by Sarah Hawke
It was also exactly what Mosaad had hoped they would do.
Reaching out with his telekinesis, he caught the statue mid-fall, twisted it around in the air, and summarily dropped it on top of the now-clustered mechs. The shearing crunch was probably audible halfway across the city, and a whole platoon of guards was probably already on the way. Thankfully, the chamber door was now completely blocked.
“Order your thugs to put down their weapons,” Mosaad said. “I’d rather not make any more of a mess.”
Falric’s eyes gaped open wide as if he had only now realized the gravity of his mistake. Mosaad had seen the same face countless times over the years. Despite their legendary history, the Blades were constantly underestimated.
“You won’t get away with this!” the emperor hissed. “The whole Dominion will come after you!”
“Tell them to put down their weapons,” Mosaad repeated. “Now!”
Falric grimaced. “You heard him. Put them down.”
The commandos only hesitated for a fraction of a second before they dropped their rifles and kicked them across the floor. Their pistols followed a few seconds later.
“Stun grenades too,” Mosaad said.
One by one, the men unclipped the cylindrical grenades from their belt and gently set them down.
“Thank you,” Mosaad said. “My apologies in advance for the headache.”
Reaching out with his telekinesis again, he plucked the safety pin from one of the grenades. The men barely had time to glance down before a blinding blue explosion blasted them off their feet and knocked them unconscious.
“There is a reason why the Blades—not the military—protect the Throne,” Mosaad said. “Perhaps this will serve as a reminder.”
He released his grip on Falric and shoved the young man forward. He unceremoniously skidded across the floor until he collided with the insensate bodies of his men.
“Traitor!” Falric snarled. “I will have your head for this!”
“Maybe,” Mosaad said, opening his palm and pulling one of the discarded stun rifles to his hand. “But not today.”
He blasted the other man squarely in the chest. Admiral Grayson stood there, mouth agape at the sight of his unconscious sovereign.
“Seraph save us,” Grayson murmured. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
“Yes,” Mosaad said. “I just saved the Dominion.
The admiral shook his head. “I know how he thinks. When he wakes up, he’ll send a whole bloody fleet after you.”
“What fleet?” Mosaad muttered. “In case you hadn’t noticed, the skies of Keledon are empty.”
Grayson swallowed. “Don’t underestimate him, Wynn. He will not allow this to stand.”
“I know. The question is…will you?”
The admiral turned, a hundred separate emotions vying for supremacy on his face. No matter how hard he tried to hide it—no matter how many years he had spent trying to deny it—Grayson was still a warrior, too. He had to understand what was at stake here.
“I am a loyal servant of the Dominion, Wynn,” he whispered. “I will do as my emperor commands.”
Mosaad glanced down at the rifle in his arms then tossed it to the admiral. “Then feel free to pull the trigger,” he said. “I’d rather have a fellow warrior shoot me in the chest than wait for a politician to stab me in the back.”
Grayson sighed—a tired, weary sound that rattled off the walls as loudly as the falling statue. “I will keep security off of you as long as I can,” he said, dropping the rifle. “But you need to get the hell out of this system as soon as possible.”
“You can still join us, old friend,” Mosaad said. “I have already secured the allegiance of the 7th Fleet. They’ll be at Talasea by the end of the week.”
“I’m afraid my fighting days are over,” Grayson said. “And if you’re not careful, yours will be soon as well.”
Mosaad smiled tightly and squeezed the other man’s shoulder. “Have some faith, Admiral. Like I said, the war isn’t over yet.”
“Just remember that you aren’t the first Blade to challenge the Convectorate,” Grayson warned. “And I pray to the Seraph you won’t be the last.”
Chapter One
Maz Sepa
Varsellian Sector, Far Rim
1101.7
“Still no sign of the target on sensors,” Darcy “Cobalt” Morrow grumbled over the com. “Where the fuck did he go?”
“He’s around,” I assured her, the ghost of a smile on my lips. “He’s always around…”
I banked the Valkyrie hard towards the planet’s rings. Cobalt and Morningstar followed hot on my heels, though I could sense their frustration when a barrage of tiny ice chunks began bombarding our shields. They knew our target wouldn’t be foolish enough to take the bait—the instant he dipped into the rings we would be able to detect and track his wake trail. I knew it too, but I was running out of ideas…and at least in here we would have some cover when he inevitably reappeared and started blasting us.
“I can’t see a damn thing in here,” Morningstar muttered. “Has anyone told him how frustrating this is?”
“I wouldn’t dare give him the pleasure,” I said. “Just keep your eyes peeled and your mind open. There’s always a split-second warning before he attacks.”
“Maybe if you’re a precog. I’ve never sensed anything until it’s too late.”
“Must be his royal blood,” Cobalt snarked. “It makes him extra special.”
I tossed a sour glare at her Valkyrie as she settled into formation next to me. After a week of endless goading, her little jibe probably shouldn’t have annoyed me as much as it did. The other pilots had handled the truth about my heritage far better than I had, after all, and their playful banter had actually brought all the whelps closer together. At this point, a distant observer might even mistake us for a real fighter squadron.
Still, I wanted to put the past behind me as quickly as possible and move on. I doubted I would ever truly see myself as Cole Tisarys, heir to the Crystal Throne—I was exactly the same Cole Vontera I had always been, and I didn’t want or expect anyone to treat me differently.
Except maybe Kaveri. Ever since she’d learned that she had been specifically designed for me, the sex had been even crazier than normal…
“Let’s try something a little different,” I said, grinning at the thought. “You two stay in the rings during the approach. I’ll break off and make a clear attack run on my own.”
“Wait, what?” Cobalt blurted out. “You’ll be totally exposed out there!”
“Yeah, but I might be able to sense him coming. And if he goes after the two of you, at least you’ll be able to track his wake trail.”
“This is a bad idea,” Morningstar said. “Like, really bad.”
“Maybe, but we already know we can’t win if we play it safe,” I told them. “Here goes nothing.”
I rolled my Valkyrie out of the planetary rings and back into open space. Our primary target—an asteroid looming in high orbit of the planet—was still several minutes away at top speed, and our attack plan called for us to approach via the relative safety of the rings before quickly darting out and unleashing our payload. It was a perfectly sound, logical strategy…other than the fact it hadn’t worked a single time all week.
A lone “enemy” fighter was guarding the asteroid, and so far he had always managed to appear out of nowhere and pick us off before we could complete our mission. Cobalt and Morningstar were convinced we would succeed eventually, but I knew better. Our adversary was relentless, unpredictable, and annoyingly clever.
“Still nothing,” Cobalt said. “ETA to the target: two minutes, thirteen seconds.”
“Just stay sharp—he might wait until the last possible moment to jump us,” I said, closing my eyes and reaching out through the Valkyrie’s sensors. I still couldn’t detect anything, which seemed completely unfair given that Convectorate fighter drones didn’t possess cloaking technology.
But this particular test wasn’t about fairness, of course—it was about overcoming insurmountable odds.
And that was a skill we definitely needed to learn if we had any hope of destroying the Nelphari Shipyards.
“I have something,” Cobalt said. “There’s a wake trail bearing nine-nine-two mark six-five-one.”
“I see it,” Morningstar replied excitedly. “He’s way too low—he must have dipped out of position.”
“Then let’s take him.”
Through the Valkyrie, I felt them split in opposite directions and curl back around in an attempt to flank their unseen attacker. It was exactly what they should have done given the circumstances—and that was why I knew it would fail.
“Don’t take the bait!” I warned. “It must be a false reading from—”
I never had a chance to finish the sentence. Just as Cobalt unleashed a blistering salvo from her psionic cannons, another wake trail appeared in the icy cloud behind her. They enemy fighter fired before she had a chance to respond, and she screamed in frustration when her aft shields buckled almost immediately.
“You have to be fucking kidding me,” she snarled. “Where the hell he did come from?”
“He reconfigured a missile to act as a decoy,” I said, shaking my head in frustration and amazement. “You’re out.”
“Yeah, no shit. What a wonderful fucking plan you had there.”
I grimaced in sympathy as she lifted her Valkyrie up and out of the rings to simulate her “destruction.” Morningstar and I were the only ones left, and I had voluntarily put myself way, way out of position.
“Dammit,” Morningstar growled. “I completely lost the trail. How is this even possible?”
“He’s called Spectre for a reason,” I muttered. “Hang tight—I’ll come to you and we can…”
I trailed off when a familiar tingling sensation tugged at the corner of my mind. Most of my premonitions hit me like a brick to the face, but this one was slow and gradual. At first, I couldn’t figure out what my powers were trying to tell me; I didn’t feel like I was in any real danger. But then a flood of sensor data belatedly poured over me, and I suddenly knew exactly where Spectre was hiding.
“There you are,” I said, punching the throttle and streaking back towards the icy rings.
“What the hell are you doing, Outcast?” Morningstar asked, his voice tight with strain. “Did you spot him?”
“Not exactly,” I murmured, closing my eyes. They would be totally useless here anyway; my Valkyrie would have to take their place whether I liked it or not. “Just hang tight and follow my lead.”
“Your lead to where?”
“You’ll know when the time comes.”
“Wait, what—?”
I didn’t let him finish. Punching the Valkyrie’s throttle to full, I veered back towards the rings and tried to make it look like I was frantically attempting to return to my wingman’s side. Spectre swallowed the bait—he could have easily taken out Morningstar before I got back into position, but he wanted me to overcompensate for my earlier mistake so he could vape both of us at once and maximize my humiliation. I could already imagine the lecture he would give me when we returned to base.
“Not this time, buddy,” I said.
The instant I closed within a kilometer of Morningstar, I sensed Spectre make his move. His Valkyrie, skimming mere meters above the edge of the icy field, accelerated until he was almost within firing range of both of us. All he needed to do was dip down for a few seconds to get a proper firing solution, and he assumed we wouldn’t be able to react to his presence in time. Normally, he would have been right.
But I had just changed the rules of the game.
Grinning, I wrenched the flight stick hard to port and threw my Valkyrie into a wild roll. Spectre hesitated for a fraction of a second—I could perfectly envision his scales rippling blue in confusion—as he tried to figure out what the hell I was doing. And for once, I made him pay for his momentary indecision. I locked my cannons on one of the largest ice clusters above us, patiently counted to three, and fired.
Morningstar was probably as confused as Spectre, and I didn’t blame him. The cluster detonated in a sparkling shower of rock and water that seemed utterly pointless…right up until Spectre’s momentum carried him through him debris.
“I have a target!” Morningstar announced. “He’s right on top of us!”
“Not for long,” I said, still grinning. “Let’s do this.”
We still might not have been great at fighting invisible enemies, but after a week of intense training with a real Wing of the Seraph we had already gotten pretty damn good at basic dogfighting. Spectre was a slippery son of a bitch—the Wild Gazack’s sluggish controls had obviously been holding him back over the years—but even he couldn’t beat two-to-one odds for long. We eventually caught him in a crossfire, and once he was neutralized we had no trouble destroying our primary target on the other side of the planet.
“Well done,” Spectre said. From the tone of his voice, I could tell he was genuinely impressed. “Though you did lose a wingman in the process.”
“Considering we couldn’t see or target you, I’d say that’s a pretty fair trade,” Morningstar said.
“Thanks a lot, asshole,” Cobalt grumbled. “How about next time we ‘trade’ you for the win?”
“All I’m saying is that you’re obviously the expendable one here. Cole is royalty, and I’m amazing. Don’t take it personally.”
I could actually sense her glaring at him from half a kilometer away. If the two of them weren’t already fucking, they definitely would be soon.
“Now that we got you, are you finally going to teach us this secret cloaking trick of yours?” I asked.
“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” Spectre said.
I frowned. “Why? We’ve picked up everything else you’ve tried to teach us.”
“Because it is a matter of genetics, not instruction. Remember, the Valkyrie is an extension of its pilot’s mind and body. My ability to shroud is related to my natural camouflage reflex.”
My expression soured. “You could have told us that days ago!”
“Yes, but I enjoyed keeping you in suspense,” he replied mildly. “The point of this exercise was to teach you how to defeat an opponent with unpredictable abilities, and you succeeded. Congratulations.”
“Why does he sound so sarcastic?” Cobalt asked.
“He always sounds that way,” I muttered. “Anyway, point taken. But how did you know my clairvoyant abilities would eventually be able to find you?”
“I assumed they wouldn’t, given my species’ natural resistance to other psionic abilities.”
“Then how did you ever expect us to win?”
“I didn’t.”
I snorted and shook my head. “I really hate you sometimes…”
“We should return to Maz Sepa,” he said, though I could hear the faintest trace of amusement in his voice. “It is long past time for us to disconnect from the Valkyries and take a break.”
***
Raxyl was right: an intense wave of nausea swept over me the instant I unplugged myself from the Valkyrie. I managed to keep down my lunch, but Morningstar and Cobalt weren’t so lucky. By the time my vision and balance returned, the mechs were already scurrying about to try and clean up the mess.
“Fucking hell,” Morningstar swore as he crouched down on all fours next to his fighter. “Why do I even bother eating?”
“Given the accelerated nature of your training, I would normally suggest a brief but intense intravenous diet,” Raxyl said. “Unfortunately, I do not believe our current medical facilities are up to the challenge.”
Cobalt snorted as she tried to stand. “What medical facilities?”
“My point exactly.”
Morningstar snorted. “What I want to know is why you aren’t affected. You’ve been linked up way more than the rest of us this past week.”
“I am not human,” Raxyl
said.
“So you keep reminding us. You can cloak your ship, you don’t puke all over the place when you unhook yourself…why didn’t the Dominion ever train whole squads of Kali pilots?”
“Because there aren’t that many Kali psychics,” I told him. “Though good, old-fashioned racism was probably a bigger factor.”
“Without a doubt,” Raxyl agreed. Prior to a week ago he hadn’t flown a Valkyrie for almost two decades, and I had been a little concerned that he would trigger some kind of horrible relapse like an old carsenium addict. But as usual, he’d handled things with far more grace and aplomb than the rest of us…at least on the surface. I could tell that the strain was slowly getting to him, and every once in a while I would catch a shimmer of sickly brown in his scales. I wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised if he was suffering every bit as much as we were.
“Please tell me we can stay unplugged until tomorrow,” Morningstar said once he’d finally dragged himself back to his feet. “You know, just enough time to actually digest a meal or two.”
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”
We all turned to look at the new speaker striding toward us from the other side of the base. Cameron “Blackstar” Winters, the Wing Commander of Seraph Squadron, looked almost as beleaguered as the rest of us. While we had been training with Raxyl almost non-stop, he and the other five “real” pilots had been flying constant patrol and scouting missions. They had probably clocked more raw hours in the cockpit than we had, as hard as that was to believe.
“What now?” Cobalt asked, slumping against an empty cargo crate.
“Nova just finished another scouting sweep of Nelphari,” Blackstar said. “The readings are…not good.”