by Amie Kaufman
“If we can repay our debt to you,” he says, dignified amid the chaos, “you will find us at Tiernan Station. I am Elder Raliin Kendare Aminath.”
Scarlett takes time to offer a courteous nod in return, although now even she is clearly possessed by the urgent need to flee.
The Waywalkers gather a few weapons and make their break, out into the smoke and carnage. The ship rocks beneath us as the lights flicker and die, plunging us into sudden darkness. I hold Aurora tight to my chest, despite the ache.
“BREACH ON DECK 4,” the PA calls. “SECURITY TO COMMAND AND CONTROL. ALL PERSONNEL EQUIP ENVIRO-SUITS IN EVENT OF ATMOSPHERE LOSS.”
Emergency lighting kicks in, the five of us staring at each other in the gloom.
“That breach is near Saedii’s chambers,” I say. “Where Tyler will be.”
“We have used too much time for a rescue attempt,” Zila says flatly. “We must get to the docking bay. With the Zero’s cloaking technology and the chaos unfolding outside, we may be able to slip away undetected.”
“But …” Finian looks back and forth between us. “We can’t leave Tyler!”
“We cannot risk taking Aurora closer to the TDF boarding parties,” Zila says. “She is all that matters here.”
Still bleary from the drugs, Aurora shakes her head, searches for focus. Seconds tick by, all of us silent. I realize suddenly how important Tyler is to our squad. We are leaderless without him—nobody to make the snap decision, the hard call, to shoulder the agonizing responsibility of putting others in danger.
“Auri,” Fin says. “Can you use … I mean, your power or whatever?”
Her eyes widen at that. I can see the memory of the Hadfield shining in them. Her loss of control in the cryo section, the chaos and destruction she wrought. She could have killed us. We know it. She knows it. And her eyes are alight with the fear of what might happen if she loses control again.
“I …”
She looks at me, anguish in her stare.
“I don’t think I can …”
“It is all right, be’shmai,” I say, kissing her brow.
“I don’t want to hurt anyone, I—”
“Get Auri to the Zero,” Scarlett snaps, looking at me. “Zila’s right—we can’t risk her being caught by the TDF. If I’m not down there in ten minutes, you blast the hells out of that bay and don’t look back.”
“Where are you going?” Fin demands.
Scarlett strides across to an emergency supply locker near the warden’s console, grabs a breather mask she finds inside. Hefting the disruptor rifle I gave her, she checks the power feed.
“I’m going to get Ty.”
“Scarlett, that is unwise,” Zila says.
“The halls will be crawling with adepts and TDF assault troops,” I say.
She meets my eyes then. Fire burning in her own. “He’s my brother, Kal.”
Again I am struck by the tie between the Jones twins. How deep the bond between them is in comparison to the one I share with Saedii.
I remember we were close once. When we were children on Syldra, when our parents still loved one another, the two of us were inseparable. The blood between us is more like water now. The memory of our mother, the specter of our father hanging ever between us. If I were in danger, I know she would leave me to rot, and a part of me aches at that—more deeply than the wound at my shoulder, than the bruises at my ribs, than the certainty that I cannot accompany Scarlett on her quest. That I cannot take Aurora into danger.
“Scarlett,” Aurora whispers, helpless tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry … I …”
“I know,” she nods. “Just go.”
Finian grabs a breather and shoulders a stolen rifle. “Well, I’m going with you.”
Scarlett opens her mouth to object, but he cuts her off.
“Don’t even try to argue,” he says. “You’re not going up there alone, Scar.”
Scarlett looks the thin boy up and down, hand propped on her hip, lips twisting into a smirk. “Still suffering from that bout of boneheaded heroics, huh?”
He shrugs. “Let’s hope it’s not a terminal case.”
The ship lurches beneath us. Under the scream of the alarms, we can hear the noise of distant disruptor fire. Cries of pain. Shouted orders and twisting metal and roaring flame. The taste of burning plastic hangs heavy in the air.
“Ten minutes,” Zila warns. “Then we must leave without you.”
Scarlett nods. “Auri is the only thing that really matters. Look after her, Kal.”
“With my life,” I vow.
“Be careful,” Aurora pleads.
Without another word, Scarlett and Finian don their enviro-masks and dash off into the growing chaos. I catch one final glimpse of them, side by side, before they disappear utterly into the smoke.
Knowing the danger they fly toward, I wonder if we will see either of them alive again.
15
TYLER
I really should have studied my Syldrathi more.
The bridge around me is in a sort of tightly controlled chaos. Syldrathi arrogance is legendary, and they typically make “aloof” an art form, but all of it—the arrogance, the cool, the we are so much better than you attitude—is currently being strained to breaking point. Some of these Unbroken are going so far as to raise their voices, so I know business is getting Serious. I can only understand every sixth word, but they’re the important ones. Words like depleted and destroyed. Words like unable and unresponsive.
Words that mean Andarael is losing.
With no time to send me to the brig, and not willing to leave me in her chambers, Saedii had her personal guard drag me up to the bridge with her, shoving me into a corner to watch the fireworks. Truth is, I’ve never seen a battle of this scope play out live before, and the tactics nerd in me is awed by it. Studying the moves and countermoves, the holographic displays projected on every wall, glowing images of carriers and destroyers and fighter craft overlaid with Syldrathi script.
As incomprehensible as the text may be, I can still appreciate the battle unfolding around us. Much as I hate to admit it, Saedii is a brilliant commander. She stands in the center of the bridge, Isha on her shoulder, directing the battle like a maestro before her orchestra. She acts decisively, thinking quickly, reading the conflict perfectly. She gives orders without hesitation, and her crew obeys instantly—it’s like watching the internal workings of some deadly machine.
The Andarael is an impressive ship, with twice the firepower of anything in the Terran armada. But she’s outnumbered and outgunned here. The Unbroken Get Out of Jail Free card hasn’t worked, and while she’s destroyed three ships and critically wounded another, Saedii’s counterattacks are failing in the face of superior numbers. No matter how clever a commander she might be, her only option now is to run. And that’s something a Templar of the Unbroken is never going to do.
Another missile plows into our stern, shaking the Andarael in her bones. The TDF gunners are targeting our engines and guidance systems, trying to cripple us. Reports are coming in from the lower decks—the Terran boarding parties are breaking out from their beachheads, TDF marines in suits of power armor inexorably carving their way through the Unbroken defenders. The numbers are grim; every Syldrathi is killing at least five Terran soldiers before they fall, but the TDF just has more bodies to throw, and they’re throwing everything they have.
It’s an abattoir down there.
Part of me still can’t comprehend that this is happening. The ramifications of an engagement like this—a full-blown slaughter between Terran and Unbroken troops—I don’t even want to think about what it’ll mean for the galaxy… .
The Unbroken on the bridge are all wearing breathers in the event of atmo loss, but nobody was nice enough to give me one. I can smell smoke in the air now, burning meat, charred polys. Another breach pod crashes into the lower decks, filled with yet more marines. I feel the impact through the floor, all the way up my spine. I’m not sure ho
w much more of this Andarael can take.
And then Saedii’s lieutenant speaks, his words bringing sudden stillness to the bridge. I only catch three of them. But again, they’re the important ones.
Transmission.
Archon Caersan.
The name is like a punch to my gut. I tense, all thought of the battle gone from my head. Saedii turns from her tactical displays, speaks softly, and the central projection of the battle raging outside fades, replaced by another image.
The image of a man.
I’m honestly not sure what I was expecting. No matter what the storybooks say, monsters rarely look the part. I grew up hating this man for everything he took from me. But looking at the most infamous mass murderer in galactic history, the man responsible for the Orion Incursion, the destruction of his own homeworld, the death of my father, I was expecting something at least a little horrific.
The Starslayer is …
Maker, I don’t know what he is… .
Stunning, maybe?
The Archon of the Unbroken is tall like all his people, clad in an ornate suit of Syldrathi battle armor, fixed with a long dark cloak. The angles of his face are cruel, his cheekbones high, his ears tapering to knife-sharp points. His long silver hair is swept up and over the Warbreed glyf at his brow in ten intricate braids, curving down to cover one side of his face. And that face is like something out of a simulation—too beautiful and terrible to be real. It’s almost heartbreaking to think a surface so perfect could be so rotten underneath.
But it’s his eye that strikes me the most. Here in the Fold I can’t see the violet of his iris. But his stare is still piercing in intensity. I find myself pinned and helpless before it, as if he can actually see into my soul.
His mere presence onscreen brings quiet to the bridge, even in the midst of an all-out firefight. He radiates authority, gravity, fear, like a star radiates heat.
He speaks to Saedii, his voice dark as smoke and smooth as Larassian semptar. The transmission is coming from Maker knows where, so Saedii speaks quickly, spilling it all. I hear her say Aurora’s name. Kal’s name. Attack and Terran and battle and can’t.
It’ll take a good few minutes for her message to reach him across interstellar space, even through the shortened distances in the Fold. In the meantime, Saedii turns back to the battle raging outside. Damage reports are coming in from all over the ship. Andarael’s engines are now offline. Alert sirens are still blaring, the stink of smoke is getting stronger, the tactical displays are filled with the dance and fire patterns of the fighters still waging war outside.
Finally, I see the Starslayer’s beautiful face twist—Saedii’s reply has arrived at his end. His stare darkens and his lips draw into a tight, thin line. I see incredulity, quickly running through to fury and hatred—the kind of rage that could bring a man to rip his own homeworld apart. The kind of rage that murders billions.
“They dare?” he spits.
He opens his mouth to speak again, but we never get to hear the rest. Something hits the Andarael’s bridge hard, a bloom of white light and screaming fire, and suddenly I’m hurled sideways, smashing into the wall behind me as the entire world turns upside down. The explosion is blinding, pummeling, almost deafening, and for a brief moment I wonder if this is it. If this is the place I die.
I’ve followed the tenets of the United Faith, lived them as best I can; I should be at peace. But I don’t want to go yet—there’s too much to leave behind, too many people I care about, too much at stake. And so I hang on, grim, digging my fingernails in and refusing to let go. Screaming at that dark.
Not yet.
Not yet.
I open my eyes. I see twisted metal. Choke on black smoke.
The bridge has suffered a direct hit, the blast shredding the hull like tinfoil. The power is dead, the displays shot. Unbroken bodies lie where they’ve fallen, dead or dying, purple Syldrathi blood turned gray by the Fold and spattered over the floor. The guard who was watching me has been impaled on a twisted stanchion, eyes lifeless. Fires are burning among the computer systems. The deck slopes away to the left—the artificial gravity systems are still online, but engines are dead, and Andarael is now drifting, sideways and helpless in the dark.
I check to see if anything is broken, but though I’m gonna be black and blue in a few hours (presuming I make it out of the Fold alive), a few deep gashes seem to be the worst of it. My ears are bleeding. Eyes burning in the fumes. I stagger to my feet with a groan, drag the breather mask off the dead guard’s head and the disruptor pistol from his belt. All the Syldrathi on the bridge are on their backs or bellies, but through the crushed metal and rains of sparks, I can see that more than a few are moving, coming to after the explosion.
I need to get out of here.
I need to find Scar and the others.
But my chances of that are zero. I’ve studied Syldrathi capital ships, but I don’t know their internal layouts as well as those of Terran vessels—I’ve only got the vaguest sense of where the hangar bays are, let alone the detention levels. And even if the lower decks weren’t crawling with Terran marines, there’s still the Unbroken to deal with. I’ve got no edge here, no …
Leverage.
I hear a reptilian screech, spot Isha through the smoke, wings spread, shrieking her distress. The little drakkan is perched on a collapsed section of the ceiling, and beneath it, on her back, I see Saedii. Her legs are pinned, her teeth bared in a snarl. She’s trying to claw her way free, but she’s got no way to get out from under the weight.
The temperfoam floors and instrumentation are ablaze, alarms screaming. The fire-suppression systems must be offline, and the flames are spreading toward Saedii. She curses, punching the metal in frustration. Isha shrieks again, little claws scrabbling on the wreckage in a desperate attempt to get her mistress free.
I stagger across the burning bridge, down the sloping floor. Saedii looks up as I loom over her, the momentary relief on her face overshadowed as she realizes I’m not one of her crew come to rescue her.
Isha screeches warning as I set my disruptor to Kill and level it at Saedii’s face. The Templar meets my eyes.
Unafraid.
Unbroken.
“Do it,” she spits. “Terran coward.”
I swivel the pistol, blast the collapsed metal, partially melting it. Bending down, I grab hold and lift the weight, my face reddening with the strain. Saedii winces, pushes, manages to drag herself out from under the wreckage. As she wriggles free, I can see blood soaking her uniform pants a darker shade of black. She collapses, her face drawn and damp with sweat. She keeps most of it from her expression, but I can still see the pain in her eyes.
“Why?” she whispers, looking up at me. “Why save me?”
“I’m not saving you,” I say.
I lean down, sling her arm around my shoulder, and drag her up. She gasps with pain but straightens, teeth gritted, face smudged with blood.
“I’m saving my friends.”
I should leave her here. Let her burn with the rest of these murderers. But if I have Saedii in hand, I have someone who can direct me through the ship, avoid the incoming Terrans. I have the leverage I need to keep the other Unbroken off my back. And much as they seem to despise each other, I’m not sure Kal would appreciate me letting his sister burn to death up here.
“Which way to the detention levels?” I ask.
She spits in my face, uttering a vicious curse in Syldrathi. I kick her in her injured leg and she actually cries out at the agony—the first sign of weakness I’ve ever seen her show. I shove my disruptor up under her chin, still set to Kill.
“Don’t do that again,” I say.
“Or what?”
Leaning in close, I meet her stare with mine. Just as hard. Just as determined.
“Or I pay you back for what your people did to my father,” I snap. “Now tell me the way to the detention levels.”
She stares back at me, eyes like ice. I press the pisto
l up under her chin hard enough to make her wince. Finally she nods to the bridge doors, and I’m moving, half carrying, half dragging her out of the growing blaze and into the corridor beyond. Isha follows, fluttering from one perch to another and shrieking in distress.
“Shut her up,” I say. “She’ll bring the entire TDF down on our heads.”
“Coward.” Saedii aims the word at me like a weapon.
I press the pistol harder into her skin. “Which way?”
She nods again, teeth bared, eyes glittering with hate. And so we go. Slow. Staggering. Groping our way forward through the thickening smoke, the wailing alarms. A squad of Unbroken stumbles across us as we reach an auxiliary stairwell, their leader crying out for me to halt. But as they raise their weapons, a platoon of TDF marines bursts through a stairwell behind them. The air is filled with disruptor fire, the ring of blades, the screams of the dying.
I drag Saedii into the stairwell. The TDF troopers roar at us to halt over the thunder of the firefight, the rumble of another missile strike. We stumble downward, Isha circling behind, Saedii almost falling. My breath is burning in my lungs even through the breather, the smoke filling the well and making it almost impossible to see. We burst out onto a lower level, scorching heat, thicker smoke.
“Which way?” I shout.
Kal’s sister grimaces and nods, and we stumble on. Andarael is listing hard, the floors sloping almost forty-five degrees. Saedii is bleeding badly, bloody footprints on the floors behind us. Her injury is probably the only reason she hasn’t tried to overpower me yet, but I’m not sure how much longer she can stay on her feet. I don’t have the time to spare, but if she collapses here …
I set her down against the wall, her eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks. Isha lands on a nearby perch, screams at me, sharp little fangs glinting in the flickering light. Looking Saedii over, I see her pants are now sodden with blood, her boots full of it. Something important got cut or crushed under that wreckage. I rip off my shirt, tear it into strips as the alerts scream across the PA. Saedii winces as I wrap the fabric around her wounded thigh to stanch the bleeding.
