Ga Halle studied her friend, her former Master. For years, he operated as her personal agent, laying the groundwork for a day neither of them was certain would come—the day another Paragon would rise and the Rokura would once again be free. Thanks, perhaps, to Ga Halle’s own suppression and control of the galaxy, the day of the Rokura’s release was finally here, and it was time for Jorken to enjoy the fruits of his sacrifice.
“Are you ready for a new future for our galaxy, Ser Jorken? You can never return to the Well again, you do realize.”
Jorken smiled and pointed ahead at the viewport. “That may prove incorrect, as I do believe the Well is where we’re headed at this very moment.”
Uncharacteristically, Ga Halle returned Jorken’s smile. “Very true. But after this.”
“After this, I’ll have no reason to. I’ve had only one reason to remain all these years, and you know what it is. Also, if you please,” Jorken said after a pause, “don’t refer to me as ‘Ser.’ The title means nothing to me.”
Ga Halle nodded, acknowledging Jorken’s request. The two stood silently, watching the world that’d betrayed them both come into focus. Ga Halle realized that they hadn’t stood side by side since before her fateful trip to Quarry, back when she was just a Rai and he was her proud Master. Despite that, she knew that no one was closer to her soul than Jorken. And because of that, she knew she could confide in him even her deepest secrets. Or even her nagging doubt.
“Have we done the right thing?” she asked, breaking their comfortable silence.
“Yes.” Jorken snapped back his reply without a moment of lapsed time between where Ga Halle’s question ended and his answer began. It was like he had known the question she was going to ask.
Ga Halle looked over at him, probing, and he continued.
“We had one of two choices: We either let battles and wars drag on and civil unrest fester as the galaxy fell into chaos, or we wage our own war to bring it all under control. Remember: Our conquest was never built on exterminating any race or planet or settling a frivolous feud. We acted out of need. The need to end bloody conflicts that took the lives of innocents from the Fringe all the way to the Inner Cluster, shattering alliances and dividing our galaxy. The need for every system to be consolidated under one rule, even if by force, so law, order, and justice could reign supreme.
“The business of peace is a messy one, your highness, and it can also be cruel, but make no mistake about it—even people who claim to be free always have a master, and they’re always in conflict about something. If this galaxy is going to have a master, I’d rather it be you. I’d rather it be guided with a strong hand by someone who isn’t afraid to make difficult choices for the sake of the greater good.”
Ga Halle nodded at Jorken, knowing it would be enough to express her gratitude. She clasped her hands behind her back and returned her gaze to the point of light that was soon to be snuffed out.
“Inform all my commanders, even the Fatebreakers, that any Well combatant who surrenders, regardless of rank or title, will be granted full pardon and no harm shall come to them. And be sure that offer is transmitted once we come into Ticus’s orbit and we’re identified.”
Jorken went to bow, like a Ser, but stopped himself. “As you wish, my queen.” He turned and walked down the long command bridge, leaving Ga Halle alone once more. She breathed deep and put the personal animosity she harbored toward the Well aside, like she had so many times in her life. It took incredible restraint for her not to have stormed Ticus years ago and to have plunged herself into a spree of bloody catharsis and revenge. But she knew the timing wasn’t right and, standing here now, she was glad she waited. Soon, she would have her victory, and she would have the Rokura.
Soon, she would have it all.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The Well had seen better days.
As Kira put the Rubicon on an approach for landing in the western hangar—visibly, it was the only one that hadn’t suffered major damage—Cade surveyed the scene below. Regardless of the conflicting emotions that had cemented in Cade over the past few days, the Well was still the place he called home. And it was ravaged. Praxis’s destruction had deeply and irrevocably scarred the fundamental character of the Well, which Cade never thought was possible. Dojos reduced to rubble; armories erupted from the inside out; even the Floating Temple had a massive chunk torn from its side, likely the location of a ship crashing into it. Cade felt stunned at what he was seeing because, to him, the Well was invulnerable. Everybody thinks their home is invulnerable, Cade knew that, but the Well was more than a home. The Well was an idea, a spiritual order, a philosophy. And while those things can’t be killed with any amount of artillery, one look at the Well and Cade knew that those guiding principles too were weaker than they had been before the attack. Maybe that was for the best, but Cade wasn’t thinking about levied judgments. His mind was captivated by the remembrance of a world now in the past and the heartbreak of knowing it would never come back again.
When Kira pulled the Rubicon through Ticus’s orbit, they were met by a squadron of Echoes standing guard. The formation of starfighters parted to let them pass, though not a single message was broadcast to the returning ship. There was no communication at all. Even when Kira transmitted her clearance code to Rao, they were met with the tersest permission to land before the comms on Rao’s end clicked off. Their homecoming was not going to be an occasion for happy reunion, but Cade didn’t let it bother him. They had returned for a purpose higher than popularity.
And if that wasn’t clear already, it only took one look at the Omega Squadron waiting at the mouth of the landing pad to know that Cade and Kira weren’t well-liked. In fact, they were probably kind of hated.
“Look at those sourpusses,” Cade said as he leaned over Kira’s seat, peering out the viewport.
Kira groaned. “Just let me do the talking.”
Cade squinted, bringing all eighteen of Omega’s snarling, hard-edged faces into focus. “Yeah,” he said, “I think that’s probably best.”
Cade and Kira disembarked the ship—leaving 4-Qel behind while he wrapped the shielding around Kira’s bomb and, with the koruvite that remained, repaired his legs—and Cade slowed his pace so Kira could take the lead as they headed toward her squadron. The band of misfits were overdoing their posturing by an impressive margin: If they frowned any harder, they’d come all the way back around to a smile, Cade thought. But Cade understood how their leadership worked. It was simple, actually: In Omega, the alpha ruled. As Kira got closer, the new alpha stepped forward, displaying his status.
Cade’s good pal, Elko.
“Where you been?” the Durang native snarled.
Kira glared at Elko, holding his gaze. But she forced her expression to soften; Cade knew as well as she did that her squad wasn’t going to be browbeaten back into obedience. These were the bastards of the Well, the outcasts. Rank meant very little to them, if anything at all. What mattered most was that their leader was one of them, that they were misfits together. By abandoning her squadron when the Well was under attack—and, from their perspective, without reason—Kira had betrayed her allegiance and separated herself from the pack. It wasn’t going to be easy to win their acceptance back.
“You know,” Kira said, coolly, “since I’ve been gone for a few days, I’m going to let your failure to acknowledge rank slide. But what you meant to say was, ‘Where you been, sir?”
Elko stuck out his lower lip and shook his head defiantly. “You turned tail. We needed you, and you and the golden boy left us. You just up and ran.”
“You think I ran?” Kira asked.
Elko lumbered a few strides forward, closing the short distance between himself and Kira. “You got scared. And you chose him over us. Now, I know you called us here because you got something to say, but you’re going to do the listening. You’re out of Omega. You’re—”
The next sound that came out of Elko’s mouth was somewhere between a squeal a
nd a howl. Kira had taken both her hands and, in the moment that Elko probably imagined was going to cement his leadership, jammed her fingers directly into the gills that lined both sides of the Durangan’s face. Right before Elko’s squowl, Cade heard the squishy impact of Kira’s fingers digging inside of Elko; he didn’t know much about Elko’s biology, but he did know that—like a fish—they breathed through their gills. Which meant Kira was squeezing Elko’s lungs. Cade was equally amazed and disgusted by what he was seeing.
“Now listen up, every single one of you!” Kira said as she plunged her fingers deeper into Elko. He dropped to his knees in front of her, crippled by pain. Kira looked at every single crew member, making sure she had their attention, before continuing. And when she did, she spoke every word clearly and with total command.
“If you think I ran, if you think I betrayed our squadron or our mission, then you don’t know me at all, and I implore you to walk away right now.” Kira gave a dramatic pause, allowing for anyone to leave. Nobody did. “I’ve been halfway across this galaxy, risking my life to find a way for us to finally bring Praxis to its knees. And guess what? I’ve got it. We,” Kira said, nodding back to Cade, “have got it.
“So here’s the deal: I’m not going to bother asking if you’re with me. I am your commander, and I’m telling you that you’re with me. Now, before we get to the good stuff, I want to know,” Kira said, digging her fingers into Elko’s gills until he squowled once more, “does anyone have a problem with anything I just said?”
Cade looked at the Omega Squadron, and he saw a lot of dumbfounded faces. The resolve they had behind Elko was knocked right out of them, and all they could do was shake their heads in response to Kira’s query.
“I’m sorry,” Kira said, putting some bite into her words. “What was that?”
“No, sir,” Omega sheepishly replied.
“WHAT?” Kira yelled.
“NO, SIR!” her obedient squad barked.
Kira tossed Elko to the ground and planted her foot on his chest so he couldn’t turn away from her. “I ought to put a rocket up your ass and blast you to Aria,” she said, pressing her boot into Elko’s sternum. “Fortunately for you, I need all the pilots I can get. So, do you want a shot at redemption, or do you want to crawl away in shame? Your choice.”
“Redemption,” Elko gasped.
“Good,” Kira said, then she held out her hand to Elko. He looked at it warily, then she pushed it forward, letting him know it wasn’t a trick. He took it and, with Kira’s help, rose to his feet.
“It’s us versus Praxis,” Kira said as Omega stood at attention. “We have a plan. It’s … let’s call it bold. Insane. But insane is who we are and what we do. Time isn’t on our side, so we need to move, and we need to move now—”
“You will do no such thing,” a raspy voice called out. Cade turned to the hangar’s entrance, and there was Cardinal Master Teeg, flanked by Nu Kan, Plar, and a half-dozen infantry soldiers. Despite the destruction and wreckage that engulfed the Well, Teeg still managed to don his pristine tunic that flowed to the ground, covering his feet so it looked more like he was gliding than walking. Cade had hoped to avoid the old Cardinal Master, knowing that he’d only get in the way. Cade had his mind focused on one thing and one thing only: freeing Mig and taking out the War Hammer. But here was Teeg, getting in the way—as usual.
“If the Well wasn’t in sooch a state,” Teeg continued, “the only way either of you would be permitted to land would be to have you placed in shackles for failure of duty.”
Despite everything Cade now knew and his acceptance that his tenure at the Well was over, he still couldn’t help but feel intimidated by Teeg. Though Cade now understood who he was and what he had to do, he could still see himself through Teeg’s eyes, and he was right back to being a disappointment. To being the Well’s bastard child. “But, sir, if you just let us explain—”
“You’ll be silent until I’ve finished talking,” Teeg ordered, though his voice sounded more petulant than strong, Cade realized. “You will both aid in repairing our home. As you do, myself and the other Masters will decide your fate and issue—”
Kira stepped in front of Cade and addressed Teeg with a finger pointed right at him. That was a mistake. “Enough, Teeg. With all due respect—”
“You have no business addressing me, pilot,” Teeg barked. “Now take a step back or—”
“Kira’s wrong,” Cade interrupted, stepping around Kira. He ran his tongue over his teeth and huffed in a deep breath through his nostrils. He didn’t risk his life—more than once—and lose his friend to Praxis just so Teeg could step out of his comfy tower and tell him what to do. As long as he held the Rokura, Cade was the Paragon, and he didn’t have to listen to one more word that Teeg had to say. “There’s no respect coming your way, because it isn’t due. Not now, not ever.”
Teeg’s gray, aging eyes narrowed at Cade, and he felt the Cardinal Master’s rage forming a pit in his gut, like a spring being compressed in a vice. And, really, it had nothing to do with Cade’s insolence. It didn’t even have anything to do with Teeg’s conclusion—actually, the entire Well’s conclusion—that Cade took off when he was needed most. No, this was about Cade not being what Teeg envisioned, and wanted, the Paragon to be. Teeg was Tristan’s Master—which was unheard of, a Cardinal Master mentoring a Rai—because that’s how much be believed Tristan was the Chosen One. Teeg didn’t want Cade. He never wanted Cade. It was Teeg who kept Cade away from missions; it was Teeg who kept him ostracized. And now, as far as Teeg knew, the cruel hand of fate had saddled him with the very person he couldn’t wait to divorce himself from. The entire galaxy was stuck with an undisciplined Paragon that Teeg couldn’t control. Tristan would have been the dutiful Paragon who still served the Master Cardinal’s title and, in turn, kept Teeg relevant. Cade’s ascent tore the rug right out from under Teeg’s feet, and the only thing he could do to preserve his power was double down in asserting it. For Teeg, there was a fate worse than the galaxy never delivering a Paragon; it was the galaxy delivering a Paragon that made his position obsolete.
“I know you’re angry, Rai Soora, over what happened to your brother,” Teeg managed to grind out through his clenched jaw, “but what we have to discuss, we’ll discuss in private.”
“I’m the Paragon,” Cade asserted. “And I know the Well’s failures, Teeg. I know that Ga Halle was one of us, and that you, along with so many others, turned a blind eye to her rise to power because you didn’t want to expose your failure and have people questioning their faith. A Paragon rose, and he was so horrified by what he saw in the Rokura that he put it right back where he found it and ran from the entire universe. That’s not something that inspires devotion, so you kept it hidden, and you ignored all the dominoes that fell afterward. You ignored Praxis. You ignored what Percival had become. And because you willingly gouged your own eyes out, you couldn’t see the traitor that was standing right at your side for years.”
Cade felt a hand grip his bicep. Kira’s hand. “Cade, we’ve got to—” she said, but Cade wasn’t stopping. He was on a roll.
“Jorken sold Tristan and me out. He’s the reason my brother is dead. So don’t you stand here telling me about failures of duty when—”
“Cade!” Kira yelled, pulling his body toward her. He looked at her and noticed that she had her eyes locked on the sky above. In fact, everyone had their eyes fixed upward, in shock, horror, confusion—even all three at the same time. Cade followed their line of vision, but he didn’t share their reaction. Far above in darkening dusk sky, Ticus’s star was burning as it always had. But, for the first time ever, the uncertainty that it would rise and burn the next day was in jeopardy. Extending out from the star was a single beam of its energy, piercing through the sky like a rift in space, drawing light away from its host. Though the War Hammer was unseen from this distance, there was no doubt about what was happening: Praxis had come to extinguish Ticus’s sun. As much as Cade hated what
was happening, as much as he feared what he was getting his friends and himself into, he was ready. It was time to face Praxis.
Cade tore his eyes away from the sight of his world being slowly ended, and turned back to Teeg. He clasped his hands on the Cardinal Master’s shoulders, getting his attention.
“Evacuate this planet, as fast as you can,” Cade said. “We’re going out there, and we’re going to stop this. But if we fail, you need to be as far away from here as possible. All of you.”
“What—what is this?” Teeg quietly asked, and Cade could read the bewilderment in his face. For so long, Teeg enjoyed a consistent, comfortable world—but the terms of that world were dictated by Praxis, and that was true whether Teeg acknowledged it or not. The Well was under Praxis’s thumb, and now that thumb was pressing down. Teeg was incapable of processing the force that was being applied to them all, himself included. Cade pitied Teeg in a way, because other than being a pompous a-hole, Teeg’s greatest sin might have been belief. No matter what happened in the galaxy, no matter how grim things became, Teeg believed things would turn out okay. In a way, Teeg needed the galaxy to suffer; for the Paragon to rise and bring ultimate peace to the universe, ultimate despair was a prerequisite. It was, true to the Rokura, a damnable pact. Still, Teeg never seemed to consider that the galaxy’s most desperate hour—the time when the Paragon would arrive—was a relative term: You don’t really understand that desperation until you’re in it. Quarry, Tor-Five, Maqis, and Romu—those planets had endured their homes’ final hour, and Cade knew there was no way those people didn’t look to the sky, just as everyone on Ticus was doing right now, hoping that the Paragon would whisk in and save them all. If Teeg had considered that relativity, things could have been different. But Teeg didn’t. Even as planets were sentenced to ruin, even as a bona fide Paragon rejected the mantle, Teeg still held tightly to his belief and envisioned no other way to bring about peace and justice. But Cade knew the truth: The Paragon wasn’t going to be saving anyone, because the Paragon was dead. They were going to have to do what they should have done years ago:
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