The chamber was like a maze. Command stations, standing about waist height, were staggered throughout the room, positioned in a circular formation. The effect was a circuitous path from the chamber’s core to its outer walls. And the winding path, however it was traversed, led to two Fatebreakers who stood at the opposite end of the chamber, fully armored, ready to fight. Behind them, a squad of sentry drones, armed with a mixture of pikes and blasters. Cade almost expected there to be more, but Ebik had played a heavy hand trying to get rid of Cade and his friends, and his numbers were either dead or retreating.
And speaking of Ebik, he was nowhere to be found.
“We were hoping we’d have the opportunity to face you,” the Fatebreaker who’d attacked Cade said. “It would be such a shame to see someone of your stature bested by someone … less worthy. But we,” the Fatebreaker said, gesturing to her companion, “are perfectly worthy of ending you at last.”
Cade rolled his eyes. “My goodness, are you all so theatrical?”
The Fatebreaker didn’t respond, and Cade used the opportunity to get everyone on task.
“Listen, this is what we do,” Cade said, turning to face his friends. “Four-Qel and I will take care of the Fatebreakers. Kay, Mig, Kobe, you take care of the sentries and whoever else wanders up here.
“Kira,” Cade said, trying to grab her eyes, which were searching the room. A look of deep concern—caused by her father’s absence, no doubt—rested on her face. “Kira.”
Kira finally fixed her gaze on Cade.
“You have to find Ebik,” he said.
A smile appeared on Kira’s face, the kind of smile that pushed out all her former worry.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “I know exactly where he is.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Metal bashed together, the sound of its impact spreading throughout the entire chamber. Cade’s shido pounded against the Fatebreaker’s shido just as the other Fatebreaker’s weapon had his strike blocked by 4-Qel’s arm. The clash signaled the start of the skirmish; as the duels began, the drones pressed their attack, firing blasters or coming at Kira, Mig, Kobe, and Kay with their pikes. Kobe moved fast and efficiently, even with his injury seemingly aggravated by his fall into the chamber, and he disabled the nearest drone as it fired in his direction. Kay worked in his own way, spraying blaster fire to keep the drones at bay. And just as Mig was about to lay down some return fire of his own, Kira grabbed his arm and pulled him back. They crouched behind one of the stations, covered from the battle taking place just over their heads.
“Mig, forget what Cade told you to do,” Kira said. “You need to find the detonator. Right here, right now, and you need to—”
A blaster bolt sizzled above them, then another pounded the station’s outer shell. Kira growled and leapt up. She fired a shot from her sidewinder that nailed the drone right between its eyes, splitting its head.
“Anyway,” she continued, “find the detonator. Disable it. You hear me?”
Mig looked at Kira, confused. “But Ebik has the detonator.”
Kira smiled. “No,” she said, certainty giving strength to her words. “He absolutely does not.
“Now find the right console; it’s in this room. I’ll cover you on my way out.”
Mig shook his head; his body shivered. “Wait, wait. You’re not staying with me?”
Kira looked to the floor; she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, steeling her resolve. She knew she should stay at Mig’s side and keep him safe while he did his work. But that’s what her squad was there for; they kept one another safe, and she had to trust that. And that trust freed her to do what she had to do, not as a leader or a commander but for herself, personally.
She had to confront her father. She had to end this.
“But there are only eleven minutes left,” Mig said, a sad desperation in his eyes.
“Then move fast, Mig,” Kira said. She clasped his shoulders and drew his gaze to meet hers. “You can do this. I know you can.”
Mig drew in his lips and vigorously nodded. “Okay,” he said. “Okay.”
Kira smiled. “Okay,” she said, then scouted the scene beyond the cover of their command station. The number of drones had already been pared down to six. She saw a few more stagger into the room, but it wasn’t much of a reinforcement. Praxis’s Olanus forces—Ebik’s forces—were nearly depleted. This was almost over.
“Follow my lead,” Kira said, “and keep your head down.”
Mig held his sidewinder up to his face, holding it steady. Kira did the same and spun out from behind the station. She fired three shots, hitting a drone that was charging at Kobe with its pike. One shot in its knee and two in its torso were enough to send it to the floor. That drone out of the way, Kira blasted a series of shots across the chamber, sending a trio of drones ducking for cover.
“Now, Mig!” she ordered, and Mig scrambled to the nearest station and got to work.
Kira darted through the chamber; 4-Qel and Cade seemed to be holding their own against the Fatebreakers. It even seemed that Cade had his opponent on the defensive and could finish her off soon enough. United with 4-Qel, they’d be too much for the remaining Fatebreaker to handle. Kobe and Kay, meanwhile, continued to thin the drones, mindful of the reinforcements coming in. As she reached a thin metallic door just off the side of the entrance, Kira assured herself that her squad had this under control. They could do this. She drew in a deep breath and looked down at the keypad adjacent to the door. She knew what the password would be; it was the password Ebik had used since she’d entered this world.
Kira punched in the five digits for her birthday, and the door slid open. She took one step into the room, and all was darkness. The door slid shut behind her, leaving Kira no choice but to move forward. She took hesitant steps, each one taking her closer to the room’s single light source: a projection of Praxis, centered among the surrounding stars, covering the far wall. The planet’s deep auburn glow was faint from this distance, but it still radiated light. It was alive. But the figure who stood in front of the projection wanted that all to end. Ebik remained motionless, his back to Kira, as she drew closer and closer. The room’s silence was heavy and profound.
“I don’t have many memories from my childhood,” Kira said, her voice sounding small, as if she and Ebik were floating in the space that was projected on the screen. That, after all, was the intended effect. “Some of them I’ve lost; most of them I’ve pushed away. But I remember the room you built—total darkness except for a view of the sky. It was for the headaches you’d get. You practically lived there.”
Ebik remained motionless, his crimson uniform as crisp as ever. He was a statue like the ones he’d had erected in the courtyard. Doubtless, he’d envisioned the day when one such memorial would be built in his honor.
“Why?” Kira asked. It was the question she’d been wanting to unburden her soul of for years. “Why did you do this to me? To Mom? We were a family, we … we were so much more than anything you have now. Why?”
Ebik didn’t answer. He didn’t even move, his focus instead fixed on Praxis spinning in the vacuum of space. Kira knew no answer he could give would satisfy her; nothing he could say would heal her wounds. But he wouldn’t dismiss her. Not after all these years, not after everything.
“Answer me, Dad,” Kira said as tears formed in the corners of her eyes. Tears she let flow. “I need you to tell me.”
Ebik shook his head and laughed derisively. “Your vision is still so … small. When you were a child, there was a time I thought you’d get it. But no. You’re like your mother, always wanting to fix what is broken rather than build something new over the ashes of what’s meant to burn.”
A sad smile spread on Kira’s face. Part of her felt unburdened by his words. For as long as she could remember, everything she knew painted Ebik as a monster; he was a dark force in her life, the source of all her anger and fear, the reason she was incapable of trusting anyone enough to experie
nce love again. He was doubtless still that monster, but he was also a small, pathetic man. A man who knew nothing but satisfying desires that could never be sated, all while he lost anything with value, anything with meaning, that once existed in his life. Kira hated her father, and that would never change. But she pitied him as well.
“Was it worth it?” she asked. “Look at you. You’re reviled by half the galaxy, if not more. You’re a murderer.”
Ebik shrugged. “I told you we were building on the ashes of the old world. Those fires don’t start themselves.”
“And after everything, can you say that you have what you want?”
“I’m about to,” Ebik said, and he finally turned to face his daughter. Kira saw the emptiness in his eyes, the absolute lack of heart or soul. There was nothing there, and there never would be. “I know why you’re here, daughter. You think you can stop me. You think you can prevent the destruction of Praxis, which is mere moments away. I hate to break it to you, but you’ve failed once again. I knew you’d put all your focus in coming for me, though I’m impressed you made it this far. Nonetheless, I still took proper precautions. That’s why the detonator isn’t on me. I don’t have it.”
“I know,” Kira said, and a triumphant smile made her face glow.
Ebik flinched. He tried not to show it; he tried to maintain his stoic, untouchable presence, but Kira saw a little tremor twitch the muscles in his cheeks. As he turned back to the projection of their home world, Kira had no doubt that her task had been completed. She’d trusted Mig and her squad to do their job, and they wouldn’t let her down. That’s what family did.
Ebik’s fist rolled into a ball at his side. Praxis was supposed to have erupted into countless bits of debris; the rebellion should have been over, and the ripple effect would have surely sent the Black Star Renegades scrambling in fear. Then the galaxy at large, seeing the Praxis kingdom’s power and its willingness to punish anyone for their defiance, would cower indefinitely. The war would be over; the galaxy would be won.
But that’s not what happened.
“What have you done?” Ebik snarled.
“I outsmarted you,” Kira responded.
“No,” Ebik growled, his head shaking as if he could reject what had happened. “No, no, no. This was the end. I was supposed to rule.”
Now, it was Kira’s turn to remain silent.
“You think I’m going to let you enjoy this victory? You think I’m going to let you walk out of here?” Ebik asked as he slowly reached for the blaster at his side.
“Don’t do it,” Kira warned.
Ebik spun, his officer blaster in hand. Kira had a sidewinder in each hand. She was faster than Ebik and probably a better shot. Ebik knew all of this. But he wasn’t betting on skill. Ebik was betting that Kira couldn’t shoot her own father.
He was wrong.
“I’ll kill y—” Ebik exclaimed as he came around, but Kira was waiting. She brought her sidewinder up before Ebik could even fully turn, and she fired a pair of bolts directly into his chest. Ebik doubled over, and he gasped. His face bore an expression of anguish. Ebik didn’t know what it meant to lose, and Kira imagined that caused him more pain than the two holes she’d drilled in his body.
Slowly, Ebik’s hand reached to cover his wounds, but it didn’t make it. He collapsed onto his back.
Kira stood over her father as he faded away. Ebik didn’t look at her, though. His eyes were fixed on Praxis, his greatest triumph turned into his greatest failure.
“I could have had … everything…,” he said, forcing the words out.
Kira kicked his blaster away from his hand. “You did have everything, you fool,” she said, then she turned and left her father to die.
* * *
Kira opened the door leading back into the chamber and was met by 4-Qel’s raised fist.
“Aaaaah!” he yelled.
Kira fell back into the doorframe. “What are you screaming about?” she asked.
“You startled me,” 4-Qel said. “I was going to punch the door down and come save you.”
Kira was about to question how she could possibly scare 4-Qel, but she stopped herself. Instead, she smiled at the big killer drone and patted his arm. “Thanks for trying to come after me.”
Kira took a quick survey of the room. The Fatebreakers were down; all the drones had been defeated, and no more were entering the room. It was, at last, over. And more importantly, her friends were all fine and, once again, they were together. She looked them over, all of them—herself included—dirty, weary, and battle-damaged. Except for Mig. He was nonchalantly whistling, waiting for recognition.
“Did you have something to say, Mig?” Kira teased.
“Me? Oh no. No, no. Just taking it all in.”
Kira playfully rolled her eyes. “You did a great job. Thank you.”
Mig gestured cavalierly. “All in a day’s work for the Black Star Renegades and their leader, Mig, the savior of planets.”
Kira’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t push it.”
“Gunk and the rest of my forces are mopping up what’s left of Praxis’s ground forces,” Kay said. He sounded proud, and he had every right to be. “The stupid ones are still putting up a fight, but most have surrendered.”
“You trained them well, Warden,” Kira said.
Kay smiled, but his smile quickly faded. He cleared his throat and stretched his neck uncomfortably. “I’m sorry to ask, but I have to know. Is Ebik—”
“Dead,” Kira said flatly. “He’s dead.”
“Understood,” Kay said, then asked nothing further.
Cade stepped closer to Kira; she could see how utterly exhausted he was. Physically and emotionally. She shared the same depletion; there was nothing left within her. Kira felt like she was going to need to sleep for weeks once they got off this moon.
“You okay?” Cade asked softly.
Kira thought about it. There was a lot to process still, and even with this victory, the war wasn’t over. But that wasn’t what Cade was talking about; he meant the here and now, and at the moment, that was the only place Kira wanted to be. “Yeah,” she said. “I am. And I think I will be.”
“Good,” Cade said, and Kira could see his eyes light up as he looked into hers. “Good. Now, come on, let’s get out of here.”
They moved to leave, all of them, but the moment Kira’s back was turned, she heard something. Something humming in the distance, but coming closer. The sound was familiar.
Kira stopped dead in her tracks.
“Do you hear that?” she asked.
Cade shook off Kira’s concern. “Just a ship,” he said. “The Poqlins are still patrolling over us.”
“No,” Kira said, her heart sinking down in her chest. “That’s my ship.”
No one had time to respond. The glass lining the chamber behind them erupted, blasting tiny shards in their direction. Kira covered herself, protecting her face out of instinct. And by the time she lowered her arm, the Rubicon was in sight, hovering in front of the space that’d just been opened. Her ship was positioned with its rear, which was open, facing them.
Ga Halle strode down the Rubicon’s ramp, Rokura in hand, and into the chamber.
“Go!” Cade yelled. “Get out of here, all of you!”
But it was too late. Before Kira could move, before Mig, 4-Qel, Kobe, or Kay could move, they were wrapped up in a blast of energy. It enveloped all five of them and lifted them off the ground. Everything from that point was pure nothingness. Kira couldn’t carry a single thought in her head. All she knew was pain. Pain like burning, like electrocution, like suffocation consuming her body all at once.
Her body was being torn apart, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“Cade,” Ga Halle said as her face slowly twisted toward him. “I’ve been looking for you.”
The Rokura blasted a stream of unimaginable energy from its tip; Cade knew this moment well, but never from this
side of things. He’d always been the one controlling—or perhaps merely delegating—the Rokura’s raw power. It was unlike anything in the known galaxy, and its purpose wasn’t just to destroy and kill; it was to obliterate. It wiped whatever it levied its might on clean out of existence, and Cade could hardly even grasp what that meant. Whatever it was, it was happening to his friends. He looked over and couldn’t stand the sight of them so riddled with pain and torture. So utterly consumed by the Rokura’s debilitating impact, they didn’t even look to him for help. They weren’t capable of even that.
Cade fixed his gaze on Ga Halle. She was cast against the dark, cloudy sky, the light of the Rokura giving her face an ethereal glow. She looked utterly deranged.
“I suppose, in a way, I have you to thank for my recent epiphany,” Ga Halle continued. “I once thought I could change hearts and minds; I wanted to give people a chance to see how valuable what I offered them was. If they could see how my domination was necessary, they’d submit. But system after system, rebellion after rebellion, some people never learn. Just like your friends.
“But now I know what must be done. I know that mercy is a fruitless endeavor, and there’s no reason for me to even act like there’s an option for this galaxy to do anything but bow to my will.”
There was no reasoning Cade could offer. No argument, no plea that would penetrate Ga Halle’s twisted consciousness. She was evil, through and through; the Rokura’s darkness and the evil Wu-Xia had placed into it had found its home.
But that didn’t mean the light was extinguished. It didn’t mean this fight was over.
“You’re going to watch your friends die, Cade Sura,” Ga Halle said. “Then you will join them.”
Cade looked back at his friends. It wouldn’t be long before their flesh began to disintegrate. Before they were ground to dust and scrubbed from the galaxy. They were writhing in the pain the Rokura caused them; seeing them like that, seeing them suffer, filled Cade with determination like he’d never felt before. The idea of them and the light they all possessed being snuffed out of this world gave him a sense of purpose he never knew.
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