“Awen, please.”
“No, you have to know.”
“I already know.”
Awen caught her breath and looked at Willowood. “But how? You don’t have a connection to—”
“To the Nexus?” Willowood smiled out of the corner of the side of her mouth. “Just because I’m old doesn’t mean I’m incompetent, you know.”
“I didn’t mean that. I just meant—”
“I know what you meant, dear. And you’re right to be surprised. No, I didn’t have access to So-Elku’s beloved codex, nor to your wonderful discoveries in metaspace. But might I remind you that the Unity is still the Unity with or without a name. It doesn’t need us to call it something, just like we don’t always need books to discover its many mysteries.”
Awen blinked a few times. “So you’re saying you already knew about the Foundation? About the Nexus?”
“Not by those names,” she replied, shrugging. “But we knew there was more to the Unity than we Luma taught in observances.”
“So-Elku knew too?”
“Oh no. He was far too consumed with leading the order to delve into the deeper side of things. It was only a few of us who had such time on our hands.”
“Amazing.”
“Hardly. We were old and bored. The only other options were sex and Antaran backdraw, and that gets old quick.”
“The sex?”
“No, the card game.”
“Ah.” Awen chuckled. “Good to know.”
“Anyway, back to what you saw. You still have ears for the words of an old lady?”
“I mean, now that you say sex doesn’t get old…”
Willowood patted Awen on the hand again. “What you saw was a reflection, and you must understand the difference.”
“Between…?”
“What could be and what will be.”
“So you’re saying the Unity shows what could be?”
Willowood nodded. “Perhaps it is even likely, what you saw. But that doesn’t mean it is what will be, and that’s a critical distinction. Nor does it show what will happen next.”
“What do you mean, next?”
“Well,” Willowood said, adjusting the harness around her robes. “Did you see Piper turn around and clock Moldark in the face with the butt of a blaster rifle?”
Awen huffed a blast of air out her nostrils. “No.”
“And did you see her hijack a shuttle and zip back to the Spire all on her own?”
“Of course not.”
“Then neither does the Unity. It presents reflections of the most likely outcomes, not actual outcomes. It also can’t account for the greatest variable of all.”
“What’s that?”
“You,” Willowood said, pushing a finger into Awen’s sternum. “While you may not have power over others, the one thing you do have power over is yourself. And don’t you forget it.”
“I won’t with your fingernail in my chest.” Awen rubbed the spot. “But, thanks.”
“No need to thank me. It’s my job.” Willowood sat back, closing her eyes. “You can change the future by deciding to change yourself.”
Awen studied the older woman’s face and wiry grey hair for a minute. She was so grateful to be reunited with her and only wished that Valerie and Piper could be here right now too.
“We’ll find her, you know,” Willowood said.
“Find her?”
“Piper.” Willowood cracked an eye open. “We’ll find her. She can’t hide forever. And she wants you whether she knows it or not.”
“I’m not so sure about that.”
“Every girl needs her mother,” Willowood said, closing her eyes again. “And if she can’t have her mother, then she’ll take the next best thing. And, child?”
“Yes?”
“You’re the only next best thing she’ll ever need.”
4
Getting onto the Worru was easier than Magnus had suspected. But with half the city’s planetary defenses in shambles and the Repub Talon squadrons obliterated—no small thanks to Ricio—Magnus should have guessed that entering Plumeria’s airspace would have been uneventful. Plus, the city seemed immersed in the chaos of rebuilding as fast as it could. Nothing like the rich and powerful swooping in to revive the galaxy’s seat of peace, Magnus noted to himself.
All the activity made it easy for Cyril and Azelon to steal a Repub ident from one of the many ships coming and going since the raid. Since the so-called rebels were purported to be long gone, at least according to what Cyril gleaned from all the comms traffic, no one suspected that an alien ship alleging to be a cargo hauler had landed in docking bay twenty-four. Nor had they reason to believe the vessel was offloading anything but maintenance workers and supplies.
“As well as muck and junk, junk and muck removal, ya know?” Cyril had said when outlining the details of his code slicing. “Sir, but that’s your order to call, sir.”
Magnus had thanked him and made a mental note of just how handy Cyril’s skills were.
“I want you both staying put,” Magnus said to Awen and Willowood. “Nolan, if you encounter any trouble that the ladies don’t feel up to handling, I want you up and out of here, no questions asked. You copy?”
“I read you, sir.”
“Good.” He looked at Awen. “And if you find her, report to me first. We don’t need any stunts. We do this by the book.”
“It almost sounds like you care for me,” Awen replied with a quirky grin.
“I’m serious.” Magnus didn’t have time to play around.
“By the book,” Awen said.
“Monitor comms and vitals. If you lose connection with us, or we don’t report in—”
“Or our hearts stop beating,” Caldwell interjected.
Magnus gave him a sour look. “Or our vitals flatline, you get your asses out of here.”
“I’ll get it done,” Nolan said.
“Stay on your guard, Magnus,” Awen said, her voice filled with concern. “The Luma, they’re crafty. For all I know, So-Elku has people looking for interlopers as we speak. Just—watch your back. Promise?”
“Promise.” Magnus turned to the colonel. “You ready?”
“Like a cooling pad on a fat lady’s ass.”
“Where the hell do you come up with these things?”
“Read it on a cereal box.” Caldwell looked at Awen and spoke to her behind his hand. “I really didn’t.”
“Be safe, Colonel,” Awen said. “And take care of this one for me, would you?”
“Wouldn’t dream of letting you down.”
Magnus and Caldwell activated their Novian armor’s chameleon mode while Nolan doused the cargo bay’s lights. The ramp opened, half-hidden in the docking bay’s muted lights, and the two gladias jogged down to the tarmac, signaling Nolan to close it as soon as they were clear.
“Garrison’s less than one klick from here,” Caldwell said.
“Looks like we’re headed south,” Magnus replied.
“Captain Forbes’s quarters are on post. He won’t be in bed yet if I know him. Bit of a night owl.”
“Copy that.”
The two men moved at a light run, their suit’s servo-assist doing half the work for them. It was just after midnight local time, late enough for people to be off the streets, but not so late that windows were black. While Magnus and Caldwell didn’t plan on killing anyone, they still chose to carry their NOV1s. And if things got really out of hand? Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, Magnus reminded himself. For everyone’s sake.
The former Marines ran unhindered through the streets, stopping only occasionally to let a hover skiff pass or to avoid a couple walking down the sidewalk. Their suits made detection almost impossible in these conditions, but still, Magnus didn’t want to take any chances.
The only hiccup came when a drunk man emerged from a cantina and threw a beer bottle at a stray cat less than a meter from Magnus’s feet. Bits of glass and ale splashed against his su
it, causing the drunk man and the cat to step back. To them, Magnus imagined, it must have looked like the beer was floating in midair, and the bits of glass were changing directions without cause. Fortunately, the only one of them able to figure out what they were seeing was the cat, who darted away. The drunk man, on the other hand, swore at the air and stumbled back into the cantina.
“That was close,” said the colonel.
“Yeah. Can you imagine trying to get the smell of cat urine off this suit?”
“Smartass.”
“And I owe it all to the Corps.”
* * *
Getting on post was probably the easiest part of the entire mission. Magnus had never thought about it, but who in all of Plumeria would want to mess with the Republic’s garrison of trained killers? Even with the “bad” parts of the city taken into account, Worru’s capital had the lowest crime rate in the quadrant. Hell, probably the whole galaxy. That is unless you count the crime going on in the Grand Arielina.
Caldwell led Magnus through the front gate, around some administration buildings, and then up a street toward the officer’s housing. Again, their suits allowed them to make good time and travel without so much as a whisper through the warm midnight air. Magnus almost said that this was too easy but thought better of it. The last thing either of them needed was for someone to jinx the op.
“That’s his residence there,” Caldwell said.
“Wife? Kids?” Magnus hesitated. “Cat?”
“None of the above. Spends most of his time reading, from what he tells me. Smart man, this one. So stay sharp.” Caldwell slowed to a stop and studied the house. The only light came from the rear of the house, casting soft shadows through a wooden fence. “Well, he also likes to spend time in the dirt.”
“Gardener?”
“Something like that. Come on.”
The pair of them walked along the side of the house, passed silently through the gate, and emerged into Forbes’s backyard. If it could be called a backyard. Magnus studied the space in awe, marveling at streams of flowers cascading down rock walls and beside small waterfalls. A stone path meandered between trees and led to a swimming pool shaped like some forgotten lagoon deep in a lush jungle. Lights washed up the sides of old-growth trees, while birds roosted in their bows.
“You sure this guy’s a Marine?” Magnus asked, taking in the scene. “I think he missed his calling.”
“He’s got a lot of extra time on his hands.”
“Yeah, cause he’s clearly a slacker.”
“Man’s efficient as the day is long. I’m just glad he was late to the party the other night. I would have hated to put him down.”
“Especially if he was your gardener.”
“He is, too. Well, was.”
“Never pictured you as the gardener type,” Magnus said.
“Why do you think I had Mr. Green Thumbs here manage it for me? Mystics, man.” Caldwell turned toward the house. “Up there.”
Magnus looked up three tiers to see a man sitting in a lawn chair reading on a data pad. He held a drink in one hand and wore shorts and a t-shirt, his feet bare. His black hair was tight on the sides and swooped across his brow. The guy looked like a damn movie star.
“Slow and steady on the steps,” Caldwell said. “Guy’s a bit of a crack shot too.”
“You think he’s packing something in those shorts?”
“He most certainly is.” Magnus heard the smile in the colonel’s voice.
“Mystics, next thing you’re going to tell me he cooks, paints, and has a lifetime membership at the Capriana Altitude Club.”
Caldwell turned toward Magnus but didn’t say anything.
“You’re splicking me,” Magnus said.
“Nope.”
“And you’re sure he’s not married?” Magnus thought better of the question. “Never mind. If he were married, he’d never have time for the rest of this.”
“We have a winner.”
Caldwell led the way up the first set of steps. They’d barely made it up the second when a step under Magnus’s foot creaked.
“Son of a—”
Forbes’s hand was up and holding a blaster pistol before Magnus could finish the sentence.
“Bitch.”
Forbes’s brown eyes searched his picture-perfect backyard, straining to see through the path lighting and shadows cast by the greenery. Meanwhile, Magnus stood extremely still, aware only of his suit’s soft hum traveling up the base of his spine.
Satisfied that nothing was there, Forbes placed his blaster on the lawn table beside him and went back to his reading.
“Guy’s a little wound up,” Magnus offered.
“Wouldn’t you be? He just saw half his battalion get laid waste.”
Magnus sighed. “Fair enough.”
“Watch your step.” Caldwell proceeded up the steps again, and Magnus moved even more cautiously. By the time they ascended to the top level, Forbes seemed none the wiser, engrossed in his reading material and sipping from his snifter of amber liquid. The fact that Magnus could be this close and still not have the man suspect them was a true marvel and testament to Novian tech. Magnus made another mental note, this time to thank Azie for her engineering skills.
“We tackle him on three,” Caldwell said. “Barracks style.”
“Just—tackle him?”
“One…”
“Oh, splick. We’re actually doing this.”
“Two…”
“You going high or low?”
“Three…”
Caldwell dove at the unsuspecting man, knocking him back and out of his lawn chair. The snifter shattered, and the data pad went flying. Magnus dove as well, pinning the man’s legs to the deck. “He’s a strong son of a bitch,” Magnus yelled, trying to stay on top of the wiggling captive.
“Forbes,” Caldwell said over external speakers. “Settle down, Forbes. It’s the colonel. It’s me, Caldwell.”
If Forbes recognized the colonel’s voice, he didn’t show it. Instead, the captain bucked and twisted as if his life depended on it. Caldwell struggled to keep the man pinned down, but Forbes managed to wrest an arm free and swung in the air. When his hand struck against the colonel’s shoulder plate, Forbes cursed and recoiled in shock.
“Forbes,” Caldwell yelled again, and once more, the captain threw another wild punch at the air. This time, Magnus heard a bone crack as the captain’s fist crashed against the colonel’s helmet.
“Forbes! Stand down!”
Magnus saw the man wince against the speaker’s volume; any more of this and they’d wake the neighbors. Suddenly, Caldwell deactivated chameleon mode. Forbes’s eyes went wide. But now he could see a target to fight and began tussling with the colonel even more.
“The hell with this,” Magnus said, then he struck Forbes in the head with the butt of his NOV1. The man jerked and then went still.
“Dammit, Magnus,” Caldwell said, sliding off Forbes’s limp body. “Now we’re going to have to wait.”
“Better than having him break his other hand against your thick head. And next time, can we consult before you go and do something crazy like that?”
“Mystics, but it felt good, didn’t it?”
Magnus chuckled. “Like bootcamp?”
“Like bootcamp.”
* * *
Forbes sat slumped in one of his kitchen chairs as Magnus finished stirring salt and cleaning solution together in a glass. He’d rested his NOV1 and helmet on the dining room table for effect—he guessed the alien weaponry might help his case with Forbes in a minute—while Caldwell stood to one side with his arms crossed.
“You ready?” Magnus asked.
The colonel nodded.
Magnus placed the glass under Forbes’s nose. It took less than a second for the improvised smelling salts to do their work, causing Forbes to jerk his head back. He blinked several times as he struggled to orient himself. “Who… who the hell are you?” Then his eyes locked on Caldwell’s f
ace. “Colonel?”
“In the flesh.”
Then Forbes turned to Magnus. “And who the hell are you?”
“Name’s Adonis Magnus.”
Forbes jerked back again, eyes still blinking. “Magnus? As in General Atticus Magnus?”
“Am I that ugly?”
“Splick,” Forbes said, grabbing the back of his neck. “What the hell is this about? They said you were dead, colonel.”
“Nice to see you too, Forbes,” Caldwell said.
“Yeah, right. I’m the one who got hit in the head. Bad.”
“That was my call, not his,” Magnus said. “You put up a good fight there, captain.”
“Well, it’s not every day you get assaulted by things you can’t see. Gonna have a headache for a week.”
“It’ll wear off soon.” Magnus lied. He’d probably given Forbes a major concussion—wouldn’t know until the medics took a look. Hell, Magnus was surprised the smelling salt idea even worked.
“You guys scared the splick out of me. What the hell is going on? And how’d you sneak up on me like that?”
“Is that Gundonium bratch?” Caldwell asked, pointing to the bottle on the other end of the table.
“Single malt,” Forbes replied. “You gonna butt-strike that too, Magnus?”
Magnus grinned. “Hell no. It’s way more valuable than you.”
“Better pour three new glasses,” Caldwell said, turning to Forbes. “’Cause your headache’s about to get a lot worse.”
* * *
To his credit, Forbes listened attentively as Caldwell and Magnus outlined the quadrant’s precarious predicament. From Moldark’s seizure of the fleets to So-Elku’s power trip to the discovery of the Novia Minoosh and the existence of quantum space continuums, Magnus made sure to cover all the major topics while keeping an eye on the clock. The conversation accelerated as the subject changed to the firefight from a few days earlier.
“So that was you fighting against Charlie and Delta company?” Forbes asked, pouring himself another finger of bratch.
Ruins of the Galaxy Box Set: Books 1-6 Page 137