by Keary Taylor
He has done so many bad things in his life I couldn’t count them.
I’m fighting to free everyone in the galaxy.
We couldn’t be more different.
But I still feel it. I hold onto it with every bit of strength I have.
There is potential in Valen. The potential for change. The potential for good. The potential for greatness.
“I don’t know that I can be what you see me as,” Valen finally says. I feel his conflict. The weight in his stomach. “But I know I can’t go back. Now that I’ve found you, Nova, I can’t go back.”
It isn’t a promise. He doesn’t tell me he’s going to change.
But he does say he’ll never let me go.
That should scare me. That should make me think twice.
But for right now, for where my heart and soul is, it’s enough.
“I can do this,” I say, my voice quiet and low and already exhausted, even though it is only mentally spoken. “I promise you, Valen, I can and I will do this. I’ll do whatever it takes.”
I search for him in my mind. Only his voice is there, but I pull up a mental picture of him. I trace all the details. The blackness of his hair. The arch of his brows. The length of his jaw. The set of his lips.
But mostly, the vividness of his blue eyes.
I reach out to that picture and I pull it into me. I let his arms wrap around me, holding me with strength.
“I am with you, Nova,” his voice fills my entire mind. “I promise, I will do whatever it takes to be with you.”
I smile. I swear my entire body is glowing.
It’s hard. Everything is hard and the odds are impossible. But I’m happy.
“Then stay where you are and let me figure this out,” I say to him. “I need you to stay safe and away until Cyrillius is dead.”
Once more, I feel his conflict. Valen can do anything. He could destroy planets, command ships and armies. He can wield Neron.
But this…he cannot do this. He cannot kill Cyrillius.
I get a…wishful impression, but not words of promise, and I have to remember who he is and everything in his past.
“I don’t want to be alone here,” I say meekly. I get up from the chair and climb into the massive bed. I slip under the covers, pulling them up and over my head where I can pretend I am on Kaelea, in the same house as Valen. “Will you stay with me tonight?”
My eyes are still closed, but I swear I feel the air around me warm. I swear I feel the brush of a hand on my arm. I swear I feel lips brush against my neck.
“Forever,” I hear his voice whisper.
And we may be sectors away, across the galaxy. But I feel him with me, and his promise, as if it’s been burned into my very skin.
I’m dead asleep. So when the door swings open and three people walk in, they scare the slag out of me.
I reach for my Neron staff, but it isn’t anywhere near me. We had to leave it on The Corsair.
“I hope you slept well,” a female voice says.
I blink, pushing my wild hair out of my eyes and take a defensive stance on the bed.
Commander 12-3 walks into the room, followed by two others. The first, a woman wearing black clothing, carries a tray of food, enough to feed six people. The other, a man with brilliant red hair and a proud nose and chin, carries something in a garment bag.
He hooks it onto the wardrobe and unzips it, revealing a sophisticated looking jumpsuit with a high collar.
“You will be meeting with our engineers and suppliers in one hour,” 12-3 says, folding her hands behind her back. “You will have approximately three hours to work with Edan Calwin today, and the next four days, completing the weapon he commissioned. Cyrillius will be joining you later today.”
I stand frozen on the bed, unsure of what to do as the woman sets the food on a table and then she and the red-haired man leave the room.
Through the door, I see four guards standing on either side. They all hold Neron weapons.
I don’t stand a chance at running.
“Take a shower,” 12-3 says. “Eat some food. Get dressed. I will be back in forty-five minutes to escort you.”
She turns without another word and walks out, leaving me locked in this room once more.
I step off the bed, looking from the food to the door to the clothes they left me.
At first I’m dead set that I won’t touch the food, even if I am starving. They could have put anything in it. I could be dead in less than a minute.
But Cyrillius wants me to work for him, so it makes no sense to poison me.
The food is just food, and it does look slam delicious.
I step forward, running my fingers over the clothing they left. It’s made of fine leather and cotton, high quality. It’s all black with Neron blue stitching.
A picture flashes through my mind. Of how fine Valen and I would look, standing side by side in our black.
I blink, shoving the thought aside.
I head into the bathing room and turn the water on, hot as I can stand.
Twenty minutes later, I’m clean and dressed with my hair braided over one shoulder. I hate how much I like the clothing they brought me. They even left fingerless gloves, the same kind I loved to wear back on Korpillion.
My stomach is clenching in tight knots of nerves, but I force myself to eat a few bites, knowing I have to keep up my strength for what is to come. Whatever that might be.
Right on time, the door swings open, and in steps 12-3 with four guards at her sides.
“Follow me,” she says flatly.
Without a word, I follow her out the door, back into the hall. This one is simple, unlike the way into Cyrillius’ quarters. There are ten doors along this hall. I count them, making sure to pick out markers so that if I need to, I can find my way back or out.
We take a right at the end of the hall, heading in the opposite direction of Cyrillius’ quarters.
There are so many people in the Compound. There are hundreds of soldiers, headed this way or that. There are important diplomats stepping out of meetings. There are commanders. There are cleaning crews by the dozens.
This really is like a hive. All scurrying to work for their king bee.
And everywhere, there are Kinduri.
They watch me with their black eyes as I walk by. With every ounce of will I have, I lock everything inside that vault, determined they will never find my truths.
A wall at the end of a hall opens and I don’t realize it is an elevator until the entire, what I thought was a room, begins to descend. Down and down we fall and I wonder just how deep the shafts fall into the heart of Isroth, or if the entire planet has just been tunneled out now, and there is no bottom, only the other side of the planet.
Silently, we all take the ride down into the belly of Dominion’s headquarters. And then there’s a deep buzz, and the doors slide open.
I expected dark. I thought there would be more black walls, black floor, black ceiling.
Instead, I’m blinded by brilliant white. White ceiling. White walls. White floor.
There are people bustling about, all wearing similar black uniforms with long sleeves, the symbol of Dominion sewn into the shoulder.
There is equipment everywhere. Tools. Forges. And there are shards of Neron lying around everywhere like they’re no more valuable than writing utensils.
Slag. Cyrillius was right. I’m already imagining what I could create in this space.
Commander 12-3 gives me an encouraging shove from behind, forcing me to step out into the immense lab. Straight ahead, a group of people look at us expectantly. Standing behind them all is Edan.
I breathe a little sigh of relief seeing him in one piece, seemingly unharmed.
“These are our chief engineers,” 12-3 says, indicating each of the men. She quickly rattles off their names, which immediately go in one ear and out the other. “They will be assisting you in the completion of the weapon you must complete. The guards will remain here, and will keep an eye
on things. You may begin now.”
She doesn’t waste time. She turns, and marches right back for the elevator, leaving behind her four soldiers, an addition to the six I already saw standing around the perimeter.
Cyrillius might talk about my work with awe, but these employees certainly don’t. I see resentment and annoyance in their eyes as they look me up and down. They shake my hand with sneers on their faces.
I’m just a rat from Korpillion to them. I don’t deserve the praise their boss is giving me.
Slam them to void.
I don’t care what they think about me.
“Ladies, ladies,” Edan says, stepping into the group of men in stiff uniforms. “All these introductions are sure to lead to lifelong friendships, but this little cack-she has work to do so I can get paid and off this slam planet.”
They all look at Edan with a sneer, off put by his rough appearance. But it does the trick. They clear out of the way, giving us our space, and free run of the lab.
“Let’s get to it, shall we?” Edan says loudly enough for those we’re performing for.
He shoves a huge box at me, the parts inside clanking loudly.
I don’t think I fully contain the tiny smile that forms on my lips as I take it from him.
Together, we go to one of the tables set up in the room, a good distance from the others working down here in the celestially-lit underbelly of Isroth.
The parts in this box really are a weapon I never finished. I started working on it one evening on Salypso and never had time to finish it.
It’s a sword. An archaic, single-edged sword that’s three feet long and massive. But instead of a sharp, metal edge to the blade, I’m making it out of sharpened, razor-edged Neron.
I rattle off instructions, listing the supplies I need. The lesser workers scramble about, gathering everything I ask for. They’re overly eager and up to please anyone, even me. They must be unpaid understudies.
I talk loudly as I work, all for show, toeing the line between fake and obvious and seriously needing them to think I’m actually building this weapon for Edan.
As the last of the helpers walk away, getting out of earshot, Edan leans in close. “Why the void is Cyrillius still alive?” he hisses into my ear.
My eyes slide over to meet his and a spark of…fear and…distortion light in me.
“You had plenty of opportunity,” he says, looking around at the guards. None of them are paying us much mind. “I saw you starting to form that Neron. And then you just…stopped. What the void is going on, Nova?”
My eyes flick from those working off to our left back down to the sword I’m creating. “I don’t know what’s happening, but every time I think about killing him, I just…can’t.”
“What the void is that supposed to mean?” he growls. “You’re a slam Nero, Nova. A good one. There might not be much natural Neron here, but you’ve seen this place.” He looks around. “They’ve got Neron lying around like they’re the souls of all those Cyrillius has killed.”
I shake my head as I carve the mold that I will use to forge the handle. “It’s not that.”
“Then what is it?” he hisses. “Because I might be manic and mad, but even I know that every second we stay on this planet we are risking our lives. What gives, Nova?”
“I don’t know how to explain it,” I say as my heart rate picks up. My palms are sweating. The light around me flickers just twice. White and then black. “It’s like, every time I think about killing him…something happens in my brain.”
“In your brain?” he asks, doubtful and confused.
I nod without looking at him. “And I’m filled with this absolute fear. I-”
But my words cut off as that massive door swings open and in walks Cyrillius, accompanied by two guards and a very official-looking man I’ve noticed who follows him around, waiting to fulfill his every request.
“I know you were promised more time,” Cyrillius says as he walks through the lab, his hands clasped behind his back. “But I’m afraid I need to use the time I have. Nova may resume work on your commission tomorrow morning.”
Edan puts on a good show of looking annoyed, but he gives a little dip of his head and walks out of the lab and through the door without putting up a fight.
“I hope that you slept well,” Cyrillius says as he turns to me. He fixes me with those cinnamon-brown eyes.
“Like a baby,” I respond. And the thought to kill him surges in me, but I shove it back down, not wanting to see his face distort or hear screams in my brain.
“It’s already a fine piece,” Cyrillius says, stepping up to the table. He reaches down, picking up the blade that is only half formed. There is an empty groove where I still need to insert the Neron, once I’ve shaped and sharpened it. But the steel is high quality, the best I could buy from our time on Laziria. “Though I think Edan Calwin overestimates his strength. The blade is far too large and long for someone of his stature.”
“That’s what I tried to tell him,” I say, going along with the lies. “I gave him my suggestions, but you know how most men are. They think the bigger the shaft, the better the bang.”
“I’d like to show you something,” Cyrillius says, ignoring my harsh words, instead, offering a pleasant smile. “If you would come with me.”
The two guards with him close in around me. There’s no if about his invitation.
I step forward so they don’t grab me, walking up to Cyrillius’ side as if this were my choice and I don’t mind going with him. He steps forward, and I follow after him.
We cross through the lab, to the far side. Cyrillius scans his hand on a pad on the wall and it slides open, revealing another elevator. We all step inside and it closes, trapping us.
“We’ve been working on something new,” the corrupt leader says as the elevator moves sideways, slipping under the surface of his planet. “It’s been under construction for two solars. I’ve been most disappointed that it has not been completed yet. But we have run into a few hiccups.”
The doors slide open once more and I’m overcome by the smell of metal and charged oxygen.
It’s dark here. Dimmer than the rest of the Compound. This place is not white and lit up like the lab.
We exit into a tunnel which we walk through, our steps echoing off the rock-hewn walls.
Up ahead, I see sparks, hear the sounds of voices yelling. I smell sweat. I feel the excitement of creation spark under my skin.
Finally, we walk out onto a ledge with a metal railing, and I look out.
The space before me is massive. Buildings are my best comparison for space, having grown up on Korpillion. It’s the size of four massive city blocks and rises at least fifteen stories high. We’re standing a good ten stories up above the flat ground below, granting us the view of everything beneath us.
There are probably one hundred workers bustling about. I see welders and architects, electricians. There are miners and mechanics.
There are five ships on the ground below. Three Class 6 fighter ships, brand spanking new, still under construction. There’s a Class 3 freighter that seems to be under repair.
But there in the center of it all, is something I’ve never seen before.
It’s the size of a Class 4, big enough to carry a crew of twenty or so. But I’ve never seen a ship so narrow and long. It’s like it’s been stretched out and sharpened to a razor’s edge.
But that is not what shocks me, holds my eyes absolutely captive.
It’s the core, which on every ship I’ve ever seen is mounted to the back of the ship. This one stretches along the entire top of the ship, in a long, narrow shaft.
It glows, illuminating the entire space.
It’s twenty times bigger than any other core I’ve ever seen.
Solid, massive Neron.
“It is the largest Neron core in known history,” Cyrillius says as he leans his forearms on the railing. “The only ship with more Neron used is the Dominion, which operates on
twelve different cores.”
“How fast could that thing travel?” I ask in wonder.
“We could travel from here to the A sector in eight days once it is complete.”
My blood overflows with delirious excitement.
Eight days.
Currently, in The Corsair, it would take nearly nine lunars to travel that distance.
“That’s incredible,” I let the words breathe over my lips without thinking.
“It will be,” my enemy says as he studies the beautiful ship. “We still have many kinks to work out before we can truly test its abilities.”
“Such as?” I ask, and I hate that he has me truly curious now.
“Such as how to keep the core from melting the entire ship and everyone on board once it reaches its lowest speed level.”
I huff a laugh.
Neron doesn’t exactly create heat, but it does put off mass amounts of energy when activated. Enough energy it affects the molecules and can liquefy or vaporize anything in proximity.
It’s one of the reasons why I’ve never created anything bigger than a personal weapon with no more than ten shards of Neron. I’ve never had access to a high enough quality metal to not be broken down.
“Is this what you want my help on?” I ask. And I hope and pray that he says no, because I am so, so intrigued and tempted to climb into its underbelly and see how every bit of it works.
“No,” he says, to my disappointment. “Not yet, anyway. I have something else in mind for you, Nova Ainsley. But I do not feel the time for that has yet arrived.”
I look over at him and he does the same, and I wish I could rip his tongue from his mouth and scatter little bits of it around the galaxy.
A scream sears through my brain and the shape of Cyrillius’ face distorts, stretching horribly, his mouth a gaping black maw.
I suck in a sharp breath and look away from him, blinking five times to clear the terror from my vision.
Slag.
“Why do you think I would ever work for you?” I ask, trying to regain control of myself and this conversation. “I have no loyalty to you. Everyone I care about is dead, so you can’t hold them against me. What makes you think that you can make me work for you?”