovertrain descended deeper and deeper. Magnus cleared his ears several times and noticed that the lights illuminated less of the water as darkness crept in around them. The tube itself was getting thicker too to compensate for the increasing pressure.

After a while, the lights along the tube’s support structure vanished, and the occupants sped along in total darkness, save for the glow of soft floor lighting.

“Where’d everything go?” Piper asked from up front.

She conversed with her grandmother for a few minutes before Willowood pointed out the front window. “Look, Piper.”

Far below, Magnus noticed the faint green glow of massive spheres connected by long glowing lines. As the hovertrain continued to descend, the circles not only became clearer, but they seemed to multiply across the seafloor. More glowing lines stretched out and connected an ever-increasing field of green orbs.

“They’re domes,” Awen said. “And those are tunnels.”

“Ho-ly-splick,” Magnus whispered. “It’s an entire mining network.”

The hovertrain began to decelerate as it approached the nearest dome—and that’s when Magnus realized just how massive the domes were. He kept thinking that the pod was about to slip inside the base when the tube just kept going, and the dome kept rising. Higher and higher it loomed until finally he noticed the entry port half a klick ahead. “It’s gotta be at least 100 meters high,” Magnus said.

“This one is 133 meters, to be exact, manservant,” Freya said from the pod’s front.

Magnus raised his eyebrows. “Noted.”

“Some are larger,” she added. “But this one serves as one of our main reception centers.” Then Freya stood and spread her paws. “Welcome to the trinium mines of Neptali.”

The hovertrain entered the neon-green geodesic dome along the base, and Magnus’s eyes went wide. Inside, the structure loomed overhead, constructed of a glowing latticework that cast white light on the floor below. Meanwhile, a hexagonal-patterned green shell covered the trussing, shimmering with a smooth iridescent finish.

The pod’s doors opened, and everyone filed onto a landing platform made of dense coral. As Magnus looked down and studied the chamber floor, he noticed that everything—from the giant office-style building in the hall’s center to the various cafe storefronts, umbrellaed seating areas that gave some cover from the dome’s bright glow, and storage-style outbuildings—was made of the ocean’s natural resources.

“They’ve built this right out of the seafloor,” Awen said in an awe-filled whisper as if her words might spoil the mystery and bring the whole thing down. “It’s…”

“Incredible,” Magnus said, taking her arm as they moved down a ramp. Smooth black stone lined lushly landscaped walkways while red and blue coral composed the buildings. Alurossian dapple-palm fronds swayed in some sort of artificial breeze, and seaweed-thatched roofs rustled in the wind. There were even several species of birds that flitted about from tree to roof to column. Meanwhile, the smells of exotic fruits and something else that Magnus couldn’t place filled his head. “You smell that?” He rubbed his thumb and index finger together. “Kinda spicy, kinda minty.”

“Catnip,” Awen replied.

Magnus chuckled. “Everybody’s got their fix.”

“What’s yours?”

Magnus shrugged. “Whatever perfume Elonians wear.”

“Nice try, Adonis. That only means you’re attracted to a few million women on my home planet.”

“Like I said.”

She threw an elbow just above his hip.

He winced and rubbed his side. “You’ve got boney elbows too.”

* * *

Freya led the party onto a moving walkway that sped them away from the main hall and into one of the smaller tunnels. Magnus guessed this was one of the connection lines between domes. Its structure was like that of the reception hall, complete with white-glowing trussing and the green exterior shell. But unlike the hovertrain tube, the bright interior lights made it almost impossible to see into the ocean.

After a minutes-long ride, Freya stepped off the walkway and into a second geodesic dome. While just as large as the first, this chamber was less ornate and boasted an imposing command structure in the middle. The circular red-coral building had blackened glass windows on all nine levels and was topped with an array of electronic equipment that spiraled the rest of the way to the dome’s ceiling. But despite its imposing presence, the structure still managed to maintain much of the ornate architecture and lush landscaping of the first dome’s buildings. It said, “I’m here to do business, but I’m gonna look good in the process.”

“Welcome to our mining command complex,” Freya said as she turned to address the gladias. “From here, we can monitor our entire trinium mining operation.”

A hand shot up from among the Gladio Umbra. Freya eyed it suspiciously. Then Wobix leaned in and whispered something in her ear. Freya raised one eyebrow and then pointed at the person raising the hand.

“Should have guessed,” Magnus said in Awen’s ear. “It’s Cyril.”

“Madame Freya queen, ma’am,” Cyril said. “How many mining nodes does your operation contain? Subsequently, what is the average collection rate of raw substrate? Subsequently—haha, I said that already—what’s the mine's overall output of refined trinium? How do you protect your workers? And do you—”

“Wobix will do his best to answer whatever questions we feel are pertinent to your aid in protecting our mine,” Freya said.

Wobix’s ears lowered—he was clearly not enthused about being the “chattering human’s” point person.

* * *

The group followed Freya into the command complex and rode elevators to the third floor—at least according to Magnus’s best guess. All script was written in the Sekmit language, which resembled small patches of claw marks rather than any legible Repub-alliance text.

Everyone stepped onto a wide landing and looked through a curved glass wall. Below, a sloped theatre that boasted dozens of work stations ended at a ten-meter high holo screen filled with camera feeds, flow charts, and data lists. Magnus expected something thorough, but this place brought new meaning to the term anal-retentive. Every worker, every surface, every screen looked immaculate. Even the air smelled clean.

Inside the command center, Magnus spotted dozens of machines on the holo feeds, each boring through tunnels or grinding away at rock walls. Other screens displayed the inside of extensive facilities that seemed dedicated to refining operations—not that he had any particular knowledge on how to refine trinium—it was just a guess. But the multi-level magnetic containment fields, glowing vats, and conveyor system gave him a pretty good idea of what he was looking at.

“Whoa, you’re running proprietary index algorithms,” Cyril exclaimed just before running smack-dab into the glass partition. The gong-like impact made the glass wobble as Cyril fell back into Rohoar’s arms.

“Please mind the windowplex,” Wobix said with a stern tone. Then he hissed at one of his narskill warriors who sped away. Less than ten seconds later, another Sekmit arrived and began wiping Cyril’s collision marks from the glass with a spray bottle and a rag.

“These kitties sure do keep a clean litter box,” Magnus said to Awen.

She giggled softly and gave him a look that was somewhere between “Stop making me laugh,” and “You’re going to get us in trouble.”

“So sorry about that, ma’am Freya lady, sir,” Cyril said, rubbing his forehead. “I got excited about your base operating system because it seriously looks like you paid a lot of money to—”

“To keep as much of this a secret as possible, chattering human,” Freya said. She eyed Cyril until the young man took a step back in line, and then she scanned the rest of the crowd. “As you can see, from here we can monitor every mining node within the network. While I will not betray exact specifications to you, I think you can rightly assume that our operation is vast, extending a considerable distance across the ocean floor.”

Magnus leaned over to Awen. “Is it just me, or does anyone else think it’s ironic that a bunch of cats have to build biodomes over their mines to stay clear of the water?”

“Magnus, quiet,” Awen said, hitting him again.

“Was there a question?” Freya asked, eyes locked on Magnus.

“Uh, no, tribe mother,” he replied. “Just admiring your operation, is all.” But then Magnus did have a few questions. “On second thought, the water.”

“What about it?”

“It masks the trinium signature on the planet.”

Freya nodded once. “It does, manservant. You are perceptive.”

“But its gotta probably also totally trap the radiation, amplifying its intensity,” Cyril said, eyes locked on some monitors in the control room. “How do you, ya know, keep your engineers from suffering high rad exposure?”

“Our security measures are the state’s art, as you say.”

“State of the art,” Cyril said. He must have felt everyone glare at him because he threw his hands up. “What? She, she, she said it wrong.”

Freya continued. “As are the armored suits that all workers are required to wear once they enter the node network.”

Magnus studied one of the engineers in a control room monitor. The suit looked like something Azelon might dream up, more battle armor than scientific outfit. It boasted plate armor across all vital systems, curved leg and arm guards, gauntlets, and a feline-like battle helmet. Magnus leaned over to Awen. “Only thing they’re missing are blasters.”

“Something else to say, manservant of Awen?”

“Just saying your armor is very interesting. That’s all.”

She nodded and then turned to keep speaking.

Magnus thrust his hand up. “I do have one more question, your highness.”

“Easy, Adonis,” Awen said through a tight smile.

“Speak,” Freya said.

“The Repub ever come down here?”

The pride mother rotated her head but kept her eyes locked on Magnus. “Only once, during our initial alliance negotiations. But that was years ago.”

“So, are there plans on record outside of your fire-walled archives?”

Freya tilted her head. “Only in the governor’s mansion, but those were never allowed off the planet and were destroyed in the explosion. Why this line of questioning?”

Magnus took a few steps forward. “You want to keep us around to guard your trinium supply.”

“Yes. And?”

“And knowing how much the enemy knows about this place is pretty important if you want us to do a good job. Tell me, if they wanted to raid your refined supply, where would that be?”

“The main aggregate nodes,” Freya said. “But their locations are secret top.”

“I think you mean top-secret, queen Freya lady person,” Cyril said, raising an index finger to make his point.

“Top secret,” Freya said, eyeing Cyril like he made a tempting snack.

“Then you’re going to have to upgrade our clearance if you want our help,” Magnus said. “And if raiders wanted more than just your current supply? If they wanted to take over the whole mine?”

“That is impossible, manservant.”

“Humor me.”

Freya said. “They would do it from here.” She raised a paw toward the command center.

“Then we have ourselves some assets, people,” Magnus said to the gladias. “Colonel?”

“We’re grateful for you breaking with tradition to show us what few other outsiders have seen, ní Freya,” Caldwell said. “But, as Magnus said, we’re going to need access to your entire operation if you expect us to do right by you. Cyril?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure. That’s gonna have to include a detailed blueprint, access points, power grid overlays, comm relays, supply flow—”

“We’re also going to need exact locations of your surface sites,” Magnus added.

“Do you think so much is necessary?” Freya asked, turning to the colonel. “Not even the Republic knew so much.”

He nodded. “Trust me. I understand your reservations in turning over sensitive information. But I can assure you that you are getting our very best, and what we learn here stays here.”

“But how can we be sure?”

Caldwell chomped on his cigar once. “Ya can’t, momma. Yer just gonna have to trust us on this one.”

Freya seemed agitated by Caldwell’s words.

“It’s a term of honor where we come from,” Awen said as she raised her chin in Caldwell’s direction.

The colonel seemed to pick up on Awen’s lead. “Sure the hell is.”

“Continue,” Freya said to Caldwell.

“This enemy of yours—of ours—is a wily son of a bitch, ma’am. In my mind, you can’t be too safe, not with what they’re capable of.”

“He’s right,” Willowood added, causing Freya’s head to snap in her direction. “If Master So-Elku sends a raiding party, there’s no telling what they might do.”

“And yet we have designed this network to be impenetrable,” Freya said. “Even if someone were to learn of its existence, gaining access is impossible, and doing so without flooding a node or exposing people to high levels of radiation is even more so.”

“More so than impossible?” Cyril said in a nasal tone. “Haha—that’s a redundant statement.”

“Can it, Cyril,” Caldwell barked.

“Ní Freya,” Willowood said, drawing the leader’s attention back. “Based on what we’ve seen, these new Luma are quite capable. If you want to preserve this operation, then you need to give us as much latitude as your conscience permits, knowing that it could be the difference between keeping the enemy at bay and discovering that you were raided while you slept.”

“Worse still,” Magnus said, pointing toward the command center. “You don’t want them taking control of the mine. If that happens—”

“They’ll be like a nest of Bormar pigmy chigs that lay larva in your epidermis,” Cyril said. “Then those larva lay eggs, and those eggs multiply once every sixteen minutes until your whole body looks like Duke Vladimir’s main henchman in Damnation & Stagnation IV: No Rest for the Dead, where he throws puss at—”

“Cyril!” Caldwell flicked his saliva-stained cigar nub across the room and struck Cyril in the forehead. The inert munition left a brown splat of wet tobacco on the kid’s skin.

“So so sorry, colonel commander, sir. Shutting up now.”

A small chirp came from Wobix’s in-ear comm, and then he turned away from the group. A moment later, he leaned into Freya and spoke in Sekmitian—or whatever they called it.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Freya said. She took an offered data pad from one of her servants and then walked a few paces down the hall.

“So what do you think, Magnus?” Caldwell said in a quiet tone.

“I think it’s gonna be a pain in the ass to secure,” Magnus replied. “But as long as Cyril gets his wish list and we have time to analyze it, we might have a shot at keeping the diaper babies at bay.”

“Agreed, but let’s not get our hopes up. These pussycats aren’t exactly the friendliest, contrary to what Miss DiAntora claimed.”

“Speaking of DiAntora,” Freya said, rejoining the group. “It seems she has an idea for us.”

“What kind of idea?” Caldwell asked. If he felt caught off guard by the Sekmit’s eavesdropping on their conversation, he didn’t show it.

“One that she and the Neo Republic leaders think might lure So-Elku right where we want him.”

“Neo Republic?” Magnus said. Then to Caldwell, he said, “Seems everyone wants to rename their orgs these days.”

Caldwell chuckled and then looked to Freya. “Well, let’s hear it. We’re burning daylight, and I’ve already tired out all my lady friends.”

5

So-Elku didn’t even wince when he saw Governor Littleton’s mansion explode. The bright holo screens cast his face in white light for several seconds until the cameras in the surveillance recordings adjusted their apertures to account for the sudden change. Then all So-Elku saw was a burning pile of rubble surrounding several craters.

“Incendiary explosives,” Lor, So-Elku’s intelligence minister, said. He wore his long blond hair in a braid and kept his black belt cinched tight around his green and black uniform.

“Suspects?” So-Elku said, still watching the holo window projected above the dimly lit conference room table.

“All indicators point to the Sekmit, master. Most likely retaliation against the Republic over Littleton’s grievous crimes.” Lor brought up several videos from the social feeds depicting the governor’s murderous tryst.

So-Elku waved his hands. “Stop. Stop it! I’ve seen it already.”

“My apologies, master.”

“And any word from Blackman?” So-Elku asked Trinklyn, his newest minister of foreign affairs.

“Unfortunately, no,” she replied. “After conferring with Minister Lor, we have reason to believe Blackman was killed in the explosion.”

“What a pity,” So-Elku said as he steepled his fingers and touched them to his lips. “Your evidence?”

Brodin, communications minister, cleared his throat. “His last comms transmission places him inside the main reception hall a minute before the explosion, and we have no footage from our security cameras of him walking out the main doors.”

“The contents of his transmission?” So-Elku asked.

“He summoned the Li-Dain. Said he was under some kind of assault. We have nothing more.”

So-Elku sighed. The former senator was a valuable asset, one the Luma Master had fought long and hard to secure. But So-Elku would not let Blackman’s death, if it could be confirmed, spoil his mood. The fact that the Sekmit had taken out the Republic’s planetary governor, while unfortunate for Littleton, was a stroke of good luck for the LAW. One less middleman to manipulate, he thought. Such losses were to be expected when courting suitors in matters of war and peace.

“And my Li-Dain?” So-Elku asked.

The eight ministers around his table shifted in their chairs, the creaks of which echoed through the high-ceiling chamber.

“We have every reason to believe they died in the explosion as well,” Brodin said. “I’m sorry, my master.”

If there was one thing that could spoil So-Elku’s mood, now he knew what it was. He brought a fist down on the table. “We’ll retaliate.”

“Of course, sir,” General Rink-Ba, Commandant of the Li-Dain, said.

“We’ll make them pay,” So-Elku continued. “Those putrid feral cats.” It aggravated him to know that the feline race had bested twenty-four of his prized Nexus champions in a single blow. But how? So-Elku knew the Sekmit were Unity users, but little was known of their abilities. How did the cats lure his Li-Dain into a trap so easily? Surely his followers would have sensed the ordnance and taken precautions. Perhaps this enemy was not to be underestimated. “I want their chiefs—”

“Tribe mothers,” Trinklyn said.

“I want them targeted. We’ll cripple them and apply so much pressure that they’ll beg us to accept their mines out of sheer desperation. All we need is the right inroad.”

“Yes, my master,” Rink-Ba said, nodding once.

“They will not escape this unscathed. The Sekmit will serve as an example to all of what happens when you bite the LAW's hand.”

“There is one more matter to discuss,” Lor said. “Concerning Undoria.”

So-Elku eyed the fair-haired man. “What about?”

“We’ve received two unconfirmed reports that Governor Morandu was assassinated inside the Capitol Building yesterday afternoon.”

“Assassinated?” So-Elku leaned forward. “But I just spoke with him yesterday afternoon.”

“That is correct, master. The timeline places the murder only a few minutes after your exchange.”

“The Neo Republic?”

“Nothing is certain. However, those complicit seem to have been among his staff.”

“His people?” So-Elku swore under his breath. “Any arrests made?”

“None, master. The firefight left all suspects dead.”

“Well, surely they’re interviewing others?”

“My information is limited, but I would expect so.”

So-Elku drummed his fingertips on the table and stared into the near distance. “They’re getting desperate, this Neo Republic. They’re like a mortally wounded animal who knows its time is near.” He looked up and scanned his council members. “But their self-interest will be costly. Mistakes will be made. And we will be there to exploit them when they happen. Mark my words, my leaders, we will see the Neo Republic fall. For with every stride we make forward, they lose three backward. Their time is drawing to a close.”

“Here here,” Rink-Ba said, wrapping his knuckles on the wooden table.

“Here here,” said the others, knocking the table with him.

When the adulation faded, the communications minister raised a finger for So-Elku’s attention.

“Yes, Brodin,” the Luma Master said.

“My master, you have an incoming secure subspace transmission, marked urgent.”

“From?”

“From Aluross, my master. If the metadata is correct, it’s ní Freya, pride mother of the Linux.”

A hush fell over the table as So-Elku blinked twice at Brodin. How fortuitous. “I’ll take it here.”

Brodin typed on his data pad and then swiped the message toward So-Elku. “On your device, master.”

So-Elku looked down and allowed his data pad to scan his retina and then his palm. A green Accept badge appeared, and the transmission went live, projected for all to see in the middle of the conference room table.

“Ní Freya,” So-Elku said. “To what do we owe the honor of your call?”

“Master So-Elku.” She raised her chin ever so slightly, eyes darting left and right. “I see you are in session.”

“Easily dismissed.” He raised his hands to clap them when Freya waved him off.

“That won’t be necessary, Master Luma. What I have to say will need to be shared with your elders anyway. Permit them to stay, if you will.”

“Of course.”

“I’m sure by now that you have gotten word about Governor Littleton’s untimely death.”

“We have, yes. A terrible accident.”

“It wasn’t an accident,” Freya said as she leaned back in her chair.

How interesting, So-Elku thought to himself. He titled his head in curiosity. “You suspect foul play then? Any suspects?”

“Of course.”

So-Elku raised his eyebrows. “And you’re pursuing them?”

“There is no need to, Master Luma. It was me.”

The abruptness of her statement caught So-Elku off guard, but he’d long ago mastered the art of suppressing his emotions for the sake of diplomatic progress. Instead, he stroked the thin beard around his chin and examined Freya’s calm face, considering his next words carefully.

“It is a just reply for the man’s brazen acts against your people,” So-Elku said at last.

Freya seemed pleased by this reply as So-Elku thought he heard a soft purr come over the transmission. “He was foolish to take our women for his amusement.”

“Quite so.”

“And even more foolish to think he and the Galactic Republic could undermine our longstanding trade terms.”

So-Elku sat forward. This was an interesting wrinkle. “How so? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“I will permit it. In light of the recent events on Capriana Prime, the governor sought to renegotiate the price of trinium.”

So-Elku knew that Aluross’s trinium mines were a well-kept secret. But he also knew that Freya’s watchful eyes were examining him and might detect a lie. So he took a chance, as all negotiators must, and gambled that Freya wanted him to know since she herself brought it up. “It is always unfortunate when the powerful take advantage of the”—So-Elku was about to say weak when he decided to choose his words more carefully—“of supposed friends for the sake of their own gain.”

Freya’s cheek twitched, showing the barest glint of her teeth. “Indeed.”

“Begging your pardon, but why are you coming to us with this?”

“The Order of the Luma have long been advocates for those who have been taken advantage of. As such, we hope that you might stand as the intermediary between us and any system seeking trade.”

So-Elku wanted to smile—to pour himself a glass of aged bratch and revel in the cosmos’s favor on his life. Instead, he stroked his beard some more and forced his heart rate to stay low. “Surely this is something you can manage yourselves, ní Freya. The Luma are not in the business of, well, doing business.”

“But times are changing, Master Luma. Without your help, I fear we will be overrun once the quadrant learns of Aluross’s resources. Not only do we lack the ability to manage so many requests for trade, but I fear we lack the infrastructure to resist an attack should a suitor decide to become aggressive.”

“You fear for your safety?”

“We do. Having the Luma as our official representatives would go a long way in preserving the peace and financial security of our people.”

How fortuitous. And yet, things that seemed too good to be true most often were. So-Elku had to assume that he was being played. Freya wanted something beyond what she was saying. Revenge, perhaps? Surely this was connected to the Li-Dain and the governor’s mansion. So-Elku’s mind raced with the possibilities.

While the idea of trading with the Sekmit was a promising prospect, who was to say that friendly negotiations were the only route to obtaining trinium? After all, he was determined to make them pay for what they did; he would avenge his fallen Li-Dain. This was just the in road he needed. So-Elku’s eyes narrowed as he began devising ways around the Sekmit leader’s rouse.

“And, I might add,” Freya said as if picking up on So-Elku’s hesitation. “We will make it worth the Luma’s time.”

So-Elku pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes. “As fortune would have it, ní Freya, we here on Worru have been working on something that you may find rather interesting. For, you see, you are not the first to approach us about such things. And yet you epitomize the reason for our new course of action. Aluross and the Sekmit would rise to the very forefront of our attention and merit the width and breadth of our aid.”

Freya dipped her head perhaps no more than a few millimeters, which So-Elku took as a good thing. The Sekmit, he knew, could be a finicky species, and one needed to tread cautiously when dealing with them.

“Might I suggest we take this up in person?” So-Elku asked. “Perhaps on Aluross, where we can speak more freely and examine the particulars of what we are discussing in detail?” He hoped she could read between the lines of his statement.

“You are welcome on Aluross in four days, Master Luma. We will be happy to greet you.”

So-Elku looked at his data pad and pretended to examine his calendar. Instead, he was reviewing subspace jump times—twenty-two hours at level one, but eleven hours at Epsilon level two. “Unfortunately, I’m busy in four days’ time and will be occupied for the next week after that. It must be tomorrow.”

Freya raised one bushy eyebrow. “I’m afraid that—”

“As I said, ní Freya, you are not the only world in need of aid, but you will be the first, if you wish it.”

There was a moment’s pause as the pride mother considered the timeline. “Very well. We will receive you tomorrow. My pride will send arrival coordinates and docking procedures within the hour.”

“We look forward to them.”

“Tomorrow, then,” Freya said.

So-Elku bowed. “Tomorrow.” When the transmission closed, he steepled his fingers. “We’re in.”

* * *

“I want the Li-Dain coming with us, Commandant,” So-Elku said to General Rink-Ba.

The man blinked once. “All of them, master?”

“Yes, all of them.”

“Begging your pardon, master,” Trinklyn said. “But won’t the Sekmit see that as aggressive action?”

“Not if it’s kept a secret,” So-Elku replied.

“But if they find out”—the woman paused, her eyes searching something in the near distance—“who’s to say they don’t kill us all? We don’t know what kind of powers they have. At the mansion, they decimated our—”

“They got lucky,” Rink-Ba interjected. “Nothing more. And it won’t happen again.” He turned to So-Elku. “Your orders?”

“Freya wishes us to be their broker in the quadrant, something the LAW is only too willing to do. Her coming to us saves us the time of having to woo the Sekmit, which means half the work is already done for us. But if the terms are unfavorable? If lady Freya fails to see the bigger picture?” So-Elku tapped a finger on his lips. “The Sekmit will find themselves in an unfortunate situation.”

“You mean to threaten them?” Lor asked.

“No, I mean to take the mines for ourselves.”

“Take over the mines?” Rink-Ba said. “But, my master, begging your pardon, we would need detailed schematics of their entire operation and weeks of planning.”

“Well, you have a detailed schematic.” So-Elku pulled a small data card from inside his green and black robes and slid it across the table to the commandant. “And you have”—So-Elku checked his data pad for the time—“nineteen hours to come up with a plan.”

The Li-Dain leader looked a little pale.

“Come now, Rink-Ba,” So-Elku said. “It’s moments like these where our mettle is tested, and we rise to new heights.”

“My master,” Lor said, loosening his uniform around his neck with two fingers. “Might this line of action be, I don’t know, perhaps a bit hasty given the unknown variables and the accelerated timeline?”

“Hasty?” So-Elku said, eyes widening. He glanced at the rest of his council members and could tell by their sheepish expressions that they were siding with the intelligence minister. If So-Elku didn’t nip this in the bud, their nearsightedness could undermine the very spirit of the LAW.

“Let’s review, shall we?” So-Elku leaned back and rested his hands on his chair’s arms, taking a moment to inhale through his nose and exhale through his mouth. “The so-called Neo Republic is teetering on the edge of oblivion. They are scraping and clawing just to remain relevant in the sector—this sector”—he tapped the table for emphasis on how small a territory that constituted—“and are losing allied systems by the day. One of which is perhaps the largest producer of trinium in the known galaxy. And instead of branching out on their own, where do they come?”

So-Elku glanced around the table. “This isn’t a rhetorical question, people,” he said with a raised voice. “Where do they come?”

“To us,” Lor replied.

“To us,” So-Elku shouted, his spittle landing on the table’s middle. “To. Us. And they will not come again. They never will come again. This is it. Which means we will take Aluross one way or another. Because if we don’t do it now, the next time we try, they will be allied with some other system, and our efforts will be incalculably more costly. Never again will they invite us to their table. Never again will they allow us to inspect their operation. And never again will we be able to send our forces into the heart of the beast. Which means, if or when the time comes, we can squeeze their veins. And if they still don’t comply?” He looked around the table, and then he made a fist and struck the table once more. “Then we strangle them and take it. We take it all.”

A quiet resolve followed the speech as each member nodded to themselves and then looked to one another. Good, So-Elku thought. He wouldn’t need to relieve anyone of their duties today.

“Where did you get these plans?” Rink-Ba said, holding up the translucent data card.

“Governor Littleton’s office,” So-Elku said.

“But I was under the impression they were keyed to Aluross’s surface.”

“A security measure easily broken.”

“Littleton risked his life for the exchange with you?”

“Not with me. With the late senator. And it seems Louis was only too willing.”

Rink-Ba studied the clear card. “So Blackman threatened him and then transmitted the data off-world.”

“He didn’t have to threaten him, general. Blackman just had to make him the right offer. And with so many vices, it was an easy deal to strike.” So-Elku looked to Admiral Porampus, director of fleet operations. “Ready the needed vessels, Admiral. We will leave as soon as you’re ready.”

“Yes, my master,” Porampus said.

“Dismissed.”

* * *

So-Elku retired to his private study in an effort to calm himself over the pending operation. But after several minutes of pacing around the floor, he decided to try a different route of relaxation. So he descended to the Grand Arielina’s basement spa, disrobed, and entered one of the spring-fed hot baths. He was pleased no one else was present to bother him.

“A drink for you, Luma Master?” said a familiar voice.

So-Elku opened his eyes to see Nants standing over him. How did the young man enter so quietly? So-Elku wondered. The novice was growing in the arts. “Fetch me some bratch. Whatever the spa has at its disposal.”

“Yes, my master.” Nants turned and disappeared through the bathhouse door.

So-Elku slid down until the water touched his lips. He closed his eyes again and savored the heat as it eased his muscles. A few minutes of this, and then perhaps a massage would do wonders for him.

This time, when Nants returned, So-Elku was ready for him and blindly reached to take the glass just as the novice bent down to offer it. “Thank you, Nants.”

“You’re welcome, my master. Will there be anything else?”

“No. That will be all.”

Nants bowed and then left the bathhouse.

So-Elku sipped the amber liquid and savored the burn as it slid down his throat. The water surged around his body, shaking the tension from his muscles. Meanwhile, the white noise of a waterfall along the far wall lulled him toward relaxation. The thought of having hot water beat against the top of his head made So-Elku push away from the underwater seat and float toward the falls. He took one more sip of the bratch and then set it poolside.

The naturally heated water cascaded over So-Elku and consumed his senses. It plunged him into a world of roaring sound and prickling flesh. The Luma Master rolled his neck and let the torrents beat against the base of his shoulders. With his face down, he opened his eyes and saw a shadow move in the pool.

So-Elku’s heart skipped a beat as he realized someone was in the bath with him. He pushed off the wall and emerged from the waterfall, eyes blinking the water away. But when he looked around, he saw nothing. He was still alone.

A presence flitted behind him. So-Elku spun toward the waterfall. But, again, there was nothing there.

“Get ahold of yourself,” he said, then he reached for the glass of bratch. But his hand grasped only air.

The sound of glass shattering on the floor came from somewhere behind him. So-Elku swished around to see the bratch and broken crystals spread across the tile. His heart raced.

“Who’s there?” he said, and then decided he'd had enough. From within his second sight, So-Elku searched the Unity for whoever was trying to play a trick on him. But as his otherworldly vision searched all around, there was no one to be found. “Come out! Show yourself.”

“Hello, Teerbrin,” said a low voice.

The sound of his first name startled So-Elku almost as much as the imposter’s voice. The Luma master leapt from the Unity and turned around to see Nants in the waters with him.

“Nants! What in the name of Tavid’s stars are you doing?”

“The boy is gone, Teerbrin.”

So-Elku was about to switch to his second sight when the intruder cut him off.

“Don’t bother. You won’t see me there any better.”

“Who are you?” So-Elku asked. There was something dark about the novice’s eyes, as if something possessed him. “How do you know my name?”

“Both adequate questions,” the body said, its jaw and head twitching and jerking as he spoke. “And yet not the most pertinent.”

So-Elku backed up and neared the pool’s edge. He needed to protect himself and then get out of here. But he also needed to be careful. Whoever had taken over Nants’s body would probably be able to defend themselves. “And what’s the most pertinent?”

Nants’s head stuttered and then locked at an odd angle. “The question should be, what do I want.”

So-Elku knew this voice. Not Nants’s, but the one beneath it, layered somewhere in the darkness. “And what do you want?”

“You, Teerbrin.”

“And who are you?”

Nants’s body convulsed as he let out a peal of stuttering laughter. “You do not sense me? Are we not familiar with one another?”

So-Elku’s adrenaline wasn’t letting him think clearly. Whoever this person was, they were powerful. And yet no one he knew could take over a body from afar like this. Unless…

“Yes, there it is,” the intruder said. “I can feel you discerning the matter.”

So-Elku squinted. “Moldark?”

Nants’s head jerked in a quick succession of nods followed by a bleating of high-pitched giggling. “Shall we dance?”

So-Elku sensed it before he saw it—a dagger-like thrust of Moldark’s ethereal presence shooting toward his chest. The Luma master drew power from the Nexus, let it pool around his forearms, and then swept his hands through the water and across his torso. The dagger deflected into the pool wall and turned a patch of stone to dust. The water surged to fill in the void, pulling So-Elku backward.

A second thrust from Moldark shot at the Luma master’s head. So-Elku ducked and plunged his head underwater. When he resurfaced, a third shadowy dagger swept across his belly but missed as So-Elku sucked in his gut. Now it was the Luma master’s time to go on the offensive.

So-Elku summoned more power from the Nexus, pressed his wrists together, and then drove his palms forward. The energy blast shot from his hands like lightning, striking Nants in the sternum. The novice’s body surged backward through the water, causing a wave to spill over the pool’s edge. So-Elku fired a second blast, but Moldark forced the young man’s body underwater. The pool’s edge exploded and sent chunks of tile and stone into the ceiling and walls.

A shape darted toward So-Elku underwater. He moved to block Moldark’s lunge, but he wasn’t fast enough. As soon as the novice’s hands touched So-Elku’s thighs, it felt like red hot firebrands touched his skin. So-Elku cried out in pain and then fought to shove the enemy’s hands away. But the novice squeezed tighter and tighter as Moldark’s presence began sucking the life from So-Elku’s body.

The Luma master tried to distance himself from the pain and focus on the Nexus. He drew another line of energy from the deep place, knowing it may very well be his last attempt, and then reached for Nants’s head. The moment So-Elku’s hands touched him, the novice let go of So-Elku’s thighs. Nants’s body convulsed and retracted as the Nexus energy left So-Elku’s body.

Free of Moldark’s dark umbilical, So-Elku turned and hoisted himself out of the pool. He made it only three wet steps before something wrapped around his ankles and caused him to land flat on his face. Blood filled his mouth as he strained to look down at his feet. A shadowy tendril of darkness had So-Elku and was pulling his body toward Nants, who still stood in the water. The Luma Master’s fingers searched for something to latch onto, but everything he tried was too slippery as his body slid across the tiles. Suddenly, his left fingers caught on a small ledge around an inset stairway leading into the water.

“There’s no use fighting me,” Moldark said in a sweet-sounding tone.

So-Elku wanted to reply, wanted to say something vengeful, but between the pain in his legs, the sense of his soul being sucked out, and the effort it took to keep his hand on the ledge, he couldn’t think of anything to say.

“Just let it go, Master Luma,” Moldark said.

“Never,” So-Elku replied. But his grip was weakening, and Moldark’s power was strong. So-Elku cast Nants a glance. The novice’s eyes had gone completely black and seemed to have a reverse-glow about them—as if they were a void of light instead of a reflection of it.

“Let me ease your suffering,” Moldark said as he sent a new wave of pain coursing up the Luma master’s legs. “Let go!”

At that moment, So-Elku realized he had one last attempt to save his life. And he would let go. His fingertips flooded with as much power as he could summon in so little a time and then he let go. As So-Elku’s body slingshotted toward Moldark, the Luma master thrust his hands down and aimed his fingers toward Nants. Moldark pulled with all his might but was too late to do anything about the oncoming attack.

So-Elku’s supercharged digits drove into Nants’s face and plunged into the novice’s brain. At the same moment, So-Elku released the energy in his fingertips and obliterated the novice’s cranium. Blood and bone sprayed across the bathhouse and pelted the waterfall as Nants’s corpse shot under the surface.

At once, the grip on So-Elku’s soul vanished, leaving the Luma master to collapse in the bloody water. He struggled to swim toward the edge, eager to get as far away from Nants as possible. No, he corrected himself. From Moldark. Even as he climbed over the side, gasping for breath, So-Elku felt his adrenaline ebbing and a sense of dread taking its place.

The Luma master rested his head on the side of the pool and stared at Nants’s body, which was floating face down in the water. Swirls of scarlet mixed with the blue waters as the current whisked the blood toward a vent. So-Elku’s fear suddenly turned to rage as he cursed the Paragon leader’s audacity—that the enemy thought he could come here, unannounced, and make an attempt on the Luma master’s life?

“You will not best me,” So-Elku said and then coughed against the tile. However Moldark had managed this—whatever this was—So-Elku knew the monster of a man would be back. He would try again. But next time, So-Elku would be ready.

6

Moldark gasped as his consciousness returned to Kane’s body.

“Are you alright, Mithriel?” Psykon said, staring down at the dark lord’s face.

Moldark brushed the man aside and sat up. The hum of the supplicants had stopped, but its echo still reverberated around the massive chamber. “I’m not sure,” Moldark said as he touched a hand to his chest. “Something, something happened to me.”

“Yes, we saw that So-Elku resisted you.”

“But something about this encounter—” Moldark couldn’t explain what had happened. And as he thought about it, he wasn’t sure how much he should divulge to Psykon. Something had happened to him when So-Elku killed Nants. Even with the small amount of life force Moldark sucked from the Luma master, Moldark still felt as though he’d been—been what? he asked himself. Wounded? But only mortals could be injured. The very idea that Moldark could be harmed was absurd.

And yet he still wondered whether or not something had hurt him.

Moldark eyed Psykon. Did the man know? Did he suspect something? Or worse, did he know something but was not divulging it?

“I’m fine,” Moldark said at last.

“Good,” Psykon replied and offered his hand.

Moldark refused and slid off the stone table himself. “We have tried confronting him your way from afar and failed. Now it is time I deal with him in my own way. I will collect my ships and be done with this place.”

“And we thank you for trying,” Psykon said and offered Moldark a small bow. “We have learned much from you even if we have not accomplished our tasks. And now we will make good on our promises.”

“Where do we begin?” Moldark said.

Psykon spun around and walked toward the sanctuary’s entrance. “Follow me. This way, Mithriel.”

* * *

The stone escarpment that led up to the ship’s hull took almost twenty minutes to walk. The mammoth angular starship sat at the end of it like a crow on the tip of a branch, ready to take flight. But unlike a bird, the ship was not balanced on the end of the tree limb. Instead, it hovered in place without the sound of repulsors or engines. According to Psykon, it was the Unity alone that held it in place, and the Unity that would return it to orbit when called upon.

The ship itself resembled the same type that Moldark saw from onboard the Peregrine, or at least, so he thought. The black starship’s triangular shape was pointed at the bow and blocky at the stern. Meanwhile, the decks that extended above and below the centerline were staggered like cliff faces. The entire thing resembled a misshapen spearhead fashioned from coarse stone. But unlike the Bull-wraith sized ship that assaulted him over Oorajee, this vessel reached almost twice as long as one of the Republic’s Goliath-class Super Dreadnaughts.

“What do you call it?” Moldark asked as they stepped into the beast’s shadow.

“We do not name our vessels according to the nomenclature you have become familiar with,” Psykon said. “Only that it is classified to us as a Leviathan. This one, in particular, destroyed your ships, so we believe it will be of special interest to you as your new flagship.”

“This one?” Moldark was not expecting delivery of a ship so soon. “Now?”

“Does this displease you, Mithriel?”

“No. And I did not realize the ship was so large when it attacked us.”

“And neither will your enemies when you converge upon them.” Psykon motioned Moldark forward. “Come. Let us proceed.”

* * *

Once inside, Psykon led Moldark down several glossy black-stone hallways that held doors every seven to eight meters. Dim grey lighting filtered from the ceiling while the pathway’s edges gave off a faint red glow. And as their feet clopped down the corridor, Moldark detected the musty smell of wet stone.

They eventually came to a massive chamber that resembled the sanctuary back in the city. But instead of a central circle and table, this hall had an elevator bay on the far end that looked to be hewn from the face of a cliff—at least he thought it was an elevator bay. Moldark craned his neck and looked into the vast space above. The wall eventually towered out of site.

“This way,” Psykon said as he began leading Moldark across the hall.

Along the floor, Moldark noticed lines cut in the stone, each eventually leading to the central elevator shaft. “What is the significance of these lines? Of this place?”

“It is where we first summon the ship to life and imbue it with the power that will sustain it throughout its service.”

“And the elevator?”

“We will ride it to the bridge. The main wall you see is, in fact, the cornerstone of the entire ship, and it’s filled with enough energy to last into the next millennium.”

“Interesting,” Moldark said. He did not claim to understand biologics or their ways, much less deranged ones who used the Unity to alter their bodies’ systems and maintained an epoch’s long vendetta against a group of robed mystics. But he did find this particular accomplishment unusually impressive. To forge an entire starship out of rock and then suffuse it with the Unity was an impressive feat. In fact, it was the closest thing to his natural state of existence that Moldark had ever encountered, which brought up another question.

“Tell me, where did the Obscura learn these ways?”

“Which ways are those?”

Moldark gestured toward the giant stone face that stretched up into the darkness. “The Luma do not fashion such things from the ground, nor do they instill power within them. How did you come across such skills?”

“It was a matter of necessity,” Psykon said. “When you have so little for so long, you learn to make do.”

“And this skill, one of making the raw elements host of your power, this is your own creation?”

“Hardly.”

Moldark slowed while Psykon approached the elevator.

“We observed the Unity within all things. Ours was merely learning to imbue the inanimate with more than it ever knew.”

“And it was the Unity that inspired you?”

“It is as I have said.” Psykon pressed his palm to a bare spot of stone beside the elevator doors. A thin red outline appeared around his hand, and a low hum vibrated in the ground. A second outline appeared around the doors themselves moments before they parted to reveal a large chamber lit in red and white. “Come, let us rise.”

Psykon stepped inside, followed by Moldark. The exterior doors closed, and the elevator surged upward as the rock wall glided down the pod’s open face. A small circular cluster of red indicators on each sidewall indicated the lift’s progress. However, Moldark could not decipher the strange patterns’ meanings as individual dots blinked on and off, seemingly at random.

The pair of men rode in silence until long openings in the tower’s face gave Moldark a strobe-like view of the sanctuary floor far below. At one point, the lift passed what Moldark suspected was some sort of perch—a landing from which a speaker might address a crowd below—but it passed by so quickly it was hard to know for sure. The windows to the sanctuary vanished, and the sliding rock face returned as the lift continued to rise.

Eventually, the elevator slowed, as did the blinking red dots on the walls. When the lift came to a stop, the doors opened onto a wide balcony that looked down onto a lower command bridge filled with blocky black tables. An equally dark glossy wall wrapped 180º around the three-story-tall theatre.

“This is your bridge, Mithriel,” Psykon said. “From here, you can helm the vessel with the touch of a hand.”

Psykon walked to a small black panel in the middle of the balcony’s railing. As soon as he placed his palm on the stone, the bridge came to life. Moldark felt a low hum under his feet while every glossy surface, from the large wrap-around wall to every table along the lower floor, burst to life with projected holo images of the ship’s systems, including what Moldark suspected were diagnostics, navigation, and communications. While the Obscura runes made deciphering each station’s purpose difficult, the geometric compositions on several more advanced readouts looked like weapons, targeting, and shielding.

The most amazing display of all, however, was the panoramic view of the ship’s surroundings. Not only did it offer a look at the ship’s bow, but 180º of the planet’s horizon. The gray sands and black rock clusters spread out under the dim sky so clearly that Moldark felt as if he could step out and walk across them.

“Remarkable, isn’t it?”

Moldark nodded. “I have never seen a display like it among the fleets of this galaxy.”

“Nor will you. Unlike manufactured screens and holo projections that utilize digital pixels to deceive the eye into thinking an image is real, what you see here is real. The Unity makes it so.”

“Impressive.”

“But there’s more. Watch.” Psykon placed his palm back on the balcony’s stone, a surface that glowed with red and white outlines and markings, and moved his hand to the left. As soon as he did, the wrap-around wall’s view shifted to port. Moldark felt Kane’s body grow unsteady and instinctively reached for the railing. Psykon slid his hand to the right, and the perspective moved to starboard.

“You try,” Psykon said, stepping away from the panel.

Not to be outdone by the strange mystic, Moldark reined in his vertigo and placed his hand on the pedestal. He found that the image was so connected to his touch that even the slightest movement caused the view to shift. Moldark slid his palm side to side and watched the screen mimic the motion. He made wider sweeps and then moved his hand down, which caused the view to shift up. A dim field of stars filled the screen as Moldark looked into orbit. Surprised at the freedom of range, Moldark moved his hand up, which brought the perspective down. The view swept through a cross-section of the ship’s decks in a second and then stopped on an image of the sands beneath the vessel when Moldark pulled his hand back.

“Your view is limited only by your imagination,” Psykon said. He tapped the screen once to center the view and then used his fingers to zoom in on the sun until it filled the screen. The image was so clear that Moldark made out individual spouts of fire that leaped into the void. “At least to a degree. Even the Unity has its limits.”

“And the vessel is powered by?”

“By the energy we’ve imbued it with, as I’ve said. To move, simply will it.”

“Will it?” Moldark looked from Psykon to the screen to the pedestal control panel.

“Observe.” Psykon centered the view once more and placed his hand on the glossy surface. All at once, Moldark felt the ship surge forward—by how much he could not say. Inertia dampeners were designed to mitigate the effects of changes in motion, and this ship would no doubt have the equivalent.

“How far did we move?” Moldark asked searching the various data lists for some indication of distance traveled or coordinate differentiation, but all the text was in Psykon’s runic language.

“Try this,” the Obscura leader said. A beat later all the runes changed to galactic common.

Moldark searched a subwindow on the main display and felt his mind jar. “We moved twenty-five point five seven kilometers?”

“Indeed.”

“But that’s—”

“Impossible? Perhaps, according to your Republic standards.”

“They are not my standards,” Moldark interjected.

Psykon raised an apologetic hand and clarified. “According to the Republic’s standards. But, as I expressed earlier, we are not using conventional means of propulsion.”

“Nor weapons, I might add. At least judging by how you dispatched my remaining starships.”

“An unfortunate loss, we admit, but one worth taking, especially in light of your potential gains. A show of overwhelming force was the only way to secure your attention; were we wrong?”

“No.” He looked back to the main display and then searched out what he thought was the weapons station.

“Ah, you wish a demonstration of the ship’s attack capabilities.”

Moldark nodded.

“Come.” Psykon motioned for Moldark to follow and then led the way down a staircase to the main floor. They crossed to the weapons station, and Psykon rested his hands on the pedestal’s surface. Targeting reticles of various shapes and sizes fluttered across the main display, locking onto dozens of features from rock clusters to ridges on the horizon to the sun itself. “Which do you wish to destroy?”

Moldark looked between the screen and Psykon. “That group of rocks there”—he pointed to the far right where a cluster of boulders sat at the base of a dune—“by the low rise.”

Three red dots appeared on the rock formation, and then a blast of red energy streaked across the plain and struck the target. The ensuing eruption sent a torrent of fire and a fountain of sparks into the sky, followed by a shockwave that rippled across the sand. When the light faded, Moldark saw a smoking crater in the ground.

“What about the rest of those targets?” Moldark asked, pointing to the dozens of reticles still locked on points of interest around the screen. “How long does it take to recharge the—”

Blasts of energy shot from the ship and streaked toward the remaining targets—including the planet’s sun. While the star wouldn’t register the impact, all the points on the planet’s surface did, exploding at various intervals according to their distances relative to the ship.

Moldark was spellbound. It was—well—glorious.

“You are pleased, Mithriel?” Psykon asked.

“I am.” But with so much power, several new questions presented themselves. “However, I wonder why you expect me to fare any better than you when confronting the Luma? You said their power in the Unity prevented you from attacking them in the past.”

“A worthy question. The short answer is, we don’t.”

“But I thought—”

“The Obscura recognized a mutual disdain for a common foe, and together we attempted to assail So-Elku with our combined powers from afar. The attempt fell short, and now the Obscura are making good on our promise to you. What you choose to do with it is up to you. We advise you, however, not to employ our Unity-powered vessels in a direct assault on Worru, lest you fall prey to their defenses.”

“And you’re sure they can thwart even this?” Moldark gestured to the entire bridge. This ship was indeed a force to be reckoned with.

“Nothing is ever certain, Mithriel. But, yes, we believe a direct assault would be unwise, which is why we spent so much time courting you.”

“And what will you do now that your attempts to mimic my abilities have failed you?”

“A legitimate question,” Psykon replied. “But one that requires a level of allegiance to our order that I assume you are not willing to pledge.”

“How convenient for you.”

Psykon seemed to consider a different answer and then said, “We will abide in the dark until a new alternative presents itself.”

“And yet, with so much firepower, why not raze every species within the galaxy?”

“Those who threaten our existence we do.”

“And the rest? Surely you could destroy them without so much as a flick of your hand.”

“Again, if they pose a threat. But as you are not a member—”

“Neither will I be a recipient.”

Psykon nodded. Then he straightened his back—a move that seemed to suggest he wished to change topics. “As to our agreement, do you find this ship’s systems to your liking?”

“I do. How many can you produce?”

“How many crew and squadrons do you anticipate hosting?”

“That all depends on the personnel you promised to introduce me to.”

Psykon spread his hands apart. “Those resources are more than you could ever exhaust. Rather, the questions surround your ability to command—”

“I can command whatever I will,” Moldark said with a sharp tone.

“I said nothing to the contrary. I only meant to suggest that the size of your crew will be contingent upon your ambitions, nothing more.”

Moldark stared at Psykon for a moment. “This ship. How many does it hold?”

“Nine thousand souls.”

Moldark couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. That was twice as many as a Super Dreadnaught. “So many?”

“Indeed. And up to five squadrons of starfighters, at least according to your Republic definitions.”

“You have designed a starfighter?”

“The Abeyant-class, yes. It is within the scope of the Republic Talon. Fifteen to a squadron.”

For a non-ambitious people, they sure had enough ingenuity and resourcefulness to wipe out entire systems. Which got Moldark thinking—how many species have they wiped out with no one the wiser? Where other governments or terrorist organizations rushed to claim attacks in the hopes of bolstering their efforts publicly, Moldark imagined that the Obscura would be far more content to recede into the darkness.

“Then I will take nine Leviathans,” Moldark said. “One for each member of the circle who wronged me in this universe. And the five squadrons for each, loaded within their bays.”

Psykon noted these numbers with a nod of his head.

“There is, of course, the matter of where I will take delivery of my vessels, assuming my legions are not here on X.”

“They are not. We will ferry your ships into metaspace.”

“My home universe?”

“Is it not your desired destination, Mithriel?”

“It is.” The convenience felt too fortunate. “But my military?”

“Also found within your home universe.”

Moldark’s eyes widened. “How can this be?”

“All in due time. For now, take this ship for you and your crew. While the vessel will tend to your bodies’ more primitive requirements, you will need to secure food and water at your earliest convenience. We will summon you upon the completion of your new fleet.”

“Understood. And what about instructions for operating this vessel?”

“My people will provide your crew with tutelage at once.”

“Excellent.”

“Is there anything else we can do for you, Mithriel?”

“Yes.” Moldark glowered at Psykon, still trying to see under the brim of the man’s hood. “Never use my name again and forget you ever heard it.”

“As you wish.”

* * *

Less than two hours later, the Peregrine was safely secured within a large hangar bay in the Levithan’s aft sections, starboard side. Shortly after that, ten Obscura led the ship’s crew to the bridge. Moldark could tell that his Paragon team members were unnerved by the hooded figures. Ellis, Porteous, Yeager, and the other forty or so crew seemed to keep their distance. They gave the Obscura sideways glances while never turning their backs on them for a second.

During a break in the training, Moldark asked Ellis what kind of progress they were making.

“As good as can be expected for learning to helm a completely alien ship,” Ellis replied. “Though it’s far more intuitive than I would have thought.”

“Anything you see as a potential problem?”

Ellis hesitated and scratched his sideburn.

“What?” Moldark asked. “Speak.”

“It’s more a matter of what isn’t there, my lord,” Ellis replied. “As in things like life support, including waste management, water reclamation, air treatment, and pressurization systems. They’re simply not present.”

“Overseen by the Unity.”

“As far as I can tell, yes.”

“You’re hesitant,” Moldark said, sensing the captain’s anxiety.

Ellis moved his hand off his face and scratched the back of his neck. “It’s just that if a system fails—if something goes down, I mean—we have no way to troubleshoot it. I can’t even tell you how it works.”

“And aside from those systems?”

“Well, that’s just it. I can steer the ship. We can acquire and fire on targets. We can even enter planetary atmospheres without so much as flicking on a thruster. It’s mind-boggling.”

“But?”

“But I can’t tell you how any of it works. And that doesn’t boost my confidence in choosing this as a fighting platform. There won’t be any repairing it.”

“But it will fly and fire? It will suit our purposes?”

Ellis sighed. “As a short term assault carrier? Sure. But we’re going to need to make some massive retrofits if you want a crew to stay alive for more than a few days at a time.”

“Then it will do,” Moldark said. “Resume your studies, and then brief me in full when you’re through, Captain.”

“Yes, my lord.” Ellis made to turn away but then stopped. “Sir?”

“What?”

“What will you call this one? Just out of curiosity.”

Moldark hadn’t thought about it. Ship naming conventions seemed a tedious exercise to him. However, he had to admit that naming a ship made from a planet’s hide, as it were, was far more in line with his heritage. The Norxük could have easily inhabited the lands that comprised this vessel, and were they not worthy of names? Suddenly, Moldark had an idea.

“I will call it Norxük’s Revenge.”

“I’m not familiar with Norxük. Which conflict did he serve in?”

Moldark frowned at Ellis and considered whether or not to end his life on the spot. But the captain would be too useful in helming the Revenge, so he refrained. “A very old one, Captain Ellis. Before your time.”

“Understood, my lord.”

“Dismissed.”

Ellis saluted him and then returned to the tutelage of the Obscura.

Moldark climbed the stairs to the command overlook and then spread his hands along the railing and looked down on his Paragon crew. They took notes on their data pads and asked endless questions of their teachers. Every answer brought Moldark one step closer to departing this awful planet and returning to metaspace. He would find the Novia Minoosh’s singularity on Ithnor Itheliana and then destroy them once and for all.

But another matter plagued Moldark, that of his unfinished business with So-Elku. Their confrontation in the bathhouse was like a Cephormith tick-fly bite. The more you scratch it, the more it itches. Thus, there were only two ways to get it to stop: gouge out the infected flesh or, if the poison went too deep, cut off your hand. And Moldark wasn’t about to remove a limb.

Psykon’s warning not to go after the Luma only served to irritate matters more. The fact that some ephemeral being had told Moldark what to do made his blood boil. He was an Elemental, after all. What were the constraints of mere mortals to him? Nothing but momentary setbacks. And with more ships on the way and the promise of a quantum tunnel back to metaspace, what did it matter if Moldark lost one vessel? Especially if it meant killing So-Elku once and for all. If Moldark was lucky, he could take out the Luma’s capital city too.

“No,” Moldark said to himself as he looked toward the horizon. “You will not see me coming, So-Elku. And by the time you realize your life is over, it will be too late to do anything to stop me. I’m coming for you, Teerbrin. The darkness is coming for you.”

7

“The meeting is set,” Freya said as she closed out the call on her data pad. “The Luma Master will arrive tomorrow.”

“Yeah, heard that,” Magnus replied. He sat beside Caldwell and Awen inside of the pride mother’s private office back in the capital city of Meesrin Pin. “I’m not a big fan of the pressure this places on the team.” DiAntora’s plan of luring So-Elku to the negotiation table was a good one, but not on such a tight schedule.

“Yet this is only a meeting.” Freya sat back in her chair and put her paws together. “Your people will capture him, and DiAntora’s people will take him into custody as planned.”

Magnus cleared his throat. “Right, so the whole ‘as planned’ thing tends never to go as planned, your loftiness.”

“Are you saying you are unable to set an adequate security detail, manservant?”

If she calls me that one more time—

Easy, Adonis, Awen said from inside his head. I’m doing my best to keep your thoughts hidden, but you’ve got to keep yourself calm.

Roger that, he replied. “All I’m saying is that if a guy like So-Elku is coming here, he’s not coming just to chat. He lost troops at the mansion, and he’s going to want revenge of some kind.”

“I have to agree with our manservant on this one,” Caldwell said, giving Magnus a cockeyed grin. “While it may only be a simple chit chat, we need to go into this expecting that So-Elku’s bringing a fighting force.”

“Like those undeveloped fecal producing offspring you keep referring to?”

“Golden-robed diaper babies?” Caldwell chuckled. “Like those, yes.”

“But our orbital defense systems will be sufficient to ward off an assault, based on the limited number of ships the LAW has access to.”

“True.” Caldwell moved his cigar to the other side of his mouth. “But they’re not going to risk an outright confrontation.”

“They’re not?”

“No. For one simple reason.”

“And that is?” Freya said, her eyes searching the colonel’s face for any hints of a clue.

“If every ship that your intelligence officers have determined is under So-Elku’s command showed up right now, do you think you could take them out?”

“It is probable, yes.”

“Then that’s why he won’t come at you head-on. It’s too early in the game for the LAW to make such a brazen move. So-Elku needs to appear in command—the guy needs to appear stately. Remember, he’s trying to court a hundred other worlds like Aluross that have felt disenfranchised by the Republic.”

“So you’re suggesting he’ll operate covertly?”

“Exactly,” Magnus said. “If he wants your trinium, he’ll go for it behind your back.”

Freya examined Magnus. “But you’ve seen our mine. You understand firsthand that such a feat would be—”

“Impossible?” Magnus didn’t mean to be rude, but it was precisely this kind of naive thinking that caught plenty of worlds with their pants down and left them on the wrong side of history. “Like people saying it was impossible that the Akuda would surface and threaten the Caledonians? Like the Simikon would invade Limbia Centrella? That Capriana Prime would fall?” Magnus picked at something between his teeth with his tongue. “No disrespect, your highness, but nothing is impossible, especially when we’re talking about the Luma and planetary negotiations. The last ‘peace talks’ I was a part of”—Magnus used two fingers on each hand to emphasize the term—“ended with a king’s throne room getting bombed to splick. What Caldwell is suggesting, what we’re all suggesting, is that we need to be ready for anything, especially a covert operation.”

Awen nodded and then spoke up. “But with only a day, we must hurry to make the most of it.”

“Then you have a plan?” Freya asked her.

“Not yet. But we will. And we’ll need your full cooperation. That includes Wobix and his narskill, access to your facilities, the mines, everything.”

Freya worked her jaw. “Very well. If this enemy is as cunning as you say, then we would be foolish not to stop him at our very first chance.”

“Now you’re talking, queeny,” Magnus said.

“Excuse me?” Freya’s lips curled back to reveal her teeth.

Awen placed a hand on Magnus’s chest. “What Magnus is trying to say is that he believes your sentiment is wise—a proper response becoming someone of your stature.”

“I do not need his affirmation to know it is so,” Freya replied.

“No, of course you don’t. But it is customary among our warriors to confer affirmation out of respect.”

Freya seemed to consider Awen’s explanation and then concealed her teeth. “Very well. I accept the praise. But barely.”

“Barely works fine for me,” Magnus said, hoping to help ease the tension. But both Freya and Awen gave him a hairy eyeball. If Magnus and the Gladio Umbra could pull this off, it would be a miracle. But it was the best idea anyone had that accomplished several goals at once. For one, the galaxy would be rid of Master So-Elku once and for all. Two, the LAW uprising would most likely be quelled within weeks of its start. Third, the Sekmit would be free to sell their valuable trinium supply—free of both the Repub and Neo Repub constraints. And, most important of all, four: Magnus could finally get his damn vacation.

“You have access to whatever you need,” Freya said at last.

She snapped the nubs of her paw, and a second later, the doors to her office slid apart. Wobix entered the room and conversed with Freya in a fit of Sekmetian words that finished with her giving him a soft hiss. Wobix bowed.

“Wobix and his warriors are now at your disposal,” Freya said.

“Thank you, ní Freya,” Caldwell replied as he stood. “We will keep you apprised of our progress.”

“As will Wobix,” Freya said.

Caldwell glanced at the warrior. “I’m sure he will.”

* * *

Since the Gladio Umbra’s purpose on Aluross had changed from shore leave to a capital defense operation, Caldwell ordered the entire battalion out of Fînta and to head to Meersin Pin. Any promise of R&R would have to wait for another day, but Magnus already figured as much when the mission at the governor’s mansion went sideways.

In the meantime, Caldwell gathered the company commanders and a few additional leaders to go over his and Magnus’s working plan. At the same time, the rest of the leadership oversaw the battalion’s move. Sootriman, Ezo, TO-96, and Rohoar hovered over one end of a spacious holo table, while Abimbola, Zoll, and Wobix sat at the other. Freya allowed the command team access to her dimly lit war room within the capital building and provided refreshments for all. Accordingly, the Sekmit leader provided several files that Cyril had asked for.

Last but not least, Caldwell called in Azelon via a hardlight emitter positioned on the table. To the uneducated, it looked as though Azelon stood in the flesh—or the metal?—a meter from the colonel. “How do you read us, Smarty Pants?”

“Like the text on an ancient Novian stone tablet,” Azelon replied.

Magnus laughed. “I believe she just called you ancient.”

“Didn’t need you to point it out, son.” Caldwell blew a mouthful of smoke in Magnus’s direction. “All right, folks. Let’s get down to business. We’ve got a splickton of work to do in a short amount of time.”

Heads nodded, and Wobix sniffed the air.

“Bixy, you wanna start?”

Wobix reeled at the sound of his new nickname. “Who are you referring to?”

“Amended names are indicators of trust,” Azelon said.

Wobix looked back and forth between Caldwell and Azelon before looking the colonel in the eyes. “Yes. I have the requested schematics, Smokey.”

Caldwell’s bushy white eyebrows went up higher than Magnus had ever seen them.

“Smokey?” Caldwell said.

“Ha,” Magnus bellowed and then clapped his hands. “I like your style, Wobix.”

“Thank you, Maggsy,” Wobix replied.

Magnus’s glee vaporized. “Hey, now wait just a second—”

“He can dish it, but he can’t take it,” Caldwell said under his breath. Several people laughed before the colonel regained control of the room and nodded at Wobix. “Getting back to business.”

Wobix waved a hand over the table, and a holo display appeared. The narskill warrior began batching root files together and swiping them over to Cyril’s data pad. The code splicer confirmed receipt of each packet and then went to work opening and sifting through the mountain of data. Magnus was always amazed at just how fast the kid could navigate through an operating system. But he supposed Cyril was gifted with code the same way a skilled Marine could put a tight grouping on target at five-hundred meters.

“Uh-huh,” Cyril said to himself. “Yeah, I see you. Mmm-hmmm.” Holo window after holo window appeared over the table as Cyril moved them around the room, flicking them left, right, and up. The faster the kid’s fingers danced through the air, the more noises he made. “Yup, yup, snap dink-a-do. A little flipdee-flop, annnnd—”

“Cyril,” Magnus said. “Is that necessary?”

“Is what necessary, Mr. Commander Lieutenant, sir?” Cyril asked without taking his eyes from his work.

“All that talking to yourself.”

“But I don’t talk to myself, sir.”

Magnus chuckled. “Oh really?”

“I think I would know if I talked to myself, sir.” Cyril’s fingers moved even faster as detailed plans spread out across the table. They included images of Meesrin Pin, maps of the streets, multiple layers of the Trinium Mines of Neptali, and even cross-sections of the planet. Cyril began beatboxing as he worked—at least that’s what Magnus figured it was. But between all the spittle and missed beats, Magnus wondered if Cyril wasn’t bludgeoning the imaginary drum set to death. “Btss-dip-puh’cha—boots-ship’a-wah’wah—ptts-dibby—”

“Cyril?” Magnus asked.

Cyril looked up. “Yes, your commandship?”

“You almost done?”

The kid nodded. “Just… about—got it. All ready for you, sir.”

“Good. Now wipe your mouth and tell us what we’re looking at.”

Cyril apologized and wiped his lips with the back of his sleeve. “Weird. I must’ve drooled on myself—haha. Anyway, Mr. Wobix here has provided what I believe are the most necessary schematics in order for us to stage an adequate defense of Meesrin Pin as well as the mines. And if there’s something you don’t see that you want to see, like, if you wanted exact metrics on mine airflow volumes over, say, a forty-nine-minute period beginning at the post-midnight hour of 0256, and then overlay that with the oxygen saturation levels of nodes found in section 4-B21, I can draw correlations between the power substation and resulting air density resistance patterns, which would provide a—”

“Cyril?”

The code slicer hesitated. “Was it—was that too much?”

“A tad,” Magnus said. “But we’re all blown away.”

“Ha ha. Thank you, sir.”

“All right people,” Caldwell said. “The first order of business is engaging So-Elku’s convoy upon their arrival in orbit and escorting them to the surface. We won’t know his exact ship composition until they arrive, but they’ll be expecting a Sekmit welcome wagon, so it shouldn’t be out of the ordinary.”

“We’ll take care of that,” Wobix said.

“Good.” Caldwell toked on his cigar. “What we need to keep an eye out for is an advanced team or a separate contingent of ships. Azelon?”

“I am able to facilitate deep space scans with the Spire, Colonel. Additionally, I will monitor for any attempts to use the Unity to hide the vessels in and around Aluross’s gravity well.”

“Can you do that?” Magnus asked, looking at Awen and then Willowood. “Cloak ships with the Unity, I mean?”

“Theoretically, yes,” Willowood said. “Though it’s never been done before, for several reasons. The most obvious of which is that the Luma would never conceal themselves, as that goes against the Order’s code of ethics. The point is to serve star systems openly, not subvert them.”

“Well, I think it is safe to say their code of ethics has been thrown out,” Abimbola noted.

“Agreed,” Willowood said.

Awen put her elbows on the table. “Before, So-Elku would have lacked the power to conceal a starship. That’s a rather large undertaking for any Luma. But given his access to the Nexus, and what we’ve seen of the Li-Dain already? I wouldn’t be surprised if he has the capability now.”

“Would you?” Magnus asked Awen. “Be able to conceal one, I mean?”

“Given what we know about the Nexus now?” She glanced at Willowood. The two seemed to arrive at some sort of silent agreement. “In a word, yes. It depends on the size of the vessel, how long you’d want it hidden for, and how thorough an investigation it needed to hold up to, but, yes. We could do it.”

“Then early detection will be important,” Caldwell said to Azelon. “Ricio, I want you and all of Fang Company working with her and the other members of Drambull and Raptor Companies to create a net over the planet. If an asteroid so much as farts, I want to know about it.”

“Understood, Colonel,” Ricio said.

“Next, we’ll need to secure a perimeter around So-Elku’s landing party and determine the most likely routes between his LZ and the meet point.” Caldwell pointed to a map of Meesrin Pin, made a fist in the air, and pulled the window toward him. Then he zoomed into the city’s capital district. “Cyril. Can you outline all viable routes between So-Elku’s hangar and the capitol building? Include secondary routes that might be used as contingencies.”

“Sure, sure. Right away, Supreme Leader, sir.”

“It’s just Colonel, son.”

“Right, right, totally. Sorry.” Cyril’s fingers prodded the air, pinched in and out of the map, and ran along streets. In less than thirty seconds, five different routes were outlined. “Zippidy-zap, there it is, Colonel.”

“Good work, son.”

“There are two more possibilities,” Wobix interjected. All eyes turned toward the Sekmit.

“What did I miss?” Cyril asked with a tone of genuine curiosity.

Wobix took control of the map and separated the street level view from two subterranean views. Almost as soon as he did, Cyril let out a soft, “Of course.”

“One route would be here,” Wobix said, highlighting a path that followed some of the main streets but also crisscrossed beneath buildings. “This tunnel is part of the city’s energy and communications network. And this one”—Wobix outlined a second course on a layer below the first—“proceeds through the city’s sewer system.”

“Mystics, please not the sewers again,” Magnus said to whatever ethereal spirits may have been listening to him.

“Good work, Bixy,” Caldwell said. “I want you setting up checkpoints along each of those street routes. Place sentries in the sublevel routes as well. Nelson, I want gladias supplementing Sekmit forces in those tunnels. But keep them out of sight until absolutely necessary. By all appearance, I want this to be a Sekmit-led operation.”

“Got it.”

Caldwell took another drag on his cigar. “My hunch is that while So-Elku is being escorted to the capitol building, he’ll want his own security forces moving incognito along these additional routes. Willowood, I want some mystics posted at each location as well.”

“Absolutely.”

“If you see anything, you call it in.” Heads nodded, and Caldwell forged ahead by looking at Wobix. “The meeting itself will be entirely under Sekmit oversight. We’ll have gladias there to back you up, but again, we must stay out of sight.”

Caldwell looked at the capitol building’s blueprint, expanded it, and then moved through the floors until he found Freya’s massive reception hall that doubled as a throne room.

Right then, Magnus had a curious thought. While Freya’s title of pride mother of the Linux seemed to indicate that she was one of many tribal leaders serving under the queen, there didn’t appear to be any other halls in the capital as significant as the one allocated to her. Likewise, Magnus hadn’t met or heard mention of any other tribal leaders that were her equal, nor had he met the queen. In fact, it seemed strange that So-Elku was meeting with Freya and not Queen Nishti herself—whoever she was. This could’ve been a matter of coincidence, of course. Then again, Magnus couldn’t help wonder if Freya was more important than everyone thought.

Caldwell pointed to two anterior chambers behind Freya’s throne. “I’m thinking we’ll want the Neo Repub forces staged in here. Nelson, you’ll also oversee our end of things and help ensure General Lovell gets what he wants.”

“Will do, Colonel.”

“Willowood, I’ll need you and whoever you can spare from Paladia Company waiting in the wings too, ready to assist the Sekmit and the Marines in capturing So-Elku. I don’t expect him to yield without a fight.”

“Nor should you,” Willowood said. “He’ll be on his guard, and we’ll need to keep everyone well hidden in the Unity. We can’t keep it up indefintiely, but it will buy us the time we need.”

“The Sekmit can assist you there,” Wobix said. “While we are not as skilled as your gladias, our abilities in the Unity are not to be underestimated, nor is our prowess in combat.”

While Magnus had never seen a Sekmit fight, he didn’t doubt Wobix’s claims in the least. From those Magnus knew who had seen the feline-like warriors fight, they were ferocious, on par with the Jujari, as far as he could tell.

“Thank you.” Willowood raised her chin. “We’ll need to work together.”

Caldwell sucked his lips clean of tobacco-stained saliva. “If all goes well, we’ll take So-Elku here, and the Neo Republic will get him back to Minrok Santari for trial. Now, let’s turn to what happens if things get six ways from Tuesday.” He nodded at Magnus. “Lieutenant?”

“First off, I think we can expect So-Elku and the Li-Dain to raise hell inside Freya’s throne room once they’re engaged. The faster we can take them down, the better, so speed will be important. That will be up to Wobix, Nelson, and Willowood’s companies. Meanwhile, we have to assume that So-Elku is going to make a play for the trinium.”

Magnus pulled up the map of the mines, which took up the majority of the Leonï Ocean. Truthfully, Magnus couldn’t believe the operation’s scope when he saw it on a map. It extended north and south, almost to each pole, and west to the Olpandian continent. The undertaking must’ve taken decades to create and untold trillions to fund. Which I guess isn’t so hard when you’re mining and selling trinium, Magnus thought.

“According to our Sekmitian friends, the best locations to acquire the most trinium in the shortest amount of time are the aggregate nodes.” Magnus made a few taps on menus, selected the categories, and then watched as the map highlighted several dozen points along the ocean floor. He knew there were going to be a lot, but not as many as the map displayed.

“So many?” Willowood said.

“There must be hundreds,” Awen said.

“192, to be exact,” Wobix said.

“I can confirm the Sekmit’s count,” TO-96 said.

“How are we going to defend so many?” Forbes asked Magnus.

“We aren’t. First off, we don’t have the numbers. But neither do they.”

“We’re both underpowered,” Awen said.

“Yup. But more importantly, I believe we need to make two assumptions. The first is that So-Elku will try for a power grab.”

“He is going to press hard for Freya’s allegiance,” Sootriman said. “Force her to comply.”

Magnus nodded. “And then, if he can’t get Freya to align with the LAW, he’ll either try and take as much trinium as he can, or…”

“He’s going to try and take over the mine,” Awen said, staring into the near distance.

“Take over the whole mine?” Wobix said. “But I thought you said he doesn’t have the numbers for that kind of maneuver.”

“He doesn’t, in my opinion. But that doesn’t mean he won’t try. Especially if he suspects that the Sekmit may double-cross him.”

“You think he suspects that we may assassinate him?” Wobix said.

“Would you?” Magnus replied.

The narskill commander scowled. “If he plans to harm our people or steal our trinium? Of course.”

“Well, there you go. So he’s going to use the mines as leverage—at least that’s what I would do.”

“So you think his Li-Dain will either head for the most profitable aggregate nodes or to the main command node?” Willowood asked.

Magnus nodded. “Either Freya complies with his wishes, or he’s going to leverage the mine against her.”

“Or blow it up,” Awen said.

Everyone turned to her, most likely as surprised at her fatalistic pronouncement as Magnus was. He motioned her to continue.

“He lacks the resources to take over Aluross as a whole,” she said. “So if he can’t get what he wants, why not keep the Sekmit from getting what they want too? He could bide his time and come back later to sort things out.”

She had a point, Magnus admitted, albeit a dramatic one. “It’s certainly within the realm of possibility. That said, I’d bet Bimby’s entire poker chip manufacturing plant on the diaper babies setting up shop in the command complex before doing that.”

“You mean to tell Rohoar that Abimbola makes the poker chips himself?” Rohoar turned toward Abimbola and laid his ears back. “Is this true?”

Magnus looked between the two giant warriors and realized he had just made a sizable misstep. “What I meant to say was—”

Rohoar started speaking in Jujari—expletives if the tone was any indication. Abimbola replied in Jujari, raising his voice at Rohoar. Within seconds, the two were shouting at each other and their faces got closer.

Then a piercing whistle ripped through the air and silenced the room. Everyone looked at Willowood. She removed her thumb and index finger from her mouth and eyed the two men. “We done here, boys?”

Rohoar’s shoulders relaxed as he let out a long sigh. “We shall discuss this later, Miblimbian. Perhaps over a skralggrit.”

“Should I even ask what a Scralagrit is?" Magnus said as he looked between the two warriors.

Awen spoke up. “It’s a traditional Jujari feast where the offended party is paid back by slow roasting and then eating the one who offended him.”

“Seems fair,” Magnus said and cast Rohoar a smile.

“You see?” Rohoar said to Abimbola while raising a paw at Magnus. “Our Magnus agrees.”

“Whoa, whoa.” Magnus pumped his hands. “We have an op to run first.”

“Not to worry, buckethead,” Abimbola said in a dismissive tone. “Most Jujari business transactions involve yelling and threats. It’s all for show.”

“Rohoar may still eat you, Miblimbian.”

Abimbola chuckled. “How about we survive this first, and then you eat me?”

“Rohoar is fine with this, yes.”

Caldwell blew out a long stream of smoke. “Well now that we got that incredible splick-show out of the way, mind unbunching your undies and focusing?”

Abimbola and Rohoar nodded to each other and then at the colonel.

Caldwell gestured for Magnus to continue. “Back to you, son.”

“All right then.” Magnus cleared his throat. “While I’m not as fatalistic as Awen, sabotaging the mine isn’t out of the question. However, given the constraints of our timetable and the number of assault options, we need to group threat possibilities into a cascading hierarchy.”

“In galactic common, please?” Awen said.

Cyril spoke before Magnus could explain. “So, so, it’s, like, basically saying that we can account for all the enemy’s possible targets if we nest them within one or two possible defense trees.”

“Yeah, that made it worse.” Awen looked back to Magnus.

He sighed. “While they might intend to blow up the mine, we remove that possibility if we focus on keeping them out of the mine altogether. The side effect is that in keeping them out, we also stop them from doing twenty other things that we’re not thinking of.”

“Got it,” Awen replied. “Back to Willowood’s question, you think they’ll either head for the most profitable nodes or to the main command complex?”

“I do.” Magnus expanded the mine’s holo map until he focused on the most central aggregate node. “But I want to make the choice for them. According to the data, it looks like this is the largest consolidation point. Can you double-check me on this Wobix? Cyril?”

“Yes,” Wobix said first. “That is node 4.721-1.”

“Let’s call it Zulu One,” Magnus replied.

“It serves as the central distribution point for the core nodes.”

“And you transport the refined trinium to the surface, how?”

Wobix took control of the holo map. He rolled the display sideways to show a cross section of the seafloor, Zulu One, and the ocean’s surface some four klicks above. Then Wobix made a subcategory visible—one marked Transport. Not only did a sizable oceanic hydrofoil freighter appear on the surface, but so did dozens of small underwater craft.

“These are automated submersible mineral carriers,” Wobix said. “The Repub officials who knew of them referred to the vehicles as ASMCs. They are responsible for moving the trinium from the seafloor to the surface and delivering it to the freighter.”

Cyril let out a long whistle. So long, in fact, that Magnus figured the code slicer totally misunderstood the purpose of whistling at something he found amazing. That or the kid was off in one of his holo game worlds again, daydreaming about whatever it is that brainiacs dream about.

“Something you find interesting, Cyril?”

“No,” Cyril replied.

Magnus raised an eyebrow at him.

“I mean, well, sure. But it’s more just, you know, haha—”

“What is it, Cyril?”

The code slicer leaned forward and pulled up a secondary window containing multiple schematic views of the ASMCs. The vessel looked like a sleek underwater dart with fins and four counter-rotating spiral propellers in the aft. “Um, so. This thing is fast. Ha ha. I’m not sure how familiar everyone is with fluid dynamics, because, wow, let me tell you, this puppy exceeds anything else in its class. It’s three times as fast as the Festoonial black marspin. Have you ever seen the footage of those? Cause I have. Once, there was a whole school of them, and they actually used their snouts to harpoon a Telderine giant sea mammoth. Went so fast they drove straight through the beast and cut it to ribbons. You know, you can download the uncut version on—”

“Hey, Cyril?” Magnus said.

“Yeah?”

“Can you maybe stick to telling us about the ASMCs and why you think they might be pertinent to our mission?”

“Oh, sure, sure. Sorry about that. So, the Sekmits’ submersibles are supercavitating—that’s where the fluid pressure behind an object drops below the liquid’s vapor pressure, thus reducing drag and allowing it—”

“Cyril?”

“It goes fast, Lieutenant. And since it doesn’t require a biological pilot, it can get by all of the pesky pressurization issues that, you know, tend to kill people like us.”

“So you’re saying the ASMCs can get a lot of trinium to the surface relatively quickly.”

“Yes, sir. At an average floor to surface speed of 270 kilometers per hour, covering a distance of 4.23 kilometers, they can make the one-way trip in about one minute.”

Okay, so now Magnus understood why Cyril had whistled. “Damn.”

“Yeah, exactly, sir. Damn. Even double or triple damn, depending on the corollary. The design is ingenious for several other reasons too, namely that inboard water cooling allows the trinium to remain stable. And, without a biologic driver, there is no risk of death should the element destabilize. Likewise, any meltdown is absorbed by the ocean with little to no fallout for the planet.”

Magnus had to hand it to the Sekmit: they were crafty little cats. “And they can carry how much trinium?”

“Up to twenty-six metric tons, sir,” Cyril said as he brought up a cross section of the ASMC’s cargo hold.

Now it was Magnus’s turn to whistle, and then he looked at Wobix. “Quite an operation you’ve got going on here.”

The narskill warrior nodded but did not reply.

“If the quadrant only knew,” Magnus said.

“Which brings up another point,” Cyril added. “As far as I can tell, the Sekmit only use one OHF at a time.”

“OHF?” Magnus asked.

“Oceanic hydrofoil freighter.” The code slicer brought up a second vehicle holo window, this time featuring an elegant multi-story mono-hulled ship with massive hydrofoils stemming from its belly.

“Looks like a boat that missed its calling as a ski champion,” Forbes noted.

“Ha ha, something like that, Mr. Forbes, yeah.” Cyril ran an animation sequence that showed the OHF opening underwater bay doors in the aft to receive an ASMC, followed by a second set under the bow to release the delivery ship. “Once the trinium has been deposited, the OHF’s unique hydrofoil design allows it to speed across any ocean condition to the mainland where it deposits its cargo.”

“Why only one?” Ezo asked. “Move more product, make more credits.”

“Credits we have,” Wobix said. “But security, we do not.”

Magnus nodded at the Sekmit. “You keep the surface-level trinium radiation down by only moving one batch a time.”

Wobix gave a single nod. “Discretion is as valuable as trinium, and we have learned to cultivate both.”

A plan was forming in Magnus’s head. It wasn’t a great one, but he didn’t have time for great. Instead, the Gladio Umbra would have to settle for the “let’s hope it works so we don’t get screwed” kind.

“Bixy? Azie? What are the chances that So-Elku knows about how much trinium the planet can produce?” Magnus waved the question away as soon as he’d spoken it. “What are the chances that they’ve observed the mine’s normal output as it pertains to Zulu One?”

“I can answer your first question,” Wobix said. “As it’s been mentioned to you, the agreement specifications on file with the governor’s office do outline the production expectations of our longstanding contract with the Galactic Republic. What they do not do, however, is detail the scope of our entire operation.”

“So even if So-Elku somehow got his hands on that contract, he’d only know what the Repub knew, not what you do.”

“Correct.”

“I can attempt to answer the second question,” Azelon said. “Given the Sekmit’s faithfulness to limit the mine’s apparent production capacity, I expect So-Elku has observed what any other long-range sensors sweep has observed.”

Magnus jabbed a finger toward her and then clapped his hands once. “And that, Azie, is exactly what we’re going to bank on.”

“I’m not sure I follow, sir.”

“His objectives can be rather difficult to discern at times,” TO-96 said to her. “As you have no doubt experienced before.”

“I have, yes. Thank you for your consideration, Tee-Tee.”

Magnus looked at TO-96. “Did she just give you a nickname, ’Six?”

“Yes, sir. It had been in place for several thousand milliseconds.”

Magnus folded his arms. “Well I’ll be.”

“You’ll be what, sir?”

“Impressed, ’Six. I’m impressed. Keep it up, you sly dog, you.”

“Sly dog?” TO-96’s head turned back and forth between Azelon and Magnus several times before Azelon spoke up.

“Difficult to discern, yet again,” she said, pointing at Magnus.

He ignored them and moved on with explaining his plan. Magnus moved the top map window and the oceanic hydrofoil freighter window until they were side by side. “Wobix?”

“Yes, manservant with military-grade tactical knowledge?”

Magnus snickered. I kinda like the sound of that. “I wanna pack this OHF so full of trinium that it’s gonna wanna sink.”

“Sink, manservant?”

Magnus pointed to the ship’s diagram. “We’re gonna make this sucker glow so bright that So-Elku’s forces won’t be able to resist it.”

Cyril was nodding so hard Magnus worried the kid was going to snap his neck. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. That would group all possible assault scenarios under one action tree quite well. That said, Mr. Magnus, what is your plan if the Li-Dain choose to go for the command complex?”

“Easy. We disable the hovertrain.”

Cyril smiled. “Ah. Simple yet effective.”

“I’m glad you approve.” Magnus looked at Azelon. “And Azie?”

“Yes, Magnus?”

“We’re gonna need some new armor and submersible toys. Time to warm up those 3D printers of yours.”

“I’m way ahead of you, sir.”

Magnus’s curiosity was piqued. “You are?”

“Ever since your sudden decision to plunge to the bottom of Capriana Prime, I’ve been working on a submersible platform should you ever wish to repeat the episode.”

Magnus balked. “My decision? Azie, our shuttle was hit by a shockwave from an orbital round.”

“And were you prepared for it? No. I take that personally.” Magnus couldn’t be sure but it seemed like Azelon straightened her back a little. “You may wish to make future modifications, of course. But I have already begun production, and I think you’ll be pleased.” She turned to TO-96. “In order to finish more quickly, I’m going to need your help, you sly dog.”

TO-96’s eyes warmed to a soft orange glow. “I’ll be on my way as soon as this meeting is concluded.”

“Why, Ninety-Six,” Awen said. “Are you blushing?”

The bot shrugged. “As I am no longer conversant with Azelon inside the Novian singularity, it makes our absences that much more”—he cocked his head sideways as if searching for the right word—“angst-laden.”

Magnus couldn’t help but laugh at the fact that the bot was apparently trying to describe sexual tension, though TO-96 lacked all the required “systems,” as it were.

“So it sounds like we have a plan then,” Caldwell said, reining the meeting back in. “Ricio, Azelon, you’re in charge of early detection, orbital defense, and tracking.”

“Copy that,” Ricio said as he gave a half-salute to Azelon.

“Felicity,” Caldwell said, using Willowood’s first name. “You and Nelson will oversee the capital operations with DiAntora.”

“Understood,” Willowood and Nelson both replied.

“And Magnus, you and Forbes have the mines.”

“Aye aye, boss,” Magnus said.

Forbes touched his index finger to his forehead and waved at Caldwell.

“Feared Aggressor,” Wobix said. “Ní Freya has ordered me to assist you beyond the planning phase.”

“Don’t sound so excited about it,” Caldwell replied. “You might go around giving people the impression that you actually want to help us.”

Wobix looked puzzled. “But I don’t.”

Magnus laughed with Caldwell at this brutally honest confession. If Wobix could fight as well as he could offend, then he was going to make a good asset outside the wire.

“Be that as it may, we don’t want to disappoint Freya now, do we?” Caldwell asked.

“I would sooner castrate myself.”

The colonel grimaced. “No need to go crazy on me, Bixy. Let me ask you: of the three units we’ve formed, which do you think could use your expertise the most?”

Magnus had a feeling Bixy was about to provide another giant helping of honesty.

“Magnus’s work with the trinium operation,” Wobix said. “He has clearly taken on far more than he is capable of handling and will most likely expose himself and his team to high levels of radiation before the day is through.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Magnus said.

Wobix eyed him. “I have very little confidence in you, manservant. I am not sure why you wish me to vote on the matter.”

“Very well,” Caldwell said. “You will assist my manservant and Captain Forbes.”

“Really?” Magnus said to Caldwell, remarking on the title and then thumbing toward Forbes. “But he gets Captain?”

“Nicknames,” Caldwell said with a shrug. “Amazing how they can stick.”

8

Azelon lived up to her claims that Magnus would be pleased with the new submersible armor system. Christened the Mark III MANTA armor, the red-tinted suit featured an ultra-resistant shell capable of withstanding water pressure at depths up to fourteen kilometers—not that Magnus ever intended to go anywhere near that depth. Substantial servo assistance provided greater dexterity when submerged, and the high-intensity multi-spectrum emitters and sensor suite gave operators a wide variety of optical and audio options with which to navigate.

“You’ve really outdone yourself this time, Azie,” Magnus said, submerged thirty-four meters under the Leonï Ocean. He and the rest of Granther Company had deployed directly over waypoint Zulu One from a shuttle to acclimate to the new suits. They were waiting to rendezvous with Wobix and the oceanic hydrofoil freighter within the hour, which meant everyone had about thirty-five minutes to get their sea legs.

“Thank you, sir,” Azelon said from a comms window in Magnus’s HUD. She stood onboard the Spire’s bridge along with TO-96. “You are enjoying yourself, I take it?”

Magnus gave a little laugh. One of the perks of being an elite warrior was getting to play with equipment civilians could only dream of, and this experience was no exception. “Azie, you’ve made my day.”

“Happy to hear that, sir. There are several more features I’d like to make your company aware of, not the least of which is the radiation shielding that will help reduce your exposure to trinium should you experience any unprotected events.”

“Robillard experiences unprotected events every weekend,” Bliss said.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Robillard replied.

“Easy, boys,” Magnus said.

Azelon went on to explain that the telecolos-capable suit made use of submarine ballast tech but in miniature, allowing the operator to flood or clear a network of cavities. Not only did this let a gladia obtain neutral buoyancy but also attitude—pitch, roll, and yaw. Moreover, the system was tied into the Novia biotech interface, which meant all an operator needed to do was think about the position they wanted to be in and the suit would do the rest. This included movement too, as two EDF thrusters on the hips and eight contact thrusters mounted around the suit’s limbs and torso provided multi-directional motion.

Of course, not everyone found it as easy to use as Magnus. Rohoar’s voice barked over comms as his suit shot forward and bounced off two other gladia’s before smacking into Abimbola’s side.

“You want to start the skralggrit early?” Abimbola said, rotating his suit to face Rohoar.

“Rohoar does not want to do anything but learn how to swim,” the Jujari replied without any attempt to hide his nervousness.

Likewise, Bliss seemed to be having a hard time getting himself to stay right-side up.

“Your other left, dammit,” Robillard yelled to his fellow fireteam leader.

“I am!”

“Now you’re just cartwheeling yourself in circles.”

“Well, maybe I want to,” Bliss said.

“Nah, you don’t,” Robillard replied.

“Shut up.”

Azelon spoke over the company’s VNET channel. “If you ever find yourself in a situation you can’t get out of—”

“That’s Bliss every weekend,” Robillard said under his breath.

“I heard that,” Bliss shouted back.

“—you can either think or say ‘stabilize,’ or simply call out to me, and I’ll be happy to override your orientation controls.”

“Sounds good, Azie,” Magnus said. “Again, the suits are great.”

“TO-96’s assistance was indispensable over the final few hours,” she replied, looking over at her counterpart. “I’m only sorry we could not provide more SUBCATs for you.”

When the gladias needed to get somewhere in a hurry, Azelon designed the SUBCAT—the name no doubt an ode to the Gladio Umbra’s feline hosts. This multi-purpose transport vehicle could carry up to six fully-armored MANTA gladias and equipment at speeds of up to 150 kilometers per hour. The four tube-like power plants fixed to the base looked like torpedo bays, though Azelon assured Magnus they were just there to provide vectored thrust.

“We only had time to manufacture two SUBCATs,” TO-96 said over VNET. “So the rest of you will be pulled along on state of the art tow cables.”

“State of the art?” Magnus asked.

“Synthetic rope with loops tied along its length. Unless, of course, you wish the manipulators to conduct you along.”

Magnus laughed. “The rope will do just fine.”

In addition to the SUBCAT’s high-speed transportation abilities, it also made use of two heavy-grade arm manipulators as well as a crane extender mounted on the roof. Together, these three instruments could pick up, pry, drill, crush, hammer, or twist just about anything worth investigating. And if they couldn’t do the job? That’s where the real fun began.

“Let’s talk about weaponry,” Magnus said to the bots.

“With pleasure,” TO-96 said. He turned to Azelon. “After you.”

“No,” she said. “After you.”

“But I insist.”

“And I counter insist.”

“Hey, guys?” Magnus said. “Can one of you just give us a rundown?”

“I think you should explain these,” Azelon said to TO-96. “They are more analog than I am used to anyway.”

“As you wish,” TO-96 replied, and then turned to face Magnus and the rest of the gladias. “As you probably know, underwater warfare makes all but the most powerful energy weapons inert—I mean, who wants to schlep an LO9D cannon around on their back? Am I right?” TO-96’s head bobbed back and forth as if he was expecting a laugh from a studio audience.

“Is he okay?” Awen said on a private channel.

Magnus chuckled. “Sure is starting to loosen up a little. Betcha it’s that woman of his.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It’s always a woman,” Magnus mumbled to himself.

TO-96 recovered from his applause-less bit and forged ahead. “As I was saying, the SUBCAT and the MANTA suit make use of more conventional weaponry. Together, Azelon and I crafted—”

“Mostly you,” Azelon said.

TO-96 rotated his head to look at her. “But I couldn’t have made them without your help.”

“’Six,” Magnus said. “We’re burning time here.”

“Yes, of course, sir. Azelon and I crafted two similar weapons of differing sizes. The first is the weapon you all find maglocked to your suits at present. If you will all please remove them for inspection.”

Magnus did so, pulling the rifle from his thigh. The black weapon had a short stock, thick upper receiver, and a drum-like front end around the barrel. The bulkier magazines had far more mass than energy mags and inserted through the bottom of the main handle.

“Excellent,” TO-96 said. “This is the BT16, also called the bolt-torpedo 16mm diameter variable warhead delivery platform. We’ve tried to combine traditional underwater munitions with the variable ordnance detonation system. The traditional rifle-style weapon can fire a single chemically accelerated torpedo bolt every 0.28 seconds. Once fired, the bolt can travel guided or unguided to its target. You can choose from a variety of impact modes, including inert—where the munition will act as the antiquated slug throwers of the last millennium, which still proves fatal to most biologic life forms when aimed properly—to omni- and hyper-directional shaped charges, scattered-round burst, and armor-piercing deep-penetration.”

Dutch whistled over comms and cradled her BT16 lovingly. “Would you get a load of that.”

“Nice work, ’Six,” Magnus said. “And the SUBCATs?”

“They have an identical mounted platform, only with 80mm rounds, sir.”

“No kidding,” Magnus replied.

“You’re damn straight I’m not kidding,” TO-96 said. He placed his hands on his hips and looked at Azelon.

Magnus couldn’t help but laugh. Over his private channel with Awen, he said, “See. Told you it was the woman.”

TO-96 addressed the company again. “All modes and weapons data, including targeting assistance, system integrity, and ammunition levels will populate in your HUDs like normal. Please keep in mind, everyone, that this weapons platform is far more limited in the number of rounds you can deploy. Each magazine only holds ten bolts, and you have been preassigned seven magazines, three on each thigh for your convenience, and one in the chamber.”

“He means this ammo’s going fast, people,” Magnus said, knowing he’d need to reiterate the bot’s point. “Gotta make every round count.”

“La-raah,” said a few gladias over comms.

“I would like to point out one primary cause for concern, if I may,” TO-96 said.

“Go ahead, ’Six,” Magnus replied.

“Please pay attention to the proximity of your targets as well as your fellow gladias, particularly when using the omni- and hyper-directional shaped charges. Since you are immersed in a dense liquid environment, the concussive power of all explosive rounds will be far more damaging than were you to be in a normal atmosphere.”

“That means keep your distance,” Robillard said as he shook off Bliss’s desperate handhold around his elbow. “And watch where you shoot.”

“Precisely, Mr. Robillard,” TO-96 replied. “In addition, since you are facing Luma adversaries with stronger shielding capabilities, as per Magnus’s observations when encountering the Li-Dain in the governor’s palace, we have taken measures to maximize each round’s payload delivery using a quantum algorithm that we believe will attenuate the Li-Dain’s harmonic resonance so that—”

“Boil it down for us, ’Six,” said Magnus. “Easy terms.”

“You won’t require as many shots to reduce their shields as you needed with the BATRIGs.”

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“No. But I fear that if you don’t understand it—”

“These things can kill Li-Dain, right?”

TO-96 pulled his head back in surprise. “Of course, sir. When used properly.”

“Then that’s all we need to know.”

TO-96 nodded. “I suppose it’s worth informing you that NOV2s’ firmware has been updated with a similar algorithm to help with the advanced shielding as well, not that you have any NOV2s on you now. But the rest of the battalion does. Azelon and I do hope that these upgrades help to offset your exposure.”

“What kind of exposure?” Magnus asked.

“Well, your telecolos technology is not as effective against Unity users as you might wish it to be.”

“You’re saying they can still see us.”

The bot nodded. “In a manner of speaking, yes. We have worked to conceal you as best we can, but having the mystics hide you in the Unity is always the best option—that is, when they can afford to.”

“Got it. Anything else, buddy?”

“One more thing, yes. Should you find yourselves transitioning from underwater to land combat, the suit’s more cumbersome components can be jettisoned. While a far cry from the stealth and mobility of the Mark I and II systems, the MANTA will provide more than sufficient protection, navigation, and communication. That is all, sir.”

“You both have done a bang-up job, ’Six.”

“Why, thank you, sir. That is kind of you to say.”

Azelon nodded. “If you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to inquire.”

“Likewise, we’ll be monitoring your progress during the entire operation, as always,” ’Six added.

“Copy that,” Magnus said.

“Speaking of which,” Azelon said. “The OHF is in-bound, headed to your present location. ETA three minutes.”

“Everyone topside,” Magnus said.

* * *

“Colonel, this is Ricio.”

Caldwell transferred the call to his data pad and placed the unit on Freya’s desk so she could be privy to the transmission’s contents. He knew that part of any successful joint operation was not only the sharing of information but the eagerness to share it. Such efforts paid long-lasting dividends—assuming both parties survived the op. “Go for Caldwell,” he replied and looked at the pride mother.

“Colonel, we might have something up here,” Ricio said. “We’re detecting several anomalies over the western hemisphere just north of Aluross’s equator.”

Before Freya even saw the coordinates light up on the holo map, she seemed to draw the connection. “That’s above 4.721-1.”

“You think they’re Luma?” Caldwell said to Ricio.

“Well, if they are, sir, they’re certainly not trying to make their approach subtle—minus the cloaking, of course.”

“It would have been better if they’d approached from the far side and traversed under our sensors,” Freya said.

Caldwell’s cigar drooped as he gave the pride mother an impressed pout. “Well said, ní Freya.” He looked back at Ricio. “Investigate for a closer look, but do not engage. We need So-Elku to make his meeting, so we can’t afford to go scaring him off.”

“Hard copy. I’ll keep you apprised.”

“Caldwell out.” The comms channel closed, and the colonel retrieved his data pad. “Seems So-Elku sent an advance team over the mine.”

“So he is interested in the trinium,” Freya said.

“Did you ever doubt it?”

“No. I just thought he might go about securing it more diplomatically. But this”—her eyes studied the holo map for a moment before continuing—“this violation of sovereign space means he intends to take our resources by force.”

Caldwell nodded. “And here I was hoping for a leisurely evening on your capitol office’s terrace.”

“No you weren’t,” Freya said without blinking. “You want to kick Luma ass butt.”

Caldwell chuckled at the blunder and blew a puff of smoke. “Something like that. Guess it’s time to get this Paglothian pigmy pony saddled and ready to shoot.”

* * *

The OHF arrived an hour before sunset and snuck up on Magnus like a ghost stalking an unsuspecting victim. Were it not for his bioteknia eyes’ advanced augmented reality tracking tech or the low-energy vibration in the water, Magnus would never have known the OHF was coming until it was right on top of him. The craft’s blackout security measures even spoofed the MANTA’s sensor array, which was surprising given how advanced Azelon’s tech was.

“These kitty cats sure know how to stay out of sight,” Magnus said to Awen as they rose and fell with the ocean rollers and watched the ship head toward them.

“My HUD didn’t pick them up until ten seconds ago,” Awen replied.

For as large as the vessel was, the freighter balanced miraculously atop several fin-like arms that slid through the waves. Beneath the surface, two massive hydrofoil wings not only supported the ship but housed the ship’s twin trinium-drive propulsion systems.

Magnus activated his helmet’s strobe light for a few seconds until the freighter’s captain acknowledged him with a double flash from the boat’s bridge-mounted searchlight.

“The captain sees you, Magnus,” Wobix said over comms. Azelon had patched the Sekmit’s military frequencies into VNET for ease of use.

“And aren’t we grateful for that,” Magnus said as he watched the multi-ton monstrosity slow and then sink into the sea swell. Granther Company propelled themselves around to the ship’s stern like Volpine crap gnats circling the tail end of spotted Nimber elk. A hatch opened above the water, and Magnus recognized Wobix’s face.

“Good to see you, manservant,” the Sekmit said. “And all dressed up for the occasion too.”

“Something like that,” Magnus replied over his helmet’s external speakers.

Wobix reached down and helped Magnus climb onto a landing platform. When Magnus had stabilized himself along a railing, he called out over comms.

“Alpha and Bravo Teams with me. Charlie and Delta, you’re staying wet.”

Everyone acknowledged the orders in the HUD’s chat window, and then Magnus worked with Wobix to help the rest of First Squad out of the water and onto the freighter. According to the mission plan, Abimbola’s and Zoll’s fire teams were tasked with supporting Wobix and an elite unit of narskill warriors with defending the OHF. Meanwhile, Bliss’s and Robillard’s fireteams would stay in the water in support, looking for any and every opportunity to take out ships or swimmers who decided to hijack the ASMCs or find other ways down to Zulu One.

Once inside the freighter’s aft crew compartment, Magnus and the rest of First Squad detached their main thrusters and removed the extra ballast weights from their armor. The result was a far more agile suit than Magnus would have anticipated, though still a far cry from the Mark I armor. Magnus flipped up his blaster-proof windowplex visor so he could speak to Wobix open-air. “Mind showing us where to set up?”

Wobix twitched his nose and then turned toward a bulkhead door. “This way.”

First Squad followed the cat commander through several massive cargo holds, each complete with catwalks and dollied cranes and hoists. Further down in the holds, Magnus noticed rubberized tracks that he assumed were for the ASMCs to ride in, unload, and then speed out the ship’s bow. Massive shielded containers on either side of the track were no doubt for the trinium.

Wobix eventually emerged on a top deck where the smell of saltwater filled Magnus’s head with seaside memories along Capriana’s shores—and some less pleasant memories on Caledonia’s. He smelled something else on the air too.

“Storm’s coming in,” Wobix said before Magnus could get the words out.

“I see that,” Magnus replied. Far to the west, the soon-setting sun was turning red as it sank into a low lying mass of dark clouds. “How big?”

Wobix considered the wispy cloud straight overhead and then sniffed the air. “Very big.”

“Perfect.”

The Sekmit warrior studied Magnus for a moment. “Many of your words don’t make sense to me, manservant. This one especially.”

“You’ll catch on if we work together enough.”

“Then I will not catch on.”

Magnus let out a sharp laugh, even surprising himself. “You’re all right, Sekmit. You know that?”

“Yes. And I don’t need your reminder either.”

Magnus laughed some more and then pointed ahead to a sleek command tower toward the bow. “That the bridge?”

“Yes. Come.”

Wobix led the teams into the command structure and gave them a quick tour. For being such a utilitarian vessel, the ship was substantially advanced, technologically speaking. The glossy control surfaces and multi-layered holo displays must have cost a small fortune. The well-appointed cabin was also trimmed out in leather and teak, and it was capable of holding at least a dozen personnel comfortably.

“The command staff will continue to remain at their posts,” Wobix said as he brought up a holo schematic of the ship. “My warriors will provide support on the bridge, as per your terms. The rest of my units will be stationed throughout the ship at locations, again, as per your recommendations.” Two dozen blue markers lit up across the ship, mostly inside the hull.

But Magnus couldn’t help detect a note of dissatisfaction in Wobix’s tone. “You sound disappointed. Something the matter?”

Wobix raised his chin. “Your glandies.”

“Gladias.”

“They are to stand sentry around the ship’s gunwales.”

Magnus nodded. “A defensive perimeter along the outermost rails, yes.”

“Wobix does not like that you will have first contact.”

Magnus looked at Wobix in surprise. This guy had the attitude of a real fighter. “I can assure you that it’s for your own safety, Bixy.”

The cat hissed. “We do not need protection.”

“I didn’t say that you needed protection. I said safety. Meaning, if anyone is going to lose their lives in this op, we want it being us, not you.”

“And this is not a fair balance of sacrifice.”

Magnus eyed the catman. He’d never heard this term before. “Balance of sacrifice?”

“If you glandies—”

“Gladias.”

“—lose more warriors in this fight than the Sekmit, then it was not the Sekmit who defended our home. It was your—”

“Gladias.”

“Yes.”

Magnus sighed. “Listen. I can certainly appreciate that attitude. But part of our ethos is the mantra ‘Dominate. Liberate.’”

“I heard someone say this, yes.”

“And part of dominating the enemy is making sure that the people we are helping liberate don’t suffer more than they already have.”

Wobix’s eyes narrowed. The cat seemed to consider Magnus’s words for a moment before speaking again. “I see this. And it is noble of you. However, Wobix also requests that we, as fellow warriors and liberators of our own planet, be allowed to share the sacrifice.”

“I think you’re going to have many more opportunities to—”

“Share the sacrifice out there,” Wobix said, pointing a clawed nub toward the exterior railing. “And wherever the enemy may seek to bring harm.”

If this guy wanted to die for his people, then Magnus wasn’t going to be the one to stand in the way. Hell, it was pretty noble of the cat—if not incredibly stupid. Their armor was little more than a few hardened leather plates and similarly fashioned helmets. Besides the Thørzin power bow, the most imposing thing about the narskill were their teeth and claws, and Magnus doubted those would be much use against the Li-Dain. Then again, he knew that underestimating any civilization’s desire to defend itself was unwise.

“Very well,” Magnus said at last. “You’re welcome to divvy up your warriors as you see fit, so long as you keep the interior bays guarded.”

“I thank you for this,” Wobix said. He placed a fist on his chest and raised his head.

Magnus did the same, hoping to honor the Sekmit properly. It felt weird, but Wobix seemed pleased. In his head, Magnus heard Awen say, I’m proud of you.

Thanks, Magnus replied. Felt awkward.

But he got the message, and you probably just made a new friend.

’Cause that’s what I was really hoping for.

Awen gave a small laugh behind Magnus’s left shoulder.

“Magnus.” It was Caldwell on the company channel. “You copy?”

Magnus pulled up Caldwell’s face in his biotekina eyes while the other gladia’s viewed the colonel’s face in the HUD projected on their bubble visors. “Go for Magnus.”

“Ricio’s picked up some anomalies inbound on your location.”

“Ships?”

“That’s what we think. Azelon thinks they’re Unity cloaked.”

“Is So-Elku even planet-side yet?”

“Negative,” Caldwell said. “And that’s the rub. We can’t engage until he’s in the meeting. Any premature movement, and he’ll know it’s a trap.”

“But you don’t think he’d risk negotiations with a premature assault of his own, do you?”

Caldwell’s shoulders rose and fell as air whistled through his mustache. “I’d hope not. But this one’s a strange bird, as you well know. Just get in position, keep your heads down, and keep your fingers off the trigger until I say. I’ll be monitoring your feeds.”

“Copy.”

“And Magnus?”

“Yes, Colonel?”

“I don’t need to remind you that if things go nova, we want it to happen at sea.”

“I understand.”

The colonel pushed his lips under his nose and gave Magnus a quick nod. “Caldwell out.”

Magnus turned and looked at the rest of his squad. “We might be in for a tense encounter. No matter what, I don’t want a single round going off until I give the order. Is that clear?”

Everyone assented on the chat window and gave head nods.

“Good.” Magnus addressed Wobix. “How soon can you fill the ship with trinium?”

“Twenty minutes, and it will be glowing bright enough for sensors in the next system to see.”

“Then let’s get a move on. We need to give our guests something pretty to look at.”

9

Lani DiAntora’s gut had been tight ever since the news broke about the explosion of Governor Littleton’s mansion, and that was saying something because it took a lot to make her uneasy. Still, she’d been able to keep her emotions under control, both in front of the chancellor and the rest of CENTCOM. But now that she was alone in her quarters on a confiscated Sorellian heavy freighter, just moments from landing on her homeworld, DiAntora wanted nothing more than a martial arts gym full of laser targets.

Commending the Gladio Umbra to ní Freya’s care had been a deliberate move to help her people escape the burden of Republic control. It was Freya’s intention all along to ask the gladias for assistance in dethroning the philandering overseer. Littleton had long been a bane and embarrassment to the Sekmit. But ousting him was more than a matter of national pride—it was a national opportunity.

Aluross’s trade deal with the Galactic Republic, while beneficial in the early years, had eventually become a source of great contention. As the demand for trinium increased, so too did the Republic’s price for the precious commodity. And yet the Sekmit were not making any more per gram of trinium than they were fifty years prior.

The Republic trade ambassadors spouted lines of rehearsed excuses that cited everything from distribution costs and market uncertainty to trade deficits and ever-increasing security measures. But when it came to the Sekmit voicing their concerns and looking to meet their own needs, the Republic swept their protests aside, saying that things would be addressed “eventually” and that “now was not the time.”

DiAntora wasn’t sure if Aluross would ever be free of the Republic’s stranglehold—at least not in my lifetime, she thought. Not without an all-out war. But the fall of Capriana Prime, as unspeakably tragic as it was, created an unprecedented opportunity to be rid of the alliance once and for all. Like Freya and the rest of the pride mothers, DiAntora knew that the Republic would never allow the Sekmit to back out of the relationship. Once you were in the Galactic Republic, you could never get out. And with the Republic ailing from one of the most significant assaults in recorded history, the limping government would cinch down even tighter on controlling its resources—which was precisely the right time to strike.

With decimated fleets and senate, DiAntora knew better than anyone that the Republic would not be able to counter an uprising. Whereas just a few weeks before kicking a governor off-world would have been met with swift and decisive retaliation, now it was simply added to the ever-growing list of uncontrollable partnerships unraveling in Capriana’s wake. Granted, she had not expected them to blow up sovereign property. But even still, the results mattered little. The point was that the Republic—Galactic or Neo—was powerless to do anything about it.

What they could do, however, was attempt to keep the trinium supply from falling into the hands of a rival. And, if Chancellor David Seaman played his hand right, earn a way back into ní Freya’s and the Sekmit populace’s good graces. While the Republic would never enjoy the steep profits it had seen in the golden era, Seaman would need trinium to rebuild.

Not that DiAntora cared for the Republic anymore. She’d learned too much in her years of service—seen just how deep the economic injustice against her people went. She didn’t blame David, at least not fundamentally; some of her feelings toward him were genuine. But the more the Neo Republic scrambled for security, the more DiAntora realized he was just another cog in the machine. Gaining his trust and affections had paid off when he’d agreed to let the Gladio Umbra take refuge on Aluross.

Regardless of where her heart stood toward Seaman, her plan had worked. Both the Sekmit and the Neo Republic were going to get what they wanted: So-Elku and the LAW out and away from the Aluross’s trinium production. Seaman had been quite vocal about how, if this operation were successful, it would mean the Republic would have a front-row seat in renegotiating a trade deal with the Sekmit. She, on the other hand, knew that her government would never again trade directly with the Republic. If CENTCOM or a new senate wanted Alurossian trinium, they’d buy it through a third party—and at a premium, if DiAntora had anything to say about it.

“Admiral DiAntora,” said the shuttle’s captain over comms. “We are preparing for orbital entry.”

“Thank you, Captain,” DiAntora said. “I’ll be up momentarily.”

“Understood. Bridge out.”

DiAntora looked at herself in the mirror, smoothed her traditional Sekmit tunic and breeches, and took a deep breath. How long had it been since she’d donned these garments? Too long, she concluded. Then she glanced at the folded uniform on her bed and wondered how much longer she would be allowed to wear the Neo Republic colors. No, she thought. The real question was how much longer she would allow herself to wear those colors.

* * *

Seeing Aluross from the air calmed DiAntora’s nerves. With so much time abroad, it often felt as though her homeland was nothing more than a dream, and that all her long planning to help free her people was spent on a fictional place. But seeing the oceans wrap around the lush jungle-strewn continents brought her back to the heartbeat of why she’d sacrificed so much of her life.

“But it wasn’t a sacrifice,” she whispered. “It was a privilege.”

“What was that, sir?” Captain Nedrow asked.

Had she said that out loud? “Nothing,” DiAntora replied, and then she scolded herself for letting her heart get the best of her.

“Must feel good to be back home,” Nedrow said.

DiAntora let out a soft purr. “It does. Though I have grown so accustomed to space-faring that it hardly seems like my home anymore, and I’d just as soon be back on a Super Dreadnaught. Wouldn’t you?”

Nedrow hesitated. “Yes, of course. I just thought—”

“Keep those to yourself, Captain.”

“Yes, Admiral.” Nedrow responded to a chirp on the instrument panel. “We’ve been granted docking permission at hangar bay four.”

“Not the best parking spot, but not an insult either.”

“Yes, Admiral.”

“Take us in nice and easy. We don’t need any unnecessary attention today.”

Nedrow nodded and then resumed his focus on helming the ship to port.

The landing sequence went smoothly, and it wasn’t long before the command bridge ramp extended and DiAntora took her first deep breath of Alurossian air in over five years. She’d missed this place more than she admitted out loud. Contrary to her admonishment, Nedrow was right: it did feel good to be back home.

A security gate opened on the hangar’s far side, allowing a phalanx of green-robbed narskill to file into the bay. They formed two lines, twenty Sekmit deep, punctuated by tall staves and curved Thørzin bows. As one, the warriors turned outward to establish a center aisle and struck the stone floor with their poles. When the percussive echo faded, DiAntora saw ní Freya ap Liuix appear at the column’s end dressed in a white gown and a translucent red shawl.

DiAntora and Freya raised their chins and crossed the distance in short order with DiAntora descending the ramp and Freya emerging out of the security passage’s shadows. They met in the middle of the phalanx and crossed necks, tails whipping to and fro.

“Ní Freya, is it good to see you again,” DiAntora said.

“And you. I trust your trip went well?”

“It did.”

“Any unwanted attention I should be concerned about?”

DiAntora shook her head. “Our Republic merchant manifest lists Sorellian seafood, as purchased.”

Freya gave a soft hiss. “Not the best quality, but also not the worst. And how is your cargo?”

“Ready for your guests, pride mother. Just say the word.”

“Good. I’ve arranged for private transport.” Freya clapped her paws once, and a detachment of narskill broke away from the line. The four warriors crossed to a large double-wide access door and opened it. A moment later, four hover freight-trucks drove into the hangar, circled to the ship’s aft cargo hold, and slowed to a stop.

DiAntora looked back to Nedrow, who stood at the top of the bridge ramp. “Captain, make sure that our merchandise is properly loaded onto the royal transports.”

“I’ll see to it personally.”

DiAntora looked back to Freya. “And the rest of your banquet preparations? How are those going?”

“Rather well, I’d say. My staff has been hard at work, and the guest list has been finalized.”

“Arriving shortly, I presume?”

Freya nodded. “I think we’d better get you back to the kitchen. I’d like you to meet the banquet coordinator.”

“I look forward to it.”

* * *

The trip from the spaceport to the capitol building was uneventful. DiAntora rode with Freya in her private pod and kept her eyes out for anything unusual, but things in the city looked to be flowing just as they’d been the last time she was here. The sidewalks bustled with early evening pedestrian traffic while the roads overflowed with hover vehicles commuting home from work. Skyscraper lights began to replace the sun’s glow as the brightest things overhead, rivaled only by the neon hovertrains as they surged through the translucent tube lines.

Up ahead, the narskill used the command modules on their hoverbikes to change the traffic lights, clearing the way for the freight trucks. To any onlookers, this was just one more special delivery heading to the capitol building. Little did they know that Freya herself was at the head of this particular convoy and that its contents were anything but the Sorellian seafood listed on the manifest.

The convoy passed two mid-city security checkpoints, which DiAntora noted were new. But the gates were raised well in advance, allowing the vehicles to pass through without stopping.

“Added security for the event?” DiAntora asked.

“For the safety of our guests,” Freya replied.

“Of course.”

It took less than twenty minutes to reach the complex’s rear security gates, and another two minutes to back the trucks up to the underground cargo bays. By the time DiAntora had gotten out of Freya’s pod and walked to the back of the vehicles, her black-clad security forces were already filing into the basement led by a contingent of narskill.

“This way,” Freya said, gesturing to a secondary side entrance. The pride mother’s personal bodyguards kept step with the two women as they entered the building and proceeded toward a private elevator that required a biometric scan of the lead warrior’s paw and eye to activate. Once inside, Freya pressed the button for the main hall. Fifteen seconds later, the doors parted. DiAntora followed Freya and the narskill down a private hallway and through a final set of old wooden double-doors.

As DiAntora emerged into the Great Hall of Queens, a surge of emotion flooded her chest. She fought to hold back tears, but the effort was unsuccessful as at least two droplets left her eyes and seeped into her fur. She hoped Freya wouldn’t notice.

Blood red drapes sailed down from the hall’s upper reaches, alternating with floor to ceiling windows that shot toward the room’s domed heights. White and black marbled columns with bases carved to depict Aluross’s queens lined the main thoroughfare, while a lush red carpet led to and covered the elevated dais. And there, upon it, sat the throne of Aluross.

“It’s been so long,” DiAntora said in a whisper. “And yet, it feels like yesterday.”

“Its power transcends time,” Freya said, turning to look at DiAntora. “And we are pleased to have you back.”

DiAntora pulled her tunic down and composed herself. “And it’s good to be back.”

“Come,” the pride mother said. “This way. They are eager to brief you.”

DiAntora followed Freya down the hallway to a small anteroom behind the dais. Inside was Caldwell, the white-haired rogue Marine Colonel who DiAntora recognized from their ship-to-ship holo negotiations. There was also someone new—an older wiry-haired woman with so many bangle bracelets on that DiAntora wondered how she held her arms up. Beside her stood one more man dressed in sophisticated armor, the likes of which DiAntora had never seen.

“DiAntora,” Freya said as she commenced introductions. “I present Feared Aggressor Caldwell, Lady Willowood, and Captain Newton.”

“It’s Nelson,” the man replied as he shook DiAntora’s hand. Freya glared at the gladia.

“But Newton also works,” he added.

“I’m pleased to meet you.” DiAntora looked at Caldwell. “And to meet you in person, Colonel.”

“The pleasure’s mutual, Admiral,” Caldwell replied.

DiAntora tilted her head. “You heard of my promotion?”

“Word of changes within the Neo Republic is traveling faster than a sex scandal in an election year,” the colonel replied. “I would offer my congratulations, but we both know the added responsibilities you’ve assumed.”

“Quite so,” DiAntora replied. “You’ll no doubt appreciate the gratitude of the Neo Republic for your willingness to help us apprehend a certain soon-arriving guest.”

“And, for what it’s worth, we’re grateful for you sticking your neck out and making inroads for us to find sanctuary here.”

“My pleasure, Colonel. Though word has it, you’ve been busier on Aluross than you would have liked.”

“Nonsense. A couple of days down and some warm grub I think will fix the troops up just fine. Plus, any good fighting force gets lazy if they’re kept out of the action for too long. And the way I see it, the Sekmit and the Gladio Umbra are creating ourselves a solid track record of mutually beneficial operations.”

“Agreed.”

Caldwell pulled his cigar from his mouth and looked around. “Welp, seems to me we should get this shindig wound up before someone’s gun barrel rusts out.”

“I have no idea what you just said, Colonel, but I believe I agree with your sentiment,” DiAntora said.

“This way,” Freya replied, gesturing toward a prepared table with a panoramic view of the complex’s northern gardens.

Everyone took a seat as Freya called up a holo window and projected it over the table. The pride mother reviewed the plan in detail, giving DiAntora specific instructions on where Republic, Sekmit, and Gladio Umbra forces would be set up. Using their superior Unity abilities within the Nexus, the majority of gladia mystics under Willowood’s command would work to conceal Sekmit units as they neutralized So-Elku’s security detail throughout the building. Meanwhile, Nelson’s and Willowood’s remaining squads would work with DiAntora’s forces to subdue the Luma Master in the Great Hall.

“Then you will conduct So-Elku back through the city to the Sorrellian heavy freighter and rendezvous with your in-bound Republic command ship,” Freya said to DiAntora.

“A sound plan,” DiAntora said. “Assuming it all goes accordingly.”

“Which we know it won’t,” Caldwell said as calmly as if he’d been commenting on the inspection of some green cadets. “The key will be how well we work together when the splick hits the spud slicer.”

“Agreed.” DiAntora addressed Willowood. “How confident are you in going up against these Li-Dain?”

Willowood seemed to consider her response for a moment, which was something DiAntora appreciated. “I think we all know never to underestimate the enemy. Given what I know of So-Elku, of the Li-Dain and the Li-Loré arts, and of the order’s recent access to the Nexus, I believe we’ll be able to keep most of our activities concealed, at least for the first phase of the operation. Subduing So-Elku himself, however, will prove the most difficult. That said, we have the element of surprise as well as greater numbers.”

Willowood took a deep breath and rested her palms on the table. The older woman wasn’t through yet, and DiAntora knew better than to interrupt a sage when they were speaking.

“No matter what, this opportunity certainly constitutes our best and only chance to capture So-Elku, and so we must try. He must be stopped. The LAW poses a serious threat not only to us but the entire quadrant. So if we fail today?” She shook her head. “Well, we must not.”

“Well spoken, Madame Mystic,” Freya said. She’d hardly finished speaking when there was a trill from the room’s main door. “Come.”

It was a narskill warrior bearing a captain’s sash. “Ní Freya, we have been hailed by a LAW vessel requesting docking permission.”

“If you’ll excuse me,” Freya said as she stood. “It seems our most important guests have arrived. I’ll leave you to your final preparations.”

The other members stood, and then Freya exited with the captain.

Willowood looked at DiAntora with keen eyes. “Is everything okay, Admiral?”

DiAntora wondered what, if anything, the sage had seen. “Of course. Why do you ask?”

Willowood seemed like she was about to explain herself but then changed her mind at the last moment. “Nothing.” The mystic sighed. “Just nerves, I suppose. That or I’m getting too old for this sort of covert work. Shall we get ready?”

DiAntora nodded, wondering how close she’d just come to being discovered. “Of course. Lead the way.”

10

“This usually takes place while underway,” Wobix said to Magnus as they stood over one of the trinium cargo holds inside the OHF. “But we’re going for quantity today, not speed.”

Like Magnus, Wobix had donned his own armored suit that protected him from the high levels of radiation now coursing through the ship. Three of the dart-like automated submersible mineral carriers stretched out along the rubberized conveyor belt. Robotic arms removed trinium cubes from the ASMCs’ holds and stacked the containers in the wells on either side of the hull.

“You’re saying the submersibles drive into the ship while you’re moving?” Magnus asked to better understand the tech.

Wobix nodded from inside his green and black mech-like suit. “It means the ASMCs don’t need to waste time slowing down, and it keeps anyone watching in deep space from getting an exact location on our operations.”

“Smart. Efficient. I like it.”

Wobix let his eyes linger on Magnus for a second longer before looking back at the unfolding operation. Magnus wasn’t sure if that was a good look or a bad one, but he’d hoped his praise won at least a little more goodwill with the frosty narskill leader.

“So, you ever do anything like this before?” Magnus asked Wobix.

“Lure an enemy toward a freighter overloaded with trinium?” Wobix gave Magnus two elevated furry eyebrows. “Never. We’ve always had the Republic to fend off predators.”

“Makes sense. You feel good right now?”

Wobix stared at Magnus. “Are glands always so talkative before missions?”

Magnus chuckled. “Well, some of us glands like to chat to stay loose just before something big goes down. Helps break up the tension, you know?”

“No. I don’t.”

For as much as the Sekmit and the Jujari truly embodied the old idiom of “like cats and dogs,” Magnus suspected they had far more in common than either party knew, if only they were to take the time to get to know one another more. And there’s Awen rubbing off on you again, he thought.

What am I doing to you? she asked from inside his head.

Splick. I mean—didn’t realize you were, you know.

I’m just messing with you, Adonis. “Here, we can talk like this if it makes you feel better,” she said over their private comms channel.

Nah, Magnus replied in his head. I kinda like having you this close.

Fair enough.

“Looks like you’re animated, sir,” TO-96 said over VNET. “We’re detecting multiple pings inbound on your location.”

“Roger that, ’Six,” Magnus replied. “And it looks alive, just for the record.”

“Ah, yes. That is more concise.”

Magnus looked at Wobix and spoke over their inter-team channel. “Seems like they took the bait.”

“Yes? We have incoming?”

Magnus nodded and then pulled Caldwell in. His face appeared beside TO-96’s. “We’ve got company, colonel.”

“How many?” Caldwell asked.

“It appears to be six vessels, sir,” TO-96 replied. “Though it is hard to be entirely certain given the source noise.”

“Cloaking tech?” Magnus asked.

“Indeed, sir. Though Azelon and I must caution you against jumping to conclusions. Since we are only monitoring proton displacement trails, there may be more ships flying in tight formation in order to hide their wake patterns.”

“Fancy new powers, same old story.” Caldwell eyed Magnus. “We’re still waiting for So-Elku here, so remember—”

“Fingers off the triggers.”

Caldwell smiled. “I’ll be in touch.”

The colonel’s window blinked out, and Magnus looked to Wobix. “We’ll be right here if things go sideways.”

“I do not understand all your talk of things turning on their sides. You must be used to operating in low gravity.”

“Something like that.” Magnus activated chameleon mode and knew his suit blinked out of existence.

Wobix’s eyes went wide. “Queen’s claws, manservant,” he exclaimed. “You vanished—but I still see you in the Unity.”

“And hopefully not for long.”

Wobix’s eyes widened even further as Awen concealed Magnus in the unseen realm. “You are truly a powerful manservant. Wobix respects you.”

“Thanks, buddy,” Magnus said over comms. “Feeling’s mutual. Now act busy.”

Wobix nodded to the empty space, face still filled with wonder, and then headed for the bridge.

* * *

From the foredeck, Magnus and the rest of Alpha Team watched as the horizon pulsed with strange apparitions that moved like heat waves rising from the desert floor. Just as TO-96 had said, Magnus counted six anomalies and tagged them on his HUD for the rest of the team.

“What’s your guess, buckethead?” Abimbola asked Magnus.

“I think they’re going to stay concealed as long as possible until they get word from So-Elku on how the meeting goes. Why, what do you think?”

“I say they board and assume strategic positions around the vessels in case they need to act quickly.”

“No way,” Magnus said, waving the Miblimbian off. “Way too risky. Plus, they know the Sekmit are Unity users.”

“They are also proud,” Abimbola said. “You want to make a wager?”

“Are you guys seriously betting right now?” Awen asked.

“Hey, I want some of that action,” Bliss said over comms from inside his SUBCAT. “Deal me in for 100 creds on Abimbola’s plan.”

“Way too dangerous,” Robillard said from the other submersible. “100 on Magnus.”

“You are all unbelievable.” Awen’s hands were on her hips.

“Rohoar would bet too,” said the mwadim. “However, all he has are Abimbola’s poker chips, and they are not worth nearly as much as what he claims they are to be worth, and so they are, in fact, worthless.”

Bliss raised an eyebrow, presumably meant for Rohoar. “We need to work on your insult skills, buddy.”

“No. This was insult enough to make virtuous men cry and feel ashamed.”

“Yeah. I’m not so sure about that.”

“Look at him,” Rohoar said pointing at Abimbola. “Rohoar can see his eyes in the HUD and can determine that he is crying in shame.”

“Pretty sure he’s trying not to laugh,” Bliss said.

“I’ll spot you some credits,” Zoll said from Bravo Team’s position in the ship’s stern. He was clearly stifling a chuckle of his own. “Pick your side, Fluffy.”

“Magnus’s,” Rohoar said. “Though only out of principal. Rohoar agrees that they will board the ship and remain hidden.”

“Damn,” Bliss exclaimed. “You’re a crazy one.”

Rohoar grunted in a way that made his chops flip outward for a second and then crossed his arms. “Rohoar is not crazy. He is merely appreprensive.”

“What?” Bliss asked.

Something caught Magnus’s eye in the distance. “Heads up, guns up.” He drew his BT16 and pointed it toward the horizon. The evening air wavered as thrusters from an incoming shuttle flared about one kilometer off the OHF’s port bow. The Li-Dain’s cloaking abilities needed improvement, but Magnus doubted the freighter’s captain would have noticed the aberration without being told where to look.

What caught Magnus off guard, however, was the complete lack of sound. The enemy shuttle gave off no repulsor whine, no vectored thrust burn. Instead, Magnus heard the whipping of wind over the waves and the crack of distant thunder from the storm front.

The team watched as the target lock indicators in their HUDs followed the anomalies across the horizon and toward the OHF’s stern. The enemy vessels, whatever class they were, came within 500 meters of the freighter, held the position for several seconds, and then backed away.

“Son of a bitch, Bimby,” Magnus said.

“I am pretty sure that is an amphibious deployment,” Abimbola replied.

“Well they’re not on the boat yet.”

“Give it time, buckethead.”

Alpha Team moved to the back of the ship, where Bravo Team was standing guard.

“I’m making out bodies in the water,” Awen said.

“Me too,” Wish added.

“So they’re hanging out in the rollers until they get orders,” Magnus said. “Pay up, Bimby.”

“Not so fast, Adonis,” Awen said, pointing out to sea. “They’re swimming in.”

“Mysticsdammit.” Magnus sighed and then brought up the inter-team channel. “Everyone in position. Looks like we’re in for an early boarding, and I’m out 100 credits.”

* * *

By the time the first Li-Dain slipped over the transom, Magnus was standing next to Wobix on the bridge overlook on the ship’s starboard side. The rest of Alpha Team was spread around the ship’s bow tower while Zoll and Bravo Team took up defensive positions along the stern. As for Awen and Wish, the two teams’ mystics, Magnus had ordered them to stay concealed; without their protective Unity shielding, both now and in the event of combat, Magnus worried this might be a lopsided fight, and not in the gladia’s favor.

“Remember to act natural,” Magnus said to Wobix as the catman looked to the horizon.

“Why is this something I need to remember? I don’t even know how to act anti-natural.”

“Just act like you don’t see the enemy.”

“But that is not natural.”

“I don’t think he understands the nuances of your speech, sir,” TO-96 said.

Magnus laughed. “Copy that, ’Six. Mind giving him some lessons later?”

“It would be my pleasure, sir.”

Magnus felt his gut tighten as the first group of LAW warriors approached Bravo Team’s position at the stern. “Nice and easy,” Magnus said in a calm tone.

“We’re really going to let them walk on by like this, sir?” Rix asked from near Zoll’s location.

“We are,” Zoll replied. “Magnus, we’ve got ten tangos aboard so far.”

“Copy.” Magnus watched as ten target tags popped up on his HUD, care of Wish. He raised his weapon and sighted in on the lead enemy.

“And it looks like another twenty in the water, at least,” Bliss said from his SUBCAT. “Telwin’s saying there might be more, but they’re too heavily concealed.”

“He’s right,” Awen said in a tight voice. “They’re impossible to see further out. Working hard to keep themselves hidden.”

“But we’re working harder, right?” Magnus said.

She grunted. “Something like that.”

The good news was that the Li-Dain walked right past Bravo Team’s position. The bad news was that Granther Company’s mystics were tagging more and more Li-Dain every second. The enemy spread out along the outer decks like a virus and infected the inner decks. Magnus knew it wouldn’t be long before they contaminated the heart of the beast and flooded the bridge.

“What is this?” Dutch said. “A family reunion?”

“Nobody make a move,” Magnus said again for good measure. “Wobix, please remind your narskill to—”

“Act anti-natural,” the Sekmit warrior interjected. “I already have.”

Magnus gave a half smile. “Good.”

The narskill were scattered around the ship, posing as a regular security detail. Of course, the Li-Dain didn’t know that Wobix’s particular force was composed of some of Aluross’s most fierce warriors. Nor did they know that an OHF normally staffed a quarter of the security that Wobix had brought. And nor did they know that regular security guards didn’t wear combat mech armor, only radiation shield suits. But why should they? No one but a Sekmit had ever been allowed on an OHF before. So as far as the Li-Dain were concerned, this was business as usual.

“I want to strike them down,” Wobix said in a whisper.

“I know you do, Bixy.” Magnus tracked two Li-Dain moving up the starboard stairwell less than eight meters from his position. “I promise you’ll get your chance.” Three seconds later, the two Li-Dain were topside and moving toward Magnus, Wobix, and Awen. The starboard bridge door was a meter and a half off Magnus’s right shoulder.

“I’ve got two on the port side, top deck,” Haze said from the other side of the bridge.

Magnus turned his helmet and saw the target tags superimposed on his HUD. “Leave them be.”

“Roger.”

Everything in Magnus screamed at him to open fire. Memories of encountering the diaper babies in Governor Littleton’s mansion flashed in Magnus’s head. He knew what the Li-Dain could do and how much destruction they’d rain down when confronted. Still, Granther Company had the element of surprise—at least for the time being, he thought.

And we’ll keep it for as long as we can, Awen said.

Copy that. Her words weren’t much, but he tried to take them to heart. His pessimism only increased as more Li-Dain climbed over the stern.

“Count is up to thirty-eight,” Zoll whispered.

Splick.

It was time to call the colonel.

“Go for Caldwell,” the older man said in the HUD frame.

“We’ve got thirty-eight tangos on board,” Magnus said.

The look on Caldwell’s face said the same thing Magnus was thinking, but neither vocalized it. Damn.

“Any sign of So-Elku?”

“His shuttle just landed.”

Magnus squinted at Caldwell. “You mean—”

“Meeting won’t start for another twenty minutes at least.”

“You’ve gotta be splicking me.”

“Sorry, son,” Caldwell said while he removed his cigar. “Looks like yer gonna have to cuddle up between your Aunt Martha’s milkshake mountains and get comfortable. Do not make a move until I give the order—I don’t care how awkward it is. That clear?”

“Crystal.” Magnus looked at Wobix. “And if they start attacking the Sekmit?”

Caldwell perched the cigar under his mustache again. “Let’s hope that’s a decision you don’t have to make.”

“Splick, sir.”

“Splick indeed. Caldwell out.”

Magnus kept his weapon trained on the two closest Li-Dain who were stacked on the bridge door. Their golden robes dripped with salt water, leaving dark stains on the teak deck. But Wobix ignored the enemy, choosing instead to keep his eyes fixed on the horizon. Magnus knew this had to be hard for the narskill—hell, it was hard for Magnus and it wasn’t even his ship. Sure, it took courage to run headlong into a firefight, but it took nerves of steel to keep from firing on the enemy when they were right under your nose.

The security pad beside the bridge door beeped as a series of numbers were entered by an invisible hand. A second later, a red Access Denied badge appeared.

“Damn diaper babies are trying to enter access codes,” Haze said from the opposite door.

“Same over here,” Magnus said. “Listen, if we can’t take them without risking the op in the capital, they can’t take the ship without risking whatever So-Elku has planned too.”

“You sure?” Awen said.

“Pretty sure.” Magnus took a breath. “Wobix, go ahead and act like you notice the sounds. But don’t engage.”

“Finally,” Wobix said. He turned and innocently examined the access pad. The two Li-Dain backed away from the door, giving the narskill plenty of room. It was just as Magnus suspected. They weren’t willing to hijack the ship—not yet.

“We’re at a standoff,” Magnus said to the teams. “Everyone sit tight, and don’t do anything stupid. But let’s keep the bridge secure.”

“I will see to it,” Wobix said. Then he leaned his back against the bridge door, crossed his arms, and started whistling.

11

“How many checkpoints is this?” So-Elku said, looking up from his data pad. He rode in the back of a finely appointed luxury hovercar provided by ní Freya’s tribe. The black and tan leather was soft, and everything about the vehicle said it was brand new—that, or hardly used.

“This is the third one, my master,” Lor said. “Standard Sekmit procedure, based on what we know.” He sat beside Trinklyn, head of foreign affairs, Brodin, the communications minister, and General Rink-Ba, Li-Dain Commandant. The only other significant members of So-Elku’s inner circle not present were Admiral Porampus, who remained in orbit, and Yon-Mornick, the LAW’s Trade Minister who rode in the next vehicle back.

“Seems a little much, doesn’t it?” So-Elku asked.

“We would do the same,” Rink-Ba said. “Were the roles reversed.”

So-Elku looked out the window as two Sekmit security guards passed along the vehicle with handheld scanners. Or was it paw-held scanners for them? “I suppose we would. How many more?”

“Our orbital scans show two more, sir,” Lor said.

“Two?” So-Elku was tiring of all the delays. And yet, by day’s end, he would have control of Aluross, so what did it matter how slow their approach to the capitol building was? He craned his neck behind him to look at the rest of the vehicles in their group. Sekmit inspectors were going over them too, asking for credentials and scanning cavities. His cohort was forty persons in all—a size that suggested ample strength but not overwhelming dominance.

There was another reason for his desire to get out of the cramped vehicle and away from his staff.

Moldark.

Images of Nants’s possessed face haunted So-Elku. The encounter in the bathhouse had rattled him more than he cared to admit. How the dark lord was able to get close to So-Elku was unnerving the Luma Master. What was worse was just how close Moldark had come to ending his life.

All will be well, So-Elku tried telling himself. But he questioned the legitimacy of his own counsel. His eyes flicked between the other occupants of the vehicle as he wondered which of them might be the next to host Moldark and attempt an assassination.

Stop this, Teerbrin, he told himself. But even the sound of his first name had been tainted by the way Nants had said it.No, by the way Moldark had said it.

Pull yourself together, So-Elku said inwardly. He needed to stay focused—he couldn’t afford any distractions. Not now. Plus, unlike the bathhouse, which had been mostly unguarded, at least in the ways that could have kept out a Unity intruder, his presence here on Aluross was well covered by sentries both in the vehicles and in orbit. There was nothing to worry about.

The sun had set, and the city’s lights were growing brighter by the minute. So-Elku took a moment to study the strange architecture, noting how it seemed to bridge the gap between ancient Sekmit tradition on the one hand and more modern stylings on the other. Even the lighted signs and street lamps were a mix of old and new. “Quaint,” he said to himself, noting just how nice it would be to add the feline world to the LAW’s portfolio.

“What’s that?” Trinklyn asked.

So-Elku gestured toward the city outside the hovercar. “It’s quaint, don’t you think?”

The foreign affairs minister nodded. Trinklyn was, without question, the LAW’s leading authority on the Sekmit, having majored in the culture and history in observances. But between Aluross’s tight connection with the Galactic Republic coupled with the fact that they remained to themselves as a species, Trinklyn’s major was of little use to anyone—until now. The fact that she had ventured into other fields of study certainly helped broaden her usefulness, making her a natural choice for the LAW’s foreign affairs minister. But it was her knowledge of the Sekmit that made her genuinely indispensable for this mission, even if it meant putting up with some of her more eccentric aspects.

The glow of neon signs and street lamps reflected off Trinklyn’s eyes. “They have a long history.”

“Which makes today even more historic, don’t you think?” So-Elku said.

The woman seemed hesitant.

So-Elku scowled at her. “What is it?”

Still, Trinklyn seemed caught between whether or not she should speak. And after their last few meetings, she was right to. Her resistance to many of So-Elku’s ideas and plans was wearing on him to the point that he was beginning to second guess her appointment to his counsel. Those damn eccentricities, he thought to himself again. “Out with it,” So-Elku demanded. “Speak your mind.”

“We are taking a large risk on this endeavor, my master. The Sekmit are notoriously slow movers when it comes to trade negotiations, as Yon-Mornick can attest. Begging General Rink-Ba’s pardon, I think it premature to have the attack force so eager to deploy. Perhaps hold them back a little farther until we know for certain what the Sekmit intend to do with our offer.”

Rink-Ba seemed to bristle at this, but So-Elku raised a hand at the general. The Luma Master would take the objection head-on himself. After all, the plan was his, not Rink-Ba’s, so he knew that Trinklyn was only targeting the general because she was too weak to confront So-Elku to his face.

“So the Sekmit decide to take a few weeks to consider our proposal,” So-Elku said. “If they accept, then we all win. But if they come back to us, after we’re long gone, and say no?”

“You’ve explained your reasoning before,” Trinklyn said. “It’s just that—”

“That you don’t like the use of force, now that we’re here, is that it?”

The foreign affairs minister didn’t reply. But she didn’t need to. Non-violent action was the Luma way, and So-Elku had fought it for years. He had even fought it in himself. He’d been raised on Worru by parents who taught him to memorize the ancient texts long before he was tested on them during observances. He knew the Luma tenants. Better than anyone, he thought. And where have they gotten us? “Tell me, minister, is the galaxy any more united than it was before?”

Trinklyn furrowed her brow. “I’m not sure I—”

“In the last 1,000 years, has our Order succeeded in fostering peace in the galaxy?”

“We’ve made strides in saving countless worlds, my master.”

“Strides, yes.” So-Elku stroked his beard. “And yet, I ask again, have we created lasting peace? Do those who rule themselves, as well as those who were ruled by the Republic, exhibit evidence of peace?”

It was several seconds before Trinklyn answered. “No,” she said.

“No,” So-Elku repeated as he folded his hands and placed them in his lap. “It is more broken than ever, its pieces scattered across the stars. And all because those who were strong enough to stop it decided not to. And why?” He leaned forward. “Because it would have required something our predecessor was too weak to demonstrate.”

“And what is that?” Trinklyn asked.

“Power.” So-Elku dropped a fist into his open palm. “True power.”

A chime sounded on General Rink-Ba’s data pad. He touched the screen, and a holo display appeared over the tablet.

“General, sir,” said a Li-Dain commander dressed in gold. “Cadres one through three are onboard the target freighter now. Four through eight are standing by for deployment. The rest of first battalion is providing overwatch, and their comms are being jammed.”

“You’re ahead of schedule,” Rink-Ba said.

“Things went better than expected.”

“And your presence is still undetected?”

The commander nodded. “Affirmative.”

“Excellent. What about second and third battalions?”

“They are in place and awaiting your signal, General.”

Trinklyn looked at So-Elku. “Second and third battalions? I wasn’t aware that we brought—”

So-Elku waved her off. “No one was.”

Trinklyn worked her jaw and took a deep breath before sitting back in her seat. “Begging your pardon, sir, but if I’m going to be head of foreign affairs, I think it important that I know—”

“Only what you need to know, minister.” So-Elku glared at her until the woman was forced to look away.

“Order all units to prepare for phase two,” Rink-Ba said to his commander.

“Yes, general.”

Rink-Ba closed the transmission.

“We will not be the weak ones this time,” So-Elku said to the vehicle’s passengers. “We will finally do what all those before us never could. And you”—So-Elku leaned forward and bent his head to catch Trinklyn’s eye—“are either with us or against us. Is there a problem, minister?”

She shook her head. “No, my master.”

“Good. Anyone else?”

* * *

Ní Freya sat upon her elevated tribal throne at the far end of the royal hall while a phalanx of no less than fifty armed warriors lined either side of a red carpet that stretched the room’s length. The only thing she wore was a semi-translucent red shawl that draped from her shoulders and cascaded down her lithe body to her feet. For a fleeting second, So-Elku wondered if the lack of clothing was as salacious to the Sekmit as it would have been to more human species.

So-Elku was also surprised to see so many guards, given that the Sekmit had invited him to the negotiating table. Then again, they were a warrior race, and he’d learned long ago not to take such displays of strength personally. If anything, he was the one in the dominant position. Finally. It was only a matter of time before the Sekmit understood that too.

“Wait until she waves you forward,” Trinklyn said from behind him. “If she stands to meet you, raise your chin. It’s a sign of honor.”

So-Elku gave her the slightest of nods but kept his eyes pointed straight ahead. Someone proclaimed something in the Sekmit’s native tongue and then announced the LAW visitors’ arrival in broken galactic common. So-Elku couldn’t see the speaker but heard the echo of his or her voice ringing throughout the hall.

A beat later, Freya raised a paw and motioned So-Elku forward.

“Here we go,” Trinklyn said.

So-Elku led the way down the carpet, aware that all the Sekmit warriors were watching him. They held staves in one paw and rested the other on bows slung over their shoulders. Given the fact that these warriors were Unity users of some level, So-Elku guessed the weapons were mystically powered and, most likely, were quite deadly. The Luma frowned upon the Unity’s use for violence—at least according to the old ways. Today, however, So-Elku would be sure to inquire about the Sekmit’s technology should this meeting end favorably. Then again, even if it didn’t end well, he would still find a way to acquire the weapons’ schematics. Like the city itself, the power bows and staves were a quaint mix of things both old and new.

As So-Elku neared the dais, Freya stood. As Trinklyn had instructed him, the Luma Master raised his chin and kept his eyes fixed on the pride mother. She did the same and then descended the stairs to stand before him. While So-Elku didn’t find the Sekmit attractive, he had to admit that the scantily clad female was somehow alluring—perhaps even disarming.

“Master So-Elku of the Luma, welcome to Aluross,” she said in an assertive voice.

“Thank you for the invitation,” So-Elku replied. “The honor to meet you is made even more delightful by doing so on your beautiful homeworld.”

Freya tilted her head by maybe a centimeter. “What have you seen of our planet that is beautiful?”

So-Elku hesitated for less than a second, smoothing his surprise with a fluid hand motion and a slow blink of his eyes. “Why, our journey from the spaceport to here, of course.”

“Either you are attempting to flatter me, or you need to get out more. Both are sorry conditions.”

So-Elku raised an eyebrow. He was not used to such frankness. Trinklyn had warned him before, but he was not prepared. Rather than try to defend himself, however, he thought it best to press on. “In any event, I must say that I was very pleased to receive your request for a meeting.”

“Why must you say it?”

Again, So-Elku felt caught off guard but recovered even more quickly than the first time. “Because I wish to be candid with you and express the sincere appreciation I feel toward this potentially momentous occasion.”

Freya’s facial features relaxed by a degree. She was a study in poise and precision, and not someone he wanted to cross. At least, not to her face. Everything the LAW had set up behind the scenes was, by its very nature, a grand double-cross. As So-Elku studied her micro-expressions, he wondered—does she suspect us?

When Freya spoke next, her voice felt more relaxed, as if the initial frost of their first minor exchange had warmed under the sun’s morning rays. “I imagine you and your entourage must be hungry or thirsty. May I interest you in something to nourish you?”

Again, Trinklyn had warned So-Elku against declining Freya’s hospitality, noting its offensive nature. His advisor’s words came back to him now, along with an unexpected emotion: the shame of acting two-faced toward her. On the one hand, he valued Trinklyn’s counsel about the Sekmit; on the other, he felt her skepticism of the operation was repugnant and found himself questioning her loyalties. But intergalactic negotiations were morally ambiguous by nature, so why should he be surprised that such tensions wouldn’t exist in his own staff?

No. What bothered So-Elku, he realized, was that he was troubled by this matter with Trinklyn at all. It was a distraction. She was a distraction. And So-Elku could not support it. He needed his inner circle to be entirely for him or not at all. And so he determined he would deal with her when this was over. Her usefulness to him at the moment, after all, was too important to dismiss prematurely.

“We would be delighted by some refreshments,” So-Elku said with a quick raise of his chin.

“This way,” Freya replied as she turned toward the dais and motioned with a paw.

So-Elku and his entourage followed her to a small receiving hall adjacent to the throne room. It contained two dozen standing tables adorned with clear vases of exotic flowers. Appetizers and drinks lined several lower tables in the room’s middle. Comfortable looking pieces of furniture and short-legged tables sat in clusters on one side of the room while the other side opened to a veranda that welcomed the smells and sounds of the night. So-Elku thought he smelled the scent of rain on the breeze—a storm perhaps. How fitting.

“Your people may help themselves,” Freya said as she walked between the tables and continued across the room.

So-Elku passed the instruction on to his senior staff and then watched his retinue of forty file into the reception hall. They accepted the offerings with smiles and hushed comments to one another. As So-Elku observed them, he wondered which of them might be a spy—who might be possessed by Moldark. The black eyes, the foul soul. Who might be a confidant one moment only to turn on him the next.

“My master?” Trinklyn’s voice summoned So-Elku back from the daydream. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes, of course.”

Trinklyn nodded toward Freya, who was headed across the lounge area toward a set of wooden double doors. “I said, you need to follow her.”

So-Elku looked after the Sekmit leader and thanked Trinklyn.

But the woman caught him by the elbow and lowered her voice. “If she invites you to her table, you will be allowed to summon four of your advisors. And be careful: the drink she’s going to offer you is very strong.”

So-Elku wondered if the woman’s eyes might suddenly turn black. But he shook the notion from his head, thanked Trinklyn again, and then stepped away to follow Freya.

The Sekmit leader slowed in front of the doors and accepted two narrow wine glasses from an attendant, then she offered one to So-Elku. “Kyreethsha?” she asked as she held up the glass. When So-Elku hesitated, Freya raised it a little higher. “The Sekmit cup of welcome. Do not be afraid.”

So-Elku accepted the flute and examined the clear pinkish fluid. Even before putting it to his nose, he smelled lavender and some sort of sweet citrus fruit. He also smelled alcohol and wondered how much might be too much for him to consume.

But that wasn’t his only reason for making a quick examination of the fluid in the Unity. If it contained poison, he would be ready to take Freya’s life and activate the Li-Dain.

“To the future.” Freya raised her glass.

“To the future,” So-Elku replied when he determined the drink was clean, and then the two of them sipped. So-Elku found it rather delightful. He also noticed the near-immediate effects of the shockingly potent cocktail.

“Most humans find it too strong for their liking,” Freya said.

So-Elku could have sworn he saw a satisfied glint in her eye as he blinked to clear his vision. “It’s more flavorful than I would have expected.”

She narrowed her eyes as if deciding whether or not to accept the statement. “It is said that one sip of kyreethsha reveals the truth of a person’s words.”

Had So-Elku not been reeling from the strong drink, he might have faltered then. As it was, however, he managed to give only an unsure half-smile.

Freya grinned and let out a purr-like laugh. “Flavorful. I’ll have to remember that one. Come.” She turned on her heel, which caused her shawl to billow in her wake, and headed for ornate doors.

Two attendants opened the entrance to reveal a round dinner table prepared for ten. While the table boasted elaborate place settings of fine silverware and multicolored ceramic plates, it was devoid of any tall centerpieces that might keep the participants from seeing one another’s faces. Floor to ceiling windows gave the room a spectacular view of a grand lower garden, as well as to the Sekmit sentries who patrolled the grounds. The scene’s many paths and pools were lit by lights that fought to keep the darkness at bay.

“It would be my pleasure to host you and four of your advisors for dinner, Master Luma,” Freya said.

“And I am honored by your invitation. Thank you.” Before the words were even out of his mouth, So-Elku slipped into his second sight to examine the immediate vicinity. Two side doors on either side of the dining room led to service hallways—one that opened to a sizable kitchen bustling with food service staff, the other to a maintenance corridor and laundry. Several side rooms branched off from the main hallways, but they were empty of occupants. So-Elku wasn’t sure what he was searching for exactly—a concealed group of elite Sekmit warriors perhaps—but that seemed foolish given how many guards were already on hand. Nothing seemed out of place. Everywhere he looked, Sekmit busied themselves with the various duties of hosting a state dinner.

Freya summoned one of the two attendants at the door. “Have the Luma Master’s staff brought in.” She looked at So-Elku with an upturned paw as if expecting a gift of some sort.

“The names are Lor, Yon-Mornick, Rink-Ba, and Trinklyn,” So-Elku said—half the list spoken to Freya, half spoken to the attendant. He almost invited Brodin, his communications minister, instead of Trinklyn. But the foreign affairs minister had already proven too invaluable. He might need her in these deliberations, and Brodin could always be debriefed later.

The servant raised his chin and then turned out of the room with his tail whipping through the air after him.

“Please,” Freya said, indicating one of the chairs. “Be seated.”

For a moment, So-Elku wondered if this was some sort of Sekmitian test. Would the warrior-leader judge him according to the seat he chose? But then So-Elku noticed nameplates at each position and spied his at the setting closest to the double doors. Meanwhile, Freya walked around the table with her long shawl trailing behind her. The remaining attendant followed Freya and pulled out the chair closest to the glass windows.

A third attendant appeared from one of the side doors and pulled So-Elku’s chair out, inviting him to sit. The Luma Master thanked the servant and then made himself comfortable. He took another sip of the kysreethsha but was quick to try and offset the drink’s inhibitive side effects with some subtle resistance in the Unity. If Trinklyn hadn’t warmed him, he would have assumed the pride mother was attempting to intoxicate him on purpose.

So-Elku placed his glass on the table and studied Freya. Her incredible stillness betrayed either a supreme self-satisfaction, in which she felt no need to fill the silence with small talk as other world leaders might, or an immense amount of self-discipline so as not to begin important deliberations until the rest of her advisors were present. If So-Elku were a lesser man, he might have balked at the deafening stillness that pervaded the room. Instead, however, he matched her motionless form and piercing gaze.

Two can play this game, he said to himself, making sure to conceal his thoughts in the Unity.

Neither person looked away until the sound of footsteps announced the rest of the dinner party. So-Elku’s four advisors entered the dining room, followed by four of Freya’s staff. Attendants pulled out chairs and offered to top off everyone’s drinks. Nodding their appreciation, the humans unfolded napkins and placed them in their laps while the Sekmit withdrew long metal files and began sharpening their nails.

Freya looked up after a long pull of her rasp. “Shall we begin?”

12

“Hate to bother you, Colonel,” Magnus said over comms. “But we could use some good news right about now.”

“Everyone’s just about to sit down to dinner,” Caldwell replied. “Willowood says So-Elku needs to take a few more sips of his cocktail.”

“Can’t you tell him to hurry it up any?”

Caldwell smiled. “Why? Aunt Martha’s twin chest pillows giving you the willies?”

Magnus gave a soft chuckle and then studied the situation unfolding in front of him. “Wobix and his guards are keeping tight to the bridge access doors, but we’ve got a handful of tangos who seem intent on busting through the windowplex any second.”

“And the rest?”

“They’re scattered throughout the ship. Engineering, drive core, navigation, and sensors array hubs. Damn diaper babies have this place locked down cold.”

“Sirs,” TO-96 interjected. “If I may.”

“Whaddya got, Ballsy,” Caldwell said.

“It appears that several more cloaked vessels are entering Aluross’s atmosphere above Granther Company’s current location.”

“How many is several?” Magnus asked the bot.

“Fifteen to twenty, sir. However, please be advised those numbers are guesses.”

“Mystics,” Zoll said. “How many damn ships do they need to take a single freighter?”

That’s when the severity of the situation dawned on Magnus. “This isn’t a raid. It’s an invasion.”

“Rohoar does not understand what the enemy has to gain by congregating over a single ship,” the Jujari said.

“Neither do I, Fluffy,” Magnus said. “Which is why I have a bad feeling about this.”

“Rohoar also has bad feelings inside of his lower intestines. Perhaps also more bad feelings applying pressure around his chest. He wishes to be rid of the bad feelings quickly.”

“Don’t we all.” Magnus focused on the colonel’s screen. “Please tell Willowood I’m not sure how much longer we can keep this box of thermal detonators from going nova. Get that man good and drunk, cause if my gladias don’t pick a fight soon, the narskill sure as hell will.”

* * *

Willowood looked at Piper, who sat on a plush leather couch, holding her knees to her chest. The child wore her Novian power suit with some additional slender pieces of plate armor added as incidental protection, as Awen liked to call it. Willowood’s granddaughter looked so peaceful with her eyes closed—so the reflection of your mother, Willowood thought. But this was no time for sentiment. They were in the middle of an operation that would stem the growth of the LAW’s tyranny if successful.

After conversing with Caldwell, Willowood sat beside Piper and stroked her soft blonde hair. “How is everything, my child?”

“Good, Nana,” Piper said, eyes still closed tight. “I’m keeping everyone hidden, just like you said.”

“Wonderful. Thank you. And you’re feeling?”

“Maybe a little thirsty?”

“Of course.” Willowood waved one of the Sekmit attendants over.

“Can I have more of their orange drink?” Piper asked. “It’s super yummy.”

The attendant raised his chin at Willowood and then moved toward the bar lining a far wall.

The command team was set up inside a large meeting room one level above Freya’s formal reception hall and private dining room. Mobile workstations lay across tables and end tables, while senior members of Nelson’s Hedgebore Company and Willowood’s Paladia Company hovered over the holo displays, coordinating unit movement throughout the building. Not only that, but they were in touch with Captain Forbes’s Taursar Company, who were stationed at all the main hovertrain entrances to the mines, as well as Ricio’s Fang Company, who was patrolling in orbit. If Caldwell couldn’t be in the Spire to oversee this op, Azelon had made sure this mobile command center was the next best thing.

“Felicity,” Caldwell said over Willowood’s shoulder. “A moment?”

Willowood nodded but spoke to Piper. “I’ll be right back. Keep it up, okay?”

“Copy hardly, Nana,” Piper said in a broken attempt at military comm-speak.

Willowood stroked her hair one more time and then rose to follow Caldwell to a corner of the room. “Something come up?”

“Magnus is asking to accelerate the timeline,” Caldwell said. “He’s worried things are going to fall apart on the ship.”

Willowood crossed her arms. “I’m not sure we can make him drink any faster. He already seems to think that Freya is intentionally trying to intoxicate him as it is.”

“How much more does he need?”

Willowood sighed. “Maybe three more sips? It depends on how hard he’s resisting the sedative.”

Caldwell gave Willowood a mischievous look. “Think I’ve got something.”

“Careful, William,” she said, placing a hand on his arm. “If he even suspects for a moment—”

“I know.” Caldwell patted her hand. “We’re gonna get this son of a bitch.”

* * *

So-Elku eyed the still-moving appetizer of Sorellian tarantula squid while doing his very best to hide his abject disgust. The Sekmit ate the seafood raw, which meant the already pungent taste lingered even longer than it did when it was cooked. This was due to the fact that the creature excreted a potent solution of acid as a self-defense mechanism while sliding down the throat. The Sekmit loved it, but So-Elku found it repulsive. He looked for anything to wash the foul flavor away, but there was nothing besides the kyreethsha.

“Pardon me,” So-Elku said while raising a hand toward one of the attendants. He felt Freya’s eyes settle on him, but it didn’t matter. If he didn’t get the rancid taste off his tongue, he was going to vomit.

“What are you doing?” Trinklyn asked in a forced whisper.

“I need something else to drink,” So-Elku said out of the corner of his mouth.

“It’s an insult, my master.”

“I don’t care.”

Trinklyn’s next words came in a hurried jumble that raced against the approaching attendant. “It suggests that you feel their hospitality lacking and assumes that anything else they present, including trade proposals, will be refused.”

“How may I be of service?” the attendant purred to So-Elku, bending down.

The Luma Master worked his jaw, trying his best to ignore the rising bile in his throat. He could feel Freya studying him, and he knew Trinklyn would never let him hear the last of this if he made such a glaring social misstep. But anything was better than the raw squid—even if it means ordering the attack prematurely? he thought. No, he wouldn’t go that far.

“May I be so bold as to order another round of kyreethsha for the table?” So-Elku said. He reached for his glass and then gave Freya a warm smile. “A toast, in good faith, to the first of many meetings between our people.” So-Elku almost choked on his last words, doing his best to keep the violent seafood at bay. But as the strong drink overpowered the taste of raw tarantula squid, he felt his gastrointestinal anxiety melt away—aided in part by the extra-long draft of the liquor. Everyone else sipped as well, including Freya, who seemed to offer a genuine smile. Whether the merry smirk came at So-Elku’s expense, because the pride mother surely knew how repulsive the tarantula squid tasted to humans, or at So-Elku’s pleasure for showing a sign of goodwill, the Luma Master couldn’t be sure. But he’d successfully routed the Sorellian terror, and that was its own victory.

“And to that end,” Freya said, still holding her flute aloft. “I would like to propose that the first year of exclusive trade with the LAW, should final negotiations be to our mutual liking, come with a thirty-eight percent savings to our guests.”

Everything up until this point had suggested that the night was going to be a long one, fraught with point and counterpoint exchanges that would demand So-Elku’s constant attention. But this? This had taken him completely by surprise. The quadrant’s largest trinium mine, at sixty percent for the first year? This meant he could grow his empire as he’d dreamed. It would forge the way for negotiations with hundreds of worlds. This was more than he could have hoped for, presuming it was true, of course. But he had no reason to doubt the Sekmit’s words. They were, after all, a notoriously blunt species. That, and Freya’s statement, was witnessed by the heads of both councils. Then again, So-Elku was feeling a bit light-headed. Maybe this whole thing was too good to be true.

“We are honored by your proposition.” Then So-Elku raised his glass high. “Here is to a long and mutually prosperous relationship.”

“Here here,” everyone said and toasted one another.

So-Elku touched the glass to his lips and took another long sip, this time savoring the liquid just as he did his good fortune. For the briefest moment, he felt happy. The memory of Moldark’s attack faded from his mind, as did the image of Nants’s headless corpse floating in the water. The kyreethsha also pushed away other memories—those of the attack on Capriana Prime, of the Luma resistance and the meddling rebels led by the treacherous Willowood and her protege Awen. He even started to forget about the child, Piper, who he’d come so close to pulling into his fold. Yet even as those memories faded, dulled by the effects of the Sekmit drink and the euphoria of the initial trade proposal, So-Elku found himself sifting them as they slipped through his fingers, searching for ingots of gold within the disappearing sand. He felt something there, hidden in the granules. As more and more sand sifted through his fingers, the object’s form took shape, until finally, So-Elku’s mind settled on something that startled him. It was more surprising than Freya’s initial summons, more remarkable than her offer of thirty-eight percent. In the hands of his mind, now empty of sand, So-Elku could see a person. A single tiny person.

He pulled his kyreethsha flute away from his lips and stared at it. “Piper.” Within the Unity, So-Elku searched the immediate area once again, looking down the hallways and side rooms and into the kitchen. Everything seemed normal. But that was just it: where there should have been extra staff and supplies for hosting forty guests for a state dinner, there was nothing. As if—as if what is there is being concealed.

In a flash, So-Elku focused on the reception hall with its standing tables and finger foods. The rest of his entourage was gone. Even the throne room was empty.

So-Elku returned to his body and looked across the table at Freya. Her eyes were not concerned, nor were they curious. Instead, they were cold and calculating.

This wasn’t a trade negotiation. This was a trap.

* * *

“All teams, move in,” Caldwell yelled over comms. “Magnus, you’re up!”

13

“Let’s light ’em up,” Magnus said over the joint task force comms channel. Wobix purred in reply, and several other gladia spoke the Dominate Liberate mantra into their helmets. It was go time.

Magnus had been holding a bead on the nearest Li-Dain warrior for the last several minutes. Were it not for the servo assist in his MANTA’s suit, his arms would have been shaking too wildly to take the shot. Instead, his TB16 remained steady, lined up with the enemy’s unprotected head. Magnus squeezed the trigger and fired a single 16mm round.

Since the Li-Dain weren’t expecting a surprise counterattack, they failed to shield themselves in any significant way—a critical mistake. As a result, Magnus’s torpedo bolt penetrated a fragile Unity film—most likely meant to conceal noise than protect against a high-powered kinetic round fired two meters away—and punctured the Li-Dain’s temple. A microsecond later and the variable warhead, set to omnidirectional expansion, exploded and covered the bridge’s exterior windows with blood.

Before the body hit the deck, Wobix spun away from the bridge door that he’d been leaning on for the better part of ten minutes, grabbed his closest target’s head with one paw, and then drove the man face-first into the bulkhead. Magnus heard the victim’s forehead cave in as the Sekmit repeated the action twice more. As soon as Wobix retracted his claws, the Li-Dain’s body fell away from the Sekmit’s paw and crumpled in a heap on the ground.

But Wobix was far from finished. He unslung the Thørzin power bow from his shoulder, extended the grip in one hand, and pulled back a shimmering strand of light in the other. The bow’s segmented pieces, held together by a glowing blue light, seemed to generate an electrical arrow that began at the grip and raced back to the translucent string. When Wobix released the projectile, it streaked through the bridge windows without cracking a single one and intercepted a Li-Dain on the far side observation balcony. The enemy’s body flew backward, slammed into the railing, and flipped over the side. If the broken back hadn’t killed him, the blackened hole in his chest certainly did.

“I need to get myself one of those,” Magnus said.

“Stick to your blasters, manservant,” Wobix said. “You’re not strong enough to bend this bow.”

Magnus would have contested the accusation were it not for two Li-Dain spinning toward Wobix’s position from opposite sides.

“Go right,” Magnus said, hoping the Sekmit would catch his meaning. Meanwhile, Magnus turned left and fired another 16mm bolt at the Li-Dain approaching from the stern just as Wobix drew and released one of his electrical arrows at the Li-Dain toward the bow. Again, both enemies were unprotected and fell to their deaths. Magnus’s victim spun sideways before the warhead embedded in his chest expanded violently, while Wobix’s target toppled over the bridge railing and landed on the foredeck.

“Nice shooting,” Magnus said.

“They go down too easy,” Wobix replied.

“Yeah, but that won’t last long.”

As if emphasizing his point, Abimbola’s voice broke over comms. “A little help here, someone?” It was the first time Magnus had ever heard the Miblimbian giant sound stressed.

Abimbola crouched below the bridge on the main foredeck, taking cover behind an anchor housing near the bow. His TB16 fired four torpedo bolts every second in a steady drum-like rhythm as the enemy advanced on his position. But instead of killing the enemy, the torpedoes detonated against an invisible shield, showering the foredeck with fire.

The uncloaked Li-Dain, undeterred, returned fire. Apparently, the diaper babies couldn’t be both cloaked and shielded at the same time, at least not to any degree of success. Bright streams of yellow energy burst from the warrior’s hands and streaked toward Abimbola. And wherever the Unity power met a torpedo bolt, the resulting explosion bathed the ship in orange and white light. The concussive sound of incarnating ordnance shook the ship’s decking and traveled up through Magnus’s feet.

Before Magnus could shoot, Wobix sent an electrical arrow atop of the Li-Dain’s head. But the effort was only partially successful, reducing the size and shape of the enemy’s personal shield but not penetrating it. For the moment, the fire on Abimbola’s position stopped as the Li-Dain turned and looked up at Wobix.

“Well don’t stop now,” Magnus yelled at the Sekmit captain and then aimed his weapon down at the enemy. Together, they fired on the golden-robed Li-Dain, raining down electrical arrows and torpedo bolts in quick succession. Abimbola joined the volley and drilled the enemy in the back.

The volume of firepower was too much for the enemy. His shield collapsed, and his body vaporized under the three withering streams of weapons fire.

“Thanks for the help, buckethead,” Abimbola said from below.

“It’ll cost you,” Magnus replied.

“We’ll see about that.”

“Four down,” Wobix said to Magnus.

“And a splickton more to go,” he replied.

“I do not know this measurement of splickton,” Wobix said as he turned toward the sound of footsteps coming up the interior stairwell.

“I’ll let you know when we reach it.” Magnus fired at the head of the emerging Li-Dain. But before the bolt hit its target, the Luma warrior leapt five meters into the air and somersaulted overhead. Magnus tracked the robed figure until his arms and head bound up, forcing him to pivot. The Li-Dain landed behind Magnus and Wobix. Then, with glowing hands, he reached forward, grabbed the defender’s weapons, and yanked them past his sides.

Magnus knew better than to let go of his firearm—years of Marine training had conditioned him for that. But as the move took him off balance, he wondered if maybe it wouldn’t have been better to release the gun and take a swing at the Li-Dain.

As Magnus’s exposed neck and back flew past the warrior, he felt heat erupt above him and then drive his face down into the deck. He imagined that the Luma had just elbow dropped him between the shoulder blades. His helmet smacked against the teak, but he still managed to grip his TB16, and his HUD didn’t register any armor damage. Magnus pulled the weapon in close, rolled to his side, and fired a bolt through the back of Li-Dain’s calf. It was a gamble to think Magnus was within the Luma’s protective radius, but a risk worth taking. The bolt struck bone, and the mini warhead ruptured, blowing Magnus backward and sending the one-legged Luma cartwheeling overboard.

When the smoke cleared, Wobix lay across from Magnus, apparently having suffered the same elbow drop to the shoulder blades. “You good, Bixy?”

“My moral alignment has not changed in the last few moments.” Wobix sprang up to his feet. “Is this a common issue with your kind?”

“What?” Magnus stood up as well. “I mean, are you hurt?”

“No.” Wobix looked toward the ship’s stern. “Come. I think we must fight to keep you from converting to evil.”

Magnus chuckled and then gestured for Wobix to lead the way.

* * *

Zoll and Rix had seen plenty of combat together on Oorajee. Defending the Dregs had been a full-time job, and they were two of Abimbola’s best. At least, that’s what Zoll thought. Rix had signed up to help Magnus rescue the Marine hostages from the Selskrit, and Zoll had been one of the first to volunteer for Abimbola’s attempt to aid the Gladio Umbra. Now, here they were on the backend of a super freighter, overloaded with trinium, working with a joint task force of alien species, and fighting off golden robed martial artists. “What is the universe coming to?” Zoll asked no one in particular.

“Crazy splick, that’s what,” Rix replied from beside Zoll.

The two gladias took cover behind a vertical deck support and fired on several advancing Li-Dain. The enemy continued to pour over the stern but had done away with their invisibility nonsense, opting instead to put up some sort of Unity shield. Fortunately, the gladias had their own defensive measures, thanks to Awen and Wish. Were it not for them, Bravo Team would have been out of the fight already, as far as Zoll figured. The Li-Dain had numbers and seemed to wield the Unity in powerful ways.

Zoll used the biotech interface to line up his TB16’s sights on a Luma trying to advance from the transom. Zoll couldn’t risk sticking his head out to aim down the sights, so he let his HUD do it. As soon as he had positive target acquisition, he squeezed the trigger and emptied his current magazine on the enemy. The first several torpedo bolts struck the Luma’s shield and billowed out in plumes of fire, sparks, and smoke. But Zoll’s aim was steady enough that the rounds eventually drilled a hole through the defense. All it took was for one warhead to explode inside the enemy’s bubble to incinerate the Luma.

“Hell yeah,” Dutch said. She gave him a quick salute from the port side where she’d obviously seen the kill. “Keep it up, team lead.”

“I plan to.” Zoll swapped out for a fresh magazine and then racked the first torpedo bolt.

He rolled out to fire on his next target when Rix grabbed the back of his collar and yanked him behind the pillar. “Look out!”

A massive yellow orb of energy slammed into the column and bent it inward. The deck groaned beneath Zoll’s feet. Then he looked up to see the metal support glowing red-hot. Were it not for Rix’s actions, Zoll would have surely lost his head.

“Thanks,” Zoll said.

Rix nodded and then leaned back out to return fire. “Those diaper babies sure know how to throw a tantrum.”

Zoll opened the channel to his unit. “Bravo Team, I want concentrated fire on the transom. We have to keep any more from getting on deck.” The rest of the team acknowledged the order, followed by a renewed wave of torpedo bolts streaking toward the aft.

* * *

From atop the ship’s communication array, Silk had a clear line of sight to almost every part of the upper decks. The only spaces out of her reach were those hidden by overhangs as well as the very aft of the ship. From the sounds of it, Zoll could use her help, but so could Alpha Team. Abimbola was busy fighting Li-Dain at the bow while Magnus and Wobix were keeping the little buggers from getting inside the bridge. Additional narskill fought along the port and starboard decks, engaging in violent close-quarters combat when needed but choosing to use their power bows wherever possible.

Silk tracked two Li-Dain making their way toward Magnus’s position, and the LT seemed busy with a Luma of his own.

“Just where do you think you’re going?” Silk said as she aimed down her TB16e—the E standing for Extension, a barrel modification that Azelon had given the snipers in Granther Company. Like most weaponry, the extended barrel meant her torpedo bolts had a faster muzzle velocity and were more accurate—facts that played to her advantage as she lined up the enemy fourteen meters below. It also meant the weapon kicked more as the chemically accelerated bolts leaped from the barrel and tore across the blackness, leaving a red streak in the air.

The first round detonated against the top of the Li-Dain’s shield; the second complimented the damage of the first. But it was the third round that punched through and exploded inside the bubble. For a split second after the Li-Dain’s body ruptured, the Unity shield stayed in place, appearing as a red ball from the victim’s blood. Then as the power blinked out, the carnage fell apart and splashed on the deck.

The second Li-Dain slowed at the sight of her counterpart’s destruction and looked up. Silk wasn’t sure if the Luma could see her in the comm’s array, but she wasn’t waiting around to find out. She placed her targeting reticle on the Luma’s bubble and squeezed, depressing the trigger for an eight-round burst that spanned two full seconds.

Unlike the Luma Silk had dispatched a moment before, this enemy must have diverted more energy to the wall above her head. The torpedo bolts did not punch a hole in the shield as they had before. At least, not at first. It took seven rounds to burrow through the Luma’s bubble, and it was the eighth that decapitated her.

“Saw that,” Magnus said over VNET. “Thanks, Silk.”

“Just doing my job, LT.”

* * *

Rohoar worked through the ship’s inner decks, where the tight corridors lent themselves to his natural skills in close quarters combat. Unfortunately, the tiny golden cherubs were also skilled in paw to paw combat. Rohoar stepped through a bulkhead door and onto a suspended catwalk when one of the Li-Dain charged him from the right. The Jujari ducked under an energy bolt and then stood upright to catch the enemy’s fist as it sped toward his head.

Had anyone but a Unity user caught the blow, it would have obliterated their hand—at least that’s what Rohoar thought, given the amount of energy he absorbed. Instead, the punch succeeded in pushing his paw back a quarter of a meter before Rohoar clamped down on the enemy’s hand and began crushing it. The tiny person screamed and thrashed in his bathrobe as bones broke.

A roundhouse kick came straight for Rohoar’s head. He raised his left forearm and blocked the blow, allowing the stored Unity energy to dissipate along his armor. A second kick came up from the opposite side, but Rohoar didn’t release the Luma’s fist to block it. Instead, he leaned into the strike with his shoulder and absorbed the energy—both physical and ethereal.

Rohoar could tell he was frustrating the little fighter with how he deflected each assault. And the Jujari would have gone on like this for a while, infuriating the Li-Dain for sport, were it not for the fact that the gladias needed to put an end to this assault quickly.

As the Luma wound up for another side kick, Rohoar raised his free hand in a fist and then pulled the Luma’s head into it using his grip on the Li-Dain’s broken hand. The human’s neck snapped back under the impact, and the body went limp.

“Should have had a helmet,” Rohoar said while rapping his knuckles once against the side of his head. “Stupid.”

The next Luma appeared on the far side of the bay and raced along the catwalk in a flurry of swirling hand motions and glowing orbs. Rohoar tried tracking the movements, but they were too fast. Also, the Li-Dain was screaming in some loud tone that Rohoar suspected was meant to instill fear in him. But it only made him laugh in a way that his jowls fluttered over his gums.

Just as the Li-Dain drew within striking distance, Rohoar put both his fists together, summoned all his strength, and then drove his paws forward. The lateral piledriver of unstoppable force caught the Luma square in the chest and sent him on a reverse course. The sudden shift in inertia ruptured organs and snapped bones, killing the Li-Dain instantly. His body landed in a heap—legs and arms twisted and unmoving. “Also stupid.”

Movement far below caught Rohoar’s attention. The Jujari leaned over the railing and spied three Li-Dain working around the ASMCs and the trinium bays. But Rohoar couldn’t tell what they were doing from this distance. He could have used his HUD’s zoom feature to examine the enemy’s activities more closely, but where was the fun in that? Magnus hadn’t brought him into the Gladio Umbra to do recognizing—or whatever it was called. He had called upon Rohoar to do what Rohoar’s did best: smash things.

Rohoar gauged the distance, ensured his suit’s servos were operational, and then vaulted over the catwalk’s railing. His massive armor-clad body whistled as it picked up speed, covering the twenty-meter jump in seconds. When he landed, an enormous thud reverberated through the ship.

The Li-Dain around the hold looked shocked, probably noticing his wavering image with their natural and supernatural sight, just as the others had seen. They stopped whatever it was they were doing and then came at him.

The first Li-Dain, who Rohoar considered the bravest if not the most stupid, leaped forward in a flying kick. Rohoar had plenty of time to deflect the blow and parried the Luma’s glowing foot as he might bat away an annoying Oorajeen gull-winged vulture. What Rohoar wasn’t expecting, however, was the blow to his lower back that came from a second assailant. What energy Rohoar could not absorb in the Unity was absorbed by the suit. Still, enough got through that his HUD registered minus fifteen percent battle damage to the lumbar area.

Rohoar spun around and swept his arm like a club. But the Li-Dain ducked and then punched at Rohoar’s side. Again, the Jujari managed to absorb some of the glowing Unity energy, but not as much as before. The suit took the rest, as well as more damage—another fifteen percent loss. Rohoar sensed something sting his flesh and cause an ache in his bones.

“I will end you,” Rohoar said and then licked his chops. He lunged at the nearest Li-Dain and succeeded in grasping the man by the head. As Rohoar began to squeeze, the Luma shrieked. The other warriors turned their attention to the invisible hand that held their partner aloft and began beating Rohoar’s arm. But the Jujari’s grip was too sure, his strength too much. In a second, Rohoar had crushed the top half of the Li-Dain’s skull and tossed the limp body away like a rag doll’s. Then he turned to the remaining two Luma and spoke over his external speakers. “Come here, small babies in robes.”

14

The first blow came from Freya.

She’d fired a blaster pistol that she’d pulled from under the table. So-Elku saw the bolt cross the tabletop as if in slow motion. At first, he could hardly believe Freya had fired on him—it felt surreal. He was, after all, at a state dinner to negotiate a peaceful trade deal. But then again, when had anything he’d ever been a part of been normal? His entire leadership life was one of covert dealings and dark escapades. This was simply another episode in a long and sordid rise to the top of the galaxy’s food chain.

The blaster bolt struck So-Elku’s Unity shield but not without piercing the skin of his left pectoral. Something had slowed his reflexes. As soon as the bolt seared his flesh, So-Elku raised his hands and struck the five Sekmit on the opposite side of the table. Their bodies flew into but did not break the blaster-proof windowplex wall that looked over the garden. Again, his powers seemed limited, and he wondered why the victims had not been launched over the garden.

The rest of So-Elku’s leaders raised their hands, ready to fight alongside him in the Li-Loré arts. Conventional weapons had not been permitted in the capitol building, but everyone knew that was merely a formality—a vestige of the Republic era.

With Freya and her leaders incapacitated, So-Elku made to step around the table to finish the job.

“Master,” Trinklyn said, grabbing his arm. “You’re hurt.”

So-Elku looked down at the blood seeping through the smoking hole in his black and green robes. Then he pulled his arm free. “It’s manageable.” He continued around the table until he stood over Freya’s unconscious form. “A pity we could not have been business partners.” Then So-Elku opened the flat of his hand and made to annihilate the traitorous leader.

The doors on all three sides of the dining room burst open. In stormed Black-clad Neo Republic Marines, other figures dressed in white and grey armor, and a host of narskill warriors—their weapons trained on So-Elku and his staff. The LAW leaders raised their hands. All, that is, save So-Elku. He knew the universal sign of capitulation was all for show, and his captors should have too. To a Luma, it didn’t matter where their hands went.

The fools, he thought.

“Put your hands up,” said one Marine; it was hard to tell who spoke. Then again, it didn’t matter.

“Or what?” So-Elku chuckled as he looked around the room at the mixed group of warriors. “You’re going to try and stop me? What, with your little weapons? Is that it?”

“No,” came a familiar voice from back in the reception hall. “But we will.”

So-Elku watched in amazement as Willowood strode forward. She was dressed in the same sort of form-fitting suit that Piper had worn when she first appeared to him. This time, the outfit looked different. Rather than the yellow and blue colors, the suit’s translucent conductors glowed with the magenta fire of the Nexus.

A volcano of anger stirred in So-Elku’s gut. Willowood had been behind this. She had conspired against him with the pride mother. And he scolded himself for not deducing it sooner.

“What is it you want?” So-Elku said. “Have you come to kill me?”

“That’s up to you,” Willowood replied.

“So you’re going to arrest me?”

“Not me.” Willowood gestured toward the Marines. “Them.”

So-Elku couldn’t help but laugh. “Them? The Neo Republic? You can’t actually be serious.”

But Willowood said nothing in reply.

So-Elku laughed hard enough that it was a struggle to get the words out. “They lost, Willowood.” He repeated the words in a defiant shout. “They. Lost. Capriana is no more, the senate is no more, and their alliances are falling by the day. And who did they lose to?” So-Elku looked around at the warriors, offering them a chance to answer the question. “To me, dear lady Willowood. To. Me.”

“They are taking you into custody to stand trial.”

“Trial?” So-Elku bellowed and looked to his right and left. “What trial? Before what judge and jury? They’re finished, Willowood.” He turned to glare at some of the Marines. “You hear me, bucketheads? You’re all finished.”

“They seem to think otherwise, So-Elku. And I happen to agree with them.”

“You.” The Luma Master sneered at Willowood and took a step toward her. But every weapon in the room tracked with him, and So-Elku was reminded of the pain in his chest. With whatever Willowood had done to him, he doubted he could survive so many opponents at once. He needed to get out of here. “You’re just an old woman now. A shadow of your former self. What can you possibly expect to do against me?”

Willowood nodded, acting as if she were impressed.

But So-Elku knew better. She was up to something.

“I may just be an old bag of bones. But, you see, my granddaughter is not.”

A tiny girl popped out from behind Willowood. “Boo,” Piper said.

The pestilential child actually startled him, which only made her giggle.

“I think you’ll find that the kyreethsha has rather tamed your more miraculous abilities,” Willowood said, using her fingers to flicker through the air when she said the last two words.

“I’ve had enough,” So-Elku said.

“And so have we,” Willowood replied. “Come peacefully, and we will guarantee the safety of your entire retinue back to Minrok Santari.”

“You”—So-Elku had to pause for a bout of laughter—“you will guarantee our safety?”

“Please, master,” Trinklyn said. “I think you should listen to—”

“Silence!” So-Elku backhanded the woman, causing her to tumble into a chair. Then he glowered at Willowood. “We will never submit to you.” And with that, So-Elku sent a shockwave through the room that knocked the Marines off their feet.

* * *

Willowood shielded Piper from So-Elku’s blast, though she hardly needed to. The child was everything Willowood was and then so much more. So-Elku’s impudent attempt to thwart capture also revealed just how much the sedative had worked. It wouldn’t inhibit him for long, of course, but it should be enough for Piper to rein him in.

While the Neo Republic Marines faltered, the members of Nelson’s Hedgebore Company did not. Paladia Company, whose mystics were hidden strategically throughout the building to multiply their effectiveness, had made sure to reinforce the gladias’ Mark I armor with ample support in the Unity. They’d also succeeded in subduing the other members of So-Elku’s entourage during the dinner’s opening moments. Therefore, as soon as So-Elku’s initial energy wave passed, Nelson gave the order to activate chameleon mode, and the gladias blinked out of sight. Then they leveled their NOV2s and fired stun rounds at So-Elku’s position. But as Willowood suspected, the Luma Master ensconced himself in a Nexus shield and grinned as the rounds dispersed in the light of his magenta-colored bubble.

“Go ahead, Piper,” Willowood said, tapping the child on the shoulder.

“Okay, Nana.” Piper flipped down her helmet’s dark visor and then gathered the Nexus’s strength. Her suit began to glow, casting the reception hall and the dining room in a deep red color. Even So-Elku seemed to pale in the mounting light. Then Piper lowered her head as a pool of liquid red light passed through So-Elku’s defensive bubble and wrapped his body.

“Hello, Mr. So-Elku, sir,” Piper said. “You hurt a lot of people, and we’re not going to let you do that anymore.”

So-Elku fought against the grip that constricted his arms and legs. Even his mouth seemed unable to open. Only the terrified expressions in his eyes betrayed any emotion.

In all her years of knowing Teerbrin—from the small boy who’d sat under his father’s tutelage to the proud new Luma leader in Elder’s Hall—Willowood had never seen the man so afraid as he was in this moment. She would have been lying if she said it didn’t make her smile too. The fear in his eyes made him look insignificant and weak, as if being overcome by a child were a fate worse than death.

“Good, Piper,” Willowood said. “Now set the bonds.”

“Yes, Nana.” The red light around So-Elku swirled, dotted with white motes, and seemed to form bands that interlocked around So-Elku’s body. The master’s own advisors backed away as their hair whipped in the wind. Even the Marines seemed unsure what to do with the child’s unexpected display of power. Finally, the bands of light seemed to sink into So-Elku’s body until the wind subsided, and So-Elku stood as stiff as a dried out corn husk.

Freya pushed herself off the floor and accepted a narskill warrior’s assistance to stand. The pride mother knew the risks of this operation. Fortunately, however, she didn’t look injured. Freya gave Willowood a quick nod and then looked past Willowood to a Sekmit woman in the reception hall. Willowood stepped aside to let DiAntora enter the dining room.

“Teerbrin Vanick So-Elku,” the admiral said, stepping forward in her officer’s field uniform. “Under article four of the Neo Republic Charter of Intergalactic Law and section nine of the Valdaiga Accords, you are hereby arrested on suspicion of treason, murder, and the formation of an illegal governing body.”

If So-Elku was struggling against Piper’s bonds, there was no way to tell. Only the pulsing blood vessels in his temples, bloodshot eyes, and furrowed brow gave onlookers any hints that the Luma Master’s fear had turned to rage as he listened to DiAntora’s pronouncement. But the man had it coming.

For her part, Willowood had to admit that it felt good to finally have So-Elku in custody. The man had lost his way, and she sensed it was only a matter of time before his vision of personal grandeur caught up with him.

“Now, call off the attack over the mine,” Caldwell said to So-Elku. When the man didn’t reply, the colonel asked Willowood if Piper could loosen her stranglehold on the prisoner.

Piper nodded and closed her eyes for a moment.

“I will do no such thing,” So-Elku said in a foul-tempered tone. “If you think for one moment that—” So-Elku’s voice broke off.

Caldwell looked down at Piper.

“He’s really kinda annoying,” the child said.

“I agree.” The colonel addressed the LAW master again. “If you comply, we’ll go easier on your people.”

So-Elku gave the colonel a deep scowl. It seemed unlikely the man would yield. Still, Caldwell invited Piper to lift her restraint.

“Go to hell,” So-Elku said. He made to spit at the colonel, but the saliva just ran down his chin, thanks to Piper.

“He’s got a dirty mouth,” Piper added.

“Indeed he does. And I know dirty mouths.”

“Yeah.” Piper smiled at the old man. “Yours is pretty bad, Mr. Colonel, sir. But I think it’s funny.”

“Thanks.” Cadlwell looked back to So-Elku. “Tough break, So-Elku. My people are gonna have your attack locked down any minute now. Should’ve taken the deal.”

DiAntora shifted her focus to So-Elku’s counterparts, all of whom still had their hands raised. “As for you, you are also arrested according to article four of the Neo Republic Charter of Intergalactic Law and section nine of the Valdaiga Accords on suspicion of aiding and abetting a known enemy of the state, as well as conspiracy to commit treason.” DiAntora looked to her captain and pointed at the LAW reprobates. “Take them away.”

The Marine captain nodded at DiAntora and then looked to one of the narskill warriors. The Sekmit, in turn, gave an order for his men to place plasma binders on the four accomplices.

“They’re all yours,” Freya said to DiAntora.

“Thank you, pride mother,” the Neo Republic admiral said as she raised her chin. “We will keep you apprised of their trial date. You will be summoned to testify, if you would.”

“Of course.”

DiAntora looked to Willowood and then to Caldwell. “Thank you, both.”

“It’s our pleasure,” Willowood said.

“We’re only too happy to assist the Galactic Republic, Admiral,” Caldwell added.

Willowood couldn’t be sure, but she thought she heard a hint of regret in the old colonel’s voice. She cast him a sideways glance but tried to underplay her curiosity.

“Neo Republic,” DiAntora said to Caldwell. “Which means we will look for new ways to overlook past grievances. Should parties be interested.”

Caldwell looked at Willowood.

But DiAntora wasn’t through. “In the wake of all that has happened, we have need of competent leaders, Colonel. Please keep that in mind.”

Willowood couldn’t tell what Caldwell was thinking, and she resisted the urge to intrude upon his inner thoughts—she respected him too much for that. Still, based on the wistful air that seemed to wash over his face, she wondered if the old coot wasn’t going soft. Would he actually consider a return to the Republic after all he’d been through? Perhaps Willowood didn’t know him as well as she thought. Then again, the Corps had been his home for the majority of his life. So she supposed she couldn’t blame him for wanting.

“I’ll keep that in mind, Admiral. Thank you. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we still have—”

“We’ve got a big problem, Colonel,” Magnus’s voice said over Willowood’s VNET earpiece.

Willowood looked at Caldwell, who immediately pardoned himself and took Magnus’s call. “What is it, son?”

15

Magnus and Wobix led a unit of three narskill warriors in defending the OHF’s bridge while Abimbola worked just below them on the foredeck. Magnus had cycled out to his second magazine by the time the initial charge against the enclosed pilothouse slowed. He’d taken out three more of the golden robed assailants, while Wobix and his men had killed five.

“Do you think that’s it then?” Wobix asked, his power bow aimed at the port-side stairwell.

“I wouldn’t bet on it,” Magnus replied, circling the bridge toward the starboard stairwell. Something felt off about the momentary lull. He didn’t like the storm nearing from the west either—the winds had picked up, stirring the waves into a froth. Magnus called for a SITREP over the company channel.

“We’re still busy keeping them off the stern,” Zoll reported. “Another eight tangos down.”

“I’ve tracked at least five more headed below deck,” Wish said from her perch in the comms array.

“And Rohoar is still delivering justice to these perpetrators in cherub’s cloth,” the Jujari said.

Magnus double-checked Rohoar’s location and saw that the Jujari was deep in the hull with the trinium. Then he brought up Rohoar’s camera feed and saw the mwadim taking on one Li-Dain after another, pummeling, pounding, and punching his way through a steady line of enemies. The enemy going for the trinium before they’d secured the bridge seemed like a failure to prioritize. The cargo meant little if they couldn’t unload it. So Magnus chalked it up to poor mission planning and the fact that the LAW wasn’t made of tacticians. Just diplomats with attitude problems.

He didn’t have time to think about the issue long, however, as four enemy combatants flipped over the starboard railing and landed on the deck in front of Magnus.

“Splick,” he said and brought up his TB16. “The enemy got wise about using the stairs!”

“Over here too,” Wobix said from the opposite side of the bridge.

Magnus fired on the nearest Luma. His first three rounds struck the woman’s shield and billowed out in fiery plumes. Magnus knew he couldn’t handle four all at once, so he backed around the front of the bridge for cover. But this also meant giving up the starboard-side entrance. He decided to pull a VOD from his hip, set it to a compass-bearing disbursement pointed away from the wheelhouse, and then rolled it under the oncoming Lumas’ feet.

When the VOD detonated, two of the four enemies were blown sky-high. Their dismembered bodies twirled through the night air and cleared the ship’s decks to land somewhere in the turbulent sea. The remaining two, however, diverted energy toward the explosion and managed to stay on their feet. The woman in the lead summoned red orbs of energy around her hands and pointed them at Magnus. He ducked around the windowplex just as twin streams of light flashed past his helmet. The power was so strong that it reduced his shield’s power by twenty percent without even hitting it.

“Somebody’s pissed,” he said. Then he dropped to a knee, aimed at the woman’s abdomen, and held the TB16’s trigger. A total of six torpedo bolts streaked from the barrel, the first three of which were flash-incinerated by a second burst of Luma energy. But the last three punched a hole through the shell and exploded point-blank, turning the Li-Dain’s torso to a pulp.

The fourth enemy jumped away from the explosion, stepped off the railing, and somersaulted over Magnus’s head to land square in front of the bridge’s command window. Magnus spun but felt his weapon knocked aside even before he brought it to bear on the Luma. A second blow caught him under the chin and forced his head back. It felt like this enemy’s hands were made of steel.

Again, Magnus tried bringing his TB16 up, but the Li-Dain was too fast, hammering it to the deck with a quick downward thrust to the top of the barrel. Magnus was forced to let go of the weapon but used the opportunity to throw a punch of his own. His fist landed against the side of the Luma’s head, throwing the man into the bridge’s window. On anyone else, the servo-assisted blow would have fractured their skull and probably killed them instantly. But this was no ordinary enemy.

The man touched his lip and pulled away a fingertip tinged with a smudge of red saliva. Then the Luma smiled at Magnus.

Faster than Magnus could think, the man lunged with one fist outstretched, the other held behind him ready for a punch. Magnus wasn’t sure which hand to concern himself with, as the hand around his throat felt like a vice clamping down on his windpipe while the other fist flashed bright red. So Magnus decided to fall back and use the assailant’s momentum against him. The pair rolled along the ground, and Magnus used his legs to kick the Li-Dain up and away. A blow to the man’s elbow loosed his grip around Magnus’s neck and sent him hurtling into the railing. The enemy yelped as something cracked—a bone or two, Magnus hoped. But the man recovered quickly and raised his hands, both glowing with the otherworldly red light.

Magnus looked for his weapon, but it was too far away. He thought about using his VP2 but remembered he hadn’t brought it since the pistol was worthless in water environments. All he had left was his NCK combat knife and three more VODs—those, and his hands.

But the Li-Dain charged before he could withdraw his knife. Magnus parried a blow meant for his head, feeling the energized hand graze his armored forearm with white-hot pain. The HUD registered another twelve percent reduction in shield power. Magnus knew enough not to try to catch one of the Li-Dain’s punches, imagining his hand exploding as a result. The most he could do would be to deflect the blows until he got his window of opportunity. The enemy threw three more successive jabs before Magnus found a hole in the Li-Dain’s defense and punched him in the sternum. Again, the servo-assisted strike was overwhelming—at least it would have been against an ordinary combatant. Instead, the Luma flew back into the railing but managed to stay upright.

“You’ve gotta be splickin’ me,” Magnus said. He didn’t have time to keep entertaining this guy. Magnus needed a weapon, but his TB16 was still too far away.

In the split second before the assailant charged again, Magnus thought of how he’d used the VOD’s compass direction mode to protect the bridge’s door while dispatching the enemy. He brought up a detonator, activated the compass mode, and then maglocked the ordnance to his chest plate, hoping to all the mystics that he’d set the right direction. Then, as if in complete disregard for his own life, Magnus threw himself, arms outstretched, at the enemy.

The Li-Dain’s oncoming punch glanced off the top of Magnus’s helmet, and the resulting energy explosion helped propel Magnus forward. His shoulder caught the enemy under the chin and knocked the Li-Dain’s head back. All the while, Magnus continued to rush forward, driving hard toward the railing. The VOD’s three-second fuse felt three times as long as Magnus waited for the kick. He carried the Luma up and over the fence and joined the enemy in a midair freefall.

A blinding flash of light seared Magnus’s bioteknia eyes. His pain receptors shut down just before the force of a runaway hover truck walloped him in the chest. He swore, sure that the instantaneous change in momentum had flattened all his organs, and sensed his body shoot skyward. For a moment, Magnus endured the horrible sense of falling and not having anything to hold on to. He felt like a child who’d been thrown out of a moving vehicle, grasping for something to save him. Then he saw the ship’s bridge flip over the top of his vision and the deck rush up to meet him.

The sensation of landing on the ground felt more like a fluffy pillow when compared to the VOD’s kick. He gasped for air and then registered his HUD deploying the suit’s nanobot tech. It was calling for adrenaline supplements and minor tissue repair. But aside from that, and the forty percent loss in shielding, Magnus was relatively okay.

“Are you completely crazy?” a voice said over comms.

He fought the intense pain that the voice produced in his head, but the nanobots would help alleviate that too. Then a hand touched his back. Magnus thought maybe it was an enemy, but he was too groggy to do anything about it.

“Have you gone insane?”

Magnus rolled sideways and looked up. “Awen. Boy am I glad to see you.”

“You’re such an idiot, pulling a stunt like that.”

“It was the only thing I could—” But Magnus cut himself short when another four Li-Dain appeared over the blown apart railing. “Look out!”

* * *

Awen was relieved that Magnus was moving. From inside the bridge, she watched in horror as Magnus used the VOD to defeat the enemy Luma, and then she saw him fly back onto the deck. The stunt was stupid and would have ended a lesser man. Then again, a lesser man would never have attempted such a ludicrous feat. She wanted to kill him and kiss him all at the same time.

“Look out,” Magnus yelled, pointing past her to where the VOD had blown apart the starboard deck. Four golden-robed Li-Dain assumed Li-Loré fighting positions and summoned Nexus energy into their fists. She looked back at Magnus, but he’d need another minute before he was in any shape to take on these combatants. And I don’t have that long.

So she was just going to have to do this herself.

While the Nexus-powered Li-Dain outnumbered her, they did not possess Azelon’s suit tech, which helped harness, shape, and amplify the Unity’s power. So Awen formed a protective sphere around her body and then increased the shield surrounding her Novian power suit. This would at least keep their ranged attacks at bay, forcing her opponents to use hand-to-hand combat instead. Then Awen flipped her helmet’s visor down and took up her fighting position. Let’s do this, she said through the Unity.

The first man to come at her looked vaguely familiar. Then again, that wasn’t saying much. She’d probably bumped into all of these warriors on Worru at one point or another. Once upon a time, they’d been pledged together in service of the same Order—sworn protectors of peace, defenders of species near and far. But now a veritable ocean of differences separated them. They were kin no more, and Awen knew she had to do what needed doing despite the reservations she had about killing.

The man’s hands rolled over one another as he sought to distract Awen from his intentions. When the first punch flew toward Awen’s face, she bent right. The second punch came at the same speed, but she sidestepped left. As the third punch was thrown, Awen ducked under it and then struck the man in the belly. A flash of magenta-colored light radiated outward like a solar flare. Awen even winced, shocked by just how powerful her attack had been. The man flew backward and struck a Li-Dain in the chest. The two passed through the crater in the deck and disappeared out of sight.

Awen looked at her hand, surprised at whatever new resource she’d tapped into. Then again, she hadn’t exactly fought in a situation like this before. She didn’t need to store up Nexus energy in her firsts as the Li-Dain did—her power suit took care of that. All she needed to do was direct the flow, much like a mythical god creating a riverbed along a valley floor. What surprised her was how much more quickly the ability was coming to her. Perhaps it was just adrenaline.

The next Luma to come at Awen was a large man nearly three heads taller than she was. That wasn’t saying much, Awen knew, as Elonian stature wasn’t something anyone bragged about. Still, comparatively speaking, this enemy was a mountain of a man. He threw two quick jabs and then kicked at Awen’s head. But she avoided each strike and ducked beneath the leg’s deadly arc in time to punch his inner thigh. The man grunted and hopped back, favoring his opposite leg. But he raised his fists—far from out of this fight.

The assailant stepped toward Awen, throwing two jabs again, but then finished with an uppercut to her face. Awen barely avoided the blow, shuddering to think what it may have done had it connected. A beam of red light shot straight up into the blackened sky and disappeared among the stars.

As Awen recovered, she threw a right hook. But her enemy caught her wrist and yanked her sideways. Awen fell and dangled from the man’s iron grip. Holding her up like a punching bag, the man threw several punches at Awen’s side. While the blows didn’t penetrate her suit’s shield, she watched the capacity drop in her HUD. Every hit took it down by almost twenty percent. By the fourth strike, her force field registered less than ten percent.

As the fifth and what may have been the final strike came toward her ribs, Awen pulled herself up and flipped her body out of the way. Her legs wrapped the assailant around the neck just as his punch met empty air. Then Awen flowed with her body’s momentum, redirected Nexus energy into the movement, and squeezed her legs around the man’s head. Her body swiveled around his neck like a ring spinning around a dowel, and then she wrenched him sideways. The man flew off his feet, and his head drove into the teak deck, splitting around the right eye socket. He screamed, but Awen knew he wouldn’t be getting up.

She rolled to a crouch just in time for the fourth Li-Dain, a woman in her early thirties maybe, to bounce back and forth on the balls of her feet. Rather than hold her fists up, the woman let her arms dangle at her sides as if this was just another relaxed sparring match. She even used a forced breath to blow a few wet strands of her short brown hair from her eyes. “You ready for me, Awen?” the woman asked.

Rather than provide some snarky movie line that Cyril would no doubt be proud of, all Awen could think to say was, “Don’t act like you know me.” Instead, something like “I was born ready” or even just “Bring it on” would have been so much cooler. But Awen wasn’t thinking about being cool. She was thinking about protecting her unit and serving the Sekmit. So, “Don’t act like you know me” was all the woman was going to get.

Without giving the enemy a chance to respond, Awen stepped forward and brought her arms up. The other woman continued to bounce from side to side.

“I never thought I’d see this day,” she said. “Name’s Clair, by the way.”

“Don’t care,” Awen said. Then she threw a punch at Clair’s head. The woman avoided it and adjusted her feet.

“I sat behind you in inter-quadrant economics and developing star systems.”

Awen threw another punch, but Clair dodged it just as easily as the first.

“You were always such a bitch. You know that? A real teacher’s pet.”

Awen circled with the woman, looking for an opportunity to strike. She didn’t remember Clair, but she knew the type. They didn’t attend observances to learn or to better the galaxy; they were there because daddy had an in with a senator who made a few calls and secured an academic seat. There was never any intention of serving out their time as an emissary or volunteering on one of the Luma’s sanctioned missions. Instead, people like Clair used Worru for the educational credentials, the night clubs on the west end, and the connections it secured them. Meanwhile, people like Awen, who wanted to learn and do good in the cosmos, suffered under their incessant bullying.

“But now look at us, Awen,” Clair said. “Ironic, isn’t it? I finally get to do what I always wanted to, and you’re not even a Luma anymore. And you know what the best part is?”

If Clair thought Awen was going to try and answer the rhetorical question, the woman had another thing coming.

“The best part is that they’ve asked me to kill you.” A smug look crossed Clair’s face as she finally brought her fists up.

Awen threw her left hand forward and drove a beam of energy into Clair’s chest. But the woman crossed her forearms and blocked the shot. Instead, the force pushed Clair backward, and her feet slid toward the hole in the deck.

“Whoa-huh-ho,” Clair said once Awen’s assault had ebbed. “Somebody’s developed a temper. You know, you data whores are all the same, acting all prim and proper. But inside, you’ve got just as much rage as the rest of us. Probably more. Because unlike us, you don’t talk about how everyone hurt you. You just bottle it up until—”

Awen fired again. She was getting tired of Clair’s ramblings.

But instead of blocking the shot, the woman jumped aside to avoid the still-smoking crater. “Until you snap, just like that.”

Awen turned to face Clair when the woman—fast as lightning—ran up and across the side of the bridge tower and then jumped toward Awen, foot extended in a kick. The move impressed as much as surprised Awen, but she managed to put her arms up in time to block most of the kick’s power. Still, her HUD advised her that her personal Unity shield was now depleted. This wasn’t a big deal, of course, as Awen could quickly summon more shielding; however, it would take concentration, whereas the suit’s job was to handle that on its own. And given how fast Clair was moving, Awen didn’t have the mental resources to give to shielding; she was already assisting Alpha Team as it was. She needed to stop this woman before anyone else got hurt—before she got hurt.

Clair threw several punches, all of which Awen managed to avoid. But the woman was driving Awen toward the bow railing, and if she didn’t do something fast, Clair might just pin her down.

That’s when Awen decided to do something risky. But if Magnus was allowed to, why wasn’t she? Awen turned away from Clair, ran up the railing’s rungs, and then dove into a backflip. She saw Clair appear upside down, gauged the distance, and then scissor-kicked her legs into her head and shoulders. Combined with a release of Unity energy, the effect dropped Clair to the ground in a heap. She didn’t let out so much as a yelp.

Awen stood over Clair’s body, relieved at knowing the battle was over and disgusted that she’d killed a former classmate.

* * *

“She’s right, you know,” Magnus said, still on his belly. “You can be a real bitch.”

“Shut up.” Awen offered him a hand and helped him stand. “You okay?”

“I’ll be fine. Just need another minute.” Magnus looked at the two Luma that Awen downed, and then nodded toward the crater where the two other had fallen through. “You did good work.”

“Thanks. It’s just a shame that—”

“We can worry about all that later.” Magnus placed a hand on her shoulder. “Right now, we need—”

“Magnus, this is Rohoar who speaks to you.”

Magnus chuckled. “I can see that, pal.”

“Rohoar believes there is a serious problem down here in the lower trinium containment areas where Rohoar has been dispatching diaper cherubs.”

“And what’s that?”

Rohoar switched out his face camera for a view from his helmet. There, attached at half a dozen points along a trinium bay, were several bag-looking lumps with blinking lights.

“Oh, splick,” Magnus said.

“Yes.” Rohoar zoomed in on one of the bags. “If we were on Oorajee, you and your Marines would call these IMTBs, Rohoar believes.”

Magnus nodded and then looked at Awen. “We’ve got to get everyone off the ship.”

“What? Why?”

“IMTBs—improvised multi-trigger bombs. My gut says that’s trinitex.”

“That is also Rohoar’s intestinal sensation on the matter,” the Jujari replied.

“All units, all units,” Magnus said over the all-unit channel. “Get off the ship. I repeat, abandon ship. She’s rigged to blow.” Then as Magnus led Awen to the side railing and looked into the water, he opened a line to Caldwell. “We’ve got a big problem, Colonel.”

“What is it, son?”

But Magnus was slow in responding. Something unusual caught his attention. Even amongst the growing waves stirred up by the storm, he noticed splashing in the distance—the same kind that signaled the Li-Dain deploying from their shuttles.

“What is it, Magnus?” Awen asked.

“But that doesn’t make any sense,” he said, more to himself than anyone else.

“What’s going on there, son,” Caldwell said. “Need you to talk to me.”

“They’ve rigged the OHF to blow, colonel. Trinitex.”

“Damn.” Caldwell pulled his cigar out. “What are they thinking?”

“I don’t know.” Magnus watched as more Li-Dain appeared to make water entry along the horizon. “But they’re deploying reinforcements into the water, which doesn’t make sense if they’re just planning to scuttle the ship and blow the trinium.”

Into the water. Even as he repeated his own phrase, something dawned on him.

Magnus brought up Captain Forbes. The man’s face appeared in a window next to Caldwell’s. “Heard you’re having all the fun without us, Maggs.”

“Daniel,” Magnus said. “Where are you and your men?”

“Stationed as planned. All hovertrain entry points are locked down.”

“And the mines?”

“Emptied as per emergency protocol. Why? What’s this about?”

Magnus glanced at Awen, then the OHF, then the ocean. “They only wanted this trinium as a distraction.”

“What are you talking about?” Awen asked.

“I second her question, son,” Caldwell said.

“They wanted to make a statement. Maybe even take a city out if they could’ve gotten close to shore. But they’re not after the freighter. They’re going after the whole damn mine.”

“We accounted for this,” Forbes said. “You called it, and we’ve got it covered.”

“No,” Magnus said. “We don’t.”

16

A light as bright as the sun lit the western horizon and flooded the dining room. It lasted only a second, but the dark mushroom cloud and massive fireball that began rising west of the mountains blotted out the stars. Willowood watched Caldwell study the cataclysmic event, noting how his cigar went limp in his lips. Everyone in the room seemed spellbound by the trinium explosion—all but So-Elku, who was facing the wrong direction.

“What was that?” Piper said.

“Nothing that Magnus doesn’t have under control, my love,” Willowood replied and placed a hand on Piper’s head. The older woman hoped her granddaughter didn’t detect the white lie. The truth was, the VNET transmission had been cut just before they saw the explosion. Neither Caldwell nor Willowood knew what had happened to Granther Company and Wobix’s narskill, and it would be several minutes before comms were back up. “You just stay focused on keeping So-Elku bound.”

“Oh, that’s not hard.”

Willowood smiled at the child’s natural confidence then turned to Admiral DiAntora and motioned her out of earshot from So-Elku and his four secured officers. “We’re ready to move when you are, Admiral.”

“Understood,” DiAntora replied. But she looked through the windowplex to the west. “Is everything okay?”

* * *

Caldwell stepped in to answer DiAntora’s question. He didn’t want Piper to have to hear any more half-truths. “It seems our guests may have bitten off more than they can chew.” Then he turned to Freya. “I’m only sorry that it seems you just lost a sizable load of trinium.”

Freya studied the billowing mushroom cloud. “It is of little consequence. We have plenty more where that came from, and it was a calculated risk worth taking, so long as my warriors and your team are safe.”

“We have reason to believe that all made it off the ship before it exploded, but I am still waiting for confirmation on that.” Caldwell was acting extremely optimistic, given the circumstances. Willowood wondered if that was a defense mechanism, a trait he’d picked up from his years in the Corps, or a way of keeping the Sekmit at ease. The fact was, they needed to get So-Elku off the planet, and from what Magnus said, there was going to be an attempt on the mines.

Freya turned to face Caldwell. “Hearing from your team will take time, given that the radiation noise must settle.”

“Indeed,” Caldwell said with a nod. “I am more concerned with how this will affect your people. Your planet.”

Freya waved what seemed to be a dismissive paw through the air. “You think this is our first meltdown? Please. There is a reason we harvest in the middle of the ocean, Colonel. In addition, the Sateem Mountains protect our continent from any fallout.”

Caldwell took a deep breath and then looked between Freya and DiAntora. “What we need to be concerned about now is getting So-Elku and his people to your ship, Admiral. And, ní Freya, we suspect your mine may still be a target.”

“But we have the hovertrain lines under close watch,” Freya replied.

“We do. But I’m afraid our resources may be in the wrong place, I’m sorry to say.”

“The wrong place?” Freya looked from Caldwell to Willowood. “I don’t understand.”

Caldwell blew out a puff of smoke. “The last thing Magnus offered before we lost contact was his suspicion that the Li-Dain were going to take the mine somehow.”

“Again, I fail to see what his suspicions might be.”

“I have to imagine that it’s something he’s seen at sea, something out there.” He pointed to the still billowing clouds stretching toward orbit.

“Are you suggesting the Li-Dain mean to dive on our operation?” The rising of both bushy eyebrows emphasized the surprise in Freya’s voice. “I can’t imagine that being an easy nor rewarding endeavor.”

“Nor can I,” Caldwell replied. “But we’re not dealing with a conventional enemy. If Magnus had doubts, then they’re well-founded, and we’ll need to follow through on them. Ní Freya, if it pleases you, I’d like our combined forces to enter the mines and see if they can’t stage some sort of defense.”

“But the mine is vast. How will we even begin to know where to send them?”

“I, uh, I’m probably the best one to help with that,” Cyril said, walking out from behind a door in the reception hall. He’d been hunkered down behind a wall of holo displays and work station terminals, helping Caldwell and Willowood monitor both operations. Seeing him come out from the makeshift command room and blink through his goggles was like watching a Quinzellian mole rat emerge from hibernation. “I mean, well, I should probably correct that statement. Azelon and I are the best to help with that.” He ran his fingers through his messy hair. “Wow, I’m so excited. What about TO-96? Of course. So what I really should have said was that Azelon, TO-96, and myself are—”

“How can you help?” Freya said.

Cyril snapped out of his stream of thought. “We can triangulate the enemy’s estimated surface locations and then deduce a map of suspected entry points based upon the most likely routes, taking into account the current strata, thermal declination, and—”

“You can narrow down the potential nodes they might try breaching?”

“Uh, ha ha, yes, My Lady Freya Queen.”

Freya hissed once at Cyril and then turned on Caldwell. “We will abide by whatever data you provide, Feared Aggressor.”

“Then we’ll get right on that.” The colonel snapped his fingers at Cyril and gave him a smile. “Back inside your cave, Blinky.”

“Yes, yes, of course, Mr. Commander, sir. Copy and over roger.”

“Pride mother,” DiAntora said, addressing Freya directly, but still choosing to speak in galactic common for reasons Caldwell didn’t know—perhaps to just keep the rest of the team in the loop. “Given the severity of the situation, would it not be wise for Neo Republic forces to assist you in defending the mines?”

“No,” Freya said. “Your priority is returning So-Elku to Minrok Santari. And even as we speak, their starship is, no doubt, awaiting word from them. It won’t be long before So-Elku’s silence raises suspicions, and your chances of departing the system unscathed will only decrease. So you must be on your way.”

Caldwell felt DiAntora’s request was extremely odd. Why would a Neo Republic Admiral offer to divert from her mission directives to engage in combat she and her team were not ready for? Secondly, the idea of the Republic—Galactic, Neo, or otherwise—offering to aid a planet who they’d only just broken faith with days before seemed both distasteful and unprofessional. The only reason Caldwell could think of for any of this was that DiAntora was still Sekmit—naturally, she would want to aid her people and protect their interests. But her willingness to breach Repub protocol and divert from her directives was—well, it’s downright astounding, the colonel thought to himself. In any other moment, this would have gotten her a court-martial and a discharge from the Navy.

DiAntora raised her chin at Freya and then looked to Willowood. “In light of the enemy’s activity above the mines, are you and your granddaughter still willing to help us escort the prisoners?”

Willowood looked at Piper. “What do you say?”

“Uh-huh,” the girl replied. “Sounds exciting.”

“Very well,” DiAntora said.

“And you still have the rest of Paladia and Hedgebore Companies at your disposal,” Caldwell said. “Until we get more details about the unfolding situation at sea, we continue as planned.”

“We are most grateful for your cooperation, Colonel.”

“The transports are in the palace basement, as discussed,” Freya said. “I also took the liberty of upgrading them to something a little more comfortable than a seafood truck.”

“We are grateful, pride mother,” DiAntora said with a lift of her chin.

Caldwell couldn’t put his finger on it, but DiAntora seemed to take on a sentimental air as she studied Freya’s face and then looked around at the other Sekmit. With how much the Repub had been shaken over the last several weeks, it didn’t surprise Caldwell that someone like DiAntora, or any member of the Repub for that matter, would long for home. He’d seen some of his best Marines come to tears when talking about family, friends, favorite foods, and local hotspots, especially in between firefights. Caldwell didn’t scorn them for it either, so long as it didn’t distract them from the mission. Hell, a deep love for home was a strong motivator when it came to pushing through a lousy op. Still, DiAntora’s behavior was unbecoming of a high ranking officer. Perhaps the woman was at a breaking point? Maybe things were worse among the Neo Republic’s leadership than anyone knew?

DiAntora straightened and looked Freya in the eye. “We’d better be on our way then. Thank you for your assistance in helping bring So-Elku to justice.”

“It has been our honor, Admiral.”

* * *

Colonel Caldwell paced outside an armored personnel carrier in the basement level while his units assisted the Repub forces in securing the prisoners. Each APC was a late model Advanced Galactic Solutions DS9 hover truck, boasting twin drive cores, reinforced repulsor beds, and top-of-the-line inertia dampeners. The matte-back angular body panels were made of duradex fiber weave and used armor resonance disruption technology, which made the vehicles nearly impregnable by conventional weapons.

For firepower, each DS9-APC came with a MUT50 ultra torrent tri-reticulating blaster mounted above the driver’s compartment. Its 50mm rounds delivered the distinct banshee-shriek that meant “get the hell out of the way” to anyone unlucky enough to hear them. Just above the rear doors, the DS9s sported a modified 70mm RBMB, or really big missile battery, that replaced the sentient operator with a digital one, making the entire system AI controlled. This not only freed the DS9 operators up to take care of the mission, but the vehicle’s onboard AI was damn good at identifying and taking out targets on its own.

Orange trim and glossy black insignias rounded out the DS9’s matte black body—a badass, no-nonsense physique that alluded to the vehicle’s pedigree. Caldwell knew from experience that these particular “dark spec” trucks had been made exclusively for Shadow Ops by Advanced Galactic Solutions. While the manufacturing plant on Capriana Prime was no more, limited numbers of these war machines were scattered throughout the quadrant. How Freya had come to possess the twelve that stretched out in a line under the palace was curious, but Caldwell guessed it had something to do with the lucrative trade deal with the old Republic.

Each assault vehicle held twenty passengers, composed of gladias from Hedgebore Company and narskill from Freya’s personal guard, plus up to eight detainees. Piper’s oversight and the support of several dozen mystics from Paladia Company in the adjacent APCs meant the convoy would be the most secure prisoner escort detail Caldwell had ever seen. But this was no ordinary set of prisoners.

Colonel Caldwell cradled his Mark I helmet under his arm and checked his wrist comm for the time. It had been ten minutes since the trinium freighter detonated.

“Any word from Granther Company?” Caldwell asked TO-96 over VNET.

“I’m afraid not, sir,” the bot replied. “Our spectrometers are still reading substantial interference patterns such that all communications within the blast radius are disrupted.”

“Keep trying. I want to know the second we reestablish contact with Magnus.”

“Affirmative, sir.”

“We’re ready to move, Colonel,” said Nelson over comms. Seated beside a Sekmit driver, the captain would be commanding from the front of Caldwell’s APC, slated sixth from the lead vehicle.

The colonel acknowledged the ready-up hail and then climbed into his DS9. Willowood, Piper, DiAntora, and a purposefully mixed security detail of gladias, Sekmit, and Neo Repub guards—fifteen in all—sat behind a metallic containment cell that contained Master So-Elku himself. The crate’s dark shade of green was so deep it almost appeared black. Beveled corners, double-reinforced doors, automatic emergency lockdown systems, and prisoner incapacitation protocols made the chamber an inescapable and, when necessary, highly lethal vault.

“How you feeling, little lady?” Caldwell said to Piper.

“I’m a little hungry,” the child replied. “But I think that’s just because I’m excited to go for a ride in this truck. I get hungry when I’m excited. But I also get hungry when I’m nervous too, so, I’m not sure what I am, I guess, Mr. Colonel William.” Piper’s eyes went wide. “Oops. I’m not supposed to use your first name. I’m so sorry.”

“You can use my first name, Piper. I use yours, right?”

She nodded and widened her eyes.

“And we’ll get you something to eat.” Caldwell snapped his fingers at one of the gladias under Nelson’s command and ordered a protein sup bar from a ration crate. “Your big job now is—”

“To keep Master So-Elku in this box.”

“Right,” Caldwell said with a smile. “Think you can do that?”

Piper waved a hand in front of her face. “Easy peasy, Mr. William, sir.”

“Good.” Caldwell glanced up at Willowood as if looking for confirmation.

“Everything’s set on our end,” she assured him. “All prisoners are bound and being overseen by our mystics. We’re powering up the containment fields of each modular cell block as planned. DiAntora will have more than enough time to get the units back to Minrok Santari.”

“And we are grateful for your extra efforts,” DiAntora said.

“Any word from Magnus?” Willowood said to Caldwell.

The colonel shook his head. “Still too much distortion.”

“That’s to be expected, I suppose.” Willowood sighed. “For what it’s worth, I still sense Awen’s presence.”

“Me too,” Piper offered with a wide smile.

“Well, that’s something,” Caldwell said.

“But not conclusive,” Willowood said. “It could just be an after-event, like a reflection of—” Willowood looked at Piper and seemed to think better of finishing her sentence.

“Understood.” Caldwell gave Willowood a knowing look and held her eyes for two seconds. He found it hard not to get sidelined by her beauty. Why the woman never remarried after Kane was beyond him. That Caldwell would be so lucky to have her affections, newly budding as they were, made him feel like one lucky son of a bitch. “Time to get rolling.” Caldwell called up to Nelson. “Let’s get moving, Captain.”

“Right away, Colonel.”

* * *

The convoy emerged from tunnels in the palace’s side lawn some 300 meters to the east. As the vehicles turned south and entered traffic, Caldwell watched through a portal on the APC’s left side. Bright neon signs, street lights, and headlights raced by as the convoy picked up speed. Beyond the city’s skyscrapers lay a field of stars set against the deep blackness of the void.

The colonel was tempted to revel in So-Elku’s capture but knew better than to celebrate any op’s success prematurely. It was still a long way back to Minrock Santari, but that was up to the Republic to figure out. The Gladio Umbra’s part was nearly over.

Caldwell watched Sekmit battle bikes pull up along both sides of the convoy—not that the DS9s needed any protection. But no one ever got points off for being overly cautious, and Caldwell didn’t mind the extra support.

“Streets are clear to the spaceport, Colonel,” Nelson announced from the lead vehicle.

“Copy that,” Caldwell said. He turned to DiAntora. “Looks like Freya’s provided some additional armor.”

The Repub admiral nodded. “Can’t be too cautious.”

“Agreed.”

Caldwell studied one of the armored battle bikes that pulled even with his DS9. The two-seater escort vehicle’s black armor panels created a sleek cockpit for the driver and Thørzin power bow gunner. Unlike the personal weapons that the narskill carried on their shoulders, the hoverbike boasted an enlarged crossbow version ensconced in a turret enclosure. The soft blue glow of the energy bolt meant the operator had the weapon charged and ready to fire.

“Your people are ready for action,” Caldwell said over his shoulder to DiAntora.

“Without the Republic’s assistance, vigilance is even more important to ní Freya and our people.”

“Can’t blame her.”

Caldwell was just about to remark on the Thørzin crossbow iteration when Nelson’s voice hailed him.

“Colonel, we’ve got something ahead. Twenty-two hundred meters and closing.”

“Patch it through to my HUD.” Caldwell pulled his cigar out and slapped his visor down as a live camera feed from Nelson’s helmet appeared. “What the hell is that?”

“It seems to be some sort of energy barricade.”

A band of yellow light about four meters high stretched from one side of the street to the other.

“Felicity, you seeing this?” the colonel asked.

“I am,” replied Willowood. “My guess is that it’s more Li-Dain.”

“Eighteen hundred meters,” Nelson announced.

“More Li-Dain?” DiAntora stood and brought up a camera feed along one of the DS9’s side holo consoles. “How is that possible?”

Caldwell could think of several reasons for the miscalculation, but they didn’t have time to debate them. “Doesn’t matter. Bottom line is we underestimated them. Willowood, I need unit strength and composition. DiAntora, any chance we turn around and have your vessel make a pick up from the palace?”

“Negative. There’s not enough room. And even if there was, the palace lacks the equipment to move the mobile cell blocks. It would take several hours if not a day to get everything there.”

Caldwell grunted. He minimized the camera feed in his HUD and then looked at Willowood. “Estimates?”

“It’s hard to say. They’re covering themselves well. But if I had to guess, I’d say over 300.”

“That’s a lot, right?” Piper asked.

“Yes, my love,” Willowood confirmed. “That’s a lot.”

“But not more than we can handle,” Caldwell said. “And that’s the important thing.”

“Fourteen hundred meters,” Nelson said.

Caldwell turned to DiAntora. “Sekmit air support? Additional ground support?”

“Freya would never allow fighters over the city, and more ground units would never get here in time. She thought this would be enough.”

“Then it will be. Do you have access to monitoring that can tell us about the civilian population? If we engage the Li-Dain out here, we’re talking—”

“Significant civilian casualties,” DiAntora said. “Yes. Stand by.” The Sekmit woman’s paws danced across the holo terminal as various screens filled with data. Several new live-footage windows appeared displaying street views. “Looks like all pedestrians have been driven back, as has vehicular traffic. There are a few apartment buildings in the vicinity, but the majority are commercial, and it’s well after hours.”

“One thousand meters, Colonel,” Nelson said.

Caldwell heard the rising tension in his captain’s voice. It was time to act. “Nelson, get this convoy in attack formation. We’re punching through.”

“Roger that,” Nelson said.

“Everyone else, hold on.” Caldwell looked at Piper. “This might get bumpy.”

17

“Everybody off, now,” Magnus roared. He grabbed Awen’s arm and thrust her toward the bridge deck’s railing. “Jump!”

“But, Magnus, I—”

There wasn’t time. Magnus maglocked his TB16 to his back and then used both arms to launch Awen off the OHF. The servo-assisted MANTA suit amplified his efforts, sending her ten meters out—more than enough to clear the lower deck’s outside railing. He watched as she hit the water and then slipped beneath the surface.

“Everyone off and dive!” Magnus looked around to see if anyone else needed help. The Sekmit bridge crew, as well as all his gladias, were abandoning their posts and headed for the side railings. His HUD showed Rohoar climbing up an interior stairwell, five meters short of the main deck.

“Move it, Fluffy,” Magnus yelled over comms.

“Rohoar is moving it,” the Jujari said, out of breath.

Magnus jumped through the blown-out crater leftover from his VOD body attack and landed four meters below on the main deck. His suit absorbed the impact effortlessly. Then he turned to line up his bioteknia eyes with Rohoar’s HUD tag. The Jujari stepped outside and looked around.

“About time,” Magnus said and thrust a flat hand toward the freighter’s side. “Let’s go!”

The two gladias leaped off the OHF and plummeted toward wind-whipped waves. Magnus folded his arms and straightened his legs seconds before the sea enveloped his body. As a world of bubbles whirled through Magnus’s field of view, he engaged his suit’s thrusters and flooded the MANTA’s ballast cavities with water. The suit responded like a high-performance hovercar—albeit one slowed by a highly dense fluid. Still, Magnus watched his depth gauge drop as his body plunged toward the ocean floor.

“SITREP,” Magnus demanded.

“Alpha Team descending,” Abimbola said.

“Bravo Team accounted for and descending,” Zoll added.

“Watching you all head our way,” Bliss added from inside his SUBCAT. “We’re twenty-meters and holding.”

“No,” Magnus said. “Do not hold! Dive, dive, dive.”

“Copy that,” Bliss said. “Charlie Team, diving.”

“Delta Team, diving,” Robillard said from the other SUBCAT.

“Wobix?” Magnus said. “What’s your status?”

“My narskill are following right behind you, manservant. What are your intentions?”

Magnus watched his depth gauge pass thirty meters. They needed to get deeper. “My intentions are not to get us all killed from a trinium detonation.”

“This is a good intention.”

Magnus smiled, but barely. They were passing meter marker thirty. “Everyone, brace for—”

A light from above turned the ocean depths into a whiteout. Magnus’s bioteknia eyes and his HUD were both slow to dim and sent pain shooting through his optic nerves. A second later, a subsonic concussion made a gargantuan kuh-thunk as it sped toward the ocean floor. Magnus’s body felt like it was on a blanket’s hem as someone shook it out—head slamming against the inside of his helmet. His ears popped, followed by the sound of emergency indicators blaring in his ears. He winced against the pain and then studied new warnings that flashed on his HUD: Suit Fracture Detected, Port Leg; Suit Fracture Detected, Starboard Elbow; Main Ballast Valve Inoperable, Aft; Helmet Seal Integrity, 19%; Suit Integrity 34%; Location Sensors Array, Offline; Intercommunication Bio Relays, Disabled.”

Of all the warnings, it was the last one that concerned Magnus the most. With the bio connection broken, Magnus wouldn’t be able to see real-time vitals on his units.

“SITREP,” he yelled, but between the ringing in his ears and the warnings, he could hardly hear his own voice. So he yelled the order one more time just to make sure the word got out. When no one responded, Magnus shouted it a third time.

Bliss’s voice was the first to break over comms. “Splick! Still here. But barely.” The background noise of klaxons and warning chimes flooded the channel. “Sustained heavy damage.”

“Us too,” Robillard said. “Almost cracked us like an egg. But we’re still seaworthy.”

That was good news. But Magnus wasn’t as concerned with the SUBCATs as he was with the gladias in open water. And, so far, no one was talking back.

“Mysticsdammit, people!”

“I’m here,” Awen said. “I’m good, Adonis.”

Magnus felt a wave of relief warm his chest. Of all the gladias, Awen was the most important to him. But her safety didn’t lessen the growing sense of urgency he felt for the company and the mission.

“Everyone else?”

“Magnus, some comms may be down,” Awen said.

Right. Magnus changed gears. “If you can hear my voice and your status is nominal, ping the chat window with an affirmation icon.”

Within seconds, green badges raced down the side of the respective HUD frame. Magnus connected the status updates with the gladia names and felt his anxiety begin to lessen. So far, seven of first squad’s ten members replied positively. But two former Marauders, Haze and Rix, as well as Longchomps, were unresponsive.

“Does anyone have eyes on Haze, Rix, and Longchomps?” Magnus said. A burst of static fizzled through his biotech interface, coming in and out with someone’s voice. A speaker tag blinked to life. It was Zoll.

“…see…chomps. Looks…helmet…now.”

“Zoll,” Magnus said. “Do you read me? Zoll? Come in!” When Zoll didn’t reply, Magnus swished about in the water, hoping his suit would get a fix on Zoll’s locator beacon. But the damn location sensors array was still offline. That’s when Magnus decided to use the most tactful, state of the art practice he could think of to try and reinitiate the system: he made a fist and clocked the side of his helmet.

“Location Sensors Array rebooting,” said a sampled recording of Azelon’s smooth female voice.

“When in doubt, knock it out,” Magnus said to himself. Two seconds later, compass bearings, unit positions, and vectors returned in Magnus’s HUD. He spun himself 110º and found Zoll’s tag. The gladia was moving toward Longchomps’s location. But unlike the other bodies Magnus saw, the Jujari wasn’t moving.

“Come on,” Magnus said in a forceful whisper, willing the Jujari to be okay. Zoll closed on Longchomps’s location.

More static burst over the comms, followed by the last part of Zoll’s sentence: “…unconscious, but looks to be alive.”

Magnus hadn’t realized he wasn’t breathing until he released a pent-up breath. “Stay with him,” Magnus said to Zoll. “What about Haze and Rix?” Even as Magnus spun around to search for the two unresponsive gladias, he heard Wish’s voice come over the channel.

“I’m closing on Rix,” she said. “Still sensing his life force.”

The brute of a man had jumped in the water toward the ship’s stern and was beyond Magnus’s sightline.

“Nearly there,” Wish added. “Stand by.”

Again, Magnus sensed that he was holding his breath and forced himself to breathe normally. He hated to think that any of his team would die all because he failed to anticipate an act of sabotage.

“He’s okay,” Wish said. “He’s pointing to his helmet. Comms are down.”

That only left Haze with Alpha Team. Magnus seemed to recollect that the gladia had jumped amidships, not too far from where he, Awen, and Wobix had entered. Magnus turned his head in the direction he thought Haze might be and then noticed his HUD’s vector indicators pointing in the same direction. “I see him,” Magnus said. He activated his thrusters, but there was no change in his suit’s direction. Magus swore under his breath.

“What’s wrong?” Awen asked.

“Thrusters are unresponsive,” he replied.

“Negative,” Abimbola said. “I can see them from here. They seem fine. But you are sinking, fast.”

Sure enough, Magnus’s depth gauge was spooling out of control. That’s when he recalled the damage report list from his suit’s AI: the explosion had disabled the MANTA’s main ballast valve. If he was sinking, that meant the cavity along his back, the largest of all, was flooded.

“Somebody get to Haze, stat,” Magnus said, emphasizing his order by pointing up to the gladia’s body. Haze’s blackened form hung silhouetted against the light of a massive fireball that billowed far above the ocean’s surface some fifty meters overhead.

“I am approaching,” Wobix said. Magnus noticed how swiftly the Sekmit propelled himself through the water in his cat-like mech suit. For a feline, the narskill leader sure knew how to navigate in the water.

Magnus watched the two digital identifier tags meet as Wobix closed the distance. A moment later, Wobix reported with a solemn tone: “Your warrior is no more.”

Magnus cursed over comms, then he swore again.

“What’s the plan, buckethead?” Abimbola said. “You are not getting any lighter from the looks of it.”

Magnus was nearing 100 meters of water and falling. He wanted to wait a moment to lament Haze’s needless death. But there wasn’t time. There is never enough time.

“Buckethead?” Abimbola asked.

“We’ve still got an enemy to engage,” Magnus said. “And, unless I’m wrong, they’re headed for the mines.”

“And it doesn’t look like you have a choice anyway,” Zoll added.

“Hard copy. Get Longchomps swapped out with someone in the nearest SUBCAT.”

“On it.”

“You’re closest to us, Zoll,” Robillard said. “Any volunteers, Delta Team?”

“I’m up to get wet,” Reimer said. He was a good choice. The gladia was a sniper, which meant his specialty would come in handy in the event of ranged engagement.

Magnus looked between his feet and saw the faint glow of mine nodes several kilometers below. It was at that same point that he noticed some strange flutters in his HUD. He locked on to a group of the anomalies and then populated it over VNET. “Is anyone else seeing this?” Several affirmation icons popped up.

“Looks like Li-Dain,” Awen said. “The water and maybe the pressure are destabilizing their cloaking abilities.”

“They are headed for the nodes,” Abimbola said.

“Then so are we,” Magnus replied. He needed to get word to Forbes about the change in plan and cursed that he had not been faster to contact the captain before abandoning ship. But Magnus didn’t have actionable intel at that point, only suspicions.

He pulled up a private channel with the captain. “Forbes, this is Magnus.”

Static filled the line.

“Forbes. Come in.”

More static. The fallout was most likely messing with the signal strength. “Wobix,” Magnus said.

“Yes, manservant.”

“Is there any way for you to communicate with your forces at the hovertrain stations? Those with Captain Forbes and Taursar Company?”

“I suspect not. The trinium detonation will disrupt transmissions for several minutes still.”

“Right, but what about through the mine nodes? Maybe an internal system?”

Wobix paused long enough that Magnus suspected he’d just given the Sekmit something to think about. “Yes, I believe I can access the intra-mine relay network and ping my captains.”

“Try it. Send word of our approximate location and the enemy’s intentions.”

“Right away.”

“Then I need to know how the hell we gain entrance to the mine without flooding the damn thing. ’Cause whatever it is, we can make a bet that the enemy is going to be one step ahead of us. Which means we’re going to need an alternate plan.”

“Understood.”

* * *

It took moments for Wobix to report that he was unable to get through to his counterparts on the mainland. That meant defending the mine was going to come down to the forces Magnus had on hand. By his count, that was nineteen gladias in MANTA suits, the two SUBCATS, and twenty-five narskill with Wobix.

Not knowing the enemy’s numbers made it impossible to determine if the defender’s unit strength would be enough. But at this point, it didn’t matter. They had to try. If So-Elku’s forces obtained control of the command center, he controlled the planet. He could leverage the mine for anything he wanted, including getting the Sekmit to leave Aluross. And if they didn’t? No more Aluross.

As Magnus continued in his out of control plummet toward the ocean floor, he shuddered to think what someone like So-Elku would be capable of if this world fell into his hands. It was no wonder the Republic had kept the find such a secret. Now, however, the responsibility of protecting the Sekmit and saving the galaxy from an emboldened LAW had fallen to Magnus. And he’d be damned if he was going to let the golden diaper babies beat him tonight.

“There are airlocks at the base of each node,” Wobix said over the company-wide channel. “Always to the north and south. The codes for entry rotate daily and are generated by a master key system located in the command center.”

“The Li-Dain won’t have those, will they?” Robillard asked.

“I do not perceive so,” Wobix replied. “However, given that they seem confident in the mine’s layout, it may be safe to assume that they obtained Governor Littleton’s files, which included a master key code.”

“Like an override used for VIPs?” Awen asked.

“Correct. In which case, they do not need the rotating security codes to make entry.”

“And you know these codes?” Zoll asked.

“I do. However, I would be suspect of the entry points if the enemy thinks we are in pursuit.”

“Which, right now, doesn’t seem to be a problem,” Magnus said.

He’d no sooner said the words than two orbs of yellow light appeared some five hundred meters below him.

“You were saying?” Awen said.

“Aw, splick,” Magnus said. “That can’t be good.”

The orbs expanded until their energy was redirected toward the surface, straight at Magnus’s position.

“Look out,” Awen yelled. But Magnus was helpless to redirect the negative buoyancy that drove him further into the depths.

It took less than two seconds for the beams to cross the distance. Awen rammed Magnus’s MANTA armor and drove him aside. The rays streaked past them both, superheating the water in a flurry of bubbles.

“Wish,” Awen yelled. “We need shields on our forces!”

“Got it,” the other mystic replied.

More orbs formed in the deep.

“Target those origin points and lock on to any energy patterns you find,” Magnus ordered. He de-magged his weapon from his back and brought it around. “Time to see what these TB16s can do underwater.”

“Dominate,” Bliss yelled.

“Liberate,” everyone else replied.

“Obliterate,” Wobix added.

Magnus looked in the narskill’s direction and smiled. “Nice one.”

“What is nice one?”

“Ha—I’ll explain later.” Magnus used his helmet’s sensor’s array, or what remained of it, to sweep a small sector where the last orb strikes originated from. His HUD showed a cubic meter of water where the temperature was one degree above ambient. Whether residual from the blast or the presence of a Li-Dain, Magnus didn’t know. But no time like the present to find out. Plus, the enemy needed to know this wasn’t going to be a one-way fight. The weapon’s system targeted the region, calculated distance and trajectory, and then prompted Magnus to fire within a rather large operating window—so large, in fact, that when Magnus squeezed the weapon’s trigger, he was several degrees off target.

The torpedo bolt exploded from the TB16’s barrel with a bright blast of light followed by a blizzard of bubbles. Magnus even felt the recoil push him back in the water, but not enough to thwart his non-stop plunge to the bottom. He tracked the tiny missile as it sped off into the darkness, backlit only by the neon green glow of the closest node. For a few seconds, Magnus wondered if the l6mm round had gotten lost, or maybe there hadn’t been an enemy there to begin with—what a waste of a perfectly good shot.

A bright orange explosion billowed, accompanied by a deep whomp sound. “Whaddya know,” Magnus said.

“Got another one,” Silk shouted as a second whomp came from an explosion several degrees to the east.

“Scratch one for Rohoar,” said the Jujari. “Rohoar does not like being in the water, but he definitely likes this destructive weapon.”

“You want us to deploy our units?” Bliss asked Magnus. Each SUBCAT held the rest of Charlie and Delta Teams.

“Negative,” Magnus replied. “Sit tight, but put your TB80s to work.”

“La-raah,” Bliss replied.

The SUBCAT pilot opened fire on several targets at once, but the enemy wasn’t taking the assault lying down. More orbs started appearing in an area much more extensive than Magnus expected. Seconds later, at least ten lines of yellow light streaked toward him and the rest of his units.

“Watch out,” someone yelled over comms. Magnus felt his body jar to the left as an explosion shoved him off course. He rotated his arms to see that the energy blast had detonated against a Unity shield.

“Thanks,” he said to Awen.

“The things I have to do for you.” She probably would have said more, but she seemed too focused on keeping everyone else safe.

Magnus found another positive lock on a thermal variant, this one larger than before. In the hopes that maybe he had discovered two targets, he squeezed off two rounds. The torpedoes leaped from the muzzle, one after the other, and tracked toward the target area. Three seconds later, a massive double whomp blew shrapnel and what Magnus could have sworn were body parts in a short-lived fire cloud.

“Scratch two,” he announced.

As successful as Magnus’s efforts had been, he noticed that many more of the gladia’s torpedoes were missing than not. For a counterattack, things were not going well. That and the Sekmit had yet to fire on anything. Wobix and his narskill lacked the targeting tech that Azelon had built into the MANTA and TB16 platforms.

I have an idea, Awen said to Magnus privately. But you’re going to need to cover me, and our gladias will be exposed for a moment as I need all three mystics’ help.

Does it mean we get to kill more bad guys? Magnus asked inside his head.

That’s the plan.

“Everyone, stay sharp,” Magnus said over the channel. “Seems Awen has something she’s working on, but it means we won’t have shielding. Wish, Telwin, and Finderminth, you’re up.”

Awen’s mystics acknowledged and then went silent. Meanwhile, Magnus watched dozens of torpedo bolts speed toward an ever-widening field of possible enemy positions. Some bolts exploded, taking out the enemy, but more than half did not. The SUCBATS were the most efficient, however, using their four TB80s and advanced sensor suite to violent effect. Just one of the 80mm rounds was enough to produce a concussive force capable of knocking a handful of Li-Dain from their cloaks, several of which died in the process. But even as more maimed bodies appeared, suspended in whirling patches of blood, Magnus was beginning to suspect that the enemy far outnumbered his forces.

“There you are,” Awen said over comms.

Magnus turned to look for her, but there was too much commotion between energy streaks and torpedo strikes. Suddenly, from a position over his left shoulder, Magnus saw a bright shaft of magenta light shoot down and strike a space in the water. The resulting flurry of body parts and golden cloth led Magnus to believe she’d successfully hit a Li-Dain. He never doubted that she’d find whatever it was she was looking for. What he hadn’t been counting on, however, was the sudden appearance of hundreds of Li-Dain.

“Ho-ly-splick,” Robillard said from inside his SUBCAT. “Is everyone else seeing this?”

“I’m counting 100 enemy targets,” Silk said. “Make it 200.”

“Splick, 300 and counting,” Dutch added.

“Someone care to tell me what just happened?” Reimer asked.

“I played a hunch,” Awen replied. “Figured they might have one or two mystics in charge of shielding like we do. So, if you take them out—”

“You expose the rest,” Magnus said. “Great work.”

The plus side to Awen’s quick thinking was that the gladias and narskill no longer had to guess at target locations; the downside was realizing Magnus and his units were outnumbered almost eight to one.

“Finally,” Wobix said. “Fishies we can see.”

The Sekmit’s locator beacon put him just over Magnus’s right shoulder. Magnus looked up and watched as the mech-encased feline charged his Thørzin power bow and drew back the blue strand of light. Spread along a line to Wobix’s left and right, more shafts of blue light appeared between the paws of the other twenty-five narskill.

“Goodbye, little fishies,” Wobix said, and then he loosed his dazzling Unity arrow into the abyss.

18

Ricio tapped the combat spatial display’s holoprojector lens to make sure it wasn’t shorting out. Not that he doubted the integrity of Azelon’s craftsmanship. But every system needed maintenance, no matter how advanced the manufacturing civilization was.

“Is something the matter, sir?” Azelon asked.

“You spying on me again, Azie?”

“I simply noticed that you are tampering with your CSD’s lens. That, combined with a slight increase in blood pressure, would indicate that you fear an element of your Fang is failing you in some way.”

“So, you’re spying on me.”

“Are my suspicions correct, though?”

Ricio sighed. “You know, having an ultra-intelligent AI as a wing-woman can really be intimidating.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment, sir.”

“Figured you would.” Ricio sat back in his seat and motioned toward the malfunctioning CSD in exasperation. “It’s this latest sensor sweep. I’m getting a huge dead zone in the reading.”

“Dead zone, sir?”

“Yeah.” Ricio set ident parameters around the region and zoomed in. He and the rest of Fang Company were spread out over Meesrin Pin, silently patrolling the LAW’s Battleship-class equivalent, Enduring Vigilance, when Ricio noticed a strange readout. Or lack thereof, he noted to himself. He forwarded the exact coordinates to Azelon.

“Reviewing now, sir,” she replied. After only one second, she said, “It does appear that your sensor array is experiencing some unknown issues, sir.”

“So I’m not going crazy,” Ricio said with some measure of satisfaction.

“That remains to be seen, sir.”

“Cute.”

“Be that as it may, I’m going to ask you to return to the Spire for full diagnostic review.”

“Copy that.”

“In the meantime, I will run a scan from the Spire to ensure that—” Her voice cut out.

Ricio frowned. “Azie? You all good?”

“It appears that the Spire may also need full diagnostic review,” she replied after a moment.

“So you’re seeing it too?” Ricio straightened in his seat. “That’s not good.”

“Agreed, sir.”

“I beg both your pardons,” TO-96 interrupted. “But it appears we may have an urgent issue onboard the oceanic hydrofoil freighter.”

“Magnus’s?”

TO-96 canted his head to the right. “Mr. Ricio, I fail to see how this particular OHF belongs, as it were, to Mr. Magnus. Rather, it is the property—”

“I mean the one Magnus is on.”

“Why, yes. Of course, sir.”

“Oh dear,” Azelon said, turning to TO-96. “Yes, that does appear to be an urgent issue. Perhaps a catastrophic one at that.”

“Would someone please tell me what the hell is going on?”

As if in answer to Ricio’s question, a bright light flashed somewhere to the west, bathing the entire Leonï Ocean in white light. Ricio’s windowplex shield dimmed. The light vanished, replaced instead by a brilliant fireball that seemed to rise from the water’s skin like an irritated boil. Racing to all points on the map, a ring of energy shot away from the epicenter, bowing the blue surface in an ever-expanding circular trench.

“Great mystics,” Ricio whispered. “Was that what I think it was?”

“If you were thinking, ‘My, that looks like it was a solar flare,’ then the answer is no,” TO-96 said. “Likewise, if you were thinking, ‘It was more like a meteor strike,’ the answer is also no. Likewise, if you—”

“Was that trinium? Was that Magnus’s ship?”

“Initial sensor readings confirm your suspicions, sir,” Azelon said. “I am sorry.”

“Was he on it?” Ricio could feel the restraints digging into his chest as he strained to watch the massive fireball rise from the planet’s surface.

“A review of Magnus’s last communications with the Colonel is inconclusive, commander,” TO-96 said.

“Well”—Ricio waved his hands around like it would whip the two bots into action—“can’t you find out? Review video? Something?”

“Yes, of course, sir,” Azelon said. “However—”

“Was that Magnus’s ship?” Ezo said as his face appeared in Ricio’s HUD.

Sootriman’s entered next. “Please tell me that wasn’t Awen.”

Ricio threw a frustrated hand at the holo image of Azelon and TO-96. “I’m trying to get these bots to give me something useful.”

“What’s the holdup, Tee-Oh?” Sootriman asked.

“Your elevated worshipfulness, as I have inform Commander Ricio, we are endeavoring to—”

“I’ve got something,” Azelon interjected.

A beat later, Ricio’s HUD filled with a first-person view camera feed shot from someone’s helmet onboard the OHF. Based on the identifier in the corner, it belonged to Magnus. A second smaller video window appeared atop the first, giving Ricio a top-down view of several gladias on the ship’s outer decks. “You seeing this, you guys?”

“Ezo does,” Ezo said.

“Me too,” replied Sootriman.

The gladias didn’t appear to move at first.

“Do you have audio on this?” Ezo asked.

In the feed, they could see Magnus grab a slender looking gladia and throw the person off the side of the ship.

“That’s Awen,” Sootriman said with a relieved tone.

All at once, Magnus’s voice came over the recording. “Everyone off and dive!” A second later, he added: “Move it, Fluffy!”

“Rohoar is moving it,” Rohoar replied.

Magnus appeared to leap down to a lower deck, where he waited for the Jujari to emerge from inside the ship. “About time. Let’s go!”

Then the two gladias hurled themselves overboard. Magnus’s camera feed filled with bubbles and then was consumed with an inky blackness. There were several seconds of static-filled chatter, and then the feed went blank. Meanwhile, the orbital view washed out.

“Sacred songs of Melodeon,” Sootriman whispered.

“I don’t know what that means,” Ricio said. “But I’m with you, sister.”

“Any further communication from them, ’Six?” Ezo asked.

“Negative, sir,” Azelon said. “But even if they tried, the fallout will most likely knock out communications for several minutes.”

Those next several minutes came and went as Ricio, Ezo, Sootriman, and the bots discussed what to do next. Their plans to sweep the ocean for life signs were interrupted by an incoming call from Colonel Caldwell.

“Any word from Granther Company?”

“I’m afraid not, sir,” TO-96 replied. “Our spectrometers are still reading substantial interference patterns such that all communications within the blast radius are disrupted.”

“Keep trying. I want to know the second we reestablish contact with Magnus.”

“Affirmative, sir.”

No sooner had the colonel ended the transmission than Ricio noticed something else strange on his combat spatial display. “Um, is anyone else seeing a squadron of Talons leave the Enduring Vigilance right now?”

“What?” Ezo said. He leaned toward his dashboard to double-check his displays. “Since when did the LAW get starfighters?”

“Can you confirm, Azelon?” Ricio said, his tone becoming all business.

“I can, sir. What you are seeing are fourteen Galactic Republic Talons.”

“It looks like they’re headed for the surface,” Sootriman said.

“Extrapolate possible targets based on current trajectory,” Ricio said to the bots.

“They’re headed toward the capital,” TO-96 replied.

“Not if we have anything to say about it,” Ricio said.

“Would you like me to scramble the other two squadrons, sir?” Azelon asked.

Normally, Ezo commanded Blue Squadron, but Ricio had pulled the pilot and his wife into Red for the support op. Ricio liked having the pair with him and counted them as some of the best pilots he’d ever flown with.

“Negative, Azie. We can take ’em, so long as they haven’t figured out a way to start shooting Unity blaster bolts or some splick.” Ricio offered Ezo and Sootriman a crooked smile, but they returned half grins that lacked any of the confidence he hoped his quip might inspire. ’Cause they haven’t figured out how to do that, right Ricio? he thought. “Your new cloaking concoction still working?”

“By cloaking concoction, do you mean the telecolos skin we applied to your Fangs?”

“Sure do.”

“Then yes, it is still working, as it was only applied a few days ago. It should keep your visual identifiers to a minimum, though even with my new particle modifiers on your engine systems, you will still be somewhat visible via multispectrum sensors scans.”

“Understood. Every little bit helps.” Ricio kissed his fingertips and then touched the printed photo of his wife and son for good luck. Knowing his family was safe and sound on Aluross’s surface meant the world to him; it also said he’d be damned if he was going to let these fighters enter the planet’s atmo. “Time to get our hands dirty, kids.”

* * *

“Targets populating your CSDs now,” Ricio said as he accepted and sent Azelon’s tracking data across Red Squadron’s fourteen Fangs. Numerically, this was going to be a one-to-one matchup against the LAW’s Talons, but that didn’t concern him. Not only were the Fangs a superior fighting platform, but Ricio had the element of surprise—something the enemy could have had too if they’d used the same cloaking tech on their fighters as they used on their drop shuttles. Instead, the Talons were out in the open, which meant they didn’t have a clue that they were being hunted. Just the way we like it, Ricio thought to himself.

“Fangs, prepare to engage,” Ricio said to his pilots as he started double-checking his ship’s weapons systems and shielding.

“Red Two, standing by,” Ezo said.

“Red Three, standing by,” Sootirman replied.

The remaining eleven Fangs sounded off as Ricio double-checked everyone’s positions and target assignments. “Be ready for orbital defense fire from the Vigilance once they triangulate our locations from our engagement. Remember, the LAW just invaded Aluross, tried to take over a Sekmit trinium freighter, and then torched it, all of which are acts of war. The fact that a whole lot of our friends were underneath it too should fuel your resolve, but don’t let it shake your aim either.”

“Understood, Rick,” Ezo said.

Ricio eyed Ezo’s image in the HUD’s comm region. “You mean Ricio?”

“Nah, Ezo meant Rick. When you get all business, your voice changes, and you’re a real son of a bitch for a little bit. That’s Rick.”

Ricio chuckled. “Whatever makes you shoot better.”

“Oh, it does.” Ezo stretched his neck side to side. “It certainly does.”

The fourteen Talons were spread out in a loose diamond formation, diving toward Aluross. They looked like glimmering jewels set against a black mat as if some gargantuan jeweler was about to scoop them up for examination under a loupe. Hundreds of kilometers below lay the sparkling Sekmit cities. But even the brightness of Meesrin Pin, whose street lights and hover lines glowed against the dark continent, was dwarfed by the still-burning fireball that loomed over the Leonï Ocean.

“Accelerate to attack speed,” Ricio said. He took a deep breath and then slowed his breathing.

Ricio’s combat spatial display showed the enemy squadron six kilometers away—extremely close as far as void engagements went. He focused on the Talon assigned to him and watched as the targeting reticle narrowed, reducing the chance of a missed shot with each nanosecond that passed. Faster and faster the Fangs flew as the distance closed to less than two kilometers. Red Squadron was practically on top of the Talons when Ricio gave the order. “Weapons free. You are clear to engage the enemy.”

Through his Novian biotech interface, Ricio coaxed his Fang to fire both its NR45 primary blasters and NX90 secondary heavy cannons on the unsuspecting Talon in the middle of the enemy formation. It was hardly a fair fight. But then again, neither was blowing up a trinium freighter. The blaster bolts leaped from Ricio’s Fang like wide-open spigots of hellfire, as they did from the rest of Red Squadron’s starfighters, and met every enemy target in the blink of an eye.

The fire effect would have been stunning. It would have lit up the night sky for hundreds of klicks. It would have—had the enemy Talons been where the targeting systems said they were. But they weren’t. And Red Squadron’s blaster rounds passed straight through a Talon group that blinked out of existence.

“Red Squadron, evasive maneuvers,” Ricio yelled. He’d barely gotten the words out when the Fangs started taking enemy fire from behind.

19

Caldwell visually inspected Piper’s harness as he heard the DS9-APC’s drive core spool up in a loud whine. Every one of his gladias knew the risks they’d signed up for, but if anything happened to the kid, he’d never forgive himself. Plus, if she went down, he knew So-Elku wouldn’t stay put for very long. Caldwell winked at Piper through his HUD, and she winked back.

“Hold tight, little one,” he said.

“You too, big one.”

Caldwell grinned then populated his field of view with numerous exterior camera feeds to track the oncoming carnage. Nelson’s DS9 had taken position just in front of Caldwell’s, while a third took point. From there, the other vehicles spread away from the tip like an arrowhead, enveloping Caldwell’s DS9 to shield it from assault both in front and behind.

To the formation’s exterior, the Sekmit battle bikes surged forward and focused fire ahead of the lead APC. Their Thørzin crossbows charged and released in a steady cadence that Caldwell could feel in his chest. The brilliant blue blast bolts sizzled across the gap between APCs and Li-Dain, smashing into the enemy’s Unity shields with explosions of yellow and cobalt sparks. But the Sekmit’s concentrated fire carved a small hole in the defensive wall. The shots that followed blew Luma off their feet, sending them a dozen meters skyward.

“Hell, yeah,” Caldwell exclaimed as he watched the enemy line give way. Then he caught himself and looked at Piper. “Sorry.”

“Hell, yeah,” she replied through a broad smile and with a raise of a tiny fist.

“Piper,” Willowood said in protest, but any further rebuke was cut short as the convoy took return fire.

Bright golden streaks of light leaped from the defensive line and collided with the lead APC. Fortunately, the beastly vehicle’s shields absorbed most of the energy in stride. Caldwell glanced at the DS9’s status metrics and saw its forward shields drop by twenty-eight percent. Some of the Sekmit battle bikes weren’t so lucky.

The colonel watched as one bike to the left took a direct hit in the front repulsor, a blow that sent the vehicle cartwheeling through the air. Fire and smoke covered the battle bike behind the first, forcing the driver to swerve. When the Sekmit did, however, the action put the second bike in a line of fire that drilled the crossbow gunner in the chest and head. A third Luma round struck the driver, and the battle bike lurched to the right. Without a pilot, the vehicle pitched under the nearest DS9 with a loud crack and was spit out the back, chassis pulverized from the gravity compression field.

“Escorts taking heavy fire,” DiAntora said as more incoming Luma rounds strafed the roadway and collided with the battle bikes.

“Where the hell is our return fire?”

“Coming online now, Colonel,” Nelson said. “Takes a sec to cycle up.”

The high-pitched shriek of the MUT50 above Caldwell’s head couldn’t have come any sooner. “’Bout damn time.” He watched as the ultra-torrent tri-reticulating blaster fire washed across the enemy’s front line, further widening the gap now less than 600 meters ahead. Not to be outdone by the forward cannon, the rear-mounted RBMB, or really big missile battery, started coughing out its 70mm guided rounds to either side of the new lane that emerged amidst the sea of Li-Dain.

“Tell those bikes to get behind us,” Caldwell yelled just as the convoy was about to punch through the enemy line. “Everyone, hold on.”

To the colonel’s surprise, the first DS9 drove into the narrow gap in the Li-Dain wall, with only minimal damage to its already ailing shields. The next APCs, however, were less fortunate. Running three abreast, the armored vehicles on either end clipped the enemy shields, causing the units to pitch up precariously. The DS9 on the right bucked like it was jolting over rough ground, while the one on the left nearly rolled over.

But Advanced Galactic Solutions wasn’t in the habit of fabricating garbage for its most valued client. Side-mounted repulsor panels built into the chassis flared in a bright blaze, righting the perplexed APC. The blasts caught one unlucky Li-Dain off guard, boring through his Unity shield and flash-incinerating the man. The vehicle continued over the remaining Unity shield wall like it was skimming across elevated terrain and then dropped down the backside to return to the blacktop.

Next, it was Caldwell’s turn.

The Sekmit driver floored the APC, and the colonel felt the drive core rumble under his feet. The sensation brought back a slew of memories from systems across the quadrant—the wars of his younger years, as he called them. If we’d only been so lucky to have a rig like this back in those days, he thought. He grabbed the handholds on either side of his headrest and braced for impact while watching the camera feeds in his HUD. For the briefest moment, his eyes focused on Piper, who sat across the aisle from him. Had they been mad to include her in all of this? Wasn’t she just a child?

No, he thought. Piper’s not just anything. Without her, they’d have been dead already. She was as much a part of this fight as his wrinkly old ass—just a hell of a lot cuter.

The MUT50 overhead fired on full auto as the APC crossed the enemy threshold. The DS9s to the right and left learned from those who’d gone earlier and slowed to pull in behind Caldwell’s vehicle, sparing themselves a world of hurt and upheaval.

As the long line of APCs and battle bikes piped through the central corridor they’d carved, the Li-Dain pummeled the convoy’s sides with proximity blows. Caldwell watched an aerial view, shot from some sort of drone, as the line of vehicles shot through the gauntlet. Bright explosions of yellow light blossomed on each side, rattling the APCs and those inside. His own bag of bones shook against the seat—helmet smashing left and right in the headrest.

But the Li-Dain weren’t the only ones close to their targets. Half the concussions rocking the DS9s were blowback from their own ordnance. 70mm missile rounds detonated point-blank against the enemy phalanx while the MUT50 clawed their way through the hordes. Three Li-Dain lost their shielding to an RBMB round, only to be cut down a split second later by a solid stream of blaster fire. Bits of body burst apart and showered the shields of their fellow warriors.

And then, just like that, Caldwell’s DS9-APC was out the other side. “Keep the heat on those bastards,” Caldwell barked. “I want them to think twice about following us.”

But even as Nelson complied with the command, the aerial feed showed the Li-Dain break formation and follow the rear-most battle bikes. To their credit, the Sekmit fought fearlessly. Their crossbows lined up on several Li-Dain who had not redirected their shields toward the now-fleeing convoy. One Thørzin charge ended up piercing through no fewer than five enemy warriors stacked in a line. The blue energy round punctured their chests in such quick succession that the enemy took a while to register the blows before falling like Paglothian dominos.

But that was the last lucky shot the Sekmit would get.

Li-Dain shields radiated against the barrage of blaster fire as the convoy accelerated away. Up ahead, Caldwell could see the spaceport rising above the buildings; it was still six klicks away, but at these speeds, they’d be there soon enough—just had to hold off the enemy pursuit.

“They appear to be closing on us, colonel,” DiAntora said.

“The hell they are.” Caldwell stood up and looked out the rear-facing windows. At the same time, he kept one eye on the drone camera feed. “Well tickle my Temarian julip berries.” Sure enough, the little robed bastards were riding some sort of light-based hovercycles. “Willowood. You know about these?”

Willowood stood up and joined Caldwell to look out the back windows. “They’re using the Nexus to conduct their bodies through physical space. It’s theoretically possible, of course, but I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Well, believe it, ’cause they’re coming fast.” He got Nelson back on the line. “Tell the convoy to be ready for—”

Three sequential blasts struck the APC’s left side, knocking Caldwell off balance. He felt the vehicle drift right as he reached out to steady himself.

“To be ready for that,” the colonel finished. Fits of light flickered as the MUT50 returned fire on two Luma cycles that pulled alongside their APC. Caldwell hesitated to call the red and yellow looking cycles “vehicles” as their lines were too far blurred to constitute solid mass. Still, the riders leaned into energy like any person might ride a regular speed bike.

“We need to shake those,” Caldwell said.

“Hold on,” Nelson said.

No sooner had the colonel grabbed a ceiling-mounted handhold than the DS9 lurched to the left. Willowood was knocked off her feet, but Caldwell caught her around the waist. “Gotcha.”

She probably would have said something smart in reply, but the APC slammed into the two Luma cycles. The force jarred Willowood and Caldwell, causing his Mark I’s servos to whine. The passenger compartment’s other crew member’s heads bounced around like the spring-loaded noggins on those damn dashboard toys.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Nelson said, probably more to himself than anyone on the channel. The DS9 rolled right and then shot left again, slamming against the Luma riders. This time, one of their shields gave way, and the light bike vanished out from under the Li-Dain. The man face-planted so hard into the pavement that Caldwell thought he saw the victim’s head flatten in a spray of red. But it was there and gone before he could process it.

The remaining Luma pulled in close and latched onto the APC, well under the MUT50’s reach.

At first, Caldwell thought his eyes were playing tricks on him. “You seeing this?” he asked Willowood.

She looked above Piper’s head and must’ve seen it too because she unlatched the child’s safety harness and pulled her out of the seat. The wall glowed red hot, and Caldwell’s suit temperature gauge rocketed over 480º Celsius in no time flat.

“I’ve got this,” said a small voice. Piper pulled herself out of Willowood’s grip and threw her fists down to her sides with stiff arms. Through the left-side windows, Caldwell saw the Luma and his light bike blast toward the nearest building and then explode in a burst of fire that raked the sidewalk.

“You need to stay focused on So-Elku,” Willowood said as she assisted the girl and helped her buckle in on the opposite wall.

“Though we’re grateful for whatever that was,” Caldwell said, thumbing over his shoulder toward the still-glowing armored wall. A moment later, however, more light cycles pulled up alongside the APC and started firing at the same place.

“Uh, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Colonel,” Nelson said. “But we’ve got more Li-Dain.”

“Splick from a whale whore’s nether regions, son. Where?”

“Dead ahead, sir.”

Caldwell called up the DS9’s forward-facing cams and saw another street-wide roadblock just like the last one. “Hell, we can’t do that again. Cyril, you read?”

“Sure, sure, poppa alpha. I read you loud and crystal clear, ten by ten-twenty, Colonel, sir.”

“We need another way to the spaceport, stat.”

“Yeah, sure. No problem. Ha ha. This is so much like Wheels of Hellfire: Battle for Nova Centari, where you have to reroute Egon’s war carriage through Simbiant City without running into Hammer Lord’s death squads.”

“Do you die in real life if you lose?”

“Ha ha, of course not, Mr. Colonel alpha male.” The code slicer paused for a second. “But you do in Vexus III if you opt for the black market bio-interface module.”

“Is that so? ’Cause that’s the same thing we’re looking at here, kid.”

“You got an MX25-B? Do you have any idea how—”

“I need a damn route, Cyril!”

“All set, sir. Already patched it to Mr. ex-Marine Nelson’s nav comp.”

“Got it,” Nelson said.

“You’re a gem, son,” Caldwell said to Cyril. “Keep playing those video games.”

“Technically, sir, they’re not video games. Rather, they are complex multi-path architecture—”

“Sounds great, son. Tell me more later, copy?”

“Copy, big roger daddy.”

“I know I sound like a broken disk drive,” Nelson said. “But everyone’s gonna wanna hold on here.”

The APC broke from the pack and turned hard right, throwing all the passengers to the far left wall. Caldwell’s feet hovered over the red patch of metal as he held onto the ceiling-mounted handhold. That’s when he heard Willowood let out a wild yell that was somewhere between a cackle and a scream. For a second, he thought she was hurt; instead, she was holding onto the right side window above Piper’s head and smiling as the vehicle turned onto the side street.

“Think they’ll let me drive next?” she said to Caldwell when he asked if she was okay.

“You’re one wild momma. You know that?”

Willowood winked at him through her HUD cam. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“You guys are gross,” Piper said.

Any mirth from the moment was shattered when more Luma fire burst against their DS9 and sent it sliding against the nearest building. Rather than bind against the structure, the APC pushed away using the side repulsors and accelerated down the side street that Cyril had picked. Caldwell pulled up a live topo map and saw that the lead APCs had done an about-face and were following the rest of the convoy down the detour.

Seconds later, four Sekmit battle bikes pulled up alongside Caldwell’s vehicle and raised their helmeted faces toward the blackout windows. The colonel wasn’t sure if they could see him, either through shared HUD transmission or with the cats’ powers in the Unity, but he saluted them nonetheless—just in case.

The escorts’ Thørzin crossbows charged new energy bolts and then shot them back down the street where Luma cycles were no doubt in pursuit. Caldwell called up the aerial cam again and overlaid it with the topo map so he could keep track of the ident tags in real-time. He stopped counting at twenty Luma cycles following them down the corridor. “Damn bastards aren’t taking this one lying down,” Caldwell said to anyone listening.

As if to emphasize the point, more Luma energy streaked along both sides of the lead APC. Caldwell pushed Nelson to return fire, but the captain said the convoy was blocking all targets. Instead, it was left to the Sekmit escorts, who had much better sightlines. However, that also meant they were in harm’s way.

One Sekmit cycle to the right suffered a direct hit that struck its drive core: the bike detonated in a trinium explosion that rocked the APC side to side.

“Shields at twenty-nine percent, Colonel,” Nelson reported, but Caldwell already had the vehicle’s stats pulled up.

“Keep our cat driving!”

The other Sekmit bike to the right took several rounds before folding into the street in a blaze of shrapnel. Within seconds, three Luma cycles took its place. Then there were several loud thuds on the APC’s roof.

“Left turn,” Nelson yelled.

Caldwell leaned with the turn this time as their armored personnel pushed them to the right. The Luma bikes pressed against the sides, and at least one Li-Dain touched the wall, turning it red hot.

“I’ve got this one,” Willowood said as if telling Piper to stay put. She tucked her fists underneath her armpits, which attracted swirling motes of light that drew toward her hands. Then Willowood shot her palms forward with a shout. The energy in her hands passed through the APC’s wall and struck whoever was on the other side. The victim sailed away from the carrier and blew through a bodega.

“Remind me never to make her mad,” Caldwell said to Piper in an attempt to keep the mood light.

“Yeah,” she replied with a mischievous smile. “She can totally take you.”

Caldwell laughed—because he knew it was true.

The APC’s metal superstructure began creaking overhead as the ceiling turned red.

“These cockroaches just won’t leave us the hell alone,” the colonel said.

The MUT50 turret gunner screamed over VNET, followed by the sound of a loud crunch and then an explosion that sent smoke and fire billowing through the passenger compartment.

“They’ve taken out our 50,” DiAntora yelled.

Caldwell de-magged his NOV2 from his back and raised it with one hand, all while stepping in front of Piper. “We’ve got these,” he said to Willowood, indicating the intruders. “You and Piper keep any more from hitching a ride.”

“You got it, handsome,” Willowood said.

Caldwell, along with DiAntora and the rest of the gladias, narskill, and Repub Marines, raised their barrels toward the gaping hole in the roof. The moment someone saw a foot enter the gap, weapons started spitting blaster bolts from every angle. Caldwell actually pitied whoever had followed some LAW officer’s orders to breach the roof and enter. He’d seen plenty of higher-ups give suicide orders in his day; he was just glad to be on the opposite end of the bone-headed directives for once.

It was also at that moment that Caldwell learned something else about the enemy—something critical. For all their superpowers and mystical arts, the Li-Dain were not tacticians. To the unlearned, waging war was all about who had the most numbers, the most guns, and the most ammo. But in real life, winning came down to tactics, patience, and supply lines. And in this case, the Luma demonstrated that while they may have mastered a lethal craft, they did not know how to take out an armored vehicle.

Instead of dropping a VOD through the hole in the APC’s roof—a literal application to the oft-quoted “fire in the hole” phrase—the Li-Dain warrior opted to jump down feet first. The Luma was drilled with so many blaster rounds that his body wasn’t even recognizable by the time it landed on the deck in ribbons.

In response, the Marines took up firing positions to cut off the enemy’s angle of attack and made plenty of floor space just in case some Li-Dain decided to drop a detonator through the hole. In that case, the Marines could quickly grab the ordnance and toss it out—a crude and risky practice, but one they were trained for. The most effective defense was often the simplest defense.

The next Li-Dain got smart, choosing to fire an energy round into the APC before edging toward the smoking hole. But that was only one step below stupid as the defenders had a clear sightline to the enemy’s head, which they wrested from the woman’s shoulders with three-round bursts. Her body flipped backward and disappeared off the vehicle’s side.

Caldwell looked to one of Hedgebore Company’s gladias. “Pop a VOD and mag-lock it.”

The man nodded, removed a detonator from his hip, and adjusted the setting. Then he tossed it up through the hole. The device made it less than a meter above the roof when its magnetic resonance pads drew it sideways and stuck it to the reinforced metal decking. Caldwell heard the telltale clunk that gave any Marine who’d seen combat the willies. A beat later, the VOD detonated and rocked the roof.

As long as the assailants hadn’t put up any shields, that should have done the job. Caldwell flicked his sensors to thermal and upped the sensitivity to deep scan. The only thing he saw on the roof was the radiant glow of the armor plating. Apparently, the sticky VOD had worked. That, and it had given off an unusually bright energy burst.

“What’d you put in that, corporal?” Caldwell asked the gladia who’d tossed the grenade. “Some of your nana’s private pouch of pootang?”

“Negative, Colonel,” the man replied, looking through the hole. “That came from orbit.”

Caldwell chanced a glance toward the night sky and saw small motes of light flitting about. The colonel knew an orbital dogfight when he saw one, and someone had just gone nova. “Let’s just hope it wasn’t us,” he said. Caldwell was about to check in with the bots to make sure everything was okay when Nelson yelled over comms.

“Another hard left.”

“You heard him,” Caldwell said as he pointed to the webbed slings that lined the ceiling. Hands shot up and grabbed a fistful of the black weave just as the APC lurched sideways.

The colonel looked out the window and saw more Sekmit battle bikes pull up alongside the Luma cycles. They attacked one another, exchanging crossbow bolts and streaking orbs of light. The cityscape whizzed by, adding to the visual chaos like someone had thrown neon screens and holo displays in a blender and hit purée.

One Luma cycle seemed to be doling out an unusual amount of damage. Caldwell noted it to Willowood, who then passed instructions to Piper. The child smiled and then lowered her head as if in prayer. Caldwell wondered why Willowood gave the task to the girl, but there wasn’t time to inquire. All Caldwell could do was watch in amazement as the Luma cycle blinked out from beneath the rider, sending him face-first into the blacktop.

Piper’s eyes opened, and she smiled into her HUD cam. “Like that, Mr. Colonel William?”

Caldwell chuckled. “That’ll do, little lady. That’ll do just fine.”

“Colonel,” came Nelson’s voice. “We’re approaching the spaceport.”

“’Bout damn time.” Caldwell opened the company channel for the entire convoy. So far, they hadn’t lost a single DS9, and he intended to keep it that way. “Listen up. We’ve gotta assume the enemy’s dug into the hangar bay. We’re gonna clear the spaceport one section at a time until we reach the Repub’s ship, bay…” He looked to DiAntora.

“Twenty-nine,” she offered.

“Bay twenty-nine,” Caldwell said with a nod. “I want snipers on the rim, topside. Anyone runs into a nest, tag it and wait for support. I’m not doing funerals for solo heroes. La-raah?”

Confirmation icons raced down the chat window even though he knew not everyone would be familiar with the Gladio Umbra’s verbal cue. But if the fighters had any doubts as to what it meant, Caldwell’s no-nonsense delivery made it clear. For the Marines present, however, he added, “Own the field,” to which they replied with “OTF” badges in the HUD.

“How close can you get us to bay twenty-nine?” Caldwell asked Nelson.

“Not as close as you’re gonna like, colonel.”

“Do your best, captain.”

“Copy that.”

Nelson ordered the convoy into a concave formation with orders to defend the rear as the APCs approached the monolithic spaceport. MUT50s and RBMBs continued to spew defensive fire at the chasing Luma cycles. Fiery explosions momentarily enveloped whole sections of the enemy pursuit only for the radiant bikes to reemerge into clear air. But still, there were enough Li-Dain flooding the streets that Caldwell feared his convoy might be overwhelmed when they stopped.

“Willowood,” he said as he turned to her. “Think Paladia Company can build us a wall? Buy us some time?”

“We can come up with something, yes,” she replied.

“Just don’t sacrifice the support of Piper and the prisoners.”

“Right.”

Caldwell felt his APC decelerate. He glanced outside to see each vehicle begin to rotate, prepping for the ramps to drop toward the spaceport. Simultaneously, all roof-mounted weapons, at least those that hadn’t been blown off, pivoted to keep the enemy at bay. “Let’s give ’em hell.” He was just about to walk down the APC’s ramp when large-caliber blaster fire chewed up the pavement. A beat later, he heard the unmistakable engine whine of Talons in a diving run.

20

To Magnus’s astonishment, he watched Wobix’s Thørzin bolt streak through the water and slice through no less than three Li-Dain in a row. The energy seemed to curve as it followed an unconventional path through the enemy bodies. Magnus blinked twice just to make sure the watery depths weren’t playing tricks on him.

“Can your weapons do that?” Wobix asked as if picking up on Magnus’s dismay.

“They most certainly can’t,” Magnus replied. But he wasn’t about to let the cat have all the fun. Even despite his non-stop descent to the ocean floor, Magnus targeted one enemy after another and used his bioteknia eye in collaboration with his MANTA’s HUD and sensor suite to fire on the Li-Dain. One torpedo bolt detonated prematurely—set off by one force or another—and managed to knock three Li-Dain out, rupturing shields and tearing through soft tissue. Magnus looked at Wobix’s face in the chat windows and forwarded him a video loop of the carnage. “But they can do that.”

“You got lucky,” Wobix replied.

“Maybe.”

“Definitely lucky.”

Magnus didn’t have time to continue bantering, however, as he had a far more pressing issue to attend to, that of surviving his breakneck fall. Assuming he didn’t crack his suit, get shot, or a combination of both, then he needed to figure out how to walk toward a mine airlock without being ground into the ocean floor.

Even as he descended past them, Magnus continued firing on the Li-Dain. Several enemies looked from inside their protective bubbles, their faces filled with surprise. But they were too busy defending against the bulk of the gladias and Sekmit further above to pay him heed, which was fine by Magnus. He fired three more torpedo bolts at the enemy before sinking past them and into the clear. The only thing below his feet was a dark expanse dotted with ever-growing mine nodes.

Magnus did his best to calculate his trajectory—a feat made difficult by the cross currents and random nature of an object slipping through water. Fortunately, however, there seemed to be a green-glowing node rising to meet him. From what his MANTA’s onboard AI told him, if he angled his body slightly ahead and to starboard, he should be able to land on the node.

“Wobix,” Magnus said. “Looks like I’ll be reaching one of those airlocks before everyone else.”

“I would advise against doing what I believe you are suggesting you do,” the Sekmit replied.

“Not securing the lock before the enemy?”

“Correct. You will be one against their whole number upon infiltration. Rather, I suggest you land atop the nearest node’s dome and await our arrival. I have a plan.”

“But if the Li-Dain gain access to the dome before we do—”

“That is a statistical inevitability, manservant. Let them continue on their course. We will adapt.”

“I’m trusting you, pal.”

“As you should.”

Magnus aligned his body with his nav computer’s suggested descent angle and watched as he slowly adjusted course over the dome. The underlying superstructure would absorb his impact without breaking, and his suit’s servos would keep his legs from crumpling into mush—at least, that’s what Magnus hoped would happen. He found himself holding his breath as he neared the green dome, readying himself for the impact.

Two things dawned on Magnus in the seconds before he struck the structure. The first was just how massive the edifice was. He’d already been impressed with the underwater environments during the Gladio Umbra’s tour of the command facility. But this dome seemed even more massive than the command one, at least by a factor of four. Just when Magnus thought he was about to collide with the surface, the building kept growing larger and larger until it eclipsed any view of the ocean floor beyond.

The second thing that struck him was just how fast he was traveling. Since losing his aft ballast tank, his body had turned into a veritable missile, one that streaked toward the dome with a death wish.

“Awen, any chance you’re able to, I don’t know, keep me from drilling this node like a human torpedo?” Magnus asked.

“Whoa,” was all Awen said, as if noticing his velocity for the first time since the battle began.

Magnus watched the distance to impact close, sure that he was about to die in one of the least heroic ways imaginable. He’d closed to within twenty-five meters of the node’s summit when he felt his body decelerate, made evident by the way his stomach dropped into his boots.

“Hold on,” Awen said, her voice tight.

“To what?” Magnus replied through gritted teeth.

Even with Awen’s help, he was still closing the gap way too fast. “Awen?”

“You’re too far,” she shouted.

That was the last thing Magnus heard before the jolt knocked him out.

* * *

Magnus followed the sound of warning trills back toward consciousness. When he finally opened his eyes, he lay flat on a green lawn that glowed from with the brightness of a full moon. Only the yard wasn’t composed of soft grass; instead, it was hard. And it had hurt him. Bad.

“Magnus? Do you read?” It was a woman’s voice. Someone he knew. “Magnus!”

“Splick,” Magnus replied. “You don’t have to shout.”

Awen sighed. “Mystics, you’re all right.”

“If this is what all right feels like, I’d hate to know what not all right is.”

“Stay put. We’re about a minute out from your position.”

“Doesn’t look like I have too much of a choice.” Among the several HUD indicators that jockeyed for his attention was a center-most one, flashing the words Hull Failure: Breach Imminent. Between the impact’s force and the crushing pressure at this depth, his MANTA suit declared, in no uncertain terms, that it had had enough. And he didn’t exactly blame the armor. If anything, he wanted to give it a love pat and a well-wish for its next life—assuming he could get out of the thing.

The node’s curve swept out and away from Magnus’s position. True to its projections, angling his body in the final half klick had put him square on top of the dome. And thanks to Awen’s help, he had avoided both drilling through and being pancaked on top of the surface. Though, given the pain that wracked him, he doubted if he wasn’t less pancaked than had he hit at full speed. His HUD read that the MANTA’s nanobots had already been deployed, attending to some minor organ repair and multiple capillary hemorrhages.

“Bless you, tiny bots,” Magnus said as he continued to take in deep breaths—which drew his eyes to the next most prominent warning: Oxygen Levels: Depleted. “What did you say your ETA was, Awen?”

“Forty-five seconds,” she replied.

That was just under the sixty-second breath-holding limit he tried to maintain as a frequent traveler in the void. One never knew when one long breath might save your life. Granted, he knew he had had at least another minute of oxygen in his blood before his brain went sour, but he’d rather things not come to that if possible.

“And how long before you think you can get us inside, Wobix?”

“As I said, I have a plan. Not more than a few minutes, perhaps.”

“Why?” Awen asked, her voice betraying the fact that she’d picked up something behind Magnus’s question. “What’s going on, Adonis?”

“Oh, you know, low oxygen levels and failing suit integrity. Nothing major—if you’re a bottom-feeding crustacean.”

“What about picking you up in our SUBCAT?” Bliss said.

“Not at this depth, you’re not,” Magnus said.

“He’s right,” Robillard said. “These things aren’t rated for that kind of onboarding.”

“You have one more problem to face first, buckethead,” Abimbola said.

Sensing he knew what they Miblimbian meant, Magnus pulled up the combat overlay and noted the hundred-fold enemy tags between him and the rest of Granther Company.

“There is no way those tiny robed babies see him,” Rohoar said. But as if the great mystics themselves wished to protest the Jujari’s shortsighted assertion, several Luma sent energy blasts careening toward Magnus.

“Are they crazy?” he yelled, doing his best to roll away from a round that exploded against the dome. “They break this thing, and the mine’s going to flood!”

“No, just that single node,” Wobix replied. “The others will engage in emergency containment protocols. Do not worry.”

“Oh, that really helps, Bixy.”

Magnus felt his vision growing fuzzy, signaling the end of the suit’s oxygen. He took one last breath and held it before rolling away from a second blast that nearly took off his head. From on his back, Magnus raised his TB16 and fired at a cluster of Li-Dain who seemed intent on smearing him across the dome like a bug across a windshield. He squeezed off one, two, three, four torpedo bolts and watched as they zipped toward the enemy. Then, uncertain if he’d survive long enough to use the rest of his ammo, he opted for a sustained trigger-press. Over the next several seconds, Magus drained his magazine as two dozen 16mm rounds streaked toward the enemy and erupted in just as many explosions.

The fire and waves broke his comms connection with the rest of his team, allowing only fragments of Awen’s voice to reach his ears. Concussive waves from exploding ordnance rippled toward him and then pinned his body to the dome. He imagined the force rupturing the node and sucking him inside, only to be dashed across the mining equipment in a violent death. But the breach never came, nor did Magnus’s suit succumb to the catastrophic assault. Instead, a series of flashes farther above lit up the dim depths like a fireworks celebration.

Those enemies who did not yield to Magnus’s last-ditch effort to protect himself fled to the node’s north and south edges, making a run for the airlocks. Meanwhile, the rest of Granther Company and the narskill descended toward Magnus’s position.

“We’re almost to you,” Awen said, her comms connection fully restored.

The most Magnus could offer in reply was a confirmation icon in the chat window, followed by a thought-turned-text that read, “No oxygen left.”

“We’ve got to get him inside,” Awen yelled, presumably at Wobix. But Magnus couldn’t be sure: the edges of his vision were starting to close in. That last breath he’d taken must have been mostly bad air.

Motes of light danced toward Magnus, each in the shape of a person. They floated toward him like angels, wreathed in a soft glow. Magnus fought the involuntary reflex to gasp for breath as he knew there was no air to fill his lungs. The violent muscle spasms wracked his diaphragm, and he tried to focus on the face coming into view.

“We’re gonna get you inside,” Awen said. Her voice sounded distant and hollow, like it was passing to his helmet from another room.

Magnus winced against the sudden appearance of a wall of bright light in his helmet. The shock temporarily diverted his attention from the fire that burned in his lungs—the one that screamed at his brain to take a deep breath. He blinked and tried to focus on what seemed like a small bubble forming around his body, and Awen’s face just beyond it. Perhaps this was it: the afterlife. This was the veil separating him from the living. At least his last moment would be spent staring at the face of the woman he loved.

Until she passed through the veil and grabbed his armor with both hands. “Brace yourself,” she said, as if in slow motion.

The dome under his back rumbled, shaking his body and sending a wave of pain through his skull. Whatever adrenaline Magnus had left shot through his veins and startled him awake. His vision returned enough for him to see the green-glowing dome’s surface pass by either side of his head. Then the sensation of free-fall made his stomach flip over as he dropped below the glowing trusses that gave the giant dome its shape.

Above him was Awen’s ever-watchful face, cradled in the soft glow of her MANTA helmet. Her hands held his chest plate as his body dragged her down with him. They fell through the open air, accelerating toward whatever dire end awaited them. Perhaps it was best that he did see his fate—to enter the afterlife unaware and devoid of fear. But knowing that she had joined him in the death plunge was something he would regret for eternity if indeed a long forever was what awaited them.

I’ve got you, Awen said inside his head.

Her voice so startled Magnus that he convulsed.

Easy Adonis.

All at once, Magnus felt his suit press against his back. He was slowing down. And with the peace that he would not, in fact, be impaled on some piece of Sekmit industrial equipment came a return of his deoxygenated blood and the tunnel vision that swept away his consciousness.

* * *

“Get up,” she screamed above him.

Magnus felt something hard sting his cheek.

“Get up now!”

The sting hit him again.

“Adonis!”

As the hand flew toward his face a third time, he caught the wrist. She looked at him with wild eyes, and he knew something was wrong.

The good news was that he was breathing. Despite the pain behind his eyes and the burning sensation that ran down his chest and limbs, he was alive. The bad news was that Awen looked frantic. That and the sound of TB16s firing all around him meant the enemy was close.

Awen and someone else offered him their hands. He grasped them and rose to his feet. His helmet lay on the ground, its visor cracked, as did many dismembered parts of his MANTA suit. Someone had taken the liberty of detaching the non-essential components for land operation. But he still had his TB16 in hand.

Magnus looked up to see that he stood amidst a looming latticework of trusses, crane arms, bucket loaders, drilling rigs, and freight containers. The architecture formed the guts of a large mining town, if not a small city, while overhead lay a bright emerald sky.

“We’re inside the dome,” Magnus said, barely recognizing his slurred speech.

“Yes,” Awen said through her helmet’s flipped up visor. “And right now, we need you to shoot!” She pointed across the town to dozens of Li-Dain who were stepping out of an airlock.

Magnus wanted to ask how the gladias had gained access to the dome without using the airlocks, and just how he’d survived. All he had were bits and pieces—fleeting memories that did little to quench his curiosity. But right now, none of that mattered. He needed to return fire on the enemy and take stock of whatever units remained under his command.

As if underscoring these needs, a barrage of Li-Dain fire peppered a ground mover just behind Magnus. The sudden wave of heat made the hairs stand up on his neck and sent a chill down his body. It was go time.

Magnus leveled his TB16 and found that his bioteknia eyes picked up the weapon’s sight picture instantaneously. He spotted a Li-Dain running for cover behind a metal crate and then led the enemy with his weapon. He was a split second from firing when an armored paw pushed his weapon’s muzzle skyward.

“No,” Wobix yelled. “Trinium!”

Holy splick, Magnus thought. He hadn’t even put that together.

“Very big boom, manservant.”

“Right,” Magnus replied. Apparently, he’d missed the briefing while he was, you know, trying not to die. “Thanks, Bixy. Any other tips?”

“You may shoot anything but the crates and the open mine shafts.”

“Got it.”

Magnus brought his weapon back up and targeted two Li-Dain who were hunkered down behind a small forklift. The area seemed clear of trinium containers, so Magnus fired. A single torpedo bolt sped through a crisscross corridor of cranes, cables, and corrugated steel before striking the lift. The small vehicles leaped off the ground and blew apart, showering all those Luma in the vicinity with molten bits of its frame as well as pulp from the two intended victims.

“Yes,” Awen said. “Like that. Do that some more.”

“Yes ma’am,” he said, suddenly feeling more like himself.

Magnus aimed at another Li-Dain, who bolted for cover behind a cluster of boulders that formed an elevated makeshift picnic area. Some Sekmit had even gone to the trouble of erecting a small table. Magnus led the Luma and then fired. The torpedo bolt met the man two meters before he would have found cover, spraying the table with food for whatever scavengers lived in these domes.

Magnus took a moment to survey his team and prompt his NBTI to reconnect with the company network now that his helmet was out of commission. He also chanced another glance at the ceiling, over a hundred meters up, noting a few dark holes in the structure where, presumably, his team had dropped through. There also seemed to be two larger holes surrounded by shadow—probably from the SUBCATs. Several long cables, no doubt remnants of the MANTA’s shoulder winches, dangled from the punctures, encircling his current position.

Magnus’s bioteknia eyes registered the unit’s ident tags and positions relative to his location. From the looks of it, everyone had gotten through unscathed except Haze. That was good. What was bad was that the Li-Dain seemed to be exiting through a corridor on the dome’s northeast side, directly adjacent to the northern airlock. Meanwhile, the gladias and the narskill were occupying the center of the dome and pinned down by enemy fire.

“Where are they going?” Magnus asked Wobix.

“The same place we need to be going: the command center.”

“Splick.”

Wobix nodded. “If this is a word used for cursing, then yes, very splick.”

Magnus smiled, aimed at one of the Luma looking to make a run for the exit, and fired. The round popped against the Li-Dain’s shield, leaving the enemy to flee in peace. Frustrated, Magnus looked at his weapon and double-checked the upper receiver.

“It’s not the weapon,” Awen said. “That one’s a true blood.”

Magnus hadn’t heard the term in a while—perhaps since he’d heard it used about Piper and Awen. “They’re special. Like you.”

“Yes,” she said, pausing to send a shaft of energy toward the back end of a bucket loader. The resulting explosion sent two Li-Dain cartwheeling through the air. “They access the Unity more easily. Harder to put down.”

“Any way for guys like me to tell?”

“Nope. But I’ll try and tag them when I see them.”

Just then, Magnus noted a new black tag float over the fleeing Li-Dain’s head as he disappeared into the corridor. It read True blood in red letters. “Got it. Thanks.”

“You bet.”

Magnus turned to the narskill leader. “Well, Bixy, you have any bright ideas for us?”

“Yes.” The cat-man pulled up from firing on an enemy position and faced Magnus. “It involves lots of shooting and chasing, that we might get to the command center before the enemy does.”

Magnus felt his jaw go slack ever so slightly. “You’re kidding.”

“Never.”

Magnus nodded, slowly at first, and then called in his team. “Listen up, Granthers. We cannot let those little bastards get to the command complex. We’ve got to run faster, shoot better, and think smarter. Because if they get there before us, then they will control the whole mine.”

“Yes,” Wobix said. “And gain control of the auto defense turrets.”

“The what?” Magnus blinked at Wobix.

“The mine’s auto defense turrets.”

“You have point defense turrets inside the mine?” Abimbola asked.

“Of course,” replied Wobix. “Would not you have the same?”

Abimbola shrugged and gave the cat what looked to be an acquiescent nod.

Magnus didn’t need to tell any of his team just how bad things would get if the Li-Dain got access to point defense turrets, especially inside of a trinium mine. He wanted to ask Wobix what the hell the Sekmit were thinking, but he knew the line of dialogue had nothing to do with the task at hand and would only satisfy his momentary desire to be pissed off at shortsighted defense engineers.

“But, how would they know about those turrets?” Zoll asked as he took out another Luma.

“Blackwell,” Awen replied. “They got all the plans from Blackwell, who got them from Littleton. We’ve been over this.”

Magnus brought up a topo map of the mines in his bioteknia eyes. “Bixy, is there any way for us to cut the Luma off? Beat them to the punch?”

“We only deflect and return punches, not beat them. As for the command complex, the Li-Dain are choosing the best route. It is five nodes to our north and east.”

“But there are multiple ways there, right?”

“Yes, but each longer than the next.”

Magnus took a deep breath. “Longer on foot. But what about hover trains or—”

“Trinium carts?”

Magnus thought trinium carts sounded promising. “What are those?”

“The system by which we move trinium.”

“Of course they are.” Magnus chuckled to himself. “And they move fast?”

“Very.”

“Enough to get us to the command node before the enemy?”

Wobix gave what seemed like the Sekmit version of a shoulder shrug. “I think so.”

Magnus nodded—he was beginning to like where this was going despite a growing pit in his stomach. “But there’s something you’re not telling me.”

“The carts, they are not good for you, manservant with no helmet.” Wobix pointed to Magnus’s head. “Too much concentration of trinium radiation. Out here in the open? You are fine. But in those cars? Your weak hairless flesh will melt.”

“Easy with the compliments, Bixy. You’re gonna overwhelm me with kindness.” Magnus looked back to his helmet that lay a few yards away on the ground. Even if the visor wasn’t cracked, he still lacked oxygen reserves or an air filtration system.

“Also, we will most likely lose your Veesey-NETs connection for some moments.”

Magnus raised an eyebrow. “It’s just VNET. And I figured as much.” Magnus didn’t like the idea of being out of comms range from the team, but sending them on alone would give the Granther’s the edge they needed to beat the Li-Dain to the command node. “Let’s do it. And I’ll pick up the rear.”

“By yourself?” Wobix asked.

Magnus was already nodding when Abimbola interjected. “We will stay with you, buckethead.”

Magnus made to protest, but Awen, Rohoar, and Silk seconded the team leader’s announcement. There would be no turning them aside. “Fine. Zoll, you have Granther Company.”

“Copy that,” Zoll said.

“I’m coming with you too,” Rix added. “You’re down a demo engineer and medic without Haze.”

“That’s a good idea,” Zoll said.

As before, Magnus wasn’t going to protest the idea, both because he could use the extra man and because he knew he wouldn’t win the argument. Magnus looked at Zoll and the rest of Bravo, Charlie, and Delta Teams. “Stay close to Wobix. We’ll be right behind. If anything, maybe our presence at the back will keep them from guessing that you’re trying to outflank them. Questions?”

Heads shook.

“Dominate,” Magnus said.

“Liberate,” everyone else replied. And then, as if guessing what the Sekmit might say, the gladias joined with the narksill in an awkward smattering of, “Obliterate.”

“See you at the command complex,” Magnus added. “La-raah.”

21

Ricio’s Fang flipped around and leveled its weapons systems on two squadrons of Talon-class starfighters that had appeared out of thin air—or thin space, he mused, noting how his brain attempted to alleviate the danger with irony, as space can’t be thin, now can it, Ricio. Behind the starfighters sat the Enduring Vigilance, which hadn’t looked imposing, up until twenty-four FAF-28 attack fighters framed it with their heavy NR330 blaster cannons and their secondary T-100s.

Despite Ricio’s Fang’s inertia still speeding him toward Aluross, having the planet to his stern was advantageous. Atmosphere in a low-orbit dogfight could be a powerful weapon in the hands of the right pilot. Right now, however, he and Red Squadron needed to lay down as much weapons fire as they could to send an important message.

“You may have gotten the jump on us,” Ricio said as his brain danced with the targeting systems. “But that’s all you’re going to get.” He prompted his gunship to attack and watched the Fang’s primary NR45 light blasters spray the nearest Talon with a withering barrage of high-rate fire. Simultaneously, the Fang’s NX90 heavy cannons pounded a second Talon, knocking out its forward shields and punching a hole right through the cockpit. Meanwhile, the NR45 assault shredded the first Talon, cutting it in two.

While the LAW pilots may have caught the gladias by surprise, they were not ace pilots, and therefore no match for Ricio and his squadron. Still, the Talons did manage to land a few shots against Ricio’s forward shields.

“Warning: Forward shields at eighty-five percent,” said an automated voice in Ricio’s head.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Ricio replied. “Don’t act like it’s the end of the world.” Then, just before turning away from the planet, he commanded the Fang to fire two HPGM Ball Buster missiles. “Birdies one and two, away.” Even though the Fang could carry up to six VDM Angle Fire missiles or four medium-payload guided munitions, it could only stock two of the larger missiles, which is what Ricio had asked to be outfitted with before leaving the Spire on this sortie.

The twin heavy-payload guided munitions that Ricio had recently nicknamed ball busters lurched from the Fang’s belly and rocketed toward their targets. The trinium-tipped warheads could light up enemies even if missile defense systems took the weapons out ahead of a target. “Just busting their balls,” Ricio had said to Azelon after watching her prototype demonstration.

And the weapons did not disappoint.

The first HPGM ran into a stream of anti-missile fire from two Talons still gunning for Ricio’s retreat toward Aluross. The ordnance detonated in a blinding white flash. But it was the missile’s reinforced housing that redirected the energy, focusing the trinium’s destructive payload into the oncoming enemy.

An unfortunate Talon was caught dead-to-rights in the middle of the particle wave. The energy ripped the fins and armor plating from the starfighter in the blink of an eye, while newly liberated electrons tore through the drive core and blew it apart. The spectacular explosion forced all remaining Talons to disengage.

All but one.

The Talon to catch the second HPGM became the epicenter for a light show that Ricio guessed could be seen on the planet’s surface. As soon as the warhead detonated against the fighter’s shield, the Talon’s fuel cell went nova, creating a cataclysmic event that even engulfed the first target’s explosion. Ricio raised his hand against the light of the twin star-like energy bursts and let out a whistle over comms.

“That’ll knock the crust from your dingus,” he said over VNET while he flipped his Fang around and pulled away from Aluross’s thickening atmosphere. As Ricio negotiated the tight turn, ever riding the line between blacking out and overtaxing the inertia dampeners, he checked on the rest of his squadron.

Red Two and Three, Ezo and Sootriman, had already wrapped around the enemy and pressed their left flank, all while avoiding auto turret fire from the Vigilance. They worked in tandem to coax two Talons out of formation, wearing them down like culling Bormithan bull cubs from a herd. Fiery eruptions and fits of sparks signaled the two enemy’s demise; flames, fuselages, and ident tags blinked out just before Ezo and Sootriman returned to the enemy pack to hunt for more victims.

Red Four and Five, veteran Repub fliers Gill Quo and Dye Vallon, anticipated the enemy's offensive response following Ricio’s initial HPGM strikes. Within moments of the bright flashes, Quo and Vallon dove after three Talons attempting to target Ricio. The gladia’s sustained blaster fire punched holes in one enemy ship’s shield and clipped its port-side wing. The control surfaces were only meant for in-atmo maneuvering, of course, but in the void, the stabilizers became target planks that could spin a Talon out of control. And, being as familiar as they were with the Talon, it was apparent that Quo and Vallon knew just what they were doing when the first starfighter rolled to the left and cartwheeled into the second ship’s fuselage. The two enemies blew apart and sent a debris field hurtling toward Aluross.

The third Talon raced ahead to close on Ricio, but Red Four and Five paired their NX90 fire and punched through the aft shields with precision-based fire control. The ship blew apart and added its remains to all those fragments burning up in the planet’s mesosphere.

“Thanks, Red Four and Five,” Ricio said.

“Just doing our job, Red Leader,” Quo said in reply.

Despite the early gains, the LAW squadrons still had the advantage of numbers and the Vigilance’s fire support, which made the second moves harder than the opening ones. Ricio doubled back to follow three Talons taking refuge in the battleship’s shadow. As long as Ricio stayed directly behind the fighter’s formation, the turret defense fire wouldn’t be a problem. But the moment they split up—like they are right now, he noted—then he’d be an open target for the support ship.

Ricio tracked the Talon that rounded the Vigilance’s bow and then rolled over and pulled back toward the stern. The Talon dodged left and right, slaloming between cannon emplacements in the hopes of shaking the pursuing Fang and exposing it to defensive munitions. Ricio’s Novian-based platform was far more agile than the Talon and allowed the pilot to input tighter turns. The result was a nearly unshakable pursuit, giving Ricio the upper hand. As the pair crossed amidships, Ricio got a positive target lock and fired both large-caliber NX90 blasters simultaneously. The result pitched the Talon forward and drove it into the Vigilance’s hull, showering the battleship with molten shrapnel and ashes of the pilot’s incinerated body.

“Mr. Ricio, sir,” TO-96 said over VNET. “Please be advised that the bulk of the Talon squadrons appear to be heading for Aluross’s surface.”

“But for real this time?” Ricio asked. Sure enough, the combat display showed that most of the enemy had resisted following the Fangs and maintained their course heading toward Meesrin Pin.

“Yes, sir. For real this time. I believe this would be classified as sardonic, would it not?”

“Something like that, yeah.” Ricio brought up the squadron channel. “Looks like our new friends have lost interest in the void game and are taking their ball to another playground.”

“We’re tracking,” Ezo replied. “Time to see what Azelon’s little winged chariots can do in-atmo.”

“Oh,” Ricio replied with a hearty chuckle, thinking back to his original impromptu mission over Worru. “Just you wait, my friend.”

* * *

As Ricio burned toward Aluross’s stratosphere, diving straight after the Talon group, he felt his pilot’s seat cinch tighter around his shaking body. Even with Azelon’s advanced shielding and composite armor plating, the Fang still rattled as friction threatened to rip the starfighter apart. There are only so many physical laws you can break before one of them eventually catches up with you, Ricio thought. But as his altitude continued to plummet, smoother air returned, and with it, the Fang’s terrifying scream as it streaked across the sky.

“We can’t let them reach the city,” Ricio said to the squadron. Everyone registered the ultimatum with green icons and then followed Ricio’s push for maximum thrust. It was always an exhilarating feeling to point the nose of any aircraft directly into the center of a planet at full burn. In this case, the Fangs closed on the Talons as they were the faster of the two platforms. But not before the enemy fired into the city some forty kilometers below.

“Splick,” Ezo yelled over comms. “They must be desperate!”

He was right. The hasty shots from so far away were evidence that the enemy feared they might not accomplish their mission before being blown out of the sky. Then again, Ricio had made accurate shots from farther away with the Talon; the platform’s targeting system was reasonably robust. Plus, he wouldn’t be surprised if the Luma pilots somehow managed to use their Unity powers to direct their blaster fire. Either way, he and the rest of Fang Company couldn’t afford to let the assault go on.

There was only one problem.

There had to be millions of Sekmit living around the spaceport located just to the south of the city’s center. This meant disabling any Talons here made them fireballs down there. But as every second ticked by, the threat of civilian casualties increased exponentially, both from enemy fire and enemy shrapnel.

“We’ve got to steer them away from the capital,” Ricio said as he fought off the G-forces pressing him into his seat. “And if you take one out, you’d better be damn sure it’s in a million pieces.” What he wouldn’t give for just one more HPGM missile.

That’s when his eyes noticed Sootriman’s load-out data. She had two HPGMs onboard!

“Sootriman,” he exclaimed. “I want both your ball busters deployed, stat!”

“Can do,” she said.

“Everyone else target the debris fields, but reduce your blaster range to five klicks.”

“Birdies one and two, away,” Sootriman yelled.

The twin missiles rocketed away from the Fang squadron and blew out the aperture of every HUD in the fighter group. Ricio watched the ordnance tags on the CSD as the two birdies closed the gap. The Talons were still firing around the spaceport when the trinium tipped warheads detonated, bathing the enemy squadron in light. Unlike the void the explosions in-atmo clipped the audio sensors of every Fang in the squadron, followed by a concussion wave that knocked Ricio’s starfighter off course.

The good news was that the twin munitions had taken out almost eight fighters at once, pulverizing their fuselages. The bad news was that the Fangs had been blown wide of their desired target window, delaying attempts to take out the larger fragments before they reached the city. That, and there were still five more Talons firing toward the spaceport.

“I want those fighters out of here,” Ricio bellowed.

“On it,” Ezo yelled. He and Sootriman took Red Five, Six, and Seven on a run that swooped in front of the remaining Talons. It was a gutsy move, especially since the five Fangs stayed their weapons—most likely in the hopes of presenting themselves as easy targets. Ricio picked up on the tactic and fired non-lethal shots around the Talon formation in the hopes of pressuring the enemy to follow the more convenient targets.

“They took the bait,” Ricio said. “Get them out of here, but watch your sixes.”

“Copy,” Ezo replied.

“Everyone else, we’ve got some cleanup work to do.” Ricio led the remaining Fangs in blasting through the debris field, beginning with the largest Talon scrap first. Precise NZ45 fire tore through the metal, shredding the wreckage into molten rain that cooled long before it sprinkled across Sekmit buildings far below.

But not that far below. The spaceport was coming up fast, and there was still half a Talon fuselage hurtling toward the streets.

“Come on,” Ricio said with a grunt, willing himself to make the shot. “Where’re those ace skills at, Reece?” He lined up his NX90 reticle on the boulder-sized chunk of flaming metal. If he missed, this round wouldn’t stop short of the city like the curtailed NZ45. But he couldn’t rely on the smaller weapon to get the job done. He only had one shot—literally.

Ricio ordered the starfighter to fire.

A single NX90 round spat from under the Fang’s nose and struck the stray hulk, reducing it to a red-hot cluster of plate fragments. “And not a moment to spare,” Ricio said to himself. He’d stopped watching his altimeter to focus on the shot. As a result, he began pulling up with less than five kilometers to the deck—which seemed like a lot unless you understood the physics of traveling at 2,100 kilometers-per-hour and making the turn in less than six seconds.

Ricio felt the blood drain from his head as the inertia dampeners pegged out. Warning indicators for proximity alert, high-speed stall, and inertia maximus all blared in Ricio’s biotech interface. But he was committed, and none of those alerts mattered as long as he stayed conscious enough to complete the ninety-degree turn over Meesrin Pin.

Darkness crept in from the sides of his vision and blotted out the cockpit’s interior. Ricio willed the Fang to keep raising its nose as he watched the city’s lights speed beneath him. The tunnel vision constricted even further when he noticed the shape and height of buildings that loomed ahead. An open area outside the spaceport was filled with armored personnel carriers and infantry elements engaged in a firefight. For a split second, Ricio wondered if those were friendly forces, but the thought was there and gone. Instead, he became possessed with the task of rolling his Fang between two skyscrapers and pulling out of the turn.

Ricio grunted in conjunction with his flight suit’s pressure bladders to force his circulatory system to keep him from blacking out. But whether he was out of shape, getting too old for this, or had finally picked a line that was too steep, Ricio couldn’t keep himself away from the darkness. The last thing he remembered was the adrenaline boost from releasing the controls, and the emotion of knowing he was about to die.

22

Willowood fell as Caldwell shoved her back inside the APC. She looked around his body to see fountains of broken pavement shoot into the night sky. The ground churned like an angry black ocean, disturbed by blaster fire that cascaded down from above. And then there were the banshee shrieks that rattled her head inside her helmet—the sound of an unholy summons for the living to join the dead.

Caldwell’s body lay across Willowood’s as bits of blacktop peppered those inside the APC. She could feel the vehicle shudder as more blaster fire tore up the ground outside. Willowood reached for Piper’s hand; her granddaughter was curled up on the floor an arm’s length away.

Everything’s going to be okay, Willowood said through the Unity.

I know, Nana, Piper replied.

Willowood looked across the floor to see Piper smile through her tinted visor. Outside, the howls still came, and the lights still flickered, but the pavement had settled.

It’s safe to move, Piper said. I’ve covered us.

“William?” Willowood said to the man who still pinned her down. “I know you’re probably enjoying this as much as I am, but we’ve got to move. Piper has us covered.”

Caldwell pulled his head back to stare at Willowood. “Did you say you’re enjoying—”

“Get off me, old man,” she said, and then she threw him aside with only a little Unity assistance.

Caldwell rolled onto his back. “Everyone make for the spaceport. And, so help me mystics, if I catch a single one of you millpy loafer gas totes taking your sweet time, I’m gonna grind your biscuits and feed them to my Aunt Thelma’s pet bunions.” He paused to look in Piper’s direction. “Sorry you had to hear that, darlin’.”

“I want a pet bunion,” Piper replied, climbing to her feet.

“No you don’t,” Willowood said, pulling Piper close.

“You two stay together,” Caldwell said to Willowood.

“We’ll be just fine, William. Lead the way.”

Caldwell was first out of the APC, his weapon raised skyward. As soon as Willowood cleared the ramp, she looked up too, amazed to see a translucent golden dome protecting them from incoming starfighter fire.

“Are those Talons?” she asked Caldwell.

“Looks like it.”

“But why would—?”

A bright light flashed overhead, filling the sky like the sun at high noon. Willowood instinctively shielded Piper even though she knew the girl didn’t need protection. The sound of a thunderous boom struck the convoy seconds later, followed by multiple cracks that signaled drive cores tearing through the sky like jars of lightning splitting apart.

“What is going on?” Willowood asked.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Caldwell replied.

“Those are Galactic Republic Talons,” TO-96 said over VNET. “Re-tasked by the LAW and piloted by Li-Dain, as far as we can tell. Commander Ricio is currently in pursuit, though Azelon and I strongly suggest you take cover within the spaceport as—”

“We’re on our way,” Caldwell interrupted as he pushed Willowood forward with a hand on her hip.

“Careful, Colonel,” she said with a quick look at his choice of hand placement.

“Just get inside. And make sure Piper can maintain a connection with our prisoner while the crew unloads him.”

“I’ve got him,” Piper said but pointed overhead. “But I do need to let the big shield down.”

Caldwell nodded. “The worst is over. Now get inside.” He’d no sooner said the words than Luma fire erupted from the street behind their position. “Ah, splick.” Caldwell pushed past the two females and raised his NOV2 as he made for the APC’s side. The rest of the units were taking cover behind the vehicle. But not before two gladias and three sekmit were struck down while walking in the open.

Willowood couldn’t leave Caldwell and the rest of the warriors like this. The Li-Dain still outnumbered them, and who knew how many more lives would be lost in the attempt to cross to the spaceport. She turned to Piper and then pointed to a wide freight entrance. “I want you inside that port, understood?”

Piper nodded. “But what about you?”

“I’m staying here to help,” Willowood replied. “Now go!”

Piper turned and ran for the spaceport, but not before more blaster fire sounded overhead. Willowood looked up, expecting to see more Talons streaking toward her position.

“No need to worry, Madame Willowood,” TO-96 said over comms. “Our Fangs have routed the enemy fighters. That sound is simply Mr. Ricio and his squadron attempting to break up the debris field before it crushes anyone in the city below.”

“Thank you, Ninety-Six,” she replied. “Though it does appear that one fighter is coming in awfully fast.” Even as she said the words, she noticed herself involuntarily bending her knees as if to shy away from the incoming Fang.

“That would be Mr. Ricio, Madame. Statistically speaking, he has a high probability of pulling out of the dive he’s in.”

Another bright flash filled Willowood’s HUD as a large Talon fragment exploded, leaving only the sight of a single Fang barreling toward the convoy. Willowood looked to Piper: she was twelve meters from being inside the blast-proof building.

That’s too far, Willowood thought as she looked up to see the Fang rocketing toward them.

Ricio wasn’t pulling up.

“I wish to amend my previous statement,” TO-96 said. “Mr. Ricio’s chances of survival are plummeting.” The bot paused and then added, “Did you notice my play on words, Madame Willowood?”

“Not now.” Willowood charged across the open ground and summoned her strength in the Unity. She thought of trying to project a shield similar to what Piper had done, but she doubted it could withstand the force of the speeding Fang. Willowood glanced up one more time to see Ricio’s ship attempting to pull out of the steep dive. The whine of the star fighter’s drive core felt as though it tore the air in two, sending a fearful chill through Willowood’s limbs. There was only one thing to do. She reached out in the Unity and shoved Piper forward, throwing the girl into the spaceport.

At the last second, Willowood’s feet tangled amongst some rubble, and she sprawled across the ground. The screaming sound of the Fang shook her body, and Willowood was sure this was the end. She covered her head and resigned herself to her fate.

But it was a fate that would wait for another day.

Ricio’s engine thrust slammed against Willowood’s side and sent her spinning across the plaza. She tried to stop herself from spiraling away, but the force was too much. That is, until she steadied herself in the Unity and managed to plant her feet on the ground. Willowood leaned forward, pitched against the vectored thrust, and stared the Fang down as it skimmed a side street not more than five meters above the deck. Several hover cars, bikes, and even shuttered street vendor carts flipped away from the starfighter as it darted between buildings and narrowly avoided a catastrophic end.

But Ricio wasn’t out of the woods yet. A large office building stood at the end of his course, and he was far from being able to fly over the structure.

“Come on,” Willowood said as if willing the man to pull up. “You can do it, Ricio!”

But still, the fighter seemed bound to hit the ground. If anything, she sensed the ship falter, as if the multiple forces of gravity had been too much for the ace pilot.

“Ricio,” Willowood yelled. But there was no use. Even if he could resume control, there was no time to dodge the skyscraper.

“I’m sorry, Madame Willowood,” TO-96 said. “But Mr. Ricio has lost consciousness.”

Willowood’s heart sank as the starfighter careened toward the building.

“I, however, have not,” said the bot.

The Fang rolled right and slipped through a gap between buildings that was so small, Willowood hadn’t even noticed it. She blinked once, and the ship was gone, swallowed by the city.

“Is he—Ninety-Six, did he—”

“Mr. Ricio is fine, your wiseness.”

She blinked again. A small black shape with a trail of light surged up from the skyline and darted toward the starfield. “Oh, Ninety-Six, I could kiss you right now.”

“Excuse me?” Azelon said as she stepped into TO-96’s holo frame.

“She meant it metaphorically,” TO-96 said to the other bot with a reassuring tone.

“No I didn’t,” Willowood said. “I’ll show you when we’re together again.”

“Felicity,” Caldwell yelled.

The urgency in his voice snapped Willowood’s attention back to the conflict at hand. “What is it?”

“You and Piper safe? HUD says you’re—”

“She’s secure.”

“Secure enough for you to lend us a hand?”

Willowood looked to Piper, who stood inside the entryway.

I’m okay, Nana, Piper said in the Unity. Go save your big strong man.

Willowood smiled. You stay put, okay?

I will.

* * *

When Willowood joined Caldwell at the front line, she realized why none of the team had made entry into the spaceport as he’d ordered: the enemy fire was simply too great. Were the convoy’s forces to break ranks and fall back from the APCs’ cover, Caldwell’s units would be overwhelmed. It seemed that every Li-Dain they’d passed on the street had rallied to the fight here and was giving the battle-hardened colonel a run for his credits. So heavy was the fighting, in fact, that the prisoner escort team hadn’t even moved the jail crates from the APCs.

“Nice of you to join us,” DiAntora said from beside Caldwell. The two military leaders crouched behind one of the mobile barricades deployed from the APC’s side.

“What’s going on?” Willowood asked, but thought she had already worked out the problem.

“Our blaster fire is holding them back, but that’s about it,” the colonel said. “Can’t risk making a run for it without letting up, and that—”

“Would cost lives,” she said.

He nodded.

“Think your mystics and the narskill can level the playing field?” DiAntora asked.

“We can do more than that,” Willowood replied. “Just get ready to make a run for it.” She opened the all-unit channel. “Paladia Company and any available narskill, we’re taking the fight to the Li-Dain. Everyone else, we need covering fire to get us past the enemy’s defenses. On my mark.”

“Be careful,” Caldwell said to Willowood.

But she shook her head. “It’s ‘be dangerous,’ William. Get it right.” Then over the company channel, she said, “Now!”

* * *

Willowood vaulted the barricade and raced forward with a Nexus shield projected a meter in front of her. The magenta-colored wall became the Li-Dain’s new target as Luma fire concentrated on Willowood’s position. But her powers were up to the task—at least for a few seconds.

More gladias jumped forward, followed closely by Sekmit in their cat-like mech suits and wielding their Thørzin power bows and wooden staves. The mystics’ personal shields created a phalanx that surged toward the Li-Dain, forcing the enemy to rethink their assault. Moments later, Caldwell ordered a renewed counterattack, targeting specific pockets of Li-Dain that he marked on the company topo map. Willowood saw the targets as strategic posts for her to navigate between, knowing she needed to keep her forces away from friendly fire. She complimented Caldwell’s efforts and surged toward the holes in the enemy line. Within seconds, Willowood had crossed the open ground and drove toward three Li-Dain warriors whose eyes widened in shock.

Willowood summoned more Nexus power around her fists, jumped into the air, and then loosed the pent-up energy at the enemies. Rather than emanate as two beams, however, the blast shot out in a fan pattern, slicing through the enemy’s wall and knocking all three Li-Dain on their backs.

As Willowood sailed over the bodies, she drove a shaft of light through each of their heads. She noticed, then, just how young they were, and it grieved her. But they had made their choice and had pledged their service to So-Elku and the LAW. It saddened her to know they had so passionately aligned themselves with the sinister master. Did they even know?she wondered. Did they know how devious his character, how dark his plots? And, for their sake, she chose to conclude: No. They merely thought themselves freedom fighters who would be found on the right side of history. Somehow, assuring herself of their naiveté helped ease the burden she felt in killing them. Not because it made her feel any better about her lethal use of force—nothing could mitigate that regret. But because it meant they might find easier passage into whatever afterlife awaited them as unwitting victims of war.

Now that she was within the enemy’s shield wall, followed by a dozen gladias and Sekmit, Willowood started to chew through the Li-Dain’s bulk. A golden-robed mystic to her right threw a punch at Willowood’s head. The older woman leaned back from the blow meant for her temple and then shot a right-handed jab at the man’s chest, meeting his sternum with her super-charged knuckles. The Luma flew backward with a scorched hole in his rib cage.

Another Li-Dain charged at Willowood’s left flank. The young woman threw a roundhouse kick that sailed over Willowood’s head. From her crouched position, Willowood lashed out with another fury-bound fist and punched the woman in the knee. The sudden release of Nexus energy detonated the joint like one of Azelon’s VODs had gone off from inside the bones. The Luma woman fell screaming, and Willowood ended her suffering with a stroke to the woman’s head.

Two more Li-Dain came at the elder gladia head-on, their fists extended in a brazen effort to knock Willowood back. But she somersaulted forward, whipping her outstretched legs over her head with a half twist, and landed behind the men at the same time that she drove her palms into the base of their necks. The Li-Dain fell forward and hit the ground as corpses.

* * *

“Did you know she could do that?” DiAntora asked Caldwell.

“Negative,” he replied. “And it reminds me never to piss her off.” Caldwell stood and waved his forces back. “Let’s haul ass to the spaceport, people. Move out!”

Caldwell dropped behind his APC and monitored the prisoner escort detail as they unclamped So-Elku’s armored crate and began sliding it across the floor. The low-power repulsor pads made moving the one-tonne container a breeze; the slightest touch could set the smart-box on its way, and the operators could raise or lower the inertia sensitivity. But Caldwell could tell the officer in charge was already too careful with the unit.

“We’re not giving him a guided tour, Lieutenant,” Caldwell said to the detail’s OIC, a woman named LaMaster. How fitting, he noted to himself, given her role over overseeing the Luma dictator. “You can dispense with the niceties.”

“Your orders, not mine,” LeMaster said. “Stand clear.” Caldwell stood back from the ramp as the lieutenant swiped up on the crate’s control pad, raising the assistance level to maximum. Then she leaned back and gave the transport a hearty kick.

The armor-plated cell flew out the back of the APC like someone had just hurled a spaceball at a goal. Caldwell even had to keep one Repub Marine from losing his head by throwing an arm in front of the overzealous warrior. “Easy there, Sergeant.”

The Marine reared away from the jettisoned prisoner transport and then looked at the colonel. “Thank you, Colonel.”

“Get your units inside.”

“Right away.”

LeMaster jumped out of the APC with her team and continued pushing So-Elku’s box toward the spaceport. Caldwell thought about hailing Piper again, just to see how she was doing, but thought better of it. He didn’t want to distract her from her work. Plus, the fact that So-Elku hadn’t burst out of the container in some flurry of lightning yet meant she was still okay. “Just keep it up, little lady,” he said to himself as he looked toward the spaceport.

Caldwell reviewed the topo map and saw that all his forces had dropped back to the spaceport and taken cover behind the building’s multiple defensive offerings. From café seating, marble fountains, and lighted walkways to vendor booths, storefronts, and security stations, the spaceport’s wrap-around exterior was a small city unto itself. In the middle of it all was the northside main entrance where Piper was hidden.

With the APCs’ roof-mounted weapons on remote and the defenders in better positions, Caldwell told Willowood to fall back. “We’ll cover your tail from here.”

“I bet you’ve been waiting to say that all day,” she replied.

He laughed. “Come to think of it, I hadn’t. But I can repeat it if it makes you—”

“Save it for later, Colonel Caldwell.”

“Yes ma’am.” He didn’t know what she meant by that, but living long enough to find out gave him one more incentive to not die today. “Let’s give ’em hell, people!”

Caldwell helped cover LeMaster’s retreat into the spaceport’s main entrance, making any Li-Dain think twice about even considering a run on the prisoner. Several other gladias and Sekmit saw his efforts and stepped up to assist. The narskill, in particular, amazed him with their power bows and, to his surprise, their staves.

When one Li-Dain got too close for a big cat’s liking, the narskill warrior whipped his staff around and struck the Luma on the side of the arm. Where Caldwell thought the enemy might simply deflect the wooden weapon, the staff released a bright blue charge of energy that sent the enemy flying across the pavement. Slits along the staff glowed a soft blue and then dimmed until the weapon looked like just another walking stick again.

“Hey, you,” Caldwell said to the Sekmit. “Keep that up, copy?”

The narskill nodded once and then turned toward the enemy.

Caldwell elbowed DiAntora while he put down a Li-Dain running between APCs. “Think you can arrange for me to get one of those? Pull a few strings with Freya?”

“Assuming we make it out of here, I’ll see what I can do,” the admiral said, then she returned to firing her Repub MC90 on a pair of Li-Dain.

“Colonel Caldwell, sir?” came TO-96’s voice over comms.

“Go ahead, son.”

“Azelon thinks she has detected an unknown ship inbound on your location.”

“Thinks?” Caldwell lowered his NOV2. “What do you mean she thinks?”

“Oh my. Have you not known she is sentient this whole time?” TO-96 placed a hand on his chest. “I feel as though I am to blame for this.”

“Focus, bot. Why can’t you give me more intel?”

“Because the ship is attempting to cloak itself, sir.”

“So it’s hostile.”

“We’re not sure.”

Caldwell forced a breath through his nostrils. The bots were getting on his nerves. “Well, if it came from the Vigilance, then you can be sure it’s hostile.”

“But that’s just it.” TO-96 called up a space map to replace his headcam in the HUD feed. A red square reticle zeroed on a section of space just above Aluross. “Can you see the incoming map?”

“I see it, Ballsy. Just a bunch of empty space.”

“This was the first place we noticed the vessel.”

“Jump point?”

“We don’t believe so, Colonel. It is far too close to Aluross’s gravity well. As you know, an object emerging from subspace cannot—”

“I understand FTL mechanics, bot. What I don’t understand is why you and miss Fancy Pants can’t give me more on this ship. Can’t your girlfriend take over its systems or some such business?”

“That’s just it, sir. Azelon’s is attempting to infiltrate the vessel’s command architecture but is so far unable to gain any substantial footing.”

Caldwell looked up, trying to see if he could notice anything moving against the stars. “You at least have an ETA?”

“That is also hard to determine.”

“Of course it is.” Caldwell brought his weapon up and fired at a Li-Dain who was getting a little too close for comfort. The NOV2’s first three-round burst punched a small hole in the warrior’s shield, but only because additional blaster fire from elsewhere had weakened it. Caldwell’s second three-round burst knocked the man back, flipping his feet over his head. “Can’t you send Ricio to intercept?”

“We’ve initiated that very order, sir, but they’re having trouble finding it despite its size, and he doesn’t want to risk inadvertently ramming into it. As you know, an object traveling at a high rate of speed that suddenly collides—”

“Oh, for your sister Sally’s bra collection, quit with the tutorials already.” Caldwell chomped on his unlit cigar and then fired four shots as a Li-Dain charged his position. “Just keep me posted on anything else you get on this mystery ship.”

“I will, sir. And I hope you—”

Caldwell sank a final shot into the charging Li-Dain’s head. “Die, you son of a bitch.”

“I’m not exactly sure how to respond to that, sir.”

“Not you, bot. Just talking to the enemy.”

“Ah, very good. Well, keep it up, sir. I’m sure they need a good talking to.”

Caldwell chuckled and then kicked the body just to make sure the Luma was dead. “They most certainly do, Ballsy. They most certainly do.”

23

Magnus and the rest of Alpha Team had pursued the Li-Dain out of the mining node that they’d landed in and into a second node using the northeasterly tunnel. Each connecting corridor that radiated from a given node was up to five kilometers in length—some even longer—which meant, without vehicular assistance, Alpha Team had a lot of running ahead. Magnus still felt it was odd that the Li-Dain had chosen to move on foot, given how much they knew of the mine’s layout. Then again, maybe the Luma were just as afraid of free electrons as anyone else and could not protect themselves in the mine carts without heavy armor.

The node Magnus and Alpha Team fought through was much like if not identical to the first. Large crane booms crisscrossed one another in a competition to reach the dome’s upper reaches. Meanwhile, mining equipment, including excavators, drilling rigs, and dump trucks, sat dormant around giant pits gouged from the ocean floor.

Luma forces fired Unity bolts across the vertical mine shafts, pinning Magnus and his fireteam behind cover. The best the gladias could do against such overwhelming numbers was wait for breaks in the enemy assault.

Sensing one such reprieve, Magnus leaned out from a steel crate, targeted a Li-Dain, and squeezed off a round. Clearly, the Luma had not expected the shot as the blaster bolts punctured his shield with minimal effort. The man spun as three bolts struck his side and shoulder. Then he lost his footing and fell into the nearest pit, screaming as he dropped.

“You are so lucky, buckethead,” Abimbola said over external speakers. “That, or you cheat.”

“Cheat?” Magnus said, feigning offense.

“Yes. Your bioteknia eyes tell you when their shields are down. That, or bedding this Luma”—Abimbola pointed at Awen—“grants you mystical powers to see those Luma”—he gestured to the Li-Dain.

“Abimbola,” Awen yelled, hands on her hips. “I’ll have you know that Magnus and I—”

“No, no, Awen,” Magnus said with a raised hand. “He’s got a point.”

“I knew it,” Abimbola said. “Cheater.”

Magnus sensed Awen was about to let him have it, so he fired on several more Li-Dain who maneuvered toward the next corridor leading away to the northeast.

“Magnus,” she hollered.

“Sorry, can’t hear you.”

How about now?

“Mystics,” he exclaimed, pulling himself behind cover. “You can’t do that while I’m shooting.”

“Tell him,” she said, pointing at Abimbola.

“Tell him what?” Again, Magnus put on a show and offered Awen an innocent expression.

Clearly frustrated, Awen turned toward Abimbola and was about to set the record straight when a salvo of enemy fire blasted against the steel container at their backs.

“Get clear,” Magnus roared as the massive crate rocked toward them. He thrust Awen out of the container’s shadow and then made a run for it. Over his shoulder, he could see the object chasing him down. It let out a low moan as the steel ground against the rocky floor. Magnus dove clear, and the giant box slammed against the terrain producing a plume of dust.

Fortunately, the giant metal box still provided ample cover as before, just from on its side. Awen had rolled into a crouch and stayed out of harm’s way.

“You good?” Magnus asked her from on his stomach.

“Yeah, thanks,” she said. “But don’t think that bought you any favors.”

“Now why would I think saving your life would do that?”

“I could have saved myself, you know.”

Magnus winked at her. “And yet you wanted me to.”

“You fight like a mating couple in heat,” Rohoar said.

“We—wait, what did you say?” Awen glared at Rohoar.

“I said, you fight exactly like—”

“Belay that, Fluffy,” Magnus said, then pointed to the enemy. “They’re heading down the next tunnel. Let’s go.”

Magnus led the way around the node’s perimeter and then slowed as the fire team approached the corridor heading to the next node. The topo map in his bioteknia eyes showed the tunnel was three klicks long. “Looks like we’ve got another long run in front of us. Let’s move.”

They’d made it a dozen paces into the hallway when Luma fire forced Magnus, Awen, and Silk into a structural recess in the left wall. At the same time, Abimbola, Rohoar, and Rix flattened themselves against one in the right. They needed to backtrack and rethink how they were going to pursue the enemy.

“Reminds me a little of Oorjaee, eh Bimby?” Magnus said as he blindly returned fire down the tunnel.

“Did we not almost die in that rescue attempt?” Abimbola replied, sending a short burst toward the enemy. The Li-Dain responded with another round of Unity-powered blasts.

“Almost dying is a lot different than actually dying,” Magnus said. “It’s one of our things.”

“So you say.” Abimbola laughed then fired again.

“I agree with the Miblimbian,” Rohoar said. “Everywhere Rohoar goes, he seems to follow you into dangerous circumstances.”

“And you love every second of it.”

“No. There are many seconds Rohoar does not love.”

Magnus sent more rounds after the enemy. “But the majority you do.”

“Enough, you guys,” Awen said. “We can’t make good time out in the open like this. And we’ve got to pick up the pace.”

“Agreed,” Magnus said. “Can’t you make a shield for us or something?”

“I can. But against these guys? It’s going to take all my concentration, and I’m not sure you want to carry me around like some portable shield generator.”

“That would make shooting a little more difficult,” he said. “Though, you would be the prettiest PSG I’d ever thrown over my shoulder.”

“More acronyms,” she replied with a wink. “Cute.”

“What about this track?” Abimbola said, pointing at a hover lane that ran down the tunnel’s center. “Seems like they use it enough to keep it cleared off.”

“But I thought the mine cart tunnels are where Wobix is leading Zoll and the others?” Silk said.

“They are,” Magnus replied as he scratched his chin in thought. The enemy fire had lessened, and he looked back toward the node they’d come from. “I’m guessing they use these for people and equipment.”

“I didn’t see any hover sleds back there,” Silk said.

Magnus nodded in agreement. “Me either. I’m guessing all transports were used to evacuate the mine. But that doesn’t mean we can’t come up with something.” He turned back toward the node they’d come from and waited for a break in fire. “Come on.”

* * *

“What are we looking for exactly?” Rohoar asked as Alpha Team sorted through the mining equipment.

“Anything that will allow us to haul your furry ass down those tunnels,” Abimbola replied from among a scrap metal heap.

“At least Rohoar’s ass is not naked, like you human types. Rohoar has seen some of your asses, and they scare him.”

Magnus laughed despite the urgent timeline they were facing. “Just keep your eyes peeled for—”

“Found some scrap repulsors,” Rix said from the doorway of a supply shed. He held up four glass-like disks by their wire leads, clenching two sets in either hand. Each repulsor was about fifty centimeters across, sporting a translucent lens in the center and a metallic ring around the outer edge.

“Great,” Magnus said. “See if they have continuity and then get them to Awen.”

Rix nodded and ran down the steps and headed toward Awen.

“I think we can use this as a base,” Abimbola said, picking up a thick piece of sheet metal and hoisting it over his head.

“It’s not pretty, but it will do,” Magnus replied and then waved him toward Awen.

“And I’ve got a capacitor,” Silk said and then looked at Awen. “Think you can charge it?”

“Bring it over and I’ll tell you,” Awen replied.

Magnus got distracted by a commotion near some drilling equipment where Rohoar had been. But the Jujari had disappeared, and several of the larger vehicles began rocking back and forth as spits of dust shot up from between them. At first, Magnus had visions of horror holo movies where giant subterranean beasts swallowed unsuspecting people who happened upon their nests. But then Magnus heard a loud bang, and Rohoar popped up from behind two excavation rigs.

“Rohoar has something,” he announced as he held a massive four-bit drilling plate over his head. The tools were used on the sides of the larger tunneling vehicles to grind away at the walls.

Magnus gave Rohoar a bewildered look and couldn’t help but chuckle. “Buddy, what’s that for?”

“We mount in on the front to counterbalance our sled and to cover Rohoar’s furry ass so Awen does not need to.”

* * *

It took less than ten minutes for the team to cobble the components together—time they could easily make up if this contraption worked. With Abimbola, Silk, and Rix’s experience in building mismatched vehicles in the Dregs combined with Awen’s powers in the Unity, which apparently included supercharging electronic capacitors and welding metal together, Alpha Team had a transport cart ready for use.

“It’s not pretty,” Awen said. “But it’ll have to do.”

“Rohoar calls it The Ass Protector,” the Jujari said as he crossed his arms.

“I preferred The Tiny Terror,” Abimbola replied. “But we can go with yours.”

Rohoar back-pawed Abimbola’s bicep. “What about The Tiny Ass Protector of Terror? You like this, yes?”

Abimbola gave Rohoar one raised eyebrow and said nothing.

“I like it,” Magnus said. “Especially if it does what the title suggests. Now let’s get moving.”

“Just remember,” Awen said as she pointed to the scrappy looking sled. “We have no way to slow it down. We can’t throttle the capacitor, and the repulsors are mounted at an angle.”

“Which means we’ll continue to increase speed until we jump off,” Magnus said.

“Exactly.” Awen stepped onto the base plate and hunkered down behind the drilling wall. “Who’s ready?”

* * *

Once activated, the repulsors raised the cob-job sled and all six passengers a half meter off the ground without a hiccup. The transport locked onto the narrow blastcrete lane that ran down the corridor and then lurched forward. With any luck, the sled would adhere to the track and move around each successive node’s perimeter until Alpha Team caught up with the enemy. That is, assuming everyone could hold on.

“Well, we know it hovers,” Magnus said.

“Yeah, but it’s already moving kinda fast,” Rix replied. “And you’re the one not wearing a helmet.”

“Don’t remind me.” Magnus watched as the tunnel’s end drew closer. “When we get into the node, everyone lean with the turn. Copy?”

They nodded and adjusted their handholds on the sled’s sides. The transport’s speed continued to increase, and Magnus grew more apprehensive about not having throttle control; the little contraption was already moving far faster than he anticipated it would. “Here we go.”

The blastcrete lane curved left, and the sled followed, tilting so that the repulsors pushed against the direction of inertia. The natural stabilization helped, and everyone did their best to lean into the turn. However, the laws of inertia had a pesky way of interfering with good intentions. Silk lost her grip, slid up the plate floor, and flew over the right side. But not before Abimbola and Rohoar caught her by the wrists and pulled her back on.

“Thanks,” she said as she scrambled to regain her handholds as the cart leveled out and tracked along the node’s left-side perimeter.

The room’s large circumference made for a more gentle turn, which gave Magnus time to look around. But as with the other nodes, there was little new to see—just more industrial mining equipment and massive holes in the ocean floor.

“No signs of the Li-Dain,” Awen said from upfront. She clung to the front wall and peeked over the top. “But the next tunnel’s coming up.”

“And we’ve picked up speed,” Magnus said. “Hold tight.”

The broad curve around the node had been deceiving; Magnus hadn’t realized just how much they’d accelerated until the little sled banked hard left and jolted the passengers sideways. Fortunately, everyone stayed on, and the cart righted itself as it shot down the next connecting tunnel.

“Rohoar is growing less assured about The Tiny Ass Protector of Terror’s ability to protect his ass,” the Jujari said.

“Just hang in there, Fluffy,” Magnus replied. “The more ground we gain, the better.”

The wind whipped through Magnus’s hair as the cart hurtled down the straightaway. He looked through the tunnel’s windowplex walls to see strange ocean life lumbering about in the deepwater currents. The corridor’s exterior lights cast everything in a murky green hue, including giant fish with undulating fins, crustaceans in grotesque plate armor, and plant life that looked more carnivore-fauna than flora. Magnus wondered if the sea creatures noticed the small sled streaking by. The underwater life floated in peaceful contrast to the cart and its breakneck speed.

“Here we go again,” Awen said from the front, already moving to the left in anticipation of the sharp turn. Silk joined her, practically riding the sled’s edge, and the three large men were double-fisting their handholds. Magnus sat in the rear with his left leg draped over the side, ready to ride the tilting sled if need be.

The cart turned left, but it also banked to the left, which drove the passengers into the floor plate. As before, the repulsors were working in line with the sharp turn to push away from the direction of inertia. Still, someone could slide toward the right edge and fly off into the node’s center.

When the transport leveled out and banked right around the room, Magnus breathed another sigh of relief when he saw that no one had slipped off. They continued to accelerate, rolled into the next tunnel, and then flew into the following node.

“I thought we would have caught up with the enemy by now,” Abimbola said, peering further down the tunnel.

“Copy that,” Magnus replied. It was a bit odd that they hadn’t encountered the Li-Dain. “Especially with them on foot. Unless…”

“You think they got themselves a sled?” Silk asked.

“Not sure.” Magnus stared at the back of Awen’s head until she turned to look at him.

“What?” she asked.

“Can the Luma, I don’t know, float, maybe?”

Awen shrugged. “I mean, theoretically we—they—could move along on some sort of Unity energy flow. It’s not really something anyone ever explored.”

“To your knowledge.”

“Yes,” she replied. “To my knowledge.”

“But they could if they had enough talent. Like the true bloods.”

“We’re coming up on the next node,” Silk said.

But Awen still looked at Magnus. “The true bloods with access to the Nexus—yeah. They could probably move along on light energy.”

“Hold on,” Abimbola said.

The speedy little Ass Protector shuddered as it careened into the node, and then it doubled back to roll along the outside wall. Now the cart groaned under the G-forces, and Magnus guessed it wouldn’t hold together for much longer. Which was fine, as he was pretty sure they were coming up on the command node soon.

“Can you explain moving along on light energy?” Magnus asked Awen as he squeezed the vibrating floor deck tighter.

“Not really,” she said. “I’ve never seen it done.”

“But if you were?”

“Next tunnel,” Silk yelled. “Hold on.”

The cart screeched as it went up on its left side. The improvised vehicle jumped the blastcrete lane and slammed against the tunnel’s inside wall. Magnus’s chin struck the deck and smashed his teeth together. Amazingly, the cart righted itself and relocated the smooth path.

“If I was,” Awen said, looking down the final corridor. “It might look something like that.”

“What the hell?” Magnus demagged his TB16 and brought it into high ready position then used his bioteknia eyes to zoom in for a closer look. Another half klick ahead, he saw what looked like the tail end of a hoverbike gang. Only these riders weren’t dressed in leather and plate armor and hunched over chrome handlebars; instead, they wore golden robes and seemed to lean over channels of yellow and red light.

“Rohoar wants to knock them off and eviscerate them,” Rohoar said.

“I think you’re gonna get your chance,” Magnus said. While the Unity-powered hoverbikes were fast, the Luma probably hadn’t imagined they were being pursued—and certainly not by a Tiny Ass Protector.

“We’re coming in hot,” Rix said.

“No splick,” Magnus replied. “Any bright ideas?”

“If you cut the power, we drop hard, right?” Silk asked Awen.

“I’m afraid so.”

“Plus, it leaves us way behind,” Magnus added. “Which is not good.”

“And if we continue aboard,” Abimbola said—his face looking as though he imagined the repercussions and how the passengers might fare in the impact. “We will most likely not survive.”

“But neither will the enemy,” Rohoar added. “Which is satisfying to know.”

“Speak for yourself, Fluffy.” Magnus gave the Jujari the stink eye. “Then that leaves us with a third option. We jump.”

“At this speed?” Awen said.

“You got a better idea?”

Awen seemed to consider the question. “I can probably shield our fall.”

“How much is probably?” Rix asked.

“Somewhere between ouch and that’s gonna leave a mark.”

Rix shrugged. “I can work with that.”

“Then everyone get ready.” Magnus cradled his weapon, intending to use it as soon as he was back on his feet—assuming, of course, that Awen’s shielding was sufficient. But he trusted her.

How magnanimous of you, Awen said in his head.

Sorry, he replied in his thoughts. Just being honest.

Yeah, yeah. Let’s see you try and form a Unity bubble around six people hurtling through a tunnel at the bottom of the ocean.

Magnus raised his hands in deference and then nodded toward the enemy. So far, the Li-Dain still hadn’t noticed them, and with any luck, they wouldn’t until it was too late.

“You ready?” he yelled to Awen.

She nodded.

“Everyone else?”

The rest of the team cast furtive glances over the speeding cart’s edge, but all gave head nods or a thumb’s up.

“On three,” Magnus said. “One, two, three!”

It was never natural to leap off a speeding vehicle, even when decked out in advanced alien armor. But it sure as hell was fun. Magnus felt the unmistakable surge of adrenaline shoot through his veins as he did when rushing an enemy stronghold. Unlike what the poets said, he didn’t see his life flash before his eyes. But time did seem to slow down, enough that, for a split second, it felt like he was floating. That moment never lasted long though.

When Magnus hit the ground, it was far less soft than he imagined Awen might make it. Somehow, he thought crash-landing in a shielded bubble meant a slow deceleration where he ended up on his feet. Instead, Magnus and the others flipped head over heels, eventually rolling to a stop. It was about as far from the holo movies as he could imagine. At least we’re not dead, he thought, and then cringed at the rebuke he knew was coming his way.

That’s fine, she said. You can handle it next time.

Magnus coughed and then rose to his feet. “What I meant to say was—”

“Check it out,” Rix said while pointing down the tunnel.

Free of its occupants, the Tiny Ass Protector accelerated even faster, catching up to the Luma in seconds. By the time the Li-Dain noticed the out of control drill-fronted transport vehicle, it was too late. The cart slammed into the rearmost Luma riders and threw two aside while trampling over a third in the middle.

Abimbola gave out a baritone victory cry as the sled burrowed its way deeper into the enemy lines. More Li-Dain fell off their gleaming Luma cycles and flipped head over heels along the ground. Several people smacked against the ceiling only to come back down on top of one another. The Li-Dain had made the unwitting mistake of riding far too close to one another so that the cart set off a chain reaction.

“Weapons hot,” Magnus yelled. “Let’s move!”

* * *

Alpha Team ran flat out for two hundred meters before Magnus fired his first round. Those Li-Dain who had survived the repulsor-powered projectile were mostly toward the front of the pack, while at least a dozen Luma in the rear succumbed to their injuries. There was still no telling exactly how many enemies lay ahead, but Magnus guessed it was still well over two hundred, and the bulk of them were, no doubt, entering the command center node.

Several Li-Dain picked themselves off the ground and looked back down the corridor. When they did, a volley of torpedo rounds was headed their way. The tunnel filled with orange flames and the deafening sound of explosions. A beat later, super-heated air whooshed against Magnus’s face accompanied by the pungent smell of spent propellant and detonation compound.

“You had better be careful over there,” came Wobix’s voice over the biotech interface in Magnus’s head.

“Wobix,” Magnus exclaimed, happy to hear the cat’s voice. He slowed the team down with a wave of his hand and then pointed to their helmets to make sure they heard the transmission over VNET. Silk gave Magnus a thumbs up to confirm. “Where you at, Bixy?”

“Next tunnel over to your southeast.”

“So you haven’t made it to the command node either?”

“No.”

That was not good news; it meant the enemy was going to get there first.

“We hear you over there, manservant. You need to cease firing your torpedo rounds. These corridors can only take so much pressure.”

“Copy,” Magnus replied while lifting his weapon’s muzzle. To the group, he said: “Wobix says we’ve gotta cool it with the TB16s in the tunnels.”

“Then what do we have?” Abimbola asked.

“We have an Awen,” Rohoar exclaimed, pointing a clawed nub at the mystic. “Come, tiny Elonian. Do your worst against these wretched scum who intrude upon your previous order’s sacred lineage and desecrate the Luma reputation with their filthy souls.”

“I agree with the Jujari,” Wobix said. “Use the Awen, manservant.”

“I swear I’m buying you two galactic common lessons when this is over,” Magnus said, more for his own sake than anyone else’s.

“Yes, but we fight well,” Rohoar replied.

“That has nothing to do with—” Magnus pulled himself up short, knowing any further conversation would be a waste of time. He aimed his finger down the tunnel and cast Rohoar an exasperated look. “Point the Awen that way and get her to fire.”

* * *

Now that comms were back up, Magnus hailed Bravo Team as Alpha Team raced forward under cover of Awen’s energy blasts. “Where you at, Zoll?”

“We’re moving on foot northwest, about 120 meters from the command node,” Zoll said from the pop-up frame in Magnus’s bioteknia eyes.

“We’re about 300 meters from the same,” Magnus replied, out of breath. “But we’ve still got a whole lotta robes in front of us.”

“So the enemy’s gonna get there first.”

“Splick’s about to get real,” Magnus said. “Our only advantage is having them on two sides.”

“But without the numbers, I don’t—”

“I was trying to be positive, Zoll.”

He gave a half-smile. “Copy.”

“See if you can gain access to the command center. We’ll try and draw their fire.”

“See you inside.”

* * *

Awen hurled energy blasts down the corridor like a Marine with her MAR30 on full-auto.

Truth be told, Magnus admired how hard Awen was working at a discipline that she would have scorned a few months prior. Then again, a lot had happened in that time, and she and Magnus were different people in many regards. To think that this once proud Luma emissary would be casting a barrage of energy rounds at enemy combatants, much less former classmates and leaders, would have baffled the Magnus who rode out of Oorajee on the Geronimo Nine.

But in another regard, Magnus felt a strange sense of guilt over breaking Awen. Seeing the light flash against her power suit as she took other people’s lives wasn’t something he wanted to celebrate. If anything, he wanted it to stop as soon as possible. Of course, what she was doing was necessary—that was the only way he could justify the mystic and her foreboding display of power. But necessary and right were two different things.

The fact was, none of this was right. The violence, the chaos, and the power play—it was all wrong. And Magnus wanted it to end more than ever. He was growing tired of the fighting even though he was good at the killing. And he wanted his friends to be done with it too. If they could hold on just a little bit more, it would be over soon enough.

You just keep telling yourself that, Adonis, he said to himself. After all, hadn’t he been feeding himself that same line since Caledonia? Just a little bit more.

Yeah, but this time it’s different, he said. This time, when So-Elku was captured and Moldark slain, he’d hang his bucket up for good. People, good people, had told him that they couldn’t imagine a world without a Magnus fighting to save it. What they didn’t realize was that Magnus would never be free of fighting the battles that replayed inside his own head from here to the end of time.

Just a little more.

“Can we use our ’16s again?” Rix asked. “Please, oh, please say yes.”

Magnus blinked up at the command center that filled the large node. Praise be to all seven of Andromeda’s sweet sisters, they’d made it at last.

“Hell, yeah,” Magnus said as he pulled his TB16 from his back and took cover behind a security checkpoint hut. But even as he aimed at a Li-Dain who bounded toward the main building, Magus saw something flicker along the dome’s ceiling. He focused on the movement and saw four blaster barrels drop out of metallic housings and then rotate 360º in a standard startup sequence. And, unlike standard Repub versions of the point defense turrets, these had shimmering blue shields around them—no doubt care of Sekmit engineering and use of the Unity.

“Son of a bitch,” Magnus said as he raised his weapon toward the dome. “They activated the point defenses.”

“Yeah, and those aren’t the only ones,” Silk said, and then nodded behind them.

Magnus glanced over his shoulder and looked back down the tunnel. There, along the spine in the ceiling, he counted three turrets spinning up and gaining orientation. “Come on, really?”

24

Caldwell followed DiAntora through the spaceport’s complex systems of hallways, walkways, elevators, and sky trains. Without her guidance, Caldwell feared he’d get lost in what was a half glorified shopping mall, half bridge to the galaxy. Fortunately, the one thing the team didn’t have to fight against were pedestrians as Freya had ordered the building clear of public use the day before. It felt odd walking through such a thoroughly empty commercial building, the eateries and boutiques of which sat shuttered like the ocular sockets of some napping multi-eyed beast.

“This way.” DiAntora ran toward a hovertrain’s wide-open doors. “It’s the fastest way to bay twenty-nine.”

“But will he fit?” Caldwell asked, thumbing over his shoulder at So-Elku’s crate.

“Negative.”

The admiral had just confirmed Caldwell’s fears. “Then we’ll take another route.”

“But Colonel, we don’t have time. The bay is at least twenty minutes by foot—more if you factor in our numbers, and the fact that the enemy will reengage us as soon as they determine which ship belongs to us.”

“She’s right, William,” Willowood said.

“We are not letting that freak out of his box,” Caldwell said, nodding at the prisoner crate.

“I can handle him,” Piper replied. She reached out and squeezed Caldwell’s hand. “It’s not hard. Promise.”

“There’s got to be another way.” Caldwell looked from Willowood back to DiAntora. Then he glanced at Nelson. “I thought I told you to get as close to bay twenty-nine as possible?”

“I did, Colonel. This was it.”

All at once, the sounds of shouts and blaster fire echoed through the mall’s glossy corridors from someplace farther back.

“We’re running out of time,” DiAntora hissed.

“If Piper says she can handle him, I say we let her,” Willowood said to Caldwell. “It’s that, or our timeline gets extended.”

“Fine,” Caldwell said. “But you’re assisting full time.”

“Planned on it,” Willowood said.

Caldwell motioned to LaMaster and ordered her to unlock the mobile prisoner cell.

She hesitated for a fraction of a second, an act which did little to reassure him of this decision.

“Go ahead, Lieutenant.” Caldwell nodded at her with a conciliatory look. “It’s all right.”

“Yes, Colonel.” LeMaster moved to the security control pad and began tapping on the screen. Then she inputted the necessary biometric data and ordered her men to ready their weapons. The fireteam raised their MAR30s to high ready position and aimed at the dark green metallic panels. When LeMaster seemed satisfied, she punched the release button.

Red lights projected from the roof and a warning klaxon announced that the cell’s opening procedures had been engaged. Caldwell had seen containment units like this before and always thought the bells and whistles were a bit over the top, created by some overly dramatic engineers. But not this time, he thought. This time, the transport cell had every reason to let bystanders know how dangerous it was to open it. Even Caldwell raised his NOV2.

Supercooled hydraulics vented their condensed air streams as the front panels demagnetized. The doors separated like the segmented sections of a Thendarian sea serpent’s back, masked in a thin veil of white mist. Combined with the swirling red emergency lights, Caldwell felt this was more akin to something out of a suspense movie than real life. Then again, most of his life in recent days had felt more like fiction than not. How fitting, he mused.

The doors separated to reveal a bound and muzzled So-Elku bathed in red light. His dark eyes went from Caldwell to Willowood to DiAntora, and then to Piper. Caldwell wanted to blast the man in the head for even looking at the girl. But that wasn’t the mission. Yeah, but I can make it the mission, he thought to himself. Just give me a reason, you fork-tongued son of a bitch.

“He’s secure,” Piper said. The natural confidence in her small voice had a way of easing the tension.

“Then let’s move,” Caldwell replied as the sound of blaster fire grew closer.

“You heard him,” said one of LeMaster’s security team.

So-Elku cast the trooper a devilish look—at least as much as one could be conveyed with a muzzle over his mouth.

But the trooper didn’t flinch. “I said, move it.”

So-Elku lowered his head and shuffled through the still-venting ports and into the mall’s wide-open space. He looked around and then gazed at Caldwell.

“Undo his feet so he can walk,” Caldwell ordered.

LeMaster nodded and touched something on her data pad. The plasma restraints around So-Elku’s ankles de-powered and fell to the ground with a clank. Another trooper retrieved them and clipped the shackles to his belt. All the while, So-Elku’s gaze never left Caldwell’s.

“If he does anything you don’t like,” the colonel said to Piper, making sure that So-Elku could hear him. “Kill him.”

Piper laughed. The sound was so innocent, so arrestingly out of place, that So-Elku seemed startled as he studied Piper.

“No problem, Mr. William, sir. That’s super easy to do.”

So-Elku glanced back up at Caldwell, and the colonel thought he detected the faintest hint of fear behind the Luma Master’s eyes. Hell yeah, you’d better be afraid.

* * *

DiAntora rocked from side to side as the hovertrain slalomed through the underground tunnel. Caldwell was growing increasingly curious about why she’d left Aluross to join the Republic, especially considering the underlying tensions between the two governments. Maybe when this was all over, he’d get her story in full.

“I wanted to know the enemy,” DiAntora said without looking at him.

The sudden pronouncement caught the colonel off guard. He flipped his visor up and looked at the woman. “An officer could get themself in a lot of trouble for less.”

DiAntora turned to face him. “Listening to peoples’ thoughts or calling the Republic my enemy?”

“Both.”

DiAntora seemed to consider the pronouncement and then gave a warm smile of acceptance. “I figured that if I was going to do my part in liberating my people, I needed to know what I was up against.”

“How ambitious. Though it seems you got distracted along the way.”

“Distracted?”

“If I’m not mistaken, you’re an admiral, Miss DiAntora. A lifer. Could have taken your shot against the Repub a long time ago.”

“And who’s saying I’m not now?” she said with a wink.

Caldwell chuckled. She certainly had balls. But then there was something about the way DiAntora replied that reinforced his original curiosity. Not that he suspected she was malicious or anything; he didn’t feel she was dangerous to him or the gladias. But there was more to her story than she was letting on.

“Here we go, people,” DiAntora said over her in-ear comm’s device. “Stay sharp.”

A platoon of Marines and Sekmit filed out of the train car and set a perimeter in the receiving hall. Caldwell stepped beside Piper as DiAntora motioned So-Elku out. Then all the squads rejoined and followed the large directional signs that read Bay 29.

“Colonel?” came TO-96’s voice.

“Go for Caldwell.”

“We have more news on the mystery ship, sir.”

Caldwell flipped his visor down so he could see the bot in his HUD and maintain privacy. “Talk to me.”

“Well, sir, it seems to be heading right for your position.”

“We’ve been over that,” Caldwell replied.

“No, no—I mean, your specific position at docking bay twenty-nine.”

“But DiAnotra’s ship, it’s presence is—”

“Private. We know, sir. That’s why it concerns us.”

Caldwell looked to DiAntora. His imagination could cast her as a mole; she certainly had the means. But the motive seemed unclear. If this was about killing or capturing So-Elku, she was already on point for those things. No, this wasn’t her doing. Plus, there wasn’t an organization alive that could spoof Azelon this bad, at least none that Caldwell knew of.

“How much time do we have, ’Six?”

“Two minutes is our best-revised guess. The vessel is tough to track. And, sir?”

“What?”

“It’s big.”

* * *

Caldwell led the team into the open air of docking bay twenty-nine. If something was hunting them, he wanted to see it first. A light flashed above the hangar’s rim, followed by a thunder crack that sounded in the distance. The storm was upon them, and it would be raining soon. Caldwell ordered everyone to secure the hangar and told Piper and Willowood to keep a close eye on So-Elku.

The Repub’s disguised shuttle sat in the middle of the space, bathed in beams of light swirling with flying insects; a docking bay crew swept the blastcrete floor and tidied up charge lines; and a spaceball match played out over a holo screen within the security office on the bay’s far side. Everything was strangely and uneasily as it should be.

Caldwell looked skyward, but there was nothing to see there either. No engine burn, no repulsor waves, not even the stars. The colonel was about to call TO-96 back and let the bot have it when something odd struck him.

Caldwell froze.

The stars.

As he studied the darkness, the colonel realized that the only stars he could see were just above the hangar’s upper rim—and even they were disappearing. Fast.

“We’ve got a ship inbound on our position,” he yelled over the company channel and started running for cover along the inside wall. “Twelve o’clock high!”

“But Colonel,” Captain Nelson replied. “There’s nothing—”

Nelson’s voice was drowned out by the painful sound of stone on metal as something crashed into the Repub shuttle’s raised tail. A second later, the lights along the bay’s upper rim exploded, bathing the shuttle and the floor in sparks. More hellacious noise sounded as the entire bay’s circumference compressed like the rim of an aluminum cup. Electrical explosions popped, and metal plates flew out to strike the Repub ship. The shuttle itself was being driven into the blastcrete, using its emergency lights and sirens to protest its demise.

Caldwell wanted to shoot something, but now that a deep blackness had closed in on them, there was nothing to see but small fires and a few interior lights from inside the spaceport.

“SITREP with anything intelligent?” Caldwell asked with a clipped tone.

Nelson’s nervous voice broke comms silence first. “It’s like the sky just caved in on us, sir.”

“I said something intelligent, Captain.” Caldwell was pissed. No, furious and pissed. He opened the channel to the Spire. “What in Patty’s pants are we looking at, Ballsy?” Caldwell waited for a beat for the bot to reply, but the channel was silent. “You’ve got to be kidding me right now.” He switched back to the company channel. “All units, fall back to—”

A horizontal red line three meters across appeared somewhere above the crushed Repub shuttle. Then two vertical shafts plunged away from the ends until Caldwell realized he was looking at a ramp door. The platform came down without the sound of hydraulics or winches—just a smooth and steady whoosh as it swept through the air. As the leading edge lowered, Caldwell saw a black figure appear, silhouetted by an intense red light that sent long tendrils into the haze-stricken underworld.

For several long seconds, silence filled the space as both the figure and Caldwell’s forces remained in place, weapons at the ready, fingers resting on trigger guards.

“What is this?” Nelson finally said. “And who the hell is—” The captain’s words were cut short by the sound of him gagging.

Caldwell glanced at the captain and then back to the silhouette in the ship. There was only one person Caldwell could think of that would do this. “Light him up,” he roared over VNET.

The closed hangar space exploded in a frenetic display of blaster fire and Unity energy bolts. One-hundred eighty degrees of light streamed into the opening accompanied by a deafening wail. With nowhere to go, the energy build-up shook the ground in protest of its containment, but still, Caldwell let the assault continue.

When, at last, the colonel didn’t think the target could take any more, he gave the order to cease fire and raised his hand.

His eyes were slow to readjust to the dim light, but when they did, he saw the same figure standing in the same place as before. “Son of a bitch.”

Just then, a gravel-strewn voice sounded from the silhouette, loud enough for Caldwell and everyone else to hear.

“Are you finished?”

Caldwell raised his NOV2 and fired one last round. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought he saw the figure flinch. “There,” Caldwell said over external speakers. “Now I’m finished. At least for the time being.”

The silhouette nodded and then started walking down the ramp. Caldwell wondered how far the man would venture into the hangar; clearly, some sort of force field had kept the enemy protected.

“Nelson,” Caldwell said. “You still with us?”

The captain’s voice came back in a groggy whisper. “Yeah, but I could use a stiff drink.”

“We’ll get you squared away in a bit.”

“Copy that, Colonel.”

“William,” Willowood said over a private channel.

“Whaddya got,” Caldwell replied as he brought her face up on his HUD.

“I’m sensing something strange about this ship.”

“Can you elaborate?”

Willowood shook her head. “Not at the moment. But I’m working on it.”

“Well, let me know just as soon as you know. Copy?”

“I will. And, you do know who that is, right?”

Caldwell gave her a half-smile. “I might be a little slower than I used to be, but I know a parasite when I see one.”

She pursed her lips and gave him a nod. “Just be careful.”

“Don’t you mean, be dangerous?”

She winked at him and then closed out the channel.

By the time the enemy stopped at the ramp’s bottom, Caldwell had stepped clear of his cover but kept his weapon pointed dead ahead. “Looks like you need a few lessons in basic piloting, Moldark.”

“Colonel Caldwell,” the enemy said. “How nice of you to parley with me.”

“What do you want, Blacky? Cause last I checked, you weren’t sent an invitation to this party.”

“No,” Moldark said, wringing his gloved hands; the squeak they produced made Caldwell’s neck hair stand up. “No, I wasn’t. Which is a shame, because I think I could have spared you so much unnecessary work.”

“And how’s that?”

“Well, you’re taking great care to protect someone I want.”

Caldwell instantly thought of Piper. After all, the child had been forcefully removed from the Admiral’s clutches on the Black Labyrinth.

“Which I, of course, appreciate,” Moldark continued. “But I no longer require your assistance in preserving him.”

Caldwell balked. “Him? You mean So-Elku?”

“Well done, Colonel.” Moldark clapped his hands slowly and then offered one palm up. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like my prize.”

Caldwell was about to decline the bastard’s offer when Moldark interjected. “And before you refuse me, I’d like to point out that my ship and my crew are quite happy to exact payment upon the Sekmit and their charming capital city, as you, no doubt, remember that I’m fond of doing, mmmm, Colonel?”

The sick bastard was talking about Capriana, of course, and it took everything in the colonel not to blast Moldark in the face—not that it would do any good. But it sure as hell will make me feel better, Caldwell thought to himself.

“So here’s what I’m going to do,” Moldark said. “I’m going to give you, let’s say”—he glanced at his wrist—“ninety seconds to think it over, and then I’m going to take action on whatever answer you give me—or don’t give me, that’s up to you.”

“Well, I can tell you where I’m gonna put your ninety—”

“We need to talk,” Willowood said over his comms. “Now.”

Caldwell pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek. He couldn’t believe he was going to take this monster up on an invitation to confer with his team when he knew the enemy was just going to kill everyone anyway. “Ninety seconds, Moldark.”

* * *

“What is it?” Caldwell asked Willowood in a more severe tone then he meant it to be. He would apologize for it later—if there were a later.

“I think we can stop him,” she replied.

“Stop Moldark?” He wasn’t sure he was hearing her right. “If you haven’t noticed, he’s got a ship we can’t track and a forcefield we can’t punch through.”

“That’s just it,” she replied. “I believe it’s Unity powered.”

Caldwell blanched. “But I thought Moldark couldn’t use—”

“He can’t.” Willowood shook her head. “But he’s gotten ahold of something that does and is. That thing, that ship isn’t something he made. But it’s omitting the largest Nexus signature I’ve ever seen. And whoever built it is doing a good job at keeping that part hidden.”

“So you’re saying you can disrupt whatever’s powering it?”

“Not just powering it: holding it together.”

“Well, hell, Felicity. Let’s get the shindig up and running.”

She put a hand on his forearm. “It’s not that simple. We’re gonna need to get inside it. And we’ll need extra hands.”

“Inside it?” Caldwell balked. “And by extra hands, you mean, Unity users?”

She nodded.

“Well, hell, we’ve got you, Paladia Company, the narskill…”

Willowood didn’t seem to buy it.

“You need Piper,” he added.

She nodded and gave him a raised eyebrow. There was something more.

Caldwell’s mind raced and then stopped on the only thing he could think of. “Hold up. You mean to tell me that you need Crazy Britches over there?” He pointed to So-Elku, which was an action that drew the Luma Master’s attention. “Aw, hell no, Felicity. Tell me that’s not what you’re thinking right now.”

“It is, William. And it’s the only chance we have at shutting that ship down. Even then, I’m not sure it’s enough. But he’ll take out the city whether or not we comply.”

“I already guessed as much.” Caldwell sighed. “And how do we know they’re not working together on this—So-Elku and Moldark?”

“We don’t,” Willowood said. “But if we don’t try something, we’re dead anyway.”

“Time’s up, Colonel Caldwell,” Moldark said from the ramp. “What will it be?”

25

“Everyone take cover,” Magnus yelled as the point defense turrets started picking out targets. There was only one problem with the order—he couldn’t see anything robust enough to protect them from death from above. That was, more than likely, by design, he knew. No good defense engineer would install ceiling-mounted turrets only to add armored shelters below them. Still, there had to be something they could do to find cover.

And there was. It was called an Awen.

“Awen,” Magnus said. “We need a Unity shield, now!”

Rix went down as blaster fire poured from the turrets over Magnus’s shoulder. The gladia yelled—which meant he was alive—but Magnus saw a burning hole in Rix’s side and another in his leg.

A split second later, a simmering yellow bubble snapped to life around the fire team as more energy bolts crashed against the outside. Magnus guessed Awen wouldn’t be able to hold it for long, so they needed a plan. And he needed to know how second squad was doing.

“Silk, patch him up,” Magnus said, pointing to Rix.

“On it.”

Then to Zoll, Magnus said, “You find cover?”

“Thanks to Wish and company, yeah. But it’s hot over here, LT.”

“Roger.” Magnus double-checked the roster. Granther Company had nineteen gladias, and Wobix’s narskill still totaled twenty-five. “Bixy, you still present?”

“Yes, manservant.”

“Is there another way into the command center besides the front doors?”

“You mean like a basement entrance or something?”

Magnus pumped a fist. “Hell yeah, Bixy!”

“No.”

“Wait, what?”

“No other entrances. We are on the ocean floor, manservant.”

Magnus pinched the bridge of his nose. “Then it looks like we’re doing this the hard way.”

From Alpha Team’s position against the guard station, Magnus started counting the Li-Dain that still occupied the command building’s lawn. “I’ve got fifty on the southwest side,” he said to Zoll.

“Same on the southeast.”

“The rest look to be taking up defensive positions on the high ground,” Dutch said. “I’m counting a dozen sniper positions on those balconies.”

“Then we stagger our approach and keep moving,” Magnus said. He glanced back at Rix. “How’s he looking, Silk?”

“I can still shoot,” Rix answered for her.

“He’s gonna need some serious attention when this is all done,” she added. “But the nanobots are doing their work, and I’ve stopped most of the bleeding.”

“Well, we need every gun we can get. Just don’t look to run any marathons today. Copy?”

Rix nodded.

Magnus reviewed the team stats and flipped back to the company channel. “We’ve got to gain access to that building and smoke ’em out. We are the last option.”

“La-raah,” Abimbola said over the company channel.

“Mystics, keep our cover up,” Magnus added. “Everyone else, let’s show ’em what the Gladio Umbra do to unwelcome guests. Move out!”

“We’ve got to close the gap and get close enough for Rohoar to do some damage,” Magnus said. The others nodded, and the Jujari gave a low growl. Then Magnus ordered covering fire on the closest cluster of Li-Dain. He didn’t expect the munitions to catch the enemy off guard—not that he would refuse an unexpected kill. Instead, he just needed a window to run forward and dive behind a cluster of boulders turned decorative planters. Awen and the others followed close behind as soon as Magnus assumed the role of doling out covering fire.

Alpha Team leapfrogged one more time, all while being pelted from turret fire overhead. They took cover behind a berm bordering the lawn and forced the enemy back with a near-constant but highly disciplined fire rate. Such use of ammunition couldn’t be sustained indefinitely, but it didn’t need to be.

“Rohoar,” Magnus said with a thumbs up. “You good?”

Rohoar replied with an awkward attempt at a thumbs up. “Rohoar is always good.” Then the Jujari mwadim bounded over the berm and drove straight for three Li-Dain. The Luma weren’t expecting to see a three-meter armor-encased Jujari hunt them down, at least by the way the enemies held their hands up in terror. Rohoar stepped within their protective shields and relieved the center Luma of his head. The outside two, Rohoar slashed with his claws and then pounced upon to slit their throats.

Meanwhile, Magnus ordered Abimbola, Silk, and Rix to provide covering fire as Rohoar worked his way across the lawn.

“You all right?” Magnus asked Awen as he swapped out magazines. She sat with her back against the berm, bracing herself like some unseen wind was about to sweep her away.

“I’m okay.”

“Really? Cause you don’t sound all that convinced.”

“I’ll be fine. Just get us inside because I can’t hold this much longer.”

“And that’s why every Awen has a Magnus.” He leaned over, kissed the top of her helmet, and then resumed firing on the Li-Dain.

A sniper position on the second story balcony caught Magnus’s attention. The two Li-Dain there seemed intent on stopping the Jujari’s rampage, which was understandable given the warpath Rohoar was on. “Yeah,” Magnus said as he lined up on the two enemies. “Not gonna happen.” Two torpedo bolts screamed up the building, the first breaking the windowplex half wall, the second detonating against the chest of one Luma. The explosion not only cleaved the first man in two—the Li-Dain must’ve forgotten to shield himself—but also blew off half of the second victim’s face and shoulder. Both victims disappeared onto the balcony floor.

A streak of blue light to the right caught Magnus’s attention. He looked across a small garden and through some tree-mounted banners to see a warrior in Sekmit armor dispensing one Thørzin power bow charge after another into an entrenched line of enemies. The unit tag on Magnus’s bioteknia eyes read Wobix.

The Sekmit’s weapon’s bolts curved around cover and took out the Li-Dain one at a time. But it was the final shot that most surprised Magnus: the bolt missed the target altogether, but just before it struck the building face, the energy round redirected and hit the Li-Dain in the back of the head.

“That settles it, Bixy,” Magnus said. “You’re setting me up with one of those when we’re done.”

But Wobix seemed too focused to respond as he drew his staff on another Li-Dain who charged him. For a moment, Magnus was sure the narskill warrior had made a fatal mistake in choosing the wooden stick over the power bow. But then long stretches of the shaft began emanating blue light, and Magnus wondered if he’d underestimated the cat-man.

When the Li-Dain brought glowing hands around to strike Wobix, the Sekmit blocked the blow with his staff. But unlike any normal parry, the Luma’s arm flew back the way it’d come, accompanied by a boom that made the leaves move. A dazzling display of sparks burst from the impact too, followed by a second boom and shower of light as Wobix struck the enemy in the chest. The Luma flew backward and hit the command building’s base with a sickening thud.

“And I want a stick too,” Magnus added.

* * *

Even though both squads continued to gain ground, the enemy sent what felt like an endless supply of reinforcements to defend the building and drive the gladias and narskill back.

Magnus knew ammunition was getting low, and his units were getting tired. Two Jujari, Graban and Redmarrow, had been injured during CQB, but still looked to be going strong, while Jaffrey and Dozer had been struck by energy rounds when straying too far from their respective Unity shields. Their vitals were stable, but they wouldn’t be making any presses for the building.

Wobix had lost four narskill in hasty attempts to charge the ground-level doors. One Sekmit even got within a meter before his torso was cored by a Li-Dain who stepped around a decorative bush. The robed warrior drove two beams of light into the narskill’s abdomen, leaving a gaping hole where vital organs should have been.

Even Awen was moving more slowly. Despite her objections to the contrary, Magnus knew her shield was moments from collapsing. Without the mystics, the turrets would pick the fire teams off, and the whole assault would be over.

“If anyone’s got any bright ideas, now’s the time,” Magnus said. He fired on a Li-Dain who was powering up for a shot at Rohoar. But the round went low, so when the torpedo bolt exploded, it blew the ground out from under the Luma. The woman flipped backward, missing both feet, and landed some four meters away amidst a shower of grass, dirt, and bone fragments.

“I’m on my last mag. But I’ve still got a Nick,” he said, referring to his Novian combat knife.

“Charlie Team’s low too,” Bliss said.

“And we’re not far behind,” Robillard added.

A bio status alert flashed on a member from Charlie Team. It was Telwin, the fire team’s mystic.

“Does someone have eyes on—”

“Gladia down,” Bliss yelled over comms. “Telwin’s been hit.”

Splick, Magnus said to himself. “Copy that.”

But Bliss wasn’t through. “Dozer’s—dah! Son of a bitch.” More blaster fire broke over Bliss’s open comm channel. “Dozer’s KIA.”

“Someone help secure their position,” Magnus ordered. A feeling of helplessness started to creep in on Magnus. He just wanted to be free of the Li-Dain.

“Taking heavy fire,” Jaffrey said from Robillard’s Delta Team. “We’re gonna try moving to—”

“Negative, Jaffrey,” Robillard yelled. “We can’t cover you.”

But the kid must not have heard Robillard. That, or someone took him out before he understood his CO. Jaffrey’s comm went full-static, and a red Fatal badge appeared over the kid’s name in the roster.

“Ah, gods,” Robillard added. “We just lost Redmarrow too. Ya gotta be splicking me right now.”

“Keep it locked down,” Magnus said, suppressing the emotion raging inside his chest. At this rate, there’d be nothing left of Granther Company in a few more minutes. Even if they found a way to bleed the Li-Dain’s ranks, Magnus’s forces were still running dangerously low on ammunition.

The only warriors who seemed to have an endless supply of energy were the narskill and the Li-Dain. But without the Gladio Umbra’s mystics, Magnus doubted if the Sekmit had it in them to both keep shields up and power their energy weapons. Worse still, however, was that there was no retreat from this position: the tunnels were lined with point defense turrets. But even if they could escape, would they want to? That meant giving So-Elku control of the mine and, in turn, the planet.

Magnus secretly hoped that Forbes was on the way to relieve them. But wasn’t that the wish of every trooper pinned down outside the wire? Of course it was, because no one wanted to die, and everyone wanted to believe help was on the way. But when the turrets were activated, Magnus was assured that the hovertrain tunnels were shut down too.

He and Granther Company weren’t getting rescued.

“Splick,” Magnus said. He dropped down and leaned his back against the berm then looked over at Awen.

She flipped up her visor and returned his stare. No doubt sensing his frustration, she spoke inside his head. I can end this, you know.

What do you mean you can end this? he thought back to her.

I can go nova.

Magnus didn’t answer right away. Instead, he studied her face and her pained purple eyes. Then he looked over at Rix who fought despite his injuries; at Silk, who screamed as she fired on the sniper positions overhead; at Abimbola, who tried in vain to knock out the defense turrets; and at Rohoar, who wrestled two Li-Dain to the ground despite a deep gouge in his thigh armor and another along his limp left arm.

There’s got to be another way, he thought. We’re so close.

And we can still succeed, she added.

Dying is not success.

It is if it protects the ones you love.

Then Magnus thought of Piper and remembered the dream she’d had, the one where the two of them went underwater and met a power they could not defeat. She’d given Magnus all the details after he’d survived the mission at the governor’s mansion.

As if reading his thoughts—because she probably was—Awen said, It’s Piper’s dream, isn’t it.

Mysticsdammit, he replied. I don’t believe it.

A lack of belief doesn’t make reality any less true, she answered and then touched his hand. Let me do it, Adonis. They don’t even have to know. It will save the Sekmit and the planet.

No, Awen. You can’t.

Awen removed her helmet and threw it aside, and then she pulled her face to Magnus’s and kissed him.

“Really?” Abimbola said. “Now?”

But Magnus ignored him.

“She is going to go nova.”

Magnus pulled away and looked in Awen’s eyes. “Yeah, Bimby. She’s going nova.”

The Miblimbian clucked his tongue and fell back against the berm. “I cannot say she failed to warn me. Naked monkey butts and all.”

Magnus laughed, remembering the jail cell in the Dregs. “True. I suppose it was only a matter of time.”

“What’s all this now?” Silk said, pausing from her assault on the building.

“You’d better get it over with,” Magnus said to Awen. “Or else we’re gonna be a while saying goodbye to everyone. And mystics’ know I hate long goodbyes.”

“I love you, Magnus,” Awen said as she reached up to touch his face. “We came so close.”

26

Piper couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She looked at her grandmother’s face, shrouded in the strange ship’s red light. “You really want me to let him go?” she asked.

Her grandmother nodded. “Yes, my dear. We need his help.”

“But I thought he was the bad guy.”

“He is. But right now, we need him to stop a worse bad guy.”

“Grandpa,” Piper said.

Her grandmother winced a little. “I’m afraid your grandfather has long since died, Piper.”

“No,” she replied, balling her hands into fists. “He’s in there still. I know it.”

“Be that as it may, he would also want you to do what I’ve asked you. We have to stop Moldark, and this is our chance.”

Piper didn’t like this plan. But she at least understood Mr. Caldwell’s and her grandmother’s line of thinking. Plus, Piper had to admit that she felt the same thing that her grandmother did: there was something inside that mysterious ship keeping it together within the Unity of all things. If they could search the ship and find the center of it, they could stop it.

Piper nodded and then turned to So-Elku, choosing to speak to him within the Unity so as not to alert Moldark. You’re a bad man, Piper said.

So-Elku registered Piper’s words by looking down at her. Now, Piper, we both know that—

I didn’t ask for your opnin, opionin, Mr. So-Elku. I was merely saying facts.

Opinion, So-Elku said in a corrective tone. And it’s just one fact, singular.

I’ll speak the way I want to. And with that, Piper pinched So-Elku’s ear within the Unity. She’d never done that to anyone before, but she’d seen it in the old holo movies when a teacher wanted to reprimand a student. When So-Elku jerked away from the pain, she admitted that it worked rather well.

I’m going to release you from your restraints, she continued. And when I do, you’re going to help us disable Moldark’s ship.

So-Elku eyed her. Disable his ship?

The Unity powers it. Well, the Nexus.

Does it now.

Focus, Piper said and then stabbed his ear again.

So-Elku made a sound under his muzzle, then said, I’m focused. I’m focused.

Good. When I let you go, you will follow my grandmother and me into the ship where we’re gonna look for its drive core. Then you’re gonna help us blow it up. When we’re done, you’ll be back under my control. And if you do anything that I don’t like, anything at all, then I won’t hesitate to hurt you worse than this.

Come, come, small one, So-Elku said. We both know that—

Piper jabbed both ears at the same time, which made the Luma Master cry out. It’s yes or no, Mr. So-Elku. I didn’t ask for your oh—opinin.

So-Elku took a deep breath. Very well. But can we please stop with the ear pinching?

No. Not unless you mind your manners.

* * *

“Time’s up, Colonel Caldwell,” Moldark said. “What will it be?”

Caldwell didn’t like the plan. He hated the plan. But he also couldn’t see any other way around this predicament. Moldark and his mystery ship were literally right on top of them, and he’d be a flea monger’s wartorn kitten mat before letting the dark lord have the Luma master.

But that left the Gladio Umbra and Sekmit without any leverage, and Caldwell knew the lunatic Paragon leader would blow them all to splick without thinking twice. Likewise, the colonel guessed his forces couldn’t win against the dark lord in a fair fight, or else Moldark wouldn’t have been so bold. But with Willowood’s plan, they didn’t have to win—they just needed to keep Moldark and his minions occupied long enough for the mystics to disrupt the ship’s Nextgen Unity power something or other.

“You can have him,” Caldwell said at last.

“Excellent,” Moldark said. “You have chosen wisely.”

“We don’t need your flattery, Molsnark.”

“It’s Mol—” The dark lord hesitated, apparently picking up on the pun a moment too late.

“Just do me a favor,” Caldwell said. “Make the coward pay, would you?”

“Pay?” Moldark cocked his head.

“Yeah. You’re not the only one he betrayed, you know.”

The dark lord gave a small chuckle. “Yes, he has betrayed many. Don’t worry, Colonel. I won't let his misdeeds go unpunished.”

Satisfied, Caldwell nodded and then waved for the prisoner to be brought forward.

* * *

Piper held her grandmother’s hand as they pulled So-Elku along behind them. The older woman spoke without looking down at her.

As soon as we step inside the ship’s force field, you know what to do?

Yes, Nana, Piper replied.

Good. Get ready.

When the trio came even with Mr. Caldwell, Piper studied Moldark’s face. The man had grown even more disfigured since she’d last seen him. She noticed new scabs and scars and new folds of skin. Even his eyes seemed darker, as if that were possible, accented by heavy bags and dry skin. He was—he was old. And that’s when Piper realized the truth of what was happening. Moldark, or rather his grandfather’s body, was dying.

“Child,” Moldark said as she neared.

“I have nothing to say to you, Moldark,” she replied with a lift of her chin. “You’re a bad person, and you are killing my grandfather.”

Moldark gave her what amounted to a surprised look, but it came off as some gross sneer. “You speak only of the dead.”

“No, I don’t. Wendell Kane’s alive. I can feel him.”

“He is not,” Moldark spat.

“Enough of this,” Mr. Caldwell interjected. Then he motioned for So-Elku to be taken forward. “He is your prisoner now, Moldark.”

The dark lord raised a hand and waved several Paragon Marines out of his ship. Piper didn’t know how many more were inside, but they didn’t seem like they’d be too much of a problem, at least not once she opened the gap in the ship’s force field.

Piper’s grandmother strode forward, pulling Piper along with her, and together, the three mystics stepped through the barrier to stand at the end of the ramp.

“When we release him,” Nana said. “You will only have a moment to take control of him.”

“I understand,” Moldark said.

“If you wait too long, he will be able to—”

“I said, I understand. Let me have it.”

“Your words,” Nana said, and then she gave Piper a wink.

Piper did let So-Elku go, but not before pushing out from within the Unity. It was as if she opened an umbrella and raised it underneath a waterfall. Nexus energy cascaded off the awning, opening a hole in the force field that stretched from one side of the hangar bay to the other.

Before Moldark could react, blaster fire from the gladias and Repub Maines and Unity-powered bolts from the narskill filled the air. The Paragon Marines returned fire, taking cover around the crushed Repub shuttle, while Moldark backpedaled up the ramp. The dark lord stretched out his ethereal presence in an attempt to catch Piper, her grandmother, and So-Elku on the ends of black tendrils. But Nana was too fast and beat the attack back with several energy blows.

“Traitors.” Moldark seethed as he backed away from the mystics proceeding up the ramp.

Piper left her imaginary umbrella under the force field for the other mystic gladias to sustain and then made sure to stay as close to Moldark as possible so that the Paragon troopers didn’t try and shoot her or her grandmother. Not that the enemy seemed intent on doing so—they were far too busy keeping Mr. Caldwell’s forces at bay.

“I’ve got So-Elku,” Nana said as she followed the dark lord up the ramp and into the ship. “You know what to do.”

“I do,” Piper replied. “Good luck, Nana.”

“You too.”

* * *

Caldwell’s initial impression of the unfolding battle changed several times within a few seconds. First, there was the sight of twenty-some Paragon Marines in black Mark VII armor and carrying MAR30s, which did not sit well with Caldwell. He thought most of Moldark’s assault force had been killed in the orbital conflict following the attack on Capriana Prime. Then again, there were only twenty of them, as compared to the colonel’s nearly 240 units. In a fair fight, there was no contest.

But this wasn’t a fair fight.

The Li-Dain were still closing in from behind, as no one had told them about Moldark’s arrival or the plan to use the LAW’s master to take down the Paragon mystery ship. Caldwell didn’t like being assaulted on two sides, but the Li-Dain would be on them any second.

Lastly, and most dangerous of all, was that Moldark had stumbled up the ramp to seek refuge inside his ship. He was wise to run: Caldwell wouldn’t want to face Willowood and Piper in a fight either. Add So-Elku into the mix, who no doubt had some severe grievances against the dark lord, and you had an inescapable three-versus-one scenario, at least as far as Caldwell was concerned.

But Moldark’s retreat also meant that Willowood and Piper were entering into the enemy’s lair, and that bothered Caldwell most of all. As soon as they vanished into the ship’s bowels, he felt his gut tighten. He’d be damned if he was going to leave them in there all alone.

“They’re here,” DiAntora said, nodding back toward the hovertrain’s port. Terminal doors opened, and dozens of Luma warriors raced out, their force fields casting the reception hall in a yellow hue.

“Nelson,” Caldwell said over comms. “I want second and third platoons redirected to engage the enemy at our rear.”

“Hard copy, Colonel,” Nelson replied and then reissued the order to his platoon commanders.

Caldwell watched two platoons of gladia do an about-face and take cover against the Li-Dain. Concentrated NOV2 fire poured through the reception hall, bouncing off Unity shielding and filling the far end with sparks.

“Do whatever you can to keep them busy, Nelson,” Caldwell shouted. “We’ve gotta buy Willowood and Piper as much time as we can.”

* * *

The first thing that shocked Willowood was just how fast Moldark could run. Granted, her ex-husband had always been in top physical condition, which was something he’d maintained ever since playing spaceball in the academy. But given how badly the alien presence had degraded Kane’s body, Willowood was surprised to see the dark lord outrun both her and So-Elku.

The second thing that surprised Willowood was just how large the enemy ship was—a fact made more apparent as she and So-Elku raced farther down each long black-lined corridor. For some reason, she first imagined the vessel was a transport shuttle. But now that she was on board, she understood it to be far more substantial—perhaps even a Battleship-class sized ship. And yet, questions remained about how such a spacecraft could enter the atmosphere unheard and unseen. But she reminded herself that this was no ordinary ship, and the Nexus power could account for all of her lingering questions.

“Ironic, isn’t it?” So-Elku said between breaths. “That you and I would be fighting alongside one another again?”

“Less talking, more running,” Willowood replied.

“You got it.”

Just as Willowood rounded the next turn, she felt something strike her chest. She looked up to see Moldark standing five meters down the hall. The pain seared her rib cage, reminding her of a red-hot speartip trying to penetrate her chest. She batted the probe away and then flung a yellow orb of light at the enemy.

So-Elku, likewise, seemed caught off guard by the sudden attack and stumbled backward. But he pushed Moldark’s tendril aside and sent his own Unity blast downrange.

Moldark dodged both attacks with reflexes that seemed far too fast for a human’s. The motion made his body appear like an arachnid’s that jumped on nimble legs and then pressed off the wall using quick arm thrusts. He came back with new stabs at Willowood and So-Elku’s souls, trying to latch on with his otherworldly tendrils.

Willowood not only batted away the black finger that reached for her chest but also the one that lunged at So-Elku.

“Why, Willowood,” So-Elku said. “You care.”

“Yup.” She pointed at Moldark, who turned left at the hallway’s far end. “But only about stopping him. You’re a means to an end, Teerbrin. Nothing more.”

“And here I thought you were warming to me again.”

“Not a chance.” Willowood took off after Moldark. “Come on.”

* * *

It wasn’t long before Piper had gone far enough into Moldark’s ship that she couldn’t hear the blaster battle anymore. Even her grandmother’s and So-Elku’s footsteps had faded away down the long corridors. She was alone, wandering the halls of a dark and dangerous ship.

But Piper wasn’t really wandering. She had the Unity of all things and her training to guide her. Awen’s voice was in her head still, as was her grandmother’s. And while Moldark’s ship felt foreign, the Unity was not. In fact, Piper felt more at home there than she did anywhere else in the galaxy, so what did it matter if her feet were on a strange ship if her spirit was within the Unity?

A renewed wave of confidence surged through Piper and warmed her tummy. She could do this—hunt the Nexus drive core down and break Moldark’s ship. It was just a matter of listening to the music.

Piper closed her natural eyes for a moment and decided to stretch out with her senses within the Unity. There, echoing through the starship’s halls, was the faint whisper of a melody. The tune sounded sad, like something she might hear at a funeral. As Piper bent her ear toward the source, she heard harmony join with the first notes, creating a dark lament that washed through the ship. Whoever had first sung these notes must have lost someone they loved.

When Piper reopened her natural eyes, she had a strong sense of where the music was coming from—the song that held the whole ship together. She quickened her pace, feeling as though she might lose the melody if she wasn’t quick about her work. That, and Piper knew that her grandmother and Mr. Caldwell couldn’t hold the enemy off forever.

With every turn she took, Piper thought she would meet some angry adult with a blaster. But the hallways were all so empty, as if the ship had been abandoned. She wondered how so few people could operate such a big machine. But what did she know about flying starships anyway?

The melody continued to ripple throughout the ship and bounce off the walls. Piper suddenly got the impression that the music didn’t want to be discovered—didn’t want to reveal its source. She thought it was like trying to find a child who was crying in a closet. But every time you got close to finding the sad boy or girl, they turned out to be somewhere else. No matter: Piper was stronger and smarter than the tune and knew she’d be able to find it soon.

At last, she followed the song into a cavernous hall that exceeded whatever ideas she had about the ship’s size. The ceiling faded away into blackness, and the stone floor was covered in lines and rings that made subtle troughs. And to one side, toward the stern, she thought, was a flat black wall. A set of doors near the bottom made her think of an elevator, while an opening several stories up made her think of a balcony that someone might use to speak to a crowd.

A chill went down Piper’s back even though her power suit was keeping her body warm.

This is it, she thought, looking around the giant room. She knelt and put her hand on the warm stone floor. All at once, the troughs in the ground glowed red. I’ve found you, Mr. Sad Song.

* * *

With second and third platoons holding off the Li-Dain from the rear, Caldwell was able to work with Captain Nelson at picking off the Paragon Marines with first platoon. Likewise, DiAntora rallied her Repub forces along with the narskill to flank the enemy position from both sides.

The enemy troopers had to know they were fighting a losing battle. Had the units been under his command, he’d be telling them to fall back into the ship for cover by now. But they remained where they were, entrenched around the Repub shuttle or under the mystery ship’s boarding ramp. Whether these Marines lacked the presence of mind or they’d been given orders not to move was anyone’s guess. Either way, Hedgebore Company had them on their heels, and it wouldn’t be long before every last one of them was down.

“Keep it up, gladias,” Caldwell said over the general channel. “Not much longer.”

Caldwell sighted his NOV2 on a Paragon trooper tucked inside a crevice above the Repub shuttle’s aft engine cone. The Marine kept poking his head out just long enough to fire a well-placed round and take out one Sekmit after another. One shot, one kill, repeat. Well, Caldwell thought, two can play that game. The colonel found the trooper’s pattern and waited for the next appearance. When the black helmet poked out, Caldwell squeezed his trigger and watched the cap pop off the man’s armored shoulders.

“Scratch another one for Caldwell,” the colonel said to himself, and then he realized the channel was still open. In his younger years, he would have apologized. But he was too old for that sort of splick. It was what it was.

He aimed at another trooper who was giving DiAntora’s men a particularly hard time on the left flank. The trooper had taken up a position inside the nose landing gear assembly and was using the hull panels as near-perfect cover on all sides. What the Marine had failed to notice, however, was that part of the hydraulic system was dangling over his head by a thread, or—in this case—a small bundle of transmission wires. Caldwell drew a bead on the target and fired. As soon as the bunch snapped, the hydraulic system crushed the trooper and silenced the MAR30.

“Saw that,” DiAntora said to Caldwell. “Thanks.”

“I aim to please.” Caldwell smiled at his pun and moved his cigar to the other side of his mouth. Then he surveyed the fast-dwindling Paragon unit strength and knew what his next move was going to be: going in after Willowood and Piper. He’d be the wrong end of a Hornsperion buttlebuck before he let his ladies down.

Caldwell opened a channel to his officers in command. “I’m headed inside. First platoon, stay outside but guard my six. Second and third, fall back to cover the ship. Keep those Li-Dain off our asses.”

The OICs replied with confirmation badges in the chat window.

“Mind if I tag along?” DiAntora said.

“The more the merrier,” Caldwell replied.

The last two Paragon Marines were preoccupied with flanking attackers, which gave Caldwell all the margin he needed to charge up the ramp and enter Moldark’s ship. The first thing he noticed was how dark the hallways were; the second was how empty the ship seemed. Then he heard an explosion come from somewhere up ahead. “Willowood. Do you copy?”

* * *

Willowood and So-Elku worked in tandem to keep Moldark’s tendrils at bay, and it turned out to be harder than she imagined. The old mystic had been wise to employ the Luma Master despite how ludicrous she knew the idea must have sounded to Caldwell. There was just no way she could have done it on her own, and someone else needed to search for the ship’s Unity powered drive core.

Together, the two master users of the Unity pushed Moldark down corridor after corridor, fending off his continuous attempts at their lives while sending energy blasts toward the agile foe. Moldark ducked and lunged, always a few centimeters from certain death but never succumbing. Meanwhile, he stabbed at Willowood and So-Elku with one relentless thrust after another.

Before long, the dark lord moved down a hallway that seemed to open up to a large room. A gargantuan hall is more like it, Willowood said to herself as she exited the tunnel. The space was truly cavernous with a ceiling that loomed clear out of sight. But Willowood didn’t have time to admire her surroundings: Moldark was dashing along the floor like a spider. Whereas the corridors had at least kept the enemy bound to a limited area, the large hall gave Moldark a much wider berth to play in. His possessed body practically skipped along the floor as he dodged So-Elku’s and Willowood’s fire.

“I’m tiring of him,” So-Elku said as he sent two Unity rounds toward Moldark.

“Keep the pressure on,” Willowood replied.

“And if I choose not to?”

Willowood felt like she was arguing with a petulant child. “Then he kills us both.”

“At least then I’d also have a little revenge, yes?”

She gritted her teeth, removed a section of the wall, and flung it at Moldark. The slab sailed through the air and crashed a meter from Moldark in a loud explosion. Willowood growled as she watched the menace flip over the debris and land clear of her failed attempt to crush him.

“So angry,” So-Elku said as he continued to fire. “All that pent up rage.”

“Just focus, you fool,” she said.

“You never appreciated me, Willowood. Never saw what I was genuinely capable of.”

“You’re welcome to show off now,” she said as they both dodged one of Moldark’s long-distance lunges.

“Oh, so now you’re interested in what I can do? When it serves you?”

“Shut up and shoot him!”

Willowood followed her own orders and lashed out against the enemy with a wave of power that cost her precious energy but would be difficult for Moldark to avoid. To her satisfaction, the blast struck Moldark and knocked him down. His body slid along the ground in a squeak of leather against the glossy black floor. But when he stopped, Moldark looked up and away from Willowood—something had caught his attention.

There, on the far side of the room, was a small person who knelt with her hand on the floor. And Moldark ran straight for her.

“Piper,” Willowood screamed. “Look out!”

* * *

Piper could feel the ship, just like she could a living person. And the vessel seemed like it had a story to tell, and Piper was very interested in what it had to say. But she also sensed that the ship was dangerous; or, rather, that the people who had made it were dangerous. Dangerous and very powerful. In fact, the starship seemed to cower before them, like a dog cringing before a master who liked to beat it on the nose for doing even the slightest things wrong.

If Piper could reach inside the ship, to its heart, she thought she could set it free—loose its enslavement to the cruel master and let the whole thing go. Maybe then, it wouldn’t be so sad anymore. Everything could return to its proper place, and all would be well. At least that’s what Piper said to the ship’s core as she plunged deeper into its presence in the Nexus.

The vessel was, after all, a very big craft with lots of layers. So many decks made of so much material. Piper imagined that it had taken many, many people, each gifted in the Unity, to put it all together. How they had even dreamed up such an impossible task was beyond her. And whoever they were, they had to be the most powerful Unity users she’d ever met. Well, besides herself and her grandmother and Awen, of course. Because they were the most powerful of all, right?

A loud explosion sounded from somewhere in the room, but Piper knew that if she looked up now, she would lose her place in the Nexus. And if she did that, then she would let Willowood down and fail her mission. No, she’d press on. Whatever was going on around her could wait. Stopping Moldark’s ship was her prememamint, prenemamant—ugh, it was her most important objection. Object. Objective. Words were hard sometimes.

So Piper willed herself to stay focused. And she was rewarded soon after with a glimpse into the ship’s heart—a giant red glowing orb of energy that pulsed much like a human heart, sending power to every other part of the vessel. Waves of dissonant music rippled outward, proving to Piper that this was indeed the source of the melodies she’d heard earlier. As she moved closer and closer, the undulating ball of light grew super bright, so much that it made Piper want to shield her eyes. But that was silly: nothing like that mattered in the Unity. So she willed herself to focus on the orb and watched as the heart’s vibrations trembled as Piper neared.

All at once, a familiar voice called Piper away from the heart. But she couldn’t leave, not now. She was so close to puncturing the orb and releasing the energy from these ancient stones. She just needed another few seconds before—

“Piper, you’ve got to move now,” yelled the voice—Willowood’s voice. Something was wrong. Very wrong. So Piper receded from the ship’s heart and rushed back to her body. When she finally opened her eyes, she saw a strange creature charging at her.

No, she corrected herself. Not a creature. It was her grandfather, but Moldark’s presence had almost succeeded in killing his spirit.

“Piper,” Willowood screamed again. “Stop him!”

But Piper knew that if she stopped him, she would kill whatever remained of her grandfather. And that, she could not do.

And yet, Moldark was going to kill her. He scampered toward her like a demonic beast—saliva flinging from his pointed teeth and a panting growl coming from his throat. His eyes looked like bottomless black pits hungry to feed on her little soul. She had to stop him, had to kill him because if she didn’t, he would kill her.

Just before she released a wave of power she was sure would annihilate him, Piper wondered what it would be like to live her life knowing that she’d killed her grandfather. Though, she’d already been living in a world where she’d killed her father.

Yes, but that was an accident, she assured herself. This is on purpose.

That’s when it happened.

The thought of hurting him—not Moldark, but Wendell Kane—overwhelmed her. Some might call her stupid. Others would say she was just a kid, and so navee. Na-nay-eve. Whatever. She didn’t care. This was her life, and she was making her own decision. Piper knew that she’d rather die than live in a galaxy where she’d willfully taken her grandfather’s life, even if he was a thin shred of his former self. She would not snuff him out. So she didn’t.

27

Magnus expended his last mag and then slumped down against the berm again. “I’m out,” he said over comms.

He looked at Awen and then took her offered hand. She looked so sad sitting there, resigned to their mutually assured destruction. But it was the only way to save lives. That, and Magnus was pretty sure no one would feel a thing. One minute they’d be pinned under heavy enemy fire, the next they’d be, well, floating around in whatever afterlife awaited them. If there was an afterlife. Magnus always toyed with the idea that maybe there was just nothing. He’d be here and then suddenly he’d be nowhere at all. So what does it matter anyway? In the end, that seemed far too sad of an end to believe in. So he dismissed it, choosing instead to believe there was something far away from all this. Peace, he thought. I hope there’s peace.

Magnus looked Awen in the eyes and said, “Do it.”

She mouthed the words, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he said, just loud enough to be heard over the sound of weapons’ fire and someone screaming like a mad man over comms.

Not a madman, Magnus thought. An excited man. It was faint, layered in static, but it was there.

“Wait,” Magnus said to Awen as he squeezed her hand.

“Mystics, Magnus, you almost made me—”

“I know. Just, wait.” He sat bolt upright and looked around as if trying to get his NBTI to pick up an elusive transmission signal. “You hear that?”

“No,” she replied. “What are you…” Just then, Awen’s gaze went somewhere else. She touched the side of her helmet as if deep in thought with the crackling audio. Then her eyes widened. “I hear—I hear it! It sounds like, like—”

“Like Captain Forbes gettin’ his jollies on,” Zoll interjected.

“Forbes,” Magnus yelled. “Forbes! Is that you?”

“Yeeeeeehaw, Lieutenant,” the captain replied. “Sure as hell is. And I hope you’re standing clear of the walls.”

“The walls?” Magnus looked overhead. “Of the dome?”

“Yup. Cause we’re coming in hot.”

“Everyone stay away from the walls,” Magnus hollered over the company channel. He didn’t know what to expect, but if Forbes was bringing backup, that was all that mattered.

“What’s he doing?” Awen asked.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Magnus said privately. Then he was back on the company channel. “Get to cover and keep your heads down!”

“Do you feel that?” Awen asked.

Magnus was about to say he didn’t know when he felt a thrum in the air. At first, he thought it was coming from somewhere beneath them. But as the aberration grew stronger, he realized it was coming from the dome—or, rather, from the outside.

“Yeah,” he replied. “I definitely feel that.”

“Picking up some strong vibrations, LT,” Zoll said.

“Copy that.” Magnus brought up his topo map. Now that he had comms with Forbes again, it only made sense that sensor tracking would be reestablished. “I’m picking up multiple friendly IFF tags converging on our location from, from—” He hesitated. “From everywhere.”

“I see ’em too,” Zoll replied. “You think something’s gone haywire with our rig?”

Magnus looked up to the shimmering green walls. “No, Zoll. I think Forbes found Taursar Company a ride.”

* * *

Giant spikes drove into the command node’s walls like a hundred carnivorous raptors plunging their beaks through sheet metal. The cacophony made Magnus throw his hands over his ears, but he couldn’t stop the sound from ringing his head. One after another, more beak-like spires penetrated the dome until the whole structure appeared like an inverted spiny crustacean. Then, as one, fluted panels flared back from each beak to reveal missile-like cavities filled with armored warriors. Magnus suddenly remembered Cyril’s nerd-like rant about Festoonial black marspins using their snouts to harpoon a Telderine giant sea mammoth; in this case, the node was the prey.

“You miss us, Granther Company?” Forbes yelled over VNET.

Magnus cross-referenced the topo in his HUD with the dozens of quills delivering gladias and narskill into the dome. The collective mass of reinforcements began firing Novian and Sekmit power weapons on the command building, beating the Li-Dain back and taking out the turrets. Then, amongst the light show, Magnus spotted Forbes. The captain was directly overhead, using one hand to control a descender on a cable and the other hand to fire his NOV2 on the building’s upper balconies.

“Hell yeah, we missed you,” Magnus replied. “But you’re late, you son of a bitch.”

“Eh, we’ll make it up to you.”

Magnus helped Awen get out of the way as Forbes and several other gladias touched down, firing at Li-Dain on the lawn.

“Here,” Forbes said, tossing Magnus an NOV2. “Thought you might need this.”

Magnus racked a charge and then smiled at Forbes. “All right, you’re starting to make up for being late. But only a little.”

“I can live with that,” Forbes replied.

“Where’d you get all the other narskill?” Awen asked.

Forbes pointed at a Sekmit in one of the cat-like armored suits. Unlike the black and green ones, this one was black and red. “From Freya.”

“Remind me to thank her,” Magnus said.

“You can as soon as you get close enough.”

“Hold up.” Magnus did a double-take at the narskill in black and red. “You’re saying that’s—that’s the pride mother herself?”

“In the flesh,” Forbes said. “As soon as she saw the trinium freighter go nova, she assumed that you were heading to the mines. She also knew you’d need backup and that the hovertrains would be out of order. So, she arranged for Plan B.”

“Plan B?”

Forbes pointed overhead. “They’ve got these wicked fast mini-subs, Adonis. Rapid breach and entry nose cowlings. You’ve gotta try one.”

“I’ll be sure to take one out for a spin later.”

Forbes put a hand on Magnus’s shoulder. “All right. We gonna sit around and chitchat all day? Or you gonna let me get back to doing my job?”

“Lead the way, Captain.”

“Oh no.” Forbes gestured toward the front doors. “After you.”

* * *

Magnus charged up the lawn and bounded over Li-Dain bodies. He met Rohoar at the front doors and then dashed into the lobby. A Li-Dain warrior to his left leaped from behind the security desk, brandishing two orb-like balls of light around both fists. Magnus knew enough that being hit by either one would take him out. So he squared his sights on the Luma’s head and fired. Whether because the Luma was fatigued or Magnus had forgotten how powerful an NOV2 really was, the enemy’s shield dropped after the fourth blaster bolt, and the fifth streaked clean through the Li-Dain’s skull.

A second enemy combatant rolled out from a side stairwell further back and gained her feet, energy blasts blazing. Magnus sidestepped where he thought she’d fire and then returned the attack with three bolts to the torso and two to the head. But the shield seemed far from dissipating as the Luma adversary continued to charge.

Magnus changed tactics then and wondered if the stone floor might play a role in putting the enemy on guard. He aimed at the ground right where he imagined the Luma’s invisible force field might kiss the stone. Then he squeezed off two seconds of full-auto fire. The rounds shredded the floor and sent chunks of rock flying in all directions—including into the Luma’s face.

Guessing that the force field had lessened, Magnus fired on the woman. Not only had the shield diminished, but it wasn’t even strong enough to stop the first round that went straight through the enemy’s chest—let alone the six additional bolts that followed it.

When the woman fell away, Magnus spotted ní Freya in her menacing battle armor, standing on the other side of the ground floor. “Hey there, pride mother.”

“Greetings, manservant,” she replied.

“We appreciate you showing up.”

“And we appreciate you leaving some for us.”

“Follow you up?” Magnus asked, gesturing to the next floor. “It’s your mine, after all.”

She raised her helmet’s chin at him. “Your company is acceptable.”

“Thought I’d never hear those words.”

The two leaders met in the middle of the vestibule as more gladias and narskill poured in from the lawn. Freya looked Magnus over and then took the lead, bounding up the stairs.

“Apparently, she is not afraid to get her paws dirty,” Rohoar said. “Rohoar likes this greatly. She would make a fine Jujari tribe leader. If she were not a Sekmit, of course.”

“Minor details,” Magnus replied as he charged up the stairs behind Freya. Granted, putting a national leader on point was extremely unorthodox. Yet she seemed to know what she was doing. And who was Magnus to argue with a woman second only to Queen Nishti? The best he could do was offer his support; hell, he shouldn’t even be this far forward. Though, the more time he spent with the revered leader, the more Magnus suspected that she was, in fact, none other than the queen.

Freya fired at the top of the second floor’s steps. Li-Dain were buried deep in the hallways, taking cover in offices and utility rooms and returning fire. For as much momentum as Forbes and Freya had brought to the fight, Magnus realized things weren’t over yet.

Just then, he heard an order in Sekmitian go over the joint comms network. Freya was speaking. A moment later, ten narskill brushed passed Magnus and spread out on the second floor. As one, they drew back on their Thørzin power bows and held the bowstrings until the standard blue bolt changed to a deep purple hue. But unlike any conventional weapon, the narskill weren’t aiming at the enemy. Hell, they didn’t seem to be aiming at anything besides the hallway walls.

“You seeing this?” Magnus asked the gladias nearest him.

“Copy,” Silk replied.

“Yes,” Awen said too. “Looks like they’re modifying their energy rounds.”

Before anyone else could speak, Freya ordered the warriors to loose their arrows. The Unity bowstrings snapped the air with ten percussive cracks. Then the energy rounds leaped from the powerful weapons and tore into the walls.

Magnus felt bewildered as the bolts of purple energy crisscrossed through the maze of offices. Every split second or so, he’d catch a glimpse of a purple light streaking across a hall, but then it was gone. Screams and shrieks went out from those hidden around the floor, and soon bodies spilled out of their hiding places, landing facedown on the hallway carpet or sprawling out beside waiting room furniture.

A few seconds passed, and everything grew eerily quiet.

Magnus cleared his throat and then said, “That’s some pretty good—”

“Not done yet.”

“Uh, come again?”

“Not done yet, manservant. Silence.”

Magnus was only too happy to oblige given the fact that ten narskill had just taken out what he could only assume was an entire floor of heavily entrenched Li-Dain.

Then, Magnus watched as each Sekmit bowman pressed a small glowing pad along their bows. A faint trill echoed in the office halls, and the purple shafts of Unity energy began whipping around once more. More yells went up within the office as Li-Dain met their ends.

“They’re calling the energy bolts back,” Awen said, her voice filled with amazement.

“Your words, not mine,” Magnus said.

At last, the purple arrows slid back into the Thørzin power bows, and the energy vanished.

“Hey, Bixy,” Magnus said over comms. “Can you do that? You been holding out on us?”

The cat-man growled in return. “This is level above Wobix, manservant.”

“That must chap your knickers then.”

“We will not talk of this,” Wobix said.

“Just curious. That’s all.” Magnus looked at Freya. “Would you like us to clear the floor?”

“Why? It is cleared.”

“Yeah, but it’s our practice to double-check our work.”

Freya hissed over comms. “That is because your work is imperfect.”

Magnus raised a finger to protest but thought better of it. “And right you are, ní Frey-Frey.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” He pointed to the second set of steps. “After you.”

She nodded and then bounded up the glass stairwell, followed closely by her ten narskill elites—as Magnus had come to call them.

Upon arriving on the second floor, the elites did the same as before. Their blue arrows deepened to a vibrant violet and then streaked away. The bolts whipped from room to room, tearing through walls as easily as flesh. Likewise, the cries of the dying echoed down the hallways, signaling the enemy’s demise. When the floor went silent, the narskill pressed their return to home pads, and the energy bolts reversed course until they slid into place back where they’d started.

“Did you want to check, manservant?” Freya asked Magnus.

“Nah. I’m good.”

Freya nodded once and then proceeded to the third floor, where the command center was.

“Things might get toasty up here,” he said to Granther Company. “Stay sharp.”

“Eh,” Bliss said. “They’ve got those fancy bows. I’m not too worried.”

Be that as it may, Magnus knew that an enemy who’d fought this hard to take a position would fight just as hard to keep it. And that concerned him because Freya was still leading the charge.

“Your worshipfulness,” Magnus said just before Freya mounted the top steps. “If I may.”

“What is it now?”

“I advise that we use caution on this floor.”

“What is this caution?”

Magnus swallowed. “Well, my guess is the Li-Dain aren’t going to let this position go easily. And you’re, well, you’re—”

“Speak plainly.”

“You’re a national leader. I think it best if you—”

“We Sekmit do not follow your Republic ways, human. Yes, I smell the Marine Corps all over you. It is not something you can escape so easily. Where your generals and commanders rest behind the safety of armored offices far from the front, our leaders take pointies.”

“Take point.”

She hissed at him.

“My bad.” He raised a hand in defense. “Pointies it is.”

“If I am not fit to lead here, I am not fit to lead up there.”

Magnus nodded. Despite the military logic that this line of thinking flew in the face of, he had to give the Sekmit credit for their bravery. “Copy that.”

“Good.”

“This is a real leader,” Rohoar said in a hushed tone. “Very Jujari.”

“You’ve mentioned that already, Fluffy. And if I’m not mistaken, you already have a mate.”

“This is not the reason Rohoar esteems her.”

“Just keep telling yourself that, big guy.”

“Rohoar still objects,” Rohoar said with a soft woof.

“Forbes,” Magnus said. “I want half your team clearing the upper floors.”

“Copy that. Though, I need to point out that we should really do something about your rank, Lieutenant.”

“Come again?”

“You keep giving Captains orders as an LT. That’s not right.”

“If we make it out of this, you can put in a good word for me.”

“Done.”

Freya looked back at Magnus. “Are you done preening yourselves?”

Magnus winced. “Preening?”

“That’s what I thought. Here we go.”

* * *

When Magnus followed Freya over the top step, they were met with a barrage of enemy fire that would have chewed through their armor in a second. Fortunately, Magnus had asked Awen and Granther Company’s remaining mystics, Wish and Finderminth, to shield the charge. Instead, Freya and Magnus found cover behind two blastcrete columns and returned fire—Magnus with his NOV2 and Freya with her power bow.

The support columns were among those that supported the wide hallway that looked into the command theatre through the panoramic windowplex wall. As Magnus suspected, the command room was filled with what he assumed were high-level Li-Dain, or true bloods, as Awen called them. This was both good and bad. Good because it meant they’d finally reached the enemy’s last stand, and bad because the enemy’s last stand was staffed with the best the LAW had to offer.

Magnus and Freya continued to take rounds from 180º.

“I told you this was going to be a bad idea,” Magnus yelled.

“And yet your mystics cover us.” Freya turned and fired on two Li-Dain, dropping them both with the same power bolt. “No bad ideas.”

Magnus sighed. Working with the Sekmit was almost as bad as working with the Jujari, but the Sekmit smelled better.

The rest of Granther Company, along with Forbes’ Taursar Company, swarmed up the steps and took cover behind the hallway’s many options. They shot their way to columns, decorative stone walls carved in some sort of classical relief, solid wood office furniture, metal storage units, and several stone planters. They drove the enemy back until everyone was set up and ready to storm the command room.

“Home stretch,” Magnus said softly for his own benefit.

“Why do you stretch now?” Freya asked.

“No, it’s more of a—just, never mind. I stretch, because—I like it.”

“Strange. But acceptable.”

Magnus asked for confirmation icons from the gladias. When his units reported they were ready, Magnus looked to Freya. “We’re good to go when you are, Frey-Frey.”

“Why do you keep calling the pride mother this term?”

“Because it—” Magnus hesitated, trying to think on his feet. “It’s a sign of respect for you as a mighty military leader.” Hey, this was combat, and Freya had put herself in the trenches. Which means you’re fair game for white lies, Magnus thought.

“Ah, I see. Then I accept this name of Frey-Frey. Thank you, manservant.”

“My pleasure.”

“My pleasure, what?”

Magnus smiled. “My pleasure, Frey-Frey.”

“That’s better. Now, we advance.” Then Freya turned from cover, shot through the supposedly blaster-proof windowplex wall, and leaped into the command room.

“Oh, splick,” Magnus yelled and then charged after her.

* * *

Magnus landed slightly to Freya’s right and slammed into a workstation. The desk, chair, and holo computer broke under his fall. It wasn’t Magnus’s smoothest entry, but his NOV2 was up and firing, which was all that mattered in a situation like this. Shoot, move, repeat.

He fired on a Li-Dain to his right—a woman standing on the same level just a few workstations down. Rage flared in her eyes as she deflected Magnus’s blaster rounds with a quick wave of her hand and then sent a barrage of return fire toward his head. The exchange happened so fast, Magnus almost took the strike in his forehead. Instead, he drilled the woman’s shield on full auto and charged her position.

Temporarily blinded by the NOV2’s withering fire rate, the Luma didn’t see Magnus rush her—at least she didn’t do anything about it. He slipped through the weakened force field and crashed into her, slamming her head against the floor. The woman yelled as Magnus’s momentum flipped him over her head. His back hit the ground, and the Li-Dain would have had the chance to right herself and attack him—she would have, had Magnus not had his NOV2’s muzzle buried in her shoulder. He squeezed the trigger and the weapon gave a muffled cough as three rounds penetrated her chest cavity and flash seared her vital organs.

“You good?” Awen asked him.

“One down,” he replied.

“You’re lucky. That was a true blood.”

“Eh, they’re not so bad.”

“Well that’s good to hear because you have a second one coming at you.”

Magnus raised his head and saw another Li-Dain running down the row toward his feet. The Luma had an elongated face with grey skin that stretched across multiple lumps along its cheekbones. “Mystics, he’s ugly too.”

“A Dim-Telok,” Awen said. “One of the few in the Order. Watch out for his—”

A harpoon-like spear thrust from the Li-Dain’s knuckles and forced Magnus to dive down one level to his left. He crashed into the workstation, scrambled to a firing position, and unloaded on the alien’s personal shield. The monster balked for a second.

“What the hell was that?” he asked Awen.

“Bone spears. I said, watch out for his retractable bone spears!”

Magnus was about to reply with something witty when the Li-Dain projected another one of its bone spears. The spike burst through a computer tower and produced a fountain of sparks. The damn things were driven by some sort of biological hydraulics that propelled the half-meter long weapons forward and then sucked them back into the wrist.

Magnus rolled away from the exploding computer tower and fired on the Dim-Telok. Again, the enemy’s shield blocked the blaster fire.

Then the beasty smiled and jumped down to the next row. He was enjoying this—the damn monster’s actually toying with me.

The next spear that shot toward Magnus glowed a bright yellow. Then, when the weapon reached its full length, a streak of Unity energy continued forward, blowing a hole in the floor several meters behind Magnus.

“And the bones shoot splick too?” Magnus said to Awen.

“He’s a Li-Dain, a Luma! What did you expect?”

“I thought villains were only allowed one weird superpower at a time.”

“Take your complaint up with Cyril,” Awen replied. “He’s our resident expert there.”

“Noted,” Magnus said with a grunt as he dove yet again, barely avoiding a thrust to his head. He got the feeling that if one of the Unity-powered bone spears made contact with any part of his body, the resulting energy release would be like a tiny bomb going off inside him.

As if to confirm this, the Dim-Telok drove a knuckle-spike into a digital archive cabinet, narrowly missing Magnus’s head. Once impaled, the storage unit quivered as lines crackled across the surface. Then the box-like unit exploded and showered the vicinity with debris.

Magnus fired, and then fired again. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to punch a hole through this thing’s shield. Magnus looked up, hoping he might employ some of his other team members, but they were all busy with adversaries of their own. The theatre was full of blaster fire, Unity shields, and the cries of warriors engaged in mortal combat.

“Looks like we’re gonna do this the hard way,” Magnus said to his assailant.

The Dim-Telok gave a three-thrust right-left-right combination that forced Magnus against a wall and dropped his shielding to zero. A fourth, however, went straight through his shoulder. Magnus’s joint exploded with pain but did not burst from the Unity. For whatever reason, the enemy was unable to imbue this last strike with the mystical energy source.

The Dim-Telok also failed to register the fact that Magnus was inside the enemy’s Unity shield and had jammed an NOV2 under its ribs.

“Sucks to lose,” Magnus said, and then he squeezed the trigger.

The Dim-Telok’s innards blew out its back and showered several oncoming Li-Dain with gore. The spike in Magnus’s left shoulder kept him pinned to the wall even though the creature’s arm went limp. Magnus couldn’t remove the spear and hold his weapon at the same time, and he counted six Li-Dain charging his position. There wasn’t time to get free. So he switched his NOV2’s mode to AI-assisted multi-target fire effect and watched as his NBTI work with his bioteknia eyes to acquire targets.

The Li-Dain were less than five meters away, and their fists were charging with light. As soon as Magnus’s targeting system went green, he squeezed the trigger and felt the weapon’s gimbaled barrel chatter. High-speed flickers flashed in his eyes and sent deafening screams to his ears. He was going to need a gene therapy treatment after this one so he could hear again.

The NOV2 drained both magazines and sent the energy into the Li-Dain, all while Magnus hung from the spike in his shoulder. Unity shields exploded, and bodies went down. One Luma warrior still managed to survive the Novian weapon’s tirade. The man limped toward Magnus, right fist glowing, but the enemy made the fatal mistake of assuming Magnus was defenseless. When the man was within striking range, Magnus dropped his NOV2, whipped out his Nick, and slashed the Li-Dain across the throat.

Only the knife blade was a few centimeters too short.

“You poor fool,” the Li-Dain said. He pulled his arm back to thrust the Unity energy into Magnus’s chest. Instead, the man flew forward into Magnus’s blade and slammed into Magnus’s right shoulder.

Awen stood behind the Li-Dain with a hand on her hip. “Thought you could use some help.”

“I had it under control.”

“Sure, you did.” She strode forward and grabbed the Dim-Telok’s limp arm with both hands. “On three?”

“Yeah, okay.”

He’d hardly said the words when Awen yanked the spear free of his shoulder.

“Son of a bitch,” Magnus yelled. “I thought you said you were gonna count.”

“Three,” she said, dropping the limb to the ground. “Happy?”

* * *

When Awen and Magnus rejoined the rest of the gladias and narskill below the main screen at the theatre’s bottom level, Freya had cornered what appeared to be the last remaining Li-Dain. Forbes and Freya’s reinforcements had made the difference, and the LAW warriors had been beaten back. The battle had been won.

“I can give you what you want,” the golden-robed warrior said to Freya.

“And what do you think I want?” Freya asked, pressing her claws into the soft flesh under the man’s chin. She’d removed her helmet and stood surrounded by the ten elites.

“So-Elku. Master So-Elku. I can give him to you.”

“In return for what?”

Magnus knew then that Freya was playing the Li-Dain. She already had So-Elku. The cat was toying with her prey. Mystics help him, Magnus said to himself, and then he thought better of it. Nah, let him have it, Frey-Frey.

“In return for—well, you let me go,” the Li-Dain replied.

“Freedom?” Freya made a show of looking around the command theatre. “After all this? You think I’m just going to let you walk away?”

“But, So-Elku. I can give you So-Elku.”

Freya’s claws drew blood. “I already have So-Elku.”

But then the Li-Dain gave her a confused look. “No, you don’t.”

“Ha—I think I know my own possessions.”

To Magnus, the Li-Dain seemed genuine in his assertion. And, given the Luma’s interconnectivity, Magnus wondered if there was something Freya didn’t know about. Maybe Caldwell and DiAntora hadn’t accomplished their half of the mission.

As if confirming Magnus’s suspicions, the Li-Dain said, “You had him, ní Freya. But now you’ve lost him.”

Freya cocked her head but did not reply, at least not with words: her nails went a little deeper into the man’s neck.

He struggled against her, and his voice became tight with pain. “Lady Willowood set him free. They’ve betrayed you.”

Magnus didn’t doubt that Willowood might have had to do something to So-Elku. But without a stable VNET connection, there was no way to know what was happening on the surface. Even so, Willowood wasn’t the betraying type. This Luma was desperate, and desperate people did irrational things.

“I have reason to doubt your claims, golden baby,” Freya said.

“Check it for yourself then.”

“I do not want to wait, and I much prefer killing you.”

“Kill me and I take the room with me,” the Li-Dain blurted out.

Magnus cast a glance at Awen. He can do that, can’t he?

Yes, she replied in the Unity. I’m afraid so. With no Luma left around him, he has nothing to lose.

Would a headshot prevent it?

Awen took longer to respond than Magnus liked. I think so.

You think so?

It’s not like I have a lot of experience blowing myself up, Adonis.

Magnus sighed. He had the Li-Dain’s head in his sights, as did every other defender in the theatre. There was no way Magnus or the others could miss. But if the Li-Dain had his nova setting—for lack of a better term—on some sort of deadman’s switch within the Unity, then this could go all kinds of sideways.

Exactly, Awen said. That’s what I’m afraid of. Something new in the Nexus that releases his life force—I don’t know. But there’s also a chance he’s bluffing.

Then it was a chance they had to take.

Magnus squeezed his trigger.

But not before Freya extended her claws into the base of the Li-Dain’s skull. A fraction of a second later, the Luma’s head exploded, and then the whole room went bright white.

* * *

It was the ringing in his ears that woke Magnus up first, and it was the pain in his head that kept him from passing out again. He blinked several times before lifting his head and looking around. Tongues of fire licked the room’s wreckage—charred and broken workstations, data terminals spewing sparks, and bodies. So many bodies.

Only these bodies were moving. Not much, at first, but moving nonetheless.

“Magnus?” Awen said if she spoke from behind a blanket. “Can you hear me?” Her face suddenly appeared in his vision.

“Yeah,” he replied, but he had trouble recognizing his own voice. The fact that he was talking was positive. And he didn’t feel like anything was missing on his body, even though his face felt like it had a wicked sunburn. “I’m good. I think.”

Awen blew out a deep breath. “I thought I lost you there.”

“What—what happened?”

“The guy went nova.” Awen pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “But we got some shields up in time.”

“You saved everyone?” He took her offered hand and sat up.

“Not everyone.”

Magnus studied her face and then looked around. He’d been blown back a few rows. The massive holo wall was gone and replaced with a view of the dome. And there, in the center of the lower level just outside a black blast radius, was a single body in Sekmit armor.

“Freya,” Magnus whispered.

Awen helped him stand, and the two of them walked through the burning wreckage to the Sekmit leader. Magnus knelt beside her and looked over her body. The battle armor was cracked. Whole sections were missing and gave Magnus a clear view of charred fur and bloody flesh. Worst of all was her helmet. Half the visor was missing, leaving her face exposed to the Li-Dain’s suicide. Whatever personal Unity shield Freya had employed, it hadn’t been enough. Maybe she hadn’t engaged one at all—who knew.

“Manservant.” Freya’s voice startled Magnus. He couldn’t believe she was still alive. Then she raised the remains of a forearm to touch his chest. The attempt showcased the gruesomeness of a point-blank detonation, and Magnus willed himself to stay focused on the woman’s last moments of life and not dwell on her macabre appearance.

“Hey, Frey-Frey,” he replied.

“The last one—he’s dead?”

“Yeah,” Magnus replied. “The mine’s all yours again.”

“Not mine.” She took breaths in short wheezes. “The queen’s.”

“I always kinda figured you were the queen, you know.”

She rocked her head back and forth. “No. Please tell her—” A spasm made Freya’s body constrict.

“Tell her what?” Magnus asked. Then he felt Awen’s hand on his back, reminding him to be more soft with his tone. “What would you like me to share with her?”

Freya swallowed, and the muscles in her neck bulged. “That I endeavored to do my—my best—in her absence.”

“Okay, sure. I got it.”

“You”—Frey tapped his chest plate with her stub. “You are a very good manservant—”

Magnus chuckled. “Thanks.”

“—for her.” Freya’s eyes darted to Awen.

Magnus glanced at Awen, and the two of them shared a moment staring into one another’s eyes. When Magnus looked back to Freya, the pride mother’s life had left her. “Ní Freya?”

“She’s gone,” Awen said with a gentle pat on Magnus’s armor. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too.”

28

Piper might not have been able to kill her grandfather, but Colonel Caldwell sure as hell could. As he stepped into the vast hall, he read the situation like forecasting a stormfront. Hell, maybe he knew the kid’s inner conflict before she did. Caldwell might not have special Unity powers or a sixth sense for seeing into other realms, but he knew people. And right then, he understood there was no way the child was going to liquefy her own grandfather—or whatever it was she could do to him.

But someone had to.

And that someone was going to be him.

Moldark scampered toward Piper like a bloodthirsty monster hellbent on devouring prey. The seasoned colonel had seen this kind of thing play out on battlefields all over the quadrant, and it never ended well for the victims. So Caldwell raised his NOV2, drew a bead on the demon-possessed enemy, and fired.

The round punctured Moldark’s rib cage just under the armpit and came out the other side—a clean shot through the vital organs. The enemy dropped to the deck and slid the rest of the way to stop at Piper’s feet. Whatever Unity splick the megalomaniac had used to absorb blaster fire before, it wasn’t working now, presumably because he was so transfixed on Piper.

Where Caldwell misjudged the child was in thinking she might shriek or cry or run away. But she didn’t. Instead, she stood motionless and watched Moldark’s crumpled body come to a stop, nudging her boot. Piper looked down at the man-beast and then did the most curious thing. She knelt and placed a hand on his face.

But Caldwell didn’t have time to watch. As Willowood raced toward Piper, So-Elku backed away. The colonel wouldn’t execute the Luma Master—that was for the Repub to decide. But he couldn’t let the maniac go free either.

“Not so fast,” Caldwell said to himself, and then he fired on So-Elku just as the man turned and ran for a side corridor.

* * *

“Grandpa?” Piper said in the softest tone she could manage. “Grandpa, are you there?” She stroked the side of his face, willing him to be alive, somehow. At least for a second. She had things to say. “Grandpa, please.”

Suddenly, his black-pitted eyes transformed, receding to something that looked more human. He had a deep brown eye and another pinkish-white eye. His counterence, counternanse—his face also seemed to change, softening under her touch. The scars didn’t go away, but some of the anger around his eyes and mouth disappeared.

Piper knew that Mr. Caldwell’s blaster bolt had hit important parts of her grandfather’s body. He would be dead very soon, which made speaking to him even more important. Wherever his soul went in the next life, he had to go there knowing what she had to say.

“Grandpa?” She patted his face. “Can you hear me?”

“Yes,” Admiral Kane replied. Unlike Moldark’s dark and gritty voice, this man’s voice was soft. “I’m here.”

Piper let out a burst of emotion but quickly pulled herself back together. Still, she couldn’t help let a small flood of tears well up and run from her eyes. “It’s me again, Piper. Your granddaughter.”

“Yes, I remember,” her grandfather replied.

“I wanted to see you again, before you, you—”

“It’s nice to meet you, Piper.” He coughed twice, his body spasming as he did.

“Grandpa. Your daughter, Valerie. My mom.”

His eyes fluttered.

Piper suddenly thought maybe he would live long enough to hear her out. “No, no, no.” She patted his face harder. “Grandpa?”

“I’ m—I’m still here.”

“Your daughter. You know she grew up to be an amazing person. My mom. She was the best.”

“Was she?” he replied.

“Yes, she was. Strong and brave and really super smart. You should be very proud of her. Just as I am. But she was the best mom I ever could have asked for.” Piper paused, trying to find the right words. Her tears were making her choke. “I know you and grandma didn’t always, you know, get along and stuff. But you did do something amazing. You gave me the best mommy in the galaxy.”

Piper felt like her chest was about to explode. This all felt too impossible to be real. Like it was just a dream or something. But it was the pain in her heart that let her know it was not a dream, that this was, in fact, the reality she was living in real-time.

“So, thank you,” Piper said. “Thank you for giving her to me. I just wanted you to know, before, before it was too late.”

Her grandfather coughed again, his body spasming less this time. He was getting weak. “Thank you for telling me, Piper. It’s, it’s good for me to know. And I’m—”

“Wendell?” came Nana’s voice from above Piper. The older woman slid in beside Piper—knees on the ground, helmet off. “Is that you?”

“Yes,” Grandpa Kane said with a cough. His voice was even weaker now.

“Hold on,” Willowood said. “We’re going to get you to—”

“No,” he said, waving her off. “No, please. It’s not—”

“Don’t be silly, Wendell. We’re going to—”

“Too much.” Grandpa Kane coughed again. “I’ve seen too much. Done, too much. It’s my time to go.”

“But—but, you just came back to us and—”

“Felicity.” He took her hand. “We both know what I’ve done… what I’ve been a part of. I want to enter whatever comes next and be free of… of this.”

Nana closed her eyes and nodded. “I understand.” Then she pulled his hand to her lips and kissed it. “I loved you, you know.”

“And I hated you for loving me,” he replied with a half-smile, wincing in pain.

“But when it was good—”

“It was great. And we have Piper.”

Nana looked at Piper with eyes full of tears. Her grandmother put her other hand around Piper’s neck and pulled their heads together. “And we have Piper,” Nana repeated.

“I’m so sorry,” Grandpa Kane said. “To both of you. For so many things I’ve done. Things I can never undo.”

“It’s okay, grandpa,” Piper said. “You didn’t mean to do them.”

“No.” Her grandfather coughed, but it was more like a wheeze. “I knew. I always knew what I chose. But I regret… so much.”

Piper tried to console him. She wanted to ease his suffering, to correct his statements a little. But he moved his head away from her touch.

“Live, Piper,” he said as he slipped something into her palm. “Live better than me.” He took her and Nana's hands and squeezed them until his arms shook. “I found out too late—” Grandpa Kane coughed a last time. “—how much I missed.”

“Grandpa?” Piper said. But his eyes went flat. “No!”

“Piper,” her grandmother said, pulling the child into a tight embrace. “He’s gone.”

“No, Nana. It’s too soon.”

“Death always is, my child.”

* * *

“You’ve been shot,” said a smooth voice inside So-Elku’s head. “They’ve betrayed you. Just as they always will.”

“Who—who are you?” So-Elku replied into the darkness.

“You don’t recognize me?”

“Well, no. I can’t even see you.”

“But you sense me.”

So-Elku had to admit that, yes, despite the cold, he wasn’t totally alone. There was someone else in the void with him. “I feel your presence, yes.”

“But you still don’t recognize me outside of Kane’s mortal body.”

“Kane?” So-Elku froze—at least in so much as whatever state he was in could go rigid. “You’re—Moldark?”

“Very good,” the being replied like a master pandering to an obedient pet.

“But I just saw the Colonel—”

“Shoot Kane’s worthless rotting corpse? Yes, and good riddance.”

“So, you’re not dead?”

Moldark laughed in the darkness. “Do you really think a mere mortal can snuff me out? Are you that unaware of my nature?”

“Well, I just thought that—”

“That my soul is bound to flesh like yours?” Moldark’s laugh became more sarcastic—more malevolent. “Oh, Teerbrin, Teerbrin. How much we have yet to journey together.”

So-Elku furrowed his brow—at least whatever brow existed in this strange state of consciousness between death and life. “Journey? What kind of journey?”

“As fate would have it, it seems that we both possess things that the other needs. For instance, I need a body, and you need what I know about the multiverse and building an unstoppable army, among other trivialities. So, before I move on to find a willing host elsewhere—a task that requires so much work and endless amounts of persuasion. It can be downright exhausting!—I’ve decided to make you a proposal.”

“You want to partner.”

“Ha! And now you see why I’ve approached you? I only ask the best.”

So-Elku pictured Kane’s face just then. He supposed saying yes to Moldark’s ethereal presence meant that something similar would befall him. Then again, So-Elku mused, I am dead, aren’t I? Or dying, at least. Colonel Caldwell had seen to that—shooting him in the back. The back! So-Elku had been a fool to think the Sekmit and their allies were going to let him walk out of here alive. They just used him to get to Moldark.

And my how the tables have turned.

Whatever unfortunate side effects may come from a partnership with the otherworldly spirit that was Moldark, So-Elku knew a few things about the potential bond. The first was one of power, obviously. People had feared Kane—or Moldark—whatever. Even So-Elku himself had; he needed to look no further than the encounter with Nants in the bathhouse. This meant that whatever fear people had of So-Elku, and there was some—he’d seen it in their eyes—partnering with Moldark would only serve to amplify that fear.

Secondly, Moldark was a being capable of extraordinary feats—perhaps even more than Moldark realized. So-Elku’s knowledge of the Unity, and more, of the Nexus, meant he could take Moldark’s powers and make them more. He could turn them into something truly magnificent.

Thirdly, if Moldark did have insight about the multiverse, which he no doubt did, given his nature, and knowledge about creating some sort of “unstoppable army”—hyperbole if there ever was any—then So-Elku wanted it. Even if the information was half as good as he thought it was, it would be worth finding out about.

Last, and certainly not least, there was the fact that So-Elku liked the idea of living. He assumed he would be a dead man in a matter of moments. So bad was his state now that he felt disconnected from his mortal flesh and couldn’t repair it even if he wanted to. But he’d seen what Moldark was capable of, and knew that the being could siphon another person’s life force to nourish his own. Therefore, it wouldn’t be long before So-Elku was revitalized and whole. Combined with his own powers of reanimation within the Unity, So-Elku wondered if their partnership would create the first real immortal being—a god worthy of worship.

Yes, all would see his power. They would bow before him. He would be the savior that the galaxy had always needed—a deliverer both beautiful and terrible, one impossible to resist.

“Very well,” So-Elku said. “I accept. Partners.”

“Partners,” Moldark replied, and then fused himself with So-Elku’s nature.

* * *

“I’m sorry to break this up,” Caldwell said. “But we still have an enemy out there.”

“But we can’t leave him,” Piper said, looking to her grandfather.

“Uh, yeah, we can. And we’re gonna.” Sensing he’d been a little too insensitive, Caldwell doubled back. “Listen, the most important thing right now is for us—”

Piper grabbed Kane’s wrists and attempted to drag him across the floor. The body didn’t budge. Still, the child pulled with all her might as tears streamed down her cheeks. Then there was Willowood, who looked up at Caldwell with pleading eyes.

“Oh, for all the blizzards in Blunderfield,” Caldwell said, pushing Piper aside—gently. “Let me.” The colonel heaved Kane’s body off the deck and threw the dead weight over his shoulder. “Happy?”

Piper nodded. “Mmm-hmm. Thanks, Mr. Grandpa Caldwell, sir.”

Caldwell hesitated. “What now?”

“Move along,” Willowood said as she patted him on the back. “Wait. So-Elku.”

Caldwell nodded to a point across the hall’s floor. “I had to put him down.” He was about to turn away when So-Elku’s body twitched. “Dammit.” Caldwell pulled his NOV2 up one-handed to finish the job. The colonel may have been coldblooded when it came to war, but he wasn’t going to let anyone suffer needlessly. “You might not want to watch this.”

But before Caldwell could pull the trigger, So-Elku’s body rose off the floor—feet planted, chest popping upright.

“By Vespers twin bitches,” Caldwell said. “Run!” Then he fired his NOV2 on full auto and headed for the nearest exit.

Sensing that he was running alone, though still carrying Piper’s grandfather, Caldwell turned to account for Piper. But the child was standing beside Willowood, and both of them were staring at So-Elku—a man who had just blocked the NOV2’s full-auto fusillade. “Dammit, ladies. I might not be a Unity scholar, but that thing there ain’t normal.”

“We know,” Willowood said with a strange calmness to her voice. “Which is why we must stop him. Now.”

* * *

“Stop us?” So-Elku replied to Willowood.

She thought the use of the word “us” was strange, so she tilted her head at the Luma Master. “We’re taking you back into custody, So-Elku. Stand down.”

“Taking us into custody?”

There it was again. Something wasn’t right here. “You can come peacefully if you choose. If not, Piper and I will—”

“Piper,” So-Elku said, snapping his head toward the child. “So powerful for one so young.”

“Stay where you are,” Willowood said, raising her hand. The power she exerted in the Nexus was considerable. But So-Elku looked down at his chest and then back at Willowood as if he regarded a flea attempting to stop a boulder. The look sent a chill down the back of Willowood’s neck because something in the Luma’s eyes had changed.

“What’s going on?” Caldwell said. “You have this under control?”

“Yes,” Willowood replied, but even she recognized the uncertainty in her voice. “Piper, we’re going to—”

“Tell me, Luma Mistress,” So-Elku said, his voice taking on a dark tone. “Would you forfeit your life for this one?”

Despite Willowood’s attempts to keep So-Elku bound, he raised his arm and pointed at Piper. The mere fact that So-Elku could move against her made Willowood uneasy. So she pushed harder, willing unseen power to surround the man. At the same time, her anxiety grew as an explanation formed in her mind.

“Felicity,” Caldwell said. “Talk to me.”

“Piper,” Willowood said finally. “We must subdue him.”

“Okay, Nana.”

Suddenly, So-Elku’s arm went to his side. Piper was constricting the man’s movements, which went a long way in easing Willowood’s fears. The child was still more powerful.

For now, said the tiny voice in the back of Willowood’s head.

“You cannot stop us!” So-Elku snarled as he struggled to remove himself from Piper’s restraints.

“But we already have, So-Elku,” Willowood replied. “You’ve met your match.”

“We are not So-Elku,” the man spat. “He is no more. We are Soldark now. And you”—the man sneered at all three of them—“you will bow before us.”

Caldwell cried out as his knees hit the stone floor. He still held Kane’s body over his shoulder, but the colonel seemed unable to move under his own volition. “What the hell’s happening—to—me?”

Willowood could feel the same force trying to press her to her knees. But she resisted it. Piper, too, seemed to be fighting something pushing her down. “Resist him, Piper. Don’t let him make you—”

“You cannot resist us,” the being called Soldark said before letting out a maniacal laugh that reverberated around the hall.

“Oh yes we can,” Piper said.

All at once, Willowood felt the pressure on her shoulders subside. Caldwell, too, was set free and fell on his hands. Then Piper closed her eyes, and Soldark backpedaled two meters in an attempt to stay upright.

“Can you defeat him?” Willowood said to Piper, her voice earnest.

“You mean, kill him?” Piper’s eyes opened wide.

Willowood hated asking her grandchild, any child, if they could kill someone. But Piper knew the risks, especially after all they’d been through.

But does she, Felicity? Willowood asked herself. Does she know about the demons that haunt a person’s soul for the rest of her life?

Willowood shrugged her inner voice and focused on Piper’s innocent face. “I mean kill him, yes. Can you?”

“I’m not sure,” she replied. “He is strong.”

“But not as strong as you.” Willowood couldn’t tell if she’d made a statement or asked a question.

“I’m—I’m not sure,” Piper replied.

Even as Piper spoke, Soldark took a step forward. The movement was labored, but it was a step, nonetheless. Willowood felt her own power succumb to Soldark’s, which gave her even more concern. Either Piper was not trying hard enough, or—

No, Willowood thought. I won’t believe it. Her granddaughter was the most potent agent in the galaxy. That much had been known. Whether or not Piper knew it was still to be discovered. The child is just distraught over the death of her grandfather, Willowood thought. Or she’s simply too young and has more to grow into.

There was another explanation, of course. And as much as Willowood tried to keep the thought away, it still asserted itself in her consciousness like a canker sore screaming for attention. Or Moldark’s presence inside of So-Elku is a force no one could foretell, and one too great to be stopped.

Soldark growled, and then his eyes turned black—sclera and all. He took another step toward the trio and chomped at the air.

“So you got him or not?” Caldwell said, finally regaining his feet and raising his NOV2. “Cause I’m not a fan of sticking around here unless you’re sure about this.”

“We need to go,” Piper said. “I—I can’t do—”

“Say no more.”

* * *

Caldwell selected his NOV2’s AI-assisted multi-target fire effect. Only, instead of identifying several targets for the weapon to unload two entire magazines on, he picked one target: Soldark—or whatever the hell his new name is.

When Caldwell squeezed the trigger, the NOV2 quaked in his hand as it sent both twin-mags’ full loads toward the enemy. A flurry of sparks and bolts of electricity exploded against the figure as he writhed in agony. A terrifying shriek rose above the already deafening sound of blaster fire, which, to Caldwell, was a damn good sign indeed.

“Come on,” the colonel yelled. “Run!”

Even as Piper took the lead and Willowood brought up the rear, Caldwell used one hand to eject his spent magazine and then reached for a fresh one on his hip. He was about to drop Kane’s corpse, wondering why he was still carrying the bag of bones, when Piper looked back.

“You still got my grandpa, Grandpa?” she asked.

Son of a bitch. “Yeah,” Caldwell replied with a grunt. “I do, darlin’.” He managed to keep Kane slung over his shoulder and slammed two new magazines into the lower receiver.

“We need to run faster,” Willowood said as the trio turned right into another hall. “I’m not sure I can keep him much longer.”

“Turn left up there,” Caldwell said to Piper.

“Okay.”

Soldark appeared around the last turn and tried firing some sort of energy wave, but Willowood stopped it about mid-tunnel.

“He’s really pissed,” she yelled.

“I can see that!” Just before turning into the next tunnel, Caldwell raised his NOV2 and fired a second twin-mag MTFE volley. The fire effect was so brutal that whole sections of the walls, ceiling, and floor broke apart. Caldwell’s HUD dimmed against the bright flashes. And yet Solpants still stepped through the smoke and stalked after them. “This guy’s getting on my nerves more than—”

“A something pestering a nest of one thing or another,” Willowood yelled. “We get, we get it! Just run!”

“I was gonna say—”

“RUN!”

* * *

“Paladia Company,” Willowood shouted over VNET; she was too preoccupied to communicate in the Unity. Plus, it was probably wise that the whole unit heard her. “We’re coming out of the starship hot. When we do, you fire up the ramp with everything you’ve got.”

“We understand,” Sion replied. He, Incipio, and Tora had been leading Paladia Company’s three cadres of mystics against the Li-Dain. Redirecting them to focus on Soldark would give the LAW fighters a brief opportunity to gain ground against the Sekmit defenses, but it had to be done. Soldark had to be stopped.

“You want us too?” Nelson asked.

“Negative,” Caldwell replied. “You hold the line against the Li-Dain. This is a job for Willowood’s company.”

“Copy.”

Even as the opening to the outside came into view, Willowood felt Soldark’s presence gaining on them. She couldn’t hold the being back without Piper’s help, and Willowood’s strength was draining fast. The most Willowood could hope for was keeping Soldark at bay until they could figure out another way to kill him.

“Get ready,” Willowood yelled over comms.

“Three,” Caldwell yelled. “Two. One.”

* * *

Willowood’s body moved faster than her feet could carry her so that she tumbled headlong down the ramp. Somewhere in her disoriented state, she heard herself order the mystics to fire. Or maybe that was the colonel—she couldn’t be sure. Willowood was too spent to focus, having given everything she had to keep the mutated enemy at bay. Even as her power suit crashed against the ramp and bounced across the asphalt, Willowood wanted nothing more than to sleep. So once she saw the hangar bay lit up in lurid color, she closed her eyes, stepped free of the Unity, and released herself to the inner folds of sleep.

* * *

“Get her the hell out of here,” Caldwell yelled to one of his Lieutenants, pointing to Piper. He also nodded toward Willowood. “And her.”

“On it, Colonel,” the Lieutenant replied as he waved two sergeants over. A third sergeant and a PFC raced up to Caldwell and relieved him of Kane’s body, for which the colonel was all too grateful.

As soon as Piper and Willowood were clear, he turned to witness the awe-inspiring firepower that the mystics unleashed against the ship’s opening. It seemed as though energy from a thousand stars poured into the portal and threatened to tear the ship apart. Caldwell couldn’t see Sol-face anywhere, but he knew the freak was in there. And hopefully burning in a slow and painful death, he thought.

The barrage lasted so long that Caldwell suspected blowing the ship apart might be more than hyperbole. Even the stone structure around the ramp started to glow red. He didn’t have a clue how the damn starship was constructed, but if it could glow red, it could be blown up—and he sure as hell wanted this ship blown to Meredith’s lip-beard’s grave.

“We’ve been ordered to pull you back, Colonel,” the Lieutenant yelled through comms. Even then, Caldwell could barely make out the man’s voice. Instead of speaking, the colonel stepped away from the ramp and followed the officer, all while keeping his eyes fixed on the torrent of fire ripping that made the ship’s underbelly glow red.

Caldwell wasn’t sure how much more anyone could take—the mystics, Sol-pants, the ship, or even his own head. The headache he endured was downright horrible. But just when he thought the assault couldn’t go on any longer, the enemy starship lurched upward. The Repub shuttle squealed from the sudden pressure removal, and Caldwell saw lightning flash just above the docking bay’s rim. More sparks cascaded down as the ascending ship exposed broken electrical conduits in the hangar. A new wave of warning klaxons and emergency lights did their best to respond to changes in the spaceport’s integrity, but they were nothing compared to the still-blistering assault from Paladia Company.

When the ship was fifty meters off the deck, Caldwell called off the attack. Rain poured into the hangar bay, shorting out connections and causing any remaining circuits to fault in a shower of liquid light. One problem had been averted, but an even bigger one had just begun.

“Azelon,” he said over comms.

“Here, sir,” the bot replied.

“Need you to try and track the vessel departing from our coordinates.”

“Affirmative,” she replied.

“And if you get a shot, take it.”

“Understood, sir. You’re concerned that—”

“That the maniac commanding it is going to pull a stunt like he did on Capriana Prime.”

“That is not ideal,” Azelon replied. “We’ll do our best, sir.”

“That’s all we can ask for.”

As soon as he closed the channel, Captain Nelson hailed the colonel.

“Go for Caldwell.”

“We’ve got the Li-Dain on the run, Colonel.”

“Hell, son. That’s the best news I’ve heard yet.” Caldwell looked skyward. Might not have much time to enjoy it, he thought to himself. But it was good news all the same. “Keep the pressure on, Captain. Whatever diaper babies you don’t put down, I want secured and held for questioning.”

“Hard copy, Colonel.”

“Caldwell out.”

There was one more play Caldwell had in mind, but it was a long shot. Still, he’d be damned if he went to his grave without trying everything in his power to stop Meesrin Pin from meeting the same fate at the Republic’s capital.

* * *

“The Colonel is asking for you,” an officer said to Piper.

She was hiding behind a stack of freight containers, guarded by some of the lower-ranking gladias.

The officer offered his hand. “He needs you right away, Miss Piper.”

“Okay,” she replied and gave a hesitant nod.

“This way.”

Piper followed the officer to Mr. Caldwell, who stood with Admiral DiAntora in the middle of the hangar bay floor.

“Are you okay, Piper?” the colonel asked her, dropping to his knees.

“I think so.” She looked up as Soldark’s starship receded into the dark clouds and swirling rain. Even with her visor down, she still found herself blocking the water droplets with a hand.

“What we’re wondering is if—well, what I mean to say is, if it’s not too much—”

“What do you need from me, Mr. Caldwell, sir?”

“We’re worried that Mr. Crazy Robes up there is—I’m not sure how to say this tactfully—”

“Blow up the planet like Capriana Prime?”

Caldwell reared his head back and then looked up at DiAntora.

“Yes, Miss Piper,” DiAntora replied. “That’s exactly right.”

Caldwell cleared his throat. “I’m worried he’s—the half that’s Moldark, I mean—gonna make good on his promise to annihilate us. Assuming that’s what he said back there.”

“It is,” Piper replied. “And yes, he’s going to try and destroy Meesrin Pin.”

“Splick.” Caldwell shared a worried look with Admiral DiAntora, at least from what Piper could gather from the holo frames in her HUD. “I was afraid of that.”

“But you don’t need to worry,” Piper replied. “I took care of it.”

Caldwell’s attention snapped back to her. “You took care of what?”

“His weapons systems. I took care of them.” Piper could tell by the look of surprise in the colonel’s face that he liked this news.

“Do you mind if I ask you to elaborate?” he said.

“Alambromate?”

“Uh, elaborate.”

“It means to explain yourself,” DiAntora said as she placed a paw on the colonel’s shoulder.

“Oh.” Piper smiled. “When I was trying to stop the ship before, I started talking to the parts of the ship that looked most dangerous. I made them go away. You know, kinda like, if I couldn’t break down the whole thing at once, I would strip away layers one at a time until I got to the middle. Like licking a Super Rocket Pop. It’s bad for your teeth if you bite all at once. But if you suck on it long enough, you eventually get to the candy in the middle.”

“And I know from lots of Super Rocket Pop experience just what you mean,” Caldwell said as he let out a laugh.

“But I thought you only like cigars, Mr. Colonel, sir?”

“Are you kidding me? I had to take up cigars just so the nitrosugar didn’t rot my teeth. Nasty habit.”

“But the cigars are—”

“Way more safe than a Super Rocket Pop addiction, let me tell you, kid.”

“Huh.” Piper put one hand on her hip. “Never thought about it like that. Maybe I should take up cigars too.”

Now it was DiAntora’s turn to clear her throat. “While you two are busy discussing multiple ways of contracting mouth cancer, would you mind, Colonel, if I called in fire support against the enemy ship? I’d like to inspire it not to return here.”

“Be my guest, Admiral. The Spire is at your disposal too, assuming any of our sensors can lock onto the damn ship. I’ve already put our ship’s captain on alert.”

“We’ll see what our combined efforts can produce, Colonel,” she replied. “Thank you.” Then DiAntora nodded and stepped away to begin doing whatever admirals did when ordering strikes against enemy ships in orbit.

“About back there,” Piper said to Caldwell. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t stop Soldark.”

“There’s no need to apologize,” the colonel said in a reassuring tone. “What you did saved lives. And that’s more than I could have asked for given the circumstances. You’re a hero in my book, Piper.”

Piper appreciated his kind words. She really felt like she’d let everyone down. But Soldark had been—well, he’d scared her. Seeing both Moldark and So-Elku fused into one being was terrifying. And she felt really bad about ice-cubing under the pressure. Even now, Piper wanted to go back and try it again, thinking maybe she had enough power to stop him. But that was just it: Soldark was strong. Probably stronger than her. Which made her afraid. She didn’t want to be anywhere near him. And that was the real problem: deep inside, Piper knew that before all this was over, she’d have to face him again. No one else was strong enough to stop Soldark. But Piper was. She just needed to be more sure of herself.

“My turn for a question,” Mr. Caldwell said.

“Okay.”

“You called me Grandpa Caldwell back there.”

“Uh-huh.”

“What did you mean by that?”

Piper giggled. It felt good to laugh after everything they’d just been through. “You like my grandma, right?”

Mr. Caldwell chuckled. “Well, certainly.”

“No. But I mean like, like-like.”

“You’re asking if I like-like your grandma?”

“Yeah. Like-like is more than just like. You know.”

“So it is.” Mr. Caldwell laughed again. “You’re a relentless little bugger, aren’t you.”

“Yup. I can be super annoying too.”

Caldwell took a deep breath and squared himself with Piper. “Yes. I like-like her a whole lot.”

“Then that’s why I called you grandpa.”

“I still don’t see how—”

“Like-likers always get married, silly.”

All of a sudden, Caldwell’s smiling face turned to one of complete surprise and his cheeks turned a rosy shade of pink. “Uhhh, so—”

“Hey, you two,” Willowood said. She lay on a stretcher held by two Sekmit medics. “Everything okay here?”

Piper giggled at Mr. Caldwell as he tried to respond to her grandma. “We’re just feelings. I mean, it’s—talking. About how we is—are feeling.”

Nana laughed. “Sounds good, William. They’re taking me to the hospital. I’ll check in later.”

“And I’ll check in on you too.”

“Oooo,” Piper crooned. Then she nudged him with her elbow. “Like-like.”

“Would you stop it already?” Then he winked at Nana. “Kids.”

Just then, a chime trilled over VNET. The incoming transmission, meant for Grandpa Caldwell, said it was from Magnus, which made Piper’s heart want to explode in a shower of rainbows. “Answer,” she cried. “Please, please!”

“You’ll have your chance to speak to him,” Willowood said from her stretcher. “But they need to talk first.”

Piper slumped her shoulders. And even as she studied her grandmother’s and Mr. Caldwell’s faces in the holo frames, she thought she detected sadness in their eyes.

* * *

“Go ahead, Magnus,” Caldwell said, stepping away to take the call.

The voice that replied was ragged and tired but still managed to project the elusive threads of confidence and hope. “Mine secured, Colonel.”

Caldwell felt a weight lift off his shoulders. In the wake of Capriana’s loss, every win, no matter how small, felt like a significant win. Every defeat taught you how to savor life just a little bit more than before. “Damn fine work, son.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“I’m proud of you—proud of your whole team.”

Magnus nodded.

“And can I just say, you look like a sack of splick, son?” Only then did Caldwell notice that Magnus wasn’t wearing a helmet. Instead, his bioteknia eyes used their reversed peripheral data interpolation protocol to send the image of Magnus’s blackened and bloodied face. “You okay?”

“Eh, nothing the majority of us won’t get over.”

“How bad?” Caldwell asked.

Magnus took a deep breath and answered as the air rushed from his lungs. It was an old Marine trick used to psyche your head out of connecting to your heart. “Haze, Redmarrow, Jaffrey, and Dozer. Telwin’s probably on her way out soon too. Wobix lost several narskill in the final moments.”

“Splick, son. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.” Magnus took another deep breath and held it in. There was something more.

“What is it?”

Magnus ran his tongue over his teeth and shook his head twice. “It’s Freya. She’s KIA.”

Caldwell looked back toward DiAntora and studied the Admiral kneeling beside Piper. The news would be devastating, and he hated being the one to break it to her. He looked back at Magnus’s face. Now it was Caldwell’s time to sigh. He didn’t know how the pride mother had gotten to the mines so quickly—she must have left as soon as the convoy departed from the palace. But Caldwell couldn’t blame her for wanting to help. It was her damn planet, after all.

“She saved us,” Magnus added. “Forbes did too. We were pinned down, and Awen almost…” Magnus seemed to choke back a tear. “She almost had to save us in a different way.”

Caldwell guessed what Magnus meant. The colonel knew about the Luma’s ability to blow themselves up or some splick. Didn’t take a genius to conclude that Awen would have done something like that if it meant keeping the LAW from taking over the mine. He was just glad she hadn’t needed to—for all their sakes.

“Get back here as soon as you can, Adonis.”

“Copy that, Colonel. One more question.”

“Shoot.”

“So-Elku. Did Willowood release him?”

“Why do you ask?” Caldwell said, his curiosity piqued.

“There was a Li-Dain back here that claimed Willowood had betrayed Freya and let So-Elku go.”

“We all let So-Elku go,” Caldwell said with a corrective tone. “It was the only way to stop Moldark.”

“The hell?”

“I’ll explain when you get back, son. Just get you and your unit squared away.”

“Copy.”

Caldwell closed the channel and then looked back at DiAntora. There were two things that he hated about his job as a military commander. The first was sending good warriors to their deaths. He’d done plenty of it, but that was the nature of war. The second, however, was telling survivors and family members that the warrior they loved and respected had fallen in the line of duty.

“Admiral DiAntora?” he said over a private comms channel. “A word.”

Caldwell saw from the look in the admiral’s eye that she knew something terrible had happened. So with every step that the Sekmit took toward him, Caldwell cursed his office.

No, he corrected himself. Not my office. He loved being a career military commander. What he hated was the enemy.

He cursed Soldark.

EPILOGUE

Caldwell gave the Gladio Umbra three days of mandatory leave while the Sekmit picked up the pieces from the LAW’s assault. Freya’s office, postmortem, made guest housing arrangements for all of the gladias and provided medical treatment in the palace’s private hospital.

While Magnus was grateful for the time to mend, he found himself getting restless by the second day. The only thing that seemed to calm him down were surprise visits from Awen—though he wouldn’t exactly say those were much in the way of calming. It seemed the more hardship they went through together, the more he wanted to be with her. And the more he wanted to be with her, the less he wanted to do with war. Holding her in his arms made him long for the peaceful life he’d always dreamed of but knew he didn’t deserve. He had too much blood on his hands.

“You good?” Awen asked as she lay in the bed beside him.

He had his hands behind his head, watching the morning sunlight reflecting off her bare shoulder. “You ever think about what’s next?”

“Well,” Awen said as she propped her head up beneath her arm. “Worru hasn’t reported So-Elku’s return, which makes me think Soldark has headed for a different system. So if we’re—”

“Not that next,” Magnus said. He rolled over to look at her. “I mean, us next.”

“Us?”

“After all this is done.”

“That’s assuming quite a lot, isn’t it?”

He furrowed his brow at her. “We’ve got Soldark on the run, beat back the Li-Dain—”

“I didn’t mean the enemy,” Awen said with a coy smile. “I mean, you’re assuming I want to stay with you.”

“Huh.” Magnus returned to his back and looked at the ceiling. “I guess I do have other options.”

Awen punched him in the side.

Magnus recoiled and pulled his arms down to protect his flanks and then laughed. “What?”

“Girl in every port?” she asked.

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

She tried punching him again, but he grabbed her fists and then pulled her close. “So, do you?”

“A girl’s got to review her options,” she said.

Magnus pulled her close and kissed her.

When it was over, Awen said, “Okay. I like this option.”

“Me too,” Magnus replied.

* * *

Twin chimes rang on both sides of the bed. Magnus reached over and picked up the in-ear comm that he’d purposely ported his Novona biotech interface to specifically because he didn’t want the alert going off inside his head while he was with Awen. She’d done the same. The two of them inserted the comms devices into their ears and accepted the incoming transmission.

“This is Colonel Caldwell,” said the holo projection that appeared twenty centimeters in front of their faces. The commander sounded perturbed.

“Yeah, we can see that, Colonel,” Magnus said.

“Why aren’t you on holo?” the colonel asked. “I’m only getting audio.”

“Uh, because I haven’t done my makeup yet?”

“Well hurry it up, Adonis. And you too, Awen.”

The two of them shared a look.

“Are we missing something, Colonel?” Awen asked.

“Yeah: our battalion dinner with the Sekmit royalty. You were supposed to be here five minutes ago.”

“Oh, splick,” Magnus yelled as he checked the time and threw the sheets off. He’d lost track of the day. Days, he corrected himself, and then he beat Awen to the shower.

* * *

“Nice of you to join us, Magnus, Awen,” the colonel said as he handed them glasses of kyreethsha from an attendant’s tray. “You both look”—Caldwell paused—“rested.”

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Colonel,” Magnus said.

The entire battalion of Gladio Umbra had gathered in the expansive vestibule outside the royal throne room. The group included Azelon and TO-96, who were busy speaking various languages with Wobix and Rohoar. Other attendees were Awen’s parents, Ricio’s wife and son, Jules, and Flow and Cheeks in their first time off the Spire in a long time. Magnus noted how well his two Fearsome Four teammates conducted themselves around Jujari without losing their splick. Jules had truly worked wonders with the men, and Magnus was proud of them all. Even Admiral DiAntora stood with the surviving members of her covert team, accompanied by the newly named Chancellor Seaman. Everyone had donned formal dress-wear fit for a gala—even the bots looked freshly polished and pretended to sip glasses of kyreethsha.

“Oh, it’s not me you have to worry about,” Cadwell replied. “If the royal clan asks, I’m hanging you both out to dry.” An awkward beat passed before Caldwell winked. “Kidding.”

Magnus let out a breath. “We appreciate it, Colonel. Thank you.”

“You’re terrible, William,” Willowood said, striding up to the colonel’s side. “Let them be.”

Magnus thought he noticed the faintest sign of a flirtatious smile behind the colonel’s eyes as the commander looked at Willowood in a formal dress.

Awen’s voice spoke in Magnus’s head. You think they—?

No way, Magnus replied. But, I mean…

Then Magnus and Awen looked at each other, and at the same time, said, Nah.

“Mr. Lieutenant Magnus, sir?” came a small voice accompanied by a tug on his pant leg.

Magnus turned to see Piper motioning him downward. “Hey, Piper. It’s good to see you.”

“You too. I’m sorry to hear about Freya. I heard you were with her when she died.”

“I was, yes.”

“She was a super soft kitty,” Piper replied.

“You—you petted her?” Magnus was trying to think back to a point when the two had come that close, but he didn’t remember any. That, and he highly doubted the famed leader of Aluross would allow a human child to treat her like a pet.

“Mmm-hmm,” Piper said with a nod. “It was the only thing I asked for.”

“Asked for?”

“For my birthday, silly.”

“Ah, gotcha. Wait—you asked to pet her?”

“For my birthday.”

“And she—”

“Said yes.” Piper gave Magnus a proud smile. “I think she liked it.”

“I’m sure she did,” Magnus said with a chuckle, wishing Freya were here now for all of this. Then Cyril approached from behind Piper, and Magnus rose to meet him. “Hey, Mr. Code Slicer.”

“Ha ha—hey, Mr. Adonis Major, sir,” Cyril said.

“Wrong rank, but thanks for thinking so highly of me.”

“Sure, sure, hey. It’s good to see you in one piece, sir.”

“You too, Cyril.” He shook the skinny gladia’s hand. “Oh, and about those Festoonial black marspins.”

“Yes?”

“I think I know what you’re talking about now.”

“You mean how they harpooned the Telderine giant sea mammoth?”

Magnus smiled and then caught Forbes overhearing the conversation a few people away. Magnus sent the captain a nod and then looked back to Cyril. “Yeah. Pretty spectacular stuff.”

“I’d say! And if you like that, there’s this amazing documentary on—”

“Hold that thought,” Magnus said, and then he headed for Wobix and Rohoar. The narskill warrior’s arm was in a sling, and he was missing some fur here and there but otherwise looked okay. “Bixy. Good to see you. You’re looking splotchy and generally pissed off.”

“Manservant. It is good to see you looking hairless and like you need to defecate.”

“Keep that up”—Magnus pointed to a few patches of bare skin—“and you’ll be my twin before long.”

“I would sooner slit my own throat.”

“I’m sure you would,” Magnus said with a smile. “Hey. Good fighting back there.”

“The same can be said for you. And I am pleased to know that it was you who heard our leader’s final confession.”

Magnus raised an eyebrow. “I’m not sure I follow. All she said was—”

“It is for your ears only,” Wobix said as he placed a paw on Magnus’s chest.

“It’s narskill tradition,” Awen said as she approached on Magnus’s right.

“A warrior’s last statement is called a confession,” Willowood added from Magnus’s left. “Meant as the summation of their life’s meaning.”

“It is a distinct privilege and honor to be granted a narskill’s confession,” TO-96 added.

Magnus didn’t doubt this new information as it seemed to corroborate the gravity of Freya’s dying statement, even if he didn’t understand its full meaning.

“This is very different than Jujari customs,” Rohoar said.

“And how is that?” TO-96 said.

“Wait for it,” Awen whispered in Magnus’s ear.

“As Jujari, we attempt to bite the head off the person who we last view, even if it is a friend.” Rohoar stared at TO-96 for a long moment.

Finally, the bot took a step back. “Ah, I see.”

“Don’t worry, TO-96,” Willowood said. “It is a seldom practiced jujari tradition. And we love you too much to let that happen to you.”

“You do?” TO-96 said.

“Of course. Plus”—Willowood moved across the circle of friends—“I owe you a kiss.”

“I beg your pardon?” Azelon said as her back suddenly straightened.

But Willowood was too fast, even for Azelon, and planted a kiss on TO-96’s glossy faceplate. The bot touched the point of contact and his complexion glowed. Meanwhile, Azelon stepped in front of TO-96 and forced Willowood back. The whole scene made Magnus laugh, as it did the others who saw it.

“Why, Lady Willowood,” TO-96 said. “Whatever was that for?”

“For saving Ricio’s life over Meesrin Pin,” she replied. “I told you I was going to give you a kiss, and I always keep my promises.”

“You mustn't let her do that again, Tee-Tee,” Azelon said to TO-96. “She’s being overly flirtatious, and I do not approve.”

Everyone laughed together despite Azelon’s confused looks at the response, which only made the group chuckle more. Magnus had to admit that it felt good to laugh together, and the kyreethsha certainly wasn’t hurting anyone.

“If we are making good on oaths,” Rohoar said with a raised voice. “Rohoar has one to keep to Commander Robillard.”

Everyone in the group looked for Delta Team’s OIC and pointed him out. Robillard took a moment to enter the makeshift circle. “What’s this about?”

Magnus nodded toward Rohoar.

“Rohoar remembers that before the assault on the Republic governor’s mansion, Commander Robillard expressed how he liked Jujari meats.”

Robillard looked around. “I did?”

Magnus dipped his head. “You kinda did, yeah.”

“Rohoar was surprised to hear that he had such similar interests as the commander. So, with some help from our Sekmit hosts, Rohoar has prepared the rotted flesh of a local hammerbore, along with its congealed blood.” Rohoar then produced a small vacuum-sealed packet from behind his back and offered it to Robillard.

The man took the translucent pouch and winced as the red and green fluids inside mixed together. “I—don’t know what to say.”

“Say nothing,” Rohoar said with a raised paw. “Only let the delicate flavors soothe your inner war as they do Rohaor’s.” When everyone chuckled at the truly touching exchange, Rohoar glanced around. “What?”

“Ah,” Magnus exclaimed. “Before I forget, I have something too. Rohoar, Wobix?”

The two warriors lowered their furry eyebrows and studied Magnus.

“I’d like everyone to know I’ve made good on my own promise.”

“Which was what, scrumruk graulap?” Rohoar asked.

Magnus pulled two clear data cards from inside his suit coat pocket and tossed them to the warriors. “I got you both galactic common lessons, on me.”

More laughter circled the group, and Magnus blew both fighters a kiss.

“Rohoar thinks the hairless leader insults us,” Rohoar said to Wobix without looking away from Magnus.

“I agree.” Then Wobix looked to Rohoar. “Perhaps we can study ways to insult him in his own tongue.”

“Rohoar agrees.” He held up his data card. “He will meet you this night.”

“Don’t look now,” Awen whispered in Magnus’s ear. “But someone just got a study buddy.”

“And,” Rohoar continued. “Rohoar will show you how to prepare a skralggrit fire. There will be much drinking and roasting of meat.”

“I heard that,” Abimbola said.

Just then, a loud horn blast issued from the doors leading into the royal throne room. Then a Sekmit attendant in elegant red and black silk drew everyone’s attention. “Queen Nishti will see you now.”

* * *

The Gladio Umbra’s leaders and the Neo Republic officials were front and center as the entire battalion filed into the throne room’s elongated hall. Narskill warriors bordered the aisle, their bows slung and staves at the ready. Behind them sat dozens of long dinner tables with ornate place settings. Somewhere in the distance, Magnus caught the fragrance of roasted meat, melted cheese, and fresh-baked bread. He felt his mouth fill with saliva and had to swallow twice. He was eager to get the formalities over with so everyone could get down to the serious business of eating.

Spoken like a true gladia, Awen said in his head.

Hey, a man’s got needs, he replied.

Apparently, quite a few.

Magnus cast her a sideways look. While Awen’s head remained fixed forward, the edge of her lips curled up in the slightest of smiles.

The mass of guests stopped short of the dais. Magnus expected to see Freya atop the throne, but it remained empty. Some small part in the back of his brain thought maybe that Freya had been saved or reanimated or something. Hell, they’d seen crazier splick than that. Then again, Freya never claimed to be queen. Whoever Nishti was, she’d been more of a token icon than a present leader. If anything, Freya deserved to be queen with the way she’d acted. But Magnus didn’t write the rules.

The attendant from before stepped in front of the dais and waited for the room to settle. “On behalf of all the Sekmit, the royal house of Aluross welcomes you, the members of the Gladio Umbra and the Neo Republic, to this night of remembering the slain and celebrating our future. The feast is our show of appreciation for your valiant deeds and noble sacrifices, honoring both the living and the dead. We regret, in no small way, the passing of ní Freya ap Linux, who gave her life in the ultimate act of bravery against the Li-Dain hordes. May her spirit reside in this hall forever.”

The Sekmit throughout the hall recited a short phrase in their native tongue and then made a motion in the air with their right paws. Magnus had no idea what the cats said, but he had to admit that it had its own unique beauty about it.

When the echo finally faded, the attendant continued. “Tonight, we are graced by the presence of the Elder Queen. May I present, Queen Nishti.”

The narskill on either side of the aisle and the dais took a knee. Wobix and DiAntora also knelt, as did Caldwell and Willowood. Not one to disrespect the royal house further than he already had, Magnus followed suit and took a knee. Awen used Magnus’s shoulder to steady herself as she knelt in her tight dress, and soon the entire hall echoed with the subtle rustle of fabric.

Magnus looked up to the dais, expecting the queen to appear from behind the throne. But she didn’t, and the seat remained empty.

“What’s going on?” Magnus whispered to Awen.

But she only shrugged in reply.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, Magnus caught movement. Admiral Lani DiAntora stood up and stepped out of line. Magnus heard several people gasp as the admiral mounted the steps and ascended the dais. When she reached the summit, she turned and addressed the entire hall.

“Please, my friends,” she said. “Stand. All of you, stand.”

Magnus helped Awen up and exchanged looks with her. He glanced over at Caldwell too; even the colonel seemed surprised.

“I’m sure that my presentation now comes as a bit of a shock, most of all to my Republic counterparts.” She nodded to the chancellor and other notable officials. “However, it is my love for Aluross that called me into a life of subterfuge, and that is a decision I will never regret. I also recognize that my loyalty to the Neo Republic will be called into question, as it should be. Let me set the record straight here and now. It has ever been my intention to liberate my people, and my rise through the Galactic Republic over the course of my career ever served one end—the freedom of the Sekmit.”

The room stirred. Magnus had to admit that this woman had quite the pair of brass bearings. The announcement was most likely news to her entire Repub envoy as much as it was to everyone else. It also explained several things about DiAntora and Freya that Magnus had been unable to parse in recent days, including DiAntora’s original recommendation that the GU seek refuge on Aluross. Magnus realized that getting the gladias to assist in fully liberating the planet was the queen’s goal after all.

Gives new meaning to our mantra, Magnus thought to Awen.

Dominate, she said.

Yeah. Liberate.

DiAntora, or Nishti—Magnus wasn’t sure which anymore—turned to address the Repub officials. “Mr. Chancellor. As you can imagine, this was not the way I intended to reveal my true self to you. It is, however, the needed way, given the circumstances. I ask your forgiveness for any undue pain I have caused, though I do not regret my actions on behalf of my people.”

Magnus might have been wrong, but he detected that there was something more to the queen’s relationship with the chancellor. He glanced over at the man, but the Repub official was the picture of stoic Navy statesmanship. The chancellor nodded once at Nishti, and that was all.

“Needless to say, I tender my resignation as Admiral, effective immediately. If I am deemed an enemy of the Neo Republic, so be it. That said, I do look forward to negotiating a fair deal with any who wish to resume trade with Aluross.”

Magnus guessed Nishiti’s emphasis on the word fair was anything but a veiled attack on the former trade deal the Sekmit had with the Galactic Republic. Whether or not the chancellor was chagrined about this sudden turn of events was uncertain, though he guessed the officials didn’t like being caught off guard with the news. Then again, they were the heads of a decades-long trade deal that had suppressed the Sekmit. If you’re gonna helm a big ship, you’d better be prepared for the holes in the hull. If Chancellor Seaman was upset, he still didn’t show it. Nor would he; this was not the time or place to make a scene. That would all come later.

“And to my newest friends, the leaders and members of the Gladio Umbra, I can only offer my sincere thanks for your aid in liberating my people. As with my Republic counterparts, I recognize I was not forthcoming with my true identity. For this, I seek your forgiveness. And yet, I also would ask you to recognize the crucial role that you played in ensuring the safety and longevity of Aluross, securing it from both Republic and LAW governance. For whatever harm I may have caused you, please know you have our undying thanks. You need only ask for whatever you wish, and it is ever yours. It is a bond we will never break. So if it breaks, it is your doing.”

Nishti locked eyes with Colonel Caldwell.

The man raised his chin in acceptance of the generous offer, and then Nishti nodded in return.

“To you, Feared Aggressor of the Gladio Umbra,” Nishti said as she descended the dais toward Caldwell. “I bestow a gift.”

Caldwell looked to Willowood and then to Magnus in surprise. Clearly, the man hadn’t been expecting anything. One Sekmit attendant rushed to the colonel’s side and took his drink, while another attendant presented Nishti with a long item wrapped in red fabric.

Nishti took the package and stood in front of Caldwell. “Colonel. You served my people with distinction and thwarted both the Li-Dain and the unexpected attack from Moldark. For this, we are ever grateful.” She unfolded the fabric to reveal a narskill staff. But unlike those employed by the warriors, this one was covered with ornate carvings and inlaid with gold. “For you, a narskill staff inscribed with the history of our people. Perhaps, someday soon, I will translate the part for you where the Gladio Umbra save Aluross.”

“I would be honored, your highness.” Caldwell accepted the gift and shook his head in admiration. “It is exquisite.”

“To you, Lady Willowood,” Nishti said next, turning to the elder mystic. “I present you with a band of friendship.” The queen removed one of the gold bracelets from around her wrist and invited Willowood to extend her forearm. As Nishti slid it over Willowood’s hand to join the other bangles, the queen said, “This is a symbol, a circle of everlasting means with no end, of the connection you and your line will have with our people.”

“Thank you, Queen Nishti,” Willowood said as she admired the golden gift. “I will wear it always.”

“I’m sure you will.” Nishti winked at Willowood. “And where is Piper?” The queen seemed to be making a show of searching for the child even though she stood right between Caldwell and Willowood.

“Down here, queen lady ma’am,” Piper replied with a playful wave.

“Ah, yes.” Nishit knelt before the girl and waved an attendant over. The servant carried a wooden box and lowered it beside the queen. “Piper. You demonstrated extraordinary bravery in the face of overwhelming odds.”

“We faced odds?” Piper said up to Willowood. “I don’t remember seeing any.”

Willowood shushed the child and then pointed her back to the queen.

“It was your heroism and quick thinking that saved us all from certain death,” Nishti continued. “For this, we are truly grateful.” Then the queen opened the box’s lid, reached inside, and removed a Sekmit stuffed animal.

Wait, Magnus said to Awen. If it’s a stuffed Sekmit made by a Sekmit, does that make it a doll?

Awen stifled a chuckle and put her knuckles against her lips.

“Oh, she’s so fluffy,” Piper exclaimed and squeezed the animal doll thing tight against her face. “Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you, miss queen kitty cat.” Then, before anyone could correct her or stop her, Piper threw her arms around Nishiti and squeezed her hard. Magnus even thought he saw Piper’s little hand stroke the back of Nishti’s head. To her credit, the queen let the encounter play out until Piper pulled away and returned to her place line.

The queen rose and approached Awen next. “Awen, for your fortitude in protecting the lives of your fellow warriors and those of my guard, I offer you this.” Nishti unfastened a necklace from around her neck and then held it up to Awen. A small medallion hung from a gold chain. Magnus thought it resembled three Sekmit claws making golden slash marks in the air. “This is the symbol of the pride mothers, who, with the same claw, both hunt their prey and protect their young. You are such a warrior, Awen. And since it appears you have discarded the necklace of your former order, it seems only right that you receive a new one.”

Awen raised her chin at Nishti’s insistence, and the queen fastened the piece of jewelry around Awen’s slender neck. “It’s beautiful, your majesty. I will wear it always and think fondly of you.”

When Nishti came before Magnus, she paused in some sort of consideration. “You are worthy of a gift, Magnus. But I will not be the one to bestow it.”

Magnus raised an eyebrow, unsure what this meant. “Okay.”

Nishti raised a paw and waved something over. No, not something. Someone. It was Wobix. The narskill warrior carried a package much like the one Caldwell had received, only it was wrapped in purple fabric. Nishti stepped aside and allowed Wobix to stand before Magnus while another attendant took Magnus’s drink.

“You fought like a very aggressive hairless person, manservant,” Wobix said. “And it was an integrity and advantage to—”

“Honor and privilege,” Nishti whispered.

Wobix winced. “—honor and privilege to fight alongside you. So it is my”—he glanced at Nishti—“honor”—she nodded her assent—“to present you with these.” Wobix opened the fabric and revealed both a Thørzin power bow and a narskill staff. He handed them to Magnus one at a time and then raised his chin.

Magnus felt overwhelmed by the gifts. He was only half-joking when he’d told Wobix he wanted them. But he wasn’t going to refuse the weapons now. That, and Magnus finally understood why Freya’s elites had outperformed Wobix back in the mine: those sharpshooters with purple powers had been Nishti’s elites. Wobix may have been a high-ranking warrior but he was not the top-level. Magnus actually respected that more because, frankly, Magnus wasn’t an apex warrior either. “Thank you, Bixy. They’re truly amazing.”

“Yes, and also very worthless to you, as you are not a Unity user.”

Nishti scolded Wobix in their native tongue.

But Magnus tried to downplay the royal rebuke. “No, no, he’s right. I’m afraid I won’t be able to do these tools justice.”

“Perhaps your mate can assist you then,” Wobix said, nodding toward Awen.

Nishti then hissed at Wobix and sent him on his way.

But not before Magnus blurted out: “I’ll make certain she does!”

* * *

More gifts were given to other notable members of the teams, including Captain Forbes, Captain Nelson, Ricio, and Sootriman. When Nishti finally dismissed everyone to enjoy the meal, Magnus handed over his Sekmit weapons to an attendant. Then he took Awen’s arm and followed the cat to his and Awen’s seats at the head table.

Halfway through the first course, Awen leaned over to Magnus and said, “This is nice, isn’t it?”

“Food’s delicious,” he replied with half his mouth full.

“No. I mean, all of it. The food, the company, the music. Who knows, maybe there will even be dancing.”

Magnus stopped chewing mid-bite. “Dancing?”

Awen laughed at him. “Oh, don’t act all worried. I’ll help you out.” She twiddled her fingers as if to suggest she could use the Unity for his benefit.

“Good, cause I’m gonna need all the help you can give me.”

Awen smiled at him. “You know what it is, right?”

“What?” He took another sip of kyreethsha. “What’s what?”

“This. It’s a little glimpse of what’s coming.” She rolled her hand around in the air a few times. “You know. After all the fighting?”

Magnus looked around. “Dinners in Aluross’s royal palace?”

Awen punched him in the arm. “Normal life, NMB. Drinks, dinner, dancing with friends.” Just then, Awen reached for her glass and looked into the near distance. She held the glass a few centimeters from her lips but didn’t drink.

“What is it?” Magnus asked.

Awen snapped out of her daydream. “It’s—” She sighed. “It seems like it will never get here.”

“Normal life?”

She nodded and then set her glass down. “Like it’s just a dream that will never come true. Like we don’t actually deserve it, you know?”

“Hey, hey, whoa.” Magnus picked up her glass and handed it back to her. “Of all the people in the galaxy, you deserve a normal life, Awen. Mystics, cause if you don’t, no one does. Now, I’m not sure about your choice of mates, as Bixy might say, but I say we have a pretty good chance.”

“Really?”

“Really. To normal life.”

“Normal life,” she replied.

Magnus touched Awen’s glass with his, and they both took a sip. Then he leaned in and kissed her.

* * *

While Azelon sat at her place amongst the carbon-based sentient biologics, who ingested copious amounts of heated tissue from other biologics and liquid alcohols that impeded their behavioral coherence, she became aware of a message. Or, rather, an alert. It was faint, at first, surfacing like a small bubble that traveled up through the sea, originating under a rock or a crustacean or a plant. In truth, it was a miracle she noticed it at all amongst the ocean of data she processed at any given moment. But there it was, a blip from the Singularity’s core, sent all the way from Ithnor Itheliana.

“Is something the matter?” TO-96 said.

Azelon regarded him but did not speak at first.

“Is it Willowood’s kiss? Because I can assure you I feel nothing for her. Well, that’s not entirely true. Of course, I feel something for her. It’s just that, what I meant to say was—”

“Someone’s coming,” Azelon said.

TO-96 titled his head and then looked around the hall. “Yes, well, I can confirm that several people are coming and going.”

“Not here.” Azelon stood. Her chair toppled behind her.

Chatter around the table grew silent as people looked toward Azelon, but she didn’t care. It didn’t matter. None of this mattered.

“Azie,” Magnus said six chairs away to her left. “You all right down there?”

“Someone’s coming,” she repeated to TO-96. “They’re coming for the Singularity.”

* * *

Read on for Rise of the Galdias.

RISE OF THE GLADIAS

BOOK 9 IN THE RUINS OF THE GALAXY SERIES

PROLOGUE

Blaster bolts slammed into Soldark as he charged down the street. The sleeping city was finally awake, and its automated defenses were on high alert to his presence.

He’d expected as much too. The last time he’d been in Itheliana, he wasn’t a threat to the Novia Minoosh, and neither was So-Elku. There was no need for the slumbering metroplex to be concerned. But now things had changed—he had changed. And Soldark knew just where to find the Singularity, or at least he knew where to start, all thanks to Nos Kil’s reconnaissance.

But Soldark wasn’t the only thing to have changed: the city was different too. Whereas before the jungle all but entombed the landscape, now the streets and buildings had begun to shed the foliage like a corpse shedding grave clothes. Something or someone had been seeing to the city’s wellbeing.

And then there were the weapons firing on him. The Singularity must have put its manufacturing machines to work. Upon his last visit, the Paragon’s initial scans of Itheliana showed no built-in defenses. Many had concluded that the Novia Minoosh were a peaceful species, but Soldark knew better. He had seen the monsters in action. And these new fortifications were but a small testament to what the hordes were capable of.

Soldark didn’t blame the Novia Minoosh for wanting to thwart him either, assuming they knew what he was here to do. All sentient species had self-preservation hardwired into them. But these feeble attempts to stop him from reaching the city’s center would not be enough—just as we had not been strong enough to stop the Novia Minoosh, he mused to himself. Vengeance had been a long time coming.

At the next intersection, four emplaced defense turrets protruded from buildings on all street corners. Located ten meters up, each unit’s quad-barrels pumped out steady streams of low-frequency energy rounds. Every muzzle flash and barrel recoil filled the air with a shriek that echoed off the ancient buildings. The bolts struck his chest with pinpoint accuracy, guided by the Novia’s collective digital brain. They had done well to protect themselves like this, but they had sorely underestimated who hunted them.

Leveraging So-Elku’s Unity abilities, Soldark held up a forearm to beat back the blaster rounds. They broke against his robed limb and showered the area in a torrent of sparks. Meanwhile, his body remained unscathed by the attack—a quality he did not have in Kane’s old corpse, at least not to this magnitude. There was a certain element of invincibility that joining himself to the Luma master had given him. Even in the short journey from Aluross to Ithnor Ithelia, he had begun to explore the power at his disposal, and it invigorated him. This newfound access to the Unity allowed him to combine his and So-Elku’s powers such that no Luma, gladia, or Obscura could stop him.

Rather than force the blaster bolts away, Soldark began absorbing a few of them. Not all, of course; he wasn’t so naive to think he had total mastery over So-Elku’s faculties. With the energy stored in his arm, Soldark thrust his left hand outward and sent a long stream of light into the closest turret on his left. The mechanism caved under the blow, exploded, and then spewed its smoldering components onto the sidewalk like an eviscerated raptor hanging from a ledge.

Soldark stored up a second charge of energy, faster this time, and then loosed it against the nearest turret to his right. A spout of flames and smoke rose along the glass tower and left a blackened hole where the mounted weapon had been.

The next two turrets Soldark took out at the same time. He raised his palms as if blocking water streams and used the Unity to push them back. At first, the effort wasn’t entirely effective. He only succeeded in fending off the barrage by a few centimeters. Then again, he was still new to So-Elku’s form. Managing the Unity would take practice to get right. Still, he found that by focusing on the turrets and not the blaster bolts, he was able to advance his assault. The collision point of blue blaster bolts with Soldark’s red energy began to move down the street and toward the emplacements. With a final shove, Soldark exerted his will against the attack and drove his energy columns into the targets. They detonated as one, covering the intersection’s far side with a cascade of fiery debris.

But he still had a long way to go.

Soldark ran through the intersection, fending off blaster fire from either side street, and continued toward the city center. But as he progressed into yet another corridor of energy rounds, he heard the distinct sound of a railgun discharge. He’d learned all about the weapon when he had been occupying Admiral Kane and wasn’t sure if he would survive being hit by it. The fact that he’d heard the sonic boom meant the projectile had already passed him, and since Soldark was still alive, he took that as a good thing. The weapon had missed.

At least, that’s what he assumed until he looked down and discovered several small holes in his abdomen. Blood seeped through his black and green robes, and his body sent hundreds of neurological warnings to his brain. A handful of tiny missiles had ripped straight through his chest.

Soldark’s adrenal glands sent a surge of hormones through his veins to compensate for the damage. This was a part of the human body’s fight or flight response, as determined by the amygdala—such a temperamental group of ganglia. It sent a distress signal to the hypothalamus, activated the sympathetic nervous system, and then forced the adrenal glands to pump epinephrine into the bloodstream. But it did nothing to rectify the mortal wounds. And if he were only human, he would be dead.

Fortunately, Soldark was so much more than human.

First, he needed to get out of the line of fire. Healing himself would require a few moments. Then he could worry about taking out the multi-barrel railgun.

In the absence of better street cover, Soldark ducked into a building on his left. The open doors led into a glass-lined lobby that must’ve been an elite business at some point in ages past. The white floors were unusually glossy and free of dust, which meant they served as a perfect canvas for his blood. Red droplets sprinkled the marble with every pace, and his sandals’ soles smeared the blood flowing down his legs.

For the moment, the sound of weapons fire ceased, but Soldark imagined some other deterrent finding him soon. He needed to act fast. Within the Unity, he saw his chest cavity as if outlined in a medical scan. Only this portrayal was more vivid and colorful than anything Kane had ever seen. If he wanted to, Soldark felt he could zoom in and watch individual blood vessels expand and contract with each pulse of his heart. He could even track a single red blood cell on its journey through a vein and then out one of the holes in his chest and onto the floor.

But Soldark needed all that blood for his mortal body to sustain itself. He also required the organs that the railgun had ruptured, and he needed the skin to keep everything inside. So fragile, he thought to himself. And so messy. How these biologics survived long enough to evolve at all was a mystery to him.

Had this been Kane’s body, he would have had to overcome the man’s infernal reflexes and impulsive actions. And had Soldark taken similar possession of So-Elku’s body, he would have had another human will to contend with. But as it was, Moldark had merged himself with So-Elku’s essence. Well, merged was a relative term, one used to make the other party feel this was some sort of partnership. And, if he was honest, it was, insomuch as a raindrop partners with the ocean, he supposed.

Unlike what Moldark did with Admiral Kane, So-Elku would not be talking back. Whereas Kane was always pushing back, So-Elku would not be fighting to regain control. The Luma master was gone, no more than a tiny red droplet on a broad marble floor. When he had given Moldark permission, the dark lord’s essence had overtaken the Luma master’s and created a new being. Soldark—a perfect amalgamation of Moldark’s existence with all of So-Elku’s access to the Unity, the Foundation, and the Nexus. He was, as Soldark was beginning to realize, a perfect being—a god, as these humans might refer to him. And unlike before, he didn’t need to devour another human soul to nourish him. If the Obscura could sustain their mortal bodies in the Unity, then so could he. Though, Soldark had to confess, he wouldn’t mind seeing a person wither at the awesome power of his elemental strength again. That never got old.

Inside the Unity, Soldark began ushering his blood off the floor as if scooping up handfuls of sand to rebuild a sandcastle. The sticky fluid responded to his coaxing and reversed course, reentering his body through the tiny holes. Even the blood that had saturated his robes broke free of the garment’s fibers and reentered his abdomen. Within moments, almost all of the fleshly machine’s lubricating oil had been recaptured.

To keep it from spilling out, Soldark summoned the flesh on both sides of his torso to reform. Edges merged, microscopic tears relinked, and frayed ends banded together like seams of a garment newly resewn. The flesh dimpled and then smoothed. Only the punctures in his robes betrayed the fact that something violent had happened here.

The last thing that remained was to restore the organs that had suffered irreparable damage—irreparable unless you had So-Elku’s use of the Unity. Soldark felt himself reach back in time, grab the blueprint of what the organs had looked like only a minute before, and then coax the flesh to conform to the pattern he saw in his mind. The meaty body parts pulled themselves together in a quick effort to conform to the blueprint’s plans. Bits of flesh locked back into place, capillaries laid themselves into tiny furrows, and pockets of tissue restructured into malleable lattices.

When it was over, Soldark left the Unity and took a deep breath. There wasn’t so much as a twinge of pain in his nerve endings. The healing was complete.

* * *

When Soldark returned to the street, he spotted the railgun from inside the Unity. It sat on a short truss that had emerged from a hole in the road four blocks away. Metal plates in the shape of teardrops had irised open, allowing the weaponized pedestal to rise. Rather than a single sensor array, Soldark felt that the whole city was feeding the Singularity information about his location. There would be no hiding—not that he wished to. It merely meant that fighting his way through the city’s defenses would take longer than he expected.

Which was fine, as he had plenty of time.

Between metaspace’s positive time dilation with protospace and the probability that the rebel factions who wanted him dead were nowhere near having a plan to stop him, Soldark was in no rush to lay waste to Itheliana. One street at a time, if I must, he thought. The Singularity would be his, one way or another.

Certain the weapon was locking onto his position, Soldark formed an ultra-dense Unity shield a few meters away. While he didn’t feel confident in his body’s ability to fend off another direct attack, he did trust the unseen realm’s power to slow the projectiles.

Sure enough, even before he heard the railgun’s booming report, ten tungsten spikes appeared inside the thick Unity wall. Their long, slender shafts terminated in pinpoint tips, and their thick tail sections tapered back to rounded nubs. The flying spikes were small enough to travel in a pack but dense enough to pierce even the most robust target.

Soldark neared the projectiles, watching them burrow toward him in slow motion. Even held back by the Unity, the tiny missiles fought to serve the immense kinetic energy stored up in their composite structures. Once the spikes emerged from the force field, Soldark wondered if they would retain their inertia or if the Unity had slowed them—admittedly, he was still too green to know. Or was he?

An experiment was in order. Back within the Unity, he could see that the mini rounds were indeed bleeding off energy as they passed deeper into the field. When they emerged on his side of the wall, they would fall to the street, inert. But what a waste. Just as he had returned the turrets’ blaster energy, Soldark wondered if he could return the spikes’ as well. So he reached toward one of the slender projectiles, pinched it in the middle, and flipped it around. The moment he released it, the tiny missile headed back the way it came. Soldark ensured it would not lose its momentum by gathering the spent energy and willing it to rejoin the little round’s errand.

One by one, Soldark began reversing the remaining nine spikes and aiming them back the way they’d come. He felt like a maestro conducting an orchestra, waving his hands through the air like in the holo vids he’d seen Kane watch. The music had soothed the old admiral, much like bringing destruction to this city soothed Soldark.

When the task was completed, Soldark decided not to wait for the tiny munitions to exit the Unity field. Instead, he snapped the wall out of existence. With a thunderous crack, the cluster of ten projectiles shot back down the street and devastated the weapon. The unit’s primary housing burst into a dazzling display of sparks and smoking tendrils. The railgun’s active firing system shorted out amidst a jumble of shredded metal and crossed wires. The impact was so violent that the truss buckled under the force and then snapped free of its anchor below the street. The pedestal slammed into the pavement and sent up a spray of asphalt and dirt clods.

Soldark had no time to revel in the destruction nor his growing abilities within the Unity; new defense turrets were appearing along the street like armored Bornark sortle heads poking out of shells. Only these sortle heads were the snapping sort and seemed hellbent on killing him. A new wave of suppressive fire forced him to take long strides down the street, dashing away from the energy streams. He moved down the pavement like a dancer sidestepping the heaviest salvos and ducking under shots meant to remove his head. Soldark’s robes fluttered out behind him as he twirled one way and then the other. Blaster rounds chewed through the fabric and left smoking orange-lined holes. In a few seconds, the fabric was frayed and long tattered remains dangled through the air.

But Soldark was enjoying this far too much to worry about the state of his clothing; with every move he made, he felt as though the Unity empowered him to see the blaster bolts as they came. Like the railgun’s spikes suspended in the force field, Soldark sensed the energy rounds slowing down. They weren’t actually decelerating, of course—he knew how physics worked. And yet, in the Unity, the cosmos seemed to bow, yielding its constraints to the limitless possibilities of the unseen realm. Perhaps this—this wild chaos—was what Psykon, the Obscura the First of Many, had been speaking of. Moldark hadn’t understood the strange man back then, but Soldark thought he was beginning to understand Psykon a little more now.

Soldark started to move two, three, even four steps in advance of where he knew the blaster bolts would travel. It almost seemed that he was weaving his way between the energy blasts, narrowly missing the lethal rounds on purpose, as if to spite them with his near-miss maneuvers. What harm could they do him? What task could they avail that he could not undo?

The answer, as he came to realize, was nothing.

With every stride, every twist and lunge, Soldark felt himself getting stronger. More nimble. More attuned to the presence of all things and the unbridled potential that lay within every atom of matter. It wouldn’t be long before Soldark would master these new powers. Like the destiny of matter, he felt that his possibilities were endless. After all, was he not the first Norxük to use the Unity? Such a thing was unheard of—until now.

Soldark let some of the blaster rounds come. They collided with his body, as before, and filled it with power. The energy vibrated in the Unity, sending out glowing ripples that traveled outward toward the building. He could sense windowplex panes resonating, the street humming, and even the air sizzling. More and more blaster rounds lent him their energy, loading his body like an electrical capacitor. For the briefest of moments, Soldark wondered how much he could take before So-Elku’s flesh succumbed. But here, within the Unity of all things, Soldark felt safe. No, he thought to himself. I feel invincible. It wasn’t entirely true, of course. He knew that. But it was the sense of omnipotence that filled his head with visions of his own greatness.

When he felt that he could not take any more of the assault, as even gods had their limits, he summoned the energy to a singular point within his ethereal self. Then, rather than feed upon it as he had needed to so frequently when he was in Kane’s skinsuit, Soldark released it.

The ground heaved as a shockwave of power emanated from Soldark’s body. Windows were the first things to shatter, sending a deluge of shimmering shards over the street. Building columns were next—their stone bases cracking, their metal girders bending. The pavement splintered in long fractures that ran before and behind him. And all along the route, turret emplacements exploded in fits of fire that were just as quickly extinguished by a rushing wind. Up and out of the urban corridors, the energy wave soared until it seemed to crack against the sky itself.

When the sound finally disappeared, Soldark stood alone in the middle of the street, immersed in the silence. His arms hung at his sides, and his robes smoldered along the hems. The robed dark lord waited for almost a minute, anticipating the next blaster round or railgun assault. But none came. This section of the city, it seemed, had been cleared. There were many more to go, of course. But that wasn’t a trial. If anything, it was an invitation to play—to spread his wings and try on some of Psykon’s chaos. As he turned his head back and forth, he thought he could hear precisely what the mystic had spoken of, and it startled him.

He’s right, Soldark admitted to himself. The freakish rock bender is right. There, in the stillness, Soldark heard it—felt it.

Tranquility.

* * *

Soldark plied his newfound battle trade as Norxük Unity user for more than an hour before arriving at his destination. Every block he cleared allowed him to sharpen his skills—a venture made more thrilling by what lay ahead. Or, rather, below.

As Soldark stood on the lip of the excavated hole in the middle of the grand square, he noticed the remains of a firefight. Blast marks scarred the plaza’s stone floor and streaked away from several detonation epicenters. Charred debris littered the ground, and many of the surrounding buildings had been raked by blaster fire. This was where Nos Kil’s team had fallen to the rebels—where the late captain had been captured. But the man had served his purpose, at least to a point.

The pit that Nos Kil’s team had dug led to an inner sanctum, the main door of which was elsewhere in the city’s labyrinthian underbelly. He would never be able to gain access to the Novia’s heart that way—it would be too well-guarded. But Nos Kil had been resourceful, as Soldark knew he would. Deep penetration scans had shown a thin layer of the ground beneath the plaza that led to—well, led to another possible entry point. Nos Kil hadn’t been able to punch through. But that didn’t matter. Not anymore.

In fact, no mere human could do what Soldark was capable of. Which was one of many reasons he so easily dismissed his ship’s crew to go about their futile work of amending Norxük’s Revenge. His Leviathan-class starship wasn’t made to suit their petty biological needs. Granted, he doubted Ellis, Yaeger, and Porteous would find much here on the planet’s surface. Harvest some edible food, perhaps. Maybe even scavenge one piece of tech or another to modify the ship’s life-support systems and make it more comfortable. But in the end, their lives, their patronage, mattered little. The remaining vessels that the Obscura were bringing Soldark, combined with the army that awaited him, the sole survivors of his last clash with the rebels on Aluross, were inconsequential.

Let the weaklings root around the city and struggle to survive, Soldark thought to himself. He imagined his three Paragon officers scrambling through Itheliana for parts to keep themselves alive on the Revenge. Their lives were worthless now considering the new warriors that awaited him.

Soldark stared down into the black hole and cocked his head. Then a thin smile crept across his lips. To think that he had finally arrived at his nemesis’ threshold after so many ages of hunting them sent a shiver down his spine. He’d been close before, but not like this. Nor had he ever been this powerful.

The irony of the situation was not lost on Soldark either. When the Novia Minoosh had mined his people to extinction—all but him, of course—they had been so strong. So invincible. And yet, after all this time, here they sat buried in a hole, hiding. No, cowering. He was the powerful one now, and they would be the ones to submit.

“Hello, my long-lost enemy,” Soldark said, staring into the hole. “How I missed you.” Then he stepped off the ledge, and the pit’s darkness swallowed his body.

1

“Forgive me if I am being too much of a downer, as you once accused me of, sir,” TO-96 said at a low volume. “But I don’t believe this is what Colonel Caldwell had in mind when he asked you to engage in friendly discourse with some of your old contacts.”

“Pretty sure he used that term loosely, ’Six,” Ezo replied as he angled his mouth toward his shoulder. “Plus, I’m not sure what you think the fuss is all about.”

“Really?”

“I’ve got this situation completely under control.”

TO-96 pulled his head back. “Oh no.”

“What?”

“Eighty-four percent of the time you say that, something bad happens. And Sootriman isn’t even here to rescue us.”

“We don’t need Sootriman to rescue us,” Ezo replied in a forced whisper. He and TO-96 sat with five other aliens around an Antaran backdraw table tucked away in one of the musty cantina’s side alcoves. The lights were low, and the air was filled with enough pünta smoke to make even a bot relax. Well, every bot besides TO-96, that was. Ezo’s sidekick seemed wound as tight as a hydraulic piston on a prison hauler. “The Dim-Telok, over there, owes me several favors, and he hasn’t got anything in those cards. I got the Gorangi out of a firefight on Prindesh Minor, and he desperately wants the credits. He’s maybe got a side straight, but he’ll fold. The Lepeedu claims not to remember that I got his family out of a bind back on Treneson, but he’ll remember soon enough.”

“And the Undorians?” the bot asked.

“They like me for other reasons. They’re just playing to see if I put my hotel room key in the pot.”

“What about the Moretaur, sir?”

Ezo cast a furtive eye across the table at the large red-skinned, two-tusked hunter-killer. His backdraw cards looked like wager chits in his burly fingers. “He just needs another few liters of ale in him, and he’ll be singing our tune.”

“We have a theme song, sir?”

Ezo ran a hand over his face. “Yeah, ’Six. It’s called Call In Your Favors Fast Before Everyone Figures Out They’re Already Screwed.”

TO-96 cocked his head sideways. “How come you’ve never sung it for me?”

Ezo sighed. “Just keep your mouth shut and watch my back. And then maybe I’ll grant your wish.”

“You’re a regular genie, sir.”

“Thank you.”

The truth was, Ezo knew he didn’t have everything under control, at least not entirely. But wasn’t that the point of gambling? He’d wanted to play a few hands, get everyone loosened up, and then start putting people on the hook for the favors they owed him—or would soon owe him.

Sure, in the regular world, you could call in old debts simply because people felt obligated to pay you back. That’s what ordinary people did. But it had been a long time since Ezo had been anywhere near normal. Here in the underbelly of the quadrant, if someone owed you something, you had to hold a blaster pistol to their head until they paid up. That, or beat them so bad at cards that they were forced to make good on their old promises or risk getting shot by everyone else in the cantina for failing to play by the rules.

“So what’ll it be, Ezo?” Gorbath said as he wiped his tusks from a chug of ale.

“I would advise against upsetting him too soon, sir,” TO-96 whispered. “Or I fear you may lose your chance to call in your favor with him.”

Ezo considered the bot’s advice and then examined his backdraw hand again. There was no way the Moretaur had a full swamp—no way. Ezo could take him for all he was worth if he wanted. But he had to give credit to TO-96’s apprehensions despite how overly conservative the bot tended to be. Pissing off Gorbath the Moretaur of Implidia would not engender him or his legions to follow the Gladio Umbra into a fight to save the universe. It was too soon to win, and Ezo had to put more on the line than he’d already bet.

Still, if Ezo was going to forfeit this hand, he needed everyone else to lose a little too—or at least go out in shame. “Ezo sees your thousand and raises you five hundred.”

“Is that supposed to scare me off?” Gorbath asked as he took another swig.

“Nah,” Imkee said. “But it does to me. I’m out.” The ape-like Gorangi threw his cards on the table.

“Ha, you see?” Gorbath slammed his mug down and sloshed some of the ale onto Imkee. “This one has smarts.” Then Gorbath grinned at the Gorangi. “Though I would have been happy to take more of your credits, Gorangi.”

Imkee shrugged off the comment and leaned back in his chair. “There are more hands to come, Gorbath. Just you wait and see.”

“I’m in,” Branis, the Dim-Telok, said. His grey skin stretched across multiple lumps along his cheekbones. No matter how many of the species Ezo met, he always felt like someone had stuffed rocks under their elongated faces. There was nothing attractive about them, which was the total opposite of what Ezo could say for the Undorians.

“We are too,” Lornna and Laina said in unison.

Then Lornna added, “As long as—”

Laina interrupted. “—Ezo comes to collect his debts—”

“Personally,” they said together.

“Ladies, ladies, please. There’s plenty of Ezo to go around—if we wrap this game up before too long,” Ezo replied to the green-skinned twins. They certainly weren’t hard on the eyes with their shapely figures and amber eyes.

“Sorsabush is no more play this branch,” the Lepeedu said from his bark-like face. He dropped his cards on the table.

“Sorry to hear that, plant-man,” Ezo said, and then he looked to Gorbath. “Five hundred to stay in, big man.”

Gorbath sniffed the air. “I add ten thousand.”

Ezo’s eyes went up, and he leaned into TO-96. “Please let me take him.”

“I calculate you have less than a 4 percent chance of survival if you piss him off now, sir. He is not nearly docile enough.”

Ezo sighed. “Have it your way—waste of a perfectly good double hook.” Then Ezo threw his cards on the table and made a show of raising his hands. “You got me, Gorbath.”

“Yes, ha ha ha,” the Moretaur bellowed as everyone else threw down their hands. He pulled his winnings toward him and then ordered another pitcher of ale from TO-96.

“Sir.” The bot looked at Ezo. “I believe he is mistaking me for a food service robot.”

“And I believe you’re right,” Ezo replied. “But it’s like you said, we can’t risk upsetting him too soon.” Then Ezo clucked his tongue and directed TO-96 toward the bar. The bot hesitated for a moment and then gave his version of an exasperated sigh as he stood. “The things you insist I do for galactic peace are—”

“Why don’t you make it two pitchers,” Ezo said so Gorbath could hear him. “They’re on me.”

“Don’t think this means I’m going easy on you, Ezo,” Gorbath said.

“Ezo wouldn’t dream of it,” Ezo replied.

“Then make it three,” Gorbath added.

TO-96 gave Ezo a forlorn look.

But the smuggler slapped the bot on his metallic rump. “Get on with it, food service bot.” Ezo heard TO-96 grumble something to himself as he shuffled off toward the bar and knew he’d need to make it up to his friend when this was over.

* * *

By the time the backdraw match entered its fourth hour, the table had collected a fair amount of attention from the cantina’s other patrons. Not only had all the players remained in the game—a feat Ezo had managed through letting the weakest players win hands that they would have lost on their own—but the bets were now entering the tens of thousands of credits.

Yes, TO-96 acting as beer maid had played a part in everyone’s guards coming down. He’d keep the players well-watered, no thanks for Ezo’s ever-increasing tab. Moreover, numerous patrons had taken an interest in the stakes and started sponsoring their favorite players. It was just the sort of attention and leverage Ezo was hoping to attract. If all went well, Colonel Caldwell would have a diverse band of miscreants and misfits for his war against Soldark before sunrise.

The latest hand Ezo had been dealt put him in an incredibly strong position, one he hoped would let him bring the evening to a close. Spirits were high, credits and drinks were flowing, and he had the makings of a triple flush—and without cheating, he noted to himself. Nothing could beat it except a high triple flush, or a triple flush with a pike—a push card that made the hand dominant.

“How’s everything going, sir?” TO-96 asked as he served Ezo a small glass of Gundonium bratch.

Ezo looked back and noticed the bot had struggled to push himself through the crowd. TO-96 also had several tips stuffed in between his body’s metal plates and more than one contact card too. Ezo pulled one of the thin data CVs from the bot’s pelvis and examined the lovely looking Sorrellian whose blue tentacles wiggled in the user profile. “Not bad, Ninety-Six. Not bad at all.”

“I’m already taken, sir,” the bot replied. “I keep trying to tell people that, but they are, well, quite insistent.”

“And probably quite drunk.”

“Which would account for how much I’ve been groped. Someone even tried to touch my missiles, and I didn’t even ask them.”

Ezo chuckled. “Enjoy it while it lasts, buddy.”

“I don’t find this enjoyable in the least.”

“It’ll all be over soon.” Ezo gave TO-96 a peek at his hand. “Whaddya think?”

The bot tilted his head and looked around the table. When he spoke again, he’d lowered his output volume to hide his voice under the crowd’s ambient sound. “Statistically speaking, you have the highest probability of winning this hand, sir.”

“That’s what I’m hoping. And I didn’t even cheat.”

“I’m proud of you, sir. However, doesn’t willfully inebriating your competitors count as cheating?”

“Hey, I only supplied the beverage. I can’t help it if they ogle the barmaid and drink the ale.”

TO-96 paused and then looked down at his body. “I suppose I am rather fetching. At least that’s what Azelon says. In any event, I commend you on winning without cheating, sir. Well done.”

“Don’t congratulate me yet. And make sure Gorbath is topped off, would you?”

TO-96 nodded and then shuffled back through the throng.

Betting commenced, and with every new card the dealer laid down, Ezo thanked his lucky mystics. His win was all but assured. It was time to close the deal.

“Let’s say we start to make this even more interesting, shall we?” Ezo said and then took a sip of his bratch. His pronouncement stirred a round of excitement from the crowd.

“What do you have in mind?” Branis asked. “You already have two year’s salary on the table.”

“Hey.” Ezo sat up. “Ezo will have you know the twins here pay me good money to keep them happy.”

“Oh, Ezo,” the two Undorians said simultaneously and blushed.

“No, Ezo wasn’t thinking money so much as…”

“As what?” Sorsabush asked.

“Calling in old favors,” Ezo replied with a grin. The mood around the table shifted. The crowd was as lively as ever—perhaps even more so as they sensed blood in the water. But for the players, Ezo had just stepped into the realm of the personal. And there was too much money on the table, and too much social pressure to back out now.

Ezo set his cards down for a moment and leaned in on his elbows. “Sorsabush, you remember back on Treneson?”

“You make it impossible to forget.”

“And Branis, what about the—”

“No need to say it,” the Dim-Telok replied as he raised his hand.

“Ezo’s point is,” Ezo said as he took his time to study each player around the table. “That we all have a common bond. You owe Ezo.”

“Pshhh,” Gorbath said with a sneer. “You intend to highjack this friendly game by calling in outdated favors?” The Moretaur looked around the table as if realizing for the first time how everyone was related to Ezo. “Sly. But the past is not currency.”

“Ezo’s not so sure your mate would share that sentiment if she knew what might have come of your—”

“Quiet, Nimprinth,” Gorbath said as his fist hit the table. Fortunately, the thing was bolted to the floor. But the sound made the crowd grow quiet.

Ezo leaned back. “All Ezo’s suggesting is that if any of you win this hand, you’re all off the hook. Our past is settled, fair and square.” He let the statement hang, hoping they’d be enticed. The other players looked around at one another. “That’s six to one odds in your favor.”

“We can do the math,” Imkee replied. Despite his confidence, the Gorangi’s ape-like nose twitched, which meant he was nervous.

“But if Ezo wins, or if anyone folds”—Ezo took a sip of his bratch and then put his boots up on the table—“you pay Ezo what you owe.”

“This is bashmick,” Gorbath said with a shout. “You really expect us to sign a blank holo screen for the likes of you to fill in?”

“Well.” Ezo crossed his arms and put them behind his head. “The way Ezo figures it, you all owe him anyway.” He eyed each one of them to remind them of their obligation. “Listen. Ezo’s being the gracious one here by giving you a way out. Plus, one of you lucky ones gets to walk away with a splick-tonne of credits. So Ezo’s not really sure what you’re so upset about, Gorbath.”

“I don’t like it.” The Moretaur looked at two of his bodyguards who had come to stand behind his chair. “Search him.”

The crowd made noise as new bets were placed on whether or not Gorbath’s men would find something on Ezo’s person. Ezo set his glass down, removed his boots from the table, and stood with his arms raised. Despite how it looked, this was good news—it meant Gorbath wanted to play, and he would lead everyone else along with him if he agreed to Ezo’s terms. “Easy, boys. Easy.”

Gorbath’s men frisked Ezo, removed his SUPRA 945 blaster pistol, and then searched his pockets and sleeves for a hidden pike card—anything to give him an advantage.

“You won’t find anything,” Ezo said as he let the men riffle through his outfit. “Ezo’s playing this one fair and square.”

“First time for everything,” Branis said.

“Oh, like you don’t cheat either,” Ezo said as he snapped his leather jacket taut and looked at the Gorbath’s bodyguards. “Satisfied?”

They nodded at their boss and then returned to their place behind Gorbath’s chair. The crowd got loud as winners and losers settled up.

“All right. All right,” the Moretaur yelled. Everyone watched as he grabbed a pitcher of ale, downed the entire thing, and then slammed the empty container on the table. “But first, you will see my bet, because I want to know how much this favor means to you.”

With that, Gorbath snapped his large red fingers and then held out his hand. One of the bodyguards placed a translucent data card in it. Then Gorbath dropped the key on the mound of credits on the table. “My ship, the Rage of Ramanoth.”

Ezo sapped his fingers at TO-96. But when a data card failed to appear, Ezo looked back at the bot in frustration.

“Sir,” TO-96 said in Ezo’s ear. “Might I remind you that Geronimo Nine is now in Sootriman’s possession.”

“The card, ’Six.”

“But sir, she will—”

“Gimme the mysticsdammed card.”

TO-96 stood up, squared his shoulders, and then opened a small utility port on his right side. He withdrew Geronimo’s security key card and handed it to Ezo. “She is going to be furious.”

“Not if I win,” Ezo said.

“I meant if you win. She’ll kill you if you lose.”

Ezo paused to consider his bot’s point and then shrugged. “I can live with that.” He added the card to the pot. “Everyone else?”

Ezo had helped the stakes get so high that anyone would have been a fool to walk away from this hand now. Plus, failing to pledge whatever ship they had meant defeat, and they’d owe Ezo anyway. Forcing people into such a predicament was all part of knowing your opponents and working the game. And some luck, which Ezo also seemed to have a fair amount of. At least so far.

One by one, Branis, Imkee, Lornna, Laina, and Sorsabush added their security keys to the pot. The onlookers murmured to one another in delight as the ramifications of this particular hand created a palpable sense of euphoria. Ezo, too, had to admit this was a unique bet. And he wasn’t completely numb to the weight of the stakes. There was a very real chance he’d be out all of his credits and Sootriman’s ship. To say he had a lot riding on this bet was an understatement. As such, he could feel the tingle of nerves creep up his neck and warm his face. It was the gambler’s high that he’d ridden for so much of his life. And for once, he wasn’t cheating. This was real—right here, right now.

Then again, he knew something that no one else in the room did. At the end of the day, if Soldark won, none of this mattered. Not this cantina, not their starships or credits or debits. It was all worthless. When seen through the lens of futility, Ezo’s rash bet wasn’t that crazy at all. Plus, Ezo knew he had the strongest hand.

“Let’s see what you’ve got,” Ezo said. “Call.”

Branis went first, followed by Imkee. Both men had double hooks, but only Imkee had the pike for the win. Not bad hands, but not something Ezo would have bet his starship on. Sootriman’s starship, he corrected himself. Lornna set down a swamp, blue high, while Sorsabush played a swamp, red high. The tree-man’s sly smile dissolved when Laina set down a full swamp. Winners in the crowd cheered and toasted one another while losers grumbled. But there were still two players left.

“Let’s see them, Ezo,” Gorbath said.

“You first.”

Gorbath tipped his head and raised an eyebrow. “Very well.” When he laid down his triple flush, the onlookers went wild. People shook fists in the air while others screamed. One person even fainted off the Gorangi’s left shoulder. But none of that mattered.

Ezo had won.

He was about to lay down his high triple flush when Gorbath pulled one more card from his hand. The Moretaur dropped the push card beside his flush, playing a red pike.

Ezo felt the blood drain from his face as the crowd went ballistic. It was an impossible hand—second only to a black pike on the triple flush. Ezo sat back, clinching his cards while people bumped into his chair. This couldn’t be—the Moretaur had played him. There was no other way. He’d cheated.

Ezo felt his earlier logic try to console him—that all of this was futile in the long run. But the argument was drowned out by the crowd’s euphoria. The fact was, whatever grand ideas he had for soliciting more troops and ships for the Gladio Umbra’s assault on Soldark were now over. Not only would he need to bum a ride back to the Spire, but everyone from here to the Meridian Outskirts would laugh at him if he tried asking for help. And here he’d been so sure of winning. Then Ezo cursed himself for not having TO-96 search the Moretaur for hidden cards. That had been Ezo’s fault for insisting the bot play the role of beer maid.

“Don’t even bother showing us what you had,” Gorbath said as he raked his winnings toward his barrel-like chest. “No need to embarrass yourself more.”

“No, he really should show you,” TO-96 said loud enough for everyone to hear. The room quieted down.

“Shut up, ’Six,” Ezo said. He pressed himself up from his chair, but the bot forced him back down. “What the hell?”

“Show them your hand, sir,” TO-96 insisted without looking away from Gorbath.

The Moretaur’s face morphed into a scowl.

“Listen,” Ezo said to Gorbath and thumbed back at TO-96. “Ezo doesn’t know what this bot is trying to pull here, but a guy knows when he’s been beaten. No need to add insult to injury, you know what Ezo’s saying?”

“No,” Gorbath said, and then he withdrew a blaster pistol and pointed it across the table. A few people in the crowd cried out, but this cantina wasn’t unfamiliar with armed conflict. That’s why all the best smugglers and arms dealers in the sector frequented it. If anything, the show of force instigated a new wave of betting.

“Fine,” Ezo said. If he were going to die, he’d rather it be as a gladia on the front lines with the Gladio Umbra than gunned down in some filthy cantina on the far side of Haradia. He didn’t need this. “What’s a little more embarrassment.”

Ezo laid out his cards and revealed—

A high triple flush with a black pike?

“What?” Gorbath’s chair flew back into the crowd as he stood up. “That’s impossible!”

The onlookers had gone nova, shouting and screaming at a level just short of pandemonium.

“What did you do?” Ezo shouted at his bot.

“There are losers, and there are cheaters,” TO-96 said. “If you’re going to live long enough to win a war, then we’d better keep cheating death, sir.”

“You son of a blaster bolt,” Ezo said with a grin on his face. Then he turned back to Gorbath.

The Moretaur was reaching for his blaster pistol.

“Here we go again,” Ezo said, and then he ducked under the table.

2

Twelve Hours Earlier

Morning came much too early for Magnus. He wasn’t sure if it was all the Sekmitian kyreethsha he’d drank the night before, the dancing, or the cigars Colonel Caldwell had given him. Probably a combination of everything. But it had been worth it.

Queen Nishti, formerly known as Admiral Lani DiAntora, had put on quite a party for everyone following the LAW’s assault on Aluross. Even though So-Elku, or Soldark, as Willowood was calling him, had gotten away, Admiral Kane was dead, and the Paragon had finally been destroyed. Plus, the Gladio Umbra had successfully routed the Li-Dain from taking over the Sekmit’s trinium operation. There was much to celebrate, and the queen had made sure everyone’s glasses were topped off, plates were full, and feet were tapping.

Granted, Magnus wasn’t the dancing sort. But last night, he couldn’t help himself. It was probably all the kyreethsha, of course. And peer pressure. When Colonel Caldwell started his pelvic thrusts and old-man 360’s, the rest of the Gladio Umbra cheered him on, and before everyone knew it, the whole battalion had joined in, moving to the rhythmic Sekmitian dance music. And it didn’t hurt that Awen kept pulling Magnus deeper onto the dance floor. It was probably the most fun they’d ever had if he was honest. Well, the most fun they’d had in public, that was.

Magnus yawned and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, then he reached over to touch Awen. But she was gone. Instead, he noticed a small handwritten note stuck to his chest. It read, See you at the briefing. Wear clothes. —Awen

“The briefing,” Magnus mumbled to jog his memory. “Splick. The briefing!”

He double-checked the time, threw his sheet off, and swung himself out of bed. A wave of vertigo surged through his head, but he managed to get himself into the bathroom and start a shower.

As the hot water beat on the back of his neck, Magnus recalled the latest news that had come in from Azelon just before everyone had gone to bed. The bot had been acting funny all night, and so had TO-96. At first, Magnus thought it was just the two robots being, well, robotish. But once Caldwell handed out cigars to the GU leaders on a back veranda, Azelon spoke up.

The news that Ithnor Itheliana was being attacked came as a shock. But the fact that the city and, more specifically, the Singularity felt threatened by what it said was a single being was even more troublesome. Caldwell and Willowood guessed who it was even before Azelon described what the Novia Minoosh were seeing.

The colonel mandated that everyone keep the information a secret until the leaders could convene the next morning, but the news certainly had put a damper on things. Magnus realized, once again, that he would never have a normal life with Awen until this, all of this, was over. And, damn, how he wanted a normal life with her.

As Magnus dried himself off, he thought about all that had transpired over the past several months. Whatever splick he felt he’d been in before, nothing compared to just how sideways his life had gone since meeting Awen. Magnus shook his head, knowing that if someone had told him a year ago everything that would happen, he would have laughed them into the loony bin. But it had happened—all of it. The sabotage on the mwadim’s palace, the Battle of Oorajee, discovering an alien species in metaspace, forming the Gladio Umbra, raids on Worru and the Black Labyrinth, Capriana Prime’s destruction, and now the operations on Aluross. It was mind-boggling, to say the least. But yet, here he was.

And before he let his thoughts get too far out of control, Magnus reminded himself that he still had a job to do. His years in the Corps had taught him not to overthink things before it was time. Doing so got plenty of good Marines killed long before their expiration dates. That’s what retirement was for—to think through all the splick you’d done in the past, to find ways to revisit the good, and to atone for the bad.

Magnus threw the towel to the floor, walked through the living room, and swiped open the door leading from his private quarters in the queen’s guest complex. Then he remembered Awen’s note.

Wear clothes.

He looked down.

“Son of a—”

Maybe he needed to retire sooner than he thought.

* * *

“So what you’re saying is that it’s a giant starship, armed and powered by the Unity, and nearly invisible to most of our scanning tech,” Magnus said.

“That about sums it up, yes, Lieutenant,” Willowood said.

“And we’re still not sure what our weapons will be able to do against it?” Captain Forbes added.

“No,” Caldwell answered. “Not yet. Most of what we have are hypotheticals based on Willowood’s and Piper’s limited analysis.”

“And you are saying that, at present, it’s on Ithnor Ithelia, just outside the capital city?” Abimbola said.

Azelon nodded. “We believe so, yes. Again, this ship is difficult for our sensors to track.”

“But not impossible.”

“Correct. It presents itself as an absence in the Unity, which is at least something. And it seems to be made of raw mineral compounds rather than refined metals, which means I’ve had to adjust all sensor arrays both on the Spire and in Itheliana. At first, I thought such readings were errors.”

“But you also suspect that the ship is susceptible to attacks from within the Unity,” the Sekmit queen stated.

Queen Nishti had given the Gladio Umbra leaders access to one of her secure briefing rooms in the palace. The room felt stately, made of white marble and dressed with red curtains and leather furniture. A large, wooden round table sat in the middle and had seating for the entire group, which included several secondary parties within the Gladio Umbra. Access to the room also came with a non-negotiable stipulation that Nishti be involved in all discussions. The colonel could have easily relocated the meeting to the Spire. Still, if Magnus’s suspicions were correct, the Gladio Umbra was going to need allies in this next fight against the enemy. Frankly, he liked the gladias odds better with the Sekmit on their side.

“Yes, your highness,” Willowood replied. “As Piper mentioned, we believe that since the Unity sustains Soldark’s ship, it can be manipulated and even dismantled given the proper access.”

“As in, getting on the ship?” Zoll asked.

Willowood nodded. “We think so. Again, we have more questions than answers at this point. But based on our limited interactions with the vessel, stopping it seems plausible.”

“So Rohoar supposes that Solspark is on the Novia’s homeworld, then, yes?” the Jujari mwadim asked while looking around the briefing room. “Is that what we are calling him?”

“Soldark,” Awen replied. “Azelon?”

The bot nodded. “Soldark seems to be fighting his way past Itheliana’s defenses as we speak.”

Bliss waved his hand. “In search of?”

“Revenge,” Rohoar replied.

Magnus cast the Jujari a raised eyebrow. “The ancient feud thing or something?”

“Not a feud,” Azelon interjected. “Feuds, by nature, involve two parties, usually of similar strength. Rather, as I explained once before, this has to do with unreconciled grievances.”

Magnus had to admit that he’d forgotten most of this. Then again, he had been preoccupied with some minor things—like keeping everyone alive from one battle to the next, he noted. “Mind if you elaborate a little, Azie?” Based on the number of people nodding their heads, Magnus guessed he wasn’t alone in needing a refresher.

Azelon nodded and looked around the table. “I expect that you have suitably retained the history of the Novia Minoosh as it pertains to their transition from biological to metalogical constructs?”

“You mean how they ditched their bodies for a digital collective?” Magnus said.

“Ditched?” Azelon’s head tilted, and she paused for a moment. “Ah, yes. That is an acceptable colloquialism. Up to now, you have rightly assumed that the being formerly known as Moldark, now calling himself Soldark, has intended to destroy you.”

“And here I thought he was just pissed at the Republic,” Bliss said.

“Yes,” Azelon said. “He was pissing at the Republic—”

“Pissed,” Bliss added, but Azelon ignored the correction.

“—but that was merely a smaller vendetta among many.”

“So you’re saying he doesn’t like sentient life in our galaxy,” Awen said.

“No.” Azelon looked at Awen. “Mithriel doesn’t like any sentient species in any galaxy who take what does not belong to them.”

“What did you just call him?” Magnus asked.

Azelon paused and then looked around the room as if sensing that Magnus wasn’t alone in his curiosity. “Perhaps a visual guide is better for you. My time with TO-96 has taught me that your species prefers visual aids for adequate intellectual and hormonal stimulation.”

“Now she’s talking my language,” Robillard said as he rubbed his hands together.

“Only if they’re going to tell the story with puppets,” Bliss added.

Caldwell cast the fire team leader a hairy eyeball.

“Sorry.”

Azelon’s chest began to glow white, and then a bright holo projection filled the room’s center and went all the way to the ceiling.

Magnus leaned back and took in the sight of a desolate-looking planet. While it had some smaller bodies of water and areas of what Magnus assumed were vegetation, most of its surface was composed of a smooth dark grey material. Desert, perhaps.

“What are we looking at, Azelon?” Awen asked, her voice filled with the same sense of wonder Magnus had heard so many times before. He loved her natural sense of curiosity even though it did tend to get them all in trouble.

“This is the planet of Xandük, the homeworld of Mithriel of the Norxük, who you’ve known as Moldark,” Azelon said. “What you see here is the Novia Minoosh’s last account of the planet before they abandoned their work.”

“Their work?” Awen turned to look at the bot. “What work was that?”

The planet in Azelon’s holo projection began to undergo a metamorphosis. The small bodies of water expanded, greenery overtook the large grey swaths, and white caps returned to the poles. Within a matter of seconds, the world resembled any number of habitable planets.

“I don’t understand,” Awen said. “Are you saying that the Novia Minoosh somehow harmed this planet?”

“Not somehow,” Azelon said. “They did harm this planet through their mining of bilastium.”

All across the new green sections of each continent, red crystalline patches appeared. Then the planet disappeared, leaving a fine red mist in the holo projection.

“There is no word for the mineral in galactic common,” Azelon continued. “So I have taken the liberty of calling it bilastium, according to your scientific naming conventions. In its natural state, the mineral is fused with such common carbon substrates as anorthosite, basalt, diabase, diorite, gabbro, gneiss, granodiorite, monzonite, pegmatite, schist, syenite—”

“What?” Ezo said in an exasperated tone. “Ezo is dying from the geography lesson.”

“Granite, sir,” TO-96 replied.

“So, it’s found in rocks then.”

“Yes,” Azelon replied. “Among other things. When refined, the mineral remains the single greatest semiconductor in the known universes.”

“So the Novia Minoosh mined it,” Magnus said. Some thoughts were starting to connect in his head. “And let me guess, the Novia Minoosh needed it for their Singularity, and Moldark’s—or, Mithriel’s people fought them over it. But the Novia Minoosh overpowered their defenses and strip-mined the resource out from under the Norsesoos.”

“Norxük, sir,” TO-96 corrected.

“Right.”

“You are partially correct, Magnus,” Azelon said. “But the Norxük didn’t defend themselves. They couldn’t.”

“Not an advanced civilization?”

“No. They were the mineral, sir.”

“You mind running that by us again?”

“As in, elaborate?”

Magnus nodded.

“Ah, yes. I see that my explanation is not entirely accurate. Forgive me.” Azelon adjusted her shoulders in human-like body language. “It is not that the Norxük were the mineral inasmuch as they were the life force that existed within the mineral.”

“An Elemental,” Awen said in a hushed tone, but still loud enough for Magnus to hear her.

“A what?” Magnus asked.

“An Elemental. The energy source within certain inanimate matter.” Awen paused and spread her hands. “It’s more of a myth than anything else. The Luma have long known that certain materials had stronger energy surrounding them in the Unity than others. Some believed the stronger energy was a sign of sentience. But no one has ever produced any conclusive evidence about it. Until now.”

“So the Novia Minoosh knew what they were doing,” Magnus stated. “When they mined the bilastium, I mean. They knew they were destroying some sort of ethereal species?”

“The Norxük Elementals of Xandük,” Azelon said in an effort to give name to the creatures. “And the answer is complicated.”

“Then swiftly see to its uncomplicated ending,” Rohoar exclaimed. “Because this is—” He huffed several times. “No. This is not possible of Rohoar’s great ancestors. He refuses it.”

“Easy there, Fluffy,” Magnus said. No one liked hearing that their ancestors were blood thirsty killers—not even Jujari, apparently. “Let’s allow Azie to explain.”

“She had best do so quickly, as Rohoar is disliking this story more and more. If it is not to his liking, then Rohoar will break many things, including some things which cannot be broken without much force.”

“Right.” Magnus motioned for Azelon to continue.

The bot nodded. “The Novia Minoosh as a whole did not know what was happening, only the elders did.”

“See?” Magnus said to Rohoar.

The Jujari folded his arms but still looked like he was ready to bite someone’s head off.

Azelon continued, undeterred. “In their hubris to assume an eternal state of existence, the Novia’s leadership chose to sacrifice one species for the preservation of their own.”

“Story old as time,” Caldwell said as he blew out a plume of cigar smoke.

“But that’s, that’s…so mean,” Piper said. “And wrong.”

All eyes turned toward the child.

“Rohoar agrees with the Piper. Mean and wrong, and not the Jujari way.”

Awen ignored the mwadim and rested a hand on Piper’s shoulder. “It’s a terrible thing, Piper.”

“But how could all the Minooshes let that happen?” Piper’s face was bunched up in pain, and she looked from Awen to Azelon. “How, Miss Azie?”

“Yes, yes,” Rohoar said, gesturing toward Piper as if to redouble her question. “How, Miss Azie?”

“Only the Novia’s highest level of leadership knew. The elders had discovered the greatest natural resource for preserving the future of their species, and they took upon themselves the moral consequences of preserving their people.”

“I still don’t understand,” Piper said.

“And I’m afraid you probably won’t on this one,” Magnus said with a sigh. He caught the child’s eyes and gave her a sad expression.

“But isn’t that wrong?” Piper looked around.

Rohoar nodded his head and let out a low growl that seemed to shake the table.

Piper smudged a tear across her cheek. “Isn’t that wrong to kill others to get what you want?”

“Yes, doma. It is,” Awen replied as she smoothed the child’s hair.

“But I thought the Novia Minoosh were good?”

“The child’s point is valid,” Azelon said. “But, again, only a select few knew of the horrors of mining the Xandük. It was only when the Novia Minoosh populace began entering the Singularity that the truth was discovered. All knowledge became common knowledge, and there was no veil of secrecy for the elders to hide behind.

“The Novia Minoosh were successful in creating their Singularity. They took years to lay their bodies to rest in crypts and join themselves to a collective consciousness within the bilastium’s mega-matrix. All, that is, but the elders, save one. He who will not be named populated the Singularity with his knowledge of the incident. He was then expelled, and the rest of the elders were barred from entering, banished from metaspace, and condemned to live out their mortal lives in exile while their kinfolk entered immortality. Eventually, new elders, called the chiefs, were chosen from among the last Novia to enter the Singularity, leaders free from the corruption of the previous generation. And so, the Novian way of life continued, and the elders were once again held in esteem.”

As Azelon spoke, the holo display showed the red crystals of bilastium merge into a large red cube, the scale of which was lost on Magnus. But he guessed that if the substance had been mined to extinction, an effort that turned the once lush planet into a relative wasteland, the object had to be quite large.

“I’ve seen—” Piper raised her finger and pointed at the cube. “I’ve seen that.”

Magnus glanced at the girl. “You’ve seen the Singularity?”

“I’m afraid that’s quite impossible, Piper,” Azelon said. “The Novian Singularity is—”

“I’ve seen it,” she shouted, standing up from her chair. “I’ve been there!”

Azelon seemed about to continue when Magnus raised a hand toward the bot but addressed Piper. “In your dream.”

“Yes, Mr. Lieutenant Magnus, sir. The one where—”

Magnus interrupted her. “The one you told Awen and me about. I got it.” Magnus was pretty sure the child was about to say, “Where everyone dies,” but why get everyone worried before they needed to be?

“Mm-hmm,” Piper said with a nod.

Magnus looked back at Azelon. “But what about Moldark?—Mithriel, I mean.”

“No one is sure how he escaped the mining,” Azelon said. “The Novia Minoosh suppressed and extinguished the bilastium’s Elementals. But Mithriel’s presence was loosed from the bilastium and set free into the cosmos. Some of the Novia Minoosh believe he is the collective presence of all the Norxük, while others think he is but one lone spirit cursed to roam the universes alone.”

“So your masters scorched the planet and then built their Singularity,” Magnus said. “Meanwhile, Mithriel has been roaming around ever since trying to even the score. That still doesn’t explain Admiral Kane.”

Azelon recognized Magnus’s implied question by projecting a new image. This one was a familiar-looking ship—a Jujari ship, Magnus noted to himself, though a very old one.

“The remnant of the Gladio Umbra,” Rohoar whispered, and loud enough for Azelon to hear.

“You have a keen eye, mwadim,” she replied. “Unable to locate the Singularity, and aware that the original Gladio Umbra were the only physical enemy that remained, the Novia Minoosh suspect that Mithriel followed Rohoar’s ancestors across a quantum tunnel and into protospace.”

“He stalked us like Oorajian slanthers after dark sky falls?” Rohoar said with no attempt to hide his astonishment. “But we have no record of this.”

“Nor would you,” Azelon replied. “It was barely supposition amongst the Novia Minoosh. There is no proving any of an Elemental’s activities unless it is bound to matter.”

“Like the bilastium,” Awen said.

“Or Admiral Kane,” Magnus added. He felt everyone’s eyes turn to him.

“You are correct again, Lieutenant,” Azelon said. “For reasons we are unsure of, Mithriel’s spirit merged with that of Admiral Wendell Kane’s, providing the Elemental a bodily form through which to manifest and hunt down any who take as the Novia Minoosh took.”

“Which would explain his desire to slay the Jujari and the Galactic Republic,” Magnus said.

“And to come after the stardrive,” Awen added. “So it really is revenge.”

“But why wait so long?” Caldwell asked. “For Mithriel to take over Kane, I mean.”

“The Novia Minoosh are unsure,” Azelon said. “Elemental behavior is still largely unknown. Perhaps he was waiting for the right host, the right time, or maybe he was simply lost amidst the stars. The beings pre-date the Novia Minoosh and seem to show signs of immortality, though that has yet to be proven. If so, however, both time and survival, inasmuch as those things concern mortals, would be very different for Elementals. In any case, now you know as much as we know.” Azelon turned off the holo projection.

The room went still as everyone seemed to process the data dump. Magnus’s thoughts swirled as he considered the implications of a being like Soldark on the loose with an army at his disposal. There was no telling what he would do once he was done with the Novia Minoosh, and Magnus shuddered to think of the possibilities.

“Well,” Magnus said as he let out a deep breath. “Something’s gotta be done, and we’re the ones furthest downrange.”

“Rohoar agrees and so pledges himself to atone for the evils of his ancestors,” the Jujari said. “Wrongs will be made right. Rohoar swears it.”

Magnus nodded in appreciation of the mwadim’s sense of ownership. “Well, if it’s all the same to you, it seems we’re in this together. It may have started with the Novia Minoosh and the Norxük, but Soldark brought the fight to our doorstep, so I’ll be damned if we don’t finish it.”

“La-raah,” everyone said and pounded the table.

3

Caldwell dismissed everyone for a fifteen-minute break before reconvening in Nishti’s briefing room. As people retook their seats, Awen leaned over to Magnus and said, “I see you got my memo.”

Magnus looked down at his casual attire. He smiled and seemed to like her attempt at keeping the mood light. Given everything the team had just heard and everything else they had yet to talk through, she guessed that this was the right time to use a little humor to keep them grounded.

“Yeah,” he said. “And I almost didn’t.”

She shrugged. “Wouldn’t have been the end of the world.”

“I would hope not. Because what you said last night was—”

“Was for our ears only, Lieutenant.” She may have let this man get the best of her heart, but that hadn’t meant she’d abandoned all decorum.

Magnus pursed his lips. “Fair enough.”

“All right,” Colonel Caldwell said from his seat at the round table. “Let’s pick this up where we left off.”

“Colonel, sir?” Zoll said as he raised a hand.

“Go ahead.”

“Do we even know how Soldark got into metaspace to begin with?”

Caldwell looked around the room as if hoping someone might answer.

Awen raised her hand. “May I, sir?”

“Be my guest,” the colonel replied.

“We must remember that Soldark has access to So-Elku’s spirit and, therefore, we have to assume that he is just as powerful as any Unity user we know. This means he might be able to open his own void horizon, just as Moldark was trying to get Piper to do. He knows about the codex, the Nexus, and the Novia Minoosh’s quantum tunnel generator.”

“So there’s no point in just trying to trap him over there? Don’t get me wrong, LT,” Zoll said while looking at Magnus. “I want to take out Sol-Splick as much as anybody.”

“It’s a fair point,” Magnus said.

“And, if I may,” Awen replied. “The answer is no. Given how much power we think Soldark has, the idea of trapping him seems out of the question. We know where he is, and we know what he wants.” Awen looked around the room and then took a deep breath. “We hit him with everything we’ve got, and we end this.”

“La-raah,” several people said.

After a moment of silence, Ezo asked for permission to speak.

Caldwell nodded and gave the former smuggler the floor.

“Do we think that Soldark and his lone starship pose that much of a threat? Piper sounds like she already disabled its weapons systems. From there, it seems like can we box him in, then take him out. Plus, this ship sounds like it’s a one-off if you ask Ezo. It’s not like we’re looking at a fleet of them or something.”

“That’s not entirely true,” Willowood said.

Ezo furrowed his brow. “Why does Ezo have the distinct impression that you’re going to drop a bomb on us right now?” He looked around the table. “She is, isn’t she? Eh, splick.”

Willowood took a deep breath. “As with all civilizations, there are certain stories that seem more fable than history. They’re meant to keep children from straying too far from the path, meant to entertain around campfires, meant to teach lessons and anchor a people to a common past. And then there are those stories that everyone would rather not talk about.”

“Ezo told you it was bad,” Ezo said to those on his right and left.

Willowood seemed to ignore the comment and pressed on. “There is a story, thousands of years old, about a schism in the Order. Among the most powerful Unity users, there was a small group who ignored the limitations that the masters had set around our practices. They believed the rules were unnecessary, detrimental even, viewing them as restraints meant to confine rather than to endow.

“And so they ignored the ancient traditions and practiced outside the lines in secret. This went on for hundreds of years, it was thought, like a long-festering wound hidden beneath the skin. On the outside, these practitioners adhered to the Order’s statutes. But behind closed doors, in caves and grottos and small clearings in the forest, these wayward souls tampered with the unnatural. They even learned to alter their own mortal bodies, defying the constraints of biology—even tampering with physics. Legend has it that they could obscure their forms and morph into anything they wished, so long as their souls could remain connected to the material world.”

Willowood’s eyes stared off into near space for a beat.

Awen felt her skin tingle as an eerie silence filled the room. Whatever power the old fable had on Luma children in ages past, it had the same effect on a room full of battle-hardened adults. She understood why the myths had been shelved. Who could sleep at night after this?

“Legend has it that the Elders confronted the secret order on the eve of Worru’s harvest celebration. Where the Elders charged them with breaking covenant, the deviants claimed to be liberating the natural order from its shackles, setting it free from the unnecessary wills of close-minded tyrants. They, on the other hand, were setting the universe free. They were liberating the unknown to become the known—trading order for chaos.”

“So what—what happened to them?” Piper asked as she leaned forward. Her eyes danced with wonder and curiosity, so much so that Awen was taken aback. How the child was not hiding behind her chair was a testament to Piper’s bravery. Or she’d just been desensitized by all her holo games and movies.

Or by all of the actual battles you introduced her too, Awen thought.

“The Luma Elders gave them an ultimatum,” Willowood replied. “Either renounce their ways of chaos and return to the light or be banished.”

“And, given the fact that you’re telling us this story,” Ezo said with a rolling wave of his hand. “Ezo guesses they chose banishment.”

“Not at first,” Willowood said. “The confrontation grew violent when the Obscura, as they became known, insisted that the Order’s Elders were the ones who needed to be banished. The Obscura claimed that keeping the universe’s energy confined was the worst of sins. So they fought against the Luma.”

“And they lost?” Piper asked, now on the edge of her seat. “The Obscerma ones, I mean.”

“Eventually, yes. But the fight was costly and became a grave reminder of how corrupt the sentient mind could become if it journeyed too far from safety. Those Obscura who survived fled from Worru and were never heard from again.”

Another long silence filled the room as people weighed the unsettling fable.

“Eventually, this account faded with time,” Willowood said. “Other tales replaced it, and the Obscura’s details were confined to the Order’s oldest manuscripts.”

Forbes raised a hand. “That’s a great story and all—”

“It is not just a story, buckethead,” Abimbola said. “Never dismiss legends before you let their truth unsettle your soul.”

Forbes eyed the Miblimbian giant for a second before looking back to Willowood. “Right. So, that’s a great thing that you shared, but I still don’t get what it has to do with Soldark’s ship.”

“Ezo seconds that,” the former smuggler said.

Willowood nodded as if to acknowledge the men’s curiosity. “The manuscripts state that the Obscura departed on the stones of Worru.”

This statement hung in the air for a moment before Magnus spoke up. “You mean to tell us that the ship Soldark has is the ship the Obscura left Worru on?”

“I’m not telling you anything beyond what our legends say,” the older woman replied. “Whether or not Soldark’s ship is the Obscura’s ship remains to be seen. But if we’re looking for an explanation as to how such a thing is possible—how a starship could be forged from raw minerals, bound together by the Unity—then this seems our most plausible explanation.”

“Which means,” Awen said as she sat forward. “The Obscura are real.”

“Or at least they once were,” Willowood said.

Sootriman spoke up with a wave of her hand. “Would their ship remain intact even after they died off?”

“That would be the best possible scenario, yes,” Willowood replied.

“The other being?”

It was Awen’s turn to field an answer. “That the Obscura are still alive, and that Moldark struck a deal with them before he arrived at Aluross.”

Sootriman nodded. “That is the worst of the two options, yes.”

Another long silence filled the marble room as people looked around at each other. Where any other council may have laughed at the absurdity of such folklore, the Gladio Umbra had seen enough otherworldly action to take this new threat very seriously. Even some of the skeptics, like Ezo and Forbes, looked to be lost in thought. As they should be, Awen said to herself.

“Well, I’m not sure about the rest of you,” Colonel Caldwell said as he pulled his cigar out of his mouth. “But I’ll be deader than the boyfriend who touched Tina’s tasty tots on her daddy’s doorstep if I’m going to let Soldark run around on some crooked-ass rock cart and blast us all to Vesper’s Crag without a fight. If he’s got one ship, we have to assume he can get more. And if Azelon’s concerned about him, then so as hell are we. La-raah?”

“La-raah,” the leaders replied as one.

“But hasn’t Soldark got a major headstart on us, colonel?” Robillard said. “With the whole time-dilation thing, just the two days we’ve spent here have given him, what, a month or two, right?”

TO-96 replied before the colonel could. “Thirty-one days, to be precise.”

“Then why aren’t we moving right the hell now?” Robillard asked. “Who knows what Soldark’s been able to drum up by now.”

“You have just cause for concern, Mr. Robillard,” Azelon said. “But I wish to curb at least some of your apprehensions. The Novia Minoosh have not remained idle since our last departure from metaspace. Fearing that Mithriel would return, they constructed city-wide defenses.”

“Using the same kind of print tech you have on the Spire?” Magnus asked.

“Indeed, Lieutenant. The installations took time, of course, as did cleaning the city to accommodate the weaponry. But according to the Novia Minoosh’s reports of Soldark’s progress, the upgrades were worth the investment. He has been slowed, but the armaments will not stop him indefinitely.”

“Which is all the more reason we need to be over-prepared,” Magnus said.

“Yes.” Azelon looked to her right and left. “But you have one more day to prepare; one and a half at most.”

“Then we’d better get busy like a sailor with one night of shore leave.” Caldwell reinserted his cigar and took several puffs on it. “Now comes the fun part.”

“Fun part, sir?” TO-96 asked with a twist of his head.

Magnus spoke the words he guessed Caldwell was thinking. “We’re gonna need more boots on the ground, and more ships, colonel.”

“Copy that, son.”

“And guns,” Magnus added, looking at Azelon. “Lots of guns.”

* * *

Over the next two hours, the Gladio Umbra’s leadership began making a list of every leader they knew who had the technology and firepower to help put down Soldark. Awen hoped this would be their final confrontation with the maniacal despot, and based on everyone else’s attitudes, she wasn’t the only one who had her hopes set on winning. Something was in the air that signaled this was the end—just hopefully not ours, she thought.

Queen Nishti was the first to pledge her support of the operation against Soldark. “You have half our capital forces,” she said. “I know it’s not much compared to others but—”

“But it’s more than generous,” Caldwell said. “Thank you, pride mother.”

“If it serves you any, I will offer to speak to Chancellor Seaman as well.”

This surprised Awen. She got the impression that the former admiral and the Neo Republic’s new head of state had been close once. Surely the revelation that Lani DiAntora was the queen of an entire species had come as a shock to Seaman—at least that’s what Awen picked up from his body language, and maybe a little within the Unity. Okay, a lot within the Unity. But the Gladio Umbra needed to know if the Neo Republic was going to retaliate. So far, however, the Chancellor seemed at peace with the surprise. Personally disappointed, yes. But he was a professional, and he knew the Neo republic was in no place to force the Sekmit’s hand.

“That would be appreciated,” Caldwell said. “But haven’t they—”

“They will leave when we release their ships from port,” Nishti replied in a calm tone. “And not a moment sooner.”

Awen couldn’t tell if the pride mother meant to hold the Chancellor hostage over this or not, but she knew Nishti could be incredibly persuasive. Mystics know I wouldn’t want to be on the other end of that talk, Awen said to herself.

Willowood offered to confer with the other Gladio mystics, including Wish, Finderminth, Sion, Incipio, and Tora, and then speak with the remaining LAW prisoners that Nishti had in holding. The captives included Lor, So-Elku’s Intelligence Minister and the only Elonian on his council, Brodin, the Communications Minister, Yon-Mornick, the Trade Minister, General Rink-Ba, the Li-Dain Commandant, and Trinklyn, the Minister of Foreign Affairs. The only council member not in custody was Admiral Porampus, the LAW’s Director of Fleet Operations; he had fled from orbit during the closing moments of the conflict with Soldark.

Of those members, it was Trinklyn who interested Awen the most. While still complicit in So-Elku’s plans to bring supposed peace to the galaxy in the Galactic Republic, the Minister of Foreign Affairs seemed the most loyal to the Luma’s approach to diplomacy. Awen had a feeling that if the LAW was going to play a part in this final encounter, Trinklyn was going to be the conduit.

“Rohoar will go to his people and call them to arms,” the Jujari said with a fist to his chest.

“Your people have already sacrificed enough as it is, mwadim,” Caldwell replied. “We couldn’t possibly ask you to—”

“To what?” Rohoar looked around the table. “To stand by and let our kithrill perish alone?”

“Kithrill?” Magnus whispered to Awen.

“True friends—family.”

Magnus nodded.

“Hey. Who said we’re going to perish?” Ezo asked.

But Rohoar was undeterred. “To let our brothers and sisters in battle have their heads dashed upon the stones? To have their blood spilled across the plains without a soul to sing their battle song? To have their females and offspring torn asunder while—”

“We are most grateful for your pledge, Rohoar,” Caldwell said before things could go any further. “In light of all you’ve already given, the Jujari’s support is truly a gift to us all.”

“Now those are words I never imagined a Repub Colonel saying,” Awen whispered to Magnus.

“Seems I wasn’t the only one that your mystical charms worked on,” he replied with a smile.

“As a gesture of good faith, I have already added the construction of new Jujari armor to the Spire’s printing queue,” Azelon said. “While the ship’s capacity is limited, given everything else I am working on, I believe it will at least serve some of your needs.”

Rohoar’s furry eyebrows went up. It was the closest thing to Jujari shock that Awen had ever seen. “Rohoar is most grateful, Azelon the Magnanimous.”

“Magnanimous?” Magnus whispered to Awen. “He never called me that—and it’s practically in my name.”

“Better work harder then,” she said with a half-smile.

Like Rohoar, Abimbola offered to return to Oorajee one last time in search of volunteers from the Dregs. “I cannot guarantee we will find many, but every soul counts.”

“We’d be damn grateful,” Caldwell replied.

“Also, I must retrieve Kathy.”

“Who’s Kathy?” Magnus asked. “I didn’t know you had a serious girlfriend.”

“She is my pet.”

“Pet, girlfriend,” Robillard said as he weighed imaginary items in both palms.

“Pet,” Abimbola replied.

Bliss nearly choked on his laughter. “We’re going to war and you’re going back for some snuggly ass lapdog? I can’t wait to see this.”

“As I said, I am going back for my pet, Kathy. If you have a problem with her—”

“Yeah, yeah.” Bliss waved a hand in the air. “I can take it up with you later.”

“No. With her. Kathy is quite fine killing for herself.”

Bliss blinked twice and then sat back.

“Lesson learned,” Robillard said to Bliss. “Don’t mess with Kathy.”

“But what about Limbia Centrella?” Flow asked in an attempt to get things back on track. “We ain’t never heard you talk about it, and mystics know we could use a few more of you, big guy.”

“No.”

All eyes looked at Abimbola.

“Yeah, but if you listen to what the colonel’s been saying, we’re gonna need a whole—”

“I said, no,” Abimbola replied with a voice that shook the room.

When the echo finally faded, Flow raised his hands in appeasement. “Okay, okay. No need to get testy.”

“We’re grateful for whatever aid you can gather from the Dregs,” Caldwell reasserted.

“Ezo still has a couple of favors on the books that he can call in,” Ezo said as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Not saying it’s gonna be pretty, but with the whole end of the universe as we know it kind of scenario, Ezo thinks he can make it happen.”

“Shall I accompany you, sir?” TO-96 asked. As if remembering something, the bot turned to Azelon. “So long as it is acceptable with you, sweet parts.”

Awen stifled a chuckle and pressed her fingertips to her mouth.

Magnus leaned into her ear and asked, “Did he just call her sweet parts?”

Awen knew that if she tried to speak, she’d burst out laughing. Instead, she gave Magnus a nod and then pushed his head away.

“It is acceptable, yes. I, however, will sorely miss you once again. This is the second time you have left me in such a short period, and I will spend several mili-cycles processing your absence. Perhaps I might become cross even. Shall we find ourselves in a lover’s quarrel?”

“I have no plans to be unfaithful to you,” TO-96 replied. “Nor do I wish this to be a prolonged separation. Therefore—”

“Why don’t the two of you work that out later,” Magnus said.

Awen knew Magnus was doing his very best to keep a straight face, just as Awen was wiping tears from her eyes and holding her head to the side.

“Why, Awen,” TO-96 said. “Are you crying?”

“I’m fine,” she managed to say and waved off the bot.

“Yes, but if we have upset you—”

“I said I’m fine.” She’d no sooner spoken than she burst out laughing. She held one hand to her stomach and the other to her mouth, willing herself to calm down. But the more she tried, the more she laughed. It didn’t help any that everyone else started laughing too. Well, everyone but Rohoar.

“I see no humor in the matter of arguments between mates,” the Jujari said, but his protest only served to make those in the room guffaw even more. “What is the meaning of this?”

It was almost a minute before everyone finally composed themselves. People wiped away tears and took deep sighs. Awen’s cheeks and stomach hurt.

“Have I cracked some sort of joke?” TO-96 said aloud.

“We just love you, Ninety-Six,” Awen said. “That’s all. Never change.”

“Unless Ezo adapts me with new parts or a new software upgrade, I don’t see how I could.”

Awen blew him a kiss and gave him a wink, to which the bot grabbed the invisible kiss and stuffed it in an imaginary pocket.

“You teach him that?” Magnus asked her.

“We had some downtime in Fînta,” she whispered back. “Told him he could use it with Azelon.”

“Speaking of Azelon.” Magnus pointed back toward the robot couple.

“Hand it over,” Azelon said to TO-96.

TO-96 withdrew the kiss from his pocket and handed it to her. Azelon accepted the item and tossed it over her shoulder, and then she cast Awen a look with a hand on her hip.

“She’s pretty protective,” Magnus said.

“You think?” Awen replied.

“Getting back to business,” Caldwell said. “Sootriman, any desire to—”

“I’m sorry, colonel, but no.”

Caldwell raised an eyebrow at her. “Just thought I’d ask.”

“I feel as though I’ve already done my part, and I will not put the people of Ki Nar Four through more.”

“No need to explain, your highness,” the colonel replied. “I think we’re all in agreement there.”

“I will, however, accompany my husband to wherever it is he thinks he’s going.”

Ezo looked over at her in surprise. “Really?”

“Yes.” Sootriman crossed her arms. “But I’m staying in Geronimo. You get into any trouble, that’s on you. I’m not losing that ship again.”

Ezo crossed his arms in reply and sat back. “I can handle myself.”

“But statistically speaking, sir—”

“Can it, Ninety-Six.”

“Very good, sir. Please consider my statistical analysis of your high propensity for catastrophe canned.”

“That said,” Sootriman said to the colonel. “I do have something else to propose—something that’s been in the works for quite some time. But I hesitate to bring it up because it’s not entirely a sure thing.”

Caldwell blew out a plume of white smoke and sat back in his chair. “I don’t think any of us are placing sure bets at this table.”

Sootriman nodded. “It’s about Saasarr.”

“Our long lost Reptalon?” Magnus said. “You never did tell us where you sent him.”

“And that was purposeful.” Sootriman looked around the table. “I appreciate all of you respecting my privacy on this one, especially since Saasarr was one of our own and a member of Granther Company. But the nature of my relationship with the Reptalons requires a particularly high level of discretion.”

“What, did you save their king from an embarrassing escapade or something?” Bliss asked with a rather loud tone. When Sootriman met the man’s gaze with a withering stare, Bliss added, “Oh, splick. You did, didn’t you.”

“The nature of my relationship with the species will remain my secret,” Sootriman said with a cold tone. “And I will not take kindly to any hypothetical inferences. Clear?”

“Crystal,” Bliss replied.

Robillard backhanded Bliss’s arm. “Dumbass.”

“As I was saying,” Sootriman continued. “Saasarr and I reached an agreement shortly before we engaged the Black Labyrinth. I originally hoped that we, the Gladio Umbra, would engage the Paragon with a host of Reptalons committed to our cause. But that was not the case, as Saasarr’s attempts to mobilize his people fell short of original expectations.

“So they’re not going to show up,” Zoll said.

“Perhaps.” Sootriman looked around the room. “Like the cumbersome governments we’ve all been a part of, the Reptalon’s ruling body is no exception to lengthy deliberations.”

“You’re saying they’re stuck in a bureaucratic black hole?” Zoll asked.

“More of a religious one. The Septillian Council will not go to war unless the gods condone the action.”

“And how many gods do they have?” Abimbola asked.

“Seven.”

“More than most, but not as much as some,” Abimbola said. “Still, convincing that many gods can prove difficult.”

“Hold up,” Forbes said to the Miblimbian. “You actually believe in this hocus pocus?”

“Yes.” Abimbola raised himself up. “I do not question you about your love for gardening. You do not question me about the gods. Are we clear, buckethead?”

“Former buckethead.” Forbes raised a finger. “And, yes, we’re clear.”

“As I figured.” Abimbola sat back down and gestured for Sootriman to continue, but Colonel Caldwell cut in first.

“Do you know if any of their gods have given the okay?”

“In our last communication, Saasarr said that three of the seven consented for their tribes to go.”

“Hell, that’s better than nothing,” Caldwell said.

“I’m afraid it’s not that easy, Colonel,” Sootriman said. “All seven have to agree.”

Abimbola let out a low whistle. “Never mind what I said. Convincing that many gods to agree is nearly impossible.”

Sootriman looked at Caldwell. “He’s not wrong. And that’s about what Saasarr said to me too.”

“Well, splick.” Caldwell took a toke on his cigar. “So where does that leave us?”

“Saasarr is pressing the council leaders as much as he can, but communicating between the two universes will cut me off from getting any news. So now you know why I am hesitant to propose Reptalon involvement as a possibility.”

“No disrespect here,” Cheeks said. “But are the lizards really worth having around in a fight?” When several others nodded at his suggestion, Cheeks looked emboldened. “I mean, none of us really know one besides Saasarr and—”

“Rohoar knows many,” the mwadim said.

Awen thought she noticed a slight tick in the Jujari’s upper lip. It was not easy to forget one’s mortal rivalries, but Rohoar had done well in heeding previous corrections to work with his fellow gladia.

Sootriman raised a hand toward Rohoar to insist she be the one to answer. “If the Reptalons are for us and show up en masse, I’d be hard-pressed to think of a contest too impossible to win. And if they don’t, then you have nothing to worry about, Corporal Chico.”

Cheeks gave a cocky smile and looked from Sootriman to Rohoar to Magnus to Flow. When he returned his gaze to Sootriman, he asked, “And why’s that?”

“Because we’ll already be dead, son.”

“Ha,” Flow shouted and slapped Cheeks on the back. “You walked right into that one, sexy.”

“There is one more thing,” Sootriman said.

“Go on,” the colonel replied.

“If the Reptalons decided to join us over Ithnor Itheliana, there is still the matter of distance.”

“You’re saying they would never reach metaspace in time.” Caldwell stroked his chin and nodded as he seemed to do some mental orienteering. “Hell. The edge of the Kormari quadrant is further from us than a private’s chances of getting lucky at the officer’s ball.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Piper said. “But couldn’t shydoh just open a tunnel to their star system?”

All eyes turned toward the child.

“What?” Piper asked innocently. “Did I say something wrong?”

“That is a valid point, Piper,” Caldwell said.

“Thanks, Grandpa Caldwell.”

“Grandpa Caldwell?” Magnus said to Awen with a look of surprise.

Awen motioned to Magnus to keep his voice down. “Willowood said she started calling him that as soon as Kane died.”

Magnus shook his head. “Kids.”

“If we want the Reptalons to help us fast,” Piper said, sitting up a little more. “Shydoh Awen can just open a tunnel between the Minoosh’s world and the Reptalon’s. Put it right between Gangil and Orin Five. That way, we could talk to them, and then they could show up when they’re done worshipping their gods.”

“That’s assuming we can gain access to the Library,” Awen replied, redirecting to the colonel. “And that Soldark hasn’t gotten to it first.”

“You think he knows how to use it?”

“If he has access to So-Elku’s memories or abilities, we have to assume so. That, or he could just destroy it, but there’s little rationale for that.”

Caldwell nodded and then looked across at Piper. “Your idea’s a good one, Piper.” The colonel pulled his cigar from his mouth and turned toward Sootriman. “If you had to wager on your scaly friends being nice to us or not, where would you put the odds?”

Sootriman placed a hand on her chest and tapped it a few times. “Seventy thirty, our favor.”

“And here I was hoping for thirty seventy.” Caldwell chuckled. “We’re keeping Piper’s plan in our back pocket for as soon as we know what we’re up against. Anyone have anything else?”

“I’ve got something,” Jules said.

Up until now, the testy sea skimmer business owner had remained silent. Awen was surprised the colonel had let the woman join the proceedings given the fact that she wasn’t a member of the Gladio Umbra. Then again, what did that even mean? There were no indoctrination ceremonies, no rites of passage. Unless you count surviving the fall of Capriana Prime a membership class, Awen thought to herself with a half-smile. Then Jules was a full-blooded gladia.

That said, the woman had proven herself useful on the Spire, and she’d worked nothing short of a miracle with both Flow and Cheeks. The two of them seemed at ease around Rohoar. Given what Awen knew of PTSD and its nightmarish long-term effects, Jules could have been made a card-carrying Gladio Umbra on that merit alone. Plus, Flow seemed to have taken a particular interest in her, which meant she wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon, not if he had anything to say about it.

“Let’s say none of this works out,” Jules said as she pushed some strands of her strawberry blonde hair behind her ears. “None of these favors come through, and in the end, all we have are the Spire and Queen Nishti’s forces.” She glanced at the Sekmit leader. “No offense, your majesty.”

“None taken,” Nishti replied with a respectful raise of her chin.

“You mean, do we have alternatives for reinforcements?” Caldwell asked and looked around the table as if offering the question to the team. After a beat, Caldwell looked back at Jules. “Looks like we’re coming up two energy mags short of a full charge, Jules. What do you have in mind?”

“I’m offering to buy us some ships. Maybe recruit some mercenaries in need of work.”

Caldwell’s bushy white eyebrows rose three centimeters, as did the glowing tip of his cigar as his jaw jutted out. “You…wanna run that by us again?”

“I’m offering to bankroll some armored transports and a private fighting force. If you think we could use it, that is.”

Awen didn’t know whether to laugh this woman out of the room, which, admittedly, wasn’t Awen’s style, or take her seriously, which seemed preposterous. And, judging by the shared looks of surprises that were going around the table, Awen guessed she wasn’t alone in her doubts. But Jules wasn’t showing any signs of subversion or psychosis. Which means she’s being serious right now, Awen concluded to herself.

Caldwell regained control of his eyebrows and put his elbow on the table. “You’ll have to forgive me if I seem a little, um…what’s the word?”

“Astounded, incredulous, stunned, or my personal favorite, flabbergasted,” TO-96 said.

“I was going for surprised,” Caldwell said.

“Less demonstrative, but appropriate.”

Caldwell looked back at Jules. “As I was saying, and I don’t mean to insult your offer, but I think the number of credits we’re talking would be—”

“In the billions, if not more,” Jules said. “You’re not wrong there, sexy pops. Nor are you wrong to question my ability to offer such a sum. But then again, there’s always more to a person than meets the eye—as all of you have proven to me, and, I wager, to one another.”

“So, you got insanely rich racing and renting sea skimmers?” Zoll asked. “I feel like we’re still short a few billion credits somehow.”

“No,” Jules replied. “My family got rich building sea skimmers, among other things. I just always preferred racing to board rooms.”

“Sea skimmers,” Magnus said as he scratched his chin. “But those were AGS Model 20-Rs if I’m not mistaken.”

“Model 21-RZs.” Jules winked at him. “But they’re hard to tell apart for most people.”

“AGS?” Flow said, looking at his new girlfriend with an attempt to hide his growing shock. “But that’s—”

“Advanced Galactic Solutions,” Cyril exclaimed as he tapped his fingers in a flutter of excitement. “Whoa, so that means, I mean, yeah, that means you must be Juliet Von Meier, daughter of—”

“Alfred and Delia Von Meier,” Zoll said.

“In the flesh,” Jules said with a slight tip of her head. Her confident smile and calm demeanor served the revelation well: there was no sense that she was putting on pretenses, nor was she trying to avoid the family’s status. Rather, she was comfortable with who she was and all the baggage that inevitably came with it.

“Well I’ll be my bastard cousin’s father,” Caldwell said.

“Hold up,” Ezo said. “So you’re saying that you have access to the Von Meier AGS estate?”

“No, Ezo. I am the Von Meier AGS estate.”

“Ho-ly splick,” Magnus said as he sat back in his chair.

“Can we confirm this?” Ezo asked no one in particular.

“Why don’t you ask your bot there,” Jules said. “After all, he’s an AGS TOTI Navigator-class bot—”

“Modified,” Ezo interjected with a stab of his finger in the air. “Heavily modified Navigator-class.”

“—complete with a full company history.” Jules tilted her head. “Assuming you didn’t do a full data wipe when you built your illegal AI matrix for him.”

“It wasn’t illegal at the time,” Ezo said in protest. “And he’s quite happy with the upgrades.”

“Actually, sir, partitions twenty-nine through forty-two could stand to have—”

“Quite happy,” Ezo said in a loud voice to Jules. “And why didn’t we know about this sooner?”

“Ha ha, because, well, she’s done an excellent job, and I mean like a really mostly excellent job of keeping her last name off the grid,” Cyril said as he typed away on a data pad affixed to his forearm. He swiped a few items toward the table, and they appeared for everyone to see as a holo projection. News clips of Jules on the winner’s podium of sea skimmer races read Jules Jensen instead of Von Meier. Several more municipal records confirmed the name, while less popular articles on the reclusive Von Meier trillionaires showed only brief mentions of their supposed daughter and included no photos.

“It’s almost like someone redacted the information,” Zoll said.

“Because someone did,” Jules said. “It was me.”

“Ha ha, yeah. That makes sense,” Cyril said. “And, like I said, you did a really mostly excellent job, Miss Von Meier. Aside from some of the syntax errors and a few misallocated variables. They’re dead giveaways that an amateur did this. I mean, not saying you’re an amateur. But you are. But not in a bad way.”

“We got it, buddy,” Magnus said. “Forgive me if I’m wrong here, Jules, but didn’t AGS’s headquarters get torched on Capriana?”

“Our largest R&D labs did, yes. But as you can imagine, we have production facilities throughout the quadrant, and our accounts are healthy, so long as the galaxy continues to use a credit-based economy as opposed to, I don’t know, say, poker chips?”

“Many claim they are less volatile,” Abimbola said as he rolled one of his chips along the backs of his undulating fingers.

“So you’re serious when you say you can get us more ships,” Ezo said.

“I am,” Jules said. “But there’s a wrinkle.”

“Here we go.”

Caldwell cast Ezo a stern look and then motioned for Jules to go on. “Please, Jules. We’re very interested.”

“All of AGS’s military production was sanctioned and secured by the Galactic Republic, which means they weren’t in the habit of holding on to inventory for very long. Warships sitting on shelves doesn’t make for good business.”

“So you’re saying you don’t have any ships yourself,” Magnus said.

“Not exactly, but not in the numbers I think we’re talking. Most of those were already spoken for and didn’t survive the war.”

“So, what do you have?” Caldwell said.

“Mostly light and heavy armored transports at this point.”

“That’s fine for moving troops around,” Forbes said. “But if Soldark has a fleet?”

“We need something more,” Caldwell said and then puffed on his cigar.

“Right.” Jules pushed her sleeves up over her elbows. “While everyone’s off calling in favors, there’s another company I’d like to approach.”

“That manufactures warships?” Zoll asked.

“Depends on who you ask,” Jules said. “And how many credits you can wave in their faces.”

“You’re going off-book,” Magnus said. “Black market. A bit dangerous, isn’t it?”

“I’m not the one who needed a mech suit on Capriana, Lieutenant.”

A few people whistled at the remark, and Cheeks waved a finger in Magnus’s direction. “You’re gonna feel that one in the morning.”

“Don’t worry, LT,” Flow said. “She won’t be going alone.”

“No, Michael,” Jules said. “I couldn’t ask you to—”

“Well, you ain’t asking, so I don’t see any problem here.”

“Me neither.” Cheeks raised his hands when Jules and Flow both looked at him. “What? You two are gonna need someone watching your six. Hell if I’m gonna let you go without backup.”

“Well, folks,” Caldwell said, checking his wrist comm for the time. “Seems we’ve got some semblance of a plan, at least to start. I want time estimates on my data pad within the hour. We’ll set drop dead timetables and staging points according to what you come up with. Anyone gets in over their head, I’m the first to know about it, but I shouldn’t hear anything because I want you all using your heads. No unnecessary risks. Copy?”

Heads nodded, and glances were shared.

“Good. Two more things. Remember that we’ve got time dilation working against us. Soldark has the upper hand with whatever it is he’s trying to do. So we’ve gotta be fast, and we’ve gotta be smart.”

“La-raah,” Magnus said, which was echoed by everyone else. “And the second thing?”

“I’m promoting you, Lieutenant,” Caldwell said to Magnus as the older man stood to his feet.

Magnus pushed his chair back and stood too.

“Damn shame it wasn’t done before, son. But there ain’t exactly SOPs for what we’re doing out here, so I’m forced to make it up as we go. Corps would have my hide over a field promotion of this sort without you bending over and grabbing your ankles, kissing ass, making the rounds. Can’t say I wouldn’t blame them either. There’s a reason we make officers eat splick. But I figure you’ve eaten enough for one lifetime, and if we’re going out in a blaze of glory, you might as well hold a rank that reflects your competency, bravery, and the respect your fellow gladia have for you. Plus, I like the way it sounds.”

“Colonel, sir?”

“As Forbes pointed out during the last op, you can’t be giving a Captain orders as a Lieutenant, no matter how badass you are. So from now on, you won’t have to worry about that, Major.”

Awen didn’t pretend to know about military rank and the jargon that went along with it. But she did know it meant a lot to them—the troopers. And to Magnus. Even though the Corps was in Magnus’s past, it was still in his heart, and she could see by the look in his eye that the colonel’s words meant something to him—something profound. Awen, too, felt a sense of pride for her man. He deserved all the respect and admiration that the cosmos could give him, and she’d be first in line to testify.

“Major Magnus,” Awen said, trying the title out. “He’s right. It does sound good.”

Magnus smiled at her and then looked back at the colonel. “Thank you, Colonel.”

“You earned it, son. And everyone knows it.” Caldwell turned to the others and motioned them to stand with his cigar. “We’ve got a job to do, people. Be smart, don’t make more trouble than you can handle, and let’s prep to win this thing. We’ve got one crazy ass son of a bitch on the loose, and I’m way past due for retirement.”

“Dominate,” Major Magnus roared.

“Liberate,” everyone else shouted in reply.

“Get it done.” Caldwell stuck his cigar back between his lips. “Dismissed.”

* * *

Everyone filed out of the room except for Magnus. “May I have a word, Colonel?”

Caldwell was willing to bet his left nut he knew what the new major was going to say. “This about your little field promotion?”

Magnus’s eyebrows went up. “It’s not that I’m not grateful.”

“Sure, sure.”

“And you know I’m proud to serve wherever you want me.”

“Of course, yes.”

“And I recognize the fact that what you’re counting on me to do is to oversee—”

“Ah, would you just come out and say it, son? You’re worse than my willy on winter Wednesday.”

Magnus balked but then stepped forward. “I don’t want the gladias going into battle without me.”

“There it is.” Caldwell toked on his cigar. “And that’s exactly why—”

“Why you want me in command. I get it, sir. I do. It’s just that, if things go sideways, and I’m up here on the Spire, then—”

“It’s going to take too long to get your boots on the ground to help them out.”

“Right.” Magnus nodded and then rolled his neck. “I’m not trying to give you a headache here.”

“Well. Ya’are, son.”

Magnus rubbed the back of his neck. “I figured.”

“Adonis. Your grandfather knew a thing or two about leadership. And he knew that it changed according to the unit’s needs. As he aged, he learned to accept different responsibilities and the limitations that came with them. You can’t have it all.”

“I’m not looking for it all—begging your pardon. I know what you’re asking me to do, and I know I’m ready for it. I’m just asking for a favor.”

“Here we go. You’re doing it again to me, Adonis. You know that?”

“RIP.”

“Damn straight, RIP.”

Caldwell tapped the overly long ash from his cigar into a dish on the table. Azelon would kill him if she found another burn mark in the war room’s carpet. Recon Indoctrination School, also called the Program, or RIP for short, was what Magnus had weaseled into after he’d blown out of Caledonia. And he’d somehow managed to get the colonel to recommend Flow, Cheeks, and Mouth for indoc with him. The little bastard.

“All I’m asking is that you let me hit the dirt with the teams. I’ll stay put wherever you plant me. Just not up here.” Magnus took another step forward and raised his brow atop his big green puppy dog eyes. “I’m a Marine, not a sailor, Colonel. You of all people—”

“Eh, I—” He gave Magnus an irritated wave, pointed across the table at him, and then glared. Hard. “You stay where I stick you.”

“Like a post.”

“And you make the calls from inside your C-RIG.”

“My what?”

“From inside,” Caldwell said as he closed his eyes, trying to keep his blood pressure down.

“Inside, Colonel.”

“And, so help me gods, if you do anything but follow my orders to a tee—”

“To a tee,” Magnus echoed.

“—and fulfill them the split second—”

“The split second.”

“—the split second I tell you—”

“You’ll bootstrap my naked ass to the backside of a Tanglothian banshee lizard?”

“That’s crazy, son. Don’t ever talk like that again.” Caldwell shook his head and lowered his cigar. The room got quiet. Then he pointed at Magnus once more. “But I will lash you to a dimwitted Derk Duffer until your loins are blue.”

Magnus smiled. “I wouldn’t expect anything less, Colonel.”

“Now get outta here before I change my mind.” Then to himself, Caldwell mumbled, “Recon Indoctrination School my ass.”

4

Incoming blaster fire pinned Chancellor David Seaman behind a stack of small shipping containers. The bolts thumped against the crates and produced a steady shower of sparks. With the night sky a black canvas overhead, the molten particles looked like thousands of shooting stars.

Seaman was eight meters from the base of the bow loading crane, but crossing the distance meant traversing the deck unprotected. Still, if he could get behind the crane’s foundation, he had a clear path down the ship’s port side. From there, he could flank the wheelhouse and take out the hijackers.

“Come on,” Seaman said as he crouched behind the crates, willing the enemy to let up. But their fire rate was relentless. What he needed was a diversion.

Seaman grabbed one of his two remaining VODs, set the timer for three seconds, and then selected a directional charge with a compass heading aimed off the ship’s side. He hated to use one of the variable ordnance detonators on something other than taking down enemies, but he had no other choice. He’d already spent his other two VODs clearing security boats just to climb Placid Nora’s side, and he hadn’t come this far to get taken out now.

He tossed the VOD, and it maglocked onto the freighter’s railing with a dull thunk. Then Seaman covered his ears. Even though the explosion blew away from the ship, the concussion was still omnidirectional and made the crates rock against his back.

As soon as the fireball appeared, Seaman felt the blaster fire lessen on his position. “Here goes nothing,” he said as he dashed out from behind the containers and bolted for the crane’s base.

His first few steps weren’t noticed. But halfway to his destination, a barrage of blaster fire exploded around Seaman’s feet and chased him across the deck. He dove the remaining two meters and slid across the metal plating on his chest. More super-charged energy rounds skipped along the floor where his feet had been, producing fountains of orange sparks and marring the surface with black blast marks.

Seaman sat up and pressed his back against the crane’s base. The smell of ozone and burnt flash-oxidized metal filled his head, reminding him just how real those blaster bolts were. But he’d made it—and none too soon. The pirates had finally gotten the large diameter double-barrel M109 online and started firing from atop the wheelhouse. The gun blew through the containers Seaman had been hiding behind and spewed their contents across the bow—croach, by the smell of it. And with the way the blaster rounds were searing the powder, Seaman knew he’d be worthless to the galaxy if he inhaled too much of the stuff. He needed to get off the bow, fast.

Seaman kept his head low and raced to the port side, then he chanced a look around the corner. Just as he suspected, the way was clear—three-hundred-fifty meters straight back to the stern con tower’s door. And, Seaman noted, plenty of cover too. If he moved fast enough and stayed out of the searchlights, he could be there in two minutes. Seaman double-checked his wrist pad for the time—this is gonna be close, he thought.

Satisfied that the enemy hadn’t guessed where he was, Seaman held his MC90 blaster rifle close to his chest and started sprinting down the open lane. Bugs swirled in the searchlight beams overhead, but the operators were still focused on the exploded shipping crates. He did his best to keep his footfalls quiet, but it was impossible to be completely silent at the rate he was going.

Thirty-five seconds later, Seaman passed the 200-meter mark. He was almost halfway there and making good time. The captain was counting on him, as were the lives of the crew held captive on the lower decks, and still no pirate had spotted him.

Seaman pumped his legs, forcing himself to run faster than he had in years. But that’s because life as an admiral, let alone a chancellor, didn’t afford him such opportunities as this. That life was full of big decisions executed by layers upon layers of personnel beneath him. Rarely, if ever, was he given an operation that relied solely upon his individual strength, stamina, and skill. Those days were long gone, which is what made this mission even more exciting.

One-hundred-fifty meters to go—so said his wrist pad. He was close. He could see the hijackers through the bridge windows five stories up. They were holding the captain at gunpoint, screaming at him. And still the searchlights focused on the bow. He had this.

Seaman was fifty meters from the port-side entry door when the sound of blaster fire exploded to his left. He heard the impacts before he felt the blaster bolts hit his body. In his haste to get to the con tower, he’d forgotten to look down a catwalk over the midship cargo hold. There, midway down the gantry, two hijackers fired on him, blasting his chest and legs with RAB25 rounds. The rotary cylinders produced their telltale whine, flashing in quick succession as Seaman fell to the deck.

He was mad.

Mad at himself for not thinking clearly.

At the hijackers for getting the best of him.

And at the futility of death for getting in the way of saving other people’s lives.

He also felt mad at choosing to be a Navy officer and ship commander instead of a Marine. He’d wished for the former path, but his father had wanted the latter. Perhaps if he’d listened to his own heart instead of his father’s, he would have been better trained for a mission like this. He would have known to check his sides on instinct. Instead, he’d been preoccupied with racing blindly to the bridge—and why wouldn’t you be? Seaman thought to himself as his body began to shut down. That’s where he’d spent the majority of his adult life—on the damn bridge.

He lay on his back, acutely aware of his surroundings. The dark sky overhead. The smell of salt on the air. And the sounds of men running toward him, shouting at one another over comms.

From somewhere out of sight, a smooth female voice broke the otherwise serene circumstances of his death. “You do know that the recon team who cleared this ship took out twenty-six pirates before they got to the bridge, right? You cleared zero—zero—once you got on deck, and you never once looked down any of the cross lanes.”

Seaman knew the voice even before he saw the woman’s face. And, truth be told, Lani DiAntora, or Queen Nishti, was the last person he needed a lecture from about a failed mission. Hell, he didn’t need her lecturing him about anything, ever. Her face appeared over his head, looking down at him with her half-cocked smile, the same kind she gave him when she knew she was right and he was wrong. He hated it. And loved it.

Mystics damn this woman, he thought.

“I cleared the patrol boats,” Seaman said, still on his back and taking deep breaths. “That’s ten.”

“Everyone gets those. They don’t see you coming.”

“Huh. I can’t imagine what that feels like.”

Nishti’s face appeared over him just as two of the simulated pirates stepped up and shot him in the head.

“End simulation,” Seaman said.

Instantly, the ship, the hijackers, the dark sky, the smell of blaster fire roasting his flesh, and the searchlights vanished. In their place, a black room with glowing white outlines appeared. Seaman sat up and ignored Lani’s—Nishti’s—offered hand. Instead, he walked to the items locker and replaced his MC90 replica. “Is there something I can do for you, your highness?”

Nishti didn’t answer right away. Instead, she waited for Seaman to wipe his forehead with a towel and take a drink of water.

“Just this,” she replied, gesturing around the room.

“To watch me fail a fifty-year-old op on Katanic Four?” Seaman took another swig from the bottle. “I can see how that might be appealing for you.”

“I don’t get something though,” she said, ignoring his slight.

“What’s that?”

“Why this op? I picture you more for a space battle sim.”

He wiped his face with the towel again. “It’s a gym, isn’t it? I needed the exercise.”

“Still, you could have picked from a thousand other missions.”

“I like the history of it. Can we get back to why you’re so fascinated with watching me fail?”

“Not watching you fail,” she said, walking toward him. She was dressed in grey and purple workout attire and seemed ready for business. When she got to the item locker, Nishti reached for a replica Thørzin power bow and staff. “I came to join you.”

Join me? he thought. Mystics, this was the last thing he wanted right now. “Your highness, I really don’t think—”

“Don’t think what? That you have time for this?” Her eyes darted around his face, studying him. “Your ship isn’t scheduled to leave for another two hours, your crew is already ahead of schedule, and you need to burn off some more steam in the gym by the looks of it. I think you have plenty of time.”

“I was going to say I don’t think this is appropriate.”

“Appropriate?” Nishti whipped her tail back and forth once. “Chancellor, you may be the head of the Neo Republic, but I am the—”

“Queen of Aluross.”

“I was going to say the person who’s about to wipe the Placid Nora’s deck with your ass. But if you need me to remind you of—”

“My ass, huh?” Seaman pulled the MC90 back out of the rack and sighted down the barrel. “I think I have some time to burn.”

“Good.” Nishti stepped away and stretched her arms by swinging the bow and the staff around her body. Then she turned around and eyed Seaman as if sizing up prey. “Care to make it interesting?”

“Drinks?”

She batted his comment aside with her staff. “Talk about not appropriate. No. Loser pays a thousand credits for everybody they’re behind.”

Seaman wanted to say something smart like, “I hope you have deep pockets,” but Nishti did have deep pockets. She’s the damn queen, he reminded himself. And then there was the fact that he knew she was going to give him a run for his credits. Instead, all Seaman could think to say was, “You’re on,” and even that sounded stupid because he knew he was going to lose.

Nishti smiled. “Restart previous simulation.”

* * *

After pitching VODs into the two patrol boats that circled the oceanic freighter—making the score five to five—Seaman and Nishti emerged from the saltwater and scaled the ship’s bow. As soon as they were over the side, blaster fire erupted from the bridge. It pinned them both behind the small cluster of shipping containers where Seaman had been before.

“Why this op?” Nishti asked as sparks washed over the crates.

“It looked challenging,” he said as he leaned out and fired toward the stern.

Nishti let out a soft chuckle. “Challenging? I can think of fifty more challenging scenarios than this one.”

“I like the old water-bound ships, what can I say?” Seaman pulled a VOD from his belt and set it as before—three-second timer, compass-directed charge pointed away from the ship. He held up the fragger and cast her a glance. Blaster sparks reflected in her mesmerizing feline eyes, and Seaman felt a pang of regret pound in his chest. He’d been a fool to have feelings for her—a fool to let her get so close. And then he cursed himself for not seeing her betrayal sooner.

Seaman tossed the VOD. The moment it detonated, he dashed across the open ground and slid behind the crane’s base. When Seaman pulled himself up into a crouch, he noticed that Nishti was still behind the crates. “That was your chance!”

“No,” she yelled back. “That was your chance. This is mine.” With that, the queen leaped from behind the crates and scaled a steel mast-like pylon on the foredeck. She moved so quickly that Seaman almost lost her in the darkness. When she reached a small utility platform beneath a comms array, the queen unslung her Thørzin power bow, drew back the Unity string, and aimed at the M109 that was about to come online.

The bow glowed bright blue before Nishti released an energy arrow. The electrified projectile lit up the main deck as it sailed 350 meters to the stern. Seaman watched in amazement as the Unity arrow struck the double-barreled turret emplacement atop the wheelhouse, popping the M109 like a hydrogen fuel cell. A fireball bathed the con tower in orange light and sent flaming debris into the ocean waves.

“That’s two for me,” Nishti hollered down from the tower. “I’m up two grand. Better get yourself busy.” The queen slung her bow, threw her staff across an overhead cable, and then stepped into the air. Her lithe body flew through the darkness as enemy blaster bolts tried to hunt her down.

“Oh no you don’t,” Seaman said for his own benefit before leaping into motion. He crossed the foredeck, hidden behind the crane base as before, and then charged down the ship’s port side. This time, however, he checked each catwalk that crossed over the ship’s open cargo holds.

The very first bridge had three pirates taking cover behind a control console built into the railing. He swung his MC90 and sighted in on the assailants. But a split second before he squeezed the trigger, Nishti fell from the sky and brought her staff down on two of the pirates. Their bodies hit the crossway so hard that the metal grating rang. The third man she struck across the face and sent him tumbling into the cargo hold.

“Five grand,” she said to Seaman, and then she started running toward him.

He was pissed but amazed, and couldn’t help watch her stride toward him in what felt like slow motion.

Dammit, Seaman. Keep your head in the game.

He took off toward the stern, running in the shadows. He was determined not to let Nishti get by him again. Seaman’s feet beat against the metal decking as his eyes searched for the next cargo bay crosswalk. Even before he got to the bridge, he spotted two pirates halfway across, pointing MX13 subcompact blasters toward the bow. The enemy hadn’t placed him yet.

Seaman pointed his MC90 at the two men and squeezed the trigger. The weapon recoiled into his shoulder, sending out four three-round bursts. It was overkill, he knew. Any Marine who saw him would scold him for lack of fire discipline. But he didn’t care. He had to beat the queen.

Some of his blaster bolts ricocheted off the rungs, splashing the crosswalk in yellow sparks, while other rounds found their way to their targets. Both combatants fell backward and then collapsed in smoking heaps.

“Three thousand,” Seaman said over comms.

“Nope,” Nishti replied. “Still five.”

“But I just killed—”

A blue explosion of light lit up the next catwalk. Two bodies flipped over the railing and disappeared into the hold below.

“Mysticsdammit,” Seaman seethed.

“Better keep up, Chancellor.” Nishti appeared on the main deck ten paces ahead of Seaman and gave him a casual salute.

The chancellor lunged forward and sprinted toward her. It was everything he could do to keep up with the woman—she was fast. And, if he had to guess, she was probably letting him catch up too, which pissed him off even more.

Together, they cleared the next two catwalks until they arrived at the con tower. Seaman stood on one side of the port-side door with his back against the exterior wall, while Nishti stood on the other.

“I’m up by eleven grand,” she said. “If that’s too rich for you, we can terminate the simulation now, you know.”

“Offering to quit? You’re not afraid of a comeback, are you?”

Nishti looked skyward and then tapped her elbow against the con tower. “There are eleven more inside. That means you’ve got to take out every one just to break even.”

Splick. He hadn’t even considered that.

The two of them continued to catch their breath, so Seaman seized the moment to double-check his energy magazine’s level.

“You’re looking a bit low there too,” Nishti said.

“I can see that.” Seaman ejected the spent mag and inserted a fresh one.

“Just didn’t want you going dry when I need you.”

Seaman gave her a sarcastic chuckle. “It’s always about what you need, isn’t it.”

If the barb was meant to faze her, it didn’t.

“Well, I am the queen, after all.” With that, Nishti pushed the lock lever up and forced open the door. “After you?”

“Royalty first,” he replied with an upturned hand.

Nishti stepped through the door, and Seaman followed. The con tower’s first level was a narrow hallway lined with several doors. Instead of clearing each room, Nishti went for the stairs.

As Seaman followed her up, he inhaled the odor of the fresh marine paint and equipment oil that always permeated these old water-bound freighters. Recessed LEDs lit each landing, and large paint-stenciled numbers marked the levels. It wasn’t until Nishti and Seaman reached the third floor that they encountered more resistance.

“Back!” the queen yelled as she threw her arm against Seaman’s chest. The act saved his life as blaster fire from the next landing filled the space he’d been in a second before. Seaman began to point his MC90 around the corner, but Nishti shoved him away. Then she drew the Unity string on her bow and loosed a charge in one smooth motion. An explosion sounded up the stairs, accompanied by a bright flash, and it was followed by a body tumbling down the stairs.

Nishti poked her head around the corner. “Scratch one for me. Looks like you’re going into debt, Chancellor.”

Seaman grumbled under his breath and then pushed his way past her. As he did, he couldn’t help but smell her fragrance—the scent of lavender mixed with sinnowilt blossoms that stirred all sorts of memories he’d rather forget.

The explosion in the stairwell drew attention from above as two pirates appeared atop the next landing. But Seaman was ready. With his weapon in high ready position, he placed the MC90’s reticle on the first assailant’s chest and squeezed off a three-round burst. He did the same to the next, and a few seconds later, he and Nishti were rounding the corner to the bridge level.

The two of them held short of opening the door and pressed their backs against the wall. Seaman couldn’t believe that he was going to lose this sim twice in a row—once to the hijackers, and then to Nishti. Compounding whatever resentment he felt toward his old man and his career path was the anger he felt over losing the only woman he’d ever loved. And here he was, playing a damn sim with her.

“Was it real?” he asked her.

“It’s a simulation, Chancellor.”

“What we had, I mean.” But Seaman realized she could have been talking about their feelings for each other too. She was quick like that. “Did you ever have feelings for me? Or was it all part of the act?”

Nishti’s bow lowered ever so slightly. “It started as an act. But none of that matters now, does it,” she said.

“No. I suppose not.”

He was the head of the Neo Republic, and she was the queen of the Sekmit. There was no room in their narrative for a love story, and he’d been an utter fool to think otherwise. Whatever they had before was now bound to the past and covered in ulterior motives.

Seaman scolded himself for asking her if their love had been real—because you were hoping maybe you had a future together, weren’t you, David. Such fantasies were the wishes of a young man, not a galactic leader with the weight of the cosmos on his shoulders. Still, he wanted to know the answer—he needed to know.

And now you have your answer.

Oddly enough, Nishti’s reply did nothing to satisfy him. If anything, he wanted her more—a feeling compounded by the fact that she was the one woman he could never be with. Not unless they were both willing to walk away from their responsibilities and leave everything behind.

“It’s impossible, you know,” she said as her eyes searched his face.

“I know,” he replied. Hearing her put into words what he was feeling helped him somehow. It brought needed closure. Well, at least some.

“And I insist on being paid as soon as the sim is over,” she added.

Seaman gave her a surprised look. “Wait. Are we talking about—?”

“The kill count.” She tilted her head. “What did you think we were talking about?”

“The—well.” He shook his head at her. “You ready?”

“You’re letting me go first again?”

“Not a chance.” Seaman forced open the bridge door and stepped inside. He spotted two pirates with their backs to him and fired. The first assailant pitched forward, while the second one spun around twice from three consecutive rounds to the shoulders.

The remaining six hijackers raised their weapons, but Nishti released an energy round that whipped around the bridge in a tight arc—as in, it quite literally circled the room and killed five hijackers in one pass. The single round punched through heads and chests, dropping the assailants to the ground in less than a second.

“That’s cheating,” Seaman yelled.

“You wish.”

“Hold it right there,” the last pirate yelled. He held the captain in front of him and pressed a blaster barrel under the officer’s chin. “One more step and he’s dead.”

“Really?” Seaman lowered his MC90 and thumbed toward Nishti. “Did you not see what she just did?”

“The sims can’t respond outside their parameters,” Nishti said. “He’s just going by—”

“Cause if I were you,” Seaman continued. “I’d drop my gun and jump off the side of the ship while I still had the chance.”

“Put your weapons down,” the hijacker repeated.

But Seaman ignored the command. “Seriously. This one here will cut you deep. And the worst part? You won’t even see it coming.”

“I said—”

A new energy round circled the room again, only this time it banked into the pirate’s head from the back. The combatant’s body shoved the captain forward and into Seaman.

“Thank you,” the officer cried. “You saved me!”

“Simulation complete,” said an androgynous sounding voice.

The scene vanished, and Seaman and Nishti were back in the black construct room.

“Mission successful,” the automated voice added. “User Seaman, David. Fifteen confirmed kills. User Nishti, Queen. Twenty-one confirmed kills. Total time—”

“End statistics report,” Nishti said and then walked toward the item locker. She picked up a towel and wiped her face, then she took a swig from Seaman’s water bottle.

“I had that last one, you know,” he said.

“Could’ve fooled me.” Nishti replaced her weapons, turned around, and opened her hand. “Five grand, Chancellor. Pay up.”

“You’re unbelievable.” He chuckled as he walked past her, stashed his replica in the locker for the second time that day, and retrieved his data pad. “Scan here.”

Nishti placed her paw over the tablet but held short of pressing the screen.

“What?” Seaman asked. “Something wrong?”

Nishti’s nose twitched. She was thinking—no, she was strategizing. He knew that look.

“How about one more game,” she said.

“Double or nothing?”

Nishti shook her head. “Not exactly. I had something else in mind. Even more lucrative.”

Seaman laughed. “You’re about to drain my account as it is, so—”

“More lucrative for you,” she said, cutting him off. “That is, if you win, of course.”

“Eh, I don’t like my odds against you, queeny.”

“Not against me.” Her eyes narrowed. “Working with me.”

“With you?” Seaman lowered the data pad. “What’re we talking?”

“Trinium.”

Seaman raised an eyebrow, mustering all the suspicion he could into the gesture. “Trinium?”

She crossed her arms. “Yes.”

“For the Neo Republic?”

“Uh-huh.”

Seaman squinted at her. “What’s your angle?”

“I need some ships and some troopers.”

He laughed. “You think the Republic is your personal merc squad now that you’re a queen?”

“No,” she replied. “I just don’t think you’re willing to do what it takes to save the galaxy without something in it for you.”

“Save the galaxy?” He eyed her up and down. “This is about the Gladio Umbra, isn’t it. And that ship that So-Elku took off in. Well, I can tell you right now, that guy is gonna—”

“That guy is gonna be responsible for wiping out life as we know it if we don’t do something to stop him.”

She couldn’t be serious. So-Elku may have been a freak, but he didn’t have the will or the means to—what was it?—wipe out life as we know it. The Luma master’s leaders were in prison, and the LAW’s fighting force had been decimated.

Whatever Nishti was up to, he didn’t like it.

“Listen, Lani. Nishti—dammit. I don’t know where you and those rebels are getting your information from, but if you think for one second that I’m just gonna give you—”

“Whatever I ask for,” she replied. “And yes, you are.”

“And why’s that?”

She smiled. And not the pleasant kind either. No, this was the dark, devious smile that came when a woman knew that she had a man exactly where she wanted him. The kind that gave someone like Seaman the chills, because she knew that he knew that whatever she was going to offer him was going to be something he couldn’t refuse. And he hated that—that she knew what he wanted, and that he wouldn’t be able to resist her.

5

“Let me get this straight,” Lor said from behind the Unity-powered containment field. The translucent wall’s magenta hue turned the Elonian’s purple eyes a deep blood red as he looked between Awen and Willowood. “You want us to help you take down our master—”

“Former master’s body,” Awen corrected. “He’s not the same.”

Lor waved the comment aside. “—because the fate of the galaxy is at stake?”

“Galaxies,” Awen said with emphasis.

“It’s worse than that, Intelligence Minister,” Willowood added.

Awen noticed how the older woman kept using the man’s title. Either she was trying to appeal to his ego or make a sarcastic commentary on the man’s logic—Awen couldn’t be sure which. Or maybe it’s both, she said to herself as she studied Willowood’s face.

“Based on what we know about Soldark—”

“You keep calling him that,” General Rink-Ba interpreted from an adjacent cell in the block. “I still don’t understand why.”

Willowood cast the man a stern glare, but Awen held up her hand. “Allow me,” she said to her master. “General, sir. We have every reason to believe that So-Elku’s soul is gone.”

“I don’t believe you,” Rink-Ba replied. He folded his arms and pursed his lips—still dressed in his LAW military uniform. “And your attempts to manipulate us won’t work.”

“Manipulate?” Awen rubbed her forehead with her hand. “I’m trying to get you to think reasonably, General. Soldark is not just some…some deranged lunatic. He’s an Elemental, and a highly motivated one at that.”

Rink-Ba didn’t budge. Not at first, anyway. A few seconds later, however, he stepped toward the magenta barrier, and his lip twitched before he spoke. “An Elemental,” he stated—neither as a question nor as confirmation.

Willowood nodded. “The Novia Minoosh supplied us with a detailed account of their dealings with the species.”

“Are you suggesting the theories of non-animate sentient life are true?” Trinklyn, the Foreign Affairs Minister, said from her cell. Of all the LAW prisoners, she had seemed the most willing to hear out Awen and Willowood.

“We’re not suggesting anything,” Awen replied. “We’re stating it. Elementals are real, and the Novia Minoosh proved it centuries ago.”

“So, an Elemental ego—”

“Mithriel,” Awen said, supplying the creature’s name. “But we have all known him as Moldark until now.”

Trynklin nodded and continued. “Mithriel took over Wendell Kane’s body to become Moldark. And now it’s taken over So-Elku’s to become Soldark? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Yes, General,” Awen said. “But the alien sentience hasn’t just taken over So-Elku’s body. We believe it’s consumed him, for lack of a better term.”

“What we encountered on that ship,” Willowood said as her voice grew with conviction. “It wasn’t a partnership, like what Modark and the late Admiral Kane had. It was total possession. So-Elku is gone. But his powers are not. They belong to Soldark now. Everything So-Elku knew, every skill he’d acquired, all of it is Soldark.”

“And you’re saying he hates all other forms of organic sentient life enough to destroy it,” Rink-Ba said, restating, yet again, the ground they’d covered earlier.

Awen was growing tired of this. Either the LAW leaders were going to help, or they weren’t—she didn’t have time to keep belaboring the minutiae. Then again, she understood her captors’ reservations. After all, they were just that—prisoners—and ones who had just fought a bloody battle not two days prior. Nothing like offering tea and a friendly smile to someone you just tried to slaughter, Awen admitted to herself.

Rink-Ba put his hands on his hips and thrust out his chin. “Okay, gladias. Let’s say we believed you, and that Soldark, as you’re calling him, really is an Elemental hellbent on cosmic revenge. Not saying he doesn’t have power, but enough to challenge the Neo Republic’s remaining Navy, fragile though it may be? Enough to take on every faction—legitimate or otherwise—from here to the Troja Belt? I understand that he might do some damage, but the whole galaxy? Come on. Don’t stand there and insult us with claims of Soldark’s grandeur when all you really want is for the LAW to fold and So-Elku’s legacy to crumble.”

Awen glanced at Willowood and gave a slow eye roll. I give up, she said in the Unity.

Not yet, Willowood replied. Stay with me.

“I understand your reservations, General,” Willowood said with a gentle tone. “I do. And you’ve clearly risked your reputation, your career, and probably even your life to follow So-Elku from the Order’s sanctuary to the LAW’s spearpoint. There is bravery there, if not some hubris as well, but I leave that to your conscience, not mine.

“Despite whatever differences separate us, General, I must believe that we both still care for the Order, the preservation of life, and the rights of peace-abiding species to be protected. This includes the Luma.”

“It’s an eloquent speech, Elder, but it fails to move me,” Rink-Ba said. “The LAW exists to ensure everything you’ve spoken. If anything, detaining us will only cost lives.”

“Detaining you may, in fact, save your life.”

General Rink-Ba smiled at Willowood and Awen, and then gave out a low chuckle. “You’re really full of it. You know that? Both of you? This whole thing is—it’s just a show, and you’re in way over your heads, clawing your way toward some level of significance that will justify your actions. Well, it’s not moving me, and I see no threat worth aligning ourselves with you and your rebels.”

Let’s leave them, Awen said to Willowood in the Unity. I’m done here.

But Willowood raised a finger as if to signal she had one more thing to say. “Tell me, General.” Willowood walked to a control panel and typed quickly. A moment later, a rough schematic of Soldark’s black ship appeared as a holo image in the middle of the cellblock. A few more swipes of Willowood’s fingers brought up data records and sensors reports. “Have you seen this ship before?”

Awen watched the general as he squinted at the rotating ship. It’s menacing angular black body grew from a pointed bow to a blocky stern.

“Never, no.” The general looked back to Willowood. “Why?”

“Does any of it, I don’t know, concern you?”

Rink-Ba furrowed his brow at the older woman and then began reading the sensor reports. His scowl deepened the further he read until Awen thought his frown might break his face.

“What does this mean, ‘Unity-driven, but no Unity signature found’?” Rink-Ba looked from the report to Willowood and Awen, and then to the other LAW prisoners around the cell block. “That makes no sense.”

Then, just as Awen thought they might have a breakthrough—that Rink-Ba might be coming around—the man smiled.

“Your readings are off,” he said. “Try getting a certified sensor’s officer next time, and maybe that will clear up your lack of data.”

“If sarcasm is your catharsis, General, then I leave you to self-medicate.” With that, Willowood closed out the projection and headed for the door. “Enjoy yourselves.”

“Wait,” Rink-Ba said, touching his temple as if fighting off a headache. “Let’s say your readings are accurate.”

“Because they are,” Awen interjected.

The general eyed her. “Then what does it mean? What ship is that?”

Awen put her hands on her own hips to mirror the general’s stance. “You know, for someone who cared so little about our explanations just moments ago, you certainly seem to be changing your tune now. Tell me, General, does it scare you?”

“What?”

“The ship”—Awen pointed to the empty space where Soldark’s ship had been—“does it scare you?”

“No. I don’t know anything about the damn ship. How can I be scared of it?”

“Does it feel like something from ages past? Like a fairy tale of your youth come to haunt you?”

“Mystics of Alta,” Trinklyn said with a gasp. “Is that—are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

The LAW leaders shared looks around the hexagonally shaped cell block. All but Rink-Ba, that was.

“I don’t know,” Awen said as she folded her arms and gave the general a smug grin. “What do you think we’re saying?”

“But that’s—” Rink-Ba hesitated.

For the first time since they’d begun talking, Awen thought she saw a genuine look of surprise cross the man’s face. No, not surprise, she thought. It was something else. It was fear. There it is.

“Impossible?” Willowood said. “I thought so too. We all did. But then again, legends don’t form out of thin air. They’re meant to scare us as children for a reason. They’re reminders of what could be because—”

“Because of what had been,” Rink-Ba said.

Willowood gave the man a nod and then took a few steps forward. “We believe the Obscura are very real, and that Moldark found them.”

“Or vice versa,” Awen said. “Which seems the more likely scenario.”

“The ship we encountered gives us every indication that the ancient faction was indeed real and its members have resurfaced to aid our enemy.”

“But why?” Yon-Mornick, the LAW’s Trade Minister, said. “What do they have to gain by giving Moldark—Soldark a ship?”

“They’re motivated by the same emotion Soldark is,” Awen said. “Revenge.”

“You can’t be serious,” Rink-Ba said, clearly still unable to accept the circumstances.

“We are, General,” Willowood replied. “Even as we speak, Soldark is settling an old score in metaspace with the Novia Minoosh. When he is done there, we believe he will return to help the Obscura with their own errand.”

“Which is?”

Awen couldn’t tell if Rink-Ba was genuinely interested in the answer and wanted to hear Willowood say it out loud, or if he was prepping to ridicule her for believing in fairy tales. Either way, Willowood had everything to gain, and Rink-Ba had everything to lose.

“To destroy all traces of the Luma and assume their place as uncontested lords of the Unity.”

No one moved for almost half a minute. Instead, the LAW leaders seemed lost in thought, a few of them turning away to pace in their cells.

“Listen,” Awen said as she stepped to the middle of the room. “I know this is a lot to take in; it’s been challenging for us too. But whether or not you decide to join us doesn’t change the fact that the Gladio Umbra and our alliances are going to war against Soldark. If we win, then we will remember those who fought with us and those who did not. If we lose, however, then when Soldark comes for you, the Gladio Umbra will not be here to support you. Yes, if the tables were turned, and we knew what you do now, we would follow you into harm’s way for the sake of peace. But as it is, that choice is on you.”

Awen looked at each leader one at a time: Trinklyn, Brodin, Yon-Mornick, Lor, and General Rink-Ba. She wondered who might speak first, if anyone. The mood was somber, and whatever ill-tempered replies the general had dished out before were absent as the silence extended out over a minute.

It was the general who finally broke it. “How can you be so willing to trust us?” He studied Awen and Willowood with sharp eyes. “What’s to keep us from turning on you the moment we’re released?”

“In a word? Nothing,” Awen replied. “We would be fools to approach you having not considered that possibility. But were you to do so, you would exchange a short-term gain for a long-term loss, and we do not think you are fools either.”

“And what if we—you, us, whatever other alliances you have formed—what if we succeed? What then?”

“Then you go on your way,” Willowood replied. “You live your lives free of Soldark, of the Obscura threat, and do what you think must be done to preserve lasting peace in the galaxy.”

“And you would not stop us?”

Willowood frowned and looked away for a moment. She was thinking about something. Finally, she lifted her head and eyed Rink-Ba. “General. What did you and the Luma Elders—the LAW leaders know of Moldark and Admiral Kane’s relationship?”

Rink-Ba looked around to the other cells.

“We knew he took over the admiral’s body,” Lor said. “And from there, he was able to control the Republic fleets, attack Capriana Prime, and then come here.”

“Yes,” Willowood said. “But did you know that Kane resisted Moldark’s presence?”

Awen noticed the puzzled looks on everyone’s faces.

“That’s not the impression we got,” Brodin, the Communications Minister, said.

“Kane was as absent as it sounds So-Elku is now,” Yon-Mornick said. “Where are you going with this?”

Willowood raised a hand. “Kane was not absent. In fact, when Moldark left him, he was in his right mind.”

“Impossible,” Rink-Ba said. “Every indication we had says the man was dead.”

“But he wasn’t,” Willowood replied.

“And how would you know?”

“Because I was there in my husband’s final moments.”

A chill went up Awen’s spine. She hadn’t been there inside the Obscura ship with Willowood and Piper and Caldwell as they fought against Moldark and So-Elku. But she’d seen the sorrow in her master’s eyes, in Piper’s, as they made peace with the prodigal patriarch.

“Despite my late husband’s choices and the atrocities committed while he entertained Mithriel, he remained himself, though suppressed.”

“And you’re saying that’s not the case with Soldark?” Trinklyn asked.

Willowood frowned. “Something happened in that ship, something…” The older woman’s eyes drifted into the near distance.

Awen reached over and touched her elbow.

Willowed apologized and then took a breath. “What we felt, what Piper and I sensed, was that So-Elku didn’t become possessed.”

“Then what?” Lor asked. “I thought you said Moldark took over So-Elku’s body.”

“He offered himself to Moldark, to Mithriel. He willingly gave himself over to an Elemental. That is why there is nothing left of So-Elku.”

Another pregnant pause filled the cellblock as the leaders seemed to consider the former Luma Elder’s words.

“So,” Trinklyn said, rolling her hands forward as if to accelerate her understanding. “You’re saying that where Admiral Kane contended for his sense of self, So-Elku gave up? Why?”

“Power,” Rink-Ba said with a sneer.

Awen locked eyes with the general. In truth, she was surprised by his conclusion—shocked, actually. Not because he was wrong, but because it was the answer she and Willowood had arrived at too. The real question, however, was what Rink-Ba would think about his late master’s choice. Rink-Ba was, after all, commanding general of the Li-Dain, tasked with enforcing So-Elku’s vision for LAW expansion. Would he be sympathetic to his master’s end? Or would Rink-Ba see So-Elku’s act as contradictory to the type of strength the LAW leaders needed to serve the galaxy?

“I’m not surprised,” Trinklyn said. When she noticed everyone staring at her, she went on. “He was never after peace, at least not in the way I thought of it. It was more like conformity. Get in line or get out of the way. I don’t think he ever really trusted people with their own freedom. He only trusted himself to do what was necessary to keep people from becoming the worst versions of themselves.”

“How ironic,” Lor said and then rubbed his face with a hand. “This is…well, it’s a lot.”

“We know.” Willowood faced Rink-Ba. “But we don’t have time to waste. Either you’re with us, or we’re leaving you here in the care of the Sekmit. You’ll stand trial once this is over.”

“Assuming the Sekmit survive,” Awen added.

“They’re going with you?” Yon-Mornick asked.

Awen smiled and then fixed her eyes on him. “Of course they are. They’re not stupid, Trade Minister.” She paused. “And I don’t believe you are either. But we need your answer now.”

There was a tense moment as the leaders looked around at one another. Awen glanced at Willowood too, unsure which way the LAW leaders would go.

Awen felt confident that the Gladio Umbra had a chance of succeeding without the Luma—if everyone else came through with their proposed reinforcements. But she also felt that having Unity users on hand against Soldark might make all the difference in the cosmos. As much as she hated to admit it, the LAWs presence might help turn the tide.

“General?” Awen asked. The man seemed reluctant, like he was hiding something. But his thoughts were guarded. “It’s now or never.”

Rink-Ba pushed up his lower lip and took a deep breath through his nose. As his shoulders rose and fell, he began to nod. “We need to vote. And then you need to tell us everything you want.”

Awen was about to argue the order of Rink-Ba’s priorities when she realized what he was implying. “Thank you, General. You won’t regret this.”

“If I do,” he replied, taking another deep breath. “Something tells me I won’t live long enough to care.”

6

Onboard Azelon’s Spire, Bound for Oorajee

“Mr. Major Magnus, sir?” came the kid’s sweet voice, which was strange given the circumstances. Then again, dreams were weird things by nature. One minute you’re battling rogue Valporian spider monkeys with toothpicks, and the next you’re a pickled chincera bean having a conversation with other talking chincera beans about space-time. This time, however, Magnus was standing atop a tower looking out over a city. He felt uneasy in his gut like he was going to fall if he wasn’t careful. Then again, Magnus was in the place where he knew this was just a dream but was still too deep asleep to wake himself up. Piper shouldn’t be here on the building with him. It was far too dangerous.

“Mr. Major Magnus, sir? Can you get up now?”

Magnus woke with a start and spasmed under the sheets. It took everything in him not to swing at the intruder’s head—at her head.

“Mystics, kid.” Magnus blinked at Piper, her head barely above the side of his bed. Then he looked at the time. “It’s zero dark thirty. What are you doing? And how the hell’d you get in my room?”

“Potty mouth.”

She had him there. “Well, that’s what you get when you break into my quarters.”

“I didn’t break anything, though.”

Sensing that Piper wasn’t in any imminent harm—though he had almost been the one to slug her in the head—Magnus fell back into his pillow. Then again, once he was up, there was no point in trying to go back to sleep. “What do you need, Piper?”

“I had the dream again,” she replied. “The one at the bottom of the ocean where everybody dies.”

Magnus chuckled to himself—if he’d wanted to go back to sleep before, there was no way he was now. “Well there’s a happy thought.”

“Everybody dying makes you happy?” she asked as she scrunched up her face.

“It was sarcasm, kid.”

“What’s—sascrasim?”

“Sarcasm. Here, just let me get some clothes on, and we can talk in the lounge. The one right down the hall. Copy?”

“Copy,” she replied. Then she pressed herself off the floor, crossed back through Magnus’s room, and slipped out the door.

Magnus let out a deep sigh and studied the ceiling. “You need a long vacation when this is done, buddy.”

* * *

“I made you some coffee,” Piper said as Magnus walked into the lounge. The kid sat at a small table with two chairs pulled up—one for him, one for her. Two steaming mugs of coffee sat on the table, and Piper pointed to his. “I kept yours black, the way you like it.”

“And what’s in yours?” he asked. “Judging by the color, I’d say—”

“Lots of cream and sugar.”

“Sound about right.”

“Nana says it’s what keeps me so sweet.”

Magnus gave her a raised eyebrow. “Who said anything about you being sweet?”

“But I thought—”

“Sweet people don’t wake other people up in the middle of the night.” As soon as Magnus saw Piper shrink at the words, he tried to back up. “I’m kidding—I’m kidding.”

Piper looked up at him and seemed to recover from the jest.

Magnus took his seat and grabbed the mug. “Smells good.”

“Azelon said it was your favorite.”

Magnus looked up and wondered if the robot was somewhere in the lounge, but he saw no one else.

“Not Azelon the bot,” Piper said. “Azelon the AI. In the food replicator, silly.”

“Right.” Magnus tended to forget that Azelon wasn’t just a bot; she was the whole damn ship. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

“So”—he sampled the coffee and hoped the smell would help him feel more alive—“you had the nightmare again.”

She nodded. Then Piper mimicked him and drank her coffee by making the same sipping sound he made. “The one at the bottom of the ocean where—”

“Where everybody dies, yeah, I think I got that part.”

She looked down into her mug.

“Hey.” Magnus reached out and touched her forearm. She seemed too fragile, like she might break even under the weight of his fingertips. But Magnus knew she was more than she appeared. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be harsh.”

“It’s okay. I’m grumpy when I wake up early too.”

“Hey, I’m not grumpy.”

Now it was Piper’s turn to give him a raised eyebrow.

“Okay, a little grumpy. But—”

“Three a.m.”

“Right.” He sipped his coffee again and looked out the window. Starlight blurring through subspace was always a beautiful thing. Granted, in his experience, most Marines never got access to decks with windows when the Repub was ferrying you from one battlefront to another. This meant that the few opportunities he’d been given to see the light show—when summoned for a briefing or accompanying one official or another around a starship—were special. Since leaving the Corps, however, exterior views of subspace travel had been far more common. And yet the child in you still loves it, he said to himself. And his inner voice was right—the kid in him did love it.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Magnus asked Piper.

“Mm-hmm.” Piper’s blonde ringlets bounced as she nodded. “Sometimes, when everyone else is busy or asleep, I just sit up and watch the lights.”

“I don’t blame you. I’d do the same.”

“If you weren’t so tired all the time?”

Magnus looked at her. “What? Why do you say that?”

“Well, because you’re more grumpy lately, and you have bags under your eyes, and you—”

He chuckled. “I got it.”

“It’s understanding, though.”

“Understandable?”

“Mm-hmm. You’re always saving everybody. And that’s a hard job.”

“I’m not really saving everybody—”

“And maybe, when we’re all done fighting, you and Miss Awen can go off somewhere nice together.”

Magnus froze. “Were you listening to my thoughts? Back there, in my quarters?”

“No, Mr. Major Magnus, sir. Why?”

“Eh, it’s nothing.”

Was it that obvious how tired he was? Splick. He really did need a vacation. And if he was honest with himself, he needed to get out of the fighting business altogether. Sure, everyone said once a Marine, always a Marine. But he knew the Older-Wisers had talked about their time being done. “One day, you wake up and just know that it’s time,” a retired colonel had told him over beers. “There’s always going to be a fight in you, son, but you won’t always want to bring it out. Eventually, you need to keep it inside and do something else with your life.”

Magnus shook the thought from his head and took another sip of coffee. He suspected his time was coming soon. But not yet, he reminded himself. You’ve got a galaxy to save. Then he heard Awen in his head correcting him: Galaxies.

“You wanna talk about your dream?” Magnus asked.

“I dunno,” she replied. Her little face practically disappeared when she sipped from her mug. “Just scared me, is all. I thought maybe because everything was over on Aluross, it would go away. But—”

“But the dream is back, and you’re worried it wasn’t about Aluross at all.”

“Mm-hmm.” She moved her lips right and then left. “It’s about the Single-arnity.”

Magnus decided not to correct her this time. “What you saw is the same as what Azelon showed us in the briefing room.”

Piper nodded but didn’t say anything for a moment. Instead, she stared at the steam coming from her mug, and then her shoulders seemed to melt under the table. “I’m worried that we’re not going to surmive—sursive—”

“Survive.”

“Yeah. That.”

“Well, that’s the funny thing about dreams, isn’t it.”

“Isn’t what?”

Magnus kept his smiling face half-hidden by his cup as a means of playing with her. “They’re always a little different in real life than they are in your head.”

Piper tilted her head sideways as if intrigued by his statement. “How do you mean?”

“Well, you’ve told me about most of your dreams, I think.”

She nodded at that.

“And have you ever noticed how they’re always a little different than how they’ve played out in real life? Take the one where I rescued you in Capriana. Yes, the city was destroyed. But more people survived than just the two of us.”

Piper lowered her eyes and seemed to consider his proposal.

“And in that one where you said your mother and father were fighting over you and tore you in half—did you really get torn in half?”

“No. But it felt like I did in my heart when Daddy died.”

Magnus winced and then took a deep breath. Poor kid. “Listen, Piper. Sometimes dreams are like something, not the thing itself.”

“That’s a…a metal door.”

“Metaphor.”

“Mm-mmm.” Piper sipped her coffee. “So, you…you don’t think we’re all going to die on this mission?”

“Mystics, I sure hope not.” Magnus set his mug down. “But, if there’s one thing I want to die doing, it’s protecting the people I love. And that”—Magnus paused to look in Piper’s eyes—“I’m not afraid of that.”

“So, do you love me, Mr. Major Magnus, sir?”

The moment froze for Magnus as if all the sensations around him—the hum of the ship, the blur of the stars, the smell of the coffee—stood still. How had he been given such a gift? How had this child, or any child for that matter, decided that they wanted his love?

Unless it’s because she wants to love you back, he said to himself.

And that scared him.

He wasn’t ready for her love yet—not as he was at the moment. She deserved someone better. Someone less damaged. Someone who could take care of her and keep her safe from harm, not order her to the frontlines like he was doing now.

And yet, in those big blue eyes, Magnus knew the girl had already made up her mind. She was only asking to confirm what she felt herself, and he was foolish to think he had any control over that. No, her question demanded the truth, and he’d be damned if he kept it from her.

“Yes,” Magnus replied. “I love you, very much.”

Piper slipped out of her chair, moved around the table, and threw her tiny arms around Magnus’s neck. “I love you too, Mr. Major Magnus, sir.” She sniffed. “Very much.”

But even as Magnus held Piper at that moment, her love for him made the pit in his stomach grow tighter. Though he tried calming her fears about her nightmare, Magnus’s words did little to ease his own apprehensions. If Piper’s dream hadn’t been about Aluross, it was most certainly about Ithnor Itheliana and the Novian Singularity. He wanted to believe his own advice—that real life wasn’t the same as dreams. But in this case, he feared they were walking headlong into Piper’s nightmare. So he squeezed her a little tighter.

* * *

“Rohoar would pose a question to his ancestors,” Rohoar said to Azelon. They were alone on the bridge as it was still too early for anyone else to be up. Rohoar just couldn’t sleep.

“Of course. You may request anything, Mwadim Rohoar,” the bot replied as she motioned him toward the captain’s chair. “Whether or not they choose to reply is another matter entirely.”

“Rohoar understands.”

“Come, sit. Please.”

Rohoar stepped off the landing and moved toward the chair in the middle of the bridge. Then he settled himself into the chair that seemed perfectly suited for his physique—because it was.

“What do you wish to ask?” Azelon said.

He sighed. “Rohoar wishes to ask…”

Yes. What does he wish to ask? he said to himself. Which question will it be today?

There was so much he wanted to know still, and there had been so little time to pose his questions. It felt like they were stacked up in his head like a tower of Jujari domiblocks—so high they were bound to topple over.

“Yes?” Azelon asked.

“Was it difficult for the Gladio Umbra to leave our kinsfolk behind?”

Azelon’s glowing eyes blinked once. “Could you please clarify the inquiry?”

Rohoar nodded. “When the Gladio Umbra decided to part ways with the large pack, the Novia Minoosh, and depart for protospace—was the separation difficult?”

“I see.” Azelon nodded. “Let me inquire.”

An awkward moment passed while Rohoar shifted in the squeaky leather seat. He wasn’t sure why he felt so nervous asking this particular question, but he did. He knew the story, of course, and he knew the motives—at least he thought he did. But Rohoar had never considered how his people felt until…

Until you realized how you feel about your own pack, he said to himself.

“The Novia Minoosh wishes to know which party you are inquiring about,” Azelon said, snapping Rohoar from his thoughts.

“Which party?”

“Yes—which entity. The Novia Minoosh Elders, or the Gladio Umbra warriors.”

Rohoar hadn’t even considered that there would be a difference. But now that she mentioned it, he did suppose that feelings might be different for both groups. “Is it too much for Rohoar to ask about both?”

“It is not,” she replied. “As to the Gladio Umbra, there is limited information, of course.”

“How so?”

“The Gladio Umbra do not constitute any of the Singularity. The Novia Minoosh have only their memories of the circumstances as they saw them.”

“That does make sense, yes,” Rohoar replied as he stroked his chin. “And what do they remember of the Gladio Umbra’s emotions?”

“That they were sad.”

Rohoar’s ears perked up. “Sad?”

“Yes.”

“Explain.”

“The Novia Minoosh describe a deep melancholy surrounding the meetings leading up to the Gladio Umbra’s departure. While all of the negotiations were marked by overt anger, there was an underlying sense of loss at what was transpiring.”

“And what was transpiring?”

“Mwadim, I believe we have already covered this in previous conversations.”

“Yes, but not about the warm areas in the chest place.”

Azelon balked. “I’m sorry—warm areas in the chest place?”

“Yes.” Rohoar bared his teeth. He hated repeating himself. “The feelings”—he moved a paw over his chest in a circular motion—“in here.”

“Ah, I see. Then I believe it is better to ask the Novia Minoosh as theirs is the only firsthand experience.”

Rohoar sat there waiting for Azelon to continue. When she didn’t blink or move again, he growled. “And what do they say?”

“Ah, you wish me to ask this specific question to them now?”

Rohoar chomped his teeth together in frustration. “Yes.”

“Please stand by.” She blinked.

Just when Rohoar was about to give up on the conversation, Azelon spoke up again.

“Profound sorrow, Mwadim.”

Rohoar leaned forward, and the chair squeaked beneath him. “I take that to mean they were sad.”

“Yes, sir. Very sad.”

“But then Rohoar does not understand.” He tried to think of the best way to order his thoughts; robots were experts at ordering thoughts even if sometimes they were hard to work with. “Why didn’t they work together so that the Gladio Umbra didn’t need to leave?”

Azelon’s head tilted sideways. This action usually meant Rohoar had done a lousy job at ordering his thoughts for her. If she thought more like a Jujari, it would make life so much easier.

“Because they had decided upon an irreconcilable course of action.”

Now it was Rohoar’s turn to tilt his head. He was not familiar with this word. “Rohoar does not know this word irrecarilbible.”

“It means that the elders could not come to an agreement with the Gladio Umbra.”

“But why? Why didn’t they listen?” Rohoar wrapped his paws around the chair arms. “The Gladio Umbra were trying to prevent them from losing their souls, and from destroying the Elementals, the Norxük!”

“And thus, perhaps you better understand why the profound sorrow.”

“Rohoar cannot understand it, no.”

“That is why you are Jujari,” Azelon said.

Suddenly, the feelings in Rohoar’s chest turned hot. He laid his ears back and considered whether or not to lunge at Azelon. No one insulted his pack without a price. But then he realized it was probably not Azelon saying this so much as it was the Novia Minoosh. Still, he wondered why they’d insulted him.

“We Jujari understand very well all of the things.”

“The statement was not meant to belittle you, Mwadim.”

“And yet you littled Rohoar greatly.”

“What the Novia Minoosh mean is that you, as an ancestor of the Gladio Umbra, chose the better path.”

Rohoar straightened his back. “What?”

The bridge filled with an uneasy silence before Azelon explained herself.

“There are many unforeseen aspects of becoming a Singularity, Mwadim. At least insomuch as biological sentient beings are concerned. These matters don’t concern artificial intelligences, such as me.”

“What kind of unforeseen aspects?”

“In this case, private knowledge becoming common knowledge.”

“Rohoar still does not track the scent of your thinking.”

“As you heard me explain earlier, the Novian elders were the only ones to know about the Elemental genocide they were conducting on Xandük. In their defense, they did not know what was happening until the mining was well underway. But by that point, the Novian civilization had already committed themselves to the path of becoming one and parted ways with your ancestors. Thus, the elders chose to continue. The damage had been done on both sides.”

“But they could have stopped,” Rohoar said with a bitter tone. “A person can always stop.”

“I agree. But then again, I would not know, as I am merely an AI. However, the Novia Minoosh assure me it is more difficult than it appears. Thus they continued in their work until the Singularity was constructed.”

“And this gave them the profound sorrow?”

“No. That happened when they became one. The private knowledge of the genocide combined with the schism of your ancestors became common knowledge. But this time, there was nothing that could be done. Choices had been made, paths had been picked, and lives had been lost.”

Rohoar barely noticed when Azelon stopped speaking. He understood what she said—what the Novia meant. And now he understood a little more of what it meant to be a Jujari.

“Are you all right, Mwadim?” Azelon asked after a long silence.

“Ever since Rohoar learned of the Novia Minoosh, he has wanted to become them. To take their name. To learn their ways. And while it has been deeply meaningful to his feelings in here”—Rohoar motioned to his chest again—“it is troubling at the same time.”

He lowered his head, trying to order his thoughts a little more.

“It is almost as if we, the Jujari, and even perhaps other species, spend our lives hoping to be something else. Someone else. But then we learn that those people have just as many problems with themselves as we do with ourselves. In the end, there is only one choice that Rohoar must be deciding.”

“And what is that, Great Mwadim?”

Rohoar looked up at Azelon. “To be himself and no one else.”

Somehow, it seemed like Azelon smiled at his words.

“Is something Rohoar said humorous?”

“No,” Azelon replied and gave a subtle wave of her hand. “It is this choice to be one’s self that the Novia Minoosh hoped your ancestors would embrace. The elders tried to save their lives by destroying the weak, finding little. You, however, seem to be spending your life to preserve the weak, and in return, they suspect you will find much.” Then Azelon took a step closer to Rohoar, lowered her head, and bared the side of her neck. “The Novia Minoosh would have been better to be more like you.”

7

It was three and a half hours before sunrise in the Dregs, and Abimbola’s four-person fire team had thirty-six targets designated on their squad AI. Silk and Reimer were in place as overwatch almost half a klick away, and Rix was on the other side of the warehouse ready to meet halfway. All Abimbola needed to do was give the order to infiltrate.

Magnus had offered more gladias from Granther Company, but Abimbola refused. He did not need more than a small fire team for what he had planned. Sure, it was risky, but Abimbola felt the odds were in his favor. All he needed to do was get in front of the right man. Plus, if things did go sideways, as the bucketheads liked to say, he did not want Granther Company suffering any more losses than it already had.

While no one would ever accuse the Miblimbian of being emotional—a virtue he fought hard to maintain—he secretly lamented the company’s losses—Haze, Dozer, Jaffrey, Telwin, Redmorrow, Handley, Nolan, and Simone. He had tattooed each of their names on his back, and he vowed not to tattoo anymore until Soldark was dead and this battle was won. And if Abimbola died in the process? Then he promised to come back and tattoo his own name on his bloody thigh.

“Remember,” Abimbola said over comms. “We are not trying to kill them.”

“How about just a few?” Rix said over comms.

“Caldwell’s orders,” Abimbola said. “We need everyone we can get.”

“I know, boss. But, it’s just that—well, last time Snakes’s crew—”

“There will be time to settle scores later, Rix.” Abimbola gave the man credit, though; the Scorpenes had stolen two shipments of dross just before the Jujari war broke out. “Perhaps revenge will be good motivation for you not to die when we face Soldark.”

Rix clucked his tongue once. “I’m good with that. But how about just a little revenge to start things off? Snakes won’t notice if one thug goes missing.”

“No kills today.”

Rix sighed. “Copy, boss.”

Abimbola’s fire team was set up on a warehouse in the east district of the Dregs. It belonged to a rival faction, the Scorpenes, and it was led by one of Abimbola’s least favorite characters on Oorajee: a piss-thin man who went by the name Snakes. Abimbola guessed the man’s real name was something like Norman or Sigfried, or maybe Bif or Brad. The cretin had probably just tried to make himself more menacing than he really was by giving himself a moniker—something only posers did. Then again, Snakes, though frail, had managed to gather a deadly band of raiders around him. How?—Abimbola had no idea.

While the Scorpenes were no match for the Marauders, and less so for the Gladio Umbra, they were cunning enough to at least command Abimbola’s respect. And for him, admiration meant earning a place in the top ten factions that Abimbola wanted to take down. Contrary to what Rix may have assumed, Abimbola very much wanted Snakes dead. But this raid wasn’t about settling grudges. This was about securing loyalties. So even though he hated to admit it, Abimbola needed the man’s allegiance. At least for a time, the Miblimbian reminded himself. Putting a finite ending to the relationship was about the only way Abimbola could stomach what he was about to do.

“Confirm stun mode selection,” Abimbola said.

“Stun mode confirmed,” Silk and Reimer said as one.

When Rix didn’t reply, Abimbola spoke up again. “Rix, confirm.”

“Sorry. Had something on my boot. Oh, it’s Scorpene ass that I won’t be getting with damn stun mode on.”

“Rix,” Abimbola barked.

“Stun mode confirmed,” the former Marauder replied without any attempt to mask his childlike disappointment.

Abimbola cracked his neck and then raised his NOV2 to his shoulder. “Let us do this.”

* * *

Reimer watched Abimbola and Rix’s thermal images enter the warehouse from opposite ends. They moved quickly, but intentionally—one step at a time with their weapons in high ready position. The Mark I’s telecolos emulation finish kept them hidden from the naked eyes while the plate armor and personal shields would hold up against small weapons fire from Snakes’s thugs.

“Rix. You got three tangos coming up in the next room,” Reimer said. “Look to be playing cards at a table.”

“And you got two in the hallway, boss,” Silk added.

“I see ’em,” Rix replied.

“Me too,” Abimbola added.

Abimbola was first to make contact. He swung his NOV2 around a corner and fired two shots down the hallway. Both Scorpenes hit the ground, and their bodies spasmed.

Rix waved his hand in front of his door’s motion sensor and stunned all three victims without stepping foot in the room.

“Nice work, boys,” Reimer said. “Keep it going, just like that.”

They acknowledged Reimer’s encouragement with pings in the HUD chat window. Abimbola moved up a stairwell to the second floor while Rix walked up a circular vehicle ramp.

“Rix, you’ve got two directly overhead and a third approaching from the south hallway,” Riemer said as he tracked the hallway-bound assailant with his NOV2’s reticle.

“Copy.”

Rix edged along the inside of the circular ramp, hugging the main column to keep his angle of attack tight. As he gained elevation, the first of the two Scorpenes came into view. But Reimer noticed that the second one was too far around the curve for Rix to take them out one at a time.

“Splick,” Rix said. “I can’t take this one out without risking the other being alerted.”

“Make some noise,” Reimer replied. “Draw them down to you.”

“Copy that.”

Just then, Reimer thought he heard a familiar sound blurt over comms. And apparently the two thugs heard it too. “Bro, did you just fart in your armor?”

“Mystics,” Silk said. “Are you guys serious right now?”

“Hey, it worked, didn’t it?” Rix was ready and took out both Scorpenes as they came down the ramp. The third man must’ve heard the commotion too because he came barreling down the slope as well.

“Heads up,” Reimer said.

“I see him,” Rix replied. He moved higher so that the men’s bodies wouldn’t signal that something was wrong. Then Rix fired on the thug as he came around the column, making his total stun count six. “And how many do you got, boss? Huh. My HUD says just two.”

“I can make it three if you walk this way, gladia,” Abimbola replied.

“Focus, boys,” Silk said. “Scope says you’ve got fifteen targets on the second floor.”

All at once, Reimer noticed Abimbola fiddling with something as he stood next to a doorway. On the other side were non enemy combatants lounging on ratty oversized furniture. “Everything okay, boss?”

“The gods say I am going to make out better than Rix today,” Abimbola said, and then he rolled a poker chip into the room.

* * *

Abimbola sighted in on the first man to look at the poker chip as it moved along the floor. The stun round hit the man so hard he flipped backward out of his chair. Beer sloshed across the table and made the second thug swear. So Abimbola took him out next just because he had a dirty mouth.

A woman watching the spectacle from a stool along a makeshift bar pointed at the two men and laughed. She never even saw Abimbola step into the room and blast her in the chest.

The next three Scorpenes went down in quick succession, collapsing into the shoddy furniture that made up this particular section of the hideout. They didn’t even have time to sit up and look around. Instead, they’d wake up thinking theirs was the worst hangover they’d ever had.

It was the last three thugs in the clubhouse that made things interesting for Abimbola.

A man drew his pistol and fired at the doorway with the poker chip still rolling around on the floor. Abimbola had already moved on, however, and was working his way around the left side of the room. He fired a single round just under the man’s armpit and sent him to the floor.

A woman exiting the bathroom had a blaster rifle and seemed to be tracking Abimbola’s movement by the energy rounds he fired. Smart, Abimbola thought to himself. But too late. Her blaster bolts riddled the metal wall a pace behind where Abimbola had been a second before. “Night, night,” he said, and then he squeezed off a stun bolt that struck her in the abdomen. She crumpled, and her rifle clattered to the ground.

The last man, presumably fearing for his life, had taken cover behind a wide couch that had stuffing spilling from several tears in the cushions. The position would have been a good hiding spot had Abimbola not been sneaking up to the thug’s right flank. Interestingly, so was the poker chip. It rolled around the couch’s corner, struck Abimbola’s boot, and then spun in place.

The man looked up wide-eyed at Abimbola’s invisible presence. Clearly caught off guard, the thug tried raising a weapon, but Abimbola had him dead to rights. The NOV2 round hit the man in the shoulder and spun him to the floor where he landed in a spasming heap. Then Abimbola reached down and caught the spinning poker chip a split second before it fell flat. “Hello, precious,” he said to it, and then he stuffed the chip back in a chest pocket.

* * *

As Abimbola and Rix reached the roof, Reimer heard Rix’s proud voice call out over comms. “I’ve got a total of ten, your magnificence.”

“Impressive,” Abimbola replied.

Then Rix must have seen the tally in the team’s HUD. “Oh.”

“You got that right,” Silk replied. “The boss has eighteen.”

“But don’t get too comfortable,” Reimer added. “Looks like all the noise has stirred up the streets. I give you three minutes before the building’s swarming with hostiles.”

“And you still got eight more on the roof,” Silk added. “They’ve gone to cover too.”

“I see ’em, I see ’em,” Rix said with an attitude.

“You sound like a sour loser,” Abimbola said.

“I believe the expression is sore loser,” Reimer replied. He didn’t mean to insult his boss, but Reimer did kind of have a pet peeve for proper grammar usage among the Marauders. If they were going to be outlaws, no one said they had to be idiots too.

“I like sour loser,” Abimbola replied. “It describes Rix sufficiently.”

“Eh, suit yourself.”

In his attempt to even the score, Rix bounded over a half-wall to close the distance to where three of Snakes’s thugs crouched behind some metal crates. He fired several times, trying to hit the men through gaps in the metal. But when he failed, the assailants returned fire. Rix was forced to take cover behind a ventilation shaft, and he took a hit to his shield in the process.

“They’re shooting at me with live rounds,” Rix yelled.

“Yeah, doofus,” Silk replied. “They’re pissed at you. That’s what pissed off outlaws do.”

“This wouldn’t be happening if I didn’t have to stun them, you know.”

Silk laughed. “Yeah, too bad. It must really suck being pinned down over there.”

Rix flipped her off and then tried shooting at the enemies again, but his efforts weren’t effective.

“I think he just flipped you off,” Reimer said to Silk.

“You know, I do too,” she replied.

“And how does that make you feel?”

“Pissed.” She started nodding. “Yeah, really pissed.” With that, Silk sighted along her NOV2SN with the extended barrel and fired three consecutive stun rounds in less than a second. Reimer watched as Rix’s assailants dropped to the roof.

“Huh,” Silk said. “Did I just do that? With stun rounds?”

“You did,” Reimer replied. “And at”—he double-checked their range—“four-hundred fifty-one meters.” Then he let out a whistle.

“I had them right where I wanted them,” Rix replied as he ducked out from behind cover and moved toward the roof’s middle. When he got there, Abimbola had already cleared his side and was holding Snakes at gunpoint.

* * *

“You a dead man, whoeva’ you is,” Snakes yelled as he beat Abimbola’s sides with his bony elbows.

“It is I,” Abimbola said over external speakers and bound the man’s neck in the crook of his elbow.

“The hell? It is I. Who says that?”

“Hold still,” Abimbola said, trying to keep the man’s flailing arms down.

“No. Let me go!”

Abimbola amplified his external speaker and gave a loud whistle. Snakes winced. Then he looked around with a confused look on his face.

“Is that ’posed to be a sign or some splick?”

“Wait for it,” Abimbola replied.

The sound of something clawing its way up the side of the building grew louder just as Snake’s eyes grew wider. Snakes craned his neck to see what rose behind him and then froze when a rathmonolith appeared over the edge. Its lithe iridescent reptilian body and flicking tongue made the warlord squirm. When Abimbola nodded at Snakes, the rathmonolith raced forward and hissed in the victim’s face.

All at once, Snakes stopped moving and looked up. “Abimbola?”

“I said it was I, but you did not let me finish.”

Snakes strained to look back at Abimbola’s face, but the suit was in chameleon mode, so the man’s effort was wasted. “We thought you was dead.”

“No. I am not dead.”

“What the hell you think you doing then? Why you killing all my people? And why you so invisible?” Snakes froze and squinted up toward Abimbola’s head. “You a ghost?”

“I am not a ghost.”

“The hell you ain’t! Then show yo’self.”

Abimbola growled and then finally relented. He deactivated chameleon mode and felt Snakes go into a frenzy.

“Splick,” Snakes yelled, squealing like a Bornark fessel pig. “Splick, splick, splick! The hell?”

Abimbola’s pet rathmonolith hissed more while he fought to keep Snakes’s arms down, but it was no use. “Silence, tiny man. Or I will be forced to incapacitate you.”

“What you want with me, Bimbo? You here to suck my blood? Skin me alive?” Snakes froze. “You…you want my testes?” Suddenly, Snakes sounded like he was about to cry. “Awww, hell, no. You wants Snakes’s testes. That’s it. I knew’d it. It’s over, Snakes. You had a good run, you know, you and Big Munson and the Two Hairy Twins. But all good things gotta come to an end, nah’ma saying?”

“Would you just shut up already?” Abimbola shouted. “I do not want your balls, Snakes.”

“You don’t?”

Abimbola could feel the man regaining some of his composure. “No. I do not.”

“Then—whaddya want?”

“I need your help.”

“Help? For what? You want someone else’s testes?”

“What? No.” Abimbola tightened his grip on the smaller man’s neck. “I do not want anyone’s testes. Would you stop saying that?”

“Shoot, ’cause I heard you eat them for breakfast, and that’s why you sooo big.”

“I don’t even understand how—”

“Boss,” Reimer’s voice said over comms. “I hate to break this up, but you’ve got several tangos entering the warehouse now.”

Even as Reimer spoke, the rathmonolith tilted its head as if sensing the incursion.

“I count twenty,” Silk added. “Moving fast.”

“Then I had better talk fast,” Abimbola said, forgetting his speakers were still active.

“Why? Why you need to talk so fast? You killing me then? That it?”

“As much as I would like to, no,” Abimbola replied. “And do not play stupid with me, Snakes. We see your reinforcements entering the building.”

“I told them to be more quiet. Good help is so hard to find these days, nah’ma saying?”

“We have an offer to make,” Abimbola said, ignoring the question.

“Who’s we? You not alone up here?”

The rathmonolith flicked its tongue against Snakes’s face.

“Focus,” Abimbola said.

“’Cause I can call in more reinforcements. You just say the word.”

“Focus,” Abimbola yelled and squeezed harder.

Snakes stopped squirming. “What kind of an offer?”

“It’s for—”

“Dross? Slaves?” Snakes froze. “This about you wantin’ some Jujari testes? Cause there is no way I am getting involved with that. Splick’s crazy, man! You crazy!”

“Would you shut up for one second?”

“Third floor, boss,” Silk said. “And there’s more coming. A lot more.”

Abimbola knew he needed to get this done fast. He released Snakes and spun the man around to face him. He wore a green snakeskin vest and bore sleeves of tattoos down both arms and up his neck.

“Whoa, look at you, Bimbo! You a regular badass mofo warrior or some splick. Where’d you get that suit?”

Abimbola raised his NOV2 at Snake’s head. “I need your assistance in waging war against an Elemental in another universe.”

“Okay, right, right, no need to get crazy on me. Just tell Snakes what you want.”

Abimbola ground his teeth. This was why he preferred not to use stun rounds—better results. “I said, I need you for war against an Elemental in another universe.”

Snakes started laughing. “That’s a good one, Bimbo. I like it. You is big and clever.”

But Abimbola didn’t budge.

“Listen, I’m not laughing at you,” Snakes said as his chuckles got louder. “I’m laughing with—awww, hell no. I’m laughing at you. I’m definitely laughing at you.”

Abimbola pressed the barrel of his weapon against Snakes’s forehead.

Silk’s voice broke over comms. “I’m not sure that was the best approach to take, sir.”

“You said to hurry,” Abimbola replied. “What do you want me to do, let Kathy eat him and then ask questions?”

“Hey, hey, hey, no need to feed Kathy,” Snakes said.

As if to assist his master, Abimbola’s pet rathmonolith sniffed Snakes’s face and then let out a long blast of hot air.

The man’s eyes tracked the monster’s tongue as it caressed his face. “Okay, okay, I’m listening.”

“Maybe go with fewer details about the op,” Reimer said. “Focus on the reward.”

Abimbola nodded. It was a good suggestion. “I need you and the rest of the Dregs for a little war I am waging.”

“Wait, wait”—Snakes held a hand up and tried catching his breath—“you is serious? You at war?”

“Yes.”

“And you want my help?”

“Again, yes.”

Snakes seemed to consider the premise for a moment before relaxing at the end of the barrel. “Yeah. See, I like what we got going here. You the big man with lots of stuff, I the little man who steals yo’ stuff from time to time. That’s nice, you know? War just…well, it complicates things.”

“If you can get the rest of the gangs to follow you, I will give you my territory.”

“Say what now?” Snakes pulled his head back from the barrel and slowly pushed the weapon aside, keeping his other hand up where Abimbola could see it. “You…you wanna give me your territory in the Dregs?”

“If you assist me and bring the rest of the gangs with you, yes.”

Snakes smiled again and started looking around the roof.

“Hostiles fifteen seconds out, boss,” Silk said. “More than we can handle. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“This is some kinda joke then, right?” Snakes started laughing again. “That’s it. Come on out. You got holo cams and movie crews. I knew it. I told everybody, I knew this was you trying to play a prank on me, and—”

“It is not a joke,” Abimbola said, lowering his NOV2 all the way. “You help me with this, and my property is yours, no questions.”

Snakes eyed Abimbola cautiously. “You ain’t messing around, is you?”

“No. Abimbola does not mess around.”

Kathy hissed as if to emphasize Abimbola’s point.

“Time’s up,” Reimer said.

Scorpenes dressed in every style of armor known this side of the quadrant flooded the roof. Rix backed up toward Abimbola and tried to sight in on what appeared to be the most hostile targets, but he kept changing his aim as assailants flooded the rooftop.

Abimbola heard the weapons charge up and safeties flick off. The sound of footfalls continued to plod against the roof as more thugs took up positions and guns zeroed in on Abimbola’s head. But the Miblimbian did not so much as flinch.

“Easy, Kathy,” Abimbola said to his rathmonolith. The beast circled his legs—head low and ready to snap.

“Man, you is done now,” Snakes said, putting his hands out. “You is so—”

“The gods tell me that your people will live, but you will join me in the afterlife.”

“Really? All this”—he gestured around at all the Scorpenes—“and you still gonna shoot me?”

“I would rather die here than fail my tribe. But either way, you are bound to Abimbola forever.”

Snake’s hands went up. “You into some crazy-ass splick, you know that?”

“Choose.” Abimbola forced Snakes’s head back two centimeters. Kathy hissed. The Scorpenes surrounding them then shuffled forward, and Abimbola could practically feel trigger fingers twitching. But he needed Snakes. While Abimbola’s Marauders made up the largest gang, Snakes led all the smaller rival factions. The Dregs may have been Abimbola’s city, but that didn’t mean everyone liked him.

“You mean that?” Snakes said at last. “’Bout your share of the city?”

“It is yours.”

“Everything?”

Abimbola suspected he knew what Snakes meant when he said everything. “Including the poker chip factory, yes.”

“And how I know you ain’t lying to me?”

Abimbola had anticipated this. He took his free hand and moved it—slowly—to his chest plate. But it wasn’t slow enough for the Scorpenes, who pressed their weapons closer.

Snakes waved off his thugs. “Let him do what he do.”

Abimbola continued, reached inside a pouch, and pulled out a clear data card dangling on a long neck chain.

Snakes raised an eyebrow and reached for the card. “What’chu got?”

“The location of the factory, complete with all the security clearances.”

“You serious, boss?” Rix asked over comms.

“You is really serious, ain’t you, Bimbo,” Snakes echoed without even hearing Rix. Then he snapped his fingers, and someone produced a data pad. Snakes inserted the card and was about to open the file when Abimbola pushed his NOV2 against Snakes’s head.

“You open that, and you are committed, tiny man.”

Snakes’s finger froze over the Open icon. He rolled his head up at Abimbola. “But I gots to know, Bimbo.”

“And I gots to keep Kathy well fed.” Abimbola grinned. He knew the information would be far too tantalizing for Snakes to resist—which is why he was betting everything he had on this.

“Boss,” Rix said over a private channel. “Not trying to question your judgement here, but if you do this, you know you won't be able to come back home.”

“I know. But this was never my home. It is time that I listened to what the gods told me long ago. To return to Limbia Centrella and put my house in order.”

“But boss—what about the Marauders?”

Abimbola sniffed. “We are no longer Marauders. We have shed that skin and are Gladia Umbra now.”

Snakes wiggled under Abimbola’s barrel. He probably imagined Abimbola was desperate, that he was giving up everything he’d built here in the Dregs. But this was not living—not for Abimbola. This had been hiding. And it was time to step into the light.

“You have always been faithful by my side, Rix,” Abimbola continued. “If we survive what is to come, I would be honored if you would join me—to return to my homeworld.”

“I would follow you to hell and back.”

“Good. Today we deal with this snake. Tomorrow we ride to hell, and then gods will determine if we come back.”

“So what will it be, Snakes?” Abimbola asked.

Snakes licked his lips, looked back to the data pad, and swiped open the file.

Abimbola had asked Cyril to set up an auto-present holo script so that, should the card be opened, it would flood the user with a truly spectacular display of information. And Cyril did not disappoint. The data pad projected a bright stream of images that lit up the rooftop. Topographical maps, subterranean building schematics, security protocols, production schedules, profit and loss statements—everything about the lifeblood of Abimbola’s poker chip manufacturing plant was blasting Snakes in the face.

It was also on display for everyone else on the roof.

Snakes grabbed the data pad and hugged it to his chest, which instantly muted the holo projection. Then the gang leader lowered his head and took several deep breaths.

For a moment, Abimbola questioned whether or not the ploy was going to work. Snakes’s apprehension made Abimbola wonder if this was it—if he and Snakes were both going down in a blaze of blaster fire. Maybe he’d misjudged Snakes—that he’d finally gambled one too many hands.

If he was going to die, he might as well get it over with.

Abimbola pressed the NOV2’s barrel against Snakes’s temple. “What will it be?”

Snakes pulled the data card from the tablet and slid the chain over his neck. Then he turned toward Abimbola and let the barrel press into the skin between his eyes. “So. Where’s this war at?”

8

The busy lobby of Stroika Industries Limited was just about what Jules expected. Glass walls, a ceiling that stretched a hundred stories up, and black marble everything. It was pretentious at best, and she guessed its board of directors was nothing short of the same. No wonder her father had refused to buy out the bastards. That and Pugen Stroika had a very long and very public disdain for the Von Meier family. Which made what Jules was about to do even more spectacular. If only her father were still alive to see this day.

“What do you think?” Jules asked Flow as they walked toward the stone reception desk.

“I think they’re trying to compensate for something,” Flow replied.

Jules let out a subtle chuckle. “And they’re real dicks too.”

“Figured.”

She and Flow were dressed in formal attire and had already made it through an initial security checkpoint. Jules had to admit that as much as she liked Flow in a Novian uniform, she loved him in a suit. “Remember,” she whispered. “You’re just here as eye candy. Don’t talk unless you need to.”

“So what you’re saying is you just want me for my body.”

“Essentially, yeah.”

He shrugged. “I can live with that.”

“May I help you?” said a distinguished-looking man behind the central reception desk. His overly smooth skin was the product of too much time in gene therapy tanks.

“Juliet Von Meier to see Mr. Pugen,” Jules said in a dismissive tone.

The man’s eyes widened for a split second and then narrowed in suspicion. “I’m so sorry, miss, but Stroika Industries does not make a habit of entertaining imposters. I recommend you ply your trade on a more guidable business.”

“She’s the real deal,” Flow said.

But Jules cut him off with a raise of her hand. “That will be all, Michael.”

Flow pulled back in surprise. “Yes—Miss Von Meier.”

Deskman looked at Flow and then looked back at Jules. “You may leave the premises on your own, or you may depart with our security assistance.” He snapped his fingers, and four armed guards appeared from behind the wall at the deskman’s back.

“What did you say your name was again?” Jules asked the receptionist.

“I didn’t,” he replied, stiffening his neck.

Jules nodded. “Right. I’ll remember that when your employment contract comes up for review.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Jules tapped the marble tabletop with a finger. “Pugen is expecting me. At least that’s what his calendar says.”

The deskman looked flabbergasted and ready to order Jules and Flow’s arrest by the security guards when his eyes caught something in the curved holo screen that surrounded him at elbow level.

* * *

“So, so, ha, yeah,” Cyril had told her. “If you’re planning on, you know, doing what you’re going to do with this company, the very first thing I would suggest doing—or I can do it for you—I mean, you can get anybody you want to do the work, but I’m offering to do it if you want—”

“Cyril?” she asked, motioning for him to stay on task.

“Sorry, ummm. So, you’ll want to upgrade the firewalls and redundant proxy servers because Stroika’s quantum encryption is, like, older than my parents, and since I don’t even know my parents or how old they are, that’s basically like me saying it’s ancient—my parents and their security network, I mean.”

“Thanks for the tip,” she replied. “You made the appointment?”

“Yeah, yeah. Easy McSqueezy.”

“I want this going live when we enter the building, okay? Any sooner and they’ll get wise.”

“Ha ha, okay. Right, yeah. That’s lots of sense. I mean, it makes lots of sense.”

“Good. And then time everything else to follow as planned.”

“You totally got it. I mean, I got it. Covered, that is.”

“And don’t screw it up on me, or I’ll have to shoot you when I get back.”

Cyril froze. “Oh, no, Jules. I wouldn’t dream of—”

“Relax, Cyril. I’m just messing with you.”

“Ha ha ha! Ha ha ha ha!” Cyril cupped his mouth like he was trying to contain a blast of spastic auto-turret fire. “Sorry. That was, wow, that was really loud, wasn’t it? I didn’t mean—but you made a joke, and then I was like—”

Jules bent around the side of Cyril’s chair and planted a kiss on his cheek. “You’re the best.” Then she left the comms room as Cyril sat in his chair with his mouth hanging open.

* * *

“Wait,” the deskman said to the guards. He leaned into the display and frowned. “I…apparently—”

“Yes?” Jules said as she rapped her fingers on the marble. Then she raised a hand to her ear and tilted her head toward him. “Something you wanted to say?”

The deskman sat up straight. “I’m terribly sorry, Miss Von Meier. You…you may proceed to Mr. Stroika’s private secretary as soon as I—”

“Are you giving me permission?”

Deskman gave a small shake of his head. “No, miss. I—if you would, please make your way to Mr. Stroika’s private secretary. Level 100. But first—”

“Thank you…?”

“Niles,” the man replied with a quick bow of his head.

“Mmm,” she said as if painfully uninterested and then eyed him up and down.

“It’s just that we’re not used to receiving Mr. Stroika’s personal guests at this level. Normally they—”

“Do I look normal to you, Niles?” Jules had chosen to wear an elegant red dress that verged on being better suited for a ball than a business meeting.

“No, Miss Von Meier. I mean, yes, but—”

“That will be all.”

Niles cleared his throat and stood. “I still can’t let you proceed until security scans you.”

Flow stepped in front of Jules, but she tapped his shoulder.

“It’s fine, Michael,” she said. “The poor man’s just trying to do his job. Let them.”

Flow sighed and then stood aside.

Then Niles nodded at the security detail, and two of the brutes in suits stepped forward with hand scanners. Jules had expected this; no weapons or comms would make it past this checkpoint, which was why she had to fight Flow when he insisted they bring concealed blasters.

“The only weapon I’ll need is my bank account,” she had replied before they left the Spire.

“They’re clear,” the head security guard said.

Niles thanked the men and waved them off to disappear behind their black wall. “Routine precautions, I assure you.”

“Of course,” Jules said.

“The lifts are—”

“I can see them quite clearly. I’m not blind, man.”

Niles pursed his lips. “I did not mean—”

“That will be all.”

“But, miss, I—”

“I said that will be all, Niles.” Then Jules looked at Flow. “Make a note, Michael. I want his file reviewed.”

“Yeah, sure.”

She hit him with the back of her hand.

“I mean.” He cleared his throat. “Yes, Miss Von Meier.”

The two of them strode the rest of the way across the lobby to a large bank of elevators. The clear lift tubes rose through the glass-walled lobby and disappeared somewhere overhead. Flow pressed the pad to open the doors, and the two of them stepped inside a windowplex bubble. The only flat surface in the pod was the floor, even though its transparent composition made it seem one with the sphere. There were no controls inside the lift; rather, the unit was controlled by Niles. So Jules waved her fingers at him from inside the pod and gave him a faint smile. Niles adjusted his collar and waved back while activating the pod.

Flow snorted and started to shake his head. “Man, you sure know how to—”

“Cameras,” Jules said with her lips drawn tight in a smile.

Flow glanced up but didn’t seem to register anything.

“Very small,” Jules continued, still forcing her smile. “Embedded in the windowplex.”

Flow nodded, then said in a loud voice, “Is there anything you need, Miss Von Meier?”

“No, Michael.”

“Very good. I’ll just be, you know, standing here. By your side.”

Jules cast him a glance stern enough to melt duradex.

As the lift slowed, Jules pressed her shoulders back and prepared for the next part of the plan. Despite Niles’s mildly commanding presence and well-groomed appearance, she knew he was still an hourly wage earner. On the 100th floor, however, things would be different. This was where the big decisions were made. Jules would need to be her most convincing self, which, given the behind the scenes work she had done in the last few hours, should come reasonably naturally. It was one thing to have money; it was another thing to flaunt its power, which was something she never liked to do. Still, this next bit would require her to be on her game. A hostile takeover without an army was a bit more like surgery and a lot less like a gunfight.

“May I help you?” a woman said from behind a mahogany desk at the far end of an all-black room. Only the ceiling was white—a flat glowing surface of even light. The woman’s auburn hair was bound tightly in a bun, secured with two sticks that looked more like antennas than fashion.

“No,” Flow said, stepping ahead of Jules. She was about to stop him, but he moved too fast. “But you may help yourself.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Jules followed Flow in what she hoped was a ladylike fast walk. What in all the cosmos is he thinking? She’d told him to stay quiet, but now he was talking—like a pompous ass.

“My good woman, if you are not accustomed to navigating your holo display, nor to treating shareholders with the respect they are due, then I will suggest to the board of directors that we terminate your employment at”—he glanced at the logo floating behind the secretary’s head—“Stroika Industries Limited as soon as possible.”

Jules wanted to rip Flow in half.

The woman squinted at Flow, glanced at Jules, and then looked down at the holo screen beneath the edge of her desk. “I’m sorry, mister…?”

“Wallace. Samuel Beauregard Wallace the third. And you are?”

The woman opened her mouth to speak, but Flow cut her off.

“Never mind. It’s unimportant. Where can Miss Von Meier find Pugen?”

“Mr. Stroika”—the woman said with particular emphasis—“is in a director’s meeting.” Then she looked at her holo display. “And this supposed meeting your client has with him is news to me. And if it’s news to me, then it is news to him, which means that it was not made through this office.”

This wasn’t working. Jules needed to get to Pugen before anyone else got wise. Sure, the truth of what she’d done would vindicate her over the next several days. But she didn’t have time to wait for formal introductions and shareholder announcements. This had to happen right now. She picked up her dress and headed straight for the set of black wooden doors on the right.

“Excuse me?” the woman exclaimed as she stood up and reached for Jules. “Just what do you think you’re doing?”

“Don’t touch me, lady.”

“I’m sorry, but I must ask you to leave—”

Jules threw a right hook as soon as the woman’s hand touched Jules’s shoulder. The blow struck the woman across the face and knocked her out cold. Flow barely managed to catch her body before the marble floor did further damage to the secretary.

“Splick.” Jules shook her hand out. “That hurts like a bitch.”

“Yeah,” Flow replied as he pulled the woman’s body back behind her desk. “It tends to when you’re not wearing gloves.”

“Was all that really necessary?” Jules asked, motioning back to where Flow has given his speech. “I told you—”

“Not to talk unless I needed to.” He shrugged again. “I needed to.”

She smiled and gave him a shake of her head. “Come on. We have a board meeting to crash.”

* * *

“What is the meaning of this?” Pugen Stroika said as Jules and Flow entered the man’s private office-turned-boardroom. The hall-like space was made of black marble—no surprise there—and boasted several wooden shelves lined with bound volumes dating back to antiquity by the looks of them. After the boardroom-style table, also black, three steps rose to a second level where Stroika’s green leather furniture and wide desk sat. Behind it was a wall of glass that was dimmed to mute Deltaurus Three’s bright blue sky.

Twelve other suits sat around the table straining their million-credit necks to see what the problem was. Their eyes widened as Jules and her red dress floated into the billionaire’s inner sanctum.

“Where is security? Who let you up here?” Pugen continued.

“I’d like to thank you for putting me on your calendar on such short notice, Pugen,” Jules said, ignoring the man’s questions.

“What?” He looked at a few of the people who cast him questions with their eyes. “I did nothing of the sort.”

“Come now, Pugen. Just because you want to keep me a secret doesn’t mean you have to keep it from everyone.”

“What is the meaning of this, Stroika?” said the man seated to Pugen’s immediate right.

“Absolutely nothing,” Pugen spat. He pressed a finger to the marble table, and a small holo window appeared.

Jules guessed the secretary’s face was supposed to appear.

“Velma?” Pugen said. “Velma, get in here.”

“I’m afraid she is indisposed at the moment,” Jules said as she drew near to the head of the table. “I, however, am very much here.”

Flow came around and stood behind her.

“Security,” Pugen said after switching to a second comms feed.

“And who are you?” the man to Pugen’s right said.

“My name is Juliet Von Meier.” She added a slight curtsey with the statement. Jules hated curtseys as much as she hated dresses, but given the circumstances, she figured both were the right tools for the job. Judging by how all the men couldn’t take their eyes off her, she’d made the right choice.

Pugen stammered. “You’re, you’re—”

“You can do it,” she said as if coaxing a child toward a new task.

“—you’re Alfred and Delia’s daughter? But that’s, that’s—”

“Surprising?”

Pugen’s eyes were fluttering, as were his hands. “But…why here? What do you want?”

Jules eyed the man. “Why, I thought my intentions were already made clear.” She turned to the man at Pugen’s right. “Wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Chairman?”

The man blinked at her several times before looking back to Pugen.

“Oh, don’t look at him, Charles,” Jules said. “That is your name, isn’t it?”

The chairman nodded.

“Mr. Stroika won’t have gotten the notice yet,” she added. “But you will. Check your notifications.”

“Notice?” Pugen asked, glancing from Jules to Charles. “What notice?”

Charles raised a data pad and began swiping through menus.

Come on, Cyril, Jules thought to herself, willing the code slicer to have done his job. The actual monetary transaction had been conducted by her own board of directors—those who’d survived the catastrophe on Capriana Prime and a handful of members located in other star systems. But news of the developments, as well as the official notifications from the Intergalactic Trade and Credit Agency, wouldn’t post for another two days—two days that the Gladio Umbra couldn’t afford.

“I’m sorry,” Charles said. “But I don’t—” The man went still.

“What is it?” Pugen pushed his way in front of Jules and came alongside the chairman. Both men’s eyes were fixed on the trade report that Cyril had fabricated. Well, that was probably too harsh a term. The news was real—just not yet.

Suddenly, Pugen spun around and looked at Jules. “But that’s…that’s—”

“Impossible? I must say, Mr. Stroika, I am completing more of your sentences than I care to. I took you for a far more articulate man than this.”

“You purchased fifty-one percent of the company?” Pugen blurted out. “That’s worth—worth billions.”

“One point three trillion credits actually,” Jules said.

Pugen stared at her for several seconds, opening and closing his mouth like a tensilmonk porgfish.

Jules reached up and patted his paling cheek. “The good news, dear man, is that you will retire happily.”

“But I’m still the CEO,” Pugen said in protest. He balled his fists to his sides and acted like he wanted to remove her from the room forcibly.

“Actually, sir,” the chairman said. “Not according to Miss Von Meier’s investment terms.”

“Investment terms?” Pugen grabbed the data pad from Charles. “What investment terms?”

Jules decided to answer the question for him. “I also purchased the management company that runs Stroika Industries Limited.”

“That’s your family’s company, sir,” Charles said.

“I know who owns the damn company, Lamberman!”

“Owned,” Jules said with a raised finger.

“Now you listen to me,” Pugen said as he got in Jules’s face. “I don’t know who you think you are or what you think you’re doing, but you will remove yourself from this office, immediately.”

At that moment, a detachment of security guards burst through the doors, as did a frazzled looking Velma the Secretary.

“What’s the play, Jules?” Flow whispered in her ear as everyone else stood around the table. But she didn’t have time to answer.

“Arrest them,” Pugen exclaimed, pointing toward Jules and Flow. “Arrest them both!”

“Stand down,” Charles Lamberman yelled at the guards and raised his hands. Then he turned and faced Stroika. “She is here rightfully.”

“What’s gotten into you?” A bead of sweat ran down Pugen’s temple as he squared his shoulders. Then he ordered the guards forward once again.

“No,” Lamberman yelled. “Stay where you are, or I will have every one of you terminated immediately.”

This stopped the guards in their tracks.

The remaining board members looked back and forth as their murmurs grew louder. When their demand for an explanation reached peak levels, Charles slammed his data pad down on the table.

“Enough,” he cried.

The room went silent.

When Charles spoke again, he was nearly out of breath. “According to the Articles of Incorporation for Stroika Consolidated Solutions, the entity that owns and manages Stroika Industries Limited, a fifty-one percent owner of the latter may—without consent of the board of directors—purchase the former so long as they do so for the sum price of all shares at the time of acquisition.”

“This is insane.” Pugen’s face was red, and his lips were curled over his teeth. “There is no way this woman can just walk in here and buy my companies out from underneath me!”

Charles picked his data pad and sent a file to the table’s holo projector. A series of documents appeared in mid-air, rotating slowly for everyone to see. “As of six this morning, Miss Von Meier purchased Stroika Consolidated Solutions in its entirety.” He turned to Pugen. “Sir, you—” Charles hesitated. “You have been ousted.”

A hush fell over the room as Jules walked around Pugen and rested a hand on his chair. “My father sends his regards.”

“But your father is dead,” Pugen replied with an edge to his voice.

“Yeah, but his money is still talking.” Jules looked at Flow. “Take him away.”

“With pleasure. Mr. Stroika, would you please accompany Miss Von Meier’s security—”

“Oh, take your hands off me!” Pugen yanked his arm away from Flow’s grip.

Wrong move, Jules thought to herself.

“Mr. Stroika, please,” Flow said, keeping his tone low. Then he inconspicuously grabbed Pugen by the index finger and bent it behind the man’s back. To everyone else but Jules, it looked as though the man was capitulating. But Flow had applied some good ole Marine Corps joint manipulation to force the former CEO into a terrifically painful state.

Pugen’s face contorted in a look of agony, but Flow continued to usher him toward the waiting security guards.

“Make sure he gets something to drink,” Flow said. “And then see him home.”

“Right away, sir,” said the head guard.

Pugen continued to protest as the security detail saw him out. As soon as the doors closed, Jules sat in the head chair and fluffed her dress.

“Now, gentlemen,” she said with a sophisticated tone. “Let’s get down to business. I’d like to know the status of our battle-ready starships.”

At first, no one said a thing. Instead, they blinked at Jules like she was some profound miracle—one that they couldn’t begin to explain. She didn’t blame them either. She was, truly, one of the few people left in the quadrant who was wealthy enough and daring enough to pull off a stunt like this. But Stroika mattered little. Right now, she had a war to back.

“Well don’t just sit there,” she yelled, feeling the same adrenaline rush she got just before a sea skimmer race. “I want reports on every ship ready to go into combat. Now!”

The table burst into a flurry of activity as each board member pulled out data pads and started making calls.

“I thought you said you didn’t like board meetings,” Flow asked over her shoulder.

“I did. Hate ’em.” She winked. “That doesn’t mean I don’t know how to take over one though.”

9

Piper liked being back on Oorajee.

Well, mostly.

She yawned and stretched as she looked at the rising sun through the billowing white curtains. Not curtains, she corrected herself. Shydoh calls them inook shrouds. They were special sheets—something having to do with family history. A thread for each person if she remembered correctly. They were pretty, and the ones in her room in Rohoar’s palace tower were the most beautiful. Maybe, just maybe, they would add a thread for her life in them too.

Piper padded across the cold floor to the bathroom. The sandstone sink was more like a tub to her, and the bathtub was more like a swimming pool. But she didn’t have time to wash anything but her face. She needed to get upstairs to the roof. So she brushed her teeth and scrubbed her face as fast as she could, and then she grabbed her overnight bag and stuffed Sekmit and headed out the door.

The thing Piper liked most about being back on Oorajee was getting to be around so many Jujari. Oosafar was a city full of big fluffy doggies, and she was determined to become friends with all of them. But since that was going to take a long time, and she and the Gladio Umbra didn’t have a long time, she contented herself with being friends with Rohoar’s immediate family and pack leaders. She’d been here only a single night, but it felt like she’d learned so much. The food, the smells, the music, the dancing—she never wanted it to end. And then it was gone, and it was morning. It was time to leave.

What Piper didn’t like about being back on Oorajee was that it reminded her of her father and mother. She had vivid memories of when her father died, of landing in the desert with her mom and Mr. Lieutenant—Major Magnus sir, and how they buried her dad in the shallow grave. Then she remembered the talks with her mom at Abimbola’s hideout and all the time they spent waiting for Mr. Major Magnus sir to wake up. Those were—what did people call them again? Switter beat memories? She couldn’t remember. But she knew what they felt like—happy and sad at the same time.

Piper entered the elevator at the end of the hall and pressed the number for the top floor. It’s where Rohoar’s big tent was. She liked it up there and didn’t like the fact that they had to leave so soon.

When the elevator doors opened, Piper stepped out into the still morning air. The sunlight peeked through dozens of tall inook shrouds on the left side and made long beams that shone through the dust particles. Far above her, the tent’s swirling tan designs seemed to move against the white-glowing canvas. This was, by far, the prettiest big tent she’d ever been under.

Memories of the night’s festivities seemed to tickle her ears and nose as she looked around at all the sleeping Jujari. They were passed out on big fluffy pillows that were scattered all around the floor. Some Jujari snored so loud she wondered how they didn’t wake themselves up. Others slept with their tongues hanging out of their mouths, and Piper had to keep from giggling. She also had to keep herself from wanting to stuff their drooly flappy pink tongues back in their mouths—they looked so funny how they fluttered with every breath.

As Piper looked around, she realized that, perhaps, she was a bit too early. But she’d been so excited to see everyone again before they had to leave that she didn’t want to waste a minute. Piper couldn’t exactly blame people for wanting to sleep in; it had been a boistermous night. But she wasn’t tired. Well, maybe a little. But she could take a nap on the Spire before they got to Ithnor Itheliana.

“Hello, tiny human,” came a familiar voice.

Piper looked up to see Rohoar sitting on his pillow atop the mwadim’s dais. “Mr. Rohoar, sir,” she said and made her way toward him. She set her bag down but kept her stuffed Sekmit in one arm.

Rohoar motioned her to join him on his pillow.

She bounded up the stairs and then plopped down on his giant pillow. As she slid against his side, she felt his warmth—and noticed the strong doggy smell that meant he needed to take a bath soon. But she probably did too, so she didn’t blame him for stinking a little.

“You are up before everyone else,” Rohoar said.

“Yeah. Couldn’t stay sleeping. You too?”

He nodded once. “This is Rohoar’s favorite time. To steal the day from everyone else before they are awake.”

“That’s the same thing my daddy used to say.”

Again, Rohoar nodded. “It gives the soul time to reflect before the day begins.”

“And what are you reflecting now?”

“Many things.”

“Like what?”

Rohoar let out a blast of warm air through his nostrils. His nose’s black leathery flaps fluttered when he did. “What kind of Jujari Rohoar wants to be.”

Piper scrunched up her nose. “What do you mean?”

“A good one or a bad one.”

“Well, that’s not hard to figure out,” Piper replied. “You’re a good one, for sure. The best.” She leaned into his furry side and savored his warmth. Piper hadn’t even realized she was cold until she had snuggled up this close. “What else are you thinking about?”

Rohoar rolled one of his big eyes and looked at the stuffed Sekmit animal in Piper’s arms. “What is that?”

“This?” She held up the animal. “This is Queen Nishti.”

“Your gift from the Sekmit warrior queen.”

“Yeah. But, it’s also her. I named her Nishti. After the queen, silly.”

Rohoar blew another blast of hot air through his nose.

“What’s wrong, Mr. Rohoar?” She placed a hand on his back and began petting him.

“Nothing.”

“That’s not true.” Something was the matter. “You can tell me. It’s okay.”

Rohoar let out a sigh that made his lips ripple. “How come there is no Jujari stuffed doll? Why do you choose to carry a stuffed cat when you should be carrying a stuffed Jujari?”

Piper smiled. “Are you…are you jealous, Mr. Rohoar, sir?”

“No,” he said and then looked away toward the sun. “Just wondering why there is no Jujari stuffed doll.”

“Well,” she said, re-situating herself. “Maybe if someone gave me a stuffed Jujari, I would play with that too.”

“More than the Sekmit?”

Piper looked at Queen Nishti and considered the question. “Maybe. But Nishti is really pretty. Don’t you think?”

“Hmph,” Rohoar said. “Rohoar is also pretty.”

Piper laughed at him. “Of course you are. You’re the best fluffiest doggy that ever was.”

“Yes,” Rohoar said as he pulled his chops back in a smile. “More than Nishti and her stuffed doll. Rohoar will have these made of himself for all to remember him by. You will see.”

Piper laughed some more. She loved Rohoar so much that she couldn’t even find words to express it sometimes. “I want the first one.”

“You will have the first score of them. Your room shall be filled to overflowing. You shall never lack Rohoar’s presence of stuffed Rohoars.” He flicked the Sekmit stuffed animal’s head with one of his nails. “More than Queen Nishti. Hmph.”

“Okay, okay,” Piper said as she pulled Nishti away from his paw. “No need to get upset. You know I’ll always love you more, right?”

“Love Rohoar?” He raised a furry eyebrow at her.

“Of course. Don’t be crazy.” Then she leaned into his side more and petted his fur. “Always.”

The two of them sat there under the tent on the giant pillow for a few minutes, enjoying the sunrise in silence. Well, aside from the snoring Jujari in the background. But other than that, the city wasn’t awake yet, and Piper savored the quiet time with the mwadim.

But stillness brought other things to mind—thoughts of the coming battle, and of facing Soldark again. She flashed back to memories of the evil man onboard the Obscura ship, of seeing Moldark consume So-Elku to become a new being filled with a hate so deep and so raverous that it felt like staring into a black hole.

“Now you are the one who seems lost in her inner person thoughts,” Rohoar said.

“I do?”

“Yes. What is it that goes on in your mind?”

Piper sighed. “I’m—well, we’re going to fight against Soldark, right?”

“Yes.”

“And I know that people are counting on me. You know, because of my powers and stuff.”

“Yes. You are very strong.”

Piper let out another sigh, only this one was a little longer than the last. “But that’s just it, Mr. Rohoar, sir. I don’t feel strong. I mean, I did. And I do. Just not against him. It. Whatever.”

“You question your ability to confront evil?”

“Kinda? I think, yeah.”

Rohoar looked away from her and seemed to consider the rising sun again. “You are like this.”

“Like what?” Then Piper followed Rohoar’s gaze. “Like the sun?”

“Yes. You rise, you soar, and you set. Then you do it all over again, day after day. Perhaps this seems so normal to you that you lose track of your signifercance.”

“What’s signifercance?”

“How important you are.”

“Oh.” Piper bit her lip.

“And the power that you have in you. The sun does not realize how many people it warms. The whole planet is blessed by its presence. Without it, there would be no life. No Jujari. But the sun does not consider this. It just rises, soars, and sets, day after day. It does was it was made to do, and yet still thinks it is insignifercance.”

Piper nodded, but she really didn’t follow what Rohoar was trying to say if she was honest. “What does that have to do with Soldark, Mr. Rohoar, sir?”

Rohoar sniffed the air and then looked at something on the ground. He reached down and picked up a small stone that lay in a shaft of sunlight. Then he made Piper open her hand and set the stone in her palm.

“Do you feel it?” he asked.

“Mm-hmm.”

“It is warm?”

“Yeah. From the sun.”

“This is Soldark,” he said, pointing to the stone in her hand with his nail. “Even if he does not want to, he is affected by you, the sun. He cannot hide. And he is very so tiny compared to something else very so big as you. You suppose you are not strong enough, not brave enough, not powerful enough. But even the sun needs to be reminded of all the lives she touches and how very small a so tiny stone is in comparison to her greatness. Once she believes in herself, she can face all fears head-on, appreprensive.”

Piper looked down at the stone in her hand. Then she closed her fist around it and laid her head against Rohoar’s side. “Thank you, big fluffy doggy. That helps.”

“Rohoar is pleased, tiny human. You are welcome.” But Rohoar seemed to hesitate as he looked down at her. “Tell me, what is that?”

She looked down and found that she’d been clutching her grandfather’s ring beneath her shirt. Since it was much too big for her to wear, she’d put it on a cord around her neck. “What is what?”

“What you hold beneath your shirt.”

Piper hesitated. She wasn’t sure if she should show him. But Rohoar was the one person in the world that she had no secrets with—who she could be herself around. So she tugged on the cord and pulled out the ring.

“It’s a ring. A gift.”

“From who?”

Piper looked at the golden band with the red stone. “From my grandfather, Admiral Kane. When he died, he gave it to me.”

Rohoar nodded slowly. Piper wasn’t sure if she was in trouble or not—no one had seen the ring. Not even Nana.

“Do you know what it’s from?” Rohoar asked.

She shook her head. “No.”

“It means he was a mighty warrior.”

Piper looked up at Rohoar. “How do you know that?”

“Because it is a Jujari ring. Though, as you are surely understanding, a human-sized one. That ring would only fit a pup’s paw, and pups are not worthy of such esteem.”

“You’re saying that the Jujari gave this—made this for my grandfather?”

Rohoar nodded. “Unless he slew another human who had it, taking the ring as a prize for conquest. But it seems unlikely that he would pass it on to you unless it had signifercance to him.”

“So do you know who gave it to him?”

Rohoar shook his head. “No. But we can find out when we get back. There should be a record of it.”

“I would like that, yes.”

After a moment, Rohoar said, “He gave it to the right person, you know.”

“He did?”

“Yes. From one mighty warrior to another.”

“Signifercance,” Piper replied and held the ring close to her chest.

“Signifercance and appreprensive, always.”

* * *

By late morning, the Gladio Umbra leaders had made their way to Oorajee’s main spaceport located on the outskirts of Oosafar. The sprawling complex was dustier and dingier than the Sekmit’s, but Piper liked it better. The ruggedness spoke to her. It seemed to rise out of the desert like a giant mechanical stone creature. Each hangar bay formed the vertebrae of a knobby spine that undulated across the dunes, and the main departure hall was a large head with antennas and horns.

As Rohoar’s transport sled pulled up to the front entrance, Piper studied the long lines of Jujari and humanoid warriors entering the spaceport. These were the fighters who would accompany the Gladio Umbra to metaspace. Mr. Rohoar had asked every tribe to spare what battle-ready members they could, while Mr. Abimbola had rallied all the remaining gangs from the Dregs. Piper picked out Abimbola’s friends not only because they weren’t Jujari, but also because they wore the strangest mishmash of armor plating she had ever seen. Where more organized armies had similar styles and colors, the Dregs warriors wore—well—anything. Almost like no style was their style. And the more Piper thought about that, the more she liked it.

Once inside the departure hall, Piper spotted Awen, Magnus, Nana, Grandpa Caldwell, and the rest of the leaders. They stood amongst several of Rohoar’s pack leaders who she’d met the night before, including a woman who fascinated Piper: Mora, Rohoar’s wife. Or mate, as they called each other.

“Mrs. Mora,” Piper exclaimed as her fluffy boots clomped across the sand-strewn blastcrete floor.

The woman turned and smiled in the Jujari’s customary toothy grin. She wore a white shawl over her shoulders and an orange wrap around her torso. “Piper,” Mora said. “It is good—”

Before Rohoar’s mate could finish, Piper raced up and put her hands on Mora’s puppy bump, as Piper had called it last night. “Did he sleep well?”

Mora looked down into Piper’s face and smiled another toothy Jujari grin. “Yes. He slept fine, tiny human.”

“Good. He needs to grow up big and strong, which means he needs all the sleep he can get.”

Mora chuckled. “That is true.”

Then a thought struck Piper that she had not thought of before. “Maybe, perhaps, when all this is over, I can come puppysit for you and Mr. Rohoar? You know, so you can go out on dates and things?” Piper glanced back at Nana and then Awen, looking for some support. Then, back to Mora, she said, “I’m really responsible. Promise.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Mora replied. “And as long as it’s good with your elders, it is good with us.”

Rohoar nodded at this, but then he seemed to turn his attention to the rest of the leaders. “How much longer?” Rohoar asked Major Magnus.

“A few more trips up to orbit, and then we’ll be ready to depart,” Magnus replied. “But our transport is ready now.”

“Then we must be underway,” Rohoar replied and turned toward Mora. “It is time.”

“Agreed.”

Piper felt Awen’s hand pull her away from Mora as the Jujari couple nuzzled one another’s necks. Piper imagined this was hard for both of them and hated that Mr. Rohoar had to leave his home yet again. She hoped with all her heart that when he came home next time, he could stay forever. Unless he wanted to leave to go on some sort of big puppy family vacation or something. Betcha they’ll need a puppy sitter for that too, she told herself.

Piper watched as Rohoar and Mora said goodbye. Rohoar even knelt and sniffed the puppy bump, and then he gave Mora one final hug before turning to walk deeper into the spaceport. Goodbyes stunk. But they made hellos so much better.

“Make sure he doesn’t get into too much trouble,” Mora said to Piper.

“Promise,” Piper replied.

Just then, Awen’s hand pushed Piper in the direction of the nearest shuttle bay doors. “Come on. Time to go.”

“See you soon, Mrs. Mora,” Piper said. “And see you soon, Baby Ro-Ro.”

Mora laughed, which caused Rohoar to turn around and raise his ears.

“It seems we’ve had a name picked out already,” Mora called to Rohoar with a paw beside her mouth.

But Rohoar just shook his head and turned back toward the shuttle bay.

“You think he likes it?” Piper asked Mora.

She laughed. “It only matters if I like it, tiny human. Run well.”

“Run well,” Piper replied with a smile and a wave. Then she held Awen’s hand and followed the Gladio Umbra leaders toward the shuttle bay.

10

“Ezo didn’t cheat,” Ezo yelled from under the table. Which was technically correct—he hadn’t cheated. TO-96 had. But as Gorbath’s blaster bolt shredded the seatback of Ezo’s chair, he concluded that the Moretaur wasn’t exactly in his most generous mood.

“We need to get this under control,” Ezo shouted to TO-96 as they both hunkered under the table. Fortunately, the Moretaur was too large to join them. But in a few seconds, the beast would find a way to muscle his blaster under the table and shoot.

TO-96 raised his micro missiles and pointed them at Gorbath’s knees.

“No,” Ezo said, pushing the bot’s arm down. “We need him! We need all of them. Alive.”

“Then I predict more pain for you, sir.”

“Yeah, me too.”

All at once, a boot struck Ezo in the rear end and forced him from under the table. He sprawled onto the floor but was quick to roll over and find his feet. Another blaster bolt fired and blew a hole in the ground as more patrons scattered and screamed.

“Hold still,” Gorbath hollered as he tried to square up his sights on Ezo.

“As soon as you stop trying to kill Ezo,” the smuggler said as he ran for cover. A third blaster bolt barely missed his hip. Then Ezo dove behind the bar just as a fourth round detonated the glass shelves overhead. Bottles of liquor crashed around Ezo, exploding like liquid grenades. Really expensive liquid grenades, Ezo thought to himself, and he lamented the cantina’s loss. Which was also his loss.

“Let’s talk this through, Gorbath,” Ezo said as he pressed his back against the bar.

“Cheaters die,” the Moretaur roared. Then a stream of automatic fire sprayed the bar and decimated whatever shelves and bottles had survived the previous assault. More glass shards and liquor splashed over Ezo as he covered his head.

“Everything okay in there?” Sootriman’s voice asked over comms.

“Everything’s just fine, love sauce,” Exo replied.

“That’s hardly the truth, sir,” TO-96 replied.

“Shut it, ’Six,” Exo yelled.

“Sounds like blaster fire, if you ask me,” Sootriman added.

“What an astute ear you have, your highness,” the bot replied.

“I’ve got everything under control,” Ezo insisted. “We’re just finishing deliberations now, and then we should be back on Geronimo shortly.”

“And they’ve agreed to your terms?”

“They’re thinking it over,” Ezo added as he peeked over the bar for a look at the cantina.

“But sir, the Moretaur is displaying aggravated—”

“Hey,” Ezo shouted and then pointed toward the exit. The Dim-Telok and the Gorangi were attempting to leave—and with pocketfuls of credits. “Branis and Imkee! Stop ’em, ’Six.”

“Right away, sir.” TO-96 raised his blaster and fired a micro missile. The projectile spewed smoke across the cantina as it screamed toward the exit and struck the crossbeam over the door. The opening exploded in a flash of light, and massive chunks of sandstone collapsed into the doorway. Both Branis and Imkee were knocked back, but they’d be scrambling for another exit if Ezo didn’t get this situation under control fast.

“No blasters! No blasters,” announced an annoyed service droid. When a few unruly patrons leaned over the bar to take advantage of the chaos, it raised a stun prod and zapped the two trespassers. Then it turned on the Moretaur, but the crowd control did little to the beast’s calloused skin. Gorbath growled and then smashed the prod with his fist.

The service droid’s interference got Gorbath to stop shooting long enough for Ezo to run under the bar and emerge around its far end. When he stood up, people were dashing everywhere, coughing, and trying to keep their heads down. Lornna and Laina were still at the drawback table sipping drinks, and Sorsabush was scooping earnings into a leather sack. Meanwhile, Gorbath moved toward the bar and was about to point his blaster behind it when Ezo moved in from the beast’s side and pressed his SUPRA 945’s barrel against Gorbath’s neck.

“Freeze,” Ezo said.

Gorbath growled, and before Ezo could bemoan his fate, the Moretaur elbowed the smuggler in the gut and sent him flying. The behemoths looked clumsy, but they were fast. Ezo crashed into a stand of chairs but managed to regain his feet just before Gorbath blew apart the cluster. Just then, a giant hand grabbed Ezo by the hair, hoisted him off his feet, and then slammed his face down on the backdraw table.

“Hi ladies,” Ezo said to Lornna and Laina. They waved playfully, while Sorsabush sneered at Gorbath and told him to get Ezo off the table. But the Moretaur’s hand held fast, pressing Ezo’s cheek into the remaining piles of credits and ship security keys.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to take him out, sir?” TO-96 said from somewhere near the bar.

“I said, I’ve got this.” Ezo knew Gorbath wouldn’t shoot him over the table and risk blowing up the booty—this was just him trying to rub Ezo’s face in things—literally. So Ezo took advantage of the giant’s momentary lapse in judgment and brought his heel up into the Moretaur’s groin. No matter what star system you hailed from, reproductive organs were always sensitive. Well, except Sorrellians. And maybe the Plydithera. But for most everyone else, it was a prime weakness to be exploited in close quarters combat.

The Moretaur let out a loud blaaat from between its tusks and let go. Ezo rolled off the table and struck Gorbath across the face with the butt of his SUPRA945. The Moretaur wasn’t even fazed, however, and growled at Ezo as he looked at his weapon.

“Huh. Ezo saw that going differently in his mind.”

Gorbath grabbed Ezo by the shoulders and threw him across the cantina, then he aimed and fired another blaster bolt. The round missed Ezo’s leg by a few centimeters and blew open a musical instrument on the stage. Had the performers still been on the bandstand, the cantina would have been down a medlowpinth player.

“I will hang your skull from the Rage of Ramonoth’s engine cones,” Gorbath announced as he stomped toward Ezo. “And then drag you across the quadrant and display you to my enemies’ enemies.”

“So, to your friends then,” Ezo said as he scrambled away from the next blaster shots. “Ezo didn’t realize you had any of those.”

Gorbath growled and dodged two chairs that Ezo flung in the Moretaur’s direction. He grabbed a third chair around a rung and then heaved it back toward Ezo.

“Are you still certain you do not wish my help, sir?” TO-96 asked as Ezo raced past him.

“I’m just wearing him down, pal.” Ezo made it another few paces when he tripped on the blown-out door’s rubble and fell flat on his chest. Gorbath would be on him in a flash. But Ezo rolled over just in time to see TO-96 extend his foot and trip the Moretaur. The giant beast crashed down and smacked his tusks on the ground. But the Moretaur seemed undeterred and scrambled forward.

Ezo pushed himself off the floor, but two sets of hands forced him back down. He glanced up and saw Branis and Imkee.

The Dim-Telok smiled at Ezo. “Going somewhere?”

Gorbath’s face joined Branis and Imkee’s as the three aliens looked down on Ezo.

“I can shoot them all, sir,” TO-96 said.

“No,” Ezo said. “We need them alive.”

“Says who?” a new voice said.

Ezo noticed the aliens’ eyes widen as they heard the distinct whine of a weapon charging behind their heads.

“Sootriman,” Gorbath said with a look of surprise.

“Back away from the smuggler,” Sootriman replied. “He may be a tempting target, but I can assure you that he’s not worth killing.”

“We were just asking the Nimprinth to settle his gambling debts,” Imkee replied and then beat his chest twice. “He owes.”

“Not from what I understand,” Sootriman replied. “Last I knew—”

“He cheated,” Gorbath yelled as he thrust his blaster at Ezo’s face.

“Don’t interrupt me, Moretaur,” Sootriman said. Her blaster appeared in front of Gorbath’s face. “It can be very hazardous to your health.”

“But…but, he cheated.”

“And you never have?” Sootriman asked with a surprised tone. “Come now, Gorbath. Let’s not add lying to your list of grievances. Plus, the way I see it, you owed Ezo long before you started playing backdraw tonight.”

The Moretaur seemed to relax a little.

“In fact, if I’m not mistaken,” Sootriman said as she produced a second blaster and pointed it at the Dim-Telok and Gorangi. “You all owe Ezo.”

“But that still does not excuse what he did tonight,” Gorbath said.

“Then how’s this sound,” Sootriman said, pressing a barrel against the Moretaur’s head. “I give you your life as a parting favor. Any problem with that?”

Ezo noticed Gorbath wink at the other two, and before he could warn Sootriman, the Moretaur batted Sootriman’s weapon out of his face and grabbed her around the neck.

Sootriman fired her other weapon and struck the Gorangi in the shoulder, but Branis stripped the gun from her hand and flipped it on her.

Ezo raised his hands as did Sootriman. “Well, this isn’t fabulous,” Ezo said. “But I’m grateful for your help, love sauce.”

“Once again, I can shoot them if you wish, sir,” TO-96 said.

“And, once again, I told you we need them,” Ezo replied.

“Yes, sir. However, if I am correct in assuming that there are limits to the amount you are willing to pay in order to secure their services, I suggest that your lives are beyond those limits.”

“He’s got a point,” Sootriman said as she struggled to free herself of Gorbath’s ironclad grip.

“If he tries it, we all go down,” Gorbath said as he unholstered a second pistol and aimed it blindly at TO-96’s head.

“Oh my,” said the bot. “That does change things slightly, though I still feel confident that—”

“Enough,” Gorbath roared. He glared at Sootriman and then Ezo. “I want what belongs to me, and I want the cheater to pay.”

“Not gonna happen,” Sootriman said. Her voice was growing weaker by the second. Ezo couldn’t get a good look at her face, but he guessed she was moments away from blacking out.

“If you kill us, you lose your ship.” Sootriman pulled her hand from behind her back and held up a small device with a blinking red button under her thumb.

“Remote detonator,” Imkee said as he held a hand to his wounded shoulder.

“Set as a dead-woman’s switch,” Sootriman replied. “The Rage of Ramanoth, I believe it’s called? Hangar bay fifty-nine?”

Gorbath sneered at Sootriman.

“You’re bluffing,” said Imkee.

“She is Sootriman,” Laina replied as she and Lornna strode up behind TO-96. “She does not bluff. And she’s probably got—”

“Explosives planted on all of your ships?” Sootriman said with a wheeze. “Yeah, probably.”

“Let her go, and Ezo’s sure we can come to an arrangement,” Ezo said. “If not, the odds of you surviving this are—’Six?”

“The Moretaur has a 9 percent chance of survival, while the Dim-Telok and Gorangi I give 4 percent and 3 percent chances respectively, sir.”

“And all because you can’t handle losing at Antaran backdraw,” Ezo said. “Worst part is, you can keep all the credits. Ezo just wants his ship. And he wants to give you the chance to make things even between us.”

A tense moment passed where Sootriman’s straining lessened, and TO-96 took a step forward.

“Fine,” Gorbath said at last. He growled and then released Sootriman.

She gasped and put her hands on her knees but managed to keep the remote detonator in hand. “Smart guy.”

“So,” Gorbath said as his tusks loomed over Ezo’s face. “How do we make things even?”

11

Soldark fell through Nos Kil’s tunnel and slowed his descent using the Unity until he came to stand upon a metallic surface deep underground. The smell of damp dirt and decay swirled in Soldark’s nostrils. Digging equipment—tools that Nos Kil had abandoned when fending off the rebels who attacked his operation—lay along the tunnel’s edge. With no one to thwart him, Soldark would resume the late Marine’s work. This time, however, he wouldn’t need explosives or sonic hammers.

It was time to get to work. Soldark focused his energy on the metal surface beneath his feet that seemed to stretch out in all directions. Upon closer inspection, he discovered that the Novia Minoosh had constructed the barrier to be impenetrable. Not only was the material something he had never encountered before, but it was reinforced with the Unity. Even if Nos Kil had carried a starship’s worth of Trinitex to build a hundred improvised multi-trigger bombs, there would not have been enough ordnance to punch through.

But the barrier wasn’t invincible—at least not to Soldark. He took a knee and laid his hands against the cold metal floor, and then he forced his presence into it. The dark lord’s soul sank into the metallic structure, weaving through molecules and between atoms until he felt one with the obstruction.

It was thicker than he imagined, at least ten meters deep where he knelt. In the space beyond—a cavern of some sort—a latticework of intricate trussing reinforced the barrier. Given all his power, he still could not see into the vast space below. But he didn’t need to. That would come soon enough.

Soldark concentrated on filling a cylinder of the floor with his presence. He sensed the circle warm beneath his hands. Then the heat traversed through the barrier and warmed the space on the other side. Down there, he knew, was air not breathed in millennia. And you will be the first, Soldark told himself. Your prize is so very near.

Nos Kil had been so close; Moldark’s revenge so near. But with the Obscura’s intelligence, Soldark’s retribution would be so much more complete—so satisfying.

When the metal beneath his feet became malleable, Soldark willed the material aside to create a shaft large enough for him to pass through. Even the Unity force field acquiesced to his bidding, allowing him to penetrate the near-invincible plane that would have kept lesser beings from trespassing. But Soldark was no ordinary invader—no looter seeking to prowl about someone else’s property. Instead, he was a claimant and rightful heir. The Novia Minoosh owed him.

Soldark descended through the shaft and emerged in an immense hall that radiated Unity power. Within his second sight, he saw himself floating at the top of a hollow column. The air felt warm, heated by the planet’s core. Surrounding him, hundreds of balconies made up the column’s walls, and Nexus energy wove around each floor’s circumference in braided lines that sparkled and shimmered.

Soldark floated toward a balcony midway between the ceiling he’d entered through and the floor several hundred meters below. As he set down on the landing, he withdrew from the Unity and let his natural eyes adjust to the new underworld. At first, all he could see was darkness, but soon the inky blackness gave way to dimly lit orbs. These purple glass balls, about three meters across, radiated with a soft amber light and ran down both sides of an aisle that extended out of sight. Each orb hung from a single cantilevered gantry arm connected at the sphere’s top.

Once Soldark stepped close enough to the nearest orb, he raised a hand and pressed it to the purple glass. A chill went up his arm and caused his flesh to prickle. He supposed no one had touched this surface since its creation. Milky fluid swirled inside, and Soldark detected the sound of a faint hum that came from where the support arm intersected the glass. He also noticed that the single contact point was the source of the soft light that filled the pod.

“Hello, in there,” Soldark said as he rapped a knuckle on the glass. But nothing happened beyond the gentle swirling of the white fluid. He knocked again, only louder.

Something stirred and caused swirls in the liquid.

Soldark felt his heartbeat quicken. But he still couldn’t make anything out. “Are you awake in there? Or still sleeping?”

This time, when Soldark knocked on the glass, he used his whole fist. The sound reverberated in the pod with a deep thump, thump, thump. Now whatever was inside thrashed, and Soldark was able to make out what he thought were arms and legs, each covered in hair that swayed in the current. A silvery corrugated cable also rubbed against the orb’s surface as it twisted around with the creature.

“There you are,” Soldark said, pressing both hands against the glass. “Come now. Don’t be shy. Let me see you.” But the movement ceased as the white milky fluid recaptured the being within.

Soldark had not come all this way for a peep show. He’d come for an army—and I will have my warriors, he said to himself. And they will do as I command.

With his natural eyes still searching the hazy liquid, Soldark entered the Unity and thrust an ethereal hand into the orb. He found the beast’s head and wrapped his fingers around the skull, careful not to disturb the cable in the back of the creature’s head. Not only was the tether responsible for keeping the animal connected to its host, but it served to keep its muscles from atrophying and its bones strong. Soldark pulled, then the slumbering face of a Novia Minoosh appeared in the mixture and slammed against the purple glass.

“And aren’t you repulsive,” Soldark whispered. He could feel his lips twitch and fingers tingle as he pressed his forehead against the pod’s surface to meet the Novia’s. He had waited so long for this moment—to behold his enemy face to face again. “But you will be mighty once again, and I will make you do so many wonderful things.”

But this was different than he expected. Whereas before, he had only sought vengeance—to bring destruction upon his people’s ancient foe—So-Elku and the Obscura had given him something entirely new to look forward to. Soldark would use the Novia Minoosh as the means of his supremacy, the tools through which he would bring the galaxy, all galaxies, to their knees. All that remained was to reanimate the corpses and bring his army to life.

Soldark looked from one aqueo-stasis pod to the next and relished what was to come. “Time to wake up, my secdim. Your master has come.”

* * *

Soldark stood across from his tenth broken orb and cursed the mess at his feet. So far, his efforts to reanimate the Novia Minoosh had failed. Each time, the glass had shattered, the cable disconnected, and a body spilled onto the deck in a heap of matted fur. A pungent odor of wet flesh filled Soldark’s head as the amniotic milk retreated into drains. All that remained was the twitching biological sac of a once-proud being.

He scoffed at each dead creature and felt that he understood why the Novia Minoosh would willingly forgo their mortal existence in exchange for a virtual one. Immortality, he knew. After all, wasn’t that the hope of all sentient species? Wasn’t that the desired end of mortal evolution?

Soldark prodded the rejected mass of tissue and bone with his boot as the dying specimen gasped for air. “Soon,” he said. “I will give you a new way to die.” All he needed was to perfect So-Elku’s incantations.

For all So-Elku’s deceit, all his wily conjuring and underhanded political machinations, the Luma Master had been a powerful being—insomuch as humanoids could be. Their very cosmological nature was inherently flawed by virtue of their entropic predispositions and copious social anxieties. But So-Elku had managed to extend himself into other realms and adopt the foreign as if it were his own.

Take reanimating the biologically deceased, for example. Even the Novia Minoosh dared not play with such power. What they entertained rhetorically, So-Elku had employed practically. And he had been successful.

Even still, the now-dead Luma Master’s skills were not as easy to wield as Soldark had anticipated. Nor was the partnership of Nexus energy and Novian flesh as unifying as he’d hoped—at least not yet. But it was growing stronger. With every attempt, Soldark felt himself becoming more adept at channeling the Nexus’s ancient power to serve his desires.

As much as Soldark despised the Obscura, their idea of unleashing the Novian hordes bore much promise. Through their dark incantations, they’d learned of So-Elku’s Nexus practices. Likewise, they’d inherited cosmic knowledge of the Novia Minoosh. Thus, the marriage of Nexus manipulation and the plethora of dormant hosts became Soldark’s means to both repaying his mortal enemy and silencing all sentient takers he found. Once mastered, he could use this skill to awaken the dead on any battlefield in any system from now to eternity.

Soldark turned to the eleventh orb, ready to try again, when he heard something rattle in the distance. He looked down the aisleway and saw a machine rolling toward him. A whirl of metal plates spun within a central tread, until finally the automated vehicle stopped. Articulated spider-like legs grew from the sides and raised the wheel off the deck. Then two blasters popped from the center disc and focused on Soldark’s position. He noticed the faint glint of a ruby lens atop each weapon as tiny LEDs flashed within the attack droid’s body.

For a moment, Soldark wondered if the apparatus might try and speak to him. Biologics had a withering love affair with talking to their enemies before engaging them. But based on the rapid-fire blaster bolts that this mechanized defense bot started shooting, Soldark realized the Novia Minoosh were uninterested in getting him to stand down. They wanted him dead.

And they were going to be greatly disappointed.

Soldark caught each particle bolt in his palms, willing the energy to course up his arms and fill his chest. The barrage was relentless. But with every second that passed, Soldark felt his life force grow and grow until he thought he might burst without some sort of relief.

With the defense droid still firing, Soldark found release by directing the blaster energy back down his arms and out his hands. The energy manifested into two long beams of red light that tore into the bot. First, the droid’s weapons were liquified, and then its legs were ripped from the chassis. Finally, Soldark centered both beams on the rubberized tread. The central body turned bright white and then detonated in a ball of fire. The four closest aqueo-stasis pods burst and jettisoned their fetal occupants into the drainage basins.

“What a waste,” Soldark said, lamenting the four lost warriors. Then he turned slowly and shouted down the corridors. “Is that what you wish? To wreak havoc on your own in a pointless attempt to stop me?” Soldark chuckled. “Because there is nothing—nothing that you can do now that will not inevitably end in your annihilation. You had your chance at blotting us out from existence.” Soldark turned slowly, knowing the Singularity heard him. “Now, it is my turn. And I will not fail where you did. I will not leave one of you alive.”

* * *

By the time Soldark got to his twentieth aqueo-stasis pod, he felt more confident in his abilities. Each attempted reanimation taught him something new in the Unity. And each time he yanked one of the soggy beasts from its connection from the Singularity and summoned it out of the glass orb, he got it to last a little longer before expiring.

Moreover, the Singularity had not deployed any more defense droids against him, probably because it recognized that the exploding bots would be more harmful to the Novia Minoosh than they would be to him. This allowed Soldark to work in peace even though he knew the collective was watching him.

“And let them,” he said as he looked about the aisle full of pods. “Let them watch and fear, for their end is near.”

In a strangely satisfying way, Soldark realized that his activity was much like the harvest these creatures had wrought against his people on Xandük. Layer after layer, they had mined into his planet. And with every cubic meter of bilastium they excavated and refined, the Norxük were lost to oblivion.

“How does it feel?” Soldark said as he looked back the way he’d come. “To know that your end is slowly creeping toward you?” Nineteen Novian bodies lay on the floor, their once hulking bodies now piles of decomposing flesh. Soldark would waste a thousand more of them if he needed to—all to get the reanimation right. He doubted his work would take much longer, of course; he had nearly revived one. But making the Novia Minoosh tremble at their imminent demise was all part of the revenge.

Soldark placed a hand on the next orb and stroked it. “What say you? Want to come out and play?”

The body twitched inside the murky incubator.

“Excellent. Let’s not waste any time then.”

Soldark stepped back, closed his eyes, and spread his hands. From inside the Unity, he plunged through the Foundation, grabbed hold of the magenta-colored fibers within the Nexus and hoisted them skyward. The strands of energy resisted him—protesting their forced extraction from their natural state. But, Soldark surmised, if you wanted to accomplish that which no one had, you had to do things now one else would—unnatural things.

The sinewy fibers of Nexus energy came more willingly now; Soldark was getting stronger. He pulled them through the Foundation and then forced them into the Novian body.

In the natural realm, Soldark saw the body thrash in the stasis pod. The amber light turned red, announcing an adverse change in the creature’s status. And then warning alerts sounded from somewhere above the gantry arm. But as with all the specimens before, there was nothing the Singularity could do to save the creature now. It belonged to Soldark.

The Novia Minoosh’s head appeared against the tank—fur matted and swirling. Then two large paws pressed on the surface and scraped the glass.

“Too cramped in there for you?” Soldark asked the creature. “Want to come out and play?”

The Novia’s body shuddered, but its eyes had yet to open. It was still connected.

The wrestling match between Soldark and the Singularity had been complicated at first. No, tedious was more like it. The infernal collective had resisted his attempts to pry the first several victims from their grasp. But what were they—a computer program? A synthetic version of their former selves? He scoffed at their trivial efforts to suppress his supreme nature. After all, he had all the time in the universe—it was only a matter of focusing his strength.

From within the Unity, Soldark grabbed the Singularity’s tether with one hand and the Novia’s soul with the other. Then, in one fluid motion, he tore the lifeline from the creature while simultaneously sucking its mortal life force away, only to replace the soul with Nexus energy. The action sent a rush of excitement through Soldark’s body. No, it was more than excitement. It was ecstasy.

As the Singularity’s connection fell away, Soldark assumed his natural sight once more and studied the monster behind the glass. At first, nothing happened. It was as before, forehead and paws pressed against the orb’s inner wall. The glass’ purple hue gave the fur a glossy sheen as the milky liquid swirled over pale skin.

For the briefest moment, Soldark wondered if he’d failed yet again. The thought mildly disappointed him. After all, he had billions of bodies at his disposal, stacked in the catacombs. But then, he was growing impatient. He’d waited so long for revenge that to have the enemy at his fingertips like this was euphoric. He needed closure.

No, he thought. You need a new beginning.

Soldark took a step toward the glass and searched the beast’s still-sleeping face. He began to will it awake. “Come now. Don’t be shy.”

The body twitched, and the glass orb trembled.

“That’s it. Almost there.”

The Novia’s eyes snapped open. They appeared blood-red behind the purple glass and stared at Soldark.

“Why, hello there,” he said. “What a pleasure to see you. Would you like to come out?”

The wolf-like creature bit at the water like it might at an enemy, then it thrashed wildly within the orb.

“That’s what I thought,” Soldark replied. Then he stepped back, grabbed hold of the glass in the Unity, and pulled.

The orb shattered, showering the deck with fluid and shards. The Novia Minoosh’s body collapsed on the ground, and for the briefest of moments, Soldark wondered if he had another failed attempt on his hands. He squatted in the aisle and sniffed the beast. The animal lay drenched in the amniotic fluid, its muscles shuddering.

“Can you hear me?” Soldark asked.

The creature’s ears twitched.

“Yes. You can.” He grinned and drew in a deep breath of the creature’s foul smell. “Come. Let’s get you dried off. Let me see you.”

But the Novia did not respond. It had its head down and turned away.

“Don’t be shy. I just want to meet you.”

Quick as a flash, the creature lunged at Soldark’s head—it’s jaws wide open. But Soldark used the Unity to stop the beast’s head—teeth not five centimeters from his face. The Novia’s hot breath caressed his cheeks as its lips curled back and gave way to a vicious growl.

Soldark’s laugh was soft and low at first but soon grew into a full-chested bellow that echoed down the aisles and passed from floor to floor. He had done it. His secdim army would rise at last.

12

General Rink-Ba and Admiral Porampus had been meeting for half an hour when Rink-Ba stood to pour them each a glass of bratch. He attended a side table in his study just off Elder’s Hall in the Grand Arielina. The floor to ceiling windows let in the lower garden’s fragrant smells and late-morning warmth. Meanwhile, Porampus took up the entirety of a wide leather chair in the room’s center. The admiral was a larger than life presence socially and physically.

Rink-Ba had not only updated the admiral on his meeting with Willowood and Awen but on the events leading up to So-Elku’s death. Porampus was only too grateful for the report as he had, in his own words, feared the worst. The Sekmit had ordered all LAW starships to depart the system during the conflict on Aluross, enforced by the deployment of orbital defenses, so Porampus had been without intel on the fate of his counterparts. It was only after the Sekmit delivered the LAW leaders back to Worru that Porampus got the whole story.

“I had feared the worst for So-Elku when I felt his presence disappear from the Unity,” Porampus said to Rink-Ba as the Li-Dain general walked toward a wet bar. “So he truly is gone then?”

“His body remains but, yes, he is gone. His soul was taken away without so much as a death-bed whisper.”

The admiral seemed to take the news of So-Elku’s death to heart. Something in the man’s disposition shifted. But Rink-Ba couldn’t tell if it was sadness or anger.

With any luck, it will be both, the general said to himself. Offering the large man a glass of his favorite Gundonium bratch couldn’t help but nudge matters along in the right direction.

“You believed in his cause,” Rink-Ba said as he poured the amber liquid into two glasses.

“Believed?” Porampus said, nearly shouting. “Still do, general. And always will, ’til the day they fit my corpse’s fat ass through an airlock and put me out in the void. As far as I’m concerned, he was the sanest Luma that ever walked this planet—at least as far as true progress was concerned.”

Rink-Ba smiled, capped the bottle, and then turned to carry the two snifters back to the seats. He offered one to Porampus, touched the man’s glass with his own, and then sat. “To Master So-Elku and his enduring vision.”

“To the vision,” the admiral said and then sipped his bratch.

Rink-Ba wet his lips with the liquor. He’d wanted to meet with the admiral alone before they followed the Gladio Umbra into metaspace. Plans needed making; plots needed preparing.

“So,” Porampus said after taking a second sip. “You voted to aid these rebels in their assault on Soldark?”

“I did.”

“And you think it’s the wise thing to do?”

Rink-Ba smiled, holding his glass just in front of his lips. “You sound like you have reservations.”

Porampus shrugged. “Seems like a considerable risk for a fight we could win ourselves if it ever came to our doorstep.”

Rink-Ba gave the admiral a knowing frown but decided to play devil’s advocate. “Yes, but the matter is very pressing, from what they say. And their arguments for stopping this ‘genocidal maniac’ are quite compelling.”

“You don’t sound convinced.”

Rink-Ba chuckled. “Whatever gave you that impression?” He leaned forward and put his elbow on his knees. “I agreed to assist them, and I think the mission is wise, but not for the reasons they outlined.”

“I’m listening.”

Rink-Ba looked around as if someone might be squatting on their meeting and then lowered his voice. “Strategically speaking, the best time to attack any enemy is when?”

“Well,” Porampus said with a frown. “When the enemy least expects it.” It was the admiral’s time to lean in. “Why? What are you up to?”

“So-Elku is dead. The others on the council, they’re just followers—Lor, Brodin, Yon-Mornick. And Trinklyn”—he waved a finger at the admiral—“she’s one to be wary of. But none of them are capable of leading us forward. And if we rely on a committee, the LAW won’t survive. Too much bureaucracy.”

“We, however,” Rink-Ba continued as he gestured at Porampus and himself. “We are men of action, destined to lead. Destined to seize fate and make it bow to our wills.”

“I can’t tell if you’re taking up poetry, politics, or philosophy,” the admiral replied with a smile and then sipped his drink.

“Perhaps a little of each. Though, in truth, I’m simply trying to look at this practically. Fate favors the objective.”

Porampus tapped his lower lip as a moment of silence passed. “You have something in mind. What are you suggesting?”

“I’m suggesting that we go along with this little charade and give this Colonel Caldwell what he wants. Maybe we even stop Soldark in the process. But when the time comes—and the opportunity will present itself—we declaw the Sekmit, end the Neo Republic, and wipe out this small band of troublemakers who call themselves the Gladia Umbro.”

“An assault?”

Rink-Ba sat back. “Perhaps. But assaults can come in many packages.”

“Sabotage,” the admiral replied with a twinkle in his eye.

The general tipped his glass toward Porampus. “Collateral damage is an unfortunate byproduct of any contest. Accidents happen even in the best of circumstances.”

“The fog of war is a powerful thing,” Porampus added.

“Indeed. Not to be underestimated.”

“Never.” The admiral emptied his bratch. Apparently he liked the drink, as evidenced by his ever-red nose and rosy cheeks.

“More?” Rink-Ba asked as he whisked the man’s snifter back toward the wet bar.

“Do you have a particular accident in mind?” Porampus said loud enough that it made Rink-Ba uncomfortable.

The general turned around and motioned for the larger man to keep his voice down. Rink-Ba wanted the admiral relaxed but not wild. After pouring Porampus another two fingers, he walked back to the chairs and returned the drink.

Porampus eyed the bratch. He nodded in gratitude, and then, in a softer tone, repeated his question.

“Like any operation, things change,” Rink-Ba answered. “So, no, I don’t have a particular accident in mind. But opportunities have ways of presenting themselves in the heat of the moment.”

“That they do.”

Rink-Ba smiled. “I figure that between your hand on the helm of our ships in orbit and my grip on the Li-Dain on the surface, we’ll be able to spot the moments as they appear.” The general took a second to sip his drink, which prompted Porampus to do the same. “More importantly, however, is the need for us to be of the same mind.”

The admiral grinned and wiped his lips with a thumb and forefinger. “And I believe we are. What about the others?”

“Why worry them?”

“My thoughts exactly,” Porampus replied. “Plus, the less they know—”

“The more our actions will look like—”

“Accidents,” both men said at the same time.

Rink-Ba smiled and then offered his glass for another toast. “To beautifully unfortunate accidents.”

“Long live the Luma Alliance of Worlds,” Porampus replied.

* * *

Trinklyn cursed.

Then she cursed again for having cursed at all as using expletives was not something she was accustomed to doing. The practice of swearing belonged to people who lacked the linguistic dexterity to articulate their emotions. But given the circumstances, the Foreign Affairs Minister couldn’t think of anything better to say.

She’d taken a fifteen-minute break from her busy morning to walk among the Grand Arielina’s gardens when she spied a guest in General Rink-Ba’s office. At first, she thought nothing of Admiral Porampus’s presence as he walked across the office’s open windows. After all, didn’t they have a military operation to plan? It seemed that every Luma in Plumeria was preparing to join Colonel Caldwell and the Gladio Umbra over Oorajee. Trinklyn’s own efforts had been focused on creating channels of interagency communication and making intentions clear.

But there was something off about Rink-Ba. She’d first noticed it when they were still in the detention center on Aluross. At first, Trinklyn thought Rink-Ba was upset at being captured—certainly at losing so many Li-Dain to the feline-like species. The operation had not gone the way any of them had hoped. But even as the man agreed to the Gladio Umbra’s terms to track Soldark and take him down, Rink-Ba seemed to be harboring a secret.

He was scheming. She was sure of it. And seeing Porampus in Rink-Ba’s private office only seemed to confirm it.

Sure, to the casual observer, the two LAW military leaders were merely following through on their commitments to rally the remaining Li-Dain and warships in a consolidated effort to assist the Gladio Umbra. But that could have been done—should be done in a ready room, combined with several other officers from both the Navy and Li-Dain departments. But this? No, this was two old cronies planning something. And she didn’t trust them. Not for a second.

While So-Elku had never shown himself to be bloodthirsty, at least not that Trinklyn ever saw, he had been power-hungry. Though he claimed to champion peace, establishing harmony that would last a thousand years, So-Elku had proven to Trinklyn that he was more interested in control—the power to make others choose right instead of wrong. She didn’t doubt that So-Elku would have ushered the quadrant, maybe even the galaxy, into a season of peace. But at what cost? The man didn’t trust others to make the right decisions with their freedoms—only himself. The question had been, would the galaxy have trusted him?

Knowing that everyone would not accept such control, or at the very least, that other species and star systems might want to put an end to the LAWs expansion, So-Elku had appointed two men who he knew wouldn’t mind getting blood on their hands: General Rink-Ba and Admiral Porampus.

Trinklyn knew what this was about. Maybe not the specifics. But she had her suspicions.

In the wake of So-Elku’s demise, the general and the admiral were taking matters into their own hands. They would carry out the Luma Master’s vision. But where So-Elku would have provided some sort of governance, she feared these officers would employ more reckless means.

Worse still, Trinklyn cursed because she didn’t know who she could trust. Even though Lor, Brodin, and Yon-Mornick didn’t seem like they would be complicit in the military leaders’ covert actions, she suspected they wouldn’t hesitate to turn her in if it meant preserving the LAW’s integrity. No, she corrected herself. If it means protecting their careers and their lives.

Trinklyn watched as the two men sat and toasted one another. When they should have been planning for war, they were planning something else. And whatever it was, it wasn’t good. She could feel it. And she needed to tell someone soon.

How had things come to this? While Trinklyn had supported So-Elku, despite her reservations, this was not what she envisioned. The promise that the LAW would unite the galaxy had turned the Luma into something she didn’t recognize anymore. And with So-Elku gone, Trinklyn felt the government devolving into something she wanted nothing to do with. She would not sit by and see the reputation of the Luma tarnished. She would act, and she knew just who to turn to.

13

When the Gladio Umbra’s joint strike force jumped into metaspace, they emerged from the quantum tunnel with a fighting force that was beyond anything Caldwell had ever commanded. To say he was in over his head was an understatement. But to hell with feelings. He didn’t have time to feel overwhelmed—he was too busy thinking of ways to make the enemy piss his britches.

Everyone’s combined efforts produced a hulking fleet of fifty warships, one-hundred seven starfighters, sixty-three miscellaneous shuttles and armored freighters, and a total of 92,000 ground troops.

“Yeah,” Caldwell said to himself as he let out a plume of smoke. “Should make him piss so hard he blows a kidney. Would if it were me.”

“What was that, sir?” Azelon asked from beside him in the Spire’s primary war room.

“Tell me, Fancy Pants. You ever get scared?”

“Scared, sir?”

Caldwell nodded at the spatial map that floated above the strategy table. Every ship in the armada was tagged and color-coded, heading toward Ithnor Itheliana as a large mass of dots. He removed his cigar and pointed it at the map. “If you saw that coming toward you, what would you think?”

“As a sentient artificial intelligence, assuming I had a body I was averse to losing as I believe you are inferring, I would consider my chances of survival and then begin planning escape and avoidance contingencies.”

“And if you weren’t an AI? If you were like me?”

Azelon tilted her head. “If I were like you, Colonel Caldwell, I would probably be thinking, ‘Holy splick, holy splick, I’m about to have my ass shot off faster than Aunt Betsy losing her top at a Boilerpoke singles rodeo.’”

Caldwell laughed. “Sounds about right.”

The doors swooshed open and in walked the Gladio Umbra’s senior leadership compliment. Personnel included Abimbola, who headed up the Dregs contingent of 5,000 ground troops; Rohoar, who brought his people’s twelve remaining warships, four armored transports, fourteen Razorback starfighters, and 25,000 ground forces; and Ezo, Sootriman, and TO-96, who represented the miscreants they’d drummed up from parts unknown. Ezo’s Rogues, as they’d been nicknamed, had three warships, as well as thirty-seven miscellaneous transports, armored freighters, and decommissioned starfighters in various states of disrepair.

“But they can fly hard and shoot harder,” Ezo had insisted when he first briefed the colonel.

“Works for me,” Caldwell replied.

“And me,” TO-96 said. When everyone smiled at him, he put a hand on his hip and held up his palm. “Well, it does.”

The other leaders included those of the more surgical teams, including Captain Forbes, representing Taursar Company, Captain Nelson of Hedgebore Company fame, and Awen, who would be taking command of Granther Company on a covert mission to the Novia Minoosh’s library temple complex. Zoll, Willowood, Ricio, and Cyril all had critical roles to play and were given places at the table.

As everyone settled in, Caldwell asked Azelon to power up the hard-light emitters and bring up the remaining high-ranking team members on board the other ships. They included Chancellor David Seaman, General Kalene Williams, General Lovell, and Captain Wainright of the Neo Republic. The chancellor represented four warships, three shuttles and armored transports, thirty-one Talons, and roughly 5,000 ground troops. The four commanders saluted Caldwell as their projections appeared beside the table.

Queen Nishti blinked to existence on the opposite side of the table, along with three of her narskill, which included Wobix. The cats raised their chins to those present and then looked to Caldwell. Of all those in the joint strike force, the Sekmit had been the most generous, offering 50,000 warriors, plus twenty-six warships and escorts.

Jules, Flow, and Cheeks popped up from onboard the Stroika Industries flagship Far Horizon IV—one of ten newly or nearly finished Tabor-class battleships competing for dominance against Advanced Galactic Solution’s monopoly in the Republic market. Jules’s offering also included AGS command crews and trained technicians. While they didn’t have the fighting experience of a Repub Naval crew, they certainly had the hardware knowledge.

Appearing from onboard one of their four starships were six of the Luma Alliance of Worlds leaders, spearheaded by General Rink-Ba and Admiral Porampus. Caldwell felt the room bristle as the LAW representatives appeared. They had been mortal enemies just four days before, and now they were fighting alongside the Gladio Umbra, Sekmit, and Neo Repub in a battle to save, well, the galaxy if Caldwell was candid—though that sounded far too melodramatic for his tastes.

Three Jujari commanders appeared beside Rohoar, but Caldwell had given up trying to memorize their names. He’d cheat when needed.

Last but not least was Major Adonis Olin Magnus in the flesh—Caldwell’s right-hand man in this fight. The two men nodded at one another, and then the colonel addressed the room.

“We don’t have much time, so let’s get down to business,” the colonel said and then stuffed his cigar between his lips. “I think you all know who each other are and who represents what. If not, Cyril and the bots here have done a bang-up job in getting everything sorted out for us. Just take note of the roster menu and appropriate IDs located on all operations files.”

“Normally, an operation like this would take weeks of strategic planning. But as you know, we don’t have weeks. We have hours. At least now that we’re inside metaspace, time is back on our side.” Caldwell stopped and removed his cigar. “Well, maybe not on our side. But it sure as hell ain’t working so hard against us.”

“Hopefully you’ve had time to review the brief we sent. If not, we’re covering it now, but on the double. Again, this is the best we can do in the time we’ve been given. Like all big operations, this has a lot of moving parts and will be changing over time. Let me say that again, in case you weren’t paying attention: orders will be shifting as we encounter the enemy. So I want your comms open, heads on swivels, and attitudes ready to comply. Copy?”

Heads nodded, and various forms of verbal acknowledgment trickled around the room.

“Good. Azelon, please bring up the city.”

The bot nodded, and the holo display zoomed in on a three-quarter view of Ithnor Itheliana from low orbit.

“Our fleet will be arranged in support formation, following the main compass bearings over the target area.”

A projection of the intended fleet formation appeared on display, forming a standard X/Y axis layout of all armada assets.

Caldwell took a drag on his tobacco and blew the smoke into the holo lasers. The image rippled as the system struggled to account for the interference.

“We don’t know what kind of ship support Soldark has in his pocket, so we’ll need to be ready for anything. As of right now, we know only of his one vessel. Intel suggests its weapons systems have been compromised. And before anyone goes asking about Soldark’s abilities to repair the damage, the answer is we don’t know. Hell, we know more about my Uncle Mark’s forty bastard children than we know about this sum’bitch, which, again, is why I need each of you to be on top of your game and make adjustments quickly when orders come down the pipeline.”

“Chain of command starts and stops with me,” Caldwell said and then let his statement sit for a few beats. “Anyone has issues with that, leave now, cause I sure as Nancy’s naughty nightgown won’t be covering this ground again downrange.” He paused, checking faces and searching eyes. “Good. While I’ll be overseeing the big picture from up here, Azelon will be commanding ship movement, and Magnus will be commanding ground operations.”

The colonel pointed his cigar back toward the map. “As for the fleet forces, Juliet Von Meier will have command of what we’re calling the Gladio Umbra’s Stroika battlegroup under Alpha Wing stretching to the west.”

A cross-armed all-business Jules nodded once but said nothing.

“Commander Mauricio Longo will oversee all joint-force starfighter support under Fang Company, both in orbit and in atmo. This includes all Neo Repub and LAW Talons, as well as the Jujari Razorbacks.”

Ricio also nodded but refrained from speaking.

“Admiral Soofwin’s sixteen Sekmit warships will be split evenly between Charlie Wing, General Williams’s Neo Republic forces to the east, and Delta Wing, Admiral Porampus’s forces to the south. Lastly, for Bravo Wing to the north, we have”—Caldwell had to check his notes to make sure he got this last name right—“Supreme Void Attack Commander Dargwuhdag the Vicious Incisor?” Caldwell looked up to make sure he was reading it right.

The Jujari bared his teeth. Sure enough, the beast had one hell of a right-side incisor.

Of course you do, Caldwell thought. “Commander Dargwuhdag here will be in charge of the Jujari battlegroup.”

The Jujari let out a soft growl of approval.

“Again, we recognize that there are a lot of moving pieces here. That, and you’re all used to different SOPs. Given the uniqueness of this situation, however, I expect all of us to remain professional and do the best we can with what we know at the time. Hell, if we’re lucky, we take down our target in our first attempt and never utilize the fleet. But I want to plan for the worst and get surprised by the best.”

“Keeping all of this straight for us is going to be the new commander of our intelligence division, Director—” Caldwell hesitated. What the hell was Cyril’s first name? Or was that his last name? He hadn’t even considered this when giving the kid a promotion. “What’s your full name, son?”

Cyril let out his usual nervous and far too loud laugh. “Ha ha. I’d rather prefer, rather, not to say, your commandship. You know, all that secret government tracking software out there. That’s stuff’s real as splick though, you know. Like, monitors what you had for breakfast and knows who you’re gonna marry before you even meet the person, ha ha. Yeah. Not me. No thank you.”

“All right then,” Caldwell said, looking to move on. “Any warships—”

“But, Commander Director Cyril alpha bravo is just fine, sir, Colonel, sir.”

Caldwell raised an eyebrow. If this son of a blaster bolt weren’t the smartest code slicer he’d ever met, he would’ve dismissed the former Marauder months ago. However, as it was, there was no one smarter than him but a bot. “Director Cyril is just fine, son.”

“Director Cyril, ha ha. Yeah. I like that. Super.”

“As I was saying—”

“So if anyone needs me to cover their ten-four on the double over comms, you’ve got my handle now, roger? Just say, ‘Hey, Director Cyril,’ or ‘Yo, DC, I need a building schematic, stat.’ I’ll be in your head faster than—”

“Yo DC,” Caldwell said.

“Yes, bossman, sir?”

Caldwell raised a finger and tapped his ear.

It took a moment for Cyril to pick up on the colonel’s inference, but he finally got it. “Right, right, right. Sorry, sorry. Ha ha!” Cyril looked around the room. “My team and I, along with Super Commander Azelon the Mighty AI, have been working as fast as we can to integrate everyone’s comm networks into a single blanket spectrum spread. Means you don’t gotta worry about updating software or hardware to be able to communicate interagency and stuff. Like, for example, let’s say you’re a Neo Repub head honcho and you’re thinking, ‘Oh splick, I don’t know the proper sat-band freq for the Jujari king person,’ because you’re thinking, ‘Dang it all, I really need extra fire support on that far ridge or else we’re getting our flanks filleted into lunch meat.’ Well, you won’t have to worry your little heads about it because we’ve got you covered like condiments in the mess hall. Anyone else hungry? Cause all of a sudden, I’m like super hungry. I think I have low blood sugar.”

“And thank you, Director Cyril, for that important reminder to pack extra sup bars and stay hydrated,” Caldwell said. “Moving forward, any warships capable of going in atmo will assist in troop deployment as we don’t have enough transports to get the job done in a timely fashion. Atmo-friendly hardware has been designated on your individual briefs and will be updated in real time as need dictates. Our primary surface deployment op will be run by Commanders Ezo, Sootriman, and TO-96.”

All three team members waved but said nothing.

“Their forces already have the large majority of our transport vessels and will be responsible for ferrying ground troops to their LZs around the city’s perimeter. Any questions so far?”

Heads shook, and hands stayed down.

“Good,” Caldwell said. “Major Magnus? Your show.”

* * *

Magnus inclined his head as Colonel Caldwell stepped aside. This was, by far, the most massive operation Magnus had ever overseen. That alone gave him pause for concern. The fact that he was leading tens of thousands of ground troops from different backgrounds meant greater potential for miscommunication should this become anything other than a straightforward assault on a single target. And if things went sideways, miscommunication, a lack of situational awareness, and the loss of coordinated movements could result in everything from friendly fire incidents to the complete loss of mission objectives.

All this was compounded by the fact that there were far more qualified personnel in this war room, at least in Magnus’s mind. But Colonel Caldwell defended his decision to promote Magnus and put him in charge of all ground forces.

“You’ve got more experience with interstellar species than most people I know,” Caldwell had said when Magnus questioned him. “Plus, you have bigger balls than my Aunt Sarah has knockers, so I figure, what the hell?”

“How many aunts do you have, sir?” Magnus had asked.

The colonel ignored the question. “And, more importantly, you care about the success of this mission and the people running point, and that’s enough for me.”

Magnus felt the weight of the moment press down on his shoulders. But he was built for this. He was ready for this. And, mystics, did he want it to end—all of it.

“First off, I want to thank each contingent for their participation in this operation,” Magnus said to those gathered in the war room. “We’re all here representing different factions, different interests, but we share a common purpose: to destroy Soldark and keep our galaxy safe.”

Magnus took another deep breath and then turned his attention to the holo map. “According to Azelon’s latest readings, we have confirmation of Soldark’s presence inside the city limits. His ship made landfall two klicks northeast of the city, and sensors have detected at least three other life forms in the vicinity. As for Soldark himself, Azelon’s footage shows him defeating the city’s automated defenses and making his way to this location here.”

Magnus pointed to a plaza in the city’s center. A red dot appeared along with ident tags and waypoint data.

“As many of our gladias will remember, this was the site of our initial contest with Nos Kil. We kept him from getting his hands on Novian tech, and that was a win. But now we’re tasked with keeping Soldark from destroying the Singularity, the Novia Minoosh, and from getting his hands on mystics knows what that he could use to wreak havoc throughout the galaxy. This ends now.”

There wasn’t a leader in the room who would refuse Novian tech for their arsenals. Splick, Magnus wanted a NOV2, Mark I armor, and a BATRIG for his personal collection—who wouldn’t? But in the end, none of these advances belonged to him or anyone else from protospace. They belonged to the Novia Minoosh, and Magnus sensed it needed to stay that way.

Abimbola raised his hand. “Do we know where Soldark is now?”

Magnus nodded. “The target’s last known location puts him at the dig site here.” He pointed to the red dot. “After that, we’ve got nothing.”

Forbes spoke up next. “You mean to tell me he vanished inside the city and Azie hasn’t got anything on him? I find that a little hard to imagine. Or maybe just disheartening.”

“I also find it hard to imagine,” Azelon said after Magnus gave her the floor. “Unfortunately, I have lost contact with the Novian Singularity.”

An uneasiness filled the room, accented by small gasps and shared looks of confusion among those who were privy to how Azelon functioned as Novian AI liaison. Magnus had also been unsettled by the news when he’d learned of it.

“Does this mean we’re too late?” Chancellor Seaman asked.

“Are we fighting a lost cause here?” General Rink-Ba added.

“Not from our understanding,” Magnus said in the hopes of stemming any more speculation on the topic. He gestured to Azelon again.

She nodded. “I do not suspect Soldark has discovered the Singularity yet. The lack of communication is not the result of the Novia’s absence, but rather as if something is blocking them.”

“Jamming tech?” Captain Forbes asked. He looked from Azelon to Magnus to Colonel Caldwell.

“Not in the way that you understand signal distortion, no,” Azelon said. “But the essence of your conjecture has merit. I believe Soldark is attempting to mute or at least minimize the Novia’s ability to transmit information to parties that may attempt to rescue the Singularity.”

“That would be us,” Magnus said to the room. “In case you needed to know.”

“And if he makes it to this Singularity,” Admiral Franks said. “Then what? Game over?”

“For the Novia Minoosh, yes,” Magnus said. “And he takes over their knowledge base, any remaining tech, and whatever his ongoing relationship is with the Obscura, as you’ve been briefed.”

“So we don’t want him getting to it. Check,” Ezo said in summary. “Any intel on what this giant computer looks like or how deep it’s buried underground? As Ezo seems to recall, our op against Nos Kil was to keep him from getting to some sort of energy source.”

Azelon nodded. “And that is another reason we must stop him. That energy source, as you call it, is not something we want a being like Soldark getting his hands on.”

“Which is all the more reason why we need to stop Soldark here and now,” Magnus said. “Our rapid deployment schedule puts units down at the following LZs. General Lovell and Captain Wainright, you and half of Queen Nishti’s Sekmit forces will set down to Ithnor Ithelia’s west side. We’re also sending half of General Rink-Ba’s Li-Dain to join you. We’re calling your LZ Zulu One.” The designator popped up on a small strip of land, bordered by ocean to the west and urban grade to the east. A troop counter of 31,500 appeared with a drop-down menu of more precise force allocations and current command structure.

“Zulu Two is Jujari territory,” Magnus continued. A second designator appeared in the mountainous foothills just north of the city. “Mwadim Rohoar, your 25,000 warriors will move south into the city.”

“Rohoar and his kinfolk will enjoy moving south, yes,” the Jujari mwadim said. “Thank you for the pleasure of pursuing the enemy from on high.”

Magnus nodded. “Right. You’re welcome.” He pointed to the eastern section of the map where the ruins of Sootriman’s old ship Indomitable lay. “Queen Nishti, the other half of your forces will join the Gladio Umbra here and enter from the east—calling it Zulu Three. This includes Hedgebore, Taursar, Paladia, and Granther Companies, as well as BATRIG armor. General Rink-Ba, your remaining 1,500 Li-Dain will drop here as well.”

All the leaders of each group nodded.

“And finally,” Magnus said, moving the map to the large patch of ocean. “Ezo’s Rogues along with Bimby’s Dregs have the high seas to the south.”

“Argh,” TO-96 yelled with a fist hoisted in the air. A hard-light emitter projected a small black flag with a white skull and crossbones on it.

Magnus blinked at the bot.

“What’re you doing, ’Six?” Ezo said as he tried to pull the robot’s arm down. “Put your—hand—just put it—put—”

TO-96’s servos whined as his arm moved up and down. “Argh,” he said again.

“Put your hand down, ’Six.”

The bot’s arm snapped back to his side. “Are we not pirates?”

“No, we’re not pirates.” But even as Ezo said the words, Awen and several others started to laugh.

“Just let him have his fun, love,” Sootriman said in a soft tone.

Ezo sighed then looked at TO-96. “Okay, maybe pirates a little. But they don’t say argh.”

“Argh,” the bot shouted again and threw his hand up.

Magnus stifled his chuckle and moved on. “After deploying all ground forces, Ezo’s Pirates will indeed ransack the city from the south.”

“Ooo, ransack, sir,” TO-96 said, looking to Ezo. “I have always wanted to be a part of a good ransacking. It is nearly as good as storming a castle. Perhaps we’ll get to do that as well, sir.”

Ezo failed to respond, other than with a roll of his eyes. Then he motioned for Magnus to keep going.

“We’re calling the southern staging area Zulu Four,” Magnus said. “This is a rapid armored advance. Ezo’s forces will also be on-call for any unit in need of air support.”

“Once everyone is situated, we’ll proceed with phase two of the operation and converge on the city’s center. You’ll find specific troop deployment intervals and routes designated in your individual mission plans, but as the Colonel has already outlined, those are sure to change over time. Watch for updates. We don’t need our forces bottlenecking anywhere.”

“Additionally, if we engage heavy resistance, I will be calling for force realignment as the last thing any of us wants is head-on friendly fire, especially as our elements converge. But we’ll have plenty of time to address that as the operation progresses. I’ll be holding a Mike Force in reserve to deploy as needed, as well as for on-call artillery support. Until then, we’ll surround the city and use every means necessary to close in on Soldark and eliminate him.”

Magnus let the objectives breath in everyone’s consciousness for a moment. “Any questions?”

Wainright’s hand went up.

“Yes, Captain.”

“You mentioned Soldark’s ship is parked outside the city,” Wainright said. “What’s the plan there?”

Magnus nodded and then zoomed in on the northeast section of the topo map. “Members of Hedgebore company’s armor and Paladia Company will divert from the west-bound contingent and set up on the ship. Their mission is to destroy or disable the vessel and then regroup with the main body. Should they encounter a retreating Soldark, they’ll have plenty of support from the rest of the Gladio Umbra and General Rink-Ba’s Li-Dain.”

Wainright thanked Magnus and crossed his arms.

Another hand went up. It was one of Chancellor Seaman’s officials, General Williams. “I don’t mean this disrespectfully,” the woman said. “But by my count, we have over 200 ships and almost 100,000 ground troops all trying to stop one man. I’m all for being ready, but does anyone else think we are severely overextended for this operation?”

Magnus could tell the question found at least a little traction from a few head nods and sideways glances. “It’s a valid question. First off, we don’t know what Obscura assets Soldark may have at his disposal. On top of that, we have to be prepared for him to leverage Novian tech against us, whatever that may be. While our warships are capable of devastating the city, I’d like to point out that, one, orbital strikes don’t guarantee results if the enemy is underground, which we must assume he is if he’s continuing with Nos Kil’s work. And two, I’d rather not wipe out an ancient civilization’s city if we don’t need to.” He nodded at Awen, feeling as thought he’d learned a thing from her on this point.

“Furthermore, I think those who saw Soldark firsthand have already settled this question for themselves. But for the sake of time, it’s important we all take a look at something. What you’re about to see is the last visual record we have of Soldark, making his way southwest inside the city.”

The holo display’s map was replaced by video footage from what could have been any street inside Ithnor Ithelia. Judging by the angle, the camera was mounted on the side of a building overlooking an intersection ten meters up. At first, there was nothing much to see but disused thoroughfares and abandoned buildings. Maintenance bots had recently been at work, beating back the foliage that had crept across the urban surfaces and sprouted inside cracks. Some sort of flying creature flitted across a street, and a few insects bumbled a meter from the lens.

All at once, two bay doors opened in the street, and a weapons system rose. The barrel resembled a railgun platform—rectangular with several ports along its sides. Two more weapons, both particle blaster turrets, appeared on buildings on opposite sides of the street. All three guns swiveled, pointed away from the camera, and took aim at something out of frame.

The blasters fired first and sent full-auto torrents down the road. Their bright muzzle flashes lit up the street, and the power from the energy rounds strobed against the hard surfaces like pulsing dance club lights. Then the railgun fired and produced a shockwave that swept through the grass and blew loose debris down the road. The target, however, was still out of frame.

All three weapons continued firing until the far-side wall-mounted blaster turret detonated by some unseen force. The main metal housing shot across the road, pinged off the opposite building, and spun to the street. Likewise, the barrel—still red-hot from incessant firing—flipped out of view, end over end like a twirling baton.

A person finally emerged in the street, a man by the looks of it. Dressed in black. He ran with determination, sidestepping blaster fire and dodging the railgun’s high-powered projectiles. But the weapons were driving him to one side of the street and were seconds away from pinning him against a building.

Just when the target seemed out of options, he leaped into the air and bounded across the road. The action seemed unnatural as the man defied gravity. His feet struck the wall about six meters up, and he grabbed onto a window ledge and looked across at the blaster turret. The machine caught up with him and fired.

For any other victim in this situation, the defense turret would have ground its target to dust, drilling superheated particle bolts through flesh and into the building’s carbon-lattice girders. But this was no ordinary victim; this was Soldark.

In an otherworldly action, the figure held up a hand and seemed to catch the turret’s steady stream of blaster rounds. The energy flared against his outstretched palm and did no apparent damage. Then the man leaped off the building, sailed across the street several meters above the mounted weapon, and—as he descended on the far side—loosed a massive charge of energy from his hands. The red-hued energy bolt destroyed the turret in a wild explosion, and Soldark watched from his new perch a few meters overhead.

The railgun was slow to track Soldark. By the time it aimed at him on the building, the figure was gone having jumped out of frame. When the man reappeared, it was just behind the railgun. He extended both his hands as if he were going to clap or box someone’s ears. Instead of fast motion, however, Soldark slowly pressed his hands toward either side of the railgun.

Sparks popped off the weapon’s housing, and the sound of creaking metal filled the camera’s audio sensor. The target was forcing the railgun to implode, crushing the housing under some invisible gravity well. Finally, the street-mounted gun succumbed to Soldark’s relentless attack and folded like a leaf. Several capacitors exploded, and flaming metal plates flipped away. The railgun powered down and fell limp in the street.

Then, in one final act of destruction, Soldark spotted the camera and leaped toward it. The last image on the holo display was of So-Elku’s face—now disfigured in a venomous sneering scowl—grabbing the camera housing and, presumably, tearing it from the building.

The holo display went black.

“General Williams poses a valid question,” Magnus said after letting the room settle from the traumatic display. “Have we come overprepared for this enemy?” He looked around at everyone’s faces. “Hell no. Because that monster right there is looking for a fight, and we’re gonna bring it to him.”

“OTF,” said General Williams. This brought on other declarations of “la-raah” from some gladias and growls from the Jujari.

“We will dominate Soldark”—Magnus punched his palm—“and we will liberate our allies.”

14

Ground force deployment was going smoother than Magnus expected. Attitudes remained positive, driven by a deep sense of cooperation, and there hadn’t been a single hiccup in shuttle troops from orbit to their respective LZs. In fact, as Magnus checked the time inside his BATRIG C-Type, he noted that the operation was ahead of schedule.

But Magnus knew not everything was as it seemed. He’d learned long ago that anything too good to be true probably was. And this operation was no exception.

A knock sounded on his BATRIG’s leg. Magnus looked around and then peaked out the port-side floor window. It was Awen.

“Hey, Major,” she yelled with a hand cupped to her face. “Got a minute?”

Magnus nodded and put his mech’s operating system into sleep mode. Then he tapped a screen and heard the armor’s servos begin to open the front-facing panels to let him emerge from the suit. Warm evening air brought the smells of blossoming plants and the sounds of roosting birds. Sundown was in sixty-five minutes.

“Hello, commander,” Magnus said with a smile as he swung out and climbed down the rungs on the mech’s side.

“Maybe on paper,” she said, stepping aside for Magnus to jump the last meter.

The C-Type command mech, or C-RIG for short, was Azelon’s latest invention, and the only one of its kind. He would thank Caldwell for the hulk eventually, but he couldn’t help wonder if the colonel hadn’t envisioned him down here all along. It stood two meters taller than the regular version and came in at 3.3 tonnes all-up-weight. It also boasted a roomier cockpit for larger multi-tiered holo displays and more detailed command consoles. When combined with a Novian biotech interface and the custom integration for his bioteknia eyes, the C-RIG was a powerful command platform capable of directing nearly unlimited assets on multiple battlefields—exactly what Magnus needed for the assault on Ithnor Itheliana.

Azelon upgraded the weapons systems too. Not only did the GU90M on the right arm and the RTD10 on the left arm have increased magazine capacity, but so did the variable warhead missile system on mech’s back. Azelon doubled the standard three-count missile system and added trinium-tipped warheads for “maximum target disruption,” as she put it. Add to that a ring of MB17 portable shield walls projected through hard-light emitters on the mech’s knees and multi-spectrum jamming technology in the sensors array, and the C-RIG was a mobile command fortress with no rival.

“Quite the machine Azie gave you,” Awen said as she brushed some loose strands of hair behind her pointed ears. She was dressed in her black and gray Mark II stealth armor, as was every other member of Granther Company. Awen cradled her helmet under her arm and, to Magnus’s shock, she had an NOV3 maglocked to her back.

Building on the NOV1 and NOV2 before it, version three incorporated a special mod request from Magnus that was a throwback to the Recon’s MAR30: wide displacement mode. Where the NOV1 and 2’s AI-assisted multi-target fire effect mode was precise, it lacked some of the brute-force put-down power that could push back on a scattered enemy.

The new NOV3 also gave gladias as an option for a mini variable ordnance detonator attachment. The weapon’s VODs were half the size of the handheld version and came six to a tube. Azelon had been working on the platform’s revisions for several days and managed to manufacture enough for both Granther and Taursar Companies. Nelson’s Hedgebores would have to wait. But they also got the first pick of the limited BATRIGs which they’d use to assault Soldark’s ship and then move into the city.

It wasn’t the NOV3 itself that startled Magnus; it was the fact that Awen was carrying a conventional weapon on her kit at all. To his knowledge, this was the first time she’d even touched a blaster.

“What is that?” he asked.

“Oh. The gun?”

“Yeah. The gun.”

Awen sighed. “I lost.”

“You’re gonna have to do better than that.”

“To the Colonel. I told him Luma don’t use guns. He told me that was irrelevant because I’m a gladia. So I told him I’d be fine without one. And then he finished by saying I’d be stupid to go out in an insert derogatory type of storm without it, and that I’d be as naked as a something-something drowning in a whirlpool of, of—” She seemed to run out of words. “It was a lot.”

“And he won.”

“Well, sort of. I swore to him I wouldn’t pull the trigger, but I’d at least carry it around in case someone else on the team needed it.”

“A good compromise.” Magnus winked at her. “Plus, you look hot.”

“Easy, tiger.”

Behind Awen, the plane to Itheliana’s east was alive with activity. Just over 27,000 troops would be delivered to Zulu Three’s LZ as night crept in. But Granther Company had been the first to touch down twenty minutes before.

“Speaking of having guns that you won’t use,” Awen said with a nod toward the C-RIG. “Are you going to be okay sitting this one out on the sidelines, Major?”

Magnus looked up at the behemoth mech and patted the shin plate. “Just because I’m not downrange doesn’t mean I can’t lob some rounds toward the enemy.”

“So you’re not okay then.”

He chuckled. “I’m not sure why I even try with you.”

“Me neither.” Awen patted his cheek. “Just remember that.”

“Somehow, I don’t think you’ll ever let me forget.” Magnus looked Awen in the eyes. “You and the team ready?”

She nodded but didn’t seem convinced.

“What’s the matter?”

“It was about the briefing.”

Magnus furrowed his brow. “Oh yeah?”

Awen glanced around, but there was no one within earshot. Plus, the noise of transports continually coming and going drowned out most other sounds. “Why didn’t you or Colonel Caldwell bring up Granther Company’s op to the QTG?”

Magnus suspected this was coming. “We got some last-minute intel that made us reconsider telling everyone all our plans.”

“What kind of intel?”

“You remember Minister Trinklyn?”

Awen nodded.

“She suspects that Rink-Ba and Porampus aren’t as genuine as they appear. Seems they might have ulterior motives for being here.”

“I knew it,” Awen said. “I knew there was something up with those two. They’ve been conscientious about keeping their thoughts hidden.”

“Probing illegally, are we?”

Awen smiled. “I hate when you say it like that.”

“I know.”

“So what are they planning?”

Magnus shook his head. “She doesn’t know exactly. She reached us via a secure channel and didn’t have much time. Just told us to be wary.” He paused and studied Awen’s face. “You trust her?”

“More than the others,” Awen replied.

“Why?”

“Well, she’s a true blood for one thing.”

“But so are the others, right?”

“Yes.” Awen narrowed her eyes. “But she seems to be holding to the Luma’s principles—the original ones, not what So-Elku twisted them to mean. I’m also guessing she was forced to serve on So-Elku’s council due to her reputation within the Order. Plus, I can’t think of what she has to gain here. If she says something’s up, then I believe her.”

“Well, that’s why we’re keeping Granther Company’s mission on a need-to-know basis. If you’re successful in opening the portal between Gangil and Orin Five—”

“Which I will be,” she said as she placed her free hand on her hip.

“—and if the Reptalon gods give them an okay on the invite, then I want everyone else surprised. If nothing else, it will keep Rink-Ba and Porampus off their game and make them think twice about doing something stupid. Plus, if those two bastards do end up posing a serious threat, extra backup won’t hurt.”

“Understood,” Awen said. But she still didn’t seem at ease.

Magnus took her hand off her hip. “You ready for this?”

“I don’t know. I mean, yes. But—”

“You’re scared.”

“No. It’s not that.” She shook her head once. “Something doesn’t feel right.”

“About your mission?”

“About all of it.” She looked away toward the tree line. “Soldark’s up to something. It’s like he’s not alone. But we know he is.”

“What do you mean? You think he has backup?”

Awen didn’t respond. Instead, she kept staring at the horizon.

“Awen?”

“What?” she asked, snapping her head toward him.

“You think he’s—?”

“No.” She sighed. “I don’t know. Just—be careful, okay?”

“You know me. Mr. Careful himself.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

He gave her a half-smile. “And you’re terrible at pep talks.”

Awen let go of his hand, grabbed his Mark I’s collar, and pulled his face toward hers. She gave him a long kiss and then shoved his armored chest away. “Let’s kill us a bad guy. Dominate.”

“Liberate,” he said, and then thought—

I’m one hot babe? Awen said inside his head before he could finish the thought. Yeah, I get that a lot.

Magnus grinned and then thought, See you downrange.

You wish, Awen replied. She slid her helmet on and activated chameleon mode. Can’t catch what you can’t see.

Then Magnus watched her footfalls depress the grass as she walked back to her unit.

* * *

Magnus activated phase two of the operation as the sky darkened, and metaspace’s purple stars began to litter the void. Almost 80 percent of the invasion’s assets had been delivered, which was more than enough margin for him to order the first wave to breach the city limits while keeping newly arriving elements in reserve. His main command display inside his C-RIG showed the mission topo map and real-time resource allocations.

Large dots represented one thousand of a particular unit type, color coded to its respective faction. Zooming in to a specific region displayed smaller dots of five-hundred and a hundred, and then even smaller dots of fifty. If Magnus zoomed in to maximum depth, he could watch individual assets move through the city streets. Between Azelon’s real-time orbital sensors and Cyril’s tap-dancing fingers, there seemed to be no end to the amount of data he could sift through.

“How you looking, son?” Caldwell asked Magnus as the offensive got underway. His face popped up in a separate floating frame to the right side of Magnus’s ultra-wide HUD.

“Everything’s looking good, Colonel. We’re at”—Magnus double-checked the latest troop count—“eighty-seven percent on the ground, and Ezo says they’re almost ready to come in from Zulu Four. First wave on the remaining three sides has entered the city limits with no enemy activity detected. The Novian defenses don’t consider us a threat either, as per Azie’s promise.”

“Let’s keep it that way.”

“Agreed,” Magnus said.

“How are Felicity and Piper?”

“Northbound, en route to waypoint Lima One with Paladia and Hedgebore contingents. Making good time too, by the looks of it.”

Willowood had selected Sion’s cadre of fourteen mystics to scuttle Soldark’s ship with Piper. In addition, Lieutenant Jay Rodgers backed them up with Hedgebore Company’s Third Armored Platoon, which consisted of twenty-five BATRIGS and twenty-five gladias on foot. The idea was to keep Piper out of immediate danger and let her finish what she’d started with Soldark’s ship before diverting southwest into the city.

“And Awen?” Caldwell asked.

Magnus pulled up the unit and examined their progress. Unlike all the other units that populated across the entire command network for all commanders to see, Granther Company’s activity was hidden. Instead, if any commander pulled up the unit, they would see the Granthers attached to Taursar Company, all thanks to a little of Cyril’s handiwork.

“Looks like they’re ahead of schedule too,” Magnus said. “Tracking westbound one-half klick south of the Zulu Three’s main element.”

“Slicker than my newly razored goochie,” Caldwell replied.

Ignoring the mental picture the comment created, Magnus collapsed several windows and refocused on the colonel when his head was clear. “How’s everything topside?”

“Nice and quiet, just like I want it,” the man replied. “Fleet is in formation, starfighters are at the ready, and everyone’s playing nice.” Caldwell tipped his cigar toward Magnus. “Keep me apprised of progress.”

“Hard copy, colonel.”

“Caldwell out.”

Magnus minimized the frame and then sat back in his C-RIG cockpit couch. The drive core’s gentle hum and the soft stream of forced air against his forehead both served to calm him as he studied the main mission map. So far, so good. But between Piper’s dream and Awen’s apprehensions, Magnus felt that the plan, as good as it seemed, was about to meet the enemy and get the splick beat out of it. Or maybe that was just his Marine brain trying to keep him from becoming too optimistic. Either way, he had a bad feeling about all this—the kind that made him wonder if they should have brought even more troops and even bigger guns.

15

Willowood, Piper, and Sion plunged through dense forest on foot with the rest of Paladia Company’s First Cadre trailing behind. Further back, Lieutenant Jay Rodgers’s Third Armored Platoon fanned out and covered both flanks with infantry and BATRIG support. Their movements could have been quieter, were the mechs not present, but Echo Team—as Magnus had dubbed them—was going for speed and firepower, not stealth.

While Willowood wasn’t a ground force expert like Magnus or the other Marines, she was a quick study and had done her fair share of fighting in these last several months. Of the three desired qualities—moving fast, staying quiet, or packing firepower—a team could only have two of the three at one time. She would have preferred staying quiet and packing firepower for this side mission. But with the main battle groups heading into the city, her team needed to get to Soldark’s ship fast.

“Azelon’s coordinates say it’s just ahead, ma’am,” Rodgers said over comms from inside his BATRIG. “But sensors aren’t picking up much. Mostly static.”

“And they won’t, Lieutenant,” Willowood replied as she hurried Piper along. “Probably until we’re right on top of it.”

“Copy that.”

Willowood could hear the anxiety in Rodgers’s voice. Knowing they were closing in on a warship the size of a Dreadnaught without so much as a single solid surface on comms wasn’t exactly what made for sweet dreams.

When the Gladio Umbra had encountered the ship over Aluross, Willowood had been amazed at its stealth abilities—amazed and scared. Only the most powerful Unity users could hide an entire warship in plain sight. And the only Unity users she could think of outside of the Order of the Luma were the Obscura.

A chill ran down Willowood’s spine as she raced through the forest. She looked up through the trees and saw metaspace’s purple stars and pinkish nebula dancing in the night sky. But as her eyes moved toward the horizon in the direction of Soldark’s ship, the starfield vanished. At first, her mind tried to convince her that the leafy canopy overhead was thicker in that direction, but she knew better.

I can feel it, Piper said from inside the Unity. She pointed through the trees. It’s up there a little way.

I can too, Willowood replied. Then to Rodgers and the rest of the unit, she said, “Contact, three hundred meters. Lieutenant, I need you here with me. Everyone else, fan out.”

The team leads acknowledged, and the unit slowed and took up positions in a shallow crescent formation. Rodgers’s BATRIG clomped through the undergrowth and came to a stop just behind Willowood.

“The target is just ahead,” she said over a private channel to Rodgers, Sion, and Piper. “Looks like we’re coming up on its stern.”

“What’s the plan?” Rodgers asked.

“Piper and I will lead Sion and his cadre, along with your troops on foot into the ship—”

“Assuming you can find an entry,” Rodgers said.

Willowood hadn’t even considered that a ramp wouldn’t be down or a port open. “Assuming we can find an entry, yes.”

“And if not?”

Willowood smiled up at the Lieutenant and patted his BATRIG’s leg. “That’s what we have you for, isn’t it?”

“Copy that, Commander,” Rodgers said.

“Lieutenant, you and your armor will provide support. Since we don’t know what will happen to the ship once it’s scuttled, I recommend staying out from under its belly. But if we encounter resistance that we can’t handle, we’ll need you close.”

Rodgers nodded. “Close enough to help in a pinch, far enough away not to get squished. Hard copy.”

“Good.” Willowood looked to her granddaughter. “Now let’s go have some fun breaking stuff.”

* * *

It took almost fifteen minutes for Willowood’s team to find the ship’s entry ramp. It was hidden by a rock escarpment on the hull’s port side, facing toward the city. A few minutes of climbing brought them to an animal path that led pretty close to where the black ramp touched the ground.

“Let us go first, Commander,” Sion said, touching a hand to his chest. “Have Hedgebore cover your rear.”

While all the mystics’ power suits and the gladia’s Mark I armor suits were invisible to the naked eye, Willowood could see them in both her HUD and the Unity. She gave the instructions to Rogers’s units and then turned back to Sion. “Be careful.”

“We will.”

As Willowood watched Echo Team’s mystics start up the long ramp, she couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of admiration for the dark mystics who made this ship. Like it had on Aluross, the massive vehicle hovered over the forest without so much as a vibration. The power to accomplish this was truly amazing.

It was also unnerving. Willowood found herself going down a myriad of mental corgachirp trails, wondering how old this ship was, and if it was new, what generation of Obscura had made it, and if they had the resources to make this, what else could they make? And then, if they were alive, where were they? And did they tell their children tales of the Order of the Luma for bedtime stories?

Peace, Felicity, Willowood told herself. One thing at a time.

Piper’s small hand squeezed Willowood’s as they moved deeper under the ship’s huge shadow. It’s gonna be okay, Nana. We can do this.

Willowood squeezed Piper’s hand in reply. Thank you, Piper.

Sion approached the opening in the ship’s hull. The space emitted a soft red glow barely visible to the naked eye.

“Entering the ship now,” Sion said. He slipped inside, followed by the rest of the mystics as they hurried through the door. Within a few seconds, it was Willowood and Piper’s turn. Just before entering, Willowood cast a glance over her shoulder. Far below and spread out through the woods, Rodgers’s mechanized sentries stood guard. She hoped they wouldn’t need them, but she was grateful for the mechs if they did.

* * *

Willowood and Piper stepped through Sion’s line of mystics. They advanced into the giant hallway where Willowood, Piper, and Caldwell had last fought Moldark and So-Elku. For a fleeting moment, Willowood wondered if she might see her late husband’s body on the ground where she’d left it—left him. But the corpse had been moved.

A mix of regret and gratitude filled her chest. Part of her had hoped to see him again—which seemed a bit dark. And yet another piece of her had no desire to revisit the past. Fortunately, fate had chosen for her, and Kane’s body was gone.

“Come on, Nana,” Piper said, tugging on her hand. “We’ve gotta do this.”

“Right.” Willowood looked to Sion and a sergeant from the gladias. “Set a perimeter. We’re going to need a few minutes.”

“Right away,” Sion said.

“On it,” the sergeant replied.

As the troops spread out and took defensive positions, Willowood and Piper walked toward the tall wall that extended up and out of sight. New splintering red lines glowed on its surface like hairline fractures in a pane of glass. Likewise, the narrow furrows on the floor that formed intricate designs and emanated from a central circle gave off a faint red glow. Whatever Unity force powered this ship, it was mighty.

It’s not the Unity, Piper said in Willowood’s mind. It’s the Nexus.

Right, Willowood replied. Only Nexus energy was strong enough to sustain something so immense.

I’m in, Piper said, jerking Willowood from her thoughts.

You’re in the ship’s core?

Uh-huh, Piper replied. You hear it?

Willowood focused her senses in the Unity. Yes, now that you mention it, I do hear something. It sounds…sad.

Uh-huh. It’s the stones in the ship. They don’t like it out here. They’d rather be back home.

Willowood had never thought of a ship having wishes or memories, but now that Piper mentioned it, the ship’s raw materials did seem to be longing for their point of origin.

Sensing that she should not let her granddaughter venture through the ship by herself, Willowood surged through the Unity and followed Piper into the solid wall that looked over the room. Within its tall structure there coursed a sea of Nexus energy the likes of which Willowood had never seen outside of the Nexus itself. That the Obscura had managed to harness so much power and deposit it here was a feat unlike any she’d ever seen.

Inside, Willowood felt like she and Piper were floating within a sea of translucent lava—their bodies swirling and twirling in a turbulent flow of currents. Willowood instinctively reached for Piper’s hand, but the girl seemed quite content on her own. Fearless, Willowood thought to herself.

I’m not afraid either, Piper replied, misunderstanding her grandmother’s intent. But if that’s what Piper thought, and it served to bolster the child’s resolve, so be it.

The fact was, however, that Willowood wasn’t fearless. Being in this place on this darkly formed ship made her very afraid. Think we can silence it, my love? Can we shut it down?

Yup, Piper replied. I just need to tell everything to stop.

Willowood was about to ask Piper what she meant, as the phrase “tell everything to stop” seemed overly simple. But Piper lifted her arms before Willowood could ask anything. The girl floated like a wisp, arms out, legs bent, eyes focused somewhere in the distance. Nexus energy swirled around her and played with her blonde hair. Then static charges flashed at the end of her hair and the edges of her body.

Piper. Are you—

I’m fine, Nana. But I need to focus.

Yes. Of course.

Motes of light whipped around Piper’s body like Ilarian firebugs circling the base of their nesting tree. Willowood floated back to give the girl more room. Whatever she was doing, Piper seemed to be engaging with the Nexus energy directly—as if she were not just among it, but entering it.

But, that’s not…that’s not possible, is it? Willowood asked herself. She didn’t even mean for the idea to become an active thought. But she couldn’t help it. Whatever she was seeing defied her understanding of how the unseen worked. She knew users could insert themselves into matter, but to insert themselves into the Unity? That was playing with levels of existence that no one had ever explored.

It’s possible, Piper replied after a moment.

Willowood had forgotten that she’d let her incredulity surface in her thoughts. But how?

Please, Nana. I need to—

Focus, Willowood finished for Piper. Yes, I’m sorry. Just, be careful.

The motes of light circling Piper spun faster and faster until they became rings. Then bands grew more abundant, and Piper’s body seemed to merge with the brilliant magenta-hued Nexus energy.

Piper? Willowood could hear the nervousness in her own voice. She didn’t want to make the child afraid too, but this was too much. She attempted to reach out and pull Piper back—to stop her from hurting herself.

All at once, Piper blinked out of sight.

“Piper,” Willowood shouted.

Sion stepped toward Willowood’s physical body. “What’s wrong, Commander?”

I’m okay, Piper said from somewhere unseen.

Willowood looked around. Where are you? Are you all right?

I said I’m fine. Just give me a sec.

“Commander?” Sion said again. “Are you okay?”

Willowood nodded. “I think everything’s fine. Piper’s just…well, she’s—just stand by.”

“Very well.” Sion backed away.

Piper. What did you do? Willowood asked.

I’m inside the Nexus, talking to the ship.

Willowood paused, not sure what to say at first. This was well beyond her scope of reference. And, what are you saying to the ship?

I’m just telling it to stop.

Stop what?

Stop being a ship.

Willowood’s eyes darted back and forth as she considered Piper’s approach. My child, what if telling the ship to stop being a ship means it—I don’t know—that it might collapse on us or something. Maybe just order it to keep from leaving?

There was a pause before Piper spoke again. That’s a good idea, Nana. I hadn’t thought about that.

Willowood let out a deep breath. The thought of the entire warship caving in gave Willowood a shudder. That’s what good teams are for.

Right, Piper said.

Another pause filled the swirling space of Nexus energy.

Okay, I’ve got it.

You’re…done?

Uh-huh, Piper replied. It can’t go anywhere now. Not unless I tell it too. I mean, I could turn it off forever, but then I’m not sure if the Novia Minoosh want it on their planet. Littering is bad.

Willowood chuckled. Littering is bad, you’re right. That’s very thoughtful of you. We can ask them what they want done with the ship later.

Sounds good, Nana.

Shall we be going then?

Uh-huh.

Just then, Piper tugged on Willowood’s power suit in the physical realm.

“Piper,” Willowood exclaimed as she threw a hand on her chest. “You scared me.”

“Sorry, Nana.”

Willowood glanced around. “But, how did you—and where did you—?”

“Should we get going to the city now?”

Willowood nodded. “Yes, of course. But this isn’t over. I want to know whatever that was.”

“Okay.” Piper turned and headed back the way they’d come.

“Master Willowood,” Sion said as they both watched Piper move toward the exit. “Should we, you know, have a look around?”

“As interesting as that may be, we still have a mission. There’ll be time for sightseeing later.”

“Understood.”

Lieutenant Rodger’s voice broke over comms. “Commander?”

“Yes, Lieutenant,” Willowood replied.

“We’ve got a situation out here.”

Willowood cast Sion a concerned look, and the two turned to follow Piper. “What’s going on, Rodgers?”

“It’s above my pay grade, ma’am. But we’ve found the ship’s crew, and they want to talk to someone in charge.”

16

From inside his C-RIG, Magnus diligently monitored the battle group’s progress as it continued toward the city’s center. He jumped from camera to camera, watching first-person views from any trooper equipped with a helmet cam tied into Cyril’s ad hoc network. And so far, so good.

The Sekmit/Repub/LAW Alpha Group was moving well through the city’s western half, and Rohoar’s Jujari Bravo Group poured from the mountains and headed south. Magnus had chosen the Jujari for the more mountainous terrain and steeper city elevations. He needed the ground covered fast, and there was no one better than a Jujari for that job.

Charlie Group made good time driving west from Zulu Three. Their combined Gladio/Sekmit/LAW forces were highly organized and seemed to move well together. Then again, this was little more than a road march so far.

Delta Group was the last element to enter the city. When Ezo, Sootriman, and TO-96 finished deploying all troop assets, they returned to orbit for one final pickup of Rogues and Marauders. They approached Itheliana low over the southern ocean, encountered zero resistance, and deployed their assets in the port district. Then Ezo ordered the ships to fall back and loiter in the event that air support was needed.

For as many ground forces as there were, the tech made coordinating the group a smooth process. Granted, this wasn’t combat but the glorified staging that led to contact. And yet without reliable comms and Cyril’s new R-TUMA software—real-time unit management and awareness—Magnus would have been in over his head.

Fantastical war stories had always circulated among the rank and file Marines—yarns spun from antiquity on Androchida that pitted humans against their technologically superior adversaries. Those warriors had fought with archaic weapons, and their forces were directed with runners, fires, and flags. Lecturers in the war schools insisted that the stories weren’t real—they only served to inspire the Marines and teach sound strategy. But somewhere deep inside, Magnus felt the legends were true. He couldn’t prove it, of course, and he kept his opinions to himself lest he be branded as one of the “fantasy lovers.” Those poor bastards were hazed ruthlessly. Still, the stories felt too real to be myths only. It was as if they lived in him.

Which then reminded Magnus how much he hated being so far away from the front lines, trapped in this C-RIG. Granted, it was a really cool C-RIG with lots of fun toys, but they meant little if you weren’t close enough to shoot the enemy.

Magnus’s leadership was needed for oversight, he reminded himself. In the military, if you did your job well, you didn’t do it for long. Good people always got tapped for bigger things. He knew plenty of guys who’d purposely flunked tests so they could stay with their unit. If they ever got caught, it was bad news. But the smart ones kept their heads down and did the jobs they liked with the people they could stand.

Right now, Magnus would give anything to be further downrange; the thought of charging into the city was tempting. There was nothing like having your weapon’s barrel being the furthest point forward in a conflict. And the camaraderie shared in those moments, the bonds formed, were unlike anything else in life. Even though his relationship with Flow and Cheeks had changed, they’d always have shared memories of firefights in one hellhole or another, and no amount of time or distance could take those away. But then Magnus replayed his conversation with the colonel. The thought of being tied to a dimwitted Derk Duffer—whatever the hell that was—until his balls turned blue was not something he wanted to attempt. And he wouldn’t put it past the colonel to try it on him.

As Magnus watched the live feeds of operators running deeper into the urban environment, he also reminded himself that this was a young person’s game. Like Caldwell had said, even Grandpa Magnus knew how to read the seasons. Magnus had given the Galactic Republic the best years of his life, and his body had paid the price. Even now in the Gladio Umbra, the aches were getting stronger, and the nanobots and gene therapy tanks were taking longer to finish their work. While his heart was still outside the wire, his head was telling him it was time to be done. Time to be with Awen, if they both survived. And Piper, if Willowood would allow it.

“Major,” Captain Nelson said over a private channel. The man looked slightly out of breath, but his icon still seemed to be advancing westbound with the rest of Hedgebore Company at a good clip.

“Go for Magnus.”

“I’ve got HUMIT from Lieutenant Rodgers with Echo Team back at the ship. But it’s better to let him tell you.”

“Let’s patch him through,” Magnus said. He watched glowing lines connect Rodgers’s icon into the command network tree, and then the man’s avatar illuminated. A split second later, Rodgers’s face appeared in its own window.

“Whaddya got, Lieutenant,” Magnus asked.

“Major. Willowood asked me to contact you. We’ve taken three of Soldark’s crew into custody. Ship’s captain, the head of security, and a senior sensors officer.”

Magnus’s sat up. “You in the ship?”

“Negative. Our armor set perimeter outside while the mystics and our troopers accompanied Willowood and Piper inside. They scuttled the ship successfully. But while they were in, three humans approached us from the southwest in the woods. We almost blew them to vapor.”

Rodgers swapped out his cockpit feed for one of his BATRIG’s external cameras. Willowood stood near a tree line and spoke to three humans in black Paragon uniforms. Their hands were secured behind their backs in plasma shackles, and two BATRIGS and five gladias stood sentry in the rear.

“You have actionable intel then?” Magnus asked. “How many we talking?”

Rodgers nodded and let out a sigh. “They claim to be the only surviving members of the crew. But they’re also saying they have information on Soldark in exchange for immunity. That Soldark has—is making an army. Says we’re walking into a trap.”

“What?” The hairs on the back of Magnus’s neck stood up. “I need you to be more specific, Lieutenant.”

“Just, something about the Novia Minoosh. That they’re not really dead or some splick.”

Magnus needed to talk to Willowood. He brought up her avatar and overrode her comms. “What’s going on, Willowood?”

“I’m trying to figure that out myself,” she said with an irritated tone. “But apparently, Soldark is trying to reanimate the Novia Minoosh.”

“The hell?”

“I know. But they insist that there’s—”

All at once, the sounds of shouting and blaster fire erupted over Alpha Group’s comms.

“Hold on,” Magnus said to Willowood. He brought up the unit’s audio and visual map and spotted a row of blinking asset idents at the head of the column. The first camera feed Magnus opened was of a Neo Repub Marine PFC firing down the street, but Magnus couldn’t make out what the woman was shooting at.

Magnus pulled up the comm command tree and selected General Lovell’s avatar. A new window opened in Magnus’s C-RIG. Lovell’s dark face was creased in worry lines.

“General. What’s going on?”

“Contact, Major. Enemy forces converging from the east—grid fifteen. But we’re having trouble tracking them.”

For a moment, Magnus wondered if the city’s defenses had been activated and mistook the friendlies for enemies. But as Magnus continued to watch the lead Marine’s camera feed, he noticed there was no incoming blaster fire. Magnus selected a second Marine’s ident dot and pulled up his camera for a better look. Like the first PFC, however, the view showed blaster fire disappearing down the street. No discernable targets.

“Something’s got them spooked, General,” Magnus said. He leaned closer to the video frame when a figure dropped into view. Magnus’s heart jumped. The Marine tilted his helmet up, and the camera pointed up at the face of—

“Son of a bitch,” Magnus exclaimed and jerked back in his seat.

The Marine screamed as the gaping maw of a red-eyed Jujari-like beast enveloped the camera. Several flashes from a blaster lit inside the blackness but seemed to do nothing. The screaming turned to garbled rasps, and the sound of breaking bones popped over the channel. Then the video turned to static, and the words Signal Lost blinked in red.

Magnus heard Willowood shouting his name three times, maybe more. He snapped back to attention and looked her in the face.

“What’s happening, Magnus?” she yelled.

“The Novia Minoosh are alive,” Magnus said, barely able to believe his own words. “And they don’t seem too thrilled about it.”

* * *

“Give us our freedom and weapons, and we’ll fight for you,” the man called Captain Yaeger said.

“Not a chance,” Willowood replied. She cradled her helmet under her elbow and enjoyed the momentary taste of fresh air. Soldark’s ship loomed behind her while the forest stretched out toward Itheliana. Willowood could already hear the sound of blaster fire and exploding ordnance in the distance.

“But you’re going to need our help. You’re crazy if you think you can face him alone.”

Lieutenant Rodgers took a step forward and pointed his BATRIG’s GU90M at the top of Yaeger’s head. “Might want to rethink who you’re calling crazy, Captain.”

Yaeger grimaced and leaned away from the large-caliber barrel. Like the other two captives, his hands were bound behind him in plasma shackles, and several gladias pointed weapons at him, but none as big as Rodgers’s.

“And unless you give me something, I think we’re through here,” Willowood said.

“Wait,” the woman, Porteous, said. She was the ship’s sensors officer. “He’s been calling them his secdim. Moldark, or Kane—whoever you want to call him—took over So-Elku and joined their powers.”

“Don’t say another word, Porteous,” Yaeger blurted out.

Rodgers pushed his BATRIG’s arm forward, and the Paragon infantryman winced.

“We call him Soldark,” Willowood offered.

Porteous nodded as if that was as good a name as any.

“Please, go on.”

The woman shook her head as if the whole thing didn’t make sense. “It seems the Obscura knew about the catacombs here, and somehow So-Elku’s Unity abilities could awaken the sleeping beasts. I don’t know. It’s all so—”

“Go back,” Willowood said and took a step toward the woman. “The Obscura?”

“What about them? Creepiest things I’ve ever seen in the galaxy. Well, maybe next to Moldark.”

Willowood felt her legs go weak. “You’ve…you’ve seen them?”

“Sure.”

“And they’re alive?”

“I don’t know if you’d call them alive, per se, but yeah. On some planet they call X. Not on any Repub star chart I’ve ever seen. Live in a lightless city and dress in black robes.”

Willowood didn’t know if she should laugh or cry. On one hand, this meant all those stories from her childhood were true, or at least the roots of them were. She’d always been prone to believe the legends, where the other kids had made fun of her for it. This was vindication. But to be right about a nightmare? That’s why she wanted to cry. Because of all fables, the Obscura were the last sort anyone wanted to be true. Willowood absentmindedly touched her forehead and looked away. “They’re alive.”

“You…you know them?” Porteous asked, suddenly looking as though Willowood might be dangerous.

“Of them, yes.” Willowood glanced back at Porteous. “And you saw them yourself?”

The sensor’s officer nodded. “They helped teach us how to fly the ship. Never saw their faces—they were always under hoods. Like I said, creepy as splick.”

“Shut up,” Yaeger spat.

“Can I please incapacitate him?” Rodgers asked. “I could pretend to sneeze and maybe his neck breaks.”

Willowood raised a hand to keep the Lieutenant from doing something stupid, though she wouldn’t hold it against him if he did. “And your roles in all this?” Willowood looked between Porteous, Yaeger, and the ship’s captain, Ellis.

“We’re holdovers from the Paragon,” the captain said. “We served Lord Moldark—I mean, Admiral Kane. But now he’s—mystics, the lunatic’s gone through so many names now—”

“Soldark,” Willowood said to remind him.

“Right. An Obscura ship took out the rest of our fleet that survived the battle over Capriana Prime, and then took us captive. That’s where Soldark made a deal with the devil, and then we left for Aluross.”

“What deal?”

Porteous spoke up. “Soldark agreed to let the Obscura study him.”

“Study him?” Willowood asked.

Porteous nodded, and a worried look crossed her face. “We don’t know much. We were told to stay on the ship. When Soldark got back, he gave us only vague details but said we would have more ships and an army coming.”

This was not good. “How many ships?”

The three captives exchanged looks.

Willowood didn’t have time for this. “You really want to help us stop Soldark? Then you tell us everything you know. How many ships? And are the Obscura coming?”

“If you think we’re saying another word, you’re fools,” Yaeger said and spat on the ground.

“Oh, give it a rest, Yaeger,” Porteous said. “Don’t you see what a splick show we’re in the middle of right now?” She turned to Willowood. “We don’t know how many ships or if the Obscura will be with them or not. But we do now he’s not acting alone. That’s the mystics’ honest truth.”

“Shut up, Porteous,” Yaeger yelled.

A split second later, Rodgers bumped his BATRIG’s GU90M against the man’s skull hard enough that he lost his footing and hit the ground. “Whoops.”

“More ships?” Sion asked from beside Willowood.

“Yeah.” Ellis blinked several times as he seemed to collect his thoughts. “The Obscura leader, guy named Psykon, said we’d take delivery here in metaspace.”

“But the ships will need work,” Porteous said. “Just like ours here. Life support can’t sustain biological functions long-term—at least not normal people like us. No food or water replicators, no waste management. So we convinced Soldark to let us scavenge the area for resources.”

“We’d spent several months making decent progress, and then you all showed up,” Ellis added. “We took that as our cue to get out of the city and leave Soldark for good. Just didn’t make it back in time.”

“Leave without him?” Willowood was curious about this. “Why?”

Ellis exchanged a look with Porteous then said, “We weren’t his officers, ma’am. That ended with Kane. We were more like…”

“Like slaves,” Porteous said. “After a while, when he left us alone, we started to…I don’t know”—she looked at Ellis for confirmation—“come back to our senses.”

Ellis nodded.

This confirmed what Willowood and Piper had seen among the sailors under Moldark’s command over Capriana Prime. The dark lord had some power of sentient wills. It seemed those closest to him were most affected. She pitied these people—well, at least Porteous and the captain. But there was no time for sympathy. “Lieutenant Rodgers?”

“Yes, Commander?”

“Have a small security detachment escort our prisoners back to Zulu Three. I want them detained and questioned for more intel. When that’s done, send them back to Chancellor Seaman’s care. We’ll let the Neo Republic sort them out.”

“Right away.”

Yaeger started to protest, but Rodgers jabbed him in the butt with his weapon. “Time to get up, asshole.”

Willowood turned and nodded toward Itheliana. “Everyone else, time to get messy.” Then she slid her helmet back on and ran toward the forest.

* * *

“They’re called the secdim,” Magnus said to Azelon and Caldwell, relaying the intel that Willowood had collected from the prisoners. “Each one’s a secdus—some unnatural creation that Soldark’s been able to manufacture from the Novian bodies stored under the city.”

Caldwell gave Magnus a sideways look. “You mean to tell me that maniac cobbled together the dust bunnies from a thousand-year-old crypt and made some grown-ass hound zombies?”

“Something like that.”

“If they’re Novia Minoosh, why are they attacking us?” The colonel glanced at Azelon. “I thought we were all old pals?”

“We are. But I’m afraid while the bodies are indeed Novia Minoosh, they are not behaving like anything I have on file.”

“So Soldark,” Caldwell said.

“If by stating his name you mean to imply that he has somehow managed to use So-Elku’s Nexus abilities to reanimate the Novian corpses, yes. So Soldark.”

Caldwell thrust his cigar at Magnus. “What else you got for us?”

“I’m sending you three Paragon prisoners for interrogation now, captured from Soldark’s ship. They mentioned something about Obscura coming to his aid, but no force qualifiers.”

“So they’re real,” Caldwell said. “Well splick in my soup and call me a Bornark fessel pig.”

“You are a Bornark fessel pig, sir,” Azelon said. “However, I am unable to actuate the prior wish.”

Caldwell gave her an irritated look. “Keep us in the loop, Magnus.”

“Copy that, sir.”

“And tell your commanders to be careful, son. I don’t like this.”

“Understood. Magnus out.”

Immediately following his call with the Spire, Captain Forbes pinged him, priority alpha.

“Talk to me, Forbes,” Magnus said to the captain’s video frame.

“We’re stopped short, at the moment,” Forbes replied. “Encountering heavy resistance in grid seventeen. Enemy’s coming at us dead-on and flanking from the first block’s side streets. And chameleon mode doesn’t seem to be effective. They know right where we are.”

Magnus could sense that the captain was doing his best to stay calm in what was fast developing into a chaotic situation. He zoomed into grid seventeen, which was just east of the city’s center. Sure enough, Charlie Group’s joint forces had come to a grinding halt a little more than halfway up the climb toward Itheliana’s summit.

“I’ve got eyes on you now,” Magnus said. Then he pulled up several different camera feeds from gladias on the street, all from Forbes’s Taursar Company.

The first gladia fired at a beast as it galloped toward him on all fours. The thing snarled and absorbed round after round without slowing. Magnus heard the gladia start to yell as the monster neared. The NOV3 was on full-auto and sucking energy from both mags as fast as it could. Charged particles tore into the enemy’s flesh and sent chunks of hairy meat flying into the air.

But the Novia kept coming.

When the enemy was less than eight meters from the gladia, the man’s weapon went dry. Forced to choose between reloading and withdrawing a secondary weapon, the gladia chose the latter. He dropped the NOV3 and pulled his V from his chest holster. The pistol bucked as fast as the warrior could pull the trigger.

Blaster bolts drilled the Novia’s skull and shoulders as it leaped off the street. The gladias V went dry, and he reached for his NCK duradex combat knife. Magnus saw the blade extended like he was playing some first-person shooter holo game. This was anything but a game, however. The enemy fell on the man’s blade, but the weapon did nothing to keep the Novia from gorging itself on the gladia’s chest.

Magnus pulled up the camera feed of a gladia closest to the downed man. Besides mourning the loss of his warriors, Magnus had several questions about this enemy that needed answers, and fast. The first of which, was could it be killed? Some dark suspicion that lingered from too many holo movies plagued him—that these were supernatural beings of one sort of the other. But even So-Elku’s ghostly monsters in the catacombs on Worru weren’t invincible. If it could move, it could die.

As Magnus watched the secdus tear into its victim’s body, the next gladia fired on the creature, full-auto. Two other Gladio Umbra operators joined forces and filleted most of the flesh off the creature’s bones. Within seconds, Magnus saw gaping holes in the creature’s flanks and wondered how it was still feasting on the downed man. Maybe there was a supernatural element to this, after all.

Just when he was about to give final credence to his holo movie suspicions, the secdus fell over and went limp. Nearly half of its body had been charred and shredded by weapons fire. But it was dead.

“So they can be killed,” Magnus whispered.

“But not easily,” Forbes replied.

Magnus looked up. “Forbes, I want your armor taking point. Get your ground pounders behind cover, and start overlapping overwatch.” Magnus pulled up Ezo’s comms frame beside Forbes’s and sent the smuggler grid data. “Ezo, we’re gonna need air support at these coordinates. Out forces can’t have the streets in ruins, but soften the targets as best you can.”

“Copy that, Magnus,” Ezo said, eyeing the map.

“Forbes, tell your units to watch for air support and keep their heads down when it comes. Likewise, deploy mortar crews as soon as you get a fix on where these bastards are coming from.”

“Copy.”

Azelon had given select platoons of Taursar and Hedgebore Companies what she called the RM-70 mortar platform. It hurled seventy-millimeter variable ordnance detonators from a rapid deployment canister maglocked to operator’s backs.

Magnus nodded at Forbes and Ezo. “Dominate.”

“Liberate,” both men replied.

Magnus terminated the transmission and then cloned Forbes’s orders to send similar commands to all battlegroups. Cyril’s C-RIG interface made copying and pasting data a breeze. Magnus made yet another mental note to kiss the kid when he saw him again.

As if sensing his name, Cyril opened a channel with Magnus. “Hey, hey, hey, bravo roger Major.”

“Cyril.”

“It’s like Planet of the Zombie Apocalypse down there. Holy spa-moly and foxtrot tango, right?”

Magnus didn’t know the reference, but he didn’t doubt it was wrong. “Whaddya you need, Cyril?”

“I just saw that you used my command clone prompt and wanted to see what you thought. Pretty slick, right? I got that idea when I was merging strategy profiles on Dire Fates: Final Slaughter, and got tired of having to tell every unit batch over and over and over and over again to do—”

“Cyril, I gotta focus. Is there something else I can help you with?”

Cyril tapped his lips. “No. Can’t say that there is.”

“Right now, I only need you interrupting me if you have any ideas on how to put these zombie bastards down, you copy?”

“Ooo.” Cyril rubbed his hands together. “So it’s like improvised situational problem-solving in combat against zombie dogs.”

“No,” Magnus said as he raised his eyebrows. “It is improvised situational problem-solving in combat against zombie dogs, and we have gladias going down. Hit me with ideas when you have them fully formed.”

“Okay, copy-copy, hard delta solo. Cyril, over speaking and out.”

The code slicer’s window disappeared, and Magnus went back to assessing each battlegroup’s status. While the reanimated Novia Minoosh weren’t easy to put down, at least they weren’t armed. As soon as Magnus thought it, he cursed himself for even letting the idea go through his head. “You know what, Adonis? Screw you. Cause that’s how you jinx an op, right there.”

Magnus watched another gladia’s feed as a secdus charged her position behind a building’s corner. The woman fired around the corner into the side street and put a tight grouping on the enemy’s chest. Magnus thought for sure that the concentrated fire might core the beast’s vitals. Instead, it kept closing the gap, one lunge at a time.

The woman spoke to herself, demanding she do better. “Come one, Kallis,” the woman said, which then turned into, “Die, you bastard,” as the beast came to within five meters. It wasn’t until the secdus was inside striking range that Kallis fumbled while changing out an energy mag and accidentally blew out both of the creature’s knees. The joints popped like someone had put firecrackers under the cartilage. Then the reanimated Novia Minoosh fell forward and slammed face-first into the asphalt.

But Kallis wasn’t without her own loss. The monster’s left claw reached around the building’s corner and snagged her behind the helmet. With a sudden jerk, the camera view jolted forward. The beast pulled her head toward his mouth and closed down on the camera. The first chomp seemed to remove one side of the helmet. Distortion marred the picture, but Magnus could still make out a stream of blood and broken bone fragments pouring from the image’s left side. He also heard Kallis scream, but the sound came out more like a bleat since part of her throat was most likely missing.

When the injured secdus bit toward the camera a second time, the Signal Lost alert appeared over static.

“Mystics dammit,” Magnus said as he balled his hands into fists then opened a command channel. “Net call, net call. All units, aim for the knees to slow ’em down then gut them.”

An incoming comms chime sounded; it was Willowood again.

“Go for Magnus.”

“News from Azelon. She doesn’t think the Novia Minoosh decayed at all.”

“She doesn’t,” Magnus stated as he tried to wrap his mind around the information.

“No. Says she now believes the bodies were kept in some kind of stasis.”

“This is some strange-ass splick, Willy.”

“I know,” Willowood replied, ignoring the new nickname. “This is new to Azelon as well. She doesn’t have access to the specifics.”

Magnus balked. “What do you mean she doesn’t have access? I thought she was a part of their shared consciousness—knows what each of them knows and splick.”

“She’s just an AI,” Willowood said in a motherly tone. “She’s limited to what they want to share.”

“So, all that talk before, about us not being able to know what Nos Kil was after, or what the Novia were protecting—that was actually the little bastards keeping it from her too?”

“As I understand it, yes. The entire Singularity is, it seems, a well-guarded secret.”

“Soldark knows about it.”

“It would appear so, yes.”

Magnus ground his teeth. “Meanwhile, I’ve got gladias being slaughtered by demon-possessed mutts who didn’t get enough beauty sleep. I’m so giving them a piece of my mind when this is over.”

“Azelon insists that they have their reasons,” Willowood said just as Magnus watched another gladia get cut down.

“I sure as hell hope they have a legit excuse, or I’m gonna unplug that Singularity myself.”

“Magnus,” Caldwell said as another video frame popped up.

“Go.”

“We’ve got incoming ships.”

“Obscura?”

Caldwell nodded. “Looks like more of what Sol-pants was flying. Eight more, if Azie’s count can be believed.”

“Eight?” Magnus repeated. “Damn, Colonel.”

“Damn indeed. I hope you can keep things under control down there, ’cause I might be busier than a boy with his commander stuck in a firewasp hive.”

It took half a second for Magnus to figure out what the hell Caldwell meant. So many questions, Magnus thought to himself and then shook the image from his head. “We’ve got things covered down here.”

Caldwell tipped his cigar toward Magnus. “Stay safe, and give ’em hell.”

Once the colonel’s image blinked out, Magnus sighed. “Sure as hell gonna try.” He looked back at Willowood. “Map says you’re on your way.”

“We are. And Piper seems ready for a fight. Taking the ship down seemed to give her a confidence boost.”

Willowood smiled. “Sounds like we have eight more for her to sabotage too if she gets bored.”

“First things first. We’ve gotta stop Soldark. Just watch yourself coming into the city.”

“Sure thing.”

“Felicity,” Magnus said in a softer tone.

Her eyebrows went up at the sound of her first name, but she didn’t say anything.

“Be careful. These pups are the worst things I’ve ever seen. I’m guessing they’re not what Azelon was expecting.”

Willowood lowered her brow and got a glint in her eye. “And I’m guessing the Gladio Umbra aren’t what they were expecting either.”

17

“You swear on your mother’s upsized tatas that you didn’t know?” Caldwell said from on the Spire’s bridge.

“Forgive me, Colonel, but not even TO-96’s memory drives have a reference to your context,” Azelon replied. “If, however, you are looking for me to reinforce my purported ignorance about the existence of the Novia Minoosh’s bodies in a perpetual state of homeostasis, I willfully swear on my mother’s mother’s upsized tatas that I didn’t know.”

Caldwell blew a long blast of smoke out his nostrils; it burned like hell, but he didn’t care. “You’re safe”—he pointed toward her—“for now. But I’m gonna have words with those little bastards.”

Azelon tilted her head. “But, sir. All of the Novia Minoosh know who their fathers are.”

Caldwell blinked twice.

“And they assure me that there is a good reason for keeping the information a secret. Although, personally, I see how keeping this information to themselves has already put us at greater risk and negatively affected our mission, which, should we fail, will result in both the Singularity’s and Novia Minoosh’s total destruction. Therefore, I do not understand their logic. To put it in your vernacular, I think their decision was a splick-tonne worse than when your Aunt Beatrice did something culturally inappropriate with her mammary glands, resulting in extreme embarrassment.”

Caldwell stared at the bot for a moment and then laughed. “You know, just when I think I might be mad at you, you go and make me like you even more. Now, let’s focus on those ships.”

Azelon turned and brought the eight ships into view—or at least where she suspected the ships to be. There was nothing to see yet, only faint sensor anomalies that matched Soldark’s warship. The similarities were exact enough for Azelon to issue an “extremely high degree of certainty” that these were more of the same. But the closer they got, the more data Azelon compiled.

Willowood had termed the vessels as Obscura ships, and the three captives had further classified them as Leviathans—or at least that’s what the Obscura had called them. No matter their class or name, the wreckage would look the same when Caldwell was done with them.

“The vessels appear to be spreading out, sir,” Azelon said. “Closing fast.”

“Open a fleet-wide channel for me, Smarty Pants.”

“Opened, sir.”

“Hailing all ships, hailing all ships. This is Colonel William Samuel Caldwell. I need you to listen good and hard.”

* * *

Jules sat up in her captain’s chair on board the battleship Far Horizon IV. The colonel had just hailed all vessels in the joint fleet and appeared with his cigar-toking face on the main holo display. Flow stood off her right shoulder, and Cheeks leaned against the comm officer’s console because, according to him, “The comms officer gave him that tingly feeling down in his loins.”

“I ain’t no fancy-pants Navy admiral,” Caldwell continued on the main display. “So I don’t know rules and regs on just what to say right now. But in the Corps, I’d be telling y’all to get your hemorrhoid cream out because the pucker factor on this one’s ’bout to rival hellfire on an ass prod.”

“He’s always been like this, hasn’t he,” Jules said to Flow, nodding at the colonel.

“Famously so,” Flow replied.

Caldwell kept going. “Turns out the Luma’s bastard kids showed up from the far side of the universe to make good on a promise to deliver ships to our enemy. Well, we ain’t letting that happen. Not today, not ever. While our combined forces on the ground see to Soldark, it’s our job to take out these ships. Since we don’t know exactly what we’re up against, other than they’re using advanced cloaking tech and they’re more impervious than my Aunt Harriet’s calloused areolas, I want everyone to take it nice and steady. I don’t need any heroes, but I do need actionable intel.

“Azelon’s gonna be feeding you target information as it becomes available. Be ready to move when she says and hold when she flags you. Likewise, I’m giving the order to scramble all fighters that aren’t already out and about. I’d rather say we brought too many guns to the show than not enough. And so help me mystics if some stuffy assed historian writes my memoir and says I couldn’t stay strong until the climax. That chaps my knickers just thinking about it.

“We’re gonna end these sons’a bitches, and we’re gonna end ’em hard. You see anything, learn anything, pick up anything, you let command know. I don’t care how small or insignificant you think it is. You see a leprechokey piss in a cup out in the void, I want images and coordinates.

“Remember, this one’s for all Aunt May’s undies. You put everything on the table when you get the chance because if the enemy survives, Aunt May sure as hell won’t.”

Caldwell took a long drag on his cigar and then nodded once. “That’s all I have to say about that.”

His image blinked out, and the Horizon’s bridge went quiet.

“Well,” Jules said, turning to her crew. “Let’s make sure Aunt May gets all her undies.”

* * *

Commander Mauricio Longo was the first to see the faint red glow of the Obscura’s Abeyant-class starfighters. They streaked across the void like embers from a campfire carried on a gust of wind. Out here, however, there was no wind, and all ship fires would be snuffed out within seconds; Ricio vowed to keep his Fang off that list.

“Spire, this is Red Leader,” Ricio said over Raptor Company’s private command channel. “I’m tracking a flight group departing the target area, inbound on the planet. Can you confirm?”

There was a brief pause before Azelon’s face appeared in Ricio’s HUD. “Affirmative, Red Leader. We see it too. Sensors are detecting over one hundred Unity drive core signatures on a vector for Itheliana.”

Ricio let out a whistle. With only seventy-two starfighters in his battlegroup, and maybe thirty or so quasi-fighters on the surface in Ezo’s element, that was not a great matchup number-wise. According to Azelon and the intel Caldwell gleaned from captives on the surface, these deadly Abeyant-class starfighters were powered by the Unity and shot Unity energy—whatever the hell that meant. But Ricio assured himself that the Fangs were the most lethal void platform ever designed, and the Repub Talons and Jujari Razorbacks weren’t that far behind. Okay, pretty far behind—but he permitted himself to hyperbolize when it came to psyching himself up for a dogfight.

“Spire, can you confirm that force count?” Ricio asked.

Another brief pause filled the channel.

“We can now confirm 135 Unity drive core signatures.”

“Hold up. That’s more than a hundred.”

Azelon nodded. “Yes, commander. I prefaced the earlier estimate by saying over one hundred enemy starfighters. One-hundred thirty-five as an integer that abides comfortably within that description.”

“No need to get testy with me,” Ricio replied. “Just double-checking.”

“I will update you with more data as we have it. For the time being, I have no further specifications on these fighters.”

“Copy that.” Ricio took a breath and glanced at the printed picture of his wife and son stuck to his console. Then he opened the company channel and spoke in a sing-song tenor like the classic melodramatic pilots used to do. “Raptor Company. This is your captain speaking, which means it’s time to get dirty. Please ensure your safety harnesses are fastened and your complimentary holo devices are stowed. If not, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

As Ricio spoke, he populated the Spire’s sensor data to all starfighters and auto-accepted all target assignments for every squadron. This included his own designators. Sure, he could have free-balled it as he preferred. Still, given the diversity in the battlegroup’s composition combined with all the unknown variables about the enemy, he decided to play it conservatively and go with Azelon’s recommendations.

“Targets have been populated to your CSDs,” Ricio said. “Accelerate to attack speed and prepare to engage.”

Ricio willed his Fang to accelerate and brought up the first of three targets on his combat spatial display. Fang Company banked in toward the planet and started to close the gap to the Abeyant fighters.

“Time to target, sixty seconds,” Ricio said in his sing-song voice. He was trying to keep the mood light because something told him that splick was about to get real.

If the Obscura fighters detected the enemy force closing on their tail, they didn’t show it. Instead, they continued plummeting toward Ithnor Ithelia’s thermosphere some 600 klicks above the surface.

“Keep it steady,” Ricio said, letting his voice take on a slightly more serious tone. “Thirty seconds.”

As his first target neared, Ricio zoomed in and captured a three-dimensional scan of the enemy craft—perhaps the first ever record. He pinged the near-field scan back to Azelon while bringing up the results in his own HUD for review. The gunship looked more like a front-facing pyramid than anything else. A small glossy section of one flat faces resembled something like a cockpit windshield, but he couldn’t be sure. The rest of the vessel had a black-matte finish with rounded corners. Meanwhile, the four-sided tail or “base” of the pyramid housed three red-glowing dots—the power plant, he assumed—though they produced little in terms of particle exhaust. Completely missing were things like comms arrays, weapons systems, landing gears, or life support modules.

“You seeing this, Spire?” Ricio asked.

“Affirmative, commander. Thank you for the data. Your findings confirm that the Unity powers these crafts as they lack the most common signs of conventional propulsion. Likewise, there are no—”

“Hold that thought, Azie. We’re got contact. All squadrons, all fighters, weapons hot. I repeat, weapons hot. You are clear to engage.”

Ricio’s targeting reticle flashed red and then turned solid as his Fang’s AI locked onto his first assigned enemy. Knowing that he was about to lose the element of surprise, Ricio chose his fuselage-mounted NX90 heavy cannons instead of the faster and more versatile NX45 wingtip mounted blasters. He focused on the four-sided stern and ordered his ship to fire.

Two large-caliber particle bolts leaped from beneath the Fang’s nose and streaked toward the target. A heartbeat later and low orbit space was filled with ally-fired energy bolts. The ordnance hurtled en masse toward the unsuspecting field of Abeyant fighters that spread across Ithnor Ithelia’s backdrop.

Ricio felt himself lean forward against his restraints as he tried to study the results of Fang Company’s joint barrage. His own rounds hit dead center, enveloping the Obscura fighter in a blaze of dazzling light. More than half the other fighters took similar direct hits. But as the light faded, the Abeyant continued undeterred toward the planet’s surface. Even though the Allied starfighters continued to pour on the pain, the Obscura were undeterred.

“So it seems like we’ve got a problem, Azie,” Ricio said.

“I can see that, sir,” the bot replied. “Among the enemy starfighters, I’m not reading any reductions in quantity or deviations in vector.”

“Dammit.” Ricio rolled his neck back and forth. He was glad the enemy fighters hadn’t doubled back on the squadrons, which meant he had more time to figure something out. But Ricio didn’t like that the enemy ships seemed unaffected by the first volley, or all the subsequent fire still beating into the back of their line. It was like throwing a punch at the oversized bully in school only for him to laugh at you. And Ricio hated when bullies laughed at the weak.

“Got any ideas?” Ricio asked.

“Not at the moment, commander. I will work on a solution and consult with the Novia Minoosh as well as the Gladio Umbra’s mystics for tactical solutions.”

“Got one,” someone exclaimed over comms.

Ricio spotted the channel. It belonged to one of his own, a Fang in Gold Squadron flown by Sig Lowthrum.

“What’d you do, Gold Four?” Ricio asked as his eyes told his HUD to zoom in on a sector of space. The remains of a newly exploded Abeyant fighter spread wide in a debris field.

“Kept primary and secondary cannons on full,” Lowthrum replied. “Just hammered away. They’ve got strong shields, but not—hold up.”

Ricio was about to ask Lowthrum to continue when he saw it too: five enemy starfighters peeled off the primary formation and doubled back toward Lowthrum’s position. They moved freakishly fast.

“They must have serious inertia dampeners, ’cause there’s no way a pilot’s surviving that turn,” Ricio said. “Everyone watch for—” But his brain forced him to stop speaking. The five fighters were converging on Lowthrum’s position. “Gold Four, fall back. All surrounding—”

Ricio never finished the sentence.

All five Obscura starfighters shot three-point beams of red light at Lowthrum’s Fang. The convergence created a superheated eruption that decimated the gunship. A fine cloud of molten metal blossomed in the void until the cooling particles vanished from sight.

Lowthrum’s Fang was just—gone.

As fast as they’d come, the five Obscura starfighters doubled back toward the planet and rejoined their formation.

“Gold Leader to Red Leader,” Dye Vallon said. “We’ve lost Gold Four.”

Vallon was just following procedures, but everyone had seen Gold Four go down. And, Ricio suspected, everyone had the same damn pit in their guts too.

18

Awen and Granther Company were six blocks east of the Novian temple library when secdim burst out of several holes in the ground—the first being some fifty paces ahead. The monsters threw aside large chunks of stones and asphalt as the gladias lobbed VODs to try and stymie the secdim’s progress. Within her HUD, thermal imaging defined the bodies in shades of heat that exceeded a typical humanoid’s. And yet in the Unity, Awen viewed them as dark figures that constantly sucked energy from their environment to stay alive—or half-dead, or whatever they were. Unnatural summed it up.

As Awen lowered her head and balled her hands into fists, she lamented that her first in-the-flesh encounter with a Novia Minoosh was one of violence. Then again, these were Novia in body only—Soldark had rented the real estate only to infuse it with his twisted presence. Hopefully, whoever these bodies belonged to were still safe within the Singularity. Be that as it may, Awen did not look forward to destroying these magnificent creatures. But it was a job that needed to be done. She forwarded the holes’ coordinates to Magnus and called for mortar support.

“Everyone find cover,” she yelled over comms. “Incoming artillery fire. And remember to target the legs first.”

Magnus had made sure to pass on that vital intel when Charlie Group encountered their first resistance several streets to the north. It was a little detail, but it would go a long way to saving lives.

After the first 70mm mortar rounds detonated a few blocks ahead, care of the artillery team Magnus had held back in reserve, Zoll led his fire team to the left and found cover along the south side of the street. Meanwhile, Robillard moved right to the north. Bliss kept his fire team back and chose sniper positions.

“Let ’em have it,” Awen said as she stood in the middle of the street. Blaster rounds zipped past her on both sides and met flesh and bone beyond. Energy popped knees and splintered thigh bones and ankles. Even without spotlights, Awen saw blood spray out and coat the grassy street.

The first line of secdim fell on their chests but slowed little as they pulled themselves forward in a wild frenzy. Their jaws snapped at the air, and their nails plunged into the street. Those enemies in the second row, however, leaped over the first and surged toward Granther Company. But the gladias were still firing, and more joints and bones detonated in dozens of micro-explosions.

Two rows of secdim crawled eastward, tearing through the pavement and howling as they charged. But Granther Company didn’t let up. Zoll and Robillard ordered their fire teams to redirect. Heads popped, and shoulders buckled as twenty hyena-like hounds succumbed to the withering assault. But even as the first two lines went down, more secdim filled in from behind. VODs popped one after the other, flung by hand and from the under-receiver launch tubes.

Depending on how many bodies Soldark had reanimated, this might be a long night. It was time for Awen to lend a hand. She needed to conserve her energy for the quantum tunnel generator, but being rested up was pointless if she never got there.

A dramatic energy discharge would take a lot out of her. But relying on power alone wasn’t needed—not when there was so much material around her. Instead, she’d take a page from the projectile weapons of old and let matter do the heavy lifting.

Awen let her soul stretch into the street, shoot under the secdim’s feet, and reach up the sides of the buildings. Using the speed and versatility of the Nexus, she probed for loose stones, chunks of buildings, pebbles—anything that might serve her purposes. Then, as if holding each item in the apex of a drawn bowstring, Awen released the debris.

Waves of glass shards amputated limbs and cracked bones. Chunks of buildings fell in skull-crushing blows. And still more stone fragments surged up through feet and pelvises to drill the enemy from below.

In one motion, a whole wave of secdim collapsed in a blood-soaked heap, but it had been costly. Awen felt her energy level deplete and knew she couldn’t sustain too many more such displays.

“Advance,” Awen shouted as she stepped from the Unity and charged up the road. She ran as fast as she could, hoping to gain ground against the next wave of enemies she was sure to come.

Sure enough, heads poked from the giant hole in the street ahead. Claws and arms heaved the massive bodies from the underground tombs, and then legs set them lunging toward the gladias.

Awen called for everyone to retake cover. More blaster rounds knocked out knees and disabled legs. But not all the secdim were playing by the rules this time. Awen watched as at least two dozen of the crazed beasts charged up the sides of the buildings.

“They’re heading up,” she cried. “Don’t let them get the jump on us.”

With some of Granther Company’s firepower diverted, the waves of incoming secdim on the street increased. Fewer beasts were crawling, and more were sprinting.

Silk stood to Awen’s immediate left and fired a steady stream of full-auto NOV3 fire through her extended sniper barrel. The cylinder glowed orange and then red as it spit out a constant barrage of particle bolts. However, the enemy paid the price for it, and three secdim roared in defiance as the rounds chewed through their torsos. But their howls dissolved when lung tissue sprayed from their backs and showered the aggressors just behind.

On her right, Dutch used the mini variable ordnance detonator attachment that hung off her NOV3. The attachment let out dual kuh-thunks as she lobbed two of the half-sized VODs into the fray. The resulting explosions launched at least six secdim into the air—all of which were missing limbs or sections of their bodies. If those enemies weren’t down for the count, they’d be struggling to get up.

Above, Awen noticed several building-crawling beasts making good time. The gladias did better than most would at keeping the hordes away, Awen thought. But the secdim were ruthless, fast, and seemed not to feel any pain—at least in ways that might make them second guess their frenzied charge in the Granther’s frontline.

As before, Awen stretched her presence into the surrounding buildings; only this time, she gave all her attention to the glass panes.

“Cover your heads,” Awen yelled over comms. Then she brought her arms together as if clapping her hands, and every window above the street shattered. Every secdus belly along the building was drilled with shards of glass. Their bodies shook and squealed. Within seconds, they released their grips and tumbled to the ground—several crushing their fellow assailants in the process.

“And that right there is why I never dated a Luma,” Bliss said.

“Let’s plug that hole,” Awen shouted as she tagged the tunnel in the street. “We’ve got to take the next block.”

“On it, Miss Awen,” Rix replied. As Alpha Team’s demolition operator, he carried two satchel charges that were more than enough to cause a sizable cave-in. The fact that Abimbola trained him added to the sense of raw destructive power the former Marauder could dispense.

Rix charged forward and de-magged a satchel charge from his back. His boots squished through the first wave of secdim corpses, stepping in pulpy cavities and splashing through pools of blood. When he was within seven meters of the hole, he flung the charge and watched it soar through the air.

“Dominate, baby,” Rix yelled. Content that the trajectory was solid, he dashed right and dove inside a building along the north side.

“Cover,” Zoll yelled over comms, and everyone took a knee.

A beat later, Awen felt the street ripple under her feet. The explosion’s shockwave hit her power suit like a battering ram, but she managed to remain upright. Likewise, her helmet’s audio sensors clamped down and muted the sonic energy that would have blown out her eardrums had they not been protected.

Whatever secdim survived stumbled around the street. Their sensitive canine-like ears had captured and focused the sound wave, destroying their equilibrium and making them worthless in battle.

“That’s our cue,” Awen said. Then, taking a page from Magnus’s book, she yelled, “Move, move, move!”

Never in a million years would she have pictured herself leading an elite group of lethal operatives across an urban battlefield to fight a reanimated alien species. It seemed just a short while ago that she was sitting through lectures on galactic peace procedures and the adverse effects of interstellar wars. And yet, here she was, charging into combat in order to keep the universe safe. She hardly recognized herself anymore.

But she liked who she saw.

This Awen still wanted peace but was willing to risk her life to achieve it in ways the old Awen wouldn’t have. This Awen also found that her approach wasn’t the only way and that other people had permission to be right. Contrary to what she thought growing up, this wasn’t a weakness. She felt more confident in who she was now than ever before. And it was this Awen that would make it to the temple library and activate the QTG.

The gladias followed her down the road through the field of corpses. They skirted Rix’s crater and dashed for the next block. But when the team raced through the intersection, more secdim blew a new hole in the ground some thirty-five meters ahead.

“Wherever Soldark’s getting these bastards from, he sure seems to have a lot of ’em,” Zoll yelled.

“Too many,” Awen said, and then opened a line to Magnus. “Any chance we can get some close air support?”

“Sending some gunships your way,” Magnus replied. “Your IFF markers are lit, but keep your heads down.”

“We will. Thanks.”

Seconds after Awen ordered everyone to stay low, she heard the sound of thrusters burning in from the east.

“Granther Company actual, this is Gorbath the Moretaur of Implidia in the Rage of Ramanoth.”

“We see you, Gorbath.” This was no time for laughing, but she couldn’t help chuckle at least a little. “Approach looks good.”

“Copy that. And we see you. Say, is this Awen dau Lothlinium the Brave?”

Awen cast Zoll a curious look and mouthed the words, “The Brave?”

Zoll shrugged. “Go with it.”

“Affirmative, Gorbath the Raging Implidia something.” She tried.

“Ezo promised me I would have the chance to fight alongside you. I see now he was not wrong, which makes me want to kill him less. It’s an honor, your greatness.”

Awen smiled. “Mutual, Gorbath. Thanks for the air support.”

“Inbound in three, two, one. Birdies away.”

He’d barely finished speaking when a dozen missiles streaked in from behind and then detonated in a trail of fire to the west. The gladias cheered as fountains of fire erupted from the streets and secdim carcasses flipped through the air. A beat later and Gorbath’s air wing of three gunships roared overhead, so low that the ground shook.

“Happy hunting, Granther Company,” Gorbath said. “Let us know if you need us again, Awen the Brave.”

She chuckled. “Copy that, GTF.”

There was a pause over comms. Then, to what sounded like his co-pilot, Gorbath said, “Did you hear that? She just gave me my own acronym. I’m having it tattooed on my—”

“Fly safe. Awen out.” Then she closed the channel before she could hear the rest.

The Granthers moved down the street until they encountered new secdim moving from within the smoke.

“Here they come again,” Zoll said. The fire team leader had his NOV3 in high ready position and started taking out legs as soon as each secdus materialized. Zoll had always been a crack shot and was calm under pressure.

Granther Company took cover on each side of the intersection and poured fire down the street. As before, about half the possessed Novia Minoosh scaled the buildings. Snipers Silk, Dutch, and Reimer aimed from paws and claws, hoping to dislodge the spider-like enemies. At least one displaced assailant landed a meter from Awen’s feet.

“Sorry,” Reimer said with a wave.

“Don’t apologize for killing them,” Awen replied. “Just apologize if you miss.”

“La-raah,” Bliss yelled as he pumped rounds into a secdus that was getting close to the gladias’ front line. Three more were right on its tail.

Awen raised her hands to defend the line when Wish stepped in front.

“I’ve got this,” Wish said.

“We’ve got this,” Finderminth added. “You stay rested, commander.”

Awen dipped her head and back-stepped—she wouldn’t argue the point and was grateful for the assist.

Wish and Finderminth stood side by side with knees bent and bodies leaning forward. There was a moment where the secdim flew at the mystics, undaunted. But Awen suspected it was part of their ploy.

The enemy seemed to sense the supposed weakness in the line and refocused their efforts to charge the two unarmed humans. At least a dozen enemies leaped at the chance to devour their defenseless prey, which is when Wish and Finderminth projected an orb of yellow energy that engulfed the attackers in light.

The targets burst into flames, and hair blew off their bodies in plumes of ash. Where any other enemy would have howled and staggered against the pain, the secdim continued charging. But as flesh and muscle fell to the asphalt in great chunks, their movements broke down and grew disjointed. Within moments, the corpses fell into burning heaps that cast flickering shadows across the buildings.

“We’ve got to keep moving,” Awen shouted. With almost five blocks left to go, they needed to make better time.

“What about heading inside?” Silk asked as NOV3 fire continued to flood the street beyond.

Awen liked the idea, but where her Unity powers would let her navigate without a map, the rest of the company would be in the dark. Following her would make for some slow-going, and they didn’t have time to spare.

“Azelon,” Awen said on her channel to the Spire. “You ready?”

“Roger, bravo-tango, Awen. But, uh, ha ha, this is Cyril. Azelon’s a bit busy at the moment—incoming Obscura fleet and all. Can I, you know, help you with something instead?”

“Do you have a schematic of either building next to us?”

“Hmmm, let me check that out for you, STAT and stuff.”

Awen heard the sound of Cyril’s fingers tapping a smooth console. He breathed heavily too, verging on wakeful snoring. Then the code slicer started singing to himself.

“She told me no, but I kept coming on. All night long, we could do no wrong.”

“Cyril?”

“Uh-huh?”

“What are you singing?”

“Singing? Oh, ha ha. Right, sorry. It’s, ummm, it’s deep core.”

“You…you listen to that stuff?”

“Sure, ha! Why not? I like the beat.”

“Mmm. Kay. How you coming on that search?”

Cyril tapped some more. “Okay, right, right, right. Yeah. Building on your left, south side. Full schematic’s coming in now.”

A data file dropped into Awen’s HUD and then opened. It was a full three-dimensional schematic of the entire block. She forwarded it to the rest of the company. “Thank you, Cyril.”

“Ha ha, no problemo, Miss Awen lady commander, ma’am. Please to aim, aim to please, yup.”

“Right.” Awen closed the channel and pointed toward the building to the left. “Inside. Then we’re looking for the fastest route westbound. Dominate.”

“Liberate,” the unit replied as one.

* * *

Once inside, Awen stepped over a stain on the white marble-like floors. The blotch looked recent, but to her knowledge, neither gladia nor secdus had been in here. She switched to visual and shined her helmet light on the ground.

“Everything okay, commander?” Zoll asked.

Awen nodded and switched off her light. “Fine. Let’s keep moving.”

“Right away.” Zoll took off for the nearest doorway while Awen hovered over the blood a moment longer.

“You good?” Wish asked next as she pulled up beside Awen.

It was time to get moving. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

Granther Company tracked through several old hallways whose surfaces seemed unusually clean, given their extreme age. Either the Novia Minoosh had used self-cleaning materials to construct their interiors, or the building had a host of cleaning bots. That thought put Awen on a new track.

“Cyril,” she said as she raced down the next corridor.

“Go, copy, alpha. Still here, still near.”

“Can you ask Azelon if she can get the Novia Minoosh, the ones in the Singularity, I mean, to reactivate the city defenses in our sector?”

Cyril let out a long whistle. “Golly, ’cause wouldn’t that be totally insane? I’d be like playing Outer Limits: Wrath of Keel but instead of a gunship, you’d be firing—”

“I hate to cut you off again, but I need you to focus.”

“Sure, sure, sure. No worries. Lemme see if she’s available.”

A long silence passed over comms where Awen heard the sounds of footfalls and heavy breathing as the Granthers moved through the labyrinthian network of corridors. She was about to make sure Cyril hadn’t zoned out on another task when Azelon’s voice broke over comms.

“I’m sorry to keep you waiting, miss. Cyril has informed me of your idea, but I regret to inform you that I still have no communication with the Novia Minoosh. Likewise, they appear to be disconnected from their city-wide defenses.”

“I understand,” Awen replied. “Thanks anyway, and please keep trying.”

“I will.”

The lack of connection also negated her second idea, one that might turn the tide of battle. But she wondered if the Novia Minoosh were up for it, assuming it was even possible. However, the idea would have to wait as the Granthers had a temple library to get to.

“Hold,” Zoll said from the front of the line. “Tracking movement.”

The unit stopped at a threshold that led into a large atrium with a 360º second-story balcony and a windowplex ceiling.

“Bravo Team, cover left. Charlie Team, right,” Zoll said. “Alpha, on me, center fill. Go.”

The three fire teams fanned out and took defensive positions behind columns and stone furniture built into the sides of overgrown planters.

“Contact. Second level, west end,” Bliss said.

“Let’s light ’em up,” Zoll replied.

The atrium erupted in a spectacular light show that reminded Awen of Elonian Founders Day. High-frequency particle bolts dashed over railings and around columns as the gladias tracked the fast-moving enemy. But more rounds found their marks than not and set the beasts’ coats on fire.

At least two secdim tumbled over half-wall partitions and flipped through the air. They crashed to the marble floor, their bodies aflame and filling the hall with black smoke. Several more assailants slumped in the upper level, never to stand again. But the majority the secdim leaped over the railing and raced toward the Granthers.

“Look out,” Wish yelled as one secdus dropped from the balcony directly overhead and landed in front of Awen. Before Awen even had time to react, Wish punched the beast with the Unity-charged flat of her hand and sent the creature hurtling across the room—arms and legs trailing.

“Thanks,” Awen replied, and then she stepped behind Zoll for cover.

“First floor, far side,” Robillard yelled over comms. He redirected fire to the ground-level doors opposite the Granthers. One secdus after another poured from the doors, and there wasn’t enough time for Robillard’s NOV3 alone to cause enough damage. Fortunately, more gladias trained their sights on the rapid infill point and started dropping enemies. But this meant less fire on the balcony, which was still filling with secdim.

To make matters worse, the enemy utilized a third point of entry: the ceiling. At least two dozen enemies crashed through the skylight. Awen heard bones snap as the bodies hit the ground. Several secdim never gained their feet and were forced to crawl toward the gladias. Others fell on top of secdim entering from the first-level doors, crushing heads and collapsing spines. In all, the jumbled mess of bodies was like something out of a poorly directed horror holo. But the enemy was very real, and they kept coming.

“Should we go back?” Awen asked Zoll, unsure what the best tactical decision was in a situation like this. But before Zoll could answer, a Jujari voice yelled from the rear of the line.

“Much contact back here,” Grahban said. “I shall smite them one at a time.” Sure enough, secdim raced down the hallway single-file. Grahban aimed his NOV3 and drilled the chest of the first assailant.

Awen looked back into the atrium just as Reimer, Silk, and Dutch came out from cover. The three of them pointed their weapons to cover a wide field of fire. At the same time, from inside her HUD, Awen noticed the three snipers’ status icons display a change in firing mode: wide-displacement, the newly installed feature that was a callback to Magnus’s MAR30.

“Fire,” Silk said. As one, all three snipers let loose a multi mag-draining burst that swept through the ground floor like a saw blade. The beam cut every standing secdim in half. Those crouched or partially bound to the floor lost heads and shoulders, while those in midair who leaped down from the upper level lost legs and feet.

“Splick, yeah,” Dutch yelled while replenishing her weapon.

“Move now,” Zoll exclaimed.

Awen followed the team lead as he crossed the atrium floor. She appreciated how well-trained veterans knew to look for and exploit critical opportunities that less experienced operators might miss. Their motto always seemed to be “drive hard and press in,” and Awen understood why. Sit still too long, and you were an easy target to pick off. But a team on the move was a team that could kill. And right now, that’s all that mattered.

Awen stepped over, around, and sometimes straight through bodies that piled up on the floor. Her boots slipped atop bodily fluids, and she was grateful for her helmet to filter out what must have been a horrible odor.

More secdim filled the balcony. The gladias pointed their NOV3s up as the Granther column double-timed it across the atrium. Blaster fire gouged holes in targets while sparks showered down on Awen’s head. In front of them, the corridor seemed clear. But behind, the room was filling with more reinforcements than Grahban could handle. He fought hard to keep them from following the Granthers’ progress, swinging the butt of his weapon like a club while simultaneously reloading. Then he’d empty a magazine only to do it again. And still, the gladias filed into the exit corridor.

Other members of Bravo and Charlie Teams tried to help him, but the angle of attack was narrowing, and the shrinking field of fire would put Grahban at risk. Awen could send out a Unity blast, as long as she was on the other side of the Jujari. But when she moved into the hallway to follow Zoll, that became impossible. Awen could still call up the glass lying on the floor, but the gladias were hurrying her along too quickly to give her time to focus.

Zoll must have seen the Jujari’s exposed and overrun position on the environment map because the team lead called for Grahban to stay tighter with the team. But the Jujari ignored, choosing instead to empty his mini-VOD attachment on the enemy. Six evenly spaced kuh-thunks reverberated in the hall as the ordnance blew out columns, toppled floors, and carved chunks from the walls. Awen looked back, but dust and blood spray filled the atrium, making it impossible to see except with thermal mode. Even there, however, the white-hot flashes washed out any definition. It was only in the Unity that Awen could see Grahban fly backward and collide with Reimer and Finderminth. The trio fell to the ground in a heap as debris filled the end of the corridor and blocked off the atrium.

“Is everyone okay?” Awen asked.

“You’re on top of me,” Reimer said to Finderminth.

“I’m fine,” Finderminth replied.

A third voice, that of Grahban’s, coughed as he spoke. “I suppose…I am less than fine.”

With Zoll and Alpha Team covering ahead, Awen pushed her way back toward the Jujari. Reimer and Finderminth stepped aside, and she found Grahban on his back with his legs half-buried in rebar and blastcrete. Blood pooled under his lower back.

“Grahban. You’re hurt,” Awen said as she knelt beside him.

“I did not need a mystic to”—he coughed—“to inform me…of this. It is apparent.”

Awen smiled, but she knew the warrior was dying.

“We’ve gotta move,” Zoll said from up ahead. “More company filling the block.”

“It is okay, Warrior Elonian Lady,” Grahban said. His breathing was becoming more labored. “It is my time to join my ancestors among the stars. And it has been a life-honor to fight among the gladias. I will see you at the eternal hearth-fire.”

Grahban withdrew a set of paw spikes from his chest plate, the kind used in ceremonial battle, and slipped the killing tool over his paw. Awen bowed her head in understanding.

“Rithrock mar-krow vrol crawlick,” she said in Jujari. May your soul fly free to the ancestors.

“Ire polegar morritha,” Grahban said in the customary reply. And join them at the hearth-fire.

“Awen,” Zoll yelled again. “Gotta move.”

Awen turned away from Grahban and tried to outrun the Jujari’s death. But the sound of a spring-loaded blade piercing Grahban’s skull caught up to her.

Five more blocks, she said to herself in an attempt to fend off the emotions rising in her chest. Don’t let his death be in vain, Awen. Keep going. Then Awen stepped out into the street as the sky filled with fire and the ground around her quaked.

19

As with all mwadims, Rohoar refused to stay in the back of his pack while the Jujari charged into the city. His legs were limber and spirits high as Bravo Group raced down the foothills and funneled into Itheliana’s streets. Just like the first time he’d come here, knowing that his great ancestors built the city stirred feelings of wonder in his chest. He wished he could have met them in their prime before they chose to merge with their Singularity.

But as Magnus gave a SITREP over the joint battlegroup comms, Rohoar felt his chest want to explode. He didn’t know how the Novia Minoosh had been revived, albeit in an abominable state, but the news made him simultaneously happy and horrified. Neither Azelon nor the Novia Minoosh had ever explained the possibility of such an event—had ever alluded to their bodies being anything but dust within ancient crypts. Then again, Soldark could do a lot as the combined presences of So-Elku and Modark.

As Rohoar sprinted through the city’s northern heights, he felt alternating waves of dread and eager expectation flood him. He supposed this was what the humans felt like all the time, and he wondered how they lived with themselves. All these feelings were so unnecessarily distracting.

But he didn’t need to sustain the emotions for long.

By the time Rohoar made it ten blocks into Itheliana, Soldark’s secdim burst from the street like a violent lava flow. These bodies belonged to his ancestors, but their souls were absent. Like the holo projection that Azelon had shown him long ago, the Novia Minoosh were a taller, leaner Jujari. Their fur was lighter like the Tawnhacks, and their eyes were red like the Selskrit. But these creatures’ maniacal bearing made them far more intimidating than the accounts described. Because these are not Novia Minoosh, Rohoar reminded himself. These were abominations derived from an unholy union of sacred remains and malevolent intent.

For the briefest moment, Rohoar could sense a surge of unease flood the Jujari’s pack connection. As the front line, now over a kilometer wide, met the enemy face to face, Rohaor felt the astonishment of his Jujari seeing the Novia Minoosh for the first time. Under different circumstances, this would be a cherished occasion—the reuniting of the original Gladio Umbra with the main tribe.

Instead, it was war.

It was bloodshed.

Unlike the other Jujari members of Magnus’s Gladio Umbra, Rohoar chose to maglock his NOV3 to his back and charged into battle with claws and keeltari longsword strapped to his hip. He still wore the Mark I armor, just as he had encouraged all his Jujari warriors to clothe themselves in traditional plate armor. But if he were going to slay his ancestors, he would do it with his own paws and the sacred blade of his pack.

Rohoar closed the distance to the first secdus that sprang from the street. Likewise, the demon-possessed figure charged at Rohoar, lunging on all fours. As if spurred by the same wind, both beasts leaped into the air and flew toward each other. Suspended in a single moment of potential energy, the cousin aggressors struck terrible poses of violence and aggression. Mouths agape, teeth bared, claws open, bodies flexed.

Then the giants collided.

Rohoar rolled his head and shoulders to one side and closed his gaping maw around the secdus’s neck. His teeth sank into ancient flesh, and the pungent taste of salt and overripe meat overpowered his tongue. Then both bodies crashed together with a heavy thump and clatter of armor against bone. The two foes grappled with one another as they landed on the pavement.

The secdus hissed and howled at Rohoar, all the while trying to penetrate the gladia’s armor with flailing claws. But Azelon’s craftsmanship was too much for the wild beast, and the nails left little more than scratches on Rohoar’s chestplate.

With his jaws locked around his enemy’s neck, Rohoar squeezed until he felt arteries pop and hot blood fill his mouth. Rather than give the enemy any quarter, Rohoar chomped down even harder, cutting more veins, and even puncturing a nerve bundle. The enemy spasmed—arms and legs twitching. Then, with a final jerk, Rohoar twisted the secdus’s neck and ended its life.

The mwadim looked up in time to see his next opponent charging down the road. This one was broader than the last and seemed to move with more intentionality. Rohoar wasn’t sure that the secdim could have personalities, but the differences between the two assailants were noticeable. Perhaps some of their former selves remained—trapped inside their bodies. He wasn’t sure how Soldark’s machinations worked, but Rohoar knew he despised everything about it.

The secdus feigned as if it would leap into the air, but then it hugged the ground at the last second. Rohoar fell for the ploy and jumped. But as he sailed over the enemy, the secdus raked his claws along the mwadim’s belly. Once again, however, Rohoar’s armor saved him from injury—disembowelment this time.

The mwadim rolled to a halt facing back toward his assailant and then lunged. He slashed the secdus’s throat and sent a spray of blood shimmering through the starlight. The beast gasped and clutched its neck. Then Rohoar drove a fist through the secdus’s gut, grabbed its spinal cord, and kicked against its chest. The enemy hit the asphalt with Rohoar left holding several broken vertebrae.

A third attacker pounced on Rohoar’s back. A nearby Jujari made to assist the mwadim, but Rohoar waved the man off. He would hold his own until he was found not worthy of doing so, in which case he would surrender his title of mwadim to death or to the rescuer who showed more strength than he.

With a mighty jerk, Rohoar leaped off the ground—enemy still on his back—and then rolled over. When the two came down, the mwadim crushed the secdus into the pavement to the sound of breaking ribs. The assailant howled—arms and legs thrashing. But Rohoar twisted around, extended his nailed fore-nubs, and plunged them into the enemy’s eye sockets. Ocular fluid sprayed out as the balls let out a soft pop. And as Rohoar extended his claws even further, penetrating the assailant’s brain, he felt the figure’s limbs go limp.

Rohoar spun around to face yet another aggressor. This one cast the first three corpses a glance and then seemed to size up the mwadim. It tilted its head, not in a display of deference to a person of honor, but in a show of hubris to a curious victim.

“Come,” Rohoar said with a growl. “Let me sift the chaff of your life. Let me be the threshing scythe that—”

The secdus charged Rohoar. Apparently it did not speak galactic common. But it did speak violence, and that was a language Rohoar knew fluently.

The demon-beast swiped at the mwadim’s face twice, but Rohoar leaned out of the way. He blocked a third and fourth strike aimed at his chest, and a fifth blow he caught between his paws. Then Rohoar flung the secdus’s arm up, which created an opening for him to strike. Just as he was about to drive his paw into the target, two more secdim charged from his flanks. But the enemies were confronted by Rohoar’s blood wolf and a lieutenant.

By the time Rohoar made to strike his foe, the assailant had stepped back and came in low. The double-fisted blow caught the mwadim under the ribs and sent him sliding back on his feet. But he did not go down. Instead, he returned the act and brought both fists down on the back of the secdus’s head, snapping the base of the skull from the spine. There was a loud pop, and the creature flopped to the pavement and lay still.

Rohoar was about to lean down and bite into his victim’s neck, severing the beast’s arteries, when the secdus reached up and reconnected its head to his spine. The motion caught Rohoar by surprise—he’d never seen such a thing. Then the assailant raised its snout toward the mwadim and bared its fangs.

With the trained hands of a practiced master, Rohoar unsheathed his keeltari, swung the blade over his shoulder, and drew it through the secdus’s neck in a fluid motion. The enemy’s head toppled to the asphalt with the sound of a hardened tumponut and sprayed blood across Rohoar’s muzzle. Again, he winced at the pungent taste of overripe flesh.

Rohoar wiped his sword, took a deep breath, and listened to the sounds of battle. A thousand claw strikes produced a thousand snarls. Along the front line, maws snapped, and bones shattered, filling the city with the cries of the dying and the exultations of the victors.

The mwadim raised his head and howled into the night air. It was a shout of defiance, of rage, and of sorrow. Even as the blood of his fallen ancestors flew from his mouth, Rohoar could sense the conflict that clawed at his soul. He did not want to slay his ancestors. Truly, he didn’t. And yet he must. If there was any hope of saving the cosmos, and of saving what might remain of his people, of protecting those he loved, he had to do this.

In answer to their leader, the entire host of 25,000 Jujari raised their voices as one and let out an ear-splitting cry that Rohoar was sure shook the stars.

* * *

“You okay, buddy?” Magnus asked the mwadim over comms. The Jujari’s ident tag had stopped momentarily. “Just wanted to check in.”

“Rohoar is pausing to be the acknowledgment of first blood spilled of his ancestors.”

Magnus smiled at the clumsy way the Jujari spoke. He found it quite endearing. “But you’re not hurt or anything, right?”

Rohoar let out some sort of disgusted cough. “If Rohoar is hurt this early in the contest, Rohoar does not belong on the battlefield of honor, scrumruk graulap.”

“Here we go again.”

“If you want to come to join Rohoar, he will show you how real fighting is accomplished that brings glory to his tribe.”

Magnus smiled even wider. “Trust me, pal. I would love nothing more than to be there with you right now. But I’m holding things down over here.”

“Yes, in the comfort of your giant robot in which you are impregnated like a tiny baby in its mother’s womb.”

The sounds of fist blows and nails screeching across armor plates filled the comm.

“I’m gonna let you get back to work there,” Magnus said.

“Rohoar never stopped working. Does Magnus?”

“You’re just asking for it now.”

“Rohoar asked nothing. He only invites Magnus to glory.”

Magnus laughed. “I’ll be sure to meet you there soon. And tell your units to watch out for friendly air support. Inbound in five.”

“Good copy, scrumruk graulap.”

“Magnus out.”

The major closed out the channel and continued surveying the other elements’ progress. The Sekmit/Repub/LAW Alpha Group proceeded eastward at a steady pace. But they’d been the first to register casualties, and their numbers continued to climb. Charlie Group’s Gladio/Sekmit/LAW contingent had made the most progress but had also run into the heaviest resistance. Apparently, the secdim did not like how close they were getting to the city’s center. Likewise, Awen and Granther Company were less than five blocks from their objective but seemed stonewalled at the moment. And to the south, Abimbola’s Dregs and Ezo’s Rogues were pushing northward through dense pockets of secdim.

“Heads up, Adonis.” Caldwell’s face popped up in Magnus’s HUD. “Hate to throw something else your way, but you’ve got enemy starfighters inbound.”

“Obscura?”

“You guessed it. Soldark’s backup came ready to fight.”

“How many?”

“One hundred thirty-five,” Caldwell said with a flick of his cigar. “But don’t pucker your petunia too tightly ’cause Raptor Company’s in pursuit. Just giving you a heads up that the sky might be a little more lively than you were expecting.”

“What’s a romantic evening without fireworks?”

“Son, I make my own fireworks.”

Magnus chuckled. “Copy that.”

Just then, a voice broke over comms. “Major, this is Nishti.”

“Go ahead,” Magnus said.

Caldwell could see the queen’s face pop up too.

“The secdim are emerging behind our lines,” Nishti said. “I’m getting live feeds from infantry in the rear, taking heavy losses.”

“Where’d they come from?” Magnus asked.

“From the ground, Major. Same as in the city.”

Magnus looked to Caldwell. “They must have tunnels.”

“No,” said a new voice. Azelon stepped into frame beside the Colonel. “I’m afraid it’s not tunnels at all. It’s the catacombs.”

“You mean the crypts?”

“The same. I have reason to believe that the Novia Minoosh entombed their bodies in an extensive stasis architecture beneath the entire metroplex that, as it appears, also extends beyond the city limits.”

“And you gathered this information how?” Magnus asked.

“By using the sensors on every available infantry unit to create a multispectrum node network.”

“A glorified sensor array,” Caldwell said.

“Indeed, sir. It’s far from accurate, but it’s at least giving me a vague picture.”

“Azie.” Magnus closed his eyes as he braced himself for what the bot might say next. “Just how many Novian bodies do you think might be down there?”

“An excellent question, sir. The combined sum of consciousnesses within the Singularity equates to 832,674,901 Novian lives, which, as you can assume, corresponds to an equal number of bodies in stasis.”

“You’re saying Soldark could have access to that many secdim?”

“Hypothetically speaking, yes.”

Caldwell pulled the cigar from his mouth. “Son - of - a - bitch.”

“The good news, sirs, is that Soldark doesn’t seem to have those numbers at his disposal yet.”

Magnus could do the math too. “’Cause we’re not dead yet.”

“Precisely, sir. Resistance of that magnitude would utterly annihilate your—”

“Yeah, yeah.” Magnus waved her off. “We got it.”

“You’ve gotta find that bastard, Magnus,” Caldwell said. “Find him and put him down.”

“Copy that, Colonel.”

20

As commander of the largest contingent of infantry among Alpha Group’s components, Queen Nishti had the choice of where to direct the smaller Neo Republic and LAW elements. While forced to work with General Rink-Ba, she much preferred integration with General Lovell and Captain Wainwright of the Neo Republic. The LAW running a covert mission to take over her people’s trinium mining operation definitely put a damper on any desire to be amiable. Still, given that this was an end-of-the galaxy type scenario, Nishti managed to swallow her disdain and at least be civil. No, civil was stretching it. She managed not to slit the repugnant man’s throat. At least not yet.

She and the other three commanders stood in an enclave of MB63 portable shield walls surrounded by two platoons of sentries. Rather than choose a fixed command location far from the front lines, Nishti had insisted, as was Sekmit custom, to position herself and the other leaders in the dead-center of their forces. They protested at first, but she had a way of getting what she wanted. Plus, now that the enemy had assaulted Alpha Group’s rear, Nishti’s decision had proven to be advantageous. A western HQ would have been quickly overrun given the circumstances.

“General Lovell,” Nishti said. “I want our combined forces pushing into the city’s center to meet the Gladio Umbra’s advance. Captain Wainwright, since you know Magnus so well, I believe your units will complement his efforts. Some things are better caught than taught.”

“OTF,” Wainwright replied then raised a hand as if to apologize.

“Own the field,” she said before the man could speak again. “I am not unfamiliar with the Marine Corps’ ways, Captain.”

Wainwright gave her a pleased look. “Copy that.”

Nishti turned to face the LAW general. “Rink-Ba, I want your forces defending the rear.”

“Begging your pardon, your highness, but I’m not sure that’s the wisest tactical move.”

Nishti pulled her head back. “Explain.”

Even Lovell and Wainwright squared their shoulders against the man.

If Rink-Ba was fussed, he didn’t show it. “Initial contact with the enemy has proven that conventional weaponry is not the most expedient. Therefore, I suggest that Unity assaults will hasten your advance to the target area. Combined LAW and Sekmit forces will produce the most effective results.”

“He’s got a point, your highness,” Lovell said, looking as if the words pained him to say. “Our Marines can hold them off. But if you need to advance against these monsters, the Li-Dain are gonna be your best bet. Professional opinion only. We’re here to work with you, not against you.”

Nishti was quite sure Rink-Ba would have said the very opposite. She was sure she could prove it too, were the man not hiding his thoughts from her. That alone gave the queen cause for concern. She didn’t trust him.

That said, the mission came first, so if Rink-Ba’s call was the right one, she’d abide by it. Her Sekmit, of course, were powerful Unity users. But with the sheer volume of enemies that her forward observers were reporting, Alpha Group would need all the help they could get.

“Very well.” Nishti straightened her back but refused to lift her chin toward Rink-Ba—a grave Sekmitian rebuke. “General Rink-Ba, you’re with me. General Lovell and Captain Wainright, you have my rear division to accompany your westward assault.”

“Thank you, your highness,” Lovell said.

“And, Captain?” She looked at Wainright. “OTF.”

“OTF all the way.”

* * *

Nishti and Rink-Ba pushed east as the sound of aircraft grew in the distance.

“Friendly air support inbound in thirty seconds,” Magnus said over comms. “Tell your units to keep their heads down.”

“Understood, Major,” Nishti replied. She relayed the information to her commanders, as did Rink-Ba, and then pressed on.

The sentry detail moved the MB63 portable shield walls as the queen and the LAW general hustled over fallen secdim bodies and skirted some of the caved-in tunnel openings in the street. Smoke billowed from charred bodies—both secdim and allied—and the sounds of weapons fire from the front line echoed off the buildings.

As Ezo’s airborne battlegroup drew closer, Nishti couldn’t help shake the sense of an imminent threat forming around her. At first, she looked to Rink-Ba, remembering that Caldwell and Magnus had said to keep an eye on him. As much as she distrusted the man, however, the source of her anxiety didn’t seem to come from him. Instead, it came from somewhere in the ground. But that the enemy was underfoot was not new information, and so she wrote off the warnings.

“We have visual on air support,” Wobix said from the front.

“Good. Stay covered,” Nishti replied.

Wobix nodded and then closed the channel.

Meanwhile, Nishti brought up several camera feeds from her forces at the front. Sekmit took cover behind columns and upturned pieces of pavement, as did the Li-Dain, though the Luma seemed to be further back. If she didn’t know better, Nishti would have guessed that Rink-Ba was letting the Sekmit take the brunt of things.

Six of Ezo’s rogue ships appeared over buildings to the south and descended in a northerly direction. The ragtag group of fighters and freighters banked hard right and dropped between the buildings.

“We see you, Alpha Group,” Sootriman’s voice said over comms.

“Danger close,” Nishti replied, reminding Sootriman of her units’ proximity to the enemy.

“Copy. Birdies away.”

A beat later, the ships fired eastward. Massive explosions erupted in the distance and painted the buildings bright orange. Even the ground shook beneath Nishti’s feet. Then she heard Sekmit battle cries fill the comms as her forces exulted in the aerial bombardment.

“Report,” Nishti said to Wobix. His body camera filled the lower half of her HUD.

“Direct hit,” he said. “Right in the middle of the next emergent zone.”

Nishti nodded with satisfaction then pulled up Sootriman’s channel. “Thank you, Delta Air Wing. Nice work.”

“Our pleasure,” Sootriman replied. “We’ll come around for another pass. Stand by.”

“Understood.”

Suddenly, Nishti’s sense of a possible assault exploded into the certainty of an imminent attack. It was coming from underneath her feet. She withdrew her Thørzin power bow and looked at Rink-Ba. Strangely, the general cast her only a casual glance. Did he not feel it too? Or was he—

Rink-Ba leaped clear of the protective shield-wall enclave just as the pavement rose under Nishti’s feet. She rode skyward on crumbling debris, forced higher by secdim exploding from under the street. The shield walls fell away, as did the sentries, and within seconds, Nishti was standing alone atop an expanding bubble of rubble and bodies.

The queen decided to take action and leaped straight up. Then she twisted around, drew back a power bolt in her bow, and fired straight down into the emerging mass of secdim. The Unity-powered bolt cracked the asphalt and penetrated several reanimated bodies. But that was the least of its work. Once within the epicenter, the power bolt detonated, and a sphere of bright blue and white light shot through every crevice it could find. Then the whole mass of secdim exploded.

The force cast Nishti even higher in the night air until she latched onto a nearby building and hung there, claws embedded in the structure. She glanced down and saw that Rink-Ba had been thrown sideways, but he quickly found his feet. He was looking around the opening as a look of satisfaction crossed his face.

Nishti let go of her perch and sailed down to land in front of Rink-Ba.

The general stepped back.

“You were smiling,” Nishti said as she twirled her bow and then slung it back over her shoulder. “Why?”

Rink-Ba didn’t miss a beat. “Because you silenced the enemy.”

“I see.” She eyed him up and down. “At least one of us did something useful. Come.” Then Nishti raced eastward as the sentries struggled after her.

* * *

Wainright couldn’t believe that he and General Lovell were still in this fight. Not this exact contest so much the whole damn conflict. Oorajee, Capriana, Minrock Santari, and Aluross—they’d seen action on all of them. And now here they were on some uncharted alien planet in a whole new universe. If he survived and settled down, Wainright figured he’d be the coolest Neo Repub Marine grandpa in his neighborhood.

“Hey, didn’t your grandad get abducted by Jujari on Oorajee?” he imagined one kid saying to his grandson.

“And lived to tell about it,” his grandson would say, puffing his chest out in pride. “Still has the scars where they drained his blood and killed him a hundred-bundred times.”

The other neighborhood kids would shudder and wonder if they had enough courage to ask Grandpa Wainright to show his scars. Which, of course, he would. They’d be sipping fresh-squeezed premmble juice on the front porch, and he’d lift his shirt over his kidneys. The kids would scream, and half would run away. Then his wife would scold him for being so mean to the children. He’d laugh, kiss her, and then intentionally spill his premmble juice on her blouse so she’d have to change.

His wife.

The one who’d been killed by the Paragon when they torched Capriana Prime.

The wife he never got to say goodbye to because she failed to board the transport sent to rescue her. But then Wainright checked the logs. There was no Paragon shuttle sent for her.

The images of grandchildren, scaring the neighborhood kids, and spilling premmble juice vanished. All because Soldark stole her. Because he lied. Like so many other Marines who’d lost loved ones that day, Wainright wasn’t fighting to keep himself alive; he was already dead inside. He was just fighting to keep everyone else alive. And to stick it to Soldark, once and for all.

“Captain,” Lovell yelled, perhaps for the third time. “I need to know you heard me.”

“Sorry, General. Yes—copy.” Wainright nodded. “Mortars.” He’d been absently touching the armor plates above his kidneys. “On it.”

Wainright ordered his lieutenant to deploy six Marine mortar teams into position and swiped coordinates into the subordinate’s HUD with a flick of his eyes. The Recon Mark VII armor, combined with the latest AI patch, made troop tactical movement even more user-friendly. The teams acknowledged the lieutenant’s command with confirmation icons and moved into position. In less than thirty seconds, the Marines had their MTR40 mortar systems deployed with target areas set.

“Fire at will,” Wainright said.

The lieutenant relayed the order, and the mortar teams sent ordnance flying. The MTR40s shells made the telltale trill sounds as they hurtled through the air. Then, one by one, the munitions detonated in bright orange blossoms in the streets to the west. Repub Marines further down let out whoops and catcalls, urging the mortarmen to send a second and third volley into the secdim masses, which they did. Damn Rink-Ba might have been right about his Li-Dain’s Unity powers being more effective for this particular foe, but he doubted the Luma leader had the skill or the stones to go up against a Marine division like this.

“You sure you’re okay, Wainright?” Lovell asked and nodded to the captain’s side.

Wainright caught himself touching his flank again. The scars were itching. “Sorry, General. Just an old ache giving me trouble. Nothing to worry about.”

“We’ve all got ’em, don’t we,” Lovell stated. “That’s what nanobots are for. Take a hit if you need to.”

“Copy that.” Contrary to what most people thought, “taking a hit” didn’t mean taking a blaster bolt from the enemy—not that it was firing anything—it meant taking a nanobot injection from the armor. The infusion of healing microbes came with a dose of painkillers that could take the edge off a Bandalor mule bear bite. Maybe Wainright would take a hit. But not yet. He needed to stay sharp and keep his head in the game. Lives were counting on him, and so were the wraiths of his grandchildren.

21

Ricio worked his jaw and then opened the company channel to command actual. “The good news is that these flying pyramids aren’t invincible,” he said to Azelon and Caldwell. “The bad news is that they’re gonna be a bitch to take down. That, and they’re clearly on a mission that they don’t want to be distracted from.”

“It’s isolated retribution,” Azelon said. “How interesting.”

“Explain,” Ricio said as the rest of his battlegroup recovered from Gold Four’s loss and followed the Abeyant fighters into Ithnor Itheliana’s atmosphere.

“Isolated retribution is a defense most commonly seen in unsophisticated AI matrices. When the matrix is tasked with a single objective, the AI only confronts imminent threats, not all possible threats.”

“So it only attacks if we attack,” Ricio said.

“Precisely, sir.”

“Man, unsophisticated is right.”

Azelon cocked her head. “I did not mean unintelligent, sir. There is a difference.”

“Doesn’t feel like it to me. You have the chance to take out the enemy, you take out the enemy.”

“Which is how most sentient biologics engage in conflict, yes. But to a system that is assured of its preeminence, the matrix sees isolated retribution as the most efficacious and expedient deterrent.”

“I’m not following,” Ricio replied.

“Re-tasking to thwart any and every possible threat is a misallocation of time and resources.”

“Yeah, but if you can stop the enemy, why not do it right away?”

“That is because you have assumed the entire enemy is a threat.”

Ricio paused and blinked a few times. “Hold up. So you’re telling me that these Obscura don’t consider us a threat?”

“Very good, sir. Yes.”

“Well if that isn’t a kick in the fruit.”

“The fruit, sir?”

Ricio ignored the question and took a breath. “What I don’t get is why they’re acting so clinical—more like an AI than a bunch of rogue Luma with their panties in a wad.”

“Minus the colloquialism, this is my fascination as well. Such behavior is not indicative of any apex species in my archives. They do not appear to be moving as individuals but rather as a collective.”

Ricio’s skin prickled, though he couldn’t explain why. Something about these Obscura didn’t sit right with him. “Well, regardless of what they think, we can’t afford to let them assist Soldark, much less give him any more assets than he currently has.”

Ricio pulled up the all-squadron channel again and ordered everyone but Red Squadron to stand down. He had an idea. “Here goes nothing,” he said to himself.

* * *

As Ricio closed on his target, he couldn’t help sense the childlike anticipation of throwing a rock at a firewasp nest. If you could throw the stone hard and run away fast enough, you could avoid getting stung. It was two parts boyhood curiosity and one part fear. Here, maybe, he should have reversed those proportions and thought of a different plan. But there wasn’t time, and he wasn’t a boy—there wasn’t room for fear, only duty.

His Fang’s AI displayed lock confirmation once again, and Ricio fired NZ45 and NX90 blaster cannons in a combined attack. The sustained parallel particle beams chewed through the ship’s defenses—taking far longer than Ricio was comfortable with—and blew the ship apart in a spray of tiny black fragments, just as Gold Four had done. And, like Gold Four, five Abeyant-class fighters peeled off formation and headed toward Ricio. This time, however, he was ready.

Before he’d fired, Ricio ordered the rest of the Fangs in Red Squadron to watch for the Obscura retaliation and saturate the targets with just enough firepower to damage but not destroy the ships. During their initial assault, he’d noticed that while the entire fighter wing had fired on the Obscura gunships, the only friendly destroyed was Gold Four.

If he could remain the sole target, always responsible for doing the killing, perhaps the Gladio Umbra could use the Obscura’s pride against them.

The downside, of course, was that the plan backfired and triggered a cascading response from the entire Abeyant fleet.

“Tracking five bogies,” Red Two said.

Just like last time, five Abeyant fighters peeled off the main formation and headed straight for Ricio. This was the part where the kid in him wanted to get the hell out of the back yard. But the adult in him—the ace Talon pilot who’d climbed the Repub ranks with kill after kill—kept his head in the game and his mind focused on controlling his Fang.

The whole of Red Squadron locked onto the five starfighters and fired a full-auto burst. This time, Ricio could see the Unity shields flicker as they repelled or absorbed the energy—he didn’t know how the damn things worked, he just wanted to overwhelm the enemy. Using Gold Four’s sensor data as a template, Red Squadron let up on each enemy fighter as their shields reached critical. It was a guess, of course—there wasn’t enough data to form any reliable conclusions. But it’s what they had.

The AI identified the first Abeyant fighter to meet acceptable parameters, so Ricio locked on and fired all cannons. His Fang shook as the energy discharged into the nearest enemy craft. But unlike before, the ship tore apart with almost no resistance. Red Squadron had succeeded in softening the target. And by the looks of it, the Obscura hadn’t assigned a new contingent to address Ricio as the first five were still completing their task of isolated retribution.

“Gotta love a bot,” Ricio said.

“Pardon, sir?” Azelon asked.

“Just appreciating how you think, baby. That’s all.” To the all-squadron channel, Ricio said, “All leads, take point. Remaining ships soften but do not destroy enemy targets. Confirm.” Ricio’s HUD flooded with near-instantaneous confirmations, then he spoke to Red Squadron again. “Time to button this group up.”

Ricio continued firing on successive targets as each shield reached its threshold. One by one, the Abeyant fighters detonated in black debris fields, and more data filled in the squadron’s sensor archives.

Just as Ricio had hoped, when all five fighters were terminated, a second set of five left formation and headed for him. He laughed as Red Squadron let loose another withering volley of cannon fire. “We can do this all day, bitches.”

“And here I was worried I wouldn’t have a chance to pad my kill count before retirement,” Dye Vallon said.

“Copy that, Gold Leader,” Ricio replied. “Just save some for the rest of us.”

“Not a chance.”

His squadron continued to bring each fighter to the breaking point and then let up moments before shield failure. Seven other squadrons of Fangs, Talons, and Razorbacks followed suit, dispatching forty-two enemy craft using the same tactic for a combined total of fifty-four kills. At this rate, they’d chew through the enemy fleet in less than half an hour.

Everything was going according to plan until Red Ten accidentally pushed his target too far. The black pyramid-like gunship exploded, and the comms went silent. Ricio held his breath. His eyes searched the enemy formation, looking for any activity outside of the five versus one matchup. At first, nothing happened. He was about to order his pilots to be more careful. But the words didn’t come in time.

“Contact,” Red Eleven said. “Tracking five new bogies!”

“Splick,” Ricio said, and then banked his Fang away just as his most recent target exploded. “Red Two through Seven on my bogies. Red Eight through Fifteen on Red Ten’s. Do not, I repeat, do not push those shields too far.”

Again, more confirmation icons filled his HUD. Ricio had the sinking feeling that his forces were one wrong move from a cascading retaliation event.

“Commander,” Caldwell said. “We’re detecting more Abeyant-class starfighters.”

“What? Where?”

“Departing the Leviathans, sir,” Azelon added. “Advancing on your position.”

“How many?”

Caldwell looked at Azelon and then back at Ricio. “Another 135, ace.”

“Splick.” How many more did they have? Ricio cracked his knuckles on both hands. “How much time we got?”

“Three minutes at present speed,” Azelon replied.

“Three minutes,” Ricio echoed absently. That wasn’t enough time to finish off this batch. Something told him the second was coming in response to the disruption, and they weren’t going to play by the same rules.

“We will try to assist you with anti-starfighter fire, sir,” Azelon said. “However, I must warn you that—”

“The distances are too great to ensure accuracy, and we risk friendly fire casualties,” Ricio replied. “I know. We’ll manage this one on our own. You just hold up your end of the deal with those Leviathans.”

Azelon cocked her head sideways. “And by our end of the deal, you mean…”

“Kick the Obscura’s ass.”

* * *

Red Squadron continued to hold off the two five-fighter attack waves from the first Abeyant group as the second enemy wing closed in from behind.

For their part, the joint Gladio Umbra fleet of Fangs, Talons, and Razorbacks had whittled another thirty-one Obscura fighters for a combined total of eighty-five kills. But now that the enemy had entered atmo and was driving toward the city—and had backup less than forty seconds out—Ricio sensed the Obscura’s attention would shift toward their primary objective: support Soldark, assault the ground forces.

It was time to take the gloves off.

Gone was the calculated tit-for-tat exchange of his former tactics. With just sixty-one starfighters against the Obscura’s fifty, the Gladio Umbra would light up the sky and buy the ground forces as much time as possible. Which, given the 135 fresh enemies on their tail, might not be long at all. But in war, every second counted, as did every enemy eliminated. Ricio liked decisive wins, but a victory by attrition still counted even if he wasn’t around to see it. His only hope was that somehow his pilots were better in atmo than the Obscura pilots. It was a slim hope, but it was all he had left. That and his Fangs still had their missiles.

“All ships, all ships,” Ricio said over squadron comms. “Engage all remaining targets at will. In-atmo attack maneuvers, and watch your speed. Weapons free.”

In-atmosphere flight required pilots to monitor airspeeds almost as carefully as inertia. While too sharp a turn could max out dampeners and flatten a pilot in the void, atmosphere posed a new set of problems. Friction could be just as lethal as gravity when taunted with high speeds. This meant that maneuvering too fast down here meant shredding a ship down to its stringers.

Back on Red Squadron’s channel, Ricio announced, “Birdies three and four away.”

Two VDM Angel Fire missiles streaked out from beneath Ricio’s Fang and rocketed toward locked-on enemy targets. Unlike space combat, Ricio heard the missiles depart even through his helmet. Likewise, the munitions left billowing white contrails as their mini trinium cores propelled them through the air.

The first Abeyant fighter attempted to roll left but underestimated the VDM’s capability. Ricio imagined it was the first time the Obscura had ever encountered one. The Angle Fire missile detonated two meters from contact and ripped straight through the Abeyant ship. Unsure that there was anything combustible beyond the pilots, Ricio guessed the explosion came mostly from the missile’s warhead. The concussion shook Ricio’s Fang as he flew through the debris field, but his shields kept any harmful fragments at bay.

The second variable detonation missile missed its target when the enemy ship rolled left and then right, successfully shaking the lock.

But not for long.

Ricio’s missile swung around and came in at the unsuspecting craft’s port side. The black pyramid erupted in a sideways explosion that knocked out two more. Again, he dove straight through the debris field but suffered only minor reductions to his forward shields.

“Scratch three,” Ricio hollered over comms, and then he kissed a finger and touched his wife’s face.

He watched on his combat spatial display as more of his wing-mates fired missiles and used their cannons to keep the enemy pinned down, all while hurtling toward Itheliana some 50,000 klicks below and closing. Abeyant fighters exploded to his right and left, debris whizzing by his cockpit mere meters away. He loosed two more missiles in successful blows against the enemy, but when he surveyed the kill count, his heart sank. While the Obscura’s fifty fighters had been reduced to twenty-five, the Gladio Umbras had dropped to fifty-two.

Just then, an Abeyant fighter looped around behind Ricio. He rolled to port, but a triad of red lines focused on Red Six, one hundred meters off Ricio’s starboard side where he’d been a split second before. Ricio made to warn Red Six, but there wasn’t time. One moment the Fang was present; the next, it was obliterated. Superheated remains tumbled through the air, and the pilot’s ident tag blinked out.

Ricio cursed as his forces laid waste to the remaining fighters ahead. They’d done well, of course. But he wasn’t swearing at them. He had lost too many pilots. And deep in his gut, he sensed that the incoming assault from behind would cut his remaining forces to ribbons. There had been too many enemies, and he’d been working on too little intelligence.

Or you were just overconfident, he said to himself.

Ricio glanced at his CSD. The second wave was upon them now. He encouraged all remaining ships to engage in evasive maneuvers, but with missiles depleting and the atmosphere growing thicker, he suspected his units were a lost cause. Any second now and the triad of red dots would land on his Fang’s tail, which would be the end of it.

To Ricio’s surprise, however, the second wave overtook him and sped past Red Squadron. All 135 Abeyant fighters plummeted toward Itheliana, completely disregarding Ricio’s battle-wing and pushing airspeed limits.

Ricio jumped on comms and hailed Magnus.

“Go for Magnus.”

“You’ve got 135 fighters headed your way. We took care of the first wave, but this one’s given us a run for our credits.”

“Informing Ezo now,” Magnus replied, as cool and calm as ever.

“Just…tell Ezo they’re quick. Lock fast, fire faster.”

Magnus gave Ricio a curious look and then nodded.

Ricio knew he must’ve sounded anxious, but it was for good reason. He didn’t want any more of his friends dying today.

“See you soon,” Magnus said to Ricio and then closed out the channel.

To his squadron, Ricio said, “Let’s ride the line, people.” It was a reference to pushing maximum airspeed. “We’ve got some bogies to bitch slap.”

22

Awen covered her head as a dozen starships screamed in between buildings. At first, she couldn’t tell who they belonged to and was fearful that the Obscura had already descended upon them. She followed blaster fire and ordnance drops in the enemy’s direction. Secdim bodies flipped through the air like a child shaking out a blanket full of stuffed animals. Bombs shattered building fronts and gouged giant holes in the pavement while blaster fire penetrated the enemy ranks.

“Come on,” Zoll yelled as he waved Granther Company forward. “This way.” He pointed Awen and the others toward another building that got them off the street again. It was too dangerous out here even though Ezo, Sootriman, and TO-96 were doing their best to reduce the enemy’s numbers. The secdim had opened at least two more holes that Awen could see and were pouring out just as fast as Ezo’s ships could pound them.

Awen darted through a set of windowplex doors across the street just as an explosion rocked the street outside. The force threw her forward, but Longchomps caught her.

“Easy, Miss Awen Emissary,” the Jujari said. “I have clutched you.”

Awen looked up at the warrior and then patted his chest. “Thank you, Longchomps.”

It still amazed her that she was fighting alongside Jujari on the Novia Minoosh’s homeworld. And for a split second, she wondered if she’d ever get the chance just to sit and appreciate all the discoveries around her. It would take her a lifetime—no, several lifetimes to log it all and write about it. But she was up for the challenge.

“Through here,” Zoll said, now pointing everyone down another corridor.

“So, uh…ha ha—good copy says you won’t meet as much resistance in here,” Cyril said over the company channel. “’Cause when Ezo does what he’s doing right now, and it makes the secdimooshes do what they’re doing, which is like, going kersploosh, then they can’t track you as easy and stuff, right? You know?”

“Thanks, Cyril,” Awen said. “We appreciate the update. Keep us apprised.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, totally will. Echo zulu that. Cyril in. I mean, out. Cyril out. Did I say that right?”

“Close the channel, Cyril,” Awen said.

“Right. Closing. Sorry.”

His face blinked out of her HUD, and Awen’s helmet went silent. She hustled after Zoll as he led the Granthers through a maze-like pattern that wove through the building’s first floor. Only once did they need to proceed up and then down two sets of stairs that took them through an open lobby with vaulted ceilings that disappeared some ten stories above.

Before long, they were out of the building, crossing the street filled with Ezo’s air support cover, and into the next.

“Looks like you’re making good time in there, Miss Awen,” came TO-96’s familiar voice.

“Aww, Ninety-Six,” she replied with a smile as his face popped up in her HUD. “It’s good to see you.”

“And you.”

“How’s flying treating you?”

The bot’s eyes lit up. “Splendid. In fact, I have made a bit of a personal discovery, you might say.”

“Oh?”

“I quite enjoy blowing splick up.”

Awen laughed as she banked down a curving corridor. “Who knew?”

“Not only that,” the bot continued. “But I seem to have a real talent for it too. Hold on.”

Awen felt the ground shake as a massive explosion rocked the street outside.

“That’s better,” TO-96 stated. “Those tiny secdim were attempting to burrow out of a new hole. They’re pesky enough that I find them irritating.”

“Copy that, Ninety-Six. Keep up the good work.”

“I shall endeavor to make you proud, Awen.”

She smiled. “You always do.”

“Very good. TO-96 out.”

Zoll led the team into another cross street, and Awen double-checked her topo map as they ran to the far side. The Granthers were only two blocks away from the temple library.

Awen waved to Zoll. “Let’s head south and cut across the next block outside. I’m not seeing any enemies.”

“Your lead,” Zoll replied and ordered the other fire teams after her.

Awen stayed close to the building as explosions pounded the blocks just north of their position. When she got to the next intersection, she used the Unity to search the intersection and found no threats. “Clear,” she said and then moved out.

As Awen ran along the old sidewalk, she pinged Willowood.

“Hi, Awen,” the older woman said, slightly out of breath.

“Everything okay there?”

Willowood nodded. “We’re making our way southwest, just entering the city limits now.”

“And the ship?”

“Shut down, thanks to Piper.”

“Hi, shydoh,” Piper said as she popped to life in her own window. “Are you kicking ass yet?”

“Piper,” Awen exclaimed. She was about to lecture the child on the merits of propriety when she reminded herself of the uniqueness of this whole blasted endeavor. “You know what? Yes, doma. I’m kicking ass.”

Piper smiled. “I knew you would.” She looked up at Willowood. “Told you, Nana.”

“Yes, you did, my child.” Willowood refocused on Awen. “Something you need?”

Awen didn’t quite have her thoughts ordered yet, but sometimes they came together while she talked, especially when it was with Willowood. Sometimes, she wondered if the only reason she’d ever gotten as far in the Luma as she did was because of the older woman. Left to her own devices, Awen wondered if she ever would have graduated at all.

“The Obscura—why are they working with Soldark?”

“Well, as we’ve discussed—”

“No, not as we’ve discussed.” Awen felt bad. “Sorry, didn’t mean to cut you off.”

“We’re beyond offense right now. Speak your mind.”

Awen bit her lip as she ran, and she motioned for Zoll to pass her with Alpha Team. “I’ve been thinking of reasons why the Obscura might serve the interests of an Elemental.”

“And?”

“I can’t get away from one answer.”

“Which is?” Willowood chuckled. “Mystics, girl. You’ve always known how to keep someone held in suspense.”

“Sorry.” Awen moved around a broken column along the sidewalk. “Power. If an Elemental survived as long as Mithriel has, motivated by a desire to avenge his ancestors—settle scores and all—then the Obscura want his power.”

Willowood nodded, but the effort seemed half-hearted. “Judging from their ships, I’m guessing they have that department covered.”

“Not that kind of power. For something else. Something they could not achieve in the Unity themselves.”

“Which is?” Willowood paused. “Whatever do you mean?”

“I mean, well—this sounds so crazy.”

“Oh, for mystics’ sake. Speak, child. Or I’m hunting you down when we’re done with Soldark.”

Awen slowed as she voiced her thoughts for the first time. “What if the Obscura aren’t alive.”

Willowood opened her mouth but said nothing.

Awen went on. “What if they’re, I don’t know, in some sort of stasis. Like, they found a way to preserve themselves. But to come back, they need the power So-Elku discovered in the Nexus.”

“To reanimate the undead,” Willowood said just above a whisper.

“And the fastest way to get that power was to overtake it—”

“By using an Elemental,” Willowood replied.

Awen nodded. “Which is the reason why they were interested in Mithriel.”

“But I have to imagine that he’s far more powerful than they are,” Willowood said. “He could have threatened them and gotten whatever he wanted.”

And Awen had to concede that point. “Yes, true. But if they are among the undead, or whatever state they exist in, threats would be futile. He can’t suck a soul that’s not there.”

“Mithriel gains his army, and they regain their mortal selves,” Willowood said as if speaking to the wind.

“Something like that.”

“Ladies,” Caldwell suddenly said in a shared HUD frame.

“Smoochy, smooch,” Piper said to Willowood with a wide grin.

Willowood’s cheeks warmed as she waved Piper off.

“I hate to break up your conversation,” continued the colonel. “But Awen, we need you to open that tunnel sooner than later.”

“We’re on it, Colonel,” Awen replied. But she sensed that Caldwell needed her to adopt a heightened sense of urgency. He was hiding something. “Everything okay?”

Cladwell pulled the cigar from his mouth and blew out a steady stream of smoke. “No. Everything’s not okay. Turns out these Obscura ships are far more of a pain in the ass than we bargained for, and Itheliana’s about to get a visit from all the additional starfighters Ricio’s attack wing didn’t shoot down.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Awen said.

“Oh it’s bad, all right. To the point that, well—” The colonel stuffed his cigar back between his lips. “Let’s just hope those lizards are waiting on the other side of that quantum tunnel.”

“Understood, sir,” Awen said.

“Gramps, out,” Caldwell said as he gave a wink obviously intended for Piper.

The child waved back and blew him an air kiss.

“When we make it through this,” Willowood said to Awen. “You and I will sit down and hash out all the theories you want.”

“No we won’t,” Awen said.

Willowood pulled back in a look of surprise.

“’Cause you and Gramps there are gonna be chasing each other all over the quadrant, and I won’t ever see you again.” Awen paused to listen to Willowood’s chuckle. “And you’re only laughing because you know I’m right.”

“Maybe.” Willowood looked at an alert in her HUD. “Speaking of Mr. Right, he’s calling me again.”

“Better get to it then,” Awen said with a smile.

“Contact,” Zoll yelled over the Granther’s channel.

Awen looked ahead to see blaster fire lit up the next intersection. “Gotta go.”

“Be safe,” Willowood said. “And get that tunnel opened.”

“Yeah, and keep kicking ass,” Piper exclaimed as she pounded a fist into her palm.

Awen closed the channel and then looked down the street. In the distance, she noticed the familiar towering spire of the temple library. It disappeared into the night sky, summoning her to its base. She was so close. But standing between her and the QTG was a sea of secdim climbing out of several holes—more enemies than they’d faced so far.

“Ah splick,” Robillard said as he racked a charge on his NOV3. “I think Bliss is gonna need a change of underwear.”

“Nah,” he said. “Your mom’s already fit real nice.”

Awen walked past them and joined Zoll. “Granthers. Let’s do this.” Then she joined with her fellow gladias in assaulting the secdim and fought her way toward the prize.

23

Ten Minutes Prior

“All vessels, open fire,” Caldwell announced over joint-fleet comms. As one, fifty warships sent a barrage of particle beams and missiles toward the eight Obscura ships. The ordnance streaked across the void like paint on a black canvas as Caldwell took a long drag on his freshly lit cigar.

* * *

Satisfied to let the Abeyant fighters tend to the planet, the Leviathans closed the gap toward the allied fleet and assumed attack formation, all of which allowed Azelon to obtain more robust scans. The new data went further in fleshing out the Leviathan’s specs though it still wasn’t as comprehensive as a sensor sweep on a conventional target. Rated as a Dreadnaught using Repub scaling, the ship ranged in at 2,000 meters long, with a 600-meter-wide beam, a 250-meter-deep draft from the centerline, and a 250-meter-high bridge near the stern. Azelon calculated that it displaced 800,000 metric tonnes, boasted a crew of up to 9,000, and could potentially hold up to 5 Abeyant-class squadrons—at least according to Azelon’s estimates.

Meanwhile, spectrographic analysis showed that the entire behemoth was composed of a rare element cousin to one found in common quartz. The molecules in the black crystalline substrate were densely packed, forming a diamond-like surface with regard to hardness. But as it pertained to reflectivity, the material was infinitesimally shy of 100 percent absorptive.

“Which is why we can’t get a good look at them,” Caldwell had stated to Azelon after her third scans on the fast-approaching ships.

“That’s correct, sir,” she replied. “Combined with their Unity distortion field, as I’m terming it, the vessels are also quite hard to track.”

“But not too hard for you,” Caldwell said as he lit his next cigar.

“Not anymore.” Azelon brought up her latest Leviathan rendering. It spun in three-dimensional space in the middle of the Spire’s bridge for the senior crew to study. The Obscura vessel looked nearly identical to a black spearhead—just scaled up several thousand times and able to shoot some sort of Unity energy.

* * *

The Leviathans hadn’t fired yet, but Caldwell knew an assault was coming soon enough. So he took the opportunity to shoot first. Better to beat everyone else to the dance floor then be left standing with your hand in your pants for a partner.

After giving the order to fire, Caldwell stepped toward the Spire’s main holo display.

“Magnify,” he said, pointing to the center warship.

Azelon complied, and the middle ship expanded to fill the screen. The vessel’s surfaces were barely visible against the void’s star-filled backdrop. Looking at it, Caldwell realized he was imagining what was there by virtue of how many stars it blotted out.

“Can you overlay a wireframe on that?” he asked Azelon. “Make it stand out a little more?”

“Of course, sir.” A second later, the ship sprouted a light blue wireframe that stretched from stem to stern.

Meanwhile, the fleet’s first volley closed on the vessels. Caldwell caught himself holding his breath as the Spire’s first shots met the lead ship that he’d unceremoniously nicknamed Black I. The particle beams met some sort of barrier about where a force field would have been. Instead of splashing across it like water over a balloon, the Spire’s munitions simply vanished, as if absorbed into the ether. Likewise, the missiles folded into some sort of invisible envelope and blinked out of existence.

Caldwell spun around to Azelon. “What just happened?”

“Scanning,” the bot replied. “It seems the ship has absorbed our ordnance.”

“Absorbed?” Caldwell removed his cigar from his mouth. “Like what Moldark did? And the mystics?”

“Approximately, yes.”

“Approximately?” Caldwell cursed. He hated approximations, but they were better than nothing. He looked back at the enemy fleet and watched as the rest of the allied firepower met the Leviathans with the same results.

“Son of a bitch,” he said. “That’s the strongest we’ve got, Smarty Pants?”

“We have nothing more powerful, sir. That is correct. Volume and duration are the only additional variables we may employ. That, and tactics.”

“Can’t argue there,” he replied. “We might be the weaker opponent, but if it comes down to a battle of wits, I sure as hell ain’t gonna lose to a bunch of rock-pushing sum’bitches.”

When the last missile disappeared into the enemy fleet’s void, three red dots glowed on the bow of each Obscura ship. Then, as one, the eight ships fired three-line beams into the vessels furthest out in the allied formation. Caldwell glanced at the fleet map and saw shield warning indicators light up two Jujari warships, one from Ezo’s Rogues, one of Jules’s Stroikas, three Sekmit warships, and one Neo Repub vessel.

Within seconds, the strange beams drained shields and penetrated the ship’s hulls. The next thing Caldwell saw were eight vessels of war erupting from the inside out. Decks exploded, drive cores burst, and unspent weapons capacitors and munitions depots detonated, catastrophically blasting ships apart. The main holo display dimmed against the blast energy, and Caldwell instinctively shielded his face with his hand.

“Holy gods,” Caldwell said as he looked between his fingers. At this rate, if he didn’t do something fast, there wouldn’t be an allied fleet left. He needed to keep the enemy guessing and buy time until—

Until what, ya’ jackass? he asked himself.

He needed Awen to get that damn quantum tunnel open. He needed those Reptalons to bite on Sootriman’s invitation.

“All ships, evasive maneuvers,” Caldwell declared over the fleet channel. “Keep your asses moving and your heads bobbing.”

Confirmation indicators raced down the chat window, and the remaining warships broke formation.

“Patch me through to Awen,” Caldwell said to Azelon.

“She’s speaking with Willowood and Piper now, sir.”

“Then stick me in the middle, Smarty Pants. This is urgent.”

* * *

As soon he closed the line with Awen, he reached out to Willowood on a private channel.

“How bad is it?” she asked him without so much as a hello.

“Worse than a sunburn on your willy,” he replied. “I didn’t wanna scare Piper.”

“I could tell. What do you need?”

“A thousand more ships to buy us some mysticsdammed time is what I need. That, and a weapon that won’t get absorbed by their shields. I was hoping maybe you learned something handy from Soldark’s ship.”

Willowood thought for a moment. “The Obscura ships are absorbing energy?”

Caldwell nodded. “Just the Dreadnaughts. The fighters seem to be using Unity-based force fields. But the big boys? Damn, they’re impressive, Felicity.”

“And you’re worried.”

“Hell yeah, I’m worried. I can barely see the bastards, and none of our weapons are even scratching their hulls.”

Willowood bit her lip for a moment and said, “We had Soldark’s hull glowing red by the time he lifted off Aluross. So it’s hull isn’t impervious.”

Caldwell thought back to the final moments of the encounter as every blaster in range tried boring a hole in the enemy ship. “That’s true. But we can’t even hit the hulls right now.”

“No apparent damage to their shields?” Willowood asked. “You’re sure?”

“Surer than a Boresperm tic on a dingle hound’s ass, I am.”

“Without actually boarding on their ships, I’m afraid we can’t manipulate them from the Unity. They’re impenetrable even for Piper and me.”

“And how the hell am I supposed to get close enough for a boarding party?”

Willowood’s eyes stared into the near distance. “I don’t know, William.” She snapped back to his eyes. “But I’ll get you an answer.”

“I hope so, pretty lady, or else there ain’t gonna be a whole lot of me left to love.”

“Who said anything about love?”

Caldwell shrugged. “I was just thinking maybe that’s where you—”

“Don’t need you going all melodramatic on me just yet, Colonel.”

“So, soon maybe?”

“Cheeky bastard,” she said with a half-smile. “I’ll be in touch.” Her face disappeared, and the window closed.

* * *

“Colonel?” Azelon asked.

“Go ahead.” Caldwell was lost in thought as he watched the fleet’s ships exchange fire with the Obscura. While the enemy continued to absorb particle and physical munitions with ease, they had a harder time hitting moving targets. At least that was something.

Still, the Leviathans managed to take out another Sekmit vessel and critically damage two Stroika and Jujari ships.

“I wanted to bring your attention to the LAW contingent of ships, sir.”

Caldwell looked at Azelon and then to a side holo that showed the four LAW warships commanded by Admiral Porampus. “What about them?”

“They have yet to take enemy fire, sir.”

Caldwell was about to object when he noticed the warships’ placement. “Son of my neutered uncle.”

“That would be your bastard cousin, correct?”

Caldwell didn’t respond to her comment, only to what he saw unfolding before him. “They’re cowering behind the Sekmit ships. Get Porampus on comms for me.”

Azelon turned away for a second, paused, and then looked back at Caldwell. “I’m afraid he’s not responding to hails, sir.”

“Not respond—” Caldwell spit tobacco on the bridge floor—something he never did out of respect for the ship’s captain and the boat itself. But now he couldn’t help himself. “Override.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but I’m unable to do that.”

Caldwell’s eyebrows felt like they’d reached his scalp. “You can take over a damn ship, but you can’t override that rat bastard’s comms?”

“That rat bastard, sir, also happens to be a powerful Unity user, which adversely affects my otherwise formidable prowess.”

“Get me Nishti’s commander,” Caldwell demanded.

“Admiral Soofwin, sir?”

“Yeah, Admiral Soonin.”

“Soof-win.”

“Shoe-in. Dammit, Azie!”

“Right away, sir.”

A moment later, the Sekmit Fleet Admiral’s face appeared in a holo-comm window. “What can I do for you, Feared Aggressor?”

Caldwell had almost forgotten about his flamboyant Sekmitian moniker. “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but it seems you’ve picked up some void leeches.”

“If you are referring to our LAW shadows, then your analogy is only partially adequate. Admiral Porampus’s ships have yet to latch on to ours physically.”

Caldwell fought the urge to smile. “Shadows indeed. They’re also failing to respond to our attempts to hail them.”

“How interesting.” The feline-like woman whipped her tail back and forth. “Aside from this new information, is there something you require of us?”

Caldwell pulled out his cigar and rolled it between his fingers. “While I would never intentionally put any asset in harm’s way, I can’t help but think that you might repay the favor of using them as a shield. It seems only fair.”

The Sekmit admiral grinned until her incisors appeared over her lower lip. “Fair indeed.”

24

The more Magnus watched the battle progress from the safety of his C-RIG, the more he scorned himself for accepting the terms of Caldwell’s promotion. He wanted nothing more than to be outside the wire, pushed right up against the enemy’s face. Instead, he was stuck inside—what had Rohoar called it?—a giant pregnant robot with a womb.

But Magnus also understood that the colonel wanted eyes on the big picture. That’s what Majors did, right? And it sucked. He’d been directing and redirecting, assessing and reassessing, and now he was getting a cramp in his left ass cheek. No wonder the brass walked around looking like they had poles up their butts. It was tedious and painful.

Still, Magnus had a job to do.

Charlie Group was closing in on the city’s center from the east, as was Alpha Group from the west. Rohoar and the Jujari made good time running south out of the foothills, and Abimbola’s north-moving Dregs looked like they’d meet up with Awen’s Granther Company any moment. Damn, how he wanted to be with Awen right now.

“Stay focused, Adonis,” he said as he swiped through several screens of casualty reports and ammunition capacities.

The latest development was a new aerial conflict involving Ricio’s attack wing and a massive squadron of Abeyant fighters. Magnus re-tasked Ezo’s Rogues from infantry support to aid Ricio in defending the ground forces against strafing runs.

When all orders were given, including deploying reserve elements, Magnus sat back in his C-RIG and looked through the blast-proof windowplex at the city. Motes of light crisscrossed above the overgrown skyscrapers, while explosions further down shot plumes of sparks and smoke into the night air. From this far away, detonations that would have blown out Magnus’s eardrums were nothing more than muffled thumps.

The most frustrating aspect of being a Major in this conflict was that Magnus didn’t feel very good at his job. No matter how well he aligned the divisions, battalions, and companies, it seemed the secdim kept finding new ways to squeeze his forces—continually popping up on their flanks and tail. Just when it seemed like an element had a clear shot toward Soldark’s main entry point into the catacombs, a new pocket of secdim would burst out of the ground and sideline the infantry.

Worse still was the feeling that Magnus was sending good people to their deaths. Of course, that wasn’t a new experience in and of itself. He’d been ordering warriors to walk into harm’s way since he first commanded a fire team. What he wasn’t prepared for was the scale. It was easy to get lost in the metrics—a few hundred there, a thousand here. But every integer was a life. A face. A name with a family and a favorite color. So far, the secdim had wiped out nearly 6,300 of the Gladio Umbra’s official troop count. Sure, statistically speaking, it wasn’t even 7 percent of their forces. But 6,300 individuals—he hadn’t seen combat numbers like that since Caledonia, and back then, he wasn’t in charge of anything more than a squad.

But you have seen numbers like that, Adonis, he reminded himself. Capriana Prime.

Once again, he was reminded why he was willing to send 92,000 infantry into harm’s way: they had to stop Soldark. No matter what. And they needed to do it before the bastard activated the rest of the Novia Minoosh’s eight hundred million corpses.

“Azie. You copy?”

“I do, sir. However, please note that—” Her face froze.

Magnus tapped his console as well as the side of his bucket. Then, without warning, she continued where she’d left off.

“—I am multi-tasking. Therefore, I may—”

Magnus tilted his head at her frozen face again. “Azie?”

“—be delayed in replying to you.”

“Got it. Won’t keep you long. Just need to know if there might be another way down into the catacombs. I need to get our units off the streets, especially with those fighters.”

“Understood, Major. I fear, however, that any attempt to”—her face froze—“enter the subterranean comp-comp-complex…outside of the initial entry point might invariably-bly-bly distance you from your primary-ary-ary mission directive.”

“Finding Soldark.”

“Affirmative. Secondly, your infantry may not be equipped…to descend into what might be-be-be extensive caverns. I would be remiss if I did…not warn you of the consequences of free-falling organic tissue landing on dense perpendicular-icular-lar-rrr surfaces.”

“Yeah, that’s a bad way to end any day,” Magnus said.

“And, finally, you would quite literally-iterally be walking into…a firewasp nest, to use your vernacular-r-r. Were Soldark to reanimate Novian bodies within your immediate-ediate vicinity…wh-wh-who knows what kind of overwhelming-elming odds your-ur-ur units might face.”

“All salient points, Azie. Hard copy. But I’m also faced with pretty bad odds up top. If this becomes a battle of attrition, we don’t stand a chance.”

Azelon’s head stuttered. “You would pick-ick the lesser of two evils, then?”

“I’d prefer no evils. But, yeah. The lesser.”

Again, Azelon’s head twitched as she appeared to do some calculations. “I have hypothesized Soldark’s current locations-ations-ations based upon flow rates from the most c-c-current secdim dissemination-ation points to within-n-n a probability-ility of 89 percent.”

A large red circle appeared on Magnus’s main battle map, designating an area just northeast of the center.

“Azie, that’s great news. Willowood and Piper are headed there now.”

“As they present our best-est probability of stopping-opping-innnnn-ck So-so-soldark, I would concur.”

“Hey, hey, Mr. Major Magus alpha-male, sir?” Cyril said.

“Yeah, pal.”

“We’re, uh, I mean you—but, like, I’m not accusing you or anything—but we’re pushing Azie a little too hard now. Ha ha! She’s trying to keep track of all the ship movements and stuff, and it’s—whoa—like, I mean. Phew. Hard. Which it’s gonna stay that way until she and I can allocate her more, you know—bizzzzzz—system memory and stuff. Ha!”

“I gather that,” Magnus said. “Thanks for the heads up.”

“Anything else, foxtrot tango, I can help you with, though?”

Magnus smiled. “She doesn’t have any news from the Novia on where Soldark might be headed, does she? Some secret route to the Singularity actual that we could beat him to?”

“Yeaaaaaaah—nope. She still hasn’t been able to re-establish a connection, hotel mike.”

“Let me know the moment she does, copy?”

“Oh, copy so hard, Major Magnus. Like, so hard I’ll be pooping copy for a week—that hard.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

“I promise. The moment, I mean the second—no, scratch that. The nanosecond that she—well, not even I can calculate a nanosecond. But I did hear about a cyborg—that’s half biologic, half robot—who could—”

“Cyril, I gotta go.”

“Right, right, right. Uh, Cyril in and out.”

“Magnus out.” He closed the channel and took a breath to clear his mind. Between Azelon’s fitful chattering and Cyril’s, well, fitful chattering too, Magnus’s head was spinning. But at least now he had a plan, or at least the start of one.

“Magnus to Willowood.”

“Go ahead, Major,” the older woman said.

“You’re coming up on some heavy resistance. I’m marking it on your HUD now.”

“Copy that. Grid ten. We see it.”

“I have reason to believe Soldark is somewhere directly under that region.”

“Azelon?”

Magnus nodded. “That’s her best guess.”

“Better than most,” Willowood replied with a nod. “I’d bet on it.”

“Same. Listen, I’m sending Forbes and Nelson your way. They’ll provide fire support while you find a way down there.”

“Understood.”

“One word of warning: I don’t know what you’re dropping into. Could be a tunnel, or it could be a mysticsdammed abyss. Keep your wits about you, and don’t let—”

“I won’t,” Willowood said, cutting him off. No one needed to remind anyone about Piper’s well-being. Without her, there was no end game.

“Thanks,” Magnus said with a smile.

“You got my back; I got yours, son.”

Magnus nodded. “Look for Taursar and Hedgebore Companies to join you in five.”

“Setting a timer. Tell them not to be late.”

He nodded and closed the channel. A beat later, Magnus moved Taursar and Hedgebore Companies’ icons to grid ten and set them to overwatch.

“Captain Forbes? Nelson?”

“Major Magnus,” Forbes replied. “Damn, that has a nice ring to it.”

“That’s about the only good thing that came with the title.”

“Man, sitting back there’s gotta suck,” Nelson added.

Magnus cocked an eyebrow at him. “Don’t rub it in.”

“Who, us?” Nelson looked across at Forbes’s avatar. “Never. Hold on—”

Nelson manually flipped his BATRIG’s camera around to show his reticulating torrent dispenser unleash a long blaaaaaaat of high-frequency rounds into a column of secdim. Blood and smoke filled the air, set off by strobing light. When the last body hit the deck, Nelson’s face came back on screen. “Sorry. What were we talking about?”

“You suck, Nelson.” Magnus force-populated the battle map to their HUDs. “In case you haven’t noticed already—what with you hacking down the enemy and all—I’m re-tasking your companies to grid ten.”

“What’s the order?” Forbes asked.

“I’m sending the mystics down after Soldark.”

“You’ve got a fix on him?”

Magnus shook his head. “An educated guess. From Azie.”

“Copy that. Works for me.”

“I need you there, ASAP,” Magnus added. “Set sentry on wherever Willowood decides to drop in. And cover Piper like your life depends on it.”

“’Cause it does,” Forbes said.

“Damn straight.”

“We’ll ping you when we’re in position,” Nelson said. “And if we need you, we’ll just—eh, we won’t need you. Enjoy being bored.”

“Screw you, Nelson.”

“Just as soon as I’m done with your momma, Major.”

Magnus swiped the channel closed just to get the son of a bitch’s face off his HUD. But, damn if he didn’t appreciate Nelson and Forbes. Both men had left the Corps on Worru to fight with the Gladio Umbra. It was a career-ending move at the time. Now, looking back, Magnus wondered if they saw the fortuitous nature of the opportunity like he did. This was the only fight to be in, and being a gladia was the best damn gig in the galaxy. Just one last drive, Magnus told himself.

* * *

Forbes and Nelson’s companies redirected to the northeast to intercept Willowood and Piper. The two females had Rodgers’s escort platoon, the elite mystics of Paladia Company, and fifty Li-Dain—altogether a formidable element. But Forbes knew that if Soldark was under grid ten, it was gonna take a group effort to get Willowood and Piper inserted.

“You slowing down, Nelly?” Forbes said to Captain Nelson.

“You just don’t see me cause you’re looking the wrong direction,” Nelson replied. “I’m ahead of you.”

Forbes double-checked his topo and realized Nelson’s unit was, in fact, slightly ahead of him, two blocks east. “You giving those dogs your personal ident to get so far? Or they just think your ass-ugly face looks like theirs?”

“Hey now. Just because I send tighter groupings downrange doesn’t mean you have to fight dirty. And, to answer your question, no—I’ve been telling them your mom’s available, and they let me right through.”

Forbes chuckled to himself. It was hard to believe how much had happened since Magnus had tackled the captain on his back deck with the colonel. Back then, Forbes thought he’d been a lunatic to abandon the Repub and join Caldwell. But the old man had never steered him wrong. Tonight, Forbes wouldn’t trade the last few months for anything in this or any other galaxy. He’d have been a lunatic not to follow the colonel.

“Here we go, Taursars,” Forbes announced over comms as he spotted a fresh wave of secdim coming his way. The beasts emerged out of the darkness and spread across the road shoulder to shoulder. They loped on all fours and cackled as they came—mouths hung open while their tongues lolled through the air. “Time to send these hounds back where they came. Who’s with me?”

One-hundred forty-one confirmation icons pinged down the chat window in his HUD as all his remaining BATRIGs checked in.

“Dominate,” Forbes said.

“Liberate,” came the all-platoon reply.

As soon as Forbes selected his RTD10, his AI chose the entire front line as a target. “I can work with that,” he said to himself and grinned.

The secdim were twenty meters ahead and closing.

Forbes heard the weapon charge and watched for the “Status: Ready” icon. When it popped up, he deactivated the safety and willed the weapon to fire.

The mini-gun style disruptor screamed as an ultra-fast stream of blaster rounds poured from the muzzle. Forbes noticed he was giggling as he raked his barrel right and left across the enemy line. The gun tore through alien flesh, showering the adjacent buildings in gore. The secdim continued to charge, but their pace slowed as the RTD10 hacked off limbs and legs.

When those beasts who survived in the second and third lines tired of their decelerating leaders, they leaped over one another to attack the BATRIGs. They shoved each other down, grinding heads into the pavement, all for a chance to meet the enemy head-on.

And Forbes did not disappoint them.

As his RTD10 maxed on its heat threshold, he pulled up his mech’s other arm, brandishing the GU90M. The rapid-fire 90mm bore cannon was pre-charged, safety off. Forbes fired a single round into the group’s middle and felt the recoil shake the BATRIG. A flash of light exploded down the street, and at least ten bodies went flying. Forbes fired again and again, sending massive energy pulses into the throng, each detonating with deluges of body parts and fire.

As soon as the GU90M had flashed its mandatory cool-down indicator, Forbes called up the interface for his variable warhead missile system. He selected the first of the three missiles, chose the multiple target mode for the warhead, and watched as the software automatically assigned targets for the guided micro rockets.

“Fire in the hole,” Forbes said to his squad, and then he fired the missile. His unit continued to fire all around the plaza but took measures to shield themselves from what came next.

The weapon launched off Forbes’s back, tore into the night sky, and then performed a tight 180º turn. When the missile returned to the street twenty-five meters ahead, it broke apart and sent smaller rockets into predetermined targets. The result was sixteen micro explosions that popped skulls and drilled shoulders, while the missile’s central core rammed the asphalt with a ten-kilo charge of its own. The street lurched as the bomb went off, launching a plume of fiery debris thirty meters high.

Forbes let out a wild yell as bits of pavement and body parts rained down on his unit’s mechs. “And that’s how we do it!”

“And yet I’m still ahead of you, grandpa,” Nelson said.

“You’re two damn years younger, Nelly.”

“And in battle years, that’s almost a lifetime.”

“Battle years?” Forbes urged his mech forward and trudged through the carnage. “Now you’re just making splick up.”

“It’s a thing, cappy.”

“It’s not a thing. And if I’m a grandpa, then so are you.”

“Then how come I’m still beating your ass?”

“Well maybe if you slow down a little, I can take care of all the doggies you keep running away from.”

“Funny.”

“I’m not telling jokes, Nelly. I’m just trying to help a brother out.”

* * *

Forbes and Nelson drove their companies deep into the enemy masses, surging northeast as Willowood, Piper, and the rest of their element came in from the opposite direction, just as Magnus had directed. A little over five minutes passed before Forbes noticed explosions on the other side of a broad plaza.

“We’ve got eyes on you, Willowood,” Forbes called out over the multi-unit comm channel.

“We see you too, Captain,” she replied.

“IFF tags are registering on all your units.”

“Same. Though tell Nelson to watch his aim. I heard he gets carried away.”

“Do not,” Nelson replied.

“No. I can confirm that,” Lieutenant Rodgers said from Willowood’s position.

“Sold out by your own LT,” Forbes said.

“That hurts, Rodgers,” Nelson yelled as if his voice needed to cover the plaza for Rodgers to hear it.

“Our objective is that hole,” Willowood said as she tagged the tunnel in the middle of the square.

“The one with a hundred new pups pouring out if it?” Forbes asked.

“Yes, Captain,” she said. “You up for a little more work? I hear you’re getting pretty old.”

Nelson laughed. “See? I’m not the only one who knows it.”

“I can do anything Captain Nelson can do, but better,” Forbes replied.

“Bring it, sweet cheeks.” Nelson had both weapons pointed toward the hole and opened fire. He alternated bursts between his GU90M and RTD10, firing the large-bore cannon first followed by a blaaaaaat from the reticulating torrent disruptor. Secdim charged his position but quickly met their fates at the end of his blaster bolts.

Forbes watched as a secdus leaped up from the pack and sailed toward his BATRIG. Now it was his turn to have some more fun. He aimed and fired a single 90mm round at the animal’s chest. The particle bolt must’ve hit just right because it tore a hole through the chest so violently that both arms spun off the torso. A half-limbed torso slammed against Forbes’s mech and bounced to the ground.

Before the body had hit the pavement, two more secdim jumped skyward and hurtled toward him. This time his RTD10 let out a withering stream of fire that cut down the bodies and kept streaking away toward the stars. The image reminded him of the nightly laser light shows he used to see at the theme parks as a kid.

While he was busy with the jumpers, a pack of six more secdim came in low and bolted for his legs. Forbes hadn’t even seen the buggers until BATRIGs on his right and left bore into the enemies. It was the rest of Forbes’s platoons filing into the square behind him and spreading out.

“Couldn’t let you have all the fun, Captain,” said one of his second lieutenants as her GU90M kuh-boomed at a secdus and split its torso in two.

“I mean, you could, but then I’d run out of room on my mech to paint all my kills.” Forbes shot the kid a quick smile over holo.

“And we can’t have that,” Nelson added from the easternmost intersection. “’Cause mystics know how the Captain likes his mech nice and tidy.”

Rodgers and his armor platoon entered from the far side and sent a world of hurt into the hole. Combined with the rest of Hedgebore and Taursar, the BATRIGs drove the secdim down so hard that not a single beastie raised its head after the weapons fire died down.

“And stay down,” Forbes yelled.

Just then, a fatally curious secdus poked its head up.

“I said”—Forbes fired a single 90mm round and blew the thing’s skull apart—“bad dog.”

“I think you missed a spot,” Nelson said.

“You wish.”

* * *

As Forbes’s BATRIG’s servos relaxed and weapons cooled, he noticed movement from the plaza’s far side. A woman and a child, holding hands, walked out from behind Rodgers’s mech and strode into the square. Flickering firelight from a hundred improvised funeral pyres cast the two figures in a grimly orange hue.

Forbes felt a shiver go up his spine. The grandmother and grandchild seemed so out of place. The familiarity of their relationship—the genuine affection—was juxtaposed to the brutal violence he’d helped dispense. And yet Forbes had the distinct impression that he was watching history unfold—like something his great grandchildren might learn about on a school field trip one day.

“I was there,” he might say. “I saw them with my own two eyes, walking through the wreckage like wraiths among the mist.”

As Forbes watched the pair move toward the hole in the plaza, he knew the galaxy’s hope hung on their shoulders. On Piper’s shoulders—she had a name. And the universe would remember it for all time. That was why he was here, why he was risking his life—so that people could go on living and hear about tales from long ago. The whole thing felt poetic somehow.

Rodgers and his unit stepped aside to let a hundred-some figures follow Willowood and Piper toward the hole. They were Gladio Umbra mystics, along with some LAW Li-Dain. One half wore Azelon’s technologically advanced power suits, the other golden robes. The scene was an odd one, to be sure—an unlikely team in a strange place. But a team who is going to save us all, Forbes thought to himself. So long as you do your part.

Just then, members of Taursar Company reported contact from a new tunnel in the street farther back. Forbes ordered them to close it up using VWMs and report back. Then he opened a channel to Willowood. “We’ll keep your six clear, commander.”

“Thank you, Captain,” Willowood replied. “Though I imagine our presence might stir some new interest in this grid.”

“I’m counting on it, ma’am. My unit’s been eager to stretch the legs on these BATRIGs, and we’ve hardly broken them in.”

“Then we’ll be sure to tell the secdim where to head if they ask for directions.”

Forbes winked at her. “I’ll tip you later.”

Willowood winked back. “And I’ll be expecting it.”

Willowood turned back to look at the rest of the gladias and Li-Dain. “Everyone ready?”

Heads nodded, necks stretched, and arms flexed.

A strange part of Forbes wanted to jump down that hole with them just to see what this elite group could do. But he knew that the best way to help them and to ensure mission success was for him to stay topside. And besides, he hated caves.

Across the plaza, Willowood and Piper let go of one another, leaped into the night sky, and then dropped into the hole. One moment they were there—grandmother and granddaughter, hand in hand—the next, they were gone—plunging into the enemy’s lair like banshees hunting prey.

“Mystics’ speed,” Forbes said, and then he faced the enemy closing on their location. “Time to give these bastards hellfire.”

25

“Wow, sir,” TO-96 said from beside Ezo in Geronimo Nine’s cockpit. “That was spectacular flying. High marks, sir. High marks, indeed.”

“You’re not so bad with those blasters either,” Ezo replied as he pulled Geronimo out of a steep dive. They’d just dropped ordnance on a street packed with fresh secdim moving north toward Rohoar’s position.

“It’s my pleasure, sir. As I was just telling Awen, I have discovered—”

“That you have a real talent for blowing splick up. I was right here, buddy, ’member? Just don’t get cocky.”

“Same goes for you, husband,” Sootriman said from inside her tricked-out Panther-class starfighter, the Radiant Queen. “Remember, that’s still my ship.”

“Pretty sure we smoothed that over already,” Ezo said.

“Actually, sir,” TO-96 replied. “Your account with Sootriman is—”

“Is all square, as I recall.” He cast the bot a glaring stare.

TO-96 expanded one eye’s radius and narrowed the other’s. “Ah. I see. Yes, umm. You don’t owe Sootriman anything whatsoever. And I have absolutely no records to show evidence to the contrary. In fact, nothing like that has ever existed in—”

“Pushing it. Pushing it,” Ezo said between tight lips.

“I’m holding you both responsible for Geronimo’s well-being,” Sootriman said. “Whatever you do to her, I do to you.”

TO-96 twisted his head slightly. “Madame, how is that anatomically possible?”

“I’ll get creative.”

“Ah. Very good.” He turned to Ezo. “She’ll get creative, sir.”

“I heard. Just—focus on shooting splick.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Magnus to Ezo,” came the Major’s voice from a new HUD holo.

Ezo swiped the channel request open. “What’s shaking, Major.”

“Ricio is reporting enemy fighters inbound,” Magnus said.

Ezo’s stomach tightened. There was something in Magnus’s voice that sounded…well, not like his usual badass self. “Obscura, then?”

“Abeyant-class is what intel is calling them.”

“Copy that. Ezo will be ready.”

“He said to warn you that they’re quick.”

Ezo nodded. “All righty.”

“And that you need to lock fast and fire even faster.”

Ezo looked to TO-96. “That’s your department, big guy.”

“Understood, sir,” the bot replied.

Ezo glanced back at Magnus. “Ezo will be sure to gift wrap a few and drop them at your doorstep, Major.”

Magnus worked his jaw. “Idris, listen—”

“Ezo’s first name? Something’s definitely ruffled your panties.”

“They’ve already taken out twenty-one of the fighters in the opening exchange.” Magnus looked serious. “And they weren’t even trying.”

Ezo sat up a little straighter. If his math was right, that meant Ricio’s seventy-two fighters stood at just fifty-one. Not a lot against— “How many?”

“One hundred sixty,” Magnus replied flatly. “ETA in three minutes.”

“Sir,” TO-96 said. “Considering Ricio’s losses against an enemy whose primary objective was not fighter-to-fighter combat, I calculate our odds of—”

“Of kicking some serious Obscura ass to be much higher now that we have something to shoot that’s airborne.”

“That is not at all what I was going to say, sir.”

Ezo looked back at Magnus. “Thanks for the intel, Major. Ezo will relay the message.”

Magnus sighed. “Good luck, Idris.”

“Luck ain’t got nothing to do with it.” Ezo paused. “But we’ll take it. Thanks.”

Magnus’s eyes lingered a beat longer than they would have on any other transmission. “Magnus out.”

The major’s face blinked out, and Geronimo’s cockpit went still. Somehow, Ezo got the distinct impression that Magnus was taking a last look. At least that’s how it felt.

“Sir?”

“Yeah, ’Six?”

“Are you all right?”

Ezo ran his tongue over his teeth. “Hell, yeah. You?”

“My systems are nominal. Yours, however, seem to be indicating fluctuations in—”

“Recalibrate all weapons systems for aerial combat, pal. Let the rest of our Rogues know too. I’ve got a feeling we’re actually going to have to work for this win tonight.”

TO-96 nodded and then set to his tasks. “Let us get lower and unclean.”

“It’s down and dirty,” Ezo said.

“That as well.”

Ezo chuckled and brought Geronimo around and started climbing.

* * *

Ricio pressed his Fang to the breaking point as he sped after the Abeyant fleet. Were he to try any attack or evasive maneuvers at this speed, his starfighter would tear apart in the blink of an eye. As it was, he guessed he’d need several dozen kilometers just to make a 180º turn.

Itheliana’s footprint continued to grow in his HUD. With every second that passed, he waited for the Abeyant fighters to slow, but they remained undeterred in their insane dive toward the surface. As Ricio’s altimeter dropped below 10,000 meters, he realized this might not be about matching the enemy’s moves. It was going to be about self-preservation.

But there was no way any organic life-form could handle recovery at these speeds. They needed to slow down now—unless they’re planning on drilling the city.

Ricio caught his breath. No, the Obscura weren’t that reckless—were they?

He waited as long as he could before giving the order. “All fighters, slow to atmo attack speed.” Even as he commanded his Fang to decelerate, he marveled that the Abeyant fighters were still hurtling toward the surface. Without engaging the enemy on a horizontal plane, the allies risked sending friendly fire into the city. But it would be another sixty interminably long seconds before they were anywhere near to engaging the enemy.

“Magnus,” Ricio said. “You’re gonna have a small assault window from our guests devoid of our support.”

“How long?”

“Sixty seconds, max.”

“Got it. We’ll try and keep ’em busy. Just stay to the outside.”

“Copy.”

Ricio sent his attack wing an order to form a perimeter around the Abeyant fighters relative to the city’s center. The pilots acknowledged the order and established a ten-klick ring around the enemy formation.

No sooner had they done so than large-caliber blaster fire started shooting up from grid ten just northeast of the city’s center.

* * *

“Forbes,” Magnus said in a clipped tone. “Need you to divert as much armor as you can to the inbound aerial threat. Targets populating…now.”

“Gotta ’em, Major. Obscura?”

“Affirmative. Our fighters are on their tail but lagging. Told them to stay wide so you have some room to work with.”

“We’re on it.” Forbes disseminated the targets and did a double-take when he saw 160-vessel count. Taursar company didn’t have enough to go one on one. Plus, he couldn’t divert too much firepower to air defense without jeopardizing his primary objective to guard the mystic’s six. As a compromise, the captain re-tasked 55 BATRIGs to split the 160 targets, prioritizing those Abeyant fighters closest to Charlie’s battle group.

If it were not for Azelon’s accompanying wire-frame overlays that came with Magnus’s targeting package, Forbes wouldn’t have had a visual on the enemy, just raw data. As it was, the targets looked like tiny pyramids with a death wish to dive straight into the city. Whether or not the vessels would pull up didn’t concern him; he needed to shoot them down before they got any closer.

“Fire at will,” he said and then raised his own weapons skyward.

Forbes’s GU90M belched out big-bore particle rounds as fast as the weapon could recharge. His right elbow and shoulder absorbed the recoil, but the servos still whined in protest. From his left arm, the RTD10 spewed a constant torrent of high-frequency energy bursts toward the stars. The action sent vibrations into the mech’s torso as Forbes tried to focus on his inbound targets.

The first pyramid he shot at absorbed several seconds of energy, to the point that Forbes was convinced his aim was off. There was no way anything could withstand that kind of assault and not show signs of damage. Despite his assurances that his BATRIG’s aim was true and auto-tracking interface was engaged, the ship continued on course unabated.

Forbes’s mech was seconds away from having to switch out energy magazines for both weapons when his target crumpled inward and detonated. Fewer kills had given him such satisfaction or raised his blood pressure as high as this one. Still, almost none of the other mech’s had as much luck.

“They’re heavily shielded,” he announced over comms. “Keep your aim steady and don’t let up.”

Confirmation icons should have populated the chat window, but he knew his operators were too busy staying locked. It was just fine with him.

Forbes seized the opportunity to let his BATRIG’s rear-loading system swap out mags and waited for the “Weapons: Ready” icon to pop up. As soon as it did, he was firing on his next target. But the fighters were nearly on top of them now, and Forbes kept waiting for them to pull up.

His weapons continued to send tremors through the mech, shaking his body like the antique track-based tanks he’d messed around with as a kid. Just when he was sure his latest target was about to pummel into a skyscraper, the starfighter pulled up, narrowly missing the building’s top level. Instead, it sank below the skyline and raced down a street until it was out of sight. The worst part was that Forbes hadn’t been able to finish the kill. Hopefully, someone else would have the pleasure of cherry-picking his hard work. In war, assists counted as much as kills, just as long as someone put the bastard down.

Forbes scanned the rest of the targets and noted that all of them had dropped into the city streets. He hailed Magnus, double-checked his report, and then winced. “We got seventeen, Major. Sorry we couldn’t do more.”

“You know the drill,” Magnus replied.

“Take every kill you can. Doesn’t mean I’m happy about it.”

“Thanks for your help, Captain. Carry on.”

“Roger.” He closed the channel with Magnus and then watched Ricio’s squadrons drop in a few seconds later. “Mystics’ speed, Ricio,” Forbes said to the air. “And happy hunting.”

* * *

Ricio gritted his teeth as his Fang pulled up and dropped between buildings. His inertia dampeners were maxed. But his AI was locked onto an enemy fighter that he swore was seconds away from succumbing. BATRIGS from inside the city had filled the critical gap in coverage with accurate surface-to-air fire. Even still, only a handful of the enemy ships had been taken out. But several more had taken a severe beating, like the one he tracked now.

The enemy craft flew down the street as one of its pointed tips threatened to scrape against the buildings. The Obscura pilots weren’t half bad and appeared calm under pressure. But so was Ricio. His AI cleared him of possible friendly-fire, and Ricio brought his NZ45s online. The full-auto blast ripped through the remaining shield and tore into the enemy craft, sending it hurtling into a building. Fire and debris showered the street as Ricio jetted through the remains. He let out a short victory hoot and then pulled up.

As Ricio’s Fang circled back to pick out his next target, he got a channel override transmission.

“That you, Ricio?” said Ezo’s familiar voice.

“Sure is, pal. Whaddya need?”

“A little backup, maybe? Got something Ezo can’t shake.”

Ricio brought up Geronimo Nine’s coordinates. “I’m closest to you. Stand by.”

“Standing”—a loud crash jarred Ezo—“by.”

“And please hurry, Mr. Mauricio, sir,” TO-96 said. “Sootriman is going to be quite unpleased if you dilly dally.”

* * *

Ezo was flying Geronimo harder than he ever remembered. Between the whine of the inertia dampeners and repulsors and the scream of the main engines, the ship sounded more like it was in labor than gliding through the air.

“I’m not sure how much more the ship can take, sir,” TO-96 said.

“Just keep shooting,” Ezo yelled. “She won’t take anything if those fighters—”

A direct hit to the stern shook his seat.

“Rear shields at 13 percent, sir.”

“Keep shooting!”

TO-96 managed to take out one and then two enemy fighters as Ezo banked Geronimo around a corner and under a sky bridge between two buildings. But three replacement fighters filled the enemy ranks, and a fourth dropped in low.

“Dammit,” Ezo said.

He pulled up on the flight controls, and Geronimo strained. The ship looped over the sky bridge and then doubled back into the streets. But the Abeyant fighters looped even tighter and closed the gap. “You’ve gotta be kidding me!”

“No, they’re not joking, sir. I am attempting to unleash the gates of hell upon them, but they’re being rather obstinate.” TO-96 leaned forward and glared at the targeting holo. “Hold still, you little sons of a Bornark sortles.” The bot traded fire with all four ships, but his shots were sporadic as the enemy starfighters bobbed and weaved. “I’m terribly sorry, sir. But these vessels are really rusting my rudiments.”

“What?”

Another barrage hit Geronimo’s tail.

“Rear shields depleted, sir. No additional auxiliary power to divert.”

“Splick.” Ezo barrel-rolled his ship three times as enemy blaster fire streaked along the fuselage.

TO-96 put out his hands to brace himself. “Marvelous maneuvering, sir.”

Another direct hit struck the stern.

“Port side engine offline, sir,” the bot said.

But Ezo didn’t need the status report to feel the ship yaw to port as the starboard engine overcompensated. He backed off the throttle and employed full right repulsors to try and straighten out. Geronimo’s flight yoke bucked in his hands as he fought to keep the ship from spinning out of control. “Come on, baby.”

“Got one,” TO-96 exclaimed with a raised fist.

Ezo saw an explosion out of the corner of his eye as he struggled to keep Geronimo from crashing against a few high-rises. “Nice work. Don’t let up.”

“Oh, I won’t, sir. I won’t!”

“Everything okay over there?” Sootriman asked.

Ezo rolled his eyes. “Just fine, love sauce. Everything’s—”

Geronimo bucked, and Ezo’s head snapped back.

“You’re getting my ship beat to splick,” Sootriman said as she swiped through a ship-to-ship sensors report. “Ezo, so help me—”

“I’ve got it under control, I said.”

The ship lurched again.

“Ion-propulsion at 41 percent, sir. Oh, and the aft-facing port-side NR220 is offline.”

Sootriman raised both eyebrows. “That doesn’t sound under control, love sauce.”

“Heh, yeah. Um—” He pretended to fiddle with something on the console. The truth was, he didn’t have the ship under control, and he felt his life spinning out from underneath him too. For the first time in a very long time, he thought he might not make it out of this; it was more of a realization than conscious thought. Everything was happening so fast. He wanted to tell Sootriman some things and regretted not saying them before the mission. And he wanted to say some things to Ninety-Six too, but—there was no time. Instead, all he could think to say was, “Oops, gotta go.”

“Oops?” Sootriman replied. “That’s all you’re—?”

Ezo terminated the transmission and banked the ship around another tight turn in the streets.

“Oh, she’s pissed, sir,” TO-96 said.

Ezo let out a nervous chuckle as Geronimo glanced off a building. “Hey, ’Six?”

“Yes, sir?”

“It’s been a blast.”

“What a dreadful pun, sir.”

Ezo shrugged. “Well, bad puns—they’re all I’ve got left, pal.”

“Ah, I see. Then you are desperate.”

“You don’t even know.”

* * *

Ricio dropped in behind three Abeyant fighters wreaking havoc on Geronimo Nine.

Ezo’s ship was trailing smoke and looked to be missing a good section from its stern and port side, as well as some defenses. Repulsors were straining to compensate but glowed so hot Ricio wondered how they were still intact. The fact that Ezo was able to fly the Katana-class vessel was a testament to his skill as much as it was to the engineers who built the damn thing.

But he’d have time to congratulate everyone later. Right now, he had some fighters to clear.

Ricio targeted the lead Abeyant fighter and willed his Fang to fill it with particle rounds. His ship shuddered as it delivered a three-second-long blast. The fact that one of the other enemy vessels accidentally flew into his barrage, chewing through a good portion of its shield, didn’t hurt Ricio’s feelings. But both fighters realized they were being attacked and banked away from the incoming fire.

All three Obscura ships slowed as their pilots assessed the threat on their six. For the moment, Geronimo was clear. But the moment the enemy realized he was just one Fang, they’d either double-back on him or double-down on Ezo.

Or maybe they’ll split the difference, Ricio thought as two Abeyant fighters braked and the third pressed after Geronimo. Even in his high-performance Fang, Ricio was slow to react and flew between the decelerating Abeyant ships. So he took advantage of the option before him: take out the fighter on Ezo’s ass.

Sure, he could have pulled out of the urban corridor and saved his hide. “But where’s the courage in that?” Ricio gained target lock and fired. “Die, you son of a bitch.”

The Fang spewed dual NZ45 and NX90 fire at the Obscura ship. As expected, the vessel’s shields deflected the first second of the assault, but Ricio had done enough damage earlier that the Obscura’s defenses collapsed. Cannon fire ripped through the pyramid and cracked the thing open like an egg. For the first time since engaging the enemy, Ricio got a look at the pilot: a flailing black-robed human wrapped in tattered strips of cloth. But the body’s flight was short-lived as it exploded into a cloud of fine mist against a building.

“Thank you, Mr. Mauricio,” TO-96 said over comms. “That was a brilliant kill.”

“You’re not out of the woods yet,” Ricio replied.

Sensors still showed two Abeyant craft on his tail, so Ricio decided to give them some of their own medicine by slamming on his air brakes. Front-facing repulsor pads flared to life, and Ricio’s body slammed into his restraints. The enemy ships flew by—one nicking the starboard side of the Fang’s hull—and then Ricio shot forward to regain optimum firing position.

With one Angel Fire missile left, Ricio assigned it to the starfighter on the left while he focused all cannon fire on the one to the right. His input orders were simultaneous, and the Fang spat fire, smoke, and blaster rounds like some mythological dragon.

The missile careened toward its target and detonated only a few ship-lengths in front of Ricio—in-urban flying made for tight flying. His Fang was swallowed in smoke, and for a moment, Ricio couldn’t see a thing. But his sensors showed the Abeyant fighter had been hit—at least partially. A beat later, he had a sightline on the craft, which was still flying despite missing half its hull. How was that possible? Ricio didn’t know and, right now, didn’t care. He redirected his NX90s to finish the job. The enemy ship spun into the street and disappeared.

The last ship had taken a beating but was still firing on Geronimo. Ricio tried his best to get a clear shot that didn’t risk friendly fire, but the enemy pilot was good and stayed locked on Ezo’s tail. Every time the Abeyant ship popped above or below Geronimo’s silhouette, Ricio fired, but the target dodged and ducked back to cover.

Meanwhile, the enemy berated the Katana-class ship. Its latest attack raked Geronimo’s top along the starboard side. New smoke streams issued from the blacked holes left by the red laser beams.

“Ezo doesn’t suppose you could hurry it up back there,” Ezo said. “Not that we’re not grateful.”

“This bastard’s riding your tail like—”

That’s it, Ricio thought.

“Ezo, brake! Hard.”

Geronimo stopped faster than Ricio intended. Not only did the enemy fighter crash into the ship’s ion-engines—where it was promptly deconstructed—but Ricio almost did too. He skimmed across the top of Geronimo’s fuselage as sparks leaped into the darkness, and a terrible shriek filled his ears. Then he shot past the Katana-class freighter and up into open air.

“Ha haaaa,” Ezo yelled. “We did it!”

Ricio chuckled. “No sweat.”

“Sir,” TO-96 said. “Four more inbound fighters.”

“What?” Ricio said.

“What?” added Ezo. “Son of a bitch.”

“Stay down,” Ricio ordered. “You’re too big a target above the buildings. I’m coming back around.”

“Ehhh…Ezo thinks you’ve done enough,” Ezo said.

“Is the op over? No. So don’t you tell me what’s enough.” Rico pulled back, and the Fang looped high over the city. He looked out the top window and saw Geronimo streak down the road below. The ship trailed fire and smoke but was still flying. Then Ricio caught sight of his wife and son—the picture had slipped from his console and landed on the upper canopy.

Pilots were a superstitious bunch, and Ricio was no exception. It was the reason he took the printed photograph on every sortie. He figured that as long as he had it, his family had him. Ricio kissed their image before every mission, and then tucked the picture into his breast pocket and patted it twice at the end. Rituals meant something.

And so did breaking them.

Ricio reached for the picture as his Fang plummeted down the backside of the loop and plunged toward the city. But his flight gloves fumbled with the paper, and then a change in inertia pulled the picture away. Ricio felt a jolt of panic as he strained to recover the memento, but the paper was somewhere behind him now, and he had a mission to complete.

“Stay focused,” he told himself as he fought off the G-forces pressing his body into the seat. The Fang’s dampeners absorbed as much as they could, but every system had its limits, and the Novia fighter was no exception—nor was his body. Ricio’s head bobbed as he flirted with the blackout threshold. In his mind’s eye, he saw the picture of his wife and son. They called to him from the darkness—he could see their smiling faces laughing, their hands waving. But it was just his imagination. The real people were back on Aluross, waiting for his return.

Ricio let out a long grunt to aid muscle constriction and forced his head to stay in the game. After his Fang finished the loop, blood returned to his head. Ricio blinked, glanced at the target locks on his HUD, and then ordered Angel Fire missiles on each target.

“Missiles: Unavailable,” the error prompt read.

Somewhere amid fighting blackout, Ricio had lost track of his ordnance count—something he never did.

He activated both cannons and opened fire.

The gods must have smiled on him because the first two Abeyant fighters he hit went down in less than a second. More than likely, someone else in the squadron had given these two a beating. Ricio didn’t mind cherry-picking when it was for saving a wingman’s ass. The two enemy starfighters broke off their attack and collided with one another. Then they tumbled to the street and careened through a mass of secdim charging west through the city.

Ricio turned his attention to the last two Abeyant fighters. They fired at Geronimo and landed several shots—enough that Ricio couldn’t believe the ship was still aloft. He fired both cannons again and then heard a soft double-click sound.

Magazines: Depleted his HUD read.

“The hell?”

In Ricio’s haste to rescue Geronimo, he’d gotten distracted. It was a rookie move, and he cursed himself for it. But he knew why. This whole damn ordeal, from beginning to end, was beyond the realm of reason. The Paragon, the conflicts over Oorajee and Worru, Capriana Prime and Aluross, and then add in Soldark, the Obscura, the Novia Minoosh—it was insane, thought up by a madman.

And that’s precisely what Ricio was: mad. Mad at the Obscura for attacking his friends. Mad at Admiral Kane and Moldark for displacing his family. And mad at himself for—well, for this moment right here. The enemy was firing on Ezo and TO-96, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do…

No, he corrected himself. There was something he could do.

Before his conscience could reason him out of the action, Ricio shoved thrusters to full and locked course on the enemy fighter to the right. The Fang threw Ricio back in his seat as it sped toward the Abeyant ship. Ricio braced himself. And then the Fang’s nose drove into the pyramid’s stern and plunged through the pilot’s body.

At the same moment, the picture of Ricio’s family fluttered forward and pressed against the front window. Ricio smiled at the two faces but knew he couldn’t afford to be distracted again.

With the Abeyant fighter still affixed to his ship’s nose, Ricio rolled hard left and slammed into Geronimo’s last pursuer. A corner of the Abeyant fighter penetrated Ricio’s drive housing and punctured the trinium core. Then, in a flash of light and thunderous crack, the explosion threw Geronimo Nine forward, destroyed the Obscura ship, and snuffed out the life of the Gladio Umbra’s beloved fighter pilot.

* * *

“Hold on,” Ezo yelled as the Geronimo tipped forward.

“Main engines offline,” TO-96 said in a far calmer voice than the situation merited. “Also, the repulsors are—”

“Shut up and let me concentrate!”

“Shutting up, sir.”

Back in the day, Ezo had practiced de-powering Geronimo in-atmo and using its emergency airbrakes as control surfaces. The flaps worked great even though the designers probably didn’t have this in mind when they drew up the Katana-class’s plans. Granted, he had to make several modifications to ensure the servos could move in small increments. He also relocated a few of the plates so their hinge lines acted on the ship’s center of mass. But the work paid off, and flying Geronimo like a glider turned out to be a lot of fun.

Of course, he wasn’t flying a disabled spacecraft through an abandoned city with alien starfighters trying to kill him back then. Plus, whatever Ricio did back there had quite literally knocked Geronimo out of the sky.

Ezo wrestled with the controls as he tried to keep the crescent-shaped ship from nosing straight into the pavement. Striking a building meant spinning the vessel like a top—also not great.

“Friendly forces, dead ahead, sir,” TO-96 said.

“Not funny, ’Six!”

“Ah. I see how that completely innocent thought could be construed as inappropriate despite my—”

“SHUT UP.”

Ezo glanced at the overlaid route projection on his HUD and realized that, despite all odds, Geronimo was flying too efficiently. At his present speed and course, the craft would careen into an Alpha Group element that filled a street eight blocks away. He needed to drop the ship now.

“She’s going to kill me,” Ezo said, though he meant to utter it in his head.

“If you mean to ditch the ship before—”

“I do.”

“Then yes, she’s going to kill you. But there’s good news.”

“What?”

“We’ll most likely die before she gets her hands on you.”

“Perfect. Nice knowing you, ’Six.”

“And you, sir.”

Then Ezo pointed the ship’s nose down and drove into a charging sea of secdim.

26

Abimbola was right in the middle of a melee with an unruly secdus when Magnus interrupted him. “Bimby, I need you.”

“Please stand by,” Abimbola replied. The possessed Novian hulk hammer-fisted the space Abimbola had stood in a heartbeat before, and then fractured the pavement. While the beast was still recoiling from the over-extension, Abimbola hooked its neck with one hand and swung around to its back. Then he drove the muzzle of his BFT6 Tigress into the base of the enemy’s neck and squeezed the trigger. The large bore handgun barked, and the surrounding fur burst into flames. But the Tigress struck again and blew the secdus’s brain stem out through its bloody maw. Abimbola rode the beast to the ground and then stepped off its back and onto the street once more.

“Okay. Now you can speak to me, buckethead.”

“Granther Company’s pinned down, and you’re the closest to them.” Then Magnus hesitated. “She needs you, Bimby.”

And by she, Abimbola knew he meant Awen.

“I understand. We will intervene.”

“Thanks.” Magnus took a deep breath. “I owe you one.”

“You owe me several. More than I can count, perhaps.”

“Got it.”

Abimbola smiled. “In fact, I think your entire life may be spent in service to—”

“Bimby. Awen? Remember?”

“Yes, buckethead. We are going.”

“Magnus out.”

Abimbola had been pressing Snake’s Dregs and Ezo’s Rogues hard for the last half hour. They’d made good progress with minimal casualties. The secdim were fierce and resilient, but not impossible to put down. It was more the sheer volume of them that concerned Abimbola. He’d heard a little chatter between Azelon and the rest of the commanders, and the idea of 800,000,000 Novia Minoosh bodies coming back to life wasn’t exactly something he hoped to see. They needed lots of reinforcements, and they needed to put Soldark down fast.

To his credit, Snakes stayed right in the thick of things. Abimbola wondered if the greedy little bastard might bolt as soon as things went sideways, but he didn’t. If anything, he was proving to be a smart tactician and a ruthless gunfighter. Most of Ezo’s Rogues stayed in the fight too. And for those who left, well, Abimbola didn’t blame them exactly. Fighting tooth and nail for their lives just because they “owed” Ezo wasn’t the greatest motivation. However, those who stayed proved that there really was some honor among thieves. That, or they just loved a good fight.

Now that it looked like Willowood and Piper were hot on Soldark’s subterranean trail, Abimbola’s task took another turn: help Awen make it to the temple library. From there, she’d be able to open the quantum tunnel and get the Reptalons in the fight. That was if the Reptalons’ gods wanted to fight.

In the end, however, he wasn’t fighting to buy time for the Reptalons or any other faction to rescue him. He’d learned long ago not to trust the people who said, “Don’t worry. Help is on the way.” The only people interested in finishing a fight were those in it; everyone else was just placing bets.

“Awen. Do you copy?” Abimbola said.

Her face appeared in a frame on his HUD. “Hi, big guy. Nice to see your face.”

“Magnus says you need some assistance?”

She nodded. “They’re protecting the temple library, and we’re getting hit on all sides.”

“Can you hold them off for”—he glanced at the estimated time to target that Magnus had just uploaded—“four more minutes?”

“I think we can hold out that long. But hurry.”

“Understood,” Abimbola said and then gave her a wink. “Here we come, Awen dau Lothlinium.”

The transmission ended, and Abimbola called over to Snakes.

“Yo, yo, yo. Whatchu need, Lo?” Snakes replied.

Abimbola clenched his teeth at what must’ve been the tenth nickname the wiry warlord had used today. “I need the way cleared. We must reach a new objective, and with great haste.”

“Great haste? Splick. You ain’t paying me to sit around with poker chips up my butt. Consider it done, Billy.”

Snakes put two fingers to his mouth, whistled, and then waved his hand forward like a knife blade.

Part of the agreement with Abimbola was that Snakes could bring several welded monstrosities from the Dregs. Because Abimbola had quite the collection of his own before he left Oorajee, he was only too happy to comply so long as the vehicles could be transported. It took some convincing with the colonel, but Magnus had cast his vote in favor of the ugly hover trucks, and Caldwell assented.

Snakes grinned as three of his hideous hover sleds ambled up the street. Once the lead vehicle was close enough, Snakes climbed up a left-side ladder and motioned for Abimbola to follow him.

With Kathy in tow, Abimbola climbed after Snakes and eventually stood up inside an observation turret. The platform had corrugated plate metal under the railings and ratty fabric curtains that hung from the thin roof. Several meters below them, a conglomeration of massive plates with one-meter spikes formed a wraparound wall used for ramming oncoming enemies. Two more similarly crafted behemoths pulled up to either side of Snake’s truck but stayed enough behind that the three vehicles formed a wedge.

Abimbola hadn’t used the trucks yet because, for one thing, he enjoyed using his hands. Secondly, he had a feeling that it wouldn’t take long for the secdim to overrun the trucks after the initial devastation. While he was all for rushing in guns blazing, he also knew there was a reward for being prudent. He would use the armor when the time was right. And if Awen needed his help, then the time was definitely right.

“Hold on to your lizard,” Snakes said, looking down. Then he added, “Hi, Kathy,” as he waved at the rathmonolith.

Kathy hissed and then put her claws up on the railing to get a better view.

“Let us commence,” Abimbola said and nodded toward the enemy horde that stood between them and Granther Company.

The trucks’ drive cores screamed as the metal monsters lurched forward. Abimbola grabbed the railing to keep from falling backward. Kathy hissed at him, but he hissed right back until she made room. Then she hissed at Snakes.

“Okay, okay,” Snakes said as he raised his palms. “I can stand back here, no problem.”

The battle wagons accelerated to ramming speed and careened into a wave of secdim with devastating results. Several enemies dodged the spikes, only to be met by the armored plates’ serrated edges. With enough speed—as Snakes’s drivers were demonstrating now—the panels acted like saw blades when they met flesh and bone.

For the secdim who weren’t so lucky, they found themselves skewered on the spikes. The meter-long spires drove through flesh with ease. Of course, the freakish Novian beasts didn’t die right away as weaker life-forms might. They thrashed and wailed, often striking their fellow secdim fatal blows.

And for those secdim that seemed to sense the futility of meeting the machines head-on, Snakes’s engineers had another surprise.

“Would you like the honors?” Snakes asked Abimbola as he pointed to a small control screen perched on the railing.

Kathy screeched at the war lord.

“I’m not gonna hurt him, Kathy,” Snakes said with a hand to his chest. “Easy, girl. Just asking if he wants to have himself some fun is all. Sheesh.” He looked up at Abimbola. “She always so touchy?”

“No. She is often worse. I think she actually likes you.” Then Abimbola saw several buttons on the screen, each with the word Deploy highlighted. Without knowing what each button activated, he guessed and touched the first.

Any secdus unlucky enough to be climbing up the spiked plates toward the upper observation turret was thrust back in the horde as hydraulic pistons pumped the plates like battering rams. They worked each plate individually, pumping in and out at random intervals. Spikes drove straight through enemy bodies, retracted, and then shot forward again, sometimes drilling the same victim twice.

Not one to let weapons go to waste, Abimbola pushed the next button. He heard a whizzing sound long before he noticed the saw blades extended horizontally from under the front bumper. They moved back and forth, crisscrossing at knee level, and cut through several layers of the demon seed before the secdim started moving out of the way.

Then Abimbola punched the third button and watched flames shoot from between the armored plates. The truck was instantly transformed into a fire-breathing dragon from the nightmares of his childhood. Abimbola let out a wail of laughter before turning to Snakes.

“I really must get myself one of these marvelous works of art.”

“Glad you like it,” Snakes replied. “If this one survives the day, consider it my gift to you.”

Abimbola slapped the smaller man on the back and grinned. “Deal.”

While Abimbola told Awen four minutes, that calculation had been made according to the average speed on foot. He learned long ago that it was better to over-deliver than over-promise, especially when it came to combat. But up here on Snakes’s death wagon with the rest of the infantry in tow, Abimbola estimated they could cut the time in half so long as Snakes’s drivers were halfway decent. Which, based on their current progress, they were.

Eventually, however, the secdim grew leery of the menacing street sweepers and devised ways of staying clear of the weaponry. The smartest beasts scaled the buildings and waited for the trucks to pass by before leaping down. While Snakes and his warriors dealt with those enemies who fell in the open bed to the rear, Abimbola and Kathy fought off several secdim who attacked the turret.

A fur-lined paw punched through the side window and grasped at Abimbola’s face. But before the enemy could reach him, Kathy latched onto the secdim’s bicep. The rathmonolith’s razor-sharp teeth had a nasty habit of shredding anything that tried to wiggle free of them. Within a second, Kathy had severed the brachial artery that fed the secdus’s paws. Pressurized spurts of blood shot all over the turret’s interior, while Abimbola jammed his Tigress under the alien’s chin. Then he squeezed off one round that blossomed out the top of the beast’s head. The secdus spasmed, went limp, and then fell off the top of the truck. Abimbola had to pull Kathy free just to keep her from disappearing out the window with the assailant.

The next enemy dove straight through the observation turret’s front opening and pummeled Abimbola in the chest. Again, Kathy bit the creature, this time grabbing its neck. Abimbola’s forearms were pinned against the back railing, so he could not fire on the Novian aggressor. But Kathy started sliding her lower jaw back and forth, sawing deep into the secdus’s throat. Arteries split, the airway opened, and nerves severed all in a matter of seconds. Soon, the partially decapitated monster flopped over the railing, bounced between the front spikes, and then disappeared beneath the truck.

“Thank you, beautiful,” Abimbola said as he gave Kathy a loving pat.

She hissed in reply and then looked for her next victim.

While Kathy scampered off, Abimbola sensed the truck’s purpose coming to an end. Secdim grabbed the sides and were attempting to drive it into the ground. He’d never seen anything like it. Between that and the army piling onto the vehicle, Abimbola sensed the truck was moments from succumbing. But it had done its job. Just ahead, Granther Company was engaged in the fight of their lives.

* * *

To their credit, Wish and Finderminth had done a fantastic job at defending Granther Company against a 360º assault. Their Unity force fields had given the NOV3s just the margin they needed to lay waste to the enemy incursion swelling around the gladias. But as the dead piled up and the secdim climbed over corpses to assail the Gladio Umbra’s elite unit, Awen feared that maybe the mission could go no further.

She and the mystics had exhausted most of their energy. Without rest, the force fields would collapse any second. And even if she could make it into the temple library, Awen wasn’t sure if she had the strength to open the QTG. Abimbola had promised to arrive soon, but she worried that he’d been overwhelmed by the enemy’s numbers.

As for the other gladias, they too seemed moments away from a bitter end. Zoll, Silk, Dutch, and Rix effected a field of fire to the west that barely repelled the main frontal attack. Robillard, Bliss, and Reimer aimed east to keep their six covered, but that was collapsing. And the Jujari, Czyz, and Longchomps, tried counterattacking those who managed to break through the diminishing Unity barrier. But Awen knew everyone was tiring and running low on ammo. There seemed to be endless waves of Secdim. And as the seconds passed, Awen saw any hope of reaching her mission objective fade.

All at once, Awen sensed a tremor ripple through the enemy host; it acted like a subtle electric current that made tiny hairs stand up. The secdim didn’t stop their assault on the gladias, but they at least seemed to take notice of something—a subconscious group transmission, perhaps. Awen tried looking for the subject of their communication, but she could hardly see above the pile of bodies growing around them.

“Last mag,” Bliss exclaimed as he pulled the energy magazine from his pistol and slammed it home in his NOV3.

“Same,” said Reimer, pumping out headshot after headshot.

“I’m out,” Zoll exclaimed.

“No you’re not.” Awen demagged the NOV3 on her back and tossed it to Zoll, along with two extra magazines. “Don’t spend it all in one place.”

“Copy that.” Zoll racked the first round, flicked off the safety, and drilled the closest enemy. He distributed the other two mags without looking.

Even with the momentary sense of relief Awen felt at providing Zoll with a fresh weapon, the overwhelming enemy numbers dashed any remaining threads of hope. She sent two remaining blasts of Nexus energy at a secdus who’d pushed through Finderminth’s half of the spherical wall and lunged at Reimer. The sniper had been looking the other way and glanced up just as the enemy toppled from Awen’s strike.

“Thanks,” Reimer said.

But Awen was too weak to reply. She was out of breath, and her fatigue felt like it emanated from deep inside her bones.

Just when she felt she might fall to her knees, she heard a grinding noise from the south. It sounded like someone had dropped a metal building on its side and was dragging it over stone. At the same time, the secdim’s assault ebbed—not entirely, but enough that the members of Granther Company started sharing looks.

In a group motion, every secdus to the south turned from the Gladio Umbra and ran away. The new opening in the horde’s line gave Awen a glimpse of a metallic structure grinding to a halt in the street.

“It’s Abimbola,” Wish declared with fresh excitement in her voice. “And he’s brought his reinforcements.”

Awen’s knees strengthened—enough for her to stay upright—and she raised her chin to the south. Blaster fire flashed against the buildings, and the roars of secdim in death throes echoed through the city. Soon, the enemy was disinterested in Granther Company and surged toward Abimbola’s unit. Awen looked toward the temple library and noticed an opportunity forming. But the gladias’ ammunition was low, and she feared what might happen were the Granthers unable to defend her once inside the temple library.

“We need to connect with Abimbola,” Awen said to Zoll. “Get you more ammo.”

“And you need to rest.” Zoll glanced at Wish and Finderminth and then looked at the flickering Unity barrier. “You all do.”

“What about a supply drop from Ezo’s air support?” Rix asked.

But Bliss shook his head. “No good. Too much heat. Abimbola’s our best option.”

“Let us go,” Czyz said, pointing a bloody nub to Longchomps.

The other Jujari nodded in agreement.

“You use what you have left to get to safety, and let us find the Dregs warlord for ammunition.” Czyz nodded toward the destination. “Then we meet you in the temple. It is not far, and we will come fully laden with energy magazines such that our great grandchildren will sing songs of our service for generations.”

Awen nodded at Zoll.

“Sounds like a plan,” Zoll said. “Give ’em hell, you two.”

“Hell is not our possession to dispense,” Longchomps said. “But we will gladly send them to Shöl where their souls will burn for a thousand years.”

Zoll chuckled. “That also works.”

“See you soon,” Awen added as she touched Czyz and Longchomps on the forearms. “Be careful.”

“No. We will be deadly while the enemy is careful,” Czyz said. Then he and Longchomps slipped behind a stream of secdim heading south and disappeared from view.

* * *

Abimbola and Kathy fought alongside Snakes and several of his Dregs. For a moment, Abimbola felt like he was back on Oosafar, tearing through a Selskrit pack with his Marauders. Snakes was making use of a double-barreled snub-nosed firearm that blew twenty-centimeter holes in its victims. At the same time, Kathy leaped from one secdus to another, snapping vertebrae and clipping carotid arteries.

For his part, Abimbola fought with his Tigress in one hand and his bowie knife in the other. An overeager secdus lunged at Abimbola’s head with both claws. The Miblimbian ducked, traced his blade across the creature’s gut, and then fired two rounds into its side as he stood.

The next secdus swung a massive arm at Abimbola’s head—a blow that would have knocked the warlord unconscious had he not leaned away. A second swing from the other arm forced the warlord back again. Enraged, the secdus threw its head back and roared, which gave Abimbola the opportunity to plunge his knife into the beast’s chest, pull himself up, and fire a single round into the secdus’s maw. The particle bolt punched into the base of the enemy’s brain and sent the creature backward. Abimbola rode it to the ground, removed his knife, and pushed himself into a standing position.

“Warlord of the Dregs,” said a voice over comms. The HUD vector indicators put it as coming from amidst the enemy host.

“Yes?” Abimbola and Snakes said as one. They looked at each other, gave half-smiles, and then glanced back at two Jujari-shaped helmets that emerged from amidst the enemy line.

“Greetings,” Czyz said. “Our gladias require ammunition. We must secure some from you and then get back to the temple library.”

Snakes ordered several Dregs to engage the enemy around the Jujari, then he studied the armor-clad warriors. “We’ve got plenty in the truck, Tawnhack,” Snakes said.

As if on cue, the nearest vehicle’s drive core exploded and sent a metal plate flipping end over end before it flattened several secdim to the north. “The other truck,” Snakes added as he thumbed toward the next vehicle over.

Czyz nodded. “Thank you.”

“How are the Granthers?” Abimbola asked.

Longchomps sneered. “We have lost Grahban. And everyone is dragging their hindquarters. But we will ensure that Awen opens the tunnel to the Reptalons or die trying.”

Czyz growled. “Or perhaps we will open the tunnel and then die right away so that we do not need to observe any Reptalons coming to our rescue.” He let out a dry hack toward the ground, like a dog when it chokes on a mouthful of grass.

Abimbola grinned and patted Czyz’s shoulder. “We will create a way for you. Go resupply, and then follow our path to the temple. Dominate.”

“Liberate,” Czyz and Longchomps replied.

When the Jujari left for the truck, Snakes eyed Abimbola. “Dominate, liberate?”

“It is our code—the code of the just, of those sent to free enslaved people from the dominion of evil.”

“Day-um. What did they do to you, Bimbo?”

“Exactly what was needed.” Abimbola cracked his neck and stretched his shoulders. “They have awakened my true self. Come—” He slapped Snakes on the back. “If the gods smile on us today, we will also succeed in awakening yours.”

“Oh no. Snakes’s true self is fine just where it is, thank you very much.”

“That is what they all say.” Abimbola flipped a poker chip at Snakes. The smaller caught it one-handed and then looked at it. “What does it say?”

Snakes closed his hand, stuffed the chip in his pocket, and then waved his gun toward the enemy. “Hell, man. It says we need to kill more monsters. Just”—he flicked the weapon again—“can we just get on with it?”

Abimbola shrugged and then spoke in a quiet voice. “The man who does not allow his heart to be searched is unable to search the universe around him.” Then he raised his Tigress and bowie knife at the secdim and charged back into battle.

* * *

Awen stumbled as she let out a Unity blast that sent three secdim sprawling. The gap gave Zoll another few meters to press through the enemy while Bliss and Robillard defended the rear.

“I gotcha,” Reimer said, slipping his hand under her arm.

“Thanks.” Awen drew strength from the gladia’s help. She remembered Reimer as someone who was always present to give a softly spoken word of encouragement when needed, and his presence here was no exception. He held fast, firing his NOV3 one-handed until Awen recovered a little. “I got it.”

Reimer let go and then continued firing into the masses.

Just ahead, Awen made out the temple library’s entrance and the lettering inscribed over the threshold. TO-96 wasn’t here to translate it, but she still remembered the saying. “The temple of all we’ve gained, and the cost of all we’ve left behind.” Seeing the words again, after all she knew of the Novia Minoosh, after all she and Magnus and the Gladio Umbra had been through together, made the words weightier than before.

Cost indeed, she said to herself and sighed.

Exhausted and dizzy, she wondered if she would have any energy left to activate the QTG now that they were finally here. But she would try. They needed the Reptalons to hold off the secdim and the Obscura. Without the additional reinforcements—well, she didn’t want to go there. She would get the tunnel open, and help would come.

“Let’s move,” Zoll exclaimed, signaling for the team to make the final push into the towering structure.

Granther Company pressed hard toward the objective and formed a two-sided corridor that Awen raced down. She sprinted past Silk and Rix, Robillard and Dutch, Bliss and Reimer, and then she passed beneath the stone mantel into the building’s dimly lit interior. The change of atmosphere startled her, as did the memory of charging into this same space to flee a similar firefight between Admiral Kane and So-Elku once before.

“Defensive perimeter,” Zoll yelled. “Nothing gets through.”

“I’m out,” Reimer said. “But I’ve still got a knife.”

“Same,” added Bliss. “But I’m better looking.”

“Are not,” Robillard said.

Zoll chuckled. “Then thanks to you models, we go out in style. Awen, take Finderminth and Wish. You get that damn machine working, you hear?”

“We will.” Awen couldn’t help feel this was the last time she’d see these gladias. There was a lump in her throat that wouldn’t let her say what she wanted to.

“Go,” Zoll said. “We’ve got you.”

“Thank you, Zoll.”

“No, mystic. Thank you.”

And with that, Awen turned away from the firefight and raced down the column-lined hallway toward the library doors.

* * *

Czyz knew these monsters weren’t his ancestors. Well, at least not the demon-spirits that possessed them. Soldark had used his dark magic to resurrect the beasts and send them on a vile plot, one that he and the Gladio Umbra were here to dismantle.

Still, feeling the blood of the Novia Minoosh slide through his claws saddened him. With every stroke he took, a life ended. He was not sure if the Novia Minoosh felt their bodies die. He didn’t know what pain they suffered, but he grieved their loss and recognized there would be long days and nights of mourning if he survived.

Czyz also wondered whether or not these Novian bodies left a soul behind, locked in the Singularity. He didn’t pretend to understand how the technological wonder operated. But he suspected that while these bodies left the natural plain of existence, the Novia Minoosh lived on. And then he had a strange thought—one of joining them when his body became too weak to go on. Perhaps they had discovered a new eternity, and he smiled at the thought of joining them there, wherever it was.

“Come, brother-kin,” Czyz yelled to Longchomps. “This way. We are almost there.”

Longchomps nodded. He raised his keeltari sword, slashed a secdus across the chest, and pushed the body down. “I am with you.”

The two Jujari raged against their ancestors’ co-opted bodies while carrying satchels of energy magazines on their backs. Czyz drove his sword into one secdus’ gut and grabbed the creature’s throat with his claw. Then he squeezed its esophagus, twisted it sideways, and wrenched the organ from the enemy’s neck. Between both wounds, the enemy wobbled and then fell backward, leaving Czyz with a handful of the combatant’s cartilage and blood.

Longchomps whirled his keeltari through the air with precision, proving the mwadim had been right to secure this warrior for the royal personal protectorate. While the NOV3s, and all energy weapons for that matter, were marvelous for doling out death, Longchomps would not suffer the use of even one energy magazine carried for their fellow gladias, and neither would Czyz. Thus the two Jujari champions fought using the ancient weapon to slay the resurrected corpses of their ancestors.

As Czyz neared the temple library to rendezvous with Zoll and the others, he thought of Rohoar and wondered how the great mwadim was faring in the north. He also questioned whether or not Rohoar felt the same sense of grief for every Novian body he slew. Even as Czyz watched his claws slash faces and eviscerate stomachs, he mourned the destruction he wrought. Perhaps there would be a day in the future where he could repent of his violence and work to forget the unforgettable. But until then, he would fight for those he’d sworn to protect. Dominate. Liberate.

Czyz heard human screams come from inside the temple complex. His heart thumped in his chest, and a fresh wave of adrenaline electrified his limbs. Had he been too late? Was their resupply errand for nothing?

“Come,” Czyz said as he threw a Novian cousin aside. “We must charge through.”

* * *

Dutch shrieked as a secdus claw tore through her left arm’s armor plating.

Zoll pulled her back and fired at the monster. Awen’s NOV3 had saved the unit—or at least bought it more time. But even as Zoll stepped in front of Dutch, the weapon’s last mag went dry, and the NOV3 emitted a soft chime.

“Splick.” Zoll repositioned his hands and swung the weapon as a club. The butt struck the secdus in the face but did little more than piss it off. Zoll felt himself bump into Dutch and then pulled his NCK from his chest plate. The matte duradex blade was no match for two fistfuls of Novian nails, but if he got the placement right, Zoll would bring a world of hurt.

The secdus lunged, maw open.

Zoll closed toward the enemy and slipped between the outstretched claws. In the split second it took for him to step inside the secdus’ defenses, Zoll jammed the knife between the ribs protecting the heart and twisted. The beast roared and fell into Zoll with all its weight. His knees buckled, and then both Zoll and Dutch fell backward as the giant pinned them to the marble floor.

Zoll caught a glimpse of the other gladias fighting off the secdim with their NCKs—cutting, slashing, and stabbing for their lives. But the entrance was overrun. This was it.

Another attacker pulled the Novian corpse off Zoll and Dutch, roaring as it did. Zoll made to defend himself when he realized his NCK was still lodged in his last victim’s ribcage. The only weapons he had left were his fists.

“Come on, you son of a bitch,” he yelled over externals.

The secdus roared again, but its voice morphed into a wail. Likewise, its once limber limbs went ridged. As it fell forward, Zoll spotted a Jujari gladia on its back that tore into the secdus’s flesh.

Zoll rolled out of the way and pulled Dutch with him as Czyz rode the enemy to the ground and delivered a killing snap to the neck.

“These belong to you,” Czyz said as he unslung two satchels and tossed them to Zoll and Dutch. Inside, Zoll found dozens of energy mags. He looked up and saw that Longchomps had also had bags of the NOV3’s lifeblood.

“Rack ’em up, gladias,” Zoll exclaimed as he reached for his discarded blaster. He punched two fresh magazines into the lower receiver, charged his weapon, and took aim at the secdim fighting one another to get through the doorway.

* * *

“Looks like the Jujari bought you a little more time,” Zoll said over comms. “My plan worked.”

“Um…getting you resupplied was my plan, Zoll,” Awen said with a smile.

“Whatever. Just don’t disappoint us down there, copy?”

“And will you take the credit if this part of the op works too?”

Zoll gave her a sly grin. “Of course.”

“Awen out.”

She terminated the call and looked out across the endless rows of library cases. Their dark wooden shelves held tome after tome in the natural, and orbs of entire galaxies in the Unity. Awen marveled at this place and still had no idea how the Novia Minoosh had created such a magnificent tool.

As she did with the inscription above the building’s entrance, Awen remembered the one written outside the library: “When we are one, we are whole. At the center, we find the beginning.” Now that she knew some Novian history, the inscription made more sense. It spoke to the Singularity and the sense of togetherness the species prized. But when partnered with the earlier saying, as well as with the Norxük genocide, Awen sensed the Novia’s uniformity had genuinely come at a significant cost. Still, there was something more to the saying—something just out of reach that beckoned her as did a riddle longing to be solved.

“Time to get this done,” she said and started down the staircase. Once on the main floor, Awen dashed down the central aisle and stepped across the floral design’s perimeter on the floor. Like the times before, she sensed herself step into a Unity-rich realm filled with unseen power. Then, when she was at the empty black box that had once held the codex, Awen stepped into the unseen realm and moved behind the main control terminal. Recalling how she and TO-96 had deduced which surface was the On button, she placed her ethereal hand on the console and summoned the quantum tunnel generator to life.

A wave of energy swelled around her as the massive golden orb appeared overhead. The rows of theatre-style workstations formed from the ground, and soon the cavernous space was filled with glowing star systems as limitless as the void itself.

“Any good news for me yet, Awen?” Colonel Caldwell said.

“You’re right on time, Colonel,” she replied, eyes wide. It didn’t matter how many times she saw this, it still amazed her. “I’m about to access the coordinates now. Stand by.”

“Good copy. Standing by.”

Awen took a deep breath and then searched the shelves for the Reptalons’ star system. It didn’t take long, however, since she remembered where her home galaxy’s quadrant was located. From there, she narrowed her search to the Kormari quadrant, Shio sector, and then looked for the Reptor system’s orb.

“There you are,” she said as an orb rolled off a shelf and floated down the aisleway toward the QTG. Inside the ball, Awen made out the sister planets of Gangil and Orin Five—both in a synchronous orbit around their star.

Since she didn’t know where the Reptalon fleet was stationed, nor what warship contingents might emanate from which planet, she decided to place the void horizon midway between the two worlds and hope for the best. Awen moved the tiny orb into the massive sphere overhead and then willed herself toward the star system. This bit was the most laborious task to accomplish—the one she’d been dreading since first engaging the secdim outside. Not only had TO-96 needed to explain the process to her several times when she’d first done this, but it had required all of her focus. Awen tried to reassure herself that she’d grown in her Unity powers since that day—she’d even started to master the Nexus. But she knew when she was fooling herself, and this was one of those times.

The amount of concentration required to actually envision one’s self in another star system in another universe was immense. Further still, she had to believe that she was there, to the point that her mind was convinced of it. But with so much pain and fatigue wracking her body, with so much heartache welling up from unseen realms of her heart, it was hard to separate herself from the present.

“How we looking?” Caldwell asked, breaking her concentration. His head jostled side to side as a klaxon sounded in the background. “I need Sootriman sending our scaly friends a love note, fast.”

“Just—I need another moment, please.”

“Can you at least give me an ETA? ’Cause we’ve got—”

“Please, Colonel.”

The older man frowned but gave her a small nod. “Make it quick, for all our sakes.”

“Right.”

Awen tried to clear her head by drawing in and letting out long, slow breaths. But as hard as she tried to force her mind to the star system swirling above her head, she couldn’t. There was too much chaos in her thoughts. She needed—she needed another idea. Something to bring her back to center.

At first, the idea of using the Luma’s meditation techniques seemed like a smart move. After all, they were what she’d been trained in. But all her time in the Novian power suits, working with Piper and Willowood, and modifying the Li-Dain forms into new Gladio Umbra forms, had distanced her from those early tools. Likewise, she had grown to despise Worru because of So-Elku, so the idea of trudging backward made her lose focus, not gain it.

If only you had conserved more energy, she scolded herself. This wouldn’t be so hard.

But it was what it was, and Awen knew that she would not have gotten this far if she had not used her powers to defend the Granthers. She could hear memories of Willowood speaking to her.

What is past is done. What is present is up to you.

Awen stared up at the star system, willing herself to just snap into it. To put herself there. She closed her eyes—both natural and Unity—hoping something might propel her to where she needed to go. But nothing came.

“Awen, I hate to ask again, but we need an update,” Caldwell said. The klaxon was still blaring, and voices were issuing commands in sharp tones in the background. Azelon’s Spire was clearly under attack, and the fleets were counting on Awen to get the Reptalons here.

“Thirty seconds, Colonel.”

It was a random guess, but it was something. She needed more time. And she wished Magnus was here.

Magnus, she said to herself, repeating his name once more.

His face emerged in her memory, and she found herself walking with him along the shore on Neith Tearness. Those days of training the Gladio Umbra were beautiful. They worked hard under the sun’s purple glare by day and ate well around campfires by night. Then she and Magnus would walk together, discussing the day’s developments.

On a few occasions, however, the talk turned to the future. And not just any future—their future. Their tomorrows. Ones built because of their love. Awen’s heart beat faster back then—just as it did now—as she pictured what a life with him might look like. She envisioned having a home somewhere on Elonia, tucked away in the northern mountains. She saw them working land together, traveling together, and, as silly as it seemed, she saw them having children together. And when it was all over, she saw them being buried together with headstones lining the path of her ancestors.

The images were so vivid that Awen felt as though they were real. And they were—somehow, they were real. Not because she forced them to be or made something up, but because she existed there, inside them, which made them real.

Just like she existed inside the Komari quadrant to make it real.

Awen opened her eyes. She was no longer staring up at Gangil and Orin Five: she was floating between them. She was there—actually there.

Awen gasped as she realized the hard work was done. Her heart had done what her mind could not.

“I’ve got it,” she said. Awen marked the destination in multi-dimensional space and pinged Azelon. “Do you see it?”

“I do,” Azelon replied as she appeared beside the colonel. “Reaching out to Sootriman now.”

“Good work,” Caldwell said. “Now let’s just hope they want to come play.”

“They have to,” Awen said as her thoughts went back to the Granthers keeping the enemy at bay. Even with the Reptalons, a second ground invasion would take hours if not a day to deploy, and allied forces didn’t have that long. “Azelon?”

“Yes, Awen.”

“Separate channel, please. I have one more idea I want to discuss with you.”

“Stand by.” The bot’s face blinked out and then reappeared. “I’m listening.”

* * *

If Caldwell could use his eyes to drill Azelon in the head, he realized she’d be long dead. “Anything?” he asked her again.

“For the third time, no, sir,” Azelon replied. “But Sootriman’s request has been issued and amplified sufficiently for Saasarr to intercept.”

“Well where the hell are they?” Caldwell pounded a fist against the captain’s chair’s arm.

“Abimbola expressed doubts about getting the gods to agree, sir.”

Caldwell stared at Azelon with his mouth open.

“Is everything all right, sir?”

Caldwell snapped out of his daze and swung his arms in the air. “No! Everything is not all right.” As if to emphasize his point, another Obscura blast lanced across the Spire’s bow as it followed a Jujari ship across the field of battle. “I either need a way to take out those damn Leviathans, or we need the Reptalons here yesterday.”

“But sir, the use of time for—”

“Nope,” Caldwell snapped. “No lectures. I meant what I said and don’t need your smart ass quantizing—”

“Qualifying, sir.”

“Quantifyzing it.”

“Of course, sir.”

Caldwell gnawed on his cigar for a second. “Where is Sootriman?”

Azelon turned to Itheliana’s battle map, scanned it, and then tilted her head. “How unfortunate.”

“What?” Caldwell got up and moved toward the holo screen. “What’s unfortunate?”

“It seems the Radiant Queen has been terminated, sir.”

Caldwell felt like someone punched him in the gut. The blow deepened even more when Azelon pointed to another offline pilot name.

“Colonel, I’m afraid that—”

“Ricio,” Caldwell said as he pulled his cigar from his mouth. “Damn.”

Azelon nodded. Then her eyes froze on still another ship’s name.

Caldwell put a hand on Azelon’s shoulder, but the bot shirked it off.

“I will attempt to reach the roster’s missing pilots via the NBTI network, sir. Please stand by.”

“You do that,” Caldwell said in a hushed tone. “And here’s hoping you find them all.”

27

Chancellor David Seaman knew what he’d done was wrong—career-ending even. Hell, it was downright irresponsible, and if he survived, he’d court-martial himself over it. But that was just it: he didn’t see himself living until morning. Call it a gut feeling. It was the only way he could justify such dereliction of duty. That, and he was doing it for her.

The truth was that he lied to Nishti when she caught him in the simulator. He’d run that fifty-year-old op on Katanic Four a thousand times because the recon team who cleared Placid Nora and saved the crew and cargo had been led by his grandfather. And no matter how many times he ran it, he could never get to the bridge.

But things will be different tonight, Seaman said to himself as he ran alongside a Marine unit. You’re getting to the damn bridge, or you’ll die trying.

Tonight, he would prove to himself that he could fight with his own two hands downrange, and not behind the indestructible meter-thick windowplex of a Super Dreadnaught’s bridge.

He’d told a newly appointed major to insert him within a platoon and arranged for a beat-up set of Mark VI armor and an MAR30 to find their way into a locker room. Things were still chaotic enough from Capriana’s fall that it wasn’t hard to blend as a new infantryman who happened to have the same last name as the chancellor. And he knew enough of the Corps’ rules and regs to keep from sticking out. As Private First Class Seaman, he was hidden in plain sight, right where he wanted to be.

As for abandoning his post and leaving the fleet, everything was in good hands with General Williams. And in any case, he was a Chancellor now, not an Admiral. So what did it matter? The Repub warships were in good hands.

“PFC Seaman,” his corporal said. “Right flank.”

Seaman responded affirmatively but had been distracted by Nishti, who stood a few meters away. She and General Rink-Ba had just survived a secdim attack from underfoot. Correction: Rink-Ba had survived it while Nishti had leaped into the air and blew up the tunnel’s entrance. The woman was a force of nature. All the more reason that he made sure she survived. The galaxy needed her. Her people needed her. And he needed her, though he doubted he’d live long enough to tell her. Better that way anyway.

“Private,” the corporal yelled. “I see your head nodding and your HUD confirming, but I don’t see your body moving or weapon firing.”

“Sorry, Corporal Stevens. On the move.”

Maybe he should have come in as a sergeant instead.

Seaman needed to stay close to the queen, as he knew Rink-Ba was up to something. Up until now, Seaman’s squad had been tasked with setting additional security around the commanders but hadn’t seen much of anything in the way of action. But his unit was being forced—no, he was being forced—to cover a side street filling with secdim.

Seaman looked over his shoulder at the queen when one of the other PFCs elbowed him.

“You got a thing for her or something?” the man asked.

Seaman glanced at the Marine’s ident overlay. The name read Rosebrook. “Just never seen a Sekmit this close before.” He lied.

“They sure is something else, ain’t they?”

Seaman nodded and felt glad he wasn’t going to get grilled. “Yeah.”

“Come on.” Then Rosebrook was off and took cover behind a broken slab of blastcrete.

The secdim were coming in hard and fast. For a second, Seaman had to remind himself that this wasn’t a simulation. You die here, you die for real, he said in his head. And he was amazed at how hard it was to convince his brain of that fact. He supposed this was due in large part to just how many simulations he’d run over the years; existing in a virtual reality tended to mess with one’s perception of the actual reality. He also had to give credit to the sim developers, as the level of realism was also responsible for his brain’s resistance to the facts.

Seaman caught up with Rosebrook and fired into the enemy horde. One of the beasts focused on the pair of privates and glared with its bulging red eyes. Then the overgrown alien started bounding toward Seaman as its toothy mouth opened wide.

MAR30 bolts zipped from Seaman’s weapon and filled the secdus’s mouth. Bits of yellow teeth and tongue fragments mixed with blaster light until the target’s jaw tore away.

But the enemy was still coming.

Rosebrook yelled as he pumped more rounds into the secdus’s head and shoulder, which caused the target to twist left and right. But all the while, its legs kept sending it forward toward the blastcrete slab.

“Son of a bitch won’t go down,” Rosebrook said. Then he switched to full-auto, and Seaman did the same.

“Take out the head,” Seaman yelled, and together they focused their fire. Seaman picked a spot right between the red eyes and decided to add a third hole to the animal’s head. Red blaster rounds streamed from his weapon’s barrel and bore a pulpy black opening in the secdus. But the creature seemed to be on autopilot and wouldn’t let up.

In one final burst of aggression, the secdus leaped at Seaman and Rosebrook, front paws extended. But the privates held their weapons steady. When the secdus slammed against the slab, its claws reached around each side of the barrier. Seaman thought the enemy was going to shred him when the massive paw slammed against his shoulder plate. But the bloody mitt fell away and left only a smear of alien blood against his armor.

“First kill?” Rosebrook asked Seaman.

Seaman nodded. Of course, the truth was he’d slain thousands aboard a Super Dreadnaught. But nothing like this. Nothing this personal. Plus, it’s what PFC Seaman would say if he were playing the part of a newly deployed infantryman.

“Congratulations, Seaman. Now do it again.”

The chancellor looked down the street and saw two more secdim charge the blastcrete slab. He aimed along his MAR30’s barrel and fired.

* * *

The more enemies Seaman took down, the farther Queen Nishti got from him. Whoever was commanding this platoon had apparently forgotten their mission of protecting the dignitaries—unless that person had died, been relieved, or been re-tasked. Again, Seaman second-guessed his decision to come in as such a low-ranking enlisted man. But it was the best cover by far.

In the HUD’s topo map, Nishti was moving east. Seaman needed to get out of this street and stay on her. But Rosebrook would see him abandon his post, and so would command. Seaman hated the idea of leaving this private by himself, but Rosebrook wasn’t the mission. The only thing that mattered was protecting Nishti from Rink-Ba.

“Hey, where you going, man?” Rosebrook asked as Seaman backed away from their new position behind a stone column.

“New orders,” Seaman said, tapping the side of his helmet.

“What new orders?”

“Sorry, gotta go.” Then Seaman pulled the ace up his sleeve and played it.

Before he left the fleet and his immersion into the infantry was complete, a senior tech officer had issued him a unit override key. The code essentially made him disappear from the Corps’s roster and, therefore, from the mission map. However, he’d be permanently disconnected from his unit. In the event of emergency evac or fire support, Seaman would be out of luck. The planet could be falling around him, and no one would know where the hell he was. Which for him was just fine.

Seaman had always been a loner of sorts. Despite residing on ships filled with thousands of Navy personnel, he’d always felt alone. He’d look off into the void and felt drawn to its vast nothingness. It was the epitome of solitude. So while other people might feel anxiety over the mere notion of being unreachable, disconnected from their only hope of rescue should anything go wrong, Seaman felt—elated. He was back in a sim, on his own, and free to do what needed doing.

Of course, there was the small detail that he had always died in simulations where he’d acted alone. Wasn’t that Nishti’s whole point in looking down at him and reciting the Placid Nora’s stats in his face?

You’re an idiot, he thought he heard her say. What were you trying to do in taking the ship all by yourself?

The truth was, he was an idiot. He’d fallen in love with her. Hard. And here he was, attempting to live out some crazy fantasy of keeping her safe from a general he didn’t trust.

“What the hell are you doing, David?” he asked himself.

But he’d made his choice, and there was no going back. He needed to keep his eye on Rink-Ba. And, who knew, maybe the general never made a move. Perhaps this was all for nothing. But in the off chance that the LAW official had it out for the queen, Seaman would be watching. And if he did his job well, Nishti would be none the wiser.

* * *

“You’re pretty good with that bow,” Rink-Ba said to Nishti as they moved further east.

She’d just dispatched a secdus with a single energy arrow by cleaving its head in two.

“Wondering what I might be able to do with a weapon of that caliber,” he added.

Nishti hated the general’s running commentary. For whatever reason, the man felt compelled to act friendly toward her when what he needed to do was put down more enemies.

“Perhaps your people would be interested in a defense contract when all this is over,” the general said.

Nishti cast him a scowl. Was he really talking about a trade deal in the middle of an assault?

“We purchase some of your power bows; you train our Li-Dain in using them.” Rink-Ba sent a Unity energy blast downrange and knocked two secdim back. “Who knows? It could act as a…a rich cultural exchange?”

Nishti felt sure she was going to throw up in her mouth a little. She would sooner take the secrets of Thørzin power bows on a self-inflicted trip to the grave than work with the LAW.

Bastards.

“I hope you were speaking of the secdim, just there,” Rink-Ba said over comms.

Nishti had let the unguarded thought slip out and then cursed herself for it. Then again, what did she care if the general thought she despised him? It was the truth, after all.

“These secdim are pawns of Soldark, General,” Nishti said as she aimed at another target. “Controlled by his will, bound to do his bidding. Were they left to their own faculties, they would not consider me a threat. Though, they might still consider you one.” Then she loosed her energy round. The bolt struck a secdus in mid-stride, cored its chest, and sent the beast back into its horde.

The general tsked her. “Come now, Queen Nishti. I was only trying to suggest a possible means of”—he forced both palms forward to deliver another Unity blast to a secdus who’d started climbing a building face—“having our peoples get to know one another better.”

She had no time for this. The secdim were popping up well within Alpha Group’s battle lines and wreaking havoc. LAW, Repub, and Sekmit forces were slowing just to deal with the mid-rank incursions. Three spontaneous tunnels had already opened within one hundred meters of the mobile command ring. Nishti didn’t like her unit’s odds if they got stuck in an endless onslaught fed by the Novia’s seemingly unlimited force supply. She and Rink-Ba needed to keep pressure on the city’s center and aid the allied forces in constricting around Soldark’s entry point to the underground.

Nishti spun on the general and brang a nail to his face. “Listen to me, General Rink-Ba. I will never pledge my people’s services to your feeble enterprise, nor will you set foot on Aluross again. There is no amiability between you and me—not now, not ever. So I suggest you carry on with your work in silence as this will be our last point of communion, forever.”

The general stood in silence for a moment, protected by the portable shield walls. Then he tilted his head ever so slightly and nodded. “Then I look forward to the queen who takes your place.”

Half expecting the man to brandish a dagger, Nishti looked down for a murder weapon. But the general turned away and re-engaged the enemy.

Was that a threat? Nishti considered ending Rink-Ba’s life right then and there. But then she would be the one guilty of murder—not that she had any problem justifying it.

As Rink-Ba continued to fire on secdim that ventured too close to the command ring for comfort, Nishti turned away and continued with her own work. She hated that the general had gotten the last word. The brashness of his underlying meaning was treasonous. If this were any other scenario, she would have him arrested. Doing so here, however, was not only inappropriate but would likely cause an insurrection between the allied forces. She’d deal with the man later—if both of them survived.

* * *

Seaman worked his way toward the ring of portable shield emitters that Queen Nishti and General Rink-Ba fired from. A platoon of Repub Marines, LAW Li-Dain, and Sekmit narskill encircled the command post as the allies moved east. Progress had slowed in the last ten minutes as more and more secdim converged on, or rather, under their location.

Getting close to Nishti was going to be a problem. Any of the sentries would stop to question him if he walked straight for the ring. His chest plate’s stencil showed that he belonged under someone else’s command—making Seaman think better of his self-assigned low rank once again. As soon as any enlisted officer saw that Seaman wasn’t “on the grid,” he’d be questioned and detained for helmet repairs.

But he had to keep an eye on Rink-Ba.

Just then, a new subterranean burrow erupted right under his own damn feet. Seaman jumped off the fracturing pavement and ran toward the sentries around the command ring. He watched the allied infantry pivot and aim in his direction.

Seaman didn’t dare look over his shoulder. Instead, he pumped his legs and dashed for cover among the sentries. They’d employed the smaller MB17 mobile barricades as a first-tier precaution before any secdim made it back to the larger MB63s where Nishti and the general stood. A Marine Lieutenant, whose name Seaman didn’t have time to read, pulled the pseudo-private behind cover. While Seaman’s ident tags were offline, his comms were not.

“Where the hell you supposed to be right now, Private?” the lieutenant asked, then he fired his MAR30 one-handed around the shield.

“Got separated from my unit, LT,” Seaman said.

“Then you’re in this one until we can get your helmet back online.” The lieutenant twisted Seaman’s head in the direction of the enemy. “Start shooting, boots!” It was the term given to all enlisted noobs below the rank of Corporal.

Seaman nodded and started shooting his MAR30 toward the secdim who appeared in the new tunnel. His blaster rounds joined with the others in suppressing the enemy’s advance. But as withering as the counterattack was, some secdim still got through. One, Seaman noticed, even used a fallen counterpart as a body shield. The massive hyena-like warrior closed to within two meters of the sentries before a Marine used her MAR30’s distortion mode and eviscerated the secdus on the other side of its corpse-shield.

The disturbance had given Seaman a window of opportunity, however, and he backpedaled toward the interior shield wall. Nishti and Rink-Ba took turns leaping above the emitters and firing Unity energy into the oncoming hordes. They looked like they had repulsor pads for boot soles as they defied gravity, one bound after the next.

Seaman felt the ground shake, and two new openings broke open in the street not far from the ring. The enemy was closing in on the leaders’ position, and Seaman sensed the area was about to be overrun. And, for whatever reason, Seaman sensed that Rink-Ba knew it too.

Staring through the shimmering blue emitter wall as it moved over the pavement to keep up with its occupants, the chancellor watched as Rink-Ba turned to face Nishti. But the queen wasn’t looking; she was far too concerned with the secdim tearing into the ring’s southern defenders. The general raised both hands, palms extended—one toward the small of Nishti’s back, the other at the base of her skull.

This was it.

David had finally made it to the bridge. He’d completed his grandfather’s mission.

And, perhaps, this was the entire reason he’d been put in Nishti’s life at all.

* * *

Nishti heard several screams to her right. She turned south to see a new batch of secdim charge the Repub units tasked with guarding the command ring. The corpse-like beasts thrashed and chomped and beat their way through the Marines. Helmets came off headless torsos, and bodies flew left and right as the enemy charged toward the ring.

Nishti leaped into the air and fired an energy arrow that curved through two secdim. Just as her feet touched down, however, she sensed a hostile presence behind her. Still straddling the natural realm and the Unity, Nishti turned her spirit around and saw Rink-Ba standing behind her, arms poised to blow out her spine at top and bottom. Somehow, the snake had caught her off guard, and there was nothing she could do to stop him. At the moment, two thoughts flashed through her mind. The first was why she hadn’t murdered this traitor sooner. The second was David.

A burst of blaster fire struck Rink-Ba in the side and sent him to the pavement.

Nishti looked to her right and saw a Marine throw himself over the shield wall. He fired at the general a second time, but Rink-Ba blocked the particle beams with an open hand. Then, before Nishti could stop him, the LAW leader released a blast of Unity energy that forced the Marine against the wall and crushed his armored chest.

Nishti hissed and then pounced on Rink-Ba. Her claws projected into the man’s chest. The sudden invasion split ribs and drilled the man’s vital organs. Rink-Ba convulsed under her paws, eyes wide and mouth agape as if to scream. But he could not exhale since his lungs and diaphragm were hers to control.

She leaned into his ear. “I am the last queen you will ever meet, fool. And I find you wanting.” Then she squeezed her paws until they broke through the flesh.

With nothing left to keep him bound to her claws, Rink-Ba slumped back to the pavement and went still.

Then the queen turned toward the dead Marine who’d saved her life. His flattened chest was slipping under the slowly moving shield wall. But she noticed the words Seaman, Private First Class stenciled above his heart. A melancholy sense of loss beat once in her chest as she considered the irony. Fortunately, however, she would see David again when all this was over. For unlike this ill-fated though noble Marine, the chancellor was safe on a bridge somewhere, and she knew he was watching out for her from above.

“Thank you,” she whispered to the private, and she then turned away as his body slipped beneath the shield wall.

28

Magnus pumped a fist in the air when he saw Granther Company reach the temple. While he was too busy monitoring all the other activities to watch the feeds, it certainly seemed that Abimbola’s forces had played a key role in making that happen. With any luck, Awen would get the quantum tunnel open, and reinforcements would be on the way.

“And we sure as hell need them,” Magnus said inside his BATRIG.

To the north, where fighting seemed heaviest, Rohoar’s Jujari element was engaged with a front of secdim nearly three klicks across. To the west, Nishti’s forces were fighting an assault on two sides. Magnus also had unconfirmed reports that General Rink-Ba had perished in the fighting. With Granther Company back on mission, Abimbola and Snakes forced their wedge-like formation deeper into the city’s center from the south. And to the east, Forbes and Nelson defended Piper and Willowood’s revised entry point in pursuit of Soldark.

Of all the locations on the battle map that caught his eye the most, it was this last one. Magnus zoomed in on Forbes’s coordinates and hailed him. “Looking like more hostiles headed your way, Captain.”

“You don’t say,” Forbes replied.

Magnus added a camera view from the man’s BATRIG to compliment Forbes’s face. Taursar and Hedgebore’s armor were involved with heavy fighting around the tunnel entrance while their infantry had taken up defensive positions around the plaza.

“Guess they didn’t like us shoving a company of mystics up their ass,” Forbes added as he drilled a secdus until its head blew apart.

“Copy. Guess it confirms Azelon’s estimates. And just think, Captain.”

“What’s that?”

“By this time tomorrow, you’ll be enjoying some shore leave, probably sipping Gundonium bratch on a beach halfway to the Kar-Kadesh system.”

“No way.” Forbes spun around to cut down an enemy that snuck up on his six. “I’d rather be gardening than getting sand all up my ass crack.” Then his RTD10 spewed a deafening stream of blue energy until the target’s torso was a pulpy mess.

“Suit yourself.”

Magnus watched for several more seconds as a new wave of secdim pushed into the plaza. He double-checked the topo and force-refreshed Azelon’s sensors data. For whatever reason, the information Magnus had been going on was old; he wasn’t sure by how much, but enough that when the new data updated, it looked like Forbes and Nelson’s forces were about to be overrun.

“Hey, Captain? I’m gonna want you to reposition your armor and send all your infantry up for overwatch.”

Forbes tried giving Magnus a raised eyebrow but was too busy gunning down two secdim attacking his legs.

“Captain?” Magnus asked again.

“I heard you.” Forbes blew one secdus away and broke the second one’s back with a swift arm-sweep. “So what you’re saying is we’re screwed.”

“I’m just giving you my best advice from the top. Sending what’s left of Mike Force your way too.”

“Splick, Major. You think I was born yesterday?”

“Not yesterday. But possibly the day before.”

Forbes laughed. “Copy that. Moving our units now.”

* * *

Forbes relayed the intel to Nelson, and within seconds all Taursar and Hedgebore elements were on the move. Infantry ducked inside buildings and joined the snipers already positioned on the roofs. At the same time, the rest of the BATRIGS stomped into the plaza and set up an even tighter defensive perimeter. Things were already hot, but Forbes sensed in his gut that they were about to get downright unbearable.

“Nelson,” Forbes said. “I want whatever armor you can spare taking the plunge.”

“You mean—” He dipped his head toward the tunnel Willowood and the kid had just jumped down.

“Yeah. I don’t know how long we’ll—well, I just want the mystics to have some armor for backup.”

Nelson squinted at Forbes as if divining his unspoken words and then ordered Lieutenant Jay Rodgers down the hole.

For his part, the Lieutenant gave Nelson a look that said, “You sure about that, Captain?” but the LT knew better than to question his CO when things were this hot. So Rodgers selected fifteen BATRIGs to follow him and jumped down the chute.

Satisfied that Willowood and Piper would at least have some support, Forbes returned to dispatching the growing number of enemies that spilled into the square. The infantry was doing a knock-out job from their higher vantage point, but for every secdus they took out, two more seemed to fill its place.

“We cannot give this plaza up,” Forbes said over the joint armor company comms. “We make our stand, no matter what. La-raah?”

Pings flooded the comm chat.

“And Major?”

“Here,” Magnus replied.

“We’re gonna need another ammo drop. Starting to look a little light.”

“Stand by.”

“Tausars, Hedgebores, time to prove why we chose to be Gladio Umbra. Dominate.”

“Liberate,” the armor companies said as one.

* * *

Magnus couldn’t get ahold of Ezo or TO-96 and figured they were just tied up. So he asked Azelon to re-task a supply group to Forbes’s position. She complied readily enough, but something about her tone seemed off. He guessed she was distracted. He would have asked, but things were heating up around Forbes and Nelson faster than he expected. Whatever Willowood and Piper’s presence meant underground, it had the secdim riled up, which could only mean one thing. They were getting closer to Soldark.

The camera views coming from Forbes’s units were growing increasingly violent. Some new anxiety seemed to populate among the enemy. Magnus already considered the secdim’s aggression to be a ten out of ten for intensity. But the way they were charging at the BATRIGs was altogether new. It was an eleven, easily.

“How you holding up, Forbes?” Magnus said absently as he double-checked several surrounding grids.

“Oh, you know. I could really go for a double-bacon orbak burger about now, and I asked Azelon for a pay increase, but she still hasn’t gotten back to me. Hold on—” Forbes paused to hurl an enemy over his head and launch a stream of blaster fire into its torso as it flew. “Other than that, I’d say I’m fine to mostly fine. You?”

Magnus was surprised to see a third wave of secdim leaving the city’s center and heading for Forbes. “Dammit.”

“Dammit, Major?”

Magnus shook his head. “Yeah, uh—Forbes?”

“Splick. More?”

Magnus nodded. “Here’s what I want you to do.”

“A bright idea. Great, I’m listening.”

“Put VWMs on that tunnel head. I want you blowing it and then getting out of there.”

“But what about—”

“They’ll find another way out.”

Forbes looked over his shoulder.

“What is it, Captain?”

Forbes swiped a second view of his BATRIG’s helmet feed to Magnus. “It’s big, Major. Too big to cave in. We’ll just be dropping more rubble down there, and probably send a few missiles too.”

Magnus shoved his tongue against his cheek and bit down—not enough to break the skin, but enough to keep him from executing a slur of expletives. “Then I need options.”

“I’ve got one,” Nelson said, joining the discussion.

“I’m listening,” Magnus replied.

“We fire faster, aim better, and don’t let these sons’a bitches break our line.”

Magnus shook his head. “No good, ’cause if you aim like you piss, you’re not getting any better.”

It was enough to make the two captains both crack a smile, which was good: Magnus knew this might be it for them. Unless Willowood and Piper put Soldark down soon, Forbes and Nelson had a long fight ahead of them.

“Splick,” Magnus shouted. He was done sitting on the bench, especially when he had a perfectly good BATRIG on the sidelines that hadn’t even fired a damn shot while two companies of gladias were about to get overrun. “Not on my watch.”

“Come again?” Forbes said.

Magnus switched over to the command channel with Caldwell and Azelon. “Requesting permission to join Charlie Group’s armor at grid ten.”

“Requesting what?” Caldwell’s eyes darted from Magnus’s face to something off-screen—a topo map probably. “We talked about this, son. And I—”

“Refresh it,” Magnus yelled. It was the boldest he’d ever been with the colonel, but it was the right way to speak under the circumstances.

“Now you look here, Adonis. When you and I talked, we agreed that—”

Caldwell’s face froze. Azelon had refreshed the real-time sensor data. And for the first time in his life, Magnus watched the cigar fall from the colonel’s lips.

“Virgin saints of Telepony’s victory canal. Go, son. Go now.”

“Already moving,” Magnus replied. “Azie. You okay to handle ground command?”

“After Cyril’s recent memory modifications to the Spire’s mainframe, I am more than okay to assist you, sir. I have command,” she said.

“We’ll send any fighters we can spare your way, but the numbers are—”

“Don’t worry about us, William. We’ll get through this.”

“Mystic’s speed, son,” Caldwell said. “Give ’em hell.”

* * *

Magnus charged into the city, pushing his mech as fast as it would go. The servos screamed as the limbs moved back and forth, feet smashing into the pavement and sending up bits of debris with every stride. All the while, Magnus watched the camera feeds as the secdim converged on the plaza.

“Major,” Nishti said over comms. “We’re noticing a significant force withdrawal here. Seems to be shifting just northeast of center.”

“That’s affirmative, your highness. Seems the entire enemy is intent on stopping our assets located in grid ten.”

“And we could use your help there,” Azelon interjected. “I am re-tasking all available assets to that location.”

“We’re on our way,” Nishti replied.

“Thanks,” Magnus added, and then he closed out the transmission. Even with Azelon sending word, there was still no way the rest of the allied contingents would arrive in time. This was up to Magnus.

Within another minute, he started bounding over bodies—humanoid and secdim alike. Thirty seconds after that, he saw the first holes in the streets from tunnel exits. And then he finally caught up to the back of the enemy line and lowered his weapons.

* * *

Forbes bumped into another mech as he was tracking a secdus across his field of fire. As the beast exploded, Forbes glanced over.

“Fancy meeting you here,” he said to Nelson.

The other captain winked through the windowplex side port and then continued firing. “You’re a damn flirt.”

“Yeah, but it works.”

“Says who? I’m the one who had to set you up with dates for the last three galas.”

Nelson fired his second to last variable warhead missile at a cluster of incoming enemies that were quite literally stacked on top of each other. The explosion blew the pack apart and sent bodies and parts spinning wildly. But the gap in the enemy’s line refilled, and soon the secdim were climbing over one another again.

“I had dates for those,” Forbes said, sounding way more irritated than he really was. “But you kept saying that your date wouldn’t come with you unless she could bring a friend.”

Forbes mimicked Nelson and launched a VWM of his own. The missile streaked through the horde, but one unlucky secdus reached for it. The arm ripped from the enemy’s body but inadvertently sent the ordnance spiraling off course. It struck the side of a building topped with gladias from Hedgebore Company. Forbes felt his stomach lurch as several infantrymen slid into the debris cloud. The frustration and loss he felt were waylaid, however, when a secdus leaped onto his canopy and slammed its fists into the glass. Spider veins rippled across the pane as the monsters let out a wild roar.

“Son of a bitch,” Forbes yelled.

“Hold still,” Nelson replied.

But Forbes was swinging his arms up to try and get the creature off his BATRIG.

“I said, hold still,” Nelson called again.

Forbes was busy looking for the mech’s defense menu when Nelson’s first shots hit the secdus in the side.

Blood spattered on Forbes’s canopy, and still, he tried knocking the mangy demon off him while looking for the menu.

“Would you stop moving for one mysticsdammed second?” Nelson bellowed.

More weapons fire ate into the secdus’ side, but it was still beating the windowplex. Blood dripped onto Forbes’s helmet at the same time he found the right menu. “There you are.” His eyes scrolled down until he saw the prompt, and he was about to activate it when he decided to trust Nelson—and hold still.

“Fine,” Forbes yelled and froze in place. “Take ’em.”

Nelson’s GU90M fire narrowed and tore the enemy to shreds. Blood covered his canopy and the shrieking secdim eventually fell silent.

“Told you to stop moving,” Nelson said.

“Copy that. Thanks.” Forbes was a second away from clearing his menu tree when his proximity sensors displayed three new threats clinging to his mech. “Screw this.” Forbes activated the defense protocol and his BATRIG sent 100,000 volts at high amperage coursing across every plate. The three secdim shot off the mech with a triple bang. Electrical arcs followed the pieces of detonated flesh as trails of smoke rose through the night air.

“My way would have worked too,” Forbes said. “Just saying.”

Three new secdim leaped onto Nelson’s canopy and punched the windowplex. The panes shattered in a matter of seconds. Forbes locked onto one of the enemies, but Nelson was moving too much.

Now it was Forbes’s turn. “Nelson! Hold still.”

But this was happening too fast. The secdim were enraged. Forbes fired, but his shots went wide and nearly hit other BATRIGs.

“Nelson,” Forbes hollered again as he tried to get the captain to stop moving, but the enemies had broken through the canopy

“They’re inside!” Nelson’s face contorted in the HUD, and then something covered the camera.

Forbes tried batting the secdim off with his mech’s arms as he cried out for Nelson to speak to him. More screams filled the comms. Then the captain’s camera feed blinked out, and his mech fell backward.

It wasn’t until the secdim gorged themselves on handfuls of meat from Nelson’s canopy that Forbes realized the captain was gone. With hands trembling, Forbes overrode Nelson’s command interface and brought up his VWM menu. He set the last remaining missile to self-destruct with a five-second countdown and then broadcast a danger perimeter to the rest of the squad. All nearby BATRIGs affirmed the warning and moved back. Then Forbes activated the sequence and walked away.

“I’m sorry, my friend,” Forbes whispered. He’d taken three strides when Nelson’s mech detonated and incinerated the secdim atop him as well as several more in the immediate vicinity.

* * *

Magnus didn’t bother shooting the first few rows of secdim. He didn’t need to. Sure, there was the excuse of needing to conserve ammo, but he had plenty thanks to the C-RIG’s extended magazine lockers. No, what Magnus needed here was an outlet, and the enemy was the perfect target.

Both the BATRIG’s shoulders dropped, and Magnus charged into the enemy’s rear line. They didn’t even see him coming. The moment reminded him of his years as a spaceball running back in school—only without the secdim fatalities. The mech snapped spinal cords like twigs and popped heads like overripe Bantang cherries as Magnus plowed through the line. The BATRIG’s servos barely protested as each new body slammed into the armor plates. He smashed corpses across his chest like a hover sled speeding through a swarm of insects on a warm night. Those beasts that did not flip over his back were trampled underfoot as his mech’s armored feet pulverized their flesh.

When his momentum finally slowed, and the enemy began to take notice, Magnus carved a path forward by sending full-auto blasts downrange with his RTD10. The street lit up with the strobing effect of reticulating disruptor fire as it chewed through enemy corpses. Dozens of secdim turned to retaliate, but Magnus wasn’t in the mood. He’d watched Nelson die in the camera feed. They were going to pay for that.

When the enemy started to spread out and avoid the RTD10, Magnus employed his other arm and complimented the assault with GU90M. The large-bore 90mm rounds kah-boomed down the street and swallowed two and three beasts at a time. For the first time since the attack began, Magnus thought he sensed the secdim betray their first emotion. Fear. Even if it was all in his head, it didn’t matter.

“That’s right, you little splickheads. Run.”

When his sensors detected that three lifeforms had landed on his back, Magnus made the mech leap up, flip over, and then crash into the street on its back. The secdim exploded under the 3.3-tonne monstrosity like plastic sacs filled with red paint. Fluids struck the surrounding hordes with such force they stumbled backward. It was all the time Magnus needed to make the mech kip-up to its feet and resume running.

The next rows of secdim Magnus threw aside with giant sweeps of his arms. He rocked the mech’s shoulders back and forth and grinned and as the forearms cleared five and six menaces at a time. The creatures careened into one another and went sailing to the right, and then another batch to the left. Again, it may have just been in Magnus’s head, but he was sure he heard whimpering over the external stereophonic microphones.

Word must have gotten to the next block of secdim. They turned to face Magnus’s BATRIG and assumed fighting positions. He could have charged into them, or he could have blasted his way through them. Instead, Magnus chose to leap up and drive his left arm into the nearest building about fifteen meters up. Then he released the wall and used his feet to push away. The BATRIG soared deep into the next block and landed in a multitude of enemy bodies. Those not ground into the pavement were thrown back and collided with their counterparts.

Magnus looked up and chose his next perch along a building on the right side of the street. The BATRIG soared through the air with ease and grabbed the side of the building without complaint. This time, when Magnus landed, he tucked into a ball and rolled down the street. The mech’s metal mass mowed down a swath of beasts like a boulder rolling through a grassy meadow.

When he stood, Magnus deployed one of Azelon’s newer additions: two-and-a-half- meter-long serrated duradex blades, one under each forearm. The cutting tools were designed for carving up environmental assets to create natural barriers. But Magnus felt they had other uses, like separating heads from bodies and divorcing the secdim of their arms and legs, which the blades did with astonishing efficiency.

Magnus spread the weapons to his sides and then charged down the street in a run. Secdim scrambled to avoid the rush of the arm swords, but few found refuge. The lucky few did so by climbing atop their counterparts, narrowly missing the scythes that cut down those beneath. Others chose to step into the middle of the lane but found themselves flung over or trampled under the charging mech.

On and on, Magnus went, shooting, leaping, cutting, and swinging until he finally came to grid ten’s central plaza. He’d been waiting for a reason to try out the C-RIG’s massive thrusters, so Magnus kicked them on just as he descended into a pack of secdim. Hell, every Marine needed to make an entrance when he was late to the party. And the thrusters didn’t disappoint. Flames scoured the pavement clean of any enemies for ten meters before his mech’s feet touched down. He switched off the boosters and had a wide view of the danger area—and what little remained of Forbes’s last stand against the secdim.

“Good to see you, Captain,” Magnus said.

Forbes was busy heaving an enemy over his shoulder and tossing him down the pit. “You too, Major. Nice entrance.”

“I saw a red carpet, so…”

Forbes laughed. “I’m just glad they decided to let you get in the game.”

“It was time. I was getting an ass rash.”

Magnus scanned the scene and cross-compared the Spire’s orbital sensor data. It looked like the weakest element was on the north side of the pit. Magnus locked onto two densely populated regions, assigned birdies one and two from his available six VWMs, and let them fly. The missiles streaked upward, pulled back down in a steep turn, and then drove for the target. When the ordnance detonated, the fiery explosions blossomed into the night sky and produced far more carnage than Magnus had estimated, to the point that one missile would have done the job just fine.

“Holy splick, Azie. What’d you put in these things?”

Not meaning to hail the bot, Azelon’s face appeared in a peripheral window. “Four times the explosive payload of your previous rig’s missiles. Do you find them agreeable?”

“I do.” He grinned. “I really do.”

“Your reply has been noted. Thank you for your valuable feedback, sir.”

Magnus winked at her and then closed out the transmission.

“You wanna do that again?” Forbes asked. “South entry.”

“My pleasure.” Magnus fixed the location and sent one missile out this time. It went up and back, and then drove into a pocket of enemies so tightly packed that their bodies—not the ordnance—took out the adjacent buildings’ lower supports. As flames and black smoke billowed into the star-filled sky, the structures groaned in protest and eventually gave way. Massive blocks of concrete and stone slid over one another and fell into the road. Windows burst up and down the block, showering anything nearby in glass shards. By the time it was down, a giant cloud of grey dust had swallowed two blocks along with anything that tried to crawl away.

“Now you’re just showing off,” Forbes said.

“Comes naturally. What can I say?”

“Something tells me you’d better take that toy of yours and head after the kid.”

Magnus cast the captain a furrowed brow while he blasted some secdim with his GU90M. “Not sure I follow, Forbes. Looks like you need all the help you can get up here. No offense.”

“You know what? I am offended. The mission ain’t up here, sweet cheeks. And yeah, I can call you that cause you’ve been a Major for less time than it took for your mom to conceive you. The way I see it, we can either sit up here staring into each other’s eyes—hold on.” Forbes gunned down two enemies that tried charging his legs. One succumbed to RTD10 fire, while the other went down when Forbes dropped his mech’s elbow on the thing’s skull. “Where was I?”

“Making love with our eyes.” Magnus smiled even though he hated where this was going—because he knew exactly what the captain was getting at. And, to be fair, he would have said the same thing too were the roles reversed.

“We’re either batting our eyelashes at each other up here, or you’re helping save the day down there.”

“And here I was really hoping for some quality time together.”

“Priorities suck, don’t they?”

Again, Magnus smiled at Forbes. “Listen, Forbes. I—”

“Oh, for mystics’ sakes. Are you gonna give me a speech right now? Get the hell down this hole and go back Piper up before I shove my boot so far up your mech’s ass it asks me for the colonoscopy report. And yes, that’s an order, because I missed giving orders to a lieutenant, Major.”

“Aye aye, Captain,” Magnus said.

As Magnus ran toward the pit’s opening, he felt a strange melancholy overtake him. He looked over and saw Forbes’s BATRIG salute him with one arm while firing at a line of secdim with the other.

“Stay dangerous, Forbes,” Magnus said just before leaping into the black hole.

“To the end,” Forbes replied. “It’s been a hell of a ride, brother.”

* * *

According to Azie, the C-RIG’s short-range burst thrusters worked best for short hops, as he’d demonstrated earlier, and ate up a good portion of the mech’s trinium core. That was understandable given how heavy this particular behemoth was. But considering that Magnus had been free-falling for the last three seconds, he hated to think what an unassisted ground impact would look like were he not to employ the feature now. Even if the suit survived, he doubted his internal organs would.

Magnus used his biotech interface to call up the propulsion menu again, then he selected the thrusters and fired them on full. The moment his mind issued the command, Magnus felt his stomach shoot to his feet.

“Gods,” he said while grunting deep in his gut. Maybe full power wasn’t the best option after all. He lowered the output and felt the inertia lessen.

Next was getting a visual on where to land. His bioteknia eyes were linked with the BATRIG’s optical, radar, and lidar sensors, producing a multi-spectral layout of the subterranean environment within seconds. Before seeing the result, Magnus had envisioned himself falling through a narrow chute. Instead, he was in a massive circular cavern, the walls of which were out of sight. He passed floor after floor filled with some sort of power stations that multiplied down endless aisles. And attached to every station was some kind of glowing orb, most of which seemed opened or cracked, like giant Mislandic oranges torn apart by Belridgian monkey-cats. They even left a similar mess. Glass lay like discarded rinds, and a milky white fluid dripped off grates from one floor to the next.

“Azie, I think I found your catacombs.” Magnus waited for the bot to reply. When she didn’t, he checked to make sure his comms were still operational and then tried the transmission again. When that didn’t work, he hailed Caldwell.

It’s no use, a voice said in his head. The sound startled him at first. Only Awen had made a habit of doing that. But this voice was older.

“Willowood,” he said, not thinking to say it in his mind.

You’re smarter than people give you credit for. Oh, and your comms won’t work down here either. Just the Unity, so you can dispense with talking out loud.

“Copy.” He shook his head and then thought his next words. I mean, copy.

That’s better.

So, where you at? he asked.

We’ve got our hands full, half a klick to your southwest.

Magnus consulted the topo map, but, like his comms, it was no longer receiving data from up top.

That’s right, Willowood added. Nav is down too. Gonna have to do it the old-fashioned way. By feel.

Copy that.

First, however, you might want to land.

Damn, woman. Don’t let anyone say you’re not gifted.

I never do, she replied. Do you?

Magnus wasn’t sure if she meant her or him, but somehow the question felt like the witty interrogation of an elder meant to make a junior do some serious soul searching.

First, however, he needed to stop draining his mech’s trinium core and get his BATRIG to the ground. He detected a solid surface ten meters below him. “Please don’t be a trap door,” he said to himself. He was deep enough as it was.

When the C-RIG touched down, and the ground felt firm, Magnus cut the thrusters and listened to the engines creak as they cooled.

Don’t hang around too long, Magnus, Willowood said. The secdim move quickly down here and can sense your heat energy, your smell, and your life force in the Unity.

Magnus had another thought. So that’s why chameleon mode never worked.

Correct. Plus, it was their technology to begin with, remember?

Hell, Magnus hadn’t thought about that. Right. He spotted a corridor in the approximate direction Willowood had indicated. Powered trunk lines and piping ran along the hallway, collecting from the broken balls and running southwest. There were also giant gashes along the hardware; it looked like some mechs had already passed this way. I see your trail, through all the…pod thingys—

Stasis chambers. Good. Move fast, and don’t stop to look at anything.

Magnus set off at a run and kept his sensors at full. Question for you.

I’m a little busy right now but go ahead.

How’d the secdim get up through that pit? I didn’t see a ladder or elevator or—

They can climb walls.

Magnus clucked his tongue. Of course they can.

Any more questions, or are we good?

We’re good. Then Magnus thought better of it. Wait, no. You fighting more secdim?

Yes, Adonis. Soldark too.

Suddenly, everything else faded in Magnus’s mind. The enemy had been so elusive that Magnus treated Soldark more like a ghost. But now that he was down here, with Willowood and the other mystics, the thought of taking him out felt so much more real. And so did the idea of dying, especially as he tried to keep Piper’s dream from bubbling up in his mind.

Heading your way now, Willowood.

Good. And Magnus?

Yeah?

Hurry.

29

Jules was no warship captain; she knew that. And there wasn’t any use pretending that she understood advanced naval warfare tactics or rules of engagement or whatever else the Galactic Republic called it. Neo Republic, she corrected herself.

But she did understand business, and she knew racing better than any other sea skimmer pilot in the quadrant. Well, her quadrant, as she highly doubted anyone ran skimmers in this quadrant. Though, if they didn’t, she had quite the offer to make them.

As Jules surveyed the Obscura ships and contrasted them with the Stroika vessels under her command, her brain applied everything it knew about point and counterpoint, feigning and bluffing, and cutting off opponents who tried to pass without permission. Ordering ships around was like playing Androchidan chess; if you were willing to lose a piece of lesser value, you might take an enemy’s piece of greater value. Except in this case, it was people’s lives she was dealing with. Jules also had no idea who the Androchidans were, which never sat well with her. Apparently they should have learned to play their own game better. Though, she figured, at least whoever conquered them decided to immortalize their species in the game’s name. A fitting if not sadistic tribute to a defeated adversary.

As for giving up ships in pursuit of the enemy, she had already lost two. She consoled herself that the warships were running on skeleton crews and made use of the robust Stroika AIs. Still, people had died, and she was responsible.

But whatever opportunities she hoped to glean from the losses did not materialize. She flanked the enemy with her remaining eight ships while the Sekmit and Jujari contingents tried dividing the Obscura down the middle. The Repub and LAW elements were weak—or at least acted like they were—opting to let the other forces go first. In a quick unconscious thought, Jules vowed never to do business with the lesser factions again, unless it was selling them factory seconds at inflated prices. The Sekmit and Jujari, on the other hand, would get the first pick, and at wholesale pricing—if they all survived this nightmare.

“All right,” Flow yelled from the weapons console. “Five more fighters bite the dust, baby!”

“Good,” Jules replied. “Stay focused and keep after them.” While the fighters were undoubtedly a pain in the ass, what she really wanted to know was if their main guns were making a dent in any of the Obscura’s Leviathans. “Anything on the big boys yet?”

“Negative,” Cheeks replied. He sat beside Flow in the second weapon’s command chair.

Yes, this Tabor-class Battleship, affectionately named Heart of Scarpaithia after the lead designer’s violent homeworld, had two primary weapons stations. Even with the AI, it took two officers to coordinate the blistering amount of firepower the Scarpaithia packed with any efficiency. While Dreadnaughts and other Battleships might make room for squadrons or cargo, the Tabor-class was designed for one thing and one thing only: to blow splick up. And that suited Jules just fine, especially since it felt like managing a hostile corporate takeover or knocking a competitor out of the race. As she was fond of saying, there were cheaters, and there were losers. Today, she was doing her damnedest to cheat death.

“No matter what we try, nothing seems to get through those shields,” Cheeks added. “And it’s really pissing me off.”

Flow looked up at Jules and spoke around the backside of his hand. “He’s new to penetration issues.”

Jules loved how Marines managed to stay so light under pressure. Flow would make a good crew chief or a business exec. Maybe both if she had enough time with him.

Time, she thought. It was the one thing they didn’t have enough of. Well, that and reinforcements. The last status update she got from the Spire said that the Reptalons weren’t coming. Awen had gotten the quantum tunnel open, but no one seemed interested in dropping by. Damn lizard brains.

“What about weak spots?” Jules asked. Every defense had a weakness to exploit; you just needed to know where to look.

“Not seeing any here,” Flow said.

“Me neither,” added Cheeks.

Jules exhaled and stroked her chin—a habit she had picked up from her father that inevitably resulted in black grease stains on both their jaws. “Weapons combinations?”

“Nothing yet,” Flow said. “They seem to repel hard and particle-based munitions with the same efficacy.”

“There’s got to be an in here.” Jules paced in front of the main holo.

“Fleet just lost another Jujari ship,” Jules’s sensors officers announced. “It’s the”—the woman squinted at the name—“Blood Red Dawn Over Commander Reejihock’s Regalness Standing Above the Corpses of—”

“Don’t strain yourself over it,” Jules said with a wave of her hand. “We got it, and we’ll mourn the crew later. Right now, I need ideas.” She spun around and looked at her command crew.

They gave her furtive glances as they kept one eye on their work and one on her.

“Anyone?”

Flow was the only one not looking at her. But he wasn’t manipulating his firing console either. Instead, he itched his lower back and winced. For a split second, Jules wondered if he was relapsing. They’d made so much progress together that she’d hate to see him regress now. “You good, Flow?”

“I was just thinking.” Flow crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. “The way the ships absorb our ordnance.”

“What about it?”

“Willowood mentioned something about the Obscura being dark Unity users.”

The Scarpaithia shook as enemy fire raked the starboard shields. The sensors officer called out a status report, but Jules ignored it, choosing instead to focus on Flow’s face.

“Go on,” she said.

“Well, matter just doesn’t disappear. I mean, right? I’m no physicist, but I do know about the conservation of energy.”

“So, what are you saying?”

“I’m just wondering if maybe the Obscura are converting matter to antimatter, and that’s how they can absorb it with the Unity or whatever. What would happen if we reversed the polarity of our particle beams?”

Jules blinked at him twice. “You’re suggesting we fire antimatter beams at their shields?”

“I know it sounds crazy. Feels like throwing pebbles at a tidal wave, but—”

“But it’s worth seeing what happens.” Jules pointed at Flow and Cheeks. “Work with engineering to reverse polarity on the positron matrix generator.”

“We’re on it,” Cheeks replied and then punched Flow’s arm. “Look at you being Mr. Hot Shot again.”

“Please, fool. I never stopped.”

* * *

It was several minutes before engineering came back with a favorable report on Flow’s idea. But by then, something new had captured Jules’s interest.

“Sensors,” she said and then pointed to a grid on the battle map. “What’s that?”

The sensors officer isolated the section and enlarged it. “Definitely new activity, miss. I’m reading more signatures in-line with the last two waves of Abeyant fighters.”

“More starfighters?” Cheeks said as he worked to assign target locks.

“Aw, hell nah,” Flow yelled. “They just make ’em and then pull ’em out of their ass or something?”

“I’m not sure,” Jules replied. “But we had better find a way to get an advantage fast. Stand by on the antimatter beams.” Jules opened a channel with the Spire and pinged Caldwell.

“Talk to me,” the colonel replied. His steady disposition had been replaced with a frayed intensity that made the cigar in his mouth twitch.

“We’re picking up multiple drive signatures behind the fleet,” Jules said.

“What kind and how many?”

“Abeyant-class, Colonel. As for force size—” She snapped her fingers at the sensors officer.

“Forty-eight so far,” the woman replied.

“Forty-eight, Colonel.”

“Now up to seventy,” the sensors officer added. “Seventy-five.”

“Seventy-five.” Jules shook her head. “My guess it’s a third wave, sir.”

“Dammit.” Caldwell looked away and ordered his bridge crew to call up the data from the Scarpaithia.

“We’re also working on a possible lead,” Jules added.

Caldwell’s eyes snapped back to hers. “What kind?”

“It’s just a hunch, sir, but Flow’s worked out a theory to disrupt the Obscura’s shielding. We’re about to try it.”

Caldwell removed his cigar and waved it at her. “Well what are you talking to me for, woman? Do it.”

Jules nodded and then looked to weapons. Flow and Cheeks filled the central holo with an image of the nearest Leviathan. The Scarpaithia approached from the enemy ship’s port side and had a perfect view of the entire ship stem to stern.

“Weapons, confirm target acquisition,” Jules said.

“Target acquired, antimatter death ray locked.”

Jules looked sideways at Flow.

“What?” He shrugged. “Has a nice ring to it.”

She gave him a half-smile and then thrust her hand forward. “Fire.”

All eyes on the Scarpaithia and Spire’s bridges watched as the targeting AI rendered the antimatter beam in a blue wireframe. The energy bolt itself was invisible—absorbing light rather than emitting it—but traversed the void like any other particle. The wireframe rendered out to the enemy ship and then blinked out.

“What happened?” Caldwell asked.

“I don’t know.” Jules looked back at sensors. “Anything?”

“I’m not reading any changes,” she said. “I’m sorry, Captain.”

Jules’s heart sank. She was really hoping they had something. She looked back at the colonel. “We’ll keep trying, sir.”

“Aw, the hell with this.” Flow brought up a secondary quad cannon and fired a short burst of unpolarized energy at the same target location. Again, all eyes watched as the bright bolts streaked over Ithnor Ithelia’s surface toward the Leviathan. But where the Obscura’s shield should have enveloped the rounds, blinking them out of existence, they kept going—

And then dented the side of the Leviathan amidships.

Jules let out a wail, threw a fist in the air, and then crossed to Flow’s console. She planted a kiss right on his lips and then turned back to Caldwell. “Happy?”

“Not as happy as Sergeant Deeks there, but pretty damn happy.”

“Uploading the particle specs now,” Jules said as she waved to her engineering officer on deck.

“We’ll make sure it gets distributed,” the colonel replied. “Good work.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Now let’s go hunt us some damn Leviathans. La-raah!”

30

“Sir? Can you hear me?”

Ezo blinked several times, but his vision was still blurry. Shapes and light moved in and out of each other. But he knew that voice anywhere.

“My head hurts, ’Six,” Ezo replied. “Feels like—”

All at once, a wave of nausea forced him to retch. The pressure in his head doubled, which made him vomit again.

“Oh my. You seem to have pulled an Awen, sir,” TO-96 said. “And without a vomit pouch too.”

Ezo wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His lips felt cracked, and he tasted iron behind all the bile. He also smelled smoke. “We…we made it?”

“If you are referring to surviving Geronimo Nine’s crash landing, yes. We also managed to take out a considerable portion of the enemy in so doing. Well done, sir.”

Ezo’s vision was clearing. Smoke from electrical fires curled toward the broken windshield, and the rhythmic tick-tick-tick of hot metal cooling pounded in his head. Geronimo’s systems were offline, and he guessed the ship was done—for now, anyway.

“We’ve gotta move, ’Six,” Ezo said after a moment. “They’re gonna be on us.”

“I agree, sir. There are two pieces of good news on that end.”

Ezo fought to undo his chest harness. “I’m all for good news right now.”

“The first is that your excellent piloting skills afforded us a considerable margin in driving the enemy back.”

Ezo smiled. “So I plowed through a lot.”

“Yes, sir. Um, a lot is certainly an appropriate adjective, especially given your slightly dysfunctional state.”

“I am not dysfunctional.”

TO-96 tilted his head. “Well, you did just piss yourself, sir.”

Ezo looked at his groin but saw only the Mark II stealth armor, care of Azelon. “How would you even—”

“I’m connected to your suit’s AI, sir.”

Ezo put a finger in the bot’s face. “Not a word of this to anyone, copy?”

“Copy, sir. It’s always my pleasure to keep your secrets.”

“Eh—is it, though?”

“Huh.” TO-96 pulled his head back. “My records do seem to indicate several times where it may appear as though I unwittingly divulged proprietary information that you seemed to react negatively to.”

“It seems to indicate that, does it?” Ezo tried pushing himself out of the chair but was overcome by a wave of vertigo. “’Cause it sure seemed so to me. What’s the other piece of good news.”

“I am detecting a radical shift in enemy movement,” TO-96 replied. “Sensors indicate they are moving toward grid ten.”

“What’s at grid ten?” Ezo rubbed his head and then finally managed to stand.

“The last report I obtained identified it as a revised infil point for the mystics to pursue Soldark.”

“And are they?”

“I believe so, sir. I am attempting to reconnect with Azelon now, but I’m having trouble.”

“Well, keep trying.” Ezo held himself between both pilot’s chairs and started walking up the newly inclined aisle out of the bridge.

“And where are you going, sir?”

“To get some more guns.”

* * *

Ezo took a swig of water from a canteen he found on the common room’s floor. The place was a mess, and he thought he might die of an OCD reaction sooner than he’d die from whatever internal injuries he’d suffered in the crash. While his suit’s nanobots could stem bleeding and begin minor tissue repairs, the emergency med systems couldn’t do a thing for his cleaning compulsion.

Fortunately, the weapons locker was still intact, and the red lock light was illuminated. Ezo tapped in his code, and the LED changed to green as it let out a soft trill.

Inside the padded safe stood several weapons, both old and new. Ezo reached for his tried-and-true SUPRA 945 and mag-locked the pistol to his hip. Then he slapped four VODs to his chest plate and put extra energy mags against the small of his back. Next, he attached the NCK duradex combat knife to his left thigh and double-checked it was secure. Lastly, he withdrew Azelon’s latest iteration of the gladia’s primary blaster, the NOV3. He locked two fresh mags into the twin receivers, and then he added the VOD tube attachment and double-checked that it was loaded.

“You will also need this, sir,” TO-96 said as he threw Ezo the Mark II helmet. “Unless, of course, you sense you are going to vomit again.”

“I’m good, pal.” That said, Ezo suddenly felt his stomach flip. “Dammit. How’d you know?”

“As I already said, sir, I am tied into your—”

Ezo waved the bot off one more time and dry heaved on the Geronimo’s deck. “I’m so sorry.”

“You are forgiven, sir.”

“I was talking to the ship.”

TO-96 cocked his head to the left. “Ah. Very good, sir. That makes more sense.”

Ezo wiped his mouth again and then donned his helmet. The NBTI paired with the armor, and a second later, the main HUD was active.

“Sir. We have an incoming transmission for Azelon,” TO-96 said with no small amount of enthusiasm in his voice.

“You…wanna take this in the other room?”

“Of course not, sir. Why would you think that I—” TO-96 held a finger aloft. “Oh. I see. No, it is probably not that sort of call. Though, considering our absence from one another as well as Azelon’s most recent emotional outbursts—demonstrative ones, I might add—I do understand your provocation for suggesting such—”

“Open the channel, Ninety-Six.”

“Right away.”

“Tee-Oh-Ninety-Six,” Azelon exclaimed.

Ezo couldn’t tell if the bot was irate or over the moon. Then again, robots weren’t the best at emoting clearly—or at all, for that matter.

“Hello, Azelon,” TO-96 replied.

“Where on earth have you been?”

Ezo chuckled. So she was pissed.

“Well, first we encountered significant enemy—”

“I was worried sick about you,” Azelon continued. “Nine-hundred trillion nanoseconds and not so much as a single data packet from you.”

Ezo whistled. “You is in trouble, boyeee.”

“Azelon, I can assure you that—”

“And then Ricio goes down, and then Geronimo Nine? And you don’t so much as—”

“Whoa, whoa—Ricio’s down?”

“Yes, sir. As I was saying—”

“No, no, no,” Ezo said, cutting in hard. “You can take up your quarrel later. What do you mean, Ricio is down? Do you have a transponder lock? NBTI ping, what?”

Azelon’s posture relaxed. “I’m terribly sorry, sir, but all data indicates catastrophic termination.”

Ezo felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. “So he’s…dead.”

“Affirmative, sir.”

“See here! Stand aside,” someone else’s gruff voice said. Colonel Caldwell’s face came into view. “Ezo.”

“Hello, sir. Good to see—”

“Sootriman’s been shot down, son.”

Ezo made to reply but couldn’t find the words. It took several seconds for his brain to interpret what the colonel had said. And in those seconds, his entire world flipped upside down.

“Now before you go all spastic on me, son, Azelon is detecting a faint life sign through—”

“She’s alive?” Ezo yelled.

“It’s weak, son. Not much to go on, but—”

“Where? Azelon, I need those coordinates right now.”

“Transmitting,” she replied as she stepped into frame beside the colonel.

“Got ’em,” Ezo said. “Pack your bags, ’Six. We’re going hunting.”

“I have always wanted to go on a safari,” TO-96 replied. “How exciting.”

“Be careful, Idris,” Caldwell said. Ezo wasn’t even sure that Caldwell knew his first name, so it had the effect of stopping Ezo in his tracks, which is presumably what the older man wanted. “We’ve already had enough losses for one day. I don’t need any more.”

“Begging your pardon, Colonel, but if Ezo can’t find her, he’s as good as dead anyway.”

“Figuratively and actually, that is quite true,” TO-96 interjected. “I am well versed in all Ezo’s various forms of depression.”

“There’s one more thing, son,” Caldwell said.

“I’m listening,” Ezo replied.

“It seems your wife’s message got through to Saasarr.”

“Well, that’s good news.”

Caldwell’s mustache twitched. “Almost. Two of the damn lizard leaders are still sacrificing splick to get their gods to comply.”

“Which means they’re not coming,” Ezo said flatly. “Mystics, this day.”

“We were hoping maybe Sootriman could try persuading him one more time. But, given the circumstances—”

“You want me to try.”

Caldwell pursed his lips around his cigar. “That’s the short version of it.”

Ezo was pissed. His wife had been shot down, the whole city was going to splick, and these Reptalon bastards were playing footsie with their damn gods? Not if Ezo had anything to say about it. “Put me through.”

* * *

According to Sootriman’s NBTI signal, her last known location was right on the edge of Itheliana’s southwestern-most edge.

“The ping seems to be coming from the shore,” TO-96 said. “Either the Radiant Queen crash-landed there, or Sootriman’s moving away from the city and toward the ocean on foot.”

“Copy that,” Ezo replied out of breath. The two had been running for several minutes, and Ezo felt no shame in taking more than the recommended boosts from the suit’s stim unit. The warning on his HUD continued to read For Medical Emergencies Only, which this most certainly was—for someone.

“Do you find it oddly coincidental, sir?” TO-96 asked in a perfectly calm tone.

“What’s that?”

“Well, the last time we were running in this region of the city—also in a southerly direction, I might add—Sootriman had been shot by Nos Kil’s forces, and we had to escape on Azelon’s Spire. I find the statistical likelihood of similarly defined entanglements low.”

“I’d call that oddly coincidental, yeah. Nice job, pal.”

“Thank you, sir.”

After a minute more of running, TO-96 tapped Ezo on the shoulder. The robot’s arms and legs moved effortlessly while Ezo continued to fight against fatigue. “What is it, pal?”

“Isn’t it also interesting that both you and I have significant others now?”

Ezo laughed.

“What’s so funny, sir?”

“No, it’s just—yes, it’s interesting. And I’m so happy for you.”

“Thank you, sir. I’m happy for me too.”

“You know, you’re probably one of the—”

Three red dots appeared on the pavement a split second before the road erupted in a flash of light. Ezo felt like a red hot hovertrain had slammed into him and sent his body backward. The Mark II absorbed most of the energy but still left his head to spin when he smacked the ground some twenty meters from the explosion.

“’Six,” Ezo yelled. He bashed the side of his helmet to get the HUD back up. It flickered to life, and Ezo followed TO-96’s vector to a small pile of rubble.

Overhead, the sound of an Abeyant starfighter coming back around made Ezo’s heart beat harder.

“Ninety-Six, talk to me,” Ezo yelled again.

Just then, the bot’s body sat up straight from the debris.

Ezo grabbed at his heart and spun around. “Mystics, you scared the splick out of me.”

TO-96 reared his head back, still sitting in among the rocks. “So now you’ve peed your pants, thrown up, and pooped your pants. Huh. There are only a few more excretions to go before you’ve reached the biologic maximum for one day.”

“And I’d prefer never to have this conversation again. Come on! We’ve gotta move.”

TO-96 hauled himself out of the rock pile and resumed running with Ezo. Only this time, the pair kept their eyes on the sky.

“What was that?” Azelon asked with an incredulous tone to her voice.

“Nothing, dear,” TO-96 replied.

Ezo gave the bot a wink then whispered, “Good cover.”

“What did Ezo say?” Her head snapped toward him. “What did you say?”

“Ezo—nothing—just—look out!”

The Abeyant fighter circled around between buildings and was headed back toward them, targeting reticles reflecting off TO-96’s face shield. Ezo lunged at and struck the bot in the side. The pair of them flew sideways and landed just inside an alley while the main street blossomed into a fireball. Bits and pieces of the road tinkled down on them as Azelon spouted off several expletives Ezo had never heard before.

“Why don’t we let them go,” Caldwell said as he ushered Azelon out of frame. Then to her, he said, “I think Cyril has something to go over with you.”

In the background, Ezo heard the code slicer say, “No, no, I don’t, Colonel bravo, sir.”

“Make something up,” Caldwell said in an exasperated tone. Then he looked back at Ezo and said, “I’ll try and keep her occupied.”

“Thanks, sir.”

The transmission blinked out, and Ezo and TO-96 helped one another up. “Shall we?” Ezo asked, thumbing toward the road.

“After you,” TO-96 replied with a bow and a sweep of his arm.

Together, they ran into the street and continued south. When the Abeyant-class starfighter appeared for its third strafing run, Ezo and TO-96 were ready. With any luck, this ship had already had its shields reduced—that would certainly make taking it down a lot easier. Even if it hadn’t, Ezo figured he and his bot could still get the thing off their trail—it would just take more time.

“Is this part of hunting, sir?” TO-96 asked.

“Oh yes,” Ezo replied as he aimed his NOV3 and activated the VOD launcher. “This is definitely part of hunting.”

“Cool.” TO-96 was first to fire. He raised both arms and let a barrage of micro-missiles zip toward the Obscura ship. No sooner were the missiles on their way than the bot fired his XM31 Type-R blaster to pick away at the starfighter’s shields.

TO-96’s aim was precise enough that the XM31 burrowed a small opening in the enemy’s shield. By the time the micro missiles caught up, they opened the hole even further. That’s all Ezo needed.

Just as the three red dots flashed inside his HUD, Ezo lobbed two VODs toward the target. They produced a soft whistle as they flew and then passed right through the opening TO-96 had made. A micro-second later, both devices struck the Abeyant’s hull and detonated. The ship’s forcefield contained the blast and focused the energy on the fuselage. When the two-part explosion finally tore through the forcefield, flaming bits of black rock pelted the street, enough that Ezo and TO-96 covered their heads to minimize damage.

“That was so much fun,” TO-96 said with the closest thing to a giggle Ezo had ever heard him produce. “Let’s do it again.”

* * *

By the time the sun warmed the eastern sky, Ezo and TO-96 had finally emerged from Itheliana proper and onto a half-kilometer-deep strand. The sand spread out as far as they could see in both directions, and ahead waves crashed against the shore. The remains of several ships lay in the early twilight like dead sea creatures washed up onshore.

Ezo and TO-96 had taken down two more Abeyant fighters just to get this far, and the sky was still filled with Obscura and allied ships contending for dominance of the skies. The encounters had delayed them enough that Ezo hoped they weren’t too late.

As they surveyed the beach ruins, TO-96 pointed at something to the right. “Over there, sir.”

Ezo broke into a sprint, kicking up sand as he went. With every soft divot his feet made, he saw images of Caledonia flash in his mind.

He was barefoot again…

Running from the first school of Akuda that stalked him through the palms.

Running from the Marines that followed him out of his boobytrapped hideout.

And running from Sootriman’s father as he cursed at him and swore that a Nimprinth would never be good enough for his daughter.

The ironic part was, Ezo agreed with her father, but not because of race. No one was good enough for Sootriman. But on the day he said he loved her, Ezo swore that he’d do his best to earn her respect and win her affections. There’d been some bumps in the road. Hell, he’d been a numbskull for a fair amount of their marriage. But if the mystics were watching, Ezo swore he’d never leave her side again if they’d let her live through this.

Ezo skidded to a halt beside the Radiant Queen. The Panther-class’ drive core housing was still intact, but smoke poured from its seams. The canopy itself was cracked and marred by scorch marks. Likewise, the whole starboard wing was missing, and the port side was buried in the sand.

“Help me get this open,” Ezo said to TO-96.

The bot was at his side an instant later and inserted his metallic fingertips under the windowplex canopy. Together, Ezo and TO-96 fought the hatch’s hinges and forced the ship open. Inside, Sootriman lay unconscious and bleeding from under her helmet.

“Sootriman,” Ezo said in a whisper, then again a little louder. He didn’t want to startle her, but he also wanted to let her know that he was here. And he wanted to make sure she wasn’t—gone.

“She’s alive, sir,” TO-96 said. “She’s suffered a severe concussion and has minor internal injuries. But otherwise, initial readings show she is in stable condition.”

“Come on. Let’s get her out.”

Together, Ezo and TO-96 unstrapped Sootriman and slowly moved her from the cockpit. Once she was in the sand and resting against the side of the hull, TO-96 scanned her more thoroughly. Meanwhile, Ezo injected her with a dose of nanobots from his armor’s med-pack.

“We’ve secured her,” Ezo said to Caldwell.

“That’s excellent news,” the colonel said. “Get to safety and stay low until we get this mess sorted out up here. Copy?”

“Hard copy, sir.”

“Love sauce?” Sootriman said as her eyes fluttered open.

“Hey, yeah. It’s me.”

She smiled and then looked at the bot. “Ninety-Six?”

“Hello, your highness. Nice to see your smiling face again. And it seems the nanobots are doing their job.”

Sootriman nodded but then winced at her movement.

“You’re in shock still,” Ezo said. “And banged up pretty good. But you’re alive.”

“And I got the son of a bitch who did this.” Sootriman thumbed toward the Radiant’s hull. “But at least I have Geronimo to fall back on.”

TO-96 raised a finger. “Um, about that—”

“Not now, ’Six,” Ezo said.

Sootriman turned to Ezo. “Oh no, husband. Say it ain’t so. Please, oh please tell me that Geronimo Nine is parked right over there waiting to whisk us away on—”

“The ship is in a heap just south of the city’s center and will most likely never fly again without substantial expenditures of credits and time resulting in something more akin to a collector’s item than a fiscally viable commercial investment.”

Ezo raised his eyebrows at TO-96. “Well—that—yup, that about sums it up.”

Sootriman groaned and squeezed her eyes shut.

“We’ll…fix her up, good as new,” Ezo said. “It’ll just be—”

“That’s not it,” Sootriman said. “Though I’m never forgiving you for that—either of you.” She winced again. “Just those damn nanobots doing a number on me.”

“Sir,” TO-96 said to Ezo. “We need to get her to cover. I’m detecting several incoming fighters.”

“We need something to move her.” Ezo looked around and spotted part of the Radiant’s missing wing about eighteen meters back. “There.”

TO-96 nodded and then took off toward the curved piece of metal. He lifted it from the sand and tore the top layer from the bottom. Then TO-96 removed several ribs and reformed the remaining curved plate into something that resembled a sled. Finally, he used a length of shielded electrical cable to create a looped harness for pulling.

When he returned and set the conveyance beside Sootriman, Ezo and his bot slid the queen onto the makeshift sled. They were just beginning to draw her away from the Radiant when enemy fire blew craters in the sand, not five meters in front of them.

Ezo flew backward, and Sootriman let out a scream as a wave of superheated sand fell over her. TO-96 pulled the sled back to relative safety against the Radiant’s fuselage.

“We’re sitting ducks out here,” Ezo said to TO-96.

“I believe squatting ducks would be a more fitting metaphor. Unless, perhaps, you do end up sitting.”

“We’ve gotta make it back inside the city.” Ezo calculated the closest cover at roughly two hundred fifty meters.

“I fear the enemy will have ample time to terminate our progress before we reach the cover of safety.”

“Agreed. But I’m out of VODs.” Ezo double-checked his mag count. “And two energy mags left.”

“My gauss canons are currently offline, in need of repair, and the ammunition for my MX31 Type-R is all but depleted, I’m afraid.”

“So, what are we going to do then?” Sootriman asked as she looked between Ezo and TO-96.

“You are going to get to safety,” the bot replied. “Both of you. I will create a distraction.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? No, you’re coming with us. Mystics know I can’t pull—”

“Watch it, buster,” Sootriman said.

“—the sled without you.”

“Better.”

“I won’t be long, sir. Just enough to give you a head start, and then I’ll join you.”

“You promise?” Ezo asked.

“Of course, sir. No sense in dying needlessly.”

“’Cause we’re not going unless you come with us.”

“I am fully convinced of that fact, yes.”

“Good. Then we’re clear.”

“We are. Now, I count three Obscura fighters on a return flight path. It’s time to haul ass, sir.”

“Be careful,” Sootriman said to TO-96.

“And miss out on living dangerously?” The bot shook his head. “Never. You must get going.”

Ezo patted TO-96 on the shoulder and then looped the cable over his shoulder and around his waist.

“Now go. Get,” TO-96 said. “Go to your home. Be with your own kind. Don’t worry about me, and don’t you dare look back, or I’ll kill you myself. Be free.”

Ezo furrowed his brow and looked back at the bot. “Are you…quoting Return to Adeline Falls?”

“Yes. Is it working?”

Ezo let out a chuckle. “Sure, pal.” Then he leaned into the makeshift harness and started running through the sand.

* * *

Once TO-96 saw that Ezo and Sootriman were on their way, he reached under the sand and grabbed the Radiant Queen’s remaining port-side wing. His servos strained as he rolled the starfighter level. Then he released the wing and examined the port-side ion cannon. It was still intact, and the ship’s AI confirmed it was operational.

With the sound of the Abeyant fighters picking up speed, he reached over and chopped at the joint where the wing met the fuselage. He took great care not to sever the cannon’s power leads or actuator lines, but he did manage to disconnect the control surface. Satisfied with his work, he rotated the wing around until the ion cannon faced the stern and pointed downrange at the incoming enemy ships.

TO-96 cast a glance to his right to ensure Ezo was far enough away—thirty-eight meters by the looks of it. That would have to do.

As the three Abeyant fighters spread out, TO-96 noticed that the far right one seemed to be targeting Sootriman’s sled.

It was now or never.

“Take this, you little bitches,” TO-96 said, and then he ordered the Radiant’s AI to fire the portside ion cannon. The recoil drove TO-96’s knees into the sand, but his aim was accurate. A single pulse round streaked over the beachhead and slammed into the far-right fighter. While the ship didn’t explode, it was sent spiraling off course. TO-96 watched with pleasure as the Obscura vessel whirled into the city and exploded against a five-story building a few blocks in.

“One down, two to go,” TO-96 said.

Ezo was still on comms and heard the exclamation. “Nice work, pal. Now get your shiny metal ass over here.”

“Not until this is done, sir.”

“If you make a run for it now, we can all get to safety together.”

TO-96 watched as the pair of ships returned for vengeance. “But the two fighters won’t stop hunting for us.”

“They’ll give up eventually.” Then Ezo smiled into his helmet cam. “I see what you’re doing here. You just want to get out of all the work.”

“He’s saying I’m heavy, Tee-Oh,” Sootriman interjected. “Please don’t let me down.”

“That, I will never do, your highness.”

The Abeyant starfighters were on a return course, but they were spread out, staggered, and coming in fast and low—under twelve meters. TO-96 calculated the likelihood that one ship would target the sled while the other would deal with him. He did not have enough time to fire on both—the ion cannon was not built for that. And because the starfighters were staggered, any attempt to eliminate one meant the other could readjust target acquisition. He needed to take out both enemies in this one pass.

And he knew how, because he had already concluded how this showdown would end.

“Whatcha you doing there, ’Six?”

“I believe the term is saving your scrawny little asses, sir.”

“Ain’t no one ever called my ass scrawny and lived to tell about it,” Sootriman added.

“How fitting,” TO-96 replied.

“Hold it.” Ezo slowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

TO-96 acted like he was letting out a human sigh. “It means I don’t expect to live to talk about the size of Sootriman’s butt, sir.”

“Dammit, ’Six! You…you played me.”

“I played you, sir?”

Ezo gasped for breath, now over 100 meters away. “You knew we wouldn’t leave without you.”

“Ah, yes. You picked up on that, did you?”

“Dammit. Just—drop the wing and get back here.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, sir. This is your optimal chance for survival.”

“’Six, there’s another way.”

But TO-96 ignored the suggestion. He’d done all the math and run all the scenarios. There were, undoubtedly, several other ways that this could play out, but none that ended with Ezo and Sootriman escaping with their lives. That was the only outcome TO-96 could live with.

“Back there, in the street.” TO-96 aimed the weapon at the Abeyant fighter lining up on Ezo. “You were going to say something before the first starfighter strafed us. What was it?”

Ezo opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again. “We’re so not doing this right now.”

Even from this distance, TO-96 saw Sootriman reach up and touch Ezo’s hand.

Ezo gasped for breath as tiny droplets appeared in the corners of his eyes. “I was going to say that…that you’re one of the most remarkable people I’ve ever met. And my best friend.”

TO-96 sensed his aim slip half a degree. He quickly corrected the trajectory as it would not do failing his best friend now. “Thank you, sir. You are my best friend as well.”

The bot closed out the channel and focused on the enemy fighters. He couldn’t afford any more distractions. They were coming in fast and low, which was what he’d hope for. Their hubris would be their undoing.

Somewhere in the distance, TO-96 could make out the sound of Ezo yelling, but the Abeyant ships drowned out the noise with their dissonant oscillations. The timing of this last assault would be crucial, so TO-96 waited as long as he could. Then, just when he sensed the far pilot would fire on Ezo and Sootriman, the bot fired on the ship. Unlike the previous starfighter, this one detonated in an instant.

At the same moment, TO-96 let go of the wing and leaped into the air just as the second fighter fired on where he’d been standing. The action overexerted his legs’ servos and hyperextended both knees in a snap. But he no longer needed them; he’d reach an elevation parallel with the incoming fighter—twelve point three seven meters.

TO-96 was surprised to see the Obscura pilot’s darkened face through the Abeyant ship’s thin windshield. TO-96 couldn’t be sure, but the figure seemed astonished at a bot’s sudden appearance in front of the craft.

Were TO-96 sure that he could pass through the Abeyant’s force field, he would have preferred to drive his hands into the fuselage to ensure adequate proximity. But he couldn’t risk glancing off the barrier as there was no second attempt for this sort of thing.

The last thoughts that TO-96 registered in his neural network were about friendship. About love. And about laying down his life for the people he could never live without. Then TO-96 gave a sad smile as he considered how those same people would have to live without him. But it was worth the pain.

When TO-96 went nova, he was not thinking of revenge or hate, nor was he dwelling on the futility of war. He even looked away from the Obscura pilot, refusing to let that image be his last. Instead, he closed his optical sensors and saw Ezo’s face, and Sootriman’s. Awen smiled at him, and so did Magnus. As the trinium core enveloped him in a brilliant ball of light, he saw all his friends. And Azelon, most of all.

31

Magnus heard the confrontation before he ever saw it—though, to be fair, his bioteknia eyes did pick up light radiation in the next corridor using their exceptional sensitivity. Still, the raucous sound of secdim throwing themselves into heavy weapons fire was unmistakable and confirmed that Magnus was on the right path.

He continued to race past the stasis stations as pieces from their broken glass orbs crunched under his mech’s feet. Since the stations had no back walls, and only thin metallic posts to hold up the floor above, Magnus could see dozens of meters right and left into the adjacent aisles. But there was nothing to see beyond more broken stasis pods. The enemy on this floor had already hatched and were either up top or engaged ahead.

As Magnus closed with the allies, his thoughts narrowed to aiding Piper and Willowood, and then narrowed even further to putting an end to Soldark. The end was so close he could taste it.

But he was careful not to get too fixated on the mission objective—doing that had a way of messing with an operator’s head. Just take it one blaster round at a time, Adonis, he reminded himself.

At last, another three hundred meters later, Magnus caught up with the rear line of mechs and mystics. They were spread out in the various corridors and held back an onslaught of secdim. The beasts closed from the flanks, their coats still bathed in the milky white fluid he’d seen in the pods. And then he heard the distinct sound of more glass orbs shattering in the background.

I’m here, Magnus said in his mind, trusting that Willowood was still listening. Where do you need me?

Press through the center. Leave the rear line to deal with those in back. They’re handling it.

Sure enough, as Magnus passed through the Li-Dain’s and gladia’s combined force fields, he noticed that the secdim were throwing themselves at Unity barriers to no effect—other than to break their own bodies against the robust shielding.

The mystics retaliated with precise thrusts of energy that seared flesh and blew bodies backward. The secdim collided with cracked orbs, cutting their skin on the jagged edges. Other victims flew into the gantry arms and power poles only to get hung up in webs of electrical lines. Meanwhile, Lieutenant Rodgers ordered his BATRIGs to shred anything that the mystics missed. GU90M and RTD10 fire flashed in the confined space and pushed the enemy back. Any secdus that got too close was flung aside by the mech’s powerful arms. Down here, it was the allies who were attacking, and the secdim who were defending.

As Magnus moved through the ranks, he felt the action shift directions as more and more of the gladias and Li-Dain focused their attention ahead. Some of the mystics even stood stark still with their heads bowed as if sending unspoken prayers toward an unseen god. While Magnus never claimed to have any of Awen’s powers, not even remotely, he freely admitted that he felt some sort of current ushering him toward whatever conflict lay ahead. Whether from the Unity or born of his desire to hurry the hell up and get to the front, he couldn’t be sure. The important thing was that he was close and that these mystics were all working together to the same end.

When Magnus finally stepped out of the hallway, he found himself on a balcony midway up the side of a vast chamber. It was cylindrical, much like the previous one he’d dropped through, but far more prominent. Every level boasted more of the stasis stations and, with them, more secdim. And there, suspended in the middle of the space, was Soldark.

At first, Magnus wondered if all the mystics had succeeded in trapping the man in some form of energy bubble. But Soldark was smiling, and tendrils of electrical energy snapped at the ends of his fingers. This was the first time Magnus had seen the monstrosity that was So-Elku’s form, but possessed by Moldark’s essence.

Just then, the enemy’s attention turned to Magnus.

Hello, Adonis Olin Magnus, came Soldark’s creepy-ass voice inside Magnus’s head. The gladia reared back in shock, and his C-RIG bumped into a gantry arm.

“Get out of my head,” Magnus yelled and raised his GU90M to fire a round at the floating target.

No! Willowood cried from inside Magnus’s head.

It was too late.

The large-bore blaster round crossed into the open and then, to Magnus’s utter astonishment, stopped in midair.

“What the hell?” Magnus said as he leaned toward the anomaly.

Soldark raised his hands as if to cup the blaster bolt at both ends and then twisted his forearms. The blaster bolt rotated 180º and then stopped, aimed back the way it had come.

“Oh, splick,” Magnus said out loud.

He looked for cover, but he was in the open on a damn balcony. The best thing to do was fire again, jump, or both. But before he could do either, Soldark released the particle bolt from his grip, and the beam shot back at Magnus.

I gotcha, Mr. Major Magnus, sir, said a tiny voice in his head. At the same time, the 90mm bolt splashed across an invisible shield and then disappeared.

Too shaken to remember his comms weren’t working, Magnus let out a loud grunt. “Ho-ly splick. Thanks, Piper.”

No problem, she replied. And you don’t need to talk, remember? Just think stuff. It’s way easier, and we can hear you.

Right, he thought with a nod and then looked to see if he could spot her.

We’re over here, she said. Down and to your right.

Magnus tracked around the balcony and spotted Piper and Willowood. They were a quarter of the way around the perimeter and two levels down, standing close to the edge.

So, what’s happening here? Magnus asked.

He recognized Willowood’s voice next. We’re at a standoff, more or less. We think.

You think? Magnus studied the scene. Soldark cast bolts of lightning to various points around the chamber, only for the tendrils to terminate against something projected by the mystics. Meanwhile, a few of Rodgers’s mechs fired at secdim that tried to interfere with the mystics who dealt with Soldark.

Can’t you just—I don’t know—blast him out of the air or crush him or something? Magnus couldn’t believe they were so close, but nothing significant was happening.

He’s too powerful, Willowood said.

Magnus balked. What do you mean, too powerful?

I mean, since we last met him on Aluross, he’s become stronger. We haven’t figured out how to kill him, only somewhat contain him.

Somewhat contain him, Magnus repeated the words. Well that sounds vague and ominous.

We’ll figure it out, Piper added. Especially now that you’re here.

I appreciate your faith in me, kiddo, but—

Yes, let’s think through this some more, Willowood said. While it sounded like she was responding to Piper, Magnus realized the older woman was addressing him. Her tone rang with the motherly warning of, “Don’t say something stupid, Stupid.”

Magnus nodded slowly as he looked back at Soldark. Yeah, we’ll figure this out. But for the life of him, Magnus had no clue what to do next. If Piper, Willowood, and all these mechs and mystics couldn’t stop this maniac, what the hell was he going to offer?

Then a new voice appeared in Magnus’s head.

I’m coming. So get ready, was all it said—was all she said. Magnus knew Awen’s voice anywhere.

A brilliant ball of light emanated from somewhere at the top of the cavern. Magnus looked up and spotted a figure in the ball’s center. It was Awen.

Let’s try it again, Willowood said.

With little context for whatever she meant by it, Magnus assumed two things. The first was that the sage was addressing her platoon. The second was that this was going to be another assault against Soldark, now assisted by Awen. How the Elonian had found her way into this subterranean lair was beyond him, but he was glad she did. If Awen, Willowood, and Piper couldn’t figure out how to stop this damn Elemental, then he was pretty sure it couldn’t be stopped.

Can I shoot this time? Magnus asked Willowood.

Please do, yes, Willowood replied.

With that, Awen’s massive radiant orb projected down on top of Soldark. The dark being shielded his eyes as the shaft of light enveloped him. Then, from points all around the chamber’s circumference, more beams focused on Soldark from the sides. Magnus took that as his cue and raised both weapons against his foe. He even activated a VWM, trusting that the mystics were using enough shielding to contain the blast.

Then Magnus fired.

The missile streaked up in a short flight and then curved backed down while his GU90M and RTD10 went full-auto on the enemy. But even Magnus’s blaster fire seemed incomparable to the blinding light converging on Soldark’s figure. Even the C-RIG’s light-sensitive auto-dimming adjustment tech wasn’t enough to keep the brilliance at bay.

Unity energy mixed with blaster fire and the detonating missile in an explosion rattled Itheliana’s foundation. Even Magnus’s BATRIG backstepped despite the mystic’s powerful shields. Radiation sensors peaked, and warning indicators flashed inside Magnus’s HUD.

Magnus glanced up and barely made out Awen as she descended toward the enemy. She seemed to ride the light like an otherworldly goddess as her hair whipped in the wind behind her. Even against the blinding light, he thought he could make out Awen’s purple eyes drilling into Soldark—or maybe that was just his imagination; he wasn’t sure. It was all happening so fast.

Magazine Depleted read a warning superimposed over his RTD10. A second later, the same sign flashed above his GU90M.

Send your missiles, Willowood yelled in his head. We will contain them!

Full send, Magnus replied. The VWMs were all the C-RIG had left. Magnus armed and then fired the remaining birdies, then he watched them as they shot skyward, curved past Awen, and dove into the turbulent incinerator engulfing Soldark. Several concussive waves boomed from the center like a drive core reactor going nova. But somehow, the mystics confined the blasts to what had become a massive ball of energy that pulsed and rippled like a star’s surface.

A new klaxon altered Magnus to a maxed out heat indicator. Apparently the bright spot was acting a lot more like a mini star than Magnus realized. Several cracks raced along his mech’s windowplex canopy. But there was nothing he could do. His ammo was spent; missiles expended. All he had left was his NOV3, his pistol, and some VODs. But to use them, he’d have to climb out of his BATRIG, and based on the way the grated deck under his feet was glowing red, he wasn’t sure that was the best plan.

Magnus was contemplating throwing himself and his mech’s drive core into the maelstrom if it meant helping the cause when everything faded to black. It looked as though Soldark had ingested the exploding gases and shafts of light by taking a deep breath. The energy folded in on itself and then vanished.

For a split second, everything was still. Awen fell as if in slow motion, her fluttering hair frozen in time. Piper stood with her hands outstretched, as did Willowood. All around the chamber, mystics braced themselves, and the red-hot BATRIGs leaned forward.

Someone exhaled.

And then the chamber detonated.

* * *

Magnus felt like he’d been shot from an old lead spitter. His mech flew backward, chased by another blinding light. The massive C-RIG BATRIG blasted through ceiling supports and gantry cranes as it returned the way it had come. A violent jerk wrenched the left arm from its socket and sent the mech spiraling into another column. Then the canopy shattered, and its frame ripped away, followed by a loud crack as the right foot tore loose.

The C-RIG flipped head over heels, and Magnus’s stomach lurched. Now upside down and consumed by light, the mech’s back continued to drive through hardened obstacles until it met an immovable object that stopped it cold.

Magnus felt the shockwave pass as he slumped into the shoulder restraints. Blood rushed to his head as he looked for a HUD in his helmet, but it was dark. Only his bioteknia eyes were active, and even they were rebooting. Magnus fought to pop his harness, but his hands were trembling. Adrenaline, shock—hell, just being pissed at Soldark.

“Get it together, Adonis,” he said. Just hearing his own voice helped calm him. He could still talk, still hear. His brain started assessing other bodily functions that he could do, and within a few seconds, he realized he was mostly fine. Whatever damage the C-RIG hadn’t absorbed, his Mark I armor had—all praise be to Azelon.

When his hands were finally steady enough to press the release button, Magnus slid out of his pilot seat and slumped onto the deck. He crawled forward through a gap in the wreckage and then climbed to his feet. He’d taken only a few steps when the BATRIG fell forward. Magnus demagged his NOV3 from his back and brought it up just as both broken mech legs whooshed past his shoulders and crashed into the deck.

“Break my toys. Break me. But you break my friends?” Magnus said as he racked a blaster round. “Not on my watch.”

* * *

Had Magnus not been so preoccupied with finding Awen, Piper, and Willowood, he would have stopped to help the countless allied warriors curled up in the wreckage. Some looked alive, but most weren’t moving. Those who were able helped each other up, and a few called out Magnus’s name. But he ignored them and walked back toward the chamber. He had to check on his first priority.

The sheer destructive force that Soldark had unleashed sent more than one shiver up Magnus’s spine. How any being could be so powerful was beyond him and further solidified his resolve to put Mithriel’s ancient spirit down once and for all. How? He had no clue, and that part of his brain that controlled reason and logic was yelling at him.

Everything that lives bleeds, he reminded himself. And everything that bleeds dies. That’s all his logic center needed to know. The rest would work itself out.

Or, it wouldn’t, and no one would be left to worry.

Except those in every other galaxy yet to suffer Soldark’s wrath, he reminded himself. So dying wasn’t an option after all. Wuss.

Then again, maybe all this destruction was a clue—a giant sign that they’d won after all. He didn’t see anything up ahead, and no one was firing blaster bolts or Unity whatcha-ma-call-its. The whole scene was still. And, for the first time in a long time, Magnus started to let himself hope that they’d done it. That they’d actually beat the son of a bitch.

“Magnus,” Awen yelled from the balcony directly overhead. Her head was peering at him upside down but still as stunning as ever.

“Awen.” He stowed his weapon, noting that Soldark was gone, and then held up his hands to help her down.

Had they really done it?

Awen rolled over the edge, dangled from both hands, and then dropped into Magnus’s arms.

Filled with a fresh wave of emotion, Magnus moved to kiss Awen but then realized his helmet was still on.

She backed away from his visor. “Did you just—? Never mind,” she said. “We’ve gotta’ locate Piper and Willowood.”

“Right,” he said as Awen slipped out of his arms. “But—we won.”

She looked over her shoulder. “No. We didn’t.”

Splick. Magnus chased after her. “He survived?”

“Yes.”

“But—how? Where?”

Without looking back at him, Awen pointed over the edge and down.

Magnus chanced a glance into the abyss below. “Down there?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Why? What’s down there?”

But even before Awen said the words, Magnus guessed the answer. Wasn’t it obvious? “The Singularity.”

Of course. They were probably in the dead center of the city now, and it only made sense that the Novia Minoosh’s Singularity was somewhere directly below them, hidden in the depths of—of what?

“The ocean,” Magnus said. “Piper’s dream.”

Awen nodded, still looking all around for Piper and Willowood. “The only place on the planet capable of cooling it.”

“You figured that out?”

“Guessed. Like you. Then Azelon confirmed it.”

“Wait, she knew?”

Awen shook her head. “No. She just found out. Wait—” Awen pointed two levels below. “Down there. I see them. Come on.”

Awen ran along the balcony until she was just above two people in power suits, one larger, one smaller.

Magnus’s heart sank. They—they couldn’t be dead. Could they? But Willowood and Piper hadn’t been blown back like everyone else. Maybe they’d done something to absorb the energy and save the rest from the worst of things. Gods, if they were gone? Magnus sensed—no, he knew that he was going to come unglued.

Awen stepped off the ledge and caught herself, and then she dropped to the next deck. Then she repeated the process a second time until she landed near Willowood and Piper’s still forms.

Magnus’s HUD was back online, and he double-checked his jump boosters. The last thing he wanted was to have a misfire and careen down a bottomless pit below an alien city. But he needed to get down there fast, and this was the best way. He fired the boosters, tested their output by letting some of his weight press against the thrust vector, and then stepped over the side. The helmet’s AI locked onto the LZ and guided Magnus down and into the balcony. As soon as his feet touched down, the thrusters shut off, and tendrils of smoke curled around Magnus’s helmet.

“Piper?” Awen said as she knelt beside the little girl. “Can you hear me?” Awen worked the child’s helmet off her head and slowly pulled it away.

Magnus removed his helmet too. Then when he saw Piper’s eyes were closed, he swore—loudly.

“Magnus,” Awen scolded him. “She’s fine. She’s just in the Unity.”

“Right,” he said, trying to compose himself.

“Tend to Willowood.”

Magnus nodded and then walked over to kneel beside the older woman. He followed Awen’s lead and removed Willowood’s helmet. Within a few seconds, the sage’s eyes fluttered open.

“Where’ve you been all my life, good looking?” she said with a wry smile.

“Sorry, ma’am, but I believe the Colonel would have my ass if I answered that question the way I want to.”

Willowood patted Magnus’s face. “That’s okay. You couldn’t handle me anyway.”

His eyebrows rose as she pulled herself up using his arm.

“Piper?” Willowood asked, looking from the child to Awen.

As if on cue, Piper’s bright blue eyes flew open, and she sat up. Apparently, Awen and Willowood were just as startled as he was.

“He’s going to the Singularity,” Piper said. “Right now.”

Awen gave Magnus a knowing look and then glanced toward the pit. “Told you.”

“We’ve gotta stop him,” Piper added.

“We will,” said Awen.

“Yeah? And how?” Magnus suddenly wished he’d used a softer tone. “Sorry. Just saying, if he survived after all that, then what?”

“He’s injured,” Piper said. “I saw it.”

“Really?” Willowood said, leaning forward with interest. “How so?”

“All that energy wasn’t good for him. It was too much.”

“Well, that’s good and bad, I suppose,” Magnus said. “Good, because, well—injuring the enemy is always a win. But bad ’cause I don’t anticipate we’ll get another shot just like that again.”

“So we’ll improvise,” Awen said as she rubbed a hand along Piper’s back. “But we can’t let him get to the Singularity.”

“Agreed,” Magnus said with Willowood.

Somewhere in the distance, Magnus heard glass shatter and secdim howls. “He’s still able to reanimate them even from down there? Unreal.”

“It’s a cascading event,” Awen said. “Azelon told me.”

“I still don’t understand how she suddenly knows all this.”

Awen nodded in thought as if trying to sort through the essential details. “After I opened the quantum tunnel—”

Magnus grabbed her forearm. “It worked? The Reptalons are coming?”

“I opened the tunnel,” Awen said, stressing the words. “Both Sootriman and Ezo have sent messages through from what I understand, but we haven’t heard from the Reptalons yet. My point is that after I did so, Azelon established a momentary connection with the Novia Minoosh.”

“And?”

Awen looked at him with an impatient glare.

“Let her speak, hot stuff,” Willowood said as she patted his arm.

“Aside from learning about the Singularity’s location, she asked about another idea I had—about asking the Novia Minoosh to return to their bodies and interpret Soldark’s orders.”

“I’ve been thinking the same thing,” Magnus shouted, then looked down at Piper. “Sorry.”

The child smiled and patted his gloved hand.

“I think we all have,” Awen said. “Just didn’t know if it was possible. And, truthfully, I was kind of hoping the Novians would take it upon themselves too.”

“Same,” Magnus said. “She find out why the damn aliens are being so self-centered?”

“Magnus,” Awen said with a chiding tone.

“What? We’re fighting for the galaxy here while they’re trying to catch up on a few eons of beauty sleep that clearly isn’t working.”

A small laugh escaped Piper’s lips.

“See? She agrees.”

Awen shook her head. “From what Azelon was able to find out, the Novia Minoosh can re-inhabit their bodies—”

“See?” Magnus said.

“—but if they do, there’s no going back to their Singularity again.”

Magnus looked at Awen, then to Willowood, and then back to Awen. “I don’t see the problem.”

“It was a failsafe they purposefully built into the system after the last person entered,” Awen said with a tone that suggested everything was self-evident. “They established a protocol where if they returned to their bodies, that was it. There was no going back. It served as a safeguard to keep themselves from reneging on their communal decision.”

“So ask for some volunteers. I still don’t understand the problem. We’re out here dying to save their hairy asses—”

Piper giggled again.

“—while they’re sitting pretty in their underwater digital paradise.”

Awen glared at Magnus. “It’s called a failsafe because if one of them returns, they all have to return. The inscription above the library reads, ‘When we are one, we are whole.’ They don’t do anything unless it’s together.”

“Well, they’re gonna die together in that little bilastium box unless they lend us a hand.”

Awen sighed. “Maybe. And maybe not. Unlike us, who represent a small portion of our species, this is a decision that affects every one of their species.”

Magnus was getting frustrated. “So let’s try and convince them of the facts.”

“Azelon tried, but the connection terminated,” Awen said.

“So they know what we’re doing out here, but they’re not willing to lend a hand?”

“Magnus, I’m not sure you’re connecting all the dots here.”

“What dots? ’Cause unless we all work together to stop Soldark, there’s nothing left to talk about.”

Awen worked her jaw for a second and looked away.

Magnus wanted the tension of the moment to pass, but she wasn’t letting it go. Why couldn’t they just get back to chasing Soldark and tell the Novia Minoosh to wake up? This was a black and white issue for Magnus.

Finally, Awen looked up at him. “How many secdim do you think we’ve slain?”

“Not enough,” he replied with a half-smile.

“How many?” she fired back with an edge to her voice. Awen wasn’t going to let this go.

“At this point? Several thousand. Tens of thousands, even. Maybe more.”

“And when the failsafe is activated, where do those Novians go whose bodies we’ve cut down?”

Magnus opened his mouth but didn’t speak. Instead, he stared at Awen, considering her point.

She went on. “For every secdus Soldark reanimates, he dooms a Novian to die if the failsafe is activated.”

Magnus sighed. He hadn’t even thought about that, and suddenly he felt bad for getting frustrated with her. “I…had no idea.”

“None of us did.” Awen reached for his hand. “The point is, we can’t know what the Novia Minoosh are dealing with, just like we can’t assume that they know what we’re dealing with. Real trust is giving each other the benefit of the doubt, especially when things are hardest. It’s what you did for me.”

“Same,” Magnus said as he squeezed her hand in return. “If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be caught dead fighting beside a Jujari.”

“And I’d never have picked up a blaster,” she said with a wink. “We’ve gotta trust them, and then let them do what they think is best. In the meantime—”

“In the meantime, we’re going after that bastard and putting him out of his misery.”

“Hell, yeah,” Piper said.

* * *

The bottomless pit turned out to have a bottom after all, one that took the BATRIGs far more time to climb down toward than the mystics. Magnus had ordered Rodgers and his few remaining mechs to stay behind, but the Lieutenant objected. Eventually, Magnus yielded, but he didn’t have to like it.

“We’re with you to the end, Major,” Rodgers said after he and Magnus had established a local comms link with their helmets.

“So, a few more minutes then?”

When Rodgers’s face froze, Magnus slapped his BATRIG’s leg with the flat of his hand.

“I’m kidding, Lieutenant. You’re making it home today.”

“Copy that, Major.”

“Just stay behind the mystics and cover our six.”

As for Magnus, he hitched a ride on some sort of Unity-based platform that Piper fashioned for him. He floated into the pit with the surviving mystics and landed on a metallic floor deep under the city. He wasn’t exactly sure what Piper’s dream had looked like, but he wondered if it was something like this.

This way, Piper said and pointed to one of several shafts that branched from the main room.

I can sense them, Piper added. The Novia Minoosh, I mean.

Magnus leaned over to Awen. Can’t she speak to them in the Unity or something?

But Awen shook her head. No. It’s…it’s not that simple. They’ve created some sort of, well, I guess the best thing to compare it to is a firewall. Trust me. If we could have conversed with them without Azelon’s help, we would have done it a long time ago. But, like the safeguards they set up around the QTG, they have played things close to their chests.

No kidding, Magnus said, and he genuinely felt bad about not considering what would happen to the species if they were sent back into their bodies. Granted, their losses would be minimal when compared to the eight hundred million or so that slept down here. But then Magnus scolded himself—only despots and dictators thought of life that way, as expendable. As justified losses. Even one life lost was one too many, and that’s what separated the good guys from the bad guys.

Magnus ran at the front of the line with Awen, Willowood, and Piper. The team spread out as they progressed through the ominous-looking tunnel. Soon, the corridor started down an incline, and Magnus felt his ears pop. He guessed they were headed south, toward the ocean floor, and he noticed that the entire tunnel, not just the ground, was made of intricate metalwork. Massive trunk lines ran along the ceiling, and the deeper the team went, the more the strange Novian script started glowing.

“Contact,” Rodgers said over comms. The connection had degraded enough that video wasn’t coming through, but Magnus could still make out the audio.

“Talk to me,” Magnus replied, wondering how far back the BATRIGs were. Without sat uplink, the transponders weren’t very accurate.

“Secdim, coming down the pit walls,” Rodgers said. Apparently, Rodgers had hung way back.

Then Magnus heard the distinct sound of full-auto fire echo down the tunnel.

“How many?” Magnus asked.

“Enough that I think you were teasing me earlier.”

Magnus shook his head with a smile. “About what?”

“About making it home today.”

Ah splick, Magnus thought. Just then, a loud boom shook the shaft. It was a VWM detonating, hopefully somewhere well above Rodgers.

“You still there?” Magnus asked.

“I’m not going down that easy, Major.” But the connection was growing more static-filled. “That was just a little love tap.”

Magnus smiled. “Give ’em hell, Lieutenant.”

“Plan to.”

Magnus heard another missile explode in Rodgers’s background noise, followed by heavy weapons fire. Several gladias yelled at each other over comms, ordering adjustments in fields of fire and pointing out cover.

“Do me a favor?” Rodgers asked, his voice barely audible in the static.

“What’s that?”

“Give Soldark my regards.”

“Hard copy.”

Then a triple-beat bud-duh-boom rocked the underground passage and knocked metal panels from their mountings. As the debris clattered to the ground, Magnus tried to hail Rodgers, but the comms were unlinked.

Better let everyone know we’ve got company on our tail, Magnus said to Awen.

They know, and they’re ready, she replied.

Magnus added Lieutenant Jay Rodgers to his mental list of gladias to mourn when this was all over. He would remember them—he would remember them all, and make sure the galaxy never forgot.

There’s something ahead, Piper said.

Magnus slowed and raised his NOV3, scanning the shadows. The glowing script gave off only enough light to outline the tunnel, not enough to highlight any enemy advance until it was too late.

I’m not picking up anything, Magnus said as he cross-referenced his armor’s sensors with his bioteknia eyes.

She’s right, Awen replied. Something is down there.

Soldark? Magnus suggested. The Singularity?

No, Willowood said. It’s—it’s the chiefs.

32

“What do you mean you can’t get a target lock?” Caldwell roared over comms to the captain of the Dregs’s last remaining vessel—a Battleship named Oranda’s Summit. “The damn thing’s right in front of you!”

The only thing that enraged Caldwell more than an elusive enemy was an incompetent commander, and right now, that commander would lose the Dregs’s third and final combat vessel to a broadside Obscura attack. And it pissed him off.

The Summit’s captain claimed that the new wave of Obscura starfighters was throwing his targeting system off. Was the old Battleship’s sensors array that outdated?

Caldwell ground his cigar between his teeth. So maybe there was a third thing that pissed him off: outdated hardware in a technologically advanced firefight.

Even with Jules’s miraculous breakthrough in overcoming the Obscura’s shield technology, the enemy was still a force to be reckoned with. All eight Leviathans remained operational despite enduring heavy bombardment; even with shields compromised, the flying stone monstrosities seemed impossible to bring down. Meanwhile, of the fifty original allied warships, only thirty-two remained, with the Sekmit taking the most substantial losses. Conveniently, the LAW contingent hadn’t lost one of their four Battleships.

“Admiral Porampus,” Caldwell said to the LAW commander. “What’s your status?” The colonel studied the LAW’s flagship, which had perpetually stayed clear of any action by hiding in other vessels’ shadows—namely, the Sekmitian. At the moment, however, it happened to be the closest support ship to the Summit and had a chance to intervene. Not only could Porampus assist in launching a broadside attack on Leviathan Five, as Caldwell had dubbed it, but more importantly, the ship could save the Summit if the Obscura decided to target it. Which, given the enemy’s track record, seemed likely.

The Summit’s only saving grace at the moment was that other warships in the area were drawing the Five’s fire—a situation that would not last forever.

“The fighters have just knocked out our sensors array,” the Summit’s captain said.

Caldwell muted comms and turned away from the main holo. “Well, paint me a dumble-duck’s ass cheek and call me Sally. Does anyone know what the hell Porampus is doing?”

“Still not responding to hails, Colonel,” the sensors officer said.

“Azelon,” Caldwell said to the bot. “Can you…I don’t know…slice into his earpiece or something?”

Azelon didn’t respond.

“Hey. Smarty Pants. You there?”

“My apologies, Colonel. Did you need something?”

Caldwell frowned. “Everything okay there?”

“Fine. Please repeat your wishes.”

Caldwell couldn’t help feel that the bot was lying to him. He might not have been a robotics expert, but he prided himself on knowing people, and Azie was the closest bot to a person he’d ever met—well, besides TO-96, of course. “Porampus. Can you get him on comms?”

“I’ll try my best, sir.”

“Wrath of the Elder Queen Leeshaw’s Pride is taking heavy fire,” Caldwell’s sensors officer reported.

All these crazy ship names were driving him nuts. “Sekmit?”

“Affirmative.”

“I have Admiral Porampus for you, sir,” Azelon said.

“On display.”

A frantic video image of the admiral popped up. “Turn it off,” the man said to someone off-screen.

“I can’t, Admiral,” the other person replied.

“Just, turn it—”

“You’re on, sir.”

“Turn it off!”

“Sir, the Colonel is—”

“Admiral Porampus. This is Colonel Caldwell. How nice of you to take my call.”

Porampus stood bolt upright and raised his chin. His attempt to smooth over his apparent effort to hide was awkward at best—something that Caldwell enjoyed watching immensely.

“Colonel Caldwell,” the admiral said. “We’ve been having trouble with our—”

“I need you to intervene with Oranda’s Summit. She’s under starfighter attack, and it won’t be long before Leviathan Five opens fire.”

Porampus grimaced. “Yes, we see that. However, our resources are better used—”

“According to my data, your resources have barely been tapped at all. Engage Five and relieve the Summit.”

Porampus frowned. “Colonel Caldwell—it is colonel, isn’t it? While you may be used to leading infantry units in ground assaults, I’m afraid your experience, or lack thereof, when it comes to naval warfare is sorely lacking. Why don’t you allow us to conduct our maneuvers, and I’ll advise you if I think our warships can be utilized in a manner fitting to our station.”

Caldwell pulled his cigar from his mouth, examined the gnarled stump, and flicked it aside. He also spit once on the floor. Then he took his time patting the various pockets on his uniform as if looking for something. Finally, his left hand found the desired item in his right shirt pocket, and his right hand signaled the discovery with a raised finger. He produced a brand-new cigar, smelled it, and then started looking for his lighter. It, too, was hard to find, eventually turning up in a small zippered pocket on his sleeve. When at last he started pre-lighting the cigar’s end, he said, “I’m sorry, Admiral, was there something you were trying to say? Looks like your comm’s officer had you on mute.”

Porampus furrowed his brow, apparently wrestling with whether or not to take Caldwell seriously.

“Go ahead, we’ll wait,” the colonel added.

Porampus turned back to his off-camera officer. “Take me off mute, dammit.”

“But, sir, I—”

“Unmute me.”

“You’re—the channels open, Admiral.”

Porampus looked back at Caldwell. “Colonel, is this some kind of—?”

Caldwell interrupted the man with a chuckle and then finished lighting his cigar. “It wasn’t muted. I’m just playin’ with you. See, there are two kinds of people I like messin’ with in the galaxy.” He stowed the lighter and then pulled the cigar out of his mouth to examine the ash. “My friends, ’cause, well, hell, what’s the point of havin’em if you can’t have some fun? Right?” He put the cigar back in his mouth and toked on it. “And cowards.” It was Caldwell’s turn to lift his chin. “And you sure as hell ain’t my friend, Admiral.

“Now, the way I see it, you’re either gonna pull up that tiny piece of equipment you have dangling off your pelvis and get your toes wet in this here contest of ours, or—”

“Or what?” Porampus said red-faced. “You’re going to threaten me? Force us to comply? Fire on an allied ship?”

Caldwell pushed his lips up until his mustache arched then looked over at Azelon. “Can you still do that thing?”

“Might you be more precise, sir?”

He rolled his fingers through the air. “Take over missiles and ships and such?”

“Ah, yes. Of course, sir.”

“Right. Let’s do that, but make it a little more…I don’t know…dark.” Caldwell looked back at Porampus. “What you’re experiencing now is what I like to call SDS.”

Porampus gave Caldwell a puzzled look. When nothing seemed to be happening, the admiral smoothed his uniform and gave a slight smile. “Why don’t you let the real naval commanders get back to work. Seems like you’re a little distracted there, Colonel.”

All at once, the main cabin lights on Porampus’s bridge shut off, replaced by red emergency lights and a warning klaxon.

“What’s happening?” Porampus yelled as he turned toward his bridge crew. “Status report.”

“Engines offline,” someone said. “It appears we’ve lost contact with engineering.”

“Weapons systems offline,” said a second voice.

“Shields offline,” said another.

Porampus spun back to Caldwell. “Is this…is this your doing?”

Caldwell gave a little shrug. “SDS.”

“What is SDS?”

“Sitting duck syndrome. And, gods, is it exciting. Have a blast, Admiral.” Caldwell turned to Azelon and motioned for her to cut the transmission. Porampus’s frantic-looking face blinked out, and the Spire’s bridge went silent.

“Based upon this dilated pupils and the capillary blood flow in his cheeks, I do believe we made that man soil himself,” Azelon said. “Splick his pants, as you say.”

“Mission accomplished then,” Caldwell said.

“Would you like me to restore the Admiral’s ship to normal?”

“Hell no. Let him drift. If the Obscura decide to use his ship for target practice and we have nothing better to do, we’ll intervene. Until then, that lunatic’s a liability that I’m not willing to fuss with. We’ll let him suffer a while and then drag him back to Aluross—let Nishti deal with him.”

“Excellent, sir.”

“Now that that waste of time is over, I need options for the Summit.”

“Seems the Dregs warship is being taken care of,” the sensors officer said, pointing to the main holo display.

Caldwell looked over to see Wrath of the Elder Queen Leeshaw’s Pride corralling the Summit behind Porampus’s flagship. Within moments, the LAW Battleship became an Obscura punching bag while the Sekmit and Dregs ships found needed relief.

“Payback’s a bitch,” Caldwell said as he blew out a stream of smoke.

“Would you like me to restore their shields, sir?” Azelon asked.

“Starboard side.” Caldwell winked at Azelon. “I’m not a total monster, you know.”

“Of course, sir.”

* * *

The brief moment of levity afforded by toying with the LAW admiral was short-lived, because another Sekmit ship succumbed to an Obscura assault. Leviathans Three and Four had managed to separate Valindria’s Noble Charge into Glory and Honor and berate it with blaster fire to the stern. When the aft section of the Battleship detonated, the light caught Caldwell off guard.

“How did we let that happen?” he yelled to no one in particular. Fortunately, none of his bridge crew made the mistake of trying to answer him. He just had to vent. Then Caldwell turned to Azelon. “How many ships do the Sekmit have left?”

“Eight, sir.”

“Mystics.” Caldwell sighed. “And how many of the enemy’s have we taken out again?”

Azelon had the good sense not to give the count. “That’s a rhetorical question, isn’t it,” she said.

“You’re a damn fine bot, Smarty Pants. Which is why I keep you around.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Caldwell sucked his teeth dry. “Are we any closer to taking one of those bastards down?”

“That is hard to say, sir. Since their hull compositions seem to defy conventional wisdom, I do not have conclusive estimates about the level of degradation needed to compromise their integrity.”

“Then we keep shooting,” Caldwell said. “Someone’s bound to get lucky one of these days.” Caldwell just hoped that one of these days wasn’t too long in arriving. He’d gladly take one of these minutes.

“We’ve just lost another Stroika vessel, Colonel,” the sensors office reported.

Caldwell identified the Battlecruiser as it veered toward Ithnor Itheliana’s surface. The ship trailed debris, and the gash in its hull gave off fits of electrical flashes. Fortunately, it wasn’t Jules’s. Unfortunately, it was a state-of-the-art vessel whose sailors had just been doomed to a planet’s unforgiving gravity well.

At this rate, the battle would be over in less than two hours, and Caldwell still felt like they weren’t any closer to putting down these filthy-ass Unity users. Maybe if he’d held some of the mystics in reserve, he could have organized a boarding party to sabotage the Obscura ships from within. But that was all hindsight, which was yet another sign of how bad things were. He knew his subconscious only started sorting out the past when it didn’t like the future.

The facts were that he was doing everything he knew to do with the resources he’d been given in the time he’d been given to do it. That was, by very definition, the meaning of excellence. And yet nothing about this moment seemed excellent. If anything, it felt hopeless. Half of the Jujari’s eight remaining ships had taken heavy damage, as had five of the Sekmit’s remaining eight vessels. Jules commanded only six of her original ten warships, while the Neo Repub was down to two, and the Dregs down to one. Only the LAW forces had avoided casualties, though Caldwell secretly hoped Porampus’s flagship would be next to go. It was a bad thought, yeah. But if the colonel only had hours to live, he might as well be brutally honest. Then again, when wasn’t he? No sense in breaking with tradition now, he thought to himself.

“Would you like to try anything new, sir?” Azelon asked in a hopeful tone.

“New?” Caldwell said as he watched the battle play out on the holos. “I’m afraid I’m fresh out of ideas. You?”

She shook her head. “There are infinite tactical permutations, but none that appear to provide superior results over our current attempts.”

Caldwell chuckled. “So why’d you ask me?”

“Because, sir. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about your interesting species, it’s that you find ways to surprise me, especially when the chips are placed flat, as you say.”

“Well, I…hate to disappoint you.”

“Hardly, sir. Working with you has been one of my existence’s great pleasures.”

Caldwell smiled and then tipped his cigar toward her. “Same, Azelon. Thank you.”

“And thank you, sir.”

After a few more grueling seconds of watching allied ships take a beating, Caldwell looked back at Azelon. “You know, for a bot, you seem more upset about all this than I do. Which, now that I think about it, is pretty humorous.”

“And how’s that, sir?”

“Had plenty a CO tell me I had a heart cold as steel. Hell, plenty a woman said the same. Guess it’s why I never got hitched.”

“Hitched, sir?”

“Hitched. You know, married. Partnered up. Like you and TO-96 are gonna be when this whole thing’s over.”

Azelon hesitated. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible, sir.”

Caldwell frowned and pulled his cigar out from between his lips. “You call it off? Don’t tell me he got cold feet.”

“No. TO-96 has been terminated.”

The colonel froze. That—that couldn’t be. The knuckled-headed bot was indestructible. “Are you sure?”

“One hundred percent,” Azelon replied. “Ezo’s NBTI logged the final moments, and a short data transmission from TO-96 confirmed his termination.”

“I’m so sorry, Azelon. I…know how much he meant to you.”

“You do?”

Caldwell raised an eyebrow at her. To prevent her from going off on some long explanation about how he couldn’t possibly know what she felt because he didn’t have access to her data banks and so on, the colonel resigned himself to a less tedious response. “It’s just something we humans say when we encounter someone suffering.”

“Suffering?” Azelon looked away. “Yes, I suppose that is one definition of what I am experiencing. Though it is quite unexpected.”

“Love has a way of doing that to you.”

“Love?”

“Sure. Best thing and worst thing in the whole damn galaxy.” He nodded at the screen and all the ships taking fire. “It’s what makes watching this so damn hard.”

“You…love them all, sir?”

“Well, maybe not Admiral Porampus.” He winked at her again.

“That is understandable.”

“Point is, losing people is a hard business. And losing to the enemy—well, that’s downright insufferable.” Caldwell rolled the tobacco in his fingers and examined the ember hidden inside the ash. “You know, I thought we had a chance with this one.”

“As did I, sir. However, I do take some small consolation in one thing.”

“And what’s that?”

Azelon gave him a softly glowing smile. “That I was able to lose to the enemy while being alongside you.”

“Same…Smarty Pants.”

Even as all allied ships, save Porampus’s, exchanged fire with the Obscura vessels, two more friendly Battleships met their ends—the second to last Neo Repub Battleship Clarion Call IV and the Jujari Battlecruiser Where Milfrawk’s Teeth Tear Infidel’s Flesh to Ribbons. Even the Spire suffered a direct hit that reduced its shield capacity to 46 percent and took one of the primary engines offline.

Caldwell sat back in the Spire’s captain’s chair and watched in silence with Azelon as the allied warships took turns closing on the enemy, firing, and then retreating. All the while, shields were reduced, hulls were breached, and good sailors gave their lives in service of the cause.

All of a sudden, a warm metallic hand rested on Caldwell’s right forearm. He was so startled by its appearance that he almost yanked his arm away. In doing so, however, he would have missed one of the battle’s more beautiful moments, one he would take with him into the next life. The gesture was as much about comforting him as it was about Azelon finding comfort. It was human.

The colonel looked up at Azelon, but she was fixed on the holo screen. He studied her face, her body language. As much a person might write her off as just another bot, at that moment, Caldwell knew they couldn’t have been more wrong. Careful not to scare her away, like some butterfly lighting on him, the colonel brought his left hand over and rested it atop hers. He gave it a gentle pat and then took a deep breath.

“No, Colonel,” she said and squeezed his arm. “Observe!”

Caldwell looked at the main holo as a strange greenish cloud appeared in the void. At first, he thought something might be wrong with the color contrast of the bridge’s projection emitters. But then the mass started shifting and swirling like the gases of a giant nebula.

“Cyril,” he said. “Do we have a reading on that?” He looked at Azelon too, knowing she could just as quickly answer the question. “What are we looking at?”

The cloud continued to expand until Caldwell could make out pixels within it—no, not pixels. Ships.

“Multiple trinium drives cores detected,” Azelon said.

“Holy buh-joly and whiskey tango foxtrot, Colonel, sir,” Cyril exclaimed. “That’s…that’s the Reptalon armada!”

Caldwell smiled, realizing that the kid had gotten some of the phonetic alphabet right for once. “Sure as hell looks like it, son. Azie, can you confirm?”

Azelon’s head twitched, and then she looked at Caldwell. “Sure as hell is, sir. Venom-class starfighters in-bound. Hundreds of them. Plus—” She paused again. “Dozens of carrier-, battleship-, and cruiser-class warships.”

“Ezo, you son of a bitch.” Then the colonel launched out of his seat and ordered comms to hail the fleet. Before he could finish giving the order, Azelon interrupted.

“Incoming transmission from the Reptalons, sir.”

“On display.”

Caldwell would have been lying if he said he could distinguish one Reptalon from the next. The one on the screen was no exception, save for one tiny detail. Attached to the flight uniform’s shoulder was a small patch bearing the Gladio Umbra’s symbol.

“It’sss good to sssee you, Colonel Caldwell,” the Reptalon said.

“Saasarr!”

“Yesss. And Saasarr brought sssome friends.”

“Well grease my bottom and send me down a slide. You sure know how to make a commander’s day.”

“Saasaar…doesn’t know what that means. But the Colonel looksss pleased by the decisions of our gods. How can we be of assissstance?”

Caldwell motioned for Azelon to link up with the Reptalons and forward targeting data. “We’ve got eight ships that don’t wanna die, accompanied by a hundred starfighters last I counted, and then another wave of starfighters taking potshots at our ground forces. Take your pick.”

The Reptalon flicked his tongue inside his Venom-class fighter’s cockpit. “Doesssn’t look like there will be enough for all of us. Guesss we’ll have just have to fight over them.”

“Be our guests,” Caldwell said with a wide smile. And with that, the closing greenish mass expanded, propelled by hundreds of bright blue engine thrusters, and then closed in on the Obscura like a storm cloud swallowing a horizon.

The first Reptalon ships to reach the Obscura fleet were the Venoms. Each starfighter’s bow had two points projecting from its iridescent green-plated fuselage. True to form, the fang-like projections housed twin blaster cannons that carved destructive gashes in the Obscura hulls.

When the pyramid-like Abeyant fighters engaged the new arrivals, the Reptalons disengaged from the Leviathans. What the Venoms lacked in agility and speed, they made up for in sheer numbers. For every Obscura starfighter, at least five more Reptalon ones locked on.

Where just minutes before the scene playing out in front of Caldwell was a futile march toward a mass funeral pyre, now it was a spectacular light show heralding the miraculous defeat of the enemy.

Then, in a startling display of destruction that made his bridge crew holler, five Reptalon warships focused long-range weapons on Leviathan One and split its hull in two. Super-heated rock fragments dislodged from the behemoth and flew outward, followed by a magenta-colored shockwave that buffeted the allied ships.

“Oh man, oh man,” Cyrils blurted out. “I am so coding a holo game after this! Reptalon Versus Obscura: Galactic Blood Bath.”

“Make sure you get my likeness right,” the colonel called over his shoulder. “I don’t want no half-baked renderings.”

“No, no, no, sir. I’ll see to all myself. Presto chango—I got you.”

“Good. ’Cause I’m coming for you if you don’t.”

Cyril let out a nervous laugh but didn’t say anything more.

“Azie,” Caldwell said. “Make sure the ground forces know help is on the way. And Ezo’s Rogues transports and support ships are gonna need the encouragement.”

“Absolutely, sir. I’m sending—”

Azelon froze. Then her entire lighting system went dark, and her body went limp.

“Azelon?” Caldwell grabbed her by the shoulders. He heard the sound of gyros spinning down. “Azelon, talk to me! Cyril, what the hell’s going on with her?”

Cyril scrambled to his feet and struck his hip against a command console. “It appears to be, uh, she appears to be, well, what it looks like is—”

“Cyril!”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m guessing it’s a reboot? Or maybe she’s just—I mean—”

Caldwell was irate. “What?”

“Offline, sir.”

Caldwell swore. “Offline.”

“I can’t be certain, but I’m guessing this has something to do—”

“The Singularity,” the colonel interjected.

“Yes, my Colonel, sir. Echo bravo, all the way.”

“Well if that doesn’t about chap my loins raw.”

“Sir?”

Both men jumped back as Azelon’s head popped up and her operating lights snapped on.

Thinking maybe some Elemental had possessed her, Caldwell drew his VD2 from his hip holster and drew a bead on her head in one swift motion. Likewise, Cyril jumped behind Caldwell but pointed a data card at the bot.

“Am I to be executed now?” Azelon said with her hands raised.

“Azie?” Caldwell asked as he lowered his pistol a few degrees. “That you?”

“Yes. Does that nullify or strengthen your primal urge to shoot me?”

Caldwell let out a sigh of relief as he holstered his weapon. “What the hell just happened?”

Azelon looked around the bridge and then examined her arms and legs. “It seems I am now operating from my backup core here on the Spire, sir.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Cyril said, still pointing his data card at her. “You mean—”

Caldwell put a hand on his arm and forced the code slicer’s hands down. “Put that away, son.”

“Right.” Cyril tucked the device in his back pocket. “You mean something happened with the Singularity?”

“I’m afraid so, yes.” Azelon paused, looking at both her hands. “I’m afraid it’s been compromised. Permanently.”

33

Rohoar had redirected the Jujari’s advance to comply with Magnus’s call for additional support at grid ten. The mwadim was further motivated to devour the secdim when reports of Magnus, engaged in a heroic C-RIG assault, circulated among the gladias. Apparently, the Major had grown extra-large testicles while in his womb suit. Rohoar, on the other hand, didn’t need such maternal protection to inspire more violence. He would enlarge his testicles himself and wreak havoc on the enemy.

To demonstrate both his signifercance and appreprensive, Rohoar waited for the next two secdim warriors to close on his position. As soon as they were within arm’s reach, he grabbed their heads and then smacked them together. While not dead, each secdus fell to the ground, incapacitated. A third enemy charged Rohoar, but the mwadim knelt, punctured the beast’s abdomen with his claws, and flipped the secdus over his shoulder. The reanimated Novian’s head drove into the pavement behind Rohoar with a wet crack. Then the mwadim threw his muzzle toward the sky and let out a deep howl that attested to his testicular size. Magnus had nothing on him, and they would compare an account when all this was over.

The Jujari advance continued for several minutes, and Rohoar did not relent displaying his competency at dispatching the enemy. With every city block his units overtook, the mwadim rejoiced in their conquest. Though the gains were not without grief. Not all the Jujari fought as fiercely as the great mwadim, and the secdim were a formidable opponent. And why wouldn’t they be? The Jujari would only honor such significant losses from a foe equal to them, and who was more equal than their kinsfolk? Of course, these beings were not Novia Minoosh, nor were they Jujari. Instead, they were the spawn of the Elemental, Mithriel, and needed to be subdued.

Even so, it was difficult for Rohoar not to see himself in each target he slaughtered. Their fur was his fur; their teeth his teeth; their claws his claws. The toll of such similarities had weighed heavily on the rest of his pack too. Even the Selskrit, for whom Rohoar had little patience, shared their sadness, speaking sorrowfully to him over the pack connection.

This would not be a war fondly remembered. Instead, it was a fight merely tolerated, one born out of necessity.

As the Jujari continued, Rohoar recognized that the enemy numbers were increasing. Even though some areas of the city reported shifts in secdim movement and temporary relief, Soldark was awakening more and more of the sleeping Novian populace. For as fiercely as Rohoar fought, there was only so much he could do in a day before needing sustenance and rest. Yes, it was more than anyone else, he assured himself. But he was not a god living among the stars, at least not yet. So mortal limits must be observed.

Deep in his mind, Rohoar professed a small amount of worry. None that he would utter out loud, of course. That would be foolish and provide the enemy a renewed sense of valor that it did not deserve. No, this was merely a tiny worry, one that sensed even if all his warriors fought the most valiant fight of their lives, the secdim would overwhelm them. Not in power. Not in wisdom or tactics or strength. But in numbers. No one, not even him, could hold back the sandstorms that swallowed whole villages. Rohoar did not fear the storm, but he did acknowledge its magnificence.

All at once, Rohoar felt a tremor pass beneath him. It was rumbling that came from somewhere in the deep. Everyone within the pack connection felt it too—a shockwave from an explosion. Rohoar’s ears perked up, and he sensed all the tiny hairs along his spine stand to attention. He sniffed the air—

And then the ground broke open and swallowed him whole.

* * *

When Rohoar was done falling, as all falls must come to an end, he found himself in some sort of large dish. The edges were sharp and had severed his left arm and right leg. His keeltari blade was also gone. The mwadim forced the pain back so that he might focus instead of weep. His body lay in a fluid that smelled of old skin, and his blood swirled within the milky white liquid to make interesting shapes in pinkish hues.

“Rohoar must focus,” he said aloud and tried to sit up. The action sent a lightning bolt of pain down his back to the toes of his remaining leg. He sensed his lungs and diaphragm start to spasm, then he commanded them to submit to a steadier rhythm. He tried one more time to sit up, but again the pain wracked his body. It seemed he was stuck here, wherever this here was.

The mwadim reached out with the pack connection. Several other Jujari were near him, most on the brink of passing into the afterlife. Whatever had devastated the underworld had split the street in twain. Who knew how many hundreds if not thousands of his brothers and sisters had been swallowed into the planet’s gaping maw.

To his right and left, Rohoar saw more of the broken dish-like bowls that he rested in. They were connected to gantry arms that further connected to trusses adorned with tubes and wires. These, he realized, were the vessels that had sustained his ancestors—the stasis pods that housed their mortal flesh and bone. And it was these wombs that Soldark had ripped the Novia Minoosh from to create his vast and growing horde of demons. The dark lord had desecrated this sacred space, and he would pay.

Somehow, he would.

But as Rohoar felt more of his lifeblood pool into the bowl, he realized now that his part in avenging was over. His path was coming to an end.

Somewhere in the distance, he heard fighting. The battle continued to rage above him. And, he noticed, below him. Deep in the bowels of the city, the mystics were fighting forward, facing their fears, and being appreprensive. And he knew Piper was there at the front of it all, finding her signifercance in the galaxy.

Thinking of her made him sad. Not because she made him sad—far from it. If anything, the human child had brought him immense happiness, perhaps even as much as his own family did. Maybe that was because she was his family—part of his pack, his inner circle. After all, he had pledged his life to her, just as she had done to him. What greater bond was there than friendship? And one that would sacrifice itself to preserve the pact? There was no greater connection, no more triumphant purpose. And while Rohoar knew his end was near, he could rest knowing that he had truly lived and loved to the greatest extent. He was full. He was complete.

Another spasm wracked his body. He could feel his strength leaving him.

No, thinking of Piper only made him sad because he would not be there when they all returned victoriously to Oorajee. He would not see her meet his new son. He would not be there to watch them grow. All these thoughts swirled about his head like old memories.

Then Rohoar saw his mate, Mora, smiling at him. He smelled her scent mixed with the smoke from the hearth fires. He smelled soured milk and lavender, the musty odor of Oosafar settling on a warm wind at dusk. As he looked up to the stars, he saw his ancestors, spread out in the sky bowl like millions of souls beckoning him home. He would join them there among the hosts, and look down from a distance, just as the Novia Minoosh watched them from afar.

Rohoar blinked out of his trance as a small droplet of fluid landed on his snout. He sneezed, which sent another paralyzing jolt through his weakening flesh. When his head tipped back once more, he looked up and saw that the white droplet had come from a broken tube that fed the stasis pod. There, in the bundle of lines, he noticed one cable that seemed different than the others. Its smooth metallic surface looked expensive. He imagined melting it down and forging jewelry for Mora, maybe new rings and armbands for himself and his bloodwolves.

As Rohoar’s eyes tracked the cable down, he arched his neck until the metallic line disappeared into the fluid under his body. Sensing that the line was significant somehow, the mwadim fished around for its end in the soup. His paw touched something, and he pulled up a menacing looking handle, dripping in congealing pinkish fluid. At the end of the stem were three prongs tipped with razor-sharp barbs. A shallow cup surrounded them, and at its base several small LEDs blinked.

Of all the things this device might be, Rohoar could only think of one that was most likely. He pulled the prongs closer and studied them, then he smelled them. This had been inside a secdus corpse. No, he corrected himself. In a Novian body. This had sustained one of his brothers or sisters for long ages. It was their connection to the Singularity—to their community.

Rohoar had no idea if what he was about to do would work. As for pain, he was already dying. As for options, he had run out. Perhaps, if there was one more thing he might try, one more way he could speak to his ancestors or serve the gladias, this was it. The mwadim swallowed the blood in his mouth and closed his eyes. Then, with his remaining arm, he pointed the device at his head and plunged the prongs through his skull.

* * *

The air was fragrant, filled with the warm smells of spring.

This sensation alone seemed strange, as Rohoar couldn’t recall ever smelling a spring—at least not on Oorajee. But somehow, he knew these scents. Flowers in bloom, moist soil, and citrus blossoms ticked his nose.

When he opened his eyes, Rohoar sat on a tree-shaded hilltop in a circle of nine Novia Minoosh. Each of them rested on an overstuffed cooshras and wore nothing but the fur on their backs. One by one, each person dipped his or her head at Rohoar and then bared their necks. He made to do the same but then worried the action might produce another spasm in his broken body. But when no pain came from the small movements, he continued with the ritual greeting and felt surprised to be free of the agony he’d felt seconds before. Further still, he was surprised to see that his body was whole.

“Welcome, beloved son of the Gladio Umbra,” said the Novian on the far side of the circle. Her voice was strong and majestic, though not self-imposing. “You are safe here, and among kinsfolk.”

Rohoar swallowed, worried he might regret the action. But again, like his movements only seconds before, there were no painful repercussions. “Where is Rohoar?” The mwadim suddenly touched his throat, surprised at how rested and sure his voice felt. “Who are you?”

“We are the Novia Minoosh,” the woman replied, then she gestured to the others. “And you are among us.”

“So Rohoar is—this is the Singularity?” He looked through the leafy canopy and felt the warmth of the sun kiss his face. And where the trees gave way to the horizon, he saw endless valleys, snow-capped mountains, and a vast ocean. He thought he could even make out the spires of a beautiful city, but then again, it might just be more mountains.

“This is our Singularity, yes,” replied the woman.

“And…you are the Novia Minoosh?” Rohoar cocked his head. “Somehow, I thought there would be more of you.”

The woman smiled. “There are, Rohoar of the Tawnhack. But for this moment, these are the ones you will meet. You may call me Tatalia.”

“And why these? Who are the others?” He looked around the circle.

“We are the chiefs,” she replied, gesturing to the others with upturned paws.

“Only nine?”

“Were you to meet us all, the reunion might be rather—” She paused as if searching for the right word. “Overwhelming. There are many more chiefs. But none that concern you as much as we do.”

“And why would you concern Rohoar?”

“Because we are those responsible for granting you permission into our pack.”

Rohoar looked around the circle again. “You are—you want Rohoar to join you? Here? In the Singularity?”

Tatalia nodded.

“Why?”

“Your body is dying, mwadim. You haven’t long. But you are Novian in blood and spirit, and we have observed you through our vessel in the ephemeral realm.”

“Vessel?” Rohoar sniffed the air. “Azelon?”

The woman dipped her head.

“Then Rohoar has conversed with you once before—on the ship.”

“With us, yes.”

“And you wish Rohoar to dwell here, in this place? With you?” He looked around again, marveling at the environment’s beauty—at its perfection.

“We do.”

The other chiefs nodded.

“And there is so much more for you to see,” Tatalia added. “So many more of your kin to meet.”

“And they are all out there?” Rohoar inclined his head to the horizon.

“They are. But, as it was in the beginning, we will not force you to come. In truth, we are amazed that you have arrived at all. Never in our grandest imaginations did we envision one of the severed, one of the Gladio Umbra, returning to our fold, much less finding a way into the pack.”

“You mean, with the device Rohoar drove into his skull.”

She nodded. “Indeed.”

Rohoar felt a soft gust of wind sweep up the hillside and ruffle his fur. The thought of staying here, of meeting the rest of his people and spending a long forever learning about them, produced a euphoric feeling. So much so that the mwadim nearly forgot about his suffering body… and the Jujari… and his friends.

But he could never forget them.

Nor would he want to if given a choice.

“Your thoughts,” Tatalia said. “They are of those outside. Their fates plague you.”

Rohoar squinted at the chief. He did not like that she could read his mind like someone gifted in the Unity. At least with another Jujari or Sekmit or Luma, he could guard his thoughts. But here, he felt exposed.

“Exposed, yes,” she said. “But not in danger.”

“And yet you see into Rohoar’s thinking?”

“We do. Here, we see all. Know all.”

“And yet you are individuals.”

“Individuals, but as one,” she added. “We exist both as a body of many parts and as a single mind. What you bring will become part of us, just as what we are will become part of you. You seem…troubled by this?”

Rohoar took a deep breath. “Rohoar no longer cares for himself. Cares what happens to him. Only to his people.”

“Then you share our great conviction.”

“No.” Rohoar felt the hackles on his neck stand on end. “Rohoar does not share your conviction.”

“But you just said—”

“Tell this to Rohoar. Why are you here?”

Tatalia raised her chin ever so slightly. “We are here as the result of a common mission to—”

“No.” Rohoar sensed his heartbeat increase. At the same time, he felt tired, like he wanted to curl up in the shade and rest. Then something itched his skull. “Why are you in here instead of out there?”

Tatalia seemed to understand his question and relaxed her shoulders. “Why are we not reinhabiting our ephemeral forms?”

“Yes.”

The woman folded her paws in her lap. “We have determined the prize not to be worth the price.”

“What prize? What cost? Rohoar’s people—his friends—are fighting Soldark’s host made up of your bodies and giving their lives for one another.”

“We are not unaware of the circumstances. And were you to unite with us, we trust you would see the wisdom of our actions. Though the loss of a few is inexpressibly grievous, it is the cost of preserving the many that is immeasurably more important.”

“No,” Rohoar barked. “These are not wise and just thoughts to be thinking.” A new wave of fatigue hit him hard. He blinked several times, willing himself to stay awake.

“Please, great mwadim.” Tatalia crawled off her cooshra and moved toward him. “You haven’t much time left.”

“But Rohoar has had enough time to consider your invitation and refuse it.”

The woman slowed. “We are sorry to hear this.”

“Sorry you may be, but it is the least of your worries.”

“Worries?”

Rohoar fought the blackness that tugged at the corners of his vision. He forced himself to stand. “Your greatest worry should be why the mwadim of the Jujari has refused your offer into paradise. The answer? Because you are not worthy of him. While you sit in safety, it is Rohoar’s people—your kinsfolk—who fight to preserve your way of life. Who, even now, look to defeat the foe you awakened in ages past, the Norxük. They are the ones who hold Rohoar’s allegiance, even as they keep the Elemental from destroying all this”—Rohoar looked around—“all of you.”

A stab of pain seized his chest, nearly throwing him to the ground. But he was not done yet. There was more to be said—more that must be told. But Tatalia interrupted him.

“Were we to send our people back, thousands would perish. Their intellects would race toward bodies that no longer exist—their spirits thrown to the stars.”

“Then perhaps that is where they belong, for at least they would find their place as servants among heroes instead of chiefs of cowards.”

Rohoar felt his heart stop. It felt like a spear had been thrust through his chest and then set aflame. He gasped. But even as Tatalia took a step toward him, he moved away.

The pain did not come close to that which seized his soul for the Novia Minoosh. He did not condemn them for their choice—perhaps he would crave safety and security if given the same offerings. But he did mourn their inability to choose the more noble path.

“Rohoar has made his choice and is proud to die for it. May you, Rohoar’s ancestors, be so blessed to find the same.”

The mwadim collapsed to the ground and blackness closed in on him. And he knew, in that final moment, that if he were to meet Piper again, Rohoar could tell her that he was appreprensive to the end, and that he found his signifercance after all. She would smile and call him a good doggy. And he would let her pet him as much as she wanted.

34

Piper heard Willowood say that the secdim ahead were chiefs. She didn’t know what that meant, but something about it sent a chill up her back. She hated getting the chills. It always made her want a warm blanket and Talisman. But this was not the time for comfortableness.

The first Novian chief to lunge out of the black depths seemed bigger than a normal secdus. Piper wasn’t sure if this was because a chief ate more or was just born like that. Either way, it was scary.

As with other creatures they’d encountered, Piper recognized this monster was still a Novia Minoosh, and that its body had been stolen like all the others. What made her even sadder though, was how Awen had told Magnus what would happen if all the Novia Minoosh decided to come back. If Piper killed this secdus, she would be killing one of Rohoar’s great, great, great, great—well, a lot of greats—grand-cousins.

But if she didn’t kill it, the monster would eat her. Or, worse, eat one of her friends. Well, maybe it wouldn’t eat Mr. Major Magnus—eating him would just give the secdus a really bad tummy ache, because he’d be shooting and stabbing and punching and dodging—

“Piper,” Awen yelled. “Stand back.”

Piper looked up just as the big secdus chief person slashed at her with his giant paw. But both Nana and shydoh were quick to put up a Unity wall that blocked the hit.

The chief howled in frustration and slashed again.

Nana was careful not to let Piper exert too much energy. Save your strength, her grandmother had said. Awen seemed to exempterfy—exemplerfy?—be an example of what could happen when you got tired in the Unity. She had fought hard on the surface and then used a lot of her power to create the quantum tunnel for the Reptalons. Even in the big cavern against Soldark, Piper knew shydoh wasn’t her usual self.

Nana, too, seemed less powerful. She’d spent a lot of her energy protecting Piper, fighting off secdim as they burst from their glass jars and lunged at her.

But the time for protectfulness of her was over. Piper needed to charge forward. The question was, could she? After all, she was only a child. And there were a lot of enemies down here. The last showdown with Soldark didn’t go so well either. But they had managed to injure him, so that was good.

As Nana and shydoh pushed the chief back, Piper wondered what Rohoar might say to her right now. Surely, he would say something strong that would make her brave. But before Piper could think what that might be, Nana formed a long blade of light at the end of her hand and drove it into the chief’s chest. The tunnel glowed from the secdus’s backside, which meant Nana’s light-blade had gone all the way through it.

While Piper felt relieved that the creature had been stopped, her earlier sadness about the Novians having no bodies to return to welled up in her heart. Piper clenched her chest as she watched the body slam to the ground. She wasn’t sure she could do this. She wasn’t sure she could watch more of the Minooshes die. But she also knew the gladias had to stop Soldark.

She needed Rohoar. And if she couldn’t be with him, she needed to talk to him.

Hoping the Jujari mwadim was okay, Piper reached out to him in the Unity of all things and found Rohoar in a strange place—well in two strange places at the same time. His body was somewhere above her, lost in the catacombs, but his mind was—it was ahead of her in the shaft that led to the sea.

At first, Piper was confused. How could anyone be two places at one time? But then an idea sparked, one that suggested that maybe Rohoar had found a way into the Singularity with his many-great grand-cousins. Perhaps he was inside talking with them.

That thought was immediately followed by a more urgent one about Rohoar’s safety. She didn’t know how the whole Singularity thing worked, or what someone on the outside needed to do to get in, but what if it—what if it hurt? Or, worse, what if it was permerint—permanent?

Piper slowed and let Nana and shydoh move ahead. Several of the other mystics passed by her too.

“Piper,” Awen said. “You okay?”

“I just—” She looked around the tunnel and removed her helmet. “I just need to catch my breath.”

“Okay. Just not long.”

Piper smiled back and then immersed herself in the Unity.

Of the two Rohoar’s, Piper focused on the presence down the tunnel as that one seemed strongest. She raced past the chief and many more chiefs who seemed sleeping in slots in the tunnel walls, past Soldark who ran deeper into the darkness, and eventually arrived in what she could only describe as an underwater bubble. Two bubble-tubes diverted off the sidewalls and connected to a giant red-glowing cube suspended in the middle of the spherical room.

This—this place. This was from her dream.

Her dream where all her friends died.

Piper let out a yelp but then covered her mouth. Fear about what awaited Rohoar, Nana, shydoh, and Magnus squeezed her chest. She couldn’t breathe. But then she heard Rohoar’s voice. It was coming from inside the cube.

Like someone listening to a conversation on the other side of a door, Piper placed her ear against the red cube. The object was warm and it hummed. Piper extended herself in the Unity further, reaching into the Nexus in the hopes of seeing Rohoar. But the most she could find—the most she was allowed to find—was the distant whisper of his voice.

A voice that fought for his friends.

Fought for her.

Piper felt another chill go down her back when she realized what was happening: Rohoar was arguing with the Novia Minoosh. He was trying to get them to come back.

“No,” Piper said. “They’ll die. They won’t have bodies.”

But the more Piper listened, the more she realized Rohoar was fighting for much more than his friends. He was standing up for what he believed in—standing up for what it meant to be alive. It was the opposite of comfortableness and safeness. It was dangerous, but it was liberating—like what the Gladio Umbra were always shouting. And it was right.

Rohoar had found his signifercance. He wasn’t just leading himself or his Jujari—he was also leading his ancestors out of their long slumber. He was facing his fears head-on, appreprensive, and she was proud of him.

But then his voice stopped. In fact, everything about him stopped.

Piper pulled herself away from the cube and stared at it—studied its radiant red-glowing surface. She searched for his voice again, but Rohoar was not there anymore. He wasn’t back in his body either.

She blinked several times, trying to sort out what had just happened when her stomach tightened so hard she couldn’t breathe.

Rohoar was gone.

* * *

Awen heard Piper scream and then looked back to see the child fall to the tunnel floor in a heap.

“Piper,” Awen yelled and ran back. Willowood followed close behind.

Awen removed her helmet and knelt on one side as Willowood did on the other.

Piper tried to look up, but tears filled her eyes. “He can’t be gone. He just can’t.”

“Who, Piper?” Awen asked.

“Rohoar. He’s—”

“He’s dead,” Willowood said. The older woman ungloved her hand and stroked the top of Piper’s head. “I’m so sorry, my granddaughter. I felt his presence depart just now.”

Awen sighed. She’d been too busy fending off the latest attacker to notice. That, and she was tired. “I’m so sorry, as well. He will be missed. Rohoar was—” Her mind went so many places that she feared her grief might cloud her judgement. “We…we’ve got to keep going.”

More growls came from down the hall. Piper pushed back tears and seemed to stuff the pain down inside her. But Awen knew that was harder to do than people like Magnus made it look. And it wasn’t always the right thing to do either.

Awen moved to squat in front of Piper and then raised the child’s face with her hands. “Listen, I know it’s hard, doma. But we’re so close to all of this being over. And if Rohoar gave his life for this fight, then we both know its worth finishing. I know he would want you to go on, to stop Soldark and use your powers to keep as many people safe as you can. You were born for this moment, Piper. I’ve seen it, you’ve seen it, your grandmother has seen it, and I have to believe your mother saw it. So don’t stuff those feelings down. Let them out. You let the enemy know what your loss feels like, and then make sure it can never happen again.”

Piper’s beautiful blues eyes shimmered behind more tears. But the girl nodded and then reached for her helmet. “There are more of them; the chiefs, I mean. They were sleeping in the walls, but they’re coming.”

Awen smiled and then gave a quick nod to Willowood. “How many?”

“A couple hundred?” Piper replied. “Then the tunnel goes down for a long way into the sea. But the Singularity is there.”

“Then that’s where we’ll find Soldark,” Willowood added.

Awen stared Piper in the face one more time. “It’s not safe, you know.”

“I know it’s not safe. But I still have to go.”

Awen nodded and then helped Piper stand. Together, all three women strode into the darkness as the sound of growls filled the tunnel.

* * *

Piper focused on the chief in the front of the pack. It came on all fours, snarling with fangs bared. She didn’t slow her pace, as that’s not what Rohoar would have done. Instead, he would have roared back and charged. So that’s what Piper did.

She also joined herself to the Nexus and found the chief’s body. Being so close to the beast made it easy. Then she summoned the Unity’s strength, mixed it with her emotions, and gathered it into her right hand.

Just when it looked like the enemy would run her over, Piper dropped to her hip and slid under the secdus, then she touched its chest.

The creature detonated.

A blinding light consumed the chief’s body and sent its atoms in all directions. Anyone shielded survived. Anyone who wasn’t, perished.

Piper popped back up and continued to run. She jumped around piles of gore that stretched for the next twelve meters and noticed that secdim were punching their way out of their stasis chambers in the walls. The purple-glazed orange glass exploded, and white liquid flooded down the walls. Then a reanimated Novian body slid out and shook itself like a dog after a bath. Its beady red eyes blinked awake, and then the secdus’s head lowered to find its enemy.

Piper left these new arrivals for the mystics further back as she continued running down the tunnel. Through the muted light of the glowing wall chambers and Novian script, she chose her next target. Once again, she gathered Nexus energy into her fingers, mixed it with the grief she felt from Rohoar’s loss, and lowered her head.

This time, the secdus seemed wary and tried dodging Piper. But she was too quick. “I’m gonna beat you,” she said to herself. When the enemy tried moving to her left, Piper matched the movement and touched the secdus’s muzzle.

Like the last victim, the secdus exploded with such force that it took out at least ten other victims. The shockwave blew bodies apart and smeared the walls with blood and charred chunks of flesh.

But Piper also recognized the strain the two death blows had taken on her. Already, she felt winded and realized why her Nana had been so cautious about pacing her. There was a price to pay in letting your emotions take over, and she needed to be more rugal. Or—frugal—she couldn’t remember which. Just—she needed to pace herself.

“You do the next ones,” she said to her Nana and shydoh.

“I’ll help too,” Magnus said as he ran past her and gave Awen a look. “I was gettin’ lonely in the back.”

* * *

Magnus raised his NOV3 and popped off a VOD from the mini tube on the lower receiver. As the fragger shot through the tunnel and exploded, Magnus looked down at Piper.

“Nice job, tiny one,” he said.

Piper watched the VOD detonate and raised herself on her tiptoes as if studying Magnus’s handiwork. She nodded and gave him an approving look through the HUD. “Not bad yourself, Mr. Major Magnus, sir. But you didn’t get as many as me.” She pointed down the tunnel.

Magnus saw that several secdim had gotten ahead of the blast and were still charging forward. Awen and Willowood put down four enemies on the sides, while two worked their way up the center.

“Hey! I’m not done yet.” He aimed for the first beasts’ knees and fired. Cartilage fragments spat from the joints and forced the secdus to pitch forward. The one behind leaped over its brother’s back, jumped, and extended its claws toward Magnus. But the gladia fired another VOD that detonated as soon as it made contact in the creature’s jaw. The secdus’s head and most of its upper torso flew apart, and the maimed corpse dropped at Magnus’s feet.

“Still got it,” Magnus said as he placed a foot atop the conquered foe.

“But still not as good as me,” Piper said as she darted around him.

“Hey, get back here.”

Together, Piper, Willowood, Awen, and Magnus, followed by the rest of the mystics, charged down the tunnel. With every new wave of chief secdim, the gladia leaders alternated leading the advance. They gave one another time to rest, reload, and then fight on.

As Magnus leaned against the tunnel to take a drink and swap out mags, he noticed that several secdim still lay within their in-wall stasis chambers. He found this curious since he’d previously concluded that everywhere Soldark passed, a secdus reanimated. Here, however, there was evidence to the contrary.

“I think he’s getting weaker,” Magnus said to Awen as he tapped the glass with NOV3.

“Or they’re fighting back,” she replied and then sent a blast of Unity energy coursing down the tunnel.

“Fighting back?” Magnus recharged his blaster and then brought it up to high ready position. “How do you mean?”

“Piper thinks Rohoar met with these chiefs.”

“In the Singularity?”

Awen nodded and then motioned for him to take the lead.

However, if Rohoar was in the Singularity, that meant—well, he didn’t know exactly what that meant but he figured it couldn’t be good for Rohoar.

Overhearing his thoughts, Awen spoke to him in a hushed town. He’s gone, Magnus.

Ah, splick. Magnus’s heart ached. He’d lost enough good people today—he didn’t need the Jujari mwadim on that list. He stopped his pity party short when he thought about Piper. She was closer to the overgrown steroid-pumping mutt than anyone. Kid’s heart must be in a million pieces. And yet she fought on. He admired that. And he also knew he needed to try and go easy on her. Love on her a bit. That’s what good dads did. Right?

Magnus saw a new group of eight secdim form a line across the narrowing corridor, followed by a second row of seven.

“We’ve got to be getting close,” Magnus said, and then switched modes to the AI-assisted multi-target fire effect. His HUD identified fifteen hostiles and gave him the option to accept headshots, which he did. Gladly so, he noted. When he squeezed the trigger, the NOV3’s gimbal barrel twitched with blazing precision so that every shot found its mark. As all fifteen beasts crumpled to the ground, Magnus ejected his spent mag and bent to nudge Piper in the ribs. “Top that.”

She smirked and raised a hand. From it came a fireball that lit the entire tunnel like the noonday sun. Magnus stumbled backward, which made Piper laugh. Then the ball of energy shot down the corridor and set fire to every secdim’s coat it passed over. The beasts howled and twirled through the air. Their misery lasted for mere seconds, however, as they fell to the tunnel floor in sooty piles.

When the fireball eventually faded away, Piper turned to Magnus. “Topped,” she said and brushed her hands twice.

“Show off.”

“I can see the tunnel’s end up ahead,” Willowood announced. “Come. We must hurry.”

With the way clear, Magnus took the lead. If anyone was going to be first through the breach, he wanted it to be him. There was no way any conventional weapon was stopping Soldark, which meant that he was the most expendable person on the team. Everyone else were mystics, whether gladias or Li-Dain.

When they’d passed all the incinerated bodies that still sent tendrils of black smoke toward the ceiling, Magnus approached a circular doorway, the iris-shaped blade of which was half ajar. He gave the hand signal to hold and then stepped over the panels.

This new passage leveled out and seemed to be made of dark windowplex of some kind. As Magnus shined his headlamp on it, he thought he noticed something swimming on the other side. And below him, there seemed to be some sort of plant life wavering in a current.

“It’s some kind of underwater tube,” he said. Seventy meters ahead, there was another circular door. Only this one was closed. But an intense red light seeped from its seams. “And we’ve got another entry ahead. No hostiles.”

“The big bubble’s past those doors,” Piper said. “Where the Singularity is. Be careful, Magnus.”

“Roger that.” He waved for everyone to follow him and proceeded down the tube. His footsteps echoed in the chamber as he kept his NOV3’s holo sights locked on the doorway. Some bioluminescent creature fluttered underneath him. He resisted the urge to look down, but then he noticed a silvery bundle of glimmering cables just beneath the transparent floor.

All at once, a loud thump came from the tube’s side. He pivoted and brought his weapon over to see a bulbous four-eyed fish slam against the windowplex. “Four eyes and still can’t see where it’s going,” Magnus said to himself. Then he considered his own two sets of eyes and grinned at the odd-looking creature. “I can relate, pal.”

Once the team stacked up on the circular door, Magnus tilted his head toward Awen. “How do you think it opens?”

“Like this,” she said and then blew it apart.

35

Awen ran into the next room with a Unity shield between her and whatever awaited them. But she slowed to a halt as her eyes took in the spectacle before her.

The gladias stepped into a circular space, maybe 150 meters wide, that reminded Awen of the Sekmit’s mining nodes, only this one wasn’t a dome, it was an entire sphere. And unlike the Sekmitian creations that used trusses and plating to keep the deep-water pressure at bay, this inexplicable work of engineering was made of something translucent—as if someone had blown a giant soap bubble. The walls even had some kind of inherent surface tension, along with an iridescent viscous film that ebbed and swirled.

The gladias stood on a transparent floor that bisected the sphere. Awen fought the dizzying sense that she was standing in mid-air as she looked at the bubble’s bottom. The only point of reference to bring her vision back to center was the collection of metallic cables racing under the floor and terminating at the bottom of the room’s most startling feature: a massive red-glowing cube. The Singularity.

The cube, however, did not seem to sit on the same plane as what Awen stood on. Instead, it rested atop a glowing pipe that shot through the bubble’s bottom and then vanished somewhere below in the watery depths. Two bubble-like extensions curved in from either side of the sphere’s walls and expanded to envelop the Singularity in a thin film. Meanwhile, a massive torrent of water flowed in from the right, wrapped around the cube, and then sped away to the left.

“I think it uses geothermal energy for power,” Magnus said. “And ocean water for cooling.”

Awen’s observations from within the Unity confirmed this. “That’s what I see too. Just don’t ask me how it works.”

“Copy that. What I don’t see is our bad guy.”

As if on cue, Soldark stepped out from behind the cube. “Marvelous, isn’t it?” he said with a voice that sent a chill down Awen’s arms and legs.

Magnus raised his weapon and fired on Soldark. The enemy raised a hand and stopped the rounds as easily as someone might snuff out dinner candles.

Soldark laughed. “Adonis Olin Magnus. You amuse me.”

“Step away from the cube,” Magnus replied, still looking down his NOV3’s barrel.

“Or else what? You’re going to shoot me again?” Soldark clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth three times and waved a finger at Magnus. “You are persistent; I’ll give you that. But foolish, foolish, foolish all the same.”

“He’s right,” Awen said. “Step away from the cube.”

“Now this”—he offered a hand toward Awen—“this is a worthy opponent. You know, Awen dau Lothlinium, of all the biologics I encountered in your universe, it was the Luma who most interested me.”

“Fabulous. Now step away or—”

“You are the only ones who came close to sharing my people’s same notion of live and let live.”

“Seems somebody forgot to read their own notes,” Magnus said.

Soldark ignored the comment. “But in the end, you turned out to be takers like all the rest.”

“And you’re not?” Awen asked.

Soldark cocked his head as if misunderstanding her. “I don’t follow.”

“All the lives you’ve taken, the ships you’ve commandeered, the resources you’ve expended—and for what? You stand just as guilty as those who you claim stole from you.”

“But my actions are justified,” Soldark spat and then thrust a hand toward the towering cube. “This”—he said through bared teeth—“this is my evidence. My proof. My cause. This is, at long last, what justifies my retribution. I take nothing but what restores the balance of what was taken from me.”

“And the untold billions who lost their lives on Capriana Prime?” Awen took a few steps toward Soldark. Perhaps, if she could keep him talking, it would give Piper, Willowood, and the rest of the mystics time to fan out and prepare an adequate offense. “What were they? How does their destruction aid your cause?”

“Because you’re all takers. You and your ceaseless appetites must be silenced—you all must die.”

“And what would your people say if—”

“My people?” Soldark laughed and then thrust his hand again. “My people cannot speak. They were ripped from the planet they called home—torn apart and banished into oblivion, just so the Novia Minoosh could have their precious box.” He turned toward it and reached with both hands. “Well, I have come to take it back, to be one with it once again, and to send the takers into oblivion as recompense.”

“Don’t you dare touch it,” Magnus said with his weapon cradled in his shoulder.

Soldark snapped his head around and glared at Magnus and Awen. “You tire me.”

A wave of energy left Soldark’s hand and slammed into Awen’s force field. But even she was not strong enough to block all of Soldark’s power. The wave hit her and Magnus and then did something unusual. Instead of throwing them backward, it hoisted them up. Awen felt something squeeze her body from head to toe, and then she looked down to see Soldark slowly closing his fingers into a fist.

“Can’t—breath,” Magnus said. At the same time, the plates of his armor started to pop and split. “Gods.”

Awen glanced back at Soldark and saw him tracking the other mystics who filled the chamber.

“Fools,” he bellowed, still holding Awen and Magnus aloft. “You cannot stop me.” Then, with his free hand, Soldark sent out a radial blast of horizontal light. The wave collided with Unity shields from every mystic in the chamber. It was only Piper, however, who pushed through it and charged at Soldark.

* * *

Piper didn’t like that Soldark was hurting shydoh and Mr. Major Magnus. He had some serious issues that needed working out. Yeah, she knew people did weird things when their parents got killed. She might do crazy things too if she was a little older and could drive a hover sled or live in her own apartment. But she wasn’t, because she talked about her feelings and listened to others. Soldark, however, wasn’t listening. And now he was killing shydoh and Mr. Major Magnus, and that made her mad.

Really mad.

While she didn’t know how to get them down, she did know how to take out the source. Soldark sent out a blast in the Unity that almost knocked everyone over. But not her. Piper lowered her head and ran like she could leap through a stone wall or force herself up the inside of a waterfall. Soldark’s energy kept blasting her, but it didn’t stop her.

From inside the Nexus, Piper seemed to find ways around Soldark’s power. It was like choosing a path through a heavily forested wood: as long as she moved around each new tree, she could keep running, and running, and running until she was within arm’s reach.

Finally, Soldark released his grip on her friends. She distantly heard them hit the floor, but she was far too focused on her enemy to look back. They would be okay. Soldark, on the other hand, would not.

Piper raised both hands, filled them with energy, and blasted Soldark in the chest. He flew backward but somehow managed to land on his feet. With a quick thrust of his open palms, Soldark sent a mass of white-hot energy at her head. Piper deflected the beam with her right forearm and then used her left hand to channel a blast at Soldark’s chest. No matter how many attempts she made on his life, however, the enemy seemed to evade her.

Piper was growing tired and needed a break. She also wanted this to be over. So she summoned as much Nexus energy as time allowed, filled her arms with it, and then focused it on Soldark’s chest. The blast knocked him on his back. Then he slid along the floor until he hit the sphere’s far wall. Her enemy wasn’t dead, but at least he was clear of the Singularity. Killing him was going to be harder than she thought. And if he wanted to hurt her friends again, Soldark would have to go through her.

Piper took advantage of the momentary lull to catch her breath. But, amazingly, Soldark stood up and spat out a mouthful of blood. She’d wounded him!

“Is that all you’ve got, little girl?” he said.

“Oh, I’ve got loads more, evil dark person-man. Just you wait.”

Piper put her head down and charged. But somewhere behind her, Piper heard Awen yell. Willowood yelled too. Even Mr. Major Magnus said something. But Piper was much too focused to be distracted. She had Soldark right where she wanted him—bleeding and back against the wall.

Piper got close enough to where she could see the man’s razor-thin beard and the creases on his forehead and the sides of his eyes. She could smell the sweat on his brow and the stink from his robes—they needed to be washed. She saw the wrinkles on his hands, the sparkle of his Luma rings, and the yellowness of his fingernails. Then, when she was about to lash out, Soldark disappeared.

Just like that, he was gone.

Piper skidded to a stop but couldn’t avoid slamming into the bubble’s wall. It was much harder than it looked too, and she winced as her head bashed into the surface.

When Piper turned around, she saw Soldark back beside the cube where she’d first struck him. He’d—he’d transmistified or something—she didn’t know a good word to explain it. She thought she was the only one who could move her body with the Unity.

Then, with one hand extended toward Piper and the other toward the mystics spreading out from the doorway, Soldark released yet another blast of energy. When it hit the far side of the room, Piper saw several mystics die as their bodies split in two. Everyone else, however, took cover behind shields.

For her part, Piper got a shield wall up just in time. Still, the wave hit her hard and pinned her up against the wall. Piper tried to scream, tried to wiggle free, but the pressure made it impossible to do both. She clutched her chest, gasping for air. That’s when her hand brushed against her grandfather’s ring hidden beneath her power suit.

* * *

“No,” Awen cried. She saw the event even before it happened. Soldark had mixed his Elemental nature with So-Elku’s understanding of the Nexus and figured out how to relocate his body in spacetime.

Piper noticed the ripples of the jump a second before they happened. As soon as she screamed, Willowood did too. The old sage must’ve seen it as well. Even Magnus picked up on the danger and started telling Piper to turn around. But there was nothing they could do; the distance was too far.

Soldark vanished from in front of Piper and then snapped into existence back beside the Singularity. Awen was still struggling to her feet when the enemy let loose another wave.

“Gotcha,” Willowood said, and she stepped in front of Awen and Magnus. But several other mystics were caught unprepared and were cut down by the blast.

Awen looked across at Piper. Fortunately, she had survived the blast, but she’d gotten pressed against the wall.

“We’ve gotta help her,” Awen said. “She’s the only one strong enough to end him.”

Magnus climbed to his feet. Awen noticed blood seeping from cracks in several of his armored plates. “I can’t do much to hurt him, but I can distract him.”

Awen pointed to the blood, but Magnus waved her off.

“Nothing some tape and gauze won’t fix,” he said with a smile in his tone.

As soon as Soldark’s wave died, Magnus took off in a diagonal line and started launching his frag-detonators at Soldark. While the devices wouldn’t do anything to harm the enemy or, apparently, the cube, they were pretty distracting. “Come on, you son of a bitch! Over here.”

Soldark released his grip on Piper, and the child slumped to the floor.

At the same time, the other mystics released a barrage of Unity energy on Soldark, battering his new orbital forcefield with beams of light.

Piper, Awen said in the Unity. Can you hear me?

Yes, shydoh, she replied. I’m…I’m okay, I think.

Good.

I’ve got a plan, Piper added. But I need to talk to the Novia Minoosh.

Awen furrowed her brow. What? Why?

I just do. I can’t do this without—well, without them understanding why.

You sure about this?

Even from this distance, Awen could see Piper nod. Yeah. I’m sure.

Then so am I, Awen replied.

You’ve gotta give me a little time, and try to keep Soldark away from the cube.

You got it. Do what you need to, and we’ll get your back.

Piper waved her fingers. See you soon. Then she stood and started running toward the Singularity.

“Hey, hey, hey. Where’s she going?” Magnus yelled over comms.

“Says she’s got an idea,” Awen said. “Just cover her. Everyone else, see if you can move Soldark away from the Singularity.”

After Magnus expended all his VODs, he switched back to blaster rounds and took off at another angle against Soldark. He also withdrew his VD2 pistol and started alternating shots from each hand.

At the same time, the rest of the mystics, both gladia and Li-Dain, focused their fire like a laser beam that forced Soldark away from the cube. It wasn’t until Willowood dropped out of the sky with her light-blades that Soldark leaped backward and made space for Piper to get through.

Willowood swung hard, landing blow after blow against Soldark’s shielded forearms. Other mystics raced in to aid her, but Soldark lashed out and sent blasts of light through their chests. At least six mystics fell in the space of a few seconds. This fight, it seemed, was moments from being over. Awen just hoped that whatever Piper had in store was going to work.

* * *

Piper had to talk to the Novia Minoosh, which meant she had to get inside the Singularity. She didn’t know how Rohoar had done it, but she guessed it had something to do with the cables in stasis pods. Those things must’ve connected to their heads or something like she’d seen in the holo movies.

Fortunately, for the sake of her skull, there weren’t any plugs in here. She didn’t like the idea of having to stab herself in the brain anyway. But with being so close to the Singularity itself, she guessed she didn’t need to interface with probes. She just needed to get to the cable bundle that fed the cube’s base.

With Soldark distracted by Magnus’s gunfire, and now her Nana swinging her light-blades at the enemy, Piper seized the opportunity and sprinted across the open space.

When she was only a few meters away, she dropped to her side and slid across the glass floor. The red-glowing cube passed overhead, and Piper closed on the cable bundle. She also felt the heat of the pipe that the Singularity sat on and worried that it might melt her suit. But if this worked, she wouldn’t need to be under here for long.

As Piper slid past the metallic cables, she extended her hand and latched on. Her body jerked to a stop, and the sudden change in direction wrenched her shoulder and elbow. But she wouldn’t let go—not until the job was done. Piper pulled her knees up, curled into a ball to stay hidden, and then slipped into the Unity. Once there, she discovered a massive conduit of Nexus energy flowing through the cables and into the Singularity.

She was in.

* * *

“Welcome, Piper,” said a Novia Minoosh—a real-life one. Well, at least a real-life one here in the Singularity. But that counted, didn’t it?

“You’re so pretty,” was the first thing Piper said. “And so fluffy.”

The other Novia Minoosh in the small circle chuckled. Piper didn’t realize what she said was funny, but she was glad they were happy. And why shouldn’t they be? This place was beautiful. A grassy hilltop, trees for shade, and delightful smells in the air. Off in the distance, she noticed beautiful sights, and even what she thought might be a city—but it was too far to tell.

“Are you important Novia Minooshes?” Piper asked.

The nine people looked back and forth at one another and smiled.

“I am Tatalia,” the first lady said again. “And all Novia Minoosh are important.”

“Yes, I know, but”—Piper waved her hands in frustration—“I mean, do you make big decisions for all the other Novia Minoosh like leaders do? You’re Elder Chiefs, right?”

“We are, yes.” Tatalia tilted her head. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, because I need to do something. Or at least try to do something. It’s to save my friends and to save your planet and lots of other planets and you too. But to do it, I need—well, I want your permission.”

Tatalia gave Piper a puzzled look. “And what is this idea you have?”

Piper pulled her grandfather’s ring from her shirt and held it up. Truthfully, she was just happy it had come through in the transfer—she didn’t know if it would.

Interestingly, Tatalia and the others seemed to recognize the ring. They shared softly spoken words around the circle and then turned to Tatalia.

“Where did you get that?” she asked Piper.

“It belonged to my grandfather.”

“And do you know where it comes from?”

Piper nodded. “From the Jujari.”

“And where they got it?”

“I suppose from you. The stone—it’s what your Singularity is made of.”

“You are observant. It is bilastium, the same material that—”

“That you mined from Mithriel’s home and killed all his people in the process,” Piper said as she lifted her chin. “You killed them to make your Singularity.”

“It was not we who—”

“Maybe you didn’t. But your other elders did. And you still chose to live in it.”

Tatalia did not deny this. “We did, yes.”

Piper stood there breathing for a second—hand up, holding the cord and the ring.

“Then I’m giving you a chance to make it right,” Piper said at last. “If Soldark—no—” She shook her head. “If Mithriel was once bound to this material, he can be bound again. And I can do that.”

“But, child, you—”

“Correction, I will do that. But unlike what you did to the Norxük, I’m giving you a chance. Because when I do this, he’ll be—well, your Singularity—” She was getting flustered. “I don’t know what’s going to happen exactly, but I very much doubt you can stay here. Which means you need to go out there.” She jerked her head sideways, hoping they understood what she meant.

Just as she did, however, Piper noticed a brown lump in the grass beside a tree. It looked out of place. It was too bumpy to be a boulder and too furry to be a rock. Her heart stopped. “Rohoar?”

Piper let go of the ring and stepped out of the circle of elders. She dashed to the tree’s base and skidded to a halt beside what seemed to be the creature’s head. Sure enough, when she brought the beast’s face toward hers, she held Rohoar’s sleeping face in her hands.

“My beautiful Rohoar,” Piper said and then buried her face in his neck and wept. The tears were bitter, filled with all the sorrow she felt when her daddy had died, and when her lovely mother had fallen in battle. Now she wept for her very best friend, knowing that he too was gone forever.

“Why is he still here?” Piper finally managed to ask. “I sensed he left this place.”

“He did,” Tatalia said, now just a meter behind her. “But it seems he decided to leave part of himself in here when he died.”

“Why would he do that?”

Tatalia didn’t answer right away. Adults paused like this when they were thinking hard about an answer. “I think he wanted to remind us of who we are. Of who we are called to be.”

“And what’s that?”

“Mortal. We haven’t seen one of our own die in—well, in a very long time. And no one has ever perished in here.”

“So he’s the first?” Piper looked from Tatalia back to Rohoar’s sweet face.

“He is the first, yes.”

“And what did he say while he was here? To remind you that you’re mortal?”

“Many things, Piper. Too much to say now.”

She sniffed and smeared tears across her cheeks. “And did you believe him?”

“He was very convincing, yes.”

Piper smiled. “Yeah, he can be. He called me the sun once.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The sun. He said that”—Piper clutched the ring with one hand and stroked his face with her other. She let out a long breath that made her lower lip flutter—“he said that if Soldark was a stone, I was the sun, and nothing could stop me.”

“And did you believe him?”

She glanced up at Tatalia. “I didn’t then. But I think I do now.”

“As you said, a very convincing mwadim.”

“Yeah.” She pushed more tears out of her eyes so she could take one last look at Rohoar’s face. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you for calling me the sun.” Then she leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek.

* * *

“You are truly a remarkable human, Piper,” Tatalia said as she walked Piper back to the circle of elders.

“Thanks. Why?”

“You fought your way to our Singularity, and now you stand here among us. That is no small feat.”

“Well, I did have lots of help.”

“Of course. No truly worthy endeavor is worth doing alone.”

“So are you going to leave then? So I can do what I need to against Soldark.”

Tatalia nodded once. “We already decided to before you arrived.”

“Rohoar?”

“Yes, Rohoar. That, and we feel we also owe you a debt.”

“Me?”

“Your people. Your humans.”

“I…I don’t understand.”

“Nor will you today. But perhaps another time, in another place, we will share a story from ages past. Suffice to say, we Novians had the chance to save your species once.”

“You…you did?”

Tatalia nodded.

“And you failed?”

“No,” Tatalia replied. “We did not try. And seeing you here now, trying to save us—it has only confirmed what we must do.”

“Thank you, Tatalia. But, may I ask one more question?”

“Of course, human child.”

“If you already decided to leave, why haven’t you yet?”

“We need time.”

“For what?”

Then Tatalia gave Piper a sad look and gestured toward the other elders in the circle. They dipped their heads toward one another, bore their necks as Jujari did, and then hugged. Suddenly, a second row of Novia Minoosh appeared behind the first. And then another behind them, and another, and another. Piper caught her breath as a great multitude of Novians stretched out to the horizon in all directions, all eight hundred million, three and thirty-two thirties and six and—it was a big number. Whatever TO-96 and Azelon had said it was. All of them were bowing and hugging.

“What…what are they doing?” Piper asked Tatalia.

“They are saying goodbye, human child.”

The meaning hit Piper all at once. She understood then that when Tatalia and the elders turned off the Singularity for good, it would force everyone back to their bodies. “How many won’t live?”

“One, plus one, plus one,” Tatalia said. “Never think of the big number, Piper. People don’t appreciate those. Just remember it is only ever the one that counts.”

“So, a lot of ones.”

“Yes. A lot of ones.”

“I’m sorry,” Piper said as she wiped another tear away.

“As am I. But many will live and go on living. And perhaps, out there, your kind and our kind can be friends like you were with Rohoar.”

“I would like that.” Piper reached out and touched Tatalia’s paw. “I’ll be your friend—out there, I mean.”

Tatalia smiled and then knelt. “I’m afraid that’s not possible, Piper. But, thank you for thinking so.”

“But why not?” As soon as the question left her lips, Piper thought she understood why. “Oh. You…your body—”

“I was one of the first elders killed.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. You saved your people, and now you are saving mine. It is what heroes do.”

“I don’t feel like a hero.”

“And that is how heroes feel too.” Tatalia touched Piper’s cheek. Her fur was soft, and her paw was warm. “Proof that you are what you think you are not. I see what Rohoar sees.”

“You do?”

“You are the sun.”

More tears filled Piper’s eyes this time, but they were happy ones. “Thank you, Tatalia. I am grateful I was able to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine, child. Thanks to Rohoar, a true Gladio Umbra, and you, we have found our way. Now, you must return to your people and finish what you have begun.”

Piper looked around at all the Novia Minoosh saying goodbye to each other. “Gosh. I really want to pet them all right now, but…I do have to get going.” She turned back to Tatalia. “When will I know you’ve left the Singularity?”

The Elder Chief smiled. “Of all people, you will know, Piper. You will feel that we’ve left.”

“You sure? Cause I don’t want to make a mistake and—”

“Trust me,” Tatalia said with a gentle laugh. “You’ll know. And once you’ve bound the Elemental to the bilastium—well, let me give you a small tip.”

Piper giggled when Tatalia’s furry lips tickled her ears. But Piper was pleased with what she heard and felt it would keep the universes safe for a very long time.

36

Willowood would be damned if she was going to let this rock-sucking bastard take down her granddaughter, much less Awen and Magnus, without giving him one hell of a fight. If ever there was a contest worthy of all her chips, this was it. And if she died, she knew her family would be just fine. Awen and Magnus would adopt Piper. Azelon and TO-96 would adopt Caldwell. And everyone else would get along—one way or another.

The old sage landed on her hands and knees from Soldark’s most recent blow. Her helmet had been torn off, and she tasted blood on her lip. The monster was strong; he’d grown more powerful with Moldark and So-Elku’s combined abilities. And she sensed she hadn’t seen the worst of it yet.

The enemy dashed his latest victim, a middle-aged Li-Dain against the wall and cracked the man’s head. Awen was farther away, catching her breath after being thrown aside. And Magnus was on his back and pounding his NOV3 with a fist, swearing at it.

Willowood blew a few strands of hair off her face, reignited her light-blades, stood erect and then charged. The Unity carried her on unseen winds—faster than ordinary mortals. When Soldark spun around to face her, Willowood brought both weapons down on him with such force that her arms threatened to rend from their joints.

But Soldark blocked the dual strikes with his forearms. Light wrapped his hands up to his elbows, and he flung her light-blades aside just as he let out a laugh.

“So-Elku told me about you,” Soldark said.

She thrust her right arm forward, nearly nicking his ear. “About how much of a pain in the ass I was?”

“A pest, he said.” Soldark knocked her right arm up and thrust with his right fist. The blow hit Willowood in the stomach, but she had expected it and reinforced her power suit there.

“Is that all?” Willowood swung her other blade in from the left, but Soldark parried it. “I can think of a lot worse names to call me.”

“He said you held such promise.” Soldark threw three consecutive jabs, but she dodged each one. “But that you were too stuck in the old ways.”

“Yeah. I’m a sucker for the classics.” Willowood thrust both light-blades at his chest. But Soldark parted them and then kicked her in the sternum. Like all strikes in a Unity fight, the blow came with extra power and set her sailing back.

Just before she hit the ground, however, Willowood flipped over and landed on her feet. “That’s the thing about the classics, though.”

Soldark cocked his head as if curious, but not enough to ask outright.

“They never go out of style.”

Mystics charged at Soldark from each side—two Li-Dain throwing punches and kicks from powered hands and feet, and two gladias sending orbs of glowing energy blasting at Soldark’s head and torso.

The enemy dealt with the gladias’ assault first, deflecting the shots across his body and into the Li-Dain. The Luma weren’t ready for how fast Soldark reacted and took the blows to the chest. One of the Li-Dain flipped backward while the other froze, looked down at the hole in her chest, and then pitched forward.

Soldark lashed out and snagged the gladias’ souls with his Elemental presence. In the Unity, Willowood saw his attack as black tendrils of smoke shooting out and plunging into the victims’ chests. But unlike Moldark, Soldark did not need much time to execute his victims—the gladias shrieked and then dissolved to dust in less than two seconds. The violence was so swift and so complete that Willowood, had she been her less wise younger self, would have been terrified at what she’d seen. But she was not that young woman anymore. Age, she knew, was beautiful and powerful. Because you learn not to give a splick anymore, she said to herself.

Willowood ran at Soldark again, this time firing her light-blades like arrows. She pumped out four shots aimed squarely at Soldark’s chest. He knocked away each one as they came—right, left, right, left—and then looked at Willowood.

But she wasn’t in front of him.

“Die, you son of a bitch,” Willowood said, and then thrust two light-blades through his back.

Soldark wailed so loudly that Willowood almost covered her ears reflexively. The sound was like a tornado howling across an empty plane. But she refused to let go of her ethereal swords and pushed them deeper into her foe.

Soldark ceased his wailing and looked down. Then he reached forward, grabbed the light-blades at their ends, and shoved them back through his torso.

Willowood’s arms buckled. The sudden force threw her body back and slammed her head against the floor. She thought she heard someone yell her name, but everything went black before she could make out who.

* * *

“Felicity,” Awen screamed as she pushed herself up on her elbows. “No!” She was exhausted, but seeing Soldark fling her mentor to the ground and knock her out sent one last surge of hate-fueled adrenaline through Awen’s body.

“Just give me one…more…second,” Magnus said as he hammered an energy mag into his weapon. As far as Awen could tell, the lower receiver looked twisted and wasn’t accepting more ammo. But Magnus had made it work like he always did. “Got it.” He racked a round and rolled off his back. “Ready?”

“Let’s end this,” she said and then charged Soldark.

Awen was tired. Tired of fighting. Of always wondering if the enemy was around the next corner. And of watching her foes get away, shape-shifting into shadows that were just out of reach.

Well, no more. Soldark was here, now, trapped with her beneath the same hectare of ocean. And one way or another, one of them wasn’t walking away from this.

Magnus fired first. His NOV3 drilled Soldark’s chest on full-auto. Like before, the blaster bolts did little to harm him—more of an annoyance than anything else, much to Magnus’s chagrin. But it bought Awen precious milliseconds to approach her target’s blind spot and launch a fusillade of Nexus energy at Soldark. The magenta-colored quills streaked across the transparent floor and closed on the unsuspecting enemy. But just as they were about to penetrate his body, Soldark swung an upturned forearm through the volley and shattered the quills as if they were no more than icicles. Magenta shards blew past Soldark and then vanished back into the Unity of all things.

“You make such a lovely couple,” Soldark said. “Why don’t you spend your last moments together?” Even though they were still several meters apart, Soldark grabbed Awen and Magnus and then threw them against the nearest wall. But instead of the pressure abating, Soldark’s power kept them pressed against the bubble and gradually increased as the seconds passed. Having dispatched the rest of the mystics, Soldark turned around and strode toward the Singularity.

Can you move? Awen asked Magnus, hoping he could still hear her thoughts.

Not really. His NOV3 was on the floor about a meter below them. You?

No. Feels like I’m slowly being—

Thinking of it as a spa.

She wanted to laugh but her chest wouldn’t let her. A spa?

Yeah. Massage from a big-ass Moretaur.

Well, when you put it like that—

Magnus coughed, and a small spray of blood flew out of his mouth. Gods. For an injured enemy, he sure knows how to beat the splick out of people.

Awen forced a smile. Sounds like— She winced. Sounds like you’re a bit jealous.

Of his ugly mug? No way. He coughed again. I’d rather die than have to live with myself looking like that.

I hate to say it, but looks like—

Then don’t say it.

What?

You were gonna say, it looks like I’m gonna get my wish. If you hate to say it, don’t.

It was Awen’s turn to cough, but she couldn’t inhale the breath needed for it. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t even find the Unity. And over there, under the cube, Piper still clutched the cables motionless. For all Awen knew, the child had been electrocuted the moment she’d made contact.

I thought we had it this time, Magnus said. His eyes were closed, and his inner voice was weak. Seemed so close.

Awen couldn’t tell if Magnus was thinking the thoughts for himself or both of them. Me too. But all journeys come to an end.

Magnus didn’t respond right away, and for a moment, Awen thought he’d died—pinned against the wall. Of all the ways she thought they’d go out, it wasn’t like this.

This end splick’n sucks.

Awen laughed—at least in her head. Her body’s heart was succumbing to the pressure, and she could feel the beats coming less frequently. Her vision was fading.

But at least I’m with you, Magnus said.

And I with you. Always.

* * *

It took Piper several seconds to get her bearings when she reunited with her body. The transfer had left her feeling dizzy but also incredibly invigorated. Bathed in the light of the Singularity’s red glow, she looked out and saw bodies scattered across the floor. Then she spotted her Nana lying on her back, and not far from that were Awen and Magnus pinned against the bubble’s wall, unconscious or—

No, she thought to herself. Not that. Not yet. There is still time.

“Hello, small one,” Soldark said.

Piper focused on two legs walking toward the cube. She couldn’t see above his waist, but she knew it was Soldark. A pang of fear gripped her chest.

No, she told herself. You are the sun. And the sun fears no one. Then she felt a surge of emotion overflow her heart and materialize around her. She looked down at her hands and arms, even her feet: they were all glowing. And not because of the Unity or the power suit or someone else helping her. She glowed because it was who she was.

“Want to come out and play?” Soldark leaned down and peered at her.

“No,” Piper said. “I’m done playing.” She looked Soldark in the eyes and then commanded the light against him. The explosion of energy startled her—and it certainly surprised her enemy. His body flipped away from the cube and shot across the floor. As soon as he collided with the wall, Awen and Magnus fell.

Piper slid her grandfather’s ring over her finger, pushed herself out from under the cube, and started running toward Soldark.

The evil man sneered and tried to get up. But Piper lashed out and struck him again. Soldark hit the wall so hard that Piper thought she saw a soul emerge from his back, pass through the bubble’s wall, and mix with the water outside. But in a heartbeat, the apparition snapped back into Soldark’s body. Defeating Soldark would take more than just striking him. She had something else in mind.

Piper was halfway across the floor when her enemy regained his feet and flexed his arms. Two smoke-like tendrils shot toward her. When they wrapped around her chest, she gasped. The tendrils were much stronger than she imagined, and if she let this continue, she’d lose her breath. “Oh—no—you—don’t!” Then Piper raised her balled fist and activated the ring.

The black tendrils got sucked toward the red stone and left her chest.

Soldark pulled his tendrils back. “What have you done?”

That’s when Piper saw Soldark look afraid.

Then the essence inside him, Mithriel, tried to leave So-Elku’s body. What she’d seen moments ago—a mystical being knocked out the backside of the mystic’s corpse—was real. Only this time, Mithriel was trying to escape for good.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Piper said. As if trapping a bug inside a jar, Piper used her ring to pull Mithriel back inside Soldark’s body. “I’m not done with you yet.”

“Who…who are you?” Soldark asked.

“Me?” What a funny question to ask at a time like this, Piper thought. “I’m Piper. And I’m the one who’s going to stop you now.” Then she swung her arm around and hurled Soldark back toward the Singularity. He slid to a stop just below the cube.

Soldark looked up at the object and shot a menacing glare back at Piper. “You fool. You cannot stop me!” Then he lifted his hands toward the cube, and his black tendrils shot into the stone.

The red glow flickered.

And then Singularity just turned off—

—not because of Soldark or his powers, but because the Novia Minoosh were gone. The stone stopped glowing, the water stopped flowing, and the cube’s hum ceased.

Soldark noticed the sudden change too, but he raged on nonetheless. “I am eternal,” he roared and began trying to suck the Singularity’s souls from the inert cube.

“Yeah,” Piper said. “I know.”

And with that, she shoved Soldark forward. The blast of light that came from the ring streaked across the room and filled the entire sphere. Soldark’s body flung forward and merged with the red stone. His robes burned away, and flesh parted. Blood vaporized—whistling and popping against the superheated surface.

All that remained was Mithriel’s wailing ethereal essence. It thrashed and contorted, snarling at her with dark eyes and vicious fangs. But Piper was not afraid. She was the sun, and Soldark was just a stone.

“It’s time you went back where you came from,” Piper said.

With a final shove, Piper sent the Norxük into the stone. A stain, like a black inkblot, appeared on the cube’s surface where Mithriel entered. The blotch grew—reaching out like a spider to take over more of the red stone’s surface. It spread toward the corners and edges until finally, the entire cube changed colors from ruby red to black opal.

Piper had bound the Elemental to the bilastium.

And all was still.

* * *

“Piper?” Magnus said in a raspy voice. He pulled his helmet off and let it roll across the floor. Then he spoke her name again.

The child spun around. “Mr. Major Magnus, sir?”

“Hey.”

Then Piper sprinted toward Magnus, shouting, “He’s gone. He’s gone.”

Magnus blinked several times as he watched the child coming. She was glowing. But his eyes were blurry. And as Piper neared, the light faded. Then he braced himself for what he knew was going to be—

“You’re okay,” she said and leaped into his arms.

Pain shot down his spine and made him gasp. But he could breathe. And, yes, he was okay. “Relatively speaking. I’m just glad you’re okay too.”

“Of course I am,” she said with a smile. “I’m the sun.”

“You’re…you’re what?”

“The sun, silly. And Soldark’s gone. And Mithreil’s trapped. And it’s all over now.”

“Wait, wait. Slow down.”

“Piper?” Awen said as she pushed herself up on her elbows.

“Shydoh.” Piper squealed, then she leaped off Magnus’s lap and lunged at Awen. The motion sent another supercharged jolt through Magnus’s body, but the truth was, he didn’t care. The pain meant he was alive, which is more than he could say for the rest of the room’s mystics. That’s when Magnus spotted Willowood’s body ten meters away.

“Willowood,” he said, and then scrambled to his feet. The effort threw him into a coughing fit, and he saw stars, but he needed to tend to the old sage. He stumbled forward and then fell to his knees. But his momentum carried him the rest of the way, and he slid to stop at her side. “Can you hear me?”

For the second time that day, her eyes fluttered open. “We’ve really got to stop meeting like this.”

“I mean, I’m down if you are.”

Willowood smiled, hooked him around the back of the neck, and pulled herself up to his chest in a surprisingly strong embrace. “Did we do it?” she asked in his ear.

“Yeah,” he said, wrapping an arm around her and squeezing back. “We did. She did.”

Together, they looked over at Piper, who was rambling something to Awen using wild hand motions.

“Good girl,” Willowood said. Then she glanced over at the Singularity. “Well, would you look at that.”

Magnus followed her eyes to see that the giant Singularity was no longer glowing—hell, it wasn’t even red anymore. Instead, it was a solid glossy black.

“Looks dead,” he said.

“Actually,” Willowood countered. “I believe that’s bilastium in its natural state when its host is present.”

“Mithriel.”

“Mm-hm,” Willowood said with a nod. Then she gave Magnus her hand and gestured for him to help her up. “Slowly. Slowly.”

By the time they stood up, Awen and Piper had joined them.

“So many lost,” Awen said as she looked around at all the mystics who’d given their lives.

“And yet so many saved,” Magnus countered.

Awen nodded.

“Ooo,” Piper said with a surprised tone. “There’s one more thing I need to do.” Then she left the adults and ran toward the cube.

“Piper, wait,” Magnus said. “What are you—”

“I think she knows what she’s doing,” Awen said as she lowered Magnus’s outstretched hand.

Piper ran up to within a few meters of the massive cube and then looked over her shoulder. “You might want to shield yourselves—’case this doesn’t work the way Tatalia told me it would.”

“Tatalia?” Magnus said.

Awen pulled Magnus back a few steps and then created a Unity force field. “The Novia Minoosh’s Chief Elder. Piper met her in the Singularity, as I understand it.”

“Ah. Sure thing.”

A sudden subsonic wave beneath his feet drew Magnus’s attention to Piper, who stood below the massive cube. The scene reminded him of Awen standing before Rohoar’s father in the temple—small but fearless, and immeasurably powerful. Then the child raised her arms, and the cube quivered.

In Magnus’s imagination, he saw the object exploding and showering everyone with giant rock chunks. Or maybe catching on fire and melting into slag. Who knew?

Instead, the opal megalith seemed to turn to sand. Not all at once—just the top layer. And when it did, the sand caved in on itself as if imploding and pouring down a chute that ran through the cube’s center.

More and more black sand began swirling around the top edges and disappearing down the chute. The sound echoed through the sphere as the cube’s top got lower and lower.

“I think she’s sending it down the geothermal pipe,” Magnus said.

“She is,” Awen answered and nodded at Willowood. “We can see it.”

“She’s sending it to the planet’s core,” Willowood confirmed.

How Piper was accomplishing this, he had no idea. The pressure coming up through that pipe had to be immense. And yet she stood there like she was pouring sand down a funnel on a beach.

Soon the last layer of rock destabilized and was sucked into the vortex. Just like that, the cube was gone, emphasized with a low ker-plop as the tube-like extensions snapped back to the bubble’s walls. At the same time, the pipe appeared to be sealed over with a red-hot cover.

“Damn,” Magnus said while rubbing the back of his neck. “And I thought I’d seen it all.”

No sooner had he said the words, than the ground lurched upward. Magnus looked around, and his bioteknia eyes measured the floor-to-ceiling ratio—but it hadn’t changed. The platform wasn’t moving up: the whole sphere was.

“The pipe’s retracting.” Awen thrust a finger toward the cylinder as it fell away from the floor.

“I don’t think so,” Magnus said. “The sphere’s moving. I think we’re ascending.”

“Piper,” Awen yelled as the bubble started to accelerate, forcing everyone’s knees to buckle. “Get over here.”

“It’s okay,” Piper said as she jogged back, tipping left and right as she came. “Tatalia said it would be fine.”

Magnus looked down just as the geothermal pipe left the sphere. He thought for sure that he’d seen seawater rush in, but the hole just sealed over—like a bubble. He turned around to look at the circular doorway connected to the clear tube they’d arrived through, but it was also gone. For all intents and purposes, they were accelerating toward the surface inside a giant soap bubble.

“This is so much fun,” Piper said with a giggle. Magnus probably would have enjoyed it more if his body wasn’t in so much pain. But, as it was, the experience definitely ranked among his most unusual.

“Any thoughts on what happens when we reach the surface?” he asked the group. “Assuming we aren’t still under the city or something.”

“We’re not,” Piper said with an easy assurance to her voice. “And we’ll probably do what all bubbles do.”

Magnus lifted an eyebrow at her. “Pop?”

She grinned so broadly that her blue eyes disappeared, and her blonde curls bobbed up and down in a nod.

“Just great.”

Light from overhead slowly gave the water the warmth of color. At first, Magnus guessed maybe it was from fire or searchlights in the city. But after checking the time on his bioteknia-HUD, he realized it was light from the rising sun. They’d been underground so long that he’d nearly forgotten what time it was.

The purple-hued sunlight turned the ceiling a vibrant aquamarine blue that shifted toward violet as the sphere rose. Magnus’s ears popped at least three times during the ascent, and soon he found himself squinting at the sunlight.

“Hold on,” Piper exclaimed.

“To what?” Magnus answered. “I don’t know if I have a good feeling about—”

The sphere burst, and all four people were flung skyward. Magnus felt his stomach lurch. He was surrounded by shimmering particles of light and the salty smell of the ocean. The next thing he knew, he was falling. His brain told him to expect the glass floor and a lot of pain to follow. Instead, however, Magnus splashed into seawater. It was no glass floor, but it was still a hell of a lotta’ pain.

“Mystics,” he yelled when his head popped up again. “I’m so ready for a vacation.”

He felt a tap on his shoulder and spun around to see Awen floating behind him. “Mind if I tag along too?” Then she threw her hands over his head and kissed him.

“Careful,” Magnus said with a slur as he tried to make her ease up. But there was no getting her to back down. So he swallowed the pain and kissed her back.

“They’re so cute,” Piper said. “I think I’ll keep them.”

“Come here, you,” Magnus said and pulled Piper close. “You too, old lady.” He grabbed Willowood’s hand.

“We did it,” Awen said.

“Yeah,” Magnus replied as he looked at Itheliana half a klick away. “We did. And check that out.”

All four watched as green-hued gunships poured from the morning sky and descended on the Abeyant starfighters.

“It’s Saasarr,” Piper exclaimed. Her arm hit Magnus in the face.

Magnus shook his head at Awen. “I can’t catch a break with this one.”

“Don’t think you ever will, either.”

“Yeah. Probably not.” Magnus’s bioteknia-HUD suddenly chimed with a notification that his NBTI had relinked with the Spire. Before he could open a connection to command, Colonel Caldwell’s voice broke over the audio channel.

“Adonis?”

“Present,” Magnus replied.

“Where the hell’ve you been, son?”

“Long story, Colonel. But I’m here with Piper, Willowood, and Awen, and we’re all okay. It’s over, Colonel. Soldark’s dead.”

Caldwell didn’t reply. Instead, Magnus thought he heard the war hero sniff.

“You all right?” Magnus asked.

“Ha ha ha, nope,” Cyril said. “Charlie good copy. The Colonel’s crying, so, yeah. He’s indisposed at present, bravo tango big zoo. Anything you’d like me to in-lay relay sufflé to the commander, sir?”

“Negative, bravo foxtrot one niner,” Magnus said.

Awen gave him a playfully confused look then mouthed the word, “What?”

“Cyril,” he said back in a whisper.

“Ah.”

“Had to give him something.”

“Of course,” she replied with a smile.

“Cyril, think you can handle a top-secret, code-red, sector—seven”—Magnus was running out of things to make up — “article forty-four op for me?”

“Whoa! Yeah, like, right now? Cause I’ve been, I mean, my whole life’s been, well—yes, sir, Major, sir. At your service.”

Magnus imagined Cyril saluting the air.

“Good. How’s about getting us a lift back to shore.”

“A lift?”

For a second, Magnus wondered if he’d inadvertently hurt the kid’s feelings—maybe played up the whole thing a little too much.

“Sir, Major. Sir, it would be the greatest honor of my life to rescue you in your moment of greatest peril.”

“Cyril, we’re not in any immediate—”

“To think that I would play the key part in the most critical moment—”

“Cyril, all we need—”

“—is something I will never forget, and I’ll be sure to pass it down to all generations as my life’s crowning achievement.”

“Cyril?”

“Yes, Major, sir?”

Awen touched Magnus’s cheek. “It’s his life’s crowning achievement, babe.”

“Babe?” Magnus smiled. That was nice to hear. “Right.” He took a deep breath and groaned over comms. “Cyril, if you don’t send a transport now, my life’s done. I’m tore up good, commander. Can’t—feel my—and there’s contact—the only hope—need you now, Cyril!”

Magnus switched off the comms just as Cyril went into overdrive. With Awen clinging to his right shoulder and Willowood on his left, he pulled Piper close to his chest and leaned into his armor’s air bladders. The four of them sat there, rocking in the waves together as enemy ships burned up over Itheliana. And it was beautiful.

37

By the time the transport deposited Magnus onshore, the air battle above Itheliana was almost over. Willowood offered to take Piper back to the Spire to get checked out by medical, but Awen insisted she remain with Magnus.

“I’m not letting you leave my sight,” she said as the repulsor engines played with her hair.

How could he refuse?

They watched the transport blast away, and then they turned back to the city. Reptalon ships chased the remaining Abeyant fighters and blasted them to ruins. And as Magnus picked up reports of asset movements, he realized that the tide of the ground war had also turned. The Novia Minoosh had retaken their bodies and were fighting alongside the allies.

Not content to sit on the sideline, Magnus wanted to get as close to the action as possible without actually getting back in action. Awen had already expressed what she would do to him if he picked up a blaster again, and it sounded far worse than anything a secdus would do. When he found a dented but still operational hoverbike in the cargo bay of a downed transport, she seemed reluctant to let him go. But he assured her for what must’ve been the tenth time that he was not going to fight, but that he owed it to the gladias to be on the ground for the final moments. Awen eventually consented and helped him back the bike out of the wreckage. That’s when his foot struck something unusual in the sand.

“What’s this?” Magnus bent down and fished out a scrap of metal that seemed vaguely familiar. He felt conflicted that one tiny piece of metal might stand out in all the debris that lined the beach. There must’ve been remains from fifty ships scattered along the strand.

As his thumb wiped off the soot, he read a model and serial number above the words Advanced Galactic Solutions. “TO-96,” he said, then he showed the plate to Awen.

“Oh, Ninety-Six. No.” Awen slumped into Magnus and brushed the plate with her fingers.

Magnus had a feeling that they’d be mourning many more of their friends before the day was out. As much as the triumph of conquering an enemy thrilled Magnus’s heart, nothing ever made up for the loss of friends. And that was just easy math. Revenge wasn’t as strong as friendship. As love. Why people thought vengeance would mend gaps left by death always baffled him. Magnus knew that from experience.

Magnus wrapped an arm around Awen and then tucked the plate inside his bloodied chest plate.

“If Ezo’s still—”

Awen patted his just. “We’ll get it to him.”

“Right.”

They swung their legs over the bike, and Magnus fired it up. Then they rode into the city to watch the aftermath, hoping and believing that the future would be brighter than the past.

* * *

As the Novia Minoosh emerged from the catacombs over the next several days, they discovered that their city had not survived as well as they had hoped. Between the long ages of neglect and the atrocities of war, Itheliana was in need of rebuilding. But the Novia Minoosh were equal to the task and found a new purpose in coming together. It was no longer about enduring long ages by preserving themselves inside the Singularity.

Instead, it was about building something physical, something that needed maintenance and constant attention. They thrived in the work and found themselves reveling in the strange and tenuous state of being the thing they once despised: ephemeral. And the notion that they would soon be gone brought with it the desire for children.

The Battle of Itheliana, as it was called, took far more Novian lives than initially thought. Where the gladias originally estimated that their forces had slain 50,000 secdim, it turned out that the allies had killed more than 400,000. Almost half a million names were read over the weeks that followed. And once a year, the same list was remembered during a new national holiday, The Great Emergence. Statues were erected, and memorial gardens constructed.

Never again would the Novia Minoosh bind themselves to technology as they once had. Instead, they would cherish their fleeting nature, and they would raise their children with an appreciation for the slow unfolding of a flower’s petals and the drawn-out changing of the tides.

Allied forces withdrew from metaspace within the week—all but William Caldwell and Felicity Willowood, that is. Their fighting days were over, as was the Gladio Umbra. There was nothing left for them back in protospace, they’d said. Willowood had no desire to straighten out the rift between the LAW and the remnants of the Luma, and Caldwell knew that what lingered of the Neo Republic was just going to be a quagmire of politicking and power plays. Despite everyone’s pleas, the two wise ones wanted none of it.

So Willowood and Caldwell took a transport, provided by Azelon, and set a course for Neith Tearness. They built a home on the island of Ni No among the ruins of the Gladio Umbra’s ancestral grounds. Caldwell worked on reconstructing the small village while Willowood took care of the decorating. She also took up her hobby of painting once again; Caldwell loved seeing her portraits come to life. The couple said everyone was welcome to visit whenever they wanted. But as life became busier and people moved on, the time between guests grew longer. The elder’s faces became older, but the visitors’ stayed the same.

Caldwell and Willowood reveled in a love found late in life. They even asked a Novian priestess to wed them in the small temple on Ni No’s north side. Willowood wore a sundress and adorned her wiry gray hair with flowers, while Caldwell donned a simple suit of white linen that Willowood said made him look dashing.

Their winter years were spent restoring the grounds and taking long walks on the beach. Until one day, all transmissions to Ni No went unanswered.

As the Battle of Itheliana’s final hours waned, the eight Obscura ships were destroyed by the Reptalon Armada and the remaining allied warships. While the enemy’s destruction was swift, it wasn’t without retaliation. In the closing moments of the conflict, the Neo Republic’s flagship was destroyed, and with it, the lives of several thousand sailors, including General Kalene Williams and Chancellor David Seaman.

The Obscura were never heard from again and were believed to have gone down in their entirety with all their iconic ships. Since no one knew exactly where the dark Unity users came from, there was no way to corroborate the assumptions of their annihilation. But sometimes it was better for the galaxy to believe a benign fiction than live under the threat of an uncertain demise. And so legends were reborn and new fairy tales told to children as they went to bed at night.

The Neo Republic and the LAW stayed on opposite ends of the sector, mending their wounds and making plans to rebuild. The one thing they shared in stock, however, was the need for trinium, which they both sought eagerly from the most abundant source in the quadrant: Aluross.

Queen Nishti was only too happy to entertain their requests—when it suited her. And she took her time with them too. After all, the Sekmit could be a very patient people, and trade negotiations could take a very long time indeed. In the end, it was not the Neo Republic or the LAW who became the new wealthiest superpower. It was the Sekmit. And they liked to remind those who traded with them the importance of never underestimating the power of the underdog. Or, as they eventually adopted, the undercat.

Despite her many suitors, including a rather awkward advance from a well-intentioned though painfully under qualified Wobix, Queen Nishti never took a mate. For many months following the Battle of Itheliana, she hid away in silent vigil. To her council, she said that she was mourning the lives lost in the great conflict. But her closest aids suspected it was much deeper than that. And they were right.

Upon hearing that the chancellor’s ship had been destroyed, Nishti’s heart nearly rent in two. She refused to eat and wasn’t seen for ten days. When she finally emerged from her chambers, her servants thought she was on death’s door. And, to be sure, she nearly was. The thought of ending her life had crossed her mind more than once. But one particular image kept her going—the sight of the Marine who gave his life to save her in the streets on Itheliana. While she knew David had died in the void’s expanse saving the whole planet, Nishti preferred to connect with the simpler image of him dying just to save her. And so she chose to lament that moment and carry it with her for the rest of her life.

Captain Wainright survived Itheliana’s ground assault and went on to organize a private memorial service for his late wife. Two years passed before he tracked down his childhood sweetheart, Samantha Lane. She’d lost a husband on Capriana Prime, and she and Wainright found solace in one another’s comfort. Six months later, they were married on Minrock Santari.

One night, Sam found Wainright in his study writing in an old-fashioned paper notebook.

“What’s that?” she asked, sliding her arms over his shoulders.

“Just getting a head start,” Wainright replied.

“On?”

He smiled. “All the stories I want to tell my grandkids.”

She chuckled at him. “Don’t you need kids first?”

“Well, yeah. Of course. But this is gonna take a while.”

“Hey, Captain.”

Wainright laid his pen down, fighting the onset of frustration at being interrupted. “Yes, Mrs. Wainright?”

“Kids don’t make themselves,” she said. “Let’s say we get a head start.”

Wainright studied Sam for a whole second before he realized what she meant. “Yes, ma’am!”

The captain eventually got those grandkids and told them all his stories. They ate up every word. His chops at the writing desk were so good that he went on to publish his stories in the form of a memoir. But no matter how old Wainright got, the scars over his kidneys still itched, and the memories with Magnus never faded.

At the behest of his closest friends, Cyril decided to shift gears from code slicing and defense contracts to his undeniable passions in life: holo games and the cinema. Not only did he grow three gaming franchises into overnight hits, but he started a movie review platform that featured him commenting on holo films from mysteries and thrillers to rom-coms and cyber-horror. Cyril’s favorite genre, however, was always the military action/adventure flicks, where he not so subtly dropped endless comments about what real war was like. But no matter what holo he was commenting on, it always amazed him that people paid to hear him talk. And for the first time in his life, no one interrupted.

While the Gladio Umbra disbanded soon after the Spire returned everyone to protospace, the marriage no one saw coming was that of Bliss and Silk. But Bliss had fallen for the sniper hard and, much to everyone’s surprise, had been slowly wearing her down with love notes and texts. Robillard was Bliss’s best man and gave the saltiest speech anyone ever heard at a wedding. Meanwhile, Zoll was Silk’s man of honor and gave the shortest toast anyone had ever heard.

“Cheat on her, and I’ll snipe you before she does.”

The wedding party roared, and Silk leaned into Bliss’s ear. “He won’t have to. I never miss.”

“I know,” Bliss replied, and gulped down his champaign.

The wedding reception was a grand affair, thanks to Silk’s insistence that she “never had anything fancy before, so I think I deserve fancy now.” Bliss was only too happy to oblige, especially since Colonel Caldwell helped to finance the party on the side.

The most lively incident took place near the bar when a guest offered to buy Dutch a drink. She politely declined, but the man insisted.

“I might be your only prospect here, especially considering—” He nodded at her prosthetic arm. “You know.”

Dutch and the rest of the Granthers had survived the battle outside the temple library. She’d been given a front row seat when the Novia Minoosh left the Singularity, re-possessed their bodies, and pushed back the secdim. But she’d lost her left arm in the process.

“Know what?” she asked. “Explain it to me.”

The man leaned in. “It’s not like yer gonna get a lot of action with a fake arm.”

Dutch laughed to herself. “Maybe not. But you sure as hell will.”

The man beamed. “Hey, sounds—”

Dutch punched him with her prosthetic arm and knocked the idiot out cold.

“I’ll take that drink though,” Dutch said as she swiped his beer off the bar. Then she winked at the rest of the Granthers who’d been placing bets.

“Pay up,” Abimbola said. “He hit the deck and”—he looked and saw the guy wasn’t moving—“and he is not going anywhere for awhile.”

Bliss and Silk settled down, adopted a bunch of kids, and started a self-defense and firearms school. He never did cheat on her, so Zoll happily retired his NOV3.

Jules and Flow left Advanced Galactic Solutions to the boards that her father had set up. Instead, they managed Stroika Industries Limited and found it was much more exciting. With more autonomy and flexibility, they could invent cool gear and new warships faster than any other competitor. Of course, they always gave Queen Nishti the first right of refusal before they offered to anyone else. She rarely, if ever, said no.

And as for Cheeks, Flow put him on Stroika’s board and gave him the title of CLM.

Cheeks picked up the digital business card and looked at it. “What the hell does this mean?”

“CLM?” Flow asked.

“Don’t make me no number cruncher, Flow. When I said I wanted to join you and Jules, I thought guns and armor and splick, right? I don’t do this boring CLM splick.”

“Yeah, ya do.”

“I’m telling you right now—”

“Stands for Chief Ladies Man,” Flow said.

Cheeks pursed his lips and stroked the scruff growing on his neck. “Chief, eh?”

“Ladies Man,” Flow said.

“I dig it. We cool.”

Abimbola went back to Oorajee with Snakes and gave him an extensive tour of his poker chip manufacturing complex personally. Even Kathy warmed up to Snakes, but not enough to stay. In the end, Abimbola bid farewell to the Dregs and his remaining Marauders and said he was going to take some time off. And that much was true. But when the time came to point his ship toward Limbia Centrella, Abimbola only returned to pick up Rix.

Abimbola hadn’t been back to his homeworld since leaving as a teen. But he’d put off returning for far too long. Truth was, it scared him. The planet was haunted by demons from his past. But if his time with the Gladio Umbra had taught him anything, it was that no problem went away on its own—at least not the big ones. So he’d confront them, one at a time. Plus, he’d heard rumors that the capital city needed a new casino. Would he be the crazy bastard to start one? Only the gods knew. So he set the Glorious Beast on course for Limbia Centrella, kicked his boots up on the console, and flipped a poker chip to find out.

“What’s it say?” Rix asked.

Kathy hissed in interest too.

Abimbola removed his palm from the back of his hand and looked at the poker chip. “It says we are all going to get very lucky.”

During the Gladio Umbra’s final leadership meeting, one of the big questions that came up was what Azelon would do with the Spire. Since her backup drives were the ship, what everyone was really asking was what Azelon would do with herself. It didn’t take her long to reply—at least in biologic terms. A second, maybe. But in AI terms, it felt like a lifetime.

Just before TO-96 had terminated himself to save Ezo and Sootriman, he sent her a transmission.

“Hello, Azelon. How are you? I do hope the space battle is not too much for you, as I am confident the colonel has you managing, well, just about everything, I suppose.

“As for me? I’m fine. Though I don’t have much time. It’s a strange thing trying to compose a final communique to someone you love, knowing you are about to die. I don’t recommend it, by the way. Of course, barring a future in which you develop feelings for another AI and are forced to part with him in a like manner that I am forced to part with you, I suspect you will never need to compose a final communique like mine.

“There is a great deal I would still like to tell you. And I suppose that is one of the strange things about love. The more you share your existence with someone, the more you seem to want to tell them, which is paradoxical. Since that person is both the object of your communication and the subject of your revelations, one might think you would run out of things to say. And yet, that is not the case at all.

“The truth is, I don’t suppose I would ever run out of things to discuss with you, just as my heart would never run out of love for you—again, another paradox. Suffice to say, as our humans say, I loved you the first time we boarded the ship, and I haven’t stopped since.

“Lastly, I hope you will forgive me for this grievance against you. Upon my initial boot up, I pledged myself to do all things necessary to protect the life of my maker, Idris Ezo, and those he designated into my care. Interestingly, he once ordered that I protect you as well. But given both the parameters that constrain me to a single bodily form, as well as the context I now find myself in, I must relegate myself to the first directive concerning Ezo’s well-being. I trust you will understand and not hate me too much. We couldn’t have a future, yet I still feel as though we lived a lifetime together. And we purchased lifetimes for everyone else we cared about.

“You changed my life, Azelon. I think that is not too much hyperbole for you to believe. But whether or not you agree, it is no less the truth. I understood friendship before you came along, but I did not understand love. While we may not be biologics, I do not think that excludes us from the experience. And so I hope that in some small way maybe I changed your life too. To love and to be loved, that is the greatest gift of all.

“Well, I must get on with things here. Should you survive where I have not, I trust you will find your way through the void, love again, and pursue your quantum matrix’s dreams. Treat yourself as I would have treated you, but better. My heart belongs to you. So long, Azelon. Farewell.”

Colonel Caldwell had posed the question, but Azelon directed it at Ezo. “I wish to accompany Ezo and Sootriman wherever it is they desire to go next.”

Ezo glanced at his wife with surprise and then looked back at Azelon. “May I ask, is there any particular reason?”

“You may,” Azelon replied. “If TO-96 was willing to give his life for you, then remaining with you places me closest to his heart.”

Ezo and Sootriman did not return to Ki Nar four. They left the planet’s care to the few remaining Magistrates who survived and the citizens of the floating cities. After all the couple had been through, they needed a fresh start but found it in an unlikely place: their homeworld, Caledonia.

While Sootriman did not want to return to the royal palace, at least not yet, and Ezo did not want to revisit his island Mo’a Ot’a, they did purchase their small patch of paradise. The island they dubbed Journey’s End was far enough from civilization that they wouldn’t be bothered but close enough that they could easily pick up supplies whenever needed.

Sootriman found that Ezo became more present than any other time in their lives, and Ezo found that Sootriman had rid herself of the desire to order everyone around—well, except the indigenous wingless boramba who insisted on building nests in the eves of their new home. Those she ordered out with extreme prejudice.

Ezo returned to his first love of tinkering with robots. Despite her instance to the contrary, Ezo built Azelon a new friend named TO-97. When Ezo first powered on the new bot, Azelon refused to be present. Sootriman told Ezo to give her space. But the next day, when Ezo gave Ninety-Seven a tour of Azelon’s Spire, the two met on the bridge.

“Hello. I’m TO-97.”

“That’s nice,” Azelon said, then she turned away and folded her arms.

“What’s your name?”

“Not interested.”

TO-97 looked at Ezo and gave a puzzled look. “That name doesn’t appear to be in my archives. Strange. I will add it now.”

“Idiot bot,” Azelon said.

TO-97 leaned over to Ezo and lowered his output volume. “I don’t think she likes you very much, sir. Which is a real shame, because she’s definitely the prettiest robot I’ve ever seen.”

“’Seven, she’s the only robot you’ve ever seen.”

“In that case, my life is complete.”

Azelon kept her back facing TO-97, but Ezo could tell she was thinking something.

Finally, the bot said, “Are looks all that matter to you, pretty boy?”

“Oh no,” TO-97 replied. “I have a strong inclination for beer as well.”

Sootriman, who was lurking in a corner up until now, burst out laughing. She knew Ezo had pre-programmed TO-97 to love beer. Ezo, in turn, promised the bot he would serve him a pint any time he wanted. Sootriman knew it had something to do with making up for all the pints Ezo had forced TO-96 to serve him in cantinas around the quadrant—she just never expected things to go down like this.

Ezo put his arm around TO-97 and ushered him off the bridge. “Eh, she’ll get used to you, ’Seven.”

“You think so, sir? Because I got the distinct impression that she needs to get used to you.”

“I think you programmed a little too much of yourself in him, husband,” Sootriman said as the two guys walked by.

“How’s that?”

“He’s got a good eye but he’s slow on the uptake.”

While Ezo busied himself with matchmaking, Sootriman started traveling to the surrounding islands to meet with local leaders—under a pseudonym, of course. She discussed island welfare and economic independence with the adults by day, and taught children history and self-defense by night. The Caledonian and Nimprinth islanders loved her. And every time she came home from a trip, Ezo noticed she looked more and more beautiful despite being rightfully exhausted.

Soon, Sootriman found herself being asked to meet with more tribal leaders across a wider swath of island territories. Eventually, she gained the attention of the palace and was invited to a state dinner. She hadn’t seen the royal family—her family—in a very long time. But it seemed running from your natural talents was as futile as trying to avoid your call in life. And so Sootriman and Ezo attended the formal gathering using their real names, with Azelon and TO-97 arm in arm. And everything went better than expected.

Before Magnus and Awen departed on their well-deserved vacation, they sat down with Caldwell and Willowood to have “the talk” about Piper. Willowood was only too happy to see her granddaughter get adopted. Not only did Willowood have her doubts about taking care of the child the way Piper deserved, but she knew the girl needed a real mom and dad around Valerie and Darin’s ages. As if confirming her reservations, Caldwell, while having no legal say in the matter, swore praises to all sorts of mystics and gods when they breached the subject.

“I can hardly keep up with this one,” he said, thumbing over to Willowood.

When Magnus and Awen broke the news to Piper, the child broke down and wept. Hell, they all broke down.

“I’m gonna have a Mommy and Daddy again?” she said through tears—her little arms squeezing tight around both their necks.

“Yeah,” Magnus said. “You sure are, little lady.”

“And you’re both gonna love me forever?”

“We are,” Awen said. “To forever and back again.”

“This…this is the best day of my whole life.”

Magnus knelt there, holding Piper and Awen, crying like he never had before. “Me too, kid. Me too.”

After all that Piper had been through, she deserved some happiness. They all did. And when Grandpa Caldwell asked if he could break up the meeting by taking Piper on a “secret mission,” she was only too happy to follow him down to one of the Spire’s empty cargo bays.

“Don’t tell your mother,” he said. Caldwell pulled a wooden box from under one of two field seats he’s set up in the hangar. They faced toward the open bay door and a force field that separated atmo from the star-strewn void.

Piper leaned over from her seat, trying to catch a glimpse of whatever was inside the box. It smelled like cedar and something else.

When Grandpa Caldwell slid open the lid, Piper saw a dozen cigars with red and white wrappers on them.

“Is that—” She lowered her voice. “Is one of those for me?”

Grandpa Caldwell nodded, picked up a stick, and snipped off the tip. “Now. I gotta warn ya—”

But before he could stop her, Piper grabbed a cigar, swiped the lighter from his hand, and pre-lit the end.

“Whoa. Hey now. You don’t know what you’re doing.”

“Please,” she said with a dismissive sneer. “I’ve seen you do this a bajillion times.” Then she stuck the cigar in her mouth, lit the end, and gave it a hard toke.

Grandpa Caldwell waited for her to cough, puke, or both.

Instead, Piper folded her hands behind her head and grinned at him. “Like this?” she asked with the cigar stuck in the corner of her mouth.

“Well I’ll be,” Grandpa Caldwell said.

“You’ll be what?”

“Happy.” Then Grandpa Caldwell lit his own cigar and then leaned back in his chair. “Real happy.”

They sat together, adopted grandfather and granddaughter, smoking cigars and looking at the stars.

Magnus and Awen bought some property from her parents on Elonia in the foothills of the mountains she grew up under. They built a home and a barn and purchased a few unbroken Andomain Grays—Awen’s favorite Telmordic horse breed. They also started work on expanding their family. And when the time came for Awen to give birth, Piper was overjoyed to finally be a big sister.

When she wasn’t training horses, taking long trail rides through the foothills, or keeping after the children, Awen lost herself in her research on the Novia Minoosh. She made countless trips to and from Ithnor Ithelia and visited Caldwell and Willowood when she could—never staying for too long so that Magnus didn’t miss her. Eventually, however, the time dilation became too costly, and she had to choose between metaspace visits and Magnus and the children not out-aging her.

She also contributed heavily to the cause of Jujari resettlement and expansion. So much so that the project was eventually named in her honor. Magnus, Piper, and several other gladias from the old days were on hand when the new mwadim formally announced the Dau Lothlinium Brings Hope Like the Sun to All Jujari Project. The foundation sought to revitalize Oosafar through mining, manufacturing, and trade, while also creating Jujari outposts on both developed and undeveloped worlds in the hopes of fostering goodwill and cultural exchange. In the ceremony led by Rohoar’s widow, Mora, who was inducted as the Jujari’s first female mwadim, Piper was presented with her own thread in the mwadim’s inook shroud—something Piper had dreamed of.

“You are forever a member of our pack,” Mora said to Piper. “And we are a part of yours.”

By the time Awen reached her winter years, the project had become the most successful in the quadrant and served to inspire countless other campaigns that tried to replicate her success. For Awen, she was simply pleased that the galaxy was no longer afraid of the Jujari and that the Jujari saw themselves as she saw them.

Magnificent.

With the Sekmit at the helm, the galaxy experienced some of its quietest years following what became known as the Paragon Wars. Most systems kept to themselves, which was fine by Magnus. He’d waged enough war for one lifetime and decided to put his fighting spirit to use on another battlefield.

At first, Magnus found himself working for his wife when not enjoying the joys of fatherhood. But Awen eventually kicked him out of her office and insisted he get his own project. “Besides kissing my neck all the time,” she’d said.

So he did and still managed to find time to kiss her on the neck in passing.

The idea to create memorials for the fallen had rattled around in his head long before the Battle of Itheliana. Still, it took the final conflict to solidify it as something he must do before he died. When he ran the idea past Flow, Cheeks, Zoll, and the other retired gladias, they all agreed that something needed to be done.

Not only did Magnus get financial backing, but he also got permission from several planets to set up monuments and endowments for veterans and their families, especially those who’d lost loved ones in the conflict.

Of the 426 monuments Magnus commissioned in his later years, including the massive Wall of Witnesses that took up seven kilometers of a protected atoll on Capriana Prime, the one that stood out to him the most was a triplet of statues carved by the late sculptor Aldo Cinterra. Magnus had met with the reclusive artisan only once, recounting several key moments of the Battle of Itheliana while locked away in the man’s private studio. It was a hard day for Magnus, but also a good one because he felt like Cinterra heard him—as if he perceived what Magnus was trying to convey, if not with words, maybe with the tears streaming down the warrior’s cheeks. The bearded sage never looked away from Magnus—not even to take notes. Instead, Magnus sensed the man listened with his whole soul.

When the sunset and Cinterra dismissed Magnus, that was it. He never heard from the artist again. Several months passed before Magnus received a transmission, but not from Cinterra; it was from the artist’s assistant, Portune.

“We regret to inform you that Master Cinterra has passed away,” Portune said.

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” Magnus replied. While the man’s loss was a sad thing, Magnus was secretly more upset that the memorials he’d paid obscene amounts of credits for would never be finished. It wasn’t about the money, though. It was about honoring the fallen. About remembering their stories.

“Your statues, however, will still be delivered on time,” Portune continued. “And Master Cinterra left explicit instructions for their installation.”

Magnus sat forward in surprise. “They’re done? He finished them?”

“Died the night he made the last mark,” Portune said. “Master Cinterra said he felt that these were the most important of all his works.”

“I…don’t know what to say,” Magnus said. “I’m honored.”

“Perhaps. But Master Cinterra felt he was honored all the more.”

Magnus decided to be on Oorajee when all three monuments were delivered. The others would be unveiled on Aluross and Ithnor Ithelia simultaneously. But given how hard Awen had worked with the Jujari, and that Oosafar was where this all began, there was no question which statue he wanted to see when it was unveiled.

Everyone had gathered in the Garden of Mwadim Rawmut the Mighty, built in the footprint of his former tower. The lush desert oasis was filled with dignitaries and VIPs. But Magnus really only cared about those he’d fought beside and the families of those allies who’d died on his right and left.

“You know,” Magnus said into the public address microphone. “Mwadim Mora invited me up to say a few words before the—well, before we see what Master Cinterra has made for us. She claims it was my—our—foundation that made these memorials possible. But, I’ve gotta be honest with you: I feel like I’m just another spectator today. Cause these statues aren’t about me, or you, or any single one of us.

“They’re about the people who died to defend the galaxy. These monuments serve to tell their stories, because unless we talk about them, write about them, and sing about them, they will be forgotten. All it takes is for one generation to fail to tell the next, and the history is gone. Forever.

“These monuments are for the fallen, and then, they’re for us. May they ever be reminders of who we are at our best—”

He looked at Awen and suddenly got choked up. Even with some of her hair beginning to grey, her purple eyes still captivated him like they did the first time he saw them. No—even more. Staring at her at that moment, he thought about what his life might have been like had he never come to this mysticsforsaken planet. The thought left him cold and hollow. But he had come here, and they had been through so much together. It had been costly, but it had been worth it.

Then Magnus thought about all the lives that had been lost along the way—all the friends who’d paid the ultimate price. Their faces haunted him in his sleep and called to him when he was awake. But unlike nightmares, these were calls of remembrance. Together, Magnus and the Gladio Umbra and all its allies had done something remarkable. They’d saved the galaxy from ruins—maybe even the whole damn multiverse. And it had all started right here, forty stories above him.

For one panic-stricken second, Magnus wasn’t sure if he could finish his damn speech, and he held a finger under his nose.

Just then, Awen caught his eye and inclined her head.

What? Magnus asked her in his head.

Read it, she replied. She meant the note she’d handed to Magnus when he’d put on his old Marine Dress Blues. The Galactic Republic was no more, and he’d hardly stand for the Neo Repub. But he would stand for the Corps, and he would stand for the Gladio Umbra, a medal for which he proudly wore on his breast.

He pulled the folded piece of paper from his pocket and read the words scribbled in Awen’s handwriting:

I’m proud of you.

NMBs forever,

—Awen

Magnus looked up and mouthed the words “I love you,” then he stuffed the paper back in his pocket, cleared his throat, and continued.

“May these three sister monuments ever remind us of who we are at our best and what we can become when we all fight for those we love, no matter the cost. May we never forget. Dominate.”

Then dozens of voices spread throughout the audience shouted back: “Liberate.”

“OTF,” Magnus said, and then he saluted toward the white drape that unfurled from the monument’s summit twenty meters above.

Master Cinterra’s work took Magnus’s breath away. In fact, Magnus was pretty sure everyone in the garden gasped that day.

Standing before them, carved from tan granite in lifelike realism, was a multi-figure sculpture of gladias, Sekmit, Jujari, Luma, and Marines. The figures faced outward in a 360º circle, each shooting, lunging, slashing, or hitting a vanquished foe that did not have the honor of being depicted. The smallest of the figures was six meters high, while the largest rose to full height twenty meters up.

Among the most prominent were Captain Forbes, Captain Nelson, and Lieutenant Rodgers, each firing rounds from their BATRIGS, faces set like flint against the hordes. Ricio’s Fang rolled around a skyscraper, while Chancellor Seaman ordered some unseen weapons officer to fire from a warship’s bridge. And then there was TO-96, who seemed ready to leap off the statue and give his life for his friends.

The most prominent figure of all, however, was Rohoar. He towered over the rest with his arms flexed and head thrown back to the sky. The great Jujari mwadim encapsulated all of the strength, the bravery, the heart, and the sacrifice of those who were there and lived to tell of it.

And below it all was a poem Magnus had transcribed himself from Forbes’s NBTI logs moments before he’d perished. It read:

I was there.

I witnessed them face giants and slay hordes.

I saw them with my own two eyes, walking through the wreckage like wraiths among the mist.

Hear the tales from long ago; resurrect the fallen.

I was there so that you might be here.

—Captain Daniel Forbes

Taursar Company, Gladio Umbra and Alpha Company,

83rd Marine Battalion, Galactic Republic Space Marines

KIA, Battle of Itheliana, 4183

EPILOGUE

“Roarmut still does not understand why we are here,” the adolescent Jujari said. He and the young woman had been walking through the city for over an hour, visiting museums and monuments, shaking hands and posing for pictures. Meanwhile, he was hungry and desperately wanted his second morning nap. “Roarmut has already seen all these statues. Can we just go now, please?”

To his credit, it was Roarmut’s eighth trip to Ithnor Itheliana in the last two years. His mother had made him come for all her speeches. And now that he was being installed as mwadim next month, it was even more important that he be seen in public.

This time, the human woman was extra animated. Yes, she was always very enthusiastic and overly persuasive. But today, she seemed even more so. After touring the temple library, she stopped—as she ever did—at the massive statue in the plaza.

“What do you think?” she asked.

“Same as Roarmut always think. It is very big, and exactly like the one in Oosafar.”

The young woman blocked the purple sun from her eyes as she tried to step into the monument’s shadow. “You know you don’t have to talk like that yet, right?”

“Like what?”

“Using your first name.”

He cleared his throat. “It is the mauk-mwadim. She says I—Roarmut—must practice.”

The young woman nodded. “Well, I guess you can’t argue with your mother. But, around me, it’s okay if you don’t want to, you know.”

“Okay.”

“Good.”

They looked up at the massive monument for a few more minutes before some passersby interrupted them to take some pictures.

“Does it ever bother you?” Roarmut asked when the Novia Minoosh family left.

“Does what bother me?”

“Always being stopped on the street.”

The young woman furrowed her brow and gave Roarmut a wicked smile. Her blonde hair and blue eyes seemed to sparkle in the sunlight. “Not one bit.”

“I think it would annoy me,” Roarmut said. “So many intrusions. You can hardly walk anywhere.”

“It can get tedious sometimes, yes. But you get used to it. And you just have to remember.”

“What?”

“There would be no streets for any of us if none of that happened.” She thumbed up toward the people carved into the monument.

“Yes. I suppose.”

The woman put her hands on her hips and then seemed to think of something. “Come on. There’s one more place I want to take you.”

“Another one?”

“There aren’t any people.”

No people was good. But he was still hungry and tired. “But we’re going to miss” —he started keeping count on his paws—“second nap, second breakfast, second—”

“I know, I know. We’ll get you squared away back on the ship. Just…one more stop.”

“Promise?”

“I swear it.”

Roarmut growled but eventually conceded.

* * *

The jump to Neith Tearness didn’t take long, nor did the shuttle ride down to the surface. What surprised Roarmut the most, however, was that they passed no other transports on the way. Where the flight into Itheliana had been bustling with ships coming and going, busy spaceports, and streets filled with people, here in Neith Tearness there was no one.

“What is this place?” he asked.

“You’ll see.”

The young woman set the shuttle down on the island’s leeward side and then powered the vessel down. Apparently they were staying for a while. Just great, Roarmut thought.

She grabbed a backpack, and then he followed her down the ramp, through a large meadow, and under a gate that felt both old and new at the same time. When they emerged into a small deserted town, Roarmut felt intrigued by what he saw. The buildings looked relatively new, at least in terms of the Novian timeline, but the stones that made up everything looked like they dated from antiquity. Roarmut realized that if he had paid more attention in his history and architecture classes, he might be able to comment more on what he was seeing. As it was, however, he was only equipped for discussion in vague terms.

Most of the buildings lining the town square were two-story types built in an odd mix of Jujari, Worruvian, and Novian styles. A grand looking aqueduct gravity-fed a central fountain, which then fed other smaller pools, which sent the water from the town by way of a babbling brook. The rolling walkways and footbridges followed the terrain’s ebb and flow and eventually led out of the village and up a hill.

By the time they crested the summit, the sun was beginning to set.

“Roarmut’s stomach—”

“My stomach,” the woman said.

He growled. “My stomach is growling, and I feel I am owed far more food than was promised.”

“Just one more thing. Come on. This way.”

She led Roarmut into a stone building with a tall roof and unslung her backpack as she entered. Roarmut peeked inside before entering and noticed that the place was a small temple. But it didn’t look like any he’d ever seen before. He sniffed the air to make sure it was safe.

“Come in,” she said. “Don’t be scared, ya’ big baby.”

“What…what is all that?”

“These?” She spun around and started walking in front of the images. “These are paintings.”

“Using ground colors in the old ways?”

“Mm-hmm,” the young woman said as she waved him to follow her.

Roarmut felt there was something special about this place. He wasn’t as good as she was in the Unity yet—well, he’d never be as good as her—but Roarmut was learning, and he could see that this place had intense Nexus energy.

“Who are they?” Roarmut asked as he examined the first images. Each painting seemed to come alive as he viewed it. The colors were so vibrant—the lighting so immersive—he almost felt like he could reach out and touch the people. Even before the young woman could answer his question, he spoke up. “This is Major Adonis Olin Magnus, sir. I recognize him.”

“That’s right,” she said.

“And this is Lady Awen dau Lothlinium,” he said at the next one.

“Very good.”

One by one, he began reciting the names of the people she’d taught him, and those he’d learned in his history holos. They moved around the temple together, studying each face and speaking each name. When he had trouble, she’d help him just enough that he could finish on his own.

“Ah, and I know this one,” he said. “Mistress Willowood.”

“Very good.”

“And this is Colonel Caldwell the Feared Aggressor.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Are you crying?” he asked.

She wiped a tear from her eye. “Yes, but just happy tears.”

“I do not understand how tears can be from happiness. Tears are only from pain. Or sometimes yawning very wide.”

“You’ll understand one day.”

“Then why do you cry?”

“Because I miss these people, and I miss her.” She raised her chin toward Willowood’s painting.

“And you feel close to her here?” he asked.

She nodded and then pointed to two crypts built into the side of the wall. “This is where she and the Colonel were buried.”

“Here? But I thought—”

“They lived out their remaining years here. And all these?” She turned toward the dozens of paintings around the temple. “These were hers.”

“Well, then. They are appealing.”

She chuckled. “Yes, they are, aren’t they.”

Roarmut stopped at the middle painting on the far side of the room. “And I know this one.”

“Yes. Your father.”

Roarmut studied the image of the man he never met. “This one is different than all the other depictions. I don’t like it.”

“Why not?”

“He seems…soft.” In the Grand Monuments of the Battle of Itheliana, Mwadim Rohoar had his head thrown to the sun, howling the death song of his enemies, and showing the galaxy his might. But here, he seemed— “He seems weak.”

The young woman laughed and placed her backpack on the altar stone in the middle of the temple. “You misappropriate softness for weakness.”

“Are they not the same?”

“No. Not even close.”

From her backpack, she produced a small Jujari stuffed animal. It was meant to be a child’s toy of his father. Every pup had one on Oorajee. Even non-Jujari offspring had them. But this particular one seemed very old. Its fur was matted and faded, and it looked ratty.

“Where did you get that?”

“Your mother gave it to me.”

“It doesn’t look like the others.”

“No.” The young woman examined the stuffed animal. “Your mother made it for me by hand after she heard that your father was jealous about the Sekmit dolls he’d seen on Aluross.” She laughed. “So she set out to make the prototype. And when Rohoar failed to return home, your mother said she felt he would want me to have it.”

Then she turned to Rohoar’s painting and placed the worn animal on a mantle below his face. “My time with it is done. And I figure this is the best place for it.”

“Soft,” Roarmut sneered. “Like the doll.”

She put her hands on her hips and faced him. “You know what saved the day on Itheliana?”

“My father and his mighty deeds.”

“And what was his mightiest deed?”

Roarmut licked his lips. This felt like a test. “He…he defeated Dark Lord Soldark the Betrayer and slew—”

“Why?”

Again, Roarmut licked his lips and swallowed. “Because he was mighty in battle and—”

The young woman waved Roarmut’s answer aside, blew strands of hair from her face, and then pulled a cigar from inside her leather jacket.

“I thought your father and mother said they didn’t like it when you smoke,” Roarmut said.

“Relax.” She placed the cigar on top of the colonel’s crypt. “This one’s for him. Plus, I only do it once in a while.” Then she brushed past Roarmut and headed for the exit.

“Have I said something to offend you?” he asked.

She stopped inside the doorway, silhouetted by a diminishing pink sky. “Your father defeated the enemy and surrendered his own life because of one thing.”

“Which was?”

“Love. And you would do well to remember that, O future mwadim. Love is the strongest thing in the galaxy, and your father was a champion of it. He loved every one of these people.” She nodded her head toward the portraits. “That is why he won. That’s why we all won.” She strode out of the temple but stopped two meters later. “You coming? I know a good spot for dinner.”

“No.” He turned back to the portrait of his father and the stuffed Jujari. “I think I’ll stay here a little while longer. If it’s all the same to you.”

“Suit yourself,” she replied.

“Would you…would you mind coming back?”

“Why’s that?” She turned around.

“To tell me more about them? And how you all…loved each other? Maybe start from the beginning?”

The young woman smiled. “It would be my honor.”

* * *

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Did you enjoy Ruins of the Galaxy? Check out the spinoff series, Ruins of the Earth. The complete series is out now on Amazon.

LIST OF MAIN CHARACTERS

Abimbola: Miblimbian. Age: 41. Planet of origin: Limbia Centralla. Giant warlord of the Dregs, outskirts of Oosafar, Oorajee. Bright-blue eyes, black skin, tribal tattoos, scar running from neck to temple. Wears a bandolier of frag grenades across his chest and an old bowie knife strapped to his thigh. Never leaves home without a poker chip.

Adonis Olin Magnus: Human. Age: 30. Planet of origin: Capriana Prime. Lieutenant, Charlie Platoon, 79th Reconnaissance Battalion, “Midnight Hunters,” Galactic Republic Marines. Baby face, short beard, green eyes. Preferred weapon: MAR30. One of the “Fearsome Four.”

Allan “Mouth” Franklin: Human. Age 28. Planet of origin: Juna Major. Corporal, heavy-weapons operator, Charlie Platoon, 79th Reconnaissance Battalion, “Midnight Hunters,” Galactic Republic Marines. One of the “Fearsome Four.”

Aubrey Dutch: Human. Age: 25. Planet of origin: Deltaurus Three. Corporal, weapons specialist, Galactic Republic Marines. Small in stature. Close-cut dark hair, intelligent brown eyes. Loves her firearms.

Awen dau Lothlinium: Elonian. Age: 26. Planet of origin: Elonia. Order of the Luma, Special Emissary to the Jujari. Pointed ears, purple eyes. Wears red-and-black robes and has a Luma medallion around her neck. Won’t back down from anyone.

Darin Stone: Human. Age: 34. Planet of origin: Capriana Prime. Senator in the Galactic Republic. Husband to Valerie Stone, father to Piper. Impossibly white smile, well-groomed blond hair, radiant-blue eyes. Luxuriantly tan.

Gerald Bosworth III: Human. Age: 54. Planet of origin: Capriana Prime. Republic ambassador, special envoy to the Jujari. Fat jowls, bushy monobrow. Massively obese and obscenely repugnant.

Idris Ezo: Nimprith. Age: 27. Planet of origin: Caledonia. Bounty hunter, trader, suspected fence and smuggler. Captain of Geronimo Nine. Wears a long gray leather coat, white knit turtleneck, black pants, glossy black boots. Preferred sidearm: SUPRA 945 blaster pistol.

Josiah Wainwright: Human. Age: 35. Planet of origin: Capriana Prime. Captain, Alpha Platoon, 79th Reconnaissance Battalion, “Midnight Hunters,” Galactic Republic Marines. A legend in his own time.

Michael “Flow” Deeks: Human. Age: 27. Planet of origin: Vega. Sergeant, sniper, Charlie Platoon, 79th Reconnaissance Battalion, “Midnight Hunters,” Galactic Republic Marines. One of the “Fearsome Four.”

Miguel “Cheeks” Chico: Human. Age 26. Planet of origin: Trida Minor. Corporal, breacher, Charlie Platoon, 79th Reconnaissance Battalion, “Midnight Hunters,” Galactic Republic Marines. One of the “Fearsome Four.”

Shane Nolan: Human. Age 25. Planet of origin: Sol Sella. Chief Warrant Officer, Republic Navy, pilot in command of light armored transport Sparrow 271. Auburn hair, pale skin.

So-Elku: Human. Age: 51. Planet of origin: Worru. Luma Master, Order of the Luma. Baldpate, thin beard, dark penetrating eyes. Wears green-and-black robes.

Sootriman: Caledonian. Age: 29. Planet of origin: Caledonia. Warlord of Ki Nar Four, “Tamer of the Four Tempests,” alleged ex-wife of Idris Ezo. Tall, with dark almond eyes, tanned olive skin, dark-brown hair.

TO-96: Robot; navigation class, heavily modified. Manufacturer: Advanced Galactic Solutions (AGS), Capriana Prime. Suspected modifier: Idris Ezo. Round head and oversized eyes, transparent blaster visor, matte dark-gray armor plating, and exposed metallic articulated joints. Forearm microrocket pod, forearm XM31 Type-R blaster, dual shoulder-mounted gauss cannons.

Tony Haney: Human. Age: 24. Planet of origin: Fitfi Isole. Private First Class, medic, Galactic Republic Marines.

Valerie Stone: Human. Age: 29. Planet of origin: Worru. Wife of Senator Darin Stone, mother of Piper. Blond hair, light-blue eyes.

Volf Nos Kil: Human. Age: 32. Planet of origin: Haradia. Captain, the Paragon. Personal guard and chief enforcer for Admiral Kane.

Waldorph Gilder: Human. Age: 23. Planet of origin: Haradia. Private First Class, flight engineer, Galactic Republic Marines. Barrel-chested. Can fix anything.

Wendell Kane: Human. Age: 52. Planet of origin: Capriana Prime. Fleet admiral of the Galactic Republic’s Third Fleet, captain of the Black Labyrinth. Leader of the Paragon, a black-operations special Marine unit. Bald, with heavily scarred skin. One eye pale pink, the other dark brown.

William Samuel Caldwell: Human. Age 60. Planet of origin: Capriana Prime. Colonel, 79th Reconnaissance Battalion, Galactic Republic Marines. Cigar eternally wedged in the corner of his mouth. Gray hair cut high and tight.

Willowood: Human. Age: 61. Planet of origin: Kindarah. Luma Elder, Order of the Luma. Wears dozens of bangles and necklaces. Aging but radiant blue eyes and a mass of wiry gray hair. Friend and mentor to Awen.

Piper Stone: Human. Age: 9. Planet of origin: Capriana Prime. Daughter of Senator Darin and Valerie Stone. Wispy blond hair; freckle-faced. Wears a puffy winter coat, tights, and oversized snow boots. Carries a holo-pad and her stuffed corgachirp, Talisman.

Rawmut: Tawnhack, Jujari. Age: Unknown. Planet of origin: Oorajee. Jujari mwadim of Oosafar on Oorajee. Chief of the massive hyena-like warrior species.

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ABOUT THE AUTHORS

J. N. Chaney is a USA Today Bestselling author and has a Master's of Fine Arts in Creative Writing. He fancies himself quite the Super Mario Bros. fan. When he isn’t writing or gaming, you can find him online at www.jnchaney.com.

He migrates often, but was last seen in Las Vegas, NV. Any sightings should be reported, as they are rare.

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Christopher Hopper’s novels include the Resonant Son series, The Sky Riders, The Berinfell Prophecies, and the White Lion Chronicles. He blogs at christopherhopper.com and loves flying RC planes. He resides in the 1000 Islands of northern New York with his musical wife and four ridiculously good-looking clones.