The Last Stryker (Dark Universe Series Book 1)

by Alex Sheppard

  And now, forcing her into a marriage even before she could graduate from CAWStrat? No, she wasn’t about to tolerate that. She had to find a way out, escape her father. As Ramya looked into the full-length gilded mirror across the room, steely eyes looked back. Ramya’s fists clenched.

  Find someone else to use in your power games. You won’t have me.

  Ramya looked askance at the mirror again. Her face looked gaunt and paler than usual. Her eyes swept over the expansive suite that had been her home at CAWStrat for two years. The massive room was yet another privilege the Kiroff name had brought her, a privilege not many others at the Institute were granted. It was unfair that she had to think of running away from everything she was used to having. Didn’t she have a right to her inheritance?

  Ramya flinched at the thought. Was an inheritance worth a lifetime of scorn? No, it can’t be! Could she survive without things that came so easily to her? I have to.

  Ramya shifted uncomfortably in her seat. There was no easy path out of this. If she wanted respect from her father, she had to earn it. Prove to him once and for all that she was worthy. Show him that she was better than him.

  There was one thing that Trysten Kiroff didn’t have, one thing that he had wanted all his life—the original hearth of the Kiroffs that Callen Moanu usurped years ago. If she could . . . somehow . . . wrest it back from the Moanus . . .

  Ramya sat up, studying her hardening face in the mirror. She could do it. She had to. All she needed to do was find Callen Moanu’s heir and make him relinquish the right over the Kiroff hearth. If she could, no one could call them hearth-less vagrants anymore. Her father would have to acknowledge her as worthy. Yes, that was the only way to have it both—her father’s respect and her inheritance.

  But . . . the Fringe was a lawless land far, far away. And she had never traveled that far on her own. The Moanus were elusive targets. Chances were, she wasn't going to find Callen Moanu's heir quickly, and it was possible that she'd not succeed in wresting the Kiroff’s original hearth back from them. What then?

  Ramya breathed in deep and let the light evening air wash the fear away. She sat up and stared at her reflection across the room. Her frowning face stared back at her.

  She had to do something. She just couldn’t go along and marry a power-hungry conniver picked by her father. She had to get away. Her fists curled, nails dug into her palms painfully. The pain did good. It cleared her mind of fear and grounded her. Hope came surging back into her heart.

  If Uncle Brynden could leave home and make a name for himself, so could she. If that meant braving a trip to the galactic frontier, so be it. That would be a million times better than being dragged into a marriage of convenience. All her life her father had belittled her, and if she agreed to this marriage, she’d have husband who'd sneer at her for the rest of her life. No, she couldn’t live with that.

  Ramya strode to the massive windows that framed the sprawling gardens of CAWStrat outside. Neatly trimmed hedges crisscrossed flawlessly manicured lawns, flowering plants and shapely trees grew at strategic intersections of the meandering walkways. An ache welled up inside Ramya and she tore her gaze away from the scenery, heaving. That was just how her life looked from the outside—perfect.

  Ramya knew it was anything but. And she had to fix it before it was too late.

  But how? She couldn’t just walk out of CAWStrat. How could she escape her father then?

  Ramya’s fingers clenched over the window frame as a plan grew—slow and hesitant at first before it rushed along at a breakneck pace—in her mind. She was going to get out of here. Yes, there was a way.

  If only she could get herself a couple more days at CAWStrat.

  4

  In her two years at the CAWStrat, Ramya had never been happier or more excited for Concert Night. Her eyes swept over her reflection in the mirror, lingering on the tiara and its shimmering jewels scattered in a graceful pattern. The things the Kiroff fortune can buy, Ramya mused. That tiara alone cost more than a year’s tuition at the CAWStrat, an amount families of most cadets considered difficult to scrape together. For the Kiroffs though, an extravagant display of wealth on Concert Night was the natural way of doing things.

  A sigh weaved its way out of Ramya as she thought of how she had begged her father to allow her to stay at the Institute for an additional week. She was almost down on her knees pleading him to reconsider his ultimatum.

  “One more week, Father,” she had implored. “Just one more week, please.”

  Ramya didn’t need a week, only two days. But she had to play it safe. And for once, she got lucky. Trysten Kiroff relented. Perhaps he felt sorry for her. Perhaps he had just signed a mighty business deal and felt merciful. Who knew? Either way, it didn’t matter what he felt or thought. All Ramya needed was permission to stay through Concert Night.

  She glanced at the travel pack under her bed and the frown bunching her forehead faded immediately. A few more hours and she’d be gone. Far away from the maddening, suffocating world of the CAWStrat and her father’s clutches. In a couple of days she’d reach the outer colonies and possibly the Fringe. Then she’d have to find Uncle Brynden or the heir of Callen Moanu. If luck sided with her, she’d find both. If . . .

  Ramya stopped her thoughts before they sped out of control. One step at a time, she reminded herself. Finding Moanu’s heir had to wait. First, she had to get off Nikoor, but there was another step before that, the biggest step: getting out of the CAWStrat.

  Ramya pulled out the pack and checked its contents again. Money, fake pass, baton . . . she had everything. Concert Night would be the perfect cover for her getaway. It was a big event at the CAWStrat, and invited guests, hired hands—stewards, stewardesses, musicians, cooks, waiting staff—swarmed the Institute. With so many people streaming in and out of the gates, security was stretched thin. No one would notice if she posed as a stewardess and walked out.

  The biggest exodus of the helpers took place right after the fifth and final dance—a long thirty-minute Decosset—of the night and before the banquet afterward. That was when she had to get out.

  Ramya had just finished putting on her jewels—thankfully less extravagant than her yellow gown—when the door flew open. Isbet rushed in, sparkling like a sapphire.

  “Rami, pick one,” she said breathlessly, waving a pair of tiaras. She stopped abruptly and scanned Ramya. “Wow, they’ve outdone themselves this year.” Noticing Ramya grimace and roll her eyes, she added, “You look beautiful, Rami.”

  Ramya glanced at herself in the mirror and winced at her Concert Night attire, an intricate affair of yellow silk and taffeta, embroidered with lavish sprinkles of precious metal, gemstone, and crystal beads. Her wardrobe was not her own choosing, never had been since her debut three years ago. Everything beyond her CAWStrat uniform was put together meticulously by House Kiroff’s stylists. Ramya, her attire and deportment included, was a Kiroff family statement.

  “As beautiful as a lemon cake,” Ramya muttered.

  Isbet broke into giggles. “You’re grouchy. Perfect mood for concert night, just perfect.”

  Ramya drew a deep breath, busying herself in choosing a tiara for Isbet.

  “You’ve been this way since you got the letter from your father,” Isbet said. Her keen observant eyes were glued on Ramya’s face. “I don’t like this grouchy you. I miss my cheerful friend. She’s gone. Please bring her back.”

  After tonight I’ll really be gone. Away from this place, from my father and his expectations.

  Ramya picked a tiara, placed it on Isbet’s glossy curls and smiled. “This is perfect. Rownack will be at a loss for words.”

  “He better be. After all the trouble I went into asking him to Concert Night.”

  Ramya chuckled. Indeed! Isbet had shown her mettle for sure. As expected, there had been raised brows and reproachful snickers thrown her way, but the girl shrugged it all away.

  “You seem ready. Let’s go,” Isbet said.

&
nbsp; Ramya sighed. She was ready to go. “Wait a minute, Isbet,” Ramya called when they were near the door. They had been best of friends for years, but Ramya was not one to display her emotions. Tonight was different though. She couldn’t tell Isbet of her plans to run away, but sadness overwhelmed her at the thought of not seeing Isbet for a long time. Tears burned her eyes as Ramya threw her arms around Isbet’s neck and held her.

  Thank you for being my friend.

  Isbet’s eyes were wide even after Ramya had released her from the embrace. A look—puzzled, with a dash of worry—floated on Isbet’s face. She was about to say something when the sound of laughter drifted in from the hallways beyond. Ramya used the distraction to tug Isbet’s arm and led her out. “Let’s go.”

  They were soon lost in a parade of colors, swishing, swirling in a careful rush toward the banquet hall, greeted by their companions and ushered into the lavish insides of the venue. The banquet hall was spectacular, with its brocaded walls of purple, blue, red, and gold, the looming chandeliers each the length of three grown men, and the intricate flooring a patchwork of black and white stone.

  At Somenvaar—House Kiroff’s ancestral abode and the largest castle on planet Nikoor—Ramya had seen grander halls, and the banquet hall at the CAWStrat scarcely awed her on regular days. Things were different at Concert Night however. The hall was not simply a gaudy object of art meant to awe and impress, but a vessel brimming with joy and vigor. The gathering of youngsters was far smaller than the grand balls at Somenvaar, but the happiness in the room eclipsed that of any party her father had thrown.

  However, there was no dearth of the sticky attention Ramya abhorred. Eyes, greetings, requests for a dance started pouring as soon as she stepped inside the banquet hall. A practiced smile pasted on her lips, Ramya made her calculations while a delighted, young CAWStrat senior escorted her to the first dance of the evening.

  Three roundes, then a break during the fourth. Ramya wished she could avoid the final dance, but that’d draw too much attention. But even if she got back on the dance floor for the final rounde—the thirty-minute Decosset—she’d have to leave before it ended. She needed ten minutes to get to her room and prepare to mingle with the crowd of workers leaving the CAWStrat at the end of the dances. It would be tricky, leaving the hall during the Decosset without attracting attention. She had to manage it somehow. She had to get back to her room to change into plain street attire. Tonight was her best and only chance to get out of the CAWStrat and her father’s diktats.

  The fake pass worried her the most. If that fails . . . Ramya steeled herself. There was no reason the pass would be detected as a fake. CAWStrat cadets used such passes often to slip out of the Institute for a night outside. No one ever got caught.

  Ramya hoped Isbet wouldn’t mind that she stole her pass. There was no other way. That exit pass would let her past the gate check. She didn’t know what access rights still existed on Isbet’s pass, but if it had sufficient Lieres on it, that piece of plastic could secure Ramya’s trip to the nearest space port off Nikoor.

  God of the stars, bless me with some luck. The only other thing Ramya needed was money and she had more than enough of it. Yet again, being a Kiroff had helped.

  Music ebbed and surged, and Ramya spent the entire time in a haze of thoughts. Her spirits rose and fell like the music—hope making it soar before worries weighed it down. She had not traveled off the planet much. She had visited the capital a few times, but that was only the next star system, aboard a luxury cruiser, surrounded by family and waited on by staff. Tonight, her first time traveling alone and in the guise of a commoner would be different.

  I can do it. I have to.

  “Having fun?” Isbet’s voice made her jump. “Everything all right?” She peered at Ramya’s face.

  “Why not?” Ramya said, determined to not let Isbet pry too much or too deep. The fourth rounde was about to start, her time for a quick reconnaissance. If Isbet saw her sitting it out, she’d be suspicious as hell. “How’s your dance? Rownack?”

  Isbet beamed. “He’s perfect. Best Concert Night ever.”

  “Good. I need a break before the final rounde,” Ramya said, waving in the direction of the refreshment rooms, realizing her mistake in the last second. What if Isbet wanted to come with her?

  “Do you want me to come with you?” Isbet offered.

  Ramya hastened to pacify her. “No, no. I’ll be fine. You carry on.”

  As soon as Isbet turned toward the dance floor, Ramya backed away. She pretended to walk to the refreshment rooms, but slipped behind the curtains when no one was looking. All she needed was a quiet place to catch her breath and collect her thoughts. In the hall, music surged. Gathering her flowing gown in her arms, Ramya weaved past the heavy brocaded drapes, counting doors.

  She stopped at the fourth verandah and peered out the colossal glass doors that stood open to the sprawling grounds below. A draft blew in, chilly and refreshing. Ramya stood still for a moment, filling her lungs with the cold air, letting it calm her. CAWStrat’s altitude and position in the northern coordinates of Nikoor meant a temperate climate all year around. It was hard to believe this was the middle of summer.

  Somenvaar would be balmy now. The Kiroff estate was not far from here, but it was to the south and sat low, cradled by coastlines. Even Trysten Kiroff’s frigid bearing couldn’t keep Somenvaar cool this time of year. Chuckling under her breath, Ramya strode into the verandah.

  “Watch out!”

  The raspy yet almost melodic voice of caution leaped out from the darkness but a moment too late. She crashed, shoulder first into a man. The crystal goblet he was holding tipped, spilling its golden contents on him.

  Damn it! Of course there had to be someone on the one verandah that she needed to herself.

  “I thought CAWStrat cadets were trained in vigilance,” the man said, brushing the dregs off his dark blue jacket, “and here you practically ran into a wall.”

  “Sorry,” Ramya sputtered. She didn’t care much about his snide evaluation of her skills, as her thoughts were elsewhere. She desperately needed some time to calm her senses, some quiet. Perhaps she could make the man leave? She parted the draperies a little. “The attendants at the refreshment room will be able to help you. Would you like to—”

  To her dismay, the man waved away her suggestion. He leaned back on the balustrade, took a sip at what remained of his drink, and shook his head. “It’s not much of a stain. Besides, I’m past being a cadet trying to win the attention of some winsome lass.”

  She snapped to attention. Why hadn’t she noticed? He wasn’t of the CAWStrat, neither a student nor staff. Ramya’s eyes narrowed as she scanned the man’s appearance. He was wearing the blues, the uniform of the GSO corps. He had to be older than a fresh graduate out of CAWStrat, but not by that much. In the dimly lit verandah, she couldn’t tell the color of his closely cropped hair or eyes, only that they were both dark. His nose was a sharp presence on his angular face and his cheekbones were slightly raised. As she took in his features, the man’s thin lips curled into a smile.

  “Why are you missing out on a dance?” he said, appraising gaze sweeping over her. “You’ve obviously prepared well for tonight.”

  All she wanted was some quiet. Did the stars have to drop a nosey chipmunk on her instead?

  Ignoring her silence, the man continued, “Putting together an ensemble like yours can’t be easy. How do you find time to do that while being a CAWStrat cadet?”

  He didn’t know who she was. That was a good thing. Ramya flashed an ambiguous smile. “It’s not that hard. We do it in groups,” she replied, thinking of how Isbet pooled resources with other girls.

  “I see,” he said. There was something odd about the way he looked at her, a glint of disbelief in his eye perhaps? Ramya couldn’t quite put a finger on it.

  I should be thankful. At least he’s not fawning over me like every other man.

  “Why aren’t you dancing?” she s
hot back, hoping to veer the conversation away.

  He took another sip of his drink and smiled. “What’s the point?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s all too senseless. I’m too old to stomach the useless waste of time anymore.”

  “You sound just like my grandmother,” Ramya replied, smiling. “Doesn’t seem like you’re pushing seventy though.”

  He tilted his head and shot her a wise look. “I’ve spent close to a quarter century being alive. Well, almost. That’s enough time to cultivate some cynicism in my veins, I think.”

  Ramya chuckled. Until now, she thought she was the only one to think of Concert Night in such cynical terms. She wasn’t the one odd duck in the universe after all.

  “Useless?” she asked regardless. “It’s the one night cadets wait for all year long.”

  “I know. All you kids, pairing up like you’ve been matched up by the stars, as if you’ve deciphered your destiny. It’s all a farce. How much of this do you think will last? Little.” He paused and stared across the gardens toward the horizon. “Most of it is driftwood floating on an ocean of politics, power games, and strategic marriages. All this affection is waiting to be swept away in a heartbeat.”

  Didn’t she know that? Her father was about to give her away just so his empire could grow some more.

  The man went on, “Give it a few more years and you’ll see—friends turned into bitter enemies over planetary rights, couples torn apart and sent to opposite ends of the galaxy perhaps never to meet each other again . . .”

  She studied his face, not missing the hardened jaws and the gritted teeth. He had to have lost someone he loved. The music inside had died down, a few faint strains wafted in the air. Stillness tiptoed around them, interrupted only by a breeze or two.