With boots sending up sprays of sand, Magnus double-timed it to the senator’s escape pod. The closer he got, the more certain he became that it was the senator’s coffin. Red blood splattered the inside of the canopy. As he glanced inside, Magnus saw the senator’s unmoving body, the head twisted to the right at an unnatural angle. He unlocked the glass, pulling the canopy from the pod. The familiar smell of death hit his nostrils.
“Splick,” Magnus said, reaching to feel for the man’s pulse. But the way the corpse’s glazed eyes looked unblinking into another realm told him all he needed to know. What scared Magnus the most was that the man had been alive when he’d climbed into this pod but had died before he’d even left the Bull Wraith. Magnus turned back and looked at Piper as a chill went up his spine.
Chapter 31
Kane stood at the entrance to the den. A filthy hellhole, he noted.
You should fit in just fine, then. It was the other voice. But he’d stopped calling it that.
Kane waved a trooper forward. The man knocked on the thick doors with the butt of his blaster. When the Reptalon’s eye appeared, Kane leaned in and said, “Admiral Kane to see the master of this house.”
The guard’s green eye widened, presumably from seeing the platoon of troopers that Captain Nos Kil led behind Kane. “I’m sorry,” it hissed. “Sootriman’s not accepting visitors.”
“Sootriman?” So that’s his name.
“No visitors. Leave.”
“That’s a shame.”
The Reptalon’s eye blinked. “What?”
“I said, that’s a shame.”
In a single fluid motion, Kane raised his sidearm—an old MRG compact railgun pistol—and fired a lead projectile into the lizard’s eye. The railgun was a relic from the previous century, made obsolete by the newer gauss cannons. Never, however, had the weapon been refit as a handgun platform—until the MRG. The result was an incredibly loud, incredibly destructive kinetic weapon that discharged enough recoil to snap a wrist. The firearm had never left the prototype phase, however, and those pieces that remained were rare. The explosion of green fluid and gore that erupted from the small slit in the door blew back onto Kane’s face and chest. The admiral didn’t so much as blink but turned aside, moving past the door’s hinges, and looked at Nos Kil.
“Blow it,” Kane ordered.
The captain nodded and signaled his men. They stacked up on each side as a two-man team dropped an explosive charge into the ooze-dripping slit. The pair rolled away from the door and took cover, one tapping the other twice on the shoulder. Kane holstered his MRG and covered his ears.
A thunderous blast shook the ground as the doors blew off the building. Bluish-white light bathed the surrounding structures like a high-noon sun, peppering their surfaces with shrapnel and a shower of dust.
When Kane turned back to the opening, he didn’t even pause to survey the damage; he simply walked over the flaming debris. His boots sank into several masses of formerly living things that were now smoldering clumps of tissue. They’re happier now, he told himself as he looked around the putrid squalor of the den’s interior. This was no way to live. The passage smelled of cat urine and mold.
“Lights,” Kane said from the head of the line that snaked its way through the corridor. Two troopers fired flares from lower canister extensions on their MX21s, each projectile sounding a hollow kuh-thunk as it was lobbed ahead. The flares exploded in a dazzling splash of red light and illuminated several Reptalons, who were still dazed from the breaching explosion. Kane pointed to each target as if his fingers had the power to release blaster bolts. Nos Kil’s troopers fired single shots at the reptilian brains, dropping the guards cold.
Kane noticed a strange growth moving along the walls, something serpentine but still fauna. Its gangrenous surface rippled from floor to ceiling and back again. Kane had the distinct feeling that it was going to lunge at them, a beast lurking under the gelatinous membrane.
He spoke over his shoulder at Nos Kil. “Torch it.”
“Yes, sir,” came the trooper’s amplified voice. Nos Kil pointed at a trooper to his right and flicked two fingers toward the mass slithering along the walls. An MF11 flamethrower burst to life and shot a stream of fire at the side of that corridor and then the other. The trooper swept his weapon back and forth, filling the hallway with more and more destruction. Bright-orange light washed the cavity, and Kane felt the heat prick his pockmarked skin just as it had so many years before. Whatever the creature was, it was not immune to fire and screeched as the molten liquid devoured its moldy flesh.
Several more Reptalons arrived down the corridor, summoned by the commotion. They took no more than a step into Kane’s field of view before their lives ended, blaster bolts searing through their scaly heads.
Kane and his men moved past the fire and up the central stairwell, stepping over bodies, before arriving at a set of inner doors. Most of the guards must have already met their end racing toward Kane, as only one lizard remained vigilant, pointing his spear at the invaders. Faithful or afraid? Kane wondered. Let’s find out.
Why do you keep calling yourself that?
Keep calling myself what?
Kane.
It’s my name.
Is it?
The last Reptalon guard hissed, “Stop where you are.”
“Why didn’t you leave your post and assault with your brothers?” Kane asked, still moving across the landing.
The lizard hesitated. “I said, stop where you are!”
“They raced out to meet us, but you stayed here. Why?” Kane tilted his head, examining the beast. Faithful or afraid? he asked himself again. He wanted to know before he dispatched the monster.
“I am the sworn protector of Sootriman! Don’t take another step.”
Kane stopped. Faithful. That’s honorable, deserving of a painless death. “Open the door,” he ordered.
“Never!”
Kane raised his MRG and fired another lead projectile. The Reptalon’s head exploded like a green pumpkin, showering the walls with brain and bone. The lizard’s body continued to stand, its legs and tail staggering to keep balance without a central nervous system. Kane walked toward it, pushed the spear aside, and shoved the headless body to the ground.
The admiral walked to the doors and pounded on them with a gloved fist. “Sootriman!” The heel of his hand came alive with pain. He banged again, an act that caused microfractures in his bones. “Sootriman,” he seethed, feeling possessed by the sudden rage he held toward this molten planet’s strangely named ruler. He struck the doors a third time, the pain searing up his arm and flaring in his mind.
But you can take it, he—it—said. The pain makes you come alive, makes you thrive.
“Sootriman, open your gates, or I will.”
A moment later, a mechanism shuddered and began to splay the doors apart. Kane rolled his chin as the den’s light caught him in the eyes. The place was filled with otherworldly sights and sounds far different from the ones he’d just passed through.
How flagrantly inconsistent, he thought. Inconsistency was not to be tolerated. It was the enemy of order. Without law, there was only chaos. Chaos consumed all until there was nothing left to feed upon.
That’s what it’s done to you, Kane, hasn’t it? The inconsistency took everything from you, everything you held dear. It gorged its bottomless stomach on what you loved until there was nothing left to love.
Kane moved into the room, his troopers fanning out behind him. They targeted anything that moved but stayed their trigger fingers, awaiting his command. A woman sat atop a dais at the far side of the room. Kane noted that she was exceedingly beautiful even from this distance. Sootriman’s wife? Or Sootriman herself?
The woman waved off several guards who seemed eager to approach the intruders. A wise move. Their plasma spears were charming and a truly violent weapon—something Kane could appreciate. However, every weapon had optimal engagement scenarios, and plasma spears were no m
atch for advanced blasters. Unless they had some concealed secondary weapons, a confrontation would be no contest, and he was sure the woman knew that.
The admiral arrived at the base of the dais as his troopers took up defensive positions throughout the room. He didn’t even need to see them to know they had blocked the exits and held the most likely hostile threats at gunpoint. Always keen for an opponent to show their hand, Kane waited for the woman to speak first. So much could be gleaned from the initial tremors of someone’s voice in a moment of anxiety. Often, the effect rattled the speaker more than the listener. Likewise, an absence of anxiety could signal that the potential adversary was so hungry with rage or power that they ignored healthy fear. Or alternatively, they could just be as confident as they projected.
Kane stood with his chest out, MRG holstered on his hip, hands folded behind his back. He waited, wringing his hands in his glossy black gloves. The squeak satisfied him. Patiently, he waited, staring up at the woman. Sootriman. But she was unflinching.
The admiral tried to decide which type of victim she would be—someone who did not respect how easily he could dispatch her or someone who was truly a worthy adversary, as consistent in the face of death as she’d been while building this floating empire over the least likely of planets. He hoped she was the latter. He would interrogate her, if so, and see how far she could go before breaking.
“I am Admiral Kane of the Paragon,” he said in a low voice, finally deciding to go first.
Are you?
Kane hesitated. You can’t be talking to me. Not now. Stop it. “I am Admiral Kane,” he said again. He winced in frustration, face contorting. “Of the Paragon.”
The woman watched him with odd fascination. She was studying him like a hunter studies its prey.
But she’s in no place to have any advantage, Kane. Take her now.
“I am Sootriman, tamer of Ki Nar Four’s tempests. What brings you to my domain, Admiral Kane of the Paragon?”
She’s not using your real name, the voice in his head said. And neither are you. Be consistent, or be nothing at all.
“I’ve come in search of a ship,” Kane answered.
“A ship? Well, you’ve come to the right place. Though I fear that whatever deal we strike will involve far more than you may be willing to pay, given how many of my pets you’ve slain and the dents you’ve put in my den.”
“A modified Katana-class light freighter. She sought port here. We—”
We? Who do you mean, Kane? You and me? Or is this still about you and your men?
“We’ve been—”
Which is it? Answer me.
“Yes?” Sootriman prompted.
Kane wrung his hands tighter behind his back. This was not the time to be having a conversation with himself. But it was happening more often, and the pain was getting stronger.
Focus, he told himself. Focus!
But he couldn’t focus, not with the voice constantly interrupting him. That, of course, was the trouble with it all—he was tired of the lack of consistency in himself. He was always torn between one thing and another—between abandoning his men or taking them with him, between leaving the Republic in peace or slitting its throat to end its misery, between going after his family or pursuing the fortunes the stardrive offered. For every decision he made, his conscience was there to protest. And he could never appease it, never satisfy its insatiable need to demand from him what ought to be done—who he ought to become.
But you know what you ought to do; you’re just too afraid to do it.
“Shut up,” Kane said.
“Excuse me?” Sootriman asked, her eyebrows raised.
Shut up? That’s no way to talk to yourself.
“I said, shut up.”
Please, old man. I can no more cease talking to you than you can leave your body. I’m simply waiting for you to come to the same conclusion that I have.
“Now, you listen here…” Sootriman said.
“STOP TALKING!” Kane roared. He whipped the MRG from its holster and squeezed the trigger. The weapon barked and blew off the top of Sootriman’s throne. Splinters rained down on her hair and shoulders. Her guards made to lunge, but Nos Kil threatened them with his MX21.
“I want to know where the Luma went,” Kane said, moving his pistol to the first civilian his eye caught. “She has something I want.”
“I believe you have come to the wrong place,” Sootriman said, raising her chin.
Do it, the voice said.
It’s a civilian.
I know.
But I… I’ve never killed civilians in cold blood.
But you were fine with blowing up dignitaries and diplomats?
That was different.
How?
Kane hesitated. Maybe it wasn’t any different. Maybe this was all just part of saving the Republic from itself—from saving the galaxy from the darkness that he knew the Republic was summoning. The work was dire, but it had to be done. And he knew in his heart of hearts that he was the one to do it.
Do it. Do it now.
Kane’s hand shook.
DO IT!
Kane squeezed the trigger. Several people screamed. Sootriman looked at Kane, horrified.
“I want to know where the Luma went,” Kane said again. Only he was no longer Kane. He was someone else entirely, and he pointed his weapon at the next civilian he saw.
Chapter 32
The mood on the Indomitable’s bridge was somber as the ship approached the coordinates for the quantum tunnel. The cockpit lights were dim, which allowed Awen a clear view of the vast array of stars beyond the window. Expanding in the center, however, was a black spot that looked like an oil spill on a canopy. No, it wasn’t like something had blotted out the stars; it was more like something had removed them completely—as if nothing was there at all.
Ezo was laser focused on helming the vessel, his eyes constantly checking for increases in speed and changes in attitude relative to the event horizon. TO-96’s normally chatty self was surprisingly withdrawn, and he was all business as he monitored the ship’s systems. Blips, pings, and chimes went off in steady succession as the sensors fed more data to TO-96.
Awen felt completely useless. She sat, strapped into her chair, fidgeting. If she’d been a mechanic, maybe she’d be in the aft, taking care of the drive core. If she’d been a trooper, she thought maybe she’d be in a gunner’s seat, but then she remembered that the Indomitable didn’t have any weapons systems. Okay, so no gunner’s seat. What can I do?
You’re a Luma, Awen.
Scolding herself for not thinking of it sooner, Awen closed her eyes and settled her center. Here, in the core of who she was, lay the beginning point of her existence as well as its end, the place where her life flowed from and where it would cease when she died. This center was her truest self, the one whose thoughts and feelings she trusted more than any of her personality’s many layers. If she listened carefully enough, she could hear the true narrative of her life, not the dozens of false ones she told herself—and certainly not the ones that others spoke over her. But spending too much time in the core was uncomfortable if not dangerous for the uninitiated.
“It is possible to see too much of one’s self too soon,” Willowood had said during an early lecture at the academy. “Unless you know yourself well, it may seem like you’re meeting a stranger at first. Therefore, it is best to make introductions slowly and treat yourself gently.”
She didn’t know why she was recalling all of this as the ship neared the quantum tunnel. It seemed an inopportune time to wade into the existential dynamics of the Unity of all things and the role of the true self. Best to keep moving, she thought, lest I meet too much of myself. She ignored the sudden desire to linger and stretched out her senses in the Unity.
Awen saw Ezo and TO-96, both of them faithfully attending to their various control surfaces. She saw herself and the bridge and then the whole ship. Outside in the void, she could see beautiful ripples expand
ing away from the Indomitable as if the ship was a stone skipping along a lake’s still surface at sunset. The stars in the distance hummed, resonating like fireflies on a summer night. And there—directly in front of her—was a light brighter than any sun she’d ever laid eyes on. The quantum tunnel.
Had this epicenter been as bright in the natural realm, and her vision optical, Awen was sure she would have covered her face with her hands and still been able to see the brightness in her mind. The tunnel’s light in the Unity was that all-consuming, that all-embracing. For a brief moment, she thought her flesh and bones would melt at the light’s intensity, but then the feeling was gone.
In the Unity of all things, however, Awen could make out not just luminescence but coloration as well. The light was not white but a coalescence of many colors—some she had never even seen before. In fact, the closer to the center she looked, the more densely packed the colors became.
Awen kept looking for the point at which the quantum tunnel began, like the center of a target. She moved forward in the Unity, sure she would make it out at any moment. But the farther her senses stretched into the beyond, the more the beyond invited her in, swallowing her vision. Rather than finding a point on a map, Awen found a direction on a horizon, a continual summons that she could not see the end of. The quantum tunnel’s gravity was pulling her presence in the Unity from her physical body. Farther and farther it stretched, going so far that she feared journeying into it might separate her from her body. Forever.
The thought startled her, and she recoiled, snapping back into her mortal body. She gasped and noticed that her body was shaking.
“You okay, Star Queen?” Ezo said over his shoulder, his voice rising above a commotion on the bridge.
Awen realized she wasn’t shaking from her fear alone but from a very physical quaking of the ship as well. “I’m fine,” she said, gripping the arms of her chair.
“Getting rough,” Ezo said, stating the obvious.
“The tunnel’s gravity also seems to be employing a compression scheme that will most likely have an adverse effect on our physiology,” TO-96 stated.
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