Moldark turned from the doorway and moved toward his chair atop the dais. He looked out at the waning conflict with the Jujari and waited for the child. But she was slow in coming. She peered out of her quarters and blinked at him. The look on her face was a strange mix of fear and insubordination. He returned to the sight of starships at war and waited several moments until he heard the patter of small feet.
“Are those Jujari ships?” Piper asked, nearing the window.
Moldark nodded. “You recognize them?”
“Rohoar’s looked like that,” she replied. “He’s my friend.”
“And you’re not scared of him, a Jujari?”
“Why?”
Moldark found her reply curious. The humans seemed to have an ages old hatred for the beasts born from an irrational fear of teeth and claws. “Because they are terrifying to you, are they not?”
“Terrifying?” Piper wrinkled her nose. “If you mean scary, no. Their teeth are sharp. But the rest of them is fluffy.”
“Fluffy?”
Piper looked up at Moldark. “You’ve never petted one?”
“I can’t say that I have, no.”
“You should. They’re nice.” But then Piper seemed to grow concerned as her eyes examined the conflict. “Are you… are you blowing them up?”
Moldark realized that, given the child’s unexpected love for the Novian descendants, answering the question truthfully may circumvent his goals. Subsequently, a new strategy presented itself. It was risky, and she might not be ready. But how would he know unless he tried? “I’m not blowing them up, no. But the Republic is.”
“The Galactic Republic?”
“You’ve heard of them?”
“Of course.” Piper’s eyes seemed to grow distant. “My daddy was a senator.”
“Then you know how much they hated the Jujari.”
Piper nodded. “But aren’t you part of the Republic? This is a navy ship, right?”
“I’ve actually been trying to stop the Republic.”
“Stop them? From what?”
Moldark raised a hand toward the windowplex wall. “This. From killing the Jujari.”
Piper squinted at him, and he feared she wasn’t buying his claim. It was time to see what she could do. “You don’t believe me?”
She shook her head.
“Very well.” Moldark turned to face her and folded his arms. “You’re a strong child. Stronger than anyone else you know.”
Piper mimicked his posture and folded her arms. “Maybe.”
“But you’ve been learning how to use your powers. In the Unity, that is.”
“Maybe.”
“So why don’t you help them?” He pointed to the Jujari fleet.
“Help them?”
Moldark nodded.
“You… want me to try and help them? But I thought you were—”
“Trying to hurt them? I already told you, I want to stop the Republic.” There was just enough truth to his lie that if she searched his mind—if she could search his mind—she might believe him.
“So, you want me to help them?”
“I could use the assistance.”
“And that’s why you brought me here?”
Moldark nodded. “My secret has been revealed.”
Piper looked back at the battle playing out over Oorajee. “But what can I do?”
Moldark wondered if she was ready—if she knew the extent of her abilities. Of course, he was guessing. But what he sensed left little doubt in his mind that the child was able to do everything he supposed. And if not now, then soon. “Move them.”
“What?”
Moldark turned and nodded at the ships. “Move one of the ships. Take it far away from here.”
“But that’s… I don’t think—”
“You know you’re able to. To move things in the Unity.”
Piper bit her lower lip. “Yes. But not a starship.”
“And why not?”
“They’re too big.”
“I suppose they are.” Moldark nodded, then lowered his voice. “If only there were a way to open a gateway to another place. To the other universe…”
“You know about metaspace?”
Moldark smiled to himself, but then cleared his face. “Of course, child. It’s beautiful there, isn’t it?”
Piper gave a tiny nod. She eyed Moldark. “You’ve been there?”
“And I hope to go back very soon.” There was a price to pay for keeping children in the dark, Moldark thought. The Elonian and her Marine partner had not told this girl as much as she needed to know, which made his job more manageable. “But for now, I feel the Jujari are the priority. Imagine how safe they’d be if they could escape from all this?”
“They’d be safe in metaspace.”
“And I agree, child. If only there were a way to get them there.”
“There is. But only Awen knows how to…”
“To what?”
“I shouldn’t tell you.”
“You’re right. We should never share our secrets with strangers.” He waited, watching ship to ship blaster fire flash across the void’s deep blackness. He tapped a finger on his arm, biding his time.
“Only Awen knows how to use the quantum tunnel machine.”
Moldark turned, careful to keep his tone nonplussed. “The quantum tunnel machine?”
“Yeah, the thing that opens and closes the tunnels. But…”
“But what?”
“I don’t think she needs the machine. Well, I mean, she needs the machine. But I don’t think I do.”
And there it is, Moldark said to himself with a grin. So she could open tears between the universes—at least, she suspected she could, and that was all that mattered. Powerful indeed. “You think that’s something you could do?”
Piper looked away from the battle. “Maybe. I’ve never tried.”
“It never hurts to try.” That was a lie, of course. Tampering with a void horizon was perhaps the most dangerous exploit in the cosmos. It had taken the Novia Minoosh a million lives to do it, and a thousand years to perfect it. But even if the child died trying, what was it to him? He had an eternity to find another way to annihilate his enemy.
“Still,” Piper said. “I don’t think I should trust you.”
This was an unfortunate turn, but one Moldark was prepared for. The child was right to mistrust him, of course. And he gave her credit for her perceptiveness—at least the little she’d shown. If she knew what was good for her, she would throw herself into the void and spare herself the coming pain. But humans had an irrational fear of death, and it made them weak. It also made them predictable.
Moldark closed his eyes and summoned his strength. It would take immense focus to let Kane surface without allowing him to regain control of his mortal body. Even though the man’s power had waned, Kane’s desperation had increased. So if Moldark wasn’t careful, Kane would usurp him.
“I suppose you’re right,” Moldark said, opening his eyes. “But would you trust family?”
Piper turned, then looked over her shoulder to search the room.
“Not there,” Moldark said. “Here.”
Piper looked up at him in confusion. “I don’t understand.”
“Nor do I expect you to.” Moldark allowed Kane to step forward and kneel. The man’s presence drew near, but Moldark would control his speech. He couldn’t let things get out of hand, not now, and not with Piper. “But I trust you’ll feel it’s true with your heart.”
“Your… your voice.” Piper narrowed her eyes as she looked into Moldark’s. “It sounds… better.”
Curse this child. She would think it an improvement.
“It sounds familiar.”
“Like your mother’s, perhaps?”
Piper straightened her arms, but then raised a hand to hold her elbow. “Maybe. Yes, perhaps like hers, but different. Because you’re a man.”
“And I am also your grandfather.”
Pi
per’s face didn’t register the information right away. Her blank eyes reflected flashes of blaster fire as her tiny chest rose up and down. “You’re my mother’s father?”
Moldark nodded, keeping Kane close enough that Piper might sense him, but far enough away that the damned admiral didn’t lunge out and embrace the girl. Sentimental fool. “It’s the whole reason I wanted you here.”
“You’re my grandfather.”
“Yes.”
“You were married to Willowood.”
“Yes.”
“And you had Valerie together.”
Are all human children this interceptive? “Yes, child. All of it, yes.”
“Well then”—Piper extended her hand—“pleased to meet you, Mr. Admiral, sir.”
Moldark looked down at the offered hand, recognizing the human custom. Meanwhile, Kane desired to hug the child, and perhaps push her away and get her to safety—the fool. There is nowhere safe now. Moldark took her hand and shook it. “Please, call me…” What should she call him? “Just call me grandfather.”
“I always wondered who you were. My grandfather, I mean.”
“And I…” Moldark gave Kane more room than he wanted, but he had to. Only the mortal would know what to say to his offspring, and Moldark couldn’t afford to scare her away. Not now. “I always wondered who you were too.”
“Yeah. So, where’ve you been all my life?”
“Here,” Moldark said. “Onboard ships bound for all parts of the quadrant.”
Piper shifted on her feet and bit her lip.
Sensing the child wanted to say something more, he asked, “What is it?”
“Did you, ya know, ever wanna meet me?”
Kane’s presence bucked inside Moldark. “Yes, of course.”
“Then, if you’ve always wondered who I was, and you’re a grown-up who can do whatever they want to do, why didn’t you come meet me?”
“That’s a complicated question.”
“Then under complicated it.”
Moldark eyed her. “You mean, make it less complicated?”
“Uh-huh.”
Moldark allowed Kane’s memories to help formulate a believable response. “The work I do here, it’s very important and requires that I stay far away from family.”
“So, it was more important than meeting me?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“But that’s what it sounded like to me.”
Moldark felt Kane squirm. This interaction was infuriating, and Moldark wanted it to end. But, again, necessity demanded otherwise. “Sometimes, in order to protect things that are important to you, you must do things that take you far away from them. Have you ever… have you ever loved something deeply?”
“My mother,” Piper said. “And my father.”
“And if they were ever in harm’s way, would you try and do something to keep them from getting hurt? Maybe even something that you didn’t want to do?”
“They’re both dead.”
Kane’s life-force grew still, leaving Moldark in the awkward place of not having anything to say. Piper stared at him as water started filling her eyes and running down her cheeks. The child was leaking. Finally, Kane offered a reply—a simple one, but a reply nonetheless. “I’m so sorry to hear that.”
“Yeah. So am I.” Piper wiped her face with the back of her hand and then sniffed. “Did you know my mother well?”
“Not as well as I would have liked, no.” The conversation was becoming too tedious for Moldark. Kane and Piper had made their connection—now it was time to leverage it.
“You would have liked her. She was an amazing person. My favorite person.”
“I can only imagine.”
Enough! Moldark scolded Kane and shoved his presence away. “Piper, would you try to open a tunnel in the void? Would you do it for me?”
“Your voice is scary again,” Piper replied. “What’s the matter with it?”
What would Kane say? “It’s… because I’m fighting the coldness.”
Piper winced. “You mean, you’re fighting a cold?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, well… I still don’t—”
“If you could have done something to save your father and mother, would you have?”
“I don’t like that question.”
“And yet it stays before you. Would you have?”
Piper shook her head. “I… I don’t want—”
“Because you have the chance to save other people’s families now. You have an opportunity to preserve their souls. Right here, right now.”
Piper opened her mouth again, but no words came out.
“Piper, I can’t bring my daughter back. You can’t bring your mother back. But we can save someone else’s. Would you do it for them?”
Again, Piper wiped more water from her face. Then she took a deep breath that made her lower lip flutter. “I will try.”
“Good. Very good. Let us see what happens when you try.”
Suddenly, the door to Moldark’s deck opened. He looked up to see Brighton enter, leading several Marines. “What is the meaning of this?”
“I’m sorry, my lord,” Brighton said. “You have an urgent request.” Brighton’s eyes darted to the girl, and he hesitated. “But she needs to…”
Moldark sensed his admiral’s fear and then looked down at Piper. Whatever this was about, Brighton didn’t think it was appropriate for the child. And, seeing as how Moldark needed her to be as calm as possible for what he wanted her to do, he decided to entertain Brighton’s implied suggestion. “Child, why don’t you wait back in your room.”
“But I want to—”
“No arguing.” Moldark raised a finger toward her quarters. “Go. This meeting isn’t for you. But I’ll come get you when it’s over.”
“Yes, grandfather.”
Moldark waited until Piper padded down the stairs, crossed the room, and closed the door behind her before addressing Brighton again. “Now, what is the meaning of this?” He’d barely said the words when a trooper behind Brighton threw him to the ground. The Marine raised a blaster and fired, striking Moldark in the side.
16
Awen thanked the shuttle pilot and then disembarked. The moment she stepped into the hangar bay, she heard a soft chime from the overhead speakers followed by a familiar voice.
“Welcome, Awen,” Azelon said. “Please see Magnus on deck nine, section four.”
“Not yet, Azelon.” Awen headed across the bay to the exit, reminding herself to schedule an appointment to have the NBTI installed. “I need to speak with Willowood first.”
“But Awen, I am under direct orders to have you check in with Magnus upon your arrival.”
“And I will, but I need to speak with Willowood first. This isn’t up for negotiation.”
“I must insist that—”
“I said, this isn’t up for negotiation, Azelon. Lead me to Willowood.”
There was a brief pause before Azelon finally said, “As you wish.”
Once Awen left the hangar, lines illuminated on the glossy white floor in the nearest corridor, indicating the path to Willowood. Awen felt terrible that she was purposefully ignoring Magnus’s orders, but she needed to speak with Willowood first; not doing so would be a waste of time for everyone. Plus, she knew Magnus would want accurate information on Piper.
Awen followed Azelon’s route through the Spire, sometimes walking, sometimes jogging. She trusted her senses in the Unity, but she needed confirmation, and Willowood was the only person who could answer her question—questions, Awen corrected herself.
When at last she arrived outside a hangar bay in the ship’s belly, Azelon’s voice came through the speakers overhead. “Willowood is inside. However, she is conducting a training session with the cadres of Paladia Company. Are you sure you wish to interrupt her?”
“Open the doors, Azelon.”
“Very well.”
The two metal panels slid apart to reveal th
ree-dozen gladias in Novian power suits. They were arranged in neat rows, standing atop a butte that looked over a broad desert plain. Two setting suns glowed pink on the horizon, and the sounds of coyotes yipped in the distance.
Each gladia progressed through choreographed Li-Loré forms—hands and feet glowing in the fading light. And on the far side, Willowood called out positions as each gladia moved in smooth, fluid motions.
“Veneethima,” Willowood said, her voice carrying over the plateau and disappearing into the evening air. The mystics moved as one, hands rotating, forelegs rising. “Sidronima.” Again, the mystics adjusted, extending one arm and squatting low. “Ti nin.”
The group lunged left, hands to the ground, every member saying, “Eeee…”
“Rah,” Willowood said.
The group punctuated the extended vowel sound with “Rah!” and leaped into the air, executing a 180-degree spin. When they landed, their feet and hands touched the stone, bodies crouched.
“Doquin,” Willowood said. All gladias extended one leg behind them, keeping the knee and toe a few centimeters off the ground. Then, when Willowood gave the final instruction, the entire company leaped into the air, each person executing a backflip. Thirty some-odd balls of light surged down their extended legs and shot skyward, joining the stars in orbit above.
Awen marveled at the sight and momentarily forgot why she’d come. A pang of jealousy beat in her chest. During observances on Worru, she’d been overlooked when the elders selected pupils to learn Li-Loré. “Your love for the Jujari and their customs dictated that you be trained elsewhere,” she was told. And so she went the route of an emissary. But she’d watched the Li-Loré classes practice whenever she could. The artform mesmerized her in ways she couldn’t explain. And now that Willowood was on the Spire teaching the ancient practice to students, Awen would miss the opportunity yet again. Instead, she would serve under Magnus in Granther Company—or at least that was how she viewed the order packet that Colonel Caldwell had sent the day before.
Awen coughed into her hand, hoping to try and get Willowood’s attention. The older woman smiled as she turned toward Awen. Then she clapped twice. “Good work, everyone. We’ll resume in the morning. End simulation.”
Ruins of the Galaxy Box Set: Books 1-6 Page 147