Starbreaker

by Amanda Bouchet

  “Lose us?” Ahern questioned.

  “That’s right. Five prisoners are about to fade like stardust.” And it was going to look bad for Bridgebane and Mwende. How much more of Bridgebane’s soul was he going to have to give up in order to convince the Overseer he’d played no part in this? The guy couldn’t have much soul to spare, and now, he might have to pin this whole thing on Sanaa Mwende, probably his only friend. At least if she wanted it, Mwende had a place with us now.

  “Your husband’s waiting for you.” I gave Ahern a get-with-the-program look. “So is an entire planet.”

  Her lips parted. She took a startled breath. “Daniel?”

  “That’s the one.” I opened the door, pointing my gun at Merrick. “Now walk.”

  Most of the guards from earlier waited in the hallway. They snapped to attention. The hardness in my tone helped bring my voice closer to Bridgebane’s, but the mimic wasn’t perfect. It didn’t seem to matter. These goons were too afraid of me to notice. That was what zero hesitation about breaking someone’s bones did. If their fear got us out of here without questions, it was a fair trade for that little chunk of my soul.

  “We’re moving these prisoners to a new location,” I announced, clipping out the words. Thanks to Mwende, we knew Bridgebane kept a midsized vessel on the starbase—a Ruslan Interceptor 280 with holding cells. She had the ignition codes. “Accompany us to my RI-280.”

  “Yes, General.” They immediately fell into step beside us.

  So far, so good. And unless Mwende somehow came out of this with her cover intact and flew it back here, we were gaining a solid ship with firepower. Not bad for a day’s work.

  Maybe we could give the Interceptor to Gabe and get him off the Endeavor.

  We went through several sets of doors that were retracted when we’d come by earlier. They were closed now, and Mwende had to use her badge to open them. We avoided using mine. We didn’t need to damn Bridgebane any more than we were already doing.

  A group of heavily armed goons patrolled the second zone we strode through, the beat of their boots echoing down the long hallway. Doors lined both sides of the corridor, closed, solid, and numbered. Prison cells. No sound came from behind them, but I knew better than to confuse quiet with empty.

  Sweat prickled beneath my mask as we made our way toward the elevator block at the center of the starbase. The walk to the interrogation room had seemed long. The walk back out felt interminable, like an endless trek across a desert planet.

  Rounding a corner, we nearly collided with a captive shuffling between two soldiers, a bag over his head, his hands bound in front of him, and three fingers missing. They’d been gone for a while now, the wounds healed over. White scars twisted over dark-beige skin, snaking toward his cinched wrists and then up into his shirtsleeves. Red and black tattoos swirled down heavy, flat-boned forearms and met the puckered flesh.

  Ahern gasped. “Okano?”

  The prisoner’s head snapped up. He turned. Harsh breaths chuffed the bag in and out over his mouth.

  “Move it!” His guards pulled. He stumbled and kept walking, his head dropping forward.

  Mwende gave Ahern a sharp jerk on her elbow, tugging her back into line with us. “All you rebel scum know each other,” she muttered, propelling Ahern along with enough force to tell us all to shut up and keep moving. We had a mission, and this Okano wasn’t a part of it.

  I stared straight ahead and ignored the man’s low moan as we walked in the opposite direction. A shudder rose inside me as Okano’s limping tread faded down the hallway.

  A month ago, I could’ve brought him in. I hadn’t, but I could’ve. No wonder Tess sometimes pulled back and asked herself what the hell she was doing with me in her bed.

  I glanced at Tess, too quick for her to notice. Haunted eyes. Visible sorrow. Her heart bleeding for a stranger who shared her values. I looked dead ahead again, our destination finally in sight. Tess had lived her entire life by unwavering principles. She’d jumped into a black hole for them. She did what she had to, no matter what. And what had I done? I’d floundered with simple decency and nearly cashed her in.

  Steeling my spine, I steered my thoughts away from that dark chasm and drove Tess ahead of me with a harshness I had to force. I loved her. She loved me. We had more than a little to build on.

  Finally, we stood in front of the elevators, waiting for one of them to open. This nightmare was almost over. No more shock wands nearly sending Tess over backward while I stood there and watched like her pain didn’t matter. This was a heist—a people heist—and there were two things left to accomplish. Up to Platform 5 for the ship we were stealing. Out on Bridgebane’s RI-280. We had this. And we had the women we’d come for.

  A lift opened. Mwende and I stepped inside with all the prisoners. I jerked my chin toward a Dark Watch soldier. “You’re with us. There’s no room for the rest of you. Take the next one and meet us on the platform.” I didn’t want us separated at this point. I’d go crazy if I didn’t have eyes on everyone.

  The goon followed, keeping a hard eye on Merrick and his hand on his Grayhawk. Flash blasts lined his belt. Nasty little fuckers. The other soldiers stood aside and waited. The doors closed. I pressed the level we needed, and the box started upward.

  I squeezed Shiori’s arm as we rose in the elevator, a light reassurance that we were on our way now. She shook less and stood taller. My other hand still held my gun at the ready. We’d have to cross a sea of goons on the platform, and I needed to act exactly like Bridgebane. This was a day like any other. I was taking rebel prisoners to my galactic death ship. No problem.

  I braced for the walk across the platform. We’d almost reached our exit.

  Instead of slowing down, we blew past the floor I’d selected.

  I glanced at Tess, sudden unease corroding my stomach like battery acid. The tiny confused shake of her head inflated my worry to nuclear proportions.

  I reached out and hit the correct button again. Nothing changed. If anything, we moved faster. Something else controlled the lift—or someone. We passed the middle tier and hit the upper section.

  The Dark Watch goon shifted nervously. “I don’t think I’m supposed to be up here, General.”

  He shrank under my withering glare. No need to channel Bridgebane for that one.

  We’d almost reached the top of the spacedock. “Lieutenant?” What the hell is happening?

  The look on Mwende’s face was chilling, a mix of disappointment, rage, and disgust. She snapped her wrists and knives landed in both hands. She lowered her chin. Her eyes flicked up, and she growled low in her throat. I had my answer.

  I pushed Shiori behind me toward Jax and Tess in the corner. The lift stopped, the doors opened, and I stared at the man who was now my very personal enemy.

  The Overseer stared back, a dozen guards around him all bristling with weapons. The goons were all Merrick-sized. Our only way forward was through a unit of super soldiers.

  “Nathaniel.” The Overseer canted his head to one side in question. “What are you doing with my prisoners?”

  Chapter 20

  TESS

  No. No! This wasn’t happening. Not after everything we’d done.

  The Overseer wore that smile I hated. Small but gleeful—the one displayed by every fairy-tale villain right before he burned a village to the ground.

  Simon Novalight beckoned us out of the lift, and we had no choice but to enter his spacious command center at the apex of Starbase 12. There was no more up from here, and down didn’t really matter when the Overseer controlled the elevator.

  “I just heard about a possible rebel infiltration here. I’m bringing these prisoners to Dark Watch 12 for further questioning,” Shade answered. He knew the man he was impersonating. The intonation, pitch, stiffness—he almost sounded like Bridgebane. Almost.

  “Dark Watch 12?
” The Overseer’s hard stare bore into Shade, as if trying to peel back the layers of his mask. Behind him, the huge window panels offered an unparalleled view of Alpha Sambian, clouds floating over oceans, green continents, and mountains. “I wasn’t aware that either you or your ship were anywhere near here. Or that rebels were running amok on my starbase.”

  Shade didn’t miss a beat. “We only just received the intel. I was about to contact you to verify it. I wanted to lock this lot up somewhere safe in the meantime. I failed to properly deal with Quintessa the last time we met. It’s time to rectify that.”

  The Overseer studied Shade, expressionless. “Is it?”

  Shade nodded, a quick military-efficient dip of his chin that fit perfectly with Bridgebane’s head.

  “And you needed an old blind woman and Reena Ahern for that?” The Overseer didn’t even glance at the women he spoke of. He looked my way briefly, his suspicious gaze like a reptile slithering over my body. It was Merrick he focused on.

  Sanaa saw his focus, too, and instantly put a knife to Merrick’s throat. I worried, though… Was this ruse already up? Handcuffs wouldn’t hold a super soldier. Neither would a knife.

  “They’re leverage,” Shade said with the same dead flatness Bridgebane used when he spoke.

  Without comment, the Overseer turned and typed out something on the big control panel next to him. I stopped breathing when the elevator doors shut, trapping us at the top of the starbase. There was only one other area up here—the family living quarters. Except, this monster had no family.

  The Overseer turned back to us with a Grayhawk in his hand. He leveled the gun on me, his cold brown eyes screaming triumph down the barrel. “Quintessa won’t talk, and I don’t need her anymore. So, you won’t mind if I—”

  I dove on instinct, popping open my cuffs to break my fall. The shot hit the goon behind me. I twisted, grabbed his gun as he dropped, and swung it on the Overseer.

  “Your turn.” I aimed and fired.

  The Overseer took a step back, a flash of surprise animating his features. I spun to my knees and hammered off another shot right at his black heart. I’d never aimed to kill before. I didn’t regret it for a second. I’d destroy this bastard twice if I could.

  His guards took aim at us but didn’t return fire without his order. And he just stood there, metal glinting from his chest. No blood seeped out. He smiled again, and this time it wasn’t the village he was going to burn, it was the whole damn universe.

  Fear contaminated my wrath. I fired again, the deafening bang of useless shots echoing back to me as violently as the recoil pounding up my arm. Like the walls on Starway 8, the Overseer’s dark-brown uniform was impenetrable and absorbed the impact.

  I stopped shooting but kept my gun up.

  “You stupid girl,” he sneered. “People try to kill me every day. Do you really think I wouldn’t make myself bulletproof?”

  My hostile gaze dipped up and down his body. I adjusted and aimed for his head.

  His mouth flattened in acknowledgment of a strategy that might work—until he turned his gun on Jax instead. “Throw the gun away from you. Now.”

  Scowling, I set down the gun and sent it spiraling off. With my other hand, I swiped a flash blast from the dead goon’s belt and folded the small weapon into my grip as I stood. Whatever happened next, I wouldn’t be on my knees for it. If I was going to die, I’d die on my feet and do some damage before I left.

  I lifted my chin in a fuck-you that I hoped slapped the Overseer right across the face.

  His eyes narrowed. Jax, Merrick, and Ahern still appeared to be in cuffs. Was he questioning that?

  Sanaa distracted him from his scrutiny by prodding Merrick with her knife. “Knock it off,” she growled when Merrick twitched. She shoved him closer to Shade, which forced Shiori farther back.

  The Overseer focused on his long-favored general again. “Nathaniel, I suggest you get control of your niece and prove your loyalty, which I’ve been questioning of late.”

  Shade’s jaw hardened beneath the mask. He modulated his voice, dropping it to a low, clipped tone to try to emulate Bridgebane’s. “You have no reason to question my loyalty. I’m with you—as always.”

  The Overseer pursed his lips. “You didn’t kill her when she was eight. You let her go just a few weeks ago. You brought me a paltry amount of her blood as some kind of stall tactic. You disappear for days on end. And now this?”

  As his voice rose in fury, something occurred to me: the Overseer had only one friend, one person he trusted. Bridgebane was it. And while Bridgebane’s capacity for lying and subterfuge was impressive, the Overseer hadn’t wanted to see what was becoming plain enough.

  That faith and trust were crumbling now. I could see it in the Overseer’s expression, like rocks tumbling down the side of a cliff, breaking apart as they crashed together, the raw insides exposed to the harsh light. Because of me, in a short amount of time, Bridgebane had taken one too many risks. Now, doubt glared from the darkening flush spreading across the Overseer’s face.

  “You got the blood you wanted from the early GIN subjects,” Shade said briskly.

  “And then I lost them.” The Overseer pounded a fist on the edge of his console. The skin whitened around his mouth. The look he turned on Shade was like cocking a gun—primed and ready to go off. “Do you know anything about that?” Accusation flicked a spark toward the gunpowder in his voice.

  Shade stiffened his shoulders. “I attempted to get them back. DW 12 fired shots on those rebel bandits.”

  “Useless shots!” the despot spat.

  A warning voice in my head grew louder than the speed-of-light pulse in my ears. I needed to distract the Overseer away from our fake Bridgebane. Shade had already slipped a few times with his voice. What was next? The Overseer was bound to hear something that didn’t make sense.

  “What do you even want? What more could you want?” I asked the man who used to be my father in name only. The Overseer loved to hear himself talk—and to give me lessons in how stupid and useless I was while trying to convince me of his own perceived virtue. It had been an endless cycle when I was a kid. He reveled in the sound of his own voice, and right now, he had a literal captive audience. There was no way he could resist.

  He focused on me again, his ire sucking at my soul like a black hole that wanted to inhale everyone’s happiness and crush it into a dark mass. “What do I want?”

  Soundlessly, I breathed in and out. More than air fed my body. I’d seen Shiori again. Jax was with me. Shade and I had said what we needed to. I’d even found my father. Now, I would draw the Overseer’s fire. I hadn’t been able to save my mother or Miko, but I’d be damned if I’d let him murder anyone else I loved.

  “You control the entire galaxy.” I nodded out the clear panel toward the Dark beyond, my home planet still taking up half the panoramic view from the upper deck of the starbase. “Why do you need to hurt people, too?”

  “It’s not about hurting people.” He actually looked shocked—almost believably so. “I’ve protected them for years.”

  A hard laugh burst from me, a spasm of disbelief I couldn’t control. “What are you talking about?”

  “The war your grandparents lived through? I stopped it.”

  “Yeah, by nuking a planet and poisoning another. And bombing the Outer Zones to pieces. How many innocent lives did galactic harmony cost?” Or had he conveniently forgotten the mass casualties, as dictators do?

  “Humanity had been tearing itself apart for generations. It wasn’t the Sambian War, Quintessa, it was the Sambian Wars. One bled into another, endless. People courted conflict across planets, and I didn’t invent conquest.” The Overseer stood there, bullets in his jacket, armed guards all around him, and something made me stop and listen to him for once. There was a to-hell-with-this tone to his voice that I’d never heard before. It
scared the crap out of me. A predictable Overseer I could almost deal with. An unpredictable one was a loose cannon of cosmic proportions.

  “Planets’ worth of people had already killed one another because they couldn’t agree on the most basic of things. One faction had to have power over another. Sycophants had to crawl up the ranks. No one was ever happy with what they had,” he spat. “Ever.”

  “It’s called free will, asshole,” Merrick ground out. “People argue.”

  “Argue?” The Overseer aimed a missile-blast look on Merrick. “They mowed each other down in the name of freedom—a concept that can’t apply to an entity this big. People tried. And failed. Unified needs and desires could barely work on a planetary level. At a Sector level, they started to unravel. No one could agree on what liberty looked like. What it should be. For whom. One person’s utopia was another person’s hell. Each wanted their version of peace and happiness to win.”

  “So you came along to impose yours?” I scoffed.

  He shrugged. “Someone had to.”

  “No, actually, someone didn’t. Democratic planetary rule worked in a lot of places.”

  “Until someone ambitious on Planet A decided he or she should rule longer, or without the consent of the majority. And then why not do the same on the rock next door? Why not the whole Sector? That’s how wars start, Quintessa. Don’t you know your history?”

  Now he was impugning my schooling? Fuck him. “Millions of people annihilated in order for your version of perfection to take over?” His version was my hell. “Books burned. History erased so people won’t understand that revolt works. Unfairly distributed resources and medicines. Power abuse rampant across the military.” My voice almost shook with disgust. “Not a single vote in my lifetime—for anyone or anything. Existence across the galaxy determined by a dictator with zero sympathy and more firepower than anyone else. How many people did you kill to get what you want?”