We Are Mayhem--A Black Star Renegades Novel

by Michael Moreci

  Kira looked up, stunned. Against the seamless white glow, they stood out like birds soaring in a cloudless blue sky. A sky that was patrolled by predators hungry for dinner.

  “I thought the display didn’t change for another hour?” Kobe yelled into the comms.

  “Estimates!” Mig yelled back. “I told you it was the best I could do!”

  “Both of you shut up,” Kira said as she pulled herself back up toward Mig and 4-Qel. “Four-Qel, new plan—screw delicacy. Punch us in there before we’re killed.”

  “My kind of plan,” 4-Qel said right before he pounded his fist into the side of the building.

  Sparks rained down on Kira from the screen’s erupted display, then tiny bits of steel. 4-Qel tore away a chunk of the building’s exterior, but it wasn’t quite big enough for any of them to pass through.

  “Four-Qel, hurry!” Kobe commanded. “Raptor incoming!”

  Kira looked to her side and immediately caught an eyeful of a raptor’s spotlight scanning the building up and down, left to right, as it approached from the west. It was still a good distance away, but it was coming on fast. They had a minute, maybe less, before the raptor was in range to see the four intruders hanging helplessly off the side of the building it was programmed to protect.

  “Four-Qel,” Kira admonished, but just as she did, a hulking chunk of shredded steel flew past her face.

  “Everyone suck in your breath and move,” the drone ordered. He was boosting Mig inside; his slender body just squeezing through the jagged hole 4-Qel had created.

  Once inside, Mig kicked away some debris, widening the hole just a little bit. Kobe was the next to go, aided, like Mig, by the powerful drone. Kira looked past them both and saw that the raptor had narrowed the distance between them. They had seconds to get inside.

  Before Kira could issue the command for 4-Qel to go next, the drone was lifting her up by her jacket and tossing her toward the opening, where Kobe and Mig were waiting to catch her.

  “Hey, no!” Kira yelled, and she was about to protest on the grounds that the commander should always be the last to go, but she didn’t get a chance. She was inside the building before she could say another word. And once inside, she realized something that made her heart skip a beat: The opening wasn’t nearly big enough for 4-Qel to squeeze into.

  “Four-Qel, don’t you dare do anything stupid!” she said as images of the drone sacrificing himself to save his friends overran her mind.

  “Stupid is what we do,” 4-Qel replied. “Now, please, all of you, get back.”

  Kira, Mig, and Kobe did as they were told; Kira was turning to crawl through the narrow space they’d been allotted when she saw 4-Qel use his powerful legs to push himself against the building. He swung away from the side and swooped back in, leading with his feet. Whatever building materials stood in his way were pulverized as 4-Qel pushed through them like a drill shredding through drywall. And once he was safely inside, he tugged on the rope that’d been mounted to support all their weight. Kira saw the grappling claw, a chunk of concrete caught in its grasp, drop past the opening.

  “The raptor will see the lights are out, but at least it won’t see a rope hanging off the building,” 4-Qel said. “That would probably give us away.”

  “I don’t know what we’d do without you,” Kira said, smiling.

  “Die,” 4-Qel responded flatly. “You’d all be dead.”

  Kira nodded, accepting that unfiltered assessments were simply part of the package when living with a Qel.

  “Okay, then,” she said. “Let’s get moving.”

  * * *

  Even though they hadn’t traveled that far, Kira felt like she’d trudged through miles and miles on her elbows and knees. She was sweaty and exhausted by the time the narrow ventilation space that’d been allotted between floors finally brought them to the elevator shaft. And then it was a grueling climb up six stories before they reached the floor Kay had known Kira’s mother to be located on. As she pulled herself up to the ventilation shaft just above the floor they’d been slogging silently to get to, Kira couldn’t help but think about how much more she enjoyed the old-fashioned method of blasting her way to where she wanted to go instead of all this sneaking-around business.

  As she pulled her body into an even narrower shaft than the one before, her body heavier than she’d ever felt it, she was overwhelmed by a different kind of weight. It was like a metal cuff had been clamped around her throat, and the mass of it was nearly more than she could bear. Kira grasped at her neck, but there was nothing here. Just the weight of what waited on the other end of the shaft.

  Her mother, the woman who’d risked everything to save Kira. The woman she’d missed every single day since they’d been torn apart. The woman who’d had the courage to stand up to Praxis before it became a tyrannical kingdom and was redoubling her efforts now that it was. She was the most important person in the galaxy, and Kira was holding her life in the palm of her hand. And Kira was afraid. Not nervous, not worried—this was fear. And fear, Kira knew, could swallow you from the inside out. Sweat dripped off Kira’s brow, the salty droplets sliding down the contours of her face.

  But all Kira had to do was think of her mother. That crystal-clear memory she held on to, for better or worse, of her father slicing Kira with his triblade. How she fell, stunned by the blood—so much blood—that soaked her shirt and poured out of the slash in the fabric. Then there was the look in his eyes—not crazy, not hysterical, but calm, totally calm as he raised the blade to finish what he’d started. And there was her mother, spearing her father with every ounce of her strength. Her frame was so slight, especially when pitted against her father’s chiseled mass. Still, she overpowered him just long enough for Kira to follow her orders: She was to take the small transport ship her mother had arranged for, fly it away from Praxis, and never, ever turn back. Kira, in her panic, in her utter fear, did what she was told. But now she was back. Back to reclaim what’d been lost, what’d been taken from both of them, in whatever small measure that she could.

  Fear, in all its power to overwhelm and overpower, had no chance of standing in Kira’s way.

  Moving slowly and silently, Kira led Mig, Kobe, and 4-Qel to the space just outside of Akima’s quarters. Her prison. Through a slatted vent that looked onto the center of the room, Kira spotted at least four sentry drones and one alpha. Easy to defeat, Kira assessed, but that was considering typical means: dropping down from overhead, catching the drones off-guard, and decommissioning them the funnest way possible: with a blaster. But that method would attract a whole lot of attention, and they hadn’t circumvented the countless enemies stacked from the first floor all the way up to have the alarm sounded on them now. Caution was in order.

  Kira turned to Mig and signaled with her hands a sequence only he understood. He smiled and rolled a small metallic orb her way. She examined it carefully, then held the orb up to Mig. He nodded his assurance, and Kira hit him with a skeptical look. After what had happened with the magnetizer, she couldn’t bring herself to feel totally at ease. Mig knew what she was thinking, and he rolled his eyes at her like a sullen teenager. Kira winked at him; Mig was so sensitive about his inventions, and that’s why she gave him a hard time. If he wasn’t bothered by comments about his work, then teasing him wouldn’t be any fun.

  Ever so carefully, Kira wrapped her fingers through the slats in the vent and pushed it open. It creaked on its dry hinges, and while the noise sounded so loud it made her cringe, the drones didn’t notice. She rolled the orb over in her free hand and found the small activation button on its side. Kira closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and flipped the switch. She then dropped the orb to the ground, where it landed with a hollow clink. That, the drones noticed. But if they had any mind to react, they never got the chance. The orb splintered open, and from it fired a hot-pink electric bolt that spun around the room in the blink of an eye, hitting each drone in its chest as it passed. Kira didn’t know what shot out of the orb
, but it caused the drones to erupt into a fit of convulsions. They spasmed for just a few seconds before each of them crashed to the ground. Kira ducked her head cautiously out of the vent and surveyed the room. Every drone, all seven of them, lay facedown on the porcelain surface, smoldering like they’d just been pulled out of a fire pit.

  “Just a temporary loss of power,” Mig said as they all dropped to the ground. “They surge and override. Their backup systems should have them back online soon enough, so we don’t have too much time.”

  “Let’s just cut the cords on them and put them down for good,” Kobe offered, standing over the nearest sentry drone.

  “No,” Mig ordered. “They’re likely wired to the building’s mainframe; complete loss of power would trigger the alarm.”

  As Kobe backed away from the drone, Kira examined the lock on the door. Mig followed at her side. He bit down on his finger as he studied it, making noises that didn’t fill Kira with confidence.

  “Can you pick it?” she asked.

  “My instinct is to let Four-Qel tear it off,” Mig said. “But there’s no telling if it’s connected to an alert system that’ll sound if it’s tampered with. Soooo…”

  “So … what?”

  Mig smiled nervously. “So, we’ll just have to see if I’m as good at getting into places as I brag about.”

  Mig’s eyes flashed to the lock, and he went to work with his set of lock-picking tools.

  Kira sidestepped over to Kobe, who was standing in a fighting position, his quarter staffs at the ready.

  “You expecting someone?”

  “Always,” Kobe responded, his voice flat. He bore a grim expression that unnerved Kira.

  “Something you want to tell me?” she asked, almost suspiciously.

  Kobe shook his head almost imperceptibly. “Bad feeling is all. A really bad feeling.”

  Kira eyed him, about to probe deeper into what Kobe meant when Mig called her.

  “I’ve got it,” he said, winded. He, too, seemed to feel the stress of the moment. “You can go in; you can go see your mom.”

  With a stuttered breath, Kira placed her hand on the doorknob, but then she hesitated. For as many times as she’d dreamed about this very moment, for all the times she’d envisioned reuniting with her mother after so very, very long, she never actually imagined it down to the details. Never down to what she’d say, not exactly, if she ever did see her mother again. Now, that long-pined-for moment was here, just on the other side of a door, and she felt a profound hesitancy. Something, maybe brought on by Kobe, made her intuition tingle—intuition that gave her the feeling that something wasn’t quite right.

  That feeling passed or was at least put off when 4-Qel placed a delicate hand on her shoulder. She looked at him, and he gave a reassuring nod. It was a reminder of his presence, telling her at the perfect moment that her friends were by her side. And whatever awaited on the other side of the door, they’d be there to face it together.

  Gently, Kira eased the door open. It was heavier than she’d expected, and the hinges gave the slightest creak as the doorway slowly revealed more and more of what was previously hidden.

  The room defied Kira’s expectations. She’d expected her mother’s captivity to be harsh and cruel. But the room was … peaceful. That was the word that popped to mind as Kira’s eyes moved from the deep-magenta couch to the mahogany table to the many, many books that lined the far wall. And there, at the far end of the room, was a slim, proud figure with her back to the door. Her hair was gray, and her posture was assured; she sat at a writing desk, handwriting a note as Kira, Mig, 4-Qel, and Kobe stood in the doorway. She had to have known someone was there, but she didn’t bother to acknowledge the presence. Not until she’d finished what she was writing. Memories of her mother’s impeccable cursive came to mind as Akima delicately swooped her hand across the page; finished, she placed the cap on her pen, set it down gently, and said without turning around, “Get on with it, then.”

  Kira looked at Mig, who was just as speechless as she was. Here Kira was, defying the odds and all obstacles to save her mother, and she mistook her for an executioner.

  “Mom?” Kira said softly as she took a step deeper into the room. “Mom, it’s me.”

  The moment Kira spoke, Akima’s posture broke. Her violent death she could handle with grace and dignity. But this—this was something different. Kira could see her mother’s hands spread across the desk, her shoulders narrow, as slowly she began to pivot in her chair. Kira thought to say something but didn’t; instead, she waited as, little by little, her mother’s face was revealed to her. Akima stood, and for the first time in over ten years, they were looking eye to eye.

  Akima placed her palm against her chest and stumbled a quarter step back. She braced herself on the back of the chair, and Kira noticed that the hand gripping the upholstery was trembling.

  “Kira?” she called breathlessly.

  For a moment, Kira was taken back to long afternoons in their garden, tending to their vegetables, drenched in sunshine; back to games of hide-and-seek, her mother singing her name as she searched all around for her only child, even though she knew where she was hiding; back to being tucked in at night, feeling safe in her mother’s care.

  Kira took a step forward, hesitant, as if at any moment the floor could disintegrate beneath her feet. “I’m here to get you, Mom,” Kira said, breathing back tears. “I’m here to get you out.”

  Akima raced to her daughter and threw her arms around her; Kira melted into her embrace.

  “Is it really you?” Akima asked as she gently held Kira’s face in her hands. “How did you get here?”

  Kira laughed awkwardly, and the levity was like opening the hatch to all the pent-up emotions that were ready to erupt within Kira. She felt a good measure of relief. “That’s a long story. I’ll tell you all about it when we’re far away from here.”

  Kira turned back to her squad, and the moment she did, she felt queasy all over. Mig was pressing his comms unit tightly to his ear, a look of consternation on his face as he tried to hear whoever was radioing him more clearly. Kira’s and Mig’s eyes met, and she immediately read exactly what he was feeling: dread. Dread and panic.

  “Oh no,” Mig gasped.

  Kira switched her comms on—she’d turned it off before stepping into her mother’s chambers—and was hit by the sound of carnage. Someone—it sounded like Kay—yelled something she couldn’t understand, and then the transmission cut out.

  “It was a trap,” Mig said. His hand slid slowly off the comms unit in his ear and over his mouth, covering it. “They had no chance.”

  “Are they—” Kira said, then paused to steel herself. “What’s their status?”

  “Full retreat. Kay said only a few of them are left, and they’re fighting their way to the emergency evac.”

  Kira’s hand had been clenched within her mother’s; they were holding each other like their idea of forever had just been reduced to mere minutes. Kira felt Akima’s fingers slacken, her grip loosen. And though she tried to hold on, she felt her mother slipping away from her.

  “This is all my fault,” Akima said as she moved away from Kira. Her steps were weak, and Kira feared she would have collapsed had she not supported herself on the back of the couch. “I should have never sent that message; it was desperate and foolish. And now … and now … all those people…”

  Kira rushed to her mother’s side, propping her up. “No,” she said, her voice stern with conviction. “This is not on you. This is Praxis. This is Ebik and Ga Halle and whoever else. Not you.”

  Akima caressed Kira’s arm and smiled the way parents do when telling their children things will be all right despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary. “I have to fix this.”

  “And you will; trust me, you will. We all will.”

  Kira shifted back to her squad and returned to command mode. It helped her force down the terrible feeling festering inside of her. “Let’s get back on
target. Mig, call for the roof evac. If we get moving, we should be able to make it up there in—”

  “Take this,” Akima said, interrupting Kira and placing a data disk in her hand. “It’s everything you need to know, everything I tried to get to Kay but … but didn’t.”

  Kira laughed mirthlessly. “You can tell him yourself when you see him.”

  Akima wiped an errant dreadlock away from Kira’s face and smiled. The smile was forced, Kira could see, just as clearly as she could see the tears her mother was holding back.

  “My brave little girl. I’ve asked so much of you. And now, I have to ask for even more.”

  “What are you talking about? Everything is going to be fine. We’re going to be fine.”

  Kira knew this wasn’t true, but she hoped just this once that her mother would be able to wave a magical wand over all her troubles the way parents do and make everything better.

  “I’m so sorry,” Akima said, maintaining her smile. “But you have to leave me here.”

  Kira wanted to collapse. She wanted to drop to her knees and let her body go limp. Yet somehow, she stayed on her feet. A small part of her tried to convince herself that Akima was making the right call, that this was best for the mission. The mission. Always the mission. Kira was sick of the very word, sick of Praxis, sick of everything. All she wanted was her mother, and it was the cruelest joke to be given this glimpse of the life she’d lost only to have it torn away.

  “You must have picked the lock to get in,” Akima continued, not wasting any time. “If you’d destroyed it, this room would already be overrun by drones. The same for the drones outside—I’m assuming they’re only disabled? That means you can leave, and they’ll never know you were here. They’ll never know that the message I was trying to get out did, in fact, get out.”