by Amie Kaufman
Given us another reminder that Tyler is not with us.
Another reminder of all we have lost.
Scarlett squares her shoulders, jaw clenched.
“Can we listen in on the Unbroken comms?” she asks.
I incline my head. “It will require utilizing the log-in codes the elder gave us, but if they are correct, then yes.”
“Do it,” Auri instructs me.
I connect to the Unbroken communications network, enter the access codes, and attempt to keep my breathing even as I wait to see whether they will be accepted. A finger of ice trails down my spine, but I do not speak. Abruptly a Syldrathi voice spills out of our speakers.
Scarlett listens a few moments, her brow creased. “Oh crap.”
“Bad news?” Fin asks.
“They’re getting ready to head through the FoldGate.”
A ripple passes through the fleet as it moves into position. A closing of the gaps between ships so the Unbroken can pour through the FoldGate en masse. An immeasurable, unstoppable flow.
Auri grips the back of my seat so hard, I hear the internal structure creak.
“Get us closer to the Weapon! A little more, and I can get myself there.”
“You want to spacewalk, Stowaway?” Fin asks. “You’re half the size of the average Syldrathi. None of the suits here—”
“I don’t need a suit.” She meets my eyes. “Zila, just get me close.”
I glance at Scarlett, who nods, and so I obey.
Fin curses, hurrying toward the stern of the shuttle and the airlock, Aurora on his heels. She does not say goodbye.
I bank the shuttle sideways, slip between two massive cruisers and ever closer to the rainbow refractions of the Weapon. From behind me, Scarlett puts her hand on my shoulder and squeezes.
I find that her touch unexpectedly eases the tension within me.
“As soon as we’re through the gate into Terran space,” she says softly, “the TDF will be shooting at us.”
“Yes.”
“We can’t shoot back. We can’t fight against our own people.”
“I will do my best to avoid combat.” The rest of the sentence is unspoken: For as long as possible.
A voice spills over the Unbroken communications network. Deep and musical. A voice we all immediately recognize.
“De’na vosh, tellanai,” the Starslayer says.
“ ‘Know no fear, my children,’ ” Scarlett murmurs.
“De’na siir.”
“ ‘Know no regret.’ ”
“Tur, si mai’lesh de’sai.”
“ ‘Today, we burn away our shame.’ ”
“Turae, si aire’na aire no’suut.”
“ ‘Tonight, we dance the dance of blood.’ ”
With a blinding flash of light, the Unbroken fleet begins dropping through the FoldGate. Dreadnoughts and carriers. Wave upon wave of cruisers and destroyers, fighters and drones. Finally, the Weapon itself disappears before our eyes. I steel myself, engage our thrusters, and a moment later we are through it too, with a ripple of sensation I feel in every pore.
We emerge into the utter chaos of battle, missiles and tracer rounds flying past us, the Unbroken fleet spreading out to engage the Terran defenders. Ships are wheeling and turning, dodging and cartwheeling, exploding silently and flying to pieces around us. Syldrathi instructions are snapped and shouted down the comms, broadcasting through our bridge, too quick for me to follow.
“Holy crap!” Scarlett cries.
The Unbroken fleet breaks apart into wings, spreading out across a broad perimeter, lighting the dark on fire. Despite the news feeds disputing the existence of the Unbroken superweapon, it seems TDF Command is taking the claim seriously; a phalanx of Terran vessels is throwing all it can at the wall of Syldrathi ships, hoping to punch its way through the Unbroken defenses.
“Those are Betraskan,” Scarlett whispers, pointing at our scopes.
It is true—among the snub-nosed hulks of the Terran fleet, we can see the smooth, beetle-shaped forms of Betraskan destroyers and battleships, locked in combat with the Unbroken force. It seems Earth’s allies have kept true to their word, stepping up in defense of Terra. My heart flutters slightly as I realize we are seeing the opening shots of what might become the first true galactic war. I do my best to ignore it, but the biological response to the sight is strong.
Ships explode around us in absolute silence. The cockpit is a cacophony of screaming alarms and warnings from the flight computer, Scarlett shouting unneeded advice, and the thunder of our engines, and among it all I feel so small, so insignificant, that I wonder what I am doing here at all. I fly as best I can, but I know my best will not be enough for much longer, my knuckles white on my controls. I glance up at the stuffed dragon tucked above my seat. Shamrock watches me with beady eyes, supervising in the absence of Cat.
I wish you were here.
Then, as though Cat has given it to me herself, I spot my moment. The carriers protecting the Weapon have unleashed their fighter wings, moving to intercept a storm of inbound TDF cruisers. I stab at my controls, weave beneath the belly of an Unbroken dreadnought bristling with guns. For a brief moment, there is nothing between us and the Weapon. As I swing by for a close pass, spiraling among a burst of inbound railgun fire, a light on my console flickers on—an alarm warns me the rear airlock has opened.
Seven heartbeats later, it closes again.
“Good luck, Auri,” Scarlett murmurs.
A spray of missiles from a TDF vessel cuts across our bow, and I stab instinctively at the controls to take evasive action. As I swerve away from the gleaming Weapon, back out into the wider chaos, my vision seems to widen. The battle becomes bigger and bigger, until I’m taking in an ocean of ships thousands strong, stretching as far as I can see.
I cannot see Aurora at all.
I take a deep, slow breath and loosen my hold on the controls, forcing myself to focus on the task ahead—living long enough to render Aurora any assistance we can. Small as I am feeling, I honestly have no idea if it will be enough.
But in the end, what else can I do?
“Scarlett, hold on.”
It takes only the smallest corner of my mind to maintain a bubble of air and pressure around me. Only the smallest fraction of my Self to propel me through the ice-cold void of space toward the Weapon. Around me, a thousand ships whirl in a dance of death and destruction, but for me, time slows. I see every move before they make it. I know their fates before they’re sealed.
And I am coming closer and closer to my destination.
To my destiny.
I fly through a glittering, translucent field as I approach the Weapon, and within its touch I sense the energy of the Eshvaren. The creators of the thing that hangs before me, radiant in the dark. There’s an instant familiarity about that sensation, like an old friend reaching for my hand. For a moment, I’m standing before Esh once more, inside the Echo, hearing that simple instruction.
Your only obstacles are those you put in front of yourself.
You must let them go.
Focus.
And I do.
The man who awaits me inside the Weapon will know that I’m here. I’m sure of it. But I feel no fear, no hesitation. Only certainty about what I must do.
I’ve burned my loves and my ties all away.
Nothing remains but my purpose.
The docking bay is like a huge, crystalline cave, gleaming and intense. It’s completely empty as I soar inside. I set myself down on the floor, and the instant I connect to the crystal structure around me, I’m home, clicking into place, an integral part of this vast refraction of rainbows, power singing through it and into me.
I know the man I’ve come to find at its center, and it’s in that direction that I walk. The p
athways seem almost aimless, twisting upon one another, climbing and falling. But I’m patient as I walk them. I feel the way they channel the energy of this place, focus its power and mine, and I revel in the sensation of it flowing beneath my feet.
I crouch to unlace my boots, peel off my socks, abandoning them behind me as I continue on, barefoot. I’m connected to the surface around me fully, utterly. The Eshvaren Weapon sings to me. In me. Through me. I am a part of this place. Like I was always meant to be here. I am the Trigger, and the Trigger is me.
And so I’m not at all surprised when I find him standing ahead of me at a crossroads.
Kal.
He’s dressed in the black of the Unbroken, and he stands straight and tall, as beautiful and defiant as the first time I saw him. He was only a vision then, appearing in my room at Aurora Academy before I knew the Syldrathi even existed. Now, with the same arrogant lift of his chin, he greets me.
“You should not have come,” he says quietly.
“You knew I would.”
“You do not understand what you face, Aurora.”
“No, Kal,” I return. “You don’t understand. What I am. What I’ve become.”
“What they have done to you.”
“They were trying to save the galaxy, Kal. They were trying to do what’s right.”
“You do not comprehend,” Kal says, his eyes haunted as he glances up the corridor. “But I fear you soon will. He will show you.”
My lips curl. Those lips that weren’t so long ago pressed to his.
“So you’re his disciple now, too?” I ask. “Just like the rest of them?”
“I did not want this, Aurora. I did not want any of this to happen. I loved you.”
“You can’t build love on a lie, Kal.”
“Look into my heart, then. Tell me what you feel.”
I reach out. Just a moment. Even here, even now, I can’t help myself. I feel a touch of familiar gold, a hint of who and what we were. I sever it with a wave of my hand.
“Did you sense deception or devotion?” he asks.
“…Both,” I realize.
“Only one of them is for you, Aurora.”
“Just…” I look him up and down, then shake my head. Taking all he meant to me, bundling it tight, and with a conscious effort burning it away once more. “If you’ve come to take me to him, then do it, Kal.”
He scowls at me. Shoulders set, jaw clenched tight. I can feel it then. Inside him. The shadow he talked about. His Enemy Within.
And I know, just up that corridor, he waits for me.
“Follow,” Kal says.
We walk down the beautiful crystal pathways, him in front and me behind. The power swells around me now, pressing in on my skin, my skull.
The part of me that hurts, that wants, that wishes I could hold Kal’s hand as I walk toward the light, is silent. The part of me that regrets, that wishes this could have turned out another way, is gone. There’s only the power now, the thing they made me to be, this girl who’s going to save the galaxy, as she follows the boy she thought she loved down the shimmering path and finally, finally, out into the heart of the ship.
It’s beautiful. Perfect. One massive, spherical chamber, its walls almost lost in shadow, curving up and out from the base and then in again to meet at its apex. Raised up from that lowest point, on spires of crystal, is a throne—huge and jagged, shining with every color of the rainbow.
This is the center of the Weapon, the center of everything, and the whole room seems to strain toward it. Shards of crystal emerge from the chamber walls, all turned inward like grasping hands, as if to claim the one who sits atop that throne, or maybe to offer him homage.
I see Kal in his face—the familiar cheekbones, the lift of the chin, the arrogant arch of a brow. He’s wearing high-collared black armor, and a blood-red cloak spills down the stairs that lead up to his throne. His silver braids cover one half of his face, and one side of his mouth is curled into the smallest of smiles.
Archon Caersan.
Starslayer.
Father of the boy I loved.
Trigger of the Eshvaren.
Traitor to the Eshvaren.
Kal backs up to stand against the curving wall as I search for words that will test his father, prod him just a little, to see what he does.
“That,” I tell him, “is a very dramatic costume. Where do you buy a cloak like that? Or did you get it custom made?”
He doesn’t reply. But he rises to his feet and slowly makes his way down the stairs toward me, cloak spreading out behind him. I have to admit, it is impressive. He doesn’t speak at all until he stands before me, towers over me, just a few meters away. He takes his time, looking me up and down as if he’s measuring me and finding me wanting.
“I thought,” he says eventually, his voice beautiful, musical, utterly mesmerizing, “that you would be taller.”
“Sorry to disappoint,” I reply, making no effort at all to stand up straighter. I am what I am, and that’s short, especially compared to a Syldrathi.
“I have been waiting for you,” he continues. “I felt you awaken.”
“And now I’m here. And I know what I have to do.”
He lifts one silver brow. “Give yourself to the cause of the Eshvaren?”
“Defeat the Ra’haam,” I correct him. “Save thousands of worlds.”
“Protecting their playground,” he muses. “And the dolls they made to live in it.”
I blink at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You do not know,” he says, “what you are.”
“I know I’m the girl who’s going to do what you failed to.”
“Failed?” he smiles. “All I failed to do was kneel as they wished me to.”
“The Eshvaren made you what you are. They gave you this power to save the galaxy, and you used it to murder billions.”
“Is that what you believe?” he asks, his smile thin. “That they wish to save the galaxy? That they actually care a drop for us?”
He huffs a soft, derisive breath.
“We are things to them, child. Mere tools. They created us.”
“Of course they created us,” I repeat, flat. “They created us to defend th—”
“Not us,” he hisses. “Not you and me. All of us.”
He gestures toward the outside, to the battle I can feel raging even now.
“Everything around you—every race, every individual, from the grayest elder to the youngest babe. We were all created by the Eshvaren in the hope that among those billions, they might find one to continue their fight against the Ra’haam. A vessel capable of wreaking revenge upon the race that bested them.” His lips curve into an almost conspiratorial smile. “The Eshvaren are not the noble paragons they’d have you believe. Not selfless martyrs who gave their lives for us. They are demons. Demons who would be gods.”
I sneer. “I’m supposed to believe that?”
He shakes his head a fraction, as though I’m a slightly dim student. “Have you never wondered why we all resemble one another? Think, child. Every race in the galaxy. We all stand on two feet. Breathe the same air. Speak languages the others can comprehend. The chance of hundreds of races evolving in such similar patterns across so vast a timeline and distance is nonexistent.” He folds his arms and scowls. “The Eshvaren seeded the galaxy in their own image. We are a virus in a petri dish to them. No better than insects.”
The words reverberate in my mind, sending shudders through every part of me. I’ve heard Tyler and Fin talk about their United Faith. The religion that grew among the galactic races to explain these similarities.
I glance at Kal, pressed against the chamber wall.
“But…the Maker,” I say.
The Starslayer shakes his head.
“
Not a Maker, child,” he says. “Makers.”
The word shakes me, chilling my blood.
“The Eshvaren are our puppeteers,” Caersan says, his violet eye flashing. “And we their puppets. Imagine the arrogance it took to seed life in their own image across hundreds of worlds. All for the sake of some petty revenge?” He gestures at the Weapon around us, the rainbows dancing on the crystal. “That is the jest of it, Aurora Jie-Lin O’Malley. That is all we are. There are no gods. There is no grand design. No purpose to any of it, beyond the last desperate stab of a fallen empire. A lottery of a million years and countless lives, for one last chance at vengeance.”
The thought is almost too much for me to take in. But through the power that links us, binds us, I know Caersan isn’t lying. All the religions of all the worlds, all the creation stories, all the beliefs of how and why this began…
And really, it was the Eshvaren who made us all?
It’s a stone in my chest. A cold hand squeezing my insides. I wonder what Finian might think if he knew. What Tyler would say if I told him.
Makers…
But then I push the thought, the weight of it and them, aside. I force my attention back to Caersan as he looks me up and down and sneers.
“You are nothing to the Eshvaren. And still, you would die for them?”
“Of course I would,” I say. “No matter what you say, the Ra’haam still wants to consume the entire galaxy and every living thing in it. Asking for just one more life to stop it seems like a small enough price to me.”
I look him over, taking my time.
“It’s a pity you were too cowardly to pay it.”
Just for a millisecond, I see anger in his gaze.
Interesting.
“I was strong enough to forge my own destiny,” he replies coolly. “To step off the path my would-be masters laid down for me.”
I snort. “And your idea of strength was to destroy your own homeworld? To kill billions of your people?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Kal shift his weight.
His father simply shrugs. “You speak as though the effort cost me something. But all my ties were long since burned away. Just as they taught us.”
