Galactic Breach

by J. N. Chaney

  “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.