Baron Ebik stood up and cleared his throat. “My fellow Barons mean no disrespect, Ga Halle. We’re just concerned about the lack of consultation you sought from us. It would’ve been better to discuss your attacking the Well, and Mithlador, before any decision was made.”
Ebik sat back down but, before doing so, he nodded, ever so slightly, at Ga Halle. She returned the knowing gesture.
Sitting up from his titame-studded armchair, a relic from Praxis’s revered Progress Age, Baron Tirus opened his mouth to speak then stopped, choosing instead to finish his glass of hosberry wine first. He held up one finger, asking for a pause as he maintained his steady level of drunkenness.
“Our concern,” Tirus said, nearly dropping his empty glass by misjudging the distance of his armchair’s accompanying side table, “is the effort, and cost, of pursuing this mythical weapon when our goal has always been to bring order and unity to the galaxy—and doing that through submission to our control. It doesn’t seem like the Rokura, at this point in time, is essential to our efforts.”
Again, the Barons murmured their assent. Ebik’s eyes, though, glanced at Ga Halle. He nodded again, ensuring their conspiratorial relationship was understood. They’d become allies many years ago, back when Ebik’s wife—being the true blood Baron—was the quorum representative, and he was plotting his rise to power. Ebik knew where the future was heading; he understood his role within it. They were loyal to each other, out of necessity and genuine respect, but Ga Halle never let Ebik forget who the master was in their relationship.
The Barons whispered among themselves, doubtless trying to decide what action, if any, they could take against Ga Halle. She knew this, and she was unafraid. If the Barons so feared usurpation that they were plotting their own, so be it. The Barons had their ground forces, they had their fleet; they could take their chances against Ga Halle at any time. But at no point would she negotiate her mission, not even if its collateral damage was a civil war against her own planet. Nothing would stand between her and her destiny.
“When we started on this course of ours, we were on the brink of becoming a planet of refugees,” Ga Halle said, looking at each Baron as she addressed them all. “Our star was dying, and all of us, no matter how rich or how poor, were going to end up displaced or dead. I prevented that. And I know you all admire how much we’ve accomplished, but there is no satisfaction in looking to the past for me. When I think of the Praxis kingdom, I don’t think about how far we’ve come; I only think about how far we still have to go.”
Ga Halle opened her hand and projected her vid player, large enough for all the Barons to see. Footage taken from Kaladore began to play. The video showed Kaladorians rioting in the streets of their planet’s capital, celebrating around an Intruder that was burning in the city square; the video jumped to an image of a Praxis supply vessel ablaze in a calm ocean on Ohan; then, finally, there was footage from an alpha drone’s uplink, taken right before a masked assailant blasted out its optics.
Ga Halle hadn’t prepared this footage for the Barons. She had these videos, and many like them, in her possession at all times, there to be a reminder of the chaos that was only a breath away. Chaos that would consume the galaxy if left unchecked.
“Systems that still resist our control wage open warfare against our very presence. Renegade cells in systems we’ve annexed sabotage their planet’s own resources to prevent it from aiding our mission. And the Rising Suns, those cowardly terrorists, continue to disrupt our activities all over the galaxy. The only way—the only way—to obtain absolute control is through absolute power. That is why Praxis must possess the Rokura.”
The Barons looked at one another as an unease settled over the room. Tirus shook his head, rustling himself from a stupor, Ga Halle knew, that extended well beyond tonight’s overindulgence.
“There is no such thing as ultimate power, Ga Halle. Take it from us: It does not exist.”
Ga Halle looked at Tirus, his red cheeks and blossomed nose, and in his cloudy eyes, she saw a frightened child. Frightened of losing his power, frightened of being made to believe that everything he knew to be true in life—specifically that his power was an everlasting right—was in danger of being proven false. She gave him a pitying smile. “Oh, yes it does, Tirus. Yes it does.”
“You disobeyed a direct command,” Paqlin said as she pointed an angry finger at Ga Halle. “We are the ruling clans, and we make the decisions for the future of our people and our planet. Not. You.”
The Barons’ eyes were on Ga Halle as they waited for her to respond. Never had a Baron status-checked her; never had they sought her debasement. But now Paqlin had done it, and as Praxis ritual dictated, Ga Halle had only two options before her: She could either kneel before Paqlin or refuse. In kneeling, things would continue as they always had; refusing would mean consequences. And Paqlin, doubtless, would surely spread word of her insubordination. On one side, Ga Halle would be painted as a heretic who dishonored Praxis culture because she thought herself above it; on the other, she’d be painted as a champion of the people, someone who finally stood up to the Barons and Praxis’s archaic power structure. Ga Halle couldn’t afford such divisiveness when it came to her character, but she couldn’t bring herself to bow, either.
On Ga Halle’s wrist, her comms device vibrated over and over. It had been doing so for some time. Though it was expected that she respond to the gauntlet Paqlin threw in front of her, Ga Halle needed to step away. To secure her future, to secure her destiny, she had to kneel. But she needed a moment to work herself up to doing so.
“Excuse me for one moment—this is urgent,” Ga Halle said, and turned her back to the Barons. She could feel the dismay of the Barons behind her.
“My queen,” Ortzo said as his face came into focus on Ga Halle’s comms screen. “I’ve pinpointed the Rokura’s location.”
Ga Halle remained steady even as her heart skipped a beat. It was finally happening. “Where?” she asked.
“Mithlador. Cade Sura is on his way, and I’m certain you can guess who he seeks. Our forces already on the ground continue their search for him, but his whereabouts … they remain unknown, my queen.”
“That is of no consequence,” Ga Halle said. “I’ll send our mutual friend to retrieve the boy, and the Rokura, at once.”
Ortzo stammered. “My queen? My men and I, we’re currently on our way.”
“No. I need you here. Changes are in store.”
And with that, Ga Halle ceased the communication. It seemed that she wouldn’t be kneeling after all. Destiny had other plans for her.
“I saved our people,” Ga Halle said as she turned to face the Barons. Her face had darkened, and she could sense the Barons recoiling at the sight of her. “Many years ago, I was the one who took action that prevented Praxis history, culture, and our proud heritage from becoming lost to the sands of time. I put us on a course for conquest, and we’ve achieved more than we ever could have imagined possible. The entire galaxy, which once stood idle in the face of our demise, is nearly under our control. And now, after all I’ve fought for, all the sacrifices I’ve made—sacrifices you couldn’t even begin to fathom—the final steps to fulfilling our dream of a galaxy united under a Praxis kingdom are upon us. And you have the nerve to insult me? I know what’s needed to complete our journey. I know how the galaxy will finally obtain the order and the peace everyone talks about, but no one has the temerity to pursue to its bloody end. I will get us there, and no one—no one—will stand in my way.”
Kanta was the first Baron to fall. In one smooth movement, Ga Halle unsheathed her shido from her side—the antimatter waves rolling off her suit in greater force, matching her body’s increased exertion—but she didn’t bother igniting it. She wouldn’t give the Barons the ease of a quick death. She sliced the shido across Kanta’s fat belly, emptying his guts onto the floor. Paqlin gasped, and Ga Halle adored seeing her shocked expression just before slicing her to pieces. Such a life of untouchable pri
vilege, of feeling that the galaxy owed you whatever you had, and you owed it nothing in return. Such a life to have stripped away in a matter of seconds.
“The Praxis people,” Tirus stammered, “they won’t stand for this. They’ll revolt, they’ll—”
In such a bothered state was Tirus that he fell out of his chair, interrupting his own silly desperation. He tried to crawl away, a futile effort.
Ga Halle kicked him onto his back; she wanted to be the final thing he saw before his disgusting life was taken away from him.
“The people,” he muttered, over and over. “The people.”
“The people are mine,” Ga Halle said as she thrust her shido into Tirus’s chest. “Praxis is mine. The galaxy is mine.”
Tirus tried to speak, but nothing came from his mouth save the blood he was choking on. She dug her shido in deeper, and the force of her strike almost folded Tirus’s decrepit body in on itself.
When Ga Halle turned, she found Chang holding a sentry pistol on her; Chang’s hands trembled as he tried to remove the safety so the weapon could fire.
“The safeties often jam in that model,” Ga Halle coolly remarked. “A design flaw.”
“You—you’re insane!” Chang belched. “You’re nothing without us, you—”
Ga Halle had heard all she needed to hear from the Barons. The memories of their empty words would last her a lifetime. Just as Chang flicked off the pistol’s safety, Ga Halle spiraled her shido straight into Chang’s face. The blades caught him in his eyes and forehead, and he dropped his pistol right before he joined it on the ground.
The deed, long fantasized about, was finally done. Ga Halle closed her eyes and exhaled, feeling a tremendous relief settle over her body.
“Would you like this mess attended to, my queen?”
Ga Halle looked at Ebik, who was dutifully awaiting orders. In a matter of moments, his entire life—the status and legacy he’d robbed and claimed as his own—had been stripped from him in a violent bloodbath. The Barons were no more. The life he knew was over. Still, he’d addressed Ga Halle as “my queen.” Ebik was no fool, and that made him both important and dangerous. His ability to recalibrate his loyalties with such ease concerned Ga Halle, but not enough to forfeit what he could still offer.
“No,” Ga Halle replied. “Summon our technicians and have them sever this tower from the rest of Fortress. Jettison it into space. I never want to see it again.”
“And the families of the deceased? They’ll surely make claim to assume their fallen’s mantle and may even plot an uprising.”
“Kill them and have the territorial governors take control until a new centralized government can be established.”
“Consider it done, my queen.”
“And one other thing,” Ga Halle said, stopping Ebik at the door. “I’m holding you responsible for a peaceful transition of power on our home planet. Do not disappoint me.”
Ebik nodded and entered the elevator that would take him back to Fortress.
Alone, standing among the massacre of her doing, Ga Halle allowed herself a brief smile. The Rokura would be hers. The galaxy would be hers.
Everything was in its right place.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“What were you saying about fate doing us a favor?” Kira asked.
Kira pulled them out of the mass jump a good distance from Mithlador’s orbit, and it was a good thing she did. Parked over the planet that had all the things they needed to restore peace and justice to the galaxy were the exact people who wanted to remove peace and justice from the galaxy. A Praxis blockade of two warships, a bunch of Intruders zipping around on patrol, and a drop ship were waiting there, ready to blow up anything that was stupid enough to get too close. Cade knew that you could count on Praxis to shoot first and ask questions, well, never. They didn’t care who they blasted to bits. Their job was to follow orders, and 9.9 times out of 10, Praxis orders were to kill whatever got in the way. Based on the luck he was having lately, Cade wasn’t feeling too optimistic about taking a chance to be that 0.1 that managed to slip through Praxis’s grasp. But that’s exactly what Kira was proposing they try to do—which, in a way, was cool. Cade was in no position to criticize anyone for being crazy, but if they were spotted, the Rubicon would be reduced to a ball of fire streaking across the sky without so much as a friendly warning. And that would suck.
“Look, Cade, we’re not talking about something really complicated here,” Kira said, leaning over the pilot’s chair. She’d set the Rubicon to hold their position while they figured out what to do.
“Yeah, I get what you’re saying. Set a trajectory for the surface, turn off the ship’s functions so it’s dark, and hope Praxis doesn’t spot us as we free-fall to the ground. My problem is what happens if Praxis does spot us.”
“I’ve charted a path that may work,” 4-Qel said. Using the control panel, he’d brought up a three-dimensional rendering of Mithlador that included the Praxis blockade. “If we follow this trajectory here,” he said, leading a model of the Rubicon to the surface with his finger, “and time it just right with the rotations of the Intruders, and assuming no other ship changes position, we should be able to make it past unseen.”
“What are the odds of that?” Cade asked.
“I’m a drone that is programmed to kill, not calculate odds,” 4-Qel chirped. “But I can tell you that, because of their helix design, the warships offer three-hundred-and-sixty-degree views of the area around the ship. Even if I could define odds, there’s no calculating the chances of someone looking out of a window at, what would be for us, a most inopportune time.”
“I’m just going to chime in just for a second, seeing that I’m currently on the ship that might be blown out of the sky,” Mig said. “Personally, I’m not a fan of plans that operate in extremes. Like, say, success or death. And, actually, it’s more like ‘success, but maybe death later,’ because if Praxis is in the air, they’re definitely on the ground as well.”
“He’s right,” Cade admitted. “Assuming we get past the blockade, we’ll be coming into … what? For all we know, there could be a war going on between Praxis and the Mithladorians over control of the mining colony, and we might end up right in the middle of it.”
Kira sighed. She shoved her chair into a spin, then threw up her hands, conceding doom. “Then what are we going to do? I told you this wasn’t going to be easy, and now it’s not easy and you guys want to go home.”
“I do not wish to return to Eris,” 4-Qel commented. “The royal family will have me killed if I do. Or … perhaps an opportunity would present itself for me to kill them. Hmmm.”
Kira looked to Cade and Mig, searching their expressions to see if they were hearing the same thing she was—specifically, if they were also becoming unnerved by 4-Qel’s violent streak.
“What’s with this guy?” she asked.
“What?” Mig sharply defended. “He’s programmed to be an efficient, ruthless killing machine. Just be glad he’s on our side.”
Kira turned her attention to 4-Qel, whose head was cocked to the side as he looked at her, much like her childhood pet woffy when he, too, couldn’t interpret her words and their meaning.
“I don’t mean that you want to go to your actual house,” Kira slowly explained. “I’m saying that you—all three of you—want to give up.”
“I will not give up,” 4-Qel said as he stood up straight, which sprouted him a good foot taller than Kira. “I protect Mig wherever we are, and I’ll do the same for his friends.”
As the conversing continued behind him, Cade studied the three-dimensional model of Mithlador, as if looking at it harder would pop an idea in his mind. There wasn’t much to the place, just the mining colony and dense forest surrounding it all. Mithlador was an isolated planet in the Galactic Fringe, and the Mithladorians were a primitive species best known for their ability to remain unknown. They didn’t travel off-world, possessed no means of planet-to-planet communication, and kept no
trade partners. As far as anyone knew, they didn’t have anything to offer in trade anyway—although that assumption, Cade now knew, was a big fat error. Somehow, Praxis discovered this koruvite material, and they found out what it could do. In typical Praxis fashion, they came in, squashed any and all resistance, disrupted the planet’s harmony by building a land-poisoning mining operation, stripped away what they wanted, then left the skeleton of their presence behind. Probably with strict instructions for the Mithladorians to not touch, or else.
Something about the forest struck Cade. Called to him, more like. Beyond the mining colony, north in the woodlands that looked exactly like every other inch of woodlands, there was … something. Cade was drawn to it, compelled to go there.
Compelled by the Rokura.
“Here,” Cade said, pointing to the area that he was sure everyone would see as identical to every other forested area. “This is where we need to go.”
4-Qel studied the area, then he looked at Cade, trying to glean some understanding from one of the two. When he failed to draw any conclusions, he repeated the motion. “Why do we need to go there?” he asked, sounding confused by his own confusion.
“Yeah, Cade,” Kira said, her tone sardonically curious, “it’s almost like you have special insight that drew you to this random patch of forest.”
Cade shot Kira the dirtiest look he could muster. She smiled in returned.
“Oh, cute. You guys have an inside thing,” Mig said. “You want to let us in on it, or should we just stand here like idiots?”
“It’s the Rokura,” Cade sighed. “It’s telling me this is where we should go.”
“Oh, cool,” Mig said. “And I thought you were just making it up.”
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